Moonbright

Log Info

• Title: Moonbright
• Emitter: Aryia
• Characters: Aryia, Verna, Jinks, NPCs
• Place: Southern Bridge of Tornmawr
• Time: December 13th, 2021
• Summary: Verna and Jinks oversee a sketchy meeting between Aryia and a mysterious duo. Turns out they had more in common than they thought.

Southern Bridge of Tornmawr, absolute dead of night.

The city sleeps.

Midnight hangs high in the air, with glittering stars and a full moon bathing all in a soft light that the street lamps didn't catch. It's frigid, breath seen from two cloaked figures. Short in stature, yet slender, elves of some kind. They watch over the bridge, waiting. The shadow behind one lengthens. Wordlessly, that elf nods, and both turn to face west on the bridge.

A mul'neissa woman, donning a green jacket and a black shawl wrapped about her head to ward off the chill. She slows to a stop, glancing behind her to ensure she didn't outpace someone.

Nothing is said as the three elves watch each other from the slight distance.

The colors. The soft colors brighten as their source approaches from down below, multi-hued and swimming. The orb bobs up into view, an amalgamation of several smaller, cavorting motes swimming around each other to form a loose sphere. The rest anxiously at the top of the stairs for a heartbeat or two before Jinks arrive from the banks below the bridge and dismisses them with a wave of the hand.

The gnome pauses, looking up and down overpass as he puts hands to the small of his back and stretches. He's been up to something, likely, as he sports his outside-the-city kit and a dearth of glittering jewels. The fancy little recurve bow is strapped to his back and a satchel rests against his hip opposite his quivers.

The number of sildanyari in the vicinity increases further in Aryia's wake, abeit by a significant fraction rather than a whole integer. The hooded, cloaked, and robed Mourner is not as rapid as some, yet not entirely outpaced as she steps up to the mul'niessa's side.

Both of the cloaked sildanyari look over at the gnome that emerges. Their heads tilt to one side in tandem, curious. The one with the long shadow flicks a hand out to the side, and their casted shade shortens back.

Their attention falls on the one and a half mul'neissa, and they straighten up. Aryia, emboldened that she had Verna next to her, quietly strides forward, her eyes narrowed. Shoulders tense. Glowing gaze flicks to the emerging gnome, a brow raising slightly. Good. A witness she knew if something bad were to happen.

"Good. You have arrived. We were... uncertain of your acceptance ereyesterday," a woman with a practised and rich voice greets, accent distinctly Charneth.

"We have questions," the other elf asks, a man's. Tone soft, yet firm. And cutting right to the chase.

Near Jinks, one of the shadows cast by a lamp on a curb lengthens.

Jinks sucks at his teeth after he's stretched and spotted the little clandestine meeting. The shadowplay goes unobserved even as he passes the lamp. A thought and his leather doublet melts, draping down into a long wool coat as it simultaneously crawls up and over his head as a hood. The matte studs flatten and creep into shallow, V-shaped stripes that rise up and around his trunk.

The two strangers hold the gnome's attention and he idly steps a little closer as he fishes a flash from under the transforming coat. A pleasant, half-heard tune doesn't quite reach the meeting as he finds the bridge's edge and glances skyward while drinking.

"Good?" Little fingers flash across the distance on the way to raising a hand and rescrewing the flask's cap in place. <handspeech>

Verna may well notice the gnome with her peripheral vision, though her hood does not pan notably from the pair towards whom Aryia (and herself as she remains adjacent) approaches. "We may possess answers," she admits, "What are your questions?" If any expected an extended period of social formalities from the Mourner, they would be both disappointed and obvious that they are not familiar with said Mourner.

The gnome is paid no mind. Even as he straddles up to be in earshot. His gestures are met with the backs of the two elves, and caught by Aryia's peripheral. It's rather obvious where she looks, so instead of any return signs, she gives a one shoulder shrug.

The air around the the gnomeish man grows colder somehow. And a pensive voice that sounds akin to the crinkling of glass in sub zero temperatures whispers quietly to him. "... have you a favored constellation?" The shadow on the ground has melded with the side of the bridge, and looks up at him with two empty spaces that reveal the stone beneath it.

