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Post by pastels on Jan 22, 2019 14:03:05 GMT
It was nighttime once again in Waterdeep. Along with the shadows came the cool rush of salt-tinged air from the deep harbor, intermingling with the noises of revelry typical from the infamous Dock Ward during late hours. Work hard, play hard. Sailors and laborers fresh from the docks and the warehouses along the southern stretch were no doubt spending the day’s wages on entertainment. There were certainly enough festhalls in the district to accommodate the nightly surge. It was early enough that most were two or four rounds deep into temporary bliss–but not too late to cause grief for every other customer in the tavern. The alleys were quiet and safe yet. Oh, but how different a world it would be a couple of hours from now.
Astra had been in Waterdeep long enough—nearly two weeks—to observe the daily rise and fall of drunken merriment within the Ward. How could she not? Warm Beds, as she came to learn the hard way, was situated right at the center of a tavern trifecta. One was even rumored to be little more than a brawling arena with an open tap on the side. And, like the inevitable crashing of waves against the shore, the patrons of these fine establishments traversed her street. Whether they were kicked out by the owner or had enough dignity to excuse themselves before they fouled the table mattered little—one or half a dozen oafs, half-pissing ale in their pants, would crash into Warm Beds to escape the cold. Only the dead could stay asleep through the proprietress dragging a hive of mead-addled workers up a flight of stairs. Doubly so if someone fell and she had to redo the entire torturous ordeal. Elves treasured their trance. As an ambitious officer, she had considered it an efficient way to rest, a method far superior over the sleep other races needed to ward off fatigue. There had been so many times she opened her eyes and found herself awake, cross-legged and alone amidst softly-breathing bodies lined along their neat barracks. The hours were all hers. How easy it was to slip away. There was a period when Astra considered ways to extend her meditations from hours, to days, to weeks. It was a quiet mission she kept close to her heart. Silverymoon had then just entered a golden age under Alustriel Silverhand. What was grief to a city drenched in the joy of victory and celebration? In contrast, the trance brought peace and pleasant memories. She could live in her own world for as long as the body could bear, even then revisit old friends and family in their immortal, dream-forged forms. Until recently, at least. The hauntings began in visions of darkness—air bubbles rising up, up, as the warbled sounds of carnage pierced the dark waves. An entity older than time waits in the deep, watching. Always watching. Dread and uncertainty eventually dredged up older memories, like peeling back rotted cloth to reveal the shards of a once-golden mirror. She watched, helpless, the moment when the Silvaeren charged at the orc invaders. Her eyes picked up details she never noticed during that disastrous charge: Valin raising his axe, the decorative charm his son made burnt and torn, blind to the rogue leaping for his side; Mithras a hair’s breadth behind with a spell aglow in one hand and a longsword in the other; her bunkmate Audra dropping an arrow from its notch, her gnomish face pale with terror; Trias the apprentice wizard screaming from the rear as the shadows of the hulking orcs loomed over their company. Almost too quickly, it shifts to another series of wounds. Dreams of a frost wyrm’s razor-breath scouring her back as she turned and ran. The despair, thick as tar down her throat, as her sword snapped in half against iron scales. She woke up from these. They were too raw yet to bear. During those nights, the solitude and spartan design of her room proved a comfort. It was why she hadn’t moved from the Warm Beds despite a growing purse. Asides from the occasional creak, there were no other details to distract her troubled mind. Until the dragging and drunken bawling started, anyway.
Astra stepped out of the inn, her thick-soled boots crunching against the muddied snow on the doorstep. Around her, the Dock Ward was alive with cheers and music—somewhere, even, came snippets of an angry conversation. It seemed that the first brawl of the night was about to spark. She pulled her scarf over her nose and began to walk. No doubt the proprietress was rushing to rearrange her room—the way she had started and dropped the broom when the elf stalked down the stairs spoke volumes, though Astra appreciated that no questions were asked regarding the change. Usually, she slipped out during the dead of night but again, considering the near-constant interruptions and the worsening quality of her dreams… It was time to switch things up. She headed towards Fish Street. Even this early on, one would do well to avoid The Bloody Fist, unless you wanted to spend the rest of tonight (and tomorrow) with a bruised eye… or worse. Now, from her repeated sojourns, she had a fair idea of the Dock Ward’s layout. The question was where she was going to this time. To be honest… Astra hadn’t explored Waterdeep as well as she should. Asides from the occasional quest, she was as memorable as a spectre against a brick wall—which is to say, not very much. The city guards had yet to stare at her for more than a couple of seconds. All’s good. Astra glanced up at the stars as her familiar soared past, a blur against the inky night sky, before readjusting the scarf to cover her pointed ears. Mitja had no particular love for the cold, but it was on high alert for anything (shiny!) it could pluck off a roof. She was already starting to gather the oddest collection of knickknacks this side of Waterdeep, and it had only been days since the raven started its crime spree. Could birds be arrested? The little rascal had always been greedy. Oh, she had a feeling that one day it would get the irresistible urge to pluck a, say, diamond earring from a noble. Consequences be damned. “Enough time thinking. What should I do now?” Barely a meter from the Inn, and Astra had already encountered her first hurdle. During her strolls, she practiced the unearthly language It branded into her consciousness. Nobody, not even morons emboldened by ale, wanted to approach a stooped, thin figure wreathed in black, more so if it was muttering gibberish under its breath. But considering that her dreams had been nothing but terror of the unknown—no doubt triggered by the Entity for a reason she couldn’t fathom just yet—she had no inclination to even think of the subject. If nothing else Astra could always head to the Cookhouse Hall for a hot bowl of soup. Arikarka 3personal5me and perhaps also Alxolex
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Arikarka
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Linked Characters: Citrine, Gigi, and Rhia
Posts: 316
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Post by Arikarka on Jan 22, 2019 16:15:37 GMT
Stepping out for an evening stroll through the Dock Ward, one of the district's unique long-term visitors crossed out of the Ship's Prow Inn and onto the bumpy uneven stones that comprised the ward's less then steller funding. She'd been here long enough now, a few weeks, to hear that there was discussion among the Masked Lords of giving some funding to the fishy area for better streets and rejuvenated building fronts. After the initial excitement? Turns out the rumors were talk that'd been going on for ages, at least according to the lass Ameila. Seemed the dark skinned woman knew all sorts of interesting information, well known and secrets. Citrine liked secrets. But secrets were not why she was now standing out in the cold with just her lace-up leather pants, emerald chest wrap, and pull-over loose worn off-white cotton V-shirt. Nope. No coat this time, or hat, just her stepping outside for some of the numb-inducing winter night air. She didn't feel like flying, instead wanting the slower crawl of moving by foot. Pushing her lion's mane like collection of hair, feathers, trinkets, and shiny baubles behind her ears and quickly tying her dancer skirt into a trailing bandanna to keep her face clear - the movements as methodical and practiced as pouring a shot or summoning her mage hand - the pirate lass tried to replace the memories with movement.
