Social: Solanum tuberosum
This log features such lovely people as: Teppus, Harric, Kama’o, Melbert, Savannah, Katja, Myrana, Achala, Ashlynn
Disclaimer: This log is full of silly. If you have allergies to excessive amounts of silly or the word "potato", use caution when reading.
The House of Daeus in Alexandria may lack the scale and scope of The Holy See in the nation of Ecclesia, but it is still a befitting monument to the lord of dragons, and god of the sun and all creation. The structure itself is a massive domed basilica supported by immense piers and enveloped by a multi-storied complex with numerous arcing windows, jutting windowed arches and four towers that stand tall at the corners of the large complex. The massive dome centers over the sanctuary of the building but the base of the structure is actually square and multi-layered and leveled like ornate boxes stacked atop one another.
Artwork and carvings of various celestials and saints adorn the structure while the sunburst symbol of Daeus; The Solis, is emblazoned upon the smooth paved ground with a large washing fountain located in the very center of the courtyard. Maintained gardens and garden paths envelop both sides of the Courtyard while pathways lead to housing centers and places deeper in the temple for purposes of further meditation.
SUDDENLY! Potatoes.
Hundreds of them.
Wagons and carts filled with spuds litter the courtyard of the Platinum Dragon's temple. Precariously stacked piles fill every nook and cranny, some standing free while others are leaned and bunched against walls and corners. Daeus-servants can be found lurking here and there amidst the heaps, stricken - or sore and exhausted from a morning of potato peeling that has barely put a dent in the invading vegetables' numbers. The most endurant work still, eyes glassy as they litter the ground with peels.
A rack of knives and peelers has been set just to the right of the entrance for those who need them - appropriate armaments for other brave souls tackling the challenge. Empty wheelbarrows await filling with peeled potatoes for the kitchens, manned by Sunguards and Sunblades; a handful shovel the shed skins for removal instead.
There is a lesson to be learned today: one should never, -ever- leave the task of ordering a refill of the potato stores to a quintet of uncoordinated acolytes - each one of them can and will use a different supplier, and each of them can and will order a load. Dread-filled rumors circulate that the final order still hasn't even arrived yet - a terrifying thought seeing the unyielding mountains of tubers.
Incapable of dealing with the strange situation on their lonesome, the Daeusites had sent a distress call out to affiliated temples: every potato must be peeled and cooked, from where it will go to feed the poor; NO STARCHY MORSEL WASTED!
Teppus, for his part, has stopped dead at the sight of all these potatoes. SO MANY.
"You've got o be kidding me," he mumbles after a momentary pause.
Scrrrrrip. Scrrrrrrip. Scripscripscrrrrrrip.
A very cranky dwarf has set up on the steps of the temple, bucket on either side of him and each half-full of potatoes: peeled, or whole. He's been sitting there for hours, quietly peeling in the background, and though he hasn't gone glass-eyed, he may have nodded off once or twice on accident. Now is one such time, as his head dips briefly, shaking him awake. And that only makes beardy more irritable, as he grunts. His dark eyes flick up to Teppus, eyeing the paladin, and though he perhaps doesn't mean to, the look on his face makes the peeler in his hand look like a shiv. He growls in greeting. That doesn't look safe.
It didn't take long for Ashlynn to drag herself out of the hospital bed in the neighboring temple of Althea and come visit at the call. Wrapped in bandages keeping clean a goodly number of scorch wounds, the smell of remedial herb ointments the linen is soaked in is nearly dizzying, clinging to her in a big poofy cloud one could swear is very nearly visible.
In this case, it's actually a good thing. If she didn't smell of that, she might smell of lingering traces of a sewer trek, even half a dozen scented baths later.
A knife is in hand, currently savaging an unfortunate potato. Snikt! Snikt!
It's kind of amusing, really, watching the tiny droplet of hope pour into expressions of all of the workers when a new pair of hands is introduced. One of the younger acolytes grins at Teppus in what is meant to be friendly fashion, distorted by the fact his hands ache. A lot.
"Oh, very well, very well." One of the Altheans has pointed Kama'o in the direction of Daeus' temple, likely leaning heavily on the fact that she will be helping children. So, the Egalrin comes in, and looks around. "...What is this? This is not food for iiwas. Someone said that Kama'o would be making food for iiwas. Oh, hello, quiet-dwarf," she beams briefly at Harric. "What is all this?"
