Right off of Dort’s central market square, the Drunken Duck squats companionably between a large stable and a busy lane, a glowing bastion of friendly warmth tucked within its slightly bowed walls. The yellow-gold brick is slightly weathered but no less vibrant, it’s distinctive coloring more telling than the wooden sign which hangs stoically from the verandah: an etching depicts a tipsy bird, one wing wrapped about a tankard of sloshing ale.
The porch and verandah extend just a few paces beyond the doorway, allowing patrons a few sheltered paces before a grand entryway that might almost seem more suited to the theater across the Lane. Two large, leaded windows nearly eclipse the wide front door, catching and reflecting any light in the bits of multi-colored glass embedded there. Though there are no clear pictures in the fractured design, there is something almost cheery in the swirls of color found there.
The bright blue door opens into a large and spacious taproom well-lit by multiple windows and well-placed lamps. Regardless of tide, many of the tables hum with friendly or inebriated conversations, and a barmaid scurries about distributing tankards and bowls, returning sass or smiles as appropriate, though her smile softens any rebuke easily. Her hair is falling free from the haphazard bun at the nape of her slender neck as she bypasses the stairs that bisect the back wall, and pushes through the swinging door next to it.
The bar stretches along the entire wall opposite the stage, plain wooden stools lined neatly along its counter as a slightly portly man tends to those seated there. He exchanges comments with those near him, voice mixing with the genial atmosphere. With all the general sociability to be found here, one might almost miss the large figure perched at one end of the bar, a few tattoos peeking out from beneath the respectable but plain garb he wears. Quietly watchful, his eyes pause on any groups that might be getting a little rowdy.
Location: The Drunken Duck Tavern & Inn
Location: The Drunken Duck Tavern & Inn
Last edited by Vanadius on Fri Jun 09, 2006 5:50 pm, edited 2 times in total.
-
Rylie
"I'z tellin ya... that bloke ain't nuthin but chickin clucks."
A pair of eyes peered into the stained glass windows of the Drunken Duck.With one swift motion, someone pressed the small handle, rocked the door inside and stepped in. He genlty creaked the door back into place and smiled.
This man's name, was Rylie.
He patted a few leaves and some dirt off his cloak and shagged his mane of brown hair. While doing so, he kept a smile on his face and walked along the wooden walkways. He nodded at a few merchants he knew and stayed a little ways farther from the Duke's men, giving them their space. Squeezing himself between two seats before the bar, he rapped on the table, took off his hunting-gloves and smiled at the bartender.
"Hi Tibs, hows the old Duck?" Rylie smiled at the good man.
Nice cold beer on a good Dort day. After a few days of camping by the Islay forests, the gimp of civilization and tending to his coins seemed appropriate. Not to mention, he also needed at least a little bit of interaction, the only conversations he had were with chipmunks and the fireplace. He smiled and sighed. Rylie was happy enough with a pint, now... all he had to do was wait.
A pair of eyes peered into the stained glass windows of the Drunken Duck.With one swift motion, someone pressed the small handle, rocked the door inside and stepped in. He genlty creaked the door back into place and smiled.
This man's name, was Rylie.
He patted a few leaves and some dirt off his cloak and shagged his mane of brown hair. While doing so, he kept a smile on his face and walked along the wooden walkways. He nodded at a few merchants he knew and stayed a little ways farther from the Duke's men, giving them their space. Squeezing himself between two seats before the bar, he rapped on the table, took off his hunting-gloves and smiled at the bartender.
"Hi Tibs, hows the old Duck?" Rylie smiled at the good man.
Nice cold beer on a good Dort day. After a few days of camping by the Islay forests, the gimp of civilization and tending to his coins seemed appropriate. Not to mention, he also needed at least a little bit of interaction, the only conversations he had were with chipmunks and the fireplace. He smiled and sighed. Rylie was happy enough with a pint, now... all he had to do was wait.
Last edited by Rylie on Fri Jun 09, 2006 5:24 pm, edited 1 time in total.
-
Aislinn O`Conaill
- Special Branch
- Posts: 192
- Joined: Mon Jun 20, 2005 8:13 pm
Samheen 27th, TT
The common room hummed with quiet conversation interspersed by the high-pitched cackle of elderly voices. It was a mark or two yet before the younger crowd, tired from a hard day's labor, would descend upon the building. The blacksmith and tailor were too entrenched in their dickering to notice Rylie's nod, although the young man could catch a few words of the merchants' discourse before he arrived at the bar.
"...Come now, with th' rebellion, ye can't expect me to part with such for less?!"
"Y' old, thieving codger! I can't see as how having those clansmahooting barbarians have any affect on ye're goods!"
"Well then, <i>you</i> try..."
A burst of laughter from the assembled actors, accompanied by a tumbling chair, and an accompanying thud covered the rest of the conversation. A young man, face a bright red, crawled to his feet and made a flamboyant bow to his audience before setting his chair to rights and settling back down. In general, the Duke's Men were a tightknit group, occassionally giving previews of their performances on the stage to one side of the room. Though most were a good sort, they didn't always mingle with the rest of the room, preferring the occasional wealthy companion or the frequently adoring fans.
The tender looked up as Rylie tapped upon the well-worn counter, slowly wiping a mug with a clean rag before setting it on the shelf behind him.
"Tibs? Is this some new slang, eh? Mr. Armistice to you, young man... jes' because you're out from you're family's roof doesn't mean you can't show a bit o' respect, now, can it?" Gregor Armistice had owned the Drunken Duck for as long as Rylie could remember. Though somewhat dense and wide of frame, the tavern-keeper still managed to look stocky rather than portly. His features betrayed his age somewhat with several deeply traced lines, though they gave his pleasant smile a more fatherly look. Though once handsome, his features have begun to sag and a mop of silvering blond hair droops below his ears.
