Open Chronicles Waning Daylight

[Rämna Sisters]

It wasn’t her first choice, but Faith was out of options. The sun was rapidly setting and she was, unfortunately, perilously low on funds. There were nicer places just a short walk away but they would turn her away out of hand for the tiny coinpurse she was carrying.

She shouldn’t be this poor, she had done good work lately, but she had failed to sleep before sundown a few times in the past weeks and her sister had taken advantage. She quite literally could not afford such a mishap again, and so she strode in to find whoever she could to rent her a room.

It was poorly lit, and it took some time for her eyes to adjust. More than one pair of eyes leered at her, for a young and fresh-faced lass was not expected in such a place. The smell was... bearable, and she approached the bar. ”Excuse me,” she inquired, ”Who do I speak to about a room for the night? And quickly?” Her voice wavered as she tracked the light outside.

Lyssia D'avore

 

[Jonathan Burr]

Jonathan was, as always, whipping the bar into a noisy mess of a place. His arrival in a loud red, turquoise and yellow wagon was anything but subtle. Not that anyone would dare touch the candy-colored monstrosity; whoever did found themselves pulling back a bloody stump of a hand. No one could see the pooka protecting the wagon, but they sure as hell could feel it. Jonathan was fairly certain by the surprised screams punctuating the joyous noises every now and then that his good friend was filling up on fingers.

Perhaps they'd eventually get the bloody message.

It was just as much for their protection as his, really. Fire flowers were incredibly dangerous, and Jonathan didn't want anyone blowing up a building out of curiosity. Better to lose a hand than the tavern.

As it was he didn't bother himself with such things. He had a banner day of sales to noblewomen for their garden parties, and he was celebrating before he got back on the road. Liquor with fairweather friends attracted by his volume was a decent way in his opinion. He went up to the bar next to a young woman, who looked a bit....frightened? He raised an eyebrow and followed her eyes outside. Someone following her?

"Ay, I'll get your room." He mentioned. "I'm hitting the road soon, but not for a decently long while. I've got a wagon with it's own bodyguard. As long as you're not fond of the pipe, you can sleep there for the night. Safest place in Arethil, I promise."

Rämna Sisters

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

There were worse fates than death, and this she knew all too well. She had never expected to find herself in a place like this...well, ever. This was a place even the commons did not approve of working in, and so it was little wonder that it was the only kind of work she could find, or more to the point it was the only place that would take her.

Dornoch was indeed a matriarchal society, and so generally women occupied most of the upper echelons of that society. But even in a society where women had the leg up, some would fall through the cracks. Some would be stuffed into the cracks, pushed beyond where the light of day had ever nor would ever reach.

What passed for a kitchen in this particular dive smelled heavily of spices, which was all well and good because it covered the malodorous stench of the sink and the refuse-ridden alley just out the back. Steam haunted the dark place, the cook a particularly vicious demon in a particularly dark and damp hell. Lyssia, dressed in a shapeless sack of a dress with a worn and stained apron tied over it to keep it clean (something that was laughable at best) scurried along as quick as her short legs could carry her. Not quickly enough for the cook, though, and she earned herself another heavy blow across the rump for being too slow.

"We got people t'feed, you wretch! Hop to it! Hop to it!" The vicious delight she seemed to take in pushing her latest charge around merely twisted the diminutive Sidhe's heart in her chest. She deftly dodged the second blow, taking a plate upon in one slender, callous-free hand and rushing through the door with the chicken held high enough that it likely wouldn't get contaminated with anything else the kitchen offered, which included roaches.

Amazing that such a place could exist in the home of the Dynast, in the seat of her power. Fair and even handed (if harsh) law kept most of the worst of society from sticking around, and most were well off within the city proper. But there were always places like this in every city, no matter how affluent. There was always crime in every city, too, no matter how strictly the laws were enforced. And where people gathered, the high and the low quickly separated like oil and water, unable to properly coexist.

And so I end up here, a singular mote of oil awash within the sea of water. The piss of humanity, she thought to herself. Was there a touch of bitterness there? So what if there was. In the span of a year she had been cast from very nearly the pinnacle of this society to a place that did not technically exist. To go from privilege to a place where casual abuse was not remarked upon, simply because she was daughter to a traitor. It was a stigma that could not be cast aside, shirked hidden; all that lived within Dornoch revered the Dynast, and any that would harm her...well...

