Arrival Part Two (bc forum posts have a character limit, who knew?)
*label intromaurs
As soon as you step into the Chesnery, you’re met by a rush of blessedly cool air. The north-facing side of the main room is a portico open to the inn’s orchard. The breeze carries the smell of greenery and citrus to every corner of the caskroom.
A bellow from the portico draws your eyes to a grizzled, barrel-chested man with arms as broad and strong as your thighs. “Welcome, welcome, @{alone neighbor|friends}! Gyrn, lad, get in—we’ve @{alone a new guest|new guests}!” The man has been sitting behind a wooden merchant-sete; when he hoists himself over the front of the stall, you see his legs are missing from just below the hips. Swinging himself deftly to the floor, he grips a pair of wooden frames, pushes himself up on them like small hand-stilts, and crosses to you at a quick, lurching pace. “I’m Maurs Stonewright, keeper here. Did you ride or walk in today?”
He’s being generous; you don’t imagine any guest as tattered and roadworn as you has ever arrived by horse. You pull out one of your @{(roadthief > 2) hard-earned|stolen} drachems to show you can afford room and board. “@{alone I|We} came afoot, goodman. No @{alone mount|mounts} to stable.”
“Twice the sweat and dust, then, Angels a’mercy.” Maurs uses his head to beckon over the youth who’s just hurried in from the orchard. “Young Gyrn here will show you the well and the washing-stalls. After that…he and his mother Salle are stewing up a brace of woodcocks. Once you’ve refreshed @{alone yourself|yourselves}, come back and have a stoup of something as guest-gift while you wait for the meal.”
*if gam
@{sim ${simon} bows. “It’s finer hospitality than we received in any great lowland city, goodman Stonewright. You have our thanks.”|“Guest-gift?” ${gamgee} glances at you, then back to your host. “Haven’t heard that offered in any wineroom in the Southriding so far.”}
Maurs returns ${ghis} @{kal wry grin|smile}. “Up here, a guest is a guest, even for those of us who earn our living by hosting them. Off you go, now.”
An hour later, you’re clean, cooled down, and enjoying the finest drink @{helot you think you’ve ever had|you’ve had in a very long time}:
*choice
#Plum jerkum from the Rim Hethe, blent with local cider.
*set irddrink 2
A near-perfect balance of tart and sweet, with a smoothness that makes it dangerously easy to overlook its fire. You take the drink at a deliberate pace, savoring each sip; this is no night to run giddy.
*goto postdrink
#Wine from Bradingcot grapes in the Westriding.
*set irddrink 3
@{helot This isn’t the barnyard cheapwine you were sometimes given as a helot in Rim Square. It’s got a rich, fruity savor that’s unlike anything you’ve tasted before. With each mouthful, you find yourself putting off swallowing for the sheer pleasure of having it on your tongue.|It’s not your father’s prized Aveche goldwine, but for a common vinteur’s work, it’s surprisingly rich to the tongue. Have the aristoi of Irduin shared their cellar with their innkeeper?}
*goto postdrink
#The local yeomanry’s wheaten ale.
*set irddrink 4
It’s a little sour at first sip, but hearty by the time it reaches the back of your throat. After just a few swallows, the thirst of your long walk is gone, leaving behind a giddy-edged sense of wellbeing.
*goto postdrink
#Canewine with a mash of ginger and anise.
*set irddrink 5
One thing @{(srfeel < 4) you’ll grudgingly praise|you love} about the Southriding is that canewine can be had cheaply almost everywhere. The sweet, strong liquor has been a new discovery for you; the winerooms of the Outer Rim mostly worked with local grapes, rather than bringing up cane from the Serdre valley. Savoring the spices Maurs (or his cook Salle) has mixed in, you wonder if you’ll always link the taste with the relief of escaping the Xaos-lands.
*goto postdrink
#Cold well-water, with mint and lemon to purge ill humors.
You want to keep a clear head, tonight of all nights, and Maurs’s well is pure and chill. Through the riverlands and the lower moors there’s always been a faint, flat taste of mud to the water; between that and the months of sour or metallic springs in the Xaos-lands, you feel like you’ve never had a jar of water as refreshing as this one. The grizzled innkeeper cheerily accepts your refusal of anything fermented, and has Gyrn bring out a small sweetcake as your guest-gift instead.
