Open Drinks with a Knight [Aldus]

[Alevadra Druva]

Winter, 2nd 513AV A night off was usually spent relaxing, reading, in the stables and rarely—at the stallion. Tonight was one of those weird nights were Ale decided to spend her evening drinking some mead and surrounded by folks who either greatly enjoyed her presence and service to Syliras, or felt much the opposite and likely had been on her bad side at some point—and likely drunk. Today—though, Ale had no intention of hauling anyone anywhere for misbehavior, instead, she wanted to enjoy a calm, quiet evening and maybe enjoy a conversation or two. Her clothing was casual, and were one to only glance over her attire, the symbol of the Druva family—A glassbeak—would be entirely overlooked. She wore a long tunic, belted about her waist, it was ivory in hue and made of sturdy, fitted linen. The knight also wore black, heavy woolen pants and tan boots that went up her calf. A deep blue half cloak was wrapped around her shoulders as Ale entered the warmth of the stallion. A few eyes lifted to look over to the strange-haired woman. A few knew her as a knight, and nodded her their respect or avoided her eye contact. She made her way to the bar and calmly ordered a honey mead. A glass was handed to her and the short woman found her way to an empty table and set herself down, slipping off the cloak and taking a sip of the sweet alcohol. It was a calm evening at the bar, it was still evening in the night, and no performers had taken the crowd’s attention. Brown eyes shifted about the crowd, holding the cool mug up to her lips. She was mentally preparing for the winter patrol that she was assigned to. Patrols were not an uncommon assignment, but one in winter would be particularly trying with the weather. In addition, the knight had been requested to watch over another knights squire for the trip—which she happily accepted, after all, squires were always enjoyable to work with. But, this squire would be an easier job, as he was already a full grown adult. The woman took another sip of her mead, leaning back in her chair as her eyes lazily crawled from face to face, recognizing a few for all the worst reasons. With any luck, the night wouldn’t turn something too eventful.

[Aldus Beaumont]

* A cheeky grin materialized upon Aldus' features as he approached the bar, a number of copper mizas in hand as he sought to end his day, rife with the fruitless pursuit of employment, and begin the night, where such worries and problems were eradicated by the pleasant nothingness of drink and company. The tavern was animated this night, filled with the sounds of conversation, which at this point consisted of the bastardized shouts of drunkards seeking out the attention they failed to garner while sober, the sly, quick banter of swindlers and gamblers engaging in business proposals (a sentiment Aldus could relate to), and even closer to the young man's heart, the smooth, mellifluous tones of the local bard recounting a legend. Aldus was unfamiliar with the tale, but as the bard began to weave his tale, the young man was enthralled. He placed the mizas on the bar counter, taking his mug of ale with him as dark chocolate orbs cast their gaze about the tavern in search of a place to sit. He found no empty tables that were within listening distance of the bard, but as he broadened his search, he found a table populated by only one person. A woman wearing clothing befitting that of a commoner, though her hair was what set her apart from the others. Ridden with colour and tone unseen in Aldus' life, the man was curious. In a matter of moments, the young man decided that he would approach, though before he did so, there was the matter of learning about his query. If she were bound to random fits of madness, or had some intense phobia of strangers, Aldus may bite off more than he can chew. He decided, then, to talk to the bartender, first. "Barkeep, what do you know about the fetching lass with the striking hair?" The tender would arch his eyebrows at the man, looking around as if to figure out who he was meant to gossip about before his eyes widened. "Hm.. I'm not entirely sure, lad. I've seen 'er come in a few times, but she's not a talker, didn' find out much about 'er." Aldus could tell that there was something strange about the bartender's demeanor, though he had no idea what. "Are you sure?" he asked, though the bartender had already moved to tend to a nearby client, leaving Aldus at the exact same point from which he had started. Aldus decided that asking anyone else would be a waste of his time, seeing as the bartender owned the place. "Eh, whatever. What's the worst that can happen?" was what Aldus would think to himself as he began his approach to the woman's table. As he arrived, he would tap on the empty chair across from the one the woman was seated at, "Do you mind if I sit, miss?" he would ask, a bright smile gracing his features as he spoke.