Memory Flashback
"And ye're sure ye spell can dae this 'Olly?" Citrine asked, lazily sitting in a chair with the two from legs propped up onto the back two, rocking lightly back and forth. Her taloned feet? Crossed at the ankles and perched on the edge of the table. Her wings? Fitted nicely through the slots in the custom chair her sister had made just for her, so she could lean back in a chair without squishing her wings. Her arms were crossed behind her head and her voice lazy as a burnt orange mage hand zoomed around the room, picking up a wide variety of objects and laying them out rather well-organized for someone… so…. Not. Her red coat was hung up on a manikin, new Captain's hat perched on top, and all her affects where you'd expect. Other manikins held different outfits, get-ups a druid might wear. A ranger. A mesmerist.… and all different sizes. Most everything was designed for someone much taller than the owner was now. But the pirate? Perfect fit still.
A weapon's rack held a curious number of wide-ranging items. Two pistols, one silver the other gold, elegantly shined 'Frost' and 'Briar' engraved on each one respectfully. Two perfectly mundane hand axes, 'Hansel' and 'Gretel' sat just under. A large sword with an elvish script said 'Thorn' while a tower shield with a large red rose decorated the gold metal. A rapier, with a swirling stormy wave like pattern in the guard and looking like molten water for the blade. Other weapons not as significant, like a crossbow and quiver, smaller swords, and such were secured as well.
A very flat, cross, and cold look was on Holly's face as she paused what she was doing at the table to turn and face her sister. The silence hung in the air once, twice, and a third moment just to make a point, before sighing and rolling her eyes. "Honestly Rain, as if I would send you through this gate and not be sure of the destination." Her voice was crisp, clear, and held all the properties you would expect from a high-born aristocratic half-elf as herself. And while there were some similarities to the voice itself, it would only be heard by those who'd heard both voices side-by-side more than a day. Little inflections on the voice, or just how they phrased their sarcasm. Holly and Citrine, though opposites? Had much in common as well. And pride in their abilities was one of them.
"Aye, aye, just makin' sure. Et's been ah-'undered years after-ul…. … …Aye miss 'er."
Though the time went as fast as a storm at sea it also crawled like a windless day. The cruel trick Mani and Lady Susan had pulled on the two of them? It was something she still hadn't forgiven the blue genasi for.
Possessions continued to be packed now into the never-ending, bottomless pit of a trunk, by the orange mage hand, and a second clear ice-blue. Keepsakes first, in the bottom, followed by books and scrolls (Holly insisted - Citrine disagreed but acquiesced), spell components, her size-appropriate wardrobe, weapons, violin, then finally her Captain's garb. All of it packed neatly in an unassuming worn wooden trunk with 'Citrine Redbriar' engraved on a simple copper tag.
While Citrine instinctively stood then to stretch and pace Holly was finishing the ritual space she needed for her gate spell. It was a unique twist on the traditional transportation teleport. Instead of cueing in on a location this would focus on a person - and not just where a person was, but when a person would be at a specific point in time. "Everything is set. Now, are you sure you wish to go as you are?" The winter-themed sorceress gave her sister a once-over with a critiquing raise of her eyebrow. "Aye! Even though et's been ah' century, Aye barely got tae enjoy this shape without Mani o' Gozreh breathin' down me feathers. Plus? Flyin's tae much fun!" She grinned then, to cover up her nerves. This spell was untested. It was a new creation of Holly's.
But she trusted Holly with all that she was.
"Right! Let's gae nae shall we? Et seems ah bit overboard, tae pack all me stuff… but knaeing teh Winter Queen as we dae? She'll drop me Lass off ages away, an Aye dane wanna start all o'ver with naething."
"Indeed." Was Holly's simple response, her magic now surrounding the trunk and shrinking it so it would fit in Citrine's pouch on her belt. "Be sure to keep in touch, Rain. And I am sure the honeymoon will end up being something of legend, and you'll tell me all about despite me not wanting or wishing to hear a word of it." Citrine grinned and stuck out her tongue, fiddling with a ring around her neck. "Ye think' she'll say Aye? Aye knae she said et before, but.. This time with et bein' all right an' proper? An' after sae long?" The nerves began to tickle at her mind.
Instead of saying anything the very tall elven woman walked around to stoop down and hug the smaller woman tight, fingers twisting through the thick hair. The unspoken message was clear.
'Enough worry.'
Citrine ignored mentioning the bit of wetness seen at the corner of Holly's eyes. And vice versa. Though they each had the confidence that this spell would work? There was always a chance it wouldn't. Especially being untested.
Holly activated the gate spell, her magic lighting the room up in white and silver and blue. Citrine popped from where she stood to mere inches away from the puzzle piecing together gate portal. Spinning with a flourish and bowing deeply, respectfully, and excitedly towards her sister Citrine kreed a 'see you in a week' - then fell backwards through the portal, ready to snap her wings open to pull out of a freefall.
