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Post by moralhazard on Feb 2, 2019 18:11:00 GMT
Thea stepped back, hands on her hips, and surveyed the small room, tucked off to the left of Jhalassan's main shop. Given the short time she’d been in Waterdeep, it wasn’t bad. Jhalassan had offered her more time, but Thea hadn’t wanted to wait. Nights sleeping in the workshop never bothered her; she was happy to blow glass until she was so tired her hands shook, sleep, wake up and begin again. As an apprentice, she’d needed to temper her work ethic with patience; then, working while tired often meant ruined materials, broken pieces, even burns. These days, though, Thea was fairly sure she could actually have blown the glass in her sleep. Certainly, at least, the molded pieces. Furthermore, she hadn't yet found a place to stay. Jhalassan had offered her a room in his family's villa while she found her feet. Kind of him; she was grateful that Thaddeus's letter had reached him before she had. Thaddeus had sent the letter more than a week before she'd left, but no reply had come; until the moment when she'd arrived at the Guild of Glassblowers, Glaziers and Speculum-Makers at the House of Crystal, in the North Ward, and been met with enthusiasm and welcome rather than confusion, she hadn't been entirely sure. She had accepted the room, and was more than grateful for it and the meals he'd offered. Jhalassan's personal workshop was in the North Ward, but she'd found she was more comfortable among the apprentices in the larger space attached to the shop, and so that had meant that a daily trek back to the North Ward made little sense, especially in the short days of winter. That, and the workshop was always warm, thanks to the massive glass furnaces kept lit at nearly all hours; there had been more than one night when just the thought of cold she'd have to brave outside had been enough to convince Thea to sleep in the workshop, either on her bedroll tucked into a strategic corner close-but-not-too-close to the furnace, or to take one of the apprentice's cots for the night. She still hadn't seen much of Waterdeep, although she'd come to know the High Road well enough - at least the street between Sleeper's Walk and Tarnath Street. After today's exhibition, perhaps she'd even start to have some customers, either her own or through Jhalassan, at least for now. Customers meant work, naturally, but it would be too much to expect that she'd have a feverish pace to start with; she would be happy with just a few commissions, which would leave her with plenty of time for exploration. All she had to do was to make it through today. And, as she surveyed the shelves, Thea couldn't find it in herself to regret any of the effort she'd made.
The simplest pieces were the basis of any glassblower’s repertoire, molded glass objects made the same a thousand times. They were displayed on one set of Jhalassan’s wood shelves to the right of the door: vials, bottles, tankards, jugs, just one of each design. Today wasn’t for selling so much as showing. On the left, Thea had placed more magical items. Different designs for glass wands, some plain, some colored, her favorite with red and gold-colored rods woven over the surface to create a rich texture. Orbs, too, suitable for arcane focus.
And in the center - Thea’s eyes drifted back to the center and she couldn’t help but grin. The faint breeze ruffling her hair picked up, as though echoing her emotions. Any glassblower could make the items that lined the walls. They weren’t so different from the rest of Jhalassan’s shop, although Thea felt her lines were cleaner and smoother than most of that work, her use of color and texture more delicate, in a subtle way. But that middle? That was art.
She had laid out a table in the center of the shop with examples of her freeblown work. There was a small, dark black kraken centered in an ovel of deep blue glass, textured tentacles rippling around it and reaching out towards the viewer, as though they might grab your wrist when you weren’t watching. There was a larger sculpture, a small circular base with glass bursting upwards and swirling outwards from it in a rippling spiral, like a cyclone blown of glass. Three spiral pendants hung from the ceiling above the table, ombre, shading from pale white at the top to dark blue at the bottom, each with a slightly different twist. There were a few others as well, nothing newly designed for this exhibition, but newly blown to life, and never the same as they had been before, whether by design or chance. Even the most well-rested glassblower couldn't be sure that her breath would be exactly the same, every single time - and nor should she. Molds were for patterns; freeblown was for imagination.
And then, in the center, the very center of the entire thing -
“So this is a storm orb.” Jhalassan’s voice startled Thea from her reverie, and she turned, grinning at him, too pleased with herself for modesty.
“Yes.” Thea said. “Thaddeus mentioned them, when he wrote you?”
“Yes,” Jhalassan’s lips quirked in a smile as well. “I must admit, from his description, I wasn’t sure what to think.”
Thea grinned all the wider. The orb rested on a small piece of cloth, a perfectly round, perfectly clear piece of glass. Inside, a tiny thunderhead cloud writhed, alive and moving inside its tiny prison. As they watched, a small bolt of lightning burst forth from the cloud, striking the glass and dissipating into nothing. The apprentices had crowded around when she'd given the glass the last twist that sealed the storm inside; it had occupied everyone's attention for a good quarter hour, at least until Dharkand, Jhalassan's second in command at the shop, returned to the workshop.
“It doesn’t harm the glass?” Jhalassan asked.
“No,” Thea said. “The first one I made was five years old. When I left Sembia, the glass looked the same as it had the day I made it. If they break, the storm vanishes - it doesn’t do any harm.”
Jhalassan nodded, hands clasped behind his back, eyes on the little globe. “Thaddeus's description did not do it justice. I wish you good fortune today, Althea.”
“Thank you.” Thea smiled again.
“Dharkand has put your sign outside.” Jhalassan said. “Now all you must do is wait.”
