It's always a tavern, isn't it?

[Bevel]

Taverns, as a rule, tend to be the launching points for adventure. It's hard to find a story that doesn't begin in some sort of greasy-spoon establishment like the local tavern. Because of this romanticized tendency, they also gravitate towards their antipodes: either our story begins in a clean, well worn pub with buxom maids serving the protagonists mead and wine, or the opposite, a wretched hive of, yes, scum and villainy with approximately fifteen dark corners, evil looking patrons picking at rancid fishbones and even more rancid teeth, and at least one sultry wench carrying a knife.

In either case, there's always a pounding rain falling outside, the better for a lightning flash to silhouette the hero as he bangs into the joint.

That wasn't the case this evening. The sky hung low with gray clouds, clearly trying to pass itself off as a brewing thunderstorm, but it only managed a light, misting drizzle. The dark elf preferred it this way, anyway. It meant that he didn't get drenched. Honestly, who bangs their way into a tavern in a thunderstorm these days anyway?

Also, he was early. The dark elf liked to arrive slightly before the dinner hour, so the bread and food were fresh - or, at least less stale. Taking a guess, he plotted this place in the middle and stepped inside.

The Peaceful Promenade was everything he'd hoped it would be: a tavern. With food. The drow removed his fedora and plunked heavily down in a chair, noting that there were only three other tables currently occupied. He noticed at least one dark corner, but its occupant hadn't arrived yet.

"Evenin'," said the barmaid. Well, maybe barmaid was a little generous. She looked about forty. Or was it thirty? Human years were weird. "Bit early ta-nite, arn'tcha?"

The drow's wide face returned a faux-polite smile. "Too early?" he asked rhetorically. Dirty gray eyebrows arched expectantly.

The waitress rolled a splinter of wood around her mouth. "Nope. What d'ya want?"

The drow didn't bother asking what was cooking. He put his nose up and sniffed the air. -Sniff- Some kind of vegetable soup, typical tavern fare, and, something else...

-Sniff- ...flavored with a bit of meat, too. Probably peppered.

"Soup, iffa mind."

"Soup dinnae be ready fer a while," she replied. "Half hour."

"I'll wait. Meantime, bread and whatever ale you've got that's red."

She nodded and took off. The portly dark elf lounged back in his seat, surveying the rest of the tavern. There didn't look to be anyone of interest here just yet, just some locals munching bread and the odd fish. He rummaged in his pockets and produced a few of his lodestones, which he took to playing with, putting one atop the table and using the other under the table to move it around. The first lodestone moved jerkily around the top of the table, as if by magic.

It certainly was taking a while for the soup to appear, but at least the drow got his bread and ale. He chewed thoughtfully on the slightly tough bread while thinking about money. Specifically, how he was to acquire any tomorrow.

[Seraphima]

It wasn't raining hard enough to completely dampen Sara's senses, and she was grateful for that. She hated heavy rain, because over the loud shhhhh of droplets falling, every other sound was muted, not to mention that she always caught a chill and that aggravated her cough.

A light rain would give her a chill, too, if she didn't find some way to shake it off. She couldn't hear the typical sounds of a tavern, though. She actually had a little money from various people who had taken pity on her along the road, although she had no idea how much. But she knew that it was at least enough for a meal for herself and her dog, and if you were a paying customer, you could have warm food and drink, and sit by the fire.

She sighed lightly, not wanting to agitate her lungs, then turned her head down to the dog who walked at her left. "Where are we, Maurz? I know we're in a town, I can hear the hammer falling at the smithy and doors opening and shutting...find a tavern for us, Maurz. Then we can eat."

She could feel the big lab's tail batting gently against her leg, and then the lead grew taut as he started leading her along. She liked how Maurz always seemed to know where to go, even if they'd never been to a place before. Within moments, she was pushing open the door. She could smell the bread, baked less than an hour ago - fluffy bread made from wheat milled with the husks, sweeter and less sticky than bleached-flour bread. She could smell the stew - chicken, it smelled like, and potatoes, carrots, and maybe some celery. It wasn't quite done, she could tell that from the door.

Probably twenty feet to her right was the typical clinking of glasses as the bar tender got ready for business, fifty feet in front of her was the sound of crackling and the smell of smoke, and then a little more than half that distance forward and to her left was the sound of something dragging across a table. That was the only sound out of place, which is probably why she heard it above the murmurs of the other patrons.

How very odd...

Despite that, what she really wanted was food and a seat by the fire, so she headed up to the bar. Before she could even speak, the woman addressed her in a voice coarse from age, care, and several too many well-filled pipes.

"I'll let you keep the dog in here so long as he doesn't cause trouble."

"He won't," Sara promised in her dove's hush of a voice. "Maurz is very well behaved. Could I get a cup of hot tea...and some soup and bread when the soup is done?"

She held out a coin, and obviously it was worth more than the price of the meal. "I'll throw in a little cheese with it, and bring out an old slab of beef for the dog in a minute, all right, dearie? Now, you look paler than a ghost, so go and scoot along by the fire, and you'll have your food in about twenty minutes."

"Thank you. Come on, Maurz."

It was only a minute's journey through the tangle of chairs and tables before the blind woman settled in a hard chair only about ten feet from the fire, and in a few minutes Maurz was munching happily on an old bit of steak and she had a steaming hot mug of tea in her hands.

For a little bit, anyway, everything was all right. It even hurt less to breathe. That feeling never lasted long, but Sara pushed future concerns away. She wanted to enjoy being safe and warm for as long as it lasted.

[Bevel]

The lodestone still moved uncertainly across the table as the drow chewed on his bread. A few more patrons had trickled inside in the past ten minutes, mostly more locals. A soft whuffling passed him by, prompting a glance for its source. It turned out to be a largish brown dog who, tail wagging, led a pale-skinned girl tentatively through the soft murmur of the tavern.

