The village of Birnasi was an unusual one, built on the ruins of the elven clanhold of the Birch Tanasi.  Some nine hundred and sixty years ago, a human woman named Jerica Ograbeish (legend spoke of her killing three ogres singlehandedly, undoubtedly one of those stories which became more dramatic in the re-tellings) had loved an elf of the Birch Tanasi.  When orcs had laid waste to the clanhold, Jerica had led an army of mercenaries to fight the orcs.  Today, the village stood as a rather unusual place set about a park of carefully tended birch trees, though the stumps of damaged birch remained as a reminder of the past--a community made up almost entirely of half-elves, most of them wrong-side, living in a peculiar blend of elven and human ways.  There had been talk of a sword competition in honor of Tuoro being organized in Birnasi.

Birnasi was the last village in a string of villages and hamlets before the caravan route turned into the foothills, a half-way point between the extent of the far-flung ends of the mines and the port city of Barrowmar.  The village had been formed by the road splitting around the park, curving to create a large oval area as the road came back together to continue on toward the foothills.  On the northern arc was a large inn.  The inn, and all of the houses, were cheerfully whitewashed and adorned with brightly painted red shutters.

  The cloaked figure stopped at a vantage point and looked over the village until he spotted the inn at the north side with its red painted shutters. Jex pulled back his hood and took in a deep breath, let it out, and smiled. It was good to be back near some semblance of elvish culture, even if a human influence could still be felt. Leave it to the half-breeds to find a way to keep the two in harmony, he thought with a mix of fierce pride and mild disdain. Necessity is motivation. His green eyes and upswept ears were enough to bespeak his heritage, just as the orange stitching on his quiver and the auburn fletching of its arrows revealed his clan.

  Jex'Kannon slid the hood back over his head and meandered towards the inn. He took in the whitewashed buildings and cheerful colors hoping his stomach wasn't growling loud enough to attract unwanted attention. Rations did the trick but couldn't compare to even the barest cupboard of an inn's kitchen, and he'd looked forward to getting here from the moment he'd decided to make the trip.

  Perhaps it's a day of luck and they've stashed some good wine, he wondered. Perhaps they've even got a game going with an empty chair...
This message was last edited by the player at 16:13, Thu 12 Dec 2019.

A Half-Elven village... such a thing is quaint enough to even draw in the most odd of ducks.  While others may be trying to avoid the eyes of others, Jensen holds no such illusion.   He's used to being the center of attention... disdain, whatever.   Whether it be his odd clothes, manners, or just being a half blade-ear, all of it had long since clad him with carrying either the 'Odd' ball, or the scarlet letter.   Whichever it was very much depends on the beholder (or beerholder, provided the Inn).

The man sauntered easily along the main road to town, lute strapped on his back, and blade sheathed at his side.   He quipped, mostly to himself, "And now t'see if that Competition truly will happen.   Maybe you'll get that muse back yet, Ol' Son..."   His deep voice echoed quietly in the empty air, although the self-reflective comment draws another smirk out of the half breed.

It surely looked to be a good few weeks.   If nothing else, he could scrape travelling money together from the Inn, and shove off to the next destination.    Provided he could keep his intake from cutting too deeply into the profits.  Singing always was thirsty work.
This message was lightly edited by the player at 10:42, Thu 12 Dec 2019.

For one Annya na'Veila, said village and inn were a waypoint betwixt the sacred grove where she'd previously sojourned, and the one to which she was en route.

Birnasi was a most unique settlement.. one she would have wished to visit, even had it not lay directly within her path of travel.     Its legacy was one of tragedy, redemption, and love.    The latter, where it occurred between elf and human, was a delicate thing --  perched precariously as it was on the border of two very different worlds.   Yet this love had endured, giving birth to something profound.

At a table along the inn's eastern wall, she sat and sipped reflectively at a glass of wine --  an oaked white that she found to be a particularly good vintage.   And, of Autumn's sept as she was, she did have a bit of know where it came to wine.

Gazing out the window next her, she observed the distant approach of a pair of travelers.  On roughly similar timing, from different directions.   She smiled slightly.  Were intersections in nature and life not often so-?     She too was in the path...merely having arrived earlier.  Something spoke to her that she was where she should be.

