Pêlakouél's page

Thod wrote:

Muser wrote:

Disciples of Dreng or The Sufferers of Morn.

Recruitment has gone up considerably since we put up signs - Dreng not allowed to enter - around the perimeter of our future settlement.

Just close between the hours of 4 am and 6 am... those are apparently the only time he's awake.

Hey now, Mister Dreng is totally awake at times other than that! I once sat down at the breakfast table and had some nice porridge while he gave us the briefing. It was at normal breakfast time and everything and it was so nice and Mister Dreng seemed happy.

Then someone asked me what I do and I kind of summoned a pony onto the table and then Mister Dreng was very angry.

Kou's entire face seems to light up as the lyrakien speaks to her, only slightly marred by a second of confusion over the mention of a friend before she realizes what Cuorecielo means. Her reply, in Celestial as well, nearly paces that of the azata.

"I am not much of a singer, to be honest! But I love the words - Celestial is such a charming language for singing because of what the words sound like. And yes, I do have my Friend, but the Catechizer - that is his name - is not one to sing much. He does not have a physical mouth, so it is a bit difficult for him to even speak. I have asked him to change this, but it seems he prefers not to."

Hearing the others mention the Aspis, the summoner actually badly stifles a giggle before commenting in Common. "Oh, the Aspis? I've had a bit of fun with them, hehe. Those guys have a reputation in Riddleport that's a little less impressive now, all thanks to yours truly! ...okay, well, I had a little backup. But they were mostly there for a show of muscle. I did the important bits, meaning, the talking."

Kou falls into an uncharacteristic silence at the sight of the lyrakien, and appears near mesmerized by its song. The only thing that breaks her stasis is the way her lips move as they attempt to voicelessly mimic the small azata's song. As Cuorecielo finishes her piece, the girl sighs deeply, eyes fluttering shut.

"Wow. That was gorgeous." She pauses for a moment, as if reaching back into reality from some other level of existence, then lets her gaze drift back to those around her. "Fortress of the Nail? That sounds like an unpleasant place. I've only been to Verduran and Riddleport on missions so far, and they're both beautiful."

A tad confused by the attention for a moment, Kou gives the gathered Pathfinders a brief once-over before regaining her bearing.

"Maybe a glass of mead, and you can discuss among yourselves who will pay, if you really insist on doing so? I've never really gotten the hang of ale... Well, to be honest, I can't understand why anyone drinks it, but then again, there's a lot I don't understand, especially about why people like specific things. So 'to each their own', as they say." She finishes the sentence with a beaming little grin.

The girl, at her fellow Pathfinder's approach, gives him a bit of a deer-in-the-lantern-light look before realizing what he's up to. Giving the doorman a smile that is only slightly a sarcastic smirk, she ducks under his arm and into the tavern, her expression bright as she speaks to her rescuer.

"Thanks a lot for helping me! And, oh, uh, the compliment? I guess? That was a compliment, right?" She frowns briefly, trying to parse the sentence, but soon returns to what appears to be her default expression, which isn't much short of absolute glee. When she continues speaking, it's nearly as much to the rest of the bar and its patrons as it is to Steel Arrow.

"Yeah, I've been a Pathfinder for a bit now - haven't been on a lot of missions, don't really know why, but it's quite amazing! I just had to get in this tavern once I heard Pathfinders frequent here, especially ones from Andoran, but that little commotion at the door seems to happen to me all the time. Oh, and my name's Kou. Not my full name. But Kou's a good enough thing to get called." She trails off with a bit of a giggle. Clearly, this is one Pathfinder who has, as of yet, not been traumatized by how brutal the occupation can get.

Over the sound of bar patrons conversing, a well-trained ear can hear a high-pitched voice, almost like a child's, speaking rapidly and in an increasingly frustrated tone. If someone is to peer at the door, they can easily spot the disturbance: a short, presumably human girl clad in a dusty lavender tabard and brown breeches is arguing with the doorman to let her in. Though she looks to be in her early teens, perhaps fourteen or so, there is something odd about her bearing and appearance. Perhaps it's a trick of the light, but her hair appears a shade of dark gray rather than a more common black, and her eyes seem to be vivid amethyst purple.

"Look, I know what I look like, sir! I don't look old enough to be in this place - but I am, I swear! I'm over seventy years old! And I'm getting really tired of always being treated like this when I want go somewhere!"