Eto – city in the middle of the desert, a central point for caravans heading to Thuvia. Few cities have become as important to the survival of Osirion as this one. For while its location is an important stop for caravans between Shiman-Sekh and the ruined capital of Sothis, its location is even more important as a nexus for the brave and foolhardy adventurers that seek their fortunes and often, their deaths, in the sands of Osirion. With the capital of Osirion half destroyed from Xotani's rampage four years ago, Eto and its lure of adventurers has brought in large sums of money to the nation. This year will be the biggest yet.
With the Khamsin season in full swing and Aucturn nearly in alignment that happens only once every 56 years, the small city of Eto is bustling with activity. Starting today, Gozran 8th, is the week-long celebration of the influx of foreign commerce, trade, and investment that will kick off the beginning of the many foreign expeditions heading out into the sands. For an entire week, merchants, laborers, and tradesmen from all over Osirion meet in Eto to supply the many treasure hunters and explorers everything they might need – and many luxuries they don't need. The celebration, hosted by the local clergy of Abadar, features food and beverages from all over northern Garund, dancing and other festive activities, and merchants hawking nearly every type of ware one could ever want, and many more. It all ends a week later with a swoop of cleric-escorted tax collectors and a massive feast on the day known by the Abadar faithful as 'Taxfest' – shortly after, most of the foreign expeditionaries are long gone, off to seek their riches or their doom.
After a four-day journey by boat and then camel from Sothis, those entering Eto pass through the cities' sandstone brick gate and are then greeted with the festival on the third day of its celebration. Immediately they are accosted by the smells of innumerable different foods, fine incenses and tobacco, and the relaxing sounds of harps, flutes, and other instruments half-droned out among the crowded, busy streets of Eto. Everywhere are merchants, mercenaries, and foreigners of all shapes and sizes, some hawking wares, others hawking spellcasting services, with spells helping to endure the heat being a particular favorite on such a hot day. Everywhere, there is something different to see, to smell, and to taste. Everywhere, there is someone new to meet.
Tired, dirty, and hungry from their trip, the new arrivals have much to do. The celebration awaits!
<< | | |>>
_____________________________________
Wu arrives in town with a caravan after proving his usual guard services. Coated in trail dust, and parched, he looks about to find accommodations so that he might find a good meal and a bath to clean himself. A bed softer than the ground after a nice long soak would be a great relief. "
Seeing how crowded the town is, his optimism flags. Looking around, he is unable to find an Inn with an empty private room. He does locate one which has room in a common area to lay down a bedroll. Ah well as the master used to say "Be content with what you have; rejoice in the way things are. When you realize there is nothing lacking, the whole world belongs to you."- at least I will have a roof over my head and be out of the dust.
He does gain some solace in the hot bowl of stew he is able to purchase, and they do have bathing facilities in the back which he pays for, and even opts for clean, unused water. Taking a long soak in the tub once his time comes, he cleans himself, shaves any stubble on his pate, and heads out into the bustling market to see what wares might interest him.
Xander had arranged with his employer, the caravan master Ebenay Haizuri, to split with the camels as soon as they came into sight of the massive sandstone gate of Eto. He accepted the small leather purse as payment for his protection services during the journey from Sothis, and made a quick farewell to his fellow guards.
Xander is rabid with anticipation for the festival, though the only way it shows outwardly is in his wide easy grin, and quick sure footfalls. He slips his way through the crowd at the gate, using a combination of natural grace and the inherent intimidation provided by his wiry six and a half foot frame. As he passes through the sandstone pillars, he's accosted by the smells of innumerable different foods, fine incenses and tobacco, and the relaxing sounds of harps, flutes, and other instruments half drowned out among the crowded, busy streets of Eto.
Xander is in heaven. He closes his eyes, placing his hand tightly over his purse, and allows the crowd to jostle him back and forth for a moment. He simply absorbs the heady smells of the festival, and lets the sounds drum themselves into his brain. Xander's amber colored eyes flick back open, and then he's on the move. He again dodges artfully through the crowd towards his destination --the nearest pretty street walker. He spies a young, heavily painted Osiriani girl leaning against a stucco wall in the shade of an awning. The prostitute's large doe-brown eyes look bored and tired. Her raven black curls are tied up in a messy knot on top of her head, which a few strands have escaped to stick to her sweat slick forehead. Her skimpy silk outfit reveals more more of her thin body than it covers. She perks up a bit when it becomes apparent that Xander is definitely approaching her. When he's within a few feet of him, she gives him her best naughty smile and asks, "Hey big guy, you looking for a good time?"
Xander returns the smile. "I'm lookin' for an inn beautiful. Why don't you take me to one where my sh*t won't get robbed out from under me, and I'll buy you a few drinks and show you a good time." Xander says it with an implacable grin that tells her he can and will back up the offer. But something in his eyes tells her he doesn't need to. There's nothing special about her, she's just one in hundreds. If she can't help him someone else can.
After having reached Osirian, Sarthos first made his way to Sothis, but soon found that the burned out ruins and fire-scared survivors affected him more than he had thought and impede his meditation. After only a few weeks he thus decided to leave again and instead wander the hinterlands, offering his help where needed but otherwise returning to his aimless studies.
Now he incidental reaches Eto just in time for the festival season....
Before even seeing city proper, the sudden increase in traffic through the middle of the dessert was remarkably noticeable and thus it came as no surprise to find the small town bursting at the seams.
Thus the small caravan he followed from the last oasis decided to make camp outside the walls and the scared monk gave them a last blessing before leaving to experience the curious festival.
Inside the walls, Sarthos takes his time to randomly wander through the streets, indulging all the different impressions, sounds and smells.
While he for now does not seem to have any set goal, he does keep a keen eye on the offered food, always hoping to find some of his homes dearly missed mountain cuisine.
Hisdelah Adeb had been impatient to get his caravan into Eto, vexed that he hadn’t gotten his goods there by the start of the festival. Unafe on the other hand approached the city with mixed emotions. After five months with Hisdelah’s caravan -- during which Unafe and Mkali had kept bandits at bay, and treated his daughter when she grew ill -- the Osirions had come to trust her, and not to seem quite so nervous around the spinosaurus...at least when it was beside Unafe. She wasn’t sure she was ready to face new stares and questions.
Hisdelah had agreed to let her tie Mkali up at his camp (a safe distance from the camels) which was a blessing. She checked the rope on the spinosaurus and patted her on the neck. The rope wouldn't really hold if Mkali wanted out, and was mostly to keep Hisdelah from getting anxious...but if Mkali did wander there was no accounting for her safety here. “Nafurahi kwamba hawakupata mbuni jana. Wewe bora kufanya hivyo ni mwisho, unajua mimi hawawezi kulisha wewe katika mji kwa muda mrefu sana” The spinosaur doesn’t understand a thing she says but enjoys her voice, and nods sleepily before returning to gnawing on the ostrich flank.
Unafe went to check on Ameena’s recovery one more time before departing. She needn’t have worried, it was clear the Greenscale was truly past. It had been for days. Ameena would have a few scars but she was almost back to full strength. Thank you Grandfather Namane, I couldn’t handle failing another person. Then she dusted off her robe a bit and walked into town.
Walking into the thick of the market, Unafe finds her heart rising despite herself. Certainly some people turn to stare at her towering, skinny, 6’8” frame and her nearly coal-black skin -- or maybe it’s her colorful orange shaman’s robes, with spinosaurus teeth woven into the seams -- but it’s actually less than she expected. There’s a rich explosion of styles and ethnicities in Eto, perhaps the most she’s seen anywhere. The smells, the music -- she starts to get overwhelmed by the newness and variety, and then narrows in on a vendor who looks like she could be from the Bas'o tribe selling spiced, roasted goat. She goes over and tries to speak to her in Polyglot, ”Dada! Wapi wewe? Unafanya nini hapa?” but the vendor shakes her head and answers in Common, ”I don’t understand. My mother never taught me. I was raised here,” and then pauses before saying, ”One silver for the goat.”
Unafe is a touch crestfallen but fishes the coin out of her purse, thanks her for the meal, and walks away with a skewer of delicious spiced meat, chewing happily. With some familiar food in her belly (and dripping down her chin) she feels bold enough for a new adventure.
____________
Reknarok felt as if his mind had been a haze since he lost his companions and beliefs in the Worldwound... He had stumbled through every single low life possibility presented to him - bouncer, street-fighter, brigand... You name it - he had believed himself broken, and in fact he was.
Eto was no doubt the most far off place he could fathom, so he started heading there - he heard somewhere that new opportunities popped up every day in the city - he longed for such an opportunity himself, a chance to stop feeling disgusted at what he had become - honorless, spiritless, weak.
Getting there was the easy part - What now..? - he had thought to himself as he stared dumbfounded at the bustling activity permeating the whole place. Growling away the peddlers and merchants accosting him, he looked for someplace dark and cool, trying to get his ideas straight over a mead - his brow started sweating, an embarassment for his forefathers and himself, but he accepted it - he was not the man he used to be - the strength of his arms was still there, he could swing a weapon and crush a man without much effort, but he lacked what should move him - a reason, a motive to ACT.
All eyes in the small tavern turned to him as his hand unvoluntarily crushed the wooden mug, sending splinters all over the counter - he just shrugged it away, dropping a couple of coins to amend for the damage done and left.
