Open Chronicles When in doubt a Tavern will do.

[Feyrith]

A dingy tavern like many that litter the docks, A Woman standing arms crossed with a contemplative expression, and a mostly empty notice board.
White hair flowed over her shoulders in glimmering untangled strands. It was just about the only thing on her person that wasn't weathered and travel worn.
The few bits of plate armor, dingy and a little rusted, the leather beneath muted and in a bit of disrepair. All items which seemed well taken care of but on their last leg. Feyrith's brow was set in a way that only heightened the overall pointed look of her features.

Even before reaching dry land they had begun to wrestle with the notion of a change of profession. It was easy enough to roam about taking on odd jobs but the novelty had worn off. Perhaps it was time to consider taking down roots. The job they had just finished was one of a glorified courier. It wasn't bad work per say but that was just it. Doing whatever job paid was all well and good when she was struggling to get by. Now that she'd had a string of well paid jobs she could afford to be a bit more discerning.

The problem then she realized was that she had no idea how to find such jobs. Feyrith's sharp eyes scanned over the shoddy well pitted cork and wood board with a deep frown. It was not the first such board she had seen in this state. Picked over with mostly postings for ship hands or dock workers.
The light tap of her boot against the muddy cobblestone floor was drowned out by the din of noisy drunken sailors. It made sense of course. It was just that she had been doing this for so long now that she hardly knew where else to look. Networking and social climbing had never been her strong suit. So here she was with a resume of dirty jobs from employers she couldn't name, in a city with no contacts and with few skills other than knowing just the right place to knife someone.
She peered at an illustration of a man in armor with a splash of Allira's flag colors.
The city guard, hm? She had heard rumors about, there were strange happenings with the guard as of late. Alliria was a naturally diverse city given it's reliance on trade. However, from what she heard this was a different kind of diversity altogether. Perhaps diverse enough to allow a Drow into their ranks without too many pesky questions. She doubted that one acquired such a position by simply asking. She shook the thought from her mind.
If that suspiciously head shaped package she had delivered was as bad as it had smelled she might be better off looking for work elsewhere. She wasn't keen to end up tangled in whatever that was about.
Abruptly Feyrith turned intending to give up on the board when she nearly collided with someone.

 

[Afanas]

Feyrith


The woman, a slip of violet skin and hurried breath, had nearly struck his chest.

For a moment, his frame stiffened. A taut, lean tension rippled through him, like a bowstring pulled too tight. Then, slowly, he exhaled. The stiffness drained from his limbs like heat from forged steel. His cloak stirred in response, shifting across his angular form with a whispering sound, silken, yet burdened with weight. A shadow curved beneath the brim of his wide-brimmed hat, hiding the cold gleam of his eyes.

When he spoke, his voice was flat. Iron dulled on stone.

“Are you hurt?” he asked.

The words came measured. Quiet. But not soft.

His mouth opened just enough to show what lay within—fangs, long and clean, shaped like tools for puncturing armor, not for feeding. They caught the light. Briefly. Like a hunter flashing his knife before turning it down.

He looked at her. No scowl. No warmth. Only scrutiny, like a man gauging whether the thing before him was a friend, or problem, or something stranger still.

 

[Feyrith]

She took a swift step back with an instinctive wince, almost as if she had immediately expected him to swing on her. Her stance only marginally relaxing after hearing him speak.
The realization of a glint of sharp teeth only hitting belatedly. So the rumors of night stalking beasts might be more than drunken prattle.
"No...." She replied evenly, uncertain of the exact motivation for his scrutinizing gaze. She would have said that his elegant figure looked out of place in this bottom of the barrel establishment. His height certainly did. Then again she was well aware that she herself looked out of place just about anywhere on the surface.

He didn't seem the type to swig cheap ale, nor was he holding any. Had she blocked his access to the board? Surely not.
Feyrith side stepped a little as if to free up the notice board.

