Open Chronicles Breaking Bread at the Knoll

[Josai]

Josai smiled soft at the Dawnling's probe. "My, so full of questions today," her eyes looked up, cool and easy green mixed with the warm tones of golden brown. "Does one need a reason to appreciate the firmament, Syr Mund?"

 

[Faramund]

'I often find that the one who pours the drinks can do as she bloody well pleases,' Faramund replied, holding up his hands in mock surrender. 'Forgive me! I'll keep nice and quiet from now on.' Smiling, the big knight turned at the sound of approaching footsteps.

'Ah, Syr Montbank! Friend Otto! So nice of you to join us!'

Raising his stein in salute, Faramund vacated his seat, made his way round to Josai. That was how groups formed, was it not? With cluster and compromise.

Settling in beside the Spear Witch, Fara listened as Big Bird spoke. Of manoeuvres and aerial tactics. He was a fighting man, Syr Theolonious. A man with drive and commitment. Faramund liked to think they were similar in that regard, but who was he kidding? He wouldn't have known commitment if it slapped him in the face.

 

[Seluria Estel'Narqua]

The Seer quietly smiled as she continued to strum at the lyre, listening idly to the words of her companions. From Faramund always being a perpetual flirt, to the fliers conspiring amongst themselves, it seemed it was going to be a calm evening. However she wasn't without noticing a few things- the tone of voice and the lilt of a hastilly covered admittance. Short-sighted as she was, she could not see the various futures moments ahead without her mask and veil. But her hearing served well enough to detect a few things.

Carefully focusing, the Seer played three particular notes before she continued- Otto feeling something akin to a cold hand gently laying between his shoulders and probably giving the poor bird quite the startling chill! Yet, the voice that spoke in his mind through the Loch a moment after was quiet, and calm.

Your friend seems a bit uneasy. Do you need a bit of assistance?

She quirked a very faint smile if he looked her way, but continued to play uninterrupted.

 

[Dal]

Dal heaved the door open, his muscles burning from the recent water run he had just performed. With vigourous training came a vigerous thirst, a demand for something. Alcohol wasn't in his professional mindset, and yet, he found himself in the mess hall. He was familiar with such places, and knew that his nature set him apart from most of the common troopers that imbibed. He approached the bar without weapon, and with a simple gambeson on, and much like the rest of his clothes had been wrung out and dried in the sun for an hour as he applied some study to magic. As futile as it felt, it was his duty to do so.

The music greeted him, as did the bandying of words and alcohol. Dal approached the bar and sat down, his eyes looking at all the spirits and labels of things he would never try. Such would breach his own code of conduct.

"What non-alcoholic drinks can you offer," Dal asked when there was a space to ask questions of Josai. "Elderflower perhaps? Or something ginger? I always liked ginger."

 

[Arlo Talworth]

Arlo swiftly moved behind Dal, silent and with assurity, he smoothed his moustache and kept his blade tight to his personage. He remembered his vows, remembered all of the assurances of his code, and much like Dal, kept to himself. But instead of sitting at the bar he looked up at the damage that had recently been caused.

"What in blazes, is this common for you knights to cause such vestibles to shudder and shake? I thought I heard something monumental, but, well, rather strange I must say. Flying knights, well, it's a new one to me at least," he intoned to himself as he walked around, looking at the knights and squires who drank and made merry here.

His first outing against the ghouls had been a success, and he wished to mingle as part of his transfer to the Knights of Anathaeum. He was an Enshrined Blade, and was here to learn about the arcane.

But one could learn a great deal by assimiliating the culture.

He walked around the room, listening, trying to pick up conversation, and perhaps a way to enter one. He was still a new face. He admired his new comrades, their tenacity of spirit, and the tenacity of their drinking. Unlike Dal, he was a drinker, but for now, drank the remaining wine in his wineskin, and then placed a boot against the wall and looked around. The man knew that he was a stranger, but, he was battle tested, and he had his own mission to perform. To integrate. To consilidate his knowledge. What better place to become more familiar with his comrades than the mess?

