A Merchant's Day Out AND Templar Laser Light Show (partial)

I'm glad people brought this up, because it is nicely nostalgic. It does remind me of all the folks I had a blast playing with. The first part is just Maristen going about a typical day, and the part after the red highlight is the bit of log referenced in the other thread. If it seems like people are talking past each other in one on one conversations, it's because fast typers gonna type. As for the rest, it was a pretty busy day and evening.

A Busy Barracks [D, Quit, Save]
The floor of this spacious room is made of smooth wooden planks, and
polished, colorful granite stone forms the walls. Thin, bone-shuttered
windows look out over the grounds of the estate, and flood the room with
bright sunlight. Numerous rows of narrow beds and mats line the floor and
walls, some of which are occupied by men and women of all trades; hunters,
guards, merchants, and crafters. A series of colorful lockers fill the
length of the western wall completely. Purple and blue tile covers the
floor at the south end of the room, an area of space devoted to a long tiled
counter and a immense clay oven and grill. A hum of activity constantly
fills the space, as hunters, crafters, and slaves enter and exit the
chamber. A small stone staircase descends into the crafting hall below.
A flower-patterned white stone vase is here on a desk, filled with three obsidian roses, and one bright red rose.
An empty large wooden cask sits here, an image of a black tree burned into one of its sides.
A large wooden cask sits here, an image of a black tree burned into one of its sides.
Hanging neatly on the northern wall is a large canvas painting.
At the end of the counter rests a compact agafari tun with a handled lid.
A large, long weapons rack has been fixed to the eastern wall.
A purple, silk-covered couch sits lavishly against the eastern wall.
A multi-ringed, crimson and black dartboard hangs on the eastern wall.
A rectangular jade-green carpet lays in front of a row of cots.
A six-sided purplish basket has been placed beside a pink locker.
A large, airtight food storage bin sits beside the large stove and grill.
A hefty wooden barrel sits at the end of the counter beside a tun of water.
The wiry, blue-eyed man is standing here.
The somber, pale-faced man leans lazily against a wall.
The lean, beady-eyed man is here, rubbing grains into meats.

You are Maristen, Merchant/Agent/Commandante of the House Kadius.
Keywords: short slender man Mari
Sdesc: the short, slender man
Objective: To have a new wagon built.
Long Description:
Code Generated Long Description.
You are 38 years, 0 months, and 188 days old,
which by your race and appearance is mature.
You are 67 inches tall, and weigh 6 ten-stone.
Your strength is average, your agility is above average,
your wisdom is very good, and your endurance is exceptional.
You are a little hungry and not thirsty.
Your health is 117(117), you have 116(119) stamina, and 112(112) stun.

You have been playing for 154 days and 3 hours.
You are standing.
You are currently speaking sirihish with a southern accent.

The short, slender man waves as he comes up the stairs.

The wiry, blue-eyed man waves.  (Thorn)

The wiry, blue-eyed man sits on a purple, silk-covered couch.

You say to the lean, beady-eyed man, in sirihish:
"Can I have some steak, please? And some bread."

The lean, beady-eyed man nods, preparing a baguette of brown bread for the short, slender man.

The lean, beady-eyed man nods, preparing a grilled, spicy carru steak for the short, slender man.

You say to the lean, beady-eyed man, in sirihish:
"Thank you."

You sit at a blue-tiled counter.

You ask the wiry, blue-eyed man, in sirihish:
"How are you?"

The short, slender man slips your grilled, spicy carru steak between a bit of the bread.

Yawning a bit, the wiry, blue-eyed man asks, in sirihish:
"Not bad, you?"

The wiry, blue-eyed man stops using his pair of polished ivory sunslits.

You are using:
<on head> a feather-trimmed, dark purple hat
<about throat> a trailing twist of black ribbons
<across back> a black silk shoulder bag
<on torso> a shirt of creamy white linen
<on arms> a pair of blue and purple armbands
<around body> a black, knee-length coat
<on legs> a pair of black silk trousers
<around right ankle> a leather and chitin strap-sheath
<on feet> a pair of shiny black leather shoes

You say, in sirihish:
"Just fine, just fine."

You eat part of your grilled, spicy carru steak.

You look at the wiry, blue-eyed man.
His skin is evenly tanned and unmarred but for a few nicks on his
calloused fingers and hands. His jet-black hair is cut short and kept neat.
His face is clean shaven, revealing high cheekbones and striking features.
Pale blue eyes contrast sharply with the color of his skin. His build is
fit and wiry.
The wiry, blue-eyed man is in excellent condition.

The wiry, blue-eyed man is using:
<on head> a veiled, ebon raptor-hide helm
<around neck> a fanged, inix-shell gorget
<across back> a carved horn bow
<on right shoulder> an emblazoned purple patch
<over left shoulder> a compact, desert-camouflaged travel pack
<on arms> a set of ebon, raptor-hide armguards
<around right wrist> a polished tortoiseshell bracer
<around left wrist> a polished tortoiseshell bracer
<on hands> a pair of dark grey worm-hide gloves
<on forearms> a pair of blue and purple armbands
<around body> a desert-camouflaged sandcloth duster
<on legs> a pair of ebon, raptor-hide leggings
<around right ankle> a red, supple-leather sheath
<around left ankle> a quilted, ebon raptor-hide wrap
<on feet> a pair of carru hide boots

He is carrying:
nothing obvious

You say, in sirihish:
"I found an interesting bracer in a shop. A shame it was so expensive. And it's heavy too."

The wiry, blue-eyed man asks, in sirihish:
"Oh? What kind of bracer?"

You say, in sirihish:
"Mmm. I'll show you."

You stand up from a blue-tiled counter.

The wiry, blue-eyed man stands up from a purple, silk-covered couch.

You say, in sirihish:
"One moment."

A Spacious Crafting Hall [N, U, D, Save]
Long and high-ceilinged, this large, stone-tiled, granite-walled hall
is filled with bustle and noise, crafters of every stripe laboring at their
assigned tasks. Work tables and stations are situated around the spacious
room, well-stocked with the tools of a myriad of trades, from cutting stone
to sawing wood to sewing the finest silks. A large line of crates and
shelves have been set against the south end of the hall, stocked with a
large supply of raw materials. Sunlight from the thin, bone-shuttered
windows filters through an ever present haze of wood and stone dust in the
air. A large, blue and purple silk banner hangs on the eastern wall.
A sturdy twig broom has been hung on pegs near the door.
Precious stones that glitter sit in a large, gem carved supply crate.
A tree-carved wooden chest sits in the center, filled with finished goods.
A couple of large bags are here.
A large bag is here next to the log carved crate.
A heavy agafari trunk sits in a row, filled with all manner of horn.
A heavy agafari trunk sits in a row, brimming with large chunks of stone.
A heavy agafari trunk sits in a row, filled with chitin and shell.
A long yellowed-bone bin sits by a bone-carved crate, brimming with fangs.
A simple wooden chest sits by a worktable, filled with half-finished goods.
A large, log carved storage crate is brimming with wood of various sizes.
A long, wooden worktable sits in the center of the hall, lined with tools.
A large, bone carved supply crate is filled with bones of various creatures.
Some thick baobab logs are here.
A domed, fire-blackened kiln sits off to the side of the area, heat roiling from it.
A squat, tattooed guard stands here.

The wiry, blue-eyed man has arrived from above.

Wagonyard of House Kadius [N, S]
The permanent wagon-wheel ruts that criss-cross the hard-packed dirt of
the courtyard terminate here, in a section of the square set aside for
loading and unloading. Crates and boxes are stacked in piles, alongside
miscellaneous barrels, bags, bales and ropes in various stages of loading
or unloading. Further to the north the courtyard continues, leading to
warehouse buildings and the looming edifice of the Kadius estate.
A long, two-story building stands against the compound wall
to the south, the upper story appearing rather more recently constructed
than the ground floor.
A shadow falls over the area, driving off the uncomfortable heat.

The wiry, blue-eyed man has arrived from the south.

Courtyard of House Kadius [E, S]
A large square denotes the courtyard of House Kadius. Slaves can be
seen running around the dirt-packed square carrying hides to racks, and
preparing them for tanning. Agents and merchants run forth and back with
papers and goods, discussing deals and busying themselves with all the
various tasks of trade.
To the south can be seen the wagon yard of the house. Towards the
northeast, a three-floor estate rises, with a large tower crowning it.
To the east, the courtyard continues.
A dusty sparring circle has been fenced off from the rest of the courtyard.
A busy hawker runs around the yard, delivering messages.

The wiry, blue-eyed man has arrived from the south.

Courtyard of House Kadius [N, E, S, W]
The hard-packed dirt of the courtyard here has been worn down by the
passage of countless wagons, leaving permanent furrows that lead west
towards the wagon yard. Rising to the north is the almost painfully white
stone facade of the Kadius family estate, three stories high and crowned
with a tall, open-roofed tower. A smaller warehouse building stands to the
east, a blocky stone structure with a vaulted roof, while the stables and
main gate can be seen to the south. The high compound walls are topped
with obsidian spikes, and above them, to the north, the bright sandstone
buildings of the Merchant's Quarter gradually give way to the crumbling,
half-collapsed tenements of the Labyrinth.
A small fenced garden is built here in the courtyard.
A squat, tattooed guard stands here.

An Entrance to a Large Vaulted Hall [E, W, Save]
Cool blue tiles, their color ranging from almost white to deepest
cobalt, are laid out in a pleasing, intricate abstract pattern underfoot,
stretching to cover the expanse of this wide hall. The walls are made of
new red brick, and a series of rosy ceramic tiles borders where it meets
both the ceiling and floor. Smaller version of the same rose tiles
encircles the wide-silled, low windows.
The entranceway opens up to a bustling, vaulted hall to the east.
A large bag is lying here.
A heavy agafari basket is here filled with a bunch of neatly folded clothes, vivid colours that testify to more efficient dyeing methods and woodblock printing experiments.
A hefty wooden barrel sits here.
A rectangular table made of baobab wood stands here, its surface etched.
A bahamet carved wooden chest sits here.
A tregil-carved wooden chest sits here.
A carven agafari chest sits to the left of the hall's entrance.
A plain baobab chest sits to the right of the hall's entrance.
The lean brunette woman stands here.
The mousy, grey-eyed woman is standing here.
The balding, squinty-eyed man stands here vigilantly.

The lean brunette woman steps aside, allowing you to pass.
A Large Vaulted Hall [N, W, Save]
A tall, gracefully architected building surrounds this space. Cool
blue tiles, their color ranging from almost white to deepest cobalt, are
laid out in a pleasing, intricate abstract pattern underfoot, stretching to
cover the expanse of this wide warehouse. The walls are made of baked red
clay bricks, smoothed to a gleaming bloodred shine. The ceiling is domed,
vaulting up into the sky. Rose-colored ceramic tiles frame an archway that
leads to the west. A heavy curtain hangs on the northern wall, hiding a
pair of narrow doors that appear to be almost part of the wall.
Rows of lined shelves climb the walls, upon which a good variety of
clothings and fine objects reside. Merchants and crafters fill this hall
with their boisterous clamoring over various clothes and fine items.
A tall cylini bookcase sits on the ground here.
Pushed against one wall, a soft, cream-colored couch provides comfy seating.
A pale-blue linen rug has been spread over the floor here.
A bone sided chest sits here.
A well-fashioned grass basket sits here.
A coatstand, made of bone and antler, sits here.
A towering, wooden rose-briar sprouts upward in a furious tangle of thorns.
Precious stones that glitter sit in a large, gem carved supply crate.
A long bench has been bolted to the eastern wall, cushioned by thick pillows.

You enter a simple archway.
A Simple Stone Chamber [Leave, Save]
This chamber has been constructed from a solid red bricks. The walls
are completely barren, except to the south, where a large silk tapestry
completely covers the southern end of the room. Like the walls, the floor
is just stone, scuffed and scarred by use. To the north, a simple archway
has been carved through the stone wall, opening out into a warehouse.
A cabinet of carved bone and wood sits here.
An easy chair sits here, upholstered with green leather.
A large, comfortable-looking armchair, upholstered in heavy brocade, rests here.
An elegant agafari rocking chair rests here.
Some carved shelves of fitted agafari hardwood stand here.
A small, desert-camouflaged lizard is lazily resting atop a finely crafted hardwood desk.
An elaborate armor-stand, carved from blackened baobab, has been placed here.
A bulbous irrig beetle lamp has been placed on the edge of the desk.
A mekillot carved wooden chest sits here.
A crate of finely polished baobab wood rests here.
A lush rose bush nestled in a large baobab pot rests here.
A gracefully woven agafari basket swing hangs here.
A large bag, embroidered with the Kadian sigil, rests here.
A large bag is lying here.
A thin girl with sparkling bright eyes is standing here.
The tattooed, well-built woman stands here attentively.

The thick leaves on this rose bush are stiff, glossy and black.
Nestled amid the foliage are delicate purple roses with velvet-soft petals
that glimmer with a faint shimmer of phosphorescence. Sharp, painful
looking black thorns peek from within the foliage, protecting the lovely
blooms from unwary hands. The lush, healthy plant is tucked securely in a
large baobab flower pot that has been carved with the blue and purple crest
of House Kadius.
There are two suitable roses for picking on a purple, black-leaved
rosebush.

You get your spiked, chitin bracer from a finely-polished baobab crate.
It is no problem.

Thick plates of dull, rugged olive chitin have been laid across each
other in an overlapping fashion. Lashes of leather have been affixed to
the underside of the plates to secure the bracer in place. Two curving
spikes of duskhorn horn have been secured against the surface of the armor
and rise upwards, bending towards the wrist. Their tips are a glossy blue,
fading to a dull brown as they reach the bracer.

You step out to...

A Large Vaulted Hall [N, W, Save]
A tall, gracefully architected building surrounds this space. Cool
blue tiles, their color ranging from almost white to deepest cobalt, are
laid out in a pleasing, intricate abstract pattern underfoot, stretching to
cover the expanse of this wide warehouse. The walls are made of baked red
clay bricks, smoothed to a gleaming bloodred shine. The ceiling is domed,
vaulting up into the sky. Rose-colored ceramic tiles frame an archway that
leads to the west. A heavy curtain hangs on the northern wall, hiding a
pair of narrow doors that appear to be almost part of the wall.
Rows of lined shelves climb the walls, upon which a good variety of
clothings and fine objects reside. Merchants and crafters fill this hall
with their boisterous clamoring over various clothes and fine items.
A tall cylini bookcase sits on the ground here.
Pushed against one wall, a soft, cream-colored couch provides comfy seating.
A pale-blue linen rug has been spread over the floor here.
A bone sided chest sits here.
A well-fashioned grass basket sits here.
A coatstand, made of bone and antler, sits here.
A towering, wooden rose-briar sprouts upward in a furious tangle of thorns.
Precious stones that glitter sit in a large, gem carved supply crate.
A long bench has been bolted to the eastern wall, cushioned by thick pillows.

An Entrance to a Large Vaulted Hall [E, W, Save]
Cool blue tiles, their color ranging from almost white to deepest
cobalt, are laid out in a pleasing, intricate abstract pattern underfoot,
stretching to cover the expanse of this wide hall. The walls are made of
new red brick, and a series of rosy ceramic tiles borders where it meets
both the ceiling and floor. Smaller version of the same rose tiles
encircles the wide-silled, low windows.
The entranceway opens up to a bustling, vaulted hall to the east.
A large bag is lying here.
A heavy agafari basket is here filled with a bunch of neatly folded clothes, vivid colours that testify to more efficient dyeing methods and woodblock printing experiments.
A hefty wooden barrel sits here.
A rectangular table made of baobab wood stands here, its surface etched.
A bahamet carved wooden chest sits here.
A tregil-carved wooden chest sits here.
A carven agafari chest sits to the left of the hall's entrance.
A plain baobab chest sits to the right of the hall's entrance.
The lean brunette woman stands here.
The mousy, grey-eyed woman is standing here.
The balding, squinty-eyed man stands here vigilantly.

Courtyard of House Kadius [N, E, S, W]
The hard-packed dirt of the courtyard here has been worn down by the
passage of countless wagons, leaving permanent furrows that lead west
towards the wagon yard. Rising to the north is the almost painfully white
stone facade of the Kadius family estate, three stories high and crowned
with a tall, open-roofed tower. A smaller warehouse building stands to the
east, a blocky stone structure with a vaulted roof, while the stables and
main gate can be seen to the south. The high compound walls are topped
with obsidian spikes, and above them, to the north, the bright sandstone
buildings of the Merchant's Quarter gradually give way to the crumbling,
half-collapsed tenements of the Labyrinth.
A small fenced garden is built here in the courtyard.
The wiry, blue-eyed man is standing here.
A squat, tattooed guard stands here.

The short, slender man tilts his head a bit.

You give your spiked, chitin bracer to the wiry, blue-eyed man.

The wiry, blue-eyed man take bracer curiously, looking it over.

Dusting off his hands, you eat your small portion of a baguette of brown bread.

Nodding as he heft his spiked, chitin bracer, the wiry, blue-eyed man says, in sirihish:
"This is heavy. Ankheg, I think."

You say, in sirihish:
"Just what I was thinking, yes."

Turning bracer over in his hands, the wiry, blue-eyed man says, in sirihish:
"I suppose it might fit Stumpy, though."

Grinning, you say, in sirihish:
"Again, just what I was thinking."

Carefully handing it over, the wiry, blue-eyed man gives you his spiked, chitin bracer.

The short, slender man pats your spiked, chitin bracer carefully, tucking it under his arm.

You say, in sirihish:
"Wish I had two."

You shrug.

The wiry, blue-eyed man asks, in sirihish:
"Can't figure out how to replicate it?"

You say, in sirihish:
"I should be grateful for the one."

You say, in sirihish:
"Mmm, no. And even if I could, it's ankheg."

Smiling mirthlessly, you say, in sirihish:
"Those fuckers.."

You shake your head.

The wiry, blue-eyed man says, in sirihish:
"Never seen one."

You say, in sirihish:
"Nor have I, but we lost two good giants to ankheg once."

You say, in sirihish:
"I will be back."

An Entrance to a Large Vaulted Hall [E, W, Save]
Cool blue tiles, their color ranging from almost white to deepest
cobalt, are laid out in a pleasing, intricate abstract pattern underfoot,
stretching to cover the expanse of this wide hall. The walls are made of
new red brick, and a series of rosy ceramic tiles borders where it meets
both the ceiling and floor. Smaller version of the same rose tiles
encircles the wide-silled, low windows.
The entranceway opens up to a bustling, vaulted hall to the east.
A large bag is lying here.
A heavy agafari basket is here filled with a bunch of neatly folded clothes, vivid colours that testify to more efficient dyeing methods and woodblock printing experiments.
A hefty wooden barrel sits here.
A rectangular table made of baobab wood stands here, its surface etched.
A bahamet carved wooden chest sits here.
A tregil-carved wooden chest sits here.
A carven agafari chest sits to the left of the hall's entrance.
A plain baobab chest sits to the right of the hall's entrance.
The lean brunette woman stands here.
The mousy, grey-eyed woman is standing here.
The balding, squinty-eyed man stands here vigilantly.


The lean brunette woman steps aside, allowing you to pass.
A Large Vaulted Hall [N, W, Save]
A tall, gracefully architected building surrounds this space. Cool
blue tiles, their color ranging from almost white to deepest cobalt, are
laid out in a pleasing, intricate abstract pattern underfoot, stretching to
cover the expanse of this wide warehouse. The walls are made of baked red
clay bricks, smoothed to a gleaming bloodred shine. The ceiling is domed,
vaulting up into the sky. Rose-colored ceramic tiles frame an archway that
leads to the west. A heavy curtain hangs on the northern wall, hiding a
pair of narrow doors that appear to be almost part of the wall.
Rows of lined shelves climb the walls, upon which a good variety of
clothings and fine objects reside. Merchants and crafters fill this hall
with their boisterous clamoring over various clothes and fine items.
A tall cylini bookcase sits on the ground here.
Pushed against one wall, a soft, cream-colored couch provides comfy seating.
A pale-blue linen rug has been spread over the floor here.
A bone sided chest sits here.
A well-fashioned grass basket sits here.
A coatstand, made of bone and antler, sits here.
A towering, wooden rose-briar sprouts upward in a furious tangle of thorns.
Precious stones that glitter sit in a large, gem carved supply crate.
A long bench has been bolted to the eastern wall, cushioned by thick pillows.

You enter a simple archway.
A Simple Stone Chamber [Leave, Save]
This chamber has been constructed from a solid red bricks. The walls
are completely barren, except to the south, where a large silk tapestry
completely covers the southern end of the room. Like the walls, the floor
is just stone, scuffed and scarred by use. To the north, a simple archway
has been carved through the stone wall, opening out into a warehouse.
A cabinet of carved bone and wood sits here.
An easy chair sits here, upholstered with green leather.
A large, comfortable-looking armchair, upholstered in heavy brocade, rests here.
An elegant agafari rocking chair rests here.
Some carved shelves of fitted agafari hardwood stand here.
A small, desert-camouflaged lizard is lazily resting atop a finely crafted hardwood desk.
An elaborate armor-stand, carved from blackened baobab, has been placed here.
A bulbous irrig beetle lamp has been placed on the edge of the desk.
A mekillot carved wooden chest sits here.
A crate of finely polished baobab wood rests here.
A lush rose bush nestled in a large baobab pot rests here.
A gracefully woven agafari basket swing hangs here.
A large bag, embroidered with the Kadian sigil, rests here.
A large bag is lying here.
A thin girl with sparkling bright eyes is standing here.
The tattooed, well-built woman stands here attentively.

You put your spiked, chitin bracer into a finely-polished baobab crate.

You step out to...

A Large Vaulted Hall [N, W, Save]
A tall, gracefully architected building surrounds this space. Cool
blue tiles, their color ranging from almost white to deepest cobalt, are
laid out in a pleasing, intricate abstract pattern underfoot, stretching to
cover the expanse of this wide warehouse. The walls are made of baked red
clay bricks, smoothed to a gleaming bloodred shine. The ceiling is domed,
vaulting up into the sky. Rose-colored ceramic tiles frame an archway that
leads to the west. A heavy curtain hangs on the northern wall, hiding a
pair of narrow doors that appear to be almost part of the wall.
Rows of lined shelves climb the walls, upon which a good variety of
clothings and fine objects reside. Merchants and crafters fill this hall
with their boisterous clamoring over various clothes and fine items.
A tall cylini bookcase sits on the ground here.
Pushed against one wall, a soft, cream-colored couch provides comfy seating.
A pale-blue linen rug has been spread over the floor here.
A bone sided chest sits here.
A well-fashioned grass basket sits here.
A coatstand, made of bone and antler, sits here.
A towering, wooden rose-briar sprouts upward in a furious tangle of thorns.
Precious stones that glitter sit in a large, gem carved supply crate.
A long bench has been bolted to the eastern wall, cushioned by thick pillows.


An Entrance to a Large Vaulted Hall [E, W, Save]
Cool blue tiles, their color ranging from almost white to deepest
cobalt, are laid out in a pleasing, intricate abstract pattern underfoot,
stretching to cover the expanse of this wide hall. The walls are made of
new red brick, and a series of rosy ceramic tiles borders where it meets
both the ceiling and floor. Smaller version of the same rose tiles
encircles the wide-silled, low windows.
The entranceway opens up to a bustling, vaulted hall to the east.
A large bag is lying here.
A heavy agafari basket is here filled with a bunch of neatly folded clothes, vivid colours that testify to more efficient dyeing methods and woodblock printing experiments.
A hefty wooden barrel sits here.
A rectangular table made of baobab wood stands here, its surface etched.
A bahamet carved wooden chest sits here.
A tregil-carved wooden chest sits here.
A carven agafari chest sits to the left of the hall's entrance.
A plain baobab chest sits to the right of the hall's entrance.
The lean brunette woman stands here.
The mousy, grey-eyed woman is standing here.
The balding, squinty-eyed man stands here vigilantly.

Courtyard of House Kadius [N, E, S, W]
The hard-packed dirt of the courtyard here has been worn down by the
passage of countless wagons, leaving permanent furrows that lead west
towards the wagon yard. Rising to the north is the almost painfully white
stone facade of the Kadius family estate, three stories high and crowned
with a tall, open-roofed tower. A smaller warehouse building stands to the
east, a blocky stone structure with a vaulted roof, while the stables and
main gate can be seen to the south. The high compound walls are topped
with obsidian spikes, and above them, to the north, the bright sandstone
buildings of the Merchant's Quarter gradually give way to the crumbling,
half-collapsed tenements of the Labyrinth.
A small fenced garden is built here in the courtyard.
The wiry, blue-eyed man is standing here.
A squat, tattooed guard stands here.

You are carrying:
an unlit round-bodied alabaster lantern

You ask the wiry, blue-eyed man, in sirihish:
"Did you all bring anything?"

You smile.

Smiling, the wiry, blue-eyed man asks, in sirihish:
"Just the Overseer. We can take her back if she's not what you need?"

The late, red sun descends toward the western horizon.
The black moon begins to disappear below the horizon.

Chuckling, you say, in sirihish:
"I'm sure I can work with her just fine. I will wait on the clay. Imani can be patient."

You say, in sirihish:
"We have some below, I just don't want to run out."

The wiry, blue-eyed man says, in sirihish:
"Oh, you needed clay? Well, First and I will be headed back up this week, so I can try and remember to bring some back down."

You nod.

You suffer from use of the Way.
You are unable to reach their mind.

You say, in sirihish:
"Thank you. It would be much appreciated."

The wiry, blue-eyed man asks, in sirihish:
"Oh, could I ask you about ordering something, if you have the time?"

You ask, in sirihish:
"What would you like?"

The short, slender man folds his arms.

