[Durak's Tavern] Playing Hookey (Nyaela)

[Razkar]

18th Day of Winter
Durak's Tavern
23rd Bell

Goddess, we are getting in so much trouble for this...

That was the thought rattling around in the young recruit's mind as the four of them swaggered into the raucous expat tavern in the inimitable manner of young people the world over. The two females walked with that easy cockiness of Myrian women the world over; the males seemed to be exaggerating theirs a little, just to compensate.

And when they marred the doorway, the gigantic Akalak quietly playing bones in the corner rolled his eyes and gave a tiny groan.

Gods save me from new recruits looking to act like soldiers. Especially soldiers on leave...

"Fine, so, we're here," the youngest male said, casting his eyes around suspiciously as if he expected the strange barbaric clientele to attack at any moment. "Now lets get a grog like you said so we can go already!"

"Oh, calm down, male!" Woxma snapped at him in exasperation, already tired of the little one's complaining. "We're not going to dart in and out like we're on a night raid! We're going to enjoy our drinks!"

"Leave off, Wox, y'know Razkar worries-"

"I'm not worried!" Razkar said, straightening up with some effort despite being the shortest in the group. "Just... pragmatic."

Wox snorted again, leading on her acolyte Erama to the bar, casting challenging glares at everyone they passed. Ypil, the other male, clasped Razkar on the shoulder as if in support.

"C'mon, let's get a move on," he murmured as a short, squat Isurian with a shimmering arm barged past them, "Probably safer at the bar..."

Razkar glared at him but Ypil's back got the brunt of it, stocky male already weaving through the crowd. He wanted to shout that he was Razkar of the Shorn Skulls and he had killed Yukmen and survived tigers and he was not afraid of a crowd of barbarians!

But he was afraid... just not of them. He knew someone had seen the four of them hop over the low wall at the Training Yards, just knew it. What if they were already looking for them? Were guards on their way? Or even worse, their instructors? Had his family been notified? The sudden image of his father bursting in, backed up by that sadist Herliz and his grandmother-

"Fuck me, I need a drink..."

Deciding that was the best course of action, Razkar followed his friends and took a seat at the bar. Moments later four sizzling, stinking steins of grog were sitting before them and Razkar cocked a curious eyebrow at the sight of it.

Well... booze is booze...

[Nyaela]

"Myri, I could use a drink."

Nyaela stopped at the outside of Durak's Tavern and glanced around, barely unable to hide her disgust at the place. One of the three brothers that served along with Durak moved past her, inclining his head respectfully before walking into the tavern, his arms wrapped around an empty pail of inedible food waste that he'd probably just dumped somewhere outside. Nyaela couldn't help but feel that he wasn't as respectful as a male ought to be to a female, but then again, who knew what barbaric customs his race followed.

A few non-Myrians turned onto the path, giving her a wide berth as they walked into the tavern. She eyed them, curious if their faces were familiar at all. She'd always wondered what would happen if a captive she'd sold ended up meeting her at Durak's. No luck, there. She'd never seen these deyhan before. She definitely noticed their exaggerated attempts to not look her in the eye. Perhaps they knew of her clan.

Or, more likely, they could feel the heat of her glare as she frowned at the non-Myrians.

Nyaela rubbed her left arm ruefully and sighed. She'd come back last night from a short patrol that marked one of her last few during her mandatory years in the army. Nothing had really happened ... she'd gotten on the wrong end of a thrown spear that thankfully hadn't hit her sharp-side.

The bruise petching hurt, though.

She'd cuffed the fool male that had thrown the spear, but that cost her some of her hard-earned respect from the group, and they hadn't spoken to her since they reached Taloba. Which meant yet another night drinking by herself like some foreigner to the city. She'd give her life to Myri, no doubt, but she couldn't wait until her service was done for good.

She finally moved to the door, setting herself up to enter a room most likely filled with non-Myrians, and shouldered her way in to the wooden building, making a beeline for the bar. Settling herself in a seat, she nodded at Durak as he glanced at her questioningly, "I need something stronger than an ale this time," she said, more to herself than to the bartender. The conversation beside her picked up a little and she looked over to find a few Myrians around her age bending over Durak's grog as he set four glasses down in front of them.

