Open [World's End Grotto] In Theory, Winter comes

1st Winter 516AV, Fallon is in the World's End grotto catching up on current affairs.

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Center of scholarly knowledge and shipwrighting, Zeltiva is a port city unlike any other in Mizahar. [Lore]

[World's End Grotto] In Theory, Winter comes

Postby Fallon on December 4th, 2016, 7:29 am

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1st Winter 516 AV
Late Afternoon

It was at one of the small side tables that Fallon had perched herself today, eyes downwards as they scrutinized her notebook. She was rereading the since faded scrawl of her work, mere snippets of words and thoughts of cases and scenarios as they were clipped together. She gave a small lick of her lips, her right hand slowly turning the pages while the left idly drummed upon the surface. Occasionally her eyes turned to the letter that peaked out, the turquoise script that flowed across it that caused a twisting writhe -but she did not hold onto it for long.

Everything had fallen into a state of habit, where days had begun to slip and flow into each other during the last year. Seasons had passed and before she knew it she had managed to settle into being a familiar enough face within the city. The Scarred Wolf Investigations had continued to scratch out an existence, despite the current turmoil that rocked within the city. Of course, another winter had come upon the city and while the weather remained seemingly pleasant she was certain that it would quickly sweep into Morwen's embrace.

Pausing she took a sip of her drink, some form of weak ale, before continuing her reading once more. She had been dressed for work, groomed, clean edges, the multitude of tools from her kit hanging from her waist. She noted the occasional confused look to the Kukri that sat at the small of her back, but for the most part she had been left to it. She was the inspector after all, and inspectors needed their tools. That was all they were in honesty. She was beginning to forget the last time she had managed to get into any sort of combat, and she did not complain either. Where in past years she would have merely shrugged the mere notion now left a nauseating twist within her stomach.

Still, the illusion of some authority had to be maintained in some form.

Fallon frowned, eyes spotting a miss spelling on the page. She angrily fumbled for her stub of a quill, dipping it in the ink before scratching it out. Around her she could hear the mumbles of the others who had taken to Grotto for the evening.

"Got to be shyke for business."
"Pretty sure they're here to starve us out."
"Just what's their game? How you think we're gonna live without trade?"
"Some petcher stole my rations."
"What about my studies!"
"Oi, just who's bright idea was it for a curfew?"
"Thought the Waveguard were supposed to protect the people."
"Traitorous Lord, all his fault we're in this mess."


Fallon blew upon the page to dry the ink. They were right, of course, it had affected everyone in some form or another. Though their blame was lacking direction, turbulent and wild. Enough to make her crease her brow and consider her options over the past season. Just like the locals she had become uneasy, it was as if they were holding a flame above a vat of oil - taunting and daring to let it drop. All it would take was one spark and the entire city would fall into chaos regardless of the actions of the Zeltivan Military . But that was not the only thought that tickled upon her mind. Now upon a new page she held her quill poised. She had seen the world, she had seen other cities and there was only one obvious answer that was beginning to settle into her mind.

She scratched the words upon the page before leaning back in her chair. The accent rolled from her lips as she spoke in the general direction of Danalle. She flashed a silver Miza, "You think you could cook me up some fish? Stomach is starting to think the throat has been cut."
She heard the faint response above the voices, "Inspector wants grub. One silver!"
"Ta much."


Fallon gave a small smile and returned her gaze to the page. She scanned the words with approval.

Zeltiva soon to equal Syliras?
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[World's End Grotto] In Theory, Winter comes

Postby Rionne Samore on December 12th, 2016, 5:54 pm

Rionne Samore


1st of Winter 516 AV


Rionne needed a drink. Badly. Her tanned visage was filled with a sourness as she plodded her way across the tavern; her boots were wet, still, from having been around the docks, and they squelched against the floors. She was irked, though you could say she nearly always was that way. It annoyed her how little the merchants had paid for the haul she'd brought in earlier that day. Inside, she had to admit it had been a rather small haul.

