Wine and Song

[jmecha]

Laque sat in one of the many private booths lining the rickety walls of the seedy dock side tavern known as Bright Blade’s Brandished. He sat with his eyes focused on the golden glimmer of candle light reflecting off the almond brandy in his glass. The skin on the backs of his hands quivered from the tension of his frustrations and Laque slowly shook his head as he reflexively smirked.

Slowly he raised the glass to his lips to take another large swallow of the sweet and stinging brandy. He could drink himself to singing and dancing but tomorrow when his vision cleared and the brandy worked it’s self from his hands he knew he would be clenching his fists and angry again with it all. How many times before has he already traded words with the Cleric of Corellon Larethian? How many times had he already tried to somehow inspire this Deartho Elbrar to be the Cleric Corellon deserves, to be the Cleric Tel’Quessir deserved?

Laque’s mind raced despite the brandy in his blood and he wondered if perhaps he expected to much from Deartho…..was it to much to demand excellence from a Cleric of Corellon? To demand such to be a leader and an inspiration to the community instead of a groveling uninspiring bore who was more prone to mindlessly following the commands of others then commanding any respect?

With a scowl Laque raised the brandy with a shaking hand to his lips once more and swallowed hard, choking down the amber almond flavored spirit. He wondered if the problem was not Deartho at all but Laque himself, had he spent so much time from his own home and people? Was he himself seeing anything clearly anymore? Across the tavern some rowdy voice called out "There Once Was a Girl From Baldur's Gate!" Laque's head swiveled towards the song and laughter. When his eyes sighted little To Tall Tal and Letty in the crowded tavern he smiled as his eyes narrowed.

[jmecha]

The eastern horizon was just beginning to glow with the warming colors of dawn’s first light and the cool crisp mountain air of the morning carried the sounds of Rivermoot wiping sleep from it’s eyes along the Rauvin River. Children gathering to work towards their morning chores could be heard laughing as they greeted each other. Men and women walking together towards the plantation could be heard greeting each other in rough voices and hard laughter over the sounds of their farm tools clinking and clanging in cadence with their steps. The jingle of militia personal in their chain mail climbing towers and marching to their posts to relieve the evening sentries also carried clearly through the air rolling over the Rauvin River. The light of Lathander was arriving and all that was good and full of life was awakening across the Silver Marches and beginning the first steps of this day’s renewal.

Down the cobblestone highway a whistle pass the grave yard and over the cemetery bridge began another morning ritual of renewal. Laque the Luxurious was sprawled out face down in the grass beside a collection of empty glass bottles glistening with morning dew and littering the ground around a long since burnt out camp fire. As the merry musical sounds of Rivermoot’s morning reached his ears and Lathander’s light reached his eyes, Laque grimaced and groaned in pain. He tried to shut it all out by gritting his teeth and clenching his eyes shut. The body ache from to much wine and a long cold hours spent in his armor and laying upon the wet grass with only his cloak for shelter made returning to any form of reverie or even simple unconsciousness a futile gesture.

After a painful eternity of his head throbbing and the cold stabbing at his flesh while the noises of busy peasants down stream hammered at his ears, Laque managed to sit upright if not with a wobble. His wild white hair was all matted down on one side and had dirt caked into it and his every worldly possession was wet with a layer of morning dew. With a shooting pain through his body and a sever increase of the intensity of his headache he managed to get to his feet and stagger towards the Rauvin’s muddy shore. His legs were stiff and steps clumsy as he walked, eventually though he managed to get within arm’s reach of the rushing waters. With his hands cupped together he repeatedly raised scoops of cold fresh water up to his face where he hungrily choked down as much as he could while rinsing his face.

Mornings were not always this painful of a renewal and rebirth for Laque, more often then not he stayed in the most luxurious accommodations available. Though to claim this was the first time or the last time he awoke someplace unplanned and uncomfortable after a night of wine and song would be a lie of the most outlandish order. Being no stranger to awakening in strange places, Laque eventually went about picking up the empty bottles littering his improvised campsite and packing them away in his travel pack and inventorying himself and his equipment. Even after the river rinse and the moving about that cleaning up the mess his binge left behind, Laque could feel the stiffness in his muscles and joints that feeling of to much wine left behind in his veins slowing him down. With a violently fast and firm open hand Laque slapped himself hard across his face, the sound of his leather gloves smacking his now rosy cheek rang in his ears. After blinking several times and trying to shake the alarming sting from his face Laque strode towards the Cemetery Bridge.

