Buggin' Out

Log Info

• Title: Buggin' Out

• Emitter: Barclaiigh

• Characters: Andelena, Barclaiigh, Dolan

• Place: The TarRaCe

• Summary: Barclaiigh meets the two Daeusites at the TarRaCe. Andelena finally gets a look at the idol that Barclaiigh and Dolan retrieved from their last expedition. The trio come to a conclusion: it's got to get looked at by more people, and more investigating has to be done.

-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-<* 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.

-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=- Dramatis Personae =--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-    
Andelena             6'0"     180 Lb     Human             Female    Redhead with steel-grey eyes and powerful build.                         
Barclaiigh           4'5"     202 Lb     Mountain Dwarf    Male      A thick tree-trunk of a dwarf. Wavy auburn hair, loose traveling clothes
Dolan                5'10"    174 Lb     Human             Male      Brown-haired human with scars down his face.                              
-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-

The wind is at it today. Nothing light and loose stays flat on the ground for any length of time, blow along with loose, white powder. The gusts howl between the buildings, rattling shutters and testing anchorpoints of shingles. Drifts collect against all manner of windbreak.

Inside the Tarrace the blustery weather is smothered under the thrumming sounds of a three-piece band. Two arvek nar in smart military attire beat their own set of three large bowl drums with a third member-- a yellow-orange gobber-- works across a straw fiddle with a pair of smaller, more delicate-looking mallets. A tattered and defiled flag hangs upside-down from the gobbers instrument: a cockatrice rampant on a yellow field. The trio are having fun, grinning and sweating on the stage, and the audience seems to be enjoying the performance well enough.

The waitstaff are enjoying the calm before the storm; the supper rush isn't far off but most of the tables are empty at the moment. The opportunity is taken to get some cleaning done, restock the mugs behind the bar, and swap out the kegs down the dregs.

At a table near the doors back to the baths, Barclaiigh sits with an accompaniment of empty mugs and a half-eaten bowl of some hearty stew. His furs and spear occupy the chair to the right and he hunches over a lumpy canvas sack kept in his lap. His hair could use a good looking-to (even moreso than usual (which is setting the bar fairly high)) and his little eyes are sunken into dark rings. He's muttering to himself over the most-recent drink as he watches the performance.

Dolan had taken a Guild job to earn some money a few days past, and had come back with his usual non-descript gray traveling cloak smelling of something acrid and with a new religious vocation. Enough so that the thing could be considered little more than a rag, although it appeared to have taken the brunt of whatever it was, and the man himself was unharmed, save for a few red spots on the back of one hand that faded quickly.

Since then, he's slept soundly, and is enjoying a drink at a different table than Barclaiigh, although sharp eyes - and in one case, its replacement - have spotted the dwarf and are now watching him.

Woah-oh, here she comes...

Andelena steps out of the bathhouse, wearing a robe that somehow manages to accommodate her muscles, although, since it stops at her knees, it does show off her tree-trunk calves. Her long copper-blonde hair, normally voluminous and wavy, is still rather damp, so it hangs in a much more subdued fashion, the slightest indication of curls beginning to form as the follicles air-dry. Her steel-grey eyes settle onto Dolan, and she walks over to him, clapping his shoulder. "Your turn," she says playfully.

The drumming continues with the two larger instruments providing a driving rhythm in point and counter-point, often meeting on the downbeat. The lighter, melodic sounds of the straw fiddle play in between and beneath the heavier sounds. The gobbers hands move rapidly back and forth, reaching out and in as it plays across three separate rows of wooden tubes. The two hobs are more deliberate and powerful in their beating.

The Khazadi wildman nods his head along, squinting and wondering at the flag while also trying to decide what makes this drumming sound so alien compared to dwarven drums in their stone halls. Maybe the setting? It doesn't occur to him that he's thinking out loud and into his mug in his peculiar, north-a-ways drawl. The server checking on the dwarf cocks his head to one side, producing a nod and a sausage finger pointing down at the mug.

Bar takes the opportunity to drain the mug dry while the server walks off to obtain him another, rolling his lower lip up and sucking the stray bits from his thick mustache. The chair coughs when he scoots back, standing up with the satchel held tight on ine thick arm. He makes it halfway to Dolan's table before turning back and remember to set down the empty mug.

Now he's on his way back back, rebounding off the corner of an intervening table on the way without breaking stride. The dwarf stops, blinks forcefully, and then bulges his eyes open before nodding between the familiar pair. "Iff'n y'want'r t'see it now's th'time... dang thing's a heavy weight t'carry."

