A Wight Celebration

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Log Info

  • Title: A Wight Celebration
  • Emitter: Whirlpool
  • Characters: Ashes, Carver, Cesran, Dirk, Lyme, Mikilos, Molly, Ravenstongue, Seyardu, Silmeria, Skielstregar, Telamon
  • Place: A11: Festival Grounds
  • Time: Wednesday, September 07, 2022, 9:37 PM
  • Summary: It's a party and everyone is invited! Some members of the Church of Vardama, local representatives of the Guild of explorers, and more have decided to orchestrate a celebratory party at the defeat of the wights. Tales will be shared, scars shown off, and battles won discussed! Celebrate life defeating death, and what not.

-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--<* A11: Festival Grounds *>=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-

The sweeping Festival Grounds serve many purposes. For much of the year they serve as practice grounds for training knights, for the games of children who pick up ball, bat, and begin a game of stickball. During other times, they're filled with colored tents, with performers for some of Alexandria's many festivals.

Along one side are a set of permanent bleachers, and at either end an archway. Each archway is carved in the style of a grand entry and marked with images of of Daeus, with rearing horse and flying pennon. Here, the god stands depicted in his roles of defender and knight-warrior. Recently, the Lancers of Serriel have taken to practicing here, along the knights and warriors of other orders, and a small number of them take a select pride in the upkeep of the grounds, alongside the Daeusites, Navosians, Gileans, and other mixtures.

Littering the grounds are places for archery, target practice. Here too, scheduled a few times a month, is the space given for ridden sport, organized recently by the arvek nar. The reigning champion's name is displayed in an upright lance at the end of the field, a silent challenge for next month's contender.

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-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=  Appearing  =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Ashes        5'11"    177 Lb     Hobgoblin         Female    A somber arvec in grey clothes with a skull face.
Carver       5'7"     133 Lb     Human             Female    A plain-faced woman with a brown top knot.
Cesran       6'1"     185 Lb     Human             Male      A tall dark-skinned man.
Dirk         4'11"    295 Lb     Mountain Dwarf    Male      A rugged old dwarf, dressed for the outdoors.
Lyme         7'2"     435 Lb     Orc               Butch     Black-skinned oruch of suitable stature.
Mikilos      6'8"     180 Lb     Dawn Elf          Male      Tall male dawn elf, rosey blonde and handsome.
Molly        5'1"     122 Lb     Half-Elf          Female    An ash skinned half-elf with red glasses.
Ravenstongue 5'0"     99 Lb      Half-Elf          Female    Short half-elf girl with violet eyes and black hair.
Seyardu      5'6"     150 Lb     Sith-Makar        Female    A friendly silver sith-makar with a perpetual squint.
Silmeria     5'8"     126 Lb     Human             Female    A sweet-looking blond human in a long black dress and breastplate.
Skielstregar 7'2"     330 Lb     Sith-Makar        Male      A brilliantly silver scale with fangs and empty eyes.
Telamon      5'6"     140 Lb     Half-Elf          Male      A platinum-blond half-sil man with dancing dark eyes.
-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=  NPCs of Note  =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Griva Brassbringer               Dwarf             Female    The Ressurectionist leader.
Farland                          Gnome             Male      Griva's associate.
Gedary Greenwick                 Halfling          Male      The Vardaman Temple's Party planner.
-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=  As the GM  =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Whirlpool                        Otyugh                     I am stinky!
-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-

Celebration!

In cooperation with the city government, the Vardamam church has decided to honor the heroes of the hour. That's some of you, to be sure, for you helped fight the wights, but it's the city guardsmen who put their lives on the line too, the soldires who fought at the Battle of the Worms, the refugees who followed orders to deny the enemy a chance to expand its ranks and left behind all they had, and the people who opened their doors to them in the city. A lot of people, here, who put it on the line to defend Alexandria from a danger that threatened to upend things and unravel society as swiftly as Dragonier had fell back when Heth attacked it.

It wouldn't have taken much, according to the reports. The dead rose far swifter than they ought to have at the Battle of the Wight Worm.

To that end, a great feast has been prepared around numerous tables and you have all been invited to sit at them, to talk with your fellows, to share stories. The feast is nearly ready. The smell of smoked meat and grilled vegetables is in the air. Fish -- a lot of fish, if one doesn't miss the guess. They've been working hard on it all day. Music will be available soon too. The strings band is still preparing. The Vardamans are known for their ability to put on a party. How else would you celebrate the victory of life over death?

One of those 'life of the party' Vardama priestesses is standing out of the way, near the grill and the table of drinks. She's sheltering under a grey umbrella decorated with jaunty skulls and crossed bones. She's grey herself, in skin tone, hair and clothing, various shades both warm and cold. She has a skull for a face, and where other parts of her flesh are exposed, the appropriate stylized bones. Not that she's showing much skin. Her slacks, jacket, and long sleeved shirt cover most of it. She also has gloves and cavalry boots.

Mourner Ashlee 'Ashes' Ciardh watches the crowd, motionless and expressionless. She might be serving drinks, waiting in a non-existent line for one, or avoiding the flow of bodies. She doesn't smile, the only real indication of her mood is a happy bee painted on her sugar skull with a dotted line showing it circling over her forehead to come down on the opposite cheek.

Dirk has gone and gotten himself dolled up for the occasion. It's been quite awhile since he put on his Eliday best, but here he is now. Along with his usual plumed tricorne, he's put on a fancy frock coat of dark blue suede with gold piping. A matching blue waistcoat is worn beneath that, along with a shirt of hunter green. Down below, matching trousers with gold stripes down the sides, and black dress boots polished to a glossy mirror shine. He has his shaggy mane of white tied back in a ponytail with a bit of red silk tied into a bow, and his beard is freshly washed, groomed, brushed, combed, and oiled. He lumbers around the festival grounds with his hands clasped behind his back and a warm smile on his snowy-bearded face. It's been awhile since he got to be his usual cheerful self, and tonight's a good occasion for it.

So how does a sith-makar prepare for a party? Not a formal one, no, just a celebration? Answers are revealed as Skielstregar is there! A massive silverscale, so shiny he's reflective. But he lacks armor! And weapons! He's in- is that a platinum hued robe? Gold trim? Gold face paint blotted around his eyes and cheeks! He's got percussion shakes tied to his tail, and large, beaded necklaces dangle from his neck. The medal of valor dangles from that too.

His tail sways behind in anticipation for the feast as he sits. Shaka-shaka shaka-shaka shaka-shaka. He's so happy!

There is a time for subtlety, for reserve. And then there is a time to march in, banners flying and show off.

Telamon Atlon's stride is easy, calm, confident, as he walks arm-in-arm with his fiancee, Cor'lana Lupecyll. His garb is a little more polished for the occasion -- his silk shirt trimmed in silver thread, the buttons polished to a mirror shine. Black leather trousers, with a broad belt around his waist, and black boots with silver buckles. A short cape is slung around his shoulders, the soft gray contrasting with his garments, and his circlet upon his brow.

