Reflections of Violet

Log Info

• Title: Reflections of Violet
• Emitter: Skielstregar
• Characters: Skielstregar, Aelwyn, Dolan, Telamon
• Place: Lower Alexandria Markets
• Time: April 15th, 2022
• Summary: Within the Lower Markets, Skielstregar is pondering getting another weapon to add to his arsenal at a weapon stand. A newcomer, Aelwyn heads over to get their weapon sharpened by the smith before the to sith-makar get acquainted. Dolan and Telamon arrive, the latter curious if they were related, but its assured that they aren't. Aelwyn suggests replacing a hammer with Skiel's fists, which is an apt replacement in of itself. Dolan checks in on how Skiel is sleeping as of late, which he is getting better about it, but still its an issue. Skielstregar runs off to fetch his horse that's creeping people out, before others depart soon after.

Lower Alexandria Markets, Midday

Grey. Everything is grey today. The air cool, the clouds thick and overcast. It seems like spring too has its off days.

And such a day bleeds out into the markets, the ware shopping slow and lazy for the most part.

Though, sticking out like a sore thumb is that of a towering figure. Horned, with too-shiny silver scales looming over a stall ran by a dwarvish man. "Ssssoo... thisss... hammmer...?" he hisses out through fangs that unnaturally jut out from his maw. "How much...?"

The dwarvish smith crosses his arms. "Normally it'd be just a few gold pieces, aye? But uh... no one ta judge, but don't ya got 'nough on laddie?"

There's a bit of a rustle as someone pushes through the crowd right next to the taller, very much taller sith-makar. There's a quiet tap on the larger fellow's shoulder; the newcomer's polearm accidentally prods the still very tall dragon. Lizard. Reptile.

"Smith." The far shorter and quite ruddy red figure states with a pleasantly smooth and quietly vibrant voice. "Sharpening a blade, how much?" The polearm swaying without utter care and oblivious to the curved blade at the tip, thankfully had the sharp edge chipped and mostly blunt. It was still constantly tapping against the larger fella's side.

Meanwhile, Aelwyn fetches out few odd looking coins and holding them between his fingers, rhythmically taps them against the stall. With the overcast sky, the autumn red scales of his particularly stood out against the grey of everything.

"Thisss one hass many weaponsss, yess, but sssometimesss a hammer isss neede-" the bassy voice is cut off from a tap.

The veritable mirror-scaled sith-makar blinks a few times as he looks over. Squints. Then tilts his head downwards. And to the side.

The smith on duty shifts his attention to the newcomer, and more importantly, the coin tap-tap-tapping away on the stall. "Aye, run ya a couple copper, shan't take too long."

The massive, armored sith-makar's dead silver eyes stare. Then, bluntly, "Thisss one hasss never sseen a purple ssscale."

Tradespeak clearly isn't his forte.

Aelwyn bows his head graciously. "Let the hammer be gentle and with purpose, smith." The smaller sith-makar responds, reaching behind his back and offering his priced polearm on the palms of his hands. It felt as if near religious thing to do for him. Then again, it was his livelihood.

At the sudden exclamation, the Dragoon tilts his head slightly. A moment passes, then Aelwyn tilts his head upwards, orange eyes meeting those silver-eyes. "... 'purple'?" Much of his scales were on the sides and fringe of his body tinting towards purple, that much was true. But he always likened himself more towards of red persuasion. His flat nostrils flared, as he began to take in rest of his armored companion. "Never seen a mirror scale, Silver Rack." Without a break, he moves to touch those shiny scales to see if they were just really well polished.

The smith takes such polearm with care, them giving a nod and turning around to begin work on it.

The towering makari twists his head the other way somewhat. "... yesss, purple," he rumbles, pointing off to where the color starts to bleed in. "It isss... a nice color."

He blinks as his scales are examined with a poke. They were, in fact, silver scales. Just unreasonably shiny. So much so that errant light glints off of it.

The large silverscale snorts, a puff of frozen air coming out of his maw as he shakes his head. "Thisss one isss just very, very shiny after not being ssshiny for a long, long time."

He thuds his armored chest twice with a fist. "Sssskielstregar. Warrior Caste. Thisss one hass never seen you before. You are...?"

A wrapped parcel in one hand, Dolan exits the Fernwood Pub, fully armed and armored, gray traveler's cloak pulled around his shoulders, the hood over his head, and seeming to be dressed and prepared for travel. He pauses just outside to tuck the paper-wrapped parcel, redolent with the smells of nuts and fruits and other trail food amid more traditional tavern fare, intothe pack carelessly slung over one shoulder.

The grey mist can't stop the sun or stars, though. Veil them for a time, but not forever. Telamon glides easily through the damp, a cloak tossed on over his usual accoutrements, looking dapper and relaxed. His dark eyes glint, his expression congenial, as his pace carries him towards the markets. Pausing to inspect the wares here and there, a charming word, a cheerful encouragement, as his gaze suddenly pauses on the hulking, silvery-scaled fellow at the smith.

His expression becomes impish, as he glides up towards Skiel. "Peace on your nest, Skielstregar. What brings you out here in search of more implements of havoc?"

