Family sticks together, and sometimes even harmoniously.
Though you each delayed Crim citizenship as you pursued your own lives, mom and dad kept at you until, eventually, you relented. ”Fine.” you all agreed over the dinner table on the festival of Sif (link) dad’s favored cult. It was February 8th of 998, and you each decided to join the service, and obtain your citizenship - for your parents.
Here it is, two years later, and you’re having a celebratory supper with the whole family. Mom and dad are beaming. It’s March 1, 1000, and a cold late-winter rain is heavy outside, though the large house is warm and cozy.
”Your father and I are very pleased.” Mom serves potato and onion wrapped in dough and sautéed, to each of you - her signature dish from the north. Dad follows it up with his own speech about how important citizenship is. ”It’s not just the protection it offers, you also get to petition the council, and even vote on a seat. Heady stuff!”
Much of the last two years, contrary to what the bright and friendly posters all claim, was spent in dull drudgery. Bureaucratic work, pushing paper around, spending time on guard duty - which mostly involves being bored at attention. It’s a skill like any other, but once you’ve drilled enough, you have the fortitude to survive it. Still, you have finished your tours of duty - you are citizens. And, you have also earned an important adult medal - Citizen of Crim - to add to your collections.
I mean sure, you would have earned, and even made your own, medals from time to time as children. But like adolescence, you sloughed off all that kid stuff and are now citizens - with all that entails and the respect that naturally comes with it. You are older than most who go for citizenship, perhaps with a medal or two of your own rattling around, but this is one that you pin on your chest with pride!
Congratulations citizens.
Kalendra smiles at the others, basking in the glow of accomplishment and fellow-pride in her siblings as well as herself. She's not the first to take the lead in talking, so for now, the middle sibling of the family, the first of the children to have no elf heritage, is content to simply listen,and sip from her glass-- the wine being one she herself has produced and bottled, which is at least partly the source of her new pips-- and tucks a strand of her wavy, dark hair back behind her ear. Her hands are sturdy, square-palmed hands-- the nails worn short, the calluses evident. She's scrubbed all trace of the day's soil from the vineyard from her hands, her training as a healer having ingrained a deep sense of hygiene in her.
Her eyes roam the faces of her brothers and sisters, her smile still tugging up the corners of her burgeoning crowsfeet. What a year it's been; what a year it may be to come.
The potato-and-onion pastry is a favorite, and Kallie-- to the family, at least-- helps herself to another from the dish, before offering the platter to whichever sibling sits to either side of her.
Halvar pauses in devouring Mom’s home cooking to give his full attention to his father. He wipes a few crumbs from his beard which is returning to a wilder state after a couple years of regulation trimmings. His long dirty blond hair is safe from the food in a single braid that ends halfway down his back. He sits up straight, his muscular body almost stiffly at attention, or more like a standing brown bear assessing the situation. His genuine smile for his mother’s dinner is replaced with a subdued and respectful countenance peppered with a polite nod here and there. We’ve already done our duty; we don’t need to be sold on it, Halvar thinks to himself. Once he’s sure the sermon has ended, Halvar returns to finishing his first plate of food before joining in the conversation.
“Two years of service definitely kept us protected, and sheltered, but I for one am ready to stretch my legs again…and arms,” he says as he ‘gently’ shoves whichever siblings are to his left and right. He pauses before sharing, “I’ve been talking to a priest of Uller I met during the war. There might be a role for me in this world that’s more suited to my skills and need for independence. They understand that an arrow is often needed to make a point but also appreciate everything I learned from Mom about healing for those in need. Now if I could just learn to cook as well as she does.” With a genuine nod of appreciation to his mother, he helps himself to another plate of food.
Hand on platter, Aelin nods with a smile to kind Kallie, before it turns to pursed lips as Halvar nudges his wine glass arm. "Careful, brother, this is the good stuff." The wine manages to drip along a long hand, across-wrist onto a bare forearm which sports several criss-cross lines. Blue tunic, short sleeves, loose trousers, mismatched slippers, the half-elf brother takes full advantage of the intimacy of a family dinner, just this side of sufficient respect. He enjoys the food and drink well enough.
He just enjoys the company more. He is among childhood collaborators. Adolescent accomplices. He knows that his time in service was necessary thing, now. It taught him what life should never be- a spectator. Sure, in the cliche game of life, he's been privileged to visit the penalty box more than a couple of times. He has yet to decide if he would have avoided incarceration more earnestly if he didn't have such a discrete family to bail him out.
