Tuned Up for What

Log Info

• Title: Tuned Up for What
• Emitter: Robert
• Characters: Robert, Slixvah, Mikilos, Patch
• Place: Lower Trades
• Time: July 16th, 2022
• Summary: Robert is working through a gifted yet cracking tome as Slixvah musically slides in to see what's good. Mikilos is busy putting up advertisement fliers for his shop and stops by to chat. They get into a bit of friendly stand off of 'proper fields of study' before Patch arrives to join in on the conversation. Some joking gets tossed around, and some condolences before the party moves over to the Fernwood.

The constant mist of Alexandria's Aestry Grey continues to blanket the trades. The sounds of workers and tradesmen work their muffled, echoing way through the sultry gloom and hold the city streets in a dreamlike grip.

Even the Ilife Smithy is unusually quiet during the afternoon workhours with golems and mul'niessa about whatever other pursuits. The forge is empty but for red-glowing coal and embers struggling to cool. Four newly-minted steel aspis rest, oily and gleaming over ragged, stained leather atop a table.

Bob, meanwhile, occupies a workbench arrayed with a wider array of scattered, esoteric, and arcane tools. A small, ancient book is open to his left, a yellowed and stitched diagram on vellum is pinned between two posts, and one of his titan fists is half-assembled on the bench before him. His gold-glowing ioun stone keeps him company, tinkling as extra energies leak from its irregular form.

The low gate into the open structure sits wide and the Cerenzan has his back to it, hunched over his project as he is.

Mikilos whistles a half remembered tune, likely from some forgotten play years ago, wandering a crooked and winding path from wall and post to different wall or post. A couple buckets of paste and a stack of posters follow the wizard, who double checks a list before sending advertisements to paste themselves, or, shakes his head and moves on, leaving the spot undecorated. Honestly, the show of magical power is as good an ad as the posters.

A familiar voice could be heard echoing down the street.

"And. I. Said. What's good wit'cha? What's good wit'cha? I'm sittin' here cold like lemonade pitcha!

Strutting down the road was a rust red and white egalrin woman in way too many ribbons and about three sets of robes. The blanket of mist affording some reprieve from the heat. "Make ya pucka, sucka, my beats on the streets ain't nothing you can beat!"

Slixvah crosses through the gate dramatically, her taking a stutter step to slide out on her feet. "I said what's good wit'cha, what's good wit'cha?! Robby makin' stuff in pris-tine pict'cha!" she continues, squinting in a silly sort of smile.

Hell of an entrance.

"Hm?" Bob looks over, his mask of concentration holding while his forebrain works through some formulae. His expression visibly softens as he blinks his way away from the texts and schematics. By the time his blue-eyes have registered recognition he's smiling widely. "Miss Slix!"

The Cerenzan laughs and sets down a tool, reaching over and grabbing a clean towel for a hand covered in blood. He turns off of the stool and stands, wincing mildly as he dabs gingerly and rubs.

The gauntlet remains on the countertop, twitching once before falling fully open to rest palm up.

"Muse' grace," he nods, lifting both hands (and the rag) towards his heart. "What brings you by? Just looking to brighten my day with your worldplay? I must say, you do have a way." He grins and then adds: "with the wordplay, I mean."

He's not quite as good at that as the beribboned birdlady.

Mikilos may be focused on his work, but not that focused, watching Slixvah with mild curousity, following along to peer over the gate. "Ah, hello Bob, was it? I see you're keeping busy. Everything alright?" A glance toward the bloodied hand. doesn't look to be spurting, so that's good, right?

Slixvah gives a twin-double-finger-snap-and-point with both hands. "Heya sugar. Ain't much, just wanted to say hi and see what's good wit'cha." She laughs. "Thanks boo. I try."

Her eyes shift down slightly, and her brows raise. "Oooh, owie. Want ol' Slix ta give it a fixie fix?" she offers, holding up a hand. "I figured out how ta give free samples~!"

And there's a newcomer walking up to the gate-

"Holy shi-take mushrooms you're tall," she blurts out.

"Master Mithralla," Bob greets, looking up a ways to smile at the elf. "Muse' grace. I'm fine, thank you; just attempting an old schema." He glances over his shoulder and takes a half-step back, reaching with his unwounded hand to close the withered and ancient tome he'd been referring.

"Miss Slix, meet master Mikilos Mithralla. The Competition." He attempts a dire tone but ends up laughing good naturedly instead. "Master Mithralla, this is miss Slixvah, a good friend of mine and a source of better judgement for someone that means a great deal to me. She's also a talented arcanist."

