Cover Letter

The TarRaCe, late afternoon

There was a cold chilly rain outside.

But who minds that, as Aelwyn steps into the TarRaCe with a leather cloak wrapped box in hand. There was a sight of determination evident upon him as he paces himself across the bar with barely a glance and a nod, and heads towards one of the larger tables.

It is only there, he begins to lay down and unpeel the box from its leathery cape - the rest of his ruddy scaled body sacrificed to the elements to protect this one thing. This one wooden box, that is being gently pried open, to reveal...

Rolls of fancy looking parchment, inks and a quill pen. And some feathers and ribbons. "Tch. It had to rain today when this arrived." Aelwyn complains as he checks for water damage.

The bartender on duty, a red haired woman in red vest and slacks, perks as Aelwyn shows up, not on shift. There's a bright grin almost followed by a hello, but then the makari is off to do his own thing?

Not-Slix ponders. Aelwyn on a mission? Aelwyn's never on a mission, save for passion. Finding that logic sound, her bartending post is abandoned.

Only for her to pop up from behind, peering over Aelwyn's shoulder as she is in the bench of the adjacent table. "OooOOooo, what'cha got heeeere~?" she croons.

Out from the back rooms of the Tarrace wandered a still slightly damp makari, with steam lingering in the air a bit more than usual. Eztli took a moment to stretch once she was free of the muggy atmosphere, just managing to spy at least one familiar face nearby.

"Heya Aelwyn, been a bit! what're ya up to?" She wonders, wandering over.

Aelwyn carefully sorted out the parchments into a neat row, the ribbons ordered by size and fanciness, the feathers laid across. The ink and quill pen, brand new, even are set aside. All this effort was done with great care that was not disturbed by the sound coming behind him.

"This one's new sun," The Dragoon says, then turns to look at not-Slix with a flash of his teeth. "For this one shall ride to a new morning." He gestures towards the array of expensive looking writing equipment.

The draconian looks around, and then raises his hand. "Spelldancer, perfect timing! This one wishes to acquire her assistance!" He then pauses to look at not-Slix. "Dry towels ran out again?"

Not-Slix takes in the assortment of stationary beset before them with a low whistle. "Takin' on somethin' new then, eh?" she grins, looking at him. "Well, I figured ya would like writin'-" But the callout to a familiar nickname elicits a guffaw. "Or, maybe watch someone do it. And ya can just ask, fo' me ta dry ya," the bartender snerks, waving a hand to magically dry Aelwyn and his supplies as she turns to face Eztli. "Heya Cutie, no time no- BY CEIWEN'S GROVES!"

The well-dressed bartender all but leaps out of the booth, stumbling over herself before getting to Eztli. She grabs at a wing spar to inspect, human visage laced with dramatic shock and awe. "What th'-" A brief incantation. "-dese ain't magic- wha'- how-...!"

"No, no, It's fine, surprised you aren't complaining about the cold." Eztli huffs loudly. "Just makes the baths get all misty's all."

"Course, since Slix is around pretty sure, that means my timing is better than usual. What can I do to help?" The small makari offers, cut off from further questions as the sorceress is left sputtering as the bartender inspects one wing left flapping a bit awkwardly. "Ack, no, they're real, and well, sorry!" She sputters, grabbing her other wing and holding it down as it threatens to blow away Aelwyn's work he tried so hard to protect.

Aelwyn clicks his tongue, "She did now, did she?" He asks, then remembers he was covered in cold chilly wat- nope, not anymore. Turning to respond to Eztli, he says, "Tch, the baths get misty from the condensed _hot_, not cold." The draconian rumbles with a flash of his teeth and a pointed... finger...

... as not-Slix is suddenly all over the winged makari. Looking a little ruffled by the sudden and utter lack of interest, he turns around and leans his arms onto the back of the bench. "Tch, well, when one is done with their overly eager fan, this one wishes to ask some questions about the cavalier." And, with a grin threatening to burst out of his skull, he adds, "And how to properly write a letter to become one."

GAME: Slixvah rolls knowledge/local: (2)+6: 8

Not-Slix is busy folding and unfolding one of Eztli's wings, fascinated by them. "Darlin', who else calls ya Cutie?" she chirps excitedly. "M'right here!"

