Redemption: The Preludes (IC post)

[Basil_Bottletop]

Wyckmere Mirth

---

 

Wyck offered the gnome a response, but it was brief and lost in the shuffle of noises made by the parade of people now traveling toward the Boar and Bunny. He didn't show signs of noticing that his words did not hit their target and simply moved on with matters. Mostly that of watching where he was going.

A few polite words were offered on the back of D'Artegenon's bristlier interaction with the attendant at the front before he watched him scurry away. The delay gave the half-orc a step of space between them, which was good given Wyck didn't know which table he thought his elder to take. When he chose one bookended on both sides by other empty tables, Wyck smiled.

It would do them no good to take up every seat in the room, but the choice had been dutiful and Wyck was pleased to see that accommodations were being considered. He did so silently though, only offering D'Artegenon a half-wrought smirk when he sat down next to him. The chair practically rested beneath the big man's elbow but Wyck found enough room to come ashore and claim it as his own. "It's not this place, right? No." He asked D'Artegenon and then answered himself after only a half second of reflection.

At the table next to them, some of the others were already into their drinks, but Wyck made no effort to hail the server for one of his own. Instead, he planted his elbows on the table and tucked his cheeks into his open hands. Subconsciously, the resting position had the added effect of hiding his facial scars from prying eyes but he was sure there wasn't already enough to look at in here for him to even be noticed.

"Hey! He half whispered across the table to Aly, "I doubt they do any here, but maybe -'iffin later- we can slip off to the other place and see if they've got local talent. Has to be at least one good lute in this town? Right?"

[PixCO]

Yopine Quietclock

---

"Oh yeah?" Yopine continued her conversation with Rillik and Ragz. The mention of a low survival rate wasn't a surprise to the Underdark native. "We do something like that, too. Svirfneblin, I mean. 'Seems like a pretty common practice in places. Survival rates being what they are..."

She trailed off with that. Nobody really liked talking about dead children.

"Anyway, we name our kids right away, but only really start counting on the third year. We lose so many to the monstrous races down there that you're not taken seriously until you're old enough to run away. Up until then it's fingers-crossed and hope for the best. Part of why my dad got us out of there."

[Civit]

Aly Treltor

---

"We had a naming ceremony. At sometime in the first 3 months, you are presented at the Hall of Inspiration. The priests of Oghma record your name in their archives.

It is the only time I've "met" my namesake." Adding with a laugh, "I'm told when Lady Alustriel held me I promptly spit up on her silk dress. But I still have her naming gift, a handpainted unicorn rocking horse."

"I thought to give it to my niece, but I want children of my own someday."

Turning to Wyck, "I'm alway up to seeing what local minstrals are performing. And that reminds me I need new strings for my own lute... not like I can perform right now."

Then to D'Artegenon, "speaking of which, any new information from Lysander or... Basil was it? Any ideas who or why we are in this situation?"

[Harding]

Roland Weisley

---

Roland was momentarily absent, having slipped away to the privy chamber. It was a brief moment of simple, if somewhat vulgar, luxury that the civilized world could offer at a respectable establishment. He took the opportunity to remove his helmet and chain coif, using a nearby water barrel to wash his face and hair quickly. "These are getting long...," he remarked as he ran his hands through the dark brown mane, which was now over an inch long - the longest it had been since he was a young boy.

Upon entering the inn, he found most of his companions already engrossed in conversation and enjoying drinks. He didn't mind that they had started without him - they all deserved to relax and finally sit down in a cozy place. The establishment was surprisingly respectable for an inn operating in a village, a fact that caught the warrior off guard as he scanned the place. However, the second thing to catch his senses was the enticing smell of good food emanating from the kitchen.

While he greatly enjoyed Aly's cooking, he felt it was high time to indulge in a meal that wasn't directly cooked over a campfire, while on the run from assassins, in the middle of nowhere in the countryside or a forest. He ordered "whatever delicious thing is roasting in that damn kitchen!" and also requested two bottles of fruity schnapps, along with enough cups for everyone - his treat. Although he wasn't particularly fond of drinking, and was paradoxically a lightweight when it came to alcohol, he did enjoy a good liquor from time to time, especially when the need arose to blow off some steam.

