Open The Old Ivories

[Bentley Gravelmarrow]

The piano had seen better days.

The wood panels barely contained the arranged teeth so uniform in comparison to the crookedness of the warped frame. The pedals were booming when depressed and all too slow to release, marked with oxidation. Countless stains from toasts and cheers, endless ash in narrow crevice. A seat that never was level.

But when a particularly rousing rendition of jaunty bawdy tunes did rip through the pub known as The Ditch, known as such and by worser names still, the doors did slam open, the daylight illuminating thick tobacco smoke's past draws. The piano gave a low shuddering chambering as the sustain pedal did creak and strain. Mutterings and grumblings.

The yawning doorway of the Ditch held new company, one who did call into the busy point of the day. A point of the day where the swill of alcohol was widely known to be cheaper than anything for miles, and many did dip into the Ditch for a taste of something fortifying and practically free, if you knew how to play the most broken piano.

Bentley's voice a hoarse thing with creaking lilts and warm emphasises on near everything in roundabout fashion did rise, near the piano, as if directing proceedings in the face of an open door yawning.

"How about, how about that old chestnut eh, the ones you played last time when that shipment came in off the docks twenty years back and we had free fish soup from the off cuts that stank up the place when we couldn't shift it, ahhh yes, well we knew how that one ended, not with us in the soup that's fair to say. Bad soups, eh, bad soups for the coup. Go on, play us it."

Bentley did stride out, hands in front, lowered as much as one might with his affliction. Not quite fully tensed, yet somehow taut in stern greying flesh that did promise a beating if he were but to lift the shoulders. Many a tumble was started with an axehandle driven up.

"Oi, this aint about the noise complaints is it, because I've got an arrangement with all the neighbours that cared to listen when I was plodding about The Ditch being all parlay about the sound of good cheer, clear? New business at the end of the month, and it's a bleeding Thursday and I aint seen Doris yet if you're folk about the baliffs! Step in and state your case, this aint a members club until ten minutes past whatever hour I said yesterday was the new way of it, you feeling the right of it to speak, or play a tune?"

Boots did gleam in the open daylight breaking through open doorway, hat adorning a wreathe of white hair, no rise of the sleeve needed, arms were already brought about to display. Bentley Gravelmarrow, pint placed on the piano, arms braced out, blind to whoever did step in from gleaming doorway.

 

[Euphemia Martell]

The horses trod down the open expanse of the dirt road that ran through the center of the small town. Effie was as tired, as tired as she felt the horses were with their heads hanging low. "Perhaps we should consider stopping and giving the horses a rest here?" She said, her head turning in the direction of the shroud aura that was her traveling companion for this patrol. There was a sound, like the patting of a hand against the rough hide of the horse and she smelt the dust that had been launched into the air.

"Aye. This is likely as good a place as any." The Knight of the Dawn responded. "There appears to be an inn just there." The glow of the other woman's arm lifted into her field of vision, pointing in a direction. The space was bare to her sight as she could only really see the things that held the shroud. Most buildings didn't tend to be spelled in such a way to be visible, as such she still relied on the carven staff that was strapped to her saddle. Even incomplete, the Knight still felt blessed by the gift that she'd received from the shroud.

Her companion led the way and soon enough the two had a room until the morning and space in the inn's stable for their horses. Effie was sure to take the time to thoroughly brush down her mare, organizing her gear meticulously in order. It would help her to find every piece when she needed to resaddle the horse in the morning. Finally finished, she grabbed the staff leaning against the stall, closing the stable door. The staff moved across the dirt surface, checking the path to make sure it was clear of obstructions.

Her foot had just alighted on the first step leading into the inn, when a discordant thump sounded from nearby. The notes, a variety of sounds both on and off key filtered through the air and she found herself curious. Turning from her path, Effie headed in the direction of the noise. It wasn't a long walk before she found herself entering into another building. Footsteps light on the wooden floor as the smell of ale and grease hit her nose. There was an inn already nearby, so she suspected this might be something else entirely.

