Legend of Ransera

Searing 1st, 121. The Hobbled Gobbler, Zaichaer.

Searing was in full swing. Jane thought as much as she walked along a humid street in the East End of Zaichaer, fanning herself with the stack of resumes she had written the day before. It was about all they were good for, having been rejected by most businesses with whom she had applied. Not hiring. No experience. It was the same story over and over again, yet she could not help but worry if there was something more to it. The Farraway name, though sunken into obscurity, still had weight among those who knew it, particularly the less than flattering history. She frowned at the thought, wiping away a sweaty lock of hair from her forehead.

The young woman had been walking all day and had sweat through her underclothes. Her best blouse, worn to impress, was uncomfortably damp and she tried to wick away the moisture with as much discretion as she could manage. Just as she was about to head back, she noticed the sign to what appeared to be a tavern. The Hobbled Gobbler. A picture of an intoxicated rooster with a chained leg graced the sign. Jane flipped through the business registry she had been referring to and looked for the name. Finding it absent, she assumed it was new. A notice attached to a board next to the door caught her attention. “Help wanted: Servers, Bartenders, Cooks, Housekeepers, and Entertainers”. She watched with no small concern as rowdy group of humans covered in coal dust walked through the door, laughing at some dirty joke. Jane knew she was in no position to be picky, remembering the debt she and her mother had accrued from Glade. With some hesitation, she pushed open the rough door and entered.

The building was refreshingly cool and dimly lit, well insulated against the lingering evening heat. In this she took some small relief before the pungent smell of tobacco smoke mixed with cloves caught her attention. Jane's heart jumped as she saw the source. There was a Lysanrin woman with ashen skin and yellow eyes quietly smoking a cigarette at one of the tables. She appeared to be wearing armor and had an oversized backpack at her feet, seemingly a traveler. A thick accent confirmed this as she addressed Jane, noticing the young human woman staring at her.

“What do you want?”, the Lysanrin asked contemptuously, blowing a cloud of smoke.

Jane stammered for a moment before answering, “Ah, apologies, I thought you were someone I knew”.

There was no way that this horned woman resembled anyone that she knew. In fact, she had never seen a Lysanrin before in her life. Jane's stomach churned at the sight of her monstrous appearance and the woman rolled her yellow eyes, having no patience for the gutless lies of a stranger. The human girl nervously smiled before turning away, clutching her purse tightly. It was clear she was in the wrong tavern. As she turned to walk out the door, a duo of Grackles, nearly identical at least to her eyes, stepped in her path. They were covered in filth, as though they had been crawling through some narrow sewer all day, and were clearly drunk. Jane let out a sharp yelp at the wretched sight of them and swayed as if to swoon from shock.

“Where ya goin', schweetie feeties?”, one of them slurred miserably. Whether it's strange cadence was natural or the result of intoxication was beyond Jane's knowlodge. It took a long, deep whiff through a large nose that crackled with mucus.

“Yeh, ya fink yur too goode ta dwink heya? C'mon, deres uh band to-nyte! Da best band!”, the other said. It pulled at the fabric of her long skirt roughly.

Meanwhile, the other Grackle began to fiddle with the laces of her shoes. Jane grimaced and began to shake out her foot.

“Ah! No, no—none of that now, please!”, she said with no small distress. She briefly fought against the drunken Grackle as it tried to slip off her shoe before it stumbled back and caught her foot in the gut. Jane recoiled, not meaning to kick the little creature with such force, and watched as the goblin leaned over, clutching its stomach.

“Uuuughhhh, muh tummmmie....”, it groaned. The Grackle's friend laughed raucously at the pain of it's companion, gibbering in a hideous language that Jane hoped to never understand.

Jane looked up and locked eyes with a fellow from behind the bar counter. He appeared to be the only staff on the floor, if not the owner. To her he seemed to be an Orkhan, but the idea of an Orkhan business owner in Zaichaer was unthinkably absurd. Where was the Order of Reconciliations in all of this? Regardless, she felt obliged to address him. As she made her way through the growing crowd, she began to slowly realize that as a human she was in the minority at this place. The desire to run back out the door was nagging, but she feared what ire she might incur if she insulted anyone here. The "Help Wanted" sign flashed in her mind. She was in no position to be picky.