A human likely would have written it off as the wine.    But an elvish priestess did not.
This message was last edited by the player at 21:02, Thu 12 Dec 2019.

She was grateful for Captain Myferd for dropping her of so close to the Inn. This was after all a port of call for the Waverunner, but carrying her on his horse as he attended to an errand for Duccay Ulrich was kind of him. It meant she would not have to march the whole way to the inn from the Waverunner on her own two legs, and a child being dropped off near an inn was commonplace enough to not be marked for comment. There had been a tug towards this establishment     , even before she had mounted up, like a magnet to a filing.

Was she the magnet, or the filing?

No matter.

It was a cool night, with a bit more of the bight of late autumn’s chill in the air this eve, and the idea of finding warmth   by a fire, and perchance a bit of wine was pleasing enough. It was information she truly needed, and the only gossipmonger she knew of might not be in the inn this night, but he was the best bet for work to be found in these parts, and if she was going to be saving  silver, then she’d need work.

Only a dozen good strides now, give or take.

She was coming at the inn from the rear, not from the road, although she had gotten a look at it well enough from practically atop the saddlebow. There was a line of yellow slipper orchids, enough to think them planted there, paraded all along the circuit, and she’d not be surprised to find them beyond too. Here and there a bit of dogwood, and azah’amin — with thorns as big as boot knives — could be found here and there standing among the Birch, which was a good sign.

She opened the door to the stables and soon enough was walking down a well-lit, if currently empty passage that took her straight into the common room.
She took a quick glance about before entering, old habits die hard, and seeing nothing that should stay her tread, she entered.

Thanks to her size, and the steadiness of her movements, some wouldn’t even notice her presence. She didn’t want to be noticed, not yet at least.

Zaryk waved good-bye to the farmer that he had travelled with from the last village. He had been tempted to take up the offer to stay at the farm and save the coin, but he wanted to experience Birnasi, the village of half-elves! ~The inn will be best place to really experience this place.~

It was only four weeks ago that he said good-bye to his father at the harbour in Barrowmar. He had wanted to help to unload the cargo, but his father had told him that was not his job anymore, at least not for now.

Zaryk had spent some time in the port city, taking in the sights and sounds and smells. He had heard of Birnasi from a vendor selling meat pies, a village of half-elves built on the ruins of an old Tanasi town. It sounded too intriguing to miss.

As he walked through the town, toward the inn, Zaryk couldn't help but smile, the village looked so cheerful!

Pushing his hair off his face and behind his ears, he stepped into the common room. ~A warm meal and hopefully a soft bed...I hope my purse is not too light.~

Garrick crested the low ridge and grunted at the sight of the village.  Another stop along the way and perhaps a place where he could find some more meaningless middling work...if he didn't piss off his employers or get run out of town because he got ornery with the local constables and didn't do enough to toss him in a cell but enough to persuade him to leave before they did.

Ever closer, slowly but surely he came, and his eyes searched for signs of any of the thrice-damned maggot eating bastards having watched the town from a healthy distance.  He didn't spot anything out of note yet but it was just a matter of time he told himself.  He made it all the way up to the inn before someone thought he was a child looking to get in.  Turning his head to the 'concerned' and 'helpful' individual disabused them quite quickly of the idea.  The fact that they didn't seem to be what they thought gave them a long pause and as he didn't wait for the person to say anything before entering he didn't hear what was said to him.

Seeing all the half-elves his sighed at all the rabbit breeders and slipped between their clumsy selves as he made his way to a table and chair or booth at the edge of the common room for him to sit down and nurse his tired feet.  If nothing else the place was starting to fill up so he kept his ears attentive and his eyes perceptive...

As it happened, small detail frequently was not lost upon Annya.   Small people, either.  She noted the entrance of the gnomes --  both similarly care worn in appearance.  While they did not seem to have come in together, they did look to have hard times in common.

Larger detail -- and people -- were not lost on her, either.    The tall, dark haired man might have been one of the half-human locals.    She would have thought so, had he not been wearing the distinctive auburn of her folk.   Right-side Neroli, then.   Really, he could pass for pure blood elf, save the height.

