A Dark and Stormy Night [Open]

[Rayleigh]

Welcome to the Peaceful Promenade! This thread is open to all. Feel free to bring your characters in, out of the storm. You are welcome to use the named NPCs, William and Jozie, within reason. Please be advised, bunnying is discouraged in this thread, even with the writer's permission. This is to encourage real-time interaction between new and old players. Have fun!

The rain drummed on the windowpane, a calming, and strangely memorizing staccato. The drops streaked across the glass, leaving slick, criss-crossing paths in their wake. They shimmered like diamonds with each flash of lightning, the electric fingers of the heavens brightening the otherwise darkened town. Then came the thunder. Before, it had rumbled shyly, like the murmuring of gossip among polite circles. This time, however, it boomed like the burst of an Alerian flintlock rifle.

Startled by mother nature's sudden outburst, a mousy brunette woman tumbled away from the window. "Gods," Rayleigh exclaimed, right hand pressing hard against her racing heart.

She was answered by high peels of laughter, wafting across the otherwise empty tavern. "Its like you've never heard thunder before," a pretty blonde finally quipped between fading giggles. She appeared to be in her late teens, and was dressed in a simple blue dress that held faint stains of years of tavern work. Expertly, and without even watching her work, Jozie the barmaid ran a cloth over a damp, newly washed copper tankard. Her doe-eyes remained fixed to the still trembling Rayleigh, her salmon lips pulled back in a broad grin.

The mechanic scowled back, though her emerald gaze revealed the humor she herself found in the situation. "William," she whined as a third figure entered the room, "your daughter is being mean to me. I am a patron, you know. I shouldn't have to put up with this sort of treatment."

With a gentleness that contradicted his burly appearance, the man stored the bottles he had retrieved from the back room. His smile, though hidden by a thick mustache, was plain in his gruff voice. "Miss Aston," came the rejoinder, "you must buy something to be considered a patron." When she opened her mouth to argue, he raised a hand. "Joking, of course. As long as you're keeping my Jozie in line, your drinks are on the house. The water you drink doesn't cost much anyway."

Rayleigh shrugged, before motioning to the bare tavern. "No one here to drink with anyway." Besides, she was not one to abuse the gracious offer the owner had made her in exchange for her friendship with his trouble-seeking child.

"Just wait," William assured her, nodding toward the closed door. "The storm will bring them in."

[Shinsou Vaan Osiris]

Shinsou muttered a curse to himself, shaking his soaked brown hair as he scrambled from doorway to doorway in a vain effort to keep himself, and his cards, dry. It was the first afternoon he had to himself for what felt like a year, so the Telgradian found it typical that this one was made up of heavy and cumbersome rain clouds that had rolled over the town, ones that hung there for what seemed like an ice age. The rain fell in sheets, bombarding the pavement and kicking up spats of mud as he stepped from toe to toe to avoid the puddles.

Another man who trailed him, a contact of Shinsou’s lovingly nicknamed Soap due to his aversion to being involved in anything unlawful, shook his head silently.

“Five minutes ago, this was the driest town on Athanas. Now it’s become a bad day in hurricane alley.”

Underneath Soap’s coat, a single scarred hand remained gripped around his own deck, as always, in habit alone. His leather smock, smeared with mud and streaks of dirty water, was rushed by the constant, chilling breeze swept through them.

Shinsou shrugged. “Bit of an exaggeration that, Soap. It’s wet but it’s not exactly the great flood. We’ll be fine. Just need to figure out which way to turn – was it left or right here?”

Soap sighed, shaking his head in frustration. Whether the Telgradian realised it or not, they were late for the game, soaking and lost. The heavy taste of electricity in the humid air was there, enveloping them, almost as powerful as the stench of the rotting garbage bins they passed from road to road. Being relatively new to Stonevale, and despite Soap’s warnings to the contrary, Shinsou had still not grasped the geography of the town and progress onwards soon ground to a resounding halt. What few unchecked street names remained were now dead ends or quite simply the wrong way.

