Having successfully escaped her gilded cage of a home for tonight, Litania threw up her hood and began to make her way towards a favorite haunt of hers, a tavern called owned by a man named Cato. Flying overhead circled a raven, always keeping close to his mistress.
She largely ignored those she passed, trusting her noble bearing as a sign that she shouldn't be crossed lest higher powers seek revenge.
Passing a pair of Hellknights, she slowed her determined pace and gave them a sidelong glance. Their helm-encased faces turned to regard her, the masks covering any emotion they may have shown. She nodded to them, and they returned the gesture curtly.
That passed, Litania soon reached her destination. Cato's was a modest place, a common enough-looking establishment, but in there she could let her hair down.
Lighting a cigarette, she opened the door and allowed her raven to alight upon her shoulder before crossing the threshold. She then strode to her usual spot, a spot at the bar where, if she leaned against it, she had a vantage view of the whole tavern.
"Evening, Cato," she greeted the barkeep, "Busy tonight?"
"Hey Tuez! This place looks pretty nice." a feminine voice calls from outside.
The owner of the voice steps through the door shortly after, a petite lady in her twenties, wearing a dark gothic dress that is not quite Varisian and not quite Ustalavic in fashion. Her dull red eyes, underscored by the deep shadowing surrounding them obviously brought on a severe lack of sleep dart about the room along with her head.
Spotting the bar she quickly makes her way over, the clomp of boots rather than the click of heels against the floor giving her footwear away. "Excuse me good sir, but do you have any rooms available tonight?" Her voice is calm and courteous, though the slightly goofy grin she wears detracts from any seriousness she brings.
Following in shortly after, and having to duck to do so brings a man a good two heads taller than the girl. Whereas the girl's appearance contrasted with her personality, energetic but dressed in black, this man's outfit fits him to a T. Grey from his boots to his head doffed in a traveler's hat and a body covered with a floorlength coat it would be easy to mistake this dreary man for a highwayman. The black scarf wrapped around his neck and lower half of his face seems to match his companion's outfit, but it doesn't seem to dissuade from his Knave personage. Coming up to the bar it becomes clear that the man does seem to be made up of some different colors, bits of silver and white all drapped in gray.
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Raveen did not expect his clients to be tense this night; he expected them to be excited for what news he would bring instead, as he passed into the tavern they agreed upon. Passing through the threshold silently, he flicked his deep-set gray eyes to a table in the corner, where a small gathering of three Ulfen sat. One was a red-haired woman, and two apparent brothers of braided golden hair, each with a cup of pale brown coffee before them.
Heading to them with a thin book, he pulled himself a chair, stating automatically in a quiet voice, "God kväll, vänner."
They muttered greetings, and it seemed to him that their eyes were fixed on a newcomer.
"Is there something wrong?" He asked in Taldan to the woman.
"Witch," she whispered darkly, narrowing her eyes at a black-haired woman who sat near the bar, leaning with her back against it, as if keeping an eye on the tavern. A raven sat on her shoulder, which seemed to be the reason for the trio's discomfort.
A challenging pose, Raveen thought with a small grin, turning back just before he expected the woman to glance at him.
"Vara försiktig," he warned quietly to the red-haired woman. "You are now a long way from Irrisen; act like it. She won't curse you if you behave."
"Besides," he added lightly, as a woman dressed in a strange multi-layered dress walked in, who has apparently (at least to Raveen's eyes) not slept for weeks. "It seems that our company tonight will be unusual."
He flicked his gaze back to them, and placed the book on the table.
"Here are your letters and identification papers. Get this to the office tomorrow, and you'll be set to live here."
The larger of the brothers frowned as the insomniac woman's boots clomped against the floorboards, and said, "Tacka dig , vän."
Raveen nodded, standing up and shaking their hands in turn. Once they left, he flicked his black hair to the sides of his head, and kept a curious eye around him. With no work left today, he would find it easy to socialize--though the witch would probably refrain from doing so; her bearing was that of a noblewoman.
Knowing nobility and magic did not mix well, he instead looked to the newcomers, adjusting his seat to allow his little-used blade to fade to his shadow, quietly resolving to apologize for his kinspeople's rudeness if the witch so deigned to ask him of it.
As the twirling dancers in brown costumes festooned with bright pink, flowing silk scarves spins across the jungle set at the front of the stage, the orchestra reaches a screeching crescendo that crashes the entire opera to a halt. The dancers stand quietly for a moment, breathing heavily and listening to the roar of applause across from the audiene audience.
It's been a long, trying day.
