Swapping Stories

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Log Info

  • Title: Swapping Stories
  • Emitter: Thurid
  • Characters: Thurid, Aryia, Paenitia, Seyardu, Mikilos, Seldan, Braelnoir, Stjepan
  • Place: A05: Adventurer's Council, Great Hall
  • Time: Wednesday, May 19, 2021, 12:33 PM
  • Summary: Adventurers meet up at the Explorer's Guild and swap stories. So many adventurers! So many Stories. The tale of how Mikilos died, the first time, is shared. As is Aryia and Paenitia's adventures in the warehousing district, and with botflies in a Noble's Barn. Seldan arrives and discusses mild theological points with Paenitia and Mikilos, while Seyardu finds some of it very nihilistic. Much wine and food is shared, Braelnoir warns of Lars the Charming Bard, and explains her efforts to help Renew the Pact, out in the desolation at a floating sky island.

-=--=--=--=--=--=<* A05: Adventurer's Council, Great Hall *>-=--=--=--=--=--=-

As the phoenix is Alexandria's national symbol, so too has its Explorer's Council, often called the Adventurer's Council, risen from the ashes of its destruction.

Guards and mercenaries fill the interior of this huge building, one of the largest in its immediate area. Strong, metal walls divide its interior, crafting halls, briefing rooms and offices. A large space near the front has been set aside for mingling and stocked with comfortable chairs to wait in.

This area is catered by one of the Society of Arcanists' more famous chefs, a small lucht with a predilection for otherworldly cuisine and tentacle soup. Security here is as tight as it is anywhere in Alexandria, even more so now after its recent destruction. Sharp eyed sentinels and guards are ever-watchful and all manner of security contraption is said to be residing within the walls of the building. The walls are pristine for now, though not for long, and artfully decorated with murals depicting heroic adventure by members of all communities and races of the region.

The windows to the Council Hall are now stained glass, artfully decorated to depict famous moments in Alexandrian history, ranging from the death of Altima at the hands of the Phalanx Falcis at the end of the Sorceress Wars, to the city triumphantly emerging from the Mists to a changed world. Many spaces have been set aside for new stories to be added, with numerous tale yet to be written.

No matter how many times the Hall has been rebuilt, the statue in the front remains the same: a lone warrior facing off against what is presumably thought to be 'Cuddles the Otyugh Queen', with the Council's motto, below: Anything for the right price.

-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=  Appearing, in Order  =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Thurid       7'1"     249 Lb     Giantborn         Female    Bright-eyed, muscular, blond Giantborn woman.
Aryia        4'8"     110 Lb     Shadow Elf        Female    A heavily scarred mul with a curious look about her.
Paenitia     3'0"     34 Lb      Halfling          Female    A Lucht knight, dark skinned in bold feathery finery.
Seyardu      5'6"     150 Lb     Sith-Makar        Female    A friendly silver sith-makar with a perpetual squint.
Mikilos      6'8"     180 Lb     Dawn Elf          Male      Tall male dawn elf, rosey blonde and handsome.
Seldan       5'11"    187 Lb     Human             Male      Ginger-blonde human in armor wearing Eluna's symbol.
Braelnoir    5'11"    146 Lb     Human             Female    A tall, pale Acanian woman, branded in silver.
Stjepan      8'0"     534 Lb     Giantborn         Male      Big, blonde jotun.
-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=

The adventurer's guild is, as always, bustling today. Numerous parties returning or preparing to set out on their errands. Lone mercenaries polishing weapons, pouring over tomes of monster lore. Groups sitting around at the various tables spending their hard earned bounties on the local fare and mugs of drink.

And Thurid, too, is here. At present she is tending to the injuries of a young half-sil archer, who is unconscious and feverish, thanks no doubt to a rather nasty wound in his midsection. A half-oruch man in dark plate and a Xian woman in exotic robes look on while Thurid tends to him, peeling off the bandage and wincing at what she sees.

She clutches her holy symbol in one hand, and closes her eyes for a few long moments, before holding out a palm over the injured man's wound. Blue light shimmers, leaping from her hand to the man's flesh, and begins to knit the wound closed.

It doesn't take long for her to work her magic, and she stands. Though he remains unconscious, and his clothes bloodied, the flesh beneath is knitted together and the bleeding is stopped. "He'll be fine. But you really ought to find a companion who can tend to wounds in the field. Else invest in some potions 'fore you next venture out." she chides the other two mildly.

Among the bustle of the guild was a mul woman, her doing a now daily ritual of stopping by to see what was posted on the bulletin board. There was something she could do, usually. The strength of the others she's ran into before made it feel like she was slipping behind. And the jobs she had taken ended up being overwhelming so far.

She rubs the back of her calf with a foot.

However, the familiar voice none too far away makes her turn. Oh! Aryia strides up, her catching the tail end of the advice before giving a wave in greeting and giving a questioning look towards the unconscious man.

Thurid dusts off her hands as she turns away from the man and his party, and towards Aryia- she starts, spying the wave, but not having heard the Mul approach, and then offers a smile. A gap-toothed one, mind. "Hail. I see you've found the guild after all, then?" she muses, and gestures around. "How have you been finding it?" she wonders. Then she spies the glance towards her patient. She gestures over to one of the tables and then heads that way herself, "Nasty run-in with an infernal bull." she explains, along the way.

Once at the table, she settles onto one of the benches that runs its length. The bench creaks in protest, but they're built for oruch and other large folk, so it manages the Jotun woman just fine. "I'll treat you to lunch, you can write me a story or two." she suggests.

She gives a smile and a nod, starting to follow Thurid over towards the suggested table. But she pauses, and a look of concern and confusion crosses her face. Thinking to herself, her lips move to the tune of "Infernal bull? What the f..."

The elf shakes her head and sits down beside Thurd (easier to read that way), the familiar journal plopping down as well and opening to a blank spot. Aryia gives a thumbs up at the proposition before starting to scribble down a few things.

"Helo. I gues to ansur your questin, Ive been fynding it o k. Som of the work is hard. And scari." She rubs her forearm underneath the sleeve of a new looking shirt before writing more.

"I thynk you may lyke the job where me and othur peopl had to run away from a cray z ax laydy."

Thurid waves over one of the staff, "What's good today?" she wonders of them while Aryia gets settled. "Wild boar cassarole?" suggests the busy serving lad, Thurid offers a nod of her head, "Sounds good to me. And I'll have a pint of cider, too." she says, looking to Aryia and waiting for her to write her order a moment.

Once the server is off to get their food, she reads the note Ayia made about her work. "Aye. I've found myself on deaths door more'n once." she admits, though oddly enough she grins on the topic. "Grit in my gut and faith in my heart has seen me through, mind. s'pose there's work yet for me to do." she adds then.

Her gaze goes to Aryia's arm where she rubs it, but says nothing for now, as Aryia continues to write. She raises her eyebrows, "Now that does certainly sound like a tale." she adds.

Aryia just points to Thurid when she is done with her order. Making sure she gets the idea across, she simply writes "Same."

The pugilist massages her hand for a moment before writing further.

"A few tymes as well. More close calls than n e thing."

She takes a breath. "Right. So me, Payenetea, and Lil- Liliean- Lilyanath-" she sighs, scribbling out the whole name before continuing- "Lili had to get som scrols bak from som peopl. Bad peopl. We pretend to be peopl fetching somthing for som one else, and we get into warehouse. Warehouse had a few bad people in it, and we fownd the scrolls. Payeneta's bird atak one of them and we had to fyght."

Aryia rubs at her face, recounting events. "I grab scrols, but nearly got shot in the face by a cros bow bowlt. Would hav if I didnt hit it."

For her part, Thurid settles into her seat, and prepares to relax. She reaches down under the table, and loosens the buckles on her walking boots, though she stops short of taking them off entirely, and then she leans in near to watch as Aryia writes. She nods her head along, and then chuckles a bit, "Aye, monsters may be foul, but I've oft found people are the worst opponents." she says then. For once her usual grin falters, and she looks sad for a moment, but she shakes her head and dismisses whatever thought bothers her.

"So what happened then?" she wonders. Their cider arrives soon enough, Thurid, being known here, gets a big double sized flagon of it, while Aryia gets her own- smaller, albeit generous by any normal person's standard- mug. The cider is warmed and lightly spiced. Thurid takes a chug of her own oversized mug while Aryia writes.

She dips her head at Thurid's momentary drop in mood. Scribble. "I agree." The scars spoke for themselves on that topic.

The elf picks up her smaller flagon, her sipping on it. A pause for a moment, judging if she liked the drink or not before deciding she hadn't sampled enough of it. Aryia continues to write.

"Dog and guy came out and atak us. I delt wit the dog and we pyled on him. He was realy tuff. Lyke, it was almost imposibl to hit him. Cut my arm reely bad."

She pulls up the sleeve of her left arm, showing a somewhat fresh scar that ran from elbow to wrist on the forearm underneath a leather cord wrapped the arm.

"Ayfter that, we try and get out synce one person tel us that worse peopl coming. We wastd some tyme in an aley way. And befor we knew it, som one was CHOPPING DOWN the brick wall in the aley way!" Aryia makes a gesture forward, as if presenting something.

Thurid turns her gaze towards the scar when Aryia shows it, and she takes a closer look at it. "That's a nasty one." she agrees with a nod of her head. "Every scar is a fight you survived, though." she adds then, reassuringly. She grins once more, once more showing off the missing teeth. "Though they can ache, time to time, when the weather is mean like today." she thumbs towards the door, and the grey dreary fog that is clinging out there.

She falls quiet again as the story continues- even though Aryia is not talking, Thurid pays the same rapt attention she might to someone spinning a yarn over the camp fire, leaning in to peer at the words as they appear on the page. "Aha!" she says then, at the last bit. "I think I'd like to meet this crazy axe lady. You know, I once held fast a floating island. I told it- the mountain does not move without my leave, and so it was." she grins poking the tabletop with one of her thick forefingers. It seems she's not modest, this Jotunborn.

It is at this moment that a small figure enters the bustle of the guild. Unremarkable at first, her attire grows more interesting under longer observation. From a certain high viewpoint, she's visible only as a wide-brimmed, crimson hat moving around at waist height. Beneath which, there is a mask, metal, with a smiling visage of a man that seems strange on the otherwise female form. Implied at least, by a breastplate that has rusted into a red patina that almost matches the crimson cloak. A white feather cape, with blood red-eyespots, completes the look, and is draped over one shoulder.

The Red Knight wanders close, recognizing Aryia from their work together. "Hola!" She calls out, approaching. "Aryia, it is good to see you. Who is your large friend that holds up and down the sky?"

Aryia says, "Oh I kno. Im constanlee sore," she writes in agreement. "When it snows, my sholders hurt."

She continues on from that ancedote, scribbling further what the shadow elf had to deal with on her first job.

"I dont know. May b you can deal wit her. Espesialy if you did somethyng lyke that." She wasn't sure if she believed that at its face, that much was clear. But most others were beyond her, so she accepted it. "We started to run, Lili got on Payenetea's byrd Rameerez-"

She stops writing, her blinking a few times before snorting and pointing to the short figure. "Theyr bird." She gives a wave and pats the empty spot on the bench besdie her. Scribble scribble. "This is Thuured. I probably speel wrong."