He glances at Lana, and smiles. "I know I said it earlier, dear, but you look absolutely gorgeous tonight."

Mikilos didn't do great deal for this particular quest. Which isn't to say he didn't help; crafting weapons, offering advice, helping shelter refugees. Just wasn't part of the big fight. But hey, any excuse for a party, right? The wizard is of course dressed in the very finest attire, which is to say the grey robes he usually wears. Why mess with perfection?

Well, Seyardu should at least make an appearance for the celebrations, and it was enough to drag her out from Mictlan at the very least. The only problem was dressing for the occasion, and not having any weaponry upon them. She didn't have that much in the way of celebratory garb, at least not any which would be worn in Alexandria.

Wait, she did have something that would work, didn't she?

There's a silver sith-makar who is sitting at one of the tables who looked like they just blew up an aviary or something. The cleric was dressed in a long and flowing dress that was covered entirely in a rainbow of dyed bird feathers, and she looked at the food, attempting to decide what to eat.

"Ah! Peace on your nest Skiel, it is no surprise to find you here. Are you enjoying yourself?" She asks, not looking over to where he was yet, but finding it easy enough to tell where he was.

Silmeria's duties don't often allow her the luxury of attending official functions, but this celebration of the continued lives of so many, and the lives laid down to ensure the rest go on, is something this Speaker for the Dead will happily make time for.

Making an early appearance, the human Vardaman wears a tight-sleeved, close-cut corsetted black velvet gown, atop a bustled hoop skirt composed of sand-colored taffeta and slightly heeled boots. Also her gunbelt, because this party is for *all* the defenders of Alexandria, and Mori worked just as hard as she did in their battles.

At the outset, she circulates among the army regulars, praising them for their valor and honoring those whose sacrifice kept them from this feast.

...But of course one has to stop by the drinks table, and Silmeria beams at Ashes upon spotting the skull (and its bee). "Mourner Ciardh, it's so good to see you again!"

Cor'lana is dressed to match Telamon's, wearing a navy-blue dress with a starry theme. The boned bodice of the dress is decorated with shiny bits of gold on the bustline, the silk imbued with some sort of shiny substance that shimmers in the light as she moves. The short sleeves and long skirt are made from silk tulle that has a similar shimmering quality to it as the bodice. Her wavy black hair tumbles down, acting as a complement to the starry sky that Cor'lana's practically wearing. It's a formal outfit for certain, although Cor'lana appears to be walking... a little slower than normal.

"I'm just trying not to kill myself by falling over," Cor'lana admits, flushing a little from Telamon's compliment. "I know these are only kitten heels, but it's a whole inch extra that I'm not used to having under my feet. But I'm happy that you're happy."

Pothy, who rides on Cor'lana's shoulder, is staring at the feast food that is out on the tables. "SNACKS," he crows happily, his tail wagging up and down.

The Navos Priestess Molly has just returned to town from some sort of expedition with the Adventurer's Guild -- looks like it was a rough one, too, judging by the condition of some of her gear, but where some people might look a bit shocked, the half-mul just looks like she's really glad to be back. And there's a celebration in progress! Wonderful stuff. So she straightens her leather coat, and tugs on the strap holding her polearm, as she walks up to the grill, because she's hungry.

"Oh! Hi there, Speaker Silmeria!" she greets, to the person she has, in fact, met before. And then she grins like a dork at Ashes. "Hi there! Don't think we've met. Hope it's not weird, but your skull -- the one on your face, I mean, -- looks awesome."

Dirk sees so many of his friends, and it warms the old snowbeard's heart. He glances up and over at a lamp post on the edge of the fairgrounds, lifting his fist and hooting through it. Lulu, who had been hanging back out of politeness, hops off the lamp and wings her way over to settle on her master's shoulder. "Hoo hoo!" Dirk laughs, nodding his head. "Aye, it -is- quite the fancy gather, innit?" He makes his way over to Telamon and Cor'lana, sweeping off his tricorne. "Master Telamon, Missus Cor'lana! So good tae see ye both!" he booms cheerfully.

"Speaker Silmeria," Ashlee says, turning to stare at her, voice monotone, "It's good to see you."

She keeps staring, she's not a conversationalist but this seems to be needed for the occasion. There's a sideways look at the other mourners, and she offers an explanation. "They gave me my gear and told me to wait for the call, then didn't call."

The ashen Arvek's focus moves to the half-mul. No smile, no inflection, "Thanks. It's a birthmark."

Skielstregar, already having raided the drinks table, is sipping on his third cup as he spies his sister. He blinks, then laughs merrily. "Peace on your nessst Seyardu! Thisss one isss, thisss one iss!" his bassy voice thrums. "Thiss one thinksss you have partaken well of sssoftskin attire!"

More friends! More folks that he's yet to make friends of! Skielstregar waves to them all. Shaka-shaka shaka-shaka shaka-shaka.

Telamon smiles at Lana. "Just take it slow. Once you learn how to maneuver in them, then you learn to move faster." He pauses. "Although if something goes haywire here, just kick them off and don't worry about it." He gives her a squeeze, before the couple are met by Dirk.

"Master Dirk!" Telamon responds with a deep bow and a grin, offering his hand. "It's good to see you as well, sir." He catches sight of the hulking Skielstregar, and waves to the powerful makari. "Peace on your nest, Skiel!" he calls out in a ringing voice.

Carver doesn't really have a way to dress up. In the life of a relatively poor adventurer, still fresh to the job, she has not the current or the familial connections to 'spice' things up. She's done the best she can though.

For one, she actually got a bit of a trim to her wild mane. Her thick brown hair is shorter now, collected into a loose pony tail, surprisingly similar to Dirk's with a blue ribbon. No beard though. Her rugged leathers and furs are no where to be seen but instead, she's dressed in a long blue tunic with Khazdul script along the trim in silver thread; blessings for health and happiness. Her legs are bare beneath the long tunic, from mid-thighs to her feet in a pair of soft brown slippers. Without her facepaint, her youth is more obvious, as is the scar along her chin.

She picks along the edge of the crowd, stepping lightly around any passing traffic.

"And have you carry me like that one time?" Cor'lana grins at Telamon as she gives his arm a little playful squeeze. "They might be coming off sooner rather than later if you encourage me like /that/."

She nods to Dirk as the khazad approaches, smiling to see him. "Good to see you too," Cor'lana replies. "I'm just trying to match Telamon. Easier said than done when he makes looking good effortless most of the time. Even fuzzy bear slippers." She does not call them ridiculous fuzzy bear slippers.

