Passing through: Chyril 23rd ET

[Jack Farrell]

He lead the horse by hand, she had traveled far enough carrying his weight, he would not force her these last few steps. The wind tugged at the frayed hem of his coat, the dust stung bloodshot eyes. Booted feet scraped over baked clay, the steady rhythm of Amile's hooves were almost hypnotic as they followed the line of the road. He cursed, unable to see for the storm of sand that whipped about him. He had taken his hat off to protect the nostrils of his horse from the worst of the sand, fine dust killed all too swiftly once it reached the lungs and he had no desire to see her die choking. He lead her slowly, whispering quiet confidences stolen by the howling wind.

He should have sought shelter but he knew they were close, they would be much safer within the dome city than under a blanket. Jack narrowed his eyes to pierce the gloom and smiled. The City cast dark shadows in the twilight of the sand-squall. Jack ducked his head and pressed onwards, leading the horse by quiet words and a tender hand.

Jack made for the Central dome, There he could stable Amile and investigate this "Portal" Badar had spoken of.

He tipped the stable boy a lance, promising a second when his bags were delivered to his room and a third if he found Amile well cared for. He rapped the lad on the back of his head and sighed removing his Coat and hat and placing them inside the saddlebags. The Domes would keep out the storm. He slipped his sword from the tackle, it was an expensive piece - a replacement for the Falchion that might yet mark Rezon's grave. He sniffed at his shirt... he would change later, once he had sorted a room.

Jack hefted the sword in his left hand, smiling as he carried the 8 pounds of steel with ease. It had been a good summer for him, mind and body. He grinned and stepped into the Laughing Dimmerwick.

[Grant]

Unlike many of the more sophisticated inns in the world, the Dwimmerwick was lacking in a few standard amenities that might make it primitive by any comparison. There were no tumbler locks upon any of the doors...all the rooms were secured through latch...and there was no kitchen attached to the hostel at all. Should a guest wish to store anything of any value, the hostess maintained a secure room in the back, protected by lock and guard...and meals were available by arrangement with other kitchens in town such that they were brought in during meal times.

This happened to be such a time, though it was clear to Jack at once that the Dwimmerwick was not a busy place for dinner. Entering the hostel and moving down a dark, cool corridor to the tiny, unoccupied reception desk (decorated with a single brass bell), he could see the common room stretching off to his right through a broad archway and down a few steps. The commons routinely had numerous tables and a lovely bar, but most of the central tables had been pushed together to form one long one for the eveningtide meal service.

At the far end of the table was a picturesque man that carved a flank of what was most likely roasted lamb where it sat amid an explosion of fruit and vegetables. A bowl of baked pudding...no doubt a suet pudding...was there as well, with dark spots of dried fruit nestled within. Resting beside the swarthy man was a large basket of steaming round breads, each one baked such that they would finish hollow...the traditional tableware for many of the more modest homes in Sabata, the bread being cut open and used as plate, bowl, and most often utensil, too. Judging by the looks of the meal, Jack was not late.

There were the sounds of people moving around upstairs, but at the moment, only the bronze-skinned server and a middle-aged woman with dark hair, pale skin, and an open, inviting expression were at the table. "Oh, you've caught me dining!" she exclaims as Jack came into view. "Well, come in and have something to eat, and I'll get you a room before you finish, will you?"

[Jack Farrell]

"I would be honoured!" Jack exclaimed entering the dining hall.

"I have not introduced myself, my apologies." He propped his sword up against a chair and bowed towards his host.

"I am Jack Farrell, pleased to make your acquaintance. And please, finish your meal, there is no rush."

He smiled, took a seat and reached out for one of the hollow loaves. He never knew how to act in Sabata; the people had their customs, the Gurradi had their's. Jack had hardly any but usually found it best to smile and nod along.

He ate slowly, trying to be polite rather than gorge himself on the roasted meat. "It has been a while since I was last in town, how fares the City by the Great water?" Jack asked, wiping a little juice from the corner of his mouth. He cast a lazy eye about the room, trying to make out any other patrons. It was starting to get late, surely there should be more people about...

[Grant]

"We are invaded," declared the hostess casually. The server...a picturesque, bronze-skinned man with cool eyes, smiled at this, as close to a laugh as could be expected without disrupting the cool quiet of the common room. "There are more souls in Sabata now than I've ever seen before. I'm almost out of rooms, if it can be believed...and all due to mercenaries or soldiers from the War. I've never seen so many people wandering the streets, looking for work. There must be at least one in three in such a state."

