Breathless in the Market District

Log Info

• Title: Breathless in the Market District

• Characters: Rune, Asphodel, Harkashan, Ravenstongue, Carver, Skielstregar

• Place: A07: Lower Alexandria Market District

• Summary: A group gathers in the Market District for their own varied reasons, but Carver ends up breathless after choking on a cake at the sight of Skielstregar's talking weapon, Malefic.

It has been said that the options 'here' are of lesser quality, and yet, there is a stylishly attired Llyranesi woman moving through the market like a powerhouse.

A powerhouse of extroverted energy, only one too excited to mix, mingle, and see.

In other words, from the mist mountains where they hold their court, it appears this is A Hot Child In the City. Running wild, maybe or maybe not looking pretty, but you can follow her peals of laughter as she makes acquaintances with those merchants. In fact, if one were to examine closely the gaze of the merchants, this is unexpected behavior from the normally reserved Llyranesi; this one, however, forgoes being aloof and its attendant coolness for simple enthusiasm. If there's a name she hasn't caught...

Asphodel is currently pulling bobbins filled to max capacity and setting them before a merchant, and she leans forward, eyes sparkling like distant stars, her hands tapping with the excitement of bartering.

With the temperatures warming, the Market district is more than a little busy at this time of day. Vendors call out their wares, trying to draw attention from those who have the coin to spend.

Rune is among them, though she is not nearly as extroverted as Asphodel. The half-sil has her hood up, slightly shielding her eyes from the sunlight as she looks down at a bit of simple parchment with some notes scribbled on it: a shopping list. "Someone who sells silver weapons, cold iron weapons, or can enchant weapons..." She murmurs to herself, tapping a delicate finger the page.

The materials are rare, and the enchanters are costly and difficult to find, sigh.

That is when she spots a familiar face in the crowd. One which Rune has yet to really put a name to. "Hey." She offers out, though it is possible that her voice could get lost in the crowd. "Aren't you the sacrifice from the village?" Her head tilts curiously.

To mingle and mix with culture, to experience and to vet. So many new sights and sounds, people and products. Even in a place with such diversity, one can still stand out. A large, tall, muscular being, the silver scales that adorn their body so shiny that one could see their reflection in them, is stooped over at a stall, trying to count out coins on talons that were a tad too long. "One... two... thre-- ack.." Ding ding ding! A silver piece falls to the ground, the armor clad sith-makari trying to pick it up without barreling others over. Finally, he manages to get the coinage, and passes it over.

And in return, he gets a tiny, plush figure of a cute bear with an owl head. "Thanksss," they hiss, bowing before stepping out.

He samples the air briefly, turning about to spy- ah! Familiarity! He plods on over slowly.

Unfortunately, Asphodel is but one of a frightening number of people who respond to 'human sacrifice'. But she is the only one to say, "Hey! Yes! That's me!" She says with a huge smile, dropping a bobbin wound with thread of gold that rolls off into the crowd.

If she notices, she doesn't care.

She waves Rune and Skielstregar over, her other bobbins forgotten. "Oh my goodness, yes. I cannot thank you enough. Seldom does one actually get to thank someone for saving their lives. I'm not even sure... Well, it doesn't matter."

However friendly she may be, there is an aristocratic command to the finger she raises, without looking, as the merchant's hand creeps towards the unattended bobbin. He immediately freezes. Asphodel doesn't spare the attention.

"And to be fed to /pigs/," She says. "I mean, sacrifice me to a dark god with bulging biceps and a padded loincloth, -fine-," she says, waving a dismissive hand. "Do you think we'll have to go back there to deal with the..." she waves a hand in circles. "You know?"

There might just be a little surprise over the number of people that turn in Rune's direction, but surely not /all/ of them have actually been human sacrifices. One can hope. "I meant her." She clarifies, pointing at Asphodel.

As the bobbin goes rolling off, Rune is quick to duck down and snatch it up, just in time to have Skielstregar's tail nudge into her legs and knock her slightly off-balance as he is reaching for his lost coin. It's a comical moment as she catches herself and straightens, "Oof. Hey Skielstregar. Nice to see you, too." As if nearly tripping her was a greeting.

Asphodel's description of dark gods gets a peculiar look from Rune, who raises a brow. "You know, if that's your sort of thing, I've heard there's a series of books by the Crimson Pen you might be interested in." Offering out the run-away bobbin, Rune adds, "I'm not sure what our next steps will be. This... probably isn't the right place to get into it too deeply."

Rune looks around, eyes darting between merchants and buyers, knowing that any number of ears could be listening in. "I'm Rune, by the way. There wasn't really time for introductions, before."

