A piebald Highmoor hobby with an alert expression walks west.
A placid-looking blood bay palfrey trots west.
A limber, way-worn male scans west.
A limber, way-worn male scans west.
A fastidiously mayorial gent walks up from the way down to the north.
You fall in with a fastidiously mayorial gent.
A stern-faced Mistwatch quartermaster falls in with a fastidiously mayorial gent.
A fastidiously mayorial gent peers west.
You have emoted: Pomeroy glances over at a limber, way-worn male suspiciously.
A limber, way-worn male coughs, sounding phlegmy.
A limber, way-worn male brushes out his wayworn cloak, the sinuous tattooing in amber ink along his arms, jaw, cheeks stark in the starlight as he regards you with a clear citrine gaze. He's obviously -very- foreign in appearance to a stern-faced Mistwatch quartermaster, a fastidiously mayorial gent and you.
A fastidiously mayorial gent tilts his chin up as he singles out a limber, way-worn male -- not hard to do, when the foreign man is the only other person there outside his own group. "You, fellow! Hail!"
You have emoted: Pomeroy looks to a fastidiously mayorial gent, then clears his throat and peers at a limber, way-worn male, tilting his head to try to look down his nose.
A stern-faced Mistwatch quartermaster gazes flatly at a limber, way-worn male.
A limber, way-worn male says, spreading his fingers into a circle to his thumb, then, spreading them flat. "Yzythy ayqqy y ydynydd y ynyfiyshymaa, ygypayssyree yf Aahhy'ytty." [in an unknown language with a steady, measured baritone] He speaks formally, but in a mostly neutral manner.
Borne off on a cold breeze, the clouds give up the night to a clear and sparkling black sky.
A stout, square-faced woman walks over from the west.
A fastidiously mayorial gent gives a limber, way-worn male a faintly offended look as he speaks with such horrid incomprehensibility. "My good man," he says, "Please speak a civilized tongue." [in Ruvic]
A lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin walks over from the west.
A stern-faced Mistwatch quartermaster observes a limber, way-worn male's gesture with a lifting of both brows, but stays quiet, allowing a fastidiously mayorial gent to speak.
A stout, square-faced woman glances at a limber, way-worn male, then at a fastidiously mayorial gent.
A limber, way-worn male inclines his head at a fastidiously mayorial gent's request, brushing back reddish-blonde hair, repeating himself, "I bid the Breath of peace in greeting, elletatuat of An'sor and the biting coast." [in Ruvic]
A lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin approaches quietly, keeping his hand well clear of his saber. He bows his head politely to you, then to a fastidiously mayorial gent and a stern-faced Mistwatch quartermaster.
OOC: Your pose will read 'a snooty mayoral assistant is going to some lengths to try to peer down his nose at a limber, way-worn male, who is taller.'.
A fastidiously mayorial gent looks among all the assembling foreigners, mouth tightening with distaste or maybe just nerves. Then, with a nod back to a limber, way-worn male, he says, "Very good, very good, that's better then."
A stout, square-faced woman says to a fastidiously mayorial gent, "We need medicine." [in Ruvic with a mellow contralto]
A limber, way-worn male stands somewhat down the path near a snooty mayoral assistant, a fastidiously mayorial gent and a stern-faced Mistwatch quartermaster. (Room Pose Set)
With a polite smile, speaking in fluent yet accented Ruvic, a lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin says to you, "A pleasure to see you again, Master Mactoy." [in Ruvic with a low-toned baritone]
A striking, violet-eyed youth with chaotic black curls walks over from the west, barefoot and bedraggled.
A coppery, lithe young man walks over from the west.
A fastidiously mayorial gent smooths down his lynx capelet rather ostentatiously and clears his throat, intent on his own words and not those of any foreigners. "You," he states, "I assume, are some of these foreign...." His nose wrinkles just a tiny bit, and there's a noticeable pause. "... peoples. Who have arrived on our shores so.. abruptly."
A mahogany-haired man with a hole-marked forehead walks over from the west.
You have emoted: Pomeroy shifts his gaze to a lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin. "Mac-te-roy, heathen," he says, and then tells a fastidiously mayorial gent, with a great deal more respect, "I heard they came from a place called Fuzzy-lee, sir."
Wrapped in a bulky blanket of grey wool, a striking, violet-eyed youth with chaotic black curls pads his barefoot way along to stand close to a lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin. Violet eyes stray over the crowd and then fix upon a fastidiously mayorial gent as he returns hoarsely but in perfect Ruvic, "We were shipwrecked upon them, hence the abruptness of our arrival." [in Ruvic with a lilting, honeyed tenor]
A willowy, tawny-complected young woman walks over from the west.
A lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin raises a hand to his forehead, and then his heart, as he bows bows to a fastidiously mayorial gent. "Fazhali.. is my own hometown, Master Mac-te-roy. Many of us come from other places as well." He gestures to a striking, violet-eyed youth with chaotic black curls. "This is Lord Al-Kazid of Fazhali, yes."
A stout, square-faced woman goes to stand near the westward direction.
A lean, ink-eyed woman walks over from the west.
A striking, violet-eyed youth with chaotic black curls stands with a bulky blanket of grey wool wrapped about himself. (Room Pose Set)
A burly, sienna-hued young man with short walnut-brown hair walks up from the way down to the north.
Cold stars twinkle above the world.
A stern-faced Mistwatch quartermaster gives a stout, square-faced woman a dubious look.
A limber, way-worn male glances down your nose, and doesn't seem to wilt under the gaze nor weigh on his height advantage, just inclining his head in a formally polite manner, letting himself indeed come under the nose of you.
A coppery, lithe young man stands at a striking, violet-eyed youth with chaotic black curls's side and a step back. (Room Pose Set)
A lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin stands alongside a striking, violet-eyed youth with chaotic black curls. (Room Pose Set)
A stout, square-faced woman returns a stern-faced Mistwatch quartermaster's look.
A willowy, tawny-complected young woman shuffles in from the camp to the west, bundled tightly in a musty old fur mantle and looking rather illeven as she stands off a way from the unfamiliar foreign faces.
"Fuzzy-lee!" a fastidiously mayorial gent looks to you, then laughs a little, seeming to find this a fine little joke. "Fuzzy-lee, indeed. Well." He looks a striking, violet-eyed youth with chaotic black curls up and down, although not looking too impressed. "Lord Fuzzy-Lee, then. You, and all, we bid welcome to the great Kingdom of Ensor."
A soft-featured, dark-skinned young woman walks over from the west.
A burly, sienna-hued young man with short walnut-brown hair wanders towards the lookout point, looking like he hasn't been back to camp in a while. He's carrying with him a severe, icy expression, and his head is lowered. So lowered, in fact, that he almost doesn't notice the ... new arrivals. Icy expression or not, it doesn't hide a mild look of surprise before he finds himself awkwardly standing near you. He takes a large step to the side to make room and wanders over near those he recognizes, settling himself somewhat near a lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin.
Shifting his gaze from a stout, square-faced woman, a stern-faced Mistwatch quartermaster asks, "Is this how guests act? They make demands?" [in Ruvic with a gravelly baritone]
A fastidiously mayorial gent frowns a little as the foreign hordes keep assembling, and all hints of mirth seem to leave him. "Oh, my good Lord, there's a great mess of them.." [in Ilexi] He mops lightly at his pale forehead with the edge of one sleeve.
A lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin bows again to a fastidiously mayorial gent, offering a polite smile. "We thank you for the welcome." And to a stern-faced Mistwatch quartermaster, he says, "..Please, Sayyid -- Master -- we mean no offense. But many of us are ill, and some grievously injured."
A soft-featured, dark-skinned young woman joins the group coughing as she stumbles in, looking grey.
A striking, violet-eyed youth with chaotic black curls likewise offers a bow to the riders, though it is not deep. He shifts his hold on a bulky blanket of grey wool just enough to let a gold ring of a griffin inlaid with lapis lazuli show on his finger show. "I am Ariziya Zakil Sezani Al-Kazid, son of Merhaziya Al-Kazid of Irzal," he ventures in the wake of a lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin's words and then looks to a stout, square-faced woman. "What...demands have been made?"
Softly, in an aside, a lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin says to a striking, violet-eyed youth with chaotic black curls, "Aashy iakheett ymyzhy." [in an unknown language]
A willowy, tawny-complected young woman glances to a stout, square-faced woman, soon bowing to the waist towards a stern-faced Mistwatch quartermaster as she speaks in accented Ruvic, "Accept our apologies, Sir. We are indeed ill and suffering, we are not currently our best selves." [in Ruvic with a moderate yet clarion alto]
A lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin pauses momentarily, belatedly offering a smile to a burly, sienna-hued young man with short walnut-brown hair.
"I figured it would be best to be direct, considering the circumstances." A stout, square-faced woman glances between the locals. She seems to be a bit annoyed.
A burly, sienna-hued young man with short walnut-brown hair takes a few steps away further from the crowd, perhaps seeing how close a lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin is to the 'guests'. He wanders over towards the back of the gathering, away from any direct confrontation. He maintains that deadened look, though, even if there's a bit of curiosity behind those hardened eyes.
A lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin looks downward briefly. It seems to chafe him, acting so humbly.
You have emoted: Pomeroy scoffs, looking from a stern-faced Mistwatch quartermaster, and then demonstrates a flourish of one arm to a striking, violet-eyed youth with chaotic black curls, since he is apparently the nobleman present. He grandly introduces a fastidiously mayorial gent, "Mayor Ascot Willason, of St Loomis!"
Simply stated, a limber, way-worn male tells a stout, square-faced woman, "Yssy yHyfysh yfiyttia' ayH ytydyss, eyssy, aytty iyzhaydd, y ydhy ysywyqq." [in an unknown language]
A mahogany-haired man with a hole-marked forehead stands near the back of the gathered group, squinting to see past the others.
A burly, sienna-hued young man with short walnut-brown hair is standing near the back, briefly observing the conversation with a severe gaze. (Room Pose Set)
Cold stars twinkle above the world.
Politely, a lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin says to a fastidiously mayorial gent, "I am Rostam Marzani, a citizen of the Sirdabi Caliphate. It is an honor to meet you, Mare Ascot Wilson." [in Ruvic]
An explosive, impish woman walks over from the west.
A limber, way-worn male coughs, sounding phlegmy.
Nodding his head to a willowy, tawny-complected young woman, a fastidiously mayorial gent concedes magnanimously, "Ah yes, well, none of us ever are at our best under such circumstances, naturally." The, at that grand introduction from you he draws himself up equally grandly, doffing his hat evidently for the main purpose of making its egret plume swoosh about stylishly.
An explosive, impish woman removes a deeply-bellied oud with olivewood pegs.
An explosive, impish woman plucks a deeply-bellied oud with olivewood pegs.
, a deeply-bellied oud with olivewood pegs releases a hollowly rhythmic, resoundingly succinct melody.
A stout, square-faced woman glances at a limber, way-worn male. "Yky'y iy y aossy aoqqy yriassaas iythiyqq y'y iaddy." [in an unknown language]
A soft-featured, dark-skinned young woman gives a sudden wet cough.
"Mayor Ascot Willason. Honoured to make your acquaintance" a striking, violet-eyed youth with chaotic black curls says and gives a fastidiously mayorial gent a deeper bow, one with real gravity before he straightens. And then flinches minutely with a tiny look to an explosive, impish woman.
A burly, sienna-hued young man with short walnut-brown hair keeps an eye on the area.
A soft-featured, dark-skinned young woman departs.
A stern-faced Mistwatch quartermaster frowns at a stout, square-faced woman, then at a limber, way-worn male. He folds his arms. "I am Grandin Harkenson, Quartermaster of the Mistwatch. You've been staying at one of our camps. Shall we speak there?"
A fastidiously mayorial gent plumps his cap back onto his head and says, "Lord Fuzzy-Dale, Rossam Marzanny, and all, we welcome you all to our beautiful town and kingdom, despite your... eccentric circumstances. Quite so." Then he silences, apparently content to let a stern-faced Mistwatch quartermaster take it ahead from here.
A mahogany-haired man with a hole-marked forehead begins to watch the general direction of westward.
(Quietly): You have emoted: Pomeroy opens his mouth, then closes it.
You're not sure whether anyone notices you.
A willowy, tawny-complected young woman doesn't seem to quite understand a fastidiously mayorial gent's words, but she does offer another polite bow to both men.
Politely, a lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin says, "Excuse me, Mayor Ascot Willason...but I cannot quite follow your words."
A mahogany-haired man with a hole-marked forehead coughs, sounding phlegmy.
A soft-featured, dark-skinned young woman arrives.
You have emoted: Pomeroy gives a mahogany-haired man with a hole-marked forehead a revolted scowl.
A willowy, tawny-complected young woman visibly struggles to remain conscious.
A mahogany-haired man with a hole-marked forehead visibly struggles to remain conscious.
A limber, way-worn male visibly struggles to remain conscious.
A soft-featured, dark-skinned young woman visibly struggles to remain conscious.
Adding after a lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin, a willowy, tawny-complected young woman says, "Many of us know Ruvic, but we are not so well-versed in other local languages."
A striking, violet-eyed youth with chaotic black curls visibly struggles to remain conscious.
"By all means," a striking, violet-eyed youth with chaotic black curls says hoarsely to a stern-faced Mistwatch quartermaster, taking a step back towards the fire. "Should be talk a little closer to the fire?" he says, shivering visibly.
A soft-featured, dark-skinned young woman gives a sudden wet cough.
A fastidiously mayorial gent doesn't seem to know why everyone is giving him odd looks for a moment, and then looks quite struck when a lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin puts forth that reminder. At first he frowns, then he just sighs in a put-upon way and repeats himself gently, as if for inattentive children, "We welcome you all to our beautiful town and and kingdom. Now, let us attend to the Quartermaster." [in Ruvic]
A stout, square-faced woman is wracked by a hacking cough.
(Quietly): You have emoted: Pomeroy grumbles, "Nasty heathens." [in Ilexi]
(Quietly): An explosive, impish woman shifts closer to a lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin.
An explosive, impish woman whispers something, involving a lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin.
A soft-featured, dark-skinned young woman curtseys deeply to you her voice cracked and hoarse but nevertheless polite. Clear hope in her eyes she introduces herself, "Y Haov, ygaaqqayr ey yt aozhy y al Yqq Y, eezhy al Ytyshy." [in an unknown language with a lilting soprano] Her own formality and politeness and slight haughtiness of someone born to great wealth evident on her face, stilll she is painfully polite.
A limber, way-worn male gives a sudden wet cough.
A willowy, tawny-complected young woman is wracked by a hacking cough.
Sharp pinpoints of stars sparkle overhead, cold and brilliant in the cloudless sky.
An explosive, impish woman whispers something, involving a lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin.
A lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin bows a third time, then sidesteps, beckoning a fastidiously mayorial gent and a stern-faced Mistwatch quartermaster toward the camp.
A willowy, tawny-complected young woman coughs, sounding phlegmy.
A willowy, tawny-complected young woman wabbles a bit, doing her best to cover her cough with the edge of a natural-hued organza headscarf.
A lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin whispers something, involving an explosive, impish woman.
A coppery, lithe young man sticks close to a striking, violet-eyed youth with chaotic black curls, looking relieved at the suggestion of closing to the fire.
A stern-faced Mistwatch quartermaster is no longer following a striking, violet-eyed youth with chaotic black curls.
