Ever the silent character, an observer of her surroundings that simply wished to stay on the sidelines - or creep through the shadows - Liesl only wanted to soak up all that happened around her. Her time for inserting herself into others' matters and offering up opinions, ideas or information was behind her, well behind her when it came to consorting with crowds of strangers and buzzing taverns. Liesl had seen from the moment the first stranger came her way that it had been a mistake to set foot in this place. It seemed wherever she ventured, some mess or other followed, an endless trail of absurd instances that left her wondering why she'd wandered in in the first place. She bristled as more and more approached the table, nails digging into her palms and jaw clenching with stress.
'I don't bother with it,' she thought resentfully, stiff in her chair and all but sinking into it as her body resisted curling in on itself. Her teeth dug into her cheek, and she averted her gaze, eyes fixated on the table as she listened to the goings-on around her. No, she'd had her fill of the arcane, unnatural and leaving a bitter taste on her tongue.
As soon as the dancing hand settled to a halt before her, Liesl's arms came to fold across her chest, eyes flicking up to glance between the half-rotted man, the scarred stranger, and the steadily growing number of patrons. Fighting off a wince and a discomforted noise, she left them all to their conversations. Despite having a half a mind to lift a hand and gingerly touch at the scroll, she concluded it best to leave the thing be, and figured her efforts were best spent escaping this situation. Initially planning to seamlessly slip away undetected now she felt it best to simply up and leave, no matter how abrupt or impolite it may have been. She coughed into her cloak, standing from her seat and making for the door.
Love could almost taste the hostility in the scarred man's demeanor, and at the demand for the motives and identities of the gathered ensemble, no doubt herself included, she raised an eyebrow.
"If you are bold enough to insinuate yourself into joining a stranger at a table without following any sort of social protocol, as well as invite another stranger to join you at that, I fail to understand how easily you can act as if you are the one being inconvenienced by other strangers following your example and sitting down as well," she noted, even as she tried to avoid any sort of tell of the acrid sensation burning in her nostrils from the drink he had offered West.
Love then turned to Liesl.
"If you prefer to be without unexpected company, the table that this priest and I just left is vacant, and having already chosen a place to sit, I wouldn't expect anyone here to be so presumptuous as to switch back uninvited without betraying their persistence in bothering you," she said, trying not to speak very harshly to the girl, who was difficult to read, even sitting next to her, but at least in Love's own personal estimation, seemed to be inconvenienced more so than vulnerable. Having been on several ships with any number of crew-mates of all persuasions, pasts, and prospectives, Love had acquired what she liked to think of as an eye for naivete, and this silent youth was far from that. Perhaps she was just people-shy, or inversely, preferred to be a fly-on-the-wall. Either way, Love felt it was a reasonable offer she had made, whether or not the girl had any interest, or felt the opportunity was welcome, in terms of moving to a more quiet setting.
'I see,' Anon responded to Love, his tone level, 'I'm sorry, but you seem to imagine you possess knowledge you do not, and that is a lamentable condition which can rarely be helped. I will try though. So let me point out that I introduced myself when I sat down, and asked this young lady if she would prefer Mr. Skeleton did not join us. It's unsurprising that you do not know this since you weren't here at the time although that does make me wonder why you're pretending to know. However the fact remains you simply are not following my example. You are in fact literally doing the opposite.'
The scarred figure seemed more frustrated than annoyed by this exchange but when Love spoke to Liesl that changed.
'Is that some kind of joke?' He baulked, sitting up, his expression showing an astonished look of irritation. 'This is her table, and you're telling the girl she should leave if she wants to be left alone as if you're doing her a favour after plonking yourself down sans introduction or explanation are you that-!' Anon stopped himself here, '-I'm sorry. This isn't worth my time-' he turned towards Joyrot, '-Tell me, Mr. Skeleton, why do you think becoming a God would represent an upward step, rather than a downward one? Godhood, in the most vulgar sense, is just a matter of cultural-consensus and a popularity contest hardly strikes me as your milieu,'
Joyrot cackles to the words of the scarred fool. Then slows them to a mere pronunciation of what laughter would be. "Ha….. ho ho… hee.. hee. You see thats the point. Popularity isn't what I want. No. No. No. I want balance in the form of chaos. I want to ascend to the appointment and show them what it means to hold the power. Not hand it off in divination ways to some favorites chosen to do one side of the wooden fence. Or heads instead of tails of the coin. No!" He slaps the table. And lifting his hand sits a gold coin the face showing half heads and half tails. "All those puny shits you call gods and goddesses are too frail when it comes to choosing sides. I have created in my time as a lich. Two beings. One a puppet mistress of necromantic prowess that I'd call evil and a revenant woman to allow herself free reign to side with a good bard on Azeria. I allowed it cause I see the balance within chaos. One plans to use my power to become more terrible then me while the other thinks to slay me to do good which ultimately she will face the puppet. Oh well good and evil continue the fight. All entertainment for me." He lets that settle in just for a moment then continues.
