Pub Night

Log Info

• Title: Pub Night
• Emitter: Cryosanthia
• Characters: Cryosanthia, Azog, Merek, Ezil, Garrett, Strike
• Place: A07: Fernwood Pub
• Time: Thursday, January 30, 2020, 5:58 PM
• Summary: Cryo, Ezil and Merek arrive at Fernwood to receive any rumours they have managed to solitic by their performances. Cryo is immediately tasked with being the evening's server. The others talk Demons with Azog, and then Friendship. Garrett arrives and Merek enhances his disguise and then shows off a painting he's made. Strike comes down from the upper rooms, sit near and reacquaints herself with the others. Who may be friends or may be comrades in arms. 'Peace be on your nest' is explained and a possible Colosseum duel is discussed.

-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-<* A07: Fernwood Pub *>--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-

The common room of the Fernwood Pub dominates the inn, spacious and airy because of the high, vaulted ceiling. Ornately carved beams of dark, polished wood form a lattice overhead, supporting the arched roof two storeys above the floor. To the right of the double-door entry is a spiral staircase, winding upwards to a balcony that rings and overlooks the main area. Large windows at this level grant an excellent view of the river to the west and colorful market stalls to the north and east. An air of coziness is salvaged by keeping the pub dimly lit; parchment-shrouded mana lanterns hang at intervals from the base of the balcony, nestled amongst lush, magically propagated ivy and ferns that grow over this false demi-ceiling and the struts that support it.

The bar is sleek and simple, comprised of meticulously polished black lacquer. Tables are set under the darker niches formed by the balcony floor as well as on the balcony itself. A few are deliberately sized to accommodate halflings and gnomes, but the majority are meant for human-sized individuals. A large common table is on the main floor, set before a semi-circular stage situated against the western wall. Beside it, with pipes mounted upon the wall and running up past the balcony and almost to the ceiling, is a refurbished pipe organ made to look like the one lost when the Fernwood was destroyed during the Merkabah Siege.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-  Appearing, in Order  =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Cryosanthia  0s      6'7"     245 Lb     Sith-Makar        Female
    A dashingly tall, lithe white lizardgirl with tattoos.                     
Azog         2m      7'0"     350 Lb     Orc               Male  
    A huge male orc with long black hair in a topknot.         
Merek        2m      5'10"    215 Lb     Human             Male 
    A black-haired, dusky male with golden eyes.                
Ezil         8m      5'11"    175 Lb     Human             Male      
    An armored man with dark skin, and grey-blonde hair.        
Garrett      6m      5'8"     160 Lb     Half-Elf          Male      
    A human in black leather, constantly wearing a hood         
Strike       20m     5'11"    155 Lb     Half-Elf          Female    
    A dusky grey half elf girl in grey and black clothes.       
-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--

Evening at the Fernwood Pub. Patrons are starting to filter in. There has been some unexpected advertizing by Cryosanthia, Merek and Ezil, asking anyone who has information regarding demons and fae to meet them there and let them know. They have also promised a free drink for any information. The asked this through roaming street performaces and impassioned speeches. The dancing was okay, the invitation rather empassioned, and well, free beer.

Immediately upon entering, when the proprietor learns he's become the unofficial complaints department for Alexandria, he insists Cryosanthia put on her apron and help with the increased patronage that is expected. She can carry those drinks, and pay for them too!

Azog pushes through the door to the Fernwood and looks around. It is not a look that bodes well for whoever he's looking for, but it seems they're not here. So he comes in and shakes off the cold, pushing the door shut and looking around. He doesn't care much about free beer, an able warior is never short of coin for food and drink in this burg. So he heads on over and gets a table before things fill up too much and he calls for food and ale. Because drinking the water in town is ... not something he chooses to do.

Merek has on the usual, from the white-black attire to the longcoat which is adjusted about him with the beltcape. He makes a way to a place to settle in, with a nod as well to Ezil when he comes with. When he notices that Azog comes to the establishment, he waves, while he orders a whisky from the server.

Ezil orders a small beer, following Merek with a nod, searching for a seat to rest his legs. "So, did you want to discuss the business in the missive?" he asks, noticing Azog with a nod and raised hand, not knowing the man, but seeing Merek's glance. "I need to find Mikilos too. He might come in handy."

