• Memory • Drunken Tales [Valkan]

[Freya DuCarinos]

58th Trial of Ymiden, Arc 714

The Crest Break was as lively as it usually was while its patrons drank away at the pints of ale and other imported liquors from all across the western region. Hiladrith was one of Ne'haer main distributors of rich and flavorful brandies as well as other spirits, wines, and liquors that were bound to make any individual's night confusingly blurry.

Freya worked as a barmaid at the tavern, recently employed to help deliver food and drink to the wanders and adventurers that found themselves there. It wasn't a job she wanted really, it wasn't even a job she needed, however, her adoptive clan was beginning to suspect her of illicit and illegal business trades and the job was but a nervously arranged coverup to wipe their suspicions away.

She'd been stupid, really. In desperate need of nel and beginning to feel the hardships of living life on her own, Freya turned to a quick solution offered by a less than trustworthy acquaintance. If she could help smuggle drugs into the city, she'd get a quarter of the cut. Hesitant at first, the young biqaj met with her employer in the shady, poor parts of Ne'haer's western section, in a restaurant that smelled of cooked, spoiled meats and smoke.

He'd intimidated her, though she tried her best not to let it show. In the end, he'd given her a test of sorts, something that would prove her worth and loyalty. Something that she really tried her best to forget.

Shaking her brown locks, Freya propped her elbow on the edge of the bar and leaned against the stained, glazed wood. It was her night off, something that was as rare as Edasha's kindness. She'd come in to meet with a contact but they were running oddly late and despite her best efforts, Freya couldn't help feel a sudden wave of nervousness wash over her. Ne'haer's naval fleet had been patrolling the waters more frequently, which meant the shipment was coming by way of caravan from Hiladrith. She didn't know with whom she was meeting, only that they would give her the location of the goods beyond the city walls. Then it would be up to her to smuggle them in somehow.

Biting her bottom lip, the young biqaj stared off into space, engrossed in her thoughts while the crowd around her roared with life. The sound of glass shattering stole her attention while one of her fellow barmaids stood over the scattered remains of a mug, ale splashed around her feet. Profuse apologies poured from her lips as the woman quickly bent down to pick up the glass, never noticing the way the men were eyeing her. Freya glared. She hadn't been working there for so long but anyone could tell the broken glass was by no means an accident.

“Freya, right?” Marion sighed, leaning against the bar with a dirty rag thrown over her shoulder. Turning red-golden eyes to the older woman and owner of the tavern, Freya quirked a brow in inquiry. “You wouldn't mind doing me a favor, would you? I know you're off tonight but things are getting hectic around here and the orders aren't moving out as quick as they should be.”

Another sound of glass shattering caused the two women to turn toward the barmaid who had, once again, dropped a mug at the same table. “By the Seven, I swear..!” Marion grabbed the rag from her shoulder and stormed off to the table while Freya laughed quietly to herself.

Figuring she had time to spare, the brunette moved around to the other side of the bar and made quick work of grabbing drink orders, placing them on trays, then moving out into the crowd to serve. Her accent fluttered to the ears of the guests waiting as she placed their desired food and beverages before them, smiling her fake smile before returning to the bar to do the task all over again. Before she knew it, she'd finally caught up with the orders and placed the last one on the edge of a table where a man who looked vaguely familiar sat.

“Here are you,” Her broken common spoke with the same professionally fake smile just as her features shifted to an expression of puzzlement. This man looked quite familiar.

“Do I know you..?” She tested quietly in Rakahi, her eyes a mix of purple and gold. If he looked at her in confusion, she'd grab the tray and buzz back to the bar, but if he knew her, Freya figured she'd stay and chat since her contact still had not shown.

The woman had yet to remove the drink from the tray and, as her body stepped back to look at the man better, the imbalance of the tray seated on the edge of the table quickly flipped. The mug dumped cold alcohol all over her pale, mint green summer dress just before breaking against the floor. Red flashed across her gaze while her cheeks heated pink as a slew of curses in Rakahi escaped her lips.

“So sorry.” Freya told, bending down to collect the glass, completely embarrassed. “One more, I get. So sorry.”

