Hope?

Chay looks up towards the sky. The clouds cover it muzzily, like a soft velvet. His duster is covered in water and runoff, the brave coat doing its best to keep him dry. At least it isn't raining as hard as it was.

Still raining.

He tucks the collar against the mild, though cool wind, and sets out into the garden. The Defense is nearby, and busy.

Munch doesn't mind the rain. To be fair, there's very little weather that does bother the metal man. Even tornados are slightly more in the 'amuse' category. Regardless, Munch wanders the garden, peering around with idle curiosity, searching.

A cavalier, by his clothing, yet small of stature compared to a full-grown human strides merrily along the road, the light spring drizzle hardly seeming to affect his buoyant gait. He whistles an upbeat tune of distinctly Sildanyari melody, but not so loudly as to seem ostentatious. As he nears the Sith-makar, he stops, and with an exaggerated flourish bows deeply from the waist, broadly sweeping his feather-embellished hat, and says, "growl chomp chomp chomp growl growl <unknown>

If there is one person that the weather seems to not to bother at all, it is the mul'niessa standing in the midst of the gardens. He's not wearing a jacket (or if one looks close enough shoes though a pair of knee-high black boots stands close by), but rather stands in the light rain on the grass with a soft frown on his lips, his red eyes set on the Soldier's Defense with an air of concern. Water drips down his face and he seems not to notice it.

"Pease to--you," the sith-makar responds. One might notice the pause. One might not, as he glances over the feathered hat. His posture changes subtly, as he steps back. Proper, proper posture, and quiet language as his look slips away and down the walkways.

"Pleasant day, sser. One had not expected the weather, I am afraid." A flick of the tail towards the mul, and the metal man--one keeps an eye on, perhaps. Perhaps he knows very little about them.

Munch buzzes softly. "Always been more a fan of violence, but I guess peace is okay in nests. And if you want peace in your nest, then you're perfectly welcome to it." He squints at the three present a few moments. "I'm guessing none of you are the Gardener."

Ennis notices as the scaly one glances around and follows suit. Seeing the golem, he offers a curious nod, then at the mul, a more formally cordial one, as if observing correct social etiquette, yet with more suspicion than any particular warmth of feeling. In a mild voice he observes th Chay, "Cosmopolitan this city is, is it not?" Then to Munch, "No. No gardener am I. Nor have I a 'nest', sir. As for peace, well, it's nice in general, but rather dull after going a while uninterrupted." At this, he winks and pats the hilt of his rapier.

Daechir turns his head away from the Soldier's Defense, taking in the group growing around Chay and nods his head low to each person in turn. After a brief moment of hesitation he steps off the grass and onto the path leaving his boots somewhat behind him. "Peace to you. And to your nest." He offers this last mostly to Chay, but the rest of the greeting it is clear he means for everyone - even though half of them have stated that peace is less to their liking. "I think with what is going on, a little peace might be warranted in wanting." He nods toward the Soldier's Defense meaningfully.

"The--no, sers. One is...this one is a guide, ser. Recently treated at the Soldier's Defense, ser. Though...not for the plague," Chay adds. The tail flickers as he speaks, and he takes a step, so that he might see all of them better. The tail flicks again, quicker then at its tips. "One sees, sers," he suggests. "Have you found life busy of late, then?"

Ennis puts his hat back on and looks at the shadow elf. "Why, pray tell? What /is/ 'going on'?"

Munch buzzes and shrugs. "Was told the Gardener had a job for me. Anyway, I'd still rather have violence. Can't cure a plague with an axe. I've tried. Once. Didn't go well." Glancing around again, he shrugs, and straightens up, touching a hand to his brow. "Munch TerrorMaw, The Golem That Eats. I break things and hurt people. Sometimes hurt things and break people." He gestures to the massive greataxe held on his back. "And that's Reaver."

Ennis raises his eyebrow, but smiles as he takes a more proper look at the golem. Says, "I am called Ennis." He offers a less flamboyant bow at his introduction.

"There has been an outbreak of a strange plague, though I know very little about it beyond that much." Daechir brushes some water from his face, more aware of the rain now that he's less focused on something else. "You all may call me Daed." He tips his head again toward Ennis when the man makes his bow. "If you want to know more you might inquire within, if you are willing to take their time."

"They have not found the source, sers. One expects...it may take some time to get to that point," the sith-makar responds. His tail flickers, flickers a touch nervously. He glances at the mul, his expression somewhat startled but...

Slow inbreath. Breathe.

Munch buzzes softly. "I'm told it's like the flu, but people cough up black stuff, and so far nothing seems to cure it. Not even cleric magic. Pretty sure it's really more like a curse, but curse removing magics don't seem to work either."

"Curious indeed." Daechir's red eyes flicker toward Chay, then back to Munch. In truth the mul'niessa looks rather odd standing there in his drenched finery. His nice clothing now slick about his frame, somehow distorting it even more than it normally does. Thankfully his long hair is as always pulled back into a long braid that reaches down about his hips and jingles softly as he shifts his feet on the cold ground. "I have heard it said that idiots and geniuses oft have ideas we can rarely fathom. If so, then this may be the work of either."

