Ambrosia Software Web Board: The Alraeican Tavern - Part IX - Ambrosia Software Web Board

Katerei sighed from where she sat alone in a corner of the tavern. She was staring moodily at the one invitation which she'd kept for herself, seeing the words but not reading, for they were already running through her head. A wedding between a noble and a high-ranking mage... it would surely be one of the most important events of the year... she really ought to go...

But a wedding meant celebrations, and celebrations meant happy people, and happy people meant pretending to be happy herself, when really she wasn't at all. Not to mention the nagging feeling that kept arising in her mind, the fact that she was twenty-eight already and with no prospects of getting married herself. Although elven in appearance, she lacked the elongated lifespan that elves benefitted from. Well, it's not like you're an old maid or anything yet, she thought, but still, the concept itched at the back of her mind.

Her thoughts wandered, and she reflected upon the people she had met and befriended in Cythera before. It seemed that most were no longer anywhere to be found. Some faces in particular rose in her memory, and a pang went through her heart as she wondered what had become of them. It wouldn't do to cling to memories... but she wondered, all the same.

Shaking herself mentally in an attempt to re-focus, Katerei turned her attention to more practical matters, such as what to wear to such an event. Since her time living in the forest had nearly worn her old clothing to shreds, she had invested in two new dresses upon returning to town- a plain travelling one, which she still wore from the latest adventure, and a pretty pink and burgundy one with a leaf pattern which would probably suffice for a wedding. However, she would need a different cloak, and perhaps something nice to put in her hair.

Katerei tucked the invitation safely away in her bag and rose to leave the tavern. She decided it might be a good idea to stop in at her house and check up on it before heading to Pnyx, and it would give her an opportunity to stop in at the tailor's as well and do some quick shopping.

"Hey, if we're going to a wedding, surely we need new clothes?" asked Starfall.
"Surely. But that sort of thing costs money, and I don't have any of the sort of currency used here."
Cat grinned, and dug in her bag. "No problem!" she said, unearthing the pouch containing three thousand, seven hundred and eighty two oboloi, her winnings from a poker game some time ago.
"New clothes for everyone!"
The three left the Tavern to do a bit of shopping.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Enna and Retsy were fast becoming friends, giggling about whatever it is that little girls giggle about together. They were telling each other about their recent adventures, Retsy talking more than Enna, mainly about her role in saving the kingdom twice over.

Curiel slammed his glass down on the counter as Cat and co. left. it shattered in his hands and the blood flowed like syrup from his palm.
suddenly, the tap of a woman's shoe reverberated through the tavern. the new patron to the tavern raised her pale slender hand in a lazy spell-casting pose, and the sound of angelic singing could be heard far in the distance. light shone from through the remaining bits of ceiling in the tavern, and illuminated curiel's blood-covered arm. the blood began flowing backwards, back into his arm, slowly at first, and then faster and faster. before long the glass was gathering itself up and returning to its former form, sparkling clean and bloodless.
curiel light another cigarette, and without turning around welcomed the woman out of the corner of his mouth, "glad you could make it, kristeva."
kristeva stepped out of the shadow of the doorway and revealed herself.
she was the epitome of beauty-- her slightly curly heavenly blonde locks fell down and around her defined shoulders, continuing down to rest on the large swell of her breasts. the chinese straight sword set on the royal blue sash on her waist looked out of place, as did the oversized nagemaki* held loosely in her left hand. she walked, seeming to float, gacefully over to the pair of scowling men sipping their drinks and embraced curiel in a warm greeting, wraping both arms around him over his shoulders despite the cruel-looking weapon in her hand.
"it's good to see you too, curiel."