”OK, now we’re absolutely lost.” Soap sighed, toe bunging a puddle for no reason at all as he stared at yet another one way street.

Shinsou, however, was characteristically calm. His soft, golden eyes veered through the rain and across the rugged edges of the houses not so far away as he remembered why his free time was so valuable to him. They were enrolled in the Brotherhood and being an enforcer for them was a six to seven day a week job. The odd days off between assignments were few and far between, but when he did get time off the Telgradian had a particular penchant for cards. It didn’t matter what game – poker or brag. With everyday life thrown into turmoil by the fallout of the Brotherhood’s rise to power, Shinsou knew that the rare opportunity for a day off in a tavern somewhere was too good for them to miss, especially if it meant relieving a few fools of their money.

“The fact is, Shinsou,” The gruff and irritated Soap started, turning to face the soaked Telgradian. “You haven’t a clue where we are!”

“Soap…” The Telgradian interrupted, spitting excess rain droplets from his mouth.

“This place has become a lawless free-for-all anyway, for the most part, so maybe we should just head back. There are better taverns…”

“Soap…” Shinsou once again tried to interject.

“We need a regular venue, really. Someone who knows Corone so we don’t have to fuck about out here, and, to be honest, I’ve already made the fucking arrangements for you anyway. So, my friend, you might as well learn to deal with it.”

“SOAP!” Shinsou yelled through the rain at the rambling man. “We’re fucking here. It’s right behind you. Look, there. The back of the tavern.”

“Oh?” Soap muttered whilst the Telgradian shook the rain from his own white greatcoat. “Well, we best go in then, hadn’t we?”

Shinsou stroked his day old stubble irritably. The rainstorm beat at the already weathered skin of the Telgradian’s face, with monstrous droplets shattering into white pearls against his jagged visage, but he barely flinched. Instead, he flicked the deck in his hand round and round habitually. One of the major difficulties Shinsou had experienced in his relationship with Soap was learning to distinguish between him pretending to be stupid just to get women off their guard, pretending to be stupid because he couldn’t be bothered to think, pretending to be outrageously stupid because he didn’t actually understand what was going on and really being genuinely stupid. Soap was actually renowned for being amazingly clever, and quite clearly was so, but not all the time. This obviously worried him. Soap preferred people to be puzzled by him rather than contemptuous. It was sort of a safety net.

The Silver Cup Tavern was located at the edge of the promenade, far away from the winding labyrinth of filthy alleyways and grotty passages that comprised the inner workings of the city. It was a crooked but quaint sort of building, propped up by its smooth, whitewashed limestone walls and protected from the elements by a brittle slate roof that looked as if it was barely holding together. Almost any time someone shut the heavy front door, fragments of splintered shale tile would rain down over the pavement and pepper the road below.

Despite its dilapidated state, the tavern always usually boasted a healthy turn out but barely anyone was in today. Through the frosted glass windows, coated with a layer of rainwater, it was clear to see a handful of oil lanterns burning brightly and the shadows of the few patrons in there mulling about.

As Shinsou and Soap entered, they noticed one glaringly obvious omission from their expectations.

“Where are all the players?” Soap queried. "I'm sure I told them midday?"

[Chopsalot]

And bring them in the storm did.

Cath sought shelter immediately at the rumbling of thunder and jagged lines of lightning moving closer by the minute on the horizon. Dark clouds swiftly descended making it nearly impossible to tell whether it was night or day. If it was not for her heavy woolen cloak, the High Elf from Winyaurient, Raiaera would have been soaked through to her pale, sensitive skin.

Opening the tavern door, she immediately welcomed the dry and warm space. It wasn’t much to look at but the Silver Cup Tavern was better than being pelted on by the rain. Well anything was really, a garbage bin in Stonevale perhaps… the point being that one couldn’t be picky if lacking a home.