And just as she looked up at the man once more, recognition clicked. “Oh! Hiladrith guard, you are? I remember, you come much! Travel well?”

[Valkan]

It was only on occasion that Valkan would darken the threshold of the Crest Break. The first time he arrived in Ne'haer on escort duty with the Hiladrithian caravans, he had stumbled upon the small tavern and requested a room. When the owner politely stated the cost of rent, it was clear by the extravagant sum that she meant to keep out the riffraff, like dust-caked out-of-town soldiers. From then forward, Valkan lodged elsewhere. But the pub served the widest variety of spirits and ales in the seaport, including some top shelf stuff. Like the lodgings, the good drinks at the bar cost you a pretty nel. But when he had the coin, and the inclination, Valkan would do his drinking at the Break. There were some journeys along the trade road that simply required something above and beyond at their end. The Crest Break was where Valkan would go on those occasions.

The recent caravan trip was one of those. Not because there was a bandit attack, or ravaging beasts or other encounters of the malevolent kind. In fact, it was precisely the absence of any of those that made the journey dreadfully tedious. It was no small task to keep the mind on track as they plodded along the seemingly endless rut-ridden road. Not even half-way to Ne'haer, Valkan had already began to debate what would be the first shot he would have at the Break, because there was no doubt he would be patronizing the establishment almost immediately upon arrival.

Once in the city, Val had shed his hardened leather armor and stowed his gear, and donned a clean tunic and breaches, knocked the clods of dirt from his boots, strapped on his dagger belt and drew his nel pouch through the leather strap. Soon, he found himself at a table in the Crest Break, a shot glass of bourbon in front of him. He lifted it, inhaled of the strong aroma. If it were not so noisy in the bar, one would have heard him hum with pleasure. Then, with a quick flick of his strong wrist, the glass tilted and stringent liquid ran over his waiting tongue and trickled down his throat with that long anticipated burn. Valkan felt the whiskey run all the way into his belly, where it spread that kind of warm heat that made a man feel at home.

As he waited for an ale chaser for his expensive shot, the lone man idly watched those working the room, slowing turning the empty shot glass between his fingers. Understaffed, Valkan thought, as the harried serving wench scurried about like a headless goose soaking the floor and her customers in spilled drinks. Then another woman got up from the bar and began to work as well. The sway of her gait, the glimpse of her features, he knew her. Yes, she was a server there, Valkan remembered her from his infrequent visits. She was young and too pretty to be slinging ale, he always thought. Apparently off duty, she had been recruited to help out her stuggling peer. The girl finally stopped at his table with the mug of much more affordably priced ale.

She sat her drink tray on the table, pausing before delivering the brew to study him, it seemed. Her charming features pinched into a quizzical glance before she spoke more directly. It was obvious her first language was Rakahi, for the few words of her question rolled off her lips with natural ease, unlike the choppy common he had always heard her use. Val leaned forward to answer when her tray tumbled to the floor with a crash, now a common sound that evening. The soldier sighed, his features darkened in a scowl of displeasure. His thirst seemed to spike in despair as he saw his ale splash and spatter all over the girl. Her cheeks flushed crimson, her apology clunking forth again in Common. As he looked down as she crouched to gather the pieces of the broken mug, even the weary swordsman felt an inkling pang of compassion for her.

The serving girl's mortified humility washed from her countenance as she looked up at Val, her eyes catching a spark as she finally recognized him. Valkan's glower faded, allowing a small wry grin to slip across his lips. "Yes, you are right. Impressive for someone who must see scores of faces come in and out of here. The name is Valkan." Usually a lone drinker, he felt inclined not to drink alone that night. Maybe it was finally being in Ne'haer after a long trip. The city with its fresh air carried in over the water had indeed been a beautiful sight. Sharing a drink with a young woman would seem most apppropriate. Besides, she was just working to help them catch up, and appeared alone as well. "Would you be so kind, when you pour me another ale, to pour two, and join me?"

[Freya DuCarinos]

Freya was mortified. And soaked.