Azog peers at Merek and Ezil with a puzzled expression when the men wave to him. "Do I know you?" he asks, wracking his brain. He's eating his stew and drinking ale and generally enjoying a small circle of space around him, because that's what happens when you're a seven foot oruch, though as the place fills up, his space shrinks. Reluctantly, generally.

Today's serving girl seems to be a white sith-makar in white leather armour with a 'Fernwood Pub' apron over top. An observant eye will note that the armour is sith-made, rough and practical with little beneath, and possibly riveted on. She threads between the tables like a raptor through long grass, delivering the ale and stew for Azog. In the same sweep she drops off Merek's whiskey. Ezil's small-beer is another trip.

"I don't know about him, you know me, we've met a few times while traveling," Merek mentions. He nods to the sith'makar in thanks, while he takes up his whisky to sip from it. "Merek, the Scribe." It is a title that is simple, although speaks to what he is. The Mage offers a smile as well.

Azog accepts his meal from the new waitress with a grunt of thanks, and peers at Merek more critically now. "It's been a while, I think, I don't remember you very well." Then when he says his name, he ohs. "Oh, a wizard," he grunts with a disappointed sigh. He looks over to Ezil, and he asks, "Apprentice, then?"

Ezil shakes his head, smiling to Azog. "No, I am Ezil. The All-Friend." whatever that means, but he seems to think it's worth noting. "It's good to meet you." he muses, looking at the small group at the table, waving to Cryosanthia as she delivers his beer. "As for Mikilos, Merek. I have a kid involved with the matters of demons, and thought we could all persuade him to talk." he admits, sipping his weak drink and looking to Azog. "It's been a long week."

"We will see about what we can learn, was he offered a lot of care?" Merek asks, lifting his drink with a look to Azog, "More like... Theurge, I'm Cleric to Eluna and a Sorcerer as well," he admits.

Azog looks to Ezil the All-Friend and Merek the Wizard and shrugs, causing his heavy pauldrons to grate. "You have a problem with demons?" he wonders. He looks to Merek and nods. "That's what I said. Wizard." Apparently all casters are wizards to him. The cleric bit holds a little weight with him, but overall he seems pretty dismissive. "What demons are you having trouble with?" he wonders.

Ezil nods once, a head-toss to the side seeming to indicate Merek. "He knows a bit, but it seems many people are running in to demons these days. It's been a turbulent time in and outside the city. An attack at Tref was where I encountered them first."

Merek nods a bit to Azog, "We found a whole horde in a village of Fae, which came to find a kid," he says, with an adjustment of that longcoat which he wears as well.

Azog nods slowly, says, "Tref's a scrappy place. They've all been through rough times and persevered." He hrms about a village, and says, "A whole horde of fae or a whole horde of demons? Though I guess one's as bad as the other."

Ezil laughs in to his 'beer' and takes a swig, looking to Azog after he swallows. "At this point they are both involved, though my encounters were just with demons." he admits, looking over the orc for a moment. "You have the look of one who has felled a few beasts. Any demons you have met these days?" asking with a tone of interest.

"Ah, well it was a horde of demons, killed all of the village of Fae, then a kid kinda, killed most of the demons," Merek admits, while he nods a bit to the two. "I looked into a divine guidance, it is possible the demons as well as fae were two sides of the same nice coin."

Azog turns a baleful look on Ezil, and he says, "I do not -meet- demons. I kill demons." He sips his beer, and says, "They can try and kill me back, but so far, none have succeeded." 'Meeting' implies a more cordial relationship, and Azog's not about that. "Good on the kid, if he killed a bunch of demons," he points out. "Two sides of ... bah, typical wizard nonsense," he grumbles.

Ezil nods to Azog, his head bobbing as he sits back in his seat. "I do not begrudge you that. They aren't here to do any good." he says, letting his drink occupy him as Merek's words cause a brow to raise. "Related? That's hard for me to believe, but.... the tales of The Hunt hint at the darker side of Fae."

Merek nods a bit to the two, settling in to take a nap at the table.

Azog hrmphs at Fae being dark. "That's what balance is, sometimes light, sometimes dark. Just because a man does things you don't like doesn't make him evil. Druids do it, too, but they get a pass because humans have this stupid sweetness and light and do-no-wrong concept of them."

Ezil slants his head at Azog, and shrugs. "I think the world is full of all types, but I can not judge. It is not for me. It is about doing more good than evil, and some are more prone than others." his beer then looked at and given a swish.

