Sword Mages and the Song of Dark Tidings

[Silverwolf]

Arriane grinned widely. She couldn't help grinning. Pulling her long coat back around her legs, adjusting her skirt, licking her lips and smoothing her hair, she stepped surreptitiously out of the back room of The Immoral Dragon and blended in a little more with the crowd milling around the common room. Leaning against the bar, she observed the doorway she had just exited until a few moments later, one of the handsome young barmen... George, Arriane thought his name had been, followed her out, a slight afterglow shake to his limbs and a twinkle in his eyes. Now sipping a newly-ordered drink, Arriane caught his gaze across the room and winked playfully. A sweet smile curved his lips before he scooted away, and Arriane promptly dismissed him from her thoughts. They had had some fun, and now it was down to business.
Her silver feather talisman seemed to have settled itself now she was in this place. Over the last few months, it had been rather... restless, given that it was an inanimate object. She had always suspected there was more to the jewel, perhaps elf magics or somesuch, but she had never dreamed of it being so... influential on her. She had followed its restless energy to this place, so there was clearly something here to be found. Arriane glanced around, not noticing anything too out of the ordinary for a rather dingy tavern.
Then suddenly, out of the blue and over the general hubbub of the tavern, she heard a soft word that immediately caught her attention: "amulet". It came from a rather monochromatic pair of patrons along the bar, the speaker, a man-elf with a long white braid and the listener, a silvery-haired, religious-looking woman. Arriane's vision easily focused on the jewel in question, hanging around the priestess woman's neck, and also became aware of a dragonfly clasp at the end of the elf's braid. Could these be significant to her? She wondered. Surely it was not a topic for idle bar talk in an establishment such as this? She leaned in closer to listen.

 

[Aislin]

It would figure that her instincts and the mystical pull that she had become accustomed to the last several years would bring her to such a place. Races of all kinds, almost all looked down upon by the majority of the Drow race. The tall, hooded silver cloaked woman walked through the town with an air of superiority, like royalty, following the pull she felt until it brought her to a small, dingy, hole in the wall tavern; the stench of a few select patrons filling her nostrils before even getting within twenty feet of the door. </SPAN>

Her face shielded beneath her hood, lost in shadow thanks to her dark toned skin, Aunra watched a pair of elves, one sitting and one kneeling in front of the other, on the bench just outside the entrance. Walking by, a gloved hand on the door, she felt pressure on her chest. The hidden crystal and blue sapphire serpent-shaped talisman she wore becoming oddly heavy.</SPAN>

Most races didn't take kindly to the Drow and the feeling was mutual for most of her kind. Aunra however, had lived away from her city for many years. More often than not, being the only one of her pure bred race for hundreds of miles and, had built up a tolerance that allowed her to effectively communicate and co-exist with the locals of any given city. Except for maybe that one, she thought as her eyes fell upon the boisterously loud female orc in the room.</SPAN>

Slipping into a an empty bar stool near the door she sat, asked the barkeep for water and began listening to see if anything sparked her interest. </SPAN>

 

[The Fox and The Spider]