[Alevadra Druva]

The evening livened up a bit as a bard began to recant some tale with exuberant gestures and voices. He was a remarkably good story teller and Alevadra had moved her focus to the man as he moved about, speaking of adventure and heroism. Oh—that was something that hit close to Ale, she was always hoping for adventure, grand quests for Tyveth, for the Windoak. A cold sip of mead and the knights eyes moved about the stallion once more, lingering on a few questionable sorts before returning to the bard. Her attention snapped back from the tale as a tall man approached her table, speaking to her. Well—that was a turn of events, usually she was left be, or was asked if someone could take the other chair rather than sit with her. Brown eyes regarded the man, holding his own mug of drink, tapping on the chair opposite of her. He had dark hair, a good looking fellow, one she didn’t recognize—which either meant they were an upstanding citizen or he was a visitor—or, lastly, he was a marvelous delinquent that had yet to be found out. The bright haired woman smiled slightly, nodding to the chair opposite. “If you’re so inclined, be my guest.” The knight invited, shifting in her seat as she took another sip of the honey wine. “Alevadra,” The woman introduced herself. “I don’t recognize you, are you new to Syliras? It is a large city… But I tend to remember most faces I encounter.” She was pleasant, but guarded in her tone, holding onto her mead with both hands, fingers idly tap at the drips of condensation. “You’re the first in a long time to sit with me,” She grinned, raising her mug slightly. “So I suppose thanks is in order, it does get rather dull sitting here silently.”

[Aldus Beaumont]

* The way the woman spoke was peculiar, at the least, when compared to the majority of the folk that languished within the tavern. He couldn't put his finger on it, but he quite willingly took the offered seat, setting the mug on the table as he removed his coat, placing it on the back of the chair he was offered before taking his place upon it. As Aldus seated himself, he allowed a proper look at the woman he was sitting across. To be sure, her hair was certainly a striking, and as far as he could tell, rather unique colour. But, there was far more to her than just that. Her tone was rather cautious, an understandable addition, though it allowed Aldus to make his assumptions, as he was certain she was doing about him. To be guarded in a tavern implied that she was either unused to the life of tavern folk, or that she was used to remaining in one place and not associating with the rest of society. Here in Syliras, such a trait was ever-present in the guardsmen, who while well-intentioned, were overly vicious and rather happy with the headsman's axe. Not that Aldus was one to judge them, more on the other side of the spectrum, though luckily, the city was quite large and the overflowing populace of Syliras had allowed Aldus' exploits to remain anonymous. Next, was her line of questioning. Short, direct questions, punctuated with observations which led to the conclusion that the woman had lived here for quite a long time, which allowed further assumptions, though he'd not make them, not wanting judgement to flow into his tone. Tilting his head, curiosity would present itself in brown eyes before he replied, "I'm not, actually. I've lived here for several years now. But, it's a huge city with so many people, I'm sure a face or two could slip your notice. That's just too bad, though." He winked at the woman, a laugh escaping his lips before he took a sip of his drink, "My name is Aldus, milady. It's a pleasure to meet you."

[Alevadra Druva]

He had rather distinct features, a strong face, dark hair, tall. Sorts of things that separate may go unnoticed, but together—well—he was quite a memorable fellow. She looked over his clothes, inspecting for symbols, marks, clues as to his life—profession, past, heritage, though her brown eyes found nothing, and instead, settled upon his face for a moment before looking to the performer who was becoming rather animated in his tale. There was no reason for the knight to be on her guard, after all, Sylira’s wasn’t Sunberth, it wasn’t the place of back stabbing and treachery. She was rather safe ultimately and with that knowledge she was leaned back in her chair with her muscles warm and relaxed as she lifted her mug to her lips, attention moving back to the man across from her as the mug hit the wood table. A smile crested her lips at his words. “A shame indeed. At least I have the opportunity to meet you now, Aldus.” She bowed her head softly. “As to you, Aldus, though, please drop the “milady” bit, it makes me feel terribly dainty.” The woman admitted with a rather peculiar tone in the particularly delicate word. “I am always meeting new people, sometimes I meet new people who I have met before but have forgotten. Though—I’m sure I would remember a face and a name such as yours.” Her tone was light and casual as she tapped the moisture upon her glass. “A riveting tale, isn’t it?” Her blue and purple head jerked towards the bard who was just finishing his tale with a rather epic ending—as was to be expected. “Rivels the bedtime stories of youth—of course, those stories had a great deal less detail paid to gore, now didn’t they?” Alevadra’s bedtime stories had quite a bit of gore included, but such was the fate of a knights child. The bard finished was moved to have drinks that had been purchased for him and his delightful performance. “Are you here for the tales? Or perhaps you merely wanted a drink and happen upon company?”