Jane sat down at the bar and smiled timidly, placing her resumes face down on the counter. It did not seem like the time to bring up the inquiry just yet.

"Hello, something cold please, sir", she waved at the burly green man. A quick drink and she would return at quieter time. Maybe.

Searing 1st, 121. The Hobbled Gobbler, Zaichaer

Jane was taken aback for a moment at his response and felt even more out of place. It looked as though it'd be best to forget her manners here. She smiled sheepishly and her laced her fingers together.

“Sorry, force of habit. How shall I address you?”, she asked, more formally than she intended.

She watched as the imposing bartender rushed up and down the bar in a constant flurry of motion to keep up with the ever growing crowd as they shuffled up for food and drinks. The air was humid from all the warm bodies surrounding her and Jane felt slightly unnerved as they closed in, arms reaching across her as they set down empty flagons to snatch up full ones. The bartender opened a frosty bottle of dark red wine and seemed to say something as he smelled the cork, but it was lost to Jane in the din of voices surrounding them. Despite the hurry, the bartender left the chilled bottle of wine to breathe. Jane pursed her lips. She was more than familiar with the practice and was slightly put off to be lectured on wine by such a man, especially one than kept red wine chilled. It might have been pretentious, but he lacked any sort of haughty airs, so at the very least it seemed to be out of a genuine standard of service. Still, it would have breathed better in a glass, she thought.

“No worries, good things are worth waiting for”, she smiled as he rushed off to serve other patrons. Jane could not help but be impressed at the Hobgoblin's ability to juggle the needs of so many, but she could tell that it was still something of a challenge. Finally, he poured out a modest serving of the chilled wine which gave off a foggy mist that rose to the lip of the glass.Definitely something cold, Jane noted. She nodded in appreciation and took a modest sip. It was sweet, savory, and strong. Very strong. This wine was nothing like she had before and she assumed that it must be of some foreign variety. She held back a cough and took a deeper drink before touching the cold glass to her forehead with some relief.

“Oh, this is what I needed. I've been out all day...”, She was so absorbed with relief that she almost didn't hear the question directed at her and it took a few seconds for her to realize she was being spoken to.

“Oh! Well—no, I had no idea. I only just heard about it as I was coming in. And you're right, this is my first time here. I noticed that your bar wasn't in the registry and was curious. It helps too that it was so dreadfully hot today,” Jane took another drink, nearly emptying her glass. She was thirstier than she thought.

A sudden and thunderous cheer startled her, jolting her as she held the glass to her lips and causing her to spill the last of her wine onto her blouse. She didn't notice this as she was too absorbed with the sight of a hulking man, another Orkhan she assumed, carrying a heavy load so great that it made the wooden stairs beneath him creak. Cries of frenzied adoration called out for his attention, creating a wall of sound that hit Jane palpably. Her ears were already beginning to ring. The bartender's comment on the crowd almost seemed like an understatement and she gave a short laugh, the wine tinting her humor.

She quietly marveled as clean flagons seemingly manifested out from the bartender's practiced hands, “Certainly so, yes. You already look quite busy. If you don't mind me asking, is it just you here?”

His need for staff was apparent bordering on urgent, but Jane was still hesitant. Between what little was left of her pride and the reservations she had as a human, she did not want to appear desperate. She perked up, however, at the mention of the wine and pushed up her glasses.

“Quite nicely, truly fantastic, I must admit. A striking profile and very strong, nothing like I've had before!”, Jane looked down at her empty glass and noticed the fresh red stain on her blouse, “Though I appear to be wearing the rest of it...”.

She inspected the fabric with some annoyance before feeling her resumes being pulled out from under her elbow. She looked down with a start and realized that a group of drunk Grackles were eating them enthusiastically. One of them looked up at Franky and spoke in Goblish.

“Ey, Franky, this crispy flatbread is fuckin' incredible. You need to put out some more!”

“Yeah!”, the others cheered, reaching out for the rest with their grubby fingies. A few tipsy people craned their heads over at them, curious and hungry.

