PM to join [The Silver Sliver] Drinking in the Dark (Fitch)

[Dumo Groneaud]

4th of Winter, 512

The Silver Sliver was not much crowded as it could get, likely because it was still late afternoon, which meant most men were probably still busy with work. Work was something which Dumo did not want to worry about in that specific day, although he knew his extra coin would not last forever. He had selected the table which stood on a murky corner of the tavern, with the closest source of light coming from a nearby window that painted the floor with a light shade. He wore his usual dark attire that day, but carried only his dagger this time, the rest of his meager belongings having been left in his rented NHC apartment. He did not need to bring that burdensome blade to a place of leisure, and the dagger could never be left behind, for it meant too much to him. It was good to have it around, regardless of the meaning it had to him, just in case something happened, as unlikely as that could be. He knew Ravok had not been just as peaceful and predictable as before The Storm, with terrorists and destruction wrecking the city occasionally.

He had chosen that specific place and that specific time for a purpose: First, that shadow had to talk, and he certainly did not want to go into a bustling tavern only to have everyone think of him a freak who talks to the walls. Most important of all, only the gods could know the amount of secrets that had possibly been shared on that table, blanketed by that specific shadow. Maybe even the one secret he was looking for. But Dumo knew too well that those shadows that carried too many secrets oft grew arrogant. They knew the power they had, and they knew how much night stalkers craved for their knowledge. Getting such a shadow to talk was a great feat, one that Dumo knew was beyond his abilities.

"And we meet again," he whispered to the shadow in Makath, in a tone that was just not loud enough to catch the suspicion of the few people that were in the tavern. That table, as well as the shadow, were already familiar with him. Dumo had been there a few times before. "Would you like to tell me what I want to know?"

The shadow bobbed slightly in laughter at the night stalker, as he thought she would. "You are a persistent one, aren't you? But secrets are valuable, and you offer nothing in return. I have not changed my mind."

Dumo was not surprised at her reaction. He was used to being rejected by certain shadows, especially the ones that were deep as this one. He had been trying to build rapport with this specific shadow for a couple of days, but it had been of no use. The shadow knew too well his every move, she knew exactly what he wanted and what he was trying to do, and she knew she had the control in this bargain. She would not be easily seduced into telling Dumo whatever he wanted to know, and he knew that well by then.

He sighed. "Very well," he told her in resignment, "you know what I want," he sipped his ale before continuing, while observing the few people that hanged in the Sliver, but the shadow probably knew those too well already. "State your price," he concluded, "and I will see what I can do."

"Give me something I don't know, and I may tell you what you don't know," the shadow said while coldly caressing Dumo's neck, "it's only fair, don't you agree?" Her cold, manipulative touch only grew more intense once done asking.

He raised an eyebrow. May tell me? What the shyke? Does she think I am stupid? He quickly brushed his neck with his left hand, as if to swipe her charms away, but he really could only smile back to her. "May is not good enough. I want certainty," he told her in a harsh, yet predictable tone. But he knew that what he had then was already as much as he could get from her.

He them aimed at the tavern entrance with his eyes, and both remained in silence, still. Who could come in, with stories and secrets to share with them both? It had to be someone they were not used to, someone to bring them something new. And maybe then Dumo would have what he wanted to know. Maybe. The thought bothered him with a feeling that he was being fooled, but he had little choice.

At this moment someone walked into the tavern, a face Dumo was not familiar with. He waved to the stranger and offered him a seat on his table, dark with the touch of the shadow. "Come here," he said loudly with his heavily accented Common and a kind smile on his face, "Come and talk, I will pay you a drink."

OOCI hope this is alright. If you want me to change anything just let me know!

[Fitch]

At the docks Fitch stepped off the ship he had arrived with, his bag tossed over his shoulder. He took a deep breathe of the familiar air he had abandon so many years ago and let out a heavy sigh, reminiscing the past.

The docks were fairly deserted besides the guards on duty and the occasional sailor carrying goods on and off ships. The night was brisk and a light fog hung just over the dark waters. Fitch raised the collar of his coat and continued to walk to the guards before he could enter the city. The guards did as they always did searched his things and asked for his reason of being there.

"Just visiting." He said in response. Keeping his head low. Not to hide his identity from the guard but from anyone else who might recognize the former resident. The guard gave him the all clear without any trouble and he continue towards the only place he had missed these last twelve years.

