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Curse of Darkness VII - Britania
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<blockquote data-quote="Greenfield" data-source="post: 5934123" data-attributes="member: 6669384"><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"><span style="font-size: 10px">*** </span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"><span style="font-size: 10px">Their gear stowed and the emergency averted, the companions accepted an escort over to the meeting hall, from whence came the sounds of music, dance and merriment.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"><span style="font-size: 10px">Small groups braved the cold, clear morning air to revel in the sight of the long absent sun, and to clear their heads from the sounds and aromas of the festival within.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"><span style="font-size: 10px">They had hardly set foot within before wine goblets were pressed into their hands and they were drawn into the welcoming embrace of the mountain community.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"><span style="font-size: 10px">The music was loud and rhythmic, emphasized by a local instrument unfamiliar to most of the newcomers. Sylus, however, laughed at the familiar sound of the huge horn, which the locals seemed to call an "oompha" or "uba" or something like that. It was hard to get the name straight with all the noise, but it was unmistakable, and the rhythm was all but irresistible.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"><span style="font-size: 10px">*** </span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"><span style="font-size: 10px">"'Tis a grand feast, friend.", Penn called to the man serving out the drinks. "But I wouldn't be both uninvited and cheap. To whom should I be paying my respects?", he asked, holding up a few coin to make his meaning clear.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"><span style="font-size: 10px">"Put that away, friend, it will do you no good here. Not today. The Bacchanal is always open to all. There's no such thing as 'uninvited' at such a festival."</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"><span style="font-size: 10px">"Perhaps I can contribute in some other way.", the Bard suggested. "My people have a way with such things, that the wine should flow free and plentiful. Is there a vintage that you're running short of?"</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"><span style="font-size: 10px">The vintner eyed the Half Satyr for a moment, trying to decide if he should trust one of the notoriously flighty Fey. Then he nodded. "I have a cask of a fine Frankish pressing, forty years old if it's a day. A good dark wine from Burgundy, and it's all but gone. Do you know where I could get more, before the festival ends?"</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"><span style="font-size: 10px">Penn smiled. "Let me share my people's blessing then."</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"><span style="font-size: 10px">*** </span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"><span style="font-size: 10px">The music played, people danced and drank and ate. Some went off to find private places for more intimate pleasures, while others were not so intimate in their pursuits.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"><span style="font-size: 10px">Cassius saw Penn take the stage more than a few times, and felt his power in the music that flowed from the stage. "Don't I know that song?", he asked Marcus over the din.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"><span style="font-size: 10px">"Yes. That's the one he plays to give us endurance on a long march.", the Cleric replied, then realized what that meant in the current context. This party was going to last a long time, if the Bard had anything to say about it.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"><span style="font-size: 10px">*** </span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"><span style="font-size: 10px">Penn rolled over in his bed, careful not to disturb his partner of the night. The festival had lasted until sunset, at which time torches were lit that the merriment could continue. The innkeeper who had been supplying the wines had also offered him a free room for the night, and he'd taken full advantage of the offer.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"><span style="font-size: 10px">He sat for a long moment, his aching head in his hands, struggling to remember. It was important... Marta, that was it. The girl's name was Marta. It was dangerous to forget such things, he had learned.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"><span style="font-size: 10px">Clenching his teeth to stifle a groan, he levered himself to his feet and managed to make it to the wash stand, despite the best efforts of the room, which insisted on spinning in a most disconcerting fashion. Cold water helped steady the room, though the winter morning was cold enough to make him shiver without it. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"><span style="font-size: 10px">He was mostly dressed when a gentle knocking drew him to the door. A young girl stood in the hall. "Sir? Breakfast is served below, and... Sister? What are you doing in this man's room? In his... oh...", she trailed off into shocked silence.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"><span style="font-size: 10px">Sister? The innkeeper's daughter? Penn looked at the child's shocked face and decided that gentle honesty was the best policy. "The young lady joined in the Bacchanal. You know exactly what that means, don't you?"</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"><span style="font-size: 10px">The girl nodded, jaw still hanging open. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"><span style="font-size: 10px">"There is no need for shock. If you want a better explanation, ask her later, in private, after she's, um, arranged herself a bit. Now here's a bit of shine for your troubles, so off and away with you.", he finished, passing the child a silver penny.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"><span style="font-size: 10px">Marta sat on the bed, her face a mixture of shock and fear. "I don't know what happened.", she began, almost babbling. "The wine and the music and, and..."</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"><span style="font-size: 10px">"And the spirit of Bacchus took you.", Penn finished for her. "I'm sorry if I got you in any trouble."</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Arial'"><span style="font-size: 10px">"Oh, I'm not the one who's in trouble.", she quipped, regaining that clear, impish smile that had caught his eye the previous evening.</span></span></p><p> <span style="font-family: 'Arial'"><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></span></p><p> <span style="font-family: 'Arial'"><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></span></p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Greenfield, post: 5934123, member: 6669384"] [FONT=Arial][SIZE=2]*** Their gear stowed and the emergency averted, the companions accepted an escort over to the meeting hall, from whence came the sounds of music, dance and merriment. Small groups braved the cold, clear morning air to revel in the sight of the long absent sun, and to clear their heads from the sounds and aromas of the festival within. They had hardly set foot within before wine goblets were pressed into their hands and they were drawn into the welcoming embrace of the mountain community. The music was loud and rhythmic, emphasized by a local instrument unfamiliar to most of the newcomers. Sylus, however, laughed at the familiar sound of the huge horn, which the locals seemed to call an "oompha" or "uba" or something like that. It was hard to get the name straight with all the noise, but it was unmistakable, and the rhythm was all but irresistible. *** "'Tis a grand feast, friend.", Penn called to the man serving out the drinks. "But I wouldn't be both uninvited and cheap. To whom should I be paying my respects?", he asked, holding up a few coin to make his meaning clear. "Put that away, friend, it will do you no good here. Not today. The Bacchanal is always open to all. There's no such thing as 'uninvited' at such a festival." "Perhaps I can contribute in some other way.", the Bard suggested. "My people have a way with such things, that the wine should flow free and plentiful. Is there a vintage that you're running short of?" The vintner eyed the Half Satyr for a moment, trying to decide if he should trust one of the notoriously flighty Fey. Then he nodded. "I have a cask of a fine Frankish pressing, forty years old if it's a day. A good dark wine from Burgundy, and it's all but gone. Do you know where I could get more, before the festival ends?" Penn smiled. "Let me share my people's blessing then." *** The music played, people danced and drank and ate. Some went off to find private places for more intimate pleasures, while others were not so intimate in their pursuits. Cassius saw Penn take the stage more than a few times, and felt his power in the music that flowed from the stage. "Don't I know that song?", he asked Marcus over the din. "Yes. That's the one he plays to give us endurance on a long march.", the Cleric replied, then realized what that meant in the current context. This party was going to last a long time, if the Bard had anything to say about it. *** Penn rolled over in his bed, careful not to disturb his partner of the night. The festival had lasted until sunset, at which time torches were lit that the merriment could continue. The innkeeper who had been supplying the wines had also offered him a free room for the night, and he'd taken full advantage of the offer. He sat for a long moment, his aching head in his hands, struggling to remember. It was important... Marta, that was it. The girl's name was Marta. It was dangerous to forget such things, he had learned. Clenching his teeth to stifle a groan, he levered himself to his feet and managed to make it to the wash stand, despite the best efforts of the room, which insisted on spinning in a most disconcerting fashion. Cold water helped steady the room, though the winter morning was cold enough to make him shiver without it. He was mostly dressed when a gentle knocking drew him to the door. A young girl stood in the hall. "Sir? Breakfast is served below, and... Sister? What are you doing in this man's room? In his... oh...", she trailed off into shocked silence. Sister? The innkeeper's daughter? Penn looked at the child's shocked face and decided that gentle honesty was the best policy. "The young lady joined in the Bacchanal. You know exactly what that means, don't you?" The girl nodded, jaw still hanging open. "There is no need for shock. If you want a better explanation, ask her later, in private, after she's, um, arranged herself a bit. Now here's a bit of shine for your troubles, so off and away with you.", he finished, passing the child a silver penny. Marta sat on the bed, her face a mixture of shock and fear. "I don't know what happened.", she began, almost babbling. "The wine and the music and, and..." "And the spirit of Bacchus took you.", Penn finished for her. "I'm sorry if I got you in any trouble." "Oh, I'm not the one who's in trouble.", she quipped, regaining that clear, impish smile that had caught his eye the previous evening. [/SIZE][/FONT] [/QUOTE]
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