Open Chronicles Breaking Bread at the Knoll

[Selene]

Bleary-eyed and thin-skinned, Selene stumbled into the Knoll as a zombie does, unseeing and single mindedly hungry. She was wrapped up in her sleeping robes, which looked strikingly similar to her usual wear, except a touch less embroidered. With considerable effort, she picked a fresh bread roll out of the basket, found a bowl and scooped the first soupy substance she came across into it.

There was no awareness of time or place in the Captain's mind as she sat down at any bench. The sun could have been high in the center of the domed room, or it could have been moonslight. Maybe the Knoll was bustling with hungry bodies, or it could have been the quiet night rotation, occupied only by Dusk knights and insomniacs. She did not notice either way as she pulled off a pinch of bread and dipped it into the soup-or-curry.

Selene savored this blessed moment of ignorance as she chewed at what turned out to be a nice lentil stew. It was only a matter of time, after all, before someone bothered her with something or other.

 

[Luna Shael]

Luna patiently waited for the knights ahead of her to make their selection. Though it most often took little more than a few moments, other knights were quick to cut in front of her before she thought to step forward herself. As such it took her a little while longer for her to reach the food herself.

At last, the other knights had gotten their food and she was able to retrieve some food for herself. Though her pickings were a bit slim by that point. She took up a bowl and poured herself a modest amount of soup. With her other hand she picked up a plate and set three rolls of bread atop it.

Now came the truly uncomfortable part for her; finding a good place to sit. Her gaze wandered the Knoll until it came to rest on a bench where Captain Selene sat. Appearing to be a bit on the drowsy side if she were to be so bold.

Luna took a deep breath and walked (with perfect grace) to the other side of the table, smiling politely. "Good day to you Captain. Might I sit?"

Selene

 

[Syr Dorn]

Dorn always liked when Selene was in her dream state. It made for a quiet meal. She sat down at his table, did a hollow look-around that he didn't even have to acknowledge, and quietly ate some lentil soup.

It was Day Three of him teaching on his current rotation, and the Squires has finally finished building their own caskets. Lesson one was finished, Order time was saved for when they died (supplies too), and he was rather content with the trauma the arselings had been forced to deal with. He knew Squires had whined to Captains or Masters and unfortunately for them, Dorn was running low on fucks to give, and he informed each person who tried to talk to him about it. So, it was good. There were still six days left until Galvanhad would return, six days of those poor little bastards being stuck with him.

So, he had been content as can be as he had his roasted rabbit, his 'tatoes and his stack of steaming hot buns. Boots sounded as they approached, then a small voice. A steely gaze and a look of contempt later and Dorn's gaze fell on... some pointy-eared Knight. Drama? Duna? Lima? Lu...una? None of those sounded right to the old Knight. But. Now, this baby-faced runt was trying to interrupt with the recharge state of the only Captain not presently on his shit list. "Shut it and sit down, Arseling. Or do I need to go and assign you a damned seat? Either sit, or move on."

By the gods, he disliked the younger Knights. No confidence, no spine. They just didn't make them like they used to.

Luna Shael Selene

 

[Selene]

Vaguely, Selene noted the presence of Dorn sitting across the way from her. There was something about Dorn she was supposed to remember. The thought churned slowly in her mind, thick as the soup in her bowl. A complaint - something about unsanctioned acquisition of wood for coffins and appropriate activities for the squires. Dorn was too hard on them, and everybody else was too hard on her when it came to scolding the man about it.

The truth was that there were less and less Knights each season. That these squires would likely be getting Sworn in sooner and with more prejudice than any other generation before them. She wondered if this weighed on Dorn at all, or if he was simply lashing out at the kids because of the training assignment he'd been given. She should ask him, but words were difficult at the moment, and her soup was still hot. Too much effort this early in the morning.

Glassy eyed, Selene blinked. No, the sunshine getting in her way from the skylight above was hot. This was the noonday break. What a nuisance. Much like the voice that called out to her, as another blur approached the table.

"Mmh," Selene hummed at the sun and, in a miraculously timed movement, scooted out of the way of that annoying sunbeam and left the space empty for Luna to sit.

She was supposed to remember something. Selene scanned the arms length of space around her, looking for a clue, taking inventory. Dorn, soup, squires, Luna....

Luna Shael, a sweet thing, still young enough to rely on her good manners. Selene couldn't figure out why the elf never had anyone more lively to sit next to at meal times. Surely there was someone else in this room who would make better company. Dorn, in his own grouchy way, said as much. The sharpness of his words woke Selene up some.

