Open Chronicles an Elder Fires' Night

A roleplay open for anyone to join
Saskia stuffed her mouth with her favourite sweet pastry, unable to protest at the claims Alaric placed against her. She groaned and narrowed her eyes, furiously trying to finish her mouthful before voicing her defence.

"Dancing?! Sorry, that must be your other best friend, Wulfy." She snorted, rolling her eyes and turning her golden amber eyes again to their surroundings. Saskia felt blessed to have him here, even if his attention wasn't solely on her, his company was enough to put her at ease.

"Going to have to drink several more of these before I consider embarrassing myself with any dancing." Her eyes too fell upon the singing elf, a hand lifting her mead to wash down her bite of pastry. Perhaps it should be her goal tonight to get Alaric out of his comfort zone and meeting new people... but then he too would need more mead...

Alaric Wulf
Alaric broke his gaze from Petra as Saskia spoke, his eyes studying her as he watched her chew furiously. He could already tell she was going to protest, and an easy grin lit his face as he waited.

"You're the only one that puts up with me, I wouldn't dare have another best friend." He laughed as he took another drink, realizing that he was already empty, when did that happen?

"You look pretty in that dress Sas, I'm sure some poor lad will try to dance with you." He reached over and snagged a sweet bun from her plate, blue eyes gleaming with mischief. As he took a bite, a maid with a tray stopped at their table, replacing his empty mug with a fresh one. He blinked as he watched her retreating back. "Well, I guess one more wouldn't hurt, right?"

Saskia Kerraelas
Saskia scowled at his words (and his thievery!), ignoring the second helping of mead placed on her side of the table. "Who is to say that I would accept?" Her goal tonight was to get Alaric drunk enough to want to mingle and be merry without being whining and being sulky, but she was aware that she may have to match him in order to encourage him. Suppose she could hold her drinks fairer than he can... but Alaric was larger than her.

It was a risk, and she wasn't that bad of a dancer if her partner did not mind bruised toes.

"One more, perhaps another after that. We have all of tomorrow free, Wulfy. The only punishment of our fun will be the awful headaches we will wake with. That is part of the fun, anyone can tell you that!"

Alaric Wulf
Alaric still had that infuriating grin on his face as she scowled at him. He made a great show of enjoying his stolen goods from her plate, polishing it off with a hearty swig. "I bet if I asked, you wouldn't say no." He teased her, winking as he reached across to snag another treat

At her mention of headaches, he groaned. "Headaches don't sound fun at all. I will try my best to enjoy myself, but I can't promise you anything. I'm doing this because you're my best friend and you wouldn't stop begging my ears off for me to come."

Saskia Kerraelas
Oh that insufferable, little...

With fierce speed, her hand slapped down hard on his thieving hand. It squished over the sweet cake, smearing past his fingers. Using this moment to bring her unamused face closer to his, Saskia Kerraelas fixed him with daggers in her eyes.

"Then ask me, Alaric. Prove me wrong that I would not refuse to dance with you." She released his hand and sat back down in her seat, lifting a challenging brow. Oh, she can say no!! Especially to Wulfy! How many times had he said that to her? Now was her time to use it against him!

Alaric Wulf
Alaric had half expected her to slap his hand away, unfortunately she slapped it down, causing the sweet cake to squish between his fingers. He grimaced, and then met her her fiery eyes with his, her expression shifting to dangerous territory.

Their faces were mere inches apart, and he raised his eyebrow at her. He pulled his hand from her plate, his gaze never leaving hers. She say back down, and he met her challenging stare with a smile.

He reached over the table, smearing her nose with a sticky finger. Oh was he ever poking the bear, but she was adorable when she was angry. "Alright then. Saskia, would you like to dance with me?" He was definitely asking for it now, and he knew it, but perhaps the drink was already getting to the previously sober lad.

Saskia Kerraelas
Her hand scooped the squished treat and launched it at him, not at all gentle with the force or her voice through gritted teeth.

"No, I don't want to dance. With. You."