He stood outside the Sliver Sliver as if it was home, he adjusted his coat and bag on his shoulder one more time before entering. Upon entering he was instantly greeted by an unfamiliar face who offered to pay for his drink. Practically a boy and half his age, this stranger was, someone he wouldn't usually share a drink with. He looked around the room before returning his eye to man almost suspiciously but he had done the right thing, a drunk can never refuse a drink especially if someone else is paying.

Fitch excepted the offer and joined him. "Are you sure your pockets are big enough to pay for my thirst?" He said with a sightly sarcastic tone, not thinking much of the man.

[Dumo Groneaud]

Dumo laughed at the man's question. "That depends on how thirsty you are," he said, before sipping from his mug and calling the barmaid again. "Woman, please bring this thirsty man some ale!" and when noticing that his own mug was getting lighter, he added more more words to the previous, "And bring me some too!" Dumo was not that much of a drinker, but that day his own thirst for alcohol really felt harder to satiate, and he really was beginning to feel happier than usual. "Don't expect too much from my pockets, I don't have all that much to spare. Hopefully your thirst won't take too long to satiate," he told the man, "I am Dumo by the way."

After the voluptious woman brought them the drinks, he looked at the man's face, analyzing it carefully with his dark eyes. "I don't think I know you," he mentioned, with his exotic accent, "Are you from abroad? New to this place?" It almost felt funny for someone with such a heavy accent to ask such a question to a man whose Common wasn't unnatural to Ravok. But one could never be sure, being that the language was so widespread. "Are you a citizen?" he muttered softly after approaching the man with his head, as not to draw attention of the unwanted ears to the question. It was an important matter in Ravok, and a good thing to know from someone else.

He sipped the dark liquid once more, feeling the shadow's presence, which reminded him of the deal he had made. Or sort of made. He could only hope that this man had something interesting to share, something that the shadow could find valuable enough to trade for the new information Dumo needed. And that the shadow wasn't just toying with him. Regardless of that concern, he could always enjoy the conversation with a stranger, hopefully a foreigner with stories from abroad.

And news from Denval...

He reminded himself to ask about it to the foreigner later, if he really was a foreigner, that is. But the place was relatively unknown, and too far away for the man to know about it. The Storm still haunted Dumo's nightmares, ripping the buildings from the village and consuming his family in flames. But he let go of the memory of his dreams in that tavern, as he was not there to ponder on such issues. For now he wanted something else from the shadow, and he wanted to discover what the man had to tell. If he would tell.

[Fitch]

Fitch chuckled at his response. " They can not be anymore shallow than mine." He stated, taking another glance around the room. He placed his bag beside his seat and set the case in which he held his sextant on the table right next to him keeping his hand placed over it.Fitch took a sip of his drink when it was set on the table, savoring the taste of it in his mouth. No matter where he traveled nothing could beat the brew here at Sliver Sliver.

He gave the boy a strange look when he started rushing off questions about his origins.
"Oh straight to the business are we? " He teased the younger man giving him a light friendly slap on the back.

" It's Fitch. I don't think you would have seen me, I've haven't docked here for well. . . many years."

He than sighed and put the mug down, realizing this wasn't going to be a peaceful drink. The boy wanted something but he couldn't tell what it was exactly but he decide he'd play the game and see where it lead. His tone got more serious.

"As for being a Citizen well depends on what you consider a citizen. I was born here, and raised here but it hasn't been home sense I was just a bit older than you. You, yourself are a foreigner no? Denval correct? I'd recognize the accent anywhere." Fitch had traveled to Denval a few times, was even on a ship were many of the crew was from there but it had been a couple of years sense then.

Fitch took another sip of his drink looking at the guy trying to figure him out. Though foreign he could tell he had been in the area quite a while, in fact Fitch seemed more the foreigner than this guy did.

[Dumo Groneaud]

Dumo's eyes wandered around the tavern and rested on the case placed on the table. He raised an eyebrow when he saw that Fitch's hand rested on it, as if protective of its belongings, or at least that is how it seemed to Dumo. He smiled yet again, raising his voice to comfort the man, "Don't worry, I am no thief. The Ebonstryfe would have my head if I ever tried anything," if he is a citizen, that is, but I would be lying if I didn't tell you that it really makes me wonder what it is that you keep in there," his hand moved down as to grab his mug, but it stopped halfway there. Maybe I should slow down a little bit with this, I don't want to lose my good sense. When the man slapped his back, he realized that he might have been a little too inquisitive with his questions. "There really is no 'business', it's just that I can be too curious sometimes. I am sorry about that." The shadow laughed on his back, but Dumo ignored it.

