Completed [Rearing Stallion]The Raven in the Windoak(Oriah)

[Marrick Corvis]

Winter 3rd Evening 513 AV Marrick entered the Rearing Stallion with the obvious flare of one who had never seen it before. He had always wanted to walk into a bar and order a drink. The very idea seductively whispered freedom. Yes, he had the freedom to make bad choices, right choices, and above all have fun. The rearing stallion seemed the right place for that. With subdued enthusiasm the Kelvic strode forward bravely and took a seat at the bar. He checked to see that his gear was secured with peace ties and waited for the bartender to approach him. When the bartender saw the Kelvic lean over the counter with a stupid grin on his face, he knew he had a customer. As he approached Marrick stood a little straighter and tried to smile his most winning smile. Yet, as the barkeep looked him up and down with a face that could only be described as being unimpressed, the Kelvic's grin began to fade. “New recruit?” The Bartender said in a voice that sounded like the low drum of distant thunder. Marrick nodded excitedly to the question. “How can ye tell?” Marrick said eager to learn another trick to understanding people. The bartender grinned as he filled a pint for the Kelvic. “I can always tell by the stupid look on your faces.” The bartender said as he laid the pint down in front of Marrick with a loud thump. The force of the drop caused some of the beer to slosh out onto the counter, where it spread like ocean foam on the beach. The bartenders face was dead pan serious and Marrick suddenly felt as if he had walked into the wrong place. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously at the man as he tried to figure out if he was teasing or not. When Marrick was just about to stand up and leave the man began to boom with laughter and slapped the Kelvic on the shoulder. “Don’t worry Kid, that new Squire smell will wear off once you’ve spent a few days in the field. You’ll be eating frustration for breakfast, exhaustion for lunch, and pure agony for dinner.” His laughter became a chuckle as Marrick settled back into his seat his body still shaking from the bartenders 'exhuberance'. “Names Kevith Aargon. Former knight, and owner of this fine establishment. Keep your nose clean in here, or I’ll be having a word with your patron.” Marricks eyes widened at the veiled threat of his Patron discovering he was drunk even before he’d served a day in the Syliran Order. Unsure of whether to feel offended or complimented Marrick wrapped his hands around his pint and looked at the golden fizzy contents. As Kevith turned to take care of other clientele, Marrick Furtively sniffed the fluid that filled his pint. It smelled a little like tea, yet not. There was a strong odor, not unlike bread baking. Yeast, yes it had to be yeast. The Kelvic contemplated this a moment before he lifted the pint to his lips and took a swig. His mouth was full of beer, enough so that his cheeks bulged out. He sloshed the beverage about trying to understand its substance. The texture was pleasant. He’d never imbibed anything with a fizz to it before, which only added to the experience. The flavor reminded the Kelvic of raw clover, and then the flavor of bread. Marrick swallowed his mouthful and smacked his lips in assessment of the flavor. After a few minutes of passing thought and a couple of additional sips, he found he felt warmer. “Well tha’s interestin.” Kevith had been standing nearby organizing some copper cups, when he overheard the Kelvics whispered amazement and he spoke up. “First time drinking a beer?” He said looking over at him. When Marrick nodded The Bartender smiled and shook his head. “After you’ve had another let me know if you’d like to try an Ale.” Marrick watched Kevith as he moved off again to help another patron of the Bar. The retired knight seemed a mirthful fellow. Though the Kelvic was pleased to know he had found another ear and perhaps a source of advice about the knighthood here in the Rearing Stallion. What else might he find here.

[Oriah]

For a full bell, life transcended to the divine. Oriah walked upon clouds of boundless bliss, her belly warm and full, her skin tingling with cleanliness, and her hair so light without the weight of dust and grime it felt like it might as well be floating.

Ahh, to be human again!

The dancer dove into the Rearing Stallion and made her way through the boisterous crowd. Her steps bounced with an irrepressible spring, a ridiculous grin plastered on her squeaky clean face. Ooh, yes. So clean, so very squeaky clean. She rubbed her own cheeks for the dozenth time that night, relishing how spotless her fingers came away each time. So absorbed was she in marveling at her recent transformation that Oriah barely registered bumping into the bar and sliding across onto a stool.

"Oy, lass," a gruff voice called out over the raucous din. "What can I get you?"

She looked up in surprise, abandoning her face-rubbing endeavors. Someone was speaking to her! Oriah swiveled in the direction of the gravelly voice, her face still split in an enormous, dopey grin, teeth shining, cheeks dimpling.

"Eugh," he grimaced. "That smile. Don't tell me you're another rookie out to get piss drunk for the first time. I got more than enough of those as it is."

The man speaking to her was clearly the bar tender, though there was something distinctly intimidating about him, his movements as sure and steady as his gaze. But his eyes were kind, albeit rather wrinkled and piercing, and the Benshira found herself trusting him without hesitance.

"I am not, what you call, a rookie," she replied in earnest, her accent barely audible now after so many years on the road. "But I wouldn't mind getting a little drunk, for the I-don't-know-how-many-eth time. Would you happen to have any wine?"

The grizzled old man raised an eyebrow and smirked. "So we got ourselves here a classy lady, eh?"

"Not classy," Oriah beamed. "Just thirsty."

"Hah!" The bartender chuckled to himself as he bent behind the table to reach for a bottle of wine and clean glass. "Well, I might be a lot of things, but one of them is certainly not getting in the way of a lady and her thirst. Here you go, miss."