Courtyard of House Kadius [N, E, S, W]
The hard-packed dirt of the courtyard here has been worn down by the
passage of countless wagons, leaving permanent furrows that lead west
towards the wagon yard. Rising to the north is the almost painfully white
stone facade of the Kadius family estate, three stories high and crowned
with a tall, open-roofed tower. A smaller warehouse building stands to the
east, a blocky stone structure with a vaulted roof, while the stables and
main gate can be seen to the south. The high compound walls are topped
with obsidian spikes, and above them, to the north, the bright sandstone
buildings of the Merchant's Quarter gradually give way to the crumbling,
half-collapsed tenements of the Labyrinth.
A small fenced garden is built here in the courtyard.
The wiry, blue-eyed man is standing here.
A squat, tattooed guard stands here.

You ask, in sirihish:
"Hmm?"

The wiry, blue-eyed man asks, in sirihish:
"Well, I saw this really nice bed up north in a shop that Macian said was ours. It was large, made of carved agafari, and canopied. Do you know how I could go about getting that down here?"

Sheepishly, the wiry, blue-eyed man says, in sirihish:
"And some other things too, but I figured I'd start with that."

You say, in sirihish:
"I'll look into it for you."

You say, in sirihish:
"If that was all, I'm going to go and stretch my legs a bit."

Smiling, the wiry, blue-eyed man says, in sirihish:
"Thanks."

Nodding, the wiry, blue-eyed man says, in sirihish:
"Yeah, sorry to keep you."

You shake your head.

You say, in sirihish:
"No trouble at all."

You wave.

Courtyard of House Kadius [N, E, S, W]
The hard-packed dirt of the courtyard here has been worn down by the
passage of countless wagons, leaving permanent furrows that lead west
towards the wagon yard. Rising to the north is the almost painfully white
stone facade of the Kadius family estate, three stories high and crowned
with a tall, open-roofed tower. A smaller warehouse building stands to the
east, a blocky stone structure with a vaulted roof, while the stables and
main gate can be seen to the south. The high compound walls are topped
with obsidian spikes, and above them, to the north, the bright sandstone
buildings of the Merchant's Quarter gradually give way to the crumbling,
half-collapsed tenements of the Labyrinth.
A small fenced garden is built here in the courtyard.
The wiry, blue-eyed man is standing here.
A squat, tattooed guard stands here.

The short, slender man shoves his hands into his pockets.

Courtyard of House Kadius [N, E, S]
This large dirt-packed courtyard consists of a wide, irregular space,
closed off on each side by high brick walls, beyond which rise the rough
shapes of blocky sandstone buildings. A massive gate stands here, wide
enough for the passage of all but the largest wagons, the ancient hardwood
reinforced with heavy bone and decorated with fanciful engravings. Here
and there, guards in faded purple cloaks stand casual watch.
To the east, the unmistakeable sounds and aroma of riding animals
emerges from a low stone stable building. The courtyard opens out further
to the north, where additional buildings cluster around the three-story
edifice and tower of the Kadian estate.
The jade-eyed, sinewy woman is standing here, keeping watch.
A lithe, silver-haired guard stands here.

The jade-eyed, sinewy woman stops using her small brass and wood key.
The jade-eyed, sinewy woman unlocks the gate with a small brass and wood key.
The jade-eyed, sinewy woman opens the gate.
The jade-eyed, sinewy woman steps aside, allowing you to pass.

Outside the Kadian Compound [N, S]
A large gate made of agafari wood stands here, blocking the street
from the compound of House Kadius. Large walls of hardwood loom to the
northwest and northeast, surrounding the house and protecting it from any
plunderers. Through the gates, a large, open courtyard is visible. A
three-floor estate can be seen on the grounds, with a large tower crowning
it.
A small agafari and stone building stands off the side of the road.
The scarred, hawk-eyed Allanaki soldier patrols here.
The large, ebon-skinned man stands guard by the gate.
The jade-eyed, sinewy woman closes the gate from the other side.

The giant red sun sets over Allanak's west wall.

(LEAVING AND RETURNING TO BARRACKS)

The short, slender man lets your unlit round-bodied alabaster lantern cool off completely.

This lantern has been carved from milky white alabaster and is round and
bulbous with a flat base that serves as a reservoir for its supply of oil.
The curved belly of the lantern has been lightly etched with a serene,
silver-swept landscape of gently rolling sand dunes. The stone lid is
sturdy and rectangular, made to be set upright atop the lamp to provide a
stark white backdrop for the flame when the wick is raised or to be slid
neatly over top of the reservoir to prevent oil from spilling when the
lantern is not in use. Twin mirrors on tiny bone hinges swing from opposite
sides of the lid and are able to be closed and folded one on top of the
other. They open at an angle to reflect any light the lantern sheds and
project it forward, greatly amplifying its brightness.
It is not currently lit.
It's about half full.

You fill an unlit round-bodied alabaster lantern from a small clay jar.

A Spacious Crafting Hall [N, U, D, Save]
Long and high-ceilinged, this large, stone-tiled, granite-walled hall
is quiet, only a few crafters left working late into the night on various
projects. Work tables and stations are situated around the spacious room,
well-stocked with the tools of a myriad of trades, from cutting stone to
sawing wood to sewing the finest silks. A large line of crates and shelves
have been set against the south end of the hall, stocked with a large supply
of raw materials. Glass oil lanterns hang from the ceiling, flooding the
room with light, and the thin windows have been shuttered with bone against
the night. A large, blue and purple silk banner hangs on the eastern wall.
A sturdy twig broom has been hung on pegs near the door.
Precious stones that glitter sit in a large, gem carved supply crate.
A tree-carved wooden chest sits in the center, filled with finished goods.
A couple of large bags are here.
A large bag is here next to the log carved crate.
A heavy agafari trunk sits in a row, filled with all manner of horn.
A heavy agafari trunk sits in a row, brimming with large chunks of stone.
A heavy agafari trunk sits in a row, filled with chitin and shell.
A long yellowed-bone bin sits by a bone-carved crate, brimming with fangs.
A simple wooden chest sits by a worktable, filled with half-finished goods.
A large, log carved storage crate is brimming with wood of various sizes.
A long, wooden worktable sits in the center of the hall, lined with tools.
A large, bone carved supply crate is filled with bones of various creatures.
Some thick baobab logs are here.
A domed, fire-blackened kiln sits off to the side of the area, heat roiling from it.
A squat, tattooed guard stands here.

You hear a man's voice from above say, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"Aye. Pink."

You hear a man's voice from above say, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"I'm going to hang in Luirs though."

The petite, straight-locked woman has arrived from the north. (Aximas)

You look down at the petite, straight-locked woman.
This delicate woman, whose features are petite from head to toe, has
shiny, obsidian-hued hair that is completely lifeless and entirely too long.
Severe bangs that hide them most of the time cut across her eyebrows to her
temples and the rest just blandly droops to the small of her back where
there it rests in a perfectly kept straight line, like a silken cape. She
has rounded cheekbones, a dainty chin and large round violet eyes that stray
towards the paler side of the spectrum. A beauty-marked, rose-bud mouth and
a tiny nose complement her guise. Her flawless skin is olive-toned and
milky, smooth in that affluent way. Her slim silhouette has flourished into
shapely. The curves of womanhood leave no question of femininity but do not
endeavor into indubitably buxom.
There's a frailty to her these days. She looks a bit waifish around her
face, cheekbones more pronounced, lavender eyes rounder. She's a bit paler,
thinner. Her locks hold a sight wave, like a mirage against the sands, the
shimmer is so inconsiderable that it's hard to note it within the raven
shade.
The petite, straight-locked woman is in excellent condition.

The petite, straight-locked woman is using:
<on face> a black silt-pearl stud
<in left ear> a black silt-pearl stud
<around neck> a softly shimmering black rose pendant
<on torso> a bare-shouldered gown of shimmering jade silk
<over left shoulder> a black silk shoulder bag
<on right index finger> a polished, jozhal-carved bone ring
<on left index finger> an emerald-set, wide ebony band
<on left middle finger> a smooth jade ring
<on right ring finger> an ivory ring inlaid with ruby and topaz
<on left ring finger> a lapis lazuli signet ring with an evening stone
<on left thumb> a band of bright emerald caged in delicate ivory swirls
<around body> a purple-trimmed, hooded black silk cloak
<on feet> an elegant pair of high-heeled black silk shoes

She is carrying:
nothing obvious

You hear a man's voice from above say, in sirihish:
"I'll be in the corral."

You hear a man's voice from above say, in sirihish:
"Oh."

The wiry, blue-eyed man has arrived from above.

The shaggy, dark-complected man has arrived from above. (TERSON)

You say to the petite, straight-locked woman, in sirihish:
"Hello, Overseer."

The moment she walks in and sees you the petite, straight-locked woman smiles broadly and comes over.

You put your unfired clay canteen onto a long, wooden worktable.

You put your clay jar of red glaze into a lightly-stained cylini cabinet.

You put your length of leather into a lightly-stained cylini cabinet.

In passing, the shaggy, dark-complected man says to the petite, straight-locked woman, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"We're going for a ride."

Warmly, the petite, straight-locked woman asks you, in cavilish:
"Good morning, Mari. How are you?"

The short, slender man walks over toward the petite, straight-locked woman and smiles.

You begin speaking cavilish.

The wiry, blue-eyed man waves to the petite, straight-locked woman, continuing on at the shaggy, dark-complected man's words.

The wiry, blue-eyed man walks north.
The shaggy, dark-complected man walks north.

Meeting you, the petite, straight-locked woman grabs you and pulls you into a hug.

Smiling as well, you exclaim to the petite, straight-locked woman, in cavilish:
"I am doing fine, thank you. Ooh!"

The short, slender man hugs the petite, straight-locked woman back gently.

Pulling back after a moment, you ask the petite, straight-locked woman, in cavilish:
"Care to have a seat?"

You say to the petite, straight-locked woman, in cavilish:
"There is something I want to show you, too."

When you withdraw that pull is tighter and the petite, straight-locked woman wraps her arms around your shoulders, squeezes you then she sighs.

(The short, slender man relaxes a bit and his smile is a bit gentler.)

Quietly, you say to the petite, straight-locked woman, in cavilish:
"I am glad your delivery went well."

Letting you go and then nodding, shaking out her arms and re-grabbing the bag she almost dropped, the petite, straight-locked woman says, in cavilish:
"Okay okay. I'm just glad to be home, I'm not emotional."

Sniffing, the petite, straight-locked woman says, in cavilish:
"It was terrible."

You say, in cavilish:
"Shall we adjourn to the office? What I wanted to show you is there."

Rolling her eyes as she blathers and nods, following you, the petite, straight-locked woman says, in cavilish:
"Terrible. Six people guarding me and a snake bit me, scorpions tried to sting me, I was spiced and paranoid."

The petite, straight-locked woman falls in behind you.

The short, slender man blinks at the petite, straight-locked woman.

You ask, in cavilish:
"On the trip -here-?"

Rolling her eyes again, the petite, straight-locked woman says, in cavilish:
"Oh Mari, you have no idea the half of it. It wasn't >that< bad but I had to come and kiss Templar ass."

You say, in cavilish:
"Mmm. Well, I am glad that you made it safely."

Amusement suddenly in her eyes, the petite, straight-locked woman says to you, in cavilish:
"Me too."

The lean brunette woman steps aside, allowing you to pass.
A Large Vaulted Hall [N, W, Save]
A tall, gracefully architected building surrounds this space. Cool
blue tiles, their color ranging from almost white to deepest cobalt, are
laid out in a pleasing, intricate abstract pattern underfoot, stretching to
cover the expanse of this wide warehouse. The walls are made of baked red
clay bricks, smoothed to a gleaming bloodred shine. The ceiling is domed,
vaulting up into the sky. Rose-colored ceramic tiles frame an archway that
leads to the west. A heavy curtain hangs on the northern wall, hiding a
pair of narrow doors that appear to be almost part of the wall.
Rows of lined shelves climb the walls, upon which a good variety of
clothings and fine objects reside. Merchants and crafters fill this hall
with their boisterous clamoring over various clothes and fine items.
A tall cylini bookcase sits on the ground here.
Pushed against one wall, a soft, cream-colored couch provides comfy seating.
A pale-blue linen rug has been spread over the floor here.
A bone sided chest sits here.
A well-fashioned grass basket sits here.
A coatstand, made of bone and antler, sits here.
A towering, wooden rose-briar sprouts upward in a furious tangle of thorns.
Precious stones that glitter sit in a large, gem carved supply crate.
A long bench has been bolted to the eastern wall, cushioned by thick pillows.
The petite, straight-locked woman has arrived from the west.

You enter a simple archway.
A Simple Stone Chamber [Leave, Save]
This chamber has been constructed from a solid red bricks. The walls
are completely barren, except to the south, where a large silk tapestry
completely covers the southern end of the room. Like the walls, the floor
is just stone, scuffed and scarred by use. To the north, a simple archway
has been carved through the stone wall, opening out into a warehouse.
A cabinet of carved bone and wood sits here.
An easy chair sits here, upholstered with green leather.
A large, comfortable-looking armchair, upholstered in heavy brocade, rests here.
An elegant agafari rocking chair rests here.
Some carved shelves of fitted agafari hardwood stand here.
A small, desert-camouflaged lizard is lazily resting atop a finely crafted hardwood desk.
An elaborate armor-stand, carved from blackened baobab, has been placed here.
A bulbous irrig beetle lamp has been placed on the edge of the desk.
A mekillot carved wooden chest sits here.
A crate of finely polished baobab wood rests here.
A lush rose bush nestled in a large baobab pot rests here.
A gracefully woven agafari basket swing hangs here.
A large bag, embroidered with the Kadian sigil, rests here.
A large bag is lying here.
A thin girl with sparkling bright eyes is standing here.
The tattooed, well-built woman stands here attentively.
The petite, straight-locked woman has entered a simple archway.

Easing down, you sit on an elegant agafari rocking chair.

The thick leaves on this rose bush are stiff, glossy and black.
Nestled amid the foliage are delicate purple roses with velvet-soft petals
that glimmer with a faint shimmer of phosphorescence. Sharp, painful
looking black thorns peek from within the foliage, protecting the lovely
blooms from unwary hands. The lush, healthy plant is tucked securely in a
large baobab flower pot that has been carved with the blue and purple crest
of House Kadius.
There are two suitable roses for picking on a purple, black-leaved
rosebush.

Going over, the petite, straight-locked woman looks in a finely-polished baobab crate.

The petite, straight-locked woman puts her large, gemstone-embroidered bag into a finely-polished baobab crate.

The petite, straight-locked woman puts her bloodied mesh-covered, tembo-hide cap into a finely-polished baobab crate.

The petite, straight-locked woman puts her mesh-covered, tembo-hide cuirass into a finely-polished baobab crate.

You say, in cavilish:
"I bought a bracer for Stumpy, it's in the crate there. I'll give it to him when I can. Hopefully he likes it. It's ankheg, I believe."

To a small, desert-camouflaged lizard, making a face at it on her way to a green-leather easy chair, the petite, straight-locked woman says, in cavilish:
"Lizzie."

The petite, straight-locked woman rests on a green-leather easy chair.

Shaking his head, you say, in cavilish:
"Jump, actually."

You chuckle.

Nose wrinkling in that bratty way of hers, the petite, straight-locked woman says, in cavilish:
"Oh fine. Jump."

Shooting it a look, an abrupt, skeptical peer, the petite, straight-locked woman asks, in cavilish:
"It doesn't jump... does it?"

You say, in cavilish:
"I brought you here so we could discuss several things. I will start with something lighter."

You laugh.

You say, in cavilish:
"He -does- time to time."

The petite, straight-locked woman says, in cavilish:
"Ew."

The petite, straight-locked woman sits up, adjusting her chair to further away herself from a finely crafted hardwood desk.
You say, in cavilish:
"Just tiny hops. He is well behaved."

Curling up again, pulling her legs onto the chair itself and tucking them under, the petite, straight-locked woman says, in cavilish:
"Can we start with heavy? I like bad news first, not so bad after."

Inclining his head, you say, in cavilish:
"Alright, then."

You say, in cavilish:
"I have no idea what is happening in Tulu-- I suppose we should guard our minds. And I will go ahead and state bluntly that I believe Oashi.. people are likely about the city."

You say, in cavilish:
"If you understand me."

You suffer from use of the Way.
You build a psychic barrier around your mind.

Nodding, the petite, straight-locked woman asks, in cavilish:
"Done. Lord Percy is still the acting Oashi noble?"

You say, in cavilish:
"That he is."

The petite, straight-locked woman says, in cavilish:
"Mm. Lady Ru's pet."

You say, in cavilish:
"I don't know about all that. There is a lot to go over."

The short, slender man eases back in an elegant agafari rocking chair.

The short, slender man half-closes his eyes.

The petite, straight-locked woman says, in cavilish:
"Alright, go, I'll save commenting until the end. Or you can ask if you want."

Softly, pale eyes scanning your face, the petite, straight-locked woman says, in cavilish:
"It's good to see you Mari."

Just as quietly, you say, in cavilish:
"And you as well."

You say, in cavilish:
"Let me think.. There has been tell of unrest in the streets with the soldiers."

You say, in cavilish:
"I have not witnessed it personally."

You say, in cavilish:
"But the mood in the city is uneasy."

You notice: The hum that comes from the petite, straight-locked woman's throat is remarkably, eerily quiet, so much so it's hard to hear.

You say, in cavilish:
"I witnessed Nell get stabbed in the throat in the middle of Red's."

You get your bloodied trailing twist of black ribbons from your black, knee-length coat.
It is very light.

The petite, straight-locked woman nods, lips pursed as her eyes flit to the ribbons you hold.

The short, slender man traces his fingers over your bloodied trailing twist of black ribbons with a melancholy look on his face.

You say, in cavilish:
"I.."

(The short, slender man cuts off and frowns.)

You stop scanning the immediate area.
You begin watching the petite, straight-locked woman.

Biting her lip, breathing in, the petite, straight-locked woman says, in cavilish:
"I know you held respect and affection for her. And Sia and she were very good friends."

Quietly, you say to the petite, straight-locked woman, in cavilish:
"I was brought down to the arena and a suspect was identified. Then executed."

With a quick shove, you put your bloodied trailing twist of black ribbons into your black, knee-length coat.

Studying your face, tone a bit quieter but more gentle with caution, the petite, straight-locked woman asks, in cavilish:
"... does that make you feel better?"

Lightly, you say, in cavilish:
"The sentence was carried out."

(The short, slender man doesn't look very happy at all, eyes unsmiling.)

Lips twitching, amusement in her eyes for a second, the petite, straight-locked woman says, in cavilish:
"Sometimes, Maristen, you are terrible at answering the questions posed in a straightforward manner."

The petite, straight-locked woman says to you, in cavilish:
"I love you, you shit."

The short, slender man laughs softly.

Rocking back in his chair a bit, you say, in cavilish:
"It all has gone to shit a bit here."

You notice: The petite, straight-locked woman softens when you laugh.

Drawing in a deep breath, the petite, straight-locked woman says, in cavilish:
"Mmm... tell me more."

You say, in cavilish:
"After the second senate measure failed, people are being married and.."

The short, slender man waves a hand.

Sucking his teeth, you say, in cavilish:
"That part might not be public knowledge. That the marriages are tied, in part to the measure's failing."

You say, in cavilish:
"So please don't let that slip."

Abruptly, you ask the petite, straight-locked woman, in cavilish:
"What is going on in Tuluk?"

Blinking, the petite, straight-locked woman says, in cavilish:
"Wait.. what measures. News from the city has been scarce and we can't poo around through the Way."

The petite, straight-locked woman says, in cavilish:
"The bats are gone and there's been some kind of battle. The Dasari who delivered Xian perished as well as someone else."

The petite, straight-locked woman says, in cavilish:
"Ask Terson, he'll know more. I was in the estate for a whole month after Xian's birth."

You say, in cavilish:
"That is a shame."

You nod.

The petite, straight-locked woman asks, in cavilish:
"So what measures? What was up for discussion at the meetings?"

The petite, straight-locked woman asks, in cavilish:
"By the way, most visible Templar lately? Most pleasant to you?"

You say, in cavilish:
"The first measure was to reinstate the Borsails to the noble's quarter."

Wincing, the petite, straight-locked woman says, in cavilish:
"Ouch."

You say, in cavilish:
"There is Lady Templar Harna -- it passed."

Exhaling, looking relieved, the petite, straight-locked woman says, in cavilish:
"Thank goodness, that'd have been >bad<."


You say to the petite, straight-locked woman, in cavilish:
"And Lord Templar Alveron, as well as Lord Templar Aanson, though I have seen him less."

You shrug.

The petite, straight-locked woman asks, in cavilish:
"Houses?"

You ask, in cavilish:
"Hmm?"

The petite, straight-locked woman says, in cavilish:
"I know Lord Templar Aanson's House, obviously."

The petite, straight-locked woman says, in cavilish:
"The others no though."

You say, in cavilish:
"I forget Lady Harna's. Alveron is a Valika. Do let me know Harna's when you find out, please."

Nodding, the petite, straight-locked woman says, in cavilish:
"I will."

You say, in cavilish:
"The second measure.. was to let the Civil Ministry take over from the War Ministry in city defense, I believe."

The petite, straight-locked woman asks, in cavilish:
"What?"

The short, slender man shrugs.

Brows raising, the petite, straight-locked woman asks, in cavilish:
"... huh... that failed?"

You nod.

The petite, straight-locked woman says, in cavilish:
"Well no wonder the soldiers are fucking crazy at the moment."

You say, in cavilish:
"I wouldn't put it like that.. to anyone."

Laughing, the petite, straight-locked woman says, in cavilish:
"Yes. I'm aware. But you're not just anyone. You're family."

The short, slender man smiles faintly.

You say to the petite, straight-locked woman, in cavilish:
"Aside from all that, there are weddings to prepare for.. if we get the business."


Sobering with a deep breath, words preceded by that hum, the petite, straight-locked woman asks, in cavilish:
"Mmmm... so we need to make sure we keep the soldiers happy. Who's getting married off?"


You say, in cavilish:
"I haven't heard gossip about either wedding, but that may just be me."

Casually, you say, in cavilish:
"Lady Ru is getting married. She believes into Oash at this time."

You say, in cavilish:
"I have some effects laying about the Showroom for her, actually."

You shake your head.

The petite, straight-locked woman asks, in cavilish:
"She hasn't been in touch?"

Snapping his fingers, you say, in cavilish:
"One moment."

The petite, straight-locked woman asks, in cavilish:
"She's marrying up. How lovely for her. Oh?"


Mildly, agreeably, the petite, straight-locked woman says, in cavilish:
"Alright. Holding."

You say to the petite, straight-locked woman, in cavilish:
"She said they don't have a firm date for their event, they have a lot to plan. She wanted to know if Kadius wanted to run an event for the festival. The tentative time is Ascending Sun, year twenty six."

You say, out of character:
"June"

You say, in cavilish:
"At the earliest."

You say, in cavilish:
"I told her she would need something more firm at the end."

The petite, straight-locked woman nods.

You say, in cavilish:
"And our showing was interrupted, but we will continue it. I just wanted to get her some more parasols first. Dressing Phoebe is a trial sometimes."

Murmured more than said, the petite, straight-locked woman says, in cavilish:
"Mmm... I bet. Never met a fucking commoner who thinks she doesn't stink like she does."

You say, in cavilish:
"Lady Kitt is getting married as well."

Brow raising, the petite, straight-locked woman asks, in cavilish:
"Is that so... do you know to whom?"

You ask, in cavilish:
"I do not. But I would handle that very delicately. She has been.. irritable and think on it. She is a Borsail and getting married. Where is she going to go?"

The short, slender man points downward.

Hissing in, the petite, straight-locked woman cringes.

You say, in cavilish:
"Best not to even bring that up."

Biting her lip, the petite, straight-locked woman nods.

Sighing, you ask, in cavilish:
"Is there a garden or greenroom in the estate?"

The petite, straight-locked woman asks, in cavilish:
"Borsail Estate?"

You shake your head.

You say, in cavilish:
"The estate here on the compound."

The petite, straight-locked woman says, in cavilish:
"Ours? Inside? .... I don't readily know the expanse of the entire estate. I've only ever been on the main floor save for my office."

Brow raising, the petite, straight-locked woman asks, in cavilish:
"Why?"

You ask, in cavilish:
"Or just an area with lots of sunlight?"

The short, slender man directs his gaze to a purple, black-leaved rosebush.

You say, in cavilish:
"It took me.. you have no idea how long of work."

You say, in cavilish:
"But It will not flourish well in here, I think."

You say, in cavilish:
"But I don't want recruits plucking it willy-nilly or worse yet, walking off with it."


You say, in cavilish:
"It is very delicate."

You say, in cavilish:
"And precious.. you have no idea."

Openly admiring the plant, seemingly awed by it, the petite, straight-locked woman says, in cavilish:
"Baby boy... that is... "

Pale eyes going to you, the petite, straight-locked woman says to you, in cavilish:
"... breathtaking... My goodness Mari..."

You say, in cavilish:
"I would pluck a rose for you to see. But they are, as I said.. they need love and care."

You open your black silk shoulder bag.

In a black silk shoulder bag:
1.lush - a lush purple rose with black tipped petals

You say, in cavilish:
"I have one, but it is spent."

Exhaling out the single word as she looks back at it, the petite, straight-locked woman says, in cavilish:
"Beautiful."

You get your lush purple rose with black tipped petals from your black silk shoulder bag.
It is very light.

You close your black silk shoulder bag.

You say, in cavilish:
"Have a look."

You give your lush purple rose with black tipped petals to the petite, straight-locked woman.

Bringing it to her nose, closing her eyes as she deeply inhales, the petite, straight-locked woman says, in cavilish:
"Mmm... is this..."