Petch. She hoped they weren't current army recruits. They looked around the correct age, but ... she really didn't want to sit near a group of overzealous drunk soldiers recounting the proudest moment of their life when they saw a friend of a friend scratch a Dhani's tail with an arrow ten feet away throughout the entire night. It wasn't that it annoyed her greatly, but she would probably have enjoyed her night more without them there. Still, there were some females among the group, so hopefully they'd have enough sense to tone the males down. At least she wasn't sitting beside non-Myrians.

She caught the inquisitive look of the male sitting beside her and turned to him, one eyebrow rising slightly in question. "Never had the grog here before, hm? Don't worry, it's easier to drink after your first try." She shrugged, "Doesn't taste that great, but hey, you don't get it for the taste, do you?"

Durak slid a tankard of the grog over to Nyaela, who dropped the required miza in his palm and eyed the grog, raising it in a mock salute to the male before taking a large gulp. "Besides ... a drink is a drink," she added after she placed the mug back down, unknowingly voicing his previous thought. Nyaela closed her eyes for a moment, fancying she could feel it lighten her day already.

If only.

[Razkar]

"Never had the grog here before, hm? Don't worry, it's easier to drink after your first try. Doesn't taste that great, but hey, you don't get it for the taste, do you?"

Razkar jerked around when he realized the unfamiliar female was directing her words at him, but before he could speak the eight-foot frame of Durak loomed in front of them, pouring her own frothing, sizzling brew

"Besides ... a drink is a drink."

"Always love to complain, don't ya, Nyaela?" The Akalak rumbled in impressively fluent Myrian, and Razkar wondered how long he'd been in the jungle to speak it so well. "And yet, here you are most nights, chugging down my swill..."

She spat back something at him with a flash of her brown eyes but Durak just chuckled, impossibly broad shoulders bobbing as he turned Razkar's way, jerking a thumb to her and grinning.

"Watch her, male. She'll get you drunk tonight and have you working in some Kalean mine tomorrow..."

Razkar just frowned in confusion, wondering what he meant and what "Kalea" was, but as his mouth opened, Durak left, lumbering off to deal with some emergency or another in the smoky kitchen. There was a gulping, gurgling sound to his right and he turned to see the female...

Wow. She really was thirsty.

Not wanting to be outdone and aware of Ypil's eyes on him - not just on him but positively shoving him to match the female - Razkar girded himself and tipped up the stein. A taste thick and overpowering washed into his mouth and he swallowed, throat tightening, but he kept gulping... and gulping... stein going up and up...

Until he could take no more and lowered the stein, half the grog gone and his equilibrium already suffering. The young recruit smiled shakily and turned to regard the female.

"You were, ah, right about that. So, ah... are you with the army? Don't recall seeing..." he paused, rolling sensation in his stomach working its way to his head "... seeing you training." Suddenly aware of the three others watching, staring, curious and drinking, Razkar waved a hand at them hurriedly. "We're training, and were allowed out tonight. We were allowed."

Razkar gulped. Oh, yeah, real convincing.

"So..." he said lamely, desperate to redirect the conversation "... where's Kalea?"

[Nyaela]

OOCS'not really that important but her eyes are green not brown

Durak was one of the few outsiders Nyaela didn't mind a bit of conversation with. Partly because his Myrian was good enough that she didn't have to stumble over the barbaric Common tongue and mainly because otherwise she wouldn't have a tavern to come drink at where she didn't feel like an outsider herself.

"Watch her, male. She'll get you drunk tonight and have you working in some Kalean mine tomorrow..."

She could feel her cheeks warm, though she wasn't sure if it was from the anger or the half-finished grog that lay before her. A quick glance to her side told her that the male beside her did not understand what Durak had really said, but that did little to calm her down. The fact that this deyhan would dare insinuate that she sold her own people - her own kin! - to outsiders was too much for her.

Her fingers curled into fists, nails digging into her skin as she opened her mouth to say something that would most definitely get her kicked out, but she was brought to her senses by the voice of the male sitting beside her, just as he was setting his grog down. Her eyes narrowed in confusion as she tried to focus on what he was saying to her and not on Durak as he was turning to go inside the kitchen. Nyaela buried her face in her drink and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly to calm herself down. She took another long draught, feeling the grog go down this time. The rush to her head took time as usual. She'd been drinking this enough that her body didn't seem to register it as much. But the large gulp she'd just taken seemed to send a tiny wave of light-headedness upward. She shook her head a little and looked back at the male, her head settling down quickly.

