A Night for Those who Grow (Open) (Graded)

[Soren Kvistson]

"You are free to choose,"

Vhalar 1st, 719

Entry from The Ox's Bellow Tavern Calendar

Vhalar 1 - A Night of Tribute - Due to the season of harvest coming to Melrath, Soren is opening his taps to all involved in feeding the Melrathi people from their farms. Anyone who lives, works, or assists with any farm work will receive a free meal and drink at the tavern. Everyone else will receive half off the price of any of the Limited Supplies Drinks.

The evening was just beginning all through Melrath, the sun beginning to dip low, splashing the sky with pinks, oranges, and purples. The weather was just beginning to cool, though was not yet cold. And many of the Melrathi people were spooked following the incident with the doors that occurred at midnight. Soren, however, had slept right through, not disturbed for none of the mysterious doors were not in his bedroom, thankfully.

But, he had that feeling that he was not alone. And after hearing a few others throughout the day discuss it, he realized that he was not alone in being not alone. He did his best to simply ignore it. He assumed it to be the work of local spirits or ghosts, and it was beyond his control. Still, it was always there, just enough to be mildly annoying. So Soren put it into the back of his mind, for today was not a day about him, but about the farmers of Melrath. It was the first day of the harvest season, and he was determined to give back to them. He'd spread it by word of mouth, as well as kept it posted on the bulletin board in the Front Room (a bulletin board in the Back Room turned out to be a futile effort with all the brawling).

Today, farmers and others who assist or work on farms could come to the tavern and eat and drink for free. Soren had the staff decorate both rooms with various produce, mostly gourds and pumpkins, though some fruits were found as well. The hearth fires were kept warm, though not too hot since the air was not so brisk yet. Soren watched as his employees went to and fro, getting ready for the dinner rush, since most farmers hadn't been able to make it in during breakfast and lunch. He expected a full crowd.

Both rooms had been shifted, no longer full of individual islands of tables, they had been converted to rows of long tables, to allow everyone to sit together and thus, come together. There were a few of the regulars and early birds dotted around, mostly at the bars, and Soren himself stood behind the bar with the bartenders on duty, ready and waiting for the busy night.

"But you are not free from the consequences."

[Anos]

The sun was setting over the tree-covered horizon as Anos wandered the city. It had been another warm day, yet it did little to remove the chill that still seemed steeped in the previously friendly and open stones of the city. Indeed, the events of the last night had given Anos and Celian a frightful start and neither had been feeling well this morning. Celian, in a rare fit of generosity, had allowed Anos the trial to himself, and Anos spent much of it wandering around and seeing the sights. He enjoyed the feel of the town, though he noted that many of the people were jittery and few seemed to be traveling alone, though it could just be a coincidence.

Celian had explained that Melrath had more spirits than nearly every other place he had brought Anos on their two arc journey, yet Anos had had scant interaction with them since his arrival earlier in the Hot Cycle. As he rounded a corner, the smell of cooking food wafted out a large open door and the joyful sounds from within drew his attention. Turning, he spied the name of the tavern- the Ox's Bellow. As if on cue, his stomach growled noisily and Anos smiled ruefully. Cassander, his tiny pigmy owl, hooted on his shoulder, needlessly reminding Anos that he needed food too. With a good-natured pat on the bird's head- which Cassander endured with a sidelong look at his owner -Anos entered the tavern.

It was a bit of a surprise to Anos. It must be some sort of local festival, as the large room was decorated generously with gourds, pumpkins, and squash. A number of long tables were laid out in the middle of the room, benches down either side, much like the mess hall when he had been in Moseke's Knights. Several employees were still bustling around getting various things ready and several more people stood around in various working clothes, obviously the regulars. A tall, wiry man stood behind the bar and Anos made his way over and took a seat heavily. Cassander hooted slightly and hopped down onto Ano's left forearm.

