Midnight RPG 27.878

Eranon

This scene will take place the morning after Eranon's dream. Eranon will first ask around Bilgewater in his clunky Orcish to find the witch, Aesir's cousin, describing her the best he can.

Once he approaches her, he will try to be sure he can speak to her alone.

Eranon (in broken orcish): "Hi, wise one. Can we speak alone? You understand Elf tounge as before?"

Narration

the morning can't be held off any longer... Zal'Kazzir had found a saloon less active in the debatchery that had offended your ears, eyes, scent, and senses since arrivaly. The beds were soft... uncomfortable to your wilder nature. An old irish hound had followed you up to your bartered room from the saloon hall below, it pants even still outside the door.
Though it seemed a little too dim, or sadly drunken from lapping up floor spillage, it reminded you of home a little... the damp dog fur brings a scent familiar to Anauil's (sp?) wolfen coat in the forest. Scent is a strong reminder of things past, now your keen ways betray you with thoughts of your friend so far away. You take a touch of comfort knowing that he likely runs with the Arrows and watches over lovely Mi'shun as she watches him in your sted.
But those moments of security fade with the lighting of the lamp set in your room. Your Sarcosan was still in the foyer of the saloon arguing the cost of two rooms, who would know he may be up soon knocking at your door if he could not barter a private room as his "nobility" seemed to need or at least demand... Though in part that might not be unwanted. The excuse to lay your head to rest on the floor rather than taking the gull-feathered bed. It's almost laughable to consider which has more human stain on it, the floor soaked in liquor from the last resident or the bed from the whore that last slept here..... Perhaps propping yourself in the window sill might be of safer messures to avoid whatever disease might be caught from this ... place...
The musics and the horrid laughing of drunken louts down the way and around the "L" still waft into the saloon's inn. By the time you gain any sort of sleep - the dream comes. "THE" dream, is of note... it sounds like so many Durgaz has described to you of his dreams of visionary nature. Yet this was yours. You don't have the gift. Or at least you never did... Was the cursed armors doing something to you? Bleeding off Durgaz pain?...

In a way you naturally look forward to the night... to hold off the hate of waking up to another morning beneath the Shadow had always been something to consider, it's no wonder elves such as the insane seer of the Hamlet seek only to sleep in their tree hovels... Yet this morning... in this place... it's nothing to look forward to. It can't be held off any longer...
You woke to the smell of burn pig, an aroma creeping up through the half rotten floorboards from the saloon turned breakfast nook. Chickens cackle and orts snort and route to make there way out of sure death if they are the poor souls caught for this morning's meal... Zal'Kazzir, you figure is already taking advantage of this "luxury" of pig flesh the sons of man love so fiercely. That or else he's still in the soft bed.


But that is not your concern.
As you walk the L's... the boardwalks have only the bodies of the drunken louts and their whores strewn about in doorways. As you walk, now and again a storeowner clears a path widely by throwing five gallon buckets of morning-cold piss-water. It's surprising how quickly the unconcious can move when they taste the yellow chill water.
It's disqusting.
But it's safer, you feel, than doing this deed - looking for the witch-woman past mid-day. That would grant your elven sensibilities nothing but sadness again and quite possibly stir trouble knowing the natures of these Dornish pirates...

It takes several questions to several storemen and women to track a path to Etri. She has been waiting to travel to Tumbledown across the way... The isle amid the cove on which Jaedyn calls home. But that ship has not saled just yet... "Young" Etri sits in the tavern most south-facing, the docks visible from her perch as she scoops up a sausage and hash mix with the cup of her dagger sharpened fingers. Using her nails as spoons she slurps the gravies into her mouth while crunching into an overly rippened red fruit of some sort - one perhaps growing wild on this isle...
Strange as it seems she seems almost... nymph-like here in this place, when it is lacking the many bar patrons. She doesn't seem to fear showing herself here... in this place. She is a sexual being and she is humbling - even to your elf-eyes. Young, almost nubile. A credit to her race - and as she eats it's as if she has never eaten before. Part ravenous and partly as though she had not been taught the manners of the table.
This place she is in... "The Hall of the Harpies", it's bartender snatches up Etri's barter... a silver dagger that must have been taken from the "Spear of Grief's" captain's quarters. The bartender snorts a little, overweight as she is the weed she smokes clouds the air around Etri's stool-perch as the stench slurps out of the open face of the tavern... opened up to the sea are, the front of the tavern makes for a simple stepping in and up to the sultry witch...
The bartender wrinkles her nose with your orc accent, as you speak to her in the Shadow-pig language.

Etri, the witch-woman

Curling one leg up under her on the tall stool-perch, the other leg dangles bare and naked to the open air... her cloaks slip off her shoulder as she licks her fingernails while looking at you.
She pulls the cloth material up again onto her shoulders with a hint of her own modesty. It is obvious that Etri doesnot understand your songlike words. The elven tongue slips past her... She looks to her bone back, considering if you are worth toiling her bones for the morning.
She smiles at you, using her long Dorn-white leg to grasp another stool... It tilts and nearly falls, yet her grace is just enough to manage it with care. It scrapes along the floor with a pitched squeal, lasting only for a moment or two until it slips in-between you and she. She looks down at the stool, twists her toe on the seat and closes her eyes for a slight moment. By the time you glance down she's already rolling her bones and muttering in what must be a Norther-speak.
The sharp words of her spell slowly turns into the songs of the Erethor languages... as Etri says...


"...good morning hansome... what will you have of me on this morning?" turning on the stool she slips her hands between her legs as if sitting on her hands in anticipation of your joining her today. Looking about she nudges off the fat bartender, who seemed uneased with the words of magery... "...we are alone fairy-man, but I cannot say that wisdom is what I can give you on such an early morning with such a beautiful day ahead of us..."
The fog of the morning seems to be burning down to a managable level as the moments pass... Soon, within the hour, many of the beasts that parade as men around this isle will be awake and about... Etri speaks again, not softly as before. She doesn't fear the morning nor the night nor the Shadow. If not for all the odd things your elf-eyes have witnessed, this would seem odd... yet still... something... something....

"...such a beautiful day... such a beautiful world..." as she pushes back the hood of her cloak stroking across her hariless temple. Baring the hallmark of her people, the Dorn race your people have spoken of.
"....such a beautiful year... it reminds me of the Year Before the Rain. That was the time Shadiuil was born, the first of your people's High Kings... the greatest of his line... Until your Queen. Until the summer ends, but not thereafter..." Etri pauses and looks up at you in pity....

Eranon

Eranon: (in high elven) "Eranon balks a moment, listening to the woman's words. You remember this year yourself? That cannot be. You must be far more wise that I had imagined. I must, however, agree with you that it is a beautiful world, though many ugly things may dwell on it."

"I come with the curiosity of a foreigner. I wish to know of you and your coven, I would meet them if you would have it. I am most curious how you staved off the black boat."