Rat Pie

Tenebrae - Tuesday, June 14, 2016, 8:07 AM

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

When you enter the pub, it seems fairly empty, but one table has a gnome sitting down, his chin (and beard) barely reaching the top of the table. He's wearing horribly dirty robes, and frankly, has an aura of stink around him. It might explain the empty pub; then again, it might not. He sits with a gnome-sized drink of some amber liquid, with grubby fingermarks all around the tankard. The staff are doing their best to ignore him.

Seeming delightedly out of place in holy vestments, a coppery skinned Sith-makar is just making his way into the establishment. His head swoops side to side in great arcs, counterpoint to his tail which all but wags behind him. He moves over to the boggle board, tongue darting out from his lips and tail thumping thrice on the ground in what seems almost to be a ritual. The Sith pushes the dome on the boggle device, then claps as it settles, worbbling a strange, "triru, triru" sound as he does so. He then walks over to the bar and has a brief exchange with the 'tender, which results in an exchange of coinage for foamy beverage, before turning to observe the people, PC's and NPC's alike.

Krom bursts in, which has less to do with the northman's excitement and more to do with the door sticking a little. Regardless, the door flies open, and Krom enters, heading for the bar proper with a bit of a stumble, his eyes not fully adjusted to the dim indoor light just yet. "Krom thirsts, and hungers! What meals await, that Krom may fill his belly?"

The gnome, Ralickwort, chuckles deeply. It is a strange, disconcerting sound. "Hurr, hurr, hurr..." He grins at Krom and Tija Woari. "Yoo'd be better eatin' t't wrats from't street, biggo. 'Swot goes in't pies, anyway. Hurr, hurr, hurr..."

The copper skinned Sith seems to take a moment, its lips moving slightly, seeming to repeat what the gnome has just said. He calls back, "You are sssaying the piesss here arrrre rat meat?" its head tilting to the side like a bird, inquisitively.

Krom shrugs, stepping up to the bar proper. "Rats are good roasted. Krom has not had in pie. Ale and rat pie for Krom, please." The northman seems only mildly disapointed when stew is offered instead. The mug of ale might have something to do with that.

Tija nods enthusiastically in agreement with Krom, "Yesss. Ratsssses are good to eatssss. Make niccce crunchesss." snapping his maw once and then licking his chops, before tittering with a strange "Triru, triru" repeating trill. He then seems to take a moment to observe the other vocal patrons, though not so long as to be leering or rude.

Ralickwort harrumphs when the bait is not taken by the bartender. "Bah," he mutters. "Pretty shure it's wrats. 'Salways rats. In the stoo, too. Stoo, too. Stoo, too..." He giggles a little, which is... disturbing. Then, his beard seems to grow, reach out, and grab the glass, bringing it to the gnome's mouth with agility.

• CLANG*

That was the sound of Tija's mug hitting the floor. Followed shortly by his jaw. *THUD*

Krom returns the Sith's curious gaze, peering a bit himself, nibbeling idly upon his stew. "Krom pretty sure is beef. Not taste like rat." Then the gnome's beard starts moving, and the northman is distracted. The southlands have many strange things, but this is a little above average on the weird-o-meter.

Lizard feet scurry and a tail wags ferosciously, and without conscience, as Tija moves quicker than quick to Ralickwort's table. "Pleeassse to do that again."

Hair isn't great at gripping glass. Something about friction factors. It's slipping a little as the drink is being drained, so Ralickwort has to replace it hastily on the table before dropping it. "Wrats are at least as tasty as beef. Harder to catch, though. Hurr, hurr, hurr." The bartender is giving him a death-stare now. Perfect.

Krom stays at the bar, but does continue to watch attentively. "Faster to raise. Few generation, have more rat than can easily eat."

Ralickwort looks at the sith-makar with a weird grin on his face, then reaches out with his beard as if to stroke the face of the dragonkin. "Luvly lizard, such lurvely /scales/..."

THIS action does not please the Sith, and he hastily comes to his senses, backing off a bit. Perhaps it's the malodorous qualities of the gnome. Perhaps it's the tone. Perhaps it's the layer of grime. Whatever the case, the Sith all but jumps backwards, tail curling up under him slightly as he takes a guarded stance, backing up. "Thank you...?" the Sith utters slowly and unsurely.

Krom watches, mildly curious, but not getting any closer. Which may have soemthing to do with the grime, or the oddness, or maybe these barstools are just really comfortable.

"Yurr w'lcome," Ralickwort says. Now he uses his hands to drink the rest of the drink. "Do yoo like mead, Mister Lizard? 'Snice. 'S honey. Yum."

The Sith seems to relax as the hands withdraw, but eyes narrow all the same. "Thissss one hasss not tried it. Though in Am'sssshere the brewersss make a wine from the nectar of a tree that isssss verrry... ssssweet and heady." A chair is reached for and the Sith eases himself into it after turning it around backwards, allowing him to sort of "perch", without obstructing his tail. His head tilts this way and that as he peers at the beard, the tip of his tail making the occasional sharp twitch.

