Smiling despite herself, Merelda can't help feeling the infection of the mood.
"Then it is a good thing that Innis does not wight that much good Him'Wazir. Yes?"
Merelda chuckles into her drink as she sips.
Innis plays at being offended with a sharp gasp. "Sister! You should not speak so inappropriately lest you cause me to color! ~she makes a show of fanning herself~ "Your heady thoughts unleashed with only faint discretion how much have you had to drink? I'm sure the answer can only be too much!"
Him barks a laugh, "I would never speak of a Lady's weight," he declares gallantry, before adding a thoughtful, "though it does tend to be inversely proportionate to her worth in camels..."
Raising her eyebrow in mock-seriousness, Merelda covers her mouth to hide her laugh, then points a finger at Him'Wazir from the hand
that holds her cup.
"Of all the animals and things to compare a woman to good sir, a camel is probably not the best choice if you want to earn her
good attentions. Unless you intend for her to spit a goodly distance?"
"Hrmmm I don't know Sister..." Innis starts slowly. "I hear they have quite magnificent....humps?" grabbing two handfuls of her own chest and giving a momentary jiggle.
"Pfffshhht, I did not such thing, that a pearl can be bought with gold does not make it a metal. In Kelesh many a Wife, and more chattels, are bought with camels. Is it right? No, I kill slavers, but it a common practice sad to say, so a beautiful woman is worth many camels, for me, perhaps you would get a sickly mule - if you flirted."
Looking a little sad Merelda puts her cup down.
"Some only have ONE of those humps my dear. That would make things a little lop-sided I would think."
Tapping her teeth with her re-painted finger nail for a second, she suddenly exclaims without embarrassment.
"Although men always seem to try shoving them together as if they could make a single big one out of the two don't they? Very odd."
~Innis and Merelda seem to be too involved in their tangent conversion paying Him'Wazir's comment little mind~
"See now you get it! Camels are already one step ahead of us, long legs, one great massive hump, legendary endurance. Oh were that I was born a camel..." she sighs longingly.
With the sour expression of a man with a hundred jokes, all of which he has decided are too dirty, for him, if not for the ladies present, he signs and settles for,
"Surely nobody could be cruel enough to give you but a single hump my Lady. For with camels as in life, two humps are generally better than one, I know a few songs about the matter infact. But forgive my presumption, I am sure you know your Dromedarys from your Bactrians."
"If you presume only the right things in the presence of a lady there is nothing to forgive. At any rate the divine sought to bestow upon me two humps, but that does depend on what or where you're counting I suppose."
"Ah, then please forgive me, my presumptions tend to be considerably bolder than my actual person. But come let us sit and drink for a while, I am sure it will be a terrifying and exhilarating - this is the right word? Yes I think it is -experience, for me at least. I am called Him'Wazir nar Maekra, I believe you are acquainted with young Nicias, who's skills in love making are rumoured to be as impressive as his dress sense, and this is my new friend Kirzon, who, well, has a great big snake, bought me an ale, and gave a comforting word and so seems a fine fellow so far. Oh, and lest I forget Boros, a most singular serpent."
He moves over, and with some strain pulls out three chairs, before looking back expectantly to the women.
With a look of surprise Merelda moves to a proffered chair near Boros.
"Well! A man with actual manners and a snake? How could I refuse."
She rubs Boros between the eye ridges gently, wishing she had a mouse to offer the pretty thing.
Well, there is always Nicias...
Innis joins the others at the table with a shrug and beckons Lili to come along.
Taking charge of the situation Merelda chuckles evilly.
"So...since no one has anything to say yet, I will jump in and grab the whip, so-to-speak."
Waving a hand around the table Merelda leans back in her chair, so that it is on two legs.
"Let's play 'Won-Up.'"
Seeing blanks stares at her suggestion, Merelda smiles broadly.
"It's easy. You simply tell an interesting story, real or not. Then the next person tries to do better, and so on.
At the end everyone votes on whose story is best. Sound fun? To make it even more interesting I will give the winner
a prize. Agreed?"
Looking at Nicias, Merelda points a manicured nail that looks like it is painted in blood.