Rocking back and forth, you ask, in cavilish:
"You may remember.. I said I wanted t make a wine.. a rare wine from moon roses?"

Curiously, flitting a glance to you, the petite, straight-locked woman asks, in cavilish:
"Lavender...?"

Shaking his head, you say, in cavilish:
"I decided to breed a moon rose with the red roses from our garden."

The petite, straight-locked woman nods, humming as she admires the bloom.

You say, in cavilish:
"That one is spent, but they.. glow. It will impart the sheen I need.. the glisten, the luster to the wine."

You say, in cavilish:
"And the soothing qualities of moon rose."

Grinning with pleasure as she admires the blossom, the petite, straight-locked woman says, in cavilish:
"Oh Mari... this is really stunning."

You say, in cavilish:
"That and I am trying to gather murfa fruit from our hunters. This will be.. amazing."

Leaning forward to pass it back to you, grinning wider, the petite, straight-locked woman says to you, in cavilish:
"Oh Mari... you've sincerely outdone yourself."

The petite, straight-locked woman gives you her lush purple rose with black tipped petals.

The short, slender man smiles.

You say, in cavilish:
"I wanted to ask about this plant's future. Like I said, I want it to grow strong."

The petite, straight-locked woman says, in cavilish:
"How did you find a moonrose? They're so very rare. I've heard they only grow in some cave."

You say, in cavilish:
"Dooly had one. I asked her for hers."

The petite, straight-locked woman says, in cavilish:
"I think we should build a moonrose garden, of course."

Shaking his head, you say, in cavilish:
"It wouldn't take in our soil."

You say, in cavilish:
"I had to bring soil from the Grey Forest and mix it carefully with ours."

The petite, straight-locked woman says, in cavilish:
"We have two estates baby."

The short, slender man points toward the pot.

The petite, straight-locked woman says, in cavilish:
"We can import our soil here or expand the gardens there. Either way, this deserves its own place."

You say, in cavilish:
"Our gardeners said they wouldn't take."

Brow raising, the petite, straight-locked woman says, in cavilish:
"So it has to be potted."

You say, in cavilish:
"But these roses.. they likely will. With love and care."

You say, in cavilish:
"I meant the moon roses."

You say, in cavilish:
"I am calling these roses Shade's Blessing."


Humming thoughtfully, the petite, straight-locked woman says, in cavilish:
"Mmm.. maybe a green room."

The petite, straight-locked woman asks, in cavilish:
"And the shades won't take down here Kumas said?"

Grinning a bit, you say, in cavilish:
"Since the traditional parting is "Shade and Profits"."

Laughing, the petite, straight-locked woman says, in cavilish:
"Brilliant."

You say, in cavilish:
"They should take in this garden, but I don't want them to be plucked and handled like that."

Your psychic barrier is crushed!
A foreign presence contacts your mind.

You say, in cavilish:
"For one, they are going to be the ingredient to our finest wine. I want to sell that wine for at -least- five large a cask."

The wiry, blue-eyed man sends you a telepathic message:
"Brought the clay."

You contact the wiry, blue-eyed man with the Way.

You send a telepathic message to the wiry, blue-eyed man:
"Thank you. We will be about soon."

The wiry, blue-eyed man sends you a telepathic message:
"Alright. I'm just loitering at the Gaj."

You send a telepathic message to the wiry, blue-eyed man:
"Be safe and enjoy yourself."

As if it were simple, the petite, straight-locked woman says, in cavilish:
"We mandate they're not to be touched. Maybe we can afford to have someone watch over it so that no one under the rank of First can touch it."

The wiry, blue-eyed man sends you a telepathic message:
"Thanks."

You say, in cavilish:
"For another.. yes. Perhaps."

You nod.

You dissolve the psychic link.

The petite, straight-locked woman says, in cavilish:
"Small casks."

The petite, straight-locked woman says, in cavilish:
"Oash won't be pleased."

Trying to hold back a grin, the petite, straight-locked woman says, in cavilish:
"Especially if and when it takes off."

You say, in cavilish:
"We will deal with that."

You build a psychic barrier around your mind.

You say, in cavilish:
"But.. I want people to be abe to make jewelry from them if they want."

You say, in cavilish:
"To make wonders. So yes.."

You say, in cavilish:
"They can be doled out be seniors."

You say, in cavilish:
"For crafts."

Dreamily, you say, in cavilish:
"They glow purple.."

You sigh.

Humming thoughtfully as she looks around the windowless office, the petite, straight-locked woman says, in cavilish:
"Mmmm... maybe we can get a window installed in here."

The petite, straight-locked woman asks, in cavilish:
"I can't remember if the addition to the warehouse has windows. Does it?"

You say, in cavilish:
"Not sure. I don't think so."

You say, in cavilish:
"But for now, I water it."

You say, in cavilish:
"At least once a week."

The petite, straight-locked woman asks, in cavilish:
"I'd rather keep her under lock and key if we can, until we know whether the seniors will approve an area especially for it. Now you're saying you want to breed moonroses as well?"

You shake your head.

The petite, straight-locked woman asks, in cavilish:
"Just Shades?"

You say, in cavilish:
"No. I made this -from- moonrose. I no longer need moonrose."

The petite, straight-locked woman asks, in cavilish:
"Is she flourishing in here or no?"

You say, in cavilish:
"It doesn't seem to be dying, but no new roses have grown."

You say, in cavilish:
"That and the roses are dim when you pluck them."

The petite, straight-locked woman asks, in cavilish:
"Have you talked to Kumas about it?"

Nodding, you say, in cavilish:
"It needs to be where it can be watered frequently and where it can get to the light."

You say, in cavilish:
"That's why I was asking about the estate. I don't mind if I can't get to it. So long as it is treated well."

The petite, straight-locked woman says, in cavilish:
"Well then... I'll see what we can do. Lots of windows in there, we can keep her with shade and water as well as sun."

The petite, straight-locked woman says, in cavilish:
"Let me speak to the Seniors."

You nod.


Warmly, the petite, straight-locked woman says, in cavilish:
"Or you can."


The petite, straight-locked woman asks, in cavilish:
"What do you prefer?"


You say, in cavilish:
"I'll ask. I hate to be a bother, but.. It is such a lovely thing."

You say, in cavilish:
"And I want future Kadians to enjoy it."

The petite, straight-locked woman says, in cavilish:
"Mm. It's a gorgeous legacy Mari."

The petite, straight-locked woman says, in cavilish:
"You should be proud."

The short, slender man smiles again.

Pale eyes going to a purple, black-leaved rosebush again, humming in that way of hers, the petite, straight-locked woman says, in cavilish:
"Mmmm... it really >is< breathtaking."

You say, in cavilish:
"I hope that they understand what it can be used for."

The petite, straight-locked woman says to you, in cavilish:
"The possibilities are endless."

You nod.

The petite, straight-locked woman says, in cavilish:
"Imagine a gala gown, a glowing bride as she sits being served."

The petite, straight-locked woman says, in cavilish:
"The scent of roses when she walks."

You say, in cavilish:
"Rings, necklaces, perfumes, foods."

Sighing, the petite, straight-locked woman says, in cavilish:
"Perfume... nec..."

The petite, straight-locked woman chuckles.

You grin.

You say, in cavilish:
"Little cakes that glisten."

The petite, straight-locked woman asks, in cavilish:
"Maristen, for garnish alone, can you imagine?"

The petite, straight-locked woman asks, in cavilish:
"They're edible?"

Repeating himself, you say, in cavilish:
"I just hope they understand."

The petite, straight-locked woman says, in cavilish:
"Imagine a banquet table draped in silk, a row of these on the edge! It'll be >fabulous<."

Grinning, the petite, straight-locked woman asks, in cavilish:
"And very, very expensive. Have you set a cost for a single bloom?"

You say, in cavilish:
"Well.. I haven't plucked one to taste.. I haven't been that bold yet. But moonrose is used to soothe nerves."

You say, in cavilish:
"And roses -are- edible."

You say, in cavilish:
"That is another reason I want recruits to not pick them all over the place. I want the value to be high."

You say, in cavilish:
"And I only really want Kadians wearing them."

You say, in cavilish:
"In their fresh form."

The petite, straight-locked woman says, in cavilish:
"If you were to put a value on one... tell me what it'd be."

Promptly, you say, in cavilish:
"You can buy a moonrose for about two large, I think. More. Let's start there."

You say, in cavilish:
"But.."

You say, in cavilish:
"We can't charge anything until I nurish the plant and get the roses to glow bright."

The petite, straight-locked woman says, in cavilish:
"Definitely two large to start. Not a sid less."

The petite, straight-locked woman says, in cavilish:
"Even dimly lit."

Looking to the plant once more, the petite, straight-locked woman says, in cavilish:
"It's more exotic than a moonrose. No one's ever had a Shade's Blessing."

Shaking his head, you say, in cavilish:
"Their light fades quickly. It would be terrible to charge anyone for something like that just now."

You say, in cavilish:
"That and.. they are for Kadians."

The petite, straight-locked woman asks, in cavilish:
"Oh Mari... you're always so generous with your pricing. Can I have the one without light to wear in my hair?"

The petite, straight-locked woman says, in cavilish:
"The simple phrase 'They're not for sale' will drive everyone mad."

Glancing at the bush, biting her lip, the petite, straight-locked woman says, in cavilish:
"People might try and steal it."

Sighing, you say, in cavilish:
"Until a noble just reaches out and demands it."

You say, in cavilish:
"That is why I don't want the bush in the garden. Recruits and all."

Shrugging, the petite, straight-locked woman says, in cavilish:
"Then as I remove it its petals will crumble in a >very< unfortunate manner."

This delicate rose is a lovely, rich and deep shade of purple. Each
ruffled, velvet-soft petal is tipped in black and though the color is
somewhat subdued, the entire flower is radiant, lit with a gentle glimmer.
The soft glow is centered on the tiny stamens glistening at the heart of the
bloom, lending the rose a sense of vibrancy despite its dark tones. The
rose is cradled by two stiff, glossy black leaves that curve gracefully
upward from a thorny black stem.

Warmly, softening with understanding and affection as she looks at you, the petite, straight-locked woman says, in cavilish:
"I understand that you want to keep her protected. I'll wait to bait people."

Glancing out into the main room, the petite, straight-locked woman asks, in cavilish:
"I need to take day's rest. Anything else I need to know?"

You say, in cavilish:
"No, that is all. I should rest myself."

The petite, straight-locked woman says, in cavilish:
"Alright.. I'll be in the city for a bit, few weeks at least. I have some damage control to do."

You ask, in cavilish:
"Damage control?"

Rolling her eyes as she rises, the petite, straight-locked woman says, in cavilish:
"Lord Templar Aanson came into my mind while I was in a very very indisposed position. He thinks I was high on zharal."

Easing up, the petite, straight-locked woman stands up from a green-leather easy chair.

You say, in cavilish:
"Ah."

You say, in cavilish:
"Be well."

The petite, straight-locked woman says, in cavilish:
"So I came with zharal to gift him and kiss his ass."

You say, in cavilish:
"I need to give the bush some water."

Sighing, the petite, straight-locked woman says, in cavilish:
"Hopefully I avoid death. Wish me luck."

You say, in cavilish:
"Good luck."

Turning to a purple, black-leaved rosebush, the petite, straight-locked woman says, in cavilish:
"And you... stay healthy."

The short, slender man bites his lip with concern.

Grinning at you, the petite, straight-locked woman says, in cavilish:
"Maybe we'll feed it the blood of our enemies."

The short, slender man chuckles weakly and shakes his head.

You think:
"Not mine."

Cheerfully, coming closer to you, the petite, straight-locked woman says, in cavilish:
"Always makes >me< feel better."

The petite, straight-locked woman looks up at you, hand lifting to your face.

The short, slender man tilts his head curiously.

Brushing the back of her fingers over your jaw, sighing, the petite, straight-locked woman says to you, in cavilish:
"I adore you, you know. I'm sorry Sia and I tried to kill you. I hope you forgive me one day."

(The short, slender man seems at a loss for words.)

Sincerely, looking at your eyes so that you can see hers, the petite, straight-locked woman says to you, in cavilish:
"I'm glad we didn't succeed."

The short, slender man blinks at the petite, straight-locked woman.

Gently, tone soft, you say to the petite, straight-locked woman, in cavilish:
"Thank you, Axhimas."

With her thumb, the petite, straight-locked woman touches your bottom lip and leans in as if to press a kiss onto it.

Passing it over, you give your lush purple rose with black tipped petals to the petite, straight-locked woman.

Blinking and turning her head when she goes in for the peck so that only her nose brushes yours the petite, straight-locked woman opens her mouth in shock.

The short, slender man smiles a bit.

Gaping at you, the petite, straight-locked woman exclaims to you, in cavilish:
"Mari!"

You say, in cavilish:
"It doesn't have any light to it.. save when it tries to glisten just faintly."

Scuffing a little, turning suddenly more girlish than she's been in a while, bringing the bloom to her nose, the petite, straight-locked woman says to you, in cavilish:
"Aww. You like me."

With a delighted giggle, the petite, straight-locked woman >does< lean in and steals a kiss from you before scooting out.

The short, slender man blinks again.

As she bolts, the petite, straight-locked woman exclaims to you, in cavilish:
"I love you!"

The petite, straight-locked woman leaves a simple archway.

You think:
"I was trying to prevent that, actually."

You think:
"She loves me, huh?"

You sigh.




(MORE DOMESTIC ROLEPLAY AND A SMALL BIT LATER)



The wiry, blue-eyed man has arrived from below.

The wiry, blue-eyed man dusts himself off.

The wiry, blue-eyed man stops using his veiled, ebon raptor-hide helm.

Walking up the stairs, the wiry, blue-eyed man says, in sirihish:
"Morning."

The wiry, blue-eyed man looks down at you.

You say, in sirihish:
"Morning"

The wiry, blue-eyed man asks, in sirihish:
"The clay's in the corral. You want me to move it somewhere?"

You say, in sirihish:
"No, I can take care of it. Thank you very much."

The wiry, blue-eyed man asks, in sirihish:
"Alright. Everything good?"
You say, in sirihish:
"Did you enjoy your time at the Ga--"

You nod.

Easing onto it, the wiry, blue-eyed man sits on a purple, silk-covered couch.

You sit at a blue-tiled counter.

Shrugging, the wiry, blue-eyed man says, in sirihish:
"Eh, was just killing time. Wasn't bad."

You ask, in sirihish:
"I think I should rest a bit. Where did Terson head off to, though?"

The wiry, blue-eyed man says, in sirihish:
"He's either in Luir's, or Tuluk, I think. He stopped off in Luir's and I continued on."

You nod.
You say, in sirihish:
"I should rest a bit now. You take care."

You stand up from a blue-tiled counter.

A foreign presence contacts your mind.

The wiry, blue-eyed man says, in sirihish:
"Rest well."

The lofty, night-crowned man sends you a telepathic message: (Lord Lucith)
"Good morning."

The short, slender man pauses and frowns.

You say, in sirihish:
"Or not.."

You contact the lofty, night-crowned man with the Way.

The wiry, blue-eyed man asks, in sirihish:
"Always more work?"

The short, slender man chuckles ruefully.

You send a telepathic message to the lofty, night-crowned man:
"Good morning. I hope you are well, Lord Borsail?"

You say, in sirihish:
"You know it."

You sit at a blue-tiled counter.

The wiry, blue-eyed man stands up from a purple, silk-covered couch.

The wiry, blue-eyed man gets his dish of small beetle fillets from a large, airtight food storage bin.

Cutting into it, the wiry, blue-eyed man eats a portion of his dish of small beetle fillets.

The lofty, night-crowned man sends you a telepathic message:
"I am. I entered your mind and left it just a moment ago. I was considering whether to harass you or not."

The lofty, night-crowned man sends you a telepathic message:
"I ultimately settled on yes."

You send a telepathic message to the lofty, night-crowned man:
"You never harass me.. I enjoy your company."

You stand up from a blue-tiled counter.

You say, in sirihish:
"I should fill the barrel."

You pick up a hefty wooden barrel.
It is no problem, and empty.

The thick, stern-looking man steps aside, allowing you to pass.

A Small Stone Storeroom [W]
This small stone-walled room is cool and dimly lit, and seems to be
given over entirely to the storage of barrels - about half a dozen or so,
stacked neatly along the walls. The only furniture is a small writing
desk, on which rests a stone lantern and a heavy, leather-bound ledger.
The greying, one-legged man sits here on a barrel, making notes in a ledger.

You get your pile of allanaki coins from your black, knee-length coat.
There were 177 coins.
It is very light.

The greying, one-legged man makes a note in his ledger, as his assistant unstoppers a barrel for you and carefully decants the correct amount.

You send a telepathic message to the lofty, night-crowned man:
"It is soothing to hear your voice."

The lofty, night-crowned man sends you a telepathic message:
"Or something like it?"

You send a telepathic message to the lofty, night-crowned man:
"*amused* Mmm, yes."

You drop a hefty wooden barrel. Shown to the room as:
A hefty wooden barrel is sitting at the edge of the counter next to the water tun.

You notice the wiry, blue-eyed man glance your way.

The short, slender man dusts off your black, knee-length coat.

The wiry, blue-eyed man says, in sirihish:
"Oh, do you think I could bother you to get me a cask of water? I want to try making kalan juice."

The wiry, blue-eyed man opens his compact, desert-camouflaged travel pack.

The wiry, blue-eyed man gets his kalan fruit from his compact, desert-camouflaged travel pack.

You put your pile of allanaki coins into your black, knee-length coat.

The wiry, blue-eyed man gets his pile of allanaki coins from his compact, desert-camouflaged travel pack.

You ask, in sirihish:
"Mmm, yes. Coins, please?"

Counting out a handful, the wiry, blue-eyed man gives you 116 coins.

The wiry, blue-eyed man asks, in sirihish:
"80 for the water, right?"

You send a telepathic message to the lofty, night-crowned man:
"Sorry, I'm handing a bit of business."

The lofty, night-crowned man sends you a telepathic message:
"Mmhmm."

You send a telepathic message to the lofty, night-crowned man:
"How is your day going?"

The wiry, blue-eyed man asks, in sirihish:
"Or is it more down here?"

The lofty, night-crowned man sends you a telepathic message:
"Idly. I suppose that's good."

The lofty, night-crowned man sends you a telepathic message:
"Well, not really."

The lofty, night-crowned man sends you a telepathic message:
"I wish I knew more."

You say, in sirihish:
"I think about one fifty six for the water."

The wiry, blue-eyed man says, in sirihish:
"Oh, sorry. Hang on."

The lofty, night-crowned man sends you a telepathic message:
"It's not as if I want something bad to happen, but if it did, at least I might learn something from it."

The wiry, blue-eyed man counts out some more coins.

The wiry, blue-eyed man gives you 76 coins.

You say, in sirihish:
"I will be right back."

(TRAVEL )


The wiry, blue-eyed man has arrived from the north.

You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the lofty, night-crowned man:
"I am sure.. all will be well."

The wiry, blue-eyed man says, in sirihish:
"No reason to haul it all the way back up."

"Hrm. Going to have to buy a cask."

The wiry, blue-eyed man asks, in sirihish:
"Did I give you enough for that?"

You give the dainty, curly-haired woman 35 obsidian coins for a large blue wine cask.

The lofty, night-crowned man sends you a telepathic message:
"Perhaps so, but again, I cannot merely twiddle my thumbs and hope for the best. Not when such expectations have been placed in me."

The greying, one-legged man makes a note in his ledger, as his assistant unstoppers a barrel for you and carefully decants the correct amount.

You give the wiry, blue-eyed man 53 coins.

You give your large blue wine cask to the wiry, blue-eyed man.

You close the door.

Smiling, the wiry, blue-eyed man says, in sirihish:
"Thanks."

You nod.

You say, in sirihish:
"Take care."

You send a telepathic message to the lofty, night-crowned man:
"You will know what to do when the time comes."

You rest on a purple, silk-covered couch.

The lofty, night-crowned man sends you a telepathic message:
"Until then, I have to make what preparations I can."

The lofty, night-crowned man sends you a telepathic message:
"I feel I have been missing something. What could it be?"

You send a telepathic message to the lofty, night-crowned man:
"Mingle with people a bit."


The lofty, night-crowned man sends you a telepathic message:
"I have been trying. They all seem perplexed, although there is one that I feel may know more."

The lofty, night-crowned man sends you a telepathic message:
"I will be the last one she tells."

The lofty, night-crowned man sends you a telepathic message:
"The best I can hope for, I think, is to get close to the ones who are near to her. Particularly her handsome, if foolish friend."

You send a telepathic message to the lofty, night-crowned man:
"What can you control and what is beyond helping."

The lofty, night-crowned man sends you a telepathic message:
"I don't think I even know enough to answer that right now. I will have to think on that."

You send a telepathic message to the lofty, night-crowned man:
"Those are the two things to keep in mind. What you can, put it under your thumb hard, I'm sure you know. What you cannot, watch closely."

The lofty, night-crowned man sends you a telepathic message:
"The problem is that the ones I am trying to watch also seem to know so little. When they receive orders, they will receive them suddenly...and I fear they will be swift and brutal."

The wiry, blue-eyed man has arrived from below.

The wiry, blue-eyed man rests on a small leather cot.

You send a telepathic message to the lofty, night-crowned man:
"Until you know that, you are, regrettably, going to be adrift. Guard what you can. What is important."

The wiry, blue-eyed man stands up from a small leather cot.

You send a telepathic message to the lofty, night-crowned man:
"It is like negotiations. What will you give up and what do you want to keep at all costs?"

The wiry, blue-eyed man walks down.

You send a telepathic message to the lofty, night-crowned man:
"Then take steps."

The lofty, night-crowned man sends you a telepathic message:
"I think there may be something to seize upon in the request to spy upon my family."

The lofty, night-crowned man sends you a telepathic message:
"I could feed him false information and perhaps he could give me something in return, however small."

You send a telepathic message to the lofty, night-crowned man:
"There is. You have to figure out what, though. And.. I would be careful, but that is your choice."

The lofty, night-crowned man sends you a telepathic message:
"Of course. Everything I decide to do has to be planned meticulously. The slightest wrong move could be...disastrous."

You send a telepathic message to the lofty, night-crowned man:
"I wonder.. if a woman had tried to kill you once.. but then fervently apologized.."

You send a telepathic message to the lofty, night-crowned man:
"And tried kissing you and said she loved you. What would you make of it?"

The lofty, night-crowned man sends you a telepathic message:
"...I'd probably be quite disturbed."

You send a telepathic message to the lofty, night-crowned man:
"It is unsettling, mm."

The lofty, night-crowned man sends you a telepathic message:
"She does this to you?"

You send a telepathic message to the lofty, night-crowned man:
"It's not bad as all that. I'm just trying to figure out why."

The lofty, night-crowned man sends you a telepathic message:
"You don't seem her type."

You send a telepathic message to the lofty, night-crowned man:
"Mmm. I'm just trying to figure it out. If there is something going on behind it I am missing. Ah well. It will out soon enough."

The lofty, night-crowned man sends you a telepathic message:
"It reminds me a bit of what a certain cousin of mine is always doing to me, but to my knowledge she has never tried to kill me."

The lofty, night-crowned man sends you a telepathic message:
"Of course, I wouldn't likely know about that, as her plots never come to anything."

The lofty, night-crowned man sends you a telepathic message:
"I wouldn't bat an eyelash if someone told me she'd made an attempt."

You send a telepathic message to the lofty, night-crowned man:
"That made me chuckle a bit."

The lofty, night-crowned man sends you a telepathic message:
"I told you she told me she loved me?"

You send a telepathic message to the lofty, night-crowned man:
"Mmm. Yes."

You send a telepathic message to the lofty, night-crowned man:
"Why is that such a frightening thing to hear? I'll bet when I say it, it must be jarring as well. I never thought of that."

The lofty, night-crowned man sends you a telepathic message:
"I like hearing you say it, now."

You send a telepathic message to the lofty, night-crowned man:
"I'm glad."

The lofty, night-crowned man sends you a telepathic message:
"I'm going to need some of those bandages of yours. I'm being subjected to all sorts of jabs from Lord Timotheo tonight."

You send a telepathic message to the lofty, night-crowned man:
"Oh, ouch. I suppose I don't know him very well. He doesn't show that side.. to those such as myself."

The lofty, night-crowned man sends you a telepathic message:
"He is one of the pettiest people I have ever met."

The lofty, night-crowned man sends you a telepathic message:
"It's really not my style of discourse. I ignore it."

The lofty, night-crowned man sends you a telepathic message:
"He certainly showed that side when he invited me to have tea with him, though, and you were there."

You send a telepathic message to the lofty, night-crowned man:
"Ah, I see. And yes. That was.. mm.. I don't have words. I prefer not to say."

The lofty, night-crowned man sends you a telepathic message:
"He only made himself look bad by doing that."

The curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman has entered the world.

The curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman says to you, in sirihish:
"Hello there."

You say, in sirihish:
"Greetings."

The short, slender man lifts a hand in a wave.

The curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman sits at a blue-tiled counter.

The lofty, night-crowned man sends you a telepathic message:
"I don't hate him. I pity him for his jealous nature."

You send a telepathic message to the lofty, night-crowned man:
"Well.. I am glad that you will be rebuilding soon."

You send a telepathic message to the lofty, night-crowned man:
"*mirth* And that I can be in your ear like a kank-fly, demanding Kadius-made this and that."

The lofty, night-crowned man sends you a telepathic message:
"Mmhmm."

You ask the curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman, in sirihish:
"Do you have everything you need?"

The lofty, night-crowned man sends you a telepathic message:
"We were discussing Lady Kitt earlier, and he said he was certainly glad that his nuptuals were over, so that he didn't have to worry that any such thing would ever happen to him."

The curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman says to you, in sirihish:
"I'm short on stone again. But that's okay."

The lofty, night-crowned man sends you a telepathic message:
"Making reference, of course, to the fact that I am not married."

You send a telepathic message to the lofty, night-crowned man:
"Is that bad?"

The curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman says to you, in sirihish:
"I only say so because I'm looking forward to working on one of those two projects with you."

You say, in sirihish:
"I'll speak to the hunters. And I spoke to the seniors."

The curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman nods at you.

The lofty, night-crowned man sends you a telepathic message:
"No, but he is suggesting that I am at risk of being married down. If you knew Lord Timotheo, you would understand."

You say, in sirihish:
"The altar idea is right out, but I have hope that we could move forward on a statuette."

The lofty, night-crowned man sends you a telepathic message:
"He takes every available opportunity to throw these tiny, subtle barbs at Upper Tier nobility."

The curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman says, in sirihish:
"Ah."

Glancing at the curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman, you ask, in sirihish:
"Did you have any notions yourself?"

The curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman says to you, in sirihish:
"Not me."

The curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman says to you, in sirihish:
"I honestly thought the altar would be approved and the dragon not."

You send a telepathic message to the lofty, night-crowned man:
"Well, someone will marry -you- I am sure and not the other way around. I'm sure you understand."

Absently, you ask, in sirihish:
"There is nothing at all you feel inspired to make?"

The curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman says to you, in sirihish:
"I could help with any ideas for luxurious foods that you have to."

The lofty, night-crowned man sends you a telepathic message:
"Mm, such things happen. Look at the Lady Consul."


The lofty, night-crowned man sends you a telepathic message:
"She was perfect."

The curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman says to you, in sirihish:
"I liked the altar and statuette ideas. I want to make those."

The lofty, night-crowned man sends you a telepathic message:
"I'm not going to worry about such things, however. More important matters are at hand. I just feel sorry that the Fales in their irrelevance and poverty feel the need to make such remarks."

The lofty, night-crowned man sends you a telepathic message:
"And this is from someone with Fale family, and a dear Fale friend."

A foreign presence contacts your mind.

You send a telepathic message to the lofty, night-crowned man:
"Understood."

The mature, argent-cropped man sends you a telepathic message:
"My, good Maristen, I'd be delighted if you could add several blank books to the current order I have on hold with you."

You send a telepathic message to the lofty, night-crowned man:
"Pardon me. I have Lord Fale in my head."

The mature, argent-cropped man sends you a telepathic message:
"The thought had just occurred to me that I am in need."

You send a telepathic message to the lofty, night-crowned man:
"I apologize."

You dissolve the psychic link.

You contact the mature, argent-cropped man with the Way.  (Lord Timotheo, I think)

The curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman says, in sirihish:
"Ideas you mean from my own mind? Then, no."

You send a telepathic message to the mature, argent-cropped man:
"Plain books, Lord Fale?"

You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.

The mature, argent-cropped man sends you a telepathic message:
"Perhaps two plain and two of the Fale-sigiled variety, if you can muster it."

You send a telepathic message to the mature, argent-cropped man:
"Understood. I will have them bound. It will take several weeks, but it will be done."

The mature, argent-cropped man sends you a telepathic message:
"Lovely. I do appreciate that."

You send a telepathic message to the mature, argent-cropped man:
"Thank you for your business. His Shadow Guide."

The mature, argent-cropped man sends you a telepathic message:
"Also, you might care to know, I am contemplating throwing a party for the Tor Academy being reopened. Perhaps we may need some catering for the occasion."

A foreign presence contacts your mind.

You send a telepathic message to the mature, argent-cropped man:
"Oh! Thank you very much. Did you have a date? ANd know how many people you wanted?"

The short, slender man rubs his temple and sighs.

The mature, argent-cropped man sends you a telepathic message:
"I'm still waiting to hear back from a certain Lord Tiberius Tor, though he sounds terribly busy these days."

You send a telepathic message to the mature, argent-cropped man:
"Understood. I will bring it up with the Overseer."

You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.

The mature, argent-cropped man sends you a telepathic message:
"And I shall keep you informed as the plan progresses - or if it should fall through in the end."

The mature, argent-cropped man sends you a telepathic message:
"All His Shadows, my good Maristen!"

You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.

You send a telepathic message to the mature, argent-cropped man:
"I thank you kindly. His Shadow."

You dissolve the psychic link.

The curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman says to you, in sirihish:
"I enjoy my work if that's what I meant. I thought you meant if I'd come up with anything I'd wanted to work on by myself."

You nod.

The curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman says to you, in sirihish:
"I still like my meat pie idea, but I think I'm the only one who's excited about it, and that's not what I really want to accomplish."

You say, in sirihish:
"I need to see if we sell a better statuette than the one we have in stock. If we do, then we will discuss something else."

You say, in sirihish:
"If not, we can move forward."

A foreign presence contacts your mind.

The curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman nods at you.

You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.

You say, in sirihish:
"I actually wouldn't mind you cooking a bit, to be honest. I want Kadian dishes to be spiced up some."

The curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman grins.

The curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman says to you, in sirihish:
"I started on the uncooked meat in the bin a little bit. Haven't burned anything."

You stand up from a purple, silk-covered couch.

The curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman says, in sirihish:
"Didn't think people would want me to that much."

The curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman gets her red paper twist from a blue-tiled counter.

You get your bowl of brandy-glazed fruit-salad from your heavy agafari basket.
Small morsels of fruit in a myriad of color and origin fashion this
salad, the pieces range from the orange of jallal, the blood-red of ginka,
turquoise of kalan, the purplish-black of horta, bright red of thornfruit to
the creamy-white of japuaar. A thick, syrupy concoction of brandy and
marilla sap has been drizzled over the entirety of the salad and then
sprinkled in crystallized bits of sugar.

The curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman puts her red paper twist onto a blue-tiled counter.

The curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman stands up from a blue-tiled counter.

The curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman opens a large, airtight food storage bin.

You say, in sirihish:
"This is an example of Kadian cooking. What we expect in our dishes. What we serve at our events."

The curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman asks, in sirihish:
"Oh?"

You give your bowl of brandy-glazed fruit-salad to the curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman.

You say, in sirihish:
"Have a look."

You say, in sirihish:
"This is what we serve nobility. And what we want."

The curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman says, in sirihish:
"Its a beautiful salad."

The curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman gives you her bowl of brandy-glazed fruit-salad.

You say, in sirihish:
"We have cookies and tarts and all manner of things."

Wryly, you say, in sirihish:
"Of course I remember the sweet things."

You say, in sirihish:
"We could use a bit of spice. Not too much, but some."

You say, in sirihish:
"Gooey textures. Savory flavors."

You say, in sirihish:
"Something to make people take note."

The curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman strokes her chin.

You say, in sirihish:
"Crunch."

The curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman asks, in sirihish:
"Which would you prefer to work on first, the statuette or a new dish?"

The curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman says, in sirihish:
"Crunchy, like fried kalan..."

Thoughtfully, you say, in sirihish:
"Make me a new dish, please. Something the nobility will love."

The curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman says, in sirihish:
"Fried kalan skins and carru meat cubes with a japuuar sauce... oh, I'm just thinking out loud right now."

The curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman says to you, in sirihish:
"If you have an idea first please do tell me. I wonder if I'll even come up with something."

You say, in sirihish:
"Mmm. Yes. No japaurr."

The curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman says, in sirihish:
"Okay."

The curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman says, in sirihish:
"Yeah I don't even really know what it tastes like... I like the fried kalan skins bit though."

Grinning, you say, in sirihish:
"Those would be crisp more than crunchy."

The curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman says, in sirihish:
"Oh."

You say, in sirihish:
"Not that crisp is a bad thing."

You say, in sirihish:
"Be as creative as you like."

The curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman says, in sirihish:
"Fried kalan skins, fried small meat cubes... which are themselves filled with cheese."

The curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman says, in sirihish:
"Eh..."

The curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman asks, in sirihish:
"What about meat shaped like a cross, is that too Allanaki for the house?"

You ask, in sirihish:
"Slices of kalan that have been delicately fried in syrupy marilla sap?"

The curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman says, in sirihish:
"Oooh."

The curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman says, in sirihish:
"But filled with cheese in the inside, and brandy."

The curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman says, in sirihish:
"Hmm I want to go for something more complex than that."

You say, in sirihish:
"That is just meat that has been placed in the shape of a cross. We have Allanaki Flamesteak which is steak that has cheese over it. Let me think.."

You say, in sirihish:
"Rather.. you can think of it. Well, just think of what we -do- have. We have sabotta and things of that nature."

You say, in sirihish:
"If you want flour, we can get you flour."

The curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman says, in sirihish:
"I still like the fried kalan skins idea... maybe with a ginka dipping sauce."

The curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman exclaims, in sirihish:
"Fried kalan _and_ ginka skins!"

The curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman says, in sirihish:
"With carru meat cubes that have been either rolled in something spicy, dipped in fruit sauce or rolled in pungent cheese..."

The curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman says, in sirihish:
"Something different each time you take a bite."

The curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman asks, in sirihish:
"Well, that's sort of two ideas, isn't it?"

Nodding slightly, you say, in sirihish:
"You know.. If I were making a dessert, I might make sweet, crisp little balls of dough. And maybe have a sweet kalan jelly sauce for dipping on the side."

The curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman nods at you.

You say, in sirihish:
"I like the spicy meat idea."

You ask, in sirihish:
"Meat skewers with a spicy fruit sauce?"

The curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman says, in sirihish:
"That would be nice."

A foreign presence contacts your mind.

The curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman asks, in sirihish:
"How about the cubes being either tandu, carru or scrab, all of those on the same dish, and then either being rolled in pepper, kalan sauce, or sharp cheese?"

The curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman says, in sirihish:
"I kind of like that particular idea."

You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.

The curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman asks, in sirihish:
"is scrab too common?"

You nod.

The curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman says, in sirihish:
"Get another nicer meat."

The short, slender man glances toward a large, airtight food storage bin.

The curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman says, in sirihish:
"I'm gonna need to practice for about a week probably."

You close a large, airtight food storage bin.

The curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman says, in sirihish:
"Jozhal meat would be nice."

You say, in sirihish:
"I'm going to rest a bit."

The short, slender man walks toward a small leather cot and sighs.

You sit on a small leather cot.

The curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman says to you, in sirihish:
"I'm going to go to work on that idea if that's okay."

Nodding, you say to the curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman, in sirihish:
"You take care."

You rest on a small leather cot.

The curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman smiles at you.

You smile.

(LATER AND THE FAR MORE ACTIVE BITS)

The short, slender man rises from a small leather cot and prepares for the day, waving toward the curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman as he finishes.

(TRAVEL, TRAVEL, TRAVEL)

The Main Room of the Red's Retreat [N, S, W]
The walls of this tavern are painted in the bright hues of the desert;
dusky ochres change shade as they move up the wall to become the vibrant
reds of Krath's touch, while the muted silver of Lirathu's light provides a
more subtle edging at floor and ceiling. A large, curving bar dominates the
northern edge of the room, dark baobab wood carved with images of Templars
and soldiers advancing on a retreating pack of gith. Above the bar, placed
squarely in the middle hangs the skull of a gith, a hole punched through its
forehead. Cylini floorboards have been scrubbed and polished to a gleaming
finish and a variety of tables are scattered about the room. To the west a
large archway leads through to a smaller antechamber and a doorway to the
south leads into a small store.
A small bone keg sits empty at the end of the bar.
A small bone keg are set along the bar.
A wall here is designated as a message board.
The obsidian-tressed Allanaki soldier relaxes at the bar, drinking an ale.
The rugged man with flint-grey eyes is standing here.
The smooth-shaven, turquoise-eyed woman stands here, tall and attentive.
The lofty, night-crowned man is sitting at a round, blue-painted table.
A tall, amber-eyed woman serves drinks from behind a boxy wooden bar.
The small, dark-haired man sits drinking at a table in the corner.
A husky dwarf sits on a stone-seated stool at the bar.

The rugged man with flint-grey eyes brightens, smiling warmly at you.  (Brand)

The short, slender man bows to the lofty, night-crowned man on entering from the plaza.

Lifting his eyes, the lofty, night-crowned man looks up at you.

The short, slender man smiles warmly at the rugged man with flint-grey eyes.

The rugged man with flint-grey eyes says to you, in sirihish:
"Sorry I got tied up week fore last an' din' get back to you."

In an even tone, shaking his head, you say, in sirihish:
"Think nothing of it."

A foreign presence contacts your mind.
You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.

With a slight smile, the lofty, night-crowned man asks you, in sirihish:
"When are we going to talk about that mirror?"

Folding his hands, you say to the lofty, night-crowned man, in sirihish:
"Whenever you would like, Lord Borsail."

With a smirk, the lofty, night-crowned man says to you, in sirihish:
"Remember what I said. Solid silver."

Tilting his head a bit, you say, in sirihish:
"I am not sure I recall that stipulation."

(The short, slender man smiles faintly.)

Quite seriously, the lofty, night-crowned man says to you, in sirihish:
"Ah, yes, it's very important. It's to be made of an enormous chunk of polished silver."

Waving a hand, the lofty, night-crowned man says to you, in sirihish:
"In all seriousness--I would like to talk about what designs you have come up with."

Nodding, you say, in sirihish:
"As you wish."

Sighing, the lofty, night-crowned man says to you, in sirihish:
"Not even a smile at the silver-polishing."

You ask the lofty, night-crowned man, in sirihish:
"You had wanted a floor-length model?"

Astonished, the rugged man with flint-grey eyes asks, in sirihish:
"Is there that much silver in the Known?"

With a twirl of his wrist, the lofty, night-crowned man says to the rugged man with flint-grey eyes, in sirihish:
"The silver was a joke, Brand. He doesn't even have the tools to work it."

Lips twitching, you say, in sirihish:
"Oh, I had some varied responses and reactions, Lord Borsail."

Placing a hand over his heart, you say, in sirihish:
"Tucked away safely."

Cracking a smile of his own, the lofty, night-crowned man says to you, in sirihish:
"All right, fair enough. As for the length--it's not necessary for it to be floor-length, because I want it above my desk."

The rugged man with flint-grey eyes squints, then slowly grins.

Significantly, the rugged man with flint-grey eyes says, in sirihish:
"Polishing."

You say, in sirihish:
"Ah, now -that- is something to discuss."

You say, in sirihish:
"I could work a fairly large mirror, I believe. Perhaps."

Nodding pensively, the lofty, night-crowned man asks you, in sirihish:
"How reflective can you get the glass?"

Shaking his head, you say, in sirihish:
"I was thinking you wanted one full-length. I can make one out of lovely black obsidian."

You say, in sirihish:
"Or have one for you easily."

The lofty, night-crowned man slowly turns his head to face the rugged man with flint-grey eyes, his eyebrows lifting.

The lofty, night-crowned man says to the rugged man with flint-grey eyes, in sirihish:
"...No."

The lofty, night-crowned man blinks at the rugged man with flint-grey eyes a few times, and then just shakes his head.

The rugged man with flint-grey eyes grins sheepishly, shrugging.

The short, slender man glances between the lofty, night-crowned man and the rugged man with flint-grey eyes in confusion.

A foreign presence contacts your mind.

(The short, slender man shrugs slightly.)

The lofty, night-crowned man sends you a telepathic message:
"He asked me if you were talking about 'hard-ons.'"

You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.

Smiling gently, you say to the lofty, night-crowned man, in sirihish:
"I was thinking that it might be possible to adorn said mirror how you like, but.. that is a big if."

The rugged man with flint-grey eyes' grin widens.

Sighing heavily, the lofty, night-crowned man says to the rugged man with flint-grey eyes, in sirihish:
"Please, Brand. Sometimes a mirror is just a mirror."

Innocently, the rugged man with flint-grey eyes says to the lofty, night-crowned man, in sirihish:
"It was you said it was a joke, my lord."

Holding up his hands and shifting them about, you say, in sirihish:
"I might be able to change it about so it could hang picture style."

The rugged man with flint-grey eyes laughs.

Waving a dismissive hand without looking, the lofty, night-crowned man says to the rugged man with flint-grey eyes, in sirihish:
"Go stand somewhere where I can't see you out of the corner of my eye."

The rugged man with flint-grey eyes obediently moves directly behind the lofty, night-crowned man, snickering.

Calling out, the lofty, night-crowned man exclaims, in sirihish:
"Or hear you!"

The lofty, night-crowned man rolls his eyes, offering you an apologetic smile.

The rugged man with flint-grey eyes laughs, and bows, turning to leave.

Waving, the rugged man with flint-grey eyes says to you, in sirihish:
"Shade, mate."

The rugged man with flint-grey eyes walks north.

The short, slender man just arches an eyebrow.

Folding his hands primly over the table's edge, the lofty, night-crowned man says to you, in sirihish:
"You'll excuse Proven Brand. He has a famously dirty mind, and thinks you're making euphemisms."

Bemusedly, you say, in sirihish:
"But.. again. We'd have to see. And it's alright. I'm used to him. I'm sorry if I gave that impression."

You smile.

With a dismissive flop of his wrist, the lofty, night-crowned man says to you, in sirihish:
"It doesn't take much to give him that impression."

Shaking his head, the lofty, night-crowned man asks you, in sirihish:
"Anyway. I think that the half-length mirror is best. I don't want to clutter my wall space. Don't you agree?"

You say, in sirihish:
"I could see what I could do. I thought you might have wanted a statement piece."

You ask, in sirihish:
"What sort of design did you want?"

After a moment, the lofty, night-crowned man says to you, in sirihish:
"Mm, something bold, black--I like the obsidian idea--but I think I like the idea of a thin line of silver coloring. Perhaps red in the middle, like a set jewel."

The lofty, night-crowned man says to you, in sirihish:
"A simple design, really."

Tapping his own cheek with his index finger, you ask, in sirihish:
"Red? In the middle? Maybe red at the four corners?"

Starting to draw on the table with his finger, the lofty, night-crowned man says to you, in sirihish:
"I was considering a mostly boxy frame--a strong shape, you know--but with a peak in the middle. And in the middle would be a ruby or something suggestive of it."

Tracing his finger along the shape again, the lofty, night-crowned man says to you, in sirihish:
"And all along the frame, in the front, would be a thin line of silver paint."

You think:
"How would you see yourself?"

You say to the lofty, night-crowned man, in sirihish:
"Alright. I think I understand what you wish. May I suggest the outer frame be.. craggy in a way. To give that bold shape and heft you are looking for. The mirror itself smooth so it is a good reflecting surface."

Thoughtfully leaning back, the lofty, night-crowned man says to you, in sirihish:
"I hadn't considered it, but I'm sure you could make such a thing work and look deliberate."

You say to the lofty, night-crowned man, in sirihish:
"And ruby pieces set into the outer frame as if they were.. fire or lava set deep in the recesses of stone."

Blinking, clearly impressed, the lofty, night-crowned man says to you, in sirihish:
"Oh, I like that."

Sighing, the lofty, night-crowned man says to you, in sirihish:
"It's times like these that I wish my room weren't purple. Perhaps I'll ask to move into the silver room. It's more neutral a palette."

You say, in sirihish:
"I am not saying I can accomplish it, but I can try. As for the silver accents you want, I can fleck the "rock" with silver, give it depth and life."

The tiny, bushy-maned woman has arrived from the north, bouncing.
The purple-dreadlocked, dark-skinned woman has arrived from the north.

The crimson-eyed, ash-haired man has arrived from the south.

The crimson-eyed, ash-haired man walks north.

Snapping it down as she heads for a round, blue-painted table, the tiny, bushy-maned woman stops using her onyx-handled, ebony silk parasol.

Patting his hands down on his legs firmly, the lofty, night-crowned man says to you, in sirihish:
"I absolutely love it."

The short, slender man bows to the tiny, bushy-maned woman, dipping from the waist before rising.

The lofty, night-crowned man looks up at the tiny, bushy-maned woman.

Plunking down in a chair that the purple-dreadlocked, dark-skinned woman pulls out after a flamboyant bow, the tiny, bushy-maned woman sits at a round, blue-painted table.

The tiny, bushy-maned woman looks up at the lofty, night-crowned man.

Decisively, with a gesture to her outfit, the tiny, bushy-maned woman says to the lofty, night-crowned man, in sirihish:
"I think I'm dealing with it rather well."

The smooth-shaven, turquoise-eyed woman bends at the waist to the tiny, bushy-maned woman, her armor grinding uncomfortably and noisily against itself.

Turning back, you say to the lofty, night-crowned man, in sirihish:
"That is what I will focus my thoughts on. We will discuss price as soon as we can after I think on what it might come to. Thank you for your business."

The tiny, bushy-maned woman looks up at you. (Lady Ru)

Nodding consolingly, the lofty, night-crowned man says to the tiny, bushy-maned woman, in sirihish:
"Of course. I think there was some mishap. I think this blue has lasted far too long. I'm pushing the limits of fashion and ignoring it as usual."

The tiny, bushy-maned woman blows a kiss at you on noticing you.

The tiny, bushy-maned woman giggles.

Glancing, the lofty, night-crowned man looks up at you.

The short, slender man steps back from the table.

The curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman has arrived from the south.

Pointing at you, the lofty, night-crowned man says to the tiny, bushy-maned woman, in sirihish:
"He's not wearing any blue, really."

The curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman pauses, and bows in the direction of a round, blue-painted table.

The curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman sits at a boxy wooden bar.

With a little toss of her head, the tiny, bushy-maned woman says to the lofty, night-crowned man, in sirihish:
"Maybe he's trying to move them along into white and black? It's hard not to follow a fashion /you/ are setting darling. I can only resist because I'm so fashionable myself."

The lofty, night-crowned man nods agreeably.

The tiny, bushy-maned woman primps at her bright red hair.

The short, slender man walks toward a boxy wooden bar and slides out a stool.

Giving the low collar of his delicate shirt of crimson and sable silk a little tug, the lofty, night-crowned man says to the tiny, bushy-maned woman, in sirihish:
"Your hair matches my clothing, so I know I'm being fashionable."

You sit at a boxy wooden bar.

Touching her faintly glowing glass necklace, with a fond note to her voice, the tiny, bushy-maned woman says to the lofty, night-crowned man, in sirihish:
"Besides, the blue's letting me wear my new favorite accessory just a little longer."

The lofty, night-crowned man beams a flashy smile the tiny, bushy-maned woman's way.

You start trying to listen.

At a round, blue-painted table, you overhear the tiny, bushy-maned woman say in sirihish, lowering her voice a little, decisively:
"Oh, I do like that shirt."

You look at the curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman.
This short human woman has brown, black-tinted hair in rough, heavy
curls. Her medium brown skin is free of scarring, save for a few faded
white marks on the forearms. Her eyes are a deep, dark shade of brown.
Droopy-lidded eyes are set above wide, high cheekbones and small, full lips
in an oval-shaped face. Her musculature is average for a commoner, and she
has a full figure, with slightly more below than above in an hourglass
silhouette. Callouses darken the skin of her palms and fingertips. The
tattoo of a cream-colored gem in a smooth ovular cut is inked on the back of
each hand. Yellowed bone rings decorate her bottom lip--- one in the
center, and one to either side.
Her hair falls loosely to waist length, and her nails are painted a dark
leaf-green.
The curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman is in excellent condition.

The curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman is using:
<around neck> an olive-green linen scarf
<about throat> a pottery teardrop pendant
<across back> a rope-strapped canvas backpack
<on torso> a green hide vest
<on left index finger> a bone, pink pearl ring
<as belt> a tasseled belt of black and brown wool
<hung from belt> a waterskin
<around body> a honey-colored cotton cloak
<about waist> a gith skull drum
<on legs> a green hide skirt
<on feet> a pair of yellow-dyed hide boots

She is carrying:
nothing obvious

At a round, blue-painted table, you overhear the lofty, night-crowned man say in sirihish, pressing two hands to his chest:
"Isn't it nice? I don't usually do low collars, but I make an exception for this one."

The curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman nods at you.

At a round, blue-painted table, the tiny, bushy-maned woman speaks, making a little knotting gesture at her throat.

At a round, blue-painted table, you overhear the lofty, night-crowned man say in sirihish, plucking at his collar enticingly:
"If I'm going to make an exception, I want to really making an exception."

At a round, blue-painted table, you overhear the lofty, night-crowned man say in sirihish, clearing his throat:
"Want to really make."

At a round, blue-painted table, you overhear the tiny, bushy-maned woman say in sirihish, nibbling her lower lip:
"Well, if anyone can pull it off darling, it's you."

At a round, blue-painted table, you overhear the lofty, night-crowned man say in sirihish, lifting a correcting finger:
"Not quite. I'd let you pull it off."

At a round, blue-painted table, the tiny, bushy-maned woman speaks, with an amused lilt to her voice.

At a round, blue-painted table, you overhear the lofty, night-crowned man say in sirihish, with a curve of a smile:
"I mean, I'd let you pull it off of me."

At your table, you say in sirihish, glancing over at the curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman:
"Have you been working with the clay any?"

At a round, blue-painted table, you overhear the tiny, bushy-maned woman say in sirihish, deep dimples forming in her freckled cheeks:
"In a heartbeat if we weren't in public."

At your table, the curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman says in sirihish:
"Nah, I've been busy with cooking."

At a round, blue-painted table, you overhear the lofty, night-crowned man say in sirihish, amusedly:
"That's what you like to call 'gauche,' isn't it?"

At your table, you say in sirihish, with slow idleness:
"And where are your bands?"

Glancing idly, the lofty, night-crowned man looks down at the curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman.

