PM to join Along Came a...Barmaid? [Ambrosia]

[Velindor Calendula]

71st of Summer, 517 Despite the overbearing summer’s heat, the Bizarre of Alvadas was bustling with life, even busier than usual with the slaver’s trial tomorrow. Throngs of Alvads draped in their eye-scorching kaleidoscope of colored sashes flowed through the lanes and alleys of the marketplace like a great river of bodies. When one stopped to browse, the multitude flowed around them, creating eddies within the flowing mass of people. An ever-present din of conversation hung over the crowd, contained and amplified by the arched roof of the Bizarre. Amid this constant buzz, the clanging hammers of Isurian smiths rang out sharp punctuation, gathering large groups to gawk and haggle for their wares. Near a calmer, slower part of the (mostly) human river, Velindor stood out like a sore thumb amidst the bright hues of the crowd. The black-clad Symenestra stood behind a simple wooden stand, with dried belltor and tolm plants strung up along small posts to either side of a modest, flat workspace. About this table were scattered the tools of the herbalist’s trade: chief among them a simple stone mortar and pestle, and a set of bone shears. ”I really need to update my tools,” Velindor thought as he used his shears to cut a small1’x1’ square of plain linen from the larger spread he’d purchased1 sq yd linen: -4gm while making his way through the throngs of the Bizarre to his stand. After tucking the larger swath of linen into his pack, Velindor used his shears to cut the smaller square in half. Then half again, so that he was left with four smaller squares. Repeating the process on each of these squares, Velindor set the sixteen linen squares to the side and turned to retrieve a bulb of tolm root, using his shears to cut it into smaller chunks. Tolm was a useful, and common, painkiller, so it was best to prepare a little bit beforehand. As Velindor began adding pieces of the tolm root to his pestle, he allowed his golden eyes to scan the crowd before him. His was not a particularly busy corner of the Bizarre, though people still flowed by in small streams. Sure enough, just as Velindor had begun grinding the tolm, a human garbed in a silk scarf tinted what could only be described as an eye-searing shade of red approached, rapping his knuckles on the wooden workspace. ”Good afternoon to you,” the man spoke, his bushy mustache bobbing with the movement of his lips. ”Do you have any remedies for...afflictions of the spirit, shall we say?” Velindor restrained his ash-gray lips from grinning - barely. ”Sorry,” he began in accented Common, ”could you be clear more? My Common is not best.” His golden eyes locked on the watery brown globes beneath the human’s thick brow, watching as the human squirmed at the thought of having to explain further. ”It’s...well...me woman says me fire down below’s gone out.” The human’s cheeks reddened to match his swollen nose. ”I’m standing at half-mast, me shepherd’s staff’s gone - “ Velindor cut him off with a quick, dismissive swipe of his hand through the air between them ”I have no herb to help you. You can look elsewhere, or come back in a few days. Maybe I have something different.” Velindor’s tone was clear and final, his golden gaze never wavering until the man had turned to rejoin the crowd. Just as the Symenestra was returning his focus back towards his preparations, he caught sight of a familiar face in the crowd, or so he thought. With the constant motion of bodies and the bright colors currently in fashion, it was difficult to identify anyone at a distance in the Bizarre. Velindor gave a shrug and returned to grinding the tolm roots with his mortar and pestle, occasionally letting his focus drift back up towards the crowd.

[Ambrosia Alar]