More often then not the Rauvin and the thawing snows of the nearby mountains worked to flood the roads beyond the Cemetery Bridge which left the travel way unused and traffic less. Many moons ago when Laque had first fled the Sword Coast and arrived to the Silver Marches he had spent sometime in Rivermoot doing his best to learn the local nuances and flavors before moving to make himself known. During those days in which Rivermoot was the town in which Laque prowled he took to using the unused Cemetery Bridge as a place to seek refuge from the clutter of Rivermoot’s activates in his thoughts and a place in which he could refine his swordsmanship undisturbed.

The feel of Cemetery Bridge’s spongy and yielding boards beneath his boots reminded Laque of the training he had use to enjoy here. With a slowly spreading smile across his face he clenched his right hand several times into a tightly balled fist as he tried to work last night’s wine from his fingers. Then rather suddenly and without warning the stiff and slow moving elf erupted in a flurry of speed and sliding grace as he pulled his blade free from his side and launched himself forward in a series of thrusts and parries against invisible attackers. His entire body worked in unison with the bounce of the bridge’s planks beneath his shifting feet as he worked his way from one shore to another his blade flashing bright through the crisp morning air. Countless invisible attackers were quickly parried off, out witted by blinding fast masterful feints and then laid low with a flick of Laque’s wrist. With a grin Laque crouched low and then sprang up into the air looking to end his shadow dueling with a proper spot of dramatic combat acrobatics. His grin widened and his long cloak trailed behind him while he somersaulted gracefully through the air. What was a punishing existence moments ago was now the freedom and excitement of Laque’s passion for blade work and sailing through the air.

[jmecha]

Fresh from off the rocky trails of the Silvery Pass, Laque was more then happy to lay upon the green fields outside the walls of the great northern Gem and listen to the playful banter of Trapper and Zalanthe as the ladies discussed nothing in particular. The blend of one’s rather rough and ready whiskey voice and the other’s sweet and playful tones blended into a rather enjoyable song to his ears as he laid back with a smile resting his legs and awaiting the stars to appear. As he laid there taking deep and steady breaths through his grin, Laque’s mind rolled over the varies things he had been busy juggling in the back ground of his mind. So many rather strange and disturbing things, matters and affairs easier not to think about then to try and confront at all.

Laque closed his eyes and had decided that tonight was not the night to work out all the problems and woes of those around him and instead grinned wide as he resigned to merely laying about. That thought though was immediately followed with, Rhotomir shuffling out of the Moor Gate and marching directly up to Zalanthe like a good little worker drone coming to subject himself to the whims of the Queen Bee. Laque could not help but to roll his eyes and silently laugh at the absurdity of it all.

“Rhotomir the Uninformed” Laque thought to himself as he remained silent and smiled. How many times has Laque already seen this very same Rhotomir unwittingly shuffle himself into the most dangerous of relationships completely naïve and unaware of the realties around him? Silly and stupid Rhotomir always so trusting and unaware, bumbling about from one pit of vipers to another blissfully unaware of anything around him. First there was the Raven Lord Morthos the Vampiric child of Silas of Baldur’s Gate who had plans to kill Rhotomir, after using him as a spy to gather information about those who looked to oppose the Vampire Under Lords. Then there was that rather embarrassing bit of business involving Rhotomir taking his cues from that cultureless mercenary Venrill, who is unworthy of his ears, as the two of them wittingly and unwittingly served as Banite lap dogs following orders given by the Dark Priest Barid Monsinel. It was as if every time Laque encountered Rhotomir he had some new wondrous tale to tell about some unimaginably pitiful situation he had willingly subjected himself to with a smile. Best of all for Laque was that every time he actually stopped to listen these tales of naïve ignorance as Rhotomir eagerly told them, Laque did get a solid laugh out of how even as the tales were told, Rhotomir was blissfully unaware of the fact that he was detailing a comedy of his own tragic errors.

Now once again here came Rhotmir the Unwise shuffling with a smile towards his beloved Zalanthe.The young elven maiden he knew nothing of except that she was absolutely lovely and terribly sweet to him. Laque nearly bit through his tongue trying to fight back the roaring laughter that wanted to be released at the scene before him. Instead though he commented on the rather fine looking Opytim’s Rapier at Rhotomir’s side.

[johnlewismcleod]

Brilliant stuff, John...I'm rolling with laughter just considering what Laque might write if he knew Gwen

More please

[Creslyn]

Very amusing, I like.

