The Time after the Time of Our Lives
Log Info
- Title: The Time after the Time of Our Lives
- Emitter: Aryia
- Characters: Aryia, Paenitia, Jinks, Seyardu, Randolf, Irshya, Lyme
- Place: A03 The TarRaCe
- Time: Saturday, December 11, 2021, 6:38 PM
- Summary: Most of the Time Trippers meet in the TarRaCe to drink and discuss just what happened, and perhaps find a bard to clean up their story, and a wizard to explain what happen. They get Jinks and Randolf. Their tale starts off downstairs, but moves upstairs as Paenitia starts carving into tables and the details become confidential. They attempt to resolve the time loops they experienced, the ordering of the loops, and possible the root cause. Were they the instigators, or is it because Time is Bleeding? Some details are written down, but it's still hard to concentrate on even with the mind softened by alcohol. They move onto the 'Great Work' that is being undertaken by the Temples. A great work that has excluded them from worship, for secretive reasons that are safe to share with merchant guilds, but not the Adventurer's guild. Bitter recriminations of the Alexandrian Nobles are raised, as well as the civic authority, and the ways they have both endangered the low rank soldiers and populace. To say nothing of protecting compromised nobles that directly serve demons, and shipped hundreds of people to Charn as statues. Lives would have been saved if a couple nobles had been killed and not turned over to the judicial process. The City must answer for this. Jinks and Seyardu advise caution, while Aryia, Lyme and Paenitia indicate that foolish policies will have consequences. Nature finds a way. Paenitia and Randolf resolve to go speak to someone high up, even challenge their authority, to see if their hearts lie in protecting the people or protecting themselves. The truth finds a way also.
-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-<* The TarRaCe *>--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-
Inside, this two-story structure has been almost completely opened up. Generous windows on both stories allow daytime sunlight and cooling night breezes to flow in as needed, while the brick walls have been whitewashed - contrasting with the dark-stained beams and supports, and the rich polish on the wooden floor. A broad strip of stone runs from the entrance to a framed doorway set into the opposite wall, with a sign above the lintel declaring that the baths are to be found that way.
The ground floor is sprinkled with tables and chairs of assorted sizes, offering welcome to guests both large and small. One whole corner of the building - into which guests are not permitted entry - has been given over to the kitchen, which serves as the domain of the famed monster chef Ligum Serforus. Mundane meals are available, but the chef delights in offering up obscure dishes made from the freshest of monster ingredients.
Opposite the kitchen a small bar runs in front of an array of shelves, displaying a broad selection of beverages (most of them alcoholic). The bar-top has been fashioned from what looks to have been old pieces of armor, fused and welded together before being polished to provide a near-smooth finish. Set above it, three human-sized statues have been built into an alcove in the wall: Tarien, Rada and Ceinara jointly keep benevolent watch over the room and its occupants.
To the right of the entrance, a small stage offers a platform for a handful of performers at a time. To the left of the door, a spiral staircase of wrought iron winds its way up to a balcony dining area, that is chiefly reserved for special events and parties.
-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Appearing, in Order -=-=-=-=-=-=-= Paenitia 3'0" 34 Lb Halfling Female A Lucht knight, dark skinned in bold feathery finery. Aryia 4'8" 110 Lb Shadow Elf Female A heavily scarred mul with a resolved look about her. Jinks 3'4" 39 Lb Gnome Male A gnomish fellow in fancy garb and jewelry. Seyardu 5'6" 150 Lb Sith-Makar Female A friendly silver sith-makar with a perpetual squint. Randolf 4'10" 280 Lb Mountain Dwarf Male A burly, well-dressed Khazad in wizardly robes. Irshya 3'0" 35 Lb Goblin Female A small, blue-skinned Goblin in sea-green robes. Lyme 7'2" 435 Lb Orc Butch Black-skinned oruch of suitable stature. -=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--= -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Course Correcting -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Whirlpool Otyugh I am stinky! -=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=
The TarRaCe, evening.
The hustle and bustle is live and well, folks wanting warding against the ice and chill of the night air. The motions of the eve are like any other creeping winter day. Yet no suave host greets those that enter.
The door, however, greets the wall with a >bang!<, an azure boot having kicked it ajar.
A scarred mul'neissa woman stides in with her face set in a somewhat blank, distant expression. She strides to a table, ignoring those that stopped to watch the entrance, claims it, and orders a whole bottle of liquor.
The initial commotion at the entrance is followed bay a more restrained one. Smaller and contained, at the very least. A halfling knight in a suit of red armour walks in. Her stride is not a jovial one, it might even be described as grim. With a stylized face on her helmet visor, that of a widely grinning man, the combination of gait and expression is eerie.
She gets a few steps in before there is a struggling, a squawking, and peacock-andalusian hippogryph struggling to get his horse hind and tailfeathers in.
"No! Ramirez, do not! He is not here, they go. The white bird go to. NO." Usually Paenitia can hold back her mount, but today wild horses couldn't, and he is half-horse. The peacock squeezes his way in, 'Ruaaaaaah!' announces himself, then crouches and claws into the bathhouse.
There are distant screams, shouts, and splashes.
The Red Knight watches the last of white and crimson tailfeathers wind through the door. "It be fine. We should not have take him from hot Veyshan to cold Alexandria so abrupt."
The balcony hosts a small, private party; Jinks and two smaller gnomes in equally-fancy dress. A small army of mismatched candles burn around them as they eat, smile, and chat with each other. They've been at it for awhile judging by the scattered plates and emptied glasses, half-eaten foods, a low pitcher of water, and at least one spent bottle. Then there's a bang.
Chuckling, the minstrel leans back, quirking an eyebrow as he looks down from on high. His smile dips, briefly, and he asides something to his companions. Standing, he drops a considerable amount of coins on his table and stands.
The gnome quits the table and the illusion pulls back in his wake like a fluttering cloak. The candles wink out one after the other and the children vanish, their plates stacked with cold, untouched meals. The water pitcher is full on the table between two chairs still pushed in. Jinks hums to himself as he lights down the stairs on shoes so soft they make no sound.
He has the bottle by the neck and works through the late-supper crowd towards familiar faces that haven't been woven from fantasy.
Seyardu had little to do that day, no plans due to being unsure they would land in the city that day. But when Aryia and Paenitia resolved themselves to go to the Tarrace, partly out of concern, partly out of desire, she joined the others at the establishment. She was slow to reach there, but eventually she joined them in the building, missing most of the commotion for the time being.
The cleric joins Aryia at the bar, and says little for the time being.
Aryia couldn't help but let a faint smile twitch at her lips at seeing Rameriez's antics. She couldn't fault the bird, the temperature change sucks. The mute gives Paenitia a nod in agreement. The same door kicking boot gently shoves out chairs from the table for others to sit.
She purses her lips, leans back in her chair, and closes her eyes. She, like Seyardu, motions nothing just yet.
And with the commotion, doesn't notice her smallfolk friend approaching.
Paenitia returns Aryia's nod as her helmet pans and she looks around the establishment. Movement upstairs catches her attention and she remains stationary for a moment, watching. Her expression, as always, is hidden by the fixed, maniac grin. There's something in the tilt of her hat, the way in which she stands. She didn't miss the dinner party, the dissolution, and even perhaps its significance.
Her stride resumes, this time with an almost comical, eager bound towards the table Aryia has selected. This is followed by her laughable struggle to climb into a seat that is not 'right-sized'. A belly-flop onto the seat of it, her shiny heiny as she wriggles up and finally sits. With her mask nose-level to the table.
"Hola musical one. Come sit." She waves at Jinks, "There the much drinking to do."
Randolf pushes open the door and trundles into the Tarrace with a dour, angry furrow to his shaggy brows. He makes his way to the bar, hopping up into one of the dwarf-height stools. "Whiskey," he grumbles. He seems to be in a surlier mood than usual, but he glances around to nod at his friends. "Sey. Peace on yer nest. Ariya, Jinks. Paenitia. All right?" He digs some coins out of his pocket to pay for his drink, slugging it back. "Give -me- a ninety-seven, will ye? Doddering -git-," he grumbles. "That thesis were a bloody work of -art- an' he bloody well -knows- it."