Returning with a platter containing the bottles and cups, he began to serve everyone a small dose of the precious liquid while whistling happily. However, his attention was soon caught by Aly's question about their situation, and he remained bent over, looking at D'Artegenon with great anticipation for the answer.

 

 

Edited March 12 by Harding (see edit history)

[Zelphas]

Torben

---

It's not easy to fade into the background when you're nearly eight feet tall and nearly everyone you meet is afraid of you, but Torben did his best to let the conversation flow around him without interrupting it. His interjections usually went poorly in large groups, anyways; he had always been a little better talking to just one person at a time.

The silence of the tavern was unfortunately familiar to Torben, and so he simply shrugged his shoulders through it and pretended that he didn't notice everyone tense up. He wondered, sometimes, if they thought he was going to simply snap one day and start... he didn't even know what. Grabbing children? Parents seemed to hold their children close when he was in sight. What would he even do with a child?

Torben shook his head beneath his hood, sitting quietly in a place where he could observe D'Artegenon more closely. He was pretending to be a half-orc when people didn't know what he really was, but he hadn't really met many half-orcs before this time; he was trying to see if there was something he could use in D'Artegenon's behavior to make his own disguise more convincing. Then the inn staff started bringing out meat for him--maybe this was connected to the "sudden snapping" idea, and they were trying to placate his hunger, but they always brought out lots of food for him when he came by--and Torben regretfully turned away from the inn proper, facing a wall so he could lower his scarf and eat. The town may be letting him stay, but they still didn't like to see his face, and he found that he got fewer frightened and disgusted stares if he hid his face while he ate. Or maybe he just didn't notice the stares that way.

Torben shrugged again, eating steadily while the conversations washed over him. He was happy that Ragz seemed to be talking well with these new people, the tensions relaxing. He'd always had his name, he thought; how would you know who you are without a name to call yourself? That bit of introspection covered over the little lonely ache in his stomach fairly well.

[Rumrunner]

Rillik d'Sivis

---

Her arm moved from table to mouth as the two unterkith compared the personhood of youth. None of it surprised her, much easier to abandon a crying babe to a monster if you didn't bother to give it a name. At that thought she took an especially long draught of her ale. She considered the order of operations she followed for conversation: activity, appearance, occupation, etc. Svirfette as usual, broke all the rules and just jumped way down the queue to family relations and child rearing practices. It wasn't a topic Rillik wanted to entertain at the moment. "I thought you were called Ragz because of the state of your robes." The soldier said, inhibitions dissolving in her drink. "I'm sure if you've helped so many people that you could get new ones, they must have some meaning for you?"

[Varen Tai]

D’Artegenon grunted and shook his head. “Lysander is still looking into things on his end both on the attack and on Roland’s request. I am doing what I can as well. I’ve asked Basil to see what he can find, but nothing yet from him, either.”

Just then, an older, well-dressed human walked up to the table where the half-orc sat. His beard was long and brown, streaked with gray, but neatly braided and trimmed. He was short and stocky, mostly bald with a ring of brown and gray mixed hair around the sides and back. 

He stopped when he reached the table and looked around before turning to face the kobold instead. “Ragz, I assume my grandchildren are chasing your dog? I don’t see them here.” Without waiting for an answer, he nodded to the half-orc. “D’Artegenon. It’s good to see you. I assume you want to talk?”

D’Artegenon stood up, towering over the newcomer. “Jon. Yes, if you have some time.”

The innkeeper clapped his hand on the larger man’s arm. “I always have time for you, my friend.” Looking at the tables, he added, “I didn’t know you knew Ragz and Torben here. Are the rest with you as well?”

D’Artegenon glanced around. “Just met the kobold and his friend at the gates, my companions decided to invite them here for a drink after a... discussion. The rest are with me, yes.”

Jon gave a long appraising look at Aly, Roland, Rillik, and Yopine. “I assume there won’t be any more... discussions... in my establishment?” 

The half-orc snorted. “Doubt it, but that’s up to them.” 