Each enunciated word awarded him two more sweets flying his way. Saskia's face was a picture of annoyance, not at all caring if they were making a scene.

Alaric Wulf
Rain. Stare narrowed with recognition he watched the man for a second, the purposeful movements of a merchant at work, all the while meandering his way towards the stall like some conspirator. He approached from the side, smiling pleasantly as he settled to lazily lean against the counter. The cup was put on it in a gentle little clack.

“ I see you’ve made it. “ This time. “ How was the road? “
The hand that Marchello had reached out to automatically refill that newly emptied cup, spasmed almost imperceptibly at the voice that accompanied it. The arched tendons in his hands pronounced under his stretched tan skin and his heart betrayed him by hitching in his chest. Such a fickle creature that thing, no loyalty to its master and determined to lead him into situations that spelled nothing but trouble.

In this case, trouble started and ended with a handsome orc tucked into the shadows. A spike of envy filling the fae man at witnessing that dark embrace. If only he was made of the same night that mantled the orc's broad shoulders.

Realizing his pause teetered on awkward, he cleared his throat and in a flurry of motion, grabbed Oliver's cup and a vintage with the other, pouring with a studious attention that only made sense to one who understood the passion that went into making such a prolific brew.

Finally, Marchello turned to him. His smile toothed and bewitching where it caught the bundle of kindle over Oliver's shoulder and the first undone button of his tunic. The fae's mechanical eye softly whirred when it locked onto Oliver's face, the concentric orbital pieces shifting by a magic not well known outside of the Autumn court. What exactly it could see, was a secret he kept close to his chest. But whatever it saw from looking at Oliver inspired a softer shift in Marchello's countenance, his hand finally stretching out Oliver's filled cup.

Just as softly, he answered, "On the house, Oliver. Since I never got to properly thank you for saving a damsel such as I that day."

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After the music of her song faded, the band picked up another tune. But this time Petra chose not to join, wanting to let the heat cool from her skin outside the influence of the fires.

Her tired feet carried her to the edges of the light. She tucked a sweat soaked curl behind her ear before wrapping her arms around her exposed midriff while taking in deep sharp breaths of the night air, her head tipped back towards the stars, and the wine dancing in her cheeks. The cacophony of festivities continued to swirl around her brief bubble of respite. Calling to her hedonistic spirit. To sing, to dance, to imbibe, to experience. To fill her heart with the cheer of her friends and the season as it rested from the summer's sun.

A voice like a slurred bell jarred her back into her body, present once more with the slowing beat of her heart.

"Oy, Petra!" She called out, brash and unmanageable, certain that the other elven woman was still nearby. "Do you want your scarf back?"

She laughed ardently after sourcing that voice. Catching a glimpse of the back of Cydonia's golden head calling out to her in the opposite direction from where Petra stood. Trotting over, her sore feet forgotten, she gently tapped the Knight's shoulder, her touch lingering emberically.

Fighting another chuckle, she noted the excessive flush in the woman's apple cheeks and tucked her head in close to be heard over the loud din of revelry. "I'll only take it back if you promise me your company and a drink or two." An added wink for good measure.

Syr Cydonia
No response, just a curious — silence?

He stared at the man openly, expression gaining a twinkle of kindly amusement as something like startlement seemed to pass through, arresting both composure and conversation. A regard was upon him, he felt, but of what kind remained uncertain save for what usual surprise was to be had in seeing the unexpected. A familiar face from a generous time since.

Suppose he could’ve not appeared so suddenly on the man as such, but — Wasn’t it a bit in tune with the overall nature of the eve. Shifting shadows and trickster spirits.

And free wine too, apparently.

“ Ah, for once other than my good looks grants me drinks. “ Flashing a wider smile, he accepted the cup and rose it in an appreciative toast.

“ You’re welcome, damsel, though judging by how competently you were able to just hoist— “ His free hand made a motion upwards, palm flat, eyes wide with resurrected bafflement. “ That wagon corner, I imagine you could’ve well done without me, given time. “

In a wink, he drained carefully from the cup, making a point to savour the fragrant wine. It was— rather phenomenal, which was writ on his face and the hum that left him, look drawn to the drink like he meant to find a secret in it. As it had none to tell, he'd refresh on the vintner in turn, transfixed.