Jinks sucks his teeth and lifts his half-drunk bottle with a grin, "Without noble Ramirez to carry you, paladina, you've fallen behind." He mounts one of the taller stools displaying a dancer's grace, stepping up the rungs and twisting to sit. Firmly planted and supremely smug, he takes a long drink from the bottle he's brought with him.
Glittering at his chest draws his eyes down and he smoothly tucks a locket back into his shirt. His suit is a creamy-orange bordering on pink, contrasted sharply with a single wide, black lapel and narrow, expert trim in the same black. His jewelry is gold and dangly tonight.
"So, who died?" he wonders idly, glancing sideways before he goes for another drink.
Seyardu sighs and places an order for a glass of juice mixed with some strong alcohol, vague, but something could be sorted no doubt. She finds one of the specially made stools for sith-makar, and she pulls one over to the table before she sits down, finding Jinks and Paenitia there, and Randolf approaching.
"Peace on your nest as well, Randolf. And you as well, Jinks. No, there are no deaths. It is complicated, however. To put it simply, our month several week journey, it turned out to be several weeks plus one, as we were forced to relive one week in the city. And, who knows how many more weeks repeated that are forgotten completely."
Aryia sees through the Red Knight's bubbling demeanor, her softly sighing and shaking her head. She reaches out, patting them on the pauldron with a soft 'clank-clank',
She finally spots Jinks as Paenitia calls out to him. She too kicks out a chair for him as he arrives. And reaches over to pull one over for Randolf. "Hey," she finally motions, to the dwarvish man first. She doesn't answer the question just yet.
Jinks' blunt question makes a flinch goes across the elf's frame, her rubbing at her face as a bottle of something is delivered, along with glasses for all. She pours herself and the others one.
She pinches the bridge of her nose, taking a long pull on the harsh liquor, then, finally, signs what she feels like was on everyone's mind. "Right, so, first off, what the fuck? Second. Yes. To put it simply, we got stuck in a time loop. And for fuck's sake, my brain is fried." <Handspeech>
"Aryia died." The Red Knight says, sounding grim enough to be serious. A moment passes, another. Comedic timing suggests the punchline comes now. Instead, Paenitia beckons Randolf closer, "Set up the shots, we need the talk."
The Smiling Man mask grins at Jinks as she looks up at him, in his right-sized tall chair. She'll occupy the seat of one too large, perhaps it reminds her of being in the saddle.
"You are the troubadour and the story man, so we have the tale for you to clean up and make us amazing." She lightly slaps at Jinks' thigh, but any slap with an adamantine gauntlet can hardly be called 'light'.
"And you," She points at Randolf, "maybe you understand the things we see that happen. We travel back time, many times, like the friend dragon say. The thing out of time hunt us."
"I am nearly anilhisliated," her voice rises suddenly, followed by a laugh, "but I get better! It is only the pain!"
"My condolences," Jinks chuckles at Aryia as he toasts with his bottle and licks his lips. "And welcome back, all."
Leaning forward, the gnome sets his bottle down and laces his fingers together against his stomach. He takes a moment to consider Aryia, Seyardu, and Paenitia (though the mask makes her emotional state nigh-inscrutable) each in turn. Then, catching them up, he offers "I've bought a proper couch. A table with proper-sized chairs. A wall mirror for the bedroom... oh! And a rather handsome armoire."
Randolf harrumphs. "Who's died? My perfect four-oh grade average, -that's- who's died!" he grumbles. He slugs back another swallow of whiskey. "Three bloody points because I dinnae cite -one bloody source-. An' it was me -own- bloody research! That's just asinine! Am I meant tae be citin' -meself-, now? Bah!" He grumbles and growls, his mood thoroughly shot. But hearing what's befallen the others quiets him down a bit. As devastating as loss of a perfect grade average might be, this is probably worse.
Aryia tuts at Paenitia, her shaking her head. "Not me. But it was me. A different me. Shit, that me was ugly." She slides the shots out to those that want one as she pours herself another.
"Yes, we'd need it spun well. Was a confusing as fuck time..."
She does offer a light smile to Jinks. "That's really nice. I got my own place recently, ordered a few pieces of furniture from a friend. I'd like to see your place some time, if you'll have me."<Handspeech>
"A toast to your grade average" Paenitia asks, picking up a shot of whiskey. She tilts her visor and hat back enough that she can knock the drink back. What might be seen of her face is obscured by her gauntlets. The glass is carefully set down as her 'face' snaps back into place.
"Two guards, maybe more, we do not see who they fight in the jail. Seven is the number? I think, of the priests of Navos, plus Shaevin. The High Priestess of Taara promise to bring them back. Some of them. The resurrections, they are expensive, but not so much as the favour to Taara." The Red Knight counts off her fingers, "so ten, maybe more, that die, and the Aryia from the other time. Eleven."
There's a squeak as her helm faces Jinks once again, "Did you get the small fold out bed for the guests?" Followed by a nudge-nudge of her armoured elbow. If there's a wink or two in Aryia's direction it's impossible to tell with her visor, but she says no more.
"The last time I had tallmen guests was... quite dramatic so I imagine the second time can only go more smoothly." Jinks smirks and nods at Aryia. A glance at Paenitia and he adds, "The chaise has proven adequate... (or the closet)." He mutters the last bit into the neck of his bottle before draining it down to nothing. There's a move almost as if he means to throw the bottle-- but he catches himself smoothly and sets it on tabletop instead.
"Mulria's sideways smile," he curses, takes a shot, mimes a quick spit, and then downs it. He leans back far enough that he catches his balance with his toes on the underside of the table. Bouncing back with a contented sigh. "I've fought with myself before but in the more narrative/inner-turmoil sense," he waves his hands through the air, rolling at his wrist. "How was the Shadowveil involved?"
Tilting his head at Randolf, the minstel offers, "If rote work will settle your irritation I'd be happy to commission you a scroll to dispel magics. I could use one for my collections..."
"Yes, you are supposed to be citing yourself, as the source of the information matters. It is important to be able to cross reference the information in relation to other studies, and the additional work and publications of a specific scholar." Seyardu corrects, but then she just sighs and takes her glass which has arrived quickly. Orange juice and alcohol.
"Anyways, yes, there were several slain. And, I suppose a group of them died twice, as fate had it that they had to die. The other Aryia was shrouded in shadows the entire time, and invisible to an arbritrator of time, but not unknown. They thought they were us, and corrupted as they were from going through numerous loops, could barely tell us from them, and thought we were the problem. And, I can not say for certain we were not the problem, after all of that. Which is what has left me so confused ever since we seemed to have resolved it."
Aryia nods along with Paenitia, affirming her part of the story before snickering at the suggestion. She raises a brow at Jinks, not bothering to figure out what sort of dramatics happened there. There's a blink as the bottle raises to be thrown, yet it never comes. She just sighs and shakes her head. Not understanding this bit about citing work and grade point averages. "And the other me was so.. so angry. At... everything. And so many weird fucking teeth."
She knocks back another one. Then signs once more. "The damn bird said time was bleeding. And that we-" she gestures to the party that went on the adventure,- "and we had the beginnings of it in us. Whatever the fuck that means." <Handspeech>
"Where to start the tale?" Paenitia says, drawing a line on the table. scratching it into the wood with her armoured fingertip. "It was, the two days in Tashraan, that was the weeks of looping, that feel like months."
She scratches a mark, "We arrive," another mark, "overnight, then go to the bazaar, follow the bidders around." The next mark is shorters, "we go the auction, we wait, we see things change as we bid on them. After, we speak Akoniril, then go see Farland's friend, Shaevin. We talk him, come back."
A third mark representing a day is made, "In the night, the guards come for us, take us to the jail, ask the questions. All the day, we escape, go to the Temple of Navos, fight the Priests who is summon the thing from the void."
