Author Games: Dawn of Nameless Desires

Task One Entries: Unknown

Teoz

Light crept in through the open windows. It bathed the worn, wooden floorboards of the tavern and highlighted the dark stains carpeting the floor. For every spotless speck, there were a dozen imperfections. Still, it was one of the nicest places in all of Ancephia. Trokya was immense and overwhelming, but the crown city was its biggest and best. A little bar like The Blank Slate was easily lost, tucked within one of the crowded alleyways and visited by only a select few. Intellectuals and arguers, people who lived to bicker and examine, those were the daily visitors of The Blank Slate, and it was why—despite the clear racial features and clothing difference—that Teoz would've stuck out regardless.

While young students crowded the tables in identical uniforms and unfurled loose maps to examine, the leonin sat at the bar in silence. He watched elves stream in and out, arms slung around shoulders, sharing warm meals and warmer laughter as he nursed a single pint. The ale was bitter. A map of Hiudrall was strung up on the wall, proud achievement of the local cartography students, and yet the majority of the landmarks were lost on the man staring. This was not his home.

A warm hand fell upon his shoulder, interrupting his thoughts. It was rough, tugging at his flesh with every second that Teoz didn't respond. Squeezing dangerously tight, he was given no choice but to toss a look over his shoulder. Where he'd expected an angry drunk he found a cold stare. Batair stood behind him. The man was a hulking figure, grey eyes watching him sharply with a thin smile stretched across his lips. "Finish up, Teoz," he laughed, though the sound held no warmth as the hand on his shoulder delivered a rough slap. "We've been missing you." It's starting soon.

The cue was not lost on the younger man. He pushed the half-drunk mug away and fished a few loose coins out of his pocket to leave behind. Checking his scabbard was secured to his side, the leonin stood and followed Batair. He cast a heavy shadow behind him, dwarfing the leonin—something that was not a simple feat. The trip was a short one, weaving between tables as he followed on the man's heels. A wooden door sat just out of sight, one where a few others had already disappeared inside. With a nod given to the woman guarding it, the two crossed through in quick succession.

They entered the cellar down a short flight of steps. It was damper, cooler, and brighter. While the tavern relied on the late sunlight streaming through the front windows during the day, the side room was well lit with lanterns. There couldn't be windows in such a place. It would ruin the purpose of the room itself.

A few wooden barrels and tables greeted them. It was poorly furnished, but the space was normally just as sparsely populated. Teoz had never seen so many people inside. Several elves sat at one of the few tables, drinks delivered on a tray by a woman he recognized well. Her blonde hair was tied tightly in a braid, matching the tassels of the barmaid's outfit. She whisked away the empty tray and delivered a fresh one to the next table. A smile highlighted her features, it made her softer, kinder looking than most of the group. She did her job just as well in the cellar as outside of it, never hesitating to grab an extra pint or pour another glass. The rag on her hip was well used, and it was only when Syllia paused before them that she bothered to use it.

"I'm glad you could make it." There was a deep rumble in Batair's words, a proper smile stretching his lips. "Everyone is accounted for?"

"Of course," she shut the door behind them, sliding the thin metal lock into place and wiping her hands off on the edge of the cloth. The strong smell of booze filled Teoz's nose as she drew a hand across his arm. "Teoz, look at you." There was a soft coo in the words. Syllia's eyes turned to him, her smile brightening as her two thin arms wrapped around his own.

Batair's thick, worn fingers worked their way into his main, giving the short curls a rough tug. "Would you give him a quick cut, Syllia? He needs to look presentable." Why? Teoz's mouth opened, but the arms holding him tightened. They tugged him along as a ragdoll, away from the wall where he'd hesitated and down into one of the rickety wooden chairs. It was out of the way, shadowed from the main stage as Batair broke away from them.