"We're training, and were allowed out tonight. We were allowed."

Allowed out tonight? No Myrian teacher would allow their students to slack off at any given time. Without thinking, Nyaela started to point that out.

"Isn't-" She noticed the look on his face and glanced quickly at the others the male had gestured to, who looked a little irritated he'd included them in the obvious lie. She was almost done her service in the army, but she wouldn't forget the countless hours of training they'd put her through beforehand. She leaned against the table, most of her attention now on the recruits that sat beside her. It was rather admirable of them to sneak away from training for a drink, after all, considering that the consequences could be harsh. Bravery was stupid for sure, and they'd be caught no doubt, but their little adventure piqued her curiosity.

She cut herself off and nodded at the male's drink. "Isn't it ... something?" She glanced at his mug and noticed it was almost half empty as well. Grinning, she shook her head, "Looks like you're going to need another one soon."

She looked at him again. "So you're in training too, huh? Yes, I am in the army. Almost done my years, in fact." She stuck her chin out proudly. She'd spent near three damn years in what had been a hell for her. The least she could do was flaunt that fact.

She went to take another sip of her drink, still steaming over the Akalak's comment. The male spoke again, without conviction, and despite her indignation, she fought to keep a straight face as he searched for a topic to pull her mind off of his military training.

"... where's Kalea?"

"Don't you know?" She eyed him for a moment, then shrugged, "No, I guess you wouldn't. It's on the outskirts of Falyndar. Far north of Taloba." She pointed in the general direction. "Why? Are you planning on going there during a patrol?" Her eyes glittered amusedly. "I don't know if they'd ... allow ... you to go. You know how strict they are with rules," she said innocently, turning back to her drinking and swirling the contents of her mug. Unable to restrain herself, she looked up to see if her offhand comment had had any effect on the group.

[Razkar]

"It's on the outskirts of Falyndar. Far north of Taloba."

The young male seemed to drink in the information like a venerable vintage. Like most others of his race, Razkar alternately pitied and hated the barbarian races beyond the jungle. Potential invaders of weakling pretenders all, he couldn't understand why they did not also worship Myri and acknowledge her dominance over all. But beyond that negativity was that burning curiosity that marked all of the young: a desire to know and see more, the fill in the dark places of knowledge.

Kalea. The name sounded foreign, that was for sure. And it was on the border? They hadn't learned about it in class yet, but somewhere so close... he wondered what the warriors there were like.

"Are you planning on going there during a patrol? I don't know if they'd ... allow ... you to go. You know how strict they are with rules."

Her amused tone was a wind that chilled the foursome. Well, three of them. The females just glared daggers at her, sensing a challenge in her words. The two males just exchanged nervous glances, wondering how this could go... until Razkar wet his lips and decided the best idea was to answer the question and maintain their tattered illusion.

"That, ah, that's not up to us. Our instructors decide where we go, what we do, and we are still just recruits. We've only been on patrol in the jungle a little way around the city..." His voice dropped a little at the mention of that monotonous duty, all the more grinding because, honestly, what enemy would be insane or stupid enough to traipse so close to the supreme citadel of the Myrians? "But that might change! If there is an... invasion, or something-"

"Oh, really, male," Woxma said with a roll of her eyes and a tipping of her half-empty stein, "No-invades the jungle anymore. The barbarians are all to scared."

"Maybe we're overdue, then." Erama put in, taking more time with her drink, exhibiting that same cold, controlled reserve Razkar had learned was her trademark. "And there's always some bands that try and explore down here, for whatever reason. If there weren't, we wouldn't patrol up there."

Woxma just grunted, intractable as always, and another awkward silence descended over the group. Razkar fidgeted with his drink, twisting the handle this way and that, wriggling under the glittering green eyes of the amused female. He was reminded suddenly of the cats he'd seen about the city, toying with wounded mice before they ate them. Just because, apparently.

"So..." Again with that oh-so-shaky start. Be more creative, male! You're meant to be a warrior-in-training for Taloba! "... your clan, er... takes slaves?"