At a round, blue-painted table, you overhear the tiny, bushy-maned woman say in sirihish, admitting:
"Just a scootch."

At your table, the curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman says in sirihish:
"Oh? I must have taken them off by accident."

At your table, the curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman says in sirihish:
"I"

At your table, the curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman says in sirihish:
"I'll be right back."

The curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman stands up from a boxy wooden bar.

The curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman walks north.

(The short, slender man looks towards the plaza, unamused.)

At a round, blue-painted table, you overhear the tiny, bushy-maned woman say in sirihish, slumping a little in her chair:
"I can't believe I completely forgot to have my wine bottle filled before coming out."

At a round, blue-painted table, you overhear the lofty, night-crowned man say in sirihish, reaching around for his black silk shoulder bag:
"Never fear."

Plucking at the button, the lofty, night-crowned man opens his black silk shoulder bag.

The short, slender man drums his fingers atop a boxy wooden bar.

Producing it with dramatic flair, the lofty, night-crowned man gets his dark-tinted azure bottle from his black silk shoulder bag.

The lofty, night-crowned man closes his black silk shoulder bag.

Pushing it across the table, the lofty, night-crowned man gives his dark-tinted azure bottle to the tiny, bushy-maned woman.

At a round, blue-painted table, you overhear the tiny, bushy-maned woman say in sirihish, grey eyes widening:
"Oh, you really /are/ my best friend ever!"

You think:
"Hrm. I need to start pushing our wines more."

The tiny, bushy-maned woman promptly sets to trying to work the stopper out of her dark-tinted azure bottle.

At a round, blue-painted table, the lofty, night-crowned man speaks, brightly.

Managing a decent pour, the tiny, bushy-maned woman pours a violet liquid from her dark-tinted azure bottle to her white, flower-shaped goblet.

At a round, blue-painted table, you overhear the tiny, bushy-maned woman say in sirihish, offering the open bottle back to the lofty, night-crowned man:
"You really do. I've been trying to think of what to get you for a present. I'll come up with something any day now. It probably won't top your presents to me, but, mmm."

At a round, blue-painted table, you overhear the lofty, night-crowned man say in sirihish, with a wave of his hand:
"Ah, don't worry. I'm sure I'll enjoy it."

The lofty, night-crowned man reaches out for the bottle.

The tiny, bushy-maned woman gives her dark-tinted azure bottle to the lofty, night-crowned man.

At a round, blue-painted table, you overhear the lofty, night-crowned man say in sirihish, patting himself down:
"Do I even have a glass?"

The tiny, bushy-maned woman gets her purple-tinted goblet from her dark blue, white-trimmed shoulder bag.

Passing it too, the tiny, bushy-maned woman gives her purple-tinted goblet to the lofty, night-crowned man.

At a round, blue-painted table, you overhear the lofty, night-crowned man say in sirihish, with a grateful nod:
"Ah, see. Presents abound."

At a round, blue-painted table, you overhear the tiny, bushy-maned woman say in sirihish, with an amused note to her voice:
"There, a present you can actually use!"

At a round, blue-painted table, you overhear the lofty, night-crowned man say in sirihish, with a half-smile:
"Borrowed as they may be."

Giggling and resuming her slouch, the tiny, bushy-maned woman sips from her white, flower-shaped goblet.

Holding his purple-tinted goblet steady, the lofty, night-crowned man pours a violet liquid from his dark-tinted azure bottle to his purple-tinted goblet.

Lifting it to his lips, the lofty, night-crowned man sips from his purple-tinted goblet.

At a round, blue-painted table, you overhear the lofty, night-crowned man say in sirihish, clinking the glass back down:
"I saw your guncle early this week."

You get your pile of allanaki coins from your black, knee-length coat.
There were 21 coins.
It is very light.

117/117/116/119/112/112/109/109/unarmed/walking/sitting at: a boxy wooden bar/southern/sirihish/late at night/light/Maristen
the tall, amber-eyed woman has the following goods to trade:
01) a basket of Kuraci raptor nuggets for 163 obsidian coins, many are available.
02) a bowl of gith-eye soup for 91 obsidian coins, many are available.
03) a bowl of large, stuffed and fried gourd blossoms for 130 obsidian coins, many are available.
04) a liquid sack of kumiss for 88 obsidian coins, many are available.
05) a miniature barrel of ale for 13 obsidian coins, many are available.
06) a plate of tender chalton meat in whisky sauce for 91 obsidian coins, many are available.
07) a squat bulbous gourd of agvat for 44 obsidian coins, many are available.
08) a steak and kidney pie for 75 obsidian coins, many are available.
09) a strip of tough dried meat for 15 obsidian coins, many are available.

You get your pile of allanaki coins from your black silk shoulder bag.
There were 1000 coins.
It is very light.

You close your black silk shoulder bag.

At a round, blue-painted table, the tiny, bushy-maned woman speaks, with a curious tilt of her head.

The short, slender man gestures to the tall, amber-eyed woman.

You give the tall, amber-eyed woman 13 obsidian coins for a miniature barrel.

At a round, blue-painted table, you overhear the lofty, night-crowned man say in sirihish, with a short laugh:
"He must be in good shape, because his subtle little jabs are as healthy as ever."

You hold your miniature barrel.

You sip from your miniature barrel.
This tastes like ordinary ale.
It's about half full of a brown liquid.

A curved archway leads out onto a dusty plaza.
[Very far]
Nothing.
[Far]
A line of lizards is carved atop a red sandstone wall.
[Near]
A clay-stained human potter sits here on a woven mat of grass.
A lithe, obsidian-eyed woman lounges near the tavern entrance.
The scrawny, sunken-eyed beggar grovels for coins here piteously.

A narrow doorway opens out to a small, cluttered space.
[Near]
A lop-eared, squinting elf stands behind the counter.

A gracefully curved archway leads through to the antechamber.
[Near]
The tight-lipped, half-giant soldier relaxes on a sofa, off-duty.
A half-giant soldier is standing here.
A half-giant soldier is standing here.

At a round, blue-painted table, you overhear the tiny, bushy-maned woman say in sirihish, with an amused lilt to her voice:
"I don't think he's ever in poor form. I wish I was half as good at not showing my true feelings as he is. Mmm. Maybe by the time I'm his age."

At a round, blue-painted table, you overhear the tiny, bushy-maned woman say in sirihish, with an impish note to her voice:
"His venerable, experienced age."

At a round, blue-painted table, you overhear the lofty, night-crowned man say in sirihish, adding with a lift of his purple-tinted goblet, tone mirthful:
"Wise and stately."

You think:
"Is he that old? Goodness."

At a round, blue-painted table, you overhear the tiny, bushy-maned woman say in sirihish, giggling:
"Well, I don't know that I'll ever be stately. I think I'll try for wise first."

At a round, blue-painted table, you overhear the lofty, night-crowned man say in sirihish, earnestly:
"But it has such a ring to it. Regal Rusimell. No?"

The sleek, black-haired templar has arrived from the west.  (Lord Alveron)
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the west.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the west.

Peering at the tiny, bushy-maned woman questioningly over the rim, the lofty, night-crowned man sips from his purple-tinted goblet.

At a round, blue-painted table, you overhear the tiny, bushy-maned woman say in sirihish, wrinkling her nose at the lofty, night-crowned man:
"I suppose I /would/ have to start going by Rusimell to be regal. Mmm, no thank you."

Glancing after the purple-dreadlocked, dark-skinned woman bows, the tiny, bushy-maned woman looks up at the sleek, black-haired templar.

The short, slender man rises momentarily and bows to the sleek, black-haired templar before resuming his seat.

At a round, blue-painted table, you overhear the tiny, bushy-maned woman say in sirihish, sitting up a little in her chair:
"Oh, here's Alveron. Maybe he'll want to play zaw."

Gaze drawn by the wave of bows, the lofty, night-crowned man looks up at the sleek, black-haired templar.

Lifting a hand over her head and fluttering a wave, the tiny, bushy-maned woman asks the sleek, black-haired templar, in sirihish:
"Yoo-hoo! Want to play dice darling?"

You sip from your miniature barrel.
This tastes like ordinary ale.
It's less than half full of a brown liquid.

The sleek, black-haired templar acknowledges you as he passes by the bar, and waves towards a round, blue-painted table.

The sleek, black-haired templar crosses over to a round, blue-painted table.

The lofty, night-crowned man lifts his hand in a wave to the sleek, black-haired templar, lips curving in a familiar smile.

The sleek, black-haired templar looks down at the lofty, night-crowned man.

The sleek, black-haired templar looks down at the tiny, bushy-maned woman.

The sleek, black-haired templar says, in sirihish:
"Dice? Hmm. Tempting."

Batting her eyelashes, the tiny, bushy-maned woman says to the sleek, black-haired templar, in sirihish:
"It's very tempting. So tempting you're going to say yes, you absolutely must play."

Glancing over, the lofty, night-crowned man says to the tiny, bushy-maned woman, in sirihish:
"'Tempting the Templar.' That sounds like...something."

The lofty, night-crowned man says to the tiny, bushy-maned woman, in sirihish:
"I'm not sure what, but...something."

You sip from your miniature barrel.
This tastes like ordinary ale.
It is empty.

The sleek, black-haired templar says, in sirihish:
"I don't know, Ru, last time we played dice it wasn't even fun, I just beat everyone soundly."

Giggling, the tiny, bushy-maned woman says to the lofty, night-crowned man, in sirihish:
"It sounds like something someone shouldn't do in public."

The tiny, bushy-maned woman waves at the purple-dreadlocked, dark-skinned woman.

The purple-dreadlocked, dark-skinned woman pulls out a chair from around a round, blue-painted table.

Not managing to suppress a laugh, the lofty, night-crowned man says to the tiny, bushy-maned woman, in sirihish:
"I wasn't going to say."

The sleek, black-haired templar spares a smile for the lofty, night-crowned man's comment.

You stop using your miniature barrel.

Decisively, the tiny, bushy-maned woman says to the sleek, black-haired templar, in sirihish:
"I still had fun. Besides, that just means you owe me a rematch."

Setting it on a boxy wooden bar, you discard your miniature barrel.

The sleek, black-haired templar says, in sirihish:
"I can't say I'll play any dice, but you have me until dawn."

The sleek, black-haired templar sits at a round, blue-painted table.

At a round, blue-painted table, you overhear the tiny, bushy-maned woman say in sirihish, widening her eyes:
"Oh my. I've tempted him and now we have him until dawn. Why, if we weren't in the middle of the Red's that would be /very/ promising."

At a round, blue-painted table, you overhear the lofty, night-crowned man say in sirihish, chidingly, to the tiny, bushy-maned woman:
"Even a Fale can't get him out of all that armor -that- quickly."

The sleek, black-haired templar chuckles after the tiny, bushy-maned woman's comment.

At a round, blue-painted table, you overhear the tiny, bushy-maned woman say in sirihish, with a little toss of her head:
"Oh, Luci, Luci, you don't have to get him out of all of the armor, just the bits in the way."

Giggling, the tiny, bushy-maned woman sips from her white, flower-shaped goblet.

The lofty, night-crowned man fails to hold back a laugh yet again.

At a round, blue-painted table, you overhear the sleek, black-haired templar say in sirihish, adding:
"So you're saying, basically all of it then?"

At a round, blue-painted table, you overhear the tiny, bushy-maned woman say in sirihish, slanting an amused glance at the sleek, black-haired templar:
"Oh my. I'm really going to have to assist your education some time."

At a round, blue-painted table, you overhear the lofty, night-crowned man say in sirihish, raising a hand:
"I like that sort of thing."

The sleek, black-haired templar mutters under his breath, cheeks growing a bit redder than usual.

Glancing off, the lofty, night-crowned man sips from his purple-tinted goblet.

At a round, blue-painted table, you overhear the tiny, bushy-maned woman say in sirihish, setting her hands perpendicular to each other:
"In certain positions darling one doesn't have to be pressed right up against a breastplate."

At a round, blue-painted table, you overhear the lofty, night-crowned man say in sirihish, closing his eyes and wagging his finger:
"Stop tempting the templar, Ru."

At a round, blue-painted table, you overhear the tiny, bushy-maned woman say in sirihish, commenting aside to the lofty, night-crowned man with amusement:
"Oh he's never going to sit with us again is he."

You think:
"What are they even discussing..?"

At a round, blue-painted table, the sleek, black-haired templar speaks, to the lofty, night-crowned man.

At a round, blue-painted table, you overhear the sleek, black-haired templar say in sirihish:
"Just wait until the bards get a hold of it."

At a round, blue-painted table, the tiny, bushy-maned woman speaks, pressing her free hand against her chest and putting on a doleful expression.

The lofty, night-crowned man releases an airy laugh.

The sleek, black-haired templar glances towards the plaza.

The sleek, black-haired templar spares a quick grin at the tiny, bushy-maned woman and the lofty, night-crowned man each.

The tiny, bushy-maned woman pouts.

The lofty, night-crowned man sighs and snaps his fingers, not very effectively given his gloves.

At a round, blue-painted table, you overhear the tiny, bushy-maned woman say in sirihish, with a fond note to her voice:
"All His Shadows darling. Don't forget you owe me a conversation over wine."

At a round, blue-painted table, you overhear the lofty, night-crowned man say in sirihish, lifting a wave:
"Have a pleasant day, Lord Templar."

At a round, blue-painted table, you overhear the sleek, black-haired templar say in sirihish:
"All His Shadows. And I will be thrilled to have that conversation and wine with you soon."

The blonde, mocha-skinned woman has arrived from the south.

The sleek, black-haired templar stands up from a round, blue-painted table.

The blonde, mocha-skinned woman enters the tavern and quickly dips a curtsy.

The sleek, black-haired templar adjusts his grip on his black, spiked heavy shield, and turns to the northern plaza.

The sleek, black-haired templar walks north.
The half-giant soldier walks north.
The half-giant soldier walks north.

Slumping even more in her chair, the tiny, bushy-maned woman sips from her white, flower-shaped goblet.

The blonde, mocha-skinned woman continues on.

The lofty, night-crowned man turns back to the tiny, bushy-maned woman and laughs again.

The blonde, mocha-skinned woman walks north.

At a round, blue-painted table, you overhear the lofty, night-crowned man say in sirihish, shaking his head amusedly:
"Oh, goodness. He's fun to tease."

At a round, blue-painted table, you overhear the tiny, bushy-maned woman say in sirihish, her grey eyes crescents of mirth:
"Isn't he just. He even blushes."

The blonde, mocha-skinned woman has arrived from the north. (Aida)

The blonde, mocha-skinned woman quietly walks to a boxy wooden bar.

The blonde, mocha-skinned woman sits at a boxy wooden bar.

Watching the tall, amber-eyed woman picking it up, the blonde, mocha-skinned woman picks up a small bone keg.

The blonde, mocha-skinned woman discards her small bone keg, as the tall, amber-eyed woman takes it to the back.

At your table, you say in sirihish, nodding:
"Morning, Aida."

Watching the tall, amber-eyed woman picking it up, the blonde, mocha-skinned woman picks up a small bone keg.

The blonde, mocha-skinned woman discards her small bone keg, as the tall, amber-eyed woman takes it to the back.

At a round, blue-painted table, you overhear the lofty, night-crowned man say in sirihish, with a lingering lilt of amusement:
"I get the impression that he doesn't much fancy men, but I enjoy his reactions nonetheless. Perhaps all the more so."

At your table, the blonde, mocha-skinned woman says in sirihish, smiling to you:
"Morning! I haven't been able to reach the Lord yet, I can't wait to tell him of your wine. He'll be thrilled."

The blonde, mocha-skinned woman looks at you.

At a round, blue-painted table, you overhear the lofty, night-crowned man say in sirihish, clutching his hands together:
"All that Salarri getup and he just gets so timid. Perfectly adorable."

The lofty, night-crowned man sips from his purple-tinted goblet.

The short, slender man smiles and nods.

At your table, you say in sirihish:
"How have you been? Work going well?"

At a round, blue-painted table, you overhear the tiny, bushy-maned woman say in sirihish, deep dimples forming in her freckled cheeks:
"Oh I wouldn't say he's timid. Just that it takes a different kind of courage to stand up to us when we're on our own version of a warpath."

At your table, the blonde, mocha-skinned woman says in sirihish, smiling to you:
"That hat looks good on you. And yes, I do adore Lord Tiberius. He's a great employer."

At a round, blue-painted table, you overhear the lofty, night-crowned man say in sirihish, nodding:
"Oh, yes, it's not quite the right word."

At a round, blue-painted table, you overhear the tiny, bushy-maned woman say in sirihish, setting her lower lip out just a little:
"And I don't know if he fancies anyone. If he does, he's put up a valliant resistance in the face of my advances."

At a round, blue-painted table, you overhear the lofty, night-crowned man say in sirihish, clapping his hands together:
"Well, that's almost encouraging, really. Let's keep trying. It's fun."

The rugged man with flint-grey eyes has arrived from the north.

At a round, blue-painted table, you overhear the tiny, bushy-maned woman say in sirihish, with a little toss of her head, amused:
"Oh like I'd ever stop unless he Aanson'd me."

At your table, you say in sirihish, grinning:
"Good to know. I don't see much of him."

The warted, deep red half-giant has arrived from the north.

At a round, blue-painted table, you overhear the lofty, night-crowned man say in sirihish:
"Oh, dear. What does it mean to Aanson someone?"

The rugged man with flint-grey eyes step inside the room, then bows to a round, blue-painted table, giving a questioning look to the lofty, night-crowned man.

Glancing over, the lofty, night-crowned man looks up at the rugged man with flint-grey eyes.

At your table, the blonde, mocha-skinned woman says in sirihish, nodding, expression turning serious:
"He's been in an awful lot of meetings, and had fallen ill for a while too. Trust me, he'd love to be a bit more social, but it's been busy times for him."

The rugged man with flint-grey eyes asks the lofty, night-crowned man, in sirihish:
"I'm sorry, my lord. Do you still not want to look at me?"

Rolling his eyes, the lofty, night-crowned man says to the rugged man with flint-grey eyes, in sirihish:
"Brand, everyone is going to misinterpret that. Come over here."

At a round, blue-painted table, you overhear the tiny, bushy-maned woman say in sirihish, freckled nose wrinkling a little:
"Oh, Aanson thinks it's his duty not to put highborn in danger by engaging in romantic relationships with them, or something like that. He basically begged me to stop trying to seduce him."

Glancing over, the tiny, bushy-maned woman looks up at the rugged man with flint-grey eyes.

The rugged man with flint-grey eyes sighs, shaking his head, and approaches the lofty, night-crowned man.

The warted, deep red half-giant bows, his potbelly drooping over.

Sounding confused, the tiny, bushy-maned woman asks the lofty, night-crowned man, in sirihish:
"Why wouldn't you want to look at him?"

At your table, you say in sirihish, nodding:
"My best wishes for his health, then."

The rugged man with flint-grey eyes asks the lofty, night-crowned man, in sirihish:
"Do you want me to leave again, my lord?"

The blonde, mocha-skinned woman looks up at the rugged man with flint-grey eyes, offering a little wave.

Closing his eyes briefly, the lofty, night-crowned man says to the rugged man with flint-grey eyes, in sirihish:
"No."

The rugged man with flint-grey eyes gives a slight nod to the blonde, mocha-skinned woman, looking unhappy.

Explaining, the lofty, night-crowned man says to the tiny, bushy-maned woman, in sirihish:
"Brand was being distracting while I was trying to place an order with Maristen."

The short, slender man gives the rugged man with flint-grey eyes a small smile.

Rising from his bow with a bit of struggle before going to the bar, the warted, deep red half-giant stands at a boxy wooden bar.

The lofty, night-crowned man says to the tiny, bushy-maned woman, in sirihish:
"Well, not really place an order, but make a design."

At your table, the blonde, mocha-skinned woman says in sirihish, looking back to you:
"Oh he's doing well again. But needless to say it put him a bit behind."

The short, slender man nods to the blonde, mocha-skinned woman again.

At a round, blue-painted table, you overhear the tiny, bushy-maned woman say in sirihish, settling back into her slump:
"Oh. Mmm. He can be quite a distraction at times."

The tiny, bushy-maned woman sips from her white, flower-shaped goblet.

You look up at the warted, deep red half-giant.
This monstrosity before you is extremely large and obese, and the
half-giant bears large and muscular limbs on him and a large potbelly. The
half-giant's skin has a dark red tone, and the skin is infested with warts
of all sizes that matches the color of it as well. His eyes are a deep
brown, and with a keen eye, you could see small red veins protruding from
the outer rims of them. He has no body hair to speak of, but he has a very
oily and disoriented black hair on his head, which juts out in all
directions.
A large maul is slung over his backpack in a clumsy fashion.
The warted, deep red half-giant is in excellent condition.

The warted, deep red half-giant is using:
<on head> a battered scrab shell half-helm
<in hair> a spray of rose-colored blossoms
<around neck> a rough, sword-shaped stone charm
<slung across back> a double chitin-bladed staff
<across back> a bone-studded backpack
<on torso> a black, bone-plated jerkin
<around right wrist> a thick, rope-bound leather bracer
<around left wrist> a thick, rope-bound leather bracer
<as belt> a black leather belt
<on legs> a pair of bone-studded leather breeches
<on feet> a pair of chalton leather boots

He is carrying:
nothing obvious

The blonde, mocha-skinned woman waves to the warted, deep red half-giant.

At your table, the warted, deep red half-giant says in sirihish:
"I can't find Surge Dannet still..."

Shrugging, the lofty, night-crowned man says to the tiny, bushy-maned woman, in sirihish:
"I told him to go stand behind me so I couldn't see him grinning and making a scene, and then he kept laughing, so I told him to go somewhere where I couldn't hear him."

While looking around, the warted, deep red half-giant asks, in sirihish:
"Dannet? Surge Dannet?"

At your table, the blonde, mocha-skinned woman says in sirihish, to the warted, deep red half-giant:
"I know, when I saw you I immediately tried to find his mind. "

Grey eyes widening, the tiny, bushy-maned woman says to the lofty, night-crowned man, in sirihish:
"Oh my. You really must adore him."

The rugged man with flint-grey eyes steps behind the lofty, night-crowned man's shoulder, clasping his hands behind his back.

With a fond smile to the rugged man with flint-grey eyes, the lofty, night-crowned man says to the tiny, bushy-maned woman, in sirihish:
"Brand? As trying as he can be from time to time, you'll never find a more loyal aide."

The blonde, mocha-skinned woman says to the warted, deep red half-giant, in sirihish:
"He is about now, dear."

The rugged man with flint-grey eyes musters a smile behind the lofty, night-crowned man's back.

Nibbling the edge of her white, flower-shaped goblet, the tiny, bushy-maned woman says to the lofty, night-crowned man, in sirihish:
"Oh I don't doubt. It's just, well, the sort of thing you would have been shaking whips at him for not too long ago."

Tapping her head, the blonde, mocha-skinned woman says to the warted, deep red half-giant, in sirihish:
"I just found his mind."

Brows knitting, the lofty, night-crowned man says to the tiny, bushy-maned woman, in sirihish:
"Really? Mm. I must have been in a bad mood."

Decisively, the tiny, bushy-maned woman says to the lofty, night-crowned man, in sirihish:
"Oh it was like, right after that other one. Stinky. Slinky. I can't even remember his name right now. Brand had a giggle fit and it made you corss."

Smiling, the blonde, mocha-skinned woman says to the warted, deep red half-giant, in sirihish:
"He'll find you as soon as he's free."

With a snort, the lofty, night-crowned man says to the tiny, bushy-maned woman, in sirihish:
"Well, it being right after -Silky- probably put me in a bad mood, then."

The blonde, mocha-skinned woman pokes the warted, deep red half-giant's arm.

At your table, the blonde, mocha-skinned woman says in sirihish:
"Are you struck?"

After a moment, the lofty, night-crowned man says to the tiny, bushy-maned woman, in sirihish:
"-Sulky.-"

Sounding delighted, the tiny, bushy-maned woman says to the lofty, night-crowned man, in sirihish:
"Silky, that's what his name was. Because of his silky hair. And sullen demeanor."

At your table, the blonde, mocha-skinned woman says in sirihish, looking back to you:
"I guess he is."

The blonde, mocha-skinned woman shrugs.

The short, slender man grins a bit,

At a round, blue-painted table, you overhear the lofty, night-crowned man say in sirihish, rolling his eyes:
"I was disappointed to find that he was still alive. I told him as much--well, really, I just said I was 'surprised,'--and guess what he did."

At your table, you say in sirihish:
"Mayhap, yes. Or so stunned that someone found Dannet that he's speechless?"

At a round, blue-painted table, you overhear the tiny, bushy-maned woman say in sirihish, arcing one red-painted brow at the lofty, night-crowned man:
"Begged you to take him back?"

The short, slender man shrugs a shoulder.

At your table, the blonde, mocha-skinned woman says in sirihish, looking thoughfully to the warted, deep red half-giant:
"Who knows? I get struck often. It's really annoying. I miss half of what people are saying."

At a round, blue-painted table, you overhear the lofty, night-crowned man say in sirihish, cringing:
"No. He just sulked. I felt like I was being transported into the past, Ru. It was awful."

The tiny, bushy-maned woman bursts out laughing.

At a round, blue-painted table, you overhear the tiny, bushy-maned woman say in sirihish, after descending into giggles, voice lilting with amusement:
"Oh my. That's just too perfect."

The blonde, mocha-skinned woman looks over to the tiny, bushy-maned woman as her starts to laugh, grinning a bit.

The lofty, night-crowned man just shakes his head tragically, sinking defeatedly into his seat, posture slumped like the spoiled brat he almost certainly is.

At a round, blue-painted table, the tiny, bushy-maned woman speaks, patting at her reddened cheeks, expression and voice still mirthful.