The smell of ale wafted up into her nostrils and caused her to grimace. How had she managed to make the same foolish mistake as that twit of a barmaid? There was no way she could walk away from this one either. Marion would know as soon as Freya rounded the bar with the shards of the broken mug and the drenched dress she now wore.

Well it wasn't so drenched, but the smell of ale would follow her everywhere tonight and she didn't need a guard up her ass asking her questions of, 'How much have you drank, lassy?' As if public intoxication was her thing. Freya mentally scoffed.

Nope, she'd get the look from Marion. The look that said, 'I thought you were better than this.'

Freya was, but even she had her clumsy moments.

Shard for shard, she picked each one up carefully and placed it on the tray that was now settled on the floor. The last thing the poor girl would do was cut herself. Her cheeks were still aflame with a blush of embarrassment, knowing she had displeased the Crest Break's regular sitting next to her by dropping the damned mug. Freya could feel the tension permeate the air once the crash echoed across the walls of the establishment. At least she thought it did.

Turning her fascinatingly changing eyes up to the guest once more, she listened and gave a small chuckle. Of course, Freya had seen a multitude of men and women come and go from the tavern, yet she remembered him for several reasons, some of which were inappropriate at best.

The employees liked to gossip and sometimes, they liked to play games to move the shift along a little quicker, especially on slow nights. Though, these games revolved more around the guests than the actual staff and were harmless really. They would put together a story for each individual based around their drinks, their attitudes when greeted, and their personalities when drunk. The staff would make it a guessing game, even bet nel on a few of the stories, so confident of their accuracy in their assessment of the individual.

Freya remembered another barmaid, Tavania, trying to play the game on this regular here, who's name she now knew as Valkan. Tavania had been fascinated by the man, maybe because she'd been trying to drag him off somewhere for reasons of her own. Though the woman left a little while after Freya started, she did miss Tavania's enthusiasm every time Valkan stepped past the threshold of the tavern. That woman loved to flirt.

“Freya,” She greeted politely, rising once more after collecting the tray full of glass. “Many face, yes. Too many, often. Interesting face, I remember.” Smiling, she turned to fetch Valkan a new mug of ale when his words stopped her, facing him again.

“Two? Join?” Freya blinked, confused. She hated the fact her common was so broken that sometimes, speaking was rather difficult on her brain. Nevertheless, the young biqaj pushed through, blushing lightly as her thoughts connected the pieces.

“You'd like me to drink with you?” Her question dangled hesitantly as she looked around. The contact that was suppose to meet her had yet to arrive and though it was cause for concern, Freya was tempted by the smell of ale, mostly coming from her, and a craving for that all too familiar burn of alcohol as it slid down her throat. She thought for a moment, then smiled, nodding.

“I drink with you.” Her matter-of-fact statement told before she turned and made her way back to the bar.

Just as she thought, Marion was there, giving her a disapproving look as Freya slid the tray onto the counter. “Really now?” The owner sighed, rubbing her temples.

“Accident, was fault of mine to watching. I not have attention and glass broke. He is regular— Valkan? Tavania told of much.”

“Valkan? Oh, him! You spilled his drink?” Freya nodded, embarrassed.

“Accident, much sorry Marion... Not happen again.”

The older woman laughed and grabbed a glass, filling it with Euharien Ale before handing it off to Freya. “You'll make the same mistake, girl. But you work hard so I can't be too mad. Tell him its on the house.”

“Oh, um. Valkan want two.” She held up two fingers and chuckled nervously as Marion quirked a brow. Her gaze fixated on Freya's for a long moment, knowing full well why a second glass had been requested. Finally, the young biqaj shrugged and she looked away, feeling small. “Night off, Valkan asked to drink so I say yes.”

“You best be careful, Freya.” Marion answered, filling another glass and handing that off to her as well.

“I'm careful.” Smiling, she departed the bar with the two glasses in hand and made her way back to Valkan, doing her best not to spill a drop of the strong ale. When she finally made it to his table, she settled the drink down in front of him with graceful ease before turning to her own glass. Colors melted and swirled within her gaze as she bit her bottom lip and smiled, looking up.

