jkhfgdfjhjfd

[Gothic_Redemption]

What a helpful creature! Since she didn't know very much about the city, having never been there before (or to any city, for that matter), she would take him up on it.

"Mister... Brattle? Is that right? Do you know if there is a chapter of the Daughters of Selene in town? And where to go to get good food? And if there is a library to visit? Oh! And a cobbler. I need my boots patched." If there was a chapter in town, she might just take up quarters with them, but having not grown up with them, they may not take as kindly to her needs. Selene may watch over all that moves within the night and under the sea, but in practice, her sisters did not always take kindly to the more monstrous sorts. But they had every reason to be afraid, considering the manners of many undead. As for the rest? That was just the excitement of being in a city.

[Noob-Eternal]

Brattle

The priestess' response put the golem at ease, insofar as it made him believe that his Friendly Greeting protocols had put her mind at ease. The golem sat and nodded as she rattled off questions a mile a minute, and when she got to the damage in her boots he leaned forward to have a look. His head he rested by the chin on a thumb and forefinger. It was the look of a craftsmen inspecting a tough, but familiar problem.

"Brattle Entreat With Each Question As Separate Entity" He held up the massive index finger of his right hand.

"Brattle's Name Is Brattle Yes."

Right hand, middle finger:

"Brattle Happens To Know That The Daughters of Selene Have No Chapter In The City. Brattle Recommends The Sehenites*, The Thontites**, Or The Apocryites*** As Sympathetic Alternatives."

Right hand, ring finger:

"Brattle Further Recommends The Hot Mess**** In The Palace District And The Full Belly Deli***** In The East End As Eating-To-Die-For. Brattle Dutifully Notes That The River Inn Behind Us Is Also Pretty Good."

Right hand, pinky finger:

"Brattle Knows Of One Very Good Library, Run By The Thontites From Question Two.

Right hand, thumb:

"Brattle Doesn't Wear Shoes. Brattle's Master Just Throws Away Boots When They Tear. Brattle Can't Help You There And Apologizes For The Inconvenience."

This tour guide business wasn't too bad wasn't it? The golem lowered his hands to his knees and sat looking at the priestess, leaned in, almost as tall as her in spite of sitting on the ground.

* Worshippers of Sehanine, Goddess of Love, Illusions, and the Moon. Their symbol was an amethyst heart wreathed in fairy fire.

** Worshippers of Thontic, God of Secrets, Hidden Lore, and the Ocean. Their symbol was a branch of corral just below the surface of the sea.

*** Worshippers of Apocrypha, God of Rumors, Deception, and the Moon (again). Their symbol was a dagger made of smoke nestled in a waning crescent moon.

**** Worshippers of Melted Cheese, Pulled Meats, and Stewed Vegetables. 26 Push Pram Way, River's Edge.

***** Worshippers of Artisanal Breads, Cold Cuts, and Potato Salad. 126 Burro Way, River's Edge.

WORDS IN THE HEART CANNOT BE TAKEN

~ ~ * ~ ~

Profile

Location: River Inn, out front
With: Melora
Out of Character:

[Noob-Eternal]

Dermont

Anatomy of a meeting between Errolsbergian Councilors: week beforehand, read dossiers on senator in question, read dossier on Circle in question, ask own Circle spymaster for help navigating the parliamentary alliances, wasteland of mirrors if there ever was one, day of meeting count fingers, count toes, tell buddy where you're going, weave number of defensive enchantments high enough to get job done while low enough to acknowledge that days of Wizards going pinwheel and blowing each other up have passed*, smile, take offered drink, drink even if unwanted for same reason as defensive spell cap, avoid promises, avoid outbursts, avoid answering but ask lots of probing questions, big smile, big presidential handshake, turn down dinner invitation, make assumed hollow dinner invitation, one day after meeting talk to spymaster, reassess wasteland of mirrors, write report, insist to Civic Guard that you aren't acting like a pinwheel, later that night put on pinwheel sleeping cap and sleep with magical alarms and three golems in bedroom.

Point being of course, and Dermont had been thinking about this earlier, that in many ways a knee and a kiss were less degrading than what the esteemed Council of Circles subjected itself and everything it touched to. Even so, the servility of it struck a nerve in Dermont. He didn't go around greeting people with Howe's Finger of Disintegration prepped in one hand. He didn't make them take the knee while Brattle pinched their neck between his thumb and forefinger. Chances of the Mother Confessor changing an eons long tradition over a stylistic complaint? Dermont pushed his grievance into an inner mental furnace and forgot about it.

In fairness to the Confessor, Cale was acting pretty dodgy. In fairness to Cale, Dermont would have too if he'd had compound eyes on his neck or a spider for a tongue or lobster claws for cheeks, whatever little bit of vaudeville body horror the tiefling's ancestry dictated he carry around. The wizard felt like a heel. He would quietly mention to Shar that the man really couldn't afford to be taking off that face wrap in public, but later. Marcus had done enough scene making for a decade, there was no occasion for chancing more. Dermont sensed that several nosy people were already paying more attention to the motley looking group than was proper.

"I'm ready to be going myself. Cale?"

* At least in Errolsberg and even then only sort of.

