Jink's Kids
Tenebrae - Wednesday, January 09, 2013, 6:34 PM
-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=<* A03: Arena District *>-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-
When the Champion walked, the earth trembled. Legend by some states that His strength was so mighty that He naturally clove in two, creating the twin gods of Angoron and Kor. Other legends tell other tales, too, and the tour guides are quick to spin them, while at the same describing the history of the Arena, a tribute to both gods as well as, they say, the glorious and competitive spirit of all creatures and even Alexandria, Herself.
The structure stands imposingly massive, a great stage crafted from a time when the oruch and khazad worked in tandem. It displays perfectly the contrasts and strengths of each culture in its carved stonework, from the oruch's tribal frenzy to the khazadi strength and solidarity.
Vendors, shops, surround the arena, and turn this into a place of commerce. At any time, a number of Warriors, Heralds of Angoron or Kor may be seen, offering advice and the wisdom of the Twins. For all its serious, it is a place of laughter as well. Tarien's taverns and trickery makes its home here, and the too-proud warrior may quickly find him or herself on the opposite end of a banana peel.
-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-- Contents --=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-
Agril A human man in priestly garb. 40s 21h Jessa Halfing cleric with a massive personality 23s 1h Svarshan Be a brightscale! Chomp a demon! 1m 41m Mikilos Tall male dawn elf, rosey blonde and handsome. 0s 47m Jinks A gnomish fellow in fancy garb and jewelry. 31s 1h
-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--= Exits -=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-
The weather has offered some respite-- however brief-- from the dustings, hail, and heavier, wetter snows today leaving many folks to take advantage of the relatively mild conditions. Bitter winds still blow down off the mountains to encourage warm dress-- but at least you can see further out than the tip of your nose.
Oil lamps burn bright along the streets, above the shop stalls, and flanking the more permanent structures, smoldering brackish clouds devoured quickly by the infrequent gusts. People hurry to complete
their business before it gets too late (or the weather changes) and the shopkeeps seem pleased for the income. A haggard Korite-- all scars, furs, and fetish-trophies-- stands outside the Arena acting as a
caller; glorifying the god he champions and announcing upcoming events. It's a living.
"--Look!"
"--Over there!"
"Haaakksssst---!"
Three children trail along behind the sith'makar. They rush back and forth, pointing at different things in the Arena District. All of them wear the symbols of Daeus about their neck. Two humans and one sith'makar, a young male of colt-legged years. He jabbers in the Old Tongue at the two others, who don't seem to notice. It's all a carnival to them.
Svarshan moves slowly, probably slowly enough that it frustrates the children. And gradually, he comes to a halt near a sausage vendor while the chatter continues around him.
Mikilos whistles absnetly to himself, pushing a flimsy little cart before him, the basket filled with pasty shreds of former posters, flyers, and advertisements. It's not a living, but it is good for busniess. Pausing a moment as one of the thin wheels falls into a rut, the elf peers at the wandering kids, then grins and raises a hand in greeting to their less than verbose guardian.
Meanwhile, hiding in the wake of giant-human-children, a brightly dressed halfling priestess walks beside a human priest. She has bright scarlet earmuffs, a beautifully knit scarlet wool scarf, and a fur muff. Also, her ankles have lovely warm fur wrappings though the bottom of her feet--tough as can be--are still bare. "--and that, I told him, is why he shouldn't just go wandering into any old bar he wanted to and that he was lucky he still had one eye left and not to fuss so much because we -told- him." She smiles brightly, proud as punch up at Agril. "He said next time he'd listen properly to his inspiration of course. I tend my flock so well."
"How positively inspiring a tale," remarks Agril with a wry look on his face. "Svarshan," he calls to him, lifting a hand in his direction, "*There* you are. I was told you migh5t be around here." He's making his way towards the Sithm, and the children with him. "I've got something for you." He is indeed carrying a canvass sack with him.