It hit her, everyone once in awhile, on the still and silent nights. In the late evenings when there wasn't any drink to distract her, shouts to kree back to, or a nighttime visitor to focus on. "Ye fucked up ye spell 'Olly." Citrine grumbled under her breath as she began walking, peering up at the cloud-cloaked moon. "Ye fucked up an' look where Aye am knae. Ye knae Aye don't 'ave ye mind fer spell-crafting an' theory solvin'." It was how the two of them worked so well together. Holly's mathematical mind and logical genius mixed with Citrine's instinct and knack for strange leaps of thought that defied logic. It's why their unique spell crafting was so successful. But on her own? Citrine had no hope of creating the backbone of anything that could help her. So she walked, hoping the cold night air would numb away the memory enough until the sunrise helped to chase away her melancholy. Around her the light scent of spearmint trailed behind her, mixed with the acrid-sweet smell of burning leaves. The wind from the docks washed away most of it, but it clung to her closely like perfume. Wanting anything, or anyone, to distract her haunted mind Citrine took the turn to travel down Fish Street in hopes of finding someone to chat to. Anyone. To talk about anything. It was when she began to walk across the way from the Warm Beds Inn (a poor excuse for an inn, but that's not to say it didn't have its place either) that she heard the deep rumbles of a language she'd not heard in quite some time. She couldn't place it exactly, nor understand it, but it was enough of a pull on her ears. Looking over she saw a taller figure, wrapped in a scarf, loitering outside the Warm Beds. Something feathered, hidden in the darkness, swooped down - by the caw? Her bird-ears picked up the dialect of raven easily. The Auran and Aarakocra'n languages combined gave her, not precisely the ability to speak truly with birds, but she had a good guess most days as to what was said - and could convey well enough her thoughts to them in return. As Citrine crossed the way to see if the stranger was willing to perhaps walk the streets together, being never afraid to start up small talk (she'd chat up a rock if she thought she'd get a response) the phoenix noticed a slip of the scarf and saw the pointed ears. An elf. It explained the height. It did nothing to chase her memories of Holly away. But here she was, already nearly within conversing distance. If she walked away now? It would be rude. And Citrine hated being rude, at least when she wasn't intending on being that way. "'Ello there, evenin'." She extended the olive branch of conversation casually, thumbs hooked in the band of her pants, wings draped slightly around her like a cloak - her version of slumped shoulders. "Aye daen't mean tae be… strange about et. O' rude. But Aye couldn't 'elp but 'ear as Aye walked by…" It would seem she was about to comment on the deep guttural language. "Tha' ye bird 'ere es quite pleased by their find." She nodded a gesture towards the raven on her shoulder. "Just thought ye might like ah bit o' ah translation." Her voice was a bit more subdued then usual, the whisky and sass and upbeat shadowed down a level or two to match the nightly memories snuffing her mind.
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Post by 3personal5me on Jan 22, 2019 19:11:54 GMT
Stephen had a tendancy to wander the city at night. He couldn't help it. Half of it was instinct. He had spent yesrs patrolling the City as a member of the Watch, and several more as an Investigator. What used to be a forced march through the biting cold became a calming experience he could rely on to clear his mind. That, and every now and then he would drag an over aggressive drunkard from one of the inns to a Guard house is exchange for a small fee. Just doing his part to protect the city.
His boots crunched through the snow as he walked. His coat was buttoned shut, the treated leather exterior easily kept the cold and wet out, snowflakes contrasting against the dark leather. He rounded the corner, heading to one of the Inns on the off chance they had a drunkard for him. Instead he was greeted by two figures standing outside. His first thought was how strange it was for someone to not wear a coat or cloak in this cold. His second thought was a surprised one, as the other strangers cloak seemed to be made of feathers.
He didn't like being the sort to judge people on sight, but his job almost required it. He adjusted his collar and fingerered the badge in his pocket. It didn't carry any power anymore, but it certainly helped him feel safe.
"Exuse me ladies. While I'm sure you two can handle yourselves, I would be remissed if I didn't at least try to convince to to loiter somewhere safer. I'm afraid this isn't the best part of town".
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Arikarka
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Linked Characters: Citrine, Gigi, and Rhia
Posts: 316
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Post by Arikarka on Jan 22, 2019 20:17:44 GMT
A new voice drew her ear, head cocking to the side like birds were known to do. It was due to her infinite years of wisdom, perseverance, and astounding ability to always act her age that kept her from laughing outright at the thought this new stranger presented. It wasn't that she would have been laughing at him - just the idea. But more often than not people assumed if you laughed at something they said, and they hadn't just told a joke? That you were laughing at them, no matter if you told them otherwise.
Swallowing her chuckle and clearing her throat the firebird put her best foot forward and extended politeness. "Aye Laddie, what ah kind thing fer ye tae say, loouking out fer two strangers on teh street." She shifted so part of her body language's attention was pointing towards the… she gave him a once over. She recognized the coat as belonging to someone of the city's Watch. But no badge. Her head titched slightly in wariness. It was odd for someone in the Watch to not display a badge.
"Ye're quite right. At this late hour? There could very well be ah person with ill-intent. Ah drunkard, ah lout, ah handsy individual. Thieves, brutes…. 'ell, even pirates." She made the will save to not break face and said the word pirate with the utmost contempt for those who identified as such. A hint of colored wax performed the area though, luckily the wind blustering through the alley on occasion took the smell away. "Especially en this Ward sae close tae teh docks. Nae, fer what reason would either o us...' " She gave another look to the taller assumed elven figure, and if face structure was to go off of? (Always a risk with elves - always so delicate and pretty looking) "...twuo wanderin' ladies be doin' at such an hour?" She tapped a taloned finger against her bottom lip, tail feathers twitching to one side like one would swish to the side the coattails of an evening jacket; wings following suit to settle more 'upright' and therefore fully against her back. "Unless o' course we both lived en these parts, simply out fer ah stroll." She whistled the end of her statement into a question and an arched eyebrow. "Surely tha's allowed?" She asked.
