#kivven = surfacers
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Time for Tea
Dalamus wakes from his trance in the early hours of the morning, eyes bleary and ears swiveling to take in the sounds outside. Insects are still singing their nightly song, filling the air with rhythmic trilling. Shadowheart called them crickets. At first, Dalamus found their high-pitched chirps to be irritating--especially when attempting to trance--but now they are simply the sound of the night on the surface.
He stretches his arms out to his sides with a yawn, noticing with some interest that his back is not aching. There is no pulse of pain when he pulls on his shirt, no spike of electricity racing up his spine as he stands and lifts legs to don his trousers, no warning soreness as he straightens himself and sets his piwafwi about his shoulders. Even lacing his corset and bending to lace his boots cause only the slightest twinge which quickly fades as he stands again. He feels fine. That, in itself, is suspicious, but he accepts the reprieve.
The pouch of dried Underdark mushrooms sits atop his journal. He has not used it since it had been given to him. Perhaps now is the time to change that, he thinks. He feels good. Why not make some tea and improve upon that?
He grabs the pouch and exits his tent.
All other members of camp continue to slumber in their tents, the occasional snore or mumble reaching Dalamus' sensitive ears above the chirping crickets. Even Astarion, as nocturnal as he is, appears to be in trance--he, like Dalamus, chooses times when most others are guaranteed to be asleep. The early morning is his alone to enjoy as cool, dewy air fills his lungs. Many surface dwellers seem to fear the dark, but is far more preferable than the stabbing light of the sun.
He sits on a nearby log with the mortar and pestle Gale often uses for herbs and spices, and sets several pieces of dried mushrooms into the mortar to begin grinding into powder. Dragon's Egg, Rogue's Morsel, and Funguswood will produce a bitter tea with just the right amount of spice. While its bitterness is the main draw for Dalamus, the tea also helps with minor illnesses. Nilaufein used to make this for him until he could handle the boiling water on his own, and since then, Dalamus has hardly gone longer than a week without making some. It never quite tasted the same as his brother's though.
Where Gale normally puts the cooking pot, Dalamus places the iron kettle. He pours the powdered mushrooms into the kettle, tapping the side of the mortar against the lip to ensure every bit is removed. A carafe provides the needed clean water for the tea, and then Dalamus flips the hinged lid shut and coaxes the fire to life. After boiling, at least an hour is needed for it to steep properly and obtain the bitter flavor Dalamus desires. He watches the surroundings and the sky as he waits.
He is still not used to the stars. Small, twinkling spots in the sky, like gems glistening in pitch dark stone, or glowing insects on the ceiling of a cave. Stories say that surfacers navigate by the stars, but he does not see how that is possible. How does one know which star he is looking at when there are so many? He knows vaguely of the Astral Plane, but thinking about it makes his chest tight with unease. He misses when his world was small and bearable, when all of the other peoples and Planes were so far removed from being his problem that they may as well not exist.
In Menzoberranzan, the time of day is shown by Narbondel. The Archmage heats a circular band of the stone to cause a glow, which moves upwards throughout the day until it reaches the top and dissipates entirely at midnight. On the surface, time is measured by the sun and moon, and to a lesser extent, the activity of animals. At night the crickets chirp, but as the night shifts closer to morning, the birds start to sing until only the birds sing and the crickets can be heard no more.
Soon the stars begin to fade and the sky changes color, clouds being lit from underneath in oranges and red as the sun peeks over the horizon. As the sky brightens, Dalamus finds that looking at it both hurts and still elicits a dizziness and nausea in him. He pulls the hood of his piwafwi over his head and focuses on the tea.
Once it has finished steeping, Dalamus stands and quells the fire--the iron kettle will keep it plenty warm over the next hour or so. Dark liquid pours smoothly into his mug, and the smell reminds him of home. He takes a sip of the bitter drink and thinks of business days started early and bazaar stalls lined up neatly, of people from all walks of life--poor, wealthy, Menzoberranyr, colnbluth and kivven alike--browsing Drowic wares with great interest, and of sick days soothed while his bother, Nilaufein, checks him for fever. And although the tea is not as good as the tea his brother once made, it warms him all the same.
A familiar yawn reaches his pointed ears, one swiveling to listen more closely. Gale has just awoken, and judging from the crunch of grass underfoot, he is heading this way. Dalamus does not allow his approach to disturb him, although he stands a bit too close for comfort.
