"My father was from the Land of the Linnorn Kings. I think. Probably. He wasn't a skald though," says Eirikr. "I certainly never heard him sing before. Not like that."
Eirikr notices the fox glaring at Ashen; he whispers something in his ear, and the wolf makes a quiet whimper in response.
"Ashen says he doesn't like foxes. As food. They're fine otherwise. He would've said so himself but he doesn't speak Fox. Do you speak Fox?" says Eirikr, his attention shifting between the blonde woman and the fox on her lap as he does so.
"No, I wouldn't say I speak fox, though Kettu and I have learned to communicate well enough even so. But no, I couldn't speak to just any fox." She smiles and gives a small laugh. "I'm also sure she's relieved to hear she's off the menu.
Morgraine gives the fox another pat as she likewise shifts her attention between man and wolf. "Have you and Ashen learned to speak to one another similarly? Or can you truly speak the wolf tongue?"
"Oh. Um. It's basically the same. I'm sure," says Eirikr. "I mean, you really just have to listen, right? I'm glad Ashen doesn't know Taldan though. He'd never stop talking then. He doesn't stop talking now but he only talks to me, at least."
"Oh! And my name is Eirikr. From Ustalav. Are you from Taldor? You don't look like it."
"A pleasure Eirikr. You may call me Morgraine. No, I am not from Taldor. A bit further North." She says these last bits after a moment's hesitation and a sideways glance away.
"Have you been in Heldren long? I've only just arrived here today with the caravan. I must say I thought I would find the South a bit warmer than this."
As Inire eavesdrops on the pair across the tavern from herself, as they exchange pleasantries and stories, she can't help but smile. That was a lot more like she was used to, and a lot more earthy. And a lot easier to follow.
She looked across the table to her traveling partner, as she slid the book to the side, moving the soup back into place. Maybe they were just people, after all. As long as she didn't think too hard about what they were eating it didn't manage to flavor what she was. "You've barely touched your drink." she says after a moment. "Is something bothering you?"
"Yes, I'd like that, I am headed for Quadira as well..." The mentioning of Celindril is but a deep sting in her side and the ring on her finger felt like cutting into her flesh. She quietly sits down and continues to eat her steak.
Celindril's masterpieces, the ones that matter in the last decade, anyway, are not his songs, but his paintings of Nathara. The first few are of her superficial sexual attraction and her being strange, accurate, but with little emotion. After they spent some time together they became more and more idialized, often leaving out a detail of her demonic heritage. The more recent ones depict her moods, her quirks and her flaws - they were not that idealized but each emphasized on a different aspect of her personality. It is not always easy to look at them, because it is like being shown a mirror which does not always show the aspects that she likes to see in ourselves. Nathara can not say which of those she likes most - all and every single one of them matter.
She leans back when she is done with her steak and her fingers play with her ring under the table. She thought it was so easy, when she grew up in a hidden fortress and all she knew about love and desire was from the bard's songs and epics of her people. "Falayna" she whisperes in shame. She had not done anything sinful, but the Empyreal Lord could see in her heart whether or not she honoured the ring.
Nathara fishes a cloth from her backpack and wipes off mouth and fingers. Traces of blood around the same usually set people seriously off. She arranges five silver pieces on the table, ready to give them to the bartender as soon as she comes around.
She does not interrupt the cute blonde human as she addresses Tiferet. Curious how diverse humans are. Nathara is taller than most human women, as most elves are. Tiferet is even taller than Nathera and a lot more powerful in her feminine way, even though Nathara is already quite curvy and strong for an elf. In direct comparison the woman approaching them almost seemed like a girl.
When she is gone Nathara addresses Tiferet again. "I should very much like to learn the language of your people; the language of a people is the key to their culture the way I see it, a translated epic tends to be a crude reflection. And I would very much like to know about Nord culture, you have something... sometimes rough, but noble in an honest, unspoiled way about you, with or without the blessing of Tolc. I mean, you do speak Skald, not Taldan amongst each other, don't you? Would you like to teach me on occasion?"
