[ We find Nebrinel and Fyril coming in from the road! They're in a decently-sized town with an easily forgettable name. Kludasomething, I think. But nevermind that. They're here to rest for the night, since it is night, and right now they're entering the only real inn in the town. ] [ They've been on the road for four days, now, and have visited two people on the list. Sadly, both turned them down, although one was helpful enough to offer the locations of a few places he thought might have some. ] [ But for now they're more likely thinking of food and sleep. What with having walked all day. ] [ The inn, for it's part, has a fairly small but nicely laid out downstairs with eight booths and two tables. It has a bar, which is presumably where one goes to order food, as well. There are a few drunks sitting at the bar, now, although one makes a face and leaves when Nebby and Fyril enter. Why is anyone's guess -- I mean, it's not like they're human or anything. ] [ SESSION START. ] * Nebrinel stretches her arms behind her back with a smirk, looks around quickly, and walks to the bar. [ The bartender looks up at Nebrinel. Then he looks back down her, then back up, and seems to be trying not to whistle or something. "Er, yes, m'lady. How may I help you?" ] * Fyril sidles in along behind her, looking around the room curiously. He looks over the drunks briefly before turning to watch Nebrinel. * Nebrinel gives the man a faint grin, looks over to Fyril, and says, "We will need a room, and I, at least, will need a meal. Fyril?" * Fyril gives a very, very fleeting look of distaste at the idea of another inn meal before nodding somewhat brightly. "Yeah. I could do with something." [ The bartender nods. "Alright. Anything in particular you want, or will just 'a meal' do?" He smirks. ] * Nebrinel smiles back. "You are the one with the food. Some beef and potatoes would work, and a glass of wine." * Fyril shifts a bit as he's looking up. "I could do without the wine, though. Just water'd be fine." [ The guy nods. "Sure. One sec an' I'll be back." He walks through a room in back, but on his way there he puts a few logs in a stove built into the streetward side of the bar area. ] [ He returns in a moment with some cuts of beef and two potatos, and gets to work cooking them, while still tending to the needs of the drunks. ] * Nebrinel sits down at the bar with a grimace. "I forgot how difficult carrying around a bow could make life. Too awkward." * Fyril looks around the room again, somewhat wearily, then looks up at Nebrinel as he lowers his bulging bag to the floor and sits down. "At least you're used to it." * Nebrinel leans forward on the bar, and flexes her gloved hands. "That does make it easier." * Fyril nods emphatically. "Carrying that thing... it unbalances the whole bag." He lowers his voice more. "And it's not like I can even use it right." He gestures down at the bow attached to his bag. [ The bartender starts cooking the chunks of beef with some oil and onions, causing it to smell good before long. Assume he continues such things for a bit. ] * Nebrinel pulls an arrow from chestspace and twirls it to point at Fyril. "Yes, but that comes with time." She grins. "Besides. The discipline never hurt anyone." * Fyril grimaces, and looks at her incredulously. "You've got to be joking. The discipline's hurting me, right now." He sticks his tongue out at her." * Nebrinel waves the arrow and grins. "Now, now. Humans that were as old as you would say it builds character." * Fyril shakes his head. "My cooking master used to say that about chopping onions." ( "Why do I have to chop onions all the time?" "To keep your eyes clean." ) * Nebrinel twirls the arrow and dissapears it again. "So did Zarias. I think it's just how it goes when you're learning." * Fyril blinks. "He used to make you chop onions, too?" [ He continues cooking, putting the potatos on a rack inside the large stove. ] * Nebrinel smirks. "No. Standard stuff." She lowers her voice a little. "A thousand strikes, right here. Trayce! Nebrinel! Stings of the Butterfly for two hours!" * Nebrinel looks at Fyril. "And don't ask why they called it Stings of the Butterfly. I can't understand it either." * Fyril lowers his head a bit towards the bar. "Man, must be tired," he says sheepishly. Then, in a more impish tone, "Know me too well. I was about to