"Its about goddamned time you got that out here," the woman that ran the bar snarled at her, snatching the plate from her to give to a waiting patron seated at the bar. "Its no wonder you haven't got a dime to your name." The tone of voice suggested she was enjoying herself, which was quite likely. It was known who she was, after all.

Lyssia D'avore. Daughter to the late Bursar, Lady of Erdilynn, the one in line to take over the affairs of D'avore...if the house still stood. If the Lady had not been hauled off in the night to the Courts, stood trial for treason against the Dynast and been found guilty and executed. Her father exiled and dead, her brother dead in her own arms trying to track down who had really made the attempt on the Dynast's life.

The few in the common room that payed any attention at all - few at this time of night, and in this place - could only give her dark, disdainful looks if they were not outright hostile. Even common thieves, cutthroats, and brigands felt themselves above her.

The keeper turned from Lyssia to her customers, and Lyssia took the opportunity to head out into the common room. The stink of sour beer and wine was heavy in the air, and no matter how long she was here she could never seem to stop smelling it. She went to go clean tables, as if that was a thing that mattered in a place like this.

"Stranger, are you maligning my establishment?" The keeper eyed the young lady to whom the rather uninteresting looking fellow was speaking to. "I'll not have you speaking ill of my place, or you can just stand up and walk right back out the door you came in." She shook her head. "Outlander men," she muttered under her breath,

 

[Rämna Sisters]

Faith was taken off guard by the man’s offer. It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate the gesture, but she was not exactly keen on following a strange man into his private carriage out back of a shady tavern. And why did it have a private bodyguard? ”Oh, that’s very kind of you, but I think a room upstairs will do just fine,” she caught the eye of the keeper as she approached, along with the flash of the young woman going to clean the tables.

Something about her drew Faith’s attention. At first she had thought it was a child (the thought quite sad to imagine in a place like this), but upon closer inspection it was just a very small woman. Still young, by her estimate, and... somehow wrong for a place like this. She seemed somehow too good for this tavern. Maybe it was the way she carried herself, or the physical appearance of her royal genes. In any case, it was curious.

The keeper’s harsh words to Jonathan brought her back. “Oh, I’m sure he didn’t mean- but ah, yes, do you have a room available?” She held out her hand with the few coins she had. Please be enough.

 

[Jonathan Burr]

Jonathan stared at the woman who came out of the back, already accusing him of trying to sleep with the girl. He glowered at her. He really didn’t like the implication, but it did sound bad. Offering a girl your bed. He had mentioned he wouldn’t be in it, however. Jonathan shook his head. “Madam, I’m only trying to help. I’ve got no ill-intentions with her, she just looks a bit panicked.” He tried to explain.

By the looks of the coins she held out...the girl was going to be tossed out in the street. Jon sighed and fished in his pocket for his room key, sliding it across the bar to the girl. “There. I’ll go sleep in the wagon. But you’ve got a room. Should be some hot water, I was about to go up and take a bath.” He offered. “No strings attached.”

Jon was a kind soul. He’d run a small entertainment group of refugees like this for a while; people who made money off talents like gymnastics or magic. Before the troupe had collapsed, he’d been known for adopting strays be they fae or human.

He glanced at the girl cleaning tables. That wasn’t doing much good, just smearing the grease into a fine veneer. Weird that she had the sense to look regal about it. That face looked familiar. Hm. He put it out of his mind.

Rämna Sisters
Lyssia D'avore

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

The woman sniffed pointedly at Jonathan, dealing with another oafish customer that had just come in. She looked at the coins that the young lady offered before Jon had offered his key, and grinned. It was a good bit less than the fellow who would come to offer his key had paid for his. "Seems a reasonable sum. I have rooms just for the likes of you, where miserable cretins cannot bother you." She seemed to take great delight in snubbing Jonathan; the coins that were offered were a most half of what he had paid. But, then, it was to be expected here.

"Hey! Hey! Hands off the girl or I'll have you out," she snapped over the pair in front of hers' heads. Lyssia was only just backing off quickly from a brute of a man deep in his cups, rubbing at her arm where an ugly bruise was already starting to show.

"Oaf," girl hissed, and spun away. Only to get snatched again by the fellow at the table. Her face paled in his grip, which must have been crushing.

