RP:Good Times Restored

Part of the Souls Out of Time Arc

Synopsis: Sabrina runs into Eirik at Frostmaws tavern. She notices odd behaviour and discovers an odd mark. She then feels the need to use that ability of hers and clear his mind. Problems only arrive much later in the night when she opens a bar tab and leaves it that way for the Warrior.

Frostmaw Tavern

Slightly chilled, the tavern is still a far warmer location than the outdoors of Frostmaw. If the cold is too much for a visitor, they can take a seat near the tavern's center, a place dominated by a large firepit dug neatly into the earth. A fire is always burning within, fed by large logs and, strangely, scraps of leftovers flung in by passing patrons--to those in the know, this is to feed Aodhan, the fire wyrmling occupant of the pit and keeper of the flames. Aside from the stone and earth of the firepit, the rest of the flooring is of a dark wood, clearly a sturdy material to routinely bears the weight of many Frost Giants, their armor, and their frequent brawls. A similar wood, lighter in color, makes up the raftered ceiling with its steeped roof. Tightly packed stones create the lower half of the walls, the upper planks of wood built close together to keep out the cold. Booths, tables, armchairs, and stools of various sizes can be found throughout the tavern in no particular arrangement. Frost Giant lasses move skillfully among the crowds to serve ale and warm meals, occasionally stopping to regale a newcomer with the stories behind the many trophies hung upon the walls: sabercat fangs, mounted mammoth heads, aged weapons, dented shields, war banners, and a dragon skull hanging central from the ceiling, horns and jaws wrapped in blue chains. A rather bulky and well toned frost giant stands behind the bar. Upon his blinded left eye, a scar travels down and along his jaw. The large bartender, Drargon, simply watches the patrons, awaiting orders... or trouble, considering the massive war-axe resting beside him.

The door creaks open, allowing a wisp of winter to slip through and the ribbon of ice and snow melts in the candlelight of the establishment. A much larger scraping is heard as the entry is forced open wider to allow the berth of a two-ton beasty that appears to be seething, but in reality e is just breathing. Rohk stands half-in and half-out, three sets of eyes taking in the current company, before his tusks swing the heavy wooden structure to allow his rider’s legs to pass through unscathed. The obsidian scaled beasty takes slow steps, the small bundle of furs atop him just sways to and fro until the massive half-breed come to a halt at one of the smaller tables designed for not-frost giants. Once the figure dismounts, he wanders off toward the pit without her. A nap was in order and this climate made him moody. Sabrina shrugs off the layers in one swoop, leaving the article(s) to hang and dry along the backside of a chair. Her winter gear is no different than her summer gear, since the hound mostly provided heat in the cases of the tundra scene. She carries a bow with no quiver and it is propped neatly against the table, an overstuffed bag filled with the usual suspects, and a stack of paperwork- tools of the trade. She sits down, no sooner an unspoken order filled as a fresh kettle are brought to her table, the thing wiped down briskly before smiles are exchanged with no words. This was clearly not her first visit.

Eiriks arrival isn't heralded by the blaring sounds of trumpets and horns. There is no ominous sound as the scar-faced fellow slips into the tavern with eyes on the barkeep. Something swirled within his minds eye, which happened to dance upon his marred features. It wasn't a lust for warmth. Nor the thought of food. Nay, for the Berserker came for drink. And lots of it. Unlike his usual attire, Eirik is not armed to the teeth. No shield lies strapped to his back. In fact even his armor can't be seen. Just the wrappings of a fur-covered shoulder piece and hood. The rest of the man lies in his usual silver stitched black leather jerkin, sleeves rolled up to the center of his forearms. Basic cotton pants and black boots adorn the other bits. However, if any were to pay attention they might notice the intricate detail of a purple tattoo like knotwork covering parts of his right arm. Were those always there? "Rum," He says half annoyed. In the moment Sabrina isn't registered. "Best just give me the whole bottle Drargon." The look of need in his eyes, and the old warrior simply obliges.

Sabrina does notice the berserker’s arrival. She sits back in her chair, watching him pass by with a look of interest towards his current mood. She leaves her nest of paperwork to approach him from behind. Leaning at the counter right next to him she turns her head up to look. “One of those days?” She seemed cheerful; the public arena forces her to be guarded for the sake of others and so her eyes had taken on a lighter hue- mint green, nearly her most protective state. She is harmless, unable to convey anything while so guarded. The one eye looks years in the making, settled into its healed state of blind fog. It is obvious she sees the mark, for now it is left alone. Instead she teeters on the seat, turning in it so her legs face the common area and her back is lent against the counter with elbows perched while Drargon prepares the order. Rohk was dragging slow steps into the pit when he noticed his elfess had moved, and the creature stops to stare at Eirik with mild irritation. So help him, if he had to climb out of this torrent to make words, they would not be very kind.