Pothy's attention turns as Skielstregar is called out to. His blue eyes dilate. For you see, Skielstregar is covered in that which Pothy likes second-best to snacks. It is the innermost desire of every single corvid--

"Shinies!" Pothy cries out, and he takes flight. He lands on that metallic shoulder and nuzzles against Skielstregar's scales.

"This one is not surprised to see you are having a good time. And, I have been told that this dress is a bit, garish is the word I've seen mentioned a few times?" Seyardu chuffs. "Apparently there are a lot of colors, and I do not believe it is normal even for softskin culture. It is a long story, and it still confuses this one to this day to attempt to explain it, but they acquired this dress along the way for a job."

Seyardu settles for grabbing some meats and cheeses, tearing off the top of a bun, and stuffing everything inside. With a snack made portable, she goes about meeting the others. "Peace on your nests, Telamon, Ravenstongue. It is a day of festivities to be enjoyed, is it not? Do not worry about drinking overmuch, at least within reason. This one has prepared magics for purging such poisons as the ones found in alcoholic beverages from ones system."

Dirk chortles amusedly as Pothy goes to obtain Skielshinies. "Aww, lookit that, Master Skiel, ye've made a friend!" he says. "Oh, what a lovely day! The wights are dusted, the city is secure, an' all me friends have come tae celebrate. An' there's food!" Because of course the dwarf would notice the food. He goes to grab himself a plate, heaping it up with a proper dwarf-sized heaping of meats, cheeses, and nibbly things. A morsel gets lifted up to Lulu, who peck-pecks the tasty bit. She fluffs herself up with a happy "Hoo-oo!" Seyardu gets a snicker. "Ohh, not tae fret, lass. If folk decide tae start tyin' one on, I'll just drink 'em under the table! They'll be snoozin' afore ye know it!"

Telamon grins at Lana. "Should we get food first, or would you like me to find you a chair and then bring you the plate?" His eyes twinkle merrily. "I definitely don't want you to feel uncomfortable." He hmms. "Although I could use an unseen servant to help carry the drinks and plates if necessary. Did they say we were allowed to spellcast? Or no? I can't remember, to be honest."

Watching Pothy soar over to cuddle up to Skiel, he chuckles softly. "Skiel's changed a bit. He's definitely looks... well, shinier. No wonder Pothy's wondering how to pick him up and carry him home."

Shiny and painted Skielstregar waves to Telamon and Cor'lana. "Peace on your nesssts!" he grins, taking another drink and- oh god, a bird is trying to take his scales. "Bwahahaha, Pothy! You are tickling thisss one!" he guffaws, reaching up to pat the bird before holding up: a s n a c k. It's a walnut. "Thisss one sssure hasss!" he mentions to Dirk.

"Bah, nonsensse ssssissster. It looksss fine!" he enthuses. Cheeks frosted a tinge. "Sjach would truly love to sssee that!" he teases.

Cesran comes in on his flying carpet and he picks a spot away from the crowds to land. He steps off his carpet and rolls up the magic carpet before tucking it away on his back. Staff in hand he heads in towards the celebration. He gives polite nods as he makes his way to get a mug of mead from one of the drink tables before he finds an out of the way place to stand. He scans over the crowd to see who is here.

His staff speaks up which makes a nearby party goer jump back, "Cesran please tell me you are going to mingle tonight. This is a celebration for those that fought." The dragon headed staff turns to regard her wielder.

Cesran looks at his staff, "Yes I'll go and mingle in a bit, just let me see who is here first." He replies as a trio of soldiers who are all ready really enjoying the party spot him, "Hey! It's the archmage! Man those huge lizards were amazing." "Yah how did you get those little wings on them all?" "I saw you flying around tossing mini-suns! That was awesome!"

Cesran forces a smiles and raises his mug to the trio, "Happy to help out. You soldiers were the ones who were really amazing fighting hand to hand with those wights."

The trio raise their mugs back to Cesran, "Yah it was amazing!" "Next time you are at the Ox-Strength Tavern I'm gonna buy you a drink!" "You're all right for a wizard."

As the trio wander to enjoy the rest of the party Cesran looks to his staff, "See I'm mingling."

Pothy beholds the walnut. It is a snack given to him by a shiny gold-and-silvered god! What a feast he's been brought to this fine night! "SNACK!" he crows, before he takes the walnut from Skielstregar's claws.

He quickly shells it, but... he hesitates. Even shiny gods should have snacks shared with them. So he snaps it in half, eats his portion, and then holds out the rest to Skielstregar, croaking softly to indicate it is a show of friendship. Or a tribute paid to a shiny god. Either one.

Cor'lana smiles widely as she watches Pothy be a sweet bird. "I think I know where Pothy's going to be while we're here," she tells Telamon. "I wouldn't cast any spells here if I were you, but I am capable of walking in these."

She glances down at her dress, which is very long. "I think," she adds.

"I am not fretting, I simply am aware of the effects excessive amounts of alcohol can have upon someone's head and organs, the day after, and long term." The silver cleric chuffs. "That is why I am keeping myself available. It is simply the right thing to do."

"Ah, apotheosis. I suppose that there is enough to celebrate today that I can make an exception for a being with no requirements for eating to be eating. Even with the farms around the city not returned to yet." Seyardu chuckles. "I do not know if he would like to see this one in this dress, Skielstregar. He might ask this one to get rid of it quickly, how much he dislikes it." She jokes.

Ashes finds a tray and loads several drinks onto it, making a perfect 3x3 square. She glances at Molly, then Silmeria, and picks the tray up. "I should help somehow."

With that said the ashen arvec takes them over to Corl'ana's table, as that seems the biggest draw. Her gaze raises to watch Cesran's heralded arrival. She doesn't wave, his attention seems elsewhere. She sets the drinks down and drifts back towards the Speaker and... Time-Keeper? She ought to know the name of Navos' anointed, but doesn't...

At Ashes' declaration, Silmeria tilts her head for a moment, a puzzled look flitting across her face... Then her tanned features soften, and she reaches out to place a hand on the hobkin's shoulder one she returns. "It happens occasionally, I'm afraid... but there will always be other calls to heed. But please, Mourner, do enjoy the party all the same. It's not simply for those who fought, but those who *live.* And the memory of those who ensured all here *could* attend."

Turning to Molly, the human's smile stays bright and cheery. "And you too, Temperance! I'm glad to see you well and whole!"

Carver nearly drops her cup, when the man near her begins a whole conversation with his walking stick. Her boggling is wide-eyed, pools of amber with wide black pupils, before she quickly decides to put as much distance between herself and whatever was going on with that guy. Scoot scoot scoot.

Her tactical repositioning puts her closer to the quiet conversation between Ashes and Silmeria, eavesdropping just in there peripheral vision albiet with an attempt to do so surreptitiously.

How to describe it....