Today was her last performance of Among The Living at the grand opera house. Traditional Chelish opera was written in Azlanti and is intended to be performed in that language. However, this entire show has come from Taldor and they've butchered some of the most promising pieces. Frustrated at the inability of the simple minded people to properly under the complexities that cannot be expressed in the common tongue is, so, well, common.
Normally she enjoys the limelight after a grand performance, bathing in the compliments and being paraded through the nobility.
Not tonight.
When the show is over she is in no mood for all the hobnobbing she is supposed to be doing. Quietly and quickly she makes her way from the grand opera house and tries to think of a place that is far enough away she won't be bothered and she can relax. Pulling a dark hooded cloak over her head and hiding her face she makes her way silently through the streets to a tavern she's hid at several times before in situations like this.
Spotting a tavern she's visited a few times before in situations like these she slips inside and takes a seat at the bar and signals for a nice spiced wine.
She reaches down to retrieve a cigarette and realizes she's left them back in her dressing room. With a sigh she looks over and catches sight of Litania.
Hmmm, familiar. I've met her before? Probably. I've met them all. What was her name...
Leaning over she points at the cigarette and asks, "Excuse me. I seem to have forgotten mine. Would you be so gracious as to spare me one of yours?"
Turning to regard Mera, a flicker of recognition in Litania's eyes gives her away as she fishes out a small box, from which she retrieves and hands Mera a cigarette.
"Here, allow me." Litania also takes the liberty to strike a match and light the offered smoke. Taking a deep puff of her own, she releases a vibrant smoke ring. "If you don't mind me asking, but did you manage to catch the opera tonight?"
Taking another look around, she saw one northerner enter, do some kind of business with three others, and then the trio left, the woman of the group giving her a wary, if not rude, glance. Litania raised an eyebrow, but said nothing, tempted to simply hex the impertinent woman. However, Litania decided to hold the man that remained responsible and demand and apology soon.
She then noticed two more patrons joined her at the bar. One a woman with a gaudy sense of fashion, the other a man seemingly better fit holding up a carriage on the highway.
Shrugging to herself, she returned her attention to Mera. "Ah, where are my manners? The name is Miss Litania Barnes, but to friends I'm Tani."
Mera smiles when Litania offers the cigarette and she takes it eagerly.
Barnes. Barnes. Hmmm. Not ringing a bell. Must be one of those less than minor houses. I swear I've seen her before though.
When questioned about the opera she doesn't respond immediately. Her eyes flit to the clothing when Litania gestures to it and she nods in acceptance. Realizing her finer garments and makeup probably are giving her away she doesn't try to hide herself. "Oh yes, I was there tonight. Quite the regular I'm afraid. Were you, in attendance perhaps?"
She closes her eyes and takes a long drag and blows it out slowly. Her body posture and stress seem to slowly melt away as she she flutters her eyes several times. "Ahh... So. Much. Better. Thank you Tani. I don't know how I could have possibly left without mine."
Mera extends her free hand to the witch and offers, "Mera. Pleasure to make your acquaintance," She pauses as if in midsenteance and continues after a few seconds of looking at Tani. She tilts her head to one side as he exhales another breath of smoke. "Tell me Tani, you look familiar. Perhaps I've seen you at the opera house before?"
Not looking over it is still hard to ignore the conversation between the two noble ladies. Oh just jump each other and get it over with!
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Raveen noticed the witch's expression--a look crossed her countenance as if annoyance and indifference blended unto one another in a strange haughty glance. She looked back to a newcomer--a woman in finery and fashionable dress concealed beneath a dark cloak. The newcomer seemed familiar to his eyes.
Miss Mera West-Thrune, he thought. A woman of the arts. She must have returned from a performance, he deduced. How much would he loved to speak with her, he thought, though it would be terribly rude to approach them without apologizing to the other woman for his acquaintance's unwise stare. He smiled lightly at the raven, thinking that it may speak if it do deigned; though now was not the time.
Instead, he turned to the gaudily-clad woman and cloaked man at the bar. Strangely, the bartender seemed absent*, and the woman, though sounding confident, seemed to bear a strange grin.**
"Good lady, it would seem that the good bartender is away on an errand," Raveen said to the woman, who seemed to follow the conversation between the witch and actress curiously. He courteously drew chairs for the two if they wished to take a seat, adding wearily, "I would hope that he would return before nightfall--with the curfew and all. You understand."
*Bear with me, Cato; the play started, and with no interactions, it felt strange to have Monday holding her action, so to speak. I apologize in advance if this dismays you.
**Monday seems to my eyes as Emma Watson when she played Bella Lestrange; a mix of confidence and awkwardness, mixed with a strange eccentric vibe.
Turning around to the speaker addressing her she gives him a curtsy before taking up the offered seat. "Why thank you--come now Tuez don't be rude--What's this about a curfew you say?"