As if to make Jack's situation even more complicated, the customs in Sabata had a tendency to change dramatically with immigration...immigration that occurred all yahren round, regardless of distant wars. Here in the Dwimmerwick, the customs were more traditional to the original founding of the city, with large bread pecks called trenchers passed out to use as bowls, each one filled with lamb, vegetables, fruit, and anything else served.

"What of yourself, sirrah? You don't strike me as a mercenary..." A clever guess on the part of Jack's hostess, perhaps, but one she made without any indication of how she could come to that conclusion. "Perhaps you're passing through, on your way to join a new caravan?"

[Jack Farrell]

"I don't know." Jack replied ruefully. "I have sold my sword, now and again." He took a mouthful of the roasted lamb, swallowing too fast to savour the taste. "But I suppose you are right." He nodded. "Never was happy being another's lackey."

Jack considered the question, perhaps for longer than he should have. What was he now? Not a merchant, though he had invested his fortunes, not a warrior or vagabond. Certainly not a slave. Jack had a higher calling. He wondered, where would it lead him...

"I guess you could say I am chasing my fortunes, such as they are. Perhaps a dream, or a dream of a dream, a pursuit that in any case leads west for me." He washed down his food with a little water. Lara had made him question his path more than any other. Her face stayed with him, the mixture of disappointment and rage. Still, she wouldn't be the first woman he had left cold. He grunted, trying to shake the hollow sensation in his stomach. In another life he would have stayed, made his fortunes there as steward. Truly he was a fool to turn down that life, riches and fortune... another life.

"I had heard of a device hear by. A thing that might speed my journey. A Portal?"

[Grant]

"Sure. Damien...ah, Master Boroda...has a portal readily available...in the Bathhouse. Here with us, in the Market Dome...the grandest structure here, with the tall obelisks and columns, closer to the Bazaar at the center," replied the hostess evenly around the large bite of what might have been a potato, but had a far more meaty texture and spicey, biting flavor. It didn't seem strange to her at all that the city's Bathhouse was the grandest structure of all, for that seemed perfectly natural to those indigenous to the area. Even the enigmatic nomads of the desert attached a certain sacred aspect to the act of bathing, a custom that fit rather well to wealthy travelers from the world over. "The wealthy from all over the world use it. It might cost you a pretty coin...but it isn't too unreasonable."

"Normally I wouldn't bother asking just where you're headed in your quest for fortune, sirrah, but I'm curious if you truly need a room here for tonight?" continued the lady. "You don't seem the kind to travel by Portal. Oh, not that it takes a certain kind...but my clients are usually the kind that travel by camel, if you take me meaning, unless they're in a shocking great hurry. If you're in a shocking great hurry, well...the Bathhouses are always open, so I would take no surprise if you were to finish your meal and take the walk to the Well tonight."

To walk to the well was an infrequent term used by Sabatans to indicate moving closer to the center of a dome. All of the boroughs of Sabata...from the great Market Dome to the numerous Rookery Domes that made up the poorer living communities...were all built around a central well in times past. Admittedly, the number of wells in the city increased every month as new holes were drilled into the foundation rock...but the Well of each dome always referred to the center, and that position became ensconced in Sabatan terminology. Wellward buildings were to be found closer to the focus of the circular borough...while Against the Well were buildings said to lie further away.

[Jack Farrell]

"Any other time," Jack replied, wiping the hot juices from his mouth, "I would agree with you; but I have been travelling since the early hours and my horse is exhausted. I would rather not put her through more hardship this night, we covered the last few marks in a storm..." Badar had informed Jack that the portal was not precisely a smooth ride and there was no sense in pushing his luck.

"In any case, this might be my last night in Sabata for a while. I might see what entertainment can be found before I venture too far into the wetlands."

Jack smiled and suppressed a belch, he hadn't eaten more than a few biscuits since breakfast and this was one hell of a feast. He took A Bhuuz from the table and began nibbling it contentedly. He had easily just munched his way through a few pounds of Roasted lamb. He wondered whether the etiquette of the western lands would require him to eat the famishingly small portions as he had seen on the Scillus. Then again, that could have simply been rationing... Jack hoped so.

"I don't need much space hostess; a cot for the night, stabling and somewhere to store my effects in safety." Jack could pay quite well as it stood, but he had lived a poor life and extravagance was a peculiar beast to him.

[Grant]

The hostess shrugged. "There is a room for you. When you require it, you need only go upstairs and claim it. As for your horse, I will store it at the Tannery." That was a disturbing thought...but rather typical. There were actually a large number of stablings in Sabata, but only some were for horses...and precious few were for individual horses. Most were storage pens, ostlers, and serais for camels, sheep, goats, yaks, and any other creature brought into the city for harvesting, loading, or eating.

