Tim nodded. "Glad it wasn't in public," he said. "We'd probably have to thrash him just to prove we aren't weak." He left his other thoughts unsaid.
As they walked along, Tim said further - "By the way, I was talking to one of the airmen who knows this country well. If we do have to fight in the street, we're supposed to do it without magic. Some kind of law they've got. But if it's ten to one or something, I'm not dying for it."
Beyond that, he didn't speak much, respecting Eli's expressed wish to think thoughts of Desiree in silence. They wandered a little, hearing nothing to help their mission, seeing nothing to shrink their shared antipathy for Goriel and its ways. Eventually they returned to the temple. Before retiring to their room to rest and make ready, Tim talked a little more.
"Pardon me if it's none of my business...." -- and he meant it; if Eli cut him off, he'd stop talking about it. [OOC: In which case I'll edit.] "But I think you're right, and you should make your peace with Desiree, and talk to her next time you see her." He paused. "But I don't think you're really at fault, and you shouldn't pretend to be." - of course, Tim did not know what had passed between them in private.
He went on. "If you don't mind my saying, you're a lot like a human. A human in love, he wants a lover who'll just stay with him and no one else. No matter what he says he wants, that's what he wants. It's just our nature, how we're made, like the way parents want to protect their children. That's why we Veracians insist on marriage" - for the most part, anyway.
"They way Lillith was telling me - elves aren't like that. They go off killing their children and think nothing of it. Which to us is just horrifying. I'm not saying Desiree's like that, but I do think she takes after her elf parents more than you do. So her heart doesn't stay like a human's. And I guess you can't blame either one of you for that.
"Not like these Gorielians. There's no excuse for them."
He hoped these thoughts would be taken well. What he'd seen of Desiree and heard from Lillith tended to confirm church doctrine and popular belief about the infernal origin of the elves and the wicked temptations of the Captivity. But then, in Tim's mind, practically anything he saw would tend to confirm his beliefs. That was a human trait too. His faith was not one to be easily shaken.
[OOC: Have to pause here for the sake of time. More later.]
Goriel and beyond, part 2
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Alberich
- Noble Knight Protector
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Jack Rothwell
- Teller of Tales
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Re: Goriel and beyond, part 2
Eli listened to Tim while doing all he could to keep from squirming in anticipation of the note in his pocket, even so, he agreed with the Brother's assessment of the half-elf's nature and that of the elves, although he winced at being compared to a human.
"The Gorielians will pay for their inhumane treatment of their people sooner or later." He said curtly and then, with resignation. "I don't doubt Desiree's already moved on, physically, if not emotionally... maybe that was just a matter of time. She's been kept in a bubble, like the rest of us at home, to a greater or lesser extent... she doesn't see the necessity of doing bad things to make a better place and why should she? She's a priestess of a fertility Goddess... praying and fucking are the only things she really understands."
He stopped, colored, realized he was going too far.
"That's... that was unfair. The point is that twenty years as a guardsman taught me a few things that learning dances and rituals can't. And what I've learned is that Drusia's 'solution' for the half-elves is no solution at all. My hometown is a zoo, Tim, a zoo for an endangered species which will die out if things don't change for the humans as well as the elves."
He wanted to say more but bit his tongue, telling the Brother that he was starting to consider both parent species of the half-elves as a virus to be purged so his people could live in peace wouldn't be prudent.
"The Gorielians will pay for their inhumane treatment of their people sooner or later." He said curtly and then, with resignation. "I don't doubt Desiree's already moved on, physically, if not emotionally... maybe that was just a matter of time. She's been kept in a bubble, like the rest of us at home, to a greater or lesser extent... she doesn't see the necessity of doing bad things to make a better place and why should she? She's a priestess of a fertility Goddess... praying and fucking are the only things she really understands."
He stopped, colored, realized he was going too far.
"That's... that was unfair. The point is that twenty years as a guardsman taught me a few things that learning dances and rituals can't. And what I've learned is that Drusia's 'solution' for the half-elves is no solution at all. My hometown is a zoo, Tim, a zoo for an endangered species which will die out if things don't change for the humans as well as the elves."
He wanted to say more but bit his tongue, telling the Brother that he was starting to consider both parent species of the half-elves as a virus to be purged so his people could live in peace wouldn't be prudent.
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Alberich
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Re: Goriel and beyond, part 2
Both TIm and Eli exercised some prudence, the one not telling the other he was descended from the creations of demons and devils who now wished to reclaim him, the other not telling the one he was starting to look like a walking pest. After that it was easy for Eli to get away from Tim, who wanted to rest and wash up before the night's feast, and report his complete lack of useful intelligence to Rose.
Tim actually wanted to be there when Eli met Desiree again. For reasons of his own. But the odds were not so high, he thought.
* * *
The third Red Shell girl, Yulia, ascended the steps to "James'" room, and entered with some apprehension. This was by no means the first time a man had come in, swearing he could take every girl in the house, and then demanding them all in serial order. Mostly by the third girl they couldn't do much of anything 'cept waste some time and go off to brag about what rutting rams they were. That wasn't bad - it was like having an old fellow come by to pay for what he couldn't do. Kept the cash flowing and made a nice rest. She actually had a boardgame hidden in the room for those occasions, and was starting to get good at it. Or at least at losing on purpose to these dick-drained dumbasses so they wouldn't shrivel up into barleycorns and complain to the management. Hey, dumbass, if you're gonna think with your pecker, don't expect to think too good when it's all tuckered out.
But this guy - he'd just asked the others some questions about "wet willies" and shit and then had them dance with his pet monster while he worked himself up to whatever kind of kink he was preparing to unleash. She hoped it wouldn't fall on her. She was world-weary beyond her years, but not so weary as to want to leave it just now.
