In the Alehouse [Volens]

[Shouta]

5th Winter, 512AV. Though resolutely religious and dedicated to a disciplined faith, Nyka was not without it’s alehouses. Much of what Shouta liked to call the ‘casual crime’ happened here in this cesspool of hazy emotions. Why someone would go through the trouble of impairing their mental state to such a point where they embarrass themselves and their people, he did not understand. Perhaps those who did not fully dedicate themselves to something could not dedicate themselves to anything, and instead they found a shallow salvation in the bottle. He did not know, he had always been dedicated. With icy blue eyes, the Vantha’s trait for projecting emotion, he stiff armed the wooded door and stepped lightly inside. The Sharp Tongue Pub and Brewery was indeed the most respectable of the alehouses, serving wheat beer to those who dwelt within, but Shouta had little respect for such places and he was merely here to make sure no one got out of hand. As a representative of the Lord of Blades and on a more general scale, all Alvina, he would enforce the order of the city. Truth be told, a drunken Nykan was not really a disturbance to the city, especially if he was in an alehouse. But Shouta was in a mood today, and needed to get it off his chest. Upon entry, the barkeep, a man affectionately called Yeller, glanced up and nodded politely to Shouta. The novice monk returned to nod, Yeller would keep the peace in his bar, and demanded it be a respectful place of relaxation. Perhaps he would miss something today? Shouta sat at a table near the wall, a place he could see all of the patrons easily. There weren’t many, it being in the late afternoon. But it would be filling up soon enough and he could wait a bit. Bare threads and blood stains were what comprised his modest robes, and the proud sigil of Uphis. In a bright contrast, the Nykan citizen’s garb was almost flamboyant in it’s excessive use of colors and design. Scarves and tunics clashed brilliantly with leggings and skirts, and it was the norm here. Shouta had been surprised that the city had such a high fashion when he first arrived, only hearing about the strict discipline of the monks beforehand. But he had since become used to the splay of color across Nyka. A young man, eyes hazy with the effects of more than one wheat beer, approached him as if from across the deck of a storm riddled ship. Shouta’s frown became more prominent, presenting the drunk with his cold glare. His Kusarigama hung from his simple sash, the chain slung loosely around his neck. The fool either did not see the look on his face, or else was too drunk to realize. But, Shouta had to admit, the man was not stumbling yet. He had either not drank enough wheat beer, or had been practicing for years. Shouta was not practiced in the ability to detect such things. “Good luck, see? Touching the robes.” The man mumbled as he gripped Shouta’s sleeve with two fingers. He burped. Shouta stared for another moment, Yeller had seen and a flicker of annoyance danced across the youthful barkeep’s face. Why had a monk come in and ruined the relaxed vibe of his establishment, he must be thinking. Shouta did not care. “Luck, you say?” Shouta spoke softly, his voice was not angry. He was surprised to hear more disappointment in it than anything else. “Perhaps you should abstain from the beer during the day? That might help your luck.” He reached up and placed a palm on the side of the man’s head, behind the ear. In one fluid motion he moved his hand to the back of the man’s head, soft curls running through his fingers, and pushed it gently down. Shouta slid his hand down to the front of the youth’s head and pushed him backwards gently, away from the monk. He yelped and stumbled, softly bumping the table behind him before turning a startled eye on Shouta. His gaze was hurt, some of it was even genuine behind the haze of drink. But Shouta did not care. He settled back down as the man walked a bit more steadily back to his table and grumbled with his friends.

[Volens]

Volens had been looking at the bottom of a mug of ale since he had escaped the rift, he couldnt remember much of that night, or nights, he really couldnt remember, he had almost lost his job as a night watchmen, and many of the people he had known had disappeared. Irowyn, Delvin, Penn, all gone, their fates unknown, and petch it, Volens didnt care. He found comfort in the ale. He still found comfort in visiting his horse, and he enjoyed going for his rides when he could.

Even though he was so impaired he saw the monk enter, and the entire mood of the bar shifted, most people revered the monks, but many- like Volens- feared them, they always used overwhelming force, and had vauge reasons for using it. They waged war across the city, and the hoods the monks wore when they were going to kill somone... Volens shuddered. But, he was too drunk to care too much, the icy blue eyes of the monk were like a hawk. An amusing, if deadly hawk.

Volens ordered another drink, he refused to take part in the matches of insults that echoed around the bar, he just wanted to forget, he looked down at his scars, no one had ever known fully about his magic- except for the people who were now gone. He never really fit into the city, the people just passed him by.

The reimancer watched curiously as an especially drunk man approached the monk, he didnt think it would end well, and when the man's head met the table, his thoughts were vindicated. He wasnt angry, he was too drunk for that, he was sort of amused, the drunk was going about it wrong.

Volens ordered a second drink, the wheat ale was the best in town, he stood up shakily, and walked an almost striaght line to the monk, and place the second drink down in front of him. The monk didnt seem human, from this distance, but Volens was too drunk to care about that either. After placing the drink down in front of the monk, Volens sat down, and took a swig from his.

"How about this weather?" he slurred loudly, the winter was especially harsh, if any knew why, it may well be the monks. He took another swig, and then reached out his hand, "Im Volens." he made an attepmt at politeness, but, the drunk were always less capable than the sober.

[Shouta]

Why did they think it wise to approach a monk when intoxicated? Shouta watched silently as the bedraggled Volens walked to him with two beers. After sitting and offering a beer, the man introduced himself as Volens. Shouta refrained from rough behavior. The man had been respectful and polite with his introduction, and thus gave no offense worthy of wrath. “My name is Shouta.” He gripped the man’s hand briefly. He looked like he had been through the ringer. Volens was young, younger than even Shouta. Or more accurately, younger than Shouta appeared to be. But his eyes held the stress of a man older, a man who may have seen sadness in his life. The critical gaze with which he had been judging the man turned softer. This man, he was drinking for a reason. “What troubles you?” Shouta asked quietly, taking in the man’s full image. The youth seemed not from Nyka, for he did not wear the vibrant hues the rest of the patrons partook of.

[Volens]

Volens leaned back in his chair, and drank a smaller sip, to wet his lips, it had been sometime since he had any sort of conversation that went deeper than greetings or obligitory politeness. He tried to collect his thoughts, but between the affects of alchohal, and the whispers that edged his waking thoughts he failed to gather much, other than the stuff he was drinking to forget.

Volens became self concious of the jagged scars on his arms, maybe this monk knew what they meant, maybe he was hunting for reimancers! No, Volens stopped himself, the monks did not go hunting reimancers, or magic users in general. He remembered the monk was waiting for an answer, and Volens was losing himself in thought, "This city, Shouta. The entire city. It gobbles people up, people go missing all the time, people I knew. Gone."

He looked away from the kind monk, Volens wasnt sad, he had already mourned them, in his own way, no he looked back with regret that he couldnt change the past, or their fate. He didnt even know their fates, so he turned his thoughts outward "Whend you become a monk... Shouta? he had a hard time remembering names and details for some reason.