Down by the water (Soloish)

[Tubal]

OOC: This is a semi closed introduction thread for Tubal. It will probably be a painful read but it's been a while since I've written. If you feel like your character can join in some how, just PM me and we'll talk about it!

"Hey! Leave Ruth be!” Tubal shouted at the group of men struggling with the mule, trying their hardest to coax her down the gangway leading from the ship to the docks of Scara Brae.

“This beast has a name?!” One yelled back, frustration straining his voice.

“Of course she does, you fool. She won’t move for you, any of you. Back the hell off!” He swept his arms to push them out of the way. He didn’t even take into account that the crewmen could easily overwhelm him. Although they were Dwarves and stood no higher than his chest, they made up for it with their stocky builds. That didn’t matter at this moment though, Ruth was frightened and Tubal couldn’t blame her. She has been packed aboard in one of the small storage areas. She was also drunk off a barrel of whiskey she had somehow broken into; that didn’t help matters at all, nor did it make the Dwarven Captain happy. Not one bit.

Somewhat to Tubal’s surprise the crew backed off, most likely out of sheer frustration with their attempts to dislodge Ruth from their vessel. He rounded to her front, careful not to startle her as he placed a calming hand on her snout.

“Hey girl, it’s okay,” he smiled, that always seemed to calm her. However, from the wide eyed gaze she gave back and the heavy breathed snort she gave in response, he knew she needed something more to free her from that fear. Loosening a cloth pouch tied to his belt, he pinched off a good portion of the plug of tobacco within, offering it to her. Ruth immediately hawed and snatched it greedily into her probing mouth. She’s a strange one, but then again, who isn’t? Tubal contemplated, giving her a moment to take it in, chewing on it as her eyed glazed over a bit. She began to relax.

“Get that thing off my boat!” The Captain blustered as he watched the scene from the pier.

“You’re lucky I can chalk that whiskey up to breakage, but I never, ever want to see you or that donkey again!”

Donkey? Donkey?! Tubal raged in his head, but thought better of voicing his strong opinion on the differences between mule and donkeys. Considering that the Captain was doing him a solid. He didn’t have the coin to buy a half-drank barrel of alcohol. Instead, he gave her thick mane a stroke and led her down the gangway.

A few moments later she was hooked up to his cart, and he took a quick inventory of his goods it was laden down with; His prized set of tools, wrapped in leather to keep them safe from the weather in the open cart. His clothes tucked away in a small chest, and the few other odds and ends needed to make the travels he had planned. To his surprise, nothing was missing.

“So I suppose this is where we part ways, Master Tubal,” an old man spoke as he approached behind him, years of pipe smoking gave his voice a leathery sound.

Tubal turned, offering him a kindly smile. The fact was that he was happy to see the old man; he had kept him company on the voyage, sharing for what passed as the passenger quarters on the ship. In that short time the fellow had earned a lot of respect through the hours of his stories, worldly travels, and great deeds. The usual stories a Healer of his years have to share. It turned our he owned a medicinal shop in Scara Brae.

“I suppose so, and you know you don’t have to offer me such a title Orsan,” Tubal took his hand in a firm handshake, Orsan’s bony hand meeting it with a sense of divine strength.

Orsan chuckled at that, a sort of musty cough followed. “Master Tubal, one day you too will learn that respect works both ways. You respected me by listening to my ramblings, therefore, you have mine. It’s not every day that young ears take the words of elders. Which reminds me,” Orsan shakily pulled a small silver coin from his pocket, placing it in Tubal’s hand.

“Should you ever need anything, come to the place inscribed on this, and knock one time, two times, than three. In that order, don’t mix it up!” The old man flashed him a mysterious grin. “Have fun in Scara Brae, it has much to offer. Not too much fun though, there are less well intentioned elements here, remember that, young one.”

With that, Orsan turned and shuffled down the pier towards the city. “I’ll see you again, Orsan! Be well!”

Another raspy laugh, though he didn’t bother to look back. “If you live long enough, Master Tubal. You have to do that first!”

Tubal blinked at that, rolling those words around in his head for a moment, much like Ruth was rolling her tobacco around her lips just thin, she took watching the old man slowly disappear into a crowd. It seemed like his very presence made people stand aside for him, like a school of tuna. That is one odd old fellow, he thought.

He shook that thought off and returned to the task at hand, taking Ruth’s reigns, “Well, are you ready to go, old girl?” The mule issued a wheezing haw, followed by her usual hee. Always taking that as a yes, he led her down the pier.

The sun was beginning to draw down to the sea by now, painting the long wispy clouds in haunted shades of yellows and red. Tubal inhaled deeply, the sea salt in the air gave it a sickly sweet smell, carried quickly by the trade winds that seemed to breathe life into the town. The first stop for the two was right down the street – the Auld Hoose.

