Beryn Gin
Posted: Thu Aug 20, 2020 1:42 am
Springtime in Daeron meant that the days were beginning to grow longer, but the thaw wouldn’t begin properly for another month at least. Living this far North had its advantages, but a balmy climate was not among them. I pulled my coat closer against the chill of the evening air and headed to the one place I could find a little warmth outside my humble lodgings - The Bear Minimum.
“The Bear”, as regulars called it, was a decent sized public house in the docks district that took its name from the stuffed grizzly behind the counter. Owned and operated by Old Blind Willie and his son, it granted a light reprieve from the world beyond Daeron’s borders, and, if I were to be perfectly honest, the pious self-importance of the Marshals. Now, Old Blind Willie wasn’t actually blind, but he’d earned the name when he reached for the wrong crock while making a big batch of mead; the resultant drink laid out near all of his patrons for three days, or so they say. It had become a title of sorts, used formally by old travellers to greet the proprietor after too long away from The Bear.
As I approached the heavy door, only minutes away from raising my spirits (figuratively and literally), a lively song touched my ears, accompanied by the voices of several of the patrons who apparently had gotten well into their cups already. I paused only for a moment, grinning slightly at the joyous sounds from within, before I pushed the door open. What a sight to behold.
Hands of the Order banged hands against tables and raised glasses as they sang out, whooping in time with commoners and priests alike. Willie the younger was flushed and sweating, running orders and getting his sleeve tugged by a cleric or a farmer asking for another round, but he seemed happy for the work - and the coin, no doubt.
At the center of it all was a man I’d not seen before, dancing and playing a lute that was usually slung around the Bear’s neck. His complexion was the most unusual hue, but his merriment was overwhelming & contagious. He sang out the last lines of an old crowd favorite as I approached the bar, waving down Old Blind Willie and proffered my coin for one of the usual. Willie danced his way over, at least as much as I’d ever seen Willie dance in my life, and he poured a small glass of smooth Beryn gin. I cocked my head towards the commons where the song wound to a close. “Who’s the new blood?”
Old Blind Willie chuckled. “Calls ‘imself ‘Indomino’. Pasquale Indomino, arrived just a tenday or so ago from the rifts, he says. Seems he’s settlin’ in just fine here in Daeron.”
“Does he…?” I trailed off, then said a little lower. “He’s got horns.”
“Aye,” said Willie. “Wouldn’t be the strangest thing I’ve seen. Ye remember old Gorkul, that half-ogre feller? He had a horn, what grew right out his forehead!”
“What?” I said, taken aback. “I thought that was part of his helmet!” Willie had no reply but cackling, wheezing laughter. Applause rang out and Master Indomino made his way back towards the bar, clasping hands and taking bows and a coin or two. He locked eyes with me for but a moment before proceeding directly to the stool next to me and slapping some gold on the bar top.
“Tuckerin’ out?” Willie beamed.
“Old man,” the minstrel smiled, his voice like silk. “I’m just getting started.”
“Aye lad,” Willie laughed another wheezing laugh. “What’ll ye have, then?”
Indomino turned to me and grinned. “I’m not certain,” he said. “P’raps I’ll have what he’s having.”
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Pasquale Indomino played well into the night, keeping patrons about until the wee hours of the morning. Willie the younger had retired for the evening, but his father beamed from behind the bar listening to the music and the laughter. Eventually, Pasqualle, Willie and myself were the only ones left in the place not asleep at their tables. While Willie washed mugs, the minstrel and I continued the conversation that had started over Beryn gins earlier.
“So,” I said, pointing my finger for clarification. “Not actually a tiefling?”
“Emphatically no,” said Pasquale. “Plane-Touched I may be, just… not from that plane.” he cut a paper-thin slice of apple, probably the third time he’d done it, and popped it in his mouth. “I suppose I am a bit of an enigma, even to myself. I’m not terribly likely to sort out all the details, especially now that I’m here, so I shan’t worry overmuch.” He took another draw on his gin - his 4th this night - and swallowed. “And what of you? You seem roughly human, I would guess?”
I confirmed his suspicions, telling him briefly what I knew of my parents before they were pulled to Aetheria together from the world of Abeir, and found their home in the Northern Coalition.
“So, a native, then?” Pasquale swallowed a bite of cheese.
