Open Chronicles Breaking Bread at the Knoll

[Abalon Shallows]

Abalon placed fingers upon his pendant and span it for a moment, revealing a dim yellow light from the amber clasped pendant. "I'm a Pursuant, I dissuade the forces of Death from abasing the living." He said such simply, without the gravitas of the necromancers who declared their theatrics as if it fed their manawells.

 

[Damien DeMontieaux]

"Ah! A most honorable pursuit! I salute thy valiant vocation, friend," declared the feline, and he promptly did so, adding a characteristic flourish of the wrist at the end of the salute.

 

[Josai]

Josai nodded to Guernot with a bob of the head, moved to work, and poured a second mug that came sliding quick across the slick bartop toward the Kivrin. She trusted he would catch it before it toppled over.

"Signs right there, Squire," Josai said with a smirk, and jerked her head over at the sign that listed the three drinks as she poured a golden mead for the patient Pursuant of Death.

 

[Murk Altov]

Splendid was the approach of Murk Altov, who with crystal headed cane walked with purpose into the Knoll. He was neutral of expression, his eyes looking to each knight and patron in turn, before sitting himself down at the bar.

"Until this instant," Murk said to whoever might listen, be it Josai serving or another with ear to lend, "I have never seen a finer establishment, so I do so ask, might I have the wine list, red, thank you."

 

[Petra Darthinian]

The gold coins clinked softly against the scales of her clawed hand as they wove in a dexterous dance between her fingers. An exercise in the art of sleight of hand that Petra had practiced in order to better her skills with a blade. But tonight, she wasn't looking to fight with swords, nay, instead she was hoping someone would try and beat her at a competitive round of cards; that is, if they were willing to lose a few coins.

 

[Josai]

Josai turned with mug in hand, pale frothy head dribbling over the stone lip in languid trails, and with a dragon-tooth beer-comb, she slicked the excess off the top. Stein topped off, she put the drink before Abalon with a nod, and flowed down with a bend at the hips to grab a menu from beneath the counter.

"Got a fine selection to choose from, herr Murk," she emerged again, with a thin piece of slate in hand, traces of a lucent chalk scribed the names across.

 

[Murk Altov]

"Splendid," Murk said and debated for exactly six seconds. "The Cabernet Sauvignon, what region might it be from? Bastion's vineyards perhaps?"

 

[Josai]

"From the Penumbri Vale, actually," Josai said with an enthused pride. "Along the southern reaches of the spine," she presented the bottle to Murk, and set out a wide bellied glass. "Their casks are made from old Valen Oak, said to have been enchanted by Master Brambleshell herself," she bowed her head, and awaited the guest's request.

 

[Murk Altov]

"In that case," Murk said, "I'll have three snifters of your choice of wine from these Valen Oak casks. Then, I will buy a bottle of what pleases my senses the most. Can I have four glasses please?"

 

[Tarid Ra’leem]

“Oh, of course.” Tarid replied, glancing over to the sign written in a language he'd only recently learned to read.

“...I'll have a glass of 'pin-not no-ear'”

 

[Josai]

"Most certainly," Josai said with a kindly smile and a nod.

She took three short wineglasses, made of banded green and white onyx stone, thick and no worse for their ware, and she took three bottles from bellow the counter and placed them on the hardwood top with a clean clunk. First she poured the cabernet sauvignon, with the maker's mark of the Penumbri Vineyards shown toward the customers, then the pinot nior, with the makers mark of a western veinyard named Lukfallo, and last was a wild plum wine, with the mark of Anathaeum.

 

[Murk Altov]

"Perfect presentation," Murk said, and looked to Tarid, "as was that pronunciation."

Murk thought that if this bearded gentleman was a wizard they would have caused wild magic or an explosion from their attempt to spell, but wanted nothing more than to encourage the fellow's literacy. Swirling each glass in turn, placing his nose within it, sipping, and seeing no place to spit, swallowed, and then, he pointed to the mark of Anathaeum with two outstretched but together fingers, which transformed into a firm thumbs up.

 

[Tarid Ra’leem]

Distracted by Murk's display, Tarid remained unaware of any errors in pronunciation when Josai handed him his drink.

“Thank you kindly.” He replied, filled with false pride that he'd pronounced the drink properly – and on the first try, no less!

 

[Murk Altov]

Patience was a virtue Murk practiced with due diligence to the hand fate had provided, in this moment, Tarid was an individual worth waiting for. He managed his gestures correctly, for at any moment if he should slip into unconscious, fleeting, automatic, emotional and impulsive movements with his hands, all manner of magic might emerge from the Weave from his somantic components, and of course, his Will. "Tell me, if it so pleases you friend," Murk uttered to Tarid as he waited for the plum wine to emerge, "How do you fare?"

 

[Josai]

Josai smiled proudly at the man, Murk, and his unabashed flattery. Never hurt to be appreciated for your craft. So, Josai went on, tending the bar in content silence, cleaning this mug here and that mug there.