She resumes the story. "We ran from ax laydy, and she was very fast. We try and stop her wit barrels and boxs, but she broke almost al of them in one swing! Lili, thankfuly had thys bag of goo to slow her down.""

Thurid glances over to the approaching hat, and offers a bright grin when she arrives properly and greets Aryia. At the introduction, she nods her head, "Thurid Freeborn." she fills in. "Warrior of Angoron. Well met- you must be Paenitia." she offers then. She takes another swig from her cider, "Will you join us?" she wonders, and gestures towards an empty spot on the long bench they are occupying.

Back to Aryia, she nods her head, "Aye. When I have my aches and pains, I do like to take a soak at the TarRaCe. Or get a massage. There's an Oruch lady there, wizard with her hands. You'll feel like you've been through a Wringer when she's done with you. In a good way, mind." she says then.

She goes quiet once more as Aryia writes out the story, and leans in again to read the words as they are written. "Ah- those little alchemical tricks can be handy. I've never had much luck with them, myself." she admits.

"Well met Thurid Freeborn, Warrior of Angoron! I am Sister Paenitia Snapdragon del Haranna, Knight of the Pillar and Paladina of Tarien, yes." The Red Knight annouces, bending low at her waist and doffing her hat in a wide sweeping gesture. The movement shakes her dark curls forward, her face is hidden. The hat and mask are slipped on as she straightens up and her hair brushed to the sides. A formal greeting without exposing herself.

"I will join you!" There's a happy lilt in her voice. She hops up on the seat beside Aryia with a muted clank. Heavy armour. "I have been to the TarRaCe! The chefs are wonderful."

She turns, looking up at Aryia who has a few inches on her, even seated, "You write of alleyway escape? It was not the grand fight, but it was the grand evasion!" She laughs, looking around, then her tone gets more serious, "much death for papers I wonder the worth of. We were told, great assignment, yet it seem we do the work of one shadow group against another. Lillianth's tricks though, they help much."

Aryia ponders for a moment, tapping her chin with the pen. Scribble. "I go there befor, but never try othr thyngs out there. May b need to go one day for that."

She slides over a bit so that Paenitia can join them, her sipping further on the cider. Guess it was good enough for her. She nods along with Paenitia, frowning somewhat. She writes some more with one hand.

"Yes. But they were bad, so Im not too beat up about it. Lili distracted her as I tryd to hide and fynd a way out. Payenetea was sneeky as well. Lili got on a roof and tauwnted the ax lady. Who then THREW a gretaxe at her and destroyd part of a roof with it!" She shows the side of the axe with her hands, which was far bigger than she was tall.

"I run into Payenetea and she tel me a way out I dont kno eggactly what hapen after I go into sewers but I fownd them layter."

Thurid chuckles a bit, "Most bad folks are just on the wrong path in life, I like to believe." Thurid says then. "Try to set them straight where I can, but sometimes they don't want that, and there's nothing left but to deal with them 'fore they hurt anyone else." she adds then.

The server lad who she spoke to earlier arrives with their casarole- chunks of gamey wild boar with thickly sliced carrots, potatoes, turnips and onions, all in a hearty gravy. "Oh and one more for our new friend!" she adds then, lifting her mug to indicate she means the cider as well. Without even asking first if Paenitia will be eating with them. She swigs from her drink, and then sets it down, and slides her own large wooden bowl over. She plucks out some meat and pops it into her mouth, occupying it so that she falls quiet once more as Aryia writes the last of their story.

"Aha, she threw it? That must have been spectacular to see. Seems a shame she's thrown her lot in with the wrong sort. I'd wager she'd make a spectacular competitor." she muses then. "Well, all's well that ends well, eh? You've made yourself a fair prize for a job well done, and survived to tell of it." she says and nods her head approvingly.

Paenitia reads as Aryia writes, her head bobbing now and then at certain points. Once the sentences are done, read, and Thurid responds, she adds her own commentary. "Yes! The axe, very wide." She spreads her hands, and laughs, "This big! Not as big as the woman's mouth, which not big enough for me to shoot arrows down."

She waves at the server lad, "Yes! Much thanks! A drink." She awaits a bowl as well, gazing on the casaroll, before adding. "She seem too willing to fight and not think, like she follow her man too closely. Ah, Love."

Or something. "The alleways and the secret sewer entrances. These are not places Ramirez enjoy. We squeeze our way out. Lillianath run over rooftops and jump down to us. We all ride away into the city. A good job, yes!" Her cider arrives and she takes a long sip. Also, a bowl.

Aryia blows air out of her nose. "Crayz laydy. Yeling abowt how much fun it was to chase us. But Im glad we got out and did the job." She writes finally before picking up a utenstil, twirling it between her fingers, and gets into her own cassarole. She eats a few bites, making a happy sigh before absently writing.

"At lest that job was not the barn clearing job. I hated that one alot."

Thurid nods her head a bit, and then tilts her head to the side. "Barn clearing?" she wonders then. "Now that doesn't sound so bad." she adds after a moment. "Unpleasant, to be sure, mucking out animals. But its honest work, at least, and none too dangerous." she says. Clearly, she has the wrong idea about what exactly this particular barn clearing entailed.

She pops a mouthful of the food in and chews thoughtfully on the meat and veg before swallowing and washing it down with some gravy. "At any rate, seems you're getting accustomed to the work. You mentioned last we spoke you were woried about having the right skills for it. Is that still something that weighs on you?" she wonders.

"No! Ah!" Paenitia says, slapping a gauntletted hand over the paper, covering up 'barn clearing' and most of the rest. She even dramatically turns her head away, her black curls bouncing, "We eat! We must not speak of flies and dead horse. Not till we have swallowed and are sure we will not bring up food for maggots."

Her eyes are wide and dark behind her mask, passionate and strong, the mask maintaining its stylized smile. She gazes at Aryia, Thurid. "The skills, that is the better discussion. We speak of that first. I ride astride handsome Ramirez into battle, to right the wrongs of corrupt nobility and ease the burdens laid on the common folk." Very passionate eyes.

Aryia jumps slightly from the hand slapping over her page before thinking about it and giving a slow nod. She just jabs a thumb at Paenitia, as if to reiterate her point.

The shadow elf shrinks a bit as the topic pivots around. She bites her lip, idly jabbing into her cassarole with the fork. Head lowering further at every point of Paenitia's noble cause. Small scribbles.

"Yes. It stil does. I fel lyke I cant do a whol lot lyke evryone else can."

Thurid chuckles at Paenitia's protests. "You need not fear turn my stomach, I've tended to camps for war-wounded and plague stricken. But I take your point." she says. After that, she dips her head, and raps a knuckle against her chest. "As for myself, I stride into battle where I'm needed. I strike at the strongest foes, 'fore they can fell my allies, and tend to them when they are hurt." she says then, as her own resume of sorts. She ponders Aryia's comments, though, and runs her hand through her hair as she thinks things over- making no more mention of the barn for now.

"But, each of us have strengths and shortcomings. Getting better is a matter of shoring up failings, or heightening strengths. As for myself, I've little mind for machines or the wilds, and I prefer my own two feet over horses or ships." she says then. "Where do yours lay?" she asks Ayia. "Both, mind." she adds after a moment, and gets back to work on her meal.

"You would make a good Mad Dog," Paenitia says, somewhat enigmatically as she gazes through her mask at Ayria. She barks! Just like a dog, or perhaps a gnoll, throwing her head back and laughing in some growling language with a howl, "Any comrades in the cantina today?" <gnoll>

She sounds like she is grinning as much as her mask is. Leaning towards the Mul'niessa, her voice returns to normal tones, still tinged with happy humour, "You listen to the wrong words. I am told, 'you are too small', so I say, 'I bring twice the fight then'. You are good with your hands, as good as weapons. You are quick. You get into small places, not easily seen. These are the talents that overthrow towers."

A slight glance towards Thurid, then back, "The big warriors, the big armies. These can fail for want of a nail. You, be the nail." The cassarole becomes more blended as Aryia stirs the dish further, doing her best to hide a growing frown and failing. She takes a bite finally.

"Sailing. And punching things. Thats it," she writes slowly. "Cant do magik."

The fork stabs the cassarole.

"Cant talk wit anyone."

Stabs it again, harder.

"A stupid grub nearly mayde me lose my leg."

"Cant keep my hed on strait." Clank. She bent the fork against the bottom of the dish.

Aryia huffs, tossing the useless utensil against the table a hand on her face with an eye watching Paenitia.

"I am good at those thyngs becaus I had to learn how to survive in Charn. Al of that is to survive. I want to thryve."

Thurid nods her head a bit as she listens to Paenitia, and then turns her attention to the note that Arya scribbles while stabbing her casarole with, flinching as the utensil is cast aside. "Being good with your hands is a fair talent. You'll never find yourself without your arms if you're as deadly with your bare hands as many are with blades." she says then. And dips her head again at Paenitia. "Aye, well. It's a similar case for many. Specifics differ, but few come to this place without a few hardships on their shoulders." she says then.

"Which aint to say that yours aren't worth speaking of. But there's a couple things I like to say about carrying burdeons. First off, it gives you a strong back. Second, it's easier with help." she says and grins a bit.

"So, you're woried you haven't got any magic. That's easy enough to fix with a bit of coin, get some magic or alchemical tricks and tools. You're woried you don't have the technique? That's a bit harder, that comes with practice and study." she says then. "If you're game for it, we could go a few rounds wrestling some time. Punching is well and good, but ground fighting can make all the difference in a real scrap, aye?"

There's a blinking behind her mask. The Dark Lucht sits back with a creaking of her armour, old leather bending. She's thoughtful and quiet, finally saying, "I have many reason for wearing the mask."

Although she doesn't elaborate further. Instead, a gesture to the book with her gauntlet. "Apology, for touching the pages. You write all you communicate there. You can look back, see the conversation. It is not much but I do not make the diary at all."

"And sailing, it is a skill, for some their whole life. I learn the brewing from my uncle, the blacksmithing to make the weapons for the Mad Dogs. The crafts, you can find one to teach, these are the pillars of society. To make a thing with your hands, that lasts, this can be more fulfilling than the adventure."

Paenitia nods also as Thurid elaborates on various options, "Things can be bought, and practice can be had. It is one of the reason I come to Alexandria, to find other Knights to tilt against."

And then she absolutely sounds like she's grinning behind that grinning mask when she challenges Thurid, "We should all practice the wrestling. I will win because I am lowest to the ground!"

Aryia sighs, closing her eyes for a beat to not get too worked up over everything with her face in her hands. With a small hiss- perhaps a grunt with any other person- she reaches out and grabs the bent fork, thumbing it back into shape. She writes, "Had to fyght blades with hands in Charn alot."

She looks between the two, gaze slowly settling on the pages in front of her. Fingers drum against the table. Perhaps they were right. Maybe she was too far in her head about all of this and wasn't taking proper stock of her ski-

She abruptly snorts at the challenge, the elf snickering behind a hand as she clutches at her gut. It was an odd sound, breathy and nasily with a fair bit of hissing. That seemed to break throught to her.