Wandering through the city, the sun stinging his eyes, and the sand filling his nostrils, he found himself admiring a weapon stand, while the merchant proceeded in some incessant blabber - "Quality... Big man... Etc. Etc..." - he did not listen.
The long-hafted, heavy poleaxe felt comfortable in his hands...Feeling the blood rush to his neck and head, his knuckles tightened firmly around the weapon, so hard they whitened with the strain - he looked at the merchant but could not seem him, neither could he hear the market sounds around him - instead he watched his brothers in arms die around him over and over again, while he did nothing.
But the weapon in his hands was REAL - it anchored him. Shaking his head, he turned to the stall owner and took the first step - with a deep rumbling voice he asked - "How much?"
It's a good day.
Abasi wakes as the sun's rays hit the rooftops. A golden spear through the eyelids. Reaching out, he traces patterns on her smooth stomach with a smile. It had been a good night too. That was one of the nice things about this place. You could sleep outside with a stranger and not worry about never waking up, or worse, waking up with, or as, something no longer human.
Getting dressed, he steps lightly over other sleeping forms and jumps to the next building. Roofs are cheaper than a room, and much more comfortable. It pays to keep your eyes open. If the locals are selling the foreigners one thing and doing another, you're better off following them. Plus they're a great way to get around the city. Though to be fair his going native was helped by not being able to find a room in the first place. The city is packed!
Now, off to the alchemists to see about getting some dragon rounds and powder. They were more expensive here, especially now as the expeditions were buying supplies, but he had saved the casing and could make them mixtures himself, if he could buy the ingredients before some other scoundrel did.
Laughter, how can they laugh while the world burns. How can any enjoy themselves when theirs is the suffering that will be reaped. They should flee towards Shimah-Sekh, or farther, flee the coming of the fire-bleeder as I have.
Dark thoughts burdened the Hand's mind, broken thoughts bringing with them the pain of years ago. His feet screamed at him, bruised and sore from constant walking. His stomach growled, a knot of hunger.
Well at least I still have enough for food. Maybe here I will find a worthy patron who has a need of a body to throw in the way of his enemies. Oh how they stare at me, their eyes the piercing gaze of those who know not the world beyond.
But they had reason to stare. Why would they not stare, a Risen among them? Dressed in the slagged remains of his royal armor, the scarab still showing on the shield slung crossed his back. Why would they not stare at his shame, had he not failed to protect a mad man, even though he had not deserved protection for the treachery he had perpetrated upon his land. Who invites in the darkness when he is the light, who chooses the darkness over the light. Always this question, with no answer. Always no answer.
Again the growl in his stomach, it was time to eat something. The Hand searched for a place with a meal he could hold down on such an empty stomach. Bread and beer, a simple thing..... "Eight. A travesty. Who would pay such a price." The trader stared at the Hand's outburst."No offense meant my lord, it is the supply. So many in, so many eating, not much left." The Hand thought on this for a moment, puzzling over the vagaries of economic trade. Deciding he would not puzzle through this in the time he had, he paid the man what he was owed and took his meal elsewhere. Time to search out employment.
Xander had arranged with his employer, the caravan master Ebenay Haizuri, to split with the camels as soon as they came into sight of the massive sandstone gate of Eto. He accepted the small leather purse as payment for his protection services during the journey from Sothis, and made a quick farewell to his fellow guards.
Xander is rabid with anticipation for the festival, though the only way it shows outwardly is in his wide easy grin, and quick sure footfalls. He slips his way through the crowd at the gate, using a combination of natural grace and the inherent intimidation provided by his wiry six and a half foot frame. As he passes through the sandstone pillars, he's accosted by the smells of innumerable different foods, fine incenses and tobacco, and the relaxing sounds of harps, flutes, and other instruments half drowned out among the crowded, busy streets of Eto.
Xander is in heaven. He closes his eyes, placing his hand tightly over his purse, and allows the crowd to jostle him back and forth for a moment. He simply absorbs the heady smells of the festival, and lets the sounds drum themselves into his brain. Xander's amber colored eyes flick back open, and then he's on the move. He again dodges artfully through the crowd towards his destination --the nearest pretty street walker. He spies a young, heavily painted Osiriani girl leaning against a stucco wall in the shade of an awning. The prostitute's large doe-brown eyes look bored and tired. Her raven black curls are tied up in a messy knot on top of her head, which a few strands have escaped to stick to her sweat slick forehead. Her skimpy silk outfit reveals more more of her thin body than it covers. She perks up a bit when it becomes apparent that Xander is definitely approaching her. When he's within a few feet of him, she gives him her best naughty smile and asks, "Hey big guy, you looking for a good time?"
Xander returns the smile. "I'm lookin' for...
The girl bites her lip in momentary indecision. After a second she smiles and says, "Sure. It aint like I'm getting noticed with all this madness going on." She holds out a hand to Xander, but he just raises one eyebrow at her. She shrugs her shoulders and says, "Have it your way. My name's Zubaida. Follow me, we can go to the Mangy Gnoll."
Xander chuckles at the name of the tavern. "That's an interesting name for a joint." he comments, falling in behind the much smaller form of Zubaida as she begins to lead him through the crowded streets. "Yeah, it's run by a retired adventurer from Tal....holy f*ck! Look at that!" Xander follows Zubaida's pointing finger and his eyes go wide. Standing there is a woman even taller than him, with coal black skin, accompanied by nothing less than a real live Spinosaurus aegyptiacus. The crowd had somehow retreated around the dinosaur and freakishly tall woman, leaving them walking in their own tiny bubble. Xander holds out one hand in a stopping motion to Zubaida. "Hold up a second. I gotta go check this out."
Xander walks straight up to Unafe and offers her his hand. He purses his lips, hesitating a second as he sees shes in the middle of devouring a skewer of roasted goat, but then thrusts his hand out anyway. Quickly sizing up Unafe, he slots her into the "fresh off the boat" category and drops his facade. "Hello, I'm Nexander Davramputi. I couldn't help but notice that you seem to be new here, and that you are accompanied by a magnificent specimen of Spinosaurus aegyptiacus. Might I enquire how you came to be its master? Could you tell me about...her? him?"
At the sight of Xander using so many big words, the prostitute makes a disbelieving face. "Yo, 'Nexander'," she quotes the air with her fingers, sneering, "you got about ten seconds before I split. I aint got time for this sh*t." Xander looks to Zubaida, to the spinosaurus, and the giant mwangi woman. Then he smiles at Unafe and says, "Look, I know we just became acquainted, but my charming friend here and I were just headed to the Mangy Gnoll tavern for a couple of drinks. You wouldn't want to join us would you? I'd gladly buy you a drink in exchange for hearing about you and your companion."
"I thought you was buyin' me a drink?" Zubaida says incredulously. Xander shoots her a hard glare that asks "You want to get paid or not?". Zubaida opens her mouth to protest, then shuts it and sets her hands on her hips, elbows out, looking expectantly to Unafe for her answer.
<< | | | >>
The great sandseas spiraling and sprawling out, around, and beyond every corner of Osirion would never be a welcome sight to Thorgrim. His time spent under the Black Dome of Sothis in service of The Ruby Prince had coddled the Ulfen vikingr, often sparing him the unrelenting barrage of the sun's malice. That the Palace of the Forthbringer played host to several ice elemental tended gardens only served to enhance the brute's general unpreparedness for the many hardships the deserts beyond had to offer. He longed for the tundras of his homelands; the snow choked taiga and ice rimed mountains; to shed the loose, womanly garb of these desert dwellers and wrap himself once more in the furs and trophies of glorious hunts. You weep as a child for homelands. Stop sniveling, Sigurdson, and own your path; it is you that chose it.
Eto's thick and tan stone walls loomed on the horizon, shimmering and swaying as the rays of light bent and danced over the distant dunes. It might have been thought a mirage by some, though the steady line of caravans into and out of the city made missing it all but impossible. At long last, they had arrived.
An entire caravan attempting to fight its way through the gate seemed a hopeless endeavor. Besides, Thorgrim's term of service had expired with this lot. Arriving at Eto unmolested and with goods intact absolved the mountain of an Ulfen from further responsibilities to both caravan and employers. He was glad of it. These people he traveled with were pretentious and shrewd to a fault. Middling merchants at best attempting to cater to a clientele beyond their ken. Had Thorgrim not believed their honeyed words when they made ready to leave Sothis, he would likely have avoided the trip altogether. But they compensated well; a new pouch full of fifty gold measures hung with a satisfying weight from his thick belt.
Gaining admittance into the city was a nightmare in and of itself, even after having departed his caravan with a welcome finality. Those tasked with guarding the gates were exceptionally thorough to the point of annoyance. Likely an attempt to elicit bribes—a prospect Thorgrim refused to be party to. The murmur and buzz of crowds poorly contained all throughout the streets was an affront to him. He had not seen so many gathered since... since the Fire-Bleeder laid waste to tens of thousands of refugees at the Ruby Prince's behest. What diverted the Spawn's rage? Had it simply lost interest? Thorgrim had stood ready to meet his second death that day—a death that any vikingr would have been proud of. It mattered not now. He had finally severed whatever sense of morality tethered him to the half-ruined Stormhaven, though the experiences of the last four years still weighed heavily on his mind...