*a nagemaki is a japanese weapon-- it has the same blade length as an o-katana (extra-large katana,) with a handle the same length as the blade. it looks most like the bottom weapon in the group shown here

As many of the tavern patrons milled about in a frenzy at the center of the tavern, each clawing desperately at a pile of… something, a man in shining armor looked on from where he sat, not really sure what was going on. From the frantic melee two white pieces of parchment were thrown haphazard, speeding from the fray and sliding across the tavern floor, stopping just before they touched the mirrored surface of one of Aron’s boots. His blue eyes fell upon the pair of invitations curiously and he scooped them up slowly, holding them lightly in his gauntlet, and leaned back to read the first, a smile forming on his lips, “A party?”

He stood fluidly from his chair, his crimson cape flowing down his back to nearly meet the floor, and marched over to a figure in torn black robes. Winding back his arm, Aron slapped Rythan across the left shoulder with one of the invitations, causing the assassin to look back over his shoulder and read the paper Aron was holding out, “The wedding? I saw.” He turned back around.

Aron dropped the invitation on the bar in front of Rythan, sat in the stool on the warrior’s left, and smiled, “We’re going.”

With his hood up and the lower half of his face hidden by a dark cloth there wasn’t a lot to read in Rythan’s expression, however his arched eyebrow spoke volumes, “We are not supposed to attract attention. In a tavern of outcasts and adventurers we blend in well, but at an aristocratic ball we would be a wild fire on a dark night.”

“You maybe.” Aron gestured a gauntleted hand dismissively to Rythan, “You can’t go wearing that. But me, I look more the part than anyone here.” He tapped his pristine cuirass with a satisfied smile.

Rythan just shook his head, “You are not a knight or a lord of this land, you cannot simply introduce yourself as Aron to the people you meet across Cythera, which is why you should meet as few people as possible.”

“What??” Aron stood, mouth agape in surprise, “That’s… that’s the meanest thing you ever said to me.” He laughed, slapping Rythan on the back, “That’s why I like you, but seriously, I’m a Piladen.”

“You mean a Paladin?”

Aron smiled, “That’s what I said.”

The warrior raised a hand in protest, “Do you even know what a Paladin is?”

The new Paladin shrugged, running a hand through his curly red hair, “Maybe. Our cheery friend at the bar thought that’s what I was when I first came in,” he pointed to the Lich who sat off by himself, “how hard could it be?”

Placing a hand to his head as though he felt the onset of a migraine, Rythan looked over to the blue eyed man, “Fine, go if you wish.”

Aron nodded slowly, “Well, if that’s how you feel.” He bowed his head as he stood, “I’ll see you when I get back then.” The Paladin turned and left the tavern, his cape flowing behind him. As Rythan’s eyes returned to the bar he saw his invitation still lying on the counter.

Unnoticed, Mort faded from sight. In his place, a sign faded into view, hanging from the sickle which was still leaning against the bar. The sign read:

I shall return!
- MacMorteous

This post has been edited by cache22: 12 March 2007 - 05:27 AM

Unnoticed, lurking in the shadows at the end of the bar, Aster sighed. Why hadn't he gone to the ball? Here he was, sitting sadly in the corner, cradling a tankard of grape juice, too scared to go to a ball. Honestly, what sort of glorious adventurer was he?
Glancing out the window, he noticed small flakes of white drifting quietly through the twilight. So it was snowing again, was it?
He walked over to the window, and looked out. Surely he was seeing things... Rubbing his eyes, he looked again. No, it was definitely snowing miniature marshmallows. Drifts of the sweets lay on the ground, landing on windowsills and on roofs, dusting the streets with a coating of icing sugar.
He walked back over to his seat. "This crazy place gets crazier every minute." he muttered.

[OoC:] sorry, short one, but CC makes this nessesary. [:BiC]

Kamille was still absentmindedly sipping at his empty glass when he noticed Astar drift quietly to the doorway, and back to his seat with a shocked expression on his face.
"what is it, big fella?"
"it.... it's..... it's raining marshmallows~" Astar responded
"oh re-he-he-heeeeallly~?" Kamille retorted, ending the conversation.
he headed purposefully to the door.
looking outside, he was shocked.
by god, it WAS raining mashmallows~! soft fresh ones, at that!
he ran back to his stool excitedly. "barkeep, 4 orders of hot cocoa, stat!"