Grasping a jug carefully due to the condensation building upon it's surface, he poured Rylie a Pint. Eyeing the young man with a shake of his head. It wasn't too long ago that Rylie had been drinking water, and the transition to young adulthood still surprised the stodgy innkeeper.
"Karin's whipping up some stew in a few burns if you care for a bit, ya young whip..." Mrs. Armistice doubled as the Inn's cook, though at busier times it wasn't uncommon to see her bussing about the tables. "So where ya been, young Rylie? Haven't seen you about since..." his eyes scrunched together slightly as he squinted at the young man, "don't remember when precisely."
The common room hummed with quiet conversation interspersed by the high-pitched cackle of elderly voices. It was a mark or two yet before the younger crowd, tired from a hard day's labor, would descend upon the building. The blacksmith and tailor were too entrenched in their dickering to notice Rylie's nod, although the young man could catch a few words of the merchants' discourse before he arrived at the bar.
"...Come now, with th' rebellion, ye can't expect me to part with such for less?!"
"Y' old, thieving codger! I can't see as how having those clansmahooting barbarians have any affect on ye're goods!"
"Well then, <i>you</i> try..."
A burst of laughter from the assembled actors, accompanied by a tumbling chair, and an accompanying thud covered the rest of the conversation. A young man, face a bright red, crawled to his feet and made a flamboyant bow to his audience before setting his chair to rights and settling back down. In general, the Duke's Men were a tightknit group, occassionally giving previews of their performances on the stage to one side of the room. Though most were a good sort, they didn't always mingle with the rest of the room, preferring the occasional wealthy companion or the frequently adoring fans.
"Hi Tibs, hows the old Duck?" Rylie smiled at the good man.
The tender looked up as Rylie tapped upon the well-worn counter, slowly wiping a mug with a clean rag before setting it on the shelf behind him.
"Tibs? Is this some new slang, eh? Mr. Armistice to you, young man... jes' because you're out from you're family's roof doesn't mean you can't show a bit o' respect, now, can it?" Gregor Armistice had owned the Drunken Duck for as long as Rylie could remember. Though somewhat dense and wide of frame, the tavern-keeper still managed to look stocky rather than portly. His features betrayed his age somewhat with several deeply traced lines, though they gave his pleasant smile a more fatherly look. Though once handsome, his features have begun to sag and a mop of silvering blond hair droops below his ears.
Grasping a jug carefully due to the condensation building upon it's surface, he poured Rylie a Pint. Eyeing the young man with a shake of his head. It wasn't too long ago that Rylie had been drinking water, and the transition to young adulthood still surprised the stodgy innkeeper.
"Karin's whipping up some stew in a few burns if you care for a bit, ya young whip..." Mrs. Armistice doubled as the Inn's cook, though at busier times it wasn't uncommon to see her bussing about the tables. "So where ya been, young Rylie? Haven't seen you about since..." his eyes scrunched together slightly as he squinted at the young man, "don't remember when precisely."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
What does not destroy me, makes me stronger. Friedrich Nietzxche
theoriginalcousinit@yahoo.com
What does not destroy me, makes me stronger. Friedrich Nietzxche
theoriginalcousinit@yahoo.com
-
Rylie
Rylie grasped the pint uneasily. He wasn't really used to beer, but a cold one was what he really wanted, anyway. Tipping it to his mouth uneasily, he hesitated, and took a gulp. It went down nice and smooth, well enough to make Rylie take another one.He puffered out a few leaves off his head and smiled at the the stout man.
"Good ale." Rylie grunted.
"Mmm~ Stew. I'd love a bowl." Rylie exaggerated by rubbing his stomach, nonetheless sighing for relief. He had had enough of rabbit and berries for the time being, his belly required some good meat. It's been a good while since he last had lunch here with his father. He remembered those times quite well, for Mr. Armistice would often remind his father of his tab. Guess it was high-time Rylie had his own tab set up too~
"Been wandering around the forest, really. Looking for a few good herbs and maybe some good material." Rylie sighed, unflapping his empty satchel. "No luck though." he mumbled, clasping it shut. It's been 2 months since he last set foot on Dort, it was quite unusual to see a few his old merchant friends, not to mention, the grandeur of meeting new ones as well. He stretched a good ear to a group to the left, his eyes taking a sharp turn to that direction. He took to his pint again and leaned on his elbow.
"Seems like the merchants are having trouble with some barbarians..." He whispered, looking sternly at Mr. Armistrice. Rylie felt quite strongly for his merchant-folk, considering them well enough as family. Any tribulations they were facing were good enough, as his. He recalled several a-time when his father came home, complaining about raids on several trade routes his caravan often took. It would often mean less food for the family and less time to be with his father... one time... he didn't come back at all.
Rylie's eyes grew grim...
His father... he died a couple of Yahrens back in a barbarian raid too.
Taking the glass, he took a large gulp and shuddered.
"Ahh.... stupid raiders." Rylie masking his tears yet again with a smile.
"Anyway... Mr. Armistrice..." he rolled the familiar name in his tongue, yet again. "Do you know any good people who'd want a willing apprentice?" He grinned. "My dad set me off to find my purpose, you see... and I thought apprenticing for a while might help me get on my way..." He tilted his head a bit, taking a slug of ale.
"I really do need the money....speaking of which... mind adding this to my tab?" He smiled gingerly.
"Good ale." Rylie grunted.
"Karin's whipping up some stew in a few burns if you care for a bit, ya young whip..." Mrs. Armistice doubled as the Inn's cook, though at busier times it wasn't uncommon to see her bussing about the tables.
"Mmm~ Stew. I'd love a bowl." Rylie exaggerated by rubbing his stomach, nonetheless sighing for relief. He had had enough of rabbit and berries for the time being, his belly required some good meat. It's been a good while since he last had lunch here with his father. He remembered those times quite well, for Mr. Armistice would often remind his father of his tab. Guess it was high-time Rylie had his own tab set up too~
"So where ya been, young Rylie? Haven't seen you about since..." his eyes scrunched together slightly as he squinted at the young man, "don't remember when precisely."
