Bready to Dance

Log Info

• Title: Bready to Dance
• Emitter: Aelwyn
• Characters: Aelwyn, Skielstregar, Nessa
• Place: Lower Markets
• Time: August 31st, 2022
• Summary: Aelwyn is taking a break from his delivery of baked goods to do some dancing with his percussive ensemble with glaive and oil filled pots. Skielstregar and Nessa watch while they speak of the lessening of undead outside the city. Nessa joins in with a lyre and Skiel keeps a beat with his tail, but Aelwyn falters and breaks a pot over Skiel's face, coating him in lamp oil. Some bread is lost in the process in an attempt to clean him up, but in the end, Skiel jumps into the river after Nessa suggests that Aelwyn get a cart so he didn't have to carry everything around.

There is certain amount of elevation in the air. News of the fight of against the wights have reached ears, and relief is beginning to filter through the previously anxious people.

Yet some things don't change. Like work. Work never changes.

Nestled amongst the various stands hawking their wares, a ruddy-scaled sith-makar has carved a space for himself to perform. Steady clicks and thunks join the choruses as he displays skill with his glaive; with each imaginary beat, he twists and taps the ground with the end of his spear, before picking up a claypot by the string and swaying it above his head. Despite all the expressive movements, he still keeps that steady beat, always returning the butt of his polearm against the pavement in an audible clank.

Meanwhile, nearby, a pile bread in a sack waits for a delivery. Very patiently.

It was a breath of breath air with the recent news. Skielstregar didn't have to hurry from place to place to keep things safe. And the recent victory filled him with a sense of pride and accomplishment that dared threaten to override the lifeless gaze he normally holds.

Which, is why, he's all but strutting down the road in his casual wear, halberd swaying in its frog on his back as he hums a tuneless rumble. Such merriment slows as he hears a clacking of a familiar dance, and he spies the Dragoon.

He watches, crossing his arms with an amused demeanor about him. "... you are getting better, Purple," he rumbles.

GAME: Aelwyn rolls perform/dance: (9)+6: 15

Though not involved in the force that defended the city, Nessa has seen her share of action as a result regardless. Not all who go to war return, and not all of those that do do so whole. As such, she's been busy at the Soldier's Defense administering to both. Nevertheless, she seems in decent spirits as she makes her way into the market. She has on a tall hat, black like the rest of her outfit, which keeps her face in shade.

She is carrying a basket, currently empty, into the markets- clearly intending to do a little bit of shopping. She tilts her head as she hears a rythmic clanking, and then makes her way over to spy the performance.

Even when Skielstregar begins to approach in his large-some, the sound of clicking and tapping doesn't stop. Aelwyn balances on one one foot; stretches his leg upwards and the glaive follows with a sharp movement. The pot swings around his ankle once but then drops suddenly. Still, the ruddy sith-makar recovers by snapping it from the air and regaining his balance.

"Gratitude, Silver." Aelwyn calls out over his shoulderas he drops the pot down by his foot, snapping it with his claws, before sliding it back into the circle of pots around him. With a final spin and flourish, the polearm slides across the tops in a clk-clk-clk sound.

"This one cannot help but notice a high note in Silver's voice."

Skielstregar gives a small bow of the head after the glaive-pot-slinging performance is halted with a flourish. His brows raise, expecting a pot to shatter, but instead finds himself impressed with it being snatched up. "Impresssive."

The observation makes the massive, lumbering makari uncross their arms as a hand rubs his neck. "Well, it isss a good day, isss it not? The wight problem isss abated, they are happy about sssuch undeath receding. And for doing their little part in it."

The newcomer is noted with a little bob of the head. "You have a crowd now, Dancer," he rumbles to the beribboned glaive spinner.

"It is good." Nessa agrees with Skielstregar, even if she hasn't been invited to join the conversation. Inviting herself anyway. She smiles, but there's a bit of sadness in her eyes. "It's a sad thing that so many are denied Her gift, but it's good there are less of them now." she offers.

She turns her attention back towards Aelwyn, "That was a neat performance. I think I've seen travelling mummers do that sort of thing. Maybe I could accompany you with a little tune, if you like." she suggests. She sets her basket down, and then sweeps one arm out producing a wisp of shadow that coaslesces into a Lyre, carved of ebony.

