Jenner gets his robes chewed on.

  

-=--=--=--=--=--<* Western Residential - West Great Market *>=--=--=--=--=--=-

 At the intersection of Central Avenue and Mill Road, a large public square is formed in the shadow of the Highbridge. This is the common marketplace, where the less well-to-do citizens of Alexandria come to shop, haggle, and sell goods. The square is surrounded by lower-quality buildings made primarily of wood, and aged, worn paving stones are set into the ground. Tough, unrelenting weeds grow through cracks between the stones in some spots, but the amount of traffic through the area keeps the growth to a minimum.

 This is a noisy, bustling place where people are well advised to keep a tight hold on their purses - the clientele and even the merchants have the cunning look of people who rely on their own wits rather than on the law to protect them from thieving and assault.

 Rather than storefronts, the square is filled with stalls, some permanent, some merely tent-like structures. From dawn until well after dark, boisterous merchants hawk their wares. The quality of goods tends to be lower than it is elsewhere in the city, but on the other hand the Watch doesn't appear to pay much attention to the transactions here.

 After dark, the square becomes a hangout for bards, bawds, and other entrepreneurs whose business is best conducted by night; the shadows at the edges of the square often contain furtive figures engaging in their own brand of business.

-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-- Contents --=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-

 Darshan         Mechagodzilla                                         0s   52m

 Jenner          Sailor Mage! Also not fragile.                        19s  7m

-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--= Exits -=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-

Western Residential <W>   Mill Road <S>             Adventurers Quarters <N>

The Highbridge <E>       

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It's Eliday, Callem 02 17:27:45 1006. The full moon isn't up. The tide is low and rising.

Towering white clouds drift slowly through the blue sky. It's hazy and hot, and the glare of the sun seems to drain the color from the landscape.

Narah arrives from the West Wards.

Narah has arrived.

Goblins scuttle underneath the market and dodge the cries of passerby. Criers stand at market squares, calling out their wares. One sells shoes, the other pencils and quills, another potions or scrolls, and at the side, food with the heady waft of sausage and gravy, in the traditional hearty foodstyle of the Alexandrian economy.

Near the edge, Darshan sits with a swiftclaw to the side, and a small lizard of three or so feet, not counting its tail, crawling on his armor and gnawing on his helmet. "Reep," goes the gnaw-er, and yet another, taller and somewhat teenaged, stands beside, in bronze and silver scale, with a small upturn to his mouth that parodies a smile, but appears from some scar or two.

Ceres walks along the way, sidestepping goblins and other passerbys with a natural grace, made rather uncanny for the lack of attention she pays to her path. A bit of parchment is in front of her, and the feathered tip of a quill can be seen over the edge as she hums for a moment, then scribbles on it. Obviously, some sort of trick to the quill, perhaps a piece of lead afixed to the end to make her marks. "...bound.... found... sound...cowed? Hrm, no...."

Makar are hardly an unusual sight in the city, and Jenner adds little to that unusual appearance. For those who *know* him, however.... Bronze scales glitter in the sunlight as the wizard-become-Makar strolls along the riverside, enjoying the heat of the day in that basking stride that only a lizardy soul can bear. Not quite able to whistle, the bronze emits an odd song of humming tunes instead, tea-kettle hiss merging with the flow of the river, swirling together in one of those rare moments. Quick eyes of sharpest green dance above his muzzle, searching for the paladin and his unsuspecting entourage...

"Ground?" offers Narah, from her position underneath the awning of one of the vendors' stalls nearby. Ducking under the overhanging stiffened cloth, she extricates herself from the fruit seller's grasp with a polite smile, assuring him that no, this is quite enough. She's holding a largish waxed-paper bag in one hand, from which wafts an odour that can only be described as... powerful. Durian, likely. "Hello there," she greets the elven bard, raising a hand. "Finding inspiration in the market?"

Darshan has this quietly patient, befuddled look as he's crawled on--his helmet's covered in slobber and small dents from toes and claws. The scalechild keeps gnawing, keeps chewing, and a big, glistening drollop oozes down the side of his face. The youth's darting his gaze about, wide-eyed, and grabs Darshan's forearm when Ceres appears, and points boldly, in a way not to be missed.