A stern-faced Mistwatch quartermaster falls in with a striking, violet-eyed youth with chaotic black curls.
An explosive, impish woman falls in with a lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin.
A fastidiously mayorial gent's mouth tightens as he slides his gaze around at all the coughing people, and he takes a small delicate step back.
A lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin falls in with a striking, violet-eyed youth with chaotic black curls.
A mahogany-haired man with a hole-marked forehead falls in with a striking, violet-eyed youth with chaotic black curls.
An explosive, impish woman is no longer following a striking, violet-eyed youth with chaotic black curls.
An explosive, impish woman falls in with a striking, violet-eyed youth with chaotic black curls.
A lean, ink-eyed woman falls in with a striking, violet-eyed youth with chaotic black curls.
A willowy, tawny-complected young woman falls in with a striking, violet-eyed youth with chaotic black curls.
A soft-featured, dark-skinned young woman falls in with a striking, violet-eyed youth with chaotic black curls.
You have emoted: Pomeroy starts to move after a stern-faced Mistwatch quartermaster, but then gives a fastidiously mayorial gent's step back a cautious look. "Shall we go with them, sir?"
A stout, square-faced woman falls in with a striking, violet-eyed youth with chaotic black curls.
A burly, sienna-hued young man with short walnut-brown hair falls in with a striking, violet-eyed youth with chaotic black curls.
A fastidiously mayorial gent sighs, "Yes, I suppose we must."
A striking, violet-eyed youth with chaotic black curls nods and makes his way back towards the relatively safety -and warmnth- of the camp, striding along with as much dignity as a barefooted man in a blanket can muster. Which...isn't all that much right now.
A fastidiously mayorial gent falls in with a stern-faced Mistwatch quartermaster.
A burly, sienna-hued young man with short walnut-brown hair begins to move as though he's following the crowd, though he keeps a wide berth, hanging far in the back.
A limber, way-worn male falls in with a striking, violet-eyed youth with chaotic black curls.
A striking, violet-eyed youth with chaotic black curls walks west, barefoot and bedraggled. He is followed by a veritable crowd.
A fastidiously mayorial gent walks west.
You walk west.
A short, reddish-gold-eyed young man coughs, sounding phlegmy.
A stout, square-faced woman is wracked by a hacking cough.
A short elderly woman sits near Firouzeh to offer a shoulder to lean on.
A short elderly woman sits down on the chalky ground.
You fall in with a striking, violet-eyed youth with chaotic black curls.
An austere Sirdabi woman with copper eyes stands straight-backed near a rustic fire circle, a vermillion messaline abaya draped over her shoulders. (Room Pose Set)
[Sea Cliffs, Lookout Point Camp]
Lying on slightly lower ground out of the worst of the wind, this flat piece of land takes advantage of the natural bulwark provided by the promontory just to the east. The chalky ground has been largely cleared of rock for a rough ring of several paces, in the middle of which sits a fire circle made from some of those same rocks. A low wooden hutch nearby furnishes shelter not for people, but for firewood. Off to the south the cliffs curve around to embrace a small inlet, but the opposite side of the water is shrouded indelibly in mist.
The fresh corpse of a slightly built red Ruveran fox has breathed his last.
A great many things clutter the area here.
a towering brute with shorn raven hair sleeps here.
A crowd of individuals gather here.
A vast sweep of stars glitter against the cold black backdrop of the night. The remnants of a temporary firepit have been left behind. The area is speckled lightly with blood.
Cardinal Exits: east
A heavyset, curvaceous virago with amethyst eyes gives a sudden wet cough.
A burly, sienna-hued young man with short walnut-brown hair is no longer following a striking, violet-eyed youth with chaotic black curls.
A stout, square-faced woman is no longer following a striking, violet-eyed youth with chaotic black curls.
A burly, sienna-hued young man with short walnut-brown hair is standing near the back, briefly observing the conversation with a severe gaze. (Room Pose Set)
A striking, violet-eyed youth with chaotic black curls gives a sudden wet cough.
An explosive, impish woman tunes a few pegs on her instrument, testing the pliability of the strings. With a rhythmic fall of her hand, she lets loose the opening chords of 'Smiles from Raziya'.
A mahogany-haired man with a hole-marked forehead is no longer following a striking, violet-eyed youth with chaotic black curls.
A pleasantly round young woman pulls herself a little more together, sitting as straight as she can manage, and drawing her abaya about herself with a rather forlorn dignity.
Distastefully, you say, "Ugh..." [in Ruvic]
An explosive, impish woman plays the same sequence in refrain, a hypnotic call and response that tells of a sunny and bobbing tune. It paints a hopeful melody, as free and breezy as the unburdened heart that plays it.
A mahogany-haired man with a hole-marked forehead goes to stand near a rustic fire circle, joining a small crowd.
A stout, square-faced woman goes to stand beside a rough block of limestone.
A lofty, aquiline-featured man gives a seated approximation of a bow when you arrives. "Please forgive me for not standing," he says "I'm rather ill." [in Ruvic with a dignified baritone]
An explosive, impish woman unwinds the repetitive, major-keyed chords as a spool of silk - the masterfully frantic picking of her fingers plucking a staccato melody of three-sequence notes in a slightly bittersweet progression over the warm bath of the song.
A pleasantly round young woman is sitting by the fire, a little hunched. (Room Pose Set)
A mahogany-haired man with a hole-marked forehead seems to be keeping an eye on a stern-faced Mistwatch quartermaster.
(You notice someone moving stealthily!)
An average-height man wearing a heavy leather hood goes to stand near the eastward direction.
A fastidiously mayorial gent follows after a stern-faced Mistwatch quartermaster, making small fidgety motions with his smooth hands. He seems to have lost most of his initial enthusiasm for this grand welcome now that he's done with his magnanimous welcomes and it's all come down to standing out in the wind and damp in the middle of a pack of sickly foreigners.
An explosive, impish woman evokes through the sad high tones and happy chords a fusion of hope and angst - as the gentle melancholy and wistful hope of leaving a home, not knowing when the smiles of our mothers, our fathers, our siblings or our friends would be seen again. It is a song that looks forward, carrying the past on our back.
Returning to the fire a soft-featured, dark-skinned young woman addresses you hoping she might be understood, but eyes full of desperation as she says, "Yvymydh eyz, bayz ee eytty y y ayf aagh aozhaaqq yg y'eyH."
A striking, violet-eyed youth with chaotic black curls gestures to a rustic fire circle as he looks to a fastidiously mayorial gent and the others, slipping a hand free fro beneath a bulky blanket of grey wool to gesture to a rough block of limestone. "Please, be seated. We have been most grateful for the welcoming hospitality of your camp," he says, cutting a worried look across to an explosive, impish woman.
A short, reddish-gold-eyed young man coughs, sounding phlegmy.
An explosive, impish woman winds the song down as it draws to a close with an abrupt culling of chords. Only the bare bones of the melody remains, as if putting ourselves to sleep after a long long journey. With one finger-picked arpeggio from the strings, she bows her head.
You have emoted: Pomeroy looks towards an explosive, impish woman, blinking at the masterful playing, and then at a fastidiously mayorial gent. He stands by rather quietly, grimacing here and there when one of the foreigners issues a disgusting cough.
A stern-faced Mistwatch quartermaster goes to stand by a low wooden hutch.
A heavyset, curvaceous virago with amethyst eyes coughs, sounding phlegmy.
A short, reddish-gold-eyed young man shivers and suppresses a cough behind a closed fist. He rises briefly to sketch a silent bow, but just as quick returns to huddling by the fire. There's a subtle look of relief in his gaze when he spies a burly, sienna-hued young man with short walnut-brown hair and an average-height man wearing a heavy leather hood in the crowd.
A willowy, tawny-complected young woman mentions to a stern-faced Mistwatch quartermaster, dipping her head, "We also thank you for letting us use this camp, Quartermaster."
A rustic fire circle flickers and crackles.
A hunched, elder woman curls into herself, making no move to be the dignified elder woman that she probably is. Her eyes are clenched tightly together.
A heavyset, curvaceous virago with amethyst eyes wipes at her lips with a wordless grumble, watching a fastidiously mayorial gent and the entourage with those gleaming purple eyes.
A lofty, aquiline-featured man coughs, sounding phlegmy.
A lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin looks from one local dignitary to another, then sidles over to stand near a rustic fire circle, his eyes on a stern-faced Mistwatch quartermaster. "We are very grateful," he agrees.
A lofty, aquiline-featured man gives the same seated bow to a fastidiously mayorial gent and a stern-faced Mistwatch quartermaster, nodding along with a willowy, tawny-complected young woman's words.
An explosive, impish woman stands near a heavyset, curvaceous virago with amethyst eyes's flank, quietly picking a melody that hopes to inspire diplomacy. (Room Pose Set)
A willowy, tawny-complected young woman does shift to stands nearer to the warmth of the fire, given her ill state. (Stand - near a rustic fire circle -)
The night sky stretches above, bright and cloudless but with a biting chill.
A pleasantly round young woman shoots a somewhat condemnatory glance at the barbarians, her expression and features largely obscured beneath the fold of the abaya draped over her unruly, salt-matted curls.
A lean, ink-eyed woman nods alongside a willowy, tawny-complected young woman's words with a thankful expression.
A stern-faced Mistwatch quartermaster gives the sigil on the hutch a no-nonsense tap with one gloved hand. "I am Quartermaster of the Mistwatch," he explains to those gathered about the camp. "We heard tell of you from Tig." His expression tightens briefly in annoyance. "Are you from..." There's some uncertainty to his pronunciation. "Umrazir?"
A mahogany-haired man with a hole-marked forehead gives a sudden wet cough.
A short elderly woman nods gratefully.
A fastidiously mayorial gent dips his chin lightly to all those making their greetings, making the egret plume on his cap dance, but he keeps a small and formal distance from them.
Switching languages to translate, gesturing to a fastidiously mayorial gent, a lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin says, "Yhyfykh ytythy y yz ypyzhy, Hayp. Niaz-iadh. Al yweessaok y y Yhygyss. Ey yty iyzh eezhy ysyqqy eydhy Hee ee iytty y iadhy. Aozh yzh vy'eeviysh rayf aytty aagh yH ymytyss y y'ytyth." [in an unknown language]
A pleasantly round young woman gives a sudden wet cough.
With gentle caution, an explosive, impish woman says to a lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin, "Yssy y dykiateysh ywybydh y iy yf aytty aasseett, ythy iyz. Y yssy ytiyzhiar y diag ywybydh aor ylydhy ia yzhy eydd?" [in an unknown language with a honey-drenched alto]
A lofty, aquiline-featured man nods to a stern-faced Mistwatch quartermaster. "Yes. We were beset by storms, and blown far off course," he replies.
A coppery, lithe young man moves towards a rustic fire circle, not yet just taking a seat, watching a stern-faced Mistwatch quartermaster.
(Hidden) A fastidiously mayorial gent murmurs in a low voice to you, "- ---'- ---- ---- --- ---------s---'s ---- -s s--- - ------f-- --- -f--- ---.. ------- --- ---s s----- -----s ---- --- f--- ----?" He ticks his head sharply back and forth. "-- ---- ----- ---- --- *----*." [in Ilexi]
(At a rough block of limestone): A stout, square-faced woman peers at a stern-faced Mistwatch quartermaster curiously.
You're not sure anyone else notices.
A striking, violet-eyed youth with chaotic black curls edges closer to the fire but remains standing, not without some amount of effort. "Yes, Quartermaster," he says to a stern-faced Mistwatch quartermaster, dipping him a small bow too. "It is as Rostam said. We were bound, in fact, for al-Sabiyyah" (Stand - near a rustic fire circle -)
A pleasantly round young woman makes a miserable, irritable noise, massaging her throat while continuing to impale the barbarians with her gaze.
A burly, sienna-hued young man with short walnut-brown hair's eyes do alight on a short, reddish-gold-eyed young man briefly. But he doesn't look relieved, nor does he appear particularly like his usual, amicable self.
An austere Sirdabi woman with copper eyes inclines her head to a fastidiously mayorial gent and those who surround him, apparently one of the few people on their feet when the entourage enters their ramshackle camp. She keeps her expression placid. She flicks a glance to a lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin. "Ywybydh- y aojhy y kym," she says, trying to hide a note of surprise. To a stern-faced Mistwatch quartermaster, she nods once in the wake of a lofty, aquiline-featured man's words. "Ao." [in an unknown language with a low and measured contralto]
A lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin nods aside to an explosive, impish woman and then, at mention of his name, inclines his head deeply to a stern-faced Mistwatch quartermaster.
Nodding faintly, a willowy, tawny-complected young woman says, "We departed from Omrazir, though many of us do not always reside there."
A striking, violet-eyed youth with chaotic black curls coughs, sounding phlegmy.
A limber, way-worn male takes stock of a heavyset, curvaceous virago with amethyst eyes.
A mahogany-haired man with a hole-marked forehead covers his mouth as he stands near the fire, eyes flicking between the residents of An'Sor.
A stern-faced Mistwatch quartermaster looks to a lofty, aquiline-featured man with a stolid nod, then to a striking, violet-eyed youth with chaotic black curls. Briefly frowning, he states, "I have not studied aught of Alisabya, but I have seen Omrazir on the map." He casts a glance out towards the sea. "You arrive in the wrong season, and from the wrong direction. What happened?"
A hunched, elder woman gives a sudden wet cough.
A lofty, aquiline-featured man grimaces briefly in pain then looks back at a stern-faced Mistwatch quartermaster, and then at a striking, violet-eyed youth with chaotic black curls.
A limber, way-worn male folds his inked arms across his chest, watching quietly as the discussion takes place.
A soft-featured, dark-skinned young woman gathering her dignity like a cloak around her, her stiff polite deeply formal manner evident as she gestures around herself at the meat, "Ay yr iyddiash yshy aytty eyttiydh, dyfeeseedd yp y y'ywykh yzyddy aaddy aysh yhyfykh eeddy, yqq ysayshaor y yl y' ybykyjh ywy yzydhy yddy eykhy iyhhy." "ygaaqqayr nayd aoqqy, aytty aa y'yddy." "Ytt aoddy." She sighs then visibly trying to keep herself dignfified and polite.
With a brief hint of puckish humor, a lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin says, "What didn't? We suffered a terrible storm and lost our mast, drifting for many days." [in Ruvic]
Out of Character: a soft-featured, dark-skinned young woman rolled composure and the result was a 35 (good).
A rustic fire circle flickers and crackles.
(At a rough block of limestone): A stout, square-faced woman tenses slightly, glancing at a lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin.
You're not sure anyone else notices.
The coughing and spluttering rather ruins a striking, violet-eyed youth with chaotic black curls's attempts at dignified communication, but he gestures to a lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin once more and says wheezily, "A storm. Several storms," he agrees, his eyes then cutting to a soft-featured, dark-skinned young woman as his expression tightens with worry.
A heavyset, curvaceous virago with amethyst eyes simply chuckles, a little wetly, at a stern-faced Mistwatch quartermaster's question, tapping a finger to the scar on her arm.
A coppery, lithe young man goes to move near a rustic fire circle, joining a large crowd.
A lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin says to a stern-faced Mistwatch quartermaster, "We managed to repair the mainmast, only to -- yes, be struck by another storm, and driven onto the cliffs."
(Hidden) A fastidiously mayorial gent shifts a little closer towards a stern-faced Mistwatch quartermaster while laying one hand on his chain as if expects some thief to come up and suddenly snatch it away somehow.