Teppus stops dead for a moment, then forces himself to sit down near one of the buckets of potatoes. He grabs a knife and a peeler, then adds, "This is... a lot more potatoes than I thouight there would be. Hello there," he calls to Kama'o, recognizing her. "This is going to be food for distribution to those that don't have any."
Harric tosses a potato into Ashlynn's bucket, as he has been as long as she's been there. Kama'o's greeting gets a /look/...and a nod of greeting. He points at the peeling implements, and then demonstratively lays peeler to tuber. Scrrrrrrrip. He looks up at her. Ta-da!
"They need peeling and cooking, missus." another acolyte - a lanky, cheerful-looking fellow with tussled hair and crumpled Daeusite robes the lap of which is filling with peels - tries to explain to Kama'o. His aquiline - which is just a stylish-looking word for 'hooked' - nose has a pair of square-glassed spectacles tacked on it. By no stretch of the imagination is this young man handsome - but his enthusiasm and massive grins can be infectious.
"Boring and hard work, it is, even if it is for a good cause. I'm Devon, of Daeus' flock." the acolyte offers open-ended introductions.
"Ashlynn. Order of the Silver Arrow. I follow the Hunter." the woman takes the cue, breaking her own stony silence. Another potato is added to the bucket over Harric's, clattering into the depths of the metal container. It had JUST been emptied into a barrow headed for the kitchens.
"Iiii. This is not food. This is just dirt pretending to be food." Kama'o pokes hesitantly at a mound of potatoes, a few of which cascade down the pile to land at the bottom of Mount Potato. Beak clacking ensues. "Surely the iiwas will get sick if they eat this!" She eyes the group, and shakes her head a bit as if to clear the air. "Well. Kama'o supposes you know what human iiwas eat. Though I am not sure you are not confusing yourselves with the dwarves." She is quiet a moment, watching them peel, and then finally whistles and picks up a potato.
Harric bristles beardily and peels his potatoes, rumbling under his breath. He tosses a potato at Teppus next, with a stern look. Get peeling. >:(
Teppus is -totally- peeling potatoes!
Tilting her head as she enters the temple, Savannah walks in hearing Kama'o talking about the mound of dirt. She walks closer and tilts her head. "Dirt? They look like potatoes to me, Kama'o."
Melbert wanders into the Temple of Daeus, looking a bit out of place, but as if attempting to be unassuming. He's currently dressed in plain garb, no arms or armor, save a plain belt knife. A light cotton tunic and rough breeches with a leather belt do little to identify him as other than a commoner walking in from the street.
Harric glances up at Savannah as she approaches, and yet another pair of hands wanders in. He tosses potatoes at each, giving them stern and unforgiving looks. PEEL POTATOES NAO.
"Iiiii." That is all Kama'o seems to be willing to say on the subject of potatoes. She spears one with a talon, and wanders over to a broken wagon tongue, stepping up on it to perch. Only then does she begin to peel. Knife? Who needs a knife when you've got perfectly clawed talons. One might think they were even made for the job.
Melbert is assaulted with a potato? But he seems not unhappy with this turn of events. He pulls out his belt knife and heads over to the group. He peels potatoes like a veteran, in fact. He looks somewhat nervous around Kama'o, and keeps to the other side of the potato peeling crowd, but otherwise sets to work.
"You peel it, missus, and cook it - and it gets soft and kinda mushy and quite filling." Devon quips in Kama'o's general direction, nodding his head rapidly, his spectacles rattling a bit with the motion. Some of the peels piled in his lap fall around his feet. By the tone and the smile, he seems to LIKE potatoes. It must mean he's not been in Alexandria's Temple of Daeus very long, or else has lost his mind in his stay. Or, perhaps, he doesn't end up in the pantry peeling them as disciplinary action nearly often enough. Several of his fellows give him odd looks.
"Still, this is a lot of potato. The help's appreciated! Welcome, welcome!" the acolyte adds, waving the peeler in his hand about. He could poke someone's eye out with that. "Devon's the name. And who are you folks, hm?"
Ashlynn, having offered her own name and affiliation a moment prior, is now busy trying not to stare at the Egalrin. And -completely failing-. It's almost as if she's never seen a member of the reclusive avian race before.
In fact, that is actually quite likely.