Eirik snatches that bottle of rum before turning his gaze to meet Sabrinas. It took him a moment to remember that her color shifted; evidenced on several occasions. "It's been that kind of week." He sighed. The lid is pulled free and the bottle swirled a little in an effort to offer some. "I think we might need another glass Drargon." That same smiled now stretched across wind-swept lips, shifting that scar ever so slightly. Turns out, Sabrina had been his only drinking buddy and he had no intention of letting her get away without at least one. Eirik paid no mind to Rohk, having no clue what that -thing- was. The animal in him, told him otherwise, however it sure as hell wasn't in control. "You're a little far north aren't you?" Eirik now pours her a glass after Drargon delivers it. Official business or not, friends don't let other friends drink alone. "You aren't following me now are you?" Obviously the man teased. That bottle is abruptly pressed up to lips and a few gulps pulled free from its core.

Sabrina would have declined his offer. But she didn’t want to, his smile presented a useable argument that denying him would be rude. Or something. Her eyes travel to the hound who, with a grumble continues his venture to take up a spot next to the wyrm. “Everywhere but the Underdark. I am not welcome down there and honestly, there is little benefit to either side.” She turns in her chair, a bit difficult since her feet didn’t touch the ground and she had to use her arms, but the glass was taken up for a moment of silent cheers. She whines out a little vaguely on whether she was following him. “It wouldn’t exactly be a crime.” The drink is pressed to her lips with that grin she offered him once.

Eirik would laugh then, loud and belly filled. At its height might even cause a patron or two to turn their heads bewildered by such a blasted chuckle. Despite the obvious banter of the two, that laugh ends abruptly; annoyance chokes and strangulates the joyful emotion from his scarred features. That purple mark, flickering for but an instant; like the first burst of sun rays through a parted cloud. Only it doesn't continue. Instead, voices cloud his mind, Eirik visibly struggles with his thoughts. Shadows whispered, pulled at his mind. Tearing at his sanity forcing him to question if this is reality. Suddenly he is confronted with the fact that he had been holding his breath while eyes were closed and faced scrunched up. He says nothing on it, and instead, meets the awkward moment with another drink. "Why can't you go to the underdark?" Now he was curious again. As a matter of fact what is the underdark?

Sabrina almost chokes on her drink when he laughs so intently. She has a nervous smile, but she is clearly disturbed by it. Elves were not so boisterous in nature. Keen senses pick up on that hint of flash, the glass in her hand discarded because of it. She looks over her shoulder, scolding what eyes turned their way in an instant. She is gloveless when she rests her hand against his forearm. Touching was never the go-to action, but with him she felt at ease. They had boundaries, discussed them even, to an extent. “Are you alright?” With her guard up he may not have had the sense to pick up on the subtle concern rising in her. It wouldn’t be until an intentional flicker of emerald flashes across that mismatched gaze that it would register. Profoundly. With all those voices and him shutting her off from his vision it was probably less helpful to have that outside influx, but how was she to know. She hoped to center him. “Who gives a shyte about the Underdark? What’ wrong with you?”

Eirik is by no means immune to Sabrinas touch and while it helped to quiet his mind, it did not stop it. Straining slightly before he shifts in his seat. Eirik shook his head in an attempt to clear thoughts like was water collected within his ears. Eyes narrow and features soften, all the while her touch never refused. She might catch his resistance to it, notice that it wasn't affecting him like usual. He didn't even have to fight it. Though her intent was to convey emotion, and that is still delivered. "I." Eirik sighs. "I don't know." Silver eyes flicker to the mark on his arm. Was it truly worth saving her? Unknown to Sabrina but the Northman and Raphaline had travelled to the plains of Venturil and then to Chartsend. Only while they traversed the plains they found a scene of gore and death. Evidence of necromancers casting. They followed the trail found it's lair and saved a girl. However Eirik got trapped while buying them time. This is when he met her, their leader. She gave him this mark, claiming it would consume him with rage. She wanted to watch him struggle. "Its this damn mark. I need to go to the Mages tower and have it looked at." He scoffed, hating magic is a sudden reminder to his dislike. "I'm okay for now though Sabrina."