And an old man driven by the Trades
To a sleepy corner

~ ~ * ~ ~

Profile

Location: River's Inn, table of the Mother Confessor. Awaiting departure.
With: Cale, Marcus, Shar
Out of Character: Assume that Dermont will walk outside if other people want to walk outside. Hurray for my garbage attempt at Pynchon tier run ons.

[LiarLyre]

To Cale, the confessor's brief silence was an eternity. He nearly flinched when she finally spoke. The relief of being allowed to keep his mask on was instantly blown away by the words that followed, and her thinly veiled threat had his heart pounding in his chest.

"I am-" He paused to steady his voice. "-quite aware, yes." Another moment of waiting passed before she allowed him to rise, and Cale was surprised he didn't hear his knees knocking when he finally stood.

The others made it clear they were ready to depart. Cale gave a somewhat dazed "Yes," to Dermont's question, then thought to add, "I will need to retrieve my equipment before we leave. I shouldn't be long. I can meet you at the south gate in a few minutes."

▼ Location: River Inn
▼ Company: Dermont, Shar, Marcus
▼ Theme: All Saints Day
▼ OOC: Feel free to assume Cale has grabbed his things and met back up with the group if you want to skip ahead.

[Neme-Goddess-of-Death]

Dermont's unease with her actually very idle threat wasn't lost to her on his face, but he was right about her not ending a tradition that had been around for three thousand years since The First Confessor. She couldn't if she wanted to. There were some traditions that just couldn't be broken, no matter how hard you tried. In The Midlands and D'Hara, people kept there hair cut to lengths regarding their station. A scullion couldn't let it go past her ears. A princess might have her hair to her shoulder blades while her mother, a queen, would have it to about mid-back. Shar's was the longest. It reached down to her bottom, the curls barely bouncing where her skirt drug just slightly behind her. At least, when she didn't have the sword on her back. Her great grandfather tried to abolish what he thought was a derogatory marker. Instead, people just didn't bother for the most part with something they'd done for as long as they had. The Mord Sith chose to keep their agiels when he'd tried to have them removed from D'Hara, and he let them because he was a man who'd kept the promises of freedom in the D'Haran Empire he made. Shar would never be able to change something so important to her station.

She gave a nod to Cale when he said he needed to retrieve his supplies and would meet them at the south gate. Marcus went ahead of them, holding the door open for both of them. Of course, he only intended to do it for Shar, but he knew she'd be very displeased with him if he let it slam in the wizard's face, so he held it for him too, and a few other people trickling out because spirits knew she'd come unglued. He caught up reasonably quick to Shar and Dermont, walking behind them a few paces.

For the most part, Shar was silent, then she finally asked Dermont, "So how much do you know about the Grace?" In The Midlands, the Grace was the fundamental of all magic. It illustrated the balance of additive and subtractive magic, the balance of the world of life, the word of the dead, the veil that separated them. The light of the creator. A Grace voluntarily drawn in her own blood had been the start of created the line of Confessors. If he'd had the opportunity to speak with a wizard of any order, and hadn't been taught at least what the Grace was, Shar would be sorely surprised.

[[OOC: The Grace.... Moving right along... xD]]

[Gothic_Redemption]

Melora made note of the golem's replies as they were spoken. The only religious group that she had more than a passing familiarty with was the Apocryites, as a older monk had made a visit to the convent many years ago to copy out a section of the Teachings for personal use. He was very nice, but fled early when one of the sister's bellies began to swell. The baby was what, twelve now? But golems didn't need to hear about gossip from out in the sticks.

"It's okay. You don't have to apologize for not knowing where cobblers are. Like you said, you don't wear boots!" She would have nattered on about how hard it would be to get enough leather to keep Brattle in boots, but a very lovely young lady in a white dress stepped out of the inn, and Melora instead took to staring as discretely as possible at the young lady. She seemed to have a boy head over heels for her, but there wasn't any harm in a quick look, right?

[Noob-Eternal]

Dermont (And Brattle)

"Thanks" Dermont said when Marcus got the door for him. The transition from dim tavern to early afternoon sun blinded the wizard, made him blink and hide his eyes underneath a hand. The sky was clarion clear, a single sheet of electric blue so bright it seemed to hum.

"Yes, of course. Magic symbol tracing the Creator's gift outwards through our world and into the next... very important symbol for wizards and the like trained in D'Hara, one moment - Brattle! Did you make a friend?"

Tall woman, even if she didn't look it next to the golem. Green hair, purple eyes, elfin features. Transparently not human, or any of the other common humanoid races. One of the fey folk, perhaps, or an unfortunate looking Drow. 'What are you' was one of the questions that Dermont had learned to avoid until the second date at least.

"Brattle Did Make A Friend. Brattle's Friend Wondering Where A Cobbler Might Be."

Dermont looked at the woman, who was subtly trying to check Shar out. If you didn't recognize the dress or the sword or the thrall, she was a beautiful woman. Perhaps if you could be sure her powers didn't work on you it seemed a good idea regardless. At any rate, he wagered the fey was not right now thinking about her ratty (and they were ratty) boots.

"I'm not sure." You could've hung a painting with his voice. "Mother Confessor - " He said, not emphasizing the title but making sure he enunciated. "Do you know of any cobblers in the city?"

And an old man driven by the Trades
To a sleepy corner

~ ~ * ~ ~

Profile

Location: River's Inn, Outside
With: Cale, Marcus, Shar, Melora
Out of Character: