Crimson Wineskins

[Alistair]

1st of Cylus, Arc 717

“The smell reminds me of home, if vaguely, and mostly of the bad batches.” The man invoked sour stares and negative glances in all, yet again proving to them the arrogance of his noble-kind. “Like Venoran vintage, yet of a remarkably more shitty craft.” His nose took a gander again, sniffing the expensive wine that had been offered to him in an exceptional quantity - if only he would play the barkeep in a game of cards and luck.

“Not worth it,” he said. “Not nearly worth the shit you’re offering me. You’ll have to do better.”

He wasn’t going to lie, he was already quite a bit… inebriated, compared to usual, and he was actively seeking further vintage. It was rare for Alistair to embark on the path of drunkenness, as alcohol was the sole agent in dropping his frigid noble facade.

Alcohol made him quirky. It made him entertained by everything, and a man who sought to entertain everything. It made him silly, and indiscreet, and impolite, and mean - yet friendly, funny and intoxicating all the same. It also made his libido increase a hundred fold, to the point where even the exceptionally mediocre men lining the tavern’s benches seemed worthy of his attention.

So, why did he partake in festivities tonight, of all things?

Because he was bloody cold. And wine warmed him up. And so did the fire of the tavern, and the hot breath of the attendants, and their heavy words.

He hated Cylus, but admittedly, it was one of the few seasons where he allowed himself to lose his composure - to a relative level, at least. He only drank once an arc, he’d always said, and odds were that date would land somewhere in the beginning of the cycle of rebirth.

“Ey Ali,” a man called his name, a brutish voice from the corner. It was a face he recognized - the man who’d been attending to he and Patrick while they stayed here at the inn.

“Ye said yer a nobleman, aye?” he asked. The mage nodded. “Well shite, ye gots to show us common folk a tour o’ ye land some time. Promise I won’t steal yer ‘orse or anythun,” he said, smiling awkwardly. The nobleman stared quietly, ever annoyed at the filth of the sailors and their dialect.

“I’ll show you around the Kingdom in exchange for a favor, Taelan,” he said, enticing the man’s attention.
“Aye?”
“Your drink,” he said, looking to the man’s mug. “You’ve not touched it yet, right? Perfect. A tour for a drink.”

The man’s brow raised, and he shrugged. “Fine, I get me drinks free anyhow,” he responded. Alistair was offered the mug, and quickly, he took it from his hands.

Gulping down half the mug in a near instant, he could feel the blood rushing to his cheeks, and he - awkwardly coyly - sounded his pleasure at the consuming of the liquid. “Ah,” he swallowed, placing the glass on the table. Taelan eyed him, oddly.

“Don’t mind me, Taelan,” he said, “I’m remembering my humanity. It’s a vague and fleeting aspect of my character,” the nobleman laughed.

[Kaelrik]

Kaelrik tugged his cloak about his shoulders a bit more snugly. The bitter cold winds of Cylus cut right through him. He would have preferred to have been comfortably at home beside the fire cooking a nice hot meal but business had him out in the streets that evening. He was trying to look for signs of a beast. A beast that was not native to Ne’haer and one that concerned him greatly. He had very little to go on and thus far the creature had been able to easily evade his tracking. Kaelrik had seen scant signs of it from time to time when he was out traversing the wilds around the city, hunting for game. It was not enough however. He needed more information. To that end, he was going in search of skilled men or women who knew the area far better than he did. They would be able to tell him what was normal, what was strange and what was concerning. And where better to find men and women of skill than at the place where all souls went to ease the burdens of a tiresome day? Looking up at the signpost, Kaelrik noted the name of the tavern he arrived at.