“ The pleasure was, indeed, all mine. “

Marchello Farregrynn
Alaric tried to dodge the incoming sweets, a grin on his face as she enunciation each individual word, the rejection hardly as scalding as she desired.

A flying treat managed to bounce off his cheek and he leaned forward, grabbing her hand before she could launch another barrage. "Okay, okay. I deserved that. I'm sorry." His face was already flushed from the drink, a sloppy little smile on his face. "I promise I won't try to say no anymore, okay? You're right, I do need to get out more."

He hoped his words would soothe his angered, and pretty friend. Huh, he never realized just how pretty she really was. He was lucky she had befriended him, his world had been so lonely without her. "Saskia. I'm sorry."

Saskia Kerraelas
Saskia sulked, her golden eyes narrowing at his smile. His words were nothing new to her, having heard them plenty before and her acceptance of his apologies soon after. Although, she liked to make him squirm. "Quit staring, Wulfy. Cannot believe you are such a lightweight." Her grumbles were washed away with a newly replaced mead, the low mutterings echoing into the tankard.

But he still did not let up the staring, apologising once more with a hint of genuine sincerity. Saskia softened her face begrudgingly, rolling her eyes and offering him the plate of sweets as a peace offering to part with one of the few slices and morsels left. "Did you actually want to dance or are you hoping to catch the eye of another woman? Shall I play match maker?" Saskia made a terrible matchmaker, but it was still fun for her... not so much Wulfy.

Alaric Wulf
A tap on her shoulder, and Cyd turned round with wide eyes and pert smile. But then a swell of something like grief hit her, when Petra spoke. The warmth in her eyes bled away, and they became once more a distant blue, untouched by the fire.

"I'll warn you, I'm a big mope this time of year." When Petra was this close, Cyd had to lean back and look up to properly see the other woman. It made those gilded eyes of hers look so darkly and... this was a new experience for Cyd. She did not consider herself short. Steeling herself against the wink that Petra rained down upon her, Cyd continued with her excuse. "One or two more drinks and I'll start talking about my dead husband. Or, or--"

Cyd trailed off for a moment, staring past Petra to the fire behind them. What was worse conversation than a dead husband? "Or why its impossible to keep a taxonomic record of ur-beasts."

Petra Darthinian
The air between them cooled and a sympathetic knot twisted in Petra's chest at seeing the woman's eyes glaze with pain. Hesitantly, and with compassion in her voice, she feathered a hand against Cydonia's cheek, a tear soaking into the scales of her palm.

"What if instead, you paid me in stories, hmm?" Her words soft, as if afraid she would scare the other woman away. "This is after all, a time for stories. When the veil between life and death thins. When we put to rest the ghosts that follow us. To see them as friends that shaped us and not as burdens that make it harder for us to carry our grief." Petra paused, her eyes dropping. "And your grief seems heavy, Cydonia."
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Saskia finally relented, as Alaric knew she would. They had fought over the years, but nothing could ever come between the two. He could never stay mad at the only constant positivity in his life. He did feel bad, that he kept her from things. Certainly she could go on her own, but he knew his support meant more to her than anything.

He finished his drink in record time, not realizing the effects it would have on him. He had never had alcohol before and his third was quickly to his lips once more.

"Ya know, I don't even know if I can dance. Perhaps a few more drinks and we'll find out." He gave her a wink, blue eyes devilish as he accepted her offer of sweets.

At her mention of match maker, he felt his cheeks grow warm. "I don't think there is a lady here that would put up with me besides you." He laughed awkwardly, quickly shoving a bun in his mouth to avoid answering further.

Saskia Kerraelas
While his devilish gleam in his eyes changed, her lips stole it's essence as she grinned at his response. "That sounds like a challenge, dear Wulfy. You do know I love proving you wrong." She wouldn't need another sip of mead to do what she began next, carefully balancing herself (and not stepping on the long skirts of her dress) onto the seat she had sat on and rose up to look to the crowd.

