An Invite to the Local Tavern

On the second day after arriving back at Thur, a hand-written invitation is sent to each of the Order's new crew members and Ameera (assuming she has not been tossed into prison by the Order). The invitations are written in Shaaran for all but Jaleh, Ammera and Verilus. For Ammera and Verilus the penning is in Alzhedo and for Jaleh it is in Tashalan.

You are invited to drink and make merry at Cadren's Grimy Whistle tomorrow's eve. Drinks will provided at no cost. As this is a social occasion, this invitation is extended to your significant others or close companions should you choose. The proprietor will provide sustenance at fair cost and games of chance and skill will be welcome.

The missive is signed "Balen".

//I'd like a headcount of all those interested in this forum-based RP session before the event actually takes place.

*A missive is sent in return, to Balen*

You can expect my presence at such a function, please let me know when I should arrive.

Jaleh

"...and the old man said, 'That's the difference between a rake and a rake!'"

Blaine was a hit at the local barber's, a modest establishment of goodly folk all commiserating early on the morning after the company's return. He told jokes of modest repute and generally cajoled and caroused with the townies as the last of his mullet was trimmed off. He gazed into a mirror, holding a small steel behind his head and examining the new coiffure.

"Yeah...yeah, that'll do just fine, Bollo." He tipped the man well--it was an exact copy of Balen's haircut.

Just then, the missive arrived. Blaine read it and commissioned a reply. "Boy, take this down..."

Balen,

I would be most pleased to attend. Expect myself and a guest.

Thank you for your consideration,
Blaine Ungo

With the missive sent he turned to Bollo and hopped back onto his chair. "Bollo, we're gonna need a shave..."

Balen ruffles the hair of the young boy who delivered Jaleh's message, much to the boy's displeasure. He reads the note and tells the lad to wait a moment while he writes up a response. The boy rolls his eyes as Balen makes for a quill and ink. "Like I ain't done this a'fore." the boy mutters to himself in his rough Shaaran.

The moment the ink has dried upon the note, it is handed back to the boy with two copper. "See that the lady get this." Balen says as he ruffles the tawny head again.

You may arrive at any time after the sun is set. At the very least, I will be there to make your company.

Balen

Strolling through Thurr, taking in the sights and relaxing, Blaine finds his feet occasionally skipping along the morning misted cobbles. The folk out in this early hour, mostly merchants setting up shop or servants attending to their masters' larders, stifle chuckles and thinly veil their stares at the grown man. Recently returned from scouting to the east, and his armor still bearing the marks of combat, his boyish looks and actions seem out of place to them. He nods happily to them, grinning carelessly. He knew something was coming soon, something he'd waited for since before arriving in the Border Kingdoms. Something from when he was much shorter, and far more female.

He rounded a corner from the side street onto the main thoroughfare of Thurr, a stab at a grand processional festooned in gaudy ostentation common to the region's upstart nations, and giggled. Before him he saw wood carved statues and workers hammering copper leaf onto them. To Blaine their toil seemed silly, comical even, as if they were wrapping a Shieldmeet present. Beneath the ruddy finery lay gnarled wood, ready to burn, yearning for the axe. All he need do is peel off the skin.

One of the coppersmiths turned to gaze at the half-elf giggling in his direction and scoffed, returning to his work in a beleaguered huff. Blaine reigned in his mirth and turned on his heels, dancing away and tipping his hat to a passing lady. Tonight was going to be a fun night, he hoped. The coppersmith had it lucky--he could work out in the open. Just a few more of these social gatherings, and a few more missions of state, and he just might have the elbow-room to ply his trade as well.

The waiting, though...it's gonna be hell. He knew that it wouldn't take too much for him to simply give in, to say "fuck it" and get on with making sweet, sweet art again. But, if he did, then Mariette would win.

Fuck that bitch.

It was hard to conceal the smile that threatened to erupt onto her face when she saw the half-elf's polite gesture of greeting aimed her way. Even harder was to hide the amusement that she felt watching the coppersmith's reaction to him and his fine mood.

"Lucky sot doesn't even realize....." she muses to herself as she continues on her way, hoisting her fine bejeweled silken skirts out of the dirt of the streets.

The penned acceptance of Balen's offer should soon be finding its way back and with that thought her eyes narrowed as a grin actually crossed her painted lips.

The note would arrive, delivered by a wide eyed boy whose clothes were dusted white with flour, his pale face bearing the same tell tale covering. His small hand trembled as the letter was handed forth and before even receiving the customary tip he turned tail and ran like his britches were aflame.....

I would be delighted to accept your kind offer, Balen and look forward to finally getting a chance to relax and enjoy the company of those I will be closely working with in the next few weeks.

Belle

An simply decorated letter would be returned to Balen penned with much thought and precise stroke.

"Master Balen,

I will honour your invitation to your event, though I regretfully have no-one to bring as company. I hope this does not sour the evening.

Your honoured brother in arms,

Rory Randlebrook, Squire Errant."

Marriette would be packing her belongings as the invitation arrives, she sighs and unfurls it scanning the text, shaking her head she scrunches it up and tosses it over her shoulder and out the window. " yeah, Im going to party with those frumps " she rolls her eyes and continues packing.



*clomp clomp clomp* The massive armored man makes his way down the cobble stoned street, stopping he removes his helm, a tuft of wild chestnut wiry beard springs forth from the confines, followed by an equally impressive mane. With a grizzled grin Bulk takes a deep breath and sighs laughing heartily, the laughter cut abruptly short by a screwed up piece of vellum landing in his hair, taking perch like small origami bird in his muss of hair.

He reaches up and unraveling it he reads it over. " A party! GREAT!!! " He stuffs his poofy head back into the pot helm and continues on down the street toward the bath house to prepare for the fancy to-do.

After arriving safely in Thur with the group, and them having presumeably parted in their ways, as she was not one of the Order yet, she found herself a proper accomadation near the markets.
As morning arrived so did a messenger to her Inn, and with almost magical presicion he found her location and knocked on her door. She opened it, dressed in her usual long draping robes, with the silken veil obscuring the lower part of her face.
As she accepted Balen's letter a small smile creeped onto her lips. "Hold on a moment, young man..." Ameera said with her dancing alzhedoan accent, as she turned to find a quill. With an elegant and curled writing she replied him, something that indicated a finger and educated upbringing.

Dear, sir Balen.
I am pleased to find myself invited and will with honour attend.
Graciously,
Ameera Dahab Hamal Sajirn

The message was placed in the protective care of the boy, along with a tip to ensure it's safe route back to Balen. Ameera closed the door and sighed a smile. "This will be a fine day, I think.." she murmured before finishing her breakfast.