The Rise and Times of Calderon: the IC Thread

[Mordae]

It's early evening mid-week, and the regular crowd shuffles into the Wycliffe tavern, the only real indoor gathering place of any size in the backwater town that is Calderon. The chill is still in the dark air but the snow and ice of winter have largely melted, allowing the tradesmen of Calderon's main industries--fishing, farming, logging, and mining--to return to work after a long, tedious, grumble-filled off-season.

The odd thing is, there are far too many miners among tonight's patrons, a fact not lost on the young lady running the show this evening. The iron diggers are stout men who usually spend a work week at a time out in the tunnels, returning back on the weekends to store their haul and resupply. To find this many here tonight--and Foreman Maicz with them, no less--is a queer sight indeed. The digging folk stay at their table in the southeast corner, isolated from the fishermen and farmers that intersperse the majority of the smoky main hall.

There's a game going on at another table in the back, coins and cards exchanging hands regularly in the time honored tradition, all under the careful eye of the lady-proprietor. Fortunately, there haven't been any fights or calls of 'cheater' since some fool got brained with a carpenter's hammer last month.

Outside in the streets, the growing darkness allows the stars above to appear brighter, and a sliver of a moon provides hazy silver light. There are still a few folks working by torchlight and candlelight, but most of the agrarian little town beds down with the sun--or seeks entertainment at the old Wycliffe place.

OOC: Insert yourself into the scene wherever is appropriate. Plot hooks are waiting to be sniffed and bitten.

[Bago!!!]

OOC: I am assuming that I can see what Mordae has described and that tea is being sold at this place. If I am wrong, let me know and I'll change my post.

Talron Carter walked along the road, breathing in the chilly evening. His brown scarf drifted behind him as he jogged for the Wycliffe Tavern, mostly to warm himself as jogged in his plain clothing in his sandals. Though he preferred to be at his house at this hour, he couldn't deny that he was out of tea bags, and he disliked not having a warm drink before his meditations and studies. Even so, he didn't look forward to the tavern, being surrounded by human interaction overall made him uncomfortable. Out of all the places in the town, it was the Tavern that overpowered his senses, namely his sense of smell and ears. The smoke of tobacco and the loud people was completely different than the monastery. The smell of incense in the air, the echoing chants of meditation and faint shouts at the training grounds. His time there usually made him homesick.

Though the darkness gradually choked out what little remained of the sunlight, Tal wasn't hindered by it. His vision was well enough that the darkness of night didn't bother him. Tal saw the tavern long before he could hear it, but he it didn't take long before he could hear it, and then smell it. Walking into the rather warm tavern, his senses took everything in. The familiar but foul smell of tobacco filled his nostrils as he heard the sounds of merry making, shuffling of chairs and feet. His eyes saw the crowd of familiar faces that he knew well enough from the few years he lived in this town. But something stood out as odd for Tal. The miners were here. They usually spent their time at the mines working all day long. Their time in the town was usually too gather supplies. The fact that Foreman Maicz was with them didn't seem right either.

He paused as his curiosity as to why the miners were away from their work. Then he moved toward the miner table and asked Maicz in a voice that was loud enough to be heard by Maicz, but soft enough to not come across as overbearing, "Maicz, is everything alright? I thought your group would be at the mines today till the end of the week."