"I have the story of every soul that has lived" Morris states very matter of fact, "you answered your own question there in asking it... The example you gave was of how you and Elthana met, yes. Your version of that story is yours, she may tell it differently because it is hers, and both are truthful because they belong independently to you both, but I also mention truth to keep exaggeration and blatant lies out of the mix. You know, embellishments" quick glance to Gewyn, "and I don't do anything with them, I cannot 'take' any story that you tell here and now, I merely wish to hear them from you, whilst you still live. The time will come that I will collect your complete story when you've finished it, yes?"
"Sure," Sam says with a shrug. "Huh? Wait, no... How can you get a story from me when I'm dead. Makes no sense..." Sam's face screws up a bit as he mentally chews on what he was told but eventually his eyes get that glassy look they had last night when he was craptastically inebriated. He takes a could steps forward and then sits down on the step and just waves it all away.
"Whatever. They can chat your ear off if they want. I'll just wait til they're ready to head back to camp..."
Elthana takes hold of the vessel in front of her, finding it interesting that hers in unlike the others and can't see what the liquid looks like inside and tries swirling it around a bit to see if she can see anything about it.
As she does, she listens to the others, the fact that Sam brings up them meeting as the first story that comes to his mind... brings a feeling she is not used to. Unsure if she even welcomes it, but it is almost warm? That doesn't make sense, how can a feeling be warm? As she considers this, she almost misses the part that this Morris man.. "Wait.. what do you mean you collect our stories once we are dead? Who exactly are you?"
"is this crystal from Thaeir!?" Griff calls out as he notices the drink Elthana brought him, "oh my, this is being a phantom shot, how are you making this? I have not been having in long time!" Griff guzzles his drink greedily, at about half way the smaller crystal glass tips up from the bottom and gills the empty space in the glass with the thich gas, which gruff inhales before finishing, he seems quite refreshed once he is done.
"Yes, yes it is" Morris replies, "I have a talent for making a great many things because of my access to the stories gone by, and I think you two know the answers to your own question there, as I said I'm an aspect of something larger, but there's no need to be afraid."
Muir looks at the cup and remembers fondly of his guardian Maathai "I will go first if no one else wishes to go.....I can speak of Maathai the one who used to make me this very drink when I was younger"
“By all means,” Sam says with a grumble and a wave of his hand to indicate the floor is all Muir’s. Metaphorically at least, Sam is sitting on a step just inside the door and has his legs stretched out. “If they’re to be believed, we have all night and then some before time passes where we came from..,”
Gewyn follows suit with Elthana, tipping his curious drink into his mouth, not sure what kind of flavour to anticipate. Then he leans forward, curious to hear a little bit of the past of his loxodon companion who certainly had his share of mystique.
Muir takes a sip of his favorite childhood drink "I never thought I'd take a sip of this again. Maathai would make this for me when I was a child. It was made from pineapple and these little berries in the Chattel Woods called wumpa berries. Maathai was as close to what you would call a mother to me. She did not birth me. I have no recollection of my parents, what they looked like, or why they left me to die in the Chattel Woods. Maathai used to say that they left me because they thought I was cursed. I suppose there are not many like me walking about these lands, or at least I have not met any. Maathai found me in the Chattel Woods and raised me as her own. She was older, never married or had children of her own. The local villagers thought she was eccentric living in the woods and communing with nature all without being a druidess. She came to town often as a healer and to trade with the locals. They treated her with respect but not me. Granted they did not mistreat me because of the respect they had for Maathai, but they did not go out of there way to be nice either. I never had friends, went to school, or even played with other children because of.....my appearance. The story that my parents left me because I was cursed grew credence as I got older and was treated the way I was as a child. Unfortunately for me Maathai being older died when I was on the cusp of becoming a teen. I thought I could continue with her lifestyle, going into town to heal and trade but without her, the villagers shunned me and chased me away. I ran into the Chattel Woods. I ran and ran until I was far away from the town, but I lost my bearings and just.....cried. I don't remember how many days passed after Maathai's death that I wondered the woods, eating berries and things to survive, but eventually I was found again. The second part of my life began with Goodall finding me. She said she knew Maathai and had been following me for a decade or so. I couldn't understand how I never saw her and that's when she changed into this little bright yellow bird, a finch. Crazy this whole time I knew Goodall but did not know Goodall. I would feed the birds and tend to the animals of the woods like Maathai taught me but I never wondered about the yellow bird that would just sit and watch. Anyway Goodall raised me as a druid, a Keeper of the Woods. I was not assigned to any one particular woods, like Keeper Gore or Keeper Thunberg. I was tasked with going about the realm and helping villages and villagers, checking in on the woods and the Keepers, healing the land and its creatures. I was thrust into this because no word from Keeper Gore or Thunberg had come from them in sometime. I was sent to check on them and now here I am.
Sam’s intent is to watch this Morris and the demon and the squirrel. He didn’t trust this business one bit and wanted to see what they were up to. Inevitably, however, Sam’s focus is drawn to the story instead.