Earlier:

After they had been teleported back to Cademia, Sécundus considered leaving. Sure, the group had managed to rescue the sorceress, apparently the only goal that some of the others had had in mind, but they had failed to retrieve the artifact. This concerned Sécundus greatly; they had failed completely as far as he was concerned. He darest not imagine what evils now awaited the inhabitants of Cythera, but still these people that he had met fascinated him, and besides, he had enjoyed the adventure. Maybe I’ll hang around for a bit, he told himself. Not long, I just want to see what goes on here. . .

For Wizard, his concerns were much the same. He was pleased that they were able to return Katherine to Akheron, and he even tagged along on a brief visit to the mage. Wizard shared a long talk with Akheron about all sorts of subjects, particularly undead, deamons, and Akheron's hopes to destroy all of them. He also thumbed through many of the books in the mage's study, most of which he already had read or owned a copy of himself.

Akheron's life reminded Wizard of his own: an old mage secluding himself from civilization to live out the rest of his days peacefully working on whatever projects he wished to devout his time to. But they lived on separate sides of Cythera, and their goals were different as well. After a while, Wizard politely excused himself and returned to the tavern.

* * *

Katerei tossed invitations everywhere. Sécundus had been to few events of this caliber and was looking forward to it. He enthusiastically reached for an invitation and tore it open. A wedding and a ball! Yes, this was just the thing to relax him after their failed adventure in the north, though he knew the matter would still weigh heavily on him. He reached into a pouch and pulled out a few oboloi. Some ideas for an outfit more suited to the occasion were coming to his mind, and he stepped out into the street to find the Cademian taylor.

Wizard, eyes shut, was leaning against the back of his seat very relaxed. I think... I’m ready for a break, he mused. Something light rested on his right hand, and he opened his eyes. “A wedding?” he seemed to direct the question at Selax, who sat opposite him. Selax nodded.

“You know, I was just thinking,” Wizard continued his previous line of thought and ignored the paper on his hand, “it’s been a long time since I’ve been home.”

“Yes, it has. What of it?”

“Selax, you may be a tireless elemental, but I, though energetic and very active for my age, am still human. I’m getting old --”

“I could tell.”

Wizard raised his eyebrow, “Please, don’t interrupt. Anyways, I am getting old and going on these adventures successively as I have been is started to drain my energy. Well over a year ago, I was able to go for months without sleep or food. Then I started to crave sleep occasionally. Next I would sometimes want food. From there things fell apart and for the last couple months I’ve been dosing off whenever I get a moment’s rest. I should have far better control over my body than I feel that I do right now; this is a very stressful time for me.” His voice was half-serious but half in jest.

“Does that mean you won’t be going?”

Wizard didn’t answer immediately. He was lost reminiscing about his old cottage, that tiny little shack that he’d lived in for so many hundreds of years, he had nearly forgotten about the world outside of it. He remembered the way the curtains would roll, unleashing a wave of refreshing air to cool his skin; how the sun shined through the towering trees surrounding his three-room sanctuary, filling the clearing that was his front lawn with a heavenly glow; many other fond memories flooded into his mind. “No,” he reached down and very deliberately threw the invitation onto the floor, “I won’t be going.”

“You really are serious about wanting to rest, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I’m going to spend the day here, and tomorrow I shall set off to my home. How I long to be home for a nice peaceful rest.” At this point, the old wizard was lost in thoughts again, but he snapped out of it quickly, “What about you?”

“I have some other business to attend, but I will be dropping in at Pnyx.” Selax glanced around and noticed that many other patrons had already set off for the ball. “I will be going if that is all. . .”

“Yes, yes. I’ll see you when you return.”

With that, the air elemental leapt through the nearest window and vanished off into the sky.

