Fernly Chat

Tenebrae - Monday, March 31, 2014, 8:59 AM

---

-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-<* 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.

Selia mutters absently to herself as the little halfer tromps down the steps from upstairs. It might be late morning for some, but for other's, anything before noon is still early. Blinking the sleep away, Selia hops lightly up onto one of the tall stools by the bar, tapping the top for the barkeeps attention.

Kyson is seated at one of the small tables which normally seats three but he's there by himself. With an additional chair pulled out to hold his haversack, the young man is attempting to shake the cobwebs out of his head over a bowl of oats and a mug of coffee. A small book, no bigger than two palms resting side by side, sits open in front of him as though he were reading or studying.

Selia murmurs quietly, passing a few small coins over, and soon enough her own meal arrives. Fruit, eggs, a small bowl of nuts, and a mug of milk. Health food, by most standards. The eggs and fruit disappear swiftly, and the Lucht turns to watch the few up and about, shelling nuts into a bowl on her lap. The little dancer might not have the raw power to crack open the shells, but swift use of a simple knife to apply just the right pressure shells the nuts swift to make a squirrel proud.

GAME: Kyson rolls linguistics: (19)+8: 27

Kyson glances up and around the tavern as he takes a swig of the prescious black liquid of mornings and spies the Lucht enjoying her own breakfast. With his best, formal, practiced and totally unfamiliar tone, he tries to greet her in her own language. The word, roughly translated as 'hello' is, perhaps, phonetically perfect - according some long forgotten text, but it's clear that whoever wrote the lexicon probably hasn't been around the small folk in generations. The tone is artificial, somewhat nasal and obviously from a person who is not, as yet, familiar with how to speak the language. Still, he is at least attempting to be polite.

Selia blinks, eyeing the robed figure a few moments before setting her bowl aside and giving her full attention. "Jus wot da fek ya tryin ta say, boyo?" The words practically drip with a thick Low Charn accent. Which is to say, the accent of the Charn Empire, as spoken by those of the lower class.

Kyson blinks in confusion, an eyebrow raised in question. "Charnese?" he asks cautiously - apparently not expecting that dialect to come out of the Lucht's mouth. His expression seems one of academic curiosity as he examines the smallfolk woman before him with a scrutinty of a mage. "I...was just saying...uh...hello, I thought."

Selia snorts softly, and shrugs. "Den jus say ello'. Ain't no reason ta get fancy 'bout it." The small woman peers a few moment longer. "Ya ain't from 'round 'ere." It's not posed as a question.

Kyson uhs and shrugs a little, "Kind of - but you wouldn't have heard of it. Just got to the city a few weeks ago." As the conversation begins to unfold, he pulls a small stone from his pocket and rests it upon the opened book to keep the pages splayed apart. The stone, a polished, round creek stone looks to be about the right size to be a sling bullet. "Getting out of Char would have been...interesting, I'm sure." Yes - he's just that curious and probably has no clue what he's actually asking.

Selia fehs lightly, and takes up her bowl again, but doesn't turn away. "Were at dat. Being there were moreso. Ya 'eard of da Sendor War, aye? Occupied turf makes border crossing different."

Kyson nods seemingly putting two and two together. "Did you come across by yourself or were you part of a group? Did you come across the Inmost Sea or..." he inwardly gasps at another question that jumps into his mind. Lowering his voice a bit he asks, "Did you cross the Dreadlands?"

Selia shakes her head. "Nah, joined da re-inforcements wit da Bludgun army. Nasty bunch, but nay too bright. Once got ta Sendor, joined up wit da Resistance. Lotta blokes from 'ere in Alexandria went up ta join too. Made sum friends. When da war ended and dey came back 'ere, came wit 'em."

Kyson nods and seems to be able to appreciate finding friends in unusual places. "It sounds like you have had an interesting life...Traveler? Forgive me - my name is Kyson...of Blackbriar. You wouldn't have heard of it."

Selia snorts again. "Don't tell me wot I ain't 'eard." Though she doesn't actually say otherwise. "I's Selia. Selia Shadowkin. I'ma Dancer." The capitilization is obvious in the tone.

Kyson peers curiously, "Dancer?" he asks as his mind repeats her lastname 'shadowkin'. "Do you 'perform' anywhere in the city? I haven't really been to many taverns yet, though so I probably wouldn't know it." With another sip of his coffee and a few spoon-fulls of oats he idly continues with his breakfast while mid-conversation with the lucht. "I'm a Novice to the Society; under the instruction of Master Evard of Dragonier."