She tries her best to ignore the women on the other table - they made it perfectly clear that Nathara was not welcome.
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Tiferet listens intently as the two strangers introduce themselves – the tall boy being from Ustalav, and the fair girl declaring herself a Northerner. She chimes in once again to comment on Morgraine's observation, realizing she still owes her an answer.
"And you would have thought right. Taldane summers are usually a grueling matter, hot and humid, but this chill is... unseasonable, to say the least. Not that I'm complaining. Even though I was born and raised in Taldor, I could never quite get used to its climate" she says, pointing at the thin linen tunic she's wearing, having gotten out of her heavy scale armor as soon as she entered the tavern.
"But as you correctly surmised, my people ancestrally hail from the eastern reaches of the Land of the Linnorn Kings – though no-one would call them such now. They lost any right to that name in the Winter War, and now that place is only known as Irrisen, where the witches rule."
As if in a reverie, her tone has gotten more and more musical as he spoke, and has now seamlessly turned into a song.
They marched together side by side
And side by side they fell
Sister’s blood stained brother’s corpse
The white fangs got their due.
The lyrics die out as abruptly as they came, and now Tiferet seems once again focused on her two interlocutors. "But I forget my manners. I haven't yet even properly introduced myself – I'm called Tiferet, daughter of Odin. If you're traveling south and you feel like using a strong arm against the perils of the road, my axe is at your service" she offers smiling politely. "Though it looks like your friend here is more than capable to protect itself as well as you" she adds, pointing at the wolf sitting besides Eirikr.
Mouse continues to scribble away at what she's working on, as she listens to the others speak, and continues holding her on-again-off-again conversations with Evelyn.
As she worked through what she was learning, flipping through pages within the journal as a matter of course as she wrote about different things as they came up, she continued to nurse the stew.
She looked over to the woman tending the bar, "Do you have ravens or doves, or some other means of delivering missives here in town? If so, what manner of charge should I expect?"
Nathara was so caught up in her struggle with steak, as well as that with herself, that she didn't even realize that the voices around her origined right from this table until Tiferet played another song.
The tiefling maiden shakes her had, annoyed by her own rudeness. She actually babbled right into the middle of a conversation without even noticing. Good that she kept her voice down. She digs in her memory and recalls the voices and words - fortunately her memory is more reliable than her manners.
That there is a "wolf" language as opposed to a "fox" language would be new to her. But some of the very experienced rangers from Twilight Rose Keep are able to cast a spell, granted by their respective deities, in order to converse with any animal. She would not be surprised if druids had the same ability, but druids are a reclusive lot. To her knowledge no one ever managed to formulate an arcane thesis a spelldancer or wizard could work with.
She digs further as to what the topic of the conversation between the three is. Oh! Introductions!
"... and I am Nathara, as you may have heard before, pleased to meet you. I am an adept in the elven art of spell dancing." She is not quite sure how Ashen would react to her, so she carefully reaches her hand out, the claws loosely folded in, to invite him to sniff at it.
"I've heard quite a few farmers in the area... discuss certain adversities they'd been facing, which may very well be tied an unusual season." she adds carefully, not quite sure whether anyone was interested in hearing that.
Mostly she learned those rumors from farmers threatening her with a pitchfork to leave their land, because they deemed Nathara the bringer for their misgivings. She is not sure whether she was more frustrated with those prejudical accusations or impressed by farmers threatening an armed and armoured warrior to defend their own.
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As the woman introduces herself again, Mouse speaks up, realizing once again that she hadn't introduced herself. "Inire Kashuld." She says, after the woman speaks of the farmers. She realizes a moment too late that she has once more implicated herself in eavesdropping, and quickly adds, "My name is Inire Kashuld. "But... most people call me Mouse." this time, she didn't immediately duck and cover, having had Evelyn explain things... and her worldly reactions helped to temper Mouse's own.
