RP:Breaking Ground in Venturil, Part I

Summary: At the familiar Fallen Star Inn, the ambitious young Syrri Darkfoot meets up with the venerable Xiembantointh of Nildran Construction so that they can discuss upcoming plans for the construction of the headquarters for the halfling's clan, Skjoldet.

Found on the bulletin board of The Fallen Star Inn, in Venturil.

Does your roof 💧leak? A stone out of place in the foundation 🔨? Maybe just add on to your home or place of business! Nildran Construction 💎 is the service you’re looking for. Reasonable rates for quality work, just leave word with the barkeep and Xiembantointh will get back to you as fast as he can. Happy travels!

Inscribed in Common, and despite the careful precision with the letters, it isn't the halfling's native tongue and it could probably use some formal education to straighten out the letters and spelling.

To Nildran Construction, Care-Of Ser Xiembantointh,

I hope this letter finds you wel. I am Lieutenant Syrri Darkfoot, leader of Clan Skjoldet, and I am inkwiring about your services in the construction of a public building in Venturil. I request the opportunity to mete in person to discuss architechural plans and pricing. Cuthwine at The Fallen Star Inn can pass along any messages, and I can also be reached directly at Vigilenti Semper.

I look forward to your repley.

Signed, (Nearly illegibly)

Lt. Syrri Darkfoot

The Fallen Star Inn

Tall stately walls, strong wood bounded in sturdy iron, stand testament to the will of the builders. For this place, above all others, will bare the hidden hopes and desires for peaceful repose. Strength in the makings, yet soft and welcoming in the execution, this is not your ordinary tavern. A buildout on the southernmost wall houses a stone pit made for fire, bringer of light, heat and hope. Spits for roasting have been built into the earthen housing, and when in use, the aromas permeate and compliment the far reaching light. Opposing in form, placement and function, a long wooden plank is placed out in a horseshoe shape, serving as bar top and resting place of ales and elbows. Held aloft by only a few metal supports, the view is open underneath to the server, as no hidden agendas here will be born. The eastern wall houses a large public message board, on which various messages both pertinent and trite may be read. Tables are placed in strategic disarray, each affording view to bar, hearth and door. This alone defines - even when at ease, the residents of this town know what it is to always be on guard.

Xiembantointh is stopping through Venturil on his usual rounds to check in and see if anyone has left mail for him. He tells himself for about the hundredth time this year that he must change the adverts to include his new office in Frostmaw so the barkeeps of these taverns and inns don't need the hassle of holding mail for him anymore. Xiem's well worn workboots bring the six foot seven guy, at least what seems like a regular human guy, to the bar and Cuthwine already starts to pour a stout for him. "You're too kind, Cuthwine," he occupies a barstool with an infectious grin on his face and coin for his drink along with a hearty tip. Once he is handed the letters left, he sifts through them and stumbles upon one from a Syrri Darkfoot. He reads the nearly illegible letter with a charmed grin on his face. "Cuthwine?" His warm like a crackling fire timbre asks the barkeep, "do you know where the Vigilenti Semper is or who this Syrri Darkfoot is?" Xiem readies some blank parchment in order to send a reply correspondence to the right place and runs a hand through his umber brown tresses that wave lazily just past his broad shoulders.

Syrri ;; Cuthwine was generous with the drink and, at least on such a dry day, the conversation as well, and he nodded readily. "Vigilanti Semper? Sure, that's where you can find the Warrior's Guild, north of town," he supplied, jerking a thumb in that general direction as he dragged a rag across the u-shaped bar top with his other hand. "Most everyone 'round these parts knows of Lieutenant Darkfoot, too. Scrawny little thing — as halflings go, anyway, but don't let that fool you." Cuthwine's easy grin was tempered only by the sudden chorus of carousing laughter that announced the inward swing of the tavern door. "Speak of the wee devil." The barkeep lowered his chin, indicating with a pointed look toward the petite woman who entered, dressed in soft brown fighting leathers and with a pair of handaxes dangling from her narrow hips. Syrri's steel-toed boot temporarily caught on the threshold as she waved off to her companions, who didn't bother to enter with her, and she all but stumbled into the inn. "See ya tonight!" she called out with a soft wheezing chuckle, and letting the door swing closed behind her, she straightened and dusted the city's dirt off with a few claps of her gloved hands. It took her a moment of squinting and blinking her azure-and-chestnut eyes to adjust to the light inside, but as soon as she did, she made a direct route toward the bar. Pulling off her gloves, the halfling brushed both hands from her brow back across her the twin silver braids that secured her hair, minus the few sweaty wisps that now clung to her porcelain skin. There is a particular stool that she favored, and it happened to be right near Xiembantointh. Unfortunately, she barely afforded him a side-glance as she pulled herself into her seat, muttering a polite, "'Scuse me," toward the giant male before directing her silver-lashed eyes toward the proprietor. "Water— Please, Cuthwine. 'M parched! Practice was great t'day, they're really shapin' up. Might even be ready for the Dust Bowl when the time comes."

