"But wheresoever are my manners? I am Slavathras, bard to the Lady Almah of House Vordon, and have not yet had the pleasure of this company's acquaintance on the trip, for I have only thus far entertained my patron in private."
He bares his palms and spreads his arms in an open expression that is usually one of peace, but curiously in this instance seems threatening, or like a dare,
"And who might you be, and what are your thoughts on these fine works which surround us?"
Slavasthras gestures grandly,
"Pray, tell me what you discern in them."
Rokan stares blankly at Slavathras' display, not immediately sure of his intentions.
[dice=Sense motive, hostile, just testing me, or other?]1d20+10
"Good to meet you Slavathras. I am simply Rokan, not of any house."
Regardless, he begins to convey his interpretation modestly, fully aware that it projects some information about himself to the predatory elf. He turns back to the reliefs to re-scan them as he answers.
"I see much depiction of extremes and reaches for power. Hubris, disregard, rashness, presumption, devastation. It is then passed down as a tradition from Rajaat to the sorcerer kings. In short, a total lack of equilibrium and rational response to their situations."
He then forces himself to turn back to the elf, despite being somewhat unsettled by his appearance and demeanor.
"I understand you're enlightening us with song and story on this day. Will your tales involve heroes who know balance or those who insist upon themselves in pursuit of power and glory?"
The elf closes his strangely-tinted slips, pursing an amused smile,
"Well, that's certainly one way to interpret it... I suppose."
His manner is of one enjoying a private joke.
As to my impending performance" he sniffs contemptuously, "I suppose that, as well, will depend upon the audience."
He turns back to Malkaer,
"And what of you, brother runner, I have yet to hear your view of our present surroundings. What do you see in them?"
She makes a note to stay aware around this bard. Much as her kind hunted elves, their kind hunted the kreen. While he could have gotten the armor from somebody else, it was better to keep cautious.
She would stay like water - if he attacked, she would flow around it and then crash like a wave. So she flows around the room. There was a human with white hair. The one who was good with the bow. He was looking oddly at her. She moved closer, bowing. "I an Tkk-tkk, touched by water, and I will not eat you."
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She would stay like water - if he attacked, she would flow around it and then crash like a wave. So she flows around the room. There was a human with white hair. The one who was good with the bow. He was looking oddly at her. She moved closer, bowing. "I an Tkk-tkk, touched by water, and I will not eat you."
Kuro is silent on the outside, staring at the completely unique creature in front of him, was his staring that blatant?
However, on the inside, Kuro has to stop himself from asking some...insensitive questions.
"Ah...yes, I'm sorry for staring but...I don't know what exactly you are..." he says awkwardly, she resembles some bug monster's he has fought in the desert, but smaller.
She can also speak.
Kuro shunts his trepidation into the void, he should be more polite. Suddenly, Kuro bows at the waist to Tkk-Tkk, face staring at the floor for a second before he slowly returns to leaning on the wall.
"I'm very sorry for being rude, You can call me Archer, it is nice to meet you...Tsk Tsk?"
Her name doesn't quite roll off the tongue
"Oh, is the famed Jackal wounded? I'll shelter whomever from the harsh heat, my tent is open to those that need it. A kukri, what do I look like a jungle runner?" He pats Memnom on the shoulder," it's good to see you again, old friend."
Ja'far paces around Memnom for a moment, he unfurls a roll of black weeved cotton and beings to wrap it around his bronzed spiked helmet to form a turban. Fastening it together with a bronze igal in the shape of a stylized sun, in the center is a large obisidian cabochon. Lastly he removes a large bird feather and places it behind the igal." A souvenir from the roc." He mumbles to himself.
Quietly listening, Shizuka snorts. This bard reminds me of a Grand Champion. Self assured and arrogant Making a mental note to investigate the turbaned male wearing metal of all things, Shizuka considers ways to kill time until the haughty elf actually performs.
