Knights of Anathaeum Echoes in the Deep

[Petra Darthinian]

With chin resting in one hand while the other fiddled with her still half-full glass, Petra's expression grew more solemn and contemplative as Valborast continued speaking. His words were always elegant, but now that grace cut at her and made her feel small. She knew it was not intended as such, but more as a stern reminder of her own fallibility. For she had many flaws and made no guise as to present otherwise. All the same, she supposed it was only fair that the man took a scathing mirror to her after she asked him such a direct question.

But from this uncomfortable yet productive conversation, the song-weaver was finding a newfound respect for the Crimson Knight and the adversities he had found the courage to rise to and face. Formulating a response, she reached to take a drink from her glass.

"He's still insufferable." Remarked Norvyk in her head.

The dragon rider choked on her wine and slapped a hand over her mouth to stop her reactive spluttering cackle. GODSDAMMIT, WHY DID THIS KEEP HAPPENING TO HER.

Struggling through a swallow, just barely missing said wine up the nose, Petra cleared her throat and dabbed at her mouth with the back of her hand. Throwing the impression of an admonishing glare his way. "I would argue you have experience in that department yourself." The dragon's presence faded with a static chuckle.

Slightly embarrassed, Petra turned her attention back to Valborast. Taking in his confused expression she shook her head reassuringly, "No, no. Not you. I promise I was not laughing at you. Norvyk just has... poor timing is all." She tapped a talon to her temple with a beseeching smirk. "No, I actually really appreciate how transparent you were with your struggles. I was not present for your resulting turmoil with how you obtained Riven. But I know a thing or two about losing pieces of yourself." Her forehead creased, the candlelight glinting off the dusting of green scales above her brow. With a genuineness she hoped he could feel, she toasted the rest of her wine to him with a slight nod. "Here's to losing no more of ourselves than we're willing to give."

*********

 

[Seluria Estel'Narqua]

The Star Seer gave a calm smile with closed lips to the dwarven Knight; Runawynn seeing a rather startling number of her own reflections in the diamond set into Seluria's mask making various expressions before she tilted her head slightly, and the imagery flickered away as fast as a sunglare.

"Is it not our place to defy Fate, again and again?" Her words flowed like water over round stones as her smile widened, and she dipped her head again as the squires were called for. Tarren had the more expected reaction, but Mara seemed to cause an added lilt of attention to the Seer's unreadable gaze.

"Perhaps to be a bit more forthcoming..." Thin fingers trailed to the mask, and slipped the ghostly maiden's headress back a moment.

And beneath it was revealed a pale face; one of a woman with a heart-shaped bone structure, long, straight white hair, and clouded eyes a faint red hue that landed neither between blood nor blossom. "My name is Seluria. Do not be afraid; I can assure you I am very much human." she laughs softly, before gently pulling the mask back down and straightening it. "This helps me to see better, alongside enhance my capabilities."

That done, however, she turned to glance back to Syr Runawynn. "To be exact; the signs of the Key, and the Anvil hang over the tavern here." Her hand opens, idly gesturing up, before resting at her side again. Her head turned slightly; the gem reflecting the faces of the young squires, and even trailing up after the newcomers. "It is a reminder that knowledge is important; but so will ingenuity be in this quest. I have a strong feeling that any squires that accompany us may well be part of the answer to what we face down below, as they are not so set in their ways yet to answer a calamity. Yet, the knowledge of the older knights will also certainly play in our favor to keep us alive."

Her gaze briefly turned to reflect Valborast in his musings with Petra as she said this, and then to Runawynn, and Grundor. "Perhaps keep that last out of Syr Valborast's ears, lest they be ringing in the depths from pride." she notes in a slightly teasing voice.

 

[Mara Tillerman]

Runawynn's expression remained unchanging as Seluria made her predictions and spoke her piece, though she cast a preemptive judgmental glance in Tarren's direction when the seer removed her headdress for a moment to show she wasn't quite as esoteric as she looked. Hell, Rune was becoming a seer of her own in the very specific case of teenage boys. Some signs were just that obvious.

"Mmm hmmm," she intoned, bringing her beer up to sip it with thoughtful leisure. Spotting Syr Faramund and Syr Jarro's entrance, Rune turned her attention from her own conversation only long enough to raise her stein and nod to them in greeting.

Rune felt a strange surge of maternal protectiveness as she looked to her two squires. Whatever the meaning behind Seluria's signs and symbols, the simple warrior thought she at least understood what the seeress was implying.

"The way I sees it, ingenuity is great and all, but only if'n you live long enough to use it. Throwing the young and inexperienced into the bear's maw without knowing how to defend themselves is folly. That's why we're only bringin' those we know to be ready." Her gaze lingered on Mara just a split-second longer before she turned back to the multi-faceted gem on the headdress that reminded her of a distant memory of a giant centipede's eye. She'd killed one with only her family dagger when she was eight. Secretly she wondered if some of the other knights could have managed such a feat.

Tarren could feel Syr Runawynn's gaze all but slap him in the face as the vision of mystery and beauty before him became apparent. He'd spent enough time around dwarves to know that they were generally distrusting of everybody, but it still amazed him how even the kindest face and the truest words seemed to do little to sway their constant paranoia.

But to him, this was his muse. He swore then and there that he would slay this monster, for Seluria. She would be his inspiration, and he would stand shoulder-to-shoulder with his brothers and sisters-in-arms to protect her from whatever-

Gods, was that Syr Faramund?! Finally, a worthy adversary for the dart board!

Mara was likewise distracted when she saw the other knights come through the door. Mostly when she saw Squire Roki come through the door and drop a bedroll. She wanted desperately to rush over and pick it up for him, but she was rooted to the floor where she stood. She always seemed to feel that way when he was around, even if she wasn't involved in a conversation with someone who, for all intents and purposes, did not seem to be a ghost. Whom she really should probably be paying attention to.

Seluria mentioned something about ingenuity and squires. She must have been talking about Roki too.

Seluria Estel'Narqua Roki Faramund Petra Darthinian

 

[Roki]

Roki, Roki, Roki...

Damn, and damned. Everyone was looking at him, and the Mund himself was giving him the goods. Roki laughed, small and embarrassed, after the dressing down, warm as it was, and his cheeks flushed with some heat. "S-sorry, Syr Mund, I mean, Syr Faramund!" But the big man grabbed up most of the load, and met him with emberic smile.

