Farewell Fernwood

Log Info

• Title: Farewell Fernwood
• Alt Title: I will no longer work here
• Emitter: Cryosanthia
• Characters: Cryosanthia, Faranmidahn
• Place: A10: Temple of Daeus, A07: Fernwood Pub
• Time: Tuesday, April 07, 2020, 9:13 PM
• Summary: Cryosanthia awaits news at the recently attacked Temple of Daeus. Faranmidahn arrives with it, Menel and Zeke live, but she was unable to catch the sith-makar. It's faint hope, but still positive. Cryo expresses her frustration at failing, a feeling the lucht knight knows all to well. Deciding that, all things considered, she's safe from Kol as Salina's Beloved Pet and as even the power of the Dragonfather's temple couldn't keep him out, Cryo takes Faran to the Fernwood to get coffees and collect her things. A rapier, leather armour, a potion, a scroll and a timepiece, which she hasn't seen in two weeks or eight years, depending on how one counts. Once at the Fernwood, she takes the stage and tells all the patrons that because of her experiences, she won't be working at the Fernwood Pub anymore. She and the staff get together to say farewells, Faran is nearly smothered in a hug, and Cryo's apron is nailed up so her service is remembered in spirit.

-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-<* A07: Fernwood Pub *>--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-

The common room of the Fernwood Pub dominates the inn, spacious and airy because of the high, vaulted ceiling. Ornately carved beams of dark, polished wood form a lattice overhead, supporting the arched roof two storeys above the floor. To the right of the double-door entry is a spiral staircase, winding upwards to a balcony that rings and overlooks the main area. Large windows at this level grant an excellent view of the river to the west and colorful market stalls to the north and east. An air of coziness is salvaged by keeping the pub dimly lit; parchment-shrouded mana lanterns hang at intervals from the base of the balcony, nestled amongst lush, magically propagated ivy and ferns that grow over this false demi-ceiling and the struts that support it.

The bar is sleek and simple, comprised of meticulously polished black lacquer. Tables are set under the darker niches formed by the balcony floor as well as on the balcony itself. A few are deliberately sized to accommodate halflings and gnomes, but the majority are meant for human-sized individuals. A large common table is on the main floor, set before a semi-circular stage situated against the western wall. Beside it, with pipes mounted upon the wall and running up past the balcony and almost to the ceiling, is a refurbished pipe organ made to look like the one lost when the Fernwood was destroyed during the Merkabah Siege.

-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-

-=-=-=-  Appearing, in Order  =-=-=-=-=-=-=
Cryosanthia  6'9"     267 Lb     Sith-Makar        Female    A dashingly tall, elegant white-scaled lizard woman.
Faranmidahn  3'3"     35 Lb      Halfling          Female    Albino Lucht woman in black leather armor with a BIG spider
-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=

Waiting...

There is no a lot Cryosanthia can do, except wait. She isn't one of the faithful of Daeus, so while she did assist a little in cleaning she wasn't allowed in any of the holier spaces. Aside from the room that's been set aside for her, that is. She hasn't prayed, to Daeus or her forsaken Ceinara. Cryo hasn't prayed in a long time. There were no other gods in Salina's tower, and while the white-scaled sith-makar might have been many things to the fae queen, she would not be a devoted follower. So, she didn't pray, to anyone. That prayers work, spells work, and the fingerprints of the divine are everywhere is indisputable, she's as close as one can come to being an atheist in Ea. She hasn't been in touch, the Gods haven't reached out, why would they? She's a ghost to them.

A ghost to them, and a ghost to the temple, as she haunts her room and listens to the activity outside. Everyone else trying to set things right. She can't help them, and couldn't help her own affairs. It was necessary to visit the Temple of Elune to get Kol's domination broken. Seldan was whisked away to be treated the moment they arrived, she got to sit with some acolytes until they got around to her problem. When she was pronounced 'safe', Seldan was no-where to be found. Doubting she truly was not a threat, to her adopted adult-human-child, or her mate, she went back to her room. Everything is resting on the one pillar she's had through all this, Faranmidahn, but even the stolid knight is starting to crumble. Everyone has their limits, and sith and their problems are pretty heavy, as both of them well know.

Cryosanthia lies on her bed, staring at the ceiling, drawn out in a rigid pose waiting for the door to open with good news.

Unfortunately, there is only a knock low on the door that suggests it's Faran, instead. Her quests over the night have been largely frustrating, but she soldiered on as best she could, until she could push Torrent no harder. After taking care of his needs, gathering a few things and heading back from the chapterhouse, the post-knock hail of, "Cryo...? Are you awake...?" makes promises of the wan and exhausted little knight's balance of news.

