Open Fallacy at Dockside (Open)

[Bolivar]

Fall 20 Location: The Broken Casket The boom of the thunder overhead seemed to roar in approval with each step the squire took. Rain and sweat assaulted Bolivar with wild abandon chasing the figure down the streets of Syliras. One of many storms was hitting Syliras today, the sky above him bleak and foreboding seemed to challenge the squire's resolve as he tried to keep up with that fleeting shadow of a man. Petch! How in Izuridin's name do these Sylirans run so fast? Finding refuge in under a small wooden awning, Bolivar panted fervently leaning on his arm for support resting on the nearby wall. His mark disappearing for a moment into the building to the left before revealing himself as he fled from the squire. Bolivar's breathing slowed as he readied another sprint in the pouring rain. This man was not going to lose the mixed blood THAT easily. The guy seemed to be going in a straight line. Easy enough. The squire's hand and leg still resting on the wall shoved off as the squire made a mad dash to catch up. Bolivar knew himself to be in the Syliran docking area. Even in the rain the squire was able to catch the underlying scent of fish and ship tar in the air. Where this man was leading him seemed to shy away from the usual scents smelling little more then what was in front of him. When a docking area didn't smell of fish what else could those ships be carrying? The simple answer was trade and cargo but there in there was the inherit chance of smuggling. Slaves and certain magics that was too dangerous to leave alone came to mind. However that would have to wait for another time, Bolivar still had to catch up to this petcher and find where he had been leading the squire. Panting hard Bolivar scanned the pier looking for any signs of where the man might have went. Rushing to where he had heard action Bolivar nearly rammed the door as he made his way in. Looking at the faces and counter in the corner Bolivar knew immediately knew where he was. "Good afternoon. Patrons of the...Broken Casket?" oocIf it's in italics those are Bolivar's thoughts

[Adara Meadows]

Adara Meadows ---- It was time to change up her schedule. She was getting bored with going to and from work and occasionally to some of her usual shops. So here she was heading towards the docks to buy some fish for dinner. It was a little out of her normal routine; and it was refreshing. Just what she needed to keep her sanity in this dull place she called home. Walking towards the docks with a small basket in hand. Her hair fell behind her back wild and alive; black hair contrasting against the stark white of her shirt. Then it started to rain. Normally she would have ignored the falling water and kept at her little errand. But the rain became more of a downpour and it became harder and harder to see as she moved through the open streets of the harbor. Her clothes became drenched and her dark hair clung to her face. It was time to get out of here. Eyes narrowed to block out the cascading water she made out the doorway to a building. Into the Broken Casket she went. It took her eyes a moment to adjust to the dim light inside of the tavern. Mopping her soaking hair away from her face Adara moved further inside, adjusting her skin clenching clothes. A head here or their turned towards her, but for the most part no one paid any attention to the drenched girl; too engulfed in their own drinks. Adara glanced behind her towards the doorway. It was still raining far too hard to get outside. She might be here for a while. Making her way to the bar Adara found and empty stool and plopped her wet self onto the seat. This was not the kind of place she really wanted to be, but she did not fancy traveling through the down pour. So calling the bartender over Adara ordered herself a mug of wine and prayed for the rain to stop soon. No good ever came from taverns. That was when Boliver stepped in; making his entrance known to everyone in the tavern. Turning to glance at the drenching squire she gave him a swift glance before turning back and quietly sipping her wine. Please, let this be a quite evening. She prayed to the gods. ----

[Marx Eisenstahl]

