Open Chronicles The Lilting Shoal

[Eir]

Eir enjoyed relative privacy at her corner table in the open-air cafe. Passersby mingled along the wrought-iron fencing, abuzz with conversation drowned by the occasional crier's shout declaiming the news:

Local wholesaler arrested on unknown charges. Influx of students following record low tuition grants promised by the admission's officials. Guard Captain advising caution when exiting the gates. Avoid the Elbion Stone for the next span. String of recent vandalisms pinned on two freshly awarded Maesters. And so on.

She listened with half an ear, inclined to pay deeper homage to the lukewarm mug of hibiscus tea before her. Idle sips kept the saucer close to hand, alternating between it and the stemmed hookah pipe that peeked off her shoulder. The vice suited her, provided an excuse to ease back and enjoy her own solitary company. Occasional fits of coughing disturbed that, sure, but she used those to sip on the tea, face scrunched and souring at the strange blend of flavors it offered.

With the afternoon drawing bright lines on the horizon, she found herself stirring. Felt an itch to get moving, to set her heels and retrieve Pips from the stables. Three days spent in the city of magic, and she found little value in the transaction. Enriched by gossip, sure, only trace excitements graced her stay. She spent considerable time bemoaning the necessity of it to the staff when they passed to refresh her pitcher of water and offer a platter of waxed, crumbling cheeses. These she popped into her mouth, chewing around the rind. Perhaps she was richer by several meals, too. The sorry state of her purse disagreed, but that at least was nothing new.

A voice called out, "Miss Eir?" and deposed her from reverie.

"I've it on good rapport that you're a knowledgeable guide of the Abbersai?" The lilting trill signified a question. She nodded, appraising the man who drew out a stool to sit at her table.

A suede overcoat lined with wool dyed mahogany hues cut tight over round hips and a wide, flat chest. The shoulders of it stood out, folded over and baggy where it did not fit his frame. He wore an oiled mustache and naked chin that carried hints of a honey perfume. Painted steel bangles covered his wrists, rattling against a pair of cloth gloves from last season's fashion. All lank arms and messy smiles, he spared no time for her acquiescence before leaning closer to offer a wax-sealed letter inked with the words Fifth Court Way, Castle Selfinn.

The man continued to speak, nattering about on conditions of travel... how recent rains slicked the Cairou and surrounding mudflats, beached skiffs and skimmers blockading the usual routes. The outflow of goods favored those with ties to ox carters and guilded lenders, it seemed. Not to mention the ongoing maintenance to the city's canals. Oh how it ruined any hopes of repartee, leaving news to travel on the backs of laden travelers and students arriving for the fall term.

The conversation meandered along, and the man wheedled, thinking himself quite silver about the tongue.

Eir blew out a whorl of smoke in his face.

"Am I a pigeon to be so lightly bought?" she said. Setting the hookah's stem aside, she righted herself on the stool to face the man squarely and met his apologetic spluttering with a sharp, puckered smile.

 

[Nerren Harclaw]

Spoiler: Music IC

Tattooed, glyphed, if human. This woman might fit in within the human denizens of Elbion, such as it was, but The Lilting Shoal seemed more ready to kick her on her feet than kick her out with a head full of hot coal, at least.

Truthfully, that remained to be seen. Though she did not hide her Nordenfiir identity, she did not go out of her way to show it, either. She simply sat at a corner table of the open-air cafe, drinking mead, listening to live music that was just as sweet.

The bow with the string, the drum, and no need for anyone to sing. She listened as the crier cried. A murderer after the bit about the Maesters, targeting foreigners; a foreigner offering shipping services to residents at a fine price; a widow seeking to be wed at the gravestone of her beloved dead.

One story was as tall and wide as the other, a bit like this mead as she drinks it. She, a woman, Nerren Harclaw, the only resident patron of her tribe and her kind, garbed in traveling garments of blue and grey amid cloth and armor.

Pitcher of water offered by server, denied, alongside cheese, for she settled for meat and mead. “Bring me beef,” Nerren all but demanded. No need for ducklings in this establishment. Just then, she detected a better-dressed man than others in the midst of his presence.

He spoke to her neighbor, another private woman. He mentioned ‘Abbersai’ as though it was a pirate’s trove, and he was definitely fashioned in the outfit of someone who knows his riches. Though…his perfume… My gods, man, do you seek to employ a colony of bees!?

While seeking to flatter and coax his listener, the other woman blew smoke, literally if figuratively, which did make Nerren grin a bit.

“I am no pigeon,” Nerren interjected. “For I fly on the blackest of wings, and I soar through the dark night sky unto morning.”

Cryptic, surely, but fuck it. She took a hearty swig of her mead, but offered no indication of being intoxicated. “I can be a guide of the Cairou, if the price is right.” Who knew about the Abbersai?

