Closed The City of Brotherly Hate (Clyde)

[Coltyn]

The Seventy-Second Day of the Spring Season, Five Hundred and Thirteen Years After the Valterrian ''Tolerance is composed of nine parts of apathy to one of brotherly love.'' -Frank Moore Colby

[Coltyn]

Three years. Coltyn's older brother Derik had vanished three years ago this season, and in that time the young Ravokian had made very little progress in tracking him down. Oh, who was he fooling? He had made no progress. None. Sure, there had been leads, numerous leads, but most of them had either taken him on a wild boar hunt or resulted in a frustrating ending fit for the dead. Speaking of which... Could that be the answer? he wondered as he approached the Silver Sliver. Could you be gone from this realm, Derik? Gone for good? Is that the answer to this mystery that haunts my life? I...I don't think I'm ready to accept that. Not yet. Coltyn paused now as he stood before the drinking establishment. Maybe this would be or, perhaps, should be his last time coming here. It was a place he and his brother had frequented. Heck, they even worked here at one point. There were memories here. Great memories that just wouldn't go away. Why do I torture myself? he inwardly questioned as his hand went for the handle of the door before him. I come here every year...and torture myself. Yanking the door open, only after taking a deep breath, Coltyn stepped inside. Removing his narrow brimmed hat, he ran a hand through his hair. It was long past his time for a trim, but that would have to wait until next season. He didn't have the coin to spare on such luxuries. Undoing his leather tunic, he let it hang open. It was time to get down to business. It was time to drink, recount better times, and, well, drink some more. Now, it's not that Coltyn was a drunk. No. For the most part, he remained clean. However, when his mood turned dark and his memories nearly consumed him, he liked to kick back with something just a little stronger than a glass of warm goat's milk, be it ale, mead, or whatever was available. He was willing to go there. To get shyke-faced drunk and wash away the pain that was his past. Stepping up to the bar, he motioned for the serving girl and ordered the first of many drinks. The night was young and his stomach was empty, which meant whatever he consumed would most likely go right to his head and, well, he was perfectly fine with that outcome. The sooner he became intoxicated, the sooner this day - this horrible anniversary - would be over.

[Clyde Sullins]

For Clyde, his reasons for coming to a drinking establishment, were different to most customers. But, he imagined, not unusual for the practitioners of his arts. After all, the last thing anyone wanted, was a drunk mage getting out of control and burning the place down. In fact, he had on occasion stopped just that from happening, when a crazy mage had tried to set a table on fire. He of course, had put the fire out, with his own Reimancy. But the memory still dwelled in his mind. He would not be getting drunk though, that was for sure. It took all of his willpower, day in and day out to keep his magic in check... But he supposed, as long as he only had one or two ales, which tended to be on the weak side, he would be fine. His current residence was actually not to far, it was in the same part of Ravok as the Sliver, so he supposed he could occasion it, occasionally. As he walked in, he was more or less dressed as he always was. His robes covering much of his body, the hood down. His staff in hand, wooden, tapping along every few steps as it hit the ground. A new addition to his wardrobe, which he had recently started donning, was a light hammer tucked into his belt. He was not the greatest at using it, but if he had to, a small bit of blunt force at arms length tended to keep people a bit more wary. The fact that most of the people here knew him to be a mage, and had seen him cast magic, also helped keep him clear of trouble. It also tended to earn him a seat at a table, were no one else wanted to sit. As he walked in, he made a small whistle for Rye, his guard dog, to follow along. He kept close to his master, but also knew to keep out from under his feet, and settled underneath his table, when he sat down. Oddly enough, he seemed to almost vanish when he did so, as he almost blended in with the shadow the table cast. He knew he was there, and yet Clyde could still barely see him. It was one of the reasons he had picked that particular breed. He could not help finding it interesting, no matter how many times he saw it. Clyde ordered a ale from a passing serving girl, who nodded in reply, and headed back across the room. He sat alone at his table, resting in his seat for a moment, as he waited.