Isn't that something? the dark elf remarked internally. A dog walking a human. He briefly studied her movements: uncertain, the head held high like a bird or a royal, moving side to side slightly as if navigating by sound. Her legs moved -to him, at least- mechanically, like the monkey rods on a steam engine. For a human, she was at least attractive in her own unusual manner. It occurred to the elf that the girl was likely blind.

Nevertheless, the drow went back to playing with the lodestones. The tavern's noise level had ratcheted up a notch, from 'barely audible' to 'off-hours' level. Taking a pull on the ale, which was disappointingly light, he broke another piece of bread with his free hand and munched expectantly. After all, he was in a tavern, and taverns usually turned up something interesting to the patient.

He glanced around the room once more. Scruffy farmers, a blacksmith with calloused hands chatting up a pretty young wench, the requisite quiet old drunk at the bar, all of them bog standard. And then, atypically, the white-haired, ivory-skinned, likely-blind girl sat serenely by the fire. Discounting himself, a potbellied drow with a face like a stoned basset hound, she was the most unusual thing in the bar. The girl looked pretty frail, though, and probably chilled to the bone.

To his belly's rumbling gratitude, the soup arrived early. His nose had turned out wrong - the soup was potatoes, celery, and chicken. Thought it was beef. Nevertheless, it smelled glorious, with steam and a hearty aroma wafting off the surface. The waitress, overburdened with a few drinks, accidentally spilled some soup on the floor. A piece of chicken rolled near the fire.

The drow shrugged. "Thanks," he told the waitress, with a coin for the meal. She glanced disapprovingly down at the lodestone, still scooting across the table, and took the coin.

"Ye got a bit o' change - anythin' else ye want?"

The drow rubbed his large chin briefly. "Another mug of ale - and get that girl another cup of tea if she wants it. Keep the rest."

She nodded and was off. The dark elf ate his soup in silence, still trying to come up with a plan to make money. Treasure hunting would be interesting, but he had a feeling that this area may be played out by now. Constant influx of adventurers, lost princes, and what have you had likely stripped the place of any semblance of treasure.

A regular job wasn't his cup of tea either. He didn't know the first thing about fishing or farming, save how dreadfully boring -and un-lucrative- they were.

Neither an organized guard nor a life of crime appealed to the dark elf. Frankly, he had no intention of being under the thumb of any master, whether it be a drill sergeant or a crime boss. If he was to lead a less-than-legal life, it would be on his own terms.

Shrug. At least the soup was good.

[Seraphima]

Sara knew that the soup was coming not only because the smell of it increased in intensity as it came back from the kitchen, but because Maurz, finished with the chunk of beef that had been given to him, lunged for something across the floor, coming back with it and dropping it before eating it, licking at the inside of his mouth and whimpering.

"Well, that's why you don't eat it when it's hot, silly," she scolded gently as her bowl was put in front of her, along with a little plate with a generous hunk of bread and cheese.

"You have another cup of tea coming, too, dearie, compliments of the Drow sitting a few tables back."

"Was he the one dragging things across his table?" Race wasn't a matter of concern to Sara - she'd found that race was a lot of what people could see, and how they judged people that looked differently. When you're blind, everyone looks the same, and race becomes obsolete. She got an answer to the affirmative as the server moved on.

It was dinner time, and more people were pouring in. Sara had taken the bandage off her face so that it could dry out, but people always seemed to be uncomfortable when they saw her without it, so she folded it back up and tied it over her eyes, careful not to snarl any of her curls in the knot.

She could hear Maurz waiting for her to hand him a few bites, so she fished out a couple of pieces of chicken from the soup, picked them apart to cool them off, and handed them to him with little bites of bread and cheese. "Happy now, beggar?" The sound of his tail on the floor was all the answer she needed.

"Then go say hello to our new friend over there and invite him to come over by the fire."

Maurz padded over to the Drow that was minding his own business and eating his stew, sitting down next to him and raising a paw in greeting. He smelled like he belonged in a shop somewhere, but Maurz wasn't going to hold that against him. After all...the lab himself smelled like wet dog, so he wagged his tail to be sociable.

Sara kept an ear out for her dog. Although there weren't any abnormally threatening sounds in the tavern, she always felt a lot more vulnerable when he wasn't right at her side. And it sounded like the patrons of the tavern were heckling their resident story teller.

"Hey, Pete," started a brash thirty-something near the door, "tell us about the hoard you found in Concordia."

As Sara spooned her first bite of soup into her mouth, she heard the rumbling sigh of an elderly gentleman by the bar, and the soft creak of his stool as he turned it around.

"Still your mouth, Ralph. When I was your age, I was wandering the world. Getting into trouble. Having ADVENTURE! Not sitting in some tavern pestering my elders because I thought it was funny. Damn kid."

"Naw, naw," chimed in a fellow beside him, likely just a whelp of sixteen. "We like yer stories, Pete. Besides, some of us are goin' adventuring someday, and ain't it you that always says old adventurers ought warn the young 'uns what's there in the world?"

Well, the old fellow shifted some in his chair and ordered another mug of ale. "You've heard the story before, so it'll take some good reasoning to tell it again. You know about the piles of gold deep in Concordia forest. All for the taking, if you can get past the zombies that are more than eager to eat you."

[Bevel]

((OOC: Despite my best efforts to make Bevel a jerkface, he's coming off as a big softie. ;) ))

The drow was not unused to heat, and finished the hot bowl of soup in record time. Being around furnaces, boilers, and cylinders spewing jets of scalding steam so often, fresh soup was relatively mild. That, and he was hungry.

That same whuffling from earlier alerted him to the dog's presence. It sat down on its haunches, raising a paw to him. And if it didn't have the most pathetic doggy expression on its face, the drow didn't know what. He didn't like most critters, but dogs were all right. This particular one, though, smelled atrocious.

