“Tell me, Ch’dau, how is it that you come to the shores of this land?”

The kazari blinked, his gaze flicking from the cleric’s face to the needle he prepared and back, again. This was not a question he had been asked in quite some time and, even to Ch’dau, all of the details of it were far from clear. “That is a tale long in the telling, little one,” he rumbled in reply.

“Oh, I’m sure we’ll have the time to hear it,” Mosic chuckled softly, tugging the suturing thread taut and even, “Despite your claims otherwise, your wounds are quite extensive and it will take some span to see to them all…”

The big cat snorted, his eyes widening a bit in surprise and tracking to the bladesinger’s face when he felt her hand fall to his.

“…Consider the telling of your tale to be payment for these services,” the cleric suggested as he pushed the needle through the cat-man’s skin and began the sewing of the wound.

“Very well,” Ch’dau sighed, his massive fingers folding over Aranwen’s slender ones and his gaze shifting from face to face, “By the reckoning of time, here, it was a bit more than two of your years ago…”

**************************************

Recollections of how a Kazari Came to Antaron

The Barrier Islands of Capasha’s Northwestern Coast; Season of Storms; 31 Moons Past (22^nd Olemra, 450 E.R.)

Crouched amidst a small copse of palms at the top of the island’s rocky beach, the young kh’ur’s blue-green eyes scanned the dark, brackish waters of the channel he had recently swam. Night had fallen in the time it had taken him to traverse that strait and Khr’a’s Silver Eye was masked by the storm clouds that gathered in the skies; he could no longer see the shore of the island on the other side. That island had been the third he had crossed in as many days and the waterway between it and the isle he found himself on, now, had been the fourth he had braved on this quest. All he had to show for any of it, so far, aside from salt-stiffened fur and aching muscles, were the skins and skulls of a couple of ny’oka’ya’m’ji. Those alone would be fitting tributes for Strakhan N’thu’th at the Khanate’s Gathering but hide and bone were not the prizes he truly sought.

From the time he was but a cub, Ch’dau had heard tales of a place hidden amongst these islands – a place older than Rrowl and Keziri and, perhaps, even older than Khr’a, herself – a place ancient and out of time, wrought through with and by powers beyond reckoning. It was whispered among the khr’dun of the clans that there were magicks, there, stronger than those to be found in the Twilight Forest, greater even than those that had raised the Hell’s Mouth Mountains and brought forth the decimation of The Waste. So ancient and terrible were the powers that stirred there that the Kazari had refused it a name in their own tongue and, though the place had a name of its own, few kazari mouths were capable of sounding it out and, those that could often refused to speak it…

Euridian.

…The name was as unnatural as the things that were purported to be found there and, while few Kazari dared to utter the name of the place, even fewer had dared to venture out in search of it and of those who had only three were known to have ever returned. Legend had it that Rrowl, himself, had been the first. Fierce and fearless as He had been and despite having brought back the secret of steel, whatever He had encountered there had been disturbing enough that, for as long as He lived, He refused to ever go back. The second Kazari ever to travel to Euridian and return to her clan was a powerful Khr’dun called N’ghali of the Notched Ear Clan. She had been young and sharp of mind when she set out on her quest for the place, the tales said, but when she returned, bringing with her the cat-folks first written words, she had aged beyond her years and had become prone to mad ramblings until she joined The Eternal Hunt. Finally, there had been a boastful kh’ur of the Far Eye Clan named Ch’kos who had undertaken his own expedition to the place. The stories of his adventures there were few and lacking much detail, though, as upon his return, he refused to speak at all and, within three moons of having visited Euridian, he had left his clan behind and wandered into Khr’a’s Lament never to be heard from again.

Tales of terror and madness aside, Kh’ur Ch’dau was not prepared to abandon his own quest. He had come so far already – through the ranges of several clans of the Bhak’chu, across the spits of briny waters that separated Capasha from the barrier islands and, too, those islands one from another – to turn back now would prove nothing other than that his fear outweighed his honor and that was a thing he would rather die than admit. Besides, he was close – the ny’oka’ya’m’ji that had tried to drown him in the channel were proof enough of that, the vile creatures were reputed to gather around Euridian during this season, after all – and, the longer he lingered on this beach, the more he was sure that he could feel it. The breezes stirred by the coming storms chilled him, raising his fur, despite their tropical warmth, and, as they whispered through the trees at his back, they seemed to stir voices which spoke in tongues his ears couldn’t comprehend…

“Very close,” he rumbled softly, shaking off the shudder that the storm winds stirred in his bones as he set his blade to the work of skinning the second ny’oka’ya’m’ji. “I will find the place tomorrow, under the light of Khr’a’s right eye. First, though, I will tend these skins and fill my belly with this meat…”

Dawn – The Next Day

Khr’a’s Orange eye had failed to pierce the storms that raged over the barrier islands. It was day, of that Ch’dau was sure, as night would have been much darker and the heat that seeped through the tempest could have only been granted by the sun hiding somewhere behind its veil. So it was that the young Kazari had been stirred from his fitful slumber by the crack of lightning and the boom of thunder rather than the bright light of a rising day-star.

