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Post by Everett Reykas on Aug 31, 2023 10:34:41 GMT -5
The Brass Dragon. One of the most iconic inns and taverns in all of Charon. The three-story tall building looms over the market district with its stunning architecture and high-pitched roof. The interior is equally impressive, boasting furnishings of rich reds and gold trim with walls of polished brass. Metal lanterns illuminate the space including a central grand gathering hall with several private alcoves lining the sides. Scents of alcohol, fresh bread, and comfort food waft through the air. Towards the back is a long bar with dozens of patrons sitting along it drinking and socializing. The whole place is buzzing with conversation and merriment as the summer festival draws to a successful conclusion. Sitting near the front door of the tavern at a table that's pushed a little out of the way is a tan-skinned half-elf, likely of Sylvan lineage, with dark brown hair and deep sapphire blue eyes. He's very casually dressed-- mostly because he hasn't had the chance to buy any new clothes yet-- wearing a loose white linen shirt and some high-waisted salt-stained trousers. On the table before him is what's left of his breakfast, a simple meal of porridge, some bread, and a few pieces of cured meats. He fully intends on finishing his food-- a sailor never lets anything go to waste-- but he's in no rush and more than content to just watch the goings on of the tavern. It was a surreal experience to be sitting here amidst so many sounds, smells, and sights when just yesterday he had been lying face down in the sand with no memory of how he washed up on shore in the first place. The young satyr who had helped him had family they needed to get back to, so they went their separate ways for the time being. Everett had to get his wits about him and reorient himself to the world. Most of the brain fog has cleared, which is good, but he still has so many questions about what happened to him. Unfortunately, no one here would have the answers he needs, and there's a strange unsettling feeling that tells him that perhaps he's better off never knowing. He's lucky though, despite being presumably tossed around in the waves, he still had some coin in his pockets which he used to get a room at the inn and a very much-needed bath. While the smell of dead fish never bothered him much-- it was just something you got used to when you spend a lot of time at sea-- he prefers not to see people around him turn up their noses at him in disgust. Glancing down into the cup of ale in his hands, he considers what would be his next best move. Finding a job would probably be a top priority, as his pockets are very shallow. Perhaps he can check down at the docks later in the evening when people are going to be seeking vessels to head back home after the festivities have concluded. Surely there is a high demand for people who know a thing or two about sailing right now. Maybe even if he's a nobody with no connections, he can still luck out with some low-paying labor. He takes a long sip of his ale and makes a bit of a face. Does he even like ale? He can't remember. His eyes flit around the room again for anyone of note before his eyes land on the empty chairs across from him. He was starting to feel a bit lonely sitting at the table by himself. It hadn't felt right to ask the young satyr if he could join them and their family at the festival given the circumstances of their meeting. Perhaps he should go socialize at the bar, or try his hand at joining one of the other tables with an open seat. He wants to, but what would he even say? Gods. He takes another swig of the ale. If he did like ale in the past, he can't fathom why now.
Quest Name: Enjoy the Festival! Participants: Two or more Location: Sol City Post Requirements: 4 posts per person, 150 words per post Reward: +1 Renown, +1 Mystical Archive Ticket Description: The festival is booming, and all that is required of you is to have fun! Stroll through Sol City partaking in any kind of festival-like activity. You can attend the joust, or participate in a sword duel. Maybe watch some jugglers or Bardic Virtuoso's perform in the city square. Enjoy some of the rare cuisines found across Charon at local vendors and markets. The choice is up to you, as long as you enjoy the festival! (This quest can be completed once per character, however you can only earn the Mystical Archive reward once per member, regardless of how many times it is completed)
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Adventurer
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Post by taselian on Aug 31, 2023 12:37:48 GMT -5
Stepping into the cool embrace of the Brass Dragon, Avarae felt a shiver ripple across her shoulders. Although the dim interior was a sanctuary from the morning sun's relentless heat, it was much cooler than she was used to.
Should have brought a shawl or a even a long-sleeved tunic. Not that she had either back on her island home but it was probably something she'd need before too long now that she was on the mainland. She swallowed hard at the thought of traversing the market.
While it teemed with an overwhelming array of goods, her nearly empty coin pouch weighed lightly in her pocket. She'd need more solars to indulge in any basics much less luxuries—or at least a friend willing to barter. She sighed. Surrounded by people, yet utterly alone.
"Are ye comin' er goin', lass?"
For a moment, Avarae thought her loneliness had manifested into an ability to hear thoughts. Strange. Birma never mentioned any kind of psychic abilities in the family. But then a gentle tap on her knee interrupted her contemplation of this new skill.