Azog returns to his food, eats a couple spoonfuls of stew. "The world is full of all types is right," he agrees. "As far as judging, that's your problem. You're supposed to judge. If you judge wrong, then someone will fix you, or kill you. But if you do nothing, you're useless and may as well stab yourself now."

Ezil waves a hand with a smirk. "I do what my tenets command, and take action, but I meant about the people in general. If they aren't spurring me to act, and minding their own. I tend to let them be." his small-beer finished as he lets the cup clack lightly against the table. "Stew any good tonight?"

Azog ehs about the stew. "It's good enough," he says, no conoisseur. But he frowns at leaving people be. "If they're minding their own, eating babies and worshipping dark gods, do you let them be also?" he asks critically. Minding their own business clearly is not a factor in Azog's threat evaluation criteria.

Ezil shakes his head, eyes focusing on the man. "No, that would break a tenet. I can only offer them a chance of redemption, or a swift ticket home. Often they don't let me offer, and the blade is used first." he admits, raising a hand to flag the waitstaff, ordering two weak beers this night.

Azog nods to Ezil, apparenty satisfied with that answer. "So, as long as they're not evil and minding their own business they're OK?" he asks, finishing his own stew and pushing back the plate.

Cryosanthia swoops by and takes the empty plate, dropping off more drinks.

"That's about it. All people are offered guidance under Telmentar, but not all take it. We all wander, and many are lost, but the stars are always there, watching." Ezil muses at his table with Azog, and Merek, though Merek has fallen asleep. With a drink brought to him, he can only offer a shrug, his glance going about the room as it is filled at this peak hour. "I think I might get stew."

GAME: Garrett rolls disguise: (11)+7: 18
GAME: Ezil rolls perception: (2)+2: 4
GAME: Azog rolls perception: (16)+16: 32
GAME: Merek rolls perception: (20)+16: 36

The white lizard swings by Ezil with some stew, as ordered.

Garrett makes his way into the pub and orders some soup and an apple. He then reaches into a pocket and pulls out a dagger, waiting for his food to come. He then looks to Merek and ezil. "Hey." He calls out to the various people.

Strike steps into the pub from the stairwell not long after the last entrant starts handling his dagger. She is massaging the corners of her eyes near the bridge of her nose with one hand as she descends with an even stride, it's only around the halfway mark that she takes a visual sweep of the common room to see who's about.

Merek settles back up to waking, while he takes a moment to scratch his beard, nodding a bit to the conversation. He then shifts his attention to Garrett, "Hey," he says, looking to his whisky which he takes a drink from.

Azog nods about the stew to Ezil, and says, "The Lady of the Stars," what his people call Althea, "is patient and understanding, but her gentleness is not pacifism." He swigs his own ale and looks over as Merek wakes up. "Welcome back."

Ezil is happy with that stew, a thanks waved to Cryosanthia as she goes about her daily work. With Merek awake, and Garrett-Stranger showing up, one table seems far more popular than the others to Strike. "No, this is true. Patience is a virtue, but it has its limits." digging in to is own meal as he peers up at Garrett, his free hand raised. "Hello, Traveler. What can we do you for?"

"Just here for a meal. Got paid to retrieve something." Garrett, says as he as he looks to the various people. When the bowl of soup comes and his apple, he begins to quarter and core his apple, eating it slowly.

Merek nods a bit between the people there, while he takes a moment to consider it in thought with a little shift of the hip.

Azog is short-tempered even among oruch, though it may seem normal that a short-lived race is quick to make decisions. He looks around at all the people filtering in, and eyes the exit thoughtfully.

Ezil raises a brow to the Orc's apprehension, his glance going to the door Azog had eyed. "Don't like the crowds?" he asks, a glance flickering to Garrett, peering again. "Do I know you?" he asks, not recognizing the man, but those words retrieving and pay jogging something.

"I am Garrett Ezil." He says as he begins to eat his apple. once finished he begins to eat his soup. "So how are you doing?" He asks curiously as he watches the goings on and he looks to his soup and takes a sip from it.

Merek seems to content in leaning back, while he takes a sip of his whisky, taking the time to look at folk, to listen. He then takes a moment to begin drawing upon a parchment he keeps with him.