Apparently, if Darshan is to be a chewtoy, the elf is a Curiosity, and when the older sith'makar doesn't respond, he hisses something, babbles, and yanks and points again, then points to the sides of his head, sounding agitated. And when the other, mage-lizard appears, the smallest, thinking Chewtoy, Reep's! and tries to scramble away. By now, that corner of the market's aloud with Reeps and hissing, pointing and tugging, a great big Look at the World with a patiently content lizard in the middle of it, who blinks quietly. And doesn't know quite what to say.

The parchment is lowered, so that dark grey eyes sparkle over the edge at Narah. "Mistress Narah! Not as such. Rather say a request has been made - a rough idea has been created, but the final touches are somewhat lacking..." the bard explains, vaguely, before attention is drawn by the Sith-corner. "Master Darshan! How are you ... ah.. doing, today?" the words slowing slightly as she realises the chewy question she has offered.

Narah merely grins down at Ceres, and then further, over at Darshan and his small retinue of children - sith'makar children, yes, but children nonetheless - with an every so slight broadening of the grin. It seems the dark-skinned woman is in a good mood today. "Goodness," she offers to Darshan, "are these charming young fellows relatives of yours, Ser Darshan?"

Because obviously, all lizards are related.

"Admirably, one would hope," Jenner-the-Bronze says alongside Ceres, chiming in with a toothy grin, beginning the simple dip of the crested head.... A movement that he takes a quick doubletake to pause, as his glance comes to rest on the smaller Mak--- children? Jenner stares for a moment, suddenly caught at a loss for words. He stares from the youngsters back to the paladin, down to the little ones again and back, as though it were a curious game. 

"Dar..." the mage begins, pointed eyes returning with a glitter. "...dare I assk what you've been up to that I sshould know of?"

Darshan reaches up to grab the smallest, who skitters around his shoulders and helmet, climbing about him like a monkey, tail out for balance. And then begins to pad his feet back and forth, eyeing Jenner, eyeing Jenner in this most unmistakable, determined way, and then...

...leaps.

Sith'makar facehugger: 1

Mage'makar: 0

Jenner's greeted with a great, big facehug and rapid Reep-reep-reep's from the smallthing, while the teenthing gapes at the talking elf. And points to the side of his own head again.

"Those are ears," solemnly, from Darshan, with what sounds like amused contentment. And then... "...no. I...well, perhaps. We don't track tha--kinship so well."

"... one hopes, good sir," Ceres, to Jenner, before adding, "I do not believe we have met? I am Ceres N'ayushi, and... Bright Ceinara - are all your children so chewy?" the elf adds, bemused at the leaping baby-siths

Well, now. She may not recognise Mage'makar, but the leaping, facehugging kid is amusing enough a sight that the tall Veyshanti woman begins to chuckle, good-naturedly. "I believe you have a new fan," she remarks to the bronze-scaled one, before swinging her gaze back to Darshan. "Visit from home?"

Teenthing steps forward and pinches Ceres' ear, hissing words, syllables in the old tongue that express curiosity, and points to the side of his own head again, laughing. It appears good natured, though he'd been bold about it, and chatters away before letting go, picking up his hands and holding them to the sides of his face in imitation.

"He mrm...says you have neat ears, but they would look very funny on him," Darshan says, watching the boy, and then looks back. "That's Ijara, and this one...this one has no name yet. If she lives, it might be Moyva or Ove--ee..." it ends in a quiet hiss, tired, maybe. The Moyva/Ove keeps chewing at Jenner's poor face before scrambling atop like an oversized parrot. "...yes," to Narah. "One of the aunts brought them, mrm...I think there is some food left, if they've not found it."

Jenner eyes the child for a heartbeat, gaze narrowing as he begins. "Is he...." And the words are cut short as he is promptly leapt upon! LEAPT UPON! The bronze freezes for that half-a-heartbeat of shock as he finds himself staring into the tiny, beady eyes of a Manic Wonderkin. 

He stares.  

The young Makar stares back. And then Jenner promptly begins to learn about the rambuctious playfulness of Makar children as it scrambles over the bridge of his muzzle, claws scrabbling as it nips at the flowing frill overhead. 