Meritorious Charity doesn't apply to buying a round of drinks. And besides, I can't afford to waste funds on drinks for everyone...

 

[Ravelyn Anne Conleth]

Ravelyn sauntered into the tavern without her traditional heavy plate, all flames extinguished except the spirit that she carried bold in her scarred and in the past oft burned frame. She had just exited the nymphean chambers from a recent encounter with a ten strong pack of salamanders that had conscecutively delivered their retort to her ambitious advances of research, and now, the thirst for drink had to be slaked as she contemplated with good cheer and a smile on her face the recent encounter.

She was dressed in her breastplate and armoured skirt which lacked the heavier adornaments of pauldrons and greaves; she stepped up to the bar and cast a look around the room as if it were a brazier of smouldering embers, slapped the counter and gave out a laugh and shook her head, saying, “Josai, you wouldn't believe the last three days,” as she pointed a thumb at a bandage which covered her neck, still damp from the recent exit, “A decade of salamanders and they still amaze!” without any trace of regret for her all but healed injury.

 

[Off-the-Wall Westbrooke]

O.T.W lets Montbank take his own lead, watches him as he downs his gin with precision. Watches him get up to approach Petra, surveying her with military standard and welcoming her to join them on maneuvers. O.T.W sends her a wave and a polite head-cock in agreement to Montbank's words. He was always glad to fly, and even better with his friends.

Well Gods, boy, at least a little sauce warms you up. Shame that over-imbibing can make a fella a flight risk…

O.T.W sighs again with the weight of a man who had, at one time, seen what reliance could do firsthand to skilled fliers. Wrapped in his own wings like a blanket, he sways to the music, showing appreciation through body language. For a moment, he almost recognizes the tune, but the sense flees just as quickly as it arrives, and he's left unmoored again. His mind drifts a little after that, to Tobi, and he gets a phantom whiff of the spring wildflowers, a light vision of grass and the sky spinning like a kaleidoscope, a scene he's seen before while tumbling ass-over-kettle after a crash.

Rolling, you scamp? Be careful out there.

Then an ice-cold hand settles between his wing-blades, and he jolts, letting out a light squawk of surprise, looking around wild-eyed. Within his mind, both he and Seluria can hear a quiet, defensive growl. His eyes sweep the room before settling on the Seer across the room, still plucking her lyre. Her faint smile is enough for O.T.W to calm, and the growling stops.

Your friend seems a bit uneasy. Do you need a bit of assistance? She projects into his open mind, voice calm.

He shudders.

Well. Well… I don't think he'd take too kindly to pokin' at his head, ma'am, but if you had something in mind, I'd hear it? He thinks, squinting in concentration to funnel his own message back up the river of Loch. At worst, he thinks, he'll get a headache, and have to get up and tell her out loud instead.

If the message is received, Seluria is greeted in her mind's eye by a little brown-and-cream furred, carnivorous creature, no bigger than a dachshund in size, bouncing along on four legs and smelling of river water, along with O.T.W's distinct, corn-fed drawl.

---

Theolonious Montbank Seluria Estel'Narqua

 

[Seluria Estel'Narqua]

The Seer lets her gaze wander and focus on the small beast, her smile widening, but showing no teeth.

Those who walk as if with boulders tied to them are difficult to soothe. There is a reason he is so tightly strung, but it would likely not be wise to ask what troubles him so directly. Perhaps the best course may be to think on what you have seen him enjoy, or more likely not frown at, and partake of such with him. It seems he takes pride in keen skill of flying, for one... Do you think that perhaps he seeks confidence with others?

It had been invisible to all in the room, simply perched quietly within the Loch, but with the approach if O.T.W's companion, the little carnivore would notice a spectral creature sitting as lightly on the railing as a feather. As tall as two men, with six wings, four eyes, and a long feathered tail burning embers at the tip, the Celestial Dove regarded the carnivore curiously with one deep black eye filled with starlight before closing it again, ruffling its feathers in the mimickry of sleep.