Eir

 

[Bengt Bertuli]

"A pigeon, a raven, and a Canary," A scarred and golden haired dwarf said from a seat, not three strides from the gathering crowd of ne'er-do-wells. Took a drag from his own stem of hookah pipe, and blew the smoke over his shoulder.

Oliver coughed as the blueish swirls of vapors danced about his visage. A wide hand tried to fan it away quick. "What about me, Bengt?"

Bengt clicked his teeth. "What about you, Ollie?"

"Well, I mean, um, you know, I'm part of the deal too, right?"

Bengt scowled. Stuck the pipe-end back in his mouth and pulled a deep breath. Let it out through wide-flared nostrils, to curl and curtain about his keen-eyed mask. "Yeah," he flashed a grin. "Spose'n you are,"

He was already hired. The merchant needed all the help he could get. Least, that was what Bengt had convinced him of.

The merchant's brow squiggled and squirmed, as his wormy lips worked themselves into a pucker the likes you'd find on a pretty asshole, if you paid the right amount of coin. "No, no Pigeon, Miss," his eyes cut to the other, who would undercut the rider. Smile worked itself back across his lips, easy as silk sheets. "But I am a man of business, and it would seem," he inclined his head toward the mysterious stranger. "That your friend here has placed themselves in the winning position," he nod, nod. "That being, the one that makes me the most money in the end, of course," a pleased little smile.

Bengt laughed, small and to himself. Took another drag from his pipe.

Ollie sipped from his fermented goats milk, grimaced. Shrugged. Drank some more.

Eir Nerren Harclaw Magdalena Elbion

 

[Magdalena Elbion]

"You going to puff ponderously on that pipe or are you going to take your turn, Bertuli."

Sitting across from the dwarf, red-coated and wily-curled, Magdalena eyeballed the man with a look of perturbance. A contract already burning a hole in her pocket, she'd been eager to leave at once and had been convinced by a pint of ale and a game to bide her time while the man sought out more warm bodies for the job.

"If this isn't the longest game of Kress-Kross I've ever played I might be a grandmother tomorrow."

She wasn't exactly known for her patience but she'd been giving the dwarf a run for his money on this game of strategy for nearly an hour now. He was stalling, damnit.

Bengt Bertuli Eir Nerren Harclaw

 

[Mackenzie Erris]

With his back to the table and his arms crossed over the backrest of the chair he sat on, he waited quietly with his chin rested on his arms. His pipe hung from his lips, and he casually puffed away on it as he looked around the establishment, seemingly oblivious to whatever the rest of them were going on about now. And, he was. He wasn't even really paying that much attention to the other people around them either, other than the subconscious eye out for danger.

I don't think I've ever seen Mags smoke. Since when did she smoke? Why does she not smoke with me? Why does this dwarf get to? Fuckin' ankle-biter.

All questions that, for some reason, needed answers. Or did they? Why did it matter?

A curious frown formed on his lips, and somewhat lazily he reached up and held his pipe for a moment and gave it a few more healthy puffs before settling back down in a quiet huff.

What the fuck is Kress-Kross anyway? What is she talking about? Gods damnit if we sit here any longer...

Shake a leg. He'd heard that phrase before, but the way his one foot just would not stay flat was really starting to annoy him. He was pretty sure it meant something to do with dancing, anyway.

Then, he grew uncharacteristically still, and it occurred to him - he had no idea where they were going. He could have sworn he was paying attention to the smelly man, who's aroma was almost dizzying. No, it was dizzying. He felt stupider it was so overwhelming.

He turned to Magdalena and opened his mouth to ask her a question, taking his pipe in his hand again, but then he promptly changed his mind and settled back down. Not the best time. Probably.

 

[Eir]

One after another, new faces leapt into the fray. A Raven to ruffle feathers to the contractor's delight entered most boldly. A poaching voice, well-meaning given grace, brought peels of velvet laughter from a pricking dance of observers sat astray. Only now did Eir make note of them, not three tables away, well outside the bounds of her calculations. Almost enough to light ire in her eyes. That, at least, she managed a rein over.

Careless of her, this failure in ascertaining the details of the bargain. She laid bare her hand, cards askew before those wheedling demands, and was judged lacking. Preparing for interference made for simple precaution. It further engendered that temptation to pack up and flee but for the tickling of her pride.

She had to lift her chin sharply to meet the Raven's gaze.

"Letter, goods, and safe deliverance of your personage," she said from perched brow, "in unfamiliar hands. I'd have thought you more discerning." She addressed their prospective employer without looking away.

Popping the stem of her water-pipe back into her mouth, she chewed around its tip, fingers drumming against its frame. Another plume of the smoke escaped her, another draw gurgled at its base. A shrug affected those apathetic airs; the man knew her price in seeking her patronage.