He brushes his long white hair out of his dusky grey eyes, at the same time assuring that a piece of pastry passing his lips won't betray him with a flaxen strand. Aelin relaxes back into his cushioned chair, his muscles truly unwound, as he recognizes that he can always come home. No debauchery here, no cannons loosened by tankards upon tankards. Granted, it also means there is no gristle here, no fodder for a tale or tune. He chides himself, for the evening is still young.
Gertrude takes the platter from Aelin with one hand while she idly twirls an unlit cigarillo in her other. She’s a glowerous woman, unremarkably academic in all other respects. Appearances have never meant much to her, and she dresses in comfortable, bland browns vaguely the same shade as her hair, which she keeps up and out-of-mind so she can keep more interesting subjects in-mind. Her glasses have been repaired more than once and bear the tiny scratches of glasses that have been cleaned too many times with whatever is at hand.
She does not hide her frown at Hal’s mention of working with a priest, but she knows her disdain for such matters is well-known. If Hal has decided he wants to take up god-bothering, she can hardly change his mind with a harsh comment, though she can certainly indulge in a few harsh thoughts at least.
She moves for a different argument instead. ”I still think that if citizenship is that important, it should be automatic for all. Having more social privileges simply because I could afford to spend two years at a desk is, frankly, ridiculous.” She takes a drink of wine and smiles, pleased with herself. ”Perhaps I can use that vote to say everyone gets to vote.”
“Now if I could just learn to cook as well as she does.” With a genuine nod of appreciation to his mother, he helps himself to another plate of food.
Mom laughs, "Anything for this supper oh? We should do this more often, but there never seems to be the time does there? Maybe if you all spend a little more time in Crim, and less traveling.”
She moves for a different argument instead. ”I still think that if citizenship is that important, it should be automatic for all. Having more social privileges simply because I could afford to spend two years at a desk is, frankly, ridiculous.” She takes a drink of wine and smiles, pleased with herself. ”Perhaps I can use that vote to say everyone gets to vote.”
Dad shakes his head, disagreeing as usual. ”I like that it’s limited to those who have served, for the most part.” he glances at your mother, whom you know is not a citizen. ”There’s something about the rigors of training, easy for you I’m sure, but not so for everyone. And service.” You know service is a big deal for dad. And he does drone on a bit about the importance of giving back - especially if you have more.
The very idea that you gave up two years of your lives, in order to help others in Crim, is significant to him. Being able to see others with empathy, is vital to a strong civilization. And he drills on it a bit until mom puts a hand on his arm. ”I am going on again aren’t I?” He laughs and steps off the soapbox - taking another bite of supper to keep his mouth occupied.
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Halvar wrestles with the same old arguments in his head and does his best to not let them ruin the dinner. He agrees with Gertrude, understands Dad's views, but finds the system is far from perfect or fair.
He takes another sip of wine and raises his glass to Kallie, "You have really created something special here."
Then he changes topics with his older sister. "Don't give me that face, Trudy. You'll always be my big sister with whom I'm more likely to share a good book with than a sermon. Speaking of which, do you have anything new to share? I recently read "My Friends" by an author from the north and would be happy to lend it to you."
Gertrude has not said her peace—when has she ever?—but she knows when a ceasefire is more appropriate.
She turns to Hal. ”I’ve been working my way through a collection of short stories by Herst Broadstout. The prose style is sparse, but he has talent at setting up compelling emotional conflicts regarding honor and duty instead of falling into cheap sentimentality or idealism. The reading equivalent of a dinner of well-made hard cheese, tough bread, and a bit of fruit: satisfying and reliable yet will never be ranked among the greatest meals of your life.” Thinking some cheese and bread does indeed sound good, she partakes. ”Oh, it’s called The Chronicle of Failures. What is this My Friends like?”
”What is this My Friends like?”
Oldon Lutaodr Farra (Olf for short) looks down at his plate, thinking about the last two years, and journey he's been on. He should have known, and probably Halvar tried to warn him, that his time with the Knights Templar were going to be wasted, and he was right. However, he has no regrets about his time with the Teutonic Knights.
"Maybe we should toast," Olf says, grabbing his tankard and scraping his chair back to rise, and shoving Halvar right back...playfully. He wonders why he bothered to wear his lamellar armor to a simple dinner, but habits die hard, and no telling if a fight might break out amongst the family...siblings will rival. "And, as oldest, I claim the right to toast first."
He waits for others to grab their drinks, and will smile at those that will raise a toast for their success.