"O k," she finally writes, getting a hold of herself. "I thynk I need help with tekniq. I got a couple magik thyngies for helping with dock work and jus in case I fal." She pulls up a sleeve and shows the leather cords, as well as briniging up her shoe to show a dark blue boot.

"We can do that. Wrestle. Im decent at that." She smiles.

Thurid eyeballs the pair of them, and then grins, "Alright then, it's settled." she says and nods her head. "We'll put aside some time for it. If you're feeling up to it, we can do it at the colosseum..." she says to Aryia, but then adds, hastily, "Though I could arrange for us to have the sands at the temple for a while instead if that'd be more comfortable for you."

She drains what remains of her oversized flagon of ale, and then waves the now empty vessel in the air to get the attention of a server, who takes it away to refil. "Wrestling, I'm not particularly proficient at it- aside from natural advantages. So, to make it fair..." she glances between the two of them, pondering. "I'll forgo all my armor and equipment. You two may come however you like. And I'll take you both at once." she grins.

"I get the luchador version of the Smiling Man!" Paenitia laughs, "I wrestle like I fight, in the armour!"

It likely doubles her mass.

"The Temple of Tarien? They do not wrestle there, only the unexpected pratfal. Or you mean the Mountain? Ah! That would be a place. I am fine, for whatever place you choose."

She sips her cider, somehow, getting the edge of the mug under her mask, looking over at Aryia, "The leather cords and the blue boot, they look good. I have just the armour, the armoury and Ramirez. He need something, his feathers are getting too much blood in them."

"Templ, pleas" she quickly writes, sparing a glance towards Paenitia before continuing writing. "Thank you. I wasnt shur if I was being lyed to abowt what they do but they do work wel. After the barn job, I had to get new clothes. May b you can get him a jaket or som thing."

"Ill not use any armor as wel," Aryia cheekily writes.

Thurid ponders a moment, as she looks between the two of them for a minute. And then she just shakes her head, "I've a suit of old chainmail, enchanted, I need to find a new owner for. I had thought to offer it, but I don't think it'd fit either of you." she muses. And then she laughs a bit, "Mayhap it'd be a better fit for your mount?" she suggests to Paenitia then.

She nods her head at Aryia's request, "Aye, that's a fine enough spot." she agrees. "As for clothing, I tend to need a new outfit every time I come back from a job." she admits. "Worn out boots or torn and bloodied clothes seem the norm."

Paenitia briefly imagines Ramirez in a jacket. Well, it wouldn't be any old jacket, it would have to be one with a military cut, lots of medals, wide epaulettes, perhaps even a chain. A mental image of him, standing on his hind hooves, mildly anthropomorphized, strutting around like the rooster peacock he is, fancifully adjusting the double-breasted front. With a skirt full of sabers to rattle to go with his immense tail.

It's easy to imagine. Very easy.

"I will have to see what there is that fit him. He is very particular." The Dark Lucht finally says. "Chainmail might be too heavy, he still strive to fly. I will have to test. Ha! He will be overjoyed that I pick out the handsome suits for him. And I have the other clothes, for myself, when I am not adventuring."

Aryia blinks, tilting her head to the side. She writes naively.

"Suwts? Why not lyke, a tablecloth so its easy to wash layter?"

The pugilist looks down at her clothing, scratching her head. "May b I should get som thing else. Im not used to having more than whats on me, stil. My last clothes I kept until it they fel apart."

Thurid runs her hand through her hair again, the side not braided that is, and her fresh drink arrives. She takes a swig of it, "Truth be told, I've not much taste when it comes to clothes. Save for favoring blues and browns- Angoron's colors. When it comes to cut or style, I favor practicality over apearrance." she says then and thinks on it a while.

"Honestly, I spend as much time in a breachcloth and chestwrap as I do in any proper clothing. Between going swimming, wrestling at the temple, contests of athleticism." she admits then. "Then again, I suppose it's easier for me than many. I feel neither the cold nor the heat, thanks to my giant ancestors. I'm as comfortable as can be whether the sun is beating down or the rivers are freezing over."

"A tablecloth? For Ramirez?" One can almost hear a distant peacock squawk. Paenita shakes her head, "No, he is a proud man, he will not wear the poncho, even if I weave it for him."

She pauses, considers, "Perhaps, if I weave it for him, and he see me do so. No, he is a fantastic beast. He need fantastic armour so he seem even more unbelievable."

The Red Knight nods as the Jotun elaborates on her temperature tolerance. She laughs, "Ha! In Isobar, it is always too hot. In the armour, it is always too hot. So I always feel at home. I do not take it off."

Even when the maggot got in her armour, that was dealt with out of sight.

Aryia shrugs. The bird was rather particular about most things, as she's experienced. The elf looks between the two as they discuss, her sipping on the last of her cider and quietly setting it back down. Scribble scribble.

"Im always to hot or to cold. I dont kno how you both deal wit it. Im realy just not used to having much of n e thing to ward it of. And I dont know what to pick realy. What I hav now works fine."

She thinks for a moment before doing the same thing that Thurid did earlier; she raises her flagon for another one.

Thurid looks over towards Paenitia then and nods her head slowly, "Is there a story there?" she wonders, about the eternally encased lucht. "Us Angorites hold the mortal form in high regard, so you'll oft find us wearing scant clothing. Time to time, we're accused of being lascivious or shameless, but it's not the case." she says and shakes her head then. "It's simply that the gods have given us this fine clay, to sculpt into strong and beautiful forms through dedication and devotion. Seems a shame not to share it."

"But I'm proselytizing again." a brief sheepish shrug, "Is it a part of your code, or the like?" she asks the Lucht. Then she looks to the note Aryia writes, "Aha, well, I can't really speak to others. It's in my blood." she admits with a shrug. "Though I'm told that there are those who can learn to survive extreme circumstances with meditation. And then, there's the simpler solutions of appropriate clothing or handy spells."

You paged Seyardu with 'I think so, I joined Thurid and Aryia and they seemed ok with it'

"A little story," Paenitia holds a gauntlet up, finger and thumb a small distance apart. It also serves as a signal to the server-lad to bring her another drink, a half of one, "For a a little Knight."

She's very cheeful as she continues, turning her smiling mask to face Thurid, then Aryia, "The Knights of the Pillar are outlaw in Isobar. We are with the revolutionaries against the Iron Baron, the Steel Lady, the Gold Prince. Our family, our friends, would suffer if they know us."

She taps at her mask, "So we wear the Smiling Man. He give his face, because we are not banditos nor desperados, but have good reason to be not known. And on the body, a mark, a scar, a mole, can also tell the tale of who. So the armour, the mask, they stay on."

She tosses her head, her long curls bouncing, her voice both indulging and intimate, "You see my hair, the skin around my eyes. You may already know too much."

Aryia writes a small note that Thurid could read. "A little bit of proslety- that." She silently chuckles before turning her attention towards the Lucht. Cider replenished. Aryia seemed like she could take one of those larger flagons, and it didn't take much hold on her. But perhaps the second would make her open up some.

She nods along, drumming her fingers along her jaw. She never really heard of these places. Or perhaps she had, but in a different tongue. But it certainly allayed some of the curosities behind the Lucht's getup.

"May b kno to much. But still not kno enough," she writes with a shrug. "Stil that is interesting."

Thurid laughs a bit, "I've had cause to hide my face, as well. Though it didn't last long." she admits then. "Mayhap it simply wasn't meant to be. Was on a Mission in a war-torn place. Met with their commander and found a monster in Arvek guise." Thurid says then, and shakes her head sadly. "So I struck at her. Brought her back here, to face justice for her atrocities. But the nobles on high hadn't the stones to see things through." she murmurs, her expression darkening for a moment. She swigs on her drink heartily, making short work of her second mug.

"Still, though their leader was a beast, the soldiers weren't. So I took it on myself to help them. I wore a pothelm I found, to hide my face, and passed myself for an ogre. We marched on the occupied city, routed the last of the slavers and their lackeys, freed the slaves, treated the sick. Then I challenged the ogre king who laid claim to the city. We dueled to the death, and in the process, my helm was knocked free- and very nearly my head with it." she says and chuckles. She draws back her hair, to show a mean scar along her hairline, from brow to temple.

"The beast would go free, but I'd not see it happen. We fought, again, and I bested her again. I offered to mend her body if she'd swear off the path of evil, but she chose to meet the lady rather than face her demons." Thurid sighs then. "That... still troubles me. Saw in her someone who needed saving, even if it were from herself. But I couldn't manage it." she says then.

"Oh?" Paenitia's attention is caught, locked on Thurid as she speaks, a bob of her head to each detail. It's nigh impossible to read her reaction, she makes no noise, her mask remains fixed in a stylized grin. Her hands close to fists, creaking in her gauntlets, when the there seems no justice for the criminal.

As details go further, the pot-helm, the challenge, she straightens and leans forward to look at the displayed scar, nods again at the description of the second battle, and the death. Her voice is filled with awe, "I wish we have you with the Mad Dogs. You have done great things, changed much. The solders, often are good but do not know why they fight."

"And not everyone can be saved. That is sad." The Red Knight uncurls her hands, nods her head.

That day, there was not much to be done in the temple, so the silver Sith'makar was out in the city, looking for something to do with her time. The adventurer's guild was always a safe bet though. There could be jobs to be done, or perhaps injured adventurers, which was not an uncommon prospect. And so she stepped through the door, and into the gathering room, squinting more at the table nearby before she offered and energetic wave, recognizing several faces there.

Mikilos is not a criminal! Has bribed all the proper officals... well... obtained offical permits.

Aryia quietly listens to the story, finishing up the cassarole and sipping on the second cider with a proper buzz. A brow was raised multiple times as the story unfolded.

"Not evry one can. But nothin bad abowty it if they cant be," she writes soberly.

It looks like she has a further question about the Mad Dogs, but she perks up and quickly drains the rest of her drink. "Soori. I remembered I hav dock work soon. Thank you for the food." Aryia leaves the bench and slips by, giving Seyardu a friendly wave as she comes and goes.

Thurid grins over at Paenitia then, "Aye, well, if there's good works to be done with them then perhaps I ought seek them out." she muses. "Tarien and Angoron are lovers, travel companions and boasting partners, after all." she muses. She finishes off her own second cider, and then sets the mug down next to her empty bowl. She looks up to offer Aryia a wave, "Fare well." as she leaves, and in the process spies the Sith-Makar. A brief double-take confirms that it's not one she's familiar with, but she offers a wave of her hand regardless.

"So, I have never been to Isobar. Tell me more of it, if you would?" she asks Paenitia.

Mikilos exits one of the back offices, tucking some offical documents into his pouch. Just an independant weapons dealer making contracts with a semi-military organization, nothing to worry about. Peering around a moment, the magus makes his way to the food table, picking up a small bowl wiggeling sky blue grubs before heading towards the common table to enjoy them. "Good afternoon, mind if I grab a seat?"

"Goodbye my friend! I hope to see you soon again." The Red Knight waves at the departing Mul'niessa, and takes another long sip of her cider, again getting her glass under her mask to do so. Spotting a silverscaled Sith'makari entering, she waves again, "Hola my friend! Join! There is food left."

