Original Submissions by Tarx
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Behind Thrend Lyksae
Added on Dec 29, 2009Biographies of Thrend Lyksae, edited to remove some IC information that probably should not be shared. Hopefully this will give some insight into a noble role.
Initial Background
It was late morning on Cingel, the 70th day of the Descending Sun
In the Year of Drov's Agitation, year 35 of the 21st AgeThrend has been raised up in the war-like House of Lyksae, trained in
warfare and in commanding soldiers for the majority of his life. A shrewd
man, he is more intent on finding long-term solutions to problems rather
than short-term, temporary fixes. He prides himself on his ability to think
through situations and use his mind, even though he is (what he considers,
at least) an ample combatant. This, coupled with the Lyksaen dislike of
writing, has led him to pick up what languages and cultural knowledge that
he could--knowing the mindset of possible opponents (and allies) would be
invaluable, in his opinion. A self-proclaimed strategist, he is entirely
open to unconventional means of fixing problems--whether they be in battle,
in treaties, or in everyday life. He does have a quirk of personality: he
is always conscious about fashion and keeping himself looking proper, clean,
and unruffled, almost to the point of being effeminate. In fact, some of
his flamboyant gestures have, in the past, put people entirely too
comfortable with a person that has no compunctions with sliding a blade
between ribs himself.Diplomacy and Tact
It was late morning on Huegel, the 30th day of the Ascending Sun
In the Year of Ruk's Peace, year 37 of the 21st AgeAfter more than three years serving as one of the primary representatives of
House Lyksae, Thrend has accomplished a great deal. He is the current governor
of the Southwestern Scrub and the Red Sun Commons. He has orchestrated the start
of several peace / alliance talks with different tribes of the Northlands.
Thrend is now on good terms with the Jul Tavan, the Benjari, and the Tan Muark.
Part of this is due to his skill at understanding differing cultures and their
languages, as well as how they perceive threats. His chief problem now
is the threat of the (information removed by author).
Thrend has also managed to deploy a Horde of Lyksaen Warriors to
operate out of Ayun Iskandir. Soon, he will begin using these forces as leverage
to put pressure on the regions thereabouts (Tan Muark homelands, Elan Pah, etc).
He is working fervently to increasing the influence of his House and himself
both within and outside the walls of the Ivory City.
(next entry will show details)Influence and Intimidation
It was late afternoon on Huegel, the 30th day of the Ascending Sun
In the Year of Ruk's Peace, year 37 of the 21st AgeThrend has begun to amass support amongst the commoner populace of the Northlands,
portraying himself as a noble figure in one sense, but as a charismatic commander
as well. He takes great care to be calm and cool about any decisions made publicly,
and keeps up with his training of personal combat, tactics, and reviews of strategy.
By doing all of this, he hopes to create a strong support base of commoners outside
of House Lyksae. Some will hopefully respect and listen to him out of his considerable
diplomatic and economic influence (alliances, treaties, influence he -can- hold over
Merchant Houses by taxing any goods sent out of the Commons or Scrub).
The rest? They should respect and listen to him because he tries to be intimidating.
(Whether or not they do remains up to them, of course.)Stance on Magick?
It was dusk on Huegel, the 30th day of the Ascending Sun
In the Year of Ruk's Peace, year 37 of the 21st AgeHouse Lyksae has a strong stance against magick--in fact, rumored to be one
of the most anti-magick groups in Zalanthas. As such, Thrend has lived most
of his life in a very black-and-white world in which all magick should be
destroyed, whatever the cost, as soon as possible. However, Thrend's work
with the Faithful and continued reports from the field have led him to begin
compiling at least a working understanding of how abominations "work." He
still hates the thought of even dealing with 'gickers, but he has lately taken
a slightly different viewpoint. Magickers will be killed and destroyed--on
his own terms, at a time and place of his choosing...not when they are ready
for such an attack. Needless waste of life, he has determined...
Interestingly enough, (information removed by the author). This naivete to
how the world really is may end up causing him problems one day.Ritual of Fire
It was high sun on Nekrete, the 126th day of the Ascending Sun
In the Year of Ruk's Peace, year 37 of the 21st AgeThrend has only given scant thought to any forced confrontation against
the (information removed by author) and anything they can summon. While this
may be surprising, he has been far too busy trying to gather forces
and strategy to consider the event in question itself. Only recently
has he paused to consider the War that the Sun King has foreseen.
What will his House do? Undoubtedly, against a foe like (removed) they will be called upon to participate in some
dangerous and costly missions, resulting in many dead Warriors,
and likely his own death. To prepare himself for this, he has
decided to participate in a fire ritual to prove his loyalty and his
dedication to leading forces against the force of (removed).Foe, or...foe?
It was late morning on Cingel, the 158th day of the Ascending Sun
In the Year of Ruk's Peace, year 37 of the 21st AgeThrend took it upon himself to visit the Elan Pah and discuss terms of
dealing with (removed) with them. Unaware that he would be
facing so many magickers so blatantly, it took an excessive amount of
self-control for Thrend to sit through the meeting, and frequently he
bit his tongue before saying anything potentially dangerous.
While the trip was not entirely without gain, Thrend admitted himself
that he did not think of the risks involved. Had he been killed, it
would have severely set back any agreements or treaties with the
Elan Pah. By committing himself to a dangerous trip, though, he
learned several things:
While the Templarate frequently worked with Thrend and expected
him to tell them everything he heard about, they did NOT
reciprocate this information. Much of what Thrend set out to
discuss was already determined among the Templarate. Having
previously viewed Serilla and Elithan as friends, Thrend is a
bit more cautious around the two of them, for they were very much
against the trip and adamant about his importance.
He does feel that the trip made a difference if only that in
recent memory, none of His Chosen or His Faithful have been
to visit the Pah directly.
The question: will Lyksae accept the Pah's proposal for a
more direct alliance? Likely not. Thrend hates the thought of
being allied with a magicker, especially after seeing what they
do in person. Their talk of peace and love and compassion
grates so much against Thrend that he is willing to go along
with it as a complete deception and launch an attack at the
most opportune moment.(title removed by author)
It was late morning on Dzeda, the 174th day of the Ascending Sun
In the Year of Ruk's Peace, year 37 of the 21st AgeWars have not been fought or lost over weapons, as far as Thrend knows,
but they sure do help. The (removed by author) has been missing for many years.
A fine weapon in its own right, Thrend has recently developed an obsession
with finding it and restoring it to the House (and hopefully his own hand,
fitting his ideals of attempting to become the -next- (removed by author)).
With the silver from the medallion of Tektolnes that he currently "owns,"
Thrend believes he has a good bargaining chip for finding (removed by author).
He's mentioned his interest in finding the original, and knows its last
location was (removed by author)...New Priorities
It was late afternoon on Dzeda, the 141st day of the Low Sun
In the Year of Whira's Vengeance, year 38 of the 21st AgeAfter some time spent figuring out his plans, Thrend is once again
pushing for agents working outside of His City, people that can be at least
marginally trusted to bring in useful information. It appears that the Lady
Tor wishes to meet up with him down in Luir's... While the offer looks
legitimate, Thrend is wary of making the journey.Affirmation: The Pah Alliance
It was high sun on Abid, the 91st day of the Ascending Sun
In the Year of Whira's Vengeance, year 38 of the 21st AgeThe Elan Pah proposed their alliance some time ago. Thrend has
grudgingly accepted on behalf of the House. He has sent Utakr Ehrick of the
Lyksaean Warriors to secure this alliance with Kija. His conditions will be
to only work directly with the non-magicker scouts, and just trade
information otherwise. This alliance will be in effect only until whatever
confrontation with the Dragon is met. Beyond that point? Thrend has darker
interests in mind... The Elan Pah court alliance with magick and magickers.
They must all be destroyed.A Magicker killed
It was high sun on Abid, the 91st day of the Ascending Sun
In the Year of Whira's Vengeance, year 38 of the 21st Age(removed) was her name. An innocent face, a loyal facade put forth to
sway me, to make me see past the obvious taint she had.
She was, of course, tainted by abominable magicks.
We deceived her, to be sure--but I have learned that the best way to
destroy those that use such dangerous arts is to choose the time and place
of destruction appropriately. They have weaknesses. Utakr Ehrick is
determining what those are even now, among them. A truly detestable job...
I will be surprised if he is not promoted for simply maintaining such
composure and self-control among such adverse conditions.
We beat her head in after confronting her in the Estate. Our Kaffter
Kahs were stained by her blood.
The Sun King is once again victorious.The Alliance for the Grey HuntIt was early morning on Abid, the 25th day of the Low Sun
In the Year of Dragon's Slumber, year 39 of the 21st AgeI never expected him to REALLY win the Grey Hunt, but he had the best
chance. Rokov-da Kurac, we knew, was a favored choice... So we sponsored
him, quietly. Lyksae put their full political backing behind this candidate
for the Hunt. I met with him and he agreed to the alliance in exchange for
predetermined spice discounts along a broad range for House Lyksae. In
return, we offered any help that we could that would not cause harm to our
interests. I met personally with His Faithful and others of His Chosen and
mentioned how favorably I found this person to be. I only told His Faithful
of the official stance of Lyksae, which was "unofficial" and not publicly
known.Defensive agreement with the Tan Muark
It was early morning on Abid, the 25th day of the Low Sun
In the Year of Dragon's Slumber, year 39 of the 21st AgeI heard from Utakr Ehrick that Zharal, one of the Tan Muark, had greatly
impressed him--and he had greatly impressed her, I later found out. It was
unexpected. We rarely let on the tribal nature of the House, and for her to
discover it may have been a boon. I am beginning to reconsider my stance on
the tribes... Maybe I should have approached them from the beginning to
appeal to their tribal nature and show them our roots, if only a scant
amount of them. The Pah are a hopeless cause, but the Muark are
interesting. Ehrick thought it wise to broker a tentative agreement of
defense between himself and any Warriors, slaves, or partisans he took on
patrol and the Muark that may be out on patrol. I find it equally wise, and
I will push to make it more widespread and include all within my
Sept--perhaps all within the House, if the elders so choose. If we run into
trouble, we can call them for assistance. If they run into trouble, they
can call us for assistance. I hardly expect them to do so, and I hardly
expect any of the Warriors to readily ask for assistance, but the appearance
of such an agreement is what matters.His Glory Shines on Us
It was late morning on Abid, the 25th day of the Low Sun
In the Year of Dragon's Slumber, year 39 of the 21st AgeThe Sun King filled my thoughts with love, devotion to me, and
determination. I knew before that He cared for His people, but now... I
have laid eyes on Him myself. I know it to be true beyond faith. This
truly is a momentous time for the House, for He Chose Rokov-da and Zharal
Himself, before all. He spoke of His prophecy, and I took it to heart: I
must gather the tribes. I must gather them... And if they are unwilling, I
will have to persuade them of the best course of action. It seems as though
every person will matter. If it comes down to it, we will have to push
aside those that stand in the way of His Will.Lyksae's Victory: The Grey Hunt
It was late morning on Abid, the 25th day of the Low Sun
In the Year of Dragon's Slumber, year 39 of the 21st AgeThe largest victory that our House has had, and few will ever know.
We supported Rokov-da. We had an agreement with Zharal beforehand,
though not for the Hunt. I even personally endorsed Thiza al'Seik, who
trusts me enough to die for me. Her trust and devotion is similar to that
of the Warriors, though she is unblooded. I plan to make her a citizen, and
officially, a Warrior in training. I trust her more than the others...
The point? We hedged our bets, and all of them turned out well. Rokov
was Chosen by HIM, and it cannot be mistaken that He knew that Chosen Lord
Rokov would choose Zharal as his consort, which I did not expect.
I think that our King must have known the work I put into this. He has
seen that we made the right choice, to support those that He would Choose.
I met with the Chosen Lord and Lady only last week. They were in
agreement: Lyksae is going to be a great ally to them. Perhaps I will bring
it before the elders to marry them into the House at a later time. For now,
it is good that they enjoy their newfound status. Any that He Chose Himself
are good people. I told them so, and have pledged my Sept to protecting
them.And thus begins my mistake: Uaptal
It was early afternoon on Yochem, the 205th day of the Descending Sun
In the Year of Vivadu's Defiance, year 40 of the 21st AgeSoon after He showed His face... She showed hers. I fell for it.
Uaptal women. Let it never be said that they are not beautiful, nor let it
be said that they are not crafty. Shara Uaptal certainly wasn't the first
of His Chosen that I've been enamored with, but she certainly was the most
recent.
A brief fling it was, and she was interested in a relationship with no
political ties. I won't deny that the prospect was interesting, and I even
went along with such a notion with this in mind. She was nice enough, and I
could stand to be around her.The alliance plan
It was late afternoon on Yochem, the 205th day of the Descending Sun
In the Year of Vivadu's Defiance, year 40 of the 21st AgeOnly a brief month after things began to escalate between the Chosen
Lady and I, the ruthless line from the point where I was to the point that I
wished to be became clear.
I saw it now. The North and South had allied, and I couldn't be less
annoyed by it. He had called for it, to be sure, but I never expected that
it would ever occur. It is inevitable that ambassadors would be sent. I
thought to hedge every possible bet. Oh, my plan was exquisite and lacked
any flaws!
A permanent marriage between her and I. She would join with Lyksae, and
bring her territories with her. It would increase our prestige in exchange
for whatever it was that Uaptal would wish for children. The crux of the
power play came with this: if one or the other of us were to be sent to the
South as an ambassador, the other could manage the qynar and striasiri, and
keep things going in the North.The unknown variable: stupidity
It was dusk on Yochem, the 205th day of the Descending Sun
In the Year of Vivadu's Defiance, year 40 of the 21st AgeThe only variable I had no control over was the woman herself, and an
unexpected, unforeseen development: she was a complete idiot.
She lacked any political savvy. Her intentions were greedy, and her
ideals were such that would damage the Ivory's relations with everyone. The
first mistake she made was not even acknowledging my political experience.
Rather than listening, she forged on stubbornly, deciding on licensing any
hunting within the grasslands in order to "prevent overhunting." A stupid
move: she has no force to patrol the grasslands. However, I thought to
move forward and press the issue--after all, I have Warriors under my
command that could easily enforce these regulations.
Her second mistake? Preventing the Warriors from patrolling the
grasslands by Qynar law. Oh, it was more complicated than that, but at this
point, my desire to enter in a marriage contract had faded and had been
replaced by a desire to rid myself of her...The Final Mistake
It was late at night on Yochem, the 205th day of the Descending Sun
In the Year of Vivadu's Defiance, year 40 of the 21st AgeShe no longer wanted to go through with the marriage contract.
Besides acting like a bitch in general, she had turned into some greedy,
selfish creature that was only interested in her own wants and needs and how
she looked to the rest of the world.
Unfortunately, how she looks to the rest of the world is not how she
thinks she looks. She is a complete fool politically. I forced her to make
the decision. She chose to make Qynar law that borders on illegality with
the Qynar Authority, and then I instructed my own Warriors and partisans to
be aware of the law, but ignore it in seriousness. She has no one to
enforce even a law that prevents the Warriors from patrolling the
grasslands.
