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The Trouble Twins strike again.. and get POTTED.
Rashar stumbles in quickly, large Yeleni body sprawling on the floor to
flop at Kerryn's feet. "Argh," he manages, clearly dying.
Phendegwen frowns slightly as you collapses, muttering, "Well. . .that doesn't look too
good at all. . ."
"I just think that's the nature of events. People get to talking and then forget about the
food." Kerryn pauses as you falls at her feet, "Are you alright?" she asks, setting the
cake and candy on the nearest table before bending down and poking at your shoulder. "She
woke up and potted you, didn't she?"
Rashar scowls for a moment, looking at Kerryn as if her suggestion was ludicrous. "Of course not," he snaps before recalling his imminent death. Again his head flops, tongue lolling out the side of his mouth. If his eyes had any discernible detail to
them, they would be rolled up into his head, and his foot twitches erratically. "I've
clearly been slain. By something vicious."
You murmur to Phendegwen, "Pay attention, feller."
You murmur to Phendegwen, "You're watching a master at work here!"
You conjure up the illusion: Before you floats a hovering form, a beautiful and ethereal
looking angel. She radiates wisdom as she draws closer, and with a wave of her hand an
image materializes: A dying man, laying helpless on a bed of silk. His wounds are grievous,
and beyond the beautiful woman holding his hand stands a crowd of worried lookers.
Phendegwen examines you, saying, "Really, he doesn't look too well there. . . although for
a dead man, he seems to be able to speak rather well." He raises an eyebrow at you,
clearly rather dubious about his condition.
You conjure up the illusion: From somewhere out of sight approaches a second figure, a
robed healer of great renown if the almost awe-filled expression of the lookers is any
indication. He studies the fallen hero for a time, and then whispers something into the
beautiful woman's ear.
Phendegwen mutters to Kerryn, "Although, I do recall my daughter mentioning something
about this here being. . .my grandson. Which means he's up to something, to be sure."
Kerryn blinks slowly at you, a brief glance thrown to Phendegwen and she shrugs a little
before refocusing her attention upon the man at her feet. "He's trouble." says aloud.
"That what he is, trouble wrapped up in a sugar coating." Her eyes dart around her as if
watching something unseen unfold before her, her lips turning down into a faint frown.
You conjure up the illusion: Abruptly the woman leans forward, kissing the dying man once
on each eye. As if resurrected from the dead, the fallen hero comes awake with a gasp,
glancing around in confusion. His wounds close before your eyes, and the color returns to
his flesh. The scene fades into shimmering motes of light as the man begins to rise.
"Oooh," Rashar moans loudly, clearly very close to being dead. "Whatever
will I do. I'm dyyyyyiiiinnnnnnng.." His eye cracks open, and he glances over at Kerryn.
"Dyyyyyyyiiiinnnng."
Kerryn says abruptly to Phendegwen, "I think you should kiss him."
You conjure up the illusion: A stern voice echoes in your mind, "It must be a beautiful
lady. Clearly, you weren't paying attention."
Phendegwen gives a rumbling laugh, and says, "Ach, the lad's putting forth some effort. . .
and I'm pretty sure it's for your sake."
Kerryn shakes your shoulder lightly, "Shh.. you're dying remember?"
Rashar's head immediately falls back, and his tongue sticks out a bit
further.
Kerryn rolls her eyes, "Alright, fine." she says to the room at large. Pale blue eyes
focus upon you, "But you have to close your eyes." she says sternly. "No peeking."
Rashar's eyes are already closed, but he squeezes them shut for dramatic
affect.
Kerryn waits until your eyes are closed before looking to Phendegwen and holding a finger
to her lips in the hopes of keeping him from warning you. All the while her hand reaches
out to the table and pulls the cake to her, she hesitates a moment before suddenly
smooshing it firmly against your face.
Phendegwen manages to remain silent until the moment the cake meets your face, at which he
lets out an immediate burst of booming laughter.
Rashar rolls over to his side and brushes the cake from his face,
nonchalantly explaining to Phendegwen as if holding a lecture, "And that, feller, is how
you get fed cake by a beautiful lady." Grinning crookedly he adds, "Are there any
questions about today's block of instruction?"
Phendegwen shakes his head, still laughing. After a moment he tells you, "Ach, that's. . .
one way I suppose. But, you should be cautious with that tactic- you were fortunate it was
a cake. That might have been a pot- and she's got a very good arm."