"Been wandering around the forest, really. Looking for a few good herbs and maybe some good material." Rylie sighed, unflapping his empty satchel. "No luck though." he mumbled, clasping it shut. It's been 2 months since he last set foot on Dort, it was quite unusual to see a few his old merchant friends, not to mention, the grandeur of meeting new ones as well. He stretched a good ear to a group to the left, his eyes taking a sharp turn to that direction. He took to his pint again and leaned on his elbow.
"Seems like the merchants are having trouble with some barbarians..." He whispered, looking sternly at Mr. Armistrice. Rylie felt quite strongly for his merchant-folk, considering them well enough as family. Any tribulations they were facing were good enough, as his. He recalled several a-time when his father came home, complaining about raids on several trade routes his caravan often took. It would often mean less food for the family and less time to be with his father... one time... he didn't come back at all.
Rylie's eyes grew grim...
His father... he died a couple of Yahrens back in a barbarian raid too.
Taking the glass, he took a large gulp and shuddered.
"Ahh.... stupid raiders." Rylie masking his tears yet again with a smile.
"Anyway... Mr. Armistrice..." he rolled the familiar name in his tongue, yet again. "Do you know any good people who'd want a willing apprentice?" He grinned. "My dad set me off to find my purpose, you see... and I thought apprenticing for a while might help me get on my way..." He tilted his head a bit, taking a slug of ale.
"I really do need the money....speaking of which... mind adding this to my tab?" He smiled gingerly.
Last edited by Rylie on Sat Jun 10, 2006 1:03 pm, edited 2 times in total.
-
Aislinn O`Conaill
- Special Branch
- Posts: 192
- Joined: Mon Jun 20, 2005 8:13 pm
"Ehn, problems with barbarians are far enough from here. Clansmen have been up to no good over in their parts, though, causing trouble. Been a bit of rioting or someodd thing over there." The innkeeper's hand waggled towards the blacksmith as he heaved a chuckling sigh. "Callaghan just wants to raise his prices before things escalate further.. at least it's a more legitimate excuse than others he's spilled. A blustering bardic wannabe, that one." The slender Achadhiel tailor seemed an odd one to be arguing across the table with the short, burly blacksmith, but their conversation seemed to have quietened slightly, so that it could not be heard from Rylie's present position.
The bartender turned from Rylie to briefly tend to another customer, pretending to ignore the tell-tale remnants of the young man's grief.
Turning back to Rylie, he shrugged, lifting one thick-fingered hand to scratch at his head.
"Well now, I'm no sure - haven't heard much in particular, though with the idea of adventure a whole slew of the young folk have signed up for the guard and so forth, to head off to visit the highlands and clansmen, y'see." He winked at Rylie. "Might be there's openings just about anywhere, if y'ask around."
"A tab! Boy, you don't get a tab unless you've got a way to pay it off!" Gregor Armistice grunted, his features flopping between the creases of a hearty scowl and genuine amusement. "You come in for a few days, pay your way yourself, and once you've got some income we'll talk about that tab... Your first day back in town, of course, so I'll let Karin treat ya to a bowl. You go chat with Old Nyk, though, and keep him busy for me, eh?"
The innkeeper's finger pointed across the room to the hearth, where an old man plunked before the gently crackling hearthplace, basking in the warmth. Rylie would remember Old Nyk - ancient of ancients in the city of Dort, being old even when Rylie's father had been a child. The old fisherman's lank frame is tall and lean, his thin limbs sticking out every which way. His papery skin is splotched with age and traced with veins. His right pant leg is neatly trimmed to where someone's calf should be - revealing instead a sturdily carved wooden peg which is propped up on a chait. A thin goatee grows about his pensive mouth, which is drawn in concentration as his hands work steadily with a knife and piece of wood, letting wooden curls fall to the ground as he carves carefully away at a new creation. Despite the item coming to life in his hands, his jaw is working busily as he chats and rumbles and extrapolates his thoughts to those nearest him. Several of them seem a bit glassy-eyed with the attention, others seem annoyed, and one person was just now casting an annoyed look at Gregor while moving to a table farther away.
"Besides, Nyk hears all the gossip, he might know a bit more about who's needing a hand. Sounds like you need to find a direction, and the old man'll be more than happy to give you advice. If you haven't found anything soon, I might be looking for some help around the inn, so keep it in mind. Not exactly an apprenticeship, but.." With a chuckle, Gregor moved off down the bar to greet another familiar customer, leaving Rylie with the thought.
A clump of older fishermen occupied a table by a window, regaling each other with stories from their recent catches. Owain, the bouncer, sat quietly and watchfully at the end of the bar, a few tattoos peeking out from under his plain garments. Someone in the actor's company was spouting lines from some play or other, though he was a bit too muffled to hear from Rylie's perch. If Rylie did not wish to hear the old man talk for a free bowl of stew, there were plenty of other folk around to strike up a conversation with.
The bartender turned from Rylie to briefly tend to another customer, pretending to ignore the tell-tale remnants of the young man's grief.
Turning back to Rylie, he shrugged, lifting one thick-fingered hand to scratch at his head.
"Well now, I'm no sure - haven't heard much in particular, though with the idea of adventure a whole slew of the young folk have signed up for the guard and so forth, to head off to visit the highlands and clansmen, y'see." He winked at Rylie. "Might be there's openings just about anywhere, if y'ask around."
"I really do need the money....speaking of which... mind adding this to my tab?" He smiled gingerly.