“Shoulda given ‘‘em all a good pounding,” Sam all but whispers as Muir tells of being shunned. Sam knew a little something of that sort of thing, seems he and Muir had different ideas on how best to handle them though. Go figure.
Sam watches Muir as he finishes the story and Sam gives his fellow a nod when their eyes meet. Not exactly an applause kind of story but it did deserve recognition at least…
"see, that didn't hurt a bit eh! AHH from humble beginnings and small acorns and all that" Morris smiles excited, "now Thunberg, that's an odd one, her story came to me the moment she died, horrible but honourable end truly, but then there was more space, more story to be told, tell me, she's not undead is she?"
Xazgan turns, and from the other end of the tavern on her own she scowls at the barkeep.
"So who's next?" Morris asks, pushing Sam's drink forward to Muir and nodding his head toward the half orc with a wink.
Muir nods at Morris and grabs the drink "Thunberg is not undead but her spirit lives on as a protector of Hokum. I did not have a chance to really sit and chat with her with all the things that were happening in Hokum but she is not undead."Muir brings Sam the drink
As soon as the liquid touches her lips, she closes her eyes. Letting the cool liquid pass over her lips slowly... enjoying every molecule as it warms in her mouth and runs down the back of her throat. Elthana takes her time and finishes her drink before saying a word, or even opening her eyes. When complete, she sets the cup down and sighs.
"This is the exact drink that Jah gave me when I first finished basic training to be a monk." A smile hints on her lips as she continues, "He was particularly merciless, I'm sure you all can imagine. Hated him at the time, but soon tried to become more like him. He beat us pretty good whenever we made the slightest mistake." She chuckles, "Honestly that is probably what brought my team a bit closer together, our hatred of him and how he treated us. I never deeply knew my team, but we shared this hatred, which I know how twisted that sounds, but it was something as well as our training. We had to trust one another or we wouldn't live to see the next day as we went out on our missions." She traces the rim of the cup as she remembers, "I wonder what they are up to now. Most are still around last I knew, we had lost a few during our time together." she shrugs.
Morris smiles as Elthana gives her story, "the smallest thing can bring people together, Hate... Hope... It is the motivation to become a better version of ourselves that drives us forward, that moves mountains and destroys empires. Jenna, Tygren, Loest. Those who you lost during your missions, their stories told of the trust you speak of, but more than that, a respect for your motivation, an adoration for your strength, something that they were fated to never attain... I'm sorry for the losses you suffered. Elthana." The last word 'Elthana' trickles off Morris' tongue like an alien concept to him, but he smiles and looks over to the rest of the party, "Gewyn, Vin? What about you Sam? You've not touched your drink? It is already given, story or not the drink is yours."
Sam takes the drink and lifts it a bit up as a sign of acknowledgement to Morris. Sam gives the drink a look over then pulls it in close to give it a sniff but then sets the glass down besides him.
"She's not exactly alive, not exactly dead. Isn't that whole middle ground undead?" Sam asks, curiously but not argumentatively.
"It's similar with workers," Sam says in response to Elthana's story. "Bonding through hatred. Of bosses. Sometimes real, sometimes more just 'cause you gots to be complaining about someone..." Though he spoke, Sam doesn't launch into a story at all. He does pay attention to Morris though (Perception roll a Nat 1...) but Sam doesn't notice his odd hiccup over Elthana's name...
"Mmmm, that's really interesting. I like what you've done with the concept on that drink,"Gewyn says, wiping a bit of froth from his lip. "It's called the Sunrise Gambit. It's a trade secret. It's just water that's been magicked a bit to give it some flavour and the appearance of being alcoholic. I never buy my own drinks, almost out of principle. There's always someone ese willing to buy for Gewyn the Melodic. But sometimes a musician needs to keep sharp for a performance while maintaining their image as the life of the party. Plus, whatever chump is paying shells out a heap of money for what he thinks is a classy beverage. The bartender keeps half and sets aside the other half for the musician at the end of the night. Every bartender who can pull this trick off has their own spin on the flavour, but I can honestly say I've never had a coffee-flavoured Gambit topped with actual frothed milk."
Gewyn shifts in his seat. "So I've got a story for you. Have any of you ever heard the one about the Liar? It's not one that gets told much. It goes like this...
There once was a boy born into a house of lies. A house where men exchange coin for lies of love and intimacy. The women there who would lie with these men raised the boy as their own, though none would claim to be his actual mother. She was likely long gone, pretending it had never happened, for like her son, she was a liar. So at least you know he came by it honestly.
For several years, they raised him. But he was pale. Thin. As he departed toddlerhood, it became apparent that he was not normal. He didn't look like a true child should. Feelings of obligation turned to revulsion, and the boy soon found himself living on the streets. This is where he truly started to learn how to lie. Lie to eat, lie to sleep in a warm bed, lie to survive, lie to escape. He started to lie about more and more. With his lies, he would spin a yarn and fashion that yarn into a new look. He would wear lies where his face should be. He would shape lies into new names for himself.
