Another Drink

[Lord_Byron]

Closed quest for Lord_Byron and Atzar

Berick's eyes went wide as he saw yet a new flavor of tavern. This seemed a more gentler place than his last excursion, but he was alright with that. He wasn't fixin' to find himself a fight tonight. He wanted to revel in his success. He had won his pride back. He took a deep breath in and let a smile ease its way onto his face. He adjusted the scabbard at his waist and walked towards the door.

When he reached the door, he heard lively music and jovial conversation. This was just the sort of place he needed to boost his spirits into the heavens. He pushed open the door and went in with a great smile on his face. Seeing this, rather than a look of someone searching for trouble, the bartender happily waved him over to the bar. It was an offer that Berick readily accepted.

"How is your evening, sir?" The bartender asked.

"You know," Berick started, a boyish grin still on his face. "I think this is a good night. And I think more good nights will follow."

"Very well sir, what can I get you?" He asked.

"Something to celebrate. What do you have that can rival a man's spirits when they are as high as mine?"

"Water," The bartender said with a smile. Berick let out a hearty laugh and slapped the man on the shoulder. "I'll bring you something right up."

Berick took a seat on the bar stool and looked towards the door as he rested his elbow on the counter and his head on his hand. His eyes wandered all around, taking in the scenery. A few old fashioned wine barrels were stacked in the corner with a few patrons using them as chairs. There were quite a few windows in the place which surprised Berick who thought windows in a tavern were ridiculous. They just got broken all the time.

His eyes moved to the patrons. They were much more clean than those in the Zirnden. They seemed a lively bunch and willing to gamble on dice with you then bash your head in the ground. He shuddered at the thought. He was just in no mood to fight tonight. His eyes took in the stairs that most likely led up to inn rooms. He wondered how much it cost.

The bartender came back with a pint of dark porter, a steady beer that wasn't too harsh on the senses, but had a smooth taste perfect for celebrating. Berick nodded and the man motioned towards the stairs.

"Twenty for a room." He said, reading the question in Berick's eyes.

"I'll think on it." He said as he sipped the porter.

[Khariss Sevrath]

This is Atzar on another character.

The Silver Pub was a small inn that was known to nearly everybody in Radasanth. Whenever a man was asked for directions to a good place to sleep, he would recommend the Pub. The atmosphere was bright and cheery, and the interior was devoid of the gloomy smoke that always seemed to fill many inns and taverns. The smells were pleasant, usually telling of the food that was almost always on the fire in the kitchen. The clientele, rather than the boisterous, belligerent bar-dwellers that frequented many places, were instead quiet and polite. Despite all of this, it still had the occasional customer that entered hell-bent on getting drunk. Life just sucked sometimes.

One such man at the end of the bar watched sourly as the bartender’s attention turned to another customer. This new patron, in stark contrast to Khariss Sevrath, seemed to be in the most joyful of moods at that moment.

What the hell was there to be so damned cheerful about?

The glum-faced merchant had no idea. His latest scheme had failed, and it had failed to an extent that he had believed unobtainable. He left the venture with even less to his name than he had possessed to begin with, and he was probably going to have to flee from Radasanth to avoid the authorities. They had not, after all, enjoyed his attempt to tax the Bazaar.

Well, perhaps there was something to be cheerful about: the fact that Khariss had already claimed all of the misery in the world.

The ill-tempered man sighed heavily and searched with weary eyes for the bartender, who had disappeared. The man was not long in returning, bearing a mug for his new customer. After another brief word with the white-haired man, the tender scanned the place for other requests. At this, the waiting merchant motioned him over with a brisk wave of his hand. The pleasant smile vanished from the barkeep’s face; Khariss had been nothing if not difficult.

“What can I get for you, sir?” the bartender asked in his usual courteous dialect.

“More,” Khariss snapped, not knowing or caring that the man surely wouldn’t remember what he was drinking.

“May I ask what you’ve been drinking?” came the patient response. A glare followed the innocent question, which the bartender calmly returned with his own cool gaze. He had dealt with difficult customers before, despite the upbeat atmosphere of his inn.

Khariss gave in sullenly and dropped his eyes. “Rum,” he said.

The infuriating smile returned to the barkeep’s face. “Coming right up, sir,” he returned before ducking below to bar to retrieve the bottle.

[Lord_Byron]

Berick lounged back in his seat as he took in the sights of the tavern. He smiled at several pretty waitresses that returned them in kind. He took a sip of his porter, smelled it a little, and then took a longer swig. He loved the taste of the lighter ale, more used to the bitterness of liquer.

The drunken street fighter looked around and saw dozens of tables housing all sorts of patrons. At one table he saw a quartet of roudy dwarves. They were boisterous drinkers, but they seemed to be in a festive mood. At another table he saw men bouncing coins off the table and into shots of something. By the darkness of it he assumed it must be a form of whiskey. They cheered when a person missed and had to take the drink. Near the corner of the room he saw two tables pushed together and sat a gaggle of elves. He mentally counted them and put the number at ten. They seemed much more wary of their surroundings and drank slowly but steadily. He smiled at one of them and waved. A couple of them nodded in his direction.

