Mistakes are Inevitable

After a few initial, irregular bursts the flow of refugees into the city has become a steady thing. All these people need somewhere to go and not everyone has family, an ex-lover, or a business relationship to fall back on. Not everyone has the money for prolonged stays at inns, either, but there are still enough people that do to have the available rooms quickly fill up.

The good news is that the city pays for someone to consider these wrinkles and the tide of the suddenly-homeless was anticipated. So steps have been taken by top men. Top... men.

One of the less-popular blocks in the western market district has been cleared of stalls, stands, and carts and the merchants what would hawk their wares have moved elsewhere. Most of them, anyway, as some see a ripe market for things like extra blankets, straw mats, bedrolls, chamber pots, buckets, and so on, and so on.

And here you are! Helping people get settled. Making sure tempers don't flare unchecked. Perhaps unloading and distributing supplies donated to the city by the temples and well-meaning locals with the means (and will) to contribute.

There's watch presence but it's thin. You can tell that some of the guards are already nearing the end of the second shift back-to-back. Hence the adventurer reinforcement from the Guild (or the Union). If it was all up to folks like the half-llyr snoozing in the driver's seat of a wagon no one would see to the proper sorting and distribution of rough wool blankets and bread.

It's warm now, sure, but who knows what tomorrow will bring?

In some cases, mul'niessa are not necessarily wholly welcome, but Daed has never been one to allow something like uncertain welcome dictate his actions. So here he is, helping as best he can to help the refugees find what they need. Easing flared tesions, and doing what he can to entertain. Both children and adults alike can appreciate a little slight of hand and parlor tricks after all. And offering smiles is as much of import as is a blanket on a cold night. Especially in trying times like these.

Lyme tries to be helpful, but largely the seven-foot tall yrch is a deterrent to poor behavior and improper queuing etiquette. He smiles, but it shows pointy teeth, so he doesn't smile much.

Rocky is certainly resorting to the 'keep people entertained' strategy.. mostly with the children. After Shilde assured that the big dog meant no harm, children started, tentatively at first, to approach and pet him.. soon enough their inhibitions faded, their trauma at having left their homes suppressed, and they started playing with him. As the few became comfortable, others who obtained permission from their tired parents joined in until there was a small swarm of little ones climbing on and and petting and trying to catch the dog's tail, others doing their best to 'avoid' being slobbered on, then giggling hysterically when he catches them.

Shilde's role is somewhat less noisy. She joins in the handing out of blankets, and though she keeps half an eye out for trouble, her attention is mostly on the state of the refugees.

+hello? hello! hellooo~oooo~ooo!? anyone?+ A voice filters through the nervous murmur of the settling crowd and the happy children. Many are too busy with their own business to bother searching for the source but a few stop what they're doing and turn with puzzled expressions on their voice.

It's a weird sort of voice, you see. (Well, hear!)

It's not in your head. Nothing quite so invasive, no. But it's... different? You hear it in your native tongue without any sort of accent. Or, more properly, with the sort of regional accent you've come to appreciate as being 'no accent.' It sounds like home!

+yes. hell~oo~oo? someone, please. i do think i see the sky and i have to say i'm very excited but i require some assistance. sooner rather than later would be grand!+

GAME: Daechir rolls perception: (6)+3: 9
GAME: Lyme rolls perception: (12)+9: 21
GAME: Shilde rolls perception: (14)+14: 28

Despite being nominally from Charn, Charn has not been his home in so long that the voice comes across to Daed as being an Alexandrian 'accent'. Which really isn't odd at all. The oddity lies in that Daed can not for the life of him find the source of the voice. Which seems to come from somewhere low to the ground, but... not anywhere in particular. "Hello? Where are you?" He asks politely, assuming that the voice is a child perhaps one playing a joke on him of some variation.

Lyme turns, himself, looking quizzically down at the street. There's a moment, frowning at something, before he squats down near a sewer grate. "Hi there. Who /are/ you?" He's definitely talking to someone, that's for sure.

Shilde pauses with an armload of blankets, cocking her head just to the side as if she can try and home in on the source of the voice. Being that she hears it in the tongue of the mountain homes, she responds as such, in Khazdul. "Oi! Where ye at, then?" She hands her armload off to a particularly large family, then turns about, scanning for anything out of the ordinary. Which is when she sees the small, stick thin arm waving through the grate. She glances at Rocky, momentarily entertaining the idea of pulling him away from his play.. then decides against it and approaches the grate without him, joining Lyme a moment later.

People need protection and that's why Stena is here. The burly girl in the breastplate with the earthbreaker over her shoulder and the extra-snowy-white hair. Makes her stand out, really.

Also, she's a helper. She is helping.

"Sorry, kid, I don't know where your parents are OH MY GOD STOP CRYING! I'll help!"