It didn't alleviate her mood that the Lord had gone off and died, leaving the men of the navy strutting about all high and mighty. Petch the lot, she thought to herself bitterly, her teeth gritted together. The stench of fish clung to her as she pushed her way through the growing crowd of the World's End Grotto, with night falling over the streets beyond the entryway.

Dragging out a stool, Rionne dropped onto it without much fanfare, soon fishing inside her pockets for some spare change. Letting a few coins drop onto the surface of the bar with a light clatter, she slid them in the innkeeper's direction, calling for a shot of one of the cheaper drinks they had. It wouldn't do well for Rionne to overdrink herself, even if she might have awfully wanted to.

She rested her bare forearms on the bar, staying relatively still as she took in the tavern-goers, the murmur of the crowd like waves washing upon the shore, surging every now and then. She caught the occasional phrase here and there, clear as a pelican's squawk on a clear day, though barely gave the talk a mind, her own thoughts occupying her. Winter was coming, if it hadn't already, and she'd barely scraped a decent pay from the entire month and the last. It'll be another month of shyke eatings if we don't manage to somehow sort it out, she thought, a tight frown settling on her wind-chapped lips.

The impatience within her growing steadily as she waited for her drink, Rionne drummed her fingers against the bar top. Just barely catching the words "inspector" and "grub" being called over the din of the crowd, she swivelled her eyes towards one of the side tables, following the innkeeper's look, and her gaze alighted on the figure seated at a particular table. Some inspector... here? she wondered to herself. She furrowed her brows for just a moment in the figure's direction before turning back to the bar, moving to perch her chin on a fist. And why not? Not everything's some... conspiracy.

"You've got that petching drink for me, yet?" Rionne called out to Serra Danelle, finally, sitting upright and lifting a hand in an attempt to catch the innkeeper's attention, the faintest hint of impatience seeping into her voice.
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[World's End Grotto] In Theory, Winter comes

Postby Fallon on December 12th, 2016, 7:56 pm

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"Oi. Do you think the university will open this season?"
"Something really isn't right here."
"Weather sure is odd."
"Drinks up!"


The background chatter continued as Fallon inspected the words upon her page. Slow, counting, her fingers, drumming with thought. If her thoughts were correct, then how long would it take for the city to adjust itself to such a mentality? Certainly not a season, perhaps a few though. Zeltivans were certainly more free spirited than the Sylirans, and if their values felt threatened as a people? She merely shrugged to herself, eyes sliding to the letter once more before snapping back down to the more important words.

A small turn of acknowledgement as the Grotto door was open, a quick scanning glance of the bedraggled shape that lurched in, before she turned her gaze away. Around her life continued, her eyes occasionally flickering around. There was another reach for her drink a small sip and a polite smile when one of the sailors eyeballed her warily. No doubt the announcement of the word inspector around the tavern had caused a few pauses, and she could see the small worried shuffles of others in their seats. Perhaps she was not entirely at work, but she was always on duty.

Licking her lips she dipped her quill in the ink once more, skin almost prickling in response. A flicker up of the eyes, she gave a slower, more wary look of the tavern. The glances at her were noted, the obvious target being now picked out from the crowd. The patrons knew, but she made no immediate reaction of it - instead returning to carefully writing out notes.

City is presently under a process of restructuring and realigning. University holds limited access and places. Security there has also risen. Access to outsiders will probably be restricted. Must find other manner in which to obtain information and look through records if necessary.

Fallon's lips twitched then. Records for what exactly?

"Can't believe what's happened."
"Stringing up the lord was messy."
"How am I supposed to get to the library now?"
"You've got that petching drink for me, yet?"


The accent for the last one was foreign. Frowning the woman lifted her gaze once more, attempting to pin point the source around her. A difficult feat given the state of the tavern. She heard the faint voice of Danelle rise above the crowd again, "Might be a while inspector, don't mind do you?"
"For you? Never. All the time you need!"
she shouted back. A small smirk flickered onto her lips, "Though, I think some of your other patrons are getting rowdy - best see to them!"

