Open Chronicles The Wyvern's Nest

[Rulgak]

The Smithy
​

"Maybe Brother Gilbert would know if you showed him the ingot?" Amelia spoke her thought aloud. As soon as she did, she awkwardly stiffened again, and stuttered her next statement.

"O-or one of the knights, maybe." She added, with much less confidence in her tone than she had before.

“I doubt he’d know anything useful about exotic metals,” Rulgak began her reply, before holding her thought for a moment. For all his wisdom and knowledge, Gilbert was no smith. It was extremely unlikely that he would be able to identify the ingot Ugluk had given her beyond ‘some sort of strange metal.’ But he would know of writings that might, the library held many works from many scholars, some of whom dedicated their field of knowledge to metals. Though those scholars that did were still not smiths, and wrote in dry and analytic language.

“But he will know which writers do.” Irrelevant facts were often included, and rarely did they speak of the methods through which it was worked. Better clues were often held in different books, by scholars writing about culture rather than materials. The knowledge was there, even if scattered about in incomplete pieces held in the writings on multiple subjects by multiple writers. It was always such a chore. Rulgak was taking it upon herself to write a more straightforward tome, one that the hopes smiths might find more convenient.

“There’s no way he could identify it. Still, better to bring the ingot.” Rulgak concluded, giving Amelia's remark agreement with a nod. Tucking the ingot away into a pouch on her smithing apron.

“Accompany if you’d like. This may be a good source of knowledge for you.” She’d been diligent and she’d shown promise thus far. The swords needed to be sharpened, but another could certainly be assigned. The one Rulgak had sent for coal would need another task on his return, after all.

She headed to the armoury's entrance next, along with Amelia if she followed. There, in the shop she spotted Dejan, his gaze wandering over the weaponry that adorned his walls. Notably missing however, was the apprentice she had tasked to keep watch. As irritated as Rulgak was at the dereliction of duty, she quelled her frustration for the sake of Dejan who deserved none of her ire.

“Seeking something?” Rulgak asked, welcoming yet stoic in her tone.

Dejan Damir Amelia Rowe

 

[Syr Dorn]

Dorn had just gotten done watching the ever disappointing display of Pollocks and Paffa trying to repair and replace a fixture in front of the Monastery. He had left their spectacle to the much more patient Knight-Sworn that had been present and decided to get a stiff drink early in the morning from the Salty Bitch.

That was when he saw the tell-tale nub of one of the few people he could stomach the sight of: Dejan. Opting to follow after his old comrade, he would perhaps save a trip to the bar for afterwards.

Dejan would enter and a few moments later, after Rulgak had asked of his needs, Dorn would cross his arms and clear his throat. "Shit, they let just about anyone into the town, don't they? Cant believe you're still alive." His tone didn't match the evident grin upon his face.

Dejan Damir

 

[Amelia Rowe]

The Smithy​

“I doubt he’d know anything useful about exotic metals,” Rulgak confirmed Amelia's late realization. She examined the metal further. “But he will know which writers do.” True, a scholar would know about the contents of their own library, they'd have to!

Amelia felt what she knew deep down was wholly unjustified pride. She'd so far managed not to embarrass herself in front of the master smith. Well, no more than she usually managed to, at least. She wondered how long she could keep it up before she made a mistake.

“There’s no way he could identify it. Still, better to bring the ingot.” Rulgak concluded, giving her a nod, which Amelia couldn't help but grin in response to. “Accompany if you’d like. This may be a good source of knowledge for you.”

Amelia lingered behind for a moment, but not from hesitation, simply from shock. She hadn't been around the Vale long enough for her to know whether or not that was a rare honor. But she'd take it all the same! "Sure th- I mean, yes ma'am!" She hurriedly (but not carelessly) put the sword she'd been working on into a nearby rack. Someone else would have to finish it for her.

She followed Rulgak with a bounce in her step. Although a tiny part of her realized she had no experience researching things at a library...

She stopped abruptly when Ruglak did, mercifully avoiding running into her. She peeked out from behind her and cocked her head. Her lips parted when she saw a customer had entered. One of the knights, clearly. She smiled and waved. "Welcome to the Wyvern's Nest!"

Before the conversation could continue a second knight entered and insulted the other the moment he laid eyes on him.

"And err, welcome to the Wyvern's Nest," Amelia fumbled out a second greeting. Guess the research would have to wait. They couldn't leave customers unattended. Especially since the squire assigned to the shop had disappeared. Maybe she wasn't feeling well?

Rulgak Syr Dorn Dejan Damir

 

[Dejan Damir]

Dejan had only begun browsing for a few moments before a voice called out in welcome. He turned to see that it was the head blacksmith.

"Pea-" he began to respond when yet another voice, noticeably more crass, called out from behind. The older knight did not even need to turn around as he immediately recognized the voice. After all, there were few in the order who had served longer than Dejan. He did find something immediately comforting in the familiarity of the situation. An ease which he had not experienced in some time. "Through no lack of effort from my foes," Dejan finally replied with a grunt. "A giant bat..."

The knight left those vague words hanging in the air and instead focused his attention back on the orc who had initially called out to him.

"Peace of mind, near as I can get," he explained. "Syr Theros and I ran into some cultists not three moons ago. Two of them carried some rather unpleasant blades. Cursed. Seemed as if my arms were being torn off whenever our steel met." Dejan's visage grew noticeably darker, clearly recollecting memories of the fight. He remained silent for a few moments before finally making his request. "I'd rather avoid going through that again. My hope is that you have a blade, a small one, that may counteract such a curse."