"Evening!" Anos said in a cheerful voice, loud enough to be heard over the bustle of barmaids behind him. "I'll have two fingers of Patren, if you've got it. If not, I'll take a pale ale of some sort. Seems to be a busy night around here, you have some sort of festival going on?"

[Kisaik]

The atmosphere had changed dramatically once Saun gave way to Vhalar. The air was far more crisp, lilted with the sweetness of browning leaves, and the cooling of the oppressive suns. A chilly breeze fell upon the farms that Kisaik tended, and spent his days farming. Idly, he wondered when Rabu’s and his friends would all arrive from Viden. Once they got there, he was sure they’d all have a splendid time, with lots of quests and adventures to undertake.

In any event, when the sun went down that first day of Vhalar, Kisaik went to his favorite watering hole in the city, the Ox. There he was sure to get a warm welcome to match the warmth of his cavani cloak.

He let someone else open the door for him, before slipping inside himself. Once in, he chirped loudly for all to hear. ”Hello friends!” He waved his little arm, and plucked a sprig of licorice from his hair.

Once he made it to the bar, he made a great leap from the floor to the top of a stool, and from there jumped up and climbed to the top of the bar. While he was able to make the jump and climb, his landings were a little clumsy yet. His armor clinked as he rolled about the surface of the bar, before coming to rest right in front of his friend Soren. ”Hullo Tree Friend!” Kisaik said happily.

”I’ll take the spiciest, most hottest shot of whatever you have on tap to keep the chill at bay!” He said in Xanthean. Then the tunawa slipped a little silver nel out of his domain bag, and slid it across the counter at Soren.

That done, he let ataja, his diri of growth friend climb off of his back, and onto the bar. It resembled a grasshopper, with it’s viney limbs and wooden trunk. It formed a little seat for Kisaik to rest his bark on. He sat on ataja, smiling down at her, ”Thank you Ataja. You’re too kind.”

That done, he waited for his shot of liquor.

[Soren Kvistson]

"You are free to choose,"

Soren watched a man with bright blue eyes and a quite unexpected, though not unwelcome, owl upon his arm, approach the bar. He ordered a drink the Soren rarely served in his bar. Patren. A foreigner for sure. Native Melrathi were almost guaranteed to only drink local brews. "Good evening," he smiled, genuine and bright. Soren had no issue hearing the man, the night was young and the tavern wasn't even close to full swing yet.

"Two fingers of Patren, the nectar of Ne'haer, comin' right up."

Soren turned around, his fingers already knowing where to find the bottle. He kept it in the back and to the right. It was a nice tall bottle, deep blue like the bay leading into the heart of Ne'haer. It had a ruby, crystalline topper, and he plucked it out with the care of a mother with child. He carried it over, cradling it, and set it gently upon the bar.

"You from Ne'haer, friend, or just a well traveler, and thirsty, man?"

He kept his attention on the man as he reached beneath the bar, grabbing one of the clean glasses. He set it with a solid thunk on the wood, not worried over the quality of the glass. It would be perfectly made and perfectly clean, as always. One hand around the bottle's base, "I'm Soren Kvistson." A flick of the hand sent the crystalline topper spinning off and he caught it as it came toward him, meanwhile, the bottle was already being lifted.

He poured the liquid quickly, watching it come out clear as the glass it drained into. Two half breaths later, he stopped and had the lid back on it, and waited. There was always the turn, when it came to Patren. As the liquor swirled, mingled with the amount of air he poured it past, which is why he poured it from higher than he normally might, caused a reaction in the drink. Soon, it turned to the color of Anos' eyes, bright, blue, and never ending. And it was a perfect two fingered pour.

Soren told him the price as he tucked the bottle back to its nesting place, carefully and quickly. And then, as he turned back around, there was a small thump upon the top of the bar, and there was a new friend of his. Soren broke into a big grin, "Onitẹsiwaju Ìlä'fkip." He listened to the little man's request. Spicy. Not a common order here.

But it was definitely an order he could fulfill.

