[Flashback] New Scenery, Old Scenario

[Ryshaltze]

The Stranger's Welcome
Season of Autumn, Day 23, 509 AV

Ryshaltze was jolted out out of his thoughts when he heard a voice boomed out. He looked around and saw a man further up gesticulating to him. Judging from his appearance and proximity to buildings he would seem to be a sort of tout for the tavern. After all, rarely would the inn owners themselves bother to come out just to welcome a single foreign traveller.

"If you know how to play that thing, then come inside. We need something to liven the place up and a little music wouldn't hurt! I'll feed you and there will be tips!"

He cringed. That was a problem he usually faced, as he did not actually know how to play a cello good enough to 'liven an inn'. He was fine with fiddling with the cello by himself in the middle of the night with no witnesses, but in front of a public audience?

Ryshaltze shook his head, more for his own benefit than anything.

Furthermore, he did not have a cello at hand, it was his trusty greatsword that lie in the cello case. It was not his intention to deceive, but he did not want to seem intimidating, for a man of his height, stature and physique would seem like a savage bandit if he included the huge two-handed claymore that he carries around with him as his primarily favored weapon.

Well, I'll figure something out as we go along.

He nodded to the figure to acknowledge him and strode towards the inn. He would not mind something hot inside of him at the very least. His mortal body require the troublesome sustenance that his Ethaefal self did not. As Syna dominates the sky now, he had to put up with the whims of fate. Such is life.

[Tabarnac]

Oleg clapped the big man on the back as he walked into the taproom, which was warm and simple though it showed signs of the occasional improvement when Denval had a good year with regard to trade and tourism. As it was morning, there was little in the way of alcohol being served, though Oleg had greeted the day with a shot of degtine "to keep the evil spirits at bay." "Welcome to the Stranger's Welcome," he said, his Common just a little bit clipped. "We have breakfast if your stomach has recovered from your sea journey, and a little music will get these lazy bastards out to their fishing boats faster..." A few fishermen who hadn't yet gone out on the water cat-called Oleg, but seemed friendly enough to the newcomer. "But sit, sit," he went on. "Eat first. Hungry musicians miss notes. Have you any news of Olga, my one-eyed cousin?"

[Ryshaltze]

Well the tout seemed friendly enough. From the way he strode around and from his confident gait, however, it seemed that this man was the owner of the tavern. It was surprising, though not unexpected. Some people do take their jobs seriously.

"Yes, yes, something to break my fast would be most excellent. What do you suggest, in terms of local cuisine?"

He rubbed his hands together. Though food was a necessity in his mortal body, it was also a pleasure, sort of like a double edged sword that his immortal self would never have experienced.

"It is most unfortunate, but I have not heard of your fair cousin. Is there any assistance I can provide regarding that?"

He let the man walk him to a table and sat down, unslinging his cello case and placing it leaning against the table beside him.

[Tabarnac]

"Local, hm?" He rubbed at his stubbly chin. "Gull eggs and hash browns, perhaps. Fried fish? Local cuisine was limited until we found the Wright expedition puttering around our harbor. Now we have a bit more to offer, but some still enjoy what can be scratched up here." He grinned, always amused and somewhat flattered by tourists wanting to "get a feel" for Denvali culture. The people were proud of themselves for having survived for so long cut off from the rest of Mizahar, and proud of the culture that they had maintained, even if they were happy to invite promising travelers into their bloodlines. Just because Viratas had blessed them for centuries didn't mean they wanted to rely on those blessings forever. The gods tended to help those who helped themselves. Which was probably why Olga was off looking for a seed donor somewhere else... "And no, no, thank you. Olga can take care of herself. Pity the man who crosses her." He shivered for some reason, but continued to smile. "How does that sound?" he asked. "I can put in an order and then you can tell me what brings you to Denval."

[Ryshaltze]

The local fare stated by the man sounded promising, especially the part about hash browns and fried fish. He was expecting something more, exotic, but he's fine with the 'normal' kind of food as well. That man seemed helpful and approachable, which would definitely be of good benefit to Ryshaltze as one of the consistent 'rules' of travelling is to have a local or experienced guide. It was strange though, from the way he kept on mentioning this 'Olga'.

"I'm sorry, is Olga someone very special? She seems like an interesting person to know." He was curious at the kind of emotions thinking about her can elicit from that man.

"I'll have what you recommended, then. Gull eggs, hash browns and fried fish, as per you mentioned." It was unfortunate that his mortal form was a huge one with a great metabolism rate, which only served to increase his appetite. The plus side would be that he could enjoy more food, so he wasn't exactly complaining either.

