Reception Hall - Main Theatre
In keeping with its intended use for any number of celebratory events, the main theatre of the reception hall is decorated with a spartan eye - allowing it to be easily transformed by those who rent it out from the most solemn of religious pageants to the most decadent of fetes.
When not in use, the great hall is a vast open space; the brick of the building's construction is covered with a thin veneer of swirled grey marble, giving one of fanciful temperment the feeling that they're surrounded by clouds on all sides. A vaulted ceiling is supported by a row of stately doric columns down each side of the theatre, between which tapestries and hangings of various sorts are often strung when the hall is in use. At the end of the hall, a grand window allows the light of day - or moon - to spill through into the hall, with heavy curtains draped to either side that can be drawn across its surface.
The day of the Gnomish Goodwill Ball. Well, it's more like a fair than a ball, really. The reception hall has been appropriated for the purpose of the bash, and redecorated for the occasion. Inside is brightly decorated, with loudly coloured banners proclaiming gnomish goodwill for all, but especially the war orphans, to whom all the proceeds of this event will go. The inside area is taken up mostly by the huge table, here patrons serve themselves buffet style.
Out on the lawn is where most of the action is. Two sets of bleachers have been erected, providing places to sit for those who wish to, but there are many reasons to stand and wander. There are the various booths and stalls set up for people to sell their wares, and everything sold further increases the funds for the orphanage. There's a stage set up, which includes a strange techno magical device that appears to be a large brass conch shell connected via a tube to a small funnel on a stand. An area has been fences off, and fireworks have been set off ready for later on in the evening. Finally, the piece de resistance, there's a tall tower-like construction, with a pair of seats suspended on a pulley near the top. Just above them is a large, red-and-white target, while beneath them is a pool of green slime.
'+decorate <desc>' will set decorations for the hall for any occasion!
Contents:
Whirlpool
Obvious exits:
Private Hall <PH> Out <O>
Chiddle has connected.
Loudly colored banners proclaim "WELCOME!" in several tongues: Gnomish, elven, even those stodgy dwarves. Near a centrally-placed, podium, in the midst of the bleachers, a set of gnomes chatter. An opening speech, evidently, is being prepared--and the cutting of a great ribbon, set center stage. The gnomish faces look familiar--a round beachball and a more somberly dressed artificer, both with nametags labeled: AMBASSADOR. Next to them is a loudly dressed, pink-wearing gnome, with a tag titled SPEAKER.
...I included Chiddle in there, so wanted to check. :) Work?'
Welk arrives from the outdoor plaza.
Welk has arrived.
Valeska has arrived.
Myrana has arrived.
Anvil has arrived.
Jareth has arrived.
Liblog has arrived.
<Meet> Liblog joins Myrana.
"Hullo!" Brundle and Frythe wave from their perch atop a great-sized tower. The bleachers are filling--the air crisp with the expectation of a show. A presentation. A celebration of gnomish gnoodwill. Brundle and Frythe's booth is wrapped in ribbon at the moment, though many of the booths and displays are open. A vendor walks about, hawking elven floral wines, "donated generously by the Lady Sandiel!" There's also food in eclectic variety, amid the array of crafts and booths.
Loudly colored banners proclaim "WELCOME!" in several tongues: Gnomish, elven, even those stodgy dwarves. Near a centrally-placed, podium, in the midst of the bleachers, a set of gnomes chatter. An opening speech, evidently, is being prepared--and the cutting of a great ribbon, set center stage. The gnomish faces look familiar--a round beachball and a more somberly dressed artificer, both with nametags labeled: AMBASSADOR. Next to them is a loudly dressed, pink-wearing gnome, with a tag titled SPEAKER.
Karelin has arrived.
Anvil sits on one of the lowest bleachers -- considering his bulk, this is probably for the best. In deference to the occasion, he's set aside his greatsword and longbow, but his armor still clanks slightly when he shifts on his seat. Watching the start of the festivities with an intense curiousity, yellow eyes glimmering in his face.
Chiddle is one of the ambasadors, and has a roll-up cigarette hanging from his mouth as he chats with the others. His usual scarf has been replaced with a bow tie, and his usual leather coat not worn. He's nodding in agreement with whatever is being said.
"..are you sure this was a good idea, Brundle?
"Perfectly sure! This will go a long way to making sure they don't kill us the next time we mix up those two devices.
"You said there wasn't going to be a next time.
"..right! Of course!" A convetsation between Brundle and Fythe.
Karelin stalks in, scowling at Brundle & Fythe in particular. He keeps a grunge or two, apparently. Still, he's dressed up in a nice coat and actually peacebound his warblade. That's good enough, right? After all, there will be wine.
"And then...oh! It'll be simply wonderful!" Abrahil's in his garish best, with a vest that's too small for his belly. He waves to Anvil as the armored man sits down, and looks...cheerful. Positively...beaming. He's even waxed the bald spot on his head, and it gleams cheerfully there in the sunshine.
Ooooh. Even Riluna's gotten a bit dressed up in fancy garb. A purple outfit, with poofy sleeves and nice pants. She doesn't seem to be a fan of skirts it seems. She's even got a little feather tucked over one ear. Fruity. She's happily watching and waiting, in the bleachers, towards the middle. She's herself, nice and in the middle. She has to smile, at all the festivity. But she does stand and check on - things here and there.
Welk stands beside one of the wine-hawking vendors, examining the wares with a confused brow raised from behind a few stray locks of hair. He continuously points at a bottle, then shakes his head and selects another...and another. He appears unarmed, and behind his well-braided beard his well-polished breastplate positively beams. Every now and again the dwarf glances nervously toward the stage, his attention divided between selecting an appropriate beverage with which to celebrate and genuine concern over the proceedings of gnomish goodwill to follow.
A sturdy little booth has been set up near the stage, and from it waft the good smells of cardamom and honey, garlic and rosemary. Myrana can be seen behind the polished counter, busily pouring glasses and tankards of richly frothed drinks and good street-fare foods. Her coal-black hair has been swept up into a big messy bun and an apron has been tied neatly about her waist. The pennant which waves to one side of the bar counter bears a green cat on a deep purple field. A menu hangs on the back canvas.
Sitting on a lower bleacher in the hopes of having a better chance of not having a tall person in front of him to block his view, Liblog is wearing a simple tunic and rather worn pair of pants. A thick apron with more than a few scorch marks are on it as well, signs of some kind of furnace work. He seems eager to see what is going to happen at this ball, reading the gnomish signs and ignoring the slight shifting the people near him do as he greets people in gnomish with a goblin accent.
<Meet> Chiddle summons Tirik
Tirik has arrived.
<Meet> Chiddle summons Tirik.
Valeska was out and about, apparently overseeing... something. She waited near the front and to the side of the whole assembly, opera glasses out. She makes gesturse here and there to a few technicians running about. "Now, now. Be careful, those capsules are highly combustable! I do not wish to start a fire today!" she calls out.
"Slow down," Carmina mutters, as if she's talking to herself. Upon closer inspection, however, she is talking to the ground. On the ground is a rat - a well dressed rat, wearing a little suit. The rat bounds forward, and Carmina tries to keep up. "Too many people," she mutters at the rat.
------------- At a glance around Reception Hall - Main Theatre -------------
Tirik 1m 3'0" 35 Lb
A feral halfling in leather.
Karelin 3m 6'2" 232 Lb Human Male
Tattooed Korite warrior. Tall, dark and scarred.
Carmina 17s 5'2" 100 Lb
Short, slender, blond half-elf in wizard attire.
Riluna 1m 5'0" 90 Lb
Grey haired, hazel eyed Grey Elf woman.
Liblog 1m 3'2" 79 Lb
An armored goblin with a dangerously sharp smile
Jareth 1m 6'2" 197 Lb
Tall young man with a strong build, wearing a chain shirt.
Anvil 2m 6'4" 375 Lb
Massively built war golem with glowing yellow eyes
Myrana 5s 5'2" 114lbs Lb
A short young woman with soot on her face
Valeska 42s 5'8" 142 Lb
A strawberry-haired aristocrat. Pith Helmet. Wrench.
Welk 1m 4'7" 251 Lb
a well-built black-haired dwarf with crystals dangling from his beard
Abrahil 0s 3'4" 54 Lb
A valiant, gnomish slayer of paper demons.
Whirlpool 4m Lb
Chiddle 15s 3'4" 44 Lb
Dark haired gnome dressed in in Artificer's garb.
==============================================================================
*CLANG!*
"Wweeeeellllcooooooommmmeee! Welcome to the first Gnomish Gnoodwill Festival!"
"That's goodwill!"
"Gnat's what I said! The Gnomish Gnoodwill Festival!" the gnome speaker stands on a podium in the middle of the lawn. His bright, silver wig resembles nothing more or less than a sea urchin, and his bright orange and pink outfit flashes brightly. A button on his vest labeles him as: SPEAKER.
"Weeeeeelllcooooommmeeee! We're all so gnlad to have you! This is a momentous occasion..."
"Gnomentus!"
"Yes, yes that. It it's a gnomentus occasion, and we're glad to have you all with us. If I can direct your attention...yes. Yes! Over there--" he thrusts an arm forward, pointing directly towards the end of the lawn. A large, and brightly-colored booth is being set out. Inside are two smallish figures, wearing helmets.
They wave at the audience.
"We're now opening our first event: the Gnunking of Brundle and Frythe. Please, please...form a line. There's a gnicket master--see him? In the large hat." Such a fellow does exist, and as does such a hat: It's labeled TICKETMASTER in felt lettering, and he waves, cheerily, to the crowd. "If you want to participate, please line up, and we'll see you get a ticket--remember! All Festival proceeds go to the orphanage here in Alexandria. So, please keep this in mind when attending our events today." The gnome pauses, and steps off the podium.
The gong CLANGS! again, and the booth is wheeled into position.
Whirlpool dropped Whirlpool's Timestop.
ATTENTION!!!
Whirlpool has dropped a Timestop. Please cease all roleplay immediately and wait for Whirlpool to instruct you further. To look at the commands for the timestop, please type: +lhelp timestop.
Do not use any commands until the DM says it is all right to do so.
Dropped.