".....one is quiet well," he manages to add with a careful mildness, eyes wide. The wizard does his level best not to dislodge the youngster (who, for himself, finds great cheer in using the flowing robe as the beginnings of a *fantastic* jungle gym/chewtoy/claw-sharpening implement), scaled hand chasing up towards the youth. "Talasssskir," he adds, that flicker of mirth glittering in his gaze. "Jenner Talassskir. And any child of the Bright Son isss cerrtainly a friend of mine."

"Why, thank you.." Ceres offers cheerfully to the child, then looks to Darshan, "The aunts? Not the mothers? Or is it mother? You have not decided on a name? Hm.. Moyva sounds very lovely, a nice multi-syllic word.." she gives her vote, before offering a bow to Jenner in greeting, putting the quill behind one ear before doing so.

"Ser Jenner?" Narah looks, well, thunderstruck. "I, uh..." wasn't expecting you to be so lizardy? "... didn't recognise you." How diplomatic. "Do you usually go about in different shapes like this?" And she nears Darshan, and, companionably, sits down on the bench next to the Makar, quite at ease. The waxed-paper bag is handed over to the paladin, with a murmur of, "The children may like it. It is durian." And it smells like it, too.

"I'll let her mrm, aunt know, it's...," Darshan says after a brief pause that suggests for a moment, he'd been thinking of something. He hisses something to the youth and points back to Ceres, and the youth, Ijara, holds up his hands, and then again, then again, and again...a third time. "Ijara says, that is how many brothers and sisters he has," warmly, and then he looks at the bag, with interest, sniffing faintly at the air. "Durion?" he asks.

Karelin arrives from the Adventurers' Quarters to the north.

Karelin has arrived.

Jenner's grin returns at Narah's comment, punctuated by the tea-kettle hiss of laughter. "It wass a requesst from ser Darshan," he replies, tail coiling at his ankles as a particularly sharp nip as he brings his second hand into the mix, an odd combination of clambering mischief and struggling wizard. "It isss..." He pauses, coughing dryly before he speaks again. "It is a good way to stretch one's legsss-- legs. Or wings, as depending on the moment."

Karelin comes up the street, probably heading for the Den. He's got a bag slung over one shoulder, though it doesn't seem too heavy at all.

The elven bard is silent for a long moment, then ahs. "Aunts then, it is." Probably several hands worth. Jenner gets a blink, then a tilt of the head, "You are not normally a Sith'maker then, Master Jenner?" she inquires curiously, one ear twitching slightly.

The durion's scent grabs his nose, shakes it--makes his eyes water. Darshan blinks a few times, sniffing, "Uh..." he says, and looks down in the bag that Narah had just given him, again. The smallthing on Jenner's robes keeps sharpening its claws, clambering about the mage'makar like a giant junglegym/chewtoy/claws sharpening implement and emitting the occasional, "Reep reep reep."

"It's a...nrnng," and bravely, Darshan drops his hand in the bag and lifts it. Ijara notices. He looks away from pestering poor Ceres to stare. "One's eggtender used to call this stink-fruit. She'd rub it in our faces when we misbehaved," bemused. And then grins good-naturedly at Narah, "So what did I do?"

The pack of chaos sits on the edge of the market, with bard, Eldanar, and...a lot of lizards, and one singular, bag of stinky fruit.

"Ser Jenner is, apparently, normally quite a widely ranging number of things. Not least of which is a mage," says Narah, stoically, crossing her legs with a clank and clatter of armoured plates, and leaning back against the wall the bench is stood before, hands behind her head. The sith'makar next to her is given a wide grin. "Think of it as advance notice in case you -do- misbehave," she replies. "Though you might also want to taste it; the flavour is... unique, and at least as good as the smell is bad."

Jenner barely gets a whiff of the fruit, wincing again as the sleek sail fringe flattens beneath the small one's unstoppable onslaught! "Don't tear that...!" he begins, hissing a sigh of frustration as glittery gold piping yields beneath tiny, tiny claws. "And as my lady Narah says," he manages to answer, quivering in amusement. "If one can be more than one thing, than why be only one?" Finally giving up the fight, he instead thrusts his hand down into the thick satchel at his side, a quick search drawing forth that most daunting of temptations.... A tentacle. Octopus, most likely. Dangling!