My answer to this will have to be political sabotage and subterfuge,
something the Chosen Lady has little skill in. She believes that she can
disagree with me and still be a "friend," and have a relationship.
This was the mistake that broke me. My interests are to protect His
City, to protect the striasiri as I have always done, and to make sure that
we are working against (removed). She is impeding this.
If His Chosen can be so naive, then they must be tested by fire. Only
the loyal will withstand His Burning Light.Surrounded by fools
It was late at night on Yochem, the 205th day of the Descending Sun
In the Year of Vivadu's Defiance, year 40 of the 21st AgeI'm surrounded by fools. Shara Uaptal is more concerned with learning
about animals than about defending His City. Analyse passed out from using
the Way whilst IN Allanak. Leisara put the entire delegation in jeopardy.
Cammul Kassigarh is insane, and a borderline heretic. Aylishia Tor tries to
order me around, as though I were a pet kurtok. Mallor Tor pretends to know
things I've known for months.
What is the answer? Why has the Sun King put me through such a trial? I
am weary of the stupidity of others. I take heart in spending time among
His Faithful, for they know the Sun King's true will, and they have not
failed.Chosen Lady Shara's Death
It was high sun on Dzeda, the 174th day of the Low Sun
In the Year of King's Reverence, year 41 of the 21st AgeI wasn't surprised. It removed the thorn from my side. The Sun King
watches over me, and protects me--and has poured out His wrath on those that
would come against me, either openly or covertly. May His Radiance shine
down on those that serve Him, and burn up those that are heretics.Leisara: The Chosen Consort
It was early afternoon on Dzeda, the 174th day of the Low Sun
In the Year of King's Reverence, year 41 of the 21st AgeThe gypsy Chosen. Adept, yet unskilled in the subtleties of His City.
I wondered about this one originally. I threw my support behind Rokov-da,
and also behind Thiza al'Seik. Rokov won, but sickness has taken him. He
is a weak man, physically. His ties to Kurac have strengthened my ties with
Kurac, but he is scarcely able to leave his bed and Estate.
The problem with her is her ambition. She is not controllable, not docile.
In many ways, her stubbornness reflects what I saw in Shara--only in a more
reasonable light. She seems to enjoy company with me, as we share many
things in common...yet I know the truth of her ways. I trust her. I trust
her to be herself, and her nature is one that looks out for her and her own
folk. She is still Muark at heart.
I've put on airs that I am disconcerted by her, and possibly interested.
This was only helped by one drunken evening spent talking about things. If
she thinks I am easily swayed by feminine wiles, she will be caught
off-guard when it does not succeed. She is pleasant enough, I suppose, and
something of a Chosen, but still a commoner in many ways. Until she refines
herself, I can't see myself pursuing anything other than business relations
with the woman.
She's damn infuriating. Luirsfest: Relations with the South
It was late afternoon on Dzeda, the 174th day of the Low Sun
In the Year of King's Reverence, year 41 of the 21st AgeI hate Southerners.
I really do. They're uncouth, dull-witted, and the majority of them do not
command any respect from me. The only one I've seen of any sort of decency
has been the Great Lord Samos Rennik, and him only because of the influence
that he wields so well. I respect him, at least.
Unfortunately, he did not come to the Festival. The only people to show
from the South's "highblood" ranks were Mallor Tor, Aylishia Tor, and
Sedarin Oash.
Aylishia Tor I rendered a fool within moments of meeting her
face-to-face. She kept harping on about the "alliance." There is no such
thing. I made it painfully clear to her.
Sedarin Oash was, simply put, far outmatched. He should have stayed in
Allanak until he was old enough to speak more eloquently and with more
intelligence.
Mallor Tor...I thought him to be repugnant. I nearly challenged him to a
fight within the Kuraci Fighting pits, which would have been magnificent.
However, Faithful Lady Serilla interfered, as she always does... Luirsfest: Relations with the North
It was late afternoon on Dzeda, the 174th day of the Low Sun
In the Year of King's Reverence, year 41 of the 21st AgeI am beginning to despise the Lirathan Templarate. Specifically, the
Faithful Lady Serilla Uaptal. She has meddled in my affairs before, and I
have remained cautiously optimistic that she was not dangerous.
She seems to think that an alliance between the North and the South is
what we need in order to (removed). I am of a different mind: I think
that we should let (removed) destroy the South, then sweep up the remains of
both in a glorious conquest afterwards.
While that seems far-fetched, so is the thought of Tuluk and Allanak
working as allies. If any such thing officially comes to pass, I will
be -very- irate.Death of Vraj Dasari
It was early morning on Dzeda, the 152nd day of the Low Sun
In the Year of Lirathu's Peace, year 44 of the 21st AgeHe was a great man for the short time I got to know him. Vraj
Dasari... Interesting fellow, to be sure. I respected him, even though he
was much younger than me. He respected my experience, and that made me
pleased. The week the biters took him, we were holed up in the Fortress,
fending off the biter attacks. I dragged a Legion soldier back down the
road with my own strength, warding off the biters with my mace.
I killed several of the biters...(removed by author) There will be vengeance against them. We
held Vraj's memorial service aboard the Araba, deep, deep in the grasslands.
I have the full support of three Jihaen Templars and Faithful Lady Serilla
to do what is necessary to defeat these halflings.Belinta Lyksae's death; a new (removed by author)
It was high sun on Dzeda, the 152nd day of the Low Sun
In the Year of Lirathu's Peace, year 44 of the 21st AgeWe've hit a bit of a snag, it seems: one of my kin, Belinta Lykase,
was killed in the Grey Forest on scouting missions. As one of the (removed),
she was directly over me, though I usually report to my uncle, Lirst Lyksae.
Belinta was replaced by Arisu Lyksae, my firebrand of a cousin.
The woman is a terrible creature to behold. Her beautiful features mask
insanity, I'm sure. I fear for my life when the daughter of the (removed)
is in the room with me. Not only is she completely spastic, she is half my
age and lacks experience in leadership, in my opinion.
I've learned from Shara, though: never trust beauty, and never trust
first impressions. She may very well be a boon in the future.Forging Ahead
It was late morning on Cingel, the 37th day of the Ascending Sun
In the Year of Suk-krath's Defiance, year 54 of the 21st AgeMy House has given me the task of scouting out the Grey Forest for the
purpose of a protracted Lyksaen campaign in the area. I understand that
this likely will be something the House will push for, with or without the
support of other Houses or the Templarate. Those who fail at their
accomplishments in Lyksae typically do not get pushed ahead to delve into
more, so I relish the chance to prove myself.
I have spent nearly all of my political capital gained over the years of my
life in garnering support for this scouting party. I pulled in Kurac for
their renowned fieldcraft. I pulled in the Jihaen Templarate, citing (removed).
I secured a map from the Lirathan
Templarate, generic as it may be. Kadius was willing to join in for the
sake of Morin's Village. I even pulled in a contingent of Bynners to act as
targets.
My plan was not complicated. However, it was completely insane, and likely
to produce casualties. No other sort of plan would work against the biters
in their own territory. The plan? I divided our forces into two groups.
One would harry the biters at the south end of the Grey Forest, near the
Span. The other would plunge into the Grey, heading towards (removed). The scouts would leave the second group at this point,
(remainder removed by author).The Aftermath
It was high sun on Cingel, the 37th day of the Ascending Sun
In the Year of Suk-krath's Defiance, year 54 of the 21st AgeWe were successful.
The plan did not go as intended, but the goal was still achieved. However,
we took on casualties. I estimate that we left with three quarters to four
fifths of the forces we entered the mission with. The Byn took on losses,
as did Kadius, but the ones I noticed most were the Legions and my own
Warriors. We lost Faithful Lord Aupholt Negean to a halfling dart, and I
lost my protege partisan-turned-Warrior, Caprice.
The biters did not act as I predicted. They were much more ferocious, and
seemed to be more aware of my scouting party than I expected. They were not
long fooled by the diversion to the south, and had the numbers (apparently)
to aggressively take on both forces.
I pushed my forces into the Grey. Once we arrived, I sent off
the scouts. We were determined to hold position there, but the biters were
beginning to wear on us with their darts and arrows. I made the decision to
pull back, trusting to the work of the scouts to keep themselves hidden in
their work, and rejoined the other group of soldiers. At some point, the
Jhinya Ake appeared to harass us, but we managed to fight them off as well.
I awaited reports from the scouting party.
Meanwhile, it seemed that some rogue magickers were actually helping the
biters--if not directly, then by somehow passing information. Eventually,
my scouting party reported to me via the Way that they had achieved their
objective of scouting the area, and saw many halflings, but were worried
they'd be cut off (removed). That was all I needed
to know--that a dedicated team COULD (removed).
I made one last push with the whole of our forces. We managed
to secure our end, but Faithful Lord Aupholt fell. Then I heard the
chilling news that Caprice had fallen, and that the other two scouts, Kaliya
al'Seik and Sergeant Nahkt of Kurac were separated and in need of
assistance. I left about half of the forces and
took the rest--including Faithful Lord Elithan--to rescue the scouts. We
succeeded, and managed to return relatively unharmed to our beleaguered
defensive force. We then extracted ourselves.Uncharacteristic Reactions
It was early afternoon on Cingel, the 37th day of the Ascending Sun
In the Year of Suk-krath's Defiance, year 54 of the 21st AgeI wasn't expecting the Templarate to call the mission a failure. By all
accounts--well, by my accounts--we achieved the goal we set out for. We had
scouted the (removed) Grey Forest, and knew it was possible to (removed).
If warriors and soldiers are not ready to die when they enter into a mission,
then they have not been trained well enough. I emphasized this point to the
Templarate, but it was no use. High Templar Serilla was displeased with the
way things had turned out, despite my explanations that casualties were
expected in advance.
It was a sore blow to lose Caprice. I had grown very attached to that woman,
and her work over the years was invaluable.
The next biography has not been included.Initial Background
It was late morning on Cingel, the 70th day of the Descending Sun
In the Year of Drov's Agitation, year 35 of the 21st AgeThrend has been raised up in the war-like House of Lyksae, trained in
warfare and in commanding soldiers for the majority of his life. A shrewd
man, he is...
Continue Reading...This is a holdup!!!
Added on Apr 20, 2008In Zalanthas, life sucks--and then someone tries to steal your sid.
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*****Working for House Kadius had its ups and downs, as this burgeoning merchant discovers.*****
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You think:
"Fuck storms. Always happening up here...why is it so bad here?"Terrible, biting sand whips around you.
You can't see a thing; sand swirls about you!You think:
"It's not fucking Red Storm."The Main Room of the Bard's Barrel [NSW]
A myriad of grinning skulls, each painted with bright colors laid
over the pallid bone, stare down from the broad wooden shelf that lines this
spacious room at eye level. Splashes of blue, green and red cover the clay
brick walls in an enthusiastic but inexpert abstract mural, some spatters of
the same paint dotted across the red tiled floor. The room is filled with
clamor: the clink and clatter of dishes and drinks, instruments being tuned,
scraps of song, and a general constant roar of conversation. A small wooden
stage sits along the northern wall, two ragged velvet curtains framing it,
looped back with blue-dyed ropes. A wide archway leads out onto the dusty
street, while a smaller one to the west provides a glimpse of a smaller,
quieter chamber.
A wall here is designated as a message board.
The solemn, club-footed man limps slowly along here.
The small, dark-haired man sits at a table in the back, staring into his drink.
The bald, muscular woman slouches at a large table, drinking ale.
The huge, sun-bronzed man surveys the room casually from a table here.
The husky, weatherworn dwarf is here, seated at a large table, drinking ale.
A tall, amber-eyed woman polishes glasses behind the boxy wooden bar.
A lean, spike-haired elf drums softly in the corner.
A lean, grey-eyed bard leans against the stage.
The figure in a dusty drab, weathered stormcloak has arrived from the north.
The figure in a dusty drab, weathered stormcloak starts cleaning.
The figure in a dusty drab, weathered stormcloak dusts herself off.
The figure in a burned drab, weathered stormcloak walks south.
Sighing as he sits back down at a boxy wooden bar, you say, in sirihish:
"Fuck tha'."You sit at a boxy wooden bar.
eq
You are using:
<worn on head> a dusty loose blue linen surmud
<worn about throat> a dusty water gourd
<worn across back> a dusty large chalton-hide backpack
<worn on torso> a trim cobalt vest
<worn on arms> a pair of blue and purple armbands
<worn around body> a dusty embroidered white crepe caftan
<worn on legs> a pair of blue linen pants
<worn on feet> a dusty pair of sandcloth and leather bootsYou start cleaning.
You dust yourself off.
The figure in a burned drab, weathered stormcloak has arrived from the south.
The figure in a burned drab, weathered stormcloak starts cleaning.
The figure in a burned drab, weathered stormcloak dusts herself off.
The figure in a burned drab, weathered stormcloak brushes her self off, sprinkling dust onto the floor.
The female wearing a burned thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap lowers the hood of a burned drab, weathered stormcloak.
The female wearing a burned thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap sits at a boxy wooden bar.
Tugging it down to her neck, the sinuous, olive-skinned woman stops using her burned thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap.
At your table, you say in sirihish, shifting his gaze to regard the sinuous, olive-skinned woman:
"Evenin'."
It is late at night on Yochem, the 161st day of the Low Sun,
In the Year of Jihae's Reverence, year 34 of the 21st Age.
At your table, the sinuous, olive-skinned woman says in sirihish:
"Evenin'."
At your table, the sinuous, olive-skinned woman says in sirihish, half-turning in her seat to look out at the plaza:
"Bad storm out there."
The tan, blonde man has arrived from the north.
At your table, you say in sirihish, with a half-hearted grunt:
"Yah. I noticed...got m' ass back in here."
At your table, the sinuous, olive-skinned woman says in sirihish:
"Yeah."
The tan, blonde man suddenly pulls out a crossbow.
The tan, blonde man exclaims, in sirihish:
"This is a holdup!"
The tan, blonde man exclaims, in sirihish:
"Hands in the air, packs on the ground!"
The sinuous, olive-skinned woman looks at you.
The sinuous, olive-skinned woman looks up at the tan, blonde man.
The tan, blonde man looks down at the sinuous, olive-skinned woman.
The tan, blonde man exclaims, in sirihish:
"I'm not messing around here!"
Pushing up from her seat, the sinuous, olive-skinned woman stands up from a boxy wooden bar.
The sinuous, olive-skinned woman draws an obsidian-headed polished-bone mace.
The sinuous, olive-skinned woman draws an obsidian halfsword.
The tan, blonde man steadies himself and takes aim.
The sinuous, olive-skinned woman narrowly avoids a dusty small cynipri crossbow fired by the tan, blonde man.
The sinuous, olive-skinned woman swiftly dodges the tan, blonde man's hits.
The sinuous, olive-skinned woman swiftly dodges the tan, blonde man's hits.
The tan, blonde man attempts to flee.
The tan, blonde man runs west.
The sinuous, olive-skinned woman walks west.
The sinuous, olive-skinned woman has arrived from the west.
The dusky, curly-haired man peers up towards the west with an incredulous expression on his face.
Scratching her head, the sinuous, olive-skinned woman says, in sirihish:
"Bizarre."You look up at the sinuous, olive-skinned woman.