Another long line, then an arc that circles back, "Then the official Navosian Time Fuckery start. We go back, to here, the week before. We have already gone back," she draws a second arc, "because that fail. We see all ourselves in that." She draws a third arc, "maybe, this the arc where the Sharp Toothed Aryia travel. It the third, but it perhaps the first. The evidence and observe order is the reverse of the happening order."
She taps at the first and second arc, "We are chased by the Time Hunter, both of these." Her grinning mask looks to the left, to the right, "You want the next drink? I do! What the game best for the time travelling trip ups?"
"Was there any indication the temperance-- Time's Father's holyman-- what was his business with the V--" Jinks' brow furrows and the frown he dips postpones his drink an annoyed beat. He looks around the pub and smooths his goatee.
"I have the balcony reserved for the evening if we wish to take this conversation away from the press of the common man." The gnome tilts his head back towards the upstairs dining area. "I'm sure the paladina would like to know about the Great Work and neither topic seems appropriate on the open floor."
"You forgot the part where those summoning the creature of the void were missing parts of themselves. Not in a wound sort of way, just, pieces missing." Seyardu sighs. "Just, halves of heads, pieces out of arms, eyes, all missing, and seeming to not impair function at all."
The cleric takes her drink in one hand at the suggestion, and her stool in the other, and makes her way upstairs to find a table, where she waits before continuing. "I did not feel bad for Shaevin at first, and then, I did after the fact, even if they are not the least abrasive normally. It seemed the excessive manipulation of time is what led to him being in that state in the first place, same with the bird time warden. And we have not found the source of the problem."
"You should tell Paenitia about the great work. It is a good joke, one I am sure that Tarien would enjoy." Randolf reaches into his robe's inner pocket for his pipe and tobacco pouch, filling the bowl and firing it up with a conjured spark. He listens to the tale, puffing sweet vanilla-honey smoke into the air. His expression dour, but more somber now than frustrated. A small ding to his grade point average he can probably recover from, after all. This is quite a bit more involved, not to mention dangerous.
Aryia makes a splendid background actor for Paenitia's recounting and Seyardu's additions. Filled with scowls, scoffs, eye rolls and snerks at each of the moments that are spoken of. When the looping back starts, her brows knit and she rubs the side of her head. Confused still by the whole ordeal, and left with perhaps a tiiinge of existential dread.
She pours another one out for Paenitia at the request, and shrugs at the mention of a game. Brain to fried to recognize it was a jest. Or was it?
She frowns a bit at the mention of the Great Work. Another sigh, and she scoops up the bottle, rising to her feet and heading upstairs with the others. She settles in. And a loud snort erupts from the elf. "Yes, it's a big fucking joke." <Handspeech>
There is a distant, muffled squawk of a very large bird, and the sounds of splashing. A small wave of water escapes under the bathhouse door and spreads across the dining all.
Paenitia turns her head to look. She turns it back. "The upstairs sound good, even the cold food, and I have the curiosity for the Great Work I am not the paladin enough to help with. The laugh will be good."
She stands, on her chair. She moves all her shot glasses to the edge of the table. She hops to the floor with a clank. Taking a tray, she blindly transfers her drinks. It seems she knows her way around a restaurant.
"I am ready for the stairs. Lead the way." She makes a trumpet noise that is a partial reveille. "The missing bits is the detail on a line, the line and loops the more important. I am not sure the Hunter corrupted by time travel, just blind and not sure which line it on."
She heads for the stairs.
The efficient staff of the Tarrace have already cleared the leavings (and payment) and spared Jinks an awkward conversation. The scant few tables that occupy the upper floor are arranged neatly, freshly-cleaned, and waiting for the next arrivals. So that's handy.
Jinks resumes his line of questions at the top of the stairs, crossing the short distance to a seat as he speaks. "The temperance; was he cut off from Time's Father? Or could he still use his divine magics? Tampering with the Void seems outside the god's dogma even if he's quit the table of Light a decade past.
"Did he know who Farland was? Could this act have been some desperation in the face of Animus returning to unseat Ti-- Navos?" It's easy to forget how well-versed the drunken dandy was in these things considering his day-to-day antics.
"Coyote laughs, this is all too much... 'fucking madness' to borrow a local phrase." Jinks mutters and shakes his head. He curls his tongue in his mouth and issues a painful, piercing whistle through his teeth. When the barkeep flinches and looks up the gnome displays four platinum coins supported between his splayed fingers and makes a drinky-drinky motion.
More booze is required.
Randolf headtilts curiously as everyone starts moving upstairs. Slugging back the last of his whiskey, he hops to his feet and lumbers up the stairs along with everyone else. "I have -no- bloomin' idea what ye all are talkin' about," he grumbles. "But yer my friends. I don't know if there's anything -I- can do tae help, but if I can... well, I want to."
"Do not feel bad about it, Paenitia. It seems I am not enough of a cleric of Althea to be in the know of what they are planning, either." The makari weakly chuckles, reaching for her drink to sip on for a moment. "They are purposefully leaving us out of the know, for what reason, it can only be guessed for the moment."
At the questions, Seyardu takes a moment to think, and then she shakes her head. "I can not tell, he was silenced during the fighting, and they were not to be trusted when we first met them."
"He knew Farland, he had us seek them out in the first place, but I do not believe they were a bad person to begin with. They had the tree branch speared through them, yes, but they were not bad."
Aryia peers over the edge as she hears water splashing about, though she leans back into her chair. Pretending to not see or hear it. She'll help Irshya clean up whatever happened in there tomorrow.
She shrugs at Jinks' question. "I don't know. Maybe his magic swapped over to the Void? Yes, he knew F-A-R-L-A-N-D."
The whistle makes the sensitive eared elf cringe, her sticking a pinkie into one and rubbing. "It's alright Randolf, it's all very confusing. Just... take whatever the city says with a massive fucking grain of salt."
She squints at Seyardu. "... tree branch?" she asks, confused slightly. <Handspeech>
"The answer regards the Temperance, the first time, maybe he cut off. He leave us, come back, bid us stay. When we meet him later, the full day later, he try to cast and seem surprise. So, no divine magics then." Paenitia explains, "He know Farland, they have the history, that seem clear on the first meet we all have. He explain us, that Feed the Void is the act to reset the problem we discover."
She goes silent for a moment, first unloading her drinks on the table, then time finding a right-sized chair and making the awkward, armoured climb, "The problem we discover, is the problem we cause by going back, by one or all of us."
She stares at the table. Her nice marks and marrs removed. "Maybe you can make the line of Time in the notebook Aryia, so we do not have to bring the table with us."
More thoughtful silence, the grinning mask fixed on the drinks, "The Time Bleeding. Maybe that the initiate action. Oh the cause and effect so mess up with the Time Trippings."
Randolf sits himself down, glancing around as he resumes his steady puffing. Everything seems to be just soaring over the poor dwarf's head, and it's a feeling he doesn't much care for. "Wait, wait, wait... Navos... -the- Navos? The God o' History? Ye all came face tae face wi' a -god-?" He furrows his brow, then looks over to the tray of drinks Paenitia brought. He reaches over to snag one. "Mind if I borrow this?" Without waiting for an answer, he tosses back the shot, setting the empty glass back on the tray. "Don't rightly know what I'd do if -I- found meself before a god," he mutters around his pipe. "Probably faint dead away, I'll warrant."
Jinks sucks at his teeth, glancing down from the balcony at the barkeep again. He's impatient for the drink. A glance at Randolf is enough to distract him. "Navos used to sit at the table of Light. He joined the pantheon of Twilight when Animus was killed by Taara and he-- Navos-- stepped in to fill the vacancy. Near-on the same time Kosomoth was killed... but that's another matter entirely." The gnome pauses and closes his eyes, sorting his thoughts before continuing. "This was all shortly before Alexandria was swallowed by the mists and thrust through time. Animus had held Magic in His purview before his death, whereupon Taara and Eluna warred over its control.
"Farland is a Ressurectionist. A group of people who aim to bring Animus back to... life? Existence? Power? He was a God. They seek to resurrect him; their name is the subtlest of clues..."
