Open Chronicles Breaking Bread at the Knoll

[Petra Darthinian]

At the sound of Faramund's steady baritone, Petra smiled coyly, turning to face him with a raised brow and a playful glint in her eyes.

"And who is to say I do not want Josai's wrath? I would argue that being on the wrong end of her pointy spear is only a matter of whether or not you can appreciate the anger of a strong woman."

 

[Faramund]

'Tell that to all the fools who have ended up on the business end of her spear, not me,' Faramund replied, a gentle grin ruffling his features as his eyes flitted between the two knights. 'I for one adore strong women. I have to, otherwise friend Josai here would refuse me service.'

 

[Josai]

"Wouldn't get half as far to the door if that wasn't the case, friend Mund," Josai said with a wink, and slid a couple of pints over to Faramund and Petra. She looked to the others to see if they wanted the round Petra so generously offered, and leaned back against the back of the bar, near the kegs and the spigots of mead. "Or half as far to the Captain's office, if squire's words ring true," the barwoman grinned with mischief, her eye flit to the big knight, sharp and calculating.

 

[Faramund]

'I assure you my intentions are strictly honourable,' Faramund eyed the spear witch, a curious glint in his eye. 'She's teaching me my letters- or trying to, at the very least. Gods know it's an uphill struggle, one she's likely to lose,' he smiled, raising his pint in appreciation of the dusker who had poured it. 'To the Dawn Captain... And to not being the root she stumbles over.'

 

[Petra Darthinian]

The song-weaver raised her own pint with a nod to the brave Helena. A fiery and grounded woman that she found herself admiring greatly.

But in a surprised tone, she turned to Faramund after his prior comment had registered, "I'm sorry, did you say your letters?"

 

[Faramund]

'As a matter of fact, I did say that,' Faramund admitted, giving the elf a wide smile. 'The bastards have been trying to teach me since I joined the Order, but I've been steadfast in resisting their attempts to "educate" me,' he shrugged. 'Guess desperate times call for desperate measures, huh?'

Josai Petra Darthinian

 

[Josai]

Josai smiled a cat like smile. "Woe is the Mund, to have the Captain's attention," she winked at the big knight, and went back to cleaning. "Sipping from her private stash, if word carries true," she said idly as she tended to the kegs.

Faramund Petra Darthinian

 

[Off-the-Wall Westbrooke]

"Alright Chief, cruisin' thirty knots I'd say, oh, half-Spine elevation, and lookin' to make a pinkie at the K-teen."

A twinkle comes to O.T.W.'s sharp eyes as he shouts to himself over the whistle of the high wind speed, glad to fly, and certainly pleased by the sight of the Monastery buildings dotting the landscape far below him.

Now I've gotta come in at a twenty, an' tuck at the last minute…

O.T.W pulls his arms and wings in and drops into a nosedive, spiralling towards the Knoll at a breakneck pace. As he nears what he knows will be earshot for the more sensitive-eared Monastery inhabitants, he huffs in a breath, and opens his beak to release a godsawful holler.

"hhhhhrrrrRRRRRRRAAAAAAAHHHHHH!"

With a twist of his shoulders he spreads his wings to catch his fall, and aims feet-first for the wide-open skylight of the beloved meal hall.

"Watch- your- skulls!"

Feet, knees, tail-

The lovely evening sky is rosy above him, sunset on the horizon. A beautiful sight. Until a particularly helpful cloud shifts aside, and he's blinded by the light. Not the coming-to-celestial meeting he'd needed.

"AAAGGHHH!"

Head, shoulders, knees and claws, knees and claws. The Kestrel-Aviokin shifts from aeronautical spitfire to a flailing cat caught up in a windchime, and with an inglorious thud, thud, BANG, he hits the floor and skids all the way to the bar, tumbling in a crumpled heap right up against it. A few feathers fly astray and certainly plenty of dust is stirred. Groaning, O.T.W drags himself up to look cock-eyed at Syr Josai, his leather hat sent crooked on his featherbrained head.

"Barley juice for two, Chief…"

---

Petra Darthinian Josai Faramund
(Pinkie - a sunset or dusk landing, when the sky is indeed pink. K-teen - a portmanteau of Knoll and canteen. Barley juice - stout beer.)

 

[Theolonious Montbank]

Montbank had observed the bombastic arrival of his comrade in the skies and swooped in far more gentle gestures of the sky, choosing instead of walk through the door with all the dignity he could muster once he had landed silently. He wore his plate for weight training purposes, and he strutted through the front door with an assurity which was stark contrast to Otto's display, and a silence that again was in stark contrast to Otto's descent from the skies. The knoll still shook and recovered in soundscape from the arrival.