A soft cold breeze rustles quietly through the night.
A lean, ink-eyed woman departs.
A lean, ink-eyed woman arrives.
A stern-faced Mistwatch quartermaster lets his gaze rove between those at the camp as he listens, expression stoic. He doesn't appear to comprehend a soft-featured, dark-skinned young woman's words, but glances at her briefly all the same.
A burly, sienna-hued young man with short walnut-brown hair looks down a little as a lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin speaks of the storm. There's a faint darkness, like recalling a memory, behind those eyes.
A stern-faced Mistwatch quartermaster asks, "Where is your ship now?"
A lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin says to a stern-faced Mistwatch quartermaster, "Our ship's cook, Sayyida Fadila, begs for your mercy and offers this food as payment for your hospitality, if it is required. Our ship is...below the waves."
A lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin turns and points vaguely out to sea.
A heavyset, curvaceous virago with amethyst eyes laughs heartily at a stern-faced Mistwatch quartermaster's question, "Spread across miles of beach most like." [in Ruvic with a sonorous contralto]
"Wrecked upon the rocks," a striking, violet-eyed youth with chaotic black curls adds to a stern-faced Mistwatch quartermaster, turning to follow a lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin's glance to the sea though his gaze returns quickly as he shivers.
(Quietly): A fastidiously mayorial gent murmurs, "Careless. These foreigners can't sail, can't keep a good ship together..."
"Dashed upon the rocks... pieces, may wash up along the coast, as we did," a lofty, aquiline-featured man agrees.
(At a rough block of limestone): A stout, square-faced woman glances at a misty inlet
You're not sure anyone else notices.
An explosive, impish woman nods to a lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin, keen to follow suit and example. "Iy ysyvyzh ygaaqqayr aatty yzypytt aaghy lay. Ygaaqqayr'ylyrydd yf yrysykh eett y zeeH, ygaaqqayr'y iadheedh kygiaHayjh yshy aykhy yb aop aydhaahh aytty yn aad ygybyjh aashy Hayk nyb. Eetty. Ynyhhy yn al yjh,'yw y yzyghy ywynytt ays."
An austere Sirdabi woman with copper eyes adds simply in heavily accented Ruvic, "People were lost with it." [in Ruvic]
A willowy, tawny-complected young woman is quieter now, clutching a musty old fur mantle about herself with one hand.
A mahogany-haired man with a hole-marked forehead gives a sudden wet cough.
A stern-faced Mistwatch quartermaster turns. He takes a few steps, looking along the dark cliffs, and then returns to face the firelight while releasing a short sigh. "You likely need the food more than we do, Sayda," he tells a soft-featured, dark-skinned young woman, then looks to a striking, violet-eyed youth with chaotic black curls again, focusing on the nobleman.
A short, reddish-gold-eyed young man coughs, sounding phlegmy.
A lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin says to a soft-featured, dark-skinned young woman, "Y iab ywybydh aazhy aashy y al yvytydh ykhy eytty y aokhy, yvylydh aow yryddy y aoddy lyz eyw." [in an unknown language]
A rustic fire circle flickers and crackles.
A lofty, aquiline-featured man nods in agreement again, looking over at an austere Sirdabi woman with copper eyes "Perhaps a tenth survived?"
Explaining for those who might not know the language, a willowy, tawny-complected young woman says, "Leyl'saof ylyghy yryddy ydhy ymyghy yz y, yjh ytayjhaag." [in an unknown language]
A burly, sienna-hued young man with short walnut-brown hair has kept his head mostly lowered this entire time. But something about an austere Sirdabi woman with copper eyes's statement causes him to finally look firmly up, as if he'd been summoned to attention. He remains quiet, though he keeps his gaze upon her for a few seconds before returning his attention to a fastidiously mayorial gent, head no longer lowered.
You tell a striking, violet-eyed youth with chaotic black curls, "You likely struck Lookout Rock. That direction is not fit for sailing."
A pleasantly round young woman lowers her head to her knees, hands clutching at her temples. She makes a soft, pained sound.
A soft-featured, dark-skinned young woman nods to a stern-faced Mistwatch quartermaster curtesying with deep politeness.
Gesturing to an explosive, impish woman, a lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin says to a stern-faced Mistwatch quartermaster, "This woman is a famed bard in our homeland. She offers her services for no more than tips, if you will allow us shelter. I believe many of us would be willing to offer our own skills." [in Ruvic]
A fastidiously mayorial gent fidgets with the lighthouse medallion hanging from a heavy gold chain of office, looking uncomfortable and rather as if he would much prefer to be elsewhere.
A lofty, aquiline-featured man looks back at you, a lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin, and a stern-faced Mistwatch quartermaster.
An explosive, impish woman curtseys formally, pulling at her silks to bow as low as she can.
A striking, violet-eyed youth with chaotic black curls straightens at a stern-faced Mistwatch quartermaster's attention, giving the man a faint and decidedly weak smile in return. Then he looks to you and offers another small bow. "That sounds most likely. I believe it was not the approach we had intended."
A short, reddish-gold-eyed young man nods his head solemn in time to a lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin's statement, although he ends up covering his mouth in a fit of coughing midway through.
A limber, way-worn male coughs, sounding phlegmy.
A soft-featured, dark-skinned young woman is wracked by a hacking cough.
You have emoted: Pomeroy glances to a fastidiously mayorial gent, and his mouth tightens briefly in such a way that it seems he may not respect the mayor much. Nevertheless, he is courteous when he speaks. "Mayor Ascot has agreed to grant you all entry into the town of St Loomis."
Gravely, a lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin says, "I am told that the namesake of your town, Saint Loomis, was famed for his kindness to lost seafarers."
The moons light everything with a pale glow beneath the cold black sweep of the heavens.
Beaming suddenly, a lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin says, "Al Baa yzyghy iyshy y aagh tey al yk." [in an unknown language]
A lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin bows deeply to a fastidiously mayorial gent.
With a bright smile at your words, a willowy, tawny-complected young woman says, "Ah, thank you, kind Mayor. We are very grateful." [in Ruvic]
A lofty, aquiline-featured man bows again. "We thank you for your compassion and hospitality."
A coppery, lithe young man blinks in surprise at that, relieved, obviously so.
An explosive, impish woman slumps her shoulders in relief, wiping a damp hand down her face. She smiles, reassured at the fate of the crew.
A burly, sienna-hued young man with short walnut-brown hair doesn't beam, nor does he smile. His eyes do register a brief look of surprise, and he gives a fastidiously mayorial gent a firm nod, likely not noticeable, from the back of the crowd.
A short elderly woman smile gratefully.
A willowy, tawny-complected young woman bows happily now, even if she looks a bit woozy upon trying to straighten.
A soft-featured, dark-skinned young woman curtseys formally and says, even though she may not be understood, "Yzydhy wian lydaylaass ykyddy aadh."
A hunched, elder woman is wracked by a hacking cough.
"Such so it is," a striking, violet-eyed youth with chaotic black curls agrees with a lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin with a smile at your words, likewise offering a small bow before his attention is on a fastidiously mayorial gent. "We had heard tell that your people were generous. You have all of our gratitude."
A fastidiously mayorial gent blinks over at you, his attention recaptured by the sound of his name. "What? Oh. Oh, yes, that's correct." He sighs again, as if perhaps this were an offer he's regretting, but repeats nevertheless, "Yes, we open our gates to you, the peoples of-- ah, Fuzzy-Dale and Umruzza."
A lofty, aquiline-featured man's gaze flicks between you and a fastidiously mayorial gent.
A stern-faced Mistwatch quartermaster nods gravely, after a fastidiously mayorial gent's pronouncement. "Provided that you follow the laws," he says, grimly.
A hunched, elder woman smiles, inhaling a deep, crackling breath that is interrupted by another cough.
An explosive, impish woman nudges a heavyset, curvaceous virago with amethyst eyes in the ribs. "Yssy yfykhy yvydhy al ywyssy yt tydaoziygh aaddy aossy waa. Yt iaddy al ynypydh aydhy ykyvysh."
(Quietly): A heavyset, curvaceous virago with amethyst eyes visibly relaxes, if only slightly.
You're not sure anyone else notices.
A pleasantly round young woman rests her head on her knees, eyes closed and breathing harsh. She doesn't seem to react to the pronouncement at all.
Sincerely, a lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin says, "We are all deeply grateful, May-or Ascot Will-son. I am certain we shall all follow your laws... may we ask what these laws are?" [in Ruvic]
A fastidiously mayorial gent emphasizes after a stern-faced Mistwatch quartermaster, "And the *manners*."
A heavyset, curvaceous virago with amethyst eyes lets out a quiet chuckle at an explosive, impish woman's words, "Iyhhy aydhy'symeewaosh ay y y eykhy y y ywybydh?" [in an unknown language]
A heavyset, curvaceous virago with amethyst eyes gives a sudden wet cough.
A willowy, tawny-complected young woman nods in agreement with a lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin, at the request of the laws.
An austere Sirdabi woman with copper eyes bows deeper now to a fastidiously mayorial gent, clutching her abaya so that it doesn't trail. She straightens up then with a look to a stern-faced Mistwatch quartermaster, silently echoing a lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin's question.
A lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin looks at a fastidiously mayorial gent in blank incomprehension.
A lean, ink-eyed woman quietly adds after a lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin's words, "Or any customs so that we do not give offense." [in Ruvic with a flat countertenor]
"Ygaaqqayr y eyl yzh y yvyqqy, ygaaqqayr y'ygyss yk zeer meef y'yvydh ybythy." A soft-featured, dark-skinned young woman says, "Aakhy aakh lyd yd eettayss."
A soft-featured, dark-skinned young woman says, "Eessy ydh diy eyddy."
A fastidiously mayorial gent repeats for the sake of a lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin, with a touch of impatience as if he were the one creating the difficulty, "The manners, goodman. Manners!" [in Ruvic]
A rustic fire circle flickers and crackles.
A soft-featured, dark-skinned young woman says softly perhaps or perhaps not heard by everyone, "Ygaaqqayr aaghaogh aak ia ykyqqy al ybygykh."
Apologetically, a lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin says to a fastidiously mayorial gent, "Forgive me that I do not understand this local language, May-or Ascot Wilson. We shall do our best to abide by your customs and manners."
You have emoted: Pomeroy gives a bemused headshake. "Assault, larceny, forgery, and indecency, are not permitted."
A pleasantly round young woman cracks open one eye, regarding a fastidiously mayorial gent with a jaundiced gaze for a moment.
Giving a scoff, you say, "This seems obvious."
With a nod to you, a willowy, tawny-complected young woman says, "Ah, yes, it is much like back in our homes."
A lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin says, "Aadhy beez yzh iyf yHayssaan ywybydh eyddy, iazh, aotty, aytty aadheyth ydd iassy symaa'eehh aytty ydh'iyk Hy'aaneedh." [in an unknown language]
A fastidiously mayorial gent looks to have had his feathers smoothed by a lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin's apology, and tells him more generously, "Most excellent, my good man. Excellent indeed."
A soft-featured, dark-skinned young woman "ywybydh'y aykh."
A thin layer of clouds spreads across the distant arc of the heavens, like ice skimming a night-black pond.
A pleasantly round young woman transfers her regard to a snooty mayoral assistant. Her lip curls slightly.
An explosive, impish woman strums a deeply-bellied oud with olivewood pegs.
, a deeply-bellied oud with olivewood pegs emits a pleasant short tune of back-and-forth notes.
Wagging a finger, you say, "None of your heathenish ways, yea. If but one of you attempts to eat a single ragamuffin child, you will all burn at stake."
A stout, square-faced woman looks up at the sky.
(Quietly): An explosive, impish woman mutters, "Ygaaqqayr yshy ygayjhial, eydhy ygaaqqayr eyjhy'yzhy vys aov maag ymy."
A lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin can't keep his eyes from flickering wider, an amused smile passing his face.
Out of Character: a heavyset, curvaceous virago with amethyst eyes rolled will at hard difficulty and the result was a pass.
A stern-faced Mistwatch quartermaster gives you a flat look.
Out of Character: a burly, sienna-hued young man with short walnut-brown hair rolled composure at hard difficulty and the result was a pass.
(At a rough block of limestone): A stout, square-faced woman stares up at the sky, clearly trying to compose herself after that last line from you
You're not sure anyone else notices.
A pleasantly round young woman pulls herself together with an enormous effort and straightens where she sits.
An austere Sirdabi woman with copper eyes says carefully to you after a long moment, "You will not have to worry about such things from us, sayyid."
A coppery, lithe young man asks, of no one in particular, "Eyssy eytheeth aa yssy? Ygaaqqayr yhhy yt aojhy ywybydh yfypyss." [in an unknown language with a rapid, energetic countertenor]
A heavyset, curvaceous virago with amethyst eyes opens her mouth as if to make some snide comment at you, then seemingly pulls it back, exhaling with a strained chuckle.
A striking, violet-eyed youth with chaotic black curls looks aside to a coppery, lithe young man as he just about continues to stand, venturing a fleeting but bright smile in his direction, one that fades fairly sharply as he informs you, "I assure you most wholeheartedly that we do not eat children. Nor people of any age."
With a slow blink at the man, a willowy, tawny-complected young woman tells you, "Yes, we will of course not do such a thing."
A striking, violet-eyed youth with chaotic black curls gives a sudden wet cough.
A lofty, aquiline-featured man is wracked by a hacking cough.
Adds for the group of Ruverans, a willowy, tawny-complected young woman says, "We will not stay overly long too, if we can help it. Just until we can find another boat going in the right direction."
A soft-featured, dark-skinned young woman "ygaaqqayr aassy ygaaqqayr tyz."
Still smiling, a lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin says, "I think perhaps you have heard many strange tales of our lands. I assure you, the eating of flesh is forbidden." [in Ruvic]
A pleasantly round young woman gives a sudden wet cough.
A rustic fire circle flickers and crackles.
A stout, square-faced woman gives a sudden wet cough.
A lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin says to a soft-featured, dark-skinned young woman, "Al ytyssy diyt payd aosh wayk ywybydh giy yjhy yfydhy byb yd vys yvysaaddyzee." [in an unknown language]
A stern-faced Mistwatch quartermaster diverts his gaze from a striking, violet-eyed youth with chaotic black curls's ungainly coughing and looks to a coppery, lithe young man. "Pardon," he offers, addressing a soft-featured, dark-skinned young woman as well. "One custom I would suggest: not speaking in tongues before the townsfolk. They may not take kindly."
A pleasantly round young woman says gravely to a snooty mayoral assistant, "O man of manners, be not afraid. Your children would be unclean ememoniom to my religion, and I could not possibly dine on any of them. I promise you it is so." [in Ruvic with a pleasant contralto] She gazes at you limpidly.
Clearing his throat, a lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin says, "Child's flesh, that is. And -- I apologize for my translations, Quartermaster.. Several of our company do not speak Ruvic." [in Ruvic]
"Aa yHylytt ydhy raan kyd." A soft-featured, dark-skinned young woman says, "Niy yshy yly iyqqaott, aaqqy ygaaqqayr aazh, ygaaqqayr iyssy'yvaygheeb eetteeth y ydylydd yd ygaaqqayr yzhy yky, aytty ywybydh'ydhy yHynyzh, ao iysh y'ygiythaos vys yzykaassytiy ayzhy yvaashiyd." A soft-featured, dark-skinned young woman assures a fastidiously mayorial gent.