Grumbling, he kicked aside the palm fronds he had used to shield himself from the rains. Stretched, and padded a few paces deeper into the tree line where he found the skins he’d hung to dry. They hadn’t cured as yet, of course, due to the absence of the sun, but the slimy coating had, at least, sloughed away thanks to the night’s downpour. The skulls he had saved, too, had been rinsed clear of the bits of blood and flesh that had clung to them after the skinning. He gave a satisfied grunt at the state of his prizes and, after having relieved himself in the pool of gore spattered sand beneath the skins, carefully rolled them up, and tucked them into his pack before he lashed the skulls together and tied them to the belt of his dak’tar. This done, he stalked back to the head of the beach and made breakfast of the rest of the ny’oka’ya’m’ji meat as he sharpened his blades. He didn’t bother looking back across the channel in hopes of spying the mainland, though. Even in the light of a full sun, Capasha wouldn’t have appeared as much more than a dark heap against the horizon and, given the squalls of the Storm Season, it was unlikely he’d have seen that much, now. Finished with his meal and the maintenance of his blades, the silver furred kazari regarded the eastern horizon one last time and, with a wordless prayer to his gods and ancestors, turned his back on the storm-tossed seas to stride purposefully into the expanse of teak, ebony, palm, and bamboo that dressed the island.

Morning passed with little more than the sighting of a small herd of Hog Deer and a brief encounter with a sloth bear that amounted to only a passing glance between cat-man and creature before each went their separate ways. As Khr’a’s orange eye climbed higher into the sky and, at last, broke briefly through the tumultuous skies, though, the jungle warmed and mists sprouted from the ferny undergrowth as the rays of The One’s sight peeked through the dense canopy of the rainforest’s center. It was during one of these moments of respite from the rains that Ch’dau first notice the shimmering greens and purples of the crystalline stones that sprouted from the forest floor and, scarcely an hour later that he realized that, despite their apparent chaotic scattering, there was truly a pattern in which the stones seemed to appear. A spur here, a spur there, and yet another poking through the undergrowth in the midst of a shallow clearing where the canopy was thinned and let more light in from the skies, showed him that, after he had examined them all at length, created a spiral formation which found it’s center at a shallow depression just under a slender sapling of a jak tree at the very heart of the cleft. The screeching of a purple faced leaf monkey at the top of that seedling, too, seemed to confirm that he had reached his destination.

As shy as that particular breed of primate usually was, though, when Ch’dau chuffed and growled at it, the thing refused to abandon its perch. Instead, it only cawed louder, its long tail waving and its eyes wide as it scrambled higher into the thin branches of the jak. When the monkey reached the highest point it could, it plucked a green, egg-shaped fruit from among the boughs, shrieked, and tossed the jackfruit to the forest floor. Neither the simian nor the pod was any sort of threat to the massive kazari, of course, but the fact that the monkey refused to scamper away was curious enough that Ch’dau found some profound need to investigate where the fruitlet had landed. After chuffing another warning growl at the monkey and drawing both his blades, the kh’ur of the Stalking Ghost clan rolled his shoulders and strode resolutely into the center of the clearing. So intent were his attentions on the green, leathery skin of the drupe, where it nestled in the tiny depression that pocked the forest floor, that he failed to notice the ring of mushrooms that spanned its perimeter. Neither did he perceive the tiny crystals which began to glow as he broached the border defined by the fungi. It was only when he crouched to pluck the jackfruit from where it had landed that anything struck him as out of the ordinary. No sooner had his clawed fingers closed around the ellipsoidal fruit, lifting it from its resting place, that the ground started to dissolve at his feet, only to be replaced by a strangely, liquid surface that somehow mirrored his own features and the forest above and about him.

In the span of time it took him to blink, Ch’dau stared into his own eyes, saw the jungle reflected above his head, and, somehow, heard the waves of the sea crashing about him all at the same time. Then, the ground gave way beneath his feet, replaced by a deep chasm rimmed with walls of green and purple crystals that pulsed with strange light as he fell into its depths. He tried to run. ..Tried to leap to the edges of the crevasse and cling to its sharp, pulsing edges… but escape was beyond his reach and he fell. As he toppled into the abyss that had opened beneath him, the skulls at his belt regenerated their flesh and skin; snapped fiercely at him as they took form and grew back their bodies; clawed at him, too, as, when the glow from the crystalline walls that defied his reach surged in their brightness and revealed the flat, mirror surface waters toward which he plummeted. A roar of frustration and, perhaps, fear welled in his lungs as he toppled closer and closer to the silver-blue surface of the waveless waters but, just before his body broke that reflective plane, he saw visions of a white-sanded shore on which armored monkeys stood. Beyond them rose structures the likes of which he had never seen and, past those, still, loomed a darkness more impenetrable than even that wrought by the storms that had forbidden him a glimpse of his home before he left the beach. The roar escaped him just as he hit the water and the air that had left his lungs was instantly replaced with salty tasting water that choked and chastised him all at once.