"Well?"
Looking down, she found an elderly gnome sporting a tiny green felt hat and pointed boots. His hands were planted firmly on his hips, and his face was etched with a scowl. Avarae had to restrain herself from bending down to give him an affectionate squeeze—a social blunder she hadn't committed since childhood.
The gnome's scowl deepened. "Ye're blockin' the door, girl. I've got matters to attend to. So, are ye comin' or goin'?"
"Actually, neither," Avarae replied. "If I leave, I'll just have to come back in, which defeats the purpose of being here in the first place."
The gnome's expression shifted from annoyance to bewilderment. Avarae sighed, then swung the door open for him. He shot her a final glare before scurrying out into the heat. She quickly closed the door to keep the cool air of the tavern inside, then moved aside so she didn't block it again.
Her eyes scanned the partially filled dining area. Should she sit alone or attempt to socialize? Tables varied in occupancy—some bustling with patrons, others hosting solitary diners.
She shook her head as she gravitated toward an empty table. The idea of initiating a conversation felt as daunting as scaling a mountain. She settled into a chair, her eyes fixated on the table's worn surface. Maybe a mountain would be easier.
What would Birma say? Avarae's finger traced an imaginary embroidery pattern on the table. Birma would likely advise her to be friendly first, in hopes of making a friend second.
She leaned back, contemplating how her life had grown so complex since leaving her small grotto in Moonglade for this sprawling city. Back home, she'd known everyone; there was no need to navigate the awkwardness of first encounters.
This is absurd. Avarae shook her head as if to scatter her mounting anxieties. I don't need to befriend everyone—just one person will do. And if it doesn't work, I can always pretend I was speaking to someone else.
Her eyes darted between a minotaur to her left and a half-elf to her right. Finally, her gaze settled on the half-elf, who had just set down his mug, his upper lip frothy and his expression one of mild distaste.
His clothes are at least clean. She peered a little closer. Although there was that small tear in his shirt cuff.
Summoning her courage, she leaned toward the half-elf and murmured, "Excuse me, but it looks like your shirt could use some mending."
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Post by Everett Reykas on Aug 31, 2023 16:01:36 GMT -5
While there is activity all around the tavern, Everett starts to space out a little bit. The lantern lights blur into bokeh speckles across his vision and the sounds of clinking silverware, joyous laughter, and the slightly off-tune vibration of a fiddle all muddle together.
A soft voice from the table next to him catches him off his guard, snapping him out of the daze and he turns to face the one speaking to him.
The young woman appears somewhat elven, though her skin is radiant like the moon compared to his more earthy tones. What catches his attention though and gives him pause is her vertically slit eyes and the glittering scales that speckle her skin. There's this odd sense of familiarity that overcomes him, though he cannot for the life of him remember if he's ever met this woman before. The feeling is more...like instinct, primal in nature. It confuses him until he registers what she has said to him.
"Oh," he replies and looks down at his shirt.
She wasn't wrong, it'd seen better days. He must look pretty scruffy compared to some of the finer dressed folk in the tavern and that sudden thought made him blush with embarrassment. Maybe that was why no one was willing to join his table. This woman was probably doing him a courtesy by pointing it out in such a gentle manner.
He gives the woman a friendly smile and places down the tankard before rubbing the back of his head. "So it would seem. I guess I need a new one."
It is at this point that the woman would notice that this man is a bit lacking. Specifically, he is lacking his right arm. The sleeve of his shirt dandles limply at his side and visibly lacks any mass halfway past his bicep. From the way he moves, it seems like he is used to its absence. It was likely some time since he had lost it.
"Thank you for telling me."
He then notices the feeling of ale sitting on his top lip.
Ah. Gods. He reaches over to a napkin and wipes his mouth. What a first impression.
"Sorry, uhm, are you enjoying the festivities?"
He hopes that it is alright for him to continue the conversation. It is completely possible that the woman does not actually want to engage him beyond just telling him his shirt is torn. However, he does notice that she does not appear to have any companions with her at her own table, perhaps she is just looking for someone to talk to as well.
Then it dawns on him that he has not introduced himself. He adjusts how he is sitting in his chair to face towards her better rather than speaking over his shoulder more.
He extends his one hand towards her for a handshake, but will not be offended if she does not accept it. "Name's Everett, nice to meet you by the way."