[jmecha]

You need to ask them three, or thirty times to make sure they are sure? Laque could not remember the Kara-Turan custom, and eventually got tired of hearing Rhotomir pledge his willingness to serve as Laque’s faithful and loyal apprentice in the art of light blade fighting. With Zalanthe and Trapper watching with the sort of smiles that made men feel like they were being held at crossbow point, Laque told Rhotomir to start doing pushups. Slowly and without any real apparent hurry Rhotomir slipped free of his travel pack and then went about slipping from his rich red robes and moved off to the spot of grass Laque had in mind for the display of physical prowess. Then though the strangest thing happened, Rhotomir all skin and bones topped off with a set of pointy ears, just kept on walking. Laque watched with curiosity as Rhotomir all knees and elbows shuffled down to the road, then across the road and then kept on shuffling. Far off in the distance Rhotomir dropped down and started doing push ups. Half disgusted and mostly amused Laque chuckled to himself and shouted out Rhotomir’s name and waved the skeletal looking elf back over.

Shaking his head with a grin, Laque pointed to a spot of grass no more then seven feet away from where he stood. “There Rhotomir, do the exercises there, where I can see you.” Without any complaints or questions there dropped Rhotomir the Skinny and there he began doing push ups rather effortlessly. Laque watched with his lips tight together and a raised eyebrow wondering to himself what exactly had he taken on when he agreed to train this rather scrawny looking wizard. With a few snaps of his fingers Laque went about ordering Rhotomir back up to his feet and told him to stand on one leg.

Once both Laque and Rhotomir were standing on one leg and hopping up and down like little hin’s who had to many sweets in their diet, Laque began the game of catch the bottle. With a grace arcing under armed toss, Laque sent a full bottle of winter wine softly through the air towards Rhothomir. Laque could not help but laugh at the sight of Rhotomir’s arms flailing in desperation to catch the bottle that slipped right through the wizard’s hands and rolled on along the green grass and down the hill. With a smile and a silent chuckle Laque planted both of his feet to the ground and told his apprentice to go fetch the bottle.

“Rhotomir…..you are about as strong as a hin lass of five years age, and as graceful and coordinated as a waddling orc heavy with child and drunk on root juice.” Laque grinned “ None of that is really all that important though because you are still capable of using this.” With his right hand’s index finger Laque tapped the side of his head, and the harpies nearby who have been enjoying the show cackled. “Come now Rhotomir, gather up you belongings especially that expensive blade you carry and follow.” With a bit of a grin and a lot of swagger Laque walked off towards the large grass field between the tents and wagons outside Moor Gate where he often trained.

There Laque went about trying to patiently introduce Rhotomir to the fundamentals of using a light blade. The lesson started with first showing Rhotomir four very basic parries and how to move between them with his blade. “These are basic fundamentals Rhotomir, we will start with these and once you show you have some grasp of them we can move on my friend. Now do as I do, nice and slow, no need to hurry or stumble through it.” No sooner then Rhotomir began did Laque see need to stop him.

“Rhotomir stop, and look at my hand. Do you see how I hold the blade? Now do as I do. You are not some over muscled Uthgar or tusk sprouting green skin who stinks of their own urine…..we are elves my friend and in our keen eyes and graceful hands is the ability to hit a target barely visible on the distant horizon with arrows fired from our bows, and the prowess to dance through battle laying foes low with our swirling blades…..not of that much matters though if you do not know how to properly hold your sword.”

With Rhotomir’s grip upon his rapier corrected and a smile upon Laque’s face, the two elves faced off against the Western night sky and slowly weaved their blades through their air before them. The two swords slowly rose above their heads while held horizontal to parry off an invisible attacker’s over head swing. They then drifting to their left and right as their wrists and arms twisted to make the blades vertical, deftly and gracefully parry off attacks coming in at their flanks. Just as slowly and controlled as before their blades would twist again become parallel with the ground as they moved low for another parry. Again and again the two continued the pattern for sometime standing side by side parrying off invisible attacks while the Western night sky loomed out before them with pin points of light sparkling bright against the back drop of endless darkness.

[Blindhamsterman]

very good, enjoyed that a lot damn shame i rolled a 1 to catch that bottle though!

looking forward to more stories about Laque

[jmecha]

As the glimmering blades glided through the air in slow rhythmic patterns parrying off the western night sky, Laque’s mind drifted off to places and a childhood that laid far off beyond that Western horizon. He himself was once little more then skin and bones topped off with a wide smile and a pair of ears that peaked out from his always disheveled and wildly unruly locks of hair. Laque silently chuckled to himself as he remembered how every single member of his family felt compelled to greet him with placing a hand upon his head and ruffling through his already loused up locks. The years that have rolled by since his early youth were almost staggering and he grinned wider as his sword glided smoothly from parry to parry and his mind further drifted to dreams of those years.

