The Jail:
Rolling his eyes at the giggle, Golzar growls. "It's a gross way of speaking of another person." He might be a bit sensitive, knowing no one would ever speak of him again as beautiful.
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The Jail: "Nine Hells! What are you?" Golzar sneers, baring his teeth as his upper lip curls. He knew his appearance was frightening to some, and was more than happy to use that to his advantage, but the presentation of "what" instead of "who" was reminiscent of the othering he had experienced as a Keleshite. Magnimar wasn't the most racist place in the Inner Sea, or indeed in Varisia, but there were certainly plenty who saw anyone of anything other than pure Chelaxian stock as less-than. Varisians and Shoanti got enough of it, but they were at least recognized as indigenous. Foreigners, even if they had been born and raised in the country and among the culture, were another step removed still. So Golzar rattles the gate and snarls, "Open up!" not willing to dignify the man's muttered question with a response. "Chelb," he curses as he strides in. "Stay on shift or you'll regret it. Come on."
The Jail: "Hehe, still wishing we had run off elsewhere?" Golzar's bandage-wrapped face doesn't give for much in the way of expression, but even that lack does not prevent him from lacing his response with venom. "Yes," he responds. "This is a waste of our time." "I'm coming! I'm coming! Just a second! One moment longer."
"Father Zantus will hear about this one way or the other," Golzar says, holding up his own holy symbol, matching Neari's. "Whether his impression is more kind to you or not depends entirely on how you respond now."
The Barracks-Jail: Golzar frowns. "Did someone...abandon their post...to..." He grits his teeth. "Hal 'ant sakhif tamzah maei?!" he swears in Kelish. He pauses, leans against the gate, and rolls his eyes. "Yes, a clear crisis in management and carrying out orders," he says in a low, temperamental voice. "The guards here can't keep it in their pants long enough to get through a shift."
Neari & Golzar: The bandage-wrapped man shrugs. "I suppose it can't hurt. You're the boss." He follows her in, begrudgingly drawing his own blade.
Neari & Golzar: "Inside?" Golzar questions. "You sure the problem's inside? The barracks?" He shrugs. "If there's no one outside, why would we assume they'd all be stuck inside instead of rushed off to deal with something else?"
Neari & Golzar: Golzar thinks he might hear something. "Shh," he hisses. "D'you hear that?" He strains, trying to make sense of whether it was a false alarm or something significant.
Golzar--or rather Mehrab--had not been a particularly attentive student, much to his parents' and tutors' chagrin. But he remembered the stories that caught his interest. And the absolute bungling of founding a town by a bunch of Magnimarian deserters had always struck him as hilarious. A story he asked each new tutor to repeat so that he could relish in the details. Gods he had had a cruel streak as a child... Now a man, and with a different name, Golzar was a better (and more self-driven) student. But he still didn't care much for the details of politics. And nobles, or any who considered themselves better by virtue of wealth or station, could rot for all he cared. But he listens attentively to Neari's explanation. Thankfully, with his face wrapped in bandages, his disgust is harder to register as long as he doesn't speak. So he just points out what he sees, happy enough to intermix post-battle observations instead of gossiping about leaders.
Golzar & Neari: The thought of bigger plots makes Golzar think of his time in Magnimar. There were always bigger plots happening there. He had been sent here to get away from those plots, not to become embroiled in more.
"May the Dawnflower forbid it," he swears through gritted teeth. Something being afoot was the last thing he needed right now. As the Sarenites make a quick way through the streets and overhear the people of Sandpoint talking (for they make themselves impossible to ignore), Golzar looks around for signs of of the attack that Orlin had mentioned. Surely there were fire scars if goblins had been involved. Still, it seems like the town had weathered the assault. How many died? What had these so-called heroes found? Golzar didn't like the smell of this. "Sister Neari," he says, "How much do you know about the Kaijitsus and the other nobles here in town? I'm too new here yet to know much of local politics."
From the Cathedral to the Streets: Golzar huffs as Orlin smacks him away, especially when it comes with the racial undertone. Fine, be that way. "When you seem to be drowning in your own fluids," he says, an hint of acid to his voice, "I would be remiss in my duties to not attend to you." Cursed or not.
