RP: Chatting

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It's Tariday, Aestry 12 11:49:07 1018. The full moon is up. The tide is low and rising. Towering white clouds drift slowly through the blue sky. It's hazy and hot, and the glare of the sun seems to drain the color from the landscape.

A04: Theatre District


"Do ye not know the storm, ye'll not appreciate the sun, lass," Aldean reminds the gnome. The pair are parked on a shady bench in the Theater District, and there's a pile of papers and a set of pipes in Aldean's hand. "Still, aye, that ought to be a hoot. Always liked that, though ain't see m'self readin' it."

Ranik comes walking with his quarterstaff into the district, and looks at the marquees above the Hope and the Flightwright, as if trying to decide which show to buy tickets for.

Esme nods along to Aldean's first comments about storms and suns. "You are right, bard. As always!" The gnome places a hand briefly on Aldean's knee, before pushing up from the bench and standing to full height, a mere 3'2", and clearing the throat, commences the monologue in shrill, parodying theatrical voice:

"And each moment passed, I lament it now, Raised Martha as my own, o'er years gone by, This youngling Yortha, I can see him now, Wishes only for the bedsheets to fly...

Twirling the defensable parasol, Esme continues the comedic rant whilst walking away towards Flame's Hope Theatre in the near distance.

Behind her back, Aldean's mobile expression twists into a comedic expression of disgust, before dissolving into a chuckle. "Fair winds, lass," he calls after her, then leans back into the bench, idly contemplating the section of the sheaf he can see. When he spots Ranik, though, he frowns. Hard.

Ranik glances at the gnome talking to herself as she walks, and seems to settle on a decision. He strides toward the Flightwright's box office.

Aya enters the district at a leisurely walk. For what reason she passes through the vibrant, boisterous, and oft noisy area is anyone'w guess. The fact that she is none of those things does suggest that the reason is not employment in entertainment of others.

At least it's in the shade. Aldean looks up at the builders setting up rather noisily, and shakes his head, picking himself to move himself more out of their way. Self-preservation is a valued trait in an adventurer. For the moment, he ignores Ranik, but h's quite visibal in his selection of a more out of the way bench to sit at and set down his papers and pipes.

Ranik concludes his transaction and as he turns from the box office window stowing his pair of tickets in a pocket, he catches sight of Aya out of the corner of his eye. As he looks over at her and begins to wave a small greeting, he then spots Aldean with his papers, and calls, "Hallo, sir. I wanted to apologize for the other day...", making his way toward the brightly dressed man.

Aldean's mobile expression closes down as the man comes closer, but at least he isn't shouting. "Don't mention it, mate," he says, folding his arms across his chest with the panpipe in hand. "Ye got a business t'run."

Ranik smirks, "Well, it was more of a novelty anyway. I am no diviner and my cards are not enchanted. Just something I picked up recently from a Lucht caravan. Still—even though I don't remember much about what I told you, something evidently..." he considers where he is standing, "struck a chord."

Aldean's expression, if it's possible, closes further. "Mayhaps," he allows. "Been thinkin' maybe it be time t'make a change. Ain't got much keepin' me here, now. Jes' a research project or two ... an' I got what I need."

Ranik nods. "I'm sure a man of your connections can get around easily enough—at least upon the seas." Choosing not to press, he changes topic and asks, "So, do you have any tips for a guy like me bringin' a date to the Flightwright? I just got tickets for tonight's show."

"Flightwright?" Aldean relaxes a little. "Enjoy the show, mate. They ain't always so prompt, mind — likely all the gnomes as run the place. They put on decent shows, but they ain't so much fer faithfulness to the tales as puttin' on a show, so were I ye, I'd not take aught they state fer historical fact."

Ranik chuckles about the gnomes' punctuality, then says, "I doubt, however, that they'll stage such a grand entrance as Jareth did at last night's Oxley party." He makes a knowing look.

At that, Aldean throws back his head and laughs, the wall he threw up melting away from his expression. "Weren't that somethin'?" he agrees lightly, putting the pipes aside and putting his hands behind his head. There is room on the bench to sit on the other side of the papers, shoudl Ranik be so inclined. "Mind ye ... Jareth's saved my arse a time or two. Heart of gold and arm of steel, that one ... an' he ain't as preachy as the Sunblades. Ain't doubt he meant well, He'll do anything for Myrana."

Ranik takes the place on the bench. He says, "I'm still a bit foggy on most of the rest of the party, though. I think someone must have put something, uh, off in the punch, or maybe it was just the Oxley's typical fare—my stomach has bad history with them. None of my stuff went missing, though, but still I seem to be missing about two hours from my memory of it." He shudders, "But, yeah, all the folks there seemed like pretty good folks."

"There be them as swear as Oxleys breed with the rats in their kitchen," Aldean snorts, leaning back. "They ain't buy that booze, mind. Managed to get out without eatin' the food ... made it a damned good night." A wicked flash of eyes makes it clear what sort of good night it was. "Most be good folk. The lucht be a bit strange ... an' don't stand downwind. Sandiel ain't so bad as most folk make her out to be ... else Svarshan'd have nought to do with her."

Ranik says, "That's good. Anyhow, it was a welcome distraction from all the demons that have been popping up around here lately." As sweat begins to bead on his brow, he says, "Or this blasted humitidity and unrelenting heat. But I can deal with it", and...

GAME: Ranik casts Ray of Frost. Caster Level: 4 DC: 16

... shoots a ray of magic at a handkerchief, instantly freezing it, then wiping his forehead with it.