He uncorked the bottle and, holding the glass at a slight angle, tipped the bottle with expert ease. Rich, red liquid swirled its way until the glass was half full. Tilting the bottle upright again with a single, swift motion, the man re-corked it and pushed the glass toward his new customer.

"The name's Kevith, owner of the Rearing Stallion. First one's on the house," he grunted. Oriah made to grab the glass eagerly, only to pout in surprise as he pulled it back at the last second. "If, that is, you tell an old man who has no business knowing what it is exactly that a lovely girl like yourself is doing, on her own, in a tavern full of drunken strangers."

Oriah balked at the pure onslaught of unexpected words. Then she threw back her head and laughed, high and clear, holding her belly as she did. "You are sweet for wanting to know, Kevith" she answered eventually. It was rare that a barkeep proved more worried for a temporary patron's well-being than how many customers she would be able to attract in a single night. Praised be Yahal, this city was treating her far better than she could have ever imagined.

"I am Oriah of the deserts of Eyktol, a dancer and drummer in the traditional Benshira style. It is how I earn my living, and I am quite good. Both at the earning, and the living. Now, my dearest, most dashing bartender" the girl finished coyly, "may I please have my wine?"

Kevith glared at her in feigned menace, then relinquished his hold of the glass. "Save your flattery for someone who doesn't get aches and pains just from getting up in the morning, lass. Like this young fellow here. Hey, new blood. What's yer name again, boy?"

An exchange was made between Kevith and someone Oriah could not make out, no matter how she twisted and leaned in her seat. A few ticks later the older man was marching back, a funny sort of smirk on his chiseled face. "Well come on over here, Marrick. See, this nice, young lady here could use a bit of company, and you a bit of an introductory lessons 'o sorts into the art of imbibement. I'm a mite busy myself, but I've found you a fine substitute. Less likely to yell at you, too, I'm guessing. Well, you youngins have at it then. Holler if you need more drinks!"

And then Kevith was off, tottering away to serve a new group of customers that had just arrived.

Oriah looked around expectantly, not knowing who on Mizahar the old man had deviously assigned her to. He clearly had not been convinced of her ability to take care of herself. Ah, well, a little company certainly wouldn't hurt!

[Marrick Corvis]

The little Kelvic’s clever mind gnawed at him with questions like a dog on a soup bone. How was this ‘beer’ made? What was an ‘ale’? Marricks mind whirled in on itself in one dizzying question after another, until at last he drowned his thoughts in a long swig from his pint. The beer tasted better than his first few drinks, which only further served to confound the kelvic. He could barely taste the bitterness in it anymore and the bready flavor stood out strongly, along with the nutty aftertaste of barley. Marrick sighed in resignation and chose to simply enjoy his evening. Though, deep inside the Kelvic knew that his resolve to not ask questions would likely be abandoned the moment he saw something shiny. Fitfully he rubbed the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to shut the window shutters on his own insufferable curiosity. The Kelvic licked his lips, bringing his attention back to his Pint of Beer, or what had once been a pint. He took another swig swallowing the refreshing beverage with a slosh of his tongue. It went down much easier than before and with another final long draft he drank what was left in his Flagon. Before he had a chance to stand up and go, Kevith had arrived with a grin on his face and a fresh pint in his hand. “Oy rookie, slow down. You want to remember your first night of drinking.” The big man laughed heartily as he laid the new pint down in front of the Kelvic. Marrick raised his eyebrows in thought. ‘so this is how it’s done then. When you’re done, order another?’ He thought to himself. After removing his gloves, he shrugged mentally and settled back onto his stool, to wrap his hand around his new flagon. As he contemplated taking a virgin sip from his new brew, he heard Kevith shout out from down the bar. “Hey new blood. What’s yer name again, boy?” Marrick’s attention was drawn immediately to Keviths gravelly voice, and when the two made eye contact he knew that the Bartender was speaking to him. Marrick pointed to himself with his free hand just to be sure he hadn’t made a mistake in his assumption. The old Knight nodded like it was obvious and waved for him to move down the bar and join him with the patron he had been talking to a moment ago. “Squoire Marrick Corvis Ser.” Marrick said as he stood up off his stool. When his booted feet touched the floorboards of the room however, the little Kelvic immediately realized why folk walked the way they did when they were drunk. What a marvelous feeling. It was as if he floated on a cloud, yet, he clearly was not drunk enough to be wobbling about. Put simply, he felt loose. Which made him pause as he locked the memory of this moment away in his box of little mental treasures? “Well come on over here,-“ Marrick scooped up his gear in one hand, held his nearly full pint in the other and began to make his way down the bar as Kevith spoke on. “Marrick See, this nice, young lady here could use a bit of company,-” When the Kelvic saw who Kevith was introducing him to, he smiled genuinely. It was always nice to be introduced to a pretty lady. “ and you a bit of introductory lessons ‘o sorts into the art of imbibement.-“ What was the term he had heard before? Light weight? As Marrick realized that Kevith was drawing attention to his inexperience his face turned a might pinker, and his smile turned to a look of shy embarrassment. “I’m a might busy myself, but I’ve found you a fine substitute. Less likely to yell at you, too, I’m guessing. Well, you youngins have at it then. Holler if you need more drinks!” With a slight limp in his walk, the Bartender mercifully abandoned him to the kind features of this pretty lady. His full attention now given to his new acquaintance, the Kelvic fixed her with his clever pale blue eyes. In those few tics that passed, Marrick took in the lady who sat before him. The woman’s skin was a warm olive tone that reminded Marrick of the punters in Ravok, or perhaps of field workers. She was obviously a traveler, though from where? His intense gaze caught site of her ear piercing and his smile returned. They were after all, very shiny. At last he looked into her eyes. His head cocked to one side his smile dimming a moment and returning the next. He seemed to search those pools of crystal blue water, like the shallows of the sea on a clear day. When he realized he saw himself in the pools of her eyes, he at last blinked. The Kelvic shook his head to shrug away the feeling he had done something inappropriate and with a meticulous motion he laid his gear to rest next to his new barstool. An empty hand now free, Marrick offered it in warm greetings along with a slight bow of his head. “Oi don’t know if ye heard, before. Squoire Marrick Corvis, at yer sarvice, miss.” The Kelvic said, his little smile becoming a grin that grew to touch the corners of his eyes.