Brundle and Fythe Dunking Booth
Seated inside a great brass half-sphere, two gnomish figures chat amicably. They wear helmets, and safety gear. Below them a great pool of water. Its surface glimmers and reflects the brass, and the two helmets on their heads read: Gee Gnome Project. A targeting sign stands in relief roughly a foot in front of the brass enclosure, designed to release the platform the two gnomes sit upon, and drop them into the chill water, below.
A label reads: SPONSORED BY ...several names WERE listed. Finally, the entire morass was scribbled out, and now just says, "Everyone."
Tirik wanders his way into the reception hall. PErhaps by accident, perhaps on purpose, little difficult to tell. Regardless, his delighted curiousity is interupted by the clang filled announcement, and the halfling finds himself joining a line.
Engel, of course, follows Carmina in. Engel is a Hobgoblin. With a big, floppy hat. Huge, actually. A bit too big for him. "There's no such thing as too many people. I know, this coming from the fellow who spends most of his time in the woods." Being a Hob, he towers over most -- easily six hand a half feet tall.
Anvil is a bit slow to go to the line -- perhaps out of confusion. Do they really want them to be dunked in that substance? Clearly they do, judging from the people getting tickets, and so Anvil buys one as well; he really needs very little cash to live on, and perhaps it would be better if some of it went to help the less-fortunate Born.
As people migrate over to the dunking booth, Myrana grins and leans her elbows on her bar, chuckling at her good luck to have such a good place to watch from.
Oh the pun-ishment. Gno race dares gno where Gnomes do, one supposes. At least the gnong works? Riluna is acting as half an unofficial bouncer, and safety inspector. She's mostly making sure no one is setting anything on fire (That should not be. Lighting Paris Hilton, for example, on fire, would be acceptable in most circles.). She tries not to giggle at all the gnome puns. The cheer is infectious (Much like swine flu, but fewer BLT sandwiches). Even orphans need stuff and thing, and war has an ugly way of producing orphans (Most of whom have no musical talent and do not go to a school of hard knocks. Those that do and pursue rap careers are punished). Riluna is a bit slow to join in too,although that's because she's mindful of things. Gotta make sure it's ... safe. Because people need to be able to dance if they want to later.
Making a point to keep a safe distance away from the Gnomish enclave, despite his desire to support Chiddle in his new responsibilities, Jareth can't help but gravitate towards Myrana's counter as he catches some of the scents coming from it. He's cleaned himself up for the occasion. Clean-shaven, oiled hair, and even sporting new threads proudly displaying his newfound worship towards Daeus, such as a tabard over his polished chainmail, and the symbol on his shield.
Carmina bends down and picks up the rat. "With gnomes involved, there are always too many people. You realize those two once turned /me/ into a gnome," she says, turning to Engel.
Karelin is somewhat eager to get in line, wishing, perhaps, that he'd be allowed to provide his own missiles. He waits, looming, scratching at the scars on his cheek, irritated. Itchy war-legacy!
"No, no!" Valeska chased after a gnome. "Don't hold those together! If those mix, that'd produce a caustic mist---" she grabs at two beakers, sepearating them in his arms. Then she turns, eyes wide. "Aaah! No smoking near the powder! Please!" she runs off in the other direction. Festivals were serious business! And all these laid back gnomes, damn them!
Liblog beams at the sound of getting a chance to dunk someone. He runs to get a place in line, hoping he can get a good spot from the combination of his shortness, speed, and his seat being on a lower bleacher. Gnunking!
Welk is startled by the ringing of the gong, and points his attention firmly to the speakers with a relaxed gaze of amusement. Listening to the pair with an audible grown, he taps his toe along with their somewhat musical speech, slowly wandering toward the dunk booths as requested. He was, after all, new to the city, and it was for charity. "Besides," he grunts to himself aloud, "I could use a good throw at something."
One vendor shoves a complimentary mug of ale into Anvil's hand, saying cheerfully, "On the house, compliments of Dragon's Breath Brewery!" He must not have been paying much attention, working the line as he is; Anvil looks into the mug, his somewhat rigid features somehow projecting confusion. Then he sticks a finger in, stirring it slightly.
With the ringing of the gong and the announcement, Jareth holds back for a few moments, weighing the options of participating in the dunk. At the mention that the proceeds are really all for a good cause, he puts himself in line to get a ticket, passing by Riluna on his way and offering her arm a quick squeeze on his way.
Myrana smiles in greeting to Jareth as he heads by her booth on his way to the dunking ring and waves, chuckling.
"I believe I heard something about that before. You mentioned it at least once. I suspect that's why you've been so quick to come?" Engel grins at Carmina, however, tuskily. Hobs have tusks, after all. "Looks like there's.. a long line, actually." He eyes the length of the line involved in the dunking. "...yeaaaah. That's gonna take a while for them to get through. Ha.
Meanwhile, Brundle and Fythe look at the same line
"Brundle..
"Yes, Fythe"?"
"How did you get yourself talked into this?
It's going to be a long nighrt.
Chiddle is still smoking away, smirking somewhat as the main event starts. He heads towards the group, mingling a little for now, but not with anyone important it seems.
The ticketmaster brings up a number, and it's Jareths, "Step up, step up! Test your throwing skills! All for charity!" he calls out.
===== Current Initiative Order =========
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23 Jareth
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18 Liblog
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13 Karelin
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11 Tirik
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8 Welk
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7 Riluna
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6 Anvil
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========================================
"I have no interest in petty retribution," Carmina says, crossing her arms over her chest as she looks up at the hobgoblin. "I am simply aware that they are up to something sinister....or stupid. Either way, I am here, just in case." And then the rat springs out of her arms and runs toward food. "Plus, Cupcake is hungry."
"Wine! Ale! Dwarven stout and elven flowers! Be a man or be a pansy! Wine! Ale!" a man in a frock labeled "I SELL DRINKS" stomps about. He's tall, a human of some descent brought in for the cause. "WINE! ALE!" his voice bellows over the festival grounds and bleachers, and he stops in front of a few folks, in front of Karelin and Tirik. "What'll it be, you two?"
Jareth's eyebrows rise as he wins the right to the first toss. Stepping up to the dunk tank, he raises a hand as he turns to the crowd and takes the ball to throw at the target, "One toss, right? And, there's no danger involved for these two gentlemen if they get dunked?"
The ticketmaster nods his head at Jareth, "One throw per ticket." as for the danger, he peers at the gunge they're going to drop into. "...They'll be fine, I'm sure."
Valeska runs up towards Chiddle after a while, looking exhasperated. "I'm done." she sighs out. "But be careful! That help you've provided is rather... em. More enthusiastic than skilled!" she frowns, looking back towards the dump tank, folding her arms to her side. "My, what manner of mechanism is that..."
------------- At a glance around Reception Hall - Main Theatre -------------
Tirik 3m 3'0" 35 Lb
A feral halfling in leather.
Karelin 9m 6'2" 232 Lb Human Male
Tattooed Korite warrior. Tall, dark and scarred.
Carmina 38s 5'2" 100 Lb
Short, slender, blond half-elf in wizard attire.
Riluna 12m 5'0" 90 Lb
Grey haired, hazel eyed Grey Elf woman.
Liblog 3m 3'2" 79 Lb
An armored goblin with a dangerously sharp smile
Jareth 13s 6'2" 197 Lb
Tall young man with a strong build, wearing a chain shirt.
Anvil 45s 6'4" 375 Lb
Massively built war golem with glowing yellow eyes
Myrana 7m 5'2" 114lbs Lb
A short young woman with soot on her face
Valeska 55s 5'8" 142 Lb
A strawberry-haired aristocrat. Pith Helmet. Wrench.
Welk 9m 4'7" 251 Lb
a well-built black-haired dwarf with crystals dangling from his beard
Abrahil 0s 3'4" 54 Lb
A valiant, gnomish slayer of paper demons.
Whirlpool 7m Lb
Chiddle 56s 3'4" 44 Lb
Dark haired gnome dressed in in Artificer's garb.
==============================================================================
Meanwhile, Anvil has found a better use for the strong ale in his hand; he's using it to scrub some dust off his armor with a rag. "I can't say if it tastes very good, but it makes excellent polish," he remarks.
Tirik face splits in a grin at the offer of alcoholic wares, eyeing the collection a moment before indicating a bottle of honey wine. No no, no glass, those are for civilized people and cheap drunks.
Safety elf looks up with a smile at the arm squeeze. Riluna grins at Jareth and waves with her other hand. She looks over the line, making sure no one's shoving, tripping. Fortunately, texting and cell phones do not exist or she would be sure to invent remote combustion for them. Nothing says unsafe like not paying attention. Riluna looks over her shoulder. Hmmm. Her eyebrows lift at some of the things being mixed. That can't be good. But nothing immediate seems to be catching fire or causing havok, so for now, it passes. She does look curiously at the dunk tank. Hmmm.
In line, Karelin tries to hide his disappointment. He'll have to fill the suggestion box on the dunk tank. Eels. Electric eels with scorching rays coming out of their eyes. No, wait, with bees coming out of their mouths, shooting scorching ray from their stingers. And razorblades. Yes. He looks for something to sip, before he hurts his mouth smiling.
Welk rolls his eyes at the first thrower's hesitance, giving a mighty grunt as he stretches his wide shoulders. "Just give 'em a toss!" comes the man's deep, bellowing voice, followed by a brief stint of lighthearted laughter. "They'll be fine, as good as gnomes go." Spying the frocked brewmaster further up the line, he offers a waving arm toward the man, otherwise waiting patiently for his turn to vent some excess frustration.
"Wine's free, masters. It's sponsored by the illustrious Lady Sandiel," says the 'I SELL DRINKS' man, as he rummages in his box of bottles. It's slung over his hip as another man might bear a sword. In this case: the weapon of choice is lager. "It may make y'a pansy, but who's t'turn off free drinks, ey? 'ere. One ale, one--and a wine." After a second, measuring glance at Tirik. "You want somethin'?" he asks Welk.
Liblog stands with his ticket, beaming cheer and envy at the same time. He wanted to throw first! Oh well. He looks around at the people attending, but his short height makes it hard to spot any familiar faces for a bit. He does spot Riluna, though, and waves a little her way with a bit of cheer. Liblog seems a different person when not armed with a large maul and decked in armor. Almost normal... for a goblin.
