The Throne (Open)

[Franky]

Ash 63, 121

A long row of tables had been set up down the center length of the tavern, with accompanying benches. It was already a rowdy night, as people buzzed about the upcoming contest. Tonight was the night of The Throne. Franky walked out from behind the bar, cleaning off his hands on a rag and tossing it in a bucket. No one was sitting at the center table yet as he strode up to the head of it.

"Alright ya lot. This is the contest of the Throne. So let us start with the prize. If you win, you receive a custom carved Throne, perfectly carved to fit your own arse, so as to be comfortable. This Throne will have your name carved into it, and will be your exclusive, reserved seat here at the Gobbler for the entire year, until the next contest of the Throne. None may park their filthy bums upon it for fear of a lifetime ban and likely a bit of assbeatin'."

Franky raised a flagon, draining a heavy bit of lager from it, a refreshed gasp escaping his lips.

"Now, for how to win, it's quite simple. You must park your arses upon the benches there. And you must drink, at least two drinks an hour, of your choice. If you leave your seat, you leave the table and lose. If you soil yourself and make a mess on my benches and floor, we'll rub your face in it like a pup and toss you out. Last one sitting takes the Throne."

Franky smiled broadly, "And, of course, the audience may get involved. They may not touch the contestants, but pretty much any other method of distraction and annoyance is fair game. It will get messy. It will get loud and emotional and personal. It always has and always will."

Franky gulped down another throatful of the lager, gesturing with his other hand at the table. "Take your seats and pick your first round of poison." Several people began crowding onto the benches, leaving a few gaps as some looked on, unsure and nervous. Franky began to walk along the first bench, taking the first orders of drinks.

He asked each participant for their name, nodding in turn. There was a silent agreement that when Franky took the last of the orders, the contest would begin. And there was a palpable anticipation in the crowd, especially among those who knew this tradition from the Imperium. The air was electrifying, as nerves and excitement, anxiety and desire ran heavy.

It would be a hell of a night. It always was. And it always would be.

[Yeva]

Ash 63, 121

There was an expectant air in the tavern, the room both buzzing and weighted with tangible excitement. Yeva slipped in behind a towering customer and admired the number of bodies, simultaneously searching for a familiar face. The hobgoblin's voice rang out across the room before she saw him, having arrived just in time for the festivities to begin, "Alright, ya lot," he shouted, introducing the name of the game and its winnings.

The Throne.

There were a number of cheers. Yeva felt fascinated by the energy. The winnings held no particular sway with the woman. A carved seat didn't seem very wonderous, but that was only part of the prize. The chair was a symbol, and symbolism she knew well. Franky continued to bellow the rules, a matter of factly. He had a gruff, no-nonsense air about him here when he played ringmaster. The description of a face ground in urine added a special something. There was certainly a strange contrast between the polite man she had shared tea with and the same man currently addressing the crowd. She watched Franky take a gulp of ale. A goblin at work.

The rules were laid out and the brave stepped forward, Yeva grinned in excitement and hurrying towards the end of the row, pulling the strap to her leather off her shoulder to tuck it under her seat. To win a drinking contest was number three on her list and she hadn't come unprepared. She began to unbutton her wool cloak, pushing back the hood and shrugging off the material, twisting to hang it from the corner of her seat. Smoothing her hair to rid herself of any nerves, her eyes ran over the crowd, remembering what she had once been told. Most of these patrons were either non-human, or silent supporters of their existence. It was a nice thought.

Franky made his way down the line, a few stragglers taking a seat last minute. When it was her turn, she tilted her head back and beamed at the proprietor, "Hi," Yeva made sure to follow the pattern of the game, "I'm Yeva Bleu. May I have two shots of whiskey, please?"

[Dreyfus]

♅ 63rd of Ash, Year 121, A.o.S ♅
Company: ???| Thoughts: ???| Mood: ???

---

♅ Dreyfus had been in Knob as he was assigned to this area for some time now, and he was still getting used to the area and was looking for a place to find a good drink. Natasha was supposed to be meeting him at some Tavern she heard had good food and drinks, so Dreyfus figured he'd meet her there for a quick drink. It wasn't too far out of the way so it wasn't an issue to go and meet her.

