Seraka begins pulling her shirt over her head, stopping to shrug as Sabyl shoots her down.
"Heh, my mistake." She leans over towards Hundred-Feathers. She whispers to him, using her half-donned shirt to block line-of-sight from the others. Making eye-contact with her rival, she nods towards Sabyl. "Madame Teetotaler sounds more like your type, Feathers. Even got a matching head for ya." She winks at him, then goes back to her dressing.
She finishes donning her shirt, pulling up her slacks in one swift motion. She pauses her dressing to give some more attention to the cute blacksmith.
"Savah's a fine name! Got a nice ring to it. 'sides, all that matters is that you go by what feels right to you." Her smile dims momentarily as she remembers how long she had to go before she herself had that freedom.
Forcing herself back into the present moment, Seraka searches for the right words, unused to the dance of flirting despite her bravado. Complement her on something, you idiot, she told herself. "Love the braids! You do 'em yourself?" Seraka turns her head to show off her own messy braids. "I do a shit job with mine. Had to teach myself." She suddenly turns her head back around, her eyes towards Savah, and pulls out a grin with a tilt of mischief. "Maybe you could give me some pointers sometime?" Shit, that was too much, wasn't it? Seraka takes comfort in the fact that the wrestling left her flushed already, so nobody would notice her embarassment.
As she hefts her scale mail, preparing to begin the arduous process of redonning it, she hears mention of racing. She drops the armor, letting it hang from her hand.
"A race you say? I'm up for it!"
She pokingly elbows Hundred-Feathers in the side. "Wanna see how fast a badger can run?"
"Oh, I'm not the smith," Savah declines with a little chuckle. "No, I'm just in the business of sellin' arms. See no need to slave myself over a forge for hours on end when I can just buy weapons from my contacts in Magnimar and elsewhere and resell 'em to people who need 'em. Hmmmnn. If you're wanting a bow repaired I can take a look at it, but," she wrinkles her nose with a shrug, "a bow's a delicate thing. And it's not even smithing you'd need for that-- though if you do, Das Korvut is our smith. Not the friendliest sort, but he forges good steel. A bowyer, though..."
She scratches her head, thinking about that with a scrunched up face. "I have new bows a-plenty, but if you really need one fixed, the best person I could think to ask is Aesrick Battlehorn. He's the carpenter's guildmaster, so any woodworking in town's usually his business. I'm sure if anyone knows how to fix a cracked bow up, he'd be the one. Now then, if you're all needing is a bowstring I can fix you right up."
She turns her attention back to Seraka. Her brows do an amused dance at Seraka's words about her hair. "Cyclops, if I were to try and braid yours, I'd need a ladder to get up there," she deadpans.
Meanwhile the Tien woman, Sabyl, half-smiles at Rokan's question. "What is it any of us 'do'? I have observed that you wrestle reasonably well. Would you say then that you wrestle? Yet by your words you are perhaps an archer. Is archery then what you do? Yet you also breathe, eat, sleep... I presume, anyway, and therefore you--"
"DAMMIT, YOU GOT HER STARTED," Savah half-yells, though it seems there's no real malice behind it. "Sabyl, for the love of all the gods, keep your philosophizing contained TO your house!"
Sabyl snifs. "He asked.
"Perhaps that is what you 'do', Rokan Hundred-feathers: you ask. As for your question regarding Sheriff Belor Hemlock, I imagine that on a normal day he might be found at the garrison, but--"
Savah butts in. "--but, being it's not a normal day, he could be anywhere in this mess. Most likely you'll find him with Kaye the Kitten," she smirks.
Sabyl gives the other woman a chiding, disapproving glance.
***
E's drink-fetcher shows no signs of disappearing. "Why are you blue?" she? he? bit difficult to tell, beneath the dirt-- asks, hanging around by his elbow. "Did a witch curse you that color?"
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"No child!" the samsaran lets out a hearty laugh. "Much like the tall warrior woman over there, or if you prefer the tall-ish warrior man, I am human-ish, but not human. My kind is called samsaran. Blue is to us as green is to orc or the range of albino-white to charcoal-black is to human and elves. Meaning, of course, that not all samsaran are the same blue as I. We tan, in a manner of speaking."
"Now, child, you may think that the unfamilliar is magic. And in this world you may be right..."
E waves his hand around the child's head and then taps the child's pocket upwards four times, each time seeming to produce a copper coin from within.
Catching each one with an open hand, he continues on. "Or perhaps, by some mundane means, not all is as it seems." Rolling the four coins across the backs of his fingers, he gives his hand a spin and shows the child an empty palm. He waits a dramatic pause and then taps the bottom of the empty-stein the child carries, causing a single silver piece to flip out from it's lip and land back in.
"Use that wisely", he says with a wink.