Tirik accepts the wine with a noise best described as purring, nodding solemly at the mention of the sponcers name. Some things may be taken lightly, but the gift of alcohol is apparently not amoung them.
Nodding in acceptance of the conditions, Jareth tosses the ball once into the air, catching it while sighting the target. Cocking his arm back, he takes a step forward and launches the missile, hitting the target in the outer ring, sounding a bell as a prelude to the platform beneath the two gnomes suddenly disappearing and sending them down into the pool of gunk.
"Do you want anything?" asks Engel of Carmina, curiously. That's his first questuion to her and he seems to be eyeing the alcoholic-drink-vendor with a big grin on his face even now. A sly look
Brundle looks down at the dunking symbol as it is hit
"Oh bother."
"..BRUUUNDLEEEE.
And the two of them go plumetting in the goop, flailing wildly. There are a lot of cheers. A lot. Naturally, it takes them a little time to swim their way through it to begin climbing back up and retaking their seats, now covered in goo. They attempt to towel it off. Somewhat.
Chiddle nods his head at Valeska, "It's a glorious mess, isn't it?" He comments to her then, and then takes a draw on his cigarette, opening up a tin he offers her a cigarette. "Still, all for a good cause. Want a smoke?" he enquires.
As if Riluna's hard to spot in her purple clothing (Oh sure, DARK purple but let's face it: Even she gets the mood to be fruity sometimes. It's a curse of the elven species.). She smiles, seeing Liblog. She waves, perhaps pretty cheerful to see him too! One of the very first faces she met in Alexandria. "Hey there," She greets him, pondering the dunk tank. "Oooh, you're up next." A grin towards the shorter fellow. And the cheering! She puts in money for a ticket, then, after a moment. For the orphans! Poor gnomes. A cheer for Jareth then, with the others. Good times
"Meh," Carmina says, somewhat dismissive about the festivities. But then the gnomes fall into the water, and Carmina starts laughing. "Um, sure, I wonder if they have whiskey," she nods to Engel.
"Glorious? What a mess indeed." Valeska frowns, watching the dunking machine in action. Her eyes widen. "Oh. It is a public humiliation engine. How quaint." she touches the side of her cheek. "Is that water? I would have made it something else. Probably something that irritates sensitive parts, such as eyes or open wounds." she comments idly, before snapping back to attention and politely refusing the cigarette.
"That's one dunk!" bellows the Ticketmaster, and then fishes around a hat for the next number, "It's number thirty seven!" he calls out, it's Liblog's number.
Chiddle shakes his head at Valeska, "It's slime. Imported from the jungle lands from where the Sith Makar hail. Apparently, there is a gigantic breed of slug native there, that produces this fluid by the boatfull. We added a few coloring compounds." he explains, that's why Brundle and fyfe are now covered in flourescent green slime.
Liblog smiles brightly back at Riluna. "Its nice to see you again! Eh? I'm next?" He looks from Riluna to the ticketmaster and jumps a little. He is next! He skips over and takes the ball in his hands. He peers at the target and throws the ball so hard he stumbles forward a little bit. It thuds on the outer ring and he smiles a little. Hey! He hit!
Jareth can't help but laugh at the result of his throw, and just laughs all the more after Liblog's throw, clapping his hands in applause for the Goblin.
"Oh! I had barely noticed." remarks the absent-minded Valeska, chuckling to herself. "How pleasant then. I believe it is a success, judging from the aggregate crowd densities." she says, considering. "My, I wish Sir Darshan was here. He would no doubt enjoy the bit of home." she adds, producing a small mechanical box from somewhere on her person. She extends tiny metal legs, setting up a tripod. "This should be a suitable vantage for recording, correct? I do wish to try out this new Manafilm Optigraphic Register."
"Goodness! I'm missing it! I'm...ah. Goodness! Well..." Abrahil stops in his mid (run? flop? bounce?) towards the line as he's distracted by fair finger-foods. Great, big platters of it that are walking around under the power of a pair of gnome children. Colorful rolls, delicate cookie-florets. No one shape is the same--but he seems to be checking to see if they just /might/ be, because suddenly there's four or ten in his hands. "I suppose I could try a few."
<Meet> You offer to meet Jenner.
Jenner has arrived.
<Meet> Jenner joins you.
Anvil watches as the gnomes are dumped into the slime. "It doesn't seem to be dangerous to them," he comments. "Maybe to their clothing... I wonder if they could make it blue instead of green."
Welk lets out a raucous cheer as the the pair take their short dive, offering a cheerful beckoning wave to the drink merchant. "I was thinking a good stout, but if I overheard ya right, you mentioned the word 'free'. So it'll be a bit of that gift of Lady Sandiel, I think." Patting at his coinpurse, he offers with a bit of a smirk, "new traveler and all." His attention is quickly drawn by the goblin's throw, and he offers a gasp and a quiet muttering before shrugging lightly and offering a few polite claps. "I had almost forgotten how light-hearted the little ones are. Perhaps I'll be able to show my gratitude soon enough."
Karelin steps up to the tank throwing line, eager enough. He exhales, then looks for a nice, hefty missile. Something with... oomph.
"Always glad t'be of service," the 'I SELL DRINKS' man utters the line of wait staff everywhere. He pats the box at his side, which clinks. "I've got a few more y'decide you're thirsty again. Lady was ver' generous, though I have t'recommend th' dwarven ale, as well. Got quite a kick t' it. ...hello!" and he wanders off to another customer.
Next up the number twenty one is called out, and Karelin will find that he's holding that number. "That's two throws and two dunks! How many more times will they be dropped into the gunge tonight! Only time will tell!" calls out the ticketmaster to the crowd.
Chiddle glances at Valeska, and offers a nod of his head. "Ah, this does look like a good point to be recording from. Hrm, I'd ask how it works, but really, I suppose it's within my duties to mix with the crowd."
Riluna smiles back, "And you! Yeah!" He is up! She watches him make the hit. "Nice shot!" She smiles at Jareth and Liblog. Pause. Check around! Riluna is turning this way and that. For all the silliness, there is a protective bend to the elf. No fires, nothing illegal going off? Good! She does weave a little through the area, just once, to check. No one seems to be sauced just yet. Good. Nothing's on fire. Also good. Carrot Top is not on the premesis. Good. Hmmmm. She returns towards the crowd near the dunking booth.
And then Liblog throws
Down go the gnomes. SPLASH. "I am going to roast you slowly, Brundle, for agreeing to this. SLOWLY.
They climb back up. And just when they reach the top, well, Karelin hits the bullseye. Immediately, the whole apparatus lights up! Bells and Whistles go off! A spray of sparkles from fireworks going off goes. The whole thing lights up and the letters 'BULLSEYE!!" are illuminated.
"OH no," say the gnomes, simultaneously, as they are dropped *back* into the goop, which has now changed colors to bright pink. Dye has been added. It.. clings
Engel, in the meantime, bursts out laughing. He's gone to fetch drinks for himself and Carmina and he returns thereafter, handing her over a mug. "This is... Well. This is worth it to watch, at any rate, eh?"
"Please, don't let me keep you then." Valeska notes, watching the shennanigans abound. "I'm largely here to make sure those... assistants don't happen to immolate the crowd with some of the entertainment..." she says, smiling pleasantly as she watches a few of the simpler fireworks pop in the air. Aah, such trivial technical challenges, but so pleasing to view
Tirik squeals in delight. Dropping people into slime? Meh. But fireworks and sparkley lights? Now there's a reason to aim carefully!
"Thank you," Carmina says. She takes a big sip from the mug, swallowing just in time to burst out laughing. "Yes. I believe you are right, Engel."
"A bullseye! For that, you win a special prize!" The ticketmaster calls out, and hands Karelin a life-sized stuffed replica of a gnome. He doesn't take 'no thanks' as an answer. He a few more numbers, people from the crowd come forth and throw the balls, but none of them manage to hit hard enough to dunk them again. Finally, Tirik's number is called.
Liblog smirks as his hit lands and walks away from the booth with much excitement. Not as much excitement as when the thing lights up from the next throw, though. His eyes widen as the slime turns pink. Ha! He laughs a little at the poor gnomes. And a prize of a life-sized stuffed gnome? He wishes he had hit that bullseye! He could put it in catapults and see how far it goes!
Karelin grins at the ticketmaster. "I assure you that I'll treasure this." He beams, the slides away towards the sidewall, muttering at the pink-slimed gnomes about somee kind of contraption gone wrong. Then he settles in next to Carmina. "So, do you suppose this is gnomeskin?"
"Oh, thank the gods," says Brundle. "Hopefully, he won't make the toss.
"Let's hope. This is YOUR FAULT, Brundle." Fythe replies, firmly.
Engel winks at Carmina, saying, "Do be careful about that. You nearly snotted it all over me." He gives her a fond nudge. A nod goes towards Karelin. ''Ello, hero."
Karelin grins over. "Engel! Nice hat." He finds himself some wine, then puts the stuffed gnome on his shoulders and settles it in. "How're you doing?"
"Engel," Carmina says, suddenly stiffening up again. "I do not snot."
Tirik takes a moment after his number is called, perhaps not fully understanding the whole 'ticket' busniess. Stepping up to the indicated spot, the halfling eyes the situation. Ball. Target. Space between. .....what's the catch? With a light shrug, Tirik sights again and give the ball a throw, clanging the bullseye. He leans foreward, ready in anticipation for whatever wonders this odd booth thing does next.
From some dark, demented, fierce and fearsome place..... Lurks an overseer! Scaly and fang'ed and beadily eyed, it stalks the crowds from above, occasionally keeping a glance down below, watching carefully
In case... someone should show up. And blame another, very-much-absent mage, for putting forth the Lady's name as a proud sponsor of the event. Because death is never pleasant, even if the cause was sheer hilarity.
. o O Nice shot... O o . Jenner-the-Pseudodragon remarks to himself, chuckling with a wry, sharp grin. From his perch at the buildings' edge, he steals another nip from a (cat-sized) hunk of stickyness that might or might not be candy...
