A Fernwood Chance Encounter

Log Info

• Title: A Fernwood Chance Encounter

• Emitter: Ravenstongue

• Characters: Harkashan, Ravenstongue, Rune, Sloan

• Place: The Fernwood Pub

• Summary: Ravenstongue stops into the Fernwood Pub with Pothy, her familiar, and meets Sloan (for the second time, albeit the first time with Ravenstongue's correct identity established). The traveling companions Rune and Harkashan are there, as well, and the group all get to know each other a little, with advice given about the goings-on in Alexandria at present.

The Fernwood Pub, early evening.

A Variday evening in the waning days of Pryntar sees only the exact kind of weather one would expect with winter: damp wind, a dark sky, sleet and slush on the ground outside. Precisely the sort of weather that sends the people of Alexandria scurrying indoors for a bite to eat after a hard day's work, which sees the Fernwood Pub in the Market District relatively packed for a weekday night.

One women comes in from the cold, pulling the hood of her deep purple cloak down to let her waves of dark hair spill out, half-sil ears peeking out of the mass. The violet eyes scan the place for a table to sit--

"Snacks," brays the white-feathered raven on her shoulder, who peers around the place, too. But his blue eyes are nowhere as discerning. He's just looking at all of the food that's being eaten.

"Yes Pothy, I know," the woman replies. She pats him on his feathered head and walks further in, taking a seat at a table by the fireplace.

It wasn't an unfamiliar sight to have Sloan parked in a corner of the Fernwood. Those that knew him knew that he took lodgings somewhere not far from here. Being a confirmed bachelor, he tended to take his meals either here, or at work. And so it is that the Dark haired Aesir man sits at a table near the fire, his cloak hun on a peg nearby and dressed in a pair of black linen pants matched with a crisp, white tunic of the came fabric. a plate of greens and 2 boiled eggs sat in front of him

As Ravenstongue enters the establishment, the butler makes note of her and offers a polite nod in her direction. There were a few chairs open at his table.

With tables at a premium at the Fernwood, two figures seem to be utilizing what standing room there is near one of the near walls closest to the entrance. One a hulking figure, and the other far smaller. Rune shivers visibly as yet another patron enters, utilizing Harkashan's more imposing form as a bit of a wind break against each person that steps inside. "What I wouldn't give for even a shred of your fortitude." A light voice offers before she blows warm breath onto her fingers.

It's hard not to have her attention drawn by the white-feathered raven that is perched on the shoulder of the new arrival. Rune leans forward slightly, trying to get a better view around the bulk of her Sith-makar companion. There's a nudge to his side, then a motion in Handspeech to indicate the source of her interest.

Dimly lit as the Fernwood Pub may be, its mana-driven light still manages to leap and trace along Harkashan. The unusual mix of colors this creates along the many lavastones that adornish his armor certainly is one thing, but it's the way it plays with the colors of his scales that draws the eye. Almost like the reds and oranges of his body are alive against the blackened scales. A mere trick of the eye, certainly.

As the door opens once more, his hand nearest to Rune shifts. He's been noticing her shivering and blowing against her fingers. Without word, the scaled one simply tugs a bit on her shoulder and draws her nearer by her cloak. His bodyheat significant enough to harbor some protection from the winter's bite.

"Hrrrm." Harkashan answers Rune with a heavy growl of acknowledgement, while looking for a table that opens up - only for another half-sil to find some room near the other Aesir he'd spotted earlier. His head finally draws down when he feels a nudge against his body, and he then completes the motion with a nod. Hand to her back, he urges her forward, and taloned feet pace the ground.

It isn't long before they reach the table with the violet colored one and the Aesir, and he taps a claw upon the table. "Pardon." A single word, his heavy growling undertone has a bit more inflection to it than one might expect from a Sith-makar fresh from the jungles. Using the invitation from the butler earlier to find a place across from Ravenstongue and Sloan both, after which he turns his body and tries to make sure that his tail isn't in the way of the working staff.

"What is - I believe the term is 'good' - in this place?" He inquires with the human, since he already has food before him.

