July 09, 2004
Althea's Arrival
The Common Room of The Dragon's Head Inn
What was once the Northern half of the common room of this Inn is now the main room, the Southern part now 'outside' and littered with debris. The inner room doesn't fare too much better, though a roof and four walls still protects it from the elements. The couches and chairs still are gathered about the fireplace, though looking considerably worse for wear. Gashes and stains of blood distributed across the fabric. The first step of the stair case is missing, though it is still traversable to lead up to the floors above. Several of the tapestries still remain on the wall, hanging oft times at a lopsided angle and only by one nail. A single solitary lantern hangs from the side of an upright post providing, along with the fire, the illumination for the room.
[ Exits: south up ]
A burgundy couch covered with foot long rips and spots of dried blood.
A large, roaring fire sends sparks up the chimney in this hearth.
A man of average height sits at the bar.
A burly man with a shiny, bald head is standing here.
A rosy-cheeked lass walks down the steps and into the room, stretching as she does so and looking around.
"Barkeep; another ale." a man of average height murmurs, his tone almost flat - an echo of brooding melancholy hidden behind his words. Before a burly man with a shiny, bald head has managed to pour his order, a man of average height has already spilt some coins onto the counter, apparently uncaring whether the amount is correct or over the required sum.
"Good day, sirs" a rosy-cheeked lass says cautiously, smoothing her skirt with a nervous hand. Her tongue flicks out to lick her lips nervously. "I hope I don't disturb you?"
A man of average height doesn't turn to regard the newcomer, and it is unsure if he actually heard her words. However, he reacts to the subtle scrape of a tankard being set against the hardwood bar, reaching out to wrap a hand around its middle as a burly man with a shiny, bald head sweeps the scattering of coins from the surface and into a pouch at the front of his apron. He nods in a rosy-cheeked lass's direction.
A rosy-cheeked lass looks at the couch in disbelief, running nervous fingers through her hair in a vain attempt to smooth its wild curls. She begins to speak, and then closes her mouth, folding her hands in her lap and entwining her fingers together.
A rosy-cheeked lass watches the feather with surprise. "Oh, what was that? Are there birds about? Chickens, perhaps, to be tended?"
A burly man with a shiny, bald head steps away from a man of average height, along the bar until he stands nearer a rosy-cheeked lass before replying: "'ello Miss, nay, no chicken's about these parts - not fer a good ol' while.. Can I get ye anythin'?"
A rosy-cheeked lass takes the tankard of ale from the bald headed man and stares into it without making any motion to drink it. "Thank you, sir. No chickens, you say? Perhaps then there are dishes to wash? Or floors to be scrubbed? Something that could be done to earn room and board?"
A man of average height's gaze slowly tilts to the side until he faces a rosy-cheeked lass, though his hood - worn low over his brow - casts pitch shadows over the top half of his face, concealing the majority of his features. After a moment, he asks: "You're new here, then?" Though his tone implies more of a statement than question.
Studying her ale instead of looking up, a rosy-cheeked lass nods and then says in a quiet, nervous voice. "Yes, sir. I am just come... though, well, from what and for what reason I couldn't say. But from the looks of this place, a washerwoman wouldn't be long out of work."
A burly man with a shiny, bald head leans back slightly, his weight shifting as he brings his arms up to cross over his chest, giving a rosy-cheeked lass an appraising look. After a time, he replies: "Well, Miss, ye ain' too far off right, with yer observation. It be true as we need some'un ta tend tha tables, and clear up after tha more.. Boisterous o' our patrons. But truth be told, as I'd nay lie to a lass, coin is in short supply, 'specially with 'aving to repair the front o' the inn an' all.. If'n I did offer ye a wage, it wouldn' be very much, I'm afraid." He seems genuinely sorry as he relates the dire situation.
A rosy-cheeked lass turns her attention briefly to the brawny young man who comes down the stairs, and then back to the man of average height and the bald-headed, with an anxious look on her face. "Surely it could not hurt this place to have a good cleaning, and my back is strong and my fingers quick." a rosy-cheeked lass gestures towards the blood-stained couch. "A good scrubbing won't fix all that's wrong, but it wouldn't hurt. As for coin, if you can give me a room to stay in and enough to keep myself fed, I'll be grateful for it."