The sudden shift of movement from his friends and the flash across the female's gaze told him his wording was, as usual, poor. Slavery was unknown in Taloba, at least as part of the Myrians social order. Every being, male and female, young and old, worked. Sloth was not tolerated under any circumstances, and this slaves were not needed.

Captives, though... he had seen them before. And what happened to them, screaming and disembowled atop the High Temple, hearts raised to the sky and heads crammed onto long spikes, last screaming breath still warming their mouths...

"I, ah, I ask because, er, I heard some clans practice it... among the barbarians." He smiled weakly, and gods, reader, can you draw a line between this verbally staggering youth and the stern warrior he would be? Such a trickster and joker are the Eternal Two, gods of fate and time, who weave men's lives regardless of their insane route. "It just... um... I was just interested... you are also in the army?" He said suddenly, desperately grasping for a fresh conversation. "Nearly finished wth your service, yes? Any tips for a group of poor, battered cubs?"

[Nyaela]

Nyaela quietly eyed the two Myrian women as they argued the finer points of barbarian politics, the corner of her mouth turning upward slightly in amusement at their banter. Or perhaps it was the grog. Her gaze flickered back to the male to see what he thought of their discussion, watching him squirm as he thought of something else to ask.

"... your clan, er... takes slaves?"

Somewhat taken aback, Nyaela's expression soured before she could hide her thoughts of the question. The way he'd worded it made it seem as though her clan used them for work as well. Her expression smoothed back after a moment, and she smiled coolly at the male.

"No." She let the word hang in the air for a moment, taking another sip of her drink before putting it back on the table and turning to him again. "My clan sells slaves, though." Her eyes wandered across the tavern room, "To barbarians like these, work is not sacred because they do not do it in Myri's name. They pay well for slaves to do the work they should. Then they overwork them to their death with no pay and little food and come buy more slaves." She harrumphed, her lip curling in disgust, "They do anything so they can sit and lounge in their chairs and ... rest ... all day. There's a word they have for it in Common. 'Luxury.'" She sounded it out in a heavily accented voice and made a face.

"Nearly finished with your service, yes? Any tips for a group of poor, battered cubs?"

One of Nyaela's eyebrows rose high again. This male was curious, curious. The questions just kept on coming. She noted that, yet again, it was one he'd asked to cover up his previous mistake. Yet instead of shutting up in embarrassment he just kept talking.

"Battered?" She laughed, "You don't know battered."

Maybe it was the grog, or she just felt sorry for this poor male, but she shrugged and answered his question properly. "Yeah. When they start taking you into the jungle proper? Do what they tell you. They do it because 'cubs' like you run off from their mothers and into the jungle with nary a thought of how dangerous the wild can be. Make your fang proud of you and they'll want to fight with you. Run off into the wild and get them in trouble, and you lose the trust you need to survive in Falyndar."

She couldn't help but smirk and add, "Also, try not to die. Or someone will have to carry what's left of you back to Taloba when you're in the middle of the jungle."

She tilted her head curiously at the male, "You've only been circling the city, hm? One of the first tasks given to the newer recruits ... So you just joined this year? How are you enjoying your training?"

[Razkar]

"Luxury..."

Razkar tasted a new word and tried to file it away in his fledgling Common library. He finished his ale and cleared his throat, words coming out hesitantly and mangled by his halting accent.

"You Common good." The male allowed himself a proud smile... though with any more grog in him, it wouldn't be allowing himself anymore. Self-control was hardly a common facet of drinkers. "We learn. In... school..."

Razkar frowned, stymied by his limited vocabulary. He was sure that "school" was not the right word for the lesson rooms of the Training Yards, but it would do for the moment, he supposed. Woxma called back one of the males running the bar and their glasses were soon refreshed, Razkar ruminating n Nyaela's information.

"Sounds like a sign of barbarian weakness," he said after some thought, "Getting slaves to work for you. What happens if you can't get hold of any? Then no work gets done, and you don't know how to do it, so you're petched." He shook his head, barbarian ways still a mystery to him. "But they live beyond the light of Myri. One can't expect too much strength and sense from them..."

