Open Chronicles A Festival of Coins and Crops

[Acteon Cass]

It was that time yet again in Alliria. The entire city had been preparing for weeks. The Festival of Alliria and Panae had finally arrived. It was a festival dedicated to worshipping Alliria, the Goddess of Fortune and Luck, and Panae, the Goddess of the Harvest, Shepherds, and Alcohol. Traders from all over the Reach and Alliria were setting up stands just outside of the city. Traders and merchants from everywhere else were coming in to sell their good, mingle, and get drunk. Even those not of the mercantile trade could have a good time. Alcohol and food would flow cheap or freely, depending on what quality was acceptable to you, and music was everywhere. It was a time of spending and of merriment. A time to connect and enjoy oneself between the planting and the harvest.

=======

Acteon roamed through the vendor stalls. The priests of Alliria and Panae had yet to leave their temples and bless the whole festival. But that had done little in preventing anyone from getting started. Already traders were selling all sorts of goods. From used silverware to the finest of art, it only took a bit of searching and one could find what they were looking for. Merry drinking songs already filled the air as well. From the table tapping dancing jigs of country taverns to the more methodical melodies of galas. It could all be experienced regardless of who one was. Poor, wealthy, citizen, or criminal. Everyone was mixing in the melting pot that was the city of Alliria.

This was the part of the festival that Acteon enjoyed. He could pick up on all kinds of little secrets by just listening. A well to do merchant would speak more openly with a Reach shepherd after all than they would an Allirian dock worker. Rumors spread quickly and faded even quicker. Coins changed hands either through purposeful purchases or accidental pickpocketing. It did not matter. Coins flowed as they should and sorrows were soon forgotten by the equal flow of booze.

A woman wearing something eye catching seemingly skipped by Acteon and handed him a pint of ale grown from Reach grain and hops. While he could likely tell from the scent and flavor he had not needed to. She was telling everyone she was handing it out to that it was and where to find more. He just smiled, thanked her, and began to drink it as he meandered through the streets looking for the most interesting and profitable affair he could find.

 

[Asel]

The festival was a most marvelous exhibition. So grand was it, that traders from far and wide had come to hawk their wares. It had been going on for a very long time, and thus certain structures had a permanent presence just outside of the city, ready to be utilized at a moment's notice.

Asel had indeed utilized one of these structures: a forge. It was smaller than the one she owned in Elbion but still suitable. While she had made the great migration along with the thunderous caravan and brought a multitude of her wares along with her, she was always making more. People tended to enjoy watching her work, and she believed that this was because of her superior skill. In actuality, it was primarily because people wanted to gawk.

In front of the forge she had displayed numerous weapons and several sets of armor. Fine longswords and graceful polearms, ornately decorated breastplates and fine helmets. Some pieces were primarily ornamental, strong enough for sure but too fine for anyone with sense to risk in battle. Others were plain in appearance but boasted extraordinary strength and durability.

A wooden sign was hung over the forge that read "Asel's HiveForge." A small blue and glittering thing was flitting back and forth in front it, calling out in a shrill voice and dropping glittering dust everywhere in her path.

"Finer weapons and armor you won't find! Made by Asel the Bee herself, Hive Forged quality! We got swords, we got axes, we got helmets, and we're free of taxes! Get yer arse over here and watch the lady work! Finer gear you won't find..." the voice called over and over again, while Asel herself stood quietly, polishing a shield decorated with acorn patterns.

 

[Adalric Merlon]

Dressing like a king today would invite the wrong kind of attention. Adalric Merlon was, after all, not the king of here, just a man who owned many things worth stealing. Instead he went about as a nameless noble whose pair of guards wore shields with a generic sigil: a silver tree on dull green.

One such guard, a weathered man-at-arms named Shond, kept eyeing a certain blacksmith stall. Adalric winced at the pixie's shrill hawking, but the wares looked above average. He ducked inside the structure and approached the insectoid being at the forge. One guard followed; the other waited just outside the door, on watch.

"You do fine work, friend," said the King of Ashdell.

Asel Acteon Cass

 

[Silver Romani]

The gypsy had a few hours left to spend in the city, and plenty of coin to part with thanks to her last few days' work. The festival was busy enough that she could hope to go unnoticed by a few certain merchants who had grievance to settle with her.

She had always loved visiting festivals, they were days of unrestrained joy. The costumes lit up the sun drenched streets, a riot of colour to rival any gardener's paradise. Music filled the air, festive beats lifted the spirits and made the people want to move. Particularly her sort of people. It was a time to celebrate being alive, celebrate the wonders of creation and be one with the community. The air tasted so heavenly of various food tents alongside the parade, every delicious thing ready to be shared and delighted in.