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Post by taselian on Aug 31, 2023 19:14:40 GMT -5
Avarae felt a curious blend of relief and surprise wash over her as Everett responded with a warm, albeit slightly awkward, demeanor. His missing arm didn't escape her notice, but she found herself more captivated by the genuine quality of his smile. It was a refreshing contrast to the scowls and indifferent expressions she'd encountered since her arrival in this sprawling city. The atmosphere in the Brass Dragon seemed to soften for a moment, as if the tavern itself paused to acknowledge the simple human connection being made.
"Hello, Everett. I'm Avarae," she said, her voice tinged with a melodic accent that hinted at her island upbringing. Her hand met his in a handshake that was gentle yet firm, her fingers briefly enveloped in the warmth of his palm. "It's a pleasure to meet you."
As their eyes met, she felt a flicker of recognition, a subtle resonance that often occurred when she encountered other half-elves. Though she was half-dragon, her elven heritage often shone through, creating a sense of kinship with those who shared at least that part of her lineage. It was as if their souls hummed in the same key, if only for a fleeting moment.
Her eyes shifted to the torn cuff of his shirt, the frayed threads dangling like forgotten notes in an unfinished melody.
"May I?" she asked, her eyes meeting his as she gestured toward the damaged fabric.
With a nod of assent from Everett, she took a deep breath to center herself. Her fingers began to glow with a soft, silvery light, imbued with a touch of arcane energy. She softly chanted a few arcane syllables, the words flowing from her lips like a whispered secret between old friends. As she spoke, the torn threads of his shirt began to weave themselves back together, guided by invisible hands. Within moments, the fabric was whole again, as if it had never known the rough caress of wear and tear.
"There, good as new," she said, her eyes meeting his as she let the magic fade, leaving behind a sense of quiet satisfaction.
"As for the festivities," she began, her gaze momentarily drifting toward the window, where the sounds of laughter and music from the ongoing festival filtered through the glass. "I haven't had much of a chance to partake in them yet. I'm new to Sol City, and the sheer scale of it all is a bit overwhelming, to be honest."
She paused, her eyes returning to meet his. "But I've heard that Bardic Virtuosos are performing in the city square. Their music is said to be the kind that can touch your soul, make you feel like you're a part of something greater."
She took a deep breath, her heart pounding in her chest as if it were drumming along to an unseen bard's tune. "Would you be interested in going to listen to them with me?" she asked, her voice tinged with a hopeful note. Her cheeks flushed a soft rose hue, a visible testament to the courage it took for her to extend the invitation.
It was a small step in the grand tapestry of life, but for Avarae, it felt like a significant leap. Whether he accepted or declined, she felt a sense of pride swell within her for having taken the initiative to reach out, to attempt to forge a connection in a world that often felt so disconnected. After all, as her mentor Birma would often say, it's best to be a friend first and make a friend second. And right now, in this bustling city teeming with strangers, a friend was exactly what she needed.
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Post by Everett Reykas on Aug 31, 2023 21:55:52 GMT -5
Looking down at the fabric as Avarae casts her spell, he watches his shirt knit back together until there's no evidence it was ever torn in the first place remains. It's a simple spell, but a useful one.
"Thank you. That is some handy magic, I can't do anything like that."
He thinks. He's pretty sure he can't do that...right? No, no, definitely not. While he's pretty sure he knows some magic, it doesn't feel anything like Avarae's. Her magic is gentle and beautiful, the notes of her incantation sounding similar to a quiet lullaby. His connection with the arcane roils like a storm looming on the horizon, wild and violent.
Or at least, that's how he feels. The truth is that his magical capabilities are very limited, perhaps due to the memory loss because he does have this nagging feeling that there are things he should know, important things, but currently just can't recall what they are. It's odd and frustrating, but again, maybe it is for the best. A part of him worries that he did something terrible to end up like he is, that something from his unknown past will come back to haunt him.
As those worries and thoughts plague his mind, he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Old words come to the forefront of his mind. Tenants to live by from a by-gone era.
Adapt like water.
He opens his eyes just as Avarae meets his gaze. Dwelling on the past would get him nowhere, he should focus on what is right in front of him.
"Yeah," he replies with a light-hearted smile. "That sounds like a good idea. Better than sitting in here all day."
Pushing his chair away from the table, he gets up and starts cleaning up the clutter on his table. He pops a few more pieces of food into his mouth before downing the last of his ale, completely forgetting his distaste for it.
"Ugh, that was a mistake."
He then puts his tankard on the plate and waves over a waiter to let them know the table can be flipped for anyone else coming in to eat and drink. Grabbing a sheathed rapier on a belt off the back of his chair, he fiddles with it to secure it to his hip with one hand as he starts towards the door.
