Dowrenland: Emeralds & Roses {IC}

[Erasmas]

Dowrenland: Emeralds & Roses

The rainy season had come, apparently, to the city of Irrorab Wall. You had been told that the town was so named because of the remains of a wall just outside of the city proper that was left from another time, when this land was ravaged by warring nations. It lay mostly in ruins now, and it was said that the stones of the wall fell from their settings almost as often as the rain from the sky. Your merry band had arrived just two weeks ago, traveling south to find a more temperate clime in which to winter. Finding Irrorab Wall only a few miles inland from the southern coast, it seemed like a nice enough place to ride out the coming months of cold. As it is told, this far south does not know the harshness of the winters in the northern part of the lands, in the areas of the villages like Threshold and Runthorpe. Some years, the locals have rumored, this area doesn't even have snow! And so, it was here that you had decided to make your home, at least for the next few months.

Naturally, as is an occupational hazard of the adventuring life, you soon found yourselves somewhat stir-crazy and wanting for the usual excitement that tends to find its way to you. But, the frequent rains have all but washed out the roads coming in and out of Irrorab Wall and have made socializing with the more interesting denizens of the town even somewhat of a challenge. And then, to top it all off, over the course of today, the weather had turned strange and terrible, truly forcing everyone to remain indoors. The rains were not only especially heavy and constant today, but the winds were also shifting their direction, and the sky had taken on a slightly yellow-green coloration. There has even been mention that Sasnak, the nearest town of notable size, was devastated by tornadoes the day before last. Many of the elder patrons began murmuring about bad omens and imminent danger.

All of you had set yourselves up at the Little Black Dog - a tavern and inn of modest comfort and affordability. As your stay here had gone on, you had come to feel somewhat at home here, getting on well with the owners, a gruff man with a good heart named Benjiah and his wife Tirlynn. Their only daughter has passed away last autumn, but they seemed to be mending well. The Little Black Dog also seemed to be one of the more popular gathering places for the locals, who would often look to come and drink away their dreary day. Even on a day like today, where many would've just rather stayed at home, several had ventured out to come here... likely for the hot meal, a warm fire made with dry wood, and a few tankards of mead or ale to ward off the damp chill of the impending winter.

Most of the people present were discussing the bizarre weather, and the travesty it had apparently caused in the neighboring town of Sasnak. People told of a brother's house that was picked up and dropped in a radish field or of a daughter's experience of hiding in a root cellar, only to emerge and find nothing but bare earth around her. Another tale about a tree that had stood for a hundred years... another about a horse that had broken it's leg and had to be put down. It seemed as though it was all that these people could talk about.

The day had turned to night, without any slowing in the downpour outside. The night had now waned a bit, and most of the folk had braved the journey home, adjourned to their rooms, or passed out here in the common room. There were only a handful left awake at this point aside from yourselves and good Benjiah.

Spoiler: Benjiah

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[pife]

Another ale for me, if you please, Benjiah, Arisilde asks politely. He swallows the dregs of his last cup and belches quietly behind his hand. Beg'pardon, he murmurs. And the rain, rain, rain came down, down, down, in rushing rising riv'lets.. 'Til the river crept out of it's bed, and crept into the piglet's, Arisilde croons softly, almost to himself as he looked out the window.

He sets a silver piece on his table, And can I get one taken out to Bandy, too, he asked hopefully? He actually prefers stronger stuff, normally, but this has a fine flavor that I think he'll enjoy.

[~Corvus~]

Gisela has been listening to the locals with a partial interest. She had to balance any criticisms of their fears with assurances that the Gods would listen. But mostly, it was common folk wanting to believe the terrible happenings elsewhere to make their own lives feel that much better. What else were they to do? She pulls her fullhelm tighter over her face, the better to obscure her true nature.

We all would benefit from prayer to the God of Storms. She waits as the startled peasants look up at this mail-clad adventurer.
I am a Paladin of the Earthmother, and an apostle of peace. I know a prayer that fits this situation. Please, join hands with me, and close your eyes in reverence.