 

[Afanas]

Feyrith

Afanas’s gaze flicked to the board, cluster of papers pinned, notices ragged and sailing lists lined, cargo manifests folded close. The shifting shapes interested him not. He turned back, swift, deliberate.

He regarded Feyrith, violet skin glowing faint beneath tavern gloom, and words slipped out, low, even, charged:

“You are a drow, are you not?”

His words landed steady, stone-hard, his flint-black eyes locking on her face, tracing shadow and sheen like blade on metal.

Silence stretched thin, taut, as he leaned, curiosity sharp as steel.

“Not many drows I’ve seen this far above, fewer still those who follow sea.”

His brow tilted.

He spoke again, tone cautious, not mocking:

“What brings you here?”

 

[Feyrith]

The moment the man's eyes passed over the board with disinterest it confirmed the question she knew was coming.
"Yes. I am." She replied her voice deep and even. It was a line of inquiry she had gotten well used to answering. No matter how much she wished to avoid it altogether.
Her tone didn't carry the poised dignified confidence of the matriarchs. It was a resigned tone, like a confession.
She let the lack of explanation sit in silence. Her eyes watching his mouth as he spoke with a kind of weariness, finding his dark eyes difficult to keep eye contact with.
Her face scrunched in disdain at the mention of the sea. It had been more a necessary evil than an enjoyment. The memory of long months on high waves and salt burning her nose was a renewed her motivation.
"I would be pleased indeed to never step off of dry land again...." She replied in almost a grumble. She felt in her bones that even if she managed to find a foothold in this city it wasn't the last she would see of the ocean's wrath.

Her eyes glanced at the board again and she reached over to tear the flyer for the city guard from it.
"Imagining something foolish." She replied as if the joke were somehow self-explanatory.
A drow, lending sword to protect a city she knew next to nothing about to protect people she cared not even an ounce for. It was an amusing idea in it's stupidity. Yet, her eyes had been drawn to the flimsy parchment of this gaudy little flyer every time she had passed one.

 

[Afanas]

Feyrith

Afanas lifted a brow.

Her sea-talk carried strain. He marked it. Deep water and he did not agree.

He moved slow. Deliberate. He offered his hand—plate-wide, pale. Skin taut; touch smooth. Fingers long; joints fine. Each finger tipped with black lacquer, one claw per digit, talons neat and precise.

His cloak settled. The air cooled.

His eyes held her, flint on violet, steady and mild as winter light.

“I am Afanas,” he said. “Vlakhos’ son. Lord Commander of Alliria’s arms.”

The title lay heavy. The voice enunciating it stayed level--cold, patrician.


“Name your ambition,” he said. “Call it folly if you must. I’ll listen.”

 

[Feyrith]

Her eyes rested on the offered hand like as wary as if it had been a knife. It was a simple gesture yet she felt trepidation all the same.
Hesitantly, she reached out to shake it her hand well calloused from hard work.
She was momentarily distracted by the title to respond. Her eyes flitting from him to the hearty low born patrons of the tavern. Why has a man with such a lofty title in a tavern of such cheap ale.
Perhaps he deemed himself a 'man of the people'.

"Feyrith." She replied with a guarded frown. "Daughter of no one. Claimed by no House....follower of no God..."
Part of her wondered if she really had been accused of something. Elsewise had she somehow summoned him from looking at the flyer? No, surface dwellers didn't bother with such silly enchantment traps.
The paranoia was getting to her again. Surely, it was some bizarre coincidence.
Now that she had the chance right in front of her 'just asking' seemed a much more cumbersome task than she first thought.
"I grow weary of wandering. I had been considering taking up sword for someone or some thing a little more permanently."
The wandering had never been a choice to begin with really. Lucky for her, it seemed the past she was so worried about tailing her up surface side wouldn't be catching up anytime soon.
"This city seems as good as any for...a commitment."

 

[Afanas]

Feyrith

Afanas took her hand, his fingers long, pale, coiling with slow grace around hers. He pressed gently. The size gap was stark; her hand seemed a child’s within his grasp.