GAME: Nessa casts Summon Instrument. Caster Level: 1 DC: 14

Aelwyn swings his polearm by his shoulders and gives them a roll; stretching out his worked body. "And what about a good day is making Silver so defensive?" The smaller sith-makar asks with a teasing grin returning on his face.

When Nessa appears, he bows his head. "Of course, this one would be happy to." The glaive is returned from his shoulders and he tilts his head as the lyre appears. "... and what kind of performance are we seeking for today?"

The incredibly shiny silverscale blinks at the manifestation, his good mood dipping a peg visibly before shaking his head and standing up straighter. Peg replaced. "Thiss one agreesss, it isss sad. But at leassst they have sssome ressst now."

He tilts his head at Aelwyn, then glances away. "Thisss one did not just wisssh to appear ssselfisssh isss all." His halberd catches the sun, shining bright.

Nessa tilts her head to the side at Skiel's perceptible downtroddeness. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to dampen the celebrations. That even some of those denied Her gift are freed is cause for celebration." she says, offering a brighter and hopefully reassuring smile his way.

She turns back towards Aelwyn then, "Well, it was a sort of dance wasn't it? I could play my Lyre and maybe Sing alongside." she suggests.

Aelwyn keeps turning his eyes between both Skielstregar and Nessa, letting out a faint hmmh. "Either way, this one suspects celebrations and lamentations will be held in equal counts."

And speaking of which, he slowly drags his glaive's end along the ground, slowly nudging the pots in their appropriate places. "Should this one light up the pots, or will it be too hot for Silver?" He asks with a rumbling grin, before he lifts his leg. Up - and then back down, slowly building his momentum. Soon, his beribboned form and blade slowly twist and weave, tail and weapon alike tapping those ceramic pots for percussion.

Skiel waves a dismissive hand. "Never mind that, it wasss just that your, erm, magicsss reminded them of sssomething isss all," he honestly admits, rubbing his neck. He tries to smile, but its all fangs and gnarly teeth. "But yesss, lesss isss good, ferriesss good timesss."

He blinks at Aelwyn, then chuffs, a gout of frozen air wafting out from him. Dead eyes watching Aelwyn start back up. "Let'sss save it for a bigger stage, and, perhapsss, not a bunch of flammable thingsss nearby," he advises, gesturing to the bread waiting for delivery.

The large makari crosses his arms once more, a bit mesmerized by the tapping and movements. "If thisss one did that, they'd smash everything," he comments, tapping his foot in time.

GAME: Nessa rolls perform/string: (8)+12: 20

"Ah... The Grey Lady provides most of my talents, people often find Her unsettling. It's a shame, really. It really is a Gift she provides." she sighs softly, but then Aelwyn is starting back up which is her call to begin as well. She plucks at a few strings, and then begins to play a tune- despite her grim appearance, all in black, it is a fairly cheery tune to suit the energetic maneuvering of the Sith-Makar.

As she plays, she begins to hum as well, though refrains from singing for the time being.

GAME: Aelwyn rolls perform/dance: (6)+6: 12

Aelwyn grins over his shoulder. "This one would not set Silver on fire by accident." The ruddy sith-makar quips as he picks up one of the pots with his glaive. He swings it from behind him and catches the tip with the sharp of his blade.

When the music begins, the dancing Dragoon attempts to match his movements to the song of the lyre - but the string of his pot suddenly snaps and it falls to the ground, leaving Aelwyn swinging his blade in the air.

"Tch," He rumbles in annoyance by himself, but recovers his step. "Perhaps Silver can beat a rhythm?" He suggests with another stretch of his body, swooping up the rolling pot before it stains all that bread with its contents.

GAME: Skielstregar rolls perform/percussion: (13)+2: 15

Skielstregar pauses for a moment, but a little sigh leaves him. "The Deathsssinging Dragon's provisionsss do not unsettle thisss one," he mentions with a rumble. "Worry not, Deathsssinger."

Talk of the Grey Lady makes him half expect a dirge to groan out of the Lyre, but instead, he finds himself pleasantly surprised. He shakes his head at Aelwyn's antics before he leans back to watch and listen.

He flinches from the pot dropping, it messing up the tempo. "Uhh... thisss one can try?" He looks to his hands. His feet. Around for something to keep a beat...