Kerryn rolls her eyes at you, "You are impossible." she says with a laugh, "Even with
supervision you're trouble." she says as she stands, offering a hand to help you up, "Let
me get you a towel to clean off with." she says gently.
Rashar wags his eyebrow and says, "She knows better than to hit me." The
large man rolls again, bringing himself to his hands and knees before rocking back and
standing up smoothly. "Like it too much," he explains as he turns and extends his hand out
to Phendegwen. "Rashar," he says, "Saw you at the sermon last month, but I don't think
we've met."
Phendegwen contemplates the cake-smeared visage of you, saying, "We've not- but I've heard
mention of you from my daughter." He shakes your hand with his thickly-webbed one, saying,
"From what she tells me, I'm your grandfather."
You have emoted: Rashar tilts his head to the side. "Huh," he muses. "Well, yes. I suppose
so, if you're Ninette's father. Her and Elim seem to have scooped me up, it seems, though
I haven't seen either of them in quite a while."
Kerryn turns and pulls a small washcloth from her pack and hands it to you, "Here, clean
yourself up a bit." she smiles faintly.
Phendegwen says, "I'm called Phendegwen- but Phen is just fine." His smirk indicates that
he clearly prefers the short version. "And aye, it would appear that you are my grandson-
Ninette's my daughter. By adoption, obviously, as, Elorin and I have no natural children,
quite impossible. But you're clearly of the Tanarian strain nonetheless. Troublesome folk,
we often are."
: Rashar takes the cloth with a mischievous grin at Kerryn. "I ought to
kiss -you- and smear this stuff everywhere." His eyes are dancing with laughter as he
brings the rag up to wipe his face clean. A sidelong glance is cast at Phendegwen and he
murmurs, "Most likely going to call you feller, to be honest."
Kerryn gasps at you, "You wouldn't dare." she says, pale eyes narrowing as she takes a
half step back from you.
Kerryn levels a finger at you, "I will tell your brother." she warns.
Turning back to the lady, Rashar says, "I'm fairly certain if I dare to
drop a poster off at the gates of Bloodloch, I dare to do just about whatever I want,
hmm?" His head dips forward. "And my brother wouldn't stop me anyway. He knows a lady has
to bereminded of the proper order of things every once in a while." Despite the bold
words, he immediately turns and makes a casual stroll around the room, conveniently
placing himself behind Phendegwen.
"Speaking of," Rashar grins, shaking his head at Phendegwen's offer. "Did
you -see- this tapestry, feller?" Cackling to himself, he opens his pack and begins
rummaging around in it.
Around the edges of the tapestry is a small border of blue paint, ending at each corner to
give way for the little designs in each corner. The top left and bottom right holds a
small image of multi-coloured coral, where as the opposite corners hold an image of a
small shark, its jaws open looking for prey. Directly in the center of the tapestry is a very detailed image of the top half of a man. The eyes of this man are grey, and stare out
directly at you under a mass of disheveled grey hair. The man is topless, and fine lines
have been painted over his tanned skin to show his rather muscular form. A stern, yet
alluring look is set upon the man's features. The man's left arm is raised, and he is
pointing directly out, as if pointing at you. Under the image of the man, in large painted
blue letters, are the words "I WANT YOU." Directly under this phrase, in smaller blue
letters, are the words, "To join Lord Slyphe."
Phendegwen turns to you, asking, "Tapestry?"
Pale blue eyes follow you as he moves about the room, 'Proper place?' Kerryn mouths
silently to herself. A delicate eyebrow lifts as she narrows her eyes at you. "And just -
what- pray tell is that place, hmm?" she asks, clearly challenging you.
"The kitchen," Rashar explains conversationally. "Where all good things
occur."
Phendegwen smirks as he looks over the tapestry, saying, "Hrm. . .not the worst idea.
Recruitment tapestries. . . still just can't get used to this Slyphe though. Used to be a
lady back when I was in the Order. It's been what, twohudred years now. . . but still."
Rashar grins at Phendegwen. "I put those tapestries all over the place. A
couple in Enorian, one in Delos. Another in the Black Flagon. A few in Spinesreach, one in
Bloodloch."
"Phen, stand aside, I'm getting my pot!" Kerryn says loudly as she reaches for her pack.