Standing outside the place he waited patiently for his bodyguard to arrive, not knowing Natasha was already there, sneaking up behind him and poking him from behind. "If I was a bandit you'd be a dead silly girl, you should always be aware of your surroundings." she teased, coming around to poke Dreyfus in the chest. Chuckling, Dreyfus let out a sigh bowing to look the woman in the eyes. "You really think you could sneak up on someone who can read the flow of the flux."

Both reconciliators laughed as they entered the establishment. It was a nice tavern by Dreyfus' standards. It was not what he was expecting, the smell of liquor wafting under his nose, causing him to look to the bar then around the building. Intrigued, he quickly came to walk a little further into the tavern to take it all in.

Upon his inspection, he found that there seemed to be a game of some sort going on, a competition he supposed. The one explaining it appeared to be of orkhan descent, but it seemed a little more than that, but for now, it didn't matter. The game he was explaining piqued his interest more than the one explaining nationality. It seemed rather simple, so much so a child could easily play it. Taking off his jacket, he placed it into Natasha's hands before making his way over to the table.

As one of the last to join he waited for his turn to introduce himself, placing his Badge of Reconciliation on the table. When it was time, he tied his hair into a ponytail and looked to the barkeep. "Dreyfus Monteliyet, and I'll have two bourbons." ♅

---

"Common Speech"
"Silandris Speech"
"Self-Thoughts"

[Dakkur Doelish]

Always in for a good drink, an excuse like some 'throne' in a tavern nestled in the Knob, was unnecessary for Dakkur but helping someone else to win it was as any if a motivation was that important . While Dakkur did not want the throne, someone else wanted it bad enough to press-gang him into the contest though the show was good enough to lure him in. Well, as a participant he was in the show only for as long as he was on one of those benches which would not be for long- quite the antithesis to the contest, any contest, which was also the reason why no one else knew it except for his co conspirator.

Which meant not even his ability to drink was important if he really thought about it as winning was not even his goal; for as long as he was in the contest for someone else's victory, his true goal should be to not immortalize himself by making a mess of himself in the process. A good gauge for him to make his exit although if he wanted to stick around for even more fun, he would have to need to make sure he was prepared to leave even before he potentially reaches that stage. Ugh. The deeper he got into planning for this, especially with so many elements to consider, the more daunting it seemed to him.

And why not share this great trial with everyone else? When it was his turn to introduce himself it was a grand spectacle to ensure all the other participants would keep him in mind for rest of the contest. "Ah great, you're here barkeep. You can call me Iori. Iori of clan Nashun. That's I. O. R. I. N. A. S. H. U. N." It was kind of hard for him to hold it in but he had to, he needed everyone to think he was serious about the contest after all. A brief pause to maintain his composure and he continued, "Iori Nashun, and I hope I, Iori Nashun, would always be addressed in the honour of my clan in full." His first stratagem already seemed to be working based on the reaction of some of the participants closer to him.

No one should be drunk enough yet to believe that a real name and definitely there is never anyone ever drunk enough to name their unfortunate child with that name although in the Knob, all sorts of names could be considered exotic enough. Nonetheless to not be associated with the name in the future, temporary it may be, was the main reason why he had the uncharacteristic get-up of his. A long dark cloak, some soot and a little bit of a stink was all he hoped was enough for him to be just another one of those drunks gathered in the tavern.

Leaving his second stratagem being "two absinthes." Should he specify shots as well? No, it would be more fun to leave it to the imagination, for now.

[Thysbae]

No, well — it wasn’t like Thysbae was heading out behind Dreyfus’ back. That was be — that would be rude. And bad.

But, no. The halfbreed had been given permission. An aptly timed widening of his eyes, a slump of his shoulders; he’d looked too endearing for the house patriarch to utter so much as his disapproval at the notion of their half-lysanrin charge walking about himself. He could have sworn he’d seen a smile on the older man’s face at his cheer of joy. A smile that turned questioning when he saw that Thysbae had decided to venture outdoors in...relatively plain clothes. Simple pants and a shirt that didn’t look quite as expensive as the others in his wardrobe. An outfit seen more and more often this season, and one had to suspect where he’d gotten them from. But no time for questions; he had somewhere he needed to be.

The trip from the West End to the East, to the Knob, was one made longer by his solitary travel. No one to eagerly chat away with about his destination. He might have even done so with Dreyfus, though it wasn’t often that he was allowed a sip of anything with some propensity to make him drunk. A certain buzzing of anticipation went through him as he arrived at the closest the driver would take him. The little bit of money he had taken with him for the outing clinked in his pockets, overshadowed by the clop of his hooves against the cobblestone.