The elven man clears his throat. "Primarily they concern the origins of the two of you. You see-"

The woman picks up his sentence in tandem, "-you two have interested us. And wish to pick your brains. I must apologize for my companion. Shadow arts tend to not be favored amongst the Harpists, as I am aware."

Was that genuine? Or just honeyed words? She continues. "Our first question is that of names. Your tribunal speaks highly of you, Mistress Verna. Yet, we know not yours." She gestures to Aryia. "Tit for tat, we assure you."

The mute is about to gesture her name, spell it out, but she looks up to Verna for guidance if she should actually share that.

Jinks smiles and offers a shallow nod, taking the talking shadow in stride. "Two, in fact." Up cants his chin to indicate Coyote's Laugh. "We say it's good luck when the stars of Tarien's sky twinkle... it means he's laughing." He unscrews the cap again and pockets it this time, "Bluffed through a particular bad hand of Golem under those stars. (oni never knew what hit him)" he mutters the last bit, smirking, into the small mouth of the flask before he has another drink.

Stepping and turning, the gnome rests his shoulder against the side of the bridge near the shadow. It takes a moment of scanning but he eventually finds it. The second. "Ah," he sighs, pointing out the Exile. A single, dim star in a secluded bit of inky black. "He's not as lucky. But there's something to be said about having room to breathe."

Another glance at Aryia and a nod accompanied by a brief smile.

The Shadow grows some more, tendrils pulling out from the edge of the bridge to hoist its form up. Appendages that serve as arms grip onto the railing. The blob of darkness looking up at the sky as well. For an undead, they seem quite docile. "Intriguing..." it whispers, swiveling from Coyote to the Exile. "... a moment of respite is something most take for granted. As most fear letting their guard down." By the crinkling of its form, it seems to enjoy that thought.

"It is reassuring that they speak so," Verna notes, though also wonders if it should be concerning of how much is shared in any or all inquiries. "As well, you are quite correct concerning your wayward shadow. See that it does not become too wayward."

Verna then gestures as gloved hand to the full-blood adjacent. "Her name is hers to share, or not, as she will." This is as much for Aryia as anyone else, though she pauses and turns to Aryia to allow her to converse, or not, as she wishes.

"Do they?" Jinks wonders with a little exhaled sound of amusement. "More like they fear someone taking advantage of their guard being down." A glance between the main group and the unsettling creature making small (hah!) talk with the gnome. "You might think those two things are the same but they aren't; there's an unmatched joy in being entirely vulnerable with someone you trust completely."

There's a thoughtful pause as the gnome splits his attention between conversations, idly swishing the ornate hipflask. "... but a night in those harems are incredibly expensive." He grins wide and laughs quietly at his own joke.

Aryia tilts her head to the side. The Tribune put something out?

The woman chuckles lowly, and shakes her head. "Of course. They shall be no hinderance, this I assure you." Though, the mute's hesitancy to give out her name makes the two glance to each other. The woman nods slightly, and the man speaks.

"Zarn," he says, putting a hand over his chest and bowing slightly.

Aryia blinks, then softly sighs, rubbing the side of her head. Her free hand spells out, "A-R-Y-I-A."

The woman looks expectatnly to Zarn, and he repeats the name aloud. Their frames stiffen some. "Oh, you were mentioned as well. A runaway making waves, it seems," the woman notes. "Very well, I am Khal."

Aryia softly groans, her pushing her palm harder against her skull.

The Shade chuckles. "Yes, exactly. Perhaps in a different time, I would know what you mean by that. But guards being let down is how I work."

Another rumble of a laugh. Like glass shards being jangled in a glass jar. "Paying for the pleasures of flesh is an expensive endeavor for certain. Both on the pocket, and on the body." A black tendril points up to the sky, away from the other constellations. "The Mask. I do not remember my past time. But I feel a pull to that one."

Verna makes note of the names, the casual condescension (even if unexpected) and, lastly, Aryia's apparent discomfort. All the more reason to make matters as efficient and expedient as is possible. The conversing shadow is spared little attention: in part for said efficacy and in part to stem reconsideration of allowing the abomination's continued persistence.

Taking a half step towards the pair, she notes, "Now that introductions are complete, you can make your inquiries. What is it that would know from us?" Straight to the picking of the brains, to quote their vernacular.

