Bacon-Singing Dragon

Log Info

• Title: Bacon-Singing Dragon
• Emitter: Skielstregar
• Characters: Skielstregar, Verna
• Place: Alexandria Lower Markets
• Time: November 3rd, 2021
• Summary: Skielstregar is attempting to restock on bacon, yet was given the wrong cut and kind of meat. Defeated, he ambles off, only to be intercepted by Verna. She gets the goods for him, and gifts it to him. Encouraged, they speak some, him asking some questions about Varmada and how they might have played a role in his past. As well as some possibilities on being able to help with his condition. They speak of sharing future words at the Soldier's Defense, a place that Skiel absolutely knew where it was. Totally.

Lower Markets, Midday.

Finally. A fair weather day. The sun was even out! Still chilly, of course, that's certainly a constant now that the seasons have properly settled into place. And such weather was fantastic for the tarnished bronze scaled makari.

A large, imposing figure in a two colored cloak with a halberd hanging from the frog on his back is hunched over a stall. Closer inspection reveals that they were actually kneeling to not be towering, yet the stall keeper was still unnerved, if a bit pale. "T-Take whatever you want!" they chatter.

Speaking in a low, rumbling voice, the figure mumbles back, "... just... a few pounds is all thisss one wantsss..." Long taloned fingers carefully place a stack of coin on the counter. A bag of something is shoved into his other hand as they don't bother to count the coinage.

"Just g-go, please! Before I call the Watch!"

The figure sighs, an armored tail peeking out from their cloak going limp against the ground. "... asss you wissh." The figure rises to their full height, steps away, and looks into the bag.

The dead eyed makari groans. "... thisss issss venissson..."

A bit of chill and wind is preferable to chill, wind -and- deluge. A rather petite and unimposing figure in near-monochrome shades of gray and black also browses through the market. The comments from the concerned 'keep, warranted or no, draw her hood in that direction, though it is the rising makari's conspicuous stature, especially in comparison, that keep her attention there.

The imposing makari is hooded and cloaked for the most part, yet what features the gray hooded figure could see were a bit unsettling. Fangs sticking out further than they shoulder, a dead expression in their silver eyes, lack of life. Even the aura they radiate has a very, very familiar feeling to it as the bronze scale slowly walks past them. He doesn't notice her, either out of his disappointment of not getting what he wanted, or being too used to the stares that are thrown his way.

"Do you have a dislike for venison?" Verna inquires as the makari moves past. Perhaps she overheard more than was let on, or deemed of note until afterwards. "I trust that your preferences do not trend towards the inappropriate, for the sake of all." It is not an accusation, per se, and is delivered rather flatly; merely an observation and presumption, perhaps.

The tarnished bronze-scale makari stops flat footed, tail grinding against the ground to aid in braking the inertia. He swivels his head to the left, to the right, then straight down.

He blinks. Snick snick. A long sigh follows, a gout of frozen air coming from his nostrils. "... no, thisss one doesssn't do that," he rumbles a bit rote, and tired. "Thisss one doesssn't dissslike it. They jussst wissshed for bacon, and did not get it. That isss all. They will try another hunter."

With one hood now tilted upwards and another down to face one another, more details may be discernible within each by the occupant of the other. Verna regards the makari and takes in his features with curiosity, perhaps, and no trepidation(or far, far less than that from the average encounter, if the shopkeep was any example).

"Ah, understood. While you do not, there are currently others within the city who do feed upon its denizens, and actively do so currently. The less-informed or more frightened may make false and hasty conclusions in your presence, in fair warning."

Following the explanation of meating needs, her hood bobs. "I expect that it was a simple matter of miscommunication..." With that, she moves towards the same stall-vendor he had recently departed, to request a side of bacon, sliced.

Skielstregar squints as the details of the Mourner become more clear. He shifts on hi feet a bit, guard up some. "... yesss, thisss one isss very, very well aware of that..." he grumbles. "... missscommunication isss a common theme with thisss one, Death Sssinger..." He watches as they go to the stall he was just at.

The butcher was just getting over that dealing with a very clearly sick makari! They sigh, glad to see a cleric approach. The order is fulfilled, and a properly packaged parcel of delicious, uncooked bacon is handed over.

Verna nods, pays and thanks the butcher for the transaction, then promptly turns to approach the sith-makar once more. Gloved hands lift the wrapped parcel in offering. "The desired bacon. I expect that you are no stranger to bias or presumption; nor am I." Further, she offers a more proper makari greeting, and in the proper tongue, "Peace on your nest."

The peace offering gives the tarnished scale some surprise, but then he relaxes some: hunching over and bending at the knee a bit to cut off a couple feet of his height so neither had to crane their necks painfully. "Thisss one thankss you," he rumbles a bit happily, taking the package and placing it into his back.

He blinks a bit, but responds in kind in the same tongue. "Peace on your nest. This one is Skielstregar, Warrior caste. You would be correct in your expectations, and they apologize, as they did similar to you."

