Domdeedee-domdede-dede-domdom [Open to All]

[Fatina]

If Fatina didn't know of the level of craftmanship of the people of this town she would've flinched at the window; the clamor inside Last Night's Maiden was such it made the glass quiver on place. "- and the lad said, 'that's a knob alright'!"

A relentless onslaught of laughter kept flooding throughout the tavern and spilling into the streets along. A steady stream of whimsical music rolled, only fed the borderline hysteria of the party. That morning it seemed like nothing could quench her thirst; she wanted to get wasted, find a stranger, and have lots and lots of fun. Although secretly she hoped this time she wouldn't wake up half naked in the side of a dirt road.

The tavern was a popular venue for the young after a long day's work. During nightime it was purely illuminated, the only sources available being a couple dozen oil lanterns and torches sparsely placed. A dark area formed at the back of the tavern where a couple booths hid under the shadows unreached by the flicker of the fire. The view from outside had been obscured by a thick layer of condensation; the many bodies burning bodies all around her made the tavern feel like a fire pit. The air was thick with transpiration, that sweet/sour man stench she loved.

She could swear nothing was as hot as her thighs, though; not so far past noon she'd gotten frisky enough to dance non-stop to the music. Everybody seemed to be joining in on the fun, the young, the old, men and women; they were all too bloody smashed not to. Throughout the day and night she seemed to keep loosing garments here and there. She'd removed her breastplate as she found it constricting, and taken off her leather boots although she'd long lost sight of them. She didn't mind much, the soft fur lining of the sitting felt good against her skin, dancing especially, as she moved back and forth.

Her nighttime dream had come to fruition, the first part at least.

"That's a fair one, lass!" a man spoke out from the crowd, struggling to keep his footing he elevated his mug to Fatina "Next round is one me, boys!" the ecstatic cacophony elevated to ear-bursting proportions, "that is, if you may fix my knob later, miss" the man toasted again and after throwing Fatina a petty beguiling look released the Ale into his throat.

Fatina couldn't help but let out a crackle up in laughter "Next round's on him!" she said finally, raising her arms triumphantly, as if to join the fun. The men again cheered. Soon enough two came to her, one wraping his strong arm around her waist, as the other fit his head in between her legs... she ruffled the man's soft brown locks in between her fingers, grasping it a little each time she seemed to loose her balance.

Trusting on an enibriated man to carry her on his shoulder was probably not the wisest of choices, then again she too was to drunk to care if he dropped her. She was now the life of the party, and she was loving it.

[Breaker]

Underwood was a transient town. A place where hungry travelers could grab a meal and a night's rest on their way from just about anywhere on Corone to anywhere else. Joshua had hiked from the Scara Brae Ferry Landing that afternoon. By the time the sun went down again, he intended to reach the city of Radasanth. He could have pushed himself through the night and planted the Breaker Boots on the City's well known cobblestone before the first glowing rays of morning, but something pulled him to stop at the Peaceful Promenade.

The bed-and-breakfast town represented chaos to Joshua. The last time he leased a room at the Promenade he'd ended up in an argument with a young girl and a fist fight with a pair of scholarly ogres. The girl, Lillian, had later been instrumental in his downfall during the great battle in the Cell. He could have thanked her, for his soul had chosen enlightenment over death that day and risen from his broken body to explore the wonders of the Eternal Tap.

The streets of Underwood were mostly silent. It was the roar of the crowd at the Promenade, then, that had drawn him to it.

Ever since Joshua re-embodied physical form on Althanas, memories seeped into his mind like rainwater finding cracks in the ceiling. But only some of the memories came from his life. Others came from his time spent as a being of pure energy, sensations and perceptions he could barely decipher. At times those ethereal moments gave him a sense of purpose or direction, but mostly they felt like reading a book written in a foreign language and unknown alphabet.

The stream of consciousness expanding his memory was a blessing after having the demonic Breaker-persona in the back of his mind for so long. What amazed him was that the more he remembered, the more he learned, the more his capacity to learn increased. And his desire. Perhaps that desire for stimuli was what put his hand on the door and pushed his body to the raucous interior. He was no longer a man of preservation. He had become a being of purpose.