Once more Jamie asked about this "Blaze" character - and Yulia actually had something to say about it. "I heard that name," she said, "but I don't think he came here. We had a couple guys sneak in from Clan Gibazov, and while they were waiting, I heard them bitching about some out-of-town vee-eye-pee they had to escort up north. Said he was a real pain in the ass. And I think they said his name was 'Blaze.'"
"So," said Jamie, "That narrows it down then. He's somewhere in the whole world north of here."
"Oh, there's only one place they'd go. The Gibazovs have this ruby mine way up north they won't shut up about, and won't let anyone get near it. If they've got someone they want to keep safe, that's where he'll be. Or if they wanna kill him, hide the body, same thing, probably."
So, kink-monster, she thought, am I gonna Do the Pussycat Walk, or are you worked up into your fearsome fury of furry kink clawtastic snuffation, so these are like my last moments and shit, or should I break out Battle Fleet?
[OOC: And tonight - the feast.]
Tim actually wanted to be there when Eli met Desiree again. For reasons of his own. But the odds were not so high, he thought.
* * *
The third Red Shell girl, Yulia, ascended the steps to "James'" room, and entered with some apprehension. This was by no means the first time a man had come in, swearing he could take every girl in the house, and then demanding them all in serial order. Mostly by the third girl they couldn't do much of anything 'cept waste some time and go off to brag about what rutting rams they were. That wasn't bad - it was like having an old fellow come by to pay for what he couldn't do. Kept the cash flowing and made a nice rest. She actually had a boardgame hidden in the room for those occasions, and was starting to get good at it. Or at least at losing on purpose to these dick-drained dumbasses so they wouldn't shrivel up into barleycorns and complain to the management. Hey, dumbass, if you're gonna think with your pecker, don't expect to think too good when it's all tuckered out.
But this guy - he'd just asked the others some questions about "wet willies" and shit and then had them dance with his pet monster while he worked himself up to whatever kind of kink he was preparing to unleash. She hoped it wouldn't fall on her. She was world-weary beyond her years, but not so weary as to want to leave it just now.
Once more Jamie asked about this "Blaze" character - and Yulia actually had something to say about it. "I heard that name," she said, "but I don't think he came here. We had a couple guys sneak in from Clan Gibazov, and while they were waiting, I heard them bitching about some out-of-town vee-eye-pee they had to escort up north. Said he was a real pain in the ass. And I think they said his name was 'Blaze.'"
"So," said Jamie, "That narrows it down then. He's somewhere in the whole world north of here."
"Oh, there's only one place they'd go. The Gibazovs have this ruby mine way up north they won't shut up about, and won't let anyone get near it. If they've got someone they want to keep safe, that's where he'll be. Or if they wanna kill him, hide the body, same thing, probably."
So, kink-monster, she thought, am I gonna Do the Pussycat Walk, or are you worked up into your fearsome fury of furry kink clawtastic snuffation, so these are like my last moments and shit, or should I break out Battle Fleet?
[OOC: And tonight - the feast.]
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Jack Rothwell
- Teller of Tales
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Re: Goriel and beyond, part 2
OOC I know this is slightly out of sync but... well... I had to./OOC
"Want to dance with her while she tells me if she's seen the pigeon?"
"Kay!" Tamina exclaimed. "Hey... umm... scan-tilly clad lady! Know the riskal?" The kobold struck a balletic pose.
"What?"
"The deelaa?"
"Erm..."
"The santikallahirimajaroo?"
"I don't..."
"Oh, nev' mind." Tamina replied despondently. "Ahh... Jay... don't think she knows how to dance Oh! Should teach you! You got the nimble feets! Can do it after we find the bad man!"
..................
Eli waited until Tim was long gone before he finally reached into his pocket and retrieved the note his contact had given him.
The half-elf stared at the note for a long time, then he folded the paper into his fist and channeled heat until it burned to ashes. He scattered them on the floor with a rueful look.
"'excite the enmity of'... that's a good expression. I'll have to remember it." He muttered.
"Want to dance with her while she tells me if she's seen the pigeon?"
"Kay!" Tamina exclaimed. "Hey... umm... scan-tilly clad lady! Know the riskal?" The kobold struck a balletic pose.
"What?"
"The deelaa?"
"Erm..."
"The santikallahirimajaroo?"
"I don't..."
"Oh, nev' mind." Tamina replied despondently. "Ahh... Jay... don't think she knows how to dance Oh! Should teach you! You got the nimble feets! Can do it after we find the bad man!"
..................
Eli waited until Tim was long gone before he finally reached into his pocket and retrieved the note his contact had given him.
Spoiler: show
"'excite the enmity of'... that's a good expression. I'll have to remember it." He muttered.
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Alberich
- Noble Knight Protector
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Re: Goriel and beyond, part 2
The afternoon slid away, as the airship companions tried their best to be ready for this place. Kirassia proved an extra blessing in helping them to get ready.
A feast, as she explained, was different from a dinner - in part because there would be guests who did not stay the night. That changed the dress code. At a dinner, with Duravsky at least, the householders would wear rich robes to display their wealth and show their comfort. But no one would walk through the streets of Goriel in clothes like that, so at a feast, men might wear their usual furs and leathers, or whatever else they carried outside. The men who slept there would dress the same so as not to show up the guests - except perhaps the highest-ranking males, who really were of superior status.
Weapons were perfectly allowed - in fact, a man who went visibly unarmed was either low-status and unmanly, or incredibly high-status. Women could show more color according to their status. Wives were expected to be modest, at least in the amount of skin they showed. Geteroi had more leeway, but if they were wise even they did not show too much - they weren't signalling their availability to all and sundry, only showing that they were beautiful ornaments for the men who held them. You brought your woman on the left arm, the right free to draw weapons.