“Marion says on house. Sorry much again, heh. Do you like Euharien Ale? Very strong. Sweeter. Too much, too quick, much sleep, blurry night hahah.” Freya joked lightly, taking the drink in her thin digits before sipping.

“Valkan, yes? You come often to Tavern, why so?”

[Valkan]

The creases of humiliation faded from Biqaj's face and her stunning eyes shifted as the awkward moment gave way to conversation and his unexpected invitation. Valkan definitely liked that barmaid, especially in contrast to others. He too remembered Tavania. She was attractive enough, but relentlessly came on to him. It was fun at first, she had assured him clear view of her ample cleavage and bared legs, fawning over him with compliments and the teasing trace of her fingers on his shoulers and arms. She would have been easy to slip away with, too easy. Valkan was not impressed by easy. Nothing worthwhile ever came easy, and no meaningful victory ever came without some effort. So he had shrugged off her advances. Val laughed to himself, maybe she just didn't get him drunk enough. He was no priest, afterall. Gratefully, the Hiladrithian had not seen her in quite a while.

Valkan nodded when the girl looked up, as if not sure she understood. "Yes." He confirmed his invitation, his head tilting to the bar, as if to coax her to carry on. She agreed, much to his hidden delight. The shot glass continued to turn between his fingers as Valkan's gaze followed the Biqaj to the bar. She was a diamond in the rough, by her features and shape alone. The shot glass was placed on the table, upside down, as he watched her interact with Marion. The woman's gaze darted his way, a subtle tilt of his head affirming what the barmaid was telling her. Soon, the girl was returning with their ales. She still smelled of cheap brew, her garment sticking to her skin in places where it was still soaked. Still, she was the most pleasing thing to look at in the tavern.

When she sat his glass in front of him, Valkan could smell the rich aroma, she had gotten them the good stuff. A hazel gaze met the woman's colorful eyes as she settled in. He had not been around Biqaj enough to know what the shifting colors meant, but they were stunning.

He laughed at her teasing warning about the brand of ale, and he nodded and smiled. "I will try to drink it slow." He replied. She continued in her broken Common while Valkan lifted his glass and took a sip of the ale. It was everything the earthy aroma promised. He paused before answering her question.

"First, can I have your name?" He inquired. You have to know the name of your drinking buddy, after all. "And yes, I am Valkan. I come here for a few reasons." He sipped again at his drink, savoring the flavor as it washed down his throat. "You serve good drinks here, not the swill you find at other taverns. Its small, more... home-like. And, aside from tonight, the barmaids are quite good." A smile broke out as he teased the young woman. "Now, tell me, what makes you spend time here when you don't have to work?" His brow quirked inquisitively.

[Freya DuCarinos]

Freya watched the man tilt his glass back and drink in the ale. She couldn't help but stare, noting the scruff of his beard and the curve of his jaw, the way the skin of his throat moved as he drank, and the slight protrusion of his collarbone as it peeked out from the neckline of his tunic. When he lowered the glass, her eyes were on his and tinted with an enchanting color of pink on golden.

As he spoke to her, Freya could tell that he was a calm, collected individual. The way he carried himself and his words spoke volumes to her; polite and charming, yet lacking humbleness or so it seemed. Though it wasn't a bad thing, she anticipated he would be of some wealthy birth or thriving family. Normally the cute ones were of some high rank or nobility, due to their pampered lifestyles. Maybe that was why Tavania took such a liking to him.

It was easy to see why she would. He was handsome after all.

Freya took another sip from her own glass, as small smile stuck to her lips as she tasted the ale. “Freya,” Her tongue rolled her name out in Rakahi, dipped in a strong accent before she spoke it in common. “My name is Freya.”

As he went on, she blushed and smiled wide, her multicolored eyes shimmering with gentle humor as he teased her about her mishap with the glass. “Yes, heheh. Barmaids like to break glass. Unfortunate, but men enjoy we pickup glass. Not all the time accident.” Her eyes shifted and she nodded her head to the entrance of the tavern. “Look, success, see?”

The same barmaid who had shattered two glasses earlier was now standing in front of a burly man, hands clasped with his as he planted nel within her palm, caressed her cheek, and stumbled out. The woman tucked the nel away and moved back to the bar, smiling as she carried on as if nothing ever happened.

