A Cart of Rainbows

Character Development Summary (Svarshan): A fun scene overall. It was fun to see Djibril making his debut, and Jibbom and Mikilos really stepped up to the plate in adding a little humor when it came to Jibbom tasting the owlbear treat. If they send in, look forward to seeing their take on it. Myself, enjoyed getting to explore some of Svar's continued trouble with language, which seems to be a nice direction for him, and a natural consequence of some of the things he's done. The challenge is keeping it entertaining for everyone else, as well ask keeping such a PC active in a scene when they can't talk overmuch. This has taken some time to do, and I still don't feel I have it right. I'm incredibly grateful to everyone who's RP'd along the way and their patience as I work through it.

RPP Note: If you were in this scene, you could add a summary here, too, in order to get credit for it. Or, include your summary in your +request. Either works. Full details on RPPs can be found on the RPP page. - Lah

It's Ceriday, Aestry 21 20:24:16 1014. The full moon is up. The tide is high and rising.

The grey of the clouds begins to darken, and the temperature drops slightly. It's warm and still.

-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--<* Castle District - Feren Road *>--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-

Several impressive guild halls rise up over the city streets here, representing
the skilled professions of the city. Each trade has its own guild, and the wealth 
and power of the guilds is made evident by the expense put into the design 
and construction of these buildings. Of particular note is the massive 
gilt-domed hall for the Alexandria Mercantile Association, the area's premier 
merchant guild.

-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-- Contents --=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-
 Jibbom          Steel Von Ironblood, Bane of the Night.               4m   1h
 Earthquake      A purple crevasse in the earth, rumbling angrily.     30s  31m
 Svarshan        Be a brightscale! Chomp a demon!                      0s   2d
 Sandy           The HIPpest elf ever. Practically a HIPpy.            27s  3d
 Younger         Gruff local color; foul mouth'd and hard-tack.        2m   4h
-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--= Exits -=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-
Mercantile Assn <MA>      Academy of Sages <AS>     Feren Road <N>
The Skygate <S>           
-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-

Quint has arrived.

Hey, look! It is Lady Sandiel!

She's walking along the road right now, stopping and eyeing the various shopfronts for a moment and then moving on. Seems she's looking for something *in specific* right now* and isn't finding it just yet. Or maybe its soemone specific. Either way, Ms. Angry Elf is stomping right along.

Traveling down one side of the road, and just emerging from a shop front, is a large, squat object. This large, squat object rattles on the back of a medium-sized cart. Other large, squat objects rest in the cart with the first--one labeled 'flour' another 'oil.' None of this would be remarkable, save for the cart is being pulled by a large, bright-eyed lizard. A little too-bright-eyed, as she walks alongside Svarshan. "Deep-fried demon legs," he says with slow, quiet enthusiasm. And the large reptile nods enthusiastically, as though she'd understood every. blessed. word.

Jibbom moves with his usual ceaseless enthusiasm as he heads down the road, practically skipping. The halfling is in a good mood today. But when isn't he? If he had a destination in mind already, he is derailed immediately upon hearing the slow-ish sales pitch in the lizardy direction, which causes him to immediately make a beeline in that direction. "Deep fried, you say?" Got to maintain that adventuring figure.

Quint stalks his way up from the south, bent-backed under the weight of a sturdy-looking iron lockbox, large hands in those thick leather workgloves of his. The handle whispers muffled squeeks while the weighted bulk shifts on his shoulder in time with his stride. Brannigan follows behind his rider, bare backed and unencumbered -- not even a bit and bridle in place to make the massive draught horse seem anything less than a wild roaming beast laying claim to the city streets as its own.

Mikilos arrives from the south along Faren Road.

Mikilos has arrived.

"Deep...fried...what?" says Sandy. There is a long pause as she eyes Svarshan. Just eyes him. With this troubled look on her face as she tries to put together what it is he's eating. "Demon legs," she tells him again, a bit incredulously. "They were right. There *is* a sucker born every minute," she remarks, dryly, glancing over at Quint at his arrival. She manages to mutter 'there's one now' under her breath. Just barely.

"Mmmrmmm..." so lost is he in this beautiful vision, Svarshan barely notices the lucht at first, or even the screaming, bellowing sildanyari who is casting blasphemies about his most sacred dreams. Eventually, something triggers, and he shakes himself all over, once, slowly, as though waking from a dream. And then nods once towards the cart that the giant lizard is pulling. "Going hunting thissss week," he says, the words warm and slow: a man talking about the weather, or recalling his favorite pasttime.

