Solo Wind in an Empty Cave

[Verin Rush]

*

80th Day of Spring, 514AV

Bright Syna had descended beyond the horizon, her sun’s rays had also dimmed, dipping out of sight, leaving the canals of the lake-city to be bathed only in Leth’s moonlight, which guided the citizens to where they needed to go. Tonight, many seemed to be guided by Leth’s silvery light over to The Malt House, which was booming, and selling meals and drinks to the dozens. Verin Rush was one of the bartenders working this night and, despite the busy bells that the punters were forcing upon him, he had not stopped smiling since he started work.

Amicably, the bond bartender discussed the current fish shortage with his current customer as he pulled a pint of ale for the man, “Yeah, I think the whole city was disappointed with the most recent haul that the fishermen brought in. It’s such a staple part of our diet that we don’t really know how to live without that slippery foodstuff, do we?” Verin was much more worried than he was letting on; the shortage of fish had been obvious to him from the onset, as it would have been for most people working in taverns or cafeterias. It was a daily occurrence that someone would ask for fish with a hopeful expression. But four days out of five, The Malt House had to say no.

“I heard in that there water is a big fish,” a new customer, who had just walked over to the bar, joined in the conversation, as it was clear what Verin was talking about; everyone in Rhysol’s Chaotic city had been affected by the fish shortage. Everyone. “A monstrous thing, bigger than you could possibly imagine, teeth size of ravosalas, and fins bigger than this here tavern. It’s eating all the fish, I tell you.”

There was a hush that had descended over the patrons closest to the bar, around Verin was serving, and he raised a brow at the man, trying to lighten the mood a little ad he finally finished pulling the pint. He lifted it up onto the bar top and exchanged the flagon of golden ale for silver mizas from his earlier customer, who didn’t move; apparently he wanted to continue with this conversation. “I wouldn’t be so sure, friend,” Verin spoke gently, as he was aware that he was still working here, and had to show respect to the people paying his wage.

“Anything as big as what you are describing would have been found long ago. This city was built with integrity, we are the stronghold of Rhysol,” Verin had tried to avoid preaching the word of Rhysol to his customers, so he was surprised when he heard a few ‘yeah!’s in the small group listening in, “and he would not leave his most devoted to be destroyed over some large fish. Most likely, we’ll find that the fisherman were having one too many to drink whilst they were working, or the nets snagged. Now, what can I get you to drink?”

But the man ignored his question, and continued to ramble on about remarkable theories as to what might be stopping the flow of fish from the city. Verin wondered if it was wise to be offering the man alcohol, but then it occurred to him that the man was far too coherent to be drunk; this was a sober man who had fallen so suspicion. “No, young lad, what about all the lakebirds that have been flocking to the city? What about them, eh? They’re not safe on the water, see, not anymore.”
*

[Verin Rush]

*

“When one person is the loudest,” Verin thought quietly to himself, “it doesn’t matter whether or not what he is saying is complete bullshyke. People will listen to him because they have no choice, and then more will listen because everyone else is. Flock mentality. These people will never live a day thinking for themselves.” the young bartender’s thoughts were dark as he poured out another flagon of ale, with no choice but to listen to the raucous assertions from certain patrons that Ravok was, in fact, doomed.

For the first time in his life, Verin considered the possibility that not every citizen of Ravok had made a conscious decision to follow The Defiler. He imagined that some worshipped him purely because everyone else did, and they did not know any better. The concept astounded the Rush scion, and insulted him. As he finished pulling the flagon, he glanced over to Grayson, who was also unusually quiet tonight. The Malt House had not had any fish brought to them for days – the staff at the tavern knew that there was some truth to the stories, at least… but Verin could not believe that there was a giant fish-monster in the depths of Lake Ravok. It was just too fantastical for him to take the stories at face value.

He finished pulling the second flagon, and began on the third. He noticed a reasonable amount of tension as he pulled the lever towards himself, and the ale was coming out slightly more frothy than it should be – he’d be reaching the end of the barrel soon enough. Luckily, ale was too heavy to be carried off, so it was one of the few things that hadn’t been stolen on the night of the burglary, so there were many barrels left. As he pulled down on the lever again, he turned and met the eyes of another bartender, signaling that he would be needing a new barrel soon. The other nodded, and ducked out to the back.