He was about to laugh when he got a boot to the ass that set him goin, his own pack and gear still in hand. "Right!" he snapped a quick nod, and hurried up the stairs.

When he came back down, a lil fresher after splashin' some water on his face to rid himself of some road grime, he was all easy smile and smooth step.

Caught the dragon rider making a toast. He scratched his nose at that, and saw Syr Seluria captivating the crowd. The Seer was just a few years his senior, and raised on the grounds of their Monastery all the same. Always an odd one, but, few of the Magick trained were ever that normal.

He caught Mara lookin at him, raised a hand in hello. "Yo!" he said bright tusked and cheery eyed.

"Roki!" Jarro called, twiddling a spoon betwixt his fingers, he tapped a bowl, and pointed to a tankard. "As promised, lad,"

Roki's eyes flicked to the food, and back to Mara and then Tarren, and came back to Mara. "Ya'll eat already?" he asked, the flick of his head and roll of his shoulder an open invitation before he went to get some food, and drink.

---

Seluria Estel'Narqua Mara Tillerman Petra Darthinian Faramund Valborast Valchek

 

[Faramund]

Syr Mund? Fara nearly gave Roki another kick, but decided to leave the boy be. Not everyone used the term to mock him, though, Gods knew there were a few who did. Following after Roki, a pack in either hand, Fara nodded as Syr Runawynn raised a drink to him. 'Be a good lass and buy me one, will ya?' he asked, knowing in his heart of hearts that if she did see fit to get him one, it would probably be drained by the time he got back down.

Not that he was too worried. There was always plenty more where that came from in places like the Rusty Chav. Faramund was still getting used to the name. 'Right,' he said, 'up we go.'

Climbing steadily up the tavern's claustrophobia-inducing stairwells, Fara made his way to the rooms allocated to them. Throwing Jarro's pack on one of the cots, he placed his own on the ledge by the window. Something rattled as he did; hopefully it wasn't the cussers he had packed, but if it was, well... the whole damned tavern would know about it soon enough.

Stepping out onto the landing, Fara took a moment to gaze down into the common room. Apart from the miners and his own group, there were few others to be seen drinking and gambling. Grenquarry wasn't known for its many attractions, after all. And its problems with the mine had clearly kept the adventuring sort away, though, that in itself was a bit strange. Maybe the adventurers had all come and gone already?

Probably.

Making his way down, Fara fell in beside Syr Runawynn. 'Where's my drink?' he asked the dwarf, folding his arms on the dirty bar. The answer came when Runawynn slid an empty cup in front of him. 'Now it's yer turn t' get th' drinks in,' she smiled, doing that throaty belly laugh all dwarfs seemed to have a knack for. Feigning disappointment, the big knight shook his head. 'All right, then. I see how it is,' he grinned, turned to the others.

'Friend Seluria!' he called. 'Care for a drink?' He looked at the squires. 'How about it? Care for a drink, friends...?'

Roki Mara Tillerman Seluria Estel'Narqua Petra Darthinian Valborast Valchek

 

[Mara Tillerman]

You didn't have to ask Rune twice when it came to drinking, especially with cheerful company. "Aye, come have a drink with us, lass! Syr Faramund's got the right of it; a drink's exactly what we all need b'fore we set out on this adventure. It's tradition!" Coins rattled on the bar as she made a hand signal to the barkeep for three more beers. If she had it her way, she was going to make him wear a rut in the floor between the bar and the keg before the night's end.

Mara smiled shyly and waved to Roki, but it was Syr Runawynn who replied to the other squire's suggestion:

"Go on then! You all earned yer rest for the day. Go enjoy yerselves." She made a playful shooing motion with her hands which both Tarren and Mara translated to go do squire things and let us adults have a break from you.

"Syr Faramund, I hope you will join us for a game or two of darts later? I'd like to see for myself if you're as good as I've heard. You could team up with Syr Runawynn and we'll have a squires versus knights competition," Tarren suggested with a grin. Of course, Faramund didn't need to know that Rune would be a liability.

"Tarren.... git!" growled Syr Runawynn.

Tarren nodded apologetically and turned to give Seluria a low bow of farewell. "My lady." He found it hard to fully dismiss himself from her presence. He admired the way his reflections looked back at him from the diamond adornment. He had to wonder: What more did she see in his stars?

All too happy to be excused, Mara turned away to roll her eyes before walking over to join Roki.

"Hey," she greeted him, trying to sound bored while brushing a stray hair from her face. Her dark eyes drifted from his cheerful face and the floor. "They volunteered you for horse duty too, huh?"

Faramund Roki Seluria Estel'Narqua Petra Darthinian

 

[Petra Darthinian]

Her piece had been said. And now that the rest of their motley crew had joined the ranks at the tavern, it was high time they did the investigating they had come to the Rusty Chav to achieve. They were already going to be going into the mines physically blind. But that didn't mean they had to be metaphorically flailing in the dark as well.

Petra disengaged politely from Valborast and left him to his musings in the dark corner, his only companions now two empty glasses and spluttering candlelight. Passing by the bar, she quickly ordered and sent Val another bottle of elven wine as a further peace offering between them. She believed the air finally to be cleared and the elf sighed in relief to no longer be under the scrutiny of such a critical eye.

Turning her attention to her other fellow knights and their squires cloistered at the center tavern, she noted the growing camaraderie between them. She smirked, yes, alcohol would do that. But she was growing concerned with the wary and distrustful eyes of the common clientele that littered the remaining seats around them. Whispers behind dirt-smeared hands and red dragonleaf stained beards. How did her fellow Sworn not see it?

With a determined air, she strode over to the knights, ignoring the way the miners shrunk away from her as she passed, their suspicious eyes tracking her swinging right arm with scrutiny. She was here to help them and she wouldn't let their ignorant opinions stop her from saving their lives if she could.

Lightly, she touched the shoulder of Syr Faramund to garner his attention, the song weaver inserting herself between him and Syr Jarro, glancing at Syr Runawynn and The Star Seer. Albeit, noting the absence of Syr Grundor and not having any idea where he was. But no matter, he could be caught up to speed.