Skiel's gait is hard to control. And that big, armored tail certainly has it's own mind. Not expecting something to fall, doubly so when Rune ducks for it. Said tree branch for a tail nudges her, and he freezes. "Ack! Thisss one isss sorry!" he apologizes quickly, helping her up.

He looks quizzically at Asphodel, head quirked to the side. "... thisss one knowss there isss such people with musscles at the temple of Angoron," he comments idly, tapping his chin. "But, erm-" Something seems to click in his dense, ice cube of a brain. "... oh..! Thisss is the... the thing...!" he whispers (terribly) to Rune.

Still feeling like he's in a place he shouldn't be he clears his throat, the little owlbear plushie cradled in his hands in front of him. "Erm, peassse on your nessst. Thisss one isss Skielssstregar, Warrior cassste," he greets.

Asphodel's gaze lingers upon Rune's, her dark eyes still sparkling. She winks, fast as a blink. When she reaches over to collect her bobbin, she whispers, "I think this is the -perfect- place. Best to chase the rumors you yourself start," she finishes. "Asphodel," She tells Skielssstregar, stepping back into a proper curtsey before Rune and Skiel.

There may or may not be other people present. Asphodel does not leave so much as a spare millisecond on the table for opinions to form. Seizing the momentum of social exchange, she instead asks, "Sorceress, Warrior Skielssstregar. May your blade always strike true, and loot be good."

"It's fine. I've been around Makari long enough to know that those things have a mind of their own." Rune does shift her weight from the leg that the tail had knocked into. It's unlikely any permanent damage was done, though.

She looks up towards the silver-scaled one, probably not following his line of thought. "The thing?" Then, noticing the plush toy, she softens a little, "Aww, that's adorable. A new traveling buddy?"

Her blue eyes look over towards Asphodel just in time to catch that wink. Blink blink. The half-sil's brows furrow ever so slightly, "It's more that... some of the things involved in your rescue probably aren't for the general public." The rogue rolls up her parchment and ties it onto a belt loop. "But, we can probably walk and talk if you want."

Skiel opens his maw to speak, but the sound of metal groaning cuts him off. The halberd on his back, a looming polearm with a crack down the axehead, moves. The bladed portion snapping and breaking into a jagged grin from the split. "Sorceress Asphodel. Thank you for your kind words. May the Dragonfather warm your path and his daugther Eluna fuel your potential. I am Malefic."

The large silverscale shakes his head. "Thank you for your kind wordsss," he rumbles. Wait. Asphodel is curtseying What is this? A softskin greeting? He knew of the handshake, but- uh, don't be rude! Skielstregar attempts to curtsey. Rather, looks more like a brief crouch. But he's got spirit.

Skiel looks down to Rune. "Saa. The thing with the... asking people about," he says, vaguely. He makes a motion under his maw where his fingers waggle, like a waggly beard. "Thisss one isss okay with walking and talking." But the mention of the plush....

"Oh! Yesss, erm,-" he glances to Asphodel, then looks to Rune. "Thiss one knowsss softkinsss sssleep better with soft thingsss." He holds it out to her. Smiling. Well, as best as one can, there's a lot of jagged sharp teeth. "Isss for you."

"Rune." A heavy rumbling growl from another Sith-makar. Shorter than Skielstregar, Asphodel might recognize this one from the cult-clearing-turned-rescue-operation from a little bit back. The sun coming down from the clouds creating a far more delicate pattern upon his scales. The reds and oranges intermixing in odd and interesting ways that make it seem like there's a lava-flow going on across his body.

One who isn't so familiar with Sith-makar mannerisms might misinterpret his voice as a bit rough. But Rune would recognize a firm measure of appreciation within his tone. A warm welcome, or a happiness to see her.

His hand touches the Half-sil's shoulder, as he gets settled next to her. The lavastones on his armor glistening in peculiar ways. "Peace upon your nest." He bids the others, before looking to what's in Skielstregar's hands, being offered to Rune.

"It appears Rune has many suitors." He teases with a playful tone that is more directly intoned for the non-draconic amongst the group.

He then turns his head towards Asphodel and bows his head; "I hope you are recovering well from your ordeal."

"Then let us walk." A graceful curve of Asphodel's hand, and a matching curve on her lips, as if a walk and talk had been her goal all along. "It's such a lovely day. And I find that imports and exports are fascinating things to keep track of. Estate management was a very large part of my upbringing; it was expected that I manage my husband's estate one day. And small villages burning through rough times are no stranger to me."

And yet, the aesthete in Asphodel takes a moment to admire the mottled radiance on Harkashan's scales. Several of her bobbins, including the one handed back to her, feature a rare type of blend: pearlescent and iridescent sheen, meant for silk overshot. One can almost see the weaver planning on how to duplicate it. "I'm sorry," she says suddenly, snapping back to reality.