"Any willing maidens wish to teach the young Alaric Wulf to dance? He might not be the best for conversation but I will happily supply a drink of your choice if you get him to smile." Saskia spied a red headed young lady nearby, pointing to her and calling out to her loudly. "Oi! You! Fancy an alright dance with this guy?" She jerked her thumb towards Alaric, not looking to see if he was embarrassed or not. He should be used to this by now, for he was the calm compared to her gale force winds.

The lady looked at Saskia only, eyes widened with fear and shook her head before nimbly darting off and out of sight. Saskia crossed her arms and looked down to Alaric. "Shit luck, my friend."

Alaric Wulf
Alaric saw the smile, instantly regretting what had led him to this moment. He pressed the mug to his lips, drinking as quickly as he could, trying to ignore the smaller girl clambering the table the sat at.

He looked over his mug as she shouted out to the crowd, and he could feel his entire face flush. If he could shrink himself in this moment, he gladly would. He polished off his drink and had no choice but to put it down.

Being called out and rejected in one fell swoop, it was a blow he was not prepared for. "Yeah, thanks. I really appreciate it Sas. It's a great reminder." He was absolutely humiliated, he could already feel the eyes on him, judging him.

Saskia Kerraelas
Saskia did not give up hope, lifting her gaze to flick between the partiers and do her best in scouting a better match. "You can tell me to stop, you know that Wulfy?" She won't... but she always offered in case she relented. "Probably best you do the asking. Doesn't do you favours if you have your best friend asking on your behalf. Ooh! What about her, or her?"

She looked down at the miserable friend sat across from her. With ease, she hopped down from her seat and landed on the flat soles of her nicest boots before lowering herself back onto the seat. "At this stage, you will dancing on your own."

Alaric Wulf
Tending the fires was a warm wash of feelings.

The weight of the kindling against his arms, the swell of the flame as he tossed another hunk of timber into the joyful blaze. Made the burden all the lighter.

Lgetting go of something dead, so that new light could burn the brighter.

it reminded him of helping his father tend to the duty. His mother not far behind, with her own weight of wood in arms. And Innis, somewhere trying to avoid the work most like.

That thought made him smile, bittersweet, and he wondered where his fellow squire was on such a night. As the music soard and breaths steamed against the crisp cold air, and bodies twist and dance like the flames so tended.

Montbank fluttered silently from the canopy down to Hector's presence, conscious that he should not linger so close to the fire from above without making entrance. To linger and listen would make a vulgar thing of his superior hearing to private conversations from up high. So to the ground he latched onto.

“Good Hector, let me be useful to this end,” he said, and gestured to back away from the fire once the feeding was complete.

He added, “This should do the trick more than simple breath to stoke,” and made one complete circle around the fire as he made himself industrious. Talons placed upon the ground, wings rolling within sockets as he ensured with a gentle hand for folks to not stand too close to the fire. There was no telling how deep into the cups folks were after all, and sense quickly disappeared with the presence of such spirits.

And then, satisfied all were at safe enough distance, Montbank beat his wings in precise gesture to feed the fire, moving quickly from corner to corner, coursing air through precise angles of his wingtip to feed the fire upon the kindling. Setting all colours to greater versions of themselves, brighter, hotter, more consuming to the task of providing, Montbank spent a few heartbeats at the task. From snow coloured wingtip did the fire reach further peaks of heat. From yellow eyes that filled with the roaring fire that was oxygenated by such efforts.

He made way back to Hector and nodded.

“Good work to feed the fuel. And now, I must ask. Might have you seen any gin at this venture? Anyone?” Montbank said, hopeful, turning his head this way and that and back for the glittering bottle that might sate him properly for any occasion worth a jot.
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A laugh, as Syr Montbank offered his service. "Of course, Syr," the squire said, as he took a step back, and watched the winged knight make his rounds, Hector's own head aswivel, a friendly nod, and a gentle push to those folks who got a little too close to the pillar of fresh fed fire.

