Lightholder Tavern
It is said - primarily by the proprietor, a jovial merchant-classer named Solas Creek - that all roads in Fastheld lead to the Lightholder Tavern. On any given night, it's not hard to see why he might justify such a claim.
The pub, which started centuries ago as a small refreshment wagon for laborers building Fastheld Keep atop Caryas Hill, sees boisterous crowds filling its rafters with laughter and pipe smoke at all hours of the day and night as travelers make their way through the realm.
About three dozen tables are arranged among the polished wooden columns on which hang the wrought-iron lanterns that help give the tavern its name. Solas or one of his assistants can usually be found working behind a wide C-shaped counter, serving mugs of keg-tapped ale to thirsty patrons who stand at the bar.
The floor is strewn with amber rushes, except in a circle of about twenty feet in diameter, where the stone fireplace and chimney rise toward the ceiling.
"Psssh, three won't do you in." Lance dismisses, finishing off his current one just before the sextuplet of ales is delivered, empty mug sent back with the barmaid who gets an appreciative little slap to the arse. Lance and Lorana are chatting, drinking and sharing a meal. Sorani isn't here yet!
"No three won't, but after three are in me I'll likely stop counting if you order more," Lorana muses. She starts into her first ale, raising the mug in a salute, "Thanks, Lance." She finishes the pilfered sandwich before claiming some bread and egg. "Mm, did Corriden tell you about the little present Trin gave him?"
The noblewoman's entrance is subdued and met with little fanfare, ushering in both maid and Lady alike with minimal fuss. The maid, appearing a handful of years younger than her mistress, hovers nearby as the dark-haired young noble scans the room with intense storm gray eyes while schooling her face into an indecipherable mask of serene neutrality. Eyes lingering briefly on a number of patrons, Sorani gestures the adolescent dressed in Zahir livery towards the wooden bar before following suit. One hand clasps the silk fabric of her skirt to pull it a mere inch or two from the floor, protecting the rich material from the rushes she steps over as best she can.
As the door swings open, darkness shows the lateness of the hour. Still shrouded in a violet cloak, Avelyn reappears in the tavern, looking about her for a few moments before she seems to relax and steps further in. One hand reaches up to play absently with her golden locks before she makes her way toward the bar.
"Not yet, no." Lance offers back to Lorana with a gentle shake of his head. His eyes drift away for a moment to observe both Sorani and Avelyn's respective entrances, gaze wavering between the two as he addresses Lorana once more, "He probably just got too drunk too early and forgot to mention it."
"It was that night, so if he hasn't mentioned it by now, he probably won't," Lorana muses, "Now I'm debating on whether or not to talk about it." She casts a glance of her own to the newcomers, before remarking, "You know, you'd think a man in your line of work would tire of looking."
Settling atop a stool takes a moment for perfect posture the noblewoman clearly intends, slim fingers brushing over and smoothing the layered silk skirt over her legs. "Water," she murmurs quietly to the assistant standing opposite of she and her more timid companion. While she waits the short period that is required to fetch her 'order', Sorani rests her fidgeting fingers along the edge of the bar while ever so subtly studying each present patron in closer detail beneath the fan of her eyelashes. "Do not squirm, Sidda," the noblewoman says absently to the maid as she scrambles to find herself a seat.
Avelyn finds herself a table in an isolated corner of the large room, huddled down in her cloak, eyes glued to the floor in front of her. There is an unease about the young woman as she takes in a deep breath, slowly trying to calm herself. She fidgets in her seat, fingers playing anxiously against the hem of her cloak.
"Peh, Corri wouldn't keep something like that from me. Embarrassing or not." Lance shrugs lightly, "I've been busy working so it's not like our schedules have really meshed too well up until today, and he was already drunk by the time I woke up." A snort follows for the latter half of Lorana's observations, "Tire of looking? Hardly. Having the coin to buy me for a night doesn't guarantee me I'm going to have something appreciable to look at while doing the deed."
"Well then I shouldn't deny him the storytelling opportunity," Lorana remarks lightly, "But when he does tell you about it, do know that it was her merciful alternative to the prank I had apparently proposed that night." She smirks and shakes her head, "I hadn't thought of it that way. So is that why you look so much, then? Storing memories to make it through those times?"
Eyes linger on the worrying fingers of the woman who entered after Sorani, but the very slightest of smiles touches her lips, carefully restrained and lightening the intensity of her eyes, at the snatch of words that carries to her ears. Inclining her head in a gesture of good will, Sorani accepts the small glass of unaffected water and takes a very careful, very delicate sip of it before further drinking. For the time being, the noblewoman seems inclined to listen rather than insinuate her presence.
"Damn straight." Lance murmurs, looking down to his plate of food, which between the two of them, seems to be clearing off quick enough, "Anyway, I'm sure less detail the better, eh?"
"Detail is up to you, I don't mind one way or the other," Lorana shrugs awkwardly thanks to her armor. She swigs her first ale and sighs lightly. "I think I'll go for that position you mentioned earlier," she remarks after a moment, "But only if the girls are really so good as you say. I don't want to give mother cause for being /more/ insufferable."
Emptying her glass over a short time, Sorani places the cup delicately on the bar in front of her as quietly as possible and favors one side, listening with curiosity and doing little to conceal her growing interest. Her gray eyes slide over Lorana, studying her in a passing moment before fastening more intently upon Lance with just a slight tilt to her head.
The tavern begins to grow dark all of a sudden, which causes most of the chatter from late night patrons to cease. The flames from candles and the hearth still exist, but it's as if an overpowering darkness is dimming their effect, strangling out the light from reaching the eyes of those around.
