The tavern is dimly lit and smells of ale and sweat. Life is rough this close to the Worldwound, and it seems that the favorite drink is anything cheap. As you walk in, the surly bartender turns his good eye towards you and grunts.
"Take a seat and pick yer poison. I'll have it to ya in a bit."
Just behind the Iomedean enters a mountain of a man. He isn't ugly-huge by any stretch. In fact, his presence draws attention like the flicker of sunlight off colored glass. His hide clothes, his totems and fetishes of bone and feather, and his massive orc war drum all scream barbarian, but he doesn't move like one of the unlettered brutes from Varisia. Instead he orders a large ale in a deep, clear voice and sits in a corner where he can keep one eye on his drum and great club and the other on the rest of the room.
A pair of slender legs clad in black tights and light boots dangling from above are joined by a long grey-blue and black striped tail gently unfurling downwards. "Such a drab mood in here" Above the crowd on a ceiling joist sits a young catfolk girl with silver hair wearing a purple tunic dress under a set of studded leather armor and a colorful flaring skirt.
She skips off her perch landing in the crowd and brandishes a bow and violin of clearly superior craftsmanship. Carefully placing the bow in the strings of the instrument, she produces two drawn out notes. Then with a dancer's graces jumps onto the next table, to observe the patrons for a moment, a short string of several fast notes follows, underlined by a swing of her hip trailed by her long tail. The Catfolk shoots a wink at the large Ulfen in the corner and looks meaningfully at his drum before before slowly starting to play an accelerating tune on her violin and moving her feet and hips to the rhythm of her tune.
Cereza wrinkles her nose, a marked improvement over her initial fit of coughing upon first entering the establishment. The pampered girl had grown up surrounded by beautiful scents, the fragrances of flowers, incense, and expensive perfumes. Her upbringing had not prepared her for the smell of the... real world. She had already learned that the hard way, after getting her first whiff of horse manure. This was the celestial scion expected to fight abominations that crawled straight out of the Worldwound.
It must smell absolutely horrid down there, she thinks with a shudder, before being shaken out of her reverie by the bartender.
"H-huh? Oh, um..." she trails off, pondering what "poison" to select. She could not deny that she was actually quite curious about what drinks the bar had to offer. Another quick whiff of the alcohol-ridden atmosphere however, quickly expels the thought from her head. "Water, please?"
Her mood abruptly brightens when the sound of (gasp!) music fills the air. She spins on her stool, to face the musician, her eyes widening when she sees the strange, cat-like creature. Today, she figured, was going to be filled with many firsts. She needed to get out more.
Ulfr's face cracks into a leathery smile at the cat's antics, but gets the drift. The huge skin drum thuds onto the table and two clubs appear in his huge hands. With a roar he pounds an urgent, driving rhythm, a beat that instantly inspires everyone willing to feats of strength and bravery. In this context, dancing.
The small man enters the tavern at the tail-end of the short song, his brown eyes wrinkling in amusement at the man's apparent wait for a chorus. While he doesn't know the lyrics, he can guess what might come next, he grins and claps along with the beat while he makes his way to the surly bartender, trying to encourage the singer to continue.
Merriment in his eyes, he stops clapping, putting his hands on the bar as he shouts out, "Ale, please! A nice dark brew if you have one." He remains standing, tapping his foot along with the drums while he waits for his drink. Every ounce of him screams to start dancing to the rhythm, but he resists, for now.
A strange, blue skinned woman entered the tavern after the tiny man. The small bird on her shoulder joined in on the song, a stark contrast with the rowdy voice of the hairy man.
When they sat down at the bar the bird chirped again before it spoke to the bartender, "Tea please, green if you have it. And some toast, if possible." The bird ended it's sentence with a short whistle.
Tehina just nodded and smiled when the bartender gave her an odd look in response to the bird's order.
Aye. The spirits lead, so I follow. Rumbles Ulfr as he steps up to the bar for a refill.