Peering over the shorter two-toned makari, Not-Slix sticks her tongue out at Aelwyn. "Ohhh don't get your scales inna twist. If you walked in here wit' a set of wings I'd do tha' exact same thing wit' you-" She blinks. Then takes the dragon-wing tip she has in hand and points it at Aelwyn, eyebrows shot up high on her forehead. "You? Bein' a cavalier? Holy smokes. Tha's wicked! I ain' kno' much bout 'em but dey look pretty cool!"

Eztli finally manages to get her wing under control, but Slixvah is still left moving the other around. "Far less than I would like, Slix. Honestly, you'd think you never saw a wing before in your life." They pout. "If Aelwyn had wings, he wouldn't be walking anywhere I don't think. Anyways, of course! I can deal with Slix and help you. I don't know much about the cavaliers, not as much as I'd like, but drafting an official letter? I've got loads of experience with that!"

Aelwyn leans his head onto his hand. "If this one walked in here with wings, this one is certain that is not what one would be doing." He gestures at the poor winged makari being assaulted by the not-egalrin bartender. He then gestures with his hand, trying to call the other over. "Fondle her here, Ribbon, not out in everyone's way."

At Eztli's words, the ruddy sith-makar nods his head eagerly. "This one has the whole letter sorted out! Just... need, it to be more letter-like." He gestures, before he wiggles his tongue at not-Slix. "And when this one becomes a Cavalier, they are about to look way hotter."

Not-Slix scoffs. "It's not every day when one'a my friends walks in wit' a set of dope /dragon/ wings, Cutie! Tablin' this biz fo' now, but we are /so/ talkin' 'bout this laters."

The bartender rolls her eyes at Aelwyn. "Yeah yeah, I hear ya." Eztli is released. For now. Not-Slix scuttles over back to her spot behind Aelwyn in a booth, back to her position over his shoulder to peer at the ensemble. "Oh yeah, Ezzy is th' perfect gal fo' dis. What'dya mean, hotter?" She side eyes Aelwyn. Licks her finger, subtle mutters an incantation, and presses the digit against a dark ruddy scale. The sound of something sizzling emits from the prod. "Impossible."

"I'm sure she'd be doing the exact same thing, Aelwyn. Heck, I'd probably join in too." Eztli chuckles, gingerly rubbing her wing as she wanders closer, hopping onto the back of the booth. "Lot of people say they know exactly what they want until it comes to actually make it something reality." Eztli points out. "Are you sure you'll look hotter? they might expect you to wear more heraldry, after all."

"Not me, of course," Aelwyn replies, as he less than subtly posits himself into a definitely not-casual enticing pose. "But make the cavaliers look even more hot." His tail flicks and he begins to unroll the first of the several expensive looking parchments. The paper seemed to have golden flecks in it. "Though -" He turns towards Eztli as she nears. "This one needs to hear that winged discussion."

At Eztli's comment, he shakes his head. "Not these - this one is certain they want everyone to look their best. Or so this one was told of the Order of Cockatrice." Hey lays the parchment flat, weighs it down after a moment of confusion...

... and then stares at the paper. A moment later, he looks at Eztli. "So how does one start?"

The idea of Aelwyn having to wear regal clothing gets a cackle to come from the bartender. She settles down and shakes her head at Aelwyn's posturing. "Yes yes, any hotter and you'd burn a hole through th' floor," she jests before resting her chin in her palm, raising a brow at the fancy parchment. "... dang, you gots stuff das good enough ta make magic scrolls out of," she idly comments.

The name of the order garners no recognition to flash across the bartender's face, however there was a look of 'oh, its a fashion club, that makes total sense for Aelwyn'. But after a while of silence and inaction. "... perhaps, knowing who it is addressed to? D'ya got a contact fo' th' order?"

"I'm sure Slix would keep you in the loop of things, don't worry there. Or I'll give you the synopsis otherwise." Eztli offers, letting her feet dangle off the back of the booth as she watched. "It's good, too good." Eztli agrees, reaching into her robes for a moment before she comes back with a roll of parchment she drops directly onto Aelwyn's snout. "Write it out on this first, since you're going to make mistakes, or want to move things around. Slix has a good start, you want to show how much you know about them. That and, maybe you aren't writing to nobles, but you want to make yourself seem as important as possible, without outright lying. Let them know some of your exploits, y'know? I'd say youve got enough of them at this point."

Aelwyn's nostrils flare inwards at the snout boop, and he rubs at it before picking up the scroll. "Hey, this one has very steady hand." He protests, "And decisive mind." But he takes the scroll anyway - it is not as if he hadn't stocked up in backups - and unrolls it besides the other. The draconian then picks up the ink pot and carefully, then forcefully, attempts to uncork it.