Running through his catalogue of persons, the blind man realizes he has yet to talk to the both the Thri-Kreen and the young archer. Moving though the crowd with sharp, quick movements he soon is standing within easy distance of them, outside the range of fists and blade. "I don't believe I've been acquainted with either of you. I'm Shizuka."
Malkaer looked at this bard and wondered what had happened to this strange elf. The sharpened teeth? Living in one place, for what semed to be a good while as the elf was quite familiar with the environs and his employer.
"What do I think of our surroundings? It is proof that all things that live must one day die. It is pointless to try to make anything last forever. The green age is gone, along with all of its glories, and all those who refused to run."
"Ah...yes, I'm sorry for staring but...I don't know what exactly you are..." he says awkwardly, she resembles some bug monster's he has fought in the desert, but smaller.
She can also speak.
Kuro shunts his trepidation into the void, he should be more polite. Suddenly, Kuro bows at the waist to Tkk-Tkk, face staring at the floor for a second before he slowly returns to leaning on the wall.
"I'm very sorry for being rude, You can call me Archer, it is nice to meet you...Tsk Tsk?"Her name doesn't quite roll off the tongue
She doesn't seem to mind the name. He comes close, but his mouth is wrong. But her mouth is wrong for human speech. She figures that as long as they understand each other, it is good.
"Archer, a good name." Since it doesn't require flaps of soft flesh, she can say the name well. "I am of the Thri-kreen. We are great hunters." As she talks, she stand close and tall, watching his reactions.
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Archer, a good name." Since it doesn't require flaps of soft flesh, she can say the name well. "I am of the Thri-kreen. We are great hunters." As she talks, she stand close and tall, watching his reactions.
"Hunter's hmm? Are your people related in any way to the praying mantis" he asks, interested in her peoples origin and culture "If it would be alright, when we have the time, I'd like to see you're hunting techniques if you would be willing to share."
Kuro's mouth opens again, but his words die and his eye's sharpen when the smell of ozone becomes large and overpowering.
Moving though the crowd with sharp, quick movements he soon is standing within easy distance of them, outside the range of fists and blade. "I don't believe I've been acquainted with either of you. I'm Shizuka."
For a second, Kuro seem's ready to fight, hand releasing a small sparkle. A short wave blade forming in his loose grip for a split second.
But, Kuro quickly composes himself, the Man does not deserve such open hostility. Turning his head to get a better look at Shizuka, Kuro finally notices, Shizuka is blind.
Admittedly, it makes his respect for him grow immensely. That Shizuka can get this kind of reaction out of him while being blind is very respectable. Kuro once again does the polite thing and bow's to Shizuka in greetings, heedless of his blind state. Kuro has a funny feeling that the man has his way's of circumventing his sight anyway.
"Hello Shizuka, it is nice to meet you, you can call me Archer."
As the boy's knife begins to form, Shizuka's arm begins to crackle with latent electricity. The bow catches the blind man off guard however, and he quickly stifles the white arcs. "Those instincts will serve you well. No need to bow, I'm just a man."
Pausing at the name, Shizuka raises a bushy white eyebrow. "Archer? That doesn't seem much like a name. But I won't inquire into it."
Without turning his head, the warrior addresses Tkk Tkk, "You spoke of the rewards and risks of fighting no? I'd be interested to hear your take on it."
Malkaer looked at this bard and wondered what had happened to this strange elf. The sharpened teeth? Living in one place, for what semed to be a good while as the elf was quite familiar with the environs and his employer.
"What do I think of our surroundings? It is proof that all things that live must one day die. It is pointless to try to make anything last forever. The green age is gone, along with all of its glories, and all those who refused to run."
Rokan lets the bard pass from their presence and turns to Malkaer.
"Very astute. Yet the decisions that some of them make live on for very long times."
"Then we shall hunt together." she says to Archer. Turning to the other, she finds it odd that this human does not face the people he's addressing. Uncommon, but like so many things we do. "Some fights you can't avoid. Your risk is not controlled. When you do choose to fight, you risk injury or death. Some of this can be controlled, but never perfectly. Therefore, you need to be be sure that what you gain is worth more than what you lose."
