The nighttime party at the tavern.

The sun is starting to set as Domic approaches the tavern Halle told him about. He had spent the last several hours taking a quick bath and trimming his beard and nose hairs. Then he dressed in a green doublet, black breeches, and white socks. Finally, he packed a bit for the expedition tomorrow. The note said to muster by noon, bring skis if he had them, and dress for the mountains. A scribble in the margin of the paper asked him to bring his father’s hunting musket, if he still had it. Izabel had returned as he started packing, and said he could go on ahead if she wasn’t ready in time.

The sounds of people stream out as he opens the tavern door, packed as it is with men and women, guards, hunters, merchants, and myriad other townsfolk. They are all dressed in a colorful cacophony of clothing, checkered reds, quartered greens, paneled browns., and stripped golds. The smell of their bodies and perfumes compete with roasting meat and burning wood for domination of the air. They stand and talk amongst themselves, or sit at crowded tables and laugh together. Some kiss each other, oblivious to their surroundings, sing rowdy songs, or argue politics. And they all drink - lagers, ales, liquors, ciders, spiced wines, meads – all are consumed in tankards and flagons.

“Domic! Hellooo! We were wonderin’ when you’d shoow up,” Cerni says, appearing in front of him, beaming. He smiles broadly, and looks her over, as she slightly twists from side to side. Captain Halle’s ancestors had possessed many titles in the Empire, and through they were practically meaningless since its collapse, the wealth accumulated through them was not. As Guard Captain he still had many ways to maintain and add to it. Cerni wears this wealth subtly, tastefully, but she wears it none the less.

Tight around her neck is a thin gold necklace with a small blue sapphire in its center, flanked by four red carnelians, two on either side. In her ears are shiny pearls clasped and hooked in gold. Domic had no idea which was more expensive – likely the pearls, unless the necklace was dwarf-made. Her blonde hair is done up in a bun, held with silk, and her smooth limestone skin has already acquired a slight sheen of sweat.

{if Cerni's Love = 20}She wears a tight, bright scarlet bodice with silk back-laces. Her sleeves are paneled to her elbows - the yellow of her chemise shines through alternating strips of red and white fabric. A skirt, scarlet, flows down to about her calves, where she wears white stockings with black leather shoes. The cuffs of her bodice are white lace, while it and the skirt are trimmed with tiny flower embroidery. Finally, both bodice and the chemise underneath are enticingly off the shoulder, with a very low, square-cut neckline. The top halves of her breasts are almost entirely out, as shown by the small mole on her right one, just barely above her areola, as he discovered to his pleasure last night. Underneath it, pinned to her bodice, is a hawk feather.

"Holy gods, it's all for me," he thinks, gulping. "She made it all for me, so I'd want her." He feels his dick twitch in his breeches.

{elseif Cerni's Love = 15}She wears a tight red bodice with silk back-laces. Her sleeves are paneled to her elbows - the yellow of her chemise shines through alternating strips of red and white fabric. A red skirt flows down to her ankles, where she wears black leather shoes. The cuffs of her bodice are white lace, while it and the skirt are trimmed with tiny flower embroidery. Finally, both bodice and the chemise underneath are cut with a low, square neckline. She shows a generous, but not excessive, amount of cleavage, which he can't help but eye and appreciate.

"Gods, she looks enchanting," he thinks.

{else}She wears a red, back-laced bodice, with sleeves paneled to her elbows - the yellow of her chemise peeks through the strips of fabric. Below, she wears a red skirt that flows to the almost the floor, while it and the bodice are trimmed with tiny flower embroidery. Finally, both bodice and the chemise have a square-cut neckline, with a polite amount of cleavage - not an issue for him, since he's already seen the treasures underneath.

"She looks very pretty," he thinks.{endif}

“Here! Yoou got to catch up wit’ me,” she smiles. She pushes a copper tankard of some oak-brown ale into his hands, as she downs what’s left of hers. Her big brown eyes drink him in.

“Um, thank you,” he says, taking a swig, enjoying her cleavage. “Um, you look very pretty tonight, Cerni. You always do, even dressed,” he blurts. “Holy gods, did I just fucking say that?” he panics.