A fastidiously mayorial gent lets out a quiet 'ahhh' and nods to a stern-faced Mistwatch quartermaster knowingly. "Yes, that's so, it will terrorize the simple godfearing men and women to hear such stuff."
You have emoted: Pomeroy stares at a pleasantly round young woman, evidently not certain whether to be offended or relieved that the heathens don't want to eat 'unclean' town children.
A lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin says, "Al Nyteygiath-- al ymyryhh eeshy-- yb ykykhy y daa eysh ydyshy iythy ymykhy ykythy ybyrydh ygyvydh aothiath, eyqq yssy ygypydh ytykhy lykeypaosh." [in an unknown language]
A mahogany-haired man with a hole-marked forehead sits down near a rustic fire circle.
Promising, a willowy, tawny-complected young woman says, "We will do our best to teach them some Ruvic, while we stay."
A mahogany-haired man with a hole-marked forehead drops to the ground, clutching his head and groaning.
A lean, ink-eyed woman glances at the a stern-faced Mistwatch quartermaster in understanding, "I will also offer lessons in Ruvic to ease that." Their gazes follows the coughs, "Are their medicines we can purchase with funds from our lands for those who are sick?"
A coppery, lithe young man tells a stern-faced Mistwatch quartermaster, not as ably as some others, his Ruvic unpracticed, "Ah; some gaps with my Ruvic; I mea in part. What of Elukoi, quarter master?" [in Ruvic]
A willowy, tawny-complected young woman is wracked by a hacking cough.
An explosive, impish woman plucks a deeply-bellied oud with olivewood pegs.
, a deeply-bellied oud with olivewood pegs emits a pleasant short tune of back-and-forth notes.
"Aoshy ygaaqqayr ydy ydyzhy ykytytt, aytty aa." A soft-featured, dark-skinned young woman says, "Dydaaleedd ygaaqqayr y'y tyn eejhy yty yqqy ymy eytty."
Casting a look around at the various coughing individuals, a lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin says, "Yes.. warmth, and medicine, and care for our wounded... we would be most grateful." [in Ruvic]
Distant streaks of cloud float impossibly high in the night sky, visible only as a faint shimmer in the starlight.
A lofty, aquiline-featured man nods in agreement with a lean, ink-eyed woman. "I can assist, I... used to teach, some."
A willowy, tawny-complected young woman tells a soft-featured, dark-skinned young woman, "Ydhy yddy ey y layb y ayH, aof ytydysh yrydhy yt yssy yd." [in an unknown language]
A striking, violet-eyed youth with chaotic black curls's eyes close a moment, a slow breath drawn in and let out. Then his gaze is back upon you and the others after a very brief look darted to a lofty, aquiline-featured man.
A stern-faced Mistwatch quartermaster tells a coppery, lithe young man, "Elukoi, at least, is a godfearing tongue and will not disturb anyone, as many of the priests speak it. We are far from the Empire here, however. This is the Kingdom of Ensor."
A soft-featured, dark-skinned young woman nods to a willowy, tawny-complected young woman, then focuses on the discussion still clearly not understanding, but relaxed a bit at eleast after the translation.
A heavyset, curvaceous virago with amethyst eyes coughs, sounding phlegmy.
An explosive, impish woman slips away, plucking her oud as she goes.
An explosive, impish woman starts towards the eastward direction. (Stand - near the eastward direction -)
A hunched, elder woman pushes herself into a sit, which is no small feat for the ill elder to accomplish. She's finally speaking now, albeit with a bit of a wheeze atop her terrible accent. "Could you tell me where I might find Tig? I'd like to give him my thanks." [in Ruvic with a sweet, shaky soprano] (Sit - near a rustic fire circle -)
A stout, square-faced woman coughs, sounding phlegmy.
A hunched, elder woman coughs, sounding phlegmy.
With a faint note of hope and a glance around, a fastidiously mayorial gent says, "Cateni, too, that's a fine civilized tongue to speak."
An explosive, impish woman walks east.
A rustic fire circle flickers and crackles.
(Quietly): A lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin looks vaguely relieved about something or other.
You're not sure anyone else notices.
A pleasantly round young woman drops her head back to her knees with a faint groan, pulling her abaya over her face once more. Despite her apparent illness and pain, she appears to be also hiding a very small, rather satisfied expression of amusement.
Peering down his nose towards everyone around the camp and unfortunately nearly speaking over a fastidiously mayorial gent, you say, "If you can't speak Ilexi, then you devils should at least educate yourselves in Ruvic!"
A soft-featured, dark-skinned young woman says, "Ytykhy ygaaqqayr aa ao y yb'yH yssy."
A heavyset, curvaceous virago with amethyst eyes comments idly, "Ygaaqqayr ypeeghaal ygaajhaog yryssy aoqqy feyb eehh Mayd."
A lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin turns his head slowly toward you and smiles, big and friendly.
Out of Character: a burly, sienna-hued young man with short walnut-brown hair rolled composure at hard difficulty and the result was a fail.
"Cateni That is good to know," a striking, violet-eyed youth with chaotic black curls returns to a fastidiously mayorial gent with another small nod of his head before his gaze flits to you. "Many have expressed a desire to learn since hearing you spoke it so beautifully."
A stern-faced Mistwatch quartermaster looks to a hunched, elder woman, giving a grim shake of his head. "Tig is... occupied," he explains stiffly. "Penance for straying from his duties, and stealing supplies."
"Ibesiagnania iatt evetta verso iazz," [in an unknown language] a striking, violet-eyed youth with chaotic black curls returns to a fastidiously mayorial gent with another small nod of his head before his gaze flits to you. "Many have expressed a desire to learn since hearing you spoke it so beautifully."
A fastidiously mayorial gent sighs, "Yes, Ruvic will do, it is the old tongue of the ancient empire. Thought not half so stylish or modern as Cateni."
Bowing his head, a lofty, aquiline-featured man tells you, "I would very much like to learn your local tongue."
Still smiling at you, a lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin says, "I shall endeavor to learn a smattering of Ilexi and Cateni, May-or Ascot Will-son."
You have emoted: Pomeroy gives a sharp sniff to a lofty, aquiline-featured man. "Perhaps you shall, then," he states, with somewhat-forced magnanimity.
A soft-featured, dark-skinned young woman stands wheezing a bit.
Rather than looking impressed by a striking, violet-eyed youth with chaotic black curls's display of linguistics, a fastidiously mayorial gent winces in great pain, as if watching some beloved pet get butchered. ".. ah," he replies wanly.
A burly, sienna-hued young man with short walnut-brown hair shoots an icy look towards you, and he opens his mouth as if to say something ... but he keeps quiet, shutting his annoyed-looking trap.
A hunched, elder woman deflates, letting out a long sigh as she looks at a stern-faced Mistwatch quartermaster. "I am sorry for causing him trouble. If there is anything to be done to ease his punishment, please let me know and I will make it so."
The stars are faint in the night sky, veiled from the gaze of the earth by a thin film of clouds.
A short, reddish-gold-eyed young man coughs, sounding phlegmy.
A soft-featured, dark-skinned young woman looks very worried, greying out under the stress of the situation.
A willowy, tawny-complected young woman is wracked by a hacking cough.
A pleasantly round young woman emits a sort of a snorting sound. It might be related to her sudden illness.
A coppery, lithe young man just smiles, utterly relieved by everything so far. Except for a brief flash of annoyance at a stern-faced Mistwatch quartermaster and you.
A short elderly woman shivers.
A limber, way-worn male gives a sudden wet cough.
A soft-featured, dark-skinned young woman bits her lip giving her all in trying to remain upright.
A darkly-tanned crewmate twitches for a second.
A darkly-tanned crewmate emits a ragged breath, seeming to fade further from the waking world.
"Tig caused himself the trouble," replies a stern-faced Mistwatch quartermaster sternly to a hunched, elder woman. "Discipline is an important part of serving in the Mistwatch. Now --" He looks to a fastidiously mayorial gent. "We open the gates to these betrodden?"
Looking about at the others before turning back to the locals, a willowy, tawny-complected young woman says, "My pardon, but is there any medicine or local treatment for illness caused by the wet and cold? The herbs here are much different from what we are used to." [in Ruvic]
A gangling, black-haired sailor visibly struggles to remain conscious.
Firelit shadows prance through the murky surroundings around a rustic fire circle.
A gangling, black-haired sailor coughs, sounding phlegmy.
A soft-featured, dark-skinned young woman asks to a lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin "Wayt y yddy fy'?" She looks even more worried.
A pleasantly round young woman does her very best to look small, sickly, wan (not very successfully) and pathetic. She coughs weakly.
A fastidiously mayorial gent looks back up the trail, fingers playing with a heavy gold chain of office again. He looks relieved when a stern-faced Mistwatch quartermaster speaks to him again, and agrees quickly, "Yes, indeed. Let us get ourselves in out of-- ahem, let us get all these poor folks in out of the cold. Straightaway."
A striking, violet-eyed youth with chaotic black curls just ventures a thin smile to a fastidiously mayorial gent, and hauls a bulky blanket of grey wool around himself as he turns to a coppery, lithe young man and says quietly, "Ygaaqqayr eehhy nyr yHykykh ygaaqqayr baa ytty yssy yby'ygh aas. Iyshy y iyshy aajhy ytty aytty yqq eeddaath rao yzyddy ay?" [in an unknown language]
A lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin says to a soft-featured, dark-skinned young woman, "Vee' yveyddaav fyn yd.Y ymaottaa' yg y aadh ysyfydh Ybyssy aytty Aym, aytty aaz yt y ythy yzhy iyshy eykheydh yzaodhaos al piav." [in an unknown language]
Around a quiet, but rattling cough, a lofty, aquiline-featured man says, "Forgive me if I interrupt, but... given how we're all quite grateful... is there some means by which we might... convey our thanks and appreciation?"
Perhaps attempting to sound beneficent to a willowy, tawny-complected young woman as he turns to start moving after a fastidiously mayorial gent, you say, "You must weather it with strength of spirit, which must be difficult for heathens -- and wear some good Ensorian wool, that will do you well."
A mahogany-haired man with a hole-marked forehead is wracked by a hacking cough.
A lofty, aquiline-featured man straightens to stand near a rustic fire circle, pulling himself unsteadily to his feet.
(At a rustic fire circle): An austere Sirdabi woman with copper eyes listens to you quietly with a lift of her chin, her expression taking on a vaguely stony air.
A stout, square-faced woman steps away from a rough block of limestone, leaving.
A lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin is no longer following a fastidiously mayorial gent.
A lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin falls in with a fastidiously mayorial gent.
With a visible wavering stance a soft-featured, dark-skinned young woman relaxes, "Ygaaqqayr aashy'aaw ydiyjhiyr ygaaqqayr ydh y aothy." "ygaaqqayr eyt y aazhayzh, y eyqqaazh'aythy y'ydhy aathy ydygaashyfaa y."
A coppery, lithe young man is no longer following a striking, violet-eyed youth with chaotic black curls.
Out of Character: a lean, ink-eyed woman rolled will at hard difficulty and the result was a pass.
A willowy, tawny-complected young woman dips her head politely to snooty then, looking back to the others, "Y y aajhy y'yghy, yssy aazh, y aagh aaqqy aak ydhy aajhy yt." [in an unknown language]
A lofty, aquiline-featured man is wracked by a hacking cough.
A short elderly woman falls in with a lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin.
A heavyset, curvaceous virago with amethyst eyes falls in with a lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin.
A willowy, tawny-complected young woman is no longer following a lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin.
A willowy, tawny-complected young woman falls in with a lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin.
A limber, way-worn male is no longer following a heavyset, curvaceous virago with amethyst eyes.
A limber, way-worn male falls in with a heavyset, curvaceous virago with amethyst eyes.
A coppery, lithe young man tells a striking, violet-eyed youth with chaotic black curls, with a bright smile, "I will search for such."
A hunched, elder woman rises from her seat, pushing up into a stand with the help of a brass-capped reed cane. (Stand - near a rustic fire circle -)
Grimly, a stern-faced Mistwatch quartermaster tells a lofty, aquiline-featured man, "Write a report on your journey, and have a courier bring it to me. Grandin Harkenson."
A soft-featured, dark-skinned young woman says, "Ao aahh, ygaaqqayr yzyvyss yshy iyjhy, yhyfykh ayg ypytty aokhy lia pyv aa iy, Aoqqy eym fyt ytymytt aa yfylykh."
A short elderly woman nods.
A fastidiously mayorial gent frowns, looking a bit uncertain as to how any of these poor sick heathens could properly show thanks. He looks among all of them, then says, "Ahh, yes, well, do try to be mannerly, and not be rowdy and murder one another in the streets and the fine establishments of our lovely town."
Turning back to the a more understood language, a willowy, tawny-complected young woman tells you, "We have heard of your wool, all the way in Idiri." [in Ruvic]
A hunched, elder woman falls in with a lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin.
With another groan, a pleasantly round young woman pulls herself to her feet.
(At a rustic fire circle): A coppery, lithe young man shifts closer to a striking, violet-eyed youth with chaotic black curls.
A coppery, lithe young man whispers something, involving a striking, violet-eyed youth with chaotic black curls.
A fastidiously mayorial gent brightens vaguely at a stern-faced Mistwatch quartermaster's own response. "Ah! Yes, yes, that's a good one too. Excellent."
A pleasantly round young woman straightens to stand near a rustic fire circle.
Distant streaks of cloud float impossibly high in the night sky, visible only as a faint shimmer in the starlight.
Bowing deeply, a lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin says to a fastidiously mayorial gent, "We shall try our best to be good houseguests." [in Ruvic]
A darkly-tanned crewmate emits a ragged breath, seeming to fade further from the waking world.
A pleasantly round young woman falls in with a lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin.
Seemingly exhausted by the interaction, a striking, violet-eyed youth with chaotic black curls seats himself by the fire once more and returns to shivering, soon huddling up after a firm nod to a coppery, lithe young man. (Lie - near a rustic fire circle -)
An austere Sirdabi woman with copper eyes falls in with a fastidiously mayorial gent.
A darkly-tanned crewmate wakes up, lying on the ground.
A stout, square-faced woman falls in with a lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin.
An average-height man wearing a heavy leather hood shows up.
A mahogany-haired man with a hole-marked forehead falls in with a lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin.
A mahogany-haired man with a hole-marked forehead straightens to stand near a rustic fire circle.
A short, reddish-gold-eyed young man straightens to stand near a rustic fire circle.
A lofty, aquiline-featured man falls in with a lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin.
A slender, black-haired young man lowers the hood of a heavy leather hood.
A soft-featured, dark-skinned young woman is no longer following a lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin.
A soft-featured, dark-skinned young woman falls in with a lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin.
A lofty, aquiline-featured man is no longer following a fastidiously mayorial gent.
A lofty, aquiline-featured man falls in with a fastidiously mayorial gent.
A soft-featured, dark-skinned young woman is no longer following a fastidiously mayorial gent.
A soft-featured, dark-skinned young woman falls in with a fastidiously mayorial gent.
A mahogany-haired man with a hole-marked forehead is no longer following a fastidiously mayorial gent.
A mahogany-haired man with a hole-marked forehead falls in with a fastidiously mayorial gent.
A rustic fire circle flickers and crackles.
A hunched, elder woman is no longer following a fastidiously mayorial gent.
A hunched, elder woman falls in with a fastidiously mayorial gent.