Karelin's head swings around, as the scent hits his nose. A cough. "What the hell is --" He catches sight of Darshan and... Jenner'makar? "Bringing the worst parts of Am'shere to Alexandria?"

"A mage? Hm.. in that case, Ser Jenner, I have need of your and Master Darshan's advise, perhaps even Mistress Narah if she is inclined..." Ceres starts, with a small pause to step back as the stinky fruit is brandished about with a tentacle.

Narah chuckles some more; apparently the day is seeing her in an excellent good mood. Stinky fruit and people's reaction to it notwithstanding. "Certainly, Lady Ceres," she replies to the bard. "I have about as much magical capability as the common garden slug, myself, but if I can be of assistance, I certainly shall."

Darshan glances over curiously, and nods--his claws at the same time pierce the fruit, and delicious, yet smelling like grandmother smoochery, juices slop over his claws. On top of Jenner, the unnamed female child Reep's! and shoves forward, holding out a small, clawed hand to grab the fruit, dangling so many feet from the air from atop Jenner-mountain. The smell, mess, and Reep!ing cuts off any other replies Darshan would have made.

Jenner blinks in surprise, yet again. He braces the child as he steps closer to Darshan, shaking his head with a snort as he twists his head away. "That smells vile!" he complains frankly, screwing one eye shut. "Now then..." He dips his head to Karelin as he appears, refocusing his attention to Ceres in turn. "What betroublesss you?" Tentacle ignored by the young Makar, the mage disposes of it simply-- He pops the thing into his mouth, sharp teeth chewing ravenously.

Karelin nods towards Jenner, and Darshan -- and Narah and Ceres as well. He considers Narah. "You're moving well. The medics did a good job."

"While I am highly fluent in the common speech, some words call some small confusion. Which would therefore scan better, 'You've failed your weaking god ~ So Daeus and Kor's men are winning' or 'You've failed your weaking god - Watch as Daeus and Kor's men start grinning'?" To Darshan, there is a faint sigh, then a grin. "It is very difficult to get that thin line correctly laid out, I have found."

Karelin grunts. "Winning. Kor can sometimes be not-smiley. Not that grinning is not important, but..."

"Well, it depends on the mood of the piece too, I would say," says Narah, great poet that she isn't. "If it is more serious, I would say go for the former, and for a lighter, more humourous piece, the latter. Then again, I have seen plenty of grins from both the followers of the Shining One and the Warlord on the grim field of battle." She pauses, considering. "Those would normally be more of the defiant grins, mind." Karelin is given a dip of the head, a nod of acknowledgement. "One of the senior priestesses of the Mother stepped in and called on the Mother's power to heal me, as I was called upon for another patrol soon after."

The air reeks. Putrid, vile, the grandmother-from-the-dead rises again to give all her benevolent blessings. Its center has a custard-like fill to it, and the tiny female on Jenner'makar squeals, lunging forward and threatens to fall off.

"It..." Darshan says, pauses. And muttered, wry, "This brings back memories." He separates the pieces, and looks up at Ceres. A fierce, satisfied pleasure fills the look, and, "I still need to pay you," he glances down. At the mess in his claws. "We'll settle up afterwards?"

"It is more of a, hm.. mocking piece? And I have not yet finished it, Master Darshan, given it is such a worthy challenge..." Ceres rejoins.

Jenner's reaction is quick, one end of the tentacle quivering from the bronze muzzle as he grabs the scrambling child with both hands. He mutters under his breath, finally catching onto the odd "accent" of the Makar language, speaking his own hissing, rasping words in turn. "Use the first," he suggests haphazardly, "And if one could suggest punctuation with fire, it would behoove you to speak with Magus ssXander." He steps over to Darshan, holding the young girl tightly against the squirming urge to pounce fruit and paladin all together. "...*memories*?" he chokes out, breathing through his mouth. "Icch!"

Narah, hand on one shoulder, rotates the arm gingerly. "There is some stiffness still, from where the direwolf bit, but I expect it will pass soon enough." This, to Karelin. Then, eyeing Jenner and the struggling sith-girl, she adds as an afterthought, "You may want to watch the little one's hind claws, Ser Jenner, they look like they are about to..." *Rrrrip!* "... rip your robe."