"Also a popular choice," Jinks observes after a moment to sort the arrangement of lights in the sky and place them. These aren't the ones you would generally cart out to impress a new and special friend. "Plenty mutter oaths to the Sly One at tables and--" the gnome leans into the word while lowering his voice further-- "there's a somewhat-apocryphal tale about Coyote being split into halves of light and darkness, birthing Deimos."

"Truth be told I do enjoy gambling with Mulria's devoted far more; their belief in fate and a pre-destined victory makes their crying into cups all the sweeter..."

The gnome trails off, catching Aryia's pained gesture late. A hand slides down to his belt pouches smoothly. Nice and casual-like. He tapes his trimmed and painted fingernail against the button holding one pouch closed.

Aryia follows with Verna's half step, glowing gaze firmly latched onto the two cowled figures.

Zarn speaks. "Very well. From the faint bit of home I heard in your tone before, Mistress Verna, we wished to inquire about your familiarity with The Market." The slave market. "We understand you lack fullness of our blood, yet you share it. And the question extends to you... Aryia," he mentions, motioning towards the mute woman who's headache was building.

Both share a look, nod, then pull their hoods down. As expected, both were mul'nessian. Zarn holds a grey complexion, with crimson hair that's a bit unwieldy, and light silver eyes that were weary. Khal possess moon colored hair, that flows down straight. Unlike her guise, she only has a singular violet hued eye. The left one is missing, the socket hidden behind a simple eyepatch. Both seemed to be in their late second century, or in their early third century.

Aryia blinks.

The air grows colder as Jinks leans in. And despite how grand it would be to draw ever nearer to life, the Shadow doesn't budge. It does, however chuckle once more. "I am aware of such a tale. Some may think it was a good thing, to split off the evil. Yet none wish to admit that Coyote would ever lose such a bet."

The Shadow nods, somehow, and looks to Jinks. "Drinking in the misery. That is something I could enjoy. Perhaps I should gamble with such company. Were I able to hold any cards." The eye holes glance to the gathering, then back to the gnome. "My master instructed me to keep an eye on you," it admits. "Yet I have no eyes."

"I am a marvel to behold," Jinks laughs, grinning a toothy, self-indulgent grin. He toasts with the flask and drains it. His impulse is to close his eyes and savor the full-mouthed swallow but he settles on letting his eyelids flutter. Something-something about people not wanting to drop their guard comes back around from earlier in the conversation.

The gnome sighs, contented, and makes whole the flask before sliding it gone. "A literal instruction becomes a turn of phrase for the incorporeal." He smirks, glancing side-eyed at the chilling creature. "Does your master host a sense of humor? I have to imagine they full-understand your... circumstance."

Another pause in their conversation comes during the reveal followed by a narrowing of the eyes. "Well... they seem short one of their own. So your job is very important." He sucks his teeth in thought, tilting his head. "Magic can fix most things. An enchanted deck of cards for you to hold? Something to do between the stalking, spying, and killing."

This line of inquiry is somewhat puzzling, perhaps, to Verna, though not especially unfeasible, in hindsight. "If you make reference to such a market here, you will not find such in any acknowledged, legal, nor condoned form. As for the Charneth Market, our information would be rather stale, even by mul'niessan standards."

The Shadow idly looks to the stars once more. Either to avoid seeing the supposed slip of the guard, or just for amusement, it is uncertain. Though, it does laugh quietly. Glass in a glass jar. "My master understands my shortcomings. Cannot undeath harbor its own sense of humor?"

The shade's attention goes towards the group. "They are. An arrow to the skull. Well placed shot. I ate him for that. Though, your mention of an enchanted deck is amusing. I will have to bring this up with the master. Should this all go well."

Back to the meeting, Khal rests on her back foot, and crosses her arms. Her cloak shifts some, showing a rapier on her hip. Despite that, she miles lightly. "We seek no market here. And stale information is what we desire. There is one... ware from such a market we have been tracking down. We have been all over Charn, and have exhausted it. Have you seen any with this marking?"

Zarn reaches into a side pouch underneath a missing arm, him pulling free a piece of paper and whipping it once so it would unfurl and catch. On it is a simple drawing. A slave mark of a broken circle, yet seemingly random and jagged lines intersect the circle in a manner that looks as if there was no rhyme or reason for their arrangement. "We are not looking to recover," he clarifies, his posture straight and expression firm.