With the three flagons filled with the golden nectar, he lifted them all up onto the bar front and exchanged the drinks for mizas. The blond bartender glanced along the bar quickly and, when he saw that no one was waiting for his service at the moment, he took the opportunity to also return to the back. He checked to see that the other bartended was okay with handling the new barrel of ale alone, and was glad that the other was, before he carried on into the kitchen. In the past, he might have been lucky to receive an entire meal from the kitchen, lest the food go to waste. But prices had gone up, and meat was now more important than ever, so he just picked up a small roll of bread to nibble on.

He remained in the kitchen for a number of chimes, slowly making his way through half of the bread roll, placing the rest back on the table for another member of staff. He was still hungry, but he hoped that there would be some leftovers from the preparation food tonight, some that had to be eaten before it spoiled. Given the long hours, Grayson didn’t normally mind his staff eating, as long as they were not gorging themselves. Returning to the main room, he stopped off to pick up some cooled bottles of white wine, remembering that their front-of-house stocks had diminished somewhat. Ever the perfectionist, he took painstaking time to place the bottles on the shelves, so that they were all uniformly facing the same way.
*

[Verin Rush]

*

“No, no, no! You’re definitely missing the point here, fool!” As he was uncorking the bottle of wine in front of him, Verin lost his grip on the neck of the bottle and it slipped from his fingers, causing the conversation on the other side of the bar to stop suddenly and turn their attention to where the noise of shattering glass had come from. Grayson was first to react and clapped a hand on Verin’s shoulder as he approached, muttering that there was no harm done, and just clean it up with speed. Verin nodded and bent down to begin picking up the pieces of glass. The conversation around the bar quickly returned as people forgot about the incident.

“It’s the fish, the petching fish that they won’t shut up about,” the blond bartender internally raged to himself about, “if it even does exist, and so far there is no proof that it does, but even if it does, and we decide that it is a sign from Rhysol, then we need to bleeding respect it as such, take notice of it. Not fear it.” Again, his inattention to the task at hand caused him to slip, and a shard of glass sliced the skin of his right hand open, “Shyke!” Gritting his teeth, he closed his eyes and counted slowly to ten, breathing deeply as he passed each number – an attempt to clear his mind and calm his mind.

It partially worked, though his normally composed façade, an attribute that Venser did not possess, had faded away almost entirely. At least the blood would not stand out amongst the claret wine that was already staining the stone ground. Grayson, who was keeping an eye on his young employee as he continued to serve, suggested that maybe Verin should take another quick break, and clean himself up. “I’m fine, thanks, Grayson,” came the irate reply from the blond, who was still kneeling on the ground. “Verin-”

“-I said I’m fine!” He continued to pick up the larger pieces of the shattered glass before he stood up. He met the tavern owner’s eyes briefly before he dumped the glass shards and picked up a brush to sweep away the smaller shards. It was painstaking, but he took his time, as it gave him longer to clear his mind, “anyone who fears this ‘fish’ as an omen from Rhysol does not deserve to serve the Defiler,” was the young man’s conclusion as he brushed at the glass, which he could just about make out from the refracted light from the water. Once out of the way, he picked up one of the older, more raggy, cloths from the side in order to mop up the blood and red wine. The other bartender chucked him another, and he muttered a quiet word of thanks as he also placed that one down, beside the first.

Then he stood and ducked into the back, where the Malt House had a dwindling supply kit of essentials which could be used in such an occasion. As he riffled through it with his uninjured hand, he thought back to his trip to the Nitrozian-Moletta Sanitary Station, where he had been treated for a similar, though worse, injury. He had yet to hear anything about how he had to pay off his debt… he’d actually had no contact from his childhood friend, or her self-important associate. But it wasn’t something he was overly keen to chase up on.

