Dorbraine of Yew sat in the tavern, his hands burning. It had been a long day in the woods, chopping away at massive tree trunks. The oaks here around Skara Brae were gnarled and twisted from the constant sea breezes. The trees might be shorter, but they were also a lot more dense. Years of being battered by seasonal storms had built highly resilient wood... the perfect for crafting bows and quarterstaffs. It was also the kind of wood that could dull an axe in a dozen swings. Dorbraine had a stack of axe heads waiting to be ground and honed at the blacksmith the next morning. But for tonight, he didn't want to think about axes and trees. All he wanted to think about was leather and bone... dice in a cup. Dorbraine took his ale and turned from the bar. He had sold a load of prime boards to a bowyer down from the home country around Yew, and he'd managed to work a good deal thanks to the shared heritage. The bowyer had enjoyed the irony that even though he was getting his wood from Skara Brae, his gold was still going to a local cause, in a way. And that left Dorbraine with more than a few coins in his purse and all of his outstanding debts paid in full. It was a good feeling, and a good run at the dice could make it last. All he had to do was find the right game... After several misfires, Dorbraine found a slow moving game in The Falconer's Inn down by dockside. The name was fancy, but the common room of the inn was known for knife fights and brawls, while the rooms in the back were known for their hourly rate....among other things. When the bet came to Dorbraine he emptied every single gold mark onto the table, save one. That one he tucked into a pocket in the top of his right boot. The rest, he laid on the bet line. Four of the dicers backed out of the bet, but three took it on. They matched his six hundred mark bet, and agreed to double if he called the roll. Dorbraine accepted the bet, and called double sixes. If he hit, he would win a total of three thousand, six hundred gold marks. That was better than two months pay with the axe. Dorbraine took the cup, whispered a short, but sincere prayer to Fate, and tossed the dice. They showed double sixes when they stopped tumblin; the best roll possible. Dorbraine collected his winnings, and announced he was leaving the game. He thanked all of the dicers for their hospitality, though some of them seemed to think he was being less than sincere. Apparently winning the biggest bet of the night and then immediately leaving didn't win one any friends. No matter. Dorbraine wasn't looking for friends tonight. Tonight he was looking for gold, and Fate had smiled on him. His Nammy had always told him that when Fate smiles at you once, don't poke her in the eye and expect her to do it twice. It was advice he'd always tried to follow. Dorbraine tipped the innkeeper generously on the way out of the Falconer. He stepped outside and walked down by the shore. There he retrieved the one mark he'd stuck in the top of his boot as insurance. He heaved the heavy gold coin as hard as he could out into the dark waters of the sea. Fate demanded her cut every time. A starling whistled behind Dorbraine, and he frowned. Starlings were a Yew bird and uncommon in Skara. He turned just in time to see a club swinging at his face. Dorbraine ducked to the side, rolling, and he came up with his hatchet in his hands. The assailant came at him again, swinging the club wildly. Dorbraine turned and spat to the side. He stepped forward smoothly and swung the blunt end of his hatchet around in a tight arc. The metal met the attacker's wrist and snapped it with a loud crack. The club went flying harmlessly to the side. Dorbraine stepped forward and kicked the man hard in the chest, right where the ribs met. The man collapsed, gasping. Dorbraine turned in a quick arc, and saw moonlight flash on the blade of a dagger. He stepped smoothly to the side and brought the shaft the hatchet around, continuing his original swing. The hardened hickory shaft connected with the second man's head, and he collapsed in an unconscious heap. A third would-be attacker dropped a rusted spear and fled back into the shadows of Skara Brae's dockside. Dorbraine, slightly winded, bent and put the edge of his hatchet hard under the man with the broken wrist's chin. When he raised the man's face to meet his eyes, Dorbraine saw it was one of the men he'd been dicing with. "Apparently, you're much more attached to your gold than I thought," Dorbraine of Yew growled at the man, "You see, I'm rarely as ready as you to die for mine. Mighty brave of you, going to those lengths for some shiny metal." The man tried to swallow but found he couldn't with the hatchet where it was. "Now, I'm willing to let this be a lesson learned," Dorbraine said, releasing the man, "Next time don't bet what you aren't willing to lose. Now, tend to your man. His head is likely to be painful tomorrow. If you get thoughts in your head about settling some score, then ask his advice first. Got it?" The man nodded, and picked up his unconscious accomplice. The two disappeared the same way the third attacker had fled. Dorbraine shook his head, and dusted off his doublet and cloak. Maybe they'd think twice about trying to cutthroat a lucky man. Dorbraine of Yew fished into one of the fat coin bags in his pack and pulled out another gold mark. He heaved it out into the frothing waves. Fate got paid twice tonight.
