Firiona Vie Everquest

Delvahart stood staring at the remnants of the old Arien de Kaane guild hall. Rain was lightly falling around him. Broken pottery, fallen chairs, and cobwebs were all that remained. He had heard rumors that the clan had dispersed, but still in his heart he did not wish it to be true. He felt deep inside that a few still walked the lands of Norrath.

He drew his cloak above his head a little further. The cold rain water slowly dripped from the brim of the cloak as he continued to look about. Above him, holes in the roof top allowed water to pour down on him. Puddles formed about the cracked marble floors. Small traces of animals could be found here and there.

A doll could be spotted sitting under a few old bowls. Delvahart bent over and slowly picked up the ragged doll. He brushed some dirt from it. His eyes closed for a brief moment as he could vividly remember Edawna playing with this. Near the fire pit stood Clazzar, he was drinking from a fine mug. In the sofa sat Luamian and Jazzle, they were chit chatting about some crazy adventure they had just finished. Maitai and Vestra were playing a game of gnomish four card stud while Leaolinea was reading a book.

The doll fell silently to the floor. A small splash from the puddle in landed in roused memories in Delvahart. A flash of bright light erupted. Blood ran red around him, flowing and splashing against the men next to him. His hands were drenched in the hot wet blood all about him. He could taste it on his lips. Demons flowed over the horizon like great waves of an ocean.

The creaking and moaning of the old building snapped him out of his brief trance. He had a lot of these since he had been gone. He noticed that his hand had reached for the hilt of his blade, which was no longer there. The weight of the blade had not been there for years.

“Ai shor thylyrn o” he whispered lightly in elvish. Turning, Delvahart headed out of the hall. He turned to stare one more time.

“What is dat der mister?” Spoke a gruff voice behind him. He turned slowly to see a dwarf, who looked to be heading home, watching Delvahart’s interest of the building. Rain dripped off the dwarf’s beard.

“That m’friend is a monument. To all that is good in the lands of Norrath.” replied Delvahart.

The dwarf kind of tilted his head a moment and then gave a strange look to Delvahart.

“It does not look to be any monument of dwarven make. I’ll tell ya that my cousin Dranok could build a monument a thousand dragon eggs high! This be it true my tall friend.” said the dwarf to Delvahart. He appeared to be enjoying the conversation a bit much. This was probably due to after work spirits, thought Delvahart.

“Could you point me to the nearest inn my good dwarf? I have been on a very long road, and as you can see,” Delvahart held his hand out “it is a very wet road as well.”

“Of course, follow me; I will not lead you astray. There is an inn just a little further down this here road.” The dwarf started forward again.

Delvahart looked again at the large guild hall before heading further into the city. He had much work to do and rest would be required.

Sanjah had decided to take advantage of her time alone in the Inn to work on her baking. She had quickly come to the realization that when all of her friends were around, she didn't get anywhere with it at all... Well, she didn't get any better at it, anyway. She'd wind up completely distracted and the end result would be some sort of burnt mush instead of the item that the recipe claimed it would create.

She couldn't help but shake her head sadly at herself. Why was she even bothering with this cooking stuff again? She was more than fine with purchasing foodstuffs from the vendors and merchants that she came across...

She bit her lower lip and smiled wistfully as she measured out a cup of flour. She was well aware of her reasoning, of course. She remembered the afternoon vividly... Willowen had mentioned something about how all the wonderfully domesticated elven women knew how to cook. And, from what she had gathered in his tone, they enjoyed it.

She didn't mind it so much, but she'd much rather be out fighting giants or expelling the undead than sitting around in front of a stove. But feir'dal's like food, and she happened to be very much in love with one. So, here she stood, chopping up vegetables and measuring out spices so that one day she would be able to cook wonderfully delicious meals for him.

She added her final ingredients to the concoction and took her mixing bowl into the kitchen, placing the mixture into a pan and sticking it in the oven. She glanced out the window and bit her lower lip again as she waited for the crab cakes to bake.

She stood in the doorway between the common room and the kitchen, leaning against the wooden frame; allowing her mind to wander again, she closed her eyes. It was getting late, but she was determined to master this recipe before she moved onto the next. She opened her mouth wide and yawned, wondering idly if anyone would be coming in that could help keep her awake. So much for taking advantage of her time alone.