Thea watched the globe as he walked away, another sharp shock of lighting bursting to strike the top of it. She felt as ready as she could; the night before she’d gone back to her room at Jhalassan’s villa, and luxuriated in a long, hot bath, scrubbing away the grime of the workshop. Her bluish-white hair gleamed, and her tunic and underclothes were newly pressed, with no wrinkles from the walk to the workshop. Thea took a last, deep breath, adjusted her belt, and turned to face the door. After so long at work, it was past time for some new faces. |
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Post by enchilada on Feb 2, 2019 20:44:11 GMT
Enchee Laah’daah was an opportunist if nothing else. She had learned most things the hard way, especially the things like stealing, what, when and how. The only problem with this was putting it into practice; for some reason, Enchee couldn’t manage to think things through while simultaneously doing the thing she thought. A great heist may take years to plan, but for Enchee it could take that long to find the perfect way to take a nice rock from a noble’s garden she probably shouldn’t go into. It was frustrating, that rock was really nice and took lots of work to get, but she only managed to trade it for half a loaf of bread.
She stuck her hands in her pockets, and walked around town in a huff, her face drawn into an over exaggerated scowl. Finishing her little paper round was difficult, the last house belonged to someone she assumed was eight feet tall or something, the mailbox slot was just a little too high for her to reach comfortably, and she knew the ways of people like herself- like she used to be. Newsprint could keep you warm if you used it right, or you could burn it, probably sell it if it wasn’t more than a day old. It hadn’t yet occurred to her that she could probably use magic in some way, and magic in public, whether ‘real’ or ‘superstitious’, had lead to some pretty traumatic times in the past. Enchee didn’t like the past.
At least it was finished, and there was nothing left to deliver. Squinting up at the sky, Enchee grinned. It wasn’t even midday yet! That gave her enough time to have a wander and get back to the inn. She dug her hands into her pockets a little further. Crucible would probably be there, and if she found herself with nimble fingers and a few extra gold, he’d be annoyed. Very annoyed, probably. Best behaviour, that’s what she promised every day as she slipped out the door, but she had broken it more times than she could be proud of. Enchee was a thief. A rotten, dirty thief that could never fit into society! A horrible little girl with no respect for anyone but herself! The voice rang out clear as day in her mind, but it was only a memory. Her thumb passed over her focus like a worry stone. Taking, taking, taking, and all because of these crazy dreams. Look at the nest, look at all the things you’re hoarding, goblin, look at the- her head snapped towards a sign that caught her travelling eye, aimlessly floating at nothing. Today might just be a broken promise day. But what Crucible didn’t know wouldn’t kill him, especially if she stashed the goods somewhere like... well. Like her old hidey hole.
She cringed a little when she saw the place empty, she needed distractions if it would work out okay. Scratching her head, she walked off to somewhere in view but out of the way, and kneeled down. It shouldn’t take too long. Oh- oh this was suspicious wasn’t it? Stupid stupid girl- wait. Enchee pulled out her cards. Maybe today wouldn’t be such a bad day for a little superstitious magic in public - maybe, just maybe, she might even bag a couple coppers in the process. Oh what a lovely day. A lovely, quick, productive day. An enjoyable day, one may argue, if they were so inclined. Well, she’d wait for the cards to tell. Her dream last night had been relatively neutral.
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Post by pastels on Feb 3, 2019 7:31:08 GMT
The North Ward was a district crammed with lovely, tasteful houses, and a peaceful silence stretched from the clean iron lampposts on every corner to the cobblestones in its streets. Since her arrival in Waterdeep, Proserpina had no chance to walk along the upper-class districts in the famous city--there were enough posturing fools around without her adding to their number. There was no doubt she could snake her way into the Castle Ward, if not with her talent then with her looks. But that was a dangerous avenue, and tasteless besides. Where was the challenge in manipulating basic desires? Any halfwit could do that.
Still, she had to admit that it was a bit uncomfortable living well below what she was used to... One of the hardest trials Proserpina faced was rebuilding her social capital. After all, what was a courtier without her contacts? One does not win a battle of intrigue by walking around, whacking people upside the head when they refused your offer; it was a Game of deception that required one to have the same footing as their rival. Half the fun was trying to cancel out each other's advantages.
Even so, there was a roof above her head and a paying audience for her lyre. Life was good.
And today, in particular, was amazing.
She didn't notice, at first. That was what happens when she gets too engrossed in her performances--the world narrows to a certain, singular point, with her at the center of the spotlight and all else in the shadow. But when she was done, the most boisterous applause came from a young, fresh-faced man at the back of room. She glanced at his form with a fine eye and noticed, with some surprise, that he wore beautiful, expensive clothes under the rough cloak. The Blue Mermaid wasn't exactly a gathering place for nobles. When all was said and done, Proserpina received a lovely tip and the promise of future employment. Oooh! Just the thought made her giddy once more.
So here she was, at the House of Crystal, to visit the Guild of Glassblowers, Glaziers and Speculum-Makers. She had always been fond of trinkets and this time--as a reward for a job well-done and a toast to her future--she would buy one for herself. How novel. Buying something with one's well-earned money. It sure felt different from watching funds flow towards something the House needed, and seeing it appear where it should.
It felt... clean, and pleasant, further bouying her pleasant mood.
Proserpina glided into the room, past a small, hunched form, and eagerly glanced around. Unlike her previous apparel, the tiefling had less accessories on today; her arms were mostly bare, except for an engraved golden armlet on her left arm, and a couple of thin, delicate bangles around her left wrist. The chains strung along the notches in her horns were gone, too and she wore a simple white toga with a wheat motif stitched across the lower hem. Her hand immediately dropped over the small pouch looped around her shoulder, as if she could feel the coins beneath the fabric. There was so much to look at!