<< | >>
...The times following Xotani's departure proved to be little improvement over the beast's thankfully-short rampage. Some fires were difficult to fully extinguish. The fires of betrayal most of all. As if the loss of lives on the scale of tens of thousands was not tragedy enough, those of depraved disposition sought to capitalize quickly on the Spawn's departure. The looting, killing, and raping was so rampant as to be unmanageable. What remained of the Risen Guard rallied around the twin heirs, though the days that followed would not see any sharing Khemet's blood returning to power. The de facto council that emerged to try and restore peace and order to the streets was commendable, though sorely undermanned for the task before them. Thorgrim reveled in his freedom from the pact forced upon him by Khemet III's servants, but his heart sank at the horrors that yet occurred in the city. For much time, he busied himself protecting those who could not protect themselves, often bringing his considerable strength to bear against those that intended harm to their fellows in desperate times. In time, the council came to depend on he and many others to return a measure of calm to Sothis; a long, grueling, and nightmarish enterprise...
<< | | | >>
Pushing through the streets with a soured look on his face, Thorgrim is a sight to behold—though maybe not as much so as the towering Mwangi woman he spies ahead. Surrounded by a sea of chest-high hagglers and rakes, the Ulfen elects to swing the considerable length of his sheathed greatsword in such a manner that the weapon is suspended horizontally across his lower back. His thick left elbow rests along the sheath just shy of the ebon cross-guard. This serves his purpose well, and forces a small buffer around the huge form of Sigurdson, much to the chagrin of those unfortunate enough to be in the man's path as he tramples his way through the crowd. He seems intent on ignoring the constant nuisance of overeager merchants thinking him an easy mark. His eyes seem more intent on the multitude of sun-dried brick or limestone buildings that line the city's many streets. A scowl and what looks like perhaps a scoff creeps across his features as his eyes come to rest on his chosen haunt for the day—a local watering hole with a questionable name: The Mangy Gnoll.
Thorgrim begins stomping his way towards The Gnoll with little regard for those around, before, or behind him. A den of bastards and fools, no doubt, though well shaded. Damn this heat. He stoops to enter the diminutive doorway, and adjusts Dómrbrandr to a more acceptable position once again. Once inside, he removes his cream colored keffiyeh. A massive, braided mane of flaxen hair and hirsute is shaken loose of sand and sweat before the Ulfen manages to find himself a seat upon a cushion surrounding one of the few tables not completely occupied. His massive frame is ill suited for the cramped position he finds himself in, but his legs are nevertheless thankful for the relief. Glancing around the dimly lit room, his pale eyes manage to steal a glance from one of the young serving girls. "" The deep bass of his voice suits his bearing and demeanor well, and though his grasp of the Osiriani language is impressive, the harsh cut of Skald is plain for all to hear.
Strolling through the market and not really having anything catch his eye, but there is a large beast there surrounded by gawkers and he stops out of idle curiosity. Well that is certainly not something I see every day, and that woman is most striking as well. Hmm, that man seems to know exactly what it is. He must be very knowledgable, perhaps I should seek to partake of his learning. "
Spiced goat in hand, grease on chin; this small comfort from home has awakened Unafe’s old confidence and curiosity a touch. She walks slowly past a row of stalls, her gaze caught up by their largely unfamiliar wares. Eyeing a rack of colorful silk, Unafe realizes she’s gotten used to the space that people were giving her when a man intrudes upon it.
"Hello, I'm Nexander Davramputi. I couldn't help but notice that you seem to be new here, and that you are accompanied by a magnificent specimen of Spinosaurus aegyptiacus. Might I enquire how you came to be its master? Could you tell me about...her? him?"
Before Nexander speaks, her instinct is to put her hand on Yakini’s neck: the gesture she’s learned to signal that the spinosaurus is safe (for whatever good it normally does). His words surprise her though, he seems confident and relaxed around her, in a way strangers never do.
”Nexander Davramputi,” she repeats slowly as she tries to make sense of him. ”I am Unafe Mbili-Moyo. Unafe Two-Hearted in the Common tongue. This is Yakini, my bonded-companion. She...chose me when I became a shaman for my tribe, the Goapeke.”
Unafe finds she’s a bit unnerved and a bit charmed by the amber eyes that are meeting hers with such self-assurance. Do I trust him? I want to. She listens to his exchange with his companion, self-conscious that she’s intruding on something and about to decline, but finds the presence of someone who didn't flinch or frown at her too much of a curiosity. ”I would be happy to join you two, if I’m not intruding.”
Ahh, it appears that they are going to a tavern. I will follow them and maybe I can get an opportunity to introduce myself. he thinks to himself as he trails along to the Mangy Gnoll.
Zubaida's lower lip makes clear her feeling about this uncivilized Mwangi woman with her frightening beast intruding on her business with Xander, but she wants to get paid and so starts to lead the way toward the Mangy Gnoll.
Unafe hands the rest of the goat to Yakini, who swallows it skewer-and-all. Wiping her hand and chin on her orange robe, Unafe says "So you want to hear about Yakini?" The first smile Nexander has seen flashes across her face, pure joy and enthusiasm. "You recognized her. Have you ever seen a spinosaurus before? Since I left my homeland I rarely meet others who have, and I miss the thundering presence of great saurians."
She doesn't pause for an answer, and starts to seem a bit more like an excited seventeen year old than a tribal shaman. "She can swim almost as fast as she can walk, and is a fierce predator on land or sea. I can't keep her in a city for too long because she eats a lot (not that she'll eat people I don't want her too, she won't, it's just that it's expensive to be somewhere where she can't hunt). On caravan runs she helps hunt fresh food. We've both had a lot of ostrich recently."
Catching her breath, she adds, "Yakini's just a youth, you know. I knew her mother. She would've stretched from that vegetable stand all the way to that merchant with the pearl jewelry over there," she gestures, indicating a gargantuan beast at least 50' long. "Keeping her fed out here would be a whole different story! Now where are you from? How do did you recognize Yakini?"
<< | | | >>
Unafe finds she’s a bit unnerved and a bit charmed by the amber eyes that are meeting hers with such self-assurance. Do I trust him? I want to. She listens to his exchange with his companion, self-conscious that she’s intruding on something and about to decline, but finds the presence of someone who didn't flinch or frown at her too much of a curiosity. ”I would be happy to join you two, if I’m not intruding."
"Of course you're not intruding Unafe. I'm very pleased to meet you," Xander replies. He holds her gaze to the point of impropriety, and then breaks it, turning back to Zubaida and motioning her onward.
Zubaida's lower lip makes clear her feeling about this uncivilized Mwangi woman with her frightening beast intruding on her business with Xander, but she wants to get paid and so starts to lead the way toward the Mangy Gnoll.
Unafe hands the rest of the goat to Yakini, who swallows it skewer-and-all. Wiping her hand and chin on her orange robe, Unafe says "So you want to hear about Yakini?" The first smile Nexander has seen flashes across her face, pure joy and enthusiasm. "You recognized her. Have you ever seen a spinosaurus before? Since I left my homeland I rarely meet others who have, and I miss the thundering presence of great saurians."
Xander shakes his head in response to the shaman's question.
She doesn't pause for an answer, and starts to seem a bit more like an excited seventeen year old than a tribal shaman. "She can swim almost as fast as she can walk, and is a fierce predator on land or sea. I can't keep her in a city for too long because she eats a lot (not that she'll eat people I don't want her too, she won't, it's just that it's expensive to be somewhere where she can't hunt). On caravan runs she helps hunt fresh food. We've both had a lot of ostrich recently."
Catching her breath, she adds, "Yakini's just a youth, you know. I knew her mother. She would've stretched from that vegetable stand all the way to that merchant with the pearl jewelry over there," she gestures, indicating a gargantuan beast at least 50' long. "Keeping her fed out here would be a whole different story! Now where are you from? How do did you recognize Yakini?"
Xander smiles seeing that Unafe's enthusiasm matches his own. "I was born in Alkenstar, but I've spent my whole life on the move. I've never seen a spinosaurus in person before, only in books." He examines Yakini with clear awe in his face. "Yakini is better than any drawing could have prepared me for. Her mother was really that big? You must be very brave to hang around her."
Zubaida scoffs when Xander compliments Unafe. "Don't let this one charm you girl, he's too slick by half. That thing don't eat people does it?" she asks, indicating Yakini with her chin. She points to a dilapidated limestone building nearby. There is a wooden sign bearing a crude depiction of a diseased gnoll hanging above the double wooden saloon doors. The sign is bleached white from long exposure to the sun, and frequent wind and sand have made the block writing barely legible; The Mangy Gnoll. "'Cause that's The Gnoll, and I don't think Francois wants any man-eaters in his place."
Xander looks at Zubaida like she's the very definition of ignorant. "Yakini is an animal. Any animal that's trained well enough to control itself in this crowd can certainly do so in a bar. Now, lets get inside. The sun out here's got a way of makin' a man awfully thirsty."
Nexander strides down the short three-brick stairway and pushes open the swinging wooden doors. He holds one open, smiling and waving the women through with one long graceful arm. "Please, ladies first."
Moving along the upper streets, Abasi passes the various bazaars where vendors of particular items gather. Some are filled with the lowing of camels, others seem the world's greatest open air armory. Weapons and armor of all kinds can be had, from Qadiran scimitars that flame on command, to the plate armor of Taldor, specially enchantment to help its wearer survive the desert heat.