Ah! His large tail raises and smacks against the ground with a bassy thud in time. It's nothing fancy, but it's steady.

Nessa continues plucking at the Lyre, her eyes had drifted closed as she picked out the tune. She opens one of them and offers Skiel another bright smile, "Good." she replies to his comment. She returns to her humming, but refrains from singing as she picks out the notes of her song- it remains cheerful, no melencholic shift to catch anyone off guard. She adjusts the tempo of her playing slightly, to match Skielstregar's beating tail.

"I'd sing as well, but I'm afraid most of the lyrics I know aren't well suited." She admits then with a helpless little shrug of one shoulder, she contents herself with continuing to hum along.

GAME: Aelwyn rolls perform/dance: (2)+6: 8

Aelwyn slowly pauses his motions and then stands. The end of his glaive taps along with Skielstregar's tail - but it adds an extra beat in a bit of a trill. "What is a song without confrontation, a performance without tension, Lyre? Surely words can match the occasion," The Dragoon asks - then thunks his foot down onto the ground. A pause, as he waits for the second rise of Nessa's song - then his claws scrape along the ground before his second foot hits the ground. It was a building crescendo...

... up until he moves onto his next step, which probably involved balancing more pots in the air. Unfortunately, in this case, as he swings the glaive from behind him and up in the air, it instead simply flings the pot at Skielstregar.

Skielstregar sways his head lazily from side to side in tandem with the beat he's giving. "Thisss one underssstands, Deathsssinger. You play well regardlesss," he drums. La la la la, thud thud thud thud. Everything's going great!

He's even humming along happily with the stranger. "Ssso, Dancer, when di-" And there's a pot rapidly approaching. His tail up for a half beat. Feet all off center. Welp. Reflex makes him close his eyes and >smash!<.

The pot pieces clatter to the ground around Skiel. And oil coats his face and shirt, staining his shiny scales. Skiel stops his rhythm. "... well... that'sss one way to hit on thisss one," he blurbes out in a daze.

The music promptly stops- the Lyre evaporating back into rapidly dissapating smoke as Nessa is shocked out of her singing and humming by the sound of shattering ceramic. She opens her eyes with a start and looks between the two of them. "What happened?" she asks, concerned.

After a moment of asessment and seeing that the damage is mostly cosmetic- she starts hunting around her bodice, like any good bodice suffused with hidden spots for tucking things away, and finds a hankercheif which she offers over to Skiel, "Here, to clean... up with." she says, realizing the little square of cloth probably won't cut it for that much oil.

Well, Aelwyn certainly has had better performance. Moving to complete still when the pot is loosened, he hisses at Skielstregar, "Duck-" He begins, but pot is a pot, and flying pots are want to do what flying pots want to do.

Thankfully the pots were very weak and easily smash upon impact. Turning away, he briskly walks by the sack of bread and hoists it up, before dropping it in front of Skielstregar. "This one slipped," He rumbles in barely hid away annoyance. Bread is pulled from the sack. It smelled very fresh and lovely, looked fluffy too. "Is Silver hurt?"

The very lovely bread is then broken apart and promptly used to suck up the oil with massaging motions off the large silver sith-makar.

Skielstregar is finally pulled out of his stupor, him shaking his head as a deep, belly filled laugh at the situation. The oil on him starts to slowly turn viscous. And the broken bread piece sticks to spot. "Pleasse, pleassee," he puts up both hands in mock surrender. "Thisss one isss fine, it wasss nothing. Sssave your bread, Dancer," he rumbles warmly, reaching down to pat Aelwyn atop the head between the horns.

He turns to the half-sil. "He flung one at thisss one on accidently. All isss well. And.... uh.." he looks down at the little square. A snicker leaves Skielstregar. "Thisss one appreciatesss your aid, but thisss one will jussst take a dive into the river to get this cleaned off."

Nessa glances to the hankercheif she is offering and then back to the tall Silverscale, and finally nods her head, "Ah, if you're sure." she says. "I'm glad you decided not to use fire." she adds a moment later as she looks towards the Dancer. "I only know a few healing spells, andd I don't think you are ready to meet Her yet, are you?" she wonders, looking at Skiel. She pauses for a moment, thoughtfully, staring at Skielstregar with those intensely silver eyes for several long moments.

