Only the grace granted him by his elvish heritage allowed Sebastian to duck out of the way of the heavy clay mug that flew through the air as soon as the words left his lips. It hit the wall inches from his head and exploding sending a shower of shards and the cheep, watered down brew it had been used to contain all over the wall and down over his own head and shoulders. His feet moved forward at the same time he’d ducked carrying him towards the front door of the small country inn he’d bought a room in the night before trying to limit as best he could the amount of time he spent as a good target. Red faced, the innkeeper advanced again holding a broom as though it were a boar spear that he intended to skewer him with. He might well try it in truth.
Of course that might have just a little to do with what had been going on when he’d found Sebastian in that morning. To be fair he considered himself entirely the victim here. But one hardly expected a protective father to see it that way. The man roared in fresh outrage and advanced on the naked elf man once again wildly swinging the broom in his wake always just an inch or two behind the pace that would let him impact with the satisfaction he was after.
Two nights ago Sebastian had entered town and taken a room, intending only to stay a day or two to rest before the next phase of his travels, but with news of an impending local royal wedding in the near future he sensed an opportunity to earn some good coin playing at parties and inns around the capital whose custom would predictably swell with guests drunk on the festive atmosphere: a bard learned to pay attention to such things. Now it had started out innocent enough, the girl who served table for her parents in the Inn, had simply said she wanted to learn to play the flute. To be fair she had quite nimble fingers and might actually have made a fair musician if she took the effort… the momentary distraction proved to be a mistake as it made him a hair slower and the innkeeper finally succeeded in cracking the broom handle across him--- he’d aimed for his back but managed only to catch him across the back of the thighs which upending him and sent him sprawling onto the floor with a whoosh of air.
“I’ve got you now you Elvish trash!” With a roar the man brought the broom up over his head with both hands and swung down towards Sebastian’s head who watched the progress with wide eyes in what seemed like slow motion as it descended. At the last possible moment he threw his weight to the side rolling underneath the table he’d just fallen off of as the wooden broom handle smacked into the floor scant inches behind him with enough force to crack in the center. He reversed his movement towards the end pushing off back towards the inn keeper so that he could snatch at the broken broom and jerked it from the man’s hands tossing it to the side. A brief tussle ensued until finally the handle broke completely leaving them both holding about half of it in a somewhat comical exchange as they stood staring.
That lasted about half a second before the man let out a roar of fresh anger and began lashing out with a fresh flurry of blows which the elf managed to counter with the small broken bit of the broom handle as though it were a proper sword. Each deflected blow only seemed to enrage the innkeeper further as he took each as something that prevented him from the justice he felt he so richly deserved and he ruthlessly pressed his attack on denying all evidence that his portly old man must surely tire out at some point.
Desperate, Sebastian jumped backwards back into the table hoping over one swing, blocking another, kicking a plate of cut up apples into the man’s face and then jumping with a flipping twist over his head and onto the bar. He landed there with a wobbling impact, arms swinging wildly, and displaced several mugs of ale which caused their owners to curse him up one side and down the other---
Oh sure, he though, just sit there and laugh while the elf man is being chased naked through the place but don’t touch my beer!
He ran along the bar oblivious to the curses stepping over jugs, ale mugs, plates of food, and the grasping hands of human patrons who seemed to haven taken a fancy to the idea of an Elf lynching on this fine morning. He would’ve sworn that the place couldn’t possibly have been this large, but the distance between he and the door just kept seeming to get further and further away--- and comically the innkeeper seemed to have produced another broom from.. Somewhere.
“Don’t hurt him!” Came a high pitched voice yelling from the staircase, where stood the man’s daughter…. because… why shouldn’t this just get worse! He jumped off the edge of the bar then in time to see the girl fling him a bundle which proved to be his pack with at least most of his few belongings stuffed inside (all that really mattered were his instruments in truth) and even his boots had been artfully tied to the side of the bag with the string! He blew her a kiss, which resulted in the portly innkeeper (who seemed to have finally tired out) resorting to lurching down the length of the bar picking up all of the objects Sebastian had been so busy dancing threw one at a time and hurling them in the bard’s general direction. Discretion being the better part of valor… Sebastian ducked out the door (naked) and took off for the relative safety of the nearby woods.
And so began Sebastian’s first day in Fenia.