At a round, blue-painted table, you overhear the lofty, night-crowned man say in sirihish, shaking his head briskly:
"Not worth the coin."

You look up at the tall, amber-eyed woman.
This woman's night-dark hair is worn in a series of small braids that
have been woven into an intricate net, festooned with tiny beads of crystal
and yellow-glazed clay. She is tall, and possesses a breadth of shoulder
that would prevent her ever being labeled slender. Her eyes are a pale
yellowish brown, set beneath dark, arched eyebrows. She is striking, but
not pretty in any conventional sense.
The tall, amber-eyed woman is in excellent condition.

The tall, amber-eyed woman is using:
<in right ear> a small, curved tusk
<on torso> a worn, white tunic
<around right wrist> a black and jade sleeping dragon bracelet
<around left wrist> a miniature Allanaki flag
<as belt> a braided blue belt
<on legs> a pair of black linen pants
<on feet> a pair of black leather sandals

At a round, blue-painted table, you overhear the tiny, bushy-maned woman say in sirihish, shaking her head a little, curls bouncing:
"No-o he would've had to put himself through, obviously."

At your table, the blonde, mocha-skinned woman says in sirihish, conversationally:
"Hope Lord Tiberius will be about this evening."

At your table, you say in sirihish, tilting his head to the side slightly:
"I do believe that I do not have any outstanding order for him, yes?"

At your table, the blonde, mocha-skinned woman says in sirihish, shaking her head:
"For now I don't think so."

The fit, keen-eyed woman has arrived from the north. (Lady Kitt)
The massive, wyvern-tattooed man has arrived from the north.

At a round, blue-painted table, you overhear the lofty, night-crowned man say in sirihish, sighing:
"I fear that some cases can't be fixed."

The fit, keen-eyed woman strolls into the tavern with her hands folded and chin held high.

At a round, blue-painted table, you overhear the tiny, bushy-maned woman say in sirihish, lifting one of her shoulders in a little shrug:
"Sometimes it's hard to tell unless there's an attempt. On the commoner's part I mean."

The blonde, mocha-skinned woman stands up from a boxy wooden bar, dipping a curtsy to the fit, keen-eyed woman.

As she approaches, the fit, keen-eyed woman looks down at the lofty, night-crowned man.

Noting the bows around him, the lofty, night-crowned man looks up at the fit, keen-eyed woman.

The rugged man with flint-grey eyes bows to the fit, keen-eyed woman from his position behind the lofty, night-crowned man's shoulder.

The short, slender man rises and bows to the fit, keen-eyed woman politely before resuming his seat at a boxy wooden bar.

Nodding to him, the fit, keen-eyed woman says to the lofty, night-crowned man, in sirihish:
"Hello, my Lord Cousin."

The smooth-shaven, turquoise-eyed woman lowers into a stiff bow.

The purple-dreadlocked, dark-skinned woman dips into a flamboyant bow.

Glancing, the tiny, bushy-maned woman looks up at the fit, keen-eyed woman.

Lifting a languid wave, the lofty, night-crowned man says to the fit, keen-eyed woman, in sirihish:
"Lady Cousin."

The warted, deep red half-giant turns to bow before he turns back to those at a boxy wooden bar.

The massive, wyvern-tattooed man conducts the appropriate bow for those at a round, blue-painted table.

The curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman has arrived from the north.

The curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman sits at a boxy wooden bar.

This pair of armbands signify that its wearer is in some way affiliated
with the merchant House Kadius. They are made of a thin cloth, offering
no true protection. Woven into the outside of the armbands is the symbol
of the House: a light blue gemstone on a purple shield.

The leathery-skinned dwarf stands at a boxy wooden bar.

The curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman looks up at the leathery-skinned dwarf.

At a round, blue-painted table, you overhear the tiny, bushy-maned woman say in sirihish, turning back to the lofty, night-crowned man, dimples forming in her freckled cheeks:
"Some can be salvaged at least a little anyway, maybe, if they try."

At your table, the warted, deep red half-giant says in sirihish:
"I'm talking to Surge Dannet in my head!"

At your table, the curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman says in sirihish, glancing at you:
"Uh... what is he doing here? The dwarf, I mean."

The fit, keen-eyed woman says to the lofty, night-crowned man, in sirihish:
"I'll be having a walk to the Atrium -- I've just forgotten something."

At your table, the blonde, mocha-skinned woman says in sirihish, grinning to the warted, deep red half-giant:
"Oh good."

The fit, keen-eyed woman turns around and goes the way she had arrived.

The fit, keen-eyed woman walks north.
The massive, wyvern-tattooed man walks north.

You look up at the leathery-skinned dwarf.
Gnarled with muscles but starved looking, this dwarven male has an agile
appearance as his skin is weathered and worn. Thick muscular arms of tanned
hide sprout from his frame like thick branches, with callused, large fingers
to match. A sloping forehead slumps to a wide-nostriled, flattened nose
and anakore-beaded eyes of an equally dull brown while an angular jaw meets
his wide-set shoulders with the briefest reprieve of throat. A hairless
pate crowns his stocky height.
The leathery-skinned dwarf is in excellent condition.

The leathery-skinned dwarf is using:
<on head> a dusty veiled black leather helmet
<around neck> a dusty dark grey worm-hide gorget
<about throat> a dull black gem
<across back> a dusty large chalton-hide backpack
<on torso> a sweat-stained dark grey worm-hide cuirass
<on arms> a sweat-stained pair of dark grey worm-hide sleeves
<around right wrist> a dark grey worm-hide vambrace
<around left wrist> a dark grey worm-hide vambrace
<on hands> a dusty pair of chitin-plated leather gloves
<as belt> a black leather belt
<hung from belt> an obsidian-studded bone club
<hung from belt> an obsidian-studded bone club
<around body> a dusty desert-colored sandcloth greatcloak
<about waist> a tattered, faded-red hunting quiver
<on legs> a sweat-stained pair of dark grey worm-hide leggings
<around right ankle> a dusty rune-marked pouch on a leather cord
<on feet> a dusty supple pair of earthy leather boots

He is carrying:
nothing obvious

Moving along, the leathery-skinned dwarf walks north.

The leathery-skinned dwarf pushes away from a boxy wooden bar.

The lofty, night-crowned man looks after the departing party for a moment, before turning back to the tiny, bushy-maned woman.

At a round, blue-painted table, the tiny, bushy-maned woman speaks, earnestly.

At a round, blue-painted table, you overhear the lofty, night-crowned man say in sirihish, tapping his finger on the table's edge:
"All right, then."

The sleek, black-haired templar has arrived from the north.
The dawn-haired, bay-skinned templar has arrived from the north.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the north.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the north.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the north.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the north.

The sleek, black-haired templar looks up at the warted, deep red half-giant.

Seeming very giddy, the warted, deep red half-giant says, in sirihish:
"Surge Dannet is coming to talk to--"

You stand up from a boxy wooden bar.

The blonde, mocha-skinned woman stands up from a boxy wooden bar, dipping a curtsy to the duo of Templars.

The curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman stands up from a boxy wooden bar, and bows to the templars.

At a round, blue-painted table, you overhear the lofty, night-crowned man say in sirihish, sighing:
"Oh, I understand. I know exactly how you feel."

The warted, deep red half-giant quickly turns to bow to both of the templars.

The rugged man with flint-grey eyes bows deeply from his position off the lofty, night-crowned man's shoulder.

Noting his presence, the lofty, night-crowned man looks up at the sleek, black-haired templar, offering a wave.

The short, slender man bows to the dawn-haired, bay-skinned templar and the sleek, black-haired templar, standing beside a boxy wooden bar.

The lofty, night-crowned man looks up at the dawn-haired, bay-skinned templar, doing the same.

After his bow, the warted, deep red half-giant exclaims, in sirihish:
"Surge Dannet is coming to talk to me!"

Voice booming, smile pulling her cheeks up, the dawn-haired, bay-skinned templar exclaims to the tiny, bushy-maned woman, in sirihish:
"Lady Ru!"

The blonde, mocha-skinned woman sits at a boxy wooden bar.

You sit at a boxy wooden bar.

Grinning, the blonde, mocha-skinned woman exclaims to the warted, deep red half-giant, in sirihish:
"Good!"

Turning and beaming a dimple-cheeked smile, the tiny, bushy-maned woman asks the dawn-haired, bay-skinned templar, in sirihish:
"Harna darling! How /are/ you?"

The tiny, bushy-maned woman looks up at the dawn-haired, bay-skinned templar.

The sleek, black-haired templar says to the warted, deep red half-giant, in sirihish:
"Oh, good. You finally are able to meet up."

The curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman sits at a boxy wooden bar.

Smile undiminished, the dawn-haired, bay-skinned templar says to the lofty, night-crowned man, in sirihish:
"Lord Lucith. Didn't see you there for the crowd. Hello."

You start trying to listen.

The sleek, black-haired templar moves away from the bar, coming to stand with the dawn-haired, bay-skinned templar.

Eyes narrowing, the dawn-haired, bay-skinned templar says to the tiny, bushy-maned woman, in sirihish:
"Furious. I was looking forward to that card game."

Offering a pleasant smile as he drops his hand to his lap, the lofty, night-crowned man says to the dawn-haired, bay-skinned templar, in sirihish:
"Good afternoon, Lady Templar Harna; I'm glad to see you."

Addressing the tiny, bushy-maned woman and the lofty, night-crowned man both, the sleek, black-haired templar says, in sirihish:
"It seems like ages since I've seen you both."

The sleek, black-haired templar grins a little.

Earnestly, the tiny, bushy-maned woman says to the sleek, black-haired templar, in sirihish:
"Three minutes without my presence feels like ages I'm sure."

Leaning slightly toward him, the dawn-haired, bay-skinned templar asks the sleek, black-haired templar, in sirihish:
"I don't think I'm inconsolable though. I should forgive her eventually, right?"

Nodding understandingly, the lofty, night-crowned man says to the sleek, black-haired templar, in sirihish:
"Undoubtedly because you've been ruminating on what we've said, I'm sure. Turning it over and over in your mind."

Waving to the sleek, black-haired templar and the dawn-haired, bay-skinned templar, the warted, deep red half-giant exclaims, in sirihish:
"Hi High Bloods!"

The lofty, night-crowned man makes a little twirling gesture with his wrist to accompany his remark.
Pouting, the tiny, bushy-maned woman says to the dawn-haired, bay-skinned templar, in sirihish:
"I've been suffering faints again. Besides, you blew me off for the card game first, if you remember my dear."

Head turning, the dawn-haired, bay-skinned templar looks up at the warted, deep red half-giant.

The sleek, black-haired templar says to the dawn-haired, bay-skinned templar, in sirihish:
"Naturally."

Waving her hand vaguely, the tiny, bushy-maned woman says to the dawn-haired, bay-skinned templar, in sirihish:
"Something something emergency patrol whatever."
The warted, deep red half-giant slowly lowers his waving hand.

Loud enough it might be contest to see if her voice might be bigger than his, the dawn-haired, bay-skinned templar asks the warted, deep red half-giant, in sirihish:
"Hi, Lord and Lady Templar. Follow?"

Nodding quickly, the warted, deep red half-giant exclaims, in sirihish:
"Uh, okay, okay! Hi, Lord and Lady Templar!"

Satisfied as evidenced by the nod, the dawn-haired, bay-skinned templar says to the warted, deep red half-giant, in sirihish:
"Hi."
The sleek, black-haired templar scans his gaze over the crowds a moment, breaking off from conversation.

The wiry, blue-eyed man has arrived from the north.

The blonde, mocha-skinned woman idly brushes a hand over her lap, looking absently to the warted, deep red half-giant.

Winking, the tiny, bushy-maned woman says to the dawn-haired, bay-skinned templar, in sirihish:
"I'll forgive you, if you forgive me."

The short, slender man lifts a hand in a wave to the wiry, blue-eyed man from a boxy wooden bar.

At a slightly less voluble volume, as she steps closer, the dawn-haired, bay-skinned templar asks the tiny, bushy-maned woman, in sirihish:
"Are you feeling better?"

The curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman absently taps a few notes on her gith skull drum.

Her hand wavering from side to side, the tiny, bushy-maned woman says to the dawn-haired, bay-skinned templar, in sirihish:
"It depends from moment to moment. Every now and then I'm feeling a little faint, but it's much improved over that time we visited Bella. Goodness, that was a bad one."

The wiry, blue-eyed man comes to a stop as he enters the bar, his eyes widening slightly as his gaze goes across the crowd. He drops into a deep bow, first, for the lofty, night-crowned man, then the tiny, bushy-maned woman, then the sleek, black-haired templar, then the dawn-haired, bay-skinned templar, holding each bow for long moments.

The blonde, mocha-skinned woman looks up at the wiry, blue-eyed man.

Eyes narrowing in a wince, the dawn-haired, bay-skinned templar says to the tiny, bushy-maned woman, in sirihish:
"I was a little worried about you."

The lofty, night-crowned man holds a polite smile as he listens to the ongoing conversation, seeming content to remain silent for now.

At your table, the blonde, mocha-skinned woman says in sirihish, smirking to the curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman:
"Isn't there an instrument you cannot play?"

Slipping around the crowd over to you, the wiry, blue-eyed man stands at a boxy wooden bar.

At your table, the curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman says in sirihish:
"Eh, drums are easy."

The sleek, black-haired templar says to the tiny, bushy-maned woman, in sirihish:
"You never mentioned any of this to me."

The blonde, mocha-skinned woman looks up at the dawn-haired, bay-skinned templar.

With a quick little nod, the tiny, bushy-maned woman says to the dawn-haired, bay-skinned templar, in sirihish:
"I made it home just fine. Ty's used to getting me home under those circumstances. She's even carried me a time or two."

You grin at him.

The wiry, blue-eyed man smiles at you, lifting his hand in a brief wave.

At your table, the blonde, mocha-skinned woman says in sirihish:
"True enough."

Looking over, the dawn-haired, bay-skinned templar says to the purple-dreadlocked, dark-skinned woman, in sirihish:
"That's good work."

Nibbling her lower lip, the tiny, bushy-maned woman says to the sleek, black-haired templar, in sirihish:
"Mmm, well, it's not something I'm very fond of talking about. An imbalance of the humors you know. Red meat is supposed to help, but sometimes it just overcomes me."

The sleek, black-haired templar says, in sirihish:
"Too young for that sort of thing."

The lofty, night-crowned man nods sympathetically to the tiny, bushy-maned woman.

At your table, the blonde, mocha-skinned woman says in sirihish, to the wiry, blue-eyed man:
"You know, I've seen you a few times but either I forgot your name --I'm terrible with names-- or we never introduced ourselves."

With another be-flourished bow, the purple-dreadlocked, dark-skinned woman says, in sirihish:
"Thank ya Lady Templar."

Visibly shivering, the tiny, bushy-maned woman says to the sleek, black-haired templar, in sirihish:
"I don't think any oldness would be old enough for it. It's just awful."

Pushing it across the table, the lofty, night-crowned man gives his dark-tinted azure bottle to the tiny, bushy-maned woman.

At your table, you say in sirihish, glancing at the wiry, blue-eyed man:
"Care for an ale?"

Offering an empathetic smile, the lofty, night-crowned man says to the tiny, bushy-maned woman, in sirihish:
"Have some more wine, dear Ru."

At your table, the wiry, blue-eyed man says in sirihish, looking over to the blonde, mocha-skinned woman:
"It's fine, I suppose I'm not terribly memorable. I'm Thorn."

The warted, deep red half-giant watches the northern entrance intently.

With a fond note to her voice, the tiny, bushy-maned woman says to the lofty, night-crowned man, in sirihish:
"I think I will draling, thank you."

At your table, the blonde, mocha-skinned woman says in sirihish, nodding:
"Thorn. I'm Aida. Pleased to meet you."

At your table, the wiry, blue-eyed man says in sirihish, shaking his head to you:
"Thanks, but I'm good."

With a fairly practiced look to the process, the tiny, bushy-maned woman pours a violet liquid from her dark-tinted azure bottle to her white, flower-shaped goblet.

The lanky, sandy-brown man has arrived from the south, entering the crowded tavern.
The female wearing a black sandcloth, jade-emblazoned veil has arrived from the south.

You nod to him.

The sleek, black-haired templar says to the tiny, bushy-maned woman, in sirihish:
"I took to mekillot steaks, when I was in the Academy. Definitely does well for one's constitution."

At your table, the wiry, blue-eyed man says in sirihish, smiling briefly to the blonde, mocha-skinned woman:
"Good to see you again, Aida."

The warted, deep red half-giant gives a very large wave to the lanky, sandy-brown man from a boxy wooden bar.

The rugged man with flint-grey eyes smiles, giving the lanky, sandy-brown man a wave from behind the lofty, night-crowned man's.

The dawn-haired, bay-skinned templar says to the lofty, night-crowned man, in sirihish:
"I just eat at every opportunity. My humors are balanced so far."

Dropping into a deep bow, the female wearing a black sandcloth, jade-emblazoned veil raises to then salute the templarate present.

The sleek, black-haired templar says to the tiny, bushy-maned woman, in sirihish:
"Might need to send the Byn out mek hunting, so you can have a fair supply for a time."

At your table, the blonde, mocha-skinned woman says in sirihish, chuckling:
"I'm -really- forgetful, aren't I?"

The lanky, sandy-brown man takes it upon himself to bow towards everyone in the tavern he should be bowing to - the tiny, bushy-maned woman, the lofty, night-crowned man, and the dawn-haired, bay-skinned templar included amongst the number.

Nose wrinkling between freckled bands, the tiny, bushy-maned woman says to the sleek, black-haired templar, in sirihish:
"I've been eating a lot of them. But sometimes a person just needs a little variety. Some cheese, or some jozhal. My favorite animal is jozhal."

The sleek, black-haired templar asks the tiny, bushy-maned woman, in sirihish:
"Winged jozhal?"

The sleek, black-haired templar gives the tiny, bushy-maned woman a little, knowing smile.

The warted, deep red half-giant exclaims to the lanky, sandy-brown man, in sirihish:
"Hi, Surge Dannet!"

Skeptically, the tiny, bushy-maned woman says to the sleek, black-haired templar, in sirihish:
"I don't think jozhals have wings..."

The lofty, night-crowned man flits his gaze between the sleek, black-haired templar and the tiny, bushy-maned woman, brows perked.

The sleek, black-haired templar says to the tiny, bushy-maned woman, in sirihish:
"Only in some Falish imaginations. Ask your g'uncle about them, someday."

Approaching the warted, deep red half-giant, the lanky, sandy-brown man sits at a boxy wooden bar, finding a spot to rest his elbows.

Craning his neck back, the lanky, sandy-brown man looks up at the warted, deep red half-giant.

At your table, the wiry, blue-eyed man says in sirihish, chuckling:
"I'm sure you had much more important things to worry about than my name."

At your table, the curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman says in sirihish:
"Someone left a bunch of ales on the bar."

Giggling, the tiny, bushy-maned woman says to the sleek, black-haired templar, in sirihish:
"Oh. Mmm. Him and his stories. He's put a whole book of them in the library for little Fizz. I'm tempted to hide it just to see how upset he'd get."

The curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman gets her miniature barrel from a boxy wooden bar.

With a little toss of her head, the tiny, bushy-maned woman says to the sleek, black-haired templar, in sirihish:
"Maybe next time he does something particularly mean to me."

Finding a stool of her own, the female wearing a black sandcloth, jade-emblazoned veil sits at a boxy wooden bar.

At your table, you say in sirihish, glancing at the curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman:
"You want me to just buy you one?"

At your table, the lanky, sandy-brown man says in sirihish, indicating the warted, deep red half-giant:
"You're Argunbash, then, ain't ya?"

The blonde, mocha-skinned woman looks at the female wearing a black sandcloth, jade-emblazoned veil.

Unpinning it, the fair, krath-locked woman stops using her black sandcloth, jade-emblazoned veil.

At your table, the curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman says in sirihish:
"Oh that's okay. That's nice of you though."

At your table, the blonde, mocha-skinned woman says in sirihish, to the lanky, sandy-brown man:
"So who's the private, Sergeant?"

Glancing over, the wiry, blue-eyed man looks down at the fair, krath-locked woman.

The sleek, black-haired templar says to the tiny, bushy-maned woman, in sirihish:
"You'd be punishing little Fizz more than him, I bet they're enjoyable."

Tipping a nod of greeting, the fair, krath-locked woman looks at the blonde, mocha-skinned woman.

At your table, the warted, deep red half-giant says in sirihish, to the lanky, sandy-brown man:
"Yuh. I'm Argunbash."

Remarking, the lofty, night-crowned man says to the tiny, bushy-maned woman, in sirihish:
"I like the way he says guncle."

At your table, the lanky, sandy-brown man says in sirihish, peering back at the fair, krath-locked woman:
"You can introduce yourself here. Aida intends to stay on top of all business. I don't know how she does it."

The curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman holds her miniature barrel.

At your table, the blonde, mocha-skinned woman says in sirihish, smiling to the fair, krath-locked woman:
"Or I'm just curious."

At your table, the warted, deep red half-giant says in sirihish, to the lanky, sandy-brown man:
"I, uh... I like to bash things and yell 'Arg' a lot."

The sleek, black-haired templar says to the lofty, night-crowned man, in sirihish:
"Lord G'uncle Marshal is his full title, I believe."

You look at the fair, krath-locked woman.
Long, wavy curls of a fiery hue spill to the middle of this young woman's
back. Slender eyes beneath an angled brow nearly shine with the blue of her
irises, completing a look one might best describe as wild in gaze. Smooth
cheeks and a smallish nose frame full lips. Light skin, no-doubt scarce to
krath, holds a healthy hue over a fit, feminine form that boasts notably
long legs.
The fair, krath-locked woman is in excellent condition.

The fair, krath-locked woman is using:
<around neck> a stiff, black-leather gorget
<slung across back> a wooden recurve bow
<across back> an oversized black backpack
<on torso> a braxat-hide jacket
<on left shoulder> a jade leather patch with a single obsidian bar
<around right wrist> a dark grey worm-hide vambrace
<around left wrist> a leather archery brace
<on forearms> a leather and chitin strap-sheath
<as belt> a white leather swordbelt
<hung from belt> a jade-emblazoned, obsidian shortsword
<hung from belt> a narrow, tan leather quiver
<around body> a black, hooded militia dustcloak
<about waist> a black sandcloth sash
<on legs> a new pair of bone-studded leather breeches
<on feet> a pair of polished black boots

She is carrying:
nothing obvious

At your table, the fair, krath-locked woman says in sirihish, to aida:
"Private Haleah. Nice to meet you."

Batting her eyelashes, the tiny, bushy-maned woman says to the sleek, black-haired templar, in sirihish:
"Well since she's like, only like two or three or maybe not even one yet, she probably can't read."

At your table, the lanky, sandy-brown man says in sirihish, returning his focus to the warted, deep red half-giant:
"That's how you got your name, then? I mean, it's no big wonder now that you mention it."

Aside, the tiny, bushy-maned woman says to the lofty, night-crowned man, in sirihish:
"I know, I just sort of mush it together don't I."

The wan, fine-boned blonde has arrived from the west.

At your table, the lanky, sandy-brown man says in sirihish, posing a question to the warted, deep red half-giant:
"Tell me, Big fella, what's your reason for so strongly wantin' to join up with the Arm?"

At your table, the warted, deep red half-giant says in sirihish, looking over at his double chitin-bladed staff:
"I got a new buddy from the last one. I call him Buddy the Second. He slashes stuff instead of bash."

The wan, fine-boned blonde looks over the crowd, and dips a curtsy to the nobles and templars present.

With a smirk, the lofty, night-crowned man says to the sleek, black-haired templar, in sirihish:
"He should instruct the guard to announce the G'uncle bit at the gates of the Nobles' Quarter."

At your table, the blonde, mocha-skinned woman says in sirihish, to the fair, krath-locked woman with a smile:
"Pleased to meet you. I haven't seen you around a lot. Did a lot of training at the barracks?"

At your table, the warted, deep red half-giant says in sirihish, refocusing on the lanky, sandy-brown man:
"Oh, yuh. I wanna join cuz, uh... I want stuff."

At your table, the warted, deep red half-giant says in sirihish:
"And I like making new friends."

The sleek, black-haired templar says to the lofty, night-crowned man, in sirihish:
"Maybe on his birthday or something, if it's always that way, it won't be as funny."

At your table, the fair, krath-locked woman says in sirihish, to the blonde, mocha-skinned woman:
"I just transferred in two weeks earlier from the fourth."

Grey eyes widening, the tiny, bushy-maned woman asks the sleek, black-haired templar, in sirihish:
"Can you do that?"

At your table, the lanky, sandy-brown man says in sirihish, seriously:
"You want stuff, eh? What sort've stuff?"

The wan, fine-boned blonde sits at a boxy wooden bar.

The dawn-haired, bay-skinned templar glances at the sleek, black-haired templar.

At 1) a broad table of scarred agafari wood are:
some empty seats.
At 2) a wobbly baobab table are:
some empty seats.
At 3) a boxy wooden bar are:
the blonde, mocha-skinned woman, the short, slender man,
the curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman, the lanky, sandy-brown man,
the fair, krath-locked woman, the wan, fine-boned blonde,
the wiry, blue-eyed man, the warted, deep red half-giant,
and one empty seat.
At 4) a round, blue-painted table are:
the lofty, night-crowned man, the tiny, bushy-maned woman,
and one empty seat.

At your table, the blonde, mocha-skinned woman says in sirihish, nodding gently:
"That'd explain. Lots of wall duty previously I take it?"

At your table, the fair, krath-locked woman says in sirihish, shoulders lifting faintly:
"Amongst other things."

