Closed One of Those Days [With Senghor]

[Ireth Telemnar]

Mature Content Warning Summer 20, 513 AV There are some days when she simply loved her life. Her city was beautiful, Ravok on it's lake. The people were at least accepting, even though she knew things went on in Ravok's underground that she could only have nightmares about. The gracious Rhysol kept the city's weather wonderful save for a few storms. And all was usually good. Today was not one of those days. Ireth simply could not shake a looming depression that she'd woken up with. Everything seemed wrong. Her tunic held a stain, her boots smelled of mildew, and when she'd played in the Nitrozian Plaza this morning, a rather rude woman had thrown garbage at her for making too much racket. In the process of attempting to protect her beloved flute from the missiles, Ireth had taken a particularly sharp piece of rubble to the face, a cheeky scratch of red and brown just above her right eyebrow. It smarted something fierce. 'Rhysol guide me...' she thought.

Listen to the Winds

And you shall hear a Voice

[Senghor Vilhjalmr]

Ravok and its people occupants were no different to any other city, or any other species from what Senghor saw it was a beautiful shell that laid upon a beautiful scenery, it laid upon a beautiful lake that let the incurs of dying light beam down onto the clear bed and emit a beautiful crystalline flow, a incandescent entity which one only saw for its outward beauty and not that dwelling dormant, dwelling slyly and waiting for its next victim. Ravok was no different from any other city, it had its oppressor(s), or better yet its religious factions that clutched the city by the loins with an iron torn gauntlet. As the streaks of light seemingly blended in with his ebony skin, his thicker texture of melanin never seemed to strain beneath tha heat of the sun. He thought deeply on the matter and realised that Ravok is like any other city, it's only unique feature was that it openly worship its evils. The necklace hanging from his neck lazily swayed about with his thoughts, whilst the scabbard he'd now acquired housed his longsword which peeked out diagonally from the crook of his neck and left shoulder and tightly held its place if he walked. As his finely placed strands of hair seemed to cut with the light of the sun like his features, he looked at the lone canal to which the water flowed and adjusted the duffel bag he held strapped onto his right shoulder. As the wood walkway beneath his feet creaked with a lone subtlety causing Senghor to shake his head slightly and turn back towards the walkways, his stride was a uneasy one that cradled boredom, as he kept moving through the city of Ravok and felt a encroaching dryness in his throat, he frown and spoke lowly to himself. "I need a drink..." he obviously stated whilst letting his feet guide him towards the nearest tavern, towards the nearest drink it seemed. He sighed and felt as if the day, was hurdling towards a dark day in the summers morn, yet he always felt that way hence there was nothing he could do about it. Abruptly he stopped and brought his arm over his head, it slid down towards the back of his skull and slightly scratched it in thought, he felt as his joints fell into a crescendo of being popped back into place,' letting the sickening sound of cracks fill the empty hall. 'Where to go?...' he asked himself as he remembered some patrons of the city speak of some tavern called the Silver Silver Tavern, and another called The Spot. This caused him to ponder for a moment before he let his decision become final. It would be towards the Silver Silver Tavern that his footsteps would lead him...

[Ireth Telemnar]

The Silver Sliver. Ireth wasn't much of a drinker, but there were always a few fellows and dames hanging around in the Nitrozian Plaza. To add to her feeling of hopelessness today, she hadn't made a single miza. 'Of course,' she sighed to herself, 'Being anywhere near the Silver Sliver means drunks. Whatever...' The Plaza wasn't as crowded as she supposed it might be. The Silver Sliver was lit brightly, its lanterns flooding the Plaza outside with weak sight. Inside, she made out men, and some women, nursing ales.

Listen to the Winds

And you shall hear a Voice

[Senghor Vilhjalmr]

Senghor could never understand why things seemed the way they were, and even as the vast sea of truth came to being was slowly molding together and clarify. Such calamities were his main whore, and their roots his debtor and as his eyes drifted around the tavern it seemed that everything was a caused by calamities. "False smiles and empty joy..." the desert skinned man seemed to whisper to himself as his nostrils were drawn to the stench of rich storm, the darkness of ebony seemed to dance beneath the light of embers, dying embers like the souls of man, of anything that drew breath. Scotch, Whisky? Senghor didn't know nor did he care for all he knew he'd just probably get drunk, find some whore and whisper sweet nothings into her ear for merely the fact of feeding what lust that boiled like within him like his rage. As he slouched forward slightly, gazing at the deceitful woof of the bars wood, the Vilhjalmr dropped his head for the mere fact of not wanting to entertain anyone or anything. For the night, dying as it was seemed that no troubles would follow him that night...