Aelwyn had to narrow his eyes. He knew silver. He had to resist the urge to try and claw those silver scale juuust to make sure, but he leans back with a grin. A pleasant grin, even if it looked partly like a grimace that split his cheeks open. "Aelwyn, Dragoon." Then a pause, as if he just remembered something. "... Caste."

The thus dubbed purple scale puts his hand on his waist. "The Smith seemed right. Why not simply use this to hammer?" Aelwyn asks, and then using both of his hand and probably still not being able to wrap his fingers about, he lifts Skielstregar's fist into the air. The shorter sith-makar didn't seem to have much of a barrier for self-preservation. "Surely it will smash something in, Silver."

Skielstregar turns his attention away briefly at the scent wafting through the air, scaled brows raising as he spies a fellow Deusite. He raises a large hand, and gives a wave across the way before flinching at the sudden appearance of Telamon.

"Oh..! Ssshaman Telamon," he rumbles, lowering his arm (and minding his elbow). "Peassse on your nesst. Thisss one wasss... wondering if it wasss time to add a hammer to their collection. Time for... a hammer. Hammer time. Yesss...."

He glances to the red-going-on-violet scale sith-makar beside him. The much, much, much smaller sith-makar beside him. "Peassse on your nessst, Dr-"

He cocks his head to the other side, like a puppy finding something new. "... what isss a dragoon? It ssssounds like dragon." He blinks as his heavy, too-long-taloned is held aloft. An amused look crosses his face, a squint of the eyes. "... thisss one is... would rather not ussse their fisssts. But they could if they had to. They have before."

"Oy! Peace on your nest," Dolan greets. The right side of this man's face looks truly odd. Where the left side is that of any softskin male, the right is an odd mess of scar tissue with three deep furrows running down it. Where the eye should be, is instead set a bright green gem into a bronze-and-steel ring. A very strange softskin affectation, made only stranger by the baring of teeth into what to softskins is a warm and cheerful smile. "Yeah, you don't want to see Skielstregar here when he's angry, he chuckles, approaching the pair. "A mighty one he is, when he's angry. Sleep any better?" He nods to Telamon as well, clearly recognizing the man. "You too."

Telamon's eyes sparkle merrily. "Always. But then, a hearth and home make sleep all the better, regardless of where it is." He bows politely to Dolan. "I'd be happier if the weather improved, but such is life."

His eyes move back to Skielstregar, watching as Aelwyn moves Skiel's meaty fist around. "Well, whatever suits your tastes, Skiel. I'm not bold enough to try and tell -you- how to do things." He pauses. "Though I've been pondering picking up something myself. I don't expect I'd need to -use- it, but a good backup plan is never a bad thing."

He studies Aelwyn, before remarking, "I don't think I know you, though. Are you a relation of Skiel's? A cousin, or however the makari measure such?"

Aelwyn's grin grows even larger when the word dragon is mentioned. "Dragoons ride. In the sky." He points upwards. Never mind the fact that he barely knew how to ride, nevertheless anything in the sky. He tilts his head back; it was hard to say if he was serious or just seeing if Skielstregar would fall for it. He taps under the larger makar's fist though. "Maybe padding. The silver scales are powerful without a scratch, Silver."

When the others begin to approach them, he lets go of the fist and then bows his head to the pair of them. To Telamon, "Shaman." Then to Dolan, "Stranger." The gem in the man's eye warrants a brief longer look, but he turns towards Telamon eventually. "We met." Then towards Skielstregar. The other sith-makar was absolutely massive compared to the Dragoon's far smaller, shorter stature. He was not particularly tall even on human standards, even with his upward pointing horns. "Are we not cousins, Silver?"

Skielstregar's free hand rubs the side of his snout. "Bessst asss thisss one can sssleep. Better than usual, they mussst admit."

He clears his throat. "Yesss. Thisss one hasss found that a weapon for every occasion helpsss. Thisss one sssugessts a dagger for you, Telamon. Jussst in case, and isss more useful than jussst hurting thingsss."

He does blink once. Then says in a rumbling deadpan, "Thisss one hasss never met Aelwyn in their life until two minutesss ago. Thisss one'sss sister isss small yesss, but we at leasssst look sssimilar."

He slowly blinks at Aelwyn's answers, dead silver eyes widening as he tilts his head skyward.

Yep. Totally fell for it. He pouts a bit at finding nothing, but he can't help but grin. Rows of sharp, unnaturally grown teeth on display. "That sssounds interesssting. Remindssss thisss one of a ssssoftskin named Zofija. Ridesss a griffon in the sssky. Though ssshe is Skyguard. Isss there a casste rivalrly between Dragoons and Ssskyguard? Hmmm..."

He shakes his head, letting his tapped fist fall to the side. "Perhapsss. Not a bad idea jussst in case."

He looks to Aelwyn, then himself. "We do not look sssimilar." Very astute observation. "No. We are not. Pretty sure."

