A Duel!

July 31 2012

Chardev Summary (Emir): That harpy!! She's everywhere! I cannot believe I keep running into that horrendous creature. Has she no soul? Any monster who cannot appreciate fine art clearly must be deeply disturbed. Diary, I do believe I have my nemesis. And that's what stories -- good stories -- are made of.

-=--=--=--=--=--=--=-<* Temple District - Temple Plaza *>-=--=--=--=--=--=--=-

The air of worship, solemn contemplation and the weight of divinity in this area simply cannot be denied. In stark contrast to the bustle of the great market just to the south, all noise and rowdiness seems to immedialty cease upon entry to large area. In size, the Great Market does rival the Temple Square but the placement of the temple structures and the weighty air in the place lends to it a scale that is not easily quantified. The square itself is brilliantly paved with large white flagstones. In contrast to the colorful cacophony a short walk south, it is serene and nearly empty of vendors, save for a handful of respectfully quiet ones who offer fruits, flowers and other things that may be given up as offerings to some of the deities.

The centerpiece of the square is a large fountain of white marble, filled with clear water. During the day, a jet of water continuously shoots high into the air, pattering back into the pool below like soothing rain. Special reflectors situated around the area cause the water to sparkle with fractured light.

VIEWS: +view here/fountain

-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-- Contents --=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-

Srassha straightens at the new arrival. She turns a bit this way and that, so the sun catches her just-so, so the light glitters against the silver along her mecate. The 'lipstick' gives her an odd look, like a child had started to dress her in makeup and ribbons, and then tired of the job. Beside her, Svarshan reaches up to scratch at her muzzle, a half-smile across his features.

"Yes," he tells Sandy as he scratches, perhaps to confuse her further, and then nods to Azog. "Ssome," he says, and pauses. "But better sstrange." And he reaches up and hooks a claw just above the bosal's knot. "The /beer/ is better," he clarifies. And then lifts his chin to the well-dressed swordsman. And his eyes narrow thoughtfully, briefly.

"Emir?" he asks, in confusion. Except, no: this version makes more /sense/. ...

And he has yet to break out into singing refrain.

Constantin smiles broadly towards Ssrasha. "You /are/ a pretty swiftclaw, aren't you. I'm sure you're well loved."

Azog shrugs to Svarshan about having better beer, then nods at what Sandy says about life being strange. This is so," he agrees. Azog offers a farewell to Sandy and Svarshan. "I did not come to watch the battle," he says of the competition, "but to ask the seers at the Temple of the White Disc," he uses the Yrch term for Eluna, whose temple is closeby, "what they thought of speaking with spirits. I was not aware that sometimes they -can- be heard, for those who have the way of listening. I must go and think on this for a while. Fare well." Alas, he only has a chance to nod briefly to the other fellow before he climbs on his horse and rides off.

Svarshan watches the smiling one a while, but Srassha...the swiftclaw lifts her head as she gazes upon Constantin. Intelligent, she seems to say. The only intelligent one in the world. And, blessed, humble follower.

She lowers her head so it might be scritched appropriately.

Princess.

And the movement has the sith rubbing at his jaw, and pinching the top of it with his eyes squeezed tightly shut.

Constantin reaches out to pat the muzzle, grinning. He looks over towards Svarshan, "And who is your follower, Princess?" Blinkblink. He's practically dimpling with amusement. Its light, though, his tone anything but mean-spirited.

"Never seen someone understand Srassha so quickly!" Sandy says in the most innocent of expressions as Constantin speaks to Srassha. Then she reaches into her pouch, produces a little colored hard candy and throws it directly at Svarhhan's head. Because of the heat, though, it just hits his scales and then sticks to him.

"Mrmmmngle," Svarshan gets out. And, "Rrrnunggle," he says. Svarshan glances up at the swift...who poses. Prettily. And he screws his eyes shut again. And there's candy stuck to his nose, too, but such is his day that he's just not going to notice.