It seemed that many strangers had wandered into the safety wrought via the establishment's walls. Though their purpose seemed far more elusive than a simple night of sin and vice. But one thing alone seemed to tie these folk together. That being all manners of flamboyant talisman each adorned with the engraving of a single insect. Even now as the monk rose from her bowed position those potent eyes of hers remained ever vigilant. Noting this common bond which seemed woven by an invisible hand she was no more equipped to comprehended, than she was to explain.
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This party composed of several races seemed to have some knowledge regarding specific members. But the monk had not ventured into the bar due to the call of some higher purpose. Her own reasons for being here were far less whimsical in scale. And thus paled in comparison to the import that reverberated from their very auras, something which she would shamelessly admit to herself seemed beguiling by nature. Darcilla came seeking an old friend, a comrade which had saved her life when she found herself being dragged into the belly of the earth by swarthy colored elves.
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A rogue vigilante whom shared their skin but not their bigot like stand point toward the races of the surface world. By pure chance she ran into this fellow of late and helped him clear a nest of kobold as payment for his own sacrifices on her part. Before parting ways she expressed her goings in the hope that they may once more convene. For it was not often that a pilgrim found another to call a friend. A heavy sigh parting from luscious lips as those keen ears of hers picked up on their idle bantering. A clamor composed of simple greetings, though she'd attempt to guise her eavesdropping by taking root at a vacant stool.
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Exchanging a few idle words with the bartender who took the destruction of his own furniture rather well. She supposes that ultimately such damages came with the trade. Though seldom by his reaction did it seem others willingly offer compensation? Perhaps this one simple gesture could be used to build a medium. In which a common and respectful bond would be birthed. It was at this time after many thoughts had been mutually exchanged that another more exotic being ventured into this act. A drowess who's hair was as white as winter's first frost.
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Those golden eyes of hers would venture her way, resting on her corporeal coil for a single moment. At first she wondered if this being knew her friend. Maybe he sent her to pass some word? But such delusional hope would dissipate with as much haste as it was formed. For he was not the type to have minions willing to carry out his commands. Such was not his way nor social status…least of all a female Drow.
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A sudden creak of the wooden mouth of the establishment would merit the averting of her gaze. Those hues fixating on the door as the gap between it and the frame became more predominate. Like a fool she found herself filling with hope. Standing upright the arches of her lips would contort, forming a subtle smile as the new patron passed through the threshold and into the bar. Sadly it would seem that her hopes would be for naught. For the newcomer was nothing more than a commoner, a local male from this insipid settlement.
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Though Darcilla knew it was a long shot she would find herself compelled to rise from her nested position. Making her way across the scene as the alien attired woman with silver hair approached the female Drow. "Pardon me." She would call out to her just as the distance between them had been closed. Those golden shimmering pools of hers attempting to lock and peer into the Drowess eyes. A humble bow following the uttering of such simple words. "My name is Darcilla, I am a wanderer without a home." Gently she'd bite down on her bottom lip before standing upright. Feeling the need to grace this stranger with proper social etiquette and respect. For the Drow have always been a prideful and fickle lot.
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"I know this is a long shot, but I feel the need to burden you with a simple question…Do you know of a male Drow adorned in a mask?" Such an oddly posed inquiry. One which would no doubt evoke a few questions, if not the arching of a brow. If this drowess had spent any time (the last few decades) within the home of her mother's than she would of heard whispers. Tales of a man exiled to death, tossed into the deepest pits of the belly of the earth. Into a world of hostility filled with the most terrifying of beast. A man who despite the odds, rose from the frigid embrace of shadowed death.
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A being who had climbed to the upper reaches of the Underdark striking fear into the hearts of those which called it their home. (Save for the Drow.) Thus earning a rite of passage from mind flayers to deep dragons alike. Some found his tale to be the embodiment of Drow resolve whilst others beheld it with a sense of dread. Finding this vigilante to be more of an unwelcomed menace. A cancer to their culture due to a simple error, his birth as a male. For few women within the Drow society looked on their male counter parts as anything less than slaves and breeding cattle.
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Anxiously the monk would wait, unsure of this woman's reaction. Let alone how her knowledge of the Drow world would settle with her. For they were a xenophobic people, not even sharing their own dialect with other races whom they felt were below them.

 

[Aislin]

Sipping on her drink, without so much as a flinch when she was approached but noting however the subtle but present bow of respect being offered by the oddly dressed silver-haired woman. A sign that she at least knew something of the Drow and their higher status and demand of respect, but not enough to know that attempting to lock gaze's was forbidden. A single brow raised and her eyes did indeed move to grant a very brief moment of her seemingly glowing eyes that could be seen from beneath the hooded cloak, to meet with the uncomfortable looking stranger before looking away again. Given the circumstances and the present mix of company, Aunra chose to let that technicality slide. </SPAN>

A male Drow in a mask would imply that he has been banished or forsaken. The mask serving many possible options of disguise. Aunra however had not heard of such a male Drow, especially one that might be wandering this part of the country. She waited a long moment, enjoying the woman's level of discomfort considering the confident attire she chose to wear. However, her question, actions, and her appearance brought more attention to the Drowess than she preferred to have at the current moment, most likely ruining any kind of stealthy eavesdropping that could have been had.</SPAN>

"No, I do not. Where did you say you met him?" The Drowess taking another sip of her drink.</SPAN>

 

[Esthalia]

​

Majista sat in the cool air for what she knew to be only a few moments before being shadowed by a tall male form. She could see, beneath her dead eyes that he was crouched down in front of her, like she were a scared child or animal. His words were polite enough, though Majista wasn't listening to him completely. This was not the first time someone had inquired about her talisman and she was positive it would not be the last.

"It is better to start with an introduction, is it not?" She reached out and cupped his face, detailing the dimly lit watercolor-esque vision she had painted of him in her mind. "My name is Majista, Priestess of light... who might you be?"