"Look, I'm out of meat."

The dog kept looking at him. The dark elf stretched out a pudgy hand and ruffled its ears, prompting the snout to split into one of those huge doggy grins, tongue lolling.

Then, a few young rips piped up from across the tavern. Something involving teasing an old man. The drow didn't pay any attention until...

"...the piles of gold deep in Concordia forest..."

Not that he could help it, but his ears perked up instantly. He didn't miss the part about the flesh-eating zombies, but piles of gold commanded at least some attention. Step one, of course, was discerning whether the old man was simply mad or actually knew something. The drow had a funny feeling it would tend towards the latter.

It was worth investigating, at least. Flagging down the barmaid, the elf flipped her a small coin, enough for a drink. "The old gentleman rambling about Concordia, iffa please." She shrugged at him and went to go ask the old man what he wanted.

His attention snapped back to a peculiar warm, wet rasping sensation currently occupying his left hand. He glanced down at the dog, who had somehow covered the entire hand in slobber in record time. The drow chuckled and pet the dog backwards with the slobber hand, styling its hair into something you usually see on orcs and vagrants. The dog replied by tugging on his sleeve.

"What do you want?" he asked it, rhetorically. The dog blinked at him and whined a bit, pointing his snout towards the fire. "Oh, fine, you," he grinned. "Maybe Timothy fell down a well or something."

Glancing around, and noting that the barmaid wasn't looking, the drow grabbed a spare cloth napkin and wiped the prodigious slobber off his hand, before replacing it innocently. He gathered the lodestones and got up, with the chair creaking in relief. The dog led him to the fire, where the odd girl sat.

"I found your dog," he said, glancing at the wagging lunatic whose teeth were still gently buried in his jacket's sleeve. Facetiously, he added: "Is there a reward?"

[Seraphima]

Sara smiled, hearing the soft creak in the leather of the Drow's jacket as Maurz led him over. She almost laughed when he asked if there was a reward for finding the dog, feeling her skin tingle with soft white light instead.

"I can get him to let you go," she replied, holding her hand out to her dog, who released Bevel and came for a scratch. "His name is Maurizio...but that's something of a mouthful, so he goes by Maurz. I'm Seraphima...also something of a mouthful, so I go by Sara. Please, sit down. It sounds like the story is starting."

Indeed it was. The floor creaked as the old man stood up and started pacing with his tale.

"When I was a young man, just starting out, I wanted to start my adventuring somewhere close to home. Born and raised in Underwood - having sat in that same seat you're in, Phil my boy, before heading on out - I went out into the closest place - Concordia forest, of course. Those woods right outside town. Cover most of Corone. Still plenty of adventure there, I'll wager.

"I was maybe twenty, fresh outta my mam's house, and happy for it. I didn't know a steel ingot from a prevalida sword, and I was with a group of guys that were just as young n' stupid as I was. Five days into Concordia, we were bored of walking on the trails, so we decide to cut across some swamp. Little after midday, we start finding the occasional gold coin, and by late afternoon, we find a pile that must be worth thousands, just scattered in the middle of a little island. We weren't thinking that there's a reason that the treasure wasn't all gone by now, and go to stuffing our pockets, trying to make up stories of how we risked our lives and saved princesses and won treasure. We were just stupid kids, y'know?

"Well, near sunset, we figure we'd best get outta the swamp. So we start movin', only, as it gets dark, we start hearing splashing and moaning. So we move faster. But not fast enough. Slowly, hordes and hordes of people start popping up through the mire. They grab one guy's leg, and all we hear is his scream as he's torn to bits. And these things keep coming and coming.

"We run like hell, but it's dark and the swamp is too thick. And we keep runnin', and keep runnin', and get picked off, one by one. Only two of us made it to dawn and got back here, to Underwood, safely, but we'd had to get rid of the gold. It was too heavy."

One of the men nearby lit a pipe, and the smoke drifted throughout the tavern. Something about it upset Sara's lungs, and she started coughing right away, deep, violent coughs that shook her. The pipe was quickly doused, and Maurz nudged the blind girl's cup of tea toward her, encouraging her to take a drink, which she did after a moment, patting him on the head. "I'm all right, Maurz."

That settled, the crowd once more turned back to the story teller. "So, what happened then, Pete?"

"After a while, he moved off to Radasanth, and I went adventuring again. Been all over the world, done a bunch of damn fool things, but never went back into Concordia again. A man's foolish to chase zombies without an angel of some sort."

[Bevel]

OOC: Sorry about the wait. *writes*

Those listening gave a round of laughter at the old man's last sentence, clearly taking 'angel' as the punchline. The drow had sat down as the man began his strange tale, amused that the floor decided to creak precisely when his own chair did.

As the tavern settled back into the regular dinner hour noise, the drow examined his strange acquaintance. He hadn't missed the pulse of light shimmering across her earlier - like a small flash of magnesium in a flame. A magic one, perhaps? It would make sense, after all; a blind girl with white hair and ivory skin was a dead ringer in his book for some kind of supernatural connection.

"Incidentally," began the dark elf, "I forgot to introduce myself. Call me Bevel." He reached out a calloused gray hand and scratched Maurz behind the ears. "And what brings a noble waif like yourself to this dive?" he grinned.

While asking, Bevel glanced sidelong at the bar. The old man was talking with the barmaid the dark elf had paid, who made a small gesture towards the fireplace. The drow's smiling eyes flicked back to the girl.

[Seraphima]

Sara smiled gently as he asked why she was there. There was really no reason she shouldn't be, but not much reason that she should.

"We happened to be in town, and Maurz and I wanted to get out of the rain. It's always nice to be warm and dry, as opposed to cold and wet."