Now that he had explained his purpose, his attention turned to the young woman. "I do not believe we've met before, miss? Though I will say your welcome is much appreciated. I can tell you that the cultists did not greet me in such a warm fashion."

 

[Rulgak]

Amelia lit up at the opportunity. Rulgak was pleased to note it, yet her flat and stoic expression did not change. Discipline and negative reinforcement were important to running an efficient and effective smithy, yet positive reinforcement was a vital component. Not only could she learn valuable knowledge, but the young apprentice could now be more assured that her labour would be well remunerated. She’d already shown herself to be a worker worth keeping, and things like this often motivated an apprentice during the dull tasks required.

After placing the sword away neatly, keeping her workplace organized and Rulgak pleased, she followed along happily after a moment’s hesitation. Rulgak hadn’t a clue how closely however, and inadvertently became a stationary wall of heft and muscle in front of her. Amelia however was swift enough to stop, and so clueless Rulgak remained.

"Welcome to the Wyvern's Nest!" Amelia cheered. She had the sort of cheerful energy that Rulgak simply couldn’t muster. It hardly felt right. It had been enough of an effort to cease swearing every other sentence.

Soon after, she heard the gruff tone that could only belong to Syr Dorn. He didn’t mince words, and Rulgak always admired the surliness of his speech. When he had kind words, one could count that he meant them. The same went for unkind words, which was likely why some of the others were put off by it. Ones who ought toughen up a bit, and she mused Syr Dorn must agree.

"Peace of mind, near as I can get," he explained. "Syr Theros and I ran into some cultists not three moons ago. Two of them carried some rather unpleasant blades. Cursed. Seemed as if my arms were being torn off whenever our steel met." Dejan's visage grew noticeably darker, clearly recollecting memories of the fight. He remained silent for a few moments before finally making his request. "I'd rather avoid going through that again. My hope is that you have a blade, a small one, that may counteract such a curse."

“A blade to counter a curse...” Rulgak mused aloud, touching a hand to her chin as she dove into deep thought. To imbue a blade with counter-magic was far from beyond her, but actually writing and casting the spell was. She had aptitude in the arcane arts, but counter-magic could get complicated. Divine magic, dark magic, necromancy and others; there was a different way to counteract each. While a counter-mage might condition their spell on casting it to handle such nuances, that luxury couldn't exist in an enchantment cast ahead of time. There was, of course, other counter-magic that was far less discerning of what it disrupted, but a spell that could hinder all magic could also hinder the wielder's. Not entirely, but significantly. A scabbard would protect against that downside, but a blade hardly did much good when stowed away.

“As a sidearm? I can make a blade bane against all magic, but that means it hinders yours too. A blade that doesn’t hurt your magic can only protect against curses.” Rulgak would reply concluding her contemplation, and awaited the answer that would follow.

Syr Dorn Amelia Rowe Dejan Damir

 

[Syr Galvanhad]

The Smithy
​

Ugluk was still waiting in the smithy when Syr Dejan entered, a Knight that was only a few years his senior. The large Orcish gatekeeper of the Monastery would offer him a bow of his head. "Syr Damir, it is good to see you again. Syr Dorn." He would say to one of the oldest human Knights to still serve the Order.

Turning to Rulgak, he would offer her a two fingered salute. "Rulgak, Amelia. Let me know what happens with the ore." He would say with a tusk-filled smile before turning to enter the Tea Shop.

******

Tea Shop
​

Galvanhad watched the presumably young elf work and he could tell by her movements that she was now discerning the best mixture for his tea. It was a fun experience to say the least. "Its a pity. There are many dragons in the Vale, some evil, some good. There is a balance to be kept, an order to hold. A great many years ago, Artorias and Brother Ashton once negotiated a peace between the various dragons..and to this day, Brother Ashton will travel once every five years to ensure the peace remains. He often takes one or two Knights with him for protection, but its an honor all the same."

His arms would cross. "Most dragons, can be reasoned with. They don't destroy just to destroy. Those that do, are often driven to it, by either their mate being slain or their nest being ravaged. It is then, that a dragon suffers as much as its victims." He would scratch his jaw at Taniths praise. "I was the lucky one. Such bonds give you perspective on life and now, she leads us. I couldn't be more proud."

A gentle laugh would grace Taniths own conclusion. "Love what you do and you'll never work a day in your life. I don't know what drove you and your kin from Alliria, but you've become a welcome addition to Astenvale."

Dejan Damir Rulgak Amelia Rowe Tanith Mistfall

 

[Syr Dorn]

Dorn would have that faint smirk before he approached to where Dejan stood and listened to both the tale and the request. He would even grace Amelia with a slight nod of his head in acknowledgement. Once Rulgak spoke up, he would respond. Her idea was good, but there was something she hadn't considered.

"I would caution against a blade bane. It would work effectively for a younger knight, but to dampen the magick of an older knight has some.. deeper effects. Magick is what allows us to fight at older ages, keeps us somewhat par with the young breed. We don't think about it, but it sustains us. He would move slower, his blade would feel heavier. Even a hundredth of a second is the difference between a parry and death." His arms would cross. "And for Rulgak to make an item to defend against a curse, she would need to know what components created the curse. Or.. you would need someone who knew how to enchant radiance into an item.. so a cleric or a very strong Paladin, as that is no easy enchantment to create."

