Bier Today, Zonked Tomorrow

Log Info

• Title: Bier Today, Zonked Tomorrow
• Emitter: Barclaiigh
• Characters: Barclaiigh, Irshya, Mikilos, Ravenstongue
• Place: the TarRaCe
• Time: Wednesday, February 16, 2022, 8:00 PM
• Summary: It's the second-to-last night of Kegger Fest and the dwarves have invaded the TarRaCe! Irshya works double-time along with the rest of the pub staff keeping the stouts stocked in stouts and festive foods. Barclaiigh is enjoying himself propped-up at the bar as Mikilos and Ravenstongue arrive out of the cold. The two arcanists forge their way through the raucous Khazadi crowd and find seats. Bar, Cor'lana, and Miki eventually make their way to the same table to chat while the gobber keeps hard at work.

The TarRaCe, late evening

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=  At a glance around The TarRaCe  -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Barclaiigh   4'5"     202 Lb     Mountain Dwarf    Male      A thick tree-trunk of a dwarf. Wavy auburn hair, loose traveling clothes
Irshya       3'0"     35 Lb      Goblin            Female    A small, blue-skinned Goblin in sea-green robes.
Mikilos      6'8"     180 Lb     Dawn Elf          Male      Tall male dawn elf, rosey blonde and handsome.
Ravenstongue 5'0"     99 Lb      Half-Elf          Female    Short half-elf girl with violet eyes and black hair.                         
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It's nearing mid-night and Eluna is high, half-peeking out from behind a sheet of solid black with smaller, twinkling stars to keep her company. The patchwork sky-glitter is a beautiful thing to behold. It's just too bad about the cold; the bitter wind still works tirelessly in spite of the late hour.

Most Gildays, the TarRaCe would be well on its winding down so close to a fresh tomorrow but it's the second-to-last day of Kegger's Fest and the Khazadi population is out in full force with a mind to celebrate. Two barmen are at work making sure to keep mugs filled and five-part dwarven band has come down from the Redridge to show off their elaborately-curved brass horns, darkwood squeezeboxes, and a half-keg converted into a sort of standing bass. The singer is as red-nosed as he is red-haired as his roars his Khazdul oom-pah-pah over the bounding tunes.

Barclaiigh leans bodily against the bar with an easy grin smearing his face, his mustache and beard glistening with dripped drink. His head has a forward tilt and his small eyes an unfocused twinkle that makes no secret of how much he's enjoyed himself so far this evening. He's even dressed up for the occasion! A new vest with skillful floral stitchwork sits over his skirted tunic and his hair and beard are nearly braided; both corralled into a respective fat braid to hang before and behind his head.

Mikilos is dressed in his regular robes, the same ones he always wears... it's okay, they're magic, still fresh as the day he made them. The elf wanders in with an idle look around, mildly surpised at the remaining crowd. Searching a few moments, Mikilos heads for a clear table, or at least one not currently occupied.

The wee Gobbo works several tables at a go, holding a sizable tray above her head as she navigates between tables. Full ale steins are exchanged for empties, and she is practically a blue blur. Her cheeks are flushed a deep lavender as she works through her energy supply.

She only pauses to swat at Barclaiigh's behind, running off giggling loudly as she goes in for another round for yet another table o'Khazad.

Ravenstongue walks into the TarRaCe, dressed in a long and flowing black woolen dress that goes all the way up to her neck, a high collar that's as stylish as it is warm. Her familiar white raven (and white raven familiar) Pothy rides on her cloaked shoulder, the extra wool fabric from the unused hood providing Pothy ample 'nesting' room on his mistress's shoulder.

Her violet eyes scan the environment with a mildly hesitant expression, her brows lightly furrowed as she sees that the place is crowded. "Umm, maybe we should come back tomorrow--"

Pothy whips around from his seat on Ravenstongue's shoulder. If ravens could glare, he would be. "Snacks," he says in a severe tone.

"Jeez, you really miss going out for snacks that much, huh?" Ravenstongue replies with a sigh. She walks further into the building, searching for friendly faces and voices in the crowd.