Finding what he was looking for, he grabbed it and headed over to a small bucked of clean water, which he carefully poured over his hand, cleaning it of wine and dirt and washing away some of the coagulating blood. There was probably more that he could use to clean it, but he was not sure, and soap seemed like a bad idea, so he just used the water. Without wasting any time after, he carefully unravelled part of the bandage that he had picked up and began to wrap it around his hand.
*

[Verin Rush]

*

The bandage was inexpertly used, and he was trying to remember back to any treatment he had ever received when growing up, thinking on the techniques that physicians had used on him, or his brother, in the past. But whatever he could recall, his own work was not nearly as neat at theirs. His bandage was quite probably a little too tight, but it felt secure as he tried to wrap it around his hand carefully. His own pride told him that the untidy nature of his bandaging was due to the fact that he was wrapping up his dominant hand, which meant that he couldn’t use it to actually assist. That made him feel a little better.

He reached the end of the reel and frowned when he realised that he had no idea how to secure it. The other end was buried deep under the layers of bandage, so if he pulled it free, he risked the integrity of the structure that he had built around his hand. Biting his lip, he decided just to tuck it inside one of the winds, and then yanked on the end, which protruded, just to tighten it. It felt secure enough, and he was sure that it would survive at least long enough until the bleeding had slowed. It would do.

As he walked back out to the main room of the tavern, Grayson caught him, first to check that he was okay, and second to remind Verin that it was ate, and many of the punters had had a few to drink. “You are not going to agree with everything that other men talk about, Verin. Look at your father; the two of you were as different as fire and ice when it came to certain things. Differing opinions result in many conflicts, yes, but they also lead to enlightenment.” Verin nodded sullenly at the words. But he respected the older man – for all his lack of education, Grayson Falkes did sometimes come out with the most profound ideas. And he took the words on board.

“At times like this, you must learn that sometimes you might not know everything. Or, even, knowing everything actually means nothing, and that holding your tongue is the best solution…. If it bothers you that much though, you should do something about it. You have a unique gift, Verin. I suggest you might want to use it.” At this, Verin’s pale blue gaze shot up to meet Grayson’s, and he saw knowledge there, knowledge of a secret. The older man smiled knowingly at the younger. Verin worked here enough days that many things were not going to go amiss by the observant tavern owner.

Another clap on the back sent Verin back into the main room of the tavern, without giving him time to digest this new information. Just like his desire to join the Black Sun, his sparse knowledge of Hypnotism was not something that he openly discussed with people, yet it was clear that his façade was not as strong as it should be, and things were slipping through the crack. Perhaps Grayson had realised Verin's words contained more power the night following the burglary... though it didn't matter when, only that the man knew. But he pushed it to the back of his mind for the time being, and searched out the next patron waiting to be served.
*

[Verin Rush]

*

Another wine bottle to uncork, and this time, Verin paid more attention to what he was doing, and took his time. He had to remind himself that glass was much more fragile than the wooden lever that he invariably used more when working at The Malt House. It also took more time with one injured, and tightly bandaged, hand, but he wasn’t about to complain about his own folly. The cork came loose and he pulled it out, relishing the sound of the pop and the smell that drifted up to his nostrils. He pulled out five pitchers, and slowly filled them all, keeping his eye on the flowing liquid, in order to make sure that each pitcher contained the same amount of fluid for the patrons. When done, he raised the bottle and glanced at it, noting that there was enough for probably one more pitcher, and he jammed the cork back in and placed the bottle back on the shelf before turning back and requesting one gold miza from the party, which he accepted with a word of thanks.

The five young women smiled and walked away from the bar to a table in the middle of the room, and Verin took a moment to admire their figures and appreciate their movements as they walked away from him. It had been some time since he had felt the embrace of a woman… and he wondered if it was high time that he and Venser arranged to go out together and enjoy themselves. He had heard stories of the new beauty that The House of Immortal Pleasures had acquired, and he could not deny that, if rumours spoke true, he would love the taste of such a woman lying beside him.

The sound of a throat being cleared drew Verin out of his reverie, and he tore his eyes away from the women to lock onto the same man who had initially started the tavern off on the topic of the fish. He worked hard not to allow his displeasure at having to serve the old gentleman become apparent on his face, and forced a smile out, offering a poor joke, “Sorry, but I suppose no fault can be had on me for admiring the view.” The man answered with a chuckle of his own, and he glanced around to take a look for himself. For most punters, in any tavern, it was an easy way of bonding, to objectify the fairer sex, and Verin was not one to shy away from admiring beauty where it was deserved.