Munch shrugs and buzzes again. "Just a matter of hitting the illness, and not the person. Aim really careful, and should be possible. I under estimated how hard it would be to aim that carefully. Think I was about a week old at the time." He nods to Daechir. "I'm told there's but a single difference between an idiot and a genius. A genius is right."

"As you say, ser," the sith-makar responds. He ducks his head towards the man with the hat, and then turns to regard the Soldier's Defense. As he does, he glances towards the mul.

He lowers his muzzle, again as though admiring the flowers--and well, there are flowers. Bluebonnets and flowering shrubs, across the lawn and as far as the eye can see.

Ennis smirks. "Let's not be too hasty to ascribe genius to this likely knave." He, too, glances appreciatively at the flowers.

Daechir shrugs, eyes flickering toward Chay again. They don't stay there this time, curiosity flickering upwards in Daed's red eyes. "It seems unwise to think that this is the work of a fool in truth. Someone wise enough to start a plague that can not be cured through normal means? That hardly seems idle work." The dark elf is polite enough to speak to the others to their faces, but most of his attention now seems on Chay. "I do not believe you introduced yourself. May I know your name?"

Munch nods. "Genius and madness is a finer line I don't understand yet."

"...Chay, ser. One serves the Temple of Gilead," the sith-makar responds. He glances upwards towards the mul, and offers a smile in the softskin style. It does not reach the eyes--but the smile is not so natural on a scaled face, either.

He looks over towards the hat man, and metal man. The tail flicks gently, a sort of sway as though caught, briefly by the wind before going still. "It is a difficult line, ser," he agrees to Munch.

Ennis looks upward as if visually searching his memories, then says, "My people have a ritual that might help in such a case as this. It is called faroth-fea, and often helps to identify the source of a mysterious bit of magic."

Daed is silent a long moment and then nods as if to himself. "Perhaps you could impose upon your kin then to use this ritual of theirs?" The dark elf raises an eyebrow at Ennis. "If they would listen to you of course." He flashes a quick grin. "I know that half my kin would be far from inclined to do as I asked of them."

Munch perks slightly, looking to Ennis. "I don't know what's been tried, but at this point seems most anything is worth a shot."

Ennis says, "Well, as new as I am in this place, I don't really know anybody here, and I don't work much magic, personally, but I suppose I could plant the idea in some pointed ears."

"Faroth-fae." Daed says the words distantly as if trying to remember a forgotten tune. Then suddenly he brightens. "Ah yes, I remember the ritual. The Llyranesi use it to track down the source of magic. It can be a bit unreliable however." He shakes his head in a self-deprecating manner. "My mother would berate me for forgetting my own people's magic so easily."

"An interesting proposal, ser. Perhaps...perhaps it might be proposed to the healers at the Soldier's?" Chay asks. The sith-makar lowers his muzzle after speaking, and holds it there a few moments before rising.

"This one...this one aims to help as he can, ser, as little as that might be." He flicks the tail, and lowers his arms to his sides. "And one knows of no ritual."

Munch considers. "There's Sandy, but she just punches things and drinks a lot. Mikilos does magic stuff, and lives up the mountain." The metal man considers a moment. "I know are other llyranesi around, but don't know them well or what magic stuff they do."

Strike enters the gardens from the north, an even gait kept with the tap of her quarterstaff against the ground as she walk. There is an affected distraction to her expression, though she seems to have object avoidance on autopilot, as she hardly seems to notice what alters her course.

Ennis shrugs. "As good a place as any to start, I gather. Now, as my shadow cousin says, it isn't always reliable, and if the plague is designed to thwart magical curing, it is quite possible that it may defy other applications of magic, too, but there's only one way to know for certain." He watches as the absent-minded half-human wanders into view.

Slowly Daed shifts backwards, picking up one of his boots and pulling a sock out. With a thoughtful expression he pulls both back on with deft motions. "Yes, telling those at the Soldier's Defense that there is a ritual that might aid them is a sound idea. Ritual magic is not something that they've likely thought of." He pulls the other sock and boot on before stepping back toward the group, nodding to Ennis. "I leave it to you do do. I think they are more likely to take such an idea from someone more clearly llyranesi than myself."

Munch shrugs. "Everything has flaws. Maybe uncommon magic is a flaw for this plague."

The sith-makar looks from one to the next, and lowers his muzzle again. "Thank you, sers," he says, his voice quiet. He steps back then, and then--slips away, is one way to phrase it. A quiet pace, for a seven foot creature, one that claims or shouts no status, no ferocity at all.

Ennis looks at the hospital with some sign of disaster on his dapper face, but says, "Oh, I suppose." then gracefully draws his rapier and salutes with it, before resheathing it and turning to approach the hospital's front entrance.

Daechir nods to the departing sith-makar, and then to Ennis with a slight smile on his lips. "Perhaps I should be off as well, I wanted to speak with that one." It is unclear who he means as both sith-makar and Ennis headed in the same direction. He nods to Munch, and heads off in that direction.

Munch shrugs again, and starts off as well. "I don't do magic like that, and the Gardner isn't here, so I'm gonna go find something to break. Bye."

-End