[Surya Plaza] Roadblock (Wedge, Open)

[Faolan]

Pleased to see that the two travelers had followed him, Faolán left Kinsley to amuse himself with Wrenmae’s companions outside and settled himself comfortably around the table on his rickety wooden seat. His eyes turned a serene blue and a soft smile settled on his face as he listened to the conversations flowing around him. He sorted through the information they had given him, storing them in his memory for future use. “Well, I suppose wine won’t really help with keeping you awake, but it may take the edge off that wound.” Faolán offered. He looked around and spotted a serving girl. He raised his hand and beckoned her towards them. Once the girl made her way to the table, Faolán ordered a pitcher of wine for the group then lapsed into silence. Once the girl left, Faolán settled back into his chair and mulled over Wrenmae’s question. His eyes brightened to vivid curious purple at the mention of stories. Leaning forward a little, he said, “I have also come for the splendid tales that are said to be carried by the travelers and locals. There is no tale worth not telling, no?” Faolán paused about to start a tale of his own when a girl with tangled black hair was shoved towards their table. The table shook as the girl was pushed quite roughly. Faolán frowned at the man who had pushed her, but he had already walked away. So, Faolán turned his attention to the girl. He tilted his head, taking her in. He hadn’t been paying attention to the other customers, but he though she looked slightly familiar. But, he distinctly dismissed it as his sleep deprived brain. Seeing her embarrassment, he couldn't help but offer her a friendly smile. Her companion starved expression would have normally caused him to chuckle. But, he didn’t want to put her in further discomfort so he suppressed it into a wide smile, although his eyes did take on a distinct bright orange tone before giving away to dark purple. “Would you like to join us?” He asked, scooting his chair to make space. ledger-2 sm for wine

[Vergil]

Thankful for Faolán’s initiative, she gradually eased into a more comfortable sitting position while her eyes remained watchful. Conversation began with a recounting of their words at the gates, stating their personal reasons for being in the city. The question was opened to all, though Wedge could not help but feel guarded when it came time for her to speak, a silent obligation to her new acquaintances. The two men spoke easily, sharing a similar goal that brought a familiar sense of envy to her tongue tasting of bitter medicine. Still, her golden eyes remained piercing and her lips a pleasant curve as she joined in, eager to contribute. Then, the sight of an incoming human snatched her focus. In response, Wedge moved at lightning speed from the slight shift of the table by pulling her chair back a hair’s width short of its new position. It was a short demonstration one of her more useful abilities, a nearly instantaneous reaction that has saved her on multiple occasions from the wrath of other predators. Feeding on carrion was a dangerous game, but a natural instinct. Still, it remained a main motivator for her to improve her skill in hunting. Now slightly on edge, Wedge look to the cause of the disturbance with a more scrutinizing eye. A small woman just over her own height, with a dark mane of hair framing a crimson hued face bowed before them, apologizing for obvious reasons. Having seen the act unfold, Wedge knew she was not to blame, treated as she was by the other man. Narrowing slowly, her eyes were now wide slivers of deep gold as she momentarily glanced over at the real culprit. The man was barely giving them a moment’s attention, likely revelling in his actions like a child giddy off a successful prank. Having never seen a Kelvic in her life, she knew nothing of this woman’s true nature aside from noting the pair of large eyes and a lithe frame. Thus, she treated her as any other human and regarded her with gentle weariness. She was invited to sit but Wedge knew not the outcome, as her attention was once again derailed, locking on the approaching waitress. Her eyes followed as the pitcher and several glasses were placed in the center of the table, curiosity dancing in her gaze. Innocently, Wedge pulled the pitcher toward her, taking in the sharp scent as a faint aroma. Finding it offending at first, she quickly grew to enjoy its unique odour and took a glass in hand to try the beverage. She peered at the dark liquid with slight concern, a small amount of wine in the glass at first. Surprisingly, Wedge threw the drink back into her throat in a single gulp, instantly finding the deep, sour taste to be of her liking. No longer concerned with the interactions of the others, she tipped the pitcher once more and took a slightly greater amount, consuming it in the same manner. The effects were quick on her system, and after one full glass of wine was taken, she began to feel a light headache. Despite the more agitated mood it put her in, Wedge continue to sip the wine, remembering when needed to share the pitcher with the others. Not really following up on the conversation anymore, it didn’t take long for her light but continued drinking for the Kelvic to fall into a mood as bitter as the wine. She found herself irritated with the smallest things, whether it was a man complaining of the service or a youth recounting a clearly fabricated story. Wedge tried kept the annoyances to a low simmer, still clear headed at the moment to remember etiquette. However, it was only a matter of time before her anger erupts on an unsuspecting individual.