The pale man will quietly step up to the seat but not sit in it, instead simply placing one hand onto the back of the chair as he eyed the other man blankly.
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Raveen's eyes follow the morose-seeming individual wrapped in heavy clothes.
His face returns to the woman, a small grin as he explained, "Not strictly a curfew per se, milady; we, the good people of this city realized the dangers of walking after dark."
The man intones, "Follow thou the pools of light, go out from door to door to-night; follow not that lurks in blight, for it doth blanch at the edge of sight."
Giving her an easy glance, he dropped purposefully the Varisian term for night and blight. She may be of the wandering folk, he thought.
"Do not be surprised: The tongue of the wandering folk is spoken all across the eastern coast. Are you from the around the Varisian colonies? You seem not a native of Cheliax."
"I speak of what lurks in the dark after midnight," he explains lightly. "If you and your friend are travelers that have not a place to stay, I would doubly encourage you to await the good tavern-master. No one wanders after dark--unless they can defend themselves against That Which Lurks in Shadow."
[ooc]For my first online role playing experience, this is turning out quite fascinating. I wonder how Cato intends to play his character. [/occ]
Arching a brow as the man speaks she waits for him to continue before answering. "Ah, yes! Me and my brother here are travelers, from Ustalav. We go wherever the stars take us. My name is Monday by the way, and this is Tuesday."
Remaining as he was Tuesday continues to simply stand, coming across as simply wary and vigilant rather than confrontational.
Mera takes another puff and looks over her shoulder at the others who are stepping up the bar. She isn't able to place any of their faces, but she catches a few eyes looking her way. Deciding to give up on her apparent failure to mask her identify she stands and shrugs out of her dark cloak and folds it over the back of a nearby stool. Still in her shining black silk dress that contrasts nicely with her pale skin, she definately stands out in the crowd. Her dark maroon lipstick helps highlight her perfect pouty lips.
I suppose it's not fair to deprive those that want to look, now is it?
She doesn't look at any one specific members of the tavern but manages to smile at them all individually without actually stopping to do so. A quick parting of the lips to flash the pearly whites and she graciously slips back onto her chair to continue her conversation with ...
Damn, where do I know here from! This is going to drive me insane.
A heavily accented dialect she doesn't recognize can be heard by the man who just stepped up to the bar behind Tani. She lets her eyes shoot to the man as she tries to comprehend the odd sounds, but fails to place them.
The Lucky Devil is a modest tavern. The outside, though small, is painted with warm, inviting colors. A small signpost hangs out from the building, displaying an image of a smirking imp clutching a mug of some form of alcohol. The signpost appears freshly painted, as if it was touched up only a few days prior.
The inside is small, but cozy. The floor is slightly uneven in a few places, and two tables have blocks of wood underneath their feet to keep them level. The walls are adorned with a smattering of odds and ends; the western wall holds a crude painting of a farm, the southern wall has a pair of long, curved horns mounted above the tavern's entrance, and the eastern wall displays a large, worn greatsword set just out of reach for individuals of average height. A moderately sized wood-burning furnace placed in the interior's center crackles and burns with a passion as it offers its warmth to the tavern's customers.
A back door next to the bar opens, and in steps a tall, middle-aged Chelaxian. He is lean and well-muscled in spite of his age, and his brow glistens with sweat. Under one arm, he carries several pieces of chopped wood. The man's eyes flick over the growing number of patrons, and he gives them a communal nod of acknowledgement.
"Be right with ya," he says in a gravelly voice that is surprisingly quiet for a man of his size. He walks over to the furnace and empties the wood into it. "Brought friends tonight, Tani?" he asks as he steps back behind the bar. "Welcome to The Lucky Devil, folks. Any friend of Tani's is a friend of mine. Can I get you anything?"
Seeing the lady at the bar remove her cloak Monday can't help but let out a long whistle of approval. Watching her she doesn't seem to notice the older male, apparently the owner, announce himself.
"I have a bad habit of showing up at places I may or may not belong, all by choice, of course. It would surprise me if someone hadn't seen me around somewhere." As Litania spoke, her features hardened as if steeling herself in case someone would figure out who she really was without her wishes.
Seeing Cato enter, Litania nodded to him and shrugged, the steeliness falling away. "Only newly made acquaintances, Cato, but feel free to treat then well, regardless. I'll have a shot of the usual over there with the northerner."
Standing from her seat at bar she weaves between the scattered tables and chairs and takes one of the offered seats. She gives Raveen a hard stare as if to see into his soul, the raven on her shoulder remaining on his perch, also adding his gaze to hers.
"I must ask why your companions from before where nervous around me? Surely it isn't because of Typhann here?" She points a finger at the raven, who opened his mouth and cawed out what could've been mistaken for a "ME?".