There was a round of murmuring agreement from his little group. Yes, that was one thing all Myrian agreed with: the barbarians were cursed by their ignorance of the Goddess-Queen. If they knew her strength, her power, her compassion and her wisdom, they would cease so many of the ridiculous quirks like this "luxury" nonsense... but, alas, such was not the will of the gods.

Then the Myrian chuckled as his new friend used the word "enjoying" to describe training. His friends took up the same scornful expression as Razkar spoke again.

"I don't think you're even allowed to enjoy the training we undergo. But it is... exhilarating." Another murmur and Razkar turned to his friends with a frown. "What? It is! C'mon, were lessons back in your clan lands as hard as this?"

"You didn't know my mother."

"Or my aunts."

"I did, they weren't that bad."

"No, they were worse."

"Anyway." Razkar said pointedly, taking another deep swig from his tankard, noticing in that drunk-detached way that his tongue was numbing to the harsh taste. "It's hard, yes, and fierce, but... worthwhile. You feel like you're changing. Getting harder and stronger... smarter, too, all the lessons-"

A chorus of groans drowned him out.

"Oh, the school boy speaks!"

"Always so keen n his lessons and scrolls."

Needles and barbs followed but Razkar ignored them, rolling his eyes at Nyaela as she observed all with those cool, clear... and quite pretty eyes. The grog must have been loosening him up because his fear of discovery had all but vanished now, replaced by a curiosity and a tentative bravado.

Hells. You only live one... well, we don't, because we're reborn after death, but you know what I mean.

"I am Razkar of the Shorn Skulls," he said with just a hint of a slur, bowing his respect, "And you are?"

[Nyaela]

"You Common good."

Nyaela smiled at the male, impressed that a Myrian like him would know enough of the tongue to form a coherent sentence.

"You speak good too," she replied in Common before switching to the much easier, sweeter sounding Myrian language. "I'm surprised you can speak it. I didn't think anyone cared to learn it in school."

" ... and you don't know how to do it, so you're petched."

Nyaela laughed. "You're right about that. But that's why we don't usually lose the buyers. They're always looking for more to replace old slaves or to double tasks." She sighed as one of the bartenders came up to fill the glasses of the four students beside her, toying with the last little bit of her drink. "It's saddening to see such darkness in the world. These ... barbarians ... have no respect for Myri or her teachings." Her eyes glinted with an inner fire. "But that's why we are here. We will bring knowledge of Myri to the edges of the water and past. The entire world will sing her name one day. And then these barbarians will finally learn of the one true Goddess." She drained her glass and called for another drink as well.

"It's hard, yes, and fierce, but... worthwhile. You feel like you're changing. Getting harder and stronger... smarter, too, all the lessons-"

Nyaela was starting to think there was a lot more to this male than the poor fool stepping over his words that he'd seemed to be during the short conversation they'd had. She'd never been a good student, but she was sure she recognised the hunger he felt to better himself in every way.

She glanced at the others briefly, curious as to why he held such company when they would only hold him back. Or maybe they were like him as well. She nodded understandingly at the male. "Yes. Knowledge changes you for the better. All types of knowledge. Only knowing how to twirl a spear won't be enough in the long run unless you have other useful skills to pair it with, right?" She lifted her shoulder slightly and leaned back in her chair, "Their tasks are tedious, but they do teach a great deal. There's a reason Taloba's army houses the finest warriors in all of Falyndar."

"I am Razkar of the Shorn Skulls."

Nyaela rose her mug in a mock salute at the male, "I am Nyaela. Of the Rampant Tskanna. It truly is a pleasure." Her eyes sparkled with amusement as they stared into the male's - Razkar's - deep black eyes.

"So you're a studious sort, hm?" She glanced behind him at his friends and pursed her lips, "There aren't usually many like you at the tavern. It's a pity, really. Usually they complain about how overworked they are." She giggled softly. She could feel a slight buzz, but her words weren't as muddled as the male's was getting. It was obvious he didn't usually spend his time here like Nyaela did. But then again, neither did most Myrians.

[Razkar]

"So you're a studious sort, hm? There aren't usually many like you at the tavern. It's a pity, really. Usually they complain about how overworked they are."

Any other time and Razkar would have exercised a little humility, just like he'd been raised to. But with a tankard of leth-shine sloshing around in him, permeating his body and (unfortunately) his mind, instead the youth gave Nyaela what he thought was a charming smile (it wasn't) and shrugged.