O god of storms, I have looked upon your work and tremble as I should. I hear of your wrath, and I am struck with awe by your might.

I feel your fury as you ravage our land, and I share it as I bear witness to your power. Let him be satisfied whom has lost that he has not lost more. May your rage be sated by this, O lord of Howling Fury, as you shake our timbers and hear the babes cry in terror.

We offer up to you our fear that it may cull your want to bring our land to dust. May you let us live so that we may tribute again, O Lord of the Storms

Unbowing her head, Gisela blushes under her helmet, hoping no one asks to see her face.

[pife]

Arisilde rushes over to join the ring of villagers, those that respond to Gisela's call to prayer. He loves it when she waxes poetic like that. So fervent, so heartfelt. After she is done, he gives her two thumb's up, mouthing the words Well done!.

[Zap Dynamic]

"Ugh." A discontented cloud of hookah smoke blooms into the tavern as the man known only as 'Cachimba' lounges in his seat. He was sent on this journey--quite against his will--to survey the architectural features of the areas the rest of the party would explore. So far, he has made no effort to hide the fact that he's interested in observing many things. It seems his hookah, the inside of taverns, and the local women all rank much higher in his estimation than architecture.

"This rain is dismal," he says for the second time. Apparently he has forgotten earlier in the afternoon, when he praised the rain for granting them a reprieve from the 'drudgery of labor.' "At least the music is tolerable." Another cloud of fragrant smoke rises into the air as the paladin finishes her prayer.

[pife]

Oh, don't be so somber, Arisilde chides with a smile. The ale is good, the roof doesn't leak, and these folk are fascinating.

Ari requests yet another ale, and pays for it, before taking both mugs and wandering over to the elderly gentleman. May I join you? Setting the other mug in front of the older man, Arisilde asks Sir, I'm wondering if you've lived here most of your life. What can you tell me about the history of this place? Are there any interesting legends or stories?

[Hazuki]

Sunny Smiles rolls her eyes at she sits perched in the corner of the tavern, having explored every nook and cranny of the place for a comfortable seat, and finding this one to be the least dull. At least, for the moment, because there's only so much she can do to entertain herself in a place where she definitely doesn't want to stick around; too much chaos to settle down, not enough people that she's particularly fond of, and she has to stick with the group of adventurers that want her services in frying things. Like that's what she wants to die with her life. Nobody could live like that. They could die like it, though.

And then Gisela is up on stage again, prattling about how they should all worship the storm and hope it spares them. "That's stupid." Sunny calls out, heckling the overtly-religious woman as she's want to do, and as the crimson viper wrapped around her left arm seems to enjoy. "A storm is a storm, and praying to it won't do you any good. It's a force of nature, almost entirely random. Or what, are we going to start making floods into noblemen? Droughts start running taverns? Or will we start electing kings because some watery tart lobbed a harpoon at him? That's no way to run your life. Get a real job."

Of course, Gisela has heard it all before, but it's one of the few ways Sunny can enjoy herself.

[pife]

Warming to the debate, Arisilde looks up and calls over.. Better to turn a flood into a nobleman than to have a flood OF noblemen. Ari shivers theatrically. THAT, would be horrifying. But surely you recognize the power of the gods to use forces of nature to enact their will. Naturally then, logic dictates that appeasing them might in fact preclude further undesired events. AND, Arisilde waggles his eyebrows playfully, I happen to like watery tarts! And surely they couldn't muck up kingship much more than those we already have, so it's as good a system as any.

[Zap Dynamic]

Amused by the sorceress, Cachimba lets out a single, languid "ha," something midway between a yawn, a cough, and laughter. "Ever the sunny one, dear." He looks around, long since bored of the tavern's inhabitants. "Would it be too much to ask for a seraglio in town?" he asks no one in particular.

[Hazuki]

"Bah. I don't deny the existence of a deity, but this is blatant superstition. You're praying for him to stop doing something, not for doing something good, like Pelor or Sylvana." Sunny retorts. "But even if that logic is valid, I suppose any watery tarts better start worshiping Sunny Smiles, to halt the sudden popularity of chastity whenever you're around." She says to Arisilde, getting to her feet and brushing some dust off of her coat.