Jon shrugged. “Good enough for me.” He turned back to Ragz. “Ragz, let me know if any of these give you or your friend trouble. I’ll handle it.” Looking at the rest of the group, eyes twinkling slightly, “And if you don’t give any trouble, let me know how else my fine establishment can assist you. We are here to serve.” With an impish smile on his face, he bowed, then turned to leave with D’Artegenon following.
 

[Wizard of the Coat]

Ragz

---

Ragz felt bad for the bugbear, who was finally here--seated at an Inn enjoying a meal--but not here. He considered saying something to Torben, but then the innkeeper breezed in. The friendly man seemed perpetually on the move, in a hurry to be somewhere else, attending to some important task that fell to him as the innkeeper. And yet he made to notice the people around him and offer friendly words. Ragz sensed that such kindnesses were the most he could spare, and responding to his words would only slow him down and add to his burdens. And so Ragz limited his responses to a couple of nods.

The deep gnome drew his attention from the retreating inkeeper. The kobold closed his beady reptilian eyes in response to her musings about survival rates and the naming of children. When her words trailed off, he lamented softly, "So many younglings, children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren."

With a deep breath, he opened his eyes and let go his sorrows. Choosing his words with care, he tried to explain. "For many years, Ragz has considered the clan's naming customs. In the sunlit world, they are strange customs. Ragz will try to explain."

The kobold took up the tankard again, limiting himself to one perhaps two swallows. "Many younglings--the nameless--die. Hunger, sickness, and predators abound. The loss of so many younglings is very difficult for tayta-- parents. A heavy burden. Rather than carry the burden and tempt despair, madness, or battle frenzy, younglings are left nameless, and parents are taught not care." Here the kobold paused, broken from his train of thought as if adding a more personal note. "But in secret, many parents care and worry. Worry for their younglings as much as their children."

That thought left the kobold momentarily distracted by memories of his younglings and children. He took another swallow of his ale to stall for time as he composed himself and gathered his thoughts. "Beyond name day, many kobolds die: friends, neighbors, coworkers, family. The life of a kobold is short: birth, name day, bond day, first clutch, and dead, usually before children's name day. Every year, a kobold's clan is different. Different faces: some missing, some new. In such a changing clan, it is better to not carry the names and faces of so many dead. Kobolds are small creatures, not made to carry such burdens. Instead, kobolds use names only for those who are very... kuyasqa, very... beloved."

Ragz paused again. Making the words of the sunlit world was sometimes tiring. After another swallow of ale, he continued more lightheartedly. "And in a world were few call one by name, kobolds strives to be remembered by using their given names as much as possible. Or so Ragz has come to believe."

At Rillik's question, the kobold brightened, relieved by the change in topic, happy to speak of his name and one of his treasures. "Ragz was named Ragzech before he found the fine garments. It is an old name. Older than the memory of the clan. None know its meaning with certainty."

The kobold took a moment, quickly deciding the gnomes would not care to hear the various possible meanings of his name. "But yes, Ragz' fine garments hold much meaning, much value. A treasure, they are." The kobold stopped himself, recognizing the need for further explanation. "Kobolds do not treasure the things that other races will covet and take. Such treasures are dangerous for kobolds to possess. They bring nothing but pain and death--they are cursed treasures. Others see Ragz' fine garments and think less of Ragz. They will not beat Ragz and take the fine garments."

"But as a gnome woman guessed, kobold treasures have meaning--they tell stories. All of Ragz' treasures tell a story." And with that, the kobold's tone changed from instruction to story telling. His words came more easily, accompanied by more gesturing and facial expression. "Long ago, when Ragz served the Menagerie--a group of powerful heroes--Ragz accompanied them into an ancient burial mound in a far distant land. Deep in the mound, a big trap was triggered, and Ragz found himself separated from the masters. So Ragz explored, hoping to find a way back to the masters. Ragz had scouted dark places before, many times. But the burial mound was different: a dangerous place even for powerful heroes such as the masters. Not meant for Ragz. While exploring, Ragz was attacked by a mummified child--for no reason. The mummy child wore the fine garments, but was frightening to behold. Ragz would have fled, but the way behind was suddenly sealed by a porto-- by a fallen gate. With no other option, Ragz fought back, defeating the dead child with the Persuader." Here, the kobold gestured to the stick tucked into his sash: the small polished truncheon covered with indentations made by the black dog's teeth. "Ragz took the fine garments and has worn it ever since. It was the first time Ragz fought alone, and the first time he defeated a dangerous foe alone."