"Oh, we are. We just don't complain about it. We're warriors, right? We-"

"Warriors in training," Erama corrected sternly, probably the most sober of Razkar's little knot. "Remember?"

Razkar conceded the point with a shrug and a sigh. She was right, of course. All day they had to watch the real warriors leave and return; properly equipped and motivated, striding out into the jungle... then coming back, bloodied and bruised on occasion, but eyes shining... and always bearing either captives of grisly trophies.

"Our time will come." He said, and it was half-vow, half-statement, taking a sip from his grog. "It's harder at first. We'll look back in a month, a year, two years... and think it was all piss easy."

A chorus of doubtful jeering answered him and he shrugged back at Nyaela.

"Which fang are you with, anyway? I hear-"

Then the door opened and another handful of Myrians entered, casting suspicious and aggressive glances around... and Razkar froze. Nyaela watched a whole symphony and opera performed on his face. His pupils dilated, his jaw tightened, his tanned face impossibly paled-

-and his arms snapped out to clutch Ypil's.

"Raz, what-"

"Isn't that Herliz?"

Four laughing, joking Myrians suddenly receded about ten years and went very, very quiet. They tried to peer over their shoulders without moving their heads, until Typil peeked one eye over Razkar's... and it nearly popped out his head.

"Y-Yes!" He said after choking on his mouthful of ale, requiring Woxma to slap him a few times. "It's her, w-with some of the others-"

"Nyaela," Razkar said quickly, quietly, fear giving him a moment of clarity if not wings. "Please tell me you know a back way out of here..."

[Nyaela]

"It's harder at first. We'll look back in a month, a year, two years... and think it was all piss easy."

"Huh. That's more true than you can imagine. Still, there are times when you'll wish that year went by faster." She took another sip of her drink, the muscles in her face slowly relaxing into a more permanent smile as she loosened up. She leaned forward curiously just as Razkar started to ask her another question, then stopped in alarm as his face changed within the blink of an eye. He looked as though he'd seen a ghost -

- or, she realised, noticing a few Myrian soldiers enter the tavern in her peripheral vision, something even worse. Her eyes widened as she recognised the characteristic trait of one of Taloba's trainers. Normally she just did her best to stay small and pretend she didn't recognise anyone she saw at the tavern. Drunks were seen as something of a taboo around the city, and apart from the students, elder Myrians generally weren't caught at places like the tavern. Or at least they weren't there when the students usually were.

Which reminded her of the little slip-up Razkar had made when he first started speaking to her. A quick glance at their petrified expressions told her that they would most certainly be in trouble if they were found.

"Please tell me you know a back way out of here..."

"No," was her customary response, and it came out before she could stop herself. After all, she'd only just met them. Razkar seemed interesting, sure enough, but she had no real reason to help a bunch of upstart recruits run from their trainer. She wasn't not allowed to be here, but if she were caught helping them she knew she wouldn't get away with it.

But these were also the first Myrians Nyaela had actually sat down and spoken with in a while that didn't treat her with barely hidden contempt for her clan's profession. And they wouldn't forget this. Damn it all. Cursing inwardly, she shook her head at the male, "No, I mean I do, but ... " Time was wasting. The trainers began to make their way in. Nyaela jerked her head at the door Durak had disappeared through behind the bar. "Walk straight. They get recruits like you all the time, they won't tell." She stood up slowly, picking up her drink and sauntering past a few customers looking as unconcerned as she could so as not to raise suspicion. Unlocking a little catch in the table so that a small door opened in the side of the bar, she stepped to the side so that the others could walk through. "Hurry," she hissed, watching the trainers cautiously. Just as Herliz started to turn in their direction, she gave the last Myrian recruit a small push and walked in behind him, standing on her toes in an attempt to hide the others so they wouldn't be spotted immediately.

The staff in the kitchen started to chuckle as they walked through the room, tilting their heads to one side of the room in general, where there was a nondescript door near a few bins of waste and cuttings. Nyaela crinkled her nose at the smell and took another large gulp from the grog she'd made sure not to leave behind, finishing it and placing it on the counter before she followed the other Myrians through the back door.