Then one day he discovered that he could sell lies in the shape of stories, and people would love him for it. He could have it all. This lonely, poor, street kid could have food, drink, a warm place to lay his head, and all the love and adoration he could desire. All he had to do was commit to living in the lie. So he fashioned for himself the perfect home, laying lies instead of bricks, and there he lived, loved by all.
But there is one problem with a house built with lies. No one can come in, and he can't get out, because the door is a lie. The people line up outside, asking to come in. The apprentice, the grape-picker, the noble's daughter, the tailor, the dancer, the magician... and many more. And all he can do is lie and say, 'I'll be right there.' Because if he removes just one lie, the whole house will collapse and bury him under its weight. Some say he lives there to this day"
Morris strokes his beard, "true and yours, the requirements met, and the embellishments minimal. You were honest with yourself Gewyn, something that takes courage and practice. The drink you are drinking, it is what the magic is originally based off, you are drinking the original recipe of the illusion you know, the tongue is an avid liar, but useless at discerning, the ears are the opposite eh? You just need the right tool for the right job."
Morris gives a glance to Sam before continuing, "I could definitely dip into the library and tell you a story of old Sam. My own story is less than impressive and so I give to you someone else's
This is the story of a boy with two names...
Long ago there was a human boy, Alfred, born in a small village to the south. The village was newly founded, the villagers in an unknown place were afraid and that fear turned to superstition, the baby boy was the first to be born there, so the villagers looked to the baby as an omen, an indicator of things to come, whether they were to suffer or prosper. With every laugh and moment of patience and grace shown by the boy the villagers sighed with relief and nodded, but when the baby fussed and lashed out, showing the cruelty common to a child's mind, the villagers shook their heads, sighing and tutting. As the boy grew a strange thing happened, for when he acted in ways that the people considered good and kind and blessed, his parents called him Al, but when he was cruel, or contrary or quarrelsome, he was called Fred. Soon, and without realising it, the villagers started doing the same, "did you hear that Al had helped farmer Locke bring in the harvest" or "I heard that Fred stole all the wine from the shrines and drank himself stupid". Day by day, year by year, the boy grew to be a man, and still when he was good he was Al, and when he was bad he was Fred. Can you imagine? Can you comprehend what that does to a person? Never knowing who he truly was? If deep down he was actually Al or deep down he was Fred..."
Griff from the sofa where he is curled up, tired once more finishes his drink and puts the empty glasses of his on the table in front of him, he slurs his words slightly as he speaks up "I am having story but I am not telling if Sam is also not telling, this is strangest thing in your realm by large gap! Hah!"
It is said softly.Thoughtfully.All but to himself.
“Four years it never come off.Not at the forge.Not washing up.Not once…”
“Damn thing didn’t really fit,” Sam adds after a moment, a bit of a chuckle in his voice.“Too small really, not sure I could have gotten it off.Didn’t matter though.Even when I thought perhaps it was going to take my finger I still wasn’t going to try…”
“I never told Molly, of course.She’d have insisted, wouldn’t she of?As it was she was always on about how she was going to buy me a nicer one eventually.Gold, maybe platinum, she’d say.‘Once I save enough in tips’ she’d say, as if we didn’t need every copper just to get by…. But she liked to dream, my Molly.I liked her to as well, ya know?”
“Wasn’t no gold replacement ever gunna get that ring off my finger anyhow.Likely as not she knew it too…. But dreams can be… I don’t know, what’s the word?” Sam scrunches up his face digging through his thoughts to figure out just what he is trying to say but eventually gives up with a shrug.“Point is, they’re good to have even when you know that’s all they are, right?Dreams?”
Sam looks away from everyone for a minute, just thinking.It’s clear as can be on his face that he’s not really sitting on the tavern steps anymore but rather lost somewhere, sometime else.
“Four years it never come off.Then the one day Molly is patching me up…. She’d bandaged a couple of wounds already.Sewed up the cut over my eye.Did it good too, ya can barely even see the scar, can ya?” Sam kind of leans forward to show off his face while he points to the faint scar. “It was after she patched me all up.She then got a fresh bucket of water and was cleaning me up.Nice and gently ‘cause I was sore and damaged…. It was as she washed the blood from my hands….”
“I didn’t know myself.I’d had looked for it.Wouldn’t have left without it.Whatever came of it, I wouldn’t have left without it, right?”
“She didn’t say nothing.Not a thing.Barely even paused really.Just the barest of one.A quick glance up to my eyes.A flash of a smile.Then back to washing the blood off my hands.”
“By the gods, it was that smile the killed me.Just done me right in.Fell in love with her all over again when she flashed me that smile.A heart breaking, gut wrenching, sick in my soul love.‘Cause I knew it broke her heart, aye?But I also knew that she loved me just the same for it anyway…How can that not tear at you?Shit, it’s almost worse isn’t it??”
It’s rhetorical but Sam looks around at everyone for a moment anyway, then his eyes go down to his hands where he’s making as if twisting a ring on his left… A ring that isn’t there.
