makinglies | Bastila

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faerun

Bastila

At the Northern part of The Ride, a day and a half's ride from its patron city of Ilnivur, Bastila sat as a hub of common civilization in the otherwise fairly wild strip of land inhabited by frontiersmen and migrating communities of barbarians. Where barely half an hour from the city, one might starve or dehydrate to death, Bastila had a healthy, if small, community centered on entertainment, luxury, and some trade. Patrolled only by the city's militia, Bastila's crime was healthy so long as one was smart enough about it, and nowhere was that more true than the outskirts markets that largely traded with the barbarians, travelers, and those making the journey from the only other towns in The Ride: Whitbell and Springmeadow. It was roughly 1000 feet from the edges of these markets that Chris's Gate spell dropped the displaced group of humans and animals into the chilly meadows of the land. To the North were more grasslands, to the East: the Galena mountains could be seen in the far distance, and the West held a similar, if smaller sight. The South, meanwhile, bore the haze of Thar's swamps. They could easily and truly call themselves in the middle of nowhere, were it not for the nearly out of place jut of Bastila's buildings.

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Chris watches the interaction unfold...into a quickly unraveling situation. Usually, his Guardians would be able to handle most conversations without him just fine...but his loves were different and stepping in before Jon gets himself punched is old hat by now.

He steps forward and offers the greeting preferred by the more peaceful of the barbarian clans, a hand curled into a fist brought diagonally across his chest and down over his heart with a small nod of his head. "Pardon my companion, krigga, he is from far from here and his understanding of the common language stilted. He comes from far south of the Fallen Stars and is still learning much." He nods again and puts a hand on Jon's shoulder while gesturing out to the market with the other.

"Please don't let us keep you any longer. Again, with my apologies."

The giant-kin man looks between Amelia and Chris and then glances over Wolfe and Jon before nodding, seemingly placated. His eyes fall to Chris' holly symbol and he waves as he turns. "It is no trouble, mazin."

As the man puts his broad back to them, Chris turns a thin, amused, smile on his group. "This is where I remind everyone that there are sentient beings here far bigger than any of us and, as the smaller beings, we are to step out of their way more oft than not."

Pride wounded, Wolfe makes a sour face and folds his arms. "I was trying to apologize to him, for the record, not the other way around. The last thing I want to do right now is stir up trouble. I still need more study if that's not what I said."

And it proves both he and Jon will need to keep one of the other two with them until they're fluent. Jon may be a bit better off in clearly still understanding the language, but if neither of them can be fully understood its going to pose a major problem. "Funny though, I did understand all of you still. Whatever effects from Duplicity we still have must only extend to the four of us. And... Topher, I guess?"

And their Matron, but being a God that sort of goes without saying.

"What's 'krigga'?" He asks belatedly, not having understood that word out of all the Common Chris had used.

Amelia rolls her eyes at Jon and only manages not to sigh only because Chris steps in so smoothly. She's grateful for the cleric's assistance, and that it came after they got directions to coffee. Perhaps she's reading into it, but it sounds like Jon could use a cup.

"We'll keep our eyes on the crowd around us so we don't walk in anyone else's path," she assures Chris. Smiling up at her mage, she takes Wolfe's hand and presses a kiss to the back of it. "You had the right words, love. We'll keep working on it so your meaning isn't lost going forward." It may mean today is a little more rough than they expected, but they'll manage between the four of them. Chris knows the area, he and Amelia both know Common, Jon can understand everything and now knows to keep his mouth shut, and Wolfe is more than genial enough to offer apologies without words if he needs to. They'll be fine, even if this wasn't the most auspicious start to their day.

Guiding them all on a slightly meandering path toward 'Auntie Belle's', Amelia leaves the asked question she doesn't know the answer to so she can better listen to the crowd around them. Mostly she wants to hear if someone speaks the date, but it's useful for picking up tidbits about the city itself, about what's available in the market, and about a few people they may face in the arena today. The Giant Crusher and Hells' Bells come up a few times, seemingly favorites among the merchants and traders. Curious names, but Amelia's more interested in how they fight. More information to listen for as they walk.