Folks naturally stay away from this part of the square. The cobblestones are darker and slick with slime, bars that used to be dull, grey steel are rusted and algae-caked. It doesn't smell particularly great. The good neighbors will be the ones who walk their buckets and pots over here to dump that out into the darkness below.

A small, waving hand draws you closer and closer inspection reveals it to be mechanical in nature and ending in a tiny, crab-like claw. It's also dull and caked with gross. There's a rapid squeaking mingling with a ft-ft-ft-ft-ft of beating wings.

With Lyme and Shilde looking down they're greeted by a single, glassy eye looking back up at them.

+Yes! Hello! Is this the Overworld? I've been looking for the Overworld. This--+ the orb pivots to look back down into the darkness-- +is DEFINITELY the Underworld. Is your ruler...+ It stops and uses both clawed hands to pat across its form, as if checking pockets. +I lost my notes. Blast and drat and shoot. I think your ruler is Alec Sandria. I have a note for him. Or her. Or it.+ Ft-ft-ft-ft the wings continue to go.

The half-elf in the driver's seat of the wagon snorts awake at Stena's shouting and blinks blearily at her. "Mmf. Lil' ones usually do better if you don' look at'm like an ogre'n shout..." she half-mumbles as she roughly pushes a heel into her eye as she slides out of the driver's seat and stops, yawns, and stretches.

Lyme reaches down to take hold of the grate, as he looks over at Shilde. "If I pull this, are you ready for whatever it does?" He then looks down. "Well, this place is Alexandria -- maybe you found what you are looking for?"

Seeing everyone gathered by the sewer grate encourages Daed to assume that the voice he heard is coming from there. Deciding to investigate, and noticing that the voice is indeed coming from that direction, he himself joins the gang hanging out by the grate. Blinking down at the odd mechanical being below, Daechir murmurs a soft word to himself that's more curse at the smell than it is anything else. "I would be careful pulling that up were I you." He offers to Lyme. "What message have you for Alexandria?" This to the being below.

Shilde eyes the mechanical.. bug... doubtfully. Then she eyes the grate doubtfully. Then she eyes Lyme doubtfully. "Not sure it's lookin' like it'll go back right'n proper. Wouldn't want folks fallin' in, aye?" Still, she can't see another way of getting the creature out. She starts nodding at Daechir's warning, but then changes her mind and shrugs. "Ah. Better it get out here, I s'pose, where we can deal with it if it's nasty, rather'n some other exit where we aren't.." Of course, that doesn't take into account the legion of frightened/tired/irate refugees nearby. So she looks around for anyone else from the guild hired to help out here, and easily spots Stena. "Oi! Big'un! Need yer bulk o'er here!"

GAME: Lyme rolls strength: (6)+6: 12

"The hell is going on over there?" asks Stena. Seeing the others gathering, she's wandering over to join them... now that she's gotten the crying kid taken care of. She also lost her coin purse. She'll find that out later.

"What the hell?" She repeats, leaning over to stare. And stare she does.

Two metal shutters not unlike eyelids slide down to narrow the creature's gaze into a slit as it considers the three looking down from above. +I have to say that-- and no offense, really-- none of you strike me as the 'ruler' type. And I have explicit instructions to deliver my note... *AHEM* Deliver my Message to the ruler, Albert Sandrino.+

The little orb-like creature shifts, turning to give you a view or its tiny, mechanical wings beating furiously to keep it alot. Then it turns again like a globe on its axis.

+I work for the Big Guy. NAVOS.+ The diety's name is delivered as you would know him, natively. +Well,+ the eye shifts up and to one side, +indirectly. Technically, he's my boss' boss' boss' boss' boss' boss' boss' boss'...+ One claw comes up to tick off tallies in the air. "... boss' boss."

+This is time sensitive. So... chop-chop. I've already been stuck down here for... well, there's no day or night in this Underworld. So I'm not sure. I popped over from EQUILIBRIUM and wandered for awhile... and then I realized I couldn't go back home... and so I've been wandering around for... awhile. Hey. That reminds me. Why can't I go home?! Did you people break something?+

Lyme works at the grate, and it doesn't come away. He loses his grip with a curse, then sets himself, puts both hands on the grate and thinks about proper deadlift form -- and tries again. No talking, just gains.

Lyme gets it, this time. He waits for the orb to move through, then will return the grate. In the meantime, it's all exercise, isn't it? He looks at the thing. "Chop. chop."

Daed steps back, straightening as Lyme takes the prerogative to open the grate by force. He does not in fact find this to be a very good idea, but he is not about to argue 'rescuing' this 'agent' of the 'gods' from their purgatory.

"...oh boy," says Stena, putting a hand over her face as Lyme works on the grate. She's wary and ready... just in case, but this is the kind of madness that occasionally happens in Alexandria.