Fallon took another slurp of her drink, before returning to her writing.

Record logs of over twenty years ago.
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[World's End Grotto] In Theory, Winter comes

Postby Tavia on December 23rd, 2016, 7:45 pm

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Tavia disliked change.

Change often bought about panic, which clouded judgement and made even the calmest and bookish of men act uncharacteristically anxious. Pages would be turned not with respect, but with growing alarm. Notes would be scribbled on pages, only to be discarded unceremoniously moments later when a new thread of thought took hold. Tavia, unsuited to any real extreme of emotions, found herself an island of placid confusion amongst such madness.

The fact that it was Tavia’s own uncle who was embodying this growing fear only unsettled the young woman further. Their return to Zeltiva from Lisnar had been shocking, an unpleasantness the likes of which neither uncle nor niece could have ever expected. They had been home for less than twenty-four bells, and uncle Ortias had spent most of that time muttering to himself quietly whilst sat in his favourite leather chair, books piles beside him as he tried to understand what exactly had happened in the past two seasons.

For Tavia, the change in Zeltiva was just as disconcerting, but in an overwhelming way that rendered the attorney – am I still an attorney? – almost helpless. She was but an island in the middle of a tsunami of change, and what could she do to understand it, least of all stop it?

Her uncle’s whispers and the growing mountain of discarded notes beside his chair eventually chased the bewildered woman out of her own home; this in itself was a symbol of how upturned she now found her life. But there was reason behind her unusual desire to surround herself with strangers. The explanation of what had happened in Zeltiva clearly could not be found in the written word – perhaps Tavia would have more luck talking to the good folk of the city.

The World’s End Grotto – a fitting name, given all that was happening – was Tavia’s eventual destination. Gossip travelled fastest of all by drunken lips, even if the quality of information shared was sometimes wanting.

She seated herself at a table in the rear of the tavern, opting for a position that allowed her to both observe and listen in on the other patrons. Despite her attempts to blend into the tavern, to become just like any other visitor in the tavern, Tavia’s impeccably straight spine, and awkward positioning of her hands square on the table top, betrayed her discomfort in this alien setting.

And if that wasn’t quite enough, when a passing waitress asked what she wanted to drink, Tavia didn’t quite understand her humour – nor the few strange looks she received - when she requested ”Warm milk, please.”
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[World's End Grotto] In Theory, Winter comes

Postby Liriope on December 24th, 2016, 12:12 pm


Liriope entered the place, a soft smile on her dace as she almost floated to a table, taking a seat and calling for a drink of wine from the barmaid.

The air seemed to be filled with tension, and she carefully to the rowdy conversations that were flitting about here. It seemed as if something had happened recently, so she listened some more.

Liriope stood out in the tavern, her pale looks and her light clothing was almost contrasting to the dark clothes most people preferred, whether out of a need for stealth, taste in fashion, Or simply not wanting to stand out.

She played with a strand of almost white hair as she listened to the people chattering, some angry and regretful, and some happy. Some were merely talking in drunken slurs.

Then, heading about the Lords execution, she leaned back, with a gentle sigh. She had chosen the right time to come to this city, it was filled with hate and anger. Liriope felt right at home.

Liriope wondered how her life would change in a new place, she had come here for a change in scenery, and to simply see the place where people had told her she could gain knowledge. Knowledge was a good weapon, after all.

Hopefully there would be room for an interrogator in this city, as it was the job that she did best. Threatening people, threatening their loved ones, and getting them to tell her what she wanted to know. She was not only all right at her job, she enjoyed it too.

Listening into the conversations again for a while, and then grasping a bit of what had happened lately in Zeltiva better, she found herself lost in thought, considering what to do with her time here.

She faintly wondered where her drink was, growing impatient, but knowing it would take a while on a day like this. She called over the barmaid and smiled peacefully. " My drink should be here soon."