An escort arrived for them - the chief's middle son, Vasil Shashenkovich, and he greeted Argus with the usual flow of courtesies, and offered to guide them to the feast. And so they went - Brad escorting Lillith, and Argus Rose. Beyond them walked Kirassia, and behind her Tim and Eli - thus, the younger men were on the outside, the better to meet any attack. No one tried it. Vasil walked to the right of Argus, talking banally of the family, and asking Argus about his own relations - doubtless Argus was able to supply as many names as he needed. Family, it seemed, was always a safe topic here. Vasil explained further that at the beginning of tonight's feast, all would be welcome; but when Lord Yurkashev raised one hand, the children would leave; and when he raised both his hands, then the wives (he was very specific: the wives) would be invited to join Lady Yurkashev in her tea room.
At the Yurkashev compound on feast night, unlike the Duravsky compound (or even the Zukalin whorehouse), you did not check your weapons at the door, but carried them all the way in. Dogs were a symbol of the clan, and many doors here were painted with howling dogs' heads. The feasting hall was large and of wood. The walls were hung with weapons, and the guests, having been shown their places around the middle, were asked to hang their longer weapons on the wall themselves, behind their places. (Hanging up arms for useless monuments - this was not the way of the Yurkashev. Knifes and short swords stayed on the hip - an ancient custom from when you might need them right that second.) Between the weapons hung brightly-colored cloth, some of it embroidered with dog, goat's-horn, and weapon motifs, and some only dyed. At one end of the hall were the painted wooden idols. To the rear was Perul himself, unnaturally thin, and before him his pack of four dogs. Who looked closely would see some crudeness in the carving - this idol was not new, though it had often been repainted - but the implacable hardness of its face was clear enough for any.
Perhaps fifty adult guests thronged the room - and there were several dozen children as well. Some of these carried plates of bread and goat's cheese or cups of wine, semi-sour milk, and water for the guests. (The harder drinking would come later.) Adult servants male and female also passed here and there on their silent errands.
There were no tables here - only cushions in an oblong ring on the floor, where each might sit when it was time to be served. As at table, wives could sit beside their husbands; kept women, even the most favored getera, must sit behind. Along with the colored bracelets, that was one concession the wives had managed to keep, for all they lacked power here. Right now, almost no one was sitting - they were mingling one way and another.
The center of the room was covered with planks - as the party would learn, these could be removed to reveal a firepit (and the ceiling could be opened for a smokehole) - but tonight the food was being made outside, and the middle floor was laid down for entertainments. The first of these was a set of musicians in bright clothes, with drums and small pipes and something like a bouzouki.
Their long weapons hung in the right places, the first person to greet them was one of the boys serving, a dark-haired lad maybe eleven or twelve. Smiling below his thin curving moustache, Vasil introduced Lord Cleiviein to his nephew, Kir Kirovich. Kir was especially favored not only to carry a plate of cheeses for the guests, but to wear a large dagger in a jeweled scabbard as a special mark of favor.
Showing his teeth, Vasil remarked on how fitting the weapon looked on this young man. "And tell our guests how you earned this signal honor!"
"Well, when you and my father and our other strong men captured some of the stupid Zukalin, grandfather asked a volunteer to cut off one of their heads. And I was the first to volunteer. And I hacked and I sawed and I hacked and I sawed 'til his head was quite off. And grandfather let me taste the wine and gave me this dagger, and said I was a worthy man of the household."
Vasil patted him on the shoulder. "Very good, my lad! You're a true hound of Perul! Brother Kir is very proud." And he led them by degrees toward the head of the hall, where of course they must be introduced to the sub-chief, the chief's brother, Sevastian Burianovich. As they went, Kirassia was able to point out to Rose that there were two guests here from the Duravsky -- the getera, Tatiana, who'd been exchanged for Valentina Yurkashev, and a quiet-looking man with a black bandage across the middle of his face. Kirassia whispered that his name was Leonid, and that it wasn't good to stare at his bandage - he had no nose. There were guests from other clans, she was sure - the ones from Gibazov were easy to spot since they were always flaunting their rubies.
They came to where Sevastian stood, a fortyish black-bearded laughing fellow, one of the few Yurkashev to be running to fat. "Welcome!" he said to Argus, spreading his arms. "Welcome to this place of peace, where we may feast in convivial true friendship, and know the repose of the evening, secure from all troubles and enemies. There is not a safer spot tonight! - And your mighty warriors make it only more so! Be welcome and happy here, and call upon us for any help and service! My good brother, Chief Shashenka, he will join us soon, and the festivities will begin in earnest."
Tim, still thinking on the boy's proud words, resolved not to let his stomach get full tonight.
[OOC: Pausing here to let people react and do things if they wish; if no one does I'll move it forward some more. It's several hours before midnight and no one's had a bite of goat yet. By the way, the feasting hall is a separate building - the kitchen and the privies are open-air, not sure if that'll matter.]
A feast, as she explained, was different from a dinner - in part because there would be guests who did not stay the night. That changed the dress code. At a dinner, with Duravsky at least, the householders would wear rich robes to display their wealth and show their comfort. But no one would walk through the streets of Goriel in clothes like that, so at a feast, men might wear their usual furs and leathers, or whatever else they carried outside. The men who slept there would dress the same so as not to show up the guests - except perhaps the highest-ranking males, who really were of superior status.
Weapons were perfectly allowed - in fact, a man who went visibly unarmed was either low-status and unmanly, or incredibly high-status. Women could show more color according to their status. Wives were expected to be modest, at least in the amount of skin they showed. Geteroi had more leeway, but if they were wise even they did not show too much - they weren't signalling their availability to all and sundry, only showing that they were beautiful ornaments for the men who held them. You brought your woman on the left arm, the right free to draw weapons.