“What can I get for you, Sir?”The gentleman turned back and requested a dram of 24 seasons-aged whisky, and the blond nodded tightly; he wasn’t sure that the man should be drinking something so strong, as he was already fairly intoxicated, but he was not on the ground yet, so Verin had no choice. He turned and picked up the bottle, one of his favourite ages, and uncorked it. The cork came out easily, as it had previously been opened. Grabbing a tumbler, he poured out the correct amount, maybe even a little less. Again, it took effort to hold the bottle with his bandaged hand, but he managed it, though he was a little slower than usual. Glancing up as he did so, she saw that the man had already placed the correct change on the table and he exchanged the tumbler of whisky for the mizas. “Thank you, Sir.”
*

[Verin Rush]

*

It was a fruitless effort, but Verin tried to drown out the sound of the Fish conversation, which had started up again. Now that the participants were more intoxicated, the rumours had reached a whole new level of extremities with new stories of deaths and viewings that had not been mentioned before. It was clear that each of the speakers were trying to outdo the speaker before with their wild notions and ideas. Some were even bordering on the blasphemous, with assertions that Rhysol was displeased with his followers, that the fish was an attempt to punish the citizens of Ravok, or even cull its population.

With a clear mind, Verin believed none of it, but the drunkards clearly did, and even some of the more sober patrons were beginning to be sucked in to the extreme beliefs that were being thrown about the tavern. The group was getting more and more rowdy, and Verin had lost enough concentration on the pint of ale that he was trying to pull that he only remembered what he was doing when it overflowed and the cool, bubbly liquid poured over his hand. He was glad that he was holding the flagon in his left, unbandaged hand, and placed the flagon quickly on the surface of the bar and wiped his hand on his trouser leg as he asked his customer for the price of the drink. The man handed over a gold miza absently, and had left to return to the growing gaggle before Verin could hand over any change.

If the man was going to be foolish enough to sink into that world, however, Verin wasn’t going to go out of his way to return the money. He met Grayson’s gaze, who was looking at him pointedly, clearly imploring him to do something, but Verin was loathe to abuse the magic he had, having seen what the negative effects could be in his own brother He was by no means competent at the art of Hypnotism, and did not want it to go wrong, and have the situation worsen… nor did he want to promote mistrust in this establishment… but he had to do something.

Unfortunately, he was summoned into the conversation by the initial ringleader, “Here! Verin! You’re young, and know about this stuff…” Verin’s carefully constructed smile began to slip from his features, to be replaced by a stony expression, as he focused his efforts on clearing his mind, preparing to count to five each time before he answered any of the drunkard’s questions. He had no idea what his age had to do with anything – maybe the man thought that his young age would mean that he was more impressionable…“Rhysol’s power is awesome, this… creature, could easily be of Rhsyol’s making?”

The young bartender counted to five, “It’s… plausible, yes…” The man pointed in excitement at Verin with a victory shout, as if Verin had somehow proven an argument, and , the bartender frowned. The man turned back, dropping his tumbler back onto the wooden surface of the bar and requested another dram, or make that two. The two’s eyes met, pale blue orbs boring into the brown of the patron, “I think you might want to take your patronage elsewhere for the rest of tonight,” Verin murmured slowly, imbuing each word with as much magic as he could muster. When done, the two continued to stare at each other, until finally the man pushed himself away from the bar, nodding in agreement.
*

[Abstract]

Grade Awarded!

Verin

Skills

~ Bartending - 4
~ Philosophy - 2
~ Meditation - 1
~ Medicine - 1
~ Socialization - 1
~ Observation - 2
~ Hypnotism - 1

Lores

~ Rumor: Giant Fish
~ The Problems of a Flock Mentality
~ Differing Opinions: A Fact of Life

Other

Verin will have a thin and long, but faint scar on his right palm from slicing it on glass.

Notes

Nothing to say.