The Jante Inn (Samheen 20, Morningtide) ~ Aria/Marek

[Guest]

The morning sun trickled in through the blinds of both the occupant's rooms. It was the first time in days that the sky was clear and warmth circulated through the autumn air. It was a brisk morning, but far warmer than mornings of the past. As dawn settled on the day after the battle, the two soldiers of the light were closed to the world in their dreams.

This bliss would not last very long.

A crashing sound crackled from below followed by muffled shouting. The only two tenants of the inn could hear the conflict clearly through the old hardwood floors beneath their beds.

The next eruption of sounds revealed the voice of a man cackling and their innkeeper throwing curses.

[Guest]

A flicker of disorientation set in when Marek’s eyes snapped open… <I> Another attack?! Demons? Where was Zinia?</I> He bolted upright in his bed, throwing his sheets to the side when realization hit. This wasn’t Oracle’s Isle.. It wasn’t home either. That wasn’t his mother’s voice shouting downstairs. The young man rubbed a hand over his eyes and swung his legs over the edge. <I>Rosewood…Her name is Rosewood. Some place called The Jante… Right, that was it.. Tyrant country.</I>

Marek yawned unabashedly, arms stretched towards the ceiling. Hmmm… better. Slouching, angling a hand for his pants, he cocked his head, listening to the ruckus down below. Well well …Someone was giving their hostess trouble? A tight smirk curled across the man’s lips. He knew just how to end that!

He had not had a chance for play in what felt like ages! Eagerly, Marek hopped into his pants and raked his fingers through his sleep tousled hair, mussing the dark locks to a wild mane. As he drew in a few too quick breaths for panting effect, Marek grabbed his sheathed sword, wiped the smirk from his face and slammed his door open with such great force it came bouncing back from the wall. Before it hit, the young man already thundered down the stairs barefoot.

“What is going on here!” He bellowed, edging up to the proprietor in a protective stance. One hand clasped on the hilt of his sword, his dark eyes glinted … with suppressed mischief, but who was to know?

[Guest]

There was no real memory of waking up, instead Aria simply realized she was staring at the wall while lying in the bed. For a moment she thought that she hadn't slept at all during the night, it felt like that, then she heard the shouts from below and had a vague idea of a crash. Standing quickly, and trying to ignore the dizzy feeling, she threw on some clothes, not even touching the armor, instead just grabbing the sword.

She was about to storm out, rush downstairs to see if everything was alright, but her hand stopped just before touching the door. Asides from the shouts, she knew nothing off what was happening down there. Just running there might actually cause more harm, she needed to have at least some inkling before acting. Closing her hand before opening it again, she pushed the door open as quietly as she could, and tried to listen to what was beind shouten as well as by whom. Hopefully any creaks made by the door would be masked by the noise.

Just as she got it truly open, another was slammed open, with the roaring Marek stamping downstairs. For a moment Aria actually stopped breathing, simply not being able to believe the staggering arrogance of the fool. And he had the audacity to even think of judging her. There was little else she could do but to remain there, listening and praying that things downstairs were not as grim as they did appear to a tired mind.

[Guest]

As the young man crashed into the lobby of the inn, he saw a sprightly young fellow with reckless red hair, freckled face, and ghostly green eyes. He wore make-do armor consisting of leather, studs and heavy cloth. A large claymore was strapped to his broad back. What was more immediately obvious was not his clothes or demeanor, but the fact he was toting the head of a monstrous leather-faced orc.

The lady Rosewood was back in the corner with a broom and the a table next to her had fallen throwing tea and cups all over the hardwood floor. Fear was erupting from her eyes and as Marek came in, she instinctively turned to him with the broom in a defensive combative posture.

"Mother, relax!" The red headed boy said, "It's a prize. I thought you'd be happy to see it...", he stopped and glared at Marek, grabbing the hilt of an additional rapier at his side, "Who is this?"

The voices carried up the hall enough for Aria to know what was going on.

[Guest]

“This is one of your mother’s guests, who was peacefully asleep upstairs until flickers ago.” Marek chuckled and slung his sword over his bare back, adjusting the straps. “Going by the sounds, the Inn might’ve been under attack.” He grinned and extended a hand to the lad. “Glad to see it isn’t. I’m Marek Vellion.”

The young man was rather pleased with the reactions to his performance. Not only had the argument stopped, the son might well realize his mother’s current guests wouldn’t sleep through whatever trouble might befall the Inn. And if he was very lucky, they’d be more silent the next morningtide too! Marek had learned to value his rest in the past few days and he considered this additional effect no small bonus.