He approached the bar and blinked at Otto."What would you call that, Syr," Montbank said, choosing his words with care as he inflected with a healthy measure of respect to one who was born to fly as opposed to cursed to fly, "a successful landing or a successful panoply of thunder and war?"

Montbank gave out two snaps of his beak, which could mean anything at all. But between the two sky warriors, there was a bond that went beyond that which those grounded could ever know. Perhaps riders of beasts could understand, but those who could soar by their own propulsion knew what it was to that most precious thing...

Freedom.

 

[Off-the-Wall Westbrooke]

O.T.W turns to face Montbank, squinting in mild pain as he does so, and gives too eager a shrug in response for the smoking hole he'd created in the middle of the Knoll, seeming more put-off by his gear being out-of-sorts than his narrowly avoided full-body cast.

"One man's FUBAR is another man's dream landin' there, Tango. Never look the sun in the eye. She's the heart of life, an' the destructor of vision."

O.T.W gives Montbank a companionable slap on the shoulder, working his beak sorely as the gesture morphs into a genial lean on his shoulder, wings unfurled loose at his sides. He wasn't telling Montbank anything he didn't already know, but rehashing was a distinct part of his own upbringing, and it was hard not to take after Momma Westbrooke when it came down to it.

"I've done worse on the way down, an' I stood up, so I'd call it a success… Panoply?"

O.T.W tutters his beak back in response, tap clack, clack clack clack, clack tap clack. O.T.W appreciated greatly that he wasn't the only one on the wing amongst the Knights. It was just a matter of getting the poor man to relax a little.

---

Theolonious Montbank
(Smoking Hole - Crash site. FUBAR - Fuck(ed) Up Beyond All Recognition/Repair. Tango - radio clarity jargon for the letter T, meaning Theolonius. Oh, and a fella might need the key below.)

Spoiler: Code Key

 

[Theolonious Montbank]

The two communicated between clicks and clacks for a few moments, Montbank's eyes deadly calm. He wore his armour comfortably, and stood proud with his comrade in arms. The clacking stopped and Montbank whirred his head to each side, as if protecting Syr Otto from the harmful stings of ignominy.

“Panoply, it means,” Montbank said and produced a pocket sized dictionary which he thumbed open to the appropriate page, as if the explanation was pre-meditated murder on his mind, the flock of corvids that did portend death, “A splendid display. Or, a complete suit of armour.”

The book was snapped close, and Montbank sat himself down, rigid, dignified, and not at the least bit shocked at the language around them.

“Now. I'll drink this beer in memory of that poor ceiling you just smashed, and then I'll take a gin. Add both to my tab if you'd be so kind, Syr Josai," Montbank said politely, and closed his eyes for precious moments as his sensitive ears still suffered from consistent tinnitus from providing electrical firepower to one Syr Bebin the other night. Montbank preyed and prayed for deliverance from all such ungodly sounds of war, for just one, one precious day, or night, it mattered little.

Some soldiers craved food, some soldiers craved war, but for Montbank, a precious peace and piece of him was shattered each time a clarion of war was sounded. But such matters, to a knight, are unavoidable as the rising sun and the setting moon, and accepted each in their part as duties to be carried as armour against the turmulous battle, be it in the sky, or upon the ground, Montbank was present and presentable, come rain of shine, he accepted his lot in life.

An example of Montbank's communique

 

[Seluria Estel'Narqua]

Curious and befuddled was the gaze that cast upon the pair from above. Tucked away in the stairwell descending from the balcony above the main floor, the Star Seer had paused in her descent at the abrupt entrance of Syr O.T.W, and then only moved her gaze to watch his feathered friend as he likewise entered with a contrasting grace and silence.

Dressed in a modest black robe with long sleeves, with her hair tied back, the woman looked perhaps even more the part of a ghost than usual with how pale her alabaster skin was in comparison. Yet, startled pause abating, she finished moving down the steps and headed closer to the fireplace near the center of the room.

It had been some time since she had participated in a few of her hobbies, and playing the lyre had taken a back seat for longer than she cared to admit. And so, she sat down near the edge of the stage, carefully folding her legs under herself and smoothing her robes, before moving to gently tune the instrument.

A plucked string here and there- and then a chain of notes. A twist, and finally, she was satisfied.

A moment later, the gentle strumming of the lyre would fill the tavern; creating a pleasant sort of white noise to help ease and mask the chatter of voices and the clatter of silverware.

(Music for Reference)​

 

[Off-the-Wall Westbrooke]

"Splendid, ya think? Well I'll say. Thank ya, Tango."