[Tubal]

Tubal and his mule wandered up the street towards where Orsan had told him of a good place to stay, Auld Hoose, at least that’s where he hoped he was headed. Even though Scara Brae wasn’t a huge settlement, it was still larger than any he had been, and he was glad to be away from the hustle of the harbor, the organized chaos of porters, crewmen and merchants shuffling goods back and forth. It reminded him of ants on the march, if they had wandered into a puddle of Falien ale.

Every step further away from the docks though, the more relaxed the atmosphere seemed to become. Folk of all races were slightly friendlier; they smiled, even if it was just a polite one, as Tubal passed by. No one really spoke to him however, perhaps because he was oozing foreigner, by his dress and his mannerisms, even the way he walked was a dead giveaway, his stiffness inevitably exposing his lack of worldliness. Ruth wasn’t having a good go of it either; she wrestled with her cart as the wheels followed the ruts carved into the cobblestone by years of traffic.

Scara Brae was beautiful though, at least in Tubal’s view. He admired the skillfulness of her craftsmen, eyeing each building with curiosity over their simple brilliance. They lacked the impetuous circumstances of what he had been charged with erecting, of course they were usually had some sort of religious or defensive design. Here, the utility had significance in their own right. The whitewashed exterior walls of many of these buildings did well to stand the tests of the constant sea salt that assaulted them. The timbers that supported buttressed them were of superior quality, and would likely see more seasons than Tubal could count. Some were squat; others loomed high above the skyline, each one with their own story and purpose. The mere thought of what they could tell if they had a chance to speak excited him.

Before he knew it they were there, he gave a sigh of relief, I wasn’t lost after all. The iron gilded sign gave a soft screech, pushed by the ever present wind that cooled the island, a gift for a man from Falien. The structure itself wasn’t much different from many of the other surrounding buildings, nor was it more impressive than the Inns he had passed to get here, but the sign promised that the best wines around could be found inside. I’ll test that claim, Tubal thought as he tied Ruth up. She protested with a huff through her nostrils, spitting out a thick wad of tobacco and spit on the ground. Her way of saying, “don’t leave me here!” He petted her for a moment to reassure her. He didn’t treat her like most would, but she had travelled far at his side, Ruth had as much right as anyone to complain.

Swinging one of the heavy oak doors open, he was immediately greeted by the ruckus that couldn’t be heard outside. Packed to the brim, there was hardly a table left empty. Once he closed the door it became almost claustrophobic, the dim light inside in constant battle with a thick fog of smoke. It wasn’t all together unpleasant however; it was warm with laughter and company. Tubal’s eyes adjusted and he could freely see that all of the races that could be counted in the world were present. Most of the conversations that floated around were in Tradespeak, but other exotic language could be heard. Perhaps it was the drinks being spirited about by bar maids tending to the patrons, or the warm fire that cast long shadows on the worn wooden floor, or maybe…

“Hey there! What can I do for you?” A friendly voice cut into Tubal’s musings. He shook himself out of it and looked around, trying to find its source.

“I said ho there! You look lost,” He focused more to see a smiling man tending the bar, pouring a drink for a customer. The fellow was a little older, but one could tell he shouldn’t be trifled with. A little on the heavy side, but with arms that could easily throw all but the most willful drunk out those doors.

“Oh, no no!” Tubal gave him a tight, polite smile. “I’ve found what I’m looking for.” He drew closer to the bar so he didn’t have to yell over the clamor. “Word on the streets is that you’re one of the best Inns in town.”

“One of the best?!” The bartender gave a hearty laugh and poured up a small glass of wine. “We are the best! Here, on the house.”
Tubal took up the glass and offered a cheer, sipping it some, appraising it after in appreciation. “Wow, that’s damned good stuff!”

He returned a coy smile, speaking as a matter of fact, “Oh I know, otherwise I wouldn’t charge you for more! So, you’re looking for a room, huh? It’s a little more expensive here than elsewhere, but well worth it.”

Jingling his coin purse thoughtfully, it was feeling a little light. He had spent most of his money on getting to Scara Brae, which was a little more costly than he had imagined. “Well, I think I can manage. Do you go nightly or weekly?”

“Sure do, we go hourly too,” the bartender nudged him and slanted his head towards one of the working girls.
Tubal felt his face turn red, “No thanks, I’ll just take a room for the night and go from there.”

“As you wish! Fifteen pieces will get you through the night. If you want another night just pay before you leave. If you want to leave…” He laughed the sort of belly laugh that made the joke seem like not so much of one. Tubal wondered just how long he would stay, or how many in fact, didn’t want to leave at all. The atmosphere was intoxicating; he could easily see how one would want to spend more time here than they should.
Palming the coins to the bartender, receiving a small key in return. “Also, do you have a stable in the back? My mule, she’s out front.”

At that the bartender leaned over the counter, wielding a thick finger at him, his smile suddenly turning. “You said nothing of a mule, boy…”

“I…I’m sorry, I just thought about it…” Tubal stammered.