The gnomish woman looked not to have been eating well, lately.   Perhaps, she would offer to buy her a meal, if it seemed she did not have her own means.

As folk entered the inn, they were greeted by a man who, typically, bore all the evidences of a half-elven heritage; not so typically, he stood well over six feet in height. The well-polished bar had seven stools, and about the room were fifteen round tables, seven of them with six seats and eight with four seats.

Two of the larger tables were occupied by human men, one who was a little better dressed than the others, while the remaining men at the table wore the look of fairly typical sell-swords, though they had somewhat decently removed their armor and arms, presumably stowed already in the rooms they were taking for the night, but the scars and boisterous talk was enough to announce their occupation.  The fact that several mugs of ale had been emptied by many no doubt contributed to the volume.

Other tables were at least partially occupied by folk who looked like they were undoubtedly local, but here for the companionship, the ale, and the ham-and-bean soup.  From these tables could be heard the occasional snippet of conversation "Collin will never make it past first round" "I heard Waniela is coming to judge" "...bust--need more competition".

"I tell you, it's wolves," said one woman, her hair done in the style which seemed to be common amongst the older women of the village, a braid wrapping around the head like a veritable crown, leaving her own half-elven heritage clearly on display.

"No, wolves leave bits behind.  There's no sign of the sheep that've been taken--no blood, no wool, nothing," said a man at the table with her.  "It's ghosts."

"You've had too much ale, Thom," she said.  "It's a wolf, and that's that."

"People say they seen the ghosts of those kids what fell down the mine fifty years ago."

"Ghosts don't eat sheep, Thom."

Jensen would be the type to pull up at the door when the most interesting conversation slid above all else.   He's just got that talent.   That ken is just well within his wheelhouse.   One may even call his karma just outside the lines of terrible, pulling which-a-way and that... just because reality truly is a ship at storm for one such as he.

Probably why he's wearing the calmest of smirks.

Not being one to see himself out of any conversation, he slides by, and offers his own commentary after giving a nod to the Innkeep.   Jensen comments behind a grin, "Ghosts at it again, eh?   We have it on the goodest of authority that Ghosts go a'chew on stuff other than th'meat, Mate.  Best you worry, should find a sheep all lyin' akimber w'out a mark on 'er, but... up an' disappeart ain't no ghost's style."

He moves the hand holding the lute strap on his shoulder to indicate his travelling credentials, before cementing the comment, "Been round the way twice 'r more, sound more like you got someone makin' scarper with y'sheep.   Keep a weather eye open for the stickiest of hands, our thoughts say..."

At which point he gives them a small wave and heads for an open table.   The halfbreed sits down on a chair, with one leg folded under... If only to make a better base for when he inevitably is asked to play.   However, this is the rarified air that he loves best.    All that's left is to arrange the pay scale with the keep.   Like most things, Haggling could be thirsty work.

"Welcome to Finian's Inn," said the barkeep, though the way he said it made it almost sound as though he were calling the place "The End", though careful ears could pick out the correct name.  "What you having to drink?"

By now, the room was starting to be permeated by the aroma of the hearty ham-and-bean soup bring prepared in the kitchen.

"Adelina done told me," said the man who'd been speaking of ghosts, "what she seen some inky black gobbos skulking about.  Ain't had gobbos in these parts for years, and not any what looks as funny as that."

  The elven archer strolled through the ornate double doors to the inn and pulled back his hood, hearing the familiar sound of the dreaded rattlesnake. The tall man with elf blood who greeted him didn't notice, instead smiling and politely urging Jex to take a seat and consider a hot meal. I'm gonna find that damn snake...

  Jex'Kannon thanked the man and made his way to a table unfortunately close to the middle of the room, but with an empty chair amidst the locals in animated discussion. He swallowed his disappointment there were no games, at least on the main floor, and sat down in time to hear his table compatriots speak of ghosts and missing sheep. A bard opined it was skullduggery before sitting himself down to play the lute. "Aye, I'm inclined to agree with the storyteller." Jex said, hoping not to be impolite.