Mrmmm. Deep-fried...demon legs. And this close, it become obvious: the large, metal object in the cart, near the barrels marked 'oil' and 'flour' is a...deep fryer.

For her part, the giant lizard sniffs the air. And at the sight of Brannigan, stands a little straighter. Still the prettiest, that seems to say.

Mikilos exits one of the lesser guild halls, absently tucking a document into his pack. Accompanying is a half-elven girl of perhaps six, shadowing the elfs steps. She's somewhat noticiable, dressed in a bright orange and pink dress with far more lace and ruffles then should really be present in one place. It's very girly.

Jibbom sniffs the air alongside the lizard, taking in the delightful aroma of the fryer. Like a moth to a flame, the halfling drifts closer to investigate. "Smells divine!... Well, okay, I guess it can't possibly smell divine, since it supposedly comes from the Abyss. But it smells good, at least! What kind of demon is it? I don't think I've ever eaten demon... I suppose they'd taste like dark meat, right?" He shoots Sandy a grin. Despite the elf being a total stranger, he moves over to elbow her. "Get it? Dark meat? You know? Dark? Evil? Demons?"

Quint is a man about his business and the heavily-muscled shadow stalking the streets behind him is well behaved in spite of having that threatening glint in its eye. A shallow nod is offered to Svarshan and a brief glance at the Lady Sandiel on his way past, a lone bead of sweat pulling free from the tip of his nose and making the long drop down to the stone street.

"What're you doing out here?" asks Sandy, "least of all a horse without a saddle." She sniffs, then eyes Svarshan. Sniffs again. Then a little more. "That can't possibly be demon legs," she tells him. "Besides, wouldn't those be toxic?" she asks, innocently. "Poisonous and what have you?" Then she glares at him for a moment, then says, "I knew it." A finger is pointed at him again. Then she turns back towrds the others. Jibbom specifically.

"...spicy," is the description Svarshan settles on. He'd given it some consideration, when Jibbom had asked. He tilts his head slowly at Sandy, then, and then offers a slow, wide smile that's all sith'makar--and that she will not care a wit about, being Sandy. "Not forrr me. It..." and he loses the words here and his expression turns slowly confused as he retreats a moment to consider the words. Meanwhile, the fryer rests greasily in the cart, along with the barrels labeled 'flour' and 'oil.' And, as Quint thuds past, the makar nods his way, and half-raises a hand in greeting, still distracted by how...one might put words together. Sentences.

"Spicy, eh?" Jibbom strokes his chin as he considers this description along with Sandy's concerns about the safety of the offered foodstuffs. "Hmmm. The mighty deep fat fryer cooks food at near impossible temperatures. I have faith in its ability to eradicate poisons and toxins of all sorts. Lizardy food purveyor! Steel von Ironblood, Bane of the Night, shall conquer and cosume your questionable provisions. How many coins do you require?"

Mikilos peers with idle curiousity. "Demon legs? Yes, some are very toxic, exotic poison in some circles. Suppose some might be edible, not sure if frying would have any effect. Though in this case, think Svar's gut is.... robust... enough to handel most anything. Good afternoon Sandy, Sir Steel, Sir Svarshan."

Mikilos would give a title to Lady Sandiel, but really, he's a smart guy. He knows better.

Quint pauses briefly, standing a little taller as he looks back to his horse, then again at Sandy. "Brannigan is to my self as Silver is to my lady. The goddess' boons are endless, Lady Sandiel; he requires no bit. No bridle." He starts again, leaning forward and shifting the weight on his shoulder, "Ser Darshan's constitution is exceptional, lady, it might be unwise to let citizens ingest infernal flesh. However cooked."

Quint has left.

"...uh huh," says Sandy to Quint as he carries on by. "Right. Bloody Goddesses and their boons." She sniffs, then she eyes Svarshan agian. And Jibbom. She celars her throat and ignores Mikilos completely for the moment. "You... are actually going to eat something Svarshan cooked?" That's directed at Jibbom. "Especially demon legs? Really?"

Svarshan rubs at his jaw, and looks up with a keenness to his eyes. "Sa. We will hunt. And," he lifts his jaw, gestures at the fryer again. "There will be food. A picnic." And, slow humor, "Perhapsss Sandy will hossst." He says so solemnly, with a half-smile alongside his face that only the lucht and Mikilos might see.