The big fellow waves off Slixvah and pulls his wounded hand free of the cloth; only his fingertips are sliced but the wound may've been reopened more than once. "Material components," he grins a bit sheepishly. Considering Slixvah, he adds: "I don't often get the space to myself and I didn't want to upset the girls. It's nothing but I'd appreciate keeping this between us."

Mikilos grins to the Egalrin, bowing slightly. "Long as well. Archmage Mikilostravia Abrioudelanarchie Mithralla, Lord of Estranillia, owner of Mithralla Merchandise." He waves a poster vaugely. "I don't believe I've had the pleasure of meeting before, oh Lady of Many Words and Colors." He nods at Bobs introduction, chuckeling.

Slixvah turns to crane her head up to properly look at the towering elf. She blinks, her beak clacks once, and her sky blue eyes crinkle, as if she was smiling wide. "Oh Robby, ya flatter me," she coos, daintily waving the compliment off as if it was nothing and totally wasn't inflating her massive ego.

She preens her second robe, and returns the bow. "Archmage Mikilostravia Abrioudelanarchie Mithralla," she rattles off, dipping her tone to half copy Mikilos's voice in that way that only birds could. "Pleasure ta meet ya! Slixvah Unmesi, I'm one of the besti. Lavished words do well to impress me."

Trying to mask her obvious attention whip towards an Archemage in her vicinity, she nods her heads slowly towards Bob. "I getcha. I sometimes get a little cup and keep it heated so I don't have ta keep cuttin' myself if I need a bit. No worries, I won't say a word."

A glance to Miki. "... so... what's the archmage specialize in?" she asks, already fishing for info.

"I'd never," Bob denies vis-a-vis flattery. He sucks at his split thumb briefly and then wipes at it again with the rag. Already, his hand looks much better. "You'll both have to forgive me but... I'm a bit sore today." He pauses, briefly, and grunts as he sits back down on the stool, leaning to brace his back against the table he'd been working on. "... and that's not a bad idea. Though, I hope to be finished with this Investment Vitalitae today.

"Then it's the 'heretical' works of a Kulthian-in-Exile to make trinkets accessible for the layman." The idea intrigues him, clearly, but he spares the pair his hobbyist fantasies!

Instead, the middle-aged human looks up at Mikilos and quirks an eyebrow, curious, too, now that Slixvah has asked her question.

Mikilos smiles. "Not specializing. I follow a Universalist tradition, and study a wide range of topics. But I tend towards sword smithing and enchantment. Most of the blades I sell I forged myself. I also forge other materials on occasion, but typically its faster and easier to outsource to local craftsmen. Are a great many quality builders in Alexandria, but not as many magi willing and able to enchant products." He frowns good naturedly at Bob. "You know the Kulthians fell for a very good reason. Several of them. Never too late to change to a proper hermetic tradition."

Slixvah reaches over to pat Bob on the shoulder. "All good, handsome. That mountain ain't no joke when goin' up that road."

She snorts. "From one heretic to another, I think what eva' ya come up wit' will be just fine. Like this Vitalitae thingy yer workin' on. Gotta make a good name for yerself so ya can break the stigma, ya dig?"

Perhaps a bit of projecting there.

She shifts her attention up to Mikilos. Her brows raise. "Oooh. Universalism. I myself was a bit partial to gettin' in the weeds of Divination, but, eh."

She looks to Bob, then back up to Mikilos as she steps beside the human. "You're right, he should learn how to do what I do instead!" she chirps happily, sniping back at breaking tradition.

"I was a thug and a soldier before I was a failed officer," Bob grins and chuckles when Mikilos proposes a shift in academic dogma. "This has just been a hobby of mine to run parallel with an honest trade that helped feed my family.

"I'm too old to try my hand at being a wizard; even the Khazad and your ilk attending the Society's academy look like infants to me." His smile is wide and his amusement supreme at the notion. "Can you imagine me sitting in a classroom in apprentice robes?" He laughs again and takes a moment to scratch at his permanent, early-evening shadow.

"No... no, I appreciate your concern, master Mithralla, but the forge and my little projects are enough to busy me so I don't wear out my welcome with the younger generations in my idle hours."

The fond smile is turned on Slixvah, then, and he shakes his head once more. "If the Muse would grant me the gift of gab, I'd take it. But She seems content to put those with it in my circles to inspire me, instead." He shrugs mildly, "... and I'll never complain about that."