<Meet> You offer to meet Xander.
<Meet> Xander declines your meetme offer.
Chiddle nods his head at Valeska. "I'll be interested to see what you've put together!" He calls out to Valeska as he heads into the crowd. Along the way he snatches up a serving of dwarven ale. Even diplomats can drink, can't they? He takes a swig, before eventually reaching Riluna. "Hello there!" He says, "Not spotted any safety hazards, I hope?"
"You have a stuffed gnome. Pity it isn't a real one -- though they do appear to be trying their best to put on a good show." He gives Carmina an apologetic look. "Sorry," he tells her. "Of course you don't."
And then Tirik -nearly- hits the bullseye, JUST shy of it. The two gnomes *had* had a second or two of relief, not expecting Tirik to be such an accurate throw, and down they go again with shocked and dismayed 'noooo's coming from them
Engel guffaws at this, loudly.
Karelin nods to Carmina. "She oozes." That's what a lady does, right? Then he looks over, and laughs, the gnome on his shoulders silently laughing with him. Really.
"At least you have something to hit," Carmina offers helpfully, nodding to Karelin's gnome. And then she blinks to Karelin. "Nor do I ooze, Karelin."
"Mmmmrph! And then I said--" Abrahil licks his fingers. His AMBASSADOR's label is smudged with icing as he chomps away. "Ah, I think I've told this story before, m'dears. It had the spatting shoes and the hippopotamus in it. I...have told it before, haven't I?" he asks, and whether he appears as an old aunt or everyone's grandfather is any guess. He nips more of the food and icing from his fingers. He stands near the line and near a host of vendors, and not too far underneath the pseudodragon.
Welk lets out another raucous cry as the wailing sounds of a bullseye rumbles through the contraption, sipping at the wine at hand with a slight wince at the taste. "Weak, but gets the job done," he mutters, taking in a great deal of pleasure in witnessing the continuous dunking of the pair. Raising a confused brow upon witnessing the stuffed gnome, he picks at the clattering stones tied along his beard, untangling a few strands of firm twine, taking a momentary lull to begin inspecting the many colourful inhabitants of the city and this celebration.
More names are called, one by one, as some blue dye is thrown into the gunk, too. It's now taking on a brownish shade thanks to the culmulated colors. And the ladder is slippery with slime. It all looks very... digusting. And unsafe. But they're Brundle and Fythe, so that's to be expected. The next number called out is Welk.
Tirik watches a moment longer, hopeing for lights and fireworks...... ah well. Oh, hey, wine bottle! Attention distracted from something blinky and flashy to something alcoholic and sugary, Tirik wanders out of the way, opening up the bottle and cheerfully taking a long pull.
Anvil just looks bemused. "This doesn't seem like much of a challenge, seeing that they've been dumped into the slime four times already. Maybe we should put someone else in there."
A smile at Chiddle. Riluna shakes her head, "None yet. I'm mostly watching out for flammables, pointy bits, people having had too much to drink and immediate dangers though." She taps her chin. A sort of bouncer light perhaps. "Or anything coming undone," Like bleachers losing bolts or anything like that! This is a good thing. She smiles, looking to the dunking booth once more. "Seems to be a big hit, I'm glad," The orphans will be too! "Oh, that ladder looks a bit wet..." Riluna is distracted now. Don't want anyone to bust a chin or skull. If it's possible, Safety Elf will thoughtfully towel the ladder dry and clean up as much slime as she can. IF she can.
Liblog laughs again as the gnomes yell and fall into the goo, much amused by this event. He bets that sitting with the gnomes would be fun! The goo looks all slimey and gross and he guesses it would be quite a bit of fun to be dunked into the stuff. Smiling, he continues to watch the throwers and laughs each time that the poor gnomes fall into the tank, clapping and wooting as well.
"Wine! Wine an' ale! Got elven wine, got dwarven ale! Gnome...whatever they call this, I ain't paid enough t'sell it!" the 'I SELL DRINKS' man continues through the crowd. He stops occasionally to hand out drinks to those in line--or towels. You can get towels. Presumably, it's for the splashing.
Welk perks up at the call of his number, wasting no time in polishing off what remains of his beverage. Half-running, half-waddling his way to the front with impeccable speed, he proudly presents his ticket and retrieves an object to hurl. Eying the pair to let the dripping slime linger in the air for a moment, he crouches as best he can to build force into a mighty hurl, clipping the centre ring just shy of the bullseye. Letting out a roar, half of pleasure and half of frustration, the dwarf shakes his head; the clinking of quartz and stone lingers as he steps away, offering a salute to the pair of doused gnomes. "Yer good sports!" he cries before stepping back toward the drink vendor, calling for dwarven ale with a celebratory cry.
Groaning, the two gnomes once again reascend the ladder. After a few misses from the people between Tirik and Welk, they look relieved. And then? Welk sends them falling back into the goo again, with a cry of 'I HATE YOU, BRUNDLE!' from Fythe. This is all his fault.
"I have the best hat *ever*, Karelin," Engel says, casually, to the warrior before taking another drink from his mug. "And the good lazy does not 'ooze'." He's hoping to not get his foot stomped on.
Pseudodragons, nature's most innocent, cunning, stealthy creatures. Pure and delicate and sweet..... Especially after fighting with far too much spun sugar for a body that size. Add gnomes with even *more* sweets, and the matter is set: Stretching up and out, shifting his stance carefully, Jenner leaps up from the overhang, not so much gliding as striking down at the Balding Gnome and his chosen prey...
. o O "Icing?" O o . comes the hyper-tinged telepathy, the tiny bronze dragon positively quivering from its pounce on Abrahil's shoulder. . o O "Icing! Nownownownownownow!" O o .
Valeska goes idle to get some of that elven wine, seeming to let things go now that the fireworks are working as intended. She raises an eyebrow however, at the sight of the tiny dragon-like... thing. How delightfully adorable! She leans over, head turning to get a better view.
"That is correct, Engel," Carmina says, sounding pleased. She reaches into the pocket of her robes and retrieves a tin box. "Would you like a cookie?"
Again, a couple more people are called up, one miss, one hit. And then the honor passes onto, "Number seven!" it's Riluna's number!
Shriek! "Oh, get it off! Get it--it...oh! Well, ah! You look different!" Abrahil stammers and adjusts his lenses. Tries. His fingers coat them with more icing, and then he's looking up at the pseudodragon through smears of sugarcream. "Oh...well. Look at those teeth! They're quite something, aren't they," to Valeska.
Chiddle has reconnected.
Pseudodragons are cats with scales. Adorable. Little Bastards. Just cute enough that you want to snuggle and punt them at the same time. And just clever enough to realize this fact. Riluna thinks so anyway. She's cleaning off the ladder with a towel so the gnomes can at least climb up safely. Oh hey! "Oh. Sorry guys," She whispers to the gnomes and steps up to toss a ball. Hmmm. Here goes nothing!
Remembering Carmina's cookies, Engel hesitates or a second. Just second, though. He really doesn't want his foot getting stepped on by Carmina. He holds out his hand for the cookie, "Of course, Carmina. A cookie would be great."
Carmina opens the tin, displaying some greyish cookies that are neatly arranged. "Have as many as you like," she tells Engel. Gnomes are getting it and cookies are being eaten, what a good day.
The tiny pseudodragon hisses politely, and takes a moment to preen. He is the *most magnificent* thing ever. Behold! CUTENESS
<< "One tries," >> comes the telepathic voice, just a hint of smug bemusement in the ripple. But he relents by reaching out with a tiny forepaw, wiping a smudge away from the poor gnome's glasses. << "Welcome and greetings. I have come to grace with my presence!" >> He sniffs archly, slender tail coiling for a tighter grip. << "Especially as no other lizard of my magnificence has arrived. Sigh!" >> A tiny claw to the chest, a dramatic (tiny) sigh. And an eye towards the sweet in Abrahil's hand. Stalkage.
Alas, no bullseye for Riluna! But she hits a middle ring solidly. Poor gnomes. Riluna grins a little. It's hard not to be happy if you succeed at something. Then she remembers the dunked gnomes. Well... hopefully they'll be another exciting color. She'll look around once more, before moving in to clean the ladder once more.
Tirik sways in plesant warmth as the honeyd wine hits his system, wandering to peer at the various other attractions. The paniced shriek draws his attention, naturally enough, and his gaze locks upon the the cause of it. A small creature who doesn't really speak, cheerful in nature, generally a source of mischief, and posessing a sweettooth the size of their head? It's almost a family reunion.
Jareth makes his way back to Myrana's counter as the dunkings continue unabated. Leaning against the stall, he keeps clapping his hands at each successful throw being made.
"Oh, it's just that so-called Safety Elf," says Brundle, relieved
"I am somehow not feeling relieved, Brundle," says Fythe. And then? Riluna hits the ring and SPLOOSH go the gnonmes. Again. They're both bright pink, now. They begin the slow climb back upstairs, with Fythe glaring daggers at Brundle the whole way up, who's saying, "It's.. it's for charity!
Sniffing the cookie, Engel looks stunned. "Owlbear? For *me*?" He looks thriolled. And begins 'om nom nomming' the cookie. Owlbear is apparently a delicacy amongst Hobgoblins.
Carmina's face lights up. "You like them? I have more. Lots more. You get a lot of...well, nevermind." She drinks more of her whiskey, clearly pleased.
"They are indeed quite beautiful. Adorable even, if that's a correct term for such." Valeska says, clasping her hands behind her back to look at the little thing. "My, I wonder what manner of food they can consume with such tiny teeth." she tilts her head slightly.
And finally, the queue is reaching it's end. A few more folks throw, some of them are successful, some less so. And finally, "Number sixty one! Our last ticket!" The ticketmaster calls out. It's Anvil's number.
"Ah...well..." Abrahil looks at the sweet in his hand. "Does anyone know anything about--" pseudodragons, that is. "I'm afraid I've never run into one," he confides to Valeska, and sounds all the world like an old gossip. "This is quite unusual. What do they eat?" About him, the festival kicks into gear. Food, ale, drinks are hawked. A smallish man stands up and waves about some cheese and sausages. Bright green.