A light, short scar marks the base of this woman's chin and extends
diagonally to just under her jaw. The rest of her face is comparatively
unremarkable, set with a small nose, dull brown eyes, high, stern-looking
cheek bones, and thin eyebrows. Well-groomed though unbound brown hair
falls down to the middle of her back, curled carefully behind her gently
pointed ears at the sides so as to be kept of her sight. Beneath her olive
skin is lean, sinuous musculature, conspiring with her slender frame to lend
her a fluid, graceful look.
The sinuous, olive-skinned woman is in excellent condition.The sinuous, olive-skinned woman is using:
<worn on head> a burned bone-studded leather cap
<worn in hair> a stiff, white-petalled flower
<worn in left ear> a rose-carved green marble earring
<worn in right ear> a rose-carved green marble earring
<worn around neck> a stiff, black-leather gorget
<worn about throat> a water gourd
<slung across back> a curving bone shortbow
<worn across back> a stained double-layered sandcloth pack
<worn on left shoulder> a stained orange cloth epaulette
<worn on arms> a pair of leather-reinforced sandcloth sleeves
<worn around wrist> a studded hide wrist-wrap
<worn around wrist> a studded hide wrist-wrap
<worn on hands> a bloodied pair of grey leather gloves
<primary hand> an obsidian-headed polished-bone mace
<secondary hand> an obsidian halfsword
<worn around body> a burned drab, weathered stormcloak
<worn on legs> a stained pair of leather-reinforced sandcloth leggings
<worn on feet> a pair of carru hide bootsShe is carrying:
nothing obvious
At your table, you say in sirihish, blinking:
"did...wh...did you kill him?"
Shaking her head, the sinuous, olive-skinned woman says, in sirihish:
"No. I don't know where he went."
You think:
"I'll find his ass."
The sinuous, olive-skinned woman sheathes an obsidian-headed polished-bone mace.
The sinuous, olive-skinned woman sheathes an obsidian halfsword.*****************************************************************************
*** Time passes ***
*****************************************************************************
At your table, you say in sirihish, frowning deeply:
"Hmm..."
The sinuous, olive-skinned woman sits at a boxy wooden bar.
At your table, you say in sirihish, frowning towards the sinuous, olive-skinned woman:
"I saw 'im run out inta the storm."
At your table, the sinuous, olive-skinned woman says in sirihish:
"You did?"A wide archway leads out onto a busy, dusty plaza.
[Very far]
The figure in a dusty set of hooded, silver-slashed robes is standing here.
The tanned, red-haired girl stumbles along here, looking unwell.
[Far]
A rag-clad elvish child runs along, playing with a ball.
A line of lizards is carved atop a red sandstone wall.
[Near]
A clay-stained human potter sits here on a woven mat of grass.
A lithe, obsidian-eyed woman lounges near the tavern entrance.
The figure in a dusty set of hooded, silver-slashed robes has arrived from the north.The figure in a dusty set of hooded, silver-slashed robes starts cleaning.
At your table, you say in sirihish, bobbing his head in agreement:
"Or at least, heard 'im. I dunno if ya ken jump offa th' balcony...but..."
The figure in a dusty set of hooded, silver-slashed robes dusts himself off.At your table, you say in sirihish, shrugging:
"'eard a clutter off t' the north. Figgered it might be him."
At your table, the sinuous, olive-skinned woman says in sirihish:
"Huh."
The figure in a set of hooded, silver-slashed robes steps further into the room and pulls a chair back from a broad table of scarred agafari wood.
The figure in a set of hooded, silver-slashed robes sits at a broad table of scarred agafari wood.
At your table, you say in sirihish, sighing:
"Didja get a good look at 'im?"
At your table, the sinuous, olive-skinned woman says in sirihish:
"Yeah. Blue eyes, crooked nose, light hair."
At your table, the sinuous, olive-skinned woman says in sirihish:
"Fairly non-descript, otherwise."
You think:
"I wonder..."
At your table, you say in sirihish, rubbing at his temples as he glances down to a stone-tipped bone bolt:
"Shit. Think we shoul' find a templar's mind?"
The sinuous, olive-skinned woman stands up from a boxy wooden bar.
The sinuous, olive-skinned woman picks up a stone-tipped bone bolt.
It is before dawn on Huegel, the 162nd day of the Low Sun,
In the Year of Jihae's Reverence, year 34 of the 21st Age.
The sinuous, olive-skinned woman sits at a boxy wooden bar.
At your table, the sinuous, olive-skinned woman says in sirihish, looking her stone-tipped bone bolt over:
"If you know any."
You suffer from use of the Way.
You are unable to reach their mind.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You are unable to reach their mind.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You are unable to reach their mind.You think:
"Well fuck, come on. Templarate? Heeeeello?"
You are unable to reach their mind.You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar with the Way.
The sinuous, olive-skinned woman stands up from a boxy wooden bar.
The sinuous, olive-skinned woman peers around at the crowd.
The sinuous, olive-skinned woman intently scans the area.
The sinuous, olive-skinned woman stands at a boxy wooden bar.
The sinuous, olive-skinned woman leans her hip against the a boxy wooden bar.
Pulling it up to her nose, the sinuous, olive-skinned woman places her burned thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap onto her
face.At your table, the female wearing a burned thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap says in sirihish, with a smirk:
"Ah well. This bolt'll sell for at least twenty 'sid."You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar:
"There's a fella out running around trying to rob people!"
At your table, you say in sirihish, touching his temples with one hand:
"Foun' a templar...yanno, th' one stationed on Caravan Way. Jus' east o' the Gaj? Mebbe we can go explain things up t' them."You dissolve the psychic link.
The female wearing a burned thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap says to you, in sirihish:
"Really? Yeah, alright."
The female wearing a burned thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap says to you, in sirihish:
"I think the man was just crazy, personally. It may not be worth the time of the templarate ... but who knows."
The female wearing a burned thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap raises the hood of a burned drab, weathered stormcloak.
The figure in a burned drab, weathered stormcloak asks you, in sirihish:
"Does he have time to talk to us?"
The tall, brutish man has arrived from the west.You stand up from a boxy wooden bar.
Shrugging, you say, in sirihish:
"Not sure. We ken try."It is dawn on Huegel, the 162nd day of the Low Sun,
In the Year of Jihae's Reverence, year 34 of the 21st Age.
The figure in a burned drab, weathered stormcloak falls in behind you.******************************************
****They walk to where the templar is.****
******************************************Caravan Road [EW]
Stretching itself out here is a long road, paved in rough yellowy
brown sandstone, covered with reddish dust and sand, and wide enough that at
least four caravans could pass through. The sun-browned backs of slaves
march along, carrying goods. The sky's blood-red glory shines from above
the main gate, highlighting its ominously smooth stones.
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar is standing here.
The thick-limbed, leather-skinned dwarf drags a cart behind him here.
The figure in a dusty drab, weathered stormcloak has arrived from the east.
The figure in a dusty drab, weathered stormcloak whispers to you, in sirihish:
"I think you should probably do the talking."The dusky, curly-haired man nods to the figure in a dusty drab, weathered stormcloak, clearing his throat and bowing
towards the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar.
You look up at the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar.
Long locks of auburn-brown hair adorn this human woman's head, falling to
the small of her back. Her face is dainty and elegantly-lined, with high
cheekbones and thin, dark brown eyebrows. Her pale gray eyes survey her
surroundings, at the same time somehow seeming melancholy and devoid of
emotion. Her shoulders are fairly broad, and her frame appears athletic,
though not heavy or particularly muscular.
The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar is in excellent condition.The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar is using:
<worn on head> a blue silk hood
<worn in hair> a painted bone hairclasp
<worn around neck> a medallion of Tektolnes
<worn across back> an oversized black backpack
<worn around wrist> a grey granite bracelet
<worn around wrist> a thin, carved, white marble bracelet
<worn on right finger> a silver and marble signet ring
<worn on left finger> an obsidian templar ring
<worn around body> a blue, hooded templar's robe
<worn on legs> a flowing, blue silk skirt
<worn on feet> a pair of black leather bootsShe is carrying:
nothing obvious
The figure in a dusty drab, weathered stormcloak bows to the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar with you.
The figure in a dusty set of hooded, silver-slashed robes has arrived from the east.
The figure in a dusty set of hooded, silver-slashed robes walks west.
The black-eyed, elven man has arrived from the east.
The black-eyed, elven man walks west.
Clearing his throat once more, you say to the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar, in sirihish:
"My Lady Templar....ah...we kinna ran inta this fella tryin' t' steal our shit. He ran off, though..but..."
The black-eyed, elven man has arrived from the west.
The black-eyed, elven man walks east.Blinking a few times towards the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar, you say to the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar, in
sirihish:
"Err...well, I'll come find a templar 'at's not busy, sorry t' bother ya, my Lady Templar."
***************************************************
**** The two head back to the Bard's Barrel. ****
***************************************************
The Main Room of the Bard's Barrel [NSW]
A myriad of grinning skulls, each painted with bright colors laid
over the pallid bone, stare down from the broad wooden shelf that lines this
spacious room at eye level. Splashes of blue, green and red cover the clay
brick walls in an enthusiastic but inexpert abstract mural, some spatters of
the same paint dotted across the red tiled floor. The room is filled with
clamor: the clink and clatter of dishes and drinks, instruments being tuned,
scraps of song, and a general constant roar of conversation. A small wooden
stage sits along the northern wall, two ragged velvet curtains framing it,
looped back with blue-dyed ropes. A wide archway leads out onto the dusty
street, while a smaller one to the west provides a glimpse of a smaller,
quieter chamber.
A wall here is designated as a message board.
The tall figure in a dusty hooded, dun-colored dustcloak is standing here.
The figure in a dusty hooded, dun-colored dustcloak is standing here.
The solemn, club-footed man limps slowly along here.
The small, dark-haired man sits at a table in the back, staring into his drink.
The bald, muscular woman slouches at a large table, drinking ale.
The huge, sun-bronzed man surveys the room casually from a table here.
The husky, weatherworn dwarf is here, seated at a large table, drinking ale.
A tall, amber-eyed woman polishes glasses behind the boxy wooden bar.
A lean, spike-haired elf drums softly in the corner.
A lean, grey-eyed bard leans against the stage.
The figure in a dusty drab, weathered stormcloak has arrived from the north.Shaking his head, you say, in sirihish:
"Guess we'll wait till we fin' someone."
You sit at a boxy wooden bar.You start cleaning.
You dust yourself off.
Looking her stone-tipped bone bolt over, the figure in a dusty drab, weathered stormcloak says to you, in sirihish:
"I'm going to see how much this fetches."
The figure in a dusty hooded, dun-colored dustcloak looks down at you.
The tall figure in a dusty hooded, dun-colored dustcloak starts cleaning.
The tall figure in a dusty hooded, dun-colored dustcloak dusts herself off.
The figure in a dusty hooded, dun-colored dustcloak starts cleaning.
The figure in a dusty hooded, dun-colored dustcloak dusts herself off.
Gazing around the room, the figure in a hooded, dun-colored dustcloak says to the tall figure in a hooded, dun-colored dustcloak, in sirihish:
"Might be we'll find someone in th'Gaj lookin ta join. It's just th'regulars here taday."
The figure in a hooded, dun-colored dustcloak walks north.
The tall figure in a hooded, dun-colored dustcloak walks north.
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
The sinuous, olive-skinned woman sends you a telepathic message:
"I found him, he's in the Bazaar. I don't know what to do, though."You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the sinuous, olive-skinned woman with the Way.You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the sinuous, olive-skinned woman:
"Hmm...keep track of him? I'll keep trying to find a templar."You dissolve the psychic link.
You think:
"Hmm...fuck, we -do- need a templar."You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the sinuous, olive-skinned woman with the Way.You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the sinuous, olive-skinned woman:
"No luck yet. I don't know what to do, either..."
You dissolve the psychic link.
The sinuous, olive-skinned woman sends you a telepathic message:
"He's gone."*****************************************************************
*****************************************************************You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the sinuous, olive-skinned woman with the Way.The sinuous, olive-skinned woman sends you a telepathic message:
"I found him again, he's out in the wastes. A gemmer and I have caught him."You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the sinuous, olive-skinned woman:
"Oh, good. Well, do what you want. I'll be glad to have him out of comission."You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
You dissolve the psychic link.
************************************************************************************************
*****Working for House Kadius had its ups and downs, as this burgeoning merchant discovers.*****
************************************************************************************************
You...
Continue Reading...Kurac takes it to the Tooth (prequel to A Bardic Prankster Takes on Kurac)
Added on Sep 6, 2007As it happens, there was more that occured at the Tembo's Tooth at that Kuraci party...from a different perspective!
"The Tembo's Tooth" - Tavern [EWD Quit]
Smooth, sanded cylini planks have been laid across the floor of this
cramped room, their polished surface flickering in the lights of the candles. Dark stains splatter the wooden floor at odd intervals, disrupting the otherwise smooth contour of the wood with slight warps and bends. A curved bar, formed from what appears to have once been highly polished agafari wood extends from the [northern wall. Spaced around it are several bare, ascetic wooden barstools. A sturdy trapdoor has been set in the floor behind the bar. Several rows of shelves have been inset into the wall behind the bar and contain a variety of local ales and liquor. Willowy, vine-like plants drape from rounded clay bowls, the gloss of their leaves reflecting the dim
light of the candles spaced around the room. Rows of booths line the
northern and southern walls while the center of the room is occupied by
two rounded tables.
A few bleached wooden casks are here.
A couple of wooden casks are here.
A couple of dull wooden casks are here.
The Tuluk bulletin board is here propped up on a stand.
The sinewy, weather-worn man is standing here.
The onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man is sitting at a curved, agafari bar.
The inky-curled female half-giant towers near the bar here.
The thick, curly-haired man is sitting at a curved, agafari bar.
The cold eyed woman is along the wall glaring about the room.
- she is carrying a plain bag of cloth.
The long-limbed blue-eyed man is standing along the wall, watching the room.
The thick, black-haired man stands here beside an agafari table.
The pale, blond-haired young man is sitting at a compact agafari table.
The chubby, brown-haired man is standing here, looking a bit winded.
The short, barrel-chested dwarf stands here, scowling faintly.
The robust, head-shaven man stands patiently behind the bar.
The spiral-tressed, bronzed woman stands here, attentively watching the area.
The wasp-waisted brunette woman is sitting at a compact agafari table.
The spiral-scarred black woman is sitting at a curved, agafari bar.
The stocky, crooked-nose man is standing here.
The lanky, jade-eyed youth lounges at the bar.
The ancient, tremulous man sits at a far table, chatting to some youngsters.
Leaning against one wall, a curly-haired man keeps an eye on the tavern.
The black-bearded, heavyset man leans against the bar, frowning.
Sitting at a booth, the rangy, iron-haired woman converses with some hunters.
The toned, ruby-red half-giant sits cross-legged beside the bar.
Watching the commotion, the wasp-waisted brunette woman sips from her red-striped granite tankard.
The onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man raises his dark glass jug and takes a long swig, leaning on the bar.