 

[Monochrome]

[Align=Justify]"Forgive me, Milady," Alistair amended, his own gray eyes meeting those of the priestess. He paused for a moment, taking them in. Most people of the clergy are always either well-aged or brought down to earth with a physical or mental handicap. Some were blind, others deaf -- some, even those he'd met in person, had even healed without the use of their limbs. The name Majista seemed to ring a slight bell. However, this woman seemed to be both young and completely physically able. He didn't look away, however. It just was not in his nature. "However," he continued. "I can only offer the name Alistair, as I have not an eloquent title such as yourself." His eyes darted to the amulet again, quickly taking in every single detail and fighting himself not to touch it. "And a little personal trivia that I happen to like jewelry." It would explain the Fleur de Lis hanging upside down from the lobes of his pointed ears, if anything. "Right," he cleared his throat. "I'm sure your knowledge of us elves is quite extensive; this amulet has strange magic and, as I've said, I'm curious as to where you've gotten it." Alistair shifted to balance on the balls of his feet and his gray gaze intensified. "No ordinary Clergy as a whole can imbue any item with magic such as this." [/Align]

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[Esthalia]

Majista listened to him closely, letting her fingers roam his face as his lips moved with explaination. Her head tilt to the side only briefly to allow her long slender ears access to his breaths, absorbing how subtle they were in comparison to how fast he seemed to speek. Finally, her bangled wrists moved with a jingle, back to the hood that shrouded her youthful features. She wrapped her hands around the edges, pulling it back slowly to reveal her cropped cut of silver grey hair. The Priestess leaned her head forward, showcasing her smooth white skin and plumb rose tinted lips.

"Your name is enough to bring relief to my heart, Alistair." A slight smile crept across her face as her fingers moved again to caress the face of the amulet that hung around her neck. "I have worn this peice every day of my life, I do not know where It originated from." Her answer was simple and she made no attempt to continue talking about the amulets origin.

"I find your assumption of magic to be interesting... what makes you think this peice of ornate gold has any significant properties at all?"

 

[Monochrome]

Alistair nodded his acknowledgment. For all her life, then.

"An assumption through the premise of lore," he responded quietly, his mind overturning itself at a mile a moment. Elves are capable of weaving together the intricacies of nature and magic, combining both natural and unnatural properties to make even the best wizards scratch their head in thought. There was something in magic that everything had as a common denominator and whilst nature should be such...

"It's far too other worldly to be anything of this earth," he stated simply, watching as she drew light strokes across her gem. "And seeing yours assures me that there must be more of them out there."

 

[Esthalia]

"You are correct, yes..." The Priestess turned her gaze up to the sky, though it was obvious that she couldn't be looking at anything. It was as if she were willing to share the story of how she tapped the power within the amulet, but she feel silent, moving on to another train of thought.

"There are many inside this building...can you not feel them?" Again, her etheral sight fell in the direction of his face moving back and forth between the the slivers of light she could see as representation of his own eyes.

"I could feel the familiar pull of magics from inside the cathedral on the other side of the city, if you recognized my power...you must recognize the amount gathered inside." Majista was calm, leaning back to place her hands on the wooden bench that held her thin frame.

 

[Monochrome]

Alistair's eyes slid toward the entrance of the tavern, a thoughtful glance.

"They are just as restless as yours," he hummed, tastefully leaving his own possession of the brooch at the tail end of his braid. It wasn't a secret; a priestess should be able to detect it given her divination abilities. He used his left hand to take a gentle hold of the wrist nearest his face. Turning it over he kissed the back of her palm.

"Would you be adverse to joining me in scouting those who hold similar items to your amulet?"

 

[Revision]

A group of travelers, their clothing well worn and their hair a bit worse for the wear, walked past the man and the priestess, heading inside. A young boy followed them just up until they crossed the threshold before turning to look at the two. It seemed activity in the Immoral Dragon was picking up, a few more people, these dressed as performers, slipping in through the door. The boy, meanwhile, stared at the two for a moment before giggling and waving.

"Hello! Why are you two out here? Is there something fun out here? Granny says everyone needs to behave and not be distracted, no matter how much fun something is."

Inside, the performers set up in a corner, tunings and readying instruments. The travelers spread out, demanding attention and taking up spaces left between the groups of sword mages.

 

[Aislin]

Waiting for a response from the smaller woman, the Drowess listened; both to the chatter about the establishment and to the pull of her amulet. It was an odd coupling of characters, but to ignore that which brought her to this place purely on outward appearances would be absurd at best. Moments of silence transpired from the time the return question was raised and apparently her answer was insufficient. That or the crowd of new arrivals had waivered the woman's attention that had been standing before her and was now gone. Regardless, the group of patrons that could have had better personal hygiene filled in many of the empty seats, most notably those that just happened to be between herself, the couple outside and the group that had gathered around the boisterous orc. Aunra raised in inquisitive brow, slipping her hands inside the folds of the arms of her cloak much like a priest. Coincidentally following them was another curious group of individuals, these baring instruments and began setting up in a far corner. For now, the dark skinned woman would go back to sipping on her drink, keeping an ever watchful eye from just over the rim.</SPAN>