[Oriah]

When Oriah caught her first real look of her newly assigned drinking companion, her immediate reaction was a giant, toothy grin. If she could count on old Kevith to keep pairing her up with such handsome strangers, she might very well deem the other taverns completely unworthy of a visit.

Her smile faltered for a moment, however, when the young man leaned in, his pale blue eyes searching hers with unabashed curiosity. Without thinking, the Benshira tightened her grip around her wine glass, ready to chuck its contents in his face if he proved to be anything less than civil. But then she remembered her own, similar gesture that very afternoon, and her grip loosened. He did, after all, look as sincere as humanly possible, his head cocked to one side like a curious child's, pale gaze utterly free of guile or malice.

She met his stare unflinchingly, openly. The stranger's face was close enough now that Oriah could see herself reflected a haze of hue at once familiar and unfamiliar. While those of her people had a more crystalline, glimmering quality, his was as blue and unclouded as a clear, Winter sky. It was different from hers and, she realized absently, those of Xira. Different. She liked different.

Then, in the span of a single blink, his face retreated to a more socially acceptable distance, shaking side to side a little as if he'd just realized something, and the young man began carefully laying aside his possessions on an empty barstool. Once this was done, he offered a hand and introduced him with the oddest accent Oriah had ever heard.

"A squire! What an honor," the Benshira replied, taking Marrick's hand in a firm grip and returning his dazzling smile with one of her own. "I am Oriah of the deserts, a pleasure to meet you. Please, do sit by me. You'll be more than a little wobbly by the time we're finished."

She winked at him surreptitiously, then scooted off her stool to plop down on the one beside it, giving Marrick room to sit by his belongings. Oriah pushed her wine glass closer to him. "Here, try some of my wine. Promise I didn't slip anything in it. Kidding! Sort of. Kevith, another glass of red, one more of white, and a mug of your strongest stuff!"

The fierce glare the old bartender shot her did little to hide his amusement. "Please?" Not a chime later, there were three containers set before the impromptu duo, each a different color and size.

Oriah rubbed her hands and leered over the drinks. "The trick, my friend, is to take it slow when you first start. Don't want to be hurling it all back out, and the beginning effects are always the most pleasant, I think."

"Now,'" she sighed, waggling her eyebrows, "how did that wine taste? And where on Mizahar were you born to have such an interesting accent?"

[Marrick Corvis]

The brilliant smile that greeted Marrick as he offered his hand to the lady warmed him. She was beautiful and alive with a dazzling smile as bright and blinding as the sunlight. The little Kelvic felt as if he could bask in that glow contentedly for some time. When the lovely lady took his hand in hers the first thing that struck him was how firm and warm it was. Marrick could not help but lilt his head to one side as he considered her manner. She seemed kind, friendly, and full of light and life. Or perhaps he was simply cold and this woman was merely brimming with warmth. The callouses woven into her hand spoke of travel and work. Yet her skin was smooth. It was apparent to the Raven that she took care of herself when the opportunity arose. Marrick embraced his nature and let his curiosity lead for a moment, allowing his clever eyes to wander over the woman’s form. He searched with an intense gaze and found nary a speck of dirt or dust on her. Even her hair hung without a misplaced strand of lovey sand colored locks. With a joyful heart The Kelvic mimicked her gesture with equal force. When at last she let go, the little Raven’s heart sank just a little. The Benshira’s lithe movement from stool to stool was not lost on the Kelvic, who yet again caught himself as he surveyed her as if no one was watching. With a look of incredulity Marrick shook his head and took a sip of his beer. The feistiness that seemed to ooze from her pores, intrigued the little Raven such that a curious smile bloomed upon his face. As he set down his second flagon of beer he caught the furtive wink that she gave him and his smile grew into a grin. With a considerable effort he focussed on controlling his obvious curiosity about his hostess and took his seat. In a state of complete distraction he obediently did just as the Benshira bid him. With a casual grasp he took the young ladies glass from the counter top and sipped its contents. Her playful words of warning only registered after he had filled his mouth with the bitter red liquid. Not wanting to make a scene he swallowed the contents in his mouth and quickly placed the wine goblet onto the table and shivered uncontrollably. “Bleh, wha’ tha’” He sputtered his words half spoken. With a quick movement borne of desperation he snatched his beer and swilled a few long drafts. Marrick watched Kevith with wide eyes over the brim of his pint as the man laid out a cornucopia of booze. The Kelvic’s head was already swimming from the amount of drink he’d consumed. Now all he needed was to fall off of his chair. That was just about when Oriah explained the trick to drinking and the Kelvic felt as if he’d made all the mistakes he could manage for one night. “Apologies,” He said wiping the head moustache off of his upper lip. “Oi’m afaid a’ don’t have such a refoined taste fer sech things.” Marrick smiled, his cheeks doubly flushed by the alcohol and his embarrassment. “Perhaps it would taste better weth a Bangor.” The Raven said with a smile. Kevith who had been quietly smirking at him since he had tasted the red wine, now gave Marrick an intrigued grin followed by a shake of his head. “Alright lad, I’ll play. What’s a “Bangor”?” The bartender said with a lonely eyebrow raised, his smile still lingering upon his lips. “Jest a bit o’ sausage. Lay it on a roll, or bread. Ye can top et weth mushrooms er onions.” The Kelvic seemed lost in thought as he licked his upper lip. “Well, jest about anythin ye could imagine on top o’ sausage, or under it.” He said with a chuckle. “Bread, taters, n’ such. Roight at thes moment, I doubt I could tell tha diffrence.” He said as he turned his attention back to Oriah. “The accent is Ravok slave tongue. Tha cety left its mark on meh wards.” He said as he extended his hand out and grasped the white wine cup. When the scars on his wrist showed he felt a momentary pang of awkwardness that made him pause. “Amongst other thengs.” The Kelvic said as he brought the cup to his nose, this time smelling the contents. Kevith frowned a moment at the scars on Marricks wrist and crossed his arms. “I’ll see what the wife can cook up for you son.” The bartender said with a soft edge in his voice. It seemed the gruff old knight had a heart of gold. Marrick could feel the tension he had caused and he regretted the moment his wrist had become exposed. The thought to transform and fly away ran across his mind instantaneously. However, the problems that might cause held him in place. Instead he smiled apologetically to his drinking companion. “Please forgive meh. Tonoight is nary fer remeberin tha past.” He said as he lifted the wine cup in salute to the lovely lady he couldn’t stop watching. “Tonoight is fer makin foine memories.” And tapped her glass of wine with his and took a sip. “So tha treck is teh drink slowly.” He said as he very much imitated his inner bird and sipped at his wine. Casual as a slipper, he laid down his drink and nodded to Oriah. “Clearley, I’m moving too fast as tha room seems teh be revolving about yer lovely face.” Marrick said with a genuine smile.