The sinewy, weather-worn man drinks spiced-mead from his red-striped granite tankard, sending rivulets of mead down his
cheeks.
Watching the sinewy, weather-worn man, the chubby, brown-haired man shouts, in sirihish:
"One!"
The thick, blood-eyed man looks down at you.
Slamming it on the bar, the sinewy, weather-worn man discards his red-striped granite tankard.
The chubby, brown-haired man exclaims to the sinewy, weather-worn man, in sirihish:
"Run, Nahkt!"
The sinewy, weather-worn man runs east.
Her gaze passing over a curved, agafari bar, the wasp-waisted brunette woman looks at the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man.
The thick, blood-eyed man makes his way over to you and leaning towards you.
The chubby, brown-haired man chuckles as he stands near a curved, agafari bar.
The tall, scarred human chuckles, eyes flicking to the east after the dun-clad soldier.
The thick, blood-eyed man whispers to you, in sirihish:
"Sir, could I be relieved, for tonight? I'm not feelin' so well. Fumes are making me drunk, just standin'ere and my
lizard dun take too well to'et, either..."
At your table, the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man says in sirihish:
"Hope that put don' get too excited. Might jus start nippin or give chase."
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"That's one lap for Nahkt.. just finished his third drink here!"
The thick, curly-haired man looks at you.
Standing just behind him, the chubby, brown-haired man says to the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man, in sirihish:
"Only make it more interesting, Senior Agent."
The sinewy, weather-worn man has arrived from the east, weaving around the tables and other obstructions haphazardly.
The chubby, brown-haired man grins at the sinewy, weather-worn man.
Nodding slightly, gesturing vaguely with one hand, you whisper to the thick, blood-eyed man in sirihish:
"That's fine, Recruit."
The chubby, brown-haired man says, in sirihish:
"Should be bets on how far he can go..."
The sinewy, weather-worn man gets his red-striped granite tankard from a curved, agafari bar, nearly tipping it over as he
comes to a stop.
The thick, blood-eyed man nods to you, stepping outside.
The thick, blood-eyed man has departed from the
Gulping greedily, the sinewy, weather-worn man drinks spiced-mead from his red-striped granite tankard.
The thick, curly-haired man chortles as he watches as the sinewy, weather-worn man careens through the crowds.
The chubby, brown-haired man exclaims, in sirihish:
"Don't spill too much!"
Dropping it carelessly, the sinewy, weather-worn man discards his red-striped granite tankard.
The chubby, brown-haired man shouts, in sirihish:
"Coming back!"
Bowling over a hapless patron, the sinewy, weather-worn man runs east.
At your table, the spiral-scarred black woman says in sirihish, with a smile to the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man, raising
her voice above the din:
"It's always an honor to meet the Kadians. My name is Tsenna, apprentice bard of Elkinhym and aide to Chosen Lady Madelena Dasari."
The pale, blond-haired young man licks his lips, running a hand through his light hair.
The spiral-scarred black woman turns to indicate the wasp-waisted brunette woman politely with one hand, grinning.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You are unable to reach their mind.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You are unable to reach their mind.
The sinewy, weather-worn man has arrived from the east.
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"Five... and he's charging back for more!"
Grinning, the chubby, brown-haired man exclaims, in sirihish:
"Out of his way!"
At 1) a compact agafari table are:
the pale, blond-haired young man, the wasp-waisted brunette woman,
and a few empty seats.
At 2) a curved, agafari bar are:
the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man, the thick, curly-haired man,
the tall, scarred human, the spiral-scarred black woman,
and a few empty seats.
Chanting with a grin, the spiral-scarred black woman exclaims to the sinewy, weather-worn man, in sirihish:
"Drink it, drink it!"
The sinewy, weather-worn man glances down toward his red-striped granite tankard blearly and sets it down as he comes to a
stop at the bar.
Glancing over towards the spiral-scarred black woman, giving a casual nod, then following with a deeper to the
wasp-waisted brunette woman, the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man exclaims, in sirihish:
"Good ta meetya as well, Tsenna. Senior Agent Bleys, at y', woah! Lean!"
The sinewy, weather-worn man discards his red-striped granite tankard.
The sinewy, weather-worn man gets his red-striped granite tankard from a curved, agafari bar.
At a compact agafari table, the wasp-waisted brunette woman speaks, watching the sinewy, weather-worn man with an amused
smile.
In two, almost reluctant gulps, the sinewy, weather-worn man drinks spiced-mead from his red-striped granite tankard.
Turning her gaze to the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man, the wasp-waisted brunette woman inclines her head in an amiable
nod.
At your table, the spiral-scarred black woman says in sirihish, laughing as a patron stumbles into her, dashing out the
sinewy, weather-worn man way:
"Well met, Senior Agent Bleys."
The sinewy, weather-worn man staggers forward onto a stool and slips onto the ground with a thud.
At your table, you say in sirihish, lifting your voice to be heard by the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man and the
spiral-scarred black woman:
"Don't believe I've officially met either of you myself, either...may as well introduce at a Kuraci function.
Sergeant Mynkas of the Kuraci Fist."
Tipping his head forward graciously, the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man beams a warm smile to the wasp-waisted brunette
woman as his skeleton-carved ivory earring with ruby eyes dances at his right ear.
Laughing, the chubby, brown-haired man exclaims, in sirihish:
"He's out!"
The chubby, brown-haired man shouts, in sirihish:
"And Nahkt is out!"
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"He going to make it back over there?"
The pale, blond-haired young man lifts his brow at the chubby, brown-haired man.
The chubby, brown-haired man shouts, in sirihish:
"Six drinks!"
Snickering as he lifts his dark glass jug, the thick, curly-haired man looks down at the sinewy, weather-worn man.
The wasp-waisted brunette woman laughs softly, watching the sinewy, weather-worn man on the floor.
Calling out abruptly, you exclaim, in sirihish:
"Get your ass up, Nahkt! You've still gotta drink some more!"
The thick, curly-haired man drinks horta wine from his dark glass jug.
The chubby, brown-haired man laughs.
At your table, the spiral-scarred black woman says in sirihish, grinning at you as she glances up from the sinewy,
weather-worn man:
"Sergeant Mynkas, well met. Your Kuracis know how to throw a fine party, I've got to hand it to you."
The chubby, brown-haired man moves over to give the sinewy, weather-worn man a push.
The chubby, brown-haired man says, in sirihish:
"Didn't even take his chance."
The thick, curly-haired man puts his dark glass jug onto a curved, agafari bar.
Her eyes glinting with amusement, the wasp-waisted brunette woman drinks spiced ginka wine from her red-striped granite
tankard.
The pale, blond-haired young man smirks, glancing at the sinewy, weather-worn man on the ground.
The sinewy, weather-worn man rolls over with a light groan.
The chubby, brown-haired man exclaims, in sirihish:
"Someone move him out of the way!"
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"And we have the lovely Aja Driamusek coming next... let's hope she doesn't trip over Nahkt!"
Chuckling as he watches the sinewy, weather-worn man roll over, you say, in sirihish:
"Well, it was a good run..."
The chubby, brown-haired man shouts, in sirihish:
"Happy thoughts, Aja!"
Moving over to the sinewy, weather-worn man's prone form, the spiral-scarred black woman stands up from a curved, agafari
bar.
The chubby, brown-haired man chuckles.
The wasp-waisted brunette woman fills up a red-striped granite tankard from a dull wooden cask.
At your table, you say in sirihish, standing up from a curved, agafari bar:
"Thank you...but thank the Agents, they put it all together. Excuse me while I drag a soldier."
You stand up from a curved, agafari bar.
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
The chubby, brown-haired man exclaims, in sirihish:
"Out of Aja's way!"
Leaning over with a wink, the spiral-scarred black woman grasps the sinewy, weather-worn man's collar, straining to move
him out of the path to the bar.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman has arrived from the east, using the doorframe to turn herself to the bar.
The onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man sends you a telepathic message:
"Good to meet ya, Sargeant. So much noise in here, eh?"
The ethereal, fair-haired woman spins around a drunken patron as she skids to a stop by a curved, agafari bar.
You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman gets her red-striped granite tankard from a curved, agafari bar.
The thick, curly-haired man looks up at the lanky, jade-eyed youth.
The tall, scarred human steps towards the sinewy, weather-worn man's prone form, pulling him towards a curved, agafari bar.
The chubby, brown-haired man says to you, in sirihish:
"Hey Sergeant...why don't you move Nakt to a booth."
An arm around the spiral-scarred black woman's shoulder, the ethereal, fair-haired woman drinks spiced-mead from her
red-striped granite tankard.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman drinks spiced-mead from her red-striped granite tankard.
The chubby, brown-haired man says, in sirihish:
"Nahkt rather."
Clapping her hands, the spiral-scarred black woman exclaims to the ethereal, fair-haired woman, in sirihish:
"Go, Aja!"
With a deep gasp of air, the ethereal, fair-haired woman discards her red-striped granite tankard.
The chubby, brown-haired man shouts, in sirihish:
"Two for Aja!"
The sinewy, weather-worn man looks upward with a bleary smile as he is dragged, obviously completely unaware of his
surroundings.
Laughing merrily, the spiral-scarred black woman sits at a compact agafari table.
At a compact agafari table, the wasp-waisted brunette woman speaks, watching the ethereal, fair-haired woman.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman twirls, jumping over the sinewy, weather-worn man's prone leg as she runs for the door.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman runs east.
Gesturing to the sinewy, weather-worn man, you ask the spiral-scarred black woman, in sirihish:
"Mind helping me move him to a booth in the spice den?"
The spiral-scarred black woman stands up from a compact agafari table.
The spiral-scarred black woman sits at a curved, agafari bar.
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"That's four!"
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"Er... three!"
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"Oooh.. she's down!"
Grinning, the chubby, brown-haired man exclaims, in sirihish:
"She's down!"
The wasp-waisted brunette woman sips from her red-striped granite tankard.
The chubby, brown-haired man hurries past a curved, agafari bar.
The chubby, brown-haired man walks east.
The short, barrel-chested dwarf walks east.
Shifting her attention back to you with a grin, the spiral-scarred black woman stands up from a curved, agafari bar.
The onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man bursts into laughter.
At a compact agafari table, the wasp-waisted brunette woman speaks, peering eastward.
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"As a reward...she gets to...chug!"
Nodding, the spiral-scarred black woman asks you, in 36msirihish:
"You grab one ear, an' I'll grab the other, eh?"
Leaning over, his tone amused, the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man whispers something to the thick, curly-haired man.
Chuckling as he glances to the east, then reaches for one side of the sinewy,
weather-worn man, you say, in sirihish:
"Eh...that'll work."
The wasp-waisted brunette woman drinks spiced ginka wine from her red-striped granite tankard.
With a half grin the thick, curly-haired man nods agreeingly at the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man.
The spiral-scarred black woman snickers, wrapping her hands around one of the sinewy, weather-worn man's arms and tugging
him toward a table at the wall.
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"Chug! Chug!"
At a compact agafari table, the pale, blond-haired young man speaks, chuckling at the wasp-waisted brunette woman.
A female whore disappears into a crowd of rough-looking men and women.
At a compact agafari table, the wasp-waisted brunette woman speaks, laughing softly as she looks eastward.
After some grunting and dragging, the tall, scarred human jointly deposits the sinewy, weather-worn man's drunken form by
a table.
The pale, blond-haired young man beams a smile at the wasp-waisted brunette woman.
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"She's out!"
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"And she can't make it, down again! Three is the under, six the over, folks!"
The spiral-scarred black woman squats down next to the sinewy, weather-worn man, withdrawing a stick of charcoal from her
earthy leather pouched belt and studying his face with a mischevious grin for a long moment..
The sinewy, weather-worn man manages to sit up for a few fleeting moments before tipping over, his head landing againt the
edge of the table with a loud thunk.
The chubby, brown-haired man has arrived from the east.
The short, barrel-chested dwarf has arrived from the east.
The chubby, brown-haired man walks east.
The short, barrel-chested dwarf walks east.
The wasp-waisted brunette woman glances toward the spiral-scarred black woman with an amused smile.
The spiral-scarred black woman grins, giving the sinewy, weather-worn man's hair a ruffle with one hand as she saunters
back to a curved, agafari bar, tucking the charcoal away.
The spiral-scarred black woman sits at a curved, agafari bar.
The chubby, brown-haired man has arrived from the east.
The short, barrel-chested dwarf has arrived from the east.
The tall, scarred human quickly whirls his attention towards the sound from the sinewy, weather-worn man, but then
relaxes, chuckling quietly.
The coffee-tressed young woman has arrived from the west.
The chubby, brown-haired man says, in sirihish:
"So...Nahkt leads with six...Aja has three..."
With a smile, the spiral-scarred black woman looks up at the coffee-tressed young woman.
The chubby, brown-haired man shouts, in sirihish:
"Who's next?"
Following the spiral-tressed, bronzed woman's gaze, the thick, curly-haired man looks up at the coffee-tressed young
woman.
The tall, scarred human readjusts the sinewy, weather-worn man at a spare table, standing beside him while fiddling with
your rope-strapped canvas backpack.
A thin trail of rich, heady smoke trickles from the wasp-waisted brunette woman's mouth as she smokes an intricately
carved, polished bone pipe.
The wasp-waisted brunette woman's eyes become glassy-red and half-closed.
A thin trail of rich, heady smoke trickles from the pale, blond-haired young man's mouth as he smokes a smoothly carved
black pipe.
The pale, blond-haired young man's eyes become glassy-red and half-closed.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the chubby, brown-haired man with the Way.
The pale, blond-haired young man taps his smoothly carved black pipe against a compact agafari table's side, ashes
trickling out.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the chubby, brown-haired man:
"We happen to have any smelling salts? I'm fresh out."
The chubby, brown-haired man smiles upon seeing the coffee-tressed young woman.
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"And coming in next... with a name I especially like... the MIGHTY KURJAX!"
At a curved, agafari bar, the thick, curly-haired man speaks, clucking his tongue and nodding to the onyx-skinned,
ruby-maned man.
The coffee-tressed young woman looks around over the crowded room and scratches her head.
You suffer from use of the Way.
The chubby, brown-haired man looks to you and shakes his head.
You dissolve the psychic link.
The thick, curly-haired man bobs his head in somber agreement, lips curved up faintly.
The wasp-waisted brunette woman breathes out slowly, fragrant smoke filling the air around her.
The spiral-scarred black woman grins, leaning forward on both elbows to watch the eastern doors, lifting an armload of
dark dreadlocks over her shoulder.
The chubby, brown-haired man shouts, in sirihish:
"Where is he?"
The coffee-tressed young woman pushes her way through the crowd until she reaches a curved, agafari bar and takes a vacant
stool near the thick, curly-haired man and the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man.
The coffee-tressed young woman sits at a curved, agafari bar.
The substantial, slash-tattooed man has arrived from the east, lumbering through the doorway.
Grinning at him, the chubby, brown-haired man says to the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man, in sirihish:
"Not at all...tell her to go to the spice den."
The chubby, brown-haired man says, in sirihish:
"Ahh...here he is...give him room."
Tipping his hat, the thick, curly-haired man looks at the coffee-tressed young woman.