"Luna..." she said dreamily, as she squinted through the sunlight at the other woman. "We need to get you some better friends."

Syr Dorn Luna Shael

 

[Lysanthir of Arapat]

Lysanthir, having gotten up this day with the chickens, and still nursing on a beer stein of middle-grade charrbush since the sun was half way between the horizon and the midday, saunters into the knoll with the shadow-eyed glee of having been up all night listening to a bard riff into a watchman's bullhorn. Unarmoured, lightly sweaty, and with his boots on a cord, which he drops in an out-of-the-way spot near the door.

"Oh, my friends, the snails, snails, in the Northeast cabbage patch, like you wouldn't believe. Hand-sized overnight, I'd swear to it! Escargot for supper?"

He gives Osuin, Meepo, Helena, and Syr Galvanhad a wave as he heads to the end of the line, grabbing one of the rectangular wooden bowls.

"Mmm, I'm just in time for panscrapings, eh Roki? I'd call them the best part."

He mixes together some of the lentil stew and a corner-edge of barley gruel, and one of the overlooked, slightly dried out rabbits. He finds a couple of buns, a lump of butter, and requests a hunk of fresh cabbage from Roki before turning around and staring around the knoll for a seat with the aimless gaze of a theater-goer looking for a seat.

His eyes grace across Osuin, cocking his head in consideration, then thinks of sitting across from Helena. Or he could join Meepo, which would cause the magnificent little man to howl at a falcon's dive pitch...

Then he looks to Syr Dorn, as grumpy and sun-glintingly bald as ever, Selene's robed and drowsy form, and Luna Shael, being scolded by Dorn in a less-than-pleasant tone.

Why not? I'll just pretend I'm in a library and speak low, for Captain Selene's sake. She's still asleep it seems.

He immediately strides over, mindful of his hoof-thuds, and sits down a comfortable distance on Luna's other side, giving both Luna and Dorn a smile and a nod. He keeps his voice tame and easy.

"Good day, Syrs. Anything new, my friends?"

---

Syr Dorn Selene Luna Shael I had to do it, whoops

 

[Luna Shael]

Luna's polite smile never faltered, even when Syr Dorn spoke up, seeming to believe her to be a squire he could give orders to. The downside of her elven heritage perhaps. Her experience as a diplomat well prepared her for such uncivilized behavior. Still that didn't give her an excuse to act inappropriately. She nodded at the old knight. "Good day to you as well Syr Dorn. Might I inform you that I received my knighthood nearly a decade ago now?"

"Luna..." Selene finally spoke up. "We need to get you some better friends."

Luna's practiced expression broke for the first time. What did the good captain even mean by that? Was this her indirect way of requesting she sit elsewhere? Or had she simply spoken to her mother recently? "Um..." She'd been taught countless times to never say anything in the line of 'um' or 'uh.' It betrayed a lack of a proper response. But she supposed that was quite true of her current situation. "If, that's what you desire captain...?"

Still, she hadn't told her to leave. Not in a direct manner at least. Luna awkwardly placed her trays on the table and seated herself next to Selene. Sitting straight, as was proper. Normally she would be at the point where she'd engage in some polite small talk. But the captain's comment still occupied her mind.

While she ruminated over it, another knight deigned to join them. Lysanthir of Arapat. "Good day, Syrs. Anything new, my friends?"

How fortuitous, he had begun conversing in her stead. She cleared her throat. "Good day Syr Lysanthir. I have nothing new to speak of myself."

Selene Syr Dorn Lysanthir of Arapat

 

[Syr Dorn]

"Oh really? A whole decade?" That classic faux shock. "My scabbard is older than you and your Knighthood, and has more accolades to it." Order diplomats were absolutely useless to him, at least until they had accolades beyond flapping their gums. Especially with the peace in the Vale having been established by older Knights.

"Yes, better friends, indeed." Dorn would agree with Selene. He would take one of his steaming fresh buns and take a bite. Even that, was something so aggressive to behold. He would even laugh as the diplomat stuttered with an 'Umm'.

Then came one of the most cheery and deceptive of Dusks: The Faun, no, or was he a Satyr? Galvanhad liked him, so Dorn made the effort to memorize one thing about him. "Arapat." He would say in his usual, gruff tone. "If ye need carpentry work done, ask people in Astenvale. The squires can't even make proper boxes."

