Tale One, Ophilia
"Thank you."
"Of course, Lady Ophilia. Anything for one of the daughters of the Archbishop."
The barkeep held his tray in front of him, bowing shortly before leaving the sister to her sequestered corner. Though hidden, the booth was still warmed by the fire lit inside the tavern. Rarely did the young sister visit such an establishment, for drinks or otherwise. But, having willingly taken on the title of Flamebearer – and the subsequent duties that came with it – as well as the imminent death of her sole parental figure, Ophilia needed a moment to collect herself. It just so happened that some mulled wine, and possibly pleasant conversation, would help to subside her woes.
If she needed more reasons, then wasn't chasing off the cold winter's wind that was blowing outside enough? Or that she couldn't face her adoptive sister, Lianna, as she watched over their father? She had to escape somewhere to wait out the storm before her journey.
Wasn't that enough? Just a moment to sneak away and unshoulder her heavy burdens without the worry of her sister or father hanging over her?
Wasn't that enough?
Not wanting to think on the topic anymore, and sniffing her unshed tears away, Ophilia took a comforting sip of the hot beverage. The wine immediately helped to calm her thoughts, warming her spirit, readying her for the journey ahead.
She giggled before taking another sip. "Hm, tingly."
Though indulged by the clergymen and women of the Order of the Flame only every now and then, spirits such as this wine, when enjoyed diligently, were boons to help those weary few who had shouldered too much or felt to little. To the Order of the Flame, these drinks helped to – so to speak – reignite the fire of their spirits to once again dedicate themselves to Aelfric, Flamebringer.
In Ophilia, with each sip, she felt her diligence surrounding her like a shield once again. Yet, thoughts continued to plague her, breaking it down bit by bit. Her main concern was that she was alone. Of course, she had a Knight Ardante accompanying her (who was currently buying supplies), but only to the Flatlands. From there, she would truly be on her own. A part of her welcomed the challenge and readied her kindness to help those in need whilst on her journey. But another part of her yearned for a more permanent traveling companion. After all, on the road, life by oneself could become too lonesome to bear. Ophilia knew this well.
She sighed, dancing her finger along the rim of her half-full glass, thinking what lay ahead of her. With her melancholic mind continuously battling against such thoughts, she felt herself slipping deeper and deeper into the pit she had dug herself.
Time for another sip.
With it came a small flicker of courage, desperately trying to light Ophilia's dimmed soul. It caught, but only the young cleric could fuel, or dampen, her strong, kind demeanor.
Her finger switched from the glass to twirling a strand of her long blonde hair. Something she did often whenever in thought.
"Everything is falling apart," she muttered sullenly. "And yet… I am tasked to carry this flame, just as His Excellency twenty years ago. My heart wishes me to stay, to help Lianna. But…"
There it was. Her eyes widened as she came to her discovery.
Thinking back to her many conversations at the Church, she remembered what they had said about her:
You are so kind, Ophilia.
Some days, I lack strength, but, my dear, when you are around, kindness wins over and I regain my energy.
Phili, you wish only to share everybody's burdens, to care for everyone. Thank you…
"…but I am doing this for everyone's sake. If I did not, then would I be able to face them? Would I be able to face His Excellency and my sister?"
But, the most important question was:
"Would I be able to face myself?"
Ophilia lamented on these thoughts for a long while, sipping her drink as she did so.
Of course, she knew the answer already: no. However, she continued mulling over the questions. Even as she did so, her confidence continued to rise, along with her assurance that she was doing the right thing. That alone filled her with more strength than she ever knew. Now, her goal was clear, her reasons equally so, but there was one more problem to tackle before she could depart Flamesgrace:
Would she be able to complete her journey alone?
Just then, a gust of wind blew through the tavern as the door to the establishment burst open.
Everyone's eyes turned to the man who would create such a ruckus. Even if this was a tavern, this was also Flamesgrace, where those drinking still held themselves with the propriety expected of them in such a holy town.
Yet this burly man cared not, walking in heftily with thick, leather boots towards the bar. A coat decorated his shoulders, while a beard hid his face well enough to mask any expression he wore. The unknown figure brought his hand up to the bar, revealing a generous amount of leaves as he removed his fingers. The barkeep understanding his meaning, and without flinching, procured a bottle of ale double the size of a pint. Whether the proprietor of the tavern knew this man, or not, no one could say. Everyone else couldn't recognize him.
Beverage of choice in hand, he turned around to examine the tavern. It wasn't long before his eyes laid on Ophilia. There, they stayed. With a nod, he stomped over towards the young cleric. Only a few steps of his boots and he sat down across from the sister.
People wearily watched, ready to step in to protect the adopted daughter of the archbishop. But as he stared her down, she matched his gaze with her own intrigued eyes. Maybe it was the wine, or maybe it was morbid curiosity. Whatever the reason, Ophilia continued her attempt at reading the unknown man.
Before she could come to any conclusions, the man laughed heartily, slapping his knee and almost knocking Ophilia's drink off the table in the process. The air seemed to warm at the sound of his cheerful bellowing. Some patrons chuckled along with him, as the daunting image of the man melted away to reveal a warm soul. Still, few watched to make sure it wasn't a ruse. With a nod from the barkeep – who was smirking all the while – even they started feeling comfortable with the newcomer.
For the time being, though, back to Ophilia and her guest.
"What an entrance! 'Tis always best to leave those 'round you gawking or interested," the man spoke, turning every which way to examine those in the tavern. "Hmph. Seems I've done both. Nonetheless, what a way t' make yourself known 'round these parts. Wouldn't you agree…?"
"Ophilia Clement," she supplied, keeping a small smile.