Turning back to face forward, a man of average height lifts his tankard, draining a mouthful of the contents before setting it back upon the bar. It seems some time before he finally swallows the ale, when he does the sound of it is clear enough for any near to hear. "Not heard your voice before. And you speak with the enthusiasm of one who's not been here long enough to let the city siphon it all away.." He observes at last.
A rosy-cheeked lass turns from the bald-headed man towards the man of average height, and gently puts up a hand in front of her face, waving it back and forth, and watches him closely.
A burly man with a shiny, bald head draws a long breath, which he seems to hold as if the fullness of his lungs somehow helped him consider the offer. Finally, he begins to release the breath and nods his head, once, decisively. "Well, I thin' we can do tha' aye. I only 'ave guest rooms above - but, if'n ye give me a day er so, I'll speak to tha smith an' ave a new key fashioned, an' get a better lock on one o' the doors. Ye can stay 'ere, then. I'm sure I can 'ford enough coin fer ye to keep fed and watered." He says, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips.
A man of average height's reaction is less than slight, that is to say, he doesn't react at all to the waving of a rosy-cheeked lass's hand. His regard seems to shift, the tip of his hood indicating the new direction of his 'stare', now set upon a burly man with a shiny, bald head as he speaks. Again he takes a mouthful of ale from his tankard.
A little too loudly and carefully, a rosy-cheeked lass says "I am Althea, and I can see from the state of things that indeed this place could drain a person. Thank you, sir, for the chance to earn board and keep. The toughest of times are always eased a small bit by knowing where ones next bite of bread is coming from, and having a safe place to sleep at night."
You say, 'If you'll tell me where to find a bucket and a brush, I'll set to work right away. And perhaps, if you don't mind, you can tell me how it is things are in this state to begin with?"'
A burly man with a shiny, bald head unfolds his arms and plants his hands on the inside lip of the bar, letting his weight lean forward, though there is no great significance to the movement, simply an idle shift of position. "Right'o, I'll speak to that smith come tha morn-" He pauses, thinking for a moment before nodding to a rosy-cheeked lass's words and begins to walk to the far southern end of the bar and stoops, grumbling lightly about the mess and difficulty of finding things.
"Most of it, in here at least, is the result of arguments that spill over into fights - some with bloody conclusions." a man of average height murmurs, head not turning. "The destruction of the room to the south, at least the broken wall, is the result of one of the tainted -- plague victims, whose condition had been allowed to reach its final stage. The thing almost killed four people, walked through the wall like it was paper.. Took nigh on twelve guards, and all the patrons to end its tortured existence." He adds, his tone tired, as if remembering the occurrence and feeling drained as a result.
Turning to look at the hooded man, confusion and fear creeping into her voice, a rosy-cheeked lass says "The plague, you say? Then I find myself in a plague city?" She stands, if a bit unsteadily, and walks towards the bald-headed man, her hands outstretched to take whatever cleaning utensils he has found.
A burly man with a shiny, bald head comes to a stand, bucket and brush in hand. He casts his gaze over a man of average height as the man relates the story, his own brow becoming heavily creased. Once the man has finished he speaks. "Aye, tha's about tha' sum of it.. It's 'ard to remember them things were ever men an' women like us. 'least ways till they die, an' their bodies melt away until only tha' original flesh is left--- Damn 'ard to know 'ow to deal with it afterwards." He hands the utensils over to a rosy-cheeked lass.
"Some are more fortunate. Some don't have to look upon the bodies left afterwards... But, in answer to your question; yes, you find yourself in a plagued city, the plagued city, the only city left as far as anyone can tell. Though this long after Twilight, it's unlikely there are other communities left intact, that they haven't found us or us them is a sure sign that we alone survived the cataclysm." a man of average height relates, his head dipping forward as if he now looks into his half full tankard.
