Aeryn's probably clearly waiting on the rest of her party, but Chel doesn't care. He's carrying a drink when he plops down in front of her at the table, sort of gesturing at her with as he squnts. "You look familiar," he informs her in a deadpan.
She is, indeed, waiting on her party. They elected to wander to investigate something or other, as they do. Someone was of the opinion she would be better suited left behind, which meant they were either encountering something Aeryn would find upsetting, or Aeryn would accidentally offend someone.
Likely both.
But as the drink is placed in front of her, Aeryn glances upward, eyes narrowing slightly. Suspicious. She doesn't touch the drink. "I have no idea who you are," she informs him, tartly, matter-of-factly. "And I'm not from around here, so you'll be better suited asking after someone else."
"I'm not from around here, either," Chel informs her matter-of-factly, and it may be evident from the way that he takes a sip of the drink that he wasn't actually offering it to her. Fucking bards. "You don't look like you belong in a tavern."
Perhaps it's just the nature of travel, or Aeryn's upbringing, or just her general standoffishness, but she seems to withdraw further at the comment, crossing her arms across her lap. It's a relatively benign gesture, or it seems to be -- her staff is resting against the table, and her fingers are now touching the wood of the weapon.
"Whatever gave you that indication?"
It's said dryly. Not asked seriously.
Obviously she doesn't belong in a fucking dingy-ass bullshit tavern, she's wearing embroidered clothing and fine leather boots.
"You're a noble," he states, and there's a slight question in it. "You're- an adventuring elf noble spending time alone in bars. And I swear that I've seen you before. Where's your family from?"
Her brow furrows, at the line of questions, and Aeryn allows her eyes to wander slightly. Searching his face, his ears . . . not an elf. Surely not an associate of her family, or a close one. Not here to hunt her down and bring her back. Probably.
Her fingers curl around her staff underneath the table.
"Wherever my family is from is of no concern to you." It's said coolly. "I am here of my own accord; my title or position means nothing in this tavern, and it will do you well to leave it be."
He leans back slightly at the coolness of her words, looking a little exasperated. Aeryn will probably be able to figure out that he's at least moderately tipsy here, which may explain the dogged persistence.
"I'm from Silverymoon," he'll tell her then, unprompted. "My parents are merchants. Traders? Fine silks and exotic spices, mostly. High-end."
Silverymoon. She's never been, but she vaguely recollects Miren and Zelan being taken along on a trip with their father. Aeryn had been left behind to deal with . . . something or other. She likely caused a window to explode earlier in the day and was being punished.
Either way, the idiot sitting across from her seems to speak the truth. It makes her no less inclined to do the same. The information, though, is useful, and the odds of this idiot actually knowing her family are slim to none. Her father doesn't exactly hob-nob with humans unless strictly necessary.
"My people don't live in Silverymoon." It's said without bite or insult. She's really not trying to be an asshole about this part. "The Elvish settlements tend to remain isolated." She pauses before inclining her head toward the bar. "And if you're going to continue wasting my time while I wait for my compatriots, I drink top shelf."
"The guy who taught me how to play lute was an elf," Chel points out, as if this completely contradicts everything that Aeryn just said. But he does get up and retrieve a drink for her, bringing it back and sliding it across the table to her. Miraculously, it doesn't spill.
She catches the drink with a free hand, the movement quick without moving her eyes from Chel. The knowledge that an elf taught this individual how to play the lute -- and, vaguely, Aeryn pieces together that this person must be a bard, like Naim, except he is most assuredly not Naim, and therefore not worth her time -- is meaningless to her, though it does make sense, in a place like Silverymoon.
Nothing like Myth Drannor.
"I have companions, yes." Where they were now infuriates her. She knew she should have gone on that stupid mission. This was all Zed's fault. "None of them are lute-playing elves."
"I used to have companions," Chel tells her, reclaiming his seat at the table and pulling another sip from his glass. "But they all got eaten by spiders. Giant ones. Incredibly tragic. I wrote a song."
. . . hard to read, really, but something tells Aeryn this person is full of shit.
"You need less desirable companions. Mine would be spit out immediately." . . . likely not true, but Aeryn would set the nest on fire before a group of spiders ate her friends, and that was what mattered. "Why are you still here speaking to me?"
He bristles a little defensively at the question, before shrugging one shoulder and taking another sip of his drink. "You're the only other person in here sitting alone," he justifies finally.
Taryon approaches Aeryn as she's stabling her mount, considering the road-dust, the size of her saddlebags. For his own part, he's all gleam, armor like he just picked it up from the blacksmith's, new. "Have you travelled far? I shall pay a silver coin for news from along the road."
(Doty waits outside, listening, pen at the ready.)
