A Dark and Stormy Night [Open]

[Xakthul]

Didn't it just figure that the first place Jink would wake up in was under attack by a hurricane. It wasn't the rain that bothered him, though. Not at all. He just felt... empty. How'd he get here? Where on the planet was here? He couldn't remember. Had he been drunk? Mugged, maybe? The latter was unlikely, the purple-furred cat mused as he floated through the air. It seemed that he was some sort of magician. Magicians were probably pretty damn hard to mug, right? Right! So he must have been drunk! Shifting into the form of a soft, furry, purple housecat, he hunkered down on a fence and then began to walk along it. His balance was perfect... hmm, he certainly wasn't concussed.

Jink's lack of memory continued to bother him as he walked past a building that seemed to be bustling with people in various stages of intoxication. Many of them probably remembered even less of the day than he did, from the looks of it. Ignoring the looks from the people around him, both drunk and sober, the floating purple cat sat down on a stool and stared unwaveringly at the bartender.

“Whiskey, please. Lots of it.”

[Chopsalot]

Men, women and creatures from all walks of life now entered the Silver Cup to escape the storm, which had increased in magnitude since Cath first arrived. Leaning against the bar, she sipped her mead, feeling almost relaxed her enough to let down her guard.

Almost.

While the High Elf could be shy and reticent, her home over the last five years was with a roving brigand of Orcs. She could curse like a Corone deckhand and spit further than a Gnoll. Face it, Cath, she thought. You've been through much worse. And while the Silver Cup wasn't hostile, the Bard figured it would take a few more rounds to liven this group up.

She approached a man at a table, with two large and rather intimidating weapons within his reach - a scythe and a cleaver. There was a warmth that radiated off of him but it wasn't a kindness, nor was he near any kind of fireplace. Odd, it was almost as though his soul burned with ever-present embers, so much that Cath wondered quizzically what it would take to put the flame out.

His death most likely, though that wasn't on her agenda. Like the man with his bitter ale, the High Elf wanted a bite to eat and the only seat left was next to him. Watching the tavern maid named Jozie scuttle off to get his meal, Cath slid into the seat next to him but faced away from him in that awkward way that people do when they are strangers sharing a space in close proximity. Finally, she turned her head and asked him: "Is the food here any good?"

[Revenant]

William frowned slightly and let his cursed sight linger on the newcomer, watching her wither and fade, noting how best to break through her defenses and destroy her. He could tell she was attractive in her way, but under his gaze she withered and faded. There was no true beauty for the Revenant, such was the price for accepting a blessing from one of the Thayne. Their gifts were always a double-edged sword.

Truth be told, William had no designs on violence tonight, and he broke his assessing stare as soon as he determined that his new associate wasn't a threat. William nodded at her, an accepting gesture. "Wouldn't know, never been here myself. I'm just another body driven in by the storm," he replied, his voice gruff, like bricks of charcoal scraping together in a simulation of speech. William leaned back, settling into a discourse.

Jozie returned with William's ale and stew, then noted that the elven woman with the mead had switched tables. "Anything else I can get for either of you?" she asked, though William could see she was already looking to the other newcomers, eager to finish her rounds.

"Just keep 'em coming," William said, reaching for his tankard and pulling half of it down in one draw. Once Jozie had left he slid his bowl of thick brown stew towards Cath.

"Give it a try, let me know if it's worth getting another."

[Chopsalot]

"Of course," Cath said, eyeing up the man herself. If she should be intimidated, the metheglin - two draughts of it - made it nearly impossible for her to be so. Or perhaps it was the scarification on her forehead that signaled her as property of Corone Orcs that made the High Elf feel so bold. She was a marked woman for all intents and purposes. Even if she was no longer with the Orcs.

The High Elf relaxed into the wooden chair as though it were as comfortable as a feather bed, and turned to the stranger. His voice was raspy and unwelcoming but Cath persevered:

"I'll take a bowl of whatever he's having and another black elderflower mead, please."

Her voice was soft and welcoming, despite her somewhat cold glare.

"Sir, I have a long journey ahead of me, why don't you tell me a story that will stay with me like the gruel the Silver Cup will serve. Something I can recall while I'm on the road. A tale of your life. Something truthful of course," she said with a smirk.