She chuckled to herself at the thought, though she knew that standing here nearly falling asleep would not help her pay attention to the oven any better than if she had someone to talk to.

A few coins left his hand, finding there way into the dwarf’s. The two men thanked one another and went separate ways. Rain continued to beat down mercilessly. Delvahart wondered if it would ever cease and would he be able to stare at the starry night.

With doubt in his mind, he opened the door to the inn. Not evening paying attention to the name of the place. As the door opened, he was immediately welcomed by the aroma of seasons and spices. It was a welcome smell, as he had only had radish and bean soup for the past week while on the roads.

The vacant tavern appeared to be set up to welcome travelers at all hours. A burley barbarian sat behind the main counter. He looked to be finishing cleaning up for the night. A woman stood in the doorway between this room, and what he could only guess was a kitchen or store room. She appeared to be tired, but her eyes spoke to him. They said, “I might be tired, but I am still able.”

“Good day m’lord. What can I do for ya?” said the barbarian, his voice as ruff as his chiseled features. He smiled, only to show a few teeth missing.

“The road has been long, and wet. Might I partake in a room for the evening? If one is not available, the stables will do fine also.” asked Delvahart.

Delvahart stood about six foot tall, which was uncommon for typical elves. He pulled away his hood to reveal snow white hair. It sat long on his shoulders, and it was fairly wet regardless of the hood that was covering it. His deep grey eyes continued to search the room. He gave a light nod to the woman in the doorway as he made way to the barbarian’s counter.

The barbarian felt a shiver of cold air, which was pretty uncommon seeing how he was from the northern lands. He noticed a haunted, timeless gaze coming from the elf before him. It worried him, but he began to feel more barbarian again. He too had seen a lot of uncommon sights, this being one even though not the most.

“Well, we can not be having our guests stay in the stables. We can make room for ya m’lord.” replied the keeper. He put down the rag and glass he had been holding.

Delvahart smiled at hearing this. He then made way to a small rack of antlers on the wall near the fire pit. Hanging his cloak and backpack to dry, he began to ring out his hair of excess water. Then he made his way back over to the counter.

“Might I have a bite to eat as well? Those spices smell great and I am sure hungry.” He asked towards the barbarian keeper.

“That be the smells of the lass there. You’ll have to ask her. I will go get your room ready.” he replied.

Delvahart then turned to the woman.

((Pffft, I had that guild hall sparkling clean! You could eat your dinner off the floor! It was in members section. Will post here later, just home :p))

The sound of the door opening startled Sanjah from her daydreams and she opened her eyes again to see who had entered. She raised her eyebrow, wondering exactly who this newcomer was. She had become quite familiar with those who frequented the Lion's Mane and she didn't recognize this man at all.

As he pulled down his hood, she furrowed her brow slightly. He was elven, though she was not sure if he was a koada'dal or a fier'dal; he seemed much too tall to be either. He nodded at her and she nodded back politely though her mind was reeling with questions.

She looked back towards the oven -- the crab cakes would be finished soon -- though she continued to listen to the conversation that took place between the Inn's keeper and the new man.

He mentioned the smell of the spices and she grinned inwardly. When he directed his eyes back to her, she grinned and moved from the doorway towards him. The sapphire drakkin curtsied before the man and met his stormy gray eyes with her golden and red ones.

"Vasha, m'lord. Allow me to introduce myself," she said, "I am Sanjah Windmaker. Daughter of Osh'vir the Windspirit, child of Veeshan and a druidess in training."

With this, the girl grinned free-spiritedly and continued, "And as soon as the cakes are finished, you may of course help yourself to them. They're simple, though beer-braised and made with the best freshwater crab one can find."

"Though," she added as an afterthought, "If it's sweets you're after, you'll need to speak with Elianeth or Faelian. As I'm not overly fond of them myself, and haven't bothered learning the recipes to any."

The sound of hoofbeats outside heralded another's arrival. Sliding off the black mares back, Jetamio stroked her face. "Stay here Nox." The mare wore no saddle or bridle, the druid having found that she needed none once they had grown to understand each other, and she knew now that Nox would not leave without her.