As she was walking to the hall, she noticed a few signs were scattered throughout the place. Apparently some sort of mini-exhibition was in place, to showcase the new artisans in the guild. Wonderful! Proserpina reined in her enthusiasm and walked towards the nearest table, which carried a variety of glass baubles; thankfully, nobody was tending it so she was free to look around without feeling the pressure to purchase anything.
Oooh, a glass-backed mirror! Were those swans? Oh, how about this pin! The dexterity and skill it took to mold glass into such a shape was astounding.
Up ahead, two figures talked, one of whom was a lithe woman with sky-blue skin. But it wasn't her coloring that caught her attention--not when she looked the shade of a yarrow, herself.
It was the flash of lightning near her, the roiling skies perfectly encapsulated within a glass dome.
"Oh!" Proserpina gasped, free hand flying to her cheek in delight and surprise, and her thoughts immediately turned to her light purse. No, no. Surely she couldn't afford that beauty.
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Arikarka
Approved
Linked Characters: Citrine, Gigi, and Rhia
Posts: 316 
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Post by Arikarka on Feb 3, 2019 17:32:10 GMT
Having spent more than a month in Waterdeep, Citrine was becoming a common enough site throughout the different Wards of the city. She had a better reputation in some compared to others… minor details - she'd improve her standing there later… if she felt like it. The North Ward, filled with artisans, crafters, and creators had drawn her eye several times, tempting the bird with several shinies and baubles. One or two she'd purchased on a whim, small items that would fit in her hair or stitched to her clothing as embellishments but nothing unique or special had caught her attention.
Rumors and whispers were something she always kept an ear open for, something Amelia was more than willing to trade for (she had a weakness for, it turned out, the deep molasses thick Dragon's Milk Ale that the Yawning Portal sold on tap). So Citrine was kept abreast of the news before the criers could spread the word and well before print could make it to the streets. And today's news? There was to be an exhibition in the North Ward, displays from artisans around the city - and some even travelled in from further cities! - promising unique and never before seen art. Citrine's bird-like nature wasn't going to pass up the chance to see such wonders. As a hobby artisan herself, sewing, stitching, and clothes-making, as well as knotwork, the firebird was excited to see what there was to offer.
Meandering down Sleeper's Walk, red captain's jacket open in the front to show the emerald band of her chest wrap and brunt orange dancer scarf around her waist the phoenix had a more casual appearance today. Her hat was left in her room but a smaller old worn bandana that might have been black at one point kept some of her lion's mane of hair, braids, dreads, and trinkets out of her face. Her arms were bare, like usual, the tattoos twining through where small down feathers grew on her shoulders and around her waist poking through in a curious way (how did the tattooist reach there? Skill… magic… and skill). Black laced-up pants finished off the look while her tail feathers sashayed behind her like the tailcoat of a fancy noble's suit. And her wings? Simply settled like a cloak around her shoulders, the folded wing tips merging with the elegant and ornate feathers of her tail.
She followed the street, asking a few people on her way to help direct her towards Thond Glass and Glazing. The closer she got the more excited she was. It didn't take long for her to find the storefront - the glass windows were polished and gleamed, and people were already starting to head inside. It was a beautiful winter midday.
Outside near the entrance, being ignored by many a passerby much more well dressed then the figure, was what looked like a little goblin girl. Her hair caught the firebird's attention - the flame color matching her own wings. Tucking a braid behind her ear Citrine smiled (her joyful mood about the niceness of the day and the excitement of the exhibition would not be dampened) stepped off the street to the side-walk like area and cocked her head to look down and see what was going on. Cards. Tarot cards, to be precise. My, how she missed her own deck - sitting snug in her chest back at the inn. Memories aside Citrine crouched down, not trying to be silent or stealthy, but most birds were rather quiet by nature, so she was face-to-face with the girl - not hard when they were in the same size range of 3-4 feet tall. The firebird was only about a foot taller by her quick height judgement, made negligible as she crouched.
"'Ello there Lass." She started as a greeting. "Don't mean tae startle ye, but Aye couldn't 'elp but notice ye cards." She nodded towards the deck she was shuffling and consulting. "They're ah beautiful well-worn set." The complement was true and honest, respect for the divination tools stemming (it could be assumed) because she herself knew their worth from having her own. "Haven't trouble decidin' what tae dae?" If someone was taking out a deck, here, on the side of the road it wasn't because they were doing a reading for someone. It was most likely for personal consultation. "Perhaps Aye can 'elp?" She grinned then, clearly not having a problem at all in speaking to a goblin, and was, in fact, speaking to her as an equal. "Aye'm about tae go en an' see teh new wares an' shinies." She cocked her head, birdlike, as she asked a question. "Care tae join me? Only ef ye want tae o' course. Maybe walkin' around will 'elp ye figure out ye problem…" She looked back to the cards. "Without teh chance o' getting ye cards dirty on teh street." It'd be horrid if a well-loved deck such as hers was ruined because of someone kicking up slush or dirt.
Behind her someone walked into the shop, glanced only out of the corner of her eye. A red tiefling, female, she assumed, based on the toga style, and the grace in which she walked. It seemed the room was starting to fill up. Nodding with a quick bird-like gesture to the door Citrine held out her hand, the semi-taloned fingers curled in what she hoped would be a welcoming beckon. There was just something about the flame-haired goblin that tugged at her heart. Maybe it was because of the similar hair - fire called to fire after all. "Ye can always pull out teh deck inside ef et's nae tae ye likin', keep 'em safe ferm dirt."
