OOC: This thread is for Descalceus, Javin, Kael, and Lived-Through-Fire

It was a large tavern threatening to be a theatre. The place was made of old wood beams and painted plaster. Strategically located lanterns and an iron chandelier added a flickering illumination. The smell of the wood and smoke combined with the other scents. There was an indiscernible din coming from dozens of conversations.

Far across from the entrance was the bar with tender. There were several casks with taps lined against the back wall. Old men bent over their tankards drank oblivious to the goings on around them. Too much attention in their direction detected the curious mixed odor of beer, mint, and body odor.

To the side of the entrance was a raised stage with curtain. The curtain had likely seen better days, worn from age, but it was still a deep purple velvet. Sounds of preparation emanated from back stage. A young half-elven woman dressed as a server stood at a table by the door. To each person she offered a free tankard of beer and a fresh venison hand pie saying it was on behalf of the Benevolent Archive of Theosomething. The smells of the warm food dominated the entrance.

The rest of the space was dedicated to the audience. There were rows of benches in a semicircle around the stage, each row elevated higher than the last. At the back, closest to the bar were finely appointed high boxes reserved for important guests. The boisterous crowd on the benches came from all walks of life. Merchants sat next to farmers and laborers.

In one box sat a representative of Brightwater Shipping. Her clothing, though of fine quality, were more suitable to a ship’s captain or active artisan than a merchant. She had a flowing shirt, leather breeches, and leather boots. Over the shirt she had a fine vest that bore an embroidered  symbol of her guild. Next to her sat several men much less refined. Their faces were weathered and stubble covered.

At another box sat a pasty man adorned in silk robes and a mantle of cloth of gold. He had the look of a corpulent man half evaporated. That is to say he was of average build but his skin hung loose like the smushed-nosed lap dog that sat to his side attempting to breathe.

Amongst the sunlit peoples of the old Brigswen Citadel, now called Brigswell, bustling about their business and trade, a man wearing a white loincloth and light blue shawl as a hood enters from the eastern porticullis whose countenance is slightly brighter still than those around him; though not as much as the reflections of the grand magic glass fountain flowing with crystal clear water at the center of the Market. He quickly yet ceremoniously slides the shawl off his head, a ghostly halo crowning his short copper hair, and takes a better look around at the busy area. He adjusts the single strap of his small backpack across his bare chest and smiles, amazed.

"I have dreamed a dream. Praise be to the Most Holy Sky Gods, I am here! What wilt thou have me do?", he happily exclaims.

"Nice shoes, handsome.", says a red-haired peasant waif who is also barefoot, but purple stains go past her ankles. "Are you here looking for something to do, like a job, to buy something to wear that's less... chilly?"

It honestly takes him a moment before he reaches under his shawl to display a thick wooden bead necklacke with a burning indigo flower painted on the amulet. "I'm an Althaean cleric. I'm on a sacred mission."

"Of course. The halo."

"Are you a linen dyer?", he asks.

"I'm a grape stomper for the Brass Cat Tavern, just up that way. They brew their own, and you should have some. There's also stage play showing tonight that you would enjoy. It's about Xir."

"Ah, Blessed Xir!", he responds, looking up towards Heaven. "Xer of Mischief and Mirth. Of course, the signs were obvious on every wall in the bailey. May the Sky Gods bless you on your journey sister."

She sighs. "May they be with you as well, cleric."

They both notice a short coppery-skinned elf woman wearing less than the aesimar move through the crowded marketplace almost as if dancing on air.

"You're staring, cleric. And the Brass Cat is thiiis way, where that blue blob one just went past." says the waif, smirking at the aesimar.

A short walk over the warm cobblestone, ashes and debris of many kinds, and a trail of racing snail slime, the man arrives at the Brass Cat Tavern. It is deceptively small outside, as he enters into a much livelier and nostril impacting environment. He wondered if the stage curtains were colored with the very same fruit their wine was made of. He was down to his last coin; all that was left from his very long walk from his village on the other side of the great Adwyn forest. Looking down at the large area rug at the entrance, he does a kind of dance moving heels to forefoot to the left and to his right, rubbing off some of the street filth.