Looking expectantly to him, the lofty, night-crowned man says to the sleek, black-haired templar, in sirihish:
"I want to be there when it happens, if so."

At your table, the warted, deep red half-giant says in sirihish, looking down:
"Uh... Black shiny stuff. I want... Uh... Lots of hapiness from the High Bloods."

Bouncing a little, the tiny, bushy-maned woman says, in sirihish:
"Oh yes, I like this prank very much."

The sleek, black-haired templar asks, in sirihish:
"When is his next birthday?"

At your table, the warted, deep red half-giant says in sirihish:
"I don't like merc places much."

The lofty, night-crowned man swings his gaze around to the tiny, bushy-maned woman.

At your table, the warted, deep red half-giant says in sirihish:
"Like the Bin and stuff."

The curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman sips from her miniature barrel.

Cringing down into her chair a little, the tiny, bushy-maned woman says, in sirihish:
"I don't precisely exactly know quite entirely."

The tiny, bushy-maned woman drinks ocotillo wine from her white, flower-shaped goblet.

The rubenesque, tawny-haired woman has arrived from the north.

The warted, deep red half-giant looks down at the rubenesque, tawny-haired woman.

At your table, the blonde, mocha-skinned woman says in sirihish, looking around:
"Busy..."

Shrugging, the lofty, night-crowned man says to the tiny, bushy-maned woman, in sirihish:
"You can find out."

Folding it down, the rubenesque, tawny-haired woman stops holding her ivory-handled, white silk parasol.

At your table, the lanky, sandy-brown man says in sirihish, speaking plainly to the warted, deep red half-giant:
"I'll tell you true. The last two Bigs, of your nature - they took their patch, and they didn't make it past their months in the recruitment. Shit, one didn't even last a few weeks."

Turning his head back, the warted, deep red half-giant looks down at the lanky, sandy-brown man.

At your table, you say in sirihish, absently:
"Just a bit."

The fair, krath-locked woman glances aside, and up, to the warted, deep red half-giant.

Nodding decisively, the tiny, bushy-maned woman says to the lofty, night-crowned man, in sirihish:
"Probably. Unless he lies to me, or refuses to tell me because he thinks it's a prelude to old jokes. Cause it might be."

At your table, the warted, deep red half-giant says in sirihish, obviously confused:
"Huh? Why not?"

At your table, the blonde, mocha-skinned woman says in sirihish, with a pout:
"The one that fell into the hole fell into another one, then?"

At your table, the lanky, sandy-brown man says in sirihish, at the warted, deep red half-giant:
"Something else caught their attention, 'n off they went. Didn't even pace a goodbye."

Haughtily, the lofty, night-crowned man says to the tiny, bushy-maned woman, in sirihish:
"Well, he's wrong. It's a prelude to -new- jokes."

The sleek, black-haired templar says to the tiny, bushy-maned woman, in sirihish:
"One of your Whatsees must know."

At your table, the warted, deep red half-giant says in sirihish:
"Well, uh... I like staying with people!"

After looking around for a searching moment, the rubenesque, tawny-haired woman crosses the tavern to a round, blue-painted table, which she stops nearby to curtsy to the highborn at it.

At your table, the warted, deep red half-giant says in sirihish:
"I can do that pretty good!"

The tiny, bushy-maned woman giggles.

At your table, the lanky, sandy-brown man says in sirihish, off-handedly, to the blonde, mocha-skinned woman:
"Not that I'd know. I'd hope he'd learn the first time."

The curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman opens her rope-strapped canvas backpack.

The curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman gets her breaded and fried kalan fruit from her rope-strapped canvas backpack.

The curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman gives her breaded and fried kalan fruit to the wiry, blue-eyed man.

At your table, the curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman says in sirihish, to the wiry, blue-eyed man:
"Because you liked the other one."

The curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman closes her rope-strapped canvas backpack.

The blonde, mocha-skinned woman gets her succulent baked japak fruit from her black silk shoulder bag.

The lofty, night-crowned man glances back briefly to the rugged man with flint-grey eyes.

At your table, the wiry, blue-eyed man says in sirihish, smiling to the curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman as he takes his breaded and fried kalan fruit:
"Thanks."

The dawn-haired, bay-skinned templar places a hand on the back of a chair and leans.

Stepping round toward the empty chair, the rubenesque, tawny-haired woman looks down at the tiny, bushy-maned woman.

At your table, the warted, deep red half-giant says in sirihish:
"So, uh... Is there more stuff to ask and stuff?"

The blonde, mocha-skinned woman eats a portion of her succulent baked japak fruit, closing her eyes briefly.

Lounging, the rubenesque, tawny-haired woman sits at a round, blue-painted table.

You open your black silk shoulder bag.

You get your stuffed belshun fruit from your black silk shoulder bag.
It is very light.

You close your black silk shoulder bag.

At your table, the lanky, sandy-brown man says in sirihish, to the warted, deep red half-giant:
"There's somethin' I wanted to hear. You know, Arg - I can give you the black shiny stuff you're wantin'. You'll be pleasin' the Highborn in your service. And the training will come with time."

At your table, the lanky, sandy-brown man says in sirihish, simply:
"I think this's a good decision. You'd agree?"

At your table, the warted, deep red half-giant says in sirihish, nodding:
"Yuh! I -love- doing all of that!"

Picking idly at the stuffing, you eat part of your stuffed belshun fruit.

The stocky, sun-bronzed man has arrived from the north.

The stocky, sun-bronzed man dusts himself off.

The sleek, black-haired templar looks at the stocky, sun-bronzed man.

While absently reaching for the rubenesque, tawny-haired woman's arm, the tiny, bushy-maned woman says, in sirihish:
"Mmm, I'm sure even if he made it up it would be funny though."

Head turing, the dawn-haired, bay-skinned templar looks at the stocky, sun-bronzed man.

The fair, krath-locked woman looks up at the stocky, sun-bronzed man.

Stepping in and noticing the gazes, the stocky, sun-bronzed man bows.

You eat your small portion of a stuffed belshun fruit.

The sleek, black-haired templar looks at the dawn-haired, bay-skinned templar.

At your table, the warted, deep red half-giant says in sirihish:
"So can I join up and stuff?"

The curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman strokes her chin by turning her head slightly from side to side.

At your table, the lanky, sandy-brown man says in sirihish, reaching out to give the warted, deep red half-giant's oversized side a pat:
"Then I'll have you. Consider yourself recruited, Big fella."

Guiltily , the dawn-haired, bay-skinned templar says to the sleek, black-haired templar, in sirihish:
"Huh? I missed something? It's loud."

The warted, deep red half-giant chuckles.

The stocky, sun-bronzed man sits at a boxy wooden bar.

The warted, deep red half-giant exclaims to the lanky, sandy-brown man, in sirihish:
"Thanks, Surge!"

The lanky, sandy-brown man opens his finely-crafted pouched belt, digging around inside.

Shaking his head, the sleek, black-haired templar asks the dawn-haired, bay-skinned templar, in sirihish:
"No. Should we be moving along then?"

At your table, the fair, krath-locked woman says in sirihish, offering a light smile to the warted, deep red half-giant:
"Welcome, recruit Argunbash."

The lanky, sandy-brown man gets his black leather patch with a jade cross from his finely-crafted pouched belt.

Straightening, the dawn-haired, bay-skinned templar says to the sleek, black-haired templar, in sirihish:
"I'm with you."

The sleek, black-haired templar glances towards the bar.

Passing it up to him, the lanky, sandy-brown man gives his black leather patch with a jade cross to the warted, deep red half-giant.

The tall, amber-eyed woman wipes down a boxy wooden bar, watching the crowd.

Fluttering her fingertips at the dawn-haired, bay-skinned templar and the sleek, black-haired templar, the tiny, bushy-maned woman says, in sirihish:
"All His Shadows darlings."

At your table, the blonde, mocha-skinned woman says in sirihish, grinning to the warted, deep red half-giant:
"Congratulations, recruit Argunbash."

Calling over, the sleek, black-haired templar asks the lanky, sandy-brown man, in sirihish:
"Good enough to train, then?"

At your table, the lanky, sandy-brown man says in sirihish, towards the warted, deep red half-giant:
"That's your first piece of uniform. Represents your status in the Arm, as a recruit. You don't ever take it off without orders."

Including the lofty, night-crowned man, the dawn-haired, bay-skinned templar says to the tiny, bushy-maned woman, in sirihish:
"His Shadow."

The warted, deep red half-giant reaches up and places his black leather patch with a jade cross on his left shoulder.

The lofty, night-crowned man flashes a smile to the dawn-haired, bay-skinned templar.

There is a commotion in the space to the south, followed by a sudden silence.

The tall, amber-eyed woman trades a miniature barrel to the stocky, sun-bronzed man.

The stocky, sun-bronzed man puts his pile of allanaki coins into his large chalton-hide backpack.

A narrow doorway opens out to a small, cluttered space.

[Near]
The portly, sallow-eyed templar is standing here.
A lop-eared, squinting elf stands behind the counter.

The portly, sallow-eyed templar has arrived from the south, at a leisurely pace.

The blonde, mocha-skinned woman peers south.

The sleek, black-haired templar looks up at the portly, sallow-eyed templar.
The rugged man with flint-grey eyes grunts, looking southward.

Glancing, the tiny, bushy-maned woman looks south.

The warted, deep red half-giant grins as his patch is worn.

The rugged man with flint-grey eyes looks at the portly, sallow-eyed templar.

The warted, deep red half-giant pushes away from a boxy wooden bar.

The dawn-haired, bay-skinned templar reaches to tap the sleek, black-haired templar's arm.
Raising his voice over the tavern, the lanky, sandy-brown man says to the sleek, black-haired templar, in sirihish:
"We reached an agreement. I'll be teachin' him how to impress you."

The blonde, mocha-skinned woman looks up at the portly, sallow-eyed templar, rising up.

Slipping from her seat, the fair, krath-locked woman looks up at the portly, sallow-eyed templar.
The blonde, mocha-skinned woman stands up from a boxy wooden bar.

The wiry, blue-eyed man glances south.

The tiny, bushy-maned woman looks up at the portly, sallow-eyed templar.

The fair, krath-locked woman stands up from a boxy wooden bar.

The blonde, mocha-skinned woman widens her eyes and drops to her knees.

You look up at the portly, sallow-eyed templar. (Lord Caleo)
Cloudy, vacant eyes are deeply set within the face of this husky man,
framed by darkened circles of yellowed flesh which fade away to the
reddened, sun-burnt facial peaks of his cheeks and nose. Long waves of
silken black hair have been swept apart at the base of his neck, pinned and
pulled upward to an elaborate topknot upon the crown of his head. With
perfectly trimmed nails, and immaculately cleaned skin, this man seems to be
very well taken care of despite his sickly yellow pallor and slight obesity.
The portly, sallow-eyed templar is in excellent condition.

The portly, sallow-eyed templar is using:
<on head> a sandy-yellow chitinous helm
<around neck> a medallion of Tektolnes
<on torso> a bloodied blue silk shirt
<on right index finger> a silver signet ring
<on left index finger> an obsidian templar ring
<as belt> a black leather belt
<around body> a burned red, hooded templar's robe
<on legs> a pair of blue silk pants
<on feet> a pair of black leather boots

He is carrying:
nothing obvious

The rugged man with flint-grey eyes drops to a knee.

Dropping to her knees, the blonde, mocha-skinned woman sits down.

The curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman looks up at the portly, sallow-eyed templar.

The stocky, sun-bronzed man stands up from a boxy wooden bar.

The warted, deep red half-giant says, in sirihish:
"I'm gunna go South and see what's up."

The short, slender man gasps.

The wiry, blue-eyed man pushes away from a boxy wooden bar.

The sleek, black-haired templar seems shocked to see the portly, sallow-eyed templar, and bows respectfully.
The warted, deep red half-giant walks south.
You stand up from a boxy wooden bar.

Attention going up, the lanky, sandy-brown man looks up at the portly, sallow-eyed templar.

Dropping to his knees, the wiry, blue-eyed man sits down.

The dawn-haired, bay-skinned templar bows low to the portly, sallow-eyed templar.

Blinking first, the fair, krath-locked woman goes low into a bow.

The tall, amber-eyed woman looks at the portly, sallow-eyed templar, eyes wide.

With the flurry of movement, the rubenesque, tawny-haired woman looks up at the portly, sallow-eyed templar.

The short, slender man drops to his knees.

The curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman stands up from a boxy wooden bar.

The tiny, bushy-maned woman stands up from a round, blue-painted table.

Immediately jolting to his feet, the lanky, sandy-brown man stands up from a boxy wooden bar.

The lofty, night-crowned man looks up at the portly, sallow-eyed templar.

The stocky, sun-bronzed man looks at the portly, sallow-eyed templar, bowing deeply.

As she lowers herself, the dawn-haired, bay-skinned templar looks up at the portly, sallow-eyed templar.

Dropping to her knees, the curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman sits down.

The rubenesque, tawny-haired woman stands up from a round, blue-painted table.

The lofty, night-crowned man stands up from a round, blue-painted table.

The tiny, bushy-maned woman dips into a deep curtsey.

Your new ldesc is:
The short, slender man is kneeling here.

The wan, fine-boned blonde looks up at the portly, sallow-eyed templar.

Kneeling somewhat awkwardly, the rubenesque, tawny-haired woman sits down.

The lanky, sandy-brown man sinks to a knee in the portly, sallow-eyed templar's presence, fist held against his chest.

The lofty, night-crowned man immediately dips into a low bow, eyes on the floor.

You hear a man's voice from the south say, in sirihish:
"Where are you..."

A narrow doorway opens out to a small, cluttered space.
[Near]
The warted, deep red half-giant is standing here.
A lop-eared, squinting elf stands behind the counter.

Nobles and commoners alike dip into deep bows toward the portly, sallow-eyed templar, or fall to their knees.

The wiry, blue-eyed man looks up at the portly, sallow-eyed templar.

The portly, sallow-eyed templar stands complacently in the rippling midst of bows and prostrations, smiling serenely.

Slumping to a knee at the sight of the portly, sallow-eyed templar, mostly falling behind a boxy wooden bar, the tall, amber-eyed woman exclaims, in sirihish:
"Great Lord Caleo...!"

The wan, fine-boned blonde stands up from a boxy wooden bar.

The warted, deep red half-giant has arrived from the south.

The blonde, mocha-skinned woman keeps her gaze low and averted.

The warted, deep red half-giant says, in sirihish:
"I didn't see anything weird to the South at all..."

The short, slender man lowers his head, keeping his eyes fixed on the floor.

The sleek, black-haired templar says to the warted, deep red half-giant, in sirihish:
"Shut your mouth, recruit."

The warted, deep red half-giant nods to the sleek, black-haired templar.

The blonde, mocha-skinned woman whispers something to the warted, deep red half-giant.

The warted, deep red half-giant quickly kneels down.

You notice: The fair, krath-locked woman's gaze remains at a spot on the floor just beneath her.

His smile broadening, a male voice exclaims, in sirihish:
"Good people of Allanak! I have come to administer the Highlord's grace and goodwill amongst his citizenry!"

The warted, deep red half-giant whimpers a bit.

His smile broadening, the portly, sallow-eyed templar exclaims, in sirihish:
"Good people of Allanak! I have come to administer the Highlord's grace and goodwill amongst his citizenry!"

The sleek, black-haired templar remains motionless.

The lanky, sandy-brown man averts his gaze, studying the tavern's floor.

The portly, sallow-eyed templar looks from the sleek, black-haired templar to the dawn-haired, bay-skinned templar, his smile growing thin.

The sleek, black-haired templar shivers a little as the portly, sallow-eyed templar's gaze sweeps over him.

His voice syrupy and sweet, the portly, sallow-eyed templar exclaims, in sirihish:
"Ohh, templars!"

The portly, sallow-eyed templar snaps his fingers once, then examines his manicured nails.

The dawn-haired, bay-skinned templar answers with a forced smile, that is polite, not even pretending to be merry.

The sleek, black-haired templar bows his head in respect at the portly, sallow-eyed templar's acknowledgement.

The warted, deep red half-giant swallows a large lump in his throat. Sweat beads are barely visible along his forehead, and they slowly crawl down it.

The fit, keen-eyed woman has arrived from the north.
The massive, wyvern-tattooed man has arrived from the north.

The portly, sallow-eyed templar looks up from his nails, raising his eyebrows expectantly.

Very quickly before looking back down, the warted, deep red half-giant looks down at the fit, keen-eyed woman.

The fit, keen-eyed woman enters the tavern, sees everyone in a prostrated state and curtseys low.

Commoners in general have remained on their knees in the portly, sallow-eyed templar's presence, and barely sneak peeks at him.

The fit, keen-eyed woman looks up at the portly, sallow-eyed templar.

His voice sharpening, the portly, sallow-eyed templar says, in sirihish:
"I -said-, templ-"

The portly, sallow-eyed templar looks to the fit, keen-eyed woman, over the sea of prostrate commoners and nobles.

You notice: The blonde, mocha-skinned woman flinches.

The hawk-eyed, broad chinned man has arrived from the north.

You notice: The lofty, night-crowned man shifts a glance over to the fit, keen-eyed woman.

The rugged man with flint-grey eyes takes advantage of the distraction of the fit, keen-eyed woman's's arrival to edge protectively closer to the lofty, night-crowned man on his knees.

Gaze leaving the portly, sallow-eyed templar for only a moment, the dawn-haired, bay-skinned templar looks up at the hawk-eyed, broad chinned man.

The fit, keen-eyed woman takes a knee before the portly, sallow-eyed templar with the massive, wyvern-tattooed man's assistance, her draping crimson silk sari making that task quite difficult.

Flicking her eyes over for a second, the blonde, mocha-skinned woman looks up at the hawk-eyed, broad chinned man.

The rugged man with flint-grey eyes begins guarding the lofty, night-crowned man.

Flatering briefly in the doorway, the hawk-eyed, broad chinned man gazes across the tavern floor.

You notice: The tiny, bushy-maned woman's held curtsey is starting to waver a little.

This time only glancing up, keeping his head down at the same time, the warted, deep red half-giant looks down at the hawk-eyed, broad chinned man.

The portly, sallow-eyed templar glances from the fit, keen-eyed woman to the sleek, black-haired templar to the lofty, night-crowned man to the dawn-haired, bay-skinned templar like a fat man at a large meal.

Stepping further into the tavern, the hawk-eyed, broad chinned man dips into a bow.

The lofty, night-crowned man releases a slow, quiet breath, his eyes locked on the floor just in front of his feet.

Quietly, the portly, sallow-eyed templar says, in sirihish:
"So many friends. So many good friends. Step forward, the four of you. Let me look upon you."

Blinknig a few times, realization dawning across him, the hawk-eyed, broad chinned man slumps down to his knees.

Slumping down to his knees, spreading across the floor, the hawk-eyed, broad chinned man sits down to rest.

The fit, keen-eyed woman rises with the massive, wyvern-tattooed man's assistance and approaches the portly, sallow-eyed templar, hands folding behind her back.

The rugged man with flint-grey eyes casts a troubled look at the lofty, night-crowned man.

The sleek, black-haired templar comes to his feet, and steps maybe two steps forward in compliance with the portly, sallow-eyed templar's command.

Peeking, the stocky, sun-bronzed man looks up at the lofty, night-crowned man.

His posture still bent, the lofty, night-crowned man advances towards the portly, sallow-eyed templar, his shoes clicking on the cylini floorboard.

The dawn-haired, bay-skinned templar's long stride brings her closer.

The rugged man with flint-grey eyes rises to follow the lofty, night-crowned man, dropping back to a knee beside him.

The fit, keen-eyed woman asks the portly, sallow-eyed templar, in sirihish:
"How may I serve, Great Lord?"

The lofty, night-crowned man sinks even lower as he nears the portly, sallow-eyed templar, his eyes cast down to his toes.

Turning his head up, the warted, deep red half-giant looks down at the fit, keen-eyed woman.

The light in the tavern dims noticeably, and you feel unease roiling in the pit of your stomach.

The rugged man with flint-grey eyes grimaces, swallowing hard.

The warted, deep red half-giant looks down slowly.

A dull pain throbs behind your eyes, sending spikes of discomfort through your forehead.

People blink and stare.

The dawn-haired, bay-skinned templar winces.

(The short, slender man closes his eyes and grimaces.)

Abruptly, the tiny, bushy-maned woman sits down.

The fit, keen-eyed woman winces and touches at her brow.

The blonde, mocha-skinned woman winces and holds her head.

The rugged man with flint-grey eyes winces, his jaw tightening.

You notice: The dawn-haired, bay-skinned templar swallows hard.

You notice: The fair, krath-locked woman winces lightly, muscles tensing.

The curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman blinks rapidly, for a few seconds.

The warted, deep red half-giant begins to quiver while in his kneeling position.

The lofty, night-crowned man starts to pant a little, his hands unclutching at his front to tentatively reach for his brow, though he maintains his posture.

The bald, birthmarked black-robed templar brushes a hand across his head, leveling a cold stare at the portly, sallow-eyed templar.

The dawn-haired, bay-skinned templar's eyes narrow in a wince.

Just a moment, the fit, keen-eyed woman looks up at the bald, birthmarked black-robed templar.

The sleek, black-haired templar looks at the bald, birthmarked black-robed templar.

The rugged man with flint-grey eyes looks at the bald, birthmarked black-robed templar.

The portly, sallow-eyed templar stiffens suddenly, turning to look at the bald, birthmarked black-robed templar.

The fair, krath-locked woman drops even lower suddenly, forehead touching the floor.

The rubenesque, tawny-haired woman tilts her head further forward, gloved hand coming up to press at and rub at her eyes.

The dawn-haired, bay-skinned templar sees the bald, birthmarked black-robed templar and falls promptly to her knees.

The sleek, black-haired templar falls to his knees before the bald, birthmarked black-robed templar.

The lofty, night-crowned man looks at the bald, birthmarked black-robed templar, before immediately collapsing heavily to his knees.

The rugged man with flint-grey eyes gasps, dropping to his belly on the floor.

Eyes jutting up for a moment, the lanky, sandy-brown man looks at the bald, birthmarked black-robed templar.

Lowering herself even further, the dawn-haired, bay-skinned templar sits down.

The fit, keen-eyed woman suddenly prostrates herself once again, upon noticing the bald, birthmarked black-robed templar.

Quickly before looking down, the warted, deep red half-giant looks down at the bald, birthmarked black-robed templar.

The lofty, night-crowned man sits down.

Fitfully, you look up at the bald, birthmarked black-robed templar.  (Lord Tarith)
The human male standing before you reaches well over five cords in
height, with broad shoulders and muscle-lined arms. His rounded,
deeply-tanned head is completely bald, with an elaborate jade dragon
tattooed onto it. His eyes are set close together, a greyish-blue in hue,
and between them, running down the length of his aquiline nose, is an
asymmetrical red birthmark, shaped like a mace.
The bald, birthmarked black-robed templar is in excellent condition.

The bald, birthmarked black-robed templar is using:
<around neck> a medallion of Tektolnes
<on torso> a snug-fitting, black leather vest
<on right index finger> a silver insignia ring
<on left index finger> an obsidian templar ring
<as belt> a black belt
<around body> a black templar's robe
<on legs> a pair of black silk pants
<on feet> a pair of black leather boots

He is carrying:
nothing obvious

Blinking, the tiny, bushy-maned woman looks up at the bald, birthmarked black-robed templar, but only for a second.

The blonde, mocha-skinned woman looks up at the bald, birthmarked black-robed templar, staring in awe and fear.

A dull, whining noise replaces all sound in the tavern. For a long moment you hear nothing but it and your own heartbeat - *BU...BUMP* *BU...BUMP* *BU...BUMP* - and then sound comes rushing back in a confusing, disjointed cacophany.

The rugged man with flint-grey eyes sits down.

Looking up momentarily, the wan, fine-boned blonde spots the bald, birthmarked black-robed templar's robe hem and bends forward, forehead touching the floor.

The rugged man with flint-grey eyes lies down on the ground and rests.

The wan, fine-boned blonde sits down to rest.

The short, slender man presses his face to the floor.

A huge gasp goes up and people begin to prostrate themselves, throwing their bodies to the floor.

The wiry, blue-eyed man prostrates himself fully.

Falling forward, the lanky, sandy-brown man sits down, prostrating himself.

The stocky, sun-bronzed man sits down to rest.

You sit down and rest your tired bones.

The tiny, bushy-maned woman sinks even lower, not quite exactly on her stomach, but not really very far from it.

The blonde, mocha-skinned woman shakes uncontrollably, groaning as she holds her head.

The portly, sallow-eyed templar glances over his shoulder towards the southern exit, then turns to the bald, birthmarked black-robed templar and bows very low before going to one knee.

Your new ldesc is:
The short, slender man is huddled on the floor.

The lofty, night-crowned man pants heavily, his hands pressed upon the ground, his wide eyes on the floor, his mouth agape.

As there's yet more movement, the rubenesque, tawny-haired woman looks up at the bald, birthmarked black-robed templar, and abruptly, clumsily, prostrates herself.

The fair, krath-locked woman sits down.

Clearing his throat, the portly, sallow-eyed templar says, in sirihish:
"High Commander! So good t-"

His voice a whisper that thunders in your ears, the bald, birthmarked black-robed templar says, in sirihish:
"Oh... Caleo. You've disappointed me. Again."

With a flicker of a glance about him, the hawk-eyed, broad chinned man sprawls across the ground.

With a simpering smile, whining a bit, the portly, sallow-eyed templar says, in sirihish:
"My Lord? Surely y-"

Shrieks are muffled against the floor as people hide their faces.

The portly, sallow-eyed templar cuts off suddenly, his eyes going wide as he claws at his throat. Blood, black and thick, trickles from his ears and nose.