Jinks stands under an awning of striped fabrics and carved brass posts, warm in his usual seasonal finery and a fine red wrap about the lower half of his head and his shoulders. His hand rests on a cane and he listens as another gnome talks; a bald headed square of thick muscle and swirling black tattoos. One long braid of black hair hangs down from the warrior's chin; laced with beads and crusted with a dark, dried fluid. He doesn't seem to mind the cold in his sleeveless vest and speaks in a Charnese accent as he displays ornamental armor pieces and a wicked set of blades. A gladiator, it would seem.
Scattered among the thick, exotic carpets and a handful of pillows is a small army of gnomish children. All sport a warm coat and furlined boots-- of similar cut and almost certainly brand new. Almost without exception they gawp and stare at the marvelous fighter. They ooh and aah at the equipment, gasp and giggle as his stories, and shy back with muffled shrieks as the man lunges forward to pantomime some wicked beast and give a roar.
When one boy is called up and given a chance to hold a serrated dagger the blade is treated with the reverence due Daeus' holy texts. Jinks smiles fit to split his face in half as he looks on quietly, drumming his fingers at the top of his cane.
"Loook! He looks like a hobo!" yells one of the youths, at the caller-in. The gangly sith'makar yough leaps up and down, gesturing wildly in response. Whatever he 'says' makes the other two grin and one ribs him with an elbow, goodnaturedly. The sith youth's symbols of Daeus is held around his neck by a boot string. All of them have wooden longswords strapped to their belts, with dragon-images crudely carved into the handles.
Svarshan nods to Mikilos as he slowly counts the money...and lays it on the cart of the sausage vendor. The air around the cart smells of spice, garlic, black pepper, and sweet smoke. As the merchant counts the money, Svarshan stills, and turns to look at Agril more directly. "Musssse..." he says warmly, and then looks at the Sunguard. "If it isss a prank, Sssunguard," he says cheerfully, "I will punch you in the fasse."
Mikilos's attention shifts as his ears catch a Charn accent, relaxing again as he spies the source. Wandering closer, the elf smothers a grin at one of the tall tales, nodding greetings to Jinks. And then is attention is drawn back to Svarshan. This could prove entertaining.
"Please. Agril has no sense of humor. HELLO THERE, SVARSHAN." Now, Jessa? Jessa /is/ a halfling. And halflings also revere Tarien....
"It is not a prank," says Agril, "I was told you were with some youths. THis is for you, and it is for you to give to them when *they* have earned it." He seems entirely pleased for the moment, holding the sack out to Svarshan. "No jokes, no pranks. Nothing of the sort! I indeed have no sense of humor with which tio prank anyone." A solemn nod follows here.
"Sspatulas," Svarshan says briefly to the Muse, though he glances at Mikilos again. As if, you know. Spatulas, just that word, explained 'EVERYTHING.' When Agril brings out the bag, he hesitates, though the kids are quick to respond. They're looking from one to the other. The meat merchant's paused, too...
And then the man starts jobbing some sausages onto sticks and handing them out. He wriggles his finger at the gnome-kids, too--apparently Svar'd paid for a few dozen. "Ya like'em spicy or mild?" he calls out.
Mikilos smiles, but politely declines a sasuage. He is a bit curious about what's in the bag... and a bit wary of the Muse. "...you're not planning to cause any weddings today... are you?"
"Spatulas." Jessa looks blank. "Are those some sort of strange exotic weapon?"
"Yes," tells Agril gravely to Jessa. "They are inded weapons. Fierce weapons, actually. Remind me to tell you of the legendary spatula of Fryinar." He hears Mikilos' voice and then turns his gasze on him, then turns to Jinks entirely. "Hello, Jinks," he calls to him.
The gnomish gladiator stops telling the story of how he acquired an ornate crested helm he now holds and cocks his head at the barking vendor. One of the children turns around and leans back to see out from under the hood of his new coat, narrowing his eyes and putting a finger over his lips. They're listening! One of the other children glances over, chipmunk-cheeks puffing with the bread loaf he's still munching at. "What happened -next-?" Yet another cries-- prompting the gladiator to continue his story, puffing up his chest and slamming a fist as he resumes the tale.