Jibbom points a finger into the skies as if directing his response to the entire world, rather than simply Sandy. "Steel Von Ironblood fears no demon, whether alive or deliciously breaded and fried! Purveyor, deliver unto me your wares, and all will be consumed! Let it be known that the Coyote's glorious gift of laughter consumes all, both figuratively and literally!"

Mikilos rolls his eyes, but smiles. "Master Ironblood, I don't think the... meat... has been... 'caught' just yet. You'll likely have ot wait until after the hunt. (and hopefully your short attention span will have moved on by then.)" The later is not said aloud, but is strongly implied. Regardless, the wizard turns slightly, motioning the little girl foreward a bit. "Amy, this is Sandy, and Svarshan, two of the adventurers who've helped the city many times. This is Amy, my cousin, who is staying with me for a while."

"..."

Sandy stares at Jibbom for a long moment. Then she bursts out laughing and says, "Yes. Yes, let's *see* this." She nods her head, then elbows Svar lightly in the side. She murmurs to him, "I *know* you have some in your pouch."

Svarshan rubs at his jaw a while. The effort covers up the smile that grows there until the makar can get it under control. When he does, he gives the Angry Sildanyari (angryari?) the most solemn, wide-eyed of looks before nodding to Mikilos. Apparently he agreed with what the Finger-Waggling Sildanyari (fingwa...oh, forget it) had to say. And then looks towards the Poof in Pink, and opens his muzzle. ...closes it, and gives Amy an apologetic look that says: I'm just not good with words, am I?

Mikilos has disconnected.

Mikilos has connected.

Jibbom pouts when the obvious problem with his bravado is pointed out. He stands tall (well, by halfling standards) and wags his finger in Svarashan's face. "Steel Von Ironblood demands an answer. Do you, or do you not, have delicious deep friend treats which may or may not be of extraplanar origin?" He looks back at Mikilos and blinks, tilting his head. "Wait a minute. Your cousin? I thought she was your possible illegitimate daughter from a wench you may or may not have knocked up."

Jibbom - 1

Tact and Decorum - 0

<Meet> You offer to meet Djibril.

Djibril has arrived.

<Meet> Djibril joins you.

Amy, who has yet to say anything at all, peers back, and offers a small smile and a faint shrug.

Mikilos once again rolls his eyes, but shakes his head to Jibbom. "No, it seems a case of mistaken idenity with my cousin. Well, third cousin, making Amy my third cousin once removed.... if I have the terms correct."

Svarshan grins at the Poof in Pink (Mikilos' young cousin), before looking back towards Jibbom. And he begins to say a thing, he really does. The muzzle opens, the tongue moves...and the brain is...just not willing. He gives the lucht a half-smile, and after a moment, nudges Sandy. He does this twice, and then jerks a thumb towards the heavy axe that's strapped across his back. He's asking her to translate (this will go well). He and the others stand to the side of the road. A large reptile is strapped to a medium-sized cart, with a number of items on it. One of the items is a large deep-fryer that in its time has seen some use: a bit of grease, oil sticks to its heady sides. The other two are barrels, one labeled 'flour' and the other, 'oil.' The deep-fryer is large enough that, perhaps, it might fit a fattened gnome.

Djibril strides through the streets, a broad smile on his face. Smell the stink of progress! See the squalid spread of civilized life! Admire the gift-domed hall of the Mercantile Association, economic engine of the city! He look plea-- one hand comes up, dabbing at the corner of his tusked mouth. A deep-fryer! Local cuisine!

Jibbom gives Mikilos a baffled look. "Wait a minute. Are you saying that you and your third cousin take turns givin' it to the same wench?" He pauses and strokes his chin. "Elves are odd." He gesitculates wildly, being momentarially distracted from the prospect of fatty fried meats. Which is no small feat, since fatty fried meats are possibly his fourth of fifth favorite thing of all.

Also, Jibbom is not a gnome, and thus not suitable for deep frying. Where do people keep getting this idea?

Everyone know halflings are boiled. Usually in their own stew.

Mikilos blinks, and starts to correct Jibbom, but the smaller man isn't listening. Not that he really was before.

Sandy pauses again. Then she eyes Jibbom and says, "Odd? That's all? We're just odd. Well, good to know all my bloody efforts haven't been wasted." She sniffs, then turns towards Svarshan. Eyes him. And his deep-fryer for a long moment. "I hope it's everything you deserve 'Steel Von Ironblood',' she says, the sarcasm heavy in her tone.

