Dunn Wright Inn [Tavern, Venza] - Page 12 - Myth-Weavers


Dunn Wright Inn [Tavern, Venza]

   



While they were talking, Far'ziel had noticed the stranger pin a notice to the bulletin board with a dagger and depart. Since Privinia was occupied with chatting, she launched into the air and flew over the other patrons to see what the parchment said. The human sorceress did glanced up at her familiar's departure but did not stop in conversing.

"I see. You are an accomplished brawler then. Such skills are useful when fulfilling some of the quests and tasks people hire out for around here."

"Is this your first time to Venza's notorious adventurer's tavern?"


The fire mephit had finished reading the parchment and removed it with the dagger pinning it to the board and flew back to the table. She sat on the stool and spoke in a language that only she and her mistress could understand. "
Far'zielese:We might find this notice interesting, mistress.
Ku gninn britzt clin zweftliru irfiondioniv, gninskliohlt."
She handed the parchment to Pirvinia.


Weylyn's interest in the conversation between the attractive woman and the drunken elf-kin wanes as the stranger pins that notice to the board. He sops up the last of he stew, takes the dregs of the ale from his tankard, and rises from his seat to saunter over to the board.

The mephit flits in just ahead of him, and Weylyn stops courteously to allow the tiny creature to read it before advancing himself. "Your pardon, Madam Mephit... you will be reading this first, yes?" Once the creature flies back to its mistress, Weylyn reads the notice for himself, then steps aside and stands beside the board as he ponders the words.




Far'ziel had nodded at the short aasimar's obvious question, "Yes, I then my mistress."

Pirvinia looked at the parchment handed to her by her familiar, "This looks interesting."


"Last time I was in Venza, this rather convenient hangout was not yet in existence; ah to be to so young as I was at time." He's about to delve into a rather long story from his past when the matter of the flier comes up. "Looks interesting; what's it say?"



The door opens and a barbarian woman stands, silhouetted against the outside light. Long locks of hair cascade over her shoulders as she looks over the room. Her first step is tentative, and there is something of a notable pause before she continues into the inn, soft, moccasin-like boots thumping quietly as she walks. As light washes over her, the familiar features of Charity become apparent, dressed in well-worn, yet classic, Ha-Gruut garb. Her distinctive red hair trailing well down her back and sways with her stride as she quietly steps to the bar and takes a stool. After a short conversation with the fearsome half-orc behind the bar, she pulls a freshly poured beer to her lips and takes a sip.

In the Dunn Wright Inn
Francis John IV, Prince of All Halflings

A halfling most curious walks along the cobblestone path, smiling to himself at all the secret glories of the universe. He hums a nothing melody as the gas-lamps (that are much taller than him no doubt) create a steady sympony of shadows along the street. This halfling stops for a minute, right outside the fantastic Dunn Wright in and closes his eyes. His song stops and he takes a moment to smell what there is to smell, savoring every drop of the western seawater, the cooking food in the kitchen, and whatever else Venzan has to offer satiates his olfactory sense. He opens his eyes and walks in.

The Dunn Wright Inn! Francis John IV, despite his short stature, proudly crosses the threshold of the Landward Door. His eyes quickly adjust to the interior lighting, and he is certainly treated to a view of the center of the common room. Tables, benches, and the bar adorn his view. His previous smile grows into the grinniest of grins, the kind that would make any mother proud. He shouts forth in a cutting baritone, "Hear ye, hear ye! Attention all customers! Francis John IV, the prince of all halflings has arrived! And we shall make triple quick with the merrymaking!" He points to the workers behind the bar by the kitchen. "Groggy! Marla! Tell Zideaux he has his work duly cut out for him!"

Francis begins to make his way to the bar. Halfway across the room, he spots a certain someone. That someone is tall, beautiful, plain, and sports a glorious head of the reddest of hair. "Charity! Sweet Charity!" Francis runs over to here as fast as his stubby legs allows, and leaps into her arms for the warmest of hugs. "But I, how did you, and I thought, and then you...." The words fail to come out at the desired speed. Realizing the absurdity of the scene he has created (and how much Charity certainly would NOT approve), he lets go of his embrace but is happy to stand right by her side. "Charity! Please tell me about what happened at Yarendul! I finally made it back here to town to regroup, and I was going to leave again on the morrow to bravely execute your daring rescue! But you're here first! How are you dear friend?"

Eyes more expectant and full of jubilee could not be found on this side of the Ouhm River.






With a gentle pat on the back, Charity allows the little halfing to grant a modicum of space and gather his thoughts. After a round of questions she nods. Looking at her sleeve, she fiddles with the sturdy cloth and leather a bit, as if it didn't fit quite correctly. After another sip of beer, she rests the tankard down on the bar and replies, her alto voice still clear as it ever was, although with a sad tinge to it. "Well, it wasn't very interesting, truth be told," she begins, speaking a bit slower than her normal speech tempo. "We headed back into the capital, with the princess intent on having me killed as soon as possible. I was thrown into the dungeon for what I thought was to be a short while. However, what came to me was not the princesses' headsman, but a lawyer for our employer, Hans. He informed me of the effort to get charges against me dropped.