Time passes.Who is to say how much.Silence fills the room and nobody particularly rushes to break it.Nobody is quite sure if Sam is done with his story or not.
He’s not.
“Four years it never came off.One night…. Night of the Heir’s Apparent*….” Sam shrugs.
“It was gone.Just gone.Couldn’t guess at which stop that night it happened at.Couldn’t go back and ask.Four years it never came off and then after that one night I ain’t never seen it again.Not for nine years…. At that point I hadn’t had it longer than I ever did.Funny, huh?But we were happy…. It didn’t matter.Not one bit…”
“Not until that night…. That night when…”
Sam sighs and looks away.
His expression goes this way and then that.
He takes a large breath and holds it in.Tries to hold it all in.
“At the memorial for the Block Fire*,*” Sam says slowly, very controlled.“Just about the same spot as her aunt was found nine years earlier…”
“It was too big for her…. Funny, huh?Too small for me, too big for her…. Probably would have fallen off when they moved her but it was stuck around her own ring…” Sam sniffs but struggles to do no more than that.It is obvious the tears want to come but Sam refuses.He looks up to the rafters rather than let them fall, as if they can be reabsorbed back into his eyeballs…
“Yeah so,” Sam eventually says again, with a big sigh.His eyes are red and he has to sniff the snot back up his nose a bunch, but he doesn’t allow a tear to fall.
“Four years it never come off.Then nine years it was missing…” Sam snorts a bit of a laugh out.“Funny, it’s nine years now that I have had it again.Never wore it again, of course but I have it…. Never intend to lose it again….”
There is another long silence then as Sam more or less gathers himself together.
“You though,” Sam says suddenly, breaking the silence and pointing at Morris.“You get to say nothing about it at all ‘less you’re going to be giving me the name.‘Cause that is all that really matters at this point…. So tell me the name or keep your mouth shut about it all.”
That said, Sam grabs the glass and down the cold, crystal clear liquid in a couple of gulps before setting the glass down absently next to him once more.
((The Block Fire and the Night of the Heir’s Apparent are significant events in the Worker’s Movement but also events that Marblestead at large is likely aware of…. I’ll post the details if/when DM gives me the go ahead.But I’ll wait for that in case he want’s to keep it behind a history check or some such… Of course one could always ask Sam about either IC but, for the evening at least, I suspect Sam has said all he wishes to say on the matter.))
Morris raises a brow, "the name will not get you far, for I have the story of the person who took away your Molly, but I am sorry for your loss"
At this Xazgan the demon woman jumps up and tells at Morris, "Can't help but meddle in other people's Shit can you old man! He said don't talk!
I've got a story for you, how about the one where an ******* kidnaps me from hell just as I was about to be promoted! Spouting some nonsense about preventing me from being killed again! How about you mind your damned business, before the business bites back." Getting more loud and irate, Xazgan grabs a barstool and lifts it above her head ready to throw it across the room at Morris.
Before she can manage the throw, a gem set into the iron mask that Xazgan is wearing lights up and the demon freezes mid outrage. The barstool slips from her statuesque form and the weight displacement causes her to topple over, laying supine on the floor still in the exact same pose.
Griff laughs out loud from his sleepy sofa, and the laugh is echoed by a squeaking from the decorated rafters. "Old man, please be telling us, why are you keeping angry red lady in this place?, I was promising a story if Sam was telling his and he has done this. but please, I am interested in why angry red lady is here. "
Morris gives Griff a nod of acceptance, before Griff begins telling his story. "Long time ago when I was being just a young bird, before I was joining ranks in Thaeir guard, my friends and I used to play on the side of Akiin's land, is not a prosperous area like where I was living, but it was being fun for play where adults cannot be seeing, my friends and I would be playing dare, see who could fly out into vapor stream with bowl and collect enough water to be making phantom shots. It was fun, but plenty dangerous for younglings who could not change their perception of up properly, no? My friend Flit, she was beautiful, daring, and always fun, a genasi without wings... she went out, hovering above side of land, reaching out to the vapor stream but she was over shooting, she caught her head in the stream, it disorientate her and she not realise which way was down any more, by the time she was realising, she was too far out to land safely, but she tried anyway. We were calling to her and she was realising which way she should fall. We were seeing that it was too far and trying to catch her, but gravity is cruel... She landed on us and her body was twisted, she did not even scream, just land and silent... Silent until we start screaming instead, we were having broken bones but she was just dead" Griff lowers his head, "we carried her body, or what we could carry back to our town, her parents were horrified, I cannot stop remembering the looks on their faces. When questioned we could not tell, could not bring ourselves to be telling what happened. But on same day, there was attack from kobold cultists. In the end Flit's death was being blamed on the kobolds, and only my friends and I were knowing the truth. Gravity is cruel..." Griff picks up his empty glass and takes it in over to the bar, "so be telling us what is red lady's story? Why are you having her here?"