And Cathoulous Lorr was bereft of this very basic need.

She slowly pulled her hood down to her shoulders and flicked away droplets of water from the folds of her cloak. While a High Elf may be an odd sight in and of itself in Stonevale, even more peculiar was the marking on her forehead, an elaborate patchwork of scars, no doubt purposeful in their design and artistry – a branding of some sort. Frankly, Cath was beyond feeling disfigured by it, but a few stares landed on her illuminated face, causing the Elf to slink away to a shady corner of the tavern. Eventually, she may move closer to the warmth of the fire, but for now, the exiled Bard would order a glass of black flower metheglin, letting the sweet, honeyed mead fill her empty stomach.

[Lye]

The rain fell and with it, a sense of weight only nature could personify. Heavy footsteps shuffled lifelessly from the tall form of a man. Shrouded in dark linens marked by the wear of time, each drop pressed itself into the already drenched cloth. Its ragged ends dragged through the cobblestones, mopping up the mud, debris, and waste of the locals, their carriages, and horses. Silently, he moved, accompanied only by the percussive rumble that rattled his weary bones. As he trudged forward, his viridescent irises caught the faint flicker of light through tavern windows. Through the wind and flash of lightning a wooden sign groaned on wrought iron chain above the doorway.

"The Silver Cup Tavern"

The figure halted. A long labored breath escaped his lips into a haze of chilled fog. The decision was made.

His muddied boots surged him forward, path carved for the tavern.

A dark, gloved hand stretched forth from the folds of his cloak and opened the tavern's door. He noticed its tenants, all faces unfamiliar to him as his would be in return. Lips sealed and silent, he entered. His wake trailed in a manner of filth and rainwater unwelcoming to an establishment owner. Yet, he persisted and purchased a seat near the hearth, closest to the window. This husk, a black silhouette of what once was, nested his elbows on the edge of dry oak and folded gloved hands into one another. With hallowed eyes gazing blankly at the wooden grains worn smooth by time, patronage, and memory, he sat.

Motionless. Voiceless. Ominous.

His chest heaved yet another deep and labored breath, void of fog in the warmth of the foyer. Dripping wet, the figure let a faint smile crawl across pale lips.

Warmth... It felt... Comforting to him.

[Chopsalot]

From her darkened corner, Cath watched the patrons moving around the Silver Cup. The cadence of multiple voices drowned out the sound of rain, and she finally felt a sense of calm wash over her. The Bard took in some of the more notable employees and guests of the tavern. A cheerful, industrious family seemed to own it. They discussed local affairs, possibly town gossip with a young, brown haired woman sipping water.

Her grey eyes, under heavy lids, then scanned to a tall, thin human or humanoid with his companion. Cath could tell they were not lost, but they were indeed looking for something, and their expectation was not met by the consternation in their faces.

Finally, the High Elf’s gaze fell upon a slightly drenched figure with long, platinum hair. He sat by the window with a pensive countenance. He’d either been to the Silver Cup before, or perhaps the man had been to countless taverns like it. A traveler like Cath, perhaps?

But she knew better to assume anyone’s intentions. Even family can stab you in the back with your favorite dagger. Of course, Cath’s most cherished dagger – a gift given to her five years ago by her former betrothed - was tucked away in the folds of her leather tunic. Occasionally she would rub the jeweled hilt with a thumb for reassurance.

She looked down at her glass of metheglin, surprised to see that she had finished so quickly. The Bard knew she needed to eat something more substantial, but the Silver Cup mead was nearly a panacea for her foul mood, brought upon by either the sudden thunderstorm or just her own thoughts. Hard to tell, but she rose and walked until she stopped in front of the barkeep.

“Another Metheglin please,” Cath said in a voice that signaled a highborn upbringing, but contained just a hint of world weariness that suggested otherwise.

[darkest.desires.]