Azog says to Ezil, "I'm not big on crowds," he explains. "This is about as much as I like to see. Half the time, it gets this crowded and demons show up." He glowers at the door, a silent dare.

Strike hrm's softly and makes her way to the bar to order something vaguely brunchy before settling in and taking another look at the crowd.

Ezil uhs, as he looks to Garret first, nodding slowly. "Best disguise yet." he mentions, being fooled a second time. It's Merek and Azog he speaks to then, tossing a second shrug. "I am not saying I welcome it, but they have been common these days." a bite taken from his food as he catches sight of Strike, raising a hand in greeting. "Strike." he notes, flashing a smile. "Busy night, eh?"

GAME: Merek rolls craft/painting: (3)+3: 6
GAME: Merek rolls diplomacy: (18)+21: 39
GAME: Merek rolls disguise: (18)+7: 25
GAME: Garrett rolls craft/painting: (1)+3: 4 (EPIC FAIL)
GAME: Garrett rolls stealth: (7)+11: 18

Garrett eats more soup and he smiles to Merek. "I am not that good with disguises yet, but give me time." HE says as he watches the group. He then looks to Strike and shrugs at her.

Merek stands up, while he maneuvers to Garrett, then he takes a few things from his pack, before he places a smooth material for adjusting into a stubble, then he places a hat upon him, lifting that to the side a bit so that it will mask his noticable features, "Right." He nods, moving back to the seat.

Cryosanthia is back at the table again, "Need something?" She has been all over the tavern the whole time, occupied with various orders. The other serving staff seem to be seeing how much of their work they can offload onto the white lizard, and so far she's been able to carry it. Althought it didn't leave much time for socializing, or even seeing who has left and returned. As the most recognizeable of the three, she received a lot of customers who wanted a drink and a discrete conversation. It looks like her head is still spinning.

Strike lifts a hand at the hail, "Ezil, have you had any luck, yet?" she wonders politely, though she is given an eyebrow arching pause at the shrug turned her way.

Azog settles back in his chair and falls silent, glowering at his mug. "Too common," he agrees with Ezil. He peers at Merek adding a hat to Garret's strange look, but that doesn't really concern him.

Ezil laughs at Strikes question, kicking back in to his seat, and looking at those at his table. "Lots of stable work this week, Strike. Though it feels like months since we talked." he notes, his half-eaten food forgotten as he grows distracted. "How of you, are things well?" he asks, greeting Cryosanthia as she makes her way to the table. "You almost off shift then, or on break?"

Cryosanthia looks around, her head swivelling like a weathervane on her long neck. "I... might be." She looks at Garrett, clearly not recognizing him, "Do you have an order?"

Merek takes a little sip of the whisky, while he chuckles a bit. He then watches to see if the man likes the new disguise.

Garrett accepts the hat and he shrugs to Cryosanthia. "Your company perhaps?" He asks as an order. He then looks to Ezil and he shrugs. "So you are doing good?" He asks curiously. He eats more of his stew and he watches the lizard girl for an answer.

Strike nods over toward the large orc, a face she'd not seen for some time, but still familiar enough, then, on Ezil's return, she replies, "It's nice to see you doing better. Thinks have been...." A pause of consideration, "Stable for me as well."

GAME: Merek rolls craft/painting: (5)+3: 8

The white sith-makar stands up very formally and waggles a finger at disguised-Garret. Clearly, not recognizing his voice either. She lectures, "Fernwood Pub has very firm and established policies. The servers are never available for that. Only food and drink purchases."

She moves over beside Strike, "Order Ma'am?"

Her head turns and she looks at Azog, "Anything for you sir?"

Azog peers at Strike, nods once, eyes the door skeptically, like he's expecting something to happen. He hrms at Cryosanthia, and thinks a moment, then says, "Beer's fine." He finishes his mug, then passes it to her.

Merek finishes what he was doing, then he lifts that up. Looks like all the Guild Members within the tavern are painted with colors, though the quality makes that look a bit silly, it's cartoony with the paint making the piece look like it's crayon, all the same it looks like he was drawing people.

"A warm meal and tea, nothing especially exciting, please." Strike replies to the serving Sith with a polite bow of her head and leans against the bar, some.

Ezil nods too to Strike, looking to Cryo and Merek as he finishes his drawing, raising a brow as the man seems to concentrate on his art. "What are you doing, Merek?" he asks, pointing for Cryo to take a peek as well, leaning in towards her to whisper. "That's Garrett. He got me too." smirking as Azog engages with Strike.