"You know, I didn't always expect to be here. I didn't think I'd make it after Mom passed away," Olf says, speaking about his long dead mother, not the one who kindly raised him after marrying his father. "Allain and I didn't have it easy," Olf looks at his brother and nods through his familiar pain of loss. "But we did survive, and new Mom," Olf smiles at Skendere, "New Mom took us as her own, and got us here...to citizenship. And Dad, I don't think I've thanked you enough for all the lessons you've offered. I am honored to be your son. I hope to make you...and the Sun proud."
Olf lifts his glass.
"To family. To service. To the Sun," he intones, and drinks. He looks around and offers space for the next toaster, taking his seat.
“I wouldn’t want to spoil anything for you,” Halvar responds to Gertrude. “Suffice it to say it even brought tears to my eyes.”
Halvar then follows his older brother’s suggestion. He stands tall but this time looks a bit less like a grizzly bear as he smiles and raises his glass first to the eldest sibling and then the rest of the family.
“To family. To freedom. To safeguarding those in need. May the uncharted paths of our lives lead us home from time to time.” With that said, it hits him that after two years of living and working together that they will likely now go their separate ways, which surprisingly leaves the onetime forest hermit a bit choked up as he sits back down.
Hamarr snakes his way through the kitchen sampling the various dishes in the making. Generally frowned upon, he knows he’ll get away with it because he was always Nacine’s favorite. He knows it.
He exits with a handful of spiced pecans and peaks out of the window to briefly observe the rain. He brushes some crumbs off of his metals and takes his seat at the table.
The potato and onion stuffed doughs barely touch the plate before they’re gone.
He scarfs this and that as his father speaks, tucking the words into memory noting to try and put them to good use.
Eventually he chews as the others speak their two coppers on Citizenship. He helps himself to more wine as his siblings react to being near each other after so long.
He looks around and offers space for the next toaster, taking his seat.
”Me?” asks Hamarr. He takes on a tone that makes it sound like he is reciting poetry. ”For two loooong years I was near the the top – hob-nobbing with the best bureaucrats. They threw a party every Thursday – complete with adult beverages – very exciting.”
He almost waits the perfect amount of time.
”Ha!” he bawls, ”Just kidding! It was a boring desk job.” He lifts his goblet.
”Here’s to all of us, reunited at least in this room if not in spirit. The offspring of the finest – here to -- do something like improve our communities.”
Aelin recognizes the move to toast a little late, his senses lulled by the dinner at hand, and feels only a little irritated that Halvar beats him to stand at attention while his older brother finishes his honoring words, Halvar complements them, and Hamarr joins in.
"Well said, brothers. Let us never take for granted our origins, the houses that homed us, and the spouses that honed us."
The half-elf waits politely, should the sisters also stand.
Kalendra hides an internal sigh as an old argument threatens to brew over once again. When Halvar changes the subject to her wine, she shoots him a grateful look that is just as much for the change as it is for the compliment he pays her.
"I'm very happy to be able to share it with you all," she says with a little smile. "And with the greater population of Crim, for the first time. Perhaps next year I'll even have enough to export."
She listens to the book recommendations with an absent ear, not being as much of a reader as some of her siblings, but joins in the toasting with a warm smile. She stands after the men have, and raises her own glass. "To family- our parents who have nurtured and nourished us-- and the sun and rain and fertile earth that have done the same."
The meal is consumed and toasts made! Dad retires after dinner as has become more common of late as he ages. Mom heads to the drawing room, and as she sees you following her, she exclaims, ”Oh shoo! You should be out celebrating with your siblings. Nacine (link) will see to it that things are cleaned up. Begone! Go celebrate!” In fact you can already hear servants clearing away the remains of the meal.
With that you are kicked out of your ancestral home and into the pouring rain. Well, none of you still live with your parents of course, but you know what I mean.
You briskly walk down for a drink at the Rogue and Imp (link) a favored local establishment. The Rogue and Imp is a large place, but you wouldn’t know it even from the multiple entry doors. The whole tavern snakes around, and within, an old abandoned tower of some size. So none of the rooms are square, there are several bars, and even more small and medium private rooms for nearly any occasion. It’s also a favorite spot for parties of all sorts. Tonight there’s a wedding party being held in a few of the rooms at one end. You can hear the revelry as you enter.
As is routine, you have one of the many side rooms to yourselves and a waiter drifts in for fresh rounds approximately… every so often. It’s quicker to head to the nearest bar inside the expansive space to get your own of course, if you’re not feeling too lazy. A delicate balance - thirst and rest. Still, you can only barely hear the party from here, and not at all when the door is closed.
You all arrive damp as the storm rages outside, dumping buckets of rain on the cobblestone streets of Crim. But the fire is blazing and the room warm and you quickly make yourselves comfortable - steam rising from your clothes in the toasty closeness.
