Werewolf in Alexandria
The sky is darkening, and there's a light breeze on the air that tugs playfully at hair and clothing without any threat beyond the scent of water carried in from the docks. It's cool, but not really cold, and there's no sense that there might be a rainfall anytime soon. The market place then, is surprisingly busy. Full of people picking up last minute things for dinner or chatting in little groups near the places that sell food. It's a day worthy of lingering. Everyone seems in a fair-weather mood, and even the haggling seems good-natured today.
"Sorry sorry one side sorry watch out! sorry sorry LOOK DOWN LONGSHANKS!"
Following the high-speed voice, people can be seen to waver or stumble to one side or another in a path among the stalls. "Dammit where *are* those sweetrolls?!"
Emerging into a clear space, a blonde gnome in a motley of colors whips her head one way, then the other. "I ran out of a hospital for you, *where are you?!*"
There's a massive silverscaled makari rifling through a stall at the markets, looking for an empty journal. He looks tired, and a bit on edge despite the general good mood of the market.
He twitches some as a blonde gnome tears through the market, him peering over his shoulder with coin in one hand, and a half open empty book in the other.
After the blonde gnome, a panting human pelts, shaking his head as he runs. "Wait!" Dolan shouts after her. "You're going the wrong way! It's over down this way!" Much longer legs help, but the crowds don't. "'Scuse me! Excuse me, I'm trying to stop her!" He not-so-gracefully elbows and pelts his way through the crowd after Magpie.
Bar is taking a chance to relax, hunched forward and sitting on the top of a tightly-bound bundle of casks waiting to be loaded. It'd been a rough couple of weeks and the Khazad-aul looks the worse for it-- even after a visit to the grove. One eye is bandaged and an arm is tucked close to his considerable trunk protectively. He mutters quietly to himself, deliberately, while he watches an older dwarf woman with a bit of a family resemblance talking business with a ship's captain.
The druid is sans armor and spear. Porter is nowhere to be seen (and it's be tough to hide a black bear around here). He's just taking a break in his furred cloak and people-watching.
Verna is in the midst of browsing a stall that could best be described as ...curios; a near-endless selection of small decorative objects, whose practical purpose she is attempting to discern. Or was, rather, as most seem to have none aside from aesthetics, and such has never been her strongest suit.
Such is even more apparent at present; the Mourner does not appear so given her lack of robes, cloak, hood, nor reading materials. Her present attire consists of simple, and muddied, breeches and tunic. The sudden call and commotion draws her attention from the knickknackery towards the yelling.
While Skielstregar is distracted, flinching away from the gnomish woman a man runs into him. The man is large for a human, bulky in a way that suggests that he's seen his way around a fight or six. He's carrying a sword that emphasizes this particular fact and his face turns red as his shoulder contacts with Skielstregar's. "HEY! WATCH WHERE YOU'RE GOING!" The man's reaction is not warranted from such gentle contact, but then... some people are volatile.
GAME: Magpie rolls perception: (18)+6: 24 GAME: Skielstregar rolls perception: (20)+10: 30 GAME: Dolan rolls perception: (19)+7: 26 GAME: Barclaiigh rolls Perception: (18)+11: 29
Skielstregar flinches as he's bumped into. He turns, and reels. "A-Ah-, sssorry!" he quickly apologizes, setting down the ware and coin to put his hands up as he swivels his head around. Apparently, his jumpy disposition as of late seemed to benefit him, as he blinks, and steps back away from the man, him putting both hands out. "... s-state your intentionsss, please..." he asks of the group around him, glowing out the last bit as his fingers flick. Some black ichor flings from his fingers, and bony black wings manifest over his shoulders only to wrap around him before vanishing with a >pop<. "Thisss one wants no harm."