The gnome raises a hand for quiet when the server arrives with a platter of bottles. All shapes and sizes. Green glass, clear, amber, and brown. Tall, short, round, and straight. Jinks pays the four octagonal, polished coins, and smiles pleasantly his thanks. He cranes his neck as the boy descends and waits until they're at the stairwell's base before continuing.
"The temperance would be a cleric of Navos."
He's sitting on his own news for the time being; one thing at a time.
Aryia bobs her head towards Paenitia, her pulling out her journal and flipping to a fresh page. She leans over the side slightly, putting her shades on briefly to see the etching from up on high and copies it down. She returns, shaking her head at Randolf and sliding her journal over to the Red Knight, the drawing recreated.
She sits in on the history lesson, sipping on her third shot, her raising the bottle as he gets the table drinks for all. She nabs one for herself.
The Red Knight nods, "Griva, the head resurrectionist, the bossman of Farland. She send us on the things, the search for documents in the warehouse, the Reliquary of Ahazi. There are the other tasks adventurers do, go to the desolation and make a play, a few more. So, she is commit to Animus."
"The many helpers of hers, are the followers of Eluna, the Silverguards Seldan and Serene, the Seer Merek. Mikilos is the mage, but he once follow Animus."
She operates her helm, opening the visor and tilting it and the hat back enough to swallow another shot. "Then there Akoniril, who we all know, that know the too many things very suspiciously and is always showing up, suspiciously."
She laughs, "Now we know, some things are because we tell her. Maybe we tell her even more in the future-go-to-the-past!"
"Except," now her voice sounds as subversive as her grinning mask, "both Akoniril and the Time-Hunter tell us things have move around in time on their own. Time Bleeds. So time has the injury holes. Things come through." Her head shakes, "And we did not meet the god, Randolf. We meet only the follower cleric, and the follower time travelling outsider beast."
Seyardu nods in agreement with Paenitia, as she tries to take in everything being shared. "We did not meet any gods, no, but I did seek answers to the events going on, and either Althea, or one of her servants answered. That is what led us to finding the person resposnsible at the vault, but I did not expect it to be a version of Aryia."
"I do not know the one you speak of, other than Animus. It is news to me. But yes, it seems something is wrong with the time. And, Aryia's clone, it sounds close to the ones Cryosanthia and others told me about, when dealing with someone else attempting to ascend to godhood?"
"(as good a segue as any...)" mutters the minstrel.
Jinks returns Aryia's toast with a nod, leaning forward to inspect each bottle after the other before selecting a squat ovoid of amber glass and pouring himself a shot that bulges with surface tension. He lifts it with an expertise of the addict and joins his puckered lips to the bubbled top. An inhale and tilt of the head drains the glass dry. His right eyelid flutters and his head twists involuntarily. His jaw muscles flex.
"So. Paladina." His nostrils flare and he inhales, blinking open his eyes. "The Great Work; the few, great, and good prepare a great Abjurative ritual from a restrictive subschool. The whole thing is awesome in scope." He licks his lower lip. "The joke to which these two refer," he holds the bottle again and indicates Aryia and Seyardu with its neck before pouring himself another shot. "The joke is that the majority of the collection tasks are busywork to obscure their intent; a cup-and-ball game. The materials are useful for other things but have nothing to do with this 'Great Work.'"
Some of the items collected were definitely for the Great Work but a lot of it was not. Still useful things, but not immediately applicable to the advertised goal.
Aryia just sits there, sipping on her new drink and leaning back in her chair. A thumb traces the lip of the bottle, a fading trail of moonlight going in its wake as she listens to theories and potentials, as well as information shared that she already knew.
"Assholes," she comments about the Great Work and how the guild was basically left out of it. She was rightfully pissed about doing her best to keep her hands clean on missions, and doing a job well done to help with the Explorer's guild's name, yet none of that seemed to matter. <Handspeech>
Glug glug glug. Not at all.
"Ah." The Dark Lucht says. She selects a glass and pours herself the same bulging shot of alcohol. "The white lizard, ok. So she have fight a lamprey self, and others too already? She give the suggestions what to do?"
She operates her visor, covers her mouth with her hands and knocks back the shot. The helm clicks shut, "Ah, the Great Work. So the joke is even more obscuring. Some of what we do have the meaning, some not."
Her head tilts, "Is all the other guilds, the merchants, the artificers, the crafts, in the know and just not the adventurers or we all the marks?"
She sways a little in her seat, "The table is not big enough."
"We did not realize it was some reflection of Aryia until the fighting was done. Cryosanthia said that fighting did not work, and that they need to be convinced that we can fix things, something of that sort."
"But, it seems the bird was able to deal with it, but there was no signs of others like them. This is the concern, but none showed up the rest of the week. And now we are back here."
"They are not saying much, and deciding much thinking they know better. I do not trust the ruling council very much. And when I spoke of Shaevin, it is the figure of speech, yes? That the person is so rigid because they were speared upright by a branch, and as unpleasant to be around as someone who has been speared by one."
"The topmost echelons are in-the-know; a select few." Jinks answers Paenitia. His eyes are starting to have trouble focusing but short a swimming pupil its hard to tell. "The Explorer's Guild has gone unchecked too long; members have made too many grand mistakes. The council of Alexandria and the other city leaders-- the temples, most notably-- no longer hold any trust for our mercenary organization.
"We're still useful... but we're also too dangerous; the Duke in the countryside. Un'eth in the Noble's quarter..." He turns his head and looks at the door leading to Sabina's room. He doesn't say anything but the leaden blinking and thin-lipped frown as indication are obvious for anyone with even the slightest insight. He sighs and lifts his hand-- he might be reaching for the bottle at first but pinches the bridge of his nose instead.
"My supposition is that they seek some remedy to keep extraplanar threats from the city... but that's a guess. The erinyes, the Duke, the hellwasps..."
Aryia blinks, looking at Seyardu before she starts laughing in her raspy, breathy way. "Ha.... haha... ha..." A moment to breathe, then she gestures, "Stick up their ass. That's the saying, not impaled on a branch." <Handspeech>
She shakes her head, looking to Jinks, frowning some. "Yet they had a fuck face noble running around, consorting with demons despite overwhelming evidence that says otherwise, piss poor guards that can't keep a story straight, and absolute, ham fisted decisions that's going to drive out said adventurers, leaving the city defenseless against dumb shit that only people like us can tackle." <Handspeech>
The mute drinks deep, then slams the half empty bottle of beer on the table. "Fuck it. If they want to cut everything off, let them. No demons, no devils. But no angels to help either." She pauses, then grows pensive. That... didn't sound half bad in the atheist's eyes.
The Red Knight listens, swaying in her seat a little, she's achieved tipsy. Which is a little less, or a little more, drunken than she acts and feels. A sigh escapes her mask, it makes a sound like the Smiling Man is whistling. The mul'niessa's signs are a mystery, but they are vigorous.
The little knight thought she saw devil horns, and a suggestive gesture, perhaps wings, and something like a crown. She can guess, and answer what the gnome broached.
"I have tell you before," she says, all serious, "I make the vow to protect the common folk, the pillars of society, from those that prey on them."
She taps at her mask, "The Smiling Man, he give us his face, because we are not the banditos, we are the revolutionaries. I help overthrow the Iron Baron. We cut off his head, his government is destroyed. The Diamond Duchess, the Platinum Prince." She makes a slicing motion across her throat.
"There are two path forward." She clunks her left guantlet down, "The people in charge, recognize what is done for them, what they cannot do. Give more information, more oversight, are better understanding. Are respond to the things they say." She clunks her other guantlet down, "or they do not listen, force their folly, leave the common folk exposed and defenseless. Then, they must be remove, as they only enrich themselves."
"We hold their faces to the feces of the nobles like they are disobedient dogs, but the authority do not listen. The Duke get many slave-statues off to Charn, and the noble responsible not pay, even though I give evidence he bribe the guards." Her voice goes low, "Kings should fear the treat of Paladins in they court, for the Holy Warrior answer only to their God. Mortal law, align or is irrelevant."