The Khazadi shaman turns when someone nudges his backside, reactions slowed enough that he misses the gobblur zooming past. His lips push out in a frown and he blinks deliberately, turning to figure out who'd bumped into him. He squints and leans forward, sorting out the new, taller, garbed-in-black arrival from the 'Mornir trio standing right next to the door with their shirts off. Two have complex, runic tattoos in blue and another in crimson, and all are making a point to not react to the cold when the door is open. They're so tough!

"Missus Ravensong!" Barclaiigh cheers, lurching away from the bar to raise an arm and wave his sausage emphatically. "Ain'yoo a'sight fer soreiz!" He hip-checks an unoccupied stool and turns. "Sorry, fren'," apologizes the dwarf to the furniture. "H'lo!" He rumbles soemthing off in Khazdul-- which is immediately echoed by nearly every dwarf in earshot as they lift their mugs.

The band hits the end of the song, holding one long note as the squeezebox player leans dangerously-far back, one leg up, and compresses the instrument as his fingers dance up and down the keyboard portion. The horn player's cheeks look fit to burst. Hands begin pounding on tabletops as people cheer them through to the end.

Meanwhile, Bar continues to welcome the newest arrival. "H'lo, Paulie, prezzle?" He holds up some of the boiled and salted bread.

Mikilos peers around, not entirely clear who is taking meal orders this eve. Spying a familiar duo, the elf raises a hand in greeting, but isn't sure he's noticed. "Snacks!" That's sure to get at least one's attention.

Laughing, the Gobblur goes by Barclaiigh once more, again swatting his behind as she does so.

At Mikilos's table, a tray arrives, and settles itself upon the table, the blue-skinned Gobbo pulling herself up onto a seat beside the man.

"Irshya can take your order. Ale? Beer? Wine? Hard alcohol?", she inquires loudly, trying to be heard over the hooting and noise of the Khazad.

"Wow, Barclaiigh, it has been a while! Err, just call me Raven, though--or Cor'lana," Ravenstongue says once she's woven her way through the crowd to reach the dwarf man. She takes a seat as well next to him, smiling politely as she can considering the raucous and rather drunk crowd around her. "I trust you've been doing well since our ventures into the sewers?"

"Paulie", however, has flown the coop. He goes over to Mikilos's table and lands right in front of him. "Snacks? Snacks? SNACKS?" Pothy asks insistently. His tail feathers wag up and down like a dog waiting on his meal.

The band finishes with one last blaring note and the applause re-doubles, the singer shouting their exit. "Thank ye lads! A happy Kegger's to all! Roa bless our works! And a special thanks to our hosts this eve, the Lady of Inspiration, the Leviathan, an' the Great, bloody Laugh! Get home safe, sleep hard, an' be ready fer one more day tomorra!" They begin breaking down their instruments, shaking out spitvalves, and taking a moment to talk to appreciative audience members.

"Yes'm," Barclaiigh agrees with Ravenstongue, grinning as she sits and then taking a seat of his own. He doesn't react to this most recent slap so he's either given up spotting the culprit or didn't feel it. He shrugs when Pothy declines the pretzel and takes a bite of it himself. "Ups'n downs. Bus'ness's good. Porter's bein' 'specially grumpy bear." The Khazad twists his wrist back and forth and pulls back a sleeve, revealing a rather deep set of claw marks. He shrugs and slides the sleeve back down. "But folks like th'family brew'n miss Irshya is keepin' up miss Sabina's word. So's happy days."

"'n you? Busy? I like yer," the wildman gestures up and down animatedly to describe Cor'lana's frock. "s nice. No good fer th'sewers, though."

A few of the dwarves are already pushing their way towards the doors, stumbling and shouting and laughing and shouting and patting each other on the back. A few still have food and drinks to finish.

Mikilos blinks a moment at the gobbo, not used to the option of blue. "Wine, spiced jug please. Plate of whatever roast is handy, loaf of black bread, butter, soft cheese, and if that's roast parsnips I smell, a plate of those. Oh, and a plate of fish for my corvid companion, if you please."

Grinning to Pothy, the wizard offers a chunk of jerky. "Sorry, will be a few minutes for the good stuff. You're faster than I expected."