The substantial, slash-tattooed man moves at a lumbering gate toward a curved, agafari bar, reaching for a tankard.
The sinewy, weather-worn man turns a wide smile to the figure beside and thumps a fist hard against his back, a friendly
gesture perhaps if it weren't executed with such force.
The spiral-scarred black woman scoots her stool back from the tankards, watching the substantial, slash-tattooed man with
a grin.
The substantial, slash-tattooed man gets his red-striped granite tankard from a curved, agafari bar.
The coffee-tressed young woman gets her red-striped granite tankard from a curved, agafari bar.
With a grin towards the coffee-tressed young woman, the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man says, in sirihish:
"Cousin, y'almost didn' make it. Ya kin still get in on th' competition though, rush along ta th' spice den."
The substantial, slash-tattooed man scoops his red-striped granite tankard from a curved, agafari bar, bringing it to his
mouth quickly and drinking deeply from it.
The stocky, crooked-nose man watches the substantial, slash-tattooed man shortly before turning his eyes about the rest of
the crowd and back.
The substantial, slash-tattooed man drinks spiced-mead from his red-striped granite tankard.
The substantial, slash-tattooed man drinks spiced-mead from his red-striped granite tankard.
The substantial, slash-tattooed man puts his red-striped granite tankard onto a curved, agafari bar.
Grinning, the chubby, brown-haired man says to the coffee-tressed young woman, in sirihish:
"It's fine, go over to Rokov and tell him you're in."
At a curved, agafari bar, the thick, curly-haired man speaks, grinning and nodding at the coffee-tressed young woman.
The substantial, slash-tattooed man slams the tankard down on the bar, wiping a large hand across his lips.
The chubby, brown-haired man shouts, in sirihish:
"On his way back!"
At a curved, agafari bar, the coffee-tressed young woman speaks, shaking her head quickly.
The substantial, slash-tattooed man's face reddens slightly as he turns to bolt toward the doorway.
Striding along with a swaying gate, the substantial, slash-tattooed man runs east.
The tall, scarred human is standing near an empty table watchfully.
Gesturing with a shoo'ing motion towards the coffee-tressed young woman towards the spice den, the onyx-skinned,
ruby-maned man says, in sirihish:
"Nonsense, jus take 'em off."
The spiral-scarred black woman raises a grin to the coffee-tressed young woman from down the bar, nodding.
At a curved, agafari bar, the coffee-tressed young woman speaks, putting her hands on her hips and smirking at the
onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man.
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"That's three.. he's still standing! Can he make it back..?!"
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the spiral-scarred black woman with the Way.
At a curved, agafari bar, the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man speaks, confidently.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the spiral-scarred black woman:
"Thank you for the assistance, by the way..."
The substantial, slash-tattooed man has arrived from the east, swaying slightly.
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"And... he..... DOES!"
The substantial, slash-tattooed man lumbers toward a curved, agafari bar.
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
The substantial, slash-tattooed man slams against a curved, agafari bar, jostling the tankards on top of it slightly.
At a curved, agafari bar, the coffee-tressed young woman speaks, pouting.
The chubby, brown-haired man shouts, in sirihish:
"He's going for four...!"
The substantial, slash-tattooed man fumbles with a tankard, managing to get a grip on its handle.
The wasp-waisted brunette woman pats the side of her red-striped granite tankard, watching the substantial, slash-tattooed
man.
The substantial, slash-tattooed man gets his red-striped granite tankard from a curved, agafari bar.
The spiral-scarred black woman sends you a telepathic message:
"No worries, it'd be a shame to lose Nahkt to a trampling."
You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
Slurring slightly, the substantial, slash-tattooed man says, in sirihish:
"Ish...empty.."
The substantial, slash-tattooed man discards his red-striped granite tankard.
The substantial, slash-tattooed man pushes the tankard away.
The substantial, slash-tattooed man gets his red-striped granite tankard from a curved, agafari bar.
The chubby, brown-haired man says to the substantial, slash-tattooed man, in sirihish:
"Get one that isn't."
The thick, curly-haired man chortles, glancing between the chubby, brown-haired man and the substantial, slash-tattooed
man.
The substantial, slash-tattooed man grins lopsidedly, bringing his red-striped granite tankard to his lips.
The substantial, slash-tattooed man drinks spiced-mead from his red-striped granite tankard.
Rolling his eyes, the chubby, brown-haired man says, in sirihish:
"I thought that was pretty clear..."
The chubby, brown-haired man chuckles.
The substantial, slash-tattooed man spills the remains of the tankard down himself as he falls.
Watching the substantial, slash-tattooed man, the spiral-scarred black woman grins, lounging against a curved, agafari bar
as she grins to the chubby, brown-haired man.
The chubby, brown-haired man shouts, in sirihish:
"Oh...another one out!"
The substantial, slash-tattooed man begins to snore deeply.
Mouth stretching open, the pale, blond-haired young man yawns.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the spiral-scarred black woman:
"I was curious--is there anything in particular that your Chosen Lady fancies?"
The chubby, brown-haired man shouts, in sirihish:
"He got...almost four!"
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
The chubby, brown-haired man shouts, in sirihish:
"Not good enough for first...and not bad enough for last."
The spiral-scarred black woman sends you a telepathic message:
"She's a sucker for purple things, I can tell you that."
The chubby, brown-haired man says, in sirihish:
"Someone get him out of the way..."
The onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man frowns, his brow furrowing in concentration.
The onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man is gone for a few.
The sinewy, weather-worn man's eyes flutter open.
The chubby, brown-haired man shouts, in sirihish:
"Who's next?"
The chubby, brown-haired man says, in sirihish:
"only two more left..."
You send a telepathic message to the spiral-scarred black woman:
"Indeed? I'll keep that in mind. I frequently see her about these parts, so I will keep that in mind to pass it
along to those who may wish to know. Thank you again."
You dissolve the psychic link.
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"Coming in next... and she's excited as ever... the lovely... TIANA!"
Looking about the group, the chubby, brown-haired man asks, in sirihish:
"Or is there anyone else who wants to enter late?"
The chubby, brown-haired man asks, in sirihish:
"Tiana?"
The chubby, brown-haired man chcukles.
You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
The coffee-tressed young woman puts her red-striped granite tankard onto a curved, agafari bar.
The chubby, brown-haired man's chuckles become a laugh.
The sinewy, weather-worn man lifts his head from chest wearing a deep scowl.
Glancing down at the substantial, slash-tattooed man, the spiral-scarred black woman says to the chubby, brown-haired man,
in sirihish:
"Wonder if I should wake him up and shift him out of the way."
Still keeping her eyes roving about the room, the cold eyed woman eats her ocotillo bulb.
Shaking his head, the stocky, crooked-nose man says, in sirihish:
"Unfortunately I am on duty. Though quite fun to watch others see how much they can take down."
The sinewy, weather-worn man grabs the edge of the table beside him and pulls himself to his feet.
With a smile, the chubby, brown-haired man says to the spiral-scarred black woman, in sirihish:
"I would hate to see the woman fall over...ahh...leave him..."
The chubby, brown-haired man chuckles.
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"Wait, no, Tiana has.. gracefully bowed out. In her place... Rashia!"
Archly, the spiral-scarred black woman says to the chubby, brown-haired man, in sirihish:
"You would not."
The chubby, brown-haired man grins at the spiral-scarred black woman before looking east.
The sinewy, weather-worn man rises from the ground, and clambers to his feet.
The chubby, brown-haired man says to the spiral-scarred black woman, in sirihish:
"Out of my control...I don't move them."
The spiral-scarred black woman glances over her shoulder to the wasp-waisted brunette woman with a chuckle, shaking her
head wryly.
The wasp-waisted brunette woman returns the spiral-scarred black woman's gaze, smiling amusedly.
The tall, red-haired female has arrived from the east.
The chubby, brown-haired man exclaims, in sirihish:
"Here she is...go Rashia! Make your daughters proud!"
The sinewy, weather-worn man trudges forward with a heavy step, stumbling several times before reaching a stool at the bar
and leaning against it for support.
As he glances around to those nearest him, you say, in sirihish:
"Eh, I'm not dragging -every- collapsed drunk out of the way..."
The tall, red-haired female gets her red-striped granite tankard from a curved, agafari bar.
You sit at a curved, agafari bar.
Nodding sagely, the spiral-scarred black woman says to you, in sirihish:
"Just the lucky ones"
The tall, red-haired female drinks spiced-mead from her red-striped granite tankard.
The coffee-tressed young woman rubs her temples and frowns.
The tall, red-haired female discards her red-striped granite tankard.
Moving himself carefully onto a stool, the sinewy, weather-worn man sits at a curved, agafari bar.
The tall, red-haired female runs east.
The chubby, brown-haired man shouts, in sirihish:
"Two!"
The long-limbed blue-eyed man shifts his position slightly, looking around.
The long-limbed blue-eyed man intently scans the area.
The cold eyed woman intently scans the area.
At your table, the thick, curly-haired man says in sirihish, as he eyes a scantily-clad whore nearby:
"Zaea.. Could you do me a favor?"
The sinewy, weather-worn man wavers wildly atop his stool for a moment and then leans to slouch against the bartop.
As he casts his eyes about, the stocky, crooked-nose man looks up at the long-limbed blue-eyed man.
With a grin, the chubby, brown-haired man says to the sinewy, weather-worn man, in sirihish:
"You got the big lead, Nahkt. Good work."
At your table, the coffee-tressed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, sweeping her eyes sidelong to the thick,
curly-haired man:
"What's that?"
At your table, the thick, curly-haired man says in sirihish, nodding back to the inky-curled female half-giant:
"Could y'drop Dori off in the compound's guard house for me? I think.."
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"She's standing after three... and coming back!"
The chubby, brown-haired man exclaims, in sirihish:
"And is down! Everyone yell chug!"
Craning her neck, the coffee-tressed young woman looks up at the inky-curled female half-giant.
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"And... she's down too!"
Hurrying, the chubby, brown-haired man walks east.
The short, barrel-chested dwarf walks east.
At your table, the thick, curly-haired man says in sirihish, moistening his lips as he leers at the sultry young girl:
"That I have some business t'tend."
The substantial, slash-tattooed man interrupts his snoring to mumble something incoherent.
Cupping a hand around her mouth, the spiral-scarred black woman shouts, in sirihish:
"Chuggit!"
Leaning forward a bit, the wasp-waisted brunette woman peers eastward into the spice den.
At your table, the coffee-tressed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, shrugging her shoulders:
"Sure, no problem."
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"Chug! Chug!"
At a compact agafari table, the pale, blond-haired young man speaks, watching the wasp-waisted brunette woman with a
grin.
A stoic, broad-shouldered man has arrived from the west.
At your table, the thick, curly-haired man says in sirihish, dipping his head to the coffee-tressed young woman:
"Thanks, coz. Oh.. And I left you a couple've pieces of stuff with the white silk."
At your table, the coffee-tressed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish:
"Where at?"
At a compact agafari table, the wasp-waisted brunette woman speaks, looking back to the pale, blond-haired young man, a
merry twinkle in her eye.
A stoic, broad-shouldered man walks east.
At your table, the coffee-tressed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish:
"Oh, with the bolts?"
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"It's a duel between her balance and her liver, folks... which one is going to lose first?"
At your table, the thick, curly-haired man says in sirihish, nodding to the coffee-tressed young woman:
"In there, yeah."
A short ruckus bursts into life just outside in the street, as though somebody had just run by, with soldiers in hot
pursuit.
At your table, the coffee-tressed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, with a grin:
"Thanks, Shar."
At your table, the thick, curly-haired man says in sirihish, nodding to the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man and the
coffee-tressed young woman as he rises up:
"You two don't get too plastered."
The inky-curled female half-giant stops guarding the thick, curly-haired man.
The inky-curled female half-giant begins guarding the coffee-tressed young woman.
The thick, curly-haired man stands up from a curved, agafari bar.
Smiling braodly, the spiral-scarred black woman asks the thick, curly-haired man, in sirihish:
"Leaving so soon, Agent Sharlo?"
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"She's out!"
The coffee-tressed young woman looks up at the inky-curled female half-giant again, then smiles and waves.
The thick, curly-haired man looks down at the spiral-scarred black woman.
At a compact agafari table, the wasp-waisted brunette woman speaks, laughing softly.
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"And she can't finish... that puts her just behind Aja, our new last-place... uh.. "winner"!"
The thick, curly-haired man says to the spiral-scarred black woman, in sirihish:
"Aye.. Have some business to tend and all. Drink a few for me."
Laughing softly, the spiral-scarred black woman says to the thick, curly-haired man, in sirihish:
"You've my word on that. Walk in His Light."
The cold eyed woman begins guarding the coffee-tressed young woman.
The thick, curly-haired man clucks his tongue and lumbers over to a scrawny waif, chats with her for a moment, then nods
decisively and ambles away with her in tow.
The coffee-tressed young woman closes a leather-strapped, rich purple satchel.
The thick, curly-haired man has departed from the
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"Last contestant...Diri!"
The chubby, brown-haired man has arrived from the east.
A grin quirking the corners of her mouth, the spiral-scarred black woman fastens her attention on the spice den doors,
clasping her hands atop a curved, agafari bar.
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"Here she comes!"
The sleek, black-haired woman has arrived from the east, moving through the crowd.
The chubby, brown-haired man exclaims, in sirihish:
"Once she's done...all the tankards left on the bars...and there are lots...must be drank...and then the casks must
be emptied!"
Reaching the bar, the sleek, black-haired woman reaches for a tankard.
Raising a fist into the air, the spiral-scarred black woman exclaims to the sleek, black-haired woman, in sirihish:
"Go, Diri!"
The sleek, black-haired woman gets her red-striped granite tankard from a curved, agafari bar.
The chubby, brown-haired man grins, watching the sleek, black-haired woman.
The sleek, black-haired woman sighs before lifting the tankard.
The sleek, black-haired woman drinks spiced-mead from her red-striped granite tankard.
The sleek, black-haired woman drinks spiced-mead from her red-striped granite tankard.
The chubby, brown-haired man shouts, in sirihish:
"Two!"
The sleek, black-haired woman discards her red-striped granite tankard.
The sleek, black-haired woman runs east.
The chubby, brown-haired man puts his squat bulbous gourd onto a curved, agafari bar.
The chubby, brown-haired man puts his squat bulbous gourd onto a curved, agafari bar.
The chubby, brown-haired man puts his squat bulbous gourd onto a curved, agafari bar.
The chubby, brown-haired man shouts, in sirihish:
"Already?"
The wasp-waisted brunette woman laughs, shaking her head as she looks toward the spice den.
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"And she goes down! Just a hair in behind Rashia and Aja!"
Grinning, the chubby, brown-haired man exclaims, in sirihish:
"It's over! Drink it all up, folks!"
The chubby, brown-haired man shouts, in sirihish:
"Rest of drinks are free!"
Wiping her brow in mick relief, the spiral-scarred black woman gets her red-striped granite tankard from a curved, agafari
bar.
The spiral-scarred black woman holds her red-striped granite tankard.
Raising it high to the chubby, brown-haired man first, the spiral-scarred black woman sips from her red-striped granite
tankard.