Xiembantointh is eager to hear more of this petite warrior because she sounds like quite the interesting character, "halfling?" It is a curious thing and then he leans on the bar a little towards Cuthwine, "are people still calling them that?" It sure as heck didn't sound politically correct anymore, but what does he know?! He had been hibernating for two hundred years and only woke up four or five years ago. Xiem is quite friendly with mostly all of the region's barkeep and waitstaff, but Cuthwine has always made it quite easy because they seem to be kindred joyful spirits. His azure gaze finds the 'wee devil' and his friendly grin remains as he watches her farewell to her company before meandering on over to where he is seated. "What is the Dust Bowl?" He carelessly interrupts, but immediately catches his error "excuse me, I am sorry for interrupting. My name is Xiembantointh, I was just reading your letter," he holds it up as if he needs to provide proof and then he extends his hand for a shake. "Nice to meet you Lieutenant Syrri Darkfoot. You can just call me Xiem," he cannot take his gaze off the woman for a moment. The silver hair, the heterochromia and her tiny, but mighty sense of being is reminding him of someone. Unfortunately he is too distracted to daydream who the heck that might be and ignores the inkling for now, "what is the Dust Bowl?" He reiterates his question from before now that he has properly and politely introduced himself.

Syrri ;; Cuthwine arched a thick brow, pausing his bar cleaning for a ponderous moment. "What else're we supposed to call them?" He certainly wasn't going to make the mistake of referring to her as a Hobbit — again — and deferred to the young woman with a welcoming nod. "Comin' right up, Lieutenant." The innkeeper stuffed the rag into the pocket of his apron and moved away from the bar to draw up a tall glass of water. Meanwhile, Syrri couldn't help herself. She had swiveled on the barstool upon catching the lattermost bits of Xiem's conversation with Cuthwine, and her silvery brows had risen high into her forehead. It was just enough to cause a slight wrinkle along her jagged hairline, tugging faintly at the white scars that started at her left temple and disappeared into the twists of her braids. There was no insult in her expression, however, just veiled amusement, especially as Xiem turned to address her properly. As realization dawned on her, the amusement blossomed, manifesting into a broad, dimpling grin. "Oh, Ser Xiembantoith — Ser Xiem, if'n you insist." Hooking her boots around the rung of her stool, she leaned toward the broader figure to offer up a Lilliputian hand, and when given the chance to shake his in return, her grip would betray the sinewy muscles rarely found in one so small and compact. Of course, it was nothing like the handshakes of "average-sized" folk, but that doesn't shake her confidence in the least. "Pleasure t'meet ya!" Leaning back in her barstool following the customary greetings, Syrri tilted her head to the side, considering him for a beat before her lopsided smile turned a degree cheeky. "Oh, the Dust Bowl? Well, it's just this little thing I'm puttin' together for a few of the local kids, let 'em show off the skills they've been learning, raise some funds for the new school." Her slender shoulders rolled in a shrug before her attention was drawn to Cuthwine and the glass he set before her, whereupon she wasted no time in taking it up with both hands, and gulped down a generous swallow or two or five, before drawing in a deep breath and releasing a satisfied sigh. "I teach a class here in town for self-defense and dueling —" Syrri paused to wipe away a dribble of escaped drink from her chin. "Currently, we're jus' renting space, but hopefully not for much longer — that's where you come in, hm?"