Dolan fully turns his head to look at first one sith-makar, then the other. "You look nothing alike," he says, perhaps helpfully, perhaps not, blinking a few times as the smile fades. His voice is deeper than his face suggests it should be.

"Glad to hear you're sleeping better, though." He yawns hugely, belatedly covering it with the back of one fist. "Wish I was. Whoever is responsible for this shit, I'll cheerfully leave them a smear on the ground. I'm Dolan Donnelly, by the by," he adds to Aelwyn, although he doesn't seem to quite know what to do with his hand, if he should offer it or not.

Telamon furrows his brow at Dolan. "Not -again-... wait, you're not an arcanist, are you?" He scratches his head. "Well... hm. Sopor venerum is a decent short-term solution, but I don't recommend it for long term use." His expression becomes deceptively innocent. "Though the love of a good woman also helps."

He looks back to Aelwyn and Skiel, and offers a polite bow. "My mistake then. Telamon Atlon at your service. I hope the day finds you well and without complaint?"

Aelwyn crosses his arms and looks up at Skielstregar. "Enough to cause confusion on the streets, Silver." He points out, then tilts his head. "Does she ride often? ... perhaps there should be." It was hard to feign lack of interest all of a sudden - but then his head snaps down at all the introductions being made.

The red-scaled sith-makar bows his head once again, sliding his hands off his chest. "Aelwyn, Dragoon." He introduces himself to the both. "The sky is ever gracious, Shaman." Nevermind it's grey, overcast and not that cheerful looking. "Fellow travelers?" He asks questioningly, looking between the three of them, since they all seemed to know each other.

Skiel huffs once, crossing his arms. "Yesss... thisss one would not mind helping aid in sssmear making."

He glances to Telamon, then looks off to the side and coughs into a fist. "... yesss that doess help," he admits in a mumble as a spare hand fidgets with a red scale tied onto his holy symbol. Ahem. "Thisss one isss well. Thisss one isss... trying to help with sssome things the bessst way they can. Though thiss one iss better sssuited to sssmashing thingss into teeny, tiny piecesss."

The dwarven smith returns the polearm to Aelwyn. "So you'll take that hammer then, lad?"

The massive silverscale taps his chin. "No thank you."

The smith huffs and ignores the flip flopping customer.

The walking armory shrugs. "Ssssoftskinsss have a hard time telling usss apart. Thiss one isss misstaken asss female sssometimes. But, ah, yesss. Thisss one hasss fought with thessse two before, ssside by ssside. Ssshaman Telamon isss an experienced magic ussser, and Warrior Dolan wieldsss strength in blade and the Dragonfather'sss glorious light."

Another figure ambles up, a small gobbo child that barely reaches Skiel's knee. Poke poke. "Heya, um, mister lizard? Is... is that black horse yours? It's scarin' me mawmaw."

He blinks, then looks up. A black mare with solid red eyes is staring into a shop, creepily still. It's hooves wafting a black miasma. Skiel groans. "It hass been a pleasssure to ssse you all and meet you Aelwyn, but thisss one mussst go. Peassse on your nesssts."

He starts to jog away, clanking all the while. "Voarexautha! Leave them alone!"

The horse turns and starts to go down another road, leaving behind an unsettling trail of ink. "Voarexautha!"

Silver scale rounds the corner, out of sight.

Dolan raises a hand to the departing sith, not wishing to delay after seeing the reason for the abrupt departure. Instead, he chuckles quietly. "Yes, after a fashion. Many roads lead here, and we're all sort of trying to find our way, I think. New in town?" he asks of Aelwyn.

To Telamon, he sighs. "No. Damn statues. The sooner I can find someone who can destroy them, the better off I'll be. I should begone, though. The Sunguards want me to run up to Wilderness Pointe, and I'd better take myself out if I want to be back by dark."

"Peace on your nests, both of you. We should talk more later." He upnods politely to the khazad smith as well.

Telamon watches Skiel chase after his... horse? "That's... when did he start riding a horse? And that doesn't look like a normal horse, either..." He shakes his head. "Just another day in Alexandria, where you see six weird things before highsun."

He inclines his head to Dolan. "Alright. Let me know if you need help, though -- Cor'lana and I are more than happy to pitch in. And give my regards to Andelena when you see her."

As Dolan departs, the genial half-elf turns to regard Aelwyn, before gesturing for him to go first in speaking to the smith. "Would you like to go ahead, sir? I'm in no hurry."

Aelwyn is utterly lost when the larger sith-makar suddenly darts off like that. Especially after a horse that seems to leak... inky miasma. He grins his eerily toothy smile, all the same. "Peace on the nest."

"Very new. Still finding the many roads, Gem." Aelwyn responds to Dolan, but quickly turns his head when his polearm with its freshly sharpened blade is returned. "The coppers, Smith." The sith-makar offers, along with a handful of coppers. He moves to run his thumb over the blade appreciatively, before he turns to the other two and bows his head. "There are still many things to find in this market. May the sun warm you." At least a little bit through the skies. The short-statured sith-makar turns around and starts to mingle into the crowd, the thin red ribbon of his polearm fluttering above the heads of (most) people as he departs.

-End Scene-