Flashback [World's End Grotto] A Beginning and an End (Dor'gen)

(This is a thread from Mizahar's fantasy role playing forum. Why don't you register today? This message is not shown when you are logged in. Come roleplay with us, it's fun!)

Center of scholarly knowledge and shipwrighting, Zeltiva is a port city unlike any other in Mizahar. [Lore]

[World's End Grotto] A Beginning and an End (Dor'gen)

Postby Keene Ward on November 4th, 2014, 11:10 am

Image
The fifty-fifth day of summer, 514 AV

She stared with dead eyes, empty orbs that held nothing within them but the hollow ring of death. Her face was still; its pallor stark against the still vibrant curls of fiery hair that splayed across her skin in a manner that would have drove her mad. The body lay still, no sound escaping from the now grey lips. All reprimands had ceased, replaced by a silence so complete it seemed louder than all of the screaming she had ever done in her entire life in a single raucous amalgamation. The skin had yet to bloat and still retained the texture and appearance as it had during life, though it was cold and stiff to the touch. She had been placed upon the table, broken dishes and books scattered the floor beneath, and her pose was anything but comfortable. She was taller than the surface was long. Her legs bent at the knees, hanging freely over the edge while her arms were splayed out on either side of her, the left bent towards her head with the other a perpendicular line to the rest of her body.

Keene stared at her, his eyes icy, slowly trailing over the rise and fall of Mella's contour. He felt numb, as though his soul had been exposed to the chill of winter winds for too long. As he stared, his mind stalled, a blank blackness where not even thought had room to creep tentatively across his consciousness. There was nothing left. It had disappeared the moment he'd returned to find the empty shell that had once housed the woman Mella. He'd sat there, staring, for gods only knew how long, watching as the body shifted into a corpse. The color had been the first to fade, having already paled by the time he'd returned. Next came the stiffness. It had crept over the body like an invisible ice, cementing the corpse's pose into a grotesque sculpture of useless flesh and bone. What more of the process remained, Keene did not know. He had sat in his chair for what felt like years, unable to move for lack of any motivation.

Outside, the sun had begun to set once more. Keene felt as though the golden rays of the retreating sun had shone in exactly the same way in some distant time before he could remember. It was as if he were relieving the exact moment from a life not his own, an observer pulled into a world of action. His back ached; his eyes itched from fatigue; his entire body felt as weak and empty as the broken vessel before him. The soft, amber glow of the sun's setting filled the room with an alien warmth. For a brief moment, both figures were illuminated. The gentle caress of the light bringing with it an instance of perceived life in both faces before it faded into shadow. The grey of the late evening was quick to assert its dominance, shrouding both Keene and the body in an appropriately dismal atmosphere.

Time continued to pass, each tick an eternity. Keene remained still, the steady rise and fall of his shoulders with each breath a monotonous rhythm that only gave the impression of life. His had ended along with Mella's. There was no reason, no purpose left for him. His life had been created for the sole purpose of assistance, yet now the single source who had required such aid could no longer be helped. She had moved beyond his realm of influence, leaving behind an obsolete tool, a pen with no ink. Keene had spent little time considering what his life would be were it his own. Now was the time, and he had found nothing. His cognitive processes had shut down and refused to replay anything but the emptiness that pervaded everything around him.

A knock at the door sounded twice, two clean raps against the sturdy wood. Keene turned, his concentration broken, the nothingness interrupted by the advent of something. Slowly, in a daze, Keene rose from his chair, stumbling across the floor to catch himself against the wooden frame of the portal. Steadying himself, Keene drew the latch, letting the door swing out to reveal an official looking man with a slight sneer tugging at his lips. He stood taller than Keene, gazing down at him through milky spectacles perched atop an arched nose. Long, delicate fingers reached into his chest pocket, procuring a small envelop which was extended with a disdainful pout. "This is the residence of the late Mella Ward?" A slow nod from Keene pushed the envelope closer towards him. The man continued, his nasally voice growing sharper. "And you are her son, Keene Ward?" The man had extended his arm as far as he could without stepping close, the unreceived letter still daintily wedged between the spindly digits of the man. Another lethargic fall and rise of Keene's chin indicated that he was indeed Keene Ward. "This," The parchment flapped against itself, shaken by the man for emphasis. "Is for you."

