Two and a Half Men
It's Variday, Rhaltaas 31 22:08:00 1013. The full moon isn't up. The tide is high and ebbing.
A chilly wind blows from the west, driving dark clouds before it and blotting out the stars in patches overhead. The air is clear and elsewhere they glitter brightly in the dark sapphire sky.
-=--=--=--=--=--=--=-<* Temple District - Temple Plaza *>-=--=--=--=--=--=--=-
The air of worship, solemn contemplation and the weight of divinity in this area simply cannot be denied. In stark contrast to the bustle of the great market just to the south, all noise and rowdiness seems to immedialty cease upon entry to large area. In size, the Great Market does rival the Temple Square but the placement of the temple structures and the weighty air in the place lends to it a scale that is not easily quantified. The square itself is brilliantly paved with large white flagstones. In contrast to the colorful cacophony a short walk south, it is serene and nearly empty of vendors, save for a handful of respectfully quiet ones who offer fruits, flowers and other things that may be given up as offerings to some of the deities.
The centerpiece of the square is a large fountain of white marble, filled with clear water. During the day, a jet of water continuously shoots high into the air, pattering back into the pool below like soothing rain. Special reflectors situated around the area cause the water to sparkle with fractured light.
VIEWS: +view here/fountain
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Strike A dusky grey half elf girl in grey and black clothes. 0s 6m Usha Shadow-elf dressed in white. Big hair. 1s 10m
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Sign -- NO BATHS IN THE FOUNTAIN
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Temple of Tarien <TN> Temple of Althea <TA> Temple of Kor <TK>
Temple of Eluna <TE> Temple of Daeus Temple District <N>
Commerce District <'S'>
Usha slips out of the temple of Eluna, pulling her hood back up as she moves onto the street. She looks about a bit then, and steps out into the square.
Afflicted with goosebumps and chattering teeth, Strike makes her way sullenly through the district in her typicly steady gait, using her quarterstaff as a walking stick to keep time.
Usha almost walks straight into Strike as she looks surruptociously about, 'Ack! Sorry." she says to her then. " I didn't mean to..." she murmurs.
Strike's stride comes to a halt at the near intimate intercection and she bows her head, "It-t-t's-ah!" The half-shadow flinches suddenly and holds a hand up to her cheek, looking slightly pained and rather surprised.
Usha blinks at that, "Are... you OK?" she wonders then, of the other woman. She places a hand on her arm then. "I'm very sory for bumping into you." she says then, concerned she's hurt the woman.
Strike shakes her head, and, at the touch, she's obviously cold as she answers, "N-n-no... I th-th-think-k I b-bit mys-s-self....?" in a rather confused tone.
Usha Usha aws at her, "Ah, well, that happens sometimes. Are you sure you're ok?" She asks. "You look freezing." she adds then.
Strike shivers some and, teeth-a-chattering, "Yes-s-s... It is c-cold." she answers, making an odd face as she apparantly tastes her own blood, "I... am.. unp-prepared."
Usha nods her head, "I can see that. It's too cold to be wearing clothes like that, you need fur if you can afford it, or wool." she tells her. "here." she says, and shrugs off her own cloak- fur lined- and drapes it over Strike's shoulders. "You must come from pretty far afield to not know how to dress for winter." She tells the other woman.
Strike accepts the fur with a quiet 'T-thank you." Almost awkwardly, she starts to huddle into the cloak, almost like she isn't sure she's doing it right. "I am n-n-not used to th-this frame, yet."
Usha tilts her head a touch, "Frame?" she wonders of the other woman then, quietly pulling her own arms in close to help conserve heat without her cloak. She tries to be subtle about it, doesn'twant Strike feeling guilty, after all.
Strike glances at the other woman, then herself and moves closer, opening the cloak to try and put at least some of it onto her shoulders as well, "T-this is n-n-not my body."
Usha blushes a hint at the sudden closeness, but it's too cold to really complain. "Uh... I'm not certain I understand." she says to strike then, as she talks about being unaccustomed to the frame, to her new body.
Strike frowns a little and glances at the hand clutching her staff, "I am a Golem. I was... destroyed protecting my master. Suddenly I awake this way. It has been several weeks, but... I am still not accustomed to how this body works."
