Open Chronicles When in doubt a Tavern will do.

[Rae'twyn Suvalissaere]

Now, the time had struck. He had built enough courage to toss a coin into this ring and see what he could snoop. Curiousity, more than anything, could be a delightful draw, and what better occasion to practice this bit for the future?

Rae'twyn rose in one, fluid motion, merging with the clustering crowd as they dutifully toasted the commander. He touched his silver pendant with two fingers and whispered gentle words of magical potence. Words of home, in a realm where they didn't belong.

With his whisper, the pendant worked its magic. A slight spell, the most minor of illusions, but enough for his desired effect. It altered him only below his hood, to render his midnight skin a shade more sun-touched, dark and brown, without its alien blue tint. His hair retained its silver, but turned grimier, greyer and grizzled. Wrinkles beyond his dimples added to his cheeks like waves in a dirty river. Likewise, his visible clothes and shining rubies dimmed into a beggar's cloth.

Through this transformation, Rae'twyn walked through the forest of other bodies, altering his stride. Bent and crooked, an old man shambling through, picking up a nearby drained cup as the final panache to his performance, dropping in a single coin.

His disguise complete, he staggered up to Afanas and Feyrith, cup shaking and clattering, as if he'd already made the rounds outside.

"Spare some coin for an old, haggard soul? Just for a night of shelter, out of rain and wind."

He had always wanted to play this part. And what better time to judge the character of this fellow drow and stalwart commander? He attempted to mimic the scripted and weary tones of other vagrants he'd seen similarly beg, and turned, quivering head and rattling cup in their direction, curving like a tilted U.

Despite his best thespian efforts, a mischevious smile crawled involuntarily up the sides of his mouth. His own glee could be worked into the clay of vain hope of a beggar.

"Perhaps you, brave, brave commander? I will sing your praises far and wide."

The cup clinking with a single coin made its rounds towards Feyrith.

"Or perhaps you, daughter of the deep? Ahh, I recognise a wayward drow when I see one." His smile quivered and widened, much like his voice, eyes hidden by the hood. "Only a generous soul would be so far from home."

Though he could hide his appearance, he could not alter his voice - beyond a theatrical croaking of age, but that didn't shroud his unique accent. Those versed in its tones might recognise it.

Afanas
Feyrith

 

[Afanas]

Feyrith
Rae'twyn Suvalissaere

Afanas watched the old man’s crooked advance without moving, as one might watch wind push at a door one has already decided to open. The hood hid a face, but not the voice; the accent slipped through the rags like a bright thread through dull cloth.

Around them, the tavern swelled and ebbed with toasts and laughter, the commander’s name breaking against the rafters like surf.

His eyes, dark as flint, took the measure of the bent shoulders and the rags, and something quick and keen behind them. Slowly, his large hand dug into the pocket of his pants. He retrieved three gold coins. He dropped them in the man’s cup, a gesture followed by the sound of metal clinking against metal.

“I do not require recompense. You seem to need this money more than I.”

A pause. The crowd’s cheer fell to a low wash; somewhere a stool scraped the floor. Afanas’s gaze did not waver.

“I haven’t done much worth singing of. You’d be wasting your breath on my meager accomplishments.”

He straightened, though the weight of years lay in his shoulders, and the corners of his eyes softened, as though he accepted, at least for now, that small kindness might rest between strangers.

 

[Feyrith]

Feyrith watched the beggar stagger and sway warily. Given the Lord Commander's demeanor perhaps it was not so odd for a citizen to approach so casually to beg. Still paranoia tugged at her the way it always did. There was something odd about their movements and voice.... something eager rather than pitiable. That didn't mean anything too nefarious...they could simply be not as in need as desperately as they cried to be. Alliria had such folks they had been told...beggars who live only to spend coin on drink....a common tale...bold to attempt to swindle coins from the commander of the guard.

She quietly watched him with a small frown her hands making no move to pass coin. It seemed the Lord commander had no intention of reprimanding him. So she wouldn't either. Still she didn't have coin to waste on a farce. Feyrith's expression only grew more withdrawn at their honeyed words.
She had never heard anyone describe Drow as generous, not genuinely.
Then the tones of it did strike her. If there ever was one who would say such a thing it was one of their own.
Her brow furrowed and she bit her lip listening to the Lord Commander be humble to whoever this was.
He seemed content to let this be.
What to do.
She reached into her armor to fish a coin from her purse and drop it into his cup and dryly replied.
"Then, I pay you this coin to sing the Lord commander's praises extra loud."
There, now she was neither miserly, nor had she divulged any information of importance.

Afanas
Rae'twyn Suvalissaere