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Post by enchilada on Feb 3, 2019 18:04:45 GMT
Something about strangers made her uncomfortable. It was different when you stole from them, and different when they were... mundane. This woman was not, but like the child she was, just the colour red made her happier. An odd way to trust, and one she ought to change, but recently she’d been talking to more and more people. It’s her job that got her outside, and she had to be friendly if she was representing the paper. She thought back to meeting Zantiln. Enchee was a lonely child, her parents had to push her to meet others, but books occupied her vacant friend group. Zantiln was the boy who looked after her when her parents went off at night and she was alone. He was older, about fourteen, but he was kind. Kindness was what she needed to remember- not some boy. He was probably dead.
Enchee swiftly tucked her cards back in her pocket, along with her dear friend Queso, who poked her little head out of the pocket briefly. The goblin didn’t really notice or care, she just kept mulling over what to do. The polite and therefore correct thing seemed to be accept the invitation, even if her head screamed to pull out a knife and grab this woman’s stuff while she was distracted. Couldn’t disappoint her d... warforged friend.
“I’m not Lass, I’m Enchee.” Did this lady mistake her for someone else? That’d be really awkward, actually. Oh- oh wait was it one of those placeholder names? Enchee practically shrunk inside herself, she was so awkward. And now she looked like an awkward, stupid goblin. Probably homeless like before, but - but she had a job now! She just wanted to seem like a normal kid and be left alone, but she’d been trapped in this interaction now. What she wouldn’t give for Crucible to swoop in and scoop her up, take her away and get her to the inn. She caved, though, remembering the kindness she tried to dig up from so long ago. “I’m, uh. I told you already. I’m Enchee.” She looked at the hand, her own hand, and settled on a polite handshake. She could only assume you were meant to shake as hard as you possibly could. It seemed natural at the time!
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Post by moralhazard on Feb 3, 2019 18:08:47 GMT
“I mean – I like it. I like the wand. I’m just – I’m not sure, you know?” The human male bit his lip, examining the red and gold wand resting on his palm.
Thea barely managed to stifle a giggle. It wouldn’t have been quite so funny if the conversation hadn’t been going on for the last ten minutes. “I understand,” she said, solemnly. “It’s a big decision.”
So far, the exhibition had been going well – very well. She’d made two contracts for simple glass projects, vials in one case and tankards in another – but in both instances, she was fairly sure they’d chosen her over the rest of the artisans thanks to the creative works. Although, of course, her basics were very solid as well; no matter how pretty a storm orb was, it wouldn’t trick someone into buying substandard glassware. The wands Thea hadn’t exactly intended to sell today; she’d have been happy leaving the exhibition without selling anything directly, truth be told. What mattered was the notice, the connections, the contracts; these were the bread and buttery of working as an artisan, not one-off purchases made by uncertain wizards. But, she’d made a few extras for purposes like this, particularly of the impulse items, and it wouldn’t diminish her display too much to sell a few orbs, wands, or even the more artistic pieces – at least, some of them.
And, anyway, getting the more beautiful pieces out into the city was like advertising; it would never hurt. She would just have to balance sales with keeping enough for display.
“It’s a big decision,” The man continued as if Thea hadn’t even spoken. “It really is. I mean – a wand! That lasts for fifty spells, used properly of course. Fifty! I mean, it takes me a long time to cast fifty spells.” He paused, looking up at Thea. “Uh I – I mean – I cast spells just fine. Magic is complicated, you know. So it – it just takes a long time.”
Thea nodded again, still keeping a peaceful, solemn look on her face. “It sounds very complicated,” she smiled, eyelashes fluttering faintly. No one wanted to hear about you were a sorcerer while they were buying wands from you. “Anyway, I would hope you’d keep it for a long time!” She giggled, glad for an outlet for the laughter bubbling in her chest. “After all, I worked very hard to make it.”
The man’s shoulders went back, his chest expanding outwards. “Well – well, of course. It – it is beautiful. I mean, even after I couldn’t use it for a spell, I suppose I could – er – but… is this the right wand?”
Out of the corner of her eye, Thea could see a red tiefling approaching. She perked up, slightly; tiefling were rare in Sembia. She turned her full attention back to the wizard, meeting his brown eyes with her icy blue ones.
“I think it is the wand for you,” Thea reached forward, closing her fingers around his, and his around the wand. She didn’t let the contact linger for more than a second. “It’s bright, colorful – a decisive wand. Like you.” She let a faint smile flicker over her face. “You deserve a wand like this one.”
“I am?” The man blinked. “I mean – I am! I mean – I do! Yes! I’ll take it! Er – how much did you say it was?”
A few moments later, he was walking away with a big smile, turning the wand over in his hands. Thea pocketed his coins with a smile of her own, and turned to the tiefling, noticing the way her gaze lingered on the storm orb. “Do you like it?” She scooped up the orb, holding it out. “You can touch it if you want,” She grinned. “It won’t shock you.”
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Post by pastels on Feb 4, 2019 10:22:42 GMT
Proserpina stepped to the side to make way for the man, who seemed uplifted by his purchase. She caught a glimpse of twisted red and gold when he walked past—solid flame glinting under the cold winter light. Her eyes widened at the sight. She was no stranger to beauty… and that was a very good example of the kind.
“Beautiful wand you’ve got there.” A rich singsong voice drifted after the leaving customer, rattling him out of his post-purchase bliss. The man lifted his eyes off of the item in question and towards the source of the voice; a striking magenta tiefling with broad, sweeping horns smiled down at him, her hands placid atop her stomach.