 

[Hector]

On a different night, at a different time,​

---

Come the chill wind of autumn, and the turn of the leaves.

Hector found himself at odds, as he smiled warm and stood beside his fellows in the line. The crackle of the fire, the laughter and chatter in the air from voices of all ilk. The sounds of the place he called home.

Visitors who'd come seeking shelter from the road. Sworn and Perspective who stopped in to rest from their duties, to find reprieve against the aches and pains borne by mission and quest.

A heap of still steaming mash was put on his plate, roasted squash and carrots, glistened sweetly round the dark char that had marked them. A few steps over, and a pour of mushrooms in butter and herbs.

"Thank you," Hector said to the younger man who had scooped the food onto the round wooden plate.

A nod, and a smile from his fellow squire.

Hector moved down the line, and grabbed up some rounds of bread, a spoon, and a two pronged fork, went and found his seat.

---

Knights of Anathaeum

​

 

[Aarno]

Aarno squinted down at the scratchy little lines on the slip of parchment, the charcoal sketch all but smudged. Suppose, if one stared for long enough, a rudimentary design for an extension to the stables could yet be decrypted out of it. They’d figured out the basic shape of it according to the stable master’s wishes earlier today, after which the drawing had been promptly deposited into his pocket and forgotten about just as fast.

The seasons would change and yet he’d have the same old head on his shoulders, all year long. It didn’t used to be this way. Twenty years ago.

Rattling the cage that held his remaining patience, was a tremor on the table as another sat down. Reflecting fire beneath a frown, his look bounced at the young man. Recognition rippled through him, easing some of the irritation upon his face. What took its place wasn’t necessarily better, just different, a narrowing of the eyes.

“ A little downcast, eh— Hector? “ With a calm nonchalance about him, he picked up his fork. “ And on such a fine autumn’s eve, no less. “ He impaled the last little wheel of carrot, bringing it beneath his stare for inspection.

“ No errant joy to be found in any of that— “ A shrug. “ Reading you’ve been doing lately? “

Hector

 

[Hector]

The rumble of voice stirred Hector from the warm daze he had felt swell about his head. "Oh," he sounded, and saw the bright eyes of Syr Aarno look him over.

Full of knowing.

A elf blinked as the big man stabbed a carrot through his fork. Examined the carrot.

"Reading?" Hector asked with a surprised smile. A laugh born from nerves, and a flutter of wings in his gut.

A clearing of his throat. Nod. Stabbed roasted hunk of squash with his fork. Shoved it into his mouth and chewed with his eyes closed. Swallowed. Unable to keep from smiling. Near grinning.

"Joy a plenty, Syr Aarno," he said with a nod. Cleared his throat, and looked to the big man once more with a tad more composure. "Funny, that you'd take such note of my reading habits," he answered back.

His smile waned some, and he took up another bit of roasted root. Plopped it into his mouth.

Or maybe he had just grown more used to being alone. Out on the road. Away from the warmth and the company.

"How go the structural improvements?"

Syr Aarno had taught him a thing or two about drafting. How to use the eye to measure, and approximate, before striking across parchment with marking tool.

Aarno

 

[Aarno]

Flustered, no?

He rose his chin with some dark satisfaction and leaned back on the seat, pushing his empty plate away with his index. The fork was cleared, after which it was set down carefully, lest excess noise be made.

The response finally provided with words, all in a grin, inspired him to mirror the expression. Some humour, then — Gods be praised.

“ Thresholds and walls have memory, Hector. And they’ll whisper secrets plenty to whomever listens. “ He stated deadpan, measuring the elf in the meager indoor light.

Or perhaps, it just happens, that there might’ve been a maintaining of the library roof taking place in the past weeks. And while not terribly large, like ones in cathedrals and lord’s grand castles, the windows over there weren’t small either. People talk and he would’ve been the last to toss his hand at good gossip.

Not teasing further, he gave the pause some space, withdrawing to a draught from his cup. Hector’s question had him snicker into his ale, some mock amusement.

Like shit.