Mikilos nods. "Divination is fun, but I wanted to -do- something with whatever I found out. Knew a few too many Diviners who sat in their lair, gathering secrets, just to let them go dusty and forgotten again." He grins to Bob and waves vaugely. "Ah posh, I was over 100 when I became a proper wizard. Never too late." He frowns mildly. "But can quite understand wanting to avoid classrooms, have fond memories, but no desire to return."

Slixvah snorts. "Ain't too old to pick up a few magic tricks. Ya ain't a dog. But..." she taps her beak. "... you in apprentice robes would be kinda funny. Hell, ya might learn a thing or three ya can take back. Cross discipline and all that jazz."

What /is/ jazz??

She rubs her neck, looking off to the saw. "D'aww... Robby, if I was pretendin' ta be somethin' else right now I'd be right red in the face."

She shakes her head and looks up to Mikilos. "I mean, yeh. I'd do something with it. I dunno what but I'd do somethin'. I like givin' little nudges here and there to make things fall into the right place."

Her hands rest on her hips. "I love sittin' in classrooms. But people don' like me sittin' in them," she tuts.

Bob reaches over and gives Slixvah's shoulder a light squeeze. "I mean it, truly. There's no need to be embarrassed. 'Beauty is best when acknowledged and love pales ignored.'" He gives her a little pat and then pulls his hand back. "That was my Yetta's favorite proverb. So now you have to suffer," he adds the last bit with a widening grin and a wink.

"And, well... as for school; I've always struggled in a well-defined structure; they don't drum you out of the officer corps for being good at taking and giving orders." The Cerenzan chuckles again and shrugs. A glance bounces between Mikilos and Slixvah. "But... well, I'll consider it; broadening horizons. As you both say.

"But right now... right now I have this tome Shuf gifted me and I'll be damned if my daughter-in-law isn't the perfect gift-giver." Maybe it's a tenant of Adom? "So I've fallen firmly between those old pages with my free time."

The Ilife Smithy is a simple and open structure dilineated by low stone walls, framing posts, and a slanted roof. The space is roughly 10'x15' with an ancient forge hearth as its centerpiece. A table and a high counter mounted to the framing poses form an interrupted L on the north and west sides of the building. A steel anvil is anchored to a dead tree trunk.

A path leading from the main thoroughfare comes to a low gate but the hinged entrance is a formality; only the laziest and shortest of the short races would struggle climbing over the low walls. Sightlines through the building are only interrupted by the framing posts and large hearth.

Mikilos grins to Slixvah. "The Woman Behind The Curtain sort of Diviner, very nice. Easier said than done, but very impressive when pulled off." He frowns mildly, but peers at the mentioned tome. "What book is it to grab your attention so firmly?"

Slixvah waves a dismissive hand as she leans into the squeeze. "I ain't embarrassed, that's just right touchin' is all." She chuckles. "Yetta's got a smart head and good words. That's why I shower everyone in with the good words."

She looks to the tome, makes a curious expression, but doesn't prod about it too much, unlike Mikilos.

Instead she turns to the tall elf. "Yeah. I'd love to be like that. Kinda do that now, just a little more..." she wobbles a hand. "Hands on."

Patch walks the lower trade district, feet carrying here wherever she roams. Her coat is buttoned tight, arms wrapped before her as she browses stall and ware. The smithy is a place of interest, noise, voices and fun seemingly heard as she crosses towards that open structure, taking a peek at who talk's within. Who says people watching isn't a hobby? How else would she find new clothes, and trinkets. She simply watches, catching sight of several familiar faces. For now she listens, not trying to hide her presence, even offering a small wave if people glance her way.

"The wisest creautre I ever met, my greatest love, and the best part of my life," Bob admits with a big nod. "We only ever failed to reconcile on one matter... but I trust her decision was correct."

The faraway look what comes over the middle-aged Cerenzan is short lived-- he won't indulge in daydreams with guests in the smith. Instead, he looks at the book for a moment and side-eyes the archmage. "A one-of-a-kind as far as I can tell. A personal notebook from Ancient Kulthus." He reaches over and lifts it carefully, turning the cracked, pale leather cover to Mikilos and then the frayed binding. "A few indentations survive on the cover but the inlay in long gone. Some of the interior pages are missing or damaged, too.

"I'm not exactly sure how Shufharsz found it but there's a diagram for a proto titan's fist on an early page; I'm sure that's what made her think of me." He turns and sets the book back down carefully. "... it's been quite the intruiging mystery--"

A look past the dawn elf has the artificer waving Patch in. "Miss, please. Hello, come in. Muse' grace. Is there something I can do for you?" He gives a little grunt and wince as he stands up.

