Revelry and Memory

As soon as Tycho stepped aboard Raffaella appeared, beaming. He looked her way, letting her know she had his attention.

“It’s ready, if you'd like to see?”

He nodded and followed as she hurried down the hatchway. Tall grabbed Tycho, giving him a friendly hug without ceasing his song.

“Good on ya, Tall,” Tycho nodded to the old sailor, and hopped down the hatchway in a single buoyant step. He knew Raffaella was ready to reveal the Lorehall, but the door to her cabin was along the way, and he kept imagining her turning aside at that door.

She looked back, stopped betwixt the two doors, and smiled. That moment seemed overlong to his mind, and then she opened the one at the end of the corridor; the one to the Ogre's new Lorehall and Trophy Room.

He smiled and looked past her into a warmly lit room. It was paneled with deep mahogany and rosewood, carpeted with thick, vibrant rugs, and furnished with supple, leather chairs. He followed her in, looking about. Tycho immediately recalled the ‘Smoking Room’ he had seen in the Lord Mayor’s Manor, but this space was distinctly Rhennee. There was only a hint of the dank feel one can never escape below decks, and the creaking of the boards seemed comforting in this atmosphere. There was ample room to sit, to hear and tell tales, and to set down a mug of ale. Scattered about the room—mounted on the walls, resting on tables and pedestals, hanging from the low ceiling, and even coiled about the mizzenmast—were tokens of peril and adventure. Most prominent, to this point, being the scarlet head of the Red Dragon Shervem. Tycho slowly meandered about, his gaze falling on this or that: a vampire’s teeth, a devil’s bones, the eye’s of a beholder, a mummy’s heart. He stopped and set his hand upon the head of a minitour, lost in the memory born by these artifacts.

“No touching!”

He whipped his head in her direction to find her returning a cocksure grin, not unlike his own. He nodded to acknowledge she had gotten him.

“What’cha think?”

“You know what I think.”

“Oh sure, but I mean about the room,” she winked. “And you won’t get off that easy, I'll want to be hearing you say it.”

He looked as if he wasn’t going to comply, sauntered around a bit longer, and then sat down. He grabbed a mug, took a long draft and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He then nestled back into a clearly comfortable, leather-upholstered chair and made a satisfied, grunty sound.

“Feels right.” He breathed in sharply through his nose, “smells right.” He looked around again, then settled on her with a smile, “looks right.” He nodded genuinely, “It’s, exactly, just right.”

“Would it kill’ya to say perfect.” They both burst out into laughter as she took a seat on a plush leather bench across from him and grabbed a mug of her own.

“Beyond perfect,” he drew a pipe from his bag, lit it with flame that jet out from his finger, and handed it to her. As she took a long pull, Ilias and Baktah poked in the door. On the way to taking a seat, the hulking orc gabbed the top of Raffaella’s head and playfully, but roughly, shook it about. He looked around and grunted his approval, “hummm,” he nodded. Of course, he had helped her set up and was one of the few who had gotten a sneak peek. Illias sat down uncomfortably close to the beautiful Loresinger, intentionally staring at her far too intensely.

“Oh Ilias, ya’stink boy.” She shooed him away with a few waves of her hands. He grabbed the pipe and slid over to the other side of the bench, with a grin, knowing she would say that, but never quite knowing if in jest. Anica suddenly hopped into the spot Ilias had vacated and hugged Raffaella with wide eyes and an excited sound. She grabbed two mugs, and handed one, without looking, up over and behind her head to her brother, who was drinking in the comforting atmosphere with a smile. Those two were soon followed by a steady stream of curious crew members, each staying a while to drain a mug or two and tell a tale. Soon Tall and Raffaella where singing and playing fiddle, and even El joined in. Food, ale, wine and spirits made their way down the hatchways and revelry rang out across the Old Docks until well after the cock crowed thrice