Berick started when he heard a man snap at the bartender. The drunk spun in his chair, moving the scabbard of his sword out of the way as he did so. He smiled at the obviously unhappy patron. He stood up and skipped a few stools and sat next to him, folding his hands and setting them on the dark wooden counter.

"You should be more respectful to the barkeeps." Berick said with a smile, obviously a jest meant to lighten the man's mood. "You never know what concauction they might brew in light of your sour mood. Try it this way..."

He waved the bartender over. When the man saw who was calling, a jovial grin spread across his face. "My good friend. Another drink for my new pal here, and another porter for me as well. I feel that there is a need to celebrate this meeting. New friends are always a reason to toast."

The drunk clapped the bartender on the shoulder, and he left with a great grin on his face. As he left, Berick turned towards the grumpy man.

"There, you see, you get much better reactions from people if you smile occassionally."

[Khariss Sevrath]

The bitter businessman’s first response to this newcomer was annoyance. What right did the white-haired man have to intrude his happiness on Khariss’s gloom? Drowning one’s sorrows in alcohol was an activity best done alone. He didn’t want this man’s company, nor did he need it. All the angry man wanted was peace. Well… a good amount of rum definitely wouldn’t hurt. But to put the thoughts of his latest venture out of his head was what Khariss really craved at that moment.

At the prospect of a full glass of rum replacing the grumpy man’s empty one, however, Khariss began to revise his opinion. Drinks were fairly high up on his list of desires, even if company wasn’t. The businessman decided to shelf his rage for the time being, and smiled in answer to the man’s question.

“I guess you’re right,” Khariss conceded, his voice slightly slurred. His dark green eyes took in the man’s frame, hovering for a moment on the big blade at his waste. “That’s a pretty little toy. You’re a swordfighter?” he asked for the sake of conversation. In all honesty, he didn’t care at all what the bigger man did to earn his keep. The lean man had bought him a drink, however, so it was only right that he responded with amity in kind.

At that moment, the barkeep returned, two mugs filled to the brim with glorious, memory-clouding drink. As the thick-set man set the alcohol on the wooden bar, Khariss decided to take his benefactor’s advice. Slightly unfocused eyes stared up into the bartender’s face.

“Thanks,” the merchant said. A smile spread across his face slowly, as if he had almost forgotten how to do it. In return, the grin on the barkeeper’s face widened. That had been the first time all night that his service had received anything other than a grunt and a long gulp of alcohol from his depressed customer.

“Not a problem, lemme know if I can get you anything else,” the man responded before turning his attention to the table of dwarves on the other side of the pub.

The lean, white-haired man’s advice had proven to be right on the mark. The smile lingering faintly on his face, Khariss turned back to his newfound companion. “Thanks for the tip,” he said sincerely. “Wha’s your name?”

Perhaps company wouldn’t be a bad thing, after all.

[Lord_Byron]

Berick's smile spread across his face in good cheer, seeing as he affected the man's gloomy demeanor and had turned it into something a little more positive, even if the mood was strained. The drunk watched his new friend eyeball the drink as it came. As if he just remembered, he gave an answer to the question of whether or not he was a swordsman or not.

"I am no swordsman. Just a child in its use." He listened to the hum of the occupants and the occassional shout outs from the patrons. He enjoyed the laughter he heard all around. It reflected his good mood. "I am, however, a professional drinker." The drunk gave his companion an amiable wink.

Berick watched an interesting scene between a man obviously not happy with his meal, or drink, and was talking sternly to the waittress. For now, he paid it no mind. More than likely, the situation would cool and the patron would end up pinching the pretty girl's behind as she walked away to cater to his drunken needs.

Berick turned when his comrade asked another question. "I am Berick Sanchent. I come from a village long secluded in the woods. I was a logger, if you can imagine that." He leaned in close and pulled something from his pack. The drunk produced an attractive looking bottle with liquid. He pulled a shot glass off of the table near him and poured it halfway with the liquid. In the candlelight, small silver flecks could be seen shimmering within the strange drink.

"This is called Silver Stud. I picked up on my travels away from home. It's on me. Give it a try, I guarantee you will not be disappointed." A sly smile crept onto Berick's face.

Just then the crowd erupted in howls of laughter that sounded different than the rest. When Berick looked over, the patron he had seen before that hadn't been happy about his meal had a firm hand on the waittresses wrist. His drunken companions were too inebriated to know what was truly going on. From their prospective, it was all fun and games. To Berick it was not.

He came to his feet, a nasty scowl fueled by the alcohol that was coursing through his veins came to his face. Berick looked back at his drinking companion, curious to how he would react to the situation. Honor, as rare as it was, meant little to Berick now, but still, he would not stand here and do nothing if that man decided to strike the woman. A hand went to the hilt of the sword to see that it was clear in the scabbard. He waited for the thing he feared, but knew, would happen.