"Do not stand behind me, Gale," he warns coolly.
"Right, sorry, still rubbing the sleep from my eyes. Good morning, Dalamus." Gale moves to inspect the kettle, taking in the aroma. Curiosity quirks his brow. "What sort of tea is it, if I may ask?"
"Dragon's Egg tea," Dalamus answers, taking another sip as he watches the wizard. Although Gale is far from harmless, Dalamus is slowly realizing that the man is more excitable than he is violent. With his eagerness to indulge curiosity, but deliberate refusal to anger severely, he makes himself an easy target for mischief with low risk of retaliation. Amusing.
Gale's sleepy eyes suddenly light up. "Like the mushroom? Fascinating. I've certainly had my fair share of teas--herbal, floral, and fungal alike--but don't believe I've had any made with mushrooms from the Underdark."
"If you have not had tea made by Drow, you have not had Drowic tea."
"Of course. Which begs the question... May I try some?" Gale hesitates so slightly, but his brows lift with hope.
Dalamus glances at the wizard, red eyes scanning, scheming. Letting Gale try some tea might prove entertaining. "Are you allergic to funguswood?"
"...Not that I'm aware. Why..?"
"I would hate to be accused of a murder I did not plan, is all." A sip from his mug exudes nonchalance.
"Ah. Your concern for my well-being is truly overwhelming, as always."
"By all means, please, have some tea."
Rather than appearing glad, Gale's mouth quirks slightly in suspicion. He tilts his head and crosses his arms. "...I expected more resistance. You're unusually quick to share this morning. Is there something you're not telling me?"
Dalamus lifts his face from his tea and smiles at the wizard in a show of sincerity. "And why not share? Today is a good day. I slept well, and now I get to share a taste of my home with my.. unlikely companions." His voice is smooth, polite.
Suspicions ease, albeit hesitantly, and Gale relaxes, grabbing himself a mug. The tableware items in camp are worn, obviously secondhand. Possibly third or fourth hand. But despite their chipped edges and faded designs, they do the job well enough for the ragtag group of survivors.
"It smells almost medicinal," Gale says, gently wafting the steam towards his face. His nose scrunches slightly, but he brings the mug to his lips, blows gently to cool it, and takes a sip. It is bitter. It is very bitter, and distinctly fungal, with a slight kick of spice. At no point is there any hint of sweetness that might smother the desire to spit it out.
He swallows, almost reluctantly, as if his very body wants to reject the liquid. "Well!" Gale exclaims with feigned pleasantry. "That'll wake you up. It's, uh.. well, it certainly is pungent. Suppose it makes sense for a people who rely on various fungi in their cuisine to have a taste for it. I'm afraid my palate isn't quite suited to the.. flavor. Perhaps it'll grow on me. Y'know.. because it's... Anyway. Tell me more about it. If you don't mind, that is." He brings the mug to his lips again, continuing to drink the bitter liquid even as the flavor elicits a frown.
For a moment, Dalamus is unsure how to feel as he watches the wizard sip at the Dragon's Egg tea. Despite obviously disliking it, Gale continues to drink... Why?
He is also increasingly aware that others in camp are beginning to wake. A few have wandered over within listening range, but presumably have no interest in trying the tea for the experience in the same way Gale is.
"It is a tea one of my brothers taught me how to make, especially good for slight illnesses of the throat and nose. The combination of mushrooms can help alleviate minor pain and reduce fever, as well as ease stomach upset. Funguswood allergies can be deadly, however. There is a small amount of funguswood, some Rogue's Morsel, Dragon's Egg..." He peers up at Gale's face before continuing. "..Bonecap."
With a shocked sputter, Gale immediately and unceremoniously spits out the tea, wiping his lips as his face pales at the thought of being poisoned.
A bark of triumphant laughter bursts from Dalamus, and on the other side of camp, Astarion erupts into cackles and giggles. Some other camp members smirk, while yet others roll their eyes at the display.
Gale recovers and wipes at his face, brow furrowed and tea dripping from his beard. He aims a glare at the chuckling elves, exasperation tempered by relief. "Having a laugh, are we? Hilarious. Well, I think I've had my fill of tea and Drowic hospitality for today, thank you, and will be returning to my books until someone needs me." The wizard half-stomps his way back to his tent, shaking tea from his hands and exclaiming about errant droplets having stained his robe.
Dalamus simply grins triumphantly to himself and sips from his mug. Delicious.
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