(CRP) Episodes of Misadventure
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SebastianOakvale
(CRP) Episodes of Misadventure
Last edited by SebastianOakvale on Fri Jan 11, 2019 6:21 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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SebastianOakvale
Re: (CRP) Episodes of Misadventure
Sebastian Oakvale was not, as one might suspect, the name he was born with; what kind of name was that for an elf anyway? No, it was the name he’d adopted when he’d gone off on the grand adventure that his life had turned into. Starting out as an overly romantic gesture on behalf of a human bard whom his much younger eye had fallen, and ending with more than a century of wandering, music, and general vagabondery. It hadn’t all been fun and games, learning how to blend bardic magic with his own innate elven powers (his mother had been a powerful enchantress and passed on this gift) had been a challenge, but one that had born fantastic results. Far from just playing music or telling a tale he had obtained a level that allowed him to weave images out of nothing for the delight of his audience as stories of dragons, brave knights, and fair princess’s danced in the air formed from the haze of smoke forever in such establishments and given life and color by his will.
The man who did such things, lived his life in such a way, had very little resemblance to the dutiful son of a weaponsmithing family most of whose time had been spent slaving away in a forge until his alabaster colored skin had taken on a hue several shades darker from constant exposure to the heat and contact with the enchanted metals they worked. He hadn’t liked it even then, though the artistic element of some of the job had appealed, it was his musical lessons that had sparked his imagination and when he’d happened upon someone who made their livelihood performing in this way--- in particular a beautiful someone--- the end result had never been in doubt for a young man starved for adventure and the ‘new.’
His family had disowned him naturally; what wellborn elf runs off with a human of all things! And to show both his respect for them (and disdain for their actions) he had forsaken the name they had given him in turn adopting the moniker “Sebastian” because she had liked the sound of it and ‘Oakvale’ because that happened to be the town in which they’d gotten married (eventually.) He still got odd looks (particularly from elves) when introducing himself this way, that, his manner of dress, and comfort around humans, led many of them to suspect he was a mongrel himself. He wasn’t, though he’d known many of the half-bloods over the years, but he didn’t get offended the way others might. He was rather fond of humans really--- they did and loved so much in such short, frantic little lives; you barely had time to appreciate that they were there before they blew away like so many dandelion seeds in the wind…
This hadn’t been the first time he’d been run out of an Inn--- a couple times for similar reasons, but more often just because he was an elf, or because a deal for a bed and food in exchange for a night’s entertainment didn’t seem so good to them in the morning light. He was accustomed to it and took it more or less in stride. He didn’t even mind the sting of pine needles and snow underfoot as he jogged down the game trail deeper into the woods. He’d passed the first break of trees separating him from the village several minutes ago, but had also learned you didn’t stop there. If the innkeeper was enough of a prick he might well have gone about raising a small mob to try to pursue him, and the last thing he wanted was to be happened upon by that group trying to put on underwear. So he continued to trot naked through the chill winter morning--- it was bracing, but he’d be warm enough for the time as long as he kept moving.
He hopped over a small stream, clearing it in a single bound which landed him neatly on the other side, and paused. Moving to a squat next to the flow of water he tilted his head one way or the other letting his sensitive ears test the air for any hint of an angry chanting hoard. Hearing nothing but a few small animals he inched closer to the water and swung his pack down off his shoulder. He examined the contents taking stock of what the innkeeper’s daughter had managed to gather up before he legged it, his harp, lute, and flute had been put in their cases--- the first two would need tuning from rough handling and he took the time to carefully repack them properly. Merifully his pants where inside along with his jacket--- though for some reason he could not fathom none of his shirts had made it into the bag. He set those along with his boots to the side. Then he bent down to the water and endured the finger numbing chill to give himself a quick splash and clean; it was far too cold to even consider climbing in but it did feel refreshing and the water was sweet and fresh and it washed the bad taste of sleep and being chased out of town from his mouth. He liked it enough that he dumped out the last of some rather sour wine he’d been carrying for a few days and refilled his skin from the stream itself.
Then, semi-properly dressed, and somewhat freshed he set off at a walk down the trail. If his calculations were correct he was heading in the general direction of Fenia’s capital--- where he presumed this grand wedding was to be held. He still held out hope he might find employment at the event-- or at least at some Inns looking to set themselves apart from others competing for the best customers who’d been drawn in by the festivities. An entertainer like himself (no false humility with this one) could bring it crowds over and above what such an establishment could normally hope to boast--- true bards were rare, and one such as he with the benefits of elvish enchantments to boost his skills further rarer still. He’d do well and if he did well enough he might even find a patron to see out the rest of the winter while he decided where next to head for the spring.
He ran his fingers lovingly across the scrollwork etched along the silver and gold inlay of the flute he was carrying. He should compose a song for the bride… yes that would be the thing… those marrying kings always had egos to match and most would appreciate such a thing. He frowned trying to recall anything he’d heard about them and honestly couldn’t think of much. Something about being a were-cat but not really?
What rhymes with cat… mat.. Vat… fat--- oh merciful spirits don’t go there!!