A new face walks through the doors of the tavern. A pretty angelic looking thing. An Aasimar if you ever saw one. Her silvery white hair flows long down her back over a set of traveler's clothes. She stands a little stiff, as if used to carrying more weight and her posture says that she is well educated, perhaps something of a soldier. Here she tries to relax, momentarily readjusting the holy symbol hanging down around her neck while observing the singing and playing with a cheerful smile. As an afterthought she tucks the symbol into her shirt and hangs up her cloak by the door.
"Some of your best ale please good bartender. Tonight is a night for festivity. You have quite the noisy place here. Must be good for business." She offers him a smile before going to take a seat at a nearby table of strangers. "Is the drink round here any good? I'm Tarren, not from around here. Actually I'm from Taldor but I have traveled here to join the crusades and do my part to reclaim the worldwound."
Wiles raises his mug to join Bertholdt's toast, shouting "Aye!" at his words. The drumming stopped, so his tapping foot stops with it. With annoyance, the man realizes he can't quite reach the ground when sitting on the stool. Shrugging, he turns to the two who approached the bar, smiling widely.
"Pass the wardstones? I'm hoping to, though I might need to taper off my usual drinking habits so I wake up in time." He chuckles, taking another long pull of his bitter brew, wiping his mouth with his dark sleeve to wipe away any residue. "Are you to be there for moral support, sir?" He keeps his face level, but his eyes dance.
As her song proceeds the Catfolk skips from one table to the next eventually ending up on Ulfr's table as the song draws to its finale. The last note ends abruptly and she bows to the crowd and then bends backwards a grin beaming from her now upside-down face at the skald.
"Thanks! I've lifted the spirits of many people with my music before but it never felt quite like this. I'm Shirraj Silverclaw."
Shirraj goes on to play another cheerful tune, just loud enough to fill the background in the tavern as she follows the Ulfen to the bar.
"Those fiends won't know what hit them!" Shirraj responds to Bertholdt, loud enough for everyone to hear: "We're going to make them think we opened that wound to take their home!"
And then slam it shut on their necks as they are driven before us like snow before the great winds. Aye. The Spirits would approve. I am called Ulfr Uggason, as it happens.
"And how do you propose to do that? I doubt they will listen to your request when you play a merry jig." The blue skinned woman had turned towards the gathered group, "And to those going beyond the wards without an idea what to expect I have only one message: don't. Prepare, study, know your enemy. Maybe then, only then will you stand a chance. There is no honor in dying fighting demons, all you do is provide them with more fire power."
That was one of the few things she disliked about living in Kenabres, the endless supply of "brave souls". They all seemed so eager to throw away their lives to fight a force they didn't understand, so much so they didn't even realise they empowered their opponent by doing so.
Ulfr just turns to stare at the blue skinned lady. I know I am ignorant of the perils. That is why I ask that the spirits guide me. They have lived in Sarkoris since time immemorial. They will provide me all I need to enact their vengeance.
I seek no honor. I seek no praise. Only to bring beauty back to my homeland.
He clutches a silver symbol of Shelyn hanging from one of his many fetishes and totems.
"I do not know this Sarkoris you speak of but I do know the lands north of us are not Sarkoris. It may have been once but it isn't now." Her voice sounded sad as Tehina truly empathised with the man's lost past. It was something she was all too familiar with.
"I am afraid your spirits are as lost there as we would be. That is assuming they are still in one piece and haven't been driven insane by the demons plaguing their lands. Beyond that, not all spirits are what they seem." The Oni of her father's homeland were a great example of that.
"We all agree that the demon taint needs to be removed, preferably last year. We do not, however, know how. Slay one demon and two more crawl out of the Abyss."
Ulfr glances around him, seeing something this pessimistic woman cannot.
I assure you. The spirits are real. But you may be right. Either way, I follow their command and sing their lost songs. They are weak. I will play my part to restore their strength. Even if that means proving to the world that Sarkoris is not dead. Only wounded.
Wiles' eyes narrow only slightly at the blue-skinned woman's words. Merry in nature he and the others might be, but he at least knew the nature of demon-kind, had been stuck behind enemy lines only a few short years ago. Only his wits, speed, and the whimsical chance meeting with a beautiful woman had spared him in that harrying time.