A hand raises to cover Rune's mouth, trying to hide the silent laugh of amusement at the sight of Skielstregar trying to curtsey. There is a small part of her that wants to leave the silver-scale with the misunderstanding of the greeting, but she clears her throat. "Um... that particular type of greeting is usually reserved for females. Because of dresses and skirts and the like." Rune doesn't curtsey, at least... she hasn't in a long time.

As the plush toy is offered out to her, Rune's expression softens again. Very few people knew about her issues with sleep, and the fact that Skielstregar is kind enough to worry over it touches her heart. "Thank you, Skielstregar." She is just about to take it when the hand comes down onto her shoulder and Harkashan makes that comment about suitors.

Yep, Rune's normally pale, freckled cheeks light with color as she takes the toy and clutches it briefly to her chest. "I... what..." And then she elbows the lava-scaled Makari in the side. Harkashan deserves that.

Still holding the toy, Rune falls into step as the group starts to walk, following Asphodel. "A group of us talked with Cor'lana Lúpecyll-Atlon and she was able to offer some insights on... that thing." There is a nod to Skielstregar's wibble motion. "The long and short of it is, that we probably only managed to return it back to some other realm, but it probably isn't dead. And it is probably just a symptom of a bigger problem."

Skielstregar blinks at Harkashan, both at his arrival, and the words. The usual faint deathly scent abates to confusion and embarrassment. "W-Wha-? No no no. Thiss one wouldn't. Thisss one hass Chiuaa and isss happy with her. No suiting," he rambles, face gaining an icy sheen. "P-Peassse on your nesst, Deathssinger."

He looks down to Rune. "You are welcome." Then, confusion. "... greeting for femalesss? If thiss one wearss ssskirt, they can do that then? Sssoftskin greetingsss confusing."

He ambles along, confused by Asphodel's mannerisms. And, words. "... erm... what isss... an essstate?" he asks. "And why do they need managing? Isss it a monssster that isss kept asss a pet?"

He listens idly as they talk, him still a bit hung up on what a being an estate could be. Could he fight it? Could he pet it? Such ponderings are stymied, and he just chuffs at the mention of such a foul being not being able to be ended.

"I really wish that I had more to tell you," Asphodel says to the group at large. Her expression has settled into something unreadable, or maybe just flat. "It happened so fast I couldn't get a read of any kind, and they were really good about keeping me from any position where I might manipulate my way out," she adds, minor irritation flashing through her gaze. "But I can never thank you enough. I owe you a truly enormous debt,' She tells the group at large.

"As children, we are taught to play a game in the Llyranesi Court," she says, as though her mind had wandered off. "It has no name that I remember. But I'm sure you're familiar with the principles. If there is one rat, there is a network of such. So you drop a piece of dyed cheese, or a rumor of a particular stripe, and you wait. Watch. Eventually, you will see that color again. Or that rumor will return to you from someone else, and then--" she snaps her fingers like cracking the neck of a rat, "You strike."

There's a deep rumble that continues within Harkashan, taking note that Asphodel is getting lost in the strange radiance upon his scales and his particular armor. There are few who understand the meaning of those lavastones.

"Hrrrm~?" He seems to ask, when she finishes staring.

Only to get elbowed in the armor. Bump. He lets out a pleasant chuckle and pats Rune's shoulder once more, before releasing it. "I jest." He makes sure to express.

They begin to move, and he steps with them. "Still, it was a possible ally to their foul cause. So it was a worthwhile effort to shunt it back whence it came." He notes.

He doesn't touch on the gendered traditions of greetings. Just leaving that lay where it is. Softskins have unusual traditions.

"An estate is a house and a large area of land 'owned' by the Softskins." Harkashan aims to offer to Skielstregar. "You cannot eat it." He adds.

"Unlike rats... and cheese." Regarding Asphodel's story. "Though I believe you speak of subterfuge and guilt. A rather... unusual thing to call a game." Harkashan notes.

Rune seems to spend the next couple of moments shaking off the flustered feeling and trying to return to her normal self. Huff. Why is it that Makari always find a way under her skin, somehow.

"It's alright. I don't expect that someone kidnapped by a cult would have secrets to their inner workings." She tucks the toy against her side as they walk, having not brought her traveling backpack with her to the marketplace. "I imagine our first steps might be to monitor the village. If the cult was that ingrained there, it's quite possible they'll return or that we could track them to wherever they might be hiding in the forest."