She spoiled it by continuing, trampling over the merchant's attempted reply:

"I ride for the banks by sunfall and promise passage to Selfin before this month submits to the next. In this, my schedule is set. You may wait for the canals to clear, or you pay for mine and Pips' expertise. Three marks silver, five in copper."

She set aside her pipe and wetted her lips from the glass beside. She turned her smile away, sweetly, indifferent to the terms of her employ.

"Perhaps others here are wiser to the plains, but the Abbersai grows violent this season's turn. Well? I, at least, play our game straight."


Nerren Harclaw Bengt Bertuli Magdalena Elbion Mackenzie Erris

 

[Bengt Bertuli]

Bertuli grinned. Mimed to offer the pipe, then, put it back between his lips and took another puff.


"Sides, Magda," the dwarf said through rolls of smoke. "Didn't no one ever teach ya?" with his right hand he reached to one of the flat red pieces on the board, and jump-skip-hopped it across the field. Snagged up three white pieces once the move was made. "Can't go rushin' brilliance,"

The little lady's friend made to speak, but kept quiet. Bengt arched a brow at that. Pointed at him with a motion of his pipe. "What's that you're thinkin, lad?"

Oliver munched on some olives. "Just that these taste better back home,"

A grunt from Bengt. "No, not you, Oliver," he took another drag. Let the smoke roll out with a huff and a grin. "Big Mac over there,"

The merchant worked the price over in his head. "A hard bargain," a buttery bastard of a look slathered across his brow, and curled the corner of his mouth. "But let it be so," he offered his hand to seal their dealing. If only in that moment. "I shall have the papers drafted up, post haste, and see you payed two silver up front for your good promise," a pause, to let her fill in the space. "Miss?"

Eir Magdalena Elbion Mackenzie Erris

 

[Magdalena Elbion]

"Sides, Magda," the dwarf said through rolls of smoke. "Didn't no one ever teach ya?" with his right hand he reached to one of the flat red pieces on the board, and jump-skip-hopped it across the field. Snagged up three white pieces once the move was made. "Can't go rushin' brilliance,"

Magi's eyes widened as she watched the play, then landed on the old dodger with appreciative disgust evident in the soured raise of her brows and pinch of her lips.

He turned to Magdalena and opened his mouth to ask her a question, taking his pipe in his hand again, but then he promptly changed his mind and settled back down. Not the best time. Probably.

A hand lifted at Mack, "Don't..." and he didn't. Good. Magi leaned forward to scrutinize the game board while she pondered her next move.

 

[Mackenzie Erris]

"Don't..."

And you're damn right he didn't.

Mack was quite proficient in a number of things, but tact was not necessarily one of them, and certainly not in a situation like this. He was liable to offend someone or something along those lines, and he knew it. Better to let Mags do the talking until their contract was secured and they were underway. Then he'd make himself a little better known, especially if they came into any trouble as the one lady mentioned. He didn't know the savannah in and out like some, but he knew it well enough to know what to expect. He'd be ready.

Bengt addressed him, and he half turned his head and gave a kind of later wave, and hunkered himself back down resting against the back of his chair. He puffed idly on his pipe again, and seemed to lose himself back into whatever mindlessness he was occupying himself with before.

Can we please go, please please please...

What I wouldn't give for a hot-spring right about now...

 

[Nerren Harclaw]

Spoiler: Music IC

A pigeon, a raven, a canary and a whole flock of birds with an apparent interest in this mission-quest-thing. Nerren ought not to feel so encroached, for this job wasn’t so enclosed, and her employer was no betrothed, so they were open to negotiations as far as payments went and then some.

Yet, then again, if the contractor had any kind of mind for disguise so as to stave away onlookers then there would have been a lot less observers and witnesses given a disposition to interject themselves within the conversation.

That meant fair game to this person anyway, as Nerren gave her gaze between each speaker, each contender, each player. Never mind the big mouth on the lilting trill and the wills of those with a mind to buy and sell—from swords to more like lies and whores.

Sipping mead, swallowing meat, she turned to the one other who had started this conversation between benefactor and adventurer. Promised passage to Selfin. Promises are for idiots. Nerren chewed on thoughts between teeth.

“Straight game,” she piped beside glass pipes set aside. “Straight pay.” Sounded fair enough anyway. She blinked into the human woman’s eyes. Neither would hide, shy away from each other or any other for that matter. Merely women. Patrons. To be given no different.

“Hell,” the Norden lifted her mead for a deep drink. “I take it any one of you will need an axe on your side as well as three marks silver, five in copper, and I happen to have it, if the job is still on offer.”

The Nordenfiir offered with a dip of her head; less of a bow and more of a respectful ‘Howdy’ while she sucked on beef. “And if it isn’t,” she swallowed. “I’ll take the position of the idiot who goes down on account of violence.”

Bengt Bertuli Magdalena Elbion Mackenzie Erris Eir