"Lets say the land has a good and just King and/or Queen aiming for peace and prosperity. I will brew a tyrant to combat that with ruthlessness and heartless care. Then whens it done. I will gift an individual with the means to rise above and aim for the peace and prosperity all over again. Cause you see life without something on the other side of the coin to disrupt or repair. Isn't fun. It's boring. So to you whom can't remember whom he even is. I tell you this. The gods are lazy slobs that make mortals fight for their one side of an argument. They'll never see the two faces of a coin placed in front of them. Only the one that they agree with. I want to help both as time dwindles to nothing one day. For it is then entertaining for me." He stares at Anon with a half grin. "I could unlock the things within your mind with a snap of my finger to help you. Indeed I would have helped. But now I see the need to watch you remember it yourself one day. Cause it will be fun to watch." He slides the scroll to Anon.
"Indeed, the myriad deities of this world are cruel even in their mercy, and rarely give those whom they grace with their intervention any choice in the matter, or even knowledge as to what the alternative might have been," said Love. "But among those few born as mortals who ascended to godhood, I have not heard of any who set out to do so. It might even be a law of the universe, unwritten or accidental perhaps, but inexorable...that it is precisely those who do not wish to become a god who are chosen for the role. The rest are left to their hubris, attaining the power commensurate with a god but denied the true status."
"And if you are upset with me for failing to introduce myself, I perhaps can amend that," she said, turning next to the scarred man. "My name is Love Amblecrown, and I am the second mate aboard the Steady Wayfarer, a brigadier-class vessel in the Merchant Navy. If you haven't heard of it I wouldn't blame you. We only recently came into port here, and this is our first time in this particular harbor."
The priest guzzled another glass of Clarion to get the taste out of his mouth, and then followed Love's lead and introduced himself. "I'm West," he managed still feeling the burn. A lot had happened, in the past few moments. Let's review...
Approximately 17 seconds ago:
Mr. Skeleton had revealed his intention to become a god of chaos which West considered a very dangerous and presumptuous ambition. The god/dess of chaos was already sufficiently manifest in the universe. He/She/They had been handling business very sufficiently since before the beginning of time. However old this undying fellow was, he seemed to have little true understanding of chaos. Dynamic imbalace was an essential element of any functioning reality, as soon as Mr. Skeleton runs to one side of the board to start toppling things in the direction he perceived as necessary for balance, the hand of chaos was all ready to plunk something down on the other end of the board just in time to stop things from overturning entirely. West felt little need to get directly involved, as he had perfect faith that Shenanigan had a plan to undue whatever balance Mr. Skeleton might try to impose in the name of chaos. Somewhere out there some willing advocate of chaos had already been selected to play the foil to this crazy half dead sociopath. Most likely it would be someone with no ambition for greatness, someone fully alive in the moment, someone who preferred obscurity, and exemplified weakness, someone who took great pleasure in the unreal and inane, someone who enjoyed imbalance for it's own sake always trusting that balance itself functioned autonomously and without need for conscious interference.
The more that West thought about what the perfect foil for Mr. Skeleton might be like, the more the description began to seem uncomfortably familiar. Oh god, not me!
West picked up the glass of stank liquor offered by the scarred man and shot it back in one painful and disgusting gulp. Then he got to his feet, doubled over gagging, cursed repeatedly, and leaned heavily on the table, as if it were the last stable surface in the universe. These were not chosen actions, but rather the involuntary response provoked by the drink. "Great Gan's butthole! Do you mean to tell me you drink that shit on purpose?" West choked out to the scarred man.