Before Jane had time to react, all of her resumes had been snatched away and devoured. She recalled the hours she had spent drafting them and tears nearly welled to her eyes, but she fought them back as she placed a handful of silvers on the counter and poured herself out a fresh glass of wine.

“I'm sorry, it's been a long day.”, she sighed and took a long drink.

Searing 1st, 121. The Hobbled Gobbler, Zaichaer

The severe tone of the strange language that Franky spoke gave Jane a scare and she gripped the edge of the bar. She relaxed as she saw that it was directed at the group of Grackles that had eaten her resumes. They looked down like scolded children, but one held an expression that was almost impudent. It was one of the little twins that had accosted her when she arrived.

“Footsucker? Maybe for the Queen, if ya know what I mean”, he rebuked slyly, elbowing his brother.

The other Grackle swiftly smacked him in the mouth, “Will you shut up about feet for once in your miserable life?!”

They all fell in line at Franky's command, offering random handfuls of coins and other trinkets. Among what she could recognize there was a small brass bell, a pearl earring, and an ivory cigarette filter. She nodded briskly at their apologies, only wishing that they would leave sooner. Tossing a coin into the crowd, they left, puzzling Jane as to the significance behind such a gesture.

Feeling grateful and somewhat endeared by Franky's generosity, she loosely waved her hand as he apologized for the Grackle's behavior.

“Oh, no need, Franky, no need. You can't be expected to account for everyone, though it is much appreciated. And for as me, I'm Millie. Lovely meeting you.”, she said with a nod.

Not exactly a lie, Jane thought to herself, though she hadn't been called Millie since she was nine. Still, the thought of using her real name in such a place did not sit easy with her, lest word spread that the Farraway daughter was gallivanting in deviant bars.

She listened as Franky spoke about running the bar by himself and his success despite the challenge. There was pride in his voice, but it was frayed by a subtle edge of fatigue. Skill and experience could only go so far. He mentioned the officer that had tried to register his business and she let out a snort of laughter through her drink. She could only imagine what the State thought of such an establishment. The wine was beginning to get to her, but she was not about to let it betray her sentiments, especially when the bottle was given to her for free. She thanked Franky and collected herself.

“Dreadful! It is such a pain to deal with State when there's anything to be done. I can assure you that most businesses experience the same. Coin and clout grease the wheels of Zaichaer and when you're lacking in either you can expect an indefinite delay. Regardless, I'd say you've done quite well without their endorsement.”

Jane took a deep drink and refilled her glass, “As for my papers well—they were resumes. Not that they did much good; I had been job hunting all day and only two businesses I spoke with took one, though I suspect they were just being polite. I did noti--”

Her voice was smothered by a sudden eruption of applause from the crowd as the band, this so-called Warthog, appeared on stage. Jane blinked, unsure of how to process these grotesque humanoid creatures. They were like sick caricatures of a proper band. The whorish one called Blondie flirted shamelessly with Franky, who did not seem to mind her brazen advances. Jane grimaced and started to have second thoughts about working at a place that endorsed such behavior.

The music, however, quickly made her forget her biases for a brief moment It was lively but wistful, enrapturing the entire bar in a jaunty melody. The crowd sung off key and danced without form. There was no pressure to impress, no standard to uphold, only the sheer joy of music and good company. Jane swung her feet to the rhythm and swayed in her seat. This was a freedom she never had at any Zaichaeri function. She clapped along with the others and felt, for the first time since leaving Haqs, that she was truly welcome.

The Grackles from before were back and pulled at the hem of her skirt, gibbering about a dance. A mischievous sense of spite nurtured by wine lead her to roughly take one by his little hand. She took a drink straight from the bottle and swung the Grackle in circles, lifting him off his feet to both his terror and delight. She let go, sending him flying over the crowd and landing on a table, tipping it over and flinging ale into the air. Jane could not help but laugh, as did others who saw, but like the Grackle she too was whisked away in a dance. A Hytori man had caught hold of her and twirled her about in a frenzied waltz. He grabbed her bottle and took a deep drink, but sputtered and coughed as more poured out than expected. She pushed him away to avoid being spat on, but with little success. The elf reddened, thrust the bottle back into her hand, and slurred an apology before stumbling back to his jeering friends.