[Khariss Sevrath]

The merchant picked up the half-full shot of liquor, swirling it gently to admire the glimmering flecks that gave the drink its name. Unfortunately, ‘gently’ to a half-drunken man and ‘gently’ to a sober man are two different things. Several drops escaped their prison to fall in graceful arcs to the wooden surface of the bar. Khariss watched them sink into the absorbent surface sadly; now those were lost drops. Drops that he couldn’t drink.

Moving quickly, in order to keep from losing any more of his precious drink, Khariss downed the potent liquid in one large gulp. There; a smile of satisfaction crossed the man’s face. Now they couldn’t get away. A split-second later, however, the unlucky merchant felt the effects of his dimwitted decision. A fire erupted in his throat, burning ruthlessly. Khariss nearly choked, and his hands went to his throat in a useless attempt to make the fire go away.

Suddenly, the real effect of the Silver Stud kicked in. Khariss had been tipsy before; his ability to rationalize, in particular, had been handicapped. Now, however, he could best be described as “hammered.”

“Wha’ drink,” he proclaimed to his best friend, Berick Sanchent, in a loud voice. “Shanksh.”

A commotion broke through the haze in Khariss’s mind. Squinting through the blurry barrier that the drinks had erected, he looked for the source of the disturbance. A man, surrounding by obliviously-jeering companions, was out of control. He had apparently been less than pleased with his service, and was taking it out on his waitress. One of the man’s sturdy hands grasped her arm, and the other began to rise into the air to strike.

Wait a minute… that waitress looked a lot like Khariss’s girlfriend!

In a roar of jealous rage and anger, the drunken entrepreneur erupted from his seat. He quickly grabbed the first thing that he noticed, which happened to be the barstool upon which he had previously sat. With another furious howl, he picked the stool up and hurled it mightily at the man, falling back against the bar from the effort.

Hold on. This waitress had short, blonde hair. His girlfriend had long, dark brown hair.

Besides, they had broken up some time ago.

Uh-oh.

Khariss’s foggy, sluggish mind finally realized the mistake, but the revelation didn’t stop the barstool’s flight through the air. This situation would not, could not end well.

[Lord_Byron]

Berick's smile widened and he even managed to let out a chuckle at his buddy's reaction to the drink. Silver Stud was a drink to be sipped, not slammed. It was obviously taking the man's senses to the edge of reality and flirting with the cusp of madness. Berick laughed out loud. Finally, a worthy drinking companion.

"Atta boy!" Berick shouted out to Khariss.

And then there was a bar stool flying through the air. Berick watched the thing soar through the air and smack right into the man that had a hold of the waitress's hand. With a loud crash and a grunt, the barstool crashed into a shower of splinters and the man fell face first into the meal that he had been so unhappy about.

One of his buddies must have seen who threw the stool and got up to confront him. With a shout of glee, Berick laid him low with a right hook to the jaw. As he shook his hand and turned back toward the waitress, he received his own fist in his jaw. The blow caught him by surprise and he fell backwards on to the floor. Now, instead of shaking his hand, he was shaking his head.

In a pause there was silence. Then the violence erupted all around. Not only at the one table, but within the entire bar. People were quick to pick sides and pummel their enemies. Berick could hear the noise from his spot on the ground. He smiled inwardly. This was what made life worth living.

[Khariss Sevrath]

“Whoo!” Khariss shouted loudly, gleefully over the general mayhem. It had been way too long since he’d gotten in a good barfight, and now was as good a time as any to relive old memories.

Now, to business. Khariss shook his head, trying to rid himself of the stars that burst continually in front of his eyes. He looked groggily about through the chaos that brewed, trying to discern who he was supposed to hit and who he wasn’t.

That was when he saw Berick go down. Berick, his best friend, who had bought him a drink and introduced him to the wonderful substance known as Silver Stud. A seething growl erupted from the throat of the merchant. Once again, he grabbed the nearest thing to use as a weapon. Once again, it turned out to be a barstool. This time, however, it was Berick’s stool that he used.

A vicious yell erupted from his throat, and he brought the stool down on the assailant’s back with all the force he could muster. Miraculously, the barstool held up, but the man didn’t. He crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

A strong hand suddenly grasped his arm, and he was whirled around to face the irate face of the bartender.

“What’s wrong with you? Are you stupid?” the barkeep screamed at him. “They’re gonna have my job for letting this –”

This time, the stool did break. The bartender’s limp form joined that of the first man as Khariss, armed with a chair leg and unable to discern friend from foe, jumped headlong into the fray with a shout. The splintered wood flashed this way and that, hitting everything in its way with a resounding crack.

He was certain that he would get kicked out of the bar after all of this, and almost as certain that he’d be arrested. But who cared?

He was going to be driven from Radasanth anyway… why not have fun in the meantime?