"A tab! Boy, you don't get a tab unless you've got a way to pay it off!" Gregor Armistice grunted, his features flopping between the creases of a hearty scowl and genuine amusement. "You come in for a few days, pay your way yourself, and once you've got some income we'll talk about that tab... Your first day back in town, of course, so I'll let Karin treat ya to a bowl. You go chat with Old Nyk, though, and keep him busy for me, eh?"
The innkeeper's finger pointed across the room to the hearth, where an old man plunked before the gently crackling hearthplace, basking in the warmth. Rylie would remember Old Nyk - ancient of ancients in the city of Dort, being old even when Rylie's father had been a child. The old fisherman's lank frame is tall and lean, his thin limbs sticking out every which way. His papery skin is splotched with age and traced with veins. His right pant leg is neatly trimmed to where someone's calf should be - revealing instead a sturdily carved wooden peg which is propped up on a chait. A thin goatee grows about his pensive mouth, which is drawn in concentration as his hands work steadily with a knife and piece of wood, letting wooden curls fall to the ground as he carves carefully away at a new creation. Despite the item coming to life in his hands, his jaw is working busily as he chats and rumbles and extrapolates his thoughts to those nearest him. Several of them seem a bit glassy-eyed with the attention, others seem annoyed, and one person was just now casting an annoyed look at Gregor while moving to a table farther away.
"Besides, Nyk hears all the gossip, he might know a bit more about who's needing a hand. Sounds like you need to find a direction, and the old man'll be more than happy to give you advice. If you haven't found anything soon, I might be looking for some help around the inn, so keep it in mind. Not exactly an apprenticeship, but.." With a chuckle, Gregor moved off down the bar to greet another familiar customer, leaving Rylie with the thought.
A clump of older fishermen occupied a table by a window, regaling each other with stories from their recent catches. Owain, the bouncer, sat quietly and watchfully at the end of the bar, a few tattoos peeking out from under his plain garments. Someone in the actor's company was spouting lines from some play or other, though he was a bit too muffled to hear from Rylie's perch. If Rylie did not wish to hear the old man talk for a free bowl of stew, there were plenty of other folk around to strike up a conversation with.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
What does not destroy me, makes me stronger. Friedrich Nietzxche
theoriginalcousinit@yahoo.com
What does not destroy me, makes me stronger. Friedrich Nietzxche
theoriginalcousinit@yahoo.com
-
Rylie
"Well now, I'm no sure - haven't heard much in particular, though with the idea of adventure a whole slew of the young folk have signed up for the guard and so forth, to head off to visit the highlands and clansmen, y'see." He winked at Rylie. "Might be there's openings just about anywhere, if y'ask around."
Rylie raised a furry brow. Men were applying for the guards! Now that's a strange thought for Rylie, he began to imagine how it would be like to serve the government in non-profitable ways... Rylie chuckled. No~ not his style. He intended to become a free spirit, learning what he can, and settle down. Though, the guards did have access to a lot of information and studies that the common man was unpriveleged of... Rylie thought no more about it. He smiled at the bartender and said confidently.
"Guards have to guard. I intend to seek." he said happily.
Just then, Rylie's stomach growled.
He was hungry, no doubt about that, after all, after the word "stew" escaped Tib's mouth, Rylie's began to water. He intended to stay close to the counter as well as he could, knowing that the tender might serve him up a good meal. Things were rough for Rylie for a long time, supplying him with meager survival rations. If only his mother taught him how to fish. After all, the woodlands nearby had a good bounty of rivers with fresh fish a-plenty. Though, he did try to catch a few fish with his bow once, he gave up on it, considering how fast these fish were moving, more so, in a running river! Just as the thoughts of a fish dinner crossed Rylie's mind, he heard the very word by a window of the old Duck.
Several fishermen were bubbling on about their catches and how they did it. Rylie could smell the sea from where he stood. He always had... a strange feeling for the sea. It didn't really suit him, for he was always forester, but living in Dort, a merchant island no less, required him to have at least some knowledge about the deeps. Rylie imagined himself on a boat.
Rocking.
Rocking.
... Heaving.
Rocking.
Rocking.
... Throwing up...
He placed a sour expression on his face. Err... no. If ever Rylie was going to get on a boat, he intended it to be chock-full of goods which he can study, and only be afloat for a good 3 days. Now, Rylie liked Sea-Merchants. They do import and export a majority of the goods sent in and out of Dort... but the sea itself... Eh. He would rather stick to a months worth of being in a forested wasteland than a week on a boat with salt, fish and sweaty-burly men.
"A tab! Boy, you don't get a tab unless you've got a way to pay it off!" Gregor Armistice grunted, his features flopping between the creases of a hearty scowl and genuine amusement. "You come in for a few days, pay your way yourself, and once you've got some income we'll talk about that tab...
Rylie sighed and thanked Mr. Armistice. "I'll pay you back as well as I can, Mr. Armistice." he spoke honestly.
Yes, yes. Income. The only word that's just as important as "survival." Now, to be honest, the last 2 months he spent in the forest were intended for that same task. To gather a good amount of skins, herbs and maybe some shiny rocks he might find. The funny thought was that Rylie did find a good amount of herbs. The bad thing was most of them were quite "cheap" and didn't even give him a good enough circlet to live off. The rabbit furs he gathered, he molded into a cloak, in which he would not keep... since it attracted wolves every night~ which was inevitably torn up because of the said wolves... but wolf skin was good enough for Rylie~ and he made one out of that as well.
Ahh.. In any case. Enough with the forest... that place ruined his mentality for a good while now!
Well, now he was able to find himself back, he intended to have at least a "safer" form of income, maybe a bit of worker-boy-ship or maybe crafting a few objects. Of course, he intended to stay at the Drunken Duck and pay off all his debts to Mr. Armistice. That being lodging, the occasional meal and...
His stomach growled again.
"Your first day back in town, of course, so I'll let Karin treat ya to a bowl. You go chat with Old Nyk, though, and keep him busy for me, eh?"