It was dank, and it was rowdy. Friends bellowed with laughter; sailors drank with abandon. Flames unsuccessfully tried to keep the damp at bay, but the sea air penetrated through. In one corner, the proprietor was telling yet another tale of romance and epics, to raucous applause all around. Smoke was heavy in the air, obscuring the ceiling from view with it's smouldering heart. In the darkest corners of the room, clients sat hunched over their drinks, never saying a word. Through all this sat Marx Eisenstahl, drinking his carrot juice. He was a weathered figure, his face craggy and scarred. A vivid mark was glaring against his windswept face. His eyes were squinted, staring down at his gauntleted hand. He was dressed in armour out of habit. To tell the truth, he was a lot more comfortable in his battered, ill-fitting and multicoloured armour than he was in plain trousers and shirts. He'd been a soldier all his life and he wasn't about to stop now. He sighed, and got up to leave. He'd have to brave it through the storm to reach his new home in Traveller's Row. Maybe he could drink just one more cup of juice. The drinks were free today. He went over to the proprietor and ordered another carrot juice from the ruddy-faced man. As he turned to leave, the group around him set to roaring with laughter at another tale. He gritted his teeth and began to head back to his table in the corner, when he heard a sound outside. He turned to look. None of the other patrons seemed to have heard it, caught up in their own racket. He was about to turn back when he heard another sound. A thunder shook the door to the Casket in it's hinges, it was slammed open. By now a shocked silence had enveloped all but the most determined of drunkards. The figure- a young squire, of no more than twenty years- stared around, panting. Marx knew this was going to be a long day.

[Bolivar]

oocMarx try avoiding quoting other people's speech


Dammit squire Ramses where are you?

It wasn't too often he would be given the offer to have some drinks with others his line of work since coming to Syliras. Granted he would ask the occasional soul but since Kisetukai there haven't been many takers. Isolation was a dreadful quality that Bolivar had come to terms with in varying success. Though it was seen as common where had grown up, where Bolivar was now such a fate was by and far the queerest happening.

So with some measure of constraint Bolivar assumed an easier stance strolling along bar, if you would call it that. The location seemed to take in the majority of sailors and travelers around the world. Each table a story and Bolivar was merely given a peak to how their night would go. No, not a bar but a tavern. Like the Stallion but with a different charm the romantic side of the traveling and it's hidden surprises.

"What do you want?"

Raising a curious eyebrow at the older man as he neared the familiar line of chairs that every establishment like this had Bolivar quickly sounded off his order.

"I'm looking to split a dinner order with an associate of mine; Ramses. He's somewhere and about here."

A congenial nod from the older man answered Bolivar before he turned to find an open table. None in sight. No doubt it would be easier to find the other squires but was it wrong to feel adventurous today? Drinks were free today afterall and hearing the lightning's call outside seemed to set the squire's spirit alight.

"I imagine this seat isn't taken right?"

Taking a seat wondering all the while how this story would play out Bolivar looked dead on eyes apt with curiosity. Stroking the length of his chin ever so meticulously wondering if he should start the proceedings.

"What's your story stranger? You are a Vantha right? Or am I imagining that sparkle in your eye?"

[Adara Meadows]

Adara Meadows ---- Ah men. Men and their loud voices and brazen ways. They were often like a bunch of bulls to Adara, simply charging through the world trying to show off their strength when what they needed was to stop ramming their heads into everything. Perhaps then they would retain some intelligence. Her lips were on the rim of her mug when she stranger known as Boliver took the seat next to her. She could not even respond to his first question before his bum was plopped down next to her. Dark eyes drifted to the door hoping and wishing the rain had stopped. Then perhaps she could just leave. Lightening flashed and filled the cracks of the door with an eerie light before vanishing while the rain continued the pelt against everything. She was going nowhere anytime soon. Her eyes went back to the mixed blood who was now trying to hold a conversation with her. She thought of just ignoring him, or better yet finding another seat; but the bar was full and his question caught her attention. Vantha? Was it perhaps because of her dark hair? How interesting. She had never been assumed one of those before. "No Vantha here stranger. Guess again and perhaps you will win a prize?" Her large eye lids fluttered a little as a small smile tugged at her lips. Why was she acting that way? Perhaps because she had nothing to lose? Or was it the wine? She had only a few sips? It was simply her boredom getting the best of her. A little game with the drenched squire until the rains stopped sounded like a good pass time to her. ----