"Greetings Kama'o." Savannah smiles to the ladybird as she walks on by. She then bows to Devon as he introduces himself. "Savnanah Lionheart, at your service." She says softly as she picks up her own peeler and begins to peel a potato. However, potatoes seemingly begin to form it's own assembly line towards Savannah.....
Melbert looks up to Devon and replies, "I'm Mel, sir." He does look like he's peeled potatoes in his lifetime, the peels come off in a smooth, even spiral as his hands turn the potato around, blade held steady. "Um, I wasn't sure if it was allowed, I was hoping to get to keep one or two of them?" He looks like he's skipped a few meals, himself, though he's not in terrible shape.
Katja enters the temple a little dishevelled, and kind of... amazed at the sight of SUCH a pile of potatoes. She pauses in the doorway a moment, staring... and then moves towards the general gathering of people. "So. People were not kidding then," she comments a little lamely.
With a sympathetic look in Katja's direction, Teppus says, "No. No, we were not kidding." He then looks wry and proceeds to begin cutting away the skin of another potato.
"Oh, where are my manners? You can call me Kama'o," the Egalrin says. She spears a couple of potatoes with the talons on one foot--is that hygenic?--and peels both, one with either hand. She, too, looks to have peeled tubers in her life, although perhaps not potatoes, from the dubious looks they're getting. Unfortunately, it takes a lot to daunt Kama'o's spirits...and she seems used to the staring. "Well. Perhaps we should sing a song! Kama'o has learned several from Garth Just Garth."
Harric wields his peeler at Katja...and tosses her a potato. He also points at the various peeling implements nearby. Then he takes a small bucket, holding about five or six potatoes, and scoots it Melbert's way. He looks grumpy about it too. GRUMP.
Melbert takes the bucket with a simple nod, scooting it by his feet and looking ... relieved, perhaps. "Thank you, sir." He seems much less nervous, at least, peeling his potatoes efficiently and quickly. He's done potatoes before, this much is clear.
"I do not think a handful will be missed." Ashlynn tells Melbert earnestly. Kama'o's suggestion is met with a deep, puzzled furrowing of brows. Clearly, this is a bit... foreign to her. Singing while working, that is. Maybe even having fun as a general concept, judging by the look of her.
"Of course, of course, we have plenty." Devon volunteers cheerfully to Melbert, paying no heed to a colleague who is awkwardly trying to clean his robes of peels. And then... Kama'o speaks. The Daeusite's face brightens to a level near-equivalent to the sun he worships, and a huge, huge grin appears, threatening to somehow occupy the entire space between his ears, nose and chin.
"That is an excellent idea!!" he says, and the enthusiasm almost comes off him in waves.
Harric's expression goes completely flat. The gruff ball of grouch squints at Kama'o with a hint of betrayal. Singing. Oh god.
Harric determines he shall not be singing, THANK YOU VERY MUCH, and goes back to being grumpy background dwarf. Grump grump grump.
Katja for her part pulls a well-worn knife out from somewhere and gets to peeling the tossed potato fairly effectively. She looks around the group curiously, shrugging a little. "Hello, by the way," she tosses out absently. She chuckles faintly at the mention of singing, shaking her head a little and grinning at her potato.
So. Harric is eyed by Teppus. Then Kama'o. Kama'o is also eyed. "Well. At least nobody's asked me to dance yet," he mutters. Some of them were witness to the horror, after all. Maybe. He tosses another peeled potato into the ucket.
Melbert looks relieved at Ashlynn's comment. "Yes, yes," he agrees. "I was hoping that would be the case." He nods about singing, but doesn't say anything right away. Finally, "I'm not sure I know any ... potato peeling songs." He nods a greeting to Katja, and introduces himself again, "Mel." Potatoes get peeled, tossed in the bucket, and new potatoes get peeled.
So much hostility, and Kama'o has not even begun singing yet. "Great!" she tells Devon. "Oh, that is all right," she tells those who claim not to know songs, "Kama'o will start. I know a song about peeling." And she begins to sing. "Oh, Alexandrian lasses," she belts out, slightly off-key and slightly off-rhythm. Someone...should really stop her. Obvious rhyme is obvious, and the song she's chosen is NOT appropriate for a temple environment. On the bright side, the acolytes just might learn some new words as she peels...