Selia nods, nibbeling on something not unlike a hazlenut. "Aye, in and out. Mostly in. Ain't got no firm set, but most often down by da docks, or up in da market. Iffen ya find yerself wit an evenin free, ask 'around. Mosta da blokes know me, meybe can point ya where."

Kyson almost, -Almost-, asks why all the men know Selia but stops mid-expression; his mouth still partially open. In a poor attempt to cover his mental pause he nods a bit and adds "That sounds interesting." Yeah - a bad recovery but at least he tried to maintain some sense of manners; his Master would be so proud. "Have you heard about the Sith-Makar embassidor coming?"

Selia snorts softly and smiles, hearing the unspoken question. "I'm da best damn Dancer in da city. And word spreads. Anyways, nay much. Didn't know da Sith 'ad proper royals. Sorta reckon they don't, title's more fer dem on this side. More respect dan wotever 'er real title be."

Kyson asks, "Have you ever met one of their people? They seem like an interesting race - but," he nods his head to take a sip to finish off his mug of coffee, "...everything seems interesting to me."

Selia hehs. "Aye. BrightBlade Svarshan. Local bloke, good guy. Bit stuffy 'n quiet, funny sorta way. Other's 'round, but iffen be a loca leader, reckon Svar ta be it. Nay dat 'e'd ever seek such a job."

Kyson perks up in the middle of Selia's explination as though a new question had just jumped into his mind. "Ohyes," he begins reaching into his shirt to pull forth a medallion depicting Eluna's symbol, "...are you familiar with The Bright Lady...er, Eluna?"

Selia quirks a brow, but smiles. "Aye, well 'nuff. Been while since 'ad much truck wit gods, but know of 'em. Why ya askin?"

Kyson is absently fingering his necklace while talking with the halfling woman - almost a nervous habit. "I was curious what your people know of her. I find it fascinating that the various races each have their own version of Eluna. It was odd to hear someone refer to her by a different name or even see her differently."

Selia glares for an instant, swiftly softening to a mere frown. "'My people' be jus me n' mine. Any rest mighta been, be dead. Can thank da Dark Bitch, Taara, fer dat."

And that's when Kyson tries to become smaller than the Lucht. It's not an easy process - he probably has a spell or something that could pull it off but sitting there in his seat, stumbling into the conversational pit that he just did, he falls somberly quiet for a moment. After a few breaths he glances up to meet the halfling woman's eyes to offer, "My appologies. I did not mean..."

Selia makes a dismissive wave, and sing-songs absently. "Didn't mean, didn't know, don't say sorry, jus let it go." The Lucht might not be a bard, but there's music to the words. Frowning a moment longer, she finishes off her mug of milk. "Ain't so bad. Got a good burg ta live in, good blokes 'round. Bit o' coin in me purse, and solid roff o'er me head. Better life den most got."

Kyson nods, "Yeah - I know what you mean...at least in part. Don't have much but I have what I need, ya know?" And with that he raises his empty mug to the would-be Bard in salute with a flat-smile on his face.

Selia hehs. "Reckon lotta blokes be suspised wot dey can live witout, once it's taken from 'em. And which things dey'd do da most ta get back."

Kyson taps the small leather-covered journal in front of him and the wooden scribe's case next to it on the table. "A blank page and ink - my Master told me to keep my wants simple," he grins at the thought of his first instructor. The scribe's case looks like a narrow wooden box that's maybe half-a-hand wide and probably as tall but as long as his forearm. The lid is rocked open and several pens and quills lay scattered inside with a capped inkwell stored in one end. "People seem to put too much value on 'expensive' things."

Selia hehs. "Part o' wot make's 'em expensive. Rare can 'ave value. Unique can be priceless. But only iffen blokes reckon it so." The halfer peers for a moment. "...ya wanna see something ain't nobody even seen before? And ain't never gonna see 'gain?"

And again, Kyson's eyebrow jumps up his forehead, an arched recognition of his addictive curiosity. Really - he should look into medication. Leaning forward in his chair a bit he manages to contain the impulse to leap from his seat and asks, "What would that be?" his voice a restrained, false tone approximating calm.

GAME: Selia rolls sleight of hand: (1)+12: 13

Selia holds out her empty hands. Turning them plam down, she flips them back up, and a nut goes flying. The Dancer acks, but catches the nut before it gets away. Not the smoothest trick, but could have gone worse. A snort of wry amusement, and Selia returns to the task at hand, showing off the nut a moment... then cracking it open, and showing the meaty center. "Never seen before. And never again." The tidbit is popped into the halfers mouth, chewed, and swallowed.

