The Backways Bar [RP]

The elf takes the opportunity of the centurion's questions as a distraction for the tiefling, slipping away quietly and casually. The tiefling doesn't notice; the centurion sees the elf stand and walk off, but only Sodinukas and Thedra, watching the encounter, see the elf sit down a few tables away before pulling out a deck of cards.

 

The priest takes another sip of their drink. When they speak again, their voice has regained yet more clarity.

"Centurion. You would assume correctly. I've not seen you, however. I am Neshu, pas Aventaria. You?"

[Neshu is lying.]

 

Aurelion nods. “I am Centurion Aurelion of the House Darax,” he introduces himself. “It’s always a welcome surprise to meet another resident of the Empire, isn’t it? Vylmarans should stick together more than ever, especially with Jossinar and Hernan preparing for war.”
He instinctively runs his fingers along the edge of his saber. “I’ve heard some truly worrying things lately. The dead stirring from their graves near the Skjaldan islands? A new God-King in Hernan?”
He stops, letting the silence sink in.
“And yet, what worries me most is this talk of internal rebellion. Worshippers of barbarian gods stirring up insurrections and strife? What a terrible thing to do, wouldn’t you agree? Heresy of the highest degree against the Empress and the Triumvirate itself.”

Although he doesn’t show it, Aurelion’s mind is abuzz with thoughts.
Why was another Vylmaran here, in distant and foreign territory so far from the mainland. Conversing with barbarians, no less? Who were they truly-were they even who they claimed to be, or had his own memories failed him?
They were troubling thoughts, and Aurelion decided that he needed to tread carefully. The right words could make a strong difference between a newfound ally and a dangerous enemy.

 

The elf pauses. They've shuffled twice, but they were about to do so a third time - until this. They put away the deck of cards, and walk over quietly.
"The graves of the Isles have opened again? I'd begun to hope, after two hundred years, that they might stay shut forever. But of course, Irivex is too ambitious for that, and I've no doubt Devarien is still right alongside him, defiling the peace of the dead, the traitor."

 

The priest is outwardly placid, but their mind is abuzz as well.

Humanity was never meant to hold the sheer breadth of memories Neshu must, and the priest has packed most of them away in constructs and implanted gemstones. After a moment of mental searching, Neshu finds what they were looking for, the context to that twinge of familiarity.

The unlocked memory recounts to Neshu a confrontation with an imperial force some decade ago. The deep cowl couldn't hide all of their features, but Neshu had tried to ensure that none of the bloody dragons made it out of the manor alive anyway. Clearly, they had failed.

Still, the Centurion doesn't look as if they recognize Neshu. Right?

Neshu knows not the bar's rhyme or reason for allowing invitees, and for now has basically given up on trying to find it. Still, they've known many a mole or turncoat within the legions. In an (ostensibly) low-risk situation like this,

___________________

​

The first thing that Neshu thinks when they notice the elf (that should already be sitting next to them) walk over is that reality has begun to fray again. There's little evidence to support this, but there are very few creatures stealthy enough to evade the priest's notice, and Neshu has never heard of this elf⸮

The priest takes another sip of the elixir. Their voice is nearly completely hale, now, the chime tone speaking in an accent familiar to none.

"Irivex stirs? Speak ye truly, elf, Irivex stirs? Centurion, I know you speak true: my flock is waning, as of late. Dark thoughts lie, waiting, in the hearts of passerby. But would I name heretics the merely misguided? They are but mortal, as us all. Young. Passionate."

Another sip. The priest shivers slightly. Something dark enters their eyes.

"A Lich is something else entirely. A creature so desperate to escape death that it threw its life away to continue a tortured existence. A fragility, born from and surviving on unfathomable suffering. Beyond heresy -- an abomination."

Neshu makes for their drink again -- but it is finished. Their gaze, for just a moment, lingers on the empty cup. They move to speak, then pause, then move to speak again.

"Still, dissidents are no laughing matter. There are no gods but the Three, no just rule but the Empress. Heresy is still a terrible thing. Which might then bring us to the subject of the 'God'-King."