Selene Lysanthir of Arapat Luna Shael

 

[Lysanthir of Arapat]

Lysanthir nods to Luna again, acknowledging her words and giving her a reassuring smile before he bothers to eat.

"Arapat," Syr Dorn gruffs out normally, "If ye need carpentry work done, ask people in Astenvale. The squires can't even make proper boxes."

Lysanthir pauses momentarily, a strip of rabbit most-way to his mouth.

"Mmm. Are you making them build coffins again? Have them try a birdhouse next time," he takes up the rabbit, chewing and swallowing quickly, "-coffins are much heavier than their weight in wood, after all."

Lysanthir takes his spoon from his purse to start on the lentil-and-barley getting thick at one end of his plate, humming happily as he eats a spoonful or two. He gives Roki a gesture of appreciation over his shoulder before turning back to the table.

"Sandals, for simplicity, perhaps. They'll have time to toughen up yet."

---

Syr Dorn Selene Luna Shael

 

[Selene]

It was remarkable, the number of distractions Selene could sleep - or at least sit drowsily - through. One of her lesser known hidden powers. She was pleasantly in the rolls of sunlight-induced stupor, and would have stayed that way for most of the mealtime, were it not it not for Syr Dorn's gruff rumblings.

Boxes, boxes he'd said... Selene didn't need to contemplate the meaning of the old man's words for very long, as the quicker witted Lysanthir put it together for her. A door opened and closed within her mind, her eyes widened then narrowed, as the Captain jolted awake.

"So, I have you to thank for all the squires crying at my door," she said to the old battlemaster. Selene shook her head, a wry look on her face. The number of snotty noses she'd wiped in the past few days -- not to mention the handful of ones who still had parents that could get outraged at their child's treatment. "Listen to your duskmate, Tiberius. The only thing that little exercise accomplishes is eating up your Captain's leisure time."

Concern for the squires was not high in her mind, blame it on the drowsiness that still wracked her. The young things would recover. In a few weeks time, they'd forget the incident, and in a few years they'd look back on it as merely a curious tale. Selene, however, would not get back those hours of lost sleep.

She dug into her soup with a little more fervor than before. Maybe she should have sworn herself to the Sanctum of Dawn, instead. Luna would never do this to her.

Syr Dorn Lysanthir of Arapat Luna Shael

 

[Josai]

---

On a different day, at a different time​

People wouldn't think it, but the Knoll had its own brew. Honey mead, and some of the squires even helped in the process, gathering the honey from the apiaries they kept around the gardens. It had become a bit of a tradition amongst the healers, seeing who could get the strongest batch, or produced the most alluring flavor.

Made good practice for potion brewing too. Least, that's what they told Master Hilling when she had first asked. Wasn't long before she was bringing her own batch to their secret tastings. Naturally, they kept the best stuff for themselves. Hidden away in some hole in the burrow that only a few of them knew about. Least, that's what most of them thought, and Josai herself wasn't too sure if a squire or two had found the stash.

Least they weren't greedy about it if they had.

All this to say that barrels of the stuff, the stuff they liked but didn't mind sharing, well, they donated that to the Knoll every now and again, and those in the know, well, they knew when new barrels were ready to be tapped. Sworn mostly, and more than a few squires on the cusp of their trials. Always around autumn, when the winds began to change and the chill blew down from the mountain peaks.

Three barrels of the stuff. A darker brew called Granny's Apple, that tasted of cinnamon spiced apples, roasted in the oven, Josai's personal favorite of the bunch. A pale golden brew named She Loves You Not, that was crisp and clean, with a flowery bitterness to the finish. Then there was the Queen's Sting, a dangerously sweet, overly potent if you asked her, batch, that had but one real purpose.

She polished some mugs as she waited, buffing them till they were nice and only a little bit dull from age. The three oversized barrels were already tapped behind her, little signs marked off with charcoal hung from the wooden spigots that patiently loomed over clever drainage. There was a bit of commotion at the bar table.

"Welcome," she said coolly, still busy cleaning the mug meticulously. "What do you fancy trying today?"

 

[Abalon Shallows]

"I normally drink port, but I think it may be rude to deny a honey mead, if I may," Abalon said as he gathered at the bar with a faint smile, his white visage tinted by the illumination of the fire. He rested his hands on the counter, revealing the white ossified skin that could not be rendered flesh by mage or holy word. The Pursuant was just glad to be done with the chores of his domain, and always grateful that his appetites had been dulled, not snuffed out completely by his curse.