After browsing the stalls and trading coin for clothes, wine and pretty trinkets, Silver had followed the sound of drums until she'd found a small group of musicians and street performers, and she smiled brightly as they'd agreed to give her a tambourine. She pulled young girls up to dance with her in the small square, for what girls could hear music but not wish to dance to it?

She had discarded the tattered men’s clothes she'd worn in favour of a voluminous, flouncy, tiered skirt of emerald greens and golds, her waist tightly cinched by a narrow belt which further emphasised the curving lines of her hips as she moved them. Above it she wore an embroidered bodice with puffed sleeves and tight basque of white calico. Her slender arms were now once again adorned with gold bracelets and bangles which jingled musically along with the tambourine as she tapped in time with the beat of drums. Her well shaped feet and ankles were bare, and from time to time there were glimpses of more gold anklets as her feet peeked out from under her long skirts. Her long red hair fell in waves around her shoulders, and lashed at the air as she twirled.

They were soon surrounded by a circle of men and women, now four-deep, who were beating time for her dancing by clapping hands and knees rhythmically; and she laughed and spun faster as the tempo rose. She moved like she water transformed by music, flowing in graceful arcs, her limbs in constant motion, painting a picture that sound alone could never achieve. A wordless interpretation of the beats and soft strings, pleasing to the eye as much as the music was to the ears. It was the most honest form of communication she knew, and she thrived in the atmosphere of the day. Today she was her, and she would enjoy it whilst it lasted. Tomorrow wasn’t going to be so pleasant..

 

[Jexlt Warren]

Jexlt walked through the crowds, watching. He looked around, noticing a wide assortment of people going about. There were more people out and about today, because of the festival. They were all relaxing and shopping and enjoying themselves and generally having a good time. Jexlt wasn't really here for that, well, maybe he would relax and have fun a little bit, but that wasn't the main reason he was here. With so much going on, it would be easier for criminals to steal and commit various other crimes amidst all that is going on. And that was why Jex was here, to make sure nobody tried anything. Of course, he wasn't expecting anything, a lot of the items were fairly cheap as they were, and this was a festival, so most likely everyone would be too distracted with other stuff. So, this was really a day off for Jex. He wasn't currently doing any work, and there wasn't probably going to be any crime for his vigilante work.

He looked around. He noticed multiple vendors. Including one that looked like a very large bee. Huh, interesting. He noticed some people dancing to music. For now, he continued through the crowd, looking around.

 

[Alexander Verallas]

Six Pnerian cycles had passed since the fateful day that Alexander Verallas had first met Amatrice Lorerince and Jexlt Warren within the Capital City of Alliria. A further twelve before that, since the sacking of the Verallas Hearth; and by the grace of the Goddess herself Alexander was somehow today, a Page in the service of House Lorerince.

Those fateful six months prior however, Sepherene Chrystyne who was an Assistant of sorts to Amatrice Lorerince had informed Alexander that the "Festival Of Coins And Crops" held the opportunity of becoming a fully fledged Squire on the road to becoming a Knight one day, a time where House Lorerince would be willing to consider taking a newcomer into their namesake upon the responsibility of representing and upholding their standards.

So it was, that Alexander would arrive with the mind to attend and furthermore stand before Amatrice once again, less the lost Vagabond that he had been back then and today, a Page whom had been dutifully serving in the hope of his possible acceptance.

Befitting of the day, Alexander's apparel was much cleaner and conditioned. The wares of a swordsman in training, a hardened leather jerkin covering a long-sleeved jupon, his forearms baring leather reinforced gauntlets that ended just shy of the elbow; while his leggings were fashioned of the same earthly tone, and darker leather boots to match. Upon his back, a shield without a coat of arms, and at his side was a broadsword, housed comfortable within it's sheath, threaded through his belt.

There were numerous stalls and peoples about, just shy of the City limits. Calls of the latest goods for sale, encouraging customers and their welcome coin to peruse to their hearts content. It was a pleasant sight and the day bred a welcome radiance from the skyward sun, a wamrth of which Alexander felt encouraged.

The day had finally arrived, and to what ends awaited him, he was eager to learn.

Acteon Cass | Asel | Adalric Merlon | Silver Romani​

 

[Grim]

The half orc clapped in rhythm with the rest of the crowd watching the beautiful red haired gypsy perform her dance. That was the true tale of a good entertainer, having the ability and talent to get your audience involved. Clapping their hands to the beat as they all stared intently on each twist and swirl the young woman made. Grim was no stranger to entertaining the masses, though he differed in arts displayed. Crowds would cheer for him when he brought violence upon his opponent, the more gore dazzling the violence was the more the crowd cheered and favored him. Those days were the good days. Sure, he was a slave. Nothing more than a pit dog for the arenas but life made sense. He knew where he stood and what was expected of him. Performed well, you got rewarded with copious amounts of ale and plenty of slave girls to quench the other thirst. Did bad, you either were dead or if by a miracle you lived the crack of the master's whip would show you his dismay. Freedom was much more complicated.