Already he could hear the boisterous conversation of people that only came from those who’d helped themselves to the drink. That was good. Alcohol loosened the tongue and made for a more relaxed atmosphere, at least until someone got it into their head that a barfight was in their best interest. Pushing open the door, Kaelrik stepped inside closing the door behind himself as quickly as he could so as not to let in a draft. Reaching up he dropped the hood of his cloak and shivered. Already the warmth from the hearth was beginning to push away at the cold bite of the season. Without giving anyone much of a glance just yet, he made his way up to the bar. His eyes met that of the barkeep. Reaching into a pouch on his hip, Kaelrik retrieved a bit of coin and slid it across the surface of the bar.

“Food and something warm to chase it down.” There was a curt nod of acknowledgement before the barkeep went to fill his order. Rather quickly, he had his drink in front of him. With a nod of thanks he picked it up and took a sip. It was a warm, mulled wine with a mix of berries and spices to give it a pleasant flavor. Turning so that he could lean his back against the bar, Kaelrik examined the room. Everyone there seemed to be of the same stock. They had a very earthy appearance to them. He certainly wasn’t loitering about the upper crust of town, that was for sure. Neither, by the look of those around him, was he among the dirt poor either. He was half-way through another sip of his drink when both a familiar name and a familiar voice drew his attention. With a quirk of his brow, Kaelrik turned his head to the right to see a blond haired man downing the contents of a mug of ale.

Alistair.

Kaelrik blinked and just stared for a moment. He slowly tried to process the fact that the mage Alistair was indeed in front of him and was also flushed with obvious intoxication, bantering with other patrons and was, without a doubt, actually physically in a commoner’s tavern. He seemed mildly out of place to the Lotharen. Pushing off of the bar, Kaelrik walked up to Alistair and simply stood there for a moment as he took another drink from his mug. The wine was helping to warm his bones. When he’d swallowed he spoke.

“You’re the last person I expected to find here.”

[Alistair]

There were few things more enjoyable than bickering with others about topics they knew little about. To inform others was one's duty, and to shame the ignorant was another. As the men settled in their seats along the rows and tables of the tavern, Alistair had become something of a celebrity for the night, arm wrestling with weaker men and telling stories of the lands unknown. Yet for a moment, all eyes receded from him, and came to face towards another man -- one far more impressive by his appearance, one known to the mage.

Kaelrik. As the Lotharen man approached him, the mage was caught entirely off-guard, consumed within his own world of playful banter, distracted only for a moment by the wavering of others' attention. His eyes opened for a moment to stare, then he shut his mouth and reeled his head back slightly. The drunken man's cheeks were already red, though upon being sneaked up on by the Lothar, they grew even redder. How could his eyes avert from that tall, masculine individual, merely opening the doors of the Rooster and Cat and yet somehow leaving fainting beauties in his wake?

The first thing he saw of him, aside from his stature and imposing physique, was the man consuming ounces of wine before his eyes. And then, he spoke.

You’re the last person I expected to find here, he said, in his Uthaldrian voice, deep and fierce a tone. No kidding, Alistair's internal response, though he swore to speak far more articulately than that.

"You're the last person I expected to find me here," he retorted, turning his body to face the Lothar. Gesturing for one of the men on the table to leave, as if he had the authority to do so across the shore, Alistair's eyes grew almost delighted to see the Lotharen male in their direct gaze. And alas, the man he gestured to leave did indeed, as with the rest of his posse, Taelan among them. The seats around Alistair remained open for occupation, and Kaelrik would likely get the message, without words being spoken: sit.

"How goes it, my ferocious friend?" the Venora asked. "It's been far too long since we last spoke, and I thought it would be for good. But of course, fate decides that you should catch me when I'm a drunken fool," he chuckled. Though, frankly, he didn't mind his inebriation right now. Alcohol dulled the senses, and Alistair's senses were often too tuned for his own good, perceiving everyone as a potential threat or someone not worth his interest. Kaelrik had even been described as such at first, though since understanding him better, the man's opinions had changed - and he'd regretted not remaining in contact with the impressively astute male.