Sloan's nod and open table catch the eye of the dark-haired sorceress, and she smiles a little--although it takes on a somewhat sheepish hue as she recognizes Sloan a little bit more. She approaches the butler, the white-feathered raven on her shoulder. "Hello again--you're the man my husband employed for the Shining Chalice, yes? Terribly sorry about the other day. I, ah, seem to have the worst of luck sometimes when it comes to that man..."

Whatever man she was referring to is lost in her throat as she looks at both newcomers to the table. Pothy, the white-feathered raven, answers the sith-makar's question first: "Snacks." He then hops off her shoulder and onto the table.

"Yes, Pothy, snacks," the woman says with a little smirk. She pats down his feathers. "New to Alexandria, I take it? Welcome. You may call me Cor'lana Lúpecyll-Atlon, although some with the Explorer's Guild call me Ravenstongue." She gestures to Pothy. "This is Apotheosis. Or Pothy for short. Everything on the menu is good, according to him."

Standing as the others approach and remains there until the ladies are seated, Sloan offers a polite half bow to Ravenstongue. "Good evening Mistress, Yes, I am Sloan. I am pleased to formally meet. As for the gentleman in question, after the Master's explanation, you may rest assured of my discretion."

hearing the question from Hark, Sloan considers for a moment. "As Mstress Cor'lana says, everything is quite above standard fare here. The cook is known to wash his hands regularly, does a fine mutton stew, and has somehow managed to find spinach at this time of year good enough to make an actual spinach salad with."

The press of a clawed hand against her back has Rune moving forward, but not without shooting Harkashan a somewhat uncertain look. She straightens her shoulders somewhat, joining the gathering at Sloan's table with a bit of an apologetic expression on her features. "Sorry for the interruption, it's a bit packed tonight."

Rune pulls her cloak a little closer about her, possibly still warding off the cold. "My friend here is relatively new." She motions towards the Sith-makar. "Me, not so much. I've traveled quite a bit." The introduction, however, has her pausing as she looks towards the violet-eyed Half-sil. "Ahh." There is a brief pause before she offers, "I'm called Rune. I believe I actually have a letter for your husband. I was just coming in from the Mythwood to deliver it when I ran into an old friend."

She seems to let the Sith-makar make his own introductions. "That's... quite a remarkable bird you have. Are they a familiar or something else?" She asks, her curiosity getting the better of her.

"Snacks." The Sith-makar repeats after the bird, as it hops off of Cor'lana's shoulder and gets onto the table. There's a shift of his eyes, and a subtle mirthful bemusement lights in his eyes. Harkashan then leans down over the table a bit and remarks. "I did not know that the food spoke in Alexandria." As if he were lowering his head to eat the bird - gazing into its beady eyes with his own hungry slit ones. An act done with exaggerated motions, before raising up to his full seated height once more.

"I jest." He is sure to remark, knowing all too well that humans have trouble reading Sith-makar expressions. "I am...." The Sith-makar lets his voice drift as Rune expresses his newness. The topic shifts.

"Cor'lana Lúpecyll-Atlon." He repeats the name, turning his head just a bit to get a better look at her, as if tasting the name itself to see if it was to his liking.

"Ravenstongue then." He seems to decide. "And hello Pothy." Then, turning to Sloan with his head, he taps on the table with his claw for a moment, then points that same claw to him. "Sloan." A pause. "I am referred to as Harkashan, Death-Singer." A name with clear draconian roots to any present here who knows the language. One appropriate to one of his colors. Though the title he expresses may be less familiar.

He looks to Rune for but a moment, before he turns and lifts his hand. Being 6'5", he's tall enough to stand out. A flick of fire coming from his fingertips to draw the attention. And when the waitstaff comes by, he orders some of that offered mutton stew; "One for me, and one for the lady at my side." He bids.

"Please, just Cor'lana or Lana will do if it's easier," Cor'lana says with a small smile to Harkashan's decision on her name. But her eyes are full of curiosity as Rune says she has a letter. "A letter? From the Mythwood? Yes, that would, in fact, be for my husband. I can bring it back home for him to read if you'd like me to take it."

Pothy stares at Harkashan for a moment with the pantomiming of eating him. "Not a chicken," he grumbles in the voice of a child, presumably being called one for flaking out on some sort of risky play. In other words: do not eat the Pothy. He is not tasty.

