An Uneventful Evening (Open)

by **Wrenmae** on May 31st, 2012, 10:26 pm

"Beautiful, aye, but mind her venom, she keeps it twixt her legs." Setting his mug on the table beside the two he scooted his chair over, grabbing the mug and placing it down on the stained wood with a thump. Wrenmae smiled, grimly, a cut of emotion across his face before leaning in to whisper, "Bewitching face and tits, but she keeps her treasures on display between the two...no value in that, she wears it to draw eyes away from items of true value, the ones she carries close and personal."

He avoided her eyes, glancing between the other two men gravely, "I hear she's Zeltiva's finest in seduction. She can smell desire on a man, the weight of his coins, and the purity of his soul. I've heard she works for higher authorities, assassinating the undesirables that show in the city. She disposes of them by way of the docks, early morn I think, before the fishermen take to their boats."

He paused to take a swig of his drink, holding the mug between both hands and looking into its depths with a deepening frown. "They say her eyes cast spells on the men she entwines. Don't look in them directly or lose your wits." Nodding at Kaeson, he smirked, "Aye, I know what you're thinking...how it always begins, with the lovelust of a wandering heart. Ends in the blackwater beneath a dock or out to see in some shark's belly."

Chuckling, eyes closing, Wrenmae leaned back on his chair and came forward, smashing his mug down on the wood.

"Petching good story," Zan murmured, "Did you make all of it up?"

"How's that for a story, hmm? How's that for a tale to follow?" Grinning, he slid the mug to the center of the table and shrugged, propping up his chin with a hand. "Telling stories about the people, are you? All's well, all's well. But can you spin stories of each other? What of me? Of you, old man, or of you, sir?"

by **Anselm** on June 2nd, 2012, 9:34 pm

Anselm turned his cloaked head so that he was staring directly at Wrenmae. Oh great, he thought. Bad enough that I find myself sharing a table with one person. At least our little game of people-watching has made that tolerable. Barely. Although Anselm would not have admitted it to anyone, least of all to himself, he was actually finding the game entertaining. But now I have two people at my table, and one of them appears to be a rude loud lout.

He turned his attention back to the young woman and focused on the amulet. It was unremarkable. He shifted his focus just a bit to bring its aura into view. Its aura was remarkable. It appeared as a bright sky blue mist surrounding the amulet. He could feel heat radiating from it, which was how he usually experienced the presence of magic. He felt it drawing him in, almost as though it had noticed him and wanted him to come closer. The girl snapped her head in his direction and stared at him. He shut down his Auristic vision and shifted his gaze to the girl's face. She was not nearly as pretty as he had at first thought. Certainly not as pretty as her companion thought she was Or Kaeson for that matter. Without taking his eyes off her he spoke to his companions in a low voice.

“A seductress indeed,” he said. “Although not quite in the way you think. The amulet, is enchanted. It channels and magnifies her natural seductiveness, making her all but irresistible. She has been in possession of it for only a short time and is still learning how to use it.” He knew this because her attire would have been of much higher quality had she had the amulet for very long. And he had seen the confusion and uncertainty in her eyes when she looked at him. But he saw no reason to share these observations with his companions, nor how he knew the amulet was enchanted. I wonder, he thought. How did she come by it? What are her intentions for the gentleman she is seducing? What does she want from him and how will she get it? Not that Anselm was concerned about crimes the woman might be about to perpetrate but he was curious.

by **Kaeson Dakano** on June 3rd, 2012, 7:00 pm

Reluctantly, Kaeson pulled his gaze from the captivating woman only to find a young man, perhaps only a year or two older then himself, sitting besides him. Quickly, Kaeson glanced over to Anselm to see if the Nuit would offer some presentation of the lanky, unshaven man. Seeing the Nuit had decided to remain as unresponsive as ever, Kaeson glanced over the newcomer hoping he would be distracted enough by his own story to notice Kaeson's curiosity. Normally, Kaeson wouldn't be so obvious looking someone over but the young man before him gave a certain...warmth. It was almost if the mere presence of the man was inviting him to sit closer, as if Kaeson was welcoming an old friend.

Kaeson listened to the young man dressed in leather armor, eyes lightening in color to show his amusement. "It's a good story -- and I'll take you up on that, gimme a couple ticks and I bet I'll come with a story about you...?" Kaeson's voice dropped off, indicating that the man should give Kaeson his name. If the man gave him his name, Kaeson would introduce himself and Anselm -- if Wrenmae chooses not to Kaeson will just go along with his story anyway.