Usha Usha ohs, her eyes going a little wide. She peers up and down at her then, "That's... unusual." she comments. "So... i suppose that would be a lot to get used to. Suddenly needing to eat, needing to sleep. Needing to... well." she blushes a touch more.
"The... cramping is hard to endure, but it is not yet time for that process." Strike returns, a subtle ghost of relief in her tone at that, "There are senses I did not have before... even without the other problems, they can occaissionally be overpowering."
Usha blinks, surprised at that, "Oh, I didn't even think of... that." she tells her then. "Day to day issues can be bad enough to deal with for someone who's spent a hundred years in a body." she tells the former war golem. "What senses do you mean?"
"Smell. Taste." Strike begins, then, after an obvious moment's thought, "To a degree, touch as well. There is... so much more information to deal with. Texture, heat, cold, softness."
Usha Usha nods her head slowly, "Well, there are good sides to that as well." Usha tells her then. "Good food, good drink, the touch of friends." she tells her then. "It can be a learning experience for you. But. If you need any help... I know to a limited extend what you're going though. Adapting to the surface was tough." she tells Strike.
A nod, "Agril Doran believes it is a gift. To experience things that other Golems cannot." the repackaged soul replies, "I am... slowly trying to sample things. It has not... been 'fun'."
Usha nods her head slowly, "Oh... well, what sort of things have you tried?" Usha wonders of her then. "We can go to the pub and you can sample some foods and drinks if you like. I can pay."
Strike shakes her head, "Thank you. I have tried the kabobs from a vendor in the market. And potatoes. Stews and so forth." she answers softly, "I want to ease into more extreme tastes once i better understand the sense. Many have suggested I get thr drunk, and another Mul'niessa suggested I find someone to perform coupling maneuvers with."
Usha turns up her nose a bit, "Kabobs from a vendor?" she asks then. "No wonder if put you off." she says then. She blushes at the last phrase, "Well... uh... I wouldn't... uhh...." she rubs the back of her neck. "Wine!" she suddenly anounces. "You should try wine, at least. Not too much, not enough to get drunk. Just a little bit." she says then. Quite firmly changing the subject.
Strike watches the reaction from the other female and frowns a little in thought, "Wine? That is the... red drink, yes?" She shivers a little more an, "Perhaps we should seek an establishment, in any case."
Usha nods her head, "Still cold?" she asks and then gestures towards the path. "Let's head towards the pub then." she tells her then. "Wine comes in lots of colors. There's a kind of wine that is mostly clear but a bit yellowish, too. And a kind that is sort of pink."
"I have only seen the red kind." Strike replies softly, trying not to bite her cheek again, "When master had company." A glance around then, "Why did your face begin to change color?"
Usha Usha blinks, and touches her face as if to check. "Oh... it's because the things we were talking about were... well, a little private. It's called blushing."
"Private. Bedchamber activities." Strike answers musingly, "Agril Doran was not pleased of such discussion within this area. The other girl seemed to take this as a challenge." She shrugs, "The blushing is... a peculiar sensation. I do not like it."
Usha says, "Bedchamber activities... yes. Also other things... like the moon's blood' and... well... some other bodily needs. We don't discuss them in polite company unless we absolutely have to." Usha tries to remain as informational as possible, but it's clear she's embarassed just talking about it. "As an adventurer, it's difficult to keep some private things private though." she admits, and sighs a bit.
There is a contemplative silence, then, "I will defer to your counsel." Then, perhaps because she isn't sure she has, yet, she says, "My name is Strike."
Usha tilts her head, "I'm Usha." she responds. "Shall we go somewhere warmer?" she asks. And then adds with a bit of a smile, "Somewhere with wine?"
"Thank you, Usha. You know of such a place?" Strike returns, not returning the smile, as she's still getting that stuff under control, but, "You are not like the other Mul'niessa. She is brazen, but you are not."
Usha nods her head, "As it happens, I do know a good place. It's called the Fernwood." she tells strike. " They'll have a fire going in the hearth by this time." she tells her. "You /have/ to try this thing called mulled wine. It's the best thing for cold nights like this one. I don't know how, but it warms you up from the inside out."
A blink and Strike seems both vaguely bewildered, and quietly fascinated by the concept, "This sounds like a good plan." the half-breed replies, teeth chattering as they share Usha's fur cloak along the way.
