The Rowan Tavern

[Rhindeer]

Kyras was often mistaken for a vampire, and he wouldn't have minded the association had the new boy voiced his thoughts. People seemed scare of vampires, whatever they were; he'd never met one himself. And fear kept people from bothering him. He might like to meet a vampire one day, he imagined, just to see what all the fuss was about and if they were all they were claimed to be, though he doubted they were anything next to his own race; he'd yet to meet any that were. Yes, Kyras was an elitist, and proudly so. Just like the rest of his scattered race. Elitism was in their very blood; there was no mercy for the weak, who were either killed off or, in rare cases, set up as slaves for their own amusement. At least...until they grew bored with such a slave.

But Kyras didn't plan on killing this one. He wasn't among his race any longer, and this boy did indeed amuse him; he was a handful, and no matter how frustrating that was at time, he had to admit that, in retrospect, hunting him down and capturing him was vastly satisfying. His kind were natural hunters, so perhaps it had something to do with that.

In any case, even whe he finally broke the boy, he couldn't grow bored with him. He had quite an interesting ability, and Kyras planned on taking advantage of it. And that aside...the boy was, in and of himself, rather exotic and fascinating in his own way, and Kyras' kind had an innate love of that which was unique or beautiful. Though, they were never content to just look and observe. They had to own. That was simply how it worked in his culture, but in his culture, it wasn't necessarily a bad thing. For some weaklings, if they were beautiful, their lives would be drastically longer and gentler, even if it was in bondage.

His multi-colored eyes moved slowly to the new child, and a look of sheer amusement replaced his cool smirk. That was an interesting question, and a perfect example of stating the obvious.

With a soft sigh, he looked to Lenrizel, then back to the new boy, and gave something of a dramatic sigh. "Do I look like I do, boy?" he asked deadpan, one clawed finger absently stroking the back of Lenrizel's neck where he held him. "Save your ethical lecture for someone who cares. This is nobody's concern, especially not that of a whelp who has no real knowledge of how the world works." And with that said, he reached out to brush the whelp aside.

[Anonymous]

"Well, technically, that was a rhetorical question," Sellion commented as he avoided being brushed aside and stepped inside the bar. He wasn't stupid enough to get into a fight with this guy, but he still felt he should say something. As he sat down on a nearby stool, he recited something from a speech he had long ago memorized: "It is my duty to stand up here tonight and bear testimony against slavery. I have seen it -- I have seen it. I know it has horrors that can never be described. I was brought up under its wing: I witnessed for many years its demoralizing influences, and its destructiveness to human happiness. It is admitted by some that the slave is not happy under the worst forms of slavery. But I have never seen a happy slave." All this he muttered semi-audibly as he allowed the imposing figure to leave the tavern. Sighing, afraid of having made a fool of himself in public, but certain he had been in the right by taking the moral highground, he walked over to the bar and asked the barman for a good drink; never mind his age.

[Anonymous]

Sam gave the newcomer a hard look for his audacity but then smiled, chuckling to himself and going for the keg of ale.  He promptly filled the tankard one-third full and topped off the other two-thirds with water, sliding the tankard down the bar to Sellion.  "Oi dunnit know ye, if ye kin hald yer likker,  un till oi do, oi ain't givin' ye nathin' stronger," he said with a wink.  Coming closer and leaning down so that he could lower his voice and still be heard by the lad, he added, "Tis best nat ta meddil in tha ways a'magic, lad.  B'sides, ye ain't eld anuff ta tak on one sich as tha' one thar."  He gave the youth an encouraging pat on the shoulder and went back about his work of cleaning the bar, waiting on the new barkeep to return from the back.

[Anonymous]

Lenrizel took this opportunity to shake himself free of Kyras.  "I can walk as well as you can, Master," he spat out, the last word dripping with an emotion that is best left undescribed.  "You needn't drag me as if I would run from you."  He made a quick gesture of half frustration, half despair, and the color of his hair lost the artificial hue with which he had dyed it, returning to its natural fiery red.  "I'll follow you.  But only because I have to."  He made the same half-bow he had made before, but this time it came across much more mockingly.  "And I wish more than anything else in this world that someone manages to take that ring from you."  He knew inside that he was only digging himself deeper into a hole, but he didn't seem to care at least for that moment in the tavern.  Why couldn't he just keep his mouth shut?