The first thing Ambrosia became aware of, even before the fog of sleep completely lifted, was pain. It should’ve just been her face that hurt, but it wasn’t. Her whole body ache, though her left temple definitely smarted worse than everything else. As she opened her eyes, the second thing she noticed was that the left eye wouldn’t open. Though these were potent reminders of what had happened the night before, Ambrosia didn’t need them to recall the night’s events. The sound of the fist connecting with her head was a memory she was pretty sure she’d never forget. The same went for the brief instant in time that followed the sound but preceded the pain. Trauma had a nasty habit of making itself easily remembered. Sun was pouring past the shutters of the window of their little home. That was no different from when Ambrosia normally woke for the day. Late nights at the tavern meant she didn’t wake until well into the day. This afternoon, though, the sun was unwelcome. Even her good eye seemed to hurt with the midday light. Groaning, Ambrosia started to roll over but stopped. The half turn of her head brought on a wave a vertigo that made her feel as if she was spinning continuously. The sensation of movement hit her gut with a vicious nausea, and she was forced to lie flat on her back and clamp her eyes as if they were a dam to keep everything in. Slowly, the urge to vomit receded, and she opened her eyes again. This was, without a doubt, worse than any hangover. Deciding it would be better to get through the vertigo in a single attempt rather than many small ones, Ambrosia took a deep breath and sat up swiftly. Once again, she closed her eyes and waited for as many sensations to pass as were going to. Two sensations remained in the end. Pain and spinning. Once she was left alone with those two, she slowly inched her way off the foot of the bed, so she didn’t disturb the sleeping bodies to either side of her. Both her sisters had stayed up late stargazing with her the night before. Neither of them really cared about the stars, but they had wanted to make sure she was alright when they saw the bruise and cut on her face. Late nights were a huge sacrifice for Bethany, her older sister; she was the type who rose with the sun. But Bethany was the kind to put others’ needs and well-being before her own. Tessa was a night owl like Ambrosia, but Ambrosia had been glad for her little sister’s company. Several moments passed once she was on her feet before Ambrosia felt confident enough in her balance to walk over to the washbasin. Cupping her hands, she held the cool water to her eye for several moments. The relief it brought was minimal at best, but the throbbing did subside a touch. She repeated the process several times before washing and changing into a new dress for the day. Every step she took was slow and placed deliberately to avoid the floorboards that creaked, so she wouldn’t wake her sisters. The house they lived in was old and gave arthritic groans whenever it was first stepped on for the day. Once, she misstepped, and the wood protested loudly beneath her. Freezing, Ambrosia waited for her sisters’ shifting to stop, telling her she hadn’t woken them fully. When she was certain they were back to sleep, she continued her short preparation for the day. There was no sense in dolling herself up. No amount of cosmetics was going to cover that bruise and swelling. She made her way to the door, but when her hand fell on the doorknob, she hesitated. Something felt off, unfinished. Turning back, Ambrosia watched her sleeping sisters for a moment. In her exhaustion, Bethany was sprawled out, taking up more than her half of the bed. Tessa was curled in on herself, her knees tucked in close to her body and wild strands of hair covering her face. With footfalls as soft as she could make them, Ambrosia crossed the room back to the bedside. Brushing hair off Tessa’s face with her fingertips, Ambrosia whispered, “Thanks for staying with me last night.” She pulled the sheet up over her sister’s shoulders and left a kiss on her cheek. “I love you, Tessa.” Tessa showed no sign of waking, but a hint of a smile spread across her face. A few moments later, Ambrosia was locking their front door behind her. Cade had told her to take the day off to recover, so she was in no hurry. The Bizarre was her destination. With her many late nights at the bar and the waking late that such a lifestyle brought, it had been a long time since she had been there. The market was one of her favorite places, because it was always changing. Every time she went, it was different. Sure, some familiar faces always seemed to linger, but the new ones were always so plentiful that she didn’t have time to visit them all. There were so many curiosities to be discovered, and curiosity drove Ambrosia. So holding the Bizarre in her mind as her destination, she followed the illusions that reminded her of the market and found herself there in less than fifteen chimes. The stalls were so numerous that Ambrosia couldn’t decide where to start. It seemed that every other booth was selling sashes, even though the craze had died off some time ago. The blinding myriad of sashes adorning most of the people present said that everyone who had jumped on to that particular bandwagon had obtained all the sashes they had wanted. Ambrosia felt bad for anyone selling them. She was about to approach a stall that was selling all sorts of odd trinkets when a familiar face caught her eye one stall over. Stepping up to the stall, Ambrosia tried to beam her smile at the Symenestra man but winced as the pressure caused pain to her swollen eye. Deciding that smiling was worth the pain, she smiled through it. She was certain she looked ridiculous with her swollen-shut black eye and smile that felt lopsided due to her injury. Ambrosia didn’t care though. She was just happy to see a familiar face. “Velindor! I didn’t know you had a stall here.” She glanced at the materials on the table. “That’s right. You’re an herbalist.” She was about to say something more when a fresh wave of vertigo hit her, causing her to sway. Ambrosia sank to her knees and rested her head on her arms on the edge Velindor’s table, groaning as she waited for the nausea to pass.