An escort arrived for them - the chief's middle son, Vasil Shashenkovich, and he greeted Argus with the usual flow of courtesies, and offered to guide them to the feast. And so they went - Brad escorting Lillith, and Argus Rose. Beyond them walked Kirassia, and behind her Tim and Eli - thus, the younger men were on the outside, the better to meet any attack. No one tried it. Vasil walked to the right of Argus, talking banally of the family, and asking Argus about his own relations - doubtless Argus was able to supply as many names as he needed. Family, it seemed, was always a safe topic here. Vasil explained further that at the beginning of tonight's feast, all would be welcome; but when Lord Yurkashev raised one hand, the children would leave; and when he raised both his hands, then the wives (he was very specific: the wives) would be invited to join Lady Yurkashev in her tea room.
At the Yurkashev compound on feast night, unlike the Duravsky compound (or even the Zukalin whorehouse), you did not check your weapons at the door, but carried them all the way in. Dogs were a symbol of the clan, and many doors here were painted with howling dogs' heads. The feasting hall was large and of wood. The walls were hung with weapons, and the guests, having been shown their places around the middle, were asked to hang their longer weapons on the wall themselves, behind their places. (Hanging up arms for useless monuments - this was not the way of the Yurkashev. Knifes and short swords stayed on the hip - an ancient custom from when you might need them right that second.) Between the weapons hung brightly-colored cloth, some of it embroidered with dog, goat's-horn, and weapon motifs, and some only dyed. At one end of the hall were the painted wooden idols. To the rear was Perul himself, unnaturally thin, and before him his pack of four dogs. Who looked closely would see some crudeness in the carving - this idol was not new, though it had often been repainted - but the implacable hardness of its face was clear enough for any.
Perhaps fifty adult guests thronged the room - and there were several dozen children as well. Some of these carried plates of bread and goat's cheese or cups of wine, semi-sour milk, and water for the guests. (The harder drinking would come later.) Adult servants male and female also passed here and there on their silent errands.
There were no tables here - only cushions in an oblong ring on the floor, where each might sit when it was time to be served. As at table, wives could sit beside their husbands; kept women, even the most favored getera, must sit behind. Along with the colored bracelets, that was one concession the wives had managed to keep, for all they lacked power here. Right now, almost no one was sitting - they were mingling one way and another.
The center of the room was covered with planks - as the party would learn, these could be removed to reveal a firepit (and the ceiling could be opened for a smokehole) - but tonight the food was being made outside, and the middle floor was laid down for entertainments. The first of these was a set of musicians in bright clothes, with drums and small pipes and something like a bouzouki.
Their long weapons hung in the right places, the first person to greet them was one of the boys serving, a dark-haired lad maybe eleven or twelve. Smiling below his thin curving moustache, Vasil introduced Lord Cleiviein to his nephew, Kir Kirovich. Kir was especially favored not only to carry a plate of cheeses for the guests, but to wear a large dagger in a jeweled scabbard as a special mark of favor.
Showing his teeth, Vasil remarked on how fitting the weapon looked on this young man. "And tell our guests how you earned this signal honor!"
"Well, when you and my father and our other strong men captured some of the stupid Zukalin, grandfather asked a volunteer to cut off one of their heads. And I was the first to volunteer. And I hacked and I sawed and I hacked and I sawed 'til his head was quite off. And grandfather let me taste the wine and gave me this dagger, and said I was a worthy man of the household."
Vasil patted him on the shoulder. "Very good, my lad! You're a true hound of Perul! Brother Kir is very proud." And he led them by degrees toward the head of the hall, where of course they must be introduced to the sub-chief, the chief's brother, Sevastian Burianovich. As they went, Kirassia was able to point out to Rose that there were two guests here from the Duravsky -- the getera, Tatiana, who'd been exchanged for Valentina Yurkashev, and a quiet-looking man with a black bandage across the middle of his face. Kirassia whispered that his name was Leonid, and that it wasn't good to stare at his bandage - he had no nose. There were guests from other clans, she was sure - the ones from Gibazov were easy to spot since they were always flaunting their rubies.
They came to where Sevastian stood, a fortyish black-bearded laughing fellow, one of the few Yurkashev to be running to fat. "Welcome!" he said to Argus, spreading his arms. "Welcome to this place of peace, where we may feast in convivial true friendship, and know the repose of the evening, secure from all troubles and enemies. There is not a safer spot tonight! - And your mighty warriors make it only more so! Be welcome and happy here, and call upon us for any help and service! My good brother, Chief Shashenka, he will join us soon, and the festivities will begin in earnest."
Tim, still thinking on the boy's proud words, resolved not to let his stomach get full tonight.
[OOC: Pausing here to let people react and do things if they wish; if no one does I'll move it forward some more. It's several hours before midnight and no one's had a bite of goat yet. By the way, the feasting hall is a separate building - the kitchen and the privies are open-air, not sure if that'll matter.]
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Graybeard
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Re: Goriel and beyond, part 2
There was a general misunderstanding, Sister Rose reflected as she smiled her way demurely through the formalities, as to what being an officer in the Veracian Special Forces entailed.