***
Beginning approximately 48 seconds ago... but somewhat on-going
West listened passively to the argument between Scarro and Love. Love was right of course. They had only been a few feet away during the entire exchange between Scarro and Silence, so Love had hardly made a psychic assessment of the situation. Scarro was ultimatley just splitting hairs over verbal introductions, while completely ignoring the difference in their intentions. Scarro had approached with the intention to engage and in fact admitted to meaning to "bother" the young woman. Love had approached with the intention of helping Silence to disengage if she desired. It was perhaps a touch ironic that Love have set about her business by inviting more people to the table, but it did actually make sense. It was easier to escape from a crowd than to escape from a single unwanted harasser, and there was safety in numbers. While no one could be certain of how Silence felt about any of them joining their table, it seemed fairly obvious to West from Silence's posture, facial expression, and well... silence... that she wanted nothing to do with any of them. He would have happily caused a distraction to help her get away, but that seemed entirely unnecessary because there were distractions aplenty happening all around. The young lady could easily leave any time she wanted to.
Exactly 1 minute and 32.33333 seconds prior West had wrapped up his summation of "Sin Ball".
West listened to the feedback he received with thoughtful consideration, as he watched the antics of the skeletal hand with the scroll. He had an insatiable desire to set up an obstacle course for the thing to see how it would respond. He refrained however as he thought this might be perceived as more bad manners.
Mr. Skeleton had offered the following: Games that I play are not safe hidden within a metaphor. Either its real or its not worth my time. And I still got a long time to go. And Information to gather.
Which really was not any feedback at all. Then he went on the ask about ascending to godhood, which West had on good authority was highly improbable while dwelling on this particular plain of reality as it would require nothing less than an appeal to a god, or assemblage of gods who were said to dwell within a reality beyond reality... the actual reality if there were such a thing. West had personal doubts that it even existed, but he had heard tales. If they existed the half skeleton would have to find them, and prove his worth, possibly completing a number of quests along the way.
"I love the idea of earning Godhood in principle (as you well know Mik ) but it does present a bit of a logistical issue for a world like this. Basically, we want to limit the amount of direct divine intervention in the world (indirect stuff like being blessed by priests matters less) because divine intervention in terms of the world is going to require either staff or DMs to take a look at things. Basically, any major gods need to be fairly detached because we don't want them being super-relevant in every story and the most any player character should reasonably expect to interact with might be a demi-god (or equivalent).
"That doesn't entirely rule out the idea of course—but it would probably necessitate something in the history that has made the gods withdraw somewhat."
The other man however did give some valuable feedback: The game has no future in this, or any other world.
This feedback was harsh, but it also seemed to be sincere. Now that West thought about it, this was most likely true. Any world that invested time in developing such an inane past-time was probably on the brink of collapse... or else was the sort of place where one might have to travel to in order to become a god.
West was about to thank the man for his sage wisdom, but then the man demanded an introduction. West had been on the verge of complying. He loved talking about himself. He had only failed to do so because he was distracted by the potential aquisition of better wine. But Love answered first, and her answer led to the aforementioned argument, so instead West obtained a corkscrew from one of his many pockets, uncorked the bottle of Clarion and filled his own glass, as Love had failed to give his glass the fill of Auxpex that he requested, seeming also not to notice the bottle at all. He did not reject the smelly drink offered up by Scarro, but he could sense in the ripples of chaos that the time was not yet right for the draining of that particular drink, so he drank the Clarion instead.
Sometime... possibly prior, but potentially sometime in between...
The exotic woman approached with a word or two to say to West. "I have no interest in your lap or anyone else's… perhaps you would be best seeking the attentions of one of the harlots, that is after all what they are here good. A good evening to all of you"
"Oh!" West wasn't genuinely surprised by her offense, but he pretended that he was in an attempt to save face, "Please forgive my bad manners. I didn't mean that as... oh dear... it wasn't meant to be a come on. I do enjoy women and would never say no if an offer was on the table, but I'm actually a little more into guys." He gave the scarred man a wink and a smile as if to prove the ubiquity of his interest. He would have done the same with the other guy... and had previous dalliances with some who identified as differently vitaled, but he preferred undead lovers who kept their inside bits tastefully tucked away out of sight. "I simply find laps far more comfortable than these wooden stools, and had a mind to offer you a comfortable place to recline... if you were interested. Clearly, I misread the situation."
She walked away before he finished speaking, but this didn't put much a damper on West's mood, as he plowed ahead with describing "Sin Ball" while also feeling a sense that time had become disjointed. A lot was going on! West overheard the comments about him at the other table, and though he rarely turned down the opportunity to be thrashed by a potential erotic partner, he sensed that this woman was probably legitimately dangerous, and in consideration of other potential lovers, he decided that he also preferred to keep his inside bits tastefully tucked away out of sight.