"Now piss off. I'm going to talk to somebody whose voice doesn't make my nethers turn into an arid wasteland." She dismisses the man and strolls over to the table that Isbetta is sitting at, perching on the seat beside the woman and smiling softly at her. "Evening, Isbetta. Have you decided to run away with me yet?" She asks, smirking at the woman and continuing the jest from some of their previous interactions. She's found that many of the peasants appreciate her interest, even if their barn door doesn't swing her way.

[Erasmas]

Benjiah was quick to serve up another ale to the bard.

"You lot 'ave jus'about emptied the barrel! Should I tap another?", he asked the room at large. When Arisilde asks for one to be taken out to his companion in the stables, the keep looks somewhat perplexed. "Yer wantin'... an ale... fer tha... what was it called again?", he searches the corners of his mind for the animal's name, which the bard had given him at least three times already during the course of your stay, "'Tamel' was it, sir?"

Several of the remaining patrons gathered for the paladin's prayer, some more adamantly than others. However, they were quick to disperse once Sunny started in on the blasphemous debate that very well could threaten to undo whatever good Gisela's offering might have gained... at least in their minds.

At some point during it all, Arisilde buys another drink for three copper and sidles up to the table where old Nosteron sat, chuckling quietly to himself over the exchange. "Stories you ask? Legends even? Aye, my boy, aye... there are those indeed! The is the story of the Miller on Kahgann Hill... the rumors about the Ghost of the Baroness that haunts the abandoned graveyard just outside of town... the folly of Egrimon Dolett and that ruined estate he left behind. What do you wish to hear tale of, young man?"

Meanwhile, Sunny had made her way over to where Isabetta had been sitting, nursing a glass of wine. She smiles politely as the sorceress makes a pass at her, "No offense, honey, but I think you're missing a few parts that I might miss were I to leave with you.", she giggled at her own brashness and placed her hand over her mouth. "But, you're more than welcome to keep flirting with me. It's been long enough since that's happened that I'm not gonna turn it down... even coming from another woman.", she says now with an all-out laugh, slapping her own knee and then gently touching Sunny's shoulder in a sincere gesture of thanks.

[pife]

Don't look a gift camel in the mouth, good Benjiah! Rejoice when business is good. As it is, the storm has kept my impatient friends cooped up and drinking heartily.

Arisilde sits on the edge of his seat, his elbows propped on the table and gives Nosteron his full attention. Ah! Arisilde perks up. I haven't heard of any good folly since the last time I asked the ironically named Sunny over there to dance! Tell us about Egrimon and his estate! Looking over at the paladin, Ari adds Gisela, come listen to this story, won't you? He uses his foot to nudge a chair out for her.

[Hazuki]

"Until you come to your senses, that's the plan." Sunny replies to the woman's jests with a smile, enjoying her brashness largely for the fact that it reflects a part of her own behavior that others don't seem to understand. The difference being that she's confident enough not to apologize for it...or Isabetta is wise enough to, either way is good. "Have you seen anything interesting today, Isabetta? It seems like you're the only pretty thing I get to see nowadays." She asks curiously, arching a blond eyebrow.

[Zap Dynamic]

Slowly, yawning, Cachimba picks at the remains of his dinner. He rolls over in his seat to better hear the old man's tale and raises his empty chalice. "Benji!" he calls, louder than he's been all day. "You may not know a buttress from a jetty," ye daft bumpkin, he thinks, "but your mead is the best in town." Cachimba holds the chalice out. "If you please."

[Marlowe]

From the over-airbrushed swirls of the multiverse comes an example of those strangest of strange particles; the Anachron. Hurtling through the Universal century where people are born, and live, and die. Sweeping swiftly through the Falloutverse ( an OK place to live, but you wouldn't want to visit there) and pointedly avoiding the 40K universe (where there is only war. Which never changes.), it comes to a stop in another times, another place, in the brain of one Ghairen Kaarla.