And of course, the swiftclaw reaches out and pat-pat-pats Constantin on the head in grandiose, noble fashion before--her rider grasps the mecate, and, "It issss time for the Princess to--"

Yank, yank. No!

"--have her pretty armor polished," he amends that, and her eyes brighten as twin, generous stars. Svarshan nods to them both before leaing her away, a spring to her step and bounce to a walk that's all but ridiculous on such a tall reptile.

But. She is going to look GORGEOUS.

More gorgeous.

She is convinced.

Constantin looks over towards Sandy. "Just /look/ at her. How could you no?" A broad smile. "How long did it take you?"

"Of course," says Sandy, as she watches Svarshan depart. She watches, shakes her head. "God damn lizards," she mutters, irritably. A fist is shaken after him.

Constantin glances down. "Oh yeah? What's wrong with them?" He's still smiling, though.

Kathryn comes, strangely enough, from the other direct /after/ the last sway of that GORGEOUS tail is out of sight. By accident, of course. For once, all feet are on the floor, and all hands are inside the ride - or at least at her side, as the striding woman enters the plaza.

Sandy pops another hard, colored candy into her mouth and begins chewing at it, casually, while regarding Kathryn's arriva. And Constantin is just eyeballed too. "So, who're you?" she asks the latter, casually.

A loud note suddenly wavers in the air -- a vocalization of some kind. A song? A particularly harmonious dying cat? "...AAAAAaaaaaannnnnndddd meeeeeeeeee!" the song finishes, as a certain Emir staggers out of the Temple of Tarien, one arm flung wide and the other leaning on his ornate cane.

By the way the man giggles, in his stylishly disheveled noble clothes, he must be... well, drunk. Or at least pretty darn buzzed. He swaggers down the road, humming the last bar, only stop cold and point /dramatically/ at Sandy. "YOU," he gasps, his countenance darkenng. "Unfeeling harpy! What are you doing here?!"

Constantin shakes his head. "Nobody, really." He nods towards Sandy. "Constantin of Taashraan, at your service."

Lliannan moves into the district from the south, a few purchases in her hands. She seems to sigh and relax a bit as she gains closer proximity to the temples, the calm of the district proving its effect. Hearing a high pitched catterwalling, then shouting, she stops to take a look at what may be going on.

"Ah. Tashraani," replies Sandy, "Figures." Then she euyes the arrival of Emir. "Unfeeling? No, I feel plenty angry, amongst other things. I'm here because I feel like being here. Actually, I am here purely to torment and ruin your life." She nods her head up and down, "It gives me secret happies to make you miserable."

Kathryn strides, and strides... and keeps on going. On the plus side? She's actually somewhat civil, and not threatening anyone. Of course, that may be due to ducking into the Temple of Eluna. Hard to get into the proper mood for that sort of thing, if you are too busy staring death threats at everyone.

The drunken man inhales sharply and narrows his eyes at Sandy before making his way unsteadily over with a shaking finger. "And why am I not surprised? You, who insulted Mr. Ironblood, and who has a cold an terrible heart! Why, I have half a mind to declare you my nemesis, here and now!"

Lliannan's tiny frame has stopped, she just can't help herself as she stares at the scene unfolding before her. The corner of her mouth twitches, as she begins to find this just a tad ammusing, and right in the middle of this serene square. She takes note of someone moving forth with purpose, and gets to the side as the woman moves into the Temple of Eluna. Her attention rivits back to watching the drunk and the elf.

Quint is really not at all impressive a sight; a common man in common clothes. His pants are patched and dirty at the shin and knees, his light coat unremarkable in both stitch and color. He frowns mildly as he walks from the Elinute temple, an old book cradles in the palm of one gloved hand, devouring his attention.

Not too far away, Myrana sits on one of the comfortable benches that face the fountain, dressed in greens and purples and eating what appears to be a fruit creme and enjoying watching the proceedings most distinctly.

Lliannan has to move again as a man exits the Eluna temple, his attention not on where he's going, but on the book he's reading. She frowns slightly as she has to divert attention away from the developing scene to move out of the way... again. She moves near to a woman sitting on a bench. Hoping she is out of everyone's way, she glances back to the drunk and the elf.