The oldest sith'makar waves the fruit in the air to the side, sending the stench that-a-way. Waves his other hand in a human-like gesture like a shrug. "You'll finish it," he says, grinning. "One has little mrm, doubt of it and you did so well with the first. I think I like the first, too, because it's--shorter," he finishes, and looks at the bard curiously, as if asking if that made sense. And of course, completely ignores Jenner's question. Just completely.

A quick smile appears at the mention of Magus Xander, as the bard nods, "I have not had reason to hunt down the Warmage in some time, and he has a skilled way with his words, truthfully. And shorter is good in this case." There isa pause, then she hums a brief moment, then nods. "Very welcome, shorter it shall be."

The mage mutters. Just mutters, as nice cloth is slowly turned into sad, sad sackcloth. "Thank you," he says sardonically to Narah, grimacing. "And now I am glad I did *not* choose the quicker route," he adds, shaking his head with a sigh. "My little terror here should probably have wanted to eat me---" Taking a deep breath, circling the scrabbling girl into the crook of his arm, Jenner stomps forward with a will, free hand snatching at one of the custardy piece s of diabolically wholesome fruitiness. 

"You are incorrigible!" he complains, seizing one of the fruity rinds, delivering it to the Sith-child. "And evil," he adds, with a glower. Glower!

"Reep," goes the sith-child, and burbles. A trail of bubble-spit makes its way along the edge of her muzzle, and she claws happily at Jenner's clothes, using them for sharpening. And then grabs an edge of them, and shoves her head right underneath like an ostrich. Because right now, she totally transported to another plane.

Narah eyes Jenner. Just eyes him, and crosses her arms over her chest. The clank of the armour plates is somewhat muffled by the surcoat she wears over the breastplate. "She certainly seems to have taken a liking to you, Ser Jenner. Perhaps you ought to stay in that form for a while. It might prove a learning experience."

"Does she have similiarly minded siblings that Ser Jenner can help assist with?" Ceres asks with a bright smile as she watches the wee one from way over there. And in fact takes a sliding step back.

Jenner looks as though he might *wish* to transport people to other planes! Hot ones, with added lava. As the glare totally fails to have any effect on the girl, the mage turns it on everyone else instead. "I am a tutor," he says succinctly, tongue flicking in unconcious addenda. "And one knowsss quite *well* how to deal with chidren! Just not..." Makar children. Claws! "...and the Matrons would likely not be pleased," he adds, casting Darshan a sharp eye. Quick fingers rush along the little one's back, sharp points tracing and ticking along the tiny scales. "How did you come by our young friends here?" he adds, tilting his head in curiosity. "I would think such as this highly uncommon."

"One of the Eggtenders stopped by--apparently they're mrm, on some sort of outing," Darshan says, and pauses, biting his tongue momentarily, glancing sideways at the youth Ijara, who grins quickly at Darshan then at Ceres, and at the latter, holds his hands up again, mimicing the ears and chattering again in the old tongue. For those that speak it, it's something about a book and paladins, and coming here on a grand adventure. Ijara drops his hands and points to Narah, Karelin, and the greater Market. Apparently, all three of them count as Greater Spectacle, and that's likely evident whether or not the language is spoken

Narah, for her part, seems quite unaffected by the smell of the stinky fruit. Either she's used to it, or she's one of those odd people to whom it doesn't smell as bad. "Well, I can think of worse places for an outing," she says, giving the older of the two Sith kids a friendly, though closed-lipped, smile.

Again, an elven ear flickers at Ijara, as Ceres grins, before adding, "It is a good time to visit, considering. However, I have a thought, Master Darshan. Perhaps, given your insistance upon pay, instruction might in some way be included? After all, we have yet to have a proper conversation of your sagas, which I have found often requires an understanding of the orignal language..."

Jenner sighs in quiet relief as the youngster under his arm seems to have settled for a time.... And blinks, cocking his head towards Ijara. "Thisss one...." He pauses, shrugging before continuing. "That would be an excellent idea," he continues, turning a new, appraising eye towards the paladin. "Though it takes time. And patience. And ssome small inclination." He strokes the elongated chin, gears working behind the bright gaze. "After all, if the Mighty One is to properly inspire the next generation of Makar who follow in hisss path..."