“Be as it may,” he said, voice no harsher than a conspiratorial whisper, “you are yet a person. Whether sworn to a god or none, whether you bear crest or go nameless, such things matter little to me.”

He released her. His own hand fell back to his side, loose, idle.

“If you live by the sword,” he went on, “I could see you placed in the city guard, provided,” and here his gaze sharpened, “you wield that steel at your hip with more than a peasant’s bravado.”

 

[Feyrith]

His form was as imposing in it's grandeur, rarely had Feyrith been made to feel so small.
She rested her hands lightly on her hips. Her nails similarly lacquered black but certainly much less talon-like.

Her lips set in a tight line and her brows knit a little in thought.
"To be judged on ones skill alone is a boon...." Her voice trailed off, several unspoken questions hanging in the dead space. She decided to let it lie. No point in squandering good will.
"I would be grateful of it. You will not find me lacking in discipline." She agreed with a touch more boldness than before. She crossed her arms and met his sharp gaze with only a touch of nerves.
"I may wield sparingly, but I strike true. If you offer such an opportunity....I will see it not wasted."
She added firmly.

 

[Afanas]

Feyrith
Afanas nodded, slow and deliberate. He raised a hand and cupped her face. His flesh was warm, less than a man’s, yet far from cold, and smooth as polished marble that still breathed.

“You must be an outcast,” he said. “Else you would not seek to bind your blade to the cause of surface folk.”

He tilted his head; dark, wavy locks spilled across his chest like slow water.

“Whatever sin cast you from your kin, I care nothing for it. I hold no love for Lolth, nor for the cruel halls her spider’s faith has built on backs in chains.”

A faint smile tugged at his mouth. “Still, I have a fondness for cripples, bastards, and the broken. You fit one of those, at the least.”

His hand lingered, broad enough to engulf her head entire. Then, without haste, he let it fall away, leaving only the ghost of his touch.

 

[Feyrith]

Feyrith flinched as the hand moved toward her face. She stilled in an instant. Stiff under such an unfamiliar and intimate gesture. Somehow she felt the elegant hand held great strength. A small unreasonable thought lingered in the back of her mind. Oh how easy it would be for him to crush her head.

Her face was at first an expression mixed of surprise and confusion.
As she looked up at his statuesque features his albeit a bit presumptive words sent a subtle flush to her features. His assessment was not incorrect. The words were unfathomably warm. So strangely welcoming that Feyrith briefly wondered if she had stepped into some manner of delusion.

She eye his smile in baffled silence the corner of her lip stirring as if to return it but the mean of the motion forgotten.
"I see...." She replied her voice a bit stilted. "On this I am grateful we align. It is true that I cannot return.....nor would I should chance ever be presented. "
As he drew the hand away she seemed to regain herself a little. Her eyes flitting to the rest of the busy tavern.
Almost as if to remind herself that life continued to flow outside this corner of shadow and the tall lord.
"I hold no deep belonging in these blinding lands....but I am renewed. If I am to have such a thing it must be forged in some way. The sword is my most trusted tool. Perhaps my only tool."

 

[Rae'twyn Suvalissaere]

With a hood pulled down deep over his head, leaving only his white locks revealed, Rae'twyn spied at the two below its rim. His cloak spilled against the bar as languidly as himself, elbows and back slouched against the counter.

Watching this exchange from afar between a fellow drow and the lord commander brought a small smile to his face. The whispers of patrons had informed him of the latter's identity. The former, however, remained a mystery. He couldn't hear their words, but their movement spoke volumes more than any stray conversation. The tender touch of the commander left the woman's chin, hand drifting down like falling snow. Tight and awkward at first, slowly softening into familiarity, pushing past tested boundaries.

So, some drow mistresses could let down their guard on the surface, after all. In Zar'ahal, certainly, such a gesture could cost a hand - at least in public. Behind closed doors, it was another story entirely.

He turned and reached out for his goblet, swilling the wine lazily in his hand before taking a sip.