Keene's hand seemed to move on its own, shakily receiving the letter, lingering for a moment extended before falling to his side, the note slipping from his fingers to settle on the wooden floor beneath him. The man raised a brow, "Well then." He turned to leave taking several steps away from the house before pausing, twirling around, he gazed back at Keene, his green eyes adopting a soft sheen that contrasted with his initial scowl. "I'm... Sorry. About all of it." Keene blinked, uncomprehending. "You look like you could use a drink." The lack of response seemed to make the man uncomfortable, as he shifted in his place. "The Grotto isn't far from here. You should go." More silence passed. "It... May do you some good." Keene nodded, his motions painfully slow from the stiffness of his muscles. "Right, well..." Trailing off, the man gave Keene a curt nod in farewell before heading off into the night.

Letting his gaze trail from the receding back of the disappearing man to the letter upon the floor. Stooping, Keene winced as his bones clashed with his taunt muscles, carefully plucking the note from its wooden rest. As he straightened, Keene fumbled with the envelope, the letter inside crumpling from his clumsy extrication. Unfolding the paper, Keene squinted down at the neat scrawl, the dusk requiring the note to be held close to his nose to make out it's contents.

Keene Ward,
The University of Zeltiva has recently been notified of your mother's involvement of potentially dangerous reimancy experimentation. As of now, all present and future association between Mella Ward and the University of Zeltiva will be terminated. Please return all books to the library within twenty four bells. As of now, all present and future association between Keen Ward and the University of Zeltiva will also be terminated. As long as you remain in Zeltiva, your actions will be observed and should the need for action to be taken against you arise, the citizens of Zeltiva are hereby authorized to enact said actions immediately.


The letter continued, listing restrictions as well as warnings against specific actions. Keene let the letter slip from his fingers, staring ahead into the soft glow of the light of the buildings in the distance. The man had suggested a drink. Keene had never had alcohol before, as there had been no reason for it. Now that he had seemed to loose all reason, it seemed petty to refuse himself the mysterious pleasure of alcohol due to such a paltry concept as "reason". Staggering out the door, Keene stumbled down the path, neglecting to lock the door as he departed. It would have been an empty gesture at any rate. Anything of value within the house belong to the University at any rate, and those books were to be returned within a day. Were anything to be stolen, it was unlikely the books would be taken. The corpse still sat atop the table, and it surely server a stronger guard than many a living beast.

It didn't take long for him to arrive at the tavern near the docks. His home was relatively close, though the walk had seemed all the shorter due to Keene's erratic sense of time. As he had walked, his stomach had begun to growl, protesting his negligence of nourishment. The smell of stew and warm bread caught his attention, serving to further rile his temperamental appetite, drawing him through the sturdy wooden door and into the sparsely populated common room of the World's End Grotto. As he stopped some steps into the establishment, he stared at the inscription of the tavern's name set into the wall above the bar. His lips curved upwards, a small sneer that slowly grew into hollow chuckle. How fitting a title to match his strife.

Settling himself into a chair at one of the many unoccupied tables, Keene placed his arms upon the wooden surface, staring blankly ahead as his smile slowly faded back into the slight downward curve of his natural expression. Having never been to a tavern before, Keene had no idea how the establishment worked. Instead, he sat and stared into the crackling fire that had been lit in the hearth. His eyes traced the flitting dance of the orange and yellow flakes that sprouted from the air just above the logs that had been placed haphazardly behind the grate. There was the sound of boots passing through the entryway and pausing much as he had done. With a labored twist of the neck, Keene stared at the newcomer with a blank, empty stare.

.
Image
User avatar
Keene Ward
Chilly Wizard
 
Posts: 902
Words: 1279864
Joined roleplay: October 16th, 2014, 2:16 am
Location: Kalea
Race: Human
Character sheet
Storyteller secrets
Scrapbook
Plotnotes
Medals: 6
Featured Character (1) Artist (1)
Overlored (1) One Million Words! (1)
2014 Mizahar NaNo Winner (1) 2014 Top NaNo Word Count (1)

[World's End Grotto] A Beginning and an End (Dor'gen)

Postby Dor'gen on November 11th, 2014, 4:13 am

Image
.
.
Zeltiva was an interesting place, of this there was no doubt.