Karelin grins at Engel. "Where -did- you get that hat?" He absently checks for the dagger at the small of his back at the sight of the pseudodragon, then shrugs. "That thing is smaller than Havelock. Huh."
Liblog cheers Riluna as she throws and hits the ring, throwing out a pair of "Whoop, whoop!"'s as the gnomes are dunked once more. His stomach grumbles angrily as he decides he will have to seek out some kind of snack. He then spots the man waving about green food and licks his lips. He doesn't know why that food is bright green, but he is hungry. He moves that way with a bright smile, looking up, "Ooo! ooo! I'll take one of those sausages!"
The psudodragon sniffs. It sniffs archly! And clambers down the gnomish arm with hungry, hungry eyes. << "Why, we eat many things!" >> he explains, slithering down with those tiny, tiny claws, tail coiling as it stalks in rotating circles, abiove and below and along the elbow, stealthily down upon the waiting treat! << "Iced creams and sugar scones and cinnamon buns...." >> The tiny bronze scales shiver with a hiss of remembered bliss, sighing dreamily as it pauses. << "Cinnamon...." >> he murmurs, dangling down, wings outstretched beneath. << "And absolutely," >> he adds, bowing his head (up) towards Valeska. << "We are adorable! Magnificent! Splendiferous! It is only natural, of course. We must be humble in our worldly grace!" >>
Myrana laughs, clapping as he poor gnomes pull themselves out of the goop. A few people have come to try her wares though, and she soon turns back to her work. Children clamber up onto the stools to put their coppers on the bar, and Myrana gives them enormous handpies, each with a flaky pastry apple or quince on top of the golden crust to show what the filling is.
Anvil is finally at the head of the line. He peers a bit at the target -- he's much better in close quarters than he is at range. Still... he scoops up one of the heavy balls used to try and dunk the two gnomes, tossing it from hand to hand before winding up and letting fly...
"Two or three? All for coppers, coppers! Show your coppers, get sausage, get a bun! Boiled, on a stick, or fried!" the man stops next to Liblog, and prepares to unload a platter. "Boiled, on a stick, or fried?" he carries a great-sized bucket of all variety--died green, mostly, with brightly-colored extras.
DING. Anvil manages to hit the middle ring again. Poor, poor Brundle and Fythe. SPLOOSH go the gnomes once again. They've been dunked so many times now, even the whites of their eyes are stained pink from the dye. Look out! Pink eyed gnomes
But at least that's close to everyone that has bought a ticket, isn't it? That's what the two gnomes appear to be asking
Engel goes 'awww'. "Looks like we're about out of dunkers." Sadness. ".. nad more would be great! I bet my brothers would love them."
Liblog look at the man for a moment and takes his coppers. "Two on a stick, please!" He licks his lips eagerly as he hands the coppers over and looks back in time to see the next throw and holds his breath. Come on, another dunk!
"Are you going to dunk anyone?" Carmina inquires. "And yes, where did you get that hat? I will bring the cookies over from my study."
Tirik weaves his way thru the crowd of legs. Life is tough when you're considered 'short' at a Gnomish Festival. But, being quick helps, and soon enough he stands near the draconic wonder, peering with unabashed delight. His already wide grin grows ever more as he spies Valeska, waving a cheerful hello.
Timestop dropped by Whirlpool at Fri Nov 13 04:13:50 2009 has left.
"I'm not sure. I've never seen microfauna of that type before. I do wonder to what extent their relationship with their megascale cousins runs, if there is any relationship at all." remarks Valeska with tones of science. She adjusts her opera glasses to spy one nice and closely, only to have a wave get in the way. She turns a little, spotting at Tirik. Huh? What is this here?
Cinnamon! Goodness. Why...I'm not sure if we have any," Abrahil looks up at the pseudodragon. He has to adjust the rose-colored lenses to do so, the same lenses dipped and mushed with icing or this and that. He rests his hands on his stomach, that round, protruding thing. "But we could get you a--oh! Goodness...are those sausages?" and he tumbles over that direction, just as the man's serving them to Liblong. Who gets two on a stick, one green and one yellow, with cheerful "WELCOME!"s carved into the side, making them into miniature banners.
Is that safe? Riluna looks concerned for the gnomes being dunked. She's so far, keeping the ladder dry as she can. And there'll be water to clean them up soon. Can't have a slime trail, someone'll slip and lose an eye (It's all fun and games until...). She'll have it brought up once dunking seems to be done. The Safety Elf pauses in her duties, though, making sure no one is overly drunk, nothing is set ablaze and no structures are losing integrity. Can't have anything collapsing.
Anvil watches the gnomes tumble back into the slime. "Interesting. We have all paid to ensure they will be scrubbing... something... out of their hair for two days straight." He rubs his chin. "Oh well. They can always use wire brushes."
Liblog smiles at the man and takes his sausages, biting into one and licking his lips as he swallows it down. He blinks at the pseudodragon, not ever seeing one before and his head cocks to the left slightly as he looks at the little thing. He is careful not to stare, though, and just shrugs and nods to Abrahil. "They are! And they aren't half bad! Only a copper or so each, too!" He takes a large bite out of the green sausage again.
Welk watches the great golem's throw with anticipation and no small degree of curiousity at the fellow(?)'s form. Keeping an eye on the ball as it travels to the target, dropping the gnomes into the slime once again, he moves along the line to offer a jovial pat to the person's frame. "Good shot!" he grunts, looking him over once again. "Good arm on ya. I'm liking the cut o' yer jib, too." Grinning, he offers an extended hand, voice muffled by the clinking of crystals in his swaying beard. "Can I get ya anythin'?"
As the hubbub around the booth dies down, the gnome labeled SPEAKER steps up to the podium again. He taps the mana-speech-crystals at the front of it. "Is this thing--
"Wrench, socket, hammer! Hammer, twist and tie! Wrench, socket, hammer! Hammer, hammer, lye!"
"Oh! Well, I guess it's time, then! Hello!"
Tweeting, whistles, bangs and clangs accompany the noise. Bright, festive...a band of gnomish players begin a march down the aisles of booths and crafts. They're dressed in long robes of somber colors, and carry brightly colored instruments. A banner across them reads:
Dropped.
Gnomish Gnoodwill Band: Garden of the Blackrose
Brass pizzaz, verve, sparkplug, and gloom. A group of gnomes stands brazenly on a stage. They're dressed in dark clothing, their faces are pierced in metal, and their heavy footgear is larger than strictly necessiary. The music booms in skillful precussion through their metallic instruments. Their hair's greased dark and formed into semi-deadly spokes. The banner across their band uniforms reads: Garden of the Blackrose, its letterform painted in precise, gothic, and decorated with a small garden of impeccable dark, dark roses.
A label reads: SPONSORED BY LORD XANDER BLACKROSE
The bronze minidrake releases the gnome's arm with a *gasp*. << "No cinnamon?!" >> comes the incredulous reply, shock in every iota of the creature's frame. And it flitters down, snorting its tiny huffs of indignation. << "Insult to true hunters everywhere!" >> he remarks, taking a quick spin at the head level.... of halflings, at least. Akin to a glitter-sparked mayfly, it twists and turns and weaves and twirls, rapid circles ending with a flutter of quick wings, tiny claws digging into the halfling's topknot for purchase.
<< "No cinnamons!" >> the pseudodragon moans, sniffing sadly. He casts up great, large, sad eyes. Lizard tears
"Eh, naw. Wouldn't be fair. I have a very trained throwing arms. You know, they trained us in javelin tossing for a while? Wound up not working out too well. I preferred a crossbow, anyways. But that's us -- never afraid to experiment when it comes to warfare." A pause. "As for the hat... it is the best hat ever. It was part of a caravan that.. strayed close to Bludgunni territory back when Blar was part of it. They were taxed for the tresspass. I got the hat. Best investment I ever made." He pauses. A band has arrived. Really. He stares at it. And the banner. "Blackrose? Isn't that that mage?"
"Give a warm welcome to the Festival Band! This band has been made possible by a generous donation from Lord Blackrose. All proceeds go to the orphanage here in Alexandria."
The SPEAKER pauses for applause. And straightens, tugging at his tie.
"We've got quite a few--"
*HONK!*
"--exhibits on display! All made possible by our sponsors! We have..." here he pauses, pulls out a list. As he does, the band marches by, and HONK's! again. "...ahem! You'll notice to your left and right--Lady Sandiel's Toys for War Orphans. Thank you, Lady Sandiel! Across, we have the...the..."
He pauses. He hands the paper to the gnome next to him, who shakes his head, and hands it back. The SPEAKER clears his throat, and continues.
"We have the Little Weapons for Little Freedom Fighters, by the..." falter, "...Temple of Kor! Thank you KOR!" flustered, he rubs his hands together. "Thank you all very much! Let's hear a round of applause for our sponsors!"
*HONK!*
"Not you!"
Dropped.
Dropped.
Gnomish Toys for Displaced Children Booth
A generously-sized booth of fine pink craftsmanship, its surface is littered with tiny toys. Wind-up dinosaurs, wind-up elves, dwarves, and dolls and little things a kid would delight in. It has miniature everythings, and a basket of clothing for playing dress-up. The clothing is nothing that even a conservative would call conservative: it's garish, colorful, with bits of brass or oversized buttons, and in every color available save brown, white, or the ever-careful black.
A label reads: SPONSORED BY LADY ARWENIENIALLWEHN SANDIEL
Karelin cheers -loudly-. "KOR!!!" Because, you know. That's what he does. He shakes the gnome-trophy at the sky, then grins. "Remember, hit the Kinnevack with the -sharp- end." They're sharpened... oh... wait...
Little Weapons for Little Freedom Fighters
A brightly-colored booth with wooden swords instead of streamers. Or, there are streamers--they're attached to the swords' handles, or the miniature shields and armor. Most of the weapons and gear appear the practice sort, with padding, though a few look disturbingly real, with Kor's trademark axe-brand burned into the handle. A small display has a set of practice-dummies, in the shape of Kinnevack.