[Aldus Beaumont]

* Carrying nothing but a dozen mizas in his pocket, the cards his mother had given him as a child, and a drink in hand, Aldus carried no significant relics that could mark him as extraordinary. He allowed his personality to do that for him. A grin materialized upon his features as he leaned forward in his chair, his gaze fixated on the bard with an almost envious stare as he watched drinks and food move in his direction. The adoration that a good enough bard received was extraordinary, the reaction to Aldus' own attempts not quite as favourable. He had only been given one free drink, and no food. He chalked it up to experience, noting the wear on the bard's face, the gruffness of his voice due to overuse. Years and years of working as a storyteller had set its toll on the man, his arms shaking from the juggling or aside entertainment he had learned, fingers scarred from playing instruments into the waning hours of the evening. Of course, he could only assume these things, as the bard had already walked away, leaving only the clues that were his face and voice. When the woman mentioned the title making her feel dainty, both a chuckle escaped him and yet another assumption crossed him. Was she a warrior? Most women would not mind being considered as dainty, the presence of stereotypes even being useful to an extent. But, perhaps she preferred to be more intimidating, or rigid... sturdy. Warrior traits, if anything. She certainly didn't mind his presence, it seemed, a nod moving his head as he replied, "I am inclined to agree... Alevadra. Your face and..." Of course... Druva. It was the surname of one of the Knighted families of Syliras. A prestigious one, to be sure. Rather than allow his tone to change, or to show that he was in anyway affected by the realization, he smoothly transitioned into his next words, "name are certainly not a combination I would forget. He continued to process the woman's words, nodding as the subject matter changed to a topic that was both close to his heart and a source of frustration to him at the moment, stories. "Oh, it depends on where you are from, as well. From my parents, Gods rest their souls, I would hear tales of happiness and royalty. From others, well... you know how one's peers can be when we're younger." A chuckle escaped the fellow's lips as he pretended to reminisce about stories his peers had told him. In truth, his peers and him had never shared any tales, more intent on survival as orphans or starving families in the miserable city of Sunberth. Stories, in that time, were the frivolity engaged in only by those with the wherewithal to support the habit. How ironic it was that stories were now the driving force behind his legitimate life, the little urchin boy still surfacing by means of a case of kleptomania. One that he would surely control better if he were to become friends with a Knight. At least, in front of her. "Well, I came in to hear the tales, and I stay because of such inviting company. He'd flash her another white smile before continuing on, "You see, I'm a bit of a bard myself. Or rather, I am a bard. An inexperienced one, to say the least, but I've been living off of family money since coming into Syliras. The lie flowed easily from his lips, his tone changing far more subtly than it had in his lapse of concentration when realizing the significance of her surname. "It's a great way to learn, you know. I've always been a good listener."

[Alevadra Druva]

The ‘apology’ or sorts, and seeming realization of what she was barely seemed as a realization. A knight family, and likely a knight—while it was not written in that possessing one of the Family knights surnames meant one was to become a knight, it was almost expected, anticipated. From birth the child always seemed pruned for such obligations. Alevadra was a perfect example of that, her studies as a young child were more about morals and knightly ways than how to cook or clean or do any other sort of typical “lady-like” activity. “Perhaps more the name rather than the face, though? I don’t believe I’ve ever seen yours, perhaps, though, you have seen me in passing.” She shrugged off his manner of speech as a misstep rather than any actual acknowledgment of familiarity. Aldus was certainly a perceptive one, surely a skill he’d honed over the years. Physically, he gave no clues as to who he truly was. A man with a dashing smile and a way with words? Really, he could be anyone from nobility to a common street urchin and Ale would be non the wiser. At the very least, he was cleaned up and well presented. Their conversation turned to tales, which was a comfortable, and often neutral, topic. “Oh, I suppose location does pay a heavy role in tales. Here in Syliras the tale may be one of heroic knights and in Sunbreth quite the opposite?” She took a sip of her mead while listening to the dark haired man words. A small smile and nod were given as brown eyes lingered on her drink. “Oh, peers as a child and even as an adult… Sometimes I believe the tales I hear from adults are far… More telling than those of children.” Oh, the knights were an interesting lot. A remark about company brought a soft smile to the knights features. Ah, at least she was unbearable, even if her mannerisms were often stiff and callous. Then, little bits pieces together in the puzzle that sat before her. He was a bard, or at least an aspiring bard—after all, one had to start somewhere. He had family money, which was how he was living, which explained his up kept appearance and rather warm face. “A man at your age is rarely a renowned bard, just as a woman at my age is rarely a renowned knight.” Her shoulders lifted and fell slightly. “I’m sure you’ll be up there showered in mead and food before you know it.” She lifted her mug as if it was an early “congratulations” to his career. “So you are not originally from, Syliras? Where about do you hail from, Aldus? Being a life-long Sylirian, I very much adore hearing of other places I have yet to visit.”