Having only been within the city of sea and stone for a brief span of time, the towering Akalak was in the midst of a decision. There was nothing halting him from selecting this foreign land as the site of a new beginning; but at the same time Dor'gen had reservations. First and foremost, Zeltiva was a stark contrast to the jungles of Taloba that he formerly called home; both in terms of aesthetic and atmosphere. Of course, the Akalak did not anticipate finding a new jungle to lay down roots within, but the physical differences between Taloba and Zeltiva were indeed daunting. Furthermore, from what Dor'gen had seen and heard thus far, Zeltiva was...focused more on the mind over that which he was accustomed to. Coming to a land of debate and philosophy was shocking for one cultivated by warfare and "savagery."

However, there was still the potential to start anew here...for no matter where a man traveled, there would always be a need for a hired sword. Dor'gen was confident that, even in the midst of such a politically-charged city, he could find work with little difficulty. Yet, indecision plagued him...could he truly call Zeltiva home? Whilst mulling over this complicated question of the future, the Akalak found himself leisurely strolling about the streets of Zeltiva. Armed to the teeth as always, the Akalak simply walked about with the intention of getting a better feel for the city. His journey about took about a bell and saw him traverse the various avenues and alleys of the oceanside polis. However, after rounding yet another corner, a wonderful aroma invaded his nostrils.

'Twas a delectable symphony of meats, blissfully cooked to succulent perfection.

At once, ravenous pangs erupted in the pit of the Akalak's stomach: demanding that he conclude his stroll with a hot meal. Dor'gen did not argue in the slightest, but in fact hastened his pace until he arrived at the most popular "watering hole" in the whole of Zeltiva. Known as the "World's End Grotto", the establishment had been the regular source of the Akalak's daily sustenance; and now it was time to indulge in yet another meal. Promptly admitting himself within, Dor'gen was greeted with the sight and sounds of numerous patrons scattered about. They laughed. They drank. Some even sang! Whilst these souls went about their merrymaking, waitresses criss-crossed the breadth of the tavern, taking orders and serving up beverages as quickly as they could.

Despite being here only a short time, Dor'gen had come to enjoy the atmosphere of the Grotto. The livelihood of the establishment drew him like a moth to flame, so to speak. As he took his first steps within the Grotto, his eyes danced from table to booth, debating where he would sit. As he searched for a suitable place, he happened upon a young man...who was staring right back at him. There was nothing too remarkable about him, at a glance anyway, but upon drawing nearer a few paces, the Akalak saw something a touch off-putting. Unlike the mirth that surrounded them, this young man was quiet and alone. 'Twas as if he were his own island in the midst of a jovial sea. In a rare fit of hospitable behavior, the Akalak stepped over to this young man and greeted him with a light smile.

"Mind if I join you?" he asked, before momentarily turning his attention to a waitress passing by. "Could I trouble you for a tankard of ale?" came his request. With a nod and a bright smile, the woman scampered off in order to fill his order whilst Dor'gen awaited a response from the young man.

Word Count627
c
Image
Image

Image Image Image
User avatar
Dor'gen
The Furious.
 
Posts: 142
Words: 152513
Joined roleplay: July 15th, 2014, 1:46 am
Location: Sunberth, Sylira
Race: Akalak
Character sheet
Storyteller secrets
Medals: 1
2014 Mizahar NaNo Winner (1)

[World's End Grotto] A Beginning and an End (Dor'gen)

Postby Keene Ward on November 12th, 2014, 3:29 am

Image


The man was massive and purple. Two things Keene had never seen before, though his mind felt far too numb to react with anything more than a nod at the question asked. He had not planned on company for the evening, but then again he had planned for little that had happened within the span of the past few days. It seemed the world had little care about what exactly it was Keene prepared himself for. With zero will to make any sort of gesture of hospitality, Keene merely continued to stare at the purple giant as he pulled up a chair to sit across from him. His long muscular arms made the table look much smaller than it had initially. He wore no shirt to hide the ripple of muscle nor the myriad of scars upon them. Any other night, the man would have been an unnerving sight to behold. That night, however, Keene merely regarded him with an almost curious stare.

Noticing he had asked a young woman for "ale, Keene waved a weak hand at her as well. She nodded with a friendly smile, though he wasn't certain if that mean he would also get a drink or if she thought he had been greeting her. He decided, either way, he didn't care. The man that had just settled into the chair in front of him was certainly going to get at least something. Keene would just try some of it then, as it was his right to, seeing as he had let the man join him. A small frown scrunched up his face as he thought about what was owed him for a moment. There wasn't a whole lot that came to mind, and he supposed that ale would be a fine substitute for whatever it was he truly deserved.