Sabrina pulls up his sleeve to get a better look. It could have been upside down for all she knew, and there were a few she could take him to, to fix… this…maybe. She lets out a string of elvish words not meant for him to understand. Followed with “Shyte, I hate magic.” And a little belated. “It’s why I can’t go to the Underdark.” A weak laugh. “All their weapons are laced with-“ she shakes her head, it didn’t matter in this moment. She turns her chair to face him, her head tilted lightly. His rage she could fog, but the mark meant it was magic so she couldn’t erase it. Her legs are spread as she tugs on him to square up with her. “Let me look at you, at least.” She fight him if she had to in order to take a gander at his pupils and gauge is vitals. Lycans were a tricky lot; they ran hotter, beat faster, and had far more intuitive reflexes. She had uttered those words many a time when under the influence of the stuff, and she had several scars to prove that ‘right now’ was very fluid phrasing. She looked concerned though, there was nothing hidden in her body language to suggest this moment was more than it seemed.

Eirik would listen to Sabrina speak of magic and the underdark; their weapons being laced with something she doesn't finish wording. Eirik frowns, the voices dulling in his minds eye; the lycan was himself once more. The mark itself wreaked of magic; of Chaos. Something sinister and dark. It would have to be further analyzed. Silver gaze moves to her and everything she is attempting to do. Squaring the man up, pulling him close and Eirik gulped. It wasn't that he intended to fight her, though what she was doing did make him uncomfortable. He expected her to strip him in search of some imaginary wound. There wasn't any, save for the mark. That bottle is nervously pulled up in preparation for something she was probably not going to do. Gods what had he gotten himself into? As for wounds upon the Berserker there are none to be found. Not a single thing. Wait, Eiriks eyes widen, is he chugging that bottle? Abruptly his hand moves to set it off to the side. "Satisfied," His belly burned something aweful.

Sabrina didn’t need to strip him to perform a basic triage. She takes a stick from her pocket while he downs his drink. “I’m not going to hurt you.” She sounded a little put off by his sudden need for a toxic drown. The stick was metallic in nature, graphite in color, and it had a small stone lighting up the end of it. She’d wave it across his field of vision, pulling him down closer so she could correctly see his pupillary response. “I am never satisfied.” She grins, trying to make light of a troublesome situation. The light is put away and her fingers slip to his wrist, forcing him to let it rest on the counter. He just chugged a bottle, maybe that was why his pulse was so intense. “Well, you are hot.” She looks at the empty bottle. “But there are things that suggest you are under a great amount of stress.” Her eyes fall on the mark. Should she tell him it was not her area of expertise? Maybe he already knew. She is looking him dead in the eyes when she hollers louder than his ears would require. “Drargon… Dark?” Liquor had two potential outcomes. She hoped with her guidance she could sway him from the violent kind and put him in a slightly better mood. Her touch had a few tricks for troubled minds, but the mood would have to set before she released him; he’d have to adopt the sensation as his own. Her hand would linger there, the other coming to rest on the counter until the sealed bottle of near-black liquid was delivered. The gradual shift would have been less visually repellant if both her eyes worked in unison, but mostly one would have to pay close attention to realize the transitional drop into darkness. Little by little the affect would be more pronounced; a manufactured sensation of serenity that was both calming and muscularly relaxing. He may need to lean on the counter before his drink is done.

She might notice that Eirik looked exhausted; he felt even worse and if not for his lycan heritage, more may show visibly upon his features. This would be the last sign Sabrina might see towards his health. It had been two days since he had slept well. Those dreams. They terrified him. All because of that damn mark. Those voices never rested and perhaps it was a good thing that Sabrina was here. Since obtaining this, these are the only few moments where his mind is not clouded by the legion assaulting it. Eirik is under a great deal of stress, Sabrina was right though he would not admit to such a thing. Sabrina's touch however, carried a stronger impulse on his mind during these quiet moments. He was gathering things from her that he never understood. This itself brings rows of ivory, white teeth visible beneath the sheen of a smile. Eirik puts an arm forward to balance on the counter. What was she doing? Those voices gone, his mood shifted. So much so that stress is no longer visible, tension no longer held in his muscles. Eirik felt great. "What are you doing?" He asks finally, not clearly understanding the whole sensation brought on by Sabrina.