She's leaning so far over into their private space that she might as well be peering right into the priestess's cleavage for exactly how subtle she's being.

There's a short-arse Lucht in the crowd. A Vardaman, judging by the vestments, and he seems awfully cheerful and friendly. He's working his way through, yeah, shaking hands. He's got a bag with him, full of something jingly. Coins? No, not that.

He's stopped and offered a warm greeting to everyone he's passed by. Greying hair, but long and hanging down to his back.

Griva Brassbringer har arrived. The older dwarven woman. Ressurectionist leader. She's showed up. Seems she wants to congratulate people. Accompanied by her associate, the gnome, Farland, in the colorful garments and with the sleepless look in his eyes.

The Lucht stops by Silmeria. "Good to see you, friend." They've met, clearly. Same with Ashes. People associated with the Vardamans are definitely a thing he's greeting. They seem to know him.

He's instantly known to any Vadaman as Gedary Greenwick. He's a Holdier of Parties. He organizes celebrations of people's lives. The celebration at the end of their lives. He's not hugely important, but associated with the temple so every servant of the Grey Lady would be aware of him or have met him in the course of duties previously.

Skielstregar's dead gaze stares at Pothy. The shiny god looking at the offering. A hand raises. Thumb presses against his gold paint. And he presses a gold thumb mark onto Pothy's forehead. "Enjoy the party, small one," he rumbles, taking the offering as the shiny god munches on it.

He glances to Seyardu. "You'd prefer that, wouldn't you?" he teases before directing his attention the party as a whole. Dead gaze watches Carver. He shakes his head, softskins make no sense sometimes. More drink? Sure! Sip. Shaka-shaka shaka-shaka shaka-shaka. He warmly greets the cheery Vardaman Lucht making rounds.

Cesran finishes his scan of the crowd and he moves into the ground for some more mingling. He does his best to be cheerful and socialable with those he makes small talk with. His staff is more than happy to talk to everyone that they pass, the much more outgoing of the two. Cesran spots Griva Brassbringer and gives her a polite nod when he gets close enough. "Greetings Griva, it's nice to see you here, how goes your work with the Ressurectionists?"

"Thanks." Ashes tells Silmeria, her shoulder relaxing under the touch. The hobgoblin exhaling, her ears perking up.

Ash's cleavage isn't on display. She has a high necked blouse that's fully buttoned. Not that there isn't something to see for someone staring into the void, as beneath the fabric there is movement, followed by an unusually large centipede crawling out between the buttons. It, or he, as it is her familiar Chippen, continues crawling upwards over her face.

Chippen is covering one of her eyes and obscuring her face as the mourner makes a small bow to the approaching lucht, "Gedary Greenwick. We're honoured. You have made a great celebration." Ashes completely ignores to the giant bug as he continues upwards to pretend to be a tiara.

Dirk lumbers off to the side, munching steadily at his plate of goodies. Now and again he'll offer up a morsel for Lulu to peck-peck at. It doesn't take long for him to pack away the entire helping (and a dwarf-sized one at that!). Setting his plate aside, he pats his hefty middle with a contended sigh. "Ahh, good eats, those!" he says. He finds himself a place to sit, digging into his breast pocket for his pipe and tobacco pouch. He fills the bowl and strikes a match to light it, puffing contentedly as he watches the goings on with a warm smile.

It's rather rare, for eaves to be dropped directly on one's foot. Thus do Carver's antics earn her a raised eyebrow, and a chuckle. Apparently Silmeria finds the attempt amusing! "Have we met, Miss...?"

Gedary's interruption commands Silmeria's full attention, then, and the hand is eagerly shaken. "Another lovely celebration, Gedary. Truly you have a gift, and it's to all our benefit. I can't thank you enough!"

Griva Brassbringer's appearance and movement through the party's ranks catches her eye for moment, but one does not ignore the Holder of Parties when he"s making a personal greeting.

"Ah, thank you, but you need not worry yourself offering drinks. None of us here are too inebriated to the point we can not gather our own." The cleric chuckles, though she still takes one for herself.

"Yes, of course I would, Skielstregar. I would be happy for him to be around regardless, so that is not a tall pole to be cleared." Seyardu nods, taking a bite of her makeshift sandwich. "Ah, speaking of this dress, there is the culprit over there, one of the members of the resurrectionists. This one saved him from being wrongfully jailed in a foreign country, so you would think that they would offer the position of the sun or moon to them. Still, good to see them out, and in good spirits."

"I 'knew' I saw somethin' wrigglin'." Carver says, halfway between fascinated and disgusted by Ash's friend-pet. Oh, she's being talked to. She flinches, rubbing at a cheek with her knuckles. "No, no... I don't think so, I don't really know much'n anyone's face 'ere. A buncha faces with no names. I'm Carver." No surname.

Telamon steps away to get a plate anyway for Cor'lana, which seems to suit her just fine, as she doesn't object at all. She smiles at Seyardu and Skielstregar. "I'm just happy that Pothy is happy," she says. "He's a good bird. A very good bird."

She spots Griva as the Resurrectionist leader arrives at the party and Seyardu alludes to her and... she looks a little nervous. "Been a while," she murmurs to herself, but then she returns her attention to the makari before her, smiling gently.

Everything's okay. Probably.

Pothy now has a golden forehead on his white feathers, and his tail wags up and down as he receives it. /He/ is the shiny now! Shiny and gold!

"I'm Ashlee," Ashes says, reminding Gedary and introducing herself to Carver. She stares silently, taking the handle of her umbrella then resting it back against the table. She points at the centipede on her head, "This is Chippen."

Finally she holds a drink out to Carver, then another for the Gedary. She glances sideways at Silmeria a few times. "How did you help?"

"Silmeria," the Speaker says as introductions are made, skirts ruffling as she bobs a light curtsy. Then Ash asks her question, and a bit of the smile fades from her face. "There was a push to overrun the city, not long ago," she begins. "We needed to tie up the biggest of them, so the Army would be safe to fight the bulk of the oncoming monsters." Drawing in a deep breath, she pats the peacebound pistol at her hip. "And we did, didn't we, Mori? But we found out how Heth's been striking out so far from his own lands; they've been reanimating *worms,* and using them as tunneling galleys of all things!"

Lyme is late, but arrives nonethless, dressed in a lavender jacket and pants, almost glowing in the light. He looks inordinately proud of it, and moves carefully towards the food. When in doubt...

Skielstregar rumbles in laughter at Pothy's antics before he looks over at who his sister points out. "Did you now? Impressssive." He glances to Lana, notes her nerves, and he carefully shoves one of his many drinks towards Cor'lana. "All isss well, Sssshaman Ravensss." An icicle is forming on his face. Shaka-shaka shaka-shaka shaka-shaka.

He peers over, overhearing some conversation of the battle that attempted to overrun the city and totally eavesdropping on it. He was in Mictlan hunkering down with the other makari during all that.