If only I could figure out that purpose...

His six senses snapped to work like hyperactive hunting dogs. The scented candles and oily incense couldn't cover the smell of alcohol in sweat. Josh found a current moving through the crowd and slid into it unnoticed. People pressed close but didn't come in contact with him, his penetrating eyes and direct walk carried him quickly to the bar. Over the laughter and screams of the crowd, through the twangy bar music, he heard the bartender utter something to one of the serving crew about the Dwarven whisky...

"... the finest I've ever tasted..."

Joshua's tongue wet his lips. A long time since he'd felt the pleasure of a good scotch on his palate. His eyes, sharp as any falcons, picked out the bottle, hidden where only customers who knew to ask for it would see. Well practiced vocal chords ordered two glasses of the fine blend, using its Aleraran name. The barman's pupils dilated, but any notion of deception vanished when he saw the weight of the gold coin those callused hands left on the counter.

Aside from his wardrobe which consisted of a black collared shirt, black pants, and the black Breaker Boots, Josh felt he fit in perfectly at the bar. He could feel the energies of the people all around him with his magical sixth sense, and detected no malevolence. Even so his eyes roamed the tangle of arms and legs diligently, looking for body language cues of violence.

Feeling guided by something more than his free will, Josh smiled at a nearby woman with long brown hair. Not quite handsome enough that she'd have asked me to dance, he thought as he handed the woman the second whisky and sipped his own. But just enough that she won't say no. He leaned in close and whispered in her ear, caught the aroma of roses from her hair and a recent pressing from her pleated dress.

The raven-haired woman pulled Josh onto the dance floor and pressed herself close. As they swayed to the music and sipped their drinks, he guided her on a path between the others that kept everyone out of eavesdropping range. And as the minutes slipped away she told him everything she knew about the constantly changing population of Underwood.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

Every time I hit the road, following up a lead or two on some rare tomes to add to my humble little shop, I promise myself that I'd never stop in Underwood. Under no circumstances. Keep going, Maddy, I tell myself. There's nothing for you here anymore.

And yet, every time, I wind up delaying myself in this tavern; The Peaceful Promenade.

Why? Every time I push open the heavy oak door, I'm greeted by the same cacophony of drunk brutes and loose women looking to satisfy a few carnal urges. I hate the crowd. I hate the noise. I hate the smell. I hate the drink, but not quite as much--ah, yes, that'd be it.

I swore off my rampant alcoholism the day that I threw my daggers into the back of my closet, but old habits... They die hard. I'm nowhere near as bad as I used to be, but I still find it in me to enjoy a good drink every now and again. A little sip after closing up shop, a shot after dinner, and a third to chase my morning headache away... Maybe a good brew with lunch, too...

And so, I found myself sitting in the same dark corner of the tavern that I usually sat in. I had in front of me a collection of hard-to-find fairy tales from Raiaera--one of several copies I picked up, among other things, on this particular expedition. Flipping through the worn, faded pages, I happened upon a particular story about a young pyromancer studying in an academy who sought revenge on a rival class of cryomancers for the murder of his school's archmage. I could've sworn that I saw a stage adaptation of this story performed in Radasanth not too long ago... I just didn't remember the play ending with the entire school of cryomancers boiling to death...

They do say that fairy tales were meant to scare children into behaving (and even more importantly, going to bed on time), so I can't fault this ancient text any.

I had flipped the page to begin reading the next grim fairy tale when the barmaid arrived with my shot. "Here y'are miss," she spoke in a loud accent. "A shot o' Dwarven whiskey." I nodded a thanks. I quickly threw back the small glass, letting the liquor pour down my throat. I immediately regretted it. I coughed furiously for a bit, slamming the glass down hard on the table. A few tears welled up in my eyes as my throat burned. Alright, Maddy. You've had your drink. No more; you've still got a good day's worth of traveling to go. You need to be in one piece, okay?

Before the woman could turn to help another poor fool, I raised a finger. "One more, please," I cried out hoarsely.

Dammit.