He would shrug. "Simpler option is you retire to teach, Dejan." He added with a laugh.

Dejan Damir Amelia Rowe Rulgak

 

[Tanith Mistfall]

The Teahouse​

Tanith watched the teapot heating up with a satisfied look on her face. Now all she had to do is wait, and have another roll while she did. She spun on her heel to face Galvanhad and walked back to the counter. "It is a shame, thanks to them people think that dragons are a bunch of dumb monsters. Or at least clever ones."

She set a hand on her chin and furrowed her eyebrows. "Come to think of it, Elly claims she saw a dragon just like that during the Battle of Vardan's Folly. I think his name was, Galadox? Gel Deryx? Hmm, no that's not it. Mm, guess it doesn't matter." She shrugged and dismissed it. "Negotiating with dragons, good and bad? Now that must be quite the harrowing adventure. This Brother Ashton seems to be doing a good job though, given how peaceful the Vale's been as of late."

"We weren't exactly driven from Alliria, we still maintain our business there. Honestly I think it just became a little too, noisy for us, well mainly me, but Elly tends to do what I say." She giggled, pausing after to take a bite of her roll. "And I'm happy to be here! There's so many different ingredients to experiment with, and so many interesting people to talk to."

Syr Galvanhad

 

[Amelia Rowe]

The Smithy​

Amelia slipped out from behind Rulgak and stepped up to the counter. Looking a bit out of place among the small host of knights who now filled the room. She listened with rapt attention as Dejan described his mission. "A giant bat?" What did that mean? And cursed swords? That was the one type of sword she never wanted to learn how to forge. Unfortunately she didn't have a clue how to make a weapon to counteract a curse.

Dejan's attention suddenly turned to her. "I do not believe we've met before, miss? Though I will say your welcome is much appreciated. I can tell you that the cultists did not greet me in such a warm fashion."

Amelia giggled. "I can't imagine they did. My names Amelia! I'm an apprentice here. It's nice to meet you." She ended with an endearing smile.

“As a sidearm? I can make a blade bane against all magic, but that means it hinders yours too. A blade that doesn’t hurt your magic can only protect against curses,” Rulgak answered Dejan's request. That sounded like a difficult exchange, but maybe the knight could handle it. Or use it to his advantage.

"I would caution against a blade bane. It would work effectively for a younger knight, but to dampen the magick of an older knight has some.. deeper effects. Magick is what allows us to fight at older ages, keeps us somewhat par with the young breed," the other knight would chime in next. Okay, maybe not. There had to be some solution...

Rulgak Dejan Damir Syr Dorn

 

[Rulgak]

Rulgak gave Dorn's explanation a nod. He'd explained it well, using more words than she had, but ultimately going into further detail. It would be a difficult task to forge such a blade, but what was she if not a master smith? Difficult does not mean impossible. If it was a tool that might provide a needed benefit to her brother in arms, Rulgak felt that she ought to have the skills to make such a thing. And if she hadn’t, she’d need to obtain them, for the knights did not falter in their duties, and neither would Rulgak.

“I'm certain it could be forged. We'll get it blessed if we must. But best to be specify in what magic gets countered. Make sure it's a curse. Sure sounds like a curse.” Rulgak remarked.

Squires, who were unproven and untrained, were another matter entirely. Most of them had their heads screwed on right, for the most part. But there were always some who just didn’t, and the entrance door to the shop creaked open to reveal one such example. It was the truant apprentice, having returned from her brief outing and dereliction of assigned duty. She froze the moment she’d stepped inside and noticed Rulgak glaring at her, and made not a motion nor sound. Rulgak would be the one to speak first.

“Where were you?”

“I…I….”

“Well?”

Silence filled the shop in an instant. Even the steady clangs and scrapes that construed the sounds of a productive workshop came to a halt. A few eyes peeked out from between the workshop doors, belonging to smiths who had elected to temporarily abandon their workstations to watch the scene unfold.

“I just stepped away for a moment. Just a minute or two, I swear.”

“I hope it was important. Was it?” Rulgak pressed, but the scared young squire had no response to give.

“Then, was it fun?” Rulgak asked, to which the apprentice remained too stunned to respond.

“Was it or not!?”

“..No?” She replied, finally sheepishly stammering out the word. She knew that ‘yes’ would get her in a heap of trouble, so she’d responded otherwise to try and placate Rulgak. It did not.

“Then, why did you!?” Rulgak roared out. By now, many more eyes were peeking from behind the workshop door.

Frozen in fear and panic, the poor apprentice simply stammered while trying to concoct a response beneath the intimidating glare Rulgak shot at her.

“I left my- I.. I forgot my book.”

“You need it now?”

“No...just to read during lunch...”

“Give me the book.”

“Or leave with it.” Rulgak added, making her ultimatum clear.

The apprentice pulled the book from her pouch and dejectedly handed it over. Rulgak snatched it away promptly with a swipe of her muscled arm.

“You will watch the shop during lunch. I'll return this distraction after.” Rulgak sternly spoke, and from behind the door came a voice belonging to a relieved apprentice, who no longer had to keep lunch watch that day.

“Alright!”
​

“Shh!”​

They’d gained Rulgak’s attention in an instant, and she turned to face the doors.

“Are you enjoying this?”

