NPC Tomas Parisi's page

“Amigos, I, uh, cannot cast spell, Tizonian cazadores learn other, ah, pursuits. The, um, dead zones of my country would make fool of any man who relies on magic. Only trust the bow on your back we say.” He laughs lightly.

Always feel free to check the map ;), NPC known locations are marked

Valentina grabs the Tizonian and takes a step north, but Tomas heads west. Valentina quickly turns to the direction, taking the movement in stride. They reach the coat room door where the late Abigal and Eduard were last seen.

"I know not what is customary here. Should we knock?

Tomas breaks away from his group (Nishara, Alexander, Bertrand) at the call of Valentina. He makes way towards her.

“While no professional, I have treated my share of wounds and poisons. All proud Tizonian citizens need not magic. ” Tomas laughs lightly, but quickly realizes this is not the place for his braggart ways. He takes a pair of thin, black gloves from a pocket on his chest, donning them as he reaches Valentina. He smiles, “I grow bored of pretending to ignore the problem at hand, let us go.”

Tomas seems excited to see the conversation shift towards Tizonian honey, almost strangely so. His bouquet rests in his hand, his other dancing to his words, a sort of expressive sign language. “You have captured it so well, Marcus! So few men recognize the difference.” A small click is heard from the southern door.

Words speak from the south, a woman’s voice: “You may enter, I am done painting."

Tomas finishes his bouquet, a small but lovely assortment of a dozen or so flowers. Large emerald blade-like leaves curl outwards, framing the blossoming plants. He draws a small bit of string from a leather pouch at his side, tying it all together. “I too could go for some mead.” He smells his bouquet, quite happy with the result a smile begins to curl. “Mead is rare in Tizona. The bees we have are larger, and more aggressive. Getting the honey, like most affairs in Tizona, too easily ends in death. I would like to say our honey is sweeter, but that would just be my pride talking.”

“No matter, if I need something settled you will be the first person on my mind.” Tomas walks around the plant room, not straying too far from the Tamarins, always occasionally glancing upwards, always towards one of the siblings. He speaks, his head towards the plants: “A vineyard I heard you say Marcus? Unless you have land already, it may be a bit away from Roland.” He picks a few flower, starting to place them together. “Unless you manage to find a way to buy an existing vineyard.”

In the plant room, Tomas looks no less puzzled. “Some kind of lawman then? Or the disputes that don’t want a lawyer?”

He smiles, though appears a bit puzzled. He takes a gelled strand of hair that fell towards his face when he removed his hat and tucks it back in."Well I have to ask what else you do. Don't tell me its trade. It pays for luxuries, but makes boring conversation..." He moves his hand to his facial hair, giving it a quick scratch. "Trade or politics. Seems thats all the professions for Emile's parties."

Tomas laughs slightly, but shakes his head. “The dead appreciate the view more than anyone else, for it is the last thing they have. You may see who is there in that music room, but I will remain here, less a dance partner convinces me otherwise.” He begins to murmur to himself about the flowers before he sees one that catches his eye, a golden-yellow rose like flower. Its petals are thick, and closer inspection reveals almost vein-like red tubes within it. His eyes open largely, looking rather surprised. “Dios mio, a Lemon Rose. Emile should be careful with this. It is a bad omen to show off a poisonous flower.”

Tomas’ face is filled with youthful spirit on Marcus’ mention of his tavern and Tomas’ country. “Una taberna! It must be filled on a night like this. I imagine it brings together many friends. If you visit Tizona, visit Colada. It is my home, a grand small city. To the south, a most prosperous forests with the largest, rarest animales. To the north, a white winter sanctuary, where lights in the sky dance for all those who brave the cold. Truly a beautiful place to die.” Music continues to play through the door to the south, though the door itself remains closed. Tomas playfully steps around to the song. “Parts of this sound must have been stolen from Tizona. Take no offence, the Durendal musician can play the horn or the piano beautifully, but your guitar and percussion lack the soul of a Tizonian.”

In the plant room, the Tizonian continues to make his rounds through the flowers as Marcus speaks. He appears to be in his mid thirties and compared to others at the party, he is dressed less formal. A white button-up shirt, with a dark cape covering his back. His face has a couple scars on it, and he appears like the event wasn’t worth shaving his scruff for. His hair is gelled under his hat, and while not unpleasant, the gel’s smell is rather powerful. He is silent for a while, finishing his inspection of a flower. His voice is deep and raspy, with a thick Tizonian accent. “I certainly never would have thought of it, amigo.” His finger bounces on a particular specimen, a crimson flower with tulip like petals. “Never have I seen flowers like these thrive outside of my country. It is like home here. Me llamo Tomas Parisi, merchant de Tizona. You are the first other man to enter the room.”