O.T.W takes a seat right next to Montbank, back hunched like a professional alcoholic, eyes clear as a portender as he peers directly at the other Avid, and leans his beak on his fist at the bar.

“Now. I'll drink this beer in memory of that poor ceiling you just smashed, and then I'll take a gin. Add both to my tab if you'd be so kind, Syr Josai,"

Look at him, actin' like he's fresh off a tour. How's a guy supposed to be buds with a fella like that and not feel like ya said somethin' wrong?

O.T.W draws a slow, deep, deep breath in through his nares, and blows it out with a long whistle, toying with his mug of stout like he forgot he ordered a drink, and looking around the room like a daydreaming swan.

"Ahhh nowww, that hole's been there since I got here, don't worry none about it, chief!" O.T.W announces peppily, mixing in such little bird-ish calls as he sees fit, and gives Montbank a pat on the shoulder. His leg bounces noisily against the barstool, and he lets out a happy squawk when he finally notices his full mug again, taking a swig and spilling only a few drops.

O.T.W's inherently energetic patter calms as Seluria tunes her lute behind the duo, his eyes widening and squinting to the weal and woe of each note until she strums a well-tuned chord, and begins playing a relaxed tune. He lowers the mug and lets out a quiet, pleased coo, and gives Montbank a far more sober expression. His voice lowers comfortably, and he reigns in on his usual buckshot yammering.

"Oh now, listen here man. Is somethin' wrong? I know we both got a little different outlook on what'sa flight of fancy and what's nothin' but good form, but you've been a little sour all day. I hope it's not the flight path, we can fly your usual round tomorrow if ya want, it's all cool."

---

Theolonious Montbank Seluria Estel'Narqua
(Buckshot Yammering - my own take on a phrase, basically yapping loudly to anyone that cares to listen.)

 

[Theolonious Montbank]

"Something," Montbank said with a sigh, "something's not wrong," he lied. It was a white lie, one designed to protect his comrade from the truth that raged in his heart. He was cursed. Unlike is avian friend who was born into the sky, he was there not of choice but of repentance. "We will fly that course, certainly Syr," Montbank said, clacking twice with his beak to punctuate the point. "I know I'm...dour," Montbank said.

But at that point the music began to fill the room. He drank deep of his mug and listened intently. It set his soul to calming and he sighed a deep breath as things became more settled. The white noise of music, allowed him to focus on the conversation he was having instead of the thousands of individual sounds that Otto had caused in his wake.

"Listen," Montbank said to the room, quiet and conspiratorial, "Listen to that would you Otto. It's heavenly, yes?"

Montbank drew himself up to proper height and knew that he was in prim and perfect condition. His pride returned, his dour sensabilities leaving him as the music greeted his sensative ears. He thought of medals he might be be able to adorn his parade uniform. Medals he had not been granted yet by the Captain. There was still time he thought.

He gave a look at Seluria which meant, thank you. He hoped to be understood. That was the dream. To be understood in silence, with no sound between his comrades as they did their duty. Montbank drank deep and looked for Josai for a gin.

Seluria Estel'Narqua Off-the-Wall Westbrooke Josai

 

[Josai]

Josai caught the great Owl knight's eye, and smiled knowingly. A good tender knew her patrons, and Josai knew Montbank. "One gin," she said after a steady and quick poor, the proud thimble shaped cup clacked on the counter before the sky knight.

Theolonious Montbank

 

[Faramund]

'Word does carry, 'tis true,' Faramund agreed with a smile and a sigh. 'But all truths are subjective, friend Josai, as you well know.' Grinning, the big knight took a drink, thumped the bar with iron-bound stein. 'So, tell me: what's new around here 'sides the fact we're trusting you with our drinks?'

Josai

 

[Off-the-Wall Westbrooke]

Somethin's not wrong my foot. If I put a mirror in front'a you, you'd be askin' yourself why the long beak…

"Sure, I hear it. Real wonderful… I always admired folks who could strum, not so easy with these." O.T.W nodded, eyes gleaming jovially as he shows off the talons on his fingers, like they weren't painfully obvious.

O.T.W takes an agonizing survey of Montbank, while he has the chance. The man was more soldier than freespirit. O.T.W had lived like that once. Or thought he did at least. His superior at the time most likely had something colourful to say about him instead. But point being, he couldn't stand in a line like that any more. His back never was that ramrod straight anyway.

And besides, a man can't fly through a blitz like that and come out the other side so well-off. Hitting what feels like your lowest low after meeting your highest high, was a special kind of wake-up call.

All them Orcs...

