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stormcloudgeneral · 5 years ago
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Dalfourt’s Daughter
The Red Badger tavern in Vausdel wasn’t the most respectable of establishments. Its shutters needed a new coat of crimson paint, its ales were rather bitter, and the stews could be worryingly obtuse about what meat went into them. And yet, for the small logging town, it was as integral to the atmosphere as air itself. What the Badger lacked in cleanliness, it made up for in clientele. Travelers from far and wide tended to drift through Vausdale as they made their way through the south of the Niildren Empire, and many decided to spend their coin on meals and drink at the Badger, making it quite the hub for stories from abroad. For this reason, many of the town guards made it a mainstay of their off duty hours, and many an intrepid youngster made their way into the smoke-scented main room to try and overhear a tale of adventure.
This particular night was no different. Captain Jorik of the guard sat at his usual table with two fellow guardsmen, white shield insignias stark against their charcoal doublets. With them for the night was a trio of travelers, each from a different land. One named himself Kaldor Urdraan, a Dwarf from the nearby freeholds. His thick, double-plaited beard was copper brown, but the dome of his head bore naught but a complex green tattoo as covering. The Dwarf claimed to be travelling with a shipment of iron bound for the neighboring Kingdom of Albriona, but his cart seemed more than happy to accept other goods for the right price. The second traveller went by Erik Halfbald, a redheaded human youth seeking employment in the capital city, though Godswood was many weeks of travel away. He seemed optimistic despite this, but the guards advised him not to get his hopes up; unless one was a devout member of the Church of Justice, employment anywhere near the capital was difficult.
Compared to the others, the third guest was far more a sight for the curious eyes of the town’s youth. Towering a head or more above the rest of the humans at the table, this man’s skin was black as burnt coals, matched by three raven cornrows of hair running along his scalp and into long, thick braids hanging down to his waist. A crimson shirt upon his torso was stretched taught by the musculature underneath, and the rolled up sleeves left plain a series of warrior’s scars on his forearms. Upon his shoulders lay a densely furred animal pelt of snowy white, fashioned into a sort of cloak. This man had introduced himself as Unlauon, claiming to be the leader of a sellsword company. It seemed likely, given his demeanor, but he’d refused to give the company’s name, leading the guards to cast suspicious glances in his direction. Despite that, the man was personable and jovial, happy to chat with his companions and down drinks. More importantly, it was he that engaged the group of six in the night’s activity: games of dice with coin on the line.
The six men had been at their table for three hours, gambling and drinking to pas the time. The tavernkeeper had no reason to complain; they were all paying properly, and Captain Jorik could be trusted to keep the travellers in line. Besides, their loud discussions of Niildren’s border disputes gave the man plenty of gossip to pass on to future patrons. But as the third hour tilted into the fourth, and night had fully fallen, the door to the tavern swung open to admit yet another traveller. The tavernkeeper jerked his chin towards the entry, and his young son scurried over with a grin. “Evenin’ ma’am, and welcome to the Red Badger. I’m gonna have to take your weapon, they’re not allowed inside.”
The mention of both a woman and a weapon managed to catch the attention of the gamblers, and they tossed an eye towards the newcomer in curiosity. Closing the door behind her with a graceful air was a Homo felixis, a cream-coloured cat’s tail extending from her hindquarters to balance her digitigrade legs. Her long, pointed ears flicked as she lowered the hood of her sky blue robes, and her shining golden eyes crinkled in a smile at the statement. As she spoke, her accent flicked up and down in a singsong fashion, marking her as foreign to the region. “Are you sure you can carry it, little one?”
The boy nodded, and reached for the weapon the Felinoid carried. As it happened, said weapon was a maul, customized as a weapon rather than as a tool. Its haft was pale wood with a silver wire wrap, matched by a two-sided hammer head with circular faces carved with some sort of insignia. As the boy took it, his eyes widened at the weight, but he dutifully carried the weapon into an alcove, setting it on a rack alongside other weapons taken from the Badger’s patrons. The Felinoid gave a small clap of her hands, tail swishing. “Well done, little one. A strong man you’ll be.”
Puffing out his chest in pride, the boy gestured at the tavern’s interior. “Take a seat, and my pa will come by to get you drink or food as you like.”