Aryia has her eyes closed, grinding her palm into her temple. She leans against the railing, the headache clearly growing further.

"Like most things, undeath can most certainly be viewed as a joke." Jinks agrees, bouncing smoothly away from the wall and smoothing down his goatee. "Life's end reward appropriated and twisted into torment and service." His eyebrows raise slightly as he offers a lopsided smirk of pity. "Luck like that maybe it's best you can't play cards."

The gnome raises his hands for the shadow, showing palm and back and splaying his fingers. He then drops them down to his side and walks across the bridge, glancing up at the two strangers as he passes on the way to Aryia.

Humming as he draws closer, the soft, lazy melody is a wordless, soothing thing bordering on a lullaby. The minstrel has his hands in his pockets and puts his back against the short wall, far enough to allow the pugilist her space. Close enough that his presence can be felt as the Hymn wraps around him and twists through the mellow, breathy notes.

The Shadow detaches from the wall, and rumble-chuckles. "Good it is I have no possessions to lose in gamble, then."

Seeing as the gnome held no threat, no advances were made. But it does slink along the dark ground, avoiding the lamplights as he ambles his way towards the conversation, effectively joining it despite the bit of distance. It's clear now the gnome was interested in this. And the Shadow sticks nearby.

Aryia just barely catches that humming. Her face is covered from a black shawl, but her eyes express pain. Similar to the headaches that she had been given. She looks over, expression relieving some as the Hymn soothes her. A bit more certainty in her frame. She motions slowly with her free hand. "Thank you." And she finally returns to the conversation. <Handspeech>

GAME: Verna rolls knowledge/history: (9)+10: 19
GAME: Verna rolls knowledge/nobility: (20)+10: 30
GAME: Verna rolls intelligence: (20)+6: 26

Verna regards the proferred paper and the symbol upon it a long moment. A mark that is both distinct and yet simultaneously intended to be vague, or to grow so. Very much like its purpose. As her eyes shift to the bearer, she considers him further. Red hair is somewhat rare (and considered a mark of strong blood or a blessing of Taara), yet the lack of limb is less so. Her hood pans to the woman, regarding the single violet eye a moment.

The Mourner's hands lift to doff her hood despite the cold, her attention now shifting between the two strangers with ...purpose and thought.

"I believe that you have shared half-truths, at best. You are Xarann and Khalees, are you not? And you do seek to recover one that bore this mark. Zilstrae, your daughter."

There is tangible silence.

The held out paper slips free from Zarn's grasp. Both of them with lips slightly parted.

Aryia stares at Verna. And slowly swivels her head towards the two strangers.

A lot happens, very briskly. The Shadow rips free from its entanglement and goes over the group, crashing itself into Khal and hovering over her. She rips free the rapier on her hip, taking up a fencing stance and retreats a half step.

Zarn pivots to hide behind Khal, but his only palm leaks with shadow, a spell halfway being cast, but held before further completing it.

Aryia collapses to her knees, and clutches at her head, panting heavily in pain. Only conscious from Jinks' dulcet muse.

"Who are you, and how do you know this!" Khal-ees demands with a scowl, Lingers in Passing wrapping itself around her.

Jinks steps away from the wall and abadons his song with a sweeping, dismissive gesture. As subtle as his humming might've been behind the conversation, the sudden absence of the Hymn is a tide pulling out from around Aryia.

"No need for that," the gnome assures the two unfamiliar elves with a disarming smile and a calm patting of the air. "Your shadow assassin was the perfect gentleman and our conversations have been pleasant so far; we can all still be friends..."

A curious glance is offered at the kneeling Aryia, his reassuring smile holding firm as he turns back to the others.

GAME: Jinks casts Purging Finale. Caster Level: 9 DC: 20
GAME: Jinks rolls Perform/Sing: (11)+22: 33

Verna lifts her hands, slowly, to a position before her in a posture of non-threat. "I am Sage Mourner Verna, as introduced. I know of matters as I assisted Zilstrae to recover some of the memories barred her. Thus I learned some of her, and of you both, and do not expect that you intend harm, now. Her memories continue to return, as a trickle or an avalanche..."

She looks down to the half-crumpled Aryia following Jinks' magic, one hand moving to take up the Scales about her neck. Her own offering of balm, or rather The Grey Harpist's, is made to the pained mul. Afterwards, she adds, "... which can cause her great discomfort, at times."