Citrine kept polite, not sure exactly why a poorly disguised Watchmen would be walking the streets, and for what reason he walked as such. Really, if he wanted to be not known as being part of the force? He should have changed jackets. But she was also a bit defensive. Talking with anyone who worked as an enforcer, especially when on duty, just didn't sit right with her. Her and laws didn't always mix, like oil and water.
((ooc- I'm using the detail you described in the Holes in Walls, 3personal5me, to expand the description of Stephan's coat, where you say the Watch having very good coat, therefore causing Citrine to assume he's an active detective who's trying to work undercover. If this is in fact NOT the same coat, let me know and I'll edit!!!))
((Second OOC edit... soooo so far? All three characters here have also met in the Holes in Walls adventure thread. Do we want this scene to happen before or after the adventure thread? I'm fine either way, but perhaps it would work better as this being beforehand? So this thread is their meeting for the first time thread? Making Holes happen afterwards? It would make Holes nice too, having them already had introductions, etc.))
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Alxolex
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H.J. Smee, sailor and thief (3) // Caligo Drogo, ranger (1)
Posts: 41
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Post by Alxolex on Jan 23, 2019 3:25:25 GMT
<H.J.'s mood tonight>
The winds had been contrary all day. H.J. felt he had fought the gusts of the seven seas to get his skiff moving at all in the harbor between the docks and the ships anchored at bay, ferrying cargo and passengers over the frigid waters. He had gotten a good soaking of bone-chilling seawater for his efforts despite the oiled cloak he favored on the waters.
Unfortunately for his coin purse, wet passengers made very poor tippers indeed. He couldn’t be mad at ‘em duck-knee'd land-lubbers.
When the blasted winds finally settled on a direction to blow in, they died down, and afternoon fog had rolled in, stalling what little business he had been able to haggle. He finished what ferrying he’d already arranged with pairs of oars and a few hired rowers, but that ate into his meager profits. Then, his leads for the afternoon cancelled on him, blaming the weather and expecting higher fees for rowers.
His sour mood soured further.
He didn’t want to take it personal. But these jelly boned thumb suckin' crud buckets were making hard for him to get a real boat crewed by real sailors to do real sailing on the real sea. His skiff, the Wee Devil, was small enough for him to handle alone in Waterdeep’s harbor. It was wee indeed, a far cry from the glorious galley he’d grown up on, an almost died on.
The Jolly Devil.
“Aurgh! Umberlee take ye all to her Depths, ye bunch o’ nauseatin' back stabbin' spit weasels,” he grumbled as he stormed away from the docks, leaving in his wake a merchant scratching his head.
His gullet was a’fire with the thirst of one who’s haunted by pained memories. From Dock street he went up Cod lane until he met Ship street, where stood the Warm Beds Inn. The doors were open and the hearth was lit, a raucous cacophony spilling into the gathering night and beckoning H.J. to come soothe his anguish at the bar.
The days winnings would soon ease the weight of loss, and the Wee Devil be damned, and its successor, too.
He tried telling stories and keeping some company, but his heart wasn't in it. And sailors and matrons tended to avoid him when his stories got gloomy, colored with nostalgia, heavy with betrayal and loss and pain. Soon enough, as the hour grew late and the tavern grew crowded, whiskey was his only companion. At least it listened.
Maybe he’d been telling the story of the loss of the Jolly Devil again. Maybe not for the first time that night. To the same patrons. Maybe he lost his temper a bit and raised his voice. Maybe he addressed the innkeeper Shalath Lythryn as “ye screw-eyed penny lickin' stench on legs.” Whatever the case may be, strong arms (not his own) had lifted him from his seat and ejected him from the premises.
Right into the arms of an inquisitor who was standing in the cold just outside the door. “Evenin’, matey,” he slurred, brushing the man’s lapel but only succeeding in creasing it more with every stroke. He noticed two silhouettes right by them. One with wings. “If ye be a spawn of Umberlee here for me soul, ye can have it," he muttered. "She’s already crushed it against the cliffs with the Jolly Devil.”
The light shifted and the breeze blew, and the cold air cleared the fog of his mind a bit. His eyes grew wide and he took a step back from the three strangers. “Ur…”
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Post by pastels on Jan 23, 2019 5:20:09 GMT
Time continued its relentless march, and Astra decided on that bowl of soup. The prospect of hot, peppery broth with the occasional chunk of cabbage and beef became more and more appealing as the winds picked up. There had been no time to grab even a drink from the kitchens—the familiar scent of sweat and bitter alcohol dissuaded her from approaching the narrow, cramped bar tucked beside the kitchens.
She had no sooner settled on the choice than a stranger arrived and addressed her, their bright coloring as vibrant as flame against frosted glass. The woman—a most interesting fusion of avian and human features—spoke nearly with the roughshod, hammer-blunt force of Dwarven ilk, but tempered with a softness the race as a whole lacked. To be honest, the accent threw her off for a bit—it had been so long since she heard a similar inflection. Valin and his twin were the only dwarves in the Garrison, and after the War... Astra flinched when Mitja began to peck at the side of her head, preening from the attention and pulling loose several long strands of hair in a harmless bid for attention.
She was about to reply when more events happened in quick succession. One, a rugged-looking man with intense grey eyes walked over, announcing concern for two women in a Ward with a less-than-stellar reputation. Two, a familiar face bowled out of the Warm Beds and straight into the human.
Oh, first things first.
The elf pulled her scarf down, revealing a face that must have been rather striking once, but was now a haunting portrait marked by severe lines and near as pallid as the snow around them. Her eyes were flat, stony disks of deep molten gold, betraying none of the thoughts simmering underneath. Her gaze raked over the trio, parked as they were but a meter from the open doors of the most miserable inn in Waterdeep. “I appreciate the thought,” Astra said, her own accent a perfect distillation of the Silvaeren tone—the quiet, melodic whisper-song of scholars and mages in the arboreal city. “It’s early, yet. The true chaos happens two hours or so from now, especially from that direction,” she added with a harsh jerk of the thumb towards The Bloody Fist.
