In A Tavern, Somewhere in The Baronial Capital...

[magicaddict]

"Do you ever wish you'd done something different with your life?"

The question comes rather out of the blue, and even further out of context. Starke is obviously looking to bluff his way out of the pot.

"Getting cold feet, mate?" asks a copper haired man, sitting at his ease and not remotely poker faced, cards in one hand and drink in the other, obviously with a handful. "We all thought you were obsessed."

"Oh, he's got cold feet alright," pipes up a woman rearranging her long, mousey ponytail and tossing it back over her shoulder before picking up her cards. "Just not for scouting. Sitting on a turkey, are we J?"

"Not at all. I'm just interested," he replies with an overly innocent look on his face.

He's bluffing.

"What are you really hoping to get out of your chosen career? I realised earlier, it's something we've never truly asked each other."

The copper haired man and ponytailed woman share a sceptical glance. Starke keeps trying regardless. "Come on – what makes J. Thaddeus Toran tick?"

"And it occurred to you to ask this right now, when Tad's holding the world to ransom?" a dark haired man says, returning to the table to pick up his cards. "Call, raise or fold, Jester."

"Marr's balls, guys. Fold." He rolls his eyes with a wry smile and tosses two pairs back the dealer, who raises a very quizzical eyebrow above her otherwise serious face. "I really was just interested. Happy now?" He opens his palms and turns his arms over, demonstrating he is hiding nothing up his sleeves. The dealer takes a look anyway.

"You mean there's something more than fame, fortune, and hot, leather-clad pathfinder girls?" Asks the man called Tad, and on receiving a dangerous look from the dealer, throws a couple of matchsticks into the pot and loses the mischievous look from his face. "Fair enough, you want to know? I'll tell you. I never really got that much of an education at home..."

A woman with shoulder length blonde hair wears a conspiratorial smile and quietly observes "yes you did," to the gap between her and Starke's chairs.

"...why thank you Kira. Please, allow me to rephrase. I never received much of a legitimate education at home," he waits for any further interruptions, and instead gets his bet called by the dark haired man and ponytailed woman. "And for better or worse, didn't really want to get into my parents business. Whatever that may have been," he observes while staring at the blonde woman, who shrugs relatively innocently.

"I learned a lot about getting places on personality; wits, charm and awareness can go a long way to achieving what you want, and no-one will deny that its fun. Unfortunately, with the best will in the world, anyone knows that its never going to truly close the deal. It's about half the race, if you're lucky.
I want to be more than the previous generation, simple as that. I'm not knocking mum and dad for one second, and there'll be the standard words with anyone who does, but I want to have a shot at going down as someone who did something worth writing home about, rather than what they do. The Guards are too boring, I don't do magic, the Archers haven't got the first clue where they're going, and being a JP...well, no."

A chuckle goes up round the table as he continues.

"I can go places with the Pathfinders, places I can't with the others. To be honest, I may not be here for long - there might be something more worthwhile out there - but for the moment, as far as I'm concerned, this is pretty damn good. Oaken, you joining the party?" he asks, indicating a tall elf with dark hair across the table. The elf looks down at his cards once, twice, then turns them over and passes them to the dealer, whose hand was on the way to collect them before they hit the table.

"I've got nothing."

Tad rolls his eyes and indicates he isn't changing any of his cards as Kira chucks hers in. The dark haired man changes two, the ponytailed woman one.

"So what are you looking to get out of this?" Starke obviously isn't letting this one go. Oaken raises an eyebrow.
"Me?"
"No, the guy behind you. We might as well go round everyone, if nothing else to prove I wasn't just bluffing."

Oaken leans back in his chair as the dealer distributes cards to the remaining three in the pot, the impassive attentive expression never leaving her face. He appears to be in deep thought for a moment, looking down, before returning his gaze to the table and speaking in measured tones.
"You'd be hard pressed to find a greater concentration of wood elves in the Kingdom of Exiles than here. Pathfinding is the natural skill they possess that the Barons are interested in, and they flock to the banner from all over.
What do I want? I want a greater understanding of my people. You ask what makes Tad tick; I want to know what makes me tick. There is knowledge among the Tauredhelië and their endless domain: History and understanding in the forests of the world that may be lost to all other people. If I learn a fraction of that knowledge in my time, and can pass it on to those it may benefit before it's too late, I'd call that a life well spent."

The dark haired man nods to himself almost imperceptibly. Oaken continues, "I'm going to see the world on behalf of the military, and experience it on behalf of my own people, and I doubt any of you have learned anything new."

The new cards have been dealt, and the dark haired man and the ponytailed woman are sorting. Tad leans forward, a pained look on his face. "Soran, Jessa, my friends, please, take my advice: Back out. This pot's only going one way, and neither of you quite fit in my pocket."