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"Ah, I see. I myself have traveled far from home. You stand out, Miss Monday," Raveen nodded at the siblings, thinking of how curious their names were.
"The Lady of the Stars must be kind tonight," he added in Varisian. "Though I do not question why the stars would lead you here; She of Stars and Luck works in mysterious ways--even compared to the rest of her kin."
He then fell silent as the witch initiated contact by ordering him a drink, before he heard her speak.
"Only newly made acquaintances, Cato, but feel free to treat then well, regardless. I'll have a shot of the usual over there with the northerner," she said, rising from her seat and approaching the table.
"Northerner?" he asked inwardly as she took one of the chairs (perhaps that which Tuesday shadowed). "Must have been my first impression with the lady; best not make that mistake again."
"I must ask why your companions from before where nervous around me? Surely it isn't because of Typhann here?" She points a finger at the raven, who opened his mouth and cawed out what could've been mistaken for a "ME?".
"I convey my apologies for Miss Aisling, my good Lady Barnes," he answered softly, rising and giving a slight bow, before returning to his seat.
"I suppose they reckoned that you were a witch of the North. They are good people, though unlearned in the ways of the High Art--and more than a little prejudiced. Folk rarely differ, though distance makes it seem so; they learned to be afraid, and unbidden memories of tyranny and dark magic never truly die."He straightens up, and offers his hands to the table, palms up, in a show of neutrality.
"But I pray you; be not offended. I do not share the views of the north-men, though I traveled amongst them--perhaps too much, if I seem of their blood."
He flicked his eyes to the raven, and smiled at its gaze, immensely intrigued, adding, "Be this handsome Typhann your witch-spirit or some crow you tamed?" he asked, hoping to see the raven's reaction.
"I'll take that as a compliment then." With a chuckle she'll turn to look at the newest addition to the table. "Typhann is it? My, what a pretty name for a pretty bird. A pretty bird for a pretty girl."
"Aha, that's it then?" She seems to relax a little, "I am no winter witch, my blood is free to boil and flow freely."
Taking another drag of her cigarette, she said with a wicked grin: "Tyranny and dark magic ... if they were seeking to escape that, they've traded one kind of fiend for another, I'm afraid."
"It ain't that bad, though, is it?" The raven croaked. "I mean, you are a higher-class woman in a city where what matters is one's social position."
At Raveen's words, Typhann cocked his head. "I ain't no crow but I am tamed. I serve my mistress to aid her in her walk on her life-journey."
Litania's face hardened at Raveen's words of his being not strictly a "northerner", but she shrugged it off as she turned to regard Monday and her companion.
"Pretty?" She rolled her eyes. "My dear, my mother is the beauty, I inherited my father's grim countenance, according to most." She then glared at the raven, who was preening himself at the woman's praise.
"Don't you listen to her either, Typhy, you're ego is big enough as it is."
Typhann opened his beak as if to speak, but the baleful glare his mistress shot him forced any words he had to be forced back down his throat.
At the raven's words Monday's grin grows eaven bigger as she clasps her hands in front of her. "He talks? He's a pretty AND smart bird! Oh you are quite lucky to have a such a wonderful creature choose you. And pretty. Or would you prefer beautiful?"
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Taking another drag of her cigarette, she said with a wicked grin: "Tyranny and dark magic ... if they were seeking to escape that, they've traded one kind of fiend for another, I'm afraid."
Raveen's eyes glinted at the witch's keen wit. I like her already.
"Aye," he conceded. "Though the weather seems to be a contributing factor--is it better to roast in torment or freeze in it? This land's glorious reputation is lost on no-one."At Raveen's words, Typhann cocked his head. "I ain't no crow but I am tamed. I serve my mistress to aid her in her walk on her life-journey."
"And what a walk it would be," Raveen smiles; the bird was not offended. How similar it seems to the crow so long ago.
At Monday's excited expression, and flurry of questions, Raveen commented lightly.
"I would say curious. If only we were so lucky with our company as you are, Lady Barnes. It seems like it would be quite the tale.
I have come to hear tales of a wandering old man who hauls his coffin with him on his travels, and of another whose only company are an aging donkey and a very persistent fox.
Alas, those but stories, and every story has its time."
Raveen regards the silent brother, and adds, "Aye...every story has its time."
Tuesday seems to arch his brow ever so slightly as Raveen looks at him, but otherwise keeps his rather nonplussed persona.
Mera signals Cato and asks if he has any spiced wine these evening. After ordering and thanking the bartender she will slip from the bar stool and advances to the table with the others at a slow measured pace, taking her time to cross the floor.
