Evaine leads the group towards a local tavern, really, the only tavern in Efallen. As they make the journey, more than a few eyes drift a little longer than a glance at the group. "Is that the new keep of the Efallen Monastery? Good, the Church as finally replaced Father Erving." "They let a cultist get away, amidst the parish!" "..."
The glow from the alehouse calls warmly from the window and door frame, a contrast from the grey bleakness of the afternoon sky. It has just opened it seems, at a glance through the window glass; the barkeep is still setting mugs on the shelves.
A chime resounds as the door is opened, and quickly the keep turns around with a broad smile that elongates his astounding mustache. "Welcome!" He exclaims in a tenor. "Oh! Cathars get a discount on meals! Take a seat anywhere, I or my help'll be right with you." He gestures widely with his arm towards the rest of the establishment.
Several lacquered tables dot the wooden floor. A stone fireplace dominates the farthest wall, providing the most warm to the two closest tables. Only a few other patrons are currently seated, one at the bar and another at a corner table. Tapping his finger, he seems he's waiting for someone. With a glance towards the party, he doesn't find whomever he's waiting for and turns to his drink.
Evaine hesitantly sat at a table, taking a deep breath and closing her eyes. This was not exactly how she had planned on starting out her tenure as the keep of her own temple. She wondered if she would forever be known as the woman had let a heretic run free on her first day. That was not the legacy she wanted, but neither was murdering an innocent.
"Four plates of whatever the house specialty is," Evaine smiled at the purveyor of the establishment. "And maybe two ales, a glass of milk, and a round of waters, if you'd be so kind."
Fiona sat next to Evaine, turning her face away from the strangers in the tavern. Her face lit up at the mention of ale, then fell when she realized none of it was for her. "Milk? Really?" she grumbled.
"The pot jus'tarted brewin' with our Townsman's Lamb Stew. A little time before it's boiling and ready to serve. Jillian, serve them some bread." The barkeep commenced filling two hearty mugs will golden ale.
"Yes'ir, right'way." The young woman had just finished serving a small glass with a pitcher of milk, placing it in front of the little lady at the table with a lipped smile.
Not soon after, the table is laden with the group's meal. The wafting aroma is pleasantly musky, and the meat seems to fade into the savory broth as it's chewed.
The establishment's doorbell chimes, signalling the entrance of another patron. A tall man under a heavy leather cloak. He tips his hat to the barkeep. "Wallaby." His eyes search for a moment, and once widening with the signature of recognition, steps across the bar's flooring to the table with the impatient patron.
The night passes as the group lounges within this merry pub. Other patrons come and go. Sturm's direct, stoic demeanor is contrasted by Evaine's polite speech habits and Fiona's impulsive chatter.
The next morning, the cleric along with her ward, and the mountain man met as agreed at the crossway in the middle of Effalen. The strange, silent man in drab clothing was either late, or had decided not to come within the walls of High Thraben. In a moment's time, the first of the holy city's great walls encompasses all the group can see. The Outer Wall is the tallest, thickest, and widest wall. It separates the outside parishes from the city grounds, a clear divide between the well-to-do and the poor. Large sigils of Avacyn's collar can be made out in the sunlight embedded into the stone, providing warding and protection to those that live inside.
The guards give the aged man a wary eye but let the group pass overall amidst the steady flow of Innistradi between large, open iron gates. Beyond this first wall is where the lower class that earn just enough make their home. The Outer Wall Chapel can be seen far to the left of the group, its bell chiming the current hour.
Not too distant, the next wall, known as Merchant's Wall can be seen marking the next divide of Thraben.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
To post a comment, please login or register a new account.
Evaine leads the group towards a local tavern, really, the only tavern in Efallen. As they make the journey, more than a few eyes drift a little longer than a glance at the group. "Is that the new keep of the Efallen Monastery? Good, the Church as finally replaced Father Erving." "They let a cultist get away, amidst the parish!" "..."
The glow from the alehouse calls warmly from the window and door frame, a contrast from the grey bleakness of the afternoon sky. It has just opened it seems, at a glance through the window glass; the barkeep is still setting mugs on the shelves.
A chime resounds as the door is opened, and quickly the keep turns around with a broad smile that elongates his astounding mustache. "Welcome!" He exclaims in a tenor. "Oh! Cathars get a discount on meals! Take a seat anywhere, I or my help'll be right with you." He gestures widely with his arm towards the rest of the establishment.
Several lacquered tables dot the wooden floor. A stone fireplace dominates the farthest wall, providing the most warm to the two closest tables. Only a few other patrons are currently seated, one at the bar and another at a corner table. Tapping his finger, he seems he's waiting for someone. With a glance towards the party, he doesn't find whomever he's waiting for and turns to his drink.
Evaine hesitantly sat at a table, taking a deep breath and closing her eyes. This was not exactly how she had planned on starting out her tenure as the keep of her own temple. She wondered if she would forever be known as the woman had let a heretic run free on her first day. That was not the legacy she wanted, but neither was murdering an innocent.
"Four plates of whatever the house specialty is," Evaine smiled at the purveyor of the establishment. "And maybe two ales, a glass of milk, and a round of waters, if you'd be so kind."
PBP: DM of Titans of Tomorrow
PBP: Lera Zahuv in Whispers of Dissent
PBP: Evaine Brae in Innistrad: Dark Ascension
PBP: Cor'avin in Tomb of Annihilation
Fiona sat next to Evaine, turning her face away from the strangers in the tavern. Her face lit up at the mention of ale, then fell when she realized none of it was for her. "Milk? Really?" she grumbled.
A dwarf with a canoe on his back? What could go wrong?
"The pot jus'tarted brewin' with our Townsman's Lamb Stew. A little time before it's boiling and ready to serve. Jillian, serve them some bread." The barkeep commenced filling two hearty mugs will golden ale.
"Yes'ir, right'way." The young woman had just finished serving a small glass with a pitcher of milk, placing it in front of the little lady at the table with a lipped smile.
Not soon after, the table is laden with the group's meal. The wafting aroma is pleasantly musky, and the meat seems to fade into the savory broth as it's chewed.
The establishment's doorbell chimes, signalling the entrance of another patron. A tall man under a heavy leather cloak. He tips his hat to the barkeep. "Wallaby." His eyes search for a moment, and once widening with the signature of recognition, steps across the bar's flooring to the table with the impatient patron.
The night passes as the group lounges within this merry pub. Other patrons come and go. Sturm's direct, stoic demeanor is contrasted by Evaine's polite speech habits and Fiona's impulsive chatter.
The next morning, the cleric along with her ward, and the mountain man met as agreed at the crossway in the middle of Effalen. The strange, silent man in drab clothing was either late, or had decided not to come within the walls of High Thraben. In a moment's time, the first of the holy city's great walls encompasses all the group can see. The Outer Wall is the tallest, thickest, and widest wall. It separates the outside parishes from the city grounds, a clear divide between the well-to-do and the poor. Large sigils of Avacyn's collar can be made out in the sunlight embedded into the stone, providing warding and protection to those that live inside.
The guards give the aged man a wary eye but let the group pass overall amidst the steady flow of Innistradi between large, open iron gates. Beyond this first wall is where the lower class that earn just enough make their home. The Outer Wall Chapel can be seen far to the left of the group, its bell chiming the current hour.
Not too distant, the next wall, known as Merchant's Wall can be seen marking the next divide of Thraben.