Jon just huffs and crosses his arms. As the bigger race, he thinks they should be the ones watching where they step, but given that man was something like twice his height and somewhere north of ten times his weight, he knows he doesn't have much of a place to argue. What's more frustrating is that his plans for surprising everyone with a little bit of coin are completely shot through. How is he supposed to earn anything reciting Shakespeare in broken Common? At least he has understanding for now. Perhaps he can just play as if he's mute. That still stymies his performance-based plans, but it might let him get by here with the betting without sounding childish.

"We can only watch for so much," Jon grumbles, but leaves it at that. "And it would seem my own... situation lets me understand them, if not talk to them. At least not in English." Which makes sense, really, even if he's annoyed. His ears are also tuned to the streets of Bastila as he falls quiet again.

"She's really as good as they say? Really? A gnome taking out giants with a hammer as big as she is? Maybe their kneecaps. I'll believe it when I see it, ser."

"My money's on Slips the Dagger, personal like. I know he's an underdog--undercat? Hah! Well, you always have to watch out for the rogues, don't you?"

"I know the Skydancers aren't winning, but what a show they'll put on. Love the feathers."

They arrive at Auntie Belle's to find a queue spanning a few stalls back. Jon spies a portly woman with pointed ears hurrying about with a small group of younger folks calling orders, taking coin, and passing food and drink around. There's smoke billowing up from an oven somewhere deeper in the stall. A set of tables and benches are filled to brimming nearby with a rope cordoning the area off from the general market bustle.

"It- you have cafes?" For some reason, that's almost shocking. Jon hadn't been expecting to see anything like that in the first town they walked into.

“Topher’s my shadow, who knows how ‘the rules’ work for him. And ‘krigga’ means ‘warrior’ in Giant. I’m not fluent, but I know a couple words and I’ve dealt with the Varm before.”

Chris runs a hand over Wolfe’s arm, but keeps his focus on the goods and voices they pass.

Mild gossip about the zombie attack in Ilnivur, about the satellite towns related to their patron city, and about noble scandal and trade routes being overturned in the Anorouch. Some stuff about the fighters competing locally, but nothing Chris bothers to listen in about.

Even while they’re in line, all he hears is little things…though, one name kept coming up in the noble circles: Tarshak. Some minor representative stepping up to make waves in a way the gentry never liked. The dirty way, too, from what Chris gleans. Maybe that would make for a good lead on Jon’s needs.

“Of course we’ve got cafes. Restaurants, food carts, catering, bars, you think it’s one of your ‘modern things?’”

Chris’ brow raises high at his archivist, but he still leans in to whisper by his ear.

“Keep ear out: Tarshak. Sounds like a con man. Might be useful for other eventual needs.”

"They were one of the tribes that helped you on your journey, weren't they?" They'd struck him as similar to the Chaisind or the Avaar, just trying to live their lives how they traditionally have when the rest of society tries to make the land suit them instead of changing themselves to suit the land. Wolfe feels he has a changed perspective on that score after seeing where "modernity" can lead. Coffee makers, showers, and convenient food stores are incredible, but there's certainly something lost in the names of progress and convenience. Quality, mostly, and community. He can see why tribes like the Avaar or the Varm live as they do, even if it wouldn't suit him.

"How did I say it wrong? I can use a setback to learn," he tries not to continue pouting, instead turning around to the that much more real issue of his being able to communicate and asking Amelia for her help. Chris is busy teaching Jon that not everything he thinks of as 'modern' is going to be absent here, probably in a far less needling way than Wolfe is tempted to use.

It doesn't stop him from taking Chris' hands for a squeeze, though. He'll let go when Chris inevitably pulls his fingers away, but he's going to hold onto him and Amelia's hands both as long as they'll let him.