It falls on deaf ears. Soran throws three into the pot, immediately called by Tad, and Jessa follows suit alarmingly quickly. For the first time, Tad looks ever so slightly worried and indicates again that he isn't changing. Soran and Jessa both pass one back to the dealer.

"Keep it going," Starke nods in the blonde woman's direction. "Kira, you're up."

"I just want to beat you in a knife-off one day," she replies with another conspiratorial smile and associated knowing chuckles from the rest of the table. She waits for it to die down before continuing.

"No, seriously. It's one thing to...trip the light fantastic...through life, or to play at doing something good to make yourself feel like you're helping. I know people who do that, it serves them well enough and that's all well and good."

She looks down slightly, a more serious look on her face. "It's another thing entirely to roll up your sleeves and get on with a job at hand that isn't always easy, pretty, fun or even necessarily interesting, but really does make a difference. To stick at it, regardless of how hard it gets, on the basis that there are people who really appreciate you for it, and to not walk away because you don't like what you see at times.
I want to be one of the ones who make the difference, rather than just talking about it. Training for this has been the hardest thing I have ever done, but I've found friends who aren't going to bolt at the first sign of dirt, and job satisfaction that I just wouldn't get from tilling fields, finding a rich husband or even working in the Temple. I'm going to go out and actually play a part in making a difference, and life willing, I'll be making it for a long time to come."

"I'll drink to that," replies Starke, raising his cup. The rest at the table do likewise. The dealer is getting bored.

"Soran, the action is with you. Check or bet."

"Check."

"Check." Tad looks deadly serious. Kira leans over slightly and looks at Tad's hand, her face betraying nothing.

"Check." Jessa is quite short stacked; it's going to hurt if she loses this hand.

"Checked through. Showdown, please. Soran?"

He turns over and reveals two pairs, aces over nines. Tad and Jessa remain impassive.

"Jessa?"

Breaking with the order in the name of building up the tension. Very magnanimous on the dealer's part. Jessa looks directly at Tad and turns over a full house, kings full of fours. It doesn't even register.

"Tad?"

Tad's eyes drift from Soran, to Jessa, to the dealer, to Starke. They rest there for a moment, and there is the most infinitesimal twitch. Starke looks over to Kira, a slightly raised eyebrow on his face, and she smirks. The game is very much afoot.

"Today, please?"

Tad looks down, and with a sigh flops his cards over...to reveal four jacks, tastefully arranged in suit order. Soran rolls his eyes, Jessa groans.

"I did say, guys," Tad observes with a wry smile, collecting his matchsticks. Jessa watches them go with a sorrowful look. "D, your turn. Deal and talk."

The dealer gathers up the cards and riffle shuffles them without looking, her mind elsewhere for a moment. Her hands move precisely, as fast as it is possible to watch. She looks round the table as she shuffles, seeming to weigh each of the players up.

"The quest for perfection drives us all, in same cases more literally than others."

Tad tries to look innocent, to more chuckles, as she continues.

"What I have learned will get me through training with no problems whatsoever, but I need to balance it out with experience if I'm going to get to where I want to be.
The Pathfinders have a history of turning out two distinct types of people; the good and the dead. Modern histories are full of stories of what the good have managed to achieve, every race, colour and creed alike. The elves that make it always have the same traits: lightning reflexes, endless endurance and a supremely graceful fighting style, enough to make them well nigh invincible as long as they don't drop the ball. It's a knife edge, but they dance along it like its ten feet wide.
What I truly want is to be the very best I can be, and alive to enjoy it. There's no point striving for perfection if you die in the pursuit, but you can't let fear hold you back from it. I want to be able to run with that ball when it lands in my lap, all the way along the knife edge. The feeling must be magical when you get it right.”

Several of the people round the table realise six neat piles of five cards appeared at some point during D's speech. Starke is looking at the table with a raised eyebrow, perhaps wondering where she learned to do that.

"Where's Wyx?" asks Jessa. "He doesn't usually miss games."

Oaken and Starke share a quiet chuckle, and Tad assumes a sombre, grave expression and replies, "Pathfinder Cadet Erran Wyxel was last seen earlier today, heading in the direction of Pathfinder Lieutenant Lissom's office to ask her out on a date. He has not been heard from since."

Outright gaffaws go up from Kira and Soran, Jessa joins with Tad and Starke in chuckling, and D shakes her head with a quite groan. Oaken tosses his cards back and heads for the privies, Kira doesn't bother to bet and simply folds, the others ante in and take a look at what they've got.

"Go on," Starke continues, indicating Jessa. "Your turn."

