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The Grecht are here for a fly-by visit!
Moirean
Chairmander Portland
(Spinesreach): Zaephlyn says, "Chairwoman, we're in need of your attention at the Northern Gates."
(Spinesreach): You say, "Something wrong with the arbor?"
(Spinesreach): Zaephlyn says, "We have... guests."
(Spinesreach): Jensen says, "Visitors."
[Travel over to "A snow-covered arbor" near the northern gate]
Yorvhaset watches Zaephlyn impassively for a moment or two. "It is not fitting for the Talon to drink with the common soldiery." He states. "Perhaps I will await your representative awhile."
Simply, you say, "She's here."
Satomi gives you a respectful salute.
Zaephlyn gives you a respectful salute.
You have emoted: Moirean jerks her thumb towards herself. "She's me," she clarifies.
Canasius inclines his head politely to you.
A mounted Grecht dragoon narrows his gaze upon the gathered crowd, his taerlian shifting beneath him in growing agitation.
You say, "I'm the representative."
Jensen murmurs to you, "Should ya require it, I will be on stand by."
You have emoted: Moirean unnecessarily adds, "I'm she. Here."
You stare at Jensen and blink.
You murmur to Jensen, "Are these folks hostile?"
Catty shakes her head at you.
Yorvhaset drags at the reins of his taerilan, turning her to face you. "Shakra." He murmurs, bowing slightly. "I would know your position in this city."
He is a muscular Grecht, tall for his kind and covered in scars. His skin is weathered and creased with age where it is not covered in black fur, and his countenance is proud and haughty. His yellow eyes are narrow, hard and angular, set in a broad, flat-nosed face that seems set in a perpetual stony glare. A pair of batlike ears sweep back from his skull, bracketing a tide of intricately knotted and braided belts of black-grey hair, and the claws on his hands and feet are meticulously trimmed.
(resplendent and burnished) : silvered dragoon field plate
(cast back over one shoulder) : a sweeping, hooded cloak of white feathers
(guarding his hands) : armoured, taloned gauntlets
(securely tied with sinew) : fur-lined leather sandals
(sweeping back from his face) : a winged silver helm
(slung across his torso) : a white bandolier of worked tlingor hide
(beneath his field plate) : a uniform of tlingor hide and tundral fur
(strung on a chain around his neck) : 4 obsidian rings
Clad all in burnished silver and white armour over azure fur, this Grecht dragoon shines in any available light; etched designs of masterful complexity chase each other over their gorget, breastplate and greaves, depicting the dancing shapes of stylized grecht and strange, winged animals. An enormous spear, easily eight feet long and wickedly pointed, is couched against their saddle, and a triad of razor-sharp Taerilan talons jut from the knuckles of their silver gauntlets, each of them easily a foot long. Their mount is no less magnificent, easily eight feet of solid muscle, sky-blue feathers and white down. The Taerilan's eyes gleam with banked silver fire, and they shift and prance restlessly, eager to be in motion.
A mounted Grecht dragoon seems to be unafraid.
Measuring easily eight feet from the nose of her pantherlike face to the tip of her forked, lashing tail, this powerful beast is covered in sleek white and silver feathers and prowls about on two muscular hind legs, their paws capped with wicked talons. Her forelegs, although weak, are armoured in silver and white and equipped with twinned sets of steel blades over the knifelike claws, with similar wicked sheaths covering the triad of points on the beast's tail. Her silver eyes glare out arrogantly from beneath a horned champron, and overlapping plates of silver-edged tlingor armor form the body of her master-crafted criniere and peytral. A tall leather saddle is strapped to her back, seated between her broad, sweeping wings, and the overlapping plates of her croupiere depict complex geometrical forms in silver inlay.
An armoured silver taerilan looks weak and feeble.
She weighs about 562 pound(s).
She is loyal to Talon Yorvhaset, of the Nel Arget.
Zaephlyn tells you, "They're here on the role of Diplomats."
Jensen murmurs to you, "Doubtful, but I dun trust easily."
Rou tells you, "Yorvhaset is their leader."
Rou tells you, "A representative of the Grecht now living in the caverns in the Northern Tundra. Arget Tep, perhaps."
You have emoted: Moirean shakes her head, frowning. "I'm not a Shakra. I'm a Moirean. The Chair," she explains. Her frown deepens. "Not the type you sit on. But, like, the head. But it's a chair." She looks a bit confused and then asks, "And what's your position?"
Zaephlyn murmurs to you, "I believe Shakra means 'Greetings'.."
(Spinesreach): Akaryuterra says, "What sort of visitors?"
[a few people start wielding and unwielding weapons, including the Grecht]
You have emoted: Moirean shoots Jensen a look and then brightly - VERY brightly - states, "Yes, let's all put our weapons away!"
His voice hard, a mounted Grecht dragoon says, "Why do you speak so rudely in hushed voices and hidden whispers before the Talon? Do the people of the Spires have something to hide from his grace?"
(Spinesreach): Jensen says, "I'd describe 'em as northern royalty."
Zaephlyn says, "Apologies, I was informing her of what I believe 'Shakra' means to you."
Hammering a closed fist into his tlingor-hide breastpate, Yorvhaset says, "I am honoured to serve as Talon to the Nel Arget of the Second Imperium, in the time of Exarch Rholva the Youthful, of the Dehkay Plateau, speaking for Arget Efri of the Northern Tundra. I meet you with goodwill, Chair Moirean of Spinesreach, may it persist for a thousand years."
Jensen says to a mounted Grecht dragoon, "No hard feelin's, merely catchin' the Chair up ta speed."
You have emoted: Moirean's eyes widen and she begins to nod as the litany of titles spill out. She keeps nodding as the titles keep going, until she briefly resembles a little doll being shaken back and forth, so wobbly is her head movement, with her eyes agog. "Wow," she finally states when the Grecht stops speaking. "Well, wow. Hiya."
Xenia inclines her head politely to those around her.
Jensen inclines his head politely to Xenia.
Xenia moves to stand near Satomi and leans in to whisper.
Xenia murmurs something softly to Satomi.
Yorvhaset inclines his head. "Hiya." He echos drily. "I am an appointed representative of the Second Imperium diplomatic corps. It has previously been the attitude of the late Exarch Yhol the Merciless, may he reign at the side of the spirit forever, that the flatlands were a bad dream. His successor-heir wishes that to change."
You have emoted: Moirean clears her throat and manages to stop her nodding, and schools her face into a more serious expression. "I mean, umm," she tries again. "Hail and Hroagh from Ser Commander Chair Moirean Seirath, General of the Malevolent and Queen of the Impire, on behalf of the Grand Republic of Spinesreach and associated territories and allied guilds." She straightens her shoulders and lifts her chin, getting a bit into it. "You wish to ally and treat with us?"