GAME: Skielstregar casts Shield. Caster Level: 6 DC: 13
"What the what--?!" All desires of sweetroll are apparently forgotten, as Magpie skids to a halt upon hearing Skeilstregar's accoster. Whipping around, she marches toward the confrontation, looking for a handy box to climb upon within at least two gnomeslength of the Sith. "Hey Bigjob, you want to take it back about thirty or forty percent there? Because--" The gnome pauses, eyes darting to either side. "--because it looks like you're riling up your friends there."
"Hold up. The sith didn't start it." Dolan appears to recognize the sith in question. He, too, is unarmed and unarmored, and slows, coming to a halt near the space between two stalls - and it just so happens that the next stall over to the curio stall is a purveyor of weapons and kitchen tools. He levels a stern look at both the bravo and his friends, head turning back and forth between them. "We don't need trouble here. It's crowded enough."
With a heavy sigh, Barclaiigh slides off the two casks he'd split cheeks between and falls heavily to the ground. A fat thumb rubs at his tiny eye before he drops his hands to finger-comb his beard briefly. Slap, slap, slap go his sandals as he walks closer.
"Trample fidgits," grunts the dwarf. There's a blink and a frown, his hand coming up to cover his mouth as he clears his throat. "... meant 'howdy,'" he smiles apologetically. There's a glance at the instigator hunting for a revolution. "Easy roads, fella."
It seems that some are more easily agitated than others. Not that such is a surprise; tensions are, or have been, high in the city ) or further) for the past several... Verna frowns as she attempts to recall a precise time when tensions were otherwise in recent memory. While the minor impact holds her attention, she does not move closer as of yet. Possibly to avoid contributing to more collisions.
The man who ran into Skielstregar gives a nasty grin, and his companions draw in a little bit closer. It doesn't seem like this is going to end so peacefully. Sensing the incoming fight some people are drawing away from the tension. Others continue blithely by completely unaware of the imminent danger. "Seems like HE knows what's up." He motions to Skielstregar with his free hand.
There's a drawing of weapons and the ring of steel quickens many people on their way. One of the men steps between the instigator and Dolan, looking the man up and down with a wicked grin.
The escalation from 'impolite' to 'threats of impolite with a deadly weapon' was rather unexpected. Verna's frown turns to a scowl as she now remarks. With volume and directed to the eager swordsman and his companions. "If you believe that assaulting a random buyer in plain view of dozens of witnesses is a path to a fruitful and free life, you are grossly mistaken. I urge you to reconsider foolishness."
GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d20+8: (6)+8: 14
The dwarf bites his thumb to make sure this isn't another one of those visions and the slap-slapping of his sandals increases in pace as he takes up a spot next to the sith-makar. Just over half Skielstregar's height he might be easy to miss if he weren't so broad at the chest and shoulders.
Barclaiigh digs out his boar's tusk fetish and then wags a finger at one of the advancement ne'er-do-wells.
"Danged if this ain't a mighty dumb idea, mister," warns the wildman. "Ruffled creeks twiggy." Well, now he's lost it.
GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d20+2: (1)+2: 3 (EPIC FAIL)
The main instigator pulls his sword and swings it wildly at Skielstregar's head twice. The second time he hits the stall beside Skielstregar rather than the sith himself and the stall owner yells in protest. "Hey! Watch where you're swinging that!" The man growls in response and a few of his allies who have also drawn weapons laugh at his ineptness. Meanwhile the last man hangs back, his dark eyes roaming the street for threats that the others seem uncaring about.
GAME: Magpie casts Grease. Caster Level: 2 DC: 15 GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d20+2: (3)+2: 5 GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d20+2: (12)+2: 14 GAME: Skielstregar rolls intimidate: (4)+11: 15 GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d20+3: (9)+3: 12
"Wow," Magpie says, drawing back in shock as the beliggerent's sword knocks into the stall. "Buddy you're *really bad at this.*" Tiny hands extend to either side, before gathering up muddy-colored globs of magic out of thin air. "Maybe you should just sit down and think about your life choices, yeah?"