Jane, shaken and her front drenched with wine, sat back down at the bar and took the last sip from the bottle, clumsily placing it back on the counter. Franky was again a flurry of motion as he washed and refilled flagons. Hungry mouths demanded food, their appetites stoked by alcohol. By the time they were all satisfied, Franky seemed winded. While he enjoyed his work, it was clearly taking its toll, and he commented on the long night ahead.

“Ah—yes, but it does not need to be”, Jane said, standing up with unbalanced conviction, “You need help and I need a job. Perhaps I am not the best you could hope for, but I hope to give it my best. That I can promise, sir!”. She would not remember saying any of this and would be grateful that she did not.

Fueled by the sheer, unyielding power of alcohol, she staggered around from table to table, collecting empty flagons and placing them on the bar. People from the back noticed her “working” and yelled for more ale, to which she gave a pitiful curtsy. Jane relayed this to Franky and then pondered over the large puddle of wine the Hytori had made, thinking of how she could clean it up.

Searing 1st, 121. The Hobbled Gobbler, Zaichaer

As soon as Jane was handed the tray, a dozen thirsty hands shot into the air to hail her down for service. It was then, as she wove through the tables, collecting empty glasses and taking slurred orders, that she had no earthly idea of what she was doing. She became aware of how miserably drunk she was and took slow, deep breaths to steady herself. The best she could do was smile and carry on, half wondering what she had gotten herself into.

Thankfully the crowd was more occupied with the band than ordering during their set so she took that time to bus their tables, awkwardly carrying her tray, heavy with stacks of clinking glasses, back to the bar. Too late she learned not to pile them up too high as a few fell to the ground, some chipping or breaking into large pieces. She grimaced and looked up to see Franky's eyes on her. Carefully bending down, she gingerly picked up the broken glasses and placed them on the counter.

“Sorry, I'll replace these later!”, Jane shouted over the blaring music. A Grackle sitting at the bar grabbed a shard of broken glass and began to chew it like a piece of hard candy, not minding the red saliva gathering at her lips. The sight of it made Jane grow faint and she quickly retreated with her empty tray. At least it wouldn't be a complete waste.

A group of rather rough looking laborers had been leering at Jane as she worked, talking amongst themselves and growing more bold with every drink. Jane, putting all her focus into overcoming her drunkenness, was so occupied with balancing glasses and trying to remember orders that she did not pay them any mind. At one point she stopped near their table due to a miserably drunk Grackle tugging roughly at her skirt, attempting to ask her something.

“Piggled Yeggs...”, the creature slurred miserably.

“I'm sorry, could you repeat yourself?”, Jane asked, staggering slightly as she bent down to hear him better.

“I wan---PIC-KULLED EGGS!!”, he shouted, losing grip of her skirt and falling backwards.

One of the labors, an Orkhan wearing the garb of Grungeworker, saw Jane bend over and shot a smirk to his friends.

“Hey, girlie, how much to tap that keg there?”, the laborer said, throwing his hand out to smack her posterior.

Just as he did, Jane knelt down to tend to the Grackle, his fingers only swatting her ponytail, flipping it upwards. She grabbed it in shock and turned around, assuming he was only trying to get her attention, albeit in a rather rude way.

“To tap a keg? Oh—well, I'll have to ask”, she answered, clueless. With that she hefted the unconscious Grackle onto her tray and teetered back to the bar. The Orkhan cracked a confused smile while his friends laughed and elbowed him.

Jane struggled with the tray and let it drop on the counter, breathing out a sigh of relief. This kind of hard work was not something she was accustomed to and if she were sober her arms would have ached miserably. She pushed back her bangs, messy and dark with sweat.

“Franky—tho-those gentleman want to tap a keg. I suppose they want to buy one for themselves? I don't know what to tell them. Also we have, um—this—little—uh”.

She rolled the Grackle off the tray, his tongue lolling out. He burped and a globule of thick spittle splattered onto the bar.

The sight of it made her reel with nausea but she was able to hold it down, at least for the moment. She excused herself, saying she had to help more guests, in order to put some distance between herself and the stinking little drunkard.