Shifting slightly in his saddle as his mount peers at you, Yorvhaset says, "My duties are twofold. I am to extend an invitation to your people to visit the settlement of Arget Efri in the Northern Tundra, and then to conduct a tour of your major cities and meet with the people there." He pauses, making a face. "My queen, young as she is, harbours ideas about open trade and cultural exchange. Her foolishness will pass, but as you understand, one must always follow the directions of their Exarch."
You have emoted: Moirean's brow furrows and an irritated expression crosses her face briefly, gone in a flash to be replaced by a fixed, wide smile. "Of course," she agrees. "Your invitation is welcome and will be relayed to my citizens. As for a tour, I am sure some of my comrades would be happy to host you and show you the high points and amenities."
(Spinesreach): You say, "That means you lot."
(Spinesreach): Jensen says, "Dun look at me, I'm jus' here ta keep the peace."
(Spinesreach): Xenia says, "Well, if he's looking for a drink."
Inclining his head formally, Yorvhaset says, "I am honoured to accept the offer of a guide. Members of my legion defend Arget Efri, but the people there hail from Massai, in your Siroccians. They will likely greet your people will familiarity."
A mounted Grecht dragoon reins his taerlian close to Yorvhaset, eyes downcast. "Talon, it is beneath you to treat with these flatlanders. We are at your command, but allow us to deign with such teac."
(Spinesreach): Xenia says, "Though he don't look the sort."
(Spinesreach): Zaephlyn says, "I offered him Liquid Steel, he doesn't drink with common soldiers."
Yorvhaset turns in the saddle to direct a flat stare at the dragoon. "Would you have me report to the Exarch that her Talon could not fulfil his dutes?" He inquires, icy and quiet.
Ferrik tells you, "..well as a reminder, I feel we could stand to possibly make a great deal of profit if not obtain valuable new resources by trading with these folk."
You tell Ferrik, "Good. Congrats, you've just been appointed to the welcoming committee."
Ferrik tells you, "WAIT WHAT.. but but I said TRADING! I was just going to sneak behind them and follow 'em home."
Ferrik tells you, "I mean.. yay? CANIEATTHEMAFTER?"
A mounted Grecht dragoon says, "N-no. That was not my intent, Talon."
You tell Ferrik, "If they keep up with this attitude."
Serenely, Yorvhaset says, "Upon completion of our visit, you will retire to your quarters with a switch and flay yourself ten times while reflecting on the duty of the nel to the Talon."
You have emoted: Moirean's smile grows a bit more forced at the exchange between the visitors, but her voice remains upbeat and cheery. "Well!" she bubbles. "We don't want anyone failing to fulfill their duties!" She turns and broadly sweeps her hands out towards the gathered Spireans. "You and you and you," she declares, indicating nobody in particular. "You guys are the welcome committee. Show these folks around."
Satomi ponders Xenia's profile, deep in consideration.
A cloaked figure leans on his bastard sword, peering over at the visitors only briefly with quiet indifference.
Clearly crestfallen, a mounted Grecht dragoon says, "As you command, Talon. Your will shall be done."
A sudden shift in one of the surrounding mounds of snow catches your attention. More stirring causes some of the snow to crumble and move when suddenly, a tall black top hat rises up from the snow, soon followed by Ferrik's eyes, blinking curiously from the white camouflage.
You have emoted: Moirean snaps her fingers and raises her eyebrows meaningfully. "WELCOME them!" she insists when nobody (except for Ferrik, apparently) scrambles into action.
Some more snow puffs up as Ferrik raises a claw in greeting to the visitors. "Why HELLO there!"
Yorvhaset reverses his grip on the ranseur, sliding the pole through his fist and presenting the handle to you. "As is customary, I present to you my weapon for the duration of the diplomatic visit." He informs you. "I trust it will be taken care of, Chair."
Yorvhaset gives a sweeping talon ranseur to you.
Judging by the size of this polearm, easily eight feet in length, it is intended to be used from horseback. The shaft is pine, polished slick and stained so dark as to be almost black, and swaying strings of Tlingor teeth and ivory beads dangle from it at intervals, rattling with the wielder's motions. A tuft of blue and white feathers are strung from the weapon's leather-wrapped grip, and dull, pitted meteoric iron sheathes its butt, lending it enough weight to balance out the weapon's immense length. A triad of shaped, polished Taerilan talons sweep from the pole's scaled head, twin crescent moons of razored ivory bracketing a foot-long spike of unpolished, wickedly pointed bone.
It has 120 months of usefulness left.
It weighs about 9 pound(s).
You may use the following commands with this weapon:
swing
hack
jab
Slowly, Jensen lowers his head in reverence, "Welcome to the Republic," he says, carefully.
Yorvhaset flicks a brief, faintly alarmed glance over Ferrik, smoothly concealing it behind a low bow. "Shakra, reptile." He tilts his head to the side. "You are teac, or nel?"
Xenia ruffles about her clothing, procuring a task, "And as is customary in, the.." she pauses, gaze shifting upwards, "Spires, I present to you my flask," she declares, extending a phoenix and dragon flask with traces of "Liquid Steel" to Yorvhaset.
You have emoted: Moirean peers down at the weapon and frowns. "Oh. Uh," she eloquently replies. "That's sure nice of you." There's a long pause as she awkwardly shifts her weight, before finally letting out a little sigh. "I guess, uhh, I should return the gesture." With reluctance, she slowly draws out her own bardiche, handing it over to Yorvhaset - it leaves her hands VERY slowly, her grip tight around its haft until the very last moment.
You give a winding dogwood bardiche to Yorvhaset.
Ferrik blinks curiously again, shaking off some of the snow, "AH no no.. I am Ferrik." he corrects shortly, trundling forth from his place of hiding as he sizes up the grecht spoken to from a closer vantage.
A mounted Grecht dragoon lunges forward, blocking the offering up to Yorvhaset. "You seek to poison the Talon, teac?!" The dragoon practically shrieks, his taerlian giving a terrible cry to match its riders' own.
You have emoted: Moirean stares at the dragoon in disbelief. "With a bardiche?" she asks in shock. "You must be joking. Everyone knows bardiches are rubbish for poisoning."
Xenia ponders the question, "Shall I drink first?" she asks the dragoon, extending her hand back to Yorvhaset, "Infact, I am actually a bit parched."
A cloaked figure says to a mounted Grecht dragoon, "Watch your tongue, boy."