Freya took another drink, grinning softly into her cup as she did so and rested it upon the wooden table a minute later. “Success. Never good night where glass not break.”

At his last question, the young biqaj woman pushed her loose hair back and laughed, shaking her head as she kept her eyes planted on the ale in her cup, thinking. “Work I must do. Tavern helps collect nel for clan.” At the mention, her features fell. The clan she was apart of had adopted her when her mother died just after having Freya. Most of the Biqaj clans, the large ones at least, stuck to their own within their circles. There were a few dominating Ne'haer, attempting peace when obvious tension was in the air. The clan that adopted Freya didn't take too kindly to her, but they helped her as much as they were willing to and their generosity was slowly fading away.

It was one of the reasons she'd decided to become a drug smuggler. To earn money so she could quickly depart from their reach and live on her own, away from the world, and wrapped within the waves and the sea.

“But travel I like. Must travel. Clan does not, so money I make to travel. Give nel to clan for thanks and honor. Give nel to bank for ship, sail to the dark waters of Death's Door and not go back.” The tip of her finger caressed the rim of the cup as she pressed a smile. It wasn't the complete truth, but he didn't need to know that. Glancing back to the door, she expected to see her contact as it open, but as it was, so it continued to be. They were most likely not coming.

“What say you, Valkan? Travel much?”

Her thoughts shifted for a moment while the young biqaj woman took a long drink to cover up the stress slowly building up inside her. What had happened to her contact? If they got caught somehow, she'd be ratted out to the guards and thrown in the dungeons before the break of dawn. Should she slip away and check it out or stay where she was?

Dropping the glass to the table again, golden red eyes watched and listened to the man across from her. She'd give it a bit more time.

[Valkan]

“Freya.”  He repeated as her name was given, as if to consciously etch it into the tablets of his memory. A lopsided grin slid across his lips as the barmaid revealed the trade secret of the Dropped Glass, apparently it was worth irking Marion to show off some curves and earn a decent tip.  How could he blame them? Men were base creatures, most letting their carnal instincts leach out at every opportunity.  A little discipline, a little selectivity, and the indulgence of those instincts could be elevated to more exquisite heights than vain flirting and the short-lived half-pleasure of a quick release.  Not that his eyes did not relish the female form, or linger upon it.  Quality, not quantity was his mantra.

 
The levity dimmed on her bright features as Freya shared why she worked at the tavern. Sometimes, it was hard to take her very seriously, her broken Common unintentionally humorous at times.  But the sobriety of her tone surmounted her accent. Freya’s story paralleled many.  A hard or mundane life of dissatisfaction, the struggle to be something more than the sum of their parts, motivated by goals and dreams, working hard to achieve them, even if those dreams were to just get out. 

 
Valkan’s history did not start out like that.  He had been spoiled, given everything he needed and wanted.  Some may have said it was tragic he was not shown a deeper love from his self-interested parents, but he would scoff at that.  He was more disappointed that they offered no guidance, no role model to help him navigate his youth, to give him the desire to be something more than a rich brat.  Then, when they saw their error, it was too late and they pawned him off on a family member to fix.  His uncle did. It was hard, being broken, but the old soldier built Valkan up again to be a self-sufficient, strong young man.  From then on, Val knew he didn’t need anything from his parents, and shook their dust from his boots.  Then his tale became like Freya’s.  He would make something of himself, take something for himself, carve a name out of the world for himself.   Escorting caravans was an unpleasant step on that path.

 
A more subdued smile returned as she turned a question to him. “Yes, I travel a lot.  Mostly between Hiladrith and here, or Argos, along the trade route, guarding the caravans. That is what brings me here.  I am from Hiladrith.”  He replied, lifting the mug again to take a swallow, then pausing to let it hover.  “To tempting Death’s Door.”  He understood his comment had a double meaning. Val’s mug moved forward to invite a toast.  The caress of the whiskey now brushing at his mood, easing his road-weary mind. 