Aelwyn tries to take the bread away, but winds up just crumbing it instead. It was way too fluffy to be handled like that. It only knew the frozen touch. There's a bit of a growl as he is patted between his upright horns, but he leans away with a bow of his head. "This one owes Silver for the clothes." He rumbles and slowly lets out a breath from between his teeth, leaning against his spear.

When Nessa mentions the fire, he tilts his head, then looks up towards Skielstregar. "But fire would reflect fine off those silver scales. Perhaps it would melt a little of his cold heart." He rumbles with a slow grin on his face, but it disappears soon after as he looks at the rest of the pots. Another deep breath. "Who is She Lyre speaks of?"

Skielstregar looks back down to Nessa. Those eyes lack any life to them, dead silvers staring right back at a similar hue. "Thisss one iss not ready, no," he rumbles slowly. "Thisss one isss quite hearty, and would not like to meet her again."

The massive makari huffs, him looking down to his stained shirt. "Very well. Thisss one will get new clothesss on their time and tell you what you owe them. Thisss one knowsss how important sssuch debts are important to you." But, a snort. "Pleassse, thisss one's heart isss anything but cold."

The mention of who one is speaking of makes Skiel pivot slightly include Nessa, a talon scraping at the bread that's stuck onto the now viscious-going-freezing oil. Answer on his maw, but occupied with scraping.

"Ah, so that's it then." Nessa says in retort to Skielstregar. "I knew you were closer to Her than most, but I couldn't place why." she says then and nods her head slowly. "But it is not so bad to meet Her, all that lives must die, one day." she says, smiling softly.

She turns back towards Aelwyn then, "The Harpist, or the Grey Lady, or the Death-singing-dragon if it please you. She who waits in her halls. Vardama, as She is known here." she answers then. "I am one of her Mourners, we attend to those here who are bound soon for Her calm embrace." She offers by way of introduction, and curtseys to the two of them.

"I am Agnes, but my friends call me Nessa." she finishes up with a smile.

Aelwyn bows his head towards Skielstregar, an obvious sense of relaxation coming from him. "Grateful for the consideration." Of having the luxury of paying somebody, naturally.

Straightening, he tilts his head at Nessa, quietly listening to her. "Death and the veil," The Dragoon rumbles, before he makes a deeper bow at her. "And this one would be glad to pass with the hymn of a lyre." And as is proper, he also introduces himself. "Aelwyn, a Dragoon."

Stealing a look towards the larger silver makari, he eyes the attempts of nudging at the frozen oil. "... it will stick without some heat." He grins at the larger male. "Need a little fire?"

Skielstregar slooowly glances away from Nessa, popping the bread off finally. "Erm... yessss..." he awkwardly mumbles, shifting on his feet. In agreement about the philosophy that all things must die. But not about meeting Her..? "... thisss one did not enjoy the circumstances of meeting Her."

Seeing as introductions were going around, Skiel thuds his chest twice, making the holy symbol depicting a profile of a dragon's head on his neck bounce. "Skielstregar, Warrior Caste, servant of the Dragonfather. Pleasssure to meet you, Agnesss."

An elbow ribs Aelwyn carefully. "No fire," he snickers. "The waters are warmer than thisss one, they will ussse them to clean off."

"Call me Nessa!" She insists, then, after the introductions are all in order. She looks back to Skielstregar again, and tilts her head to the side. "I suppose not many people do. It can be a frightening and confusing time." she says sympathetically. "That's why we Mourners do the work we do." she adds a moment later. "I try to help people not be so frightened. Be a hand to hold, or a shoulder to cry on, or a soothing lullaby. Whatever they need." she says.

She looks bask to Aelwyn, and then to Skiel once more, "But, it's good to meet you both." she finally offers and dips her head again. "I was just here doing some shopping, actually. Is that bread for sale?" she wonders about the loafs.

GThe ones that are not covered in lamp oil, that is,

"Hmmh, Silver is simply too shy for this one to make him feel a little warmer." Aelwyn rumbles with a thwip of his tail at the other male's larger one.

Turning towards the sack of bread - still patiently waiting for delivery, as battered as they were - he then leans down and picks up few of the loaves. "Believe the baker sells these for a silver piece." He ruminates with a tilt of his head.