At your table, you say in sirihish, grabbing up a spare tankard:
"Ah, good to hear..."
Approaching, the chubby, brown-haired man looks down at the sinewy, weather-worn man.
You get your red-striped granite tankard from a curved, agafari bar.
It is very light, and full.
You sip from your red-striped granite tankard.
This mead has been heavily mixed with spice.
The coffee-tressed young woman gets her red-striped granite tankard from a curved, agafari bar.
The spiral-scarred black woman stands up from a curved, agafari bar.
The spiral-scarred black woman walks east.
The stocky, crooked-nose man walks east.
The chubby, brown-haired man shouts, in sirihish:
"Nahkt...our winner...gets..."
The stocky, crooked-nose man has arrived from the east.
The chubby, brown-haired man gets his long black leather wristsheath from his reinforced red sandcloth backpack.
Holding up his long black leather wristsheath, the chubby, brown-haired man exclaims, in sirihish:
"A new wristsheath...worth one large!"
The onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man puts his dark glass jug onto a curved, agafari bar.
The chubby, brown-haired man gives his long black leather wristsheath to the sinewy, weather-worn man.
The onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man gets his squat bulbous gourd from a curved, agafari bar.
The chubby, brown-haired man gets his emblazoned, dun colored sack from his reinforced red sandcloth backpack.
At your table, you say in sirihish, gesturing to the sinewy, weather-worn man:
"Shit, soldier. That's worth the headache, eh?"
You are a little hungry.
The sinewy, weather-worn man lifts his head up as the chubby, brown-haired man slips the wristsheath under his arm and
looks down at it with a bleary gaze.
The substantial, slash-tattooed man smacks his lips together, murmuring to himself and releasing a long fart.
Grinning, the chubby, brown-haired man says, in sirihish:
"Of course...I have another which would be for sale, in case anyone wants to buy it."
The chubby, brown-haired man taps his long black leather wristsheath on his own wrist.
The pale, blond-haired young man sighs.
The chubby, brown-haired man gets his feathered red headwrap from his emblazoned, dun colored sack.
A horrid sulphurous smell fills the air near the substantial, slash-tattooed man as he returning to steady snoring.
Holding up his feathered red headwrap, the chubby, brown-haired man says, in sirihish:
"Our loser...Diri...gets this lovely headwrap..."
The sinewy, weather-worn man turns his head to the general direction of you and gives a slow nod.
The chubby, brown-haired man asks, in sirihish:
"Worth...hmm...twenty five coins?"
The substantial, slash-tattooed man's eyes flutter open.
The wasp-waisted brunette woman sips from her red-striped granite tankard.
The chubby, brown-haired man chuckles.
Grinning with a deep chuckle, the stocky, crooked-nose man says to the sinewy, weather-worn man, in sirihish:
"Good to know somebody around here can hold their drink, good job. "
The chubby, brown-haired man walks east.
The spiral-scarred black woman has arrived from the east, tankard in hand.
The onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man's nose twitches.
Returning to her stool, the spiral-scarred black woman sits at a curved, agafari bar.
As she sips from her red-striped granite tankard, the spiral-scarred black woman looks up at the long-limbed blue-eyed
man.
The spiral-scarred black woman stops using her red-striped granite tankard.
Sliding it into the bartop, the spiral-scarred black woman discards her red-striped granite tankard.
The sinewy, weather-worn man turns to the stocky, crooked-nose man with a smirk and thumps a fist against his leather
cuirass several times.
A thin trail of rich, heady smoke trickles from the wasp-waisted brunette woman's mouth as she smokes an intricately
carved, polished bone pipe.
The wasp-waisted brunette woman's eyes become glassy-red and half-closed.
The coffee-tressed young woman sips from her red-striped granite tankard.
Tapping it into an ashtray, the wasp-waisted brunette woman stops using her intricately carved, polished bone pipe.
Reaching for another, wiping her lips, the spiral-scarred black woman gets her red-striped granite tankard from a curved,
agafari bar.
The substantial, slash-tattooed man blinks groggily, rubbing at his eyes.
The spiral-scarred black woman drinks spiced-mead from her red-striped granite tankard, regarding it fondly.
The substantial, slash-tattooed man belches and mumbles to himself.
The substantial, slash-tattooed man stops resting.
The stocky, clean-shaven man has arrived from the east.
The fuzzy, red-streaked pup has arrived from the east.
At your table, the sinewy, weather-worn man says in sirihish, grumbling toward you:
"Who came the closest?"
Slurring slightly, the substantial, slash-tattooed man asks, in sirihish:
"Who won?"
The spiral-scarred black woman drinks spiced-mead from her red-striped granite tankard.
The stocky, crooked-nose man walks east.
Hopping up on a vacant chair to call out, the stocky, clean-shaven man says, in sirihish:
"Hope everyone enjoyed the entertainment, folks... Regular Nahkt is our winner with six, followed by Kurjax the Mighty, and then Aja, Rashia, and Diri."
The spiral-scarred black woman chuckles, raising both hands to clap heartily.
Swaying unsteadily, the substantial, slash-tattooed man stands up.
The wasp-waisted brunette woman breathes out slowly, smoke writhing through the air, its sweet smell mingling with the
scent of citron as she listens to the stocky, clean-shaven man.
The stocky, clean-shaven man exclaims, in sirihish:
"Brethel has prizes for everyone, and so do I... but my prizes come along with my big announcement, which I hope everyone will stick around for!"
Chuckling to himself, the sinewy, weather-worn man says, in sirihish:
"Diri the light-headed."
The wasp-waisted brunette woman puts her intricately carved, polished bone pipe into her leather spice pouch.
The wasp-waisted brunette woman closes a leather spice pouch.
The substantial, slash-tattooed man says to the sinewy, weather-worn man, in sirihish:
"Goo' fuckin' drinkin'."
At your table, the sinewy, weather-worn man says in sirihish, looking to the substantial, slash-tattooed man with a firm
nod:
"Damn right. I hear ya did well yerself."
Regretfully peering into it, the spiral-scarred black woman puts her red-striped granite tankard onto a curved, agafari
bar.
With a smile, the stocky, clean-shaven man says, in sirihish:
"But I'd like everyone to give a big cheer for our competitors, and I'd also like to thank the very esteemed
Lord Ardus Negean and Chosen Lady Madelena Dasari for being with us tonight..."
The spiral-scarred black woman gets her average-looking tube of spice from her earthy leather pouched belt.
The spiral-scarred black woman holds her average-looking tube of spice.
The substantial, slash-tattooed man reaches a large hand out to steady himself on a curved, agafari bar.
The substantial, slash-tattooed man sits at a curved, agafari bar.
The wasp-waisted brunette woman nods amiably to the stocky, clean-shaven man, lifting her red-striped granite tankard in
salute.
The spiral-scarred black woman calls out, grinning, raising her average-looking tube of spice to a compact agafari table.
The stocky, clean-shaven man exclaims, in sirihish:
"... and to House Tenneshi and our Chosen Governor Zaqar Tenneshi, who sadly couldn't attend, for co-sponsoring the event! We love you all!"
The pale, blond-haired young man smirks, lifting a hand to the stocky, clean-shaven man.
Swaying atop his barstool, the substantial, slash-tattooed man exclaims, in sirihish:
"Aye!"
Sharply, the pale, blond-haired young man looks at the substantial, slash-tattooed man.
Jumping down from his stool and muttering more quietly, the stocky, clean-shaven man says, in sirihish:
".. and that's enough shouting for a bit. I need a drink."
The spiral-scarred black woman leans over to a squat brown candle nearby, puffing a few times on her average-looking tube
of spice to light it.
A thin trail of musky smoke trickles from the spiral-scarred black woman's mouth as she smokes an average-looking tube of
spice.
The spiral-scarred black woman flexes unconsciously and smiles to herself.
The stocky, clean-shaven man gets his red-striped granite tankard from a curved, agafari bar.
The sinewy, weather-worn man stands up from a curved, agafari bar.
Grabbing a seat near the coffee-tressed young woman and the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man, the stocky, clean-shaven man
sits at a curved, agafari bar.
Tentatively, the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man sips from his squat bulbous gourd.
At your table, the stocky, clean-shaven man says in sirihish:
"Glad you could make it, Senior Agent and Agent."
The coffee-tressed young woman looks at the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man and raises a brow.
The onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man lets out a strangled sound, his face fighting for composure.
At your table, the stocky, clean-shaven man says in sirihish, looking around:
"Did ol' Sharlo run off before I could say hi?"
The sinewy, weather-worn man wobbles for a moment on his feet and then settles back onto a stool.
The sinewy, weather-worn man sits at a curved, agafari bar.
A thin trail of musky smoke trickles from the spiral-scarred black woman's mouth as she smokes an average-looking tube of
spice.
The spiral-scarred black woman flexes unconsciously and smiles to herself.
At your table, the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man says in sirihish, his voice a bit raspy:
"Fraid he did, m'friend. Business, he always got business goin on."
At your table, the sinewy, weather-worn man says in sirihish, looking over to the spiral-scarred black woman:
"Ya didn' give yer show already, did ya?"
At your table, the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man says in sirihish, his eyes watering a bit, waggling his squat bulbous
gourd:
"Interesting concoction."
The spiral-scarred black woman chuckles to the stocky, clean-shaven man as she blows out a cloud of thick smoke, nodding
in agreement with the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man.
You are a little hungry.
At your table, the stocky, clean-shaven man says in sirihish:
"Ahh... you tried the agvat. Brave man."
The stocky, clean-shaven man drinks spiced-mead from his red-striped granite tankard.
At your table, the spiral-scarred black woman says in sirihish, shaking her head to the sinewy, weather-worn man:
"Nah, I figured I'd wait til Brethel came back in."
At your table, the coffee-tressed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish, slowly:
"Ag...vat...?"
At your table, the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man says in sirihish:
"Guh... even sounds evil. Just like th' taste."
At your table, the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man says in sirihish:
"Smells like some'n I use to get stains off th' argosy's wheels."
At your table, the stocky, clean-shaven man says in sirihish, with an innocent grin:
"Well do -do- do a lot of wagon construction and repair."
The coffee-tressed young woman wrinkles her nose.
At your table, the sinewy, weather-worn man says in sirihish, turning to the coffee-tressed young woman with a
yellow-toothed grin:
"I think the name's supposed ta sound somethin' like a man wretchin'."
The tan, choppy-haired man has arrived from the west.
The stocky, clean-shaven man drinks spiced-mead from his red-striped granite tankard.
You sip from your red-striped granite tankard.
This mead has been heavily mixed with spice.
You are a little hungry.
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"Anyone who needs a new quiver...get over here!"
At your table, the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man says in sirihish, his lips twisting into a wry grin towards the stocky,
clean-shaven man:
"Always bes ta 'ave somethin fer multiple uses, eh? This stuff's stiff. I might try ta spring some on a feller down
in Nak who's been testin me patience."
The tan, choppy-haired man ambles through the room, a hand lifting to adjust his agafari shortbow.
The tan, choppy-haired man walks east.
At your table, the spiral-scarred black woman says in sirihish, chuckling to the sinewy, weather-worn man:
"Not too far off the taste, either."
At your table, the stocky, clean-shaven man says in sirihish, glancing down at the fuzzy, red-streaked pup:
"You know what, pup? We should have taught you tricks."
At your table, the spiral-scarred black woman says in sirihish, to the stocky, clean-shaven man:
"I've got a juggling ball. You could start right now."
At your table, the stocky, clean-shaven man says in sirihish:
"Maybe had you fight a tregil or something... in the ginka sauce pit."
You hear a man's voice shout from the east in sirihish:
"Kuraci quiver...camouflaged for the desert! If I have only one person...I have to give it to him!"
Sliding off his stool, the sinewy, weather-worn man says, in sirihish:
"I could use one"
The spiral-scarred black woman stands up from a curved, agafari bar.
At your table, you say in sirihish, glancing to the east:
"Shit, I could too."
The spiral-scarred black woman says to the sinewy, weather-worn man, in sirihish:
"Race ya."
The spiral-scarred black woman walks east.
At your table, the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man says in sirihish:
"What's this one for?"
The sinewy, weather-worn man stands up from a curved, agafari bar.
Wavering wildly, the sinewy, weather-worn man walks east.
At your table, the stocky, clean-shaven man says in sirihish:
"Brethel's doing gambling games."
The stocky, clean-shaven man discards his red-striped granite tankard.
You stand up from a curved, agafari bar.
Using the cloth to press to her face and neck, the ethereal, fair-haired woman stops using her turquoise bandana.
The chubby, brown-haired man says, in sirihish:
"Well...it's simple...anyone who wants in...puts in fifty coins..."
The sinewy, weather-worn man puts his long black leather wristsheath into his small bag.
As she leans back against a table, the ethereal, fair-haired woman says to the stocky, crooked-nose man, in sirihish:
"Need's... a breeze in here..."
Snapping her fingers, the spiral-scarred black woman says to the chubby, brown-haired man, in sirihish:
"Damn. I spent all my sid gettin' pretty for tonight."
With a mocking wink, the stocky, crooked-nose man says to the ethereal, fair-haired woman, in sirihish:
"Well that is what you get for winking at men, you fall down...."
The chubby, brown-haired man says, in sirihish:
"Who ever rolls highest...wins the quiver...highest is...Lirathu...Jihae...purse...knife...kank...then noose."
You get your pile of allanaki coins from your hooded, dun-colored dustcloak.
There were 170 coins.
It is very light.
At a plush, embroidered couch, the tall, red-haired female speaks, with a laugh.
You sip from your red-striped granite tankard.
This mead has been heavily mixed with spice.
You are a little hungry.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman looks down at the stocky, crooked-nose man.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman grins and then winks to the stocky, crooked-nose man.
Smiling, the chubby, brown-haired man says to the spiral-scarred black woman, in sirihish:
"Go and ask the Chosen Lady."
The ethereal, fair-haired woman gives an exaggerated sigh and drops to the ground.
The stocky, crooked-nose man steps closer towards the ethereal, fair-haired woman, blowing softly into her ear.
The sinewy, weather-worn man gets his pile of allanaki coins from his bone-framed, double strapped coin belt.
At a plush, embroidered couch, the tall, crop-haired human speaks, smiling.
The spiral-scarred black woman turns with a smirk, striding off down the room.
The spiral-scarred black woman walks west.
Holding up a handful of coins, you ask, in sirihish:
"Who are these given to, eh?"
The sinewy, weather-worn man shouts, in sirihish:
"Tsenna get back here!"
At a small, polished wooden bar, the tan, choppy-haired man speaks, turning on his stool to face the room.
Calling out from a small, polished wooden bar, the chubby, brown-haired man says to the stocky, crooked-nose man, in
sirihish:
"Sheath is a thousand coins, right."
The ethereal, fair-haired woman chuckles, sitting up with her arms on her knees as she looks to the stocky, crooked-nose
man.
You hear a woman's voice shout from the west in sirihish:
"Hang on!"
Gesturing, the chubby, brown-haired man says to you, in sirihish:
"Me."
The ethereal, fair-haired woman says to the stocky, crooked-nose man, in sirihish:
"That tickles..."
You give the chubby, brown-haired man 50 coins.