[Freya DuCarinos]

Freya let loose a giggle as Valkan held up his drink for a toast. Grinning, she met his glass with a clank from her own just before the rim touched her lips and she kicked it back till it was finished. Sliding her thumb over her top lip to remove the liquid there, the biqaj woman leaned forward, slowly feeling the warmth of the alcohol in her system.

“Song, you know, clans say. Honor given for the Sea, you know? Ship travel to Sea, deso.. desolate? Ship and souls gone. Death's Door waits. You know song?” Freya smiled. “Honors souls gone to dead.”

Song

“The Sea and Storms take us where they may
Guided for our hearts desire
Until death
We claim the life we live, our own
To meet with Vri in blackened domain
And my Kin, a Life well Lived.”

Freya sang lightly, her voice wavering slightly with the words. Once she finished, a blush neatly on her cheeks, she smiled and snagged her empty glass. “Argos says song, you know it? Song says popular, you hear somewhere, no?” Her broken common dripped with a strong, Rakahi accent, making it difficult to say the words properly.

“By the Fates, I really am bad with Common.” She let out on a half sigh, half laugh, speaking mostly to herself. “Don't be a fool, Freya..” Was her mumble and turned her eyes back up to Val. “Travel to Hildrath?” She mispronounced, “Road bad? You see much?”

“Travel, I did. With friend to place up.. up wast? I go with him on boat to fish, we go into wrong place. Par.. Parrots? Parrots with knife go to us and we know nothing. What to do? My... heart quick! Like rabbit. I small child, what to do? Run! Hahah, I go with him to Ne'haer again and no go far away again. I want to travel far away again. Hildrath far. Much far. Travel to Hildrath, I must do.” She rambled.

When she realized her rambling, her blush only deepened in color before she snatched his glass. “Drink more? I must get please.” Before he could object, she was out of her seat and strolling to the bar again with a quick pace. Biting her lip, she felt the tingle on the tips of her fingers as the strong ale settled in her system.

It had been a while since Freya drank anything that strong, but the sensation was welcoming, especially to her nerves. When she rounded the bar, Marion was still there, talking to guests. As her eyes landed on Freya, however, they crinkled in question just before the woman approached her.

“Back for more?” She ask hesitantly, noticing her pink cheeks.

“Yes! Please, two more. Me to buy.”

“You're buying him a drink?” This time, the surprise in her voice made Freya huff.

“Yes! Now give me the sarding drinks!” She explained in Rakahi, annoyed with the woman that was now making a face at her... “Yes, apology to Valkan for drink. Buy him another on me.”

The Tavern Owner took the glasses, grabbing fresh ones before filling them with the same alcohol. While she waited, Freya looked down the bar, eyeing a shot a man was currently swirling in his glass with an odd craving. She was one who didn't like to stop once she started drinking and though she was no alcoholic, she drank like no tomorrow when she had the coin to and felt like it. Leaning over, she tapped the man lightly on the shoulder, grabbing his attention. Turning slowly, he looked her up, then down, before returning to her blazing orbs. The woman could have smacked him but as often as she received such a look, she could care less. “What is this?” She pointed.

“Shavannia.” Was his husky response.

Freya nodded and moved away, not wanting to spend anymore time near him as Marion set the glasses down. “Two shots, please.”

“Shots? With Ale? Freya...”

“I know! Careful. Please, two shots? Shavannia?” Of course, Freya was neither drunk nor working and Marion wouldn't refuse the nel being handed to her from the Biqaj's pocket. So she grumbled and moved to get the shot glasses. Once filled, Freya collected everything and wandered back through the crowd with practiced grace.

“I get for you and you tell me story when drink gone.” She grinned, setting the shot and his ale down in front of him. “I talk, you quiet. You need drink so I talk, you talk!” Her laughter bubbled as she plopped down in her own seat.

She held up her shot. “To stories and strangers and knowing the two. Eh?” And then she brought the alcohol to her lips and downed it with a shiver.

“Ugh!”