"Say," the man said, spittle flying. "I know you, lady." He ignored the angry growl of the establishment owner, and hauled the diminutive woman back to him by main force. "You that one wot they said din' do nuffin. Still tossed y' out, though."

He laughed, a cruel thing. "Not too good for us now, is ya?" He shoved her away roughly, turning back to his meal, which consisted primarily of beer and little else. Lyssia stood just out of reach, rubbing her arm and staring daggers at the fellow while a few others nearby laughed at the entertainment. She spun to leave, to go back to her hated work.

 

[Rämna Sisters]

The man was persistent, but his intentions did not seem to be nefarious. Besides, she was certain that she hadn’t brought enough money after seeing the keeper’s initial reaction. She was about to accept his offer when the woman took her coin and promised her a room of her own.

”I… oh. Thank you?” Everything was happening very quickly and she quite frankly did not have time for it. She took the key to her room and turned to Jonathan with an awkward expression. ”I suppose we both can have baths now.” She immediately blushed as she realized what she’d said. She hadn’t meant to- oh but this was getting out of hand.

Mercifully, she was saved from her embarrassment by the sounds of trouble, and her brow furrowed as the men abused the tiny thing. Faith was glad that the keeper had called them off initially, but wished she had done more when they continued berating her.

Time was rapidly working against her, but Faith’s priorities were just. She stepped quietly over to the small girl, and knelt so that she would not tower above the poor thing.

”Excuse me,” she said in a voice as soft and kind as lambswool. ”You are hurt. May I?” she carefully moved to lay a hand on the bruise that had formed on Lyssia’s arm. Provided the girl allowed it, it would take little effort for a soft, warm light to shine from beneath the hand and wash away the injury.

 

[Jonathan Burr]

Jonathan raised an eyebrow at the innkeeper. He’d paid twice the amount in the poor girl’s hands for his room! Seemed a bit unfair to him. He wasn’t trying to follow her up into the room, but by her next words maybe she had different ideas in mind? He smirked, wondering if it was an innocent slip or a genuine invitation. He didn’t get much of a chance to engage in flirting; the men behind them were harassing the serving girl.

“Hey! You lot.” He snapped. “Hands off!”
He followed the other girl to the servant, eyeing the men. She was a little bruised but no worse for wear. What interested him was that the men seemed to have caught on to the same thing he did. The girl was familiar, even to a man like himself who didn’t frequent the area. The drunk had implied she came from a rich family....would she recognize him? He’d been selling his fire flowers to rich families all over Arethil.

Perhaps. He looked at her closely. “Either youre a Royal or I’m not half as good at remembering girls as I think I am.” He said with a wry smile. “What’s your name?”

Rämna Sisters
Lyssia D'avore

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

There was a not-so-subtle change to the quality of the air in common room when the dandy little fellow made his demand to the others. The mountain of a man that had been mishandling the young lady looked up from his drink, and cast a sideways glance at the outlander.

"Mind yer business, friend. Unless, o'course, you cut from the same cloth as that wench?" The noise died down little by little as a dozen sets of ears listened for the response. The brute sized the dandy up, and estimated his chances were likely about as good as it got. He turned in his seat, a vicious look in his eyes.

"Its nothing," Lyssia replied to the woman that had come to her aid. It was nothing, truth to tell; she bruised easily, and in fact got hurt rather easily as well. Her and her kind were not really built for this sort of physicality.

The girl definitely spoke with the mannerisms of the nobility, although of course she had only been the scion of the House of a Bursar, which could loosely be equated to a High Lady in the more archaic parts of the world. Whatever her former station, it was not that now. Training and breeding, however, could not simply be cast aside. In fact, quite a lot of her troubles stemmed from that. "You probably don't want to associate with me more than absolutely necessary," she added in a prim tone the was underlined by the exhaustion she barely managed to keep hidden.

"You lot break up my commons and I am going to have the Guard deal with you. Having some missing skin as a souvenir for your troubles would be just dandy, wouldn't it just?" The keeper scowled at Lyssia, and then back at the patrons who, having decided that being strapped to a whipping post for disorderly conduct would not be wise. The larger fellow still eyed Jonathan with a mean glare, but did nothing else.

"I am nobody, now," Lyssia replied to the fellow. "But I was never a royal." She caught sight of the scowling woman behind the bar, fixing her with an auguring stare.