Suddenly, a tankard of beer, a small plate with a breaded pie, and a pair of... blue eyes stare him in the face. The young half-elf serving wench recites flatly, "Welcome to the Brass Cat Tavern, good sir. Here are a free tankard of beer and a fresh venison hand pie, courtesy of the Benevolent Archive of Theo-"

An orc the size of a horse had bumped into the girl, causing her to spill a good portion of the tankard onto the aesimar, whose faint halo glowed stronger indoors. He was ready to fight sober for the infraction of course.

"Sorry, sorry." grumbled the orc, ambling on two crutches and one leg. "A veteran needs the privvy."

"Sorry, sorry, sir." mumbled the serving wench as she wiped and dabbed the beer off the aesimar's body with a rag from her apron. He very gently sweeps away her hand. "Sorry, sir.", she said one last time, dunking the tankard into a nearby barrel and serving him the free meal.

"Blessings of the Sky Gods, maiden. May they grant you the strength to serve today." he prays, smiling warmly as he sought a space to sit. And it seems like few were loath to be anywhere near the golden sickness and his... dog. He took another look around to see where he could best enjoy the Faceless Frivolities of Xir.
This message was last edited by the player at 02:00, Thu 28 Mar.

Soaring through the sky, the owlin lands uptop a nearbye building. He takea a breath, looking down at the mass amount of people. So nay people to knock into, so little time. Yes that is what he called 'stealing'. Kael keeps looking down for a moment and spots the aesimar moving into the Brass Cat tavern. Great, hope they don't have don't have cats there. He jumps off the building and sweeps down after the man. A female is coming out and he dodges up and flies over her head.

Not realizing the tight questers. Keel zigs and zags. He pulls up once more barely clipping a table and hits the half-orc dead center in its back. The orc stumbles and the owlin tries to take off "Sorry!" but in his distraction another waitress is nearbye and he hits it below the tray. Good for him the mugs were empty. Bad for the owl though. Kale comes crashing down right at the feet of Descalceus. He looks up at the cleric, out of breath.

Javin had been here numerous times since he had been first stationed here.  In uniform and out.  Like the rest of the city, he enjoyed the shows and the people.  He had always cultivated at least cordial relationships where ever he went.  However, it had been difficult here with the way his country had taken over.  With the lie of protecting the people from outside invaders, they had taken over and quickly began to oppress the people.  All over some ridiculous ore with magical properties.
Difficult, but not impossible.  He had spent much of his free time amongst the people, offering medical care when and where he could.  Save a bakers daughter from a life-threatening illness, or a teamster's arm from being amputated after it had been crushed by an angry horse, and you make friends for life.
So, here he is, awaiting another show, free food and beer in hand, when a disturbance near the door catches his attention.  A priest of Althea and an owlkin collided with the woman handing out food and beverages at the entrance.  With a sigh, he stands up, setting his food and beer in his seat, and moves towards them to see if any of them has been hurt.  The seats next to him were still empty, but he has to excuse himself to get past other spectators.

The owlin's eyes open wide still breathing heavily. He reachs up with a wing and lets it fall. His entire body goes limp and his optics stop moving and close. Kael doesn't move. And the breath seems to stop.

15:01, Today: Kael Shadowclaw rolled 9 using 1d20+1.  Deception (Fake Dead).

Javin looks at the owlkin intently for several moments.

16:18, Today: Javin Dunlevy rolled 9 using 1d20+3.  Insight.

The day found Lived Through Fire at the mercy of a spirited, portly Halfling tradesman with greasy black hair and big brown eyes who recounted detail after detail about Lovell while leading him around the town. Although far quieter than the noisy Halfling, and decidedly unremarkable in height and build, he wasn't any less conspicuous. For starters, there were his facial tattoos, which were wholly uncharacteristic of the region's natives and evoked a distinctly tribal flair. Then there was the bulky grey and brown dire wolf pelt traveling cloak he wore, which smothered his form, keeping him nice and toasty amid the chilly temperatures, even without its hood up. Lastly, there was the scent of earth and honey with a hint of citrus which followed him. For one with such an uncultured appearance, the fragrance surely came as a surprise.