The night was dark, the climate cold and damp as the maiden walked towards the tavern. The howling of the wind matched the howling of her empty heart. Emptiness, nothing, a deep abyss of nothingness. The soft clicking of her heels against the pavement is what she focused on to keep her going, one foot in front of the other. Step, step, step. The tavern coming into view, the old shutters needed another coat of paint, the shingles on the roof needed replaced and the sign was a bit tattered showing how many seasons it had survived. The faint smell of stale ale and cigar smoke was brought by the storms breeze wrapping around the woman like a cocoon.

"Drink, I need a stiff drink.."

Pushing the tavern door open forcefully it banged against the wall slamming shut behind her as another clap of thunder joined the ruckus she had just made. "Jeez Camille easy on the door.." The man with the impressive mustache chastised her with a look of pity in his eye. Camille simply nodded towards the man heading to the end of the bar, second stool form the wall. Sitting down she peeled off her jacket that now was like a second skin from all the rain that had been dumped on her. William offered her a kind hearted smile along with a clean bar rag to dry off.

"Thanks.."

Nodding he didn't have to ask her what she wanted since she had been coming here for some time now, a bottle of bourbon and a glass set in front of her. Ringing out her golden honey brown locks, wiping the rain droplets that still clung to her rosy cheeks. After she was as dry as she could get she set the rag and five gold coins on the bar for payment. Her dark almost sapphire blue orbs swept across the tavern before she moved to pour herself a drink. Taking the first swig with such greed she closed her eyes savoring the burning sensation as it left a trail of warmth down into her belly. A shaky breath came from her as she gripped the glass tightly pouring herself another drink before downing that one as well. Licking her red plush lips she moaned softly with the satisfaction of the liquor slowly starting to warm her body.

"Slow down Cammy you aren't a fish, girl." Glancing up Camille turned her head slightly at the blonde bar maiden before glaring at her. "Bite me Jozie.." That statement earned her a glare in return William laid a hand on Camille's clenched fist. "Easy Camille it's a bad day but you are here now so lighten up and enjoy your drink.." Nodding she stole a glance at Jozie giving her a soft smile before mouthing sorry.. The small woman smiled in return the tension fizzled out as quickly as it had started to build.

Will is right it is no ones fault that I had a crappy day I just need to shake this feeling and enjoy my drink... The pep talk she was giving herself would hopefully stick because if it didn't every one in the tavern was in for one hell of a night. The storm wouldn't be the only thing raging on tonight.

[Ignis]

The sky was clear, no problems would be seen. However, off in the distance the rain clouds were clearly coming this way. I sighed and shook my head. I was dealing with a man who was blocking the path into the city because his carriage carrying a plethora of goods, and items to be sold in the various markets within the city, had broken down. We had to wait in line to enter this city, and even so because this man decided to break it down right at the gate so no one could feasibly pass. Well, maybe a small framed person could be able to fit through, but honestly, These people were waiting just to be kind. And with the storm coming, many were trying to help. However, fixing it here in the middle of the road was a bad idea.

Moving slowly, I made my way towards the crash, and aided a few seconds. Lifting up a bag of clothing that the man owed, I walked past the wreckage and handed the bag to one of the guards that was trying to get everything together. He nodded his thanks and I moved past. Making my way past many of these other people, I pulled up my hood to cover my face. Moving past multiple people, sliding past the market and trying to find a place to stay. Moving from tavern to tavern, I kept looking for the cheapest inn to stay for the night. However, seeing an urchin, someone who would likely not pay for their services, I just had to find somewhere soon.

Time was not on my side. The clouds slowly began to cover all the light in the area. The waterworks began. And it poured hard. The rain began to pelt the cloth hood I wore. I was soaked in a minute. The semi-cold rain pelted me. It almost slammed upon my head and shoulders. Making the little gear I carried all the more heavier. My entire body was wet. It would take hours to get these clothes dry so I could wear them again. Seeing that all of these people were entering their homes, and coming to various inns, I decided to walk into one as well.

