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RP #105

RP #107

RP #109

Solo #78

"Are you sure you don't want to come with me?" Rio stood at the entrance to his rooms with a small bag over his shoulder, and his katta follower regarding him with an almost motherly concern. It was an adorable look on her, but he knew better than to say anything. He'd already bid everyone else farewell, leaving her for last before he set off on his journey.

"To Tarna?" Hands on her hips as she looked him over, Nashwa made a derisive sound in the back of her throat. "Quite sure, thank you. If Sarka wants to see me, she'll just have to come and visit, and you can tell her I said so. There are far too many liontaurs in Tarna; how they and their egos all fit in one place, I will never know."

Love stared at the golden-furred katta for a moment before laughing, unable to help himself. Nashwa was rarely critical, and even more rarely blunt. Any complaints and criticism were usually veiled or roundabout, softened with genuine politeness and an unwillingness to bruise feelings. "And here you are in a Pantheon full of gods."

His follower waved a dismissive hand. "There aren't that many of you, and while some of you may be arrogant, some of you hardly seem to realize your gods."

"Fair enough," Rio acquiesced, well aware that she was referring to him as a part of that latter group. "Still, don't you want to go home?"

"This is home now," she answered with a gentle smile and a warmth in her eyes that assured him it was the truth. "And besides, who will feed everyone if I leave?"

"I'm sure they'd manage, they're all capable adults."

"Not all," Nashwa reminded him. "Émile is a growing boy, and if you leave it to Adi and the girls, he'll be eating nothing but venison and sweets, no vegetables to speak of! I won't have it."

"Alright, alright, I see you point. At least I know they'll be in good hands with you, my dear." Rio reached out and pulled her toward him to place a kiss on the top of her head, elliciting an impatient sound from the object of his affectionate display, who stepped lightly back to make a shooing motion at him.

Obediently, he made his way to the door, set to open a Door to Gloriana. Following him on his way out was one last bidding from Nashwa, spoken with a hint of worry: "Try not to make trouble."

Solo #80

Honorless was an ominous word, and he brooded over what being formally declared so might mean during his careful descent from the Hall of Judgement. The stairs were many and awkward, made more with heavy-bodied, four-footed liontaurs in mind than humans. They were wide enough to accomodate the large paws of the ruling race, yet steep enough he found some solace in the fact that he was on his way down, not up. Hah, a dim bright side to having been hauled bodily up by the guards, but not enough to lighten his mood. As he stepped down onto the middle tier of the city, he did his best to squash a growing trepidation. He still had no idea what his sentence actually entailed, since no one had bothered to explain it; he'd tried asking the guards before leaving the high plateau, but they'd completely ignored him.

He thought perhaps he'd be better off speaking to a human, and cleared his throat to address a young man as he passed, but he simply walked on by without so much as glancing at the disguised god. Maybe he hadn't heard him, or was just in a hurry...Rio tried another passerby, but again, received no response or any acknowledgement at all. Puzzled and increasingly worried, he surveyed his surroundings. Everyone was moving at a good pace, all going about their daily business and not paying each other much mind - maybe it was considered rude here to stop and speak on the streets? If so, that was rather odd, but they were apparently very fond of their rules, so he supposed it was a possibility.

Another tier down, past a bustling inn and thankfully down much fewer stairs than the third from the middle tier lay the market on the lowest. It was not so large as the one near the Pantheon, but the bustle and cheerful din of it was comfortingly familiar. Here, it was clearly acceptable to carry on conversations, and even haggle loudly, as the first seller he passed was having quite the, ah, 'discussion' with a potential customer over the price of his wares. Taking a deep breath to gather himself, Rio approached a gentle-looking old woman selling honey from the comfort of a worn rug laid over the hard stone of street. When she had finished her transaction with a slim, anthropomorphic canine, something he vaguely remembered Sarka speaking of but couldn't remember the name for, he tried to gain her attention.

"Excuse me, miss, but I've only just arrived in the city, and I find myself rather lost. Could I possibly trouble you for directions?" No response. Much like the guards in front of the Hall of Judgement, she stared ahead as if she hadn't seen or heard him at all. He tried again with another merchant, and another, and all were the same. It was as if he simply didn't exist.

Finally, he was forced to accept that this was the consequence of being declared Honorless; he had been effectively reduced to a ghost. But how could everyone know that he was Honorless and to be shunned, when no mark had been placed upon him? He was utterly perplexed, and his frustration grew by the moment. Though he didn't have such an ego as to require constant attention, or so he thought, he was...he was shockingly accustomed to it, and now he was being denied it completely. It was unacceptable! He had half a mind to manifest his wings and demand it, but reason reminded him that throwing such a tantrum would be unwise. Nashwa and Sarka both had impressed upon him the natural suspicions Tarnans - and indeed much of Gloriana - had of otherwordly beings. He would likely create even more trouble for himself by creating a scene.