In a hushed whisper that drew them in, and trying to keep the admonishment from her voice she said, "Can someone enlighten me about the strategy you all have seemed to adopt for this mission? I hardly think getting drunk," A glance at Syr Run, "and crashing the safe space of these miners is the answer to them giving us any information about what we will face. We need to approach them with caution knowing that they are probably wary of us as outsiders, especially since we will have to reveal to them that it was Lord Brimheart himself who sent us. We need to first establish trust and rapport with these people! Show them a genuine interest in their well-being and listen to their concerns. I fear there is more here than meets the eye. And that they will know more than they choose to say. So please, even if these people are hostile and uncooperative." She clenched her scaled hand, "We must diffuse whatever tensions we can by showing them empathy and respect. I have a feeling that that's not something they are given often by those with more power than them. I wish for us to change that if we can." Petra squeezed Faramund's shoulder gently where she had kept it during her speech. Hoping the genuineness of her intensity and altruism carried past any judgment the more experienced Knights may have taken offense to.


Mara Tillerman Faramund Valborast Valchek Seluria Estel'Narqua Roki

 

[Seluria Estel'Narqua]

The Star Seer turned her head slightly as Syr Faramund addressed her, and even with the half-mask, the way her shoulders dropped slightly and her body went still betrayed an expression of 'ME!?' when he expressed a desire for her to drink with them.

Runawynn backing him in this caused her to almost do a double take, and the woman bit her lip for a moment before letting out a tiny sigh. "I... don't know how- erm-...alright." Outside of water from pools that she had been tending or the occasional glass of wine or cup of tea, Seluria actually had never touched hard alcohol before, and the usually evanescent woman suddenly felt as if her feet had been yanked at and firmly planted on the ground by the pair.

The things she was seeing as potential futures were not reassuring for her ego, and it left her thoroughly flustered.

Runawynn quickly tried to shoo away the squires, and Seluria stifled a chuckle as she realized Tarren was staring at her with the look of a lost puppy before finally tearing himself away. Though perhaps he may have been able to save her from-...well. Too late now. A shifting shape caught her eye as Petra sidled into the group, the emerald scales along her arm glittering faintly in myriad reflections on the diamond in Seluria's mask.

Her head tilted slightly in curiosity. That the woman could be so different, both in race, and in appearance than the miners, and yet recognize such solid facts about the situation in regards to them and empathize with them was a skill few held, and even few knew how to wield well.

"The role for such is likely best fulfilled first by one who they could relate to. And yet, you show a very strong capability to recognize the need for such, and perhaps even the minute tasks to accomplish such, miss...-?"

A blink of surprise, hidden behind a thousand facets as she glimpsed something unexpected beyond the Veil.

"...are there two of you?" Seluria asks, a faint note of confusion in her voice.

 

[Roki]

Roki smiled a little wider as Mara took a seat beside him, his warm golden eyes squint. "Yup!" He said plainly and dug into some of the stew that was in his bowl, was about to scarf it down, when he realized. "You eat yet?" he plopped the spoon back into the bowl and pushed it slightly toward Mara. "Or'd horse duty keep ya?" he smiled knowingly.

Syr Faramund offered drinks, Roki looked down at his full tankard, and nodded a no to the Mund.

Tarrren sat down with a laugh. "Of course!" he called out, and slapped his hand on the table. It rattled the bowl and Roki's eyes went wide for fear of anything spilling.

Nothing.

A sigh of relief. "Lively as ever, Tarren," Roki said with teasing grin.

Tarren fixed his fellow knight prospective with a cold and confident stare.

Roki's eyes cut away, and saw the sworn gathered about. What had looked like a warm cheer moments ago, now seemed to be shadowed by grey clouds. The stares from the locals pointed and suspicious. The Squire frowned, and grabbed up his tankard, took a long drink.

Suppose knight work wasn't meant to be easy. Specially any job with so many of their rank gathered.


Mara Tillerman Abrielle Huxley

 

[Abrielle Huxley]

"Squire to a fuckin' tree hugger!" Abrielle spat as she lugged the remaining gear and baggage through the inn's door. Was this Helena's idea of a joke? Her expression grew only more dour as she laid eyes on Roki, Jerro, and Faramund already mingling with their comrades. "Oh sure, leave the small woman all by herself to carry in the heavy stuff." She grumbled under her breath. Once they got back to Astenvale, Abrielle was going to have some serious words with the Captain about her assignment.

Abrielle dragged everything she had upsatirs and into their room. An exasperated growl sprang from her as she took in the state of the room. A large disorganized pile of equipment and clothing sat in the middle of the floor. How were those bastards ever going to be able to tell what's what? Throwing what she carried onto the pile, Abrielle dug out her own sleeping mat and clothes, and set them up in a corner of the room. Those idiotic men could sort out their own belongings.

She did her best to wash the dust of the road from her face and hands, desperately wishing to be able to bathe fully. Abrielle dried her hands and descended the stairs, noticing the Sworn seemingly engaged in some serious discussion. But that was no business of a lowly squire, so she grabbed her bowl of stew and tankard and made her way towards her fellow squires. Abrielle chose a spot a few chairs away and sat down, giving anybody who dared to glance her way a dirty look.

 

[Faramund]

Faramund clapped his hands excitedly. 'Alright, then.' Syr Runawynn, despite her earlier words, took a handful of coins from the pouch at her waist and deposited them on the bar. The Keeper of the Drink, a dark fellow with a handlebar moustache and a paunch belly, set to pouring almost immediately.

Seluria looked a touch uncertain about what she had just gotten herself in to, but then that was to be expected of one so mysterious. 'Relax,' he told her, a gentle smile ruffling his features. 'It's not the end of the world.'

No, that would come later, once they reached the mines.

Best not to think too much about that right now, thought Faramund, nodding his thanks to the barkeep. There was a loud bang as the front door crashed open. 'And in marches Squire Abrielle,' Runawynn chuckled, peering at the short redhead over the rim of her stein. 'Lookin' as mean as ever, I see.' Leaning his side against the bar, Faramund swivelled his gaze to observe the young squire as she cursed her way through the room.

'Aye,' he agreed, sampling his beer. 'Wonder what's made her so foul?' Couldn't possibly be the armfuls of luggage. Or Syr Jarro's laughter as she thundered by, like wrath personified. 'Maybe I should help he-' Faramund began, only for a hand to seize him by the shoulder.

Turning, an eyebrow rising in challenge, he smiled wider as he recognised Petra.