[Velindor Calendula]

Once Velindor had finished grinding the tolm roots, releasing the hidden oils that made them useful, he used his delicate ebony claws to deposit small pinches of the ground herb into the center of a linen square. Next, he brought the corners of that square together, holding them together with one hand while his other wrapped a small length of thread around the peak, then using both hands to tie a small knot in the thread, creating a small bag of ground herb. The spider set the finished product aside and repeated the process three more times before a familiar voice broke his concentration. Looking up, Velindor was pleased to see the young barmaid from the Stallion’s Rear, though his immediate reaction was one of shock at the sight of her swollen, injured eye. Her smile disarmed his initial exclamation in his throat, even forced as her face clearly implied that it was. Before he had a chance to respond to Ambrosia’s greeting, the woman collapsed, knees hitting the cobbled stone beneath the Bizarre. As she leaned onto his stall, Velindor quickly rushed around to her side. He knelt down, placing one hand on her far shoulder and offering his other to help her up. “What happened, Ambrosia?” he spoke when he had found his voice at last. His next question was tinged with a cold, quiet anger, his golden eyes fierce, “Who did this to you?” While normally, Velindor cared little and less for the affairs of humans, Ambrosia at least had seemed to be one of the better ones. “Here, let’s get you up, I think I have something that will help, though it won’t be a fast remedy.” Once the human was back on her feet, Velindor would resume his position behind his stand, crouching down to retrieve a small glass jar, along with his waterskin. He filled the jar up with water, then added the small baggie of ground tolm. “You’re quite in luck, actually,” Velindor spoke as he pulled the excess length of thread to keep the linen baggie floating near the surface, “I was just beginning to start some cold tolm infusion.” He secured the herb bundle’s position by pressing the lid onto the jar, then handed it over to Ambrosia. “You want to let this sit overnight, drink it first thing in the morning. Should help swelling and pain go down.”

[Ambrosia Alar]

Ambrosia was happy for Velindor’s assistance, though her world was still spinning as he pulled her to her feet. Keeping one hand on the table for steadiness, she smiled at his quiet anger. “‘What happened?’ A bar brawl is what. I’ll tell you a well-kept secret from those of us in the bar business. Do you know the best place to be in a bar fight? No? The answer is outside. “But don’t worry about me. You should see the other guy. Not that I had any part in beating him up,” Ambrosia admitted. “After I got popped in the face, I spent the rest of the fight on the ground. But chivalry isn’t dead, as you also just proved. As soon as I did get hit, everyone’s focus just went to beating the senses out of the poor guy who hit me. I almost felt bad for how badly he got beaten, but mostly I was just happy I got such good vengeance. That’s a bit messed up, I suppose, but it’s the truth.” As he began to work with the tools of the trade, Ambrosia watched and tried to see if she could follow what he was doing. If she was being honest with herself, she had no idea what was going on. There were the little linen squares, the ground-up herb that Ambrosia had never seen before and couldn’t possibly identify, and then the water skin and the glass jar that he pulled out with a statement that she was lucky. Ambrosia hardly considered getting punched in the face as a sign of good fortune, but she waited to see what he meant as he continued to go to work. Putting one of the bags into the jar, he secured it in place with the lid of the jar, explaining as he did that it was an infusion of tolm. Not only had Ambrosia never seen it before, she had never heard of it, but she was glad to hear it treated pain and swelling. “Thank you, Velindor.” The spins worsened for a moment, and Ambrosia leaned on the stall a little more. She was glad for its stability. It was a rock in this world of vertigo. “Not to sound ungrateful, but do you have anything for the spins? Or for nausea? I’d take either. If you’ve ever wondered what getting punched in the face feels like, I don’t recommend trying it for yourself. Just take my word for it. It’s awful.” Considering Velindor for a moment, she wondered what caused him to be so concerned for her. The two had only ever met once, and their interactions had been brief. Ionu had been toying with everyone at the Rear that night, and Ambrosia had ended up getting locked out of her own tavern while her patrons, Velindor included remained stuck inside. They were practically strangers, and he owed her no favors or kindnesses. Ambrosia had always considered herself to be an easily likable individual, someone who brought one more small ray of happiness to everyone else, whether or not it was needed, and maybe that’s what he noticed, what made him care. With their previous encounter having been cut short, Ambrosia had a myriad of questions for him. She decided to start it off simple. “So, Velindor, why herbalism?”

[Dovey]

Ambrosia

Experience

Skill	XP Earned
Observation	2
Endurance	1
Socialization	1
Stealth	1
•	•

Lores

•	Lore Earned
•	Getting Punched: An Awful Aftermath
•	"I love you, Tessa."
•	Location: The Bizarre
•	Velindor: An Herbalist
•	Tolm Infusion: Treats Swelling & Pain

Velindor Calendula
If you return, please pay your seasonal expenses and then PM me for your grade!


Additional Comments

An enjoyable thread, it's a shame to see it cut short. Your prose is a true pleasure to read.

Please remember to edit your request in the grade queue to show that this thread has been graded! If you have any questions or concerns about your grade, please contact me via PM.