[Oriah]

Oriah stifled a spurt of laughter when she saw Marrick's face grimace at the taste of the wine and he spluttered something incoherent. The young man immediately washed down the taste with gulps of beer, which she found even more amusing.

"Not to worry, "O Valiant Squire," Oriah assured, "Simply a matter of preference. You're just getting to know what you like and don't like, is all."

At Marrick's mention of a Bangor, the Benshira found her curiosity piqued, but Kevith beat her to the punch. Sausage. Bread. Mushrooms or Onions. Oriah found her mouth salivating a little and she imagined roasting such things on an open fire, innumerable stars glittering overhead and an old prayer to Yahal sung out in the throaty ways of her people. She imagined the smells, too, smoky and savory and--

Marrick explained his accent then, and Oriah found her heart catch in her throat. A slave. This poor boy was once a slave. Memories of Priah flashed by her, of bruises and chapped lips and one last, withering breath. And her twin had only been on her way to slavery. The Benshira shuddered, thinking how much worse it had to have been for her new friend. When she caught sight of the scars on his wrist, her fears were confirmed and she felt her heart twist in on itself.

But the young man before her, with his flushed cheeks and merry eyes, seemed bent on not letting the past harangue his present. Oriah wasn't entirely sure if it was because of the memories or alcohol that his tongue was starting to loosen, but his last comment caught her off guard and she found herself blushing profusely.

"Kevith, give me a plate of whatever fine food your wife is cooking up for Marrick. Whatever a Bangor is, it sounds delicious!" she roared, making quick recovery of her surprise.

Oriah smiled back at Marrick. "Tonight is for fine memories indeed, my dear squire, whose face might I add is lovelier than a budding rose. Specially with that nice, imbibement-induced flush you got going there."

Old Kevith guffawed heartily at this as he returned with two steaming plates of divineness. Oriah took a good whiff, her toes curling at the heavenly scent, and she held up her wine glass to Marrick. "Here's to you and your much deserved freedom to get piss drunk in a room full of strangers. Cheers!"

The girl downed the rest of her wine, blatantly ignoring her own advice and eager to catch up with her companion, who was already a good ways closer to drunkenness with the way he had been guzzling his beer. Then she looked down at their steaming, heaping plates.

"So, Marrick," she grinned. "Is this anything like the Bangor you had in mind?"

[Marrick Corvis]