If you're going to be seen, you might as well make an appearance.
She eventually reaches the table and is quite intrigued with the talking bird. The tips of her lips are curved up in the slightest smile as she listens to the conversation.
"Good lady Mera, you honor us with your presence--," he said politely, giving another courteous bow. "Your melodious voice and graceful utterances echo even in the forgotten alleys of this glorious city."
Mera turns towards Raveen and slowly nods her head in affirmation of the greeting. Her smiles broadens and her soft voice responds, "Such kind words from a stranger. To whom do I have the pleasure of being admired by?"
Mera acknowledges Moonday and Tuesday with broad smile. "Good evening to you all."
Monday will turn and give a slight curtsy in her seat as Mera greets them. "Good evening to you as well... My, a talking bird and pretty women, I'm glad we picked this place now." The girl is positively beaming as she happily kicks her legs back and forth.
Breaking his glare with Raveen he will turn and quickly doff his hat at the bard in addition to a slight bow.
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Mera turns towards Raveen and slowly nods her head in affirmation of the greeting. Her smiles broadens and her soft voice responds, "Such kind words from a stranger. To whom do I have the pleasure of being admired by?"
"I am sorry. I did not introduce myself to any of you," The man sits down from his bow, and answers, "Raveen Liquean at your service; scribe, linguist, and admirer of the arts--and their performers.
"I must admit; for all the times I've passed by a theater-house, I have never attended one of your performances. I see now that I missed a chance this evening."Raveen was keenly aware of how little he looked as a lover of the arts; the sword felt (to his eyes now) very sharply out of shape, and honored was he amongst such interesting women. Of course--the man was interesting in his own way, though he thought it rude to study him again.
Of course, he thought. One was of the High Art of magic, who glared at her feathery companion; and not only that, she was of high blood (in two ways).
Another was a renowned performer of many theatrics he enjoyed reading (though he could not always afford attending).
Another was a curiosity that seemed as if she had the heart of two; her own true-heart, and that of her unsettlingly silent brother.
"Would you kindly honor us by sharing our table?" Raveen asks. "I would love to hear of what your program is for the fortnight; perhaps I can attend. I would love to see the Breaking of the World*. Your voice most befits the Erinyes in Act II".
"Being male, I assume that I should be more accepting of being called 'handsome', but hanging around my mistress so much I've come to accept both gender-specific compliments." Typhann made a motion with his wings that could be taken for a shrug.
Litania arches an eyebrow at the young foreign woman, acting very much like a giddy child in her eyes. I do wonder what is wrong with her, and her brother ... why hasn't he spoken yet, I wonder?
"My company tonight is the same as yours, Raveen." Litania said slowly, "However, if you think that this is my normal crowd, you are sadly mistaken ... drunken thugs and similar ilk aren't the worst I've ... caroused with."
Should that last statement raise any questions, Litania will shrug, "This is Infernal Cheliax, after all."
"Well then, you are a very handsome gentlebird Typhy." she happily quips to the bird.
As Litania talks she loks upon the half-elf with a very keen eagerness in her eyes. "It is isn't it? Tell me, have you ever danced with the Devil in the pale moonlight?" Her tone is genuinly inquisitive, rather than mocking.
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"Being male, I assume that I should be more accepting of being called 'handsome', but hanging around my mistress so much I've come to accept both gender-specific compliments." Typhann made a motion with his wings that could be taken for a shrug.
What an astute bird. May their companionship last long.
Raveen nodded wearily at Litania's finishing comment, which seemed to answer his unasked question.
Though he meant the familiar by his words, he seemed to have awakened a bitter memory; the way Litania answered hinted at more than just a little cold anger. The Ustalvian siblings seemed to attract her mild disapproval.
"It is isn't it? Tell me, have you ever danced with the Devil in the pale moonlight?"
Such a strange expression. Is it not an ill omen to speak of devils at night--if ever?
Having studied the matter, () Raveen leaned back in his seat and sighed.
"It would seem that the ancient Rune-Lords were mistaken, and the Lord of Man has been caught unawares: prophecy is still true. I said that every story has its time, and your words, Lady Barnes, lead me to believe yours is near a reveal."
Litania gives both Monday and Raveen a strange look, for the Ustalavic girl's question and the man's statement both resounded discordantly within her. She took a glance at all assembled there, and then turned her eyes to her glass.
"I do not know why, but I suppose I may trust you lot with a half-truth."
Typhann gave his mistress a shocked look, but wisely kept his beak shut.
"The man who has claimed to be my father for the past twenty-one years is not my true sire. These two men are half-brothers, both are touched by our fiendish patron, but only one, the impostor, has retained his 'humanity'. My true father is a tiefling and the true master of my family. But fate had other plans, and now my father is a fugitive while my stepfather hoards his ill-gotten treasures, among them my mother and me."