It had been a long time since he had heard the crowds cheer for him and he soaked up the memories of times past as the crowds clapped and cheered for the dancer. Grim had a large smile on his face, his tiny tusks protruding giving evident that he had orc in his genetics, as if his towering height and heavily muscled build was not enough to prove he was some form of mutt. He wore simple garb, he didn't have fashionable clothing since he was not the sort that got invited to fancy parties. He wore a beige sleeveless shirt, brown trousers and old worn boots. His usual armor and large two handed sword were left behind at the inn for he did not wish to garnish the wrong kind of attention. He only had his favored kukri knife sheathed to the back of his waist. Folks got a little jumpy when a heavily armed and armored half orc was among them. He wanted nothing more than to enjoy himself with the atmosphere that this festival brought. He wanted ale and if the gods saw it fit, a woman or two of the willing variety.

Grim kept in rhythm, his clap matching the circle of men and women around the Gypsy. He towered over most of the crowd, which made it easier for him to see her from the second row.

Silver Romani

 

[Asel]

The forge was only semi-enclosed, having a crude roof erected on a few study beams with a large hole for the smoke to pass through. The rest was lined with tables and a few shelves, so it was easy to hear the music and festivities from the outside. A large crowd had begun to gather just a short ways beyond the forge, and while Asel could not see through them to the source, it would likely not be the last gathering.

Two men entered her workshop. An older man who was dressed nicely, and a follower who wore a great deal more metal.

"You do fine work, friend," said the King of Ashdell.

Unable to speak, Asel bowed low in thanks, her wings quivering with the praise. Her enormous globe-like eyes rippled with subtle colors beneath the blackness as she moved. She gestured to the goods before her, indicating that the man may sample whatever he wished.

Midge zipped within, "See anything ya like? All fine works-" her sales pitch was cut off by a wave from the bee. This man did not seem the type who wished to be pestered while he browsed. "Ah, uh, well just let us know if you find anything. Ol' wonderwings ain't so much for talkin, so I take over for that." With a practiced air-curtsy she gave the nobleman some space to look, a trail of sparkles following her. She hovered and then landed on Asel's shoulder.

"Sure is a lot of fun going on out there. Oh, I know, don't worry. I wouldn't leave you alone and helpless, got work to do!" Asel's antennae had moved just a bit, reminding the pixie that they were not here to have "fun."

 

[Roan Dorn]

Howls erupted from an open air tent where a group had gathered to watch a contest play out. Men, Dwarves, Elves all took turns cheering or booing as whatever went on played out beyond the eyes of those not in the crowd. It appeared as though coin changed hands fairly easily and it wasn't difficult to tell when that occurred either as it often accompanied the sounds of victory and the lamentations of defeat.

Amidst the crowd, seated on a bench at a round table the Sellsword sat across from a local Strong Man, a Farmer from a nearby village who tended the fields until his crop of grain came in and he could sell it at the local markets. Their right hands were locked together, elbows planted firmly to a table and a leather strap carefully tied around them so that neither man could pull away.

As they prepared a Crier would have called out...>>Place your bets! Place your bets! Who will win? The Sellsword or the Strong Man?<<...instigating a round of bets between those gathered in the crowd.

Once the bets had been started taking place in earnest there was a brief interlude before a Dwarf standing beside the table looked between the two men said...>Ye both know the rules! I want a good clean match. No funny business. First man whose arm touches the table loses.<...he'd raise his arm, back off a pace then sweep it downwards to signify the beginning of the match. At the same time the crowd erupted as spectators cheered either man.

Roan had locked eyes with the man seated across from him. The Strong Man's arm was bigger than his, bulkier but the Sellsword's bicep was chiselled muscles wrought from years swinging a sword and a lifetime of working a plough in the field which seemed like such a distant memory now. As the Dwarf cued the beginning of the match Roan would shift his shoulder forward and begin to push....

"Come on."

...he'd grunt through gritted teeth, he had a quick start but his opponent was so strong and despite a momentary standstill Roan felt his arm inching backwards as he was pressured in the contest. As his arm started to lower he felt his muscles tighten but exerting some willpower he pushed and watched as the Strong Man's eyes widened when their arms came level again, evenly matched; Roan was starting to get into his head...

"Come on."

...he said again, some strain evident in his voice...

"Come on! Push me!"

...he'd started to hype himself up, drawing on the cheers from the crowd and his own adrenaline before he saw the Strong Man's arm start to tip over. Pushing again he'd thrust his shoulder into the movement and then it happened, he planted the Strong Man's arm onto the table with a loud -BAM- as the back of his hand hit the wood causing more cheers and boos to erupt from the gathering of spectators again.