Dolan had already looked up at Andelena as she approached, the light in his eyes one of almost puppyish adoration. The khazad had momentarily been forgotten, but even as he says, "Yeah," and starts to stand, leaving his drink on the table, that's about when Barclaiigh walks up. "Oh. Yeah." Both the adoration and his relaxation are gone. "Andie, you need to take a look at this. Remember I told you we found a weird statue in the bugs' lair? Those weren't ordinary bugs, they had a carapace like a meet and mouth parts like a mantis, like some wizard mooshed them together in a lab. The statue's like that, too, kind of."

"Weird bug statue, got it," Andelena says, turning her steely gaze onto the khazad man. She takes a seat next to Dolan, leaning back into the chair in a way that's almost regal. "Somehow, Barc, I'm not surprised you got wrapped up in this shit. Let's see it--and depending on how fucked up it is, I might order us a round."

She contemplates this for a moment longer. "Might do it anyway."

"Why?" Barclaiigh wonders, squinting at the large woman and perhaps a little offended. There's an edge to the Khazad-aul that isn't normally there an his tired eyes have a wild glint to them. Calloused fingers come up and drag roughly across his lips, he looks down to inspect them as he runs his tongue over his teeth. Grunting, he shakes his head. "Nevermind..."

The band finishes after a rapid crescendo. All six mallets finding their marks at the same exact moment. The stillness that follows seems to suck in the other ambient sound before a smattering of applause begins through the common room of the Tarrace.

"Jus'..." Barclaiigh reaches and takes the strap from his shoulders, ducking his head and mumbling something lost into his beard. The ratty thing is clutched tightly in both hands and he gives Andelena a long, steady look. "'s'cursed. 'Don't know how long y'have t'hold it... but yer dreams'r full'a Garm's hunger'n th'hunt iff'n y'do." Reluctantly, he offers the satchel over, the flap still closed.

"Some princess statue done got transformed, too. Int'a bigger'n then this." He lowers his voice. "Garm's comin'. Gonna see iff'n th'Grove can use this t'track things down afore we smash it but good."

"Don't worry about it, man. It's what she does." Dolan flashes a cheeky grin at his companion, but sobers again as he turns his gaze back to the sack and its statue. "The dreams of being hunted stopped, right after we found this," he observes. "Slept that night the best I had in weeks." He reaches to take the satchel and position in where Andi can peek inside without needing to pull the statue out into public view. "Another statue got transformed? Into something like this? Yeah, I thought it looked like something Caracoroth would have, and if you're dreaming of the hunt, that's prob'ly 'zackly what it is." He sits back, frowning and letting Andie look. "Still say the temples ought to see this."

"You just seem like the type to find shit like this. Nothing bad meant by it, Barc--it's a compliment more than anything," Andelena says reassuringly. "Means there's not a day spent around you that's so boring you wanna bang your skull into the wall."

She peers into the satchel and looks at it for a long moment, listening to Dolan's words. She huffs and says, "You know, I was kind of hoping we'd slept so damn well on account of the night we had prior, but on the other hand--me having a big fuckin' ego is probably the worst thing you could ask for."

She looks back up at both the men and says, "Yeah, no, I agree. That needs to get looked at by people more important than us. It's fucking creepy. Makes my fucking skin crawl."

Eyes dart back and forth while the bundle inside the satchel is inspected. When it's done he pulls the thing back and tucks the blanket inside back over before closing the flap and sliding the strap back across his broad shoulders. "Folk said th'dreams were someone else. Th'other dreams. Don't mean mine." His crooked nose whistles when he stops to think, wide lips pressed into a tight frown. "... Maw-somethin'... Grim?"

Sausage fingers come up snd presses across his face, rough hands scratching over squinted eyelids. "This'n's sure Crackin'cough. Garm. Th'monster god."

The bag is brought up against his chest and his thick arms wrap around it. He looks around again to make sure no one is listening in too closely and takes the time to pay especially close attention to any shadows. "Ain't go no problems with yer folk havin' a looksee," he agrees, stifling a yawn. "But it's s'much a problem outside th'walls'a Alexandria. Grove has t'be inn't, too."

The goblinoids are moving about the small Tarrace stage, breaking down and packing. The flag has come down off the proto-xylophone and was tossed roughly to the ground. The three musicians walk over and on it, occasionally taking the time to flip sweat or spit on the ragged thing, too. They're clearly not fans.