Gertrude toasts with the others, but quietly. ”To family.”
The second they are outside, Gertrude snaps her finger and lights her cigarillo with a spark. She closes her eyes and breathes in the heady smoke. She noticeably relaxes. There is something so stifling about parents—and particularly parents who mean well. They see you well enough to feel confident in their understanding, but not well enough to actually understand you in the way you want. She will always be the little rabble-rouser, without much thought given to why she is so invested in rousing this or that particular rabble. And because they are genuinely kind and caring, you cannot even be too mad at them for it. There’s simply nothing to be done.
It feels surreal having all of her siblings around at once. She is not a particularly social person, but there is a natural obligation to socialize with your family on such occasions. All of her favorite activities are done alone or certainly not with family. Hopefully, at least one of her siblings has a worthy suggestion.
”If any of you have ideas on an activity for the evening that is not too disagreeable, I could find myself convinced.”
“To family. To freedom. To safeguarding those in need. May the uncharted paths of our lives lead us home from time to time.”
Olf drinks to this, happy for the second toast.
”Here’s to all of us, reunited at least in this room if not in spirit. The offspring of the finest – here to -- do something like improve our communities.”
Olf drinks to this, smiling. He probably understands Hamarr the least, as there are 18 years in difference between them, let alone their senses of humor.
"Well said, brothers. Let us never take for granted our origins, the houses that homed us, and the spouses that honed us."
Olf drinks to this, thanking the brother that he is closest to in age for their words.
"To family- our parents who have nurtured and nourished us-- and the sun and rain and fertile earth that have done the same."
Olf nods as he drinks to Kallie words, knowing that without the marriage between sun and soil, nothing would flourish.
”To family.”
He drinks to the simple kind words that Gertrude offers, refilling his tankard.
* * *
At the Rogue and Imp, Olf again claims first right...to buy the first round. He will take orders and them to Dasho (or a server) for fulfillment, slapping a few coins down.
"This is a good place. A favorite of mine, and a good chance for us to enjoy the night together. We do not know when it will happen again. I hope to get called to my next guard trek, it was nice for me to get this time away," Olf says, taking a seat after leaning his sword against a nearby wall.
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Aelin looks a bit wounded when Skendere insists they take their reunion elsewhere. He doesn't say it aloud, because he can feel the pliability of his tongue under the influence of Kallie's silky pours. He does excuse himself from the table, so he may slip from his casual attire and back into his city garb. It's waiting for him in his old bedroom.
He lingers, taking deep breaths which remind him of old books and aging wood. I guess you can't really come home, not after home expects you to be gone once your belly is full... The fabric of his tunic slips from his shoulders, and finds its way into his very worn leather pack. Trousers too. For a moment, the half-elf regards himself in the small dress mirror in the corner. Everything where it should be, save the decent belly bulge. A python stretching out with a freshly consumed baboon in the middle of its length. He pats his stomach, knowing full well how well-defined his six-pack will be come morning constitutional, and continues to dress.
Before departing, Aelin finds his Second Mother, and kisses her on both cheeks. He allows as much embrace as Father takes, returning it in equal measure.
...
Aelin trades one creature comfort for another, once it's decided that the Scions are headed to one of his familiar haunts. Neither rogue nor imp, the half-elf follows his elder to the bar, and offers two free hands, should there be need. He encourages Hamarr to find a table where they can all sit and face each other, rather than barstool six seats in a row.
"If any of you have ideas on an activity for the evening that is not too disagreeable, I could find myself convinced.”
"Oh, so many ideas, Trudy. I'm interested to know which ones spark your interest." Aelin makes a silent snap of his fingers, grinning.
"We should aspire to amuse Bragi. Shall we ask questions in a circle, but only answer with another question, until Olf screws it up? Or should we play 'One of Three, A Fib it May Be?', and watch for Halvar to wrinkle his nose? Hmmm, or maybe 'Not Even Once', and try to get Hamarr to blush?"
Halvar doesn't change his clothes but does grab his bow and arrows and ensure they are properly covered from the rain before leaving the house. He pulls up his hood and joins the others for more refreshments.
Once the drinks arrive, Halvar raises his mug of ale. "I never was able to brew or distill anything descent those two years I spent in the Coltry Grove. Admittedly, it's one of the things that brought me back to civilization. If I had known Dad was going to talk me into doing the civil service, I might have tried harder and reached out to Kallie for advice first."
"I hope to get called to my next guard trek, it was nice for me to get this time away,"
"Agreed, I love you all, but my feet need to walk on some new ground." Halvar raises his mug. "It seems a few years in any one place is about my limit."