Leaving the mare outside, she went inside and shook off the rain in a rather ungainly manner. Water flew from her hair and leather armour as she shook much like a dog would, never having been one for fine manners and such. Then as she looked around for Sanjah, her glittering gold eyes fell upon the newcomer. He looked like an elf, but was rather tall for one and she suspected he might not be a pureblood. She sidled around him as she headed to Sanjah, who was introducing herself, and placed a soaking wet bag on the table.

"I got you more eggs....and no, there's no dragon type eggs in it." she said when Sanjah finished, then stood silently watching the strange elf in an unobtrusive manner, holding curiousity in check for the moment.

"Though," she added as an afterthought, "If it's sweets you're after, you'll need to speak with Elianeth or Faelian. As I'm not overly fond of them myself, and haven't bothered learning the recipes to any."

Delvahart smiled at Sanjah. He had not eaten crab cakes in many years. The taste was long forgotten to him. But, he was certainly not going to turn down the offer.

"The crab cakes will be more the suiting. And if I owe you any..." Delvahart stopped mid sentence as he heard the hoof's of a horse just outside the inn's doors.

He reached again with instinct to his hilt, but again found that nothing was there for him to grasp. He tried to make it as least noticeable as possible that he had attempted to check his blade.

Before he could start speaking again a woman burst through the door. Rain still poured behind her as she entered the room. A fit woman strapped in fine leather armor. Delvahart simply stopped speaking to watch what she would do next.

The woman shook off the rain by shaking about. Water drops flung back and forth near the inn's entrance. He noticed that she held a medium sized sack in her off hand. She came across the room, glittering gold eyes flickered in the light of the fire pit as they scanned the room.

He remained reserved and stayed silent as she approached Sanjah. The bag in her hand found itself upon the nearest table. All the while the keeper of the tavern was going about his business, not paying much attention to the newcomer.

"I got you more eggs....and no, there's no dragon type eggs in it." she said, then stood silently watching the strange elf in an unobtrusive manner, holding curiosity in check for the moment.

Delvahart watched as the woman opened the sack to show the eggs inside. She then closed the sack and ushered Sanjah to take them. Water still dripping off her in places.

"I do not wish to intrude. But what might the eggs be for?" asked Delvahart.

If she felt uncomfortable under his gaze she didn't show it, merely met his eyes as he asked his question.

"They are for these crab cakes she makes. Or at least I think thats what she uses them for." Her voice is deep and rich, with an Elvish accent, but her draconic heritage giving it the strange inflictions and undertones. She was a little shorter than Sanjah, and of slender build. Her ears were very slightly pointed, giving away the fact she was elven born, not human as other Drakkin were. Her shoulder length hair was dark pine needle coloured, and emerald coloured vine patterns adorned her scaled skin.

She regarded him freely now that he had acknowledged her, and then realised she had not introduced herself either. She met his grey eyes, wondering at the haunted look and held her gaze there, curious to see if he could meet her sometimes intense gaze where not many seemed able to.

"I am Jetamio." Not bothering with the formalities of titles and such, though she had some.

Delvahart nodded in understanding. He too realized that he had not introduced himself to either of the woman before him, nor to the barbarian running about finishing his nightly duties.

"I apologize that I have not spoken up before this. My name is Mithion Aglar of the High Keep pass. I am a simple traveler of these parts. I happened to pass by this place when the smell of spice and seasons lured me inside." said Delvahart. A small smile came across his face as he glanced at Sanjah while saying this.

It had been a few years since Delvahart had even held a conversation with another person. He hoped that he had not been mistaken in the words which he spoke to these people. He had a strange feeling over him as he spoke, a feeling of something new to him again.

The strange man smiled at Sanjah and accepted her offer of the beer-braised crab cakes. He had begun to offer payment of sorts though he stopped mid sentence with the sound of a horse riding up to the inn.

The blue-haired drakkin looked over to the door as Jetamio burst in and Sanjah raised her horn studded brow as she shook the water from her hair and clothes. Before the druid had a chance to say hello to her friend, she put a wet bag on the table and told her of the eggs inside.

Sanjah smirked at the mention of the dragon eggs. She proceeded to move toward the table and then lifted the eggs from the bag carefully.