"My apologies or I apologize will both work. They're a little formal, but they use vocabulary you already have. If you want something more casual, use I'm sorry when the need arises." She expects they'll run into this issue a few more times in the days and weeks to come, and she won't mind repeating any lessons or phrases that come up more than once. It takes time to learn a language - she has memories of the years it took her to truly master Elven and Ragneux's Thieves' Cant - and even though it'll be easier with the Raven Queen's blessing, it'll take more than a few hours to get it all. Still, she's glad Wolfe isn't berating himself or continuing to sulk. It gives her all the more reason to squeeze his hand and press a kiss to his cheek as they come to a stop in line.

And while Chris turns to Jon after listening to the crowd, Amelia begins to look for an easy mark that will help them buy their breakfast. Many people are digging around in their coin purses, carefully counting what they have as they plan what to get for themselves. Doable, but likely to draw attention after the fact even if she can manage to help herself to a few coins. A pity, but that doesn't take away all of her options.

People are still leaving the café, after all.

She's subtle in her movements, putting herself close to the continuous stream of people meandering back out into the market. Some of these people are wearing their coin pouches or handling their money in a way that says Go ahead and try, thieves. These she avoids, instead aiming for those fumbling with more money than is necessary for any amount of food they or their party would need. If they notice they're missing any coin, she'll be honestly surprised.

When she finally acts, it's so smooth that one might not catch it if they aren't paying close enough attention: she pulls out a few silver to count, turning her back to the crowd and jutting out a hip at just the right moment to catch someone - and their two companions - completely off guard and send the coins in everyone's hands to the ground. Amelia offers profuse apologies as she collects most of her silver and three gold coins from the mess beneath her feet. The three half-elves all but laugh off her clumsiness when she flashes them a shy smile and a little blush, even offering her an extra silver for the trouble of having bumped into her. She thanks them and promises to better watch herself as they move on, then turns back to her family with a playful smirk.

"So... coffee for everyone?"

Tarshak. The name is noted and filed away as he feels hunger claw suddenly, intensely at his stomach. For a moment, the other's might see the Archivist's expression go blank, cold, distant, and inhuman with a flash of sickly green that lights his eyes. He masters himself, though, pushes those urges down enough to function as a human. For now. A part of him does worry that if this man has a Statement, he won't be able to properly compel him for it without the right words, but the Ceaseless Watcher hungers as much as he does, and Jon suspects his communication difficulties might resolve long enough for that to sort itself, especially when he has a rudimentary knowledge of speaking thanks to the Raven Queen.

In any case, Chris teases him and Wolfe is saying something that triggers Jon's own memory of the tales Chris has told him. The one about being petrified, in particular. He's not sure if the cleric has shared all of that with Wolfe and Amelia, so keeps that to himself for now.

They step into line only for Amelia to step out again and run into someone. His brows furrow slightly as the money goes rolling across the ground, and he gives her a noticeable side-eye as she turns back to them, stowing her gold- gold? "Wait, did you just..." His brows jump up. He'd thought the money was going back to the right hands. When did she do that? He's seen she's good with her hands from their foray to the Veracity market and in the Shadowfell, but actually seeing her in action as a thief is eye-opening. "Impressive."

He can offer compliments where they're due! Occasionally.

Chris nods to Wolfe's question and keeps hold of his hand when it's offered. He keeps hold as he watches Jon's expression shift to something else, something as much him as it wasn't...and then he's back to just Jon, and Chris kisses his head.

In time for Amelia to show off exactly what sort of rogue master she could be, even when it didn't involve death. He smiles at her with pride and affection.

"Well, mistress, if you're paying, I'd be a fool to turn it down. I think you'll find plenty of satisfying targets like that around here. Especially by the specialty shops and the arena."

