(Retro RP) The Dob, a legend is born

[The Don]

In Amador, there were three kinds of people: the 'haves', the 'have-nots', and the Children of the Light. Young Thaddeus al'Dobnan had it all. His parents were prominant nobles in the city. Together with his best friend, Trev, Thad could get anything he wanted outside of the Dome of Truth. Thad had an itch that couldn't keep him in the palace for very long. It started out innocently enough, sneaking out late at night, ordering other teenage boys to do the same. Soon it had turned into pranks and girls. Tonight though was going to change everything.

 

He looked to his right, where Trev figited nervously in front of the tavern's door. "Don't worry, Trev, you bloody little girl. Money talks... we can do it." Thad wished he could be as sure on the inside as he sounded outside. Taking a deep breath, the opened the door and walked in. It was a busy night. Nearly every table was taken by a group of men, or women, sometimes both. Some were dancing to the music that came from somewhere on the other side. It smelled sour, like ale and wine and sweat. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. These were dirty peasants, he had no need of associating with them.

 

Still, he was here already. He motioned for Trev to follow him to a table. "And what may I get you, young Lords?" A fat man wearing an apron walked towards their table. He had to be the owner. "Some nice plum punch?"

 

This was it. Sweat started forming on his forehead. He took one of the pouches from his belt and tossed it to the man. "Your best ale, good Master." He looked to Trev and nodded. Trev tossed him a pouch as well. "Your best." Trev said. "All night."

 

The man's eyes went wide when he opened the pouches and found fat gold coins. "I... well... you..." He cleared his throat and looked at them. "It will be as you say, my Lords."

 

As the man hurried off to his waitresses, Thad grinned at a still nervous looking Trev. "Ha! I bloody told you! Stop looking like you got caught sneeking a peek in the maid's quarters. We're in, my friend."

 

A pretty young woman came back with two frothy mugs. Thad tossed a silver mark to her. "Thank you, beautiful." He grinned again and lifted his mug to Trev. "To a most excellent night, Trev my friend." The ale was warm and bitter, but in a way... refreshing. He took a bigger second drink. His lips and tongue started felling well... fuzzy. His third drink was even bigger. "Once it hits your lips... its so good."

 

He didn't know when he had gotten himself out to the dancefloor, but suddenly he was there, trading partners with Trev. For a second he sobered up. She was stunning. He almost tripped when he seen her. She laughed and went on to her next partner.

[Winter Mist]

~Dilora~

 

Considering what she'd had to do to get here, she was bloody well going to let her hair down for once! Amador was one of those places where having a good time was not overly encouraged, particularly for ladies, and the looks she had endured as a peddler rolling her wagon through the neatly maintained streets. Everyone looked at her brightly coloured mobile home with a faint hint of distaste, taking her for one of the Travelling People, a Tinker, most likely come to steal their children in a haze of music and witchcraft. Still, selling the right things to the right people did make for some good profits, and there was always the off-chance that a new tavern had opened since she had last visited.

 

That had been the first symbol her luck was changing. First, a road lined with taverns. She counted the names... "The Shining Crown" and the "Star of Day", before she saw one that she did not recall from her previous visits. Parking the wagon in the stableyard of the grandly proclaimed "Beauty of Light and Truth" Tavern, the sign outside depicting a very fair-faced maiden with tumbling blonde hair, Dilora went inside to find a clean and well-appointed place, with large barrels visible behind a highly polished oak bar. If the sign had made Dilora think of a sun, then the inside was definitely homely and warm enough to mirror the cold light the woman's face had given off. A blazing fire cheerfully burned in the hearth, with tables sat around it and pretty girls served, bustling merrily amidst patrons that weren't free with their hands. Foaming tankards rested in them and from the looks of it, it was very good indeed.

 

Surely one wouldn't hurt...

 

Stepping up to the bar, Dilora placed a coin on the counter and asked for the finest ale the house could offer, and a portion of a sweet pastry. She'd always had a sweet tooth. Clasping the porcelain plate carefully in one hand and the tankard in the other, Dilora crossed the floor to a seat by the small stage, and began to eat. A fiddler struck up a lively tune, capturing the essence of Andor and made her think of the first time she had been to a tavern with her father.

 

The ale was delicious! Certainly in all her eleven years of travelling, since she had set out on the road at sixteen with her head full of ideas and her eyes full of the sights, Dilora had never tasted such a cool and refreshing draft. Wiggling her toes in her boots, she sat back contentedly in her chair and let the music wash over her. Even inconsiderate lumps that mistook her for a Tuatha'an could be forgiven if she could persuade the barkeep to let her have a barrel at reduced price for her journey. With full mention of his tavern along the road, to give him publicity and more customers, of course! No harm in asking, she supposed.