"Miss Ophilia. It is miss, yes?" With her nod, he continued introductions. "The pleasure's all mine, miss. Sorry for the damp blanket I was on the evenin', but as I said: an entrance is everything 'ere. You shall learn that on your adventure, 'm sure."
The still-unnamed man took a swig of his drink, clearing the amber-colored bottle of liquid past the neck. Ophilia, though, did not stare aghast at the man for that reason, but instead for how he deduced that she was departing soon to complete her pilgrimage.
"How did you…? When…?" the cleric stuttered, caught off-guard by the burly man.
He turned, addressing the sister matter-of-factly. "Hm? Oh, ya see everyone journeyin' tends to have this… air 'bout them. Yet, these signs are different from person t' person. For you, well, it seems you're determined, strong. How you hold yourself, though, bleeds kindness, a want to help those 'round you. Coupled with your priestess robes, and I can tell you're 'bout t' journey somewhere far, miss."
Ophilia was stunned, but recomposed herself after a drink of her wine. "That is correct, actually. I am impressed by your skills, mister…?"
For a moment, the man thought to himself. "Can't say yet, Miss Ophilia. Have not picked a name out for ya. Though I will 'm sure by the end of our meeting. First, though! Hm…"
The unnamed man took a drink and then stared directly into Ophilia's eyes, once again catching her off-guard. They held each other's gaze for only a few moments before the man, a gloom dimming his pupils, focused his attention on the table.
"A lot of doubt there for someone so young, 'twould seem. Not doubt in those around you, that's where you pour your belief into. The doubt stems from yourself. Spare me the specifics, as you seem troubled, but may I ask why?"
Understanding this was what the man did, Ophilia was not surprised. Perhaps it would help her. In her relaxed state from the wine, who was she to turn down such help?
Due to this fact, and her non-confrontational, friendly attitude, the cleric intended to reply. Instead, she thought on the question, wondering where she ought to start. No one place seemed right, yet neither did one place seem wrong. She could start anywhere in her tale and answer this man's question.
Then it hit her: why revisit her tale when she could start here instead?
Drinking the last of her mulled wine, Ophilia replied, "I am alone on this journey, my pilgrimage. I sit here, pondering on if I am strong enough to do this alone, for I see no one staying by my side throughout. I am afraid, without the strength of those around me, that I will fail."
Her confession came out smoothly, not missing a beat. Talking to this friendly stranger, airing out her worries relieved the troubled cleric. Even now, she felt a calming presence having shared her burden. If only she could do so throughout her pilgrimage.
The man let out a deep breath. "We all feel such doubt during troubled times, miss. 'Tis a thing we must undergo, a trial we must overcome, in order t' proceed in our own, separate ventures. But worry not. For I see it in you."
"Might I ask what that is?" Ophilia questioned with a strong curiosity.
Through his beard, the cleric swore she saw a smile. "Your warm nature. The ability t' help whoever, wherever, and the ability t' receive that aid in turn. You're someone who cares deeply, but wishes t' do the same for others. With that attitude, 'twill not be long 'fore you find someone joinin' you on your pilgrimage, Miss Ophilia."
With those words, the man stood from his seat, leaving behind an empty bottle and a few extra leaves. "I came 'ere t' find a tale, and I believe I did just that. Now, there are seven others 'round this continent who will help you. You'll find 'em in time, strung together by fate. A blessing, indeed. Enjoy these travels, and those who tarry with you, for 'twill be the time of your life. Hardships await, Miss Ophilia, but so much more is at the end of it all.
"When times are dark, do not forget t' turn t'wards the end of the tunnel t' see the light, nor be 'fraid t' walk back to it."
The man started to make his way to the door. Stunned by his words, Ophilia stood from her seat and called out to him.
"Wait! Sir, how do you know all of this?" she asked after him.
He continued walking, tapping the side of his head. "A great bard knows his tale, even 'fore it has begun."
"And your name?"
The man stopped at the doorway and spared Ophilia a glance, giving her an unseen, warm grin. He chuckled heartily. "I was right, I found it. Name's Teller, Miss Ophilia. 'm eager t' see where your pilgrimage takes you."
Then the door closed behind Teller, leaving a warmer tavern and happier costumers. Once departed, the barkeep passed out drinks to everyone, saying it was courtesy of the bard, himself. A mulled wine was brought over to Ophilia. For once, she partook in a second drink, but continued to stare at the door. Seconds passed, then minutes, until the Knight Ardante came through the door, informing the cleric it was time to depart.
As she readied herself to leave, she felt a sense of pride in herself. For Ophilia, who was only hours ago dreading undertaking this pilgrimage alone, now knew she would not be. Around the continent, there were others waiting for her, to share in the trials and tribulations, laughs and bonds, good times and bad that came with a journey such as hers.
So, when she stepped outside of the tavern, staff firmly in hand, the winter storm parted, revealing a promising sun.
The Knight Ardante asked, "Are you ready, Sister Ophilia?"
She smiled gently. "More than I could ever have been."
The storm looming in Ophilia's heart had passed, swept away by human means:
the prolific bard, Teller, raising her spirits as he regaled her with the future of her pilgrimage.
Neither did the cleric know if he was right, nor did she know if he was wrong, but it aided her all the same.
She decided that those who would join her, she wished to know.
Those she knew, she wished to befriend.
From those friendships, Ophilia would not be able to guess as to the bonds she would forge by comforting fires.
Yet, her story, as with seven others, would intermingle in unknown, memorable ways, all it would take was a tale or two.
In order to warm herself and begin her travels, she ventures forth towards Atlasdam, where her tale shall continue…
So begins the tale of "Loose Lips in the Tavern."