Kittens Jessa Kittens

-=--=--=--=--=--=--=<* H06: Fate's Spire, Mountain Road *>=--=--=--=--=--=--=-

This broad but winding road is known for its view; to the distance, Fate's Spire spirals above the nearby Redridge. Unusually shaped, the Spire twists not unlike the horn of more legendary beasts, shaped that way by unknown events and named for the well-known, but quiet monastery at its base. Its color carries a blue-ish hue, which most associate with the colors of The Oldest One.

North and south, this trail meanders through the Redridge Mountains, its surface packed hard by cart and the heavy trod of the khazadi stonebeasts. Southwards the trail increases in elevation until it reaches a set of small but heavily guarded City Gates, beyond which is the Airstation Alexandria. It is along this trail that goods are brought directly to the airstation, traded from the mines within the mountains, and sent from Alexandria's airstation, to places all over the known world.

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Svarshan Be a brightscale! Chomp a demon! 0s 2d

Sandy The HIPpest elf ever. Practically a HIPpy. 5m 1d

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Monastery <M> Mountain Gates <S> North <N>

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<Meet> You offer to meet Jessa.

Jessa has arrived.

<Meet> Jessa joins you.

Huh? (Type "help" for help.)

It's Korday, Rhaltaas 25 19:57:44 1014. The full moon is up. The tide is low and rising.

A chilly wind blows from the west, driving dark clouds before it and blotting out the stars in patches overhead. The air is clear and elsewhere they glitter brightly in the dark sapphire sky.

Yesterday, icy rain. Today, chill wind. The monastery withstands them all, a silent place of confidence, meditation...of a screaming, flailing monk being thrown over the pathways. Svarshan ducks reflexively, the raptor behind him mimicking the movement. The two are dressed for a long, leisurely ride, though today Srassha walks behind him. He holds her mecate in a fist, and a pack over the other arm.

Jessa rides up on her dog. Well, seriously, the Ceinaran temple is way out yonder, perhaps in the desperate hope that their creativity (and thus insanity) can be isolated from the rest of the city and ... well, that doesn't work. Either way, it does mean that the halfling and her fellow Muses all have to travel a bit to get in their daily dose of inspiration of the citizens of Alexandria. Jessa's returning from a full day's work. Thus, she stops her dog and stares at the scene before her, tilting her head to one side.

<Meet> You offer to meet Cesran.

Cesran has arrived.

<Meet> Cesran joins you.

Svarshan follows the flying monk a while, his movements as slow as ever. His expression as solemn as ever. He stands in contrast to the fiery Ceinaran, from size to movement to... "Sa. Ancestor'ssss Wings, Muse." ...speech. Srassha tosses her head, sending her headgear jingling, glinting as much as it can in the poor near-winter sun. Of course.

"Is there any reason for that?" Jessa asks thoughtfully. The tiny Ceinaran Muse is seated atop her brindled riding dog, contemplating the flying monk.

He looks again, Svarshan does, towards the rapidly vanishing monk. And the source of the subsequent THUNK! that follows. And then well, looks back at her. Blinks once. "No."

Cesran comes walking down away from the Monastery. He spots the others and he gives a polite nod to them both, "Good day to you both."

"Well. All right then." Jessa still watches after the departed monk, vaguely curious, but apparently not enough to chase the man down. Shaking her head, she exhales and looks toward the new person joining them. "It is indeed! It will be an even better day once I've drink and food and the comfort of my temple."

The reptile nods once, as though that's agreeable. And slowly, a smile works its way across his features. A real smile, just a slow one. A real one, not the plastic type seen in the market, or on faces of actors. And this one seems uncertain, hesitant on a face that must not see them often. "Sa. We were...walking. Out this way. I was..." he tries again. "I was trying to...space for weaving. I..." and he looks frustrated after that, the smile vanishing as he glares hard at the ground.

Cesran smiles, "That is good to hear. I myself am heading for some food, the monks are nice, but I would like something a little more filling than distilled water and rice."

"That's not a meal, that's a punishment," Jessa mutters. She eyes Cesran and taps a finger against her lips. "No. You need to eat lots and lots. Good for contented sleepy inspiration." But then she's left trying to figure out what it is that Svarshan means, peering up at him intently. "Weave?"