He trusted Amelia's eye enough to assume she wouldn't go robbing the wrong sort of person. That was more than enough to trust she'd do what she did best without any help.

"A little bit of that today and we'll be set for a couple weeks afore we'll need to find work or skim again."

"Masterful," Wolfe proclaims, leaning to kiss the side of Amelia's head without letting go of Chris' hand and recaptures the one of hers that doesn't contain coins. "We'll feast this morning and have plenty to grow with betting."

--

The coffee is good, Wolfe inhaling the wafting steam with pleasure as they sit down in the little cordoned off seating area with their prizes not long after Amelia's successful heist, but the buns are better. Wolfe had gotten a piece of smoked fish on his along with a slice of tomato, onion, capers, and a whipped cheese spread. Its completely delightful and after the first bite he all but devours the rest as if he'd never eaten in his life.

"Matron's mask, that is brilliant. I could eat that every day," he announces, taking a couple of stale ones he'd been gifted and handing them down to the dogs for gnawing. There'd been a jar of 'dog bagels' on the counter when they'd walked up and Wolfe couldn't help but treat his girls as well.

Amelia's grateful for the chance to thieve a little, but it's her family's enjoyment of the breakfast they get with it that really makes her feel good about the first of many such thefts for the day. If they'd balked or chastised her, she would have told them off and hidden her pain and disappointment. Instead she gets to sip a soft green tea - made with local flora so she can try out regional varieties and choose a new favorite for herself - and slowly eat through a soft bun she pulls through a spread of tart jam and soft cheese. She should eat more, but this will do for now. They'll have more than enough money later to get anything else they desire.

"Time to learn how to make buns and plan visits to towns every few days so we can get the produce and meats we need," she jokes, happily leaning back in her chair to watch the others over sips of tea. It's hard not to feel at ease while they're all in a lightened mood. "After we clean out the arena for all its worth today. Then we'll more than deserve to work out the details of your future meals.

"Speaking of, how is the coffee? It smells different than it ever did in Duplicity. Better, somehow." A difference in how it's made, most likely, but whether that's in making the beans or the drink itself, she has no idea. She never did investigate anything about coffee origins or making when she could ruin future pots of coffee by looking at the coffee making machine the wrong way when it wasn't in use.

"Interesting," is Jon's reply as he pulls bits off a small loaf and eats them plain. There is something pleasing about the simplicity of a loaf without all the trappings (and preservatives) of modern society. "It's like... It reminds me of Turkish coffee. Not as thick, but certainly getting there. Not unpleasant, I'm just not used to chewing my drinks."

It's said lightly, rather than with derision. At least there is coffee. The caffeine should do him good, if nothing else, and he's been keeping his ears open, per suggestion. A pair of women at one of the nearby tables are gossiping about Tarshak, seemingly excited about something he might be able to do for them. What's harder to do is push away the thoughts that bombard him. It makes honing in just a little more difficult.

"It sounds like people are getting excited for the arena, in any case. Thank you for breakfast, Amelia. Hopefully, we'll all be able to pay you back, each in our own ways, before too much longer. Wolfe," Jon says, eyes switching to the mage. "How would you say 'Where is the arena?' in Common?" There's a professorial tone to his voice as he lifts his brows expectantly. He can, at least, tell if the man is saying it wrong at the moment.

It’s one thing to know he missed food from home, it’s an entirely different thing to take that first bite of his bun (with a bagel still waiting for him) and feel it practically melt against his tongue with real butter in the batter and have a rush of memories come along.

It’s all he can do not to burst into childish tears there at their table. As it is, he tries to cover his reaction with offering bits of fish to Thunder and Poppet both and a totally and completely subtle clearing of his throat.

“I’ll admit Duplicity had better filters for the grounds. Bedine coffee is thick like you’re talking about, the rest of us just try to filter and don’t manage overly well.”

He takes another bite and continues to pretend it’s nothing more special than a good breakfast as he looks to Amelia. “The buns we can mange, though butter can get pricey. I don’t suppose you know how to turn any?”