A label reads: SPONSORED BY THE TEMPLE OF KOR, and is written in red paint
+ + +++ +++ ++-+--------------------------------------------------+-+ | | | The gnomes of Happy Valley wish to thank... | | | | Lord Xander Blackrose (Happy Valley platinum-level | | honored patron) | | Lady Sandiel (Happy Valley gold-level honored patron)| | The Temple of Kor (Happy Valley gold-level honored | | patron) | | Myrana Tarris (Beercrafter and rat poi--*deleted*) | | Riluna Tathren (Safety administration) | | Eegah (Crafter contribution) | | Lady Valeska Cynosure (Pyrotechnickal contractor) | | | ++-+--------------------------------------------------+-+ +++ +++ + +
(pause)
"I'd like to also direct you towards our crafters! They have many fine booths they'd like to share with you this evening! And not all of them are gnomes," he says, and a few nearby chuckle. "Please stop by and visit. Remember, any purchases you make today will donate a small percentage towards the local orphanage. Thank you, and thank you for coming to this event!"
*HONK!*
"We'll now celebrate with a fireworks display...courtesy of Lady Valeska Cynosure, and Master Chiddle Blastbottle!
*HONK HONK HONK!*
Dropped.
"... I ... I'm sure Kor is a wonderful God to follow, but - aren't children and pointy onjects a really bad mix?" Riluna rubs the back of her head. She's going to make sure the dunkees are cleaned, before wandering towards Liblog and Jareth. "Oh well, I guess kids are always asking for Red Rider rifles or swords for the holidays," She considers. She's surveying the booths and fireworks. Nothing so far... good. Her hazel eyes are narrowed as she considers the area.
Tirik crouches slightly, not positive how to react. Usually things with claws in his hair is a distinctly BAD thing. But, this situation seems to be better. Noding in sympathy, he carefully reaches up to offer a comforting pat-pat, followed by an offer of honey wine?
Anvil turns to regard Welk, peering down at him with his usual curiousity. It's like being under a microscope sometimes, with those glowing yellow eyes. But he does take Welk's hand, shaking it firmly. "Thank you," he replies politely. "I am fine... I don't need to eat or drink, so there's no point in me taking it up now." He pauses, then inquires, "What's a jib?"
Liblog cheers out, "KOR!" At nearly the same time Karelin does, and he blinks as he notices this, looking in that man's direction for a moment. He moves towards him and smiles, "Why, hello! I don't think we have met! My name is Liblog. Are you also a follower of Kor?" He takes another large bite of sausage after he speaks, eyes filled with curiousity.
Jenner-the-Pseudodragon is offered honeyed wine? Acceptance! << "At least the short ones know how to offer proper courtesy!" >> the drake remarks, scuttling down the tight bindings with care. A tiny bite, a tiny swig, and a shiver that rattles the minidragon to the wings!
<< "....strong..." >> comes the mental remark, accompanied by the faintly teakettle hiss of breath. Bliss, thy name is sweetness!
Chiddle was halfway through stuffing some kind of sandwich into his mouth when his name is called out. He finishes unceremoniously, and then heads into the restricted area where all the fireworks are. There's a few moments, but then a single rocket fires into the air. It whistles through the air just in time for the bands next number to begin with a BANG as it explodes. Then a volley of rockets follow it, each of these ecploding into spinning disks of colored sparks in the air that pop out of existance before they come back down.
"Fireworks," Carmina says, then moves so that Engel and Karelin are between her and the fireworks.
Karelin looks down towards the goblin, and offers a meaty hand. "Karelin Andarin," is what he says, like it should answer everything. If the extensive facial scarring doesn't do it. "I don't recognize you from the temple. Do you go often?" He glances back at Carmina. "You might even enjoy it."
The next wave of rockets go up, they zig-zag rapidly as they go making a kind of whirring nnoise and leaving a trail of sparks. The trail of sparks suddenly begins to detonate from the bottom up, with a mighty crackling noise, and when the trail catches up with the head, each explodes with a loud bang, leaving golden sparks to twinkle in the sky for a few moments before they fade away.
| / \ .. ,..._
,,-.. | | \ `. ,-' \
/ ` #'# ___.. ::BOOM::| | `^ - `.
/ ###' / / | #$#$# |
| |# .. | @@@@ | / \ |
| | `.. `._ #### | ,' \ |
| | ' -_ #937 ` %% | | \ |
| / ^#$ `. | ' ' |
| ` | ^ `b '. |
| ::POP:: .' `. ' | ::CRACKLE:: '.
| | \ | |
| .' \ | |
| | ::SNAP:: | |
| | | |
| | | |
| / | |
| | | |
| | | |
| / | |
Tirik's grin nearly splits his face in two, overly pleased at draconic acceptance. Carefully transfering the bottle to his other hand, careful not to jostle the rider upon his arm, and takes another pull himslef. He searches around a moment for a pastry booth, recalling some mention of cinimon, before the fireworks utterly derail the train of thought.
Myrana meanwhile stares up at the fireworks, jaw dropping. WOW!
Welk grips firmly at the golem's hand, laughing further at the thing's inquisitive nature. He offers back an intense gaze of his own, inspecting the man-machine from head to toe, spending several moments staring toward the rune on his left shin. "Jib? S'your jaw. Means I like the look of ya. In a friendly kind of way." Shrugging, he grunts, "means you're alright. Welk Berylpike, of the Stonesmashers. Can't say I've had the pleasure of meeting much of your ilk." Gesturing toward the fireworks with a somewhat grubby hand, he offers another jovial pat to Anvil's midsection, mumbling, "They can sure throw a bash, the little ones, can't they?" He does his best to conceal a gasp, but even he is impressed at the gnomish ingegnuity.
Fireworks! Riluna claps. Oooh, very nice! While she is being very vigilant (No one's on fire or near sparks right?), it's hard not to be distracted for a moment.
Valeska is drawn away to the massive show of fireworks, and she grins broadly as her own volley of steam-launched fireworks go off in a massive demonstration of moderl alchemy. She looks back towards the Pseudodragon, then peering back up as the smoke in the sky is lit further by concussive, multicolored pops.
Jareth gives a wary look at the donated 'toys for tots', so to speak, "No good can come of that. I foresee many an eye being poked out in the near future at the orphanage. Nonetheless, it is the thought that counts." before having his attention drawn to the pyrotechnics display in the sky above.
The loss of the honeyed wine is momentarily forgotten at the storm of pyrotechnic prowess suddenly unleashed into the air. Danglings wings shiver in surprise, head frill arched as the creature takes note... Curiosity sketched in its outline. << "...could enhance the mana flow..." >> comes the murmur of thought, accidental. << "Add a spectrum flow to gather the cords together... guided blooms in the air...." >>
Liblog takes the man's hand and gives it a strong shake, holding the two sticks of sausage with his other hand. "Well, don't go nearly as often as I would like, but I am in there now and again. Usually too busy running off on various adventures, though. Suppose most my prayers are inbetween battles than at a temple." He gives a sharp-toothed grin and then looks up at the fireworks. Ooo! Shiny! He almost forgets where he is for a moment as he watches them in awe.
_
' . ::crackle::
| ___
...._ | ,-' '
`'- ' ,'
,.. ++'-
,' ++------------'
_/ --+-+b'''-._
/ ,| \ `-.
,/ \ ' .
::: ' `".
::::::::: /
::::::::::::
:::::::::::::
:::::::::::
.:::::::: ::sparkle::
After a momentary lul in activity, suddenly jets of sparks shoot high into the air all around the garden, lighting it up in the twilight for a few moments. And then there's a loud whistle as a rocket flies into the air, exploding suddenly into a dozen glowing embers, which each pop in the sky and crackle as they descend towards earth, burning out way overhead. A series of criss-crossing rockets then dominate the sky for a moment, each one bursting into a crude representation of a dragon.
The flash of the fireworks is reflected in the metallic plates layered onto Anvil's frame. "It seems they do," replies the golem. "They certainly know how to put on a show. I wish I could contribute more." He turns back to Welk, placing his hand on his chest. "I am called Anvil. A pleasure to meet you, Welk."
Karelin looks up as well, smiling at the show. "You're fighting at the front, too, I hope. Don't think I've seen you there, either. Should." He scratches at his cheek-scar again, frowning in annoyance. "There's plenty to do there."
"..wow.." Engel was about to say more -- he really was. But the fireworks? They have him transfixed. This is clearly not something he's seen much of before. ".. I hope they put on a display that big when we win the war. Bigger, actually. That'd be great. Ow. My eyes. They hurt." He groans, rubbing at them. Sparklers appear to have burned into his eyes!
Ardan has connected.
Tirik takes a second pull of wine before returning the bottle to the former hand, quite willing to share, and apparently having no concern for lizard backwash. As the sky-drawings appear, he gives a whistle of apperication, quite impressed with even crude figures.
Chiddle has partially disconnected.
And, of course, Sparklers are being handed out to folks. Little sticks covered in alchemical compounds to make them crackle and spark. Very dangerous! Also fun. And a fire hazard. Poor Riluna.
The pseudodragon stares at the sprinkling of fiery stars raining down... And dragon-shapes, raining to earth!
<< "Now *that* is just showing off..." >> comes the telepathic grumble. Jealousy, tinged into the mix, as he gladly shares the drink with the halfling, hissing a quiet grumble to himself!
Ack. Riluna's gonna have grey hairs. She is going to flail at all the sticks being handed out. "Careful, keep those held like this - here, watch your fingers -" She decides to cut her losses and keep an eye out for the most hazardous things. Are they being held properly? Disposed of when spent? She holds out a bin for spent sparklers to get disposed of. "No, not near his face-"
Welk offers a kind grin to the larger Anvil, shaking his head and beard in a slight shiver as the dragon-firework shoots off. "Impressive," he grumbles, scrambling for a piece of charcoal and scrap rag to jot down a few hurried marks. Glancing up from the writing, he offers a slight smirk to the golem. "Anvil? S'a good name." Scribbling futher, he continues to speak as he does so. "Haven't seen explosions like this since home."
Tirik mmms, nodding in agreement. It is indeed showing off. But, heck of a show. "Lights fade. Flesh endures."
"..wow," says Engel, clasping Carmina on the shoulder. "That was really something," he says, blinking his eyes really slowly. He turns towards Karelin, pointing at him,. "When we get Blar back, we're going to have a ceremony. And you're all going to come! And then we'll have fireworks. Yeah, that's it."