The door opened up with some people here and there. However, the rest of it was empty. Good, I was not one for talking to people. Including the fact that many of these people seemed rather dangerous. I had no clue on what I was going to do. I just walked up to the bar with my squeaky boots after being wet in the rain, and took my seat at one of the stools. Sitting down, I pulled off my hood. Soaked through, my hair was dripping into my lap. Breathing in, I removed the scarf from my face. Barely dry from the portion that was covering my mouth. Running my hand through my hair, it was clearly disheveled and not kept by a barber, and cut by some kind of knife.

I leaned forward, and just tried to appreciate being out of the rain for once. Even if I didn't have a bed.

[Revenant]

Wind spilled from the doorway as it opened yet again, whipping the table lamps into a flickering frenzy. A stocky man quickly slipped through the door, his thick leather cloak spilling nearly as much water on the welcome mat as it would have seen on the stoop outside. Twin points of burning light shone from within his hood like smoldering coals as he scanned the room. Satisfied, he let the door close, cutting off the howling wind and putting the lamps back to relative ease.

William radiated angry annoyance as he made his way to an empty table. He had plenty to choose from. But his frustration seemed directed more at the storm than at anyone in the tavern itself. He hated submitting to the will of anything, including nature, but some things couldn’t be helped. Besides, the full brunt of the storm hadn’t arrived yet, and William would have been a fool to let himself be caught out in it. And, truth be told, the soft light coming from the tavern’s windows had been a welcome sight out in the darkness. Travel be damned.

There was no water left on William by the time he took his seat, a perk of his supernaturally hot physique. He removed his cloak and hung it from a peg which had been set into the wall for just such a purpose, then leaned both the obsidian scythe and the massive dragonbone cleaver up alongside it. He audibly groaned in relief as he rolled his shoulders, letting some of the tension out merely by setting the weighty object aside. Satisfied, he pulled out a thick wooden chair and plopped down.

“Welcome to the Silver Cup Tavern, sir. What can I get for you?” Jozie asked, quickly gliding to take the newcomer’s order.

“Ale, bitter,” William grunted, eyeing Jozie. The woman seemed a little hesitant under the scrutiny of his burning gaze, but her voice was firm and her manner brisk and professional. If she was intimidated by him, William thought that she did a good job hiding it.

“Food?” She inquired.

“Just a bowl of whatever you’ve got stewing in the pot is fine,” William said. He pulled a handful of coins from a pouch and slid them across the table towards Jozie. “Keep the drinks coming as long as the coin lasts.” Nodding, Josie snatched them up, noting the odd warmth that they had to them, then scurried off to fetch the man his order.

[Mutant_Lorenor]

Lorenor.

Once he was a Tyrant, a King.

Now he was reduced to ember, little more than crumbling ash of his former self.

With the Ixian Knights of old...Lorenor had found the purpose N'Jal denied him. Reformation changed him and altered his destiny. Now he was a man cursed, a broken husk of what he was once. Denied the very connection to N'Jal he once held so dear to his heart. He did terrible things in the name of N'Jal...but they were necessary things. His blue eyes glowed with a certain sadness. For he was cursed with the visions of a burnt future. A future that he did not want. A future he was trying to change. Lorenor wore the markings of the Ixian Knights on his squire's outfit. A simple tunic and pair of pantaloons. He did have a heavy sword on strapped around to him that he wore across his back. The man wore a hooded robe as well, something the Ixian gave him a long time ago. He had signet rings and an amulet that bore the Ixian markings as well, but, it was all from a forgotten time of history. Lorenor's glowing blue eyes narrowed as he spotted the tavern up ahead. He could see people entering the tavern escaping the rain and sudden bad weather. Lorenor closed his eyes for a moment and listened to the sound of the sheets of falling rain.

Every so often thunder cascaded across the sky of Althanas.

It was a loud and glorious sound.