[Rhindeer]

Kyras paid the younger boy's little speech no mind save to chuckle quietly to himself. Happy slave? Why should he care if his slave was happy (and he highly doubted any save could be happy, not that it matter the least bit to him)? Oh, sure, a more content slave worked better, they said, but when his mere word could induce his particular slave to act, he didn't have to worry about disobedience. At least not while he was around. But, that was also why he was going to have Lenrizel fitted for a collar, both as a way of degrading and humbling him and to make sure he behaved himself even when he wasn't looking.

Lenrizel weasling out of his grasp brought his attention back to the slave, and he gave another smile at the boy's heated words. Heh. Yes...he would be fun to break. He'd put up a fight, surely, but Kyras always enjoyed a challenge. "Very good, boy, you've finally recognized who here is the master!" he praised patronizingly, as though to a child. "Though...that tone of voice simply won't do. It's not becoming of you, I fear. Such a tongue you've got...shame. I really do hope you tame it; I would hate to have to cut it out."

His tone gave no indication that he would dislike doing just that.

"Oh, and you're bowing, too. Very good. Bow deeper next time, though, and be sure to keep your eyes down at all times. Now that you know what to do, I expect no less in the future. Now, come. We're going to get you that collar I promised. Have you given any thoughts as to what color you'd enjoy?" he went on conversationally as he existed the tavern and started in the direction of the slaveing block, trusting the boy would follow. But even if he tried to bolt, it was easy enough to stop; he didn't even  have to bother exerting himself. "I'd think carefully, for you'll be wearing it quite often."

Another chuckle was given. My..those words just kept flowing, didn't they? And, indeed, he was only digging himself a deeper hole. Kyras kept a mental note of everything he said, and tsked to himself softly. The boy was going to be punished...the collar wasn't even part of that.

"Keep talking, boy. But keep in mind...you're going to feel each word later. I'd be careful were I you. I have a good memory."

But despite his warnings, Kyras really was enjoying this. Like other Cerenai demons, violence and sadism was bred into him, so much so that even romantic flingsâ€"if you could call them romanticâ€"were often violent and bloody. And he couldn't say he didn't enjoy the sense of total control he had over another life.

[Anonymous]

"Thank you, sir." Jeral tells the man. And with a quick step, he walks around to the back, outside.

Once outside, he shifts his grip on the Rune Staff and looks behind him. "Oh....my guardain angel and the Elder's not gonna like this...." he mumbles as he grabs the staff in two hands. With a quick look behind him to see if anyone is watching, he jams the staff into the ground, whispering in Common, "An Angel to guide me, for an Angel's Calling." And from the sky, hidden as best he can, comes a man with great black wings, and a great black scythe, arrowing straight for Jeral. "I'm sorry to call you for such a menial task, my Guardian Angel, but can you deliver this for me?" Jeral holds up a bag, stuffed with cloth, drink, and a letter to the Elder. "Give it to the Elder, he'll understand. You are dismissed after that, got it?" The Angel bows his head, then takes off torwards the forest. Jeral looks once in the direction he took off in, then pulls his staff out of the ground. He gets his 6' frame walking back to the tavern, to his new job.

[Anonymous]

Lenrizel waited for Kyras to step out of the tavern before he ventured to speak again.  He had heard all that the youth had uttered, for his ears were quite capable of picking up even the slightest sounds; he hadn't missed a single word from the boy.  Not a single, mortifying word.  When Kyras was out of sight, Lenrizel looked the young Sellion full in the eye and said with broken voice, "You have seen it, perhaps even witnessed it firsthand, and yet you cannot possibly comprehend what it is to not have freedom of sleep to soothe your wounds both of the body and of the mind.  Can you even imagine what it is to remain awake night after night with no repose?  I would trade places with even the worst off of the slaves you have described.  At least they have the freedom to disobey any command they choose."  He doubled over slightly as he felt Kyras' presence grow farther away, compelling him to follow according to the ways of his kind, knowing that he could not refuse a summons made with full knowledge of his whereabouts, not if he wanted to retain any semblance of his sanity or pacify the agony of a refusal.  After a pause, he continued, "At least they can eventually die.  I cannot have even that.  My life lies with the possessor of the ring, and it is he whom I must follow."  He turned away from the sight of the brave-spoken youth and stepped out the tavern door.