Mikilos eyes the book with interest, fingers witching, but keeps his hands at his side. "I'm familiar with the type of work. I've a library of journals from various walks of life; most fairly recent but a few ancient. I'll send you a pamphlet on preservation and restoration techniques. May not be able to get back what was lost, but can help keep what you do have."

Turning, the wizard smiles and raises a hand in greeting. "Hello Patch, come in and be welcome."

The egalrin doesn't poke at the middle aged man, her instead patting his shoulder in a return manner and giving a supportive hum. She looks to the book, a feathered brow raising. "Ooooh. Fancy. Lemme know what kinda doodad you make with that if ya can reverse figure it out. I can fix some of the pages later if ya want. I know a little mojo on repairing things if ya want a hand, but Miki-mo-name might be better versed with all that."

Slixvah does a slight double glance towards the figure lingering about watching from Robert's call out, her straightening up and subtly smoothing her crown feathers back. "Heya March!" she chirps warmly and waggles some fingers in greeting.

Patch cracks a wide smile, drawing closer to the small group. "So. Not unwelcome? Good." the bard's words filled with a mirth, her glance sweeping as she takes in this place. The book being talked about drawing obvious interest as her comment comes with a dismissive and offhanded tone. "I just heard noise and grumble... and now I see thought and study. I didn't want to miss the excitement, but" looking to Robert with a wane in her smile. "I'm sorry love is complicated, Friend." having overheard many things it seems.

"Mm, I do like the march. Anything that gives me a bit of sore in the legs is wonderful." Patch suddenly smirking at the Egalrin.

"No need to apologize," Bob tells Patch. "My Yetta sits with the Muse in Nature's Cradle and some day we'll be reunited. How I miss her today will only make that moment sweeter when it comes."

The Cerenzan eases back down to sit once Patch has made her way inside, offering the copper-tour from his stool. "This is the Ilife Smithy, miss, and we forge weapons, armors, tools, and sundry objects. My apprentices can enchant those items as well. My specialty is artifice."

Finally, he offers a nod to Mikilos and Slixvah. "That's certainly helpful. Thank you both."

Mikilos nods to Slixvah and Robert. "Kulthian works, espically older ones, have a bad habit of returning to fresh blank pages when magically repaired. A safety feature in keeping professional secrets. Not much point in burning your notes if someone can just fix the ashes." The wizard huffs. "I can understand the desire for secrecy, but is damned annoying when trying to fix something."

He blinks, glancing to Patch, not sure he heard that right.

Slixvah looks to Patch, then her gaze slides up towards the mountains to the east, hidden in the veil of mist. "Could go on another walk up tha mountain again."

The bird's attention dips down to small elf. Her eyes crinkle in a grin. "Or we could drink the other under the table and see who's legs give out first," she chuckles, waving a hand off as if it would raincheck the teasing.

She makes a clicking, tsking sound. "Drat, and here I thought it'd be straightforward. Guess I can't just waggle a hand and make it all better."

She jabs a thumb towards Robert. "Yeah, this guy makes all sorts of cool stuff. And the other folks that work here are just as cool. I can vouch!"

Patch snorts at Mikilos' gaze, her glance coy as an arm reaches to lightly shove the other Dawn Elf playfully with a light touch. "Oh, don't be so reserved. You were supposed to enjoy the tease." letting her hand fall away. "What is it you seek? I am sorry. I didn't get to hear the whole story."

"Condolences, Robert... but I am glad you have found something to focus your time." taking a moment as she had looked about at the small tour and investigation. "I'll be sure to keep that in mind when I commission the work I need."

To the Egalrin, Patch gives glance from over a shoulder, lips devilish in their grin. "Why not both? Drinks, a walk, more drinks. I may be small, but I go on into the night." the innuendo even causing her to laugh.

"A lot of precious things are fragile and not easily repaired," Bob observes with another shrug. It's clearly not a big deal to be careful with the gift.

At the talk of carousing, the red-skinned human exhales through his nose and considers his wounded hand. "Aah, to be young again." The expression he wears makes it clear he's only half-serious. "I know you're more than capable, miss Slix, and have a good bit of luck in your pocket-- but do be extra careful if you're wandering the city late, please. Times like these in a city this busy... people might be driven to strange and dark things.

"You, too, miss," he adds with a look to Patch.

Mikilos snerks, certain he heard that right. "More a matter of making sure other minds are as dirty as my own. Awkward to laugh at a joke someone didn't mean to make. Anyway, was putting up posters for my own shop, happened to wander by, havn't wandered away just yet." He nods seriously to Bob. "Average citizen is alright, but few too many below average folk about."