As the Halfling excitedly overloaded Lived Through Fire with information he never asked for, Lived Through Fire's eyes glazed over, and his mind drifted back to home, where things were simpler, ever so briefly, then snapped back to the present. After he checked his weathered black backpack idly, which drooped from his back by a single, thick strap which ran diagonally across his torso, he made an effort to get things back on track as politely as he could. "Ser Highmeadow," he began, his words delivered slowly, deliberately and with a thick (Sylvan) accent which made it apparent that Ceran was not his first language, "it is plain that you know much about this land." Highmeadow beamed from ear to ear and quickly reminded him to use his given name of Corace. "I am...," Lived Through Fire scratched his goatee-covered chin while trying to think up the correct word in Ceran then continued after find one he believed worked, "honored that you share it with me so freely, but I came to speak with your wise men about grim signs. Will you show me to them?" Although Corace looked a bit deflated, he nevertheless promised to lead Lived Through Fire to the one place he could think of where all the wisest individuals gathered: the Brass Cat Tavern, to which they arrived just in time to witness the chaos and commotion caused by Kael.

"This is where your wise men gather?" Lived Through Fire questioned as he watched Kael's spectacle and later dubious attempt at playing dead. From his tone, it was plain that he doubted the veracity of Corace's account regarding the tavern, even after the Halfling's boisterous insistence that the tavern was the perfect place to meet and speak with scholarly individuals. As Corace doubled down on his claims, Lived Through Fire made his way over to Kael, took a knee beside him, then rested his right hand on Kael's shoulder. "I don't think anyone believes your act." Lived Through Fire waited momentarily to see if Kael would end the ruse, then continued. "I am called Lived Through Fire. Please, join me and Highmeadow." Behind him, Corace was heard correcting him about his name once more. Kael was by far the most interested person or creature he'd seen since arriving. Therefore, he very much wanted to hear his tale.

---

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16:36, Today: Lived-Through-Fire rolled 25 using 1d20+5 ((20)).

"Oh fiddlesticks." Kael slowly gets up, and grumbles. Upon hearing someone, the owlin stares at Lived "No need to be rude.  Someone talked into...." He looks up at the soldier and the druid "Sorry. Habit." His eyes narrow on Lived "Highmeadow? Who?" Grabbing his pack, he tilts his head to the right and left "Des? That you? It is you ain't it!"

The aesimar had been apologizing and helping the one-legged orc stand back up on his crutches, whilst the two serving wenches picked up the empty tankards off the tavern entrance floor.

"Fellow veteran, please accept my cloak and coin to replace your pants. Darlings please, please accept our sincere apologies. The Sun must have temporarily blinded the owlkin on his typically most graceful descent to your grand establishment." He said this next in a faint croak, "Please don't have us thrown out. It's a holy mission."

As the fellow commoners straightened up and huffed along their way, the aesimar spins on his heels at Kael's call.

"Kael? Kael! Yes it's me, Descalceus!" He helps the owlkin to his feet, giving him a hearty hug and a flexing handshake. "The Sky Gods truly rain blessings upon us this day. You spotted my halo from above, yeah?"

He sees the robust man in the red cloak, the halfling, and the most soft spoken savage with what looks like a death threat painted on his face, saying,  "Ladies and gentlemen, this beautiful feathered Vareene is Kael. He saved my life from an evil witch nary a year ago outside of Craemwen City. I am so glad you're here."
This message was last edited by the player at 01:58, Thu 28 Mar.

The Halfling suggested finding seats before they ran out. A person covered head to toe in a grey cloak stepped out from behind the curtains. People broke in applause. The Brightwater Shipping representative was enthusiastic, letting out wolf whistles. The man in silks tapped the wood arm of his chair.

"Gentlebeings, welcome to the premiere of our latest play, the Faceless Frivolities of Xir. It is brought to you by the Benevolent Archive of Theological Literature. Our players are Milka Sternbight as the beautiful Sadaya, Hammet Clangwrangler as the authoritative Vatharn, Schloom as the Wolf, and myself as Xir the Faceless. Please settle yourself in, we will begin as soon as we can get Schloom into costume."

The figure in the grey cloak swirled and ducked behind the curtain. The noise of the crowd was raising as people talked with neighbors. The servers by the door took food for themselves and looked around for a place to watch. The pasty fellow in the box looked to the side and stifled a yawn. He seemed less than interested to be there.