Her tone was soft, yet firm and very matter of factly. She wouldn't usually use hypnotism like this, but her patience was wearing thin, and it wasn't as if she was above it.

When her drink arrived she smiled in thanks at the person who brought it to her, and paid them. Sipping it slowly as she listened again to the people around her.

"Emotions are the fool's leader, and the genius' pawn."
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[World's End Grotto] In Theory, Winter comes

Postby Net on December 25th, 2016, 1:50 pm

OOCFor funsies!

Truth be told, the rise of the Navy to power came with a price. That price of course was freedom for the heightened security. It was at this moment that the door of the Grotto pressed open, a trio of men stepped in and two struggled to get the door shut from the unusually strong winds this winter. They were dressed in greys, not a color most would suspect to see garbing a trio of the merchants guild. But something about them seemed out of place beyond their attire of choice. They had stayed clumped together the trio, muttering among themselves as they walked past. “Bloody navy. We will show them.” One spoke louder than was necessary, as they strolled past the private investigator and her journal.

“Hah you speak words that are ready for treason but you fear the naval three.” Another rebuked as they stopped at the bar, they exchanged muttered words with the barkeep and were given a finger pointing to the stairs and a door closed just at the top of the landing. They nodded and looked over their shoulders at the room before shuffling up the stairs one at a time.

“We kept him waiting too long sir... Too long!” the one bringing up the rear as they went up the stairs squeaked.
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[World's End Grotto] In Theory, Winter comes

Postby Fallon on December 26th, 2016, 2:51 pm

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Others entered in time, around her the bubble of noise and voices ever flowing. All the while Fallon remained relaxed in her seat, seemingly minding her own business. Occasionally her eyes flickered upwards and towards the door, eyes scanning the patrons and counting their numbers. It was busy enough today considering the current city climate, and while the words were often repeated they pointed to one obvious and shared thought.

The people were unhappy. They begrudged the change.

Still, as the words flickered and the thoughts turned. Was there an operational middle ground where both sides could work on? Probably not. She was not even sure if there was two sides at this point, a multitude of angles and groups that were squabbling against each other. What did either side want? What was their end goal? It would not have been a lie to say that part of Fallon writhed against the idea of the Navy in charge. There was no freedom, and for once her inner Sunberthian understood it.

It was not the act of political freedom, it was the freedom of doing what one wanted when they wanted. To move, explore and achieve whatever desired. She once thought that Zeltiva held such values, encouraged it through the growth of knowledge, to learn and explore - the University was an example of that. Merchants encouraged eyes to look further afield, to trade and create relations with any that wished to. And the Navy, well traditionally they protected such values. But now such was being questioned. The inspector pinched her brow, gaze lowering as she heard the latest group enter.

For a moment there was pause, hand above her brow, eyes flickering to the shapes that moved beyond. She watched the trio move past, eyes narrowed as she saw the words that did not match the clothing. Her brow creased, orbs lifting to look beneath as she heard the muttering. Body language, they were not supposed to be here despite the attempts blend in. She licked her lips, feeling them twitch instinctively as her eyes followed the gestured point. The titles used, the way they held themselves and the language. The gaze followed them as they moved to the stairs, her finger tips slowly making circles on the table with a finger tip. Her other hand in the meanwhile moved to close the note book.

Draining her drink, she let the flickering of a wolfish smile grow upon her face. An element of cunning and curiosity creeping in. She made no move as she watched the three move to the stairs, keeping her gaze on them only long enough to ensure where they were going. She gave a loud, pleased sigh as she lowered her cup, the writing tools quietly being slipped away into the pouches on her tool belt. The cup was played with for a few moments, mentally counting the ticks as they passed, ears straining for the tell tale sound of these visitors disappearing behind a closed door.