A stout, square-faced woman rubs at the back of her head. All this diplomacy seems to be getting to her. "Does the town have a library?" [in Ruvic]
A heavyset, curvaceous virago with amethyst eyes is no longer following a fastidiously mayorial gent.
A heavyset, curvaceous virago with amethyst eyes falls in with a fastidiously mayorial gent.
A stout, square-faced woman is no longer following a fastidiously mayorial gent.
A stout, square-faced woman falls in with a fastidiously mayorial gent.
A coppery, lithe young man withdraws from a striking, violet-eyed youth with chaotic black curls, and heads towards a fastidiously mayorial gent.
A striking, violet-eyed youth with chaotic black curls departs.
A pleasantly round young woman is no longer following a fastidiously mayorial gent.
A pleasantly round young woman falls in with a fastidiously mayorial gent.
A lean, ink-eyed woman falls in with a fastidiously mayorial gent.
A coppery, lithe young man approaches a low wooden hutch.
A coppery, lithe young man takes out a silver birchwood stick from a low wooden hutch.
As the crowd begins to gather around a fastidiously mayorial gent, a slender, black-haired young man wordlessly steps out of the shadow of the promenade. He crosses the camp to join at the periphery.
You have emoted: Pomeroy scoffs at a stout, square-faced woman.
A striking, violet-eyed youth with chaotic black curls gives a sudden wet cough.
A slender, black-haired young man falls in with a fastidiously mayorial gent.
You fall in with a fastidiously mayorial gent.
A short, reddish-gold-eyed young man almost reluctantly stands away from the warmth of the fire and draws the salt-encrusted folds of his clothing around him. He rubs at his arms as he shuffles along with the rest of the crowd.
A short, reddish-gold-eyed young man falls in with a fastidiously mayorial gent.
(Quietly): There's a brief flash of dark amusement in a burly, sienna-hued young man with short walnut-brown hair's eyes at something that a stern-faced Mistwatch quartermaster said, but it fades quickly.
A willowy, tawny-complected young woman is no longer following a fastidiously mayorial gent.
A willowy, tawny-complected young woman falls in with a fastidiously mayorial gent.
A mahogany-haired man with a hole-marked forehead looks almost reverent as he quietly repeats the words. "A library..." [in Ruvic with a whiny baritone]
Quietly slipping through the crowd, a lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin glances at a burly, sienna-hued young man with short walnut-brown hair and a slender, black-haired young man, then a willowy, tawny-complected young woman and an austere Sirdabi woman with copper eyes, as though marking each.
A coppery, lithe young man takes out a stack of 3 gloam pinewood branchs from a low wooden hutch.
A pleasantly round young woman approaches the general area.
A pleasantly round young woman picks up a pinewood fishing spear from the ground.
A coppery, lithe young man puts a stack of 2 gloam pinewood branchs in a low wooden hutch.
A stern-faced Mistwatch quartermaster says, "Do you have it from here, Mayor Ascot? I will return to the Keep."
A fastidiously mayorial gent looks a bit more puffed up and pleased again now that everyone is falling in behind him. He gives his capelet a stylishly casual flip over one shoulder, asking everyone, "Are we all quite ready, then?"
A short elderly woman is no longer following a fastidiously mayorial gent.
A short elderly woman falls in with a fastidiously mayorial gent.
A coppery, lithe young man puts a silver birchwood stick in a low wooden hutch.
A coppery, lithe young man falls in with a fastidiously mayorial gent.
A pleasantly round young woman leans heavily on the fishing spear for support.
A willowy, tawny-complected young woman shuffles over to join the wretched masses following a fastidiously mayorial gent.
A coppery, lithe young man produces a stick to walk with, then heads over towards a fastidiously mayorial gent.
A heavyset, curvaceous virago with amethyst eyes looks around those staying with the camp, briefly, before dipping her head in a bow to a fastidiously mayorial gent.
A lean, ink-eyed woman puts a broken paint-stained black cambric bisht in a discreet leather satchel.
A fastidiously mayorial gent nods to a stern-faced Mistwatch quartermaster, "Yes, indeed, Quartermaster, you may depart. Very good work."
A slender, black-haired young man exchanges a short, silent look with a lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin. His head dips, just a shade, but no other greeting is imparted.
A soft-featured, dark-skinned young woman is wracked by a hacking cough.
A pleasantly round young woman gives a sudden wet cough.
(Quietly): A stout, square-faced woman squints at you
You're not sure anyone else notices.
A fastidiously mayorial gent announces, "Off we go, then!"
A burly, sienna-hued young man with short walnut-brown hair returns a brief look towards a lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin, though it doesn't last long at all. He maintains that hardened gaze, following instead the events of the mayor.
A burly, sienna-hued young man with short walnut-brown hair falls in with a fastidiously mayorial gent.
An austere Sirdabi woman with copper eyes glances to a lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin as he weaves through the gathered people, and gives him a small incline of her head.
A fastidiously mayorial gent starts towards the eastward direction. (Stand - near the eastward direction -)
A fastidiously mayorial gent is followed by a veritable crowd.
A lofty, aquiline-featured man smiles faintly at a stout, square-faced woman's question, though his expression falls into guarded neutrality at your response.
A pleasantly round young woman shivers, hard, and pulls her abaya tightly about her with her free hand.
A slender, black-haired young man covers a loose-fitting buff muslin turban with a heavy leather hood.
A soft-featured, dark-skinned young woman folows behind looking relieved.
A lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin smiles briefly at an austere Sirdabi woman with copper eyes, a slender, black-haired young man, and a burly, sienna-hued young man with short walnut-brown hair in turn, then drops back to sheep-dog the group from the rear. Perhaps he's worried someone will pass out.
A fastidiously mayorial gent strides rather grandly off to the east, or at least as grandly as one can stride across uneven rocky ground in the darkness.
A fastidiously mayorial gent walks east. He is followed by a veritable crowd.
A limber, way-worn male walks east.
[Sea Cliffs, Lookout Point]
On achieving the heights of the arduously ascended sea cliffs, one is treated to the magnificent vantage that is Lookout Point. Directly east lie the Lookout Rocks, their menacing crags thrusting up starkly from the blue-green waves of the sea. St Loomis itself can be seen in distant miniature off to the northeast, while southward the curve of a long inlet ends in a melancholy haze of mist. Growing out from the sheltering crevice of a slab of rock that projects partially over the cliff edge, a single crag pine bravely unfurls its branches upon the briny air.
A crowd of individuals gather here.
Clouds streak distantly across the face of the stars. The area is spattered with blood, lightly splotched with barky woodiness tea, and lightly splotched with salt water.
Cardinal Exits: west and down to the north
The crashing of waves below the cliff is soothed by the lonely murmur of wind through pine needles.
A fastidiously mayorial gent starts towards the way down to the north. (Stand - near the way down to the north -)
A fastidiously mayorial gent is followed by a veritable crowd.
A fastidiously mayorial gent walks down to the north. He is followed by a veritable crowd.
A limber, way-worn male walks down to the north.
A coppery, lithe young man steps over towards a pleasantly round young woman, and offers an arm, saying, "If you need a hand, sayyida...I too miss the heat of Amunat."
A fastidiously mayorial gent starts towards the way down to the north. (Stand - near the way down to the north -)
A fastidiously mayorial gent is followed by a veritable crowd.
[Sea Cliffs, Lookout Trail]
Only a few stunted pines and low-growing bushes break the open expanse of bunchgrass and rock that forms this rising headland above the bay. Though the southern reaches of the Westwood can be seen some ways back downward and to the west, this close to the cliffs' edge little dares to challenge the supremacy of wind and storm. Continuing its steady navigation of the slope, the trail plunges down to the north while ascending to a still more exposed eminence southward.
A crowd of individuals gather here.
Clouds streak distantly across the face of the stars. The area is speckled lightly with blood.
Cardinal Exits: down to the north and up to the south
A fastidiously mayorial gent walks down to the north. He is followed by a veritable crowd.
A limber, way-worn male walks down to the north.
[Sea Cliffs, Lookout Trail]
Trekking up and down the long incline of the cliffs, the trail skirts around wind-sculpted shrubbery and the pale protruding forms of rocks. As compensation for the exertion of the climb, the view only gets more striking over the course of the ascent. From here one can look down upon the deep green mass of the Westwood to the north, northeast onto the tangled streets and outthrust piers of St Loomis, and directly east onto the broad rolling expanse of the great Adelantean.
A crowd of individuals gather here.
Clouds streak distantly across the face of the stars.
Cardinal Exits: down to the northeast and up to the south
Other: a descending rocky trail
A fastidiously mayorial gent starts towards the way down to the northeast. (Stand - near the way down to the northeast -)
A fastidiously mayorial gent is followed by a veritable crowd.
A short elderly woman walks down from the way up to the south.
A short elderly woman falls in with a fastidiously mayorial gent.
A willowy, tawny-complected young woman visibly struggles to remain conscious.
A pleasantly round young woman visibly struggles to remain conscious.
Struggling slightly with the walk, a lofty, aquiline-featured man tells a stout, square-faced woman, "Their priests perhaps are well educated..."
A short, reddish-gold-eyed young man visibly struggles to remain conscious.
A mahogany-haired man with a hole-marked forehead visibly struggles to remain conscious.
A limber, way-worn male visibly struggles to remain conscious.
A soft-featured, dark-skinned young woman visibly struggles to remain conscious.
A heavyset, curvaceous virago with amethyst eyes visibly struggles to remain conscious.
A hunched, elder woman visibly struggles to remain conscious.
A lofty, aquiline-featured man visibly struggles to remain conscious.
The stars are faint in the night sky, veiled from the gaze of the earth by a thin film of clouds.
A pleasantly round young woman musters up a smile for a coppery, lithe young man, and accepts the offer of his arm. She says plaintively, "I do not know what evil spirit found me in the night- unoneteam I was mustean sound and healthy."
A fastidiously mayorial gent walks down to the northeast. He is followed by a veritable crowd.
A limber, way-worn male walks down to the northeast.
A fastidiously mayorial gent starts towards the northward direction. (Stand - near the northward direction -)
A fastidiously mayorial gent is followed by a veritable crowd.
[Sea Cliffs, Lookout Trail, Pine Grove]
The waters of St Loomis Bay roll out below the sea cliffs, long white-topped waves sweeping in from far to the east. On the west side of the trail a small grove of crag pines raise their limbs in defiance of the wind, though that same wind has sculpted them until they resemble pennants stuck in the chalky ground. Descending mildly to the north, the path continues at a steeper grade up to the southwest.
A bundle of firewood is here. A pile of 4 small rocks is here. An ashwood twig is here.
A crowd of individuals gather here.
Clouds streak distantly across the face of the stars.
Cardinal Exits: north and up to the southwest
A burly, sienna-hued young man with short walnut-brown hair follows along trailing near the back of the crowd, in silence.
"Ygaaqqayr yl yH ao iyjhy ee aor yfykhy aakhaajh." A soft-featured, dark-skinned young woman says to a lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin "Y bee y yg yqq eyzhy."
A stout, square-faced woman coughs, sounding phlegmy.
A fastidiously mayorial gent walks north. He is followed by a veritable crowd.
A limber, way-worn male walks north.
A willowy, tawny-complected young woman trips over some rocks, clearly not quite as steady as she might usually be.
[Sea Cliffs, Lookout Trail]
Blocks of pale stone begin to emerge from the grass as the ground ascends, while both grass and trees become more clumped and sparse. The surface of the path has a chalky texture and color, making it somewhat dazzling during the day but easy to follow even at night. Some ways below this spot, the trail winds northeast towards the denser growth of forest that marks the change in elevation.
A crowd of individuals gather here.
Clouds streak distantly across the face of the stars.
Cardinal Exits: northeast and south
A lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin nods seriously to a soft-featured, dark-skinned young woman. #Sirdabi "I, too, shall dedicate myself to learning these new languages."
A plump, nimble fellow with a dainty mustache pets his mustache idly as he follows along, keeping out of the way. His interest in being the back leaves him near a burly, sienna-hued young man with short walnut-brown hair, at whom he glances sidelong, just idly.
A lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin nods seriously to a soft-featured, dark-skinned young woman. #Sirdabi"I, too, shall dedicate myself to learning these new languages."
A fastidiously mayorial gent starts towards the northeastward direction. (Stand - near the northeastward direction -)
A fastidiously mayorial gent is followed by a veritable crowd.
A fastidiously mayorial gent walks northeast. He is followed by a veritable crowd.
A limber, way-worn male walks northeast.
A lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin nods seriously to a soft-featured, dark-skinned young woman. "#SirdabiI, too, shall dedicate myself to learning these new languages."
[Sea Cliffs, Lookout Trail]
Wiregrass rustles all around as the trail emerges from an outgrowth of trees to the northeast and strikes out into the open air of the cliffs. The breeze is tangy with the smell of brine, and damp with the touch of the sea that stretches out boundlessly eastward. In the waters to the south of St Loomis fishing boats bob upon the waves, looking small as water bugs from this vantage.
A crowd of individuals gather here.
Clouds streak distantly across the face of the stars.
Cardinal Exits: southwest and northeast
A burly, sienna-hued young man with short walnut-brown hair shoots a plump, nimble fellow with a dainty mustache a hard -look- as if to ask, 'What do you want?'.
A lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin nods seriously to a soft-featured, dark-skinned young woman. "Ygaaqqayr, yHy, y'yshy iaddeedh ysyjhy yzyriyshyfiy ypiadhaap ysyshy ythy iyhhaagh." [in an unknown language]
A fastidiously mayorial gent starts towards the northeastward direction. (Stand - near the northeastward direction -)
A fastidiously mayorial gent is followed by a veritable crowd.
A coppery, lithe young man joins in Ruvic again, saying, "This is a place of bitter chills...but wonderful views," taken clearly by the sights from up high. "These woods!" he adds.
A fastidiously mayorial gent walks northeast. He is followed by a veritable crowd.
A limber, way-worn male walks northeast.
[Sea Cliffs, Lookout Trail]
Soft shadows dapple the surface of the path as it dips a short ways into the outgrowth of the Westwood. Tall gloam pines mingle with the humbler forms of their twisted crag cousins, though both pines show the effects of constant wind and frequent storm in their stunted seaward limbs. Quitting the level ground and forging upward and back out of the trees southwest, the trail continues its trek.
A crowd of individuals gather here.
Clouds streak distantly across the face of the stars.
Cardinal Exits: east and southwest
Switching back to Ruvic, a lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin says, "It will be a lovely spring, I imagine." [in Ruvic]
A soft-featured, dark-skinned young woman falls in near a lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin eyes lowered in utter relief.
A heavyset, curvaceous virago with amethyst eyes nods her agreement with a coppery, lithe young man, "Yssy'iyv aahhy y iakhaogh ythy aash ytythy ytt yssy, myseyzayjh ypaasseyw yssy y."
A lofty, aquiline-featured man gives a sudden wet cough.
A fastidiously mayorial gent looks briefly back over at a coppery, lithe young man, then glances down at the woods somewhat doubtfully. Shaking his head, he just picks up the pace a little.
A fastidiously mayorial gent starts towards the eastward direction. (Stand - near the eastward direction -)
A fastidiously mayorial gent is followed by a veritable crowd.
A plump, nimble fellow with a dainty mustache tongues his gold tooth, a burly, sienna-hued young man with short walnut-brown hair's hard look seeming to draw some vague amusement from his otherwise wearied demeanor. He just shrugs, though, seeming to want nothing at all as he moves along quietly.