Sabrina smiles up at him. “I am an Ardent. I am doing what I was made to do.” He felt the transfer working, there were no words to better explain what was happening. “It’s not magic..” Her words might come to him in rivers, some understood, some not, like the focus of a wave just before it hits followed by a blur and subsequent focus. She explained to him that, while not a magical being, she held the ability to force his own body to produce the chemical needs to combat against whatever is affecting him. There are a lot of big words like dopamine, serotonin, and neural transmitters… all of these words foreign to those who did not study the biological makings of nearly all bodies in motion, namely, cognitive ones. “So it will probably be a little foggy, but there is more control. The brain will try to focus, and refocus before it orients itself. ” Gods, was she talking for minutes, or hours? It was melodic and confusing at the same time. She was pushing back from him now, waving that damned light in his face. There is the scent of vanilla. “rik… eirik…… Eirik?” She looks to be waiting for a response. “How do you feel?”

Eirik would feel the weight of the world lifted from his shoulders. It was a slow gradual thing, the liberation of his mind; which only worked according to Sabrinas will. Whatever she had just done, he doesn't grasp. His knowledge of a body in motion is terrible. Generally, he understood that most men needed legs to stand for a fight, and arms to swing weapons. Beyond battle, the body was something he had never studied. Her massive words would fill his mind, but drift away like the weight she was lifting. It would take a moment for that haze to clear, for his eyes to shift and adjust to the light she was waving in his face. Eirik does come around, curious about how long that had just taken them. Right-hand moves to cover the healers hand on his arm. "Don't let go." Eirik was stripped of his walls and defenses, completely bare for her to see. "I can't even describe it." It was a night and day difference. The man who had walked in here earlier was savage compared to what his mind thought now. Every emotion of rage had emptied. 'I was six,' he thought about the last time rage had not filled his very essence. It was nerve wracking to not feel its warmth, to not be fueled by the fire that had consumed him. "Thank you," Eirik finally moves to grab the new drink before him. "Whats this?" he eyes the fluid curiously.

Sabrina was pulling free when his hand comes atop hers. She was not prepared. “Um.” The release was somewhat dumbfounded and she pulls away regardless, cheeks brightening as she shifts her seat to face the counter. It would be unclear even to her what he may have gleaned in that moment of surprise. She clears her throat and is followed up by a nervous smile. She cared for all the patients she took in, each one in their own way. His version of care was equally apart from the rest. “That.” She gestures toward the bottle. “Is technically illegal.” A grin breaks into a laugh before she is set at ease. Still, for some reason she takes a pair of gloves from a strap in her belt and pulls them up to her elbows. She puts two fingers up to Drargon and two glasses are delivered. He pours, she drinks immediately. She may have looked slightly…less… than she did a few moments ago, and that version of her capacity to put her gift under control was still evident in her features.

Eirik wouldn't fuss about her withdrawal, and the addition of gloves. He wasn't aware that his words might possibly have offended her. Well, at least he would think that if it wasn't for her touch and brightening of her cheeks. The transfer of her genuine emotion nearly consumed his mind, almost gasping at the thought that burned so brightly. The Lycan shifts to face the counter as arms come to rest upon its surface. After a moment of thought collecting, a simple grin besmirches his features as he plucks the glass up. "Illegal?" He whispers to Sabrina. "Well then." The fluid is swallowed in but a moment. His previous adventure of alcohol is starting to produce effects in his words. Increasing his body heat and relaxing him further. "Drargon." he fused after downing that dark fluid. "You and I... Ya, you and I need to have a chat about how I can get more of this later." He didn't care if anyone was listening. The other patrons be damned, this was going to shape up into a great night. "And you," his gaze sweeps to Sabrina. "Continue to surprise me."

Sabrina had not yet consumed nearly enough alcohol to reproduce those effects, but she is smiling at Eirik’s demeanor, maybe even laughing a little. “Glad to be of service.” She makes an apologetic face. “But I do need to get back to work.” She drops a small purse on the counter, enough so Eirik could drink the whole night, even with his appetite for inebriation. She runs her hand along his shoulder and across his back as she makes her way back to the stack of paperwork to gather it up. She is dressing to challenge the elements once more, and of Eirik were to turn around to a source of profound heat at the back of his neck he would realize that beast made it out of the fire and was breathing down his back. There is no challenge here, just a realization that he was being watched.