  He was finally able to order some early dinner and a glass of wine. The inn grew busier with the end of the day drawing near, the locals and a few travelers like himself steadily filling the tables. Jex was ready to hear the evening's entertainment by the time his ham and bean soup and a second glass of wine were set down before him.
This message was last edited by the player at 16:40, Sat 14 Dec 2019.

Odette had  been quietly , but steadily making for a corner table with only two men were currently seated, when the  fine hairs on her kneck began to prickle. Eyes were upon her, but checking to see who’s they were would probably attract more attention than she cared for.  It wasn’t surprising that someone would notice her, or mayhap they spied the Warhammer strapped to the pack on her person and wondered why a lass had it.

“Excuse me lass.”

Hammerfall.

Not the eyes, but all the same more attention than Odette wanted at the moment. Fortunately at that moment a nearby table began speaking of ghosts and wolves and sheep, so the distraction might draw attention away from her and the woman addressing her.

“Yes, is something wrong?”
The speaker had the look of an inn maid, or perchance a bar maid, it was hard to say which, clearly half-Elvin, and equally clearly heading towards a different table with a tray of soup .

“That’s Avar’s table, he’s expecting company. He won’t refuse you, but with the folks that’ll be coming it will make things awkward, particularly when your own folks join you.”

 “My thanks.” Odette offered the maid, naturally quite lovely in her garb and air and speaking,    a slight bow before shifting direction away from the hopeful respite, and briefly catching the gaze of the eyes that had caused her neck hairs   to stir.  From her current vantage Odette couldn’t tell if those eyes, and their owner’s attention had slipped to one of the conversation in the room. Part of her, a sizeable part, had hoped they had. Still she couldn’t count on the bard, or the fighting elf to keep that attention for long, and the breach of decorum  that Odette would make if she had made eye-contact and not approached the table. Obviously asking the she elf is she desired anything was out of the question, even if she wasn’t nobility,  still there were forms. Even if said elf didn’t follow them, or even if there was only mere curiousity at play.

Life was sometimes complicated.

At least Odette could approach from the wall’s side.

[Language unknown: Eeek iouut he ncul eswe ndeti o th he lefiek trahiskor same laaltr, nong Ev mohi?]
This message was last edited by the player at 18:39, Sat 14 Dec 2019.

Zaryk maneuvered his way around the tables, chairs, and people, nodding to any who caught eye. He claimed the stool at the bar next to the wall. Shrugging off his pack and bow, he carefully places the pack between the bar and his stool and covers it with his cloak, and then stands his bow against the wall.

"A cup of wine, and a bowl of whatever it is that smells so good."

He sits with his back to the wall and relishes his first sip of wine, before letting his gaze wander about the room. The tables of boisterous humans stuck out immediately from the many people dressed in farming garb.

He notices a man with a lute, perhaps there would be a performance.

One group of locals having an animated conversation were sitting with...an elf? And from the colour of his tunic, apparently a Neroli elf! He would introduce himself, after his meal.

Then he spies another elf, this one female and silver-haired...speaking to a child!

The inn's clientele was nothing at all what Zaryk had been expecting...[Language unknown: "Cheeadpr tope cackngha,"] he says to himself, and then he is interrupted by the arrival of a bowl of delicious smelling soup that steals his attention for the moment.

Annya's attention was momentarily swapped from people watching to gossip gathering. She had overheard the dialog concerning ghosts, gobbos, and young ones half a century gone.   And, her coin was on the so-named 'gobbos' -- she supposed that meant goblins -- rather than restless wraiths or wolves.  It did make more sense...so far as the rustling of ruminants was concerned.

Her thoughts regarding the topic were then suspended, once she noted the petite hammer-bearer making her way over. After apparently having been asked to re-situate. After being hailed in clear Neroli dialect, she smiled.