He looks up to the conversation the warriors have with their judges and waits. With a smile, he listens as Sabyl goes into her "philosophizing". "See that woman there child?" Perhaps you should see if she'll give you some of her wisdom and insight in return for your youthful energy and train that inquisitive nature."
He turns towards human woman, still smiling. "Sonya. I hear there are footraces to be had. As a native to the town not trying to seek an education from the locals, what say you take me and our warrior friends here to them?!"
The extravagant show that E puts on for the child leaves Sonya a mixture of amused and disconcerted. Hopefully the child wasn't an orphan - they would need a bit more than a few copper if they were. Though, glancing back at Seraka and Rokan, the child wasn't the only one covered in dirt or mud. Sonya didn't remember there being that many orphans in Sandpoint, so perhaps it was just a wayward child exploring the festival.
But if not, she would have to keep a watch out for the child in the coming weeks, perhaps there was a job she could offer them or their parents.
E's question snaps her out of her thinking. "Hm? Ah yes! I saw them getting set up over there, I'll show you." She offers her hand out to the two Shoanti. "I'm Sonya, by the way. E here tells me you're Seraka and Rokan?"
Rokan looks disappointed that Savah’s more a dealer than a smith, but he nods, happy that the town might still have someone to help. ”Then I will find Aesrick Battlehorn. I have a bow,” he says, eyes flitting briefly to his pack before returning to meet the arms dealer’s, ”it just needs a little tending.”
Then his dark eyes are drawn by the tien woman. He endures her philosophizing with his usual stoicism … more than one of the elders back home were prone to similar monologues. After quirking a smile at the two women’s interaction, he shakes his head at Sabyl, ”Which would make you this village’s complicator-of-simple-questions?” He shrugs, making a placating gesture, ”In my experience, people reveal their nature’s in time. And given the elusiveness of my quarry, I seem to have time to learn yours.”
She pokingly elbows Hundred-Feathers in the side. “Wanna see how fast a badger can run?”
Rokan once again refuses to rub the elbowed spot. He gives her his competitive grin, ”I don’t know, you sure your pride can take it?”
Rokan frowns as the little blue man … entertains the town’s child.
He raises his eyebrows, surprised and impressed at the little man’s manual deftness. ”I’ve seen many with quick fingers among the traveling Varisians … that was quite a feat.” He meets the smaller man’s eyes. ”E, was it?” he says, with a touch of respect. Then, he looks at the blond woman, ”And Sonya?”
”Yes,” he says with a slight dip of his head, ”I am Rokan Hundred-Feathers, of the Shriikirri.” He follows them towards the area for foot races, looking between Sonya and the nobleman she had been talking to. ”I heard you say you have family here. Are you just here for this excitement, then?”
"If you need to reach, I could just pick you up." Seraka manages a mischevious smile as she finishes speaking, hoping that Savah "picks up" on the entendre. Yeah, right, Seraka. Don't think you're doing so well so far. That was godsdamn terrible.
She nods at E's display legerdemain and smiles. "Nice trick you got there! Conjuring money woulda saved me a few years of work."
She begins stretching her legs and hips, starting with side lunges. She chuckles at Rokan's jibe about her pride, pausing her stretching routine to slow-clap.
"Oho! One little win and Hundred-Feathers starts getting a big head and starts trash-talking down with us mere mortals."
She returns to her stretches, moving on to pulling back each leg in-turn while standing on the other.
"You're damn right I'm Seraka." Seraka scans the (relatively) petite human girl, half sizing her up and half checking her out. "Well met, Sonya. You look like you are a bit of a fighter yourself. I can appreciate that in a woman." She glances back to Savah, curious to see how the woman would react to Seraka seemingly turning her attentions to someone else.
Rokan doesn't respond to her baiting, too busy watching the interplay between Seraka and Savah.
Sonya mirrors Rokan, giving her own little head bow as he introduces himself. After her conversation with Aldern, it would be refreshing to have a conversation with someone who didn't already know every detail about her.
"Yes, my grandfather and uncle own some of the properties in Sandpoint. I'm here for the foreseeable future to help out - getting here in time for the festival was just a happy coincidence!" Sonya had always preferred introductions with out of towners - locals always had opinions about any of the founding families of Sandpoint.
"I haven't been here to attend one since I was a kid, and the town is going all-out for the church's consecration."
Sonya smiles at the half-orc woman's ability to hit on anything that moves, and the Rokan's expectant look towards Savah and Seraka. "You as well! Well fought in the wrestling match, both of you. I managed to catch a few of the interesting parts."
"What brings you to Sandpoint? I think I overheard you asking about the Sheriff, perhaps there's something I could help with?"