 

[Tarid Ra’leem]

“I fare well as I always do when there's a full drink in my hand – I hope the evening finds you just as well, too!” Tarid mirthfully replied, still pleased with himself over his believed victory and the spoken acclimation from a man as distinguished as Murk Altov. Murk was a master of the arcane craft Tarid was still learning, and his magick ever elegant and entertaining.

 

[Murk Altov]

Murk gestured with his hands as he peered into the fire, the flames shifting color as he allowed his verbal components to conjure material components from the void; magnesium was summoned from the ether to burn within the fire, turning it a vibrant pale and cold white. He became cold faced, and gestured again. This time his hand clutched within his pocket a small piece of copper sulphate, and the flame did glow an acid neon green, and smiling, did he sip at his wine and say, "Good evening to you."

 

[Damien DeMontieaux]

As the evening carried on, Damien found himself strolling toward the fire—though he did also keep an eye on the cards in Petra's hands, perhaps hoping to snag a chance at a round or three a bit later. His attention, however, was swiftly caught by the wizard's colorful display and general greeting to the room, which he in turn acknowledged with an admiring bow and another dapper flourish of the wrist. "And finest of fortunes upon thine evening as well, good sir!"

Petra Darthinian | Murk Altov

 

[Murk Altov]

"Care to have your fortune read," Murk asked, and produced a tarot deck in which he performed an elaborate shuffle using prestidigitation without any somatic components. "I'm no oracle, prophet or seer, but, the cards, the cards, may tell you, good sir, how the mind may comprehend the Weave, the Devices of Fate, and well," he said, all smoke and mirrors as he produced a black cigarette and puffed upon it, producing great clouds of tobacco smoke with the hints of vanilla, peppermint and coconut; he raised an eyebrow and stared at Damien. The Voice was in Effect.

Damien DeMontieaux​

 

[Damien DeMontieaux]

The feline fellow blinks his amber eyes slowly, considering. "Most times I question not the fate that fickle fortune doth ordain ... but no harm in a brief foray unto the murky depths of days anon, no?" With a mischievous wink and a flick of the whiskers, he seats himself in a chair beside the fire, leaning forward with cultivated interest.

Murk Altov

 

[Murk Altov]

Master Murk Altov produces a tarot deck with a flourish of the cards, flipping them in the air to reveal all manner of portents. He snaps his fingers to produce ghostly sounds.

"Do you know of the Domains of Magic friend, of fortune telling, yes, please," he says, and lays down three cards and says, "pick one at random," and proceeded to breathe smoke upwards, revealing the illusion of a golden dragon for all to see within the Knoll, it's scales emulating the great sleeping dragon that Murk had never seen before in his life.

 

[Petra Darthinian]

"That was a straight flush and you know it, Mekias." She glared from beneath furrowed brows at the rogue who sat across from her; Petra was sure she had seen some deft movements of redirection from the man she played cards against, but it was difficult to gauge his reactions from deep within the shadows of his hood. He cackled wetly and reached forward to scoop her coin into his stained pouch, but he recoiled when the emerald grip of her scaled claw locked onto his wrist before he could.

"There's not much in this world I won't tolerate. But a liar and a cheat is not among them."

 

[Josai]

"Oi," Josai called out from the bar, her kind eyes turned cold and hard and sharp as the spear she was known to carry. "None of that nonsense in the Knoll, and besides," she pointed to another sign that hung by the menu that read, NO GAMBLING.

"The two of you, sort it out, or you get thrown out," she said to both Petra and Mekias.

 

[Petra Darthinian]

"Take your illy-gained coin and get the fuck out. And Mekias?" The Knight growled, causing the rogue to pause mid-rise from his seat.

"Don't think I wasn't aware why you're really here. So if I ever see you lurking around our young squires again, or hear even a whispered rumor that you're back to darken our doorstep. I will personally introduce you to the sharp end of my dragon's teeth." She leaned forward while tracing a gouge in the table with the tip of a blackened claw. "Do we have an understanding?"

The nefarious man gave an audible gulp and nodded jerkily before rushing to the Knoll's exit, hitting a chair or two on his way out.

The moment he left, it was like the bravado of the intimidating mantle Petra wore melted away and she leaned back in her chair with a satisfied yet tired air. This had been a planned meeting, unbeknownst to Mekias.

With a sigh, the elf got up and sidled up to the bar where Josai glared at her coldly. "Apologies, Josai. I had been tracking that skin peddler for a few weeks. He's conspicuous and slippery, but thankfully has a penchant for gambling. Which means he'll be waking tomorrow while looking down the sword of the local guard, thanks to the tracing spell on the gold coins I let him win from me." She winked conspiratorily. "All in a day's work, eh? Now, let's really celebrate. A ROUND FOR EVERYONE!"

 

[Faramund]

'Was that a sanctioned action or did you just feel like invoking the barman's wrath?' Faramund asked, sitting himself down on the stool next to Petra. 'A silly thing to do, especially when our best medic is the one pouring the pints.' Fara nodded a small greeting to them both before holding up two fingers.