"You are, uh...a storyteller, yes," Kaeson paused, taking in clues from the man's appearance to aid him in the story's continuation. Kaeson smiled as he remembered Wrenmae's leather armor -- if anything, wouldn't that prove the man before him a soldier as well? "But, you are first a soldier! Yeah, a soldier! You, my friend, have traveled far throughout Mizahar in hopes of dramatic battles and...and people to listen to your battle tales! Which, of course brings you to --," Kaeson paused, stopping himself before he said Zeltiva. "Why would a soldier look for battles in Zeltiva?" Kaeson wondered, buying into his own story. Imagination burning with possibilities, Kaeson spat out the first solution to come to mind. "You're in love, and she doesn't love you back -- I mean, that's the reason you came to Zeltiva isn't? Your lover felt betrayed by you, she doesn't feel like she knows you anymore and so she came running to Zeltiva -- a place for learning, a haven from the fighting outside in the rest of Mizahar. But you follow her, unbeknownst to her. You watch over her," Kaeson said, clearly struggling to contain his story -- he knew it wasn't making much sense or making much of an entertaining story -- it felt more like gossip.

Kaeson began to open his mouth again, but was interrupted by the old Nuit -- gladly so, Kaeson didn't want to make himself a fool any more then he had too.

"The amulet...is enchanted?" Kaeson whispered, eyes widening. Trying to catch a glimpse of the amulet again, Kaeson turned to the side of his head in hoped he wouldn't catch the jewel's attention -- wether Wrenmae's story was true or not, Kaeson was certain he didn't want to end up dead at the dock's. Still, even with a glance, Kaeson felt the amulet pull and tug his attention. It wanted him to look, it cried out his name -- it needed him. "No!" Kaeson said, perhaps a little too loudly as his cry got him some strange looks from the tables nearest to their own.

WrenmaeI'm read up on the Blight, and I think I got the whole idea of it. Basically, people want to be closer to you because of Vayt's mark, right? -- so Wrenmæ can spread diseases more effectively?

by **Anselm** on June 4th, 2012, 2:46 am

OOC :

by **Kaeson Dakano** on June 4th, 2012, 4:13 am

OOCSounds good to me!

by **Wrenmae** on June 10th, 2012, 11:12 pm

The younger man's story brought a grin to the storyteller's face. Of course all of it was whimsical nonsense, save for the part about him being a storyteller, but it had the edge of a longer narrative to it, something he could appreciate. More honestly, it was the energy the fellow exuded that really drew him in. The Blight made him more charming, drew people closer to him, but never quite so suddenly as this fellow. There was a sort of exerted honesty in Kaeson's tone and face that drew the storyteller closer, made him want to continue talking, or to bid him continue...at least until the other spoke up. Old creature, speaking with the dusty authority of boredom. Wrenmae resisted a frown, turning to the woman and pulling Djed into his eyes. Auristics was new to him, not something he ended up using all that much and it required the fine edge of concentration he found difficult to hold onto.

It took a few moments, colors swimming and swirling in his vision, a headache growing in his temples. He couldn't find the line of logic the nuit was speaking of. So unskilled in this practice, he strained for a moment, swirling colors and the brash slap of her perfume, the rustle of fabrics, nothing of the necklace...but almost certainly, this old creature was using a similar magic, just...better.

"Erm, craftsmanship I think, maybe the way the amulet draws the eye in?" It was nonsense , of course, but people had a mixed opinion of magic these days and Wrenmae wouldn't reveal his or the old one's trick if he didn't have to. Instead he nodded at the nuit knowingly and turned his gaze away.

"You've a rather somber companion," He said to Kaeson, "How did you two meet that you might have such opposing demeanor and still share spirits?"

by **Anselm** on June 11th, 2012, 12:32 am

Something about the brash boy rubbed Anselm the wrong way. He couldn't put his finger on it. Hypnotism? Unless he was very good, Anselm would notice that. Persuasion? Maybe, but that didn't quite fit either. Whatever it was, Anselm found himself simultaneously wanting to leave and stay. Old man, you must be getting senile, he thought to himself not for the first time. Ever since coming to Zeltiva he had not been himself. So who exactly have you been? Eh? In any case, the boy had chosen to ignore Anselm and address Kaeson, which was fine with Anselm. He had nothing to say anyway, and as a general policy when he had nothing to say he thought it best to say nothing.

by **Kaeson Dakano** on June 11th, 2012, 3:56 pm

"Craftmanship?" Kaeson murmured incredulously -- no, no ordinary craftsman, no matter the level of talent, could have created something so..."alive," Kaeson's eyes widened as the thought crossed his mind. "It can't be...alive," Kaeson thought, now quite obviously looking anywhere except in front of him. The amulet had now caught his attentions twice, and Kaeson was trying his best not to get caught a third time.

Kaeson frowned, contInuing to think about the ornate amulet. It couldn't be alive, he knew it couldn't be. Animation was the only magic to bestow "life" or at least something very close to it to anything -- as long as it wasn't already sentient. Besides, the amulet also seemed to possess some sort of enhancement enchantment, the once ugly woman who had become so beautiful to Kaeson, was ugly once again. Kaeson knew animation couldn't give the amulet that sort of ability.

Kaeson, with what little he knew about magecraft, knew that magecraft could potentially give the amulet power. Magecraft could enfuse any enchantment into the ornate necklace -- but it wouldn't explain how it seemed so alive. Magecrafted items couldn't possess life, could they?