[Wrenmae]

Still groggy from his murderous meeting with the ground, Wrenmae was slow to move when the tousle-haired girl bumped against the table. He rocked with the motion, his head protesting with an agonizing burn. Watching Faolan's eyes was similar to watching the crowds of Lhavit. To simply sit and soak in the multitudes that passed back and forth, to see their colors and the impression they left upon the air.

But now, voices raised in celebration or conversation only drew further agony. Strange fate that in a time of new meetings he would be so hard pressed to speak or even listen.

He found himself nodding to the Vantha's suggestion, eager to meet another traveler in the realm despite his current disposition. As Faolan spoke, the boy took the wine and poured a cup slowly. The dark liquid was inscrutable, like blood or tar, but with the hint of fruit and the slow rot that made it. Sipping the drink, Wrenmae consumed it in bits. it burned a warm hole in his stomach, loosened the headache from its dogmatic throne. Drinking had never previously been a habit of the storyteller, finding that while it loosened the tongue, it took some power from the words.

"The more the merrier," he supplemented Faolan with a grin, "We were just about to recount some tales and share some wine." Behind her, the man who had shoved her toward them glared. There was hatred in his eyes, mostly distrust, but her harried appearance and his sneering superiority had an effect on Wrenmae, at least a little.

Perhaps it was the wine, or the headache, but a fount of anger rose within his breast and pulsed there, bleeding bright against his normally optimistic attitude. To the man, he perforated his personal aura, twisted his emotions in a sudden and obvious tear. It was a flash, something akin to terror, and it was eerie how easily he had learned to poke around in someone's mind these days.

His face, the brutish craggy features of a hardened man, twisted briefly in inexplicable terror, a feeling he quickly squelched, gazing around the inn suspiciously, small eyes like hummingbirds in their sockets, soaring from place to place.

"Please sit," he placated the Kelvic, smiling painfully, a hint of blood outlining his right eye, "We'll certainly mean you less harm than your last encounter." Nodding his head toward the man, Wrenmae shook his head almost apologetically.

Wedge, the woman who had wrapped his head, seemed dark, her flighty attitude and feel dampened the more she drank.

To her, Wrenmae was a bit more careful in puncturing her personal aura, quietly lighting her mood towards a euphoric high, against the effects of alcohol. At one time it may have been strange to violate another mind like he was, to push inside and change things without asking, but for some reason it came easier and easier the more he did it. The conscious part of him registered it as the slow addiction that was taking his interactions in a darker direction, but his mind directly opposed it...or at least the part that reviled being a monster.

"Faolan, have you a story to tell?" he asked with a smile, blinking the blood from his eye and wiping it away.

[Isette]

What a friendly smile the sky-eyed person had! Isette could not help but be mesmerized by his features. And he was so kind. It made her feel oddly exposed. Unfortunately, she was having trouble understanding his language. For a second, the feline just stared at him, completely lost as to what he was trying to ask her. He did move over, however, as though making room for her to sit. The gesture was kind, but Isette was unsure if she was truly welcome at that table or if they were only being polite. It also occurred to her that the language barrier may prove troublesome if she wished to follow their conversation. Nonetheless she considered taking a seat. Both of the men seemed welcoming. The female seemed…edgy. It made Isette wary and she instinctively took on a more submissive demeanor and moved to give the other Kelvic space. There was something worrisome about her body language. Isette feared she would become violent or angry. It would probably be best to avoid her altogether, just let her be. It was a shame, really. Isette did not often get the chance to meet other Kelvics and her curiosity was a difficult thing to control. Luckily, there was something else that required absolutely all of the concentration she had. The other man was keeping up a fairly long stream of words and Isette had to focus exceedingly well to make sense of it. She was pretty sure that he asked her to sit, so she did. But there was something odd going on with that man. If she weren’t trying so hard to make sense of his language, she may have been able to pay closer attention to the scene unfolding around her. As it was, Isette was left with the impression that there was something she missed. “I thank you,” the Kelvic said, looking from one to the other, but avoiding the direct gaze of the female. She felt strange sitting among them, as though she were an equal. It would have felt more natural to be begging for scraps underneath the table. But she held herself with all the dignity her Sesul parents had raised her with for the first year of her life. It was a strange contrast to her dirty state. Suddenly, her eyes widened. “Your eye!” she said, looking at Wrenmae, “It is…” What was the word? Petch! Frustrated, Isette switched to Lhavitian. “Bleeding.” She had never seen anything like that before and it quite alarmed her. Did he need medical attention? Isette didn’t remember him having that injury earlier. Or maybe he had and she hadn’t noticed? It was possible. Isette hadn’t been focusing on his eyes, after all. They hadn’t been as interesting as the other’s. Either way, she figured this was very bad. Eyes were not supposed to bleed. Isette looked at the other two people seated at the table, trying to gauge if they were as alarmed as she was. Perhaps they knew something that she did not.