She scoots about on the bench. Aryria was occupying part of it, but the lizard woman is much larger than the dark elf. She'll need more room.

"Hola strange elf! Of course, join!" The little Lucht moves even further along.

Seating arrangement adjusted, Paenitia looks across the table at Thurid and continues her somewhat rambling tale, "Ah, Isobar! It is in the western kingdoms, beneath Myrddion and beside Selenita. The land, she is kissed hard by the sun. He is a persistent lover. She is baked so many colours. She is rocky, rugged with the great mesas and plateaus. The wind sweeps relentless through the canyons of red. Beautiful, and hard."

The Dark Lucht sounds wistful, homesick perhaps, "It is full of the mines, for ore and Mana Crystal. The towns, are all around the mines, ruled by local nobles. Isobar is the industry of the western kingdoms, with much to give up, but she does not easily."

The sith'makar returns the wave, but lingers at one of several counters before she slowly makes her way to the table. There was a lot of tables and chairs to navigate. Eventually she reached the table, turning around a chair to sit down more comfortably.

"Peace on your nests, it is good to see you as always, madame Paenitia, though I worry about how much you seem to offer your own food."

"Tales of adventure, and reasoning behind it? Sounds like a fair discussion. I do not know if I would say I have done much adventuring to be honest, but I have travelled quite a bit back home."

Thurid offers a wave to Mikilos when he arrives, "If it isn't the infamous magus. Have you escaped?" she wonders of him briefly. "I actually had something I wouldn't mind discussing with you some time, when your workshops has a space for me." she says then. She looks back to the Sith as she arrives, and dips her head, "On yours as well." she adds.

And then she falls quiet as she listens to the lucht tell tales of her homeland. She smiles a bit, but says nothing, for a time as the description continues. Eventually, when paenitia is finished, she speaks up. "It sounds lovely. I hail from the desolation, myself, in essence. But it's neither my ancestral home, nor where I was raised, so I've only a passing connection to it." she says. "My parents lived there, it's true, but they were yoked. And I was born there, but only as my mother fled their masters. My father died in the crossing." she says then.

She doesn't let the somber mood last, though, and presses on, "We were both- my mother and I- taken in by an althean temple. It's there I was raised. Near the border. So, I consider myself blessed in a way. My father blazed the path for our freedom."

Mikilos nods, accepting the offered seat, and listens with intrest. Grabbing a couple of wiggling grubs, the elf pops them into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. Native to the plane of air, the fat little creature disolve upon death into a refreshing puff of fresh air. Quite plesant, once you get past the idea of eating live grubs. "Magus Mikilos Mithralla, originally of SilverMoon. My family has been warriors and adventurers for generations, I never gave much thought to becoming an adventurer myself. Over the years I've developed my magical talents, and while I could stick to my books and labs, I've always felt such abilites are best use in practical ways. Not only as a duty to try and make the wordl better, but a means to hone them in a real and practical way, beyond mere theories and philosophies."

He looks to Thurid with a quirked brow. "Escaped? From jail? I settled that debt some time ago, with fines and time served. As for my workshop, I'm occupied until next month, but can certainly answer whatever questions you may have."

"Ha! It is ok. This time it is the food of friends, for friends!" Paenitia says cheerfully, as one does when one isn't buying. She leans an elbow on the table, looking up at the silver sith. "I would hear of your home too."

After she hears about Thurid's, of course. She listens, nods, "I have heard of the Desolation. Harder and less beauty than Isobar, with many rough places. I am sorry for your father, and the struggles you have gone through. Glad that you make it out.

The Red Knight gestures at the silver sith, makes an introduction of sorts to Thurid, "This is Seyardu, of the Temple of Althea. We rescue a bard together! It is one of the things I do since coming to Alexandria. So many things. She is not the first friend dragon I meet either!"

She turns her ever smiling mask towards the silverscale.

Paenitia looks over at Mikilos next, "I am Sister Paenitia Snapdragon del Haranna, Knight of the Pillar and Paladina of Tarien. Well met!" She stares as he eats the strange grubs, "You do not like boar stew?"

She waves her hand briefly, "Many apologies. You make the magic things? Have you seen a hippogryph that is part peacock?"

The sith'makar listened, resting her head in her arms on the back of the chair. There was just a hint of sadness for those who would recognize it, but it passed, replaced by a very obvious smile. "That sounds difficult, but I am glad that you were able to find aid and safety from a temple such as that. The celestial mother would be happy to know that was the case."

She pauses, thinking over the question. "Is Ramirez missing? If you require help looking for them, I can assist. As for my home, there is much to say about it, though my life is not that important to speak about."

Thurid chimes in, at the introductions, "Well met, Seyardu. I am Thurid Freeborn, Warrior fo Angoron." she offers her own introduction. But then she scoffs at the Sith's self-depricating comment, "Nonsense." she says then and shakes her head, "Every life has import. Isn't that one of Althea's own teachings?" she wonders with a brief smile. She seems about to continue, when she is called upon- a tap on the shoulder. She turns to see one of the other adventurers, he speaks with her briefly, and she nods her head. She climbs from her seat at the bench (which straightens back out from its mildly bowed shape as she vacates it) "I am afraid duty calls. Please, everyone, eat, drink and be merry." she offers- being the one footing the bill for todays tab.

"I'm looking to improve my armor." she tells Mikilos. "But we can talk on it later." she adds then, and offers all assembled a wave before she heads off with the adventurer who came looking for her.

Mikilos smiles to the Lutch. "I typically don't eat. Nothing wrong with boar stew, but doesn't appeal today." Chewing another grub, he considers. "I do make magical things, but not creatures. I've heard of colorful hippogryphs, but not seen one in person."

Paenitia shakes her head, her voice sounding happy enough. "He is not. The day is fog and he happy to stay in the warm stable. It is a tease to the Magus with the offer to show him, so the fantastical armour can be made. Ramirez does not shy from battle, but he take many blows and it pain me to see him bleed so much. Much thanks, for your offer. I am honoured by your concern."

"Goodbye Warrior Thurid," The Red Knight waves, watching as the Jotun rises. She winks, which is one of the few facial expressions that does get past her smiling mask, and laughs. "We will talk of the brotherly romance between Angoron and Tarien later."

After she has departed, the little Lucht comments, "She is right. Every life has import."

Paenitia's attention turns towards Mikilos, "Ah. I also look for armour, for Ramirez. My peacock-gyspy-andalusian hippogryph, my loyal steed, who is real and very much in need of some. Plus other things, for bringing the fight, but you sound much occupied."

"Ah, that is good. I was concerned that perhaps they ran off when someone was searching for you the other day. That sounds like an excellent idea, some form of protection for them. Perhaps a burnished silver, so I might find it easier to hide behind them, if the need arises." Seyardu sighs. The giantborn, and Lucht had a point. "I know not how familiar all of you are with the jungles of Am'shere. They are a harsh, but beautiful place. I would say that it is nothing short of a miracle that I am still here and able to speak of them, though."

Mikilos waves vaugely. "Often the nature of business. Nothing for weeks on end, then a handful of customers all wanting something at the same time. I try to accomidate everyone, but it doesn't always work out."

"Oh, Ramirez would not leave me. I raise him from the egg." Paenitia explains, laughing again, "He see me as his momma or his peahen, I do not know his mind! I am thinking the Mithril chain shirt, enought to protect, not so heavy he can not fly. It is silver-white, you will still be able to hide behind him!"

She stirs her beef stew, taking a spoonful carefully under her mask, then bobs her head some more to Mikilos, "I come by, to get on the list. How I find you?"

Back to Seyardu, "I have no knowledge of the jungles. I am told, very harsh. It is a miracle to escape? That dangerous?"

"Well, I should reiterate, it seems. The jungles are harsh, yes, but my kin are hardy people, but part of it is how everyone looks out for each other in every tribe, and other tribes as well. But most children do not survive past their first year there, be it from disease, or predators. There are all manner of beasts that would be capable of rampaging throug a camp without preparation, and such risks are always there."

"And when you are not the most coordinated or observant to begin with, that is why I would say it is a miracle. I have had survived due to the aid of tribemates on more than one occasion, too many to count."

The sith'makar sighs, reaching for an unused glass to pour herself some water, drinking slowly in a pause.

Mikilos smiles. "My shop is easy enough to find, up the mountain road, look for the giant sword. An actual blade, made for a one of hill giant size." He nods to Seyardu. "I have been to the jungles. A place few would survive for long alone. A short tour with a group of seasoned adventurers was hard enough. Though to be fair, we did not know the land or it's ways. Suspect is slightly easier for one rasied to it's sights and sounds."

Paenitia nods, "I fight battle with another of the lizard peoples, Tenoc, he is great and brave. There is no shame in working together. It is why we Lucht Siuil have large families, and find comrades and allies. Your homeland sounds very dangerous. I would have concerns to go there."

She looks over at Mikilos and nods, "Up the mountain to the giant giant sword. Okay. Much thanks."

She takes another spoonful of stew, "With Thurid and Aryia, I share the adventurous tales. I do not have many, and do not want to talk so much about myself, but will explain. No, there is too much, I will sum up."

"Since coming to Alexandria, I explore a ruined castle that hold time, I meet with all the other Knightly Orders at the Chapter House, I strike against Celia the Serpent and her bandit women, rescue goblins for the Charnese delegate, hunt for lost sheep, kill some rodents, chase stolen scrolls for the Resurrectionists..." She nods towards Seyardu, "rescue the bard with you, and meet people."

She leans back, "Many tales! If you wish to hear one? Or tell your own."

"Celia the serpent,that name sounds familiar. It is one mentioned by the town guard, when I was delivering my report of the bandits that attacked me not long ago. Something about the poisons they used." The sith'makar notes. "It is good you are working against them, then. It sounds like you have been up to much, though. Most of my time has been spent tending to those in need and assisting at the temple of Althea. It is something I can do to aid many at the same time, so I find it a worthwhile expenditure of my time."

Mikilos considers for a time, and shrugs. "I've ahd many adventurers, but am not a teller of tales. While I still adventure, most of my time is spent in the shop, in relitive safety."

A misty, cool breeze meanders through the main doors as Seldan enters, closing the doors carefully behind him. The weather appears to bother him not in the slightest, and he wears a light swordsman's shirt and blousy trousers under a open-front, sleeveless robe that is more like a duster in cut, blue and silver with celestial symbols sewn into it, an ornate, old-fashioned styled sword at his hip. He pauses just inside the door to let his eyes adjust, but the smell of food - for once, decent food - has his attention in short order, and he wanders over towards the group. "Mas-Mikilos," there is only a moment's pause in the lilting greeting, "Her light upon your path." The crescent and sphere he wears prominently around his neck glints visibly in the light as he speaks, his greeting including the other two by glance and inclined head.

"I help two of her banditos escape her," Paenitia tells Seyardu, "the third I have to bring to justice. She unrepentant in her murder. It is not the best but I do not always trust the authority. This time, I make her their problem."

The Red Knight laughs, "Not many come to Temple of Tarien for help. I give aid, but it is much work. It is his little joke. I have skill with the lance, and my vows to protect the pillars of society. So I go forth, seek the worthwhile things to do."