He remained quiet, staring placidly at the other man. No words came to mind as he stared at the silver locks of hair and glint of the similarly tinted eyes. He was a traveled, man, it seemed; from the scars alone Keene could tell he'd lived a life of strife, though what of what quality only the gods knew. There was nothing about him that was mundane, and as such, there was nothing about him that moved Keene to speak. Typically, he would have opened with a nicety due to the well-understood rules of social etiquette. The man in front of him with his deep purple shade and pointed ears, was certainly not human. Having had almost no contact with any of the other races that populated Mizahar (save the Sevfara, who were more human than anything else), Keene had little idea what was considered proper. At the moment, he didn't really care either.

oocDat WC of mine. Lol. For reals though, we'll get going soon.

.
Image
User avatar
Keene Ward
Chilly Wizard
 
Posts: 902
Words: 1279864
Joined roleplay: October 16th, 2014, 2:16 am
Location: Kalea
Race: Human
Character sheet
Storyteller secrets
Scrapbook
Plotnotes
Medals: 6
Featured Character (1) Artist (1)
Overlored (1) One Million Words! (1)
2014 Mizahar NaNo Winner (1) 2014 Top NaNo Word Count (1)

[World's End Grotto] A Beginning and an End (Dor'gen)

Postby Dor'gen on November 12th, 2014, 10:39 pm

Image
.
Upon making his request of the young man, the Akalak was not met by anything substansial. There was no smile, nor a verbal greeting of any sort. There was not even a wave or a gesture with the hand to indicate that it was alright. Instead, the young man simply rendered a nod that seemed rather weak. However, approval was approval and Dor'gen promptly pulled the chair out from underneath the table. Its legs, wrought of local wood, scratched upon the floorboards audibly until coming to a halt. Descending promptly, Dor'gen then settled himself into the chair before gripping the seat in both hands. Commencing the awkward "hop" to scoot closer, he only created additional creaks upon the floorboard until he was satisfied with the distance.

Finally, he removed his shield and set it beside his boot; careful to mark its weight there. After all, he did not want his prized armament swiped from under his nose. "Thank you." he began, now placing the whole of his attention on the young man before him. "My name is Dor'gen by the way. I assume you're a native here?" By here, he meant Zeltiva, of course. Now, to say that the Akalak was terrifyingly bad at making conversation was an understatement. After all, he hailed from a city where idle chatter was not exactly much of a...thing...However, upon making his journey out of Taloba, Dor'gen began to be exposed to conversational interactions. While it was still woefully foreign to him, the Akalak at least attempted to be social every now and again.

However, the young man before him did not look ready to mingle.

"So, tell me, why the...ah, what's the expression...long face?" he inquired, affording the young man a light smile. As the words formed and fell from the Akalak's lips, their table was graced by the presence of the tavern waitress. She now bore a pitcher and a duet of mugs in her grasp; both of which were promptly placed in front of the two men. She filled the mugs to the brim with cool, fresh ale and Dor'gen promptly paid her for the service. Afterwards, he took his mug in hand and raised it to his lips, indulging in a hearty sip. "Ah. Not bad." he said, nodding ever so slightly.

Word Count386

.
.
Image

Image Image Image
User avatar
Dor'gen
The Furious.
 
Posts: 142
Words: 152513
Joined roleplay: July 15th, 2014, 1:46 am
Location: Sunberth, Sylira
Race: Akalak
Character sheet
Storyteller secrets
Medals: 1
2014 Mizahar NaNo Winner (1)

[World's End Grotto] A Beginning and an End (Dor'gen)

Postby Keene Ward on November 14th, 2014, 7:12 am

Image


Dor'gen was given another nod in return for his question. Keene's judgement was completely skewed, and his reasoning was proving slow on the uptake. He hadn't really wanted to talk to anyone, and though he didn't typically find other races to be any less favorable than his own, the purple man with pointed ears and silver features was just too alien at the moment. It would have been polite and proper to have told him a simple "No" and allowed him a table with company who would have enjoyed him. Keene, however, was not that company, and though the man spoke with a strange, harsh sounding friendliness, it was going to require more than just a smile and a handful of pleasantries to get the conversation flowing in a more respectable manner. He appeared uncomfortable, but Keene's attention was focused far too inward to pay the man's discomfort any heed.