The staff clattered lightly against the flooring as she entered further. A slight glowing shroud aura indicated there was just one person in the space. A dwarf or a small folk by the size, though she couldn't really tell the difference via shroudsight. "Greetings." Her soft voice said breaking the silence in the space. "I thought I heard the faint cords of music from this place."​

 

[Bentley Gravelmarrow]

Bentley's directive to the piano had been followed, a ruddy face halfling was now at the piano who was about the business of summoning a jaunty tune, the left hand striding as the right hand did remind Bentley of younger days. Bentley himself had quick stepped approached, being the master of whatever ceremony he was carnival barking enthusiasms for. The bar staff were quickly being approached for deep mugs of beer quick pouring for the need arising. Bentley was in the mood to drink, and that meant many had to drink in rushing step.

Bentley with hands in the shapes of blunt objects did adjust his hat, fingers not moving from their blocks of stillness. His eyes cunning to troubles dreamed before service had begun.

"Aye!" Bentley did say, his voice a soundboard something akin to scraping stones, his tone full of high pitched squarkings that roamed with lower rumblings. The runefolk was loud in his enthusiasms, as if there was a great deal to sieze upon by venturing into the further depths of the inn and the libations that were being summoned from taps. Bentley's boots did clomp their way towards the new face, and further words did roll as stones might down the social road, momentum building.

"You hear that Roice, your piano is pleasing to the new face, so don't be stopping," Bentley announced as the boulders for hands did place themselves upon his hips. A quick assessment, and further words bandied fresh and confident.

"Come on, come in, barstaff are friendly enough, you'll quick to know that yourself first hand. Just us regulars who need to hear of something new, how's the weather on the road? Did you hear the other day that a minotaur did make a scene the other day, all barging and battering about some orchard being sullied by woodpeckers. Don't know if I believe it meself, think the more he sharpens his horns the more dull his mind gets. Come on in, come on in, rest your bones, what's your poison, and if you're wanting to play the piano just let us know and I'll punt Roice off for yourself to impress eh?"

Bentley gave roughshod grapeshot of laughter, and giving pantomime kick and further chuckles as he corralled the new company into the inn.

@Euphemia Martell

 

[Euphemia Martell]

Almost as soon as she spoke, the sounds of the piano picked up as if someone had gone to sit at the keys. There was still that slight discordant sound in the back, as if it was just slightly off tune, but it wasn't unpleasant. Probably just an older instrument, her hearing sharp from years spent in the dark. "Oh no, I don't play myself." She said with a soft shake of her head, her long dark hair coiled in a breaded crown about her head, as she moved into the space with slow, yet steady steps her staff feeling out the way as she followed after the welcoming voice.

"The weather has been nice. Sunny to cut through the late winter chill." Effie said answering the initial first question. Her staff tapped against something solid. A hand went out, feeling against the surface to find a chair there. The knight slid into place, her leathers creaking softly at the movement. The finely wrought staff leaned up against the edge of the table.

"A minotaur you say?" She asked with interest. Perhaps something she and her fellow Knight should go and take a look at after they moved on. Even a small problem with Woodpeckers could possibly be something they could assist with. Her companion was knowledgeable in the pursuit of the wild. "I do hope no one was injured in the process?" Minotaurs were large creatures and not known for their abilities to hold their tempers well. While perhaps a brilliant orchardist, a minotaur caught in a rage could still be a dangerous thing.

Another figure glowing faintly of the shroud approached the table, asking after her order. "A mug of ale and whatever it is the kitchen has prepared for the day. I'm not terribly picky." She asked with a gentle smile.​

 

[Bentley Gravelmarrow]

A quick rapport of words uncommon from Bentley to the back, the sound of deep rumblings in ancient halls with downward petrified gazes from the elder Bentley. The language of Runefolk, quickly delivering in punching rumblings as to the business of the knight's vittels and sustainances. A quick flurry of services, of trencher amassed with simple breads and pleasant things to chew, of ladels dipped into perptual stews. The game brought in fresh that morn yet added, yet soon to be prepared to sustain the regular offerings.