"One moment, Ìlä'fkip. Going to have to go get a special ingredient downstairs." He whistled over at one of the bartenders, then signaled with his hands that he was heading to the kitchen. Charlize nodded, looking to cover the bar as needed, her bubbly, redheaded self taking to it easily.

Soren slipped through the busy kitchens, grabbing a crisp, roasted leek off of a plate, and slipping down the steps into the storage rooms. He grabbed the lantern nearby, lighting it quickly, and ducking into the door. He moved past barrel after barrel, crate after crate, all the way into the back most room, the one he traveled to the least. He grabbed one of the crowbar's hanging from the door way and moved over to a crate. He jammed the crowbar beneath the lid of the crate and wrenched downward hard, grunting as he did so. The nails squeaked as it cracked open. He cracked open to more sides, then levered the lid up and open.

He peered inside with the lantern and saw the pristine jars, safe in the sand they were shipped in. He grabbed the first one, blowing off the sand, and looking into it. Perfectly preserved. He closed the lid, tapped it with the crowbar, and hung it up as he left. Once he was back upstairs, he pushed through the door back into the bar. He set the jar on the wood in front of Chip, then looked around. The bar wasn't well occupied yet, "Anyone who's a bit sensitive in the eyes and nose, might want to step back a bit."

Soren gripped the metal lid and gave it a tight jerk, and it slipped loose. As it did, there was a hiss, and within a few feet of the jar, the air became spicy and burning to the nose, lungs, and eyes. Soren, opened it up all the way, and grabbed a pair of tongs. He jammed them into the cloudy, beige liquid and fished out a white, fleshy... chunk. He grabbed a whiskey glass and tossed it in. He quickly sealed up the jar, and set it beneath the bar, on the expiration shelf. Once opened, it would need used in a timely fashion.

He gave a wry smile to Chip, "Flesh from a rare cactus in the Hotlands. Spicier than any pepper you'll find. I do not serve this without a clear explanation of what it is. But if you do choose to drink this, you are taking this into your own hands. If you are harmed from this, that is your own fault. I will help deal with it, if that is the case, but I am giving full and fair warning."

Soren then reached behind him and grabbed another bottle, Ginger Schnapps, and poured it over the cactus flesh, filling up the drink. The flesh disintegrated into small, little globules, suspended in the liquid. "We don't have a name for this drink, so you, as the first to order, can name it, after you finish it. ginger schnapps and fermented Hotlands resin cactus." The pour he used had caused the drink to stir itself, and it was still moving as Soren set it in front of Chip, "It's a rare treat, two golds."

Soren then cleaned up the workspace and waited to see how his customers enjoyed their drinks, as the first of the farmers began pouring in, their workdays coming to an end.

"But you are not free from the consequences."

[Anos]

The man behind the counter pulled out the same bottle Anos recognized from his time in Ne'haer with fond memories. Anos watched with raised eyebrows as the man ran through a small ritual, surpised as the amount settled out to a perfect, two finger drink. He smiled broadly and raised the glass to the man, sliding his coins across the counter. He took a small sip, enjoying the tingle in his mouth and the burn to his stomach. It reminded him of lazy days in Ne'haer, seeing gulls in a blue sky over the bustling harbour on a sunny Saun trial.

He closed his eyes and sighed appreciately, smacking his lips togther quietly. Perfect. "Perfectly poured. I'm impressed, Master Bartender." He slid another gold coin across the counter, and Cassander jumped over. Anos had to curse and swat at the owl as he darted his head forward to try and take a sip himself. "Damned chicken! Get your beak out of there or I'll pluck you alive! See if I don't." Cassander, well used to Anos' curses, ignored him and hopped back to his forearm, chirpping softly."The name's Anos, and this blasted beast is Cassander. You're correct with the second guess- we just wrapped up a two arc travel trip, and it was in Ne'haer that I first became enraptured with this drink. Been asking for it ever since, but most places don't have any, and those that do can't pour it worth a damn."