Ch’dau found himself, then, looking up at the brilliant sun hanging in a blue sky, fragmented by the churning of an azure sea. He struggled to the surface, refusing to take more of the waters into his chest before there was air to replace it. When his head came above the waves, he coughed out the brine in his lungs and, at the same time, scanned every horizon about him. There were no signs on the barrier islands. No signs of the dark streak of Capasha that should have been at his back in this brightest of days. Ahead of him, though, farther away than any distance he had ever swum before, he spied a faint white line that betrayed the sunlight reflecting from a distant beach and, beyond that, a faint promise of green hues that indicated land beyond. So it was that he swam… and swam… and swam some more until his muscles were numb from the effort and he could no longer keep his head above the water. As he sank beneath the waves, he caught sight of the shore he had struggled toward, and the curious shapes that moved along its rapidly blurring lines. As he stopped swimming and his lungs filled with brackish water, an alien voice, surely kindled by his drowning, tinkled like a crystal whisper in his ears in a tongue he had never heard… “You are home, now, Kazari. This place you will learn.”

**************************************

“…I do not remember swimming to the beach,” Ch’dau rumbled softly as Mosic finished stitching the wound in his thigh, “nor can I recall how I got from there to the Wyvern’s keep in Coria, but that is where I awoke and came to know Rodric Cassel.

It was he who taught me your language and he, too, who told me that Capasha, my home, lay far beyond what you call the Titan’s Walk Reefs. Impassable, he called it, and yet here I am.”

"Dear Adaron,” Aranwen breathed beside him, “I was curious of the story of the Silver Cat we had heard about in Megilindor Nost, but never would I have guessed you hail from beyond the Titan's Walk. To fall through the world... through somewhere not of this world... such a tale brings to mind tales of Syl children who are lost in the woods, and those who are found healthy may speak of impossible places not found in Antaron. Even as far from home as you are, I am glad you did not become one of the Lost."

“As am I, I suppose,” the kazari muttered, “As long as I am here, I have hopes of seeing Capasha, again; though, unless the same strange magicks claim me, once more, I know not how that might happen.”

“Fascinating,” Mosic said, shaking his head faintly at the bizarre tale as he knotted the suture on the cat-man’s final wound and snipped away the excess thread, “I thank you for sharing your story with me, Ch’dau.”

“Mm,” the kazari grunted in reply, offering a nod of his shaggy head, “It is not one that I tell often, little Mosic.”

The Cidal grinned and stretched out a hand, placing it in the center of Ch’dau’s chest. A prayer whispered over the cleric’s lips, then, and a faint golden glow radiated from his tiny fingers to wash over the entirety of the kazari’s form. When it abated, the pain of Ch’dau’s wounds was well diminished and the blood that had stained his fur was all but washed away. "That sees to our silver furred friend's injuries,” Mosic said with a smile, his gray eyes turning to Aranwen and Kith in turn, “but what of your wounds?"

"I don't have any; none that require attention anyhow,” the bladesinger returned, “Few bruises and cuts from last even that have more or less healed."

Mosic looked skeptical. "I can generally get a sense for when someone is in need or in pain,” he smiled gently, “and you seem to be in a lot more pain than you show. Are you sure there is nothing that can be done for you?"

"I... I don't know," Aranwen confessed.

The Cid glanced at Kithran, then, and raised a brow; “And what of you, young miss?”

Glad you approve of the liberties I took with dialogue and such.

Looking to have a post up, very soon.

“Not at all, good cleric,” Aranwen smiled softly at Mosic’s query. She pushed the chair next to her out so that the Cid might freely climb up into its seat even as she turned to regard Ch’dau and Kithran. “The priest you noticed, Kithran,” she said, gesturing to the wee blonde man, “Mosic; adherent of Falloes.”

“Mosic Townes,” the little man appended, bowing his head in greeting such that the twin tails secured at his crown bobbed ever so slightly, “and you are?”

“Kithran,” the dark girl answered after a skeptical moment of studying the little priest. She gestured vaguely at the big shape at her side, then and continued; “This is… Samuel.”

The tiny man grinned, as if amused. “Samuel, is it?” he scoffed pleasantly after a pull from his flagon, “I cannot say as if I’ve seen a man so large called by such a moniker.”

He plunked his mug on the table, then, and, once more tried to peer into the shadowed depths that hid the figure’s face. “Despite your obvious potency, Samuel,” Mosic prodded, “I cannot help but sense that it is you who needs my attentions more than the rest about this table. Is that a fair assessment?”

The shape beneath the hood shifted, somewhat uncomfortably, and replied; “I am fine, t’mbili v’dogo. My friends warrant your attentions before I.”

Much like the man’s size and shape, the timbre of the voice and the strange words it spoke, aroused curiosity and, perhaps, a bit of trepidation in the Shadelin priest. Despite that, Mosic continued to smile. “You do honor to your friends, Samuel,” he offered, “but, and I intend no offense, I doubt that is true.” He rested his elbows on the table, folded his fingers together, and bravely leaned forward, still attempting a look under the hood. “I have felt your need, friend,” he said quietly, “felt your pain, since first you arrived here. If there is suffering to be known at this table, at this moment, yours is the greatest, the most urgent. Do you deny this?”

“I do,” the shape called Samuel rumbled from the shadows that cloaked it, “My friends… they are the…”

“He’s a stubborn shit,” Kithran interjected, cutting off further words from either warrior or priest, just then, as she leaned over the table, herself, and fixed dark eyes on the gold-cloaked cleric, “and, since he’s not likely to give you the truth of it, little man, I will.

