Waldemai has hiked up from Southport Square. "Heard you've brewed up something new" he calls, ignoring the large menu he can't read.

The Parlor has been setup for an evening of dining and... well, not wining, but certainly liquor drinking. And best of all? It's all free! Venturo stands at the door ready to greet people, and a couple of servers are there to help see people seated and their needs met, as needed. "A pleasure to see you, Master Isenhu. Do come in, and yes. Well, newish... it is one of the fall drinks on tap, but I thought the offer of free alcohol couldn't be passed up by some."

Oswyn makes his way into the Parlor, squinting at his surroundings... which is pretty standard for Oswyns. "This is cozy!" he remarks.

e Wandering in, Jarel gives a polite salute to those already in the establishment. Then he looks for an adequate chair to sit down at and see how the event will go down. Hopefully it will go down in a good way. He was definitely here for those drinks, assuming there are drinks.

"Master Oswyn," Venturo offers up warmly, a glimmer of mischief in his gaze, "It has been a while, hasn't it? Good to see you back. The books and experiments have been treating you well?" A hand lifts, all for the man to motion the scholar in further as he wishes. It's Jarel's appearance that has Venturo's pale gaze tracking the man, a warm smile flashed his way, "Come in and have a seat. I'm Venturo Thayne, owner, brewer and story teller here at the Raconteur, and it's good to have you here."

Waldemai has joined the A whimsical, airy booth.

Oswyn smiles at Venturo, close-lipped. "The books have been treating me well. I'm not sure what experiments you're referring to, but... I'm well? I hope you are, too. I'm eager to hear your story."

Entering the parlor is the lovely visage of Amanda Whisper. A woman who, despite a muted gray cloak over a lighter gray dress, surely stands out. Perfect make up, perfectly painted red lips, red nails to match. She carries herself with the poise of, well, a Whisper. Her smile is faint and polite, and her look slightly curious. As she takes a slow look around, moving forward as she does, she stays quiet.

"Shouldn't any good scholar have experiments? Thoughts to test, things to learn. But I digress," A hand lifts from Venturo to brush the thought aside, And as the fellow turns to start heading towards the central stage, he flashes a warm smile towards Amanda, "Welcome! Please, do have a seat. I encourage you to find someone -- known or new -- to meet tonight. While a story is certainly on the books, and will begin shortly, it's truly an opportunity to enjoy a drink or two from the Raconteur, and enjoy the evening."

Chiara slips in, hands clasped behind her back in a clear 'look at all the things I am not touching,' a smile curling the corners of her lips. She winks as she spies Venturo, but otherwise doesn't interrupt, making her way over to claim some of the evening's brew and a piece of cheese. Turning back to the room, she sips from her cup, blue-grey eyes scanning the room curiously before she makes her way over to find somewhere to sit.

Oswyn grins at Venturo. It's boyish, and it makes him look twelve, which might be why he usually smiles close-lipped. He nods, scurrying over to the nearest seat and sitting down.

Oswyn has joined the A lovely, charming booth.

Right after Amanda's entrance, as well as looking at her for some time, Jarel decides to find a place to sit down. He was quiet and just mostly learning about those around him, for that he sits in the... ironically the charming booth, despite someone else claiming it. He just grins "Guess we both thought the same place."

Jarel has joined the A lovely, charming booth.

Oswyn turns his smile on Jarel. "It seems so!" he says. "Scholar Oswyn Spencer. Pleasure to meet you."

Waldemai leans back in his chair. He's not crude enough to put his boots on the table, but he's obviously relaxed.

"Thank you, Master Thayne, is it?" Amanda asks. "Amanda Whisper. A pleasure," she says. Then she takes a look around, considering the rest of the event guests. "Well, I cannot say I know anyone else here. Might anyone wish to meet me?" she asks aloud, apparently entirely comfortable simply addressing the room.

"A pleasure, Mistress Whisper." Out Venturo's hand goes to pluck up a mug, and then it is to the stage he treads, getting up into the center. "Tonight? Is a story about the drink before you, Harrowed Fields. I feel that every drink I make here is a story, one already experienced or to inspire another with those you are with. Drinking is far more enjoyable with a friend or three." A warm smile touches to his mouth, before he looks around at everyone, preparing to start.

Waldemai accepts the glass of the new brew. "Harrowed fields, eh?" he says, and has a taste. "That's pretty good. Seems like there might be a story behind it, along with a story to go with it."

Chiara grins at Amanda's question, even as she tilts her head towards the booths. "I would be happy to," she says cheerfully, before falling silent as Venturo begins to speak, finally moving to settle herself, if a bit hastily.