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Malkaer looked at this bard and wondered what had happened to this strange elf. The sharpened teeth? Living in one place, for what semed to be a good while as the elf was quite familiar with the environs and his employer.
"What do I think of our surroundings? It is proof that all things that live must one day die. It is pointless to try to make anything last forever. The green age is gone, along with all of its glories, and all those who refused to run."
Rokan lets the bard pass from their presence and turns to Malkaer.
"Very astute. Yet the decisions that some of them make live on for very long times."
As he turns to, presumably, make preparations for his performance, the unsettling elf continues,
"Such bland platitudes are of course acceptable to minds of a common mien" he casts an amused look back over his shoulder, his thick crimson brow furrowed to an almost comical peak, "but those possessed of a.... more expansive education are in a position to appreciate fully the telling details which the sorcerer-queen's artisans chiseled into these stones so many centuries past."
Slavasthras turns back as he makes his way to the center of the room, but his final words still reach both Malkaer and Rokan,
"For instance, a knowing soul might well take heed of the presence of obsidian works in yon vista, for they were one of the great marvels of the green age, and continue to be employed in various psionic devices. The arches such as you discern in image of Kalidnay's fall once made all lands of Athas as one, and I have seen their like in many other climes, including the Black Spine Mountains to the east, and... others as well."
Both the elf and sage can sense that the bard is smiling at some private amusement even though his back is turned and his voice quickly fades,
"It is even said they might be doors to other worlds..."
She makes a note to stay aware around this bard. Much as her kind hunted elves, their kind hunted the kreen. While he could have gotten the armor from somebody else, it was better to keep cautious.
She would stay like water - if he attacked, she would flow around it and then crash like a wave. So she flows around the room. There was a human with white hair. The one who was good with the bow. He was looking oddly at her. She moved closer, bowing. "I an Tkk-tkk, touched by water, and I will not eat you."
Upon further consideration, something strange tugs at the corners of Tkk-Tkk's consciousness regarding the elf's curious chitin armament.
Malkaer looked at this bard and wondered what had happened to this strange elf. The sharpened teeth? Living in one place, for what semed to be a good while as the elf was quite familiar with the environs and his employer.
"What do I think of our surroundings? It is proof that all things that live must one day die. It is pointless to try to make anything last forever. The green age is gone, along with all of its glories, and all those who refused to run."
Something strange strikes Malkaer about Slavathras, but the sensation pushes at the edge of his awareness...
Memnon returns Ja'far's nod with one of his own.
''You too old friend, you too.''
He starts to speak to his old companion once more, but then the elf bard has begun to speak in a high clear voice and he pauses in his conversation to listen.
A shame, I had more I would have liked to say but it can wait I suppose.
Memnon returns Ja'far's nod with one of his own.
''You too old friend, you too.''
He starts to speak to his old companion once more, but then the elf bard has begun to speak in a high clear voice and he pauses in his conversation to listen.
A shame, I had more I would have liked to say but it can wait I suppose.
[dice=Perception]1d20+10
An unsettling realization draws upon Malkaer that this elf is like none he has encountered, or even knows of in the Tablelands. As if, perhaps, he is not a native of the region... but what would that entail?
[dice=perception]1d20+10
Tkk-Tkk realizes that the pattern, color, texture, and profile of the potentially kreen carapace worn by the mysterious elf is not one with which she is familiar from her own experience. Given that, it must have come from some exoskeleton-baring insectoid from outside the Tablelands. This raises several questions about both the hunter and its apparent prey....
Memnon keeps an ear out for any interesting morsels that might be gleamed from one of his companions or perhaps even the bard himself.
As he listens to Tkk Tkk speak, Shizuka carefully tugs at the winds so the sounds are carried to his ears. It'd be a shame to miss out on something interesting. "Hmm, spoken like a hunter. However, often the ability to live is its own reward. Mostly, that is the reward of fighting, that and the rush of combat."