[Faolan]

oocSorry it's so long! Faolán watched as the girl gave him a blank stare before taking in the rest of the table. He turned to follow her gaze and noticed that the wine has arrived. Faolán’s eyes turned a light shade of pink as he watched Wedge sink into the shadows as she drank her share, her irritation becoming more apparent the more she drank. Feeing concern, but not wanting to incur the wrath of the Kelvic, he turned his attention to Wrenmae. However, he too seemed to be drawing in chunks of anger around him. Faolán watched, fascinated as Wrenmae’s face twisted in terror and proceeded to stare around the inn in paranoia. A few chimes later the man was seemingly back to normal. Faolán blinked and tired to process what had just happened. Faolán had found it hard to adjust on the road where he couldn’t read everyone’s emotion through their eyes as he had been able to in Avanthal. At first, it had been unnerving, but he had gotten used to it eventually once he learned to read other body signs to read emotions. But, the strangers surrounding him gave off waves of emotion of much higher magnitude than any he had seen on his way here. Even though the emotions ranged from must mistrust to irritation, he could help but feel comfortable within the group. It was not that he wasn’t troubled, but just at ease. He knew it wouldn’t happen often in his travels, so simply watched the others and absorbed the scene in front of him. Once the girl had sat down, Faolán eased the pitcher towards him and poured himself a glass of wine and proceeded to take a sip. For a small tavern he admitted to himself that the wine hadn’t been as watered down as he expected. Indeed, the taste still managed to cut through him before settling in his stomach. He could feel his body loosening up quickly, although he was still clear-headed for the moment. It was the reason he had come to dislike wine, but he found it was the most effective way to draw people into sharing their stories. After a few moments of thought, he shook his head trying to come back to his senses. He had completely missed the conversation and then realized that they hadn’t introduced them to their newer addition. “Ah, my apologies for not introducing ourselves; I am Faolán Frostfawn and this is Wedge and Wrenmae Sek.” He said, nodding at the others. Waving his hands in the air, he continued, “As Wrenmae was saying, I was about start a tale.” Reaching for his pack, Faolán pulled out his lyre from under the table. It was a simple instrument, made of deep rosewood containing seven strings. Closing his eyes, he lightly strummed his fingers across the strings. A faint melody rose from the instrument before vanishing into the air. Not wanting to bother the other customer, Faolán kept the music soft, attempting to snare the table of the people into a small bubble of a different world. “Our tale begins close, in the outskirts of the city of Wind Reach.” Faolán started his voice soft like his strumming. His eyes still closed, his music with no melody just carefree notes floating around them, he continued. “There lived a couple on the high cliffs. This was their second season, nesting on that ledge and they were waiting for their miracle. They had laid two eggs this year and this was their time to hatch. The mother and father sparrows peered anxiously at their eggs each day, waiting. Until finally one day, their patience was rewarded and two small balls of fluff pecked their way into daylight. The parents overjoyed by their two sons, nurtured and cared for them. The small birds grew fast and strong like their father and agile and sweet like their mother. The sparrow family was content with their life, asking for nothing else.” “But, life can be a cruel teacher.” Faolán’s fingers abruptly stopped, cutting the music sharply. His eyes now open were a stormy dark blue and gray. Attempting to draw his listeners, his fingers found the strings and he began to play faster. An intense music like a quickening heart beat. “A large storm began to overtake the region; winds thrashing, waves crashing, rain pelting. The sparrows were in the middle of a hunt. The storm quickly overtook them separating them without warning. Screeching, they struggled to find each other through the sheets of rain. However, lost and disoriented by the powerful winds they made little progress.” “Finally, the rain lightened and the winds calmed and a cool fog settled over the land. The parents began to search for their sons. After a full day of searching, they had found nothing. No trace of their sons. Disheartened, they made their way back to their nest. However, to their surprise they found their eldest son waiting for them; the little bird smart enough to make his way home when he got lost. They embraced him, overjoyed to have found at least one of their sons. Nevertheless, they wouldn’t help but worry about their younger. Hs wings still growing, it wasn’t likely he could have fought against the storm.” Faolán’s voice slowed, his voice rasping slightly as worry lined his eyebrows, his eyes a grayish silver. “Indeed, the family was right. The poor sparrow had been tossed by the winds and carried far from home. Flying over the middle of the ocean, fog clouding his vision, the smallest sparrow had simply picked a direction and starting flapping as hard as his wings would carry him, hoping it was the way home.” Faolán’s voice dropped to almost a whisper. “But, it most certainly wasn’t. The tired bird ended up in another continent, caught in another storm. But, this one was worse than the first.” His fingers brushed the lower strings and came to another stop, “A blizzard. Bogged down by thick pellets of snow and lack of food the bird spiraled out of the sky and fell into a large snow bank. Hungry and cold, the little sparrow could do nothing as he lay shivering in a foreign land, far from home.” “Fortunately, an old falconer named, Tovan, had also been caught in the storm. As the old Vantha was making his way home, he noticed a small ball of feathers fall onto the snow. Curious, he went to explore.” Faolán’s eyes lightened to a soft gold, his voice smoothening out into a clear tone. “He found the little sparrow buried under the snow and quickly took the bird home. Over the next few days, he slowly nursed it back to health. Stories about the bird spread through the Frostfawn hold and the bird slowly began to feel home. The falconer gave him the name Askari meaning survivor.” “But, the little Askari still longed for his home. He vowed to search for his family one day, when he was strong enough to brave the winters of Avanthal and find them once again.” Faolán finished, the last of the notes hanging in the air. Silent, the man took a few chimes to collect his thoughts, drawing away from the story and back into the real world; the sounds of the tavern finally reaching his ears. Satisfied that the tale was done, he slipped his lyre back into his pack and settled back into his chair and took a gulp of his wine. However, his glass slipped from his fingers. Catching the glass, his elbow jarred the table knocking a few glasses in the process. Looking rather sheepish, he apologized clearing ruining any mood he might have managed to create with this tale. Although he was disappointed, his story was told and he was curious to see how the others would respond. “Well, that was my tale. Would someone else like to share one?” He asked, his smile becoming wider than usual because of the wine.