[Coltyn]

As the liquor began to flow, so did the words from Coltyn's mouth. For some reason, he became a rambling idiot once the toxins took over, which, depending on the mood of the observer, could be amusing to watch, but also annoying if it went on for too long. "So...yeah...Derik and I...we performed on that very stage over there," he motioned now with his mug of ale, splashing a little on the counter before him. "We would put on this little show of strength for the crowd, lifting chairs, tables, heck, whatever wasn't nailed down! I even remember lifting one of the serving girl's over my head with a full tray of drinks! Ah. Those were the days. Good times, they were, good times." Taking a few more swigs from his mug, he grew quiet for just a moment. Man, Rik, do I miss you. However, the moment of silence passed quickly. "That's how we ended up working here, he and I," he continued to ramble on to the bartender who was only half listening at this point. "We did the shows first, but then the next thing I knew, Derik was working the front door as a bouncer and I was...well...I was just sort of there as back-up. Not that I ever did any of the bouncing myself. That was his expertise. I sort of just stood around looking all tough and intimidating." Coltyn mock flexed now, before breaking into a fit of drunken giggles. "What a joke that was! I was just a stupid kid...a stupid kid who adored his older brother and would've done anything to make him happy. Anything. But now he's gone, and I'm all alone, sitting here getting shyke-faced. Maybe the joke hasn't ended. Maybe I'm still just a pathetic little loser."

[Clyde Sullins]

While Clyde waited, he had the displeasure and annoyance, to listen to a man at the bar, going on and on about some things from his past. As if anyone wanted to hear it. But unfortunately for him he had picked a table near the bar, it being one of the few empty ones, and had to endure his rantings. Just as his ale arrived, and he went to take a sip, the man finally grew quiet. It was just as he was setting the mug of ale back down, that the man started talking again. Again! Was he nothing but a never ending spout of drivel? He could take talking and conversing, but this man going on and on with no end was ridiculous. No one wanted to listen to that. Really know, Clyde had never been the best person to deal with annoyances. It did not help that he was a mage now, and had been so most of his life. And now that he was in Ravok, were he could actually use his magics in public, without fear of being arrested and or killed, well... Clyde brought the palm of his hand over his ale, palm facing down at the top of the mug. He closed his eyes, and let out a breath, and opened them to see his res slowly exuding out of his palm, and into his ale. He only did it for a few ticks, as he was quite fast at exuding res now. And he only needed a small bit. Concentrating, he decided to try out something new, which he had not done before. But he knew the principles of it, so why not? Ice Reimancy. Simple enough. He felt out for air. He felt out for water. He concentrated on the two, and melded them as one, similar to how he made lightning by combining air and fire. This was not so different. Then flowing the res out into a small ball, he mixed the ale and res deeply, and then he transmuted it, concentrating on creating ice. Since it was inside of the liquid ale, instead of simply creating ice, the smaller bit of res spread its frigid temperature out throughout the ale inside of the ball of res. The ale froze solid, into a hunk of amber colored ice. Using the last bit of res, he pulled on it, sending it up and out of the mug. It popped out, and Clyde caught it before it could fall back down and hit the table. The level of his ale was much lower now, as most of it had been frozen into the icy ale ball, which was about the size of a child's fist. Clyde took it in his hand, took one final sip of his ale, and then tossed the chunk of ale ice right at the annoying mans head, who refused to silence himself. Clyde would just have to do it for him. As it flew through the air, on the way to whatever it should hit, Clyde wondered if the man had ever seen ice before. If he had only lived in Ravok, there was a good chance he had not. Only those who had gone up north, or lived outside of Ravok's temperate nature, would have seen snow or ice. Growing up in Syliras, in winters, he had seen both on occasion. He also wondered how solid he had made it... Would it simply shatter into a million pieces, once it struck something? Or only crack? Or would it hold solid? He was not sure. It was his first time after all, in making ice with his Reimancy.