You have emoted: Pomeroy walks along the trail, which even in the dark seems to be familiar to him, with several disdainful looks passed back towards the tottering and sickly foreigners. He keeps pace near a fastidiously mayorial gent.
Joining the others, a willowy, tawny-complected young woman says, "I am very fond of the white flowers that grow here, though I do not know their names."
A lean, ink-eyed woman quietly calls out to those following, "Ygaaqqayr ay y iadhy eyhhy'ygiazaash aazhy y iatt ypysyjh y ytyzytt lyHeyzeedd Aatt, ywymygh aahheykh aaddy eeghy ygyqqy naaf aa eysh ynykhy eyzhy Hygiasaatt zyp yjhy yd ylytyqq yzyjhy. Yssy yjh taa yk ryfaokaadh." [in an unknown language]
A hunched, elder woman follows on near the back, probably for little reason other than the fact that she is slowed by a brass-capped reed cane and the occasional cough. Slow and steady.
A fastidiously mayorial gent walks east. He is followed by a veritable crowd.
A limber, way-worn male walks east.
A limber, way-worn male is following the group down the tral. (Room Pose Set)
A limber, way-worn male is following the group down the trail. (Room Pose Set)
[Sea Cliffs, Lookout Trail]
The path levels out briefly here, running parallel to the edge of the windblown sea cliffs. Below to the east the rooftops of St Loomis tumble down to the harbor, where ships glide in and out of the busy docks. Ascending to the west, the trail continues to hug the trees which line the cliff like a row of dark-garbed sentries.
A crowd of individuals gather here.
Clouds streak distantly across the face of the stars.
Cardinal Exits: east and west
A fastidiously mayorial gent starts towards the eastward direction. (Stand - near the eastward direction -)
A fastidiously mayorial gent is followed by a veritable crowd.
A pleasantly round young woman says to a coppery, lithe young man, "Yg eeqqy vyteesiaqq vaa ytty aass aoghy ey, ey'iyH yry. Kaat aof yshy yly aykh ee ypy ypyvaahhypao. Ykydhy y'yssy y yny yssy aatt yzybyhh." [in an unknown language]
A fastidiously mayorial gent walks east. He is followed by a veritable crowd.
A limber, way-worn male walks east.
A slender, black-haired young man walks with the group in silence. He looks like he'd prefer to be by himself, but - The narrowness of the path, and the size of the crowd, force him into proximity to a lean, ink-eyed woman.
(Hidden) A plump, nimble fellow with a dainty mustache glances over to check on a hunched, elder woman, one slender brow lifting as he scrutinizes her.
[Sea Cliffs, Lookout Trail]
The wind off the sea continually troubles the outskirts of the forest, setting the heavy branches of the pines swaying and murmuring in protest. The narrow trail weaves along just beneath the dark-needled limbs, its powdery surface further softened by those needles that have fallen in purplish masses. To the east the bay spreads out majestically, with the town of St Loomis hugging its western shore not far away.
A small rock is here. A small rock is here.
A crowd of individuals gather here.
Clouds streak distantly across the face of the stars. The area is spattered with blood.
Cardinal Exits: west and northeast
A fastidiously mayorial gent starts towards the northeastward direction. (Stand - near the northeastward direction -)
A fastidiously mayorial gent is followed by a veritable crowd.
A limber, way-worn male gives a sudden wet cough.
A heavyset, curvaceous virago with amethyst eyes grins aside at a pleasantly round young woman, "Ia gaa yliajhaot tiap yghy Ymytty."
A fastidiously mayorial gent walks northeast. He is followed by a veritable crowd.
A limber, way-worn male walks northeast.
[Sea Cliffs, Lookout Trail]
Hardy grasses wave along the sea cliffs, cut through by the path that snakes up the rising ground to the southwest. The dark boughs of pine trees reach out from the nearby Westwood, though their limbs are bent and gnarled by the ever-present breeze whipping in off the bay. Just down the slope the path meets a much wider road which links a busy lumber camp with the west gate of St Loomis, visible not far below.
A dense feathery vegetation grows here. A dense feathery vegetation grows here.
A crowd of individuals gather here.
Clouds streak distantly across the face of the stars.
Cardinal Exits: northeast and southwest
A fastidiously mayorial gent starts towards the northeastward direction. (Stand - near the northeastward direction -)
A fastidiously mayorial gent is followed by a veritable crowd.
A pleasantly round young woman musters up a return smile for a heavyset, curvaceous virago with amethyst eyes, a little crookedly.
A fastidiously mayorial gent walks northeast. He is followed by a veritable crowd.
A limber, way-worn male walks northeast.
[Outside St Loomis, Lumber Pathway]
The pathway slopes slightly here, just enough for the traveler to notice a northwestward incline towards the trees and the lumber camp, and a decline towards the stone walls of St Loomis to the east. Since the battered dirt road is elevated enough to look out across the southern cliffs, the vast blue-green panorama of the Adelantean Sea may be viewed receding into the misty horizon. A thin path splits off here from the lumber camp road, winding off along the seaward edge of the forest.
A round flat rock is here.
A crowd of individuals gather here.
Clouds streak distantly across the face of the stars.
Cardinal Exits: southeast and north
Other: a thin path
A faint breeze brings the whisper of pine needles and the sappy forest fragrance of gloam pine and birch.
A fastidiously mayorial gent starts towards the southeastward direction. (Stand - near the southeastward direction -)
A fastidiously mayorial gent is followed by a veritable crowd.
Light filters down through pale wreaths of cloud, softly illuminating the open road.
A fastidiously mayorial gent walks southeast. He is followed by a veritable crowd.
A limber, way-worn male walks southeast.
[Outside St Loomis, Lumber Pathway]
The wheel-rutted dirt pathway, wide enough for two lumber carts, stretches through a stubby short grassland of rocks and tree stumps and straggling saplings. To the east rise the stone walls of the town, and to the south, past a perilous field of sharp rocks, the sea can be heard crashing. Westward looms the forest known appropriately as the Westwood, dwarfing a lumber camp in the distance.
A crowd of individuals gather here.
Clouds streak distantly across the face of the stars.
Cardinal Exits: northwest and east: lumber camp gate (closed)
A coppery, lithe young man laughs a bit, to a pleasantly round young woman and a heavyset, curvaceous virago with amethyst eyes alike. "Aakhy yghy ynyshy aozhy y'ywyth ey y, ao. Ybyjhy aazheezh. Iyr ys ywyvytt yssy, yb ney yssy ian." [in an unknown language]
A fastidiously mayorial gent stops beside the gate and gives you an expectant look. Waving one hand lightly at gate, he says, "Pomeroy, will you?"
A lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin casts a glance over at a coppery, lithe young man.
A coppery, lithe young man adds, "And justify such," [in Ruvic] as he reaches the gate.
You have emoted: Pomeroy looks at a fastidiously mayorial gent, then gives a stiff nod. "Of course, sir."
You have emoted: Pomeroy goes up to the lumber camp gate.
You go to stand by the closed lumber camp gate.
You knock lightly on the lumber camp gate.
A lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin grins just a bit.
A lofty, aquiline-featured man watches a coppery, lithe young man and a pleasantly round young woman out of the corner of his eye, but mostly focuses on keeping upright.
A willowy, tawny-complected young woman takes a drink from a round leather canteen.
A fastidiously mayorial gent nods to you in benign approval, waiting.
A fastidiously mayorial gent starts towards the frame of the open lumber camp gate. (Stand - near the frame of the open lumber camp gate -)
A fastidiously mayorial gent is followed by a veritable crowd.
A fastidiously mayorial gent walks away through the lumber camp gate. He is followed by a veritable crowd.
A limber, way-worn male walks away through the lumber camp gate.
A fastidiously mayorial gent starts towards the frame of the open lumberyard gates. (Stand - near the frame of the open lumberyard gates -)
A fastidiously mayorial gent is followed by a veritable crowd.
[St Loomis, Lumberyard]
Huge stacks of planking and timber are piled up here, filling the air with the heady fragrance of sawdust and wood sap. Open-air workshops line the perimeter of the yard, while out closer to the center teams of laborers work together to cut logs with long saws or hew timber into shape with axes and hatchets. Meanwhile the finished products of planking and masts are hauled out through the shipyard gates on wagons, while raw materials in the form of great trunks of pine and oak come from both east and west to take their place.
A lit Mistwatch lantern stands sentinel on a tall pole.
A crowd of individuals gather here.
Clouds streak distantly across the face of the stars. The all-consuming scent of fresh sawdust and wood sap hangs heavily here.
Cardinal Exits: east: lumberyard gates (open), west: lumber camp gate (open), and north
A slender, black-haired young man tilts his head back as he surveys the gate, and the walls around. He tugs a vermillion broadcloth kaftan tighter against his hunger-worn frame, his lambswool bisht perhaps conspicuous in its absence to those who've known the man.
You have emoted: Pomeroy watches as the gate creaks open, then steps aside to follow a fastidiously mayorial gent.
A willowy, tawny-complected young woman coughs, sounding phlegmy.
A fastidiously mayorial gent walks away through the lumberyard gates. He is followed by a veritable crowd.
A limber, way-worn male walks away through the lumberyard gates.
[St Loomis, Shipyards]
If the rest of the shipyard seems bustling with men and materials, it's nothing compared to the commotion centered around the entrance to the lumberyard. Teams of mules hauling carts full of fresh planking weave their way through knots of gesticulating workers and darting errand-runners, while the way is additionally cluttered by handcarts whose agile maneuverings nevertheless occasionally send a box or barrel careening onto the ground. An air of purposeful confusion fills the area, paradoxical and electrifying.
A crowd of individuals gather here.
Clouds streak distantly across the face of the stars. A nigh-unbearable weight of acrid tar and fresh sawdust clouds the air.
Cardinal Exits: south, east, and west: lumberyard gates (open)
A lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin looks around curiously.
A plump, nimble fellow with a dainty mustache whispers something.
A fastidiously mayorial gent starts towards the eastward direction. (Stand - near the eastward direction -)
A fastidiously mayorial gent is followed by a veritable crowd.
A willowy, tawny-complected young woman gazes curiously about, studying the unfamiliar surroundings.
A fastidiously mayorial gent walks east. He is followed by a veritable crowd.
A limber, way-worn male walks east.
A heavyset, curvaceous virago with amethyst eyes lets out a low whistle as she sizes up the shipyards, seeming impressed by the hustle and bustle.
A mahogany-haired man with a hole-marked forehead is wracked by a hacking cough.
[St Loomis, Shipyards]
Warehouses line the northern end of the shipyard, housing necessary stores for shipbuilding and occasionally providing storage for smaller boats awaiting repair or sitting out the inclement winter. A few small stalls provide on-site work areas for craftsmen planing wood and producing pegs, ropes, and other essential fittings for the many vessels visible from this spot in various states of completion.
A crowd of individuals gather here.
Clouds streak distantly across the face of the stars. The heavy scent of acrid tar and fresh sawdust has taken up residence.
Cardinal Exits: south, west, and east
Other: a narrow alley
The wind off the ocean produces a homely whistling sound as it blows through a narrow alley leading north between warehouses.
A fastidiously mayorial gent starts towards the eastward direction. (Stand - near the eastward direction -)
A fastidiously mayorial gent is followed by a veritable crowd.
A fastidiously mayorial gent walks east. He is followed by a veritable crowd.
A limber, way-worn male walks east.
An austere Sirdabi woman with copper eyes shrugs back a vermillion messaline abaya a little, and then pulls her headscarf into something a little more genteel - or at least, genteel in her view - as she looks to her surroundings.
(Quietly): A lofty, aquiline-featured man shakes his head and leans down a bit toward a plump, nimble fellow with a dainty mustache. "#sirdabi My ears must be... full... what was that?"
A burly, sienna-hued young man with short walnut-brown hair continues on in silence, attempting to avoid being too close to any of the crowd. If he lingers near anyone, it is a slender, black-haired young man, though he maintains a bit of space even from him. As they enter the shipyard, though, a look of curiosity does finally enter those hardened eyes of his.
You have emoted: Pomeroy walks along the shipyards, casting a wary glance around the crowd of foreigners as if he anticipates them suddenly tearing off through the streets to perform heathenish antics.
[St Loomis, Shipyards]
More barrels and boxes clutter this corner of the shipyard, each group of materials cordoned off from the others by ropes that presumably serve to organize the supplies in some way incomprehensible to the uninitiated. Heavy stacks of folded canvas lie beneath the low overhang of an open-sided shed, ready to be cut to size and sewn to meet the needs of the various ships currently under construction elsewhere in the yard.
A crowd of individuals gather here.
Clouds streak distantly across the face of the stars. The whiff of acrid tar and fresh sawdust is noticeable.
Cardinal Exits: south, west, and a northern lumber warehouse: warehouse doors (open)
A soft-featured, dark-skinned young woman looks around completeluy awed.
A fastidiously mayorial gent starts towards the southward direction. (Stand - near the southward direction -)
A fastidiously mayorial gent is followed by a veritable crowd.
A short, reddish-gold-eyed young man plods along tiredly, short figure made shorter by the way that he hunches against the cold. The walk has put an unhealthy flush to his cheeks and he keeps blinking as if struggling to keep his eyes open, but that doesn't stop him from looking around curiously when walkint through the town.
A heavyset, curvaceous virago with amethyst eyes coughs, sounding phlegmy.
A lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin stares at the various work being done with keen attention, head raised.
A fastidiously mayorial gent makes his way through the shipyards rather carefully, as if not quite sure of his way in the dark. He doesn't slow down too much, though, evidently being rather eager to be done with leading crowds of foreigners through dimly lit places.
The stars are faint in the night sky, veiled from the gaze of the earth by a thin film of clouds.
A hunched, elder woman lifts her head finally to take in the surroundings with a look of relief.
A fastidiously mayorial gent walks south. He is followed by a veritable crowd.
A limber, way-worn male walks south.
[St Loomis, Shipyards]
The noisy clamor and reek of the dockyard transitions gradually to the more controlled chaos of the port town's shipyard, renowned throughout the kingdom of Ensor for the superiority of the craft produced here. A long shallow-draft boat, probably commissioned for use on the Meander River, is receiving a last coat of waterproofing tar before taking to the sea for Imbryck.
A crowd of individuals gather here.
Clouds streak distantly across the face of the stars. A smell of acrid tar and fresh sawdust is noticeable.
Cardinal Exits: east, west, north, southeast, and south (water)
(Quietly): A plump, nimble fellow with a dainty mustache tells a lofty, aquiline-featured man a bit louder this time, "Don't die, I said. You teach me. Then die, if you want." [in Ruvic with a clumsy, foreign-accented tenor]
A fastidiously mayorial gent starts towards the eastward direction. (Stand - near the eastward direction -)
A fastidiously mayorial gent is followed by a veritable crowd.
A stout, square-faced woman glances at the ships thoughtfully.
A hunched, elder woman cuts an amused back over to a plump, nimble fellow with a dainty mustache, shaking her head his way.
A pleasantly round young woman stifles a hacking cough in her robes, leaning heavily on the spear she uses as a staff.
A fastidiously mayorial gent walks east. He is followed by a veritable crowd.
A limber, way-worn male walks east.
A soft-featured, dark-skinned young woman is wracked by a hacking cough.
A pleasantly round young woman is wracked by a hacking cough.