"I've made butter before, it's just been decades now," Wolfe replies despite the question having been for Amelia. Mostly he's side-eyeing Jon after the use of that tone. It's just Jon, being professorial and helping him study, as Wolfe had asked. Only after several years of having Jon as his Dominant on paper, it takes on an undertone that he's sure Jon doesn't mean but that Wolfe definitely doesn't like.

Quickly, Wolfe decides to dismiss that, instead gently knocking his knee against Chris' under the table while he tries to think of how he would ask the question in Common. "Where is the... Ah, I don't know the word for arena, so... Place of... fight?"

He muddles through it, pronunciation more accurate than his exchange with the barbarian for having kept an ear out for the general sounds of the language while they've been in the market. He knows he just needs to learn vocabulary; he can't just conjur the right words out of thin air. Still, it makes him shift a bit, taking another bite of his bagel to stall a moment under the pressure of Amelia expecting them to 'clean up' in the arena and Jon demanding he stretch his rudimentary language skills on the spot. They mean well. It's not their fault he's feeling a little out of place even with everything being so much more like he was used to in Thedas.

Its just that everything feels as if its been moved just a little to the left. He's glad Chris is enjoying himself at least, even if its expressing itself in a bit of emotional overload. He should probably draw the attention to him so Chris has a moment to collect himself.

"I'm not sure about making a sweep of it," he pushes back gently, his tone much lighter than he feels but allowing a note of uncertainty to thread in. "I'm not exactly in the best shape of my life and I won't be able to use magic."

Wolfe starts to squirm a little, for multiple reasons if her guess is right, and Amelia casually takes her mage's hand in her own to press a kiss to the back of it. "Perhaps not a sweep, but cleaning up still means winning most fights. You've not lost your technique and that'll count for plenty." She turns a small smile to him. "And the word you're looking for is arena. You formed the question well aside from that."

She can grant both him and Chris some peace from what's getting to each of them, though she can only hope at this point Jon won't snipe Wolfe over not knowing a single word. She's not allowed to kick his shin under the table no matter how much he deserves it. Sigh.

"You can rightly assume I know nothing about making anything that would be used in a kitchen," she finally offers to the cleric. "Tea and boiling water aside, the best I can do is chop vegetables, fruits, cheeses, and already baked breads. Knowing I couldn't cook, it seemed best for me to focus on getting better at everything but kitchen-based skills." She hums thoughtfully. "I should try and learn how to make coffee now that I can't break the damn machine that spits it out. It can't be that hard if you're boiling water, adding grounds, and filtering it into a mug."

Only it will be more difficult and she will not make anyone else drink her first (several) terrible pot(s) of coffee, for safety's sake.

Chris practically crying over bread has the same tenor as what Jon imagines it might be like were he to return back to his own world and be reunited with the Admiral. And Georgie... Maybe. Mostly, the Admiral. Leaving the Captain and other cats back in Duplicity had been hard enough, even if that had absolutely been in their best interest. If they'd gone through those other portals, the dogs, Little Thunder, and Poppet would almost certainly be dead absorbed by the entity ruling the place. Horrifying. Jon tries not to shudder at the thought and focus on Chris tearing up and trying to hide it in a very charming way. Jon chooses not to draw attention to it for now. He can needle Chris about it later when the cleric's being annoying.

He give an approving tilt of his head to Wolfe, instead, listening closely as Amelia offers them another piece of vocabulary that Jon knows he would have stumbled over, as well.

"Remember that no one's using magic. It levels the playing field, and you were doing just fine with the zombies coming after us. You only actually needed to use any when you weren't close enough to stab them. Thank you again for that.

