By Laviku's Breath, there's nothing in this city for a blasted rum drinker, is there?
The Svefra thought it to himself as he recalled the taverns that he had set into for his pursuit of the glory that was the particular breed of liquor. But, it was rare. So completely, and utterly rare that the Svefra only had the chance to try it when the Fist was still sailing the Suvan. He recalled that the crew had, at some point, purchased an enormous supply of it, and to this day, Tydus held a measure of it in the flask secured upon his waist. It was approximately three-quarters full, the Svefra taking merely sips, droplets of the blessed elixir per day in order for him to remember the taste.
It was so good, in fact, that Tydus had, more than once, hypothesized that rum was the elixir of eternal life bestowed to the world of men by the Gods themselves, not that anyone would believe such an outlandish tale. the Tempest scion shook his head, a 'tch' escaping his lips as he made his way towards the bar, carefully ignoring the obvious sights of Kel and Shijara, knowing somewhat of their history and finding it more amusing in the long run to leave them alone.
Rather, the man made his way towards the menu list, again scoffing as the lack of rum upon the menu forced his stomach into an infuriated clench, the Svefra using all of the willpower he could muster to not bang onto the bar's counter as he placed his order, "A mug of ale, please."
Always the second choice. Always the second best. Ale was the third place loser of what stole Tydus' heart. The first was rum, the next sex, and the last, relegated, almost hated of the three was ale. When his drink arrived, he pressed a silver miza to the counter before he asked, "Lass, I've been dyin' to know since me friend introduced me to this, but where do you find the blessed beverage known as rum? There is a thirst on m'tongue, and ale doesn't seem to quench it properly..."
The woman arched her eyebrows in surprise before she answered, "Looks like you're going to be thirsty for some time, then. Rum's a specialty in Kenash. It's not too far off to the north, if you've got a ship."
Kenash?
The Svefra had no idea where it was, but if it was close by, he was going to have to convince Callipsia that it was of tantamount importance to go there. Rum was the poison that carried the Tempests to glorious reminiscence. It was the ichor that pumped through the blood of each sailor. It was the potion that revived the heart and soul, warmed the blood and caused a Tempest's (at least, this one's) heart to sing sonnets of romance and adventure.
The Svefra nodded, a grim expression upon his features as he sipped his ale. Pah. Piss in a mug, for all he cared. The need for rum drove him mad, forcing the Svefra to take a quick sip from his flask immediately after draining his mug of ale in order to offset the addiction. He was, for now, pleased. He turned around on his seat in the bar, eager eyes of Laviku's blood cast about, searching for a soul to soothe yet another addiction he found creeping into his mind. Conversation, of course, was a need that was equal to every other. Tydus wasn't alive unless he was talking to people.
After all, if he wasn't talking to others, the ghosts of the past were speaking to him, welling up in his thoughts and nightmares alike. He needed a distraction from it, and obviously, ale wasn't going to do it.
The Svefra thought it to himself as he recalled the taverns that he had set into for his pursuit of the glory that was the particular breed of liquor. But, it was rare. So completely, and utterly rare that the Svefra only had the chance to try it when the Fist was still sailing the Suvan. He recalled that the crew had, at some point, purchased an enormous supply of it, and to this day, Tydus held a measure of it in the flask secured upon his waist. It was approximately three-quarters full, the Svefra taking merely sips, droplets of the blessed elixir per day in order for him to remember the taste.
It was so good, in fact, that Tydus had, more than once, hypothesized that rum was the elixir of eternal life bestowed to the world of men by the Gods themselves, not that anyone would believe such an outlandish tale. the Tempest scion shook his head, a 'tch' escaping his lips as he made his way towards the bar, carefully ignoring the obvious sights of Kel and Shijara, knowing somewhat of their history and finding it more amusing in the long run to leave them alone.
Rather, the man made his way towards the menu list, again scoffing as the lack of rum upon the menu forced his stomach into an infuriated clench, the Svefra using all of the willpower he could muster to not bang onto the bar's counter as he placed his order, "A mug of ale, please."
Always the second choice. Always the second best. Ale was the third place loser of what stole Tydus' heart. The first was rum, the next sex, and the last, relegated, almost hated of the three was ale. When his drink arrived, he pressed a silver miza to the counter before he asked, "Lass, I've been dyin' to know since me friend introduced me to this, but where do you find the blessed beverage known as rum? There is a thirst on m'tongue, and ale doesn't seem to quench it properly..."
The woman arched her eyebrows in surprise before she answered, "Looks like you're going to be thirsty for some time, then. Rum's a specialty in Kenash. It's not too far off to the north, if you've got a ship."
Kenash?
The Svefra had no idea where it was, but if it was close by, he was going to have to convince Callipsia that it was of tantamount importance to go there. Rum was the poison that carried the Tempests to glorious reminiscence. It was the ichor that pumped through the blood of each sailor. It was the potion that revived the heart and soul, warmed the blood and caused a Tempest's (at least, this one's) heart to sing sonnets of romance and adventure.
The Svefra nodded, a grim expression upon his features as he sipped his ale. Pah. Piss in a mug, for all he cared. The need for rum drove him mad, forcing the Svefra to take a quick sip from his flask immediately after draining his mug of ale in order to offset the addiction. He was, for now, pleased. He turned around on his seat in the bar, eager eyes of Laviku's blood cast about, searching for a soul to soothe yet another addiction he found creeping into his mind. Conversation, of course, was a need that was equal to every other. Tydus wasn't alive unless he was talking to people.
After all, if he wasn't talking to others, the ghosts of the past were speaking to him, welling up in his thoughts and nightmares alike. He needed a distraction from it, and obviously, ale wasn't going to do it.