You’re right,” she muttered, “Samuel, here, has been suffering for quite a while. He’d probably still be suffering or, perhaps worse, if I hadn’t found and freed him from the cage he was being held in not far from here. And, if it weren’t for this one,” she subtly jerked her head in the direction of the bladesinger, “none of us would be here to play these games with you…”

“Kithran,” Samuel started to protest, “I…”

“Shuddup,” she snapped, giving only a sidelong glance to the heap at her side before her narrowed, ebon eyes fixed back on the little Cid. “We’ve got work to do, priest,” she hissed into the space between herself and Mosic, “and you are our best chance to see it done, at the moment. Can you help us or not?”

Mosic’s brows lifted at the dark girl’s bravado but his smile never wavered. He lifted his mug, sipped, and, as the flagon came away from his lips, nodded assuredly. “I can, miss,” he grinned, thumbing a bit of the honeyed brew from his lips as his gray eyes flicked from face to face to hood, “though, I’m guessing more and more that the crowded common room of an inn is not the best place to do so…”

As if prompted by the cleric’s words, the fair-haired serving girl sashayed up to the table and deposited an iron key before the Cidal. “First floor, m’lord,” she muttered, “second door to th’ right, left o’ th’ landin’.”

“Thank you, miss,” Mosic smiled, taking up the key.

“Aye,” the waitress demurred, “Will there be anythin’ else?”

“No,” Aranwen responded, plucking a gold coin from her own purse and offering it to the girl, “unless that won’t cover the cost of what we’ve eaten.”

The girl dipped her head. “Tha’ll be fine, m’lady,” she smiled, “Keep th’ change?”

“Please.”

“Then, I bid ye good day,” the serving girl said, dipping in the semblance of a curtsey before taking up the empty plates and cups and taking her leave of the table. “Enjoy yer stay in Davnor, m’lord,” she appended, purposefully eyeing Mosic as she sauntered away.

“The Right Hand’s Blessings upon you, miss,” Mosic smiled at the retreating girl’s back.

The Cid took up his mug, again, and sipped slowly, his gaze travelling over the three others at the table. “I’ve secured a room,” he said, holding the key up before him, “in order to assure a bit of privacy. If you lot are ready and willing, might you join me?”

It didn’t go unnoticed to Mosic’s eye that both the thief and the thing turned a gaze to Aranwen, just then. The Syl woman, in response to those unspoken queries, simply nodded and, even before he had slipped from his own seat, the darker pair had gained their feet and queued up behind him. “Just this way,” he grinned, motioning to the stairs at the side of the common room, “You’ve nothing to fear from me, friends, I assure you.”

While Kith and Samuel seemed skeptical, at first, Aranwen followed easily and, at her lead, the others followed as Mosic guided them up the steps.

"I had a vague understanding of those who follow Falloes' tenants,” the bladesinger murmured as they climbed the flight, “but never have I seen such in person. I am glad to know there are such people as you, even in this cursed land."

“No more glad than I am to find folk such as you, here, Lady Galandel,” Mosic returned as they reached the landing and bore left, “For all I’ve heard of Sendria, I expected naught but trial and tribulation. You and your friends are the second encounter to assure me that there is more than that to be found here.”

In Mosic’s wake as he toddled along the corridor, Kith and Samuel remained silent. Even as he put the key to the battered iron lock on the door, they said nothing. The bladesinger, though, seemed unconcerned and followed easily, maintaining an easy banter, pausing only to look both directions down the hall before they slipped into the rented room.

“Very well,” Mosic sighed softly, shrugging his pack from his shoulders on to the pallet bed as Kith closed the door behind them, “here we are.” His eyes, wavering between gray and blue, fixed upon Samuel’s massive form as he patted the mattress, indicating that the man should sit; “Let’s have a look, shall we?”

Samuel’s hood turned to regard Kith, first, and the lithe thief nodded faintly. Then, the shape seemed to regard the Syl and she, too, offered a similar nod, adding; “I would not lead you here if I thought it dangerous,” she gestured to the mattress, “Please.”

Samuel’s hood swiveled back to Kithran as she slipped into the room, the door secured behind her. The dark girl rolled her eyes and sighed; “For f**ks sake, cat-beast! Sit before you fall!”

Cat-beast? Mosic arched a brow and, once more, regarded the massive cloaked form that loomed heavy in the tiny room. “I… uh…” he stammered, wondering about the term as he rummaged through his pack and pulled out his supplies, “I will need you to doff your cloak and such, Samuel, if I am to attend your wounds.” He unfurled his healing implements at the foot of the pallet even as he heard a languishing sigh seep from the shape behind him, “and, if you please, have a seat right…”

Even as he patted the thin mattress, again, he turned and caught the thing complying, ever so hesitantly, with his instructions, saw “Samuel” for what he really was. “Oh… Sweet Father Falloes!!!” The priest couldn’t help but stagger back a few steps as he blinked up into the face of terror. “Wha… what in the name of all that is holy…???”

“Oh, relax, priest,” Kith sighed, jandering easily up beside the monstrous cat-man that had appeared from beneath the falling cloak, “If he’d have wanted to eat you, he’d have done it, already!”

The bladesinger, too, seemed to have trouble in containing her amusement at Mosic’s reaction to Ch’dau’s revealing his true form. “Rest yourself, Mosic,” she almost chuckled, catching the toppling cleric by a shoulder to still his retreat, “despite his appearance, I assure you that you have nothing to fear.”

