Open Chronicles To protect a village.

[Jiv'undus Rivvazz'a]

Somewhere East of Elbion

The soft murmur of a bustling, rural village cascaded across the rolling hills - their pleasant sound waves reaching deep into the wood beyond, as if carried by the trees sharing in the calm. Jiv'undus had never heard anything like it, but it's sound had drawn him from his hideaway in the underbrush of the forest. He gazed upon the village nestled amongst the rolling inclines from on high, the topography of land itself seeming to nuzzle and protect the village from the gaze of any who weren't basically on top of it. The Drow's ink black eyes scanned the village with the typical predators gaze he always viewed surface villages with, but this was the first time he had ever viewed one with the accursed sun high in the sky - the activity, the splendor, was staggering. A variety of races milled together on a high clearing near a two story building seemingly built into the hill side, singing some merry song and clanking together large wooden cups.

Smoke subtly billowed from a stack on the structures roof, carrying with it an intoxicating scent of burning wood and food; the smell of burnt wood was unknown to Jiv'undus, trees did not grow in the Underrealm but food was undeniable - even food one had never smelt before. The hollow ache in the pit that was his stomach left little doubt, Jiv'undus would need to eat and soon; or running from his kin bound to soon be pursuing would be a moot point. A quick scout had saw no garrison, not even any meaningfully armed citizens of any kind; practically defenseless. The Drow Raider considered the axes at his hip, but dismissed it quickly; while his eyes had adjusted enough to the sun to scout the harsh sunlight still left him squinting. That said nothing of the weakness that dominated his frame, hungry, tired and sore he was not fit to raid a village this large alone and in the light of day.

His hunger would not allow him to wait until the cover of darkness and so he descended from the hills on high into the valley village below. As he got closer he threw the hood of his shemag up and pulled the face mask tight. He knew enough common to speak, and if he could play himself off as a foreign traveler he doubted his racial identity would be questioned greatly. Hell, with the sheer diversity he had witnessed it was possible his Drow heritage would be ignored entirely, even if he did look a bit closer to a small Orc or Hobgoblin from a distance.

As Jiv'undus descended into the village proper he made a straight line for the entrance of the building which smelled of food and seemed to serve others - a tavern. In his home these places were often cut throat, dangerous environments; where deals and daggers ruled. Pushing the door open and entering told a different story, the bottom floor from which he had entered was cramped. A short hallway led to a counter top, where a young human girl with blonde hair and jewel blue eyes greeted him with a trained smile.

"Welcome to the Hill-Hen, you look like a traveler! Let me explain the place!" She said excitedly, before going on a rant which Jiv'undus found no opportunity to interrupt. Her explanation was simple enough; you ordered food and drink here, and then sat at the tables outside up the hill. She then attempted to explain that they were a specialized local brewery before Jiv'undus had enough and raised his ash gray hand to silence the excited youth.

"I understand." Jiv'undus responded with a stilted, awkward tone showing his inexperience actually using common. "I will have food, no alcohol." Jiv'undus declared, bowing his head to the woman politely. As a male Drow of common birth, Jiv'undus struggled to avoid showing immediate respect and deterrence to females, even those of other races. The habit so deeply beaten into his mind it was likely it would never be freed.

To her credit the young girl took his nature in stride, realizing he was foreign and spoke poor common she recommended a meal and told him to go wait at any open seat outside. Jiv'undus nodded and complied, heading up onto the grassy plateau above and quietly taking a seat at one of two large, shared tables. The merry men and women at the table ignored their new guest, too busy playing some sort of drinking game and laughing boisterously.

Jiv'undus watched them only briefly, he had never liked laughter - for a when a Drow laughed, it usually meant their scheme had fallen upon their victim. It was the sound of failure, of ridicule. Little did Jiv'undus know just how right he was; for so exhausted and lost in his thoughts he had noticed not at all the tail which peered at him from the same position high on the hill he had one gazed from.

---

Her mouth twitched into a cruel smile as her dazzling glowing purple eyes locked onto her target. "Found you, commoner rat." A female voice purred, her tone like venom and her voice like daggers. Matron Verin turned from her quarry and stalked back toward the wood, back toward her soldiers. She would have the rat who killed her son, and if a surface village had to burn to do it so be it.

 

[Nere Ashorn]

"Why wouldn't they take my offer?" Nere exclaimed as she slapped her hands upon the wooden table. One leg swung high over the bench and she flopped down next to what, from her best estimation, was a somewhat scrawny orc. She only gave him a passing glance and a friendly nod. The axes at his side, after all, requested a lot of elbow room.