Constantin's smile splits his face. "Repartee! I love it!" He assays a grand smile towards Emir. "And a wonderful day to you as well, dramatist!"

"Just what the world needed. More gnomes," says Sandy, dryly, at the sight of Lliannan. She then looks at Emir and bursts out laughing. "Your nemesis. Really. Good sense and logic is *already* your nemesis, I'm afraid. No room for me. Also, apparently, sobriety."

Myrana takes a big bite of sweet rice with cream and blueberries goobing all over the spoon, the tip of one slim shoe wiggling where it sticks out from the froth of her petticoats. She sits with one knee hitched comfortably over the other, with a basket on the bench next to her. You see, in a big city, what do you do when you don't have the money for going to the theater in your budget? You watch -street theater-. And anywhere Sandy sticks her quarrelsome face out into the light of day (despite every faerie-tale reassurance that trolls aught not be able to do so) is a perfect opportunity to see someone get punched without having to pay to go to a cage match.

Lliannan faces Sandy with a steady gaze. "My being here has rendered the world no more, nor any less gnomes than it would have had, had I been elsewhere. So your statement is mute.." Logic from a gnome oh god! "But please proceed with your discussion with the..." she blinks her eyes at Emir, "drunk man. It seems you have offended him in some way, though I'm not just sure how."

Pausing just beyond the arched gates, Quint closes the book and lifts his attention from the yellowing pages. The blue ribbon that serves as a marker hangs from the bottom of the tome with frayed edges. The binding is cracked and dinged at the corners. He moves his lips silently in quiet consideration and then moves towards Myrana -- taking care not to trouble the gnomess further -- before sitting opposite her on the bench. "Miss Myrana," he gives a shallow nod. "The lady is not likely to throttle anyone, is she?"

"And to you," Emir says dramatically to Constantin, too engrossed in his personal drama to be more than cursorily polite at the moment. Whoops! As Sandy begins to laugh, the bard only seems to puff up. "I'll have you know that good sense and logic are my firm and steadfast allies! In this cold, unfeeling world, we have each other to light the path and-- and make our way into the dark unknown! And yes, on occasion I find it does the soul good to let loose and imbibe alcohol! Just because you've never met Monssieur Fun in your /entire life/--" And here, he's indeed drawing himself up and puffing out like a pigeon, poking Sandy quite firmly in the breastbone, "--does not mean the rest of us have to live our lives in sorrow and MISERY!" He pauses, and then bursts out with, "Unless, apparently, we're your nemesis!" POKE.

Myrana jumps just a little when Quint sits next to her on the bench. Probably the sudden shift in weight upon the planks pinched her. Looking over at Quint she smiles in greeting. "There's no way to know for sure," which sounds hopeful on her part. "Would you like some fruit cream?"

"Did you just poke me? Really? You really *must* be inebriated. There are days when I would've originally broken your fingers for that. Today, though, as I recently got fined for breaking someone's fingers, I am simply going to continue to drive you mad." She brushes his hand away and continues, "I don't think anyone wearing that hat has *any* claim to any of the things you just mentioned. AT ALL."

"I had supper with the other petitioners." Quint declines Myrana's offer with a subtle tilt of his head. He looks out of the corner of his eyes at Sandy, narrowing them when she's poked. The off-key, jittering song of the Jack-in-the-Box begins playing. Only it's not a clown or a puppet inside; it's murder. Or at least a sound thrashing. "I think the Seers have given me another quest," is the subsequent non sequitur. The constant frown dips a little deeper. Consternation, perhaps.

Constantin steps back, smiling broadly. Street theatre! Awesome!

The faintest hint of cigar smoke begins to waft near the Adventurers.

Myrana looks sharply at Quint. "...You are... going somewhere?" She asks slowly. And somewhat delicately.