"Katja," the Aesir woman offers in return. She looks curiously to Kama'o, more amused than hostile. She shakes her head again, taking up another potato as she does so. "This should be interesting song..." she muses before smirking sidelong at Teppus. "You danced, hm? Sounds like quite the show."
"Well, I had to bring down the robot they were trying to fly away somehow. I had to stomp all over it -- thought I might as well make a show of it to annoy Black and White. The jerks." Teppus lets out a sigh at that. Another potato into the bucket. He seems to know how to do this pretty well, actually.
"Greetings." Ashlynn offers to Katja, a rare show of actually being aware of the basics of human interaction. It's a rare thing, for her - a woman used to listening rather than speaking. Canting her head sideways, she listens to Kama'o's song, her puzzled frown getting all the deeper.
Devon, on the other hand, actually claps his hands together happily, managing somehow not to amputate his own fingers with the peeler in the deal. He pauses, then. "Oh, uh. I'm afraid I don't know that one." the cheery acolyte says, pursing his lips. He wouldn't know it, would he, being a priest.
This, of course, means someone else will have to shove a potato up Kama'o's beak before she gets to second verse.
Melbert finds himself chuckling along and half singing the words, which he apparently knows, before he recalls that the person singing is a huge bird person and may eat him. That shuts him up, or in any event stops him from mouthing the words, though he doesn't censure Kama'o by any means. If that's the sort of songs her people sing, who is he to judge? He looks to Teppus as he relates the story, a puzzled expression on his face. "You're with the Explorer's guild?" he wonders.
Snickering a bit, Savannah looks over towards Teppus and his tale of tap dancing upon a robot. She gives him a strange look since he doesn't exactly look like the type to dance, in any way, upon anything. He must've been desparate.
"They all cover their asses, with bustles and skirts and cloth," Kama'o continues. Because no one stops her. Why is no one stopping her? She's beaming at everyone, soaking up the attention as she peels, dropping two potatoes into a bucket and spearing another two. It must be nice to be able to settle so comfortably on one leg. "Give me one wish, I don't want a fish, send me a moth, a moth that eats cloth..."
"Quite the song," Katja mumbles to herself, still chuckling. She starts picking up the pace on the potatoes, with all the unhurried practice of one used to preparing meals for just themselves.
"Kama'o's songs are very nice," says Teppus, casually. Apparently, he's mroe than happy to let her keep going. Because, you know, he's not getting involved. AT ALL. Rather, he's focused on potatos. SO MANY POTATOES. Also, trying nto to laugh.
Melbert concentrates on his potatoes before he lops off his own thumb, shocked that Kama'o would know that sort of song. Apparently she hangs around with ... well, the sort of people he hangs around with, or used to. This is a shock to him. He looks around at the others, listening in various stages of amusement, themselves, or at least of incomprehension.
Harric squints beardily at his potatoes, not at all interested in singing with the bird. But he does seem to be getting less glare-y at least?
Those not aware of the color of a beet can get a good look at an approximation, courtesy of Devon's cheeks (and not the kind of cheeks mentioned in the song, thankfully).
"Oh dear. I don't... um... that is... perhaps a new song?" he tries desperately, his smile fragile and strained, hands covering his ears in an attempt to protect his own innocence.
The two Althean healer-priestesses, there to tend to the many injuries groups of people waving sharp things are inevitably going to encounter, put hands on their hips and glare, sternly.
Another acolyte, staring dazedly at Kama'o, foolishly picks up a potato from the bottom of his chosen mountainous pile.
There's an ominous rumble, the man glancing up in terror - just in time to see dozens of spuds coming down in a thunderous potatavalanche.
"... help! ..." his tiny voice floats up from the wreckage.
And Ashlynn? She's stuck between horror and curiosity. Her jaw's a little slack, even.
"...eat the cloth off the asses, of the beautiful lasses, of Alexandria!" Kama'o finishes the verse triumphantly. "Alexandrian biddies, they cover...iiiii?" Kama'o blinks and peers at Devon. "A new song? I know one about a wizard's staff! Would you rather hear that one?" She beams...at least, until the potato mountain attacks. Leaping backwards, she beats her wings once or twice and screeches. "See? See? It is dirt pretending to be food, and that is proof!" Nevertheless, she does go over to try to help dig the poor acolyte out.