Cryo practically flies from the bed towards the door, an eagerness washing over her which washes completely away as she takes in the tone and timber of Faran's words. She slows to a normal walk. She opens the door. She seems calm, collected, a tall white spire of confidence and power. Little emotions are betrayed, especially not disappointment. But, the lack of a wild greeting and hug, the way her head tilted to look for Zeke in the hallway, then snapped quickly to hide the motion, speaks volumes.

"This one is awake Faran. You look exhausted. Would you like to lie down in my bed? It's nicely cold."

Faranmidahn is still in her damaged 'finery', the slashed edges speckled with telltale tones of her blood, she really looks dreadful, and she starts by shaking her head, "I... I'd never wake up, Cryo...." she says wearily without looking up, "I.. I couldn't find him... he was briefly seen at the Dungeon, but he hurried off." So he still exists, that's something. Her hands reach out and try to gently take one of the white sith's hands and she looks up with a faint, apologetic, hopeful, tired, pitiful smile, "Mister Menel is fine, by the way."

Cryo drops to a crouch, she still looms but the view is more of her chest than of her thighs. She takes Faran's hand, holding it gently and carefully in her own. Her scaled gloves feeling very much like her fingers, cool, smooth and plated. "Thank you, for everything, for searching so hard and bringing me a little good news. Both, both are good tidings. Zeke is out there, he will be will, She will not threaten him. He as safe as he was before. Menel is the one in more danger, for which we're forced to rely... on others."

She exhales and glances down the hall, as if she expects to see blood flowing and a cackling vampire. "I'm also as safe here as anywhere else. If Kol can attack the Dragonfather's home with impunity, he would find me on the street just as easily, and as we have seen I am too Beloved a Pet to be his toy. At most he would be picking up a lost weapon and throwing it again. Would you like to... no.. I would like to go for a walk. I'll carry you, if you would allow. You've hit the streets so much today I swear you're an inch shorter."

"Three..." the sorceress whines wearily, "Poor Torrent....." as her free hand rubs at the small of her back. She clasps her hand into the collection congealing between them. The thanks brings some guilt to her features, but she gives a weak nod, unspoken regrets she's too tired to fully suppress lurking in her eyes, "Theyy... have strong coffee..." A blink that laaaags long enough to relinquish that label occurs, then, "I should change, first... and she gestures toward a bundle of black cloth, traced in a familiar spiderweb pattern, "Then you can do whatever you want."

The white-scale sith-makar nods, raising an eye-ridge. "The Fernwood? Yes. I was thinking of it too. I haven't been there in decades." She winks. She spent at least one night after her return, but since then it has seemed the Temple of Daeus is her new home.

"This one shall observe this most interesting granite pattern in the wallstone while you change. Let me know when you're done. Oh! Tell me also, will this work?"

Cryo concentrates, and something like a shawl-saddle forms across her shoulders. It is leather and a little cup-like, but has leg straps and seems attached securely. "I though since saddles are worn, they might count as clothing."

Faranmidahn reaches up to hug the sith, "That's sweet of you, Cryo, but maybe not" ever(?), "right now?" She smiles a little awkwardly, "Besides.. proper fitting is complicated." She rubs at the back of her neck and sighs, "I haven't been to the Fern, since. I... couldn't, not then."

Cryo hugs Faran, lifting her off the ground as she does. She wraps both her arms around the lucht, squeezing carefully. It's clear she wants to hug someone hard, like how she's never embraced her mate; she holds back. Cryo sets her down on the bed, turns to observe a wall. "It would be good training for me. I plan to have a backpack, will need to do my moves with weight. I recall reading somewhere that smart centaurs would wear a small person like a turret. Zing, zing! I understand it is demeaning to you and embarassing to me. I have let Kol's 'pet' comment go to my head too much."

Her clothes return to her normal wizarding robes after a moment.

Faranmidahn returns the hug with vigor and a little touch of her lips to the white scales before a quick nuzzle. While she doesn't fully comprehend Cryo's ache, she does expect that her friend needs to know she's loved and does what she understands in that regard. As she's set down and the commentary does... so little to help, Faran fixes an odd look on her dear friend, "Kol is the stain in a grimlock's loincloth." She does ride her bestest friend ever into battle, but, something about this... Ask again after a few pints... While Cryo considers the sedimentary finery of the masonry, Faran peels off her silken raiment. In time, after the rustle of silk, lace and finally the hiss of leather, buckles and finally the sound of a pin clipping into place, she says, "I'm ready." She turns, cloak fastened with a common, sensible broach, and despite wearing the armour that was made specifically for her, she seems to be struggling with the fit, her first time daring to wear it since Sally came calling.

"You look good." Cryosanthia says, making a point of looking the lucht knight up and down, examining her from painted toenails to brow. Lingering on some details, like a buckle and a broach. "This one hopes her armour still fits her as well. It has been some time. Oh Scales, I do hope my cleaning duty did not include Kol's underwear. Come, walk with me."