Contrary to it's inappropriate name, "The Tannery" was one of the larger industries of Sabata dealing in yak's and goat's hair. The long-haired yaks and goats of the Western Ranges were routinely brought to market in Sabata, it's fleece purchased by the Tannery...and from this, the finest of kashmirs were produced upon great looms routinely operated by scores of people at one time. Even children were employed in the wool looms, racing through the massive, hand-powered structures to clear errand weft threads or pick out knots in the wool before spinning. Despite it's name, the Tannery didn't deal in leathers or hide curing. In fact, it never had.

"I will take your animal to the Tannery at once. Please...eat your fill, and whenever you must, you will find a room for you upstairs. I will bring fresh water from the well a little later, if you require?" she offered, rising up from her finished meal to take charge of Jack's horse.

[Jack Farrell]

"That would be perfect hostess." Jack stood as she left the table and inclined his head in a bow, respect where respect was due.

He retook his seat and ate calmly, savouring the meal before him now that he had taken the edge off his hunger. He would pay in good coin for this meal, he was lucky to get a room. He sat back, slicing a small fruit with a table knife. Yes, he needed to get his head together. One more night in the Dome City would be good, let him savour this last day in the desert.

He thanked the servant that had flanked the hostess, grabbed his gear and made his way upstairs. It was the small things that he noticed; the sand on the stairwell, the dust in the air... Sand that had permeated his life from his first waking moment. It was an odd thing to notice, but there would be no sand in the west. He walked into the first free room he saw, released one exhausted breath and collapsed happily onto the bed. He yawned and rubbed his eyes, ruffling his hair to get rid of the sand that had made it past his hat. That shit got everywhere, perhaps the west would not be so bad.

Before long his effects were delivered. He left his sword, shield and armour with the servant under instructions to place them in the safe-room, the rest of his bags he did not bother to unpack. He changed swiftly into a sleevless leather jerkin that left his arms bare. He needed to find a tailor on the morning - perhaps in the west where fashions would be current. Till then the practical still had sway. He shoved the shirt back into his pack, kicked them under the bed and headed back for the door. He wanted a drink.

[Grant]

His valuables stored in the Dwimmerwick's safe room and his gear tucked away, Jack had claimed his room for the night. The Eveningtide was already in, and with it came the sudden change in the airs over Sabata as well as the very nature of the turri. Once the sun descended below the horizon, everything grew cold...the kind of bone-leeching cold that only the desert could generate, luring out both moisture and heat in a way that often enough claimed lives to rural travellers.

Thankfully, Sabata generated a kind of heat on it's own, especially within doors. The thick adobe buildings insulated well, and a few people within any one of them could quickly turn the building into a sauna, both warm and to some degree moist...a very welcome change from the usual desert climate. Such a thing was evident in the Dwimmerwick as well, with the steaming dinner offering downstairs coupled with the growing number of patrons...perhaps a half dozen, all told...eating from bread trenchers in a similar way to his hostess from before.

The hostess...who finally introduced herself as Ulmandra...returned and assured Jack that his animal was safely lodged at the Tannery. "You'll find the Tannery in this dome, north from the Well," she advised, simple directions given that each dome's well always referred to the center of the circular borough.

[Jack Farrell]

Jack nodded at Ulmandra's directions. He had wandered Sabata enough to get a good feel of its streets, strange that he had not had time to visit the Bath house at any point. He scratched the stubble on his chin, perhaps the bath house might not be a bad idea. In any case it would give him an idea of what to expect come the morning; to fail to plan was to plan to fail...

He glanced around the patrons in the Dimmerwick. Nothing special, no one particularly stood out to him, just a reflection of the unwashed masses that trolled the streets in the heat of the day. He couldn't drive himself to make conversation with anyone at the bar, not even the one pretty lass that caught his eye as she sipped her drink idly in the corner. Something had soured his palette in that respect.

"I won't be long." He mentioned to Ulmandra as he strode toward the door and stepped out into the chill of night. He didn't know why, but Jack felt restless. Perhaps it was just the anticipation of travel, or the pang he felt when he thought about Lara. In either case, he did not feel like sleeping just yet. He sighed as his boots hit the dust of the street and he took a second to free his blade from the sheath. Jack stared hard into the shadows. It was not just cut-purses that you needed to watch for in the City by the Great water.

[Grant]

~Fin!

Ulmandra says, "Bread trenchers are the best! It makes for easy cleanup."

..sent for skillz and arcs!

[Guido Cercatoro]

Archived without skilling (player currently inactive)