"Karui, Jetamio! It is such a pain to find good ones... it seems most of the ones lying about are cracked and broken."

Sanjah made her way into the kitchen where she could put the eggs away safely. She continued to listen to the conversation in the other room, hearing the newcomer ask what the eggs were for. She wondered idly if there was any reason to have eggs except for to bake with them, but then shrugged to herself and returned to the doorway.

The newcomer had finally been given the chance to introduce himself and Sanjah raised her eyebrow at the mention of the smell of spice and seasons.

"Honestly, Mithion, my cooking is not that grand, though I appreciate the subtle compliment." A crooked grin played on her lips as she leaned against the wooden door frame again. "Highpass Hold is not far from my hometown of Crescent Reach... though you're the first I've seen of anyone from High Keep."

She looked back to Jetamio again as if trying to wordlessly ask what the other drakkin was thinking. Her right hand habitually reached into her hair and began to twist it.

Jetamio eyed the stranger. She sensed he did not speak the truth about his name, but she made no mention of it. She herself had once lived under a false name to hide from her enemies.

"High Keep pass? I thought only bandits and orcs lived there?" she asked in a casual tone.

"Indeed m'lady. There have been quite a few reports of vagabonds and cut throats in that area. Not many travel the high road these days because of such things. I lived further from the keep, away from the lower more shady parts if you take my meaning." he replies, he sensed a little distrust in Jetamio's voice.

Continuing to eat, he glanced and noticed Sanjah twisting her hair. He had never seen blue hair before and it was a peculiar sight for him. Among all the other sights he had seen in days past. He made it a point to not stare and only take small unnoticable glances.

"So, might I ask where you two are from?" Delvahart asked after setting his fork down and wiping his mouth softly. He smiled warmly as he asked.

She hesitates a moment, still not really sure where to class herself as from. Deciding her true birthplace would incite too many questions, she decides upon the home of her dragon heritage. "Crescent Reach...it's not so far from High Keep."
She smiled back at him breifly, before glancing to Sanjah.

"Here we are boy, this the place?," queried a kind eyed farmer, weathered face split into a smile.

Will nodded, trying to keep as much himself covered by his travelers cloak as possible in the relentless rain. "Yes, many thanks for driving me here sir, you didn't have to, I could have....:

"Nonsense son," Genth exclaimed, "you stayed up with Helen all night! You would probably have tumbled into a ditch on the way back, tired as you are." Will slung a backpack full of medicinal herbs and arcane materials over his shoulder and jumped down from the wagon, grimacing as the cold mud welcomed him. "Your wife's fever should be broken by now..., though be sure to regularly give her gladeweed mixed with warm goats milk... for at least a week, or... her lungs might start to fill again." Genth nodded at the instructions and grinned, "thank you again for all your help boy, don't know how she would have pulled through, especially with this chilled weather, Karana bless you from above son." With a friendly wave the farmer snapped the reigns and the creaking wagon began to move ponderously towards the distant market.

The Feir'dal gave a tired sigh and looked over the surrounding buidings and far-off fields now lapping up the tears of the past with parched tongues. How different was his life now, a solitary wildland tracker now turned traveling village healer in a matter of months. How many foolish assumptions regarding the future did the Lady shatter in order to guide her children upon the path intended for them! Will bowed to the grey sky and whispered a prayer of respect to the Rainkeeper before turning to enter the inn.

"Put those wet clothes by the fire Will, you are flooding my newly swept floor," protested the innkeeper's wife, a burly barbarian matron who saw herself as keeper and ruler of all things, be they object or person, within her domain. "Give me those boots, I'll keep them outside for now boy, Marr forgive the mess you have made of them." Will rolled his eyes and played marionette to her instructions, soon finding himself barefooted and divested of cloak and backpack. Jelsa eyed the elf's plain cloth clothing and nodded. "Well, those don't look too wet, though do bring yourself to change of them soon, lest you catch the chills! Now don't give me that look, lightbringer knows there has been enough sickness around here without one of our healers succumbing to it as well! The Feir'dal muttered under his breath and gave a prudently inaudible sigh. Jelsa had apparently assumed some time ago that his height and youthful appearance were justification enough to treat him like a needy child of thirteen summers, and thus felt the need to become a rather large and frustratingly omnipresent aunt.

