Foggy Business

Log Info

• Title: Foggy Business
• Emitter: Crik
• Characters: Crik, Skielstregar, Murder, Kaj, Verna
• Place: Lower Trades
• Time: February 21st, 2023

The late Trades. A weather. Ghastly fog. Ravens croaking in the thick fog. All a perfect setup for a murder.

Or a collection of corvids huddled atop one of the closed up stalls. They flutter about and steadily fill the thick fog with their chill-some cries, as they seem to have taken fancy to that very particular stall. Very particular stall, as Crik is hidden right in the middle of it in the shadows. The corvid egalrin had been still and stalking for hours; and by that time, the local gang of ravens had settled atop and around him.

The stallowner had given up a long ago about making any sales tonight with this collection of gloom and feathers.

There's is a figure walking through the fog, though what scant lights there were reflect off of ambient torches and lamps belie his arrival than his form. A shiny silverscaled makari in armor with a shiny (if ominous) looking halberd in hand. He's got a small pack over a shoulder (tiny on him) that softly clinks with every step.

Skielstregar slows a bit aways from the murder, his head tilted to the side. "... isss... ssssomething dead here...?" he ponders to himself, knowing that corvids gathering equals dead thing. He ambles closer to inspect....

Another Murder stalks along behind the Silver-scale, this one Goblin-sized. As Skielstregar slows, she approaches the Makari. She huffs her breath over her fingers, rubbing her hands together to warm them up. As he approaches the attempted murder, the Gobbo follows. From the looks of things, she is attempting to view her reflection in Skiel's exposed shins. Shiny!

GAME: Crik rolls stealth: (17)+10: 27
GAME: Murder rolls perception: (12)+16: 28
GAME: Skielstregar rolls perception: (16)+13: 29

Crik hoists himself up a touch. A raven on his head doesn't even notice, just looks about in confusion. Slowly rolling forward, the rogue blends into the thick of the fog, carefully approaching his victim. His hand reaches out into his robes, as he seeks out his instrument of choice.

There's a sudden 'WUMFH' as snow falls off the top of the stall. The flock of ravens flutter away with a set of yells and screeches - in the meanwhile, the hooded egalrin had stepped up behind Skielstregar, trying to approach him from behind. The corvid was so blinded by his target that he was utterly oblivious to the gobbo also stalking the silvery sith-makar.

Skielstregar is a bit busy looking at all the birds, him scratching his head. "Hrm. Thisss one isss- ack!"

He steps back in surprise, but ends up bumping into the egalrin, and against the gobbo.

Murder gets a good, large scale to look at themselves with as he settles in from all the moving about. It's nearly the length of a hand in size! And shiny! And cold!

The halberd slides around to stand upright between the two of them and the makari.

Murder is just raising a booted foot to kick at the Egalrin when the birds take off to noisy flight. She holds her breath as Skiel steps back and nudges her, causing her to freeze. No one here but us corvids! Caw caw. But then there's a shiny scale. Murder's eyes widen and she peers at her reflection. She strikes a victorious pose, and then huffffs on said scale. As it fogs over, and then the fog turns to a thin layer of frost, the Gobbo extends a finger, and moves it along the scale. She is momentarily concerned as her finger freezes to the scale, and she spends a moment huffing and puffing. Nothing obvious at alllll. Soon, she giggles lightly, a small Gobbo smiley face drawn in the frost.

She spends the next few moments with said finger in her mouth, warming it up.

Kaj has connected.

Crik takes a step back and straightens up to his full height, looking back and forth between Skiel and Murder. A moment of pause and then he reaches down and pulls out his curved dagger with a flourish of his cape-!

... and dangles it in front of the halberd by his fingertips. A low throaty crow starts to build up on his throat, before he exhales out, "Speak weapon... ese?" His head tilts to the side, then to the other. Incidentally, there is a price tag hanging off the blade - advertising the cheap looking dagger as a very rare antique from beyond in tiny scribbles.

There's a lot going on still. Someone's poking Skiel's shin. Crik is holding a dagger out oddly. The halberd slides about, as if its trying to block and parry, but Skiel's arm tenses as he drags it to a stop. "Malefic, ceassse. Calm," he rumbles lowly, grinding it to a halt. The halberd resists, before the runes dim and ceases.