Uncommon Calls ~The Summoning~ Veyttin of Brae watched as the three men closed in on the old soldier. The man heaved a gold coin out into the darkness. Veyttin frowned deeper. There was something odd about this man. He couldn't quite put his foot on it. The cutthroats were just on the verge of springing their trap. Veyttin put his fingers to his lips and made the call of a Yew Starling, loud and clear. The stranger's head tilted slightly to the side, and he turned at the exact right moment. The cutthroat never knew what hit him. The woodsman was a blur of motion as he dealt with the attackers. In a matter of heartbeats, the air was still, and it was over. One man was unconscious, one fled, and a third decently injured. The woodsman had barely broken a sweat. He exchanged a few words with one of the robbers, threw another coin, and turned towards the North. Just then, Veyttin stepped out of the shadows between two stores. The woodsman turned quickly to face him, this time a battle axe was in his hands, though, no hatchet. "You get a good show?" The man said, his drawling brogue sounded like a Yew accent. Veyttin showed the man his empty hands, and kept his palms towards the woodsman at all times, moving slowly and carefully. "I'm not with those other gentlemen," He said, "My name is Veyttin of Brae." "Am I supposed to know what that means?" The Yewan growled, his battle-axe still ready, "I've had enough to deal with for one evening, so if ya don't mind? I think I'll be headin for bead now, aye?" Veyttin smiled, "As you wish. I just wanted to let you know, one old soldier to another, if you ever have need, call on me. I will do what I can for you." The Yewan frowned, his eyes narrowing. He lowered the axe, but just a hair, before asking, "And why would you do that?" Veyttin smiled, "Because you could have killed those men...but you didn't."
Re: Forester for Hire ~The Summoning~ Forester for Hire Catalin stormed about with visible frustration. It was odd to see him more grumpy than Kiln. His patience was clearly strained and the Lady's demands no longer received his fumbled attempts of upper class cordiality. "No, we will not be taking the Lady by the main road. And if it pleases her, she'll stop wearying the village with her constant badgering!" LaFayne was silent for only a moment, her look of shock showed she was not used to such indignation. Catalin secretly wished for the gag he found her with, and he tuned her out when she started bending Sir Orrin's ear with her exasperations, "We'll I've never..." He yelled for Kiln and spouted out instructions without waiting for a response, "Oi, Master Dwarf. Ride to Skara Brae and hire a suitable crew to help our villagers clear the fallen trees. We don't want any mandrake patches springing up. I can't handle reapers being added to our growing list of problems," He paused then added, "And for full disclosure, let them know they may need to use their axes for more than chopping trees."
An Offered Hand ~The Summoning~ Veyttin of Brae stood just outside the pool of light shed by the inn's windows and the lanterns hanging at the front door. He always liked to get a feel for a place before he stepped inside. It was good to listen to the rhythm of the people inside, and you could tell a lot by who was leaving, and how. A bunch of people getting thrown out, or worse...carried... at the same time might mean trouble. Tonight, though, it was all happy drunks leaving The Falconer's Inn. Veyttin looked up at the sign and smiled. Too many people didn't pay attention to what was drawn on the sign. They simply saw the name and came inside expecting Lords and Ladies and high society. The sign, however, had a man in a dockhand's uniform wearing a large falcon hood and getting spanked hard by a scantily clad tavern wench. Given the fact that most of the patrons of this particular establishment would have some serious difficulty reading words as big as falconer and inn, the meaning of the picture took on a whole new level of importance. Veyttin stepped up to the door of the inn and slipped quietly inside as the door closed behind some leaving patrons. The common room was full, but not uncomfortably so. And as far as Veyttin could tell, all of them were getting along together somewhat peacefully, which was a slight miracle. In dockside, there was always at least a bit of disgruntled grumbling going on to build the ambience. But then, Veyttin saw why. There was a beautiful woman sitting on a chair at one end of the common room. She was playing a harp in her lap, and a tamborine with her feet. Small silver cymbals on her wrists and ankles jingled along with their own hypnotic rhythm. The woman had hair so black it seemed nearly purple, and it shimmered in the light of the candles and lamps like silk. Her eyes were a clear, vibrant green, and seemed to burn. She was a gypsy, through and through. Every man in the place was hypnotized by the sway of her hips and...shoulders.... as she moved with the music she played. Every man but one. The Yewan sat in corner table, next to the door to the kitchen, and facing the door outside. He spotted Veyttin as soon as he walked in, and his gaze had never waivered. One hand was on the table, holding what looked like a mug of ale. The other was out of sight. Veyttin put on his best smile and walked over to the table. "Mind if I have a seat, Lumber man?" Veyttin asked, gesturing at the empty chair. The Yewan grimaced, "Don't call me that." He grated. Veyttin waited, but when the man didn't continue, he asked again, "Mind if I have a seat?" The Yewan looked him straight in the eyes. "Aye, I mind," He replied. "Oh, apologies, then," Veyttin said, taking the seat anyway, "But we have some things to discuss." "There's nothing we could possibly have to discuss," The Yewan grated. "Are you always so grumpy and unpleasant, Lumber man?" Veyttin asked, cocking his head to the side. "I told you not to call me that," The Yewan said in a soft, hard voice. His eyes narrowed, and Veyttin imagined the man's grip on the axe under