"...Treat me?" he gazed at the tender, as though entranced.
Good Mother have mercy! Did Tibs just say what Rylie thought he said? Treat ya to a bowl. Rylies eyes grew. Free food: without having to run around, chasing dumb rabbits; without having to check if a certain berry was poisonous or not and without having to spend hours flinting just to make a campfire to cook in! Rylie smiled broadly: he'd to stay close enough for Mr. Armistice to serve him without looking too eager.
*Shrrrrriiit.*
He turned and faced the wizened old man, carving away at his little piece of wood. He was always scared of Nyk, of how he had lost his leg and pretty much his old appearance. Nevertheless, his mother often said that "Old roads have the most stories." Rylie took her word for it and sat beside the elder. He studied how the old man's fragile fingers were able to mold the wood with such knife skills and began to discern as to how he was able to draw out such an image from the block. Rylie has always envied people who could create something, for all he knew was how to put it back together again.
He shook away his gaze and gave the man his due attention.
"Good day, Nyk, how be your business?" Rylie smiled, respecting the old man's space.
Courtesy wasn't really his strong point, but Rylie assured himself that he did a good job for that greeting. His father would often place due respect to the elders of society, hence, Rylie took up the same reverence for the old man.
He sat a seat away, and gave the old man a steady ear.
It was a stallion.
A magnificent stallion rearing back on a open field of grass. Rylie could almost feel the power and strength in the animal that slowly began to emerge from the piece of rough driftwood that Old Nyk carved. It was breathtaking and beautiful, crafted from the salt stained and pale wood, like a ghostly image of the King of Horses.
Old Nyk's nimble fingers never hesitated, his knife work was impeccable and artistic. This was a true craftsman at work.
When Rylie spoke, Nyk's bushy eyebrows creased as he looked up from his creation.
"Trisfal. You're the Trisfal boy." He stated simply, quietly. That was as long as the hesitation was before he continued on with the carving and sculpting.
"Ain't seen you around much lately. Folks come and go all the time, but you never strayed too far before. Spreading your wings a bit eh?"
A magnificent stallion rearing back on a open field of grass. Rylie could almost feel the power and strength in the animal that slowly began to emerge from the piece of rough driftwood that Old Nyk carved. It was breathtaking and beautiful, crafted from the salt stained and pale wood, like a ghostly image of the King of Horses.
Old Nyk's nimble fingers never hesitated, his knife work was impeccable and artistic. This was a true craftsman at work.
When Rylie spoke, Nyk's bushy eyebrows creased as he looked up from his creation.
"Trisfal. You're the Trisfal boy." He stated simply, quietly. That was as long as the hesitation was before he continued on with the carving and sculpting.
"Ain't seen you around much lately. Folks come and go all the time, but you never strayed too far before. Spreading your wings a bit eh?"
Last edited by Vanadius on Mon Jul 03, 2006 2:43 pm, edited 1 time in total.
-
Rylie
Rylie nodded. "Mmm... I just held a few days in the forest... scavenging for some goods."
As the old man kept whittling away small pieces of wood, he couldn't help but be amazed at how life-like the small carving was. An equestrian that held it's own against the knife. How did the old man find such beauty in a piece of dead wood? Rylie was amazed... If only he was able to use the knife just as well, he might as well just gather pieces of wood, sell his craft and have no hassles in the expense of his handiwork: after all, all he needed was a knife... and he had that.
"Sir, may I ask: Do you know anyone out there who would take to an apprentice? I'm a healthy one, and would not complain about hard tasks---"
Rylie hesitated. He knew that becoming an apprentice would put himself in a predicament. Along with learning a good skill or two, he knew that his master would often push his limits. He understood very well that at any time, his master may ask him to do something he has never done before or have no knowledge of that task.... yet new experiences... these are the things Rylie lives for. To learn and to be taught about the ways of life: his own personal goal. Thus Rylie sealed his fate.
"Chores and jobs would be fine, as long as I was compensated..." he continued. "I really do wish to learn, sir."
As the old man kept whittling away small pieces of wood, he couldn't help but be amazed at how life-like the small carving was. An equestrian that held it's own against the knife. How did the old man find such beauty in a piece of dead wood? Rylie was amazed... If only he was able to use the knife just as well, he might as well just gather pieces of wood, sell his craft and have no hassles in the expense of his handiwork: after all, all he needed was a knife... and he had that.
"Sir, may I ask: Do you know anyone out there who would take to an apprentice? I'm a healthy one, and would not complain about hard tasks---"
Rylie hesitated. He knew that becoming an apprentice would put himself in a predicament. Along with learning a good skill or two, he knew that his master would often push his limits. He understood very well that at any time, his master may ask him to do something he has never done before or have no knowledge of that task.... yet new experiences... these are the things Rylie lives for. To learn and to be taught about the ways of life: his own personal goal. Thus Rylie sealed his fate.
"Chores and jobs would be fine, as long as I was compensated..." he continued. "I really do wish to learn, sir."
-
Aislinn O`Conaill
- Special Branch
- Posts: 192
- Joined: Mon Jun 20, 2005 8:13 pm
As Nyk considered the object in his hands, rolling Rylie's question around as he pondered, a door on the far side of the room swung outward. A woman in her late 20s emerged, her brilliant blue eyes scanning the room as she began to distribute bowls and mugs from the huge platter hefted by one steady hand. Sapphire had been a barmaid for the last several years, though a swirling blue tattoo whirls at the corner of each eye, a testament to her brief stint at sea. Chin-length brown locks swing back and forth as she sets down items to and fro, gradually nearing Rylie until she looks at the young man - a piercing glance from a triangular, pert face.