The white lizard nods, takes the mug and leaves to get the orders. She can spin in place and depart without her huge tail swiping a table clean, even though the tailtip flicks past. Then she is moving sideways, stepping between the more crowded tables, using her tail and an arm to part the people and let her slip through. Into the kitchen, out again, she returns with a tray slipping past all obstacles.

In front of Strike, she sets down a large bowl of stew, adds a small loaf with a butter knife in it and chunk of butter sitting suggestively on the side of its plate. It's followed by a cast iron teapot, and a cup. "There you go ma'am. The tea is stepping, take the grill insert out of the pot in a few minutes, it should be perfect."

A large beer mug is placed in front of Azog, "regular beer. There you go."

Azog eyes Ezil, but he's off and saying something about Garrett. He accepts the drink from Cryosanthia, sips it thoughtfully. "Thank you," he replies. He stands, twists his body to stretch out a couple kinks, and resumes his seat.

Merek finishes up with the whisky, while he takes a moment to look to Ezil, showing him the painting, "That is all of you. I paint," he says, with a nod as well, then he's showing the painting for Cryo, also Azog, then to Strike! Also Garrett!

Strike has some coinage ready for the Sith as she returns with her order and nodding to her advisory, "Thank you." The man's art exhibition draws her eye, though it's peculiarities are given to puzzled bloom on her features.

Ezil looks to Azog as he's eyed, a brow in question before he speaks. His tone relaxed. "Community. Enjoy it when people can be happy and themselves. You have to take in the small moments you get, and being among so many I can call friends is wonderful." he explains to the orc, Merek's words catching him as he looks to the painting and smiles broadly. "Merek gets it!" he muses, shifting to pat Merek's shoulder. "It is nice, Friend." taking time to see what it depicts.

"Oh, that's Garrett the Fashionable? I should have known! He always fools me." Cryosanthia laughs, catching Ezil's explanation. She holds the empty tray against her front. She looks at the painting that Merek has been up to. "Did you do that while I was moving dishes? Wow, that's ... are the colours supposed to be so bold? Somehow that reminds me, have you seen Munch or Arngrim since we met them on the mountain? This one would enjoy seeing them duel in the collosieum, and find that Warrior Azog they were talking about, and someone for him to fight too."

Deftly she scoups up the coins from Strike, slipping them into her apron, "Much appreciated Ma'am."

"Thank you, it is supposed to be a little pretty... Arn was with me in the fight which was at that village of Fae," Merek admits, while he nods a bit to Cryo, and a nod to Ezil, and to Strike in thanks.

Azog peers at Merek's painting critically. "Well, the green's kinda close," he allows. The less said about the rest, the better. To Ezil, he asks, "You call all these people your friends? When is his birthday?" he points at Garrett. "What is her favorite food?" he points at Strike. "Why does he think he can draw?" he points at Merek. He looks up at Cryosanthis, and says, "I'm Azog. And I've fought Arngrim before. He's huge, but I'm tougher than him, and we've proven that already. I told him I'd give him a rematch if he'd learned some new tricks."

Ezil pauses as Azog says those things, looking between the people here and nodding. "You have a point. I won't deny it." his tone dropping as he looks to his drink. "There are many things about them I don't know." he admits without a rebuttal. "The Faring Folk are often considered shallow because of their open hospitality to guests.... perhaps I am. I just want people to feel at easy and get along." but he leaves it there, sipping his drink.

Cryosanthia adopts a less servile, 'I'm a barmaid' pose and says, "Oh! I'm Cryosanthia, a Speaker of the Sith-Makar, Peace be upon your nest and it's a pleasure to meet you, Azog. I shall remind Arngrin them, and see if he has found new tricks."

The white lizard hangs her head slightly, "I can answer none of those questions. In truth I've known them all little more than a week. The only answer I have is Iuitl of No-caste enjoys the dried dragonfruits, and likely does not think me friend. Is knowing secret affections a sign of friendship?"