Then spread the wings, and fanned the feathers, and the flames danced and whirled and hissed all the gladder. Reached across the spectrum of the flame's colors. When the wings stilled, and the air turned natural, Hector gave a pleased nod, a happy smile across his face to see the blaze so bright again.

Good work to feed the fuel... seen any gin...?

Another little laugh, and Hector spied a bottle in the near distance. "Think that one there's got the right stuff," he said, as he pointed it out. A server carried it about their tray, a pair of glasses about it, waited to be filled. "Least, think that's the one I had a little while ago," he confessed with a smirk.

Theolonious Montbank
Montbank took the liberties to pour all too healthy measures from bottle presented.

A snap of the beak as he read the label, in firm punctuation to his approval.

"Good to see I'm not the only one with a perchant for mother's ruin," he said, dignified and full of confidence at such a bracing dose of gin in each glass he had drafted to the task.

"Although if anyone becomes somber off the stuff I'll shake them and guide them to cheerier substance. I'll not have the stuff wasted on sadness. Not today at least."

Giving but a second to raise the glass and meet eyes with Hector as he might do the same, it was consumed as quick as a snap of a salute.

Montbank's expression unchanging for the fierce alcohol, a dab hand at the practice of downing the stuff in short order.

"Chaser if you need good squire," Montbank commented half helpfully, half playful hazing as he snatched a mundane drink of elderflower press from basket. He gestured the remedy half heartedly in Hector's direction, yet Montbank hoped that the waves of burning would be embraced for the stern lesson that gin was.

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Alaric all but growled at Saskia, shielding his eyes from her as she continued to embarrass him. Yeah, she was his best and only friend, but sometimes she was a real pain in the neck. He grabbed another mug, swallowing the sweet contents as he looked up at her with a glare. He would find no woman here, and she knew it as well as he. Though, perhaps it was his closeness with his friend that kept them at bay. He wouldn't know or understand such things, for being part fae, well he was very naive.

His mind was becoming abuzz from the drink, and he studied Saskia carefully as she sat again. "You know as well as I, that even if I asked you, you would not stop." His sharp blue eyes softened as he looked at his friend's face. "Still, I am glad I'm here with you. You were right, I needed to relax. Hunting monsters for weeks at a time was becoming unhealthy for me. I just sometimes can't stand being here, it feels like being trapped." He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Should we go look at some of these other vendors Sas?" He raised a brow, her escapades already forgiven.

Saskia Kerraelas
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You were right

These were the sweetest words she could hear Alaric Wulf voice aloud; smugness twitched at her lips as she lightly slapped her hand to the wooden surface of their table.

"Let's." She answered, reaching for one last sweet pastry before getting back onto her feet and standing tall, yet not as tall as her friend as he rose beside her. Saskia linked her around through his, holding him hostage by her side lest he goes back on his word and attempts to leave.

"Where to first? We sampled some food," only the desserts... "Had some refreshments," mead and only mead... "... So it is only natural we see if we know anyone here and what they are doing." Socialising, just what Alaric would definitely try to talk her out of.

Alaric Wulf
There weren't tears in Cyd's eyes, and if there were it was only a passing inconvenience. The smoke of the bonfire, blown her way for a moment, stinging. She felt claws brush against her cheeks, a gentle prompting from Petra.

At the touch, Cyd's face twisted up into a funny expression - her brows quirked up, and she seemed to smirk, but her eyes were still filled sorrow, old and glassy. She caught the hand, and held it there in her own. "Come now, Petra. Don't patronize me - I'm older than you, you know!"

The attempt at humor fell flat, and so did her face. Lowering her gaze, Cydonia loosened her grip, and pushed Petra's hand away. Let it fall wherever it may.

A soft smile touched her features, and she got some of her usual glow back, though she didn't raise her head. "Besides, this grief isn't difficult to carry. Nothing Leonarht gave me could ever be a burden."

Petra Darthinian