For now, he was content to watch from afar, hidden by the obscurity of the crowd. In a manner of speaking, her brazen and uncloaked appearance could test the waters for him, to see if any hostility would spark here at the sight of a drow.

So far, it seemed quite the opposite.

 

[Afanas]

Afanas’s gaze gentled as her defences faltered. Slowly, the corners of his mouth drew into a smile—awkward, uncertain, as though it had long been forgotten. His gums were black as void-water, smooth and faintly lustrous, and their stygian sheen set his ivory fangs aglow like moonlight on bone.

“Strength,” he murmured, “is no constant blessing—yet it is seldom a curse. A hundred years have I walked the killing-fields. Where no war called, I hunted the beasts that haunt the marches between men’s realms.”

He gestured toward the great sword upon his back. Its hilt and guard gleamed black as forged obsidian, the rest of the blade hidden in a scabbard plain and enduring. At the guard’s heart lay a ruby, round and carved in the likeness of a baleful eye, its pupil keen and unblinking.

“My father’s hands know only maces and hammers,” Afanas said. “Yet this was his parting gift to me. It has served faithfully—perhaps too faithfully.”

 

[Feyrith]

Unaware of watchful eyes Feyrith had settled into a much more comfortable stance.
Her fingers lacing and hands resting casually in front of herself.
Violet eyes survey the fanged smile through pale lashes. The sight of it should have put her on edge but the hint of something arcane in his features was oddly re-assuring.

She listened intently to his hushed reply. The tale of his exploits was more .....heroic. Than she might have gathered from simply looking at him. Then again she had come to learn surface dwellers followed the merit of skill much more than her kin. It seemed there was more to his title than inheritance.

Her eyes took in every detail of the sword and could easily determine it to be of high quality. Certainly not easily wielded by anyone of lesser stature. It was the second time he had mentioned his father.
She found herself feeling at a loss for having no recognition of his lineage. If the two were any alike then surely this father must be a domineering presence.
His words puzzled her a little. She often found herself reading metaphor and simile where a forward sentiment had been meant.
A hand rose to her chin as she tilted her head lightly in thought. "Too Faithfully?" She asked her eyes still drawn to the baleful eye.

 

[Afanas]

Feyrith

“The sword is alive, in its way,” Afanas said. “It carries a hunger. Souls, from what I’ve seen.” He tapped the obsidian pommel with a claw’s idle touch, as though to rouse or mock it.

“It cuts through most anything. Flesh and steel yield the same. I have turned its edge on ghosts, and it wounded them. Those wounds did not close.”

His gaze fell, shadowing his face.

“I do not know its birth. My father will not speak of it. I do not even know if it bears a name—though I think it does, and keeps it from me.”

 

[Feyrith]

"Alive?...." Feyrith murmured in a confused tone feeling a bit like a parrot. Enchanted swords were one thing, living was another.
There was certainly something uncanny about the ruby eye. She half expected it to redirect it's glare or blink when he touched the pommel. "I cannot deny the value of a sword which may even fell a specter...if such a thing is possible."

There again was another mention of his father. Perhaps the two were quite close. Or perhaps her limited knowledge was doing her a disservice yet again.
She cast the sword a slightly sympathetic expression.
"If it continues to refuse ......perhaps you should dub it in your own Moniker? Sometimes a name isn't easily given....yet rare is one who prefers to go without one."
Her mouth set in another tight line.
"Forgive me for the disrespect....But I am not familiar with your father is he a mighty warrior of renown...?"

 

[Afanas]

Feyrith

Afanas gave a slight shrug. “I never named the blade. It is but an instrument.” He drew his cloak about him, the folds falling to hide most of his shape.

“My father is Vlakhos. In Epressa and Liadain, few know the name. Those who do call him the Outsider. The name fits. He says he was born on Malakath, when the world was still young—before the first men’s forebears dragged themselves from the primordial mire.”

His fingers moved to the pendant at his throat. They traced the sapphire set within, smooth as frozen sky.