The remnant of the old world felt his boots splashing across the mud as he walked through the township of the promenade. His eyes narrowing when he made his way towards the tavern. Out of habit, he wiped his boots across the welcome mat. He had always been a man of good manners and etiquette. The squire was still learning the ways of The Holy Light, a living mechanic that fueled the paladin's holy arts. However, in a short amount of time he'd grown strong again. He was beginning to unearth the old secrets of the light. As he entered the tavern he noticed several people already gathered in the place. His mind was fractured from Reformation with the Ixian Knights, and thus, he had no memory of any of the gathered. One of the establishments' employees noticed Lorenor enter. Lorenor was removing his gloves and placing them in his packs. He lowered his hood and his glowing blue eyes seemed to add an ambiance to the light in the tavern. The employee addressed Lorenor.

"You have intense eyes..." The lady said.

"I'll take that as a compliment." Lorenor responded with a deep accent. It was a heavy old Radasanth accent. One of the more primitive dialects that were not common any longer in the modern age of Althanas. "It's not safe out there..." Lorenor said calmly. "I suspect the storm will bring in many more folks, them Adventurer types too." Lorenor explained. "I'd like a seat if it's not too much trouble, I'm pretty tired. I been walking for a long time."

"Storms do seem to have that effect on people." She said and guided Lorenor to empty table.

Lorenor sat down and allowed himself the briefest moment to lower his guard in the tavern. He closed his eyes and thought of many things. But mostly the image of the future coursed through his mind. N'Jal's final gift to Lorenor was that of a image of the world she was attempting to create. Lorenor had made it his personal crusade to stop N'Jal at all costs. He knew that in the darkness she lurked, plotting and scheming to corrupt all life. Her vision of Althanas would ultimately prove a terrifying one, and he did not want that. I must endure the coming storm, be it tomorrow...a century...a thousand years from now...I cannot let her win. The immortal sat in silence thinking about what must be done. He had some money to his name and would order food as needed but for now, he needed to plan and think. The storm would provide a moment of respite for himself. That was much needed with the weight of the visions in his head.

He rarely had calm moments those days...

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

"Madison, you would think that, because we technically are plantlife, you wouldn't be so eager to get inside and escape the rain."

I shot Hyperion, my companion and confidant, the dirtiest look I could behind a mask of mythril. "Not funny."

"Sorry," she said meekly. "I just thought you could use with a bit of levity, is all."

I shook my head. "It's alright. It's just... I really hate damp clothing, and this storm shows no sign of stopping."

While Hyperion wrapped herself up in bandages like a mummy and threw a cowl and a pair of loose slacks over it them, allowing herself to dry off quickly due to the thin nature of the fabric, I was decked out in my hooded shirt and thick travel pants. The ensemble soaked up the torrential downpour like a sponge, and would take hours to dry out. Hours that I would spend a miserable, soggy mess.

We were racing towards the nearest pub to escape the storm. The signage of The Peaceful Promenade, a tavern that I've visited several times before in my travels.

The storm continued to rage around us as we leaped up the steps and threw open the door with a resounding crash. Several patrons looked up at us as we entered, hopefully seeing two people in foreign religious garb and masks instead of a war criminal and a monster. They looked us up and down for a split second, then went back to their drinks and conversation.

I breathed a sigh of relief as drops of water raced down my mythril mask. The last thing I wanted tonight was an awkward string of questions and a fight.

Hype and I meandered up to the bar and placed our orders. "So," the briarbane asked, "where will we go once the storm abates?"

"Not exactly sure," I said, shifting my mask upwards just enough to take a sip of cold ale. It tasted little better than the rainwater outside, but at least it was something. "I was thinking we could go back to Corone for a couple months. I have some leads on a few pathogens I'd be interested in experimenting with, and--Hype?"

Hyperion was looking over my shoulder, her glowing amber eyes intently focused on someone. Absentmindedly, she was tugging on the shoulder of my shirt. "Madison?" She nodded at a figure outside my view. "Isn't that--?"