-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=<* The Fernwood Pub - Tavern *>-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-
The common room of the Fernwood Pub dominates the inn, spacious and airy because
of the high, vaulted ceiling. Ornately carved beams of dark, polished wood form a lattice
overhead, supporting the arched roof two storeys above the floor. To the right of the
double-door entry is a spiral staircase, winding upwards to a balcony that rings and
overlooks the main area. Large windows at this level grant an excellent view of the river to
the west and colorful market stalls to the north and east. An air of coziness is salvaged by
keeping the pub dimly lit; parchment-shrouded mana lanterns hang at intervals from the
base of the balcony, nestled amongst lush, magically propagated ivy and ferns that grow
over this false demi-ceiling and the struts that support it.
The bar is sleek and simple, comprised of meticulously polished black lacquer. Tables
are set under the darker niches formed by the balcony floor as well as on the balcony itself.
A few are deliberately sized to accommodate halflings and gnomes, but the majority are
meant for human-sized individuals. A large common table is on the main floor, set before a
semi-circular stage situated against the western wall. Beside it, with pipes mounted upon the
wall and running up past the balcony and almost to the ceiling, is a refurbished pipe organ
made to look like the one lost when the Fernwood was destroyed during the Merkabah Siege.
At the very back of the pub is a stairwell that leads up to the residential floor.
Note: Local beer, drink, and food names can be found in the lexicon:
http://www.tenebraemush.net/index.php/Player-Made_Lexicon.
<+view here/Extras>
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Strike A dusky grey half elf girl in grey and black clothes. 44s 17m
Abrahil A valiant, gnomish slayer of paper demons. 0s 1d
Usha Shadow-elf dressed in white. Big hair. 2s 1h
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Upstairs <U> Out <O>
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<Meet> You offer to meet Boshter.
Boshter has arrived.
<Meet> Boshter joins you.
Usha Steps through the door in a hurry, glad to get in from the cold. She's sharing her cloak with a half-elf at the moment. As soon as they get in, Usha gives a sigh of relief at the change in temperature. "Much better." she anounces.
"Oh! And then I said...oh! You should have just seen the colors, Boshter!" and on the chatter goes. Abrahil bounces along beside Boshter, having struck up a conversation along the way. His rose-lenses are in one hand as he cleans them, and his step is cheerful and lively.
Strike continues to shiver a little as they arrive in the heated tavern but is quick to nod in response, "Yes." The half-elf gives the place a lookover and starts to straighten some out from huddling with Usha in her cloak.
And Boshter is following Abrahil inside, "Oh, I imagine they were very good! Hello, Fernwood! I am Boshter of Blar and I have come for your alcoholic drinks!"
"Oh, my. Why, yes, they--ooh!" And Abrahil's jostled to the side as Boshter bounds forward! His round form wobbles and he collides into the two snuggling elves. "Oh, my! Good SIRS! I do apologize to you young lads!"
Usha smilesagain, and lets strike borrow the cloak for now. "You go warm up by the fire. I just need to um freshen up, then I'll get our drinks." she says. And makes her way for the little door in the back.
Until she's interupted by a toppling gnome, "Ack!" she complains, stumbling a little and grabbing a table to steady herself.
Strike stumbles a little as a nearby gnome becomes a roadhazard. She catches herself relatively well, her staff helping a bit and she turns to check on Usha, "Are you alright?" she inquires. There is a look at the gnome, vague annoyance there, though the misused honorific doesn't seem to affect her, any.
As Abrahil wobbles, Boshter steps closer, laughing. That's when one of the gnome's elbows flies out and strikes him straight in the groin. The hobgoblin makes an 'erk' sound and falls straight to his knees and then over on his side like a great wounded animal.
Usha on the other hand seems a little more irked. "I don't know what sort of men ypu keep company with, but usually men don't wear dresses." she says then, and huffs. True, Strikes's outfit is slightly ambiguous, but Usha is definitely wearing a dress. "Now, if you don't mind." the offended shadow elf says, she steps around Abrahil, over Boshter, and makes her way for the little room.
"Oh, my! I'm terribly sorr--oh...oh, my. Oh! Well, I thought you might be a wizard of some kind, they're--oh, oh my. Boshter! That's the second time this week! What with your attitudes towards the fruit vendors..." and the gnome hurries over to the poor, crouched over arvek. "Someone get him tea!"