Marrick wasn’t sure if it was the booze or just the company that made him feel so good. He felt as if he were full of warmth and the simplest of jests was worthy of unstoppable mirthful laughter. And Oriah, the beauty of the wastes, her dazzling smile brought him every step of the way. ‘A budding rose’ she had said. The Kelvic thought to himself of a memory long forgotten when in passing he had seen a budding rose hanging in the window box of one of the many houses off of the channel. How he had admired its bright colors until he had been chased off by the residents. With the Benshira’s smile, and kind compliments, Marrick’s face felt hotter than a sunburn. He wished very much that he could convince himself it was the alcohol that made him such, though his heart would know he lied. “To Freedom and foine memories!” He shouted back in salute before he took another sip of white wine. When the hot plate of mouth-watering food was pushed under their noses by the grinning old knight, Marrick caught himself salivating. With a slurp and a sidelong glance at his companion he could see that he wasn’t alone in his eagerness to dig in. "So, Marrick," she beamed at him. "Is this anything like the Bangor you had in mind?" The Kelvic smiled as he looked over the plate of amazing food. The sausages smelled like pork, each link seared to brown and black perfection. What little bit of sausage that showed beneath the pan fried onions and mushrooms, glistened with beads of oil. Marrick could already imagine the savoury flavour from his seat. His smile grew with the anticipation of biting into it. The meat, mushrooms, onions, and doughy bread around it looked amazing. The Kelvic smiled thoughtfully and began to chuckle. “Oi have never had one before.” His eyes shone with gleeful delight. “At least not more than a’ few scraps here and there.” He paused for a moment, almost as if he expected to wake from a dream. Like a child, Marrick slowly reached for one of the two Bangers on his plate and lifted it with relished anticipation. The little Raven inhaled deeply and winked at Oriah with secret mischievousness. “No toime loike now.” He said with a grin. He shut his eyes and slowly bit into the Bangor. Little bits of onion and mushroom fell away onto his scruffy chin, as the muffled snap of the skin popped against his teeth. He chewed enjoying the savoury flavour of the meat. The mushrooms and onions gave it a smoky flavour. The half-forgotten memory of a kindly old woman with a beaming smile forced its way into his mind’s eye like a ray of sunlight through winter clouds. Unbidden and unexpectedly Marrick realized his eyes had begun to water. Stifling a sniffle he wiped away a tear and smiled, just a simple upturn of the corners of his mouth. “Kevith, ye have a foine woife. With a foine hand at cookin.” He said softly after he swallowed his first bite and bit off another mouthful. when he swallowed his second bite he set down his banger and polished off the last of the white wine in his cup. “Oi have only tasted sech a thing loike thes once before when I was but a pup.” Kevith grinned at them both. “Enjoy them kiddies. The wife always cooks a little bit of love into every bite.” The old knight teased, and laughed hartily. As the old knight walked off to serve some of the other customers Marrick looked down at his plate and mumbled to himself. “I can taste it Ser Knoight, every boite.” Gathering his senses together he beamed at his companion. “It’s better than any Bangor Oi’ve ever had, moy…” he paused on his words searching the air above his head for an apt title for his friend. “Oasis in the desert.” He finished before he picked up his half eaten Banger got back to it.

[Oriah]

At Marrick's subtle reference to his past, Oriah felt another pang of concern, but it was quickly replaced by anticipation as the squire picked up one of the Bangors. He winked at her, then slowly bit into the link. Words were not needed; his expression said it all. Without further ado, the Benshira dove into her plate as well.

As Oriah sank her teeth into the greasy, piping hot sausage, her eyes rolled and she groaned in ecstasy. She muttered something emphatic in Shiber, then, with her other hand, picked up pieces of onion and mushroom and stuffed those in her mouth as well, not bothering to use a fork and knife. If Kevith disapproved of her manners, he made no mention of it, even as she licked the hot oil from her fingers with an audible smack before continuing to shovel down more food.

"Mff," was all Oriah had to contribute, nodding vigorously to each compliment Marrick said as she devoured every last bite on her plate. It was mildly frightening, the speed and veracity with which she inhaled her foot like some kind of bottomless void. But, this was her first real meal in what felt like a whole season, and it was a fine one at that. So she wolfed it down with feverish enthusiasm, no shykes to be given.

She kept one ear glued to the congenial conversation between the squire and the old barkeep. A little bit of love in every bite indeed. Old Kevith was a lucky, lucky man!

At Marrick's final comment, however, Oriah abruptly stopped her frenzied feasting. The flattering nickname sent her reeling back in time, to the day she had come home with Priah's body, and her elders had taken one look at her fresh mark of favor and uttered that very same phrase...

The sound of music invaded her thoughts. For a moment, she was confused, suddenly unsure of where she was and what was happening. But a few blinks later her eyes focused on the tiny chunk of Bangor left on her plate, and she whipped up her head to find that a group of musicians had begun playing a merry jig.

Her eyes met Marrick's, and a mischievous grin split her face. "Do you like to dance, squire?"

Before he could even respond, she downed a shot of something or other, the fiery liquid burning all the way down to her gut, and plucked the half eaten Bangor out of his hand. Then she grabbed him by the hand and pulled him right off his stool, making a beeline for the center of the tavern where people were swarming in for the first dance.

As soon as they'd set foot amongst the crowd however, the music stopped and the room began to divide into two rows. A gaggle of women swept Oriah away with them, giggling as they wedged her between two strangers, while a pack of men absorbed Marrick heartily into their ranks. The Benshira, who didn't exactly have all her wits about her, looked wide-eyed at her companion and shrugged. Seeing her confused expression, the women beside her chortled and laid their dainty hands on her arms, assuring her the steps were simple and she would have no trouble following along.

"It's a game of sorts," she explained. "Basically, we change partners every time we complete the dance, and the person without a partner by the time the music stops is booted out. See, there's one extra lady at the very end."

Oriah leaned forward and counted. Sure enough, there were twelve women and only eleven men. Well, this was certainly interesting.

"Is that one yours?" the girl on her left whispered gaily, pointing blatantly at Marrick.

"Um--"

"Not to worry," another winked, "we shan't steal him away. Though you let me know first thing if you move on--he's quite a looker, that one is!"

They burst into a fit of giggles at such a scandalous request. Across from them, it seemed the men were more or less engaging in the same sort of conversation, as several were now staring straight in their direction. Oriah's face reddened considerably. It wasn't exactly in her upbringing to speak of such things so casually, and she was cursing herself for not eating that last bite of heavenly Bangor.

But as she watched the men good naturedly jab the rather tipsy squire's sides, merriment twinkling in their eyes, she remembered the earlier words the two new friends had shared. Freedom and fine memories. She may never have been a slave, but there were still few things sweeter than the newfound freedom her current lifestyle offered, paid for in full with hardship and uncertainty but relished all the more for it.