But these aren't what he is looking for, though if he had the coin a better sword would be welcome, as would an enchantment of comfort. Maybe after this next job.
A while later he finds it: Alchemist's Alley, though to be fair it is an open market like the others. Unlike the other markets, this one is off the main thoroughfares. The powers that be don't want an explosion decimating the foreigners. Bad for business.
Moving down to ground level, Abasi finds his man. Mustafa, the honest crook. Throwing wide his arms, Mustafa always greets his customers with a smile. My friend! I have found everything you asked. Horns of power, bags of shot, and even, though it cost me so dearly I will surely make loss, ingredients for the clinging fire.
Indeed, the little man made good on his boast. Everything a gunslinger needed to make his rounds, and in the quantities asked for. Now purchase them. The haggling went as these things do in the busy markets. Though it would ruin him, Mustafa would sell these to a friend, for only five times the regular price. Prices are so high, and items hard to find during this time. Abasi lamented the cruelties of fate that had left him destitute. Who else could have found raw ingredients for alchemist's fire? Unfortunately Mustafa's generous heart had been taken advantage of, the shot was misshaped and the powder too course. And so on until Mustafa cursed the skinflint foreigner who had taken advantage of his generosity, and Abasi bemoaned being left at the mercy of greedy merchants.
It wasn't his kind of fighting, and he was pretty sure the man had skinned him, but it had a charm of its own, once you learned how it was played.
With only a few coins left to get him through the next couple days, Abasi made his way back to the main markets where the expeditions would be making last minute hires.
Grabbing a few pastries and a skin of nectar from a stall, Abasi heads way back to the rooftops. Finding a empty roof still shaded by taller buildings, legs swinging over the edge, he idly watching the crowd while enjoying his meal.
A group has gathered around a tall Mwangi woman and one of the great jungle reptiles. Another thing you never see in the wastes.
Several people, more unusual than most, seem to be heading into a building nearby. The massive Ulfan in particular commands attention. There's a man I wouldn't want to get in arms reach of. Wonder what brought him here?
As a Tien man passes nearby, Abasi calls out to him. What brings you here friend?
|
Marcus arrives in Eto, hot and drenched in sweat, with only the clothes on his back. He was suddenly bereft of the usual tools of his trade. He was hot, hunger and without his alchemical supplies; it was remarkable he survived.
He wanders a crowded street casually despite his apparent fatigue. He was hoping to hopefully supplicate a good good natured soul in these crowed streets for a drink of water. He wasn't dying of thirst, fortunately, but another day deprived of such necessities would leave him in very dire straits.
But unfortunately, he did attract the attentions of some brigands in an alley sparse with healthy and moral bodies. Had he had his wits about him, he would have noticed it was a darker sort of place overshadowed by a small brick crossing over top. He desired shade. He couldn't help himself.
Two surly men, one muscular and tall with a baseline frown on his face and another slightly better dressed man whom was slighter and less tan, spotted the unfortunate and tired soul. The bigger man stopped Marcus with a forceful, open-palmed push just before he made it past the crossing.
The slimmer of the two spoke up first, "Where you going buddy?"
Marcus responded with an exhausted yet desperate raspiness in his voice, "Please sir. I'm hungry, thirsty and have nothing. There is nothing you can rob me of that has any value. Please let me go."
The bigger of the two signals to Marcus's shoes by pointing and the slimmer gent takes it as his cue, "Those look pricey. Clean the sand out of those and you can fetch a fair price. Maybe if you leave those with us, you'll leave you and you'll be on your way?"
******
Thought this would be a good way to get thing rolling. :P
After some time Sarthos stops to watch a feisty merchant present his newest sensation.
The small man waves around what seems to be a short iron bar. Whenever the onlooking crowd reaches a respectable size, he starts to transform into various tools. "Fresh from magical Nex, this is what you all waited for. Tired of carrying shovel, hammer and pickaxe to work? Fear you forgot to bring what you need? No more! Buy one of the fabled Any-Tools today and never worry about pesky those details again! ... "
Watching amused as the merchant twists what had been a, admittedly slightly pitiful looking, pickaxe only moments ago into a small nutcracker, the monk almost gets tripped by the considerable backwash of people hastily jumping out of the unwavering path of a heavily armed and armored foreign giant.
Catching himself just before tumbling into the next row of onlookers, he turns to watch the northmen vanish into a cheap tavern.
Currently again playing with the idea to wander north and always intrigued to get better impressions about other cultures, he decides to leave the presentation be and try to get acquainted with the man. And who knows, maybe he would also find something to eat inside.
Entering the location and finding the common room almost as crowded as the streets outside, only darker and enriched with even questionable smells, he's suddenly not that sure anymore if this was the best idea.
The hulk was easy enough to find though, sitting at the only not completely overcrowded table and loudly bellowing a serving maid in strangely accented Osirian.
The monk mirrors the warriors order, though in a more quite fashion and then turns towards the big man. "Greetings. Pardon me asking so frankly, but may I inquire where your accent is from?"
It's good to be led by someone who knows her way around, even though Zubaida doesn't seem thrilled about her company. Even more so, it's good to have a kind face and friendly chatter beside her as folks stare and pull their children back from her along the walk. They seem so intent on reminding me that this isn't my home. As if I need reminders.
When they get to The Mangy Gnoll,
Zubaida scoffs when Xander compliments Unafe. "Don't let this one charm you girl, he's too slick by half. That thing don't eat people does it?" she asks, indicating Yakini with her chin. She points to a dilapidated limestone building nearby. There is a wooden sign bearing a crude depiction of a diseased gnoll hanging above the double wooden saloon doors. The sign is bleached white from long exposure to the sun, and frequent wind and sand have made the block writing barely legible; The Mangy Gnoll. "'Cause that's The Gnoll, and I don't think Francois wants any man-eaters in his place."
Unafe opens her mouth, hesitating a second trying to get her words right, and Nexander has already replied, defending Yakini. Thanks, she thinks to herself, though honestly I was kind of hoping The Gnoll would have some outdoor seating myself. Hopefully we don't cause too much of a stir!
Nexander strides down the short three-brick stairway and pushes open the swinging wooden doors. He holds one open, smiling and waving the women through with one long graceful arm. "Please, ladies first."
Unafe follows Zubaida into the inn, and takes in the scene. The smell of unfamiliar food competes with the musty odor of too many sweaty, dusty people all cramped together. Unsurprisingly, there isn't a single empty table around.
There's an obvious murmur when Unafe and Yakini enter. She puts her hand on Yakini's neck, drawing her close, and tries to stand taller in the face of the stares rather than shrink inward. I want to get out of this doorway, she thinks, scanning for a bench with room for a few more...and for faces that seem like they might accept their company.
Zubaida says, "C'mon giant girl. This way," jostling her way past the crowded tables towards the bar. Xander steps in behind the women and gives Unafe a reassuring smile, nodding at her to follow Zubaida. The young hooker leads the shaman and the rogue to the cheap, cracked wooden surface that serves as the bar in The Gnoll. All the stools are full of sweaty dark skinned men, sitting shoulder to shoulder bent over clay pots of arak. The bartender is a pale skinned man with mounds of shoulder length, curly, platinum blonde hair. He has a short mustache and large silver loops in the lobes of his ears. He's wearing sweat-soaked Taldan clothing open at all the buttons and seams. His back is to the bar as he's grabbing a bottle off a shelf. Though he looks dirty and his clothes are torn and old, he moves with the grace and strength of a skilled swordsman.
Zubaida calls out over the drinkers' shoulders, "Hey, Francois!" The bartender immediately turns around. When he sees Zubaida he smiles, and takes in the two black giants and the dinosaur behind her. "You three, piss off. Now," he says to three of the men at the bar, waving his hands at them in a shooing motion. The men look up at him, surprised. Then look back down at their unfinished drinks. "I said, piss off," Francois reiterates in a dangerous tone. The three men start grumbling amongst themselves in Keleshite. They get up and leave, shooting venomous glares at Francois and three usurpers of their seats.
Xander immediately lounges onto one of the stools, nodding and smiling to Francois. Zubaida sits down on the stool next to him, leaving the third stool for Unafe. The Osiriani girl says, "These are a couple of new friends I picked up out by the gate. Just got into town, looking for a place to stay and maybe some work if I don't miss my mark. But first Xander, this fine gentleman here, owes me and this giant girl a drink."
Xander holds up his hands in a "you got me" gesture and smiling says, "That I do. That I do. What'll it be ladies? What've you got besides arak?" He looks at the three abandoned clay mugs dubiously, remembering his last experience with the liquor.
"Ah. Bonjour, welcome to Ze Gnoll. We 'ave mead, arak, Andoran whiskey and fermented camel's milk. I am Francois." His heavy Taldan accent is only exaggerated by the foppish half-bow he offers his newest customers. "Please, make yourselves comfortable."