"You first my little mouse. Let's hear an interesting story...and make it good. I am more than curious if one so young
can spin tales of sufficient merit to win."
*If Nicias or Him'Wazir start a story...
or (whichever is higher)
Lady Luck (1/7)
vs Sense motive or in Merry's case an opposed profession check(whichever is higher) (to notice the display as obvious)
Merelda enjoys the show Innis puts on for the boys.
Him'Wazir grinning and ogling unashamedly, "Ah, well perhaps, young Nicias is rather distracted, so let me rasp out a tale...
Once upon a time in the Holy City of Gurat a young boy, all of thirteen, fell in love with a slavegirl. His mother was one of the most famous of the City's weavers of carpets, and had been engaged to create a masterwork to be used as the magic carpet of a powerful mage named Amoran the Keeper. Since he had to weave his magics into the carpet Amoran would come to their home each day for sixty days.
With Amoran to keep his comforts he brought a girl named Schehera, a beauty in quiet pain, who wore he sadness like a veil. Needless to say young Him... the boy, was instantly smitten, and while the mage worked with his mother he would pester the poor girl with tall tales and jokes, knowing that her smile would be a revelation.
For ten days she would not speak, only serving her master and then retiring to the sitting room in sullen silence while the boy jested and spoke. Then she asked him to be silent,
But the boy was a stubborn as he was rakishly handsome, and his heart sang when he looked upon her. He knew nothing of love, or even, truly, of lust, but he knew the world would be a better place if those lips were to wear a smile, not a frown; And so he redoubled his efforts, and sharpened his charm.
For ten days they talked, though in truth the boy garnered only terse responses, and gained more from guessing and the denial of his fanciful speculations, than from the girls fleeting words. Then Schehera kissed him, Him's shakes his head, his far away gaze moving back to the present, as the corners of his mouth twitch threatening a wicked grin.
"Ah, but I prattle on too long, forgive me, someone else wishes to tell a tale? Perhaps one of Innis's impeccable breasts? They seem to be calling for attention..."
Eyes flashing with mischievousness, Merelda nods at the man's tale.
"A first tale handsomely told! Who would be next? I agree the boy seems severely distracted by huge...thoughts? Mr dwarf, or Innis? Since this is my game, I will go last of course."
Basila hangs to ever word uttered by Him and turns her nose up at Innis uncouth ways. She mutters something to her father who tells her to hush while the game continues.
"Nicias tell your tale boy. Don't let my old friend get one up on you." Vasaro calls out from the bar while cleaning the counter.
Innis has her head propped up with an elbow and strokes her lips with a finger after Hiw'Wazir finishes his story.
"A beautiful story if a tad unsatisfying at the end. We've naught but time Him'Wazir, till some worth while excitement lances itself upon us or the sun rises anew, casting us like shadows away from pleasant if ephemeral company."
~take a moment to consider~
"Ah that perhaps leads me to my story as the others look for inspiration. 'One-of-Many, Stories of Shadow'. A Story of The Wind and keeping with the theme Him' is so fond of..."~ pass a wink to the man~ "..Love lost....and found."
"This is the story of a man born in eternal darkness who fell in love with The Woman-Who-Chases-The-Wind. But The Wind much like the woman was born to be free; she could not live in cramped dark places the open world was truly her first love and such was it that The Shadowless Man took his first steps towards the light. When the open world was his to behold the light scotched his skin, blinded his eyes, and stole the very breath from his lungs and for love he died.
Grief stuck The-Woman-Who-Chases-The-Wind so powerfully that she almost cried away her own breath. The specter of death loomed out of the man’s shadow insatiable and ever hungry for yet another victim but The-Woman-Who-Chases-The-Wind banished him with a vow. Death laughed at the Woman-Who-Chases-The-Wind “The-Woman-Who-Would-Steal-From-Death” he mocked his skeletal face caught in a skinless grin. But as he looked deep into her eyes a desert that would even now dry the tears from her face Death felt chill that was not of his own making and left.
