Muse of Doom

Having been away from the city of Alexandria for a period of time, the Ceinaran Muse Jessa Hartose returns to her old stomping grounds. As she does, she discovers that while some things stay the same, other things change. Namely Sandy's Hips. Other new faces are met and introduced and assessed. This is a Muse that may well cause as much trouble as Inspiration!

"Ah...ah...ACHOO!"

Sandy was here anear the gate, sampling a meal provided by one of the merchants with a food cart right *there*. She's had a powerful sneeze after her taste-testing experience. Her eyes are watering. Her nose is running.

The Veyshanti food maker is looking on with pride. Beaming.

"It IS good, then," he says, cheerfully.

"GRNNGH," is Sandy's response. Of Pain.

Azog is here, heading for one of the many inns. Or perhaps one of the taverns. Images of Sandy's hips do not fill his thoughts, since he's not really into elves, or fashion, though the question of the bustle is always in the back of his mind. "Perhaps she ran afoul of a powerful mage," he considers half-aloud. And when the object of his musing sounds off with a sneeze, he rides over. "Good evening," he greets Sandy as he heels his mount closer.

"...good," says the sith'makar. Slowly. Never good with words, it's the first 'sentence' that Svarshan's managed in the last half hour. He's dipped his claws into a bowl of the stuff that the merchant had had, and is slathering the sauce on top of a...

...deep fried...

...thing.

He glances towards Sandy as she curses. After all, she is a Pillar of the community, and her words hold a certain Weight. He looks relaxed, standing there, relaxed and pleasantly tired. Behind him rests a great-sized raptor who is also eyeing the approaching Other Mount. And sizing it up perhaps, to see of course, who is the most fantabulious.

"EXCUSE ME. I CANNOT SEE MY WAY DOWN THE STREET PAST YOUR HIPS AND SUCH."

The voice comes from a bit lower down than most might expect, high and surprisingly pretty and also rather demanding. And, in what is likely more habit than anything else, "Down here." Oh hello, tiny one! Jessa stands there, holding the reins of her riding dog, a large dark brown mastiff. Dressed in riding clothes in a garishly bright shade of scarlet and brown leather, the halfling has a layer of dust all over her, except for her eyes, clean from where her goggles were worn--they are now atop her mouth. As she peers upward, she blinks. "Goodness me. /Sandy/? Why have you gotten so /enormous/?"

Zalara is standing besides one of the Mana Lights and she has some artificer's device in her hand. It's not bigger than the size of her hand and she has it open to start to fiddle with it. "Come on and calibrate." She taps her foot as she's a little impatient as she's been working on this latest piece of artifice for a while now.

"... I am *not* enormous," answers Sandy, acridly, to the halfling that's just spoken to her. "Do I know you?" she asks, irritably. Apparently, she does not recognize Jessa! At all! Or more likely she does and is playing at not doing so just to se if she can agitate her. She looks down at her, rubs her eyes. "Oh. A halfling," she adds. "Try this. It might be up your alley." She extends the meat-on-a-stick she was trying to Jessa.

Azog rides up to the group around the meatseller, and he dismounts with his mount safely clear of Svarshan's raptor, fishing out a couple coins and seeing what all this fuss is about. He offers a nod of greeting to the others.

Swaddled in coat and cap, Quint is wedged comfortably between exposed framing members of a squat structure of obvious Khazad craftmanship. His back against one wooden trunk and a foot propped against the other, he draws a gloved finger down the yellowed page of a book as he reads by glow of the tavern's window. Bits of twig and leaf cling to the thick woolen fabrics, his boots play host to drying mud. Brannigan idles nearby, the draught horse' long face lowered to drink from a trough.

Srassha...eyes the horse. She eyes him a while, that calculating look when two rival cheerleaders meet one another across the field.

There can only be blood.

She tosses her head and then stands up straighter. /I/ am the prettiest, that declares. My hips are wider than Sandy's, my countenance more matronly! My hips shall bear the weight of seven cradles and my lizard-lips are twice as...as...

It's at this point that Svarshan looks down at the spicy...whateveritis...that he's eating. And, rider and mount having the long, kind relationship that they do, he reaches up to place the greasy, unhealthy object in front of Srassha's nose. Er. Lizard-lips. And not a word more is said.

"Oh. You're enormous. Extremely so. Honestly, when I look up it is extremely hard to see past your bountiful breasts. Nonetheless, I find it hilarious that you are pretending to be above knowing me. You should be overjoyed that you know me! I'm back to put Ceinara back on the map." Jessa reaches up and pokes at Sandy's hip with one dusty finger. "Still. Maybe you should lay off the street food." She recoils a bit from the proferred meat-onna-stick. "Sandy. Please. I don't put just any meat in my mouth. You have no idea where that's been." She pauses and eyes the vendor. "No offense meant, of course." Right. Then she's looking about at the various people milling in the streets, sighing in satisfaction. "I -did- miss Alexandria. I mean, wandering is nice and all but the big city. That's where it is at."