ask." * Nebrinel winks, and taps the bar. "I knew it. My fantastic wit strikes again." * Fyril looks up at her again. "I don't think you can be considered a true master of swordsmanship till you come up with a stupid name for something. That'd explain all of those titles." [ The bartender pulls the potatos out when he thinks their ready, cuts them open, and puts stuff, mostly cheeses and spices, into them, mixing them up and then putting the cooked beef and onions on top. He brings them over, then, with some wine and some water (he apparently knows the spell for purifying it, or else actually pays someone else to). "Here you go. And did you say you'd be needing one room?" ] Maybe so, Fyril... * Nebrinel looks at the Bartender, and nods. "Yes." * Fyril flicks his eyes up from the food to the bartender, and nods quietly. * Nebrinel starts eating! Amazing. "That's a shame. That means I'll have to think up a stupid name someday. What a chore." * Fyril looks back to Nebrinel, and talks in a soft tone as he begins to eat. "You can do it. I'm sure you have all sorts of stupid names in you. Just combine some verb with some noun that has nothing to do with it." * Nebrinel hrms softly, and takes a drink, not responding. [ The bartender comes back from tending to the drunks and hands the two of you a key, numbered '4'. "Here you are. And please enjoy your meal. If you need anything, let me know." He sure is cheerful. Must be new. ] * Fyril makes a slight face at the food, but straight as he's looking at it, so the bartender can't see. * Nebrinel nods. "Absolutely." Then she goes back to eating. [The beef is very tender and has a good flavor, and for the most part it's a pretty decent meal, depending on what you personally like in your potato.] (I don't care. I make faces on principle. =P) (Yeah. ^_~) [ And so they eat. After they're done, the bartender asks them what they thought, since it's a new recipe he's been working on and he's not sure if he's got it right yet. ] * Fyril looks up from the remains of his food, and takes a deep breath, but then stops and looks sidewise at Nebrinel. * Nebrinel winks and says, "It seemed good to me, but I am not known for my discriminating taste." [ The bartender seems to take that as a good sign. "Thanks! Anything either of you would've changed about it, y'think?" ] * Fyril looks up, and says slowly, "The spice blend for the potatoes might be enhanced if you tried adding just a touch of allspice. Not enough to really taste it, but it brings out the other spices if you just put in a bit." [ The bartender nods and writes that down on a scrap of parchment near at hand. ] * Fyril looks for a second as if he's going to launch into a longer list, but again he stops himself, and leans back. [ "Alright, thanks." He does a little mental math, then gives you the price for your room and the meals, which is easily paid. ] * Nebrinel does the paying, then stands, grabbing her stuff and giving the room one last once-over. [ He then bids you both good-night, says to tell him if you need anything, and then goes back to tending to the drunks, including the one that left when you arrived, who comes back in once you start leaving. ] * Fyril scrambles out of his seat, picking up his bag and giving the one who just came back a side glance as he heads over towards Nebrinel. * Nebrinel tries to get a look at the odd drunk's face as well, while shifting her pack, bow and cloak around. (She carries WAY too much stuff.) (It's the redmage thing.) (If she starts talking about stats, I'm running away again.) (That would be a 4th wall breakage, and nobody wants that. ^_~) * Fyril doesn't pay the guy too much mind, as long as it doesn't look like he has anything stealworthy. * Nebrinel thumbs towards the stairs with her key-holding hand, on the assumption it's a multi-floor inn. "Shall we?" * Fyril nods, and bounds up the stairs with a modicum of energy. * Nebrinel less than bounds up the stairs with less than a modicum of energy, finds her way to room 4, unlocks and opens it, looking in to see what we got stuck with. [ The room is nice, and looks recently furnished. There are two beds, both of which have nice thick mattresses. There's a door to the side, which presumably leads to the bathroom. ] * Fyril looks back to Nebrinel, and grins. "I get the bed nearest the window. The window's the