The gnome's hands shoot to either side again, and the glob disappears... but the attacker's boots gain a sudden greasy sheen, causing the attacker's feet to slip right out from under him, depositing the bravo unceremoniously on his rear.
Skielstregar is looking awfully uncomfortable, his hands are up, and-
Ah, shoot! He ducks under the blade, and rises up, eyes gleaming red as he roars out at the attacker on the ground. "LEAVE THIS ONE ALONE, OR PERISH BY FROSSST!" he spits out, frozen air leaking in billows from his maw at the threat.
He backs up next to Barclaiigh, eyes glancing about as he hasn't drawn a weapon. "... j-just leave thiss one alone..." he whimpers. Probably didn't help his display
GAME: Dolan rolls weapon1+1: (4)+5+1: 10 GAME: Verna casts Blessing of Fervor. Caster Level: 18 DC: 21 GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d20+20: (9)+20: 29
"You heard him," Dolan growls as the weapons are drawn and the fight breaks out. "Knight's holy balls, I shat something yesterday morning that had better sense than you arseholes." He lunges, not for his attackers, but for the display of the stall adjacent to the one Skielstregar was perusing, and in a single motion grabs the hilt of a massive greatsword, bringing it effortlessly to a ready pose. The shopkeeper shouts in anger, "Hey! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!"
"Sorry, I'll be back in a minute," he shouts back, and turns back to his enemies. "Daeus Sunlord, send Your justice that I may defend those who have done no wrong." A much calmer prayer, or would be if it wasn't growled, and a ripple of the last of the sunlight shoots down the well-made blade before he takes it to one of the men. A bad slash, a weapon with different balance takes some getting used to, and it goes wide. "Hold still, you chicken-fucker."
Verna exhales a sigh through her scowl. The irate man displays that his coordination and/or skills are as plentiful as his common sense. Unfortunately, this did not improve his disposition in the slightest. "You are foolish, misguided, and, I believe, outmatched. Leave the Makari be and go about your business..." Her next words are a beseechment to her Mistress. "May Her Hall empower and protect the worthy and wise..."
"... as its doors are ever open to accept those not."
GAME: Verna rolls spellcraft+4: (18)+35+4: 57
"Iff'n y'need to skedaddle..." Bar glances up at Skielstregar with a shrug. The dwarf turns back to the assailants with a sigh, grabbing up his boar's tusks and muttering into it. There's a groan of complaint and then the tearing of meat and popping of bones, auburn hair sprouting and consuming all the clothes the druid wears as his posture changes and he drops down to all fours.
The Barverine curls its lip back from a jutting underbite and hisses. One last warning before the furred creature of claws, teeth, and a famous ill-temper goes to work.
Even as the druid transforms into an animal, so too does the man on the ground. His bones snap and twist and turn until he's a wolf standing there, growling and snapping at Skielstregar, a mad look in his yellow eyes. Meanwhile his companions are shifting too. Their bodies covering over with fur and their forms becoming some twisted amalgamation between man and beast.
GAME: Magpie casts Grease. Caster Level: 2 DC: 15 GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d20+2: (14)+2: 16
"Waitwaitwait," Magpie says, whipping around to face Dolan's opponents. "Are you serious? This guy *actually*--" Trailing off, she starts to gather up another glob of magic. "HAHAHAHAHA okay y'know what sit down puppy I wanna see how this plays out." This glob, hurled at the one facing Dolan's back, spreading out away from the holy warrior. That the apparent werewolf keeps his feet is concerning, but the gnome still has a few tricks up her sleeve.
GAME: Skielstregar rolls 2d6: (12): 12 GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d20+2: (17)+2: 19 GAME: Dolan rolls weapon1+1+2-1: (14)+5+1+2+-1: 21 GAME: Dolan rolls 2d6+4+2: (4)+4+2: 10
Skielstregar's eyes go wide as the people turn into snarling monsters, with snapping jaws and wild eyes.