I wiped my eyes dry with my black sleeve as the barmaid deftly wove between the dirty, smelly patrons on her way back to the bar. I closed the book, not wanting to happen upon a tale that would give me nightmares. I've seen some horrible things back in my day, but nothing is more dangerous and frightening than the imagination. While waiting for my next shot, I was content to just sit back and watch the patrons do their thing.

[Breaker]

As the clamor of the crowd swelled between songs Josh managed to trade his dancing partner for a three-pointed leather cap. The brunette seemed pleased enough; the benevolent barterer was so well dressed he might have been a tailor. They melted back onto the dance floor as Josh moved in the opposite direction. His hazel eyes looked ice blue, glazed over, drunk and happy. He staggered on occasion and grinned loosely at everyone, chatting carelessly when the press of people forced him to stand still. He personified a part of the group, and as a part of it he knew the proper etiquette. The ebb and flow of the other patrons pushed him gently towards the band, where he left a friendly contribution for the music.

As he passed a quiet table his right hand swept the hat off, tussled his shaggy hair, and then made way for the poncho his left had found draped over a chair. The coarse wool garment completed the look of another local out for a round of drinks. He chose a quiet nook near the back of the pub and leaned on the cool wooden wall. Found a half-full pack of cigarettes in a denim pocket inside the poncho and lit one with a match proferred by a nearby patron. Tobacco stung his tongue and nicotine doped his head with a pleasant buzzing, like he was flying again, an entity of energy observing the universe.

He exhaled a plume of smoke and scanned the room throuh its ghostly tendrils. Behind the fake drunken haze he compartmentalized each face and applied what little useful information he had gleaned from the brunette. There wasn't anyone of particular status or value in the whole place, at least not that she knew of. But she had pointed him towards the drug dealer with the best product. As he moved towards the target, he ran through the list of faces in his head to see if any of them sparked recognition.

Suddenly wanting to sit down, he staggered to a nearby table and sprawled out in a chair next to the only other occupant, a reedy man in a hooded cloak. The fellow appeared to either be asleep, or simply not notice Joshua's arrival due to his contemplation of the ceiling.

Josh stretched and leaned closer to the hooded patron. Muttered something, and the not-so-unconscious pusher inclined his head in return. A small sack of gold emerged from beneath the poncho then vanished into the depths of the cloak. Seconds later a smaller parcel repeated the journey in reverse.

As Josh stood up he leaned over to shake the seated man's hand. In the instant his torso shielded his hands from the rest of the room, he dealt the dealer a stunning blow to the point of his chin. The cloaked figure slumped back in his chair. Josh roared with laughter at something the man hadn't said, and picked his pockets while jesting about straightening up the other's attire.

Moving through the crowd again, he had to step carefully. Fittin in with the crowd meant people were not shy to bump up against him, and the pockets of his borrowed poncho were crammed full of... whatever the best pusher in Underwood usually carried. He stopped at the end of the bar nearest the exit and appeared to examine its varnished surface while waiting for service.

He had recognized one of the women at the bar. It took a couple minutes, but the face clicked with the name and then details flooded back. Some painful, others proud.

Madison Freebird... I wonder if you believe these coincidences occur for no reason?

Almost certain the librarian had not noticed or recognized him, he addressed the approaching barmaid in a coarse, covert voice.

"Hey, Miss, what's the place next door called?" He gave her a half smile and she sniffed in return, angling her body away. He could only ask so many questions before he'd need to pay for her attention.
"Last Night's Maiden, not that any of our patrons would attend that shack." Josh shook his head and tipped her a half bow with a flare of his cap.
"No matter, I'm meetin a business partner in a private room there for drinks and work. Thought I'd have a little fun here first." The barmaid sniffed again and started to move away. Josh rapped his knuckles on the countertop.
"That dwarven whisky, what's it called? I'll take a bottle to go with me. Probably wouldn't find that kind of quality next door, am I right?"

The hen-like woman still frowned at him but accepted some of the dealer's gold in exchange for a corked bottle of whisky. Josh angled it to catch the light from a lantern and read the label. Yurik's Firewhisky, it said in Dwarven scrawl. A description covered the back, but he could not comprehend the sentence structure. Best of all, the bottle was sealed by a square of wax at the top. Like a jigsaw puzzle, his mind organized tiny bits and pieces about Madison Freebird, making a plan that he couldn't quite understand. Then again, he couldn't exactly look at the picture on the box for reference.