'Eve-' He was cut off again as the dragon rider spoke, her voice a whisper against the common room's low drone. Oh, here we go, he thought, sipping his drink as the elf made her concerns known. Listening, his face a blank canvas, the big knight watched his compatriots out of the corner of his eye. Seluria seemed to take Petra's words well enough. Syr Runawynn was a different matter.

Thumping her stein down on the bar, a bit too loudly for Faramund's liking, the dwarf made to speak.

Faramund held up a hand at his newest drinking buddy, forestalling the warrior's drink-fuelled venom. 'We hear you, Petra Darthinian, song-weaver of Eredale,' Faramund replied, taking it upon himself to answer the first of the Seer's questions. 'And for what it's worth, we all agree with your assessment; trust is just as important to these folk as it is to we of the Order. It's something they're not often afforded by His Lordship, I dare say. A pity.'

Reaching up, Faramund gently removed Petra's hand from his shoulder, returned it to her side.

'One thing I would like to say, however, is that it's not us these people are wary of,' Faramund whispered, looking around. 'On the contrary, I'd bet many of them are glad to see us. We are a small order, true, but the Knights of Anathaeum are not without reputation.' Smiling, he nodded slightly to one of the men sat in the far corner, opposite Syr Valborast. 'Take the foreman for example. He looks tough, acts tough, probably is tough,' he looked at Petra. 'But he hasn't taken his eyes off you since you walked in. Can't say I blame him, mind.'

Runawynn scoffed, and Faramund waved her derision away with a smile.

'Recognised the Dawn-crest on your cloak, I'd wager. Perhaps many here did.' Faramund had never been to Grenquarry before, but he knew relief when he saw it, and the miners, though still knee-deep in shit, were clearly relieved by the arrival of the knights.

Meeting Petra's eyes, Faramund continued, 'if you want to build rapport with these people, and to get the truth of what happened, well, I'd have to say he's the one to start with.'

Abrielle Huxley Mara Tillerman Roki Seluria Estel'Narqua Petra Darthinian Valborast Valchek

 

[Mara Tillerman]

Mara politely refused the bowl offered by Roki with a small smile. He was always so nice. That should have made her distrust him the same way she did everyone else, but something about him was just too candid for her doubts to cling to. She couldn't even see him having some ulterior motive or trying to trick her. She felt a sense of warmth considering that. She also felt a bit stupid.

Life was full of shitty boats to be on. They were just stuck on the same shitty boat for the time being.

"I'll just get-" she started to say until Tarren took a seat, striking the table with his hand in the process. She sighed and frowned again. Ah, and here was the captain of the shitty boat.

"-my own," she finished flatly and rose from her chair, leaving Tarren to take over as she knew he would. He was going to become a knight soon, which was good in that he would no longer be socializing with the squires. Though it also meant he could just lord over Mara all the more.

"Hey, Rabbit! Grab me a bowl too!" Tarren called after her. Just. Like. That. Mara ground her teeth all the way to the bar and all the way back. She plopped his stew in front of him and winced subconsciously as he acted out a fake punch at her arm with an annoying laugh. Damn it, she hated how she always fell for that. Tarren was just like another gods-damned brother. She'd had enough of those.

She perked up a bit when she noticed Abrielle had joined them, but didn't acknowledge the other squire. That was just how they were; they weren't friends, and that was fine by them. Though Mara secretly admired Abrielle for how she made her thoughts and feeling known without fear. Mara wished she could do that. At least she enjoyed it when Abri gave the other squires a proper thrashing.

"So... Roki, Abri, we should play some darts when you're done eating. We could beat these guys easy!" Tarren said casually and tossed a glance between them, smiling wider at Abrielle's trademark glare. It was kind of cute, and if she could throw darts at least half as well as she stared daggers, they could beat anybody in the bar.

Roki Abrielle Huxley Faramund Seluria Estel'Narqua Petra Darthinian

 

[Roki]

Roki gave Mara a nod, and let his eyes flit back to the strong shouldered squire before him. Took his bowl back and just went on to eat.

Abri sat down with a thump, face a storm cloud, eyes pointed away. Roki's spoon had hung by his open mouth for too long, and a bit of stew plopped right down and onto his lap. He felt the warm gravy seeping through the finely colored red of his tunic, and he looked down to see the greasy spot spreading.

"Damn," he said, and put his spoon and bowl down, grabbed up a handkerchief he kept in his back pocket. Something Syr Jarro had taught him the importance of years ago, and he took care in dabbing up the mess. Tarren was going on about darts or something. Roki looked up at him. "Darts huh?" he asked, and looked to the Sworn gathered round, their faces pinched, save for Syr Faramund, all easy smile and smooth gesticulation. "Don't think they'll have time for darts, Tarren," he added, and folded up his handkerchief before he tucked it back into its pocket.

His eyes moved back to Mara, then Abri. Both looked pretty down. "We could play just the four of us though," he provided with a smile. "Ladies verse gents?" he took up his spoon again, and shovelled more of the stew into his mouth. A little more careful than before.

Abrielle Huxley Mara Tillerman

 

[Petra Darthinian]

Petra's cheeks fought a losing battle as they flushed from Faramund's casual praise. But she recovered with a coy jab of her own, eyes flashing beneath kohl lashes.

"You know, you might be onto something. Although... one wonders why you're keeping such a close eye on those who watch me. Hmm?" Nudging him gently with an elbow.

She turned to Seluria, pointedly ignoring the glares from Syr Run, and took in the veiled woman with an open and voracious curiosity. Petra appreciated people who were different, she craved the unique and the strange. She found beauty in the feral and wildness of things. For if she found the goodness in those qualities in others, she hoped it would lead to her own self-acceptance. And thus she found these very qualities in the Star Seer, and with an eager friendliness, the song weaver stretched out her scaled hand as an invitation for the other woman's own hand. Nodding encouragingly to her open palm, Petra smirked, "Go ahead! If you can sense him, I'm sure he would like to say hello. He is a rather arrogant creature and does not mind any who would stop and gawk at him and his might." She trailed off with a toothy grin.

Seluria Estel'Narqua Faramund

 

[Abrielle Huxley]

Abrielle glared at her fellow squires and the Knights as she ate. Being around them for the entire trip there had worn her patience thin, and she couldn't wait to be free of them. The Sworn weren't too bad besides the odd annoying order. It was mostly the other Squires. Roki and Tarren were way too loud and excessively friendly. Mara on the other hand was quieter and had left her alone. While they weren't friends by any means, Abrielle's glare did noticeably soften as her eyes fell on Mara, before returning to the bowl in front of her.