 

[Damien DeMontieaux]

There was a faint flicker of motion, scarcely seen in one's peripheral vision if they happened to be looking, and there he was, in an instant, as if he'd always been there: Damien DeMontieux, leaning casually with one elbow upon the counter, as he reached up to tilt his cap forward at a jaunty angle in greeting.

"Pray tell, might you perchance have a mug of Golden Dragon's Fire on tap somewhere within this fine establishment?" His eyes glint with the same golden light as the ornate antique coin he flips across his leather-gloved knuckles with casual ease, brimming with unbridled chivalrous mischief.

 

[Abalon Shallows]

Abalon brought his hand to his face to hide a smirk which was wiped away. "Be thankful you're not a squire or you might have been hazed with such a request. Word to wise, be shy to order such a thing if you think of becoming one," Abalon said softly and made a small pitter of sound with his palms on the wood.

 

[Syr Guernot]

Ah, the floral-sweet smell of mead! Guernot followed his nose to the bar table, fins atop his head flaring along with a bright smile. "Miss Josai, what have you got that smells so crisp?"

 

[Tarid Ra’leem]

It had been a long day of training, and Tarid happily pushed the doors open with the renewed energy that accompanied the moment of respite he was now afforded. The smell of mead was in the air, and the scent did not escape Syr Guernot either, who commented on it aloud.

“I have to agree, that does smell good.”

 

[Josai]

Josai smiled warmly at the crowd that had gathered before her, hands at work moving mugs from their racks and turning to the spigots that hung ready at the mouths of their casks. There was something about serving drinks, the little back and forths one was privvy to, the jokes, the banter, and the appreciation, almost like a healing of a different sort.

"That'd be the She Loves You Not, Syr Guernot," she said with a smile, and slid over a pint of the Dragon's Ale to the suave stranger, a nod of her head motioned to a sign that hung high and right of the shelves that read '1 Gold per Cup of Piss'.

 

[Damien DeMontieaux]

The stranger's whiskers twitch, and his eyes travel between the sign, Josai, and Abalon a couple of times. Then, in a single flamboyant motion, he tosses the coin to Josai, takes the mug, and downs the contents in one go, neatly licking the remaining drops from his whiskers with a roguish grin. "My most sincere thanks for a most delectable beverage."

 

[Abalon Shallows]

Abalon waited patiently to be served and contented himself by watching the feline person's quick consumption of the drink. He looked over and blinked once at Damien. "You must have built up a thirst from something, pray tell, what do you do," Abalon asked.

 

[Tarid Ra’leem]

The name was off putting, and Tarid hoped it wasn’t as it sounded.

“Uh, cup of piss? Please tell me that’s an eastern euphemism.”

 

[Syr Guernot]

A hearty laugh escaped Guernot as the newcomer first ordered the Dragon's brew, and then confidentially downed it. "That sounds delightful Josai, but I've changed my mind. Give me whatever this cat's having - I can't let the Order go unrepresented."

 

[Damien DeMontieaux]

The feline gave a flamboyant bow to the Pursuant, eyes flashing. "What don't I do, esteemed compatriot? The name is Damien DeMontieaux: vigilante, rogue, wanderer of the Valen Wilds, undefeated duelist, defender of the innocent, and fiddler extraordinaire!"

 

[Abalon Shallows]

"Tarid, it honestly," Abalon said, and shook his head, "it honestly depends how well you attend your duties." Abalon cleared his throat and addressed Damien. "I'm Shallows, pleasure to meet someone with such a wide berth of...talents."

 

[Petra Darthinian]

"I doubt they would have enough of that mead to spare to quench a dragon-sized thirst...." Petra thought back in answer to Norvyk, her voice filled with gentle doubt.

An irritated hissing grumble answered the newly Knight-Sworn as she strode into the Knoll, her curly black hair windswept from an afternoon spent airborne.

 

[Damien DeMontieaux]

"Nay; verily, the pleasure is all mine!" Damien straightened from the bow, at the same time adjusting his hat with a neat flick of his ears. "And what, pray tell, do you do, friend Shallows?"

 

[Tarid Ra’leem]

Tarid had asked a question, and the answer left him just as uncertain. Shallows implied it was going to depend on how dutiful he'd been, and well, maybe it was better not to take the risk.

“...What other drinks are you serving?”