Cor'lana pats down Pothy's feathers, however, and this seems to settle the bird down. "He's my familiar," she responds. "Passed down through my mother's side of the family. It's... a bit of a story. He exists to be my 'repository of knowledge', but most of his time and energy is caught up in eating food and cataloguing it. But, he's an excellent source of comfort and friendship."

Listening to the group, Sloan finally takes his seat again once the others are settled. Picking up an egg from his plate, the butler begins to trace a linen gloved fingertip across the top of it. Circling it twice, he neatly picks the top of the shell off and sets it on his plate before slipping a thumb between the rubbery meat and the inner shell. It s the work of a couple turns of the egg before the rest of the shell sits on the plate as well. Not looking at the bird, Sloan places the Egg on the edge of his plate wordlessly, then goes about repeating the process with the second egg, his attention on the travelers. "Not a nice time of year to be abroad I think."

Slowly, Rune reaches up and draws back her hood, revealing the distinctive pointed ears that mark her as a Half-sil. "Mmm. I have family in the area, so I sometimes run messages for those who want... a bit more care taken with the contents." At the suggestion of providing the letter, there is a brief hesitation and then a shake of the head. "I have... strict instructions to give it to him directly, I'm afraid." Rune offers, her lips pressed together in another of those apologetic expressions. "Though if you'd be so kind as to help facilitate a meeting, that would certainly help."

As for the massive Sith-makar, Rune nudges him again, "Be good. Not everyone can read your peoples' strange sense of humor." This is followed by a raise of one eyebrow when he orders food for her, as if this were something unusual between them. Something about the way they interact simply seems... off.

Turning her attention back to the others, Rune seems to appreciate the interesting creature that is Pothy, tilting her head and appraising the bird. "It must be nice to have that strong a connection to family." She silently runs a hand against a chain that seems to be hiding something under her chest-piece, then snaps out of the thought, her lip quirking as she nods to Sloan. "Can't say I've been enjoying the snow and cold as of late, but job pays well."

There's a bemused rumble from the Sith-makar when Rune nudges him about his 'threat' upon the bird, breaking the gaze he has upon the bird bit for a moment. He's brought from his reverie when he spots Rune giving him a bit of a look about ordering food for her. In the jungle, he'd shared food, or made sure she'd be fed something that would work for a softskin's diet. But this does have a different... feeling to it. A bit overbearing, perhaps?

"Hrrrm." There's that low rumbling sound of his growling voice once more as Pothy declares he's not a chicken. A sound that continues for a little longer when Cor'lana mentions him existing to be her repository of knowledge. In fact, that particular bit draws just the slightest tilt of his head from him. As a Sith-makar, beings containing 'knowledge', or 'memory' draw a certain sort of attention.

"The cold is bearable." Harkashan notes to Sloan, "Though much can hide amidst the snow. Which is the greater worry to me." He's had to get used to this whole snow thing pretty fast, and kept and eye out for the behavior of these Softskins. Less patrols by the common people, less vision.

"Speaking of things hidden. Might I ask if there are any rumors or going-ons of note nearby as of late? It is my experience that people of this region like keeping their... what is it again?" He turns to Rune with this questioning look as if she could help him. But before she speaks, his head lifts. That rock between his horns jingling a bit as it dangles from its bindings. "~ Thumb on the pulse?"

Cor'lana nods to Sloan's remark. "It's always cold, and the weather isn't always the best. But, there's no shortage of work at the Explorers' Guild regardless if it's cold or not," she says. "Still threats out in the world, dangers to be taken care of lest they hurt innocent people who can't protect themselves."

Pothy eyes Sloan as the butler opens up the egg, as though he's either inspecting the quality of his work... or is just hoping to have some egg, too. One can never tell with the bird, until he opens his mouth to talk, that is, but he's keeping quiet. Cor'lana, meanwhile, looks at Rune and nods, a small smile on her face like she expected the remark. "No, I fully understand," she replies. "Protocol is everything when it comes to the Atlons, I've found. We'll have to find a time and place. My husband can usually be found here in the market, or over at the Shining Chalice--it's sort of like a social club for sorcerers. He's a mentor there." Her smile widens for a moment. "Plus, Tel and I like to keep close to other half-sil when we meet them."

