Overheard at Cullin's Inn One Drunken Eve (Elendion's Tale)

Wherein a character is introduced, indirectly, through the bottom of a wineglass



The door to Cullin's Inn closed with a thump.

As soon as the Elf had left, the talk started. So it is in many a place where ne'er-do-wells benumbed with drink gather.

Rakasan Tshar adjusted his fine purple robe; vain for one of the little folk, he somehow ignored the darker purple winestains that bespattered the garment down the front.

"Well, he don't fool me none! All the smiles and free drinks in Tir na Nog can't change one of them ."

Geron smiled slightly and placed another drink for the Lurikeen upon the bar.

"Hah!" cried Heza, an Elf reeling from the effects of the very strong wine he was partial to. "What do you say when I leave, you tiny tosspot?"

There was a general laugh around the Inn, as Rakasan tried to focus his eyes upon Heza. He finally had to give up, and talked to the wall hanging near him, the only thing he could see clearly.

"Well you aint fresh from the Bog either! And besides, all here know you! But that one, he is all smiles and good cheer, but there's something hidden under all that acting, I tell you...he acts like he is in on the secret, and nobody else is!"

Fethdar, helping out behind the bar, snorted.

Savan Gaidin, a strong Celt resplendent in red and gold armor, and only half-drunk, spoke up. "It is easy for one to pretend they know a great secret. Those who do often are putting up a facade." He drained his mug of ale and signaled Geron for another.

Tempeste, a large Firbolg lass, set aside the bow she was working on. "So let me understand this...if one is happy and cheerful, then they are sinister and scheming?"

Harper Evelyn smiled and strummed her harp.

"Well, that one is!", declaimed Rakasan loudly. He was so drunk that even the other drunks noticed.

Savan spoke up again, fresh mug in his fist. "I have heard tell that he had courted a Celtic lass, and her parents sent her away to relatives. There was quite a furor, supposedly. I think he has not forgotten the affront, yet puts a normal face on for the rest of us."

"But he is Siabra ", wheezed Rakasan in a low voice.

Heza nodded his head soberly. "He is indeed."

Fethdar, cleaning a mug with a rag, called out "If I believed everything I heard about Master Tshar, he would be six feet tall and have enough money to pay his bar tab!"

The room burst into raucous laughter as Rakasan Tshar glowered at the wall hanging, got unsteadily to his feet, and then collapsed onto the floor. More laughter followed as Geron dashed half a bucket of cold water onto the insensible Lurikeen's head.

As Rakasan spluttered and cursed his way back to consciousness, Savan said, "He is in that new Guild that is supposed to be 'reformed' Siabra." He took a long pull on his mug. "I tell you this, friends; oft a proffered golden chalice can bear the vilest of poisons."

The room quieted a bit, as Rakasan re-seated himself at his table, holding his head in his hands.

"And oft a golden chalice can be what it appears, as well" Tempeste retorted. "Men wish to see shadows in the brightest noonday sun. I am no lover of the Siabra, but have never been treated discourteously by him or his own. Might as well say the Celtic race is murderous, because of one murderer."

Savan snapped "More than one Siabra fits that mold", and a hubbub arose as various others tried to outshout each other on this point, until Geron and Tethdar threatened to close the bar, whereupon all save Rakasan Tshar became quieter; the Lurikeen was expounding to the wall hanging about the history of Hibernia and the Elvish race until he was picked up bodily and sat outside the door; he tried to talk to the guards at the entrance to the Chamber of Magic, but they sent him on his way, grumbling and weaving down the street to find another inn.