"I have the story of every soul that has lived" Morris states very matter of fact, "you answered your own question there in asking it... The example you gave was of how you and Elthana met, yes. Your version of that story is yours, she may tell it differently because it is hers, and both are truthful because they belong independently to you both, but I also mention truth to keep exaggeration and blatant lies out of the mix. You know, embellishments" quick glance to Gewyn, "and I don't do anything with them, I cannot 'take' any story that you tell here and now, I merely wish to hear them from you, whilst you still live. The time will come that I will collect your complete story when you've finished it, yes?"
"Sure," Sam says with a shrug. "Huh? Wait, no... How can you get a story from me when I'm dead. Makes no sense..." Sam's face screws up a bit as he mentally chews on what he was told but eventually his eyes get that glassy look they had last night when he was craptastically inebriated. He takes a could steps forward and then sits down on the step and just waves it all away.
"Whatever. They can chat your ear off if they want. I'll just wait til they're ready to head back to camp..."
Elthana takes hold of the vessel in front of her, finding it interesting that hers in unlike the others and can't see what the liquid looks like inside and tries swirling it around a bit to see if she can see anything about it.
As she does, she listens to the others, the fact that Sam brings up them meeting as the first story that comes to his mind... brings a feeling she is not used to. Unsure if she even welcomes it, but it is almost warm? That doesn't make sense, how can a feeling be warm? As she considers this, she almost misses the part that this Morris man.. "Wait.. what do you mean you collect our stories once we are dead? Who exactly are you?"
"is this crystal from Thaeir!?" Griff calls out as he notices the drink Elthana brought him, "oh my, this is being a phantom shot, how are you making this? I have not been having in long time!" Griff guzzles his drink greedily, at about half way the smaller crystal glass tips up from the bottom and gills the empty space in the glass with the thich gas, which gruff inhales before finishing, he seems quite refreshed once he is done.
"Yes, yes it is" Morris replies, "I have a talent for making a great many things because of my access to the stories gone by, and I think you two know the answers to your own question there, as I said I'm an aspect of something larger, but there's no need to be afraid."
Elthana watches Griff take pleasure in the drink from his home, then shrugging, she lifts up her glass says, “Bottoms up” And drinks hers as well.
Muir looks at the cup and remembers fondly of his guardian Maathai "I will go first if no one else wishes to go.....I can speak of Maathai the one who used to make me this very drink when I was younger"
“By all means,” Sam says with a grumble and a wave of his hand to indicate the floor is all Muir’s. Metaphorically at least, Sam is sitting on a step just inside the door and has his legs stretched out. “If they’re to be believed, we have all night and then some before time passes where we came from..,”
Gewyn follows suit with Elthana, tipping his curious drink into his mouth, not sure what kind of flavour to anticipate. Then he leans forward, curious to hear a little bit of the past of his loxodon companion who certainly had his share of mystique.
Muir takes a sip of his favorite childhood drink "I never thought I'd take a sip of this again. Maathai would make this for me when I was a child. It was made from pineapple and these little berries in the Chattel Woods called wumpa berries. Maathai was as close to what you would call a mother to me. She did not birth me. I have no recollection of my parents, what they looked like, or why they left me to die in the Chattel Woods. Maathai used to say that they left me because they thought I was cursed. I suppose there are not many like me walking about these lands, or at least I have not met any. Maathai found me in the Chattel Woods and raised me as her own. She was older, never married or had children of her own. The local villagers thought she was eccentric living in the woods and communing with nature all without being a druidess. She came to town often as a healer and to trade with the locals. They treated her with respect but not me. Granted they did not mistreat me because of the respect they had for Maathai, but they did not go out of there way to be nice either. I never had friends, went to school, or even played with other children because of.....my appearance. The story that my parents left me because I was cursed grew credence as I got older and was treated the way I was as a child. Unfortunately for me Maathai being older died when I was on the cusp of becoming a teen. I thought I could continue with her lifestyle, going into town to heal and trade but without her, the villagers shunned me and chased me away. I ran into the Chattel Woods. I ran and ran until I was far away from the town, but I lost my bearings and just.....cried. I don't remember how many days passed after Maathai's death that I wondered the woods, eating berries and things to survive, but eventually I was found again. The second part of my life began with Goodall finding me. She said she knew Maathai and had been following me for a decade or so. I couldn't understand how I never saw her and that's when she changed into this little bright yellow bird, a finch. Crazy this whole time I knew Goodall but did not know Goodall. I would feed the birds and tend to the animals of the woods like Maathai taught me but I never wondered about the yellow bird that would just sit and watch. Anyway Goodall raised me as a druid, a Keeper of the Woods. I was not assigned to any one particular woods, like Keeper Gore or Keeper Thunberg. I was tasked with going about the realm and helping villages and villagers, checking in on the woods and the Keepers, healing the land and its creatures. I was thrust into this because no word from Keeper Gore or Thunberg had come from them in sometime. I was sent to check on them and now here I am.
Sam’s intent is to watch this Morris and the demon and the squirrel. He didn’t trust this business one bit and wanted to see what they were up to. Inevitably, however, Sam’s focus is drawn to the story instead.
