Tabula Rasa - Entry 1

[Gable Rose]

---Relatively Closed, unless your joining is absolutely a necessity---



Entry 1
I can’t believe I’m actually writing in one of these little books, seems like just yesterday I was mocking
Johnston about her obsession with the notebook she kept at her side at all times. Granted, when it comes down to it, I figure it’s better to be well informed later with things I have written than shit-out-of-luck with things I’ve forgotten. So, here we go.

First and foremost, as this is the first page of the notebook and probably the only one that will matter to other people in the long run… My name is Gable Rose. I’m level-headed, strong-willed, and tend to say what’s on my mind more often than think about what I’m saying. I prefer to be remembered and known as a girl who can stand on her own two feet. I am, and I don’t think it’s well deserved, what most would call a bitch. If you find this book, or steal it, and I find you… you better have one hell of an excuse for why it is not with me and is somehow with you.

On with the story, I suppose.

I am from a place far removed from what Althanas, as I’ve come to learn the world is called, would know as common. There is some place nearby, on the mainlands, called Alerar that I’ve heard rumors of. From what I heard, it’s the closest thing to what I’m used to. Cloudy skies, not from swelling thunderheads but from the smog and grime of industry too light to simply settle on the ground. A nation built on the foundations of science and technology, a world like my own back home. Home for me is across a massive ocean, separate from this pathetic land. I call it The Empire, because that’s what it was called – would never have guessed that there was a possibility of another empire in the entire world but that’s understandable when you consider I didn’t even know there were other people outside of my own. The Empire is a testament to the will of a human mind, a place built on the genius of a thousand people, by the sweat of our backs, and a certain pride in our hearts. It’s nothing like Corone or Scara Brae, the only two places I’ve yet to travel to.

Castles with motes and walls, barely established pack dirt roads, and a collective of people so infatuated with the idea of magic and religion that their minds are completely closed… that’s what the people that aren’t from The Empire are like. That is exactly what I’ve found myself stuck with. How I found this place, well that’s a mystery completely. My schooner was loaded with supplies, most of which I used up on the trip across the ocean – including all of a very generous supply of rum. I figured there had to be something else out there, never did I expect that the ‘something else’ would be nations of diverse people stuck in ages The Empire had long since passed by.

They gawk at me, smile kindly but whisper harshly behind my back. It’s something I’ve gotten used to, to tell the truth. I figured I had two options, ignore the rude people and their uncivilized cultural issues… or challenge every single one to a duel. With a notion of peace, if only because I’d have to kill a lot of people if I went challenging every person to whisper as I passed, I’ve made my way from the Brae to Corone’s quaint little town of Underwood. A sleepy town, filled with happy but droll people. Figure I’ll make it my first true stop on the way to exploring more and more of what seems to be the greater – in population and expansion of said population compared to The Empire – part of the world of Althanas.

[Gable Rose]

Gable Rose gently tapped her heel against the hardwood floors of the Peaceful Promenade. It was a simple gesture, not overly loud, but one with the obvious intent of gaining the attention of the barkeep. The man, a heavy set individual, pushed his bulk off his elbows and turned his attention away from an older man and a deep personal conversation. His eyes fell on the thin figure at the end of the bar. Impetuous to a fault, the woman cocked her head, tightened her lips, and glared at him. A whisper passed his full lips before he left the other man, an obvious local. Wide bodied with more than enough weight for a person and a half, the barkeep made his way to Gable with snickering following in his wake from whatever private quip he had shared.

“What’s the rush little lady?” He said with a wide smile. Gable Rose tightened her glare and shook her head. It was one thing to be ignored by the man, to ignore business and coin itself, but quite another to be insulted for expecting even the slightest hint of decent service. “Ale? Mead? Maybe something softer or sweeter, like a nice wine or glass of water?”

“’Ow ‘bouts ya keep yer pig swill fer the lass’s ‘n get me a whiskey?” The fiery red-head spat through a pretty smile. She plucked a heavy gold coin from one of her pouches and placed it on the counter. Instead of jumping at the sight of the money, the barkeeper simply picked it up and examined it. “It’ssa piece fr’m m’ ‘ome, a good two gol’ piece w’rth ‘ere, eh?”