[Ignis]

More people started to flood in. Some wet, and others drying in a few instances as though they controlled heat, or could just purely evaporate the water on their clothing. Considering the steam coming from one man as he dried himself off, I still sat here soaking wet and letting myself drip from the rain as I drank some of my ale. It looked like many of these people were powerful in this "tap" that people called it. Increasingly so the more I could see these people.

Some were hybrids of something, and some were women of the elven race. Even so with the weapons they were carrying. A scythe and even some kind of weapon. Not too sure what it was about. Hell, some of these people carried nothing at all. I just carried a simple iron sword for protection. Looks like it wasn't much. I felt... underwhelmed.

Instead, I shrugged my jacket off. Revealing the wet t-shirt I wore, and let the jacket slap down on the counter next to my drink. I grabbed a portion of the shirt, right in front of my stomach, and wrung it out. Letting the water drip onto the floor, I gave up in the endeavor. I just kept to myself for now. No need to put my neck on the line to talk to anyone. Too shy to do so.

[Revenant]

William grunted at his new companion. He reached over and grabbed his stew bowl and slid it back towards him. No sense in letting the congealed grease go to waste if the elf was ordering her own. He drank half his remaining ale, savoring the dark bitterness as is cooled his parched throat. Part of the curse of having molten fire coursing through one's veins. He then set to his stew with a purpose. He ate in silence, pointedly ignoring the elf until his bowl was nearly empty. Satisfied, he pushed the bowl away and finished his ale just in time to have Jozie bring around another, plus Cath's mead and stew.

"Not bad," he said as Jozie took his empty bowl. "Not the best I've had, but far from the worst." Jozie flashed him a thankful smile with the practiced grace some someone used to dealing with rough, mannerless customers. William turned to Cath as Jozie departed, picking up his second tankard of ale. He eyed her curiously as he drank, thinking.

"You're a curious one, but I've got to admit you've got guts." He admitted. William was perhaps the most dangerous person in the tavern, barring perhaps Madison Freebird. But even so, the young elf had sat quietly, sized everyone up, and then decided she wanted to get to know him better.

"She shows promise," William thought. "As long as her guts don't get her killed."

"Alright," he finally said. "I'll tell you something surprising while you eat." William leaned back and propped is boots on a nearby chair. He took another drink from his bitters and then began.

"Have you every been to Scara Brae City?" William paused and snorted derisively at himself. "Of course you have. We're on Scara Brae Island and that's the only real port of entry. Anyways, if you've spent any time there I'm sure you've seen the pompous stuck up lapdogs of the aristocracy who call themselves the Knights of Brae. Heavily armored sort. Protectors of the realm and so forth. Turn out, through an odd set of circumstances, that I'm one of their commanders.

"Not that I'd ever see myself as such or try to act on it," William shrugged. "Not my type of job." He finished off his ale in a single gulp then signaled Jozie for another when she came back around.

"I saved the queen's life, you see. Time back there was this big to-do from a powerful native shaman. Goblin. He hated the people who'd colonized his island and set a curse to destroy the city, then tried to have the city's leadership killed off to prevent a counterattack. Only during the chaos his people attacked me. I don't take too kindly to that sort of thing."

"So I killed my way across the city, through the goblin's hidden tunnels in the sewers, and into the palace."

"Ended up killing the shaman and absorbing his curse into me, binding it to my soul. I can still feel him squabbling around inside me, filled with hate."

William looked pointedly at Cath as he said the last, judging her reaction.

[Atzar]

Heavy, ominous clouds fulfilled their unspoken promise, saturating the city beneath with cold, pounding rain. A sharp peal of thunder crashed as the residents ran for shelter. In no time, the streets were nearly empty; those caught outside were drenched to the bone, sodden and miserable. All but one. A tall young man strolled down the middle of the street, an island of contentment in a sea of damp discomfort. His long black hair and his outfit, a simple blue tunic and brown pants, remained dry as the falling droplets leaned away before impact. Atzar Kellon grinned. His gifts had caused him plenty of grief in his life, but they had their perks.