The tavern was crowded. More crowded than he’d expected and he was soon cowed into a corner (somewhat) as he took in the number of people. But he would have to get used to this; yes. This was just...practice. The rules of a game were being explained when he arrived. Moving through the crowd to get closer, he caught just enough to be interested. A throne...that would be cool.

But his enthusiasm dimmed as a familiar voice called out their name. Dreyfus? He sat as far from it as possible. Voice low as he spoke, “B-Bae, and he’ll have.” His brows furrowed in thought. “Ale.”

[Franky]

As Franky stopped by Yeva, he smiled broadly down at her, "Just can't stay away, can ya Ms. Bleu?" He jested, knowing that she knew that she was especially always welcome. He took her order, two shots of whiskey, moving around the table. A couple of goblins, then a blonde man he'd not seen before. With the growing popularity, it wasn't a surprise, a lot more new faces had been coming through. And this one, surprisingly, was human.

It had seemed that as more nonhumans began to show up, more humans seemed to fade away. There were, of course, the progressives and the allies, and a growing number of soldiers seemed to enjoy it here as well, though that might just be due to Vincent's own love for the place. Franky didn't mind, especially now that he had employees aplenty. Their coin spent just as well, and the investment in the employees was already paying back in spades.

"Pleasure to meet you Dreyfus Monteliyet. I am Franky, I'll get two bourbons out to you."

Nearby, he saw Meriel stiffen at the name, casting an out of character side eye at the man Franky was speaking to. He'd have to ask her about that later, but she was already back to wearing the mask of a good worker, helping out the servers manage the rest of the busy room.

Franky made his way along the table taking more orders, when he arrived at the tall half-Moratallen. The young man proceeded to introduce him in quite a strange way. He sounded like one of Franky's children growing up, giving off a fake name as they played pretend they were one of the War-Chieftains of old. But it wasn't Franky's place to judge, or care enough to bother. "Welcome to the Gobbler, Iori Nashun. Two absinthes coming right up."

He arrived at the last contestant, a familiar face at this point among the Lysanrin population. A soft smile, "Welcome back Bae. Ales coming up."

As Franky left the table, the contest was officially begun. He made his way over to the bar, rattling off the order to Glasha, "Remember the first time me and you took part in the Throne, all them years ago?"

Glasha cackled, "By da King, I t'ought we were gonna die dat night. We goin' 'ard on dese kids den?"

Franky's face split into a devilish smile, "You know we are."

As she set about making up the drinks, "We still got that Fae version of absinthe?"

Glasha stopped, looking up at him, some genuine concern on her face, "You're just being mean now." A toying grin, "Is that a yes?"

She sighed, reaching under the bar to pull out a bottle that was pure black glass. She poured two stout glasses of the liquid that was glowing, lime green and amethyst in swirls that never mixed, with a soft green fog that was now coming off of it. Despite its ethereal, magical appearance, it was not actually magical and approved by the Zaichaeri customs. It was made from wormwood just like traditional absinthe, but several other ingredients too.

Could a hallucinating half-moratallen be bad news? Possibly. But Franky knew that between Gug and the others working the floor, it would be fine. Glasha continued to prep the drinks for the table, and once they were ready, Franky took one tray and she brought out the other behind him.

In front of Yeva, he set the two shots of peppered whiskey, very fiery and hot, leaving a lingering burn. In front of Dreyfus, the Moratallen Bourbons, incredibly strong as they were meant to help get the large beings drunk, in large glasses to fit their size. In front of Iori Nashun, the magical seeming Fae Absinthe. And for Bae, two large flagons of Anise Ale, with its deep black coloring and strong black licorice flavor. Everyone at the table got very nontypical drinks that 'technically' matched what they ordered.

And that was the unspoken rule about the Throne, for Kings and Queens must be wise, specific with their words, and able to tolerate their mistakes should they misspeak. It was just as much a contest of knowledge, poise, wording, and of course drinking endurance. Franky plucked off the stout from the tray that was and held it out before the table. "Skoll!" He looked at each person in turn, and took a long stiff drink, "And good luck!"