Krom mmms. "Too many southland drinks are sweet. Too few with bite. Maybe Krom will try brew a keg of Pepper Beer."

The horrid gnome guffaws! Yuk. "Hurr hurr hurr!" Ralickwort grins at Krom. "Purfect, pepper beer! Hurr, hurr, hurr, cumm by the labworks. We cun broo togevver." To the sith-makar, he nudges the grimy mead glass forward with the beard. "Here, try if yoo wont. 'Snice." Or it would be, were it not so dirty-looking.

"No." Says the Sith. "I would not drink from that glassss if Old Trickssster himssself landed bessssside me and bade me do sssso." But his tail swishes side to side playfully, "Thisss one is Tija, servent of the Trickssster, who the ssssoft sssskins call Tarien."

Krom shrugs, and nods. "Krom Linnsbane of the Mestnoor. Krom has not tried to brew before, will think on it."

Ralickwort shrugs, and retrieves the glass with a crooked beard. "Yorr loss, Teeeeja." He takes a thirsty-looking sip. "Yum. Me, Ah'm Ralickwort. Dey say Ah shud'nt follow Deimos, but 'e's just a bit like yorr Tarien, Teeeeja." Everytime he says it, it's like he's testing the name out. It's not rude, exactly, but maybe getting that way. "Ah like brooing fings, Krom. Yoo shud try summ of me fings."

Ssssssss, "Not ssssso much alike, sssoft sssskin." Tija states quite simply, then points, "There! Again! What magic isssss thissss?" inquires the Sith, gesticulating at the beard excitedly.

Krom watches, but shrugs, no longer surprised, and thus less interested. "Moving beard. Krom has heard, but never seen. Grandma Bodlic talk of many such things, like grandpa-" The northman blinks, blushes, and takes a hastey sip of his ale."

"'Sjust me beard." Ralickwort says, shrugging. "Ah can moove it, like Ah can move me finggers." He wiggles his fingers experimentally, as if he's forgotten how. "Yoo've got a neat tail, Teeeeja. 'S simila, innit."

"Isssit? Thisss one hasss ssseen many facceee furss." he gestures towards Krom, "but never sssseeen one that can do thisssss." And the Sith brings his drink to his lips with his hand. He doesn't sip, so much as scoop the head off with his tongue, then lap at the contents of the mug. "Do all of your heart-tribesssss people have faccceeee fursss that can do thissss?"

Aya has arrived.

Krom shakes his head, and keeps his mouth full of ale. His own features lacking more than a light stubble.

Ralickwort laughs a bit. "Yoo've nut met many nomes, haff you." He gestures around the bar, but there aren't any specimens to point out. "Foine. They dun't oosually haff any 'face-furr'. Nah, 'sjust weirdos like me." He laughs again. There is definitely something /disturbing/ about that laugh.

Aya descends the spiral staircase from the balcony on the second level, and possibly from the rooms thereat or above. She waits at the base for those coming or going, then steps off to approach the keep and counter.

GAME: Tija Woari rolls perception: (2)+3: 5

Tija is hanging out near Ralickwort, staring very intensely at his face. Or... just below his face. His head tilts this way and that, bobs and raises, as he attempts to examine the gnome's beard from every possible angle, without actually standing on the table. "Doesss it... doesss it hurt? What do you feed itssss?"

Krom snorts and coughs, choking upon his ale, spilling a fair bit. Still coughing, he eyes Tija with a grin, and tries to mop up the worst of his spill.

"Wotever it catches," Ralickwort says, with almost a hint of pride. Those looking as closely as Tija is will spot some of these things: Eggs, soup, feathers, something that looks like a rodent leg. "Bit off oil sumtimes to keep it luvly. Wot do yoo feed yorr tail, lizardfing?"'

Between staring at facial hair, choking upon ale, and the particular copper Sith, Aya reaches the bar several paces away from the conglomeration. Once there, she makes a small order.

Tija grins impishly. This involves a LOT of teeth. His tail curling up behind him over his shoulder, then twitching slightly, "Why... ssssmall sssoft sssskinsss, of courssse. It issss very fond of gnomessss."

At first the gnome nods. "Roight, roight, 'course. Makes sense." Then: "'Scuse me." Ralickwort stands up and walks hurriedly to the bar, climbing up to a high stool next to Aya. His chin just tops the bar counter. "Ah'll have another mead," he says, but is abjectly ignored. He turns his head to Aya. "Wot are yoo havin', missy?"

Krom rolls his eyes, but smiles and watches, keeping quiet to listen. And perhaps to not attract the grimey gnomes attention again.

"Food and drink," Aya answers the question as a plate of bread, cheese, and fruit arrives accompanied by a glass of wine.

Turning to follow the gnome's path, as the staff consider burning the table where Ralickwort recently occupied, Tija's eyes fall upon the mul'niessa near him. Eyes narrow and a low, drawn out hissssssss is loosed from his mouth. Seeing as there is suddenly yet another vacancy, very near the lizardman's hissing, the Sith moves to occupy a bench near a table. Palms rest on top of the table, and small furrows are dug into its surface as one hand curls slightly.