Yorvhaset inclines his head to you, settling the weapons with great care across his saddle. "Your armaments are my honour; to break one is the other." He intones formally, then exhales a short breath through his nose and glances at his dragoon.
Sharply, Yorvhaset says, in a shrill chatter, "Nel, stand down. Should they poison me, -then- you may defend my besmirched honour."
Jensen says to a cloaked figure, "Ease yerself, ain't no need fer alarm."
In a low whisper, you say to Jensen, "Hey, what's nel?"
Jensen murmurs to you, "I think they use it ta determine rank, I ain't quite sure."
A mounted Grecht dragoon says, "T-Talon! I did not mean to offend.."
Rou sidles over and quietly says to you, "Nel is comparable to 'no' or negative, I think. Teac, I have not been able to discern, but it is in reference to us."
Leaning over a little ways, Ferrik says to you, "I thought it means, very attractive looking crocodilian."
Ferrik nods his head at himself.
Ferrik rights his top hat, scooting it left and right.
Glancing away from his chastened soldier, Yorvhaset says, in a shrill chatter, "The nel are those who hold the blades. The teac serve below them. Surely your flatlander ways are not so removed from ours that you have lost the holy order."
Canasius says, "Well we all hold blades."
Satomi pats a menacing flail in a friendly manner.
Comprehension flashes across Rou's face.
You have emoted: Moirean's expression clears and she shakes her head. "Oh, no," she affirms. "I like the sound of that!"
Ferrik lifts up a claw and turns it up to inspect it more closely.
Rou says to Yorvhaset, in Grecht, "Apologies. I was completely wrong, Talon."
Proudly, you say, "I hold LOTS of blades. I must stand super tall amongst you guys, right?"
"Do these count too?" Ferrik wonders aloud, wiggling his talons.
You have emoted: Moirean rises up onto her tip-toes, as if to emphasize this point.
Xenia frowns and mumbles something about needing an interpreter.
Yorvhaset brushes down his riding breeches, rolling his shoulders, and informs Rou, "Your accent is appalling. Doubtless the renegades in the south brought their provincial dialect with them."
Addressing the Spireans, Jensen says over his shoulder, "Unless ya represent the Warden, I suggest leavin' yer weapons lowered. We keep the peace, not incite problems."
Canasius says, in a shrill chatter, "Is accent better?"
Akaryuterra tucks his hands beneath his large cloak, out of sight.
Sternly, Yorvhaset says to you, "As all true nel know, Chair, the number of blades is meaningless if the hand that holds them is not pure."
Yorvhaset says to Ferrik, "I commit myself to your guidance, teac Ferrik. My men will remain here, with my mount."
Ferrik suddenly freezes, claw still held up as he blinks and slowly shifts his eyes around the audience.
Akaryuterra moves closer to the crowd, scanning the gathering as he approaches.
Yorvhaset says to a mounted Grecht dragoon, "Should I find so much as a feather out of place, I will personally flay you."
You have emoted: Moirean awkwardly shifts the long polearm she is holding, doing her best to rest the blade against her shoulder while hiding her metallic arm, apparently taking Yorvhaset's words at face value.
A mounted Grecht dragoon lowers his head, delicately taking the reins from Yorvhaset. "May your stay be pleasant, Talon."
"Well.." Ferrik finally offers with a nervous chuckle, "I ah.. I don't really drink tea as much any more." he admits with a dismissive wave of his claw at Yorvhaset.
Jensen says to you, "Chair, I request ta be a security escort, unless ya wish me to stay with the Talon's guard."
Staunchly, you say, "Ferrik is a nel thing, too. He wields weapons, in his own way. All of those in the city are nel, nal, nil, whatzits, save for our youngest citizens and those who are sick or elderly. Even our farmers have picked up a pitchfork in defence from time to time."
Ferrik blinks with something of a frown as he peers at you, mouthing her words he repeats dejectedly, "I'm a nel thing?"
You have emoted: Moirean then gives Jensen a nod and allows, "Yes, escort our visitors to ensure their safety." There's a bit of stress in her words, suggesting a second, implied command.
Firmly, you say to Ferrik, "Yes, you are."
Yorvhaset casts a cool glance at you, removing his helmet as he does so and allowing a tide of peppery braids to spill down his back. "Teac will fight." He states after a moment. "I apologise for demeaning your warrior, Chair. The accepted signs are not present in the south, it seems."
Yorvhaset inclines his head politely to Ferrik.
With a nod, Jensen says, "At yer command."
You have emoted: Moirean considers the reply and adds an additional instruction to Jensen: "Explain....Artifice to the visitors. They may find the concept interesting."
Ferrik raises his browridges, "I suppose--" he cuts off his words at the given explanation and finally conceding with a toothy grin, "..ahah! I eat people. From time to time."
You mutter, "Like his freaking scr... .ho he ST... needs t. ..ve m. ..perwork ..."
Ferrik tells you, "Got any ideas on what and where I should show them? The Barracks for example or?"
Akaryuterra tells you, "Very stern fellow. Am I correct in guessing he, the one indicating Ferrik, is a higher caste than the others?"
You tell Ferrik, "Show them, umm....the winterbreeze, the prison, the view from the top of the spire of government, maybe the baths if they haven't seen something like that before."
You tell Akaryuterra, "Aye. They seem to hold warriors in higher esteem."
Akaryuterra tells you, "Not entirely unfamiliar from some of our own cities."
"All righty mister Yorvhaset WithAVeryLongName!" Ferrik quips and motions with a claw as he turns on his way, "Just come along.. let's waddle and talk!" he giddily starts on his way, peeking back to monitor his pace, "Got lots of things to show you here!"
You tell Akaryuterra, "Much more formalized, but yes, a concept we aren't entirely strangers to."
After a long pause, Yorvhaset says, "Very well, nel Ferrik."
Akaryuterra tells you, "I suppose it would be considered rude to tag along uninvited."
You tell Akaryuterra, "Naw. I'm going to."
The Spirean Archives. (Spinesreach.)
Ferrik is here, shrouded. Yorvhaset is here. A small sign indicates that LIBRARY CATALOG will list the materials in this library.
You see exits leading north, northeast, east, south, west, northwest, and up.
Humming along in some grunting way, Ferrik comes to a halt at the Spirean Archives, "First stop! BOOKS! Loooots of them.." he explains as he vigorously waves a set of talons around in almost every direction. "I'm not sure if you guys are the booky kind.. y'know reading.. words and all that." he trails off as his eyes dart about. "But.. this is.. -some- of the center of our knowledge!"
Yorvhaset politely observes the rows of shelves, his gauntleted hands laced behind his back. "Quite a number of them." He agrees. "A remarkable store for a provincial town."