"You want to maybe work? I don't pay you to sit down on the job."

If it comes to it, you don't pay me much at all. If anything. Room and board and a few coins to live by; Lyssia did not eat, by and large, and therefore it was an additional savings in cost for the exquisitely tight-fisted innkeeper. "I had best get back to work," she said sourly. "It took me weeks to find any job that would have me at all. It would not do to lose this one now." She gave a brief, tired smile to the young lady that had offered aid, and to the fellow that probably ought to step warily when he left that night,

 

[Rämna Sisters]

”It was my fault,” she said to the overbearing tavern keeper. She decided she didn’t much like this woman, in spite of the significant discount she’d just been given.

She nodded to the girl, gave a weak but pleasant smile, and gave just a touch of healing magic despite her assurances. It should be enough to at least remove the pain, although she suspected the employer might prefer the table girl to look battered. Perhaps in the morning she could do more, as she felt an odd duty towards her, but it would have to wait.

As tensions in the bar rose and fell, the sunlight continued to dim. The sky was now a flaming orange, and Faith had precious few minutes to not only get to her room, but to fall asleep.

She thanked the keeper and strode quickly for the stairs. She could feel stirrings at the edge of her mind. No, she still had time. She ascended the creaking steps, found her room though the number had been worn from the door, and went to unlock it.

The key stuck.

No.

”No no no!” she rattled the handle to no avail.

 

[Jonathan Burr]

Jonathan looked just as viciously back. “You mean we’re both repulsed by hideous drunks? I think I’ve seen furniture pegs bigger than the shriveled stick between your legs. Leave the girls alone. If you’ve got a wife go home and ask her how drunk she was at the altar.” He snapped, and looked at the serving girl. He put a few coins down on the table. Not silver or copper. Gold.

“Sorry miss. I sell fire flowers to a lot of the noble families. Thought I might have recognized you. Jonathan Burr, transmuter.” He offered her a hand. Transmutation was a rare form of magic. Shifting things from one to the other. Gold becoming stone, stone becoming diamond, metal to glass. Anything inorganic was his realm, and if she looked closely at the stamps on the coins, she might realize they had once been silver.

“Now if you don’t mind me, I’ve got to go explain to my business partner why we’re sharing a wagon.” Jon chuckled. He didn’t seem concerned that the ugly man at his back was still bristling.

Rämna Sisters
Lyssia D'avore

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

The man so insulted did not respond with more than a rude gesture before returning to his contemplation on the bottom of his cup. The mistress of this particular establishment had a reputation, after all, and she likely meant every word that she said. She could hear his rude comment muttered under his breath, though; it wasn't about the size but how you used it.

If she hadn't heard the like a dozen times a day by now, she might have been flustered by such commentary. She said nothing as she felt the alien magic of others flare briefly to life. She had never understood how others could apply their healing in measured amounts; for her, it was all or nothing. The effect was the same, though; the strength for healing came from the healed more than it did from the healer. An extra brick of weariness got subtly added to the load from the day. If only she could heal herself, but that was just wishful thinking. It was impossible for her to use any of her magic on herself. It was for others only.

She snatched the coins from the table before any of the ruffians got any ideas, not that she was going to be allowed to keep them. She could feel the subtle traces of magic on them, and could rightly guess at the style of magic used. She had little talent for anything beyond healing arts and several ancillary disciplines that helped in that roll. Still, she was sidhe, and she could readily recognize anything of magical nature - often on sight, but failing that, as soon as she touched it.

"Might have been, at some point," she said in a low voice. "But nothing is forever," she added cryptically. She offered him a wan, tired smile. "Thank you, Master Burr, but I must work if I am to get any sleep tonight." She bustled back toward the kitchen.

A hand blocked her path, palm open and face up. The innkeeper did not have to say anything; this was routine business by this stage. Lyssia did not hesitate in dropping coins into the waiting hand; the gleam of gold reflected in her eyes. "What did you do for that?" The woman tittered to herself. "A little extra service, maybe?"

Lyssia did not reply, just pushing past the foul minded woman and back into the back to get the next set of plates. The cold of the coin she'd dropped down the front of her dress, though, was a welcome consolation for any amount of humiliation. She just needed to get it to the little hiding hole she had in the musty, cramped place she slept in.