The ambiance of the room had changed, it was louder now that the story was over, but from the snippets of conversation she caught, everyone was most interested in their own days or their friends' problems. It lent quite a feeling of privacy, as though she and Bevel were the only ones in the tavern, despite the voices of about thirty more people.

"What about you?" she asked, returning the interest he'd shown while finishing off her soup. She could hear the floorboards creaking as someone started coming toward them, but Maurz seemed unconcerned, laying at her side and looking around for more scraps to fall from nearby tables, so she remained relaxed.

Go ahead and control the old man, he's just an NPC

[Bevel]

"What else?" mused the drow. "Gold, same as most of us." He pulled a wry smile. She couldn't hear it, but the tone of voice was there. "Dreams, huh? Funny things." He had to concur with the girl's observation. Warm and fed beat cold and hungry every time. The drow scratched Maurz's ears as the fire flickered. Just then -

"Thanks fer the drink," came a scratchy old voice from behind him.

The drow gave his most diplomatic smile. "Consider it an investment."

The old man laughed, like pumping an ancient set of blacksmith's bellows. "Heh, I allus knew someone would be crazy enough to go after that gold."

"So it exists - and not just to get free drinks from gullible types like myself," chuckled the dark elf. He reached over his shoulder and pulled up a chair for the old man. "Because if it's a ruse, I'm afraid you've already won."

The old man grinned, showing yellowed teeth. Farmer's teeth, the sort you tend to see around these parts. "Ha, if'n I wanted more drinks I woulda parceled out the story piecemeal. Naw, there's gold out there all right." He paused, taking a quaff from the ale. "Now, like I said though, you'd be damn fool crazy to go out there. Them walkin' dead aren't after any gold, just-"

"-braaaiiIIIiiIiinnNnnsSss..." Bevel cut in, to nobody in particular.

"I don't remember 'em talkin, but looks like you got the right idea," said the old man. "Though, I s'pose most any part o' you they'd take. Big 'un, you are."

The drow chuckled into his ale. "Fanks," he muttered.

"Too bad it's not gonna work," continued Pete. "Y'wouldn't get close, specially not alone. 'Less you got an angel with you," he scoffed.

At this, Bevel briefly glanced over the waif of a girl sitting across from him - specifically, her snowy garb, ghostly skin and platinum hair. More than anything, how she had fluoresced a minute white just a second ago, like the sun glinting off snow.

"Right." And though he was replying to Pete, he definitely pointed his words at the girl. "About that."

[Seraphima]

He was looking at her. Directly at her. She may not have been able to see it, but she could hear his voice and that told her that his face was pointed squarely in her direction, and for a moment her skin prickled uncomfortably. She knew that was the flashing light again, probably green. He probably thought that she was an angel.

"Angels are hard to come by, though," she said nervously. "I met a half-blood once, and she seemed as normal as anyone else."

Her little light trick, as brief as it may have been, had caught the eyes of a couple of the tavern patrons, the old man in particular. "Now, I've never seen a girl that lights up a'fore, and I've seen my share of strange. So either you're an angel, or a witch."

"What? No, I...I..." the sudden suspicion and probing was making her more and more flustered, and she suddenly started coughing - hard, painful coughs that would have shaken someone with a much more robust frame than hers. "Ha-have you ever," she tried to say between coughs and breaths, "heard of a sick a-ang-el, and a bl-blind one, at that?"

After a minute, the coughs died down, and Maurz pushed his big head under her chin, letting her hold him while she caught her breath. She was even paler after that bout, weaker, and trembling. "I'm all right, Maurz," she tried to reassure her companion, merely eliciting a concerned whimper in response.

"Well...I never did hear of a sickly angel," the old man admitted. "Nor a blind one."

"I'm not," she whispered. "But if I ever meet one, I'll try and send him this way."

[Bevel]

Bevel flagged down the waitress. "Tea for three - whatever you've got that's soothing."

"Two," interjected the old man. "Tea's not me thing. I'll 'ave another ale."

She nodded and took off.

"I think you two misunderstood me," said the drow. "Real angels might as well not exist, for all they may or may not do. Figurative ones, however - there's where it gets interesting." He sat back and briefly collected his thoughts, while the waitress brought the tea. It arrived very quickly, though it was cold. Bevel frowned at it.

"Besides, magic is everywhere," said the drow, putting a hand over each cup. He winced a bit -that burning sensation never quit being painful- and soon enough wisps of steam trailed off the surface. "I'll assume you weren't using 'witch' pejoratively, m'friend, because you're in a tavern. Look around."

It was a tavern, all right. In fact, within the past hour, all of the trappings had fallen into place. Two of the corners were darkened, in which a few shady looking types had set up camp. A gaggle of enthusiastic adventurers -you could easily tell, one was a magical-looking elf woman, the other a halfling, another a human in heavy chainmail- went relatively unnoticed.

"Taverns are a refuge in -and for- audacity," continued the drow. "The others just weren't smart enough to pick up on the cues." He looked nonchalantly at his new acquaintances.

"Drink up," he said, pushing Sera's cup to her. "You sure need it. But when you're done..."

At this, he cleared his throat, and took a sip.

"...what other magic can you do?"


OOC: Not sure if Sera knows she's Zombie Off! or not, but Bevel is sure hoping she is. What with the holy/pure thing she's got going. ;)

[Seraphima]

Sara picked up the mug, holding it in front of her face and feeling the coarse earthenware pressing against her fingers, letting heat seep into them from the tea. She could smell it, warm and minty, and could feel the cooling prickle on her tongue even as the warmth of the thin liquid flowed through her mouth and down her throat.

"I don't have any magic," she whispered, still holding the mug up as if to hide behind it. "None at all."

"No magic! And here's you lightin' up like a bloomin' firefly!" the old man spat incredulously, making her flinch back. The dog at her side flattened his ears and growled softly before being called to calm down.