“What…” The Cid, at first, couldn’t seem to control the rapid blinking that had beset his lids, “What... what is that???”

The kazari froze, his slit-pupiled eyes flicking, at first, between Aranwen and Kithran as the little monkey stumbled backward at the sight of him. When he realized that both women seemed amused and not concerned, though, he fizxed his gaze on the agape Halfling. “My name,” he rumbled softly as he could, “is not Samuel…”

“W-w-w-well, no shit,” Mosic sputtered, still held to his feet by Aranwen’s firm but gentle hand.

“I am called Ch’dau,” the cat-monster said, uneasily sinking onto the mattress where the Cid had only recently indicated that he should do so…

“Unable to take his eyes from the horror that faced him, Mosic nodded faintly, looking away only when he heard Aranwen’s voice speaking calmly from his right. “Tell me, Mosic,” the soft Sylvari voice cooed, “in all of your travels in these past years, have you not heard tales of the Silver Cat of Coria?”

Still unable, or perhaps unwilling to avert his gaze from the kazari, the tiny cleric might have nodded; the twin tails of his hair shivering against his scalp. “I… I have…”

“I believe this is he,” Aranwen soothed, the amused chuckle filtering from her tone, “and, as you can plainly see, he requires your aid. Heal him. Please.”

At her words, Mosic’s feet seemed to firm beneath him and, after a moment, the little cleric was able to tear his eyes from the massive humanoid tiger that sat upon the palette. He blinked, first, at the dark girl and, then, slowly, his head swiveled toward the Syl and he nodded. “I… go… where the Right Hand leads,” he whispered, blinking, again, as his eyes returned to the cat-beast. He took a hesitant step forward and, tentatively reached out a tiny had to touch the wound at the creature’s shoulder. “…and, only He knows why, He has led me to you.”

Blinking, again, his expression slowly melting from horrified to inquisitive, he reached for the phials and tools he had unraveled. “The Silver Cat of Coria,” he whispered, almost disbelieving, as he blindly pulled the stopper from a bottle of disinfectant salve, “I thought you to be but a story, meant to terrify those who would oppose the Wyverns.”

“I am not,” Ch’dau snorted as the tiny monkey stepped even closer and swabbed the seeping hole in his shoulder with the balm.

“Obviously,” Mosic nodded, lacing a curved needle with waxen thread, now. “Tell me, Ch’dau, how is it that you come to the shores of this land?”

((OOC: Stopping here, as I can’t write anymore tonight. Been a long day and I’m done! I’ll pick up again tomorrow or Monday, at latest. If either of you feel like posting any reaction or other input, please do. If not, stand by, and I’ll wrap this up ASAP))

...Ch'dau's a fairly solid meat-shield if I do say so, myself, and, should Mosic misstep, I'm sure the rest of us can compensate!

Bree - I'll go with your revisions if that's your preferred layout.

Also -  I can see a very unique fighting style evolving amongst our core trio in this venture! Probably explains why, early on in HC, that Ch'dau and Ara plunged headlong into the fight while everyone else was like WTF are they doing?!?!?

Not a lot, at all... Although, I think at this point, I may have to roll Mosic up as a character if for no other reason than to see what spells he might have available, etc. I'm sure his combat prowess is decent, but am unsure as to his knowledge/experience where the undead are concerned (I have a feeling he's more used to plagues and curses, tbh, so possibly  there might be some risen dead in his background but, if so, not much... at least on the level that Kith and Ch'dau have faced, anyway). I'll go ahead and "randomize" what he may know or have heard abotu Adedre - he has been en route to Davnor for a while, now, and, as such, might have at least heard a whisper or two. Sneaky, sneaky? I don't know... yet... though likely not as stealthy as Kith by any means.

As to the rest, we shall see... Note: I tend to prefer 3.5e D&D, myself, so, if either of you wanted to send me the stats you have for your characters, I'll be happy to convert/translate to that edition and, going forward, use those stats/skills/feats for random bits through this tale if need be. Otherwise, we'll just wing it as we have been.

If I have any questions as to Kith or Ara's "reactions" or whatnot in the coming interaction, I'll be sure to tap you via PM before just assuming too much (though I think I've got a decent enoug handle on both characters to improvise if not get words precisely right). I trust both of you enough with Ch'dau to do the same, by the by.

Unless I hear otherwise from either of you, I may bump another post soon.

Those eyes ain't "golden" fer nuthin', yo!!!

As always!

I'm truly enjoying the read and the way you've been building this part of Audalis!

Fantastic work!

At the trio’s table

“Are you unwell, Aranwen?”

"It's just a ghost," the Sylvari woman answered, her gaze ticking away to some nether point for an instant, "Something of the past I thought I left behind. Names I never thought I'd hear again, even if they're not the same." Aranwen’s eyes danced back, lingering briefly on Kith before fixing them both, and she smiled. "I must remember that I am not in the past.

Forgive me, that is not a topic best talked about over a much needed meal," the bladesinger added, her voice recovering its warmth, "Thank you for keeping me grounded. And Kithran?" She gave the half-Syl a smirk, "Yes, I did see you take one of the eggs from my plate."