Phendegwen murmurs to Kerryn, "He's about to get the pot, isn't he. . . well. . . pretty
sure his mother would approve of it if she heard that."
Phendegwen smirks at Kerryn, and pointedly steps aside, moving near the wall so that you
would find it rather difficult to use his bulk as a shield.
Rashar frowns slightly. "Bloodloch put a bounty on my head. For littering.
" He ducks nimbly aside and back and wags a finger at Kerryn. "The pot! Brought straight
from the KITCHEN, I bet." Back to Phendegwen, "Littering! Spinesreach just mushroomed them
all. I'm still considering charging them for the flame sigils I used."
Phendegwen says, "Wait. . .you put those in Bloodloch and Spines?" He bursts out laughing,
telling Kerryn, "Thats -almost- worth a reprieve from the pot. . . .almost."
Kerryn gasps at you, "Oh, you are so in over your head." she says pulling the pot out of
her pack and advancing upon you. "Almost." she agrees with Phendegwen. "Almost." she
repeats.
*** INSERT 50 PEOPLE ***
Trager peers around intently, "Woah, dearest, what is with the potting of my poor
brother?"
Sister Ayanala Silverain says, "I came for the show. I was told there was to be a show."
Kerryn holds the pot up as she points at you, "HE.. he said that a woman's -proper- place
is the kitchen."
Trager's eyes flash towards you, narrowing slightly. He turns finally to Kerryn, a single
eyebrow raising up innocently, "Is it not?"
Rashar waves back and forth, looking caught between fleeing and attacking.
"Sage advice," he agrees.
Phendegwen chuckles bemusedly, saying, "It appears many will learn what it means to fear
Kerryn's pot. A good lesson for all."
Sister Ayanala Silverain says to Auspicious Legacy, Abbess Kerryn Cardinalis, "Calm
yourself, your grip on that pot is all wrong."
Meyvitch reaches out and slams his hand up against the back of Trager's head.
Phendegwen smirks at Ayanala, saying, "No it's not. . .pretty sure that's the same grip
she used on me. It's effective enough!"
Fox of the Rhythm, Meyvitch Qefin-Yaslana says to Trager Del'baeth, "I know plenty of men
that cook."
Rashar places his hands on his hips and glares at Meyvitch. "Just whose
side are you on here, feller?"
Meyvitch points accusingly at Kerryn.
"Yeller bellied -coward-," Rashar spits.
Sister Ayanala Silverain says to Phendegwen Tanarian, The Engineer, "Oh, trust me, certain
grips of hers make the difference between ringing ears and a trip to the Halls."
Kerryn continues her advance on you, that is till she hears Trager's comment. Suddenly she
spins to face him, pot leveled at him, "What?" she demands.
Phendegwen smiles bemusedly as he tells you, "Trust me- if you just get it over with, it's
not quite as bad. Pretty sure she'll hit a bit harder for every moment you let her wind up.
. ."
Meyvitch draws himself up to his full height with a low growl. "I am NOT a coward!" he
snaps, eyebrows drawing together as he advances on you.
Ayanala hums softly to herself as she non-chalantly shuts the only exit.
Rashar glares at the growing crowd until Kerryn turns. As soon as she
does he hops forward, indicating to Trager with a broad, miming gesture that he is about
to slap Kerryn on the rear.
Trager takes a cautious step towards Kerryn, holding out his arm in hopes of fending off
some yet to be thrown blow. "Dear, dear," he rumbles softly, "Let us relax here, yes? We
can go find somewhere quiet to speak, and you can whip me up something tasty while I
listen to this -entire- story." He arches a single eyebrow, finishing with, "Does that not
sound nice?"
Meyvitch shoots Trager a disbelieving look. "Kerryn, m'darling, do you have a spare pot?"
Phendegwen says, "Starting to sound like it might be a double-potting here. . ." and takes
another drag off his cigarette as he settles himself into a nearby chair.
Kerryn gasps, clearly in disbelief, "You're next!" she says to Trager, "Just you wait your
turn." she says in a huff as she moves to turn back and face you.
Meyvitch glances about the room, then his gaze falls on a statue of a satyr. Moving over
to it, he wraps his hands around the wineskin and shoulder of the wooden thing, muscles
straining as he tries to lift it.