"I am Sage Mourner Verna," she acknowledges and introduces. "A servant of the Death-Singing Dragon, as you noted, a shaman of multiple disciplines, in makari parlance. No harm was done, and there is no need to apologize. Bias does not exist without cause; experience shapes perception. The acts of the past are remembered to better protect the future." Her draconic is accented due to biology, and more proper than vernacular, but she appears fluent enough.

Speaking in the dragon tongue was a welcome change, Skielstregar relaxing some as he uses his tail as a makeshift seat to prop up his awkward half kneeling. "You speak wise, shaman. A pleasure to meet you," he mentions with a sage nod, the Dragonfather symbol on his neck swinging about in front of him as he does so. "If only such non harm was seen by others, then this one would have an easier time making a venture into Alexandria. This is the first time being here without kin to help this one."

Verna acknowledges the comment, even compliment, with a nod, though her lips then purse. "These are trying times, morso than others. I cannot claim that any or all suspicion or bias would be absent otherwise, but the people of the city are currently more angered and worried than any time in recent memory. It may best that all travel accompanied in some fashion, for their own safety and peace of mind."

Skiel's head lowers some, dead gaze sliding over to a brick on the wall. His visage shadows with a bit of sadness. "... this one is aware that the softskins are unsettled at the moment. But... this one hasn't any others to accompany them on an excursion from Mictlan. This one wanted to surprise their friend with more of this,-" he taps the gifted pork, "- and the other kin is too busy to bother with mundane things such as this."

He wrings at his hands. "... and not many wish to travel with this one so..." he rumbles in his chest.

"What other errands do you have within the city?" Verna inquires following this explanation. "Where else do you intent to visit? I am undertaking errands of my own, and it is likely that some of our destinations or paths coincide or nearly so."

The offer throws him off a bit. Literally. A foot slips back to catch himself. "... uh... this one was hoping to get to finally make a pilgrimage to the Dragonfather, but learned the worship sites are closed..." Skielstregar deflates some at that, looking less like a scary makari and more like a kid that was told the vacation to the wizard emporium was called off.

He clears his throat. "... this one was perhaps looking to see others shamans for personal reasons, but aside from that, mayhaps a new weapon. This one ran across some undead a bit ago, and was not equipped properly for it."

Verna's hood dips in acknowledgement. "Yes, the temples are closed, currently, though you can find many of their members at the hospital to the south. That is where many are aided as they would be at the temples."

"As to undead," she segues with lips pursing, "they can be resilient and formidable opponents. Unfortunately, their weaknesses to weaponry can vary as much as they. I suggest enchanted arms, when possible."

The makari, somehow, pouts slightly. "While their members are welcome to be around, this one has still yet to see a proper worship site to them. His members won't suffice that wish, unfortunately.."

Skiel shifts a bit on his feet. "... this one is personally quite aware of that fact. Such equipment is a bit... out of this one's reach. They mostly just need something blunt to hit bones with, as their arsenal is mostly bladed."

Shifting topics some, he tilts his head. "And what errands does the Death Singer need to accomplish?"

"Bludgeoning weapons are readily available and a common option," Verna concurs at the notion. "If necessary, even a loose stout branch can be quite effective against the fleshless varieties." As to the inquiry of her errands, she gestures one hand vaguely about, "Various supplies are in sudden need by my temple, thus I also take the opportunity to replenish my own, personal supplies. Nothing quite so specific as weaponry, with which my experience is limited."

A slight smirk spreads on Skiel's face. "A branch would, but this one thinks they would snap it after a single swing."

The man rubs his neck. "This one sees... erm...." After a moment, he taps the tips of his fingers together. "... that must mean you are quite busy."

Verna regards the makari for a moment. "Neither your presence nor our conversation delays nor otherwise inconveniences me, if that is your concern. Were that so, I would inform you of as much." She regards him further before adding, "Yes, I suppose you might well splinter branches easily. A more formally-crafted item would be best; metal, perhaps, unless you wish to carry small trees."

The little comment makes Skiel chuckle, a rumbling sound in his chest. "This one would enjoy the prospect of such strength, but they prefer to not throw their back out just yet."

The hands cease for a moment. "... well. Erm. Last time this one spoke with a Death Singer, it did not go over too well before this one could ask questions..."

"There are signs enough that might give Death-Singers pause, or cause for concern," Verna admits. "If you have questions, I can make every attempt to answer them. However, here may not be the most conducive location for such. Should you wish to discuss elsewhere, or even at another time, I can do so. I can oft be found at the Soldier's Defense tending others per my duties, or at one of the libraries when I am not." An open invitation, regardless of whether here and now are most convenient.

Skiel looks around, checking his clearance before scuttling around to be towards the side of the road. A weak smile follows after. "This one would be grateful for such talks. Some here, and some another time may suit best. Most softskins do not understand this tongue, so this one is fine speaking of some now."