>>We have a winner, Roan Dorn!<<...came the call of the Crier after the Strong Man's arm went down. The Dwarf came forward, untying the leather strap from around the hands of the two men while Roan gave his opponent a sincere nod then lifted his hand so that he could roll his wrist, loosening it up a bit while his fingers flexed.

Arm Wrestling competitions weren't uncommon in the Allir Reach so it wasn't a surprise to see such make its way to the Festival. The Crowd thinned now that the match had concluded but Roan kept sitting at the round table, maybe another competitor would show their face.

 

[Acteon Cass]

As Acteon meandered about the early stages of the festival he was already seeing some interesting things. The first that caught his attention was when he saw a giant bee(Asel ) working a forge with a little fairy flying around barking for it. An older man(Adalric Merlon ) with a pair of guards was near it and had gotten called out to. While to most the man may be a merchant lord or noble from the Reach or even one from outside of the city Acteon knew he was more than mere nobility. Royalty had a certain way they carried themselves, even the more humble of their caste. This man had that way of moving. But with the bee calling out to him it was best to move on.

Next Acteon ran into a group of people dancing and in the middle of it was someone he knew. Silver Romani had found herself a bit of fun. Wonderful. Hopefully it would leave her in a better mood for when they had to leave the city after the festival was over. He made sure to catch her attention, give her an impish smirk, and an idle wave. A taller gentleman(Grim ) had joined in that he did not know, but as interesting of a sight as it was there was no coin involved here. So Acteon moved on yet again.

Finally Acteon ran into something that interested him. A tent was set up for arm wrestling and people were making bets. Risk and reward. Coins easily could be made and lost here. And this was exactly the kind of entertainment that got Acteon's attention. A bit of a gambler by nature and a self proclaimed cheat when it came to games, he fit right in with the crowd. A local strong man had been beating people at the table and a new challenger had walked up. A smile crept over Acteon's face. It was Roan Dorn , another person he was familiar with. The two were about to start and the last round of bets were being taken.

Acteon held out two gold pieces and said, "Two gold on the old man."

Several laughs went off around him. Seemed they thought him a fool as the strong man was on a hot streak, but Acteon knew better. Certainly he had large muscles but large muscles were bulky and slow. They were more in the way than helpful. And he knew from personal experience that Roan was experienced and disciplined. And arm wrestling was a game of skill and not raw strength.

The match began and everyone began to hoop and hollar at the two. It was a bit of a spectacle but Roan eventually won. And as it happened Acteon held out his hand as he said, "Praise Alliria. I got lucky. My winnings please."

Alexander Verallas

 

[Silver Romani]

Silver quite clearly thrived in the atmosphere, the music brought silence to her fear and let her relax. To dance was sheer freedom, and it took her mind to less troubled times. Her heart kept time with the beat on the Cajon, coursing the music through her veins as she lost herself in the performance. She gave the children who danced with her a silk ribbon, and they copied her movements, letting it trail through the air following the loops and swirls of her hands as her body continued to ripple and twirl.

She had forgotten about the crowd that had formed around them as she moved and laughed with the young girls, but a familiar scent caught her attention and she met Acteon's eye, returning a dry smirk at the man as her arms lifted into the air and her back arched backward and she chuckled at the children attempting the same only to fall over and resume their ribbon dancing.

She realised that the crowd had grown, but crowds were something she was used to and enjoyed, she smiled at them as was a performer's first lesson. She couldn't help but notice the much taller man that watched her, and she met his gaze with a polite dip of her chin as he joined in with the others.

The song came to an end and the children wrapped their arms around her waist in an embrace. Coins were thrown at their feet and she took the girls' hands to involve them in her bow to their audience before gesturing for them to pick up their well earned coin which they were delighted to be able to keep. She returned the tambourine to the musicians and they thanked one another for the sound performance.

Without the playing of music and dancers to watch, the crowd dispersed and moved on.

 

[Lucien]

I love festivals...

Grim | Silver Romani | Acteon Cass

"Ey! Get back here with that!"
​

Lucien's voice easily rose up over the sound of the crowd now that the music had died down. He hollered, immediately after he'd given a man just ahead of him a hard shove, slipping his coin purse away as he did. It was tucked into his coat before his first victim could tell, and his accusing finger pointed to a younger looking boy, who turned in horror when Lucien called out.

Of course the boy had done nothing wrong, but Lucien had measured him accurately. Likely some small time thief, he was unnerved and overwhelmed by the crowd, and had likely suffered a few failed attempts. Even better, maybe he'd even pocketed something. Lucien on the other hand, well there wasn't a stitch on him that was ever truly his. Or at least, he'd never purchased anything.