The sinewy, weather-worn man gives some coins to the chubby, brown-haired man.
The chubby, brown-haired man shouts, in sirihish:
"Last chance...win a Kuraci quiver for only fifty coins!"
At a plush, embroidered couch, the tall, red-haired female speaks, reaching over to pat the tall, crop-haired human's
shoulder and missing horribly.
The spiral-scarred black woman has arrived from the west, hurrying back in.
With a smirk as he lays a hand on her shoulder, the stocky, crooked-nose man says to the ethereal, fair-haired woman, in
sirihish:
"There your breaze. As much as your gonna get in here. "
With exaggerated grumpiness, the spiral-scarred black woman says to the chubby, brown-haired man, in sirihish:
"Arright."
Looking at him, the chubby, brown-haired man asks the tan, choppy-haired man, in sirihish:
"In?"
The stocky, crooked-nose man opens a leather belt-pack.
Plopping down next to the sinewy, weather-worn man, the spiral-scarred black woman sits at a small, polished wooden bar.
With a somber expression, the ethereal, fair-haired woman asks the stocky, crooked-nose man, in sirihish:
"S'not very much, is it?"
The stocky, crooked-nose man closes a leather belt-pack.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman looks at the stocky, crooked-nose man's hand.
Dipping his head slowly, the tan, choppy-haired man says to the chubby, brown-haired man, in sirihish:
"Aye alright."
The sinewy, weather-worn man puts his pile of allanaki coins into his bone-framed, double strapped coin belt.
The tan, choppy-haired man opens a leather strapped, traveling knapsack.
The tan, choppy-haired man gets his pile of allanaki coins from his leather strapped, traveling knapsack.
At a plush, embroidered couch, the tall, crop-haired human speaks, grinning broadly at the tall, red-haired female.
The spiral-scarred black woman gives some coins to the chubby, brown-haired man.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman pulls on the stocky, crooked-nose man's hand as she moves to stand.
The spiral-scarred black woman puts her pile of allanaki coins into her earthy leather pouched belt.
The tan, choppy-haired man gives some coins to the chubby, brown-haired man.
Shaking his head, the stocky, crooked-nose man says to the ethereal, fair-haired woman, in sirihish:
"No, but I could do it more, but then I'd have you laughing all over the place now wouldn't I? "
Breezily, the ethereal, fair-haired woman says to the stocky, crooked-nose man, in sirihish:
"Laughing is good."
The tall, red-haired female says, out of character:
Leaning in close, the tall, crop-haired human whispers something to the tall, red-haired female.
Nodding with a grin, the chubby, brown-haired man says, in sirihish:
"Okay...four are in...Nahkt, then Mynkas, Tsenna...and..."
The chubby, brown-haired man looks at the tall, crop-haired human.
The tall, crop-haired human nods to the tall, red-haired female.
At a small, polished wooden bar, the chubby, brown-haired man speaks, to the tall, crop-haired human.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman gives a soft yelp as she looks into the other room.
The tall, red-haired female stands up from a plush, embroidered couch.
The stocky, crooked-nose man opens a leather belt-pack.
The tall, red-haired female has departed from the
The stocky, crooked-nose man closes a leather belt-pack.
Swallowing, the ethereal, fair-haired woman says, in sirihish:
"Oh, oh... Faithful Lord Elithan's here..."
Shaking her head, the ethereal, fair-haired woman says to the stocky, crooked-nose man, in sirihish:
"S'can't... can't see me like this..."
You put your pile of allanaki coins into your hooded, dun-colored dustcloak.
Tucking her feet onto the top rung of her stool, the spiral-scarred black woman grins to the ethereal, fair-haired woman
before turning to the chubby, brown-haired man.
Making sure the tall, red-haired female is comfortable, the tall, crop-haired human stands up.
The tall, crop-haired human stands up from a plush, embroidered couch.
The sinewy, weather-worn man's eyes widen as he glances off to the west.
The tall, crop-haired human weaves through the crowd to the chubby, brown-haired man.
The chubby, brown-haired man gives his pair of polished obsidian dice to the sinewy, weather-worn man.
The chubby, brown-haired man says to the sinewy, weather-worn man, in sirihish:
"Throw Nahkt."
Raising a brow with a chuckle, the stocky, crooked-nose man says to the ethereal, fair-haired woman, in sirihish:
"And why is that....ahhh. Well take a seat there bardess, I will be back. "
The sleek, black-haired woman discards her red-striped granite tankard.
The tall, crop-haired human walks west.
A thin trail of musky smoke trickles from the spiral-scarred black woman's mouth as she smokes an average-looking tube of
spice.
The spiral-scarred black woman flexes unconsciously and smiles to herself.
The chubby, brown-haired man drinks horta wine from his dark glass jug.
The spiral-scarred black woman flicks the butt of her tube away, tucking a lock behind her ear.
The stocky, crooked-nose man turns slowely from the ethereal, fair-haired woman, letting his hand carress down her arm
before marching off.
The sinewy, weather-worn man turns back to the chubby, brown-haired man with a nod and jiggles his pair of polished
obsidian dice in his hand before letting them fall on the bartop.
The stocky, crooked-nose man walks west.
The sinewy, weather-worn man rolls a pair of polished obsidian dice on a small, polished wooden bar.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman nods a few times to herself as she finds a seat and sits with stiff posture.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman sits at a stone gaming table.
The chubby, brown-haired man gets his pair of polished obsidian dice from a small, polished wooden bar.
The chubby, brown-haired man says, in sirihish:
"Moose and kank..."
Leaning to watch the dice roll, the tan, choppy-haired man says, in sirihish:
"Lookin' good.."
The tall, scarred human glances back off to the western room briefly.
Looking down at the two dice sourly, the sinewy, weather-worn man says, in sirihish:
"Krath."
The chubby, brown-haired man says, in sirihish:
"Er Noose."
The sleek, black-haired woman stands up from a small, polished wooden bar.
The chubby, brown-haired man gives you his pair of polished obsidian dice.
The spiral-scarred black woman steeples her fingers under her lower lip, watching avidly.
You roll a pair of polished obsidian dice.
A pair of polished obsidian dice come up:
Knife and Lirathu
The sleek, black-haired woman staggers west.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman looks down at a stone gaming table, a slight sway in how she's sitting.
The chubby, brown-haired man says, in sirihish:
"Knice and Lirathu..."
The chubby, brown-haired man picks up a pair of polished obsidian dice.
The chubby, brown-haired man says, in sirihish:
"Knife...puts Mynkas ahead."
The chubby, brown-haired man gives his pair of polished obsidian dice to the spiral-scarred black woman.
The spiral-scarred black woman juggles her pair of polished obsidian dice in her cupped palm, giving them a kiss before
rolling them onto the bar.
The spiral-scarred black woman rolls a pair of polished obsidian dice.
At a small, polished wooden bar, the spiral-scarred black woman speaks, peering at the dice.
Grinning, the chubby, brown-haired man says, in sirihish:
"Ahh...tough roll to beat...Jihae and Lirathu..."
The chubby, brown-haired man picks up a pair of polished obsidian dice.
The tall, crop-haired human has arrived from the west.
The tan, choppy-haired man looks at the spiral-scarred black woman.
The chubby, brown-haired man gives his pair of polished obsidian dice to the tan, choppy-haired man.
The stocky, crooked-nose man has arrived from the west.
With a grin, nodding, the spiral-scarred black woman looks at the tan, choppy-haired man.
The tall, crop-haired human maneuvers over and behind a small, polished wooden bar, carrying a tray of mead.
At a small, polished wooden bar, the tan, choppy-haired man speaks, tossing his dice to the side across the bartop.
The tan, choppy-haired man rolls a pair of polished obsidian dice on a small, polished wooden bar.
Stiffly, the ethereal, fair-haired woman sits at a stone gaming table, her expression trying to look disinterested
Grinning, the chubby, brown-haired man says, in sirihish:
"And Tsenna wins..."
The chubby, brown-haired man gives his forest-camouflaged hunting quiver to the spiral-scarred black woman.
Marching over , the stocky, crooked-nose man asks the ethereal, fair-haired woman, in sirihish:
"Good, you made it too a seat. Didn't join the crowd at the bar?"
The chubby, brown-haired man gets his pair of polished obsidian dice from a small, polished wooden bar.
The sleek, black-haired woman has arrived from the west.
The chubby, brown-haired man stands up from a small, polished wooden bar.
The sleek, black-haired woman sits at a small, polished wooden bar.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman blinks, looking at her table and then over to the bar.
At a small, polished wooden bar, the tan, choppy-haired man speaks, back leaning against the bar.
At a small, polished wooden bar, the spiral-scarred black woman speaks, pumping a fist triumphantly in the air.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman says to the stocky, crooked-nose man, in sirihish:
"Oh, didn' think of it."
Gesturing, the chubby, brown-haired man says, in sirihish:
"Everyone...over to the other bar...my Cousin is going to make an announcement...now that everyone is awake."
Tucking his tray under his arm, the tall, crop-haired human moves back to the tavern room.
The tall, crop-haired human walks west.
You are already standing.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman swallows, uneasily.
You sit at a curved, agafari bar.
The adult human male takes about seven paces through a gap in the crowd to stand near the cold eyed woman.
The tan, choppy-haired man has arrived from the east, rubbing at his jaw.
As he turns his attention to her, the brutally-scarred, crimson-haired Jihaen templar asks the wasp-waisted brunette
woman, in sirihish:
"Chosen Lady, do you mind if I join you?"
Gesturing to a chair, the wasp-waisted brunette woman says to the brutally-scarred, crimson-haired Jihaen templar, in
sirihish:
"Please do, Faithful Lord."
The dirty, hair-covered half-giant has entered the world.
The brutally-scarred, crimson-haired Jihaen templar sits at a compact agafari table.
The tan, choppy-haired man steps through the room, a frown on his face.
The spiral-scarred black woman has arrived from the east, grinning.
The tan, choppy-haired man walks west.
The cold eyed woman intently scans the area.
Quietly, under the din of the gathering, the adult human male asks the cold eyed woman, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"Nice party?"
The bald, full-bearded half-giant has arrived from the west.
The tall figure in a dusty hooded, brown military aba has arrived from the west.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman has arrived from the east.
The sinewy, weather-worn man has arrived from the east.
Sliding onto a stool, the sinewy, weather-worn man sits at a curved, agafari bar.
Walking next to the ethereal, fair-haired woman, the spiral-scarred black woman moves to the bar, raising her
forest-camouflaged hunting quiver proudly to the wasp-waisted brunette woman with a chuckle.
The adult human male's eyes dart almost immediately to the bald, full-bearded half-giant.
The adult human male looks up at the bald, full-bearded half-giant.
The spiral-scarred black woman sits at a curved, agafari bar.
The bald, full-bearded half-giant searches the crowd diligently with a smile.
The bald, full-bearded half-giant looks down at the adult human male.
The chubby, brown-haired man has arrived from the east.
The sinewy, weather-worn man looks up at the adult human male.
The wasp-waisted brunette woman nods to the spiral-scarred black woman with a warm smile before looking back to the
brutally-scarred, crimson-haired Jihaen templar.
At a compact agafari table, the brutally-scarred, crimson-haired Jihaen templar speaks, as he interlaces his fingers,
setting them in his lap.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman keeps a hold on the spiral-scarred black woman's arm with a quiet smile.
The sleek, black-haired woman has arrived from the east.
The stocky, crooked-nose man has arrived from the east.
Raising his voice as he heads over to a curved, agafari bar, the stocky, clean-shaven man shouts, in sirihish:
"Everybody... if you'll gather in the main room and give me your attention for -just- a bit... I have an announcement
to make!"
The spiral-scarred black woman opens a long, durrit-hide sack.
Tucking it away, the spiral-scarred black woman puts her forest-camouflaged hunting quiver into her long, durrit-hide
sack.
The adult human male averts his eyes from the bald, full-bearded half-giant.
The sleek, black-haired woman sits at a curved, agafari bar.
Sliding behind the bar with a sigh, the tall, crop-haired human takes a spot out of the way.
The spiral-scarred black woman closes a long, durrit-hide sack.
The cold eyed woman says to the adult human male, in southern-accented sirihish:
"ya it's fine"
The chubby, brown-haired man holds his dark glass jug.
The spiral-scarred black woman eats her piece of smoked meat.
To an assistant, reaching down for the fuzzy, red-streaked pup, the stocky, clean-shaven man says, in sirihish:
"Get 'im up here so people can see 'im..."
At a compact agafari table, the wasp-waisted brunette woman speaks, tapping on her red-striped granite tankard as she nods
to the brutally-scarred, crimson-haired Jihaen templar.
The sleek, black-haired woman looks up at the adult human male.
The bald, full-bearded half-giant looks down at the stocky, crooked-nose man.
The stocky, crooked-nose man marches into the room, casting his eyes about the crowd .
The dirty, hair-covered half-giant looks down at the fuzzy, red-streaked pup.
A female whore disappears into a crowd of rough-looking men and women.
The tall figure in a dusty hooded, brown military aba looks down at the fuzzy, red-streaked pup.
The spiral-scarred black woman glances over at a compact agafari table, nodding courteously to the brutally-scarred,
crimson-haired Jihaen templar.
The chubby, brown-haired man gives his dark glass jug to the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man.
The stocky, clean-shaven man helps the fuzzy, red-streaked pup up onto the bar, keeping a hand on his collar tightly.
The chubby, brown-haired man says to the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man, in sirihish:
"Here, Senior Agent...I know you like the horta."
Glancing over briefly, the sinewy, weather-worn man looks up at the tall figure in a dusty hooded, brown military aba.
The dirty, hair-covered half-giant has departed from the
The spiral-scarred black woman scoots away from the fuzzy, red-streaked pup a bit, clearing some tankards out of its way.
The tall figure in a dusty hooded, brown military aba looks down at the sinewy, weather-worn man.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman swallows, running a hand along the top of her laced lavender silk blouse as she leans
against a curved, agafari bar to listen to the stocky, clean-shaven man.
Lifting his dark glass jug with a smile of thanks to the chubby, brown-haired man, the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man says,
in sirihish:
"Just in time as always, m'friend."
The onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man drinks horta wine from his dark glass jug.
The tall, crop-haired human gets his red-striped granite tankard from a curved, agafari bar.
You discard your red-striped granite tankard.
The chubby, brown-haired man puts his pair of polished obsidian dice into his pouched belt.
At a compact agafari table, the wasp-waisted brunette woman speaks, laughing softly.
The tall, crop-haired human drinks spiced-mead from his red-striped granite tankard.
The coffee-tressed young woman sips from her red-striped granite tankard.
The stocky, crooked-nose man looks up at the ethereal, fair-haired woman.
With a nod as the room starts to quiet down, a bit, the stocky, clean-shaven man shouts, in sirihish:
"Thanks... now then! Some of you may remember what seems like Ages but was really just a few years back... we threw a
party in the Tooth a lot like this."
Putting it on the bar, the coffee-tressed young woman discards her red-striped granite tankard.