She laughs suddenly, "The joke is, Alexandria have no king."
It does have a castle, and a ruling council, an oligarchy. Totally different. Now, the Myrrish King, he did disappear /near/ Alexandria, at the Eidolon court along with the then ruler of Bludgun.
Good times.
Probably some adventurer's fault, "So they are safe from being shorter."
Randolf's expression turns darker and darker with every revelation. Short, angrily little puffs rising from his pipe as his whiskers twitch. "By knowledge, I understand. By understandin', I conquer. By conquerin', I -rise-," he growls. He leans forward, taking the pipe from his mouth and pointing it towards his group of friends. "I piss on politics. Got nae use for it. I came tae this city because I was given a gift. One rare an' precious among my people. More than that, I have the mind an' will tae put it to use. Now sure an' I -could- use me powers tae put me up on a pedestal. Command the loyalty o' men, drown meself in riches."
He harrumphs, studying the burning tobacco in the bowl of his pipe. "Or... I could build summat that lasts beyond my life. Somethin' that will stand against all the marches o' time an' all the wickedness o' the world. Summat good. Summat -pure-." He looks up and around. "We dwarves are builders. Children o' the greatest an' mightiest builder of 'em all. Let these nobles look down on us all they like. Let 'em scheme an' squabble. I've -nae- intention of askin' -permission- tae do the right thing. An' if they don't like it? They can kiss my hairy dwarvish arse."
"Ah, the stick up their ass. I suppose that makes sense, that would be quite uncomfortable." Seyardu sighs, finishing off most of her drink. "You are right, if they plan to restrict everything in the city from extraplanar threats, then, while a good idea in theory, they will find much trouble."
"We have done nothing to cause ill, but the city has struggled every step of the way to deal with, not even the arch duke themself, but one person working with him, just because they are a noble. They killed likely hundreds of people all because they were too afraid to step on lord Altay's toes. And I was not afraid to step on their nose, and the adventurers guild is ostracized for it."
"This one can not help but wonder if they should have put more force into it, and saved lives doing so. At least they are finally in jail for their crimes. But our lack of accountability is a problem in itself."
Jinks blinks, frowns, and blinks again, he scoots to the edge of his chair and leans towards Paenitia. "Maybe we can talk some reason into the 'great and the good' but sedition isn't going to paint us in any more of a positive light when people are already spitting on us as we walk past. If you haven't noticed we don't have the will of the common man behind us even if that's your... quest. Intention.
"They see us as a group even if it's only some of us that have caused-- or worsened-- these problems." The gnome brings both hands to his face, dragging them down slowly as he sits up. "An ultimatum now is going to doom us," he glances at Aryia, "and then you can stand straight-backed with your head held high while a lot of people who don't deserve it suffer for our pride.
"Some of us made mistakes. I made mistakes." The gnome repeats a sentiment from the night before. "Both sides are at fault; not everyone on either. Some on both. We fix this with talk and compromise. Not lines drawn in the sand."
Aryia watches Paentia's breakdown of the situation, her raising a brow with a light sigh. Jinks says what she is thinking. She abates some, the gnome having some good points. "... yes. I agree. I just wish that the city would come forward and talk with us rather than go about all this crap. I guess it's kind of like seeing me as a mul'neissa, rather than Aryia. Part of a group, yet not part of the problem." An idle, drunk thought wonders what Jinks' mistakes were, but she doesn't ask, her just shrugging about the ultimatum. Her thoughts on the matter weren't high, and with the good folk around her, her true intentions about caring about herself above all wouldn't sit well.
Soon, that bottle is downed to nothing, eyeing Randolf and his righteous rant. She drinks a fifth one, her face reddened now. "I'm glad you feel as if you have some higher calling, Randolf. Because for me-"
Drink.
"I don't give a shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit about any of that. I just want to live my life and enjoy my freedom." She may be just a touch drunk, now.
She looks to Seyardu, her nodding in agreement. "If there was no witnesses, I would have killed him right then and there. Slimy bitch of a person. It was good you crushed his nose. Fuck him." <Handspeech>
"I accountable to Tarien and my personal honour." Paenitia's mask faces Seyardu, "You are accountable to Althea. She does not like what you do, your power stop. You think you are in need of more watching you do things?"
She shakes her head, "I am with the dwarf, they can make the kiss. They use the mind control magic on the Seer Merek. The magic that steal free will is evil."
"The more force, might have save many lives. You will have to live with that choice." It's a grim statement, and a true one.
Her attention turns to Jinks, "Have you see how tired the two Silverguards are, Seldan and Serene? All adventurers not willing to throw themselves in the ore grinder for the good cause. Many, they do for the money. They are told to not be here, they will leave. They will go the Desolation, To Veyshan, to Myrrh, serve the people that care."
She laughs, "Only I am the foolish knight to assist those that hate me. The Ruling Council ask adventurers to go, maybe they be surprise when they all say 'Ok'. That not the pride, that being not the stupid dupe."
"I do not see why they are seeing us that way, to be entirely honest. Is it my fault that ashwings followed me, and I was around to fight them off and protect people? Or that that lord tried to serve the flesh of people in chili at the colosseum? All I have done is react to the horrors that this place seems to create, because it seems the city does nothing about them." Seyardu grumbles. "If there are people causing fault, they are not from my time here. I have seen few who would act in a way that is not right. I am willing to work with the city, if the city is reasonable. If not, then that is understandable."
"The ruling council, I do not know what they do. But with everything they turn a blind eye to, and now they decide to decry us, I can not help but wonder if they are trustworthy. The happenings at the mansion were due to fiend supporting nobles, nobles who drank the blood of fiends, and an actual fiend who killed several in an explosion, and they decide we are at fault. I can not think how many would have been harmed, or turned to their side had we not been there."
A wee Goblin wobbles out of the baths area, her eyes mostly shut as she squints at the lights. She wanders towards the bar, wet footprints following in her wake.
Randolf takes his pipe from his mouth and points it at Sey. "Hear bloody hear," he grumbles. "I'd have been perfectly happy tae study magic an' become the best wizard I could become. But -gods-, this place -will- insist on goin' tae hell in a handcart every bloody -week-! HRMPH!" He snags himself another drink, tossing it back with a growl. "Suppose it'd be easier if I -didn't- have a conscience," he mutters. "Then I could just piss off an' leave 'em all tae fend fer 'emselves. But damn it, I dinnae work that way. I want tae help others. I want tae make a -difference-." He glances at Ariya with a sigh. "Suppose it's easier fer some. But not fer me."
Aryia, slowly getting more sloshed from all the drinks, gives a big shrug towards Randolf. "No skin off my back that isn't already whipped to shreds. And yes, this place does seem to like to go tits up quite fast every week."
The elf stands a bit wobbly, her glancing over the railing from the second floor an spies a friend. She lightly smiles. Shaking her head, the mute glances to Paenitia. "I should thank those two. Sometime. Soonish. Before sister gets back. Or I... look for sister. Or.." Aryia rubs at her face, hard to string thoughts together.
She rises to her feet, collects her journal, and nods to the table. "... I'm going to go to the baths and-" pause. Wait. Bad idea. "... or just go to the back rooms and pass out for now. Thank you all."
The pugilist walks up to Seyardu, and gives her a hearty hug. One is offered to Jinks, and Paenitia. Hell, even Randolf, before she slinks off.
The pool shark is scooped up into one as well if allowed before she staggers off into one of the back rooms to rest. <Handspeech>
"I'm suggesting it doesn't need to come to that," Jinks counters Paenitia, looking through her mask to the eyes behind. "Don't compromise your ideals. Just... don't let this information bring you down to their level; let it inspire you to rise even higher.
"Give me some time. I helped grease this slope and I'm not done trying to clean up the ensuing mess." He glances at Aryia as she rises, then Randolf, and, finally, Seyardu. "It should come as no surprise that I'm not done talking yet."
The Gobbo squeaks as she's suddenly scooped up and hugged, surprise registered in her expression. She giggles after a moment, and then Aryia has a hard time trying to the put the tiny woman down as Irshya clings to her.