It's rather terrifying for him. Seeing people turn into feral beasts. Wonder why?
He spins around, inhales deeply, as a absolute blast of flash frozen air torrents out over two of them. It was pretty potent, but they manage to get out of the worst of it. "Leave thisss one alone! Jusst leave!" he pleads, drops of flash frozen liquid black scattering against the ground. "GUARDSSS!"
Dolan's eyes go wide as saucers as their opponents transform into feral beasts, and he suddenly snarls through a tone that is no longer as angry as it is worried. "The Nightmare's little fuckers. Son of a bitch. You were just looking for trouble. GUARDS!" He echoes the shout and lashes out again at his opponent, blood flying this time as the massive blade connects.
GAME: Verna casts Feeblemind. Caster Level: 19 DC: 22 GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d20+20: (18)+20: 38 GAME: Barclaiigh rolls 1d20+7: (5)+7: 12 GAME: Barclaiigh rolls 1d20+7: (10)+7: 17 GAME: Barclaiigh rolls 1d20+7: (18)+7: 25 GAME: Barclaiigh rolls 1d20+7: (4)+7: 11 GAME: Barclaiigh rolls 1d4+4: (3)+4: 7 GAME: Barclaiigh rolls 1d4+4: (2)+4: 6 GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d20+7: (3)+7: 10 GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d20+6: (3)+6: 9 GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d20+6: (15)+6: 21 GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d20+1: (19)+1: 20 GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d20+1: (10)+1: 11 GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d20+6: (19)+6: 25 GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d20+6: (20)+6: 26
People turning into feral beasts? Where!? The Barverine squares off against the brigand wolf with his teeth glistening under curled, black lips. The long, hefty body of the oversized varmint is curled around the legs of the sith-makar as Skielstregar turns away.
When the wolf doesn't have the sense to retreat, Barclaiigh lashes out, snapping strong jaws over thin air before catching the lupine creature with a one-two battery of swiping claws. There's the wet 'clack' of jaws as the auburn-haired animal pulls back into a more protective stance.
GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d20+6: (1)+6: 7 (EPIC FAIL) GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d20+1: (11)+1: 12 GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d20+1: (11)+1: 12 GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d8+6: (6)+6: 12 GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d8+6: (6)+6: 12 GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d6+1: (3)+1: 4 GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d6+1: (6)+1: 7 GAME: Dolan rolls fortitude: (3)+6: 9 GAME: Dolan rolls fortitude: (10)+6: 16 GAME: Dolan rolls fortitude: (9)+6: 15
The wolves, and half-humans attack in concert, like a pack might. The wolf attacks Barclaiigh, but its teeth don't find purchase in his fur. The two flanking Dolan takes swipes at him, but while he easily paries their blades their teeth find purchase on his arm and shoulder. Bleeding him and tearing his flesh. Skeilstregar easily evades the teeth of _his_ foes, but their blades cut deeply and he finds himself bleeding as well. The last of the concerned parties disappears into the crowd, seemingly done with aiding his allies for whatever reason.
GAME: Magpie casts Grease. Caster Level: 2 DC: 15 GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d20+2: (2)+2: 4
If it wasn't for the threat of toothy doom, this would be more than kinda fun! Turning and surveying the battle from her perch, Magpie spreads *yet another* pool of grease under the Sith's attackers, grinning widely when they immediately hit the dirt.
But looking over her shoulder, the gnome frowns in mounting concern for Dolan's arm of the fight.