 

Another sip. It turned into a long swallow, loathe as she was to drink it quickly. Beer like this should be savoured and appreciated. Well, she was certainly appreciating it, and the pastry was beyond description. Oh, it was so good! Toes that had been wiggling were now tapping along to the beat of a Murandian air as a drum joined the fiddle and the reedy sound of a pipe. It wasn't quite the "Warder's Sword has a Bloody Long Handle" song, but it was one she knew well.

 

I know this song!

 

She did, she realised. It was a lively tune, perfect for jigging to and, feeling lighter than she had in a long time, Dilora got to her feet and started dancing a reel. One hand held her skirt up slightly so as not to impede her progress, the other was held in the air merrily, a beaming smile on her face. The last time she had danced like this, that barmaid had promised her something she had collected eagerly at the end of the night. One partner, swung around and kicked her heels gladly, then swinging on to the next. A serving girl was caught in the middle of it as she tried to deliver a tray of drinks to patrons already on their feet and the tray left on the side so she could dance. The barkeep looked on approvingly and tapped a thick finger on the bar. Dilora swung on to her next partner, and looked into the face of a young man, cheeks ruddy with drink and obviously enjoying himself. From the look of the cut of his clothes, it appeared he was of noble birth, for few people would dress so well if they could not afford it. Well, such things could only be good publicity for her wares. Dilora winked slowly at him, and then in a twirl of skirts, she danced on to the next partner.

[The Don]

The world was spinning, but Thad was having the time of his life. He had always thought of himself as a subpar dancer, but for some reason tonight he felt as if he was graceful as a cat, nimbly moving from partner to partner. One in particular stood out among them. After a few dances, he invited her over to his table and ordered her a drink, offering the barmaid yet another silver mark.

 

"My name is Lord Thaddeus al'Dobnan. My friends call me Dob, for short."

 

"We do?" Trev laughed drunkenly, doubling himself over. Some people just couldn't handle their drink.

 

"This boy is Trevor, my drunken friend." He leaned towards Trev to smack the back of his head, but a chair got in his way and tripped him. The fool started laughing all over again, drunken idiot.

[Winter Mist]

~Dilora~

 

She was really enjoying herself. Good company made for good times, and good ale helped those along quite naturally. As the long afternoons seemed bathed in the dwindling sunlight, the evening flew by in a mist of laughter and revelry. Well, they had done recently. It was nice to relax and dance. When the well-to-do-if-slightly-tipsy looking lad beckoned her across to the table he occupied with his just-as-merry friend, she saw him lean over to cuff him on the back of the head, tripped, and stumbled forward. Oh, how the room must have lurched for him. Dilora smiled and held a hand forward to help him up.

 

“The Lord Thaddeus al’Dobnan, eh?” She watched him brush his fine clothes off a little and straighten to look her in the eyes. He had nice eyes, she thought. Trevor, the companion, was looking at her openly. “Dob. And Trevor, nice to meet you too.” She winked at the pair of them, and went to fetch another drink, setting the pitcher of cold ale down on the table. Ale was always nicer in company.

 

She took another sip.

 

“My name is Dilora Fashelle, and I’m a peddler.” Her voice was slightly raised, in case anyone was listening in and suddenly remembered they needed something. It was astonishing the number of times husbands had gone out to escape the clutches of a wife of an evening and remembered that if they just bought that lock from the pretty little peddler, or that packet of nails to fix the window, or door, or a little trinket because it was their anniversary, they would not get shouted at quite so much. It was either that or they wanted to get closer to Dilora. She never could tell which it was.

 

Dilora put both of her hands down on the table and looked at both eager young faces, overcome by a sudden mischief. Had these “Lords” done a day of honest work in their life? She could easily bet another round of drinks as her forfeit, and they would have to work for her for the day, shifting barrels around, or repainting her wagon if they lost the wager. Yes, this was very interesting indeed … only what could she ask them to do?

 

The answer dawned clear in her mind.

 

“Gentlemen, I have a proposition for you. How would you feel about a wager? If you win, I’ll buy the drinks all night, but if I win, then you’ll be up bright and early tomorrow morning to paint my wagon. What do you way?”

 

Blank confused faces greeted her. Obviously they were intelligent enough to want to know what the bet was before they agreed to it, so Dilora tilted her head to one side and then rested in on an elbow she had propped on the table. A strand of her long dark hair fell from behind her ear and hung down her pale neck and across her collarbone. It almost fell into her drink, but she moved it from in front of her and set it out of harm’s way. “Right,” she said. “I can see that you want to know what this wager is. Well, we’ll have a race. The first person to the river, and dunk your head in for proof, mind, and then come back to the table, wins.” Dilora pushed her chair back, standing. “What say you?”