[Marx Eisenstahl]

'Bile and fire and Hai and petch!' Marx was not in the best of moods. He had no work, no friends, not much money and he lived in a glorified cell. He was not exactly full of optimism about this city. As he drank, deep in thought, a huge roar went up around him. He looked up suspiciously at the horde of drunkards inhabiting the bar, who had rather impressively managed to get even further intoxicated. It was an impossibility brought on by the rather misjudged decision to make all drinks free. It was a miracle in itself that no-one had died yet. Another huge bout of laughter soaked through the crowd, and Marx fell back into a sullen humour. If he was honest with himself, he wasn't regretting wearing his armour. This was the kind of crowd that a few misjudged words could spark a riot in. He clenched his fist in apprehension. Bar fights could be messy, and he couldn't imagine what one would be like with these "knights" everywhere. When two men started shouting at each other, Marx decided it was time to leave, storm or not. Before he left, though, he looked around for a knight. Surely there was someone to caution of this philterer's laboratory of a tavern. He scowled to see that any source of authority was now so full of alcohol they were in serious danger of being sold to a brewery. He nearly gave up in disgust. As he he walked to the door to leave, he spotted a couple who were at least not visibly swaying in their seats. He strode towards their table, and was glad to note that one of them was the young squire from before; at least he'd be able to do something about this mess. He hailed them, and told them of the danger they were in.

[Bolivar]

"A prize? It's prize enough speaking to such a mysterious figure."

Squinting his eyes close he peered his head closer trying to get a read on the woman. It was actually trying to find something that wasn't there. Realizing that it wasn't the way the light touched her that made her eyes seem dark it was because there was no light to be found in those eyes. A shimmer? Hardly. It was as if light disappeared in the dark of those eyes.

"Oh that's not fair. That's not fair!"

Recognition finally grasped by the squire sat back slightly embarassed by his choice of words earlier.

"I've no idea what you are stranger. I've seen strange things and things stranger then those eyes for sure..."

Trying various methods to coax a reflection from Adara's eyes. Waving a hand to catch the light and see the contrast. Peering deeper into those depths before realizing that same abyss was staring back. Bolivar rested his head on his palm obviously curious more then disturbed.

"Exotic..."

A loud cry whipped through the crowd to be ignored by the squire. Satisfied with simply staring at the dark eyed stranger Bolivar thrummed his free hand on the table musing quietly to himself. Eventually she would withdraw her offer but it didn't hurt to simply watch.

That was until a clacking of armor made it's way to the table. A quick introduction promptly followed which left Bolivar more then confused. A bar scene where people had one too many drinks. What was the problem?

"Why are you telling me this? You look like you can handle that just fine."

Tapping part of the stranger's metal to indicate how well armed he seemed in comparison Bolivar face held an easy aura.

"Pray tell stranger. Care to share your name?"

Looking back at the woman across from him musing another set of shouts ripped through the air. It looked like the promised free drinks were finally being handed out. A rousing chant went on that shook the tavern with each stomp and shout.

"You were the one who had the dinner order right?"

Eyes apt with anticipation answered the waiter before given both food and drink for the evening. Gesturing for a toast at their table motioned the two strangers closer as he raised his glass high.

"Raise em high guy and gal. In your language I am known as Bolivar. What shall I call you dark, tall and striking?"

Looking to the armored one still slightly confused but overall satisfied turned back to Adara. Eyes running through the length of her figure found himself mystified as well.

What an interesting pair these two.

[Quint Caravel]

oocjust a cameo post, getting my feet wet in writing on Mizahar. Carry on!

Quint had been sitting and drinking quietly the entire time. In fact he was in an uncharacteristically pensive mood, and so was nursing his rum while those around him were getting sloshed.

