Forums » Fantasy Roleplay » {Meet Cute} Bardic Encounter {1 x 1}

OOC: 1 x 1 with Griffon Pardoner.

The road had been long, dust-plagued and dry and yet, as the pathways to either side of the track began to change from dry shrubbery long since drained of any hope of life, a husk of what had once been, to the slow flourishing of green and twisting of vines, so too did her mood begin to lift from the state of weariness and repetitive routine that it had sank into. The journey had been many weeks to this point, with one day seeming to melt into the other. The temperature too began to change, slowly transitioning from a thick, clammy yet life-sapping heat to the more flourishing temperate if not cool-tinged air that heralded her gradual move into more northern territories.

The road led into a village, the first signs of civilization sighted being the cultivated fields to either side of the road that she remained on. Freshly turned over, with the occasional sighting of a speck of movement indicating one hard at work on the land. Soon, buildings began to emerge; farmhouses at first, before finally the proper signs of a steady settlement came into view. Hanging signs swinging in the slight breeze, windows being opened on overhanging balconies, and the sound of milling people in the street as it broadened off, many side-streets spanning off like branches from the thick trunk of a tree. The slow ache that had begun not too many miles back was persistent, and the changing light indicating the coming of dusk only further prompted her to find somewhere to stay. Finally, she reined in outside of a place promisingly declaring itself as 'The Resting Boar' - complete with an artful depiction carved into the wooden sign.

After handing over coinage enough to have her horse seen to, the elf made her way indoors. Pushing open the door with a slight creak, her senses were immediately assaulted. The welcoming scent of fresh, home-cooked food, the sound of low conversation, laughter and the occasional rattle of gaming dice on wood, and the sight of a place that was neither too crowded, nor too sparse. Ideal. With her lute strapped to her back, the instrument only became more visible when she removed her cloak and tucked it over one arm. Approaching the Innkeeper's counter, a smooth nod followed paired with a respectful gesture of the first two fingers of her right hand to her opposing collarbone. "Long days and pleasant nights, Inn-Keeper. Any news on the road ahead, and a room for the night?" He eyed her, more the instrument than much else, before shaking his head. "Nay that has reached here yet. I'll lessen the cost of the room, if you will play a tune or two." She smiled lightly. "Later, after I have eaten." A nod followed. "I'll have a lass sent over to you in good time. Get ye comfortable, and rest."

And she did so, selecting a table near to the fireplace, at the corner of the stairs that afforded her a view of most of the rest of the open expanse of room - the most important part, including being able to see the door. Setting the lute down against the wall within snagging distance, she finally let herself begin to relax.

Left, right, left, right, Griffon stumbled in the waste land. Get up, keep going, left, right, left, right, left, right. His strength ebbed away as moisture left him with every breath. The man had made a mistake in leaving the trails in search of stories, for he knew now there was nothing out there. Except the possibility of a new skeleton to adorn the land, this one human.

Then, in the distance the harsh terrain started to give way to faint green areas. Griffon could not tell if it was another trick from his fading mind, or real. He prayed for the latter and ran. It was a far run, but he made it. He hit the first patch of green and fell into it, breathing heavily. When he tried to get up he collapsed again. Then, weary from the travel, he slipped out of consciousness for a time. When he awoke the sun was preparing for its departure.

He struggled to his feet, stood there to steady himself for a time, then slowly walked forwards. There had to be something out here. He began focusing on his steps again. Left, right, left, right, left, right. Finally he came across the fields and knew he was near a town, or at least a home. He followed the edge of the field until he came across a road. There were semi-fresh horse tracks leading down it, so he figured it was a good path to follow.

Some time later he found the town. He was happy to be back into civilization, but he did not rest until he found an inn. The first one to catch his eye was one that a sign outside called 'The Resting Boar'. Rest. That sounded amazing to Griffon, and so did food and drink, the life saving elements he had been deprived of. He entered, making a bee line to the innkeeper, and paying no attention to anyone else.

"Bread and cider, I'll perform if it deducts from the coinage required for my meal." he said to the man, pulling out his coin purse as he spoke, leaning against the counter for support and panting for breath. It was quite obvious he was not from here.

The innkeeper inspected the man for a second before responding, "What trade do ye follow?" He inquired.