As Kerryn faces Trager, Rashar winds up dramatically two or three times,
his arm swinging in lazy circles almost as wide as the grin that shows the row of
brilliant white teeth. Even as Kerryn begins to spin he is stepping forward, bringing his
palm into her rear with a *SMACK* "AHA. I'll see that pot, dear Abbess!"
Phendegwen peers at Meyvitch and snaps, "No fighting with the furniture! Elorin would be
hitting me with pots, if he knew I was allowing such. . ."
Sister Ayanala Silverain says, "Did... Did you just..."
Meyvitch lets go of the larger-than-him statue, red-faced from exertion. "Bah," he replies,
in time to catch the smack of Rashar's hand against Kerryn's ass. His ears shoot up,
quivering as he watches Kerryn with a horrified expression. "RASHAR!"
Trager's eyes widen instantly, the only emotion across his entire demeanor, shock. "Y-.."
he rumbles with a stutter, "Did y-you..?"
Kerryn lets out a squeal of surprise and outrage as your hand makes contact with her rear.
Quickly she spins her arm around in an attempt to hit your head with the cast-iron pot.
Meyvitch sneers and his eyes lose focus for a moment. Curving almost in pain, he grows a
thick pelt of fur, and the muscles on his body snap and re-grow larger in size. Shaking
his head, Meyvitch straightens himself, fully transformed into his Werewolf self.
Phendegwen shakes his head at you as he exhales another cloud of weed-scented smoke. "Now,
that might just have earned him a shattered skull there. . . ".
Rashar's eyes grow wide immediately, as if just now realizing what he's
done. So wide, in fact, that they miss entirely the pot whirling directly into his skull.
*CRACK*. "Oh," he rumbles, looking very confused.
Trager quickly snaps out of his shock-induced trance, moving forward quickly. "Give me
that," he growls, reaching for the pot as Kerryn surges forward and clocks you against the
head, "I'll be giving him another."
Meyvitch charges you with a bellow to shake the room, plowing into him broadside.
Rashar doesn't seem to notice Meyvitch, and he was likely already on his
way to the floor when the smaller man strikes him. Together they topple, the larger Yeleni
looking much like a sack of bones being tossed to the floor.
Still in shock as to what has just happened, Kerryn doesn't realize Trager's taken her pot
from her till he's walked a few steps past her, "Hey!" she exclaims, "I need that to pot
you!" she scowls, her head turning to look at Ayanala, "Did he really smack my ass?" she
asks in disbelief.
Ayanala nods her head at Kerryn.
Elwyn nods her head at Kerryn.
Sister Ayanala Silverain says, "Full, broad hand smack to your backside."
Trager takes the pot quickly and acts as if to move towards his fallen brother. Suddenly,
he dips quickly, twisting around while his already open hand whistles through the air
towards Kerryn's other cheek. *SMACK*, the sound rings out once more. Already turned and
running, he yells out quickly, "RUN, BROTHER!"
Meyvitch drops most of his weight on your back, grabbing the back of his head and shaking
it rapidly from side to side.
Meyvitch drops most of his weight on your back, grabbing the back of Rashar's head with
his mouth and shaking it rapidly from side to side.
Fox of the Rhythm, Meyvitch Qefin-Yaslana exclaims, in a feral tongue,
"RAWWWRrrRRRrRrRRR!"
Sister Ayanala Silverain says, "Ah..."
Trager stops to grab at the prone Yeleni's pant leg and begins dragging him towards the
exit. Unfortunately, he is stopped by the the very daunting form of another woman.
Trager Del'baeth says to Telvi Mor, Elwyn Taziyah, "MOVE!"
Telvi Mor, Elwyn Taziyah says, "Time to face your fate."
Oh the betrayal! Kerryn's eyes widen at Trager, "YOU!" she screams as her ass is swatted
once more. With her fists clenched at her sides, she sets her sights on Trager, pale eyes
narrowing. Ever so slowly she begins to advance upon Trager.
Phendegwen watches Meyvitch a logn moment, drinking from his tankard. After a time he
snaps, "Probably good enough there, Meyvitch- my grandson and all that. Can't learn too
much from this whole experince if he's manged to death."
Trager turns, seeing opposition all around him. Finally, he seems to accept his fate,
wheeling around with pot in hand, holding it out in front of him with a protective stance.
"Rashar, get -up!" he wails out, fixing the still prone man with a swift kick.