He was normally a very happy-go-lucky man, but lately his dreams had been strange and unusual, and so he was staying up later and later each night hoping to finally just fall asleep from exhaustion and then awaken the next day with no memories of the night before.

So far getting himself drunk hadn't worked, trying to mix drinks hadn't worked, and even total abstinence hadn't worked. So now he was seeing if he could maintain that initial buzz, that first bit of jolly good humor you got after only a few drinks, and just stay like that.

Having Svefra blood on his mother's side meant he was comfortable down here at the tavern on the pier drinking with the sailors. This seemed to Quint to be the best of both worlds, a tavern to drink with women like his mother while being in a city of stuffed shirts like his father.

People came; people left. One braggart called out something to the entire crowd, but Quint dismissed him with a glance as someone not worth knowing.

For a moment his attention was grabbed by a pretty young thing who came and sat down at the bar and ordered a wine. Quinton thought of joining her but then some man sat down next to her. The gain of meeting the woman was not worth the net loss of being bored by the man.

And so Quint's attention drifted back to the rowdies and wenches around him. He did pause for a moment and contemplate the odd, orange-looking drink that some fellow was having. As he was nursing his own drink he decided to give it a try, and asked the next serving maid who came by to get him an orange drink of his own.

[Adara Meadows]

Adara Meadows ---- There was a lot going on at this moment. She could not help but be distracted as things happened around her. Men got rowdy, some grabbing at some of the tavern wrenches, placing them on their laps with roars of joy. It made Adara shiver with disgust. And then there was that one who had been drinking the odd liquid. In his full suite of armor he came over and warned them of how dangerous he thought it to be in the tavern at this moment. Even though it was probably nothing more then a kind gesture on the strangers part it made Adara narrow her dark orbs. Just because she was a female meant she couldn't handle herself in a rowdy tavern? It made her want to stay just to prove she could fend for herself. "A prize? It's prize enough speaking to such a mysterious figure." Oh, she didn't realize that by her little flirting she could perhaps be starting something she did not entirely want to finish. Now she had his attention. "Oh well, aren't you the flattering one?" She teased with a slight tilt of her head and a coy smile. Then his head was just inches from her face as he started into the lightless depths that were her eyes. Her orbs blinked a few times as he waved a hand in front of her vision. Wrinkling her nose she pulled back a little bit. Thank goodness then for the armored strangers. For even though she found his help a little insulting at least he was distracting her new companion. Boliver told him off rightly. Adara looked over his suite of armor. Indeed, what did he have to be so afraid of with all that on? He could knock out most of the druken crowd in here before they even dented the metal on his body. "Why don't you have a drink and relax?" Adara offered. "Calm yourself before you explode with worry." Why would he be so concerned over two strangers well being anyway? "As for you..." She started, turning back to Boliver. "I rather like the name, tall, dark, and striking; but I am called Adara.' Was she getting herself into some kind of mess here this evening? ----

[Marx Eisenstahl]

Marx sighed. He'd tried to warn them, but of course they hadn't listened. No-one ever did. The squire had even suggested he should sort this mess out. He snorted in derision. Of course he could wade into the throng, hacking at them with his sword, but what would that accomplish? It would only leave a pile of corpses, and starving families to mourn them. That wasn't the way to solve a problem like this. It just left more trouble than it stopped. He was shocked that anyone- a squire, no less- would have suggested he do something so horrible. Besides, he was like to be stabbed in the throat if he ever was stupid enough to actually attack a crowd of drunk, wild and above all angry mob. Armour could only go so far. As he trudged over to the door, it never occurred to Marx to calm the crowd down any other way than with his sword. He'd been a warrior far too long to even consider such things; it was why he was wearing armour in a tavern, and it was why he didn't call out to the crowd now. He clenched his gauntlets in vexation. Tiredly, he opened the old oak door, and felt the rain upon his face. Without looking back, he stepped outside, and gently closed the door behind him.