It was only then that Fallon began to make her move, slowly, carefully. Firstly it was round to the bar, dipping between the patrons and placing her cup upon the side. Not a sound made, the inspector continued her shifting around through the bodies until she reached the base of the stairs. She eyed them suspiciously, remembering the obtrusive squeak they made as she ascended them. Ankle first, slow, careful steps, her hand patting at her pouches and pockets as if she was looking for something - the casual observer would probably think a key. From the ankle she rolled along the rest of the foot to the toes before repeating the motion until she inevitably reached the landing. It was only there that she stopped, leaning against the narrow space of wall by the door and listening for the voices she heard once before.
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[World's End Grotto] In Theory, Winter comes

Postby Salara Kel'Halavath on December 26th, 2016, 11:44 pm

[World’s End Grotto] In Theory, Winter Comes
1st of Winter, 516 AV, late afternoon.
Directed quote to Liriope

Who would have thought she would be starting over…again? How many times do others tend to start over?’ A wind blown lock falls before her eyes requiring a singularly aimed PUFF to clear her sight. First, the unresolved mystery of her parents that some psychosis induced act of self preservation apparently blocked from her memories to her ‘adoption’ by Cerilius Krenshaw. Early memories begin with the mercantile trader branding her a Kelvic slave. Yet he did not begrudge her the opportunity to learn even though many, or so she had been told, considered her race unintelligent and unable to comprehend higher education.

Life change number two began with Krenshaw’s murder and her escape to freedom in the streets to learn a different kind of skill for survival. Would that the gods in their forms and fashions or her own self-induced amnesia had wiped those harsh memories from her as well. Ironically, those were the skills she now relied upon most.

Finally, so she thought, change three. The world became vibrant and wonderful when she left those streets of sneaking and thieving to take up adventuring. The camaraderie and even the conflicts added a spice to life that only bonding could surpass. Third times a charm or…. Her brief bright smile turns maudlin then sad as she walks down the streets of Mizahar, the first steps of her next Do Over. "Enough of this self-pity cripe!" She commands decidedly into the uncaring winds while shifting her purchases about to make use of a free shoulder in attempt to brush another windblown lock from across her face.

Just ahead three large men in grey catch her eye as their words float across the winds in spits and starts. “too late,” one whines almost fearfully. “…appointment at the Grotto…”, then a disparaging comment about the “…. Navy...” They resemble merchants but something about them is decidedly off. Salara watches the men bully a door open against the wind below a swinging shingle identifying “The World’s End Grotto” as a local inn. A large gust catches and nearly blinds her in strands of cream making her decision easy. Would that at least one of the fellows’ looks back to hold the door. Nope. Their attention or even a shadow of care is not on her as they struggle to get the door closed just in front of her.

Likely those three would overshadow her wind-bedraggled entrance, especially as one’s statement of treason seems a clarion across the room. As she struggles with closing the recalcitrant door one dark brow arches in surprise to hear such a word bandied about in public. In her experience such words could land one in Gaol or receive an invitation for a command performance at the executioners block! And yes, indeed, it seems that they have caught the attention of at least a few of the other patrons.

Salara pauses inside the door, amber eyes scanning the room, noting obvious and potential exits and the chosen seating arrangements of the motley sample of patrons. A few catch her eye – a straight postured woman hiding in the depth of the shadows in back; the scowling, seaman er sea- woman at the bar; and is that a Konti? In her perusal she notes one youthful woman with wise eyes meander around the room to ease imperceptibly up the stairs the trio had taken. How curious.

Sidling towards the stairway herself Salara stops short at a table near the Konti woman and sits with a relieved sigh to brush her windblown hair back into a semblance of order. She shifts her packages under the table covering the motion of ensuring a blade is to hand. Pushing a pair of silver Mizas to the table's edge she eyes them speculatively as each one becomes more precious than the last. Leaning towards the pale Konti woman, “I hear the beer in this town leaves something to be desired.” She nods to the woman’s beverage inquisitively.
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[World's End Grotto] In Theory, Winter comes

Postby Liriope on December 27th, 2016, 4:46 pm


Her mind was somewhere else, at the moment. Thinking of what would be useful to do next, her next move. She craved power, and fun. Perhaps religion could take her there, she didn't pray much, or at all now. Maybe she could get to know people who had power here, and use them to make herself more powerful.