The man he assualted turned around, and followed Lucien's point. He took after the boy, "I'll tear you a new one, get back here!"

This was just too natural anymore. But, why did he even bother in the first place? His pockets were already lined well enough. Habit, perhaps.

Lucien watched him take after the boy, and a toothy grin came across his face. Then he started to make his way through the dispersing crowd, his eye catching sight of a somewhat more elegant looking establishment. Some fine ales had been on his mind since he'd arrived, and it was about damn time he'd found some place other than some dusty old hovel.

As he made his way through, his caught another sight. It appeared that he was not alone however, as this particular item had just prior been the center of everyone's attention. He witnessed her handing the instrument back to the musicians, who each seemed quite enamoured with the red headed beauty. He couldn't blame them, and for him...

...that hair, mixed with quite such a lavish bodice? Well... her skirt too...

Augh, you're killing m-!​

Lucien stumbled back, rubbing his nose. He felt like he'd just walked into a stone wall. He opened his eyes to see a mountain of muscle standing in front of him. As he looked Grim up and down, he decided it best not to provoke him any further. He wasn't exactly keen on standing off with a guy like this right now.

"Uuhh... shit. Pardon me."​

 

[Míriel Fëanorna]

maybe another competitor would show their face.

Miriel enjoyed the Festival when it rolled around every year. There was always a big boom in business for her; her forge had begun to get quite the reputation for itself now. She didn't even need to bother rolling out wares into the streets like other Smithy's now - if people wanted enchanted blades people tended to point them in the right direction. So in recent times she had found herself able to actually enjoy what activities the Festival had to offer rather than watch whilst bent over the furnace in her workshop. She had been eyeing up some of the other Smith's works on show when a cheer from a nearby crowd had caught her sensitive ears. They twitched as she finished scanning the craftsmanship in front of her then she smiled and changed her course towards the noise.

A few of the locals glanced to her then back to the game then back again and moved like a ripple to allow her through for a better look. The elf folded her arms over her chest as she watched the match with equal mixes of curiosity and amusement. She only knew one of the two men sat at the table - a lad from a few towns out who she saw on market day. His family grew some of the best hay and strawberries so she was often a frequent visitor of his on a Sunday. The other man she didn't recognise but she was impressed he was dealing with a man she had seen lift a full rounded bale over one shoulder with only a slight trickle of sweat.

Someone offered to take her bet but she shook her head and watched intently. It was always the ones you least suspected, Miriel mused as the match ended in favour of the newcomer. Most of the crowd began to disappear to follow the lad who had lost who was rubbing at his arm muttering darkly. Nobody else seemed to be eager to step forward so with a slight shrug of her shoulders she sat down opposite him.

The Horse mistress threw off the stereotypes of her kind being fair and willowy with her harsh blue facial tattoos that donated her position in the army and the muscular shape of her body. Centuries of fighting and swinging a hammer all day in a forge had transformed her figure into that of a warrior not a fairytale creature. She wore simply riding leggings with bucket top boots and a loose fitting sleeveless shirt. Around one arm she wore a circlet bracelet but other than that the way she dressed was plain and simple - another characteristic at odds with her people.

"Impressive," she inclined her head in response to his precious match before putting her own arm on the table with a slow smile that crawled up one side of her face.

* * *
Roan Dorn
* * *​

 

[Roan Dorn]

He'd the taken the time between matches to flex the fingers of his hand, wiggling them slowly then rolling his wrist to loosen the muscles. While waiting for another competitor he hadn't dreamt of seeing an Elf seat herself across from him. In his experience Elves didn't partake in this type of recreation often, Roan had known a few women that worked in taverns to have been exceptional arm wrestlers though.

After Míriel Fëanorna had sat across from him Roan took a moment to set eyes upon her, regarding her he took in her facial tattoos and the musculature of her body. He must have outweighed her and it seemed likely that he was thicker than she was however this meant nothing in the current arena which she had challenged him in.

Nodding his head once Roan would have smiled, the Sellswords features dark but welcoming as the corners of his mouth turned to a friendly expression...

"I like a woman that's up for a challenge."

....then he'd set his elbow on the table opposite hers and reach out to lock hands with her. Almost like it was clockwork the Dwarf that had overseen the previous match would have come forward to apply the leather strap to their arms so that neither could pull away once the match had begun. In response Roan's grip tightened, squeezing so that his palm sucked to hers as he tested his grip as well as hers.

The Crier would have stood as a small crowd started gathering and would have called out...>>Place your bets! Place your bets! Who will it be? The Sellsword or the Elf!? I don't know about you folks but it looks like she has a strong arm!"<<...the calls, advertising another match would begin to draw a crowd. Some gathered would likely know or recognize Míriel which drew further appeal for the upcoming match.