Hamarr carefully removes his metals and puts them away before venturing out into the wall of rain. He throws a well worn dark green cloak over his head and walks near to Kalendra, envious of how freely she moves even in the clammy air.
”I can still taste the end of summer in the wine, Kal. It’s especially fortifying on a night like this one! My thanks to your generosity.” he says to her as the group walks.
He encourages Hamarr to find a table where they can all sit and face each other, rather than barstool six seats in a row.
”Of course Aelin.” He quickly finds a side room with a round table and then hurriedly leads the group along the longest path he can muster through the Rogue and Imp to get there, studying the current patrons as he goes. ’This way.” The scenic route.
”We should aspire to amuse Bragi…”
Hamarr frowns slightly. ”I don’t know, do any of those sound not too disagreeable Gertrude? Perchance a finer choice than to pore over Herman's Tome of the White Cetacean again, though that might be considered a low measure indeed. Perhaps instead we can gatecrash the wedding feast down the hallway.”
He rises to open the door slightly and peek down the hall.
"Agreed, I love you all, but my feet need to walk on some new ground."
Olf smirks to himself. "All ground is new ground, nothing ever stays the same. Especially not after being kissed by the sun," Olf argues, trying to bring up one of his favorite points...that nothing under the sun is truly ever the same once the sun has touched it, let alone after Halvar had tromped through it repeatedly with big feet.
Olf pulls up his tankard and smiles, easing into the night with his brethren.
The sun smiles upon me this night.
Kalendra chuckles at Halvar's words about his difficulties in brewing. "I don't know if I'd have had much advice to offer, Hal. Every soil and place is different- sometimes even walking a dozen paces can change the ground entirely. I've yet to go further into the Grove than the outskirts, really. What did you see in your time there? Would you take me in, sometime? The two of us ought be safe enough."
Hamarr's thanks for the wine earn a soft smile from Kalendra and she briefly bumps shoulders with her little brother. "You and your silver tongue. You're welcome, though I'm sure we'll find stronger drink at the Imp."
****
Despite her words of stronger drink, Kallie sticks to ordering wine at the tavern-- she's always interested in seeing what other vintages are available, most of them imports, and trying out one that she hasn't before to study the taste of it on her tongue.
She nurses her glass and watches the others, feeling warm inside from the solidarity of their large family. Of course they fight at times, bicker, see the world differently... but they are still, together, The Family.
You think you’ve heard of the Bizi family, likely the groom’s family. The do some work in textiles locally. You think maybe you saw the name on a requisition for one of the canals you manage. If so they’re pretty well off. Good thing to, that wedding party is huge! Why they seem to take up half the ‘Imp.
Bluff check if you want to crash the party, you suspect. Feel free to interact with Dasho (below) before you go, if you wish.
- - -
Sometime after you’ve settled in, and are considering your second round order, the proprietor himself (link) stops by to see how you’re doing.
Dasho Gjikokaj is a tiefling - with a most unusual, and slightly unsettling look. He has been in the community for some time now, and is generally accepted by the locals, though sometimes the drunks go a little too far in their jibes at his expense. Still, he is in charge of this place and, you’d know from experience, visits patrons haphazardly - preferring to work in the office most of the time. Today it turns out he’s heard about your newfound citizenship, and has come to congratulate you!
He shows off his own medal of citizenship, almost casually, pinned to his chest next to a medal showing his rank as a journeyer member in the labor guild with nine pips. It’s somewhat surprising really that his rank is so low… it further pushes the idea that he’s just running the place for some hidden owner.
Still, he generously buys you a round of drinks, ”On the house. I insist.” he offers.
A waiter, apparently waiting just outside the room behind him, leaps out and takes your order. They’re quick when the boss is about!
What did you see in your time there? Would you take me in, sometime? The two of us ought be safe enough."[/b]
"It's serene deeper in the forest. Without a major river or trading route cutting through it, it's rare to see another mortal walking about. I'd be honored to show you some of my favorite spots. There's a rock outcropping that rises just above the trees. You can see the Bellmiota Peaks to the north and even the towers of Crim on a clear day."
--
"You honor us with your visit, Dasho. It seems we're not the only ones celebrating. Who is the lucky couple?"
”My thanks, Dasho! It’s an double honor now, I suppose,” Olf says, looking down at his medal and still trying to get used to the feel of it, both of the decoration but moreso what it means.
”I guess this medal means that I’m doing my part. Is it true that only citzens can vote? And hold office? Do we have the right now that we’ve served?”