If Evelyn thought all of this was no big deal, it probably wasn't. And her making it a big deal was making her stand out. Something she sorely didn't want to do. She made a mental, and physical, note to ask Eirikr why his dreams were so important to him.
Nathara turns to her and answers "Hello..." She could barely swallow the 'Celindril calls me Vixen, Mare or Beast sometimes'.
Some people were repulsed by her being different. That was a given. The more important it was to prove that she was not a bad person whenever they gave her chance, if she felt like sulking about it. Inire had made it difficult, but now there was a chance.
Desperately looking for something to say to create a bridge her eyes fell on the weapon handle. She might call be called 'Mouse' but there was more to her than that if she was able to handle such a weapon. "You carry a cûhathel? May I see it? I hear they are quite beautiful." Nathara's pronunciation of the word was as elven as it gets; hopefully it would not be a problem asking about the weapon. She kept her hands folded to her body to indicate that she merely wanted to see it, not hold it.
"Not here very long. I was with a caravan too, but they were headed in the other direction. I'm suppose to be here. In Heldren. I think. Something's wrong with the weather. Or something. I'm not really sure. Cold weather, plants don't grow, game is scarce, right?,"
"Ashen insists on following me everywhere. Says I'd get into trouble otherwise. I think he just likes my company, honestly. Don't think we're headed south. Or maybe we are. But I feel that this is the place I was suppose to go to."
Inire tilted her head at the request. She didn't need to put the pieces together for that one, as it was frequently used by Joan. "I... yes. No... yes?" She said, tripping over herself once more. "Yes it is mine. No you cannot hold it, but yes I will show it to you." She said by way of explanation.
"I was told that it was bad luck to let someone else draw and handle it... and Joan never said if it was literal. She also wanted me to name it, that's apparently good luck. I've named her Scribe." She said, unlatching it from her belt, and moving it smoothly onto the table. The blade was exceedingly long, but thin and flexible. Had it been forged by humans, it was questionable as to whether or not mouse would be able to wield it with her spindly frame.
She drew the blade out just enough to show the design of the weapon, but not enough to discomfort anyone. The blade was a silver-blue, the metal having been obviously pigmented during forging. The blade stood in even greater contrast to the elf than it had while it rested in its sheathe; it was clearly significantly colder than the young woman who wielded it.
"A blade drawn is a story ended." She said quietly, speaking an elven quote in common.
She easily switched trains of thought, though, to Eirikr.
She tweaked her lips back and forth as she slid the blade back fully into the hilt. "What is it about the snow in your dreams that has you following such small signs?" She said, not looking up to Eirikr, as she put her sword back on her belt and adjusted it.
Oh. Well. I dream a lot. And they all mean something. But I can't really figure out what they mean. Usually they're different. But I've been having the same one. I dream of spring, and summer. But they're not there. Snow falling on spring flowers, drowning them out. Not melting. Not going away. A year without a summer. Years without summer. No more flowers. Not even snowdrops. I don't know what it means. Usually they mean something but they don't always mean what they are. Once, I dreamed of butterflies, a chain of them dancing, and then I met some Varisians. I think the butteflies were suppose to be the Varisians," says Eirikr, his attention not really fixed on anything in particular, his eyes wandering as he speaks. Ashen stands up and starts to lick at his fingertips, which seems to knock him out of whatever reverie he was having. "Oh. But mainly I think I'm supposed to be here, to figure out why it's important. Why are you in Heldren? Not because of dreams, right?"
"But as you correctly surmised, my people ancestrally hail from the eastern reaches of the Land of the Linnorn Kings – though no-one would call them such now. They lost any right to that name in the Winter War, and now that place is only known as Irrisen, where the witches rule."
As if in a reverie, her tone has gotten more and more musical as he spoke, and has now seamlessly turned into a song.