No one gave an answer, wisely electing to scatter away from behind the workshop’s doors to return to their respective stations with haste.

Amelia Rowe Dejan Damir Syr Dorn

 

[Dejan Damir]

The knight could practically see the cogs turning in the blacksmith's head. He had made the request with ease but knew that it was anything but. Dejan's request had been noticeably vague and that was only partly on purpose. Over the years he had learned that it was important to give artisans a certain measure of freedom when making a request. Keeping to very detailed specifications could unintentionally hinder the creator's process. Still, Dejan had almost gone to the other extreme with his commission.

Dejan could tell Rulgak was taking his request seriously and that reflected in her answer. The knight pursuant did not answer immediately and was saved the need to by the entrance of Syr Galvanhad. He nodded to the older member of the Order before watching him head out. The hard but not unsympathetic tone of Syr Dorn drew his attention back to the matter at hand.

"I've tried," the knight growled. "Too much work and not enough hands." A plight with which Dejan was all too familiar. Even the simple missions where he was escorting squires had been turning complicated.

"As to the matter of the blade. Unfortunately I was unable to bring back any of the blades in question. The battle and even the aftermath were...chaotic. I suppose you are correct in saying that I am seeking a weapon that either been enchanted or blessed. Even if it cannot fend of all curses, protection against the most common would be welcome," he explained. Dejan was not seeking some mythical, holy blade but something far more practical. The knight could not say what would be required to forge such a weapon, but was willing to do what was necessary to see it done.

He waited calmly as the blacksmith dealt with her apprentice, more amused than anything.

 

[Amelia Rowe]

The Smithy​

“I'm certain it could be forged. We'll get it blessed if we must. But best to be specify in what magic gets countered. Make sure it's a curse. Sure sounds like a curse.” Rulgak remarked.

Amelia stared up at the orcish smith with a starry-eyed expression. Making blessed weapons so that heroic knights could combat curses? That's the type of thing she'd always dreamed of doing! Right now she could barely sharpen a sword but if she worked hard maybe one day she'd be able to-

“Where were you?”

Amelia grimaced on her fellow apprentice's behalf. She sympathized though, she couldn't imagine how boring and disappointing it'd be to sit and watch the shop all day, but leaving it alone meant that someone could steal a weapon and waste a lot of hard work.

“Are you enjoying this?”

Amelia faced forward and stood straight. Until she realized it was completely unnecessary and probably made her look stupid too.

... A timely reminder of how terrifying the master smith could be.

Rulgak Dejan Damir Syr Dorn

 

[Syr Dorn]

Few things were worse than useless Apprentices, they were something akin to useless squires, of which in this moment Dorn could definitely understand what Rulgak was feeling. It was a good thing that  absent Apprentice had her back turned to the old warrior because his gaze would be enough to stop a beating heart.

He remembered when Rulgak was training in the Monastery, she was one of the few he liked. One of the few that didn't disappoint him. And so, when the Apprentice scuttled off with an odd walk from the reaming, Dorn gave the Master Smith an appreciative nod. "You run a tight ship. I like what I see. Though, some errant Apprentices could use harsher lashings."

His gaze shifted to Dejan. "I'll talk to Helena. Get us on rotation. I don't mind escorting the arselings, it makes my job of collecting their corpses easier. I teach when the diplomatic missions arise, you teach when the escort missions shift around."

Dejan Damir Rulgak Amelia Rowe

 

[Syr Galvanhad]

"An adult dragon is far wiser than any mortal and even the young are cunning. The dragons they assume are mindless beasts are never true dragons, they're either wyverns or drakes." He would say.

"Ah yes, Vardans Folly, that's where young Meepo slew that God. Or at least that's what all the Knights present have said. Can scarcely believe it, but.. he has come far with his training in radiant magick. I guess he could at least banish a God from this plane." He mused, now pondering the aspects of the battle. He had heard of how ridiculous it was, how... pathetic, it was.

He dismissed the thought with a wave of his hand. "Brother Ashton did an amazing job laying the groundwork, we just endure we don't undo his centuries of hard work." He added with a light laugh. "Tell me. Have you had the chance to go to Eredale?"

Tanith Mistfall

 

[Tanith Mistfall]

The Teahouse​

Finally the kettle bristled. The tea was ready to be served. Tanith gingerly removed the kettle from the fire and set a cup down on the counter. Still listening to Galvanhad as she did. "I didn't learn the difference myself until we met a real dragon."

Tanith gasped as she poured the tea into his cup. "Oh yes Meepo! I didn't see him do it. But I did see Vardan himself earlier in the battle. He and his undead hosts walked straight through a fiery blaze, suffering only minimal damage, and when he died, the very dead raised! Name me something other than a lesser god that could accomplish that?"

She giggled, her tone taking on a more playful tone. "He must've overextended himself trying to bring down the walls, maybe that's what left him vulnerable? Powerful magic... but not very good tactics. Hmm, could be why I've never heard of him or his cults until now, maybe it's a centaur thing? There were a lot of them there."

She shrugged and set the cup down in front of her guest. "There you go, one cup of Eldyr's Bounty. With a few twists of my own." The tea would be sweet to the taste, made with herbs that would offer a familiar (perhaps nostalgic) taste to the old night. Something to remind him of his fond memories in the Vale.

Tanith smiled and nodded in response to his question. "I have! Though we couldn't stay for too long, such is the life of an adventurer. But I think that was fifteen years ago now, I don't even know if it's still the same."