Jinks smirks and takes a few casual steps back, swinging his cane as he turns to leave the children to their stories. He's quite pleased with himself-- but then he's always quite pleased with himself. "Yes. Hello to me," he grins and gives a wink. "No executions today. One simply had to find -something- to do."
Mikilos eyes Agril gravely himself. "Don't mock the Battle Spatula. They're susprisingly effective in skilled hands." To Jessa, he shrugs. "But in most cases they're a cooking tool. Sort of a flat spoon."
Svarshan looks at Jessa a while, and, "Yess," he replies, solemnly, just before one of the youths jumps past him to grab one of the sausages. The sith-youth jobs two in his muzzle, chewing happily and loudly away with great, big chomps. Bits of sausage fall to the floor, in fact.
Svarshan leans over, and looks in the bag. The kids are busy now, gnawing on the food--they're of an age where most of them. Is composed of belly. ...which, really, is every kid or teenager ever.
Jessa ohs, looking no small bit distinterested then. Weapons. Pshaw. She moves among the children, gently patting each on the head and offering blessings. "You don't -really- need to tell me, Agril," she informs him. Looking up at Svarshan, she asks thoughtfully, "Unless it is very funny or embarassing?"
Svarshan pauses, and then sort-of-grins at the Muse, which is his way of saying: 'maybe.' And then he reaches into the bag and pulls out what looks like...small wooden toys. Puzzles. He glances over at Agril, and then grinning, starts handing them out. "Ssst. They. Have been good."
One of the youths grabs a puzzle in her not-sausage hand, and peers at it. There's a bit of writing she can't seem to make out.
Svarshan pages: If you want to translate the words, they are very tiny. It reads: 'Sandy's Toy Emporium for Alexandrian Orphans.' :D
Svarshan pages: It's in elven. :3
"Oh. /Oh/." And then Jessa's giving Agril a sly, side-long sort of look, a tiny and smug little smile on her face. "Right. So. SOMEONE will tell me later." And then she is looking at the puzzles with interest, trying to look at what the child is looking at as well.
Mikilos peers with curiousity at the toys, and smothers a giggle. Taking a slow breath, the elf quietly offers to customize a few of the toys. Changing a dolls dress color, or other minor alterations easily acomplished with a bit of magic.
"Of course," remarks Agril to Jinks, dryly, adding, "One can't go a day without seeing some sort of public spectacle, eh?" Then he nods to Mikilos, "Is there any other kin-...dammit." Mikilos, of course, had to explain it all directly. Then to Jessa, he just eyes her. EYES. "They should look those," he adds to Svarshan.
Like kernels in a cast iron pot held over hot coals the clapping begins, growing in frequency and volume until the gnomish children are hooping and hollering. One knows how to whistle! The gladiator-gnome is flexing his bicepts from atop a crate and two of the larger children dangle from either arm. He hops down, lowers the gnomelins to the ground, and gives a bow. The gladiator's boy comes along then and begins collecting things up as the gnomish children leave the awning. One after another they find Jinks and gather to his side and around behind him in a half circle as Jinks watches the other children with the puzzles.
The kids reach into their comfy, warm coats and produce little, unfinished wooden carved canes and mimic Jinks' pose; cane out in front with both hands resting atop the head. "... what now?" a tiny one whispers from the back.
"Stab each other very hard. I can heal you. It will be just like real battle." Jessa smiles encouragingly and even waves a few of them forward. Go on now, little giant children.
Mikilos snorts softy and rolls his eyes at Jessa. "You really shouldn't encourage children towards violence." Though the elf is supressing a grin.
"Gnomes don't stab ovuh gnomes!" A sniffling, pudgy-faced girl challenges. Going to tiptoe to shake her head at Jessa.
"Sowidawidy!" The smallest affirms, raising a pink-fingered fist.
Jinks sniffs and blinks, dabbing a handkerchief at the corner of his eye.
"Why not? Please, people can stab anyone. Doesn't matter what they are. Why, get a bit of drink in anyone and even the most gentle sort can turn ugly." Jessa waves off the complaint. "You are a child, you don't know. Your sweetly naive beliefs are noted, little one, but seriously."