The Gobbo cheers and waves to the Khazad boy band. "See you again some time. Pleasure having you, Irshya enjoyed!", she calls out to them.

She cants her head as Mikilos rattles off his order.

"Irshya apologizes. We've no black bread, but we do have a loaf of pumpernickel, if that is acceptable? The wine is on hand, and warmed. The roast today was boar, we have some select pieces left. Everything else, we have. Irshya will fetch."

The Gobblur is off again, filling the empty tray with empty glasses, depositing a few at the bar, before she races to the back, disappearing into the kitchen.

The pool shark also gets another swat in on the poor Khazad. "Hello ClayClay!", she calls out as she runs by.

Mikilos says, “Pumpernickle is fine, thank you.”

Ravenstongue beams a little as Barclaiigh compliments her dress. "Thank you," she says warmly. "I have a wardrobe of dresses I've been amassing lately--my Grandfather has been encouraging me, and, well, now that I own a home, I actually have a nice closet to store everything. My life's become rather different in the last few months for the better--but you're right, I wouldn't wear this into the sewers." She giggles.

She looks over her shoulder and blinks a few times in rapid succession as she watches Pothy harass Mikilos for snacks. "Oh, gods," she mutters. "Pothy! Pothy, get back here!"

Pothy makes strange whistling noises in response, then throws his beak back. It's like watching a teenage boy sass back at an authority figure.

"Missursha!" Barclaiigh cheers, finally catching sight of Irshya when she hollers his way. He lifts up his mug in toast and then drains it down, teetering for a moment fit to fall out of his chair. A few quick empty-air gropes and he's snagged the edge of the table and steadied himself. "Think'm all sellerbraided," he confides to Ravenstongue.

There's a pause and he blinks, frowns, and runs his eyes along the woodgrain of the table as he backtracks through the conversation. "A house!? 's fantastic! You'n, uh... th'tiller-man? 'lost m'springs but miss Irshya has nice baths here. A toas' t'yer house!" The Khazad lifts his cup again but pulls it back and squints into it.

"... need another t'toast." He turns his head to-and-fro, lifting up a calloused sausage finger. Mikilos chuckles at birdy antics, keeping an eye on Ravenstongue and her unfamiliar companion as he speaks to Pothy. "How have you been? Staying warm and dry?" He perks an ear towards the dwarf. Something about a house?

Things remain unusually loud for the time of night as most of the bearded contingent are as far-gone as Barclaiigh and many are moreso. The heat starts to go out of the room, too, as more people filter out and the door is held open. There's a Watch-whistle warning off some shenanigans outside in the streets and a grumbled chorus as loiterers disperse.

The band says their last thanks to the audience and has their kit boxed and ready to go. They retire to a corner table for a bit of their own refreshment after a long and lively set.

"Telamon, yes," Ravenstongue replies to Barclaiigh, loud enough for Mikilos to hear so that he's not lost in the conversation. Her smile takes on a bashful, yet warm note. Even a light blush comes to settle on her cheeks as she mentions Telamon's name. "We're living together now and it's gotten pretty serious. Marriage has been discussed."

"Telamon," Pothy echoes, preening his feathers.

"I never thought I'd be in, well, a relationship. Let alone buying a house with someone else or discussing marriage. It's gone a little quicker than I anticipated, but when you adventure with someone you're also in love with and you face death more than once... It puts a lot of things into perspective quickly." Ravenstongue looks down to her hands in her lap, smiling bashfully.

Pothy, however, looks put out. "Snacks," he reminds Mikilos. The most important thing of all, way more important than Ravenstongue prattling on about her boyfriend!

"No more enchantin' sewer boys fer you," Bar grins goofily, getting a little misty-eyed at the happy news in his current state. Yeah, he's one of those. "'s nice. We say," he mutters something in Khazdul that draws a few scattered cheers from a neighboring table. "Means 'Roa make yer bonds unbreakable.'" The dwarf reaches over and picks up the mug the hostess has left on the table as she passed by most recently.