the table tightened. Best not to push him too far too quickly. "Very well," Veyttin said, "But you haven't given me anything better to call you. I have given you my name, but you don't give me yours." "Why do you want it so badly?" The Yewan asked, his eyes narrowing farther, "What do you plan to do with it?" Veyttin smiled, "Offer you a drink, is all," He said, waiving for one of the serving maids to come over. As he watched her sway to the table, a bottle of whiskey and two glasses already on her tray, he considered that "maid" might be a bit of a stretch. Veyttin took the opened bottle and poured the Yewan a healthy sample, then poured his own. He picked up his glass and raised it, then waited. At first the Yewan did nothing. But, after a few moments he leaned forward and took the glass roughly. He looked at Veyttin through narrowed eyes. "I don't like you," The Yewan said after a moment, "And I don't want to." "I hadn't noticed," Veyttin muttered, only half under his breath. "You offered the drink," The Yewan growled, "I get to toast. That's the custom, so be quiet, and let me toast." The Yewan waited for Veyttin to nod before continuing, "Like I said, I don't like you, and I don't want to. You are bothersome, nosy, and too bloody happy in general to be up to any good. I don't know if I trust you or not, but you did give me your name. So, thanks to Fate for all our fortunes... so says Dorbraine of Yew." With that, Dorbraine downed his whiskey in one swig, and wiped his chin with the back of his hand, "Now, go away," He said. "Nonsense," Veyttin said, pouring Dorbraine another glass, "We have the whole bottle to finish." Dorbraine looked at the glass, and then back up at Veyttin, "I meant it when I said I didn't like you." "I know you did, Lumber man," Veyttin said, never losing his smile, "But the truth is, I'd rather have your honest dislike over faked friendship any day." Veyttin raised his glass, but Dorbraine refused to take his, "I told you not to call me that," He said, his voice hard and dangerous again. "Come now, woodsman," Veyttin said, "You gave me your name and you accepted my hospitality by sharing my drink. You can't hurt me until we've parted ways for at least a day. But, to show you my good will, I give you my word that I will not call you that again, ever, if you will agree to tell me one day why you hate that name so." Dorbraine sat back, his eyes still narrow, "First off, I never said I hated the name, I just told you not to call use it on me. Second, why should I bargain with this? Simply don't call me that name." "My words are my own, woodsman," Veyttin replied, his face turning suddenly serious, "And they are no man's to control but my own. So if you would have me do this, the man you just said you don't like and don't want to like, then I shall ask a price in return. For a friend I might do it as a favor, but you are not my friend, as you have made clear. So will you accept my price?" Dorbraine ground his teeth, but nodded, "Very well. I will tell you one day, but on a day of my choosing. Understood?" Veyttin nodded, smiling again. "Why did you come here?" Dorbraine asked, "Was it simply to annoy me?" Veyttin couldn't suppress a chuckle, "No, Dorbraine of Yew, I did not come here to annoy you. I came here to let you know I may have found work for us." "I have a job," Dorbraine replied, sipping his whiskey and enjoying the flavor. It was good liquor, and he was sorry he'd wasted the first glass. He didn't have to enjoy the man's company to enjoy his coin. "Yes, but are you really happy hacking away at tree trunks all day?" Veyttin asked, "More importantly, how long can you afford to stay in one place? You're a soldier, whether you want to admit it to me or not. And you're running from something, that's as plain as day. If you stay here, they'll find you, whoever they are. You'll have to move on eventually....why not come with me?" "But you're forgetting," Dorbraine said, pouring himself and Veyttin another round, "I don't like you. In fact, I'm not even sure why I'm talking to you." Veyttin laughed, "It's my winning smile and my fine whiskey, of course. And I want you to come because, believe it or not, I enjoy the company." Dorbraine sat back in his chair, deep in thought. Finally, he reached into the top of his left boot and pulled out a gold mark. "Heads I go with you, tails I stay here, sound fair?" Veyttin nodded, and Dorbraine flipped the coin into the air. But, when he went to catch it, he missed and the coin landed on the table, balancing on its edge. Dorbraine and Veyttin both stared at the coin, amazed. Dorbraine reached for the coin and tried to pick it up to toss it again, unwilling to believe what had happened, but the coin was stuck hard to the table. "What does this mean, woodsman?" Veyttin asked, his voice soft as a whisper. "It means I'm coming with you," Dorbraine said, and the coin immediately fell over. Veyttin looked up, a frown of confusion on his face. "It was a trick coin," Dorbraine explained, "It had two tails. So, where is this job you spoke of?" Veyttin smiled, deciding to ignore the coin for the moment, "I saw a posting today for a job in the Village of Paws.... it sounds perfect. Small, out of the way... down in the southern wilds near one of the Shrines. A good place to stay out of sight." Dorbraine grunted, "Very well," He said, finishing his glass of whiskey, "We'd better be about it, then. We'll leave first thing in the morning." Veyttin looked at how much of the bottle was left, and then winked at Dorbraine, "Well," He said, "Maybe not first thing." They boath roared with laughter, and clinked their glasses together. At the other end of the common room, the gypsy harpist played on. Her deep, sultrly laughter filled the common room, rising high above the music, and floating out the windows on the night breeze. The coin the men had left on the table where it had fallen vanished in a flash of light and small puff of smoke, but all eyes were on the gypsy as she danced and swayed to the rhythm of her own music.