Olf orders another ale, noting that he’s getting a nice buzz going.
”You're welcome, though I'm sure we'll find stronger drink at the Imp."
”It is more about the quality of the drink than the strength.”
~~~
Hamarr retakes his seat at the table as Dasho makes his demand ”I insist!” and the waiter bursts by to take orders.
The Imp is well known for its deep beer selections. Occasionally they even tap a barrel or two of dwarven stuff, though even their daily fare of ales is top notch.
"You honor us with your visit, Dasho. It seems we're not the only ones celebrating. Who is the lucky couple?"
”Thank you, the honor is mine.” Dasho smiles, ”Oh, I don’t gossip about my guests - no matter how much they are publicly having fun. I suspect though, if you were to provide even a nominal gift to the bride and groom, that you’d be welcome to their party. Certainly they have swelled beyond the size originally planned.” He does share a little gossip.
The large crowd seems to please him even though it is a Saturday, and a normally busy day. Most folks work five and a half days a week and are only off on Sundays and alternating Saturdays - or sometimes other days of the week depending on the schedule where they work. Still, it makes Saturday night the most popular night out.
”I guess this medal means that I’m doing my part. Is it true that only citzens can vote? And hold office? Do we have the right now that we’ve served?”
”Aye. I voted for the first time a few years ago - voted for Audun Hovden (link) in fact - and he won! It was a moment of pride I can tell you that much. Yes, yes, you could hold office, if you get the citizens to elect you. When Audun is done of course... I'm not sure how that works." He thinks a moment, but apparently the answer doesn’t come to him.
Dasho smoothly continues, ”Newly minted citizens have options many others do not have in Crim. I congratulate you on your success.” He lights a pipe with flame from his finger, an unnerving trick coming from someone with horns sprouting from his head.
”You should form an adventuring troop, there are enough of you.” He grins at his own joke, but grows serious after further thought, ”You know, seeded with your father’s reputation, you could do very well actually - providing you proved yourselves of course. Reputation only goes so far these days. But I bet you would be successful. God knows we need it since the Ravenguard retired. Plenty of folks trying to replace them of course, but that’ll take time and experience.”
”I could hook you up with my cousin, Volset Peco (link). He’s worked with some of the up and coming adventuring parties. You know, helped them get started. His rates are very reasonable. You say the word, and I’ll reach out to him. You’ll get family rates. Very reasonable.”
He listens to your responses with the pounding rain sounding like a hail of halfling sling stones on the roof.
- - -
Kalendra drinks, and listens, and watches - Dasho, and the others in the inn. If she were the wagering sort, she might make a bet with one of the others about if Hamarr is likely to wind up as an unofficial addition to the wedding party-- but Kallie tends to keep her coin close, and often her thoughts as well.
Dasho's suggestion, however, earns a laugh from her and a bit of blurted honesty: "Adventurers? Oh no no. Well. I can't speak for my sister and brothers," she admits wryly, glancing around at the others. "...some of them would probably be only too keen, actually. But I like peace and quiet. Stability. I can't see myself donning armor like the lot of you and swinging a sword, or a hammer, or what not. At best, I could tag along in the back to patch you up when you inevitably break or twist something," she says with fondness.
"Us? An adventuring troop?" Halvar chuckles. "Sure, we're family, but you should have seen the results of our 'group' project last year. At least no one was too badly injured. However, I still think the arrow messenger system is viable if there were better archers delivering the mail."
Gertrude smokes while she nurses a whiskey. She does not appear to be particularly enjoying either, but that is just her way. ”Even if I was interesting in adventuring, and that is not a given, I do not think I would want to be another Ravenguard.”
Know (local)
"Ah, Audun! Yes, the candlemaker. I think I would have voted for him as well, if I had the chance," Olf notes. "I just thought he would bring light to the council, and bee a good influence."
"Sure, we're family, but you should have seen the results of our 'group' project last year. At least no one was too badly injured."
"I think I healed fine after that. I could walk fine after a few weeks later," Olf continues on that thread. "It just turns out catching an arrow out of the air isn't as easy as it looks."
He takes another swig of this drink, pondering the need for adventuring groups.
”I could hook you up with my cousin, Volset Peco.”
Staring a bit past Dasho’s horn in apparent boredom, Hamarr slightly raises his eyebrow at the sound of the rain pounding on the roof.
”Even if I was interested in adventuring, and that is not a given, I do not think I would want to be another Ravenguard.”
Hamarr rolls his eyes at the mention of Ravenguard. ” Yeah – I mean – they retired two years ago?! The war broke out when I was five – how old could the oldest be?” He snorts. ”Don’t worry. If we were to adventure, we would never be like Ravengaurd."