The odd gem-based divinatory effect would draw a raised brow from Golzar if his eyebrows hadn't been melted away. But it does make it easier to understand the cursed, foul man. And it's a good thing, too, because what he tells them is disturbing to say the least. There had been a raid by goblins--that part he had gathered before. But Lonjiku Kaijitsu--dead? And his son Tsuto had been involved? What the... Golzar hadn't been in Sandpoint long enough to know everyone by name, but the big names you couldn't not know. He looks at Neari, curious at her cavalier response to that. Thank you for the information? That was it?
"What in the nine hells did we miss while we were gone?" he swears as they cross the Temple's threshold.
Cathedral: "Orlin?" Golzar begins as the misbegotten man starts struggling more than usual. When he actually pitches down, Golzar's eyes widen. "Orlin!" Poison? Disease? Magic? Something strange was happening. His first instinct is to begin detecting poison, following by magic, the latter taking longer, so that he can sus out and sort through the potential problems.
Struggling to make sense of what is going on with poor Orlin, Golzar takes a deep breath and grasps at the golden ankh around his neck. All right, Dawnflower, I'm still working on this. Help me out here.
Cathedral: If Golzar's appearance was unfortunate, then Orlin's was a sign that some of the gods had twisted senses of humor.
"It was," he looks at Neari, "Productive. Many injured and in need of Light across the Lost Coast." Had it been productive? That was more or less what he was supposed to say, right? That was what they had been sent out to do. The fact that they had been essentially unable to muster many donations for the Cathedral was a grim reminder to Golzar just how far he had fallen. And Neari would almost certainly have her own report to Father Zantus about Golzar's work, for good or ill. "How was the festival, Orlin?"
Cathedral: Golzar lingers in the vestibule, not eager to join the raised-voice search. Buildings were typically not good for holding signs of ingress or egress, but the wrapped-man turns his eyes to the ground to look for signs of anything toward or untoward.
Mmmm, probably nothing to be found.
Cathedral: It's not particularly surprising that Golzar doesn't recognize what Neari so easily does. The elven Sarenite was considerably more devout and well-studied than Golzar, who seemed distracted at best during Father Zantus' lessons. "Mmm, right," he says, pretending like he knew even a bit of what she was talking about. "Sunrise, yeah." As for Father Zantus' whereabouts? "Your guess is good as mine," he responds. "Celebrating seems about right. We could retrace our steps there." At least that was probably the smart thing to do.
Service was different from work. First off, the clientele were insufferable. Second, the pay sucked. And third, Neari...well, Neari was fine. She knew more, could do more, than Golzar. So she made a fine mentor. The haylofts had also been terrible for Golzar's skin, and rarely provided sufficient privacy for the proper changing of his bandages. A bath would be pleasant once he got to it. Golzar feels itchy as he rides the rest of the way into town. And unfortunately for him, his horse seems to be aware of his discomfort and is not making it any easier for him. "C'mon, Hisan, just a bit longer." The horse looks like it may be a cross between the Taldan jennet and the Al-Zabriti shissah, with a slim frame, a high-arched tail, and a wide forehead with a thin ring of black, hairless skin around its eyes. A bit different from the usual Varisian stock. Hisan snorts in response, almost as though it understood and didn't care about his rider's pains. Willful bastard. Golzar stables Hisan without too much complaint, setting a bag of oats for the mare before heading into the cathedral. He doesn't inherently mind that the candles aren't lit, but it is odd. "I don't know the spell for this," Golzar admits to Neari, his voice having taken on a bit of the hinterland twang during their travels. "Could you, uh, take care of it? Or do you want me to do this the old-fashioned way?"
It's been a busy week and the void is always calling.
Who's to say? If Neari and the GM are all right with it, I'll just let the connected backstories flesh out in gameplay. Otherwise, Golzar would be keen to not travel too much with the nobles.
We're all mad here ^_^
Two very different followers who will probably fight each other about her. |