“Oh, thanks–I mean, it’s not my wand, not really, which is to say I—I didn’t make it. Although I have made a lot of… a lot of things. Useful things. Just not this—this one.” He stammered, caught off-guard by the attention, and half-floundered, half-spun back towards the genasi, “It’s hers—or it was, until I bought it… Er, so it—it’s my wand now.”
Her benevolent smile grew at the edges as his wide brown eyes darted from her sandals to her shoulders—anywhere but her face. “Either way, ‘tis a wise choice. May it serve you well, dear,” Proserpina said, voice warm and indulgent. She dipped her head in a farewell gesture, which was hastily reciprocated by the human before she turned away.
The artisan who was responsible for the glass-caged storm now had the orb on her hand, and she held outward as if in an attempt to beckon her closer.
Proserpina’s smile turned rueful. It seemed she was a bit too obvious with her emotions, in the face of such lovely and unique works. Tossing a glance over her bare shoulder to see if the man was still around—the still-tinkling glass chimes above the guild doors signaled his flustered retreat—she moved towards the other woman. “Oh, I was half-afraid he would take all day!” she confessed with a laugh, which rung loud and bright like temple bells above a serene conclave. The substantial volume with which her glee ricocheted around the room seemed to surprise even her, and Proserpina brought a hand over her lips. “My apologies. Ooh, this place has good acoustics.”
Now that they were closer to each other, Proserpina became more aware of the stark differences in their physicalities. She was tall, wide in the hips and a blooming yarrow in shade; the glassblower was smaller, lean and pale as a melting spire of ice. The contrast only served to highlight their respective features.
“Truly?” A breath of wonder escaped Proserpina, and she furtively reached out towards the orb. Her fingers touched down upon the surface, gently—and when it became apparent that yes, the creation exuded none of the raw power it contained within, her expression shifted to pure delight. Proserpina pulled her hand back and clapped, the dainty motion accelerated by her approval. “Why, this is—oh! Amazing! How could you have done it, I wonder?”
As she gazed down at the churning skies, lit up every now and then by lightning spitting across the expanse, a bittersweet feeling trailed across her breast. She read to her brothers once, in a storm, when they were still children. Neither Basileus nor that rat-faced harridan was home, so she was left in charge of everything. As soon as the rain started, the maids gathered them up and ushered them inside their rooms—gap-toothed Eustakhios with his sticky fingers, and his propensity for attacking the jar of sweets in the kitchen; wide-eyed Alkandros, who even then had the sharp eyes of a hawk; and her, with nubby horns and plump fingers as yet too clumsy to handle cloaked daggers. She chose to read a story because neither of them would stop screaming every time thunder and lightning split the skies, but the light was too weak—eventually, she gave up on reading and spun a tale of warriors and dragons from her mind, and the two boys listened throughout the storm with nary a single whimper.
“’Tis an understatement to say I like it,” Proserpina finally said, her eyes on the smaller woman. “’Tis beautiful—are you famous? Have I unknowingly walked into a master’s exhibit?” She laughed again, left knuckle against her cheek. “Forgive me if I have! Where I come from, art is a way of life—‘tis uncommon to see a home without half a dozen artworks within its halls. I am beyond glad to see the caliber of your creations." In a bright moment of self-awareness, she added, "Now, don’t assume I’m trying to sweet-talk you for a discount; ‘tis true!”
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Post by moralhazard on Feb 4, 2019 15:38:12 GMT
Thea couldn’t laugh at the tiefling’s comment – no matter how badly she wanted to. It was one thing to, well, usher a customer along, and another entirely to laugh at him with his back turned, no matter what she might feel in truth. He owned one of her wands, now, and that was a serious bond, not something Thea took lightly. He would be happy with the wand; Thea wouldn’t have sold it to him had she not believed it. She had just given him a little – nudge.
But, neither could Thea quite contain her grin; the tiefling’s laugh was beautiful, loud and chiming, and her voice equally potent.
Thea read the pleasure and amazement on the tiefling’s face, and a flicker of something else too – something harder to put words on. She laughed at the tiefling’s admission, this time genuine, all the harder for suppressing it before, not remotely immune to flattery. “I’m not famous,” she admitted. “Yet.” Thea grinned again.
“I call them storm orbs,” Thea explained. “Water, a drop of lightning, and the memory of a storm,” she gazed into the glass herself. It was small enough to rest on one hand, albeit carefully, and with a quick, smooth motion she passed it between her palms, turning it over and jarring the storm. It writhed and twitched like a real thing, the clouds roiling and righting themselves back into a tall, proud thunderhead, two indignant spits of lightning slapping at the glass.
“The trick,” Thea was never shy to talk about her process, confident it couldn’t be replicated, “is to remember the feeling of a storm. Just the sight and the sound isn’t enough,” she smiled. “The glass needs the feelings it gave you. That’s what gives it life.”
Slowly, reluctantly, Thea set the orb back down on the table. “I can’t sell it,” she admitted, letting it linger, then grinned. “At least – not now. I need it for the rest of the exhibition. It’s not like I have a spare sitting under the table!” She grinned at the tiefling, happy to let her make the next move.
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Arikarka
Approved
Linked Characters: Citrine, Gigi, and Rhia
Posts: 316
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Post by Arikarka on Feb 5, 2019 18:39:44 GMT
Squeezing back in the handshake, grinning at the double introduction of the name Enchee, Citrine curl-cracked her knuckles after the goblin's grip released her hand. "Well then Enchee." It seemed the name was preferred. "Ye can call me Citrine. An' et's been ah pleasure meetin' ye, Lass." She stood up a bit, noticing something moving on the girl's pocket but not quite catching what it was. Abandoning any more talk on the fortune telling cards, as it seemed too they weren't a topic the girl was interested in talking about, Citrine put both hands on her hips and leaned back on her heels slightly.