Katja also rises up to traipse over to the acolyte and dig for him, frowning. "Well. That was not best idea he ever had," she remarks idly, pushing aside potatoes and searching for a hand to just haul him out by.
Harric blinks, and watches the potatolanche in startled fascination. Emotion? On my Harric? it's more likely than you think! He hauls up, dumping his peeling implements into a waiting bucket so he can reach in and fish around for the spudded acolyte. Unfortunately his hands are slippery from dirtjuice, so he'll need some help. Plus, it's not a great angle to get at him.
"Uh... no. I think that... that's enough. Yes. "Teppus nods to Kama'o, firmly, seeing quite in tune with the idea that they've had enough singing all together. And then there potatoes covering a poor acolyte in the wreckage and he's on over to help as well, but stops. Katja's there!
A lone arm flails above the surface of the violent potatoes (now spread all over the courtyard, rolling underfoot and being a spuddy nuisance) and provides his rescuers something to grab onto to get him out. Once extracted - it takes a bit of work - the man proves to have got off lucky. A few bruises, almost certainly, but the biggest injury is to his dignity.
"Is he well?" a worried Ashlynn tosses from the sidelines.
Even Devon has gone momentarily quiet, his face askew with concern. "Perhaps... perhaps our dwarven friend can provide us a song from his people? No?" he says meekly once his colleague's safety is assured.
Melbert looks up at the potato avalanche, then looks around to the others, to see how they react. He's not sure, it seems, whether to let the fellow pull himself out, or to aid him. When Harric chooses to aid the fellow, Mel will help as well, setting his knife aside a moment to use both hands to haul the poor fellow out. Once he's out, Mel gets back to peeling.
Once the man's extracted, Katja laughs lightly and returns to potato-peelin' with no particular apparent care to recreate the proper, orderly pile there once was. "Well. Could have been worse," she remarks, shrugging. "Never heard dwarf music before," she adds to Devon's request.
"Oh, yes!" Kama'o says, once she's helped dig the poor acolyte out. "Yes, Harric, sing for us!" Where did she learn the dwarf's name? "Don't be shy." Fish, don't swim. "Kama'o can sing with you, if you want. Kama'o knows Khazad." Oh, good. Lewd dwarven songs. ...Well, at least none of the acolytes will understand the words.
Harric stares at Devon. /Stares/. But the lad was just pummeled by problematic potatoes, and he lets out a sigh, grumbling.
At last there's the sound of more potatoes rolling-- wait no, that's the grating, dusty rumble coming from Harric's unused throat. it is in fact so rumbly it's impossible to make out the words past his beard, but there's no mistake: he's singing (although not very well). Kama'o may be able to pick it out from the melody though!
Myrana sits quite calmly in little folding wood-and-canvas chair of the sort most everyone who was in the recent wars are far too familiar with, her skirts pooling about the toes of her shoes and her sleeves rolled up past her elbows. There's a pile of peeled potatoes in her lap, gathered there by her apron, and a growing mountain of skin.
Melbert likewise peels steadfastly while the Khazadul concert rumbles on, oblivious to the lyrics. Probably better for him in any event.
It really is a shame that Savannah doesn't know Khazadul, or else she'd be giggling right about now. However, she doesnt, so she continues to peel potatoes, humming in rhythym with the singing dwarf and Kama'o
"... Somehow, I thought dwarven songs would be... more cheerful." says Devon, a little crestfallen at this turn of events. Clearly, he was expecting beer, gold and chili to be involved.
The no-longer-buried acolyte, however - clearly suffering a mild rattling of the brain from his ordeal - makes an attempt to sing along.
Or maybe he's trying not to vomit. Clearing his sinuses? No, no, he's definitely trying to sing in Khazdul.
After a moment of deliberation, Ashlynn decides to contribute as well. Thankfully, she does not sing - instead thumping her foot in rhythm of the song. If, indeed, it has something of a rhythm.
Kama'o harmonizes--badly--but does seem to recognize both the tune and the words. She cheerfully mangles both as she continues to peel. This song might even be appropriate for the situation, who knows? Kama'o, in any event, seems to be enjoying herself.
"Oh dear," Myrana mumbles, still peeling away. Presumably to Rum, who is at this very moment trying to eat the peels all around the young woman's skirts. "This takes me right back."