Rashar begins to stir, pulling himself from the savage maw of whatever
feral creature is attempting to murder him. "The Pit?" he groans, looking confused to see
the floor sliding away beneath him. He yanks his leg from Trager's grip and stumbles his
way upright, glancing quickly for the exits. "Quick," he says to Trager, "Get over here."
He reaches out and snags Trager by the arm, pulling the man close while raising up his
buckler. "Back, you Slyphe be damned beasts!"
Meyvitch gets doinked in the head with the pot as Trager spins around with it in hand.
Surprised, and a little bit pained, he stops where he is, ears flattening. A loud growl
rumbles in his chest.
Phendegwen mutters, "Or, perhaps he hasn't learned quite enough yet. . . ach, if his
mother hears about this, he's a dead man anyway, I suppose."
Ayanala sneaking in behind Trager, she quickly wrenches the pot from Trager's grasp and
tosses it to #Kerryn. "Abbess! Yer pot!" she shouts before skipping back to the door.
Kerryn comes to a stop before Trager and you, her anger fading ever so slightly. "Do you
remember how I warned you both about telepaths?" she says, a slow smile pulling at her
lips.
You have emoted: "Oh, Pit," Rashar rumbles, glancing at Trager.
"Betrayer," Rashar hisses at Elwyn. "You're not getting -shit- for
Celesmas next year."
Elwyn tips her gaze over at you, head tilting to the left as if to say you brought this
upon yourself.
Trager's hands clutch at your figure, his hands shaking out an amusing looking tempo as he
taps you rapidly. "This is your fault," he murmurs at a dead whisper, his eyes locked on
the tiny, yet obviously daunting, woman. With a quick shove, he sends you forward with a
cry, "Take him, dearest of the dear, I was -kidding-!"
Phendegwen Tanarian, The Engineer says to you, "See- goes much, much easier if you just
let her hit you with the pot. It's going to happen anyway, and once it's over, it's over.
The anticipation is worse. . .well. . . no, actually the headache'll last for days. But,
you can get to drinking quicker, if you don't avoid it."
Sister Ayanala Silverain says, "Been a good while since I've seen a good potting, and now
that you've royally pissed her off. Well, that's just icing on the cake."
Kerryn strolls towards Elwyn, Her hand lifting to tap a finger against her cheek, "I'm
thinking Rashar should speak chicken for the next day." she says to Elwyn, "What do you
think, to harsh, not enough?"
Rashar looks absolutely floored as Trager shoves him forward, and he has
to catch himself from toppling into Kerryn. Immediately his hands fall to his sides, and
he begins to shift back and forth. "Listen," he rumbles smoothly, "I think we should
probably just talk about this." One shoulder hitches, and he adopts the expression of a
man pleading a case before the magistrate. "Clearly, what I -meant- was that the kitchen
is your place.. because it is -everyone's- place. Why.." He glances around, desperately
seeking a bit of support. "Don't we -all- spend our days standing around the kitchen? You
know.. sipping some ale, having a snack.. Right? Right?"
Now, Elwyn tips her gaze at Kerryn. "Chicken, duck, I'm quite fond of duck," she says idly.
Sister Ayanala Silverain says, "Or perhaps make him act as a woman for the next day or so..
."
Rashar glares at Meyvitch. "You just -wait- until these women aren't here
to save you, you little feh!"
"Duck it is." Kerryn says smiling to Elwyn, "I can make him waddle too, want to see?" she
asks with a playful grin.
As you is quickly passed, Trager surges forward once more, grabbing onto the man to pull
him up. "I was kidding brother, we gots to stick together, yeah? Yeah?"
You suddenly feel the overwhelming need to begin quacking for no apparent reason.
Halfway through helping you up, Trager hears Kerryn's words and quickly forsakes the man
once more, pushing him back to the ground. "Oh fuck that, you're on your own. I don't plan
on being a duck." With that, he quickly moves to the back of the room, hurriedly seeking
another exit.
"Quack," Rashar rumbles, the sound bit off almost immediately with a
confused look on his face. "Quack quaaat the fuck is this?"
Meyvitch sits down, curling his tail around his feet and listening to you with a delighted
expression on his muzzle.
As you begins to quack, Kerryn smiles and turns her sights on Trager, "Oh, no dear. You
are a -sheep-." she says gently.
6
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