"Go and sleep it off, then.", she says as the Mul'neissa makes her way to the very back. The Gobbo then returns to her previous path, disappearing behind the bar.
"You forget the meeting here after the Risen Dead, where it is suggest the best solution is to be rid of Seldan. So the Duke no longer come after him, not bother the city." Paenitia says, re-arranging the glasses in front of her. "The Ruling Council pick that adventurer to listen to? Believe the problems will vanish if the adventurers vanish?"
She laughs again, "This the logical thought? How they end up in charge? Oh right, they born to the money and think they better and see farther. They have never seen the farm, work the hard toil. I have been out to the farms, I am well receive most the times. I am sure they are happy for Ramirez fertilizer!"
She hugs Aryia as the Mul'niessa leaves. There's a slight shudder in the small knight, but the embrace is strong. Armour often is. She watches her go to the back rooms, then Paenitia clanks against her seat.
"I do not forget the bodies of soldiers on the road, for fight the dragon. That turn out to be the wyvern. The poison that you suffer, and how thoughts can poison too." She says somberly, rubbing the wrist of her gauntlet, "Who is the fault of those dead? They ask our help only after they kill their men. I vow to save the helpless. My quest is to find the most miserable man in Alexandria."
Her eyes meet Jinks. They are strikingly visible through her visor. Dark, smouldering, with thick lashes. Intense, deep pools that have seen a lot, betray a lot, and hold a look with him.
Randolf lapses into silence, dark and brooding. He scowls at his pipe, having smoked all the tobacco down to ash. With a grumble, he upends it and knocks the bowl out into a convenient ashtray, before stuffing it back into his robe. He rests his head in his hands, his broad shoulders slumping. For all his learning and genius... the poor dwarf just doesn't know what to do.
Lyme pushes in through the door, looking tired. He heads for the bar, not really looking around first.
A small bowl full of peanuts is pushed towards Lyme, a small hand vanishing back under the bar a moment later.
Then a glass appears, pushed to the left of the bowl. A face appears then, blue and goblinoid. "Hello! Irshya has not met you before. Did you want something to drink?"
"I am sure that there is a place to rest. Do so, you have earned it, meditate on what you will." Seyardu states to Aryia as she returns the hug, though her attention is back on the table when she is finished and gone. "I do not want to go down to their level. I just wish for them to see reason, and be reasonable, yes. But there are too many who may not, see reason. The one in charge at the western gates comes to mind. I have spoken up to many guards that he is not fit for his position, yet there he stays. And is the city going to let the problems in that destroyed fester until they are so massive that they can not help but deal with them, then blame us for not stopping it? But at least that idiot will kill off the savage creatures that are guarding a bridge he can't be bothered to patrol, because he wants a free thunderbelcher."
The cleric sighs, and reaches for her drink, which she finds empty.
"I want to stop these problems, as it feels they do not go addressed otherwise. If we did nothing, how many of my kin would be dead, or sacrificed to fiends, to fuel their horrible rituals? That is not right."
Lyme snags the peanuts, and nods, perking up. He's trying. "Hello, Irshya! Yes, I'm Lyme! Can I have a bottle of wine and a glass?" Well. That's a statement of intent. He turns and waves towards Paenitia and Seyardu, and Aryia's back.
"How would you know if you were to find him?" Jinks wonders of Paenitia, offering a smile that doesn't quite make it up to his eyes. "And by what measure do you determine who is the most miserable, anyway?"
The gnome leans back, glancing from paladina to hearthguard to wizard. "Seek an audience with the council. Or a member of the council, at least. Make your case, list your deeds, and show them that not all of the Guild are coin-driven maniacs." He finally returns to his bottle, pouring another shot and considering it for a moment before drinking it down. "Reveal you have some insight to the Great Work to confirm your intellect. Ask how you can be of some greater help beyond these fetch quests.
"One ally on the council is a foundation on which you can build. It's also an ear to listen when you face the injustice of those like the Altays..."
The Gobbo's eyes widen, and she giggles. The glass before Lyme is removed, being used mainly for ale and beer, and shortly replaced with a more delicate looking, long-stemmed wine glass with a wide base.
"It is rare that an Oruch orders wine. Irshya would be pleased to serve it. Are you planning on eating here, or would you prefer something that stands by itself?"
Irshya eyes those conversing, her ears perking up slightly. She clears her throat. "It is not the council, or nobles or guards. Irshya would say... this is the work of demons. This is how they work, sneaky-like, behind the scenes. They are playing you. And the nobles. And the clergy. And the guards."
Having said that, she looks back to Lyme, awaiting his answer.
Lyme leans against the bar, looking longingly at the glass of not-yet-wine. He takes a moment. "What time is it? It's time to eat. What're the specials tonight?" A frown. "Demons, huh? Why them, and not void-things?"
Randolf heaves a gusty sigh, rubbing his face. "Ye make it sound so easy, Jinks," he says. "I dinnae have yer silver tongue. An' tallfolk -will- get snippy when I'm bein' direct with 'em." He sighs again, settling back in his seat and lolling his head back to stare at the ceiling. "How many times have we fought an' bled fer Alexandria? Isn't that enough for 'em?"
The Red Knight's head tilts just a little, her eyes still locking on Jinks'. Her mask, the visor, it's always there. Not enough of her eyes are scruitable to tell if a smile reached them. She picks up another drink, moves it in a toast, and holds it to the lips of the Smiling Man.
"I have seen the much misery." Paenitia says softly to him, "I meet everyone in the City, then I meet them again, and the most miserable will be known."
She claps him on the shoulder, her voice suddenly cheerful and bright again, "Do not worry, it is not you!"
She squeezes supportively, as if to add, 'but you are close'.
"I think that the good idea. I march there tomorrow and tell them my story. You come with me Randolf, I soft the edges, you will be fine." She assures. She also hears a voice.
"Lyme! Hola! Get the rear up here! There are drinks to be had. We are not drunk enough our Time Trip make sense yet, but that is the goal."
"Well, it is later in the evening. The specials are done. However, we have a stew that is always fresh and hot, with some fresh baked bread. Irshya can make sure that they give you some extra meat and potatoes. There are also sandwiches, with cuts of meat left over from lunch and dinner."
Irshya glances back at the kitchen, and then back to Lyme. "Irshya could see if there is any deer haunch left, if you like? The owlbear is all gone, that was the special." She shrugs then, "From what Irshya has learned at a few of the temples is that Alexandria has had a history of troubles with demons. Sure, it could be void things, Irshya supposes." She vanishes suddenly from view, and then as quickly reappears, climbing the back wall to reach for one of the wine bottles, one filled with a dark, rich red liquid.
"If they will listen, then I will open a discourse with them. I would be happy to, as long as it is not burying themselves in sand instead of listening, and being heard." Seyardu states. "But that comes after. First thing in order, is setting that magistrate straight. If he cannot be convinced that child is not a spy from Charn, then I will have no faith in the governing bodies going forward. One innocent execution, is an accident, albeit an unforgiveable one. Twice, is an inherent problem."
She looks down to Irshya after seeing her notice what they said. "If everyone is being fooled, then that is a problem. Namely, we have dealt with so many fiendish forces already, any still powerful enough to cause these problems are extremely well hidden."
Lyme gestures up to the table with the short people. "I'm going to go join 'em -- I'd love the stew, though. Big bowl. I'll eat enough for five different mes." He smiles, like he's cracking a joke, then takes up the wine and glass, and heads towards the table. "Thank you, though. If here's some haunch, I'll take it too."
Irshya eyes Seyardu a moment or two as the Sith addresses her, and then back to Lyme. She grins, and races off to the kitchen. There's a conversation had back there, some sounds of grumpiness, and then the usual clatter of things as meal preparation commences... Probably.
A short time later, the Gobbo appears at the table in question, having slowly made her way there with a tray balanced on her head, and held tightly in place with her hands. A large bowl of stew is the centerpiece, with a plate bearing a half-haunch of deer set next to it. A dozen slices of freshly cut bread are piled on another plate, well buttered. She wobbles slightly getting the tray upon the table, but manages without anything falling off, or any glasses getting knocked over.