Ijara grins back, a wide swath of teeth with the scar at the side that makes him look like he's smiling--even when he isn't. He is, now, and he hasn't learned the teeth-covered trick yet, so Narah gets the full force of it, and the flick of his tail as it hits the pavement. Nearby him, the other sith'makar looks...surprised, and blinks once as the idea filters through, and he nods, with a look towards Jenner, and back again. "One mrm...I could do that," he says, thoughtful, just as the thing underneath Jenner's sleeve decides to crawl, and see what the elbow looks like. And Darshan, well, Darshan looks faintly ill at the mage's words.

Chiddle descends from the Highbridge to the east.

Chiddle has arrived.

Narah looks, well, quite interested as Ceres makes her suggestion. "You know," she says aside to Darshan, seated as she is on the bench right beside him, "I might be interested in lessons as well. It seems an intriguing language. The Shining One knows, I am not fully fluent in even Tradespeak yet, but I have always had something of an interest in languages..."

The market's filled with goblins running here or there, criers calling out their wares and hawking them. The thick and heady smell of sausage and gravy, rough and hearty Alexandrian foodstuffs fills the area, and at one side of it sits a small crowd. The pack of chaos consists of bard, Eldanar, Korite, and...a lot of lizards, and one singular, bag of stinky fruit.

"A number of languages have caught my ear in times past, however, until I reached fair Alexandria's borders, I had lacked exposure to certain others." Or in translation, Ceres is lingustically inclined!

Speaking of Tradespeak, Chiddle is currently chatting in Tradespeak with someone, seems to be negotiating for the puchase of some iron bars and a few sacks of coal. What could he be doing?

The mage's spark of wicked amusement fades, one hand idly following the course of the squirming child. He rumbles towards Darshan in that odd language once again, bronze-hued frill rising with a flicker. "Inspiring those who follow is not a task to be taken lightly," he adds at the end, due gravitas hovering in his words. He brings his eyes down to Ijara, bowing his head with a token of respect. "And you could do with the time at rest, methinkssss. Teaching!" He grins again, bright eyes alive with mirth.

"One barely knows that many," Darshan says, giving it some thought. "Mrm, it's easier to learn in a group--perhaps the four of us could work on it?" he suggests, looking up to see what the mage thinks on it. "...speaking the old tongue calls for a change in...mind. The words, structure are more mrm, direct. Aggressive." Another pause, "There are...thirteen? words to speak of possession. 'My food' or 'my tribe.' Arimandara marks me as a 'vassal of Mandara Tribe.'"

As the older sith'makar speaks on ponderous things, the youth looks curiously around the market place, and watches Chiddle silently rasping in his unfamiliar tongue, and then a pair of goblins, who bumble on by, talking of one thing or the other.

"The time and location needs only be mentioned, Master Darshan, and I shall endevour to be present," Ceres promises, before glancing at the parchment. There is a faint sigh, before it is rolled up and put into her belt.

Narah adjusts the setting of that great big fuck-off two handed sword she always seems to carry with her; it's still strapped across her back, but seated as she is on a bench, the scabbard's lower tip is scraping against the ground. So she straightens up and tugs at the sword's hilt. "Fascinating," she says, and sounds like she means it; Darshan is given a bright little smile.

Chiddle finally manages to arrange to have the equipment sent off to the workshop he is renting. After all, can't expect someone half the size of your average human to be hauling around twelve and a half pounds of iron and fifty pounds of coal. For one, it'd look plain ridiculous.

Ijara hisses back to Jenner, glancing back and forth and speaking, tail flickering lively-like with the words before gesturing towards the goblins and the halfling, Chiddle. It's all Spectacle, now--a shiny city with a million things to see, and when Chiddle comes close he puts his fist in front of his muzzle as though he had a rounded, halfling nose. Darshan looks startled, and then looks determinedly at the sack of smell, a determined-to-ignore look to his features as he lifts another of the fruits. "Where'd you find these?" he asks Narah.

Karelin is still quiet amidst it all. He's looking for food in the stalls. Something to get his fingers greasy.