The white-scale doesn't offer to carry the lucht again. She does, once they're out of the temple, touch as the spot where she kissed. As usual, the reptile's expressions are difficult to read, but there is a slight bounce to her gait. She walks slowly, to keep pace with Faran without hurrying her. Each step is powerful, each movement of her robes flowing. She moves like a calm queen down the streets to her old court, the Fernwood pub.

Faranmidahn blushes demurely and bows her head, "Thank you." She hops down to the floor and, she giggles softly, "It probably would have meant you could set the scabrous git on fire." When they're alone enough to at least speak softly, and the slats of her visor are swung down over her face she whispers, "The... pet thing bothered me, Cryo... but, it was kind of nice... relatively, in the dungeons. It was... strange feeling your song."

"Thank you Faran. It's meant to cheer and console. Younglings, the one singing, anyone who hears. I'm happy they survived that long time, it makes me believe I was not miserable all the time, or, trying to make the best of it." Cryosanthia says, staring off distantly. Her voice is mellow and even, she glides as much as strides, there is a solid core to her still untainted even if the outer shell was shaped to the fae queen's desires. "I'll sing it for you again if you like, but not here, it is meant for quiet spaces not bawdy bars, and we have arrived."

Cryosanthia swings open the door to the Fernwood Pub, and steps back to allow Faranmidahn to enter.

Faranmidahn bows her head with a quiet, "Thank you." and steps inside with only... mild hesitation. She sighs, looking the place over. For as much trauma as happened to the two women here in such a short span... the place looks like a relatively decent place to hang out and toss back a few. It's peculiar mix of reassurance, and disappointment. The Lucht steps further in and turns to await, to observe, Cryosanthia's return to where everything went so wrong.

The white-scaled sith-makar hesitates. A noticeable moment, she's steeling herself for battle, disappointment, perhaps memories that will be evoked, the reactions of others. She ducks her head, even though the establishment's door is tall, perhaps a muscle memory associated with places she's uncertain about.

Cryosanthia steps into the Fernwood Pub.

Some of the conversations stop. Then all, as the patrons turn to see what caused the interruption. It is the tall, white-scaled woman standing at the door. A sith-makar, a rarity in the place for the last few weeks, and one that doesn't quite look like the server they're used to even if there could only be one.

"Cryo...?" The Bartender says, interrupting his polishing of the bar, looking her way. "Are you... here for a shift?"

"It feels... smaller than I remember, even though everything I remember is this." Is her answer. She is as stunned as the patrons. Faranmidahn drifts close to hand by her friend, catching the hesitation and looking up to her, "It happens when you get bigger. I'm just glad you can still see me from way up there." she tries. There's a glance around at the patrons, back to her, then, "Perhaps a drink?" she suggests.

The Fernwood's human server comes out of the kitchen carrying a tray and stops dead in her tracks. She stares at the white-scale sith, her mouth dropping. The door opens again, hitting her on the rear, making her yelp and bounce forward. The half-sil is right behind, and also stopped by the sight. They had left before the experiment, they weren't present when she returned or left the morning after. At best they've heard something went wrong and now it confronts them. A larger, older, more powerful looking version of their co-worker.

"Yes, a drink would be nice. Bill would you get me a glass of waah... something." Cryosanthia says, not looking his way. Instead of going to the bar, she wanders the floor amongst the tables. Patrons stare at her as she gazes down on them, and even the tallest when seated is below her new height. She's not that much taller, but her regal movements make her seem so. There is a bit of wriggling with her hips and tail, "Were the tables always this close together?"

Her hand drags slowly along an empty booth, over her Arcane Mark as she turns and smiles at the two servers jammed up at the kitchen door. "Miriam, Kaeryn, it's good to see you. I've missed you so. You should get to your tables, you're burning your tips." She winks.

The two circulate in her wake, but they will be back with questions.

Faranmidahn, again, is a hole in the air as she drifts after Cryo, though to be fair, there are probably a number of regulars who have questions. She honestly couldn't say when, or even why her hand settled against the hilt of her longsword.

The stage is open, set up for a single performer. There is a seat, a small table, a curved backdrop to project their sound outwards into the pub. Cryosanthia steps up on the stage, turns to face the audience. Her fingers move through a graceful motion, one hand, then the other, light cascades down her arms beneath her robes making them glow faintly.

"Patrons of the Fernwood, it has been my great pleasure to serve you. A joy, delivering your meals and drinks, partaking in your banter. I even miss you grabbing at my tail, but you should not have." Cryo picks out a specific khazadi seated at a booth, and waggles her finger at him with a demure smile. "Especially you. I will treasure these memories, but a lot has changed for me as you can see. I will no longer work here. Please hang up my apron Bill, I am done."

The news is greeted with silence, then Miriam starts clapping. Kaeryn joins in, and soon everyone in the Fernwood is clapping. As the applause drops down, Cryo has one more final thing to say.