* * *

Lightning flashed, and the thunder’s rumble was deafening. It was raining, heavily, and felt like it had been for a long time. Wizard wiped the water out of his eyes as best he could, trying to see where he was. The ground was very muddy, and the torrential rain had already soaked his robes through.

Another flash of lightning illuminated the vast scene. Wizard stood at the edge of a canyon, a bottomless void. Around him was nothing—no trees, no grass, no stones, no life—just endless miles of mud and mire with rain pouring as far as the eye could see. He had the feeling that he was not alone. He stared forward and, in the next flash of light, was able to make out a lone figure standing on the opposite side of the abyss. The figure was covered in black robes, nothing else could be distinguished.

“Where am I?” Wizard shouted with all his might. No reply. “Very well,” he muttered to himself, “I’m betting this is just an illusion cast on me in the form of a dream.” He thought for a moment, deciding the best course of action. “For now I’ll just play along,” he said aloud. “Who are you?” he shouted again.

Another blaze of lightning and a thunderclap that shook the ground, but no response. “I said who are you?” His only reply was rain. “Why have you brought me here? What do you wish to say? Who sent you!?” Wizard paused again, but the other man, if it was, did not want to speak. “Answer me!”

By now Wizard was irritated. “Well, if this is a dream, I’m going to bend the rules.” He did not appreciate being played with, especially not in his own mind. He would have final say here. Wizard stretched out his hand to test his ability to take control of the illusion. The rain began to arc away from his hand, as though an unseen force were pushing it away. It began to rain harder, but not another drop touched Wizard’s already soaked form.

The other figure was still watching silently, still separated by the immeasurable chasm of blackness. In frustration, Wizard suddenly leapt into the air, clearing the chasm in one swift jump. He landed a mere foot away from the figure on the other side, now on the same side. This was closer than he had intended and, in the suddenness of his jump, he was shocked to be so quickly face-to-face with this menace. He could feel the breath upon his face, but, as yet, was untouched by the figure’s blackness.

“You will tell me who you are!” Wizard reached forward to pull the back the cowl and reveal the other’s face, but it ran a few feet away and jumped into the chasm. “Coward!” Wizard shouted after it, coming as close to the canyon’s edge as he dared. Now he had a choice: to follow it or leave. “Chances are he’s already left the illusion himself,” the old man growled. “Time to go.”

Wizard sat up in bed. No one was in his room. His clothes were as dry as they had been before he had gone to sleep. What was that dream about? Who or what was trying to tell him something? And what was it trying to tell him?

In my own mind! The nerve of some people; just because they can cast an illusion or influence a dream, they try to enter my mind! Wizard was complaining to himself relentlessly as he pulled on his boots and grabbed his staff from where it had been against the wall.

He had thought of several possible origins of the dream: Rapierian was taunting him in that way that only Rapierian can, flaunting that he had betrayed them and gotten away with it; it could also be the work of some mad mage trying to send a message to him, maybe concerning the coming wedding; lastly, it had occurred to Wizard that this may be a summons from Avatara. Did Avatara have the ability to do something such as this? Maybe not, but it had been a long time since anyone in the group had seen him. He may be in trouble, and since the others were going to Pnyx anyways, it just might be time to find Avatara, DF, and Saria.

The others had all left hours ago, but Wizard was going to ride on horse back in hopes that he would not be too late in arriving. He packed his possessions, taking care to pack his most extravagant robe should he be in time to attend the wedding.

After signing out at the front desk, he went to the stables and retrieved his steed. “Thank you for taking such excellent care; I know I’ve been away for some time,” he remarked to the stable boy and poured a few oboloi into the boy’s expectant hands.

I hope the others made it safely, he thought as he rode out of Cademia and began his trek to Pnyx.

This post has been edited by The Wizard: 19 March 2007 - 02:10 AM

[OoC:] i really don't want to read the above..... [:BiC]

Kamille, Kristeva and Curiel sat at the bar silently sipping their drinks. Kristeva got a re-up on her 2% milk.