Memnon keeps an ear out for any interesting morsels that might be gleamed from one of his companions or perhaps even the bard himself.
[dice=Perception]1d20+10
Memnon has difficulty hearing the conversation, as so many people are talking simultaneously in the bustling audience hall. He still manages to capture some references to the importance of obsidian in Green Age psionic technology, as well as something about Kalidnay, the legacy of Rajaat, and overweening pride.
It certainly sounds like the three conversation partners are scholars of some sort.
As he listens to Tkk Tkk speak, Shizuka carefully tugs at the winds so the sounds are carried to his ears. It'd be a shame to miss out on something interesting. "Hmm, spoken like a hunter. However, often the ability to live is its own reward. Mostly, that is the reward of fighting, that and the rush of combat."
[dice=Perception-Hear the elf speak.]1d20 + 18
Shizuka is especially struck by the mention of the obsidian gates and other psionic wonders of the Green Age. Slavasthras seems to emphasize this point in strange ways with the modulation of his voice and the details he emphasizes in relating these facts to his two interlocutors. The old man's intuition suggests to him that the bard has an extensive knowledge of this mysterious art that he is only partially revealing to Malkaer and Rokan, and that the bard probably has some particular scheme in mind in foregrounding this detail in the, apparently narrative, tableau.
Araska waits quietly next to the similarly silent Gaanon, her eyes following the bard as he seems to start making his way up to begin performing. Araska waves to Ja'far again now that he seems to be done catching up with his old friend and shifts slightly so there is more room for the man to sit. Over the last few days Ja'far had become an interest to Araska after learning of how widely he seemed to have traveled. While she had been through much of the western areas of the Tabelands around Tyr, Araska had little experience with the eastern, northern, or southern lands and enjoyed listening to everyone else's adventures across the different domains of the Sorcerer-Kings.
Slavathras completes his short journey to the center of the audience hall, where an elaborate rug covers a slightly-raised platform in the center of the pillared chamber, to which three broad steps ascend.
The bard crosses the brief ascent with a swift movement of his lithe feet, and begins speaking before he has reached the top of the platform.
"My dear mistress, I serve only at your gracious pleasure,"
This statement causes a murmur of confusion to stir the crowd as a thin, elegant lady wrapped in a flowing violet shawl, including a cowl that heretofore had concealed her fine features, stands up beside one of the pillars.
She nods slyly to the bard, as if they were sharing a private joke between them. So, this is the famed Lady Almah -- also apparently a creature of strange machinations. For she has apparently hidden her presence since the entrance of the crowd, hoping perhaps to observe them unawares. Who can know the games of these merchants?
She quickly takes her appointed seat in the embossed chair against the wall depicting the ten-headed dragon which has recently drawn so much attention to itself. The moment Almah completes this action, Slavathras begins,
"I have this afternoon, three tales to relate of the ancient days of Athas...
Rokan doesn't really care for the elf's contempt, and he isn't impressed with his supposed "depth" of interpretation in the reliefs. He is, however, interested in his mention of ancient psionic arts as implied by the obsidian spheres.
He attempts to inconspicuously listen in as the bard enters a more private conversation preceding his performance.
Rokan doesn't really care for the elf's contempt, and he isn't impressed with his supposed "depth" of interpretation in the reliefs. He is, however, interested in his mention of ancient psionic arts as implied by the obsidian spheres.
He attempts to inconspicuously listen in as the bard enters a more private conversation preceding his performance.
[dice=Perception, eavesdrop]1d20+10
[dice=Knowledge (psionics) to recognize details/facts]1d20+10
[dice=Knowledge (history) to recognize details/facts]1d20+10
Rokan without difficulty picks up the major details of the bard's parting comments to Malkaer, of which the discussion of the obsidian artifacts depicted in the drawing are by far the most interesting.
It is rumored that among the wonders of the Green Age were orbs of obsidian that could contain the minds of powerful psionists, and that they were used for diverse purposes in that far off time. Some of the speculated technologies include reliable means of speedy areal transport, as well as the means to connect two distant locations in a heartbeat.