[Anonymous]

Nahar watched the epic unfold infront of her with wide eyes. If she wasn't confused before, she certainy was now. One thing for sure, this boy was that mans slave. Stepping after the pair as they walked out of the tavern, she took a deep breath before she spoke. "Excuse me.. uhh. sir," she started, sutmbling on what to call this hellish man. "It seems to me that you have just taken my tour guide." She said, knowing quite well that this boy was infact the propery of this man, but desperate for any way to stall him for a second before she perhaps thought of a plan. Slavery of any creature was wrong in her mind, and she would be damned if she jus stood there and let it slide. The elven morals taught to her built up inside her and felt ready to burst. Never before has she seen such cruelty. Slowly she drew in hand inside her cloak and held the hilt of the handle. She didn't know what was going to happen, and she didn't want to be unprepared.
"So I would ask you to uhh.. return him to uhh.. me so he can uhh.. give me a tour." she finsihed lamely. Stupid, stupid! she thought in her head. With one last shread of hope that money could buy this man off like it did with so many others, she added. "I am well prepared to pay you."

[Rhindeer]

[Taking a break from the homework from HELL. I need a reprieve. ;_;]

Kyras paused a little, waiting for Lenrizel to hurry up and catch up to him, and as he turned...he saw that the boy was still in the tavern, speaking to someone within. For a second, a flash of annoyance shot through himâ€"damn, had he been talking to himself the whole time, then? Ugh, he really must be tired, both to not realize the boy was stalling and to have allowed him to walk on his own like thatnever mind that the boy had to follow; he'd forgotten the boy could stall just a little.

And as for the boy stalling and talking when he wasn't supposed to, he'd just add that to his growing list of things to beat out of him. He really didn't mind that at all.

In fact, he might as well start now, seeing as how the boy was going to stall as much as he possibly could all the way to the slaver's.

But then, on that thought, another thought soon entered his mind. A more dangerous thought. What was the boy saying? If he was just pleading for help and sympathy, that was one thing, and after all, the law here was on Kyras' side; no one but bleeding-heart good samaritans that thought the world was nothing but sunshine and dewdrops cared about a slave. However, there were other things the boy could utter that were...not good. Kyras didn't fear the danger that such words could bring to himâ€"after all, his kind were violent and enjoyed a good fight. Rather, it was simply that, at this moment, Kyras simply didn't want to be bothered. He wan't in the mood to deal with complications.

Lip curling to bare his fangs, he rounded around and began to stride over in their direction, just as the boy walked out of the tavern. Kyras had just made a mistake, but he wasn't going to make that mistake again, and he roughly seized the boy's arm with one hand, and cupped his chin firmly in the other, forcing him to look at him. "Do you want to keep your tongue or not?" he hissed quietly. "If the answer is yes, do not talk to another person again without my permission and presence, do you understand me, boy? If not, then open your mouth and we'll settle this little problem right here and now, because if I catch you again, that will be the result andâ€""

It was at that moment that Nahar walked up to them, and Kyras would have ignored her and continued with his verbal, and possibly physical, assault on Lenrizel, except that she spoke up, her voice cutting off the flow of his words. Glancing slowly over at the elvish woman, he offered her his most level stare and slowly released Lenrizel's chin. His other hand didn't release the boy's arm, though, and in fact only tightened on the appendage.

"I am disinclined to accept your offer. You'll just have to find yourself another 'tour guide', I'm afraid. This one is out of commission." He gave the boy's arm a tug to start him again in the direction of the slaver's, and this time, by the feel of his grip, he would not be releasing him.

[Anonymous]

Sellion was so surprised by the slave's comments that he had forgotten to finish his 'ale'. "Wait...did he say 'the Ring?' Not THAT Ring...?" A memory came to him--himself, younger, listening to his grandfather's stories. Once, he had told him something about a magic Ring that corrupted all possessors. Even in the peaceful lands of the Menenolde, that story, which he assumed to be true, lurked like a shadow of the past. Strange...

He was still pondering when Nahar went up to Kyras and, lamely, tried to get him as a 'tour guide'. He could hear her outside the door. Unfortunately, he couldn't make any comments, as it was all he could do to keep from laughing. However, he had an idea of his own. He was thinking of his older brother...Bjorn. He could do something about this abominable practice. However, Sellion didn't even know the way back to his homeland from here. He sighed, and went back to drinking his 'ale'.

[Anonymous]

Lenrizel drew a sharp breath when Kyras took such a grip on his arm, wincing at the pressure.  He fell silent as Kyras commanded, but he said plenty with his eyes; perhaps it was best that he had been ordered not to speak--what would have come out directed at Kyras would probably have been worse than what he nearly said when he accidentally jabbed his hand with the table knife.  Kyras must certainly have been enjoying every moment of this humiliation--dragging Lenrizel along as if he were some animal, speaking to him as though he were a little child even though Lenrizel probably had a few millennia on him, knowing full well that Lenrizel could not lay a hand on him to harm him.