"Come, sit with me," he asked verbally this time, if his eyes weren't enough of a command. "I'd speak with you, if you'd allow me. There are many words I would enjoy sharing with a handsome man on a cold night. And it appears these requirements have both been met." He said this with a strange coyness in his tone, though it was the alcohol that spoke, and he found himself embarrassed as the words escaped his lips. Not wise.

[Kaelrik]

Kaelrik could only shake his head at Alistair quite obviously drunken display. It was interesting to see the man in this state. Compared to their first meeting it was a stark contrast. He was flushed, there was an amused, half-lidded grin on his face, and he altogether seemed much less uptight. It reminded Kaelrik of the nights he’d spent in the mead halls back home. The men and women there were always singing, raising mugs, laughing or simply ruminating on events both past and present. As the group that had gathered about him took their leave, Kaelrik sat himself down in one of the empty chairs opposite the nobleman. The Lotharen smiled at Alistair.

“A fool is a fool whether drunk or sober.” He gave the man a wink over the rim of his mug as he took another drink. “At any rate, I am well. Each days sees that I am settled in Ne’haer a bit more. I’ve found proper work to keep myself occupied and I’ve made it a point to get to know those I find interesting.”

He set his mug down on the table. Folding his arms over his chest, Kaelrik leaned back into his chair giving Alistair a very obvious head to toe assessment.

“What about yourself? You seem to be making merry quite a bit this evening. What’s the occasion?” At that moment one of the barmaids walked over and deposited a plate of food before Kaelrik. He gave her an appreciative nod. Leaning forward he took a whiff of the foods. It wasn’t anything fancy. Simple chicken drumsticks with red potatoes and some carrots but it was more than enough to satisfy Kaelrik’s tastes. He’d eaten far, far worse and wouldn’t turn his nose up at a proper meal. Picking up the chicken, Kaelrik dug in. He devoured the first drumstick in short order, eating his fill and it wasn’t until he had torn all of the meat from the bone that he was reminded that he was seated at a table with someone counted among nobility. He looked up from his chicken with a somewhat bashful expression, his cheeks gone red. After a few chews and a swallow followed by a drink of his mulled wine, he righted himself and rubbed the back of his head.

“Uh, sorry. You’re probably accustomed to a lot finer company when dining.” Shrugging his shoulders, Kaelrik continued to eat. Slower and more mindful of the man opposite of him but still enjoying his meal.

“So, what words are you wanting to share with me?” Kaelrik picked up one of the red potatoes on his plate and bit into it He chewed silently as he waited for Alistair to answer. The dark indigo of his eyes remained alight with good humor, if a bit reserved. Despite his casual demeanor, there was still a guarded edge to Kaelrik. He sat as if waiting for Alistair to suddenly leap at him. While their first encounter had ended pleasantly, it had been dotted with several close encounters with one of them nearly resulting in the Lotharen warrior losing his head, literally. So he was careful. He kept a watchful eye on Alistair’s demeanor and even cast a cursory glance around the room in search of the man’s Lotharen companion. Then again, if Kairserion was about he had the power to change his shape and could thus be anything on a whim as far as Kaelrik knew.

[Alistair]

A fool is a fool whether drunk or sober? he repeated in his head. "Suppose I'm just always a fool, then," he said, chuckling. Though, he was pleased that the Lotharen had graced his company by taking a seat, and smiled pleasantly at the larger man as he pulled his chair in. Kaelrik had been drinking as they spoke, which had led Alistair to beg the question: how strong was a Lothar's constitution? The man would fall black-out drunk in the next few breaks if he'd continued at his current rate.

Nevertheless, it was pleasing to hear that the man had settled in more, and that he'd found work. The mage nodded pleasantly, though he cocked his head slightly as he inquired upon what this job was that he'd taken on. "What did you say your Path was? Hunter?" he asked. Nodding his head slightly, as if to confirm that train of thought to himself, he leaned back and eyed the larger man. "I'm guessing you're doing that here, too, right? No reason to waste your talents," the man said, shrugging.