The glare stays a while, glaring at the ground. And when the lucht says 'weave' Svarshan closes his eyes and sighs in what must be relief. After a moment, he holds up a finger and then turns to Srassha's saddlebags to rummage. The swift carries a set across her back, encased in fine leather in the style of Daeus and of Am'shere.

Cesran nods, "I would agree. A real meal has stew and biscuits." He laughs, "No more than others, I don't want to be a fat wizard." He looks to Svarshan and smiles, "That is very nice."

"Am I about to get a present?" This is asked hopefully by Jessa who stands up in her stirrups a bit. This does absolutely no good at all in helping her see better.

Srassha stands there as the saddlebags are opened. And after a moment, Svarshan takes out a set of leathers, and then tosses them, underhanded, the Muse's way.

"Weave," he echoes, the word meaning too many things. And, weave it /is/. The leathers are actually rawhide, of the sort used for an animal's tack. Though these leathers look abused and worn, and the surfaces show the unfortunate effect of claw marks along their sides. The top shows a (somewhat) competent beginner's weave, the rest clearly unfinished. And in the midst of this he glances at Cesran, then clears his throat. The words... "I...the son of Daeus asksss the daughter of Ceinara," pause, and then there's a warmth to the statement. Just a friendship, an inquiry. "I...cannot finish this. I...does the Muse know a hide-weaver?"

Cesran hmms softly as he looks at the sets of leather. He hmms, "I know some leatherworkers in the city that might help you if you are looking for someone to finish that." He hmms, "I don't think it would fit you."

Jessa looks mildly alarmed but manages to catch the thing, oofing softly. It takes her more than a few moments to get it pulled up and turned around so that she can really see it. Then she inspects it with the grave seriousness of an artist. "I am not one for this sort of work--I paint, I draw, I sing. But. I think a few of my fellow Muses would know the basics or would have the names of the better leatherworkers." She squints at Cesran. "You would be surprised what different people make fit. THough I agree."

Svarshan pauses, then makes a motion with his hand. "Ssspecial craft," he replies. "It...you start. Rawhide. Weave..." It's a /useful/ craft, but a craft nonetheless. The working on Srassha's hackamore shows a master's work, with a careful weave and knotting pattern. Crafters of that type guard their secrets carefully--each can be known for their pattern, or weaves. The partial head piece in Jessa's hands is a sad sister to all of that, a thing reaching but never finding its place. But he's /trying/. And he clears his throat at the mage's comment. Says solemnly, "Sa. I came up here to...practice. But too many evenings..." Pause, more quietly. "I am frustrated, Muse. And...sa. It was to be a gift for the Hunt," he adds, ruefully, with a glance towards Srassha. Looks back. "We were...to." And he just looks frustrated after that, giving up on words entirely.

Cesran laughs a bit, "Indeed I have seen many strange outfits that people wear in this city. It would not surprise me." He hmms as he looks at the weaving, "Seems rather complex."

Jessa looks....pained. "I...well. I see what you were trying for and it is..." Horrible "...a good effort. Inspiration is a blessing, of course," she continues in a stronger voice. This is less of a lie. "I think that you could use an evening enjoying our company and perhaps some singing and good food and inspiration." Perhaps she hopes he will get talent via osmosis.

Don't worry. The Hunt is only a few weeks away. Jessa can work miracles, right? Right??! The Sunblade looks cheered by her words, his smile returning enough to turn it into a full-fledged grin. An /outright/ grin, as though Jessa had just pulled the Sun itself from her pocket and promised a million summers for a year.

No pressure. None at all.

And he nods then, more bobs his head because apparently he's given up on words, at least for now, simply clasps the Muse's shoulder: thank-you, that says. And then a look over his shoulder towards the saddlebags, miming taking a drink. Cesran is included in the gesture.

Cesran nods a little bit, "I think Jessa is right nothing lifts the spirit like some good company, good food and good music. Maybe we'll even meet a couple of ladies."

