17th of Ashan 719
The saint of the skies came to land on a nearby rooftop. With a swift and graceful use of echo, they took the Llewnos' ability to climb and began to crawl down the side of the building. Passersby looked upon him with fear and general startle, but it was only a few trills or so before he met the ground and began to transform. Oh, it's just a mage, phew, their thoughts were almost audible in his ears. They didn't care about the general public, they didn't care about most things as they were. The unmistakable smell of alcohol had caught Fridgar's nose from beyond the wall, so they took wing and tracked it down. It led them here, to this part of Quacia that they hadn't seen before. Unlike the rest of the shithole city, the people here looked almost happy, if not a little guilty. Where were they?
With a shake of his Lotharren head, they dismissed those thoughts. It didn't matter where they were, there was alcohol nearby and they needed a drink more than anything in those few trills. Carefully, the giant removed his bag from his mouth and then walked along the street. Fridgar was almost stark naked, save for their stekir skin loincloth. They didn't have the skull they wore upon his head, nor the cloak of fur that often draped his back. Both were with Alistair, and they still couldn't stand to face him. The Lothar huffed as he dragged his feet, then took a turn for the nearest source of the scent. With a duck, they entered a large stone building with an empty doorway, empty windows and no discernable roof, it was effectively a large slab of stone with holes carved into it. Inside were various chairs and tables made entirely of stone and people of all shapes and sizes were sat around, talking, drinking, and laughing.
That wasn't to say that everyone was having a good time though, most of it was probably alcohol-induced bravado, and the palenon within him almost smiled to see such things. Not everyone was laughing, either. One man, sat at the bar with his back to the door looked about ready to cry in his beer. It was another Lothar, like their current totem. The Protean was a hive of consciousnesses, but the thoughts and feelings of this particular totem had always taken a firm hold of their overall mood. And at that moment, the Lothar was drawn to his brother. Two sad souls so far from home, perhaps speaking with the man would help alleviate his misery? The Protean saw no cause not to, so they trudged through the bar and took a seat near the other Lothar.
Fridgar, in his almost-naked glory, stood seven feet tall and four inches. His body was built up with dense bone, thick muscle and tough, tanned hide that laid littered with scars. A thick mane of brown hair adorned his head and stretched around to his lip, jaw, and chin. His facial hair only further accented his broad, masculine jawline. They waited a moment or two, scoping the other Lothar from the corner of their vision before the bartender stepped before them. "Como vrive pegar posso?" he asked in Vahanic, "what can I get you?" The protean held back a growl, for they did not speak vahanic. "Common?" he asked. The bartender, a rather short, stocky man smiled and nodded while stroking his long beard. "Ehh... yes, broken, me sorry," he said quite quickly. "What drink?"
"Whiskey," he replied with a gesture of drinking. "Just leave the bottle here," he said as he dropped a small purse of coins on the bar. The man laughed a little and nodded quickly, then took the coin and put the full bottle of whiskey on the bar along with an empty tankard. Fridgar tipped the bottle a little with a nod, a gesture of his thanks. Fridgar, who saw no immediate need to slow his roll, pushed the tankard to one side and began to drink straight from the bottle. The burn that the strong spirit left behind in his throat was almost comforting, but only almost. After a couple of gulps, he put the bottle down on the surface of the bar and turned to glance at the other Lothar. "I don't suppose you miss Uthaldria as much as me, do you?" they asked as they rolled the brown, clear fluid in its bottle. How many of these would it take to get them smashed?
The saint of the skies came to land on a nearby rooftop. With a swift and graceful use of echo, they took the Llewnos' ability to climb and began to crawl down the side of the building. Passersby looked upon him with fear and general startle, but it was only a few trills or so before he met the ground and began to transform. Oh, it's just a mage, phew, their thoughts were almost audible in his ears. They didn't care about the general public, they didn't care about most things as they were. The unmistakable smell of alcohol had caught Fridgar's nose from beyond the wall, so they took wing and tracked it down. It led them here, to this part of Quacia that they hadn't seen before. Unlike the rest of the shithole city, the people here looked almost happy, if not a little guilty. Where were they?
With a shake of his Lotharren head, they dismissed those thoughts. It didn't matter where they were, there was alcohol nearby and they needed a drink more than anything in those few trills. Carefully, the giant removed his bag from his mouth and then walked along the street. Fridgar was almost stark naked, save for their stekir skin loincloth. They didn't have the skull they wore upon his head, nor the cloak of fur that often draped his back. Both were with Alistair, and they still couldn't stand to face him. The Lothar huffed as he dragged his feet, then took a turn for the nearest source of the scent. With a duck, they entered a large stone building with an empty doorway, empty windows and no discernable roof, it was effectively a large slab of stone with holes carved into it. Inside were various chairs and tables made entirely of stone and people of all shapes and sizes were sat around, talking, drinking, and laughing.
That wasn't to say that everyone was having a good time though, most of it was probably alcohol-induced bravado, and the palenon within him almost smiled to see such things. Not everyone was laughing, either. One man, sat at the bar with his back to the door looked about ready to cry in his beer. It was another Lothar, like their current totem. The Protean was a hive of consciousnesses, but the thoughts and feelings of this particular totem had always taken a firm hold of their overall mood. And at that moment, the Lothar was drawn to his brother. Two sad souls so far from home, perhaps speaking with the man would help alleviate his misery? The Protean saw no cause not to, so they trudged through the bar and took a seat near the other Lothar.
Fridgar, in his almost-naked glory, stood seven feet tall and four inches. His body was built up with dense bone, thick muscle and tough, tanned hide that laid littered with scars. A thick mane of brown hair adorned his head and stretched around to his lip, jaw, and chin. His facial hair only further accented his broad, masculine jawline. They waited a moment or two, scoping the other Lothar from the corner of their vision before the bartender stepped before them. "Como vrive pegar posso?" he asked in Vahanic, "what can I get you?" The protean held back a growl, for they did not speak vahanic. "Common?" he asked. The bartender, a rather short, stocky man smiled and nodded while stroking his long beard. "Ehh... yes, broken, me sorry," he said quite quickly. "What drink?"
"Whiskey," he replied with a gesture of drinking. "Just leave the bottle here," he said as he dropped a small purse of coins on the bar. The man laughed a little and nodded quickly, then took the coin and put the full bottle of whiskey on the bar along with an empty tankard. Fridgar tipped the bottle a little with a nod, a gesture of his thanks. Fridgar, who saw no immediate need to slow his roll, pushed the tankard to one side and began to drink straight from the bottle. The burn that the strong spirit left behind in his throat was almost comforting, but only almost. After a couple of gulps, he put the bottle down on the surface of the bar and turned to glance at the other Lothar. "I don't suppose you miss Uthaldria as much as me, do you?" they asked as they rolled the brown, clear fluid in its bottle. How many of these would it take to get them smashed?
