OOC: This thread is for Descalceus, Javin, Kael, and Lived-Through-Fire

It was a large tavern threatening to be a theatre. The place was made of old wood beams and painted plaster. Strategically located lanterns and an iron chandelier added a flickering illumination. The smell of the wood and smoke combined with the other scents. There was an indiscernible din coming from dozens of conversations.

Far across from the entrance was the bar with tender. There were several casks with taps lined against the back wall. Old men bent over their tankards drank oblivious to the goings on around them. Too much attention in their direction detected the curious mixed odor of beer, mint, and body odor.

To the side of the entrance was a raised stage with curtain. The curtain had likely seen better days, worn from age, but it was still a deep purple velvet. Sounds of preparation emanated from back stage. A young half-elven woman dressed as a server stood at a table by the door. To each person she offered a free tankard of beer and a fresh venison hand pie saying it was on behalf of the Benevolent Archive of Theosomething. The smells of the warm food dominated the entrance.

The rest of the space was dedicated to the audience. There were rows of benches in a semicircle around the stage, each row elevated higher than the last. At the back, closest to the bar were finely appointed high boxes reserved for important guests. The boisterous crowd on the benches came from all walks of life. Merchants sat next to farmers and laborers.

In one box sat a representative of Brightwater Shipping. Her clothing, though of fine quality, were more suitable to a ship’s captain or active artisan than a merchant. She had a flowing shirt, leather breeches, and leather boots. Over the shirt she had a fine vest that bore an embroidered  symbol of her guild. Next to her sat several men much less refined. Their faces were weathered and stubble covered.

At another box sat a pasty man adorned in silk robes and a mantle of cloth of gold. He had the look of a corpulent man half evaporated. That is to say he was of average build but his skin hung loose like the smushed-nosed lap dog that sat to his side attempting to breathe.

Amongst the sunlit peoples of the old Brigswen Citadel, now called Brigswell, bustling about their business and trade, a man wearing a white loincloth and light blue shawl as a hood enters from the eastern porticullis whose countenance is slightly brighter still than those around him; though not as much as the reflections of the grand magic glass fountain flowing with crystal clear water at the center of the Market. He quickly yet ceremoniously slides the shawl off his head, a ghostly halo crowning his short copper hair, and takes a better look around at the busy area. He adjusts the single strap of his small backpack across his bare chest and smiles, amazed.

"I have dreamed a dream. Praise be to the Most Holy Sky Gods, I am here! What wilt thou have me do?", he happily exclaims.

"Nice shoes, handsome.", says a red-haired peasant waif who is also barefoot, but purple stains go past her ankles. "Are you here looking for something to do, like a job, to buy something to wear that's less... chilly?"

It honestly takes him a moment before he reaches under his shawl to display a thick wooden bead necklacke with a burning indigo flower painted on the amulet. "I'm an Althaean cleric. I'm on a sacred mission."

"Of course. The halo."

"Are you a linen dyer?", he asks.

"I'm a grape stomper for the Brass Cat Tavern, just up that way. They brew their own, and you should have some. There's also stage play showing tonight that you would enjoy. It's about Xir."

"Ah, Blessed Xir!", he responds, looking up towards Heaven. "Xer of Mischief and Mirth. Of course, the signs were obvious on every wall in the bailey. May the Sky Gods bless you on your journey sister."

She sighs. "May they be with you as well, cleric."

They both notice a short coppery-skinned elf woman wearing less than the aesimar move through the crowded marketplace almost as if dancing on air.

"You're staring, cleric. And the Brass Cat is thiiis way, where that blue blob one just went past." says the waif, smirking at the aesimar.

A short walk over the warm cobblestone, ashes and debris of many kinds, and a trail of racing snail slime, the man arrives at the Brass Cat Tavern. It is deceptively small outside, as he enters into a much livelier and nostril impacting environment. He wondered if the stage curtains were colored with the very same fruit their wine was made of. He was down to his last coin; all that was left from his very long walk from his village on the other side of the great Adwyn forest. Looking down at the large area rug at the entrance, he does a kind of dance moving heels to forefoot to the left and to his right, rubbing off some of the street filth.

Suddenly, a tankard of beer, a small plate with a breaded pie, and a pair of... blue eyes stare him in the face. The young half-elf serving wench recites flatly, "Welcome to the Brass Cat Tavern, good sir. Here are a free tankard of beer and a fresh venison hand pie, courtesy of the Benevolent Archive of Theo-"

An orc the size of a horse had bumped into the girl, causing her to spill a good portion of the tankard onto the aesimar, whose faint halo glowed stronger indoors. He was ready to fight sober for the infraction of course.

"Sorry, sorry." grumbled the orc, ambling on two crutches and one leg. "A veteran needs the privvy."

"Sorry, sorry, sir." mumbled the serving wench as she wiped and dabbed the beer off the aesimar's body with a rag from her apron. He very gently sweeps away her hand. "Sorry, sir.", she said one last time, dunking the tankard into a nearby barrel and serving him the free meal.

"Blessings of the Sky Gods, maiden. May they grant you the strength to serve today." he prays, smiling warmly as he sought a space to sit. And it seems like few were loath to be anywhere near the golden sickness and his... dog. He took another look around to see where he could best enjoy the Faceless Frivolities of Xir.
This message was last edited by the player at 02:00, Thu 28 Mar.

Soaring through the sky, the owlin lands uptop a nearbye building. He takea a breath, looking down at the mass amount of people. So nay people to knock into, so little time. Yes that is what he called 'stealing'. Kael keeps looking down for a moment and spots the aesimar moving into the Brass Cat tavern. Great, hope they don't have don't have cats there. He jumps off the building and sweeps down after the man. A female is coming out and he dodges up and flies over her head.

Not realizing the tight questers. Keel zigs and zags. He pulls up once more barely clipping a table and hits the half-orc dead center in its back. The orc stumbles and the owlin tries to take off "Sorry!" but in his distraction another waitress is nearbye and he hits it below the tray. Good for him the mugs were empty. Bad for the owl though. Kale comes crashing down right at the feet of Descalceus. He looks up at the cleric, out of breath.

Javin had been here numerous times since he had been first stationed here.  In uniform and out.  Like the rest of the city, he enjoyed the shows and the people.  He had always cultivated at least cordial relationships where ever he went.  However, it had been difficult here with the way his country had taken over.  With the lie of protecting the people from outside invaders, they had taken over and quickly began to oppress the people.  All over some ridiculous ore with magical properties.
Difficult, but not impossible.  He had spent much of his free time amongst the people, offering medical care when and where he could.  Save a bakers daughter from a life-threatening illness, or a teamster's arm from being amputated after it had been crushed by an angry horse, and you make friends for life.
So, here he is, awaiting another show, free food and beer in hand, when a disturbance near the door catches his attention.  A priest of Althea and an owlkin collided with the woman handing out food and beverages at the entrance.  With a sigh, he stands up, setting his food and beer in his seat, and moves towards them to see if any of them has been hurt.  The seats next to him were still empty, but he has to excuse himself to get past other spectators.