She sighs, "When I said I favor my father, I meant it. And yes," she turns to Monday, "I may have danced with a devil or two in the pale moonlight. Gods know my mother did if I'm any indication."
Lips twisting into a wry grin, she chuckled. "Heh, that's the first time someone hasn't revealed me against my wishes. What of you?" She places her elbows on the table, placing her chin in her palms, and allowing an amber glint to come to her otherwise emerald eyes. "What deep, dark secrets have you lot held close to the vest?"
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Cato clomps noisily through the bar, upending glasses and filling them with favored drinks with a practiced swiftness. His eyes lazily hop from one patron to the next, giving each a firm, assessing gaze. He finishes pouring the drinks as Litania finishes her tale, pulls up a chair and pours himself a drink.
"Sorry, Tani, I never knew," he says quietly. He makes a slow turn towards the rest of the group. He looks contemplative, then begins his story.
"Never danced with a devil. Played cards with one, once. Met 'im at a crossroads while traveling. Bet the gold I carried against the devil's luck. I lost, hard. Then he offered I could win it back. Double or nothing. So again I bet the pack of food and supplies I carried against the devil's luck. I lost, hard. Then he offered I could win back what I lost. So I bet the clothes off my back against the devil's luck. Lost," Cato pauses to take a long drink from his mug of ale.
"Finally, the devil came to his true goal. He said that if I bet my soul, I could not only win back all the things I lost, but I could win all the devil's luck. So we played a final game, only this time, I dealt. That was part of the deal. I dealt, but I hid a few aces up my sleeve. He showed a straight, but I had a full house. I won back my gold, gear, and clothes, and kept my soul. But most important, I won the devil's luck.
"'Course, the devil weren't lucky. He was just cheatin'. His rotten luck was the worst I'd ever seen, and I won it all," Cato says, gesturing to several of the more ramshackle parts of the bar. The Chelaxian finishes his drink, and lays it down on the table with a light clack. "Don't gamble with devils. They always win, even when they lose."
Listening in with rapt attention Litania's question will snap Monday out of her near trance, who spends a moment shifting her head from side to side in a show of deciding before finally speaking while wearing a look that shows half lost thoughts and half forgotten memories. "Well, I did kill the only man I ever loved, and now he haunts me." Taking a moment to collect herself, and to finish Litania's drink for her, she'll add "Ever since then his thoughts and desires have started to influence my own, if my voracious appetite for the fairer sex is any indication."
Only half paying attention to the conversation between Monday and the others Tuesday will turn his head as Cato tells his tale though, giving the older man a nod and a roll of his eyes in a tell-me-about-it fashion.
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Raveen nodded solemnly as the witch finished her tale.
"Drown he may in incestuous lust," He muttered under his breath, lifting his cup of spiced wine at the now-silent witch in a gesture of sympathy and solidarity. "I cannot lie; I know not of how your heart must rage against this. A perfect home can be a cage, and a bird so imprisoned may forget even it has wings. Perhaps that is a lesson from your tale.
He did not miss the raven's gape (as it were), and figured that he had probably stumbled upon a tale she was loath to repeat.
Aye...a bird may forget it has wings...but this one did not.
"Half-truth," she said, however. Did the blood of devil-touched things withdraw so lightly from whom it gave birth to? As he was contemplating
"Heh, that's the first time someone hasn't revealed me against my wishes. What of you?"
Raveen opened his mouth to speak, contemplating on what he might add to relieve the witch of her troubles, but then saw the bartender approach, ready with a story of his own, as he sat down, interspacing his tale with suspense-building gulps of drink.
It is always better to listen than to speak.
"Never danced with a devil. Played cards with one, once. Met 'im at a crossroads while traveling. Bet the gold I carried against the devil's luck. I lost, hard. Then he offered I could win it back. Double or nothing. So again I bet the pack of food and supplies I carried against the devil's luck. I lost, hard. Then he offered I could win back what I lost. So I bet the clothes off my back against the devil's luck. Lost," Cato pauses to take a long drink from his mug of ale.
"Finally, the devil came to his true goal. He said that if I bet my soul, I could not only win back all the things I lost, but I could win all the devil's luck. So we played a final game, only this time, I dealt. That was part of the deal. I dealt, but I hid a few aces up my sleeve. He showed a straight, but I had a full house. I won back my gold, gear, and clothes, and kept my soul. But most important, I won the devil's luck.
"'Course, the devil weren't lucky. He was just cheatin'. His rotten luck was the worst I'd ever seen, and I won it all."