Point; the exotically-featured Veyshanti woman gestures further up into the market proper. "There is a halfling vendor - you cannot miss his stall, it has a rather colourful awning - who sells fruits from all over. The gods only knows how he gets them all, and still fresh, but I come to him all the time. He always manages, somehow, to have what I want. Which reminds me, I should purchase another bag of durians." Oh gods, another bag of that stink? As Narah gestures and looks in that direction, she notices Chiddle, recognises him, and gives him a cheery little wave.

GAME: You nominated chiddle for good roleplay.

Jenner strokes his chin again, considering Ijara with silent appraisal. "We shall see," he says simply, as though to himself. "And if the Matrons would allow," he adds, giving Dar a pointed glance. "I *might* see to expanding my instructive repetoir to include some of the..." He stops, hissing as he arches, the movement under his shoulder belying tiny claws suddenly *digging* into his side. "...the lessss rambunctiousss!" he ends, steam-kettle words leaping quickly. "And with Lady Mandara's blessing as well, of course."

Chiddle smiles and waves over at the Veyshanti woman when she waves to him, foesn't come voer right away, though- he's busy buying himself fome flux and various minor tools from a blacksmithing stall.

Ceres just grins at Jenner, so very glad he's him, and she's her, and the distance between the two.

The tiny thing loves it. The unnamed child skitters along Jenner's scales and pikes her head from underneath his sleeve--at a rip in it. Her bright, colorful frill props up, she looks at the Spectacle--that is, the world around her. And almost happily-thoughtfully starts to chew on the rend she'd made.

"I'm sure she'll give it," Darshan's following most of it. His eyes light and he grins while he says it, glances over where Narah points, then, and nods. "I've never run into him, but--the one with the loud voice?" and here, that would be the Very Loud Voice, though it might also belong to Ferknik, the half-orc. He waves to Chiddle, or rather, his tail does, still missing that end of it.

Narah appears to have made herself more or less comfortable now, stinky fruit notwithstanding, and crosses her arms over her chest again, smiling the smile of the contented and plate-clad who don't have to contend with the ministrations of tiny, very sharp claws all over. "Mm, that would be the one. I think he uses some sort of sorcerous apparatus to amplify his voice."

Jenner nods himself, turning his attention fully down to the Little Terror with a mock-growl. "...the things I prepare for...." he mutters quietly, his own claws chasing across slender scales in a dance before he withdraws his hand. The great sigh comes in mock resignation, leaving the Unnamed to the continuing ruination of his robe. Instead, he returns to his satchel, plucking the pipe from its environs. He cocks his head to listen to the others, focusing his own gaze on Ijara. A faint crackle, the click of teeth, and the Ever Present Pipe is lit with a snap of clawed fingers.

Chiddle finally makes his way over, flux and what-not in hand. "Hello there!" he offers Narah and Darshan. He glances towards jenner then, and shakes his head a little bit, deciding to ignore the... uh... little creature apparently trying to eat him. It's usually best not to ask.

"Good evening, Master Chiddle," Ceres calls out, having recognized the person in question... unless he too has gone through a transmorphigeration. Jenner just gets a grin, before she goes to perch against the wall.

"...they can do that?" it's news to him. Darshan gives the halfling merchant's stall another look before waving to Chiddle again. "Narah was mrm, just telling me there's a merchant here who--" he pauses, gives it some thought. "Carries Am'sherian fruits. And that he's the one that outshouts Ferknik every morning." Ferknik the half-ogre, a flower seller of some sort or kind, a sort of Sandy of his own world, taking a stand against his own culture. Her, with fists, him with delicate flowers and tulips.

Karelin comes back, with a skewer of meat in one hand, and a platter of different salads in the other. He looks... gleeful.

"Durian actually grows in some parts of Veyshan too," says Narah, helpfully. "I got something of a taste for it when I was a child, and it stuck." Chiddle is given a smile in response. "Evening."

Chiddle frowns a little and wrinkles his nose. Stinky fruit. "What's that smell?" He asks aloud, despite how rude that might seem. "Well, anyway. How are you doing today?" he asks Narah, "I was jus-" a rock lands on him, nearly knocking him over. Chiddle goes cross-eyed.