Akaryuterra steps into the Archives and looks around, following Ferrik and the others with his eyes once he spots them.
[Ereav spam learns about 15 lessons in Terramancy]
Yorvhaset turns his head to watch Ereav in bemused silence.
Eagerly, Ferrik leans forward as Yorvhaset speaks, nodding along until his maw scrunches up somewhat, "Yeeaaaahnoooo." he counters, pinching two talons together, "Nooot quite provincial, but.. okay." he laughs off the misunderstanding and points around, "Various sections for all the books-- AND OHGOD." he breathes, pointing at Ereav, "That happens to. The ah.. instilling of education.. al.. abilities. Yes."
Ereav coughs softly.
Politely, Yorvhaset says, "Quite efficient."
Ereav blinks at Ferrik, a bit lost, his mouth parting slightly, "Apologies, I was a bit absorbed. Didn't mean to be a distraction."
As if suddenly choosing to conclude, Ferrik balances on his hind legs and quickly waves his front claws wide, "Well anyway, books! Books everywhere. Great for reading, great for thumping and pelting." he clears his throat a little too audibly and motions, "Moving on!"
Ereav nods his head emphatically.
Akaryuterra says, "If I may, I would like to join you on the tour of the Spires."
"Ha!" Ferrik exclaims.
Yorvhaset blinks rapidly, his face schooled to impassivity as he nods to Ferrik.
Quietly following along behind the tour, you say, "Excellent so far, Adjutant."
Ferrik beckons to those around him.
Ferrik nods his head at himself.
You follow Ferrik to the south.
The Inner Gate of Spinesreach. (path)
Shortly in passing, and stating in comment, Ferrik says, "This is where people come to.. gather.. and sometimes stare at walls and drool."
Yorvhaset says, "Is this a.. common pursuit in your country?"
With a casual shrug of his haunches, Ferrik says to Yorvhaset, "Not.. particularly. Only the ones that are weighted down by the burden of their 'intelligence' and lack there of."
You follow Ferrik to the south.
Winterbreeze Tavern. (Spinesreach.)
A Syssin Inquisitor waits nearby, blending in with his surroundings. There are 4 stout granite-topped stools here. A granite-topped oak bar takes up a large amount of room. Quiet and unmoving as stone, a lupine Atabahi stands guard here. The saucy presence of Lana is here, swaying from table to table. A Sciomancer of the Spires stands here, his hands resting on a black voidstaff. Brangrin stands here behind the bar, a helpful smile on his face. A sigil in the shape of a small, rectangular monolith is on the ground. You see a sign here instructing you that WARES is the command to see what is for sale.
You see exits leading north, south, west, and up.
A lengthy pause terminates in Yorvhaset nodding slowly. He casts his attention across the tavern, momentarily assessing Lana.
"SO THIS!" Ferrik pipes up, coming to a sudden stop in his trek. "Is what we call the Winterbreeze Tavern." he nods and pauses before adding, "This is where a lot of our people come together to drink and eat.. and be merry." he leans over to Yorvhaset to whisper behind a claw, "It's a tavern. That's what they do."
Giving his top hat a shove, Ferrik says, "..well not necessarily the whole merry thing. I bet some just drown their sorrows that can't be drooled away."
Ferrik ticks the tips of his claws together slowly as he glances around.
Yorvhaset offers a severe nod, the barest hint of a smile cracking the corner of his face. "The grand gardens of Arget Tep are renowned for their alcohol and music." He offers in response. "Doubtless we have many similarities in this regard."
Slowly, Ferrik says, "Yees.. I'm not the tavern type. But this is the -main- one I hear, aside from all the other little ones people stumble into.. willingly or not."
Ferrik suddenly perks up and tilts his head, "MUSIC you say?" he inquires.
Yorvhaset nods his head at Ferrik.
Satomi tells you, "I've noted most of the.. key points in the entire encounter, if you'd like me to voice them for you."
Ferrik wiggles an errant claw's talons in front of him, "Do you guys happen to have... pianos.. over there?" he asks with the sweetest of innocent tones.
Yorvhaset nods after a moment of careful thought. "I believe so." He affirms. "Large, bony creatures, yes? Many long spines?"
Akaryuterra reminds ferrik, "They may have a different name there."
Helpfully, you say, "Black and white."
"Yeeeeeaaahh..." Ferrik drawls on in a suspicious tone as he narrows his eyes on Yorvhaset, "Nevermind. I'll have to ah.. show you a picture or something."
Wiggling both his claws furiously in front of him, Ferrik says, "Yes it's an instrument to make music.. you play it like this! And it has keys."
Ferrik shifts his eyes from side to side suspiciously.
Ferrik says, "..well anyway."
Quietly making a note to himself, Ferrik says, "..maybe I can eat their pianos."
Yorvhaset draws his cloak about himself, watching Ferrik intently. "I have never seen such a thing." He murmurs. "The finest bards of Neicel Arget are known for their flutes, as you call them in the south."
You have emoted: Moirean gives Ferrik a stern glare and coughs.
"Flutes.." Ferrik monotonously repeats. "..alright then." he continues with a short, forced laugh as he peers at you. "Mooooving on then!"
Ferrik says to Yorvhaset, "On to things you might care for a bit more!"
In a low voice, you say to Ferrik, "No eating the diplomats or their musical instruments."
Ferrik shifts his eyes from side to side suspiciously.
You follow Ferrik to the east.
A squallid detainment yard. (Spinesreach.)
Decorated in the military uniform of Spinesreach, Thuneron, the Captain of the Guard remains vigil here. A sigil in the shape of a small, rectangular monolith is on the ground. A conscripted Spirean soldier coldly scans the area for threats. A huge, raised stand of wood has been erected here, featuring three posts to which detainees may be shackled.
You see a single exit leading west.
Ferrik simply bares his teeth in a rather wide, absolutely innocent grin.
Yorvhaset straightens imperceptibly as he notes the stocks and the proud form of Thuneron, his shoulders lifting slightly.
Striking something of an awkward pose, Ferrik splays out his claws and presents the surroundings with a muffled, "Uh.. tada!"
Jensen says to Ferrik, "I'm keepin' him safe in place of his bodyguard, ease yerself."
Muttering, Ferrik says, "But but.. pianos."
Thoughtfully, Yorvhaset says, "You punish harshly those who make themselves worthless. That is good, and as it should be. I had expected more softness in the south."
With a cough and a grunt, Ferrik clears his throat and explains, "Ah oh no no! We definitely do our fair share of..." he swipes the air with a claw, "..punishing harshly of the worthless! Oh yes!" he enthuses.