“Heh, no,” I said. “‘Emphatically no’. Those folk all live in and around Neversummer City, far to the South of here. They’re the ones who claim to be the original inhabitants of this world, and make it clear that they’re the only ones with a right to that claim.”
“So I’ve read,” said Pasquael, raising an eyebrow. “Their xenophobia is most unfortunate.”
“Zeena-who?” I screwed my face up. Maybe less gin next time. “You’ve read about them?”
“Indeed,” he grinned a little.
“Where’d you find time to do all this reading? I thought you just arrived?
“Well, ‘just arrived’ is relative, I suppose. I’ve been out and about for a tenday, yes,” said Pasquale. “I actually arrived in Daeron...hmm...roughly a month ago? I’ve spent most of that time in the libraries, doing my best to sort out where I am, what this faction is, and is not. There is a history here that, if I am to integrate into polite society, I feel I should learn.”
I stared blankly.
“I mean,” he furrowed his brow. “You didn’t think I learned all those folk favorites overnight, did you?”
“I s’pose not,” I shook my head. “So you like music & history then?”
“It is the language and lifeblood of nations,” he said. “And frequently contains information that you can find extremely useful in the here and now, well beyond performing for this lovely establishment.” Pasqale lowered his voice and his head slightly. “Do you know anything of the history of the Guilds of Daeron?”
“Aye,” Old Blind Willie spoke. “Champions of the realms, intent to do good and justice across all of Aetheria.” He sounded distant. “Also, lost to the ages. The guilds fell apart before even my time. Now, just stories to tell the wee ones before bedtime.”
“Yes,” said Pasquale. “And also, no. The guilds themselves may no longer exist, but their presence is still buried somewhere here in Daeron. There are little bits of lore scattered around in tomes and volumes, and I believe that there are clues to the location of one of the guild halls somewhere in the histories of the Northern Coalition.”
“So you intend to find these guild halls,” I said. “And then what? Do you suppose anything within would be free for the taking? I’m sure the Marshals would insist on a discovery like that being returned to their hands.”
“My friend,” he placed a hand on my shoulder. “You misunderstand me. I do not wish to loot the old guild hall.”
“Oh?” I cocked my head.
“I intend to bring one back.” Pasquale fixed his eyes on mine. “I aim to discover the whereabouts of the guild hall of Clericus Liberatus Anno Domini, and to revive it. And you, my new friend, are going to help me.”
“The Bear”, as regulars called it, was a decent sized public house in the docks district that took its name from the stuffed grizzly behind the counter. Owned and operated by Old Blind Willie and his son, it granted a light reprieve from the world beyond Daeron’s borders, and, if I were to be perfectly honest, the pious self-importance of the Marshals. Now, Old Blind Willie wasn’t actually blind, but he’d earned the name when he reached for the wrong crock while making a big batch of mead; the resultant drink laid out near all of his patrons for three days, or so they say. It had become a title of sorts, used formally by old travellers to greet the proprietor after too long away from The Bear.
As I approached the heavy door, only minutes away from raising my spirits (figuratively and literally), a lively song touched my ears, accompanied by the voices of several of the patrons who apparently had gotten well into their cups already. I paused only for a moment, grinning slightly at the joyous sounds from within, before I pushed the door open. What a sight to behold.
Hands of the Order banged hands against tables and raised glasses as they sang out, whooping in time with commoners and priests alike. Willie the younger was flushed and sweating, running orders and getting his sleeve tugged by a cleric or a farmer asking for another round, but he seemed happy for the work - and the coin, no doubt.
At the center of it all was a man I’d not seen before, dancing and playing a lute that was usually slung around the Bear’s neck. His complexion was the most unusual hue, but his merriment was overwhelming & contagious. He sang out the last lines of an old crowd favorite as I approached the bar, waving down Old Blind Willie and proffered my coin for one of the usual. Willie danced his way over, at least as much as I’d ever seen Willie dance in my life, and he poured a small glass of smooth Beryn gin. I cocked my head towards the commons where the song wound to a close. “Who’s the new blood?”
Old Blind Willie chuckled. “Calls ‘imself ‘Indomino’. Pasquale Indomino, arrived just a tenday or so ago from the rifts, he says. Seems he’s settlin’ in just fine here in Daeron.”
“Does he…?” I trailed off, then said a little lower. “He’s got horns.”