GAME: Skielstregar RAGES!, gaining +2 to melee attack/damage/Will saves and 12 temporary HP GAME: Skielstregar rolls strength+bab+2+2: (3)+5+6+2+2: 18 GAME: Skielstregar rolls strength+bab+2+2-5: (4)+5+6+2+-5: 12 GAME: Skielstregar rolls 1d8+7+2+2+6: (1)+7+2+2+6: 18
Skiel cries out in pain as he's shanked, him shoving them off as they stumble to the ground. He looks over, spying the familiar Deathsinger. "Verna! Let them know thisss one isss safe!" he calls out before he turns, pulls out a flail. And-
Undead, Forgotten features erupt from him in a spray of black ichor as he roars, red eyes gleaming. "THISSS ONE WARNED YOU! THEY WARNED YOU! AND-"
SLAM!
"YOU DIDN'T-"
Crush! Wiff.
"-LISTEN!"
GAME: Dolan casts Shield of Faith. Caster Level: 1 DC: 14 GAME: Verna casts Cure Light Wounds. Caster Level: 18 DC: 18 GAME: Verna rolls 1d8+5: (3)+5: 8 GAME: Barclaiigh rolls 1d20+7-1: (18)+7+-1: 24 GAME: Barclaiigh rolls 1d20+7-1: (17)+7+-1: 23 GAME: Barclaiigh rolls 1d20+7-1: (12)+7+-1: 18 GAME: Barclaiigh rolls 1d20+7-1: (6)+7+-1: 12 GAME: Barclaiigh rolls 1d6+4+2: (6)+4+2: 12 GAME: Barclaiigh rolls 1d4+4+2: (2)+4+2: 8 GAME: Barclaiigh rolls 1d4+4+2: (4)+4+2: 10
Blood flies, and searing pain erupts down Dolan's arm and shoulder as two sets of teeth sink deeply into them, and he staggers back a pace, sword set at a guard pose. "Daeus Sunlord, grant me Your shield!" he shouts, and the sunburst around his neck glows golden in response. That glow shoots straight out into a shield that seems to surround him, an aura of sorts. "All right, chicken-fuckers. No more playing," he snarls, resuming his stance.
"He is safe!" Verna confirms Skielstregar's note, albeit with the caveat, "save to those foolish enough to threaten harm..." She closes in upon the group, specifically the formerly doubly-accosted and badly-wounded Dolan. "It is not yet your time to be judged," she assures him and calls upon the Gray Harpist to mend much of his wounds with the touch of a gloved hand.
GAME: Barclaiigh rolls 1d20+7-1: (18)+7+-1: 24 GAME: Barclaiigh rolls 1d6+4+2: (3)+4+2: 9 GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d20+6: (17)+6: 23 GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d20+6: (20)+6: 26 GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d20+6: (15)+6: 21 GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d20+6: (7)+6: 13 GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d20+1: (20)+1: 21
Hunched low with its front elbows out wide, the Barverine has its head turned so the one good eye stays on the wolf as it snaps and bites. His small, rounded ears pivot trying to keep track of the other things going on just by following the sounds of battle.
Then: an opening! The druid lunges in, finally managing to clamp down on the transformed brigan's wolf-shaped throat. He doesn't let go, snarling and whipping his head back and forth as both claws swipe in and down down the animals flank. When the beast goes limp the Barverine spirals around to face the opposite direction and takes a short hop closer to other assailants.
GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d20+1: (14)+1: 15 GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d20+1: (15)+1: 16 GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d20+1: (11)+1: 12 GAME: Skielstregar rolls fortitude: (11)+8: 19 GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d8+6: (2)+6: 8 GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d6+1: (6)+1: 7
Seeing that Dolan has backed down to defend himself, the brutes that had been attacking him rush over to where the sith stands battling their two companions. One goes down to Barclaiigh's attack, but the other helps his friends bleed the sith-makar all the more.