Xiembantointh is entirely charmed by Syrri at this point and nods in agreement to her calling him Xiem. His thick dark brows raise with interest in her project, "new school?" Then he glances over the letter she wrote again, "is that what you need my services for?" He definitely has a soft spot for the kiddos! "Well, if that is the case - whatever funds you raise, just keep it for them. My company doesn't just work for gold, we can work out a trade if it helps," but he uses this term quite loosely and would probably consider this more of a charity than anything. "I do it often. In exchange for our work, people bake for us or make us new work clothes and shoes. A few of my workers actually helped us until their projects were done, but stayed on as my employees just because they wanted to. It is a program I call 'Building a Dream' and many have benefited from it," he shrugs a little shyly. "I know it is a silly name, but that is what I like to do for people- build their dreams and I think this is a wonderful one for the community, Lieutenant." He stands briefly to get the flip notebook from the back pocket of his denim slacks and the writing charcoal from the tucked away spot on his ear before sitting back down. He chugs down some of his stout and flips to a blank sheet, then instructs Syrri, "tell me. What will this school look like and what kind of facilities will you need?" Xiem waits, obviously excited to partner with this Lieutenant on a project for the kids, "you'll need washrooms, of course. Will you need your own office, Lieutenant Darkfoot?" He scribbles down some notes quickly in preparation for more.

Syrri bobbed her head in a series of enthusiastic nods. "Yeah, yeah, a new school — well, more than just a school," she confessed, her pale cheeks adopting a faintly bashful hue. "I want to train people in the martial arts as well as provide auxiliary combat services to those in need. Money for construction ain't the biggest problem," she continued after taking a smaller sip of her water. "We have an investor for buildin' things, but raisin' funds at the Dust Bowl could help secure scholarships for tuition at the school itself, provide new equipment, and enter into various contracts an' all that..." She was still relatively new to the whole entrepreneurial side of things, but she nodded again as though it all made perfect sense to her. "If'n you're looking for a trade of sorts, though, Ser Xiem," her dichromatic eyes danced over the man who was easily twice her size, "protectin' is what we do just as much as teachin'. Or we could teach you, too! The school will be open to all ages and races — even if they're not used to us -halflings-." There was a definite twinkle in her azure-and-chestnut eyes, but she didn't let her gaze linger too long before focusing on the glass of water and finishing it off. "Say Cuthwine," she said to catch the innkeeper's attention, "you got any of those pastry pies left? I'll take a couple o' those while I'm here." Returning her stare to Xiem, she considered his words, her smile softening a faint degree. "'Buildin' A Dream,'" she repeated almost wistfully. "It sounds real nice." A beat later, she added, "As fer facilities, well, sure, will need comfortable barracks, washrooms, training rooms for combat and theory — fighting pits and classrooms, I guess. Private rooms for officers and me." She lifted a shoulder and dropped it in a dismissive shrug. "Should have a war-ready room, but I ain't sure I'll need m'own office, though. Maybe somethin' small." It wasn't like the halfling required a whole lot of space, anyway.

Xiembantointh easily keeps a grin on his bearded face while his azure hues twinkle with the lighthearted nature that is Syrri. “That is quite admirable of you Lieutenant,” he continues making notes as she makes more of herself known to him because he finds it much easier to create a project with someone when he’s more acquainted. “Back when I was a young welp of a dragon, I was trained for war,” it was where he met his warrior of a wife. “I fought in a few battles, but I was always worried of where my loyalties lie and if I was on the right side of things in the end,” he looks thoughtfully at the half empty drink before him, but he clears his throat while rubbing the back of his neck. “These days I am more of a pacifist and try to resolve things with words,” he chuckles. There is a tinge of red on his cheeks when she compliments the silly name. As she starts to describe what the needs will be for this martial arts training school, he goes back to diligently taking notes. “Anything else, Lieutenant?”

Syrri's bold dual-toned eyes opened wider. "'Scuse me, Ser Xiem, didju say you're a -dragon-?" Though she be small, her spirit for adventure was mighty, as was her penchant for adventurous creatures abound. "I ain't met many of you, don't think so," she said by way of apology, although she'd shifted around on her stool to face him more, momentarily distracted by this morsel of information. "The Queen, o' course." The Silver, whose title had been whispered in awe by the wee halfling. "She's a wondrous sight to see." Reverence hung on the young woman's words with grace and care, before she bouldered through it with her usual awkward ebullience. "'Tis okay if you're a pacific—pacifit— er, a non-violent sort. Th' Gods find jobs for everyone." Her attention was all the more ensnared by the stories one might fashion out of Ser Xiem's memories. "Anything else?" Lieutenant Darkfoot shook her head, slowly at first, then more quickly, and her cheeks suffused with vivid color in stark contrast to the marble-esque complexion hidden behind constellations of freckles. "Oh, um, well, I suppose this is one you might appreciate—" Was she so naively blithe, or it would be a social faux-pas to generalize an entire race? "But would it be alright to have a special vault created at the center of it all?"

Xiembantointh only keeps grinning to Syrri in her surprise because he is used to such a reaction, especially when they find out he is a white dragon since those are naturally evil, but he is far from being considered as evil. "That is right. If you come around the site when we begin your project then you'll probably catch a glimpse of me in that form," since being a dragon gives him many advantages when building larger projects. Mentions of the Queen pique his interest and he nods knowingly, "I believe I met her once, but we were both in our human disguises. She was courteous and wonderful," he concludes before the move onto the next subject. A slight shrug is given, "don't get me wrong. When push comes to shove I protect mine. Whether it be one of my five kids, employees of mine or dear friends, but I aim to bring joy where I am, not fear." He watches her ponder on his question with endless patience. Raising dragons will do that to ya! "Hm, I do not see why not. I will get together with a smithy friend of mine to get their input on where it should go or how it should work for you, Lieutenant."

Syrri blushed a brilliant hue to complement the porcelain of her features in the wake of these indelicate blunders; meanwhile, the thought of Ser Xiem in that other form began to carve a permanent home in the halfling's daydreams. "Five—" she couldn't help but blurt out, and she slapped a hand bashfully across her mouth, then smoothed her fingers across her braids. "My apologies, Ser Xiem, that would be wonderful, thank you." She straightened in her seat, and let her head tilt to one side, as though investigating her would-be contractor with curiosity was something one only did askance, out of politeness. "I have— that is to say, -we- have selected the property with the aid of a geo…" Syrri paused, working out the word with care, "geological surveyor, hoping to, uh, re-requisition a sturdy network of caverns near the river." Because, of course, she wanted to live and work in the ground, like a perfectly normal halfling. It helped that she'd rehearsed some of her lines over and over again to investors recently. It didn't help that Ser Xiem was distracting in and of himself. "I would be, well, we'd all be delighted if we can break ground sooner rather than later." The warrior paused a beat and added, "I can provide you with the location as soon as I speak with the team." There was no team. It was her. She was stalling. Or tired and sweaty. She angled her chin toward her glass and took another sip of the water, before shaking the glass at Cuthwine, who soon returned with the pastry pies, wrapped in brown paper. Back toward the dragon, she concluded with, "I shall let you know soon?"

Xiembantointh doesn't think much of his dragon form because it is a mundane thing to him, although he does get typecast as evil because he is a white scaled dragon. Maybe he should forewarn the Lieutenant if she has that kind of knowledge of dragons? Her reaction earns a grin, "yes. Nildran and I wanted a big family," he catches the past tense he uses and tries to redirect with, "and now we have made one." With a chuckle and a shake of his head, he assures her, "it is all very well, Lieutenant. Five is a lot, especially with how slow dragons age and all the turmoil we went through with five 'teens' under our roof." Xiem understands Syrri perfectly fine as she works out what she needs to say and doesn't try to hurry her along by guessing what she is trying to articulate. "Of course," he agrees and adds, "I think I would be comfortable working in the caves." It will definitely remind him of his younger days when he spent more time as a dragon than disguised as a human. "By all means! Before you go," he scribbles something down on a paper. It is an address along the main street in Frostmaw, "send word here. I have a proper office these days and word will reach me faster there," he hands her the scrap of paper with a smile. He nods once in acknowledgement as he says, "I look forward to it, Lieutenant."

Syrri grinned, cheekily. "Well, they are all welcome to enroll when classes start, when they want." All five of them, even; it'd nearly make a whole team of field-ball, and she let herself daydream for a half a second more. " 'm afraid I don't know much about havin' a big whole family like that, it was just me and Da'. Wow, they must all be so big!" Truly, she wasn't aware of a time she'd been around a whole cluck of dragonkin, and the thought marveled her. Her grin grew wider, and she added, as politely as she could, "Yes, I do believe the caves we've selected will be the perfect place to carve out a good home for the clan." Her chin bobbed in a series of nods, and she took the address with a final nod to punctuate. "Oh, yes! Yes, I think I know right where that is," she confessed. "Did some work in Frostmaw a few years back, it should be easy enough for me to send word to your office." With great care, the halfling folded the piece of paper with the address on it, and tucked it between the chaffed leathers of her training uniform. Gathering her brown-sacked pastries, she bounced down off the stool and swept into a bow that was half awkward, half smooth as silk. "It was great to catch you, Ser Xiem," her voice bubbled up. "Please, enjoy th' rest of your afternoon." With all the plans made, she set off for the exit and beyond that, a steamy bubble bath to wash the dust and dirt of work off.