[Valkan]

Valkan had settle back in his chair, one leg bent, the other stretched out beneath the table, an arm draped over the chair arm while the other held the glass, lifting it regularly to sip at the strong, flavorful ale.  The Biqaj was a talker, and a singer it seemed.  Her voice was nice, if not perfectly in tune, and her smile set the tired soldier at ease.  With each swallow of the brew, he felt his muscles unknot and relax.   Freya's fractured Common was endearing at the first, her accent thick and exotic, and he chuckled to himself a time or two at her awkward phrasing. But Val was finding it harder to follow.

 
The girl had peppered a few questions among her lyrics and lilted words, but she did not take a long enough breath for Valkan to answer.  It didn’t bother the man, as it normally might, for he was being wooed by the fine alcohol he had specifically come to get, and he was drinking some of it for free.  But when Freya leapt up to fetch them refills, he tried to protest, insisting that the next round be his.  The words spilled forth in a vain muttering, for she was reaching for his glass already.  A quick tilt of the mug and he chugged the remains down before the charming girl snatched it away. 

 
Again Valkan watched in amusement as Marion admonished Freya, then gave her the ales.  But, to the man’s surprise, the young woman had bought two shots as well.  It was clear to him then that the Biqaj meant to get drunk, and him with her.  For a moment, suspicion arose.  Was she a plant to get him drunk so her cohorts could easily rob him in an alley on the way out?  Or was she a pickpocket on the side?  The darker thoughts turned over a time or two in his mind, but when Freya returned with the drinks and her beaming smile, Valkan found it hard to believe she had nefarious goals.

 
With a smile, Valkan lifted his shot glass to return Freya’s salute and toast, downing the liquor.  “Shavannia?”  He quipped with some surprise, the words a bit choked as his throat constricted against the strong alcohol. “You have good taste, Freya.”He added with more composure.

 
The Biqaj’s eyes seemed so bright, her demeanor so lively. “Thanks for the drinks,” He continued, “…and, I understand some Rakahi, if it would be easier for you.”As the alcohol seeped into his brain, it was becoming harder to keep up with the gregarious woman in her sketchy Common.

 
“So you want a story?” Valkan said with a raised brow, sipping at his second glass of ale.  He leaned forward, elbows on the table.  His tongue was loosening with the free flow of alcohol.  Looking more intently at Freya, a small grin slipping across his lips.  “What sort of story?  Adventure?  Romance?  Horror?  What suites the lady’s fancy?”

[Freya DuCarinos]

Turning the shot glass up on the table, Freya giggled lightly as she watch Valkan drop his back, his voice squeezing as the taste burned his throat. Her smile was teasing, but so full of life and cheer, it lit up her entire face— even her eyes seemed brighter. “Come, you know cheap shot when you drink.” Her voice fluttered out in a bubble of soft amusement.
Freya leaned against the table, elbows pressed to wood while her arms wrapped around her waist. Her chocolate brown hair slid over her shoulder while certain aspects of her form stuck out more obviously in this position, though she didn't seem to notice. Molten eyes watched Valkan while pleasant sensation thrummed through her blood. She felt light and humorous in that moment.
“Free drinks, no problem. You no angry man when I drop ale. Free drinks is thank you.”
Then her curiosity piqued when he mentioned his knowledge of the Rakahi language. For some reason, the Biqaj's mind went rogue and promptly fell into the gutter as she thought about all the naughty things she wanted to say to him. She wanted to watch his expression as she spoke, and suddenly she wondered how much he knew. Would he know enough to realize what she was saying? Would that confused expression turn charming or would he back away from such a window of opportunity? Oh, he didn't look like the type to...
A swift mental slap silenced that thought path, making Freya blush slightly. “Well that's very kind of you.” She answered in Rakahi, “Not too many Hiladrians would care to speak my language. I'm surprised you don't think it beneath you. Everyone seems to have a stick up their ass and a silver spoon in their mouth, down the river there.”
She was relaxed now and splendidly buzzed, sipping at her ale while she listened. Freya had a peculiar sense that Valkan was a man of many stories, some of which were probably nothing peaceful. She watched the way he carried himself, and the way he sat. How he handled his cup and the glance of his eye. Even the tiny gestures and his appearance gave way to an intimidating demeanor without screaming 'warning, stay back'!
“All. I like all stories.” When she paused and saw him waiting for her to respond, Freya laughed. “Tell me adventure. Adventure and love.”
If there was one thing Biqaj's appreciated, it was a good love story. Especially over the open ocean when love would be trials away, it was nice to imagine and fantasize about the sweet, absent caress of love against the heart.