You have emoted: Moirean frowns at that analysis, an expression that could almost be described as a wince crossing her face, but she merely replies, "We punish as needed, for the sake of the city."
Ferrik looks thoughtful and says, "This is part of our prison complex. The detainment yard if you will."
You have emoted: Moirean clarifies, "The vast bulk of our prison is used for training. We conscript soldiers from the prisoners - at least, from those who are deemed suitable for such duty."
Yorvhaset creases his scarred brow in a frown, turning in a sweep of feathers to regard Ferrik, then you. "Detainment?" He asks. "A complex of this size? Do you not simply behead them?"
As if trying to save face, Ferrik says, "..yes if by worthless you mean.. the criminals and such."
Yorvhaset raises his head at the explanation, then gives a swift nod. "Training. I see. You put the honourless in your armies?"
Jensen says to Yorvhaset, "I decapitate an' cook many of our enemies, prisons are reserved fer a different group."
"Behead them?" Ferrik's eyes flicker past Jensen as he shrugs, "..some yes. If we feel like having some exquisite dish or drink." he grins wide, "..but I mean you can also just eat them.. instead of dirty your weapon." he softly concludes.
You have emoted: Moirean purses her lips in thought and explains, "They are treated as I assume you treat those who you call taec? They are ranked low, and serve as mere grunts and footsoldiers. In time, perhaps, they can earn a higher rank, but yes, we use them initially for armed service. It trains them and improves them, instead of simply casting them away for their crimes."
Comprehension becoming evident, Ferrik's features brighten as he nods, "Ahhh.. so not related to tea or teabags at all." he mumbles.
Jensen eases back out of the group and returns to his rigid, military posture.
Troubled, Yorvhaset shifts his stance, rustling his wing membranes for a moment. "A broken blade, even reforged, is likely to be brittle." He informs you, neutrally. "I cannot see that this will result in anything but systemic impurity. Additionally - to raise them up?" He gives a swift shake of his head. "Your methods are strange to me, and to the Exarch."
You have emoted: Moirean replies, "Then it is fortunate that my citizens are not blades, but flesh and blood instead."
With a giddy snort of laughter, Ferrik leans in and bumps Yorvhaset gently, "Ah no no.. look at them as meatshields! Y'know, the ones who will go down first instead of the good soldiers!" he gesticulates wildly in explanation.
You have emoted: Moirean rolls her eyes and concedes, "...and yes, there is that outlook as well."
Suddenly adding as his voice rises in volume, Ferrik says, "Or snackpacks!"
You stare implacably at Ferrik.
Yorvhaset shifts his gaze to stare pointedly at the point at which Ferrik's body touched him.
Flinching as he takes a step back, Ferrik says, ".. I mean.."
Ferrik raises his hand in greeting to Yorvhaset and says "Hi!"
Ferrik clears his throat.
Yorvhaset inclines his head politely to Ferrik.
Ferrik says, "Sooo! About that City tour."
Xenia drinks from an emerald-veined flask full of Siroccian steel-aged whiskey.
From behind you all, Jensen chimes in, "Broken men find strength in purpose."
Yorvhaset says, "The strongest of the broken men are still chaff in the wind. So the neicel have written."
Ferrik asks Yorvhaset, "Would you care to see more of the prison - some of our holding cells - or wish to carry on to another part?"
With a polite inclination of his head, Yorvhaset says, "I believe I have seen enough of your prisons, nel Ferrik."
You say to Ferrik, "Perhaps the view from atop the Spire of Government."
Pure excitement and enthusiasm returning, Ferrik balls up a claw and declares for the entourage to move onward, "Then I think we ought to make a stop on something great we can all agree on." he blinks and peers at you as he is about to start on his way, "..That and more.. in just a minute!" he reassures.
You follow Ferrik to the north.
A warm, fragrant atrium. (Spinesreach.)
Sporting a charming smile, Sanolo guards this place. An attendant stands behind the desk, ready to help visitors. Hands folded in the sleeves of his dark, voluminous robes, a cabalist stands ready to guard his city.
You see exits leading northeast, east, south, west, and northwest.
Ferrik comes to a halt, his tongue lolling out shortly before collecting himself. "Here.. we have the baths of the Republic. A place to relax, a place to contemplate, to prepare.. or just.. get all warm and fuzzy outside and inside." he states in a ramble.
Yorvhaset fixes a stare on Ferrik. "You bathe together?" He queries, a tremor of what might be derision, or alarm creasing his otherwise carefully neutral tone.
You have emoted: "Not to the extent that they do in Duiran," Moirean assures Yorvhaset.
Ferrik blinks and stares at Yorvhaset in disbelief, "What? We, together.. all? Ah no no!" he is quick to dismiss as he glances at those present. "No.. mostly just the creepers and th-- I mean. No there is a great deal of hygiene kept in this place. They ah.. uhm.. clean the waters. Yes they do."
Ferrik nods his head at you, showing his acceptance.
Shixblix tells you, "For what it's worth, Madam Chairwoman...I know I just became a citizen...but I do not trust this Yorvhaset, and I think that security needs to be prepared for a possible invasion in the future. But that's just my two sovereigns."
You tell Shixblix, "A fair point - they seem quite militant and this could be a ploy to scout out our defences."
Jensen says to you, "Duiran dun bathe."
You say to Jensen, ""Bathing" is what I was referring to."
Comprehension flashes across Jensen's face.
Ferrik leans in to emphasize as he raises his browridges, "..and she ain't talking about soap!"
You murmur to Ferrik, "Do not take him through the more...err....sensitive areas such as the barracks. Just in case this is not as diplomatic and friendly as it seems. Since it's already OODLES of that."
Yorvhaset's unease subsides, and he offers an approving nod - perhaps the first sincere approval the elder Grecht has managed to show. "Commitment to the purity of body is the first tenet of divinity." He states, as though reciting. "It is good that your people are spiritually healthy."
You have emoted: Moirean frowns at the Grecht's words, but remains silent, offering no remark.
Shixblix tells you, "When he felt the need to insult his new Exarch as being foolish, it tells me that he has no respect for her and should the opportunity arise, he will take it to return his people back to either a state of isolation, or now that he is getting the layout of all the cities, a full scale invasion."
You tell Shixblix, "This is indeed a possibility. We will not tour him through the barracks or anywhere sensitive - and Satomi is already scouting out THEIR home, if you wish to join her in gathering information for me."
Shixblix tells you, "Certainly."
"Oh we are ever so spiritually healthy here, good sir!" Ferrik quips with a bright smile, "..or well trying to be as best we can!" he adds in reparation. "We thought even you might be able to appreciate a place like this." he nods his maw solemnly.