*goto postdrink
*label postdrink
Tilting back your pewter cup, you let all worry and tension go for a moment. For all its reputation as a backwater, Irduin keeps a damned fine inn.
The Chesnery caskroom is full almost to bursting with people—goodly numbers of helots and yeomen as well as the village Ecclesiast, the Alastor captain, and a handful of well-dressed highborn folk. And they’re all smiling and laughing and talking…together. Not just in the curious knot of young helots around Captain Korren, but calfskin-booted nobles with unshod peasant farmers, merchant traders with the surplice-clad priest. You’ve been silently trying to fit words to the situation’s profound strangeness.
Growing up, the merriment you saw usually happened in places of like-with-like…free with free (@{aristo in noble masques, or|for example, in} Iarla Wester’s winehouse) or helot with helot. Even among the non-enslaved folk of Rim Square, people rejoiced most readily in groups of their fellow yeomen, merchants, or aristos, rather than all mingled together. On the great festival days, the real celebrations would start after everyone had left the Naos or agora for the smaller, less mixed spaces where they could finally relax into joy.
*page_break The Irduin Chesnery Is Different
Not that anyone in the crowd is talking to you just now; your @{(irdgreet = 1) first few attempts at conversation have been rebuffed, without hostility but also without any particular warmth|attempts at conversation have been rebuffed in the caskroom as swiftly and surely as they were at the door}. You tell yourself that a certain distrust of outsiders is probably part of the bizarre level of affection these Irduin-folk seem to have for each other—and not that it’s @{alone you|}
*if not(alone)
@{(cerl_here and gam) your little group|the two of you}
specifically found suspect, your @{alone alibi|alibis} failing even before @{alone it’s|they’ve} been properly tested.
The young singer from the road walks up to you, wearing a crooked smile and carrying a turned wooden platter with more drinks. Her hair is bound back with ribbons now, and she’s donned a mottled apron over her kyrtle. You’d guess she’s probably a year or two older than you. “Welcome again, ${kuria}. What did you say you were called?”
*fake_choice
#“My name is ${alias} ${ird_name}.” I’m not tempted, even for an instant, to try to keep to their no-lying rule.
An odd, half-disapproving look flickers across her face.
*gosub surelyimag
"Then that’s what we’ll call you. And
#“Call me ${alias} ${ird_name}.” A request isn’t a lie, is it?
*gosub smiletol
"Well met, ${kuria} ${ird_name}.
#“I said I was called ${alias} ${ird_name}.” None of that is, strictly, untrue.
*gosub smiletol
“Ah, that you did. And
I’m Tamran Innkeep. You’ve met my father Maurs.” Even beyond the general broad Souther accents, there’s a funny twist to their voices here: a nasal loudening on some vowels that continues to surprise you every time it happens. “What are you
*if not(alone)
and your @{(cerl_here and gam) companions|companion}
in need of? Besides a bit more in your @{alone cup|cups}?”
“Something of a guide to the folk in the room, perhaps, goodwoman Tamran…since no one else will talk to @{alone me|us}.”
*choice
*hide_reuse #“What aristo Houses live hereabouts? And are likely to be in want of @{sralibi a flecher|an apothecary|a tutor|a weapon-trainer|a player} for a season or two?”
*hide_reuse #“Tell me about your amiable Alastor.”
*hide_reuse #“Any other village notables? Besides you and your father?”
*hide_reuse #“And the helotry drink here too, without anyone chasing them out? How do they pay you?”
*hide_reuse #“Speak no lie…so if I ask how much you’ve watered the wine, you’ll always tell the truth?”
[…]
*label introdoor
“@{irdstory I’m a refugee from the Rim rebels, kurios, and|The Rim Commotion sent me|My vocation, kurios. I’ve been} in search of some peaceful place where @{sralibi a flecher|an apothecary|a tutor|a weapon-trainer|a player} can earn ${his} @{alone keep.”|keep. Likewise for my}
*if not(alone)
@{(gam and cerl_here) friends|friend} here." I nod toward @{cerl_here Cerlota|${gamgee}}@{(gam and cerl_here) and ${gamgee}|}.
*return