Once bets were placed and the Crier stood aside the Dwarf would raise his arm over both competitors hands, letting it hover there momentarily he'd have dropped it signifying the start of the match and Roan would start to push...

 

[Grim]

The half-orc's leering of the crimson haired gypsy was interrupted when he felt a body bumped off him. He turned to see the fool who had walked into him, giving the smaller man a tusked snarl. Grim's instincts were to give the human male a visual inspection and more importantly if he wore protection that would prevent his blade from finding important arteries and organs. In that department, the man was not armored sides from some fancy long coat. Conclusion, at this distance Grim figured he could have him gutted from stem to stern before he knew what hit him.

But today was a day of festivities and marry making. Cutting this twig of a man down would put his ambitions for the day in harm of failure. Grim looked past Lucien catching a glimpse of the Gyspy who had children clinging to her off in the distance. He had ignored the man's hurried apology and slightly leaned in towards him. "You gonna gobble my cock?" Grim's ultra deep voice resonated heavily towards Lucien, as if his interruption could be mitigated. If the man thought he was joking in his inquiry, he would see no sign of jest in the half-orc's stone faced gaze. Truth of it, from where Grim came from, pretty boys with such lithe feminine features made good sport when perfumed slave girls were not given.

Grim waited for the platinum haired man to answer, his towering height and mass imposing in great contrast to Lucien.

Lucien Silver Romani

 

[Míriel Fëanorna]

The look of surprise was not a new one to Miriel but she passed no comment to allow him to get over it. From the slow sweep of her form he seemed to be getting over it relatively quickly which made a nice change: it always felt a little unfair to enter into these matches when people underestimated her. As he began to smile her own grew and she entwined their hands. They were rough from hours of metal work and hard labour but she felt his were of a similar standard. This was going to be an interesting match.

"It's refreshing to meet a man who doesn't find that daunting," she replied in the jovial tones of two opponents getting a feel for one another. As the dwarf wound the leather strap around their hands she stretched her fingers a little then relaxed them against his. In terms of physical size his hand almost engulfed hers and she kept her hand relatively relaxed so as not to give him the full measure of strength she possessed right off the bat. She almost smiled when she felt him do the opposite but instead feigned mere surprise.

The gentle hubbub of the crowd was mere background noise though the series of comments about an elf taking part in something like this only fuelled her amusement for the game. As the dwarf stepped back and announced the start of the match she took a moment to let him begin to push her hand backwards. It wasn't that she put up no resistance but she definitely wasn't engaging everything in her and was still making him work a little for his efforts. Once their hands reached a 45 degree angle Miriel began to push back. The muscles bunched in her arm and her hand went from gentle to firm.

"Are you new to Alliria?" Miri asked by way of casual conversation as if they were playing a game of chess.

* * *
Roan Dorn
* * *​

 

[Silver Romani]

The half-orc was a difficult sight to miss, and her eyes settled warily on him as she realised he hadn't moved along with the rest of the crowd. She glanced around, searching for the familiar face of Acteon but he was gone.

She was in the middle of gathering her things when the voice that claimed she was killing him caused her to look up, a brow quirked in amusement and her lips parted to offer a smart response but her words were halted as he backed into the orc. She bit down on her lip, half hiding a laugh, half concerned for the man's safety, but she used the opportunity to try and slip away toward the smith.. weapons seemed like a good idea.

 

[Roan Dorn]

Once the match had begun the sound of the crowd grew louder again. It was all background noise to Roan who focused on Miriel, staring directly into her eyes as he began to push her arm slowly. When her muscles went from gentle to firm that changed though.

Perhaps it was overconfidence though Roan wouldn't strike many as the boastful type, perhaps it was fatigue from besting the Strong Man before her or maybe it was just that Míriel Fëanorna was better than him. Arm Wrestling involved several different factors and clearly Roan's opponent held the advantage in several different fields.

When Miriel pushed his arm back to the even position Roan looked indifferent, it had not been the first time he'd met an opponent who push themselves back to the start...

"Newer."

...he replied to her, his voice becoming a bit more tense as his arm wavered and started to fall...

"I thought I would pass through Alliria and maybe head towards the Spine."

...by then she'd pushed his arm lower, he tried to exert some force but his forearm ached and he couldn't muster the strength of his arm to try and match hers. He couldn't even turn his wrist into the hold and attempt to jockey for position with her. Trying to push back it was clear to Roan that he was being dominated in this match but he didn't feel ill for it...

"You've got quite the....grip."