"Easy, Maurz. We don't want to get kicked out. And I thought everyone could light up. It would make sense for seeing people, wouldn't it? They can't see in the dark. I can't see at all, so why would I need it?"

Her words were soft, but she was calmer now, with her dog pressed up against her as a blatant warning that it would not go well for him if he continued to hassle the petite blonde. She'd never come to harm with Maurz by her side.

"I can tell you, though," she said, turning back to Bevel, "that we did get lost deep in Concordia for a few days. There were big animals moving around at night, but they didn't come within ten feet of us. Maurz stayed awake most of the time, growling and keeping them back. I can't say there were any zombies."

The old man scowled, and she could hear it in his voice as he slurped his ale. "I was nineteen when I went into Concordia and spent that hellish night. I'm fifty-six now. That's thirty-seven years. But every now and again you'll hear a shaken traveler tell of 'em. Couple of years back, a young man came in, tellin' of 'em. No one believed him. None but me. There's no way you're tellin' the truth. Either you have magic, or you never were there. A sick blind girl wouldn't last a minute after dark in that forest."

Sara shook her head, her now-dry curls bouncing slightly against her back and cheek. "I'm just a blind girl," she told him truthfully.

[Bevel]

The drow tapped the side of his cheek. "Fair enough," he said, enough for old Pete but anyone with better hearing than the geriatric could tell he didn't entirely buy it. "But your dog will be useful."

There followed a pregnant pause, during which the drow finished the rest of his tea, and the last roll. While chewing, he looked around the tavern, watching the patrons interact. The human who hadn't bothered to remove his chainmail was looking wistfully at Seraphima, the look in his eyes not born of lust, but a sort of longing. Bevel knew precisely what that look meant. He'd seen the pale white girl and thought she meant adventure, the wheels behind that lumpy human face turning plain as ever. Bevel shot him a grin. This girl was his ticket to riches.

And, y'know, maybe a small chance to help out a blind girl.

"Well," he said, nodding at Pete, Seraphima out of courtesy, and giving the dog a good scratch behind the ears, "I've preparations to make."

Arrangements were made to meet in four days outside that very tavern, at the crack of dawn. Bevel would provide the means to retrieve the gold, Seraphima would provide her dog (so the arrangement went) and Pete would navigate. The gold would be divided accordingly.

As he strode from the tavern, refreshed and with a head full of whirling ideas, the dark elf couldn't help but wonder if either of those two would show up...


Have another post with Sera and Pete if you like, or I can just cut straight to the montage. Monn-taaaaage!

[Seraphima]

"Wellp," said the old man as Bevel left, "I suppose that's that."

With that, he shifted around in his chair, and Sara could hear the bottom of his cup scrape against the rough wood of the table as he stood. A few moments later she could hear him back at the bar.

"Did I ever tell you boys about the time..."

So another story started, and Sara stopped listening, just twining her fingers into Maruz's thick fur. She loved how soft and warm her dog felt, and how comforting it was just to know he was there. She didn't know where she'd be if she didn't have him by her side.

Less than an hour after she'd been left alone, the tavern's hostess came up beside her and patted her gently on the shoulder. "You want anything else, dearie?"

Sara's head turned at the voice. It was just like the voice of any other middle aged innkeeper's wife - gentle like a mother's to not scare off the customers, but coarse from years of strain and yelling at help.

"Do you have a room?" she asked. "For three nights."

"That we do, dearie," was the soft response. "Here, take my hand and I'll show you."

The matron's hand was course and calloused, dry and cracked and somehow still soothing. That hand led her up a short flight of steps, and she could hear the tap of Maruz's paws behind. Almost as soon as they came to the landing, Sara's hand was put on a doorknob, and she turned it and pushed open the heavy door.

"Here you are...and that dog had best not make a mess."

"He won't," Sara promised, venturing into the room with her cane sweeping the path before her. "Thank you."

The door closed behind her and her dog, and she sat down on the bed, stroking his head as he set it in her lap. "What are we getting ourselves into this time, Maurz?"

[Bevel]

The next few days passed, and neither hide nor hair were seen of Bevel Kessler.

That is, unless you happened to be perusing the dwarven section of town, where most of the fine metalsmiths congregated. There Bevel was everpresent, looking at hardened steel and iron, buying vials of oil and the like and loading every bit of it into a sturdy wooden wagon. His new residence became a workshop, from which emanated sounds of hammering and the orange glow of flame.

Evenings, the market caught a glimpse of him, buying dinner to carry back to the shop, often times large rolls of bread and thick goat's milk cheeses, cheap wine and the odd potato, most of which were roasted up over the forge's crucible, with surprising care given to make sure globs of sizzling cheese didn't drop into the iron. He'd become a different person for sure, throwing himself into his work with great gusto, happy for a chance to use his skills and happier still when he thought of what they'd bring him in gold.

On the morning of that fourth day, the dew glittered like millions of tiny silver coins upon the eaves. Outside the tavern arrived Bevel, sitting atop his wooden wagon, upon which were mounted a few canvas bags and other paraphernalia. Undoubtedly, substantial preparations had been taken to keep this wagon safe from harm, and a close inspection would reveal an overall strengthening of the oaken frame with light steel panels and rivets, even a small furnace or space heater in a fireproof well.

The wagon was hitched to a couple strange beasts of burden. Their necks stretched longer than that of a horse, while they had longer eyelashes and a strange sideways chewing motion. Stranger still, their bodies were covered in a thin, wooly coat like that of a sheep, though these creatures' wool was a palomino blend of brown and white. They looked solid, if somewhat unorthodox.

[Seraphima]

The heavy rocket-a rocket-a of the cart told Sara that Bevel had returned, and that it was time to go. She still wasn't entirely certain what was going on, or why he needed her dog - well, why he felt he needed her. She was blind and helpless, and very well acquainted with those facts. Why would someone pressure so hard for a liability?