The name 'Saragar' has been attached to some of these ideas, but its reference is unclear, and it is always difficult to know what is exaggeration or outright myth.
Malkaer crosses his arms, unhappily. This elf wasn’t from the table lands, and was discussing wonders of the green age. Two things which would usually make his heart soar with joy. The condescending tone? The fool wouldn’t last a day in the wastes, he was sure.
He held his tongue though, not willing to offend. Moreso, he had no knowledge of history, engineering, or anything else relevant to this. And he had been taught Better to stay quiet and he thought a fool than to open one’s mouth and prove it. Let someone more adept than he ask for more information.
Memnon decides to continue making the rounds as the bard speaks. He keeps one ear trained on the bard so he doesn't miss anything.
Approaching the only other elf in the room, the one that had spoken to the bard moments earlier, he stops next to him and regards him for a moment.
''This one really is full of himself isn't he?'' He says by way of greeting as he jerks his thumb over his shoulder at Slavathras. ''I am hoping he is the exception and not the rule as far as elves go?''
With a slight smile Malkaer responds ”Us elves are as humble and friendly as mankind. Which, to be fair, says both much and very little.”
Once Ja'far's get together with Memnom is finished, he notices through the corner of his eye Araska waving him over. He bows before Araska and Gaanon, squating just above the ground with the duo. "I'm not sure what's more entertaining, the elven bard's hubris or this strange cast of Characters? Tell me, what brings you two the employ of House Vordon? I've been busy in prayer and regretfully not as hospitible as I'd like to be, so I suppose now would be a good time to acquaint ourselves."
Ja'far notices Araska's bowl, he begins to grow nervous around but tries to hide behind his masked smile.
Oh joy, a knowledgeable and pompus ass with a love for the history of the dragon kings. Out loud, the old man shakes his head. "The fop of a bard is trouble, mark my words. I at least plan to keep a sharp ear and a sharper bolt at the ready."
At the sudden appearance of the lady, Shizuka grins. Now that is impressive. Not many hide from the invisible threads the air carries. I wonder what the bard and her have to say away from prying ears such as myself? Adjusting the air currents to flow through the passages of his armor, the lightning wielder listens with half a mind to the bard's stories.
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Kuro silently glances the way of the bard when he speaks. Their benefactor has been among them this whole time? Interesting...seem like there might be more to her then he had originally thought.
Kuro gets more comfortable in his spot, waiting for the bard to begin and keeping his ear open to Shizuka's and Tsk-Tsk's conversation.
'actively searching for combat for the sake of combat...few things appeals less to me' Kuro thinks to himself when he hears the old man's response.
Rokan leaves the study of the wall-reliefs aside for the time being and settles in to listen as the bard begins telling his tales.
He's fully convinced that the bard will be satisfying himself with underlying meaning and hidden message.
Memnon smiles back and his lips twist upwards in an even larger smile when he gets his response from Malkaer.
''You not wrong about us I will tell you that much. But I promise most of us are vaguely humble. I mean he isn't'' He points again with his thumb over his shoulder but this time his thumb points at Ja'far. [/b]''But he's a pretty decent sort nonetheless.''
Suddenly he gets a look on his face of slight embarrassment and he rubs the back of his neck in shame.
''Pardon me for my rudeness. I am Memnon Bash'ra and you are?''
”And I am Malkaer, and I am but a scout, guide, and desert runner. Also, no apologies are necessary. Impolite honesty might be harsh to the ear. Polite lies harm the heart. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
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Slavathras begins to speak in a loud, slightly high pitched tenor which possesses an astonishing resonance in the shadowed confines of the palace's audience hall,
"My first tale is one of the far reaches of Athas, and of distant times. It is a story little known within the reaches of the Tablelands, the inhabitants of which wrongly suppose that the Warbringer Rajaat and his Champions were the only powers to conduct the Cleansing Wars. They could not be further mistaken, as I shall reveal in the account of how the Warbringer's greatest ally colored the western grasslands crimson, and how his ancient power still persists among the mysterious zik-chil of the kreen empire..."