He wandered the bazaar aimlessly until the sun set and the streets cleared, left eerily empty and quiet in contrast to the daytime commotion, but for once he was glad to be alone; he felt less so now than he had a mere hour ago amongst the milling crowd, but not a part of it. He had been in Tarna for less than a day, and Honorless for less than half that time, and he had had enough. Once he was certain that everyone truly was gone and no one would see something they should not, he slipped into a shadowed alcove and willed his body to change, taking on the katta-shape he so often played with. This should be a neat way around his little problem, he hoped...although he had that silly red ear, which he was quite sure no true katta had, as well as the fanciful red marks beneath his eyes. Not just fanciful, but distinctive, which would not do. He would need to do something about those, something...ah! A brazier stood nearby, extinguished at the close of the market, coals slowly cooling in the night air. He snatched some out to crush up and mix with water scooped from the river that ran past the bazaar, and rubbed the result into the offending fur until it was black instead of red. It wasn't an ideal solution, but it would do for the time being.

Next, he would need a place to stay until he could find Sarka, so he headed back up to the middle tier of the city and the welcome sight of the inn he had passed earlier. Equal parts eager and anxious, he stepped through the doorless entryway into a large, high-ceilinged space. Like many of the older structures in the city, it was made mostly of the same stone of the plateau on which it rested, aside from repairs that had been made here and there. The room was occuppied by several low, wide circular tables surrounded by cushions for sitting on, about a third of them already taken up by a variety of humans.

"Habari, bwana. Nharak sa'id, effendi. Welcome to the Welcome Inn, friend from the north. How may I serve you, one who is so far from home?"

He could not remember ever being so happy to hear a voice in his life. She was speaking to him. Red eyes travelled hopefully to the speaker, a dark-skinned woman in a simple white sheath dress tied with a blue sash. His joy at finally being acknowledged by someone colored her all the more beautiful, and he smiled brightly as he bobbed his head and shoulders in an abbreviated bow. "To hear such welcoming words is service enough, a much-needed balm for this homesick soul."

She smiled back at him, teeth white against red-painted lips. "If it is comfort you seek, there is no better place in all of Tarna. Come, sit, have a meal, and your heart may forget some of its longing for awhile. Once you are satisfied, we have soft beds to ease you to your rest."

A warm meal and a soft bed were exactly what he needed after the day he'd had, although one complication dawned on him: he had no local currency with which to pay for his lodgings. "Ah...I fear that I have no coins with which to pay for such temptations, as I spent them all on my journey here. Perhaps," he beseeched, reaching into his pocket to pull out a golden locket, "You would accept this as payment, or as collateral until the bazaar opens in the morning and I can procure the necessary royals?"

The welcome woman reached delicate fingers to take the necklace from him and examine it, before nodding and rewarding him with another smile that set his heart to fluttering. He had to remind himself that he was in his katta-shape, and that it would not be a seemly or normal thing for a katta to flirt with a human here. "It is a fine payment, my furred friend. You will have a week's lodgings, and we will see to it that you feast well all the while. Now sit, rest your weary feet and lighten your heart, for you are welcome."

Welcome indeed. He could have wept.

Solo #82

The days that followed were far better than the first, as he explored the city (well, aside from the tantalizingly off-limits Eastern District) in both Sarka's company and on his own. He wiled away a significant portion of his time in the bazaar, fascinated as much by the people as the variety of goods for sale, and only regretted that he couldn't brose in his human shape. Though not unheard of, katta were a rare sight outside of their native desert, and that coupled with his dark fur made him something of a curiosity to the Tarnans, which resulted in what for him was a frustrating distance. The matter wasn't helped by his having to be a good katta, polite and humble to a degree that bordered on self-effacing, and most certainly not interested in flirting with any humans. The former wasn't difficult, per se, as he was already predisposed to altering his mannerisms and speech according to the company he was in, and he had spent much time in Nashwa's, but the latter bordered on painful. Countless times each day, he had to bite his tongue, but could only do so figuratively, lest he do damage to himself with his fangs.

After expressing his many frustrations to Sarka, she suggested that perhaps they should visit Shapeir; he could see where Nashwa was from, and Sarka could see for herself the state of the city. She'd heard that their efforts at rebuilding were well underway, but she was curious to see, and to look into the current state of the Wizards' Institute as well. She had once intended to study there, before Gehenna had ruined those plans, and much else of greater importance besides. At first, Rio was delighted by the idea of making the journey north to the desert, having heard talk of a caravan due to arrive in Tarna soon, until his friend had informed him that in this case, taking the long way was not advisable: Shapeir lay a thousand miles away.

It was a disappointment, to be sure, but it was well within their abilities to visit anyway, albeit without the excitement of joining a caravan (which she assured him was overrated, anyway). After taking the better part of a week to prepare, the magic user was able to open a portal so that they could pass easily from Tarna to Shapeir, where Rio had the choice to either remain in his katta-shape in a place where there was an abundance of other katta, or go back to his more familiar human guise in a city where he would not be a pariah. He opted for the latter, having had his fill of playing at being a katta for the time being.