"Yer, uh..." The dwarf turns and waves 'hello' to Mikilos. "Y'can come siddover'ere. Plenny'a chairs." Turning back, he drinks more and only drips a little bit into his beard before pausing to suck the moisture from his mustache. "'m happy for you, miss Raven."

Mikilos tsks mildly and grins, waving to Ravenstongue and Barclaiigh. "Come join me, are plenty of seats. And food." Of which a plate of fish has arrived for Pothy. Mayhaps not the greatest of snacks, but tasty, healty, and quite filling... for a tummy that can actually be filled, anyway.

Ravenstongue rolls her eyes and snickers at mention of sewer boys. "Tel thought that was /hilarious/. He never let me live it down. Same with the servitor I had to flirt with last night--long story, had to get out of 'payment'," she says. "But thank you, truly--it's a type of happiness I've never dreamed of."

Then she peers between Barclaiigh and Mikilos as they both compel each other to come sit closer. "Well, you're the one feeding my familiar," she says to Mikilos, "so I might as well come supervise him."

She holds her arm out to Barclaiigh, clearly to help him get from point A to point B without losing grip on his drink or his stomach. "Coming with me?" she asks.

Pothy's blue eyes dilate as he begins to tear apart the fish, croaking happily. All snacks are equal in Pothy's eyes... Mostly.

"'m fine, 'm fine," Barclaiigh promises, waving Ravenstongue off. The dwarf turns and leans, setting his drink down precariously at the edge of Mikilos' table. He then leans forward and considers his knees, no doubt doing some expert Khazadi structural engineering calculations to determine proper weight distribution, angles of load, and so on. Hands slap down and he stands with a grunt-- bouncing right into his table with his gut to send it scooting across the floor with a squealing squeak.

A pause and he holds his hands up, palms out, and steadies any who might step in to spoil the delicate process at play. One hand finds the back of his recently-vacated chair and he braces again, turning. "Next time we don't do Kegger's Fest'n a boat, 's'all I'd say...

"Not that Levianthan's a bad guy... jus'," Up comes one hand and he makes a waving motion to indicate the world bobbing. A quick, sucked-in breath and he takes the two steps to find a chair at the wizard's table and flops into it. "Ah... smooth's crystal."

Mikilos quirks a brow in mock shock. "Payment with flirting? That sounds like a tale worth hearing. I take it the Guild has been keeping you busy." He nods greetings to the dwarf.

Ravenstongue watches Barclaiigh make the precarious transfer from seat to seat. Her lips press together into a thin line, as though she's bracing any second now for the impact of dwarf-to-floor mechanics, but he makes it. She sighs quietly in relief and pointedly chooses to not inform Barclaiigh that they are, in fact, on solid land.

"Well, that wasn't on a Guild assignment," Ravenstongue explains, a bashful expression on her face again. "Telamon and I have been investigating the origin of his sorcerous abilities--he's like me in that regard. It turns out that one of his ancestors was tortured and turned mad by... I won't say their names, not after what I've learned, but they are aberrations that turn people insane in order to make them their pawns. This entity that calls itself the Watcher in the Stars reached out to Tel's ancestor and cured him of his insanity... and many years later, Telamon was born with the Watcher's interest. We learned all of this by imbibing a lucid dreaming potion to explore the Border Ethereal together in a dream walk ritual."

Ravenstongue pauses for a moment to watch Pothy rip apart more fish. The white raven just looks at her in response, as though to say, "What are you looking at?"

"In order to find the Watcher's home, we had to deal with two servitors of Eluna who were once human," Ravenstongue said. "The first warned us the second would want payment... And I couldn't imagine what sort of payment someone who has no need for currency would want. So I did the first thing that came to mind. I flirted with him and asked him nicely to take us to the Watcher. It worked."

This is probably /not/ the conversational topic to bring up around Barclaiigh in his current state right now, as suggested by Pothy pausing mid-snack to look pointedly at Ravenstongue and then at Barclaiigh.

He won't mind! Not now, anyway, as he's slumped in his seat with his mug balanced on his gut. The dwarf's chin is tucked and his braided beard folds up over his barrel chest to almost entirely obscure his face. He's also snoring quietly. Seems like Bar hit his wall.