He turns to Gertrude. "By the way -- remind me – ‘Gurty’, ‘Trudy’, or do you just prefer ‘Gertrude’?”
He takes a swig of his beverage. ”Hells, I’d be up for it if it got me out in the open air for a bit.”
Dasho laughs pleasantly, "Yeap, the Ravenguard didn't want to be adventurers when they started either, or so the story is told.”
Still smiling he adds, ”Well if you change your minds, you let me know. My cousin will take good care of you. Family rates. I’ll make sure your drinks are brought, and if you need anything, you know where to find me!” (usually in his office)
He departs, still smiling and puffing on his pipe as he heads deeper into the bar. Not long after his departure, your free drinks are brought to you, precariously balanced on a tray. Served, you’re left alone again in the cozy warm room.
He takes a swig of his beverage. ”Hells, I’d be up for it if it got me out in the open air for a bit.”
"The open air is wonderful. Desk work drudgery has been a bit soul crushing these last couple years, but we're free as the birds now."
Halvar takes a long drink of his ale. "And, with the war over, we could travel even further. Of course, just because there aren't armies out there trying to kill us doesn't mean it's always safe. It's been two years since I've been on the road, so maybe it's better. If not, we can make it better."
Perception
"By the way -- remind me – ‘Gurty’, ‘Trudy’, or do you just prefer ‘Gertrude’?”
Olf quirks a smile at this, casually listening for the answer. Olf liked to be called Olf even if his real name was Oldon. And he would certainly call G-rude anything she wished.
He doesn't feel he has much to say at the moment, somewhat overwhelmed by having his brothers and sisters together at a table under one roof. He can't remember the last time that happened, and he was going to enjoy it.
Aelin collapses into his cushioned chair, undaunted by the table's lack of interest in wordplay and get-to-know-you-betters. That will come with time, and he's hopeful that they'll have more time together to deepen the ties that blood-bind them. He gives Hamarr a knowing wink.
The wedding rings hollow to Aelin, who considers such commitment more a burden than a blessing. He's been accepting enough of the obligation to become a Citizen, though he does wonder if or when his father will begin to encourage obligations more matrimonial. The half-elf looks around the table, considering which of his siblings are destined to wed and bare brood. Oooo, we who are Fidan's Brood... the Brood of Fidan... FidanBrood... The words weave playfully behind Aelin's eyes, which cause them to appear distant, perhaps a little glazed from the mead.
When the Ravenguard are brought up, Aelin returns to the room.
He tries to square his sister's and brother's aversion to said strike force, but he wonders why they don't revere a potent support team during times of need. He dusts off the mental journals he's developed in his time listening to recuperating warriors, piecing together stories of the Ravenguard, antics and the like.
Gertrude shifts her cigarillo. ”I have been called Gertrude by people who spit it out at me like cherry pit, and Sweetie-pie Trucy by people who meant it with the greatest of kindness and respect. As long as you are not showing me disrespect or making fun of me, I could not care less.”
”I have been called Gertrude by people who spit it out at me like cherry pit...”
Olf looks down at his drink. "Speaking of cherry pits, does this mead have the taste of cherry? Some maybe some blueberry? I'm never sure sometimes, and it seems weird to me that a honey based drink would have notes like that unless the vinter? The Apiaryist? The brewer added some cherry pits or blueberries to the process...such things are beyond me."
"No matter, just making small talk," Olf says, looking around and trying to find a ripe topic for discussion.
Hamarr thanks Gertrude.
”Thanks for that reminder, and good to know you haven’t changed since we last saw each other! The last thing I would ever want is to offend you.”
He takes Olf’s attempt at small talk as an invitation to speak, but side eyes Olf as he does so when he mentions "cherry pits" in the brew.
”So, anyway – it’s Dielarre, and she’s married to one Bizi or other. The party doesn’t sound like much of a blast, or much of a challenge to 'crash. Afterall, it takes up the entire other half of the Rogue and Imp.”
Olf looks down at his drink. "Speaking of cherry pits, does this mead have the taste of cherry? Some maybe some blueberry? I'm never sure sometimes, and it seems weird to me that a honey based drink would have notes like that unless the vinter? The Apiaryist? The brewer added some cherry pits or blueberries to the process...such things are beyond me."
Kallie cocks her head thoughtfully. "Brewer, yes, for mead. It could be that the hives for the honey were near to an orchard. Here, let me try a sip of yours, Oldon--"
She reaches across to take her brother's drink, if he's amenable, and has a small assessing sip. "I'm not sure I taste the cherry... blueberry, I could see. So ripe they are near to overripe-- there's a note of that."
