Baz in da Fernwood
Log Info
- Title: Baz in da Fernwood
- Emitter: Ashes
- Characters: Ashes, Baz da Ork, Braelnoir
- Place: A07: Fernwood Pub
- Time: Thursday, January 07, 2021, 6:44 PM
- Summary: Baz bullies a bully of the Fernwood out of his way, and heads into his first stop on a drunken bar-crawl. He roughly pets a 'doggo' a ranger's wolf companion, then joins Ashlee at her table. Braelnoir arrives, and the three get to talking. Ash suggests Baz might find himself a suitable wolf pup at Maori's Riding Wolf Starter Store. Braelnoir recounts capturing a two headed winter-wolf for the goblin to try breeding with her worg. Boots are discussed, and Baz angrily shares what he will do to the pervy gnomes that stole his. He then laments things are too quiet outside, making it too quiet inside his head, and he can hear his thoughts. There is only so much ale can do, so he heads off to find some WAR. In the aftermath, Ash reveals that things are quiet on the spiritual side as well, and her Tarot cards keep coming up ominous. Braelnoir asks how she's doing, the Mourner admits not well, and the two go up to her room to talk further.
-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-<* 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.
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-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Appearing, in Order -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Baz da Ork 7'0" 320 Lb Orc Male 7' 320 pounds of metal, muscle and stupid. WAAAGH! Ashes 5'11" 177 Lb Hobgoblin Female A somber arvec in grey clothes with a skull face Braelnoir 5'11" 146 Lb Human Female A tall, pale Acanian woman, branded in silver. -=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=
It's later in the evening, the work crews are starting to show in the building as the dwindling light ends shifts and sends men and women off to try and relax. In the doorway stands a massive man, covered in leather straps and buckles a giant smith's hammer hanging from his belt. The apron over his chest still smeared with soot. Others have to squeeze around his bulk as he laughs and chortles with his friends. Indolently ignoring the comfort and ease of passage of others while he sloshes beer. As he's about to launch into another story, complete with gyrations of his hips and vulgar motions towards a passing barmaid a voice rumbles to life behind him.
"OY, GIT! YOU IN DA WAY!" Before the Smith can turn and insult this voice two great green hands clamp onto him. One down by his hip, the other up around his neck. Fingers like small trees twine around a neck that should be immune to such a grip. Then with little aplomb the massive Ork lifts the Smith up over his head.
"Ya in between me and me meal and drink! Go be pretty over there." With a heave the Smith is hurled out of the front door to land in the street. "I'll be ready ta stomp on ya later." Without looking back the big Ork continues his way inside. Covered in metal armor, spikes and a host of weapons. Obviously well known most of those in attendance turn away and give him a wide berth.
It's two nights in a row in the Fernwood Pub for a certain ashen Arvek Nar. Perhaps last night's pheasant meal was appealing. A more esoteric reason is she's decided she'd rather not walk all the way from the Mountain Temple to Goblintown through Merek's snow without taking a break.
It's the casualness of the thing. So the Mourner sits at the table under the stairs, where it's dark and she has a wall to her back and unrestricted staring options. She's built a little defensive wall on her table with her satchel, a glass and her stack of cards.
Contentedly ensconched, she sits unblinking. Her entertainment is provided first by the obstruction at the door, then by the removal of the obstruction. It's almost enough to make her smile. Or wave. Or otherwise act alive. Instead the skull-faced woman raises her hand in a silent wave to the Ork that's easily overlooked.
Meanwhile, from the upstairs comes Brae, scythe propped over a shoulder, and otherwise fully armed. She sweeps the patronage, upnodding at Ashes, before her eyes alight on Baz, "Oi! Brings you out this way?" she asks in an boisterously amicable tone.
Showing that this may actually be his first bar-stop, as when he swigs that first ale most of it manages to get inside his mouth, Baz flags down a waitress and gets his drink. Swilling it back, and heedless of the rivers of ale running down his chin, neck and splashing across his armor. The big Ork acquires a second mug and peers around. So few things meet the Ork's gaze, those that do stand out. The first of which is a wolf, seemingly the companion of an archer who pointedly avoids the Ork's gaze. Still the animal does not, and soon finds itself in shadow as a massive ale smelling hand starts stroking it's head.
"Dats a good doggo!" Baz exclaims. As the ranger starts to remark that the wolf bites he notices the animal trembling in fear, simply enduring being pet by a much larger preadator with skin thicker then the leather of it's collar. "I used to eat da doggos when I was younger. But den I learns they good boi. Me daughter even has one like dis! It's a right bastard like she is. It bites me, like she does! HAH!"
Then slowly the big Ork notices Ashes, his eyes blinking a few times. Slowly and much to the relief of the ranger and wolf the big Ork makes his way over towards the skull faced Arvek.
"Hai, you wink'in at me?" Baz asks with a grin, his wide maw spreading to show his numerous sharp teeth framed by two massive tusks. He takes a pull on his ale, and this time just the better portion makes it into his mouth. The rest running down his chest and dripping onto the floor. Then the big ork makes a sly wink as he tries to debonair. It unfortuantely makes it look more like he's having a stroke while smelling something bad. "You want ta know a real ma.." The rest of his words are cut off as Braelnoir comes down and announces herself. The big Ork turning to grin.
"Well I heard dis place was where all da really soft gits hung out. So I came ta add some metal to the spines around here." Baz chuckles and gives a teasing growl. "Wot you do'in here? Putting a brush on yer sharp stick and cleaning the ceiling?" Ashlee clears the table in front of her, putting her cards in her bag, her bag beside the wall and moving her glass. It was only meant to prevent certain company, and wouldn't work for Baz or Brelnoir in any case.
Her head tilts up, and Baz's question is given a simple monotone answer, "No." However, he asked two questions, so she should clarify. "I didn't wink. I know the real you. We threw our boots at a gnome."
She nods at Braelnoir also. A nod that's automatic and very familiar.
"Pah! Soft, Hell! This's where alla wierd shit happens!" Brae returns with a laugh, "Heard ya's comin', figgered I'd get ready ta clean the celin' when ya missed yer face!" The Korite strides toward the Oruch, clapping her branded fist to her breastplate, then reaching out to bump knuckles.
She catches Ashes's return and smiles a bit, "Been a while, luv, how them boots treatin' ya?" she wonders. They were pretty nice boots, she just didn't need them anymore.
The humor in Baz's face melts some as the Boot-Gnome is mentioned. His feet take a firmer press to the floor, making the boards groan beneath his massive form. "Dat pervy Gnome who wanted me feets." Baz says before slinging more ale down his gullet. "Took me days tae get boots made. Not like I can just find me size anywhere. I had tae tie leather sacks around me feets so I could walks around town. One day I'm going back dere and getting me boots, and revenge." Small fires burn in the Ork's eyes, his tone goes hollow as he thinks on the horrors he'll inflict on the little deranged Gnome. Then that fades when Braelnoir draws his attention. Smashing the mug he was holding into his chest in a mimic of her motion, he lets the splintered and now empty mug drop onto the floor as his fist bumps into hers.
"I only miss 'cause Kor takes his share out of the air." Baz chuckles and grins. "Ah more about boots." There is a pause from the Ork as he looks around. "Aww da doggos is gone. I needs tae get me one of them. Me own little doggo to tae be all woof and stuff."
"They're good. I like them a lot, for walking and riding." Ash replies in measured monotone. She looks at Baz again, "Maori in Goblintown sells Riding Wolf starter kits. It's a puppy. Look for her store, it's called Nif's."
"I don't think they will get big enough for you to ride. Only to feed people to."
Braelnoir smirks up into a full grin, "Well, long as there's a good reason!" she quips. There's a fine bit of conversation, "Seems th'time fer revenge." she notes. Ashes affirmation brings a smile and a nod, "That's good. Ohhh... yeah, I think I done a job fer her once. Snagged'r a two headed winter wolf. She was meanin' ta breed'm. Haven't checked up on'r since."
"Oooh, riding wolf?" Baz brightens up. "I'll call him Dorp." Baz says simply. "I'll feed him all da time until he gets big." The big Ork glances from Braelnoir to Ashes. "Winter wolf? Dat a big doggo? I'll get a basket for'em. Put it right here." The Ork motions to where a few hooks on his belt usually hold his most recent skull trophies. "So I can pet him while I'm march'n. He can sit in da basket and do the woof'n, before fuzzy. Be a good boi."
Ash nods, holding up her hand, "This big. Two heads, breathes cold. She was very happy. A pup would fit there. You could pet him all day."
She waves at her table, in case that encourages someone to sit. There's a lot of room at her table, in that she's against the wall and the rest of the pub is available as the other side seating. Baz could park his rump on a table behind him, they might be sturdy enough. The Mourner has never seen them tested.
"I like smaller pets." She has a centipede around her throat, that's much smaller than a wolf, though he wins in the leg competition.
"She's a starchy bitch, took all manner o'work ta bring'er down." Brae explains with a shrug, "Cold don't quite cut it. They breathe a deep, penetratin' kinda cold. Cuts right through ya." She doesn't wonder about pets, she isn't convinced she has the instincts for it.
There's a stressed groan of wood as Baz puts the bench he sits down on at Ash's table to the test. "Yeah, I could carry it and it could breathe dat cold in front of me. Den if I gets really hugry I could eat it too." The big Ork chuckles and winks. "Nae, I nae eat da doggo. Da doggo is for pet'n. I'm sure if da Big Ork knew about Doggos he'd say we can't eat dem either. Like he told us tae stop eat'n you other peoples." Once more lips spread in a wide sharp toothed grin. "Makes life a bit more interesting, even if I gots a look a bit harder for food."
"Thanks. I wouldn't want to be eaten." Ashlee states the obvious. She's likely all stringy muscle and gristle too with her hobgoblin nature, if she doesn't taste like her namesake. Best not to consider further. "Maori's puppies are fun. I've played with them."
The Mourner is starting to struggle. She works with corpses all day, and while they enjoy her singing they aren't much for conversation. Good audience though. Attention never wavers. Ash isn't sure what to do with all the attention she has right now, so she points at Braelnoir, "You should talk to Not-A-Monster."
The silver haired Korite shrugs a shoulder and sidles up to join them at their table, "Playin' with her was fun." she says dryly. She brushes her hair back from her face, then, "Yeah, reckon that's never going away, huh Spooky?" she smirks.
"Wot? Not a monster?" Baz looks from one woman to another. He leans back and flags down a fresh flagon of ale and takes a long sip from it. "Wot we talk'n about? I do need tae see these pups. Get me one." There's a few blinks from the Ork. "Need more work too. It's too cold out to be doing nothing. Need tae get marchin, everyone around here keeps acting like dere some kind of holidays happening. Don't remember any big holidays. No battles recently."
"I like to remind you that you're not a monster." Ash admits, staring at Braelnoir, blinking once. She looks at Baz, and somewhat explains. "She had scales. She had to wear a sign."
She takes a sip from her glass, "I haven't done any outside Temple work in a while. It's been quiet." As a Mourner, she likes that sort of thing, but even a crypt has to air out once in a while.
Braelnoir puts on a big smile for a moment, then rolls her shoulder, "Really beautiful scales, like this." She nods her chin toward the pebbled emblem of her shoulder, "But everywhere. Well, everywhere except that brand, at the time." She looks to Ashes, to Baz, then, "Sometimes quiet's good ta gather yer breath, long as ya don't lose a step."
"Oh, scales can be good." Baz intones with a nod. Then he grins and chuckles. "If ye grow'em back be sure tae show me 'em all. Ya? Hah!" The big Ork grins and winks. Then he takes a long pull on his ale and shakes his head. "Don't like what I hear in the silence." He taps the side of his head with a thick finger. "All da talk'n in here. It gets to quiet, it never stays quiet. Ya? Gots tae be in motion, gots tae be fightin. Sleep less, stop less, rest less, must move. Must war. WAR, Moar WAR!"
He looks at his ale. It's drained. "Well dats enuf intospectin' dis is as empty as me skulls. Dis a nice posh puff place, but I'm off to de next one." The massive ork stands and stomps his way out, squeezing the barmaid on the rear as he goes by. The door slams, outside he can be heard bellowing, "Oi! You STILL DERE?"
Followed by sounds of fighting.
"I want to see them too." Ashlee admits, staring at the scaled war-mark and remembering the earlier effect. It's the big Ork's next statement that really gets her attention. He concisely voices some concerns of hers. She's not after more war, and when it's quiet she hears the ghosts. It's more about when she can't hear the ghosts, when there's a silence and an emptiness, and her Tarot cards keep coming up wrong. "Baz put it well"
"There's grades o'quiet." Brae replies offhandedly, lifting a hand to signal one of the girls should come by. Ashes's stated desire gets a little, "Me too." before she settles in. She gives that a second or two, once Miriam shows up, and she starts, "Evenin', luv. Gunpowder chilli if ya got it. Usual steak an' beer combo it not, thanks Meer." There's a glance to the Mourner, and, "Whatcha feelin?"
"Red Wine. Gunpowder Chili." Ash answers, then follows with, "Steak if not. Still wine. One glass."
She's particular about that. She scratches at the table, struggles for something to say. She hears an echo of a voice in her head and finds herself repeating it. "So, you are well?"
"Ready ta fight." Brae replies with a shrug, then, "Imagine it'll only be a matter o'time, now." She glances toward the hearth, then, "How you doin, luv?"
Ashlee scratches as the tabletop again. She looks down at her fingers, which have her skeleton tattoo continued on them, and her fingernails which have little white spiders painted on them. She swallows, one of her ears twiches slightly, which is a noticeable flick because of its size. She looks up, "You really want to know?"
Because most people don't, and the ashen Arvec is used to not sharing. She doesn't queue complaints, and dealing with the dead and others' grief tends to provide a certain perspective. Largely, that her problems aren't big and don't matter. The one that everyone seems to worry about, death, was solved for her before she was even born.
"My cards... aren't right. And it's quiet. Spiritually."
Braelnoir frowns a little and cants her head, "I asked." she says simply. She looks a little sympathetic as the Mourner struggles with unloading, such as it is and she nods, "Soundz like all this God shard stuff's got the spooy stuff layin' low." she says softly, "Civies get wind a war may flare up nearby get all quiet, kinda squirrely. Ain't sure if'ats the same thing."
Ash nods. She places her deck of tarot cards on the table. She wiggles the edge of her boot under a table leg, then slowly levers it up. It tilts a little. It tilts a lot. Her glass starts to slide. The deck fans out in a long streak, shooting across to the other side and a bunch of cards fall off. She drops the table flat.
"It's like that. Without the table." On the floor a few portentious cards have flipped face up. The Towers. The Chariot. The Fool. Ashes ... rrr.. Death. A few number suits.
Braelnoir watches the ritual with an arched brow, but she doesn't do anything at first, not until some of the cards start to slide that the merc lurches foward to try and catch them with a 'Whoop!'. she squares up what few she's caught, then sets them on the table, "Yeah... that sounds about right."
Ash slips off her seat and gathers up all her cards. She checks under the table and around, ensuring she has them all. She wraps them back up in a cloth, slips them into her satchel. She sits again, looking uncomfortable and stares at Braelnoir. "I don't... talk about things with ... living people... much."
More scratching, more looking down at the table. Her voice remains monotone, "And... things bother me that didn't. Like this trial."
Braelnoir glances about some, then, "I rent upstairs, luv, if you want these as private words." She leans in a bit a reaches out to gently tap a bare finger against the Aevek's arm, "There's someone gone... someone I still talk to now an' then, too. Sometimes it helps... sometimes ya need someone outside."
The ashen Arvec continues to stare and nods once when Braelnoir taps her arm. "Ok. Thanks." She goes silent again, watching, then adds, "Not a Monster."
Braelnoir snerks, "C'mon Spooky, let's have us some girl talk." she says, then gets to her feet, turning to regard the bartender, "Yo, Bill! Gonna take it upstairs, yeah?"
Ashlee nods, checking around to make sure she hasn't forgotten anything, then follows Braelnoir. Chippen, happy his mistress is happier, runs a few laps around her throat. She follows the merc like a ghost.