Oriah's demeanor changed as she lifted her chin and beamed with the rest of the girls. She pointed to herself, then to Marrick, then ground her fist in an open palm. A challenge, to see who could outdance the other.

While the women murmured excitedly at her audacity, the men on the other side guffawed, slapping Marrick soundly on the back. "Better not lose!" one merrily shouted. Without warning, the musicians struck up another merry jig, except this one started with a simple rhythm that everyone began stomping to. Oriah watched the pairs of feet beside her, as the steps were different between each adjacent row. Then both sides lunged toward the center, the men and women now face to face, giving her the perfect opportunity to throw in a verbal taunt.

"If I win, you're paying for my Bangors," she blurted with a wicked grin, then squawked in surprise as someone flipped her around by the waist. It was one of the men, and he held up her hand in his and began leading the dance. It took Oriah a few ticks to get her bearings, but soon she had the steps down and found herself having more fun than she could possibly remember.

She changed partners at least two or three times before the music suddenly stopped. Oriah looked wildly around, momentarily partnerless. Nearby, she saw another girl in an identical situation, whirling around to find the last available man. They locked gazes for a tick, their eyes burrowing into one another's with fierce competition. Around them, the couples were chuckling at the stand off. They must have looked quite silly, each desperately searching for a man like her life depended on it.

Then Oriah caught sight of one, right about the same time her rival did. Without hesitating, she threw herself at him, nearly plowing him over with her momentum.

The other girl collided into them a beat later, causing the whole tavern to burst into laughter and applause. "Oy, let me keep both of them!" the lucky man shouted, inciting another round of mirth. Alas, he could not, and the odd girl out gave a wistful shrug before she went back to her seat.

Not long after, the music struck up anew. "This time," Oriah vowed through the haze of alcohol-induced dreaminess, "I'm going to improve my timing." Then she promptly slipped, caught only just in time by her partner. The Benshira found herself drowning in a gail of laughter as the man hoisted her back up and finished the dance through sheer will.

"Good tactic," he joked with a wink. Then they changed partners once more, and Oriah forced herself to focus. She wanted to win, Bangors or no Bangors. It was time to get her competition on!

[Marrick Corvis]