important thing." * Nebrinel laughs. "Good thought. Always keeping those survival instincts up." She leans her bow carefully against the wall, and tosses her pack and cloak on the other bed, * Fyril shakes his head as he goes and sets his stuff on the bed, then tosses himself out on it as well. He looks back at her. "It's not that. It's just got the prettier view." * Nebrinel makes a hmming noise, and smirks slightly, almost weakly, in a way, looking at Fyril. "The view seems fine from here." She walks back over to her bow, and destrings it. "Escape's a better reason anyway." * Fyril shakes his head as he reaches back towards his bag, pulling it towards him. "Always the survivalist. Have some appreciation for the nighttime beauty. It's pretty out there." He turns to look out the window. It's good to be alive to appreciate it. * Fyril look back a bit, a teasing expression on his face. "Is that all there is to do around here? Survive?" * Nebrinel chuckles as she walks over to the window. "Not necessarily. But if you don't survive, you can't do anything else." She winks. "And surviving's harder than looking out the window." * Fyril shrugs, and wrestles around with something in the bag for a bit before freeing Jordan and pulling him out. "Yeah, well. I won't argue with that. But the window's more fun." * Nebrinel looks... out the window! Amazing."Can't argue with that." * Fyril nods firmly. "See? Don't see why you even bother to try." * Nebrinel mms softly. "Because the window doesn't keep people from killing you." She smirks slightly. "Usually." * Fyril frowns slightly. "Everything comes back to violence, doesn't it. And what if it was a very thick window?" * Nebrinel sighs. "Then it would be unusual." * Fyril shrugs, and rolls to a sitting position, holding Jordan on his lap. "Still, at least having a window is nice." * Nebrinel turns away from the window towards Fyril and nods slightly. "Yeah. Yeah it is." * Fyril eyes her oddly. "What's on your mind?" * Nebrinel shrugs. "Just normal worry. Comes with the 'living on the edge of a blade' lifestyle." ( ... I think I'm in love with Chibi-Ethan. ) (Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha *squish*) * Fyril shrugs. Jordan says, "But you have to have some peace sometimes." * Nebrinel waves her hand around. "This is peace. Only a mere handful of people could want to kill me for any special reason, and I don't have to fight." ( Session Title: "Talk to the Hand Puppet, 'cause the Face Don't Wanna Hear It." ) * Fyril looks perplexed. "If it's peace, then why be so anxious?" * Nebrinel shakes her head. "Perhaps it is just Plaguebringer." * Fyril scrambles a bit back on the bed. "I thought you had it under control." * Nebrinel smirks. "There's a difference between control and having a madman murmur in your ear, dear Fyril." She rubs her back. * Fyril eyes the sword tentatively, then turns a bit back to the window. "Where are we going from here, again?" * Nebrinel gestures off in a direction which is probably not the one they came from. "It's about 20 miles from here." * Fyril drops his head a bit. Jordan says, "So, a couple more days of walking, then." Not too long. Three people in six days is a pretty good rate, even if things aren't going quickly. * Fyril grumbles softly. "Be easier if we just went in and took stuff." * Nebrinel smiles. "While I agree, it's just as easy for Xivilai or Ada to track us down for our breach of trust, and as long as we keep running into people who at least seem like Xivilai's friends, we must be cautious." * Fyril looks up, his eyes glimmering. "There's got to be a way to get past that, though. And we didn't agree to treat everyone honorably." * Nebrinel chuckles, and winks. "That's why I like you. You bring out the irreverant side of me. Well, if this Alken e'Morraine looks like a good mark, perhaps we will get our shot." * Fyril pushes himself up a bit more, eagerly. "You mean it? What's it look like he has?" * Nebrinel shrugs. "I don't have anything more on him yet, but even if the piece isn't useful to us, it's a bargaining chip. Or perhaps of use to you, if you are so inclined." * Fyril shifts a bit, the eagerness dying slightly at that. "I think I prefer less mind-overpoweringly dangerous treasures, all things being equaled, for the stuff I get for myself." ( Hey, it doesn't have to mess with your mind. It