Making room for the newcomer, Thorgrim shifts his considerable weight off to one side to avoid the awkwardness of rubbing elbows as the new arrival takes his seat. For a time, the massive Ulfen seems as if he is choosing to ignore the question the Osiriani posed him. His pale blue eyes stare with the oppressive intensity of a blizzard at the tanned monk that has elected to share his table. He remains silent as his mind slowly tries to decide what Sarthos intends. The man did not possess the bearing of a merchant. Nor did he strike Thorgrim as a warrior. The strange marks that scored his body vex the vikingr. A heretic of some sort? Not that such a thing would concern him, for the ways of Osirion were not his to keep. Finally, after prolonged pause, Thorgrim deigns to speak. ""
A hint of a smile splits the northman's face, and he claps the smaller man on the shoulder with his enormous left hand. Despite his attempt to carry on a private conversation, the words bursting out of his cavernous lungs seem incapable of discretionary volume. It seems likely that his words will be shared with the entire bar, whether intentional or otherwise. "" Now having spoken a fair deal more, it is certain that the Ulfen has likely spent a great deal of time in Osirian. Though the trappings of his native tongue hang heavy on his words yet, the intricacies of Sothis' dialect permeates his speech as well. Judging from the correctness and pain he takes to enunciate plainly, it is likely he has spent much time among the more affluent members of the half ruined Stormhaven.
Unafe moves to the empty stool at Nexander's left. She persuades Yakini to curl up at the base of her stool...which in turn inspires the Thuvian couple next to her to abandon their seats, spilling mead in their rush to get away from the monster at their feet. "Hurry dear! Now!!"
Unafe shrugs and takes her seat, realizing how sore her feet are. Zubaida says to Francois, "Andoran whiskey," and with a smile adds, "thanks to my generous patron." Unafe had shared fermented camel milk with Hisdelah on the caravan. It was alright, but she still preferred the taste of the palm wine the Goapeke fermented. She decides to try something new and follow the Osirion's lead, saying "An-dor-an whiskey for me as well." She has heard of Andoran before, but can't quite remember much about it. Turning to Nexander, "Andoran. Is that where the yellow-haired barbarians come from? I heard tales as a girl, but they all seem to blend together."
When the whiskey arrives she takes a drink -- and shudders violently, spitting a bit back into her cup. Zubaida busts up laughing, pounding the bar with one open hand, until Xander's glare cuts her short. More cautiously the second time, Unafe sips the fiery liquid. She can't quite decide if she likes the smokey taste, but as she drinks more finds she likes the heat she feels rising in her cheeks.
"You called me brave earlier. Thank you. We have to be, we Goapeke I mean. I...bravery wasn't enough. The saurians weren't enough. I..." She starts to get lost, looking down into her cup. For a long moment she's back in her village, only everything's burnt and broken, and she's scared to look inside the huts. Maybe that's not what happened though. Maybe they got away...She shakes her head. "I'm sorry. What's the matter with me? I'm sorry, I don't know you. I'm fine." Composing herself again, "Come on, tell me more about these books with pictures of spinosaurus. Are there ones with pictures of the Avistan too? And Tian Xia? That's something I'd like to see."
"Make that three, and water for all," Xander says to Francois. He watches as the Taldan man twirls behind the bar and reaches down to retrieve a dusty glass bottle. He wipes it off with a rag before setting out three small glasses and pouring the drinks. "Andoran is a country across the Inner Sea. It's home to many different kind of people, not all of them are barbarous," the bard replies to Unafe.
Xander sips his whiskey with relish, listening to Unafe's next query. "Stating the truth should not require thanks. There are books about everything. I've read more of them than I can remember. The book with the spinosaurus was the journal of a Pathfinder naturalist about his expedition into the Mwangi Expanse. I like animals, but I mostly like to read about magic. Tell me, are you a spellcaster?"
Not sure if he might have spoken to fast for the foreigner or if his question hit a sore spot, Sarthos dully endures the Ulfens stare. Unfamiliar with Avistan customs and hoping not to offend, he neither tries to find nor to avoid the big mans stare.
A task that easier thought than done, this ends with him awkwardly looking at the giant sword instead of the man.
After a few moments of silence his attention is then diverged by the newly entering dinosaur, a vicious kind he once had the 'luck' to encounter before.
Someone having the guts and ability to bring one of those beasts, even a small one, into a town? He was not sure if that should demand his respect or make him doubt the handlers sanity. We'll just have to hope that no one gets the brilliant idea to annoy the animal...
Then the sudden, foreign outburst snaps his attention back to the man next to him.
He follows the short utterance with a mixture of fascination and incomprehension showing on his face, making it clear that he understands nothing of it.
Not sure if the northmen noticed his inability to follow, he already thinks about making his ignorance known when the big man suddenly pats him on the shoulder and switches to quite formidable Osirian.
Glad to seemingly having avoided a faux pas, he answers in a more measured tone.
"I'm but a simple wanderer on the search of enlightenment, hailing from the mountain city of Tar Kuata. My name's Sorthis. While my home is not that far removed from here, I've traveled most of Garund and only recently returned to Osirian. As of yet I sadly had no chance to visit your home, or any of Avistan really." He makes a short break, not sure how to best confess his ignorance. "The Thanelands are one of the northern kingdoms, right? I've always thought the Ulfen people mostly hailed from the Lands of the Linnorm Kings?"
As a Tien man passes nearby, Abasi calls out to him. What brings you here friend?
Following the man, ladies and beastm Wu almost misses the comment directed to him. But he does hear it and stops to address the man who spoke.
"Greetings sir, I am but a humble caravan guard watching the variety we see present in this bustling town. "
Looking over his shoulder at the departing source of his recent interest, then turning back to the man.
"I overheard what appears to be a scholar discussing that impressive beast and felt I might increase my knowledge. I was about to rush after him before you spoke. But I must thank you. I had misplaced some wisdom of my master. 'Nature does not hurry, yet everything is accomplished.' I have never properly learned the patience he endeavored to teach me. If I am to learn from that man it will be so. If I am not, it will also be so.
"For now it appears I am to speak with you since you have singled me out from the crowd. I see you are bearing some of those firearms. I recently had work about Alkenstar. Is that from whence you hail? I never found the time to study the use of such tools. "
Not long after the front end of the caravan arrives in Eto does the rear end of the very same caravan pass through the gates of Eto, causing a stir amongst those near it. Arriving amongst numerous silk-laden, umbrella-covered camels is a group of well-to-do men and women lead by a man in his early-fifties dressed in khaki pants and matching tunic. His greying black, receeding hair is combed to the side, and his prim-and-proper face sports grey sideburns and a thick black mustache. Sitting in a holster on the camel sits a fancy cane that, if someone looks closely enough, resembles the hilt of a small pistol. He sits on his camel, seemingly unaffected by the searing heat and looks around casually at the onlookers.
Walking next to him on foot is a slightly younger, but still in his mid-thirties, Khelish man dressed in full steel lamellar armor carrying a massive glaive-guisarme in his hands. He sports a grey turban on his head and a long, black mustache, and has a no-nonsense look on his face.
However, what stands most out amongst this group is the being sitting on an adjacent camel - this humanoid creature's taut, green shell extents like a cowl from chinto brow, wreathing a face of brilliant flower petals not unlike the design of a Sun Orchid. Her female frame is covered by loose, white flowing robes that barely conceal the green, plant-like being underneath. Hanging from her head look be two long vines of braided 'hair' that reach down just below her shoulders. For those few aware of such a being, this woman is a Ghoran - a species of intelligent, humanoid plants first grown and nurtured by a renegade druid from Nex to serve as a food source. Ultimately, they evolved sentience and ambulatory bodies mimicking the appearance of their human farmers and consumers. Some are still eaten in Nex as a delicacy thanks to the delicious taste of their flesh, though the tradition is considered to be borderline cannibalism, and few practice it in the modern day and age.
As the group enters the city and passes through the streets, those nearby can hear rumormongering amongst both the natives and foreigners alike. Supposedly, the man leading the group is known as "Doctor Pinkerton", a 'fancy-pants rich-man' from what used to be Ustalav. Though his reputation seems to be colorful at best, he is well known for one thing in particular - he pays well with Ustalavan gold and platinum.
Not long after Dr. Pinkerton's passage, three men follow suit. These men stand out from the crowd thanks to their thick, black robes that they wear, in stark contrast to the colorful, light clothing of many of the locales and the armored-forms of many of the foreigners. Each carries a wickedly spiked black mace on their belt and their faces are concealed by iron masks. They keep a fair distance from Dr. Pinkerton's entourage, but follow it regardless.
_____________________
The Hand wanders towards the Mangy Gnoll where he is sure he may find cheaper nourishment, or maybe even a new contract to move him farther west. As he moves through the dark twisting alleys and squalid overrun streets he came upon an all too familiar scene. Men surrounding another man, because they thought him weaker, because they thought they could take what they want. That just would not do. this is Osirion, Land of the ancient laws, land of the first rulers, home of the Pharaoh, and these where inviolate. "عقد. ليس لدي وقت لنضيعه في انتظار السلطات المختصة، حتى أنها قد تؤدي الى ازالة يديك. ولذا فإنني سوف تعطيك خيار، وترك أو يموت."
The larger of the two looked confused, the smaller even more so. "Speak common, we don't understand you." But the intent was clear. You didn't have to understand a language to understand the sound of a blade clearing its sheath. "Ok Ok, he is yours. We don't want trouble." They began backing away from the aggressive new comer and soon disappeared in to the surrounding crowded mass of humanity. Without looking down at the newly saved Marcus the Hand continues on his way, sheathing his blade as he walks. Ever onward towards his goal.