The Priestess of Navos has been wandering about, sampling food and drink and generally enjoying herself. She might've been on the surface for several years now, but she lived underground for her entire life before that, and all this... this stuff that happens up here has yet to lose its enchantment.

Sooner or later, the half-mul makes her way back to where Silmeria is introducing herself to people. "Oh! And I'm Molly." She flashes a bit of a dorky grin, and then blushes, promptly realizing she might've been slightly out of turn.

How does one of Mul'Niessa descent blush? Well, basically, grey skin gets very, very dark.

"Hello everyone!" Gedary Greenwick, the halfling mourner, speaks. You know his name, now, because he's introducing himself. "I'm Gedary Greenwick, a harpriest." A pause.

"Because I'm a priest of Vardama. A harpist. And a priest."

Another pause. Silence reigns. People stare. Their pain is manifest. Even the music stopped to be met by a collective of groans.

"It's nicew to meet you all and I'm sure every one of you will have a story to tell us about what you did to help fight back the wights. Like you! You were a refugee," he points towards a figure in the crowd, whom he clearly already knows, "or that's what you tell yourself. You had to leave home, didn't you? The very definition of refugee to most! But that's not how I see you. You didn't just leave your home out of fear, you did it to protect your family, your friends, and the lives of everyone in Alexandros. You're not being present ensured that there was one less person a wight could consume and raise as a member of their army, one less that the soldiers of Alexandria had to put down. You weren't a refugee, you were a volunteer in an effort no one ever asked for. You left your l;ife behinds for a time uncertain to protect the people you love. A hero, in your small way."

"Being a hero is more than just putting down monsters and slaying the beasts that attack our village. If it were, anyone with a sword could be a hero. It's about the choices you make. It's about what you leave behind when you're gone. A man who raised his children to be kind, protected his family, and provided for them? That's a hero, so far as I'm concerned, even if he lived a long and fruitful life. If his passage made the world a gentler, kinder place, a hero he will be, and I will celebrate him as such."

"Celebration is why we're here today, and for once it's without a funeral! Though some did die in the battle, and to their memories we will read their names and take a drink of our sacred wines, we will celebrate tonight the lives they preserved. They fought so that we could dance. They bled so that we could sing, they died so that we could live -- and live we must, for no other choice would honor them so. The city says that most of you deserve a ribbon, acknowledging your participation in the fight, and I'll be handing them out. Take a drink, share your tales, one and all, and let us listen to your tales."

"Yes, giant undead purple worms were tunneling underground." Seyardu nods. "They were brought to the surface, and there was a fierce battle to drive them back, as they were carrying wights within them."

The cleric takes a sip of her drink, looks around, and sips again. "I would ask you to be wary in particular, even if I do not wish to cause undue concern, mourner Ashlee and Silmeria." She adds. "Not all the wights were mindless beasts, some were capable spellcasters, who enacted some manner of ritual with which to create a zone of negative energy. It is what caused the wights to reanimate so quickly as well, and the head of the ritual, another wight capable of magic, remains unaccounted for. It was counteracted with... near excessive amounts of positive energy, but it was capable of being stopped, before it became out of control. So it is something to be kept in mind."

"Yes, before going out of control is still a cost too great, many fell. We should not take this peace they have given for granted." Seyardu nods to the exclamation.

Cesran continues to mingle through the crowd. He passes by Seyardu and gives her a polite nod in greeting, "Peace on your nest Seyardu, it's nice to see you in a situation that is not dire or possibly world ending." He chuckles a bit at the joke of harpriests before he takes a sip of his mug.

Celebration. Sing. Drink. Dance. Tell tales. Ashlee stiffens, stands taller, her eyes widen. The Harpriest might as well be listing off five personal trials for the Arvek Nar. She's also not a swamp witch.

"I watched." This is her primary strategy. She's stared at a lot of dying things, though not in this instance. She nods at Silmeria's explanation of what happened, and Seyardu's warning regarding what still might. "Okay."

She focuses on the silvery sith'makar and Cesran, "What are your stories?"

Skielstregar's attention shifts from his sister retelling part of the fight (with a grimace and awe of his sibling) to Gedary Greenwick, the pun going over his head, but pays focus where it is due. Once it's over, he's up on his taloned feet, the gold painted, super shiny silver half dead makari uncaring about making a scene with so many people around. "Hear hear!" he cheers gleefully, hoisting up his fifth drink. He blinks. Quietly sits back down. His gold painted cheeks are frozen with ice. And then the not-harpriest mourner is asking him /directly/ of his story. He points to himself? "Oh! Uh. Okay!"

He clears his throat. "Thisss one went on sseveral missionsss, but the mossst important wasss going into an abandoned mine with Ssshaman Ravensss, Chiuaa Vaera, Ssshaman Shilde, Ssshaman Barclaiigh, Warrior Lyme, Warrior Paenitia," he lists off on his fingers before pointing to each of them in turn that were present. "We go into minesss. Go deep. Ravensss makesss map from poetry book. Then we find thisss masssive tunnel. Creaturesss of acid body attack usss, break our toolsss. We retreat, Ssshaman Ssshilde collapsing the tunnel under usss. Then, big earthquake! And another!"

He enthuses, wide gestures with his hands. "Ssshe comesss up and tellsss usss there isss a large worm headed towardssss Alexandria! We try and leave, break through messsed up tunnelsss, following Ravensss map. Break through wallsss, scale chasssm. Elementsss of earth almossst trap usss and ssslay, but we burssst through. Take lift up. Lift sstartssss to break. Wightsss climbing over each other to get to usss! Thisss one grabsss Ravensss and climbsss the ressst of the way, everyone elssse usssing Paentitia's Rameriez or other magicsss to go. We flee! All make it!"

He's grinning. And drunk. "Warn the city!"

Lyme waggles his fingers towards Skiel when he's called. He's managed to acquire a plate of fine finger foods, and is, indeed, feeding. Carefully, though. He tries, at least. "A good telling. Better than I would have."

Pothy crows atop Skielstregar's shoulder to provide his shiny god with the appropriate fanfare. ... No, wait. He's actually mimicking the sound of applause.

Cor'lana is staggered for a moment by the talent of her bird, but then she nods and chimes in. "I did make a map," she adds on. "I also cast spells to make sure we could get out of there all the faster. The bulk of the work was truly done by everyone else--I just tried my best to make sure we all got out of there and could get the warning out. I'm not impressive enough to stop the earth from rending itself apart, but I can push people past their ordinary limits when it comes to moving."

More sounds of applause come out of Pothy's mouth for his mistress's story, even if it's a rather humble downplay of her own efforts.

