Welcome to the Iron Unicorn Tavern!
Situated in a small community in the Ustalav county of Canterwall. This Tavern is warm and lively tonight. They even have a specialty drink called The Butterfly's Necter. Amongst their other drinks they also have Lotus wine on the menu.
A cheery voice easily rises above the din in the tavern from behind the bar Don't see many travelers around this time! Come in come in! And shut the door from the dark.
Finding yourself further inside, the young bartender wipes down the counter top once more Go on, sit wherever you like. Nobody's gonna give you much trouble here. She smiles and turns from you,approaching the shelves and taking down glasses. So! What'll ya be havin?
The door opens and a man in a long overcoat and tophat, his greyish skin and slightly protruding fangs mark him as a half-orc. Walking up to the bar, he nods tho the barkeep.
Mead please.
An armored figure walks, well closer to say marches, into the common room, glancing around he spots an out of the way table in a shadowy corner. With a thump he places an overfilled sack and a much abused backpack down next to his intended chair and takes his seat. He waits for a servicer and grunts out an order for a good meal and a hot cider, despite his burusque manner he is polite enough and tips well. Sitting back as he sips his cider through his helm his black eyes track the movements about the room.
He pays significant interest to the half-orc, keeping his eye on the brute in the case that it may cause trouble. No matter where I go I see more and more of them these days...
Your bartender grins and grabs a mead before banging it on the counter, the golden liquid sloshing dangerously near the sides.
MEAD! She calls out across the bar, several of the other customers responding in a sing-song fashion.
GOD BLESS THE BEE! a cheer resounding in the bar as glasses are raised and clanked together.
She turns her attention back to you Enjoy, fine sir!
A woman, a superb elven face, showing traces of the ancient worthy lineage of Kyonin, enters on tavern. She looks at the environment, and heads for the most central table, where she can watch everything and everyone. Her scimitar at the waist and the dress with arcane features draws attention.
"Honey, bring me what you have special for the day, please." She says with a voice that exudes tranquility.
Then she pulls out a small book with a very old appearance and begins to read while wait for the drink.
A tall, well proportioned woman steps through the doorway of the tavern. Her hair black and lustrous, her clothes showing signs of travel, but of an excellent cut and make. Armor hints beneath her great black cloak, it's edges held in place by large, silver clasps and chain. As she saunters towards the bar the hilt of a sword can be noted at her hip.
Some aspect of the resent conversation has amused her as a smile is plain upon her features. "Would that not be 'Gods bless the bee'?" She asks. "Or, perhaps, 'Goddess bless the bee'?" She smiles and leans gently upon the counter top.
"What might you suggest, M'Lady?" She asks the Bartender-ess casually, cordially and with a smile. (^_^)
A large man wearing simple artisan-appropriate clothing walks in. He doesn't look at anyone in particular, and speaks in an odd accent you don't recognize. His tone seems off, like the parts of his words that should be relaxed and said quickly he emphaSIZes.
I don't SUppose you has raw alcohol?
The man sitting a few stools down with the thick black hair and goatee chokes on his ale in surprise, setting the mug back down on the bartop with a rather loud clink. He coughs for a moment and wipes his eyes. He turns to the strange speaking man, "Raw alcohol? Do you mean the kind of thing you'd use to clean a wound? Is it really healthy to drink such things?"
Returning to his drink, he sizes up the woman now leaning on the bar. Remembering to swallow this time, he turns to her and retorts, "I've been to many a pub, alehouse, and tavern across the region. In almost all, there's one god revered above all others. A god of wine and ale, of freedom and adventure, the Lucky Drunk, Cayden Cailean!" His voice was almost roaring at the end. He raised his mug and drank deep, then pounded the now empty mug on the bar, in the manner that many do when toasting the Accidental God.
Feeling a bit embarrassed at this seemingly random outburst, he grew red in the face and quietly motioned for the bartender. "I believe I'll be needing another round, please dear. Thank you."
The faithful bartender sends a Butterfly's Nectar to the elven miss in the center of the tavern. It's a small drink in a glass buttercup blossom, the pale liquor shimmering softly.
She ponder's Arabeth's question as she pulls a bottle from the shelf of the RAWEST STUFF THEY GOT for Roman (the label is covered in skulls and a general warning for the health of the person consuming said beverage) and sets it down with a glass, Be careful. That stuff knocks out the stoutest of us before turning back to Arabeth.