“Shoulda given ‘‘em all a good pounding,” Sam all but whispers as Muir tells of being shunned. Sam knew a little something of that sort of thing, seems he and Muir had different ideas on how best to handle them though. Go figure.
Sam watches Muir as he finishes the story and Sam gives his fellow a nod when their eyes meet. Not exactly an applause kind of story but it did deserve recognition at least…
"see, that didn't hurt a bit eh! AHH from humble beginnings and small acorns and all that" Morris smiles excited, "now Thunberg, that's an odd one, her story came to me the moment she died, horrible but honourable end truly, but then there was more space, more story to be told, tell me, she's not undead is she?"
Xazgan turns, and from the other end of the tavern on her own she scowls at the barkeep.
"So who's next?" Morris asks, pushing Sam's drink forward to Muir and nodding his head toward the half orc with a wink.
Muir nods at Morris and grabs the drink "Thunberg is not undead but her spirit lives on as a protector of Hokum. I did not have a chance to really sit and chat with her with all the things that were happening in Hokum but she is not undead." Muir brings Sam the drink
As soon as the liquid touches her lips, she closes her eyes. Letting the cool liquid pass over her lips slowly... enjoying every molecule as it warms in her mouth and runs down the back of her throat. Elthana takes her time and finishes her drink before saying a word, or even opening her eyes. When complete, she sets the cup down and sighs.
"This is the exact drink that Jah gave me when I first finished basic training to be a monk." A smile hints on her lips as she continues, "He was particularly merciless, I'm sure you all can imagine. Hated him at the time, but soon tried to become more like him. He beat us pretty good whenever we made the slightest mistake." She chuckles, "Honestly that is probably what brought my team a bit closer together, our hatred of him and how he treated us. I never deeply knew my team, but we shared this hatred, which I know how twisted that sounds, but it was something as well as our training. We had to trust one another or we wouldn't live to see the next day as we went out on our missions." She traces the rim of the cup as she remembers, "I wonder what they are up to now. Most are still around last I knew, we had lost a few during our time together." she shrugs.
Morris smiles as Elthana gives her story, "the smallest thing can bring people together, Hate... Hope... It is the motivation to become a better version of ourselves that drives us forward, that moves mountains and destroys empires. Jenna, Tygren, Loest. Those who you lost during your missions, their stories told of the trust you speak of, but more than that, a respect for your motivation, an adoration for your strength, something that they were fated to never attain... I'm sorry for the losses you suffered. Elthana." The last word 'Elthana' trickles off Morris' tongue like an alien concept to him, but he smiles and looks over to the rest of the party, "Gewyn, Vin? What about you Sam? You've not touched your drink? It is already given, story or not the drink is yours."
Sam takes the drink and lifts it a bit up as a sign of acknowledgement to Morris. Sam gives the drink a look over then pulls it in close to give it a sniff but then sets the glass down besides him.
"She's not exactly alive, not exactly dead. Isn't that whole middle ground undead?" Sam asks, curiously but not argumentatively.
"It's similar with workers," Sam says in response to Elthana's story. "Bonding through hatred. Of bosses. Sometimes real, sometimes more just 'cause you gots to be complaining about someone..." Though he spoke, Sam doesn't launch into a story at all. He does pay attention to Morris though (Perception roll a Nat 1...) but Sam doesn't notice his odd hiccup over Elthana's name...
"You going to tell us a story, Morris?"
"Mmmm, that's really interesting. I like what you've done with the concept on that drink," Gewyn says, wiping a bit of froth from his lip. "It's called the Sunrise Gambit. It's a trade secret. It's just water that's been magicked a bit to give it some flavour and the appearance of being alcoholic. I never buy my own drinks, almost out of principle. There's always someone ese willing to buy for Gewyn the Melodic. But sometimes a musician needs to keep sharp for a performance while maintaining their image as the life of the party. Plus, whatever chump is paying shells out a heap of money for what he thinks is a classy beverage. The bartender keeps half and sets aside the other half for the musician at the end of the night. Every bartender who can pull this trick off has their own spin on the flavour, but I can honestly say I've never had a coffee-flavoured Gambit topped with actual frothed milk."
Gewyn shifts in his seat. "So I've got a story for you. Have any of you ever heard the one about the Liar? It's not one that gets told much. It goes like this...
There once was a boy born into a house of lies. A house where men exchange coin for lies of love and intimacy. The women there who would lie with these men raised the boy as their own, though none would claim to be his actual mother. She was likely long gone, pretending it had never happened, for like her son, she was a liar. So at least you know he came by it honestly.
For several years, they raised him. But he was pale. Thin. As he departed toddlerhood, it became apparent that he was not normal. He didn't look like a true child should. Feelings of obligation turned to revulsion, and the boy soon found himself living on the streets. This is where he truly started to learn how to lie. Lie to eat, lie to sleep in a warm bed, lie to survive, lie to escape. He started to lie about more and more. With his lies, he would spin a yarn and fashion that yarn into a new look. He would wear lies where his face should be. He would shape lies into new names for himself.