 

Aurelion initially smiles in agreement, but the expression quickly fades.
Heresy.
Even now, the memories are still vivid in his mind-almost as if the priest’s words refreshed them.
The smell came first. The stench of burning flesh, of waves of deadly arcane magic ripping through men like a blade through soft butter. He remembered as soldiers stormed the manor’s gates, only to be repulsed by exploding fireballs and bolts of arcing lightning.
An entire legion had tried to take the manor that day, defended by only fifteen of the House’s sorcerers. Of them, two had survived-and while Aurelion had remained a Centurion, Augusta had been promoted to the rank of Legate, assigned to a post in the capital.

And now, here he was. In a place that didn’t truly exist, trying to find answers to a question he didn’t understand in the first place.
“These are dark things we speak of,” he says. “Shall I buy you both drinks to lighten the mood?”

 

"So you want information," the elf responds. "You're not here because you want to be, or to meet people - you're just here to find out what you can. Don't pretend you didn't give yourself away with the offer."

"And while I don't care for politics, I will say that liches are beyond abominations, too. Foul, fiendish, disgraceful, monstrous, detestable, contemptible, appalling, atrocious, malevolent abominations, is what they are."

 

Aurelion tenses, gripping the hilt of his sword almost instinctively. He almost draws it before getting ahold of his senses, inhaling sharply.
“Aren’t we all, in some way or another?” he replies, chuckling as if it was a jape. Despite his words, he doesn’t let go of the saber.
He steps towards the elf and whispers, his voice so low that only the elf can hear it. “Bold, aren’t you? An admirable trait. Marcus Paenaron was also bold, before his rebellion was crushed in three days by Emperor Correl the Second. Sadly, his boldness did not prevent the deaths of six thousand men.”
Before the elf can respond, Aurelion takes a mug of beer from the bartender and hands it to him, turning around and leaving for a table in the center of the room.

 

The elf writes a note before walking over to the table to say, "I'd be perfectly willing to exchange information."
The elf quaffs the entire mug, dropping the piece of paper.
It's written in common script, though a bit messy.
Marcus' men slew five foes each with half the equipment, but that's irrelevant.
I'd simply prefer if you were bold enough not to hide your intentions.

 

In a whirl of motion that seems too fast to be real, Thedra is standing at your side, that sharp, huge grin still permeating her face.
Her soft, high-pitched voice is entirely replaced by a deep rasp (albeit still with the southern accent).
"Now, what might give you the authority to make such claims? In some circles, you would be struck down in a second for words like that, your limbs scattered amongst the trees in the forest, and your organs fed to the wolves. You should know that Marcus Paenaron was burned at the stake."

(After saying this, the pirhana guard starts toward her. She tilts her head and says, in her soft, high-pitched voice, "That wasn't a threat, merely a comment." The pirhana guard stops, still looking at her warily.)

She then moves, more swiftly than should be possible, over to Aurelion.

Returning to her deep rasp,
"You. I don't believe I know you, and yet I feel that I should. After all, it seems that our goals are aligned."
She then turns away and slinks back into the shadows. The perceptive amongst you might notice, as she walks away, that one of her metal claws is stained with some red substance.
The squirrel is nowhere in sight.

 

The elf's face grows dark. "I fought Irivex with my own two hands and knives", they say, at a low volume but harsh tone, to nobody in particular, "and if you'd seen him, heard his voice, even just smelled his rank stench, you'd agree with each word I spoke."
The elf makes a gesture, a sort of cutting motion with their second finger tucked under their thumb. Nobody else knows what it means. The elf then walks over to Sodinukas.
"Water, huh? You seem a bit more respectable than the others, but I wouldn't want to sabotage you with the bad reputation I seem to have made myself."
They walk off to sit back down, and pull their deck of cards back out.

 

“Wait,” Aurelion says before Thedra disappears from sight. “I do believe we could find an arrangement..benefitting us both. He slides her his own drink, which has evidently been untouched. He stares at her analytically, as if trying to pinpoint her motives from a single look.
“I suppose you are a resident of Vylmar as well?”

Spoiler: Aurelion’s life in the Empire

After twenty-eight years of life in Vylmar, Aurelion is far from a stranger to risky social maneuvers and carefully crafted schemes.
Aurelion traces his lineage back to Leto Darax, a wealthy lord and leader of a Great House of Vylmar during the golden age of the Empire. Leto made the fateful mistake of siding with the rebel lords Marcus and later Darius Paeneran, who attempted to revolt against the Emperor in an attempt to bring back the senate of old. When the rebellion was eventually quenched by the Emperor, House Darax was stripped of their lands and vassals, soon becoming an insignificant player in the Empire’s politics. Although Leto’s ancestors have worked long and hard to gain their place back, even now, many still associate Darax as a house of traitors.