A casual shrug and a nod to the young woman and the overweight man poured a small glass of almond scented liquor. The aroma was strong enough to waft as only the strongest of smells could. Through the distasteful breeze of sweat and dirt it cut like a knife. Gable’s mouth nearly watered with the scent alone, longing to sip at it, wishing that the grimy town was even half as advanced to have ice to go along with it. “It’s no shot,” he commented as he placed the glass on the counter and corked the unlabeled bottle. “But it’s still got its kick, doll. I’d be careful of that, one of the strongest—“

The explorer, long since used to the heavily distilled and attempted purity of spirits back home, took a sip as he began to talk. It was bitter, had a stale tinge after it passed the picky palette, but was close enough to what she was looking for. Before the man could even finish expressing the strength and robust properties of the whiskey – or what the backwater bastard passed as some form of it – Gable had already thrown the entire glass back and swallowed it all in one gulp. “The name’s Lenard,” he said with a cheeky grin and an extended palm he casually attempted to wipe on his stained apron. “And you might be?”

“Gable Rose, or Ms. Rose as some ‘ave tak’n ta callin’ me.” She let her thin fingers wrap around his meaty hand, thankful for the thin layer of leather that separated her from the undoubtedly unwashed and still sweaty grip. Lenard tipped the bottle after uncorking it again and this time poured two glasses. “Kno’ of ‘nythin’ ta do ‘round ‘ere?”

The two knocked back another small glass of liquor and began to chat. It was an hour later before the two finally truly separated from their chatting. An empty bottle sat next to Gable, who half-drunkenly slapped the barkeeper on the shoulder before turning to watch the slow escalation of tavern-goers file through the doorway. The creaking door, splintered and worn from years of use, swung to and fro as men of all shapes and sizes slowly labored into the Promenade. Each one took a seat in a specific order that spoke volumes as to how often they wasted away the night in the tavern. Gable watched for a while, waiting for something interesting to catch her interest, watching as each time the door opened the sun fell just a little more.

[TheOrganism]

((My being in this thread is approved by Gable.))

Tyler Burnett sat alone, like always, at his usual table in The Peaceful Promenade. It didn’t shock the middle-aged hunter that as sundown neared the town of Underwood, the most popular bar in the town was now collecting patrons by the handful. It also didn’t shock him to see the same familiar faces, faces of people who flocked to the place like sinners on the Sabbath. Tyler figured the popularity of the tavern was due to the cities nightlife. Or lack of nightlife, for that matter. It baffled the hunter that in one of the most dangerous woodland areas in Althanas, such a humdrum town could exist.

Late night trips to the tavern had become more of a routine to Tyler, than a casual outing. He had been in the town for nearly a month, trying to set up a base camp for his group, The Triad. They were a group made of three men, including Tyler, that's sole purpose was hunting and killing beasts. Anything that had fangs or fur, and made prey of humans, was targeted by the group. However, much to Tyler's dismay, he was falling into the trend of a typical Underwood resident, and it made him sick.

“Bartender! I’ll have another!” He declared as he approached the bar, fighting hard to dig out two gold pieces from the pockets of his black overcoat. By this time he was seven beers deep and his pockets were now beginning to feel a bit wider and a hell of a lot deeper than when he was sober.

Damn pockets. He thought just before finally clasping two metallic coins. Aha!

Liquor seemed to affect the man differently than it would a normal person. Instead of giving him a boost of courage and putting him on some insane ego complex, it humbled him. Whatever confidence he had while sober was ripped away from him, leaving him in a rather strange state of paranoia. Around every corner, under every table, behind every smiling face -was something sinister- at least that’s what he figured. His hazel eyes spun around like mice in a wheel, until stopping suddenly on the bartender, Lenard, who seemed to already have his beer ready and waiting.

Well, not so much Lenard, as the redhead that sat just in front of his beefy figure. To Tyler she was beautiful, and above that, she was different. A new face amongst a sea of older, less appealing ones. If it weren’t for his current state of liquor induced bashfulness, he would’ve jumped the young lass right then and there. Instead, he just gave her an awkward, open-mouthed grin and said,

“Hi…”

[Gable Rose]

Alcohol had the funniest effect on Gable; it often warmed her throat and stomach, but never truly seemed to get into her blood. She could handle as much as any man, sometimes more. There was a limit for everyone though, and Ms. Rose was quickly growing close to that precarious line between tipsy and trashed. To stop drinking was out of the question, it was more a matter of slowing down. The woman smiled as Lenard topped off her small glass. All in all, Underwood seemed like a place that was not half as bad as expected. The people were dull, the majority of them rather lifeless, but their routine and way of life was fun to watch. Slowly moving about the tavern like zombies, the majority of the patrons were men. A few women were scattered about as well, but none even close to the age of Gable. Deliberate paces, slow movements, she couldn’t help but smile at every wandering eye that came her way.