"Sweet Light," a voice suddenly screams and from these growing shadows emerges as beast of epic proportions. Fangs protrude from its gaping maw, dripping greenish saliva. Eyes glow a deep red. Quills of razor sharpness line the spine of the creature that could be a misshapen mixture of wolf and bull. It growls softly and advances slowly on the frightened crowd who are trying to retreat away from it, closer to the hearth and at least a minimal source of light.
The Lomasa peers around the room as it darkens, her expression following suit as she rises to her feet. The scream causes Lorana's head to turn sharply, and the armored woman gapes openly at the beast that appears. Rather than running, though, the Lady draws the massive battleaxe from her back and tries to put herself defensively between the creature and the people fleeing from it.
That carefully controlled facade slips, and Sorani's eyes widen noticeably at the sudden dimming, and more closely, the sudden appearance of the monstrous creature. Wordlessly, the Zahir noble slides readily down from her stool, but unlike the Lomasa lady, Sorani draws no blade of any kind. She holds her ground as the creature's attention focuses on a larger group of patrons nearby, standing stiffly by her stool with perfect posture, but the tension in her frame belies the readiness to flee should the situation call for it.
Lance Hotcakes has no weapons to speak of, but he does have a measure of bravado, the man coming to stand behind Lorana as a paltry second line of defense. Until his eyes slide over to Sorani, who seems, to his perception, to be frozen in place. Slipping away from Lorana, the Courtesan moves to instead stand protectively in front of the Zahir lady.
All by her lonesome, Avelyn appears to be in shock, eyes looking forward sightlessly. She does not move, does not speak, just huddles down in her seat, completely unaware of the danger looming so very close to her.
The creature roars in outrage, standing its ground against those who seek to stand up against it. Even as one giant paw steps forward, there is a sudden pressure against everyone's private thoughts which very rapidly becomes an invasion, power lashing out against the mind, leaving behind mental wounds that will certainly take some time to get over. Old pains are revisited, some of individuals worst memories forced to the surface, replaying over and over in each person's thoughts.
And suddenly, the cozy Lightholder tavern is its normal self again. The monster is gone, the flames of the fire crackle cheerfully as if nothing were wrong. Only the mental assault remains in each person's individual mind. Some of the patrons of the tavern seem to have been able to withstand the assault and are merely dazed while others are curled on the floor weeping or stare off into space with a completely vacant expression.
A sharp intake of breath accompanies emerald eyes widened in terror as Lorana drops hard, landing on a knee and shaking under her armor. She stares into nothingness like this, grip tightening hard on the haft of her axe and breath coming in short, sharp gasps.
Under the veritable drubbing of her mental faculties, Sorani staggers forward a step and the toe of one slipper pins the silk of her skirt beneath it. The color drains fully from her already fair features, effectively turning her skin an ashen gray. Her gray eyes, impossibly wide from the tumultuous tirade of memory and emotion, are sightless. With a short, strangled sound, one of her knees buckle and with a soft grunt, she lands bent over in a kneeling position with her shoulders trembling violently against the extreme tension of her figure.
Already curled up in the wake of the monster's appearance in the tavern, Avelyn only grows more compact in a ball in her seat as the mental attack cuts through her defenses. She whimpers quietly, hands curling around her head, rocking herself back and forth.
After a while of her terrified staring, Lorana blinks, a couple tears loosed to slide down her cheeks. She physically shakes herself, looking about the room for the creature, the darkness, any sign that the ordeal isn't over. Finding none, the Lomasa slowly and carefully returns her axe to its place and begins to rise. The knee she landed on moves just a little bit... wrong... but the woman ignores it. "Is...," she starts, voice soft and broken at first before she steels herself and tries again more loudly, "Is anyone hurt?"
Swallowing convulsively, Sorani is entirely unaware of the collapsed state of her maid. Drawing a sharp, shuddering breath that threatens dangerously to turn into a sob under the shattering strain of her self-control. Her hands, trembling visibly, lift to hide the pallor of her face and the welling tears filling her confused, mortified and terrified eyes. Sidda, the adolescent who accompanied her mistress, lies curled up in a shivering ball at the side of her stool, but seems none the worse for wear. The Zahir noblewoman, however, gives no indication she hears Lorana at all, still kneeling in a tangle of her layered cream silk skirt.
"I, uh... I shall send for help," Avelyn volunteers, pulling herself away from her haze as she blinks her eyes rapidly. "Go to the Blades outpost, beg for help. Yes, that is what I shall do," she murmurs, rising unsteadily to her feet. The young woman looks like she's been sucker punched while already on the wrong side of tipsy but manages to stay standing as she staggers for the doorway. Lorana nods dully as Avelyn heads off. "Make sure they grab some shadowscourges," she adds, before turning to the room at large and starting on a slow path to check on the fallen. "My lady. Mistress," she murmurs as she reaches Sorani and Sidda, clenching her jaw as she lowers to check on the latter while she rests a hand on the former's shoulder, "Are you well? Do you need a healer?"
The adolescent maid seems to come to her senses rapidly enough, her sobs marked by a certain relief as she drags herself up from the floor with difficulty, sniffling softly. Sorani's reaction to Lorana's presence is less appreciative, the noblewoman wrenching herself away from the offered hand with a strangled, fearful sound. "Don't touch me!" Her voice is several octaves higher than it ought to be, and the storm colored eyes that stare intensely from between her slender fingers are wild, not unlike a cornered animal's.
"I shall take that as a 'no'," Lorana says flatly, "You may need to attend to you Lady, Mistress. She seems to have taken matters hard." She rises with some difficulty, favoring her injured leg as the pain sinks in past her own mental issues. She finds Lance curled on the floor with some others, scooping the courtesan up gently and hobbling their way up the stairs to drop him off in his room.