"I did a wander about the other day so I have a rough idea of where things are. Course if we get lost we just head for the shore to reorient ourselves."
He glances back towards Avarae to make sure he isn't accidentally leaving her behind. Once they leave the inn, the crowds will be thicker and it might be hard to keep track of one another.
As they set out of the tavern together, Everett takes a moment to breathe in the salty sea air. It's comforting in a way he can't explain, though he can't explain much of anything, so that isn't saying much. He turns his attention back to his new companion.
"You mentioned not being a local," he starts as they walk down the street, "whereabouts are you from?"
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Post by taselian on Sept 1, 2023 12:35:09 GMT -5
"I'm from a small grotto in Lantern Light Woods on Moonglade," she said, her voice cutting sharply through the raucous clamor of the festival as they stepped onto the cobblestone streets from the Brass Dragon Inn. The air outside was dense with the mouthwatering aroma of roasting meats, sugared pastries, and spiced wines. Laughter, shouts, and the distant strains of fiddles and drums swirled around them, a chaotic symphony of celebration.
A pang of homesickness clenched her gut. The irony of missing the tranquil melodies of her grotto amidst this cacophony wasn't lost on Avarae. Her lips twitched into a fleeting smile, which quickly dissolved as she caught sight of Everett's taut expression. Doubt gnawed at her. Had inviting him been a misstep? She yearned for the simplicity of music to bridge the gap between them, but what if he despised crowds, or music, or even islanders like her?
She shook her head, dispelling the intrusive thoughts. The salt stains on his trousers suggested he was no stranger to the sea. Perhaps she was the anomaly, the odd islander out.
"Stop it, Avarae," she muttered under her breath. Ribbinyhn aren't known for their expressive faces; she was reading too much into his stoic demeanor. "He's probably just trying to navigate this labyrinth."
"Anyway, where are you from?" she blurted out, eager to fill the silence. Avarae nudged him gently with her elbow just as he squinted at a festival sign strung haphazardly between two crooked buildings. The sign swayed in the wind, its letters a jumble of indecipherable squiggles. "You don't strike me as a city dweller. More like a sailor, judging by those pants."
Everett's eyes darted from the sign to the winding streets, his brow furrowed in confusion.
"The sign says that way," said Avarae, pointing down the street. It seemed right but it was going away from the noise and bustle. But it was a festival sign so it must be right. "Come on, let's go."
She pulled on his left arm and he, reluctantly it seemed to her, followed.
A few city blocks later the jubilant sounds had grown faint and were replaced by the rhythmic pounding of ocean waves. The salty tang of the sea air intensified, mingling with the earthy scent of wet sand. Before she knew it, they stood on a deserted beach, the ocean stretching infinitely before them, its waves crashing in a relentless cadence.
"I think we...that I... got us lost, Everett." Avarae wrung her hands. "I'm sorry."
The half-elf took a step toward the ocean, his brow furrowed and his eyes wide.
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Post by Everett Reykas on Sept 4, 2023 22:48:15 GMT -5
The Lantern Light Woods on Moonglade. The names spark some sense of familiarity, and it's almost like a piece of a map is being unveiled in his mind. Right. There was more to Charon than this city, this island. That...he knew that.
He can't remember if he's ever been there. He might have. His memory is just so hazy.
Avarae's light bump with her elbow into his side snaps him out of it.
"Oh, uh..." His brow furrows.
Where was he from?
He gets a bit awkward and rubs the back of his neck. "I don't know. I feel like I've traveled a lot... maybe I shouldn't drink anymore."
There's a slight chuckle that follows the end of that, but he's fairly certain that it's not the drink that's causing his lack of memory.
He willingly lets her take him by the arm and lead the way when she confidently declares she knows where to go in order to find the festivities. It does not escape his notice that after a few blocks, they are definitely heading away from the city's busy center and toward the coast.
Odd. She seemed genuine in her desire to go experience the festival, so why would she head away from all the music and crowds? It's hard not to question things further as the buildings thin until they are left on a sandy beach devoid of any other folk lingering about. While he is not opposed to the idea of a visit to the shoreline, if she had wanted to end up here she could have just said so originally.
He does step away, but more out of caution in case he misjudged her.
"It's alright, happens to everyone. We should just go back to the port and retrace our steps or find someone who can give us directions."
He glances at the ocean waves lapping at the edge of the sandy beach before looking back at her.
"Unless you would prefer to stay here?"
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