The Veracian government (read: the church) carefully controlled the information that got out in public about Special Ops. Basically, the message had two components: everything they did was super-hush-hush and no common folk had any business asking about it (the phrase "If I tell you any more, I have to kill you" had actually been used seriously, if drunkenly, in response to inquiries on occasion), and the people who did the missions were favored by Luminosita with powers beyond those of ordinary men. Rumors attributed to Special Ops people the power to fly (Rose had actually known a corporal who possessed an innate capacity for levitation that matched her own for shapeshifting, but he could only rise ten feet or so in the air for a few seconds; a useful enough skill in reconnaissance, but hardly flight), turn invisible (Rose had seen it done once, but the priest who did it was so exhausted by the spellcasting that he was useless for the rest of the day), take the form of beasts of the night (apart from that ... curious skill of Egbert's, complete nonsense; she knew that her own shapeshifting talent was otherwise by far the most advanced that Special Ops had had, and she could no more transform into a cat than into a tyrannosaur), climb vertical walls (that one was true enough -- she'd seen Farley do it -- but really no big deal, and still rare), and so on. And then there were their claimed capabilities in plain old hand-to-hand combat ...
In fact, at least among the officers, these awesome legends had little to do with what the outfit actually did. Mainly, Special Ops officers had to have a capability for schmoozing. They spent most of their deployed time in situations very like the one she now found herself in: quietly moving among the high mucky-mucks of a foreign land, with enough poise, tact and delicacy not to draw attention to themselves. (It wasn't coincidence that apart from basic detection spells, the one bit of magic known by most Special Ops officers was her very own Empathy, although it came easier to her than to most.) They would pass comfortably in situations that would have turned the average Veracian into a trembling, xenophobic wreck ... and only later, when they'd figured out the lay of the land, might they turn to the enlisted snake eaters (some of whose physical skills were indeed impressive, and many even had some magic) to do what had to be done.
With this background, and with the little additional practice of being a "clan chief's wife" that she'd gotten in during the previous twenty-four hours, Rose had very little difficulty fitting in. She mainly sat demurely by her husband and smiled politely, speaking to the men only when spoken to, and to the other wives, in general pleasantries of culture and domesticity.
And doing a tiny bit of sort-of-magical observation while she was at it.
And, when circumstances finally allowed, a brief bit of telepathy to Argus; if the Tsuirakuans and elves couldn't break mind-speech, it would be plenty secure here. <"I've managed to run a quick magic scan,"> she thought at him. <"Nothing magical in the room at all except what's on our own party -- by the way, what do you know about that thing Eli's carrying? I'll keep checking from time to time, but for now we're in the clear."> Then she blinked. <"No, wait, I'm getting something off that idol. Weak, and I'm not sure what it is, but it feels ... unpleasant."> [OOC: Retconned per Alberich. /OOC:]
------------
Meanwhile, Therese was leaving the safe house, to begin an evening of observation in pursuit of her "primary" mission in town ... but her heart wasn't in it.
[OOC: Amusing real-world story on that "If I tell you any more, I have to kill you" line some other time -- maybe.]
The Veracian government (read: the church) carefully controlled the information that got out in public about Special Ops. Basically, the message had two components: everything they did was super-hush-hush and no common folk had any business asking about it (the phrase "If I tell you any more, I have to kill you" had actually been used seriously, if drunkenly, in response to inquiries on occasion), and the people who did the missions were favored by Luminosita with powers beyond those of ordinary men. Rumors attributed to Special Ops people the power to fly (Rose had actually known a corporal who possessed an innate capacity for levitation that matched her own for shapeshifting, but he could only rise ten feet or so in the air for a few seconds; a useful enough skill in reconnaissance, but hardly flight), turn invisible (Rose had seen it done once, but the priest who did it was so exhausted by the spellcasting that he was useless for the rest of the day), take the form of beasts of the night (apart from that ... curious skill of Egbert's, complete nonsense; she knew that her own shapeshifting talent was otherwise by far the most advanced that Special Ops had had, and she could no more transform into a cat than into a tyrannosaur), climb vertical walls (that one was true enough -- she'd seen Farley do it -- but really no big deal, and still rare), and so on. And then there were their claimed capabilities in plain old hand-to-hand combat ...
In fact, at least among the officers, these awesome legends had little to do with what the outfit actually did. Mainly, Special Ops officers had to have a capability for schmoozing. They spent most of their deployed time in situations very like the one she now found herself in: quietly moving among the high mucky-mucks of a foreign land, with enough poise, tact and delicacy not to draw attention to themselves. (It wasn't coincidence that apart from basic detection spells, the one bit of magic known by most Special Ops officers was her very own Empathy, although it came easier to her than to most.) They would pass comfortably in situations that would have turned the average Veracian into a trembling, xenophobic wreck ... and only later, when they'd figured out the lay of the land, might they turn to the enlisted snake eaters (some of whose physical skills were indeed impressive, and many even had some magic) to do what had to be done.
With this background, and with the little additional practice of being a "clan chief's wife" that she'd gotten in during the previous twenty-four hours, Rose had very little difficulty fitting in. She mainly sat demurely by her husband and smiled politely, speaking to the men only when spoken to, and to the other wives, in general pleasantries of culture and domesticity.
And doing a tiny bit of sort-of-magical observation while she was at it.
And, when circumstances finally allowed, a brief bit of telepathy to Argus; if the Tsuirakuans and elves couldn't break mind-speech, it would be plenty secure here. <"I've managed to run a quick magic scan,"> she thought at him. <"Nothing magical in the room at all except what's on our own party -- by the way, what do you know about that thing Eli's carrying? I'll keep checking from time to time, but for now we're in the clear."> Then she blinked. <"No, wait, I'm getting something off that idol. Weak, and I'm not sure what it is, but it feels ... unpleasant."> [OOC: Retconned per Alberich. /OOC:]
------------
Meanwhile, Therese was leaving the safe house, to begin an evening of observation in pursuit of her "primary" mission in town ... but her heart wasn't in it.
[OOC: Amusing real-world story on that "If I tell you any more, I have to kill you" line some other time -- maybe.]
Because old is wise, does good, and above all, kicks ass.