GAME: Magpie casts Burning Hands. Caster Level: 2 DC: 15 GAME: Magpie rolls 2d4: (6): 6 GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d20+2: (9)+2: 11 GAME: Magpie rolls 1d6: (5): 5 GAME: Skielstregar rolls bab+strength+2+2: (9)+6+5+2+2: 24 GAME: Skielstregar rolls bab+strength+2+2-5: (15)+6+5+2+2+-5: 25 GAME: Skielstregar rolls 1d8+7+2+2+6: (3)+7+2+2+6: 20 GAME: Skielstregar rolls 1d8+7+2+2+6: (4)+7+2+2+6: 21
"No no no no no no!" Magpie hops off the crate upon seeing Dolan's attackers lunge to pile on their target, hop-running *toward the tangle of werewolves* with arcane sigils revolving in circles above her palms. The gnome *claps* her hands together, then forms a closed sphere with her fingers. With a sharp breath, she puffs air into the space between her thumbs, and fans her hands out, releasing a gout of flame that incinerates two, singes a third, and catches a beadwork stall of fire.
Wincing with an indrawn hiss of breath, the gnome mutters. "Shit... That one's my L."
Skielstregar backs up as fire erupts from the gnome, it bursting two into flames.
The flail swings high, glinting off the stars, as it comes down with blackened ink and crunches nastily against the assailant. "THIS ONE SAID TO LEAVE THEM ALONE!" he yells angrily, turning to the next one as blood drips off the flail.
Seeing mercy, shudders, and the Forgotten aspects abate as he sags. "Ssstay. Or you will fall like the rest..." he points to them, glancing to the stalls that caught fire. "Thiss one can put... put it out.
GAME: Dolan rolls intimidate+1: (10)+8+1: 19 GAME: Barclaiigh rolls Survival: (8)+13: 21
The group of toughs goes after the sith Dolan had intended to protect - and that's the last mistake most of them will ever make. "Thanks," he tosses back to Verna, with no real glance backwards to her. Instead, bloodied, furious, and still aching, he stalks over to the last one, downed and begging for his life.
He levels the greatsword at the creature's throat, and turns the full force of a hard stare with one natural eye and one so obviously unnatural. The natural one, its hard and unforgiving stare, is nasty enough, but the mana lamps casting eerie and nasty shadows across features that are furrowed and acid-melted make the unnatural one set into it look like something out of a nightmare. The blood spattered across arm, shoulder, face and hands does nothing to destroy the image.
"One wrong move and I'll put it through your throat," he growls. "Now, why in the _fuck_ were you and your pasted buddies after anyone, let alone the sith?"
The Barverine turns another tight spiral, whipping his blunt snout around looking for more threats with its one good eye. When there's nought but one man on his knees the animal tosses its head back, snuffling up in the air.
The creature with the wavy auburn coat bumps into Skielstregar's leg and then jumps against a nearby wall, beginning to deliberately scale upwards. Slow and steady (though slightly-less-slow thanks to the mourner's spell!).
Verna steps from Dolan as he questions the remaining aggravator. Moving to the wounded Makari, a clutch of the scales about her neck, a gesture of hand, and request of her Matron tends to Skielstriegar's injuries. "They were given every opportunity to halt their foolishness," she notes to him and perhaps all. Only after does she recall and turn her attention towards the one that had remained in the rear rank yet had been quite active... who now appears to have vanished amongst the stalls or beyond.
GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d20+6: (16)+6: 22
As Barclaiigh clamored up the side of the building, a man appears at the top of it, pointing a finger down at the werewolf that is being questioned. How he got there... The werewolf looks at Dolan fearfully, holding his hands out to show himself unarmed and trying to appear harmless though he's a weapon with teeth and claws. "The Nightmare!" He doesn't have time to say more before some force strikes into him. Something dark that slams into him and blood gushes from his mouth. Immediately his eyes transfix and there's nothing more out of him. Meanwhile the man on the roof is running from Barclaiigh.
GAME: Skielstregar rolls spellcraft: (1)+6: 7 (EPIC FAIL) GAME: Magpie rolls spellcraft: (2)+8: 10 GAME: Verna rolls spellcraft+4: (3)+35+4: 42 GAME: Dolan rolls spellcraft: (3)+5: 8
Skiel slumps some as he puts his flail away. His eyes widen at the answer given, but sighs as they're killed off. He walks over to one of the stalls, lightly breathing on it to douse the flames. "... what wassss all that about...?" he tiredly wonders aloud.