"He that has a tiny little wit
Must make content with his fortunes fit
For the rain it raineth every day"

She sings softly, her eyes reflecting the surface of the cup of mead she's nursing. Then stops abruptly and blinks. Where did that come from? The rain's getting to me. I'm drifting., she thinks. And fastens her attention on surroundings. Bad things could happen if she drifted.

"Indeed. My compliments, innkeep, for your house and your wares." She holds out her own cup to Benji as she rises to join the cool table. "Though I must ask; you seem to be serving alone. Have you no staff wenches assist you, and to facilitate wenching season? Dear Cachimba's foil is quite gathering rust through lack of practice, and I am sure that Sunny over there would appreciate a moving target."

[~Corvus~]

As Arisilde leaves the circle of prayer and the townsfolk file out or wander away due to Sunny's heckling, Gisela nods to him appreciatively and finds her way back over to her still-hot meal, preferring to retire to her room to eat.

She will be back out into the front of the tavern later.

[Marlowe]

Ghairen noted the Paladin taking her seat with a feeling of slight relief. She was fond of the statuesque Orcette, and certainly her heart was in the right place. But at the present moment she didn't see much wisdom in seeking any kind of divine attention.

Tornados. Howling, dire things. Implacable and random. Nature's own demons of air and darkness. If there's any higher power behind them it's one whose attention you do not want.

[Erasmas]

Benjiah, with no more argument, took the beverage outside, throwing a hooded cloak on and wrapping it tightly about him. As he returned, and Cachimba called out to him for more mead, he bustled over to the clay jar which housed it and and brought it over to where the wizard was lounging. He poured him another chalice of the honeyed beverage and collected his five copper - it was indeed a fine vintage. He likewise makes the round to Ghairen, pouring the cleric another as well. "Not at dis time of night, lass, no. I've sent them all off to bed. They'll be back in the mornin'." A yawn visibly escaped the barkeep's lips and he crossed to the hearth, throwing on one last log.

"And wiff dat, ladies and gents, I'm off to find me bed. I bid you all a g'night and a fair slumber. See you on the morrow.", Benjiah announced to the room at large before shuffling off through a backdoor that lead to his family's private quarters. The other townsfolk bid the man varying degrees of parting pleasantries before going back to their business. Both Obril and Sasell took this as their cue and departed for their own homes, wherever they might be. The young elf, Wessian, Gulrath, Finley, and even Gisela all likewise turned in... only they went up to their rooms here within the Little Black Dog. That left only your party (minus the half-orc), Isabetta, and Nosteron awake within the common room.

Isabetta continues to appreciate the company of Sunny, even if it wasn't quite to the extent that the sorceress wished. "Oh now, I doubt that very much. But... thank you all the same. As for anything interesting, no... not really... not today at any rate. All this rain makes it hard to see much of what's going on, it encourages closed shutters and doors, it does. Though, now that I think on it a bit, I did see Nathold fall out of his stirrup earlier and end up face-down in a patch of mud as deep as a man is long." She covered her mouth again and snickered loudly, a feint snort accidentally sneaking its way into her laughter. She leaned back in her fit and nearly fell off of her stool.

Meanwhile, at the table where Arisilde sat and spoke with the old blind man, the corners of Nosteron's eyes deepened with wrinkles as he smiled broadly. It was obvious that he loved to spin yarns for those that would listen.