Though, that last comment almost stabbed him, if he were more sensitive. "Get to know those I find interesting?" he asked. "Am I not interesting, or are you only now getting to the 'get to know' part?" Alistair chuckled, offering Kaelrik a wink in return, a smile growing on his lips, and staying.

What about yourself? he asked. The nobleman shrugged his shoulders, his chair leaning back further to the point where he needed to keep his foot tied to the ground as leverage. He was clearly not presenting the same etiquette he normally did, shuffling around and laying his arms wherever he felt suitable at that particular instant. "The occasion is that it's bloody cold, Kaelrik," he replied, leaning forward and sounding an exaggerated shiver. "And..." he started, "I never let myself loose. Never enjoy myself. What's the pain in being free, for a moment, before being submerged yet again in a year of stale allegory?" As he spoke, the man ate, and Alistair watched him. It was interesting to compare Kaelrik to the other Lothar who he'd witnessed at dinner time, always ripping their food apart and ravaging it mercilessly. Compared to that, the man had a little more etiquette, which led to a rebuttal of his claim that Alistair had generally dined with finer company.

"Rynmere's noblemen and women aren't finer company, really, just more lavish company. Fine company is the kind that isn't constantly trying to one up you, destroy your family to increase their station, or get you published in the Gazette to smear you. I take you as a man of relative integrity, Kaelrik, and so I'd label you as fine enough company for me. Perhaps even too fine," he looked down, "as I'm not really innocent of all those reprehensible practices I just mentioned."

The words he wanted to share? He didn't know; Alistair didn't have any in particular. All he knew was that he wanted someone to spend time with. It didn't matter what they talked about, or what they did.

"I didn't have any in mind," he began, "so I'll just say something I feel. Frankly, I really regret not coming to see you again after our last encounter. I think you're a pretty good guy, Kaelrik. Not to mention an impressive man. I envy your resolution. It must be hard being here, so far away from home, in the cold of winter. What a man you must be, Kael," he began to chuckle, as if teasing, though he was being honest with his compliments. Reflecting back, though, it almost sounded as if he was speaking of himself: a Rynmere noble, a mage, all alone in this big city and in the deep of winter. They shared a similar fate, though the way they'd gone about their path had been far different. Perhaps that was, above all else, why he'd taken such an interest in the young Lothar before him.

[Kaelrik]

“We all play the fool from time to time, Alistair.” Kaelrik spoke over the rim of his mug before taking another drink. He set the mug down and dug into another drumstick. At the inquiry to the work that he’d found, he shook his head.

“The Hunt, it is my life, it is who I am but it is not what I do for a living.” Leaning back he gestured to himself letting his cloak fall away a little bit. His clothing are dusted with soot in several places. The hem of his shirt had a small burn in the fabric on the left side. He smirked as he looked at it.

“In Ne’haer, I have taken up the role of a blacksmith. It is a good trade. There is a focus needed to work the forge. The manipulation of the fire and the working of the tools keeps my mind centered.” He shrugged his shoulders biting into another potato and then a carrot. In very short order the majority of his meal was finished as one would have expected for a man of his size. He chuckled at Alistair’s small jab. With a sly smile he picked up his mug and finished off the last of the mulled wine in a few gulps. Waving to the nearest barmaid he sent for another.

“I’d say we got fairly acquainted in our first meeting. After all, at one point you were straddling me, hand grasping my head, my hand pressed to your chest and you know…a portal to the black void mere inches away.” He quirked a brow, his face still light with good humor. Though he teased it was obvious that he held no ill will. It was merely that strange exchange of banter between a warrior who had no fear of death with a man who’s skill and power he respected. Quirking his head he listened to Alistair’s explanation as to his reasons for being in the tavern. Kaelrik had to admit, they were as valid as any other.