Liriope was pulled from her thoughts upon seeing a trio of people enter. She watched the three of them walk upstairs, they stood out, even though they didn't appear to want to. It was odd, and they spoke too loudly for someone who wanted to hide. They spoke threats, though they seemed to be empty.

She watched them with a subtle curiosity, seeing one of them was slightly panicked as they disappeared up the stairs. Liriope considered following them and watching what they were doing, but decided against it, not wanting to be caught on her first day here.

She sipped on her drink that had been delivered soon after she has spoken with the barmaid. It wasn't the nicest drink, but it would do. She wasn't in the mood to convince someone to buy her a drink. Hypnotism didn't work as well on some people, so she was glad it worked on them. It wasn't often she had a reason to use her hypnotism at the moment. Though, she wished she had more reason to.

Her job called for it at times, interrogation, and sometimes torture. Though it often wasn't needed after she used her gift to threaten them.

A woman approached her, she didn't really have the looks of someone looking for trouble, more just someone who was here to relax. Not here to listen to the conversations and learn about the people here.

She smiled calmly at the woman when she spoke to her. "Yes, it isn't the most pleasant of drinks." Liriope paused, before turning to face the other. "My names Liriope." She decided it wouldn't be a bad idea to get to know people who lived in this town, it was useful, it would benefit her.

"Emotions are the fool's leader, and the genius' pawn."
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[World's End Grotto] In Theory, Winter comes

Postby Salara Kel'Halavath on December 28th, 2016, 11:37 pm

[World’s End Grotto] In Theory, Winter Comes
1st of Winter, 516 AV, late afternoon.
Directed quote to Liriope

Salara nods in understanding glancing between the Konti’s beverage and again at the silver Mizas on the table. Perhaps water would be her best bet all around? The pale blonde turns toward her more fully, giving her name in introduction - Liriope. Salara smiles in friendly fashion causing fine wrinkles to crinkle at the edges of her amber eyes. “Salara. Salara Kel’Halevath, a pleasure to meet you.” She reaches across the aisle space to offer a handshake. Should Liriope take it she would feel a strength of grasp and rough calluses across her large palms oddly even along to the ends of her fingertips, evidence of an actively rough life. Perhaps mirroring Liriope’s thought, she continues, “I’ve recently settled in Zeltiva and I don’t know a soul. I figured the best way to learn about the place is to visit the local establishments.”

It seems money talks as the frazzled barmaid is drawn by the glint of silver and offers a more timely service than what some others may receive. “Whacha ‘ave, dearie?” Her server’s business smile and pointed glance to the gemstones reiterates her question. Salara glances up, “Water please.” The barmaid’s smile begins to fade and her stance becomes a bit stiffer, ‘Ere! Thays be no loitering ’ere with nary but a cup for me to tote and wash.”

Not wanting to be perceived as the spendthrift she has become Salara quickly adds “and, er, cheese and two loafs?” She pushes the Mizas closer to the edge calculating the 1.4 to 2 silvers in her head, “And welcome to the change after.” With a friendlier smile than the original business one, the barmaid nods approvingly, “Roit ye are, dearie.” She moves to slide the coins from the table but Salara’s broad palm slaps down upon them like a cat trapping a mouse. “I’ll pay for service rendered.” The server nods with a touch of grudging respect. “Aye, dearie, be roit back.” Easy come, easy go, Salara thinks with resignation not really expecting they would share the same perspective on the price of ‘roit back.’

Well-developed training become unconscious habit, her gaze sweeps over the room and occupants again before turning back towards her newly met companion. “I’ll feel much more secure when I can get some income coming in,” she reveals conversationally.

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