With a nod of assent, the woman moved into the tavern, idly reaching up a hand to adjust her creamy hair after so long under the hood. A quick scan of the room saw her notice the guards, travellers, and their game of dice. Her expression immediately turning into one of happiness, the Homo felixis made for their table, and placed her fingertips together in front of her sternum as she bowed to the men. “Good tidings, gentlemen. What game are you playing?”
“Batrion.” Unlauon’s voice rumbled deep in his companions’ ears as he smirked at the young woman, his own accent turning his consonants harsh. “Game from my homeland. Seems no one in this empire can play it properly.”
“You wouldn’t be so skilled at veissach if we taught it to you.” Jorik leaned back in his chair, taking an annoyed sip of beer; his purse was far emptier now than when he’d started playing. “Why the question, young miss?”
“I’d like to play, if you gentlemen aren’t opposed.”
Erik gave a small chuckle. “I mean, your company is appreciated miss, but are you certain? You’ll just lose your money to our swarthy opponent here.”
“I will play. My god is with me.” So saying, the woman took a spare chair, swung it about, and sat primly between one of the guardsmen and Erik, across from Unlauon. “My name is Brinasse of Vanhall. It’s a pleasure to meet you all.”
The six men glanced at each other a moment, then the Dwarf gave a quick snort. “God’s with you, huh? Don’t think Emperor Ekreion is much a fan of gambling.”
“Oh, I don’t serve the emperor. My faith is my own.” Beaming, Brinasse adjusted her tail behind her, and glanced at the dice. “How does one play?”
Shrugging, Unlauon went about explaining the rules to the newcomer after the table had gone through a round of their own introductions. After greeting the gamblers, Brinasse stayed silent save to ask for a mug of mulled wine and a plate of smoked salmon from the tavernkeeper. Her quick nods of understanding during the explanation seemed to amuse the guardsmen and Dwarf, and Erik spent far too much of the explanation staring at her features; of the group, it seemed the drink had hit him the hardest. Once Unlauon had finished his spiel, he passed the dice over to the young woman. “So, give them a roll, test your luck. And don’t forget a wager.”
“You’ll need it, kitten.” Kaldor took a long gulp of ale.
Shrugging, Brinasse took the pair of dice, and cocked her head. “I wager...four silver pieces.”
That prompted a laugh from the guardsmen, and Jorik reached over to place a hand on her shoulder. “Young lady, you’d be better off starting with copper bets. Otherwise, Unlauon there will rob you blind.”
“Thank you for your concern, sir, but as I said, my god is with me.” Smiling happily, Brinasse rolled the dice in one hand, and tossed them down on the table in a fluid motion. Over and over they bounced, bone-carved edges clacking softly against the wooden table, until they came to rest on a five and a two.
The six men sucked in their breath, and Unlauon gave a gruff laugh as he pushed four silver coins from in front of himself over to the girl. “Sevens off the bat. Talk about beginner’s luck.”
“It was a good roll.” Brinasse collected her wager from the rest of the men, ears twitching at the clink of coin. “But I’m sure you’ll have an equally good one.”
“Then let’s get into it.” Unlaoun gestured for Erik to take up the dice, and the game continued.
Another hour passed with Brinasse’s inclusion in the game, and the balance of fortune quickly shifted. Unlauon’s pile of winnings slowly dwindled, appearing in front of the Felinoid instead. The amusement of the guards and Dwarf quickly shifted to respect, and Erik’s apparent infatuation with the female traveller grew despite his purse’s emptying. Finally, Unlauon slapped a hand down on the table with a dry laugh. “Gods and demons, girl, you’d make a pirate blush at his misfortune.”
“Aye. What kind of god do you follow that grants you luck at gambling of all things?” Kaldor stroked his beard in irritation. “I should have been following such a divine from the start.”
“I am a monk of Dalfourt, Mr. Urdraan.” The woman’s tail thumped against a leg of her chair as she happily sipped her wine. “I serve him and spread his name, and he blesses me with good fortune.”
Jorik frowned, and glanced at the woman. “Dalfourt, you say? The god of gambling dens? Have you been using his powers to cheat us?”
“Cheat? No, never.” Brinasse gave the man an affronted look. “I have no need of tricks or spellcraft, simply my faith.”
“Uh-huh, sure.” The captain of the guard crossed his arms. “But he blesses you with good luck. Meaning he curses us to bad luck.”