She curbed her desire to leap across the table and punch the idiotic smile off of Tarren's dumbass face, as he proposed a game of darts. Gods, there was just something about him that made her want to pound him into the dirt. "No." Abrielle said flatly. "Not gonna spend a second longer with you idiots than I have to."

But her scowl eased into a thoughtful pout as Roki offered up the suggestion of men vs women. Wow. The green skinned creature had actually came up with a damn good idea for once. Abrielle was always game for some good, healthy competition. And though she had never been very good at darts, there were ways around that. From what she saw, there was no way she could lose. Tarren was an imbecile, and Roki was...well... Roki

Abrielle turned to Mara with a small confident smile and a fire in her eyes. Well? her look asked as she raised her eyebrow questioningly. Wanna show the boys how its done?

Mara Tillerman Roki

 

[Mara Tillerman]

Runawynn might have had a skull dense enough to break rocks, but even she saw that something about the room had gone sour. After jokingly slipping Faramund an empty tankard, she'd thought she'd make it up by buying him a round, but the lad only looked a bit confused.

Then came the elf with the typical superior air of doing things the elven way. Apparently she wanted to bewitch the locals with raw-poor and imp-thee spells. In Rune's experience, the power of alcohol was all that was needed to get someone to loosen their lips for awhile. She'd learned far more (and often unwanted information) from drinking buddies than so-called authority figures. She was about to say so, but Syr Faramund spoke up first. Let 'im, she thought. She'd come off wrong, and she knew it. Diplomacy had never been her strong suit. Surviving and fighting were.

She always felt somewhat out of place among those who called themselves 'civilized' - tonight more than usual. Something inside her itched horribly and turned her mind towards thoughts of casting off her armor and running through the moonlit mountains and woods like a wild animal freed from its cage.

"It's been a long day, and th' beast has got some teeth now, I fer," she said when an opening had presented itself, thumping her chest once to indicate whom she was speaking of. "I'd best be layin' this beast down fer the night and let ye get on with yer 'imp-thee'. Ye need something crushed, ye know where to find me." She slammed the rest of her beer in one swig and started up the stairs towards her room. No running around tonight, only dreams of claws and teeth beneath earth and sky.

--------------------------------
​

Mara hadn't been particularly interested in playing darts with Tarren until she saw Abrielle look at her with a vindictive plan in her smile. If there was even a small chance to see him utterly humiliated, she was game.

She smiled back and nodded to Abrielle before turning to Roki. "All right. You're on!"

Abrielle Huxley Roki Petra Darthinian Seluria Estel'Narqua Faramund

 

[Seluria Estel'Narqua]

"It...is not the end of the world I am afraid of, Syr Faramund. If I was to even call it fear." Seluria admitted. At least the end of the world was just that; the end. A finite thing. Predicting how alcohol might affect her?... well, that was another matter entirely and one she was all too aware of the embarrassing consequences of after watching other knights and their antics.

However, it seemed already that little message she had expressed to Runawynn had come into effect: Faramund knew well how to recognize certain figures of importance in a rougher crowd such as this, having come from such a place. A smile tugged at her lips, and the Seer relaxed a little. Perhaps even stifled a laugh at Petra's teasing.

Then she blinked behind her mask as Petra extended a hand to her. A permanent link? She had heard of them, but outside of Petra, never actually witnessed such. The closest she could even compare it to would be speaking through the Loch to another companion, and that took quite a bit of focus and effort to maintain at the best of times.

"This should be rather enlightening." Nodding once with a faint smile, the Star Seer extended her own hand curiously and locked her fingers with the Dawn Knight's. Closing her eyes, she focused- the darkness blossoming and warping in her mind's eye into a large space.

And then the scale of the dragon's presence hit her full force, and the Seer suddenly recognized how very small she was in comparison.

Taking a small breath, her robes fluttering about her a moment before they settled and hung loosely about her frame. Her eyes opened slightly; seeing both the physical and metaphysical. Petra stood before her, and yet standing in her shadow, half visible, was a much larger figure.

I see it was you I heard singing in the clouds these last few nights.

 

[Roki]

"Heh," Roki gestured small and winning with a switch of his wrist, his tusks bright and his eyes golden. He nod. "Don't go thinking I'll go easy on ya," he said as he got up. "Funny as I think it would be to see Tarren lose,"

"Hey!" the other squire said with bearish grin, popping out of his seat as if it were a race.

Roki's eyes squint, and he smiled, buttery. "What?"

Tarren pat his broad shoulder, and rolled his strong arm. "As if I'd lose, even with you throwing, Roki,"

Roki grinned. "Hee, no no, course not Tarren," the young ork said as he plucked the darts out of the cork wood board, and moseyed on over to the line, some eight steps away. "You'd win the day, for sure," He set his toe to the line, his eyes darted to the target, spied the rings, and zones, and the bulls eye.

Easy going as he was. Roki was a prideful creature. He didn't like losing.

His breath came out easy, and he took it in nice and slow as he leaned his weight back and cocked his arm up, the needle nosed throwing dart, with its goose-feather plume, lined up as he eased his forearm back, kept his elbow pointed on target.

Flick.

The dart struck in the 19 zone, just shy of the bullseye. "Ok," he said, took the next dart, lined up and zipped it out of his hand.

Smack.

The tripple zone, in the fourteen range. "Ha!" he said proudly. "Not bad, not bad,"

"At a baby, Roki!" Tarren cheered on.

The orkin squire gave a flourish of his wrist, and bowed to the bigger lad. "Alright," he said as he lined up his sights, took in a breath, "last one," he said.

Twift....Plunk!

"Forty and five!" Tarren shout out. "Haha! Good luck beating that, Rabbit!"

Roki squint, and side eyed his fellow as he walked over to the dart board and collected the missiles. "Alright alright," he looked over to the ladies' team, smiled. "Your go," he said easy.

Abrielle Huxley Mara Tillerman

 

[Faramund]

'Well, should the day come where the gateways to Heaven and Hell open, come find me. Having one so fearless for company would be a great relief,' Faramund smiled, took a sip of his pint. The moustachioed bartender, having overheard their conversation and come to a conclusion of his own, let out a sigh as he poured a cup of water for Seluria instead. 'On the house,' he grumbled, slipping away to handle a new customer.