Then he offers one to Nessa. "Couple of coppers?" His lips widen across his cheeks; exposing those teeth in a typically unsettling way. "Discount for the song."

Skiel blinks, then relents. "Alright Nessssa," he hisses out (he can't help it, it's his accent). But, oil cracks slightly as his brows knit together. "Yesss, Mournersss do good work. They have helped thisss one with insssights about themssselvesss and their..." He clears his throat. "...circumstancesss."

The thwack gets the chuckle to be a little laugh. "Perhapsss, perhapsss."

Though, such talk of selling the bread gets his mind turning. Dead silvers rest on the sack. "Dancer, what are you going to do with the resst of thisss bread?" he inquires curiously, him shifting his gaze to Aelwyn, the flat of the halberd reflecting the silver scales on the back of his head.

Nessa smiles brightly, and fishes around her bodice once more, this time producing a small purse so that she can provide the coppers requested. "Thank you! They look good." she says and takes the offered loaf, handing over the coins. She tucks it into the basket she had been carrying. "I did wonder as well, actually. If you're not setting up a stall, why are you moving a sack of bread around?" she wonders.

Aelwyn takes the coins and slides them into the folds of his loincloth by his backside. The question seems to take him completely off guard, and he stares at both of them for a moment. "This one is delivering them." He points behind him past the building row at the far end of the street. "From the Baker to the taverns." Skielstregar gets a look from him. "Silver has seen him work before, has he not?"

Meanwhile, one of the very fresh smelling pieces of bread flops out of the sack and hits the ground.

Skielstregar eyes the bread that falls out, then looks back to Aelwyn. "Thisss one knowsss you deliver goods. But, you are going to claim it asss a losss, no? What are going to do with the rest of it? Or will you complete your delivery?"

Nessa ahs at that, and then eyes the loaf flopping out of the sack. "Why don't you get yourself a hand-cart?" she suggests. "There's a cartwright just down the street, and I don't think they are very expensive. You'd be able to deliver things much more easily, I think. And... less often to the cobbles." she adds, pointing out the wayward loaf on the ground.

Aelwyn looks at the bread that just slipped out. With his toeclaw, he flips it up and grabs it. "Hmmh." He rumbles, tilting his head. "This one will deliver the goods and will be paid for his work. The amount he deserves." Another glance towards all the bread. "... whichever it may be."

The suggestion for a cart though, has him pause. The ruddy sith-makar tilts his head at Nessa. "A cart? She is not wrong. Though this one needs to consider how he will carry the cart."

Skielstregar chuffs and nods once, finding the answer satisfying. "Very well."

He gestures towards Nessa. "A cart isss a good idea. You could jussst rent it inssstead of buying one and having to keep track of it."

The oil, by this point, has frozen against him despite the heat of the day. His face moves some to try and shift it, but its becoming a problem. "Alasss, thisss one mussst depart before they will have to be set aflame to get rid of thissss. Peassse on your nesssts, and pleassssure to meet you Nesssa."

He gives a bow before ambling towards one of the eastern roads. He's going... going... to the river walk... taking a turn- wait, no he's not turning he's-

There's the sound of a distant >splash< as he hops over the guard rail to the river.

"No, silly, you don't carry the cart. It has wheels, so you put your things in it and then push or pull it along." She tells Aelwyn, giggling softly and shaking her head. "Fare well, Skielstregar." she offers as he makes his goodbyes, offering a little wave.

She stoops to pick up her basket once more, holding its handle in the crook of her arm. "It was good to meet you-" she begins saying, and then there's a splash. SHe looks towards the bridge. "Did- Did he fall off?" she asks Aelwyn.

Aelwyn rumbles with a grin towards Nessa. "Apologies, must still be the song that is lingering in this one's head." He says before hoisting his sack of bread over his shoulder.

When Skielstregar begins to make his way out, he clicks his tongue, "Don't let it freeze the scales, Silver. Peace on him." The Dragoon suggests - before the large sith-makar lumbers out and over the bridge. Taking in a deep breath, he turns towards Nessa. "Yes, and this one thinks he is having too much fun of it." With a swipe of his tail, he bows his head. "Peace on the nests, Lyre."

The ruddy-scaled sith-makar turns towards his pots; unhindered by concern for Skielstregar's sudden fall. Such care filled friendship.

-End Scene-