"Fitch, huh? No, we haven't ever met," Dumo sought meaning behind what the man had said. We couldn't have met since he hasn't been here in many years. So he believes I couldn't have been here for long. Of course, given my blatant accent. He intereupted his reverie when he noticed his hand trying to sneak into grabbing the mug once more, which he interrupted. Temperance.

"So you are a citizen." Dumo's mouth turned from a smile into a straight line when he heard the man mention Denval. How in the world would he know about that place? Am I that easy to read? No, someone must have told him about me. The shadow taunted him then, slightly distracting his eyes from the man, but he ignored her once more. His smile came back a moment later. "Oh, no, I am Ravokian, as much as you are." Not affirming nor denying his connection to Denval, he simply moved on to a different subject. "So you've just returned. It's an odd time to be here," he decided to sip the ale again before continuing, "Ravok is not the same as it was when you left. Where are you coming from? It must have been a long trip."

He stared at the barmaid, who was serving a distant table. A beautiful sight indeed, but his concentration remained on their talk. "An odd time to come..." he continued, with his heavy accent, which probably had left no doubts in the man's head about his origins by then, "Did you come back for the Temple and Rhysol?" his soft tone was ambiguous on this last sentence, somewhere in between teasing and legitimate curiosity, or perhaps just a subtle way to ask Fitch how much of a zealot he was. A grin followed before Dumo turned his eyes to analyze the man's mug. "Would you like another one, or are you satiated already?"

[Fitch]

Fitch smiled when he mentioned the case than sliding it over to in front of him. now both his lands laid on the edges of the wooden case. "I doubt you'd have much use for this old thing. I just like to keep it close." He smiled at it as he ran his fingers along the case, in a gentle and seductive way, before finding the latch that kept it closed and unlatching it, willingly showing its contents.

"Or are you a sailor hoping to get me just drunk enough to flee with it?" He joked again.

Fitch gave a smile when the kid denied their being any business but he wasn't very convenience. The kid seemed extremely set off when Fitch mentioned the city of Denval, his reaction, though he did not confirm it, only made him more sure of the fact. The kid was extremely secretive which only seemed to amuse Fitch as he had just as much fun trying to guess the kid then watch him get railed up when he was right.

"Oh it's changed?" Fitch said in an inconvenienced tone. "I find that hard to believe. Maybe the tides have shifted but what happens here has always happened just sometimes in the 'shadows'." He took a big gulp of his drink, finishing it off before returning the mug to the table. "Your a Ravokian you should know that." Once again Fitch teased him.

He got silent when Dumo mentioned the temple glancing around the room before leaning in. "Rhysol hasn't really been very kind to me over the years." He than returned to his normal position motioning to the barmaid for another. "The return was not intentional, I just so happened to get washed back up here. I won't be here for long or at least I don't plan to be."

[Dumo Groneaud]

Dumo glanced into the case, eyeing the sextant with confusion. Just what kind of apparatus is that? It was something alien to him, but somewhere in his subconscious he recognized the device. He had a feeling of familiarity despite of the fact that his mind did not quite recognize the object. lt was just when Fitch asked him if he was a sailor that it made some sense. So he was a sailor, and that was a navigation device. Something Dumo might have seen in his trip to Zeltiva from Denval, unless his mind was playing tricks on him. Regardless of the object's relevance, if it truly was the case that Fitch was a sailor of some sort, it was possible that he had been to Denval. Only sailors and the scholars from Zeltiva really knew much about the place from what Dumo could tell.

"You would probably laugh in my face if I told you I was a sailor," he shrugged, he did not look like one. "I have been to a ship once, if that counts."

He boringly heard to Fitch tease him and try to put into question his Ravokian identity. What a bitter man. But he could only politely smile in return. He then heard the man talk about Rhysol. Obviously not much of a devout follower, or perhaps just trying to impress me with unorthodox views. Dumo himself had no issues with the so called God of Evil. He had seen the two faces of Ravok and the God. He was grateful for his kindness to the city of Ravok, which really was a great place to live, unlike any other he had seen. But only for a citizen. He also thought Ravok was too harsh to non-citizens like he once had been. Like he actually was, in fact, but no one had to know the truth about his past in Ravok. He was generally neutral to the god. Nonetheless, he knew Fitch had been away from the city, Dumo could not question the truth behind his words. Rhysol probably isn't that kind to those who leave. And the truth is that...