Finally, Sandy leans over and mutters something to Svarshan. "The spiced meat. You have in your pouch. THAT."

The reptile rubs at his jaw again, and it's that self-same smile there. "Saaa. It..." He still has to go hunting, to find the delicious, juicy, and plump demon that will be unceremoniously shoved into the fryer...but a look at Jibbom easily conjures images of the lucht grabbing a stick and chasing after them. The words, such as he'd managed, die in his throat. And then, well, Sandy's nudging his ribs again. And asking questions. And it's too much. So he simply produces the pouch and hands it to her.

Djibril slows down, watching the interchange -- really, what's not to like? He eyes the deep fryer again, and digs in his beltpouch.

Jibbom plants his hands on his hips, conjuring as stern a look as the halfling can manage as he watches the pouch of meat get handed from Sith'Makar to elf. "Is that the demon meats that Steel Von Ironblood was implictily promised by this merchant's declarations? I expect it delivered for my consumption, posthaste!"

"Oh yes. It'll be like nothing you've ever tasted," says Sandy as she takes the pouch. She reaches into it and produces what appears to be a strip of meat, red in color of course, and hands it out to Jibbom. That meat. She holds it out to him, waiting for him to take it.

Mikilos hesitates, and glances to Amy. "Have I shown you protective magics yet? Well, now seems like a good time." The elf isn't certain what's in that pouch, but the way Sandy's acting, a little Armor won't hurt. A murmured phrase, and the little girl is clad in tranlucent armor. Pink armor. With frilly lace. Mikilos really does understand his customers tastes. Or distinct lack thereof.

And he's not good with words. And sometimes, they're taken away from him. Svarshan makes a choking sound, before closing his eyes, briefly and letting go a long, slow breath.

Count to three.

And he does, and opens them again. And smiles faintly at the oruch eyeing the fryer. "Ancestor's blessingss," he says to the man before looking back at the chaos in front of him. And...just, the most blandest of expressions settles on his features.

Jibbom eyes the red strip of meat offered to him, taking it from the elf's grasp. He holds it up to the light of the sun, eyes narrowing as if considering it carefully. "... Yes. Yes, this foodstuff is a worth challenger for Steel Von Ironblood." He opens his mouth and chomps down the entire morsel at once, swallowing it almost whole.

Jibbom goes wide eyes and begins running around, flailing his arms. "Hot hot hot hot hot!"

Hey, where'd Sandy go?

She was there a *minute* ago...

Djibril steps forwards, and towards Svarshan, "Hail, sith'makar! Is this local cuisine too much for the half-man?" There's a pause. "Sorry, An Lucht Siuil." There's another pause, then an eager: "Can I try some?"

Mikilos winces, and ponders a moment. Much as the halfling may deserve, this is a step too far. Focusing a moment, the wizard conjurs. It won't last, but perhaps will take the edge off. "Jibbom, here. Iced cream."

Jibbom is now past being able to verbalize anything that sounds like words, just making desperate grunts for refreshments to ease the pain of spicy meat. His mouth hangs open in desperation for the wind to cool his burning mouth. He nods, wide-eyed, at Mikilos, rushing forward and desperately shoving the magical ice cream into his gaping maw.

Svarshan's expression becomes, if possible, even more bland as the lucht begins to spin in pain. A near-wince touches the edges of it, and he takes a slow, heavy breath. And looks over at--and his eyes narrow. Swiftly. "Yes," he says, distracted, to Djibril. And tears his gaze up from the now (suspicious) empty space where the Yelling Sildanyari had been. And takes a slow, evening breath before admitting in lower tones. "It iss...owlbear. The sssmall one thinksss it is a demon. But you are welcome. Svarshan, of the Father Dragon," he introduces himself, and then indicates the others with a quiet lift of the jaw. "Mikilos Mittthhhralla, Steel."

Amy, the Pink Poof.

Djibril nods, handing over some small coins. "A noble meat, to be sure." He inclines his head and intones his introduction: "Djibril Blackblood, Lancer of Serriel, Dawnbringer." A grin, as he tears into the meat. "A pleasure, Svarshan."

Mikilos tosses the magical conjuration and pulls back swiftly, idly worried of loseing a finger in Jibbom's haste. Nodding absently in greeting to Djibril, he peers at Svar. "What kind of spice did you use?"