Lenrizel listened with not even a half-hope to Nahar's request.  When he saw her hand go to the hilt of her weapon, he looked her in the eye and shook his head slowly, glancing at the gold ring Kyras wore and back at Nahar, telling her with his eyes that it was useless.  He knew in his heart that if she were to attack Kyras, Lenrizel would be obligated to come to his defense, whether he wanted to or not.  That was part of the curse of his race.  

And so he went with Kyras, offering their steps no more resistance except that which existed solely in his mind and in his eye.

[Anonymous]

Jeral gets back in, drops his bag off under the bar, and walks over to Sam. He looks around, and asks Sam, "What you want me to do? And, what's up with them?" He points to the other partrons, including the elf who reacted to his name.

[Anonymous]

"Well," Sam began, "If ye be knowin' how ta run tha av'rige bar, than ye be knowin' most all ye need fer here."  He tips his head toward Sellion.  "We dunnit giv tha kiddies none of tha spirits 'ceptin' wi' a lot a water, till we be knowin' tha ones tha can hold their likker."  He gave Jeral an encouraging smile and said, "I'll go over thar and have a listen at our young bard-friend.  He's a reg'lar--loikes 'is ale wi' a bit a vodka, don' know why, but 'e does.  Let's see how ye handle things on yer own fer a bit.  All the kegs 'r labeled, and all the parrafernellia's in plain soight."  Sam strode over to where the bard sat strumming a merry tune, and planted himself nearby, tapping his foot along with the jig.

[Anonymous]

"All right, thanks." Jeral says to Sam, then gets to looking at what he's got to work with. Water benith the bar; ale, mead, and other liquors in kegs and bottles along the way; mugs and glasses across the shealves. Hmm...guess I'll have to get re-used to kegs again. is all he thinks, glad to have a job again.

[Anonymous]

Sellion drained his mug and grinned at Jeral. He felt like talking now, despite his usual total reticence; he imagined it was the combined effect of the exhilaration of the 'argument' and the little bit of ale. "Not bad," he said. "Little watery, though. Ha." He mildly overpaid the barkeeps (Working odd jobs for a well-to-do person could be profitable!) and requested another drink. As he sat there listening to the bard, he pondered what he could do now. He decided to track down Kyras, the slaver, and get someone to give him what for...not to mention get the Ring. He was happy; now he had a purpose for the time being.

[Anonymous]

Jeral takes the man's mug (and money), and refills it, half water and half alcohol. If Sam complains, oh well, that's how he did it in Spira. "hey, you know what that agument was all about?" Jeral asks the coustomer as he drops the drink in fromt of him. "I missed over half of it."

[Anonymous]

"Nothin' we can do anything about, lad," said a man at the bar as he held out his empty pint tankard and some money for a refill.  "And I certainly ain't gonna take on a demon-creature just to have a genie on my hands.  He can have 'im.  But I do rather feel sorry for that kid--'scuse me, he ain't no kid; he's probably older than all of us put together--'cuz long as he's got a master like that he's probably not gonna have the most pleasant experience when he gets home.  Too bad he can't lift a hand against the man; he could probably crush him with one finger."  Gesturing at Sellion, he said, "And ye'd be best saving yer Olaudah Equiano or whatever they are speeches for the slaves that abolitionists might actually be able to do something about; no matter how many times you free someone like that genie there, he'll still get stuck with another master sooner or later.  You can't change the laws of nature--or magic.  It just ain't done.  His very essence is bound to that ring, and even if it were destroyed, another one would appear to take its place."  He smiled at what was probably going to be at least a mild surprise on the faces of his listeners, and added, "Well, sometimes I actually do my homework from the mage's academy instead of spending all me free time in the tavern."

[Anonymous]

"A genie?" Sellion hadn't thought of that. "Well, that explains a lot." A genie, or genius, or djinn, depending on who you asked, was usually bound to some object, often a ring or lamp, and the owner of that was able to control them, unless they were set free. Now he really wanted that Ring. "But," he added, "Genii only grant three wishes--or so I'd been told. There were rumours of others that granted as many wishes as the owner desired, but those were supposed to be less common."

[Anonymous]

"Fairy tales," the man at the bar replied.  "This is Earth, not a children's story.  What magic survived is much older and much more arcane than any of those yarns--and is best left alone by those not prepared to face it.  You'd better stay away from demons, boy, unless you've got some heap of a bodyguard.  That genie is able to do something that demon-kin wants very badly, and whatever it is, it's out of your league."

[Anonymous]

"Sir, this may be ... Earth, but you'll be amazed what childern's stories can tell." Jeral tells the other man at the bar. "Sure, there exaggerated in some detials, but are close enough for thouse who read correctly."