Another question was offered, one that contained an idiom Keene had always found a bit ridiculous. There was nothing long about his face. If anything, his face was rounder and more compact than the typical human. He was prepared to give a response when the waitress returned with pitcher and mugs in hand. She placed them on the table, liberally pouring the contents of the pitcher into both, a dark frothy liquid that smelled as if it had soured some several decades ago. Keene regarded his mug with a skeptical frown, the facial expression that had implied his "long face". Glancing at Dor'gen, Keene dipped his hand into his pocket and mirrored the man's payment a few ticks behind him, giving the waitress a blank gaze instead of the purple man's smile. Turning his attention pack upon the foreigner, Keene watched as the other man took a swig of his own drink. While he still doubted the drink's trustworthiness, he had come to the bar for the sole reason of partaking in its beverage.

Drawing the mug to his lips, Keene opened his mouth wide and took several large gulps. The flavor was, surprisingly, worse than the smell. It ran warm and rough down his throat, leaving behind an acrid flavor that lingered long after Keene's spluttering swallows. Giving the man in front of him a grimace, Keene pulled the mug back to his lips and forced the ale within down his throat, unwilling to let himself taste it until it was gone. Swishing his tongue around in his mouth in a futile attempt to remove even a smidgen of the bitter taste of "ale", Keene gave the waitress another wave, holding out two fingers to signal his desire for several more. She raised a brow at him, but nodded as she strode away back to the kitchens. Turning to give Dor'gen a slight rather than full frown, Keene shrugged. His stomach was already starting to feel a bit strange, and his rapid consumption of alcohol had left a dry sensation in his throat. "That expression is ridiculous."

The woman returned with the pitcher and another mug. The moment she had poured one, Keene snatched it up and took a large gulp of it, unable to force any more down as his every one of his senses demanded he place the wooden container back upon the table. He did so with reluctance, pulling the proper payment from his pocket and handing it to the woman without offering her a second glance. His finger tips had begun to feel warm, but beyond that he didn't feel very much different. He could feel his stomach had expanded to make room for the advent of cool, frothy drink, and it wasn't the most comfortable sensation. Shaking his head, Keene attempted to lift the mug once more, but his arm remained stationary. He found that odd. "Mella died, the University came, and now I'm here." Finally the mug rose up off the table, a slight amount spilling onto the wood. He counted it as a necessary loss, drawing it to his lips and taking another swig. This time, the ale seemed to taste a bit different. The bitter swill was less better and less swill-like than before, tasting almost palatable. Another swig gave him a better understanding, as each swig after wards made the flavor feel more and more like a flavor than some strange punishment for his taste buds.

The mug emptied, Keene set it next to the full one, eyeing it with an increasing easiness. The warmth of his fingers had intensified to a tingling that had spread out from the heavy beat of his heart to the farthest of his extremities. His stomach, however, still felt overly heavy. He wondered if the alcohol would take much more of an affect, or if the tingling was the extent of it. "What about your purple face?" He blinked, confused at the sentence that had come out of his own mouth. "I mean, you're purple." He paused, finding the forming of sentences well enough manageable in his head, but once the words were given form, everything seemed a bit off. "Why are you purple?" Shaking his head, Keene placed a hand securely around the handle of the filled mug, staring at the man in front of him with a concentration he found difficult to muster. "What-" He tried again, his stomach pulling his elbows downwards to support his heavy frame upon the table. "Where are you from?" The calm, cool nature of his speech had given way to a slight lilt that was a direct effect of Keene's struggle to form the words he wished to rather than what simply came out.

.
Image
User avatar
Keene Ward
Chilly Wizard
 
Posts: 902
Words: 1279864
Joined roleplay: October 16th, 2014, 2:16 am
Location: Kalea
Race: Human
Character sheet
Storyteller secrets
Scrapbook
Plotnotes
Medals: 6
Featured Character (1) Artist (1)
Overlored (1) One Million Words! (1)
2014 Mizahar NaNo Winner (1) 2014 Top NaNo Word Count (1)

[World's End Grotto] A Beginning and an End (Dor'gen)

Postby Dor'gen on November 14th, 2014, 8:38 am

Image
.
If the Akalak had been raised in the bosom of Riverfall...If he had been reared amongst typical social norms...If he had any remote ability to understand conversational behaviors in the slightest, Dor'gen would have picked up on all the "signs" exhibited by the young man. However, the sad reality of it all was that he had spent the last two centuries in the heart of a foreign jungle. Now, while Taloba had its own "social norms", they more or less revolved around doing one's job...and ostracizing anyone who remotely looked different. In Dor'gen's case, standing at over seven feet and having purple skin was the exact definition of "looking different." As such, while most would have sought other, more pleasureable company early on, Dor'gen had no qualms about remaining in his seat.