"What is this Wright expedition that you mentioned?" He paused, thinking on how he was supposed to answer that last question. He had no idea, to be honest. Locals are useful, however, in that they tended to be able to easily answer that question.

"To be frank, I have no idea. I'm here to enjoy the sights, drink up some local culture, and maybe get to understand your society a little more. Maybe some new experiences, meet intriguing people..." He trailed off.

"Solve some century-old mystery and save this town from a millennium old doomsday crisis, all while becoming a hero and getting the girl."

His eyes twinkled mischievously as he ranted out the last bit nonsensically. He hoped that Denvali men could understand his brand of lame humor.

[Tabarnac]

"Olga is very 'special'," he agreed, making quotation fingers as he said it. He peeked through a door and shouted orders in Denvali, and a harsh woman's voice responded in kind. Hearty odors of home cooking wafted out, fit to make the mouth water and stomach rumble for anyone seeking stick-to-the-ribs fare. Oleg made a rude gesture through the doorway, then let it swing shut. "It is so hard to find good help these days." He paused, sucked his teeth for a moment, then nodded. "Captain Kenabelle Wright of Zeltiva practically shipwrecked her boat here back in 451. We were a lost tribe sort of thing. But she helped bring trade here, which helps us open up to the world again. She is all but a saint to most people here. We found out for sure we weren't alone in the world anymore. "If you wish to stay temporarily, we have rooms to let upstairs. Very reasonable. You can see a lot and hear a lot in this room, especially news of upcoming heroic adventures." He snorted good-naturedly. "Is it too early for a drink?" he asked, falling into an ominous silence. This was obviously a test.

[Ryshaltze]

"Yes, I find lodging to be quite agreeable."

Ryshaltze raised an eyebrow. He was not an avid connoisseur of spirits, though he was able to fairly hold his own decently in a social setting if required. However, other than scenarios where it is socially expected for him to do so, he usually stayed far, unless it was dessert wine. As per normal, he tended to stick to tea, for alcohol have this mind-numbing effect. For one who have lived as long as he, his mortal form has drank enough throughout the centuries to withstand being knocked-out or disoriented easily, but the process was still not a pleasant one. Still, the idea of trying out a new brand of ale did appeal to him.

"It never is too early my good man. What do you have here different from them usual Mizaharian goods?"

[Tabarnac]

Oleg stared at him for a moment. "Degtine," he said slowly, all the rest forgotten for the moment, "is the Denvali word for 'little water'. I brew it here. It's a spirit. Water that goes down like a fire." He grinned. "Sometimes comfortable like a hearth on a rainy day. Sometimes harsh like burning. Depends on how much Oleg likes you." His exact recipe would likely go with him to the grave. Others distilled degtine as well, but the subtle differences were a sort of personal signature. Among the Denvali, it was considered an art. Oleg had poured a shot for Ryshaltze and a double for himself. "To our health," he offered as far as a toast, raising his glass.

[Ryshaltze]

"Degtine," He repeated, appreciating the foreign sound of the word. What luck! He wondered how it would taste and was jolted back to the present when Oleg (so that was his name!) poured him a shot, the familiar sound of liquid sloshing in its container bringing back memories.

"To our health," He echoed, the glasses clinking together as he toasted the proprietor of the bar. The spirit tasted funny, exotic, unlike many others that he tasted before. There was also this 'oddness' in its taste that he could not exactly put a finger to. He attributed it in his mind as a 'Denvali' quality that this home-brewn alcohol possessed.

"This is pretty good, Oleg. Would it be accurate to judge whether you like me from this glass?" If that was so he should be vaguely on this man's positive side, for the quality of the Degtine was fairly good.

Better some most of those watered down ale you get at many taverns.

He was appreciative of men who knew what they brew, and communicated it in the way he exhaled gratefully after the water travelled down his insides, warming him up considerably.

"I know a bit about spirits myself." He commented, chuckling as there was a double meaning to it. He possessed amateur knowledge on the alcohol, but was also a user of the magical art known as Spiritism.

[Tabarnac]

Oleg's smile was friendly enough as he bussed the glasses, and that would have to be answer enough about his general feeling toward the tattooed man. A bit of degtine would shock the spirit awake, but didn't always go so well with breakfast unless one was partaking of a liquid breakfast entirely. The order was in for Ryshaltze's food, and Oleg certainly didn't want to clean vomit up this early in the morning, or even delegate the responsibility. "Do you now?" Double ententres were not lost on him. There was a rumor about town that Oleg's pre-Valterrian ancestor was in the Suvan secret service, but that might just have been due to the fact that the inn's taproom heard most of the rumors going through town at some point. Even news from the outside was collected, though generally it was a bit outdated. "It's always good to trade words with a master of spirits. What do you know?"