He slowly exhales, a fog of cold leaving his maw. Down he looks to Murder. His shin. A snort escapes him. "Take care with poking thisss one, they do not wisssh to give you frossstbite. But, Forger Crik, take care to not sssurprise thisss one."

Kaj makes his way from the "Khazad Section" of the lower quarter, slowly emerging from the fog. On his shoulders are a half dozen ravens, and in his giant hand he carries a sack which dangles with something heavy giving it weight.

The Gobbo gives Skielstregar her most innocent look, while she sucks on her frozen finger. "Ish mmhh a...", she pulls her finger free from her mouth. "It's okay, it doesn't hurt, I'm good as long as it doesn't fall off." She offers a broad and toothy smile, and a finger-wiggle wave. "How ya doin', Skielstregar? As shiny as ever!" Her eyes shift to the corvid a moment, and then to Kaj as he approches, her grin even broader. "Kaj!"

Crik continues to attempt to rattle Malefic into... discussion? His head was bobbing this way and that, as if trying to spar with the dangled dagger - but it all comes to an end along with all the other chaos around him. Casually flicking the blade into his palm, he turns his head to look up at Skielstregar.

It takes him a full minute to remember what Skielstregar was actually talking about - and then his mouth flies open and he lets out a short exhale. "I'm sorry, I've been waiting to talk with..." Black eyes turns towards the silver halberd, glinting white. "... Malefic."

Glancing around, he looks down at Murder, gives her a bit of a testing nudge with his feet, and then over Kaj. The large giant makes him flatten down to a crouch pre-emptively.

Skielstregar chuffs, "Well, it ssstill unwissse to do when it isss thisss cold about. Thisss one is well!" he rumbles, armored tail clacking behind him. "Thisss one understandsss much more about themssselvesss and the Dragonfather, as well as Malefic, ssso much isss well."

Malefic, the halberd, has been released and stands upright on its own accord. Still. But once the blade vanishes, the halberd leans towards Skiel, which he takes it as cue to scoop it back up. "Well, Forger Crik, you may attempt to speak all you wisssh, but good luck getting much out of them. Jussst... do not insult them, they do not like that."

Murder's exclamation gets the massiver silverscale to look on over. And... up... "... well thisss isss a first..." he murmurs to himself before giving a little wave.

Kaj wanders around in the fog a bit (Because RL has a Tenebrae detector the second he poses in, please pose around me, sorry!)

"Oh, that's good news, Skiel! Feeling more confident? You look good!" She moves back to admire herself in the mirror like scale, making faces and laughing. "This is amazing! And it's real silver. Er, does it ever tarnish? Oh yah, he's big. He lets me ride around on his shoulder all the time." She rubs a fur covered arm over the scale, shining it up further, and removing the remnants of her smiley face. Something nudges Murder's foot, and she peers at Crik.

"You!", she says in an accusatory tone, and points at the Covid.

Crik did nothing. He was getting out a vial and two of some sort of liquid - when he was being pointed and accused. Beak looking up and down, he then reaches down and attempts to hoist Murder up onto Skielstregar in a vain hope of distracting her. "Y-yes, weapons... don't like to be insulted, they are deadly..." He ruminates over the effort. "Master Skielstregar, you have learned more about... Malefic?"

Head shakingrapidly at Murder, as if to say please do not blow this cover.

Skiel blinks at a scale being polished, but he ends up rubbing his neck. "Erm... yesss, they tarnish when they fall off, but yesss. They sssuppossse so. It'sss more akin to jussst have much lesss questionsss to worry about."

He looks up to Kaj, slowly nods. "... thisss one can sssee why, Murder."

The pointing to Crik makes Skiel blink at him, but the question drags his attention towards Malefic. "Yesss, thiss one hasss," he answers, unaware of the shenanigans. "Thisss one hass learned Malefic wasss once in sssservice to the Dragonfather. It isss no mere coincidence. Right now, the current difficult isss... learning their tellsss. That isss. If they wisssh to show them."

Malefic doesn't express anything. It just stands there.

Verna moves through the fog, alternating between blending into the gray and standing out amidst it as a dark shadow when it pales. She bears a basket, and travels near past several booths and stalls, eyeing the wares available with some interest. Her interest is predominantly of khazadi origin, if only that they are less likely to randomly detonate.