Laque remembered fondly his childhood and his once youthful frenzied pace at which he would run sprinting about light footed upon the Emerald Isle. Always was there some lesson he needed to attend or some tome in the great library he needed to quickly return to. Such was how it was for decades of Laque’s life, long joyful days spent learning sword play and archery in-between his rushing off to the Library’s of Evermeet to bury his imagination in the greatest of literary works. His morning lessons where enchanted with his pretending that he was the hero from the story he had began the night before, and his evenings were the excitement of his youthful mind racing to finish the tales he started, only to turn the pages to a new story of high adventure riddled full of excitement.

Eventually the small fey child with a maze of golden locks upon his head and a grin, grew to be the sun soaked and strong standing tall elf known as Laque, although he never did shed the grin or bother to tame his wild blonde griffon‘s nest upon his head. Every night for countless years he would return home to his family who could not help but laugh at the sight of their son who always managed bring back a new injury or wearing snagged and torn attire complete with a new and interesting stain upon his thistledown robes or tunic.

Those days were long ago and there would be no returning home now, no more changing into fresh cloths while his mother mended the old with a softly spoken spell. No there would be no returning home, not now and not likely anytime soon. Laque had come to the mainland with a purpose and here he would remain and here he would make do. Just as his mind began to drift and dream through time to his first youthful adventure he shook his head and lowered his glimmering elven thin blade from the series of parries it was flowing through. “Come now Rhotomir, let us rejoin the others. No need to be the anti-social sort” he said with a lopsided grin. With that Laque slide his finely crafted elven blade to his side and turned spinning on his boot heels to return to where he ways laying peacefully upon his back hours before listening to the sing song sounds of Trapper Wild’s and Zalanthe Moonglow’s playful bantering.

[jmecha]

He spent most of the voyage alone and with a bottle in hand or pressed to his lips as his eyes searched the river ways for answers and his mind searched through the words of the letter for answers.


Dear Laque,

I regret to inform you that your friend, Ragnus Ironbeard and his fellow member of your Guild, Blaise are dead. They heroically died killing that vampire you were so worried about as well as a lich of some sort. The funeral was a few days ago and the bards have written a song on their behalf.

Mr. Merrim and Miss Gwen are all that is left of the Sword's Edge. Without mentioning your name, Mr. Ragnus had already invited me to live in the Guild Hall in order to keep me safe from the perils of the city most kindly. But I am not a member of the guild so I am mostly serving as their housekeeper as they mourn.

I am still stuck here after all these months and the time is coming close that this child will be born. You should see me, I am big as a mare. Very unprofessional. But soon you will know if you are a papa. Any day even.

Of course that depends on one thing. Will you come back and take over the Sword's Edge or at least get them back on their feet? I thought you might feel lead to do so, even if you do not care for me, your long-time friends surely need your help.

I have sent for Zalanthe and Lett as well to help her on her journey. You might consider journeying with them. Even bring Berendil and Daertho. As I have learned, troubles, even in the Marches, are not going anywhere and will await you when you return no doubt.

Please come soon.

Love,
Trapper Wind

For the Past several months he had done little more then look for ways to pass his time while enjoying the pleasures of the Gem. There were various beautiful women, days spent in study with Laniara, Wine and Songs to be shared, and even on occasion a spot of adventure to keep his blood flowing. Now though the vacation had ended, Sword’s Edge had received a mortal blow and his hands trembled at the thought of his friends having passed on. No longer did Montcrief or Shiek Abrams seem to matter, no longer did waiting around for his Uncle Tamenis Lutheriel seem worth his patience, no longer did fighting the up hill battle against the broken and useless laws of the marches to see Liaoslia free matter to him. Let the good people of the Silver Marches handle their slave traders, Let the Blade Singer make music with his blade as needed, Let them all sort it out without him for he had sorting of his own to tend to along the Sword Coast.

[jmecha]

A storm was rolling off the Sea of Swords and a ruthless rain pelted down hard upon the city of Baldur’s Gate as lighting flashed over head. Alone in what he has referred to as his office for as long as anyone can remember him claiming to have an office, Laque stood glaring out through the water blurred window at the warped image of the city before him. Despite the long silken green rooms and the various bottles of wine, he was far from relaxed as his mind raced and his body was tensed with a compelling desire to throttle someone. He grinned at the thought of the old times when one could always count upon two swift fists to end any disagreements words and reason failed to resolved. What had happened in the brief time between Ironlung’s demise and his return that he now finds his creation at the hands of a wizard taking commands from a mindless woman? A small part of him regretted not purchasing a ship or starting that circus he wanted instead of creating Sword’s Edge, that small part of Laque desired for a plank to force others to drop from, or lions in which he could toss the insolent to.