Harric eyes Kama'o but sings with her, like a wounded, pissed off dog. He actually is singing about ale, gold, chili, and also beards! The chili-maker's lass has beard envy, you see. But he finishes with an uncertain, grumpy look about him . Harumph!
Melbert, having peeled steadfastly for the time he's been here, sheathes his knife after cleaning it on a shirtsleeve and bows his head. He also picks up the bucket of potatoes. "But your leave, sirs and ma'ams, I need to be on my way. I thank you kindly," he says, gesturing with the bucket.
"Have a good one, Mel," Katja offers as the man leaves, offering a wave. She looks at the dwarf for a few moments, then glances from Myrana to Teppus. "Is he... actually singing? I really can't tell."
"Is... the kitten ill?" Ashlynn asks uncertainly of Myrana, watching Rum as he waddles by. Clearly, a creature that looks like a cat, but is as tiny as the green, spore-spewing menace cannot possibly be a full grown animal. An offhanded nod is offered to the departing Melbert, a gesture of respect for the aid offered.
"Bravo!" exclaims Devon - a spindly, cheerful, bespectacled acolyte of Daeus with an entirely too powerful urge to mingle - whilst clapping enthusiastically once the song is done. "Maybe you could do the next one!" he suggests, looking right at poor Teppus expectantly.
The two Altheans drag off the victim of potato assault, berating him quietly for his lack of care.
Kama'o beams back at Harric. "There's a good iiwa," she says, once he's finished. "Now, see, that wasn't so hard, was it?" Beam. "Oh, yes. Sing us a song," she agrees, turning her big eyes to Teppus. The Egalrin is peeling potatoes, but is not being particularly dilligent about the task.
Achala ambles in towards the gathering, looking to grab a bucket and some potatoes. He smiles tuskily around, but mostly just looks to get in line.
Myrana looks up from the potato she's peeling. Not at the poor acolyte with his new potato-based head injury, but over at Ashlynn, blue eyes curious. "Huh? Oh, Rum!" Looking at the... rather fuzzily-green animal, she seems to consider this.
"I can never tell," she finally says.
"Hello. You're that lady that runs the Ox-Strength, aren't you?" Teppus says that to Myrana, curiously, his head tilting to the side.
"It is... green." Ashlynn states the obvious, still eyeballing Rum. She's pretty sure this is not an entirely normal state of affairs when it comes to feline fur. A freshly-peeled potato is lowered into the bucket next to her, the final one before a nearby Sunblade hauls it off, slouching tiredly. The woman flexes her hands, clearly quite sore, but by the looks of her intent on continuing.
In fact, their efforts are bearing fruit. Or vegetable, as it may be. The piles no longer seem nearly as daunting, and morale has lifted amongst the valiant heroes' allies from the various temples of the neighborhood. Daeusite and Elunite and Althean and even an ornery Tarienite are all diving into their work with renewed spirits and gusto.
Resting his hands on the pile of peels in his lap, Devon takes a breather of his own. "No? No song?" he asks Teppus. "What about you? What's your name? Know any good songs?" the enthusiastic acolyte turns his attention to Achala, smiling infectiously as he regards him over the little square glasses.
An acolyte, whose face appears to have at least second-degree steam burns, hurries out of the temple. She looks around, wide-eyed, scanning the group. The woman then proceeds to hurry over to Kama'o. Whisper, whisper whisper.
"Who? Oh, yes, Kama'o has heard of her. She wants to talk to me? About my singing? Of course, Kama'o would love to sing a song for Greta!" The Egalrin tosses her last potato into a bucket, beams around at everyone, and then makes her way into the temple proper. Management is not responsible for anything that happens next.
"Y-yes," Myrana replies, reluctantly. Admitting to any sort of association with the Ox Strength is never a good idea. "I'm on vacation though-- Damnit cat!" She nudges Rum with her toe, causing thte chubby little mossball to tip and roll wobbily over onto one side, entirely unphased. It blinks, then hacks out a button. Myra grumbles under her breath and picks it up, scowling. "Stop eating my boots y'little bastard."
"Er. What... eating your boots?" Katja questions, a breath of a laugh accompanying it. "Sounds like bit of bothersome pet to be keeping," she notes, shaking her head. "Between that and smoke-addict lizards, must be hard to run that place."