Then Cor'lana pauses to consider Harkashan's question. "It's almost easier to ask--what isn't going on," she says. "The Mythwood and Alexandros are discussing an alliance. Magic is going awry in places it shouldn't be going awry. And more beyond that."

Watching Rune and Hark as they speak back and forth, Sloan takes a moment to eat his egg. The other one left at the edge of the plate and apparently forgotten about for the moment as the butler picks up his fork and asses his salad. "Thus my preference is to stay within the city when possible. I am happy for the adventurer's guild to continue with their business, but I keep plenty busy here in the confines of Alexandria where rocks have never accosted me of their own free will, and indeed are not renowned for said freewill. Nor has the Shrubbery within the walls of the city ever presented itself to be that of a Dragon of any sort." It was entirely possible that Sloan has never been more than 10 miles from the confines of the city. Looking at his clothes and manner, one might even expect that to be the case. Judging by his statement, it was also entirely possible that the Aesir man's relationship with the outside world came with a bit of baggage to unpack.

"And some of us are always looking for more work, cold or not." Rune agrees with a nod of her head. Her lips quirk again, some amusement evident. "Not a sorcerer, myself, but I imagine we'll find time to meet." Despite all the conversation regarding the letter, there seems to be little in the way of outward signs as to the letter's location. The rogue turned messenger seems to give away nothing, at least on the surface.

At the mention of their shared race, there is a hint of color that rises on Rune's freckled cheeks as she nods. "It's... certainly good to find others." The agreement is followed by quick dart of her eyes, a show that she such welcome may not have always been the case.

That look causes her gaze to fall onto Sloan, "If... you haven't experienced those things, it certainly sounds like you've heard some stories. Is there someone who has been accosted by rocks or seen a shrubbery that turned out to be a dragon?" It seems that Sloan has struck a bit of interest. Apparently Rune enjoys elaborate and interesting tales of adventure.

Harkashan still lacks the knowledge of the nations and regions a ways beyond Alexandria's walls, but he's at least heard the term Mythwood before. Particularly in relationship to how it had clashed with Charn a few decades before. So, the Sith-makar slowly nods his head in partial understanding, but Cor'lana may pick up on it being a bit of a tentative kind of motion.

"What kinds of magic is going awry, in what ways?" He seeks to learn, "And please, speak to me more of thi~" He's interrupted by the Mutton Stew being brought over, and being placed before him and Leirune. He thanks them, making sure that big tail of his remains out of the way, and then turns to the food itself. The spoon offered with it is a bit small for someone of his particular size, but he makes due. He does take note of Rune's expressions regarding it being good to find others. The dart of those eyes does not go unnoticed.

There's a tilt of his head, and the slightest uptick of his brow. His eyes then close slowly, then open once again. "The Verdant Dragon has shown itself to beings here?" He then inquires with Sloan, taking him entirely on face-value on the matter of a Shrubbery presenting itself as a Dragon.

"I admit, it is... strange to see walls reaching so very far around a single settlement." Harkashan points out, before continuing to inquire with the Aesir; "But surely, chancing a meeting with the Verdant Dragon must be worth journeying beyond them. Do your people not favor the wilds and tales?"

Much like Rune, he's interested in hearing more.

"Yes, there is someone," Cor'lana says, with a small smile. "Me."

Pothy was inching closer and closer to the neglected egg (the negl-egg-ted egg) on Sloan's plate, potentially to nick it from the butler's grasp, when Cor'lana says her piece. He stops, and he throws his head back, mimicking a perfect sigh from a person. "Danger," he murmurs in Cor'lana's voice.

"I went into the Felwood some time ago," Cor'lana replies. "To investigate magic going awry. It appears certain leylines are... having trouble, to put it bluntly. Magic doesn't work or isn't working properly. Either way, I went into the Felwood with some allies and investigated. We fought this giant mound of living moss that was using the bones of a dragon. I've never seen a grown dragon in the flesh on the side of the opposition, and I don't care to if I can help it. Those woods have long had a reputation for being cursed, and I understand why."