"Anymatch with Seraka the Cyclops is gonna be interesting." She cycles through some arm flexes. "For a few reasons." She smiles, trusting the innuendo would get across. "I could tell you about the time I punched-out an ogre in the ring back in Magnimar. I've never seen teeth crunch like that." What he gets for thinking he can get away with calling me...what he did. She opens her smile into a grin, showing off her ivory fangs. "I've never lost one, myself."
She folds her arms, casually tilting her hip.
"I guess we do have that whole 'finding the sheriff' thing. Hundred-Feathers is in a big rush, but I'm always happy to make some time for something or someone fun." She raises an eyebrow and shrugs, smiling to herself. "I definitely wouldn't turn down some help if you are offering." Her voice stresses the word "you" just a tad stronger.
Rokan again tries to ignore Seraka’s bravado, though the annoyance is writ plan on his dark features.
”Ah,” he responds to Sonya, ”duty to kin. I get that. It’s what brings me here today, actually. I also didn’t realize this celebration was happening, though I guess a celebration is appropriate for the completion of a tribe’s holy place.”
His eyes return to roaming the crowds, ”But yes, our whole …” he cuts his eyes over to Seraka, ”’finding the sheriff thing’ is urgent. Something is wrong up in the highlands. The Elders tasked me with warning Belor and recruiting Sandpoint’s aid. Have you seen him?”
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"Ah! The motivation of the duty-bound! It gives us strength, does it not?" E says as he listens to the conversation at hand.
"Such a pleasure to see someone else who loves to live life to the fullest, Seraka! It would be a shame if you had lost one of your teeth and ruined that pretty smile. Or perhaps, you'd have gained an interesting battle-scar to share instead?"
"What's the word from the highlands anyway? What would cause such a proud people to seek aid from Sandpoint?" he turns towards Sonya "Not that there's anything wrong or questionable with Sandpoint or it's people... it strikes as odd."
He takes a sip from his mug and holds out the handle for anyone interested.
Rokan looks at the crowds. His features cloud with obvious mixed emotions, "It's for Belor and a more private setting."
He moves past the subject, stooping to reclaim his gear as they had off towards the races. "Besides, Seraka would think we just need to focus on the fun, right?"
Seraka chuckles at E. "Heh. You ain't bad, E. I only keep scars from worthy enemies, though, the kind I'd like to remember. Most of them are shits."
Seraka scoffs at Hundred-Feathers' chiding.
"Don't act all high-'n-mighty, Hundred-Feathers. You know this is a shit detail just as well as I do. They send a couple fighters like us to go talky-talky instead of having us go skull smashy-smashy."
Seraka slings her scale mail over her shoulder, clanking it against the weapons on her back.
"In the meantime, I'm gonna make the most of things, enjoy myself a bit. Haven't had much of a chance to, past few years. A break'll also help get out some of that tension. Tense guy like you could use that."
"Just because you don't like a task doesn't mean it's not worth doing right."
Seraka rests her arm against a nearby post and leans in over Rokan.
"Don't try to act you aren't put out, too. You know just as well as me that we should be out there."
She leans in farther, her voice dropping to a whisper.
"Besides, the cute blonde one in the armor is from around here and she seems popular, judging by that fancy guy that was with her. She can probably introduce us to Belor if we make a good impression. That would help put us on the right foot with him, wouldn't it?
Rokan looks up at the taller Shoanti, considering her for a few heartbeats. Finally, he shrugs, his face set in a stubborn, conflicted expression.
”I’m not acting any way, Seraka. This is me. I’ll keep the scent until the quarry is taken. It doesn’t matter how frustrating it is to be here, searching for a shoanti who chose this village over his own people, instead of out searching for the source of the problem.”
He shrugs, ”Besides, the quicker we accomplish our task, the quicker we can head north … where we should be. If you want to stick around here and play games, you’re a free woman. But I won't fail.”
The filthy urchin watches the coin tricks with a crooked grin, snatching at the silver with lightning-quick hands. "Nice trick, mister!"
At the suggestion that he, and the child does seem to be a 'he' on closer inspection, study under Sabyl, the boy grimaces. "No way! Sabyl Sorn just talks about learning how to sit still all day!"
Sabyl smiles slightly and offers Rokan another little bow. "Time is an illusion. We only ever have this moment."
Savah seems more amused than anything by Seraka's attempts; the arms-dealer smiles crookedly and plucks a stem of grass from streetside in order to chew on it, wordlessly watching the stretching, and the shifting of Seraka's attention. She idly paces along with the little group, clearly interested in seeing the outcome of the footrace, and chatting in a low voice with Sabyl who strolls along with her hands folded into her robe's sleeves.