"Well now, a bowl of stew it is, little <i>skint</i>." Sapphire sighed as she set down the carved wooden bowl before Rylie. There was a fond but acidic tone to her voice, but she had always been rather easily annoyed by a multitude of things. If one were to ask, the glass would always be 'half empty' to the middle-aged woman, rather than half-full. Yet besides the faint accumulation of wrinkles about her eyes and mouth, few would guess her to be a yahren or so shy of 30. "You've got a bit of the weaselin' in ye... Karin didn't have even a chance to offer ye food before the Old Man came in." With that, she tucked her now empty platter under one arm and went to the next table shaking her head a bit until she began taking an order from the young man lounging there.
"Well now, a bowl of stew it is, little <i>skint</i>." Sapphire sighed as she set down the carved wooden bowl before Rylie. There was a fond but acidic tone to her voice, but she had always been rather easily annoyed by a multitude of things. If one were to ask, the glass would always be 'half empty' to the middle-aged woman, rather than half-full. Yet besides the faint accumulation of wrinkles about her eyes and mouth, few would guess her to be a yahren or so shy of 30. "You've got a bit of the weaselin' in ye... Karin didn't have even a chance to offer ye food before the Old Man came in." With that, she tucked her now empty platter under one arm and went to the next table shaking her head a bit until she began taking an order from the young man lounging there.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
What does not destroy me, makes me stronger. Friedrich Nietzxche
theoriginalcousinit@yahoo.com
What does not destroy me, makes me stronger. Friedrich Nietzxche
theoriginalcousinit@yahoo.com
-
Rylie
"Ach! Food! Thank you, Ms. Violette!" Rylie smiled.
Common courtesy stated that utmost respect and gratitude is required whenever something is given for free. Regardless of which, Rylie always admired any worker of any trade. He remembered a good few times when, as a child, he would run around the Duck while his father did his business. Fair Violette was the stern disciplinarian, in that case adn immediately shush him.
He unravelled his backpack, searching for his favorite spoon. As he did so, he smiled at old Nyk and drew out his small knife, placing it ontop of his bag, if ever Nyk had enough time to teach him. If he didn't, it would be ok, the knife would still come in handy in cutting up the pieces of meat in his hearty stew.
Deeply famished and utterly hungry, Rylie lied to himself as he took small chews, swallows and gulps. Common etiquette stated that utmost respect to the food and host told him that swilling the whole bowl with one gulp, burping and smacking his lips would not make Tibs or his mother happy.
Gently chewing, peering at Nyk as he whittled and often gazing at the front door. Rylie enjoyed being close to friends again.
Common courtesy stated that utmost respect and gratitude is required whenever something is given for free. Regardless of which, Rylie always admired any worker of any trade. He remembered a good few times when, as a child, he would run around the Duck while his father did his business. Fair Violette was the stern disciplinarian, in that case adn immediately shush him.
He unravelled his backpack, searching for his favorite spoon. As he did so, he smiled at old Nyk and drew out his small knife, placing it ontop of his bag, if ever Nyk had enough time to teach him. If he didn't, it would be ok, the knife would still come in handy in cutting up the pieces of meat in his hearty stew.
Deeply famished and utterly hungry, Rylie lied to himself as he took small chews, swallows and gulps. Common etiquette stated that utmost respect to the food and host told him that swilling the whole bowl with one gulp, burping and smacking his lips would not make Tibs or his mother happy.
Gently chewing, peering at Nyk as he whittled and often gazing at the front door. Rylie enjoyed being close to friends again.
"You lookin' fer a 'prenticeship?" The old man seemed surprised.
"Rightly depends on what type of work you want to be doin. Trade companies in Watertown are always lookin fer help. But that's rough work with hard men. You better be ready for some hardship and rough treatment fer a life spent on or near the sea."
He whittled away a bit more before continuing.
"Trademaster Eventree just got himself a new pier and the dock to go with it. Likely that's as good a place to start as any."
"If haulin boxes and crates ain't to yer likin, there's always the Forge. Iron John needs a new bellows boy. I hear that Analee over at the bake shoppe needs help too. Her cousin joined the army and went off to the fightin in Islay. I'm sure she could use a hand or two."
Nyk seemed content with his figurine and placed it on the low table in front of him. He sheathed his knife and drank a bit from the mug that was also near. He glanced away from the fire and at Rylie.
"Slow down boy, yer like to give yerself cramps eatin that fast! Ain't no one gonna take that from you boy. Sit and eat like a human."
"Rightly depends on what type of work you want to be doin. Trade companies in Watertown are always lookin fer help. But that's rough work with hard men. You better be ready for some hardship and rough treatment fer a life spent on or near the sea."
He whittled away a bit more before continuing.
"Trademaster Eventree just got himself a new pier and the dock to go with it. Likely that's as good a place to start as any."
"If haulin boxes and crates ain't to yer likin, there's always the Forge. Iron John needs a new bellows boy. I hear that Analee over at the bake shoppe needs help too. Her cousin joined the army and went off to the fightin in Islay. I'm sure she could use a hand or two."
Nyk seemed content with his figurine and placed it on the low table in front of him. He sheathed his knife and drank a bit from the mug that was also near. He glanced away from the fire and at Rylie.
"Slow down boy, yer like to give yerself cramps eatin that fast! Ain't no one gonna take that from you boy. Sit and eat like a human."
-
Rylie
Rylie oggled for a bit as he swallowed his last chunk of stew...
He took his mug and drew a sip... wow, there were actually openings for jobs in Dort. That wasn't really surprising for him, due to the fact that a few good folk have moved into a more straightforward approach to living by joining the Barracks... A pity, he thought, nevertheless, the situation gave him several options on what he had to do.
Three things have to be taken into particulars for Rylie's choice. One being that he had to get one that could pay for his lodging here at the Duck, and maybe enough to pack him up for supplies once he decides to continue journeying. Second, being that he should learn something from the experience, after all, that was his main purpose... Lastly, he jsut had to have fun. Things go a bit badly if ever Rylie does something he doesn't like...