 

[Rämna Sisters]

Stupid door, stupid door!! Faith pulled at the handle, pushed on the door, but still the lock wouldn’t turn. Just like a run-down alehouse to have locks that stuck, she thought in irritation, and she could tell by the rising of her own temper that her time was running out.

She stopped struggling with the door and just stood there, trying to hide her frustrated frown. At least she was already broke. ”Not like I could have slept in time anyway... not after all this.

Time’s up.

Faith slumped. Her knees buckled out from under her as her eyes rolled back in her head, unconscious. A moment later her hand snapped out to brace against the door, and she picked herself up. She blinked, looked up and down the hallway appearing somewhat disoriented. She heard the bustle from downstairs, and a sly grin spread over her lips. She tried the door, still stuck, shrugged, and put the key back in her pocket.

Melody descended the stairs in a very different manner from her sister. Loud footsteps, lazily dragging her hand over the bannister (which was unpleasantly sticky in some places), she cast her eyes out across the motley crowd.

She strode back to the bar with a sparkle in her eye and loudly called to the bartender ”Ay, an ale!” She leaned against the bar not far from where Faith had just left, unbeknownst to her. As far as she knew, she had awoken in a dingy den of dirt that was rife with opportunity.

 

[Jonathan Burr]

“Try and keep your chin up.” Jon told the serving girl quietly. “And if you ever want a way out of this place, look for me or the wagon.” Not that anyone could miss the gaudy mess from a half mile off. He used his skills in transmutation to keep the paint fresh and bright. Jon smiled encouragingly at her and moved to head out of the door...when a familiar voice called for ale.

What?

He turned to look at a sight that was...strangely familiar. The girl who had been shaking in fear had now sauntered down the stairs and was demanding ale. She clearly hadn’t slept. Jon blinked. It reminded him very distinctly of an old friend. Volker would beg exhaustion and head to bed, only to be awake seconds later and doing things entirely out of character. That usually only happened when residents of the Well took advantage of his unconsciousness. It was rare; Jonathan had only seen it twice and both times had been spirits who hated him.

The resemblance was uncanny.

Jon headed back to the bar and smirked at her. “And I thought you were headed to bed, missy.” He joked. “Room not work out for you?” He put coins on the bar for her ale.

Rämna Sisters
Lyssia D'avore

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

She did not respond to Jonathan and his offer to help. He did not understand that, while she might want out of the current predicament, she certainly did not want to flee Dornoch. At least, she thought she did not. It could have been stubborn, foolish pride that kept her here, chasing after a goal that never got any closer.

But fleeing with the stench of treachery she did not commit would not sit well with her. More, she wanted vengeance against the people that had done her wrong, her family wrong. The war between shame, sorrow, and anger had gone on for a year, and had nearly ended in sorrow winning, and the ending of her life by her own (metaphoric) hand.

She vanished off into the back of the inn, through the kitchen, and into the grubby part that she had her bunk in. It was really little more than a storage closet that a narrow bed designed for a child had been dumped into. It had been reasoned that since she was so small, she did not need as much space.

And to a point, it was true. She did not have many belongings, and she did not require much. Besides, this place was not home, and it never would be. Her home was in the hands of strangers, strangers she was convinced had schemed and connived to bring about the end of her own family. Just thinking about it stirred dark emotions in her soul.

She opened the door to the dark and dusty space and listened. No sound came from behind her, and so she pried up the board under her bead and dropped the gold coin into the darkness beneath, where it clinked as it landed on a pile of coins. She then returned the board to where it belonged.

"There you are!" Lyssia nearly swallowed her tongue at the sharp words, snapping round to look at the heavyset innkeeper. She had not heard the woman come up on her, and for a moment she thought that her secret might be out, and that all of her efforts over the last few weeks would be for nothing. The scowl on her employers face was enough to make a ball of ice form in her guts. "You don't have time to be laying about yet, girl. Get to it! There are customers up front, still."

She turned and moved with eerie stealth back to the front. It wasn't like it was far, anyway.

She knelt there for a long moment, until she was sure her heart would not beat its way out of her chest. Thus...composed, if it could be called such, she stood and hurried back out. The weariness of the day was heavy on her shoulders, along with the healing and everything else. Another night that would end with her falling asleep as soon as she hit the stone-hard bed.