“Dull little place, no surprise their eyes are locked on me. If I was them, I’d be staring at someone with my strange attire with a rapier and buckler too.” Gable chuckled to herself at the thought of looking out of place, and the thought of how she must look to them at the same time. Little did she know that the wandering eyes, wide with intrigue and interest, were pointedly delivered as much to her low-cut corset as anything.

A low, quiet, soft tone caught her ear. It was odd that such a whisper could be heard in the growing din of chatter that filled the Promenade. Gable turned towards the voice. Taking a sip, she grimaced at the taste before turning to the man. He was a charming looking guy with messy grey hair. Her vibrant green eyes scanned him up and down, instinct taking over. Weapons came in to view first and foremost, followed closely by whatever protection he had. Having been a duelist for years, Gable always sized up anyone that could potentially cause a problem.

“’ello ther’ yerself.” She said with a charming smile in an attempt to overcome her speech that most had referred to as ‘complete jibberish’. The man was hardly an eye-sore, but not exactly the woman’s type either. His long black overcoat was, however, rather dashing. “So, wha’ br’ngs ya ‘round these ‘ere parts?”

[Gable Rose]

((Since I started this, I’m going to try and continue it. If The Organism wants to jump back in at any time he is more than welcomed to.))


Quiet as he had been when he approached, the man did not respond to the inquiry by the red-haired woman. She shrugged and took another sip of her shot, placing the gentle glass back on the table with a heavy hand that spoke volumes about not only her sense of how a woman should behave, but also about just how drunk enough weak alcohol could make anyone. It was like any other ability or skill on Althanas, practice enough, no matter how terribly you are at it, and eventually it’ll all start to catch up. Lenard caught her hazy eyes from the end of the long bar and smiled at her. In a strange and sudden desire to extend some sort of deep-seeded and forgotten happiness, Gable smiled back and waved at the man in a friendly if not childishly sloppy way. The barkeep laughed. She could not hear it over the din of the tavern, or the annoyingly twangy plucking of strings from some random instrument by a self-proclaimed bard near the fireplace. However, the mirth that he showed in his motions made her smile that much more, and she quickly joined in jovially.

“Ya know what kid?” She said as she knocked back the last of her shot and slammed the thick base of the glass back on the wood. “I like you. ‘ell, I love ya!” Gable spread her arms out towards the crowd of denizens, catching the immediate attention of only the closest and least occupied. She stumbled forward with the sudden motion; balance a fleeting lover gone before the sun rose. “I love all of ya! Und’rwoo’ is grea’…”

Gable belched, mouth closed and hands quickly returning to her wide eyed face. Bile and still burning alcohol bubbled up her throat, threatening to return with a vengeance at the anger of finding no more room in the stomach. In an instant she was out the door. The cool night air met her like a sobering slap to the face, a shocking attempt to wake her. Female grace was tossed aside, as was any notion of standing up straight or trying to look at one point without it spinning to her side and eventually upside down. She swallowed, hard. The vile up-heave was forced down like a bad cough medicine. Her stomach complained loudly. “Oh, shuddup. Ya’ve ‘ad werse.”

In moments, the red-head went from a hand on the Promenade to balance her to stumbling through the dirt streets. A passing eye, a delayed stare, none of them would have been remotely noticed. Gable was in her own world, a stupor that staggered her and caused reality to twist and turn like a top. Within a matter of minutes her feet failed her on a loose stone and she fell to the ground. Her gloved hands stretched out instinctually, but misjudged the entire distance and which way the ground currently was facing. With a crash she was rolling into a shallow gutter, blessedly dry from the month of bad weather.

Overhead the stars watched her accusingly. Her green eyes tried to focus enough to pin-point where exactly she was in the world, where she had come from. Anything to be a base for her security. Foreign, unknown stars condescendingly looked down, winking as they did so. Gable closed her eyes to keep them from their spinning taunts, only to dwell further on where she had come from. Panic, concern, and anxiety quickly overcame her, leaving her scared and lonely. Slumber came almost as quickly as she closed her eyes, a wayward thought coming to mind just before it did. “Alcohol should be drunked… dranked… put in your body responsibily. Or however that’s said.”