Boxes, the sea and a merchant. Not really a good combination. For one, Rylie didn't have the best upper body strength... He was an Achadiel, after all. His brawn goes for very little, and box pushing isn't really good for someone who can't even lift a deer to his shoulders~ Oh, and the sea... well, yes, Rylie respected the sea... but at the same time, he begins to fear and grow a bit to nauseaous at it. The smell of salt wasn't natural to him... it dried his throat and stung his eyes. Also, working under a bigger merchant isn't really a good financial bet. Merchants are quite stingy to their employees, and pinch their Banners to the point that it bends... True, being a cargo-boy might help develop his strength and aptitude for sea travel, also create a good amount of contacts over the merchant trade, maybe even help him get to the Merchant's Guild of Dort... but it wasn't for Rylie right now... after all, if he couldn't do a good job, he'd rather hone himself for a good while before he starts.
Bellows-boy. Well, that would be interesting. Bellowing wasn't really that hard on the muscles like pushing 50 boxes or so in one day... and it would hone his knowledge of metals... not to mention, due to the rebel uprising in Islay, a few good swords might just be the boon in any bargain. Hmm... the trouble was, Rylie was never an "ironed" type of person. He preferred bows and and knives at most... but heaving large swords and axes? Rylie smirked at the thought of him, a small little ranger, holding up a great big battle axe. The trouble would be, as always, the extreme amount of heat and Iron John's small capacity for mistakes... Rylie knew he'd bring home more than a few burns and bruises... maybe a black eye from time to time.
Bread... hmm. Bread. Analee's shop was always a wonderful one... if ever Rylie did go there, hs only worry would be if he ate any of the products.
Rylie slid his last drop of ale down his throat and asked Nyk... "Where exactly may I find Iron John?"
He took his mug and drew a sip... wow, there were actually openings for jobs in Dort. That wasn't really surprising for him, due to the fact that a few good folk have moved into a more straightforward approach to living by joining the Barracks... A pity, he thought, nevertheless, the situation gave him several options on what he had to do.
Three things have to be taken into particulars for Rylie's choice. One being that he had to get one that could pay for his lodging here at the Duck, and maybe enough to pack him up for supplies once he decides to continue journeying. Second, being that he should learn something from the experience, after all, that was his main purpose... Lastly, he jsut had to have fun. Things go a bit badly if ever Rylie does something he doesn't like...
"If haulin boxes and crates ain't to yer likin, there's always the Forge.
Boxes, the sea and a merchant. Not really a good combination. For one, Rylie didn't have the best upper body strength... He was an Achadiel, after all. His brawn goes for very little, and box pushing isn't really good for someone who can't even lift a deer to his shoulders~ Oh, and the sea... well, yes, Rylie respected the sea... but at the same time, he begins to fear and grow a bit to nauseaous at it. The smell of salt wasn't natural to him... it dried his throat and stung his eyes. Also, working under a bigger merchant isn't really a good financial bet. Merchants are quite stingy to their employees, and pinch their Banners to the point that it bends... True, being a cargo-boy might help develop his strength and aptitude for sea travel, also create a good amount of contacts over the merchant trade, maybe even help him get to the Merchant's Guild of Dort... but it wasn't for Rylie right now... after all, if he couldn't do a good job, he'd rather hone himself for a good while before he starts.
Iron John needs a new bellows boy.
Bellows-boy. Well, that would be interesting. Bellowing wasn't really that hard on the muscles like pushing 50 boxes or so in one day... and it would hone his knowledge of metals... not to mention, due to the rebel uprising in Islay, a few good swords might just be the boon in any bargain. Hmm... the trouble was, Rylie was never an "ironed" type of person. He preferred bows and and knives at most... but heaving large swords and axes? Rylie smirked at the thought of him, a small little ranger, holding up a great big battle axe. The trouble would be, as always, the extreme amount of heat and Iron John's small capacity for mistakes... Rylie knew he'd bring home more than a few burns and bruises... maybe a black eye from time to time.
I hear that Analee over at the bake shoppe needs help too. Her cousin joined the army and went off to the fightin in Islay. I'm sure she could use a hand or two."
Bread... hmm. Bread. Analee's shop was always a wonderful one... if ever Rylie did go there, hs only worry would be if he ate any of the products.
Rylie slid his last drop of ale down his throat and asked Nyk... "Where exactly may I find Iron John?"
Last edited by Rylie on Sun Jul 09, 2006 7:41 am, edited 1 time in total.
Nyk watched the boy ponder over his options and reach his conclusion. The old sailor was a bit confused that the boy had lived here all his young life and didn't know where the place was. Black smoke was a near constant beacon of the place down near Watertown, in his mind, any fool could find it.
"Your brains addled boy?" Nyk accused.
"South down Market Street. Listen for the ringin' of steel and look for the smoke of the Forge. Can't miss it. Nor will you miss John. Be good for ye if ye ask me. Some good hard work is what all these soft youngsters need."
He snatched up another piece of driftwood, almost angrily, and set it in his lap. He took a stone from the table and drew his knife, giving the already sharp blade a few extra long strokes to keep its keen edge. He took a drink from his cup and began a working on a new piece. The gentle sounds of his knife working could be heard, and the wood and the curled chips landed softly around his lap and legs, leaving Rylie on his own for now.
"Your brains addled boy?" Nyk accused.
"South down Market Street. Listen for the ringin' of steel and look for the smoke of the Forge. Can't miss it. Nor will you miss John. Be good for ye if ye ask me. Some good hard work is what all these soft youngsters need."
He snatched up another piece of driftwood, almost angrily, and set it in his lap. He took a stone from the table and drew his knife, giving the already sharp blade a few extra long strokes to keep its keen edge. He took a drink from his cup and began a working on a new piece. The gentle sounds of his knife working could be heard, and the wood and the curled chips landed softly around his lap and legs, leaving Rylie on his own for now.