He watched the scarred man accept the drink he offered, and pour an offering in return. It was part of West's personal code of ethics never to turn down a free drink, unless he had reasonable suspicion that it had been poisoned with the intent to kill. Since he'd just watched the man drink from the bottle he felt confident that he could survive whatever he had been offered.
West's reaction to the liquor was not all-together unexpected save that he kept it down, and although his reaction to the stuff suggested their heuristics were askew when it came to evaluating such things it was a respectable showing all the same.
'Someone who assured me we're friends said I make it, and I wouldn't if I didn't.' The scarred figure spoke with a touch of pride, and a feint, slightly crooked smile, while glancing at his bottle, 'but you did well-' his attention returned to the priest, '-a little suffering is good on the path to inebriation,' as if to prove it Anon raised the bottle and drank more before going on, 'do be swift though if you'd care for another. This one will soon be as empty as our existence,'
Anon was surprised by Love's measured response, and willingness to introduce herself given his initially brusque demand, but it was a welcome turn of events.
'I'm pleased to know it,' he spoke more politely, 'I'd tell you my name, but I was not being glib when I said I don't recall these things. I've settled on Anon as a place-holder though. Do feel free to use it, or anything else that strikes your fancy. I don't mean to fuss, and I'm afraid you're right. I haven't heard of your ship, but I remember very little. I do have a very firm impression of fondness for the sea though-' he raised his bottle, '-a toast to the Steady Wayfarer then, may she always fare well, and steadily, on fair seas,'
Anon watched the contentious interaction that followed as the exotic stranger protested the impropriety of the priest's invitation.
'So,' he remarked at the conclusion of their exchange, raising one dark eyebrow in the priest's direction following his wink, 'what else is funny?'
It was difficult to become invested in Love and West's responses to Mr. Skeleton's ambition. Something about the dichotomy of order and chaos struck him as inherently meaningless. A flawed abstraction. Mr. Skeleton's remark about being able to unlock his memories did provoke some interest on the other hand, but it also struck him as a vain boast. The scarred man had gleaned enough from the notes tattooed on his body, from his friend's advice, and from his own impressions on the subject that there was no simple, immaterial solution to this particular problem, and more than that he felt it might prove to be a mistake to find one even if it were possible. Knowledge had a way of making one its prisoner after all.
'Your comment reminds me of a joke I was told earlier today, Mr. Skeleton. It's about a man who sits up, knowing nothing, and having no memories, who finds himself face-to-face with a genie who tells him he has just fulfilled his second wish. So the man thinks for a moment, and then makes his final wish, telling the genie he wishes to know himself, 'amusing,' the genie speaks, before he grants it, and disappears in a puff of smoke, 'that was also your first wish.'' Anon left it at that.
Liesl's chin lifted a bit, halting at Love's words with half a mind to feel indignant, though she couldn't particularly stay focused enough to follow that train of thought. She couldn't quite find it in herself to keep herself invested in this, if the steadily increasing wandering of her attention was anything to go by. That was to be expected, though, and it didn't ultimately matter much anyway. She'd return to solitude soon.
With a rasping cough, she turned again to continue on her way, though the idea of slipping out into the chill of night had her settling for leaning against the closest wall instead. Her arms crossed her chest again, index finger tapping mindlessly against her opposite arm in that familiar habit of hers, and she all but burrowed her lower face completely into her cloak. She had never understood how people could be so bold, so brash in the face of things that would no doubt leave her teeth gritting and her muscles tensed just as they were now. It was enough to get her started all over again, though the nervousness and paranoia didn't come crawling back in like she expected it would. She supposed it was the fact she was a little further away from the group, alone again, though she knew she should really leave this place.
But the cold.
Her huff was stifled and about as miffed as she felt, borderline pouty as she glared at her boots. Did that man really have to come and start spouting off all that nonsense? Had he needed to venture her way at all? Another muted, frustrated sound from Liesl. Her arms fell away from her chest, one hand toying at the cloth as she pondered whether she was more bothered by the crowd, the scarred man, or herself.