"Well, et's up tae ye on whatcha want tae do. Aye'll be headin' inside ef ye want tae follow - o' ye can stay out 'ere. Nae problem at-ull." With that the firebird gave a small bow, tipping her saluting fingers in a farewell, and turning towards the door to the shop, pausing only to let a man holding a twisted glass wand made of red and gold step out muttering under his breath about how he deserved this. Huh. Weird.
Entering the space Citrine's eyes went wide. Her wings clenching tight to her back in order to not accidentally knock into anything. "By teh Goddess." Her breath whispered the prayer as her eyes took in it all. Stunning displays of glass and shiny flecks catching the light.
Even the simpler pieces, the daily glassware people would use more for function than art were a sight. Function and reliability were better than beauty at times - couldn't get very far in life if everyday items weren't built to last after all. Then the hanging pieces drew her eye up, then the sculptures on the table -particularly the piece with the kraken moving in it- stole her gaze. Her right hand ghosted down to run over her hip where she had a monstrous sea-beast forever inked into her skin and magic.
“I’m not famous,” she admitted. “Yet.” Thea grinned again.
A trill of an up and down whistle, a sound of joy and simple pleasure at seeing such a destructive force brought down to a wee size made her tail flutter - which it did. Reaching down to delicately touch the statue on the table, listening with one ear to the tiefling she'd seen enter earlier speak with who must have been the creator. "Et's ah fine piece ye 'ave 'ere Lass." She said, only now looking up to nod a hello to the other two woman.
“I call them storm orbs”
And when she did? She saw it.
A deeper whistle of appreciation and longing for owning such a thing rang through her birdsong. It took all her will to not reach out. She was afraid if she did touch it she'd not want to let go. Her eyes locked onto the storm, the roll of the thunder was perfectly imagined in her mind's memory as the lightning brought her back to nights spent sailing through storms, having the electric light the only thing to brighten the sea. Her wings puffed up off her back then, as she became lost in her own sea of memories - the perfume around her cycled through a warm ocean breeze, wood polish, then changing to smell like rain, then pungent burning leaves - and finally the sharp tang of wood that had been lashed by lightening. The phoenix stood there, trapped on the rolling sea of emotions... all brought on by seeing the small cell of a storm, cut off from the world around it. Her feathers betrayed the emotions within her heart
“The glass needs the feelings it gave you. That’s what gives it life. I can't sell it.”
She heard the creator state it wasn't for sale - but that didn't mean one couldn't be commissioned - confirmed when the air genasi hinted at a potential future possibility. But there'd be time for business later. Pleasure first, always first. Snapping out of her memories Citrine's crest feathers shivered in time with her re-awareness, the foggy glaze that had coated her raptor eyes clearing. "Aye've ne'er seen anythin' like et Lass." Her head cocked to the side lightly, as birds tended to do, and grinned a 'set alive' smile. "Et's beautiful." Appreciation only could have ran truer if she'd sung it in her native language. "Aye take et ye are en fact teh creator?"
Citrine made a bow upon confirmation, one of respect to her and her craft. "Aye dan't mean tae interrupt ye two, sae pardon me. Teh kraken caught me eye, an then when ye shifted? Aye saw teh orb an' couldn't 'elp meself from sayin' somethin'."
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Post by enchilada on Feb 5, 2019 21:43:39 GMT
It was like having a heist partner. Go in, distract the shopkeep and I’ll grab. Oh it filled her with glee; Enchee had been hankering for something to steal for ages, and they’d been laid out in front of her all ripe for the pickings. She cracked her knuckles, pulled her hair over her face and pet Queso gently. “It’s time.” She whispered. Time to stretch unused muscle, not for survival, but for fun. She thought these days would be gone. How wonderful they were here to stay! Enchee grinned to herself as the bird lady started talking, yes, perfect. Music to her little goblin ears! Enchee cracked her knuckles again, like a nervous little tic. She was full of those at times.
Enchee took a deep breath, then sighed out. The time to calm down approached rapidly as she herself approached the door of the shop. Tiptoeing over, she peeked in again, fresh eyes on a fresh situation. She bit her lip as she made sure in her mind that that blue lady was busy talking to both the other ladies. If one of them saw her then that would be just as bad as the blue lady seeing her, she assumed the blue lady was the shopkeep, and then she’d get the guards on her. Imagine explaining that to her poor friend. She made an exasperated sound, only in her mind, then she thought about some kind of cover. Sticking to the truth usually worked, so she’d just cast her mind back a few weeks, no problem. The dread of cold filled her slightly, she immediately thought of the reasons why stealing was such a brilliant pastime for little orphans with no home. If worst comes to worst, you can sell on, trade and offer up little trinkets. Enchee liked owning things, she couldn’t have any of her old toys, or her old books. She wondered if she could still read those, her parents said the brain is a muscle, so you have to use it. She didn’t too much.
She wouldn’t be able to sneak in, so she walked in, trying to seem as inconspicuous as possible. Just a look, just a peek. If something went walkabouts it was probably that bird lady! Look at all the shinies on her - she was loud and proud about her theft! Enchee almost laughed thinking about what she could make up for the guards, tears streaming down her face. Oh wouldn’t that be lovely- just like these shinies! These trinkets were beautiful! She kept behind a little. Enchee willed for something to happen to keep everyone’s eyes firmly in the opposite direction. Not yet, not yet. Just wait.