She glanced at the woman, nodded as if in agreement, then turned back towards the bearded human. “Yes. I live here. It is no problem to retire upon the smallest whiff of trouble.” In a quick, bird-like twist of the head, both mistress and familiar peered down at the stranger with an unsettling intensity. “Can you say the same for yourself?”
Speaking of threats in shady alleyways…
“Ol’ Henry James!” Mitja hacked out, its voice comically similar to the ex-sailor’s own. Almost by rote, Astra faced her stumbling acquaintance and shifted her full focus on him instead. Smee was… different, tonight. The bluster was tinged with something heavier, darker—and it was none of her business. The remark about the ‘spawn of Umberlee’ was clue enough. “Smee. I see that you are a patron of the Warm Beds as well,” she remarked with the emotional range of an icicle. Bravo!
A pause.
The night wind picked up, bringing with it the scent of the sea and a strange, nostalgic odor from nearby. Ah. “Well. This is an unusual circumstance, but I must adapt to changes should they arise. Shall we move from here, then?” Astra ventured, and her features began to crease in the telltale struggle of one not used to participating in a group discussion. She gestured down the street. “I for one have no intention of freezing to death right under my room… And I would relish learning how you understood my familiar.” The last bit was uttered with a direct look straight at the other woman, who had extended the offer in the first place.
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Arikarka
Approved
Linked Characters: Citrine, Gigi, and Rhia
Posts: 316
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Post by Arikarka on Jan 23, 2019 16:07:44 GMT
The song and dance of someone having drunk a wee bit too much spilled out into the street as some patron of the Warm Beds stumbled out and into the arms of the maybe-Watch-maybe-not. Skipping a bit away from the suddenness of it the phoenix's wings spread in a slight defensive posture, as most birds did when startled, before calming with a shake and tailcoat flick. The raven croaked the name she assumed went with the lapel-focused man - a name she'd heard around the docks. He was prone to telling stories over and over, sometimes the same ones, to the same people. She herself had yet to meet the H.J. Smee herself - and didn't think this happen chance would have been the way they'd meet.
"Ef Aye wanted ye soul, Smee, Aye'd think o' ah-lut moar pleasant ways o' cunnin' ye outta et than ah piss-poor bargain like ye just extended." She kree-clicked a bird of a laugh, almost as if hunting down souls and collecting them for either herself or another deity was second nature. "But rest ah-sured Aye'm nae ah pawn o' teh Bitch Queen as ye knae her." And at his comment on the Jolly Devil? Rumor had it he'd been fond of that ship, had sailed on it - dockworkers enjoyed their gossip as much as the ladies in the Castle Ward. She felt for him. Losing a ship? It was heartbreaking, and she could relate. Intimately.
Looking from one to the next of the little flock they'd all stumbled into, including the raven on the elf's shoulder (she'd never ignore a bird) - Citrine reached up and twirled one of her small front braids that had several charms woven into it in a blatant and unsubtle bit to draw the raven's eye. It seemed he or she wanted attention, and their Mistress was busy. Perhaps to some it was rude to try and bid the attention of a familiar, but Citrine didn't quite care for those sorts of formalities. Her talon-like fingernails made great scrittchers for critters.
However, at being called out about her 'rudeness' by the elegant and posh voice? The redhead froze her trinket twirling and grinned sheepishly… then spun the braid once more before letting it fall back down her cheek from where the bandanna kept it in place. "Aye'd be more than honored tae discuss teh topic of ye most stunning an' marvelous familiar companion." She was heavy in the complements, but not insincere - though the tilted head-bow might have been a flourish too much.
"As et seems teh sailor 'ere isn't fit tae re-enter from wheere 'e just got thrown? Aye can suggest teh Ship's Prow? Et's jus' North, ye can't miss et. Et's teh ship. They've ah nice lobby en teh hull with couches, fire, an' Aye'm sure Aye can convince Marrshale tae supply warm drinks." She'd been doing well, continuing her stay with another wager of performing a few nights a week to draw in business. She could ask for a favor like this. "Drinks would be on teh house." She added as a last copper to convince he group. "An' et'd be safe." She side-looked to the potential Watchmen, and his concern for safety.
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Post by 3personal5me on Jan 24, 2019 22:32:30 GMT
Stephen nodded in agreement when he heard the offer. Perhaps a fire and a hot drink would help him relax. "That sounds like a fantastic time, and I don't think anyone else here would object. Would you like to lead the way?"
He knew how to get their, of course. But he was trying to be friendly, and hoped that not taking charge would be the first step.
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Arikarka
Approved
Linked Characters: Citrine, Gigi, and Rhia
Posts: 316
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Post by Arikarka on Jan 26, 2019 6:48:23 GMT
Hearing no other objections Citrine trilled the general consensus as 'go ahead' and so began to walk the rather short distance from the Warm Beds towards the Ship's Prow. "Ef anyone gets lost on teh way, ye're lookin' fer teh literal ship tha's sailing out enta Fish Street." She commented, moreso to fill the silence than because she didn't think anyone didn't know where they were going. If everyone lived or knew the area of the Dock Ward? You knew the Ship's Prow.
Making her way, keeping from getting lost in thought due to the number in the crew, Citrine kept silent for the most part after giving her directions. Opening the door for everyone, twirling braided copper spiral in her hair around a finger, all polite like, the firebird gestured and commented lightly towards the sitting area found within the hull. Just as it had been when she'd first stepped in various mage lights, constant thaumaturgy spells, and other optical illusions washed the walls with an eerir green-blue light that made it seem like water was shimmering and reflecting onto the walls. The dark and worn brine-saturated wood was just as soft under her feet as it had been before, and the fire was lit to provide warmth. The orange light there erased some of the light effects, but not all.