 

1. saad
2. there is definitely a plausible way they can learn the language, but speaking it less so - so alright I guess
3. Your character, your decisions. I can respect that.
4. saad

 

THE FIRST SOLEMN OATH OF THE FOURFOLD PATH:
"I will forgive all but death, and then forgive it too."​

Neshu was silent for a very long time. Then, for the first since they had arrived, the priest rose from their stool. With a each step accompanied by the rapping of their cane upon the ground, they approached the elf before melting into the seat opposite them.

"A game of Leivas, perhaps?"

[This is the introduction to one of many Vylmaran resistance cell secret handshakes. Should the elf be unaffiliated, Neshu will happily play a normal game or simply just talk. Should the elf reciprocate, the exact plays that the priest and elf make will narrowly identify the exact branch of partisan or resistance (the Vylmaran underground is rather loosely-organized and decentralized, as any operation of its scale must be), as well as communicate broad information about any currently ongoing goals/operations.]

 

The elf shuffles three more times, unusually quickly.
"I'd be willing, if the blue jay calls at seven and the fifth card's lost."
[While the strangeness of the response is indicative of a code, it's significantly more complex than expected, and the terms aren't used in the Vylmaran underground. However, the message is comprehensible in the Jossinarian thieves' cant, if a character here understands it. The sentence "translates" to: "I'm a member of a thieves' guild, we shouldn't continue if you're a member of The Zarian (a widely-known thieves' guild), and I'd be familiar with your opener if it weren't for the fifth word.]
The elf puts the now very-well shuffled deck in the center of the table.

 

A rush of wind and darkness, and Thedra is standing behind you.
"Mind if I watch? I love card games." (She has returned to her lighter voice)

[If either character is particularly perceptive (or even mildly so), they'll know that Thedra doesn't know about this code, but is suspicious of both characters, and is watching the game out of true curiosity.]

 

"Only my brothers and I, unfortunately. I only ever learned to play with the fifth, will that be an issue?

[The priest recognizes Jossinarian thieves' cant, but hasn't dealt with the Jossic underground in centuries. This is horribly-out-of-date code mixed with at most a recognizable sign or two from Vylmaran theives' cant. The second sentence is Neshu in nearly plain speech: "This is the only version of the opener I know. Are you from an organization at all linked with mine?"]

 

The elf seems to frown a bit.
"Your deck's old, but no matter, and the fifth's a traveler, but I suppose I can play without. The crow sang at four, but my song's sleeping. I'm fine to play, but the guest deals, of course."
The elf smirks again, though it's very unclear why.

[Translation: "Your codes are out of date, but I still understand them. Your opener's still strange to me, but we can move past that. I'm a member of the Order of the Blade, but I haven't been in contact with it for a long time. I'm alright if we continue."]

[In Leivas, the person who didn't provide the shuffled deck usually deals the cards as an old way to disincentivize rigging the deck. Certain patterns of dealing can also convey information, though most considered it too difficult to remember. About 100 years ago, the dealing patterns were phased out in favor of more verbal cants, which took about two decades.]

 

[Message as received: I'm able to understand you anyway. I'm a member of [???], though I'm not working for it at the moment. I'm all right if we continue.]

"Of course."

Neshu takes the deck and deals straight -- one card to themself, then one card to the elf, back and forth until each have a starting hand of six. Neshu is aware that dealing patterns aren't much of a thing anymore, and this is a message on the level of the game:

Though Neshu is allowed to deal the cards from anywhere inside the deck, and in any order that they please, to deal straight is a sign of extreme confidence, whether real or bluffed. The priest here says either "I trust you" or "I do not need to trust you," it depends on context. Perhaps it is both.

"I've always been partial to this game, though I don't get to play it often. The sleeping song sends shivers down my spine."

[Message sent: I'm a member of an organization on the periphery of the underground, and you've likely not heard of it. We don't directly deal in seedier enterprises, though we deal frequently with those that do. I've not heard of the organization you're a member of.]

"Would you like to join us? The game has just begun."

 

"The crow sings far, but I've not heard further. What pitch shall this note be?"
[Message sent: My organization is known far out, but if you haven't heard of it I probably haven't heard of yours. What topic will we discuss?]
The elf skips their turn and draws a card.