“ Well enough. Figures I’ll need spectacles soon, with all the squinting in the dark at plans and models. “ The cup clattered as he put it down. “ But it is work that befits me better, I reckon, than the myriad of things the rest of you run around doing. “ Lately, anyway, with this good-for-nothing knee being a bother.

“ With absence — There is a change in the minutia of a space. “ Gaining an edge of grim sincerity, he let his stare rest in the passing air.

“ Feels like, overmuch at times. And it doesn’t revert back. "

Hector

 

[Petra Darthinian]

Petra sat in a plush chair near the roaring hearth of the Knoll. Her eyes closed in contentment from the warmth that kissed her cheeks, while her fingers lazily plucked a tune on the lyre that was cradled in her lap.

A half-full stein of beer sat forgotten near her elbow on the side table as the elf opted to indulge in the bardic arts instead. The cadence of the idle chatter circulating the room a chorus to her wandering thoughts with each new chord struck. The matching hum of her dragon in her head, an unheard duet. Pity, for he was quite good.

A rumble from her stomach had her pausing. Ugh, she was hungry. But the thought of bursting her comfortable bubble by actually getting up and getting food was enough to keep her ass rooted to the chair. Just a little longer.

 

[Amelia Hawthorne]

It wasn't often that Amelia enjoyed the boisterous company of others, hence why she was tucked over by the fire instead of laughing and drinking with the others at the tables. A riveting book on Malakathian linguistics ample enough company for her. Well, that and the languid bard that sat across the fire from her.

The squire's innate curiosity kept her eyes glancing up to study where the emerald scales connected at Petra's shoulder, the Knight's sleeveless tunic giving Amelia a rare sight of her strange affliction.

The strumming paused and Amelia darted a look at Petra and found herself snared in a burning draconian gaze. A squeak left the squire as hot panic flushed her face at being caught. Embarrassed, she ducked behind the pages of her book, the words on the page blurring together.

A throaty chuckle followed her retreat and the sounds of idle playing took up a tune once more.

 

[Hector]

Hector near laughed at the deadpan delivery. But kept it to a curl of the lips. "Ah, t'was the stones then," he stabbed down once more. This time at a spongy mushroom that ran with buttery sauce. Popped it into his mouth as he listened on.

It wasn't untrue. What the eld Knight shared. Places had a way of taking in the energies about them. Stones, cold as they were, whispered to those with the patience to listen. And few were they, even amidst their Order, who paid heed to the stones.

Hector also knew that the older Sworn had a way of dancing about the truth. Mixing wisdom within tricks and theatre. Stories. Powerful things that lifted spirits and laid low many a heart.

Twas part of how they instructed. How they showed their care. Least, that was what the squire was coming to learn. No. Understand. After so many years.

A younger squire milled about the crowd, with a wide tray in her hand. A pile of roasted game hens, small enough for a healthy portion. Skin browned and roasted to salted crisp, with fragrant herbs there upon, added specks of green upon flame puckered skin.

Hector grabbed up a steaming hen, and plopped it onto his plate when it came by, as dulcet tones of gentle string's plucks tickled his ears, and settled his idle worries.

"I can help you if you'd like, Syr," he cut in after the eld knight, tearing open the meat and bone with fork. "Been afield for a while, and," he shrugged, as steam wafted and juice pooled upon his plate. "Maybe a spell home would do me some good," his voice low with a burn of sweet longing. His eyes looked up to the mason. Not unlike a child to their older blood.

Aarno

 

[Aarno]

Fragrant steam wafted by, figures like shadows shifting before a look that didn’t quite notice them. A strange feeling clutching at his chest, face a little sour, he listened amidst sips of his drink as the squire spoke.

An offer was extended and reasons explained away, all too understandable. A slight shift of garments and the faintest flicker of speculars at the corner of his vision marked a stare, which he returned warily.

Though his head bobbed with something like appreciation or acceptance, no words left him. In their stead was a low resonant hum, rough in the back of his throat as he drained the rest of his drink.