Turning toward the fetus of groin-trauma on the floor, Strike chides the little one with a, "You should be mindful of your limbs." before she drifts over to check on Boshter while Usha moves to get her wine, "Will you recover?" she wonders.
Boshter just groans a little at Strike's words and then finally unclenches himself. "...was not ready," he manages to utter. He slowly forces himself to get back to his feet, eyeing Abrahil, "It's okay," he says after a moment. "The fruit vendors -- they are always running out of time."
Usha eventually returns from wherever it isnshe went off to, and heads to the bar to order two glasses of warm mulled wine for her and her travel companion. She doesn't seem to pay much attention to the hobgoblin on the ground- in fact, it doesn't seem to surprise her at all.
"Out of...why...oh, dear. Boshter, are you *sure* you're *quite* alright? Really, you're making less sense than normal..." Abrahil pats the arvek's hand as he frets, before turning to--and blinks up at the very, very tall..."Oh, dear. Are /you/ alright? Your fellow sounds quite...well, I don't *quite* want to venture into..."
Strike nods at the affirmations and turns to return to her previous directive. With steady footfalls, the half-elf drifts toward the fireplace to soak in the warmth, while the friends reconcile(?) behind her.
Usha eventually settles in next to Strike, handing over the glass of spiced wine. "There, that should warm you up." she insists to the other woman and reaches out to warm her hands by the fire.
"Ow, ow, yes. I will be fine," says Boshter as he gingerly gets to his feet. He seems to still be in pain somewhat. Who knew gnome elbows were so painful? He looks at Strike and then at Usha, giving the two of them a thumbs up.
Abrahil rolls backwards as Boshter stands. Rolls more than walks, and bumbles more than steps. "Oh, dear. ...well, goodness! It was quite the fall, wasn't it?" And patting the arvek's hand, he leads him to a table near the fire. "How /is/ that ogress, by the way?"
Strike gives Usha a soft, "Thank you." as she accepts the wine. She props her staff against her shoulder and slides the cloak off her shoulders to return to the fullblood. A glance as the two males take residence nearby, then, "Is there a proper way to consume this?"
Usha Usha shrugs, "Well, you don't want to swig it all back too quickly." she suggests. "Just take little sips." she adds then, and demonstrates by doing just that. Shestretches out her legs, then, to warm her toes as well. "Tell me what you think." she then saysto theunusual half-ef beside her.
"Ow ow ow ow," is Boshter's continuing mutterings. Then he looks at Abrahil and then is lead to sit down. "She is well, actually, though I am unsure as to whether or not we will see each other again. Because she is an ogress and quite terrifying and I am never going to forgive you for setting me up on a date with an ogre." He sounds quite amused for a moment now that he's got his ability to speak back.
Strike takes the woman's advice and slowly sips of it's contents. Her eyes close and the face she makes is kind of odd as she mulls it over, then, "Bitter. Sweet. Tangy. I can... feel it making it's way down... is that normal....?"
Usha nods, "Yeah, you'll feel it hit your belly and kind of... i don't knpw. Just warm you up. Likenthere's a little bit of the hearth in your stomach." she says then. "It's very nice when you're trying to warm up." she asserts, then sipsagain.
Usha has reconnected.
Strike seems somewhat dubious for a moment, then tries to take another, longer sip. A slow sigh through her nose, then, "I... believe I feel what you are describing...."
Usha smiles and then warns, "It's nice, but don't drink too much too quickly. Or it can suddenly want to come out all at once. It will also make you light-headed and... uhm..." she leans in to say something privately.
Usha whispers "It will quicken your water. I had never tried wine before i first tried it here, and I discovered that somewhat too late."
Usha has partially disconnected.
There is a puzzled look from Strike and, "Quicken my water?" she asks innocently.
"I THINK SHE MEANS MAKE YOU PEE," replies Boshter loudly to Strike.
VERY loudly.
Usha usha goes bright red, "Yes, but not so loud! Remember, some things are private." she lowers her own voice again. "Wine and other drinksnlike ale and spirits make... uhm..." she pauses a moment, and then boshter fills her in. Usha facepalms. "Ye. More often." she is clearly mortified, and stares resolutely into the fire.