Liblog glees at the dragon-shaped firework, much enjoying this. He looks at Karelin with a bright smile, "Oh, I have done some fighting on the front. I brought in some medical supplies and I do occasional patrolling as well for enemies. Haven't really been at the forefront of the battlelines, sadly. Something about overeagerness and not fighting defensively..."
And finally, at the end of the short but rather intense firework display, up goes a rocket. With a startling flash of light that makes it bright as day, if only for an instant, followed almost a full second later by a thunderous boom, the thing explodes into a gigantic globe of embers, which divbide and divide, and divide again, crackling against the darkening sky and casting a multi-colored hue on the world beneath.
Anvil has disconnected.
#
::CRACKLE:: . ::CRACKLE::
# .
. . .
. . .
. . . .
. . . . .
... . ::SPARKLE:: . . .
. . . . . . . . ::SPARKLE::
. . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . .. .
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . . ::SPARKLE::
. . .
** FIN **
Jareth has disconnected.
Little Weapons for Little Freedom Fighters has left.
Karelin gives a grunt to Liblog. "There's much more to be done, and plenty of opportunity to get to the front lines. You should take it."
Ardan arrives at the Ball, or perhaps he's been here the whole time. Hard to say, what with his small size and fairly bland clothing. He watches the fireworks display, impressed. As he watches, he eats from the plate of food that he acquired at some point off the buffet line. To the closest person, who happens to be Riluna, he comments, "Wow. Those are some of the best fireworks I've ever seen." Munch, munch. "Well, made by living beings, at least."
Jenner has disconnected.
Riluna has been busy gathering spent sparklers (Clean is safe too!) and making sure no one is on fire still. There's a few close calls and she even has to stop to splash someone's burns with cool water. "Not the face, not the face. Never put that near your face," She chides someone. "And - ack, no don't stick that up your nose." Flail! She grins, being addressed by Ardan, "You think so too? I'm really impressed." A long beat, "... made by living beings?"
Valeska finally sits back after the show, breathing some relief. The city was not in flames. In fact, most people were not in flames. With casualties at such a delightful low, she decides to mentally call this a success.
Welk has disconnected.
Tirik droops with disapointment as the delightful dragon departs. But, there is yet wine, and the night is relitively young. Perhaps there is entertainment yet to be had.
Ardan nods, swallowing his food, and wipes his fingers on a napkin. "Yes, indeed. Living out in The Vast, you get used to seeing strange stuff. Why, I've lost count of the number of times a great glowing light lit the sky, horizon to horizon, in the middle of the night." He gestures above him, drawing pictures with a meat kebob. "Blues and greens and pinks and purples. Most beautiful thing I've ever seen. Like a scarf, made of ice and light, draped across the sky by the gods." He finishes off the kebob, thoughtfully. "But these were good, too."
Chiddle has disconnected.
Karelin has reconnected.
Karelin has partially disconnected.
Liblog gives a nod to Karelin, "Well, guess I can give this 'teamwork' thing a try and hit the front some more. They did pay pretty well and I admit it is alot more fun to fight opponents who are tough than... Well... Being hired to patrol and not getting any action." He looks back and coughs, "Excuse me. I see some free ale, sparklers, and a chance at mischief over there. It was nice meeting you!" He dashes over and gets some booze, intoxicating himself quickly and then grabbing sparklers and waving them around innocently.
Karelin nods to Liblog. "Go have fun." He waves, then looks for sparklers himself.
"Well, this has been strangely uneventful and lovely," Carmina says, enjoying her drink and fading into the crowd.
Ooo, sparklers! Fun in and of themselves, but really, some things just beg t be taken to the next level. A level such as 'Can three of them be juggled at once?' This is the sort of question Tirik hopes to answer.... once his wine is gone. Playing with fire is one thing, but wasteing good alcohol is wrong.
Carmina goes OOC.
Carmina has left.
Oh good gravy. Is that a grey hair? Riluna has to stop someone from dangling one over his sister's head. "Ack, no hey!" Flail! She nods, and listesn to Ardan with a smile. "That sounds really lovely. I'll have to watch the night skies sometimes for it if I ever got that way," You never know, Safety Elves get around. Although, fortunately Tirik hasn't mentioned the juggling thing OUT LOUD or someone might put on a hard hat and duct tape him to something for his own safety and possibly the safety of anyone in 50 feet. Unless it's Carrot Top, Paris Hilton or Pereze Hilton. Then he can juggle away.
Karelin goes OOC.
Karelin has left.
So Engel fades with Carmina, at last, dissapearing into the crowd with her.
Sandy has arrived.
Whirlpool goes home.
Whirlpool has left.
Leaving her charge at the helm so to speak, Myrana steps out and makes rounds among the crowds, handing out samples of her own special brews from a platter held on one hand high above her coal-black mop of hair. She gives little cups of hot chocolate to the children; the mugs all bear her personal mark. Advertising, buaha.
And finally, better late than never, Sandy storms in. "What's all this? WHY are children hugging me in the street?" She demands. She has a kid clinging to her leg. Or a gnome. Sometimes, it is hard to tell.
Tirik polishes off the last of the bottle, and looks around for a nice safe place to set the empty glassware. Yeah, the edge of this table looks good. Step one cared for, the barbarian makes his way towards aquiring some sparklers, his steps light and unwavering. However, it is the careful lack of wobble made by one who is slightly drunk, knows they are slightly drunk, and is taking care not to act like they are slightly drunk. Which tends to make them look very drunk, but there you have it.
"...goodness," says Abrahil. His hands flutter, and he...eyes the dunking booth. The small, round gnome scurries (he could never run) towards it, in an attempt to vanish out of sight. In the meantime...more gnomes hug Sandy. She's hugged...and a smallish pair of them scramble up, presenting her with flowers, and a bottle of wine.
"For all of Happy Valley! Thank you!" says the little girl.
"You're very pretty," goes the boy. He stammers, and holds up the flowers in his small fists.
Liblog wobbles around tipsy-like with his sparklers and blinks as he sees a child with a mug of hot chocolate. Oh man! Free hot chocolate too? He looks around and spots Myrana passing them out. He tries to appear sober and wobbles towards her and looks up. "Are... those only for the children or?" He looks up, trying his best to give the googly eyes of puppy... Which comes across as more of a 'omg, hot chocolate!' instead.
"Someone," says Sandy as she is covered in gnomes and children, "is going to pay dearly for this. *Dearly*." She takes the flowers in her hand, looks at them with horror, and then sets the kids down. All of them.
Myrana blinks as Liblog wobbles up. She has never gotten the hang of telling the age of Goblins; she's terrible at it. So when he asks if they're only for children, at first she doesn't know exactly what to say! Instead she grins and hands him one. The smell of cinnamon and cayyenne wafts up from the thick liquid. "Just for whoever would like them!" She says instead. And the drinking chocolate; it's very thick, and fairly spicy. But mostly its extremely... chocolate!
Fortunately, Riluna is on watch! Anyone who looks too drunk is steered towards something shiny (but NOT flammable). Inevitably, unless she has help - something will get past her. And here comes a Sandy. Oh man. The purple suited safety Elf decides to cut her losses and just look busy as possible, "No - not in the pants-" Flail. She still holds a bin for spent sparklers and trash. And eventually, Riluna will collect herself some hot chocolate. Oooh, delicious. She will happily donate to whomever provides it! "No, don't set your sister on fire!" She's not got much time to sit amongst the crowds, alas.
Ardan grins, nodding. "I'll take you on a tour. Show you some of the awesome things The Vast has to offer, for sure, for sure." He smothers a chuckle as he looks over at Sandy, careful not to let her see him. He raises an eyebrow slightly at Liblog and Tirik's antics, but is intrigued, and heads over to see the results.
"Thank you!" another runs up and hugs her. Sandy appears to attract children--they attach themselves like tiny starfish, bearing flowers and wine, wine and flowers. By now there's a small crowd of them.
"Ale! Flowery wine! Be a man or be a flower! Gnomestuff! Don't pay me enough to sell it!" the 'I SELL DRINKS' man stomps past, with his crate of alcohol at his hip. He wears it as other men wear their swords, but his weapon of choice: the lager.
"Riluna! These children," the ones clinging to her, "are in terrible danger!" That's what she is saying to Riluna. Because they are. TERRIBLE DANGER.
Liblog cackles slightly as he gets the mug of hot chocolate and sips at it, waving around his sparkler with the other hand. He gives s sharp-toothed smile at Myrana and says, a touch louder than would be appropriate, "*hic thank you!" He wobbles off again, tipsy and carrying a hot liquid and a sparkler with a drunken smile on his face. Truly, he is like a disaster waiting to happen.
Tirik aquires a trio of sparklers. Exactly how this is accomplished is a detail lost to history, for none will *admit* to giving a drunken halfling firey items just to see what will happen. Setting the chemical sticks alight, Tirik begins tossing them deftly from hand to hand, grinning to himself at the weave of light the glowing afterimage creates.
Ardan has reconnected.
Ooh. So they are. Riluna is aware enough to at least get caught by that. She pauses, and wanders over towards the children. "The Lady is very grateful for your attention," She manages to the kids, "But I think she might be a bit busy seeing to things," Excuses! "So let's go see some sparklers and get some hot cocoa." Nodnod. As she leaves, she'll try to at least get a few of the kids to follow. Before they get punted like tiny foot balls.
Ardan hustles towards the kids as well, attempting a cartwheel and just barely managing to pull it off. Still, he hopes it has the intended effect of getting the kids attention so that they leave the woman alone. "Hey, kids! Who wants cocoa? Come on, follow me, you can thank the pretty lady some more later." He winks at Sandy, still grinning, and leads the rest of the horde away.
"Thank you, Riluna," says Sandy, tightly. Now, she is eyeing the signs. Her eyes get very big. Ver y. "..someone," she says, slowly, "is going to die. With painful slowness."
"Oh dear--" Myrana sees Ardan approaching with the horde of children, still hoding the platter of cocoa up over her head. Still, each one of the little buggers gets some, and the half-elf can't help but smile at them as she gives out cups of gently steaming chocolate. To Arden she offers one too, grinning wrily. "Here you are, mister Ardan! I'm glad to see you made it!"