 

[Míriel Fëanorna]

He kept his cool quite well, a fact that Miriel could appreciate. It might be rewarding to see a man sweat but when they did so too early it made her feel like the match hadn't been worth her time. As it was he was putting up a fair fight and she could feel the reasons why his last opponent had struggled so much. Once his hand began to waver she tilted her head slightly and rested her chin in her hand contemplating his response to her question. It was a journey she made often after all so it always interested her to hear the reasons why people were travelling over that way.

"Brave man to be heading towards the Spine - is it gold that sets your feet on that path?" she felt his arm began to tremor and she pushed her advantage by applying a bit more pressure. The muscles in her arm tensed and became more defined as she did so, the circlet around her bicep standing out starker against her skin.

"Why thank you, I work pretty hard on it," Miri couldn't help the devilish smirk. She could feel his arm buckling more and more and as it began to reach the 45 degree angle and even lower again, Miri tightened her grip and with some force pushed her advantage and slammed his hand into the table. She did take care not to accidentally break his hand in the process but she wouldn't doubt it if he told her it felt bruised.

A hush fell over the tent.

"Yours wasn't too bad either, for a guy and all."

 

[Roan Dorn]

When she asked him for his reason for traveling to the Spine his mind seemed to have gone blank. All of Roan's attention was on the clash of their arms that he was steadily losing until he felt her tighten her grip, exert some force and slam his arm back against the table. It hurt and there probably would be some bruising but Roan didn't complain though there was a mild look of discomfort that crossed his features.

Only after a moment did he realize that a hush had spread across the crowds. Many of those spectating had likely not bet on the Elvish woman to win. It was understandable, Roan probably had a hundred pounds on her.

He laughed. There was nothing sour about this kind of defeat. She had beaten him today and as her comments about working on her grip and how his own wasn't bad struck him Roan found he couldn't help himself. It was funny, very funny and the Sellsword laughed deep from his stomach. It seemed to take the edge off of the crowd as well, some of whom also laughed despite the coin that would change hands in favor of the few who had bet on the Elf.

"You're kind but apparently I need to work on mine."

....the comment was accompanied by a mirthful tone, Roan still finding the humor in her words rather than dwelling on the outcome of the match. The Dwarf would come forward to unbind their arms, removing the leather strap and Roan would withdraw his arm, flexing his fingers so that he could test his grip. There probably was a bit of bruising but nothing that wouldn't heal.

When he could finally think again he'd match her gaze one more time, considering her previous question before responding...

"I suppose that's one reason. The Spine is largely untamed wilderness and someone unafraid of work can earn a decent living there or so I've been told. I've spent the majority of my years fighting bandits around Vel Anir and on the outskirts of the Falwood, thought it was time for a change."

...the truth was that Roan also pondered at the idea of seeing new places, the Spine was just one stop. He'd also like to see Belgrath after his time with Filn Stenlager and there was the matter of Portal Stones, he had thought to pay for a key to take himself to the islands of Aina O Ka La looking for adventure and profit.

After he'd flexed his fingers a few more times he'd extend his arm to Míriel Fëanorna say...

"My name is Roan Dorn. What about you? Passing through or is Alliria your home?"

 

[Míriel Fëanorna]

The laugh was a contagious one and Miriel couldn't help her own bubbling from her lips as the mirth spread around the room. The few people she saw reaping the reward were customers of hers and they waved they shot her a bemused look as if they couldn't quite believe people would bet against her. Her shoulders rolled in a half shrug; clearly she needed to show off more often. His comment about his grip had her attention sliding back to the man opposite him and she laughed again with a small shake of the head.

"A few minor tweaks perhaps but it is a pretty good grip. I just have a few centuries under my belt compared to you," it was a friendly comment and the truth. Miriel was certain it would have been a much tighter competition had he asked her in her first century. Her attention moved to the dwarf as he released them and she lightly rubbed at her wrist where the leather had dug in against the strain of their hands. She took in his own gaze and winced slightly at the expression on his face as he tested his own injuries. Perhaps she had been a little rough.

The reasons for his travels was a common one and she nodded. Change, she could also appreciate.

"Míriel Fëanorna, a pleasure to meet you Roan Dorn," this time she held out her hand for a handshake. "I live here - I own a Forge and Stud farm a little ways on the edge of the city, but I hail from the Ixchel Wilds. I've only been in the city for about 60 years," if he took and shook her hand she would release it now and stand so that someone else might take the position if they so wished. She also didn't want to presume he was done wrestling either. "Perhaps I will see you around some time - when you fix your grip," she threw him and wink and then made to head back onto the streets through the crowd.

 

[Lucien]

Why do they always have to be assholes?

Grim | Silver Romani

"You gonna gobble my cock?"

Lucien's eyes narrowed at his comment, and a wry smile crept across his face, "look. I see what you're going for: strong, dumb, and big."