Bentley did settle himself at the table, inviting himself by virtue of his own swagger and home in this place. He rolled out words in common tongue, getting the measure of his company and giving himself some better airs for knowing politeness given freely by this newcomer. Bentley knew some manners about him, yet his voicebox was course in it's renderings, much strain from years balking at the state of the world.

"If the beastkin who wants for labyrinths instead of chipped bark is injured, it's his pride. And that'll mend once someone does give him coin for goring or boring with his stories. His mind be chipped with each beak strike of these birds, the marbles within it rattle about as loud as his hooves about the place. Maybe some bandied words brackish spat, nothing we aint suffered from better peoples. These woodpeckers be nothing but a nuisance. Some druid might sniff it out, but we aint seen hide nor hair of them folks since the berry bushes did burn. Sad day that, the sloes did power the gin I like. Caused by idiots of wineries long shoved off, but that's old news to old peoples at best."

A series of knuckle raps against the wooden table as food was offered to the guest, some stew which had healthy variety of vittel and rabbit that did roil, herbs of rosemary from gardens nearby. A tankard of ale, quick rendered and ahead of what queues to the regulars who knew better not to question the circumvention of priorties. Bentley had spoken the language of the Runefolk, and that meant something to those who knew him well. Another patron did perform as helpful hand, providing a wide basin half filled with strong ginger libation that had been resting atop the piano. Unusual in design, it seemed custom made for Bentley's needs. Bentley gave small nod in thanks, but his eyes were upon the newcomer, his hands upon the table, clumps of flesh that seemed all too grey, fingers locked in tightness about themselves.

The piano gave trills and fills of character as Roice did grow comfortable, some laughter as cards were began and comparisons were drawn to previous moments all faded by the swill alcohol that could be afforded. Neither Bentley's ginger drink nor was the ale provided to the knight were of such low class. Coin was already being scratched into well worn ledger, to be repaid by Bentley once the sun was down and debts were wrangled from those who were too drunk to remember and perhaps unwise in their ducking of loans.

Bentley did rub his nose for a moment as he looked up with Runefolk appraisal to stave.

"You might be mistaken for a druid with that stave, but your nature about nature be not my bread and butter. Careful not to be drawn into blame games from the horned one that stomps about, and he does get leery just tell him Bentley Gravelmarrow, that's me by the way, tells him knock it off or I'll be demanding twice what he owes me. Aint right for strangers to be accosted cause of head banging birds' wish to cause a nuisance. Just hope none of us folk be that to ye arriving."

 

[Euphemia Martell]

A quiet thanks was given as food and drink were placed in front of her. Effie listening as she stirred at the stew. The smell pleasant as the warm steam curled about her face, much to hot to try yet, but her mouth watered at the smell. She wished that she was capable of helping, whether with the birds or with the bushes, but neither of those things fell into her strengths. The most she would have been able to do is perhaps influence the minotaur into a better temperament, but that would be gone as soon as she and her companion moved on. Not to mention, manipulating a sentient being's mind in such as way, well she didn't like to do so at even the worst of times.

"Oh no." Effie said quickly in reassurance. "Everyone has been nothing but polite so far and it's always enjoyable to have conversation with a meal." Her grandma use to say that conversation aided in digestion and it was important to not rush a meal. She couldn't say she'd kept to those wise words over the years, but it was something she remembered from the old woman.

She gave a smile as she reached a hand out, touching the staff in an almost need for reassurance that it was still present. "No, I'm no druid." She responded. "Though the companion I travel with might have skills close enough to help with the bird problem at least. I can ask him next I see him." She offered before finally filling the spoon with the thick stew and bring it to her lips to blow softly.

"Aside from the temperamental minotaur and his woodpeckers, I take it this is a pretty quiet place to live?" The streets of the little town had seemed busy enough as people went about their business, but still there was a calm air about the place. She hoped that was just how this place was, but the knights helped where they were needed and one only found a need when one listened for it.​