“Yea! You should be sorry! Forgetting about that poor thing, you’ll be lucky to find it tomorrow!” He reached over the counter and gave a heavy handed pat on Tubal’s shoulder, that toothy smile returning. “Of course we got room! For man and animal! No extra charge tonight, only because you’re nice enough and all, and I can tell you’re not from around here. I’ll have a couple of the barmaids take your mule out back.”

“Thank you, that’s very kind,” Tubal winced from the pat, rubbing his shoulder once the hand left him.

Damn, I’ll never piss you off! He kept rubbing the welt as he went outside to gather his things.

[Tubal]

Tubal sat uncomfortably on a wooden chair in the corner of the room that he had rented at the Auld Hoose. It looked a lot smaller than it had the night before, as if a caricature of what it had been, as if Gnomes had snuck in and decided to reshape it more to their liking. A mess of papers lay scattered about; completed contracts, architectural sketches and even a few letters of recommendations that was like pulling teeth to obtain, documents that he had assumed would allow him to simply walk into Scara Brae and find work. Worthless – all worthless. Thus they lay on the floor after a brief, but very needed rage. The doors that Tubal thought would be wide open turned out to be very shut in actuality, having gone to almost every construction company starting at the break of the morning. The best he got was from a small-time general labor contractor, who reassured Tubal with a resounding maybe.

Now, the room was cramped, painfully so for his damaged ego. The last yawn of the evening sun peered through the small window that afforded him the view of the town cast a hazy beam through the dark. Maybe it was just his gloom that made it unbearable, but the revelries downstairs didn’t help matters at all. This evening they brought in a local singing troupe to entertain the patrons and guests of the Inn, but he could have none of it. He didn’t want to be a part of the celebration, especially with nothing to cheer for. He was angrier at himself than the folks that had turned him away, he should have known it wouldn’t be easy, nothing ever is easy.

Running his fingers through his hair, scratching his scalp as he looked around, trying to find a literal way out of the mess he found himself in. Leaving him questioning every decision he had made that led him to Scara Brae. To most this would be a minor setback, to Tubal however, this was his only hope to get away from Falien, from a family that knew nothing more than the desert. No matter how ignorant of the world Tubal may have been, it was still better than knowing everything about Falien.

Growing restless, Tubal pulled himself from his mental calamity and with a heavy sigh, gathered the documents and stuffed them back in his leather satchel, tossing it on top of his bed.At least the room looks clean, he appraised the quick clean up, appreciating the small impact it made. Everything else was orderly, just the way he liked it. Approaching the door, he squared himself up to prepare himself for the riot downstairs that he was determined to brave, deciding that it would be best to get out of the room and try to find something in Scara Brae that wouldn’t be a disappointment.

The tavern area of the Auld Hoose was just as he had left it, a throng of cantankerous seamen and locals spending their hard earned coin on a night of debauchery. Descending the staircase he threw himself into it, squeezing past burly men and dodging the bar wenches that served them mostly happily. Making his way through the maze of tables, turned over chairs and patrons, he leaned on the bar and just observed for a moment. The eye candy of the troupe amazed the crowd with their high vocals and a smooth ballad Tubal had never heard before. It seemed to be about sailing, fighting and a bit of sexual innuendo regarding a sea Captain and how he lost his eye for added flavor.

The scene, taken in parts was a cabal of miscreants and workmen, seamen and women, but the whole told of a place where everyone was welcome provided they were up for an adventurous night. Tubal was in no mood for that, even though he had to admit to himself that his spirits were beginning to lift.

“What can I get ya, Two-Ball, perhaps a glass of our house wine?” The same Bartender that let him the room seemed to be a perpetual fixture there. Tubal had found out through casual conversation with him that he in fact had a name, Jerik. A former sailor who retired to a life only a little less exciting, Jerik was nevertheless kind to Tubal, which he was thankful for.

With a wave of his hand he politely dismissed the offer, “Oh, not tonight.” Tubal gave a tight lipped smile, he felt awkward not buying anything, more like he was just taking up space.

“What’s wrong, lad?” Jerik read him easily, pouring a mug of ale for himself.

“Let’s just say it didn’t go well, looking for work.”
“Don’t let that get you down,” He said before taking a large draft from the mug, slamming it down on the bar top. A swell of ale spilling from the sides. “You’re alive, yeah?! You know, there are more people dead than alive. Be grateful!”

Tubal laughed, it felt good to laugh. “True…” he looked around again, talking over his shoulder. “I don’t suppose there are any Taverns that are a little more…relaxed?”

Jerik scratched his head, giving it a determined thought. “Well…you could always go to the Seven Helms, down by the piers,” he shook his head and leaned over, calling all of Tubal’s attention. “But you best be careful, there’s not a lot of people there for a reason. Salty is what all of them are! And downtrodden, most of them. If you go there, watch yourself. We may fight here, but we fight as friends! They fight for keeps.”

Tubal gave his manliest shrug and grinned. “I think I can handle myself. Thanks, Jerik, I’ll be back before the morrow!”

“If’n your not, I claim your mule!”