"W-- Well! Well! Good madame, or should I say, /foul/ madame, if you broke my fingers I would be just in declaring a crusade, if you will, on your /head/!" The blustery man sniffs sharply, and at the insult to /his hat/ - his beloved, dainty hat of a most beautiful elven origin -- he looks absolutely /scandalized/. "This /hat/ has a /rich, cultural background/, and as such, it has more culture in its /tiniest thread/ than you do in your entire, monstrous body, foul wench! Take that back!!"

Myrana leans toward Quint. "I bet he's a wizard," she whispers conspiratorally, then takes a bite of fruit. WHISPER WHISPER. "You are right. I am indeed foul and cultureless and a monster to boot," agrees Sandy, casually, to Emir. "In fact, I dare say that anyone here would agree that i am the vilest, most shrewest harpy to ever grace the streets of Alexandria. Which also means I am no doubt the only person who is willing to say others will not: That hat is *ridiculous*."

"Perhaps." Quint conceeds after some deliberation. He smooths the cover of the book and offers it to Myrana, "I am told it tells of a Silver Guard. I do not read the tongue of elves. They indicate--" He stops, stands, and leaves the book on the bench. Casually walking, he draws in a slow breath as he nears Sandy and Emir.

"If you are unaware... you stand in the spiritual center of Alexandria. The faithful come here to worship. The theatrical district is to the north. The red light districts are to the south and west." He glances at Sandy, nodding once, shallowly. "Lady Sandiel. Perhaps I could locate the Lady Serene and she might help you to locate a more appropriate venue for... this?"

The hat in question is made of swoops and curls, with a tall, arching feather and really, it /is/ rather ridiculous, even if the nobleman wears it well. As well as that hat can be worn, any way. And oh! Oh! He looks /so scandalized/, staring at Sandy as though he could summon fireballs with his gaze alone. "Well. At least you're aware of your shortcomings, though perhaps it's even worse, that you choose to continue to be SO TREMENDOUSLY HORRIFIC. And, might I add, worst of all, /so devoid of taste/." Ugh! Uh! Huff!! His chin snaps up. He even snaps his fingers.

Quint's interruption makes the huffy man even huffier, as he gasps like a fish for a moment, before letting out a long hissed breath and snapping his teeth shut. With a sniff, he nods stiffly. "You are of course correct. I would never dream of insulting the gods with my row with this terrible riff-raff. But you, you horrible she-troll--" He points two fingers to his eyes, then two to hers. "--I'm watching you. /Nemesissssss/." He narrows his eyes at her, and starts to back away, never breaking eye contact. Two fingers to his eyes. Two fingers to hers. Ssssssss.

Myrana is left sitting with the book. She stares after Quint, pursing her lips and looking like someone just knocked her icecream on the ground. INTERRUPT MY STREET THEATER WILL YOU?!

Lliannan's eyes dance as the scene does get rather interesting, until Quint disrupts the whole thing. With his setting his book down, she slips around behind the bench and takes an interest in the book. She picks up the tomb and begins to leaf through its contents, her interest no longer on the scene around her.

"I'd never make a nemesis of a woman who had hips wider than a wagon! She'll crush ye, lad!" Drunken laughter erupts from a second floor balcony of Coyote's temple. Followed by some complimentary whooping and a fingers-in-the-mouth whistle.

Well for fuck's sake. Myrana scowls, and opens up the book in her lap, setting aside the fruit to do so. Liliannan could easily read the open pages over her shoulder.

Myrana says, "Never get to watch anyone punch anyone," she peers at the written contents, blue eyes flickering."

Constantin stands back, shaking his head a little. He tucks his thumbs into his swordbelt and chews on his tongue. He does. It looks like it kills him, but he does it.

"...hey! If you don't want me to come up t here and break your face, I'd lay off the comments about my damn hips!" She points at the balcony from which that was yelled, our Sandy does, and then she prods Emir in the chest, saying, "I am indeed devoid of taste. Clearly. But even as one so devoid of taste, I can see that you look ridiculous in that hat. And," she continues, "I am clearly right to have rattled you so. You know it too. Deep down, you know and are okay with it. That's fine." Then she turns towards Quitn, "What would an acceptable venue be? Ox-Strength? Hi, Myrana!"