TMBassassin, on Mar 21 2007, 10:31 AM, said:

(( typical tavern response ))

The bartender sighed as he rubbed dry a couple freshly-washed glasses. Every time something big happened, business slowed down for weeks. This was looking like it'd be another month he didn't make any profit.

Kristeva sighed, looked up at the barkeep who was slowly drying clean glasses. reading his thoghts through the expression on his face, she responded;
"yeah, business tends to slow down when the building collapses and you've got a captured magician somewhere in the network of tunnels under the floor..."

This post has been edited by TMBassassin: 22 March 2007 - 10:15 PM

Aster looked around nervously. No-one seemed to be commenting about the marshmallows, or even noticing them.
Does that mean this sort of thing is normal for round here? he thought.
I hope Mort comes back soon. He seems sane. Well, for here, obviously.

Temrel stared at the marshmallows through his time viewer in consternation. If Mort had been present, he'd just have chalked it up to another breakthrough from the dimension of thought, but with the lich absent, he didn't know what to think. But where else could they have come from? Was it due to an increased breakdown between realities, or was it another sign of Kronos' growing instability?

And what was that business with the woman, earlier? She came out of nowhere, and went the same way. That just didn't make sense. He'd always been able to trace any person's complete life, backwards and forwards; but the woman only seemed to exist for that brief period at the ball.

Just what in Cythera was Kronos up to?

This post has been edited by cache22: 25 March 2007 - 05:35 AM

becoming bored with the lack of action in the bar, curiel and Kamille began a furious game of pool.
(this resulted in the pool table being cleaved into many pieces, and the balls thrown through the walls.)

Mort's sign faded away, as Mort himself faded into view. The moment he had fully rematerialised, he snatched up the waiting beer stein and tossed it over his shoulder.

{{ I need something stronger than that. Barkeep, get me a whiskey. Actually, better make it a triple. }}

"Something wrong?" Aster queried.

{{ I hope not, }} Mort replied, gloomily, {{ but if a dead guy comes looking for me, you haven't seen me. Right? }}

This post has been edited by cache22: 30 March 2007 - 12:48 AM

"Um, yeah, sure." said Aster, privately wondering what in Cythera Mort was on about. "Hey, it was raining marshmallows before. Is that normal?"
Before Mort could reply, there came loud bangs and crashes from the roof, followed by screeching noises, as of something heavy sliding down the eaves.
Aster wandered over to the window again, and looked out. "Uh oh. It's raining... bedsteads? What is up with this place?"

This post has been edited by CrazyChick: 06 April 2007 - 07:14 PM

Just as another bedstead crashed into the ground, a marionette walked in. It picked up the discarded beer stein, and hopping lightly onto a barstool, ordered "Something strong"

bio of a marionette

This post has been edited by Jehezekel: 04 April 2007 - 05:30 AM

As of late, utter bemusement had become the norm of Shanadar's mood. Now was no exception.

He had decided against going to the wedding himself. The torrent of invitations had ensured that the tavern had nearly emptied of its usual patrons for the grand event. Certainly, so many well-armed folk presented a deterrent to any troubles, even that damnable assassin that had offed Indigo.

Mort, however, had apparently briefly teleported away while the remaining patrons were dealing with the bizarre precipitation they were receiving.

And now he had returned, fearful of a dead guy following him.

More perplexed than ever, Shanadar turned to the Lich for answers.

"Mort, what exactly is a dead guy doing following you?"

Mort, more distraught than usual, remained eerily silent.

"Morteous, friend, if something is wrong I should be the first one informed", Shanadar paused thoughtfully for a moment, then pulled out a drinking flask ,"And I'll throw in my ruffian whiskey if you tell me instead of show me."

"yes." said the marionette, "tell us about the dead guy"

{{ Well, there were these two men holding Sideline prisoner, and one of them attacked me, and I just reacted, and Sideline said he was dead, but then he got up and started coming after me, and Sideline said he thought I'd created an undead minion... }}

Mort folded his arms on the counter and buried his face in them.