"Come on, Maurz," she murmured, picking up her light pack and grabbing her cane. She made her way down the steps by herself, keeping one hand tight on the railing and probing her way down with her feet. She was fairly sure of the way down, having walked it several times over the last few days, but stairs were Sara's arch enemy. If she wasn't careful, she was bound to trip and fall.

As soon as she safely had both her feet on the ground floor, she made her way around the tables in the silent tavern, to the clinking glasses she could hear clearly as the tavern matron prepared for that day's business.

"Leaving us so soon, dearie?"

Sara smiled, holding out a few coins. "I'm afraid so. Will this cover me for the time I've spent here?"

"It'll do fine." She set the coins down behind the counter and hefted something up onto the bar. "Here, dearie. There's enough bread and cheese in there for a few days, and some meat for the dog, as well as some tea leaves for you."

"Thank you. How much do I --"

"Don't worry about it, dearie. Take care."

Sara lifted the heavy parcel. "You're very kind."

She and Maurz made their way out onto the street, where the dog at once started barking loudly. "Maruz! Shush." She turned her head to the waiting cart. "What do you have there that's setting him off like that?"

[Bevel]

Let's hope our schedules quit doing the incompatibility tango. XD

Chuckling, the drow glanced down at the new arrival. "Likely, it's -"

"- it's these damnfool llamas!" piped up a creakily familiar voice. There, sitting in the canvas covering the wagon, was old Pete, nestled in a small sinkhole between some barrel-and-crate-shaped protrusions in the covered cargo. "I says, 'get some oxen,' I did, but did Chubby 'ere listen? Baah."

The slight chill of the early morning caught the drow's breath and turned it to fog. "Right - the llamas, that's it...reliable beasts they are, cheap to feed and hardy." He shot a glance backwards, slitting his dark eyes and eager to draw attention away from the cart itself. Pete was facing the other way, and the girl...well, she was blind, so he wasn't overly concerned with any perusal she might make.

Bevel set the reins aside, helping the frail girl into her seat with one calloused hand. Hers was set up in bucket-seat fashion, with simple metal hand-rails for her to hold onto; nothing fancy, but geared to keep a blind person in their own seat during a bumpy ride. "Afraid I couldn't work in a suspension system on such short notice, m'dear-" -at this old Pete grumbled from the cargo bed- "- but this should be better than nothing." The metal was cool to the touch in the grey half-light of the morning.

The scent of something peculiar caught the dog's nose. Bevel noticed its snout twitch, and kept a ramp down so Maurz could jump on and off as he pleased.

"With that, we're off!" announced the drow. He gave the reins a twitch, and the two odd creatures -"llamas," were they?- clopped forwards, pulling the cart down the road and off towards the woods.

[Seraphima]

The deep rocket-a sound that the cart had made as it was going past changed to a runk-e runk-e beneath her. What was making it sound so heavy? Most carts made a light racket-a racket-a as they bounced along on cobblestone, and that changed to robet-um robet-um inside. While she couldn't explain what was making it sound so strange, even she could tell that it wasn't an average cart...and it wasn't just the use of llamas making it unusual.

Whatever it was, it had the old man grumbling and the potbellied Drow humming kind of smugly, so it couldn't be too bad, and Maurz was nestled in right beside her.

It didn't take long for the voices of shouting vendors, the clanging of hammer on steel in the smithy, and other town sounds to fade into distant murmurs, and then disappear beneath the sounds of birds chirping and cheebling to each other as they went about the business of survival. It was so hard to believe that there could be such things as zombies shambling around in woods that sounded so peaceful. The worst she'd been worried about were bears and wolves, and so far, those had stayed a respectful distance away for fear of Maurz and his powerful jaws.

If the affected area was about five days' walk away, it'd probably be two or three by cart. And meanwhile, she just held onto the cool metal bars as the little wagon jostled around and let old Pete grumble and murmur about how things were in HIS day.

[Bevel]

Morning wore on into afternoon, and the cries of birdsong filtered greenly through the forest path. The cart followed a well-worn path through the woods, where countless wheels had packed the dirt so hard it practically counted as stone. Small bridges and the occasional road sign pointed to the occupants that civilization stood a mere few hours in any direction.

Slowing the cart to a modest pace, Bevel unpacked a small cask of travel provisions. Despite his coarse exterior, the portly drow knew how to pack a good meal. The cask contained cheeses, soft bread from the morning's ovens and an earthenware jug of warm vegetable broth to dip it in. A jug of cool wine of unremarkable vintage still managed to satisfy the thirsty trio.

Pete ate with a knife, a remarkable sight in a moving cart. He spoke up around a mouthful of cheese: "I'm gettin' a mite tired of keepin' watch here. How long 'till your friends show up?"

"Can't say," replied the drow, slowing the llamas to a gentle walk. He eased the cart up and over a bridge, crossing a forest stream which bubbled below them. "I imagine we'll find them up some miles." That seemed to satisfy old Pete -or rather, as 'satisfied' as the codger was likely to get- and the old man went back to watching the forest.

That afternoon passed unremarkably as the sun strolled casually down its track to sit upon the edge of the world. Within the hour, the evening light turned the forest to fall, oranges and yellows filtering down through the leaves. Bevel pulled the cart over into a clearing and slowed the llamas to a halt.

"We'll camp here for the night. Pete, help me unpack the lean-to."

Upon one side of the cart was affixed a large roll of cavas, which Bevel and old Pete untied and rolled out. It became a crude sort of four-walled shelter, outside which Bevel set up the small cookfire furnace. The llamas he hitched to a sturdy tree with a trough of water brought from a nearby stream. Seraphima was welcome to do as she pleased during all this, whether it be helping Pete or simply resting in the shelter. Somehow, it was obvious to her that the drow wanted her in very good health.