Franky would be nearby, helping out at the bar, but watching as the game unfolded. He enjoyed seeing various reactions, or people trying to hide their reactions. There was a a cackling Grackle standing on a table nearby, taking small bets on who would be first to lose their seat, as well as big bets on who would be the final champion. Franky could only laugh. It was always like this. He took another drink, and remembered how he'd lost at the throne for many years before he finally won once. Those were some of the best earned hangovers, for sure.

[Yeva]

"Just can't stay away, can ya Ms. Bleu?"

"Well," Yeva began, looking up at the goblin, "I pulled a lot of cups today. So I thought, what's a few more?" she grinned at her tarot joke, shrugging as she embraced the jest. She was buzzing with nerves but expected the alcohol would fix that soon enough, "Wow, seems things have really been picking up for you," she added, hazel eyes taking in the sheer amount of visitors. The crowd itself was more than she expected, all walks of life embracing this local festivity. As part of her first reading for Franky, she had suggested he had a way of bringing people together. Whether or not he had given much thought to the suggestion then, Yeva now saw it with her own eyes.

Support, partnership, effective work. Yeva found herself observing the men and women Franky had employed since his time in the city, strangely fascinated. Just like the patrons, they too came in a collection of shapes and sizes. She felt a bit embarrassed, acknowledging that her assumptions about goblins continued even after befriending one. She just... hadn't expected him to be so welcoming. With their sharp teeth and intimidating size, it was so easy to allow the stories of the warmongering to cast a shadow, even now. Yeva would work harder to be as open-minded towards people as she was towards the signs of fate.

Around her, fellow patrons ordered their drinks. Absinthe, bourbon, ale. It was quite the list. Yeva smiled as the drinks were brought out, already trying to calculate her strategy, "Thank you very much," she said, eyeing the drinks. Smelling them, she took a sharp inhale. Two drinks an hour was the requirement. If she took them now, would she better off when it was time for round two, or was spacing out the drinks a more solid strategy?

Yeva couldn't decide. Drinking contests were new to her, "Experience is the best teacher," she whispered, rallying herself. Yeva toasted with the rest and steeled herself. Taking a shot glass in each hand, she threw back one drink and then the other before the taste could hit her. Her face scrunched up shortly after, freckled cheeks lighting aflame, the pink flush glowing up to her ears and along her chest. The poor girl took quick breaths, trying to both tolerate the fire that licked her throat and resist her body's urge to purge the poison.

It was going to be a long night.

[Dreyfus]

Company:Yeva, Thysbae, Dakkur| Thoughts: How interesting| Mood: Intrigued

---

♅ Dreyfus was taking in his surroundings as the owner took everyone's order, catching the look of the one employee as she stiffened up, and Natasha noted it as well with the look she had given the woman before moving from where she sat to a place where she could easily see the elf, but not be in the way of the workers. As the drinks were being fetched Dreyfus took in the stock of people who had come to participate. He didn't need to bother assessing Thysbae, as he was already acquainted with the Lysanrin. If anything he was a little surprised to see him take part in this. He smiled as he watched his partner get comfortable while waiting for his drink like the others.

The next person in his line of sight was the woman named Yeva, a girl that many would equate to being a "Striking Beauty". She seemed to hold an air of genuine optimism about her, something he rarely saw from the common citizens of Zaichaer, though to him she didn't seem like the average common girl with a pretty face. He also noticed that she was friendly with the owner of the tavern, the connection and interaction between them seems familiar. Regardless he was interested to see how she would handle this game.

Next was a man that was clearly nonhuman, maybe one of the Mortallen clans, as him being a wingless Avialae was out of the question. Though it was something that lingered in the back of his mind. He introduced himself as Iori, making a point that he wanted to be addressed with the honorifics of his clan. It was an interesting thing to hear and see be requested, and it told Dreyfus quite a bit about the man in question, more importantly, that his clan's traditions were of high value to him. Other than his height and the way he introduced himself, there wasn't much else Dreyfus could gleam from the man.

With the introductions and orders out of the way, the drinks were quickly brought to the participants, and with his first sip, he knew he had bitten off more than he was ready to swallow. In all his years drinking bourbon and whiskey, he could tell this was no ordinary brew. Then again he couldn't be all too surprised, not many humans came this far out, so why would they have basic alcohol. He wondered what race drank this kind, as it was strong on his tongue, and the effects of it he felt immediately. "So that's how we are playing?" he chuckled in the siltori tongue.