Oswyn speaks quietly with Jarel at their booth. He squints some at Amanda, uncertain, then looks down at the tabletop. Perhaps he's shy!

Chiara has joined the A bright, hopeful booth.

"It was in my nineteenth year I found myself in the company of a handful of militia men and women, deep in the heart of central Arvum. It was due to a," Up Venturo's hands lift, dangling up in the air in a show of helplessness, "misunderstanding that put me in this particular situation, in a form of community service." His left hand waves the issue away. This, however, begins to fade as he paints the picture with the story ahead, his tone and inflection dropping into a more gloomy, haunting state.

"It couldn't even really be called a village, just five or six houses of a collection of farm families we approached. Dusk was upon us, the last vestiges of the sunset giving way to twilight. Even still, we could see the fields, the fall harvest rotting upon the vine. Pumpkins, squash, sweet potatoes and more all spoiling with a smell to the air that wasn't natural." A small shudder rolls over the man, Venturo's features scrunching up as if having tasted something foul indeed for that brief moment. "It was with caution that we approached the small group that had gathered out, presumably, to greet us."

Too slow (or shy), Oswyn! Amanda spots Chiara, and her smile brightens. Just a hair. This is obviously a woman whose expressions don't ever drift too far from 'muted'. She steps aside, to snag her own drink, then moves over to join Chiara at the hopeful booth. She'll fall quiet, soon as she's there, making introductions in appropriately muted tones.

Amanda has joined the A bright, hopeful booth.

Waldemai frowns and shakes his head. "That's a bad, bad situation, the crops rotting like that."

Jarel checked composure + survival at difficulty 20, rolling 7 higher.

The corners of Chiara's lips quirk at Venturo's comment about 'misunderstandings,' a rather impish twinkle in her eyes, even as she takes another sip of her drink. As Amanda joins her, she briefly shifts her attention to the other woman, replying quietly enough not to interrupt the story before turning her attention back to the tale.

Flopsy, an innocuous white rabbit in an Inquisition collar arrives, delivering a message to Amanda before departing.

Oswyn rests his elbows on his booth's table, taking a tenative sip from his mug of the brew of the evening. He's listening attentively, though he does say something quietly to Jarel.

Venturo gives a grave nod towards Waldemai's comment. "Thankfully, they were friendly. Eager, even for our assistance. They were certain that local shav'arvani had been poisoning their fields." It's a small step back he takes, towards the far edge of the stage, letting his presence fade from the light just a bit in emphasis, "They were at their wits end, and we? Were going to be camping outside with little protection from whatever was out there."

"That night, I chatted with Jobe, the captain of the small band of militiamen. This, he had said, was unlike anything he'd ever seen before. He didn't even know where to start! Well," Up a hand comes, Venturo's fingers pressing around his heart as a far too innocent look creases his features, "I couldn't just stand by idly. And so, should I find out just what was happening? He'd consider my small, little problem paid for in full."

Nodding, Jarel concludes that Oswyn is correct. "Venturo! What kind of special brews have you got?" He was pretty loud, hard not to hear the northerner man with how loud he is.

It is Jarel that Venturo turns his attention to, a glittering of amusement coming to his features as he answers, "This particular one is crafted of pumpkins and the harvests of fall. I do know you northerners enjoy your harder liquors though, and we can find you the rum that is being sold this fall, called Precaious Precipes."



Back towards the front Venturo comes, one dark brow ticking upwards as he looks from face to face, a touch of a rueful smile curling to the corners of his mouth. "Three days we stayed there, talking with the farmers. We saw brief glimpses of local shav'arvani, but none could figure out the true source of what was going on. I hadn't a single clue!" Out comes a puff of air in frustration, and here the inflection in Venturo's tone turns mysterious, a lower whisper as if to share a secret. "But my luck wasn't quite dried up. It was by complete happenstance that I was outside when one of the farm hands -- a shav'arvani who had recently bent the knee -- came by. His ability to speak the language of the compact was limited, but he was a sharp mind, someone who simply had been overlooked. A man by the name of Ka'val."

Waldemai ahs, and samples the aroma of the ale again. "Pumpkin. Is that what that is..." He pays careful attention to the story, watching with wide eyes.

Oswyn briefly reaches up to pinch the bridge of his nose between index finger and thumb, but says nothing further. He has another sip of his ale, listening intently.

Jarel nods a few times to Venturo. "Precaious Precipice? Never heard of that one before. Is it any good?"

Oswyn leans over to murmur something else to his tablemate.