Chuckling ruefully, Sloan looks at the pair for a moment before Cor'Lana speaks of moss using the bones of a dragon. "My experience was much the opposite. I was out searching for the daughter of a friend who had gone 'adventuring' on her own awhile back. I happened upon a group from the guild. WE found ourselves under attack by what I can only describe as a very large topiary. Some of the more level headed amongst the group finally figured out though that it was a dragon whose magic had become...worryingly troublesome as it slept. The plants had grown around it and had nearly strangled the poor dragon. It was a most unfortunate scene."

the egg is still left alone, though Sloan does address Pothy without actually looking at he bird. "the eggs in this establishment are some of the finest I have had. I prefer them soft boiled. One should know that if one were to try and take any that may happen to be just laying around unattended. They can make a bit of a mess."

At first, it seems as if Rune barely registers that food has been set in front of her. Instead, it is the stories that the Sloan and Cor'lana offer up that have her rapt attention. "That sounds amazing." She pauses, perhaps realizing that calling such dire situations 'amazing' might not be best, but her enthusiasm seems to sell it with an almost child-like glimmer in her eyes. "I mean, horrible but... it makes a good story, right?"

That is when she decides to look away again, taking to scooping some food into her mouth. Rune is polite enough to finish the bite before speaking again, "I used to love those sort of stories as a girl. It's part of why I chose this life, over the safety of books and scrolls."

Her blue eyes look to Sloan again, "Not... that there's anything wrong with preferring that sort of thing. I just knew I wanted more."

"Most curious." Harkashan admits as Cor'lana speaks of living moss reanimating the bones of a dragon. There's a little of a worried lilt there. But it doesn't sound like necromancy. Rather some kind of... living green? He's not familiar with this.

This is followed up by Sloan speaking of vines strangling a dragon. The idea of a dragon's magics killing itself is... bizarre to the Sith-makar. This land truly is alien and dangerous to his kind, isn't it? His brow is thoroughly furrowed as he gets some of that stew into his belly.

"Most curious - and alarming." He rumbles, repeating that first set of words, before adding the latter. He glances to Rune, who seems more than happy to hear about these kinds of things. In many ways, so little has changed...

"Is this something you wish to investigate?" He inquires with Leirune then.

Cor'lana looks a little bashful as Rune looks so rapt with her story. "No, I understand," she says. "I mean... I'm a poet, actually, when I'm not busy with adventuring. I grew up reading books and all of the stories in them when I had little else, so I understand. Although I'm not sure if I ever would have had the courage to become an adventurer if I didn't have Pothy passed down to me."

She looks to Sloan. "I had... heard that there were other discoveries of dragon skeletons. Clearly, I need to step up and help with the efforts to look into the matter."

Pothy contemplates the egg and Sloan's words. For a long moment, those blue eyes of his just study the butler. "A mess," he mimics Sloan's voice, apparently arriving to a conclusion of some sort, and he just hops onto Cor'lana's shoulder.

"Be careful if you choose to go into the Felwood," Cor'lana offers Rune and Harkashan. "There's no shortage of darkness there. Demons, twisted fey, and more are there."

Taking a mouthful of his Salad, Sloan chews thoughtfully for a few moments before touching a napkin to the corners of his mouth. This done, he finally rejoins the conversation. "I take no offense to your words Mistress Rune. To each their own. You see to the wild places and adventure, I shall see to the linens and ensure the meals are prepared on time and to specification." Looking between Cor'Lana and Hark. "Indeed. Quite alarming. Very sociable creature once we had freed it from said vines, but there was a moment there in which I ended up face to face...as it were with the creature after it had been cut loose. Very hard expression to read is that of a dragon. I felt that possibly I may have done something in error and would have had to return to the beginning and try again."

Leirune seems to settle her eyes upon the stew for a long moment, taking in the similarities between her own past and that of Cor'lana. The solace that books had brought her in the darker days of her youth. "My mother... she was a storyteller." That admission seems to come after some consideration, lifting her eyes to Lana and offering a soft smile. The key word there seems to be 'was'... "So, if you ever want to share any of your poems or stories, I'd love that."

At Harkashan's mention of seeking out such things, there is a distinct stiffness that passes over the Half-sil's form, as if her muscles were tensing due to some kind of pain. It shows in a slight tightening of her expression before she shoves a far less graceful spoonful of stew into her mouth to avoid an immediate answer. It seems to take a few heartbeats, enough for Sloan to talk about his encounter, for her to seemingly come back to herself. "It seems to me, that you've had your fare share of adventures for someone who specializes in linens. It's impressive."

