Crossing Paths

[Druides]

She stood at the top of the stairwell. The hands pushed against her as gently as a lover pushing her down into bed. She stared in astonishment at the man, never having the chance to offer any resistance. She fell backwards. Their eyes met. She’d never forget the callousness in those eyes. Then, one foot left the ground. Lyrra did a dancer’s twist to try and get her feet back on the floor, but her foot found only unforgiving, terrible air. First she saw him, then the wall, then the ceiling as she toppled backwards. Everything seemed to slow. It was a pause in time. Then it rushed back in deadly force, and she hit the stairs. It felt as if every bone in her body had exploded. She…

…screamed. Lyrra jerked away, panting heavily. She was suddenly aware of where she was. She was staying in an inn called the Peaceful Promenade. It was the crossroad between realms. She meant for quite some time to travel there, but when she finally arrived, nothing had changed. The night haunts still tormented her. Always in her dream she fell. Lyrra’s hands moves frantically over her body, feeling for some hurt, but there was no scratch, not even a bruise. The fear was still there. It made her feel sick and sour. Bile rose in her throat. I am like some feeble child, cowering under the blankets. When will I ever be able to grow up? Her stomach roiled. She leaned away from her cot and wretched.

Lyrra realized someone was pounding on the door. The room was dimly lit, the knocks muffled by the thick door. How long have I been sitting here with the taste of vomit in my mouth? A hoarse voice called, “Sir, sir, are you unwell?” Even through the door she recognized the voice of one of the inn workers. Lyrra smoothed her hair and glanced down to see that she was decent. As ever, she was fully clothed.

“Yes,” she called out. “Nothing is amiss, sir.”

The door opened anyway. The blunt jawed innkeep peered in. A club was gripped in his hand. His anxious look turned to mild annoyance and concern when he saw Lyrra sitting there. She knew what he must be seeing. The vomit on the floor; her haggard and pale; the sheets twisted around her legs. She stood up, brushing down her druid’s robes. “Forgive me,” she blurted as she grasped for a reply. “I was at the mead too much last night.” Liar. “I am well now.” Liar!! She didn’t know why she lied; why not say the simple truth… that she’d had a night haunt? The man relaxed, however, and lowered his club. Likely he’d gotten half a thousand incidences when his patrons were too much in the beer. They did not lack for mead and meat at the Promenade, of which the guests partook liberally. “If you fetch me a washrag, I will clean this up at once,” she vowed.

“No, my lady,” he said gently. “I apologize for the intrusion. If you would be so kind as to go down to the main hall for an hour, I shall have a boy freshen and clean your room.”

Lyrra was too weak to refuse. She took her small purse from her bag. Everything was packed, she was dressed, and ready to leave in an instant. It struck her, however, that a drink of tonic water would be a good way to break her fast. Within minutes she was down by the table. It was early, dim morning so not even a quarter of the seats were filled. A great hearth contained a roaring fire that warmed the air, but brought out all the scents of sweat and odor and filth mixed with food. Lyrra sat at a generous booth against the side of a wall. A mug of mead and a glass of fizzing water stood before her, and Lyrra looked from one to the other. A tantalizing choice. She herself looked as if she might prosper from both. She was rumpled of hair, haggard and pale of face, unkempt of clothing, and under her robes her feet were bare. Occasionally her green eyes would raise, meet a person’s, then glance back down where she was using a knife to carve symbols into the oak surface of the table.

[OOC: Anyone is free to join me in the main room of the Promenade. We'll see where things go from there!]

[Reiko Valour]

It was almost criminal how energetic the Draconis was feeling at this particular morning, specially with consideration that there was nothing promised or arranged for anything this early on. No that is usually when we get hit with drive, but when hit with the requirement of labour or some deal brokered that demanded early hours... well the pillows would feel especially soft, the malleable perception of a persons senses were horribly cruel in their trickery at times. Still for Reiko it was harder for his mind to play tricks with him in order to gain a few minutes more sleep, warmth meant nothing when the being himself pumped it out in greater amounts than some simple feather filled bag could. This is why on this early morn he had abandoned the hay pile of his night-time rest; quite the risk offering him that, oh well it had worked out nicely.

Huge, clawed bare feet padded and clacked their way through the streets, bringing with them the rest of Reikos form. Stray fragments of old stitching and... immaculate repairs he had made many nights before jutted and marred the outline of his highly darned trousers. Through the odd hole or two it was possible to glimpse a little stark black among the reddy orange radiance of his fine scales. Hoodie, fitting nickname for his garment that had built up over time, was in just such a condition as well. Only thing that ever looked in good condition any time on the Draconis was his own body, the smoothly scaled and carefully tattooed snout poking out from his drawn up hood. Though the sight of it was somewhat hampered by the large amounts of lengthy blonde hair that was forced out from the cranial confinement.

Anything could find Reiko on this day, new job opportunities... new romances, he had to admit those were among his favoured of possibilities but maybe some more mundane but interesting venture would thrust itself upon him... or be dragged out with his claws into his existence.

Before that, think I'll visit the water-hole.

Never had much of a tongue for the sweetness of mead and with a slightly more sensitive nose the ill odours of inbrediation didn't bring him much pleasure. But there was conservation to be had in these places... early on anyway... there were darling wenches in the more seedy establishments where he could study all the wonderful acting of a dishonest female upon some poor sap, there were greater subtlties to be witnessed in those performances than some lauded performance artists upon the stage. His head shook at the thought, that was blatantly obvious, after all a stage artist had to act up large for the entire audience to understand. Momentary glance was given to his large lethally equipped hands and realised that nine times out of ten if he attempted such a career he'd either get the role of villain, brainless monster or main man during some horrible transformation that will be cleared up long before the climax.

These idle thoughts had carried him through the doors of the Promenade and up to a suprisingly bare counter for the passing and purveying of fermented vegetable drinks and other assorted liquid concoctions that allow beings to waste their evenings in damaged philosophical ways. Always a lark. Some brief, simple exchanges were made of verbage along the topics of 'Anything going?' and 'Not a bloody thing'. Then another material exchange this time was made, a water skien plopped onto the counter along with a handful of coins. His many relations had always taught him to boil water in the wild for consumption, good for the temperature but he'd never suffered any harm from the cold stuff in towns, sometimes shook him awake.

"Alright if I unwrap?... not many folk in the way"

The barman just raised a brow until the Draconis presented the dark coloured soak rags wrapped around his tail tip. Not knowing any better they agreed and with a flourish of heat and colour... after some hefty rubbing and buffing with another rag... the vital flame of a Fizlen Draconis burst into life.

"Just watch where you wag it."

"Don't fret, I'll put it out if things pick up this early on."

Nod of acknowledgement was given and the carefree reptillian swiped up his filled skien, stashed it in the wrecked and ruined old backpack he held a handful of little trinkets within and carted his lanky heat-spreading form to a spot he'd he feel cosey enough at and plonked down at a modest little two seater table area near enough to the fire. Glancing on either side to make sure no patron was shuffling in the way before allowing his flame tipped tail to stretch out along the flooring even nearer the blaze. His claws meanwhile busied themselves with emptying out his pack in handfuls designated by size and texture, sorting through a few simple wooden puzzles he'd been lucky enough to get ahold of during his so far disappointingly few ventures in the great wild world.