could just turn you into a chibi every now and then. ) * Nebrinel chuckles, and waves her finger at him, still standing nearish the window. "Well, you are looking for the big scores. Great Weapons are nothing if not big." * Fyril nods impatiently. "But so are legendary jewels, mythic tomes of lore, ancient artifacts. Most of which don't carry dire consequences when you carry them around." Maybe. * Fyril shrugs, and his eyes regain their sparkle. "'course, stealing those weapons is fine, as long as you keep them." His expression turns a bit more worried. "Um... if you can handle that, anyway." * Nebrinel smiles faintly. "I can handle anything." She stretches her arms behind her back with a faint stretching mmm, and looks out the window again. * Fyril looks at her disquietedly, but stays quiet. (I love English words sometimes.) (Heh.) (That is a fun word.) * Nebrinel breathes out, and leans onto the windowsill, otherwise silent. * Fyril leans back on the bed for a second, then hops quietly off the bed and reaches up a bit to rest Jordan on Nebrinel's head. Jordan says, "When I grow up, I'm going to get all the Great Weapon pieces in the world!" * Nebrinel would jump if she were less of a badass. However, she does smirk at the window. "Awfully big dreams, Jordan. People have died trying to get far less." * Fyril cocks his head. "More your dream than his, I think, anyway." * Nebrinel shakes her head a little, shaking the puppet a bit as well in the process. "Those who lack power are at the mercy of those who have it. Nobody wants to be a leaf on the winds of life." She frowns at her reflection in the glass. "That seems needlessly poetic." * Fyril shrugs, and grins confidently behind her back. Jordan says, "You need to be caught to be at the mercy of others. Or agree to be there. You're not there automatically." If Xivilai chose so, we would be at her mercy. Can you disagree with that? * Fyril shrugs. Jordan says, "I don't aspire to have enough power for that to be worth it. And you can say the same thing about anyone else, really." * Nebrinel lets out a slight sigh at the window. "Then perhaps I am not anyone else." * Fyril pulls Jordan off Nebrinel's head, and plops down on the bed again. ( How these two can be so lively after walking twelve or more hours is beyond me. ) (Lively?) (And that's Nebrinel's life. She, at least, is used to it. ^_^;) ( Yes. As in, awake and thinking. ;P ) * Nebrinel chuckles faintly. "Well, I am not just anyone else, anyway. I'm Nebrinel Amydien." She strikes a pose at the window, and then steps away from it, and walks over to her bed. "I should have had more wine." * Fyril rests Jordan by the bag, and lies looking towards the window. "If you say so. It has... culinary uses... but not much beyond that." ( Nah. It's good for getting drunk, too. ) (No kidding.) (Not useful at all for putting out fires, though.) ( Nope. It tends to burn when exposed to flame. ) * Nebrinel shakes her head, and gestures magically into the air. "Well, it has its good points." She reaches into her pack to retrieve Ada's Big Book of Healing, and then lets the pack down onto the ground. * Nebrinel then lies back on her bed with her now standard mutter about Ada and her book. * Fyril shrugs slightly. "It offsets the tastes of other food. So... useful." * Nebrinel smiles faintly. "Well, you're the chef, Fyril. You'd know." * Fyril smiles quietly. "Mmm... allspice." Then he lies there, breathing quietly. * Nebrinel quirks an eyebrow at that, but doesn't bother responding. (But... but... allspice! Exciting!) (It's a spice. Mmm. Salt.) (No, it's ALLspice. ^^) * Nebrinel sighs annoyedly at the book after reading for a while, and sets it down with the pack. Then she gestures, and an opaque barrier comes up between her bed and Fyril's. A few minutes later, it comes down, and she's in her bed. (What, like he was going to look? =P) (Hey, he doesn't want a relationship, Nebby won't even give him the chance. ^_~) (He's facing the other way, and ASLEEP. =P) (Hmph.) (Bah. No faith.) [ Ah, sleep. Ain't it wonderful? I love sleep. ] [ Nebby's sleep, however, is interrupted by the touch of the flat of a very, very cold blade against the back of her neck, however. And what's worse, she can feel, once she comes to her senses, a sensation that clearly identifies the blade as a Morganti weapon. ] [ Session end! ]