"It didn't happen instantly, but rather over a period of... maybe a couple weeks? Hunh, anyway, eventually the man returns, and in what seemed to be straight up legal dealing, I was quietly released and immediately spirited away. Within hours, I was on a ship to Venza. I can only imagine the loss of the queen and the return of normal seasons had empowered the nobles' hands, but I can't really say."
With that, Charity stops, her finger continuing to twirl red hair about it completely absentmindedly.

Looking to Francis, Charity smiles gently and adds, "It's good to see you again. Did everyone survive the surf? I came here as soon as reasonably possible to try to reconnect."

In the Dunn Wright Inn
Francis John IV, Prince of All Halflings

Francis exhales a much bigger sigh of relief than his stature typically should permit, and then words gush out like the breaking of a damn. "Well, you see, we did make it in the water. Don't know why those twits were so quick to scurry away... we could have really used the help! Any who, we made it to the main ship. Mr. Mancini had us lie low for a spell before he could secure safe passage for us back to the mainland. The waiting was the hardest part of course..."

His eyes glaze over as his story continues. "Once we landed, the three of us split ways. Yosephus said he needed to go back to his temple and take some sort of sabbatical, and Aishe simply said goodbye and left. But I suppose she wasn't one for much words, was she? After taking one night for myself, sweet Charity, I hope you forgive me for that please, I went straight to the Pearl to load up with some new gear." He pulls back a wad of his bushy hair, secretly revealing a headband ruby-encrusted silver headband, and a matching silver circlet with finely-etched engravings. "As you may deduce, I am not above magical adornment. I stopped in here tonight to blow off some steam, but instead now I found you! And with that, the merrymaking shall commence!"

Francis calls over to the half-orc barkeep. He drops a full pouch of lumpy gold onto the counter, completed by a loud jingle and one final jank. "I want the best. I want everything. Elven white. Dwarven red. Honey mead. The fruity victuals, but keep your kobold-piss at bay! And now for the foods.... Sea-roll chowder. Braised ox-ribs. Blackened country-fowl. At least two supplimentary veggie dishes for each. And the desserts! Raspberry drizzlepuffs. Chocolate-stuffed crab-shells. And most importantly, if there is not any sugar-coated dollywhoppers, I shall set this inn ablaze!"

The prince of all halflings calls out to all, "Everyone! Come join in the merrymaking while I regale my tale to the island of Yarendul! All of the merriment is on me tonight! Let us first recall old memories, celebrate, and create memories anew!"








Although Charity does not match Francis' manic mood, she seems to take it in stride, nodding, smiling and even chuckling at times. Her interest, however, continues with her friends, and she replies, "Well, it is good everyone is well. I was quite concerned the freezing water was to be the death of you." With that, the redhead sets her half finished mug of beer on the floor, against the baseboard of the bar, before climbing back into a chair, crossing her legs, and settling in for what looks to be a long haul celebration. Continuing the conversation, she adds, "I never really understood Ashe. There was something odd, that I just could not put my finger on..."

Charity's words trail off as she thinks a moment, playing with the ring found in the dragon's cave, slowly turning it on her finger, loosening it, and pushing it back on firmly, repeating the word 'finger' under her breath several times before continuing. "I am meaning to do some research on this ring," she explains, "to determine if it was originally of Yarendel manufacture or from off the island. My sister confirmed my suspicions--it's remarkably similar to the one mother used to wear. I wanted to take care of that before leaving, but I had to leave quietly after my release." The woman sighs, clearly disappointed.

With food served, Charity proceeds to enjoy the celebration offered by her compatriot. Although dressed as a barbarian tribeswoman, her manners and upbringing are clearly of Venzan origin, producing an odd image to anyone bothering to pay attention.


The dim torchlight within the Dunn Wright common room brightens momentarily as the door cracks, and the raucous celebration comes to a momentary halt. The culprit stands in the opening for a moment, a slight silhouette before the sunlight glare from outdoors. The light grows dim once more as the figure steps into the room and allows the door to close behind. Once eyes adjust and it becomes clear that this rail-thin waif is no bearer of momentous tiding the crowd-roar resumes. She flinches slightly at the noise, shaking her head and waving a dismissive hand with a slightly irritated expression on her delicate features, and begins making her way through the throng to the bar.

She moves with fluid grace, plainly used to navigating between closely crowded bodies, but the look on her face betrays some uncertainty. It's a look that says this young girl isn't certain she belongs. Nevertheless, she bellies up to the bar, squeezing between two hulking brutes and interrupting their... good natured?... argument about the merits of sword vs axe and calling out brazenly for an ale.










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