Then, as if remembering the previous topic, she clears her throat. "We certainly wouldn't go in anywhere unprepared. It wouldn't do to find ourselves in way over our heads. Things could certainly turn out badly."

"Hrrrm. I will take note of that. I fear I have little experience with Demons and Fey myself, beyond what the Charn wrought." Harkashan answers Cor'lana when she offers her warning. It's not one that he is taking particular note of. But she might spot that his gaze, as the topic is broached, is on Leirune. Watching her.

One would think that a Sith-makar would jump at the chance to investigate dragon bones. But his expression is not betraying any excitement - his mind occupied with something else. "Yes, Dragons are hard to read." He rumbles somewhat off-handedly as Leirune's expression begins to shift. That tension of muscle.

In answer, he puts a hand upon her shoulder; a soft touch, in as far as a scaled one such as him can physically be considered 'soft'. He doesn't pry, but it seems that way of tensing, and her answer, relieve him in a ways. "Agreed. Let us take great care." He answers Rune, slowly nodding his head, his tail twitching at its tip. The mutton flows quickly at this point. He does make for rather large chomps.

"Particular beings of name and visage we should be careful of in particular? I imagine that if this has been going on for a while, there are some theories about ones at fault."

There's a sympathy and an understanding in Cor'lana's eyes as Leirune speaks of her mother. She gives the fellow half-sil a small smile. "I know what that feels like first-hand," she replies, gently, like the soft crackling of the fire in the Fernwood's fireplace. "I do poetry readings often in the Theatre District. Come down sometime and you'll hear me reading, I'm sure."

Pothy does something besides mimicking voices and asking for snacks. He leans into Cor'lana's face and nuzzles against her cheek. This earns him a little kiss on his fluffy head from his mistress, which causes all of his feathers to puff up. Perhaps the raven equivalent of a blush. "You have enough makari for friends," Cor'lana says, "and you learn how to read emotion, eventually. I'm still a bit off at times, but I get by well enough."

Speaking of makari, she looks back to Harkashan. "I wish I knew of any specific entities in the Felwood, but I don't," Cor'lana replies, a somber look settling on her face. "I would suggest cold iron weapons, or silver, if you're fond of fighting in the thick of it. They help when fighting some extraplanar entities." There's a hint of distaste on the words 'cold iron' in her voice.

Shrugging slightly at Hark's question, Sloan replies quietly. "Unfortunately I myself have no names. I find myself entering into situations merely as a bystander with intent to live." Again Sloan begins to eat, letting the others speak of ancestry and adventure.

"I'll do that." Rune replies, her expression softening again, though there is still that hint of stress in the set of her ears and line between her brows. For now, further matters on her mother and whatever shared grief she and Cor'lana might share is left alone.

She leaves the stew half eaten, perhaps having her stomach turned by certain thoughts. Instead, Rune pushes herself to her feet. "It was a pleasure meeting you both. I'm sure we'll talk again." She bows her head forward, the blue-tipped black hair falling into her eyes briefly.

The rogue pulls out a few coins and leaves them for Harkashan. "I'm going to go get some air and check on the horses. Get this paid out and we'll go figure out lodging for the night." Rune pulls up her hood, giving one last nod to all gathered. Something said must really have bothered her to be going back out into the cold night, but that seems a tale for another time.

"Iron and Silver. Hrrm." Another one of those thoughtful rumbles. "I'll take note of that. I myself do not actively wade into battle much. But it's still important information to know." Though he takes note of the way she seems to react to cold iron herself when she speaks the words. Certainly, he will have to ask her about that himself at some point.

But for now... he notices the rogue speak on getting some air. "I'll deal with payment." He answers her, confirming her desires, and he starts working his own pouch. Looking back at the board containing the prices deeper into the shop. Counting out the coin before looking back up to Sloan and Ravenstongue. "Thank you both for your time and company." He bids to them. "It's much appreciated." Before he shifts back and performs the dance of a Sith-makar trying to get out of a seat not made for them, and rises to his full height again.

Another bow of his head, and he heads on out to follow after Rune with a worried look on his face.