"He hasn't been much kind to any of us as of late, actually," he used his fingers to toy with the empty mug on the table, holding his jawline with the other hand. "It is true what you say about Ravok. But have you ever heard about Rhysol failing to protect the city?" He was careful to speak softly about it, not to sound blasphemous to the people who slowly crowded the tavern as Leth was beginning to bathe the docks with a paler light. He remembered the day in which Ravok was blanketed in the cold winter one would expect to have on beyond the Lake. A bizarre feeling that was almost dream-like and impossible to believe. It was true that Dumo was not as much of Ravokian as Fitch, but that was unimportant. The city was obviously facing a unique moment in its history, it was the right time to be there.

"Much of the city was destroyed this Spring, including the Temple, which was later rebuilt, only to later be attacked by some terrorists, the tin mug spinned on the table making an uncomfortable noise, "It seems not everyone is happy with Rhysol's role in Ravok." He glanced Fitch suspiciously, as if questioning himself what were the possibilities that the sailor was a Rising Dawn terrorist himself. "People say the slave market is in crysis because of the terrorists, but I suppose none of that interests a sailor like you."

He heard the man talk about his return as an accident, which he doubted, but he would not push into it. Something else troubled him at the moment, and he just could no longer ignore it.

There was a moment of silence. The façade was destroyed, which was clear, if there had been one to begin with. Dumo had no reason to try to hide the obvious. The man obviously knew something, and there was no longer any reason to delay the subject which would inexorably return to the men's lips. "What do you know about Denval?" the smile disappeared again from his face when mentioning the city, a change of expressions he had not tried to hide. The man had spilled salt in his wounds, Dumo now wanted some explanations.

[Fitch]

"I thought as much." He said with a slight smile when the kid admitted to being not much of sea-fairer himself. He closed the case and once again slid it to the side of him. He swirled the ale around his drink gently as he moved his eyes around the room.

He stayed quiet as the conversation went into a more secretive tone. He let the boy speak, questioning the god of evil but the words sent goose bumps up his spin. Even if he was no longer a devoted follower the idea of speaking such words of the god still made him nervous even outside of the city, a reflex hard-wired into him.

"Careful with those words boy." His tone was almost scolding as he glanced around the room one more time looking for wondering eyes. He stretched his back and let out a sight before drinking. He spoke again in a hushed tone " I've heard words of 'those men' before. Cowards though, nothing but talk. . .well years ago anyways. I wish no harm on this city and those men are hypocrites " Than as an after thought he added ."It'd be better if my visit was in fact short after all." The statements suggested a knowledge and perhaps even a past involvement with those men but the relationship had obviously ended on bad terms.

He drank again and he leaned his elbows on the table lowering his head just for a moment to rest his eyes. Now Dumo did what Fitch felt he would, finally breaking his facade and asking of his home. Dumo gave the kid a weak smile.

" I haven't been there in several years but I have heard word on the seas of the city. You gave me information on mine so I might as well give you some on yours. He sighed not wanting to give the news.

"I'm sure you have heard of the storms or perhaps your a refugees yourself." He paused and looked into his mug swirling it. "At first they tried to hang on, even rebuild but . . . I'm sorry to say not much remains of Denval. There doesn't look to be much hope, I hear many are evacuating to Avanthal and plan come here."

[Dumo Groneaud]

OOCI think that is fine.

He smirked at the man's warning, but he knew of the strength such words had in Ravok. The sailor then was not an enemy of Rhysol as he suspected. Then the sailor began talking about the opposition of his time.Of course, there had always been those who would oppose Rhysol, since who knows when the sailor had left this place. He replied with his own opinions on the matter after Fitch was done cursing them. "I agree with you on the terrorists. I would have had more sympathy for them in the days I first came here, and they surely were an interesting bunch until not so long ago. But they have proven to be nothing but mindless barbarians after all, and I am sure most people in this city would agree with that," he stopped the empty mug from spinning. "I am glad that you are sensible enough to see it. Surely Ravok would be a much worse place to live in if under their terms."