Joyrot listened to the joke and it was terrible. There was no punch line, no meaning to the joke. It was a waste of sound to touch his ears. "Wow that one was really horrible gent. A real mind damager. How will I ever heal from that one?" He stood up and then said. "I believe the time has come for me to leave. After that joke. Wow. Anyways enjoy the rest of your night." He picked the scroll up. He had guessed no one will know of the scroll at all. 'Oh well.' he thought to himself as his hand returned to it rightful place on him. He then walked towards the door. "Well it has been wonderful! Nice tavern. Lacks good thought but it can be improved." Then walked out the door. He walked to the cobblestone right outside and started to whistle. He closed his only eye and with a snap of his finger the scroll disappear. Appearing at the boots of Liesl. Inside the scroll if chosen to read. It read.
If you ever want to find a place to belong search for the half dead one. Jobs will be done. Just speak the name "Joyrot" as you clench this and you will be brought to me within my lab. Signed, the magically dancing hand.
Joyrot then started to each time he could fey stepped across the town in search to set up a small lab within the town. Possibly gain a few helpers. He was once good with healing tonics before his lichdom. Thought perhaps he'd put them to use again. Or teach the matters of Arcana and teach the lesser lot how to be strong in the arts. People think Liches are such great evil. Not him. He liked the middle of all things. Only creating things to tip the sides to good or evil. Balance. Was everything. Seems to balance this world was to make others smarter then.
The onlooker still tapping the banister counting the seconds she was away. He had watched the girl leave. The later the one spewing about godhood leave later. He was right the joke had been terrible. He prolly would of removed himself as well from the crowd. He still watched the exotic woman from above. "Where have you gone to Annette?"
Love thought a second of turning to the silent girl, but curiosity was not called for, let alone giving the impression of having some sort of unhealthy interest in the girl. Whether in light of the particular sort of company that had joined her, or perhaps on a more general principle, the girl had decided to take her leave, and it wasn't Love's place to interfere in that beyond letting the girl know of any options she might not have been considering, as a gesture of goodwill rather than meddling. Or at least, that was the light in which she hoped her actions were steeped in the girl's eyes.
Rather than that, she focused on the scarred man, the self-appelative Anon.
"You don't seem entirely keen on having company, and you clearly prefer the drink you came in with, to anything on offer here," she said pointedly, gesturing to the bottle of Auspex the man had refused to even consider. "Even if you can't answer, have no mind to answer, or even consider the mere inquiry repugnant, I can't help but wonder why you came here at all, if you aren't particularly enthused about your experience here so far. It's not that I would deny you your right to go wherever you may wish to, just that it is curious to me that you would insist on staying in a place you aren't very particularly fond of. I could be completely wrong about my impression, or fail to see something that you do, but it would wear on my mind a great deal if we parted ways before I understood just what you were intent on doing here..."
The scarred man had an odd way of speaking, and it tossed West into confusion which was never an unwelcome state... rather like drunkenness exclusively belonging to the mind. It gave him pause to consider just what the man was on about. ...and I wouldn't if I didn't... Drink it if he didn't make it, West presumed. "Suffering in the pursuit of most things is inevitable, no reason to seek it out. I assure you it will find me." He politely declined the second drink with a wave of the hand and a shake of the head, but downed another glass of the free Clarion on the table.
A name was offered and a toast... and then that odd sense of time being not quite right. He concluded the drink was to blame, not the wine of course... he would testify to the wine's innocence in a court of law... but the other stuff... had quite increased his state of inebriation rapidly and in a most sinister fashion.
what else is funny?
"He're's some funnny, Annonn... Funnny coinsisi..dance. I once pup-blissed some very bad pottery... potery... poems under that name once. Maybe where related!"
West found Anon's joke particularly hillarious, though he couldn't have told you why. Then he abruptly stopped laughing when he realized that he was missing something.
The priest lost a good deal of the exchange that followed, because he went on his hands and knees under the table in search of the spherical silver coin that had rolled off the edge of the table when he tried to pass it to the silent young woman. The object was not under the table where he expected it to be, so he crawled across the floor, emerging from the opposite side just in time to see the skeletal fellow leave. He gave a half forlorn wave to the man who was quite possibly his perfect nemesis, and then looked back at the floor to continue his pursuit of... the thing... he had lost.
His search took him clear to the wall, and whether by good fortune or bad, West found his silver ball resting against the hem of a cloak. His eyes followed the pillar of fabric upward until he recognized the form of the silent woman that had so recently been driven away from her table. "Oops..." West wanted to make an apology. He had of course intended to leave the poor woman alone, and he knew that his previous sober show of modest improprieties would now make him seem like the worst kind of lecherous bastard. "Isnotwhatiss'like..." He offered in a slurred mess of attempted speech. "Is this." He held up the little silver ball like a token of salvation, as if it revealed everything about why he was on his knees at the woman's feet.