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Post by pastels on Feb 6, 2019 4:52:05 GMT
“Storm orbs,” Proserpina let the words roll across her tongue. The artisan’s deft motions unsettled the grey skies within the globe; simply looking at the item evoked a sense of melancholy mixed with fierce pride—like defiance glowing in the eyes of a sailor as he beheld the mighty kraken rising from the depths. Another strike of lightning colored the glass. The tiefling pressed a finger against her chin, thoughts ablur with inspiration, as she said, “How potent a memory it must be to create such a vibrant piece!”
So potent, in fact, that she felt the stirrings of a song, the barest breath of a chant pounding along with the rhythm of the tempest. The melody screeched to a stop when the artisan said it wasn’t for sale. Yet. The one word was important.
“Oh?” A new face joined their midst, eyes bright even against the splash of colors dotting her voluminous red hair. Orange-fire feathers and various tattoos showed through the gaps in her clothes. Proserpina idly turned, a ready smile on her lips, and met the stranger’s glance head-on. “No worries, friend. I share the same sentiment; I was just about to express my disbelief that she is as yet unknown—”
As if reminded of an urgent event, the tiefling started, her hands locked in place. “Oh, how rude of me. I haven’t yet introduced myself! Ooh, my thoughts have fled so early in the day,” she exclaimed, a light dash of self-depreciation clinging to her musical accent. Proserpina dipped into a half-curtsy, the wheat design embroidered onto her skirts swaying as if a tossed by a gentle breeze, and brought a hand over her heart. A posy of small violets and stark red blooms blossomed from down her index finger to the back of her palm. The action was reverent; artists and sculptors—who were the lifeblood of Chessenta’s economy and culture—commanded a great deal of respect.
“I am Proserpina Fellsong. Warm rays and swift winds to the both of you.” The flowers disappeared with a flick of the wrist, and the tiefling warmly smiled down at the two women, before her attention was once again upon the artisan. “Going back to the storm orb, however,” she paused, choosing her words carefully, “I understand.”
Oblivious to the goblin girl sneaking nearby, Proserpina continued, voice light and playful. “I wait with bated breath for you to take commissions, then! Although I must inquire… Do you also create accessories, trinkets, the like?” Her smile grew wider, bolstered by her eagerness and determination to further a distant goal. “I will need better than what I currently have, should my performances take me to the higher Wards.”
And they will.
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Post by moralhazard on Feb 6, 2019 6:11:32 GMT
“Yes,” Thea’s eyes widened at the approach of the bird-woman, and for a moment she was left stunned, thinking not of the exhibition, not the importance of making a good impression, not even the pride she felt for her storm orb and the rest of her creations. The woman was an incredible mix of colors, the red and orange of her feathers and the red of her jacket somehow matching the green band beneath, not to mention the tattoos and feathers swirling over her skin.
And yet – when Thea looked at her, the memory that came the most strongly was a half-remembered bird hovering over the wake of her mother’s ship, hovering until it folded its wings back and dove, splashing into the water and emerging victorious with a fish as large as it was. Thea had climbed the rigging to keep pace with the bird as it circled, slowly, up and up and up, until it could deposit the fish in its nest, tucked into the cliff side, with downy little heads peeping out.
Thea’s hair ruffled, and she gave her head a faint shake, coming back to the present. “Yes, I’m the – creator,” she grinned, giving the storm orb a last quick glance. She smiled at the bird woman. “Thank you. It would be dishonest to say that that effect isn’t what I’ve hoped for.” She grinned. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see what looked like a small child at the edge of the display; with a quick check to make sure nothing was breaking, she turned back to the tiefling and the bird-woman.
The tiefling was introducing herself, and Thea returned her curtsy with a half-bow of her own. “Warm rays and swift winds to you as well, Proserpina Fellsong,” she replied, admiring the effect on the woman’s hand. “I am Althea Baring. Thea, if you please.”
“Commissions will come soon,” Thea promised. “Most days, I am at Thond Glass and Glazing in the Trades Ward and, of course, messages can be left for me at the guild.” She admired Proserpina, thinking. “Accessories and trinkets are always a pleasure. I would need to hear your music first, of course,” she grinned. “That is, if you want my help with the designs! We'll make something that will suit you, now and when you reach the higher Wards.”
Thea turned back to the bird woman, gaze tracing over her feathers, unable to hide the spark of awe in her eyes. “And you – Captain?” She grinned, taking a guess based on the jacket. “How might I be of service to you?” She offered the bird woman her own half-bow.
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Post by enchilada on Feb 6, 2019 9:46:31 GMT
No one seemed to have noticed her, so Enchee was filled with relief, and a little daring. She looked to her side, vials, cups, normal things. She didn’t really see craftsmanship as much as function. They didn’t look particularly special to her young goblin eyes, so she ignored them. Shuffling around a little, she tried to see through the two ladies at the table. They’d make efficient cover if she ducked low at a specific angle. She had to guess what angle that was, but she was practiced by now. Once assured she’d be obscured, she took another look around, this time noticing the other shelves, stocked with all kinds of goodies. Her own cheaply made, stolen glass orb was clearly inferior, and the wands were also absolutely beautiful. They reminded her of something Zantiln would have liked. He wasn’t innately magical, but he studied carefully and hard, and he was nimble and effective. Looking back, his parents were probably setting him up to follow the thievery line, but she wasn’t sure her own parents wanted this life for herself. They tried to keep it far from her field of view, but she was an observant child. She also knew that her dad wasn’t a merchant like he said he was because he never sold anything normally. Back alleys aren’t where normal people do normal things.