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"In the early days of Athas, before the sun had been darkened by the vicious power of Rajaat and the Champions, all lands were covered by a vast ocean. This was the Blue Age, when the halfling lifeshapers alone ruled, and, in their folly, built a ring of towers around the planet's equator through which they might harness the power of the sun to increase by twofold the world ocean's capacity to support life. Common wisdom has it that the halflings were the first and only life of the Blue Age from which all other races descended, but I tell you this is not the truth, for the lifeshapers arrived upon Athas from a distant star when the kreen already lived upon the endless archipelago of the world ocean. The kreen of this distant time traveled from island to island by means of gossamer wings which they have now forsaken in our blighted age. It was from these kreen that arose the dark master of the Crimson Savannah, who was the first of his kind to learn the powers of lifeshaping from the halflings."
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"This early kreen learned the great powers of lifeshaping from the halflings, but became angered towards his former teachers when their foolish gambit brought an end to the Blue Age and the paradise which he and his fellows had inhabited for untold aeons before the arrival of the rhulisti..."
A audible whisper breaks out near Malkaer and Rokan,
"I cannot believe we are compelled to listen to such unbelievable drivel. This bard surely must imagine we are all gullible children. The kreen of the west are but savage tribes, and the idea, the audacious supposition, that they existed during the Blue Age - I really don't know how much more of this I can stand to hear, it really is insufferable."
Rokan subtly glances to both sides to see if he can spy who uttered the derision, and then quickly returns his gaze forward to see if the elf or merchant might have noticed it.
The comment came from what looks like a Tyrian man with prematurely whitened hair arranged in manicured spikes and piercing violet eyes. His expansive, iridescent cloak of chameleon hide marks him as a figure of some importance, as the odd garment seems to be purposefully intended to attract notice.
He is speaking to a young lady, who is quietly attentive. Her long, auburn tresses and hazel eyes are framed by the same kind of distinctive cloak as that worn by the whispering man. She seems to nod I agreement.
Neither the merchant princess, nor her bard make any apparent recognition of the interruption.
Rokan leaves the study of the wall-reliefs aside for the time being and settles in to listen as the bard begins telling his tales.
He's fully convinced that the bard will be satisfying himself with underlying meaning and hidden message.
[dice=Sense motive, interpret oratory bardic performance]1d20+10
Rokan senses a pointed emphasis in Savrathas' intonation as he begins to discuss some of the details of the Blue Age kreen and their relationship to the present insectoid inhabitants of the western grasslands. It seems possible he is remembering episodes of personal experience that are related to the narrative he is speaking, or at least that he has thought about these matters a great deal. Some of the language simply rolls off his tongue more easily, as if practiced...
Rokan subtly glances to both sides to see if he can spy who uttered the derision, and then quickly returns his gaze forward to see if the elf or merchant might have noticed it.
[dice=Perception, who and were they noticed?]1d20+10
Oh joy, a knowledgeable and pompus ass with a love for the history of the dragon kings. Out loud, the old man shakes his head. "The fop of a bard is trouble, mark my words. I at least plan to keep a sharp ear and a sharper bolt at the ready."
At the sudden appearance of the lady, Shizuka grins. Now that is impressive. Not many hide from the invisible threads the air carries. I wonder what the bard and her have to say away from prying ears such as myself? Adjusting the air currents to flow through the passages of his armor, the lightning wielder listens with half a mind to the bard's stories.
[dice=Perception:Employer-Employee Confidentiality]1d20 + 18
As the bard begins to speak, Shizuka inescapably detects that they are the merchant princess and the bard are somehow communicating between themselves in a manner not meant to be shared by the wider company. However, the details of this interactions are completely obscure. It could be as little as an amused wink, or as much as an entirely separate means of discourse by which they are planning an imminent assassination -- the matter is completely occluded at this point in time.