Aeryn has a three day ride to meet with her group. She's taken some time to herself, to track down a lead, but it's time to move on and reconnect with her fellow adventurers. And, truth be told, Aeryn doesn't immediately respond at "elf woman" because no one in their right mind would call her --
But she slows, intending to stop for the night at this inn, and she realizes that Taryon is, indeed, talking to her. Aeryn's eyes scan him quickly, taking him in for what he is (a noble on a stupid adventure; she was that way, once) before letting her eyes take in her surroundings . . . which is how she sees Doty.
"What in the Nine Hells is that?" Aeryn asks warily, unhooking her staff from the side of her horse, her eyes not leaving the . . . bizarre mechanical construct that is Doty. Completely, as it were, ignoring Taryon's question.
"That's Doty," says Taryon; he's pretty used to this reaction by this point, the way people in backwater towns react to the construct. "Doty," he calls over his shoulder. "Say hello."
A creak of metal as Doty lifts one big metal fist and the fingers loosen into an open palm, before he waves stiffy.
"Very good. Doty, do resume taking down the elf woman's information." When she gives it to them. Which will be soon, right? Of course. He offered her an entire silver, after all.
Aeryn knows magic; Aeryn is magic. There is nothing else in her life that she understands more intimately than the arcane. Whatever Doty is . . . there's some aspect of the arcane there, somewhere, but by and large, this is something . . . new.
Still, she loosens her hold on the staff. She doesn't look like she's going to blast it into oblivion, but --
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Doty," Aeryn repeats dryly, and she urges her horse forward the few steps more toward the stable, sliding off of the beast with one smooth motion, taking her staff with her. "Tell the human idiot to learn how to ask for name and title before he addresses me."
Not that Aeryn uses her title, anymore. It's a dead thing, now. But it's helpful, when addressing other noble folk, to remind them of their place.
[ Moose are actually more terrifying than bears. This is a fact that Seki learns very quickly— although that was also expedited by the fact that he had heckled the creature, trying to lasso it like he would a horse so he could get out of having to pay for one of those ridiculously overpriced mounts back at the farm. He had enough money on him for rope and a bag of grain, and that's what he invested on, but this isn't a situation he'd expected: he'd gotten the rope over one of the moose's antlers, whereupon it'd knotted and then pulled free out of his hands.
Rope burn is one thing, but so is being chased by a moose- running away when he isn't built for speed, and having to resort to delving further into the woods where the growth is thicker and hopefully impedes the animal more than it does himself.
God, that's an unholy noise the creature is making.
He also needs his rope back. He'd spent good money on that. ]
[ the rest of her party were collecting firewood, leaving aeryn to guard the camp. it's typically not the brightest of plans; aeryn, while a powerful mage, isn't the strongest of creatures, and hates camping to boot. so she's relatively wary, watching her surroundings carefully from her seat upon a stump in the forest.
but she hears the crashing. the bellow of what sounds like an angry beast -- and aeryn immediately leaps to her feet, the incantations of the arcane on her tongue as she whips her staff in front of her, defensively, before she sees . . . a boy? and -- a what?
the creature itself is far too large to fight without magic, and is seconds from bulldozing her over -- so she immediately leaps onto the stump, whipping her staff around to crack into the ground, a crackling pattern of ice emanating from the magical object, cascading along the ground to create, effectively, an ice rink right underneath the moose . . .and, unfortunately, the boy as well. ]
Move, idiot!
[ it's a rather harsh command, from a lady who appears to be wearing silk in the middle of a forest, but she steps onto the ice without so much as a slip, grounding herself. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2018-04-17 04:16 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2018-04-17 04:22 am (UTC)Likely both.
But as the drink is placed in front of her, Aeryn glances upward, eyes narrowing slightly. Suspicious. She doesn't touch the drink. "I have no idea who you are," she informs him, tartly, matter-of-factly. "And I'm not from around here, so you'll be better suited asking after someone else."
(no subject)
Date: 2018-04-17 04:26 am (UTC)It's an observation, not a come-on.
(no subject)
Date: 2018-04-17 04:30 am (UTC)"Whatever gave you that indication?"
It's said dryly. Not asked seriously.
Obviously she doesn't belong in a fucking dingy-ass bullshit tavern, she's wearing embroidered clothing and fine leather boots.
(no subject)
Date: 2018-04-17 04:35 am (UTC)He is persistent.
(no subject)
Date: 2018-04-17 04:38 am (UTC)Her fingers curl around her staff underneath the table.
"Wherever my family is from is of no concern to you." It's said coolly. "I am here of my own accord; my title or position means nothing in this tavern, and it will do you well to leave it be."
