Tales of Ale [Kreesianna]

[Belgar]

Summer 33, 511

She had not been fond of drink. She did not like how it made a fool of a person; she had always been so poised. While she never did refuse him anything, he had taken after her and politely declined any offer when they ate out together. And since it was hardly on the menu at the Barracks, Belgar’s liver was still a virgin to the effects of alcohol. Alas, bestial curiosity had gotten the better of him during his visit to Winterflame. A stop at the hold almost required a visit to the famous tavern, and a chair behind the bar always meant a mug of cold ale.

He tipped his head at the woman who exchanged it for a pair of coins, then glanced deliberately at the line of moisture it had painted on the aged polish. Secretly unfamiliar with the difference between the drink in front of him and the flamewater liquors that made grown men cringe, he was hesitant. His gaze turned over the room, which was at the crowded and noisy peak of the evening. He hoped he might catch the notice of a lonely stranger in want of a conversation, but instead he found the sound of a rising story near the hearth. An old woman entertained a group of people there with an enthusiastic tale—most all of whom, he noticed, held various levels of ale in their glasses. From his distance, he could not quite hear her, but still he turned in his stool, stretched his out ear, and enjoyed it as best he could.

A loud cacophony of clapping and table-knocking suggested its end. With a few heavy pats on his knee, Belgar turned reluctantly again to his patiently waiting drink. Its white beard sunk under its own weight. The hesitance in his eyes barely rose before it was replaced by the shine of happy impulse. He lifted it to his mouth, tasted smooth bitterness and tickling hops. It was not as bad as he anticipated. It tasted like liquid gold. It left the slightest of smiles on his otherwise stiff lips.

[Kreesianna]

Kree had often spent her time in other holds, skipping around and visiting and such. She liked this one when she was on the "prowl". For what? New company. On top of that, the drink was good and she had the tendency to have fun.

Tonight, like most other nights spend in this bar, she told a story and drank to her hearts content. It was a miracle her drinking hadn't affected her story telling skills. Or perhaps everyone else about her was just too drunk to notice. Either way, upon the end of her tales, she caught notice of a out of place sort of man trying to listen. It brought a crooked smile to her pale pink lips as she tried to finish off her story so that she could introduce herself to the stranger.

He seemed rugged and handsome, but troubled. She had a story just for him, hence she raised from her chair with her mug in hand that was still relatively full, having been filled very recently. She sashayed over to take the seat beside his with a few groans of her withering joints. She began her story as she stared into her mug, purposely trying to avoid eye contact with him.

"Once upon a time... no, no.. that's much to over-used.." She sighed softly, as if chastising herself before starting again. "Rugged and handsome was the man that drowned his troubles within a mug.. He seemed lonely, he was new... he was a face she hadn't seen before. And many a face has she seen. It was only natural for she to be curious as she caught his ear strained to hear her voice amongst the crowds of drunks. 'Why would any man care to hear the ramblings of an old woman?' were her thoughts as she came over to seat herself beside him and stare into her mug. She was curious if he had a story to tell and was much interested in listening..." She raised the mug to her lips and tasted the pleasure that she had many times embraced as she waited upon him to continue her story.

[Belgar]

As the mug in his hand knocked loudly against the table, Belgar saw the flash of the very same pale-haired woman out of the corner of his eye. He looked at her with the friendliest invitation he could muster, but she did not look back at him. Confused and hesitant, he turned back to his own drink, cradling the cold glass between large hands. Perhaps she needed time to be alone after all of that attention. He could understand that.

When she began to talk, he did not at first think the words were for him... but he could not help eavesdropping. Brow furrowed candidly, he regarded her again as the story unfolded. It took him longer than most to understand what she was getting at, and even then he did not have the mind to oblige her suggestion to continue. He had always been a better listener than teller; when he did bother, he mostly listed facts before embellishments. It was the way his animal mind worked.

“I am not—” troubled, he wanted to reply, but his tongue would not make the word, so he changed the subject. He turned his broad body to her, abandoning the drink at his side. “I was not the only person interested in your story. I did not hear most of it, sadly, but the others seemed very happy with it. You must have gathered up many stories, in your long years—” He stopped himself again, but it was too late. He had forgotten that mentioning a Vantha’s age was different than mentioning a Kelvic’s. At least among polar bears, it was honorable to have survived into old age. Human women, on the other hand, detested grey hairs. In an attempt to distract himself and the stranger from what he had said, he turned to his drink again and took a large gulp. Perhaps if he had done that before, he might have been more eloquent.

[Kreesianna]

My age...
ran through her skull... Tinkling words that resonated sweetly upon her tongue as she began to speak. However, like all humans, her lips faltered to start. She was not ready to give up the theme yet.

"Her," she took a slight pause to emphasize the word further," age... Is something she is quite proud of, thank you..." She smiled to herself as her eyes swiveled to observe the man from the corners. "She believes she is hiding her true age very well... She, however, if far more curious about this man though..."


She took a taste of her drink and resumed to pretend to not acknowledge him... This was something of a game for her, and games were so rare to find with.. age... That was probably the only downside to growing old, in her opinion. Greys and wrinkles added character, like scars and other blemishes...

[Belgar]

His lips twitched. While Belgar enjoyed a story as much as the next Vantha, this farce unsettled him. He was almost certain that he did not yet feel the effects of the drink, but her voice filled him with the sort of confusion that made him doubt his composure. He opened his mouth to speak. I... and My... came to the front of his mind, and he was forced to pause when no other words came.

Despite her evasive posture, he faced her openly, turned his shoulders like an amiable stranger and perched only one elbow against the bar. He did not hope to suggest she do the same; he would never dare try to influence or manipulate a human. In his own way, the animal-man wanted to show her that he meant no harm, or disrespect. “He...” Belgar managed to say finally, “...does not know what to say. He might be considered aged, too. But I—erm, but a Kelvic seems not to wrinkle until their final days.”

With that, he leaned to one side and tried shamelessly to catch her eye, so that he might offer one of those false-but-courteous smiles which the humans seemed to like so much. When he rose again, his was one of the highest heads in the room, even as he sat. He wondered if she knew, or rather cared, that he was a servant of the guard. Perhaps she would inquire more openly, now they he had obliged her.

[Mutt]

Belgar:
XP:

Drinking - 2xp
Storytelling - 1xp

Lore:

Beer has a way with words
Stories can be spoken with a slippery tongue

Kreeisana:

Drinking - 1xp
Storytelling - 3xp

Lore:

Kelvic aging

Other Notes:
If you see anything I missed, shoot me a PM, and I will recheck my grading!