A rosy-cheeked lass takes the bucket carefully, but still sloshes water over the front of her dress. She seems not to notice, or at least not to mind, as she takes the brush from the bald-headed man. "It sounds ghastly! It took the wall right out, you say? The plague can do that to a man?" a rosy-cheeked lass drops to her hands and knees, scrubbing at a blood stain on the floor near the bar. "How can it be prevented? I mean, is there a way to keep from catching it?"
A burly man with a shiny, bald head leans over the bar to peer down at a rosy-cheeked lass as she speaks. "Not unless ye get yer 'ands on some o' the cure - but them nobles guard it greedily. Not much of it you see, and them that were sent visions o' the cure didn' manage to make much, 'fer the guards ceased the recipe -- Least ways, that's 'ow the story goes.. Maybe just rumour, but them nobles sure seem naturally free o' it, if'n ye ask me." He replies.
"I heard it was that crimson haired fellow, Lunin? Luman? Something of the sort.. I recall tell that he was the one who was responsible for stealing the recipe.. Apparently befriended one of the healer girls working on it, stole it from her while she slept in his bed.. No one saw her after that, well, I certainly didn't.. But.. Anyway, maybe rumour, but he isn't a very trust inspiring chap, that Lumen -- Ahh, yes, that's it, Lumen." a man of average height says, before taking a triumphant swig of ale, apparently pleased at remembering the name.
Scrubbing as hard as she can, her brow wrinkled in concentration, a rosy-cheeked lass muses "But surely it doesn't do them any good to keep it secret for themselves, if they have the formula. Couldn't something that could go through THIS wall go just as easily through a wall in their fancy homes?" She tucks a stray tendril behind her ear and wipes her forehead with the back of her hand. "Why should they kill off those who could heal the plague, even if they were safe from it? Haven't they always lived on the sweat of simple folk? It makes no sense to me, then, to let the simple folk become monstrous, or to kill them."
A burly man with a shiny, bald head furrows his brow, his eyes narrowing slightly in the manner of one chasing after a fleeting memory. At last he simply shrugs his shoulders and replies to a man of average height: "I'd not 'ered of that, meself. Mind, the way them guard are these days - not much would surprise me, not one good man among them, saves Tal'.. Least 'e still as a good 'eart in 'is chest. Much like 'is Da, Cymur bless 'is soul... Aye, Tal's a good lad," He glances back to a rosy-cheeked lass before continuing, now addressing her. "The nobles are scared, tha's 'ow I see it. Scared o' the dark, scared o' the common folk even more -- see, 'for the dark they were secure in their 'omes, but before tha dark, they are just as powerless as peasants. They don' much like tha' so try to cling onto their power any way they can, sometimes by makin' the weak even weaker."
A rosy-cheeked lass wipes her hands on her skirt and then ties her long braid into a not at the back of her neck, getting out of her way. "What a strange place this is... What is this darkness you speak of, the Twilight, is it? And, well, why don't I know what you're talking about. It seems as if I should, but..." Her voice trails off, and she throws herself with even more vigour into her task.
A man of average height's head tips gently to one side, listening to a rosy-cheeked lass's words before finally offering her a reply, his tone perhaps gentle. "To be honest, lass, it sounds likely that you recently returned from the mists-- Many come here that way. I don't mean to sound blunt, and it may feel surreal to hear this - but you likely fell during the first wave of demons as the Darkness spread out from Yarsin, nigh on three years ago now. The mists have been slow to return the fallen." He pauses for a moment, then continues: "You should seek to speak with Taliesin, the captain of the guard, he would likely know better how to deal with such a- delicate situation."
Wet the armpits with dirty wash water and red-faced from her efforts, a rosy-cheeked lass looks from one man to another and then sits down hard on the floor, laughing until tears stream from her eyes. She tries to speak several times, but chokes on her own mirth until finally she manages to get out "Oh, thank goodness! I was just thinking that this made no sense, unless I was dead." She chuckles again, wiping away the tears that stream down her face. "But I thought I wasn't, so I must be mad. It's such a relief! I can't think of nothing worse than loosing your mind. Dead, is it?" Her laughter echoes off the walls of the tavern. "That's much better!"