He shot a glance back, having noted the large man's interest in the redhead, "but listen to me. A gal like that? She might make you think its all good, then some silver tongue comes along and steals her away, leaving you," he said, pointing his finger into Grim's chest, "standing there with your dick in your hand."

He put a little space between the two, and placed his hand on his chest, a smug grin pasted on his face, "I on the other hand, could help you woo such a lady."

 

[Roan Dorn]

When she offered her hand during their introduction he took it without reservation, gripping firmly before releasing when she did likewise. Listening to her he found it interesting to learn she owned a Forge and Stud Farm on the edge of the city. A Smith, it all made sense to him now. Roan had found that metal workers were some of the strongest individuals he'd encountered, their raw muscle built up from plying their trade.

Thinking on being in Alliria for sixty years made Roan chuckle briefly before the Elvish woman prepared to depart, he hadn't even been alive for sixty years though he was middle aged for a human. Older than many of the young men he saw trying to earn a lifestyle through adventure or hiring themselves out...

"A Forge."

...he'd have said as she rose from the table, he did likewise giving the opportunity to compete to another pair who may have wished to test themselves. Rolling wrist once and reaching to clasp it in his other hand before turning his forearm slowly Roan found the bruising would not be to deep. As she went to move back onto the streets he took a few paces to catch up with her so that he could inquire before she left...

"What kind of work do you do? I'm in need of new armor, the chain I wear is old and I've only been able to maintain it not repair it."

...he also indicated the Gladius he wore over his left hip...

"If you do anything with weapons I wouldn't be opposed to something in a similar style. I have coin."

...payment from a recent investigation in Alliria had earned him a reasonable sum and he also still had coin from helping to escort a Dwarvish Caravan, Roan wasn't a wealthy man but when came to his arms and armor he wouldn't flinch on price.

Míriel Fëanorna

 

[Acteon Cass]

Most of the betters were giving off their usual boos and cheers based on how their bets went but the ones having to pay out the successful bets were nearly having a mental break down. The bet of two gold coins seemed like easy money to them and a lot of it. That much gold could put them up in a nice tavern for weeks with all of their meals covered in it too. But then it all slipped away as the easy money turned into a crippling debt. Paying it off could nearly wipe out all of the profit they had made so far on the wrestling match.

Acteon just stood with a smile on his face as he held his hand out for his winnings. One of those in charge was trying to make up an excuse to avoid paying it but the action just got boos from the crowd of betters around them. The Allirian was pleased to know he did not even have to do a thing himself to force their hands. Finally they got him what he was owed but while that happened the next match had already started. He was too late to place his next bet.

To his surprise it was yet another familiar face, and a rather beautiful one at that. Míriel Fëanorna had shown up and taken up the challenge. Which of the two he would have bet on was more difficult to decide. Ultimately he felt the elven smith would take the match, but the older sellsword would make her work for it. Perhaps it was time for him to move somewhere else.

As Acteon walked by he said to Miri, "Mistress Miriel I hope my steed is making himself comfortable at your stable." And then as he past by Roan Dorn he placed one of his gold coins on the edge of the table next to him in a fashion it would not upset the match. "For winning me that bet earlier. Make sure you take her seriously or she will beat you."

And with that done Acteon left the competition as some of the betters booed him and others called for the match to be forfeit despite the lack of any cheating taking place. Seeing Miri had gotten Acteon thinking that he could use a new sword. His old one was a bit worn after his trips to Amol-kalit and Cortosi. Remembering Asel forge set up from earlier, he made his way back towards it. Perhaps the bee would have something interesting. If not he could always reliably patron Miri. Seemed she and his grandfather had known each other and spoken very highly of her to his father. That explained a bit of his old man's behavior the previous day when they went to commission some work from her.

Silver Romani

 

[Míriel Fëanorna]

The horse mistress glanced to Acteon as he passed and merely nodded to his words about his horse; the stallion was settling in well and she was still content with the bargain she had made for the bracelets he had had her make for his father. Briefly she wondered if his mystery guest had arrived yet but it was not her place to pry in such matters and continued on her way through the crowds who parted with a few muttered curses. She replied with her own quip every now and then.

Miriel caught the sounds of his footsteps before he appeared in the edge of her vision and she slowed then stopped her progress through the crowds so he might catch up with her. He had sounded almost stunned, or perhaps it was thoughtful, when she had mentioned she owned a forge and wondered now if it was a follow up question or an offer of a drink he was approaching her for now. Her gaze slid over him even before he had finished talking, mentally taking a measurement of the man and also taking in the state of the weapon he wore. You could understand a lot about a soldier by the way he looked after his kit.

Her lips began to kick up at the corners as she met his gaze once done with her thorough mental assessment.

"I can do both but I am currently on my lunch break. Why don't you buy me a drink and we can discuss it over some food?"

* * *
Roan Dorn
* * *​