The would-be footracers assemble at the top of a hill, with the road plunging downhill ahead of them. A middle-aged human with a glass eye and a wild white beard is overseeing the race; he has a perpetual smell of fish about him. Sonya has actually met him before: old Turch Sterglus, usually found behind the main counter of the Valdemar Fishmarket. Though her family owns the business and simply employs Turch, he has been the proprietor for years. The crusty old salt plays the role of curmudgeon to the hilt, but is actually rumored to be a big softie beneath his gruff exterior, and to go around town feeding stray cats with the scraps and dregs of the fishmarket.
"ROIGHT," he yells, trying to impose some order on the motley lot assembling for the footrace-- about half of them children. He pauses momentarily as he takes in the tourists-- Seraka does sort of stand out, towering head and shoulders over others, but E is no less eye-catching in his own fashion. Rokan only looks normal by comparison!
"...roight, you lot!" he carries on. "The run's down the hill to the Hagfish's door, and back up here in front of me. The way's marked with red flags so even you visitors can't get lost! First across the line gets a month's supply of smoked salmon and a little somethin' shiny!"
Savah, standing on the sidelines, appears to be trying to push Sabyl into the starting line up, but the Tien woman shakes her head no and sidesteps the effort.
Turch yells out, "On your marks.... get set.... go!"
The racers set off!
Sonya stares at E's proffered mug for a moment. Alcohol seemed to have a stronger effect on her than most - something to do with her sorcerous blood. Her bubbly, happy drunk self had difficulty controlling her spells - it took a couple taverns filled with rogue magic to figure that one out.
But a sip wouldn't hurt, and he had been offering drinks as long as he had one. "Sure. What drink is it?" Hopefully nothing too strong.
She watches the exchange between Seraka and Rokan from the edge of the mug, regretting asking about the Sheriff just a bit. It was, apparently, a sore subject and not quite her business to have asked.
"Well here's the racing grounds!" She announces loudly hoping to change the subject. She nods to Turch and ushers the odd group to the starting line, hoping Seraka doesn't bowl over any of the children.
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"Just some locale fare. To be honest, I have no idea!" he replies.
Upon arriving at the footraces, he thanks Sonya with a boisterous and cheerful "Thank you!" Stowing his mug onto a latched hook protruding from his belt he heads to the line up.
"At least I won't get a face-full of mud, or any in my nethers, in this matchup! Let's see what we have to work with here..." Leaning down the samsaran picks up some of the dirt and turf, grinding it through his fingers. He scans upwards, his eyes following the path of red flags towards the eventual destination. "Master of the open road and fun sport, favor me with eyes, heart..." he turns to glance at the other competitors and pauses on Rokan and Seraka, "and a crazy fast pace."
E bolts off the line with a laugh. "Woooooohooooooooooo! C'mmon everyone, put your legs into it!"
Rokan shakes his head over at Sabyl. ”Philosophy is great for philosophers.” He grins, ”But it doesn’t put food in stomachs.”
Then he notes Sonya’s reaction … a bit too late. ”I’ve offended you,” he says as they line up. ”Sometimes I can be blunt.” He notes her interest in drink, ”I’ll buy you a drink after the race.”
Whatever else might have been said is interrupted by the white-bearded local. He gives the other racers a quick look, mentally cataloging the fact that Savah suggested Sabyl even run.
Then the race starts.
It's a slow start, slipping on some lingering mud, only an average turn, though he makes a valiant (if fruitless) attempt on the return hill climb.
Seraka powers towards the race line, but she slows down as she approaches the children. She carefully passes them, making sure not to bump into them. For those assembled, it's the first time she's ever acted with such...respect.
She takes a deep breath, gazing at the children for a moment. They looked much happier than she ever was at that age, and they deserved better. She suddenly turns back towards the other racers.
"You ready for this, boys and girls?"
She stretches her arms and neck in a couple quick circular rotations before settling into her starting position. She glances back to Savah and shoots her a cockeyed smile and a wink.
As she takes off, she unleashes the fury she keeps in tension at all times
The road leads downhill, past dozens of houses and shops towards the door of a tavern called The Hagfish-- you can tell because of the painted sign that proclaims it such. Though the cobblestones are somewhat rutted here and there with wagon passage, the road is kept in good repair and is obviously a main thoroughfare through the town.
Sonya takes off running with a strong start down the hill, and her training as a servant of Abadar has given her some stamina, too-- she stays in it even when others are losing their breath and beginning to falter. However, as she touches the tavern's door, turns around, and begins the upward climb, her foot slips in a puddle! Sonya stumbles, trying to keep her balance. She succeeds at that, but half a dozen feet run past her during her falter.
E starts running... like someone born to it. The blue-skinned figure proves that one need not have legs that are miles long in order to reach exceptional speed. E doesn't seem to run so much as almost skip lightly over the ground, his feet always finding the surest and steadiest place to touch down, springing off again. Despite the grade of the hill, he manages to keep his breathing easy and steady, and barely loses any steam at all on the uphill drive.