Kyson seems a bit crest-fallen and eases back into his seat. "He who would turn pun would pick-a-pocket," he recites the typical phrase. He completely fell for her rouse. Hoping beyond hope that she would show some him un-forseen or rare...whatsits, he pushes his back against the rest of the chair and does his best not to look like he's sulking.

Selia shrugs. "Gave ya 'xactly wot said I would. Unique, never seen 'fore. And not worth a copper, cause nobody cares. Gold coin, 'undred jus like it. But worth fair bit, jus cause blokes say is worth it."

Kyson hrms, "Can you show me how you did it?" Perhaps there's something to be salvaged from this attempted jest.

Selia ponders a moment, smiles, and shrugs. "Dan't see why not. Jus call upon da Powers of Darkness ta do me biddin. Issa?" Selia gestures to teh seat next to her, and the flicking shadow left by the distant windows and dim lamps grows soild, black, large, and sits upright. A Shadow, black upon black eyes peering at you, a jagged, broken line serving as a grinning mouth. "Eep!" Selia blinks, and cups her hand over the monster, who fades back out of sight. The Dancer peers around a moment, and mutters quietly. "I forgot. Dey don't like me doin dat 'round 'ere..."

Kyson is completely and absolutely gob-smacked. Stunned. Unable to process human speech at this time. His eyes are as wide as saucers and his mouth stands agape like some stone gargoyle atop a nearby building. His pupils flick from the halfling and to the shadowy creation and then back. Back, and forth, and back...and forth. "DO it again!" Dear sweet lord he's become a child and someone just lit a firework. Reaching out to clasp the well-worn edges of the wooden table in front of him, he leans forward with neer greedy eyes, "...please?" he adds with a quick cant of his head to one side, owl-like.

Selia smiles, but glances to the Bartender, who is ignoreing the Lucht. Pointedly. "...nah, best not. Am seriously, ain't many like dat sorta thing. Most Shadow be wit da Dark Bitch, so canna blame 'em."

Kyson flips to a blank page within the small book in front of him and grabs one of his graphite points to draw with. Quickly his fingers race across the double-palm sized page in an attempt to recreate what he just witnessed. His eyes never leave the empty space where it once stood while the point continues to draw - as though he were forcing his eyes to see the image that was once there. "...They come when you call them?"

Selia shakes her head, pauses a moment, and shrugs. "Nay 'xactly. Issa der's me friend. Stays close. Most is evil bastards like da stories say. Don't want dem 'round."

The sketch has now extended from one leaf to the other as he combines notes and simple sketches to convey the concept. Words like 'shadow' and 'friend' appear in big, bold letters. "Fascinating. How did you come by these...friends? Do they speak? Do they have names?" Are they always around you?"

Selia giggles. "Long story, sorta, yes, and no. Issa's da only one." The halfer frowns, and falls quiet for a moment. "Short version of it... sometimes, iffen yer alone in da dark, ya start to talk to it. And sometimes, jus sometimes, da Dark talks back."

The Scribbler's ink-stained fingers start to itch that the very possibilities of such a thing. "What do they say...generally?" He asks with a nervous anticipation clouding his thoughts and most of his voice. "I wonder if they are somehow enslaved by 'Her'." He hrms with excitement and thought and eventually is able to pull himself back to this world after filling about four pages of his journal with sketches and questions. "Would...," he clears his throat a bit - suggesting that it's gone a bit dry, "...would it be possible to call them again sometime - when you're free?"

Selia mmms. "Dem wanting ta talk, mostly 'ello'. And aye, Dark Bitch took over da ShadowLands by force. Long ago. Most now ain't never known no other queen. Most of them what ain't bad got killed off. Only few left, try fightin back."

<OOC> Selia notes that Selia's version of how Shadow's work is not strictly cannon, nor factual. It's what she believes, no more, no less.

"Queen of Shadows...Lady of Light...ever seen in the havens...in the War for the Night." Kyson mutter something half under his breath; a quote from some Elven poem about Eluna and Taara. Once he's point stops racing across the page he takes a breath and regains a fair degree of control over his curiosity. He really should seek an apothecary's aid for such thing. "Such an interesting...revelation. I wonder if it would be...yes...fairly possible to summon one such creature...at least a minor one." He can't help but ask a few more questions, "Do you know if there are lesser, weaker versions of the 'good' kind? Perhaps I could talk to one myself?"

Selia frowns a moment, sighs, and shrugs. "Most of da good ones is weak. Dey's like people. Strong ones, weak ones, smart, and dumb. Da strongs ones serve as soilders fer Da Bitch. Weak ones, one she don't care 'bout, them only ones able ta slip 'way and do anything else."