“Curses our purses, it seems.” Erik giggled. “But I’m sure Miss Brinasse meant no ill will.”
“Thank you.” The felixis smiled at the young man, then turned to the rest. “I will happily give back a portion of the money you lost to me, if you’d let me speak more of my god and his ways.”
Scowling, but ultimately relenting, Jorik leaned back in his seat, and listened to Brinasse give a quick speech about Dalfourt’s graces, tenets, and the orphanages built in his name. When she’d finished, the monk drained her second mug of wine, and gave each man back ⅔ of what she’d taken from them. Smiling brightly, Brinasse stood. “Well, I have had my game, spoken my words, and now I must go see about accommodations for the night. So gentlemen, goodnight. I hope you’ll consider giving Dalfourt your patronage if ever you travel near one of his temples.”
“Temple is a strong word for it, miss.” Jorik waved a hand. “In this country, one of those crude establishments would never be allowed. The Emperor doesn’t stand for such things.”
“To each their own.” Tail swaying, Brinasse gave her bow to the men in farewell, and headed for the door to reclaim her maul.
A moment’s hesitation saw Unlauon scoop up and pocket his dice, and the man stood with a chuckle. “I think I’ll need to get my own sleep soon. Besides, I’d rather not be beaten at my own game again. Gents.”
So saying, the man stalked over to the entry, waiting side by side with Brinasse while the tavernkeeper’s son went to fetch their weapons. As they stood, the man glanced down at her. “Where you headed, lucky girl?”
“Wherever Dalfourt leads, which is to say, anywhere.” The woman smiled. “I trust in my good fortune, and things work out for the best.”
Grunting in acknowledgement, Unlauon smiled. “Well, it just so happens that my friends and I have been on a bit of a bad streak recently, and we could use a little bit of luck in our lives. If you’re not going anywhere special, how’d you like some temporary employment?”
“Employment of what kind?”
“Depends on what you can do.” Unlauon watched as the boy handed Brinasse back her maul, eyes lingering on the sigils; pips within square depressions, five on one face and two on the other. “If you can swing that hard enough to hurt, then you can be a fighter.”
“I prefer to fight only in self defense, or in the defense of others.” Brinasse hefted her maul for a moment. “But I am a decent cleric; my tutors in the orphanages said I had the talent necessary for it.”
“Then you can be our healer. We can use one of those too.” Unlauon glanced back at the boy as his own weapons were brought out. Said weapons consisted of a hunting dagger that the man stuck into one boot, and a pair of matched swords. Their curved blades lay within matched scabbards of black lacquered wood decorated with brass depictions of horses on a plain. The guards were discs of the same brass, patterned to resemble a ring of grasses, while the pommels were bell shapes with similar patterning, both separated by crimson cloth wound over the grips. Unlauon placed both scabbards on his left hip, angling them until they rested comfortably. Compared to the rest of his attire, the finery of the blades seemed rather out of place, yet he wore them with the ease of a knight.
Brinasse watched this carefully, then aimed her golden eyes towards Unlauon’s chocolate ones, two feet up. “You have no doctor or healer already?”
“Last one took a quarrel through the eye socket last time we were on a job. Travelers are getting tougher lately.” The man smirked. “So what say you, kitten? Willing to lend your luck to those in need?”
The Homo felixis was silent for a few moments, then took out a copper piece. Flicking it into the air, she gave a grin. “Heads says yes.”
The coin clattered onto the floorboards, drawing the eyes of both the man and the woman. Staring back up at them was the decorated helm of Emperor Ekreion, its starburst halo glittering in the candlelight. With a nod of decisiveness, Brinasse held out one hand. “You have yourself a healer, Mr Unlauon. Sevens and I are at your service.”
Grinning, Unlauon took her hand in a tight shake. “In that case, welcome to the Salthome Bandits, kitten. From now on, you’re under my command. Now let’s go meet your new family, shall we?”
With an easy stride, Unlauon left the tavern, one hand resting upon the blades at his hip. Brinasse hesitated a moment to offer a quick prayer for fortune in her new occupation. That complete, she pulled her hood back up, and followed after her commander. Left behind on the floor was the copper coin, a good luck charm to whomsoever decided to pick it up, blessed by a daughter of Dalfourt.
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