There is a slight wince at the motion that is far too like snapping some creature's neck. "A few things we did learn, though. Silvered weapons help against such creatures, and against the lycanthropes." She motions her hand to the scroll now tied to her belt. "That's what I was here looking for. We're running into them commonly enough that having the proper weapons to fight them seems important."

For now, she doesn't explain softskin culture further, and seems to leave talks of estates and management to Harkashan. The half-sil had been raised as a Llyranesi emissary, so she may very well be familiar with such 'games'.

Skielstregar mostly listens, him not really following much of this. "Sssa, bait," he rumbles, able to parse that much from Asphodel's insight. He looks to Harkashan. Blinks. "Thisss one wassn't going to eat it..." he grumbles. He thought about it. "But... alright."

For now, Skiel seems content to listen to get the bigger picture of the ongoings. The weapon on his back continues to grin in its jagged manner. No idle comments here.

"Estates are the... properties of landed gentry, lords and ladies, that their capital-f Families manage. The people who live on the land have to be taken care of, protected, and that is the responsibility of the Lord. Usually a Duke, the closest to the king, but then you may have fiefdoms..." Rather than continuing down that path, Asphodel handwaves it off, grinning to Skielstregar. "If this sounds like softskin nonsense, I'm not about to argue to the contrary. But if I were in charge of such things, and those under my stewardship were so poor that they had resorted to -that-?" She says. "I wouldn't be able to live with the shame," she says. Standing next to Harkashan, Asphodel is a very harsh contrast in rather plain colors-- she doesn't glow in light, rather, her eyes and hair seem to drink it up like negative space. And right now, the phantom of dishonor and shame that crosses through her person is all the more visible for it.

"People turn to desperate things in desperate times. That thread of gold is more than just yarn... it's something that this market rarely if ever sees. So you spread a trail and follow it. I do not know how else to help," she finishes quietly, not gazing at anyone in particular. "But these social tools are all I have."

"More complicated than just bait. It's like the markings that the paint farmers put on their animals - to tell which ones mated with eachother." Harkashan answers Skielstregar. "The sheep can't see their own backs, so they don't know they carry such an obvious mark with them." He figures that Skielstregar is... food motivated, so that he might have noticed those colored paint marks on sheep.

"Hrrrm, it is not like we are unfamiliar with hierarchy." He notes to Asphodel. "But softskins take this to a different kind of extreme. More... vertically tiered, one might say." Harkashan may be rather well spoken for a Sith-makar, compared to ones she may have met in the past. He expresses very obviously, to make it easier for someone like her to read his emotions and intonations.

Though that growl deep within his throat never departs.

As for color - indeed, a harsh contrast. Though perhaps interestingly enough, Harkashan is oft also a harsh contrast to most of those of the Vardaman faith. This Deathsinger is practically a rainbow compared to most of those grey-robe wearing folk.

"Still, I believe this is a good idea. Though I fear it will take a softskin to implement. I am uncertain I can be of assistance in planting such a trap." He notes. "But a fine idea. Your tools are not just a hammer."

A slight glance is given back towards Skielstregar, or perhaps more aptly, towards his weapon. "I was wondering." She starts, trying to find the best way to be polite with her curious question, "Do you have any sort of special properties, Malefic? Like, I know you serve the Dragonfather, but does that make you stronger against certain creatures?" She had been learning more about materials and their applications in a fight as of late.

Looking back towards Asphodel, "Things are more difficult in a lot of the outlying villages these days. Ous had said he brought that village food not long before, so it isn't as if people aren't trying to help." Rune elaborates, "The problem I see, is that once darkness sews a seed somewhere, it tends to bloom quickly."

"I can certainly take up a watch on the village for a few days, but if it comes down to tracking, we'll want someone with a bit more skill in it. I imagine they've been on the run long enough to know how to cover their tracks." She takes the rolled up bit of parchment from her belt and looks at her list again, "But I need to get some of these supplies before we head out again. My current weapons just don't cut it against the kind of things that are out there."

There is something else afoot here in the market beyond the group that has gathered. Which isn't saying much--there are always people in the market. But there are not always white-feathered ravens with blue eyes--

And one such specimen is aflight. Who lands on Harkashan's head.

"Snacks!" says Pothy. He appears to have chosen a certain Death-singer's representative, because he then drops a stick full of skewered vegetables, marinated and grilled, in front of Harkashan's snout.

The next that follows is a rush of air, almost impossible to register because of the magic that ushers the figure forward--but it's a fair-skinned hand that grabs the skewer, catching it before it can hit the ground. A dark-haired woman with violet eyes, wearing a light dress to match her eyes in color, offers Harkashan a polite smile. "Apologies about that," Cor'lana Lupecyll-Atlon says. "Pothy gets rather excited when he spots people he knows in the market. This is yours should you want it. He's in a sharing mood, as always."