[Coltyn]

"Hey!" Coltyn cried out as the ball of ice hit him in the back of his head and then proceeded to drop down inside his tunic, melting along the way. "Who...who did that?" he continued to mutter as he swiftly stood up from his spot at the bar - nearly knocking his stool over - and looked around the room. "Come on. Which one of you just did that?" he muttered a bit louder now as he flexed his hands, on the verge of making them into fists. "Settle down, Baker," the bartender barked, "or I'll be sending you on your way sooner than expected." Muttering, the young Ravokian did as he was told. "Fine," he spat as he reached for his empty mug. "Fine," he repeated as he motioned for a serving girl. "Bring me another...and be quick about it," he ordered, growing uncharacteristically impatient. "I mean, honestly, what's happened to the service around here. Back in the day, when my brother and I worked here, this sort of service would've never been tolerated, but now, I guess it's just not that important. People can go thirsty. People are allowed to be hit in the head with things." Taking a swig of his freshly poured drink - his fourth for the evening - Coltyn began to ramble once more. "So, yeah, my brother and I, we did these shows that just...it just...they just brought the crowds in. People couldn't get enough of us. We went from having one show every six or seven days, to one every three or four. And the miza flowed. Did it ever. Yeah. Those were the days. I'd trade anything to have them back. Anything..." "Seriously, Baker. Drink your drinks and keep the gab to a minimum, before I throw something at you," the bartender barked once more. "I just...I...I'm sorry. I'll shut up now." However, one drink later, he was at it again. "...so then we were wearing nothing but the smiles on our faces! And the crowd went wild! They loved it! So we kept doing it. By the end of our routines we were naked as the day we were born. Ha! Good times, I tell ya! Good times!"

[Clyde Sullins]

Honestly, Clyde was expecting to miss. His aim was not the best, and he certainly had not practiced at throwing hunks of ice, so why not? He was pleasantly surprised then, when the ice arced right into the mans head, and hit on target. Direct hit! Not only that, but as it struck, it had managed to bounce off just right, so that it fell and went down the back of his shirt. What luck! Clyde could see the glisten of wetness on his head and neck, from the melting of the alehunk. It was melting slow, but still melting. Clyde barely kept himself from laughing, as he sipped at his ale, which he noticed was now cold from his Reimancy. As the man stood up and shouted out who had done it, who had thrown it, he laughed deeply inside. Rye under his table let out a small sound like a sigh, but did not move besides that. Instead of getting mad at the person who threw the object, he yelled at the man, and told him to quiet down. Finally, Clyde thought to himself, he would get some peace. Or so he thought... But as the man took another swig, he also began to once more drive on with regaling the entire bar with idiotic tales about nothing. Pointless. Annoying. And really getting on his nerves. He was just about to throw something else, something on the warmer side of Reimancy, when the bartender told him to shut it and drink quietly. Finally, he thought once more, he would shut up. But it simply was not to be. The man apparently, could not be quiet when he was drunk. He looked at the man, sizing him up. He appeared to be about his own height, if not a bit smaller, however his build was larger, and he certainly weighed more than Clyde did. He had more heft behind him, which would be against Clyde in a fight. Of course, he could always just fight dirty, and throw in a bit of Reimancy should he start to lose. Finally having had enough, Clyde took one final sip of his ale, which he had still not completed, and stood up to his full imposing height, a loud sound of wood on wood as his staff tapped loudly on the wood of the ground. "Would you shut up, you ale addled, shyke for brains, idiot. Or did that hunk of ice I threw at you addle what little stuff you had left rattling around in there. Now shut up, and let us all drink in peace, no one wants to hear you go on and on about a bunch of drivel." The bartender seemed to turn a bit pale at his words. After all, he knew Clyde was a mage, a mage who was in a bad mood and was yelling across the bar at some man. He quietly took a few steps to the left, to make sure he was out of the line of fire, in case Clyde started throwing actual fire.

[Coltyn]