Also, Teppus is eyeing Rum. "Why is your cat green?" he asks after a moment. Then he shakes his head. "Nevermind." He turns towards Katja and then adds, "Must be," he nods. Darn those lizards.
"Althea teaches us patience in many ways," Myrana says, and rather savagely peels at the potato in her hands. Big chunks of it go flying off and Rum chases after them, disturbing a smaller pile of unpeeled spuds. They go scattering about.
Ashlynn watches Rum's sporecloud-filled waddling and button-regurgitation with a sort of uncertain fascination. It results in a nick upon her thumb from her peeling knife, and the woman immediatelly glares at the injury, as if that will make it go away somehow.
Across the way, the gates of the temple swing open, admitting a small, wobbly, pink creature that looks like a tub of lard given life. Moving on tiny legs, the spotted farm pig waddles into the temple, promptly wiggling its triangular nose in the direction of the nearest pile of tubers.
It is followed by a terrifying, horrible thing. A cart, moving seemingly on its own save for the occasionally emerald sparks of the mana urging it forward, rolls within the courtyard, and on it...
Gods. As if the day wasn't odd enough.
It's enormous. Gargantuan. The size of a boulder.
The mother of all potatoes.
Following the cart with a stride that is reminiscent of a scarecrow trying to walk, every hinge somehow seeming to move wrong and out of tune with the rest, is a spindly wizard. One can tell from the pointy hat, even if said hat is straw-brimmed and dirty, much like his robes. He's chewing a straw.
"Here's that tater y'all ordered. Archimedes, stop dat." speaks the wizard. The words don't stop the pink, wobbly Archimedes from noisily devouring one of the more normal-sized potatoes anyway.
The rumors were true. The final, fifth order has arrived. The priests stare, flabbergasted.
Myrana 's mouth falls open.
"... Should have brought my sword," remarks Katja distractedly.
"Oh sweet roses," Myra breathes. "It's Kor's own kidney stone."
Looking out from her place of peeling potatoes, Savannah blinks at the.....pig arriving. "Oh goody, ham." She says rather bluntly as she puts down her last spud and eyes the giant potato. "Ooookay. Why would we need a spud that big........' She says to herself as she walks forward and actually pets the pig's head, feeding it a spud herself.
Myrana is just glued to her chair.
The huge potato is arriving and Teppus is just staring in horror. "I.. I... didn't know they could come that big."
"I... guess we just get started?" Katja suggests, shrugging a little. She finally manages to rise from her seat (Was she sitting on the floor this whole time?) and start traipsing over to the wagon.
Myrana says, "That's no potato."
Myrana says, "That's a monster egg."
Myrana says, "I'm not touching it."
"What do y'folks need all dem taters for? Y'throwing a party or something?" the wizard says around his straw as the cart settles to a stop. The potato on it is blocking out some of the sunlight, casting a massive, ominous shadow.
"Hah! Just takes a bit o' creative gardening, that's all!" says the wizard to Teppus.
A wizard did it. This wizard.
"Welp, my job here is done. C'mon, Archimedes, let's check on them radishes." goes the wizard, moving for the exit and leaving the potato behind.
Archimedes, who was rather enjoying being patted on the head and fed potatoes, intent on eating enough to hurl, gives a squeal of protest but follows along with its master. Its ears flop with each awkward, bouncing step.
And the monstrous potato looms.
"Let's... let's get the sword rack." says a Daeusite, slowly pulling to a stand.
Myrana worries at her lip. At her feet, Rum's tail sticks out from under her skirts where he has taken refuge from the Monster Spud. Wringing her hands, Myra stands out of the way of much braver men and women.
At this point Katja's climbing the wagon to get at the potato. She's not starting just yet. Rather she's... tapping at it with her knife. Making sure the darn thing isn't impermeable.
Focused and brave in face of the challenge presented, the Daeusites indeed bring out a weapon rack from the temple armory - a wooden construction bearing about a dozen longswords, each emblazoned with Daeus' sunburst. Those with strength still in them begin to draw the weapons, squaring their jaws as they size up the magically-enlarged potato. No food let go to waste.
The potato is as... normal... as a magical potato can be. Still, the more potato, the more skin - the teeny peelers simply aren't up to the task.
Achala stares at the potato, unsheathes his longsword. "I brought my own."
"If... If you could kindly take care of, er, that..." begins Devon, finally managing to speak again. He points a little shakily at the unnaturally huge potato, adjusting his glasses for the fifth or so time just in case he's seeing things. "I... I am sure we can clean up the rest."