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Jack Rothwell
- Teller of Tales
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Re: Goriel and beyond, part 2
Much against his will, Eli found himself engaging in a conversation with some of the 'lesser' members of the clan, dragged into boorish accounts of how the young men had 'proven their honor' at the expense of rival clans which doubtless contained no small number of exaggerations. The half-elf played along so not to rock the boat, rattling off a tale or two from his younger days of bandits and poachers who'd encroached on his people's territory.
"... the leader of the rabble was no slouch with a sword." He heard himself say. "But his reach was poor and his footwork uncoordinated. All in the end he all but fell onto my blade."
Murmurs of approval from the young men, looks of cynicism from a few others. Truthfully, he felt out of place here; the dressing of the hall was strange to his eyes, the music grating rather than soothing. Eli felt his guts coiling up in anticipation of the task which lay before him, entertaining the possibility that if all went wrong the sun would rise on his corpse the following morning. He pressed his palm to the amulet under his shirt (with faint surprise, since he couldn't remember putting the thing back on) and felt a reassuring pulse of energy flow through him.
"... the leader of the rabble was no slouch with a sword." He heard himself say. "But his reach was poor and his footwork uncoordinated. All in the end he all but fell onto my blade."
Murmurs of approval from the young men, looks of cynicism from a few others. Truthfully, he felt out of place here; the dressing of the hall was strange to his eyes, the music grating rather than soothing. Eli felt his guts coiling up in anticipation of the task which lay before him, entertaining the possibility that if all went wrong the sun would rise on his corpse the following morning. He pressed his palm to the amulet under his shirt (with faint surprise, since he couldn't remember putting the thing back on) and felt a reassuring pulse of energy flow through him.
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Alberich
- Noble Knight Protector
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- Joined: October 5th, 2008, 9:58 am
Re: Goriel and beyond, part 2
If they compared misfortunes, Tim might find himself ahead of Eli. He was sticking as close as possible to his "brother" (half-brother, cousin, whatever he was supposed to be), but he'd been roped in by another group of local lads, who were boasting about their sexual prowess. They were too junior in rank and honor to have been granted a night with a getera, but one claimed to have seduced one (from another clan, of course) into sharing her wonders out of sheer awe for his manliness. Another claimed to have made a specialty of Zukalin wives, "back when they still had some that didn't look like ram's butts," and another boasted of going to a whorehouse and doing "every girl they had, all in a row!" He didn't add the amazing skill he never knew he had at half-century-old Tsuirakuan boardgames. They also traded opinions on the parts of a woman and the moves they liked best - but the real point of that was to emphasize and reemphasize how they'd had, and always had had, any one they wanted.
Tim, of course, couldn't match them in kind, and couldn't even try to make up stories about it, so he instead pretended to be fascinated by these tales, and to want to hear more. Unfortunately for him, they obliged. But they wanted something from him, and he couldn't turn the subject to his clan's business interests -- business, it seems, was a forbidden subject at feasts -- so he finally found a way to switch it over to hunting and fishing. Fishing, at least, he'd done, and despite his upbringing, he found he had within him the ability to lie just a little about the size of his catches.
He prayed silently for forgiveness and for this damnable feast to be over.
Rose saw that Kirassia was able to get into a huddle with Tatiana, the tall, lean, short-haired blonde getera from the House of Duravsky. (The most athletic of the Duravsky geteroi, she fit the tastes of the Yurkashev best.) Kirassia had a little more freedom of movement because she wasn't attached to a specific man here tonight - and that was not out of place.
Judging by her position, for tonight Tatiana was attached to Leonid, the noseless visitor from Clan Duravsky, implying further that he was spending the night here. It seemed a little odd that a man would come to a strange house and sleep with a getera sojourning from his own -- but then, maybe she knews his wishes best. Besides, the way these ladies were exchanged, if you had enough honor in one of the chief clans you'd end up with them all.
[OOC: Even if no one acts I'll move the feast along occasionally, but with pauses to give people chances to do things and for time's sake.]
Tim, of course, couldn't match them in kind, and couldn't even try to make up stories about it, so he instead pretended to be fascinated by these tales, and to want to hear more. Unfortunately for him, they obliged. But they wanted something from him, and he couldn't turn the subject to his clan's business interests -- business, it seems, was a forbidden subject at feasts -- so he finally found a way to switch it over to hunting and fishing. Fishing, at least, he'd done, and despite his upbringing, he found he had within him the ability to lie just a little about the size of his catches.
He prayed silently for forgiveness and for this damnable feast to be over.
Rose saw that Kirassia was able to get into a huddle with Tatiana, the tall, lean, short-haired blonde getera from the House of Duravsky. (The most athletic of the Duravsky geteroi, she fit the tastes of the Yurkashev best.) Kirassia had a little more freedom of movement because she wasn't attached to a specific man here tonight - and that was not out of place.
Judging by her position, for tonight Tatiana was attached to Leonid, the noseless visitor from Clan Duravsky, implying further that he was spending the night here. It seemed a little odd that a man would come to a strange house and sleep with a getera sojourning from his own -- but then, maybe she knews his wishes best. Besides, the way these ladies were exchanged, if you had enough honor in one of the chief clans you'd end up with them all.
[OOC: Even if no one acts I'll move the feast along occasionally, but with pauses to give people chances to do things and for time's sake.]
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Graybeard
- The Heretical Admin
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Re: Goriel and beyond, part 2
"But his reach was poor and his footwork uncoordinated. All in the end he all but fell onto my blade."