"A tale as if woven by the fey," Raveen said, nodding at the bartender. "Don't gamble with devils. They always win, even when they lose. Such are wise words, sir.
"Perhaps--what it means to defeat them is to make your own luck, sir. A lesson of your tale could be, 'Make thy own luck.'He was silent as Monday spoke, and coughed a little into his cup as she spoke of things unfamiliar to his ears.
"Ever since then his thoughts and desires have started to influence my own, if my voracious appetite for the fairer sex is any indication."
"Sorry," Raveen apologized, thinking back. A heart of two, she most surely has. The spirits of divination favor me tonight. What could this all mean?
He looked between the four (five, if Lady Mera remains silent), and smiled. "Such company could I not often enjoy, good sirs and lady. In our encounter I hear the footsteps of Lady Fate, she, who has evaded the death of Aroden and survived the dawn of this new here age."
Her grin seeming to widen slightly she'll give a halfhearted wave of dismissal towards Raveen. "No need to be sorry, I didn't say I didn't enjoy the torment... Or the hunger."
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Her grin seeming to widen slightly she'll give a halfhearted wave of dismissal towards Raveen. "No need to be sorry, I didn't say I didn't enjoy the torment... Or the hunger."
Raveen glanced at the woman over his drink, and muttered darkly, "You misunderstand me. It is...uncommon to admit killing in a public area--let alone admitting to consuming his soul...And to a stranger, no less."
"Is this a ghost of her murdered one?" he thought uncomfortably.
Monday tries and fails to hold back a laugh. "I don't eat souls, I eat women."
Becoming a spiritualist is not a calling; it’s a phenomenon. When a creature dies, its spirit flees the body and begins the next stage of its existence. Debilitating emotional attachment during life and other psychic corruption causes some spirits to drift into the Ethereal Plane and descend toward the Negative Energy Plane. Some of these spirits are able to escape the pull of undeath and make their way back to the Material Plane, seeking refuge in a psychically attuned mind. Such a fusing of consciousnesses creates a spiritualist—the master of a single powerful spirit whom the spiritualist can manifest upon the world to do her bidding.
A phantom was once a sentient, living creature that experienced great turmoil in life or during death. The power of its emotional trauma ripped it from the flow of spirits rushing toward the Astral Plane and the fates beyond, pulling it through the Ethereal Plane and toward the Negative Energy Plane. During the decent to nothingness and undeath, the spirit was able to break free from its pull toward the nadir, and made its way back to the Material Plane to find and hide within the consciousness of a powerful psychic spellcaster. That fusion created a spiritualist.
Phantoms sometime retain some of their memories from life, but not many. Some phantoms wish to unburden themselves of their emotional shackles, while others just wish to continue existing while avoiding the corruption of undeath. Others still wish nothing more to inflict their torment upon the living—taking their revenge on life for the horrors they faced during and after death.
Phantoms are powerful beings, but they are far more emotional than they are reasonable. Phantoms are still shackled by the emotions that created them, and the spiritualist must take strong control over her phantom to keep its often-violent emotions in check.
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"Would you kindly honor us by sharing our table?" Raveen asks. "I would love to hear of what your program is for the fortnight; perhaps I can attend. I would love to see the Breaking of the World*. Your voice most befits the Erinyes in Act II".
Mera takes her offered drink from Cato and thanks him. After sipping she turns to face Raveen, obviously apprecitavie of the compliment. "Why thank you good sir. It would appear you are a man of the arts afterall then."
She sighs and her smile sours as she thinks of her current program. "Oh, how I would enjoy Breaking of the World. While I've not yet performed it I do enjoy the role of a Goddess." She pauses a half-second to sip her wine. "I'm afraid we're completing our run Among the Living tonight."
Seeing quite a few blank faces at the table she adds, "Oh sorry, what was I thinking. Among the Living is an epic tale of a lone Ulfen warrior named Victory who sails to the ends of Golarion, crashes off the edge of the world, and finds himself in a gothic paradise where he falls in love with the undead queen of a jungle kingdom."
She finishes the last sentence with obvious annoyance as she scowls and she slowly drags her hands down her body head to torso, posing for the group and clearly marking herself as the obvious undead queen.
Mera fights from making herself any more visibilty flustered than she already is.
Makes me want to vomit. I mean really, UNDEAD QUEEN?!
In the blink of an eye she bats her eyelashes quickly and her pearly white smile has returned as she looks at her companions. "But it finished tonight, it was our last showing. I'll be on break for the next fortnight I'm afraid."
Keep it together Mera, you don't know who these people are or what their intentions truly are. Shine darling, shine.
She drains the rest of her wine rather too quickly and turns to Cato. "By chance my good man, would there be more of this deliciousness in your backroom?"