Amanda speaks softly to Chiara, just a bit. As she does, she sips her drink, quite daintily. She's likely not big on pumpkin ale, but she holds that polite smile all the while. She sends a faint grin to the side, to Chiara. Then, before she can say more, a white rabbit with red eyes is hopping along to deliver her a message. "Oh," she says, quietly. She takes it from the weird critter and shoos it away, then reads. What comes next is spoken aside, in a soft, apologetic tone. Apologizing as she is, she still manages to look back at Jarel, and appropriately glare, before she brings fingers to lips and... "Shh!"

"It is one of my personal favorites. I do like to think everything I make is good," A bemused expression touches the brewer's features, as Venturo responds to Jarel, "but I also recognize everyone has different tastes."

Oh, such a gleeful smile curls to his mouth here, as if finally having things fall right into place. "It took a few physical demonstrations from Ka'val for him to tell me what he meant, but I soon understood. The main leader of the group had a rat infestation problem. He also drank far too much. And one night? He went to place poison in the refuse... only he tossed it into the compost piles in his drunken stupor in the dark. All it took was an inspection, after I told Jobe what I'd discovered, to confirm that this whole ordeal? It was there own fault. He'd ended up putting poison in the compost, compost which was used on the crops."

"Jobe stayed behind, not satisified that it was all an accident, and certainly still concerned about what would happen. But I packed up, and I was given enough supplies to go my own way, as Jobe proved a man of his word, and so I left those harrowed fields behind." Here, Venturo takes a glass of that namesake drink, hefting it up in a salute to everyone.

Waldemai grins and shakes his head. "Whiskey and rat poison don't mix, that's for sure, no more than whiskey and a forge or whiskey and sixteen pound sledge."

Chiara glances back towards the story from time to time, expression mostly attentive, although it's clear she's paying equal attention to her booth-mate, although the rabbit is given a rather bemused look at its appearance.

Amanda gives a soft, delighted laugh. She sets her mug down and then gives a very light applause. "Wonderful, Master Thayne!" she declares. She says a few more words aside, and then she's slipping out of her booth.

"It is a wonder he didn't end up poisoining them all," Venturo gives a sharp nod to Waldemai, a corner of his mouth quirking upwards, "Unfortunately, all too often we are the greatest cause of our own problems, mmm?" The brewer steps down from the stage, taking a long draw from his drink, before the full brunt of his bemused attention falls upon Jarel, "If you like, you should check out the blackboard in the taproom. It has a full listing of what we are currently serving. The drinks here? Change every season, so there is always something a bit different going on." Amanda gets a warm smile, "Good to meet you, Mistress Whisper! I do hope to see you again."

Oswyn raises his mug. "An excellent story, Master Thayne. Thank you. There's no rat poison in this, I trust?" He is probably trying to make a joke. He seems very nervous about it.

Amanda is overheard praising Venturo for: A wonderful storyteller.

Oswyn is overheard praising Venturo for: An excellent story!

Amanda has left the A bright, hopeful booth.

Jarel is overheard praising Venturo for: For being a great story teller.

"Made from unpoisoned pumpkins, I promise!" Comes Venturo's quip back, and as if to prove the point, his own glass is lifted to drink from again. "Speaking of," It's over towards Zane that he heads, the ever so silent tender, and the bottle of the night is plucked up. "This is yours, Master Oswyn. Have you had the chance to meet Mistress Chiara, by chance? A marvelous woman, even if she is nothing but trouble. Chiara, this is Master Oswyn."

Waldemai has a good drink of the pumpkin-based brew. "There. If it's poisoned you'll all soon know."

Jarel has left the A lovely, charming booth.

Oswyn takes the bottle, eyebrows going up. "I won? Oh! Thank you! No, I'm afraid I haven't met Mistress Chiara. A pleasure." He bobs his head in her direction, and then squints in Waldemai's direction. "I don't believe I've met you, either, but... I'm bad at recognizing people at a distance, I'm afraid."

Waldemai has left the A whimsical, airy booth.

Waldemai has joined the A lovely, charming booth.

Jarel has joined the A bright, hopeful booth.

Waldemai gets up and moves closer to Oswyn. "I understand that. Our old miller had much the same sort of problem. Waldemai Isenhu," he introduces himself. "Master smith, with a shop down on Southport Square."

"He," Venturo dips his head towards the man in question when Oswyn looks towards the fellow, "makes quite the good show at childrens parties, at least." A teasing look is flashed towards the fellow, before the brewer looks to them all, "I'm glad you enjoyed, both the story and the drink."