Rokan does indeed have a little trouble on the first leg. This is not the highlands and forests he is used to running on. The cobblestones feel strange beneath his feet, and while he hits his stride towards the end, it is to see many of the runners ahead of him.
Seraka launches herself from the starting line like a bow from an arrow, taking an early lead from everyone with her long legs. But the fire that burns brightest also uses a lot of fuel-- by the time she reaches the Hagfish's door her lungs are burning. Perhaps some of it's a legacy from the fight against Rokan, but either way-- though she grimly pushes herself back up the hill to finish, each breath feels like stabbing knives!
In the midst of all this running, one of the locals is managing to keep up and hold his own-- a lanky, dark-haired human male who darts along at a swift clip. For the last leg uphill, he and Esegia are neck-and-neck. The dark-haired man gives E a sidelong glare as the finish line looms ever closer-- but E's nimbleness serves him well. He touches a loose paving stone with his foot- manages to recover instantaneously-- and with one last leap just pulls in ahead of the other man.
The race seems to have had interested spectators: a small crowd is there, clapping and cheering the tight finish. The street urchin of before seems to have gathered friends-- half a dozen children are staring at E, and the urchin says: "I TOLD you! Mr. Blue's a MAGICIAN!"
E's close rival stands there, bent over and breathing hard, still looking daggers at E... then he laughs and shakes his head, straightening up. "That was well-run, stranger. Nicely done."
"AYE, a GOOD RUN!" yells old Turch. He grabs Esegia's hand and holds it up. "To the victor go the spoils-- what's your name?"
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E looks at the race official with a smile, "Mr. Blue has quite the ring to it... but I go by "E"!
Esegia waits for the crowd to calm before approaching the local who kept up with him. "Thank you! And well run yourself! Nothing like a close sport to get the blood pumping, is there not? To whom do I owe the honor of such a dramatic ending?" He holds out a pale blue hand to the stranger.
As Seraka crosses the finish-line, breathing heavily, she trusges over to the side of the other racers. She leans over, her hands on her knees, trying to push through the panting.
Still, she manages to glance back towards the racers, and she smiles through her pain and exhaustion as she sees Hundred-Feathers following. She speaks up as loud as she can manage as he comes close, her speech still interrupted by her staccato breath.
"Well...what...do...you know...the wolf...is faster...than the badger...."
She throws herself upright again, her head leaned back and her neck slack. She manages a smile and nod to E.
"Not bad...little blue E...."
Rokan doubles over, hands on his knees as he tries to catch his own breath.
"I think .. the wolf ... may have ... wrenched the badger's back ... in the mud." He grins, "But all the same ... good race, all." He eyes E, "Especially you." He collapses down onto he ground, rolling onto his backside to rest on his arms, trying to slow his breathing. "Next time ... we race before we wrestle. Deal?"
Then he looks over to Sonya, "You ran well, too. People who live inside walls rarely do."
Sonya jogs her way up the hill at a leisurely pace, cheering along a few of the children struggling their way back up the hill.
"Congrats E!" She says, only a bit out of breath, as she flips him a silver coin. "Looks like you get that silver after all."
"A few years running around Magnimar in armor will do that. The paladins didn't joke around with training." Sonya straightens out her clothing and grimaces at the thought of putting her armor back on, but dutifully gathers it up anyway.
Turch blinks at E, mutters something about how 'that won't do,' and announces loudly to the crowd, "Our winner, E...rasmus!"
He presses a chit into E's hand which has, written on it, One month's smoked salmon from the Valdemar Fishmarket, as well as a purse of coins. A glance inside reveals they're golden!
The lanky stranger gives E a crooked smile and strokes his goatee a moment before taking E's hand. "Someone who'll have to find a different claim to fame than being the swiftest runner in town, it seems. I'm called Jubrayl. I'm often drinking at the Fatman's Feedbag... stop in sometime and I'll buy you a drink, Mr. 'Blue'."
Savah and Sabyl are there among the watchers and offer congratulatory smiles to the winners. Savah gives Seraka a wink. "What, those long legs couldn't win it for ya?" she yells over the crowd.
Rokan slaps his thigh in what must be the Shoanti way of clapping. Then, quick to recover—or at least quick to show he's recovered—he climbs to his feet, reclaiming his gear. "I think I'll spend some time doing something where I can also look for Belor."
He spies an Abadaran spinning truths and tales, and grins over at Sonya. "Is this a game of your order? Should we try?"
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E catches the offered silver out of the air, "Many thanks milady!" Turning, he pauses to laugh at Rokan's joke, "We can race before *you* wrestle, my friend."
"Jubrayl. A pleasure. Expect a visit from 'Mr. Blue' sometime soon at the Fatman's Feedbag!" he taps his empty mug, waiting thirstily at his hip.