Spoiler: Nosteron's Tale

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"Well, nearly sixty years ago now I suppose, an adventurer... not unlike yourself and your companions... by the name of Egrimon Dolett stopped through here on his way towards fame and fortune. He was a tall man, broad of shoulders and very handsome... so they say. He had accepted a quest to journey into the heart of Vaddion Mountain, to seek out a terrible beast that had come to dwell there. And, as the story often goes, he found and defeated the beast indeed - single-handedly no less. But, during his excursion into the mountain, he discovered creature that had been enslaved by the beast and freed him. This creature was a leprechaun named Doneby. In exchange for his freedom, Doneby swore his loyal and unwavering servitude to Egrimon for a year and a day. And Egrimon accepted. However, he was not a kind man and soon the leprechaun found himself in perhaps a worse situation than that which he had been rescued from. With the riches that Egrimon had recovered from the beast's lair, he retired from adventuring and decided to make his home here, just outside of Irrorab Wall, on a plot of land that he purchased to the north. And there, he forced Doneby to build him an elaborate manor house, with a surrounding estate of equal splendor. Even with the magic that the leprechaun possessed, it took him nearly that entire year of difficult labor to build - all the while, Egrimon wiled away his time here in the city, spending his time on leisurely endeavors instead of helping with his own home. Little did he know, all the while Doneby was plotting a careful revenge against the mistreatment he had been made to endure. And because Egrimon did not lift a finger to help in the construction of his own house, he was completely unawares of the many purposeful pitfalls and intentional errors that the leprechaun was hiding within the building. Well, finally the house was finished, Egrimon moved in, and Doneby's contract was fulfilled... so, reluctantly, he was released."

Nosteron paused in his story, drinking deeply from his tankard before he continued.

"It wasn't long afterwards that the truth of what Egrimon had sowed came to bear. At first, it was minors things - disembodied voices and strange noises in the night to rattle the nerves, a hearth that refused all attempts to build a fire within it, a near endless string of woodland creatures that managed to find their way inside regardless of how tightly the house was closed up. Then it became things of a more troublesome nature - furniture that would switch rooms entirely, places on the second floor that would flood without another drop of water in sight, random valuables from the city would appear in the house (followed closely by the city guards to find it there, accusing Egrimon of theft). But then Doneby had his final laugh and the house began to crumble apart around the man - walls would split right down the middle and collapse for no reason, sections of flooring would rot and cave in overnight, upon entering the kitchen one day the entire room was bathed in blood only to disappear before someone else could see it. The manor house rapidly began to deteriorate, as did Egrimon's mental health and his standing with the city of Irrorab Wall. And then, he simply vanished one day. And the dilapidation stopped... at least the unnatural rate at which it was happening did. Time itself has done some work on the old place, but it still stands. And to this day, no one has ever seen of heard a single thing about Egrimon Dolett."

[~Corvus~]

Gisela returns from her evening meal quite satisfied. Instead of being clad in mail and armor, she is wearing a full-body robe with tight sleeves and a long dress, and her helm over the head area.

with her face again obscured by her helm. She arrives a little after the start of old man Nosterdan's story, and sidles over to Arisilde to thank him again (quietly) while meaning to respect the elderly man's story. She sits down with the bard to hear the remainder of the tale, nodding at him to continue.

[Zap Dynamic]

Completely missing the point, Cachimba says "Egrimon should have hired competent laborers and an architect from the city." Still, magical architecture is much more interesting than the Irrorab Wall or any of the other excuses for construction he has noticed so far. Cachimba takes a long draw from his hookah as he files the information away for later.

Cachimba, ever the slave of his own profligacy, lolls his head toward Sunny and the Older Woman. To his dismay, they stop talking moments after he starts paying attention. It's such hard work, seeking out entertainments.

"You're in luck, Sunny," he purrs through a haze, rising from his chair and stretching his spare arms. "An old mare gets away while the stallion is ready to head to the stable."

[Hazuki]

Sunny leans over slightly as it seems like Isabetta is about to fall off of her stool, then smiles softly at the woman and pats her on the shoulder. "I think it's best you head home, Isabetta. We'll need to pray to the God of Too Much Alcohol if you stay here any longer." She jests, standing up. "And I'm heading to bed regardless, so goodnight." She gives the woman a brief nod of recognition, stands up, takes a few steps, and then Cachimba starts talking.

The sorceress stares at the lazing about man for a few moments, her stare blank and under heavy-lidded eyes as he attempts to purr. She keeps staring for a few moments longer, as he gets to his feet in a haze, then makes his offer to her. She stands still, keeps staring at the man for a few more moments, blinks once, then...