Oh, I suppose they could. Most of the regulars subscribe to Mitra the great git for some blessedly dumb reason.She smiles and taps the side of her nose before preparing a Butterfly's Nectar for Arabeth and sliding it towards her But they call out for who they like. I'm fond of Desna myself. Brings me my best business afterall. Thought I might inspire more favor by making a drink for her.She gestures to the drink now in front of Arabeth, It's called The Butterfly's Nectar. Enjoy!
Arabeth beams at the Barmaid's response, taking the offered drink in hand.
"Well may your Goddess watch over you then. I'll add some words to mine. The more the merrier, as they say...Hmmm?" She suggests with a laugh.
Then the raven haired woman smiles at the fellow along the way's exhortations,
"Oh, indeed! I wasn't meaning to begrudge the patron of halls..." And she winks at the fellow with the goatee, "But...you'll admit that there are other things relating to other beliefs that carry on under the same rooves...Hmmm?" And she offers a wink (^_~) to the man before turning to the Barmaid and inclining her head,
"Indeed, another for the fine gentleman there and later some honeyed mead in honor of a Goddess."
"A drink in honor of a goddess? How can I say no?"
He gets up and moves down so that he is sitting next to the attractive raven haired woman. As he moves, he takes in the fact that she is both armed and armored. He wonders just who this woman might be or what she may have to be wary of in a small town like this. He himself is wearing nothing more than a white cotton shirt and dark trousers under a traveling cloak. He smiles as he sits, saying, "Though I do have a rule about drinking with strangers. My name is Sothonin, but please call me Soth. May I ask yours?"
A short, cloaked figure enters the tavern, with a sheathed sword strapped to his back that's clearly too big for him to wear at his belt.
"Rest stop!" he announces to no one in particular, and pulls back his hood, revealing a tangle of braided grey hair, and a childish face with large ears and emerald eyes. Though there's dust on his clothes, he doesn't seem particularly tired.
He approaches the counter, but stops mid-step as he notices Arabeth.
"First World preserve me but it's that woman again!". He curses out loud and takes a table instead, waving a barmaid over.
"A bowl of whatever's stewing in the pot, please." He draws his hood back up, hoping to avoid notice.
Lokien trundles in, traces of soot on his arms and face. An assortment of tools array his belt, all functional and deadly.
Echoing what the previous customer ordered, he chimes.
"I'll have a bowl too please."
Arabeth is too close to the charming Sothonin to notice Teflin's comments. She smiles at Sothonin's introduction, extending a hand in greeting.
"Arabeth." And she raises her glass in a toast, "Cheers, now that we are no longer strangers." At this close distance Sothonin can notice that her great cloak is a cascade of large, gossamer black feathers.
The barmaid brings out two bowls of some Tasty Meat Stew (that's what she calls it when she puts it in front of you) and places it, along with accompanying mugs of cold cider, in front of Teflin and Lokien.
Our Dear Bartender places another mug of ale in front of Sothonin, before clinking an accompanying mug of mead for Arabeth before calling once more over the tavern.
MEAD
As before the patrons call back GOD BLESS THE BEES You now hear though accompanying shouts of Goddess and Gods and even one memorable shout of Arthur, before the din goes back to normal.
Gods bless the bees.
Arabeth joins in the raucous fun of the toasting of the bees. (^_^)
"!"
A female in Full Plate walks in, heavily armed. A glaive and a great sword on her back and a short sword at her side. On her upper left ear sits an earring that appears to be a wolf's head. Her brown hair is cut short and pulled back out of her face. Grinning a big toothy grin she looks at the Bartender, "I hear you have some good Mead. I'll take a pint." Just moments later her vision suddenly shifts staring at a corner like she sees something there, distracted. Before turning back to the bartender with a smile, like nothing had just happened.
Suddenly, just appearing out of thin air, butterflies start flying around the room. Although, when one tries to inspect them closely, they may not be just butterflies. The light reflects off of their wings making spots of color appear around the room.
"They wanted to say hello." she tells the bartender pointing to the corner she had looked at before. But if one looks there is nothing there.
Arabeth reaches out to touch/examine one of the fluttering insects....
Soth grins at the new arrival, and rolls his eyes when he hears her order. "More mead? Bless the bees!" he calls in a sing-song voice. He sees that he has lifted his own mead in a sort of toast as he spoke. He takes a sip to keep from being rude, then sets it down carefully. Soth realizes he's much drunker than he had thought. He thinks to himself that this is going to have to be the last of the booze for today. But there is much to drink about, and he shrugs and figures today could be a time for drink, let tomorrow be a time for sober contemplation.
"Nice trick, name's Soth. Who're you?" he blurted as he turned back to the woman in the armor. He could scarcely believe how forward and blunt he was being. He knew he was normally so tactful and reserved, but it must be all this mead. "Bless the bees indeed." he muttered under his breath.