Obviously it needed work. He’d have to contrive to see the woman before making introduction to whomever was hiring for the event--- no ruler worth their crown would marry a hag (unless that was what got them the crown) and he’d never seen a beautiful woman who could not inspire a song or two in him. Buoyed by the thought he lifted the flute to his lips and helped pass the traveling time practicing, while a small tumble of leaves danced behind him in coordinated time to the notes he was playing.
The man who did such things, lived his life in such a way, had very little resemblance to the dutiful son of a weaponsmithing family most of whose time had been spent slaving away in a forge until his alabaster colored skin had taken on a hue several shades darker from constant exposure to the heat and contact with the enchanted metals they worked. He hadn’t liked it even then, though the artistic element of some of the job had appealed, it was his musical lessons that had sparked his imagination and when he’d happened upon someone who made their livelihood performing in this way--- in particular a beautiful someone--- the end result had never been in doubt for a young man starved for adventure and the ‘new.’
His family had disowned him naturally; what wellborn elf runs off with a human of all things! And to show both his respect for them (and disdain for their actions) he had forsaken the name they had given him in turn adopting the moniker “Sebastian” because she had liked the sound of it and ‘Oakvale’ because that happened to be the town in which they’d gotten married (eventually.) He still got odd looks (particularly from elves) when introducing himself this way, that, his manner of dress, and comfort around humans, led many of them to suspect he was a mongrel himself. He wasn’t, though he’d known many of the half-bloods over the years, but he didn’t get offended the way others might. He was rather fond of humans really--- they did and loved so much in such short, frantic little lives; you barely had time to appreciate that they were there before they blew away like so many dandelion seeds in the wind…
This hadn’t been the first time he’d been run out of an Inn--- a couple times for similar reasons, but more often just because he was an elf, or because a deal for a bed and food in exchange for a night’s entertainment didn’t seem so good to them in the morning light. He was accustomed to it and took it more or less in stride. He didn’t even mind the sting of pine needles and snow underfoot as he jogged down the game trail deeper into the woods. He’d passed the first break of trees separating him from the village several minutes ago, but had also learned you didn’t stop there. If the innkeeper was enough of a prick he might well have gone about raising a small mob to try to pursue him, and the last thing he wanted was to be happened upon by that group trying to put on underwear. So he continued to trot naked through the chill winter morning--- it was bracing, but he’d be warm enough for the time as long as he kept moving.
He hopped over a small stream, clearing it in a single bound which landed him neatly on the other side, and paused. Moving to a squat next to the flow of water he tilted his head one way or the other letting his sensitive ears test the air for any hint of an angry chanting hoard. Hearing nothing but a few small animals he inched closer to the water and swung his pack down off his shoulder. He examined the contents taking stock of what the innkeeper’s daughter had managed to gather up before he legged it, his harp, lute, and flute had been put in their cases--- the first two would need tuning from rough handling and he took the time to carefully repack them properly. Merifully his pants where inside along with his jacket--- though for some reason he could not fathom none of his shirts had made it into the bag. He set those along with his boots to the side. Then he bent down to the water and endured the finger numbing chill to give himself a quick splash and clean; it was far too cold to even consider climbing in but it did feel refreshing and the water was sweet and fresh and it washed the bad taste of sleep and being chased out of town from his mouth. He liked it enough that he dumped out the last of some rather sour wine he’d been carrying for a few days and refilled his skin from the stream itself.
Then, semi-properly dressed, and somewhat freshed he set off at a walk down the trail. If his calculations were correct he was heading in the general direction of Fenia’s capital--- where he presumed this grand wedding was to be held. He still held out hope he might find employment at the event-- or at least at some Inns looking to set themselves apart from others competing for the best customers who’d been drawn in by the festivities. An entertainer like himself (no false humility with this one) could bring it crowds over and above what such an establishment could normally hope to boast--- true bards were rare, and one such as he with the benefits of elvish enchantments to boost his skills further rarer still. He’d do well and if he did well enough he might even find a patron to see out the rest of the winter while he decided where next to head for the spring.
He ran his fingers lovingly across the scrollwork etched along the silver and gold inlay of the flute he was carrying. He should compose a song for the bride… yes that would be the thing… those marrying kings always had egos to match and most would appreciate such a thing. He frowned trying to recall anything he’d heard about them and honestly couldn’t think of much. Something about being a were-cat but not really?
What rhymes with cat… mat.. Vat… fat--- oh merciful spirits don’t go there!!
Obviously it needed work. He’d have to contrive to see the woman before making introduction to whomever was hiring for the event--- no ruler worth their crown would marry a hag (unless that was what got them the crown) and he’d never seen a beautiful woman who could not inspire a song or two in him. Buoyed by the thought he lifted the flute to his lips and helped pass the traveling time practicing, while a small tumble of leaves danced behind him in coordinated time to the notes he was playing.