Getting scooped up to his feet being well only two feet tall, the owlin stares at Des and ruffles his feathers "I don't want to talk about it. Was a accident trust me. I didn't mean to hit the bucket and have it fall on anyone. But it did. An' well....nevermind. I saved you? Not my fault that cultist ran into my sword. It was a accident! Really." Grumble grumble. Kael flaps his wings around. The owlin stops as the man annonces himself. He gets up onto the table and tries to get a good view but man he's short.

Come, Javin says to the others.  There are some open seats near me.  If we hurry, we can get to them before they are all gone.  Including mine.
With that said, he heads back for his seat, where he left his food and drink.
This message was last edited by the player at 18:33, Tue 26 Mar.

Lived Through Fire found himself thoroughly confused by the flood of information which erupted in the wake of his attempt at welcoming Kael, as well as the abrupt commencement of the venue's entertainment. Suddenly, his duo with Highmeadow gave way to a quintet which included the Halfling, Corace Highmeadow, the Owlin, Kael, and two additional humans,  Descalceus and Javin. The former had a strange halo over his head and knew Kael apparently, while the latter had gone largely unnoticed by Lived Through Fire until he interjected. Given that Corace didn't appear familiar with the newcomers, he naturally assumed that none of them were the wise men he sought as he allowed them to lead him to the nearby seating area to enjoy the play. Along the way, he introduced himself to the three he hadn't previously but remaining relatively quiet otherwise, having opted to take in the strange sights instead. After all, nearly everything about this tavern, rather the entire town, was so different from things back home. From his widened eyes and opened, slightly dropped jaw and mouth, he didn't make any effort to hide this fact. Once seated however, he regained a bit of composure, at least enough to ask a question which burned in his mind. "Des," he began after fumbling over and butchering Descalceus' name several times, "'Vareene....' I do not know this word. What is its meaning?" Meanwhile, he waited to see if the imminent play would rival the spectacle of those back home.

"His name is Descalceus. Only I can call him Des." The owlin puffs out looking bigger then normal or trying to be. He tilts his head and look as the cleric "Yeah what does Vareene mean?"

17:13, Today: Kael Shadowclaw rolled 5 using 1d20-1.  Intimidate! Puff that chest! . – 5
This message was last edited by the player at 21:13, Tue 26 Mar.

“Thank you, friendly Javin.” Descalceus says, following them to the theatre bench in question.  “And aye it’s true, Lived-Through-Fire. I promised not to ruffle Kael's owlkin feathers on that. But, Descalceus is an ancient word that simply means barefoot, such as some still prefer nowadays. I will answer to that, or cleric, or cousin, haha!”

Descalceus takes a draught of the free lager before he continues:
“And aye, verily I say unto you, that in the beginning was the Vareene.
And the Vareene was with the Sky Gods, and the Vareene are the Sky Gods. They were with Vareene in the beginning. Through them all things were made; without them nothing was made that has been made.
The Sky Gods descended to give their lives, and that life is the essence of all ancestry. Their light shines in the darkness, and the darkness cannot overcome it.", he says with a smile and another swig of his beverage.

“Aye! The Vareene are the Sky Gods, they who from the Sky descended unto beautiful Ceres!”, he emphasizes with hearty stomps on the wooden floor of the grand tavern. “The dweor, the fae, the orok, the drakakar, the shadowed, even the human are all their children, seeded with the essence of the Sky Gods, blessing the world with their magic! We are heirs, in faith and deed, of the Vareene. We are one!”
This message was last edited by the player at 01:56, Thu 28 Mar.

The sickly looking man in silks gave a hearty wrap on the chair at the description given by Descalceus. He quickly turned his attention to the stage as the figure in grey returned. The dog yipped once then quieted down as the man placed a gold ring laden hand on its back.

On stage the grey cloaked figured keep looking down and intoned, "I am Xir the Trickster. I am Xir, patron of the impoverished, forgotten, and mistreated. I am Xir the Faceless." With that the actor lifted their head to reveal a ceramic featureless white mask. There was cheering in the audience and a few patrons lifted their mugs in toast.