With a nod, and what might be - Gods above - a smile, Yorvhaset says, "I had concerns for the purity of my warriors stationed in Arget Efri. It is a long way from the Plateau, and the corruption of their spirits was likely. Perhaps with Spinesreach as their closest neighbors, it will not be such a concern."
You have emoted: Moirean only offers a somewhat shaky smile at the mention of corruption.
"Certainly! Certainly." Ferrik nods in kind to Yorvhaset's words. "We'll all be the neighbourly bunch, before you know it our cooks will swing by to borrow cups of sugar and all that." he snickers under his breath. "Now I'd like to take you to a grand vista that our Republic offers as well."
(Spinesreach): You say, "I am starting to get the feeling that these Grecht will find Enorian far more appealing than they find us."
(Spinesreach): Xenia says, "Aye Commander, that one still has my flask and has yet to take a drink."
(Spinesreach): You say, "Heathens."
(Spinesreach): Ferrik says, "He said something about gardens of alcohol and music."
(Spinesreach): Ferrik says, "Then again.. pianos are creatures there so maybe alcohol are what their horses are called or something."
Yorvhaset sniffs a phoenix and dragon flask, trying to decipher just what that smell emanating from it is.
Raising his eyes, Yorvhaset says, "I apologise, I am unsure which of you handed this to me. It is unseemly to drink among the soldiery and I would return it."
Xenia's eyes light up, and she takes a step forward, "Ah yes, Liquid Steel, the only drink of a warrior!"
Akaryuterra says, "Or a drunkard."
Xenia frowns at Akaryuterra, "I have been in many a fight fueled by the Steel, thank you very much."
Akaryuterra produces a cigarette from a small silver case he plucked from his weapon belt.
With a nod towards Xenia, you say to Akaryuterra, "Why can't it be both?"
Akaryuterra plugs the cigarette at the corner of his mouth, "Never said it couldn't, just didn't let me get around ta sayin' that too."
Akaryuterra smirks.
With a frown, Yorvhaset says, "Spirits confuse the spirit, as my dam said. To fight while drunk seems to be folly."
With a lopsided, wry grin, Ferrik says, "Yes.. well let's not let the monks hear you say that."
Voice dropping low, you say to Yorvhaset, "We're on the same page there, but don't go telling my citizens I said that."
The tip of Akaryuterra's cigarette glows hotly as he pulls from it. He nods in agreement at Ferrik.
Yorvhaset offers you a brief, serious nod.
Yorvhaset says, "Nel Ferrik spoke of a grand vista - these words interest me."
Finally offering some argument, Ferrik holds a single talon aloft as he proclaims, "I only take my absinthe in privacy... absolutely only for spiritual and mental strengthening purposes. Yes." He clears his throat and confirms Yorvhaset with a stern nod. "Yes on to that now!"
Ferrik says, "Actually."
Brightly chiming in, you say, "Aye. Grand view. Good winds. You Grecht like that right?" She lifts her arms out and lets out a low, whooshing noise as she wobbles from side to side. "Swooping and stuff, yeah? My Toz used to, at least, when he was of that race."
You follow Ferrik to the west.
Tropically-heated office of the Quartermaster. (Spinesreach.)
There are 2 luscious lemons in 2 stacks here. A sigil in the shape of a small, rectangular monolith is on the ground. A non-descript bucket is present. An enormous fireplace has been built into the western wall. A low wooden table is here, a seat atop a massive black cushion has been placed at it. A conscripted Spirean soldier coldly scans the area for threats.
You see a single exit leading east (open pine door).
[I HAVE NO IDEA WHY WE WENT HERE BUT IT CRACKED ME UP]
You stare implacably at Ferrik.
Ferrik coughs softly.
To no one in particular, Ferrik says, "Stupid thing.."
Drily, Yorvhaset says, "It has been many years since my wings have been enough to support my armour, Chair Moirean. It is the sport of the young and the priesthood, on the Plateau."
Akaryuterra ponders the situation.
Ferrik strikes a pose, wide-eyed, with both balled up claws held up, he springs a single talon forth from each. "This is one amazing office I tell you! Just look at that view. Yes and look at that hearth."
Akaryuterra murmurs something softly to Ferrik.
Cough and slowly inches towards the door, Ferrik says, "..just.. thought to show you this GRAND view on the way to the -actual- amazing view."
You have emoted: Moirean gives Ferrik another stern stare, before glancing back at Yorvhaset. "Yeah," she admits. "He only ever did it when he took his armor off. And...well, is that something you all do? I thought it was just him who clung to his armor as often as possible..."
Yorvhaset offers Ferrik a slow nod, dipping a claw into his collar and pulling it out slightly. The ebon-furred Grecht does not look particularly comfortable in the heat.
Ferrik angles his snout up a little ways, "Mmmmm-hmmh!" he hums with eyes closed for a moment, "..yes this is my happy relaxing place." he mumbles.
Ferrik clears his throat.
"Right," Ferrik says with a nod.
Jensen murmurs something softly to Ferrik.
Tapping his breastplate, Yorvhaset says to you, "I do not know your partner, but a dragoon cannot relinquish their armour while under service. We craft it from our blooding kill."
You follow Ferrik to the out.
Windswept balcony above Spinesreach. (Spinesreach.)
This narrow balcony wraps around the vast meeting hall below in a windswept, icy walkway, constantly exposed to the frigid gusts off the tundra. A heavy iron banister traces the terrace, engraved with the shapes of the Spirean guilds, with spellcasting Sciomancers, snarling Atabahi, stabbing Syssin and glowering Cabalists all coldly embossed into the metal for an additional grip and guard against the constantly howling winds. Below, the view is breathtaking: the Basilica unfolds in all of its ancient glory, stalwart and looming, while modern additions to the city stand with pride amongst the farmlands and fields of the Outer Wards. The distant Dry Plains vanish into the far-off Ithmia, with the northern horizon dominated by an icy, mountainous horizon looming over the tundra. The fortress of the Shadow Keep can even be glimpsed from here, a dark spot amongst the Tareans, while off to the east is an unparalleled, magnificent view of the ocean, dazzling at sunrise and glimmering silver beneath the moon.
Quite loudly, Ferrik springs up onto his hind legs rather nimbly and exclaims a loud, "BOOM!" he hacks and coughs as he indicates, "Now THIS is a vista all right. Wouldn't you say?"
You have emoted: Moirean raises her eyebrows in interest. "Even during sleeping?" she asks. "Even during....sleeeeeping?" The second utterance of the word is drawn out, making the innuendo clear.
Jensen smiles and says, "I'm envious of yer men's dedication."