Kaeson looked over to Anselm after hearing Wrenmae's question. Of course, the Nuit made no movement to answer, or at least nothing Kaeson picked up on.

"Fortune - telling," Kaeson replied, feeling it was safe enough to tell the stranger that much. After all, if Anselm didn't want people to know of his talent he wouldn't have made a job out of it. "He told my fortune and," Kaeson closed his mouth suddenly, stopping him from telling the newcomer of his own particular talents. Magic wasn't something most people approved of and Kaeson, no matter how welcoming the stranger seemed, didn't think it best to tell him about the animated lock. "and I found him here, so I joined him."

"I'm Kaeson and my somber companion goes by Anselm," Kaeson said, adding, "and how do you find yourself here tonight? How do you find yourself in Zeltiva?"

by **Wrenmae** on June 13th, 2012, 2:00 am

“I come by way of Sunberth,” the storyteller shrugged, glancing back at the woman for a moment before turning his attention to the other two, “And before that, Alvadas.” He settled back in his seat, rubbing his shoulder blades against the wood. “Alvadas is the city of illusions across the Suvan,” he explained, “Home of the God Ionu, and the sort of place that has no map.” Wrenmae grinned, “No map could capture the city. It changes every day.” He folded his hands, fingers laced across each other as he glanced from Kaeson to Anselm.

"Tell them your life's story why don't you?" The familiar quipped, "Oh, oh! Tell them of Vayt! I want to see their reactions!"

Wrenmae ignored him, focusing instead on his companions.

The tavern wasn’t all that loud this evening, after the incident with the thief, the noises quieted to a dull and tumultuous murmur…perpetual conversation too soft and constant to rise above the others. “I’m staying at the University, studying a few classes before I decide where to go next.” Scratching the top of his head, his mouth wrestled with the difficulties of appearing quizzical. “I’m a storyteller, you see, I mean, not that anyone can’t tell stories, but I’d like to think I’m a professional.”

Somewhere behind him, a piping voice rose out over the murmur. A sailor with a deceptively high voice for his broad-shouldered demeanor had begun to sing about the open sea and Laviku’s arms. Wrenmae didn’t hear the words so much as the melody, a lively tune. He could imagine the sun-kissed Svefra working on the rigging of their Casinors, wind sweeping their hair out and across their bodies.

The splash of their Tavan, varied as the life of the sea, swimming alongside as the ship dipped and bobbed among unsure currents. He missed it, and his last misadventure with a boat had nearly cost him his life. Perhaps it was time to return to the sea for a time, but the prospect of trapping people in an enclosed space with his Blight was an uncomfortable thought. It had been one of the main reasons he’d left Sable and her family in the first place…too risky.

“I’ve seen a fair share of fortune tellers in Alvadas,” Wrenmae said to Anselm, skeptical, shrugging, “Afraid I have no faith in divination. Always seemed to me like phrases general enough that anyone could pull meaning out of it. Kinda like storytelling, but a fortune speaker says their prophecies and omens are true.” Idly he picked at a grain on the table, “I suppose some storytellers say their words are true as well, to be honest. Who’s to say what happened and when? I guess who’s to say what will happen as well, but I never really liked fortune speakers all that much,” He shrugged at Anselm, “Not to offend.”

by **Anselm** on June 14th, 2012, 1:58 am

Anselm continued staring at Wrenmae. He was finding the arrogant young man irritating. I wonder what he will do when provoked. Perhaps by being made to appear foolish? “Divination.” He paused as though considering the idea. “Prophecies!” He sounded a little more enthusiastic. “Omens,” he said with a deep voice sinking toward the end. “Predictions!” he exclaimed. The he fell silent for several long moments before waving his hand dismissively and continuing in his usual low, slow, gravelly voice. “I don't believe in any of that nonsense either.”

He lowered his voice and leaned forward a bit, still speaking slowly. “Now story telling. Story telling is a very strange thing, don't you think? It can be put to so many interesting uses. History, for example. What is history except tales told about things that happened a long time ago. And who is to say whether those stories are true? After all, the are told by someone with a particular view of the world that no doubt colors the way he sees things. And of course we all know that history is written by the winners, not by the losers. Who knows what kind of history the losers would have told had they been the winners? Not that the historian would intentionally twist the facts to his own ends. No, it is much subtler than that. All history – indeed, all story telling – is a matter of selecting which things to include and which things to exclude. And what can this be but interpretation? The weaving of tales to make some point? Eisegesis rather than exegesis?

“Or consider eye-witness accounts of a crime. It is well known that three people watching the same crime will invariably give three different accounts of it, most likely mutually inconsistent. Were we to interview our fellow patrons in this establishment about the attempted theft we ourselves just witnessed, would we not find the wide variety of stories to be mind-boggling? Would we not wonder how they could possibly be describing the same events?

“Or consider the three very different stories each of us told about the young woman with the amulet. Which of our stories is the true story? Are any of them? How would we know?” He sat back in his chair.

“I myself have never had much faith in story tellers,” he shrugged at Wrenmae. “Not to offend.”

OOC :