“Why do you not enjoy yourself more often?” The question was spawned from the manner in which Alistair phrased his answer. The way the mage spoke, he implied that the only limiting factor in his enjoyment of every other season of the year to be himself. The concept wasn’t entirely foreign to Kaelrik, he understood the importance of moderation so that one was able to function unhindered. However, growing up in a society where ferocity and passion were the hallmarks of every occasion, he also deeply understood the inherent need to find release after so much time restraining mortal urges. As Kaelrik’s new mug of mulled wine arrived, he accepted it and passed the appropriate coin to the barmaid. At Alistair’s admission of less than pleasant acts, Kaelrik simply shrugged his shoulders.

“No man worth his weight in wisdom gained it without a few stains on his character.” It was lesson he’d learned himself while training under the wing of his mentor. Halvdan had very quickly dispelled any illusion that it was possible to live a life of worth without facing hard choices. Kaelrik inclined his head at Alistair’s compliments. He raised his mug briefly then took a drink. The pleasant warmth that filled the body at being slightly intoxicated was beginning to swirl in the back of Kaelrik’s mind. He hadn’t drunk so much that he was free of his faculties but he was growing more comfortable with the present company and his surroundings.

“Kaelrik.” He corrected Alistair in the shortening of his name. “You are a fine man yourself, Alistair. You are strong enough to slay monsters with the flick of your wrist. You are perceptive enough to make both friends and apparently powerful enemies. That sort of reputation is earned without merit.”

[Alistair]

"A blacksmith?" he raised a brow, attempting to clarify. That was not expected, though he supposed he didn't know Kaelrik's skill-set all too well. Hunting was what he'd seen him do, but there were hints of other things as well - magic, survival, even medicine to a degree. One could never estimate another's character merely by the easiest impression, he supposed.

"An excellent trade," the man stated approvingly, nodding his head as he sipped on his beverage. "Working in a smithy is a difficult trade, though it's something I imagine suits you. I'll have to stop by the forge some time," he offered a quaint smile towards the Lotharro, before placing his drink back onto the surface of the table. And he was glad he'd placed his drink against the surface when he did, or he'd have thrown it awry in a fit of childish giggling in response to the man's oncoming words.

"Don't make it sound so lewd, Kaelrik!" he exclaimed, a silly grin on his face. The alcohol was clearly starting to set in. Taelan eyed him oddly from the corner of the room, though the mage scarcely noticed, and instead repeated the hunter's words in his head. Straddling me... The thought would have brought him quite a degree of satisfaction, if it hadn't been followed by the recollection of how he'd almost beheaded Kaelrik in a fit of fear. He was glad he hadn't; they wouldn't be where they were right now. Kael would be a decapitated head hanging from a tree, and Alistair would've never known him for anything better.

He exhaled, letting himself forget that unfortunate side detail for a moment. "We did get to know each other, indeed," he nodded his head, laughing under his breath as his mind pulled him back to the 'straddling' comment. "I got to see you throw around that awesome magery. Defiance, was it? Ookay... you didn't really throw it around, but you did do some cool things with it. Firepit, lighting the flames, so on and so forth. I thought that was really cool," Alistair said, enthusiastically. His tone and demeanor had shifted altogether, as if he had lost ten arcs of maturity from the booze. The mage was only now really beginning to loosen up, the reserved portion of him drowning in fermentation.

"I don't know why I don't enjoy myself, ever," he shrugged. "Well, I guess I do, but maybe it's time for that to change. It's just... I've been wrapped up in all this insanity for so long, and it's like - it's like, I can't really get out, you know? It's hard to explain, especially 'cos I'm kinda drunk."

Where could one even begin, when it came to Ali's life? How much backstory did one have to offer to give even the slightest explanation as to why he could never let loose, never enjoy himself? He'd been taught of propriety, compliance, silence, obedience, diligence and exceptional moral fiber as a requirement rather than a virtue... from the beginning of his life until now. He had been taught to always be a ruler, and never a man. And even if he were to escape that burden, he had so many dangers chasing after him. Where did letting loose fit into one's life when they were being hunted by a faction of mages, or compelled to impossible odds by a wroth Immortal?