The kobold seemed pleased by his own tale, having enjoyed the opportunity to share the tale of his fine garments with the two gnomes.

Edited March 13 by Wizard of the Coat (see edit history)

[PixCO]

Yopine Quietclock

---

Yopine listened to his description of life and nodded in periodic sympathy. It carried familiar notes of all life within The Underdark. Things were dangerous and children were, just sometimes, considered expendable. Though it sounded like the Kobold approach was much colder, and harsher for both the parents and the surviving young. At least Svirfneblin were allowed to grieve.

The rest could be found in the gutters of any city. Do bad things in order to keep bad things from happening to you, and don't look too rich or too smart because someone will knock you back if you do...

Ragz' experiences were his own, and it sounded like they were a far sight worse than what the Svirf' experienced directly. But she could at least understand, and in that offer genuine sympathy. One element in his delivery stood out in her mind, however, and it made itself known now.

"Hey, why is she a Gnome Woman but I'm just a Gnome Girl? We're like exactly the same age!"

[Civit]

Aly Treltor

---

Ragz story answered one question. But posed others. Why was a child buried in soldier's clothes. She knew, from River, that Kara-Turans had very rigid traditions around such things. Not that it would change anything, it was just her curious nature.

"That is an interesting take on names. I understand the weight names bring. Some names bring expectations. That is why I insist on Aly. I am the 5th generation to carry my name, either as first or middle. And of course, it also belongs to one of The Seven. I always feel like it is expected of me to do great things. Yes I realize how ridiculous that is. And I know I am one of many to share that name."

She sees Torben trying to stay unnoticed. "What about you? How do your kind view names?" Aly actually was interested, but it was also in her nature to try to be inclusive.

[Zelphas]

Torben

---

Torben acknowledged the innkeeper with a wave of one long arm. He was beginning to realize that the best he could expect from most people was a sort of determined attempt to pretend like they weren't bothered by him, and the innkeeper did better than most. He took a moment to wipe his face , careful to keep anything from ruining his scarf; patterned scarves were a bit of a rarity, and he had been feeling like it was a good day when he put this one on. Maybe he should've chosen his grey-silver scarf instead, or the one that was mistaken for a rag and dipped in several dyes at once, turning into a muddled splotch of colors.

Aly's question caught Torben by surprise, and he stiffened, his back still to the group. "My kind... I can't answer that question. I've never met a bugbear." He took another bite before his wording caught up to him. "Another bugbear," he amended around a mouthful of meat, taking care to chew as quietly as he could.

[Basil_Bottletop]

Wyckmere Mirth

---

 

The mug of sweet smelling alcohol sat just below Wyck's nose, untouched. He'd not declined the offer from Roland, but he'd also not been quick to take a drink. Instead, it sat there with the pining allure of merry-making and comradery not yet obligated.

Talk of naming practices continued next to him, but his focus was on something else. He watched the people inside the inn. They moved about in mostly predictable ways and none of them seemed intent on doing anything remotely interesting, but Wyck continued to watch them anyways. He caught one patron's eyes more than once, seeing that they too were doing a similar pass over of the room with little to report.

As John approached the table, Wyck's alertness seized into physical form, his body went rigid and he ller in his chair. He sat at attention through the meandering conversation as he waited for a conclusion with some viable reaction. Only after D'Artegenon left the table did Wyck realize that had been the predictable result the whole time and it made him feel just a hint of foolishness. He cupped his hands around the mug of schnapps and took a small sip.

Unperturbed by the bugbear's existence nor proximity, Wyck smirked at Torben's slip of the tongue. "I can swear to you that you are not the only one in the world." He said assuredly. "Although, wouldn't that be something? A one of a kind mucking about in the world?" He huffed to himself at the thought of it.