Dirk smiles warmly as the harpriest makes themselves known. The thought of him getting a ribbon for helping defend Alexandria has the burly old snowbeard blushing under his whiskers. "Aww... I just wanted tae help," he mutters around his pipe stem. But now, they're being called upon to tell their tales. He listens to Skiel's telling with rapt fascination. He'd seen things during his own efforts, but giant purple worms did not number among them! He hops to his feet, taking ahold of his pipe and clearing his throat.

"Right! Er. Well now. I've, er... never really been one fer tale-tellin'. My clan isn't exactly like other dwarves. We're nae much fer boastin'. But... I was there, at Chandor's Crossing, when the wights came. Me, Nemori, Sora, an' Aragos, dispatched via airship tae evacuate the villagers." He puffs up his burly chest, sweeping his arms wide. "Well, we were gettin' the good folk safely aboard, when the most dreadful howlin' reached us! They came bustin' down the doors--great, undead wolves! Yuge beasties, wi' jaws like steel traps an' claws like daggers!" He begins illustrating the battle, thrusting with his pipe stem and dodging left and right. "We went on the offensive! Aragos, gods love 'im, was a marvel wi' his blade! Sora danced wi' her sword like a ballet o' steel death! Nemori's blessings saved my shoulder from becomin' wolfchow!" He turns and thrusts his pipe forward. "An' POW! I dropped one o' those beasties wi' a perfectly placed headshot!"

He grins broadly. "Now, Chandor's Crossing was home tae the great wizard, Amritt Barna. He'd set up great yuge jars fer us tae use in case things got too sporty. Well, sporty they was! So I took aim..." He lifts his arms, miming sighting down his thunderbelcher. "An' POW POW! I shot that jar clean! An' what should come out... but beetles! Great, flesh-eatin' beetles, wi' an appetite fer deaders! They started swarmin' over those deadwolves, an' it was a sight tae behold!"

He shakes his head. "But the wights were hot on their heels. But we'd bought the villagers the time they needed tae all get hustled aboard the airship, praise Dana. We hied ourselves up the ladder an' took off, an' I gave those deaders a middle-finger salute as we said our goodbyes!" He pauses, with arms still outstretched as he reaches the end of his tale. Then remembers that he's not one for boasting. Turning bright red once again, he clears his throat. "So... aye... that's my tale." He plumps his hefty rump back down on his seat, puffing at his pipe to hide his sudden shyness.

"You can be sure we'll be keeping a watchful eye," Silmeria says gravely to Seyardu, nodding her thanks for the advice. "I'm glad your group spared this city of the worst of it."

As Gedary makes his speech, the Speaker can feel her spine stiffening, just a bit. Gedary Greenwick is a Lucht of many talents, and it's only to be expected that speechcraft be among them. A thoughtful look comes over her face for a moment, and she picks a glass from the table, then a second, and turns to Ash, Molly, and Carver. "I'm very sorry... one moment."

And she makes a beeline for a table bearing a contingent of Army soldiers, and one specifically in a sergeant's dress uniform who seems less than enthusiastic about his fare. "I have a tale to tell," she says, announcing the party as a whole. "But it's not mine. It's a tale I brought from the battle outside the city, though. We -- the Irregulars, that is -- were tasked to be a filter for the enemy, to hold the very, very worst of the monsters at bay. It's a job of the sort that all we Irregulars know well, and were happy to take. But there was a surprise; some of the wights were twisted, stronger and larger. Giants, perhaps, warped with some fell magic. Tactically, they weren't much different from the horde, save their size and strength, and some of them got through our line."

One of the glasses of wine is set in front of the sergeant, and the now-empty hand rest on his shoulder. "Sergeant Francel was keeping his soldiers' minds on their duty -- no mean feat, considering the horde bearing down on them -- but Private Calloway saw the monster coming first, bearing down like a runaway carriage, and pushed Francel out of the way just as we were coming up on that wing of the battle."

The Speaker looks down at Francel, and gives his shoulder an affectionate squeeze. "It was only the one hit... but one hit was all it took. Calloway was able to hold on until the battle was over, and I personally promised him I'd tell the story, and deliver his last message. 'I knew what I was doing. And it was the right thing to do.'"

Raising her glass, she turns to address the whole of the party once again. "Because of him, the rest of Francel's unit was able to hold together. Not a one of them broke, and not a one ran. Because of you, Sergeant Francel, and the lessons you taught your soldiers. Alexandria is lucky to have you, and glad you remain. Perhaps you don't feel worth honoring... But you are. Your entire unit deserves it. And if you won't take the honors for yourselves... Take them because Calloway thought you deserved it. Because you did the right thing."

Carver, too shy to announce this to the world, mostly announces it to Ashlee cause she seems like the type to not judge. "I slipped in poop chute and shimmied for a slime monster."

Seyardu takes some time to listen to the others sharing their stories, sipping slowly on her drink. She stops once to raise her brow to her brother. "You did not tell me of this, I don't think. I am surprised you did not, and a bit concerning, but I am glad such a job went well. And Ravenstongue, do not diminish your own actions. Thank you for keeping my brother safe, and know that it often feels you are not needed, until you are. I have had many jobs where I felt unnecessary, but it is still good to be around, in case they are not as smooth."

"This one was too busy in the city for most assignments, so all of your work is greatly appreciated from the bottom of my heart. So, thank you, all, for everything you have done."

"If you had not discovered them, done so much work to get people out of the countryside, find their whereabouts and slow them down, then we would have been dealing with a sudden arrival of wights and worms somewhere much worse. All of you played a key role in saving so many lives."

"I am sure the dragon father would be proud, Skielstregar." She adds to her brother, reaching and patting him on a shoulder. It required a bit of a stretch.

Gedary listens to each tale in turn. It's Carver, however, who he approaches first and silently places a ribbon on.

"Your sacrifices are not in vain," he tells her, tears in his eyes.

This. This is the moment he has been waiting for. So proud of her.

Each in turn gets a ribbon placed upon them, their tale acknowledged, their victory noted and spoken before the Gods. The ribbon is red and gold with a strip of white on it. Alexandrian colors, naturally, with a small Vardaman symbol on it. Noted for the slaying of the undead, after all.

Cesran looks to Ashlee and he hmms, "Oh my story is very very boring." He says before he listens to Skielstegar's story. He raises his mug, "Very nicely done." He turns back to Ashlee, "Like I said very boring story." He pauses again to listen to Dirk's story and Silmeria's story right after and he raises his mug again, "Hear hear!" He turns back to Ashlee and doesn't raise his voice, "I heard that the city needed help so I arrived at the appointed time. I tossed around some spells to help bolster the defenses. Once the battle started I focused on what looked to be a wight archmage. We did battle, which as most wizards battles go is very boring because you are each trying to our counterspell each other. I managed to make it flee, but had to deal with five of its apprentices. I was able to take out most of them, but had to try to dispel some nasty artifact level magic. Thankfully I had help with one of the last two, but as was said the ritual was completed and we had to deal with a sphere of negative energy. By the grace of the gods of light we had enough clerics with us to shut it down."