She clicks her tongue and Pothy grumbles, but returns to her shoulder, and Cor'lana turns her gaze to the gathered group. "How are we all today?" she asks. "Well, I hope."

Skielstregar gives Asphodel is a dead stare of incomprehension. Quite literally, as he is very good at it. "... al.. right," he says slowly, scratching his neck.

He shakes his head. "Ssshaman Harkasahn isss correct. Different toolss for different thingsss. Thisss one would not be ussed for social gracesss. Or magicsss. But mussscle? Sssa. They can do that."

Ever seen a walking mirror? Well now one has. Skiel is all the colors, and by all, we mean light, and he's throwing it all over the place, his silver scales incredibly shiny and mirror like.

With the question posited towards his weapon, the halberd's axehead cracks in a split once more. "I harbor no silver nor cold iron to stem the tide, save for the power that flows through Skielstregar, and my undying devotion to my lord Daeus," it rumbles, metal clacking as it does so. The grin spreads. "The forces of evil shall waver where I fall. And while two hundred sixty seven have been befelled, /justice/ in /His/ light will continue on in perpetuity until the stars wink ou-"

Skiel reaches up and clamps the axehead closed to silence them. "We need to work on prothlezing, Malefic." He blinks at the sudden white raven. Which is followed soon by a half-sil woman. "... ah. Warrior Pothy. Ssshaman Ravensss. Peassse on your nessst."

"Does anyone know who is in charge of those lands?" Asphodel asks. Her jaw tightens, but true to her manner, she straightens up and softens her expression. The fingertips of a hand delicately placed on one shoulder, her palm spread to show the manicured hands across her left hip. It isn't a fighting stance, not exactly-- certainly not when compared to literally everyone here. "Because this is, I am afraid, more than a simple incident. The Lady Carrough was placed in dire danger, and I am /very/ certain whichever lord or lady claims those lands would like to avoid a diplomatic incident. In fact, I can already feel the weight of a full tea service being prepared."

Or, as her bright tones turning dreamy would indicate, it had very well better be the case.

"I can imagine that he's quite powerful, and together you may be an unstoppable force." Though Rune has never seen Skielstregar in battle, she seems to appreciate those who carry strength, though not always in the typical sense. Anything else she might have said is cut off by a soft chuckle as the silver-scaled warrior silences his weapon.

And then Asphodel seems to shift into what looks like a strange version of a fighting stance. Except not one that any fighter would ever take. Rune glances at the dark-haired woman, then back towards the other two with an expression that clearly reads: 'What is she on about?'

Thankfully, Pothy offers a distraction and Rune's lip quirks at the sight. "You know, I'm surprised that sort of thing doesn't happen more often." Birds turning Makari into their personal perches. "I'd only accept it if Apotheosis is okay with that. Though you really should eat more vegetables. You're slow enough as it is without tucking on extra pounds." There is an amused look in Rune's gaze, likely teasing the lava-scaled Makari.

"Good day, Cor'lana." Rune inclines her head, "Just following up on your suggestions from yesterday. Looking for purveyors of fine weaponry."

"Pothy has already had snacks, and he was trying to get me to eat the contents of that stick before he looked around and saw our fine Harkashan friend," Cor'lana replies with a small, playful smile that brings a twinkle to her violet eyes. "I'm glad that you're taking my words to heart."

The remark on 'those lands' leaves her visibly puzzled, however, even as she goes to hold the skewer out to Rune for her to take. "I'm very late to the conversation," Cor'lana says. "Those lands, as in..."

She looks at the Llyranesi woman, tilting her head. "A new arrival to Alexandria?" she asks, not completing her previous thought. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am called Cor'lana Lupecyll-Atlon. The raven on my shoulder is Apotheosis, or Pothy for short."

"Pothy," Pothy echoes, mimicking Cor'lana's voice perfectly. Then he preens at his pretty pale plumage.

Skielstregar quirks a brow at Malefic. "... thisss one iss not good with numbersss, but thiss one isss certain we did not fight that many thingsss. But, yesss, we are a good force together."

He shakes his at Asphodel, uncertain of who owns what lands. It is a foreign concept to him, afterall. But! He does follow Harkashan's lead and looks to Cor'lana to answers. Only after giving Asphodel a look. He scratches his head. Okay, multiple cultures. Icecube brain overheating. "Erm... ssa, thiss one thisss sshe isss new. At leasssst, thiss one thinksss."

Asphodel's gaze stays upon Rune's face, and instead of immediately responding, she smiles.