“Madame Rosewood, my apologies for the scare.” From the looks of it, he wasn’t the cause of their hostess’ fright but it wouldn’t hurt to smooth things over. He gave her a reassuring smile, moved over and knelt, picking up those cups that had survived the fall. After setting them on the table, he turned back to the young man. His smile had turned solemn and he regarded the son’s prize. “Your mother told us of the orcs roaming the country side. No idle tale by far, I see. If you’d give me a few flickers to get properly clothed, I’d like to hear more about it.”

[Guest]

Aria closed her eyes and shook her head slowly, then placed the blade against the wall, stood up and checked her clothes before walking out of the room. How tired she still was really hit her as she carefully moved down the stairs, her head felt like it was a separate from the rest of her body. Still, she managed to reach the bottom of the stairs without falling over, a small miracle considering how clumsy she was usually.

"Good morning." She tried to smile. "You must the Madam's son. It is a great honor to meet you." It was only at that moment she really saw the head. It was the first time she'd seen an orc in any form, and now there was one's head, apparantely considered an item of pride. For some reason seeing that, no matter how monstrous those things were told to be and the surrounding proved, was somehow sad.

"My name is Aria, I too am a guest of your mother's. A fine woman by all accounts." She forced her hand to extend towards the man.

[Guest]

The young fire-haired man grinned at the introductions and was visibly taken back by Aria. Now charged with the act of impressing a young woman he proudly displayed the orc's head on the dining table and completely bypassed Marek to Aria taking her hand. Attempting to kiss her hand with all the finesse an innkeeper's son could have, he stumbled a bit and wrapped her knuckles on his nose.

Pale face now red, the young warrior stepped back, stuttered and then said, "My name is Thyme."

He paused, still red-faced.

"My mother likes spices."

Lady Rosewood then charged forward with her broom, "You are bloody right I do!"

Smacking her son with the straw end of the broomstick she barked, "Now you get that horrible atrocity out of my inn this instant. Move! Move!"

"It's a trophy, mother!"

"It's an abomination! I want that ghastly . . . thing out of here!"

"You want to here about orcs roaming the countryside, friend," Thyme said to Marek, "maybe you should first hear about mothers who have gone mad. . ."

"That's it out of you! Move! I never raised you to bring heads into a place of business. Heads of any kind! Move!"

Resigned, the young man took his orc head and made for the door.

[Guest]

Noticing Thyme’s starry eyed gaze towards Aria, Marek withdrew his hand and lightly patted the orc’s head in mock sympathy. “Guess neither of us is handsome enough, m’boy.” He winked and watched Thyme’s antics with growing amusement.

Leaning against the wall, Marek rubbed a hand over his chin, fingers rasping over the stubbles. When Madame Rosewood had successfully whipped her son from the Inn, he spoke up. “Where may I find water for washing, Madame?”

Marek followed her instructions and after shaving and washing up, headed to his room where he put on his shirt and boots and tied his dark hair into a sleek ponytail. This time he left his sword upon the bed and descended the stairs with proper decorum. Only a grin remained as he remembered Thyme and his ‘prize’.

“Good morningtide.” Marek turned to their hostess with a smile. “I think I still have to pay for my room. Would it be agreeable if I paid one circlet in advance for room and board? When I’ve spent it, I trust you will let me know?” He plucked the coin from his leather purse and offered it to the lady.

[Guest]

Aria stared at Thyme as he tried to kiss her hand, at least she hoped it was an effort to do so, and continued to stare as he finally left the room. She did see what he was trying to do, but simply could not understand why he would do so with her. There was always the enchantment of strangers, but still, her?

She looked at the mother after Marek too had left, trying to smile. She'd never really understood why somebody would expect others to be awed with the heads of the dead. Rainir had been like that back home, always bringing back animal heads, and although it was so very different situation, it still somehow seemed the very same.

"I can see why you're proud of him. He seems a good man." Aria paused for a moment, thinking of what to say next. "So you like spices?" Alright, that was stupid. Glancing at the door, she scracthed at her arm, then continued.

"If I may ask already, yesterday you said all the farmers have fled the surrounding area, leaving the fields empty. Can you say in anyway how badly the land has suffered from the invaders. Can it grow next year?"