A wizard by trade and a wanderer by choice, he came to Scara Brae from Alerar. His smile faded as he recalled the reason for his departure. He was only too happy to put the gray, smelly region and its curt, distrustful people into his past. That part was easy. But her face… it was one he’d not soon forget. He thought of her constantly, her memory a shade that darkened even the sunniest day.

Flaunting his magic had been fun a moment ago. Now, not so much. The hour was late, and Atzar found himself longing for a hot meal and a warm bed. He peered through the pouring rain at the buildings around him, noting a tavern not far away. The Silver Cup. He noted a steady stream of people making their way inside. Good enough. The mage joined them.

As soon as he walked in, the sounds of conversation and the smells of fire and food filled his head. The interior was brightly lit and clean, but for the trails of water and mud that followed the patrons to their seats. Stepping over the growing puddle at the door, Atzar picked his way to an empty table near the middle of the room and sat. The strangers that speckled the tavern were an eclectic group; one elf, several humans, a few who belonged to no race that the wizard could identify. They were nearly all drenched, rain dripping from their skin, hair, and clothes as they huddled over bowls and cups.

“Welcome to the Silver Cup tavern, sir. I’m Jozie.” The voice came from his left, and he turned to see a young blonde woman wearing a blue dress and a pretty smile. Then puzzlement tinged her expression as she quirked an eyebrow at him. “...Didn’t you come in from the storm? You’re… not soaked like everybody else,” she noted.

Atzar’s grin returned. “Magic!” He accompanied the explanation with mystical-looking hand waves. The quizzical expression on her face was one of his favorite parts of being a mage.

“...Right,” Jozie said. “So, can I get you anything?”

“Just water and a bowl of stew, thanks.”

She nodded and walked away. Atzar returned his attention to the other customers, secretly hoping he could spot another of those expressions of confusion and wonder that he loved so much.

[Mutant_Lorenor]

Lorenor noticed the people that were starting to come in avoiding the storm. Some were familiar and others were probably products of the current generation of Althanas's adventurer folk. Lorenor removed his large weapon from across his back and placed it against the chair. Then he removed a journal from his pack. The paladin had recently taken to writing a chronicle of many of his misadventures. He opened the journal to a blank page and took out his writing equipment. A simple pen. He began to scribble in perfectly inscribed common tongue. His penmanship quite skilled. In another life, he'd written the works of N'Jal and orders that would be filled by her servants. Lorenor was a man of many mysteries. He wrote carefully, chronically the recent adventures of his life. Most importantly, he was trying to jot down the information of the old Ixian Knight's Reformation process. Something he still could not wrap his mind around.

Somehow...Sei Orlouge had given him the purpose he so desperately sought.

Lorenor scribbled down everything he had experienced during Reformation.

It was a long and arduous trial, one that he'd gone through willingly.

All he wanted was loyalty and mayhaps friendship... Lorenor thought of Sei Orlouge a lot those days. The man provided me a purpose. That's a debt I can't ever repay in all the lifetimes across Althanas's history. Whatever may come... He considered the thought very carefully. As he wrote the current entry, he was focusing on his thoughts on Sei Orlouge. His glowing blue eyes held a sadness in them. A sadness of the things he'd done under N'Jal's rule. He wrote for a long time. Paying attention to the patrons of the tavern as they entered from the dangerous storm outside. He decided from the initial start of his entry, that the journal entry would be quite long. He had a lot of time to kill since he never slept. The Paladin paused every so often to collect his thoughts as he wrote them down. His table was situated in one of the livelier portions of the tavern. He was currently by himself, but he would welcome companionship if it came.

And so...he worked on his journal entry until it was ready.

[realize.real.lies]

It was night time and yet I couldn't find myself sleeping, slumber escaped me more than not these days. Pacing back and forth in my small cozy room at the tavern I knew that staying up here wasn't going to do any good for me. Another clap of thunder shook my window pane causing me to jump slightly. I used to sleep so good when it was storming, I thought bitterly to myself. Flopping down on the mattress I couldn't help but wondering should I go get a stiff drink in me or should I stay up here and try to sleep like I have been for the past three hours. "That's it I am gonna take my ass down those stairs and get a drink," murmuring gently to myself I made my way to the bath room area. Running a hand through my long chocolate brown curls that end just at the end of my shoulders I look in the mirror, my cheek bones are sharp and angled my piercing green gem for eyes are a little dull and lifeless. Pursing my lips slightly as I took that trait from my mother, full and plump always tinted crimson.