His staff pipes up, "You tell the most dry stories ever." Cesran shrugs, "I'm not a bard and I warned that it was a boring story."

Carver's long sigh as she is ribboned is not as tinged with embarassment as it could be, mostly because some of the stories of the more experienced few are frankly interesting; she had a very thin view of the war. Just how dire things had gotten? It had not been apparent to her. To hear that a few key moments, the wrong person at the right place, maybe things end up differently. She claps politely at another's shared experiences with a faint smile.

Ashlee listens, standing simply and nodding. When ribbons are handed out she takes one, stares at it stretched between her hands. She isn't sure she deserves it, yet refusing it would somehow dilute the message that everyone helped. Every story, well told or roughly stated, mattered. She brings it up and ties it off around her neck.

"Thanks." Her gaze rests on Cesran, Seyardu, Carver, Silmeria and the Soldiers, Dirk, Cor'lana, Skiestregar, everyone that fought hard and well. The Feiu of the Tears would be proud, is proud. That's why there's a party, to share her gratitude.

Even if the ashen mourner still wishes she was far, far way. She doesn't smile and her monotone doesn't break. She sneaks a quick peak at her well worn, grey pamphlet from the Vardama press: 'how to act like a normal person'. She folds it to the 'when at a party'. Encouraging words. Right. "Eat and drink. We thrived."

Skielsregar's tail sways from side to side as folks give him applause, supporting tales, and praise. The shakers tied to it go shaka-shaka shaka-shaka shaka-shaka. "Thank you," he bows his head, looking over and down to Seyardu with as warm of an expression a makari could muster. "Thiss one thinks the Dragonfather is very proud of them. As this one is proud of their friends."

And he receives a ribbon! "O-Oh.. thank you..." he whispers in a unfitting, small voice. It's so tiny on him. But it feels like its the largest thing.

Skiel listens attentively to each of the tales, him nodding in approval at most, confused at Cesran's but drinking to it. And Silmeria's relayed one draws a forlorn look to his dead eyes. There's a lot of emotions in him. The drinks aren't helping. "You're welcome," he mumbles to Mourner Ashlee. "Yess, we... we thrived."

As each shares their tale, they get a ribbon, yes, and Cesran just sort of gets stared at for a long time as he casually talks about his duel at the battle with the worms. He just puts a ribbon on him after a moment. Then he moves on.

Others offer their stories. Of the battle they fought against the wights as part of the army, of the horror and glory overhead, of the training and difficulty in coping with it. Some of them break into tears themselves. It's hard. Hard to talk about.

He's sympathetic, reminding them of the victory that was won, and the lives saved. A ribbon, each of them get. It's not much. R4conition of their pain. That's, in truth, all some need.

Finally, when he's done speaking to everyone and everyone has had their chance to speak, the music is returned. Everyone seems to feel a little better for having done it.

"It's time to eat. Time to dance. Time to celeberate that you lived, that others lived because of you. Live, my friends. Live, dance, sing, and, of course, drink so that your dances are worse than ever."

Lyme accepts the ribbon with a smile, and a step back into the background. One of the soldiers. He glances down at it, frowning slightly as he considers the wisdom of wearing lavender when the ribbon was red and gold.

Cesran takes a long moment to stare at the ribbon, trying to detect any magical traps or spells or enchantments that could have been placed on it. He carefully takes it, "Thank you very much." He says politely as he keeps the ribbon in hand, not waiting to attach it to himself.

Once Ashes ribbon is tied off, Chippen slips down through her hair and coils around it, encircling her neck. He threads in and out in such a way that he resembles a choker with a cloth banding. It's almost as if he's wearing the ribbon too, a dashing, dramatic centipede.

Ashes coughs once, and much like Molly blushes, her grey skin turns a shade darker. She picks up a large goblet, one she can almost hide behind, and slowly sips as she slips into Silmeria's shadow.

Although, she is taller than her human counterpart, so it's more like she's looming ominously behind her. Discretely.

Seyardu accepts the medal, but out of fear of it getting lost in a sea of feathers, she tucks it into a pocket of her bag, instead.

"This is an occasion for joy, one which I will make no further attempts to dampen. So, they say to eat, drink, and be merry, and I would encourage all to do so."

"It is nice to not be cooking for a change, that is for certain. I intend to make good on that, as the food is quite good, yes? I would attempt to dance, but that is a bad idea on most accounts for myself, as I am clumsy enough moving normally, without any alcoholic drinks imbibed."

The ribbon is received with graciousness, but Silmeria turns it over in her hand for a long moment, before pinning it to her dress. Receiving public honors is a rare thing for a Vardaman; when someone has a good opinion of you, it's usually the last opinion they ever have, after all. Clearing her throat, she looks behind herself... and chuckles at the hobkin's attempt to hide in her shadow.

It's *almost* effective, and a skull looming behind her gives an effect Silmeria finds fitting enough.

Ashlee gets a wink and chuckle, as she returns to Carver and Molly, letting out a slow, shuddering sigh. "Well... that was a new experience..."

Skielstregar perks up after hearing the speech from the harpriest, him mollified and energized. Eating? Done. Drinking? Downed like ten. Sober? Absolutely not! He pins the ribbon to his robes, and rises to his towering height over everyone. What will he do? "Thisssh one will dance!"

The shiny, lumbering silverscale with gold paint heads on over to the music, each step accentuated with shaka-shaka of the shakers on his tail. Time to shake it some more. And totally regret it tomorrow.

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Faces in the Crowd

Ashes, A somber arvec in grey clothes with a skull face.
She has a skull for a face.

On second glance it is a tattoo, white on her warm grey skin. Her nose is a coal black patch while her hair is a lighter, cooler grey. The hair has wavy, thick strands that clump together. Piercings and other decorations enhance her markings, creating a sugar skull, a festive death. Ashlee Ciaradh is not festive. She is a quiet, somber Arvec Nar. A little creepy. It's the way the hollows around her eyes are emphasized, her stare. The heavy jaw with all the teeth tattoos.

There's a chill around her, one unlike that caused by cold weather. A quietness of the tomb. Her clothes are dark, a short half-jacket over a shirt with dark slacks. She has a very battered bag slung over her shoulder, one that seems older than she is.


Carver, A plain-faced woman with a brown top knot.
A plain-faced young human woman whose muddied face is beset, even in youth, by hard frown lines. A strange eclectic pattern of tattoos, faded cyan, speak of a nomadic lifestyle but the studded armor and well-worn weapons suggest that she gave up the huntsman lifestyle for something else entirely. Her long, thick brown hair is kept up in a top knot tied with a red ribbon and a matching one is tied to the woodsman's axe at her hip. Complete with an unstring bow, slung casually across her back, she could be from anywhere or everywhere. It's only the striking green-on-blue-on-yellow of her eyes that keep her from being arguably ugly; twin auroras with dark bags under them.