Syr Galvanhad

 

[Rulgak]

All the smiths were busy, and the tempo of the clangs and scrapes remained high. Those who had watched Rulgak's dressing down worked furiously but carefully, and even the others began to nervously pick up the pace. She hadn't singled anyone out, but she had clearly caught them not working. By now, they knew Rulgak's style of leadership too well to allow their productivity to run risk of criticism. Further inspections were inevitable, and to be caught idle and behind on work was cause for gruelling discipline.

All eyed the bellows she used to motivate those she found to be lazy. None wished to be assigned to it.

"You run a tight ship. I like what I see. Though, some errant Apprentices could use harsher lashings." Syr Dorn spoke, and though she remained stoic before the knight she so respected, inwardly she beamed in happiness at the approval. That her work was held in such high esteem by a man who minced no words was the truest sense of endorsement Rulgak knew of. His compliments were not freely given, but earned.

“Discipline has run low lately. We have many new squires. But we are busy, we need it most now. They must learn.” Rulgak replied, still proud at the assessment.

“Amelia understands.” Rulgak added with a nod and brief look to her apprentice. It was further fitting to endorse her. Syr Dorn needed to know who the promising ones were.

Dejan spoke next with a response to the inquiry Rulgak had regarding the magic he encountered.

"As to the matter of the blade. Unfortunately I was unable to bring back any of the blades in question. The battle and even the aftermath were...chaotic. I suppose you are correct in saying that I am seeking a weapon that either been enchanted or blessed. Even if it cannot fend of all curses, protection against the most common would be welcome," Was Dejan's reply.

“So not much is known.” Rulgak responded, “I'll have to use general counter magic to enchant it.” She added with a nod. More information would have been helpful in making a specialized weapon, but she was all too aware that the benefit of knowing the enemy was a privilege that couldn't be counted on. Especially so in battles that posed enough challenge to motivate the procurement of enchanted countermeasures. Still, best to be sure. This was her smithy after all, and the weapon delivered would have Rulgak's name and associated assurance of the highest quality upon it. She'd not dare oversee the forging of a weapon that was anything less than ideal for the hands of her comrades who would wield it in battle.

“Likely a sidearm them. One that is kept sheathed until needed.” Rulgak added, “A short blade and a wide hilt, unless something else suits you better.” She concluded. She'd make her suggestion, but Dejan understood his own strength and style better than she could. He had plenty of years as a knight, and what he regarded as the best option would be what Rulgak would make.

That Amelia was in audience was beneficial too, for she could see the process firsthand. Though she was a fresh squire, and commissioning a weapon was it was a responsibility she'd couldn't hold for years, insight into the further workings of the craft would be beneficial. It was crucial to understand the full process, beyond merely what one was assigned to do. It took many hands to run the shop, and the more everyone knew about all the tasks involved, the smoother the work flowed.

Besides, if she continued to show promise she may well run the smithy one day.

Rulgak could not do so forever.

Amelia Rowe Dejan Damir Syr Dorn

 

[Dejan Damir]

Dejan had long since adapted to Syr Dorn's harsh manner of speaking. A normal onlooker might see his words as callous and uncaring but Dejan knew better. There were many squires who owed their lives to the old knight and his strict teachings. The two Pursuants certainly differed in their methods but both sought to see that the younger generation of Anathaeum prospered. "I doubt it will work out so neatly but am open to such an arrangement. Admittedly, the Knight-Captain may welcome the absence of your-" He paused for a moment as he searched for the right words, "strong personality from certain diplomatic missions."

The knight turned his attention back to the blacksmith who seemed to have her own issues when it came to squires, or apprentices in this case. He did note that she particularly focused on the young woman who had warmly greeted him earlier. It appeared that Amelia would become a mainstay at the armory.

Once again, he returned to the matter at hand. "It is as you said. A short-blade with a wide hilt will suffice. My hope is that I will only need it sparingly." One could hear in the Dejan's tone that he did not believe his own words. His battle with the cultists had come with dangerous revelations. Ones that would deliberated upon at length.

"Is there anything you require from me to see this blade properly furnished?"

 

[Ars Propheta-Capabilis]

Entering the Teahouse​

---

It would have been a tedious ride indeed for Ars, if he hadn't snuck onto Ugluk's immense back. Counting the passing seconds from the entrance of the Monastery to the pause of Ugluk and Syr Galvanahd at the door of the Wyvern's Nest's building, and knowing the average speed of an overly excited Ugluk, gave him a distance to cover (105 mature beech trees laid flat,) minus what it would take him to get from the infirmary to the entrance of the monastery.

Then factor in the speed of his trusty titan beetle steed- Syntax -while tacked, mounted, and at a full load, meant it would have taken a little over half of an hour. Which was far longer than he would've cared to cover without help. This made the Knights of Anathaeum- with their great respect for his Great Shrouding Grandmother and their propensity to travel in pairs -beyond utterly ideal for him. There was always at least one person going somewhere and in need of a second. But for the sake of convenience, he just climbed the Orc and didn't bother trying to ask. He would've had to get someone's attention and a slate, or give them a Shrinking Shroom.

So, in that short pause at the door, Ars directs Syntax to the ground, before the duo has the chance to walk away and leave him stuck on Ugluk's back, which wasn't particularly safe at any time of day.