[Guest]

"Spices. The earth sprouting compacted flavor. The must mundane thing in Tazlure can be made brilliant with a single spice. Of course, the spices that we have here do not compare to the ones of Terra Incognita. I've always dreamed of tasting dragon spice.

"But I distract myself," she smiled at Aria, "I have hope the land can be recovered. It was certainly bountiful just before harvest when the orcs came. I think the fields were ravaged, but not salted. The orcs aren't that smart.

"Why do you ask?"

Thyme returned, having washed his hands and faced. Avoid eye contact with Aria and his fair skin completely flushed, he removed his scraggly armor and placed it against the wall then sat at the table waiting patiently for breakfast.

[Guest]

"Concern." Aria glanced at Thyme, then looked back at the mother. "I grew up on a farm, understand how much work it requires when something like this hasn't taken place. You mentioned that they came just before the harvest, so the fields will be overgrown next spring. It would seem expectable for the grain storages to be in the city this near, so it would also seem reasonable to ask how much is left here that was not plundered by the orcs, enough to survive the winter. And the prices of lives paid by the farmers, how many of those who actually know how to work these fields remain."

Aria looked at the ceiling with a sad expression on her face. Her father had once said that stories never tell of the years following the great battles. Again, something she had thought to have understood once.

"I am sorry to speak of such sad things. As I said, it is simply concern over the area which has already suffered so much."

[Guest]

"Mind if I join you?" Marek had watched Thyme's return and spoke up when the other had taken a seat. Nonchalantly striding over, Marek dropped his hand to the back of a chair while he waited for Thyme's aye or naye. "Why is King's Court allowing the orcs this close to the city?" He asked with deliberate bluntness.

Thyme's mood seemed to have taken a dive after his mishap with Aria and rather than trying to smooth the situation with kind words, Marek decided to cut straight to business. He took a seat and folded his arms on the table, leaning towards Thyme. "If my question offends, I apologize. There must be reasons why, but I am not from here and I have no knowledge of King's Court's past. All I know is that there has been war and Orcs roam near the city." His expression darkened. "Perhaps I've misunderstood Madame Rosewood, but I got the impression that only you and others in the Jante oppose this threat."

He smiled wrily. "I guess I am just trying to understand..." <i> and trying to see what can be done...IF anything can be done, this is far over my head...</i>

[Guest]

"I'm not a farmer," the innkeeper said, "but I can tell you that the fields of the Jante may never be the same. The longer they are left unattended the worst I fear it will become."

Thyme seemed relieved that Marek joined him. He no longer would look as foolish and clumsy before Aria. Puffing his chest only slightly, he leaned back and behaved as if he were the commander of an army.

"It's a good question," Thyme said, trying to sound intelligent, clearing his throat he raised an eyebrow at Aria, cleared his throat again and then looked at the armorclad hero next to him.

"Not an offensive question," he resumed, " a good one, in fact. A good question that only a good warrior could answer."

"Oh, for crying Dominicus," his mother spat, "what is the matter with you, child?" She shook her head and returned to the kitchen to check on the breakfast.

Ignoring his mother he continued, "The orcs attacked the city a month ago and so they partioned ... partitioned.. parted off the city from the Jante for securital reasons."

Proud at the big words he was using he puffed himself a bit more and then continued speaking to Marek as if they were exchanging war plans in a massive battle.

"The orcs were held back but they were still in the Downs. There aren't enough infantriesman to go after the orcs, so we are stuck doing it ourselves. It is an honor to fight against evil and beasts ... evil beasts... orcs, I mean."

His mother returned with fruit and juice, "I have some bread on the way," she said.

[Guest]

"What do the orc's eat?" Aria rubbed her neck, feeling stupid once more, but also a little bit embarassed to hear somebody describing being forced in to battle as a great honor. She could already imagine the look her father would have given the young man. "I'm sorry, it's probably a really foolish question, but if the orcs are here, unless they have started to harvest the fields themselves, how do they survive? Did they bring that much supplies with them and do they still have some kind of a supply train working? Do they ransack the food from somewhere here and if they do, where, if this battle has been waged for a month already?"

She flexed her neck, looking at the mother, then back at the boy.

"Also, how organized a threat do they figure? Are they just ragtag bands ravaging what is left here, is there a central structure left or do they all operate independently towards the common goal?"

[Guest]

OOC: Marek is gone for the week so I'm posting early to tie the thread over

IC:
From the blank expression on Thyme's face it was apparent he'd never entertained Aria's questions before. Flushing slightly he looked to Marek for some sort of approval and then bravely stumbled through answers.