Azog shrugs one shoulder to Ezil, and he says, "Well, hospitality and comradeship requires no particular closeness. So treat your companions as you will." To Cryosanthia, he sighs at the peace and nest business. "I've got no nest, I live in a room like civilized folk, and there'll be no peace while I have anything to say about it. Life is strife and striving to thwart evil. I'll take no peace til that's done, thank you." As to the questions, he shrugs to Cryo and adds, "Well, if you're new then it's fine. But if you would call people your friends, then learn more about them. Or call them what they are, comrades in arms, or sparring partners, or whatever."

Merek nods a bit between all of them while he smiles, "Thank you," he says, then he looks like he's content.

Ezil sighs and stands, leaving his drink on the table. "I have something I must take care of for a bit, but it was good meeting you Azog. You may not call me friend now or ever, but your words were a lesson I will do better to remember." stepping out from around the table, a hand raised to Cryo, then Merek. "Be well, and be safe." not really his usually goodbye, but he does offer a smile with it.

Strike frowns a bit and raises her hand to Ezil as he makes his intentions known, "Be well." she offers. She weighs Azog's words and goes silent, evaluating where they stand to her own convictions, such as they are.

"My nest was picked apart by birds, so I understand your meaning." Cryosanthia says, and it was. Perhaps figuratively, perhaps literally, perhaps both. "I shall use the human 'Hello' and 'Goodbye' with you unless there is an Oruch one you prefer."

She gives Ezil a look, muscles crinkling along her eye-ridges, head tilted questionningly but saying nothing. Once he's gone she stares at his abandonned drink and sighs. "I feel I missed something."

"Anything anyone would like from the Bar or Kitchen?"

Azog shrugs to Ezil, nods slowly. "Fare well, and fight hard," he says. As to being friends, Azog says, "I've got few enough that I could tell you their birthday or favorite food. But a fair number of battle buddies, folks I've shared adventures with, that I would trust at my back when villains are about. A reliable partner like that's worth any three friends," he claims. To Cryosanthia, he says, "Hello and goodbye are fine. You can -say- peace to my nest if you like, many Sith do, for all that there's no meaning to it for me." So probably 'hello' is better.

Ezil nods to Azog, a smile taking up his face with. "Well who knows what the future holds." something making him feel better, a hand raised to Strike with a wink as he moves towards the door. To Cryo and Merek he has a few words before out the door. "Worry not, I am checking on our guest. I fear to leave him too long." explaining his absence.

Merek nods a bit to Cryo, "I would like a tea if you have any," he says.

Merek also waves to Ezil!

"It means, 'I hope you have a safe place to sleep tonight, that it is warm and with food, and there is no strife between you and your mate and your offspring and your ancestors, and that you get to it and sleep well, because the Great Dragon knows there's no peace possible anywhere else'." Cryosanthia explains, "I will use the 'hello', though."

She nods after Ezil, regarding the 'guest'.

"One tea, coming right up." Swoop, off she goes.

Azog nods to Cryosanthia, though he says, "I know what it's about, I've known many Sith these last several years I've been here, but perhaps you can answer why it is commonly given in Tradespeak. I would think such an iconic phrase would be more iconic in the Sith language?"

"It's given in our language as well." Cryosanthia says. She rumbles, "Peace be upon your nest." <draconic>

She switches back to tradespeak, "We're trying to fit in, so we say it in trade to remind each other. Some traditionalists would have us not learn trade at all. My people say a lot with a little. Humans say a little with a lot. Many old scales are uncomfortable with the effort, the ssilly ssslyabic ssoundss sserioussly sspat sseeingly ssignalling ssoftsskinss ssuperiority! SSSssssss!"

Merek nods a bit to Cryo and Azog while he takes a moment to consider it, "Interesting," he says.

Azog nods gravely at the Sith words, though he doesn't understand a bit of it. And he smirks about fitting in, admitting, "Oruch try to fit in also, some of them. They have chili-making competitions with dwarves." This is clearly something he is not pleased by. He nods as Cryo hisses her tradespeak, and he says, "Your old scales are probably wise. Learning the human ways means forgetting your old ways." Which is why he eschews the chili.

"Chili?" Cryosanthia practially rises up on her toes. "I need to learn about chili! The old ways are not forgotten, we have the Memory Keepers for that. The Speaker-Caste did not originate with outside contact, before, our role was to Talk what they Know among the People. Now the circle is wider. The old scales are wise. I fear sometimes I am too 'brightscale' or not even sith-makar to them. I have looked outwards so much there is little within."