His elbows pressed against the edge of the table and his eyes lowered, the man sighed. It was... such a burden, all of it. He wished he could be free - he really did.

And he knew that he wasn't a terrible person, even despite all the many blood red stains on his character, and the dark blotches on his personal history that would make the moralizers squeal. He knew that he wasn't... Faldrun, or Syroa, or Ellasin. He was Alistair, just a man who wanted to do right by his ideals, even if they'd been given to him by the non-righteous in the first place. But still, he could only say. But still. Why did he have to be so compliant, even when the order was so cruel? It always was.

"Kaelrik," he corrected himself, his eyes raising to meet the Lothar's. "I apologize, I know it's not appropriate to refer to... non-friends by a nickname." The man shook his head, his fingertips massaging his temples. "You're right, though. I'm not terrible. I'm actually pretty cool, if I do say so myself," he said, his uppity smile returning. "There are few mages as skilled as I am. I should be proud of that, I know I should be. Thanks for reminding me of that." Looking around the room, and then towards the Lothar, the mage decided to ask something of the other man.

"Hey, you know... I actually think you're a really likeable person, Kaelrik. But I don't really care for the other people here." Looking around at the fairly obnoxious clientele, the man re-confirmed his statement. "Wanna go up to my room?" Upon asking that, he realized the oddity of the way he worded that question, and bit his lip. "Uh... not for anything nefarious," he corrected himself, "but just to talk. Get to know each other. If that doesn't sound too forward..." Alistair's tone seemed awkward, as if he had little experience in attempting to make genuine friends.

Truth was, he did have little experience, and sounded much like a fumbling idiot as a result.

[Alistair]

To be completely honest, Alistair wasn't even sure if Kael indeed said yes to his proposition, especially the more drunk he'd gotten. He went up to his room regardless, and spent the entire time snuggling a pillow, drinking water in desperation to prevent severity from the inevitable hangover. His final moments in the waking world, a precursor to the evidently not-waking world, were spent counting off coordinates on the Idalosian Global Index.

"Downtown Ne'haer, outside of the Council Office... 50.484598,29848... 278x and 374m in relationship to Etzos... real number a lot more specific, with smaller digits, but hey - memory works well with Rupturing. I don't need specific numbers when I have my braaaaaaaaaain."

The End.

[Nymph]

REWARDS

ALISTAIR

• Knowledge:
  • Alcohol: The Venoran Vice
  • Taelan: Filthy Sailor
  • Kaelrik: A Chance Meeting in a Bar
  • Kaelrik: Man of Integrity
  • Kaelrik: Blacksmith in Ne'haer
  • Kaelrik: Hates the Name Kael
  • Lotharen: Paths Before Them
  • Seduction: Lewd Stories and Memories
  Loot:
  • -10gn for the amount of alcohol I suspect he consumed and/or bought for others
  Injuries: None
  Fame: -2 (Drunkenly admitting to be a mage; someone probably heard. Lucky for you, they were drunk. Who will believe them?)
  
  Story: 4/5
  Collaboration: 5/5
  Structure: 5/5

- - - - - - -

KAELRIK

• Knowledge:
  • Hunting: Tracking in the City
  • Investigation: Alcohol Loosens the Tongue
  • Alistair: Capable of Being Drunk as a Skunk
  • Alistair: Nobleman of Rynmere
  • Nobility: Constantly Squabbling to Better Their Station
  • Seduction: Lewd Stories and Memories
  Loot:
  • -4gn for plate of food and mug of wine (x2)
  Injuries: None
  Fame: None
  
  Story: 3/5
  Collaboration: 5/5
  Structure: 5/5

- - - - - - -

Comments: I would have liked to see a complete ending. I granted you an extra point, Alistair, for attempting a comical end. Good luck with that severe hangover. It is going to be brutal in the morning.

If you feel I've missed anything or if you have questions about your review, please don't hesitate to send me a quick PM. Thank you!