A small fire suddenly starts in Cachimba's beard.

[Marlowe]

Ghairen is comfortably interested by the old man's story. So, a man obsessed; or cursed? For that matter; is there much of a difference? I suppose your opinion might change a little based on how close you stand to the problem.

Then she notices the interplay between Cachimba and Sunny, smells the sudden reek of burning hair, and sighs. "Darts at dust-motes" she says quietly. And suddenly mutters something under her breath.

Several gallons of water appear directly over the wizard's head, and submits directly to gravity.

Ghairen stands up. "Oh look. The roof leaks." She says in completely flat tones. "Does anyone have a towel?" Then she bends down and whispers to Sunny.

"We are obviously terrible people. Do you want to help mop the floor, or help him dry out?"

[~Corvus~]

Gisela gives Ghairen and Sunny flat stares under her helm, not sparing them any amount of visual reproach. She tugs on Cachimba's robe, telling him Well don't just stand there looking like a weather victim! At least you didn't get a lake dumped on you... She seizes Cachimba's hookah just below the neck, grabs the tube, and then with her other arm, drags him to his own room, trying to make him feel as guilty as possible for his own predicament, as he rightly should. Shame on you, picking on those women like that. We really must talk about your manners at some time or another. But I'll spare you any further lecture tonight, she says as he is probably about to object. I'll see you in the morning. She gives him a flat, emotionless smile, and firmly shuts the door.

Sighing, she walks back to her room, taking out a notebook as she does, opens the door, lights the candle near her bedside, and closes the door.

[Marlowe]

Ghairen meets the Paladins gaze with her standard complete neutral unblinking stare. As Gisela bundles the wizard upstairs, she turns again to Sunny. "Now we are in the naughty corner. And Cachimba has been put to bed without his crumpet. Or his supper. We need something to do beyond hide from the rain."

She gives the room an all-round appraisal; trying to gauge who's taken note of the whole mess, and how they are reacting.

Spoiler: Sense Motive

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(1d20+4)[20]

[Hazuki]

A dumbfounded look stays on Sunny's face at everything that follows her reciprocation for Cachimba's eccentricity, from Gisela's stare, the puddle of water, and the riddles that Ghairen seems to speak in. One would think that she's used to it by now, week after week spent cooped up in the tavern with the bunch, but she finds it quite difficult to adapt to the bunch. And the fact that Salicia's tongue flickers with amusement at everything, it just makes it that much more difficult to tolerate. As soon as she's potent enough to talk with Salicia, she's going to go insane. She's certain of it.

"I'm going to my quarters." Sunny tells the Cleric flatly, running an exasperated hand through her hair and starting to walk towards the stairs. "Join me if you want. Otherwise, enjoy the rain." She snaps her fingers and the door upstairs opens, which she trudges towards with the ultimate intent of collapsing on her bed.

[pife]

Arisilde listens with undiluted delight, and laughs quietly but sincerely at each unfortunate but well deserved insult to Egrimon's pride and legacy. After the story has concluded, he claps Nosteron on the shoulder fondly, and thanks him for the story. I wonder if Doneby has been seen around here since then, he muses to himself. He is still pondering when the exchange between Cahimba and Sunny erupts into hilarity, and Arisilde cannot contain his mirth, first grinning at Cachimba's initial and hopelessly optimistif first sally, then barking a surprised laugh when his beard catches fire, falling into a deep and lasting belly-laugh when Cachimba is doused from head to toe. Feeling a twinge of sympathy for the man, Arisilde still can't resist occasionally giggling as he replays the scene in his head. However, a mess has been left in Benjiah's taproom, which Arisilde smoothly moves to clean up. A half-grin still on his face, remnants of the evening's entertainments, Arisilde stretches, yawns, and bids the folks remaining in the taproom good night. With that, he retires to his room, pausing to make several notes in his journal about the days events, then turning in for the evening.