Letting everyone settle, acting as host in this case despite being as much a guest as everyone else Citrine separated briefly. "Aye'll just be ah moment, aye? Make yeself comfy." With that she lifted up into a brief hover before gliding the rest of the way to the counter where Marrshale, the water genasi who commanded the front desk, had just come out.
"Aye got you're message Capt. Redbriar. Four yeah?" He was rubbing at his eyes - most likely he'd been dozing when she'd called on him. "Aye, four, though they might nae all get 'ere at once. Ye knae how et es, getting' all stumbled around at night. But they can' miss teh Prow even ef they were drinkin' piss." She grinned at the joke. "An' anyone else could come en at any moment, sae minds well plan fer ah' half dozen tae be sure." "Course, course." He muttered. Marrshale was much less 'polite' in the middle of the night vs the early afternoon like when they'd first met. "Aye'll be bringin' out ah tray when et's all set then." "Ye're ah gem, Lad." She blew him a kiss with a wink.
Heading back to the little rag-tag gathering of night owls Citrine didn't even double guess where she'd sit. No one had taken the larger chaise lounge, perhaps out of fear of sitting next to someone they didn't know yet. Whelp, better for her! Relaxing her wings, mood much more jovial than when she'd recently exited this same location - due to the impromptu social gathering she'd found herself in - Citrine spread out on the lounge, stomach side down. One wing opened to stretch and extend over the back-side of the chaise while the other drooped down so the wing 'elbow' was resting on the floor. In front of her she propped her head up with a cupped hand and let the other tug a throw pillow into a hug. Her tail fanned then closed, letting Citrine kick up one of her bird feet to gently knock back and forth in nighttime laziness.
"Sae, Marrshale will be bringin' over hot drinks, tea, coffee chocolate, an' teh like once et's all set. Anything else can' be requested, but at ye cost - Aye did what Aye could on teh drinks." As everyone was getting settled, some more comfortable than others - Citirne looked over to the elven woman. "Ye had questions lass?" Her head cocked slightly from her casual sprawl on the couch. It was almost like a sleepover, despite the fact she only knew the name of one other person and knew next to nothing about anyone else. Well, friendships had to start somewhere, right?
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Alxolex
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H.J. Smee, sailor and thief (3) // Caligo Drogo, ranger (1)
Posts: 41
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Post by Alxolex on Jan 28, 2019 2:40:39 GMT
"Ur, sorry 'bout that, lad," H.J. mumbled as he let go of the man's nice (but now lightly frumpled) coat.
He smiled at the black bird. "Well shave me whole body and call me a molerat! Mitja and her mistress. What a plerz... Waddah pluzur... Nice to see ye, lass!"
He swiveled towards the winged lady that spoke a bit like he did. "The Sheep's Brow? I dunno 'bout no tarver... tavern bearing the name" H.J. said, but he followed the dark angel's wings through the night anyway.
When the worst of the night's strong drinks had dissipated enough for Smee to get his bearings, he found himself seated in an armchair in the Ship's Prow with Astra, an aarakocra with a lass' face, and a member of the city guard.
Maybe the vapors still fogged his brain quite a bit still.
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Post by pastels on Jan 29, 2019 16:15:38 GMT
Since there were no objections, they walked over to The Ship's Prow, which was a much more impressive sight compared to Warm Beds. An impressive price too--as most things of a higher quality were. The coarse, salt-stripped exterior had always caught her eye whenever she walked down Fish Street. There had even been moments when she wondered what the interior looked like. Was the furniture bleached white from the constant breeze coming in from the harbor? Or was it fish bones and barrels? The place had such a mixed and lively reputation, it was hard to guess.
Now that they were inside the establishment, Astra soaked in the sights and sounds. The first thing her senses picked up on was that the floor was warped. Not because of rot, fortunately. The strange curves felt unnatural under the soles of her boots, and Astra awkwardly shuffled behind her companions after a moment's hesitance.
Mitja, growing more unsettled each time her foot followed the dips, squawked and took to flight. The ceilings were high and wide enough for a bird of its size to move freely, but it seemed to prefer hopping onto one wall ornament and half-flying, half-gliding onto the next.
Their little group eventually settled down after the strangely confident bird-woman called for an order. Astra raised an eyebrow when she relaxed on the chaise lounge--a bold move to make in front of strangers--but kept her surprise to herself. As it was, the goings-on kept her mind away from her predicament.
Beside her, Smee slurred something out. That, or Mitja was in one of its playful moods again. Astra turned towards the sailor and, noticing that his eyes were half-open, waved a hand in front of his face. "The last thing you need is another mug of ale."
Ah, but there was a question...
"Hm," Astra exhaled, turning back the cogs of memory in her brain. "Ah, yes. How can you understand my familiar?" She nodded at Citrine, clearly signalling at her unique form. "Is this an... a racial ability? I'll be the first to admit that I have not yet encountered many of your people, so I don't know what you're capable of doing."
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Arikarka
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Linked Characters: Citrine, Gigi, and Rhia
Posts: 316
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Post by Arikarka on Jan 31, 2019 23:31:45 GMT
Enjoying the chatter of the impromptu social circle Citrine had one of her feet in a slow stead back and forth motion - as if the idea of staying perfectly still and poised was a personal attack on her person. As everyone settled Astra, name unknown still, asked a question - drawing the firebird's eyes up towards the elven woman sitting nicely in her respective seat.
"Aye - somewhat Lass." She began, an upbeat tone mixed with her accent. "Though tae be clear - et's nae like when ye speak one-o-one with 'em. Aye dane knae what 'e might say then - tha's still between ye tae ef ye're worried about tha'." She assured her first before hugging the pillow a bit snugger under her chin. "But, Aye, like ye guessed. Aarakocran, teh language we bird-folk speak en, makes et quite easy tae understand other birds - particularly ef they're as smart as ah raven. Doubly sae when they're ah familiar. Ef he wasn't ah bird though? Aye doubt aye'd get the gest as well." As a demonstration a series of clicks, whistles, and tone dips whipped out from her - a very quick-pitched language that sounded just like a bird. If anyone knew their species well? Her tones had quite the osprey influence to her voice.