Mikilos blinks, and frowns. "Or above average? Depends what you're taking an average of."

Slixvah snorts, shaking her head at the antics involved. "We'll put that to the test in paces then," she smiles to Patch.

Her hands go into her pockets, and her head drops to the sitting human. Her expression turns warm, and she rests a hand on his shoulder. "I'll be sure to keep that in mind, Robert. Usually my carousing ends up with me in an inn bed somewhere. So sleep well that I'll be safe."

The fortune teller tilts her head to the side, and slowly exhales. "Though, your wisdom ain't dismissed. There's... how'd my dad put it? Fuckery afoot? Keep your wits."

She just quietly laughs at Mikilos' ponderings.

"Those who march do not fear the dark. Each step is made with the thought to do better for those you march for...." Patch sobering from her mirth as she regards Robert with a raised brow. "Thank you. The concern is appreciated, Robert." sighing and relenting. "I know that danger lurks, and shadows reach even within the walls. I joke, my humor a shield, and my wit and tongue weapons. I have to talk."

To Mikilos, Patch finds a small smile and offers a bob of her head. "Good." smirking.

Patch's glance eventually finds it's way to Slixvah as she speaks. "Maybe just the drinks then?" the joke weak, but still there all the same.

"You and your father share a way with words." Bob observes with a laugh. He turns on the stool and begins cleaning up, packing a few things away. "That miss Irshya has a good heart; you'll always be safe at the Tarrace. The folk of the Fernwood are good, too." He's wrapping his book in folded calfskin now, lacing it closed with a leather thong.

"... I'm glad to hear you won't be stumbling through the streets," he adds, grinning faintly as he turns to look back over his shoulder. "We're still a far cry from the state of Dragonier when we left for Sendor-- but it doesn't hurt to be careful."

There are surprisingly-heavy noises from fairly small and delicate-looking pieces of metal as he reassembles the oversized gauntlet.

"A drink sounds wonderful, though. Something to calm this ache..."

Mikilos nods to Slixvah. "Always some sort of fuckery about, but currently a little worse than normal. But, keep your wits, be aware your surroundings, should be alright." He nods to Robert. "The Ox is terrible. Owner is a damn saint, and the patrons are rough around the edges, but the staff are terrible people. Lazy, selfish, greedy, stupid, and ugly to boot. How they came from Mister Oxley is a mystery of the cosmos."

Slixvah catches Patch's gaze. "Maybe just the drink then," she echoes in agreement, chuckling. "Fernwood pub's a good spot. Ain't been there in a bit. TarRaCe is cool, but I've been hanging 'round there a bit much as of late, need to change it up, ya dig?"

She laughs to Robert. "Dad's got the words, mom's got the wisdom. fourteen chicks later and only one of 'em got both," she informs, giving her non-present siblings a verbal rivalry as she thumbs her beak.

She shakes her head. "Last time I went to that place, I got tied upside down from the ceiling because I was getting too lucky with a game of cards."

She looks to everyone, taking a half step towards the gate. "Fernwood? Eh? Eh?"

Patch blinks. "I like the Ox.... It's got flavor, and a smell." The bard seemingly serious. "It's where I met Aelwyn, and several other Sith-Makar." shrugging and not seeming to have ever considered it dangerous. "As for that drink... come with us, Robert. Esztli would get mad if you keep trying to shirk people. We want you about." shooting a glance to Slixvah. "Sure! Where's the Fernwood?"

Fist finished, Bob works on stowing his tools in a lockbox and then locking that away in a stowbox. The rattling of heavy chains and cla-thunk of a sturdy lock signal that things are secured. His gauntlet, the book, and the miscellaneous diagrams and reagents are sorted into a small satchel he drapes across his shoulders.

"I have to quiet the forge and put a few other things away... but I'll be right behind you." Certainly the shields can't be left sitting out in the open like that.

"Go on ahead."

Mikilos nods to Patch. "I like the Ox too, why I helped rebuild it after the Oxley's tried to dry their laundry in the oven... twice. Learned our lesson and rebuilt the foundation from stone. Oxley's still wear charred pants. That said, the Fernwood sounds nice." he says, turning towards the exit. "...helped rebuild it too."

Slixvah snorts. "Aight Robby, we'll save ya a seat. Actually, here-"

She reaches into a pocket on her many robes, and posits a white plumed (And very sleepy) thrush on Robert's workbench. "Fiadh will keep ya company 'til then."

"... why..." the little bird tweets languidly.

"Because you're cute."

"... this explains nothing."

"To the Fern!" Slix declares, marching on out and ignoring her bird friend.

-End Scene-