The Daeusite kids begin to pick at the puzzles while eating sausages...and presently, Svarshan hooks an arm around the middle of the smallest, and hoists him onto his shoulders. And then he looks at Jinks a while. Pauses. "They look sssort of. Like you," he says solemnly. He pauses a while after that before adjusting the kid's legs a bit, to make sure he doesn't fall off.
"...which is one of the reasons we council the drink be best used in moderation. The last thing this town needs is *more* drunken stabbings," answers Agril to Jessa. "*Less* drunken stabbings." Firm tone. "Not more."
Mikilos nods in agreement. "Brawl scars are going out of fashion anyway. A clear skin implies you win."
"Or you have access to a good healer, I SWEAR all of you need more inspiration and imagination." Jessa gives every last one of them a disappointed look, pulling one hand out of her muff and setting it on a hip as she glares. "I need to spend more time around you."
"Dat's wacist." The pudgy-cheeked girl tells Svarshan.
"He's my daddy!" A boy in the back says. The ears are very similar. He has some kind of white makeup dabbed around his lips as some kind of slapdash painted goatee.
"Wild accusations of parenting aside... isn't it wonderful? Perhaps they can't all grow up in a real city with their people but I can make sure they know what it means to be a gnome. We met a master artificer and enjoyed a cruise around the higher peaks of the Redridge today, received and introductory lecture on the ebb and flow of the Sea of Mana at the Society of Arcanists... and Armsmaster Elnkikniddledern just finished telling us of his exploits." Again. Jinks is pleased. With himself. Entirely. "What do we say, children?"
They begin chanting. In gnomish. Over and over again. 'Gnomes are the best' they say. Jinks' pearly teeth glint in the lamplight.
Mikilos'ears perk, and he ponders a moment, and shrugs. "So that's who the lecture was for... huh." Glancing sidelong at Jessa, the elf begins to edge carefully away. "No thank you. I'm quite content as a bachlor for now."
Svarshan scratches at his jaw as he looks over at the tiny, gnomish terrors. His brow furrows before he hoists the small one again--who's busy chewing on the sausage. Bits of sausage tumble onto his head.
...he just buys the kid another one.
"Thank you for the. Toyss."
"Wh--" And then Jessa's looking Mikilos up and down thoughtfully, her lips pursed. "You elves are always so full of yourself. I wonder if it is deserved. It probably isn't."
"Anytime," says Agril to Svarshan, "You've been taking care of them for some time, after all, and it's likely you'll have to keep doing it." Agril turns towards Jinks, though. "Elk... that's a real name?" He asks , aftter a lengthy moment. And then the children are chanting and he just looks quite pained by this.
Mikilos blinks at Jessa at and straightens. "I'm not full of myself because I'm an elf. I'm full of myself because I'm a -wizard-. Besides, better than being full of hot air or something else." He nods indiscreetly towards the short person who is not a halfling.
Jessa's eyes cut sideways toward Jinks and she does nod thoughtfully. "True. Still." One dainty finger taps at her chin. "You are full of yourself though."
"Armsmaster Elnkikniddledern? Yes. Of course." Jinks says, confused by Agril's question. "Sir Elnkikniddledern, the Jagged Blade. Twice Slain and Risen. Slayer of Shistefaciasuss Rotworm. I believe his family is an off-shoot of clan Mikdanterwompitous." He sniffs, "Of Clockwork Point."
Svarshan crouches briefly to grasp the bag--he hoists it over a shoulder, careful to balance that movement and keeping the smallest of the Daeusites on his shoulders. Then he says, "Tail," and the other two line up, grasping the end of it, not unlike how a teacher might hold out a string and ask each member of the class to grab hold. After Agril speaks up, Svarshan pauses, then nods. "I promissed them. They would sssee a jousting. Match." He needs to go, that means.
Mikilos shrugs lightly to Jessa, and start off on his way again. "I used to be full of pancakes, then I stopped eating. But I'd best be going. Fare well all!"