"Compliments of the house.", she says, with a huff of breath. Irshya reaches for the wine bottle, fills Lyme's glass (if it isn't already), takes a long gulp of it directly from the bottle, and then sets it back down.
"Irshya is going to go back to sleep." With that, she turns, and makes her way down to the lower floor, and the baths.
Lyme looks up at Irshya. "Serriel bless, Irshya. This is wonderful." He grabs the wine glass, downs it, and refills his glass again. "Okay. Nobody fucking timeloop tonight, okay?"
Randolf grunts. "Wasnae exactly -plannin'- on it," he mutters. He straightens himself in his seat with a sigh. "Right... so... we go tae the council, an' make our case, an'... what then? Hope they take a likin' tae our scintillatin' personalities?"
"I can come along but I'm entangled in the events that summoned the Duke in the wilderness." Jinks tells Randolf with a tilt of his head. "Regardless of our intent you won't find anyone up that hill who's happy with us for doing that; better you go with Paenitia and Seyardu. A sworn knight, one of Telmentar's own, and an accomplished wizard offers quite the diverse and encompassing entreaty."
A shrug is given to the sith. He's no insight on the dealings of magistrates. At least not in this instance.
"... that sounds especially exhausting," he finally admits to the paladina. The gnome's head dips and he leans into the clap, nodding when she squeezes and taking some strength from the gesture even if he laughs when she accuses him of being miserable. "I just haven't had enough to drink yet."
Jinks gives Lyme a smile and nod, smirking when he mentions time-games, and offers thanks to the goblinoid hostess before she departs.
"We do as Jinks has said. We appeal to their reason, we share what is needed to get them to understand we will do what we can to keep the city and the people in it safe, and that our actions have been to help those in need." Seyardu suggests. "And if they do not listen, we go to the next council member, until all avenues are exhausted, and we either find those willing to work with us, explain what they are doing, or determine none of them can be reasoned with or trusted. It is a good plan, and I would rather not be caught by surprise by their plans any further, for certain."
Randolf harrumphs. "Still don't see why we need their bloody permission tae do the right thing," he grumbles. "That should be expected of everyone anyway, shouldn't it?"
"The right thing? Some of us are just in it for the gold," Jinks laughs, half-joking as he stands and selects a mostly-full bottle from the table. He tears a bit of bread away and pops it into his mouth, tonguing it to one side so he can add as he heads towards the stairs, "the gold and the pretty People with a penchant for making bad decisions."
A hand finds the railing of the spiral stairs before the gnome leans bodily into it, bobbing down towards the main floor. He raises the bottle in the air as a sort of farewell wave, pacing himself to give the paladina plenty of time to scramble ahead and towards the baths and Ramirez.
Lyme takes a long draught of wine, and stretches out his legs. "What the hell are you guys planning?" His tongue, it is loose tonight, unguarded.
"We go see them to see them. That will tell much." Paenitia shouts upstairs, as she clanks over to Ramirez and starts wrangling him. It's fortunate that the TarRaCe is mostly empty, as his sopping tailfeathers splash many a table.
"Out, no this out. We turn this way."
'Ruaaaah!'
"I know, I will not leave you so long again, it much longer for me. Okay. Outside we find the park."
Eventually, the Red Knight gets her Ivory Steed outside.
"I am sure that is all that you are in this for Jinks. You do an excellent job of making it seem so sometimes, yet you come forward with all this information, which I can discern your purpose for doing for, yet." The makari offers before the gnome is on their way. Then, she turns to Lyme. "We are talking about the plans that the city has, for restrictive abjuration magics to be put in place on a massive scale, for unknown purposes, and how they have endeavored to make sure that we do not know about it. We, being those associated with the adventurer's guild."
Then, to Randolf. "It can be difficult, and it is something I struggle with. But, the right thing is not always the good thing, and it may not be obvious until after. We need to ensure that our intentions are clear to those in charge, who believe we are acting without concern for the people in the city, or the city itself."
Randolf tugs his beard at that, furrowing his shaggy brows. "What's that they say? 'bout the road tae Hell bein' paved wi' good intentions?" He sighs again and hops to his feet. "Well... I can only do me best. We'll try it all yer way. Who knows, maybe it'll even actually work." He looks after Paenitia with a ghost of a half-grin. "I mean, I've got the -soothin'- voice after all. Tallfolk do seem tae like the dwarven accent."
Lyme nods slowly. "That doesn't sound smart." He shakes his head. "Like a recipe for conflict all around. And that's not going to help -- nature finds a way."
"It is just an option, and we do not need to work with them. Nor would I suggest doing so if they are not reasonable. But understanding is important, and we should do what we can to figure out what is going on. After all, they have sought to leave us in the dark for a reason. If they do not trust the adventurers guild, then there is reason for that, perhaps. But I trust those here, and would do so with what we find."
"I have spent many years learning to speak like this, and I hope my learning to do so will be helpful."
"I agree with Lyme. Depending on their plan, it could have unforeseen consequences. Ones we need to be able to consider."
Randolf folds his arms. "Well sure, I've nae want fer conflict wi' anyone," he says. "I try tae get along wi' all the folk I can. But if the council wants tae try an'... -shackle- us, somehow... keep us from doin' what needs doin'... well, we cannae be havin' -that-, now, can we?"
Lyme pauses. "Maybe. People do like thinking that they know what everyone needs to do." He gestures around at the Tarrace crowd. "And a lot of them drink here, too, right?"
"Yes, while we will work with them if we can, the most important thing is finding out what they are doing. We do not have to agree with them to work with them. I do not agree with Akorinil, and I hate that I needed to work with them, they did help us to escape from the time loop in the city. The council decided for a reason, and we will get to the root of the reason and plans. And, in doing so, see what their intentions are. If they will put people at risk for their plans, then I will not sit by and let them pass."
Lyme nods. "Right. And set up for people getting upset about their authority."
Randolf grunts, hopping to his feet. "Well. It's gettin' late, an' I've got a dean tae bellow at on the morrow. I'll be damned if I lose me perfect grade point average because the Evocations professor's decided tae be a great ragin' tit." He offers a two-fingered salute to Sey and Lyme. "Hammers high friends. I'll see ye about." He turns and trundles down the stairs, before heading out the door.
"If they get upset about their authority, then their intentions are not just in upholding it." Seyardu shrugs. "I will not ask you to assist if you do not wish, just understand. What I seek to find out is out of concern for the people here, and the plans being prepared. If it comes down to it, and they cannot be swayed or stopped, I will convince those I can to leave this place, and help them to do so."
"Good night, Randolf, I hope your work goes well. It seems we have even more than when we left, but there is always work to be done. If only the city would realize that we are working to help them."
OOC
<OOC> Jinks says, "SWORD OF MLA GIVE ME CITE BEYOND CITE"
<OOC> Aryia says, "LOL"
<OOC> Paenitia says, ""We don't want your kind here" "okeydoke!""
<OOC> Irshya says, "It might be a reason for many people suddenly in the Desolation. Hint hint nudge wink."
<OOC> Whirlpool says, "We have a reason everyone will be going there as a unit. :)"
<OOC> Whirlpool cracks knuckles. NYAHAHA.
<OOC> Irshya says, "Spoilers, sweetie."
Dramatis Personae
Aryia
This mul is built lithe and quick, body honed to be its own weapon. She doesn't stand too terribly tall, yet her stature doesn't help with how she squirrels herself away.
Heavy scarring lines every inch of exposed dark colored flesh, that almost a dim grey. Her face shows youth, yet her milky eyes betray a hard life were herself not evidence enough. Moon colored hair comes down to just past her shoulders, usually bunched into a ponytail with a silver ribbon. The entire front of her throat is a mass of scarring, deep wounds from long past. There is a glow in her eyes, one that grows more to a blaze as darkness sets in.