And there it was! The Wyvern's Nest, with it's simplistic, jack-of-all-trades air. The smell of herbs, tea, baked goods, anything a traveller needs in a quick stop. Galvanhad's great, fatherly form headed for the door while Ugluk jogged away, steps quaking the ground and sending up dust, and Ars followed behind him at a safe distance until the Human had entered and the door was wide open.

It began to close again, and Ars brought Syntax to attention, the beetle rushing forth in a short burst of speed to make it up the short step and through before it shut behind the duo with a near-deafening thunk!

The waft of tea and baked goods was much stronger, and Galvanhad approached a tall wooden structure, hopefully the counter.

Syntax valiantly ran across the floor, dodging around a chairleg as it moved and swiftly avoiding a pair of feet from a stranger before beginning to scale the counter, and Ars leaned forwards to make the climb less strenuous. They finally popped over the edge and onto the surface, and walked in between Galvanhad and a pleasant-faced woman, likely the proprietor of the shop.

"Good day, Galvanhad! Good day, Mistfall!" he squeaked, voice far too high pitched for the ears of much larger beings to understand, but certainly at a volume to be heard. A squeal, similar in sound to a doorhinge, but with the cadence of voice and vocabulary. Syntax's mandibles clicked in a friendly manner.

---

Syr Galvanhad Tanith Mistfall

 

[Syr Dorn]

"Hehehe." Dorn chortled before offering Dejan a grin and clapping the younger knight on the back. "We both know that's the truth. It'll ensure there's experience where it's needed, they'd be daft to deny it." At his age, he had no problem being vocal about things that didn't make sense. He bowed to the Orders, but he would question those that didn't make tactical sense.

His gaze shifted to Rulgak before sliding to Amelia. "I will test that praise then." He would wave down the young Apprentice, one hand moving to pull his battle axe free from its harness, and then set the heavy weapon on the counter before Amelia. "Alright, lass. Rulgak sings yer praises, time to put em to the test. This is Requiem, she's been with me longer than most of these Knights have been alive. No magick, no enchantments. I just want the axe-head honed."

The weapon in question was heavy and simple in appearance. The haft was wooden, but if inspected, Amelia could feel the weight of iron beneath it. Thin grooves were carved into the wood to allow blood to drip down the haft without making it too slick to hold. And to cover it all, was a worn leather grip.

"Do good on this task, and we'll go from there."

Amelia Rowe | Rulgak | Dejan Damir

 

[Syr Galvanhad]

The Teahouse
​

The kettle sounded off as the water was prepared and Tanith flowed into action, her movements as fluid as the northwesterly breeze from the southern coast. It always mystified him how flowing the elves were, truly a beautiful species. She spoke and the elderly humans smile followed. "Thankfully there are a few noble dragons around these parts to learn of it from. Meepos girlfriend is a dragon. She owns a theatre here, lovely dancer. If you haven't checked out any of the shows there, you should."

She gasped at the sheer mention of Meepo, which only prolonged his smile. The young Kobold was becoming something of a legend with the catalog of harrowing tales and unbelievable adventures. Her words about the dark God Vardan, however, caught his attention.

"Undead that could walk through fire?" He had never heard of such a thing and quickly documented it for his later lessons. It must have been some sort of Magickal defense, that was the only explanation. "He died... and the dead raised once more? Interesting.. that must be quite the power.."

"He must have.. must have been a last ditch effort. Doesn't sound like there were any real tactics for the attackers." He mused, more to catalog. "A centuar cult? Though I can't imagine what good they would have been in a siege.." he would have to talk to Brothers Ashton and Gylbert and see if they knew of any such things.

The cup was placed down and he offered a smile. "My thanks, I cannot wait to enjoy this." He mused, pausing as some sort of ticking on the counter caught his eye. His eyes glanced downwards and he saw Ars with his mighty beetle mount, Syntax. A hand would rest below Syntax and help the little guy climb faster. "Eldyr's Bounty?" He would grab the cup with his free hand and take a sip, his eyes closing as the taste made him think of years long past.

Him and Dorn were but children of House Brandomere, playing Knights of Anathaeum. Commander Artorias and Syr Fillack. The breeze of the coast, the gilded armor.

The memory faded as young Ars announced his arrival. He offered a fatherly smile to the mighty mush. "Good morning, Ars." The hand that aided Syntax would scratch beneath the mandibles. "Care for some tea?"

Tanith Mistfall | Ars Propheta-Capabilis

 

[Petra Darthinian]

Eth Tikund​

The fire was kept at a burning roar at all times. Casting a warm light onto the tavern's drunken clientele. There were round tables everywhere, most of them packed by people of all shapes and sizes and castes. Many were there to relax after a hard day's work or a tiring journey through the surrounding Vale.

The din of chatter swallowed Petra when she walked in the front door. There was so much energy in this one space, that she had a hard time filtering through the noise. As a songweaver, she was sensitive to the musical frequency that was everywhere in the world. This meant that crowded places could be overwhelming if she wasn't careful to block it out. Thankfully, the constant presence of Norvyk inside her head helped act as a buffer. The evidence of such when she was able to walk through the jovial maze of bodies without grimacing from an impending headache.

Her dragon had stayed outside for obvious reasons. Refusing to venture into the town with an empty belly to attend to. He would join her after he had his fill of a small herd of deer he claimed was nearby.