Krom blinks, glancing between Aya and Tija, quirking a brow at the sith. Soon he's going to run out of ale and stew to keep his mouth full, and need to say something again.

"Luvly," Ralickwort says to Aya. "Can yoo order me sum mead? They won't serve me, hurr hurr hurr..."

Aya consumes a morsel of cheese, washing it down with a sip of wine. "If they chose not to serve you, I'm sure they have good reason to. I could place another order," she glances to Ralickwort, brow lifting slightly, "but I don't have good reason to. Also, I think that your companion over there is leaking..." Her head tilts towards the relocating and hissing Sith.

Ralickwort says, "Wot's that abaht." He looks over at the sith-makar. "'E's not my companyun. 'E said 'e'd eat me. If it's a 'e."

Krom frowns. "Krom does not think Copper One would eat you." The northman drains his mug, muttering into the dregs. "Pretty sure has better standards than that."

A soft trilling from the corner table, "Not without many magicssss of purificationsssss. It wassss jessst, little gnome-tribe one. Thissss one doesss not eat ssssentientssss." He narrows his eyes at Aya, "Thankfully, thisssss one hasss never been forssssed."

Ralickwort laughs nervously. "Hurr, hurr, hurr. Werry good, scaly fing. Yoo's funneh." He leans towards Aya conspiratorially. She'd probably be able to almost feel the smell. "Ah don't fink 'e likes yoo."

Krom mmms. "Krom thinks are too many generalizations, not enough specific understandings."

The smell may be feeling Aya; she leans conspicuously away from Ralickwort and his aroma, taking a step or three to right her balance. The bite of fruit recently taken is returned to the plate. "Your perceptions of the obvious are sharper and cleaner than the rest of you," she compliments the gnome.

She now looks to Tija across the commons. "Good. You should do nothing that isn't of your own will. If you're forced, it's only because you let someone force you. I applaud your strong will."

A lip curls up, exposing teeth, "You do not wish to ecksssperience my will, ssssharp ear. Oh no." His tail wagging slightly behind the bench, low to the ground, in a slow and sinuous wave.

"Ah bladdy hell," Ralickwort mutters. He addresses the northerner. "Am Ah being insulted, Krom?"

Krom considers. "Maybe. Is it still insult if true?" He watches Tija carefully.

"Do not take anything thissss ssssharp ear sssays to heart. It issss liessss and bile, only." Tija offers helpfully. "But yessss, you have an odor that issss likely offensssive to sssome, little gnome. That taint can be wassshed, at leasssst. Only one way to cleanssse a taint sssssuch asss hersssss."

Aya takes a draught from her glass to clear her pallete, and possibly her nostrils. "You are right. I don't wish to." She takes one last (only the second) morsel from the plate before leaving it and the glass on the bartop. Aya focuses her attetion on tija once more, white brows arching. "Now, though, you've made me curious. What taint is this, and what is this sole solution?"

"Crikey," Ralickwort mutters, noting the building argument. "Do yoo fink they're gunna fight, Krom?" The gnome gets up from his stool and moves over next to the northman. His smell does likewise.

Krom has worked with pigs, he knows how to keep calm and breath though his mouth... though the taste of the air makes him reconsider the tactic. "Mayhaps. Copper One have hate pulled over eyes. Maybe good slap upside head will clear sight."

The gnome gets up and shakes his head. "Hate's not gud. Fightin's just as bad. Watch out then, all." To the relief of everyone in the Fernwood Pub, Ralickwort gets up, and hurries out of the pub.

Ralickwort has disconnected.

Tija just stares at Aya, bringing his drink to his snout so that his tongue may flick at the contents within. After a moment he speaks once more, "Asss with any taint... any disssease.. you cut it out, or burn it out."

Krom mmms mildly. "Krom prefer bedrest and warm soup to heal illness."

Aya's brows arch further. "Ah, of course. You say this taint is on...what? My blood? My soul? So, you would cut out my soul and set fire to my blood...?" The left corner of her mouth pulls upwards some in an uneven near-smirk. "All while calling ME vile. It seems I was wrong to think you were polite and educated. Maybe you should return to the jungles with the other beasts." (missed pose)

Deeper furrows, now. Biiiiig deep furrows in the table. "To prove how wrong you are... sssharp ear... I sssshall not kill you now." The lizardman stands and begins moving towards the door, slowly. Very deliberately. Keeping one eye on the drow at all times. "Your liessss are your taint. Your ecksssistence issss foul." he says, stopping near the door.""

Krom sighs, and shrugs, turning his focus to Aya. "Krom would throw back example of Sith villian, but admits cannot think of one."

Aya observes the Sith's rise and steps for the door, dipping her chin in acknowledgement. "So you prove me wrong yet again." On exactly what, she doesn't clarify. However, if all her words are lies, does that imply that he didn't?

Tija Woari has left.