"Oh! Why, yes. SOME PEOPLE FIND THAT VERY ATTRACTIVE," Abrahil responds in the same voice. "They try to do it on purpose, you know. ...get you to pee. Or get OTHERS to talk about peeing. ...why, I've read all about it in the tabloids!" he says to Boshter.
Strike doesn't seem especially shamefaced by the faux pas, though she does frown a little in consideration. A glance toward the males at their helpful interjections, then, "Flesh made more sense when it was someone else's problem." she muses before drinking some more.
Zahd pushes open the wooden door and steps into the Fernwood.
Zahd has arrived.
Usha burries her face in her hands. She remains like this for some time before she finally says, "Yes, i'm sure most people wo habe been flesh their wjole lives would agree with you." she tells Strike then. She decides she needs to drain the entire remainder of her glass of wine and order another one if she's going to share an establishment with the hobgoblin and the gnome.
Zahd enters the pub, head bandaged as he seems to be a bit bleary eyed. He starts heading towards the normal people tables but stops in his tracks, as he realizes something. He shouts, "Bring me some Younger's Juice." as he stumbles over towards one of the small people's table.
Zahd removes the 'great'sword from his back as he settles into a chair. He slams a couple of coppers onto the tabletop and shouts again, "And whatever slop you have warm in the back!" He seems to be a foul little thing as he looks around the pub. His masculine little arms bulge in ways that isn't seen in most gnomes.
Strike sits down next to Usha near the fireplace, still holding her glass of wine, though she sets her staff against the wall. The hobgoblin who'd so ably bested her the other day sits nearby with the gnome. Watching Usha consume her drink so handily after explaining otherwise, "Won't you set yourself on fire drinking that fast?"
"Oh, my. It's /just/ like the tabloids and like they say," says Abrahil as he turns back around in his seat at the table. "He downed the whole thing!" The round and ancient fellow's eyes are wide behind his lenses, and he appears somewhat scandalized, to judge by the wrinkles in his brow. He gives a small wave to the new arrival, though, just before one of the waiters arrives with his meal.
"Oh my!" Boshter says, just because Abrahil said it, mostly. Poor Usha.
Zahd notices the gesture from Abrahil as he sits around waiting for his food and drink to be brought out. A confused look crosses his face as he looks behind him to see there is nobody there. Raising his hand a bit hesitantly he says, "Evening."
"Oh, dear! Well, hello! You must be new in these parts? I'm...oh, dear. Well, I do a little work for our community this side of the City. It's nice to meet you. And...oh." And he leans in to Zahd, and whispers, though it carries quite loudly as he's spent his life in theatre--he's not quite learned how to NOT stage-whisper, "I THINK THOSE TWO SILDANYARI GENTLEMEN WOULD LIKE SOME PRIVACY! SO PLEASE DON'T STARE!"
Usha has reconnected.
Usha tilts her head a bit at Strike, "It doesn't quite wotk that way." she insists and then gets her next drink. She takes a smaller sip and pointedly ignores the loud gnome.
Zahd's food arrives just as Abrahil fills him in on the details. Despite being told not to stare, his gaze instantly moves over towards the two near the fireplace. His little gnomish brow furrows as he squints while looking at them. He then comments to Abrahil in a somewhat questioning tone, "Gentlemen?"
Nodding, Boshter does not correct Abrahil. At all. He adds, "Gentlemen." His lips twitch. Just a little.
Strike glances over at the loudly whispering gnome, examining him and his companion for a few moments in consideration, then looks to Usha again at her explanation. She shakes her head, closes her eyes and silences any more musing with a healthier swig of her wine. Meatbags are never gonna make sense at this rate.
Usha frowns, and her ear twitches just a bit at the continued conversation going on between Abrahil and anyone who will listen. she practically snatches her drink from the serving girl and takes a sip, still doing her best impression of someone who isn't considering taking up professional gnome punting.
It's not a very good impression.
Abrahil looks over, and then back again. "I do believe they're a wizard's robes, m'boy. And oh, have a seat, have a seat! I can tell you've just come back from an adventure! ...you get those sort of senses when you're ancient, you know," he confides. And then reaches up, adjusts his lenses. And looks over at the cuddling pair, and then back again. "Are you entirely /certain/?" he asks Boshter. And to the sildanyari, "Do you two need any change? Why, I've been in places like yours--oh! When I was younger! ...I'd be happy to spot you a few coppers if you need a place to continue...oh. ...well, I suppose we don't mention that in polite company, do we?" he asks, looking back to Boshter.