Mikilos, Tall male dawn elf, rosey blonde and handsome.
Mikilos is a slender male Dawn Elf, freakishly tall by elven standards, standing a full head over the average human. His ivory skin and long blonde hair hold a rosy warmth, as if dappled in spring sunshine, even when such light is not present. His hazel eyes are deep set, and spark with curiousity. His hands are long and nimble, but hold callus and stain from long use in craft.

He is dressed in a simple Grey robe, of a simple cut, unadorned with decoration. It is however a strange, almost painfully Neutral Grey. His waist is defined by a simple leather belt, from which a scroll case hangs upon one side, a well-used scabbard on the other. Both trousers and boots are simple, black, and practical. An occasional cloak guards against the weather or dust. Upon his brow sits a simple circlet of silver, set with a small stone which shifts from blue to violet, depending on the light.


Ravenstongue, Short half-elf girl with violet eyes and black hair.
The young half-elf woman known as Cor'lana Lupecyll, or sometimes Ravenstongue, stands at a somewhat average height for a half-elf woman, although her five feet combined with her slender and petite form might be considered diminutive by many others. While she physically seems to favor her sildanyari parent over her human one, her black hair styled into a long braid worn over one shoulder is undoubtedly a tell-tale sign she is half-sil. Her violet eyes peer at the world around her behind sensible circular spectacles in a dark wood frame.

The nearly-constant presence on her shoulder, Apotheosis, or Pothy for short, is an unusual white raven. His light blue eyes are curious like his mistress's but usually fixate on food. By the miracle of being a familiar, Pothy never balloons above the average size for a raven despite his eating habits. If he's not gazing longingly at food, he's usually tugging at Ravenstongue's braid for her attention.


Seyardu, A friendly silver sith-makar with a perpetual squint.
While not as physically imposing as many others of her kind, far from it, Seyardu is still build strong for her height. This sith-makar is covered in bright silver scales, with almost metallic, silvery eyes that are usually found in what looks like an appraising squint. Two long, ridged horns curve forward on their face, and a long tail trails slightly on the ground, keeping them balanced. Usually when they are seen in town, they wear a casual outfit, a simple vest vest of light red, yellow, or a deep forest green and accompanying dark gray, or brown skirt skirt. This is accompanied by a large leather satchel with pockets on the side. On ocassion, over the vest she wears a bright silver breastplate which almost matches the color of her scales, accompanied by a blued steel billhook slung over her back. Though she wears the armor often, in most places, the weapons are kept with all of her other posessions, within the satchel.

On her left arm, wrapped around part of her hand and forearm, were several deep green lines, vinelike in appearance, with small leaves jutting off at various points.


Silmeria, A sweet-looking blond human in a long black dress and breastplate.
An unkempt mop of honey-blond hair tops this girl's head, spilling down just past her shoulders, framing a heart-shaped face, skin bronzed by the many miles spent traveling under the glare of the sun. Large, startlingly blue eyes gaze out at the world behind silver-rimmed spectacles, full lips quirked at the corners, as though to hint at some secret knowledge only she understands but finds amusing.

A priestly cassock of heavy black material covers her from neck to toes, and occasionally when she moves the sandy lace edging her cuffs pulls back just far enough to reveal fine, strong mithril chain sleeves. On the back of the robe, a pair of simple, stylized wings are picked out in gray embroidery. Thick, travelworn boots clomp heavily as she walks, occasionally shaking off the dust of miles trapped within cracks and crevices in the leather.

Around her waist sits a wide white leather belt, securing a slender pistol with a polished rosewood grip on her right hip, and on her back is secured a metal-rimmed wooden shield, the scales of Vardama carefully engraved in the center boss.


Skielstregar, A brilliantly silver scale with fangs and empty eyes.
This hulking, muscular Sith-Makar stands at an imposing seven foot two, silver scales so shiny one could see their reflection in them. Silver eyes lack the luster of life most have, and long fangs poke out from his maw. A large pendant of a dragon's profile dangles from a silver chain on his neck, coupled with a red scale looped onto it.

A silvery breastplate covers his torso, as well as plates along his thick tail and upper legs, though its shrouded with a blue and brown cloak on his shoulders with tarnished bronze scales sewn on. His arms are left bare, bite scars from a large maw present on his forearms. A small armory of weapons dangles from his back and various bandoliers, most notable is that of an ominious looking halberd. A medal of valor is affixed firmly to his armor.

Unarmored, Skielstregar wears a simple brown tunic and pants with his silver chained holy symbol and red scale on his neck, and a silver bangle affixed midway on his tail.


Telamon, A platinum-blond half-sil man with dancing dark eyes.
A dapper looking young half-sil, this fellow's hair definitely makes him stick out. For starters, it's that platinum-blond hue that noblewomen (and a few men) spend inordinate amounts of silver on dyes and questionable tinctures to get. Styled in that almost unruly, just-rolled-out-of-bed look, it's a wild shock of silver-white that cascades down to his shoulders. By sharp contrast, his eyes are dark, but where others might brood or glare, his dance with a kind of cheery, wry humor, inviting anyone from gnomes to oruch to join the party. His build is slim but sturdy, with the natural grace and balance of his sil ancestry.

His garments are elegant and tailored for comfort as well as looks, without being too ostentatious. A ruffled white silk shirt, neatly buttoned up the front, is paired with black leather trousers that dive down to polished boots with silver buckles. Wrapped around his waist is a silver-grey sash embroidered with small golden thread patterns at the edges, and tied neatly at one hip. Slung about his shoulders is a light cloak, and set on his brow is a gold and silver circlet.


Yaretzi, A tall tanned woman with dark hair.
A tribal-esque woman stands here. She is tall, muscular, and hearty of frame. Dark mocha complexion marks her time in the sun, and brown eyes seek to watch the world from under her long and braided auburn curls. Her face is painted, a band of green across her eyes and the bridge of her nose giving color and contrast to her skin. There are freckles of the same color dotted upon her cheeks, her entire aura having a wild air.

Upon her head is a hood made of an animal hide. It is the head and part of a jaguar, it's fang and head covering her, and it's body and tail left to drape and cover hair and back. She wears a sleeveless vest, and shorts made of leather, lined in fur, and the outside is reinforced with bits of sewn metal scales. It is taught to her chest, keeping her bound. The shorts are made from the same kind of leather, but a drape of scales is sewn into it's hem, letting the metal clank and hang from her like a skirt. Her middle is bare, abs, and muscles exposed to the elements as this woman flashes a lot of skin. A pair of moccasins is worn, tied to her calf with cord, and showing wear from travel.