“ Right. “ He said finally, setting the cup down on the empty plate and pulling them closer. “ Do consider yourself welcome, then — to help, whenever you’ve the time and mind to. “

With plate in hand he rotated on the bench, rising to stand carefully. His way took past the squire, whom he tapped on the shoulder lightly.

“ We’ll be working near the stables for the next couple weeks. You’ll find me there. “

Hector

 

[Hector]

A warmth spread across his lips. "Aye, Syr, I'll make myself useful," and more happily, the squire went on with his meal.

Joy tender in his chest, and welling behind his gaze.

"Say," he managed once the feelings had settled some and between bites. Cast his eyes up to the big mason. "You've any recommended readings?" he smirked.

Aarno

 

[Aarno]

He moved on with the squire’s promise in tow, meandering to return the dishes to the table designated for the purpose. From there, with his thanks expressed, he directed his slow hobble of a gait towards the door, fully intentioned to leave.

To his surprise, a voice from mere seconds ago called out, catching him off-guard as he obliviously passed their previously shared table. He hadn’t the mind to stop, but did do the courtesy of slowing down and meeting the lad’s look.

“ All the big ones. “ Was his response, accompanied by a wide smile and a gesture, hands carving a generous rectangle in the air. “ With the pictures. Sequential like. They keep them laid flat on the lower shelves, like all the good stuff. “

To enforce the parting, he gave a wave and turned his back, conclusive.

Hector

 

[Petra Darthinian]

The same squire that had brought Hector his meal came ambling by eventually and Petra dug in her coin purse for the girl's troubles. But the squire balked at the gold coins in her palm, about to protest when Petra interrupted,

"Ah ah! I want you to take those over to Madame Josai for me please and have her put it towards the house standing bill. She'll know what I mean." She sent the girl off with a strumming of chords and a wink.

A standing bill, a donation-only tab that helped pay for any and all who did not have the coin to enjoy the food or drink the Knoll had to offer. It was a way for others to pay it forward without the risk of embarrassing or injuring someone's pride, no matter how in need they were. Plus, it was an excellent way to get a round of drinks on the house to everyone to begin a night of barding and drunken shenanigans.

Two birds, one beer. She laughed ironically to herself.

Josai

 

[Josai]

"Eh, Syr Josai," came a small voice from the other side of the bar.

Josai was busy adjust a bottle that was, just a little out of her reach. "One... moment," one more, tap of her fingers saw the bottle shift back, and turn, just so. "There," she said proudly. Gave a small huff, as she eased back onto the flats of her feet, turned to find the squire. "What is it, Milli?"

Milli presented the coins. "From, Syr Darthinian, Syr," she offered them on the counter.

Josai wiped her hands with a rag, and moved to grab up the gold coins. "Are they now?" she grinned, and spied across the room to see the luxuriant elf, a two coin salute there for her too.

"Says they are for the standing bill,"

"Well, let her know they are much appreciated," the Spear Witch said with soft smile, and pulled a small glass coup from beneath the counter. Took a bottle from the shelves, and poured a sweet smelling orange liquor, in the style of Allirian brandy. "And take her this, if you would. Milli," she nod to the girl.

Milli nod back. "Aye, Syr," scooped up the drink, and scurried off.

Josai but smiled, till another knight's warm greeting pulled her attention.

Petra Darthinian

 

[Petra Darthinian]

Petra raised the offered cup in thanks when finally she was able to catch Josai's eye. The brandy reminded Petra of the citrus chew candies that her mother made from their orchard harvest every summer. And every summer, her mother would peddle the seasonal delicacies in the Erendale apothecary that she had worked at for the last five decades.

It was a bittersweet memory. Then again, most memories of her mother were that way. Like a well worn stone in her pocket. It weighed her down, but she found comfort in palming the sharp edges until they were smooth.

Drinking deep, Petra sat for some time, strumming and reminiscing.

Josai

 

[Nacht]

Nacht plodded into the mess hall, or as it was more colloquially referred to, the Knoll. Rubbing sleep out of his eyes, the boy would reach up to his head and pet Shade who was still lying there, the small motion serving to keep him just awake enough not to cause a crash or a traffic jam. Walking over to a table, he would sit down for a second, not really registering whether anyone else was there.