Ecstasy greater than any sin rested in his mouth, releasing sweet savoury rapture with each bite of Banger. When at last his first sausage was gone he washed it down with the last of his sweet white wine. Marrick was far from a connoisseur when it came to wines, but he was becoming quite fond of the white. He felt oddly fortified, yet off kilter. His legs were like jelly, yet he could swear he could dance. With a long inhale and exhale he tried to focus his thoughts and found them to be a bumbling idiot. ‘and Oi wanted tah live in the moment.’ He thought to himself as he stared at the ceiling. After his moment of clarity the Kelvic picked up his second Banger and took a bite, now turning his attentions to the floor and his companion. What a marvellous woman this Oriah. He felt as though he had somehow found a kindred spirit. She was mischievous, yet so much bolder than he. Though his mind was getting hazy and his head heavy, he ran through the last few days in his mind. He had found his freedom, pledged himself to a cause far greater than himself, and met quite possibly the grandest woman in all of Mizahar. Inside him he felt as though a warm fire was crackling away. The folk in the bar seemed to be having a good time, though his wandering eyes kept coming back to Oriah. Guilty as the thug he’d arrested earlier today he admitted to himself that he enjoyed watching her eat. He smiled as he observed his companions delight, as she devoured her own sausage, mushrooms and onions. He truly felt a magnetism to her appetite, not unlike his own. He realized he was staring at her again and tried to practice some self-restraint and turned his attentions back to the folk of the bar room. Out on the floor Marrick saw a trio of musicians cuing up to play something, and a few of the folks near the centre of the room helped the two barmaids reorganize the tables so there was space for a dance floor. The fiddler struck a chord and Marrick grinned at the edgy and boisterous note. He felt as though he could not be happier, good food, drink, and friendship. What more could a Kelvic ask for. Just as he was finishing his thought, Marrick caught the playful gaze of his friend. Oriah granted him with a grin so potent he could have bottled it up for later. Instead he packed it away like a secret treasure he could take out and look at when the days were gloomy. "Do you like to dance, squire?" Marricks belly did a summersault, and he hid his discomfort with a grin. He eyed the shot on the bar counter and remembered that it was supposed to be the “strong stuff.” He was going to need all the courage he could muster so with a look of resignation he downed the shot. The burning sensation was hair raising in its intensity and he coughed loudly. He couldn’t say no or even protest when the Benshira grabbed him by the hand and hauled him to the dance floor. He blinked away the haze in a desperate attempt to gather his wits. At the very least the shot made him open his eyes a little wider and laugh a little harder. People swarmed to the dance floor from all over the bar. Some couples laughing and the occasional man or woman who looked like they’d have made a run for the door had they the chance. At least he wasn’t alone in feeling caught in a snare. The men and women began to divide up into rows, and Marrick watched with eyebrows raised as the one safe place he felt was swept to the far side of the dance floor with a host of other women. In his head his inner animal was urging him to flee, though he had no time to think as a pair of men grabbed him by the shoulders and awkwardly placed him in line with the rest of them. He laughed gracelessly as he tried to assess the situation around him, the worry beginning to show on his face. Then almost as if she were there next to him his unease dissolved when he found Oriah in the crowd of other women and found her staring back at him with a smile and a shrug. Marrick couldn’t be sure but it seemed as if the other women were giving her a quick lesson in how the dance would work. The Kelvic nudged the man next to him and pointed at the ladies across from them. “Oy, how does thes work? Oi’ve never danced in Syliras before.” He asked with as much sheepish pleasantness he could manage. The man laughed at him and Marrick raised his eyebrows in concern, though he hid it furtively with a smile. “This is the gauntlet fren, we dance switching partners, until at last there are only two left. See the petite dark haired looker next to your lady. That’s my bessy! We’re gonna be the last two tonight!” Marrick was about to say something contradictory about Oriah being “his lady”, but the idea of ruining this strangers hopes seemed cruel. Besides, the Kelvic liked the idea that the Benshira could be something more than a friend. “I’ll wager ye dance us all under tha table.” Marrick said with a friendly smile. The two men exchanged a few friendly punches to the shoulder and focussed on the ladies across from them. The little Raven couldn’t remember the last time he had seen so many women with a twinkle in their eye and a grin on their face. It made the Kelvic happy to see so much life and joy. The scene that unfolded before him made him so grateful for being alive and at last free. Ravok seems so far away. The dance floor was flooded with people who were alive with drink and excited to express it. He was just about to devise a way to bow out gracefully during the third or fourth round when he caught the look of Oriah again and he watched her as she ground her fist into her palm in challenge to him. The Kelvic raised his eyebrows and his smile blossomed into a grin. Well, the fight has been offered, and the Kelic never gave up in a fight. The whole room was against him, and somewhere inside him his inner animal stirred encouraging him to win. His discomfort snuffed out like a candle in the night, and the fires of his competitive passion lit and stoked. With a grin he bowed his head to her. His intense gaze focussed and his body ready. The man next to him laughed heartily and slapped him hard on the back. “Be careful little brother, the fox is on the hunt!” He shouted loudly as a few more men began to jostle and slap his back in friendly support. “Oy, the fox. Thas rich. If I survoive this noight I will have to tell her.” He said with a laugh and roguish grin. Marricks mind stopped and all ears and minds focussed on the drummer as he began to rap out a tattoo on his Bodhran. The warm and slow little heart beat made the Kelvic want to tap his foot along with the beat. The people around him began to stomp to the sound and a few folk at their tables rapped empty flagons. It was as if the room had a heartbeat and the drummer was at the centre of it. The room was full of life and crackling energy, and Marrick could feel it filling his chest, and willing his feet to move. The little Kelvic was so wrapped up in the moment he missed the first step off and he scrambled to catch up. He tried to keep up with the other dancers as they moved so gracefully with experience of the song. He felt like a duck out of water as he barely managed to match step for step with the folk around him just to lose them again with the next transition. It was frustrating, but the laughter of the folk about him reminded him perfection wasn’t the point. Both sides of the dance floor lunged forward toward the centre of the room with a low shout and he made a mental mark of where it occurred in the song as he struggled to keep up. When he had caught up to the group he looked to Oriah with a smile, only to hear her taunt at him. "If I win, you're paying for my Bangors," she said with a wink and a grin, only to be snatched up by another man and twirled. Marrick watched her as she laughed and was lifted bodily. He wasn’t sure how he felt about it. He wanted to be the one making her laugh, though he was certain that he was happy she was having a good time. He didn’t have time to dwell on it as he found he had wound up with a partner of his own who expertly moved into his personal space and began to move with him to the music. For almost a split second he was ready to bolt, and then suddenly like a thunder clap in his mental storm he recognized his momentary partner as an opportunity to experiment a move or two. Marrick knew he was a babe in the woods when it came to dancing, but he had taken a tumble or two in his life. He knew how to balance weight, and how to roll on his feet. With a nod to his partner he took both her hands and spun in place. He arced his body which forced his partner to do the same. When the two came out of the spin he pulled her close drawing her momentum toward him, where he stepped out of the way, letting her glide past him. As she reached the end of his grasp he pulled her back around so they faced each other again. “Ye Alroight?” he asked over the gasping laughter of his partner. It seemed all she could do was nod excitedly to him and shout “Do it again!” To which he grinned and repeated the manoeuvre, though with better timing than the first time. When he switched partners the woman almost didn’t let go, which made his eyebrows raise. ‘too much Marrick boyo’ he thought to himself, and she slipped from his fingers for the next lady to take her place. When his new partner took her place with him he smiled and the two mirrored each other’s movements a moment, before Marrick pulled her into a twirl, and lifted her off the dance floor at the waist in time with several other couples. The ladies shouted gleefully in off-unison. Only to be echoed by the crowd of onlookers, who still pounded their empty flagons to the tap of the drummer’s tipper. When his next partner joined him he tried a shoulder lift. The lady swatted at his head like an angry cat, but laughed at him as he let her down. He shook his head and his partner cast a playful look of accusation at him as they matched steps to the drummers beat. Before long she had moved on, and he found himself alone on the floor. Without warning Marrick was unexpectedly assaulted by his first and second dance partner when the music stopped. The Kelvic weathered the onslaught with the well timed catch of his first dance partner, who grinned at him impishly. The woman in his arms clung to him while his second dance partner searched desperately for another man. The Kelvic realized that he could not see Oriah. Then as he watched his second partner make a play for the last unmatched man in the crowd he very nearly howled with laughter as he saw Oriah seemingly pounce on the man just before his second partner got to him. ‘Bad luck dear lady’ he thought to himself in gleeful graciousness for his friend, and lamentation for the lady out. When all the folks got back to their feet, the girl out shrugged and left the floor. As she made her way back to her seat, she blew him a kiss. Which made the little Kelvic raise his eyebrows again, and his current partner seemed to purr out a low growl as she clung to his shirt. ‘These folk are more beast than Oi am.’ He thought to himself with a grin. The woman who had claimed him at the end of the first round of dancing ran off and brought him a cup of white wine, tipping it to his mouth. He drank deeply and smacked his lips. “Thank ye, dear Lady.” He said with a grin, though his eyes searched for Oriah. He hoped she was ok. His vision was hazy and slow to change depth. His legs still felt wobbly and weak, though his heart raced like he was in a fight. On stage the drummer lowered his tipper and raised his voice to the crowd of people. “Are you fine folk having a good time tonight?!” He shouted to the laughter, and shouts of the crowd. “Next bout we are changing things a bit. Our strong brave men here on the floor will team up two men to a woman! Now don’t take that the wrong way, now!” The crowd broke into raucous laughter at his bawdy statement, and he moved on. “The men will pass along the women to one another. All women not being held by two men when the music stops will be out.” The woman who had claimed him helped prop him up, and at the same time clung to him as she giggled breathlessly. Before long, the drummer began to beat his tipper against his Bodhran again, this time accompanied by a piper, the fiddler and the guitarist. The men gathered in the centre of the room and the ladies were passed along the long line, from men to men. When they would find their feet, some would twirl, or jump into the arms of their next pair of men. They must have seemed as if they flew through the air like Ethaefel. When he spotted Oriah he waited for her hand to meet with his and remembering her tease earlier raised the stakes. “If Oi win, Yer boiyin tha drinks.” He said with a broad grin and a chuckle. The Kelvic was young and strong, but man or kelvic, there were limits. Blessedly, as Marrick felt the last of his strength begin to wane, the music stopped. The Kelvic gracefully helped the lady he and his fellow lifter carried to the ground. With a huff of sweat covered exhaustion the Kelvic took a brief breather. Several of the ladies Marrick had danced with had fallen out. Including his first dance partner who curtsied. “Thank you so much for the dance sir, can I do anything for you?” She said with a seductive bat of an eyelash. Marrick smiled pleasantly and nodded to the bar. “I’m moighty thairsty dear lady. Would it too much trouble if ye fetched me up my flagon?” he said with a bow of his head.