"Making decent coffee's as easy as Chris conjuring filters like we had at the house into the temple, honestly. Or if we really want to go native, I imagine you have cheesecloth, yes? It's the same principle, really. You're just going to want to collect the liquid instead of the solids. Churning butter shouldn't be hard for anyone, either. I expect certain persons might even have experience with the motions." That last part is said utterly deadpan as he looks between Wolfe and Chris.

He finishes his bun without actually shedding any ridiculous tears and no one says anything aside from Wolfe’s bump against his knee…so he tactfully ignores the lump in his throat until he successfully swallows it down.

And nearly choked on it for his surprised laugh at Jon’s comment.

“It’s…it’s not the same. I mean…I’ve got experience with such wide poles, of course, but there is a subtlety in the process I’m sure I don’t have knowledge of…just as I wouldn’t expect they who churn to know all ways of using their hands.”

Onto his bagel, then!

“But, yes, we can make an attempt and I’ll conjure filters for the coffee when we get it…and you’ll do fine in the arena, Wolfe, I’ll be there with you.”

Chris makes puns while Wolfe simply raises a cocky eyebrow and gestures to his still rather formidable biceps. "That may be true, but certain muscles are good for whatever sort of churning is necessary."

He takes another drink of his coffee, flexing subtly. He may not be in top shape but he hasn't lost any mass, at least. He already knows he can keep a body up for a good churn, he thinks as he glances at Amelia.

"You're right, its not that difficult. I think you might even be better at it this way than the electric one," Wolfe smiles encouragingly, still believing that Amelia's ability to cook isn't absent, its simply locked away in her being convinced she can't.

"As for the arena," he continues, saying the word in local Common now that he knows it. "I appreciate your confidence in my abilities. I will point out, though, that zombies are far less difficult than thinking opponents in that they don't use any tactics or exploit weaknesses. That says, you're right I'm not so far gone that Chris will have to carry the entire match so... I guess we'll just have to see."

Its not that he lacks confidence, he's just trying to temper expectations. Yes he has nerves about it given he's still recovering from several weeks of his only heavy activity being marathon sex, but that's not nothing in terms of getting his heartrate up. And with a look at everyone at the table, he can say with certainty that he's not going to let anyone down even if he isn't perfect. Its not a matter of life and death here, its just coin. It will make their lives much easier, certainly, but its not necessary to survive, and...

And he's not going to lose them if he's not the most perfect version of himself.

The thought is a weird one, something he never would have thought before in the shadow of his parents and his companions and all their expectations, either real or presumed. Each person here at the table has proved over and over that they value him just because he is himself. Not the best of men, the best of mages. Not the best of anything. Not because he's the Champion, or even Hawke. Just Wolfe.

And in that thought, he feels more himself than he has in a very long time.

"We could also be more powerful than any other duo the arena has ever seen so we'll just have to chance it," he finishes with a note of entirely unearned bravado, nudging Chris' elbow and grinning wide.

Amelia rolls her eyes at all the churning talk, not pointing out that she also has very strong and practiced hands for certain activities that lend themselves to keeping her arms and wrists strong. If Jon hasn't realized that or is avoiding thinking about it, she has no intention of putting the idea into his mind.

"You'll make a pleasant spectacle for me either way," she notes, a playful little smirk on her lips. "I'll do my best to offer the same in return." As if she would manage any less when she finally has a chance to let loose and show off. Dreams, it's going to be wonderful to take on opponents who won't hold back and who will thank her for shoving their face into the dirt before she's done with them. Hopefully the proprietors will allow her some amount of gloating between bouts for it.

"It sounds like we'll have everything we could want for a while before we take our rest tonight. This was a wonderful suggestion before we make our way to our next destination." She turns a warm smile to Chris in thanks. "Is there anything that isn't books or clothes we should look for? I'd like more needles and thread for future alterations, but anything else I can think of can wait." A new ring for Wolfe will wait until closer to their actual wedding day, for example.

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Bastila

History 26

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21 Perception

Perception 29

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Sleight of Hand 25

Perception 22

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Deception 5…

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