 

[Rämna Sisters]

Melody turned in Jon’s direction with the aimless nonchalance of someone who had, almost literally, just woken up. She put the situation together quickly, though, it wasn’t like this was the first time someone had seen Faith mere moments before Melody took control.

”Oh, I uh.. no it’s fine. Couldn’t sleep.” It was a flimsy excuse, especially considering how little time had actually passed since Faith ascended the steps, but Melody didn’t know that and honestly didn’t care too much. People usually assumed other, more reasonable scenarios than the reality before them, and “oh yeah I just took over my sister’s body” tended to end conversations.

She got a better look at the patrons now. More women than she would have expected, but plenty of the typical grungy men leering and spitting and mumbling amongst themselves. More leering than usual, actually. Leering in her direction... directly at the man who’d greeted her. She looked back over and raised an eyebrow at him.

”You, uh, seem to have some admirers.”

 

[Jonathan Burr]

“You couldn’t sleep? Or you having trouble getting the other to sleep?” Jon asked, leaning against the bar. Even if she had a convenient excuse...so had the Volkers. People carried themselves differently, or talked differently, even made different choices. There was no way she had come from a scared girl struggling for a room to a nonchalant creature requesting a beer. He looked over his shoulder when she indicated the men and blew a kiss at them.

“Ah, don’t pay them any mind. They’re men who’ve got bigger brains in their pants than between their ears.” Jon chuckled. “And even then, that size isn’t really impressive. I’d steer clear of them for the night. Stupid things can definitely be dangerous, if you’ve ever met a steer before.”

The door blew open a bit, and Jon eyed it. Only he could see Hob when the pooka wasn’t using him as a conduit to appear. The gigantic four armed creature eyed him, then the group of patrons. You getting foxed or are we finding a better inn?

Jon raised an eyebrow and nodded at the girl. So what? Hob looked a bit exasperated.

Volker. Jon mouthed.

That isn’t a Volker, it’s not ugly enough.

Jon gave up for now. He couldn’t communicate too heavily without using magic. Hob rolled his eyes and sat down in a chair, causing it to creak heavily. It’s fun to watch you try to flirt. What, does she eat people? Is that what you’re trying to say? A subtle shake of the head. Hob flicked one long lopped ear

Rämna Sisters
Lyssia D'avore

 

[Rämna Sisters]

Melody stiffened. She wasn't good at hiding her emotions, and her wide eyes and paling face, however brief, gave away how surprised she was. How did he know? There was no way he could... unless... had Faith befriended this man and given away their secret? No... no she wouldn't do that, would she?

"I... don't know what you mean," she said, unconvincingly, and luckily Jon seem fine addressing the ugly elephants in the room. The color returned to her face as she cocked an eyebrow. Ah, the men usually offered to protect her, or give her "advice," the young men especially.

Melody wouldn't need protecting, but she figured she could let that reveal itself if the opportunity arose. No need for her to arouse any further suspicion. Though he seemed distracted now by the door.

"Are you waiting for someone?" she asked, hoping to divert his attention away from her affliction, and then more to herself saying, "Where the heck is that ale?"

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

The innkeeper was not up front as she stepped back into the common room, which was just as well. She could not hide the scowl on her face as she looked at the room and ins inhabitants, passing over the pooka and then sharply looking back to it. The great beast was sitting there as though it belonged, and she was too buys to think much of it anyway. She had never seen anything that looked like that before, and the scent of magic that wafted off it was unusual to say the least, but not entirely unprecedented.

She hustled off to a table out in front, passing by the table of surly drunks again. They said rather unflattering things to her, but she just ignored them...mostly. Her scowl deepened despite her best attempt at mastering her temper, and she snatched an empty mug from a table with a muttered "I'll be back," before stalking back past that same table. One of them pinched her on the way by, but she ignored it as well.

There was a convenient step behind the bar that allowed her to get enough height to reach the taps on the barrels stacked behind it, and she drew a foaming mug full, and then another, and another. She heard the one woman - sounding slightly different and therefore to her anger-addled mind someone entirely else - and spun round. She stepped from one raise to the next, barely coming above the level of the bar itself and slammed the first mug down, slopping some of it onto the countertop. She then dropped down and took the other two back out into the common room, suffering more abuse on the way by. "hands off, you unkempt ruffians," she growled, stepping out of reach. She received raucous laughter as a reward, and hurried on her way to serve the first customer.