"Would you shut up, you ale addled, shyke for brains, idiot." "Wh...what?" Coltyn muttered as he turned on his stool to glance at the person that he assumed he was being addressed by. "Or did that hunk of ice I threw at you addle what little stuff you had left rattling around in there." "Yo...you threw that?" the Ravokian continued to mutter as he stood and faced the man, looking him up and down, getting a feel for who he was dealing with. "Now shut up, and let us all drink in peace, no one wants to hear you go on and on about a bunch of drivel." "Drivel? Huh? Drivel, you say? Nice. Real nice," Coltyn rambled as he stripped of his leather tunic and tossed it on the bar, exposing his thickly muscled pecs and equally built arms. "How dare you call it drivel!" he shouted in a fit of drunken rage as he pushed the stool he had been sitting upon over. "Why don't you make me shut up? Huh? Why don't you...you and your little dog, too?" he barked as he noticed the animal resting beneath the table. "Step right up and have a go at it! I dare ya!" At this point, the Ravokian began flexing and stretching out his body as he huffed and puffed. He rolled his head upon his thick neck a few times clockwise and then a few times counterclockwise. Then he began to swing his arms in the air, limbering them up, getting the blood flowing, as he bounced from one foot to the next. "Let's do this," he insisted as he slowly closed the gap between them. "You. Me. Here. Now," he barked as he lifted his fists before his face, partially concealing the sneer that was now forming upon his lips. Alcohol really had a way of bringing out the worst in people. Sober, Coltyn would have never behaved this way in public, but drunk, well, all bets were off. The animal in him was unleashed. Granted, the animal was that of a jackass, which is exactly how the young man was currently acting. He was being an ass and, chances were, he was about to have his kicked, too.

[Clyde Sullins]

Apparently the man was so drunk, that all common sense had gone out the window. As most sensible men would be intimidated by his words, considering he was a mage. But perhaps this man did not recognize him, or somehow did not know what he was. He supposed there had to be a few such people left in Ravok. As the man responded in a succinctly un-eloquent way, Clyde could not help but grin back at him. Repeating his words back at him? That was just sad as a comeback. "Wow, so inventive, repeating the words I say back at me. You must have been up all night thinking of that response." As the man took off his shirt and began to limber up, Clyde put his hands under the table, and began to exude res stealthily. Nothing to flashy, or destructive. So no fire, or lightning... Perhaps earth? Yes, that would work. He formed the res into a small ball, a bit smaller than his fist when it was closed. With thought alone he transmuted it into earth, pure stone. Then he exuded a small bit more of res, in order to soak it with his res, and give him total control of the stone he had made. He then kept it there floating under the table, until he needed it, and took a step away. He stood there, facing the drunk, staff in hand across his body, held at the ready should he need it. Stepping up to the man, he would make a swipe with his staff, aimed right at the mans head. And just as he did so, he felt out for his res, for the part of himself hiding as a stone underneath the table. At the same time as he made the swipe of his staff, actually turning the swipe into a gesture for his magic, the small stone catapulted out from underneath the table, aimed right for his bared chest. Clyde could feel himself in the stone, part of the stone, feel the part of him as he guided it to its destination, as its djed pulsed in response to his will. If it struck the man, he would then pull it away, and dart it back under the table, hoping to hide the fact that he was using magic, attempting to cover it up with the distraction of the swipe of his staff. If it missed, he would circle it back around, and aim for the small of the drunks back.

[Coltyn]

Even sober, Coltyn probably wouldn't have been able to block the staff. It came swiftly and directly, glancing the side of his head with enough force to send him staggering back. Turning as he stumbled, another blow came, but this time it was in his lower back. It felt sharp and biting, like something harder than the wood of the staff that had just befriended his temple. "What the...what the petch!" the Ravokian muttered as he worked to right himself as quickly as he could muster. "You...just you wait until I get my hands on you!" he barked as he faced his attacker once more. Lunging forward, Coltyn threw his entire mass at the man. There was very little form in his attack. It was brutish and dirty, but at this point he didn't really care how he got the job done. He wanted to cause this man pain! Grasping for whatever he could manage to grab - be it the man's staff, his tunic, hell, even his hair - he came at him fast. Well, as fast as he could muster with a few too many drinks roiling around inside of him. As his hands wrapped around...something...anything...he worked to take the man down. The table he sat at was nearby. Perhaps you'd like to revisit it? Coltyn thought as he yanked him toward it in an effort to toss him upon the wooden expanse. At this point, someone was yelling at him and there was a...dog? Barking? No. It was just one of the barmaids yapping! No. Wait. It was most certainly a dog. This is getting out of control fast, the Ravokian managed to think as his attacker made his next move. You really are an idiot for messing with someone you don't even know. You're gonna end up dead if you keep this up.