"_Fuck_." Dolan's head snaps up, and he swears colorfully when the man up there kills his target with a particularly nasty-sounding spell. "Dammit!" Out of sheer frustration, he slams the blade through the thing's throat just for good measure.
The mere act seems to calm him a little bit, at least enough to remember himself, pull the blade out and start cleaning it on the dead ones' fur and clothing. "Caracoroth's up to something," he tells Skielstregar. "Those damned hunting nightmares I keep having have got something to do with the Nightmare." Clean clean clean.
Hanging from the wall, Barclaiigh starts when the spellcaster appears. At the signs of a spellbeing cast he pulls himself close and tucks his head... turning when he hears the prisoner cry out. The Barverine snorts, looking from the fresh corpse back up to the roof.
There's a moment's hesitation; enough time to host an internal debate, and then he's crawling down the wall and padding back over. He feels less bad about the decision to let the caster go when he notices no one else was moving to follow.
A small, frustrated groan shapes up into a heavy sigh and the Khazad-aul is back in his own body, sitting in the street and muttering to himself.
Verna blinks at the interrogatee suddenly falls dead. Her attention promptly shifts away to their surroundings as she looks around to find: the wolverine chasing away the culprit. "Use caution!" she calls to the eager/stubborn/ill-tempered creature, for what benefit it might have. "Whatever is planned, or occuring," she notes more quietly to Dolan, "it seems, is not wished known."
"Hey thanks," Magpie says, as Skeil takes care of the fire. "Still gonna wait for the owner to come back, though. I wanna buy stuff here, I don't wanna reputation. You okay, though? Looked like this was all about 'fuck this Sith, in particular' and that's kinda worrying." Patting the lizard's knee, she turns to pick her way back to Dolan, tilting her head at the thunderous look on his face. "...Not all that enlightening?"
Don't look down don't look down...
Skielstregar shivers, hugging himself as he stills from the gnome's point. "... but why thisss one...?" he quietly wonders as they all piled on the silverscale.
"No, dammit." Dolan finally finishes cleaning the blade, and when Magpie addresses the sith, he, too, turns his attention to Skielstregar. "I don't know," he says more seriously. "Are you all right?" He lets the intimidation, and the golden glow that surrounded him, fade as the minutes pass, and straightens, inspecting the blade closely by the light of the manalamps and then looking up again. "Wish I did know. I'm going to talk to the Seers, though, and you'd better come with me. They might know more about whether we need to worry about getting bitten. I sure as hell don't want to end up like that," he nods to the corpses.
"But first-" He finishes his inspection, and carries the cleaned and inspected blade back over to the stall where he got it, laying it down carefully. "Thanks. A fine weapon, and I'll be back."
Skiel gives a sad nod. "Thiss one iss fine, but, yess. Thisss one can go with you jussst in case," he says to Dolan, disturbed by this entire altercation. "Thisss one doesssn't want to be... whatever these things were…
"That's not a bad idea," Magpie murmurs. "If *he* doesn't know, then yeah you need to be safe. So uh..." the gnome looks left, looks right, and stands up on her tiptoes to whisper at Dolan. "Where were those sweetrolls, again? I'll get some for both of you too, and bring them by."
Somehow, Dolan's grump is fading, although it hasn't entirely left. He nods quickly at Skielstregar, still frowning, and bends down to listen to Magpie. "You know the street we came from? Go back down that street and turn left down the next alleyway you see, towards the bridge. It's a baker's stall with a pale yellow awning, right on that corner to your right. If they're closed, I'll show you tomorrow. It doesn't look like much, but it's so worth every copper. We'll meet you at the Dreaming Goddess' temple, all right?"
-End