They marched together side by side
And side by side they fell
Sister’s blood stained brother’s corpse
The white fangs got their due.The lyrics die out as abruptly as they came, and now Tiferet seems once again focused on her two interlocutors. "But I forget my manners. I haven't yet even properly introduced myself – I'm called Tiferet, daughter of Odin. If you're traveling south and you feel like using a strong arm against the perils of the road, my axe is at your service" she offers smiling politely...
Morgraine nods with a smile and then formally introduced herself to Tiferet (and anyone else now present with the group); thinking to herself as she did so, "It is well that I kept my homeland vague, for there could easily be bad blood here."
She falls silent, and exchanged a quick look at each other with her fox as the conversation rolled onward to other topics. She listened, and perked forward slightly at mention of the dreams. "Have you dreamed this dream long? Surely not since before leaving Ustalav?"
"No, not long. Just a few weeks. But I think it's important. I didn't dream much back in Ustalav. Too much to do when I was awake, you know?" says Eirikr to Morgraine.
"Hi Ashen. You're taking good care of your lanky friend here, aren't you?" Tiferet says once Eirikr mentions his furry companion. Abandoning her seat, she crouches and starts petting the placid wolf, apparently unafraid of the consequences of bothering such a fearsome beast. "Yes. I can sense you're a mighty specimen, worthy of respect" she states in a semi-serious, semi-flattering tone.
Her playful moment is interrupted as Eirikr is prompted by the half-elven swordmaiden (Inire, right?) to reminisce about his dreams, which in turn quickly brings Ashen to his master's side. "Butterflies are sacred to Desna, I believe. She's a very popular goddess among Varisians, so for it's worth, I believe your interpretation makes plenty of sense. I wouldn't know about summer snows in Southern Taldor, though. Sure, it's been uncharacteristically chilly around here, but snow?" Still crouching, she turns to face the yellow-haired young man.
After listening to Tiferet tying the two together, Inire smiles a little, and nods.
"And then you followed the butterflies to your next dream." Mouse said, quietly, head tilted. "Neat. I've read several stories with prophetic dreams... some of which supposedly real!" she said, suddenly somewhat excited. Then remembers to calm herself down. "I'm just here to deliver a package. I work with the Pathfinder Society and I've decided to work on a Gazetteer for Irrisen. From my understanding, it's where I was born." she shrugs slightly, as she continues. "I haven't seen many books on it, and it always sounded like such a beautiful place! Do you have anything else that stands out in your dreams?"
Irrisen? the mention of that particular nation suddenly catches Tiferet's attention. She casts a long gaze towards Inire, filled with longing and nostalgia. I could ask her if... No. That's just a childish fantasy. I'll wish her well, and never see her beyond this day. This is how life goes.
"I'll finish it before we turn in, more interested this for now." She made a small motion towards the others as she avoided Mouse's question, she didn't say anything when Mouse offered her weapon to the other bar patron but her gaze seemed to focus heavily on Nathara as she examined the blade.
Ashen's tail wags rapidly back and forth at Tifert's attentions; Eirikr turns bright red at seeing this. "Ashen, you're embarrassing me," he says to the wolf; it seems to ignore him and rolls onto its side beside Tiferet. "Fine, be that way," says Eirikr, pouting at Ashen before turning his attention back to the women.
"Once, I had a dream about the moon. Except, there were two of her, and there's only one moon, right? She was arguing with herself. One of her liked to dance and the other didn't. I don't think that's what she was arguing about though. I think it was about an egg. Or maybe a seed," says Eirikr, his eyes wandering upwards as he thinks. "Another time, I dreamed about a deer, and then Ashen and I caught a deer in the woods. That was the easiest dream I ever had. Most of them aren't that easy."
Mouse wasn't turning pages at the moment, and was instead jotting bits down in her book as she listened to the man talk. "Very interesting. Do you always chase your dreams? Did you simply not have them in the city? Did you follow a dream out of the city?" she continued, trying to pull all that she could on the topic out of him.