"I am the Lady Carrough, of generations uncounted, whose family left the Mists a long time ago. I do not place any stock myself in the silly day to day social rituals of courtiers, but in my family, to not have mastered them is to face a lifespan of uncertain termination. I daresay I shall have to visit someone, or risk writing back home to my Family. They don't care about my well-being; they care about an asset they put a lot of money and time into, and one they expect to produce magnitudes more."

She pauses, tapping a lip, the silver and red beauty of reflected light being magnified by the darkness that seems to pervade her aura.

She make a fantastic color-complement, in other words.

Placing both hands, right over left, atop her left hip, she steps back into another, deeper curtsey to Cor'lana, going so far as to lower her head. "Cor'lana Lupecyll-Atlon," she repeats, not missing a beat, "Your presence lightens my heart and is a glory to all," she says by way of greeting. Courtly manners can be dramatic, but something about Cor'lana has Asphodel paying deference. "Asphodel Carrough," She tells Cor'lana. "It is an honor to meet you both." The raven being accorded just as much respect.

Llyranesi. If the manners weren't polished, it would be unbearable.

"..." Harkashal look at Rune for a moment, then looks down at himself. Squint.

"I am a fine specimen amongst my kin for my age group. I am not weighed down by a lack of muscle. Sith-makar do not store fatty deposits like softskins do." He remarks, a bit serious, a bit joking on the matter. His words do not come from a sense of pride, but rather a confidence in his own body. He walks around with heavy armor on him every day. His muscles get a constant workout.

"As for birds landing on my horns..." He glances up at Pothy. "I have been beset by Ravens before, desiring the jewelry between my horns." He admits, while pocketing the peanut back. No extra snacks for Pothy then.

When Asphodel has finished her exposition and curtsy, he adds; "The Land spoken of, I believe, is the one which we discussed more recently. The one rife with cult and blood." Motioning a hand as he explains this.

Carver balances a rare treasure in her palm. A sweetcake, a reward for a job that had seemed cursed, and delighted to have it. She picks at it with her fingers, piece by piece ripped away and plopped back into the all-consuming maw. Pothy might be able to turn all his food into mana, but she can turn all *her's* into stomach aches and regrets.

That's for later. Perched up on the back of her cart, she watches the introductions of a few strangers and a few barely-known acquaintances, perfectly aware that staring is rude and utterly fine with that.

"Ah..." A look of unerstanding passes over Rune's features. Though they would likely not be familiar to Asphodel directly, the family name is familiar to Rune. "I'm afraid I had my full of the Llyranesi courts when I was a girl. I'm more than happy to leave them to you." The rogue gives a more elaborate bow, one that would be more typically seen in servants, scribes, and emissaries to the court.

Harkashan's attempts to defend his build are met with an expression of barely contained amusement. Like Rune is just on the edge of laughter. Then, she lightly raps the knuckles of one hand on his armor. "You keep telling yourself that, big-guy."

Then, in what must be an affront to someone who wants to be the center of attention, she looks back to Skielstregar, focusing on the silver-scale. "I'd love to see how you two fight together, sometime. There's a lot that someone can learn from watching different fighting styles."

Cor'lana doesn't seem bothered by the courtly greeting that Asphodel has to offer her. She, in fact, curtsies lightly, but she does not bow her head. Such a gesture (or lack thereof) can mean many things--offense, superiority, a denial of the Lady's title--but it appears to be an intentional choice.

"You have come a very long way from Llyranost," she replies. "Alexandria's relationship with Llyranost has been strained as of late, but this has resulted in a blooming alliance between Alexandros and the Mythwood--of which I am eager and happy for. I am not sure of who, exactly, rules the lands in which the cult you found happens to be. I admittedly pay attention to matters of rulership in other places--very, very far from here."

She smiles lightly, changing the subject. "Pothy is a fiend for snacks, but he knows to leave jewelry well enough alone if it's on someone," she tells Harkashan. "And I have seen Skielstregar fight before. He has protected me many a time. I wish he had been with me yesterday when I was out on a Guild assignment."

Cor'lana lifts up her dress sleeve to show a mostly-healed slip of a gash along her arm. "I received that number. But I prevailed nonetheless, my enemy now naught but ash."

Skielstregar can't help but rumble a chuckle at the teasing between Rune and Hark. He merely watches Asphodel's exchange. But at the curtsey, he silently tries to copy it again. It doesn't go over well.

Letting the softskins do their ritualistic greetings, he looks down to Rune, scaled brows raised. "Oh? Thiss one can show you sssometime. Practisssse and training isss important," he offers, humming. "We fight besst outside the city, we can meet sometime for that?"

The halberd on his back turns in its frog, almost seeming to face Carver across the way. And the jagged crack on it morphs to a grin. Silently staring back.