The Akalak noted that, initially, there was no response to his "inquiry." Instead, the young man showed a heap of attention to the mug that was placed before him. First, a tentative sip was taken...before he went after the liquor like a starving man after a hot meal. When it was all said and done, the lad had drained the mug of ale completely dry in a matter of ticks. Now, while most would have interpreted that strangely, the Akalak took that as a sign of competition! After all, contests of strength were one of the pillars of Taloban society! With this unspoken (and completely unintended) challenge accepted, the Akalak took a moment to raise his own mug of ale. This time, he gave a small "salute" of sorts with the mug, "praising" the young man for his display.

Then, he knocked it back.

Raising the mug to his lips, the Akalak practically dumped the whole of the mug into his mouth. Several swift, massive gulps saw the bittersweet liquor completely drained into his gullet in a matter of ticks; before he set the emptied mug on the table with a strong clatter. Now, despite his size...the consumption of alcohol was not exactly a pasttime that Dor'gen indulged in. After all, the majority of his time was devoted to serving within the Taloban Army; thereby making it a priority for him to keep his wits about him at all times. Now free of this obligation, he had the leisure to...throw his wits out of the metaphorical window, so to speak. The sad reality of it all was, his lack of experience in the alcoholic arena made him somewhat of a lightweight.

And as such, he was feeling the tingles.

When the tavern waitress arrived in order to fulfill the young man's order, he placed one of his own. Instead of requesting a finite sum of drinks, he simply ordered a pitcher or ale. This would keep "interruptions" down and the "contest" flowing. Upon departing to fulfill this order, Dor'gen placed his attention upon the young man's snark-filled remarks. "It's a Human expression." came the Akalak's retort, complete with a small smirk. "As I'm in a Human city, drinking a Human beverage, I thought I'd at least try to use the right expressions." He paused upon hearing mention of "Mella's death". Although their cultures were worlds apart, all men knew the pain of death...and pain often led all men to vices.

With this small chunk of understanding prevalent (somewhat), Dor'gen decided not to touch the word Mella with a twenty meter stick. Instead, he simply asked: "I don't know a damn thing about the University. If you don't mind me asking, what did they want? You a student or something?" As the words formed and fell from the Akalak's lips, the young man busied himself with addressing his second drink. Not to be outdone, Dor'gen reached for the pitcher and promptly refreshed his own beverage. This, too, was drained just as quickly as the first...and magnified the rampant tingles manyfold. When the young man then fired off his subsequent inquiries, Dor'gen couldn't help but laugh. Normal Akalak may have been offended...but Dor'gen? He just laughed.

"I'm an Akalak. Y'know, the colored men from Riverfall?" he began, blinking furiously. "BUT! I, good sir, am from Taloba." With that said, the Akalak decided to "up the ante." Pouring himself yet another mug of ale, he then began the process of chugging the liquor down. Unlike the first two, the Akalak was finding this process to be especially difficult...but he worked through it until not a single drop remained. This, of course, did not help his predicament in the slightest...but at least tingling wasn't the worst feeling in the world. "Wha 'bout you? Why're you so pale, huh? You like by a petching beach, why aren't you like...tan?"

.
.
Image

Image Image Image
User avatar
Dor'gen
The Furious.
 
