Deep in the Obelus night sky, the air in "The Salty Siren" was thick with the scent of brine, cheap ale, and the boisterous laughter of young adventurers. A band of warriors, fresh from some minor skirmish that had apparently earned them a decent purse, were holding court at the bar. They were all broad shoulders and eager grins, ready to paint the town of Obelus a shade of celebratory crimson.
"So, Barnaby," the biggest of the lot, a lad with a beard still learning to sprout, boomed at the bartender, "any other local legends we should know about? Besides the one about the kraken that supposedly lurks in the harbor?"
Barnaby, a man whose face had seen more spilled drinks than sunny days, chuckled as he wiped down the counter. "Legends, you say? Well, there's one that's less about glory and more about… well, let's just say social mishaps. You lads ever heard of Reggie Rutabaga?"
The warriors exchanged blank looks. "Rutabaga? Sounds like a root vegetable," one quipped, earning a round of snickers.
"That's him," Barnaby said, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Reggie Rutabaga. A fella with a heart as gold as they come, truly. But cursed, I tell you, cursed with a skill he calls 'Agitate.' The man can sour milk with a smile, I swear."
Intrigued, another warrior leaned forward. "Agitate? What's that then?"
Barnaby grinned. "Oh, it's a marvel to behold, and a tragedy for poor Reggie. You see, he tries, bless his cotton socks, he really does. Especially with the ladies. But his Agitate… it just twists everything. Take last week, for instance. The Opening Gambit, we'll call it." Barnaby polished a tankard with exaggerated care.
"So, the Nightingales, yeah? Lovely singers, they are. Sang for the King once, I hear, Darn pretty too. So when Reggie barged in with that voice of his crackin' like a broken fiddle string right in the middle of their laughin'? That weren't just bad singin', lads. It was like walkin' into a quiet room and droppin' a sack of pots and pans. They were havin' a good time, a rare night off, and he just stomped all over it with his awful racket. It's like he had no clue, no sense of the mood. Just ruined their good cheer with that caterwaulin'."
Barnaby winked at the warriors. "Then there was the posh bird in the corner. Reggie tryin' to compliment her dress? Nah, mate. The way he said it, all hesitant and puttin' the stress on 'unique'? That sounded like he was takin' the mickey. Like he was sayin' her dress was alright, for her. You know? The kind of thing that makes you wonder if someone's havin' a dig. It's like sayin' someone's lookin' 'interesting' – you don't really mean it in a good way, do ya? It just made her feel like he was sneerin' behind his polite words."
Barnaby leaned closer, lowering his voice slightly. "And the poor woman who got covered in ale? Reggie just kept on yakkin' about the theater like he didn't have the brains to see she was soaked. She's standin' there drippin' beer, and he's goin' on about some play. It's like he thinks his own jabberin' is more important than her bein' all sticky and wet. Makes you feel like you're talkin' to a brick wall, doesn't it? Like he just didn't care about her being in a right state."
Barnaby paused as Reggie Rutabaga entered the bar, looking as hopeful and hapless as ever. The warriors, well past tipsy now, let out a raucous cheer.
Just then, the door to "The Salty Siren" creaked open, and a figure hesitantly stepped inside. It was Reginald "Reggie" Rutabaga himself, looking slightly disheveled but with a hopeful glint in his eye. He scanned the room, seemingly looking for someone.
Barnaby, spotting him, nudged the warriors with a knowing grin. "Speak of the devil," he muttered. "Lads, that's Reggie Rutabaga right there."
The young warriors, now quite a bit tipsy, turned as one to look at the unfortunate Romeo. "Oi! Rutabaga!" the big one, Barnaby the Younger, bellowed, waving a tankard in the air. "Come over here, mate! Barnaby here's been telling us about your… adventures!"
Reggie's hopeful expression faltered. He spotted the group of boisterous warriors and a look of mild panic crossed his face. He offered a weak smile and tried to wave them off. "Oh, hello there. That's… that's very kind of you, but I was just… uh… meeting someone." He gestured vaguely towards the back of the bar, hoping they'd take the hint.
But Reggie's Agitate skill, ever the saboteur, decided to make an appearance. His polite refusal came out sounding strangely dismissive, almost as if he thought he was too good for their company. "Yes, well, some of us have… rather important engagements," he said, with a slight sniff that he hadn't intended.
Barnaby the Younger, fueled by ale and amusement, took offense. "Important engagements? More important than sharing a drink with a band of heroes?" He puffed out his chest again, his earlier laughter forgotten. "Come on, Rutabaga! Don't be a spoilsport! We want to hear more of your… escapades!"
Reggie winced. He really didn't want to get drawn into their drunken revelry. Tonight was special. Tonight was his second date with Elara, the lovely baker from the east district. His first second date. Ever.
He desperately needed to extricate himself from this situation. But he had his Agitate skill, and though it might hurt, he was going to see Elara by hook or by crook.