"It *is* you," says Sandy with a look of resignation. "Svarshan, meet Jessa. Jessa, Svarshan. Oh, and the more important of the pair, Srassha. Jungle Princess." She points at the pair of them and then lets out a sigh. "You're back. Well. Ceinara's faithful are always welcome back to Alexandria, I suppose. You know that the city adopted the Phoenix as its symbol?" It did. It's right there on a banner. She points at it.

"You're no doubt pleased about that." Then she turns towards Svarhsan and adds, "She's a Ceinaran. Unfortunately... I need to introduce her to Jibbom."

Azog's horse eyes Srassha warily. Not so much rival cheerleaders as a domestic animal being eyed, possibly as supper, by a dinosaur. On the other hand, it's a calm animal, and it has yet to be eaten in any of its encounters with Srassha, or with any other monsters, so it remains stoic. Azog simply nibbles the food suspiciously, a few steps behind in working out what's going on.

Svarshan's hand has vanished inside a giant maw. There are munching, crunching sounds around his forearm, and a string of drool makes its way down, down...

As she eats, Srassha eyes the other steed. You. Me. That says. And she then gives her head a toss, which flashes the discs on her mecate. And her rider...who is standing in the grass at the moment...is much like Azog's own horse. And Svarshan gives the horse a quiet, wry look, and then one to Azog. To the latter, a partial salute before turning and looking at Sandy a while.

And looking. And saying, eventually, "You talk too damn much." And to the Muse, "Ancesssstor's Blessing."

Jessa smiles brightly as she is introduced, pulling off the riding goggles and peering up at Svarshan and the fabulous Srassha. Her dog whuffs faintly. Mostly to say that he is extremely dusty, please, for the love of god, clean him up. "It is a decided -pleasure- to meet you, Svarshan. I am Jessa Hartose, Priestess of Ceinara. I've been away for a time but now! Now I am back to bring inspiration and joy and creativity and spread it in my wake." That...may sound more like a threat than a pleasant announcement.

She's studying the indicated flag then, rocking back and forth on her bare feet. "Oh my yes. I approve greatly. But then, Ceinara does rather enjoy Alexandria and its people." She's pleased. "Who's Jibbom?"

"A complete idiot. And a Tarienite. With an inflated opinion of himself. You two will get along famously," answers Sandy, giving a look towards Svarshan and then Azog. The latter has a hand lifted towards him in greeting. She addresses Svarshan, then, continuing, "I do, huh? Good to know. NEver really been told I talk that much. And if you think I'm bad..." She settles for just kicking Svarshan's shin if she can.

Azog returns Svarshan's greeting with a nod of his head, then watches to see what's going on. He snorts derisively at the mention of Jibbom, then smirks as Sandy echoes his opinion. He bites into the foodseller's wares, and grimaces, spitting his mouthful on the ground to one side and flipping the untried remainder to Srassha. He takes a long pull from a waterskin to cool his mouth.

A slow turn of the page, a narrowing of the eyes. Quint mutters something behind the upturned collar of his coat, twisting on the battered bench to drop his feet and rest his back against the wall. One hand finds a small silver pendant, fingers folding fluidly, lips moving in silence. The faintest wisps of blue smoke curl at the corner of his eyes. Brannigan, meanwhile, issues a snort and takes a stomping step away from the swaying, coal-bearded Khazad who meant to steady himself against the horse's flank. With a choked, half-burped "Erp!" the stout fellow goes tumbling like a stoned albatross. A clay stein erupts in a stunted fountain of amber froth with a muffled crash.

"Ow," Svarshan says pleasantly. Because Sandy kicked him. Srassha continues to inspect his arm, questing in that way only a creature with smell might when there's food present. When Azog tosses the remainder though, she gives the oruch a look that declares him the Hero of the World.

It is...good," Svarshan decides after a while, after he's turned over the words and tried on this one, the next. Good that they were introduced, he means, though he is not so talented at saying so. And a gesture of his jaw towards the oruch, "Azog, Warrior-of-Scars." Pause. "This." Pause. And, giving up, "Haruvvukkr ia Alexandria." Welcome to Alexandrua.

And to Quint... "Smells...what. What. Are you drinking?"

"She's saying I like to talk." Jessa says that without hesitation, smiling brightly. "It is true. I do, very much." Her lips purse and her eyes slide toward Sandy. "Oh yes. He sounds absolutely wonderful. I wait, with baited breath, for a chance to be introduced to someone that causes you to make that expression." She turns to stare at the fallen man. "That's a waste of beer that is."