Skiel looks to Cor'lana. "Oh? Thisss one isss sorry they were not their to lend their help. But you are ssstrong, and you are hale now. Ssso thisss one asssumesss your hunt wasss successful."

GAME: Asphodel rolls sense motive: (11)+4: 15
GAME: Harkashan rolls Bluff: (15)+3: 18

Harkashan lets out a bit of a huff at Rune's teasing. There's a little rumbled sound from him. Looking down at himself. Due to his particular physiology, he can't easily see his own body. So he relents after a while.

He instead turns to listening, and watching the environment around him. Taking note of someone staring at them, until he remarks to the rest of the group; "An acquaintance?" Motioning towards Carver.

Then, to Cor'lana. "Do let me know if you require additional healing."

Carver looked away for a second. A passing fancy drawing her attention away. So when she finally looks back, it's to a halberd that has about-faced and is now grinning at her. The young woman had a piece of cake in her mouth. Horror and surprise and sweets mix together into a melange right where one would not want it. In her throat.

The startled gasp is replaced by a guttural vacuuming noise, and the remainder of her treat tumbles to the street. Tragedy strikes twice. Her hands reach up to her throat in surprise, trying to draw in air only to find it blocked. Her eyes bulge in the primal terror everyone suffers occasionally. She stumbles off the back of the cart, strangled zombie moans gargled out of her sugary blockage just as Harkashan waves at her.

"Alexandria is much closer these days than it used to be," Asphodel admits to Cor'lana. "There is more development around than what I remember, but then, I was just a slip of a thing last time we were here." Out of the corner of her eye, she watches Skiel attempt another curtsey, and she smiles before quickly pressing her lips together.

"All the more reason, given strained relationships, to avoid a diplomatic tussle. Nothing I am sure that cannot be cleared up by a social visit." And her smile returns, but does not reveal teeth. Another, from Rune, and Asphodel cannot help but burst into laughter. "All this curtseying-- I left Court for exactly these reasons! The slow pace may suit my elders, but I had to get out. One more formal dinner and I may very well have torn my hair out. Besides, here I am but a humble tailor and seamstress... Or so that was the plan," she sighs wistfully. "But on my name, I swear that my concern is for those villagers. I hold nothing against them and seek no redress. The same may or may not be said for the landed gentry who are neglecting their obligations," she says, her jaw clenching again... before she remembers to soften.

"Help her!" Asphodel cries, dropping decorum like a bedpan as she rushes to Carver.

"I'm sure that can be arranged. It's not like we don't spend a good portion of our time traveling outside the city, these days." Rune replies to the silver-scaled one. Her eyes flit up from the warrior to his weapon and then her head follows Malefic's gaze.

Just in time to see Carver choke on a bit of cake. "Hark!" Immedaitely, the cleric is the one she calls out to, knowing very well that her own flailing attempts to do anything would likely cause more harm than good.

Whatever her feelings are regarding proper courts or Asphodel's role in them, that will have to be left for another time. There are far more pressing concerns that need to be attended to!

Trouble is afoot. And since his focus was already on Carver, he does notice the lady's troubles with her sweetcake and sweets.

He begins to firmly step forward even as Rune calls out his name. "Softskins cannot breathe food." He rumbles. "An unfortunate trait we share as well." Asphodel joining in on demands to protect this person.

He is, as Rune would say, a tad slow. Not on the uptake, but the armor he wears does drag him down a bit. Still, plenty fast to get behind Carver. "Apologies. Please bend forward slightly." Followed by him gripping around her body. Hands gripping eachother, arms locked underneath her ripcage, and then presses himself against her...

And PULL.

It's a heavy and powerful and earnestly painful maneuver done at full force. But it is an effective one - eliminating the aspiration. And maybe bruising some ribs on the poor woman in the process.

GAME: Harkashan rolls Heal: (12)+8: 20

Cor'lana abandons her focus on the conversation as well--until Harkashan goes in to save Carver. That might be for the best, as her hands were already in the middle of gesturing for a spell, but the incantation had not yet left her lips. No magic burned, merely preparations for a spell.

"Are you well?" she calls over. Pothy even leans a little from his shoulder-porch. He might be more invested in the fate of the treat than he is in Carver, but there's no real way to tell here.

Skielstregar rubs his neck at being spotted attempting to copy softskin culture. "Well, erm, perhapsss we need not make thingsss complicated with titlesss and-"

Things are happening. Malefic doesn't have eyes. But the way their jagged maw clacks closed and opens, one could have sworn they just blinked. "... I didn't do it," they intone.

Skiel pivots as lava-scales steps forth, the healer out of the group of them. The silverscale grimaces as Harkashan gets to work. Ugh, that could not have felt good for softskins, even Skiel was rubbing his stomach from that.