He picked up one of the shots and in a gulp downed the first one, opting to wait till the halfway point to take the other. He exhaled from his nose as the liquor unleashed havoc on his throat, but his experience with alcohol allowed him to ease the pain of it if only by a bit. Looking to the others he waited to see how they would play, noticing Yeva down both her shots in one go. He smiled, and leaned back, closing his eyes and taking even measured breaths to help with any backlash his body gave him for the alcohol. ♅

---

"Common Speech"
"Silandris Speech"
"Self-Thoughts"

[Thysbae]

“Oh.” It was all that could be set as the ale was set before him. For someone that found himself here on a fair number of occasions, Bae was not entirely familiar with the menu. Though, he could repeat what he’d heard before, but those drinks had all seemed...daunting in their specificity. And people generally didn’t go wrong with ale, right? Perhaps wrong. He swallowed, looking into the blackness of the drink and seeing his own reflection in the murkiness. He was supposed to drink all of this within an hour, every hour.

The others were likely no better off than he, but still — it seemed a daunting task when presented with it outright. His fingers wrapped around the first flagon to draw it closer, sitting up a little higher. Drinking in itself was not something he partook in often. Perhaps it had to do with those that watched over him being careful of him having a drop of alcohol. Part of him was glad that there had been some lenience in his privileges and the other was grateful that he’d never had to deal with drinking often. Most of it wasn’t sweet, anyways. He liked sweets.

The half-breed took a tentative sip of his drink, not paying as much attention to all those around him as they observed their own drinks. To his delight, it tasted like licorice. Lingered on his tongue as he took a larger sip — closer to a full swallow — before setting the drink back down on the table and wiping his mouth with his sleeve.

“Uh.” They were supposed to converse, weren’t they? It didn’t seem right that they would be seated at this table (even in competition) and not speak to one another. And besides, weren’t they also supposed to find a means of tricking the others into leaving? And he would firmly deny that he was rather curious about everyone around the table. “How was everyone’s day?” He did, actually, want to know. Whoever might have heard could certainly answer, looking around the table at everyone as the question left his lips.

[Dakkur Doelish]

Everyone else had their strategy and method to win it would seem as in the first minute already Dakkur could see some people looking at their drink, nursing it in their hand and immediately drinking it at the spur of the moment to get it over with; in direct contrast to those who immediately set their drink to the side as if they had no interest in it in what he could assume was their way of saving it for last so they would have more chances. With no strategy of his own, to win that is, Dakkur needed no such fuss and took a sip of the absinthe he was given. Not what he had expected but oh ho, that was some of the good stuff. Now what if...

Well as he was far apart from his fellow, which was a good thing for the other now what he thought about it, Dakkur decided to talk to the other competitors around him. No special topic of conversation, just to engage in general niceties but fortunately with the good drinks and some reckless drinkers, even the overdone "nice weather today innit?" had that air of excitement. Dakkur continued the conversation until he could hear some slurr, hells, what was it this bar was even serving people with? Looks like it was time to kick in his first strategem into full gear. "Hey buddy you aren't drunk right? Are you? Are you? Are you?" after a lot more prodding to make sure his 'buddy' was definitely and certainly not, not drunk, Dakkur continued with in very strongly feigned concern as he asked "well try saying my name, you remember right? Fine I'll repeat it for you" with tests and even more tests followed by his next 'buddy' until faint chants of "urination" could be heard by him.

If there were ideas that the name he had given was a fake, it was certainly confirmed now.

Although even if some people had decided to get up from their seats, he could not be sure if his play had any effect on them at all. Well nothing more he could do about that except continue to remind them of their biological needs every now and then. Continuing with more conversation, the half Moratallen had his cup to the mouth mirroring his opponent, to keep them in the game with him although Dakkur who was taking it long and slow was only taking the absinthe in sips. If someone noticed he was taking far too long to drain his cup, well. it was not like he was going to care about what they thought.

After close to half the time, Dakkur thought to himself that maybe it was already time to test the limits of the Throne's rules? A look at the people still in, and boy were some of them already getting shiny with butterflies and shit, like those bloodsucker stories he heard about, told him it was not about time yet and he left that last cup for right until the end. Yes, that would suit his plans just fine.