Ceres blinks at Narah for a moment, "If it stun.. oh, stuck! My apologies, Mistress. I had momentarily misheard," makes amends with, before turning to stare at Chiddle. Silently. With a lot of blinking.

"One has never been to Veyshan. I imagine it's--," Darshan responds thoughtfully, after looking back to the poor mage who has new air vents, likely where he didn't want air vents. The tiny sith'child Reep's! happily and still chews the robes--until he lights the pipe. Then she starts to sneeze. And sneeze. And sneeze, the noise undercut by the sudden falling of rocks, a sound that has Darshan halfway to his feet.

A worker on a rooftop overlooking where everyone is leans over and looks down. "Er. Sorry. Everyone okay?"

Narah remains curiously calm despite the fact that ROCKS FALL! EVERYBODY DIES! -- well, okay, not the last part. "I think," she says succinctly, "that I shall invest in a good helmet and begin to wear it upon coming here."

Jenner spares Chiddle a glance, a worried concern for a few seconds. "...I take back everything I've sssaid about ill-luck," he states, casting his gaze up in the air, just in case any more stones take flight. The bronze Makar-mage takes a few steps towards the street, ducking beneath a convenient overhang for added good measure. "Wise," he rumbles, sighing again as he grumps belatedly. A murmur, a few choice words, and the pipe's flame tucks itself back out with a last puff of blue-grey smoke.

Chiddle still looks dizzy, but he offers a thumbs up to the man, "No worse than when my parachute failed on flight test one-oh-nine" he assures the workers then, as he shakes his head a little to shift the stars.

"I believe your aim is remarkably well, Master Builder. You have laid out an artificer with no little effort.." Ceres calls out to the roof-guy.

Darshan drops to a crouch, as much as someone in armor can. And, without saying much else, looks over the gnome on the dirt and pavement. "You okay, there?" he asks him.

The child on Jenner's sleeve continues sneezing, and as soon as the pipe's flame is relit, she makes a loud, "Reep reep!" in protest and burrows back underneath the sleeve fabric.

Karelin looks up, chuckling, as he tears into his skewer. A grunt. "At least you were wearing the test chute." Karelin's grumbling turns a little sour at gnomes.

"A gnome? Really?" There's a long pause. "Well, ah.. sorry!" He's not so sorry now, anyways. Work returns to normal on the roof.

Ceres shakes her head a touch, then steps away from her perch-spot. To Darshan, "I should attempt to iron out the last of the phrases. If it turns out bad, I of course, disavow all knowledge of the matter.." she offers with a bit of a grin, before offering a bow in general to those still and now present.

Chiddle manages, finally, to get to his feet then, and he dusts himself off a bit. "I knew I should have turned my Projected Protective Power-field generator." He comments, and reaches into his overcoat, flicking a switch... nothign explodes. All though the paired small magicite crystals on the shoulders of his coat do begin to glow faintly.

Jenner glowers down at the poor child, squeaking in protest. "It's *out*!" he grumbles, finally taking the pipe from his mouth and shoving it back into his satchel. "There! No more smoke. Now stop complaining that it's smelly." He sighs again, sincerely this time; deft fingers slip back and up his sleeve, sharp claws teasing with a lash of tickling maneuvers. "I really should ask Kylie where she got that herb the first time..." he murmurs to himself, shaking his head. He gives partial attention to his fellows, listening with half an ear.

Karelin glances over at Chiddle, warily. He keeps eating his meat-on-a-stick, listening as he goes. Mostly, he makes sure the gnome doesn't smoke.

Ceres goes OOC.

Ceres has left.

Darshan looks up, eyes showing his amusement even if the reptilian features don't. The tail flickers with it, and he stands. Ijara watches with fascination before starting to talk again, and points towards the northwest. And talks again. Whatever he says, the older 'makar listens, and a half-smile forms there, a half-smile, for those that know him, tinged with tightness and dread. "I've got to take them hunting. Jenner, you wouldn't..." he looks at the mage, and seems to think on it. And then walks over to pick up the unnamed one.

Narah appears curiously unconcerned about Chiddle's activation of his... overcoat. No instinctive ducks or shuffles away, no cringing. Ceres is given a small wave - to her back, but hey, it's the thought that counts. "Take care, Ser Darshan," she mutters, apparently quite content to stay right where she is.