Her face was beet red, by this point, out of humiliation and anger. Which was not an uncommon thing this late in an evening.

 

[Jonathan Burr]

Jon leaned on the bar. “I think you know exactly what I mean. You came in here looking like you’d fled a pack of wolves and with only a few pennies to your name, only to saunter down the stairs confident as a queen and demand ale. I’ve only met one other who could switch like that, and it wasn’t necessarily him in the driving seat.” He pointed out.

He was a bit startled by the angry way the serving girl slammed down her ale. It distracted him for a moment, looking at the crowd of men who were resuming pinching and feeling her up. Jon eyed Hob and flicked his eyes back and forth between them. With a dramatic sigh the pooka rose and sharply kicked a chair out from under one of the more egregious offenders. To the rest of the bar, the chair simply folded under him.

“Might want to take more walks in the evening instead of harassing women. Then they could actually find your cock under that belly instead of going on the world’s worst scavenger hunt.” Jon called back over his shoulder to the man.

You’re welcome. Hob grinned at him.

Jonathan turned his attention back to the sour girl next to him at the bar. “I think we got off on the wrong foot. Jonathan Burr. I used to run a...home for the magically afflicted you could say.”

Lyssia D'avore
Rämna Sisters

 

[Rämna Sisters]

Melody looked back to Jon as he spoke and made no effort to hide her interest in what he’d said.

I’ve only met one other who could switch like that...

Where there more people like her and her sister? Who? Where? How? She frowned, thinking hard. Melody wasn’t as sharp as Faith, not with complicated issues like this. She preferred hitting things when they didn’t make sense, but she knew that hitting Jon would be a bad plan.

”Are there more?” she asked. ”More people that are... two people?” No reason to continue trying to deny it.

The mug of ale laid heavily before her was startling, especially because she hadn’t seen the diminutive woman who’d served it. Before she could make a sound at the splashed drink the little one was off to serve others and be jeered at. Hands reached where they ought not to, and Melody‘s frown went from confusion to wrath as she watched it. Jon’s jeer was a good one, but she wanted to do more than call names.

”Aye, if you want to keep those hands leave’em off the girl!” she followed up, and a few glares shot her way. In any other city she might have been the immediate victim of retorts, but here in Dornoch women held the upper hand, so they just glared.

Her face changed again when Jonathan introduced himself. ”What, like a loonie bin?” She forgot to give her own name amidst the curiosity. Tact was never her strong suit.

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

Her anger was going to get the best of her. She was going to snap at someone, she knew it; her tolerance for humiliation was nearly spent. She hated this job with every fiber of her being, had wanted nothing to do with it from the outset. Only a stubborn refusal to leave Dornoch, to fade into obscurity as the real traitors wished her to...only that kept her hear, enduring what she should not have to endure.

She bit down on it as hard as she could. She did not know how much the mistress would put up with, but she rather expected it was a lot. She seemed to personally dislike Lyssia for reasons the young woman could hardly begin to understand. She had never done anything to harm the woman before her time here. It was possible she was simply a true patriot and thought the courts were too lenient, or had allowed her her life when she felt they should not have.

But the young D'avore did not believe it so. She did not know why the mistress tormented her so, nor why she so disliked her.

"Or what, outlander? 'M not going t'fight a woman, and yer piece o' meat going to have to start it." The heavyset fellow cast a dark look at the pair at the bar, but did not rise. Another at his table barked a laugh. "You might beat on us 'bit, but the Royals, 'ey'll 'ave yer hide off in strips," the fellow said.

 

[Jonathan Burr]

Jonathan nodded to her. “I had a good friend afflicted with a curse that forced him to have his entire cavalcade of ancestors in his skull.” He said softly. “Kind of like you. They fought to try and take over, to see sunlight and feel the air again. It was strange to see it the first time...watching a man walk around just to feel his feet on the ground and the wind across his face. I think that I understand your problem.”

He chuckled and shook his head. “Not a loon bin. I’d be in with them if that were the case. No, a safe place for people like you, to try and work out how to manage it. A lot of people just hide. People judge them for being a kelpie, or troll, or cursed. It’s easier to solve things when you’re not rushing around seeking a room before the sun goes down. What’s your name, by the way? I’m Jon.” Jonathan offered his hand.