The actor playing Xir pulled the curtains open and stepped to the side. "Let us join Sadaya in the woods." On the stage stood Milka Sternbight, the actress playing Sadaya. She strolled back and forth on the stage admiring the wooden tree props. She occasionally stopped and fawned over the foliage. In the corner of the stage was a stitched taxidermy of a wolf. Audience members audibly gasped as the wolf prop started walking towards the woman.

The ersatz Sadaya beckoned the wolf over and offered a handful of olives. The wolf prop opened its mouth and bit at the hand feeding it. The actress yelped and pulled her hand back. Several members of the audience were concerned for her health until she continued acting. "Friendly wolf, why have you bitten me? I did not strike at you, I only offered food," she said.

The wolf turned to the audience, inside the throat was some kind of goo. A voice, with an overacted Qomari accent, boomed from the entirety of the wolf. "You dare give me olives when you have so much fresh meat?" Sadaya stepped back and placed the back of her hand against her mouth in horror.

The wolf lunged again but this time a dwarf in full armor came out from behind one of the forest props. The wolf and dwarf fought a spectacular fight for several minutes. The wolf retreated and the dwarf stepped up stage. "I am Vatharn, ruler of the Heavens. I have saved you," said the dwarf with hands on hips, head turned to the side. The acting was far over the top and his Ocelan accent was barely recognizable. Sadaya thanked him gratefully .

The actor in grey pulled the curtain closed and spun with a flourish to face the audience. <blue>"And so our story starts. The beautiful Sadaya is accosted by a wolf and is saved by the great Vatharn. Please gentles enjoy your drink as the next Act readies."

The crowd murmured a multitude of opinions on the actions so far. The man in silk grinned widely as he sipped from his goblet. He looked with derision at the Brightwater representative in the box over. She looked back at him with childish glee in her eyes. That quickly quieted the smile on his face.

Shortly after Des starts talking, Kael's eyes slowly close and his chest rises slowly up and down. Is he snoring or whatever the owls do? He looks like he's about to topple over but doesn't. Once the cleric stops speaking and the play begins, his eyes dart up "Did I miess it? Just heard random talking. Sorry. Oh wait I didn't." He watches seeming to be entertained and flaps his wings out occasionally. Once its done. the owlin looks up at the others and shrugs "Should have stayed in the sky. What? Nevermind." Seems like Kael isn't much for religion.
This message was last edited by the player at 19:12, Thu 28 Mar.

During the act break, a large, tall man enters the establishment. He takes off his helmet and puts it into his pack, revealing his shoulder-length brown hair and short beard.

Bron wasn't much for theatre, nor did he have much opportunity to experience similar pastimes as part of his father's mercenary band. Those days were long gone now and he decided that this place looked as good as any to unwind and relax after being on the road for so long.

Eventually, he spotted an empty seat near a peculiar group which consisted of an aesimar, an owlin and a bunch of others. He walked up to them and asked. "Greetings. I assume this seat is not taken?" Assuming no one says anything to the contrary, he sits down next to the group.

"Five gold an' its yours." The owlin holds his hand out waiting for Bron. He's upon the table and the man is still bigger then he is.

"Yeah, good joke, buddy." Bron chuckles at the owlin on the table as he sits down, clearly not taking him seriously.

Javin shakes his head at the owlin's attempt at... extortion, perhaps?  Or, levity?  He looks the man up and down.  Is the young lady at the door not giving out beer and food any more?

"There was no one there when I entered. I suppose she had someplace else to be. Perhaps I just missed her replacement?" Bron shrugs. "Anyway, my name is Bron. Bron Carver. And what is yours, my good man? I have to say, you give me a feeling you are someone who has seen battle. And you have the scars to prove it, perhaps? Bron asks Javin, looking at the man's left hand with that last comment, especially at the two fingers which seemed to have been cut off at the middle knuckle.

Javin Dunlevy, he says in his obvious Ocel accent.  I've seen a thing or two in the way of battle.  Though, not as well kitted out.

"I fought in my father's mercenary company since I was old enough to wield a sword. But that was in another life. At least it feels like it." Bron sighs and appears to be lost in memories for a moment before turning his attention back to Javin. "And what of you, friend? In what capacity have you served? I take it you had a more... supportive role? Though with your scars, I'd say it wasn't so easy."
This message was last edited by the player at 16:25, Sat 30 Mar.