[Vergil]

For a moment, her agitation seemed to falter in its rampage and she felt as though she were in her true form, taking to the skies. However, the feeling was brief and passed quickly, and she mourned for its departure. Ironically it seemed to spur her to feeling a great deal more irritated, as a bitter taste crawled up her throat to settle at the base of her tongue. It was distracting enough to cause her to miss much of the conversation, though vaguely she would come to remember the entire encounter with the three as a fairly friendly one. Unfortunately for those three, they were unlikely to share the same perception. The glasses clinked loudly against one another, falling over on to the table and spilling a bit of wine in the process. Some had fallen on to her dress, likely to leave a stain though Wedge cared not for the piece of clothing, but for the screeching headache caused by those infuriating glasses. Her eyes were a horrible red gold, not so much from the wine but from the mental stress and the entirely unfamiliar pain. She held her hands to her temples, wincing when she tried to send a glare Faolan's way. The Kelvic was angry, there was no doubt about it, but how much control did she have over her impending wrath? Very little it seems, for Wedge hammered a fist to the table, pointing at the storyteller with vengeance written clearly in her eyes. If she were some sort of land beast she might have growled imposingly, but she was a silent tracker and could only use her vision to convey her fury. That and of course, her words. "You...you." She couldn't breath, for it was increasingly difficult to do so with so many hateful words flowing through her mind. Waving her pointing finger precariously, Wedge continued in an angry stutter. "You clumsy clumsy fool!" Was all she could say, before taking a gulp of air that nearly drove her to a coughing fit. "How could you be so lost in your silly stories that you'd be so careless!? Idiotic human!" Her eyes were searing hotter than a blacksmith's forge, threatening to burn each and every person seated at the table. Not that they mattered at the moment, for all Wedge cared about was this stupid man before her. Then, taking a hold her glass of the wine that she once found precious, Wedge threw the contents onto Faolan's surprised expression. "That is what I think of your hollow stories!" And with that, Wedge stomped away angrily, leaving a wake of stunned and disapproving customers behind.

oocThings are getting busy over at my end and even though I really want to thread, I can't at the moment. So to not hold this thread up anymore than I already have, I'm pulling her out. Very sorry for the long delay and inconvenience!

[Wrenmae]

Wrenmae watched her leave, quiet at the outburst and the stares they were now afforded. Shrugging his shoulders, the storyteller eased out of his seat as well. "I appreciate the story, and the spirits, but I have work to get to...perhaps I'll see you around?"

A weak way to end his interaction, but Wrenmae could feel the edge of overgiving in his eyes and simply had to depart for fear of what might come next. His Hypnotism was still weak, barely developed in terms of actual power. Rather than waste his mind prying into the comfort levels of those at the table, he'd spend his time elsewhere, till his Djed had a chance to snap back into shape.

(Exit Wrenmae)

[Aural]

Player: Wrenmae XP: Riding +1, Hypnotism +2, Socializing +2 Lores: I Survived a Horse Beating, Better Get That Eye Looked At Other: It will take a few days for you to fully recover from losing your fight with the horse. Additional Notes: You know what I'm going to say. Keep up the great work. It's a shame that these threads haven't been finished.