For years The-Woman-Who-Chases-The-Wind sought out the breath of her lover. Days falling from her grasp like autumn leaves in a storm, trials countless as number the stars of the cosmos and no less challenging than versing legends from The Days of Old. Across many worlds she did chase until her last day, where upon it she caught The Wind. For him it was but the briefest wink of a moment though an eternity did surely pass.
The Shadowless Man smiled, wiped the tears away from The-Woman-Who-Caught-The-Wind, The-Woman-Who-Stole-From-Death. his lover’s face as they gently fell. Heedless of Death's screams and countless curses that all others in the world felt. For what would matter when one is in the arms of their greatest treasure….?"
|
.
"Well, I can't match you for stories of love lost or love found. The only story I know is my own, which is simple enough. A young lad bedazzled by the stories of glory to be won in battle and steeped in patriotic fervour joins the army and is trained as a grenadier. Sadly for our young would-be hero, the chief accountant at army headquarters was not sent a large enough bribe and suddenly his regiment is a gaping money-pit that sucks up precious resources. Shortly after that, we were disbanded and all our hopes and dreams dashed. What is a young man to do? he cannot return home empty handed! Fortunately he has an Uncle and a cousin in a distant city, perhaps they can help. And so, our sorry tale concludes in the Pike and Tankard."
Innis makes a rude noise "Concludes!? Without mention of three beautiful maidens waiting at the Inn each of whom could bestow a quest upon our hapless Sir.Nicias and thereby restore his honor and prize upon him the glory he seeks? Truly a poor storyteller indeed!" she adds a "Hurump!" at the end and a exaggerated show of looking away from him.
"I will hear the next story." She motions for the crowd to continue.
"Each story will be judged on its merits and tale-telling without modification by others.
No need to get your undergarments in a twist...yet...my dear Innis. We are nearly done anyway
with only myself and the good dwarf holding out on us thus far."
Innis raises an eyebrow no doubt wondering what the point to all this is but keeps the comment to herself.
"And perhaps Miss. Lili if she would care to chime in?"
Lililinda listens in rapt fascination to the stories. She startles a bit when she hears her name.
"Oh me? I'm afraid I have no tales of love or adventure. My life has been my work so far." She laughs, "It could be that the ill treatment I received earlier this morning was the most adversity I've ever experienced." She adds hastily "I must apologize for my outburst earlier. I'm told I can get a bit overdramatic."
She turns to Nicias. "Your story though struck me as familiar. My father Gimblethwip was recruited as an alchemy instructor for the army a few years back, on the recommendation of his old comrade Vasaro. He came back in a huff not too long later, and to this day will excuse himself when conversation turns to Taldan politics. Did you know him, Nicias?"
Basila comes to the table with a tankard for everyone and some bread and stew. "Compliments of my father. Blind Stirge is brewed from our own still. Don't ask what's in it cause father won't say. Nonetheless I've never heard anyone complain about it in fact some want to buy it from him. The stew is gator." she returns back to the bar and waits for the next narrator to begin their tale.
~takes a small sip~ "Hrmm it's quite...nice, though admittedly I've never been much of a drinker. It leaves the tongue kind of.....tingly? Or is that just me?"
Laughing at the dwarf's obvious enthusiasm for the game, Merelda claps several times for the tale..
"Well told Mr. Dwarf! The legendary skill of dwarven tale-tellers are not without their merits I'd say. Very...descriptive!"
Accepting the tankard from Basila, Merelda wrinkles her nose at the smell. She usually prefers wine, but this was free and what goes better with fine stories than trying new things!
"'Blind Stirge' you say?"
"Since Stirge are not normally blind, I can only assume that the drink is considered a most powerful beverage."
Merelda take a swallow, and feels the burn of the powerful alcohol down her throat which makes her cough and normal voice raspy.
"Ohhh..Ouch! OK that's very different. Give me a moment...I will tell my tale as soon as I can clear my voice?"
Him nods along approvingly as he he savours his Blind Stirge, "A fine tale Kirzon, allow me to finish my own while the Lady clears her throat - I shall be the soul of brevity.