"Bard of sorts," Griffon explained, "I'm a Pardoner, if you have heard of my family. I tell stories, and am one of the best at my trade."

This earned the storyteller a raised brow from the man, then a huff. "We'll see if ye need to perform. I already got a bard, that lass over there," he said and pointed to the lady that sat by the wall, a lute propped up against her. "If there is room for ye then I'll let ya in, but for now..." He held his hand out and Griffon reluctantly handed over the coinage, then went so sit down, he could wait a little bit for his meal to be ready, only a little bit.

He scanned the area, looking for a decent place to eat. Of course the place I come across has no knowledge of the Pardoner family. After a few moments, and a few glances at the bard, registering her race as elf, and the one with the best seat in the building, he decided he would sit near the fire, on the opposite side than the bard. This way he could afford the same view as the other bard, and judge her performance as well. He gave her another glance as he sat down, she was pretty, he would give her that.

Tinuviel was not so blindly unaware to her surroundings as to not notice the man entering the room. A few others had did 'tween the time of her entering and now, but his body language boldly declared nothing short of fatigue, if nothing else. She was close enough to hear snatch of his conversation over the hubbub of the general area, even if not to the point of getting all of the words precisely; the gist was better than nothing. When he gave her a considering glance, she lowered her head and repeated the gesture towards her collarbone - the same that she had done to the Inn-Keeper, therefore affording the fellow the same degree of respect. Bards they may both be, but she saw little to no need for competition in the trade. There were many farmers after all, and rare was it one heard of them being competitive.

But she was eating first it seemed, sipping at the warm chicken broth that was set before her within a wooden bowl, blowing on it on occasion to make it so then it did not scald her mouth; certainly not something she wanted before a performance, or at any other time either. Occasionally a small chunk of bread was torn from the half she had purchased, and was dipped up. Spontaneously however, she spoke up, addressing him judging by how those warm-gold eyse were fixed solely on him.

"You have travelled far?"

Having no knowledge of what the gesture meant, Griffon disregarded it as some sort of superstition. He nodded slightly to the other bard, his own sign of greeting and respect. When she spoke he had not been looking her way. He was looking for and wondering where in the world his dinner was. Although he wasn't looking right at her, he didn't have to see her to know she was talking to him, the vocal projections told him that.

"Indeed," he said as he turned to her. He was silent for a moment as he inspected the girl, curious as to who she was, and even more curious about the fact that she was an elf. After his last encounter was rather bitter sweet.

Then he spoke to her in drow, a language he learned in that same encounter. "Xun dos flohlu dosst le'i, xor dosst olathur kaovehen wun dosst i'dollen?" What he had asked, with the best Drow he could, was do you follow your kin, or your darker cousins in your ways? He was slightly hesitant to engage this elf in conversation, especially if she was like the dark elves that had forced him to fight an execution battle. Despite these suspicions of nefarious intent, he couldn't help but become fascinated with the warm-gold eyes of this elf when his own made contact with hers.

She watched him look around, almost with a faint hint of amusement. It was a relatively busy time it seemed, even if not raucous or uncommonly loud. But all in due course, was his meal brought over to him. As she had arrived earlier - even if only by something of a margin - that was likely the sole reason why her food had arrived first. Girl? Nay. While she looked perhaps in her early to mid-twenties, anyone who knew anything of the longevity and ageing of elves would know that such meant she was likely just past the cusp of her second century.

When she heard the drow however, her expression changed. A flicker of... irritation? That mingled with wariness. "Ilythiiri olath, verin, inthuul." Drow evil, dark, cold.. The brokenness of the sentence suggested that it was not her first, and perhaps not even her second language. Something learnt only to the barest minimum. Nothing like them in the slightest! Her eyes showed a faint hint of confusion at his line of questioning, so to speak.

((I apologize, I often use the term 'girl' in place of the more age appropriate terms. I'll watch for it in my responses so I can halt my use of it))

Griffon raised a brow. He was expecting better drow than his own. He looked at her for a moment, then smiled. He stood up and stretched his hand out to her. "It is a pleasure to meet you," he said. "I apologize for the questioning, I haven't always had the best experience with some elves. I didn't know if you were like them as well." From behind him came the serving wench, placing his cider and peasant bread down on the table. His smile was genuine, and that of a slight mischief maker.