The thief’s eyes were unable to mask the surprise at having been caught in her pilfering. “What? Me? Heavens no, I  . . . that was Samuel, Ara, that’s who you must be thinking of.” Her smirk reflected Aranwen’s own and she held out her pear, “Your lovely eyes are too perceptive, Bladesinger. I’m sorry, this is all I have left.” Kith’s black eyes flicked contritely in his direction, then, as they turned back to Aranwen, she heaved a sigh and held out her other hand, “I actually also have this meatball, if you’re interested.”

Ch’dau chuffed softly and shook his head. “You owe me no thanks, bladesinger,” he murmured, “I know of… how is it you say… ghosts... and memories of the past,” he offered a scant shrug of his shoulders, “I have my own that haunt me from time to time.” The kazari didn’t bother to expand on those memories, instead, he surveyed the ruin he’d left on his plate – a smattering of juices from the meat and yolk drippings from the eggs – before pushing the thing away and taking up the mug of cider that had come with his meal.

((OOC: Anything else here from either Kith or Ara))

*********************************

With Mosic and Mother

For perhaps the third time since the Syl had visited their table, Mother caught the diminutive priest glancing in the direction of the strange trio’s table. “Peculiar lot, them, eh, minister,” she grinned, finishing off the remnants from Mosic’s plate, “Can’t say when’s th’ last time I seen a bladesinger in Davnor, an’ tha’ big fella… dunno I’ve ever seen a man s’large…”

Her words drew Mosic’s attentions back and, over the rim of his flagon, the Cid’s eyes twinkled gray and blue. “Aye, Mother,” he smiled, licking the mead from his lips, “They’re a curious party, indeed.”

“Th’ dark girl seems almost ta ‘ome in a place like this,” the crone observed, “but them other two… Like sore thumbs ta these ol’ eyes they are.”

“Perhaps,” the cleric grinned, his gaze averting to the other table again, “foreign or familiar to this place, though, I sense a need in all three.” Once more, he abandoned his study of the group and turned his eyes back to his breakfast guest. “They call to me, Mother,” he smiled softly, reaching across the table to pat the back of her withered hand, “much as you did.”

“Well then, lad,” Mother grinned in return, catching the priest’s hand in hers and giving it a gentle squeeze, “I s’pose I should let ye see to ‘em, then. Ye’ve been more’n kind ta this ol’ woman, an’ ta ask any more blessin’s than ye’ve a’ready given’d be sin I ain’t ready ta atone fer.”

“Asking for help is never a sin, good Mother,” Mosic reassured her, “and giving it where it is needed is my calling.”

The woman got to her feet, then, wrapping the blanket he’d given her about her shoulders, and leaned over to kiss the little cleric atop his head. “Go where yer called, then, boy,” she inclined her head toward the table where the three foreigners sat, “an’ don’t ye worry no longer over this ol’ woman.” With that, Mother took her leave of the table and made for the door.

“Will you be alright, Mother,” Mosic called after her as he slid from his own seat.

The crone glanced back, her once cloudy eyes veritably twinkling in the light of the inn’s lanterns, now. “Much better’n I’d’ve been if I’d not met ye, minister,” she replied, pulling open the door, “I ‘ope ta meet ye ag’in.”

“Should you have a need, good Mother,” the Cid beamed, already making his way across the floor, “I have no doubt that you will.”

With that, the crone disappeared into Davnor’s streets, again, and the cleric proceeded to where Aranwen and her friends were finishing off their own repast. He paused only once, catching the serving girl as she crossed his path. “Pardon me, miss,” he said, gazing up at the girl with a warm and inquisitive smile, “Might there be a room available in this fine establishment?”

“I reckon so,” the girl replied, “I think there’s one or two open. They rent by th’ hour er th’ evenin’; what’s yer pleasure?”

Mosic’s smile stretched into a tight, contemplative line for a moment as he considered Aranwen and her friends, the returned to the bright grin as he looked back up at her. “Let’s call it an evening, shall we?”

“Right,” the girl nodded dutifully, “Tha’ll be a cullar an’ three dretch, then.”

“Very well.” Mosic’s fingers dipped into his purse and came out with a pair of silver coins which he offered up to the serving girl; “Keep whatever change comes of this for yourself, miss.”

The girl smiled at the generosity of the tip and slipped the coins into an apron pocket. “Thank’ee, m’lord,” she said, the drudgery of her day seemingly lifted from her shoulders of a sudden, “I’ll return directly with yer key.”

“Thank you, miss,” the Cid smiled, then tipped his head to indicate where Aranwen and her party sat, “I’ll be at that table.”

Another smiling nod from the serving girl sent her off about her duties and set Mosic back on his path to join the bladesinger and her companions. As he approached, he fell back into his study of the trio. Aranwen he had already seen up close but the other two he’d only glimpsed from across the room. The “dark girl,” as Mother had called her, was quite lovely, he noted, with at least some Syl blood in her veins judging from her mischievous features and fine build. The other figure, though, was far more imposing than he had appeared even from across the room, even despite the long-suffered pain that radiated from him. He was easily twice Mosic’s height, if not more, and quite broad of shoulder. Other than that and a scarcely contained sense of menace, the cleric of Falloes couldn’t determine much more.