Seeing the druid start to edge his way toward the common room the woman swiftly put a heavy hand on his shoulder, preventing the desperate exodus. "Wait just a moment boy, I still have larks to stone!" Jelsa put her clenched free hand in front of Will's face and opened it slowly. Nestled within it slept two plainsmice, small bodies curled into fur-clothed balls. "These menaces were in the pantry again," she said blue eyes, looking at the rodents with feigned distaste, "If you will not keep you various feral ... guests ... in control I wont allow them anymore, I daresay the barmaids would thank me." Will accepted the sleepers from her and gently situated them in a pouch full of spell components, which he clasped to his belt. "None of them have hurt anyone," he muttered. "You brought an owlbear into my inn a week ago Will," exclaimed the woman, "a bloody owlbear!" "Well she wanted to talk... and it was late, so... I had just had the winds take us here from Luclin," said the Feir'dal as if it were a perfectly normal gesture.

Perceiving that convincing Will that most civilization operated differently from wilderness camps was a battle with a great deal more ground to be won, Jelsa decided to switch to another front. "There is another more immediate matter that must be remedied," she said, taking a fist-full of the druid's unruly mass of soft brown hair. "You could perhaps get away with looking like a jackrabbit died upon your head in my homeland or whatever untamed lands those wardens have you patrolling every few days. However, here in the southlands there is no sense letting your hair grow everywhere if you wont even take care of it! Grow it out much longer and a few girls are going to start to becoming jealous," she laughed. "Do you ever cut your hair boy?" "Uh.. of course I do," Will stammered, "I lop it with my knife ... when i cant see anymore." The Feir'dal shrugged, "else why bother? It's there to keep your ears warm."

Jelsa rolled her eyes and gave a long suffering sigh. "You cut your hair with a hunting knife! That does it, either you let someone else cut your hair, or I sling you over my shoulder, carry you down the street, and strap you in a barber's chair!" Will shuddered at the thought of a stranger so close to his neck and face with a blade. "Alright fine," the elf said with a small scowl, "who is this 'someone else' going to be, brother Storm?"

The woman laughed at the image of Stormfollower's huge hands manipulating scissors and grinned mischievously. "No, though I will give him leave to lop one of your pointy ears off with the clippers if you give me any more sass. Actually, ... I was thinking of a young lady who would be ecstatic to help you in that manner," said Jelsa with a sly smile. Following her gaze, Will looked across the common room to see Sanjah leaning against the kitchen doorframe talking to Jetamio and a tall stranger whose back was facing to the elf. "You have been gone quite frequently of late boy, the wilderness, the neighboring villages, and Marr knows where else." She grinned and rufffled his hair, "I think it's about time you actually settled down enough to let your sweetheart take care of you and perhaps even... have a conversation?"

Jelsa gave the young man a firm shove into the commen room, "come on now for Marr's sake, introduce yourself to our newest guest, I have cleaning to do."

The mysterious elf had told Jetamio a bit more about where he had come from while he was eating. She had caught him glancing up at her, as if she looked out of place or something and she idly wondered why. Surely it was not because of her appearance... Jetamio was just as scaled and tattooed as she was afterall. Besides, Jetamio had more horns -- most of Sanjah's were covered by her hair. The biggest difference between the two girls was that Sanjah's markings and hair were blue and Jet's were green.

Sanjah bit her lower lip as the emerald-drakkin told the man... Mithion, he had said his name was... where they were from. She started say something about the dragonkin when she heard a slightly high pitched shout come from the Innkeeper's wife.

Sanjah furrowed her brow and strained her ears to try and listen to what was going on in the foyer, but before her mind had time to process the bits of words and phrases that she could hear, Jelsa was shoving Willowen into the common room.

The drakkin smirked at the feir'dal whose hair had become even messier up top due to the barbarian woman ruffling it. "Vasha, Willowen! How are you tonight?"

She nodded to the cloaked man. "This is... Mithion. Mithion, this is Willowen," she said, taking the initiative to introduce them.

She walked over to the druid and linked her arm with his, kissing him softly on the cheek.