Would it? He reflected on it for a chime. Winter would have frozen the lake and made the people freeze. The ravosalas would be useless on ice,, moving throughout the city would be dangerous in the season. And there was the problem of entering Ravok itself when the boats couldn't cross the lake. It would no longer be safe under Rhysol's protection, but its safety also had a price in contemporaniety. Still, it could be as worse as becoming another Sunberth which surely could only be what murdering terrorists had in mind in their plans for the city. His reverie was broken as he dove back into the conversation.

The man's plans not to stay for long intrigued him. "Why?" it simply puzzled Dumo. In Denval he had studied the glory of his ancestors, who founded the village. Many of them renowned, many forgotten by history, but they were all there, in the right place at the right time, and they all had an incredible story to tell. They lived in an extraordinary time. And he could feel it in Ravok. It had to be the right place to be, it was changing, the smell of secrecy brooded in the airs of the city. But he did not bother the sailor about it. Perhaps Dumo's youth spoke such ideas. The older man likely had other plans for his life, Dumo had to respect that.

And then man answered to his concerns about the village. Dumo's face was like sculpted marble when he heard of Denval's fate. It was no surprise, it had been a powerful storm, and it came from west. Of course it wouldn't have survived, but there had been a spark of hope inside of him. He tamed his facial muscles for a few moments, but soon they began twitching, and it was just too obvious how he felt. Still, he regained control over himself, not allowing his body to succumb to desperation. I knew it, he told himself, I knew it all along. It is no surprise, there is no reason to panic. Even so, he asked the barmaid for another mug, as he had no choice but to drink then, resigning to his previous concerns over temperance, and she brought it quickly. The shadow rejoiced at his disgrace.

He heard it all. "A refugee?" he questioned, chuckling at the idea. "No, I am not." And silence followed. He didn't mention a thing after that, as would probably have been expected of him, turning it into somewhat of an awkward moment. The shadow noticed his purpose to hide from her information about his own history.
"Are you quitting the deal?" she whispered in his ears, "I thought you'd give me secrets." Dumo ignored her, she already had had enough. He stood up and grabbed his seat, moving it to a better lightened spot on the table. The patrons were already lighting candles for the night, and he hoped that it would keep the intrusive shadow further away from him. He looked into the open window near to his new place. "Ah, the night air is refreshing." He had been visibly shocked by the news of Denval, and he knew the man would probably have noticed it. It only seemed appropriate for him to move to nearby the window, regardless of its purpose, a little bit of subterfuge could never hurt to further conceal the purpose behind his every action.

[Fitch]

Being awoken from ones fantasies of hope is the hardest blow a person can face, Something Fitch had learned early on, even when the truth is expected. Fitch turned to comfort the boy but decided he needed time to himself to except the fact.

Fitch sighed and looked down at his empty mug. He felt terrible seeing the kid's face. Not for telling him the truth, the kid had to hear it some time if not see it for himself. He felt bad for fifteen years he had been avoiding home, now seeing the kids face having to except the fact he could never return made the old man's stomach sick. It almost made him want to stand in front of the home he grew up in and fall to his knees forgiving his family and begging for forgiveness himself. . . Only almost.

He let out a deep long groan before slamming his open hand on the table twice. The sound startled the barmaid who was serving drinks to a man on the other side of the room. She gave an angry look as she cleaned up the drinks she split. Fitch didn't care simply pointed at the empty mug and returned his gaze to the table which he had his hands folded in front of him. The barmaid angerly walked over refilling the mug and standing there a second to approach the man on his rudeness but seeing he wouldn't pay any mind to her she huffed and continued on with her work.

Fitch drank it all down in one gulp, he had been polite before with the kid but now he was just as any other drunk. Finishing it he decided he'd pay the last himself and he shuffled through his pockets which seemed to be only filled with lint. He pulled out a small hand full of coin and placed it on the table getting ready to take his leave. He decided he had pushed his luck long enough. He turn to give the kid a pat on the back to let him know Fitch was going on his way but he was stopped in foot steps by two tall muscular men, both bald and with tattoos from head to toes.

Fitch quickly return to his seat, his eyes wide, he hid his face in the shadows trying to avoid them noticing him. They to walked in, there foot steps seemed to almost shake the whole building or perhaps that was just Fitch. They looked around before turning to talk to some of the other people at the tavern.