She found an object behind her back, and held onto it tight. Then she tucked it into her pocket, and then moved it to her coin pouch. Her hands were a little shaky, and Queso didn’t exactly keep quiet, but she was sure she’d be fine. It wasn’t like coin purse checking.
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Arikarka
Approved
Linked Characters: Citrine, Gigi, and Rhia
Posts: 316
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Post by Arikarka on Feb 6, 2019 19:36:36 GMT
Hear her sing? Citrine looked to take in the beautiful tielfing next to her now that she wasn't spellbound by the storm orb. Deep magenta skin, full dark red hair, and lines that anyone with an eye for beauty would be hard pressed to speak up. Truly, beautiful was too weak a word. Her graceful horns? Stunning eyes dripping gold? The firebird found it difficult to speak. So she made a reflexive coo, the tail end of it spiraling in appreciation though bore no resemblance to the whistles men would often mimic in a poor excuse to hail attention. This was the bird-folk language truly appreciating a sight of stunning splendor.
Citrine liked shiny things.
She watched as flowers sprang to life between her hand and heart and the firebird was instantly smitten. Not many tended to use magic like breathing, even here in Waterdeep where magic was fairly common place. The scent of rosewood, ebony, and a dash of spruce grew in the air. She couldn't help herself. She bowed, playfully sweeping her arm to her chest and peacocking her crest feathers as she playfully began her linty of appreciation. "An may no shadow e'er cross ye gravestone an' ye sun always shine with fire an' passion." The theatrical way of speaking took no effort to respond back to. Though not a bard in this life? She still held enough mannerisms of perhaps one of her favorites (besides her lives at sea) lifetimes. The bard life never left you once you experienced it. The firebird smiled, just for her it seemed. No doubt the tiefling, Proserpina, was accustomed to such antics like she was displaying - but she couldn't help herself.
"There be no doubt en me mind tha' ye'll fine yeself soarin' tae teh higher wards en nae time - either o' ye." She included the crafter, introduced as Althea, who no doubt would soon be whispered all throughout the trade ward and beyond.
It was then Citrine focused on the air genasi, and there was something in her that called to Citrine's very own soul. She kreed, sounding just like the seabird she was molded from, and dipped another bow in greeting. She was standing in front of a storm contained within the guise of a woman, she was sure of it. Perhaps her sorcerers' instinct was sensing the wild in her, just as she herself held wild inside. Though different, from her gut instinct, between their elements there was no doubt there was a spark between them. And? Citrine was a sucker for the soul of a storm. "Ye've an eye fer fashion from the seas!" She preened for herself and complemented Althea at the same time. "Captain Aye am, Captain Citrine Redbriar! O' teh Blood Red Rose." She flourished again, mindful and not as exuberant as she might usually do due to the glass all around. But the effect was the same. "But ye both can call me Rain ef ye perfer." She slyly added, voice smooth like the best whiskey offered in the dwarven capitol.
"Aye'm 'ere from teh whispers Aye heard about ye opening Lass!" She exclaimed, excited. "An teh whispers daen't dae et justice. Ye've musta seen ah beastie like 'em before tae scuplt 'em sae." She gestured perhaps a bit too swiftly for being inside a glass shop to the kraken sculpture. "But nae whisper could 'ave prepared me tae see such ah wonder en ye orb 'ere." Her gaze was back to the storm orb. "Have ye ever captured anythin' else within' ah orb?"
She'd noticed a small statue of shocking vibrant red hair follow into the store during one of her bows and had whistled happily in the back of her throat. Seems Enchee had decided to join inside after all? She let the lass be though, having gotten the feeling that she was a goblin who didn't enjoy being the center of attention. Not that she could blame her - with the reputation most of her kin had. And when she lifted out of the bow? That's when she missed the heist.
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Post by enchilada on Feb 8, 2019 20:30:29 GMT
Enchee focused her eyes on those in the room with her, all three people she was unsure about; for example, such pretty skin! And horns. And eyes. And then there were big, stretching wings. And blue lady. All of it she’d maybe seen in part before, but she didn’t care then. She just cared about what lined the pocket, not who it was attached to. But she could let her curiosity overcome her here, today, just this once. She chewed her lip. The goblin found that she was perhaps a little awkward, or that some would automatically distrust her. Then again, she used to have greasy matted hair, dirty clothes and an unwashed face. Surely now she blended in perfectly. Ignoring the scarring and the fact that she carried around every single object she owned.
The little thing scurried over to the triad of people, discussing something she’d blanked out as white noise, and she took her stance, wide eyes staring up at her first choice. Then, once she was sure she looked cute and innocent enough, she tugged on the magenta woman’s hand. Enchee’s big yellow eyes were no golden treasures, but they were playfully large, and oddly sorrowful, for a child at least. She didn’t pull hard, but hard enough to get attention. She didn’t demand it, it was a request, just a physical one that shouldn’t be denied.
Enchee had acted as a lost child before for food or money, or to be a decoy. She’d teamed up with some people in the same street-living boat as her before, but never for long, and never lasting long. Friends were a fresh concept. It was dangerous to make friends on the streets, who’s to say they won’t... carve your skull?
“Miss! Miss!” She yelled, childishly. Her red locks bounced around her face, like a living creature atop her head. Sometimes there was a living creature on her head, but she was in her pocket right now.
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