"You will get along with him, I am sure. He keeps calling himself 'Steel Von Ironblood, Bane of the Night'. Even *after* I banish him to an other dimensional maze." She lets out a weary sigh, our Sandy does, and then turns back twoards Svarshan to kick him in the shin a second time. Mostly because he has that delayed 'ow' of a response. A nod to Azog again before she looks back to Quint, the fallen Khazad, and then makes a face.

"Sometimes, I ask myself why I continue to live in a city with this many paladins."

Azog's experience with Srassha is that she'll eat anything, and he's glad to see his worldview confirmed. He bows his head as Svarshan introduces him as well, though he adds, "...of the Lightning Maul tribe," to the introduction. Because you always identify your tribe. It'd be dishonorable to the tribe otherwise. He looks over at the drunken dwarf, and nods wearily. "Yes indeed," he agrees in a sour tone. "Drunks falling all over. And dwarves. Often drunk. This is exactly Alexandria, I think." To Sandy, he says earnestly, "You will not falter. Your honor and perserverance in the face of," he looks around, "... things ... it is legengary."

• clank* *CLank* *clank*

These are the warning sounds of the most dreaded of all people around.

A Happy halfling.

More specifically, a halfling that is skipping out of the gates and seeing a bunch of the gates. 'Well hello there. Nice day for a walk?" She says to everyone.

Svarshan's nostrils flare and he turns around, the movement slow. It's like a rock set to move across a flat plane--each movement is an effort, and it happens in fits and spurts. "Ow," he says at length, for Sandy's benefit...and then walks over to the khazad in order to crouch nearby him.

"Because it is so damned easy to mock them." Jessa says that with satisfaction. She nods to punctuate her sentence. She's standing beside Sandy, at the moment, holding the reins to her riding dog, looking up at the elf and resting her other hand on her hip. She's dusty, apparently recently arrived. She eyes Chloe before smiling cheerfully herself. "It is always a nice day for a walk." Halflings. Freaking halflings.

"Freaking halflings," says Sandy, giving voice to the sentiment that is no doubt at least being thought by someone who isn't her. "Quint. It is good to see you." And then another kick after Svarshna's departing form. She misses this time. She's a short elf.

Azog is watching this all quietly now, as if waiting to see what happens next in a play. There's a possibility of halflings, or the drunken dwarf. And what's Svarshan up to? So many possibilities. There is so much for him yet to learn in the city. The Yrch way of heated corn kernels over a fire, that's what he needs now.

Svarshan gives a rough shrug, and grasps hold of the front of the passed-out khazad's tunic. "He goes...where?" he asks Quint, the words low and wry. Srassha looks over and eyes the two. And the swift is quick, give her that, because the look she gives her rider IMMEDIATELY is: THAT DISGUSTING THING DOES NOT GO ON MY BACK.

Chloe says, "Hieeee!" She yells to Jessa as she's waved to. Before she stops and recoils, almost in horror. "BY TARIEN! When did the moon come so close to ground.....oh it's just your butt." Obviously talking about Sandy. Then she looks at the fallen Khazad. "What happened to the dwarf? At least he didn't have far to fall, huh?""

"It is -enormous-, isn't it? Giants are just -amazing- with how much they don't realize things are that way." Jessa nods as she says that before letting out a tiny and gusty sigh. "Still, I'd best go check on my flock. First day back and all. Artists really need to be coaxed into their creativity on a regular basis and all." She swings up on the back of her riding dog, eliciting a resigned chuff from the mastiff. "Sandy. I will find you later. I am sure you have many entertaining things to tell me. The rest of you, a pleasure to meet you. I look forward to inspiring you all in the future." This, once again, sounds like a threat.

"...oh gods," says Sandy when Jessa declares that she will find her later. She looks horrified about this. "I will be somewhere. Far away. Very, very far away,' she mutters, irritably. Then look sat Svashan, "I here Charn is lovely this time of year."

Azog watches the one halfling go, peering with concern to Sandy. "If this is a matter of honor," he says to her. "I do not know the customs here, but if you need, I will be your second." He nods gravely. "We do not have them where I am from, but I am told things here are different."

Again the rough shrug because well he's grasped the front of the khazad's tunic and is hauling him towards the bench, roughly. ...and then. Then, well, the khazad lands on the bench with wincing sort of thump.

Svarshan rubs the back of his head after that. A series of scars go along the top, where his frill had been cut away ages ago. And he winces, looks over at Sandy. And well. The only word for it is: Brightens.

He nods to the lucht, but. Sandy? Sandy just declared it was High Yule!

"...pack?" he asks cheerfully. Seriously. She just made his entire day better. He even gives a little wave to the lucht, and it's filled with faeries and butterflies.