"Tell me, are you a spellcaster?"
Unafe pauses, then answers slowly as though she herself is considering each sentence. ”I am of the Goapeke. We are the Dwellers With The Great Saurians. As a shaman of the Goapeke, it’s my duty to serve my people, and to protect the great balance. To help me do so, I’ve been invested with some measure of power -- including the ability to cast spells -- by the mwongozi: the spirits of my ancestors and of the great saurians who dwell beside us, and by great Gorzeh himself, who first taught Namane the Founder to dwell in peace with the wild saurians in the days before Starfall.”
She continues silently to herself, I am also one of the Two-Hearted, but my Ancestor Heart -- the memories and gifts of the ancestor who's bound to me -- didn't materialize when it should have, and now my people are scattered and I am lost and responsible and need to make things right. This time though her face is composed, not betraying any of her recriminations.
Unafe finishes her whiskey and starts in on her water. "And you? I know of mages who learn magic from books. Is that what you are?"
A heartbeat later she adds, "I can read too you know. People here think none of us can, that none of us understand the Common tongue. The Goapeke don't have many books, but I've read every one of them. Old Aye has an illuminated copy of Asi Jelhaddin's Taxonomy Of The Natural And Mystical Beasts of Avistan written in Common, and I must've read it a hundred times."
As they exchange stories Unafe hears Zubaida start to tap and bounce her glass on the bar in a pointed display of boredom, as she sees this conversation going further from her interests (or profits).
__________
Abasi perks up at the mentioned of his country. "It is. 2nd waste regiment 'Kraken's bane', 7th scout company 'The Rock Snakes', deep recon squad. Name's Abasi."
Looking over at the giant reptile, You're right about the saurian. I've heard stories, even seen a few bones, but never one in the flesh. They say in the jungle those things get as tall as castles and will shallow a man whole. Wonder if they're true.
Gesturing next to him, Come and shares some nectar. It's a better view from here and I wouldn't mind the company. A caravan is supposed to be passing through soon. A rich man from the other side of the Inner Sea. If you're looking for work, word is he'll be hiring for an expedition to the ruins and paying well in gold. That's what I'm waiting for. It's also an easier way to follow her if you're interested. The upper streets are less crowded than the lower.
As the caravan passes by, Abasi points to the well-dressed man on the camel. Bet that's the one paying. Wonder where he's from? See that one green one. That's a Ghoran. People say the Arclords eat them at celebrations. With a chuckle he looks at the Tien man, You probably know more about this than I do, seeing how you've done this before and traveled far. This will be my first major expedition outside of Alkenstar. So, wise one, what can you tell me of foreign explorers and plants that talk?
Noticing the three masked men, What do you make of that? Haven't seen any like that around here.
And you? I know of mages who learn magic from books. Is that what you are?
"Sort of. I think you're referring to wizards, who write down their spells in books and need to memorize them each morning. They can learn many different kinds of spells because of that. I can only do a few kinds of things, but I don't need to memorize anything. I just use the power of my voice. Watch," Xander replies. He holds up his hand, palm up and says, "Red, yellow, blue, I summon you."
At the conclusion of his short rhyme, three orange-sized balls of colored light bloom into existence in his hand. He flexes three times in a tossing motion and the balls take to the air. He holds two fingers up like a gun and says, "Pew! Pew! Pew!" "shooting" various corners of the room. Every time he "shoots" one of the balls goes flying off towards that corner of the room. Then he turns the two fingers which formed the "barrel" of the "gun" upwards and makes a "come hither" gesture. The balls come zipping back to balance themselves on top of his fingers in a wobbly tower. Xander flicks them up into the air, then makes an absentminded gesture, not unlike he's turning the pages of a book, except with his palm turned upwards. The balls begin to juggle themselves, "pushed" onward through the loop by each swipe of his fingers. He's grinning now, getting into his little show. He waggles his eyebrows mischievously at Zubaida before pointing at her. He makes a soft caressing motion tracing the lines of her body in the air with his fingers. The glowing balls twirl down around her ankles, before whirling up her body, skimming along her skin. The lights pass under her whispy excuse for clothing and up over her curves, before bursting out of her hair to orbit in a tight halo over her head.
With a chuckle Xander snaps his fingers and the lights disappear. Zubaida looks caught between consternation and being turned on. She opens her mouth a couple times like a fish out of water, but then just closes it and points to her empty cup.
Francois was watching the show with a grin, and steps in to refill Zubaida's drink. "Guess you owe her anozer mon friend," he says chuckling.
Xander just shrugs, laughing, but he doesn't do anything to stop Francois. He turns back to Unafe. "I can do a few other things, but they aren't very showy, and as a rule I don't like to waste magical energy. What kinds of spells can the Goapeke do?"
Unafe is thoroughly caught up in Xander's play of lights, on the edge of her chair as the balls dance about the room, and laughing as they play up Zubaida's curves.
"Hmmm, what can I show you...?" Seconds later her face lights up. With a broad mischievous grin she touches the large spinosaurus tooth by her neckline, draws her arms quickly upward in Xander's direction, and says "Na babu yangu, Mvua!"...and a sudden downpour appears directly over Xander's head, drenching him for a few seconds before disappearing. Before it's even begun she's doubled over with a barking, breathless laugh, struggling not to fall off of her seat.
Zubaida spits her drink out on the counter in surprise, and pushes herself back to avoid getting rained on herself. As Zubaida laughs at the prank, Unafe thinks she detects a smile directed her way for the first time since they've met.
Francois stands with his mouth ajar for a moment, and then shakes his head and begins to wipe the counter, saying "Zat could be handy when I have to clean up after all of zees ruffians...until zen, let's keep ze rain outside, eh?"
When Unafe is finally able to rein in her delight in her own prank, she composes herself again and says, "I know many other kinds of spells as well. For a shaman at my level of mastery, I know all that my ancestors have to offer; no book could teach me more, though they will reveal more to me as I become ready. Each morning when communing with my ancestors, I ask for the spells I most need that day."
Looking at Xander she starts to snort again, then pulls herself back together, smiling. "Most of the time, I use my power to heal people, or to summon animals to aid me. Other times I use it to call the undergrowth to rise up, entangling whoever stands there -- or to illuminate people, even invisible ones, with a fae glow. Or, you know, to create water."
Xander fake pouts for a second and then shakes himself wildly like a dog, spraying droplets of water all over Zubaida and Unafe. It's his turn to grin as the girls are soaked with the dirty water streaming off his travel dusted hair. "Thanks Unafe, it's been like two weeks since I had a bath. That's a damned useful skill to have in the desert, girl. It sounds to me like you're what they call a druid in the common tongue. That would explain your bond with Yakini as well." Xander reaches up and slicks back his frayed, wet braids. "Did you come to Eto to find work too?" he asks the druid, downing his whiskey and his cup of water, then holding both out to Francois for a refill.
Seeing his destination ahead of him, the hand redoubles his push through the crowded streets sweeping nobles and peasants alike from his way. Some look as if they would give protest, but they all stop and ignore the interruption as soon as they see they markings of the Khemet the III's Risen Guard. Though not all are sure if the Hand is what he appears most wisely err on the side of caution.
Dust stirs as the Hand pushes through the door to the Mangy Gnoll. What blasphemous names they allow in this city. Why they have not burned this place to the ground is beyond my knowledge. The Hand strides to the bar, glancing only momentarily at the strange foreigners and their pet. Choosing to stand rather than subject the furniture to the weight of a fully armored man, the Hand waits momentarily for the owners attention. As he comes over the Osirian says just loudly enough to be heard by the people around him."المياه لإرواء عطشي. الذين هنا سيكون في حاجة الى حارس شخصي وتملك المال لدفع."
Waiting for his water to arrive the Osirian stares out at the collected crowd of people, wondering if any of these perspectives would be worth working for.
Abasi perks up at the mentioned of his country. "It is. 2nd waste regiment 'Kraken's bane', 7th scout company 'The Rock Snakes', deep recon squad. Name's Abasi."
"I am pleased to meet you Abasi. I am Wu Cheng. I have traveled far from my land of Minkai. Once I was affiliated with a monastery there, but it is no longer. " he replies. It is fairly obvious that the topic is not one he likes to think about as his normally serene composure hardens at the mention of his homeland.
Looking over at the giant reptile, You're right about the saurian. I've heard stories, even seen a few bones, but never one in the flesh. They say in the jungle those things get as tall as castles and will shallow a man whole. Wonder if they're true.
Relieved to be taken from the discussion of his background, he engages in the conversation "As big as a castle? Are they magical then? I must assume an arcane background for anything which could grow that large. It does not seem that a process of nature could create such a thing without the aid of magic. "
Gesturing next to him, Come and shares some nectar. It's a better view from here and I wouldn't mind the company. A caravan is supposed to be passing through soon. A rich man from the other side of the Inner Sea. If you're looking for work, word is he'll be hiring for an expedition to the ruins and paying well in gold. That's what I'm waiting for. It's also an easier way to follow her if you're interested. The upper streets are less crowded than the lower.