E...rasmus shrugs at the pronounced name, and takes the offered prizes, raising it above his head. "Thank you! Looks like I have many a delicious meal ahead from the Valdemar Fishmarket!" he offers as free advertisement, a small show of appreciation for the gifts he will happily make use of.
Jubrayl offers a slight nod to E, then turns and disappears into the crowd before any further conversation can be initiated. Turch, at least, appears to appreciate the Fismarket pimping.
You make your way the short distance over to where the Abadaran key flies, in banner form. A middle-aged man is here, wearing well-kept gilt (and ceremonial, it would seem) armor that gleams in the sun, and a telltale key around his neck professing his allegiance to the Master of the First Vault. He has a neatly-trimmed gray beard and piercing gray eyes.
"Well met on this blessed day," he says as the 'group' wander forward. "Abadar's favor upon you. Welcome to the discernment of truth from lies."
"It's one golden crown to play," adds another voice, a red-headed man lounged behind the Abadaran, his posture as easy and slouched as the older man's is ramrod straight. He appears to be in the midst of repairing a busted string on a lute.
Should anyone offer up a coin, the redhead grins and straightens up, lightly getting to his feet and offering a bow. "Most excellent! Now then, I will tell you three things about myself, one of them false and the other two true, and you must guess the pure from the dross. Prepared? Good."
He places his hands together at his chest in dramatic fashion.
"First: I am an orphan, raised here in our own Turandarok Academy. My parents died in shipwreck when I was but a boy.
"Second: I speak eight languages, among them the tongues of both dragons and angels.
"Third: I have kissed twenty of the fair lasses residing here in Sandpoint."
(The Abadaran gentleman looks vaguely disapproving at that last.)
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E strolls behind everyone else, taking in the scenery. When the group stops to play the truth-spinner's game, E takes a coin from the foot-race' profits and tosses it to the red haired man.
He waits for the man to finish his statements, and notes the interplay of the the host and the Abadarian.
With a smile, E waits his turn to announce his thoughts on the man's game.
"What other languages do you speak, fellow scholar?"
The red-headed man smiles in turn at E. "The tongues of orcs and goblins alike, as they are frequent pests to the traveler; the Varisian that was once the dominant tongue of this region; the Shoanti tongue--" he inclines his head at Rokan and Seraka, "--and the Tien tongue, as we have more than a few settlers from that distant land here in Sandpoint. Do you call that my lie, then?"
She glances back towards Savah and calls back to her. "These legs ain't used to sprinting! I'm more of a long-distance runner. I find it more satisfying, don't you?"
Seraka throws her head back in laughter.
"HAH! Simple. I have seen many that would boast of their "conquests" of women, as though they were mere tally marks. You do not have the look of such people."
She leans in on the red-headed man and plucks one of the strings on his lute.
"Best be careful who you're calling a pest."
She shows off her teeth in a grin.
Sonya looks up to the flag as Rokan points it out. She looks a bit surprised. "Oh! Yes, it is! I guess I was too preoccupied with the rest of the festival to notice it being put up."
Seeing the man in shining armor, Sonya looks over her own, trying to polish off a few scuffs and marks. She fiddles with a key on her necklace before taking a deep breath walking over to introduce herself.
"I didn't realize there were any other paladins in Sandpoint. I guess I've been out of town longer than I realized. At least, I have to assume - they don't hand out that armor to just anyone."
She catches herself - she had already interacted with one very forward person today, and didn't want to do the same. "I should introduce myself - Sonya Valdemar, I trained with the paladins of Abadar in Magnimar."
"A gold? Do people around here usually spend a gold to play a game?!" But, feeling obligated as the game was his idea, he plunks down one of his only two gold crowns.
As the stories are told, he watches impassively.
He shakes his head, "I don't have a clue, but that third sounds like idle boasting."
Savah chuckles at Seraka's retort. "Oh, they both have much to recommend 'em," she drawls.
As for the game...
The redheaded chap smiles affably at E, first. "I'll wait til you have all made your guess before saying..."
Seraka's foray into the Orcish tongue elicits no response other than a mild headshake. "Clever to test me with a foreign tongue, but I'll give no clue yea or nay until all have made their guess," he replies in the common tongue. He also, pointedly, moves his lute out of Seraka's reach.
When Rokan offers his guess as well, the lutist laughs merrily, and bows to the three. "Whether you guessed it or sensed it, your conclusions are correct-- alas, twenty maidens is yet beyond me!"
"And it should stay that way, Cyrdak," the Abadaran says gruffly, as he reaches into a pouch and starts fishing out gold coins. To Rokan, he says, "The price of the game may seem steep-- but no true profit comes without investment. That is also a lesson in discernment. Here, travelers: your winnings."