"You need some help there?" she offers to him, but he seems to have it well in hand.

Shilde gives a short whistle, then slaps her thigh. Rocky looks up, then gently starts removing children from his back and nudging them away from his feet as he disentangles from them.. care not to accidentally hurt any with his large size. It takes a small while... he's not quite finished when Shilde takes a step back as Lyme removes the grate, watching the mechanical winged thing carefully. "Not knowin' who this Albert Sandrino is. Might be thinkin ye deliver yer message to the Council."

The wings beat faster and the little twig-like arms hang limp as the flying clockwork eyeball surges up and out of the sewers. It's in truly terrible shape. There are blotches of patina coupled with smears of waste and slime. There's a rather stubborn and thick cobweb strung between its right arm and wing. The occasional insect darts into and out of the creases of and gaps between its spherical form.

+Oh... oh, yes, this is MUCH nicer. I have to admit that I was starting to think there was nothing prime about this Prime Material plane I had heard the others talking about...+

It bobs in place, lower 'lid' squinting up in what must be happiness. Or maybe relief? A few of the refugees have caught sight of the strange little creature and are starting to edge closer to the happenings.

+And a sky! You DO have a sky. I thought I heard about a sky. It's good to see our information isn't entirely out of date.+ The two claws raise up to wave in wonder at the heavens. +But I'm... where was I? Oh, yes. Someone said something about a consul to the ruler. Who is this person? Is he this way?+ One claw gestures westwards and it starts to slowly fly in that direction as if anticipating his correctitude.

"Thinkin' we might wanna get the watch t'escort this flyin' bucket," Shilde suggests, watching the creature flap away as Rocky pads over to her finally. "Oi!" she calls out to it then. "Yer goin' the wrong way!"

Lyme puts the grate back, carefully, then straighten up. "You might want to go slowly or you'll get lost."

+But... you said to go this way!+ The eye turns and looks in the direction they were headed, arms raised in an exasperated expression of surrender. It spins and flies back over, lowering down to Shilde's eye-level. +That's OK. I forgive you. Mistakes...+ the big eye squints +are... inevitable...+

The orb bobs in place, rocking and clattering as its claws pat the underside of its sphere in amusement. That carries on for awhile before the creature settles. A little claw pantomimes wiping a tear away. It didn't cry.

+That's me, by the way. I'm Mistakes. And I'm an Inevitable.+ It tilts to one side and waves. The sleepy half-llyr has arrived and seems about ready to poke at the so-called Inevitable with her spear. She mutters a 'the fuh..?' and blinks slowly.

+Is she my escort? I suppose we can do without fanfare. One trumpet would be nice. Or maybe someone with a good set of lungs buzzing their lips against waxpaper.+ It flies back up and braces open claws against its sides in a hands-on-hips gesture for a being without hips. +Taxes said they had a full band for him on his last mission. And they're TAXES. Who likes taxes?+

Daechir shakes his head at the odd machine, but it doesn't seem dangerous so... "If you will come here." He offers to it, lifting one dark-fingered hand. "I will clean you off so that you might be more presentable to the one that you wish to give your message to." He casts a quick spell, one that will allow him to remove the grime and filth from the odd construct.

".. think it made a joke," Shilde mutters, a half step taken back when the flying orb gets a bit too close.. while gesturing to the wagon driver to keep her spear down. While Daechir attends to the.. messenger's appearance, she turns and looks at the halfling. "Think ye can lead the jangly one to a guard post or somethin'? Might be they'll wanna do somethin' official-like fer this."

Lyme nods slowly. "We should keep an eye on it, I think. I.. I'm more worried by the sense of humor."

The looky-loos are keeping their distance, still, but a bigger crowd has assembled. The mundane tasks of setting camp are forgotten for the moment. The eye twists again, and waves, and points two familiar claws at a pair of scribes holding up their Navosian holy symbols and waving.

+Oh, yes! Buff me, mortal thing!+ It dips and swoops closer to Daechir, holding out its crooked arms for the oncoming prestidigitation. +To a high sheen! Feel free you eat any of the crawly-things you find. I know how you mortals love your mouth-inputs.+

The eye pans from Shilde to Lyme and back to Daechir. The half-elf sighs heavily and nods at the Khazadi woman. "... who needs sleep? Castelum's right close," she drawls sarcastically-- but she seems to've accepted her lot.

+Castelum? NOW we're talking. That sounds official." The orb rocks in place thrice, its version of a nod. It inspects its claws and marvels are the gloss returning to its finish. +You know? You all have been so helpful...+

The claws extend and wave you closer. It lowers its voice.

+We saw something important coming. A large army of wights are mobilizing and coming your way. We have to warn your leaders.+

"... fer fuck's sake," complains the watchman.

Lyme growls, a rumble low in his chest. "For f.." He looks at the watchman. "I know, right?"

-End