Sister Rose, listening to what was going on among her own group with one ear while she listened to the inane babble of the other wives with the other (it certainly didn't require her full attention), wasn't sure she liked that. Most likely it was some embellishment that Eli had invented, just to try to keep up with the violent but -- unsophisticated men in his circle. Might there be an element of truth to it, though? She hoped not. Snamish's passive defenses had kept outsiders away for as long as she'd known about the place. If one had made it through, to be dispatched by Eli with or without the other militia, then others could have made it who weren't thus dealt with, or maybe even noticed. She made a mental note to talk to Eli about his boast later; if there was truth to it, Drusia needed to know about it, if she didn't already.
One of the other wives managed to penetrate through her introspection. "So tell me, Mrs. Cleiviein, are you looking forward to being blessed with grandchildren by your daughter and son-in-law here? You look so young to be a grandmother. I really must learn your secrets for taking care of your skin." This received murmurs of approval from the other women, and Rose got the distinct impression that it wasn't just her skin that they considered well preserved.
She'd had an answer ready for this one. "Thank you," she smiled. "You're very kind. Actually, Lillith is my stepdaughter, I'm my lord's second wife. His first wife died in a terrible accident several years ago. Magic was involved." She shuddered, not entirely theatrically, but also with ulterior motive. It would be interesting to see how many of the other women at the table also shuddered at the thought of magical death, and how many didn't. Seconds later, she had her answer: all of the wives recoiled in horror at the idea ... except for one. That was interesting.
She marked that one woman, whose name she'd missed, for a one-on-one conversation later, as she uttered the indicated banalities about grandchildren -- never mind that she hadn't put the idea of having a child of her own out of her mind yet, quite the contrary. [OOC: Letting Rose's inattention leave it open which of the women isn't particularly bothered by magic. Want to jump on that one, A?]
Sister Rose, listening to what was going on among her own group with one ear while she listened to the inane babble of the other wives with the other (it certainly didn't require her full attention), wasn't sure she liked that. Most likely it was some embellishment that Eli had invented, just to try to keep up with the violent but -- unsophisticated men in his circle. Might there be an element of truth to it, though? She hoped not. Snamish's passive defenses had kept outsiders away for as long as she'd known about the place. If one had made it through, to be dispatched by Eli with or without the other militia, then others could have made it who weren't thus dealt with, or maybe even noticed. She made a mental note to talk to Eli about his boast later; if there was truth to it, Drusia needed to know about it, if she didn't already.
One of the other wives managed to penetrate through her introspection. "So tell me, Mrs. Cleiviein, are you looking forward to being blessed with grandchildren by your daughter and son-in-law here? You look so young to be a grandmother. I really must learn your secrets for taking care of your skin." This received murmurs of approval from the other women, and Rose got the distinct impression that it wasn't just her skin that they considered well preserved.
She'd had an answer ready for this one. "Thank you," she smiled. "You're very kind. Actually, Lillith is my stepdaughter, I'm my lord's second wife. His first wife died in a terrible accident several years ago. Magic was involved." She shuddered, not entirely theatrically, but also with ulterior motive. It would be interesting to see how many of the other women at the table also shuddered at the thought of magical death, and how many didn't. Seconds later, she had her answer: all of the wives recoiled in horror at the idea ... except for one. That was interesting.
She marked that one woman, whose name she'd missed, for a one-on-one conversation later, as she uttered the indicated banalities about grandchildren -- never mind that she hadn't put the idea of having a child of her own out of her mind yet, quite the contrary. [OOC: Letting Rose's inattention leave it open which of the women isn't particularly bothered by magic. Want to jump on that one, A?]
Because old is wise, does good, and above all, kicks ass.
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Alberich
- Noble Knight Protector
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- Joined: October 5th, 2008, 9:58 am
Re: Goriel and beyond, part 2
The answer was only a little slow to register - Rose, in her need to take in all the information she could, Eli's boasting, Tim's discomfort, the noseless man and his getera who was talking to their getera, only his and theirs were both Clan Duravsky's -- in her need to take in all this while keeping one eye on Argus to make sure he didn't need his strings pulled...well, she was multitasking as best she could. Obviously, this non-upset woman was Sevastien's wife Marfa, the oldest of the wives in this little circle. Maybe the reason she wasn't upset was that she knew something about magic. Or maybe she just knew what cruel deaths men and women could die without magic, so that magic itself added no real horror.
Before there could be much more talk of accidental deaths different ladies had known, there was a hush and then a shout as Chief Shashenka Burianovich, Lord Yurkashev, swept into the hall, accompanied by his own wife. He was thinner and stronger than his brother Sevastien, with a nose and mouth that projected as if he were part horse on his mother's side. Suprisingly he appeared to be several years younger thatn Sevastien - at first Rose thought the grey might've been dyed out of his beard (a shortish one that didn't cover his cheeks, though it wasn't thin and pointed like Vasil's), before it occurred to her that Goriel had no rule of strict primogeniture, and if brothers were vying for a title, the stronger rather than the older got it. Apparently the transition here had been smooth enough to leave at least one brother alive. As lord of this house Shashenka alone had changed into a fur-lined robe of dark red -- he didn't need to worry about showing anyone up; he realy was the top man here -- and he walked with a quick, businesslike step to a spot beside his own cushions. As he walked, he raised his right hand in a fist, and the children all fled the room - even the heroic young Kir did not presume to question that signal.
Without a word, Chief Shashenka turned towards the family idol, and everyone in the hall did the same. And they all genuflected at once - even Tim doing the Luminositan equivalent of what others might call "bowing to Rimmon." Then Sevastien turned back towards the crowd and led a sort of chant and responsory, among the Yurkashev men alone, in a loud, booming voice. The tempo was much faster than a Veracian or elven ritual --
"Glory to the sun! Glory to Perul!"
(Response) "Glory to Perul!"
"Glory to the hounds of Perul!"