The bartender laughs and sets down the mead in front of the heavy plated woman, repeating the call and response within the lively bar before turning her attention to the butterflies Of course they did. she waves her hand at the fluttering insects as if to shoo them gently. Go on. Go fascinate the customers.
"Bless the bees!" She let out the cry happily joining in. When she was addressed, she turned to look the speaker. "Oh, that wasn't me. That was the bylthrixes. They wanted to say hi." She smiled before registering his other comment, asking her name. "Oh, you can call me Meri. She suddenly burst out giggling. "I think that one likes you. It just landed on your head." Still, when anyone looks, there is nothing there.
Roman looks down at the glass, looks up at the bartender, then over to Sothonin.
I'm sorry. You seem to be mis.. UNderstanding me. he pauses trying to think of the word for understanding. I was hoping to buy wholesale. Cleaning wounds and maKING potions and the like. I was told this was the place to purchASE alcoHOL.
The gnome seems visibly relieved, letting out a deep breath he didn't realize he was holding.
"Come, sit with me, stone-brother." He beckons the dwarf as the Tasty Meat Stew is brought forth.
"You look like you just stepped out of a volcano, what's your story?" The wooden spoon is too large for the gnome's hand, but like several of his other features, his mouth is oddly large and chows down on the stew with unimpaired gusto.
Then the butterflies fill the room. If Lokien is speaking, Teflin is listening attentively. And maintaining the same look of focus, he slowly stands on his stool, bends his knees, and springs to the right, arms flailing in an attempt to catch a butterfly.
Oh sweetie. The barkeep pats his hand and gently takes the bottle from him, pushing a glass of cider to him instead. This is not that kind of establishment. Our potions are more... She casts about for a word, rolling her hand in the air Mind altering in nature. No real harm at all. Or heal for that matter. Unless you use it to dull a pain...and sterilize a wound.
She shakes her head as she moves away.
I know about drinkiNG, it's common where I'm from. It seems the man who told me to come here misUNderstood as well. No issue. Izzere a parTY tonight? He looks about, simultaneously absorbing the new and exciting things and seeming a tiny bit uncomfortable not knowing how to react. He shifts his weight awkwardly.
Ladrengil takes the interesting drink, with eyes closed she feels the taste and aroma, slowly. A few minutes later she experiences yourself more comfortable in a relaxed atmosphere, perhaps with the effects of drink, perhaps for the joy in the little show with magical butterflies. She would not know the answer.
So, by removing her robe and put on the table she exhibits her body and reveals exotic tattoos on the back of her neck that descend by her arms. Elven signs mixed with arcane symbols mingle in her slender body.
When realize the gnome enter the place, she closes the book that was read and moves her hands on arcane motives to welcome him with a blessing.
"Yuelral మాంత్రిక బలం మీరు మొదటి ప్రపంచ బ్లెస్డ్ చిన్న జీవి వహించాలని".
Lokien grins as the stew comes in and as the rooms erupts in cheers. He cannot help but shout out .
He grins at the butterflies and largely allows them to fly around him.
"Interesting friends you have there, he says to the one called Meri."
Turning to Teflin Silvergrass, he pauses to answer and then to hold back a chuckle as the gnome attempts to imitate a dragonfly.
"I'm a simple blacksmith living hereabouts. I mend pots, farm tools, cooking knives and the ocassional weapons and armor pieces. It's a relaxing feeling as I shape the metal and allow them fresh expressions or to regain it. How about yourself?"
The armored figure starts at the oddness of the butterflies, but seeing that no one is paying attention to him relaxes a little. He lifts his visor revealing his grey skin and toothy mouth and proceeds to eat his meal. He does so warily still as he has all too often had a meal interrupted by the well intentioned but misguided fools that see him as a monster.
"A blacksmith? You should meet my second cousin twice-removed (that's a lucky relation by-the-way), Pazzle. He crafted this greatsword for me, and even gave me a 5% discount because we're such close family" The gnome seems to be speaking sincerely, as he peeks between his hands to see if he caught anything, but it's too dark to see.
"Me though? I'm a warden. Means I fight all sorts of aberrations to keep the people safe. But most wardens, they stay with their people and defend just their village, so I guess that makes me a world-warden, because I travel. But I'm also a scholar on the subject. Did you know that the average number of eyes among aberrations is three point three three? Outdated of course, I'm writing a letter of corrections to the author of Lords of Madness, 5th Edition" He forgets the butterflies and pulls out a thick stack of papers, lightly bound.