Wu Scrambles up to the rooftops without any trouble and takes a seat beside his new acquaintance. "I humbly thank you for your offer. As my master said 'Opportunities multiply when they are seized'. He gazes out over the throng "You are most wise. This is truly an advantageous vantage point. Perhaps that giant Ulfen could see over the crowd, but my view from the street was quite limited.
With a chuckle he looks at the Tien man, You probably know more about this than I do, seeing how you've done this before and traveled far. This will be my first major expedition outside of Alkenstar. So, wise one, what can you tell me of foreign explorers and plants that talk?
As the caravan passes by, Abasi points to the well-dressed man on the camel. [b]Bet that's the one paying. Wonder where he's from? See that one green one. That's a Ghoran. People say the Arclords eat them at celebrations.
Looking aghast "You say the plants are intelligent and can talk, yet the people eat them? That is barbaric. This world is plagued with many evils my new friend. It puts a weight upon my soul to hear of another such evil, even if such a small one.
As for my travels, yes they have been far, but they began like yours. As the master used to say 'Even the longest journey begins with but a single step'. I have great faith you will see much before you are done.
Noticing the three masked men, What do you make of that? Haven't seen any like that around here.
"I do not know what to make of them. I still new to Osirion. While I have picked up the local language, I still am not familiar with the various groups which operate here. May it be that it is part of their belief system. There are many gods and many beliefs in this world after all. "
Sarthos' dialect, while still clearly Osiriani, is a bit faster than Thorgrim is typically used to listening to. As his thin golden brows furrow, his eyes remain intensely focused on the other man's face, likely paying close attention to how Sarthos mouths his words so as not to lose their meaning. His response comes after a brief pause, and it is clear the gears in his head are turning sluggishly as he processes the man's speech. Low Osiriani had always sounded rushed; words blurred together or were lost in slang he had seldom heard. He does retain at least the bare basics of the intended words, however, and nods slowly—a poor attempt to disguise his poor pace with the language—before offering response. ""
Resting his hands palm down behind him to support his bulk, Thorgrim leans back and allows a nostalgic look to wash over his face. "" Commotion overtakes the inn, heads turning and straining to catch a glimpse of an incoming caravan. Thorgrim finds himself curious as well, and jerks his head towards the entryway, indicating to Sarthos that he intends to investigate. "" Lumbering to his feet and pressing through to the exterior of the inn once more, Thorgrim shields his eyes with a thick hand to afford clear vision of the approaching caravan and masked-robed pursuers.
Those familiar with tracking notice that she walks very slowly with a strangely gliding gait. While her long robes obscure tracks she leaves in the sand, the remains seem more like wavy lines than footprints.
A tall woman in black silk desert robes slides from the back of a nervous camel, it's head pulling at the bridle a young boy holds in his hand. Oblivious to the beast yanking the boy into the air, she glides on tiny footsteps toward the Mangy Gnoll. Traffic in the street comes to an immediate halt as horses and camels alike struggle against their bits, legs trembling as they refuse to move. Oblivious, she enters the cool shade of the Gnoll while drovers attempt to calm the beasts and traffic eventually continues.
With eyes downcast, Alhandra takes a seat at a table beside one of the open windows while passively gazing around the room. Reaching out to the water pipe in the center of the table, she removes a pinch of pesh from her belt pouch as a servant comes running with a burning ember. For long minutes she is absorbed in the strong narcotic smoke, only partially dissipated by the open window beside her. Resting the half full pipe on the table beside her arm, her lazy eyes continue to study those in the room.
As the smell of pesh smoke fills the air of the tavern, Xander's gaze is magnetically drawn to the strange enshrouded Vudrani woman sitting near one of the windows. I always preferred flayleaf, but I might have to get in on that. He doesn't get up from his stool, having just asked Unafe a question, but he's clearly distracted by the newcomer. "Just a sec' 'Nafe, he says. Drawing with his hands in the air he mutters, "Luminous being burning bright, help a brother out, aight?."
Across the room a glowing vaguely humanoid outline appears next to Alahandra's table. Xander flicks his fingers like a puppeteer manipulating the strings of a marionette and the the glowing figure leans over the mermaid's table. It waves one hand in front of her face, and then stands up straight. It makes a 'follow me' beckoning motion insistently. The illusion steps back a pace and repeats the motion. If the strange woman follows the glowing figure it leads her to the bar. Sitting in one of the stools next to Unafe, it pats the other empty stool with one glowing hand, offering Alahandra a seat.
Xander speaks to the woman in Vudrani, "लेकिन मैं मदद नहीं अपने भोग नोटिस सकता है. आप हमारे साथ बैठना पसंद करेंगे?"
Alhandra lazily looks at the apparition, unsurprised at it's presence.
An auspicious day. I finally catch up to the doctor as the leaf of sight reveals a messenger from the heavens. Let us see what this guide has to show us.
Rising sinuously from her chair, Alhandra follows the spirit with slow gliding steps. Something difficult to pinpoint seems odd about the young woman. While exceedingly beautiful, she radiates an aura of wrongness and danger that makes you question the wisdom of having anything to do with her.
Stopping before the men at the bar, she says to Xander, "मैं अपने तीसरे नेत्र से आप के लिए निर्देशित कर रहा हूँ. क्या संदेश आप सहन करते हैं और क्या प्रयोजन के लिए मुझे फोन कर रहा हूँ?"
Nexander snaps his fingers and the glowing apparition disappears. "आप सामाजिकता का उद्देश्य के लिए कहा जाता है. जीभ के आंदोलन को कई अवसरों के लिए दरवाजे खोल सकते हैं. आप देख सकते हैं, मैं हमारे आपसी शिक्षा के उद्देश्य के लिए अजीब और सुंदर जीव की एक अस्थायी पिंजरा सभा रहा हूँ," he replies to Alhandra, sweeping his hand over Zubaida, Unafe and Yakini. "आप आम बोलते हैं?" Xander is leaning back on his stool to look past Unafe, openly scrutinizing Alhandra. Wonder what she's hiding inside those robes? I've only read about people openly smoking pesh in Katapesh. Last time I smoke that shit I was f*&+ed up for three days!
"It sounds to me like you're what they call a druid in the common tongue. That would explain your bond with Yakini as well."
Unafe nods, "I know the term. I actually lived for a month with the desert druids outside of Duwwor, about six months back. It was remarkable how much we have in common, though there were a few interesting differences."
"Did you come to Eto to find work too?"
Unafe looks down at her cup, wishing there was more of this Andoran whiskey in it. Francois seems to notice and pours her another. "I’m here looking for...," she begins, still looking at her glass. She takes another drink and allows herself a long silence before speaking again. While she’s trying and failing to find the right words, she notices the entrance of a Vudrani woman with an unsettling presence.
"Just a sec' 'Nafe, he says. Drawing with his hands in the air he mutters, "Luminous being burning bright, help a brother out, aight?."
As the Vudrani approaches, Unafe tries to put her finger on what’s out of place about her but gets nowhere. She's surprised when Yakini stirs from her sleep, raising her long scaly maw to hiss at her -- an uncharacteristic hostility that Unafe quiets with a scolding touch.
Unafe stares openly as the woman and Nexander chat until she realizes who this woman reminds her of: When Unafe was 14 a Bekyar Juju shaman came through the Goapeke’s valley on a pilgrimage. He stayed a fortnight exchanging stories with Old Aye. Unafe had told Aye that the man seemed off somehow, like he didn't belong in this world. Old Aye had explained that a Juju shaman was not like the saurian shamans of the Goapeke; where we were tied to the natural world, they were bound to something deeply unnatural. This Vudrani was no Juju shaman, yet she had something of their air.
______________
After drinking through a glass of water, and paying the exorbitant price for such a valuable liquid, the Hand stands taller. Noticing his earlier comment has fallen on deaf ears he tries for a more direct and less subtle approach. He bellows out to the crowd."أنا صباحا ال يد ثابتة من طنطا. أنا بحث عن عمل حارسا شخصيا. الذي لديه هنا الحاجة إلى درع قوي؟"
The Hand stands there, staring out at the collected people, waiting for someone to step forward. The muscles in his arms knotting in preparation, ready to pull his armaments if need be.
The scarred man listens with visible interest, scars twitching as he tries not to stumble over the many foreign words the Ulfen combines with his still quite thick accent. He can't help but nod when the topic comes to snow. It was indeed quite long that he last saw some. Or actually, did he ever? He couldn't put his finger on any occasion, but the feeling of walking through soft coldness remained as a half forgotten memory.
Thorgrims sudden distraction pulls him out of his musing. He turns his head towards the door "That indeed looks like something is happening. After you my friend." He makes way to let the massive Ulfen stand up more easily and follows, still more interested in the mans stories than whatever causes the commotion among all to easy exited festival goers.
Near the door his attention is once again diverted by the sudden appearance of a glowing phantasm, seemingly beckoning a woman towards the bar.
While the magic trick was just unexpected and not worth more than one sight, he can't help but watch the girl for a few more seconds. Her black, tightly closed robes must be hell out in the sun, not to mention that they probably catch half the dessert when walking. What really put him off for moment was the strange, wavy way she seemed to walk, though he couldn't put his finger on of what it reminded him of.
A lot of strange figures out today, he thinks to himself when finally stepping through the door.
Shading his eyes from the sudden brightness of the midday sun and laying eyes on the professors entourage, he can't help but fortify that thought. A lot of strange figures indeed.