The acolyte gives an encouraging smile to their guests and helpers. The final hurdle - and rather a big one, too.
Ashlynn seems like she's intent on helping, but the Althean healer-priestess bandaging her hand has a different opinion altogether. The soldierly woman is forced to observe rather than participate, and is rather put off by this fact. No helping it, however. One does not argue with the Altheans.
Myrana edges back from the thing... and goes and takes shelter by Ashlynn, all the while with the same expression as a cat who has fallen off of a dresser but isn't willing to admit to this.
A blond Sunguard, Agril Doran, walks into the room. He takes one look at the potato an then walks out. Laughing.
Hysterically.
Katja sighs, and shakes her head. She dismounts from the wagon and walks over to the weapon rack, then draws one of the swords and gets to the hyperpeeling. Eeeesh.
"Is your finger okay?" Myrana asks Ashlynn, conspiratorilly. "Because if you need to go get stitches, y'know, I'll walk with you."
"The Lancer suggested you own an establishment in the city. Tell me, is it... always this strange?" Ashlynn asks of the conveniently nearby Myrana, as if trying to distract herself from the fact she is unable to aid with tackling the challenge set before them all. "It was not a deep cut." she assures. "I am sure I can aid in--" the woman begins, and is cut short as the Althean casually smacks her in the back of the head lightly. That'll be a no, she can't.
While some secure the cart to stop it from escaping from under the feet of those daring the potato, several champions begin to clamber onto the vehicle. Swords are brought down into the intimidating tuber, some accompanied by warcries.
"Alexandria is drenched in strange," Myrana nods to Ashlynn. "Like a sponge left in the mop bucket."
Achala is one of those on the tuber, going half-sword style on the thick skin. WITNESS his victory! (or something)
Harric's eyes lift from that very intriguing potato in his hands, to see a much more intriguing one. An astonishing one, even. It is so big, and so huge, and so astonishing, that the beardy dwarf says, very distinctly, "Althea's pearls."
Bits of potato skin the size of a man's torso are flying from the concentrated effort of adventurer and holy warrior alike. The enormous potato is looking less intimidating and more naked by the minute. It's hard work, but progress is rapidly being made.
"I have not been here long." Ashlynn reveals, forced to stick to the sidelines with Myrana. "You... say those words as if this is not the strangest thing you have seen here." she notes, with apprehension.
Achala happily denudes the potato! I mean. Its turning into quite the peepshow up there. He cores out an eye, and doesn't get spattered with gore!
Katja drops from the wagon, taking a breather and freeing up some space up there. "Must be making stew size of a house, with one that big," she remarks to nobody in particular.
Myrana rubs at the back of her neck. "Well... I mean honestly this might be one of the weirdest things. Ever. Just... really."
Myrana reaches out though and pats Ashlynn on the shoulder. As if to say 'there there, you can always move to a sane city, like I plan to some day'.
Harric climbs up to his feet, eyeing the potato warily and wishing that he could peel a potato with his fists. That'd be nice, really. But alas. He steps over to the rack and selects a sword, holding it awkwardly in his hands as he approaches the wagon. Crazy dwarf coming through, beep beep!
At this point, crates - formerly full of potatoes - have been positioned around the immobile cart, allowing one to easily clamber into the cart and dig into the work. Half of the potato is bare, and being gradually hacked into pieces that can actually fit in a pot.
It will still need to be a very large pot.
"That is... comforting." Ashlynn replies to Myrana. She had feared that this was a relatively normal occurence, a rather unsettling thought indeed.
Achala keeps hacking, then finally climbs off, covered in starchy water. He looks around, hunting for water. "That was unholy."
Katja stretches out, then returns the borrowed sword to the rack. "Well. Good to see people, but should move on," she says to the gathering in general before lifting a hand in a general wave and making her way out of the temple.
Soon enough, the efforts of Katja, Achala, Harric and their comrades-in-arms come full circle.
"This is the last bit!" a Sunblade calls out, holding it up before hurring off with it for the kitchens.
A massive cheer thunders through the courtyard. Victory at last. The Daeusites will have a lot of clean-up to do, but the job is done, and their valiant helpers allowed to depart with many words of thanks and careful, blistery handshakes.