"This is not a bad plan, great Magus." Paenitia tells Mikilos, "Maybe I retire, make beer, and others come to drink and tell me their stories."

The little Lucht waves cheerfully at Seldan. She's a contrast in crimson, wearing a rusted breastplate, coat and wide hat, with shockingly large peacock feathers as a cloak, and a strange, stylized mask that seems to be of a grinning man with a mustache. "Hola, come sit!"

She stands on her bench, so she's taller. Bows low, sweeping her hat off as her dark curls fall forward and obscure her. She replaces hat and mask before she rises, her real face remaining hidden, "I am Sister Paenitia Snapdragon del Harana, Knight of the Pillar and Paladina of Tarien. You are one of vows as well? Pledged to the Mistress of Dreams?" Some get a formal introduction it seems.

Mikilos raises a hand in greeting to Seldan, and offers a bowl of sky blue grubs... that have stopped wiggeling. Frowning mildly, the magus murmurs under his breath, and frost crackles from his fingers, rimming the small bowl. After a few moments, the creatures inside start to perk up and crawl around again. "Tsk. They do so poorly in the summer. This plane is too warm for them." Blinking a few times, the elf peers at Paenitia. "'Make beer'? Do you brew? I've fallen out of habit, but have a few ale casks still ageing in my cellar."

"Peace on your nest." Seyardu says in greeting to the newcomer. "Yes, it is a difficult place for even us, who liver there. But it is home regardless."

"A temple to Tarien, I would understand why many would not sop there for aid. They may not feel their troubles are significant enough for them to not simply turn into a joke. But there is good to be done in the name of lifting of spirits, though where I am from, not many pay them mind, for the mirth twisting dragon is seen as a bad sign for many. This one's name is Seyardu, as well." She offers to Seldan, holding out her hand.

"And upon yours also." Seldan reaches to take the sith-makar's hand politely. The response to the greeting is easy enough, as a softskin used to the sith-makar in some way. "Welcome, Seyardu, and fair greeting to you, Sister Paenitia. I am Seldan Padaryn, servant of the Dreamer, yes." His affirmation is accompanied by a small smile at Paenitia. "I was unaware that Tarien's faithful included such orders, but in truth is my knowledge of that faith somewhat limited, and I learn much."

The sky-blue grubs get a side-eye from him, though. "It might be kinder, then, to return them whence they came than make a meal of them, for surely they do not grace this table but for ornament." Another long, skeptical look, and he shifts topic to, "I would have thought your interest to be wine, Mikilos."

"Mama would not let me leave the house without one skill to support myself." Paenitia says cheerfully as she moves from her parade attention to casually sitting, "It has been some time, but I do. If you have the space and bottles we can brew. Or I help you drink what remains!"

Another laugh, her dark eyes blink behind her mask. Long lashes. "I also know the blacksmithing, but have only made rough weapons. I wish to practice this more."

The sky blue grubs get a stare, then she returns to her boar stew. Well, it started as a caserol until she added some liquid. She stirs, stirs some more, contemplating the silverscale's words.

"I think..." she says, still stirring, "the message is missed." Stir, stir, "the bad things will come. The Gods will not stop it. The Gods can not stop it. That Tarien's message is throw open your arms, welcome the disaster and laugh, because the disaster does not care. You have only how you face it, so I face all things with a smile."

The Dark Lucht taps at her mask, turning that fixed, stylized grin towards Seldan. It sounds very much like she is grinning behind the grin, "I am another of Tarien's little jokes."

Very little. Three feet tall.

Mikilos takes a couple of grubs, and pops them into his mouth, chewing. "They disolve into air as they return to their native plane. Quite refreshing, really. As for wines, I have made a few, but it's far easier to obtain quality hops and barley than enough grapes." Turning focus back to Paenitia, he nods. "Smithing is a craft I take seriously, with a keen intrest toward blades. Though these days I tend to be more comissioned for airship parts. A sword with a hermetic residue cuts just the same, but a cyroflux osilator needs a sympathetic aura. Most smiths don't have the background to craft such things."

Seldan regards Paenitia levelly, calmly, for a good half a minute before inclining his head. "I see," is all he says, but he turns his attention back to the discussion at hand. "Fascinating. Does the Skyguild then send you a great deal of work? I knew that I had seen little enough of you of late, although there is a matter in which I would have your assistance."

"That is, a surpridingly nihilistic view for a god." The sith'makar sighs. "I see why Aryia spoke as she did. I know the gods can not do much themselves, as I told her. But that is why I am here, and so many others as their followers. With our own actions assited indirectly, there can be aid and solace, and meaning found amidst chaos. But I understand, that not everyone can be helped."

"I will admit, I know not of blacksmithing save for it being very difficult and tiring. And my knowledge of brewing even less. It was only the other day that I tried one of those fermented drinks."

The Red Knight and self proclaimed paladin of Tarien holds her gaze with Seldan. Only her eyes are visible past her mask, and they seem wide, bright, with just a little bit of a smouldering tease to them. She looks towards the Dawn Elf when he does.

"A cryo osilator..." Paenitia stares at Mikilos, as if she almost understands. She has a rudimentary knowledge of mining machinery, that sounds like a part of one. At least an oscilator or oscilating is something she's heard in conjunction with the mines. She wasn't involved in repairing the artifice though. Plus, he's eating the grubs, which she is considering trying but would prefer with some butter, garlic and perhaps some effort to cook. Unless raw and wiggling is the point.

"They take skill, and time. A clean and organized work area." Paenitia faces Seyardu now, "The brewing, much cleaning and cool, dark places. The smithing, care not to fall in the fire or touch the hot things. Simple work, that take time to get right, some of the pillars of civilization. To make needed things, and the drinks to relax with after."

She tilts her head a little, "It is most important to know, Tarien does not laugh at, he laughs with. He the friend to show up that you are happy to see, the enjoyable company. This is how I serve, I bring the smile to every struggle."

Mikilos shakes his head. "Not the SkyGuild, they have their own crafters. But private owners, or ones from other countires who for whatever reason can't, or won't, go thru the Guild."

He frowns mildly to Seyardu. "I think it mildly important to recall the Gods -could- do a great deal. Reach a hand into the mortal world and raise mountains, or knock them down. But if the gods of Light are allowed direct action, then so are the Dark gods. And the God Wars are sparked again. Far better, for us mere mortals at least, that they keep to the pact and act only thru intermediaries." he says, with a pointed nod to Seldan. And after a seocnd consideration, a nod to Paenitia as well.

"Yes, the gods could do things, but do not now. But I cannot admit that there is nothing to be done at times, it would be merely accepting failure for actions I could change." The sith'makar notes. "There is nothing wrong with maintaining a cheerful disposition in the face of adversity, though."

"It seems strange to spend so much time making a drink, when you could boil water to drink in a few hours. Is it for storage, or is it just for relaxation?" She asks, sipping on her water slowly.

Wandering back into the dining are of the adventuring halls was a familiar- to some- scarred mul'neissa. She sways from side to side, a large bottle of something half drank in her hand. She grins widely, showing miscolored teeth, at the sight of the others still at the table and she shambles on over.

She sits with a plop and a sloppy wave hello. Cheeks flared a crimson and a relaxed look about her.

Relaxation, probably.

"Wine serves both purposes, Seyardu." Seldan merely inclines his head at Paenitia, apparently preferring to keep his own counsel on the topic of Tarien's role. "It need not be boiled to be safe to drink, and is rather more enjoyable, consumed not to excess." He tails off at the discussion of divine intervention and whether it's a good idea. "Once have I seen Her intervene, although indirectly. I would not stand before you now, had She not so done." There's something of a faraway look that he wears.

"But, if you will forgive me, I should be about my errand. Mikilos, I would speak with you soon, and it was a pleasure to meet the both of you. Her light upon your path." That farewell is extended to all, included in his glance, and he turns again away from the table, to move deeper into the hall.

Paenitia mostly bobs her head as Mikilos provides an more theologically in-depth explanation, with a more vigorous nod to Seyardu's observations. She replies with an explanation for more prosaic matters, with a head bump towards Seldan. "As he say, the alcohol keep, and it good to eliminate the bugs in the water. Dilute down, it is almost flavour."

The Red Knight waves as the Silverguard departs, "Well met!"

She stares in the direction he left for a while longer, then looks back at everyone around the table, "I have not seen the divine intervention."

Mikilos nods to Seldan. "If the matter becomes pressing, you know how to reach me." As Aryia takes a seat, he raises a hand in greeting. He looks to the Red Knight, and falls quiet for a moment. "...I saw the great limb, mayhaps that of Taara herself, that knocked the city out of Time and into the Mists."

Aryia sways back and forth lightly in her seat, not having taken out her journal to communicate yet. Though, she didn't need to yet, she frowns at the mention of Taara, the bottle in her hands reaching her lips for a pull as she gives a sloppy wave goodbye to Seldan.

"Then there is some things they can do, but, that sounds like reason enough to me." Seyardu sighs. "It does sound useful in a way, I guess. One person making it can save time for others preparing water when needed."

She turns to see the elf sitting down nearby. "Ah, hello again, Aryia. You seem to be in good spirits, if a bit, hard to say. Are you embarassed over something?" She asks, a touch concerned. Paenitia is adjusting and waving to Aryia as she sits down. Her mask does obscure her peripheral vision at times, when Mikilos reveals his divine experience.

Her head snaps around, dark curls bouncing. She stares at him. "What?"

A blink. Her voice is soft, wary. "What... did it look like? A darkened arm? How if they are blocked by the pact, is that possible?"

"The lands of Isobar are scoured in parallel, as if by a giant rake. There are rumours of the divine, but most say, 'it is the wind'."

Which can be enough for primitive people, but the ones of Isobar are sophisticated. Practical, at least. Emphasizing.

"She is, I think, very happy." The Red Knight says, sounding amused.

Mikilos frowns thoughtfully. "It was dark, yes, and an arm... but the details are... blurrly. Like something for a dream. Or more like being in a dream, and getting glimpse of the waking world. Something more real than reality, for which the mortal mind doesn't have the proper words. In the same moments, I felt the Sea of Mana change. Or at least, the way it can be accessed. My profession in as a wizard, but I've no small potential as a sorcerer, an aspect I've chosen not to develop. Both types of magic... changed."

Aryia snaps a finger towards Paenitia, nodding with a grin as her attention turns towards Mikilos. She... thinks she remembers him. Barely. From the TaRaCe? Regardless, it didn't seem like she had any clue what he was speaking of. So instead she makes a motion of a hand coming down from above and raking across the table. "Puchuuuusssssss-" the mute woman sounds out with a pop and a hiss, mimiking what it would sound like.

"This was recent, then, or after the fact." Seyardu says, frowning after Paenitia's comment. "That is, concerning. And she is happy, you say? That is good, I am glad you are happy, Aryia." She finishes, smiling to the mul'niessa. "Did something good happen today?"

"More real than real. Waking up to reality then falling back to a dream, where everything change." The Dark Lucht repeats the Dawn Elf's words back at him, she sounds both credulous and incredulous, with a hint of unsettled fear. She sounds uncertain, "The city was gone, five years, ten years, until two years ago?

Her visage however, remains all smiles, and masculine.