Myrana says, "Hi, Sandy!"

Myrana waves enthusedly.

Well, so much for backing away. Emir, spurred on by the comments from Sandy -- and the onlookers in the balcony -- and maybe some ~psychic connection~ with Myrana's inner-most desires, the bard hops, skips, jumps, and punches Sandy in the chest. It's sort of like a small squishy peach thumping dully off her breastbone as he yelps and cradles his fist. "Take that back, you brute!! (ow!)"

"Please... stop shouting." Quint is an even tempered man. To a fault. But then Emir throws a punch and his frown just dips a fraction of an inch lower and his brows twitch inward. He steps right in front of Emir -- his back to the lady Sandiel -- and offers a headshake so mild it has to be forced. "This is not the place for fisticuffs or pugilism."

The night splits in a portal of ardent and blue, writhing arms of mana like smoking, reaching towards the heavens. Brannigan, a massive draught horse, muscled and ornery, leaps through the portal and stomps a tight circle on the cobblestones. "I can offer you a ride to the Ox if you are so inclined," Quint adds.

Myrana's heart grew two sizes that day.

Since Quint is no longer facing her, but Sandy might see... Myrana starts making punching pantomimes behind one hand, waggling her eyebrows at Sandy.

Constantin's arms fold on his chest, one hand over his mouth. He just stands there. Nobody look at him. (for once)

"That 'orse jus' came outta nowhere!" One Tarienite gapes.

"Nah... prob'ly just a trick'a tha loight." Another responds.

"Or'ee was behind Sandy's hips the 'ole toim!" Yet another.

DO-HOHOHOHOHO they all laugh.

"Oh shut up, you bloody Tarienites!" Sandy tells up at them. And then Emir punches her and she looks down at her chest. She must be wearing some kind of armor, after all, because she didn't really seem to feel it all that much. "You know," she tells him, "that sort of hurt. Ass." She doesn't even punch him back. "But it looks like you did more harm to yourself than you did to me, soooo. I win!"

Emir is -- dare I say it? -- sniffling, as he cradles his fist, and he glares at Quint. "Fine!! I didn't want to exact glorious vengeance anyway! Keep your bloody horse; I'm taking my business elsewhere! But you'd do well to stop protecting that /nasty monster/ and wake up to the terrible darkness in her heart. Before she /eats you whole/!"

Okay, so he's given to hyperbole. No one's surprised. But he turns on his heel, smacks his cane into the cobblestone, and wobble-stomps his way away from the gathering, head held high and dignity and pride so very wounded. Sniff. SNIFF.

"...he actually just made me feel bad," says Sandy, "It was like kicking a puppy." She sounds all sad now about this. "Now, Tarienites on the other hand..."

"Oh gosh," Myra takes another bite of fruit, settling the book into her lap. So that's what it's like when she's not the horrible baby-eating psycho demon in a situation! She'll have to sit back more often!

Quint shakes his head mildly at Sandy, turning to look over his shoulder at her. Brannigan, for his part, wanders towards the Elunite temple. It bobs its head at Myrana as it passes. "I was thinking you had paid him to make a scene..." the Acanian offers the elf, tipping his head before he walks back towards the bench.

The Tarienites know a thing or two about luck -- and when not to push it. They scrambled inside at some point before continuing their lewd comments. A fresh bout of muffled raucous laughter and the clinking of mugs from inside might leave one wondering what joke was just told at whose expense. Myrana finishes off the last bite of fruit, waggling the book at Quint while she chews. "Ffi can reaf ffiff for youff." Constantin stepsback again, making a little more space. Swatting at a nearby moth, Sandy then makes her way after Emir, casually. She is actually going to follow him. FOR WHAT REASON, IT IS NOT CLEAR.

Well, for Emir's part, he's nearly out of sight by now, wobble-stumping his way through town like a dainty, injured rhinocerous. Potentially toward another bar, it seems.