Asphodel is there with a handkerchief pulled from a sleeve, ready to save if not Carver's life, then at least the woman's dignity. "I once choked on a mushroom at a banquet," She says, kneeling down to profer the hanky. "Cried from the pain, made a fool of myself, vomited on a High Lord," she says. The words are nonsense, or not meant to make sense, but there is Asphodel, injecting social grace into a situation to give Carver the time and quasi-privacy to regain composure if need be.

"NO," she says suddenly, realization dawning. "I was sleeping with his son and I threw up in his closet because I was drunk." She snaps her fingers. "That's what that was!" She exclaims to no one. "I totally forgot!" And fae laughter, like music from under the hills, issues forth.

Ever heard a human squawk? It's an awful g-note that Carver's throat will be sore over later, and that's not even accounting for the ribs. It is successful, however, in dislodging the object in her throat. She flails all her limbs in spastic panic, half-uttered swears and general greased wiggliness meaning that she's hard to hold on. After a second though, and a deep gulp of air, she glares about herself through watery eyes and streaking raccoon eyes.

"Thanks." It's all she has air for, still drawing in deep breaths to calm a racing heartbeat she can feel in her temples, pounding like a drum. "W-why," Gulp. She looks around and up to Asphodel as she comes into view. "That poleaxe spoke."

What a fool. It's a halberd. She takes the hankerchief, and wipes her lips and then all the runny coal around her eyes. Then offers it back. Thanks!

Asphodel accepts the handkerchief without complaint, and it disappears from whence it came, Asphodel's face a serene smile the whole time.

GAME: Harkashan rolls 2d8+CLERIC: (7)+5: 12

As the object ends up dislodged, and Carver is taking a breath, Harkashan keeps his hand on Carver's shoulder for a moment, providing soothing and healing magics to try and undo some of the damage done by his scaley arms. "You are correct. Kin's blade speaks." He notes in a very matter-of-factly kind of manner, before looking between Asphodel and the rest.

Saving Softskins from dying of asphyxiation! Harkashan doesn't exactly look proud, but there's a sense about him that he feels good about what he just did.

Through the dramatic moment, Rune hovers in the back ground, not wanting to add more chaos to an already tense situation. "Appraently, you have an effect on people, my friend." She comments to the weapon, though any amusement she might have is tempered by the seriousness of the situation.

That is, until Carver seems to be properly breathing again. "Try to take slow, deep breaths, at least as much as you can. It helps." There's something in Rune's tone that suggests she is speaking from experience in that matter. Even so, she doesn't approach further, trying not to crowd anyone.

It's not so much Carver recovering from her ordeal that has Cor'lana's attention as much as it is Asphodel's sudden fit of laughter. She raises a brow in the llyranesi's direction, turning to face her, and...

Cor'lana laughs, too. A whim that catches her like it's infectious, delivering the same strength and verve of laughter as Asphodel does. Pothy looks perturbed on her shoulder. "Stop laughing," he whines in the voice of a teenage boy, mimicked from someplace, somewhere.

She ignores him. It's a strange accord between her and Asphodel that's been struck here.

Skielstregar sighs in relief as Carver seems to be okay, but he can't help but look completely confused at Asphodel's rambling of a story. "... do you tell ssstoriess when you are nervousss?" he bluntly asks, as that's the only reasonable conclusion he can come to. And now, Cor'lana is laughing? He just buries his face into a hand. This was too much to follow

And now people are making Malefic's act of speaking known. "I do..." it purrs to both observations of Hark and Rune, jagged maw clacking. "... but death should be sewn by the edge of the blade, or old age. Not... confections."

Asphodel glances sidelong at Cor'lana, sharing some secret; whatever Skielstregar has said only makes her laugh harder until she risks Raccoon Face herself. "I didn't," She says, "Mushrooms, I mean--" another gale, and she stops even trying to explain.

Carver says, "Right. I'm the only one alarmed by it." Carver grumbled. Then she takes another deep breath as Rune suggests, and looks about to say more. Then one woman is laughing. Then another is laughing with her. At her? Carver's ruddy features darken significantly and she all but harrumphs in her departure.

Embarassed enough that she can't even stop to pick up her cake. She stomps off like a teenager whose ego suffered a terrible blow, one that shant be recovered from."

It's impossible to not look at the two women laughing. Rune just raises an eyebrow, but seems to go quiet. She seems about to say something else to Carver when they make a hasty retreat. Sigh.

Looking towards the others, "I think I should try to finish my shopping." Clearing her throat, she calls out, "You want to come along, Hark?" It's left as a question.