With stormy eyes, Nere instead looked up to her traveling companion and personal accountant. "Was it not generous enough?"

"You heard the young miss. Said they didn't have the stock to spare," her accountant, Rizer, explained patiently from next to her. He took his own seat, scooting daintily to the middle of the bench opposite. He was a slender human with craggy features, a bit of something else in the blood tinting him silvery blue. "Small batches and all that. Quite an interesting fermentation process, I'd love to meet the master brewer at work."

Wiggling her gloves free, Nere placed the leather items on the table. Her hands were weary from holding onto reins all day. The Garramarisman woman was more used to sailing boats than riding horses, but a trip inland had her trying out new methods of transportation. The padded outer layer of her gambeson was next to go, and she flopped that half-folded onto the table too. Then her waterskin and the little journal she did her numbers in, and she was comfortably seated.

Nere massaged each palm as she looked out across the village below, thumbs mindlessly tracing over the runework embedded in her skin. The world was so hard and hilly here. No thick overstory to shade the sun, no mud and moss to sink into. She didn't know how people lived like this, climbing so far up just to have a bite to eat.

But despite the incline, it was a beautiful little village. And the brewers at Hill-Hen were really onto something clever. She could have sold the image of an idyllic little brewery on top of the hill all across Elbion, if only they were willing to give her a few barrels of their beer to sell. Perhaps if she just kept ordering drinks, and poured them into something when that barmaid wasn't looking...

"Erm, Miss Ashorn," Rizer started with a rumble of his throat and a nod at the traveler who shared her side of the table. "I think you're disturbing that gentleman."

Round blue eyes went rounder as Nere came back to her surroundings. She saw all her possessions scattered about, and how much of it was invading the other traveler's slice of the table.

"I'm terribly sorry," she said to the dusky grey man next to her. It was an earnest apology, her movements as she scooped up her stuff conveying nothing but regret at her own inconsiderateness. "Let me move all this and give you some more room."

 

[Jiv'undus Rivvazz'a]

Weary ink black eyes set on the woman talking to him, he hadn't even noticed her essentially turning the table into her personal storage and his gaze briefly drifted to the mess before turning to her. The Drow instinctively stiffened, his back going board straight and his eyes widening as if his superior had just walked in on him slacking off. It was a habitual response, but Jiv'undus made no attempt suppress it; if he even could. "Is okay." Jiv'undus responded with a slight bow of his head, anything to give an excuse to avert his gaze from her blue eyes - not in any attempt to hide his identity, but because he dreaded making eye contact with women.

"You may use." He motioned to the area around him, wanting desperately to just bolt from the bench and flee back into the wood. The shop girl swooped in then, setting a plate of food in front of him and a mug of a bright white liquid. She smiled at him and gave the typical 'enjoy your meal' before moving down the table handing out the rest of the orders, her small frame effortlessly hauling it all with skill.

Jiv'undus used the food as an excuse to break his low head bow and turn to his food, keeping his hood on and his eye line down he slid the mask of his shemag down just enough to expose his mouth and ate the food tentatively. He had never seen it's kind before, but it looked like meat - an expensive thing in the livestock short Underrealm which mostly ate mushrooms and other subterranean life.

To any human it was clearly a half of a roasted chicken - one bite told Jiv'undus why it was a the recommended meal. His hunger overwhelming his sense of decorum he dug in ravenously, even downing the strange white beverage (cow's milk) with gusto. In his gusto he had not paid attention to his shemag and the hood fell back during one particularly deep drink.

At once his ears burst out, his oil black ponytail spilling from it's confines to catch on the subtle breeze. Anyone with even a bit of world experience would know instantly he was a Drow, even if he was a bit light of skin tone and thick of build. Jiv'undus noticed not at all as he ate, and the rest of the table was completely ignoring his presence in their game; but there was but a single pair who would likely notice.

The woman sitting directly next to him, and her attendant across the way. Whatever their response would be, Jiv'undus was completely defenseless.

---

Matron Varin sat huddled with her men in the darkness of a cave; the collected Drow's glowing eyes lighting up the darkness like fireflies of every color. "We wait for the cover of night, at the first sign of trouble he will bolt from the forest and let the humans muddy our pursuit. " Matron Varin said, looking to her thirty male Drow waiting on her every word like supplicants. "We will use this, some of us will start a fire and slaughter at the base of this little village. The rest will flank the perimeter of the village in the forest, whichever direction he bolts we will use the signal and then slowly hem him in." She laid out her plan with a harsh tone, gone was her venomous purr - it was cold, calculating business that remained. "No one, I repeat! NO. ONE. Face him alone in single combat, if the rumors are true, and my information network is good - so I know it is, he is a brute with remarkable skill." This final warning, not of Jiv'undus skill but of her own commands finished Matron Varin set to work preparing. If all else failed, she was sure her final trick would do the job.