A quarter hour after the cookfire was set up, Bevel returned with a leaf. Large, soft and sturdy, it felt more like fabric than leaf. "Tulip poplar," he told them, crushing the leaf for Maurz to smell. "Big grove of them about fifty paces east, and they're the closest thing you'll find to Alerian bathroom tissue in these parts."

"An' what would that be?" asked old Pete.

Bevel merely winced.

[Seraphima]

Sara had felt pretty useless when they made camp, since she didn't really have anything she could do without seeing. Most nights when she was wandering, she made due on bread crusts and slept with a blanket and her dog beside her; fire was just too dangerous. Having two seeing companions changed things, though, and while the men set up the shelter, she picked up various twigs and branches to help start the fire. Even in the dense grass, it wasn't too hard to find plenty of them.

After that, there just wasn't anything to do, and she sat out of the way, listening to the soft twill-eep of birds making their evening calls. It really didn't make sense to her, why Bevel had pushed so hard to have her come when there wasn't anything she could do to help.

"I still don't get it, Maurz," she sighed, getting a non-committal grumble from the dog. "But...here we are. I hope there aren't any zombies. I'd just be bait." That was a horrible thought. Who was so cruel enough to take someone so helpless as herself out to a painful death? "You won't let us be bait, right, Maurz?"

She sighed, petting him behind the ears. "But why go to all the trouble of making a secure seat and making sure I'm in as good a shape as I get? I just...don't understand."

When Bevel came back, Sara tried her best to explain the bathroom tissue. "It's kind of like gauze," she'd learned about it in Scara Brae when a merchant had offered it to her, but she'd decided to use her money toward other living expenses. "It feels kind of like a silk organza, but it tears easier, and it's definitely paper. Kind of expensive, though."

That said, she turned to Bevel, hand tight around Maurz's harness. "Please...I want to know the real reason you wanted me here. I'm not like Mr. Pete to know the way, or a magician to throw fire and make them all burn up, or even a swordsman to have a good chance of defending myself in case of an attack."

Her upturned face, tilted toward him, was completely earnest , her soft voice carried an intense urgency, and, distressed, she glowed a vibrant green. "Please..."

[Bevel]

Birdsong filled the ensuing pause as Pete shrugged and walked off, leaving Bevel to his wits.

Damn him.

The drow had been hoping to get away with his guise of ‘rollicking adventure and treasure’ for at least another few days before the questions started rolling in. The girl had been cooperative so far, which is likely why this sudden outburst caught him flat-footed. And what was he to say – ‘you’re just another cog in my treasure hunting scheme?’ That one could have worked at first, but now…well, now it just didn’t cover everything. The way the blind girl looked – well, maybe not looked but the same principle applied – at him, perhaps up to him caused his usual demeanor to slip…

Fingertips kneading his brow, Bevel cursed himself inwardly. You are NOT going soft on me, old boy, he told himself. She’s nothing more than a tool for acquiring the gold – a plot point in a story or another rivet in the machine.

“Fine,” he huffed resignedly. “It’s –“ – what? A gamble that you might actually be useful? No, it went beyond that. “Look – in engineering, there’s this thing called an eigen value, and it’s this part of a vector that’s necessary for the thing’s resolution…I’m not making any sense, am I?”

Her face confirmed this.

Shifting his weight, Bevel tried again. “Look – you’re the lynchpin of this expedition. There’s something about you. I’m no mage, and I can’t put my finger on it, but you’re under an ‘umbrella.’ A lucky umbrella, and one that’s looking for a few others to shelter under it to work out for the benefit of all.”

He’d suspected from the beginning, really, that the girl had some kind of lucky aura about her. Not the same one she used to light up like that, but some twist in the nature of the universe that seemed to be watching out for her. Why else would she have survived the walk deep through Concordia – coincidentally the same part that old Pete had found the gold?

Bevel’s face confirmed resignedly that he really hadn’t wanted to give this much away. “Understand now?”

[Seraphima]

The problem with language is that someone can mean one thing when they say it, but depending on the other person's mindset and gullibility, it can be construed a different way entirely. While Bevel meant well, his words only seemed to prove to the blind Sara that if things got dangerous for him, he'd leave her to die while he made good his own escape, and as his explanation wrapped up, the green light that had surrounded the girl like a nimbus slowly deepened into a soft, despairing blue.

"I see," she murmured softly, turning her face away from him. If she was that "important" to him as a sacrifice to the hungry souls of the swamp, running would be pointless; she'd only be caught. She'd gotten into a mess when tired and unsettled, and hadn't thought of questions until it was too late to do so. She'd walked straight into her doom, and brought her most loyal companion along with her.

Once more, her hand sought her dog's coat. You deserved better than this, Maurz. No matter what happened, she knew that he would stay and fight for her until the very end. She knew that even if she somehow survived being thrown to the proverbial wolves, her end was coming soon, and now she acutely regretted not having found a good family for the dog who had always been so faithful to her.

[Bevel]

Seraphima, being blind, relied upon her nonvisual senses to experience the world around her. Nearly all intelligent life on Althanas, though, was visually oriented; sight was chief among the five (or more) senses. Quite a bit of information gets conveyed through sight, even in a conversation, and chief among this is the concept of body language. Seraphima’s here was unmistakable – the turn of the face, uneasy shifting of the weight and a chromatic change to a worrisome blue all pointed to one thing.

It was thus painfully obvious, even to Bevel Kessler, that something was wrong.

The drow gazed into the treetops, where evening bled into their little clearing though gnarled old-growth branches. He ran a hand through his frazzled grey hair, affixing the other tiredly upon a hip. Women. Take anything you say and use it against you. That’s how it had been with his old flame Atalka, and before her Giacua, and before that there was Melli, then Iethne, Vela…

Right – old relationships not helping present ones. The only consistent woman-logic Bevel bothered with was the principle of fault causality; namely, any miscommunication or mistake from either party is the man’s responsibility.