"They eat the stuff ... they consume vegitationables in the fields all around here and to the west I think. They are very organized and move in patrols, but I don't know who their leader is.'

The worried expression in his face indicated that he really didn't know the answers, but was still trying to impress.

[Guest]

Again, Aria felt embarassed. It had not been her intention to make they young man uncomfortable like this, she had just assumed that he might know. They had seemed so obvious questions to her.

"I'm sorry, you must have so much else on your mind." She looked down, biting her lip nervously. Taking a deep breath, she tried another way of asking the questions. "You said that they dig up vegetables? That they are scavanging." Legends didn't speak orcs of doing such things. Of course they really didn't talk much about these matters generally. These weren't the epic parts.

"Since you have been fighting them here, do you think there's been a change in their appearance? Have their armors and their condition changed? Or their weapons? And most importantly, how do they appear now? Do they look like they like they are eating enough or do they appear to be starving as well?" She looked Thyme in to the eyes, trying to look as gentle as possible.

[Guest]

Marek interrupted with a polite cough when Aria worked the ‘supposedly shy, meaningful exchange of glances’ on Thyme. <I>Too lazy to come down and stop a fight, but flirting with the first lad who gives her a second glance.</I> He made a polite attempt at hiding his disappointment by fixing his gaze upon the fruit Madame Rosewood had brought in and choosing an apple after a few flickers of indecision.

“If I’m not interrupting… I had a few questions for you as well, Thyme.” Polishing the apple on his sleeve, Marek leaned back in his seat. “Why don’t you join us, Aria?” Nonchalantly, he pushed a chair out with his boot.

“So, the orcs are living off the land as well.” He summarized for Thyme’s sake, giving the other a serious smile. “You know the land, we are the strangers. How do you see the situation here? Can you tell us what we’ve walked into?” As he awaited Thyme’s answer, Marek chewed thoughtfully on a healthy chunk of apple. Hopefully the questions had dragged the two from their clouds and he’d be able to get some solid answers after this.

[Guest]

Relieved that he was brought back to business, the young man tried to focus all of his efforts on Marek. Aware only slightly that Aria was still present, he still attempted words he didn't know, but at least he could keep a coherant thought.

"The city is so distructed that there are no soldiers to help the Jante. These orcs run wild and only those escorted by the banks and inns get safe passaging ... eses..asses...ages."

He derailed and looked back at Aria, "I like your armor."

This earned him a smack in the head by his mother who brought freshly baked rosemary bread.

"You should be more like your brother. Pining over the young woman. You are making her uncomfortable. No stop this nonsense or I'll stop it for you."

"Mother!" He objected, trying to sound tough.

He gave Marek a set of rolled eyes and Aria apologetic raised eyebrows.

"Now, where did you two come from then?", Rosewood asked, "I hope the cities of our kingdom are at last coming to help."

[Guest]

That was one question Marek had hoped Thyme wouldn’t ask. In fact, on his List of Unwanted Questions the ‘where are you from’ was second only to questions pertaining his Faith. His smile vanished, the scolding Thyme received from his mother didn’t seem as funny anymore.

“Maybe they have, but I wouldn’t know. I am not from here.”

Marek was desperate for a change of subject but nothing sprang to mind. “Not from the Western Kingdom, I mean... Before I came here, I’d been travelling but originally I’m from the Citadel.“ He added, hoping it would be enough.

Inspiration came to him at last and he turned to smile at their hostess. “That bread smells very good, madame Rosewood. May I…?”

[Guest]

Marek for all his bluster was truly not really good at hiding his nervousness. Still a bit uncertain by Thyme's attention, something every single boy back home would have broken in to laughter about, Aria turned Madame Rosewood and smiled.

"I in turn am from the Kingdom, but I can't give any better answer than you to the question whetever any of the other cities have awaken to the blight here. I am from a small village by the coast, one of those places no one has ever heard of." Aria chuckled unintentionally at the small joke hidden in the words, and felt instantly stupid, since no one else in the room probably got the joke. It was a local thing.

"Would it be possible for me to see the fields around here and to the west." She looked back at Thyme, trying to smile encouraginly when speaking. "Out of pure interest."

[Guest]

Madam Rosewood beamed at Marek's answer and exclaimed as if she were given a bag of money, "The Seven Isles? Now that is fascinating. You come from such a long way! My, I've never had a traveler from exotic lands before!"