"Course Auran 'elps tae - teh language o' teh wind. Most flyin' creatures 'ave ah hint o' et en some way o' another. Just natural." Then, as if she just realized she forgot something, she grinned and added with a wink… The numerous trinkets in her own hair would be proof to what she said now, mage hand tapping a few of the more 'shiny' pieces in her mane. "Plus Lass? Et's nae hard tae see how proud o' his treasure 'e is - lil' bugger. Et's ah trait Aye share - nae language needed tae read tha' sort o' body language." It was a filter of teasing and raggin-on Citrine gave then, reminding the elvan woman that not all language was spoken. And, in fact, despite the secret bond between familiar and Mistress? Body language could be read by anyone with a good eye, a wise head, and the care to even spot the emotion being portrayed through the impressions and vibes the physical features of someone - humanoid or not - could have. She may not be book smart, but the phoenix was quite perspective when she needed to be.
Then, because she was always a chatterbox, the sorceress gave another correction. "An' though Aye can see why ye'd assume me tae be an Aarakocra, 'specially ef they're ah faction ye've nae really ever meet before. But Aye'm nae truly one o' 'em." She tapped her nose and traced other parts of her face. "Ef Aye were? Aye'd 'ave ah beak an' face tae match. Bit more feathers than Aye do on me body, an' me 'ands would be full taloned like me feet instead o' the semi-influence they are."
"Why?" She questioned then, a very playful sound to her voice. "Ye curious as tae what else Aye'm capable o' doin' Lass? Aye can say truthfully, et's quite ah list." It was then the water genasi came out and walked over to the group, tray ladened with a large teapot and cups, as well as two tall cylinders full of what could be assumed was coffee and/or a sweetened night drink - interrupting any conversation that might have happened right then. "Thank ye Lad, Aye appreciate et." She said to him - who just grumbled and waved a dismissive hand as he walked back to where he came from. Citrine, playing good host still, gestured to the tray for the others to take first before she helped herself.
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Post by pastels on Feb 3, 2019 5:01:24 GMT
Unlike the casual leisure Citrine exuded in her posture, Astra sat with her back ramrod-straight and feet pointed straight outwards, the habit beaten into her after countless etiquette lessons and military drills. She looked ready to bolt for the door but in truth, she was quite comfortable where she was. Sure, the night didn’t start quite as planned—she had hoped to walk the streets alone to clear her thoughts—but as chance encounters went… This was rather good. Of course, there was the question of repaying the other woman for the first round of drinks, which she shouldered… Astra was too rooted in courtesies to bring the topic out to light. She would simply have to compensate another way.
She cast a critical eye over the inn’s furniture, noting the decidedly nautical influence in everything, from undulating floorboards to burnished miniature anchors on the walls. Even the rippling blue lights made it feel as though she was underwater. Astra swiftly lowered her eyes with a slight hiss escaping from her lips. All in all there was a marked difference in terms of aesthetic, and it was an outright luxuriant setting when compared to the Warm Beds and its drab, barebones dressing. There was a subtle floral fragrance in the air. It may not have masked the scent completely, but it was still a welcome respite from the constant fish-and-salt brought by the harbor winds.
She picked up the lone cup of tea on the tray and listened to Citrine’s explanation, her eyes focused solely on her form. When the woman whistled, Mitja turned ‘round from behind a shelf on the wall and mimicked the sound, then flapped its wings out. “I see,” Astra said. The curt reply was anticlimactic compared to the firebird’s animated explanation. Oh, but there were so many things she thought to say. First… She had some trouble identifying Mitja as a true, living creature. It was through her magic that it was brought forth from the Feywilds—and it didn’t know death. It would simply wink in and out of existence at her command. Was it a pale mimicry of life? Astra glanced at her familiar, her brows furrowed. That initially made her doubt its ability to communicate with others of its “kind,” especially the more sapient ones… And she already knew little about the Aarakocra as it is. Hm. To think they had variants that had such human-like features…
Anyway, apparently there was no problem in terms of communicating with a familiar. You learn something new every day.
At the mention of the trinkets, the raven hooted at its mistress, to which she replied with a half-exasperated sigh. The elf put her hand up to imply that she was in another conversation. “Yes, at least you don’t weave them into my hair,” Astra said, “although there is a difference between collecting and hoarding, and you’re straddling the line.” Mitja twitched its head away from Astra, then hopped along the shelf towards Citrine and let loose a series of deep clicks. What a pretty bunch! It was what a certain someone’s collection would have looked if someone else weren’t such a killjoy. It lowered its head, wings pressed tight against the body, and dramatically swayed side to side—comically similar to a disappointed shopkeeper lamenting his lost wares.
Astra snorted from the other side of the room. In response to Citrine’s teasing, she said, “Oh, now I can definitely see the meaning of that.” The elf paused to take a dainty sip from her cup, then once again directed her gaze at the other woman. This time, her voice was back to its usual seriousness, though it still was drenched in a fair bit of curiosity. “If you can share those details, then why not? I am always looking forward to learning more about the other races.”
Of course, she left unsaid the reason why she knew so little was because the sun elves thought very highly of themselves; for a time, she believed in her own supremacy, too. An undercurrent of condescension made for poor relationships and conversations. “I do not know if I am half as interesting—but feel free to ask. It would be poor manners to refuse your conversations,” Astra gestured at the table laden with refreshments, “as you’ve been so kind to provide the meeting place and the beverages.”