“Aye,” said Willie. “Wouldn’t be the strangest thing I’ve seen. Ye remember old Gorkul, that half-ogre feller? He had a horn, what grew right out his forehead!”
“What?” I said, taken aback. “I thought that was part of his helmet!” Willie had no reply but cackling, wheezing laughter. Applause rang out and Master Indomino made his way back towards the bar, clasping hands and taking bows and a coin or two. He locked eyes with me for but a moment before proceeding directly to the stool next to me and slapping some gold on the bar top.
“Tuckerin’ out?” Willie beamed.
“Old man,” the minstrel smiled, his voice like silk. “I’m just getting started.”
“Aye lad,” Willie laughed another wheezing laugh. “What’ll ye have, then?”
Indomino turned to me and grinned. “I’m not certain,” he said. “P’raps I’ll have what he’s having.”
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Pasquale Indomino played well into the night, keeping patrons about until the wee hours of the morning. Willie the younger had retired for the evening, but his father beamed from behind the bar listening to the music and the laughter. Eventually, Pasqualle, Willie and myself were the only ones left in the place not asleep at their tables. While Willie washed mugs, the minstrel and I continued the conversation that had started over Beryn gins earlier.
“So,” I said, pointing my finger for clarification. “Not actually a tiefling?”
“Emphatically no,” said Pasquale. “Plane-Touched I may be, just… not from that plane.” he cut a paper-thin slice of apple, probably the third time he’d done it, and popped it in his mouth. “I suppose I am a bit of an enigma, even to myself. I’m not terribly likely to sort out all the details, especially now that I’m here, so I shan’t worry overmuch.” He took another draw on his gin - his 4th this night - and swallowed. “And what of you? You seem roughly human, I would guess?”
I confirmed his suspicions, telling him briefly what I knew of my parents before they were pulled to Aetheria together from the world of Abeir, and found their home in the Northern Coalition.
“So, a native, then?” Pasquale swallowed a bite of cheese.
“Heh, no,” I said. “‘Emphatically no’. Those folk all live in and around Neversummer City, far to the South of here. They’re the ones who claim to be the original inhabitants of this world, and make it clear that they’re the only ones with a right to that claim.”
“So I’ve read,” said Pasquael, raising an eyebrow. “Their xenophobia is most unfortunate.”
“Zeena-who?” I screwed my face up. Maybe less gin next time. “You’ve read about them?”
“Indeed,” he grinned a little.
“Where’d you find time to do all this reading? I thought you just arrived?
“Well, ‘just arrived’ is relative, I suppose. I’ve been out and about for a tenday, yes,” said Pasquale. “I actually arrived in Daeron...hmm...roughly a month ago? I’ve spent most of that time in the libraries, doing my best to sort out where I am, what this faction is, and is not. There is a history here that, if I am to integrate into polite society, I feel I should learn.”
I stared blankly.
“I mean,” he furrowed his brow. “You didn’t think I learned all those folk favorites overnight, did you?”
“I s’pose not,” I shook my head. “So you like music & history then?”
“It is the language and lifeblood of nations,” he said. “And frequently contains information that you can find extremely useful in the here and now, well beyond performing for this lovely establishment.” Pasqale lowered his voice and his head slightly. “Do you know anything of the history of the Guilds of Daeron?”
“Aye,” Old Blind Willie spoke. “Champions of the realms, intent to do good and justice across all of Aetheria.” He sounded distant. “Also, lost to the ages. The guilds fell apart before even my time. Now, just stories to tell the wee ones before bedtime.”
“Yes,” said Pasquale. “And also, no. The guilds themselves may no longer exist, but their presence is still buried somewhere here in Daeron. There are little bits of lore scattered around in tomes and volumes, and I believe that there are clues to the location of one of the guild halls somewhere in the histories of the Northern Coalition.”
“So you intend to find these guild halls,” I said. “And then what? Do you suppose anything within would be free for the taking? I’m sure the Marshals would insist on a discovery like that being returned to their hands.”
“My friend,” he placed a hand on my shoulder. “You misunderstand me. I do not wish to loot the old guild hall.”
“Oh?” I cocked my head.
“I intend to bring one back.” Pasquale fixed his eyes on mine. “I aim to discover the whereabouts of the guild hall of Clericus Liberatus Anno Domini, and to revive it. And you, my new friend, are going to help me.”