Still, if the woman liked to build her confidence by striding upon the morale and ego of her fellows, that was her business. Wiles was determined to make merry while there was merry to make. He shakes his head and grins up at the catwoman, lightly springing to his feet and jumping with ease to share the tabletop with her, shifting his weight to find the appropriate balance so the furniture doesn't spill over.
He holds his right hand out, bowing at a shallow angle at the waist, his left arm extended behind him. "Might I have this dance, my lady?"
Sirraj smiles coyly before picking up her song again and elegantly whirling around the man on the table with her. Whatever shyness on her face was nowhere to be found in her movements.
The man who enters nearly takes the heavy oaken door off of its hinges as he pushes it open. He has the appearance of a man of tremendous strength and beauty, but somehow greatly diminished... as though recovering from a long bout of sickness...
A pair of tavern lads struggle across his path, straining to move a massive cask of the dark ale that has proven so popular among the patrons. After waiting the briefest of moments for the boys to move past, he steps between the two and easily lifts the keg over the bar. "Your pardon," he says quietly as he move past.
"Osirian Coffee, very strong," he says by way of greeting to bartender, his accent belying his desire for the foreign beverage. He waves away the offer of cream or sugar, slinging back the steaming, acrid drink in a single gulp. As the bartender refills the mug, he turns to the room, noticing the music and liveliness for the first time.
"How lovely," he says, feeling the burning heat of the coffee warming him.
"They have coffee here? From Osirion?" Cereza asks aloud of the paladin, her eyes going wide with disbelief. Her sad little mug of water (which she swore tasted funny) seemed rather inadequate, then. Naturally, it was that triviality and not the strange eminence of familiarity that bade her to speak to him. The aasimar thinks to the drink orders that the others had made, glancing at the bartender, before challenging: "What drink does this place not serve?"
It was all a very welcome distraction from the tumultuous atmosphere. One moment there was music and cheer, and the next people were speaking of gloom and doom. Or perhaps it was all going on at once. It was all so very chaotic, but then, everyone had good reason to be.
The man's grin widens as he realizes he might have found a dance partner that was his equal. Possibly better. He spins with the dexterous woman, moving as she moves to keep the table balanced. His eyes widen as the piece of furniture starts to tip as he careens across it, only to find that she has spun nearer the center to stabilize it.
As she sings and they dance, the game continues, the table wobbling and tipping dangerously, but never does it crash to the floor. When he feels the song is nearing its end, he speeds up his spinning movement, building momentum as his adrenaline pumps through him. On the last note, he launches himself into the air, twisting through a somersault to land lightly on his feet between two nearby tables.
Chest heaving, he puts an arm in front of him and bows as an entertainer would after an act, that merry smile still on his face. Lastly, he bows to his dance partner before walking back to the bar, holding a hand up to indicate he needs a refill.
"They have coffee here? From Osirion?" Cereza asks aloud of the paladin, her eyes going wide with disbelief. "What drink does this place not serve?"
The man takes a slower sip of his second mug, looking to the bartender who produces another mug quickly. "A lighter roast and a coarser grind would have served this one better," he muses. "I am known as Rakeesh Sah Tarna, Sah Hemet, Sah Knut."
"Sah...? Are those the names of your father, and his before him?" Cereza inquires, raising a thinly-trimmed brow, "A pity that I did not know mine. But at least I still know where I came from." Raising her cup, she finishes her water as one would a stiff drink, before setting it back down. Perhaps her mind was just playing tricks on her. "Cereza Morah. A pleasure to meet you."
A smile appeared on the face of the blue skinned woman, "I know the spirits are real. Just be weary, some might not be what they appear to be. It would be a shame to lose someone who remembers the Worldwound from before the Worldwound."
Her smile broadened, "My name is Tehina." She took a sip from her tea, "Just make sure you know what you are getting into. Be able to lead the spirits when they are unable to do so themselves."
"Greetings Rakeesh, I am Tarren. Whose name do you come in to Kenabres?" She watches her fellow Aasimar. Kin in a way. Though of a different kind than her that was for sure.
A smile appeared on the face of the blue skinned woman, "I know the spirits are real. Just be weary, some might not be what they appear to be. It would be a shame to lose someone who remembers the Worldwound from before the Worldwound."