-
Rylie
"Mmm... that's pretty lucky for me~ I can always have a board here in the Duck and go to work!" Rylie said happily.
A bellows boy. It wasn't really something that could rake in Crown after Crown, but it would put in a good amount of growth for Rylie, both physically and mentally. His muscles, after all, weren't that developed that well. He was a ranger, didn't really need all that muscle to pull a bow string! Nevertheless, he intended to learn how to smith. The thought of forging his first sword excited him, and his engineering mind thought of elaborate ways on how to shaft or make a quick-draw sword. He tingled a bit, with a smile on his face. Being a smith, or even an apprentice, would open up his creativity~ He always loved making things
"This might actually work!" he said, glowing.
Things we're finally looking up for Rylie, hence, he placed his last few coins on the table, thanked Nyk, straddled his bags and set for the door.
"Oomph."
"..."
"Uhh... Mr. Armistrice. May I have a room, please... so I can set down my stuff?"
((Do I head to the Market now?))
A bellows boy. It wasn't really something that could rake in Crown after Crown, but it would put in a good amount of growth for Rylie, both physically and mentally. His muscles, after all, weren't that developed that well. He was a ranger, didn't really need all that muscle to pull a bow string! Nevertheless, he intended to learn how to smith. The thought of forging his first sword excited him, and his engineering mind thought of elaborate ways on how to shaft or make a quick-draw sword. He tingled a bit, with a smile on his face. Being a smith, or even an apprentice, would open up his creativity~ He always loved making things
"This might actually work!" he said, glowing.
Things we're finally looking up for Rylie, hence, he placed his last few coins on the table, thanked Nyk, straddled his bags and set for the door.
"Oomph."
"..."
"Uhh... Mr. Armistrice. May I have a room, please... so I can set down my stuff?"
((Do I head to the Market now?))
OOC: I've taken the liberty of starting a new thread for you. You can find it here:
https://tazlure.nl/board/viewtopic.php?t=12637
Assume that you have rented a room from Mr. Armistice, and that you can stay there as long as you wish, as long as you keep paying your rent...
https://tazlure.nl/board/viewtopic.php?t=12637
Assume that you have rented a room from Mr. Armistice, and that you can stay there as long as you wish, as long as you keep paying your rent...
-
Callia
Callia wondered if perhaps she should have taken the road to the Abbey instead of following the guard's direction into this bustling pub. From what she could tell of the picture on the outside, a very large tipsy duck, she was at the right spot. She couldn't begrudge the place its beauty either. The stained glass windows, the lighting, everything was perfect, even the atmosphere was one of a good drunken friend. However, Callia reminded herself that she had no friends here and she was very much alone in this strange place.
She trusted the guard at the gate, he knew how little human she spoke, so perhaps she could either find a good translator or someone who would bear with her as she tried to speak in her broken human tongue. As she tentatively opened the door, the hum of conversation hit her ears and she was momentarily cheered up. It reminded her of home, in the taverns with her merchant friends. Perhaps that's why she sat down at the bar to start a conversation with the barkeep. At her home in T'aquar, the help at the taverns were always pleasant and willing to gossip.
"Hi," Callia smiled at the man behind the counter when she had gotten his attention. "You serve ale?" She asked as a way to start conversing.
She trusted the guard at the gate, he knew how little human she spoke, so perhaps she could either find a good translator or someone who would bear with her as she tried to speak in her broken human tongue. As she tentatively opened the door, the hum of conversation hit her ears and she was momentarily cheered up. It reminded her of home, in the taverns with her merchant friends. Perhaps that's why she sat down at the bar to start a conversation with the barkeep. At her home in T'aquar, the help at the taverns were always pleasant and willing to gossip.
"Hi," Callia smiled at the man behind the counter when she had gotten his attention. "You serve ale?" She asked as a way to start conversing.
-
Aislinn O`Conaill
- Special Branch
- Posts: 192
- Joined: Mon Jun 20, 2005 8:13 pm
Samheen 27th, Mid-TradeTide
Gregor Armistice eyed the pale young lass, gauging whether or not to let fly the gruff comment her innocent question had sparked. With a shake of his head, a rumbling guffaw slides free of his chest for a few flickers, the silvering blonde mop upon his head quivering with the intensity of his amusement.
"Aye... Lass... Wouldn't be much of a drunken duck without the Ale..." Though somewhat dense and wide of frame, the tavern-keeper manages to look stocky rather than portly. Several deeply traced lines betray his age, though they give his pleasant smile the more fatherly look which he then turned towards Callia. "Would you be wanting some ale then, Lass?" He was already reaching for an empty glass, though his thick hands paused as it clinked on the counter-top.
"Haven't seen your pleasant face around here before, you visitin' family?"
Gregor Armistice eyed the pale young lass, gauging whether or not to let fly the gruff comment her innocent question had sparked. With a shake of his head, a rumbling guffaw slides free of his chest for a few flickers, the silvering blonde mop upon his head quivering with the intensity of his amusement.
"Aye... Lass... Wouldn't be much of a drunken duck without the Ale..." Though somewhat dense and wide of frame, the tavern-keeper manages to look stocky rather than portly. Several deeply traced lines betray his age, though they give his pleasant smile the more fatherly look which he then turned towards Callia. "Would you be wanting some ale then, Lass?" He was already reaching for an empty glass, though his thick hands paused as it clinked on the counter-top.
"Haven't seen your pleasant face around here before, you visitin' family?"
Last edited by Aislinn O`Conaill on Thu Aug 03, 2006 5:58 pm, edited 1 time in total.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
What does not destroy me, makes me stronger. Friedrich Nietzxche
theoriginalcousinit@yahoo.com
What does not destroy me, makes me stronger. Friedrich Nietzxche
theoriginalcousinit@yahoo.com