The elf made her way to the bar, where there was a collection of tall stools that lined the countertop. Of the seats, there was only two spots left, directly next to each other. As the counter was filled with either stoic adventurers who were determined to drink in solitude or friends who had found what little seating the tavern had left to offer.

There was a blonde woman behind the counter who was busy flitting around and attending to customers. She was all smiles and efficiency. Petra noted the level of respect that everyone treated the barkeep with. Nothing got the attention of men, quite like the person who controlled the flow of their ale.

She settled into the open seat on the right that was near the end of the counter. Content to wait her turn for what she had heard was some of the most excellent brew available in the Vale.

Faramund

 

[Faramund]

Eth Tikund
​

Standing with his hands on his hips, Squire Hadrian beamed a gap-toothed smile as Eth Tikund came into view. "Never have I ever seen a sight so fine," he exclaimed cheerfully as Faramund joined him, dishevelled and weary from the road. Giving the squire a sidelong glance, the knight of dawn nodded minutely as he, too, stopped to regard his most favourite of drinking holes. Eth Tikund -otherwise known as The Salty Bitch- was indeed a sight for sore eyes.

And parched throats.

"Fancy a drink?" Squire Hadrian asked, turning to regard Faramund with an eager glimmer in his eyes. "Depends," Fara said, drawing his horse along by the reins. "You paying?" Waiting for a reply, the knight counted the seconds as Hadrian sought an answer that would win him the day. "Well, y-yeah, I mean... I guess?"

"Are you sure? You don't have to if you don't want to..."

"N-no, I offered... it's only right I pay." Nodding decisively, Hadrian turned back to the tavern. His face creased as a finger began to toy with his purse strings. "Just one round, right?" Giving it a moment for the doubts to start setting in, Fara shook his head sadly. He smiled. "Little young to be drinking during the daytime, Hads" he said, feigning disapproval. "Well, you are at least. I on the other hand am more than happy to destroy my liver during the waking hours." He shrugged. "'Sides, I need to pay a visit to the Nest, get this lot seen to."

Reaching for a sack thrown over his saddle horn, he passed his reins to Hadrian as he traded one burden for another.

"Be a good squire and take ol' Brutus here back to the Monastery. Noble brute's all tuckered out from the road, and, quite frankly, you look like shit too." Patting the squire on the shoulder, Faramund began to walk away, leaving Hadrian at a loss for words. "Toodaloo!"

Petra Darthinian

 

[Petra Darthinian]

Eth Tikund​

The barkeep had slipped Petra a single piece of parchment as she kept up with the demanding orders of the drunken patrons. On the parchment was the tavern's brew list that they were so famous for:

Natural Asten- A lighter beer for those looking to drink all day.
Dragonsmilk - A stout and chocolatey ale to quench your sweet tooth.
Trollslog- A rare spirit that may cause blinding, drink at your own risk. Notes of juniper.
Brambleshell- A citrusy and hoppy ale. Ideal choice for the hipster Knights.
Websters Mead- A honied mead that in excess can cause hallucinations. Ideal for bard night.
Lichbane- A mysterious brew, with a guarded recipe. Cut off is two. (You can thank Trevor for that.)

Petra smirked at the fun nature of whomever had written this list. This obviously was an establishment that didn't take themselves too seriously. And that was reflected with how at home so many of the patrons seemed within these four walls.

She had decided on the Dragonsmilk, for obvious reasons, when a commotion sparked up near the entrance to the tavern. It seemed someone who was popular amongst the regulars had shown up and all who knew him here were garnering for his attention.

Curiosity forever her nature, Petra turned towards the door and witnessed a large armored man, with a bag over his shoulder, grasp forearms with a few other men around him. Smacking each other on the backs as they laughed and greeted each other. She couldn't make out what they were saying as she was so far away. But from the gestures, she could glean that they were insisting he sit and drink with them. The man shook his head graciously, laughing again before looking around and zeroing in on the only open seat, the seat next to her.

There was the sound of glass thunking down onto wood and Petra turned back to smile at the female barkeep who had just set down her pint. "Here ya are, lass. Dragonsmilk. If ye don't end up liking it. I can switch it out for something more pleasing to yer palate." She swept a curtain of blonde curls over her shoulder and flung a bar towels over it. "But I dinna think that is likely ta happen." She gave Petra a flirtatious wink before accepting the elf's money and walking away to attend the next guest.

The glass was frosted by elemental magic. The cold radiating off of it and promising a refreshing drink. It had been months since Petra had last had any alcohol, let alone a celebratory drink for herself. Eager to quench her craving, she grabbed the mug with both hands and took a long dreg of the draught.

It was amazing. It was rich, yet smooth. There were notes of cacoa, oak, and coffee. Before she knew it, she had chugged half her pint and set it down with a satisfied sigh. She may have had errands to attend to before she and Valdr left for Route tomorrow. But by gods, she was not leaving before she had a few pints.

Old Man Gorm Faramund

 

[Faramund]

Eth Tikund
​

Making his way inside, Faramund was greeted by a chorus of cheers. Familiar and not-so-familiar faces turned to regard him as, one after another, he acknowledged them with either a wave or a fist bump. A few of the regulars -well, more than a few- attempted to steer the big knight towards their tables, offering drinks and words, both of which he would've accepted wholeheartedly had this been any other day, but it wasn't.

So he didn't.