"...but it's getting kind of long, so I'm thinking I might just publish it myself eventually. I guess that makes me a writer, because there's a lot of corrections to make. Did you know the quickest landscape corruption (below-ground) of a one-mile radius by an aberration documented is two thirty-five? But I've seen it happen in only two seventeen." His ears twitch as he hears the gnomish tongue being spoken, and turns to the elf, waking from his reverie.
"Why thank you." He responds in the common tongue and extends hands to both the dwarf and the elf.
"World-Warden-Scholar-Writer, no, it doesn't have the right ring to it. Call me Teflin."
Ladrengil gets up and takes her seat next to the gnome.
"Please, tell me more about your works Teflin, about the creatures studied by you, I know a little about aberrations too."
...and after a little pause...
"Nothing so specific as to members and organic structure, only informations in elven compilations about the environment in which they inhabit and techniques of hunting and survival."
Once again she talks eagerly, though her voice keep a calm tone...
"Anyway, do you happen to have any edition of the book Lords of Madness with you?"
...and pointing with a gentle motion to the young bartender...
"Please bring a bottle of Lotus wine to us, please."
The door of the tavern open as something walks inside.. He's dressed in a long, dark overcoat and a widebrim hat.. For those looking you can notice a darkend breastplate underneath the coat and a long curved blade sitting across his back.. A silver holy symbol bounces off his breastplate as he strides to the counter.. He doesn't bother looking around as he approaches.. Once at the counter.. "A bottle of whiskey! Please.." As he takes pours a shot back you all notice a set of horns jutting from his head and curling back around his ears.. His skin is blackened and rough looking.. As he turns to examine the crowd some of you feel your sword hand almost instinctively reaching for your weapons..
At the sight of the teifling Arabeth just raises an eyebrow and a whimsical smile graces her features.
"The world is indeed an amazing place...." She sighs.
Deacon looks around at the ensembled tavern guests.. "What an interesting lot we have here.. Wonder what brings em all here.." Noticing the Aasimar across the way he smiles and heads her way.. "Greetings shiny one, what brings you these parts?" He starts to sit down.. "Oh excuse me.. Do you mind?" Before she can answer he laughs and sits down and puts his bottle on the table. "Care for a drink?"
Lauran follows the tiefling inside the tavern. She had noticed the creature some time before and determined to check if it was a danger or merely an unfortunate victim of the whims of fate.
Sitting quietely in a table the Iomedean inquisitrix waits for a barmaid to approach and then asks:"May I have something to drink, please? A keg of ale would do, thank you"
A tiefling. Acid and fire no good. Must use hands. Seems to use weapons. Get inside his guard, let his cumbersome weapon undo him.
He wanders over to Lokien and Teflin.
EXxuse me, I don't believe arTHUR heard you. What does he... he concentrates a moment what does he LOOK like? I may have seen him outSIDE.
Lokien chuckles.
"Well Friend Teflin, I must say those are interesting facts and useful to know. I know very little about these beasts except where to hit and take them down......hard."
Turning to Roman
"I assume you thought Arthur is a person? Actually I named my hammer Arthur, seems like the local kids found some humor in it so I obliged them."
Patting his warhammer at his side.
"You named your weapon?" Teflin strokes his chin, unsure of whether he likes that idea or not. Ultimately he decides he is not to be outdone. "Well, my sword is called...Five Percent."
Teflin turns to face Ladrengil as she foolishly enables his obsession.
"I had to leave most my books at the library to travel light, but I've got it all in my head." He smiles as he taps his head to accent the point. "Ask me anything you want to know about the monsters, either I know it, or it's on my list of things to find out about them."
A butterfly decided to take that particular moment to land on the top of Teflin's head. But if he tried to reach for it, it would fly just out of reach again. It was like they were playing and teasing him.
Arabeth but arches both eyebrows at this new fellow's terms of endearment. She looks towards Sothonin as she speaks though,
"Well...I have been described as many things before but 'Shiny' is a new one, even for me." She turns and smiles at Deacon, though this fades as she thinks upon his question, "Well...I must say business and admit that it is something of a sad burden." She sighs, sips at her drink before returning her gaze again to Deacon,
"So, yourself then. You wish to call me 'Shiny', what monicker would you wish bestowed upon you, hmmmm?"
Deacon smiles, showing white pointy teeth.. "You may call me whatever you like shiny one.. I have been called it all, so you will not offend me.. I would appologize for my rudeness, but I don't do that so.." He pauses for a momoment.. "My polar opposites intrest me is why I've came over here.. I make a note to talk to any Aasimars I meet, even it's just to annoy them, your kind all seem to smell so good i cannot help it.." He pokes his head out a takes a big whiff of your area.. "Yep, your no different.." He smiles again and then takes a shot..