"And of course, you'll be the one to face him at the climax, my love." The Matron said to someone shrouded deep at the rear of the cave, it's response a few words in an ear scratching, guttural voice. "Yes, mother."

 

[Nere Ashorn]

Despite her tablemate's admissions, Nere still gathered up her outer layers and folded them more neatly together. She placed the bundled gear at her feet, underneath the bench, and proceeded to mind her manners. Nere thought she ought to say something else to put the man's mind at ease, he seemed so stiff, like he was expecting to be scolded at any minute.

But soon the waitress came back with their food, saving her from having to decide what to do next. The young woman was all twirling skirts and rattling plates, setting their orders down in front of them with expert care. A bowl of stew was put in front of Nere. Taking up a wooden spoon, she inhaled the scent gratefully. Generous chunks of beef glistened with thick gravy, a rare thing in her island home and a treat she only got on the mainland.

"Ah, my food hasn't arrived yet," Rizer lamented. The spot in front of him remained empty even as the waitress walked to the next table over.

"You went and ordered something complicated again, didn't you," Nere scolded her accountant.

Rizer's chin tilted up and he looked down at her through proud, narrow eyes. "If one is to do business with an establishment like this, one must foster an appreciation for their specialties."

She only gave a short snort at that and scooped a spoonful of stew up. It was delightfully thick.

Beside her, the 'gentleman' was digging quite enthusiastically into his meal. After a particularly loud gulp of milk, she couldn't help but glance over at her tablemate, just in time to see the scarf fall from his head. Nere smiled softly to herself at the sight of his pointed ears, distinctly not orcish. She had guessed as much when the man had first spoken, her ear for language perhaps better than what most humans could boast.

A small gasp cut through the rowdy laughter around them. Nere looked up to see the barmaid completely frozen, staring right at the drow. She had come back to put down an elaborately garnished salad in front of Rizer, but now seemed ready to bolt.

"Hm? What's the matter?" Nere asked.

Rizer cleared his throat and leaned in closer. "The villages in this region are regularly ravaged by raiding parties from the underrealm," he explained in a quick whisper to Nere. "A drow in broad daylight is an odd sight, to say the least..."

"Well, I haven't seen this one ravage anything but that chicken half. In fact, he seems a bit shy," she answered at at a regular volume. "Don't you agree, miss maid?"

The barmaid looked abashed. She was turning a certain color only attributed to the feverish and the fluttery. "I suppose so," she muttered noncommittally.

Nere came to an abrupt decision, then. Before anyone could respond, she raised her arm and pointed two fingers down at the top of the dark elf's head. "Then get this man another glass of milk!"

Caught up completely in the moment, the young woman jostled to attention as if she was a soldier instead of a barmaid. "Y-yes ma'am!" Gripping her round serving tray tightly, the blonde gave a half curtsy and then abruptly turned around to scurry down the hill.

 

[Harrier]

Harrier Wren's backpack held trinkets, books, barter, bones, and bubbling apparatus. It clattered and clanked when she set it down by a table in the Hill-Hen. Nere Ashorn would catch a familiar scent of the Bayou Garramarisma. If she knew anything of Crossroad Mire, she might even recognize Harrier by reputation.

The necromancer stretched, glad to be free of the pack's weight, and cracked her neck. An undead lizard, more bone than flesh-scrap, darted from her coat and curled up in the pack. Harrier took a seat.

A young woman came in and froze at the door. A few drops of milk slopped out of the jug. Her eyes flicked from the bizarre backpack to Harrier's walking stick, or rather the assorted bones tied to said walking stick. After a moment the girl brought the milk to Jiv'undus Rivvazz'a and approached Harrier.

"Welcome to the Hill-Hen!"

"Thank you," said Harrier. "I hoped I'd find a place to rest my feet. These hills are merciless." She fished out a coin of Elbion, her old homeland. Though Elbion was in terrible shape, the coin was good metal, worth something in this region. "I smell herbed chicken — I'll take one of those with mead if you have it."

These valleys buzzed with the labors of friendly little hives: there'd be mead around, at a guess. The girl mustered a smile and went off to procure the chicken.

Mm, chicken. Lots of little bones.