Then one day he discovered that he could sell lies in the shape of stories, and people would love him for it. He could have it all. This lonely, poor, street kid could have food, drink, a warm place to lay his head, and all the love and adoration he could desire. All he had to do was commit to living in the lie. So he fashioned for himself the perfect home, laying lies instead of bricks, and there he lived, loved by all.
But there is one problem with a house built with lies. No one can come in, and he can't get out, because the door is a lie. The people line up outside, asking to come in. The apprentice, the grape-picker, the noble's daughter, the tailor, the dancer, the magician... and many more. And all he can do is lie and say, 'I'll be right there.' Because if he removes just one lie, the whole house will collapse and bury him under its weight. Some say he lives there to this day"
Morris strokes his beard, "true and yours, the requirements met, and the embellishments minimal. You were honest with yourself Gewyn, something that takes courage and practice. The drink you are drinking, it is what the magic is originally based off, you are drinking the original recipe of the illusion you know, the tongue is an avid liar, but useless at discerning, the ears are the opposite eh? You just need the right tool for the right job."
Morris gives a glance to Sam before continuing, "I could definitely dip into the library and tell you a story of old Sam. My own story is less than impressive and so I give to you someone else's
This is the story of a boy with two names...
Long ago there was a human boy, Alfred, born in a small village to the south. The village was newly founded, the villagers in an unknown place were afraid and that fear turned to superstition, the baby boy was the first to be born there, so the villagers looked to the baby as an omen, an indicator of things to come, whether they were to suffer or prosper. With every laugh and moment of patience and grace shown by the boy the villagers sighed with relief and nodded, but when the baby fussed and lashed out, showing the cruelty common to a child's mind, the villagers shook their heads, sighing and tutting. As the boy grew a strange thing happened, for when he acted in ways that the people considered good and kind and blessed, his parents called him Al, but when he was cruel, or contrary or quarrelsome, he was called Fred. Soon, and without realising it, the villagers started doing the same, "did you hear that Al had helped farmer Locke bring in the harvest" or "I heard that Fred stole all the wine from the shrines and drank himself stupid". Day by day, year by year, the boy grew to be a man, and still when he was good he was Al, and when he was bad he was Fred. Can you imagine? Can you comprehend what that does to a person? Never knowing who he truly was? If deep down he was actually Al or deep down he was Fred..."
Griff from the sofa where he is curled up, tired once more finishes his drink and puts the empty glasses of his on the table in front of him, he slurs his words slightly as he speaks up "I am having story but I am not telling if Sam is also not telling, this is strangest thing in your realm by large gap! Hah!"
“I lost the ring…”
It is said softly. Thoughtfully. All but to himself.
“Four years it never come off. Not at the forge. Not washing up. Not once…”
“Damn thing didn’t really fit,” Sam adds after a moment, a bit of a chuckle in his voice. “Too small really, not sure I could have gotten it off. Didn’t matter though. Even when I thought perhaps it was going to take my finger I still wasn’t going to try…”
“I never told Molly, of course. She’d have insisted, wouldn’t she of? As it was she was always on about how she was going to buy me a nicer one eventually. Gold, maybe platinum, she’d say. ‘Once I save enough in tips’ she’d say, as if we didn’t need every copper just to get by…. But she liked to dream, my Molly. I liked her to as well, ya know?”
“Wasn’t no gold replacement ever gunna get that ring off my finger anyhow. Likely as not she knew it too…. But dreams can be… I don’t know, what’s the word?” Sam scrunches up his face digging through his thoughts to figure out just what he is trying to say but eventually gives up with a shrug. “Point is, they’re good to have even when you know that’s all they are, right? Dreams?”
Sam looks away from everyone for a minute, just thinking. It’s clear as can be on his face that he’s not really sitting on the tavern steps anymore but rather lost somewhere, sometime else.
“Four years it never come off. Then the one day Molly is patching me up…. She’d bandaged a couple of wounds already. Sewed up the cut over my eye. Did it good too, ya can barely even see the scar, can ya?” Sam kind of leans forward to show off his face while he points to the faint scar. “It was after she patched me all up. She then got a fresh bucket of water and was cleaning me up. Nice and gently ‘cause I was sore and damaged…. It was as she washed the blood from my hands….”
“I didn’t know myself. I’d had looked for it. Wouldn’t have left without it. Whatever came of it, I wouldn’t have left without it, right?”
“She didn’t say nothing. Not a thing. Barely even paused really. Just the barest of one. A quick glance up to my eyes. A flash of a smile. Then back to washing the blood off my hands.”
“By the gods, it was that smile the killed me. Just done me right in. Fell in love with her all over again when she flashed me that smile. A heart breaking, gut wrenching, sick in my soul love. ‘Cause I knew it broke her heart, aye? But I also knew that she loved me just the same for it anyway…How can that not tear at you? Shit, it’s almost worse isn’t it??”
It’s rhetorical but Sam looks around at everyone for a moment anyway, then his eyes go down to his hands where he’s making as if twisting a ring on his left… A ring that isn’t there.