“Greetings, again, Aranwen Galandel,” he smiled, his eyes flashing pale blue as he reached their table, “and blessings of the Helping Hand upon you all. I hope I’ve not arrived sooner than you were ready? Might I join you?”

((OOC2: I think I'll stop there for now, just to keep it from being too long a read and to let Kith and Ara have some input and such. The serving girl will likely return with a room key, soon, and, at that point Mosic will likely explain that he figured whatever conversations might be had with the group would likely be better entertained in private, particualrly where the healing is concerned.))

...but I noticed some broken image links in the Currency in Antaron article, this morning.

...I wouldn't either.

Loved it!

Will probably start from Mosic's perspective (and a bit from Mother) and see where it goes from there. If I get to a point where I need a blurb from either of you that would be a sentence or two or less, I'll shoot a PM.

Just wanted to check before I just ran with it.

And, for what it's worth, I thought you did just fine with Mosic.

I'll get something going, soon.

A couple of quick questions, Rer:

• Did you have anything in particular in mind for where our little troupe would be meeting with Mosic after breakfast?


• Did you want to run with that meeting, would you like me to do it, or did we want a massive collab?

Edit: If Bree wants handle it, I'm cool with that, too, of course. Just wanted to gauge intent before I just dove in and stepped on toes, somewhere.

*Also hugs Ara* Poor thing.

*nudges bree* "Bran the Breebler!"

The monkey-child was tenacious and fearless, it seemed. Ch’dau’s warning had failed to send the girl away and, so, too, had Kithran’s initial attempts at intimidation. In fact, if anything, those cautions only seemed to stoke the child’s curiosity. When it became apparent that the girl wouldn’t be leaving their table any time soon, Ch’dau simply sighed into the shadows of his hood and continued his bland study of the table’s surface.

“Who are you,” the little monkey asked.

“I’m Kithran,” the thief answered, “this here is… Samuel.”

Samuel? Ch’dau snorted softly but managed not to shoot a scornful glare in Kith’s direction.

“He doesn’t look like a Samuel,” the little monkey chittered.

Nor should I, the kazari chuffed inwardly, as Kith and the girl continued their awkward conversation. In addition to his contemplation of the tabletop, he took to fidgeting with his claws beneath the fold of his cloak. He absently wondered if the sight of them might send the little creature scurrying from the inn… and what fresh conflict might arise should she tell anyone what she saw.

“That name is far better than Samuel,” Kithran returned once she had coaxed the girl’s name out.

“Indeed,” Ch’dau murmured from the depths of the cowl; wondering, now how soon their food would arrive and if he would be able to eat it without the inquisitive youngster’s scrutiny.

“Where are you from,” the nipper pressed.

Bhak’chu’s balls, cub! Where are your parents?

“I’m from Coria,” Kith answered, “Samuel is from… also, Coria.”

That answer evoked the faint shrugging of “Samuel’s” shoulders and nodding of his head. Whether Kith knew it or not, she wasn’t wrong; Ch’dau had first arrived on Antaron’s shores in Coria, spent his first months in the Silver Wyvern’s guildhouse in it’s capitol. That he had arrived there by some strange happenstance was beside the point, he supposed.

“Oh wow! Have you been to Calstra?!” Saina sounded excited. “I heard that you can find everything in Calstra!”

If you are even allowed in, Ch’dau mused, I am sure you would have an easier time of it than I.

“Calestra," Kith corrected, "And you can find all of that and more, if either you try hard enough or don’t pay enough attention.”

"I thought I told you to find your parents.” Aranwen’s voice interrupted just after the serving girl had returned with their breakfast, “After last night they'll be even more worried about you if you wander alone."

He hoped the bladesinger would have more success in running the girl of than he or Kith had. The smell of his, as yet, untouched meal had set his stomach to turning in on itself and he was finding it more and more difficult to keep his paws hidden beneath the cloak. It took longer than he would have liked, of course, but, after the bladesinger and the monkey-child exchanged names (much to little human’s delight), Saina bid her farewells and finally scampered away.

Merciful Keziri! Ch’dau thought, falling ravenously into the plate of meatballs and eggs whose aroma had been taunting him so for these past moments.

"I-I'm sorry about that," Aranwen offered.

There was something different about her voice, just then, but as happy as he was to be eating, Ch’dau paid it little notice; acknowledging her apology with little more than a grunt and a shrug of his shoulders.

"I talked to the Cidal, Mosic by name,” the bladesinger continued. "He'll meet us after breakfast. Given he talked of the Right Hand and was treating an elder to breakfast, I've no doubt he is a devotee of Falloes.

I've not shared much more than saying we needed healing, but he may be willing to lend more aid than that if we share more of our situation," Aranwen added, "That I leave up to you two, since it isn't my place to speak on your behalf."

“My thanks, Aranwen,” the kazari nodded, finally looking up from the plate to which he was laying waste; a satisfied purr scarcely restrained. “I promise to repay you as best I…”

Ch’dau blinked as his eyes met hers and, suddenly, he stopped chewing. He’d known the bladesinger for mere hours and, yet, like her voice, he noted something different about her eyes than he was accustomed. Neither seemed as bright as they had, even minutes ago. He swallowed his most recent bite, then, and as his head tilted curiously to one side, asked; “Are you unwell, Aranwen?”