"The moon is surely one" Tiferet chimes in, still unashamedly busy damaging Ashen's reputation as a merciless predator. "But the moon can guide the wanderer lost in the night, or it can flush the prey out of its den. It drives away the darkness just as it signals the start of the hunt. It can light the way to those who are astray... or it can show the stalker the tracks of its quarry. The dancing moon, the blood moon."
Once again she's waxed poetic, as she briefly stops playing with a puzzled Ashen. "The World is one, but its interpretations are many. And so are its Gods And Goddesses."
Nathara nods as she sees the weapon, there is a certain glare in her eyes. Weapons such as this Nathara understands. "I can see that she was created by someone with the deepest respect."
Nathara thinks about the quote Inire cites, lifts her right to the height of her chin and opens it: "To dance is to fight is to love is magic. The sword is me and I am the blade and the mind and the heart." Her claws shimmer in the half light of the tiny windows. "You do well to honour Scribe, for she is you. If she was created for you, whoever did it must have loved you. If you inherited her, you are your ancestors." She pauses briefly. "Well, I hope that wasn't too cryptic, I like to try myself in poetry, but... my art is dancing."
As she leans back Evelyn's intense stare catches her by surprise and she nods a bit insecure to her.
Nathara tries to keep track of the conversation about dreams and sorts it in with everything she knows about magic. Frustratingly she comes to conclude that the visions, if it were visions, are likely rather in some way connected faith, or fate and that is hardly her field of expertise. Tiferet's conjecture that it might be related to Desna occurs plausible to her. So maybe there is something to all those rumours after all?
The notion of dancing sparked her interest. A dancing moon. That ringed a bell, but she wasn't sure, it might mean a lot of things. "Forgive my curiosity, but was there a silent woman created out of darkness, merely a shade of moving stars that promised of unseen beauty and the wings of a butterfly as well? What did the dancing moon look like?"
She looks to Tiferet to find out if she thinks what Nathara is thinking.
"The city! Right. The city. No, I didn't usually dream in the city, when I lived there. Didn't really happen to I started traveling. Convenient, that," says Eirikr, the redness in his face remaining rather prominent; he tries to avoid making eye contact with Inire as he continues. "I want to figure them out. What they mean. But it isn't always easy.
"The moon has many faces. Sometimes she hides her face, and that's when everyone else can hide too. And sometimes she let's everyone see how she looks, and then nobody can hide. That's what I think. Sometimes I think she's more than one person. But sometimes I think they're all her," he continues, his skin returning to its previous color and hazy smile crawling across his face. He turns to Nathara upon hearing her question, saying. "The dancing moon. She was dark. But not like night, dark like the Varisians are. No wings, but lights, lights that danced with her as she argued with herself. The other moon was dark too, the same kind of dark, but she didn't dance, and all the lights around her seemed--like they were angry. She didn't dance but she was singing, not the kind of song a bard plays, but the kind that animals make."
And suddenly he goes silent, as if he has said something that he shouldn't've said.
Tiferet returns Nathara's look with a quizzical expression on her face.
Ashava and Jezelda. If he's torn between these two pulls, this boy must not have had an easy life.
She knows better than to voice her concerns out loud, though. Exposing someone as a demon worshipper isn't something that should be done lightly. Plus, she decides to follow Ashen's instinct on this particular topic, and give Eirikr at least the benefit of doubt.
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Nathara runs her fingers across her forehead and shakes her head to Tiferet. She thought she had an idea, but it eluded her grasp.
She stands up and looks for the bartender. "Do you have two bottles of mead? What would I owe you for them, if you do?" She wants to invite the other visitors of the tavern, but rather not make any promises before she knows she could afford to keep them.
Inire seemed content to allow the others to guide the young man in questions, as she continued to jot things down, rather than continuing to pressure him, she takes his words at face value; what reason does he have to lie?
"Are any of the dreams recurring? All of them? How long have you been away from Ustalav?" she said, still not looking up from the book as she wrote.