[PixCO]

Yopine Quietclock

---

"My dad was crap at names." Yopine continued the discussion. "No imagination for it. His name was Johime, so he called me Yopine."

She pronounced each in a similar manner, YOH-heem and YOH-peen respectively.

"I don't even know if that's a real name, to be honest. He just liked the way it sounded, and then for my brother he kept it simple. Joe Quietclock. Solid surface name."

Svirfette had to take a moment to let the memories wash over and, eventually, through her.

"Then my sister, Savy. He wanted to name her Sally, after the nice young ladies he'd talk to on the walk back from his workshop. I'm not sure he knew what they did for a living exactly, but it didn't matter. His handwriting is so terrible that the two 'els' kind of slanted together on the birth certificate. So she's Savy Quietclock by law."

A lot of unprovoked talking, true, but she found a point in her words at the end.

"I'm not really sure if Deep Gnome names are supposed to hold deeper meaning on a regular basis, is what I'm trying to say. Mine didn't come with either an instruction book or inherited legacy. Whatever it means gets decided every day by me, and that changes constantly. 'Kinda like it that way."

[Rumrunner]

Rillik d'Sivis

---

Rillik listened while drinking, a few times she caught herself with a very slight shrug, thinking things like: maybe they shouldn't have kids they can't care for instead of just not naming them or seems like somebody's doing a good job, but they were cut short by Ragz' sincerity and sorrow. It was a curious think to watch, never had she considered kobolds capable of such a depth of emotion. She certainly didn't want to entertain the encroaching empathy, but the feelings lingered inside her, prodding pangs poking at her, threatening to break through, but she slammed the door on them and hardened her heart.

She'd not expected such an elaborate story and despite herself listened enrapt by the peculiar tale. When she asked about his clothes she'd been semi-sarcastically poking fun, thinking that the kobold just didn't care about clothes. More likely, she thought, it dressed in rags because it hadn't known any better, or maybe that it wore rags because and so called himself Ragz. The misconceptions were piling up. She shrunk back a bit and let others carry the conversation. Her attention was on the interior of her mug, its contains suddenly containing a sum of salient sagacity as well as the means to drown it. She didn't hear Yopines comment about how she'd been called a girl versus Rillik being a woman, at least not in a way that registered. The conversation had faded to noise behind her thoughts, or lack thereof. It was like her mind had a gear slipped loose and was now spinning wildly but accomplished nothing. It would spiral towards something like how she might be similar to the kobold, her tattoos being something meaningful that she wore and treasured, like her father, his tattoos, his pride, her scar that cut across the one he'd made for her before she'd gone to war, to how maybe the life of a kobold wasn't so much unlike life in a warzone, death, disease, unbearable conditions, under constant threat and anxiety. Were they so much the same? She slammed the gear into place bringing her portcullis down and her mug up, washing all away before her eyes could mist to heavily.

Sensing her uneasiness, her cat came over stretching upward to scratch its butt on her dangling feet. Rillik rolled her eyes, tears draining into their ducts, and exhaled with a smile at the self satisfied little beast. Mist then stretched and hopped up into her lap. "So you haven't abandoned me have you?"

The cat replied. "I want some fresh meat... or fish."

[Wizard of the Coat]

Ragz

---

Rags scratched his chin, reviewing the situation. The deep gnome was clearly a girl, the other a woman. Or so he had believed. Had he offended the deep gnome girl. It would not have been the first time he'd encountered a girl who took offense at being called a girl. And yet, the deep gnome's people were not of the sunlit world. Had she not explained that they too had name days? Could it be possible that, despite her youth, she was a woman because she had a name? He struggled to pinpoint what about the deep gnome girl made him think she was a girl. Was it possible that he saw her as a girl because she reminded him of...

The conversation drew the kobold from his wool gathering. The human woman was speaking with Torben. Another human entered the conversation, and then the deep gnome girl jumped in. Her conclusion left him with much to consider regarding names and their meanings. There was wisdom in her observation--which he would need to consider in greater depth when. he had time.