As soon as Akaryuterra emerges into the frigid area, he pulls his cloak more tightly around himself, trying to block out at least some small portion of the cold gusts that blow by.
Yorvhaset steps out of the doorway as Ferrik speaks, gathering his flapping cloak around himself. To you, he directs over his shoulder, "As with flight, Chair, it has been many years since that has been my concern."
Ferrik's jaws unhinge and he holds up a claw as if to quip some remark, but instead and perhaps wisely chooses not to. Instead slinking back and merely observing any response.
Barely perceptible, Ferrik's frame seems to shiver and shake ever so slightly. Even as he quickly lowers himself back down to the ground on all fours, does he continue to quiver. "Grrreeaaat weather up here too, rrrriiight?" he breathes.
You have emoted: That statement only piques Moirean's curiosity even more and she begins to slowly shift her weight, biting back her questions. A few moments pass, and her movement slowly ramps up into an agitated bounce, before she blurts out, "But then who makes the babies?!"
Yorvhaset exhales a long, slow breath as he takes in the view, sweeping his gaze across first the Dry Plains, and then the far north. "Magnificent." He offers simply. "Yours is a vast and echoing land, in the south." The freezing wind doesn't seem to bother the Grecht, and he steps up onto the balcony railing.
Still watching over the vista, Yorvhaset says, "The teac breed, and from their children the strong are taken by the nel and the wise to the Basin. Only by breaking their weapon may the nel become the teac and have children."
Ferrik follows Yorvhaset's gaze, excitement trumping cold, he starts to point out with a claw, commenting, "You see those horses there? I ate those. Those buffalo there? Ate those too." he sternly nods each time, "Bandits right there? You guessed it."
With an assessing glance at Ferrik, Yorvhaset says, "You are lithe for one with such prodigious hunger, nel Ferrik."
Ferrik somewhat proudly pats his frame as he opens his large maw to speak, "Oohh you know what can I say. Fast metabolism when I'm in the sun."
You have emoted: Moirean gives a nod in acknowledgement of the compliment (and does her best to ignore Ferrik's recited buffet), but her attention remains firmly fixed on Yorvhaset. "So your warriors, your strongest, they are trained that way," she asks in interest. "Why not breed the strongest with the strongest? Wouldn't that make even STRONGER warriors?"
Tearing his gaze away from the vista and stepping down, then arranging his cloak, Yorvhaset says, "Order must be maintained, Chair Moirean. Such intermingling of the castes and disregard for spiritual strength toppled the First Imperium."
"Pardon, perhaps I misunderstand. Intermingling of warrior castes caused the fall?" Akaryuterra inquires, hoping for clarification.
Wrapping a claw around his jawline, Ferrik says, "..Maybe long and pointy things got mixed up in the scuffles I'm sure."
Akaryuterra smirks.
Yorvhaset presses his scarred lips into a line, giving a brief shake of his head. "It is ancient history, and I am not a historian."
"Understandable.." Ferrik gravely replies. Lightening up a little he shrugs, holding up both claws, "Books eh? Whaddya gonna do."
Ferrik clears his throat.
Ferrik asks, "So.. so what are your impressions so far good sir? Any things you were expecting to see that you have not?"
Yorvhaset turns to face Ferrik, squaring his shoulders after a moment. "You are less and more than I was led to expect." He replies, carefully, bowing to you. "Your hospitality has been beneficent."
You have emoted: Moirean grows quiet as she considers the Grecht's words. The polearm she's been given to hold is leaned against the wall behind her, while her steel hand folds over her stomach, a pensive look on her face. Eventually, she murmurs, "You have to give up combat to have a family." Her statement is quiet and somewhat dazed, and spoken softly enough that it might not even be directed at Yorvhaset.
"Ooh!" Ferrik emits, both a sound of surprise and excitement as he claps his claws together. "How ah.. how nice! Hah!" he continues, trying to keep the mood light as he exchanges glances between Yorvhaset and you.
Yorvhaset turns a brief glance on you, his expression unreadable, and affirms, "A man cannot sit two taerilans. To fight for your people is one glorious duty. To fight for your family is no less, and loyalty cannot be split between the two."
You have emoted: A pained expression briefly crosses Moirean's face, but then her features harden and she gives her head a slight shake. "It can be balanced," she faintly insists. "We manage, down here. We do. We manage just fine."
Akaryuterra licks his lips slowly, though just the tip of his tongue reaches even that far.
Inclining his head to you, Yorvhaset says, "As you say, Chair Moirean. Doubtless you flatlanders have many ways that are strange to us."
"Say ah.." Ferrik begins on a different subject, "..can we - and if so when, visit your provincial town too at some point?" he wonders quietly.
With ghast in tow Jensen inspects the Spirean soldier before returning to his position.
You have emoted: Moirean's arm pulls tighter around her torso and she glances away, off over the city. Swallowing, her expression smoothes and she slowly agrees, "And your ways are likely strange to us. But that is part of this meeting, yes? Have you any other questions for me or my citizens?"
Yorvhaset pauses, turning his attention on Ferrik. "I cannot speak for the Exarch, may she reign a thousand years." He states, flatly. "She is.. moderate in her views. It is possible that after my report, she may allow visitors to the Daughters.
Possible." He stresses. "The Neicel Naru does not approve of visitors. Your steps on the snow of the Daughters will be a great slight to them."
Akaryuterra says, "Which snow are we talkin' about?"
Eagerly listening, Ferrik tilts his way this way and that before acknowledging. "Ahh grrreat! What about claw marks on the snow though? Hm? ..ahh.. I could roll through it?" he turns to very quietly add in suggestion, "..or I could piggyback along?"
Yorvhaset says to you, "My visit to the flatlands is one of observation, Chair Moirean. I have already learned much."
You have emoted: Moirean's lips purse and she turns back to regard Yorvhaset. "Yes," she says quietly, a serious, steely note in her voice. The flippant, careless attitude from earlier has melted away, and there's a sharp, calculating glint in her eyes as she stares at him. "Yes," she repeats, "I am sure you have."
Ferrik tells you, "..I'm surely not the only one getting a 'Drakkenmont' feel here am I?"
You tell Ferrik, "Not the same, exactly, but perhaps a similar sort of militant organization."
Ferrik tells you, "Yes.. true. I suppose they would've tried to eat us by now already."
"The Plateau's southern reach is known as the Daughters." Yorvhaset clarifies to Akaryuterra, inclining his head. "It is a place of the teac and the unwanted."
Jensen murmurs to you, "Did we show him our pylon?"
You murmur to Jensen, "No. And we aren't going to."
Akaryuterra tells you, "He ain't talkin' the tundra, is 'e?"