"I... I..." Boshter can't help it any more. He starts to laugh helplessly.
Zahd nods and says, "I feel like I am still on that adventure being stuck in this form." He gestures to his body. He too watches the cuddling pair as he takes his food and drink and plops down next to Abrahil. He asks, "So what's the story with them?" as he headnods towards the couple next to the fireplace.
Abrahil adjusts his lenses, and blinks at Boshter. "I was quite the rake in my day," he says, somewhat affronted. And then to Zahd, "Oh, dear. ...well...I don't think it's the sort of thing you talk about in polite society. That's why I offered to pay for their room!"
The half-elf continues to drink sedately from her wine while her comanion is trying not be visibly seething. And, strangely observant in such matters, Strike looks at Usha, then the gnome who's words seem to be connected. She turns her attention his way and ventures, "You are in error, sir. I have no amorous ambitions."
Usha "And we're not gentlemen!" Usha suddenly yells, turning towards the gnimes. "If this is some weird ploy to get me to prove it, you,re going to be sorely dissapointed!" she says then. Then becomes acutely aware of how loud her outburst was. "I'm just... going to crawl into the fire now." lUsha says, and sort of slumps over infront of t.
Zahd slaps his knee and says, "Ah it appears we have become the literal highwaymen of passion this night." With a bit of cruel joy in his voice he comments, "Perhaps we should have spoken more silently as to not interrupt their mating rituals?"
"Oh!" Abrahil's ears turn a touch red. "Are you /sure/ they're not...?" he asks Boshter, before quite choking on his drink. He thumps his ancient chest. He is quite old, you know!
Boshter is still laughing. Even harder after Usha's outburst, actually.
Zahd nudges Abrahil as he finishes down his own drink and puts the bowl of whatever it was made into a stew back on the tabletop. He says, "How about we make ourselves over to a more decent bar, old man. You can tell me a story of your adventuring days."
Looking between the two tiny males, in all of the woes of her predicament, Strike has managed to find a silver lining: She wasn't brought back as a gnome. She watches Usha crawl toward the fireplace and frowns in some small concern, judging her to be relatively safe from the flames, the half-elf makes her way toward the barkeeper to order some food.
Usha Usha just curls up in an embarassed ball of embarassment by the fire. Emerging occasionally to drown her woes in wine.
Zahd grabs up his little greatsword and straps it to his back as he exits the pub the same way he came in, injurred and gnome.
Zahd goes OOC.
Zahd has left.
Usha has partially disconnected.
Usha peeks out once she thinks it's safe. "So. Strike, what was your first day as a... well, organic like?" she wonders.
The half-elf's gait halts and she is still and silent for a few as she thinks back to that time. As little as she likes her current circumstances... thinking back to those first moments...? There is something in her voice as she answers simply, "I woke up... in hell..."
Dramatis Personae
ABRAHIL
What more is this than a bookish creature? A slayer of pens and not of swords, a small man who stands firm before the terror of RPS reports, who slays the paper dragon despite its toothsome, staple-filled growl.
And yet, a cheerful man, for facing all these tribulations. A cheerful one with a grandfather's warm expression. A balding spot in an otherwise handsome crop of hair. His pouty, fat lips are creased oft with a vague smile, as though because of the strain of such a life, as though, in the middle of a sentence, he forgets it's there or what he'd said. His lengthy nose juts handsomely outward in gnomish fashion, its occasional twitch almost anticipatory, as though something terrible might happen any moment. The nose itself is overseen by a paur of bushy, alabaster brows, which themselves oversee two twin, expressive caverns that house his eyes.
He wears a set of half-moon spectacles, edged and rimmed in ornate, almost playful gold, and as he speaks, his nose wags over his paunch, itself a thing to be impressed of. He pats it fondly now and again, and it's been known to proceed him into doorways and pathways, and hitherto and yon.
BOSHTER
Oh no! A Hobgoblin!