This conversation was interrupted by a clank, and Anos turned to see one of the little folk, Tunawa, climb up onto the counter. He smiled faintly, wondering what the language they spoke was. As Soren went downstairs, Anos called in out in common towards the Tunawa. "What language was that? I've not heard it's like before." He tried to emulate the words the small creature had said, but they came out in a garbled, unrecognizable mess. Shrugging to himself, Anos almost missed Cassander leaping off his forearm and peering at the little grasshopper-like creature before it.

Anos cursed again, nearly upsetting his drink as he shot out his hand, barely catching the owl at he crouched, ready to pounce. "Enough of that, Cassander. Don't make me put you away." He scolded the owl, who had the good grace to look ashamed. Anos set him back on his shoulder and turned back. "My apologies for that. He's normally quite well behaved. Do you live around here?"

As Soren returned, Anos watched in fascination at the small ritual he conducted. The spicy scent wafting off the jar was intense, and he had to blink away tears. Perhaps he might try a small bit of that cactus. It would be an experience, that was for sure.

"Hey, Soren! Any chance I can try a small bit of that cactus?" His lips were up in a wry smile. "After that smell I feel like I have to give it a try"

[Kisaik]

”Two gold? Done!” So saying, Kisaik removed a couple of yellow nel from his domain bag, and rolled them across to Soren. Then he began pouring the liquor and plopped what looked like a fleshy cactus into it.

Kisaik scratched his lichen beard uncertainly, looking at the fluid and mix. ”It certainly sounds like it’ll warm my bark. I know the ghost chilis of Yaralon, but never heard of a Drylands Cactus…” In fact, he still had some of that ghost chili brew left over, which was more of an alchemical creation of his which kept the chill from penetrating his bark. Perhaps this brew would have much the same effect.

Without any further suspense, Kisaik grinned up at Soren, and took the shot glass up like a bucket, tipping it into his mouth hole. He gulped a few sips of the drink, before setting it down. ”My! That hits the spot! I feel quite warm now.” With a flourish of his hand, he withdrew the shadow shiv from his shadow, and sliced a little piece off of the cactus. Then he plopped it into his mouth, and sampled it’s taste, grain and texture. Marvelous! A rare treat.

Little did Kisaik notice his lichen beard beginning to shed it’s strands.

It was around this time he noticed the owl towering over him. ”Oh, my! You’re a tall one!” He said, invoking his clarion call ability to speak to animals. For some reason, animals could understand when he spoke to them in tree-talk.

He repeated the words in common, for the benefit of those listening, ”That be one big owl! Good bird.”

”Oh no worry, Tunawa are bird friends! Tree Folk have understanding with bird.” He said, bowing with a flourish to Cassander.

”I’m visiting here, but hope to stay until after the growing season, at least. I seem to have come late, it’s almost harvesting season!”

This said, he went over to his shot glass, and stepped into it, letting his feet soak in the amber fluid. ”I think I’ll call this brew… Solar Syrup!” He spoke the words of naming in Xanthean.

All the while he stood in the brew, his lichen beard was beginning to shed rather rapidly.

[Soren Kvistson]

"You are free to choose,"

Soren almost snorted at the owl's name. Rynmerens. So many of them were so similar. He bet Cassander was a popular pet or baby name these days. At least he wasn't a noble, Soren assumed. If he had been, he would've given his family name. The nobles always felt the need to do that, unless they were trying to lie low. But that didn't feel to be the case here. At Anos' question, Soren smiled, "Xanthean, language of Sev'ryn and Tunawa, language of Desnind. Though I'm certainly no expert," he chuckled, "More like a child in it. Though I always take the opportunity to practice it. Such a nice flowing language, though the words can get a tad long."

Soren watched as Kisaik drank the liquid, waiting with anticipation at the reaction. He heard Anos' request, and he would fulfill it momentarily, but this was something to see. He wondered if all Tunawa liked spicy things, and wondered how they'd react. And it seemed the little man loved it, and Soren grinned brightly. He turned to Anos, "Of course, though, the warning I gave Chip here will extend to you as well."