"This one needs to know a name? Is it not enough if this one simply sends it to them?" Aelwyn asks then, looking at Slixvah - then back towards Eztli. "Ah, easy!" He snaps his fingers. "'tis this one, Aelwyn, a Dragoon and the one who dances with the flames, the one who has slain countless of beasts, pushed back tides of evil, braved the summits of terror of blood and fought off a genocide of this one's kin..." He continues on, then with a flash of his teeth asks. "Something of that sort?"

Not-Slixvah giggles as the plain parchment plops on Aelwyn's face. "Yuh, Ezzy's got the right idea. Don' matta if ya gots a steady hand. Ya may sleep on it, come back ta it tomorrow, and realize ya hate what ya wrote."

A mage hand subtly pulls the expensive papers back some to avoid a mishap with the struggling inkpot. "Well, yuh. Ya gotta have a name and a place ta send it. It's a letter, not a prayer," she teases.

She gives a light clap, smiling. "Oooh, I likes that. Maybes ya should include some copies of reports from th' Explorer's guild ta back up them claims?"

"No, it doesn't, now is and isn't the time for decisiveness. You're going to want to figure out exactly how to word this, and that'll mean changing things around. Like, for example, if you don't know their names, you're going to want to add that in, you know?" Eztli chuckles, resting her arms in her lap and watching. "Besides, the more you know about them, the better it'll make it clear you mean business. Kind of like blackmail, but not. Just showing what you know about their order."

"Not a bad idea either! I'm sure they'd like to know just how you saved a continent from destruction, among other things."

Aelwyn twists his lips, grinding his teeth together. "Tch, this one supposes. Though one thought the couriers would take care of such with the amount of coin they charge." He rumbles with a flick of his head. "That shall not matter! This one is certain someone knows a name in the order of the Cockatrice." He flashes his teeth at Eztli. "For they are well known! They even have a glorious hunt for one every year." He clicks his teeth. "Even if this one does not understand why."

Oh well, nobility had their own quirks. He finally manages to get the inkpot open with only a bit of ink over his hands, and wiping the excess away, picks up a pen. "Guild has reports? This one thought nobody read them?" He carefully tests the pen against an edge of the parchment. "This one is certainly going to mention that, but perhaps not the Felwood or the bloody cellar." He twists his face. "Rather not have anyone ask questions of those."

The pen is then aimed at the other two. "What were our biggest accomplishments in the past year?"

Slixvah glances at Eztli, shooting the small makari an inquisitive look at their word choice. "... sometimes I forget ya a bit used ta politick," she mumbles before shifting her attention to Aelwyn. A chuckle escapes her. "Well, if theys all about being gaudy, then I guess bein' confident tha' ya letter will get ta them without an address is a good way ta do it."

She blinks, then snickers. "Of course they do! How else is Alexandria gonna know what's been happenin' they borders? As well as the Tribune releasin' crazy papers!"

The bloody celler gets her to grimace, rubbing her neck, before the question gets her to perk up. She leans over the back of the booth, grinning and pointing to the page. "Oooh, start a list! Ya can put th' time we freed a friggin' pheonix!" she suggests, starting the long drafting process.

"Well, I'm sure someone will help you out with that if you just look around. We can just make a note to include that in your introduction." Eztli nods, taking a pause to look around the tavern. "Given the two staff here, I take it it's okay for me to sit up here for now? I'll try not to make a habit of it, but these booths are even more cumbersome than before. A shame, really."

"I know enough to get by, Slix." The small makari shrugs. "Yeah, I read them time to time, it's good when I need to refresh myself on things, usually." She admits. "Seems like all I've done with you of late is go to some forests you hate though Aelwyn, so I'm not sure how much help I'll be there. Maybe you can tell me more about some of your exploits? That's a good start! Like that phoenix, tell me more about that!"

Aelwyn gives Eztli a blank stare. He puts down the pen and then leans towards the other makari. "Look, Spelldancer must understand." He gestures with his hands. "If anyone gives her anything about sitting where her wings please, then this one and Ribbon shall see to that person being firmly seated at the bottom of the pool."

With that out of the way, the Dragoon picks up his pen and makes a face at Slixvah. "Is that not the time when this one nearly hit her? Is that wise? Would that not make this one look difficult?" The Dragoon rumbles, before starting to etch down ideas with the drafting. And order plenty of wine for the write.

-End Scene-