This one is of a bit more than typical Hobgoblin height, standing at about six and a half feet in height, with a corresponding bulk that comes in the form of large muscles. His skin, as this specimen of Hobhood is certainly male, is an orangeish color. It is as if he'd eaten more carrots than was humanly possible. He has a full head of dark grey hair, the length of it pulled into two braids that reach down to his midback. His beard is long enough to've also been pulled into a braid as well. His eyes, while yellow being normal for Hob, give the impression that he has a serious case of jaundice. They have a slightly beady look to them. At the moment, Boshter is dressed in a simple, white robe that looks to be pretty darn nice and clean.
STRIKE
She stands just shy of six foot, a woman with diluted elven features and a frame promising both grace and strength, belied by soft skin of a warm, dusky grey. Her hair is an ivory shade, easily beltlength, though bound up into a topknot at the back of her head. Her eyes are dark pools, nearly black, but for the barest glimmer of brown in stronger light, an intensity in their gaze. There is a tension, an unrest within her posture, joined on occaision by the uncharacteristic stumble or forshortened grasp.
Her attire is tailored to grant her room to move, yet snug enough in places to keep incidental rustling to a relative mnimum. A grey tunic of cotton, loose at the collar, tapers with her waist, the loose sleeves hemmed at the elbow. With some better luck, she has secured a pair of leather breaches, primarily of a sooty black, though the occasional chocolate hue of a scuff mark nars it's surface. Over these, a pair of boots, probably the most fortunate fit of the lot are laced snugly to the swell of her calves before turning back upon themselves, leaving the heel and toe to view. Assorted belts dripping with small pouches cross at her narrow waist, while others belonging to her crammed travel pack, are cinched at the shoulders. Aside from the points of what could be three-pointed shuriken protruding from some of the pokets sewn into the soft leather braces at her wists, her only weapon seems to be a humble quarterstaff of aged hickory.
USHA
There are a few things one is likely to notice about Usha, right off the bat. The first, in all likelihood, is the fact that she is quite obviously a Shadow Elf. Dark grey, almost jet-black skin, silvery white hair, red hued eyes- there's no disguising it. Starting from the top, her silvery hair- and there is a LOT of hair- is in a rather complex, three part style. Loose, messy bangs hang down over her face, to her shoulders. On top of her head, much of her hair is pulled into a high ponytail, and bound with black leather binding, the tail hanging down to the middle of her back. Yet still more hair flows in silvery waves, down nearly past her rear. Her eyes are red, almond shaped but large and expressive. Her nose is very slightly upturned, and her lips are thin, her mouth wide and similarly expressive- often formed into a genuine smile. Her dark black skin is blemish-less, not showing the scars of battle, or the rigors of a working youth. Her frame is very slight, girlish, though not emaciated-possessing the typical elven lean muscleature.
She's wearing a white shirt-like top, with a low box-cut neckline that reveals very little due in large to her having little to reveal. The sleeves reach her wrists, and the material is snug. It reaches down to her waist. The whole top is embroided in black with a spiderweb pattern, emanating from a small silver disk, bearing the image of a spider, resting just over her bellybutton. She also wears a pristine white skirt- it's an elegant thing that falls to just below her knees, with slits reaching half way up her thighs for mobility. On her feet, she wears a pair of calf-high boots, made of black leather. At her waist, she wears a sword belt which is host not only to a fencing rapier, but also a small crossbow and quarrel of bolts. When she speaks, her accent is distinct as Charn-elven.
ZAHD -in this scene, still suffering from being temporarily turned into a Gnome version of himself, he normally looks like:
Before you is a human who's skin has been bronzed by years spent in the sun, giving away his Dranei heritage. His body appears to have been sculpted from marble as his muscular physique is well above most men, even by Dranei standards. Standing somewhere around six feet in height, he holds himself upright with confidence.
His short brown hair has been cut to function rather than style. It appears to have been attacked by a pair of gardening sheers. A faraway look rests with the deep brown eyes that he views the world through. A very prominent jaw draws away from the scars that adorn his face. His left cheek appears to have been mauled by a beast.
He wears an old black cloak which partially conceals a greatsword strapped to his back. The blade is a bit thicker than normal but has an unusual quality about it. His blackened breastplate seemed to have been made especially for him as it fits his muscular body perfectly but leaves his arms exposed. Covering his legs are brown cloth trousers that are a few sized too big and held up by a piece of rope. The trousers are tucked into a pair of leather boots that seem to have taken quite a bit of wear as they have been patched several times.