Time passes. Who is to say how much. Silence fills the room and nobody particularly rushes to break it. Nobody is quite sure if Sam is done with his story or not.
He’s not.
“Four years it never came off. One night…. Night of the Heir’s Apparent*….” Sam shrugs.
“It was gone. Just gone. Couldn’t guess at which stop that night it happened at. Couldn’t go back and ask. Four years it never came off and then after that one night I ain’t never seen it again. Not for nine years…. At that point I hadn’t had it longer than I ever did. Funny, huh? But we were happy…. It didn’t matter. Not one bit…”
“Not until that night…. That night when…”
Sam sighs and looks away.
His expression goes this way and then that.
He takes a large breath and holds it in. Tries to hold it all in.
“At the memorial for the Block Fire*,*” Sam says slowly, very controlled. “Just about the same spot as her aunt was found nine years earlier…”
“It was too big for her…. Funny, huh? Too small for me, too big for her…. Probably would have fallen off when they moved her but it was stuck around her own ring…” Sam sniffs but struggles to do no more than that. It is obvious the tears want to come but Sam refuses. He looks up to the rafters rather than let them fall, as if they can be reabsorbed back into his eyeballs…
“Yeah so,” Sam eventually says again, with a big sigh. His eyes are red and he has to sniff the snot back up his nose a bunch, but he doesn’t allow a tear to fall.
“Four years it never come off. Then nine years it was missing…” Sam snorts a bit of a laugh out. “Funny, it’s nine years now that I have had it again. Never wore it again, of course but I have it…. Never intend to lose it again….”
There is another long silence then as Sam more or less gathers himself together.
“You though,” Sam says suddenly, breaking the silence and pointing at Morris. “You get to say nothing about it at all ‘less you’re going to be giving me the name. ‘Cause that is all that really matters at this point…. So tell me the name or keep your mouth shut about it all.”
That said, Sam grabs the glass and down the cold, crystal clear liquid in a couple of gulps before setting the glass down absently next to him once more.
((The Block Fire and the Night of the Heir’s Apparent are significant events in the Worker’s Movement but also events that Marblestead at large is likely aware of…. I’ll post the details if/when DM gives me the go ahead. But I’ll wait for that in case he want’s to keep it behind a history check or some such… Of course one could always ask Sam about either IC but, for the evening at least, I suspect Sam has said all he wishes to say on the matter.))
Morris raises a brow, "the name will not get you far, for I have the story of the person who took away your Molly, but I am sorry for your loss"
At this Xazgan the demon woman jumps up and tells at Morris, "Can't help but meddle in other people's Shit can you old man! He said don't talk!
I've got a story for you, how about the one where an ******* kidnaps me from hell just as I was about to be promoted! Spouting some nonsense about preventing me from being killed again! How about you mind your damned business, before the business bites back." Getting more loud and irate, Xazgan grabs a barstool and lifts it above her head ready to throw it across the room at Morris.
Before she can manage the throw, a gem set into the iron mask that Xazgan is wearing lights up and the demon freezes mid outrage. The barstool slips from her statuesque form and the weight displacement causes her to topple over, laying supine on the floor still in the exact same pose.
Griff laughs out loud from his sleepy sofa, and the laugh is echoed by a squeaking from the decorated rafters. "Old man, please be telling us, why are you keeping angry red lady in this place?, I was promising a story if Sam was telling his and he has done this. but please, I am interested in why angry red lady is here. "
Morris gives Griff a nod of acceptance, before Griff begins telling his story. "Long time ago when I was being just a young bird, before I was joining ranks in Thaeir guard, my friends and I used to play on the side of Akiin's land, is not a prosperous area like where I was living, but it was being fun for play where adults cannot be seeing, my friends and I would be playing dare, see who could fly out into vapor stream with bowl and collect enough water to be making phantom shots. It was fun, but plenty dangerous for younglings who could not change their perception of up properly, no? My friend Flit, she was beautiful, daring, and always fun, a genasi without wings... she went out, hovering above side of land, reaching out to the vapor stream but she was over shooting, she caught her head in the stream, it disorientate her and she not realise which way was down any more, by the time she was realising, she was too far out to land safely, but she tried anyway. We were calling to her and she was realising which way she should fall. We were seeing that it was too far and trying to catch her, but gravity is cruel... She landed on us and her body was twisted, she did not even scream, just land and silent... Silent until we start screaming instead, we were having broken bones but she was just dead" Griff lowers his head, "we carried her body, or what we could carry back to our town, her parents were horrified, I cannot stop remembering the looks on their faces. When questioned we could not tell, could not bring ourselves to be telling what happened. But on same day, there was attack from kobold cultists. In the end Flit's death was being blamed on the kobolds, and only my friends and I were knowing the truth. Gravity is cruel..." Griff picks up his empty glass and takes it in over to the bar, "so be telling us what is red lady's story? Why are you having her here?"
Muir at hearing their stories, a tear forms as he sips his drink hearing the hardships everyone has faced