"How strong is that?" Paenitia asks Aryia suddenly, pointing at her flask and then laughing. It only sounds a little forced, "Hear what he say? The magic change! You are lucky to not be connected!"

It's a very funny joke, everything changing. Too bad the punchline takes so long.

Paenitia tries for a more straight forward absurdity, "This Sea of Mana, it something you can go see and touch? Sail a boat on it?"

Mikilos peers at Aryia a moment before moving his hands in graceful, fluid motions. "If a different means of communication is easier, I'm confidant we can find something to suit." To the Lutch, he nods. 'Seven years. Or a few weeks, depending on which side of the Mists you were on. The Sea of Mana, IS magic. Everywhere and nowhere. As touchable as fog or sunlight. I don't know about boats, but was a Tower... it caused problems.' <handspeech>

Braelnoir doesn't commonly hear activity through this door. So, with nary a care to the contrary, she opts to indulge her curiosity on finding the door unlocked and steps on in. She looks the gathered over soe as she strolls in, scythe indexed back over her shoulder, with the thumb of her other hand is hooked into one of her weapon belts, "Evenin', luvs! What's th'occasion?"

The movement of hands makes the drunk mute swivel over, her attention somewhat on the gestures. Aryia stares at him for a few beats, trying to parse through it all before a dull understanding crosses her features. She sloppily replies, both inexperienced with the language and, of course, inebriated. But enthusiastic " Sorry. Handspeech, new. I'm fine. Can hear. Thank you. " <Handspeech>

She pulls out a worn journal, scribbles a few sloppy words, and pushes it over to Seyardu. It reads in horrible handwriting. "I am vry drnk rwright nawo."

She gives a big wave to the newcomer, teetering a bit in her seat before catching herself from falling over.

"A sea of mana, gods changing how magic works, it all sounds complicated. I hope that those matters will be fixed. Likely not matters I could begin to even comprehend, let alone deal with."

"She turns to offer a wave to the newcomer, and a sharp toothed smile. "Peace on your nest, I know not any occasion for this gathering, though we have been speaking of our experiences with adventures." And back to the journal. "You are drunk? Too much alcohol? Sometimes people come in to the temple like that, but usually they just end up sleeping in a room until it passes."

"His kiss is very light, but over time the sun steal all the colour from paint, and much shorter turn skin the colour of my armour." Paenitia retorts cheerfully, wobbling her head, "and I have seen the spell cast that let a man walk on a cloud, so the fog touch too, and has been touch everyone with chill grasp all day."

"So the Sea of Mana can be sailed, it just need the right boat." The little Lucht concludes. She stares at the finger-wiggles, which she doesn't understand and likely couldn't duplicate in her gauntlets. Bit too much rusty metal to them. She leans to read the written message, laughing without comment.

To the arriving Braelnoir, she waves, "Hola! Some food remains, some drink can be had. Sit, tell tales." She pats... oh her bench is full. She points around, "There a seat."

Mikilos grins and nods greetings to Brea, before turning to Aryia. "Understood, thought signing might be easier." He nods to Paenitia "The metaphor breaks down, but generally correct."

The fluttering of sign draws the Korite's eye and and nods, unhooking her empty hand to flit through a couple of gestures, "I understand." <Handspeech>

She looks toward the gleaming sith and for just a moment, there's a slightest pang of something in her eyes, but she returns the hail with a grin, "Often a good'nough reason ta throw back a few fer sure, luvvie!" She sets on a hip at the edge of the table and she nods to the Lucht, "Much obliged, luvvie!" before Mikilos gets a wink, then the silver haired woman brings her fingers to her brow in what may at one time have been a passable salute, "Name's Braelnoir, nice ta meetcha all!"

Then?

Snacks, of course!

"So who's on fer th'tellin, now?"

"It is good to meet you then, Braelnoir. I know not who's turn it is to be sharing, or if there is even such a thing as turns for this. Everyone shares as they wish." Seyardu notes, turning back to the table. "I believe Aryia, and myself as well, have both been looking to learn more about handspeech. Though I feel like now is not the time to discuss such matters, as they may not be remembered properly."

"I have been learning from book for a little bit" she slowly signs, forgetting a few words for a moment. She perks up at the mention of more stories being shared, leaning forward expectantly with her journal in front of her. <Handspeech>

"Sister Paenitia Snapdragon del Harana!" The Red Knight says, clunking her gauntlet against her hat. Which also clunks. It seems to be cloth, but perhaps there's some steel underneath. Considering the audience, she alters her introduction slightly, "Mad Dog of Isobar!"

She glances around, turning the grinning mask to those at the table, "The Warrior Thurid say she pays, so we share the food and drink in her name and honour! She was called to duty." Paenitia says, adding, "Someone come get her. She is not dead."

"And that is a good way for secret communications. I learn to bark like a dog instead." She looks at Aryia, "You know the bugs one. Shall we tell now? The Magus, he was eating grubs, there still some in his bowl."

"Fuck those bugs" she interjects with a solid jab of the figner to the table. The digit grinds in, as if smushing one. <Handspeech> Mikilos shrugs. "It helps to know MercTalk, as the vocabulary and syntax are almost identical, just how the words are expressed." He grins to Braelnoir. "If you ask who's turn it is, it's your turn, yes?" He nods to the Crimson Caballero, and offers the bowl to Sky Grubs to any who might be intrested. "They're really quite plesant, once you get past the momentary squish."

Braelnoir nods to the siths's reply with a knowing little smile, "Best that way, hell, I been sayin' more advees need ta learn th'speech fer a while, now. Comes in handy'n more ways'n ya'd think. Can teach ya some if ya like."

Her eyes are drawn to the Mul'niessan's gestures again and she nods, "S'one way ta do it, but best done in person so ya can see't from differen't angles. Inna field y'ain't always gonna be lookin straight on." she notes with a shrug, "Good on ya, either way."

"Isobar?" Brae repeats with a brow arched eye, "No shit? Huh." The addendum on Thurid gets a nod, and probably a new avenue of conversation from the Korite, "Got a story, ain't all shiney, but was a quick nasty fight, an... well, probly a public service I warn ya about the rest of it, too."

She grins back to Mikilos, "I known Merctalk since I's her size." she replies cocking her head to the masked woman, who has her attention anew, "So... bugs?"

"I thought it would be useful to learn in case I interact with others capable of speech." The sith'makar explains, waving away the bowl slightly. "Thank you, but I am alright. I thought a book was a good idea, but you are right, it is no substitution for proper teaching, especially since language is meant to be communicated between others. But I would like to hear more about this story, as long as Aryia is okay with it."

"It not a tale full of wonder," Paenitia says, having decided to try one of the sky grubs. She reaches for it with her spoon, manages to get one out of the bowl and almost to her mouth before it falls. She catches it on the open palm of her gauntlet, works with the spoon once more, and manages to get it, alive, into her mouth to bite down on and get past the momentary squish.

"Very chewy." She chews. Swallows, gestures to herself and Aryia, "Okay, we two, and the Sorceress Pasithea, Archer Tommy and Sneak Katsuro, we hired by the guild to help a noble."

She doesn't spit when she says 'noble', she is wearing a mask after all. It sounds like she really wants to. Her mask keeps grinning away, her voice sounds angry. It's a strange dichotomy. "A noble who go riding, how find giant flies, who come back and does not brush down his steed. Blue Bonnet, the poor horse. This poor horse, the flies lay eggs in her, that hatch to maggots that eat her and turn to flies, and lay more eggs, that hatch and eat her more."

Her eyes flash with anger, "The barn is full of Bot Flies and maggots, and we open the door and have to stop them rush out. They have spear, for poking the eggs in, that hatch so fast. It a mess, of gore and disgust."

"When we done, the noble come by, say we stink. Does not even ask after his horse." Her voice sounds grave, "This one in the mold of the Iron Baron. This one we would throw down in Isobar. For here, for a horse, it is not enough."

"Maybe, two horses."

Isobar is a land of cliffs and tall mesas, 'throw down' might have a very literal meaning.

The drunk and mute Mul'neissa glares at the bowl of grubs as it passes by, her starting to speak with her hands some. The first motion pushes the bowl away towards the center of the table. "I'm still learning. Not that good. Need to use with people more. But not everyone use it."

She sighs, taking another drink, the bottle held high to the point the gnarly scar on her throat was highlighted by the ambient light. Aryia pauses, detatching from the bottle and looking away. "It's not a great story. Equal to... C..." She looks at her hand, "C-O-M-P-A-Y-R-D? To stories here."

She lets Paenitia tell the story. Herself no where near sober enough to elaborate it well. She rubs the back of her calf with a foot, averting her gaze from the grub sampling. "One grub nearly ate its way through my leg," she mentions with a frown. "It fucking sucked." <Handspeech>

Stjepan comes into the Adventurer's Guild and stops. People. A /meeting./. He scans to see if its some kind of employment briefing, then slows down and looks more closely.

"That was a bad idea of them. They put people at risk, and their horse passed due to such negligence?" Seyardu asks as she listened to the story. "I admit I care about others, but when they have such disregard, I understand how you would be frustrated. I'm assuming they did not address it early either, which is why it got so out of hand."

Mikilos frowns, nodding to Aryia. "I've encountered such vermin, but managed to avoid direct contact. Can understand how that would leave an aversion." Glancing up, the elf smiles, and raises a hand in greeting to Stjepan. He frows at the tale fo the Damask Dame, nodding with the others. "I've no fondness for horses, but that's no reason to let one die just because you're lazy.

"Isobar doesn't lack fer cake eaters't could stand bein' culled, I recall." Brae replies with a negligent roll of her shoulder sitting on a hip at the edge of the table, "Done work up that way 'fore I come ta Alexandria, seemed like a lot of it was helpin' one noble shaft another. Meanwhile, ya got townfolk getting by, if just."

She reaches out pluck a grub from the plate between thumb and forefinger and with only a quick sniff, pops it in her mouth for a juicy squishy crunch. The face she makes is considerate, almost curious, then she swallows and, "No worries, luvvie, but like ya say, not enough folk use it. Tactically, that's a good thing, day ta day, not s'much, I know."

She looks to Seyardu, "It's th'way o'folk, sometimes. Nose too high'n the air, they can't see the shit they're draggin' over folk around'm."

That said, she reaches for more protein with a glance over her shoulder for a quick, "Heya!"

Stjepan pulls up a chair -- a good-sized, solid chair -- and swings himself down with a grin at Mikilos and Braelnoir. "Evenin' -- who's putting what at risk, and how much are they paying us?"

Paenitia doesn't notice the Jotun at first, focused as she is on the table. She stares a little blankly as the handspeech goes on. She nods to Seyardu, "The brush down, which should have been done after every ride, they would have seen. The flies were a danger to us with arms and armour. To the person on the street, much more."

The alliterative elf gets a grin from her mask, "I agree."

The silver-haired merc also, receives a knowing nod, "You have been there and know the way of it."

"Oh, another! Hola, we speak of jobs done, not jobs to happen."

Torn from the bad time, Aryia perks up and wave energetically towards the Jotun. Her face was flooded red and her movements overreaching, sloppy. Her lips move, air moves, but barely anything comes out. "- Stj-p-! - - -?"