(Response) "Hounds of Perul!"
"Glory and courage to the Hounds of Perul!"
(Response) "Hounds of Perul!"
"Confusion to the enemies of Clan Yurkashev! DEATH TO THE ZUKALIN!"
In a flash all the knives came out, as the crowd roared, "DEATH TO ZUKALIN! HOUNDS OF PERUL!"
Lord Shashenka clapped his hands twice. The knives went back into their sheaths, and the guests all went to their assigned cushions on the floor. Wives sat behind husbands, kept women - geteroi or not - sat behind them. No one sat 'til the chief sat first - but there was no more ceremony to it than that. The honored guests of Clan Cleiviein naturally sat near the chief, with Argus himself at his right hand. (The place of honor? Or in better reach to be stabbed with his stronger arm?) He looked left - the twist of his head was energetic, as he was - to ask Sevastien, "What shall we have?" A formality - they knew. "Dancing!" came the reply. "Lads!" - the sub-chief called out to the circle - "Who's up for a step?"
The musicians moved to one side of the plank floor and began retuning as several young men of the clan got up and went to fetch their weapons. They returned to the middle, each facing a different point of the oval. The musicians struck up an old battle tune. One of the drummers switched to a sort of kettledrum, with a strong, driving rhythm. The weapon dancers, all honored young men of the clan, began their performances. Weapon movements were an important part of it. So were leaping, kicking, and improvising. Eli thought some of the moves derived from actual sword drill, but others were just displays of strength and speed. There seemed to be a lot of improvising as part of it. Periodically, at different points of the tune, the lads would rotate by chasing each other to different parts of the oval, so everyone got to see everyone's performance. The watchers cheered them on. Vasil Shashenkovich, their quondam guide, was among them; so was Sevastien's son Yakov. They seemed to be straining to show which could tire himself out the most.
Shashenka turned casually to Argus. "Welcome to our household and our country too. I hope you like the boys' performance. We used to have these dances like battles in earnest. If you didn't come back bloody you hadn't done it right." He was friendly, but a lot more perfunctory than most Gorielians. Perhaps his strength and status bought him that right.
Before there could be much more talk of accidental deaths different ladies had known, there was a hush and then a shout as Chief Shashenka Burianovich, Lord Yurkashev, swept into the hall, accompanied by his own wife. He was thinner and stronger than his brother Sevastien, with a nose and mouth that projected as if he were part horse on his mother's side. Suprisingly he appeared to be several years younger thatn Sevastien - at first Rose thought the grey might've been dyed out of his beard (a shortish one that didn't cover his cheeks, though it wasn't thin and pointed like Vasil's), before it occurred to her that Goriel had no rule of strict primogeniture, and if brothers were vying for a title, the stronger rather than the older got it. Apparently the transition here had been smooth enough to leave at least one brother alive. As lord of this house Shashenka alone had changed into a fur-lined robe of dark red -- he didn't need to worry about showing anyone up; he realy was the top man here -- and he walked with a quick, businesslike step to a spot beside his own cushions. As he walked, he raised his right hand in a fist, and the children all fled the room - even the heroic young Kir did not presume to question that signal.
Without a word, Chief Shashenka turned towards the family idol, and everyone in the hall did the same. And they all genuflected at once - even Tim doing the Luminositan equivalent of what others might call "bowing to Rimmon." Then Sevastien turned back towards the crowd and led a sort of chant and responsory, among the Yurkashev men alone, in a loud, booming voice. The tempo was much faster than a Veracian or elven ritual --
"Glory to the sun! Glory to Perul!"
(Response) "Glory to Perul!"
"Glory to the hounds of Perul!"
(Response) "Hounds of Perul!"
"Glory and courage to the Hounds of Perul!"
(Response) "Hounds of Perul!"
"Confusion to the enemies of Clan Yurkashev! DEATH TO THE ZUKALIN!"
In a flash all the knives came out, as the crowd roared, "DEATH TO ZUKALIN! HOUNDS OF PERUL!"
Lord Shashenka clapped his hands twice. The knives went back into their sheaths, and the guests all went to their assigned cushions on the floor. Wives sat behind husbands, kept women - geteroi or not - sat behind them. No one sat 'til the chief sat first - but there was no more ceremony to it than that. The honored guests of Clan Cleiviein naturally sat near the chief, with Argus himself at his right hand. (The place of honor? Or in better reach to be stabbed with his stronger arm?) He looked left - the twist of his head was energetic, as he was - to ask Sevastien, "What shall we have?" A formality - they knew. "Dancing!" came the reply. "Lads!" - the sub-chief called out to the circle - "Who's up for a step?"
The musicians moved to one side of the plank floor and began retuning as several young men of the clan got up and went to fetch their weapons. They returned to the middle, each facing a different point of the oval. The musicians struck up an old battle tune. One of the drummers switched to a sort of kettledrum, with a strong, driving rhythm. The weapon dancers, all honored young men of the clan, began their performances. Weapon movements were an important part of it. So were leaping, kicking, and improvising. Eli thought some of the moves derived from actual sword drill, but others were just displays of strength and speed. There seemed to be a lot of improvising as part of it. Periodically, at different points of the tune, the lads would rotate by chasing each other to different parts of the oval, so everyone got to see everyone's performance. The watchers cheered them on. Vasil Shashenkovich, their quondam guide, was among them; so was Sevastien's son Yakov. They seemed to be straining to show which could tire himself out the most.
Shashenka turned casually to Argus. "Welcome to our household and our country too. I hope you like the boys' performance. We used to have these dances like battles in earnest. If you didn't come back bloody you hadn't done it right." He was friendly, but a lot more perfunctory than most Gorielians. Perhaps his strength and status bought him that right.