[Oriah]

Oriah felt her blood burn as round two began with a completely new set of steps and conditions. It might have had something to do with the alcohol, blanketing her in a haze of bliss and warmth, but it mattered not. The whole experience felt more than a little exhilarating as she was passed from one pair of strong hands to the next, twirling and flying through the air as though her back bore wings.

Well, it felt that way, at the very least. She might have just been flailing around, her one salvation being that she was a trained dancer and only slightly less of a bumbling drunk than most. Slightly.

Next thing she knew, she was face to face with the handsome squire once more. Except this time, her mind was too loose, thoughts too slippery, and all she could do was stare. “If Oi win, Yer boiyin tha drinks," he countered at last, chuckling as he did. The girl had only enough time to wonder who was more drunk at the moment before she was passed along to the next man.

She found herself craning her neck backwards, looking for Marrick's face amongst the line of men, but it was impossible to do so whilst not risking falling flat on her rump. The challenge was still on, after all. And now, she would have to nab two partners instead of just one.

Suddenly, the music stopped. Oriah slipped at the last possible tick, only to shoot back up and place her hand in those of a second gentleman's, thereby ensuring her survival to the next round. Five somewhat disappointed ladies and one lone man made their good natured exits off the dance floor. Proud that she had lasted this long, the Benshira was prepared to give her haughtiest, competitive grin to Marrick once she spotted him from amongst the remaining trios.

Alas, the squire's attentions were drawn elsewhere as one of the odd ladies conversed with him, then went to fetch his flagon.

A spiky, indignant expression flitted across her features.

"Ey, you alright, miss?" one of her partners inquired, the concern clear in his eyes.

"Ah, yes," Oriah fibbed, squirming a little under a sudden bout of self consciousness. It was a bit painful, even to tell the smallest of white lies, but for all intents and purposes, she was fine. She just wasn't expecting feelings she thought she'd long since uprooted to come back and plague her in a moment like this. Goodness, how much had the drinks truly affected her?

This left her at least a little more sober than before, and Oriah's ears pricked as the rules for round three were announced. They were down to five women and ten men now. So, to ensure more people would be eliminated, things were going to get...entertaining.

The ten remaining men were made to stand in a circle, with the five surviving women huddled at the center, blindfolded. Oriah couldn't help but giggle a little along with the others as scratchy clothes were tied over her eyes. It was so contagious, the excitement, the thrill of a new challenge! Amongst the audience, many were snickering as well, because now the men were given their opportunities to pose and place themselves however they liked, so long as they remained in a circle.

Once the music struck up anew, Oriah stuck her arms out and began the blind hunt for her ticket to the final round. Bumping and giggling, the women groped around as the men were forced to stay perfectly silent. A few yelps of victory could be heard, but she could not let them discourage her.

Finally, her hands met solid fabric. She heard the relieved sigh of the man she had just bumped into and felt his hands gently grip her arms, steadying her. Oriah wondered under the cover of the blindfold if it was Marrick. Could that be his sigh? His hands pressed against her arms? It was somewhat torturous, waiting for the last girl to find her man. The crowd was now cheering her on, giving her little hints here and there.

When the last couple was finally formed, the music stopped and Oriah tore off her blindfold, a hopeful grin plastered on her face.

Only to have it fall a little flat as she saw it was yet another stranger.

A round of applause arose for the odd men out as they rejoined the rest of the crowd. Oriah clapped absently along with them, feeling rather distracted.

Marrick was no where to be found.