Funny how you think you can do everything right, help every person on the face of Arethil, and then find out you can do whatever you want, but it'll happen the way it happens and there's nothing for it after that. Otto, Otto couldn't bend to that knowledge, wasn't capable of it.

Otto broke instead.

The wilds were an ease on his mind, afterwards. Playing games of chicken with the blighted lands, laying out in the treetops like he'd never have anything better to do. It's easy to forget about the good that's happening around you when all you do is avoid people, expecting their evil instead.

And then he'd met Tobi one day, next to the water. What's better to have than something to care for after seeing there wasn't anything left back the way you'd come, without sacrificing what was left of yourself. Tobi led him here, to the monastery, and wasn't it nice to be cared for as a living, breathing creature first, and a fighter second?

He downs his stout, gulping noisily, and sets the mug down with great care. He was starving now, and was heavily considering busting into the kitchen to rustle something up, but given how taught and proper Montbank still sat, he thought he'd keep a little decorum despite his stomach on the edge of yowling. He squints at the arrival of the gin, and the smell it has, and turns his head a bit. By this point, he's drawn his lax wings around his middle, the outer edges resting on his thighs in some measure of soothing.

"Sure. Sure." O.T.W says, a little waffle to his tone. Waits a beat, leans back and forth on his seat like he's dodging around trees. Quirks his head pleasantly at Syr Josai and gives Faramund a nod, before turning to speak to Montbank again. "Jus' know it's all good here. Say what you will whenever you will. I'm here."

Pops always said he was a talker. Chief Richter always said he was a little off-the-wall.

---

Theolonious Montbank Seluria Estel'Narqua Josai Faramund

 

[Josai]

Josai smirked, and gave the older bird a wink, sidled off to Faramund as she busied herself taking care of some of the debris that had. "What are you on about now, you old stag," she teased. "I've tended bar here for years," she said absentmindedly, busy with her work.

Faramund Off-the-Wall Westbrooke

 

[Faramund]

Faramund snorted, raised an eyebrow in disbelief. 'Really?' Propping his elbows on the bar, he put his mind to the task of remembering. 'Seems I have been away a long time, huh? Shit, there are days when I don't even know what year it is, let alone the season.' He laughed, drank his beer like a man dying from thirst.

Catching Little Bird's head bob out of the corner of his eye, Faramund returned a salute of his own.

'How long have you been here, Josai?' the knight asked, genuine curiosity riddling his tone. 'Only, I've ranged far and wide, and every time I return, you don't seem to have aged a day.' He turned to Petra, leaned in conspiratorially. 'Got a bit of elf in her, methinks.'

Josai Off-the-Wall Westbrooke Petra Darthinian

 

[Josai]

"Since the time of the ancient gods, dear Mund, when the Tree was but a sappling," she teased, and leaned back against the service counter, her eyes atwinkle with mischief. "Haven't you heard? I take the souls of men by star's light on the new moons, Syr Mund," she bowed her head proudly.

 

[Faramund]

'Yeah, well, I'll be keeping mine if you don't mind,' Faramund replied, grinning like the fool he was. He had always liked Josai, but he had never known her to be this playful. Mind you, he was never around to see her, period. And the times they had worked together were few and far between.

'That said, ply me with a few more of these,' he raised his beer, 'and I'll be like putty in your hands, sure as sure.' He chuckled low, gave the Spear Witch a wink.

 

[Josai]

She laughed. "Ain't the first fool I've had to wipe off the floor, and likely wont be the last," she let out a long breath, and stared out the window, the hour had grown dark, and the moons' light shone bright. "Lovely night, isn't it?"

 

[Faramund]

With a turn of his head, Faramund followed her gaze to the window. 'Yeah,' he replied, comfortable atop his perch. 'Why? Feel like going for a stroll? Stretching your legs 'neath star-lit sky?' He looked to the Spear Witch, sudden worry in his dark eyes. Did she sense a soul in need of a-taking?

 

[Petra Darthinian]

Petra grinned coyly into her mug as she watched the two volley back and forth, content to watch the them banter as the elf idly dancing a flashing coin between her fingers while she pondered.

 

[Theolonious Montbank]

Montbank gladly received the mother's ruin and nodded in appreciation to Josai and downed it in one swift pull. He approached Petra and looked her up and down, for this was the first time he had properly regarded her upon the ground instead of the air; it was not flirtatious in the least, it was a military look, one that looked for medals, sashes, scars, equipment checks and such.

“Petra Darthinian, Otto and I must perform manoeuvres with you at some point,” Montbank said more cheerful than usual, perhaps in part to the alcohol or the recent conversation and music, “the skies welcome you openly, in defense of the Monestary, and of course, so do Otto and I.”