“Domic,” she blushes, “yoou’re too sweet, and too much a roogue.” She leans forward. “It makes me wet,” she whispers. Now he’s the one blushing furiously, and she’s staring off into space, as if she can’t believe she just said that. Then they both laugh nervously, before he takes a long drink of ale and she rubs a hand over her face. “We need to control ourselves,” she says anxiously.

“We? How many of those have you had already?” he says, a bit crossly.

Her eyes narrow a twitch. “It’s a party – people drink. Yoou coould’ve just said helloo.”

“I blurt a little flirt, then you shoot a cannonball at me,” he pokes at her.

“Yoou didn’t have to{if Cerni's Love > 10} fondle{else} look at{endif} my tits last night,” she slashes at him, a little too loudly, as a few eyes glance their way.

“You took them out,” he stabs. “What was I supposed to do?” Heads are turning their way.

“Stop and think– yoou had plenty of times. We both did,” she cuts and then falls on her blade. She glances down sadly into her tankard, swishing the dregs around.

“Come on,” he sighs, touching her arm. “We’ll um, be smart, mingle. Not go into broom closets together,” he jests.

She snorts. “Alright. Let me bring yoou to my father and uh, leave yoou with him,” she says, leading him through the crowd to Halle.

They find him, dressed in a long doublet with brown breeches, chatting with a group of merchants who blatantly flaunt their wealth. Domic can only guess how they feel about socializing with rough-cut guards, craft folk, and shopkeepers. “They likely came to toady up to Halle – or get blown by some barmaid in a back room,” he thinks, as Halle’s voice comes into focus over the din of the tavern.

“…I assure you, we will find the witch Rima, and this alleged witch in town. But eliminating the mountain orcs is much more pressing,” Halle says.

“But this witch she –,” says a portly merchant with too many gold chains around his neck.

“Yes, yes, she caused a big commotion. Otherwise, what, uh, did she do? Cause a slight breeze? Fling a man a couple of feet away? Vanish? The uh, chartered mages of the old Empire did that on a whim. She obviously didn't have the power to cause any widespread harm,” Halle says, sipping from his goblet.

“But, but –“

“But I wish to speak of it no more. This is a party! And who better to spend it with than my lovely daughter Cerni,” he smiles, as they approach the group. “And Domic, welcome, glad you could make it. I would have uhh, expected you to be escorting your sister,” he says, pebbles narrowing a hair. “Is Izabel coming?”

He gulps, feeling slightly embarrassed. “Umm, yes, I believe so…she just needed a few more minutes to prepare,” he says, glancing around. “But oh, actually, there she is,” he says, looking and pointing to the door of the tavern.

{if Izabel ****=1}{if

Izabel's Love = 10}Izabel stands in the doorway of the tavern and hangs up her dark cloak, revealing her beauty. It becomes more apparent as she sees them and walks over. Her dark waves of hair flow down to her shoulders, a thin ivory band keeping strands out of her face. She wears a side-laced indigo bodice with simple geometric trimmings of white triangles. The attached sleeves for cold weather are hooked underneath a bit of simple frill on her shoulders.

Below the bodice is a pleated indigo skirt, with thin strips of a darker, almost black color running down it, and white triangles at the hemline. It reaches to just above her ankles, and she wears white stockings in leather shoes. Her neckline, Domic can’t help but notice, is rounded and slightly higher than Cerni’s – little matter when her breasts are bigger. Around her neck is a thin copper chain, aa gold clasped opal at the bottom - the only truly valuable piece of jewelry their mother had owned. It points the way to the deep valley between Izabel’s breasts, a faint smear of some oil just visible at the entrance. Her lips are colored a dark, delicious red.{elseif

Izabel's Love = 15}Izabel stands, figure silhouetted against the blackness behind, in the tavern doorway, hanging her cloak, revealing her allure. It becomes more apparent to Domic as she sees them and walks over. Her lustrous, dark waves of hair flow down to her shoulders, a thin ivory band keeping strands out of her face. In her earlobes are small golden spheres. She wears an indigo bodice with white side-laces, geometric trimmings of triangles, and attached cold weather sleeves, hooked under a bit of white frill on her shoulders.