He shook his head after trying to take a drink from the empty bottle in his hand. How had this happened he asked himself. What was once a beautiful thing, a home for the adventurous and capable sort who had no where else to go, and looked to cleave a legend out of the realms together…was now nothing more then a large empty keep filled with the likes of freeloaders and the weak willed. He glanced to his left as his right hand swung in a wide arc letting the bottle fly free from his hand to shatter against the wall and join the ranks of the growing mound of broken glass.

What was to be his return to his dream that is Sword’s Edge turned to be a nightmare he has yet to find the means to escape. A pregnant Trapper Winds voicing herself in Guild affairs as if she had a vote to be heard, and worst of all her voice speaking in favor of Merrin and Gwenevere. Where were the days in which only those of the guild carried weight within the guild, and only those who could carry there own weight and more could be members? Such thoughts spun his mind and anger towards the likes of Gwenevere and her obvious lack of mind and inability to reason. Laque had handled stupid before, he could tolerate the uneducated and cultivate an unused mind, groom it and grow it to be a beautiful thing such as he had with Dent Jars. Gwenevere though was different from Dent Jars, or anything else Laque ever expected within the ranks of Sword’s Edge. Where as Dent was a blank slate in which over time Laque could carve the knowing of letters and numbers into, imprint reasoning and higher learning….Gwenevere was already a carved stone, one cleaved upon and covered in her own madness, unfit for reading or writing upon, no more then dead weight with a voice that corrupted the minds of those who pay it any mind at all.


His fingers closed tightly as his hands curled into silently seething fists at his sides. What level of madness within her red head inspired her to interrupt his attempts at winning over the heart and mind of a potential new applicant? Does she not want the guild rebuilt or restored to the glory that was and can be Sword’s Edge? Why would she not only interrupt such a conversation between myself and Kaleb, but use it as a stage in which to parade about not only her instability and lack of reason, but to also scare off Kaleb with throwing ever Skeleton she knows of in the collective closet onto the table for display?

He closed his eyes and slowly shook his head as the sounds of rain continued to drum rapidly off of the window before him and the roof of the Elf Song. Merrin you fool, I trusted you more then most. You were always suspicious where others we trusting, you were always secretive while others were open tomes, I was proud to see you awarded your ring that day. His eyes opened into narrow slits of green staring at his reflection in the glass. Now though you take you consul from a mad woman with no mind at all because she bats her eyes your way and courtesy at your command? You claim control of Sword’s Edge, you claim yourself the leader of my dream and consider you and her to be that which is Sword’s Edge?

He turned away from the window and quietly strode from the room taking another bottle of wine from the table as he passed. His strides were purposeful ones, but lacking any sign of hurry in there pace. By the time he crossed through the common room of the Elf Song’s second floor the wine had been uncorked and the bit of wood tossed carelessly over his shoulder. He leaned in the door way over looking the room that was once aglow with floating blue orbs of fey fire and full of life. The room was dark and empty now, but between thirsty swallows of red wine Laque saw it as it once was. A room glowing with magic put in place for a celebration, and a room lit brightly by the mirth and good cheer of the men within it. This is where we awarded you your ring Merrin, this is where you were welcomed into Sword’s Edge, where I welcomed you into my family and my dream.

He took another drink and sat on the floor in the door way with his back against the frame as he looked over the empty dark room. He spoke outloud as if Merrin was there to hear him.

“We were family then, men bound together by a common love for adventure and friendship, brothers in arms who could do anything together. I only left because I knew it best for you and the others.” He closed his eyes and took another serious swallow from the bottle before smiling.

“That time has come to a close though my friend and I have returned to see the dream born a new and by the blood of the fallen and the blade at my side know that if you stand in my way you will be friend and family no more. Sword’s Edge needs it’s leader Merrin and know that Sword’s Edge is more then an empty mansion or you and Gwenevere. Sword’s Edge is a dream of what can be for those that need such and I am that dreamer. Do not make a nightmare out of this.”

[Blindhamsterman]

good read, rather dark and a side to Laque I always knew was there

[johnlewismcleod]

Brilliant stuff, John...more!...more!

[Lucifer]

Aye Laque with a focus..finally he is a force to really be reckoned with..I applaud