A sigh. "This one must ask first, Death Singer, they do not doubt your capabilities, but most softskins are not aware of the Forgotten kin. Are you?"

Verna's hood dips in affirmation. "I am familiar with the concept, as well as some unpleasant paths from which they might ...form. Others hold more detailed knowledge of the topic, I suspect. It is not something many would wish widly known, for numerous reasons. The thought was brought to mind by your presence, though I believed it would be horribly offensive and insulting to ask and imply."

Skielstregar sighs a bit in relief, he really didn't want to explain the process. Finding a wall to rest against, the large makari takes a seat on the cold ground. A funny sight, but it was practical, as even sitting, he was still eye level with the short half-mul. It was practical. "... yes, it would have been to most makari. But it is mere facts for this one."

The man rubs his snout. "But, you have the right of it. This one was once lost to that madness at one point in the past. And as the name implies, they have Forgotten quite a lot of themselves. It took many years to pieces themselves back together. However, the taint of it still remains."

The man folds his hands together in his lap. "This one should very well be dead. However, a Mictlan shaman, a... friend? Of mine. Had an idea that that this one was going to be turned into something unpleasant, or was given graces and revived. But this one's spirit was cleansed some by the Death Singing Dragon. This one's body is still corrupted, yet this one is not. Is... that something the Death Singing Dragon does?"

Verna listens, parses, and then considers the question. All for quite some time while regarding, perhaps even re-studying, the inquirer. "The Death-Singing Dragon tends the dead; judges and rewards or punishes them, as is earned. She can decide whom is not yet ready to be received and is oft beseeched by shaman to allow individuals to return."

It is a general and pragmatic statement, perhaps, and so Verna follows it with more specifics. "I hold no doubts that She -can- do such, though I cannot say with certainty whether She did this for you, if other forces were at work, or there occurred some combination thereof. I will also note this: She judges us all based upon our actions in life. You yet live, you continue to act. Whatever may or may not have occured in the past will not be the sole actions upon which you will be, one day, judged."

Skiel's scaled brows knit, nodding along. He knows some of this, not all, but the gist of it. Though, he does sigh, more frozen mist spilling from him. "This one is not worried about their eventual judgement. They know the Dragonfather is kind to see that this one's horrid actions were not of their doing, and this one is certain the Death-Singing Dragon will inform him of this."

He looks over to Verna. "Then perhaps the Death-Singing Dragon's involvement is too questionable. Another question, perhaps. This one has been told there is no way to reverse being Forgotten. By all accounts, this one still, /technically/, is. Kin can smell it. And the shaman-friend mentioned this one has death-magics spilling from them. Is there... some way to reverse this? This one would enjoy being their old self..."

"There are possibilities," Verna offers, and without any apparent delay for consideration. It is not such a presumption to believe that questions would follow that path. "Death magics are, by their nature, harsh upon, if not anathema to, life. I do not know enough of your condition to offer remedies with any certainty."

A gloved hand lifts. "However, this does not mean that remedies do not exist. Whether your current state is a result of deliberate mutilation, coincidental convergence of events, and/or divine intervention, any attempts at your recovery should be deliberate and informed, at the least. I dare to presume that you would not wish to unintentionally worsen your condition."

"Perhaps such remedies can be suggested at a future talk in private." Skielstregar shudders at the thought. "... no, this one does not wish to worsen it. This one still... has the /urge/ to partake in the flesh of kin. For a while, this one used himself as that substitute, but has been properly reprimanded for it by the People. At one point, food had not begin to taste so well. Hence... wanting to get something tasty." His head nods towards the stall.

If Verna has any concerns or qualms over his stated urges or substitutions, she offers no comment. That is, save for, "Bacon is a worthy and tasty food to seek. There are few who can resist its allure." She may be a fan of bacon, dry wit, sarcasm, or some combination thereof.

A nod follows. "I will gladly share words in the future, and we can determine likely courses of action. I do not expect that viable solutions shall instantly and immediately spring forth, thus I caution you to have patience."

Skielstregar chuckles. Dry wit was quite welcome. "Yes, this one agrees wholeheartedly. This one will give some as a gift at future talks." He smiles, an unsettling, toothy, fanged sight. He puts a hand on the ground, then grunts as he rises to his full, towering height.

"This one has patience. Else they would have been put down long ago. This one thanks you for these words, and will seek you at this... defense place." He squints a bit at that, uncertain of himself. "This one will prepare words for next time. Peace on your nest, Death Singer Verna."

"The hospital is located near the Colosseum," Verna offers, making a presumption of the odd expression. "I shall look forward to your presence and words, and attempt further research ahead of your arrival." Her hood dips. "Peace on your nest, Warrior Skielstregar, and may She judge you worthy."

Skiel smiles a bit at that, dips his head in a low bow. And heads off.

...

... where in the scales was the Colosseum?

-End Scene-