Attire wise, a verdant colored jacket frames a simple, long sleeved shirt and brown pants, coupled with some well made dark blue boots. Underneath the sleeves are leather cords that press against muscled arms. Long grey ears have three sets of simple silver clasps, hugging the outer edge. And a set of wide, well made silver framed shades usually rest on her nose or hang from her collar.
Sometimes, on occasion, she wears other attire. See +view for more!
Jinks
Jinks carries himself with a sense of smug self-importance, wrapped in bright, tailored clothing that flatters his slight frame. The gnome is an average height for his people (standing closer to three-feet tall than four) but manages to look down his nose at even the tallest giantborn. He slinks with an easy grace through crowds forever endeavoring to avoid contact with the common man.
His eyes are large, solid black orbs twinkling with mischief and his thin lips are almost perpetually set into a lopsided smirk framed by an immaculately-trimmed goatee. The hair on his head is shock-white, shoulder-length, and worn pulled back into a short ponytail. He's also quite obviously fond of jewelry as assorted baubles and trinkets glitter about his face, top, and hands.
Paenitia
Small, dark and winsome.
On a Giant white peacock.
Sister Paenitia Snapdragon del Harrana, is a crimson knight astride an ivory steed. A dark skinned Lucht Siuil, her black hair hangs in ringlets to mid-back, wild, untamed, loose. Matching fetlocks curl about her shins, demure, tamed, tied back with crimson bows. She wears a broad feathered hat, a matching single shoulder cape, both crafted from the bold feathers of her mount; striking white with red eyes. Beneath that hat, a smiling mask with rosy cheeks and a wide upturned moustache. Her armour has the same patina, an elaborate breastplate, rusted to match the mesas of her homeland. Paenitia's deep eyes smoulder behind the mask, and her skin, where visible, is a warm mahogany that is both heritage and time in the sun. She moves with an intensity overwhelming for her size.
Ramirez, her mount, is an eye-catching hippogryph. An albescent peacock gypsy-andalusan breed. Glorious, the size of a strong warhorse, his tail could cover a cart and easily hides his fluffy equine hind. His forelegs are the delicate and deceptively strong legs of the avian, and his body flows well into his feathery trail. Almost completely white, Ramirez is blood red on his neck, shoulders and breast, with the same bold colour in his crown and his many tailfeather eyes. He struts about regally, staring imperiously, proud and beautiful. Paenitia's saddle straps his midsection and has its own tail fan, a scabbard candelabra of pole arms that lies along his back.
She's from the land of the wind, tilting against windmills. A self-appointed knight, tiny and trite, riding a fancy and brings twice the fight.
Seyardu
While not as physically imposing as many others of her kind, far from it, Seyardu is still build strong for her height. This sith-makar is covered in bright silver scales, with almost metallic, silvery eyes that are usually found in what looks like an appraising squint. Two long, ridged horns curve forward on their face, and a long tail trails slightly on the ground, keeping them balanced. Usually when they are seen in town, they wear a casual outfit, a simple vest vest of light red, yellow, or a deep forest green and accompanying dark gray, or brown skirt skirt. This is accompanied by a large leather satchel with pockets on the side. On ocassion, over the vest she wears a bright silver breastplate which almost matches the color of her scales, accompanied by a blued steel billhook slung over her back. Though she wears the armor often, in most places, the weapons are kept with all of her other posessions, within the satchel.
On her left arm, wrapped around part of her hand and forearm, were several deep green lines, vinelike in appearance, with small leaves jutting off at various points.
Randolf
Here stands a proud specimen of the dwarven race. A broad, bear-like figure, well seasoned and aged, yet unbowed by the passage of time. His face bears a well-bred, patrician cast, a sure sign of noble breeding. Broad and square, his bluff features are rugged and windburned, tanned and leathery from long days spent out of doors. A thick mane of dark, rich auburn hair is worn pulled back in an unruly ponytail. His beard is full and lush, luxuriously groomed and manicured, reaching his chest and bound in a thick tail by a silver beard ring. Distinguished silver strands are just beginning to become visible, showing the dwarf to be knocking on the door of middle age. His nose is broad and strong, and the rounded points of his ears are just visible through his shaggy red-brown mane. He wears a golden ring in his left ear, made of pure gold. His voice is a low, rumbling bass, and he speaks with a distinctive dwarven burr.
A thick, bullish neck leads down to a broad, thickset torso. Burly and barrelled, it's topped by a pair of shoulders half again as broad as the average human. His arms are thick with knots of muscle, sporting cannonball biceps. His forearms are thick, sinewy affairs, ending in large, meaty paws. His knuckles like chunks of gravel, with a penchant for cracking audibly. Moving back to center, there's no narrowing as his torso leads down to his waist. He sports a hefty musclegut, but the soft layers do little to disguise the stalwart power hidden beneath. His hips are wide and firm, leading to thighs like stone columns. His feet plant firmly on the ground, his heavy, lumbering tread an audible thing.
His attire is well-appointed and stylish. A shirt of dove-gray wool is worn beneath a blue-and-green plaid tartan. A wink of gold draws the eye to the finely-wrought clasp that holds the heavy fabric over his shoulder. A broad leather belt around his broad waist bears a finely-tooled sporran, and numerous pouches. A frog holster keeps a broad-bladed battleaxe at his hip. The weapon is immaculately maintained, with dwarven runes worked in gold along the blade's edge. Tucked into his belt near the holster, a sleek wand of glossy black ebonwood, featuring an finely-crafted silver grip. Sturdy fur-lined boots are worn on his feet, with a broad-bladed dagger tucked into the right boot. Over it all, he wears a loose robe of fine green linen, trimmed in gold. Atop his head, he wears a dwarven bonnet cocked at a jaunty angle, with a golden cockade featuring a polished cabochon-cut ruby and a broad plume. He can often be found with a broad-bowled, bent-stem billiard pipe tucked in the side of his mouth. When actually smoking (which is often), the smoke carries a rich, fragrant scent of vanilla and honey, surrounding his head and shoulders like a bank of fog.
The dwarf's expression is stern and stalwart, his keen gaze glancing hither and yon beneath the hang of his shaggy red brows. He lumbers about his business with a slow, casual swagger. He radiates power, confidence, aggression, and authority, tempered by keen insight and intellect, along with a healthy dose of pure dwarven machismo.
Irshya
The small being standing before you is slightly odd. Her height is a little more than three feet tall.
Her skin is a pale blue in colour, and her facial features are those of a Goblin, but mixed with something more angular. Her mouth is more prominent, and her teeth, when seen, are wide and triangular. The eyes are a dull red in colour, with delicate, pink sclera, and frame a prominent nose.
The Gobbo's hair is dark green in colour, and if seen fully, nearly reaches the ground. It hangs in many, many thin braids, tied up with some sort of black string.
Her form is hidden by pale, sea green robes, that cover her from head to toe. Two odd lumps are obvious on her back, one roughly between her shoulder blades, and the other just above her hips.
She leans upon a trident, a weapon with a sturdy wooden handle, and a bronze three-pronged fork. It is about a foot longer than she is tall.
Lyme
This is undoubtedly an oruch -- his skin is black as night and glossy, his ears are large, swept slightly and pointed. More importantly, at least in oruch circles, his hair is thick, black and lustrous -- if nothing else, he cares for his hair. It hangs to his shoulders, pushed back from his face carefully. Matching the mane is a thick, black beard -- again, it looks like he oils it and trims it away from his mouth and very oruch pointy teeth. Admist this monochrome presentation, his eyes are grey and piercing. Also, he's broad for an oruch and tall, thickly muscled, even if it's hidden most of the time.
In the city, he wears a well-tailored jacket, over pants and well-worn boots. On a job, he wears a combination of leather, quilted cotton, and a breastplate, armoured skirt, greaves, elbow guard and vambraces. It's not fully articulated plate armour in the Myrrish style, but it's close. Accompanying this is a beatifully-made two-handed falchion, with leather over cord on the grip. Along with the falchion, he carries a bundle of javelins slung across his back. Generally, over all of this until it's needed, he wears a blue-grey cloak.