A burly man with a shiny, bald head turns to glance worriedly at a man of average height for a moment in reaction to a rosy-cheeked lass's hysterics, he seems unsure for a moment, then glancing back to the woman he says: "Per'aps, Althea -- Ye don' mind if'n I call ye tha', aye? 'twould become difficult to draw yer attention with miss if'n the room were full o' folk.." He pauses, grins, slightly, then continues. "Per'aps ye could simple collect the tankards from tha tables fer now, no need to work so 'ard jus' yet. If'n ye 'ave only just returned from tha mists."
Pulling herself together, but still smiling broadly, a rosy-cheeked lass returns to her scrubbing. "You'd have to pry this brush from my cold dead fingers" she giggles "if you want me to serve folks in this room. Death and plague are all beyond me, but that's no reason to sit in filth and gore. No, really, I'm fine. If this is what is, there isn't any changing that. But I can make this floor a mite cleaner, and that's something." She scrubs in broad circles, a small smile lingering on her lips. "Unless there is something about only having just arrived that makes you not want me around?"
A burly man with a shiny, bald head chuckles slightly, some confidence returning and replacing the worry as he shakes his head, saying in a reassuring tone: "Nay lass, jus' concerned ye will over work yerself - the affects o' returnin' can be fairly disorientatin', though brief.. But if'n ye are sure, carry on." He grins down at a rosy-cheeked lass before finally leaning back and glancing to a man of average height, asking him: "Ye wan' fer me to refill yer tankard?"
Moving closer the fireplace, a rosy-cheeked lass scrubs at the soot and grime that has accumulated there, humming quietly to herself. "Oh, and of course you may call me Althea. Its a comfort to hear my name, at least, when nothing else is familiar to me." She smiles up at the bald-headed name. "Have you a name as well?"
A burly man with a shiny, bald head grins even broader as he idly reaches for a worn leather rag with which he begins to wipe the bar. "Aye, though I dun tell folk much, from experience if'n ye tell 'em yer name they thin' they are ye mate an' 'ave a right to free drink." He chuckles warmly, before continuing: "Name's Taris."
A rosy-cheeked lass leaves a dark line of soot across her brow as she wipes away a few stray hairs that fall into her eyes. "It's a pleasure to work for you, Taris, and I assure you I won't be expecting a free drink. No, in fact, I intend to earn every bit of my keep." She smiles and gestures to the couch. "Once we get these floors cleaned, you'll have to let me repair that. I haven't got a needle and thread, but I'm sure I can come up with something. Your patrons might fight less if the place didn't look so much like a battlefield." She chuckles, and stands, carrying the bucket. "This water is too dirty to be any use now. I'll dump it. Where is the pump?"
A man of average height Speaking again, after being quiet for so long it carries the suddenness as if he'd shouted. "The pump.. The fountain just outside will have to do, though it seems somehow odd to use Cymur's fountain for that - though if you feel the need to go elsewhere, the bath-house is just next door, to the east, plenty of water there too.." He finishes off his tankard in one long swallow before slowly dismounting from the barstool backwards. His movements betray a limberness that suggest he is not quite as old in years as his words might suggest. He reaches for a cane which had until now been hidden from sight.
A burly man with a shiny, bald head nods to the words of a man of average height, glancing then to a rosy-cheeked lass. "Aye, ye can fill the bucket at the fountain lass - I need ta be gettin' on with thin's can I leave ye to yer work? I'll be 'ere, jus' busy, right?" He asks casually, already beginning to busy himself.
A rosy-cheeked lass nods, and stands, then looks a bit uncertain of herself. "Actually, I see what you mean about feeling a bit out of sorts. It seems that being dead does something to weaken the body a bit." She chuckles, but not quite as sincerely as she had laughed before. "Would you mind if I took that room now, and lay down for a bit?" She stretches and yawns.
A burly man with a shiny, bald head nods, offering a rosy-cheeked lass a sympathetic smile before saying: "Aye lass, let me get ye a key - it won' 'ave as much privacy as ye may wish yet though, I'll get a unique key an' lock fitted soon though. But fer now ye can rest a bit in though southern room." As he speaks he pulls a key from one of his many pockets and hands it over to the woman.
Posted by ShadowSiege at July 9, 2004 11:08 PM