Cyrdak, the red-head, just grins at the paladin. "Did I offend you with my lie, Sir Jasper?"
"It was hardly appropriate," the older man sniffs.
Cyrdak resumes his seat on an upturned wooden crate, but his green eyes linger briefly on Seraka, quite seriously.
Meanwhile, Sir Jasper inclines his head to Sonya, and offers her one armored hand in greeting. "I am no longer formally an arm of the church," he rumbles. "In my younger days, yes. These days I concern myself with humbler duties. But," he half-smiles, "I was permitted to keep my armor. Well met in the name of our Lord, Sonya Valdemar; I am Jasper Korvaski, and it honors me to greet you. Is Athelwas still head of the order, in Magnimar?"
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"A pleasure to meet your acquaintances," E offers to the pair.
The blue samsaran idly looks around the scenery of the town as the others introduce themselves. Such a lively place! What to do next? Bath, beer, books... what to do...
"Anyone have plans for after the games? I'm still advocating the use of a bathhouse. Not as an offense to anyone's odor, but just... I'm a weary traveler and we all sprinted recently."
Seraka pulls back slightly, surprised at the man's bold turn. She suddenly grins.
"Hah! Threats and vicious bastards is more like it!"
She takes the three gold pieces, bites each of them in-turn, then places them one-by-one into her coin purse. She shrugs and throws out one last chuckle and a wink.
"Don't take shit so seriously, haha! I was just f~+@ing with you."
She inclines her head in regard to Cyrdak and takes her leave of him.
"Bath does sound fine right about now. Just gimme a sec, E."
She goes to find Savah without a second thought. As Seraka steps up to her, she suddenly feels her heartbeat racing. Nobody has responded so favorably to her flirting before.
"Our blue buddy is in the mood for a bath."
She turns her gaze down and scratches the back of her neck. She thanks her orc complexion for hiding her blush.
"Was, uh, wondering if you'd like to join m--us?"
She grits her teeth as she frowns at herself. Now you sound like a goddamn idiot girl, Seraka.
Sonya's face beamed as she enthusiastically reciprocated the handshake. "Indeed he is! And Baelin is still shooting to try to be his replacement. He's a bit grumpy it hasn't happened already."
She thinks for a moment. "Korvaski... Korvaski, I swear I knew your name."
"Ah! You work with the Mercantile League, don't you? A fitting place for any Abdaran, retired or otherwise. It looks like Sandpoint is in capable hands."
Sonya glances back to the odd, but indecipherable exchange between Seraka and Cyrdak. She hadn't had much drive to learn any languages other than Varisian from her mother. Luckily it quickly returns to Taldane, and seemingly a jovial mood.
"Ah, I did promise E here that I would help show him around. He wanted to see the Old Light, if I recall. I'm sure we will cross paths again, especially with the new church."
Cyrdak watches Seraka go, his own gaze sharp and intent a moment, before he lowers his head back down to his lute and plucks a melancholy chord to test his string repair. Jasper glances over momentarily at the exchange, then back to Sonya.
"You are quite right, Miss Valdemar. It is my duty to help oversee the trade concerns there. I look forward to working with you as a representative of your family, of course."
His formality slips into a small smile. "That does sound like Baelin. The Master of the First Vault says that patience is the first practice of the wise businessman... Baelin may need a refresher course... hmmn? Oh, yes, please, don't let me keep you. Enjoy the day. If you're looking for a good meal, Sandpoint Savories has excellent pies today-- they've a booth near the Cathedral itself. Tell the girls I sent you," he says, and bows Sonya on her way.
Savah chuckles long and low at Seraka's offer, still chewing the piece of grass she'd found earlier (or maybe she got a new one). "You move fast, don't you," she drawls. "But see now, I'm nice and clean as a daisy. Haven't been wrestling or running races today, so I don't need a bath, now do I?"
Sabyl mumurs something that has Savah turning and chucking her chewed piece of grass at her, before the arms dealer looks back to Seraka.
"Tell you what, tall stuff: if you're still around town tomorrow, maybe I'll take you up on that. For now--"
As if on cue, there's a burst of music from the square around the Cathedral itself, and the ringing of bells. Savah smirks at her own timing.
"--for now, I think we've got somewhere to be. Come on, strangers-- they're going to speechify, you can get your baths after that."
Indeed, around you numerous people are starting to drift towards the central square, including Jasper and Cyrdak, and E's fan club of small disreputable children.
Seraka grins, her whole body trembling with energy and anticipation as she hears a--conditional--yes.
"I'll definitely be around tomorrow! Consider it a dat--" She winces at her flub. She grinds her teeth together; if she keeps her mouth shut, she can't say anything else stupid.