The Gobbo peeeeers at length at the Corvid, her finger still pointing. She frowns at his headshaking. "It'll cost ya.", she says, relenting, her toothy grin returning.

To Skiel, she nods, "Ah, I remember when you first arrived here, you had a few tarnished scales. If you don't mind me staring at them, I could polish them up for you, get a right proper shiny going. You'll blind people two cities over!" The impending Verna is seen out of the corner of the Gobbo's eye, and she moves to stand beside Skiel. Out from underfoot.

Murder's gaze goes to Kaz once more, "Over here!", she calls, "It's me, Murder!" She hops up and down, waving with both hands.

Crik nods rapidly at the Gobbo. Yes, of course it will cost him. Straightening back out, he becomes to mirror of a respectful, knowledgeable Forger with appropriately buffed out arms and grim look of someone who has forged many-a blade. "Were the blade or Malefic the servant?" Crik asks, as he pulls out that vial of darkness and quietly dips it over his 'cursed dagger'. Slowly, he attempts to push the blade against the halberd's edge - testing to see if the two blades communicate -that- way.

Verna gets a brief, worried glance from egalrin, but he quickly adopts his previous confident stride.

Skielstregar looks back down, him shifting a bit on his feet. "Yesss... thisss one musst thank the gold one for that. They used to not be able to grow new scales, hence all of them being tarnished before. But now that iss not the case! But, erm, perhapsss they over did it. They are incredibly shiny. Ah well."

He chuckles. "It isss fine, you need not do that, thisss one polishesss them enough. Thisss one appreciates the offer though." Murder calling out gets him to look over, finding the large figure missing, but replaced with a far smaller one. Eyes widen slightly, and Malefic shifts some to bat at his knee lightly. "No, Malefic, we need not kneel to every servant every single time," he whispers. "Peasse on your nesst, Deathsssinger."

"Thisss one doess not know, Forger Crik," Skiel answers. The 'cursed dagger' meets against halberd's edge. The darkness spreads across, down the weapon. Slows down, as if gaining viscosity. Though, the runes continue to glimmer easily through despite being obscured. The weapon lightly pushes back to stay upright.

Verna's browsing is light, and the items she browses are equally light, all considered: small tools and materials for metalwork of a more delicate nature. The call to Deathsinger takes a moment to parse, her hood turning and lifting. Fortunately for her, the large sith is conspicuous even in the intervening fog and the verbiage tends to identify some details of the source even before he is spotted. "Peace on your nest, Skielstregar. I trust the day finds you well... though it may be more difficult than the norm to find anything this day."

Murder squints in Verna's direction, and the Gobbo raises a hand to wave to the other Sith. Turning back to Skiel, she grins. "Well, offer still stands if you need some work done on your shiny. Er... soooo... do any of them fall out and do you keep them?", she wonders of the Silver-scale. She peers at Crik, canting her head sideways as he presses blade to halberd. "It... probably doesn't work that way.", the Gobbo says. "Ah!", she calls out, and suddenly runs off into the fog.

Crik gets absorbed by the reaction the touching of blades is causing. His tail flips up and down in steady beat as he slowly turns the blade, mimicking a circular cut in space. 'To pierce through the moon, one must cut its shadow'. That's what the book he found in an attic said, anyway.

The mention of a Deathsinger makes the egalrin lose his focus though, and he spins about in place. "... Deathsinger, I assume." His hand holds out the knife at the halberd.

Skielstregar raises a scaled brow to Murder. "Erm, yesss, thiss one keepsss a few if they fall out. Thiss one ssstill hass the tarnissshed onesss asss a reminder." Aaand, she's off. He blinks and shakes his head.

Malefic, however, is busy with the blade pressed against it. The halberd, standing up on its own, doesn't do anything aside from provide counterforce to stay standing. There is a minor reaction, however subtle. The shiny blade suddenly fogs over in a wave. Like that of a breath against glass. Or a sigh.

"Yesss, the day isss well. Though, the difference of thingsss perhapsss makes a new norm?" he offers, grinning slightly. "What iss it that you have there?"

Malefic grows tired of being prodded with a blade, judging by the runes dimming, and it twist slightly to clack it away.