Pulling on my black skinny jeans, I wiggled a little to get them over my thighs and round butt. My white tank top clung to my waist as I start to tighten my black corset that stops just under my plump breast and toning my already hour glass shaped form. Taking my crimson red jacket that also hugged my form I walked over to my bed sat down and laced up my black heeled boots that stopped just mid shin. Strapping my holster around my left thigh I made my way down the stairs as my nose was invaded with the smell of cooking stew and wood burning in the fire place. Shuffling through the crowd I made my way to the back of the tavern sitting down glancing out the window. The rain softly hitting the window before sliding down leaving small little patterns in its place. A small smile graced my lips as a blonde haired woman scurried over to my table, "my names Jozie what can I get for ya?"

Pursing my lips slightly pondering on what to drink, "Wine please, red." Nodding she hurried away from my table to behind the bar, I let my eyes scan the crowd before landing on the back side of a man that looked too familiar. "Well I'll be damned," I mused a small grin taking place on my lips before Jozie came back with my wine. "Thanks charge it to my room please." Nodding she took off in a flash as I took a small sip letting the slightly fruity yet bitter taste dance on my tongue.

[Rayleigh]

William had been right, of course. Over the next thirty minutes, and in the time that Rayleigh could put away two tall glasses of water, the tavern had filled with patrons. Their differences were many, race, gender, and species among them. The only easily recognized similarity, the mechanic mused, was that each and every person was sopping wet. Like dogs, the men and women shook themselves upon entering, scattering cold drops of rainwater as far as the nearest tables. Fortunately, as everyone had been eager to escape the gusts of wind that also swept through the door, they had selected the tables that stood a good distance from the entrance.

Rayleigh finally put voice to her thoughts. "Your father was right," she commented as Jozie brushed by her perch at the end of the bar.

"Mhmm," the girl answered, gaze combing the row of colorful glass liquor bottles. Her long, lithe fingers brushed along their labels until she was satisfied with her selection, and they then plucked the selection from the shelf. Recognizing that her friend was far too busy for pleasantries, Ray returned to her glass of water, guzzling it with the same fervor that an alcoholic might enjoy an ale. When she finally broke for air, peering over the brim of her glass, she found Jozie's enormous blue eyes staring back at her. "Wanna help?" the girl questioned.

Ray sputtered, nearly choking into her drink in her rush to answer. "No, no, I can't." At the younger woman's arched eyebrow, she spoke again. "I don't know how. I've never worked a job like this."

The excuse was a lame one. Rayleigh knew this, and so did Jozie, judging from her humorless expression. "Gods, Ray," the girl scoffed, "this isn't rocket science. And even if it was, you should be able to handle it, being a mechanic at all. But that's fine. If you don't want to," she waved a dismissive hand before repeating, "that's fine."

The thunder rumbled ominously overhead, a perfect companion to the storm that began to turn in the barmaid's eyes. There was only a moment's hesitation before Ray accepted her fate. "Fine," she conceded on a heavy sigh, her small frame deflating as all fight left her. "You win."

The transformation of the young woman back to her cheerful, perky self was seamless, and nearly instantaneous. "Good!" she half-squealed, leaving Ray to only admire how easily she had been duped. She is one hell of an actress, the Alerian admitted. No wonder she gets into so much trouble. "Go ask those two what they want." She pointed, and when Rayleigh followed the gesture, she immediately tensed. Jozie, however, did not notice the danger. "They look pretty harmless."

"They're wearing masks," Ray countered through grit teeth, hoping that the pair had not noticed that they were being discussed.

"You're a baby. Go." And with that, she was dismissed. There was nothing more to say, as the girl in the blue dress had already scurried off to help another table. She was on her own.

With a sideways glance which located where the nearest knife was, just in case, Ray approached her newly acquired targets. But before she could ask them for their order, a familiar voice met her. The specifics of what they were saying were lost on her, but that tone - she could not forget it.

"Maddy?"