[Valkan]

Valkan relaxed in his chair, the virile ale and the shot chaser now coursing through his blood, smoothing the road-weary angst, allowing him to focus his attention fully on his attractive drinking partner. It was clear the Biqaj was enjoying the same dismantling of inhibitions as he, her smile wider and rarely relenting, the flash of brilliant eyes at one moment coy, the next almost lewd. As for the soldier's eyes, they found plenty to keep them busy, fixed upon Freya.

Once she learned he knew some Rakahi, the barmaid offered a smarmy and taunting response in her own tongue. Valkan's smile cocked again, his strong form leaning forward to lean elbows on the worn table as he sat across from Freya. "I didn't want to learn the talk of sea otters, but I travel here enough, it helps when I find one not smart enough to get Common." Valkan's accent was strong and full of shaky pronunciation. But his smile widened as he jabbed back at the beautiful brunette. "Look, see, I pulled the stick out my ass a long time ago. I now beat other people ass with it." He laughed at his own broken Rakahi, and his ridiculous comment, for there was a bit of truth to it. It seemed they understood each other's language much better than they could speak it.

When Freya offered her preferences for stories for that evening. Valkan paused. He could tell her some harrowing true stories of fights along the trade road, but he had no love stories. One had to have been in love for that. Val had had lots of relationships, but no real love. He decided to have some fun and create his own adventure romance.

"Very well, Freya." He began, leaning forward even closer across the table, his eyes fixed on the captivating hue of the Biqaj. "There once was a sailor, a salty captain of a fast, sleek ship that plied the seas hauling the most exotic cargos. Olives from Sirothelle, furs from Uthaldria, artwork from Melrath, fine wines from Hiladrith bound for ports in the dark Southern Region." His finger raised as if to admonish his listener, "But don't think that this captain was a grizzly old sea dog with a scraggly beard, no she was a lovely, svelte creature of Ne'haer. Her beauty rivaled the sunset over the Orm'del Sea." His eyes glinted as he took another swig of ale.

"Now, a traveler to the city, a hired sword with rugged good looks, sought work in the seaport. What with the Blackbrine pirates always lurking about, the beautiful captain hired the swordsman to sail with her, purely for professional reasons." Valkan's face showed a mock sincerity. The crew, Captain..." He paused for a moment as if recalling a memory, "Captain Frigga, and her man-at-arms, Falcon, set sail on her vessel the...Euharia." He stated matter of factly, lifting the mug of ale that inspired the name.

"Now, as fate would have it, those dastardly pirates did indeed beset the Euharia and her stalwart crew. The battle was fierce, but the hearty she-captain inspired her crew with valiant words and a tight-fitting bodice as she fended off the invaders. Then the pirate captain himself and his second cornered the brave young sea lass, though a fierce fighter, Captain Frigga was outmatched." Valkan's brows lifted "But, suddenly Falcon, her protector, appeared at her side, slashing at their foes with cruel arcs of his curved blade, leaving the pirate captain and officer in a bloody heap at their feet. The brigands, without a leader, fled into the sea, and the Euharia was sailed on."

Another swig of ale slid down Valkan's throat. His eyes fixed again on the scintillating orbs of Freya's gaze. "Now, Captain Frigga was so grateful to Falcon for his valor, that she offered him any reward he desired. So, the swordsman seized the captain, tucked her under his arm, carried her to the captain's quarters and made wild and passionate love to her through the night as a storm raged above them." Valkan's hands folded before him, his head tilting dramtically. "From then on, they plied the seas together, blissfully happy and thoroughly sore from extensive sessions of 'hammock swinging'."

Taking up his mug, Valkan leaned back and tilted the ale to drain a long drink, then set it on the table a little too hard. With a deadpan sincerity he added..."True story." Of course, it was not.

Common-----Rakahi