GAME: Verna casts Heal. Caster Level: 17 DC: 22

Aryia nearly passes out completely before the Hymn is swept away in one cascading stroke. With it went a few notes of dolor, the mute able to get a grip on herself and stagger to her feet. She nods thankfully towards Jinks, clear that sweat was sticking the shawl to her face.

Man, woman, and Shadow were tense as the others parleyed, them watching and listening to every word with careful consideration. They weren't looking for a fight, far from it. Their reaction garnered from a long time of needing to be the one on the draw, rather than on the mend.

The Shadow chuckles some. "Mayhaps I was a butler in my previous life," it intones with a shake of glass on glass.

"Vuqra, enough," Khalees hisses to the shade, the tip of the weapon unwavering as it stays pointed at them.

Explanations are given. Magic is cast, causing more tension to rise. The mute's headache is washed away with the powerful magics of the Gray Harpist's soothing balm. Jinks propping her up and sweeping out hostilities. Verna dusting her off.

Xarann squints. A question arrives to his lips, but dies as Verna speaks further. Two silver and a singular violet eye rests on the staggering mute.

Said mute finally connects enough brain cells together to fire a synapse, and pulls her shawl off her sweating face.

Both the mul'neissa blink. "This cannot be Zilly," Khalees outright denies. Breath shuddering.

Aryia's eyes grow saucer wide, a film of tears pooling.

"... t... this can't be her," the man whispers, the shadows on her singular arm slowly ceasing.

Silence.

Clatter of metal on stone, the rapier having slipped from the matron's grasp. "...w-what did they do to my d-daughter..." Khalees stammers, the Shadow detatching from her as she hazards a step forward.

Jinks looks between Verna and the two unfamiliar mul' once again, nodding his head slowly. He smiles up at Aryia and steps out of the way, lowering his hands back into his pockets.

Verna takes a step back from Aryia, as well, to clear well the line between her and her parents. She offers to Khalees, "They -attempted- to do a great many things, I believe: remove her memories, destroy her identity, crush her spirit..."

Her face turns to Aryia as she affirms, "They failed on all accounts." Is that a smile? It is, if only truly shared with Aryia... or 'Zilly,' if she prefers. She may not, though that, in itself, might also provide some fuel for the expression.

Khaleez and Xarann are aghast at what Verna puts forth, seeing the etching of such trauma written all over the grey canvas. On skin, and expression.

A light breeze wafts the loose paper up and over the bridge, it fluttering lightly before coasting down to the river. Soaking itself, and the ink on it blots out.

Both mul'neissa have some issues formulating words or actions. "Are you-..." "Zil-..." "Can-..." A hand raises and falls, almost afraid to close the distance, like the mute was a fragile phantasm.

Finally, the two blunder out something coherent. "We're sorry," they say in tandem with a tremor in their tone, both holding the other's hand. Khalees continues, quietly. "Is... it really you, dear?"

Aryia trembles, biting her lip and slowly nodding with a cautious step forward.

The duo draw closer, nary a few paces away now. "... Z... Zilly, I-I understand you have your spats with us and refused to talk for weeks at a time," the father murmurs. "We can... talk again later if need be."

"Xarn. Our daughter cannot speak. Look." A painted fingernail indicates the cause of mutism.

Aryia-Zilstrae, it was becoming confusing now. "My name is... my name is Aryia," she motions slowly, yet repeats against with more firmness. <Handspeech>

The two share another look, confused, and latently furious at whoever would have done this. "If... that is what you desire, Zi- Aryia."

Lingers in Passing, the Shadow that had been lingering behind the two parents, sighs, reaches two tendrils out, and shoves both the parents forward. They stumble into an awkward embrace.

But that seemed to be the trick that was needed so.

As the only sounds that permeated the silence was soft crying.

Jinks watches from the side of the bridge, hands in pockets. The gnome's face starts to ache as the three embrace and it's only then that he realizes his smile has become a sneer. He frowns, trying to swallow the jealousy and bitterness as he turns his head away. Failing that, he pushes his shoulders forward and quietly stalks over the bridge, away, with one last glance up at the Exile and a shake of his head.

The moon is bright tonight.

-End Scene-