He listened to some strange chirps and noises from Chip as he... spoke to the owl, while he prepared a sample size of the drink, a half a shotglass' worth. Listening to the name Chip gave, he tried to translate it into Common. "The man has named it... Sunny Sticky." He slid the shot over to Anos, and waited for his reaction. His eyes sidled back over to Chip, only for them to grow wide. "Um, Chip. Your beard is falling off."

A few of the younger farmers, those still in the stage of adulthood in which they felt the need to constantly approve their manhood began to watch Anos, word starting to spread about this drink. Soren remembered when he tried the cactus back when he was younger. It wasn't fermented nor put in alcohol like it was now, he'd had the flesh straight up. It burned blisters all over his tongue and mouth, he couldn't taste anything for a few seasons. He hadn't gotten around to trying this batch of fermented cactus, so this experiment was just as much for him as anyone else. He did hope that it wouldn't cause blisters though. People wouldn't buy it, even out of toughness, if it did that.

This was new territory, and as with all new territory, gave that feeling of excitement in Soren's gut. He looked up to see a large man coming in. Gunvild, the man that ran one of the distilleries. Soren waved him over. The man owned the farm for the various grains, potatoes, hops, and such he used. He was as much of a farmer as he was a brewer. Once he arrived, he saw Chip, "Eyyyy Woodchip! Fancy seein' you 'ere!"

"But you are not free from the consequences."

[Anos]

Xanthean, Anos thought, was a muddle of a language. The words were barely distinguishable from each other, and the Seven only knew how you were supposed to breath while speaking it. But he kept those thoughts to himself and nodded, mouth the words the little tree man had spoke again, trying out their shape on his tongue.

Anos grinned at the warning, waving it away with a cavalier air. "Yes, yes. That will be no problem."

Thankfully the little Tunawa seemed perfectly at ease around Cassander and after giving the bird a warning eye, Anos set him back down on the table. He hopped over to the Tunawa, cocking his head this way and that as he examined the little tree man, then glanced guiltily over at Anos.

But Anos was busy paying attention to the bartender. "Sunny Sticky it is!" He grabbed the shot and took it all at once, not noticing that even the little tree man had only sipped at the brew.

Bad idea.

Heat immediately lanced its way up his nose and into his brain. He managed to half swallow, but the heat only grew. The spices of the liquor had been that first burn. Now the cactus kicked in.

His mouth felt as if it were actually on fire. By reflex, he swallaowed the rest, half choking, his eyes screwed up tight. He began painting, the tingling in his tongue now feeling like when he'd stuck it to a metal pole in the heart of Cylus, then ripped it off.

"Water," He gasped out.

Still with his eyes used, he drank whatever was given to him hoping for something, anything, to stop this burn. Now his throat was tingling too, tightening up and making it feel hard to breathe. He gave another wheezing cough, shaking his head violently. His stomach lurched and with a moment of panic, Anos fought it back. He'd not be violently sick all over the bar, he wouldn't .

Through sheer willpower, and screwing the knuckles of his hand into his thigh, Anos fought through without vomiting. At long last, when he felt speech had returned to him he opened his eyes and looked around, tears streaming down his face. He knew not how long it had taken him to control himself, but the tavern was now busy and farmers filled the room.

"By the Seven, that packs a damned strong kick." He gasped, loud enough for those around him to hear, and turned back towards Soren, his tongue still feeling the after effects."I see why you say what you do beforehand! I still feel as though my tongues been scalded. Perhaps I can get some food to settle my stomach?"

[Kisaik]

”Sunny Sticky…” Kisaik murmured in common. ”I like it, let’s go with that!”

Besides, Kisaik didn’t know whether there were other words for things coming from the sun in common. Xanthean must have at least fifty words for the suns, ranging from sunny days, draughts, and so on.