Her smile broadened, "My name is Tehina." She took a sip from her tea, "Just make sure you know what you are getting into. Be able to lead the spirits when they are unable to do so themselves."
Well met, and well spoken, Tehina. I have a mind to do all you say. Sarkoris had it's share of evil spirits like any lands. They are no doubt dangerous now, as you say.
Ulfr smiles back a handsome smile and raises his ale in salute.
"Sah...? Are those the names of your father, and his before him?" Cereza inquires, raising a thinly-trimmed brow. "Cereza Morah. A pleasure to meet you."
"Greetings Rakeesh, I am Tarren."
"'Sah' means 'son of'," Rakeesh confirms. "Your servant, Cereza. And yours, Tarren," he responds with a half bow.
"Whose name do you come in to Kenabres?"
Rakeesh positively pales at the question. Skin that might once have been bronze goes from merely waxen to a sickly white. "I dare not say, lady. Rakeesh barely whispers. I am not... favored... and he does not forgive."
Rakeesh allows his cloak to fall open a bit more. Hanging around his neck is a holy symbol shaped like a broadsword crossing a red wing... the symbol of Ragathiel, General of Vengeance.
"I... don't understand." She glances at his symbol then back at him. "But I serve The Inheritor and would stand with you in battle against the worldwound if that's what you came here for. Or against you," she smiles as she looks off behind him, "if you plan to enter any of the games tomorrow."
Tehina's smile fades at the rowdy man's question, "I can't blame you for wanting to fight it, for doing so would be blaming myself as well. What I can blame you for is rushing headlong into the waiting jaws of demons, eager to add your soul to their already impressive arsenal."
She sighs, "So far this has been a war of attrition and the demons will win a war of attrition. In order to win we have to change the nature of this war and to do that we need to think and plan."
"I... don't understand." She glances at his symbol then back at him. "But I serve The Inheritor and would stand with you in battle against the worldwound if that's what you came here for. Or against you," she smiles as she looks off behind him, "if you plan to enter any of the games tomorrow."
"No doubt the lady looks down upon you with kindness and approval," Rakeesh smiles weakly. "It is not so, for me. The Empyreal Lord gazes upon this one with wrath and righteous indignation... justly so..."
"No games for this one," Rakeesh shakes his head. "I squandered power beyond imagination on games and petty idleness. What remains for this one is to be spent upon the General's vengeance. I would stand against all the hordes of the Abyss alone, if necessary... For I fear nothing more than his anger."
"How you have freely chosen this path astonishes me..."
"But surely you know that the Inheritor stands against all of the worldwounds hordes. Many of my fellow soldiers have crusaded against the fiends and many have given their lives." she seems passionate about the topic but calm. "I must answer my gods calling and help serve her justice. The Generals men are my allies as long as they fight." She holds out a hand of friendship.
"If you do not care for games, what about the festival draws you here?"
"Your devotion is admirable. As is that of your compatriots." Rakeesh shook her hand. "Do not doubt my intent. I am here to fight. That the festival arrived the day this one arrived is merely coincidence."
"What games do they play in this place that merits this gathering?"
"I don't have a solid plan yet, but I do have some ideas. Our main priority I think is cutting off their supply, which would mean shutting the gate." Her tone shifted as she started speaking about her plans, enthusiasm creeping in. "I know that would be hard and I have no idea how to do it, but I'm sure it would work."
She paused a moment before continuing, "The other option would be using the nature of the demons against them. As some of you might know, demons are prone to infighting. This extends even to their highest ranks. If we know who's behind the invading forces here we can figure out who opposes the fiend and try and arrange a war between them. That should provide sufficient distraction for us to take the gate and shut it down."
It seems that this crusade has its way of joining birds of a feather, Cereza muses to herself, her eyes twinkling at the sight of Rakeesh's holy sign. They then flick to Tarren, no less astonished. And another one. Does she too descend from the Empyrean? More allies from the heavens - perhaps they had a chance after all.
"I have been told before that there are no such things as coincidences," she says with a smirk. The bartender approaches, offering up a jug of water, but the aasimar merely shakes her head.