“My father has met many foes, dragons, the high fae, the young empires of mortals. Yet he is no crowned conqueror. His victories are not for thrones or kingdoms. They are his alone, and the world will remember them poorly, I fear."

 

[Feyrith]

Afanas
She met his reply with a slightly confused frown. Yet whatever question she might have she decided not to voice. Instead her eyes left the sword and rested vaguely on his face as she quietly listened to him explain his father's legacy.
Impressive sounding indeed. Her expression remained polite and attentive, even if there wasn't much recognition in it.
Her head tilted slightly as she watched him fiddle with a bit of finery. Feyrith knew so little of places or histories outside the Underdark. Even in her travels she had learn what amounted to a grain of rice in a vast ocean. She recognized the names of the things but only vaguely and in concept.
She had been to the shores of Malakath...but mostly she only recalled it to be an odd place.
It was with a conflicted smile she replied " There are so many long lived races among the surface. It sounds as if you father has made quite a full use of his years."
Feyrith shifted her weight a little from side to side, lacing her fingers together where she rested her hands.
"Do you?....remember them poorly? Some surface dwellers seem very proud of such things."
Not that pride was uncommon among Drow but seeing menfolk list off such feats did feel novel.

 

[Afanas]

Feyrith
Afanas shook his head, slow. “No. My father is no warmonger. He did what he had to in order to safeguard our old haunts. Malakath is a harsh land, and harsh lands raise savage neighbors.”

His features eased; his voice gentled as the words left him.

“And your blood kin?” he asked, quiet. “Did they come with you—did they breach the skin of the world and reach the surface?”

 

[Feyrith]

Afanas
Rae'twyn Suvalissaere

She met his words with a sympathetic eye. Violence in the sake of staving off further violence was a prospect she understood. Albeit she doubted anyone would be remembering her actions or her forebearers action below so pragmatically.

Feyrith gave a small shake of her head in response. Her face held the same awkward, nervous line as seemed to be her resting expression. No pain held apparent in response to his question.
"No. Nor would I suspect it to be a pleasant reunion......If there was pursuit I believe it was long since abandoned. Elsewise I would not be tendering any notions of dwelling in the city let alone serving it."
It was then that out of habit her eyes swept over the patrons of the tavern. She caught a set of deep red eyes watching their conversation. Feyrith felt the subtle rise of paranoia in her chest despite herself. His hood pulled low and so little of his visage unobscured she could not even be sure he was a dark elf. Alliria held a share of diversity. It was possible for his shade of eye to be.... a coincidence, in these parts.
Feyrith attempted to stifle any alarm into a flat expression. She couldn't allow herself to reawaken old fears anytime someone bore a passing resemblance to a Drow.
Who ever heard of a guard so addled in temperament.

 

[Rae'twyn Suvalissaere]

Well, spite it all. It seemed his blatant leering had attracted some attention, after all. There was no slipping around that sixth sense of his own kind.

A more careful drow would probably have pulled his hood further down. Perhaps even turned away and slipped off into the crowds. One never knew which House another drow might belong to, after all.

Instead, Rae'twyn jutted out his chin and tilted his head back, flashing a distinct set of ruby eyes. His smile widened with dangerous thrill, and he even afforded her an exagerrated wink - probably the slowest blink of an eye in history, painfully obvious. But then again, he wouldn't want distance to folly his performance, now would he? A bit of stagecraft, therefore, seemed entirely warranted.

Afanas
Feyrith

 

[Afanas]

Feyrith
Rae'twyn Suvalissaere
A figure came out of the gloom in carmine plate, gilt at the seams and thorned along the ridges. The helm wore a dragon’s snout; the visor showed a slice of face—chalk-pale, gaunt. He halted a few paces from Afanas, raised a mailed fist, and struck his breast. The iron rang, hard and hollow.

“Lord Commander,” he said. “We have Baron Bravosa. He sits in irons and waits for the headsman.”

“And?” Afanas lifted a brow.

“Your leave, sir.”