"Come have a drink with us, Fara m'lad!" Old Thom Thorne called from his seat in the corner. "There's plenty to go 'round, right, Briney?" Following Thom's gaze to the bar, Faramund smiled as he recognised the squat blonde behind the counter. Rolling her eyes at him, Brineholdt Irűncask, proud owner of Eth Tikund, turned her attention towards Thom, not pausing in her pouring. "More than enough to see you cross-eyed 'n' unconscious, ya ol' sot you."

Laughing it up, old Thom and the other patrons raised their cups as Fara, having finally fought his way to the bar, took a seat on the only stool available. Dumping the sack full of her armour by his feet, he nodded his thanks as Brineholdt planted a mug of Webster's in front of him. "On th' house, as per th' old man's orders," she said, shaking her head as if she struggled to see the reason behind the decision. "Keep tellin' 'im that's how ya go outta business, but does 'e listen? Oh no! Deaf as a bat, is grandpa."

Smiling as he sipped his mead, Faramund replied, "speaking of, where is the old man? Didn't go and drink himself into an early grave while I was away, did he?" Snorting, Brineholdt's eyes lit up with amusement. "Define 'early'," she said, before turning away with a grin. "He's out back. Give us a minute to tend to this lot, then I'll go fetch 'im for ya." Tapping the bar in gratitude, Faramund glanced to his left as Brineholdt wandered off. Around him, the tavern buzzed with the kind of energy he had grown accustomed to in his many hours spent occupying the benches and stools on which his compatriots sat.

"Careful, it'll get you hooked," he warned the stranger by his side, dipping his eyes to the half-drained cup of Dragonsmilk clutched tightly in his neighbour's hands. Taking the time to study the elf, Faramund took another pull of his own mead. It went down easily enough, filling the knight's gullet with a delicious warmth. There was no brew quite like Webster's; Gorm had said so himself, and he was a master of his craft. His word was to be trusted.

So what if he had said the same about the rest of his brews? Didn't make it any less true.

"You new around here? Can't recall seeing your face before, and we see few enough travellers, what with the roads being so dangerous." He paused, catching himself a moment too late. "Forgive me, it seems I left my manners at the door." He raised his mug. "The name's Faramund- Syr Faramund, though, I think we can forego the title given our current surroundings." Smiling, he nodded to the golden-skinned elf, an expectant look in his eye. "And you? What's your name?"

Petra Darthinian Old Man Gorm

 

[Rulgak]

Note: APenName has taken a leave from Chronicles, and has given explicit permission to write for Amelia.

---

The Smithy​

"Alright, lass. Rulgak sings yer praises, time to put em to the test. This is Requiem, she's been with me longer than most of these Knights have been alive. No magick, no enchantments. I just want the axe-head honed."
Dorn addressed Amelia directly, and though she was nervous she eagerly responded with a nod after a moment where she was frozen in place. Dorn had tasked her with his personal weapon, and that was quite the test indeed. She was frightened she might disappoint him though, his ire was the last thing Amelia wanted, but a chance to prove herself was far from something she could walk away from.

"Do good on this task, and we'll go from there." Dorn added.

"I will! I promise you I'll sharpen it well and with care." Amelia stammered out, while Rulgak gave a nod. It would have been good to have her company in the library, but Dorn had offered her a chance that Rulgak knew she could not turn down.

“Best to get started now. Though I won't deny your opportunity with the strange metal. I'll show you another day.” She added with a knowing grin. She did not want her apprentice to be disappointed by trading one opportunity for another, after all. Once Amelia had disappeared back into the busy workshop, Rulgak turned to Dejan for his response to her own question.

"It is as you said. A short-blade with a wide hilt will suffice. My hope is that I will only need it sparingly." Dejan responded, speaking in an odd tone that did not imply confidence in his own answer. But by the content of those words, he didn't disagree with her assessment. If he did not like the notion of the sidearm she had described, perhaps he could not think of an alternative that'd be preferable. Or more likely, recollection of the battle had chilled him. She'd scarcely survived such a battle, and she was far too familiar with such a state herself.

"Is there anything you require from me to see this blade properly furnished?" Dejan inquired next, and Rulgak paused to briefly ponder. The smithy was in possession of the materials required to construct the blade, but there was still the matter of the scabbard. The enchantment that would nullify the cursing touch of his foes might also impede his own magic. The scabbard needed to be constructed from a material that might contain such an effect when the blade was stowed away, and there were a few that came to mind.

Of course, the issue was that this leather was rather valuable, as it was made from the hide of dangerous creatures that were generally quite unwilling to part with it. The stomach of a Devouring Worm would be the easiest to obtain, and even those creatures were twice as long as she was tall. Obtaining one just for a scabbard would be an excessive effort.

“The smithy has what I need for the blade. But the scabbard needs more exotic leather. Normal leather won't contain the enchantment.” Rulgak went on to explain. “Not much. I'm sure I have scraps around. Still, that resource runs low. I'll gather what I need, but if this threat is as you say, we may need more.” If one knight required it, it was inevitable that others would too. Even if she had enough to see the scabbard completed, other knights might need the weapon Dejan commissioned for themselves as well.

“If you could source any, the smithy would be grateful.” Rulgak concluded, carefully. She didn't know where to get any, and could neither task nor direct Dejan. But the situation remained as she described. Dejan was likely to receive his sidearm regardless. But if he could help, then all who fought beside him could do so with likewise protection. And the smithy would become even busier.

Dejan Damir