A sigh slipped past as Liesl tried to control her agitation - though it wasn't working quite as well as she'd hoped. The scroll from before nudged at her boot, pulling her attention downward. She blinked once, before reaching down and taking it into her hand. Turning it over, she considered the scroll, unsure as to why she seemed to be the lady of the evening. It was only another moment or two of thought that passed before she risked opening the scroll, brow creasing at its contents before pocketing the parchment..
Hating this, the strangers breathing down her neck when she hadn't so much as uttered a word, she hated even more the sudden recoil of her body at the too-close approach of the priest, clearly intoxicated. One hand gripped tight at a sheathed dagger beneath her cloak, gaze hardening, trained on the man as she remained rooted to her spot. She knew this man couldn't mean any harm. He was a priest, for gods' sake, but paranoia was relentless. The notion that he may know something - her true identity, the things she'd done, set her nerves to fraying.
"All. . right," she acquiesced in a rasp of a whisper after a long stretch of silence, slowly allowing her hand to fall away from the blade and forcing her shoulders to relax. She averted her gaze, letting it settle on the far wall behind him, soundlessly willing him away.
Mr. Skeleton's response left the scarred figure slightly confused. He seemed put out. As if the joke had been made at his expense when Anon thought of that role as being reserved for himself. Little could be done however as the half-rotten figure was clearly leaving, and they were clearly not parting on good terms. It seemed a shame.
'Farewell, Mr. Skeleton,' Anon spoke, while standing for his own part, and leaving his bottle on the table, 'perhaps you can visit my library some day, when I remember where it is, I think you might profit from its contents although I can't currently explain why I believe that.'
Taking his seat once again as the undead fellow left Anon found himself listening to Love, and he couldn't help finding her line of inquiry a little frustrating, primarily in that it confused him, although outwardly the scarred man merely raised one dark eyebrow a touch as she spoke. He had purchased his bottle on the premises, and hadn't refused the priest's offer to try something else, but wasn't in the mood to quibble over-much here. In the main he just couldn't see why someone drinking in a tavern needed to explain why they were in a tavern. He did have other reasons for being where he was, but explanations on that front raised all manner of frustrating existential doubts and anxieties, and Anon was in no mood for getting too deep into anything beyond the bottle sitting in front of him.
'I purchased this here,' he grasped his bottle once more while nodding at it, 'I was told they sell it, which is why I came, I'm intent on finishing it, and am enthused about doing so-' he shrugged as if to indicate that this should have been enough, '-I'm also waiting on a friend of mine. She's off fetching someone who can help me find my way back home, so it wouldn't do to leave, even if I wanted to, particularly as I could do little beyond wandering about aimlessly, although staying here for the time being is agreeable regardless.'
The Priest's contribution to their on-going conversation was more along the lines of what he had come here for, and his rapidly developing state of inebriation was an added amusement even if it did inspire a measure of envy.
'I'd like to read this poetry,' Anon was being quite sincere, 'and we could very well be related.'
Hopefully not. It would have been disappointing to think he had a possibly-distant-nephew or cousin many times removed who had taken up such an objectionable vocation, but for all Anon knew he might have been related to half the people in the room. At least the priest appreciated the joke though, and he wrote bad poetry. Perhaps he wasn't beyond help. Nothing could be done now though as the young man began searching for something on the floor, and after leaning over slightly to watch his progress for a moment the scarred figure straightened up, and realised Liesl was gone, and that he and Love were now alone. The silent girl's absence wasn't exactly lamentable.
'The ocean is still the soul of the material, yes?' He spoke up, 'I can't imagine this will ever change.'
"Regardless of whether you are speaking in metaphor or not, I would caution you against bringing up the topic of the ocean around me," remarked Love, three-quarters serious and only one-quarter jocular. "I tend to have a great many thoughts and feelings on that particular topic, even more so than your run-of-the-mill sailor, even a mercantile naval officer at that. Especially after a glass or two of wine, I would be liable to wax poetic and philosophic about the ocean and the multitudes it contains, for hours and hours on end. But if you aren't opposed to that sort of conversation, by all means."
She leaned back and crossed her arms slightly, in a visible show of light challenge and anticipation of the scarred man's reply.