In layman’s terms: It’s Always Your Fault.

Bevel frowned widely. If only people were as easy as machinery – just doing what they were told, able to be tinkered with without all the tedious diplomacy.

“Okay,” he finally began, after this long pause. Tapping a hidden reserve of heroic willpower, Bevel Kessler uttered those five hated words:

“…what did I say wrong?”

[Seraphima]

Sara shook her head in response to Bevel's question. "It wouldn't change anything, not now. And I'd rather spend these l -- next few days in peace. We like peace, don't we, Maurz?"

The dog let out a soft bark, his tail swishing the soft grass. Sara's blue aura faded away as she considered something else: if Maurizio had sensed any malign intent from the portly dark elf, he would have never let her speak to him, much less board his cart. He probably would have attacked their current companion if he thought it was necessary to keep her safe.

"You probably didn't mean anything by it. But it is incredibly difficult to understand." She sighed, turning her face to the warmth of the slowly-sinking sun. "I can't ever find anyone that wants to hire me for a job, so I can't settle down and take care of my dog, and now someone really wants me along for a chance of riches? It even seems more unrealistic because of the potential danger. So how..." she shook her head. "There doesn't seem to be any logic to my being here unless..." she sighed again, closing her mouth. She'd just risk upsetting the peace she wanted to have to voice the perhaps unwarranted concerns for her own life.

I'll probably die before winter hits anyway.

The thought sent a twitch through her lungs, and she spent a few minutes coughing moderately hard, all but doubled over.

"Let's just try and spend the next few days in peace..."

[Bevel]

Sorry about the wait; my muse completely died on me trying to work out a decent conversation-ender for Bevel.

“The next few days in peace,” replied Bevel analytically. Somehow, the girl had misconstrued his logic – on what end he couldn’t put his pudgy finger but it certainly involved at least her death. Perhaps she thought the whole expedition was doomed, or that Bevel was using her as bait, or some such nonsense.

“Next few days in peace,” he repeated, his eyebrow now cocked like a gunhammer. He intended to float her logic, balloonlike, into the air in order to puncture it before her. Ready, aim, fire: "Certainly none of us –‘specially not you- are going to die if I have any say in it. What would be the sense in that?” rhetoricized the drow.

“Now stop being silly,” admonished Bevel, striding past her and into the camp. He delivered a good scratch to Maurz’s ears in passing. “We’ve got dinner about to roast and a well-earned rest.”

The drow spoke truthfully. Pete had done well and procured a couple quail and a rabbit, which roasted up succulently over the open fire. Small drips of fat sent flares out of the campfire to lick at the slowly revolving meat. Bevel occasionally dropped in to season the meat with salt or dried red pepper from a leather pouch, though he mostly contented himself with preparing some vegetables he’d brought. Seraphima and Pete saw his spirits improve immensely as he worked, frustration melting away like butter into the potatoes.

“You lot are in luck!” grinned the drow, slicing one open. “Tonight we’ve got Grandmamma Kessler’s special Kachuk Pot-ale-toes, with emphasis on the ale.”

“Ha,” old Pete shot back. “Yer grandmamma were a dwarf’s lover? That’d explain a lot, ya great tub!”

Bevel grinned. “That’d be doin’ the dwarves a great disservice," countered the drow, "as I figure only someone as handsome as yourself could routinely bed 'em. Have a thing for the beards, do you?”

A flying rabbit head thus came flailing at Bevel's own at high speed. The drow dodged it while Maurz took off in pursuit.

At last, dinner was ready and the three dug in, sitting on stones around the fire. The fare was simple, but after such a long day the meat and potatoes went down well. Maurz gnawed on the rest of the rabbit as the fire retreated back into its embers and evening began to fade into night.

In high spirits after the meal, Bevel rested his palms behind him on the cool ground. “Long day, eh? I reckon you two had better turn in for the night. I’ll be taking first wa-”

The llamas spooked, pulling at their leather cords in the cool stillness of the forest. A lonesome thopTHOP thopthop, thopTHOP thopthop emanated from some distance away, growing louder every second.

Someone was coming.

[Seraphima]

Sorry for the wait. Your muse died, mine is dead. And sorry for the short post, there wasn't really much to do.

Maurz picked up his ears as the sound of horses trotting on the road approached the campsite, and he growled softly, edging closer to his master. Sara also listened, crumbling up a potato chunk to feed her dog. There were ten distinct hoof beats, which meant probably three horses and a couple of them just hit a stride at the same time.

"It's sunset, right? Isn't this a strange hour to have horses walking? I mean...in the town, where everything's close, it makes a little more sense, but out here?"

The horses were coming closer; Sara could hear them snort and breathe, and the clank of saddlebags on hide slowed as they came to a walk. Maurz started barking a warning to the intruders, but quieted as his owner's gentle hand found and tugged at his harness. The big black dog stood quietly beside her, dinner temporarily forgotten and tail wagging stiffly.

As the first horse broke through the light screen of brush sheltering their campsite from the road, its rider stopped it and dismounted.

"Bevel Kessler and company?" The voice was a smooth tenor, and would have been pleasant if it hadn't had a distinct nasal quality to it. When he stepped, Sara could hear the soft whap of a sheathed sword hitting his leg, and leather creaked around the horse's reins. The blind girl kept a gentle but firm hand on her dog; he had been known to charge armed strangers before, and a spooked horse could be dangerous for everybody.

[Taskmienster]

This thread has been sitting since before the beginning of this year (2009). Since no response has been made to create activity I am going to be moving this. If you would like it to be reopened please feel free to PM myself or another admin and they will be able to move it for you back to the Peaceful Promenade.

[Lye]

exp and gp added