Verna turns her attention from passing interest in wares to the Makari, to include approaching. She only then fully notes and recognizes the egalrin as well, offering a "Good day." Focusing again upon Skiel, she agrees, "Indeed. Today, or any day, could be considered the start of a new standard, personal or otherwise." As to the question, she lifts a small pouch, "New tools for fine work. My prior set was more worn than I had realized." She looks from him to the recently-contacting weapons. "This is not some form of duel, I presume?"

Crik completely misses the subtle messaging - but he does feel the blades twist apart. Shocked to action, swaying his blade in the air for a moment, he quickly folds out a notepad out of his pocket. "... responds... to... dark oil... webster... Dragonfather does not have a moon?..." He mumbles by himself, letting the pair go about their daily pleasantries. At some point, the question registers to him. "Duel?" A momentary pause. "No, I'm a forger, not a fighter." His beak opens and remains that way.

Skiel raises his brows at Verna. "Oh. What ssort of work? Thisss one wasss not aware the Deathsssinger wasss involved in craft." He glances to the blade, a half surprised, half acknowledging grunt leaving him as Malefic baps the knife away. "Erm.. no. Forger Crik here isss attempting to figure out sssome of Malefic's... oddities."

He blinks at the forger. "The... Dragonfather'sss daughter isss the moon. Eluna, in the sssoftkin termsss. Mothered and nurtured by the Celestial Mother."

Verna ahs at Crik's explanation and note-taking. "Forger... or student? You seem keen to observation, experimentation, and scribing copious notes. All useful, in my opinion." She stows the lifted pouch within her robes. "I serve the Death-Singing dragon, as you dub Her, but servant is not all that I am. Artifice is a strong secondart interest following the divine and the arcane, as all relate to the mana that flows through us and Ea."

Crik's beak opens up and then quietly snaps shut. Too many faces. "Y-yes, student of the forger. There is not enough paper for everything that I will need -" He pauses for a second, then corrects himself, "I need, currently need." He quietly folds away the notepad and makes it disappear under his robes - a casual glimpse would reveal plenty of tiny notebooks and scrolls hanging from there. He peers up at Skielstregar. "Family is always difficult." He states matter-of-factly at the silver makari, dark eyes unblinking.

The dagger reappears and he holds it out. "Blade for Malefic? They bonded." Up until they did not.

Skielstregar blinks. "Ah. Thisss one wasss not aware you worked with sssuch machinationsss. Truly the Deathsssinger hasss much more than meetsss the eye," he warmly rumbles. "Thisss one'sss foray into magicsss is small-" he brings a hand up to pinch his fingers together, as if measuring his aptitude. "-but thisss one can do a little bit! They commend you."

He turns to Crik, taking a moment to watch the eccentricates. "Thisss one undersssstand, Forger Crik. Family can be difficult. You ssseem will educated on many sssubjectsss."

He blinks at the offer. "Errr... okay?" He goes to take it-

Malefic blocks his hand by leaning in front of it.

Skiel huffs. "Malefic, do not look gift in the maw," he scolds, taking the wavy blade. "Different weaponsss have different purposesss. That isss why thisss one keepsss many on them. Thank you, Forger.

Crik tilts his head, looking at the blade. "They already like each other." He points out, looking back up at Skielstregar. He does not mention the part behind the price tag saying this is for ceremonial uses only, do not attempt to stab. The compliment on his knowledge doesn't make him react - except to make his tail bop up and down a touch. "Take care of Malefic," He says, with a bow of his head. "It's importance is easily felt."

With that, he steeeps around the large silvery makari - and disappears into the fog. One of the ravens hops over where he used to stand and lets out a long, angry caw.

Skielstregar blinks as Crik steps about an heads off, him using the ceremonial blade to scratch at his skull. "... of courssse. Peassse on your nesst, Forger."

The dagger bends and cracks. Skiel pulls away, eyes wide. "A-Ah...! Oh goodnesss, erm... what do... erm... thisss one will try and fix it later..." he quietly panics, putting the blade into his hip bag. He clears his throat, then turns to the Mourner. "Thisss one thinkss the Forger isss a ssstrange, be well intentioned sssort."

Finding himself needing to change the subject to stay off of breaking a gift, he asks out of the blue, "Ssso, erm, why do we need to sssay thingsss to make magicsss work?"

-End Scene-