"So sadness brings you here.. Thats a shame, sadness took me away from here when I was young and now that I've returned I can't say I've missed this s$%!hole.. You hungry?"
The elf keeps "her" dialogue between the dwarf and gnome.
"Actually my interest isn't only limited to the aspects of the environment and survival of these creatures, I seek to understand the peculiar traits that some of the aberrations that live in regions full of magic, and even his strange origin. Well, we can take for example the Will-o'-Wisp, in Kyonin can be found many of these amorphous forms of "light conscious bog" in Tanglebriar, the demon-haunted swamps between the southern edge of the Forest Fierani. What would be its origin? Would be linked to an innate magical energy into your being or from their plane of existence, or maybe, are only distorted reflections of reality? Do you have any idea that "nature" of freaks like this?"
...
"Anyway, I´m a specialist of other areas, from mystical aspects of reality to the useful adhibition for arcane practices for self-knowledge. But perhaps my specialty is the study of artifacts and its use as a mystical energy channels."
...
Ladrengil lost yourself on digressions and explanations, but always maintains intact its tranquillity and logic.
And, performing a motion with hands in a unusual gesture, but not rare among elves, Ladrengil presents yourself. "My apologies, Ladrengil Annúmben of Kyonin. Very pleased to meet you both."
Well now. Lokien knows when he's outmatched since he got lost somewhere between a 'tangle bear' , why would a bear get tangled up anyway?, and 'mystical energy chnnels'. Yes out of this simple blacksmith's way actually. It seems polite to at least attempt to follow...........
Looking at the butterfly's comfy position on Teflin's head, he guesses that teflin must have being one of those 'sweet' things, he heard the elders call those young children...
That gesture.....He remembers it from previous elvish customers when they came to his humble shop for some of their simple armor repairs. Lokien racks his mind for a moment before remembering that it stands for greetings. Or so he thinks.
He glances at Roman, seems ok. Hope he understands what Ladrengil Annúmben is saying though.
The human woman with a keg of ale. A keg!! Well now perhaps she could be persuaded to join their table? Waiting for an appropriate time to interject and call out to the rather interesting human woman. pulling another table to join his current one and more seats after ensuring there're unoccupied. He calls out:
Hold Ladrengil, allow this simple blacksmith to invite more people to join us at our table.
Lass.... (Lauran Jalar) with that keg of ale. Perhaps you would like to join us over here? And perhaps you too lass (DM Kana)? I seem to have a problem and if you could aid this simple blacksmith in understanding it, I would be mighty grateful. Barkeep another keg of Ale/mead please, My thanks."
...Deacon's comments...
Arabeth's composure remains polite and calm, though she does lean back when the tiefling looms forwards and 'sniffs' at her.
"No different? What, perchance, is your sample size? Just me?" She inquires, then shakes her head.
"No, I've not been here before. Though this place doe snot seem all that bad..." She looks around at the tavern room itself and those within.
"As for dining? While partaking on a less than full stomach can bring out the effects of imbibing rather too fast, I fear my mood is not such that a meal would be enjoyable." She glances to Sothonin then back to Deacon,
"Perhaps I can be persuaded?"
A slight female figure; very short for a human, elf or orc; but too tall & slender for any of the shorter races. It's possible, even likely, that she simply hasn't reached her full height yet as the bloom of youth is still quite apparent in her features. Nevertheless, she holds herself with the poise of one trained to the arms & armor she bears, even if the sword strapped to her back is nearly as long as she is tall. Her eyes light up at the sights & smells of raucous companionship & those of you who pay attention to such things notice they don't quite match, the one being noticeably lighter in hue than the others.
"An ale please, an' a trencher of whatever smells so mouthwatering." She calls out, her lips unconsciously curling into a smile.
"All you angel folk smell good is all I mean.. I dunno if you all wear perfume or if its just your essence, but it smells good to me.. Ive met a few of you in my travels.. Most shy away from me, but that's nothing new, most people do.. You on the other hand remain polite.. Must have a had a disciplined upbringing, I admire that.." Deacon gets up from teh table and walks over to the bar..
"Barkeep, how bout some sweets for my table over there? Something good tasting for the sweet smelling lady please.."
Meri turned her attention from invisible things in the room to Lokien? "A problem? It's not a bully is it?" She moved to take a seat closer to Lokien curious about what this issue was.
More butterflies continued to flutter, some landing in different places around the room, and on people. But at any attempt to touch one, they would fly away, staying just out of reach.