21: Andor

•─────⋅☾Sol Rule 3126, Andor of The Daar'muth☽⋅─────•

As the day dragged on and their trekking across valley meadows was uneventful, Liran's mind slipped in and out of visions: some dark.

Her thoughts continuously circled on the man in the pavilion, who claimed the identity of the Morningstar. Although, she wasn't sure, because as far as she was told, it was an item and power not a person. Real but not real... She shook her head, not understanding. As she pondered on the matter, the stone in her pocket began to freeze with a black energy pooling out to subtly affect her aura.

Her focus returned to her immediate surroundings: she smiled as she watched the kijen sisters, in their fox forms, frolicking about wild-growing grass to chase the butterflies. Unaware of Aiden and Rat keeping careful watch of her condition: they had noticed her less perky countenance.

They weren't the only ones to see her subtle changes.

"Is she okay?" Scot quietly asked Aiden after noticing Liran's pale complexion. His mind went back to fight at his old tavern and her terrifying aura before passing out.

Aiden nodded.

But Scot wasn't convinced, thinking something serious had happened if she was on her way to see one of the ancient Sakratu. He caught Beserk's gesture to stay quiet for now, and sighed away his concerns. Grayman would certainly known what was going on.

The party reached the small fishing town of Andor by evening. A fresh fish smell among a sweet scent, and cool moisture, kept their energies refreshed.

As they strolled the boardwalk toward the town's archway, Liran saw a line of metal iron stakes around the forest perimeter and nodded: the stakes would ignite with a magic barrier upon impact or activation. A stronger breeze came from the side of the town's perimeter, which was a deep-green river, miles wide so the other bank couldn't be seen.

Unlike most strongholds, Andor didn't have gatekeepers. so people came and went as they pleased. Most of the residents were human and alfaren, with visitors being commoners and the minority races making their long journey to the Golden Throne Capital at the far north of the continent. Because the town was miles out of the major highways and roads that took shorter time to reach the palace, it was rarely used by royalty or the wealthy who could afford carriages.

Beyond the archway were similar dwellings to the Outskirts with rickety wood shacks nestled within shady trees, dirt covered children with simple tunics playing games and many fishermen hauling in baskets of seafood and gutting fish on benches at the riverside.

Scot frowned when couldn't see where the tavern was. "I swear this town had a tavern when I was last here." He boldly approached a passing fisherman and asked for its location.

"Tavern?" The fisherman sighed. "Gone. Some noble mage cast a spell that destroyed the building. It's been this way since last spring."

Scot thanked the man who resumed his walk.

"No tavern! Where is a woman to go for a pint?!" Liran lamented and a fisherman thumbed in the direction of a portside building called the Trading Post. Many people crowded the narrow verandah and benches.

They weaved their way through to enter the building's shop counter. A red-haired dwarf sat behind the counter rubbing his chin as he drove a hard bargain with a customer. Next to him was a Sith woman snapping at him for some trivial reason, to which he snapped back with comments about her being a cow.

Liran chuckled and winked at Scot. "They must be married."

"Seems so. We sith are doomed to bond with the unrefined."

"That's not what you call me when you're riding my..." Beserk started to explain and had his words cut off by Scot's timely change of subject.

They approached the storekeeper.

"Greetings Keeper, would you know where we can stay the night?" Liran cheerfully asked.

"We 'ave a fishing hut you can all squeeze into. Three silvers."

She nodded and paid for the room.

"We've also some homebrew served by Old Man Coots on the pier behind this place."

"Homebrew! Let's go!" Liran's mood perked up, which had the dwarf laughing and her party apologizing for her push and shove out of the building to find that good old man.

They were able to nab a bench beneath a string of fairy lights woven between branches. The view of the night sky was cast as starlight on the river's surface.

A busty waitress was kept busy by Liran who began chanting food and beverage items like she was a monk speaking a mantra.

"I hope you have the coin and stomach for all of that." Aiden blinked at the large amounts she was ordering.

"Naturally. Besides, I owe this to you all. So don't hold back and eat up!" She jovially declared.

"You know you're not getting out of that tavern offer?" Scot aloofly added.

"I know, I know," she coyly brushed off and came up with an idea. "Hey what about re-establishing a tavern here?"

Food came and everyone paused their talking for eating.

"Ooh this homebrew is top stuff." She saw an old man scooping out liquid from a barrel and pouring into mugs on a table, which the waitresses served. She gave him a thumbs up, which earned a toothless grin full of pride from him.

Beserk observed the old man's working conditions being worn out in the elements and went to talk to him.

Everyone else started up their questions for Liran.

"Liran what is really going on. You were scary at the tavern." Scot didn't mince his words.

She sipped some of her drink then smiled. "I think a rock cursed me, so I'm going to see Grayman about it."

"Huh? A rock?"

Aiden slapped a palm to his forehead. "She means a piece of something called the Morningstar."

Sounds of merriment and movement paused. Everyone felt their eyes their way.

"I meant, whetstone. The, um, curse of a blacksmith's ire." He sweated.

The people huffed and dismissed their conversation as they carried on with their business.

But Scot stayed with an expression of shock. "You do realize that in these parts of the continent, that word still carries a lot of stigma and memory."

Aiden groaned. "I guess I do now."

"Why is that?" Clover innocently asked.

"Because here is where most of the damage started and was done," Rat factually answered as he tossed an olive into his mouth. Everyone gave their attention as he loosely updated them of the lore about The Alchemist and the war he waged across the lands of the living. Being careful others didn't overhear.

Scot frowned, and stared at Liran who kept quiet on the matter, and was focused on her food and the quality of the homebrew.

"Okay. I understand. I guess you're all seeing Grayman to try and save..." He couldn't finish his words, worried for Liran.

"Scot. Stop being a worrywart. I'll be fine. It's nothing, you'll see." Liran gulped down ale and gave him a thumbs up. "Did you forget that I'm a healer?"

"No, but I sometimes forget how damn stubborn you can be. Fine. Let's hope Grayman is your solution."

Beserk returned after spending most of the time talking with the brewer and trading post dwarf. "I chatted with the business folk here. When I told them I used to own the Fighting Fists, they were happy for us to set-up a business."

He explained that they would have to fork up costs to rebuild a tavern, but the locals were more than happy to work with him on the construction.

"Well, sounds like you and Scot are all sorted. So are you gonna stay here?"

Beserk and Scot shook their heads. Liran sighed and fished through her pockets, piling up items on the bench until she found a sealed coin purse.

Annoying Imp blinked when he saw one of her items was an ale barrel. "You really do carry an ale barrel in your spatial pocket."

She nodded and began shoving the items back in then tossed the coin purse to Scot. "Go set up shop. I want to play on a stage and have ale on the house when I get back."

Scot and Beserk's eyes widened with shock. There was so much money in there: at least enough to pay for a new building, staff and startup goods.

"Before you say anything, I did owe you remember?" She coolly sipped her homebrew.

"What about me? There's still my 20 sovereigns!" Rat piped up.

"I recall you owe me 50?" Aiden's expression was his usual blank type.

"Leeches," she grumbled. "I didn't cause your building to burn so no sovereigns for you."

Everyone burst out laughing, calling their jokes and carried on with merry feasting.