You have emoted: And then whatever serious depth was there in Moirean is gone. She offers a wide smile and awkwardly retrieves the immense polearm, returning to ceremonially guarding the weapon with a lopsided little stumble and a laugh. "Maybe you should show him some of the Conduit's cooking!" she suggests. "Get some hearty Spirean fare in his belly!"
Akaryuterra crosses his arms, consider the response, and eventually nods.
Ferrik tells you, "I don't think-- ah good. Yes the pylon might not be a good thing to show. If they don't know of it.. it could go bad."
Jensen murmurs to you, "I weren't worried 'bout it till after what he jus' said..."
You tell Akaryuterra, "I get the feeling this is somewhere further on. I've sent Satomi to try to scout. He mentioned an outpost, but it sounds like their empire itself is far larger than anything we are currently finding in the northern tundra."
Whatever traces of humour that had managed to crack through Yorvhaset's facade are gone, smoothed away, and he directs a slight bow to you. "I would be pleased to sample Spirean cuisine, which I am sure is remarkable." He states.
Ferrik blinks and peers at the whispering before turning to Yorvhaset and proceeding to rather loudly talking over them, "SOOO! WOULD THERE BE ANYTHING ELSE.." he coughs, checking to make sure, "..that you ah would like to see or take? ..Some token or food to bring back.. Culture things?" he asks.
Akaryuterra gives you a nod and agrees, "Good idea." After, he looks to the grecht, "Hell, if'n 'e wants, I can give 'im somethin' ta take back. Some spirits, compliments'a the Brass Monkey. Entirely up ta him, a'course."
(Spinesreach): You say, "Keep them away from the pylon. I don't want them knowing about the power we are getting from harnessing ylem, not if we can avoid it."
(Spinesreach): Grimdale says, "What am I missing?"
(Spinesreach): Jensen says, "The world ender is here ta steel our liquor."
(Spinesreach): Jensen says, "Steal it too."
(Spinesreach): Grimdale says, "Uh....that would end the world...kill it."
(Spinesreach): Jensen says, "Jokin' of course, we have a northern emissary with us."
(Spinesreach): Ferrik says, "Aye. Not very edible. Encased in steel too! ..So I'd can that thought."
Yorvhaset watches the discussion in polite silence, hands adjusting the swing of the halberds in his weaponbelt.
Ferrik slowly poses as he takes a step further, "Well I suppose then.. that we can head back to meet up with your fellow.. colleagues..." he nods and indicates the north with a limb, "..while perhaps some of us collect some foods and other odds and ends for you?"
Ferrik tells you, "Merely trying to appease them as best as possible. No telling how many of these types they have there and their military strength. Better to keep friendly whether or not we fully agree with them - as much as my plan was. I'm not sure what 'cultural' type things we have aside from girties and a sash or some such though."
Nodding slightly, Yorvhaset says, "That would be sufficient. I would not prevail on the hospitality of Spinesreach for longer than needed, and doubtless my men are becoming anxious."
Agreeably nodding, Ferrik says, "Oh yes! Certainly we ought to inspect if all those feathers are still in the same place, that will take some time too."
You tell Ferrik, "You are doing a fine job. Head to the city shop if you want souveniers - four steps north from the Inner gate."
With a sudden, rather savage grin, Yorvhaset says, "Rest assured, nel Ferrik, if someone had laid a hand on my silver, she would have torn it off."
Ferrik tugs on his vest as if to indicate something and nods to those gathered, "Well let's head on our way then! Torn off silver or not!"
Ferrik says, "Oh!"
Ferrik says, "..oh right you have seen the magnificent office."
[YES HE TOOK US BACK TO HIS OFFICE XD]
Ferrik nods his head at himself.
You follow Ferrik to the down.
Outside the foreign embassies. (Spinesreach.)
A sigil in the shape of a small, rectangular monolith is on the ground. A Sciomancer of the Spires stands here, his hands resting on a black voidstaff.
You see exits leading north, east, south, west, up, down, and in.
Thoughtfully, you say to Yorvhaset, "We have embassies here, for the large cities that we deal with." She nods once, waving a hand outwards to indicate the various offices. "Tell your leader that, if she wished, one could be established here, for relations between Spinesreach and your empire. Eventually, of course. In time."
Ferrik nods his head at you, showing his acceptance.
Yorvhaset pauses, then nods slightly. "In time, that may be possible. You understand, of course, the Exarch cannot commit to anything before receiving my report."
Ferrik seems to think for a moment before nodding slowly.
"Right," Ferrik says with a nod.
With a nod, you say to Yorvhaset, "Of course. It is merely something you can bring back to her - a potential future action to consider."
Neutrally, Yorvhaset says, "All avenues of action will be duly considered."
Ferrik slowly utters "yay," somewhat uncertain whether it is appropriate under the circumstances.
Ferrik clears his throat.
You follow Ferrik to the south.
The Grand Courtyard. (Spinesreach.)
Resting on the ground is a cube-shaped silver sigil. Lying flat on the ground is a key-shaped sigil. A sigil in the shape of a small, rectangular monolith is on the ground. A conscripted Spirean soldier coldly scans the area for threats. You see a sign here instructing you that WARES is the command to see what is for sale.
Final and last resting stop! Souvenir shop!" Ferrik cheerfully states as he indicates the shop the entourage has walked into. "This is our City shop actually. Let us know if you see anything you particularly like."
Yorvhaset blinks, briefly, perusing the offered wares with a faint frown. "Is it customary to purchase goods when visiting flatlander cities?" He inquires of Ferrik.
Ferrik blinks and quirks a browridge, "Sooort of? Only when you're being all tourist-y I think!" he balls up a taloned hand and nods, "..bring home gifts for the fami-- riiiight." he coughs and offers, "..for the familiar faces of colleagues and bosses or Exarchs back home!"
Inclining his head politely, Yorvhaset says, "I do not believe I will purchase anything, nel Ferrik. We have a long way to ride, and encumbrance is a concern."
With a sharp frown at Ferrik, you say to Yorvhaset, "We could arrange for some pack beasts."
You stare implacably at Ferrik.
"Yes.. there's plenty of asses to go around!" Ferrik suddenly chimes in with a brigh
1
Comments
That actually was a lot of fun, surprising - as I was absolutely not expecting to be shoved into that role - but I improvised and ...rolled... with it. I had my fun! ^.^
Haww! Oh you, what can I say...
I try.. I try..
(crocodilewinkyface!)
Edit: I mean thank you! Thank you! It means a lot.
I'm a little surprised anyone let these Grecht characters anywhere near the insides of their cities, though that's a discussion to have in role, I suppose.
http://pastebin.com/sgMjDgrg