"Meel Mon Mironmud, Mane of ma Might." Jibbom attempts to introduce himself, rather hampered but the necessity of keeping his mouth open to let the horrible spicy fumes waft away. Hopefully nobody is standing all that close. "Meased to meet moo, Mamril."

"None," the makar replies without thinking, as he hands the Lancer the heavy pouch. And then thinks on that. And then, the oddity of the situation seems to /juuuust/ hit him, just then, because he bodily turns around to STARE at the ice-cream-snarfing lucht and... perhaps his fault with words is simply a fault of the world he lives in.

Mikilos blinks, and frowns. He's had owlbear before. Been a few years, but he'd remember that sort of burn. "...what... spices did someone else use?"

Djibril nods, chewing away happily. "Thank you. Mikilos Mitttthhhhhralla. Mam Mon Mironmud." He tries so hard with foreign names.

Svarshan looks sidelong at the oruch, and then, silently, towards Mikilos. As though to say: well.

He then looks at Jibbom.

"Mi mam ma mreatmest madmentmurmur mof mall! Mi mule ma might!" Jibbom attempts to explain with another flurry of his arms and a look of shock. Or just a continually burning mouth. He looks pleadingly at Mikilos. "... Moo moo more mof mat miced meam?"

Mikilos blinks at Djibril, at Svar, and a Jibbom. Only the middle blink has any real level of understanding. "...wha? Oh! Iced cream! Ah, no. Not quite like that. Erm, let me see what I can do..." The wizard rummages thru his pockets, muttering something about inverse formula.

Svarshan rubs at his jaw a while, and then takes a breath. And then a deeper, slower breath. "I..." see. Except that's not what he's seeing. He says instead, with a look towards the Invisible Spot From Which the Yelling Sildanyari Vanished, "...you ssshould. Talk with her." You know, the person who vanished. Conveniently. And he smiles somewhat, and taps the side of his muzzle. And, oh, Tarien... Deep breath.

...oh, Daeus.

He grimaces, and says instead. "Talk with her. And. One sssshould be hossting a dinner. From time to time. To tesst the fryer," he says, helpfully. And on one shoulder, an angellic dragon glares across at a coyote. And the coyote raspberries.

"Moo mitt mow! Moo mitt mow!" Jibbom demands incoherantly, hopping from foot to foot and flailing his arms above his head as he awaits salvation from his fiery molten mouth.

Mikilos is vaugely tempted to just let the halfling suffer. But the problem might be solved with magic, and his desire to figure out how over-rides the shadenfreude. Murmuring a few spidery phrases, the elf brings a small ball of powr into existance. "Okay, an inverse fire spell would likely freeze your head solid. But a toned down sense illusion should be able- oh balls."

A wizard swearing mid-spell is never a good sign.

The small ball of power explodes outward in a shimmering rainbow of sensation, a bit glareing from a few feet, but far more intence close up, overwhelming ever sence with more input than can really be processed. Including the sences we don;t really have names for, like the one that tells you what position your arm is in, or when someone eis looking at you.

Svarshan eyes the lucht a moment before realizing, no, the lucht is quite serious. He begins to head towards Srassha, but the sildanyari is a step ahead. ...and then...well, the world goes hippie-vision.

Jibbom is about to make some other nonsensical demand before the magic washes over him. He stops mid-sentence, eyes dialating as he stares up at the sky. He raises his hands above his head, waving them and watching with fascination. "I can see the music." He intones solemnly.

Mikilos sits down. Hard. A symphony playing in one ear, a cat yowling in the other, while one eye is blasting with bright lights, the other with rapidly spinning mutted colors, all while tiny little spiders with metal feet run up and down his back, teasing the leg immersed in hot water, the other in cold sand, as some tugs on one arm, the other swelling like a baloon. Not that anyone else can detect any of this, of course.

Djibril has disconnected.

Words. It may just be the fault of the world. Svarshan huffs a breath and looks at the suddenly sitting Mikilos. Who's wearing a pointed, purple hat and singing atop a donkey. And he takes another breath, and steps back--and stumbles into the cart with the fryer, oil, and flour.

There's a loud CRASH!

Jibbom falls to the ground after stagggering for a bit, sitting with his legs crossed. His wide eyes marvel at everything around him, most especially his hands. "Quarry nymphs? Is that you? Did you come back for me?" He asks to nothingness.

And then a loud, rumbly snore.

From the cart, moments later? A loud, rumbly snore. Which could, you know, just sound like the sky beginning to fall. Ahem!

Svarshan goes OOC.