You notice: The dawn-haired, bay-skinned templar's teeth dig into her lower lip.

Terror etched on her face, the tall, amber-eyed woman crawls behind a boxy wooden bar, curling up in a fetal position.

Daring to watch the horrible sight, the fit, keen-eyed woman looks up at the portly, sallow-eyed templar.

The bald, birthmarked black-robed templar folds his arms into the sleeves of his robes, impassively watching the life drain from the portly, sallow-eyed templar.

Glancing up and seeming to stare, the warted, deep red half-giant looks down at the portly, sallow-eyed templar.

Whispering, still, the bald, birthmarked black-robed templar says, in sirihish:
"So disappointing."

The lofty, night-crowned man visibly trembles all over, shuffling back, pallid.

The rugged man with flint-grey eyes shudders on the floor.

Blood flows from the portly, sallow-eyed templar's pores and orifices, dripping to the floor as his chest heaves but fails to find oxygen.

The blonde, mocha-skinned woman curls up against a boxy wooden bar, keeping herself low as she hides her face.

Your mouth goes suddenly parched, and the corners of your mouth crack as the moisture in the room drains away. The the air crackles with heat, and you find it suddenly impossible to blink as your eyes dry out completely.

Fascinated, the fit, keen-eyed woman looks up at the portly, sallow-eyed templar.

You notice: The tiny, bushy-maned woman squeaks with surprise. But very, very quietly.

The sleek, black-haired templar glances up at the portly, sallow-eyed templar, before quickly lowering his gaze away from the bald, birthmarked black-robed templar.

The lofty, night-crowned man gags and chokes, lurching forward as he collapses onto his belly with a thump.

The dawn-haired, bay-skinned templar's breath rasps in her thoat.

The rugged man with flint-grey eyes groans, hiding his face against his armored arms.

The wan, fine-boned blonde's eyes clench closed and she covers her face with gloved hands.

The blonde, mocha-skinned woman reaches for her eyes and curls up into a little ball on the ground, clearing her throat with a whimper.

The pot-bellied, black-robed templar waves one hand negligantly, and there is a *popping* sound and a shimmer of energy around the portly, sallow-eyed templar, who falls to the ground in a bloody heap, gasping and wheezing.

The warted, deep red half-giant watches the portly, sallow-eyed templar.

Daring to find some sort of refuge, the lanky, sandy-brown man raises the hood of his jade-shouldered black dustcloak, hiding himself in its folds.

The fair, krath-locked woman's skin goes a dark shade of red as she remains face-first against the floor.

The tiny, bushy-maned woman just trembles where she is curled over her legs.

Sobbing and whimpering is heard as the crowd of tavern-goers shrinks away as far as possible from the portly, sallow-eyed templar and the bald, birthmarked black-robed templar.

Resting his hands on his ample belly, the pot-bellied, black-robed templar says to the bald, birthmarked black-robed templar, in sirihish:
"I'm afraid Caleo belongs to -me- now, Tarith."

The fit, keen-eyed woman looks up at the pot-bellied, black-robed templar.

Stealing just a glance, the dawn-haired, bay-skinned templar looks up at the pot-bellied, black-robed templar.

You hear a man's voice from the north say, in sirihish:
"I'm going to try and slip in the front."

The blonde, mocha-skinned woman tries to drag herself, crawling, behind the bar.

The short, slender man lays on the floor dazedly.

Daring to bare one red-streaked eye, the rugged man with flint-grey eyes looks up at the pot-bellied, black-robed templar.

You notice the sleek, black-haired templar looking the pot-bellied, black-robed templar over carefully.

Searching the room for an instant, the stocky, sun-bronzed man looks up at the pot-bellied, black-robed templar.

During a very infrequent glance toward the middle of the tavern, the tiny, bushy-maned woman looks up at the pot-bellied, black-robed templar.

Covered in blood, the portly, sallow-eyed templar crawls and claws his way along the floor towards the pot-bellied, black-robed templar.

The curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman whimpers low in her throat.

Through bleary, tear-blurred eyes, the lofty, night-crowned man looks up at the pot-bellied, black-robed templar.

The tall figure in a jade-shouldered black dustcloak looks up at the pot-bellied, black-robed templar, twitching for a glance for a split moment.

The lofty, night-crowned man immediately presses his face to the floor again.

Glancing aside from her own place behind the bar, the tall, amber-eyed woman looks down at the blonde, mocha-skinned woman.

You hear a man's voice from the north say, in sirihish:
"There's two. Two Black Robes."

The blonde, mocha-skinned woman coughs softly as she tries to smother herself with a hand.

The bald, birthmarked black-robed templar snarls, his face twisting in animalistic rage.

The Main Room of the Red's Retreat [N, S, W]
The walls of this tavern are painted in the bright hues of the desert;
dusky ochres change shade as they move up the wall to become the vibrant
reds of Krath's touch, while the muted silver of Lirathu's light provides a
more subtle edging at floor and ceiling. A large, curving bar dominates the
northern edge of the room, dark baobab wood carved with images of Templars
and soldiers advancing on a retreating pack of gith. Above the bar, placed
squarely in the middle hangs the skull of a gith, a hole punched through its
forehead. Cylini floorboards have been scrubbed and polished to a gleaming
finish and a variety of tables are scattered about the room. To the west a
large archway leads through to a smaller antechamber and a doorway to the
south leads into a small store.
A wall here is designated as a message board.
The pot-bellied, black-robed templar is standing here.
The bald, birthmarked, black-robed templar is standing here.
The hawk-eyed, broad chinned man is reclining here.
The massive, wyvern-tattooed man watches his surroundings.
The fit, keen-eyed woman is prone before the Black Robe.
The warted, deep red half-giant is kneeling down.
The portly, sallow-eyed templar is standing here.
The stocky, sun-bronzed man is here on all fours, prostrate.
The rubenesque, tawny-haired woman is prostrate on the ground here.
The wan, fine-boned blonde is bent forward, knees on the floor.
The fair, krath-locked woman is face down on the floor, bowed.
The tall figure in a jade-shouldered black dustcloak has fallen flat on the tavern's floor, tensed up.
The wiry, blue-eyed man is prostrated fully on the floor.
A half-giant soldier is standing here.
The sleek, black-haired templar is kneeling before the black robed Templar.
A half-giant soldier is standing here.
A half-giant soldier is standing here.
The dawn-haired, bay-skinned templar kneels here.
A half-giant soldier is standing here.
The curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman is sitting here.
The rugged man with flint-grey eyes lays belly down on the floor.
The blonde, mocha-skinned woman is here, kneeling.
The purple-dreadlocked, dark-skinned woman is standing here.
The tiny, bushy-maned woman is sitting here.
The smooth-shaven, turquoise-eyed woman kneels on the floor.
The lofty, night-crowned man has collapsed on the floor.
A tall, amber-eyed woman serves drinks from behind a boxy wooden bar.
The small, dark-haired man sits drinking at a table in the corner.
A husky dwarf sits on a stone-seated stool at the bar.

His voice raising thunderously, the bald, birthmarked black-robed templar exclaims, in sirihish:
"You have unbalanced -everything-! You fool!"

As she shifts a little on the ground, the rubenesque, tawny-haired woman looks up at the pot-bellied, black-robed templar, and then stretches her hand to paw at the tiny, bushy-maned woman, eyes downturned again.

Eyes wide, the dawn-haired, bay-skinned templar looks p at the bald, birthmarked black-robed templar.

The pot-bellied, black-robed templar shrugs and gestures with one hand. A gout of flame erupts from his outstretched finger, encircling the bald, birthmarked black-robed templar.

The fair, krath-locked woman trembles visibly.

You notice: The wiry, blue-eyed man winces at the raised voice huddling closer to the floor.

The tall figure in a hooded, black and azure aba has arrived from the north, JUST inside the doorway.
The tall figure in a set of hooded, fiery crimson robes has arrived from the north.

The wan, fine-boned blonde whimpers and scurries under a table.

The tiny, bushy-maned woman starts to inch under the nearby table in a series of slow squirms.

The wiry, blue-eyed man starts at the flames.

The blonde, mocha-skinned woman yelps softly at the sudden flames.

The lofty, night-crowned man tries to scramble back as far as he can without rising up, a tangle of awkwardly long limbs.

The stocky, sun-bronzed man looks up at the bald, birthmarked black-robed templar.

Sobbing with fear, the rugged man with flint-grey eyes scrunches across the floor to put himself in front of the lofty, night-crowned man, huddling.

You notice: The sleek, black-haired templar's eyes widen in surprise.

The tall figure in a jade-shouldered black dustcloak shakes under his cloak, taking cover against the ground.

The bald, birthmarked black-robed templar hisses and swipes both hands through the air, cutting through the flames and redirecting them towards the tavern entrance.

The tall figure in a hooded, black and azure aba lifts an arm up to halt the tall figure in a set of hooded, fiery crimson robes, not fully entering the room from the northern plaza.

Staring, the fit, keen-eyed woman looks up at the pot-bellied, black-robed templar.

The short, slender man reaches to the side, grasping at the wiry, blue-eyed man's hand.

A gout of flames envelop the tall figure in a hooded, black and azure aba and the tall figure in a set of hooded, fiery crimson robes!

The tall figure in a hooded, black and azure aba tries to push the tall figure in a set of hooded, fiery crimson robes aside, then simply screams, flailing to the floor.

The tall figure in a hooded, black and azure aba sits down to rest.

The wiry, blue-eyed man huddles close to you, trembling.

The tall figure in a set of hooded, fiery crimson robes jumps apart from the tall figure in a hooded, black and azure aba, seared by sudden flames.

The tall figure in a hooded, black and azure aba tries to fall prostrate, crying out in pain.

The bald, birthmarked black-robed templar shouts in rage and levels both hands at the pot-bellied, black-robed templar - screaming, translucent skulls stream from his palms, scattering across the tavern at chest level.

The screams of the skulls burn into your mind, and you feel madness lingering at the edges of your consciousness.

The pot-bellied, black-robed templar lifts his arms over his head, and a sickly green shield shimmers into existence around his body, absorbing the skulls.

The lofty, night-crowned man clutches at his own face, clawing!

Groaning, the rugged man with flint-grey eyes says, in sirihish:
"Highlord Highlord help us..."

The dawn-haired, bay-skinned templar's hands rise and press to her ears.

As one, the room of people screams and clutches at their eyes.

The blonde, mocha-skinned woman holds her head as she kicks out a leg, whimpering and crying.

The wiry, blue-eyed man grips his head with one hand, fingers digging into his scalp.

Trembling hand reaching out suddenly and taking the hair, the fair, krath-locked woman drags the blonde, dark-skined half-elf a cord closer on the floor, holding him as a shield while remaining face-down.

The curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman jerks her hands over her ears.

The tall figure in a set of hooded, fiery crimson robes levels himself onto the ground, digging fingers into the ground and hisses out.

The tiny, bushy-maned woman tucks her head into her arms, her high-pitched scream probably lost in the crowd's.

The tall figure in a jade-shouldered black dustcloak covers his head with his pair of black chitinous sleeves, holding onto himself for dear life.

The bald, birthmarked black-robed templar turns to stare directly at the hawk-eyed, broad chinned man, then levels a finger at him.

The pot-bellied, black-robed templar opens his mouth impossibly wide, his lower jaw snapping sickly, and -screams-. Visible shockwaves ripple through the air, slamming into the bald, birthmarked black-robed templar.

The lofty, night-crowned man scrambles for something, anyone, the nearest person or object he can grab, one hand still digging at his own face, mercifully gloved in silk.

The massive, wyvern-tattooed man huddled with his arms around the fit, keen-eyed woman, as though to protect her.

The bald, birthmarked black-robed templar is thrown backwards, twisting as he flies through the air and into the plaza outside the tavern.

The lofty, night-crowned man grinds his teeth and groans, a pitiful, painful sound.

The tall figure in a hooded, black and azure aba roars out in pain, his uniform seared and burned all over.

The pot-bellied, black-robed templar strides forward, gliding through the air and into the plaza.

The wan, fine-boned blonde curls up into a fetal position under a table and lets out a sudden shreik.

The short, slender man cries out and huddles into a ball beside the wiry, blue-eyed man.

The slim, bearded man lowers the hood of his hooded, black and azure aba.

The tall figure in a set of hooded, fiery crimson robes ducks, scrambling out of the way of the walking and flying templars.

You hear a man's voice shout from the north in sirihish:
"This city is MINE! Your time is OVER!"

Beaded in sweat, the rubenesque, tawny-haired woman crawls and shifts awkwardly in an effort to drape and wrap her arm around the tiny, bushy-maned woman.

People scramble for every exit, pushing and shoving and screaming.

The lofty, night-crowned man reaches out and grabs the rugged man with flint-grey eyes' leg.

You hear a man's voice shout from the north in sirihish:
"You incompetant fool!"

You notice: The blonde, mocha-skinned woman is crying and whimpering, seemingly lost to her pain as she's curled up against the bar, shivering visibly.

The wiry, blue-eyed man intently scans the area.

The fair, krath-locked woman wrenches at the half-elf's throat, holding him firm before her trembling floor-bound self.

A curved archway leads out onto a dusty plaza.
[Very far]
Nothing.
[Far]
The tall figure in a jade-hued, black-moon adorned duster is standing here.
A line of lizards is carved atop a red sandstone wall.
[Near]
The pot-bellied, black-robed templar is standing here.
The bald, birthmarked, black-robed templar is standing here.
The rangy, slit-eyed man is here, gawking at the scene in the tavern.
A clay-stained human potter sits here on a woven mat of grass.
A lithe, obsidian-eyed woman lounges near the tavern entrance.
The scrawny, sunken-eyed beggar grovels for coins here piteously.

The dawn-haired, bay-skinned templar stands up.

To prevent himself from being trampled, the tall figure in a jade-shouldered black dustcloak stands up.

The dawn-haired, bay-skinned templar moves to the doorway.

The sleek, black-haired templar comes to his feet in a hurry.

The slim, bearded man hisses, opening an eye, it searches and falls upon the tall figure in a set of hooded, fiery crimson robes.

At the sound of the lofty, night-crowned man's groan, the rugged man with flint-grey eyes somehow scrabbles closer to him, reaching to try to grab hold of him with a violently trembling hand.

The massive, wyvern-tattooed man grabs the fit, keen-eyed woman and hoists her into his arms.

Terrified, the lanky, sandy-brown man lowers the hood of his jade-shouldered black dustcloak, looking to the sleek, black-haired templar and the dawn-haired, bay-skinned templar for guidance.

Wiping her eyes and gasping for air, the blonde, mocha-skinned woman stands up.

Tugging you up with him, hands trembling, the wiry, blue-eyed man stands up.

The scarred green-eyed female dwarf has arrived from the north.

The scarred green-eyed female dwarf walks west.

The dawn-haired, bay-skinned templar walks north.
The half-giant soldier walks north.
The half-giant soldier walks north.

The scarred green-eyed female dwarf has arrived from the west.

Urgently, tugging at her, the rubenesque, tawny-haired woman says to the tiny, bushy-maned woman, in sirihish:
"Ru, Ru. Let's go."

The sleek, black-haired templar walks north.
The half-giant soldier walks north.
The half-giant soldier walks north.

Reverting to code-generated ldesc.

With a trembling voice, the blonde, mocha-skinned woman says, in sirihish:
"Wh-what...."

The wiry, blue-eyed man begins guarding you.

You hear someone cry out in the distance.

You exclaim to the curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman, in sirihish:
"Get up!"

Carried by her guard, the fit, keen-eyed woman walks north.

The massive, wyvern-tattooed man walks north.

Weakly, trying to drag the lofty, night-crowned man up with him, the rugged man with flint-grey eyes rises and stands.

The stocky, sun-bronzed man rises from the ground, and clambers to his feet.

Swaying, his whole bulk haunched in, as if pressed down by something, the hawk-eyed, broad chinned man rises and stands.

The scarred green-eyed female dwarf stops bowing deeply before turning.

With the rugged man with flint-grey eyes' help, the lofty, night-crowned man stands up.

You say to the wiry, blue-eyed man, in sirihish:
"On me."
The lanky, sandy-brown man stops using his new chitin-studded anakore helm.

The scarred green-eyed female dwarf walks north.

The lofty, night-crowned man stops leading the rugged man with flint-grey eyes.

The blonde, mocha-skinned woman walks south.

The wiry, blue-eyed man falls in behind you.

The tall figure in a set of hooded, fiery crimson robes hops up, looking out for the slim, bearded man.

Awkwardly, grabbing at the nearby table, the rubenesque, tawny-haired woman stands up.

Calling out over the ruckus, the lanky, sandy-brown man exclaims, in sirihish:
"Firsts! To your feet, Firsts!"

Finally releasing the breed in hand, the fair, krath-locked woman shoves it away.

The fair, krath-locked woman stands up.

The smooth-shaven, turquoise-eyed woman gets up with some difficulty.

The tiny, bushy-maned woman remains curled up under the table, crying and shaking.

Tugging it down over his features, the lanky, sandy-brown man places his new chitin-studded anakore helm on his head.

The fair, krath-locked woman places her bone-studded leather cap on her head.

The short, slender man pulls at the curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman, terrified.

Moving up, the slim, bearded man says to the tall figure in a set of hooded, fiery crimson robes, in sirihish:
"Fuck... Ugh..."

You look up at the lofty, night-crowned man.
This man, who looks to be in his mid- to late twenties, is considerably
taller than most humans, measuring at a lofty five cords or perhaps even a
bit more, with a sleek, streamlined build that speaks of a life largely free
of physical exertion. His smooth skin is a soft, light shade of cream that
is far too pale to have seen much sun at all. A tousled crown of
night-black hair tops his head, almost too dark and matte to appear natural,
and indeed, his sandy-hued eyebrows would lend credence to the suggestion
that it is dyed. He views the world through a pair of rather round, vivid
blue eyes, framed by tufty blond lashes--on close inspection, his right
pupil appears to be slightly off-center and elongated. His nose, like his
face in general, is narrow and straight, and his slender, rosy lips bear a
natural upturn.
The subtle signs of maturity crease the corners of his eyes, but a healthy
lifestyle free of sun and labor does him many favors at his age.
The lofty, night-crowned man is in excellent condition.

The lofty, night-crowned man is using:
<on head> a velvet-rimmed, tall black silk hat
<on face> dramatic kohl eyeliner
<around neck> a silken grey cape
<about throat> a sleek ebon chain suspending a dark ruby
<on torso> a delicate shirt of crimson and sable silk
<over left shoulder> a black silk shoulder bag
<on arms> a pair of fine, crimson-silk sleeves
<around right wrist> a black silk wrist-wrap
<around left wrist> a silvery woven, black silk wrap
<on hands> a pair of black silk gloves
<as belt> a broad, obsidian-buttoned black silk belt
<hung from belt> a wyvern-carved, crimson and black whip
<around body> a wing-sleeved crimson silk cloak
<about waist> a black silk sash with silver embroidery
<on legs> a pair of silver-stitched, crimson-silk pants
<on feet> a pair of obsidian-toed, masculine shoes

He is carrying:
nothing obvious

The wiry, blue-eyed man reaches out to take the curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman by the arm.

The lofty, night-crowned man pants raggedly, his eyes mad.

Two figures streak into the air over the city, surrounded by magickal energies.

You look up at the rugged man with flint-grey eyes.
The man before you stands taller than most of his kind. His sturdy frame
and well-muscled arms are supported with broad-thickly muscled shoulders
that lead down to a lean, hard-ridged waist. Beneath closely cropped black
hair, his face, weathered and creased with laugh-lines, contains a pair of
flint-colored eyes, the corners pleated from years of squinting against the
harsh light of the sands. His nose is slightly crooked above a wide mouth
with a surprising number of intact white teeth. His skin is darkly tanned
and liberally scattered with all manner of scars, from small to jaggedly
brutal, implying that he is no stranger to the harsh life beneath
Suk-Krath's blazing rays, though he shows no signs of hunger or deprivation
of any kind in recent years.
The rugged man with flint-grey eyes is in excellent condition.

The rugged man with flint-grey eyes is using:
<on head> a crimson-winged greathelm
<in right ear> a hooked fang
<around neck> a scaled, crimson leather-trimmed gorget
<about throat> a ruby arrowhead, strung on a black silk cord
<slung across back> a heavy warspear of crimson-stained bone
<across back> a new crimson, wyvern-embossed shield
<on torso> a wyvern-emblazoned chitin breastplate
<over right shoulder> a glossy-grey knapsack
<over left shoulder> a shoulder-slung bone and leather canteen
<on arms> a pair of crimson chitin-plated armguards
<around right wrist> a jade and black silk scarf
<around left wrist> a mantis-carved, duskhorn bracer
<on forearms> a red, supple-leather sheath
<on right index finger> a smooth turquoise ring
<on left index finger> a clear amber ring
<on right middle finger> a garnet-set, black ivory ring
<on left middle finger> an obsidian ring set with a jade wyvern
<as belt> an ornate, black leather knifebelt
<hung from belt> a wyvern-hilted, tapered obsidian broadsword
<hung from belt> a finely etched, baobab-handled warhammer
<around body> a hooded, crimson linen aba
<about waist> a polished, silver-dyed breechguard
<on legs> a set of crimson chitin-plated leggings
<around right ankle> a small leather pouch
<around left ankle> a leather-strapped green glow-crystal
<on feet> a pair of spike-toed mekillot hide boots

He is carrying:
nothing obvious

The stocky, sun-bronzed man walks north.

Leaning, tugging harder, the rubenesque, tawny-haired woman exclaims to the tiny, bushy-maned woman, in sirihish:
"Ru! We need to go!"

You look down at the curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman.

A sudden force ripples through the tavern from the north, rattling various cups and mugs on the bar and tables.

Piteously, the slim, bearded man asks the tall figure in a set of hooded, fiery crimson robes, in sirihish:
"Skulls... Fire... Are you alright?"

Face pale and tear-streaked, the rugged man with flint-grey eyes clings to the lofty, night-crowned man, shoving aside anyone who draws near.

You exclaim to the curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman, in sirihish:
"MOVE!"

Having it knocked off by a passer-by, the lofty, night-crowned man stops using his velvet-rimmed, tall black silk hat.

The short, slender man staggers.

Stumbling about, blinking rapidly, confused, the hawk-eyed, broad chinned man staggers along with the fleeing crowd.
Out of breath, though having taken little physical action, the tall figure in a set of hooded, fiery crimson robes says to the slim, bearded man, in sirihish:
"Yes. We need to go."

The lofty, night-crowned man drops his velvet-rimmed, tall black silk hat, it being trampled by the crowd.

The lofty, night-crowned man claws at his hair fitfully.

Stumbling out along with the crowd, the hawk-eyed, broad chinned man walks north.

Hoarsely, the slim, bearded man says to the tall figure in a set of hooded, fiery crimson robes, in sirihish:
"Hey, snap... Fuck... look at me."


The warted, deep red half-giant stutters quickly, before sprinting westwards.

The tiny, bushy-maned woman mumbles something to herself.

The warted, deep red half-giant walks west.

The curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman stands up.

Screaming, the lofty, night-crowned man shouts, in sirihish:
"FUCK! HELP ME!"

he wan, fine-boned blonde swipes her hand down her face.

You say to the curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman, in sirihish:
"On me."

The wiry, blue-eyed man glances around the chaos.

The curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman falls in behind you.

You exclaim to the rugged man with flint-grey eyes, in sirihish:
"Help him!"

The lofty, night-crowned man clings desperately to the rugged man with flint-grey eyes.

The curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman shakes all over.

Grasping at his cloak, the rugged man with flint-grey eyes exclaims to the lofty, night-crowned man, in sirihish:
"I have you, my lord!"

You say to the tiny, bushy-maned woman, in sirihish:
"Lady Ru, get up.."

The slim, bearded man rises from the ground, and clambers to his feet.

The rubenesque, tawny-haired woman breathes a frustrated noise, dropping to her knees near the tiny, bushy-maned woman again, trying to coax her up.

The slim, bearded man nods to the tall figure in a set of hooded, fiery crimson robes.
n/light/Maristen

The slim, bearded man walks north.

The tall figure in a set of hooded, fiery crimson robes walks north.

Breathlessly, the lofty, night-crowned man asks the rugged man with flint-grey eyes, in sirihish:
"What do we do, where do we go?"

"There's a ....we might be safest here...what tha fuck is that?"

The tiny, bushy-maned woman remains a huddled, shaking, crying ball, arms still over her head.


Taking a deep breath and exhaling loudly as she finally comes to her senses, the wan, fine-boned blonde exclaims to the tiny, bushy-maned woman, in sirihish:
"Ru-ru! Get up or Mother is going to tan your hide again!"

The rugged man with flint-grey eyes points northward with a shaking hand.

You say, in sirihish:
"We're going the back way."

The portly, sallow-eyed templar pushes himself up from the floor, bloody covering his form.

You hear a woman's voice from the north say, in sirihish:
"What happened"

The short, slender man glances at the portly, sallow-eyed templar.

You say, in sirihish:
"Now."

The lofty, night-crowned man arranges a velvet-rimmed, tall black silk hat.

The portly, sallow-eyed templar stares around blankly, not seeming to really see the other patrons.

An immense figure, wreathed in flame and smoke, rises up from the east of the city until it towers over the city wall itself.

The wiry, blue-eyed man nods, stepping in to flank you, taking the curly-haired, droopy-eyed woman by the arm.

Moments later, it roars in agony, disappating as quickly as it came.

You contact the lofty, night-crowned man with the Way.

The wiry, blue-eyed man looks east, slack-jawed.

You send a telepathic message to the lofty, night-crowned man:
"Luci.. Please hurry."


(FLEE, FLEE, FLEE)

It's been years, sorry if I forgot some names!