“I feel like I have been awake for a straight week.” He said to nobody in particular, hair still falling in his face due to the amazingly bad hair day his head decided to have. In truth, he could blame or gripe at nobody but himself. Some of the more nocturnal squires had even worried for him, as he was awake while even they turned in. So what if he enjoyed the feeling of the night on his skin and not having to constantly feel his magic all around him a bit too much? It was worth it.

Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, the boy would get up and stagger over to the place where food was served, managing to get through the human (in the loosest terms possible given the diversity) interaction part without falling over. He moved back to his seat and more or less did the right thing, which in this case meant dropping the tray on the table. Why? Well, he had gotten it on the table and that was a victory in its own right.

Sadly, the tray was made of metal and a large ping bounced from the impact, causing Nacht to grimace. A squire nearby who seemed to be reading startled and Nacht, now less tired thanks to his guilt, decided that the best course of action would be to apologize, if they wanted to talk at all. Seating himself, he’d look over sheepishly and say in a small voice:

“You’re, uh, Amelia, right? Sorry about the noise. That…doesn’t usually happen.”

Amelia Hawthorne

 

[Farren Lóthlindor]

It was evening in the Knoll.

The light of the fires carving out the shadows from the few faces that had made their way there for dinner.

Farren amongst them, who was now navigating her way through the many tables with a fluidity that belied the cat she often embodied for night patrols within the Monastery walls.

In her hands she balanced two plates piled with food and the other, two steins of ale to wash it all down, trying to be careful to spill as little as possible on her quest.

"Here we are!" She announced and placed it all down at their table with a grin. Sighing contently as she settled in her seat across from Aarno, suddenly unsure if the heat that ran under her skin was due to the warm air of the room, or something else entirely. "As I promised, drinks and a story."

Before digging into her vegetarian dish, she asked, "But first, how was your day?"

Aarno

 

[Aarno]

His head perked up at the fated arrival, the fellow dusker’s grin met with one of his own, welcoming and appreciative. She had offered to fetch their plates and drinks whilst he kept a spot at the table and beyond him had it been to deny her that pleasure. As he’d watched her across the room, a little bit transfixed, he’d figured she maneuvered rather splendidly.

Spilled none, fumbled none. He kept his pleasant smile, yet inspecting his utensils as response was required, a bit of light chitchat. Entertained, he huffed out a breath as if in agony, a bit of drama twisting his brows into a frown.

“ Busy. Spring is finally here and we are entering the season wherein all maintenance and other fixing that had to wait over Winter surfaces yet again. “ He spun the fork in his fingers, stabbing it to a potato in a flourish.

“ We haven’t even begun and I’m rather positive we’re already a couple months late. But if that isn’t the perpetual state of the field within which we operate— “ Trailing off, he winked and fished for a wheel of carrot in turn.

“ Yours? Something exciting, like— “ He clicked his tongue, glancing about the room. " Inspecting the damn fine brickwork about these walls — I am sorry, for I haven't the faintest — “ Catching himself, he bared teeth in a smirk and brought his look back around to her.

" What is it that you might find exciting? "

Farren Lóthlindor

 

[Farren Lóthlindor]

Instead of replying, Farren took a deep swallow from the dregs of her beer. Seeming to mull over his question with a serious intent to give him an answer that mattered.

She then averted her eyes to instead briefly watch the going-ons of the Knoll. Of the bardic ballad that danced in the air by the great fire. Of the laughter she could see being volleyed across good food and ale. It brought a warmth to her chest that could be found nowhere else but between the words shared amongst companions. Stories. Jokes. Insults and wagers. It was all the same to her—connection, community.

Turning back to Aarno, she smirked meaningfully, "Good company is often quite enough for me."

"Although knowing you, I believe this is the part where you make a jest about your present company being excluded." Her brows raising playfully as she popped a piece of venison into her mouth to allow some levity to their conversation.


Aarno