Seraka desperately glances about for an exit. She exhales and relaxes as soon as she realizes she has someplace to go, the square. She inhales and tightens up again as she realizes she's going there with Savah.
Trying to remain quiet, she follows the others to the square, her arms folded.
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The samsaran watches the half-orc's interaction, amused. If Seraka happens to make eye contact with E when Savah isn't looking in his direction, he gives her a smile, a wink, and a thumbs up.
As the party leaves he walks next to Savah.
"Excellent! Savah, do you know who is scheduled to speak? On what subject? Will there be visual aides?"
Sonya watches Seraka turn a darker shade of green after she cuts her own sentence off, and decides that it might be good to change the subject before the half-orc gets any more flustered.
Luckily, E gives the perfect opportunity.
"Oh, right! You're all from out of town, you probably don't know why the festival is so important this year."
Sonya speeds up her walk a bit so she can point out the cathedral as they round a corner.
"I don't know about visual aides, but they're opening the new cathedral today. The last church caught fire about 5 years back, so they're building an even bigger one to replace it!"
Rokan doesn’t seem all that interested in a bath … at least, he never really responds much to it, instead re-packing up his gear.
At the sound of music, Rokan’s mellowing mood seems to melt once again, and he looks towards the crowd gathering in the square.
”I’ll bet Belor will be there,” he mutters. Still covered in mud, he marches that direction. "A fire, huh? Was the last one this large?"
As the little band of heroes moderately friendly acquaintances make their way back to the town square, Savah shrugs. "A priest, probably. Like the Valdemar there says," this is delivered off-hand but respectfully, "it's consecration of the church. Maybe the mayor will bore us all..."
Something catches the eye here and there as you move through town: more than a few homes have odd, unsightly damage-- not as of a large-scale fire, which would have swept over buildings indiscriminately-- but more focused. Over doors and on fenceposts, there is the occasional bit of burnt and chopped wood, axe marks still visible as if something had been there and had then been hacked and charred off with a vengeance...
Sabyl nods serenely at Savah's words. "Mayor Deverin will speak, I am sure. Father Zantus is likely to be in charge of the consecration itself. Sheriff Belor may say a few words," she adds with a tip of her head at Rokan.
Reaching the town square, it's jam-packed with people-- and with butterflies. At some point since you passed through, the swallowtails which are Desna's favored creature must have been released. Sandpoint has spared no expense or effort-- they must have brought in thousands of the butterflies, to judge by the bright dots of color that continue to whirl and flutter over the crowd at large. Children chase them, laughing, but rarely catch any.
The smell of food reaches hungry traveler stomachs-- booths line the town square, and the restauranteurs of the town are all vying with one another to woo the crowds. Fish is a staple, given the town's fishing industry, but there's peppercorn venison being served by a dour man who actually looks not entirely unlike Rokan-- rather more, uh, civilized, but he has the shaved head and tattoos of a Shoanti man and the ruddy complexion. Other dishes include lobster chowder, deep-fried rabbit, honey pastries, and a tantalizing mixture of aromas rising from the booth with the longest lines-- a young Tien woman in colorful and extravagant clothing is here, serving up curry-spiced salmon with a sauce made of early winterdrops. The woman grins whitely at all who come to her booth, flourishing a ladle and serving the salmon with considerable showmanship.
There's a woman already on stage, with short, neatly-trimmed red hair. Savah says off-handedly, "That's the mayor."
Mayor Deverin is already mid-speech, it seems-- but nothing too formal or grandiose. It mostly seems to be a litany of both thanks and gentle joking at the expense of some of the townspeople-- "...and we would of course like to thank the Scarnetti family for graciously supplying the wood for the construction... and admirably restraining themselves to only a 10% mark-up for lumber the rest of the year due to the resulting shortage..."
Food. A crowd. A sense of expectation, as people keep looking up towards the beautiful new cathedral, hope and happiness plain on their faces.
Rokan can’t help but notice the damage to the buildings as they walk. ”These axe markings … on the homes. Are they some kind of ritual?”
At the square, however, the young Shoanti stops, eyebrows rising as he takes in the display of butterflies. ”Now this is a sight.” It’s clear that—despite his determination to remain aloof—the group, the games, and this new sight … Rokan is having a good time.
He gives the whole strange group a reserved grin. ”Did that run make anyone else hungry? I think I’ll—”
His eyes fall on the “civilized” Shonati, and his good mood withers. ”—try the fish,” he finishes deadpan. Without waiting for a response, he moves to the Tien woman’s booth, buying some of the salmon … pointedly not looking at the Shoanti man again.
Savah says off-handedly, “That's the mayor.”
Rokan shifts to watch the mayor for a few moments. ”She’ll know where Belor is,” he says, stuffing the rest of his salmon in his mouth.”[/b]
To his credit, the shoanti seems happy to actually let her finish her speech.