The boy sought after any and all methods to undo the wizard, but all of his plans, upon reflection seemed beyond foolish. And so he asked the Wizard what it would take for him to free Schehera, professing that he would do anything. Expecting rage he was surprised to have amused Amoran, who told him he would free the boys love if he would take her place for a month, once the carpet was made. Though this seemed an uncommonly good deal, and the boy was very nervous about what the service might entail he agreed in an instant.
Those last ten days were a wonder, of kisses and sweet softness. Schehera seemed elated with the promise of freedom, but something still shadowed her heart, and she refused to tell the boy the cause. When the fateful day came, and the beautiful carpet rose into the air Amoran was true to his word, removing the shackles that bound Schehera's arms, and in the same moment removing his magics.
Gone was the beautiful woman, and in her place was a beautiful Ibis, a bird as white as new silk, who watched Him with sad eyes for a moment before flying away. But a deal was a deal, and you do not cross a powerful wizard, even if he cannot stop laughing at you, so the boy spent a broken hearted month tending Amoran's extensive aviaries.
Years later wounded and lost in the dessert after a skirmish with slave raiders. The boy, even still a boy, and his party were lead to a hidden oasis by a white Ibis, a beautiful bird, the more so for being free."
Nodding graciously Merelda waved at the man's finished tale.
"Thank you Him'Wazir for filling in for me while I recovered. Now to my tale."
Merelda, settles her chair, clears her throat one last time, leans forward, and begins her tale quietly and with much seriousness in her voice.
“There once was a most beautiful elven couple, both dedicated to each other as they were to their respective responsibilities. It was always said they were destined for each other, that the very room lit up when they walked in together. Finally, they had a child. They loved the child, each in their own way, and taught the child, each in their own way. It was obvious in the end the child was not as beautiful as the mother or as smart as the father. Nevertheless, the child was loved and brought up in the traditional elven way.
Into this story comes an old priest. He was smitten by the elven woman. He was not in love at all, and he knew such, but was in lust at its basest form. The priest was unfortunately also the elven man’s superior, and ordered the man off in a pique of jealously in a suicidal attack on an evil realm of demonic-tainted plants and demon-twisted fey. He did not want to go, but his sense of responsibility to defend Kyonin drove him to go anyway. Many tears were shed by the family, but the priest cared naught, only that he would have a chance to seduce the woman without distraction.”
“Weeks passed and the elven woman continued to rebuff the old priest. The child waited patiently for word of the father’s return. None came. A year later, the elven woman was the priest’s consort, and the child had finally given up on the father returning. It was at that point that the father returned. He had returned in the night, carefully and quietly. The child heard noises from the Priest’s room. The child had heard a voice, in anger, one she knew very well and could not be mistaken. The child leaped out of the room and down the hall seeing the door wide open and lit when it should have been dark.”
“The priest was standing between what appeared to be the back of the father in dirty rags and the mother who was cowering behind the priest in a guilty manner. Light glowed from the priest’s walking stick, the light feeble but enough for the elves to see perfectly. The child began to approach the man who was her father, but the look in the priest’s eyes were gleaming as if terrified. This was a look the child had never seen before and hung back, and unconsciously grabbed a discarded carving knife from a platter of fruit near the door.”
With a guttering bellow unlike the child had ever heard before:
“You DIE NOW!”
The creature leaped and tore through the priest, blood flying and various body parts flopping on the floor. The child, stunned for the moment could only gasp in horror and awe. The elf woman merely backed away into a corner crying and mewling like a baby. The creature finished with the priest and turned towards the blood-splattered woman and moved towards her leisurely. The child, her emotions in control now, leaped into danger with the dull knife her only weapon and struck true impaling the weapon in the small of the man-thing's back.”
“The child was thrown backwards by the creature, losing grip on the knife and getting stunned by the fall. Turning on the child, the face of the monster that had been the kind father, was stricken with rage, scaled in patches and his eyes glowed a demonic green while they leaked yellow puss that ran down his cheeks. Extending now taloned hands the child cried out, and tucked head between knees expecting to perish momentarily. The father was demon-tainted at least, maybe even possessed by a demon the child thought. There was no telling if anything of the real father truly remained anymore and the child expected no mercy whatsoever from a demon.
There was a grunt and a thudding noise, and the mother’s voice called out, its tenor no longer child-like but strong and glorious.
