Post by Uri Novosi on Jan 24, 2015 4:43:08 GMT -5
The taste of northern wine seemed to have seeped into the very skin of Uri’s lips, every time he licked them he could taste the cloves and sweet aftertaste of foreign alcohol. It lingered, even after being home and stone cold sober for well over a month which was annoying and Uri was more than ready to rinse the taste out. He had been careful to clear out all the strong boil drinks from his sweeping estate when his parent’s health started to decline and he had never bothered to restock it after his mother’s death so, in the scorpion’s mind, his only solution was to go to one of the many towns he frequented to find a bar. What better way to rinse out the taste of something sweet than with something properly bitter, after all?
He had started the night in good spirits. There were two small oasis’s equally spaced from his family’s estate and Uri chose to attend the smaller one. It only had one large pub right in the middle which had grown rather large over the course of the years, supported by on-and-off travel routes.
The building was large enough to support gambling on cards and animal fights held in the basement and renting out the upper floors to weary travelers. Uri had been there frequently enough that the bartender knew him and almost the moment he walked in the door he had a glass of something in his hand.
Uri had played a few hands of cards and danced with anyone who asked with enthusiasm. He was treated with wary welcome in his eccentricities. It was well known that Uri was the head of his clan and very rich, but it was also well known that he was the only member of his clan and that he was (or had been) an assassin. Uri knew full well that many people believed he had been singlehandedly responsible for the death and banishment of his siblings, and the death and decay of his parents. No one dared to mention it in his presence, of course, but Uri had scuttled around in his true form enough to know the rumors. It was impressive, really. If he was half as conniving as the rumors made him out to be Uri had no doubt he would have owned half the Boil by now.
Even so, once his thoughts turned to such things his mood rapidly slipped and it wasn’t long before he was uninterested in dancing and cards just seemed like a tedious bore. The staff seemed relieved when Uri stopped making his fuss early that night and instead bought two bottles of the heavy Boil wine that came from the purple-fleshed cacti and he sauntered off into the night.
The moon was thick and nearly full in the night sky, and so large Uri thought it could dominate his field of vision. Uri felt the itch to change into his true form but the moon wouldn’t be full for another day and he could hold off the urge. Uri stayed just outside the bar, his back to the building and propped up next to one of the large windows cut into the clay wall so he could perch his unopened bottle of wine on the sill while he nursed the one in hand. He wasn’t drunk, although he fully intended to be by the end of the night. Drunk enough to forget the rumors and the issues of trying to run a great clan of one.
”Ugh,” Uri groaned and he poured the dark purple wine into the small dried-cactus bowl he had helped himself to from the bar. He clicked his tongue then set the first bottle on the sill next to the second. In his own native tongue he said, ”well then a toast to you dear lady moon, the only one who can stand to keep my company.” The bathed him in her warm, pale light as he took a great drink of wine, only stopping when his lungs burned for air and he had to gasp for air. His lips were stained dark and they finally tasted properly bitter, and for that he wasn’t sure if he ought to thank the moon or wine more.
He had started the night in good spirits. There were two small oasis’s equally spaced from his family’s estate and Uri chose to attend the smaller one. It only had one large pub right in the middle which had grown rather large over the course of the years, supported by on-and-off travel routes.
The building was large enough to support gambling on cards and animal fights held in the basement and renting out the upper floors to weary travelers. Uri had been there frequently enough that the bartender knew him and almost the moment he walked in the door he had a glass of something in his hand.
Uri had played a few hands of cards and danced with anyone who asked with enthusiasm. He was treated with wary welcome in his eccentricities. It was well known that Uri was the head of his clan and very rich, but it was also well known that he was the only member of his clan and that he was (or had been) an assassin. Uri knew full well that many people believed he had been singlehandedly responsible for the death and banishment of his siblings, and the death and decay of his parents. No one dared to mention it in his presence, of course, but Uri had scuttled around in his true form enough to know the rumors. It was impressive, really. If he was half as conniving as the rumors made him out to be Uri had no doubt he would have owned half the Boil by now.
Even so, once his thoughts turned to such things his mood rapidly slipped and it wasn’t long before he was uninterested in dancing and cards just seemed like a tedious bore. The staff seemed relieved when Uri stopped making his fuss early that night and instead bought two bottles of the heavy Boil wine that came from the purple-fleshed cacti and he sauntered off into the night.
The moon was thick and nearly full in the night sky, and so large Uri thought it could dominate his field of vision. Uri felt the itch to change into his true form but the moon wouldn’t be full for another day and he could hold off the urge. Uri stayed just outside the bar, his back to the building and propped up next to one of the large windows cut into the clay wall so he could perch his unopened bottle of wine on the sill while he nursed the one in hand. He wasn’t drunk, although he fully intended to be by the end of the night. Drunk enough to forget the rumors and the issues of trying to run a great clan of one.
”Ugh,” Uri groaned and he poured the dark purple wine into the small dried-cactus bowl he had helped himself to from the bar. He clicked his tongue then set the first bottle on the sill next to the second. In his own native tongue he said, ”well then a toast to you dear lady moon, the only one who can stand to keep my company.” The bathed him in her warm, pale light as he took a great drink of wine, only stopping when his lungs burned for air and he had to gasp for air. His lips were stained dark and they finally tasted properly bitter, and for that he wasn’t sure if he ought to thank the moon or wine more.