I'll make the chili and you make with the hocus-pocus-voodoo-hoodoo... then we'll split a bottle of Kraken.

I'm beginning to believe, breebles, that you may be on the psychic side!

As it happens, Samuel is a very common name in my family; funny how Kithran picked that particular moniker for ol' fuzz face.

Great post!

Ch'dau's not overtly trying to be mean... she's just a little girl, after all... he's more concerned with her not seeing him than activvely trying to run her off.

...in order to cover Ch'dau's reaction to the little girl.

I'll hold off on more, just yet, and let Bree get something in first.

“Have you noticed the Cidal priest a few tables away, Aranwen? Will he do?”

"It seems he has noticed us too," Aranwen smiled in answer to Kith’s question, "I'll find out more of him."

A flaxen haired human woman, clad in a green blouse, dark skirt, and pale apron stood at the end of the table. “G’mornin’ an’ welcome ta The Countess an’ Cock’trice,” she said, “Fer breakfast this mornin’, we’re offerin’ a selection o’ meatballs, chicken or quail eggs, fresh pears, an’ nut bread. What can I get fer ye folk?”

“Meat,” the cat-man said, trying not to speak overmuch, “and eggs.”

"Nutbread and eggs sound lovely to me," Aranwen replied with her own order. 

Kithran followed with a request of her own and, as the serving girl took her leave, the Bladesinger began to rise from her seat with the intent of consulting the cleric whom Kith had pointed out. She was stopped (and perhaps a bit startled), however, by the sudden appearance of a tiny, monkey-child.

"Are you hide and seeking," the little girl asked, her tone indicating some familiarity with the Sylvari woman.

"Dear goodness, don't scare people like that," Aranwen sighed. Ch’dau shifted uncomfortably beneath his cloak and tried to shrink farther into the shadows of its hood as the bladesinger continued; "Did you find your parents, little one?"

"Yep! They said you pro-teckd them and we went inside like you said. I saw you and wanted to say thanks!"

"It was no trouble," Aranwen smiled back with a shrug. "You should wander back before your parents worry." With that gentle admonition, the Syl rose from her seat and, before making her way to the cleric’s table, said; “I'll be back in a bit."

Beneath the cowl, Ch’dau nodded, offered a faint grunt in acknowledgement, and tried not to move in such a way that the little girl might get a glimpse of his face beyond the shadows the hood cast. His discomfort and caution grew all the more when, rather than running along to find her parents as Aranwen had instructed, the tiny monkey climbed up into the bladesinger’s abandoned seat and gawked at him and Kith.

“Are you her friends,” the child squeaked curiously.

Other than a fleeting, sidelong glance in Kith’s direction, Ch’dau did little more than feign an interest in the tabletop directly before him, bowing his head in hopes that the fall of the cowl revealed nothing of the features beneath. “We are,” he answered in as soft a tone as he could manage, “though we are not good company for little ones.”

I can see that!

Kithran: "You are no girl, you're a spy!" 

Girl: "Then mesedge for you, meanie. Bleeeeeh!" *she blows raspberry at Kithran and runs*

Kithran: "Why you little- get back here!" 

Ch'dau: *chuckles* "You certainly have a way with the little ones, kibibi." *imitates the girl's raspberry*

...about what might happen is she manages to get a peek under Ch'dau's hood. Kazari are rumored to eat children and livestock, you know.

Anyhoo - finally caught up with my work duties. Going to grab a bite to eat, myself, then get to work on a post.

"It is clear that the light here is not entirely natural.  I could burn a spell to detect the truth of it, but the fact is, my own two eyes tell me that the torches are at least somewhat magical,” Midge answered, “I've seen magical lights before - it's not a large trick to create light, after all - but none exactly like these.

The fact that the light doesn't entriely focus around the scones is more evidence to the fact that they are somehow magical in nature.  But where and how and why?  I cannot say, my friend."

Despite the frustrated chuff that escaped him, Ch’dau nodded at the mage’s assessment. “Save your spells, my friend,” he rumbled, “I feel we will need them for more important matters than this.”

"There are no traps ahead, as the Battle Lord has not shared with me such visions," Gib added quietly, "But there is potentially more that I can ask of the Mighty General." The war-priest asked a boon of his god, then, pleading for the ability to detect any evils that may lie in wait. After a moment of Gib scanning the room ahead, he solemnly informed the party of the presence of several evil beings looming in their path.

The Silver Cat nodded, again, his fingers flexing around the hilts of his blades. “Then ready yourselves, friends,” he rumbled unnecessarily, “and let us make short work of whatever lies ahead.”

With that and a battle-ready growl welling in him, Ch’dau pushed through the gate as prepared as he could be for what was to come.

((OOC: And away we go! Ch’dau will move in and toward the general direction of the “evil” as specified by the results of Gib’s spellwork, doing what the kazari does best when he finds it.))

Nicely done, as usual! Well worth the wait!

And, yes, I'll admit I thought the little girl was a one-off but I suppose I should have known better.

A bit busy, here, today, what with it being the first of the month and all... got reports to run and send out, etc, plus a quick post for HC to do... but I'll get something in the works for this, as well, as soon as I possibly can!

Thank you!

Should have a post read to go in just a bit.