"Some of them. Some of the time. I think it depends on where I am. It's been awhile since Ustalav. A few months, I think. I've lost track of the time, though," he says, grinning at Inire's question; his teeth seem a bit large and crooked for his mouth.
Inire looks up and nods. "I'm not really sure about anything, but it all seems very important to you, at the very least. Why specifically here?" she said, tilting her head.
"Here. Well, I dreamed about here. I recognized it the moment I got here. Now I just have to figure out why," he says, shrugging his shoulders.
Once Mouse had her weapon back Eve eases her gaze. "We should turn in soon, when you finish your...research?" Eve started on her drink mostly to give her an excuse not to leave Mouse with someone that bothered her so much.
Mouse frowns slightly when Evelyn calls Eirikr research... and then immediately begins to overcorrect. "I'm not... he's not. It's not like that at all. He's a person. A very interesting person." All the same, she closes her book, after extricating the charcoal and her hand.
Evelyn shrugged and went quiet until she had finished off her excuse to stay."Well unless you end up in his room tonight I'll see you when you come up." she'd hand Mouse a gold in case she wanted to buy another round, return her glass to the counter, and then headed upstairs.
"Sleep well," the barkeeper says as Evelyn heads off the bed. The Silver Stoat doesn't have true rooms, as it's primarily as tavern and not an inn. Guests are given warm beds of furs near the fire in the common room next to the main taproom. Evelyn finds half a dozen beds already made for the expected guests and a warm fire burning in the hearth.
Mouse pursed her lips at Evelyn and shook her head. "No, no... I'm good." she said, picking up her book. "I'm going to head off to bed, I think." she'd very seriously worn out her welcome, here, or so she thought. "I... uh... guess I'll never see you guys again." she said, offering a small bow to each person in turn. "It was nice meeting you." After following Evelyn to the common room, she realized how wrong she was.
"Likewise" Tiferet replies, standing up to properly say the shy Tien-looking half-elf goodbye. "Inire... Kashuld right?" She pauses for a moment, biting her lip, as if torn between two inclinations. She regains her composure straight away, though; but which inclination won, it isn't immediately obvious.
"I'll... I'll be sure to grab a copy of your Gazetteer once it gets published" she eventually says, smiling warmly yet nostalgically. "May the Northern Lights shine upon your path" the Ulfen woman concludes, an ancient farewell of her people.
With Inire and her taciturn companion gone, the mood seems to have turned somber. She spends some more time chatting with Nathara as the tavern slowly empties, before playing one last, melancholic song; a slow, rhythmic tune singing of shadows growing and friends biding farewell.
When she is gone Nathara addresses Tiferet again. "I should very much like to learn the language of your people; the language of a people is the key to their culture the way I see it, a translated epic tends to be a crude reflection. And I would very much like to know about Nord culture, you have something... sometimes rough, but noble in an honest, unspoiled way about you, with or without the blessing of Tolc. I mean, you do speak Skald, not Taldan amongst each other, don't you? Would you like to teach me on occasion?"
"I... thank you. You honor me, and my people through me." she demurely replies. "Yes, we do speak Skald among us, more as way to keep to our roots than anything else, now. I'll be glad to teach you the basics as we travel south, if you wish."
She was about to comment how little use she might find for it if she plans on journeying through Qadira and into Casmaron, but she then remembers that elven lives are unfathomably long – who knows where she'll be in a century or two?
Nathara listened to the song silently and lets her thoughts drift. Feeling warm and cosy in the tavern as opposed to the long nights on the travel it takes her a moment to decide,
Eventually she stands up to dance a few steps - slow motions that vaguely remind of a meditative, beautiful, as befits the the melancholic song and she picks up the theme of farewell.
Obviously she was more tired than she had thought, though. Nevertheless she nods in appreciation to the aasimar and hopefully new friend. She turns in shortly after Tiferet.
"Two copies sold, and it isn't even written yet." Mouse offers her a smile, as she retreats from the room.