Alhandra begins to turn, ignoring Nexander, the Mwangi girl and the spinosaurus as well. She briefly turns to the giant shouting in Osiriani, but not speaking that language she ignores that as well. The ulfen, so obviously out of place, draws her eye for a brief second, before her curiosity fades back into the pesh dream.
As the scarred man stops before her, Alhandra's eyes take on a distant, unfocused quality. Looking him dead in the eye, she says, "C'tah Wgan'nafh Ph'lungui R'lyeh. Has'ng C'rentl V'cnef Fhtagn."
Her words grate on your ears, spoken in a language meant neither for the humanoid tongue nor ears. Some of the sounds seem literally impossible to make, yet she speaks fluently and without effort.
Sarthos is surprised as the strange woman suddenly stands behind him, whispering in words he hadn't even known could be vocalized. He was entirely not sure what to make of this. While her strangeness does not really unsettle him, it still makes him wonder what's really going on.
"I'm sorry, but I have no idea what you just said. Did I startle you or or do you need help?"
Watching her from close up, he wasn't entirely sure if she wasn't on some kind of drug or otherwise besides herself. A condition whose combination with dehydration was sometimes underestimated by foreigners and that could easily lead to an untimely death in the hot Osirian sun.
"Well Unafe, that right there is a perfect lesson in why you shouldn't smoke Pesh," Xander says. "I'm pretty sure that's Aklo, the language of the twisted abberations that dwell in the dark places of the universe. No idea what she's saying though." Xander considers the madwoman staring at nothing and muttering to herself for a moment longer, before shrugging and turning his whole attention back to Unafe. "So you came here looking for...? Sorry for the interruption." As he talks he leans towards Zubaida, encircling her with one long arm. While Unafe is thinking about her response he whispers, "You got everythin' you need baby?" to the prostitute. She downs another shot of whiskey and smiles drunkenly at Xander, then pushes the glass across the bar for another refill from the mirthy Francois. One her glass is again full of the rapidly depleting Andoran whiskey, she holds it up and nods to him.
|
Jack didn’t have to be in Eto long. He knew a thing or two about the place and, well frankly, they didn’t know anything about him. This made the whole city that much easier because, honestly, that’s how Jack looked at everything. It had a difficulty and he had a way of gauging just how likely he would be able to overcome those challenges. It never seemed funny to him, though, that there was never a challenge that he was terribly unlikely to succeed in taking on. Nonetheless, his first stop was the market. He was running a little low on money. Now, most people would think to themselves ’I don’t have very much money, perhaps I should steer clear of the market.’, but not Jack. He would, just like anywhere else he’d been that hasn’t heard of him, waltz into the market place and somehow leave richer and with more than he had when he arrived. This might lead many to believe that Jack was a common pickpocket, or at least some other sort of thief. Well, those people would be right for the most part. Though no one would likely call him a pickpocket, he definitely makes his money by picking something.
”Good evening, sir. Could I interest you in some of my wares?” many a merchant have asked.
”Actually, good sir. I believe it is my wares you should be interested in.”
This was always the tricky part. There was a good chance that the merchant had been in the business for a while. As smart and crafty as Jack was, there were occasionally merchants who could catch his attempt and he would have to come up with something witty before running off, likely never to be seen again. In this particular instance, though, Jack was tired of using a butter knife to defend himself and a particular rapier had caught his eye among this poor merchant’s wares. Not a problem, Jack was a pretty good craftsman himself. Even if he couldn’t afford to make an item of that high of a quality, he could definitely make it look like he did.
”I want you to take a look at this work of art…” Jack smirked, revealing his dagger, so lovingly nicknamed ‘Jack’s Butterknife”, now decorated with the runes of some lost language Jack has studied in the past and inlayed with a bent up gold piece he melted down to make the butterknife look authentic. ”Beautiful, isn’t it? It was once a grand-commander’s ceremonial dagger.”
Jack handed the dagger over to the merchant who, up until this point at least, seemed to be buying the story for the most part. ”Oh, which commander would that be?”
”Why, none other than Commander Reginald Cormoth, my good friend.”
Hook. Line. And Sinker. Jack knew that reading up on history a little bit before trying this would come in handy. The merchant grew excited, like he recognized the name. Perhaps a fan. After studdying the dagger a moment longer, he peered back up at Jack. ”Name your price.”
Jack considered for a few seconds. This had gone a little better than he had even expected for himself, so he thought he'd milk it a little. He had to keep himself within the realm of realism, so he thought up what he considered to be a good balance. ”How about the fine crafted rapier you have up there and say… That set of studded leather you’ve got over there. It looks better than the junk I’ve been wearing. I’ll even throw in the set I have for it.”
The merchant hurriedly retrieved the items as per Jack’s request. Handing over the dagger and the armor, Jack grinned and the two exchanged their good-days. Now turning to walk away from the merchant, Jack guessed the merchant had underestimated his hearing. Though, what he heard the merchant say as they parted ways could only leave him with a smile on his face.
”Sucker.”
"Well Unafe, that right there is a perfect lesson in why you shouldn't smoke Pesh," Xander says. "I'm pretty sure that's Aklo, the language of the twisted abberations that dwell in the dark places of the universe. No idea what she's saying though."
Unafe shakes her head, "You know, I saw some people burnt out on Pesh when the caravan I've been working for passed through Lamasara. They seemed empty. She seemed...different, like some unnatural Power is tied to her. She reminder me of a Bekyar Juju Shaman who came through our village years ago. Did you see how Yakini hissed as she approached?”
Xander considers the madwoman staring at nothing and muttering to herself for a moment longer, before shrugging and turning his whole attention back to Unafe. "So you came here looking for...? Sorry for the interruption."
”I guess you could say I'm looking for answers. It’s complicated.” Whether it was Nexander’s kind attention, the Andoran whiskey, or a bit of both, she decides to continue. ”Old Aye, my teacher, knew just how my life would play out. He saw in a dream that my Ancestor Heart -- the bonded ancestor who makes me Two-Hearted -- was no less than Namane, who learned the ways of the Saurian Shaman directly from Gorzeh in the days before Starfall and founded the Goapeke tribe. It was great news. Aye saw that the Nurgalists would rise against us and I -- with the memories and power of Namane the Founder -- would lead the charge to defeat them. All of the Goapeke knew this would be so. They counted on it.”
Unafe’s long sigh leaves her looking suddenly smaller, older, and tired, but her eyes rise to meet Nexander’s again. ”Something went horribly wrong. We hadn’t had a Two-Hearted born in our village in several generations, but everyone knows that a Two-Hearted's Ancestor Heart become known to them when they reach womanhood or manhood. Only my womanhood came at twelve and Namane's memories never did. Seven months ago the Nurgalists marched against us and we were utterly unprepared. In the hours before my tribe scattered and fled, Old Aye had another prophecy that sent me out alone, away from my people, looking for some key. I really don't know what to believe anymore. I don't...but I suppose I don't have anything better to do either.”
Smiling again, she adds "So in the mean time, sure, I work for caravans. You?"
Crestfallen at the lack of any interest paid, the Hand continues his leaning against the counter and drinking water. Watching intently the strange motley of foreigners currently arranged just a few feet from him.Maybe they will have need of an experienced man to throw himself in front of their enemies blades. None of them seem like they could take a single blade stroke to the belly. He waits patiently for an opening to introduce himself, hopefully one of them spoke the one true tongue.
"Just drifting, following my curiosity. I used to follow my mom and pops around. He was a bounty hunter, and she is a really good singer. Then my dad lost both legs and an arm fighting a monster in the Mana Wastes. After that he couldn't hunt anymore so they went to Quantium to settle down." Xander pauses to sip his drink. His next words are spoken in rhyme, at a rapid yet regular pace. "City life jus' aint for me. I got too much to learn, too much to see. I went to Thuvia to find a Sun Orchid, but instead my whole group got sorted. It was damn sordid. So I came here hoping to get in on the alignment, guarding caravans aint the best assignment." He swivels on the stool, one arm still around the much smaller, and progressively more drunk Zubaida. She is grinning stupidly, her grip on her glass loose. She swivels with Xander, the security of his arm letting her flop loosely on the stool. "Yo, Francois, how does a man find work with one of the expeditions around here?" Xander inquires.
The Taldan barkeep turns to Xander and replies, "Usually zey just set up shoppe out zere in ze street. Look, zere is one now," he says pointing out the window. "Zat giant Ulfen barbarian just went out to look at it."
Xander releases Zubaida, who flops onto the bar counter and then turns to look himself. He catches glimpses of the sharp foreign man perched atop his camel, and ghoran woman riding beside him. Haven't seen a Ghoran since I left Nex. "What'd'ya think 'Nafe? Worth our time?" Zubaida glares at him and slurrs, "Heysh, what abou' me?" Xander purses his lips at the drunken girl, looking nonplussed, "You stay right...here," he says, enunciating the last word with a light smack to her bottom. She tries to slap him back, but he easily dodges the drunken blow, giggling wickedly. "Don't worry baby, my friend Oldlaw will keep you company," Xander says, sliding the dwindling bottle of whiskey over to her. Zubaida continues to glare at Xander, but clutches the bottle to her chest like it's a treasure that everyone wants to steal. Her bottom lip juts out in a put-on pout as she says, "Hmmpf."