Once they arrived, he acquired rooms at a lovely inn for the both of them, as Sarka was quite exhausted from the effort involved in fashioning the portal for them to get there, though she continued to insist - as she had since he suggested that perhaps they could travel using the Doors - that it was good practice, practice she would need if she was indeed to become a wizard one day. With his friend safe and comfortable, but not going anywhere anytime soon, he was on his own to explore the city, which was happily free of forbidden districts and uptight liontaurs. The likelihood of his getting into any significant trouble here was considerably lower.

Not entirely out of the question, but lower.

Solo #84

[Some of these may or may not get themselves filled in because I hate solos (y u do dis, self?), but they'll at least get little summaries. ]

In which they have dinner, and Rio attempts (with some limited success) to not overdo being charming, because it's fairly obvious that Theo finds it weird/annoying/perhaps even a little creepy coming from the strange dude she stole money from and who now wants thiefing lessons. Still, in spite of her suspicions, she does agree to teach him, because money, and she's also a little bored. If nothing else, she'll get paid and maybe have a few laughs, because this guy doesn't come across as thief material. At. All.

Solo #86

Whoever had first looked at a saurus and thought to themselves "Hey, we should domesticate and ride those!" had been out of their damned mind. Creative, but insane. Whoever had a choice between riding a saurus and riding a horse and chose the saurus, just insane. He'd once thought the idea a quaint one, and was in fact fond of Nashwa's, but he'd never attempted to ride the creature...and come to think of it, he'd rarely seen her do so. The vaguely raptor-like creature was more a pet than a mount, and now he knew why.

It was profoundly difficult to get comfortable, and he was sore within an hour of mounting up. Nine days in and he was and he was done. Just done. These things were a terrible, horrible mistake of creation, and to add insult to injury, to say that his saurus was disagreeable was a gross understatement. Taking a caravan was a grandly exciting, romantic notion, but the reality was...not. As they neared the end of their journey, Rio was miserable, and his complaints and pained expressions brought Theo no end of amusement. He supposed that if there was a bright side to all this, it was that her initial suspicion of him continued to erode, the process helped along by her witnessing his tribulations. It was harder to suspect nefarious motivations from someone who routinely argued with their sorry excuse for a riding dinosaur and lost and at least once a day ended up on his a** in the sand.

Ah well. He had no dignity at all left to speak of, but at least he could say with reasonable confidence that she didn't dislike him. He wouldn't go so far as to say she actually liked him, but she was exceptionally difficult to read, and so he held out hope. It was almost as strong as his hope that Raseir would appear magically before them, and he could take a bath, sleep in an real bed, and never get on a saurus again. Alas, his trials and discomforts were not yet over.

Shortly after sunset on what should have been their last night in the desert, once the mounts were all secured and settled, tents had been erected, and food was being prepared, everything went wrong. They had been cautioned that attacks by raiding bandits or jackalmen were an ever-present risk when travelling the desert, but he'd never considered the possibility that they would actually be attacked. He was, once again, a victim of his own unfailing optimism.

The jackalmen were upon them in what seemed like an instant, catching the guards off guard - this late in the journey, so close to their destination, they had allowed themselves to relax, and it had been a mistake. They were dead before anyone really knew what was happening, and anyone else who moved to put up a fight was dispatched just as quickly. The canid creatures - 'jackalman' was an accurate, if unimaginative name - were fast, efficient, and vicious, sweeping through the camp with snarls and flashing scimitars to take whatever they pleased.

There was little Rio could do. He deployed his aura ability in an attempt to take some of the edge off the situation, but he was not the God of Peace. Perhaps it took some of the frenzy out of the jackalmen, but it did not stop them. Theo, not for inability but for shrewdness, did not fight them, and stepped hard on his foot when he looked like he was about to do something stupid.

He did anyway. As a dark-furred jackalman advanced on a cowering merchant, Love decided that enough was enough. He couldn't do much, but he couldn't not try. Summoning his courage and a shining gold bangle, he waved it in the air and shouted. "Hey! Over here! You want gold? I have plenty!"

If looks could kill, Theo would have felled him on the spot, but the distraction served its purpose. The jackalman rounded on him instead, crossing the distance in long strides to seize him by the collar and lift him up, snarling a demand "Where?"

The first bangle dropped from his hand. Next he conjured a necklace, then a ring, then another piece and another, until half a dozen gold and silver trinkets littered the sand. "I make them," he gasped to the best of his ability, "It's magic. And if you let everyone go, I'll make as much as you want."

In truth, he didn't know just much he could conjure up. He'd never tested to see if there was some kind of upper limit. There was a distinct possibility he was about to find out.

The jackalman grinned, a disturbing expression that exposed a maw full of wicked yellow teeth. "Yes, you will," he decided, and called to his fellows. "Load the sauruses with everything they can carry, leave the rest of the humans and their pathetic cats alone. This one's coming with us."

"That one, too." The bandit jerked his head in Theo's direction, then set to binding Rio's hands and shoving him towards the rest of the bounty they'd collected.

Theo joined him in similar fashion shortly thereafter, looking anything but impressed by his heroics. "Well done, dumbass. Now what?"