Change thumped the bar as he departed, and Syr Runawynn snatched it up greedily before making her goodbyes.

And then there were three, Faramund thought sadly, watching as their dwarven companion took her leave. His eyes brushed over the squires where they sat together. He noticed Roki helping himself to a bowl of something steaming whilst he chewed the fat with Mara and Tarren. A small adjustment and there was Abrielle, still angry, still feeling like the world and everyone in it had wronged her somehow.

Faramund had tried his hand at making conversation with her during their week on the road together. Suffice to say, he had encountered mules that were less stubborn than her.

A voice snapped him from his recollections, brought him back to solid ground. 'Ah, yes, well...' he turned to Petra, a sheepish smile on his face. 'What with Norvyk out and about, I thought it prudent to keep an eye on my companions. Watch their backs, so to speak.' And from the moment the dawnling had walked in, he had noticed several of the locals with their eyes on Petra's back... side.

Best leave that part out.

Shrugging, Faramund went back to drinking his beer, surreptitiously averting his gaze before Petra could think to call him on his bullshit.

A heartbeat, and suddenly the dragon rider's attention was elsewhere. Turning back, the big knight stayed quiet as Petra offered Seluria her scaled hand. It had taken some getting used to, that. Not everyone was as open-minded as the Order had proven to be, and Faramund couldn't deny being caught out by it to begin with. Now, though, now he hardly noticed at all.

In the right light, the scales were kind of cool. Pretty, even.

Nursing his beer, the knight shared a look with Petra. 'Not everyday you get to commune with dragons,' he said, grinning as he realised his mistake. 'Not for us, anyway.'

Roki Mara Tillerman Abrielle Huxley Seluria Estel'Narqua Petra Darthinian Valborast Valchek

 

[Petra Darthinian]

The Seer's words chimed like bells in Petra's head as they were cast in Norvyk's direction. She could feel the way the dragon uncoiled and raised his mighty head curiously, the arch in his neck a proud thing.

Showing off are we?

Following a hunch, she whispered back at Seluria in the mind space made by their connection, "It is rare that people untapped into the music that makes up all of life, can see him as the composer that Nature made him to be. Made all storm dragons actually. They sing the songs of creation that were taught to them from time immemorial. It is what fuels their magic, their culture, fuels the wind beneath their wings, and what makes me so very grateful he is my friend.' A pause. 'I see your great talent for the mystic and the unmapped realms of this kind of magic. So I would greatly enjoy finding time in the near future to sit down with you and explore what we can discover?"

She had said much, but from the outside, it all happened within an indiscriminate breath. And the women stared at one another for one serene moment more, an esoteric understanding between them before Petra broke their trance, dropping her hand graciously and gesturing casually towards Faramund to address his comments. "As for him? Never you mind my Dawnling at arms. I've found him to be steadfast in both spirit and might on the days when I needed the courage. But despite all his grounded wisdom, please know he is a shameless flirt. Not that I discourage it, being an incorrigible ass myself." The elf flashed a good-natured grin, "But alas, we're not here to talk Order dynamics. We're here to speak to a more humble kind of folk, yes? So I'll take that as my leave."

Petra glanced back over at the flirt in question, a brow raised amusedly. "And I promise you, most of that communing is his unwanted and unneeded commentary on every matter. Oh! ANd one more thing!" She raised two fingers to her temple and crumbled her brow as she seemed to search the ceiling for some kind of answer. "Norvyk wanted me to remind you that you're full of shit? Yes, I think that's it." Her hand dropped and she cackled, nose scrunching with a snort at her own sense of wit. She shrugged in feigned helplessness. "Aha! Not my words, but the dragon's mind you! So I suppose you'll have to take up any discourse on that matter- with HIM. Good luck, my friend!" She grabbed her own untouched drink and snatched Faramund's new one and raised them both in a cheeky salute to the standing circle of Knights before retreating with a saucy swing of her hips in the direction of the foreman.

Faramund Seluria Estel'Narqua

 

[Seluria Estel'Narqua]

The Seer dips her head in response to Petra, her own response to their brief telepathic exchange made. "It may go down an interesting path indeed...I was informed change would be coming my way in a variety of forms. Such is what led me here to begin with."

And then ended. In the same motion as Petra gestured to Faramund, Seluria would look to him, then hides a smile at the other Sworn's antics. And then her brows rose behind her mask at the rather forward message from the dragon.

"It seems he has grown quite comfortable with the grounded folk if he is so willing to make quips like that." There was a mischevious lilt to the woman's tone as she spoke, watching Petra head away from the group.

Speaking of change... "...thank you for the water. Though- could I also try one of the ales?" she asks the barkeep, sliding him a few coins. She might as well start somewhere, and Faramund was perhaps one of the better natured men to drink with.

"You seem to understand what it is like to stand out among the crowd, Syr Faramund. And yet you blend very well into it. Quite the skillset there- is it one you had to learn, or one you grew into?" She comments to the broad knight as she takes a sip of the water while the bartender retrieved the ale.

It wasn't like she was aiming to dig for some juicy gossip after all like any mortal or immortal person might. No, no...not at all...

 

[Faramund]

Faramund grinned at the Sister-Sworn's words, honoured her with a nod. Seems I'm not the only one, he thought as she walked away with his drink. He thought about ordering another, but the morrow promised to be a busy day indeed, and he didn't want to ruin his chances with a hangover. Not that one drink would cause that, mind.

Well, there was that one time...

Settling back against the bar, Faramund turned to his other companion. He wasn't sure whether she was thanking him for the water, or the barkeep. Probably him. Scritching his chin, the knight raised an eyebrow as Seluria paid him a compliment. Was it a compliment? 'You think I stand out?' He asked the delver of stars, a slight touch of amusement to his voice. He smiled.

'I'm flattered!'

Of course, he wasn't, really. Well, maybe just a little bit. 'Guess I picked them up along the way, these skills you describe. To be honest, I don't really feel like I'm doing much of anything 'sides existing.' He met the Seer's eyes with his own, or at least the place where he thought them to be. The diamonds in her mask twinkled from where they caught the light, and for a moment - a single, solitary moment- the big knight found himself star-struck.

He was no Tarren, however. And she was no Merrycourt.

'Fortunately,' he said, pulling his gaze away, 'it's easy to blend in when the person stood next to you shines so bright.' Smiling, Faramund paid the barkeep a nod as he slid the Seer her ale. Picking it up, Fara handed the drink to her, a warm flame burning behind his eyes.

'Say, since we're being honest with each other, mind telling me how it is you came to possess your particular... talents, I s'pose you'd call them? Yes, let's go with that.'

Seluria Estel'Narqua Petra Darthinian

 

[Valborast Valchek]

Valborast simmered in his own emotional toilings; it seemed that with the more company that they gained and kept from the Order the more his bitterness became acute upon his ego. Riven remained still and silent, knowing that the moment to advise was in the past, and the present grumblings within his psyche was one and the same with the wielder's own all too human condition. Valborast admired some of the knights in their presence, and remembered their name, and while he was content that he had done his best to reduce the animosity between Petra and himself, he could not help but frown as he overheard the playful, yet undignified, in Valborast's high opinion, bawdy talk. His eyes were set firmly upon the eyes of those who entered, as he drank wine alone, his eyes only lingering on Seluria in something akin to being entranced. He shook his head to dispel such a thing. Fleeting thoughts of fancy that might grow in something more given time, patience and the right venue and virtues.

Three glasses down and his heart felt more aflame and beating strong for the virtue of imbibing. Yet the scorn remained, with each drink his human aspects became entrenched and curious as to that human condition. But while misery loved company, Valborast, or Val, to those who would know him in the conflicts to come on this mission, desired none. No woman to share his chamber, no man to share his thoughts, he desired solitude, away from the darts, away from the drink, away from the scorn of the sentient mortal. He had his blade, Riven. That was enough to keep him company. The deeds of previous moments flashed into his mind as he held the hilt of the blade, of his past, of his present, and dreams of the future. He sneered at the blade for a moment, and a small lash of pain was his reward. He did not wince, but gripped tighter that cursed and blessed blade to wield as an esteemed, if oft maligned, member of the Order.

The door of the inn swung open with a creak, and Valborast slunk out to leave the din and voices behind. He sealed the door and breathed deep the night air. Fresh and cold, the way Valborast prefered it. Not the scented cologne of elves, not the odour of knights on the march, but some some measure of peace and quiet as the lights were aflame in the streets, and all thoughts could be put to some quiet backdrop in this troubled corner of the realm.

A pipe was produced, and Valborast loaded it up with tobacco, and ignited a small fire within his fingertips to ignite the substance. A deep pull, and release, as the vanillia and coconut blend, his special reserve, was burned and sent as a mourning of the time spent with his fellows.

Were I alone, I would go about this all differently.
But you're never alone. Not anymore.
Quiet.

Valborast and Riven communicated in small aches of the hand and mental gestures and parries. He tapped the pipe and smoked in silence, his right hand gripping the hilt, tighter, more pressured, more tightly still, until release, with that gust of smoke, to the ether, to the void.

“Val,” came a familiar voice. The dwarf Grundor, who had opened the door to peek his head out.

“What is it,” Valborast breathed, purple smoking departing his lips and nose as he exhaled as pain released from his frame, “I desire no company.”

"Valchek, listen,” Grundor said quietly, and sealed the door in turn, “I'm glad you settled things between you and the elf unsworn. We have a good number here. Can't you be cheerful for our comrades for once?”

A long pause. More smoking. More thoughts. No more pain. Enough lessons in that primeval state had been delivered.

Val answered low.

“No.”

The two stood outside the inn for long minutes, both smoking and filling the space between them with mutual respect for one another. One of dawn, one of dusk. The Crimson Knight did not apologise, and Syr Grundor did not expect one. Such was the way of the man. Such was the way of some knights. They had pride. A fatal flaw. Grundor wondered if the Crimson Knight Syr Valborast could one day find peace.

Valborast wondered if he'd ever find true solitude ever again.

“What do you make of her, the Seer,” Valborast said, as he finished his pipe and placed a hand on the door.

Grundor shrugged and looked at the floor.

“I respect her,” Syr Grundor said finally, drawing his own pipe into his belongings after tapping the ash out, “And I sense you do too.”

Valborast sighed and drew his fingers to his temple and massaged them gently. He drew his cloak around himself and opened the door for Grundor to pass. Grundor entered silently, and Valborast entered once again, the respect between the two of them preserved like a captured butterfly pressed to glass.

He looked to Seluria. A deep well of longing sparked within him, and was snuffed out like so much tobacco smoke as quickly as it rose within him. Discipline. Discipline and honour ruled his mind.

Syr Grundor stretched his arms, and swiftly retired, giving a knowing nod to his partner that he would see him in the morning.

Valborast looked to the almost finished wine and returned to his seat. He sighed, his shoulders not yielding for a moment from the self imposed pressure of being himself.

I am Riven.

I fucking know.

 

[Seluria Estel'Narqua]

"It means you are going down the right path, if your work is as natural to you as breathing." Seluria smiles brightly, taking another sip of the water before she nods a thanks to Faramund and takes the flagon with pale fingers that seemed disconcertingly out of place with such an item. Yet- she was human as the rest,a nd decided she might as well try something new; and thus tipped it back for a sip.

The bitterness took a moment to process- but it was the the kick of heat from the alcohol that came back after she had a moment of listening to Faramund took her by surprise. Thankfully, it wasn't like this was enough to get her drunk. Especially with the water. It was anyone's guess as to how a buzz might affect her though or what she light let slip past a loosened tongue.

"Talents? Mm... given I was raised in the Monastery, magic has sort of always been present in my life. I was actually unable to really excel in any particular school, however, until I was about thirteen. By that point the Sworn I was assigned to had started to very carefully teach me how to delve into the Loch- and it was like a key to a door."

She gestured to the mask and gem. "Before this, I mostly played with a deck of cards found in my basket when I was left in the Monastery. Cards depicting strange creatures and stars. But I never connected the two until I delved into the Loch itself...yes, unsupervised. That was perhaps the singular time I ever did break the rules and my poor mentor had a heart attack when he found out." The Seer chuckles softly.

Her gaze wandered briefly to gaze upon the back of the Crimson knight as he stepped outside with Syr Grundor on his heels, her mouth forming a slightly troubled line. But the Dawnling worked well with him- and so she turned her attention back to Faramund.

"I have a feeling my parents must have been travelling fortune tellers or another type of mystic. But as to why they left me in the Monastery..?"

She shrugs, unable to guess.

 

[Petra Darthinian]

Petra approached the foreman with her two drinks in hand; one to act as a peace offering and one for herself as a mote of courage. She took the time to examine the man, a gruff homely figure in his silvering prime. She noted how he was dressed practically in work clothes that had seen better days, bits of dirt and grime that had been collected from long hours spent in the mines. She also cataloged his thick beard, and his rough skin, and calloused hands, along with being accompanied by a lean muscular build. And then there was his face, lined with age and shadows from a life spent under the hammer of a harsh master.

She came to with the realization that she had been standing at the edge of the foreman's table for a few seconds in silence, her scaled hand outstretched with the fresh beer the bartender had poured for her. The two watched each other and the awkwardness festered as the foreman eyed her extended hand warily, but eventually ended their standoff and took the drink with a grunt of suspicious thanks, and the elf settled in next to him.

"I can imagine why ye lot is here," he said gruffly, taking a sip from his fresh drink. "How Lord Brimheart must o' paid ye to come and clean up the mess he'd prefer ta forget 'bout." His stein banged onto the table in a way that reflected his disdain, although his eyes refused to meet hers from beneath his heavy brow.

Taking a moment to collect herself in the silence, Petra opted for forthright and directness with the man. "Yes. Your Lord did sanction us to come here. To come here and find out what is in the mine and how it's killing whole groups of skilled working men, and to stop it from doing further harm if we can."

"How?!" He turned to her with a condescending sneer. Spit flew from his lips with his rancor. "HOW?! Ye think ye will find what happened down there, missy?" The foreman growled, slamming his stein onto the table again with a heavier thud, ale spilling onto the table. "Ye think ye know what it's like to be trapped in the dark, to hear yer mates screams from below as they're ripped apart by something ye can't even see? Ye know nothing! It's a monster down there, pure and simple. That's how. Ain't nothin' gonna stop it, not even the likes of you and all your own scaled monstrosity!"

The bar had grown quieter, as the miners stopped to watch their leader with fervor. Petra could feel the anger radiating off the foreman, his words like venomous barbs. But she refused to be intimidated and leaned forward earnestly while also sliding her scaled arm off the surface of the table and down by her side. "I'm not here to pretend I know everything. I'm here to find out the truth and to help if I can. And if there's a way to stop it, the Knights of Anathaeum will find it."

The foreman snorted, his eyes flashing with a mix of anger and disbelief. "Ye're a fool if ye think that, lass. A fool and a danger to yerself and anyone who follows ye down there."

The foreman paused for a moment, his anger dissipating as he fell into a contemplative silence. staring into his lap while handling his stein with both hands as he rotated it. His eyes grew distant and his voice became quieter as began to speak.

"Aye, I reckon I got no one to blame but meself," the foreman muttered, his voice heavy with regret. "We dug too deep, we did. And the Lord kept denying us new gear for months. We thought he was just bein' stingy, but come to find out, he's in a right mess of gambling debt. Can't even afford to pay us, let alone buy us the tools we been needin'. And so, he been demandin' we go back to each of his empty and exhausted mines and dig again and again, and dig deeper for new ore and new gems. There were no excuses, ye see?"

He shook his head and gestured beseechingly around to the miners that watched them. " And we's were so desperate to finally find something, to finally be able to feed our families, that we used the last of our explosives down a shaft that had been abandoned and sealed off for years. Twasn't even on our maps, lass. "

He paused, turning to her with such a look of sorrow that it cut into her chest. "And once we did, we realized our mistake. We had forgotten that you can't use explosives that deep, it's too unstable ye see, there be too much weight above ye to gamble with. And so it was that we awakened the monster. And now, it's too late. We can't stop it. So we're all goin' ta die up here from either starvation or down there for dinner."


The foreman's voice was filled with self-hatred as he continued, "An' now I gotta live with this guilt. The choice I made ta try 'n save me community. Bernard's a bleedin' perfect example o' that." He took a heavy swallow from his ale.

Petra caught the name he dropped at the end and set her own drink down as she leaned closer to the man, she could feel the puzzle pieces dropping into place. "Bernard? Is that one of your men?"

The foreman scoffed, "If ye can call him that anymore. When we's were diggin' deeper tryin' to meet that blasted quota from the Lord? There was this... sound we heard after the 'splosives. The sound was like nothin' I ever heard before, echin' through the tunnels, reverberatin' through me bones. Put me hairs on end."

He scratched his beard idly, gaze still fixed onto horrific memories she couldn't see.
"We thought it was just another cave-in, but then the screams started and we knew somethin' was wrong. But I never saw it meself, I was up on the higher levels when it happened, dishin out orders and keepin' track of what we dug, ye see." He paused, gathering himself. "All I know, is that those screams slowly cut off one after the other. Each of 'em more scared than the last. It won'til Bernard came bumbling out of the dark, covered in blood and half-crazed with terror that I realized I had already lost half me crew in the span of a few moments."

The man drained the last of his drink and turned fully towards Petra, his face no longer colored with suspicion, but instead a bone-deep exhaustion that she didn't think any amount of sleep could fix. "As for Bernard, he's been drinkin' himself into a stupor ever since. I've never seen a living person look so much like a ghost. Refuses to speak of it, he does. And can you blame him? But if ye insist on goin', then ye best be prepared for what ye might find. Itssa a dark and deadly place now, that mine. And I wouldn't wish it on me worst enemy."

"And I am not your enemy." The song weaver replied stoically.

He nodded concedingly. "Then you'll find the lout out back. He be the one covered in shite and passed out drunk with the pigs." And as if to signal the end of their conversation, the man gestured to the barkeep for another pint and then turned his back to her so he could fill the pipe he had pulled from his pocket with shaking hands.

Sensing the dismissal, Petra slid from her seat. Her mind whirled with the new information. She could see the narrative fleshing out into her head, growing teeth and claws the more she learned. She was starting to realize just how real the danger was growing to be.

With her mission in mind, the elf signaled to Valborast and Faramund, gesturing gravely toward the entrance of the Chav. She needed to inform them immediately, for the new details warranted a significant refurbishing of their plan if they wanted to ensure they all made it out not only alive, but that they were able to bring Lord Brimheart to justice for his gross negligence and greed that resulted in such a tragic slaughter.

Valborast Valchek Faramund