Posts: 142
Words: 152513
Joined roleplay: July 15th, 2014, 1:46 am
Location: Sunberth, Sylira
Race: Akalak
Character sheet
Storyteller secrets
Medals: 1
2014 Mizahar NaNo Winner (1)

[World's End Grotto] A Beginning and an End (Dor'gen)

Postby Keene Ward on November 15th, 2014, 7:58 pm

Image


The conversation had begun sometime prior to Keene's notice. He did no remember being willing to converse with the other man - who called himself "Akalak" - but he now had little issue answering his questions. His third mug of ale was in the process of sliding its way down his gullet when the Akalak asked him about the University. Rather than reply right away, Keene continued to drink, eyeing the pitcher as it arrived. He found his motor skills had devolved far below his usual point of refinement in movement. Instead, it was a struggle to merely keep his head propped up on one hand and pull the mug to his lips with the other. His grey-green eyes watched the purple man explain where he was from - a place called "Taloba" - and where his people were usually from - "Riverfall" - while managing to drain his third mug of the growing appeal of ale. His final question seemed a bit frivolous, so Keene decided to answer it last. Staring down into the bottom of the mug once Dor'gen had finished his part, Keene was surprised to see there wasn't anything left in it. He had been sucking on the edge of the mug for the majority of the time Dor'gen had been drinking his own.

Clumsily fumbling with the handle of the pitcher, Keene took his time to pour out a sloshing mugfull of the drink, spilling plenty, before replacing it where he'd dragged it from. Pulling the mug across the uneven wood of the table, little rivulets of alcohol spilling over the sides, Keene's tilted head had found a new neck in his left hand, the weight of his head bearing down upon his elbow with an uncomfortable force. "You can ask about it, and I can mind." He blinked. "I don't mind you asking about it." Shrugging, he put his lips into a pucker, sucking some of the froth from his drink in thought. "The University wants their books back." He raised a brow at Dor'gen. "Books have words in them, like paper people." Having absolutely no idea what sort of place Taloba was, Keene wondered if the Akalak knew of books. If he didn't, he did now. "And I can't be a student because we blew stuff up." He finally managed to pull his head up enough to take a few swigs. His hands felt absolutely wonderful, and his head, while physically heavy, seemed pleasantly airy, as if all his never-ending thoughts had finally decided to take a rest and let him float through the relatively unknown silence of a quiet mind for the time being.

"And," Another drink. "I'm not a 'sir', just a..." His brow scrunched as he fumble for the word, his lips moving to a silent monologue that existed only gods knew where. "I'm just Keene." He set the empty mug in front of him, tapping it on the rim with the hand that was preoccupied with keeping his head aloft. "Can't have a tan, because I don't." Gently shaking his head to and fro, digging his elbow into the table with a strangely numb sort of feeling, Keene tried again. "I don't go out much, mostly reading and making magic." Continuing to tap on the mug, Keene's eyes grew large and concerned a few ticks after his last statement. "I mean, I like to... Make cake." He stared blankly at Dor'gen. It seemed alcohol assisted in the loosening of tongues. Keene tipped some more ale out of the pitcher and into his mug, not bothering to fill it much past half before tossing it into his mouth. He hopped the other man didn't pick up on his little slip up of his secret, though he supposed it didn't really matter. The ale was starting to taste like nothing, but Keene was enjoying its effects. If he could feel like he did forever, he wouldn't have to worry about much beyond not letting his head slam into the table.

.
Image
User avatar
Keene Ward
Chilly Wizard
 
Posts: 902
Words: 1279864
Joined roleplay: October 16th, 2014, 2:16 am
Location: Kalea
Race: Human
Character sheet
Storyteller secrets
Scrapbook
Plotnotes
Medals: 6
Featured Character (1) Artist (1)
Overlored (1) One Million Words! (1)
2014 Mizahar NaNo Winner (1) 2014 Top NaNo Word Count (1)

[World's End Grotto] A Beginning and an End (Dor'gen)

Postby Dor'gen on November 28th, 2014, 8:05 am

Image
.
Spinning.

Having never been inebriated before, the Akalak did not know that consuming copious sums of alcohol resulted in spinning rooms. He knew what the term "drunk" was of course, for he had been within the Army long enough to see celebrations and the intoxication therein. However, not once in his two centuries of life had he ever experienced drunkenness firsthand. Yet, upon setting his depleted mug down upon the table, a glance up at Keene saw the room suddenly begin to spin. 'Twas if the world had decided to tilt itself onto a new axis; but at a dizzingly slow pace. Then, just as it tilted to one side, it would turn around and tilt to the other! Having no other weapon against this alchohol-fueled phenomenon, the Akalak began to blink furiously; hoping that this meager effort would somehow right the world.

However, despite his best efforts, the room would not stop spinning in response to his blinking.