{{ I feel so ashamed! }}

This post has been edited by cache22: 05 April 2007 - 04:05 PM

Of all the cliché phrases to be thinking at that moment, Shanadar found himself in the rut of 'Oh dear'.

Mort was a shambling wreck, even as far as skeletons go. The accidental creation of an unwanted zombie underling must have been a very traumatizing prospect for the former mage. But, as usual, it did not end there.

Mort had mentioned that Sideline had been imprisoned, which implied foul play on either Sideline's part, which the city enforcer found unlikely, or on the part of Sideline's captors. The latter, of course, could only mean one thing: assassins.

Fearful for what he suspected, Shanadar turned again to Mort for answers.

"You weren't at Pnyx, were you?"

The lich paused a moment, before slowly nodding the affirmative.

"Damn it all!", Shanadar angrily proclaimed, "There are assassins in Pnyx!"

This statement turned a few puzzled stares from the other patrons, by Shanadar took no notice. He briskly went to the door, but when he opened it he found it was raining darts. Not particularly wishing to die, he returned, again, to the beer-soaked, melancholic lich.

"Mort, you teleported to Pnyx before right? Think you could teleport me there? Lives may be at risk here", he paused to reflect the irony of his last statement for a moment, "If I'm lucky, I might be able to take care of that zombie for you. Oh, and you get cart blanche to stab that Indigo-killing assassin if he shows his face here again."

Luckily for Shanadar's conversation, marionette was off in a corner having a drinking contest with several drunks. Having no judgement to get impaired, it was winning stupendously.

Lightning struck the hills, visible though the rain poured down relentlessly.
A chill wind blew throughout the tavern, incidently blowing Mort's drink over. The door banged open and closed, and open again, and one hinge broke. Framed in the ancient wood of the doorway stood a young girl, her grey hair whipping around her face. She was about six feet tall, dressed in shades of grey and light blue, and to all intents and purposes looked about sixteen. Most of the regulars didn't give her a second glance, dramatic entrances being part of the Alraeican Tavern's make-up, but those that did froze as they noticed her eyes. Fire burned in their depths, not the fiercely hot fire of a magical explosion, but the burning cold fire of ice. Those eyes had seen everything, and as the girl scanned the room, the patrons shivered as those grey-blue eyes seemed to read their very souls.
She stalked over to the bar as the patrons scattered before her. No-one wanted to be in the way of those eyes, feel them going over their mind like a fine-toothed comb.
Sitting down in the corner of the bar, she tapped the counter. The barkeeper hurried over to her, not wanting to keep such an imposing customer waiting.
"Something strong." said the girl, her voice surprisingly airy, but weighted with a deep sorrow. "Whisky, or whatever you folks drink around here."
The barkeeper opened his mouth to ask if she was sure she could cope with neat spirits, but one glance at her face changed his mind.
"One whisky right away, ma'am." he said, and hurridly served it up. The girl tossed a few coins onto the bar counter.
"Keep the change."
Picking the nearest one up, the barkeeper felt the cold radiating off the girl. It was on the coins too, which were surprisingly heavy. He looked at them suspiciously, suspecting the old lead trick, but swallowed hurridly as he saw the coins were gold.

Spectre looked around the tavern again, and frowned as the patrons flinched away from her gaze.
Why do they do that? she thought. It's not as if I'm particularly terrifying or anything. I wish I could find somewhere to fit in.
She sighed unhappily, and her personal aura changed from cold to one of 'Go away - I want to be miserable by myself'. Patrons within the aura's reach subconsciously shifted until there was a clear space fo a few feet around Spectre.
She sighed again. I hope someone here is prepared to be friendly.

the marionette cowered in the corner, trying to hide behind a tankard it found lying on the floor.

Curiel went over and began chatting idly with Kristeva.
Kamille went over to the marionette and stood over it, casting a shadow over the cowering puppet and took a drag on his cigarette before talking for dramatic effect.
"what's going on there, cute lil' feller?"