“Run child!”
Looking up the child could see the mother, her robes torn asunder, splattered with the priest’s blood, wielding the priest’s walking stick in one hand and the blood-drenched dull knife in the other with a white-knuckled grip.”
“The child finally turned and ran at that point. Ran until the child ran into others who asked what had happened. The child spoke quickly and to the point, begging for aid.
The next day the child was given a verbal message from the mother, because she could not do it herself.
“Whatever that was, it was NOT your father, and it shall NEVER bother you again. No matter what you saw or what you did, you LIVED and it is in that I thank the gods. You helped me remember to be more than what I had become, and who I was: A mother and a guardian.”
The child said goodbye to the mother and father the next day. A week later, still smelling the smoke from the funeral fire, the house of the priest was torn down, the pieces removed to parts beyond her knowing. The child moved to a house of a distant relative, and thought long and hard of the lessons given there and before.
When brought before the family’s eldest on the day the child was to no longer be a child, the older only had one question:
“What will you do from here?”
The child that was not a child answered as truthfully as possible:
“I will gain strength always, for I now know of truth of at least 4 different powers: Lust, Loss, Love, and Life. LUST is the power of manipulation and control. In LOSS you find power through the struggle to continue beyond it. In LOVE is the great power of family and continuation. In the end however, LIFE is the greatest power, for when someone lives or dies by your hands, your power only grows exponentially. How will I use this knowledge…? Well I can only say that the choices left to me by the gods and fate will help me to determine that.”
“The elder nodded at the wisdom in the words and cried for the child who had been and would never be again. It is said to this day the land where the priest’s house was, now grows nothing and has been turned into a disused stone courtyard, and that once a year three flowers are found there, left by an unknown hand. A Red Rose, a Sunflower, and an exotic but destroyed Orchid.“
"A chilling tale..." ~makes a small amused sound~ "...and they say the life of a child is easy with so many tales to the contrary. Now I do believe as the sole arbitrator of this roundabout it is up to you to choose your victor and bestow your mysterious prize." Innis makes a sweeping gesture encompassing everyone at the table.
Merelda nods at her Calistrian sister and slowly stands tall from her chair. Leaning into the table she smiles teasingly at the companions she has met this evening. Each of their faces intrigued in hearing her decision.
At the bar Basila and Vasaro have stopped whatever activity to also listen in to Merelda declaring the victor. Grabbing the cup of wine on her right she picks it up and sips it slowly to languish in the moment as her eyes connect with each participant.
Placing the cup back down Merelda clears her throat and is about to say something when she stops suddenly interrupted by a rush of footsteps and an unrecognizable guttural series of sounds followed by an eerie pitched chattering. This noise precedes the appearance of two squat, blue humanoids who seem to be nearly all head —an unfortunate circumstance, considering how ugly their puffy blue faces are. They are followed by an armored man wielding a scythe and a woman in dark, blood-red robes. Behind the man and woman you see one last humanoid, the source of the gutteral sounds you heard earlier. The creature is pale blue with bulging white eyes and wild hair. It aims a loaded crossbow at the table you are all seated at.
As you gather your senses you watch as the robed woman draws a glass vial from the folds of her robe and cries out: "For the glory of the Scythe Mother! Kill them all!"
Also to identify the creatures:
The mites are cursed fey creatures who are able to communicate with vermin. Often times using them as mounts. They are slightly resistant to all weapons not forged of cold iron.
The derro are sadistic fey creatures that have long gone mad. They are said to come above ground to capture light dwellers so that they can experiment on those unfortunate victims. They are proficient with poison and coat their weapons in it primarily crossbow bolts. It is rumored that they have a city somewhere under Cassomir.
The squat blue creatures are called mites. Known to speak to with vermin. The creature in the back is now as a derro. They are a sadistic race of fey who have gone mad. They are known to kidnap lightdwellers and bring them to their cities to be experimented on. They are known to use weapons coated in poison.
ROUND 1
The humanoid creature with the bulging eyes shouts something and steps up. You immediately hear a THWANK as a bolt flies towards the table and hits Nicias square in the shoulder.