Where in the hell is the rest of her party?
(no subject)
Date: 2018-04-17 04:42 am (UTC)"I'm from Silverymoon," he'll tell her then, unprompted. "My parents are merchants. Traders? Fine silks and exotic spices, mostly. High-end."
(no subject)
Date: 2018-04-17 04:49 am (UTC)Either way, the idiot sitting across from her seems to speak the truth. It makes her no less inclined to do the same. The information, though, is useful, and the odds of this idiot actually knowing her family are slim to none. Her father doesn't exactly hob-nob with humans unless strictly necessary.
"My people don't live in Silverymoon." It's said without bite or insult. She's really not trying to be an asshole about this part. "The Elvish settlements tend to remain isolated." She pauses before inclining her head toward the bar. "And if you're going to continue wasting my time while I wait for my compatriots, I drink top shelf."
(no subject)
Date: 2018-04-17 04:57 am (UTC)"You travel with a party, then?"
(no subject)
Date: 2018-04-18 07:11 pm (UTC)Nothing like Myth Drannor.
"I have companions, yes." Where they were now infuriates her. She knew she should have gone on that stupid mission. This was all Zed's fault. "None of them are lute-playing elves."
(no subject)
Date: 2018-04-21 11:49 pm (UTC)she rolled 11 on insight.
Date: 2018-04-22 01:17 pm (UTC)"You need less desirable companions. Mine would be spit out immediately." . . . likely not true, but Aeryn would set the nest on fire before a group of spiders ate her friends, and that was what mattered. "Why are you still here speaking to me?"
(no subject)
Date: 2018-04-28 03:39 am (UTC)He bristles a little defensively at the question, before shrugging one shoulder and taking another sip of his drink. "You're the only other person in here sitting alone," he justifies finally.
(no subject)
Date: 2018-04-22 05:49 am (UTC)Taryon approaches Aeryn as she's stabling her mount, considering the road-dust, the size of her saddlebags. For his own part, he's all gleam, armor like he just picked it up from the blacksmith's, new. "Have you travelled far? I shall pay a silver coin for news from along the road."
(Doty waits outside, listening, pen at the ready.)
I'M ASCENDING
Date: 2018-04-22 01:03 pm (UTC)But she slows, intending to stop for the night at this inn, and she realizes that Taryon is, indeed, talking to her. Aeryn's eyes scan him quickly, taking him in for what he is (a noble on a stupid adventure; she was that way, once) before letting her eyes take in her surroundings . . . which is how she sees Doty.
"What in the Nine Hells is that?" Aeryn asks warily, unhooking her staff from the side of her horse, her eyes not leaving the . . . bizarre mechanical construct that is Doty. Completely, as it were, ignoring Taryon's question.
(no subject)
Date: 2018-04-22 09:05 pm (UTC)A creak of metal as Doty lifts one big metal fist and the fingers loosen into an open palm, before he waves stiffy.
"Very good. Doty, do resume taking down the elf woman's information." When she gives it to them. Which will be soon, right? Of course. He offered her an entire silver, after all.
(no subject)
Date: 2018-04-22 11:23 pm (UTC)Still, she loosens her hold on the staff. She doesn't look like she's going to blast it into oblivion, but --
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Doty," Aeryn repeats dryly, and she urges her horse forward the few steps more toward the stable, sliding off of the beast with one smooth motion, taking her staff with her. "Tell the human idiot to learn how to ask for name and title before he addresses me."
Not that Aeryn uses her title, anymore. It's a dead thing, now. But it's helpful, when addressing other noble folk, to remind them of their place.
(no subject)
Date: 2018-11-17 12:22 am (UTC)Rope burn is one thing, but so is being chased by a moose- running away when he isn't built for speed, and having to resort to delving further into the woods where the growth is thicker and hopefully impedes the animal more than it does himself.
God, that's an unholy noise the creature is making.
He also needs his rope back. He'd spent good money on that. ]
(no subject)
Date: 2018-11-17 12:55 am (UTC)but she hears the crashing. the bellow of what sounds like an angry beast -- and aeryn immediately leaps to her feet, the incantations of the arcane on her tongue as she whips her staff in front of her, defensively, before she sees . . . a boy? and -- a what?
the creature itself is far too large to fight without magic, and is seconds from bulldozing her over -- so she immediately leaps onto the stump, whipping her staff around to crack into the ground, a crackling pattern of ice emanating from the magical object, cascading along the ground to create, effectively, an ice rink right underneath the moose . . .and, unfortunately, the boy as well. ]
Move, idiot!
[ it's a rather harsh command, from a lady who appears to be wearing silk in the middle of a forest, but she steps onto the ice without so much as a slip, grounding herself. ]