[Ireth Telemnar]

Before stepping into the Sliver, Ireth let out a sigh. She felt like this night was going to be a nightmare. The entire day was a nightmare, like she'd fallen into the canals and not come to get another breath of air. With that, she walked into the Sliver. Though, in reality, it was more like she stumbled in, tripping herself up on a wayward floorboard. 'Way to make an entrance, you stupid girl,' she scowled to herself. The folk within the tavern didn't pay too much attention to the fumbling woman, save a single man with his clouded face to the table. A rather forlorn bar wench thumped a drink on his table, then watched Ireth as she wiped a tinged platter with her stained apron. Nodding in the server’s direction, Ireth pulled out her flute. “Might I play here for a bit mi’lady?” The server answered with a yes, and Ireth put the driftwood pipe. It tasted of the earthiness of the wood, carved from a piece of flotsam by her mother for her father. The silver-gray wood had been worn smooth and sliver-less by the years of use, first by her father and then by Ireth when he passed away. Out of the flute came a merry dancing tune, feathery and light. Ireth almost felt her own spirits rise, until a fat man missing an eye shouted for her for being to bloody loud. Ireth cursed the man under her breath, her spirits taking a dive again, and began a moody and mildly depressing ballad.

Listen to the Winds

And you shall hear a Voice

[Senghor Vilhjalmr]

`True greatness is the one that comes with naught but misery`seemed to the slyly chuckle the multitude of the Vilhjalmr's subconscious, the somewhat malevolent and benevolent entity that dwelled within all of creation. It seemed to whisper in a slurred song as it bounced back and forth between his ears, but Senghor was already used to the morbid voice as it sometimes assisted and sometimes deceived him. He'd forever ask himself if he was possessed, by this spirit of ancestral vengeance and rage which boiled within him! "Possessed my ass..." he said coldly as he raised his arm, the glass his palm was wrapped around seemed to contrast darkly over his skin as it fell gingerly upon his lips, the tender sour taste of the liquor burnt his tongue as it rode down his throat in a heated wave that'd kill his liver. `I thought you quit with the whores and drink, seems weak men fall quick` consulted his subconscious as it brought him into a deadened place, vile and grey and laden with corpses and arching figures of bone. 'Yeah, but it's a piss boring day and I've got no job, and no leads...' Senghor said, to himself?, this caused him to scowl and shake his head as a blackened haze seemed to wash over his eyes, it'd seemed like the alcohol was beginning to kick in. "Great... I'm going insane" the desert skinned man said with a drop in his vocals whilst gazing at the diminishing ebony liquid dancing with a ungodly sway, swirling sweetly within the circular cup of drink. It was in that moment that the Sliver was taken to dance to the sound of music , a singular orchestra which built with joyous beauty only to be rudely shut by a grim, large patron. It set the mood, not for the tavern but for Senghor as it began to lowly delve into the macabre crescendo of his day. As the large man listened attentively to the suddenly sad music, his palm seemed to clench around the glass he held tightly, if glass was man than it'd be short of breath and left for dead. Should the day be but filled with grey clouds, which harboured the beautiful cracklings of lightning and drums of thunder than whomever this bard, this music harbinger was, than he or she would have a full orchestra playing to her tune

[Ireth Telemnar]

The melody that poured from the tip of her flute soaked into the wooden walls like syrup. It was a lamentation, a sorry and depressing one that that her father had sung for a week when he found that his sister had died. It spoke of a small girl that followed a sea-spirit over the edge of her father's ship and drowned. When she'd first learned the ballad, Ireth had had nightmares for nearly a season about her being the little girl. The spirit in her dream became the demon of her childhood: a glowing woman with long tresses and a grinning mouth full of razor-sharp teeth. And as Ireth crossed the deck of the ship, she'd hear her father calling after her. Calling, but being ignored... With every note, Ireth fell a bit deeper into the dream. The Sliver became lost to her. All she saw was the glowing lidless eyes of the spirit shining tantalizingly. She could hear her father, a voice dead to the world, hollering and yelling as the demon reached forward, stretching, leaning onto the ship... But just before the she-devil took a hold of Ireth's tunic, the lamentation ended and reality hit her. Bewildered, she shook her head and took in the Silver Sliver once more. Not a single person was paying any attention to her, nobody knowing of the mind-numbing song-memory that she'd just endured. Shakily regaining her composure, Ireth packed her flute away into her worn pack. Glancing around, her gaze came to rest upon the dark-skinned man that looked as if he wanted the world to go up in flames for troubling him. Taking a deep breath, she approached him and sighed. "Might I brighten your face with a song kind sir?"