"Maugrim." Dolan all but spits the word, and slams a hand into the table. "More'n one. Who's saying the the dreams were from Maugrim?" He shoots a sharp look at Andelena, paying the musicians in the corner no mind now - if even he had been before. "I don't mind them being involved, we'll have to work together. If Maugrim's really involved, then we've got to let our superiors know, man. Who said that?"

Andelena puts a hand on Dolan's shoulder, as though to remind him they're in public. But she looks none too pleased about the situation, either, her gray eyes really taking on that steely quality now. "If the Tyrant's involved, this has gone way above everyone's fucking heads, and that's an understatement," she says, her tone a little more level-headed than Dolan's. "We need to know details, Barc. Who said it, where, when, and why?"

"Er... 'don't think'm tellin' it right." Barclaiigh grumbles, scratching at his beard and huffing. He closes his eyes hard to try and sort his thoughts. He's been a few nights without proper sleep and the drinks are having their say, too. "Y'got yer old dreams... th'ones most folk what could do some kin'a magics. Folk at that there twisted statue--" he pauses and takes a moment to get his bearings, this tosses a thumb eastwards-- "they reckon them dreams was somethin' t'do w'that Maw-grim fell'n maybe th'moon lady, too." He makes his left-hand a claw and drives it down. Trying to indicate that's one part of the discussion.

"That were miss Cor'lana'n her fella..." he closes his eyes and mutters '(no... ain't 'tellerman...')' and pauses before realizing, "Telamon!" A tired sort of relief washes over his face. "'n th'lizard fella, too. The kin'a dead-lookin' one w'the nice bronze hide. Gets fussed over by miss Irshya, too." Meaty fingers snap, "Skielstregar! 'n... then a really, really tall elf. Biggest elf I ever seen. Seemed kinda famous but I didn't catch 's name." He's hold one hand high-up, straining at the shoulder and lifting to his sandaled tippy-toes.

"Elf was th'one what knew how t'say Crackermath proper. If folks'd just call'm 'Garm' we'd all live longer lives not wasted on ten-platinum pr'fane gib'rish." He sighs and rubs his face.

"'n then I tol'm 'bout our little skirmish'n th'hills." The Khazadi wildman finally nods at Dolan.

Dolan looks over at Andelena, but subsides, slumping back in his chair, arms crossing in almost a harumph. "Moon lady? Eluna?" He's quick, at least, to come up with that one. "But if that's true, why'd the dreams stop the same day we found the statue?" He nods to the satchel, which he makes no move to touch. "Nah, there's more going on here, and one of Garm's names is the Nightmare. Yeah, I had those nightmares too. Don't see how they connect back to the Tyrant."

He chews on his lip in frustration. "Still say we'd better ask someone in the Temple."

"The Nightmare is the Tyrant's son, Bry," Andelena responds. "Not everyone is on speaking terms with their parents--I sure as shit am not--but, y'know, I feel like there could be a connection."

Andelena takes her hand off Dolan's shoulder now that he seems to have calmed down. "We ought to find one of these folks and ask about their experience in addition to asking around in the Temple. Leave no stone unturned, otherwise we miss something and suddenly we're in deep shit. Could be a connection, could also be completely irrelevant--but it's worth following up on."

She looks back at Dolan for a moment. "Otherwise we'd be like the Guard ignoring tips on those little imp fuckers."

"'ain't one fer sortin' through people'n makin' connections; auntie does that fer th'family on these trips." Barclaiigh admits with a bobbing shrug. "Figure it ain't smart bringin' this thing inta th'Grove'n near th'saplin. Fixin' t'ask onn'a th'big twigs t'meet me in th'wilderness..."

The dwarf's chin tucks and he tries to look down past the great bush of wavy auburn beard and consider the bag. "Feel like y'all could find yer folk'n we all meet up someplace neutral. Compare notes..." A pause, then, to stifle a yawn behind one corded and hairy forearm. "Temple folk'n grove folk'n any other folk y'figure'd be helpful. Iff'n it's Garm'n Maw-grim'n they're goin' after a Luna... like y'all said: gonna need all th'help we can get."

Again, Dolan shoots a look at Andelena at her words, then looks away and down, his own chin tucking, his human eye turning towards the pair. "Yeah. Maybe your friends, too, if they've got insights. This is something we'd better crack, and quick."

"I'm fine with that," Andelena says with an affirming nod. "More high-power eyes we get on this thing, the better. I'm not about to hoard information nor... creepy fucking artifacts."

She sighs deeply and gets up from her chair, leg muscles flexing visibly. She stretches for a moment with a bit of a groan. "I need a fucking drink. Usual poisons, you two?" she asks as she walks over to the bar.