Jessa isn't a leatherworker and has already stated so and promised him nothing! If he heard that? Sucker. Either way, the halfling waves an airy hand, apparently having no fear of anything. "I am sure some of my other fellow Muses will know the right person to talk to and maybe can be persuaded to drop a kind word in a craftsman's ear. Or something. Yes. Booze would be good." She eyes Cesran. "Of course you will. It is a temple of /Ceinara/."

Sandy arrives! Rather suddenly, actually. She wasn't there and now she is. She stops. Plants her hands on he hips. And she eyes Svarshan and Jessa, actually.

This is okay. Svarshan is looking towards the Muse with such appreciation and such trust, that it would only be like killing kittens. Ahem. He glances over as Sandy shows up, and nods. Then pulls a thing from Srassha's saddlebags: whiskey. "Sa. One packed...for a picnic." Words. He grimaces at them, but hopefully got them right. And then with a half-smile, tosses the bottle underhanded towards the sildanyari. Who, he seems sure, for whichever reason? Just might catch it.

Cesran smiles, "Well there you go." He smiles, "Muses of Ceinara need companionship too."

Jessa looks back up, completely guiltless. The wench. Also, probably someone may be inspired by his sheer sincere effort to get him at least a bit of help. Maybe. Either way, she brightens and stands in her stirrups again. "Whiskey! Oh. And Sandy. Weeell. I guess you can come too." She huffs out a sigh. And then eyes Cesran. "You halfwit. My point was there are just as many women Muses as men."

The bottle is caught, of course, when thrown to her. Sandy then eyes Jessa. Then she eyes Cesran. "Oh," she says, as if this explains -everything-.

Cesran looks over at Jessa, "And that's twice as many wits as you have. I know there are both women and men Muses. It's the female Muses that I hope to meet."

<Meet> Sandy summons Quint

Quint has arrived.

<Meet> Sandy summons Quint.

"You do understand that the Muses aren't whores, right?" says Sandy to Cesran, dryly. Then she moves towards Svarshan and says, "Svar, you're lucky I don't brain you with this bottle."

"Have fun with that," the halfling says in a dry voice. "No! You fool! You might drop the whiskey!" That is said to Sandy, the Muse's face scrunching up in a frown.

Svarshan rubs at his jaw, and then perhaps--perhaps he isn't as stupid as his speech suggests. Because the thing that follows the whisky? Is a packet of sandwiches, a set of food, right after the whisky. "I thought I'd be here a while," he says genially. And very soon? Sandy's arms are stuffed, filled with food. Because he's a pushy sith'makar. And if her arms are full, she can't hit anyone.

Sandy has disconnected.

Cesran looks over at Sandy and then over to Jessa, "When did I imply that they were whores? I merely wanted to meet them. Just because a man wishes to meet women doesn't mean that he thinks that they are whores." He shakes his head a little bit as he goes over to help with the food. "Here let me help with that."

Sandy has connected.

Cesran looks over at Sandy and then over to Jessa, "When did I imply that they were whores? I merely wanted to meet them. Just because a man wishes to meet women doesn't mean that he thinks that they are whores." He shakes his head a little bit as he goes over to help with the food. "Here let me help with that."

As soon as Sandy opens her mouth again? that's when Svar adds the stack of ribs.

"Don't drop the whiskey!" That's practically an order from Jessa.

"Wasn't planning on dropping -anything-," says Sandy with a bit of huff in her tons. She opens her mouth to say something and then gets ribs jammed in her mouth. Choking sounds. "GWAH."

"One had thought...to. Stay a while," Svarshan repeats, his expression solemn. But, Coyote's light hovers at the edges as he moves to sit on one of the outcroppings and stone. "Sa. Give the. Whiskey. I will open and. We will have a good feast." Pause, and then slyly. "In honor of the Flame. The Muse promised." Words, words. Struggle. He nods to the headpiece in Jessa's small hands. "To find me help. Ssssslebrate, Sssandy."

"Now what good that help will do," Jessa warns Svarshan, "I frankly don't know. But. I shall do what I can. We must encourage inspiration, of course. I'll meet you all at the temple." She seems intent to go...warn her fellow clerics.

It's okay. Because? He totally gives her the most Trusting Look Ever.

Kittens, Jessa, Kittens!