Halvar's curiosity is sated knowing who is celebrating, but he has no desire to crash a party. His five siblings are more than enough company. He finishes his ale and looks around for a server while debating if going to the bar is worth the effort and weaving through the crowds.
Hamarr snaps his fingers as if suddenly remembering something.
“Oh right! Did you know,” he says in a more hushed tone, ”the Educator’s Guild is going through some renovation to ‘expand’ – ‘controlled demolition’ they say - near part of the building that is settling slightly more than the rest. But I noticed a hidden panel when I was there the other day, and well" he shrugs slightly, " – you know me.
I am no vintner nor brewer, but it led to some stairs that went deep into the earth and the stench of decay was overwhelming. There is something rotting under there, I tell you.
This just isn’t the sort of expansion I would have expected from the Guild. I’m going to go and check it out, and I was hoping many or all of you would be interested in joining me. We all have different talents, I need all the help I can get.”
Aelin has heard a few stories about the Ravenguard. They were merely one of a few groups before the war, much like now. But they rose to the top of their profession during the war. They were known for their tracking in particular, and grew adept at hunting the scouting parties of the enemy and capturing or killing them. It kept the enemy blind to Crim troop movements outside the city, which enabled Crim to resupply from the nearby countryside - an enormous factor in the war.
He heard one story in fact which bends credibility, but so far none have refuted it. The Ravenguard were tracking a scouting party to the north, past the Coltry Grove. Instead of a handful of fast moving scouts, they stumbled upon a large cavalry force. Fleeing, they made it to the Coltry Grove, whereupon the cavalry commander mistakenly pushed his platoon of some 50 troops into the trees in pursuit. For their folly they didn’t capture the Ravenguard, but instead they were slaughtered or fled.
The Ravenguard strode into town along one of the paths from the wood, with nearly 50 warhorses in tow. Those who saw the sight can’t forget it, and the Ravenguard Stables (link) was born. Good Treigh (link) horses! They must have hired a good stable master too, ‘cause the foals that are coming through are as good as the originals according to some - and worthy of their high prices.
Note: The Educator's guild is a small one in Crim. Primarily they teach military history and the like - and so the guild offices are inside the Cypress Academy - in their own wing. So technically you'd be hunting about in the Academy.
I’m going to go and check it out, and I was hoping many or all of you would be interested in joining me. We all have different talents, I need all the help I can get.”[/b]
"You? Lurking around? Good thing I was sitting down for that surprise," Halvar grins.
"Sure, I was only at the Cypress Academy for a couple years, but I remember that small part occupied by the Educator's Guild. I'd be up for a return trip."
"Sure, I was only at the Cypress Academy for a couple years, but I remember that small part occupied by the Educator's Guild."
"Isn't that where you learnt S.W.A.T. tactics? You know combining Swords, Wands, Archery, Theft? I bet you're glad to have that training behind you," Olf shows interest in Halvar's training.
"Also, I'm not sure I have my next assignment yet, I could go."
"Hidden chambers, in the Academy? Goodness. Well, I don't know we'll have much call for grapevines along the way, but I can see to your ankle if you twist it," Kalendra deadpans. "I'll come, if only to make sure I don't have to explain your injuries to Mother."
"Isn't that where you learnt S.W.A.T. tactics? You know combining Swords, Wands, Archery, Theft? I bet you're glad to have that training behind you," Olf shows interest in Halvar's training.
"Sorry, but the first rule of the Crim Operatives is: you do not talk about the Crim Operatives." Halvar tries to keep a straight face but gives up with a chuckle.
"I'll admit that I miss the action. Beating someone at the archery range isn't quite the same as landing a perfect strike as some swordsman charges at you. Of course, it is a lot safer at the range."
"Take your time and think about it!” laughs Hamarr. ”Seriously, thanks. I was thinking of checking it out tonight, but I don’t want anyone else – especially the Educator Guild – to know about it. This rain makes a perfect cover, however it leaves quite the trail.”
Halvar picks up his mug and takes a loooong drink before putting down the empty mug.
"I"m ready. Anyone need assistance with their drink?"
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”Seriously, thanks. I was thinking of checking it out tonight...”
Olf blinks in confusing, trying to understand.
"You want...to...go...now? We barely got here! We haven't been together in who-knows-how-long and you want to go? Truly, is Halvar's company so bad you'd rather experience it with the greater distance being outside might offer?" Olf asks, wondering why it has to be tonight and now, when it's clearly a time for rest and company.