Around her waist, she wears an embroidered white and black sash, stitched so it subtly arrows downwards. Underneath she wears a pleated indigo skirt, with thin strips of a darker, almost black color running down it, and white triangles at the hemline. He can tell, watching the way it swishes, that it hugs everything above the midpoint of her thigh a littler tighter. It reaches mid-calf, and she wears white, slightly shimmering stockings with leather shoes.

He is guiltily entranced by her bodice's neckline. It is a wide, deep oval, almost off the shoulders, and made to do a simple, dangerous thing - emphasize her big breasts. Around her neck is a thin copper chain, a gold clasped opal at the bottom - the only truly valuable piece of jewelry their mother had owned. It points the way to the deep valley between her breasts, a faint smear of some oil just barely visible at the entrance. Her lips are colored a dark, succulent red, and some eyeshadow highlights the gems of her eyes. He squirms slightly, realizing that they are on him, and have probably been since she walked through the door.{endif}{else}Izabel stands in the doorway of the tavern, hanging up her cloak on a hook. Noticing them, she mouths a 'Hello,' as she walks over.{endif}

She smiles politely at them all as she walks over. “Ah Izabel! It is good to see you again,” Halle calls out. “Have you met my daughter, Cerni?”

“No, I haven’t had the chance,” she says, arriving. She and Cerni bow politely to each other, and Halle introduces the forgettable merchants to them.

“Coome on, Izabel, let’s get yoou a drink,” Cerni says, once the introductions are finished.

“Oh, yes, uh of course. Are you um, coming Domic?” she replies.

“Um,” he says. He glances around. Cerni is smiling and her eyes are saying no, remember we’re mingling separately? Izabel is smiling and her eyes are saying yes, come with me. Halle is smiling, his pebbles silent, puzzling. The merchants gaze elsewhere, bored. “Uh, I’ll be by in a bit,” he says. Izabel stares at him for second before letting Cerni lead her to the bartender.

“Well then, how abo-” Halle begins.

“Your sister married lad?” one of the merchants interrupts. “Should think not, since you’re still escorting her. Your father dead?”

“Um, no, and yes and I-“

“Can give you a fair bride price, wouldn’t expect much dowry in return,” he nods piteously, taking a drink from his goblet.

Domic clenches his fists, but before he decides whether to attempt to punch through the man’s skull, Halle steps halfway between them. He places a broad hand on the man’s shoulder. “Isn’t your son Uglic? Tall fellow, missing three teeth?”

“Why yes, Captain, and it was one of your insufferable guards who knocked them out, in an unwarranted attack, but you-” the merchant frowns, eyes glancing to Halle’s hand.

Halle interrupts, chuckling lightly. “It's not unwarranted if the fellow pulls a knife on them,” he says. “He was very lucky Izabel didn’t gut him instead,” he smiles.

The merchant’s eyes widen in fear, anger, and surprise. “She did that?”

“It’s true, and now, come to think of it, when Izabel served in the guard, she probably arrested the children of everyone here, at least once or twice. Except my daughters, of course,” he laughs, and the other merchants laugh along mechanically. “Well, now then,” he says, removing his hand from the merchant, whose jaw works noiselessly. “I’d love to stay and chat, but there are others to greet – a host has so many duties, even more than a captain,” he chuckles, turning around and touching Domic’s arm. He manages half a smile and a half-assed bow before following Halle.

“Thank you, Captain,” he mumbles, as Halle leads him through the crowd to the bartender. Izabel and Cerni have disappeared off to somewhere.

“Of course Domic,” he says, as he holds up two fingers for the bartender. “Your reaction is understandable. It is easier to become angry when family is involved,” the bartender passes them two tankards of mead. “And rich folk often forget their manners, so one has to politely remind them – if uh, rather bluntly sometimes,” he says, taking a swig of mead.

“Knocking out some asshole’s teeth - another thing she never told me,” he thinks and frowns. “Did my sister really do that? She never told me,” he pokes.

Halle smiles. “I’m sure it’s because she didn’t want you to worry,” he says evenly. “And to be honest, she didn’t do the exciting things you think she did,” he says. He turns his head to look at two men who are arguing just a bit too loudly nearby. “Just deal with mundane drunks – enjoy that mead,” he says, giving him a friendly grip on the shoulder before stomping off to the men.

“Is he coming back?” a smooth voice says off to his right. Domic turns to see a tall, thin, older woman with silvery hair, motioning to the stool that Halle was just occupying.

“Um, no, don’t think so, please,” he says. The woman smiles graciously and sits down beside him. She seems familiar, but he can’t quite place where he’s seen her before. She wears a long black gown, unadorned yet shimmering, and a plain gold band. She orders something from the bartender and then turns to him.

“Velda,” she introduces, extending her hand.

“Domic,” he replies, shaking it. Her eyes are iron grey. Once again, her name seems oddly familiar, but he still can’t seem to place it.

“A pleasure," she says, and he nods politely. "Enjoying the party so far? There’s quite a variety of people here,” she says, thanking the bartender for her goblet before sipping from it.

“Uhm, yes, I guess there is – I don’t often see this many, except in the market.”

“Mm? Why?”

“Oh, uh, because I’m a hunter – spend most of my time in the forest," he says.

"Really? A hunter? I would have never guessed," she says.

"Why's that?"

"Oh, most of the hunters I know are old, and wouldn't be seen at parties such as this."

"Mmm, well, my sister and I were invited by Captain Halle - uhh, not that that's the only reason we came," he adds quickly, before he takes another drink of mead.

She chuckles pleasantly. "Of course not - everyone enjoys a good party. Are you in the guard for your term of service? Or as employment?"

"Uh, thankfully just the term of service."

She chuckles again. “I remember when I served – too much boredom, or too much excitement,” she says, sipping from her goblet again.

“Mmm, and I’ve had uh, too much excitement recently, I guess,” he finishes his mead.

“Why of course, with the expeditions,” she says, shifting towards him and crossing her legs under her gown. “Would you like to try one?” she says, indicating her goblet.

“Oh, um sure, what’s it called?”

She chuckles sweetly. “Allow me – I’ve heard guard pay hasn’t improved much since my time,” she says, gesturing to the bartender.

“Is everyone going to buy me a drink tonight?” he thinks, as he thankfully accepts it. The liquid inside is richly fruity, alcoholic, and with cold chunks of ices floating in it. “Ice? How expensive was this?” he thinks. Ice before winter is like pepper, except half or more of it disappears during its trip down from the mountains. “You must have quite a bit of money, to buy a cold drink for a stranger,” he says.

She chuckles sweetly again. “You’re very perceptive Domic. That’s an admirable trait,” her eyes widen a hair. “And you’re right, I do have enough to be generous from time to time – especially for those who protect Pael,” she takes another sip.

He is about to reply, but Halle’s voice booms out over the din of the tavern, calling for quiet. He thanks everyone for coming, then gives a short speech about the expedition to the caverns and the one tomorrow. Then he gives tribute to those who joined the gods and calls for a few minutes of silence. After that, everyone toasts, join in a prayer to the gods, and then Halle calls for space to be cleared so the dances can begin.

Domic spots a smiling Izabel, who sees him and gestures for him to join her on the floor. “Uhmm, thank yu, Velda. Foor the drink and conversation,” he says, starting to feel the accumulated **** take hold of his mind and his mouth. He quickly chugs the last of his goblet.

“It was my pleasure Domic. Until we meet again,” she smiles as he leaves.

“Hulllo,” Izabel says as he reaches her. She wraps her arm around his and drags him over to where the other dancers are getting into position.

“Hey. Where’s Cerni?” he asks, as he links his arm with another girl on his other side.

“She’z talking to some bloke, over there,” she says, jerking her head at a table, where Cerni sits talking with a blonde-haired fellow.

“Uhhuh,” he grunts, the musicians starting the song just a bit too late to prevent the wave of jealousy from washing over him.

…

Domic dances. First, he dances with Izabel in a big circle of dancers, jumping around and around. Next, he is dancing with her and another man and woman, as they all spin around other quartets. Then the women run off, and he stumble-dances a jig with the other men before they all sit down, and the women dance back. Having been refreshed by a big tankard of beer, he goes up to circle-dance with the men again. Finally finished, he finds himself tiredly walking over to where Cerni is waving, sitting with Izabel and the blonde-haired fellow. The three of them are squished between other partygoers at a long table - there is only a bit of room next to the blonde-haired fellow and that's where Domic aims.

"Oh, yez, Domic sit down - this iz Heljo, an adventurer," Cerni says cheerily, smiling - at Heljo.

"Uh, hullo," Domic says, extending his hand, regarding this Heljo. A young, tanned, handsome face twists arounds and gazes up at him with the pretentiousness that all merchant scions exude from birth.

"Ah hulloo, ma gud 'unter," Heljo says, shaking Domic's hand without bothering to stand up. He is dressed extravagantly, like a southerner, with an intricately embroidered wine-colored doublet, and complete with an obnoxious ruff collar. Beneath the slur of drunkenness, his speech marks him as a true-born son of Pael, the best, or so they're always telling everyone. "Yoou may sit 'ere," he says, patting the portion of the bench across from Izabel.

"Thankz," Domic says, jamming himself between a partygoer and Heljo, forcing him to move over. He now sits across from Izabel, while Domic sits across from Cerni. Her big brown eyes meet his and narrow slightly, before turning back to smiling at Heljo.

"Yez, uh, Heljo wuz just tellin' us about his, uh adventures, in tha south. With mercenaries! Izn't that exciting?" she gushes. Domic manages a grunt of agreement and then Heljo starts to talk.

"Why yez, as I wuz tellin' these two beeautifull weemen," he smiles, as Cerni giggles and Izabel flushes, "there I wuz, zurrounded, broken zword in hand -"

With immense exertion, Domic forces himself to ignore every word that drops from Heljo's lips. "I don't think I've ever disliked someone this quickly - not even that fucking manic Kexca," he thinks, trying not to grimace. Heljo talks of his adventures in the south, the amazing and wonderful things he saw down there, how he wishes he'd been born in civilization instead of up here in this wasteland. These tales are interspersed with, Domic is loathe to admit, excellent compliments to Izabel and Cerni, leaving them both red. "I know Izabel, she's not gullible, she's just being polite," he thinks, a hawk of brotherly protectiveness watching for any deviation from propriety by Heljo.{if Izabel ****=1} "But then again, she never smiles at me like that," he thinks, studying her every reaction, frowning.{else}{endif}

"Cerni, on the other hand, might be that gullible," he thinks, a storm of jealousy raining in his mind as he watches her giggle to Heljo's jokes, flush at his compliments. Her eyes momentarily flick to his, narrowing again, telling him to grow up. He sighs and nods slightly. "She's right, of course, we're supposed to be meeting...others," he thinks, frowning as a barmaid comes by - with only three tankards.

"Uh, zorry, thought it'd just be usz three," Heljo says as he drinks from his tankard, as Domic forces himself to grin in an understanding manner.

"That doesn't mean I have to like it though," he grumbles, as Heljo continues talking. The minutes pass by, and Domic spends them by ignoring Heljo. He watches two men gamble with dice next to their group, commiserating with the grumbles of the loser. Then he looks around the tavern for a bit: at the bards acting and singing behind them; at Torjo, who inclines his head him, then goes back to seemingly watching the crowds; and at a kissing couple, enjoying their time together. He eventually settles in to examining the wood patterns in the table.{if Izabel ****=1} Absentmindedly, he follows a line in the wood of a table, up, up, right, up, right, indigo.

His gaze jumps to Izabel, just as she is taking a big drink from her tankard. Her eyes are closed in contentment, and she drinks quickly, greedily, too greedily, as some brown beer escapes. He follows its flow, down her chin, her kissable and gulping neck, to the top of her chest, petering out between the chains of her necklace. She sets the tankard down with a happy sigh, glancing down at the mess she's made on herself, lips parted. Her eyes suddenly flick to his, and he turns quickly away. "Too quickly, too quickly, she knows I was watching her, not just idly turning my head!" he thinks, feeling guilty that he was in the first place. He keeps his eyes to the table, as Heljo drones on.{endif}

“Wish I could’ve sat over there, then I could've at least seen the bards,” he thinks, after gods only know how many more minutes of following lines. Glancing up, he and Cerni’s eyes lock for a second. First hers narrow again, but then they soften as he stares into them. "So pretty," he thinks, forgetting the noise of Heljo, slowly smiling. Something dances up in Cerni’s big brown eyes. “Uh oh,” he thinks, as her lips curl up into a sly smile. "She's got a bad idea," he shakes his head slightly, but she just smiles more, and then she kicks him. Not hard, just a tap to the shin. ‘Cerni,’ he mouths. She does it again, then again, and her hands slide under the table. “No no no, if she’s not going to, I have to,” he thinks. Her kicking becomes more insistent, and she bites her lower lip and bats her eyes at him, just enough to break him.

“Fuck, fine,” he collapses. “Maybe it’s just something innocent, maybe she’s just being annoying,” he justifies. He grabs his coin pouch, takes a few out, and 'accidently' drops one under the table. He leans down, and drinks in the sight before him. In the partial gloom under the table, Cerni spreads her legs, white socks held at midthigh by garters. With one hand she is lifting up her skirts and other – that is hidden behind the front of her panties, slowly rubbing away. “Holy fuck,” he breathes, getting hard, fumbling around for the coin, watching Cerni pleasure herself. He stares at her for several deliciously long seconds, before he hears the inevitable words.

“Doya need 'elp?” Heljo asks.

She removes her hand and covers herself, as he grabs the coin and returns to the top of the table. “Noo, I’ve gut it,” he says, Cerni's eyes locking to his the moment they can, her lips smiling.

"Yez, every coin iz prezious to yoou, hmm?" Heljo says.

"Uhhuh," Domic mumbles, focused on Cerni. "It paid for something you'll never get," he thinks as she slowly extends her hand to him, and he grasps it, blushing as he feels the wetness of her middle finger.

...

Domic endures a few more minutes of Heljo's blabbing before the bards finish their routine. Then, Halle is yelling to clear the floor for more dancing, and Domic, is already up and away with the most cursory of goodbyes. For the dance, the men and the women are divided into two lines, and they begin to sort themselves. “Wha’z thiss dance?” Domic asks a man next to him.

“The affirmation dance! You married?” he replies happily.

“Wha? Nuh,” he says instinctively and stupidly, as his heartbeat accelerates with sudden realization.

“To the front,” the man says cheerily, pushing him forward and blocking any escape.

Domic gulps as he looks at his potential partners for this dance, precarious in its implications. The slow, intimate waltz, a Pael tradition since forever, usually begins with a man choosing a female partner. He must choose carefully, for the dance carries different meanings, dependent upon the relationship between the partners. Between strangers, or just acquaintances, the dance inevitably serves as the announcement of romantic intent, especially since unmarried men and women are pushed to the fore.

Between friends or family, the dance serves as an affirmation of their affection for one another.{if Izabel ****=1} But taking that route as first resort inevitably raises eyebrows, considering the dance’s other meaning, and the fact there are two other choices.{endif} A man chooses his partner from among the three women across from him: the one immediate, and the two adjacent to her. Choice is confirmed with extended eye contact, and there is no shuffling. The lineup of men and women is determined solely by the will of the gods, obviously.

“Great, just great, real easy choices here,” he thinks irritably. Izabel stands in front of him, examining her shoes. To her right stands Cerni, idly straightening her skirts. To Izabel’s left stands a redheaded girl who Domic vaguely remembers is named Gwenevi. And in the space between Cerni’s and Izabel’s heads, behind a crowd of other partygoers, stands Halle, watching him. “Heheh...great. Uhmmm, who to pick?” he thinks, weighing the different options.

“Cerni? Umm, no…I’d really rather not upset her father. But…then again, fuck Halle. I know she wants to dance with me, and I want to with her. We can uh…just explain it away as ‘we’re such good friends already.’ But…good friends that can’t keep away from each other. And we need to…if we danced, it’d be harder, much harder,” he thinks and turns.

{if Izabel ****=1}“Izabel? My sister? Oh gods, who’s beside me? Shit, fucking Heljo and…no, but it has to be, how many men are missing three front teeth? Fuck, I don’t want her dancing with these assholes…I know she can handle herself in this stupid dance, but um…this is just a natural reaction like Halle said…that thing this morning, that was just because of Cerni,” he thinks and turns.{else}"Izabel huh? I guess that'd be alright, but I'd rather dance with Cerni," he thinks and turns.{endif}

“Gwenevi? I mean – uhm, eh, we’re acquainted and uh, who’s next to Heljo? Him, what’s-his-name? Don’t they always sit together in temple? Who knows…I don’t know, I don’t want to dance with her and then say sorry, I wasn’t interested at all, bye,” he thinks.