Fable - Ask 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.