“Ah.” Afanas’s expression was that of dull indifference. “Take his head. Feed the rest to the pigs. Do not waste a grave.”

The visor dipped—one sharp nod. “As commanded.”

“See it done clean,” Afanas added. “No speeches. No prayers. Send his seal to my desk. Burn his banners.”

“Yes, my lord.” The knight stepped back. Plate rang. Leather creaked. He turned on a heel and went, crimson plates whispering like scales.

Sound returned in his wake—low talk, the scrape of a chair, the restless clink of cups. Afanas eased his brow, as if from a small ache, and let the moment pass.

 

[Feyrith]

@Rae'twyn Suvalissaere\
Afanas

In her inward spiral there were plenty of reactions she had anticipated from the ruby eyed stranger. An attack, a shout, or indifference perhaps, a wink had not been on the list. There was no mistaking it as a bit of dust in his eye it had been blatant in it's exaggeration. It was met with a blank stare largely of confusion and a small hint of dismay.
She ran through several scenario's of what the wink could mean. Was it a confirmation, and he really was some assassin? Did he know something she didn't? After several seconds her ever webbing conspiracy of thought was disrupted by the sudden appearance of one of the rumored vampiric knights. So they really were running around the streets of the Alliria.
Her fears quickly forgotten. In considering the gaunt visage of the crimson knight, it really did re-affirm to her that surely Alliria was simply a wash with the oddities of night dwellers. Her eyes falling away from the perhaps fellow drow toward the knight.

She watched the exchange with a quiet intensity. Not so much for the actual contents. She had no idea who the recipient of this punishment was nor the nature of his misdeeds. Yet, the happenings of such things now called for attention. She had kept her nose as clear of politics as possible until now. Likely it would stay the same aside from what was necessary to carry out order.
More that the conversation she couldn't help but appraise the striking plate. Stark and fierce in it's design. She didn't necessarily desire the armor itself. She yearned for armor and insignia that represented something. That held a purpose well recognized by all whose eyes fell upon it.

Feyrith gave a sympathetic eye to the lord commander's sigh of an expression. ".....Might I ask..what brought you here? Was there some business you were attending to?" Feyrith asked in a round about way of wondering why a man of such high handed endeavors was in a getting his boots dirty with spilled ale.

 

[Afanas]

Feyrith
Rae'twyn Suvalissaere
Afanas weighed her question in silence. His mouth pressed thin, his brows drew together, heavy and sharp as blades. For a moment he seemed carved in stone, pale light tracing the stark planes of his face. Then he stirred, and his answer came, measured and iron-bound.

“I am a public officer,” he said, flat as iron. “My duty is plain.”

He lifted one great hand and leveled a finger across the hall. The gesture swept the gathered folk, from sailors at their cups to old soldiers with weathered eyes, to children peering between their mothers’ skirts. “These are my people now,” he declared.

A murmur ran through the crowd, hushed but certain, like a wind through dry reeds or a ripple across a field of grain. Some bowed their heads; others raised their cups. The air tightened with recognition.

“How do I guard them if I do not know them?” he went on. “What man shuns the streets he swore to keep? What custodian hides from the faces placed in his care? A prude would. A coward would. I will not.”

 

[Feyrith]

Feyrith met the furrowed brow of his gaze with confusion. Her eyes followed the sweep of his hand across the hall. The hush of acknowledgement or perhaps admiration completely foreign.
Quietly she watched the patrons raise their glass with her own brows lowering in unease. Parsing this her stance was one of awkwardness and uncertainty.

She could understand that this demonstrated a loyalty and trust for him among the citizens but such idle shows of trust on either side were unfamiliar to her.
The only thing Feyrith seemed readily understand was that she had insulted him in some way. She lowered her head apologetic in her tone and replied "My apologies....It was not my intention to be so bold as to accuse the Lord commander of cowardice. I was .......not aware of this custom..."

She seemed at a loss for how to proceed. Her attempt at discerning a direction having only made her wary of asking any other questions.