Searing 53rd, 121. The Hobbled Gobbler, Zaichaer
Voices speaking Rivach filled the Hobbled Gobbler, along with the soothing, intoxicating aroma of exotic smoke and the lazy, dulcet tones of a dulcimer-like instrument. Jane had dreaded “Dratori Night”, fully expecting to see the rumored berserker rage that swam in their blood spring forth, but had instead been caught off guard by the relaxed atmosphere the crowd encouraged. It was one of the few nights were strong alcohol was not heavily consumed, many refraining lest it “inflame” their temper. Modest ciders and teas were more popular, making it a rare night were Jane did not have to clean around passed out drunks. The tables had been moved for a more open arrangement to allow large groups to sit in circles, a traditional custom for parties. Dratori and non-Dratori patrons still used the tables and bar, but the former seemed to reserve this for more personal conversations and Dalquian card and board games. Other races, likely friends, could be found among them, but there was no question that Dusk Elves made up most in attendance.
They mainly spoke in their native tongue, but Jane could still sense the presence of the mystical and arcane in their words. Strange cards were drawn, bones were cast, and meditative chants could be heard throughout the bar. Those that talked did so softly and thoughtfully, a note of reverence in their voices. Jane didn't know what faith, if any, the Dratori might hold, but it seemed too bold to express it in public. A few times she had been stopped and asked her opinion on the Aetherium and Land of Nod, but her overly scientific answers had earned her head shakes and derisive laughter. She decided it was better to play stupid.
While many sought to quell their passions, other Dratori seemed more keen into channeling them into feats of strength or amorous pursuits. Arm wrestling was popular, but occasionally bouts of full contact grappling would break out, though these matches did not last long before one party decided to tap out. It was generally good natured, but considered a risk nonetheless, though the many understood that sometimes the best way to quench aggression is through sport.
This was the second Dratori night that Jane had worked and already she recognized several faces, both regulars and those who had attended the last event. There was one face, however, that was familiar yet she was sure she had never seen him at the bar. It was puzzling, but she brushed this off, deciding that she must have forgotten his face. After all, so many of them looked alike.
“Salud'khamra!”, Jane exclaimed as she approached the young man. It was a Dalquian phrase she had learned from her first Dratori night, a contraction used to greet a friend to a party. It was the only bit of Rivach she knew, but its use seemed to delight and entertain the guests.
“Welcome to the Hobbled Gobbler! I'm Millie! What can--”, Recognition struck Jane suddenly and palpably. Her heart dropped and she broke out in a cold sweat.
“W-what can I get for you?”
Voices speaking Rivach filled the Hobbled Gobbler, along with the soothing, intoxicating aroma of exotic smoke and the lazy, dulcet tones of a dulcimer-like instrument. Jane had dreaded “Dratori Night”, fully expecting to see the rumored berserker rage that swam in their blood spring forth, but had instead been caught off guard by the relaxed atmosphere the crowd encouraged. It was one of the few nights were strong alcohol was not heavily consumed, many refraining lest it “inflame” their temper. Modest ciders and teas were more popular, making it a rare night were Jane did not have to clean around passed out drunks. The tables had been moved for a more open arrangement to allow large groups to sit in circles, a traditional custom for parties. Dratori and non-Dratori patrons still used the tables and bar, but the former seemed to reserve this for more personal conversations and Dalquian card and board games. Other races, likely friends, could be found among them, but there was no question that Dusk Elves made up most in attendance.
They mainly spoke in their native tongue, but Jane could still sense the presence of the mystical and arcane in their words. Strange cards were drawn, bones were cast, and meditative chants could be heard throughout the bar. Those that talked did so softly and thoughtfully, a note of reverence in their voices. Jane didn't know what faith, if any, the Dratori might hold, but it seemed too bold to express it in public. A few times she had been stopped and asked her opinion on the Aetherium and Land of Nod, but her overly scientific answers had earned her head shakes and derisive laughter. She decided it was better to play stupid.
While many sought to quell their passions, other Dratori seemed more keen into channeling them into feats of strength or amorous pursuits. Arm wrestling was popular, but occasionally bouts of full contact grappling would break out, though these matches did not last long before one party decided to tap out. It was generally good natured, but considered a risk nonetheless, though the many understood that sometimes the best way to quench aggression is through sport.
This was the second Dratori night that Jane had worked and already she recognized several faces, both regulars and those who had attended the last event. There was one face, however, that was familiar yet she was sure she had never seen him at the bar. It was puzzling, but she brushed this off, deciding that she must have forgotten his face. After all, so many of them looked alike.
“Salud'khamra!”, Jane exclaimed as she approached the young man. It was a Dalquian phrase she had learned from her first Dratori night, a contraction used to greet a friend to a party. It was the only bit of Rivach she knew, but its use seemed to delight and entertain the guests.
“Welcome to the Hobbled Gobbler! I'm Millie! What can--”, Recognition struck Jane suddenly and palpably. Her heart dropped and she broke out in a cold sweat.
“W-what can I get for you?”