Looking around the crowd sadly, the bald, full-bearded half-giant says, in sirihish:
"Awe.. I don' see my steaks. "
At a compact agafari table, the brutally-scarred, crimson-haired Jihaen templar speaks, to the wasp-waisted brunette woman
with an easy smile, accentuating the deep lines of age on his face.
With a big smile, the tall figure in a dusty hooded, brown military aba says to the bald, full-bearded half-giant, in
southern-accented sirihish:
"Yeah me neither, big guy."
The mesh-tattooed, able-bodied male lowers the hood of a dusty hooded, brown military aba.
The onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man turns his full attention towards the stocky, clean-shaven man.
The stocky, clean-shaven man shouts, in sirihish:
"Now that's not so unusual. But back then a bright-eyed, wet-behind-the-ears Agent named Rokov jumped up on this here
bar and announced that we were throwing ourselves a huge festival down in Luir's..."
Tilting her head with a nod, the spiral-scarred black woman looks up at the mesh-tattooed, able-bodied male.
The chubby, brown-haired man chuckles.
With a wry grin, the stocky, clean-shaven man shouts, in sirihish:
"Well, I didn't learn my lesson from that... so we're doing it again!"
At a compact agafari table, the wasp-waisted brunette woman speaks, gesturing with her red-striped granite tankard,
returning the brutally-scarred, crimson-haired Jihaen templar's smile.
The adult human male shudders gently.
The coffee-tressed young woman blinks, both eyebrows rising.
The mesh-tattooed, able-bodied male nods to the spiral-scarred black woman.
The sinewy, weather-worn man gives a loud whoop and slams a fist against the bar.
The wasp-waisted brunette woman turns her attention toward the stocky, clean-shaven man.
The mesh-tattooed, able-bodied male looks down at the spiral-scarred black woman.
The adult human male notices the mesh-tattooed, able-bodied male in the crowd, a wry smirk creasing his heavily-decorated
face.
The adult human male looks at the mesh-tattooed, able-bodied male.
The bald, full-bearded half-giant looks down at the sinewy, weather-worn man.
At a compact agafari table, the brutally-scarred, crimson-haired Jihaen templar speaks, as his gaze drifts towards the
stocky, crooked-nose man.
The spiral-scarred black woman chuckles, her round-boned face turned up to the stocky, clean-shaven man.
The adult human male's eyes flicker shut for a brief moment.
The spiral-scarred black woman looks up at the adult human male.
The bald, full-bearded half-giant looks down at the fuzzy, red-streaked pup.
The tall, crop-haired human gazes quietly at the stocky, clean-shaven man and the chubby, brown-haired man over the top of
his tankard.
Nodding firmly after he watches the crowd's reaction, the stocky, clean-shaven man shouts, in sirihish:
"That's right, and it'll be bigger and better than the last one! We'll have a second World Champion Fighter tournament -- we're looking for another brave Tuluki to win it like last time..."
The tall, scarred human chuckles politely and nods in agreement with the stocky, clean-shaven man.
The chubby, brown-haired man drinks horta wine from his dark glass jug.
The cold eyed woman grins.
The stocky, crooked-nose man keeps his ears perked towards the stocky, clean-shaven man as his eyes continuously dart
about the room among the crowd.
The stocky, clean-shaven man shouts, in sirihish:
"All -kinds- of games, prizes, contests, events... more spice than you could possibly imagine... and as a very special treat, another auction in which YOU can bid for your very own Kurtok pup like Zalot here!"
The adult human male looks down at the fuzzy, red-streaked pup.
You are a little hungry.
The adult human male beams a smile at the fuzzy, red-streaked pup.
The chubby, brown-haired man takes a drink from his dark glass jug as he stands near the stocky, clean-shaven man.
The tall, crop-haired human raises an eyebrow towards the stocky, clean-shaven man.
The stocky, clean-shaven man points down at the fuzzy, red-streaked pup with a grin, who seems to be a bit confused by all
the sudden attention on him.
The sleek, black-haired woman glances down at the fuzzy, red-streaked pup.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman casts the stocky, clean-shaven man a complaiscent smile as she listens to him.
Looking down at his side, the bald, full-bearded half-giant says to the stocky, crooked-nose man, in sirihish:
"I like that pup."
The onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man laughs and raises jug to clink a few rubies from his glove against it.
The fuzzy, red-streaked pup barks a few times at nothing in particular.
Chuckling throatily, the spiral-scarred black woman says to the fuzzy, red-streaked pup, in sirihish:
"You got a lot to live up to, kid."
The adult human male studies the fuzzy, red-streaked pup, attention riveted.
The onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man laughs and raises his dark glass jug to clink a few rubies from his glove against it.
The bald, full-bearded half-giant looks down at the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man.
The cold eyed woman shakes her head at the long-limbed blue-eyed man.
The adult human male begins guarding the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man.
You notice the brutally-scarred, crimson-haired Jihaen templar glancing at the brutally-scarred, crimson-haired Jihaen
templar.
The brutally-scarred, crimson-haired Jihaen templar looks up at the fuzzy, red-streaked pup.
The coffee-tressed young woman looks up at the fuzzy, red-streaked pup.
The bald, full-bearded half-giant frowns as he scans the crowd over again.
With a laugh, the stocky, clean-shaven man shouts, in sirihish:
"And don't worry, my cousin named him after himself. I'm not the one to blame. Anyway! We'll be holding the Festival just about a year away from now... you're all invited!"
The stocky, crooked-nose man looks down at the fuzzy, red-streaked pup.
The sound of glasses clinking and light conversation reaches your ears regularly.
The spiral-scarred black woman grins to the stocky, clean-shaven man, calling out a whoop.
The stocky, clean-shaven man shouts, in sirihish:
"Though we do ask if any of our
The stocky, clean-shaven man shouts, in sirihish:
"free!"
Looking up with a grin nearly whispering, the mesh-tattooed, able-bodied male asks the bald, full-bearded half-giant, in
southern-accented sirihish:
"Who was giving you the steaks, big guy?"
The ethereal, fair-haired woman laughs into the back of one hand.
The adult human male applauds an announcement from the stocky, crooked-nose man.
Scratching his beard, the bald, full-bearded half-giant says to the mesh-tattooed, able-bodied male, in sirihish:
"Um.. Zaqar, and Ardus was supposed to give me five hundred steaks."
Smiling, the chubby, brown-haired man says, in sirihish:
"Yes...you can either plod along in Rokov's wagon...or race in mine."
Offering a showy bow, the stocky, clean-shaven man shouts, in sirihish:
"That's the news, folks... and you all are the VERY first in the world to hear it."
The mesh-tattooed, able-bodied male nods to the bald, full-bearded half-giant.
The coffee-tressed young woman looks at the stocky, clean-shaven man, then at the chubby, brown-haired man.
The chubby, brown-haired man chuckles.
Leaning foward to call out, the wasp-waisted brunette woman asks the stocky, clean-shaven man, in sirihish:
"Will there be a Tall Tales contest, Rokov-da?"
The mesh-tattooed, able-bodied male nods to the bald, full-bearded half-giant.
Grabbing it up and raising it into the air, the spiral-scarred black woman gets her red-striped granite tankard from a
curved, agafari bar.
With a grin, the chubby, brown-haired man asks the stocky, clean-shaven man, in sirihish:
"And we will be holding races, Cousin? Maybe get the sleds out?"
her Red-striped granite tankard sloshing droplets, the spiral-scarred black woman says, in sirihish:
"To Kurac, and their fine parties."
Nodding firmly, the stocky, clean-shaven man says to the wasp-waisted brunette woman, in sirihish:
"Of course, Chosen Lady. That one was one of the biggest hits last time."
The spiral-scarred black woman sips from her red-striped granite tankard.
The chubby, brown-haired man chuckles.
The slender, pitch-haired young man has arrived from the west.
The wasp-waisted brunette woman nods to the stocky, clean-shaven man with a satisfied smile as she leans back in her
chair.
Hopping down off the bar, the stocky, clean-shaven man exclaims, in sirihish:
"So get your stories ready!"
At 1) a compact agafari table are:
the brutally-scarred, crimson-haired Jihaen templar,
the wasp-waisted brunette woman, and a few empty seats.
At 2) a curved, agafari bar are:
the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man, the tall, scarred human,
the sinewy, weather-worn man, the coffee-tressed young woman,
the spiral-scarred black woman, the sleek, black-haired woman,
and one empty seat.
The sinewy, weather-worn man snatches up his red-striped granite tankard and lifts it to the spiral-scarred black woman in
salute.
The spiral-scarred black woman drinks spiced-mead from her red-striped granite tankard.
The chubby, brown-haired man gets his black silt pearl from his pouched belt.
The cold eyed woman intently scans the area.
Slurping loudly, the sinewy, weather-worn man drinks spiced-mead from his red-striped granite tankard.
You are a little hungry.
The spiral-scarred black woman puts her red-striped granite tankard onto a curved, agafari bar.
Grinning, the chubby, brown-haired man exclaims to the spiral-scarred black woman, in sirihish:
"For that fine comment...you win a pearl!"
Slamming it to the bar, the sinewy, weather-worn man discards his red-striped granite tankard.
The slender, pitch-haired young man eases his way through the crowd, pausing to nod to the wasp-waisted brunette woman
before continuing to pick a path toward a curved, agafari bar.
The spiral-scarred black woman opens a long, durrit-hide sack.
The chubby, brown-haired man gives his black silt pearl to the spiral-scarred black woman.
Carefully, the spiral-scarred black woman gets her light brown, leather instrument case from her long, durrit-hide sack.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman glances up, briefly, to the slender, pitch-haired young man as she takes in the crowds.
With a blink, examining her black silt pearl closely, the spiral-scarred black woman says to the chubby, brown-haired man,
in sirihish:
"It's gorgeous."
The long-limbed blue-eyed man opens a stained brown leather backpack.
The long-limbed blue-eyed man closes a stained brown leather backpack.
The chubby, brown-haired man says to the spiral-scarred black woman, in sirihish:
"Good...now get playing...Rokov and I need a break."
The adult human male glances around suddenly.
Tossing back her dark head to laugh, the spiral-scarred black woman says to the chubby, brown-haired man, in sirihish:
"You needn't tell me twice, Agent. My thanks."
Carefully, the spiral-scarred black woman puts her black silt pearl into her earthy leather pouched belt.
The stocky, clean-shaven man gets his red-striped granite tankard from a curved, agafari bar.
Glancing up at the bald, full-bearded half-giant, the mesh-tattooed, able-bodied male asks, in southern-accented
sirihish:
"I thought you said you were getting steaks?"
The spiral-scarred black woman gets her light-stained cunyati lute from her light brown, leather instrument case.
The spiral-scarred black woman puts her light brown, leather instrument case into her long, durrit-hide sack.
The spiral-scarred black woman closes a long, durrit-hide sack.
With a frown, the bald, full-bearded half-giant exclaims to the mesh-tattooed, able-bodied male, in sirihish:
"I thought I was too!"
The spiral-scarred black woman gets her light-gauge bone pick from her earthy leather pouched belt.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman casts the spiral-scarred black woman a half smile as she nudges her.
Settling it across her legs, glancing curiously at the mesh-tattooed, able-bodied male and the bald, full-bearded
half-giant, the spiral-scarred black woman holds her light-stained cunyati lute.
The spiral-scarred black woman brandishes her light-gauge bone pick.
The robust, head-shaven man trades a loaf of sandhog headcheese to the adult human male.
The adult human male slides a plate of food to the long-limbed blue-eyed man covertly.
The adult human male gives his loaf of sandhog headcheese to the long-limbed blue-eyed man.
The long-limbed blue-eyed man nods to the adult human male.
The long-limbed blue-eyed man takes a bite of his loaf of sandhog headcheese.
Grinning broadly to the ethereal, fair-haired woman, the spiral-scarred black woman asks, in sirihish:
"May I introduce my ravishing accompaniest, Aja?"
The long-limbed blue-eyed man eats his partially eaten loaf of sandhog headcheese.
The mesh-tattooed, able-bodied male sighs as he leans up against the bald, full-bearded half-giant's leg.
The coffee-tressed young woman gets her red-striped granite tankard from a curved, agafari bar.
The bald, full-bearded half-giant scans the crowd again, disparingly.
Lips parting with a brief surprise before smiling, the ethereal, fair-haired woman asks the spiral-scarred black woman, in
sirihish:
"... Ah, yes. What'... What do you need?"
The ethereal, fair-haired woman clears her throat softly.
Waving over to the robust, head-shaven man, the sinewy, weather-worn man says, in sirihish:
"Gimme somethin' good ta eat, Elwor."
The coffee-tressed young woman peers into her red-striped granite tankard and frowns.
At a compact agafari table, the wasp-waisted brunette woman speaks, with a smile to the brutally-scarred, crimson-haired
Jihaen templar.
The sinewy, weather-worn man gets his pile of allanaki coins from his bone-framed, double strapped coin belt.
The robust, head-shaven man trades a large stuffed and fried gourd blossom to the sinewy, weather-worn man.
Putting it back onto a curved, agafari bar, the coffee-tressed young woman discards her red-striped granite tankard.
The coffee-tressed young woman gets her red-striped granite tankard from a curved, agafari bar.
You get your pile of allanaki coins from your hooded, dun-colored dustcloak.
There were 120 coins.
It is very light.
The sinewy, weather-worn man puts his pile of allanaki coins into his bone-framed, double strapped coin belt.
Waving over to the slender, pitch-haired young man, the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man exclaims, in sirihish:
"Mika! Over here!"
The long-limbed blue-eyed man drinks water from his leather waterbelt.
The chubby, brown-haired man says, in sirihish:
"Lots of drinks, everyone...all free..."
Picking one of her light-stained cunyati lute's twelve strings, the spiral-scarred black woman says to the ethereal,
fair-haired woman, in sirihish:
"A repeating melody here, and the chorus one chord lower."
You give the robust, head-shaven man 12 obsidian coins for a bowl of tembo-eye
soup.
Dropping into a chair tiredly, the stocky, clean-shaven man sits at a curved, agafari bar.
You put your pile of allanaki coins into your hooded, dun-colored dustcloak.
The chubby, brown-haired man says, in sirihish:
"Use your tankards to hit the casks when they're gone."
You eat part of your bowl of tembo-eye soup.
You are a little hungry.
At a compact agafari table, the wasp-waisted brunette woman speaks, laughing softly.
With a smooth motion, the ethereal, fair-haired woman gets her light-stained cunyati lute from her rough canvas backpack.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman closes a rough canvas backpack.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman whispers something to the spiral-scarred black woman.
The adult human male smiles.
At a compact agafari table, the wasp-waisted brunette woman speaks, gesturing to the spiral-scarred black woman.
Nodding to the ethereal, fair-haired woman as she begins to pick a spirited, whimsical tune on her light-stained cunyati
lute, the spiral-scarred black woman says, in sirihish:
"May I present 'Roll Your Leg Over,' composed by Tsenna of Elkinhym as a commentary on the young men of Tuluk. "
----------------------------------------------
"The Tembo's Tooth" - Tavern [EWD Quit]
Smooth, sanded cylini planks have been laid across the floor of this
cramped room, their polished surface flickering in the lights of the candles. Dark stains splatter the wooden floor at odd intervals, disrupting the otherwise smooth contour of the...
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