The joke he had told was not particularly the sort to elicit a laugh from her, but she did find it quite amusing, and perhaps that had recolored her estimation of the man. Granted, she had made numerous unilateral assumptions about him, and he had displayed a streak for disrespectful behavior...but he was oddly approachable even at that, in spite of his grumbling and general lack of decorum.
She had spoken with far more disagreeable sorts, at any rate. At least in terms of challenging her mettle, this Anon was nowhere near the most formidable adversary.
The priest settled into a sitting position on the floor, mostly for purposes of stability. Somehow he'd traveled a long way from his table and the promise of more Clarion. Getting to his feet and walking was out of the question. Any ambulatory attempts would necessitate staying close to the ground. At least his token of chaos had been retrieved, and the familiar figure of Love stood like a beacon of light to guide West across the vast meters of wood floorboards between himself and his intended destination.
He made no further attempts to communicate with the silent one. It seemed her desire for self imposed isolation was sincere and unwavering. He was at least grateful that she hadn't made a shrieking fuss over his recumbent approach, choosing instead to ignore him.
West set out, crawling once again, back toward his table of origin, or rather the table he had most recently departed. He hummed a jaunty tune that was either about drinking or traveling or both. He couldn't be sure as he'd forgotten the words. About half way through his journey West decided that he was being silly. He couldn't possibly be that drunk this early in the night. Surely he could walk the rest of the way to the table. Through an act of determination and pure faith West surmounted gravitational oppression and balanced triumphantly on two feet.
He managed a weak wave toward Love and Anon. Then in a dramatic swoon, more fitting for a damsel or a swan than for a man of the cloth, he passed out cold and curled up for a nap right there on the tavern floor.
The doors to the Crucible opened, and a gaggle of rowdy characters sauntered in, dressed in costumes in garish colours ranging from regal to buccaneer, and all the shades in between, each carrying a different musical instrument, from harmonicas, to flutes, to pipes, to mandolins. Upon seeing the eclectic collection of patrons at the tavern tonight, they each gave a deep bow.
The barkeep beamed.
"Ah... here be the world-famous Ilyrien Sprawling Troupe, on yearly-long retainer for the Crucible! Each fortnight, all night long! Go on, go on... take yer usual spots at the bar, and relax for a spell. Drinks be on the house! Then, regale us with song and story!" - he called.
The troupe needed no encouragement, as they shouldered their way to the bar, loud and garroulous, yet with good cheer. Not all took their stools, though... one would remain to take the stage, each musician performing his or her piece, as a preamble to the big show, later during the night, while the rest drank.
The first one was a looker, by any standard. A human woman of mid-20 years of age, with the countenance to make any man's heart melt, and a smile that lit up the entire tavern, as she began picking on her mandolin. Then she began to sing, her rich, resonant voice like that of an angel.
West stirred from his slumber at the sound of musicians, and a slight smile curled at his lip. He wasn't sure how long he'd slept but he felt somewhat refreshed and a little less intensely inebriated. He remained reclined on the smooth floorboards and listened passively, half tempted to pull out his pipes and attempt to join in. He decided against it because he'd fallen somewhat out of practice and preferred not to ruin the melodic ambiance if he hit a foul note.
Instead he got up leisurely, as if it were perfectly normal to nap on a tavern floor and returned to the table with Love and Anon. "Good morning," he said, as if this were the start of a brand new day. "I must say, it's much pleasanter waking to the sounds of the mandolin than to the sun monks chanting." West glanced out the window to the dark street beyond. "Seems they misplaced the sun altogether, careless bastards. So which of the many do you worship?" he asked Anon casually. There was still a slight slur but sentence formation had resumed normally.
Naturally Anon was speaking metaphorically, but that hardly mattered. The important thing was he no longer felt entirely sober, but despite that lifting his mood he couldn't help being slightly frustrated by the turn the conversation had taken. There was potential, and that was the problem. If this sailor cared so much about the ocean then why not talk about it, instead of talking about talking about it? It seemed clear to him that she hadn't had enough to drink, but he couldn't help on that front as his own bottle was feeling sadly light. The scarred figure smiled politely in response to her remark all the same. It would be nice to listen to someone who had some passion, even if he felt annoyed at having to jump through this arbitrary social hoop for the chance.
Dark brows lowered slightly when Anon's blue eyes scanned the newcomers, briefly distracted by the rowdy group's entrance. They were clearly musicians, and musicians were suspect folk at the best of times, but the need to glower suspiciously was subsumed beneath sudden amusement when he realised the young priest was currently asleep on the floor, having missed his fall.