Azog visibly pales about the Chili, and says, "It is a dwarf and oruch thing. There is a competition, each year, who can put the most spice in their chili, and then eat it with a straight face. There is no honor involved," he further claims. Though this might be sour grapes from getting too much spice in his chili in his first try, years ago.

Cryosanthia looks over at Merek, "You're part Black Dragon, would you be able to eat that without expression? I'm White dragon, I'd probably melt. It would be fun to try, even if I was going to be sick all over the place." She mimes projectil vomiting in a few directions, with her sinuous neck, it's very convincing. "Do they need judges?"

Azog shrugs about judges, and admits, "I do not know. I avoid that, there is no honor in adopting these Alexandrian ways and forgetting the old ways. Svarshan may know, he has been in the city longer than I have, though getting words out of him is sometimes tough. Do you know him?" he wonders. Everyone generally does, he's a big man in the Sith community, but she said she'd only been here a short time.

Merek looks then to Cryo and Azog, "I mean, I eat a lot of things like that because I like it," he says, amusedly.

"Yes. He knows this one. He's been... Home." The white sith-makar girl says, her motions muted, her tail slowly swaying from one side to the other. "I feel the closest to home, by him, safest, by him. Almost like I have a nest again. You... are not wrong about forgetting and changing. I have no answer. I will communicate with him, words or the lack... that is not a concern."

Azog nods gravely. "Svarshan is usually wise," he agrees. "Though one time last year we lost track of Sandy and he was quite worried. I told him that if she happened to someone, it would be very obvious and everyone would quickly know." He shrugs, finishes his beer, rises again. "Anyhow, I think whatever emergency situation is going on is now passed us safely, and I will return to the Temple." And so saying, he heads out.

Merek nods a bit between the two, "I probably need to nap," he says, while he pushes up from the place.

The white sith-makar bows to Azog as he heads out.

"Cryosanthia! There are tables waiting!" The bartender bellows.

"Oops, I have to get back to work Merek. Sleep well. Peace be upon your nest!"

With that she wheels and becomes a white streak again, snaking and dancing around the tables dropping off fare, pocketing coins, and occasionally listening to someone who has stopped in for a free drink.

---------- End Log ----------------
---------- Dramatis Personae ----------

Azog
Azog is a monstrous orc, seven feet tall and massively built, with a youthful but careworn face. He has darkly tanned skin and black hair, shaved except for a topknot braided and hanging down his back. His shoulders are huge, and he has a barrel chest that tells of great strength. His abs are rock hard, and his hips solid, leading down into tree-trunk legs, though they're a bit bowed, characteristic of someone who spends a lot of time in the saddle.
Over full plate armor is a heavy leather winter garb consisting of layers of leather. The innermost has some slightly fancy tooling in geometric patterns, and is dyed a medium green. Over that is an overcoat of very dark green, with heavy shoulders covered with leather scales, likewise dyed dark green. The coat hangs down to his knees, and below his waist, the layers of heavy leather over the lighter continue. Heavy, knee-high boots are dyed black, but they blend with the dark green of leggings that are bloused at the knees. A red sash circles his waist, and a sword belt secures that in place. At his waist, on the left side, sits a bastard sword in a fine scabbard. Across his back is a heavy shield, obsscuring his backpack. Over his right shoulder is the head of a massive adamantine earthbreaker.

Strike
She stands just shy of six foot, a woman with diluted elven features and a frame promising both grace and strength, belied by soft skin of a warm, dusky grey. Her hair is an ivory shade, easily kneelength, though bound up into a topknot at the back of her head. Her eyes are dark pools, nearly black, but for the barest glimmer of brown in stronger light, an intensity in their gaze. There is a smooth economy to her movement, marred almost imperceptibly by a subtle uncanniness to her body language.
Her figure is partially subsumed in layers of cotton and wool of warm greys, both top and bottom. These, in turn are further shrouded in the winter hides of several animals, arranged to strike an 'acceptable' balance between insulation and mobility. Assorted belts dripping with small pouches cross at her narrow waist, while others belonging to her crammed travel pack, are cinched at the shoulders. Her boots are bearhide, as are the wristlets that cinch arouned her sleeves and the cuffs of her woolen gloves. Aside from the points of what could be three-pointed shuriken protruding from some of the pokets sewn into the soft leather braces at her wrists, her only weapon seems to be a humble quarterstaff of aged hickory.