[Zap Dynamic]

A viper could hardly have moved as fast as Cachimba's arm when the hairs on his chin catch fire. "EEE!" The flames leap up in front of his face, sending the wizard backward to topple on top of Gisela's food.

"EEEEEEEE!" The wizard pays no attention to the now-filthy paladin, wheeling around slapping his chin and squealing like a babe.

There's no need, of course, thanks to the shaman's diligence. Cachimba has enough time for a high-pitched, shocked, outraged "ugh!" before a pair of strong arms turn his world flip-upside down. He has no thought for anything but the safety of his hookah as the paladin closes the door.

The party hears a door slam open upstairs. "I'm all wet, sure, but I have the endurance of a bear! You'll come around!" The door slams again, and within minutes the evergreen aroma of Cachimba's "sleeping tobacco" drifts into the common room.

[Marlowe]

Ghairen follows Sunny's departure with her eyes, then turns to Arisilde. "Is my hearing awry; or did Sunny just try to preposition me?" She gives her head a couple of stiff shakes to dispell the mental image, then (presuming nobody else in the common room seems especially suspicious, frightened, or threatening) assists with the clean-up before retiring to her own Sunny-free, snake-free room.

[Erasmas]

There is a distant clap of rolling thunder somewhere off in the night and the rain begins to pour down even harder. The hearthfire was nearly spent, leaving little more than the glowing orange coals that resembled a smith's forge. The last candle was almost a stub, not unlike a dwarf in its current state - short and squat-looking. The spirits were tucked tidily away in the ale cupboard for the night and any food that remained was beyond cold by now. As you all slowly realize that the thought of sleep has crept up upon you, you head off to find your bed.

The night's rest was a fitful one, filled with tossing and turning. The storm outside had grown more fierce, and between the wind slamming things around in its howling rage and the incessant thunder, it takes its toll upon your slumber's peace. And to top it all off, your dreams were haunted by a voice on the wind... at least you hope that it was only in your dreams.

"Amid the blackest day, you will see the whitest of men.
Let his path show you the way which you do not see.
The journey towards peace begins by looking into thyself."

♠♥♣♦Ѻ♦♣♥♠۩♠♥♣♦Ѻ♦♣♥♠

Dawn breaks the following morning, or so you are forced to assume. For what awakens you is not the crowing of a rooster, but rather another enormous boom of thunder, sounding as though it threatened to rend open the very sky. Perhaps it did... for when you looked out the nearest window, you could see that it was raining even harder than it had been the night before. It appeared that the only good news of the morning was to come from the kitchen.

As you make your way downstairs once more to the common room, you discover that Benjiah's wife, Tirlynn had made eggs, bacon, biscuits, and a hearty white gravy.

"Ta ward off da chills," she explained as she served it up at a silver per plate.

[Hazuki]

Sunny's eyes flicker open from her rest and she lets out a hefty sigh, as she rolls onto her back and stares at the drab ceiling of her room. Her hair more disheveled than normal, her clothes disturbed and her body retaining some of the dirt from the day before, she runs a hand through her hair and magic brushes all over her. In an instant, she's completely clean, and Salicia has unfurled from the pillow beside her to wrap around the length of her left arm once more.

She rolls out of bed silently, leaning over as she checks the dagger tucked into her boot. She gets to her feet and does a few stretches, flexing the surprisingly toned muscles hidden beneath her top, before she reaches for her crossbow and the straps that keep it attached to her hips. With a little bit of fiddling, she has the weapon holstered at her side, and a few quivers of arrows on her opposite hip. She spends a few minutes listening to the rain, watching its pitter patter against the window before deciding that she might as well head downstairs. More for hunger than anything else.

She trudges down to the common room as excitedly as she always does, taking a seat by the bar and listening to the sounds of the kitchen until Tirlynn comes over. "Bread, please. Bread and spirits. And some raw meat for Salicia." She requests of the woman, her most frequent order. Pure spirits, because she trusts it more than brew, bread because the white gravy looks quite distasteful in her eyes. Salicia flicks her tongue out in approval.