It was the session of rains once more in the Lands of the Exiled. The ninth month has become plagued with storms that would last days as harsh winds and rains assaulted the earth. It is said that the rains and floods at times are so bad that even the Drow not leave the strongholds in the dark of the stormy nights. So our scene is set as the High Town tavern becomes crowded with those escaping the downpour. A fire is lit within the harth and a kettle began to boil. A soaked Galatea stands by the fire. Her cloak dripping as it dries on a peg. She sneezes and then comments jokingly, ”Well at least now we know that the blessings of Memnis are enough to deter the Drow.”
Discussion
The high town tavern was quiet in the winter hush, as a familiar face pasted a wrinkled parchment to the message board. In scrawling, barely legible hand, it read: To the Magi, Sorcerers, Ritualist, Enchanters, and Druids of New Haven; As we all know, there is an abundance of magickal knowledge within this towns borders, and many of us can attest to be surrounded by what could easily be named the greatest magi our of age. But so too could we attest to the frustration and exhaustion incurred when that knowledge is scattered to the wind and inaccessible. As such, I propose that the magic users of New Haven come together to discuss terms of the incorporation of a group designed to protect and share magickal knowledge. A meeting will be held in the 3rd month of the new year to further discuss this proposal.
Imrie walks grumpily into the tavern soaking wet and yells angrily at the weather outside. "Of all days! Right when we're about to have a banquet!" A gust of wind suddenly blows just enough water into the doorway to give her one last soak. She glares outside at the audacity of the weather and then slams the door shut. " HA! Take that! Can't get to me now can you!"
Satisfied with herself for putting the rain in its place Imrie the basket she was carrying down and takes her drenched cloak and rings it out a bit then shakes it out. She then notices that people were watching her fight with the weather and sheepishly hangs up her cloak.
"As you can see, the flooding has reached incredibly dangerous levels!" Caelyn shouted to the small, gathering crowd as his inexperienced hand moved the paddle about, making a pleasant sloshing noise but doing little to control the small canoe he'd found. "Though the rains may have shortly subsided, clearly the flooding has not. The Dispatch is warning the community to stay sheltered if possible and avoid unnecessary jaunts out into the wetlands!" The bard felt a great pride at the crowd of concerned citizens he had drawn. A good deed and the admiration of an audience? What more could this aspiring troubadour ask for? He steadied himself upon the boat, bringing himself to stand upright on his slowly drifting vessel. Triumphantly, he readied himself to give the perfect finishing touch on this grand gesture of showmanship. One knee up, sword against the winds, bravely facing personal injury to warn the good people of New Haven. The cheers and applause from the crowd more spoke for themselves! This was his moment. This was Caelyn's magnum opus! Wait... is that laughter?
"Nice boat! Bwa ha ha!"
The two Legionnaires sloshed by Caelyn, water barely up to their shins. Damn. He knew he should have picked a puddle further from the main road. "Ummm... It's much deeper over here," he said weakly. But the damage was done. Nothing left to do now but hit the tavern and ride out the storm. Both of them.
Aleena in the meanwhile was sitting at the Inilian-Bardic Cabin guardrail, looking down at three feet of puddled water all around it like a moat. "Halp..." she said with a pout. "...I don't vant to wet mi pettiecoat and underskirties! " She over heard far away the crying sounds of the....bard? What was his name again? The one that likes to yell what he sees during battle? Like orating ze paper to all? Sometimes, the little halfwhite elf wonders if the stress and nerves of battle makes people do strange things? Like him, who suddenly wildly orates a newspaper article infront of a steaming hunkering troll as a way to comfort himself? A coping mechanism? A reaction at the face of death? How horrid...and yet sad. (Oh, Inil, what a broken world we live in), she thought, feeling a pinch of compassion for the fellow. Aleena whisp to herself. "Are we so poor in heroics in our town that our bards can only glorify ze wind? Ze poor bean..." she frowned most concerning. Something caught her gaze suddenly, it was red and round, bobbing about over the water. A healthy red apple floating by at barely an arm's reach. ".....!" Leaning down, she grunted as it passes her fingertips. "Nyyuuyuu! come back!" she yelped, extending her hand for it. The apple never looked back.
The door to the tavern swings wide open revealing a shadowed, hooded, dark form accompanied by howling wind and pelting rain. The figure tries to battle the gale raging outside to close the outer wooden doors. Behind him the doors with the mesh on them bash his back over and over as they are pulled by the vicious wind being driven by the raging storm. The figure flinches at each hit of the inner door as it fights to close the outer however the storm is making this a difficult effort. Finally the battered form heaves the outer door closed halting the assault from the wind and rain.
Shivering and completely drenched the figure turns around letting down his dark black hood revealing Ro’an. Water drips from his black tipped ears, long hair, his clothes are soaked through and through.
Struggling to say the words through chittering and a stutter, “Eldest, it is just awful out there. Memnis must be very upset about something?”
Surveying the room Ro’an notices the fire crackling softly in the hearth across the tavern. He makes his way over to it a sloshing squishing sound accompanying each of his steps. Placing his hands out to the fire in a futile attempt to warm himself.
”Is there any food?“ he sheepishly says.
Ro’an appears suddenly uncomfortable and looks awkwardly around the tavern.
Imrie had started warming her hands by the fire when she noticed Ro'an struggling with the door as well. She smiled at him as she scooted over to make room for him to join in on the warmth of the fireplace.
"Ro'an! Good to see you!" Imrie reached into a black pouch on her belt and pulled out a small damp wrapped slice of banana bread, offering it to Ro'an. "It's not much but perhaps it can tide you over! Sadly it appears the rain soaked through may bag dome too but i don't think the bread itself got too soggy!"
Imrie then turned back to fire and started mubbling just loud enough for her gripe to be heard, "of all the days to have run out of sugar! I just hope someone here has some i can borrow, i really need some to start preparing desserts for our banquet!" She then addresses Ro'an sarcastically, "So, What brings you out in this beautiful display of the water Fae's power?"
Still shivering, Ro'an sits down near Imrie. Gladly taking the offering of banana bread. "Thank you, Imrie, I am sure it will be enough for now."
Ro'an squirms around in his seat. His wet clothes bothering him, adding to his discomfort.
Between cautious nibbles on the banana bread, "hunger, loneliness, I am a bit embarrassed to admit a little fear."
Ro'an's eyes dart wildly around the tavern after a loud crack of thunder shakes the tavern. He then scoots closer to the fire, continuing to eat the bread.