When Soren alerted him that his beard was, in fact, falling off his chin, he looked down and yelped, jumping up and down in his shot glass. ”Oh my! How amazement! Do cactus not like mushroom?”

He repeated himself in Xanthean, for clarity’s sake, ”It seems something in this drink kills fungi. My beard is lichen.”

Then, something else, even more amazing if it were possible, began happening. Kisaik was growing the beginnings of what looked like thorns on a cactus. They were growing out of his chin where his lichen beard had been. In the leaves left on his scalp, a desert flower began to bud. Tomorrow or perhaps the next day it would bloom. His eyes stared upward, betraying a slight gleam as he caught sight of the beams above, while his hands reached for the new growth. ”Astonishing!” He chirped in Xanthean.

”My dear Rabu will enjoy this flower, I think.” Kisaik said, more to himself than anyone in particular, ”It will probably bloom on the morrow.”

Kisaik let his feet drink more of the Sunny Sticky, until there were but a few drops left in the shot. Then he stepped out, and went over to wave Gunvild over to the bar. ”Ey big Gun! Good see you again! Let Chip buy you drinks!”

Kisaik reached into his domain bag, hanging from his cavani cloak, and took out a big silver nel. This he laid down on the counter, ”Give my friend a Pint of… humm… Carrot Vodka?” He looked up at Gunvild to see if this order pleased him. In case it didn’t, he laid down another silver nel, and put down one that was sure to make him happy. ”Or maybe some Ginger Schnapps!”

So having ordered the man his choice of either drink, he’d slide over toward Anos, and bow deep before him and his owl. ”Greets Tall folk! I’s Kisaik. But my tree friends call me Chip.”

Then he turned toward the Owl, and brightly chirped in Treetalk, ”Hail wise one! I hear your name is Cassander. I’m Kisaik Ciuruọrun sọ Kufuata Karo!”

[Soren Kvistson]

"You are free to choose,"

As soon as the man called for water, Soren had a better idea. Anyone with any experience with spicy knew water was not going to be helpful. He dipped back into the kitchen, opening the large ice box, grabbing a fresh bottle of milk. He returned lickety split, poured it into a glass, and set it before the panicking man. "Trust me, this will help better than water."

Soren smiled broad at the man's reaction to it all, "You took it like a true champion. Toughest of men."

Soren didn't need to look at the other young men around to know that by complimenting this man, he could entice them into buying as well. And soon, the orders began coming in. Hilda came over to assist in their orders, and Soren asked her to make an extra one for himself.

"I'd recommend the shepherd's pie after a drink like that." But he also listed off the other meals of the day for the man. There was a small startled yelp from Hilda, who was looking at Chip. The man was growing thorns. Or spines perhaps.

"Well that's certainly a good look for you. Must say that I like it. Strong and fierce. Bet the Ochojobon will be quite interested in the sight."

Soren looked at Gurnvild to see which drink he would order, despite knowing what it would be. The large man smiled, "One Ginger Schnapps, Soren. And one of the same for Chip!" The man put down a coin of his own, taking a seat next to chip, the stool straining under his girth. All around the bar, young men were trying the cactus drink and were in varying levels of discomfort and pain, all ordering milk, which they were charged for as well.

After Soren bustled about, attending to various drinks and clean ups and the like, he returned with the drinks for Chip and Gurnvild, turning to Anos, "Anything else for you to drink while you wait on your meal? Should be along momentarily. Perhaps you could tell me how you met your friend there," nodding at the bird named Cassander.

Farmers and their families were arriving in droves now. The tavern was filling up. Many had brought some produce to show off, a funny shaped pumpkin here, a giant zucchini there. Stories were beginning to flow about the arc's growth and harvest. New babies had been born, new animals had been purchased, and the smiles were abound. The hardworking men and women were all able to relax here.

And boy were they hungrier than they were thirsty. The kitchens were busy, rushing to the max. But they were professionals there, ready and prepared, and the meals were coming out as fast they were being ordered. It was a warm, casual affair.

"But you are not free from the consequences."