Jessa tosses a couple of her remaining matchsticks onto the pile, and as the others consider their responses, looks into the middle distance.

"There's something very special about creating what other people read about. I'm not talking rumours or tabloids, I'm talking real stories. Things you can put your name to, be responsible for...things that others will use, and take their lead from. Across the weird and wonderful demographics of the guild of Pathfinders, there is the biggest glossary of techniques that you're ever going to find. Trouble is, so few people actually share what they know, it's like it's written in invisible ink. Reports are one thing, but they so rarely contain information on actual techniques; tactics based on situations rather than theory, actual real examples of what worked and didn't, that they aren't particularly useful. If everyone shared their knowledge, it would be so effective.
I suppose what I truly want is what any pathfinder wants: to survive, regardless of the situation at the time. Together, the Pathfinders can tell me how to do it in every single, possible instance. Somewhere, someone's done it, and knows how it turned out. I want to know it all, and use it to make sure that I...and the rest of the party...all come home safe. Sad, I know."

A couple drink to it, others simply nod.

"Come on, Jessa" replies Soran, raising by a couple. "Anything that keeps us alive out there is anything but sad. Starke, all yours."

"Me?" Starke calls the bet, leaving himself, Jessa and Tad in the pot. "Not much to me, really."

Tad clears his throat with an ever-so-subtle "bullshit" thrown in for good measure. More chuckles roll round the table.

"Okay, okay, fair enough." He looks down, smiling to himself. "Pathfinders can come from anywhere. You've read about ones who were groomed for it from childhood, ones who were ex-cons, others who were given a sword and thrown at the enemy, some who did it for a laugh, all kinds of people. But what's the connection between them all? All the ones you read about?”

There are a few slightly quizzical glances in his direction. The basic motivations of each of the group are relatively common knowledge, so in this case as with all the others, they know roughly where Starke is going. It's just an odd way to get there.

Having well and truly got their attention, Starke looks up, a familiar grin on his face.

"You're reading about them. They're famous."

Expressions of realisation dawn. So that's how he's getting at it.

"Each of these people has done something truly award warning; put foot to ass on a grand scale for Prince and country. In the line of their job, they have had the chance to do something genuinely special, up to and including saving the world, and they've taken it with both hands.
I want to be one of those people. I want to be good enough at my job that one of those oh-so-special chances presents itself to me, and aware enough of what's going on that I can take it and run with it when it does.
I want a horde of adoring fans, reading about how I saved the world, got the girl, killed the bad guy, got the girl, lived in a castle by the sea, got the girl...you get the picture. If they can do it, why can't I?
Yes, I signed up for the military on more than the off-chance that I'd become world famous. Looking out for your fellow people, chances for travel, new places and experiences, good wage, decent quality of life; it's a good job. Military patrols would be pretty attractive to me even if there wasn't a chance at celebrity...but there is.
It's absolutely miniscule, and requires you to shoot the moon if, if, if and when the opportunity presents itself, but if you manage it, there is nothing standing between you and immortality. If it ever decides to present itself to me, I'll chase it until one of us passes out, and I promise it won't be me."

Soran is playing an imaginary fiddle, providing suitably misty-eyed incidental music. Kira and Tad are swaying along to the soundtrack, looking as though they are about to float away. D is giving Starke her typical level stare when faced with his delusions of grandeur. Only Jessa remotely appears to consider that it is quite a cool thing to wish for.

"Anyway," he continues as the bets roll back around to him, "there's always the hot, leather-clad pathfinder girls if things don't quite go my way."

More rolled eyes and accompanying expressions of lack of surprise greet him as he tosses a couple more matchsticks onto the pile.

"I'm in for a two, and I think it's Soran's turn."

Soran puts down his fiddle, and is considering what he's going to say when Oaken returns to the table looking puzzled.

"Guys, you aren't going to believe what I've just seen outside."

Tad puts on a matter-of-fact expression. "I know. It surprised me the first time I saw it too, but in time I learned that all men have one. You shouldn't let it bother you."

Kira and Jessa can't quite avoid giggling. Oaken patiently waits for them to stop before continuing.

"Seriously, and more surprising than how big even I am. Guys, I've just seen Wyx on his way uptown."

The six people sitting at the table freeze as one. Cards stop in the act of being passed, dealt, looked at, and six pairs of eyes turn and fix Oaken with their full and direct attention.

"He had Lissom on his arm."

"WHAT????"

The shout goes up from everyone, and immediately all thoughts of the game fly out of the window as cards are thrown down and, each uttering their own take on the fact that Oaken has got to be joking, they all bolt for the door, in Tad's case not waiting for the others to filter out of his way and climbing straight over the table.