Aryia glances to the bottle, something in her brain catching up before giving a languid sigh and thudding her forehead against the neck of it. Her head dips in a nod, pointing to Paenitia.

Mikilos falls quiet, pondering a while without comment before fishing around in his pack a moment, pulling out a green wine bottle. "Wasn't sure I had it with me. Mint wine. Mild flavor, not much of a kick, but what it does have burns cold."

"Yes, Paenitia was speaking about the job her and Aryia, among others went on." Seyardu adds. "Swiftclaws I am used to, they are not soft skinned like a horse, but they require similar care. If they will allow it. They can be quite temperamental."

"Heard that said, never tried messin' with one, though." Brae notes to Seyardu about the very sharp mounts. She looks to the Mul'niessa as she rasps out a greeting to the Jotun and her eyes get a thoughtful look that flits toward the silver Sith. She absently chews on another grub, then turns to the masked woman, "Been a li'l while, but yeah, an' I don't reckon things changed all that much."

Stjepan lifts up a hand to Aryia, and grins. He follows the line of her nod to Paenitia. "Been here for a while, tellin' stories?" A pause, then the Jotun gestures towards the grub-bowl. "Are these common, or?" Food. It had to be food. He pauses. "I haven't though about swiftclaws in a while -- there used to be some around town. People'd ride 'em."

Paenitia sets a glass in front of Mikilos, "I will try that." It's a right-sized glass, which means it's small

"The flies, they have the daggers they poke the eggs in, and nearly stab through my plate. The tough scales should help, but enough about the flies."

"Aryia, she earlier tell about how we seek the scrolls for the Resurrectionists, for a group that steal them from another group to sell to the third. This, I am not fully understanding." The Dark Lucht exhales, resting her hands in front of her, "The warehouse we go to full of thieves. There even a crate from the Arcanist society. Many explosives. We try to trick our way, it turn into a fight."

"We chased by giant woman, with giant axe, through the alleyways. Lillianath have the alchemical tricks that slow her down, but she crash through barrels and walls, throw her giant axe through the roof. We manage to sneak away."

She nods to Stjepan, "Some while, some stories. There are more to tell."

Aryia empties out whatever was left in the bottle, her smacking it down as well to get some of that wine. She shoves the bowl towards Stjepan. The sooner the grubs were out of here the better. The shadow elf bobs her head along with what Paenitia shares, her looking a touch afraid at the mention of the axe woman.

"I throw barrels in path and she smash almost all of them in one swing" Aryia adds sloppily, rubbing her reddened cheek. <Handspeech> Mikilos shakes his head. "Sky Grubs are from the Plane of Air. For some reason the chef insists on keeping a bowl of them around. Not bad, but an aquired taste, and not something can cook with. They just dissolve when they die." He pours Paenitia a glass. It's a bit like drinking NyQuil, without the medicine aftertaste or the sleepy side effects. Knocking back a glass for himself, the elf considers a few moments. "Suppose is the tale of the first time I died."

"Flash powder's handy sometimes fer slowin' folk down, too. Just gotta be careful where ya huck it." Brae advises, snaking another grub along the way, "What's this giant woman look like? May come a job ta dust'r an' it wouldn't do not ta heed yer warnin's on her." The remark about dying, though, gets the merc quiet and she looks to the mage expectantly.

Stjepan grazes away on the grub bowl, absently knocking them back as he listens. "How giant?" He echoes Braelnoir for a moment, then turns on Mikilos. "That sounds like a tale -- how much do you remember?"

"Yes, a description of some sort is good if they are still out there. Regardless, I am glad you are all okay at least."" The sith'makar says, growing quiet. "You speak so casually about something like that. It is your choice to speak about such matters, though."

"I can't remember right now. Very tall. Red hair. Crazy. Was with a man with a lot of... markings? T-A-T-O-O-S," Aryia recollects, her pouting as the Lucht got some of the wine but she didn't. The streatches out with her empty bottle dragging across the table as she looks up at him with large, milky eyes. <Handspeech>

Paenitia turns on her seat and stares at Mikilos, "That is not a joke? You die? I want to hear this."

Her smiling mask looks at Braelnoir and Stjepan, watching Aryia's handsign. "Maybe I repeat what friend Aryia say, I do not understand. They were two, smart enough they do not use the names, but..." She taps her thumb against her mask.

"The woman, wild-looking, with bright red hair. Huge, like she Dran or Aesir stock, well muscled. Hide armor, stitched with red runes. She work for a bald, Veyshan man." The little Lucht shakes her head, "Stupid crazy and laughing at us like we are joke. She will not laugh when she eat her own axe."

She leans towards Mikilos, "Your story now."

Stjepan nods slowly. "Huge, but not as big as me, then." He pops another grub into his mouth, then reaches for his water skin. "You want the revenge, or would you like someone to have a chat about politeness?" Then, he too turns back to Mikilos.

Mikilos takes another drink of wine, organizing details before speaking. "Several years ago, river merchants were having trouble with pirates. Ship would appear out of nowhere, loot the merchant, then disappear again. I wasn't part of the investigation, but heard others talk about it. They tracked down one of the supply cashe for the pirates, managed to catch a few who'd been watching the supplies and bring them back for trial and questioning. was something of a celebration when the ship came to port with the prisoners. Was a big step towards ending the problem, so quite a few folk on the dock to watch."

He pours a third glass of cough syrup, offering it to Aryia.

"Not everyone saw the ship appear from under the water, but we all saw as it charged the dock. All iron and artifice. Not overly large, but fast and heavy. Heavy enough to just ram into the dock, send about half the people into the water. I was a full wizard at that point, but only just. Hardly a fighter, not much of a swimmer, I cast the spell of Fly upon myself to get up out of the water and try and see some way to help in all the chaos."

The wizard frowns, and finishes off his glass.

"Was a mechanical gun on the bow of the ship, seems they saw a flying wizard as a priority, unloaded their full ordanance."

He pours another glass for himself.

"Was told you could see daylight thru the hole in my chest."

((Auto-cannon, critical hit, near max damage. I went from full health to -17 hp in one hit.))

Braelnoir turns to the Mul as she starts to sign again, though when she struggles with spelling out the words, she folds her fingers into the sign for, "Tattoos." <handspeech>

She nods "I trip over Red, there, I'll settle'r hash."

Then, it's back to Mikilos's story.

Blink. What else can ya say to something like that but:

"Ouch."

"Perhaps that is enough to drink for now, Aryia, though I understand if you would wish to have more. Otherwise someone would have to carry you back to your room, and that is a far walk." The sith'makar chuckles, before she settles in to listen again. The story makes her sigh again. "I understand, this, artifice, it is nothing short of worrying what it is capable of. One of the bandits that was at the camp me and Paenitia were at was armed with one, and we were lucky that it was not fired. But you are, you say you perished from that, but you are here now. So someone brought you back in that case. That is good."

Stjepan gives a grunt. "That sounds unpleasant but sudden. It get you right through your magic shields?" He nods. "And goblins wonder why I don't like it when they carry their guns over their shoulders, pointed up." There's a pause. "We can always leave Aryia there, and I can transport her to the Soldier's Defence when we're done."

"Thank you," she replies to Braelnoir at showing her the sign. Probably won't remember that when she sobers up, but it was nice nonehtless.

She silently giggles and kicks her legs idly under the table as she was poured another glass and drags it over to herself. Though, she pauses, looking at the sith-makar. With a sigh, she holds up a single finger, and points to the minty wine.

Aryia listens, not moving, the wine held aloft in the air. She touches her sternum, an uncomfortable look on her face. What if something as insane happened to her on one of her jobs? She gives a low whistle after a moment to process it.

She picks up her pen and sloppily scribbles, "Ill b fyne, dont wory." The letter y is dragged out until it goes off the page.

Paenitia stares at Mikilos, eyes wide. She nods slowly. "That is a fantastical story, but I do not doubt it. I am glad you survive. I would stay home too after that!"

"You are bigger," She answers Stjepan, then looks towards Braelnoir, "Either of you can have the talk. She seem happy being the criminal enforcer but maybe you bash sense into her."

The silverscale's observation draws a comment from her. "Yes. It a concern. Armour is most useless against them, but I am reluctant to make the dishonourable attacks."

The Red Knight shrugs a little, "If they all were armed with them, I might have suggest the sneak sniping. With one, it being so expensive, it worth giving him the option to surrender."

She watches Aryia write. Concern, sympathy, whatever she feels or is thinking, it's hidden. She nods slightly, looking to Seyardu, "We make sure she get home safe. If she want a little more wine, the time to have stop her drink has past today."

Mikilos grins and barks a laugh. "Guess my luck did balance. Landed on the dock, rather than in the water, in front of a cleric friend. She was able to use a Breath of Life spell to drag me back. Still left a hole in me, but one not all the way through, and with a beating heart in it. Owed Jessa big for that save."

Stjepan nods slowly. "Yes If you're going to land in front of someone like that, Jessa is one to do it in front of." He nods to Paenitia. "There's always someone bigger. I can always have the talk." He pushes the grubs away. "Don't want to take the pleasure away from the rest of you."

"Sure thing, luvvie." Brae replies cheerfully to the silent thanks, then, looking between the speakers as they make note of Aryia's inebriation, she reaches into one of her bandolier pouches and withdraws a small gree vial and sets it on the table next to her, "In'morning, luv, I'd uncork that an' toss it back fast. Tastes viler'n ogre shit, but it'll solve that hangover quick, fast, an' in a hurry."

She shrugs then and nods, "Glad ya come back, luv. But" she looks to Seyardu, "Yeah, artifice can do some damned funky shit t'ya. Wierdest it ever done me was in'n Inn, atchally. Over near the western wall."

Then to Paenitia, "Sometimes only way ta win is t'level the board. Sucker'm inta yer playground, don't join'm in his."

The sith'makar sighs wistfully, shaking her head.

"That is good they were able to do that. I wish I was capable of such things to be honest, but I am happy with what I have. Still, just healing a few injured people leaves me completely spent.

Aryia's lips make a small 'o' shape at the vial, her gladly taking it and gesturing another "Thank you." It felt strange, having others actually keeping your best interests. It pulls a smile onto her lips as she stows it away in her side bag.

Too bad she's not going to remember the it tasting like shit part.

She takes a small sip of the drink, the minty flavor making her cough a few times. But strangely, it helped quite a bit with her throat. She imbibes more. "Guns loud. Annoying sound for a few minutes very annoying," she mentions with a free hand. <Handspeech>

"I keep a look out for this Jessa then!" Paenitia says happily, following it with a bit of a teasing response to Stjepan, "That, you do not have to tell me."

She's a Lucht where many Lucht are the someone taller, to say nothing of the absurdly oversized 'normal' folk, or the giantblooded ones either.

"The playing field we stuck in was not a great one. Tight alleyways, close trees." The Red Knight shrugs, "I work with what I can."

She follows this with a sip of her mint wine, letting it swirl around her mouth before she swallows. She carefully adjusts her hat and mask, checking her curls. "So, the story for you, or you?" She indicates Stjepan and Braelnoir, mask facing the Merc, "How the artifice mess you up in an Inn? It put you in the wrong pants?"