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Alxolex
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H.J. Smee, sailor and thief (3) // Caligo Drogo, ranger (1)
Posts: 41
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Post by Alxolex on Feb 6, 2019 1:29:32 GMT
Now that the spinning had subsided and he’d mastered the art of not falling off his precarious perch on the armchair, H.J. took a minute to collect his thoughts, letting the others steer the conversation.
He had mixed feelings about being in the Ship’s Prow. The sitting area within the hull, with floors of salt-spackled warped planks felt just like the deck of any sea-worthy craft of a certain age. Even the magical lighting mimicked the sun’s reflection on still waters in a slight breeze. It felt like home. Or, more precisely, like home away from home.
And that was the bit that stirred his half-forgotten nostalgia.
But now he had a motley crew with him, and Citrine had ordered a round of reasonable drinks. He helped himself to a mug of coffee. “Don’t mind if I do, lassie. Ye have me thanks.” He tasted the steaming brew. Strong and bitter, just like he expected. He reached in his coat pocket to produce a flask and quickly poured a dollop of whiskey in the mug. Glancing at his nightly companions, he winked as he disappeared the slim metal flask in the folds of his coat. He sipped his drink and sighed.
The company was good for him. He was glad Astra had accepted his presence spontaneously (and Mitja had recognised him) despite his advanced inebriation. His dark thoughts and darker feelings had been getting the better of him until he stumbled on then. Or more, crashed into Stephen. But now he was wiggling free from the clutch of despair, nursing a hot drink that cleared his mind with every gulp.
He listened to the girls’ conversation. Astra was her usual quiet, intense self but he sensed that she, too, was dealing with her own wounds. And despite Citrine’s exuberant façade, he detected an undertow of nostalgia, a need to distract herself from painful memories clamouring for her attention.
He could definitely relate to that. And much like them, he welcomed the company and the chitchat and the shared drinks. He embraced the distraction.
But Stephen… Stephen was an intrigue. He was dressed as an Investigator yet was seated with civilians in a tavern. Sharing drinks with civilians. He hadn’t said much, shrugged off the number he’d done to his lapel, and followed them in here. Was he looking for gossip? Working an investigation? Nursing loneliness with interesting strangers?
Because they were an interesting bunch, if he could say so himself. And now were the lassies actually challenging each other to a show-off of capabilities? He had a brief mental image of blasts of arcane fire, singed feathers, tattered clothes… Interesting and exciting. H.J. hid his smile behind his cup, sipping his hot drink.
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Arikarka
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Linked Characters: Citrine, Gigi, and Rhia
Posts: 316
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Post by Arikarka on Feb 6, 2019 17:15:18 GMT
Still lounging, her wings made it near impossible to sit 'proper' in most furniture after all, Citrine kept up her lazi-faire posture. "Course." She would never be one to refuse a chance to peacock around. She shifted up a bit, awkwardly sitting up and lifting her wing joins to rest over the back of the chaise lounge. A bit short the redhead frowned and shifted more so her legs could fold under her - giving the few more inches of height so the joints could rest as comfortable as they could (ie, not really, but short term? It was alright) without rubbing on the top of the backing.
The playful grin was on her face, as was her standard, as Mitja click-lamented in her general direction. "Really Lad, ef ye want one ye just need tae ask." She taunt-offered the familiar, speaking to it and not giving a whit if it in turn truly understood her words. It was one of her quirks, speaking to anything living as if it were just as good a standing as herself. Reaching up into her hair, fingers cataloging through the multiple pieces in her collection, before closing in on a smooth piece of aqua sea glass wrapped in silver wire that was nearly fully hidden by the thick braids on the back of her head. Pinching the strands of hair between her talon-like nails she had the bauble came loose and dropped into her hand. Holding it out in the flat of her hand, resting on the folded knee, she tempted the familiar closer.
"'e makes me miss me' Lessi girl." She commented with a wistful fond memory. "She's nae shown up ov'r teh last few years, though Aye call fer 'er." she rolled the stone in her palm to catch the light. "But they come an' go, dane they… familiars."
Looking back up to nod towards Smee she comment, "Aye, nae worries. Et's on teh house after all, Aye just put en teh request an' got lucky Marrshale twas awake an' willin'." And to Astra? "Teh location was easy an' close. Wasn't gonna end up anywhere good tonight, sae perhaps ets ah good thing we all stumbled across one another. Ye can call me Citrine, by the by." Casually she tacked on the introduction almost like a spare thought.
Sad drinking, it was the worst sort. It lead to bad decisions, even worse scenarios, and sometimes? Death if you were really unlucky. Her mage hand materialized and began making herself up a cup of tea to set it brewing. She'd grab it once it was done.
Returning to the previous topic on hand though? "Everyone's interestin' en tehir own light Lass." She commented. "Each life's as unique as ah stone on teh beach. Take me fer example!" She preened a bit, her vain-ness coming through. "As Aye said earlier, Aye'm nae quite an Aarakocra - but ah phoenix. Long story short, aye, teh same enough found en legends an' stories." It was a point of pride, it was clear. "Ancient song, ferocity, flyin', bird 'o fire - all o' et. Rebirth tae, though Aye've yet tae see what truly 'appens ef Aye die en this form." She added as an afterthought.
She'd dropped the teasing romantic undertones she'd thrown towards Astra. From her stiff posture and proper form of speech? It'd be wasted on the elf. Not that she still wouldn't try to be as frustrating annoying to see how far she could get under her skin. She'd found her Holly-replacement target. It'd been several years now since she'd found someone as uptight and 'Chelliax' as her sister. It brought back a certain level of nostalgia. And yes, she was trying to bribe and get on the familiar's good side in order to keep tempting the two back around. Most who had familiar, after all, were sweet to their helpers. She could spare a few more trinkets if that's what it took. It was a taste of home she'd not had in so long, and the firebird didn't want it to go away.
"Sae what makes ye interestin' Lass? Elves live ah long time tae - ye've must'ave experienced ah whole slew o' events an' people." Her head cocked to the side, excited to speak to someone else long-lived.
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