[Language unknown: "Atesa nt mesa itou tic ichouture siic omsa ivebutnde tetr wasnotinestrhou. Wh, ionlatill p.  Be iveearich Eeevli.   Omese tofor lin ilnti eterst?  E, os ever e ti hatnt ilmi io in e on?" ]

A young elven maid who appeared just old enough that she might be considered woman rather than girl, her face showing clear familial ties to the bartender, circulated the room, delivering glasses of wine and mugs of ale, along with the wooden tray holding a bowl of day-old bread containing the ham-and-bean soup that filled the room with its aroma--a presentation which was human in style.

Bringing a mug of ale to Jensen's table, she said, "My da wishes to know if you've a talent with the lute you're carrying, and if you'd be playing.  If you'd be playing, he'd be obliged if you go to the end of the bar."

In reply to Annya na'Veila (msg # 15):


Suaviloquencely delivered, and pleasurable in their content, truly the Smith must be smiling on her for chance to put Odette so close to one of such a character.   Perchance she had earned a brief interval of repose given the past. Perchance here, truly here, Odette could start anew, with a clean slate, and slowly burning away ancient memories that still haunted her nocturnal reveries.

[Language unknown: “M wilounvor, Almile, Ar io Siinas, the   Si ourentint n al fornteest prleom reaoertin wehase  ureurelin echa Outsonncencestr. To tinicaica thaderter ou rut esare la e th p th saal. Th Il be , P atil rincpr intfortin past o his ntosho.”]

Odette was quite pleased with not looking over long at the she elf’s hands while speaking.  While the elves of Doriathriana, were good folk in all her dealings with them, old habits would be a long time in dying. Still, she hadn’t made eye contact again, and Odette wasn’t sure if that was a good or a bad thing. Maybe    it wasn’t. Maybe  Annya wouldn’t notice. Maybe starting over was going to be as hard as she had thought aboard ship.

Maybe… too many maybes.

Odette was thankfully distracted from her woolgathering by the presence of another member of the Inn and soup and a mug of ale    was speedily obtained & coin promptly exchanged, since Odette always desired to keep her accounts balanced. Speaking with the head of the establishment could wait till later, and she could find out if he was amenable to her sleeping in the stables. She hoped so, sleeping with a gag in her mouth wasn’t exactly comfortable.

[Language unknown: "Whi no, Istesi.   Shehe in wh inreha and onachoer ha wi ch beun strastles, of."]

The lack of eye contact was noted.   As well as the color of the eyes.   Elvish folk sometimes had eyes of amber.  But, she'd never seen such a true and pure gold in anyone's eyes, before.    She was reassured when Odette ordered a meal, and had the means for it.    She looked very much as though she could use it, and Annya was glad she'd not arrived in a brand new place without some coin in her purse.

[Language unknown: "As ame ss haatto u niee heouil ugh a, na ck korencnde ons hante."]   She gestured briefly, without pointing directly in a rude manner.  She arched (arched more, that was to say) a pale brow, [Language unknown:  "E illthicon anetng il er saal utol haseveure er nceouleen.    Omine ut honase, unng wilsanconout u th was o ain ho any."]

It was gentle invitation for Odette to tell of her experiences, if she desired to. Or speak of any outstanding need she might presently have.   Without probing or pushing, which Annya would not do.
This message was last edited by the GM at 14:15, Sat 21 Dec 2019.

Jensen obviously engaged a bit of charm for being thusly entreated.   The man cut a odd sort, considering his accent stayed rough as they come, but his courtly manner changed the timber of the conversation.    He replied, "Well, y'see... This one here, she play herself, an We can but ask nicely, Love.   Sure'n I kin coax a song or ten out o'her given time and proper greasin' of the throat.   An' if'n yer Pa offerin' the best seat in the place, how could our reputation survive refusin?  The Propri'tor gits th'first request, mind ya.   Although, we wouldn't mind one from th'prettiest in the place, neither."

The way he smiled indicated he was being flattering... but, the one currently going by John bowed in agreement, and readjusted himself to the end of the bar, after he corralled his drink.   The bard resumed the one leg folded sit, this time with the lute positioned properly for playing.   He took a swing off the mug, and sighed contentedly with that old warmth associated to alcohol.

He asked the barkeep slightly overloud, "Suren y'got a request for us, fore we get a'rovin?"  A old trick to snag some of the attention around the inn.  He does sing for his coin.