A lofty, aquiline-featured man nods to a plump, nimble fellow with a dainty mustache, giving a rattling clear of his throat.
[St Loomis, Before the Docks Administration Building]
Dominating this section of the dockyards is a long, low building of solid stone and timber construction. The central portion of the structure, accessible through a battered but sturdy oak door, houses the offices of the St Loomis Dockyard Administration. Large bays to either side shelter an ever-changing array of goods and their conveyances, awaiting inspection or repair. Hitched to a post near the front entrance, a shaggy moor pony stands tethered by a trough, ready to carry messages across town on the instant.
A courier hitching post is here. A lit Mistwatch lantern stands sentinel on a tall pole.
A crowd of individuals gather here.
Clouds streak distantly across the face of the stars.
Cardinal Exits: east, west, and south
Other: the St Loomis Dockyard Administration: battered but sturdy oak door (open)
A lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin peers towards the open battered but sturdy oak door.
A plump, nimble fellow with a dainty mustache nods at a lofty, aquiline-featured man, as if confident now that his point has been received and agreed to.
A soft-featured, dark-skinned young woman stumbles on weary but still curious.
A fastidiously mayorial gent starts towards the eastward direction. (Stand - near the eastward direction -)
A fastidiously mayorial gent is followed by a veritable crowd.
A fastidiously mayorial gent walks east. He is followed by a veritable crowd.
A limber, way-worn male walks east.
A hunched, elder woman is wracked by a hacking cough.
[St Loomis, Warehouse Street]
This section of dockside street is sheltered from the harsh sea winds by a staunch row of warehouses that block the view of the southern horizon. A decrepit building sags along the north side of the street, built of ageing gray pinewood and looking as if it has withstood the ravages of time since the very inception of St Loomis. The sign over the grimy door, somewhat ominously, is marked with a saw and a bone. Standing in stark contrast on the other side of the street and hemmed in by warehouses, a tavern pours out an overflow of music and rowdy laughter through its salt-stained door.
A crowd of individuals gather here.
Clouds streak distantly across the face of the stars.
Cardinal Exits: east and west
Other: a dumpy old clinic: grimy door (open) and a weatherbeaten tavern: salt-stained door (open)
Turning to walk backwards near a fastidiously mayorial gent and pointing first towards the east, you say, "You'll find a sailor's hostel that way." Next, north. "The Seaglass Inn is a more reputable establishment, if goodwoman Donna even has rooms for you." Then, he waves off northeastward. For anyone from Omrazir, it's a woefully piddling little town, but the mayor's assistant seems to consider everything quite grand and generous. "Or perhaps you'll prefer finding lodgings at Gullbeak Flats."
A fastidiously mayorial gent starts towards the eastward direction. (Stand - near the eastward direction -)
A fastidiously mayorial gent is followed by a veritable crowd.
A lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin looks curiously over at the sign of the swa and bone.
A coppery, lithe young man looks around without much awe now that he's in St. Loomis itself; interest, yes, but no awe, not compared to the forest.
A short elderly woman departs.
A fastidiously mayorial gent walks east. He is followed by a veritable crowd.
A limber, way-worn male walks east.
[St Loomis, Warehouse Street]
The blank faces of large warehouses front the street here, the hefty timber walls almost forbidding in their featureless solidity.
A crowd of individuals gather here.
Clouds streak distantly across the face of the stars. Barely there, the smell of rotten fish floats in the air.
Cardinal Exits: east and west
A plump, nimble fellow with a dainty mustache whispers something.
A fastidiously mayorial gent says, "Mn, just right," in response to your tour-guiding. "Any number of fine establishments for folks such as yourselves."
A short, reddish-gold-eyed young man is wracked by a hacking cough.
A fastidiously mayorial gent starts towards the eastward direction. (Stand - near the eastward direction -)
A fastidiously mayorial gent is followed by a veritable crowd.
A willowy, tawny-complected young woman clutches a musty old fur mantle close as the group wanders through the town, still taking in the sights.
Smiling at this, a lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin says, "That is excellent to hear."
A fastidiously mayorial gent walks east. He is followed by a veritable crowd.
A limber, way-worn male walks east.
(Quietly): A burly, sienna-hued young man with short walnut-brown hair briefly regards a short, reddish-gold-eyed young man, probably noting his illness withan almost detached concern.
[St Loomis, The Dockyards]
The center of the dockyards is usually a harried place, for in most weather the chief enterprise of St Loomis perseveres. To the northeast a forest of masts is silhouetted against the sky, while several smaller boats bob in the sea to the southwest.
A crowd of individuals gather here.
Clouds streak distantly across the face of the stars. A smell of rotten fish winds around the space.
Cardinal Exits: north, northeast, southwest, west, and southeast
A short elderly woman walks over from the west.
A fastidiously mayorial gent starts towards the northward direction. (Stand - near the northward direction -)
A fastidiously mayorial gent is followed by a veritable crowd.
A short elderly woman falls in with a fastidiously mayorial gent.
(At the northward direction): A slender, black-haired young man notes each pointed-out location with a narrowing of his eyes and a faint nod.
You're not sure anyone else notices.
A limber, way-worn male wrinkles his nose maybe archly as he walks down the dockyards with the group, the fishy, sea-side smell of the place pervasive.
A fastidiously mayorial gent walks north. He is followed by a veritable crowd.
A limber, way-worn male walks north.
[St Loomis, A Wide Street Between Warehouses]
In comparison to the packed fish markets to the north, the southern road seems spacious despite running hard up against the windowless walls of warehouses on the west. To the east, though, the vast sky hangs boundlessly over the ocean, cluttered only by the masts of the many ships at anchor in the harbor. Further on, the St Loomis lighthouse looms in the distance, providing a sure guide to all the vessels still out at sea.
A crowd of individuals gather here.
Clouds streak distantly across the face of the stars. Faint scorch marks can be seen hereabouts, barely noticeable. Barely there, the smell of rotten fish might be lightly whiffed.
Cardinal Exits: south, north, and east
A fastidiously mayorial gent starts towards the northward direction. (Stand - near the northward direction -)
A fastidiously mayorial gent is followed by a veritable crowd.
A willowy, tawny-complected young woman says, "'yr, iattiyqq taa y al ydytty. Ywybydh y vaoz aazhy y'ywysh." [in an unknown language]
Attempting to sound suitably meek and subdued, a pleasantly round young woman inquires with just the tiniest edge to her voice, "Is there a hospital? Doctors? An ematimeam? Anything?" [in Ruvic]
You have emoted: Pomeroy turns back around to stride along, not even seeming to notice the smell of rotten fish. "There is a clinic nearby, yea," he tells a pleasantly round young woman.
A fastidiously mayorial gent murmurs, "Just a little further now," more to himself than to the people around him, as if deeming himself in greater need of encouragement.
A fastidiously mayorial gent walks north. He is followed by a veritable crowd.
A limber, way-worn male walks north.
[St Loomis, Open Air Fish Market]
South of Market Square, the cobbled main street begins to slope downward at a somewhat steep incline upon which a small wagon might still manage to perilously rattle its way to the dockyards. Here the local fishmongers have taken up their trade, and small tables and stalls with awnings seem to be everywhere, selling everything from pickled herrings and barrels of fresh smelt to massive chunks of newly caught fish that sag over bloodied counters. To the east, one of the dockside warehouses evidently has been purposed as a slaughterhouse, with a large sign above the door painted with the image of a huge bloody steak.
A herring stall has been set up at one side of the square.
A crowd of individuals gather here.
Clouds streak distantly across the face of the stars. The all-consuming scent of medieval fishmongering clouds the air.
Cardinal Exits: north and south
Other: a long, low slaughterhouse: wide warehouse door (open)
A group of anglers shout raucously to each other across the fish market.
A pleasantly round young woman says, "Thank you."
A lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin nods seriously to a willowy, tawny-complected young woman; he himself doesn't seem to notice the smell, either.
A pleasantly round young woman nods at you.
Wisps of distant clouds pale the black blanket of constellations.
A fastidiously mayorial gent starts towards the northward direction. (Stand - near the northward direction -)
A fastidiously mayorial gent is followed by a veritable crowd.
(At the northward direction): A plump, nimble fellow with a dainty mustache looks over the group, wondering at a subdued volume, "They take our golds? Hmm?"
A fastidiously mayorial gent walks north. He is followed by a veritable crowd.
A limber, way-worn male walks north.
You have emoted: Pomeroy glances back at the warehouses southeastward. "That way," he says to a pleasantly round young woman. "Near the docks, and the saloon." Then he adds, "Sometimes a pitfighter will need a broken limb set."
[St Loomis, Market Square]
Just as traffic from north Main Street begins to grow uncomfortably clogged by a sudden proliferation of market stalls, the road widens into a cobble-paved square that provides ample space for the town's various artisans to hawk their wares. Carts and wagons travel unhindered along the tidy length of Cross Street to the west, but to the east a dirty ramble of alleyways contains potholes and pits aplenty.
A farm stand has been set up in the square on the back of a wagon. A hide-seller's stall is hung with bundled raw hides and pelts. A lit Mistwatch lantern stands sentinel on a tall pole.
A crowd of individuals gather here.
Clouds streak distantly across the face of the stars.
Cardinal Exits: north, south, west, and east
A soft-featured, dark-skinned young woman looks at the slaughter house and fish market, brightening up a bit.
Curiously, a lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin says, "Pitfighting?"
You have emoted: Pomeroy looks southwestward, though.
A lofty, aquiline-featured man gives a dismal hum.
A heavyset, curvaceous virago with amethyst eyes looks over at you, intrigue on her features- though a lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin seems to beat her to the punch.
A fastidiously mayorial gent stops in the middle of this wide space that seems to be a market, and spreads his arms wide. "Well then! Here we are at the markets. Very nearly the center of everything." His lips curls a little though, as if he's not fond of the smell and muck himself.
A willowy, tawny-complected young woman shoots a dryly amused look at the matter that catches a lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin's interest.
A coppery, lithe young man looks truly relieved by your answer to a pleasantly round young woman.
You have emoted: Pomeroy nods to a lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin without much interest, then surveys the markets proudly.
An austere Sirdabi woman with copper eyes covers her nose not-quite-discreetly with a sleeve as they cross the fishmarket. She glances to you as he speaks in a tolerant way. She lowers said sleeve when a fastidiously mayorial gent speaks.
A lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin looks around curiously, attention fixing first on a hide-seller's stall.
A plump, nimble fellow with a dainty mustache speaks up now, asking you, "Market takes silvers?"
A soft-featured, dark-skinned young woman looks awed by all the good fish and slaughter house, she looks to a fastidiously mayorial gent trying to convey some awe at all this bounty.
A pleasantly round young woman inclines her head to the assistant once more, signalling her thanks.
(Quietly): A burly, sienna-hued young man with short walnut-brown hair keeps his eyes peering around curiously. He does fix his gaze upon you at a plump, nimble fellow with a dainty mustache's question, though.
A lofty, aquiline-featured man tells a fastidiously mayorial gent, "Our sincerest thanks, again. Your town is... lovely."
Sincerely, a lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin says, "Quite lovely."
A fastidiously mayorial gent says, waving one hand westward, "There's a sailor's hostel *that* way, and then--" he waves his other hand north "-- Goodwife Donna's establishment that way. And off there...." A vaguer wave still, northeast-ish. ".. there's that Gullbeak place."
A hunched, elder woman seems almost inclined to answer the question for herself, taking interest in the wares of a farm stand.
Looking around , a lofty, aquiline-featured man says, "All the more so, in the daylight, I'm certain."
A hunched, elder woman goes to stand near a farm stand.
A slender, black-haired young man scans west.
A fastidiously mayorial gent pauses, then peers east. "Ah. THAT way is the hostel." He nods, seeming sure again.
A slender, black-haired young man scans north.
A stout, square-faced woman peers east.
A slender, black-haired young man scans east.
You have emoted: Pomeroy nods to a plump, nimble fellow with a dainty mustache, though there's a suspicious wrinkle of his nose. "So long as you haven't put any heathen hexes on your coins," he states, warningly. "The Quartermaster has assured us that gold from Umrazza is still gold."
A burly, sienna-hued young man with short walnut-brown hair scans north.
Amusedly, a lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin says, "So it is."
A short elderly woman scans east.
A soft-featured, dark-skinned young woman mutters "Iajh."
A plump, nimble fellow with a dainty mustache assures you, with an understanding nod, "Yes. I lick them off before buy."
The ethereal warmth of a lit Mistwatch lantern grants a steadfast shining presence in the night.
A lean, ink-eyed woman looks up at the sky.
A pleasantly round young woman snorts a laugh, then coughs.
There is an obvious look of relief that briefly flashes across a burly, sienna-hued young man with short walnut-brown hair's face at those words from you.
You have emoted: Pomeroy lifts his nose in order to peer down the bridge towards a plump, nimble fellow with a dainty mustache. "You had better," he agrees, nodding firmly right back.
A stout, square-faced woman peers into the mess of alleys to the east, then looks back to you and a fastidiously mayorial gent. "Where should I go if I want to do some research?"
A hunched, elder woman asks a chubby milkmaid about buying a wrapped log of butter.
With a no-nonsense nod, a chubby milkmaid takes a hunched, elder woman's 4 follies and 46 assarii as payment.
A lofty, aquiline-featured man gives a sudden wet cough.
A plump, nimble fellow with a dainty mustache winks at you, like he will, but only because a man of such caliber asked him so manfully.
(Hidden) An austere Sirdabi woman with copper eyes smiles a little at a plump, nimble fellow with a dainty mustache's reply, then busies herself looking toward the various streets.
A coppery, lithe young man tells a pleasantly round young woman, with a small smile, "I have to attempt to negotiate a room for Ariziya." "Would you wish to come with, or like my walking stick?" he offers.
A fastidiously mayorial gent drones on, "Again, please enjoy our lovely hospitality and fine establishments, speak courteously to those who live here, and--" He stops, interrupted in his spiel by a stout, square-faced woman. "Research?" he asks, a little doubtfully."
A slender, black-haired young man falls in with a coppery, lithe young man.
The stars are faint in the night sky, veiled from the gaze of the earth by a thin film of clouds.
A lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin bows to a fastidiously mayorial gent again, politely detaching himself from the group.
A hunched, elder woman busies herself with buying a wrapped log of butter of all things, wandering away from the group.
A mahogany-haired man with a hole-marked forehead gives a sudden wet cough.
Frowning towards a stout, square-faced woman, you say, "Research?" He considers the word, as if bending all of his education onto understanding what this may mean. "Ah, to make notes of plants and forest animals, you may buy paper at the stationer's, and go into the Westwood to observe and record."
A stout, square-faced woman nods to a fastidiously mayorial gent. "About your fine town, the surrounding area, things like that." That's not all she's interested in.
Interjecting slightly, a lofty, aquiline-featured man tells a fastidiously mayorial gent, "We're scholars, and your... culture and history are... fascinating I'm sure."
As the mayor's tour concludes, a slender, black-haired young man drifts his way through the crowd towards a coppery, lithe young man. He seems intent on following the coppery young Amunati.
A hunched, elder woman puts a wrapped log of butter in a wicker basket.
A pleasantly round young woman releases her hold on a coppery, lithe young man's arm and steps back, smiling her thanks. "You have been very kind, Sayyid- I'll not impose further. I think I'll seek the clinic that.Man.Mentioned, and look for something to take for this illness. And then for a place to rest."