Mikilos sighs. "Have to admit guns are effective. But I don't like them. Much rather find a solution that makes everyone happy. But that can be rough when dealing with undead, or deamons."

Stjepan glances to Paenitia. "If you let me know where that warehouse is..." He shrugs. 'I' ve got stories -- not sure my employers pay me to tell the best ones, but...' He shakes his head. "Don't want to talk about too much artifice, though." He nods. "I know some good gunners, but the best seem to mix them with magic."

"Undead, yes, I've heard stories about them. Part of the reason why my kind burn their dead. Better and safer, and more respectful to their memory." Seyardu nods. "Doesn't stop other sources, though, but I am lucky enough to have not run into any in my travels."

"I apologize if I have so little to talk about. I am not really used to this, at all, and I haven't done much to talk about. So more stories from someone else would be good to listen to, at the very least."

Guns, magic, undead, daemons. A lot of it was going over Aryia's head, and making her recall her conversation with Thurid about feeling inadequate. That lead to her ending up draining the rest of her wine. And ending up getting just past the point where she couldn't hold herself up any longer.

So she slowly creaks sideways until she was resting against Seyardu's flank. A jug of water is pulled closer, the shadow elf sipping from it as everyone talks. Hazy eyes flicking from one person to the next.

Braelnoir nods, "Still think th'Guild should come up with trainin' and such." she notes to Paenitia, holdin' up a hand, "That ain't nothing 'gainst you, but this was a Guild job, right?" Her head cocks a smidge and her brow piques, "Never worked much together before? Sometimes that'll keep th'team from counterin' a bad field." She's more than a little curious how 'tight alleyways' would impair someone the Lucht's scale, but that's a buddy convo over steaks an' beers sort of conversation. She just hasn't got that kinda cred, she figures, "Done some alley fightin, mebbe we can work up something, later." she offers.

She hmmm's softly to Paenitia, about to perhaps answer on the pants remeark, then, "I can tell ya'll about that one in a bit, though... in a way ya could say that."

"We can lay off th'artifice if ya like." she notes to Stjepan, then, "Well, I gotta more recent story, but't comes with a warning. Also tied ta that Resurrectionist bizness."

There's a little frown to Seyardu and she shakes her head, "Don't sweat th'little stuff, luvvie. W'all start, sometime. I's a merc fer years, long'for I joined the Guild. Everyone's got different upbringings, differen't things brought'm here. Unead though... yeah, them'r always best destroyed."

"There a map in Aryia's book, I think. I find the address for you." Paenitia promises Stjepan. Seyardu gets her attention next, "I fight a gnome skeleton in a trough of blood once. The burning seems a good idea, but it would not have work on this one. The time... was strange."

A somewhat confusing explanation that seems to be missing many pieces. Perhaps the little Lucht has had too many cups as well.

"You are right, it was a guild job. Thurid offer to wrestle us, but the training is a good idea. Aryia and I, we work together a bit. It help. There are some others too. There a Golem, where things not go well. Ah well."

She sets her elbows on the table, leans and looks at Braelnoir, "So, what the story and the warning?"

Stjepan grins at Braelnoir. "Getting tied down to a table in Merkabah's still pretty fresh." He nods. "They're handing out a lot of jobs lately." He focuses on Braelnoir, hands folding under his chin.

Aryia. Good, sweet little Aryia raises a hand to the sky, and lets it careen downwards to her open journal with a heavy slap. Slowly, she drags it over, the leather scraping against wood as the others talk and she continues to down water like a thirsty fish. She flips to the middle, her doing her very best to do one tiny job.

The pugilist snerks, grinning to herself. "F-d -t!" she hisses and tuts, ripping out the page and throwing it in the general direction of Stjepan. The loose page flitters around a bit, it landing in the grub bowl.

On it is a rough map of the Warehouse District, with a big circle around one warehouse labeled 'B12'.

Before any thanks could be given, the elf was fast asleep against the silverscale, an empty jug of water in hand and snoozing without a care in the world. And for once, she actually looks relaxed.

Mikilos waves vaugely around the table. "This. Shareing stories, shareing info and tactics, networking. Not exactly training, but it works. Getting a team that works together is great, but Guild can't always promise the same team. Have to work with what does okay with whimever ya end up with."

"We'll start with th'warning." Brae says, her mood dampening, some, "There's a hob woman, named Firestarter, orangy skin, has a gauntlet a lot like this'n, here." she begins, holding up her spikeshod hand, "Tough an' smart. Sh'might be working with a blonde bard named Lars. Pretty enough fella, but'es an absolute bastard. He likes charmin' folk on the sly." She glances around, "Ladies 'specialy. He's been stringing her along with magic fer a while, now... an I can't seem ta get enough of a drop on'm ta stop him charmin' me, too."

She notes Aryia cashing in and nods with a little grin, "Think we'll b carryin' her home."

The it's to Mikilos and she nods, "True, that. Sometimes all we got ta rely on is each other, an' hearsay of what's going on. Why I'm sharin' this particular tidbit, though I ain't fond o'airin m'failins, ya know?"

A shrug, then she crosses her legs at the knee and sits forward, propping her chin n her upraised palm, so her head kinda bounes a little as she talks, "So, I run inta Thurid, an' a falla named Zaxx outside th'hall, here, talking ta 'Star. Lookin' fer muscle fer one'a Lars's schemes." A sigh, then, "We let 'Star head in first, an' I warned folk about Lars, then we stepped on in after."

She gives a little shrug, "Somethin' happened.... an I'm missin a few moments, here, but we end up havin' ta teleport out to a place in the desert where there's a huge floating-formerly floating-island..."

Paenitia watches Braelnoir as she speaks. She's kicking her feet under the table, though this slows, then stops as the merc elaborates further and further on Lars and his 'charming' behaviours.

"We will see her home, the silver sith and I. She will be ok."

"Thurid I know. Zaxx, I do not. Oh! She was talking about islands before, but I too late to hear all the details! Yes. Go on." You paged Stjepan with 'heee!'

Mikilos frowns mildly, nodding at Brae's tale. "Keep think I should try and track down this Lars guy myself. Put a disjunction on him or something."

Stjepan adds, "Or one of those compulsions that they laid on Merek. 'Hey Lars, stop being a charming asshole.'"

"Forcing people to do work against their will. I feel as if they do not stop at 'Lay down your weapons and lets talk peacefully'" Seyardu says quietly. "Sounds dangerous if they're convincing people like that. Could hurt two people at once, forcing someone to do something questionable. I understand why you would want to stop them." "But yes, we can see her home. I know the inn she stays at, and I'm sure they would help us find her room. One of the men who works there, I treated their daughter when she came in sink to the temple. Should trust me enough to help someone home."

Braelnoir nods, "Yeah, well, we end up dirtside near one of'm. Round, split by a big crack up th'middle." a wry quirk of her lips, "The jokes write'mselves."

She breaks off a moment, looking first to Miki, with a, "I really wanna kill'm. Happy ta settle fer knowin 'Star's free of'm, but..." and then she scowls darkly toward Stjepan, "Poetry aside, I ain't one ta'slave someone's mind, n'matter how much I hate'm."

Ahem, "So... anyway, we step on in toward the crack and a big, red, false dragon stalks on out an' lights us up with's fire breath, right?"

Stjepan nods to Braelnoir. "I hear that. So, the fierce, false dragon came out of the crack -- was there a spicy dinner involved?" Paenitia bursts out laughing, and it continues for some time. She chuckles at Stjepan, "You know the food!"

Tracking down Lars is sort of easy and sort of hard. He, for example, has a Guild membership and lots of glowing reviews about how great a leader he is.

Which, Of course he does.

Seyardu blinks. "You speak of false dragons and cracks, spicy food. I feel as if I am missing something." The sith'makar notes, nonplussed. "It does not sound like a laughing matter to me, to be honest."

"How do you tell the false dragon from the real one?" Paenitia asks in all seriousness, although there's a slight snicker at the end. She shakes her head at Seyardu, "It is not the good joke, I cannot explain."

Stjepan points out, "I've known enough Tairenites that'll tell you that everythings a laughing matter if you look at it right."

The Red Knight giggles some more, "I am laughing. I am not explaining!"

Stjepan laughs, "As am I, and now, goodbye. There's something I must look into." Lars, the Redhead. Y'know, important things. He heads out.

A snerk, "The come with their own sauces." Brae returns, a playful 'Smartass' in glimmer of her eyes. She blinks at Seyardu, then reembers not all sith see 'softskin' humor the same way, "The island looked like one of our hind-ends, luv, tha's all. Spicy food sometimes makes fer regrets down there, later on."

Ahem, two.

"These're big, big bastards. Look fer all'a world like the dragons out of the stories, but tehy ain't got wings." She straightens some and twists, to pull a really rather large fang, the size of a really long dagger, from one of her bandlier pouches and sets it down in a slow, wobbling spin on the table, "Snoot ta tail? Mebbe... That wall." she points one way, then, "ta that one, give'r take."

Mikilos frowns mildly. "Wyrms, or drakes. The etomology has always been fuzzy. I suppose 'fake dragon' is as good a term as any."

Paenitia reaches over to take the tooth, her gauntletted hand hovering over it to signal intention and wait for permission. Taking no 'no' as a yes, after a minute she picks it up to examine it, presses the tip into the leather of her glove. Her head turns, to check the references, "That is huge. Thirty feet? Forty Five? That is a big beast."

"Ah, I understand. I have never had such concerns with spicy foods, they are one of the things I do add to my own meals. It is as large, or as long as a true dragon. Maybe longer." The sith'makar notes. "But a false dragon is not expected to be friendly, or helpful to folks in need. Not a servant of the gods like most."

Mikilos mmmms. "True dragons can be quite small, when young... or ancient and wanting to appear young. And quite a few are not friendly."

Mikilos falls quiet, listening and sipping mint wine, but not really adding more to the conversation.

Braelnoir shrugs, "They didn't have much ta say, anyway." she replies, "Anyway, Thurid calls upon Th'Brother fer his blessing, an' there's a loud peal o'thunder, an'... suddenly we're all really, really jazzed, right? Like... we can just do... 'more' in the time we got. It takes a swipe at'er, then just goes absolutely bozo on'r. Bites through'r armor at least once, but it can't land the claws. Th'gap is kinda tight fer something his size, bound up's swings a bit I reckon."

"Star moves in ta support Thurid, an the critter gets a good wound on'r, but Firestarter's fist takes some scales off's snoot. Meanwhile, Lars decides ta actchally be useful... prolly cuz his ass's on the line, too, right? He starts singing a proper Korite war song, gets the fire goin'. Meanwhile, Zaxx is goin' ta town with those bitty hand crossbows. Did some kinda magic on'm, the bolts sunk right inta it's chest, wreathed in bright, blue light."

She reindexes the scythe that's been propped over her shoulder all night, smiling up at the blade now arcing upward over her shoulder, "I charge, an' I catch'm right about...." Her spiked hand pokes about halfway out along her right clavicle, "There, an' I open'm up ta th'Gods damned hip." A point she emphasises by trailing her index finger along her side to about where her thigh creases her trousers. "An' I get drenched."

more to come...