She cut two slices each for Marek and Aria, fresh baking wafting upwards in stomach-growling waves.

Regaining a tiny bit of composure, Thyme noded dutifully to the source of his crush.

"My lady, I will take you anywhere you wish to go. Perhaps after breakfast you would like to meet the others?

Breakfast came and went with very little time in between. Rosewood served eggs and juice after the bread and then cleaned up thoroughly when they were done.

The young red-headed boy gathered his things and nervously stood before the two guests.

"Are you ready? It's a bit of a hike."

[Guest]

"Of course." Aria stood up, stopping herself from looking at Rosewood. It would have been relatively stupid to ask if it was alright to leave her armor and belongings here. Of course since the option was starting to run around in gold armor in a situation like this seemed rather, well, stupid.

"Is there any danger of coming in to contact with the orcs now. Just should I take my weapon with me?"

[Guest]

The smell of freshly baked bread reminded Marek how much time had passed since his last decent meal. He fell upon his breakfast enthusiastically, eating in dedicated silence. When he pushed his plate away with a content sight, he complimented Madame Rosewood on her work. “Another breakfast like this and I won’t want to leave.”

“There might always be a chance, Aria. Better be safe than sorry. Lets take our weapons, just in case.“ He gave her a smile as he rose as well. “I’d prefer to take my armour, Thyme, but it’s a bit …” A corner of his mouth quirked as his gaze sought the heavens. ”visible…”

“Maybe I can do something about that, I am not sure.” He turned to their hostess, his smile deepening. “It may sound a bit strange, madame, but might I borrow a candle? It won’t take long, I promise.” Marek intended to ask his Lord in prayer to dull the shine of their armour for a couple of marks or until the need had passed. Although he had no surety that Illuminatus would grant his request, he was confident that Lumi had intended to provide them with armour that was protection and a symbol both, and had not intended for His gift to work against them.

[Guest]

The redheaded boy stood proudly and said, "You'll never know what can be found in the wilderness around King's Court. They're beastly beasts that are beastly with teeth... and fangs and ... they have pointy ... pointed weapons and armor and pointy armor with bloody, blood-stained and with shields and fangs."

"Dominicus weeps, Thyme," his mother said, sighing and taking away the breakfast plates.

"Yes, dear," she said to Marek, "I keep extra candles in the bureau of your rooms. Help yourself."

"I'll be outside practicing my swordsplaymanship," Thyme said throwing out more non-existent, but big and impressive words, "hail me when you are ready."

Offering a polite bow to Aria, he said with a crooked imperfect smile, "My lady" and proceeded outside to work on "swordsplaymanship".

[Guest]

Swordplaymanship...

Marek's wide grin spread over his face as he jogged upstairs. That was perhaps the best description for the practise he'd ever heard. He found the candles where Madame Rosewood had said they'd be and lit one after he had worked himself into his full armor and strapped the sword in place.

Was this really the best solution to the problem? Would not a little bit of dirt or a concealing garment do the trick just as well? Before committing himself to prayer Marek sought to answer these questions for himself. He would not wish to draw upon his Lord's powers when his own mind could provide a fitting solution. But no, dirt would be an imperfect cover and easily washed off, a cloak might tangle or blown away by the wind and give the party away. He could leave the armour in his room, but then ...that habit would limit his use of this protection and perhaps force him to draw upon his prayers later. No, all in all he prefered to spend the energy now -if Illuminatus would allow it- rather than later.

The young man knelt before the candle flame, clearing his mind of concerns and fleeting thoughts, and raised his voice in prayer, humbly submitting his request to the Divine being he had sworn his life to.

<i>Divine Illuminatus, where I am about to go a certain amount of stealth is needed, if we wish to avoid drawing the attention of the threats surrounding these people. We may be attacked despite our precautions and I wish to use Your gift to aid and inspire us. My Lord, I am also afraid that its radiance will alert our enemies, forcing us into battle prematurely. While I hate to subdue the shine of Light even for a flicker, I also feel strongly that Light may never aid our enemies. Please aid me to contain the Light, so its shine may for this time of need inspire without drawing the forces of Dark upon us.</i>

He sought to push his energies outward as he had when aiding Gamble in the cleansing of the library, until they hovered around the armour forming a protective coating over the glowing metal. Illuminatus willing, the shine would not be gone, but contained and far less visible than before. He rose and bowed his head in reverence.

<i>May Your wisdom guide me, my Lord, and may Your Light lead me always.</I>