"Round of drinks for everyone Bill, I already owe so much on my tab."

This prompts a lot of cheering, more clapping, and the white-scale exits the stage with acclaim, heading over to the bar. She may drink here in the future, but her serving days are done, in many ways.

Faranmidahn watches the show from within the shadow afforded by her visor, concerned, not only for her friend's mental state in this once-troubled place, but the unshakable feeling of being exposed. It could be compensation for her fatigue, that she isn't at her best and is forcing a sort of hypervigilance. It could simply be once more facing the difference a few decades make in the right span of days... of minutes.

"Come Faran, let's get that drink." Cryosanthia moves over to the bar, taking a stool that is for a patron and not where the servers hang out. The round she shouted is passed out, to cheers when they arrive and distant toasts. She continues to draw attention but the other patrons mostly return to their meals and their own lives.

The Bartender, the two Servers, even the Chef is looking in through the window. They want more of the story, and they stare at the changes to their acquaintance and fellow employee. Finally, Bill breaks the silence, "Cryo, what happened? We never got the full story."

The white-scale sith gives a simplified breakdown of her time with the Fae Queen, her gamble, the result, the fallout. It's a positive summary that skips the compulsions laid in her mind and the troubles they've caused. It is enough that they can read between the lines and understand the sacrifice, and why Cryo no longer would want to work for others.

"Can you get my things Kaeryn, I don't know what happened with them." The half-sil heads into the back.

Faranmidahn really only seems to appear to the servers after she's scrambled up onto a stool beside her to ask for, "Strong coffee please... lots of honey?"

"Of course, here you go!" A large mug, they're always large for luchts, is placed in front of Faran. The bartender, Bill, continues to look at Cryosanthia in disbelief. All of her co-workers accept her story and make consoling comments. It's clear they understand that she's crossed a threshold and can't go back to how things were before.

Her abandonned gear is brought out, her rapier, her leather armour, her small backpack with the potions, scrolls and the artifice devices Kaelyn gave her. Cryo takes up her rapier, it's a serviceable but inexpensive weapon. It seems crude in her hands. Worse still is her leather armour, rent and repaired several times over. It was a rough sith make to start with and the abuse she put it through did not improve its looks. She makes a small clicking noise in her mouth as she looks them over.

Faranmidahn reaches out to accept the basin of coffee with a, "Thank you, miss!" before blowing some of the steam away from the liquid and takes a sip... that becomes a gulp. And maybe three more of those before the cup is set down with a sigh. A knowing look is given to the bartender, the human, and the half elf who leads with her bosoms, but she woesn't have the words for them. Her reconciliation with the concepts are tenuous at best, but, now, as oft before, her hand rises to Cryosanthia, pale skin alighting to pale scales.

Cryo looks over at Faran's touch, smiling with her mouth closed, her teeth kept in. "A lot of memories here, aren't there?" The white-scale sith looks at where she fell against the bar, trying to throw beer. There are scratch marks in the finish from her scales. She's left her mark on the place, literally and figuratively.

The two servers have a slightly stunned look, experiencing the splash damage of an unexpected tragedy. The bouncy half-sil, Kaeryn, seems like it might not have been her first time, but Miriam is a little more broken up about it, even if Cryo was 'weird'. They move in to hug Faran and Cryosanthia, in a chorus, "We'll miss you!"

The lucht nods with a soft, "We met here. You were so... happy..." She sighs, and removes her helm, setting it upon the back. A memory, prized in context, though that trail is cold and dead. It's... appropriate to remove headgear when mourning. She taps into that cold place, steers it against the corners of her eyes that want to moisten. She is set to deny them. She won't take Cryo down that road again. Not now. Not here. There is a surprised, "Hu-mmmph!" as the sorceress is suddenly engulfed in the half-elf and she lightly pat-pats along her assailant to suggest that perhaps she would really like toOKCAN'TBREATHE!

"I'll still come in!" Cryosanthia says, her eyes glittering, returning the softskins' hugs. Poor Faran will be struggling for air as she squeezes them all more firmly. It may be an empty promise, those are made in times like these. It's a strange experience for her. Cryo's only memories seem recent in her mind, but the feelings attached to them make them feel old, so very old and long ago. A last hurrah, a victory lap, a closing of a door. An ending and a beginning caused by an impulse offer in a moment where she was at a low ebb. There were many possibilities that came to a close that day, factors at play she still is unaware of. Choices she might not have made with the circumstances slightly altered. Choices once made that set a course in stone. Time, moves on. One may never step in the same river-water twice, but one can still swim there.

The Chef emerges from the Kitchen, he carries Cryo's apron and a stepstool. He climbs up, nails it up above the bar. As he bangs in the nails, the patrons clap and pound along on the tables, cheering, "Cryo! Cryo!"

The white-scale sith-makar will always be here in spirit.