"D'oh well." he thought to himself, before placing his attention on the young man. As if his movements were suddenly very interesting, Dor'gen watched as Keene refilled his mug (whilst spilling quite a bit of ale in the process). Of course, as the inner child of the Akalak was in control at the moment, Dor'gen decided to "show the young man how it was done." Intent on not spilling a single drop, the Akalak reached out his mammoth hand and took hold of the pitcher. As opposed to lifting it right away, he simply dragged its tin form across the table; causing a slow grinding din to fill his ears. This had the desired affect of not spilling a drop...albeit due to the fact that its contents were in a much more depleted state than originally. If not for how much they had consumed already, the sloshing liquor would have splashed out onto the table rather horrifically.

With this small "victory" achieved, Dor'gen then gripped his mug within the clutches of his offhand. His dominant hand, suddenly shaky in response to the tingling which ran rampant across his body, attempted to raise the pitcher as gracefully as possible. He began to pour the ale with little difficulty, but then the affects of the drunkenness reared their ugly heads. At once, there were suddenly...one...no two...no...three mugs! Dor'gen attempted to utilize his earlier tactic once more, blinking furiously in hopes of correcting the multiple mugs...but this action was as frivilous as shaking a stick at the wind. Yet, this did not deter his efforts to fill his mug with another serving of ale. By process of elimination, he selected the middle mug as his target and began to pour.

He missed, horribly.

A small sum of ale splashed down upon the table before Dor'gen immediately retracted the pour. It wasn't enough to require cleaning on the part of one of the waitresses, but it did damage the Akalak's pride a little bit. Grunting, he then selected the first mug and attempted a pour. This time, liquor met the bottom of the mug. Satisfied, the Akalak continued to pour...and pour...and pour...until his cup runneth over. Realizing his mistake, Dor'gen halted straightway and placed the pitcher down upon the table. He then reached for his beverage and coiled his fingers about its cool form. Slowly and gingerly, he raised it to his lips and indulged in a frothy sip; hoping to reduce the level of liquid so that it did not spill with every movement. This was met with success, and the Akalak then returned the mug to the table.

As the tin cup made its light thunk upon making contact with the wood, Dor'gen began to fully hearken to the young man's words. Apparently the University wanted its books back...and, surprisingly, the Akalak knew what a book was. Although the Myrians were more apt to instruct through word of mouth and paintings on walls, there was a spot or two that had books. Now, Dor'gen was not a humongous reader, but the Goddess-Queen did not tolerate stupidity on the part of her people. As such, the Akalak knew how to read...but not flawlessly. "Hey now," he said in a horrifically slurred tone of voice, "I know what a book is thank you." With this said, Dor'gen decided that it was high time that he got to know his beverage intimately.

Raising the now-sticky mug to his lips, the Akalak indulged in a ginger sip first. This was much akin to sticking one's toe within a river to check the temperature...before diving in headfirst. In the same manner, Dor'gen parted his lips and began to tilt his head back rather rapidly. His tongue was greeted by a cascade of bittersweet liquid whose flavor only seemed to become richer with each passing tick. Perhaps it was the intoxication driving the affect; or perhaps it was just the nature of ale. Dor'gen could not tell the difference...nor did he much care in all honesty. Massive swallows were made by the towering Akalak, one after the other, until the mug had been robbed of all its contents. Releasing a satisfied sigh into the air, the Akalak set the mug down upon the table...rather hard.

Clank!

For the most part, the response of the young man was somewhat muddled by the alcohol. Dor'gen caught that...Keene wasn't able to be a student because he blew something up? That set the gears turning, for the Akalak's intoxicated mind could not grasp the connection between magic and explosions in those ticks. However, the young man was gracious enough to mention the word...and Dor'gen understood! Keene's attempt at backtracking was lost in a glorious outburst of "Oh really?!" Settling his tone ever so slightly, the Akalak then said: "Well 'Just Keene', I make magic too. I can't blow up stuff with it, but it's still good. Real good." Then, with a semi-playful wink the man added: "The Flux is good to me. What magic is good to you?"

Word Count1,011
.
Image

Image Image Image
User avatar
Dor'gen
The Furious.
 
Posts: 142
Words: 152513
Joined roleplay: July 15th, 2014, 1:46 am
Location: Sunberth, Sylira
Race: Akalak
Character sheet
Storyteller secrets
Medals: 1
2014 Mizahar NaNo Winner (1)


Who is online

Users browsing this forum: No registered users and 0 guests