He sighed in exasperation and looked back at the rude patrons. “Lucky for my clean clothes, I don’t have to touch you to throw you out on your ears! Good luck to the Royals proving this.” He whistled, a sharp clean sound.

Hob simply picked up the man who had shouted at Jon. He would feel clawed hands, and the slithering of the wormy fur, but there seemed to be nothing there. Hob opened the front door, and launched the man out into the street like an unwanted kitten.

“Anyone else? Now what you’re going to do is clean out your pockets for the lady you pinched or the next man drowns in the bog.” Jon called sharply. Hob gave one of them a sharp slap across the back of the skull for good measure.

Rämna Sisters
Lyssia D'avore

 

[Rämna Sisters]

Melody snapped back. ”I’m not a curse! And I don’t fight to take control... I can’t.” She looked down at the bar. Jon was very likely trying to be understanding, but she was still very surprised by the things he was saying, and she didn’t like being compared to a curse, especially when she knew Faith might see her that way. ”I protect Faith. But she... she doesn’t let me out. She thinks I make trouble but it’s not my fault!“

She glared at her drink and made fists on the bar. She felt hot thinking about how unfair her sister was to her. She wouldn’t need to rush to bed if she would just let her out. It was as much her body as Faith’s, right? It wasn’t right that she decide when and where Melody got to come out. Maybe if she got more time she wouldn’t feel the need to do as much as she could when she broke free.

”She had a place,” Melody continued sourly. ”The convent. They wanted to help her too. They taught her how to lock me away and control me. They told her that she was in charge and that I was something to get rid of.”

She looked at the hand that Jon offered. ”You don’t know me.”

She got up quickly enough to knock her stool over and stomped to the jeering men. She didn’t much register one of them falling out the door by some invisible force.

“Ey, I say I ain’t fight no woman!” One of the larger ones reiterated.

”You don’t have a choice,” and she planted a swift fist against his face.

Melody was exceptionally strong, and it helped that Faith still had a bit of magic from the day before to power the attack. She was confused and angry, and so she locked on to the loudest noise in her direction. The heavyset man fell to the ground as his friend tried to hold Melody off, but she elbowed him sharply in the nose and sent him reeling back as well.

The bar reacted with more noise. Breaking wood and glass punctuated by yells as patrons either ran away or tried to intervene. Melody had lost track of the small woman and was content to work out her frustrations by breaking a few bones.

 

[Varys]

Varys was roused from his sleep by a commotion from within the bar that Jonathan had stopped at, his body lying rather uncomfortable in a small spot in Jon's wagon. He hadn't been travelling with the salesman and the pooka for very long, but already it had been a difficult lifestyle to acclimate to. After so long staying in one place, the idea of being constantly on the move had sounded appealing. In practice, it wore on the young elf's body and mind more than he would readily admit.

Despite Hob's insistence that all Jonathan's apprentice needed to cure his sour demeanor and short temper was a bedmate, Varys detested the larger, rowdy crowds that tended to be in places like this. Whenever the other two decided to stop in a particularly lively tavern, Varys would instead rest in the wagon. If he was ordered to accompany Jon, he would. Luckily, his employer usually let him do as he pleased.

The shrill sounds of screaming and the breaking of glass came from the lit building as if whatever had happened had caused all of the tension among the patrons to erupt at once. "Damn it. Can't stay out of trouble, can we?" He grabs his bow, pulls on the old, deep blue coat, and hurriedly exits the wagon.

Whatever was happening in there had people in a panic. The less inebriated patrons were leaving the scene already, some running. Varys himself collided with a particularly frantic woman who nearly caused him to stumble back into the wagon.

"Get off of me, you crazy scrubber."

He shoves her off to the side and charges into the building full speed. If anything happened to Jon, he'd be back at square one.

"The hells is going on in this place?!"

The bar was alight with scrapping and fighting of all kinds, but the one who seemed the centerpiece was a quite ordinary woman performing equally extraordinary attacks on a group of men at a table. At least he thought they were men; At the rate they were going, they'd be too bruised and bloodied to be recognized. He pushes and shoves his way to Jonathan, tapping his shoulder with a shout, trying to drown out the shouting. "Does this happen often?!" He calls out, swinging his bow to smack against a patron who had been approaching him with a drunken rage in his eyes. It knocked him to the ground with a dull thud. "Or is this just the effect you have on women?"