Listen to the Winds

And you shall hear a Voice

[Senghor Vilhjalmr]

As the melody within the tavern nullified, diminishing like love in the heart of the heartless Senghor seemed to drop his head slightly into his drink and savour the tender taste it brought, drunk? No... Senghor was a hardened soul, with a hardened mind and body and that was but one drink, he'd need many more to take him down yet as the heated liquor trailed down his throat and he heard a voice echo at the doors of his ears. His brow quirked in a curious manner as his left eye seemed to roll backwards slowly before falling back to the drink clasped with a eased hold within his palm, a cloak of darkness seemed to shroud of his large body as he felt a deep emptiness devour him from within. His left palm raised as he raised his glass for another drink to drown his sorrows with his other hand, a dismissal act to which he seemed to make dance over the bard, the virtuoso of virtuous vile morbidity. He wanted all of this, vast shallow emptiness to somewhat change for the better, yet how would it, for fate, Lhex or whatever his name was, somewhat wrote what would happen from what Senghor remembered, shaking his head to kill off the haze of alcohol, the young Vilhjalmr remembered that he never truly listened whenever his mother spoke of the deities that roamed about the universe, or land. `The...` his subconscious spoke for his behalf as his lips parted for him to finish, to end the symphony of mouth and mind. "Bastards..." he said lowly as he dropped both his arms and waited of the bartender to retrieve his beverage, which he'd pay for after leaving the tavern either drunk, or dead. He had even forgotten about the bard behind him as he closed his eyes, to feel the world fall into a fever of cold decay...

[Ireth Telemnar]

At his ignorance of her, Ireth placed her hand on the burly man's shoulder. "Pardon, sir? Are you alright?"

Listen to the Winds

And you shall hear a Voice

[Senghor Vilhjalmr]

Another stiff drink fell into the welcoming hand of Seng, his head rose with a forgotten dignity as he nodded at the man, his fingers wrapped around the circular outer body of the alcohol tightly enough for him to lift it and thank the man. Whether reflex or insecurity, as the bard's hand fell onto his shoulder a multiple pulling of muscle and mind seemed to follow shortly, his eyes dilated somewhat causing the young Vilhjalmr to shift his body to the side, his spine curved to the side as he shrugged off her palm with his own. Nearly dropping his drink, Senghor's left hand spiked up and grasped the feminine hand tightly. `Fight!, Fight!, Fight!`his subconscious joyously repeated the mantra within its cage as Senghor dug his aging footwear into the creaked floor twice as aged, the young man's thumb dug into the center axis of her smaller palm to inflict pain and also to momentarily stun her, he theoretically believed. Though he was larger than most, he was lucky to build an agile nature to swiftly move side to side, and in that moment his primal nature instinctively took over causing him to rotate from his seat, light on his feet he swayed behind her, her hand still in his greedy hold. Surprisingly he found himself behind her, looking down her back with his deathly cold glare, utilizing the moment, he let his right hand fall onto her elbow whilst he roughly placed her arm onto the tail of her spine, jerking his arm forward the entire arm curved upward as he twisted her wrist. Senghor restrained her and was only drawing these tactics from instinct, he bent his right knee to hit the back of hers causing them to both arch forward yet Senghor attained a level of balance by sliding his leg back to dig the soles of his footwear into the floor. A very sly position he'd placed them both in yet at that moment he didn't care, he let his anger speak on his behalf, which wasn't very intelligent at that moment. "What'd you think you're doing!?" he spattered angrily whilst applying most of his weight onto her to lock her in an inescapable armlock. The counter bucked under their combined weight, yet Senghor held steadily not to spill his drink...