She goes on to listen to the continued conversation between the rest of the strangers around her. She eyes glance to Tuesday suspiciously several times, something bothering her about him but unable to perceive anything whatsoever.
Why doesn't the big one speak?
Cocking her head sideways some realization sets in as she happily turns to Mera. "Was your character modeled after Arazni, the queen of Geb? I'm actually quite interested in this play of yours now." Pausing for a moment to take in some of her own drink she'll continue "While they tend to omit this from the history books Tar-Baphon, the Whispering Tyrant who had my country in a chokehold for a better part of its life had many suitors, both of the living and the dead."
Pausing once again to finish off her drink she'll finish with a pleased grin on her face. "In fact, I'll have you all know our little brother Sunday got himself quite the role as a Coffin Guard. I hear his mistress is quite smitten with him."
As Mera notices inbetween her glances Tuesday appears to have great bodily discipline, as his breathing is so light neither his chest nor neck seem to move once the entire conversation.
Although that could be said about the rest of his body, standing silent as a gargoyle the entire conversation, his brows only furrowing once his sister mentions the name of the Lich King, though they do soften when she later mentions their brother.
Raveen blinked for a second, before turning to Mr. Cato.
"Good sir, how long will it be before nightfall? I expect that the walk home would be too dangerous for me tonight. Have you warm food and good beds in this fine establishment?"
"'Speakin' of eatin',' eh?" Cato says with a light chuckle. "Just 'Cato' will do. Not a 'sir' any more. But aye, I've some mutton if you're planning to stay the night. I can't promise good beds, but beds they are all the same. Long as ya don't wake up stiff, I figure a bed's a bed."
She drains the rest of her wine rather too quickly and turns to Cato. "By chance my good man, would there be more of this deliciousness in your backroom?"
"As luck would have it, there would," Cato says with a ghost of a smile. "Might be the devil's curse ran its course." Cato excuses himself, and leaves the room. Shortly thereafter, he returns with a bottle for Mera, tosses a key to Raveen, and tells each the requisite price of their purchases.
Pausing once again to finish off her drink she'll finish with a pleased grin on her face. "In fact, I'll have you all know our little brother Sunday got himself quite the role as a Coffin Guard. I hear his mistress is quite smitten with him."
"'Fraid I'm not much familiar with that," interjects Cato. "Is that a role in a play, or an actual...thing?" Cato waves his hand in the air at this last word, as if searching for the proper term to use.
Monday starts beaming as Cato begins asking about her brother, so to speak. "Oh no milord, the Coffin Guard are an actual group of guards that protect various personages in and out of Ustalav. Almost all the Dauds belong to it, Tuez and me being one of the few exceptions. It is very prestigious, among certain Ustalavic families anyway. They guard their charges while they slumber as well offering... Other amenities."
"Good man! You've made my evening I do believe!" She refills her glass and settles comfortably in a seat at the table. While she pours her glass she considers her response to Monday. Mera looks a little taken aback by Monday's knowledge on the subject of the history she speaks of. She nods to the spiritualist as she finishes refilling her glass. "Indeed. I'm impressed with your knowledge on the subject, most have never heard of The Harlot Queen. In fact, I'd say fewer then five have actually ever mentioned any relevant information to me about the subject. Well except for Reutfan"
Mera overly exaggerates rolling her eyes and says, "He always insists we know the legitimate history under which we are providing entertainment. You know, to better provide for our audience of course."
Looking among the table she offers her bottle of wine to others, "Please, help yourself." She pulls out the appropriate coins and slides them over to Cato with a reasonable sized tip to go along with it.
Happily putting her cup towards the bottle to be filled she responds, "While not of the Coffin Guard we were raised to be so, learning about various important Transient Guests about the world was par the course. And I do find Arazni most interesting. Hubristically summoned by the Knights of Ozem to combat a Tyrant that they were losing against most embarrassingly she was beaten and broken. Years later the Knights, upon finding out about a kindgom of undead on the other side of the world, declare themselves righteous and blindly attack it. Well as history is apt to do it repeats itself, especially when hubris is involved. Handidly defeating those that would dare trespass against the kingdom that shared his name Geb animated the knights and set them on a much nobler, and much less stupid quest. What started as spite as he sent the undead knights back to bring him the body of the Herald as another slight against any future foolish 'righteous' warriors became something more. Although he had heard tales of Arazni's beauty the moment he laid eyes on her corpse he animated her then and there to be his wife and queen. And now she rules instead of serves, and probably has less idiots to deal with to boot."
Stopping only to down her freshly filled cup she'll lean in closer to Mera, her voice growing sultrier. "Now, since this is a play about the hero falling in love with her are there any steamy scenes in it?"