A burly, sienna-hued young man with short walnut-brown hair just stands around for a little while, honey-brown eyes looking about the square briefly. They settle on the various stalls and stands. He does look curiously to a fastidiously mayorial gent at a stout, square-faced woman's question, though.
A soft-featured, dark-skinned young woman peers west.
You have emoted: Pomeroy glances to a fastidiously mayorial gent, as though attempting to ascertain whether his answer was sufficient. Then he looks back between a stout, square-faced woman and a lofty, aquiline-featured man, with a deeply perplexed frown.
A fastidiously mayorial gent sighs and tells a stout, square-faced woman, "There is a hall of records here in town, and.. oh, the monks must have their own collection." He looks more doubtful still. "Perhaps, one day, you can see them."
A pleasantly round young woman gives a sudden wet cough.
A lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin peers east.
A heavyset, curvaceous virago with amethyst eyes loiters about and around, resting her hands on her belts and taking in the sights, grinning away at the surroundings, even as they are.
A lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin peers north.
A stout, square-faced woman nods to a fastidiously mayorial gent and you. "I'll try to stop by, sometime."
A soft-featured, dark-skinned young woman peers north.
A lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin grins as well, looking around with broad curiosity.
A lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin peers west.
A fastidiously mayorial gent frowns more intently first at a stout, square-faced woman, then at a lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin. He purses his lips briefly and hmms a bit.
A short elderly woman scans north.
A lean, ink-eyed woman gets out a leather-bound tome from a discreet leather satchel in her possession.
A hunched, elder woman peers north.
A pleasantly round young woman winces visibly, forehead creasing and mouth pinching painfully.
A lean, ink-eyed woman gets out a feather quill dipped in dark bluish-black ink from a discreet leather satchel in her possession.
A plump, nimble fellow with a dainty mustache drifts a few paces toward the stalls in the market, though first he pauses to give a theatrical bow to you specifically, chin dipping, oily hair falling down in front of him. He bounces up once to add a fastidiously mayorial gent to this gesture as well.
A stout, square-faced woman is wracked by a hacking cough.
You have emoted: Pomeroy leans closer to a fastidiously mayorial gent.
You shift closer to a fastidiously mayorial gent.
There's a subtle sense of tension as you move close.
(Hidden) You whisper to a fastidiously mayorial gent, "Perhaps they are more malicious than the Quartermaster believes, sir."
Curiously, a lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin says to a fastidiously mayorial gent, "Do your laws restrict us from seeking employment here in your fine town?"
A lit Mistwatch lantern pulses unsteadily.
A soft-featured, dark-skinned young woman peers south.
A plump, nimble fellow with a dainty mustache "Friends," he says, smiling his jackal smile, so that his gold tooth just catches the light.
A willowy, tawny-complected young woman coughs, sounding phlegmy.
A short elderly woman peers south.
A short, reddish-gold-eyed young man coughs, sounding phlegmy.
A hunched, elder woman asks a chubby milkmaid about buying a pile of 3 medium brown eggs.
With a no-nonsense nod, a chubby milkmaid takes a hunched, elder woman's 15 assarii as payment.
A mahogany-haired man with a hole-marked forehead peers south.
You have emoted: Pomeroy gives a lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin a glower for interrupting his impromptu whisper-session, then straightens away to let a fastidiously mayorial gent answer.
You shift away from a fastidiously mayorial gent.
A short elderly woman peers west.
(Quietly): A fastidiously mayorial gent shifts closer to you.
(Hidden) A fastidiously mayorial gent whispers to you, "Perhaps so.... It is most unusual that such people can read at all. Or should even claim to. Most unusual..." [in Ilexi]
A coppery, lithe young man still offers out a gloam pinewood branch towards a pleasantly round young woman, though he seems to note a slender, black-haired young man's approach.
A burly, sienna-hued young man with short walnut-brown hair finally decides to speak up for the first time this evening. He takes a step closer to a fastidiously mayorial gent, before he asks him, ".Do you have a smith here, May-or? Forge? Anvil?" [in Ruvic with cold and quiet bass-baritone]
A lofty, aquiline-featured man dips his head. "I'm sure we have much to learn, and enrich our knowledge of the Song."
Content with her purchases, a hunched, elder woman packs away some eggs into a wicker basket.
A short elderly woman departs.
Pale silvery-teal patterns waver through the murky darkness around a lit Mistwatch lantern.
A hunched, elder woman puts a pile of 3 medium brown eggs in a wicker basket.
A stout, square-faced woman hesitates, looking over at a lit Mistwatch lantern.
A lean, ink-eyed woman approaches a soft-featured, dark-skinned young woman, gesturing to herself then a leather-bound tome.
A limber, way-worn male seems to be keeping an eye on a plump, nimble fellow with a dainty mustache.
A limber, way-worn male gives a sudden wet cough.
(Quietly): As the crowd seems to not yet be ready to disperse, a slender, black-haired young man finally addresses a coppery, lithe young man in a low, strained voice. "My knapsack, sayyid." [in Ruvic with a lilting countertenor] He extends one hand, expectantly.
A plump, nimble fellow with a dainty mustache goes to stand near a farm stand, joining a hunched, elder woman.
A soft-featured, dark-skinned young woman sishs softly listening but not comprehending at all.
A soft-featured, dark-skinned young woman coughs, sounding phlegmy.
The black of the sky subtly deepens as the clouds draped across the heights begin to thin and part.
A fastidiously mayorial gent favors a burly, sienna-hued young man with short walnut-brown hair with a brief look of incredulity. "Of course we have smiths! No town should be able to get by without them. I'm sure if you require some work done, you may find one." He nods briskly.
A coppery, lithe young man offers a gloam pinewood branch to a pleasantly round young woman.
A hunched, elder woman coughs, sounding phlegmy.
A lean, ink-eyed woman flips to a specific page of a leather-bound tome.
A lean, ink-eyed woman reads a leather-bound tome.
A heavyset, curvaceous virago with amethyst eyes is wracked by a hacking cough.
A pleasantly round young woman accepts a gloam pinewood branch from a coppery, lithe young man.
A lean, ink-eyed woman flips to a specific page of a leather-bound tome.
Politely, a lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin says to a fastidiously mayorial gent, "I am afraid my friend does not speak...Ilexi? None of us do, I believe."
A lean, ink-eyed woman reads a leather-bound tome.
A willowy, tawny-complected young woman lets her gaze stray to a lit Mistwatch lantern, staring at the oddly colored flame.
A coppery, lithe young man tells a slender, black-haired young man, apologetically: "I had, ah. Immediately set it down. You do not have it? I left it with you when we left, as you requested." He looks surprised, and deeply apologetic.
(At a farm stand): "-h- --b- k-h-jh- k-j- --- -s--ch-d?" [in an unknown language] a plump, nimble fellow with a dainty mustache murmurs aside to a hunched, elder woman as he drifts up silently.
(At a farm stand): A hunched, elder woman lifts her head to a plump, nimble fellow with a dainty mustache, a tired look of relief on her face. "--- ------ -ss-," [in an unknown language] she offers softly.
A pleasantly round young woman says, "Thank you, Sayyid Idir."
You have emoted: Pomeroy waves northwestward, following up on a fastidiously mayorial gent's words. "You may be seeking the farrier's workshop," he informs a burly, sienna-hued young man with short walnut-brown hair loftily, then adds, "If Mayor Ascot has ordered that you be welcome in town, the townsfolk may see fit to hire you..." There's a scornful sniff. "If indeed you have any functional skills."
The haze slides away as the night unveils itself from its gauzy layer of clouds, showing its black and starry face to the world below.
A limber, way-worn male quietly wanders over towards a stand.
A limber, way-worn male goes to move near a farm stand, joining a hunched, elder woman and a plump, nimble fellow with a dainty mustache.
A fastidiously mayorial gent sighs in a rather put upon way and repeats for the still erring children around him, "I said, of course this town has smiths, as no place could do without them. You may find them on the morrow, should you wish work done." [in Ruvic]
A burly, sienna-hued young man with short walnut-brown hair offers a fastidiously mayorial gent, unfortunately, a look of complete incomprehension, blinking. But he nods to you. He clips that nod abruptly at the -latter- comment though, and just offers you an icy stare for his words. He says coldly, "Thank you."
(At a farm stand): A hunched, elder woman considers the question from a plump, nimble fellow with a dainty mustache curiously. "-?" [in an unknown language]
A lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin turns again to you, smiling hugely. "Oh, some of us have a few skills, Master Mac-Tee-Roy."
An austere Sirdabi woman with copper eyes approaches a few steps toward you then as he finishes speaking, pulling her eyes back from the streets, "Ydh y yqqy ysymydh? Ytynytt aoghy y' yzaydhaan aath aassy?" she asks, breaking her long bout of silence. "Aytty aydhaajh. Eykhy ysytty ythy? Aa ytythy yth?" [in an unknown language]
A lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin turns and nods immediately as an austere Sirdabi woman with copper eyes speaks.
A burly, sienna-hued young man with short walnut-brown hair then bows his head to a fastidiously mayorial gent as well, saying with a tad more warmth than to you, "Thank you."
An austere Sirdabi woman with copper eyes approaches a few steps toward you then as he finishes speaking, pulling her eyes back from the streets, "Do you have messengers? Couriers who can carry letters afar?" she asks, breaking her long bout of silence. "And a... place to bathe? A bathing house?" [in Ruvic] (whoops).
(At a farm stand): A plump, nimble fellow with a dainty mustache gives a hunched, elder woman a knowing and not-altogether-light smile, though he seems unbothered with the current condition of things - at the moment. He nods toward the a farm stand. "Y taat ypythy aodd ydykhy eedhy, ygaaqqayr y'yhhy?" [in an unknown language]
A lean, ink-eyed woman gets out an inkwell from a discreet leather satchel in her possession.
(Quietly): A slender, black-haired young man narrows his eyes a shade before shaking his head at a coppery, lithe young man. "On the beach?"
A lean, ink-eyed woman shifts her grip and brandishes a feather quill dipped in dark bluish-black ink in her fist.
A lean, ink-eyed woman dips a feather quill in some ink.
A mahogany-haired man with a hole-marked forehead peers east.
A lean, ink-eyed woman writes on a leather-bound tome with a feather quill dipped in dark bluish-black ink.
A lean, ink-eyed woman tears a page out of a leather-bound tome.
A lean, ink-eyed woman offers a page torn from a book to a soft-featured, dark-skinned young woman.
A plump, nimble fellow with a dainty mustache turns to offer the same wry grin to a limber, way-worn male when he sees him approaching.
A fastidiously mayorial gent claps his hands together and draws a deep breath. Ignoring any further questions from the yammering mob, he announces heedlessly, "With that, I shall take my leave of you all! If you should care to look around town, I am sure you will find all the accommodations you could possibly desire. Good night and God bless, good folk."
A lit Mistwatch lantern wavers softly in its punctured iron box, sending ethereal patterns gliding about the area.
You have emoted: Pomeroy nods to an austere Sirdabi woman with copper eyes's first statement, but wrinkles his nose at the second. "No wonder you're all weakly and sickish," he exclaims. "Baths in winter. For the love of Dionos."
A willowy, tawny-complected young woman takes quick note of her surroundings.
A mahogany-haired man with a hole-marked forehead starts towards the southward direction. (Stand - near the southward direction -)
A fastidiously mayorial gent starts off in a brisk walk northward with a small nod to you.
(At a farm stand): "-lo," a hunched, elder woman finally catches on and nods to a plump, nimble fellow with a dainty mustache. A look is cast aside to a farm stand "ud-, moodh-s ooro --m."
A fastidiously mayorial gent starts towards the northward direction. (Stand - near the northward direction -)
A mahogany-haired man with a hole-marked forehead walks south.
A willowy, tawny-complected young woman tells an austere Sirdabi woman with copper eyes, "Ygaaqqayr y'y iyddy eekhy yn y ey yk ymysydh aat yg ybydhy aadh."
A stout, square-faced woman nods to a fastidiously mayorial gent and you, watching them leave.
A fastidiously mayorial gent walks north.
A coppery, lithe young man nods but once to a slender, black-haired young man, saying, "I didn't think to keep it beyond getting the bandages; I set it down immediately, and got out of the way," he explains, giving him a further sorrowful look as he says, "Little else I could do in the situation."
A lofty, ebony-curled man with tawny skin sniffs the air and then remarks, softly, "I think not."
A pleasantly round young woman mutters under her breath, "Ustitomeat. They really-are- nestutuamiot."
A lean, ink-eyed woman offers a page torn from a book to a soft-featured, dark-skinned young woman.
You run north, abruptly moving to catch up with the departing mayor.
You walk north.
You walk north.
You walk north.
A fastidiously mayorial gent opens the bronze entry door.
[St Loomis, Fountain Square]
Here at Fountain Square, bustling Market Street intersects with Post Street to the west, the two avenues' near identical width and substantial stone paving marking them out as equally important in the life and layout of the town. Conversely, the abruptly declining quality of the road that forges eastward suggests a certain marginality to the neighborhood in that direction, where clusters of dreary buildings slant together hopelessly. Presiding over both rich and poor from the center of St Loomis, the town hall sits in stone-clad dignity on the east side of the square.
A lit Mistwatch lantern stands sentinel on a tall pole.
Also here is an auburn-haired minstrel. A fastidiously mayorial gent is here.
The clear night is pleasantly mild.
Cardinal Exits: north, south, east, and west
Other: the town hall: bronze entry door (open)
Pigeons flock around the base of a circular fountain at the middle of the intersection, where a large stone model of the St Loomis lighthouse presides over the area.
A fastidiously mayorial gent walks into the town hall through the bronze entry door.
You walk into the town hall through the bronze entry door.
You close the bronze entry door.
[St Loomis, Town Hall, Lobby]
A single very heavy bronze paneled door guards the main entrance onto the modest lobby of the St Loomis town hall. Simple wooden benches sit ranged around the oak-paneled walls of the room, allowing visitors a place to cool their heels while waiting to have their business heard by one of various town functionaries. Far more ornate than the main entrance, large double doors of carved and highly polished mistwood allow entry into the main meeting chamber to the east. Hallways branch off to south and north, leading deeper into the mysteries of local governance.
A fastidiously mayorial gent is here.
Cardinal Exits: north
Other: out: bronze entry door (closed)
A fastidiously mayorial gent lets out a sharp and slightly distasteful huff of breath. "Dionos be praised, we're rid of them." He pauses. "For now."
You have emoted: Pomeroy sedately follows a fastidiously mayorial gent, after apparently jogging briefly to catch up.
You say, "Yea, for now."
You have emoted: Pomeroy gives a cautious headshake and turns to lock the town hall door.
A fastidiously mayorial gent mutters in slightly petulant frustration, "WHY could this not have happened during the tenure of Mayor Bromhurst instead!"
You shift a well-made bronze key from your grip.
You offer a well-made bronze key to a fastidiously mayorial gent.
You lock a heavy bronze lock in the bronze entry door.
A fastidiously mayorial gent accepts a well-made bronze key from you.
You say, "As you say, sir." He bows his head. "I shall adjourn, sir, as I have some records to complete."
A fastidiously mayorial gent murmurs pityingly to himself, "A more unfortunate soul was never known." Obviously grubby shipwrecked foreigners don't even have real souls.
A fastidiously mayorial gent sighs, "Yes, very good Pomeroy. Thank you for your assistance tonight, it was invaluable as ever."
You have emoted: Pomeroy gives a small bow and turns to go.