'Drink more then,' he responded simply after turning back to Love, 'and wax as poetic as you please, for as long as we have. All I retain are impressions. So I'll listen happily, or I will when I replace this bottle, one moment,'
Anon stood up, or rather he tried to stand up. His feet remaining beneath him only for as long as it took for the scarred stranger to realise he was not in fact sober enough to walk. It did not seem to bother him though when he promptly fell back into the chair beneath him with a clumsy thud, shifting to steady the legs as it rocked back under his weight,
'Or perhaps I'll just stay here,' this remark came out in a more genial tone than the last as Anon drained the remaining liquid in his bottle, 'carry on.'
The glass plonked back down on the table just as one of the (clearly suspect) musicians began making her noises. As music always did it interrupted his train of thought. People seemed to like it but people liked all manner of absurd things and were generally more comfortable not thinking too much so that hardly made him wonder. The noise also woke up the young priest, and Anon saw he was returning to their table. Unsurprisingly he had no idea what sun monks were, although the description did make him frown slightly for reasons he couldn't explain. Regardless it sounded like something that was unworthy of discussion.
'I am certain I don't worship anything,' Anon spoke up when West asked who he was currently in mental-serfdom to before remembering something, and glancing at a null sign tattooed on the inside of his wrist, 'or-' blue eyes narrowed slightly as the scarred man tried to get a clearer sense of what it meant because he felt certain it was important in this context, '-no. I'm afraid that's it. I am quite convinced that nothing can be worshipful which has the temerity to either expect it, require it, or in fact do anything so crass as existing in any appreciable sense, and since nothing that doesn't can, or does, well, I'm sure you get the idea,'
West nodded along as Anon spoke, making a casual attempt to follow the man's speech toward its intended conclusion, only to get lost somewhere near the end. ...and since nothing that doesn't can, or does, well, I'm sure you get the idea... "Not in the slightest," West answered cheerfully, thought this wasn't entirely true. It seemed apparent that Anon was expressing some sentiment of atheism which was fine by West, and fine by the god/dess of chaos also, as far as West could tell.
The priest viewed atheists in a similar fashion to how a happily married man might view a dedicated bachelor. He understood the impulse to remain single, until one weighed it against the practical benefits of married life. Of course, that sentiment was purely metaphorical. West had no intention of ever getting married, as marriage would undoubtedly interfere with the vow of infidelity he had taken upon joining the priesthood. In fact, his favorite thing about being a member of the clergy was the free pass it provided him from first hand participation in most all domestic affairs.
Raising his hand in a gesture of formal oratory, West began to recite from the holy teachings of Shenanigan, a poem that he made up on the spot.
"In the days of early creation
Chaos conceived inebriation
And while piss drunk
Invented the skunk
Then left on permanent vacation
Amen, and also a woman."
He sat down at the table, and looked at Anon to see if he cared to make any argument against this holy scripture. West didn't mind that Anon was an atheist, but there were few things he enjoyed more than arguing theology, especially ridiculous theology that made no attempt to make sense or prove anything. Chaos inevitably proved its own existence, freeing up the faithful to spend their time on more fruitful pursuits such as drinking and composing bad poetry.
Anon blinked when West professed to not follow him. It all seemed reasonably self-explanatory however and the scarred figure paused for a moment wondering how to simplify, or explain it more coherently without coming off as patronising. He wasn't thinking about it in particularly coherent terms though thanks to the empty bottle on the table before him.
'I mean things that don't exist in any appreciable sense can't or don't, in fact-' he glanced away briefly, unsure of how to go on, 'do that. The thing I just said,'
Nodding with that, certain he had explained it now in more appreciable terms, Anon listened to West's poetry, and reflected on the fact that he had in fact asked for this. It was more confusing than awful however as nothing about it struck him as religious, let alone liturgical, despite the formality of the address and he wasn't sure what was expected of him when the priest sat upon completing it and looked at him.
'Well,' he ventured after a moment's pause, 'That was fun.'
) but it does present a bit of a logistical issue for a world like this. Basically, we want to limit the amount of direct divine intervention in the world (indirect stuff like being blessed by priests matters less) because divine intervention in terms of the world is going to require either staff or DMs to take a look at things. Basically, any major gods need to be fairly detached because we don't want them being super-relevant in every story and the most any player character should reasonably expect to interact with might be a demi-god (or equivalent).