"One more thing, Miss." He said, and snared the barmaid's wrist as she tried to shuffle away. "What is that woman's name? The bookworm with dark hair and too much makeup under her eyes?"

The server's pupils and lungs exapanded in indignation but before she could deny knowing Madison's identity, Josh pressed on. "Don't ye' think she can keep hiding from us!" He whispered furiously, words like a march on a muted snare drum. "You and all her friends can play dumb as long as you like, we'll..."

The damage was done. The barmaid gathered her wits enough to scream, but before she could make a sound Josh poked her hard in the belly with the end of the whisky bottle, temporarily stealing her breath. She coughed and leaned on the counter, glancing with frightened disbelieving eyes first at Madison Freebird, then at the empty space where the man in the cap and poncho had stood. A zephyr of cool air woke her from her trance as the nearby door slammed shut.

Josh chuckled to himself genuinely as he entered Last Night's Maiden. Although the outfits of the occupants and the odour of grain alcohol described a lower socio-economic class, the music sounded the same and the dancing could have been a choreographed copy. Strange, he thought, anyone could get these two places mixed up.

The Maiden only had two small private dining rooms, but a few more coins from the comandeered purse rented him the available one. "I'm expecting my employee," he told the serving girl who passed him a tray with two glasses and ushered him to the oaken door before scurrying away, "She's a young pretty thing with dark hair. But don't let her in unless she's got the volume I asked for! Absmentminded slip of a girl..." his voice trailed off into harmonic humming as he twisted the brass doorknob and stepped into the room. It lacked the lush rugs and roaring fireplaces of the Promenade, but contained everything he needed.

A sturdy square oaken table claimed the centre of the small area, surrounded on each side by a comfortable looking carved yew chair. A colorful oil painting of an Akashiman Battle Ark hung on the wall facing the door. Josh sealed himself off from the noise of the main room and sat on the edge of one of chairs. With expert speed and dexterity he unpacked the items lodged in the poncho's considerable pockets. While his hands worked he examined the painting and tried to remember Madison as much as possible, and wondered vaugely if Last Night's Maiden might be named after a ship.

Abandoning the notion like a sinking vessel, he examined the spoils of his twenty minutes spent at the Promenade. He peeled the wax carefully off with the cork still inside it and pocketed the entire object, then poured himself three fingers and added a couple drops of spring water from the pitcher on the tray. Sipping the liquid fire, he moved onto the two cloth bags he had taken from the dealer next door. One was the coin purse, which from its heft still carried the equivalent of at least five hundred gold pieces. The other contained dozens of small paper parcels like the one Josh purchased before robbing the pusher. He was vaguely disapointed when he broke open one of the parcels and found it contained nothing but granulated sugar. Granted, the sugar had been enchanted so as to cause waves of euphoria when consumed, but it wasn't very creative on the alchemist's part.

He left the packets of happy sugar on the platter with the water jug. The spare glass he placed directly beside the last item taken from the sugar dealer. It was a beautiful balisong knife with a three inch black diamond blade. The handles, which when twirled moved silently and smoothly, appeared to be made from sea serpent's scales and tanned dark grey.

Leaving the bottle and his warming drink on the corner of the table, Josh stacked two of the chairs against the back wall. There the flickering fire rays cast by the torches over the doorway barely reached. He removed the hat and empty poncho and draped them over the second chair. After a few adjustments, the shadows of the small room made the improvised dummy look passably like a man seated on a chair. Josh lit two cigarettes and, keeping one for himself, rested the other on the arm of a chair so it appeared the dummy was caught, poisde on the verge of taking a drag.

Satisfied with the ruse, Josh left one of the chairs next to the table and took the other, along with his glass and bottle of whisky, to the corner of the room nearest the door's hinges. There he sat, and sipped, and smoked, and remembered. He knew Madison Freebird was a trained killer, knew she had a temper. He could only conclude she would not respond to well to a stranger asking questions about her in a bar.

So why am I luring that murderous wildcat into a small space with me?

Josh felt certain he'd had a reason, but couldn't quite recall.