Safety is fun kids! Riluna smiles back and waves at Sandy. She'll lead the kids to sugar, sparklers and even play with them a bit, daring to sing and tag along to make sure no one gets lots! Horray Babysitter Elf!
Meanwhile, within the stomach of Liblog. Green sausage floats in the sea of alcohol and cocoa, "Avast ye yeller dog! I haz ye!" The yellow sausage calls back, "Nevah! Pre-perrr for zee beatings, you green peeg!" Tiny explosions of marshmellow and bits of chocolate hit each of them. Liblog holds his stomach. "Oooo... I think I better get back home... This weebling and wobbling..." He stumbles away from the party, going to his bed to sleep off the terrible combination of dyed sausage, booze, and hot chocolate.
Riluna has disconnected.
Tirik weaves back and forth happily, the feeling of a warm fuzzy blanket still in his belly, and the cheerful glow of sparkeling flames dancing at his fingertips. Well, near his fingertips, for the moment. Tha nkfully sparklers only last a short while, so the danger is brief, though potent.
Ardan grins, nodding, taking the offered chocolate. He blows on it to cool it, and drinks it with a look of deep appreciation on his face. "MMMMMMM! Wow, thank you, miss Myrana! This is some of the best chocolate I've ever had! Did you make it? Please, you must share the recepie with me. Such perfection must be shared!"
Liblog heads out of the reception hall.
Liblog has left.
Ardan has partially disconnected.
Myrana smiles, quite pleased with the compliment and flattered. "Why thank you! Silver tongue like that-- are you a bard by proffession? I would be happy to share my recipe with you-- if only you promise to come to my Inn once I've opened it."
With children off her, Sandy clears her throat and then marches over to Abrahil. "*Who*," she demands, immediately.
"It...oh, oh my. Excuse me?" he blinks a grandfatherly blink. His hair is gone wild again--white stuff in a pouf belonging to some older soul. "Didn't you make a donation? We received one, quite sizable, in your name." He pauses. He looks nervous, does Abrahil. He taps his small fingers together, and looks quickly over towards Myrana and Ardan. SAVE ME, that says!
Tirik at last sets the charred once burning sticks aside, the fire hazard temporarily over as he resumes wandering. This has been great fun, but he hasn't really *met* anyone this eve, and isn't taht what gatherings are all about? Hrmm, that Abrahil fellow seems like he wants to meet someone right about now.
Ardan doffs his cap and bows low, eyes twinkling, smile on his face. "Actually, no, miss. Much to my family's chagrin, I can't hold a tune given a wagon. Otherwise, my life would be much different, and I probably never would've left the 'van. Thus, I never would've come to this beautiful city, never chanced upon this exquisite party, and never would have met such a radiant woman as yourself. So! It is most decidedly better that I am not a bard, I would say. However! I would love to patronize your Inn, especially if I can expect food of the same quality as this beverage in my hands. Merely tell me the place, and I shall arrive on wings of time." Odd saying, that. Perhaps it's from The Vast?
Myrana smiles, laughing. "I will tell you the place when there is one," she replies, charmed by the quicksilver speech patterns. "Only look for the green cat, and that'll be it! I'm raising funds for it slowly, see." Looking up, she sees Abrahil's desperate look and surpresses a smile. "Oh dear-- poor master Abrahil," she murmurs, then heads in that direction. "Master Abrahil, Miss Sandy," she says nodding cheerfully in greeting. "Would you like to try my Raspberry Stout? I brewed it myself. Also there's chocolate."
"Oh, I made one donation -- but I certainly didn't back all that. WHO?" Sandy goes to grab Abrahil by the front of his shirt, lifting him up into the air. She so wants to know. WHO! Then she pauses, looks around, and slowly sets him back down because all the gnomish children and other children are staring at her. "Ha ha," says Sandy, "Abrahil here is such a good fellow."
"Well...yes! But a second donation arrived in your name. Also the wine...it was a rather generous sum. Rather!" the last ends in a high-pitched SQUEAK! from the AMBASSADOR. He wrings his hands together, hurriedly fluffing his brightly colored, velvet-covered vest back in place, and smiles up at Sandy, "Could I...could I give you a hug, too? You're a hero to all of us, your honorship!" Happy Valley loves YOU, lady Arwenieniallwehn Sandiel! By now, Abrahil's scuttled backwards behind Myrana's booth. Or skirts. One of the two. He peeks out from behind her like a tiny, overnourished, cherub-grub.
"THAT IS NOT EVEN MY NAME!" Sandy all but yells that.
Tirik gives a big drunken hug to the wonderous supposed sponcer of the alcohol. Or at least her legs. Darn tall people.
"But it specified...!" squeak! Abrahil is hiding. Some of the children...have started to cry. Oddly enough, even though Sandy's the one causing the disturbance, they cling to her for comfort anyway. It's the child-bearing hips.
"Oh, my..." Abrahil trembles, like a bowl full of gnome-jelly. Cling! to Myrana's skirts! CLING! And dodge the weaving Tirik!
"Now now," Myrana says, one hand going to her hip while the other remains under the platter which is held above her head in tried and true barmaid fashion. "Miss Sandy, I think you should calm down. Children pouring love on you isn't the worst thing in the world, you know, even if they are a little sticky and gross."
Ardan is struggling not to laugh out loud at the very outraged Sandy, knowing that it will probably prove fatal for him to do so. Instead, he gulps the rest of his hot chocolate, cursing the necessity that requires him to bolt such a great concoction. Finishing it, he places the cup on the buffet, and bows low again. "I appologise, to all of you, but I have been here far too long, and my inn will surely lock me out if I remain at large much longer. Shame I can't spend more time in your radiant presence, and I am deeply sorry, but I fear I must go." This last is directed at Myrana. Or possibly Sandy. Maybe both. Probably not Tirik or Abrahil. "Again, my appologies, and I bid your evening pleasent endings."
Sandy's hips are NOT child bearing, dammit! They aren't! She scowls darkly at Myrana, "Yes, yes. I know, I know. I do not much like..." She glares down at the children, then says, "I.. have to be going." She clears her throat, aiming to pry the kids loose.
Tirik peers up at the dual Sandy's in his vision, and nods solemly, giving another hug of thanks to her knees before letting go and drifting off to find something warm and suitably waterproof to pass out under.
Myrana looks back at Sandiel calmly, quite peaceful despite her pose, though she doesn't budge an inch. In fact, she looks vaguely apologetic, in a stubbornly Althean sort of way.
Tirik has disconnected.
"rrr.. bloody Altheans," grumbles Sandy under her breath. And with that, she totally turns to leave.
Ardan has disconnected.
================================ Local Gossip ================================
Message: 8/8 Posted Author
Gnomish Festival Rumored Fri Oct 30 Anonymous
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"It's going to be wonderful! Just wonderful!"
The words belong to a tiny figure, a figure many of us associate with terror, explosions.
But the gnomes are looking to change that.
"We're hosting a festival, you see." The speaker before me is a small, round fellow. He looks like anyone's grandfather, yet I can't resist looking for an explosive device. And, my worry must be visible, because he reaches out to pat my hand.
"It's just a festival. For charity, of course. We're looking to establish gnoodwill."
Goodwill?
"Well, that's what I said, of course."
The gnomes have an uphill battle in front of them. The names Brundle and Frythe are well-known, the sort of names used to frighten even Garnaks. A local seller had made a small fortune selling "Gnome-shaped rattlers 'gainst spirits" before Happy Valley cried foul.
Gnomes are ready, it seems, to step up on their own. They have an uphill battle ahead, however.
And apparently, they intend to start with a festival.
Happy Valley has appointed two ambassadors to organize the event, Master Chiddle Blastbottle and Master Abrahil Brindlegear. Either of them are reachable for questions, or of course, sponsorship.
"This is all for charity," the one in front of me tells me. "The money will go to the War's orphans."
==============================================================================
================================ Local Gossip ================================
Message: 8/9 Posted Author
Gnomish Leaflets Sighted Tue Nov 03 Anonymous
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You've probably heard about the Gnomish charity fair that's coming up some time soon, so it comes as no surprise to find a flier advertising it.
The basics of the flier are rather predictable- a passable drawing of people having a good time, with fireworks in the background, with the Slogan; Gnood Will For All. The N is not a typo, but if you can ignore that, inside there is information about the events- a large feast, technical demonstrations, stalls and fireworks. All proceeds are mentioned to go towards funding the care of war orphans. The whole event is being organized and funded by a combination of local nobles, and the gnomes of Happy Valley.
There are invitations to set up stalls, for a small charge, and sell your own wares at the fair, or to give technical demonstrations of your own new inventions, though it says all inventions must have less than a 5 chance of exploding to be permissible. Included, are contact details for some of the organizers, Chiddle Blastbottle and Abrahil Brindlegear.
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============================= Plot Announcements =============================
Message: 9/44 Posted Author
Gnomish Goodwill Bash Sat Nov 07 Chiddle
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Come one! Come all! Come to the Gnomish Goodwill Ball! All are invited, you'll be delighted, at the Gnomish Goodwill Ball!
This is a slogan that many of you have seen ICly, on fliers, posters, leaflets, and pro-gnome propaganda over the last few weeks. And now I'm posting to formerly invite you, yes YOU! To the gnomish goodwill ball. I'm aiming to run this for this Thursday coming, and hoping to start at about 6PM PST. It'll be taking place in the Reception Hall in Alexandria. It's an open scene, so everyone is invited and entry will be permitted to late comers.
On the agenda is: A speech from the hosts, a band, a technology show, fireworks, home-brewed beer, and the main event: The Brundle and Fyfe Dunk. Drop your favourite gnomes into a bubbling cauldron of goo!
Every ticket bought, every dunk paid for, every beer drank will contribute to a charitable foundation helping to support war orphans in Alexandria. And our sponsors will get a special mention at the ball!
In addition, in the mean time I'd like to stir up some RP around the event. So go ahead and talk about it, or better yet, drop by the hall itself to poke around the proceedings. Page or @mail either Myself of Abrahil for more information.
This message brought to you by the Happy Valley Homes for Orphans Foundation.
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