A woman leans in from her chair in the corner, letting the hood from her cloak fall from her head. The light shines off her hair with perhaps a bit too much shine, almost like it was striking gold. A well cared for chain shirt can be seen under a simple shirt. Lying against the bare skin of her neck is the familiar sword and sun symbol of Iomedae and against the chair are a shield bearing the same symbol, and a longsword.
She looks at Tehina, "People have been trying to close the gates" she puts a slight emphasis on the plural "for decades. A fine task to be sure, and one that the crusades try on a regular basis." She shakes her head, "And over all that time, it brings us to the stalemate that we find ourselves in now. Your best bet would be to join one of the crusade companies. The best way to do that would be to have yourself be seen at the festival tournament." Her eyes cast to the ceiling, "Gods willing, they'll let me join this year."
"I'm no crusader. Personally I think our best bet to close the gate lies with the Riftwardens and maybe even closing the gate from the inside." That was a dangerous task and most likely a suicidal one. Considering the failed efforts so far it could be the best option though.
"I have been told before that there are no such things as coincidences," she says with a smirk. The bartender approaches, offering up a jug of water, but the aasimar merely shakes her head.
"Perhaps not," Rakeesh shrugs. "But, here are three of the celestial bloodline, all of different purpose, converging upon this place, in this time. Coincidence or happenstance or by design... At least the music is quite pleasant." He applauds as the dancers finish in a flourish.
Wiles bows again to Rakeesh before taking a pull from his mug, the bitter brew causing him to grimace. As the three celestially-descended folk talk, he listens in, his foot still tapping on the floor to some unheard beat.
Unabashedly, he walks up to the three at a break in their conversation, adding in, "Perhaps the fact that crusaders are picked as 'those seen' at the festival tournament lends itself to the current stalemate. There is a tool for every task, and it seems such a cookie cutter way of choosing is a recipe for the same dish every time."
Rakeesh nods to the dancer as he joins the group. "An impressive display of agility. I myself would have upturned the table and sent the cat flying through the window if I had tried that."
"Tournaments and games..." Rakeesh shakes his head.
"If you would promise to be accurate, aiming for that window, I'd be willing to try.", Shirraj's amused smile bares needle-sharp teeth.
"You all need to lighten up, there's still plenty of time to be worried and serious on the battlefield. Right now raising their spirits is how we can best help all these people."
Tchirash grins at Bertholdt, "Too nervous in a game that holds little chance of injury, much less death? Try to think of it as a way to show your talent, win or lose." She raises an eyebrow, "Yes, tournaments and games. Would you rather they just pulled people randomly? The tournament boasts some of the best at martial, arcane, or divine craft, and allows them to show their talents. It's a way...A way, not the only one, for the companies to see the best of those trained, either formally or informally, and for anyone who might otherwise go unnoticed to have a forum to be noticed."
Tchirash rises from her seat, walking a bit around the room, and offers Tehina a genuine smile, "Your ideas, and desire to fight this are admirable, and have merit, how did you think to get anyone in a position to use them to take notice? Show your mettle at the tournament, and they'll notice more quickly. Rakeesh Sah Tarna, Sah Hemet, Sah Knut, you say you came to fight? Without a company at your back, how long do you think to last? The demons, as noted, are legion, and Kenabres is not." She looks at Wiles "So, yes, the tournament shows those with merit, and they join the companies to go and fight. Without that, if we just let anyone rush to fight, without combined purpose, or combined tactics, the stalemate that exists, wouldn't, and it would come at the expense of the people in Kenabres that don't fight."
"I've lived here for a long time by most races standard, and I've seen the victories we've had, and defeats. I've seen the disastrous Third Crusade, brought on by accepting too many people without merit into the fight. Now we face an abyssal strength in the Storm King which makes the others pale, and the city itself changes to meet it. We need the best that can be found, tournaments help provide a way to discover the best." She smiles again, looking around, "I dare say that a few of those 'best' may be here tonight."
Ulfr slams his mug down as Tchirash concludes her speech.
As it is said, so it is. This is a mighty company! Too mighty to prevent song and dance in defiance of the Abyss!
"You make the tournament sound more serious than i had thought. I just wanted to have a little fun before I worry about the dangers out there."