February 29, 2004
Night of Lights Part II
It takes the curvy young woman a moment to recover from the surprisingly risque performance, as much the same as many of the patrons. The ending especially causing some puzzlement. However, after a moment she begins an irregular clap and then speak. "Aye, well, thank ye miss. An- interesting show.. Now then, moving on! Is there anyone else who wishes to perform for us? The prizes are very much worth the effort, I assure you!"
A rotund halfling male blinks a few times at the last performance, then raises his hand, which brings little to no attention to him, seeing as how it is lost amongst the seated taller people. "If I may...? I believe I could tell a few jokes, perhaps..." The small creature seems suddenly rather timid.
A youthful female Seari moves quietly through the crowd, her eyes closing before she comes to a halt before a man of average height. She reaches out blindly for his shoulder, taking it in her hand for support as she draws herself up into his lap.
A curvy young woman indicates for the halfling to take the stage, "Please do, I think we could all use something .. ahem ,... a little different."
Upon receiving a curvy young, blonde haired woman's approval, a rotund halfling male smiles widely, straightening his back. He plods slowly over to the stage, giving a small hop to ascend to the center. He looks around, and notices that he cannot be properly seen, except by the patrons sitting closest to the stage. "Oh, this will not work, will not work at all! Could you bring me a seat to stand on?" He queries of a curvy young, blonde haired woman, pursing his lips to the side. "I'm a short fella, or, if you wish, vertically challeneged."
A platinum-haired man raises a slight eyebrow towards a scarred young man before dismissing it, turning to face a rotund halfling male, he gets up and quickly moves over, grabbing the stool he had before, giving it to a rotund halfling male "This work?"
At the clear intentions of a youthful female Seari, a man of average height retreats a pace, until the bail of hay is at his calves, and gently lowers himself into a seated position, allowing a youthful female Seari to climb into his lap; his arms mechanically move to encircle the form before him, but his attention moves now to a fidgety Dryth woman, and as if a veil is removed from his features a genuine expression of soft pleading is expressed toward her, though no words are uttered.
A rotund halfling male ascends the stool with some marked uncertainty, but once he is upon the stool, he nods to a platinum-haired man. "Indeed, thank you!" He clears his throat, then turns about -slowly- to take in the entire audience. "I suppose some introductions would be in order. I am Filingstan Dobersworth, Telantha's only surviving halfling, as I'm sure you, my esteemed and quite clever audience, have already gathered." He takes in a breath, then lets it out slowly. "I will be telling some jokes tonight of a rather sad and sorry degree of funny. I would apologize for the terribleness of them in advance, but the reason that these jokes -are- funny is because they are not funny." The halfling smirks as he watches confused looks play over some of the patrons' faces.
A fidgety Dryth woman remains standing, though she seems to into a trancelike state, her mismatched eyes gazing ahead, seemingly at nothing. In a brief amount of time, her body seems to relax, including her features though her expression appears to take on a look of sorrow.
A scarred young man chuckles hollowly and then slowly moves his head in an odd left to right fashion which causes soft cracks to be admitted. Once these odd motions are done, he settles his head against the wall and sighs heavily. Adjusting his body's position, he moves to put his hands between his rear and the wall.
A petite, bronze-skinned woman wrinkles her brow as a confusion plays across her face. Tilting her head to one side, she centers her attention on a rotund halfling male.
A youthful female Seari draws her legs up, her form balling tighter against the chest of a man of average height once again silent. She turns her head down, allowing the mass of curls to fall over the top of her brow, the locks falling in disarray over the front of her face. Her twin fae-like ears peek out, the hoop through the right one jiggling against the side of her lobe. Once a rotund halfling male begins to speak, the tips of them swivel around towards him.
A platinum-haired man nods, moving quickly away from the stage, he walks over towards a scarred young man, leaning against the wall about two feet away from a scarred young man.
"I suppose I'll start off with a simple, quick joke. An old lady was cooking muffins one day. One of the muffins looked over at the other and says, 'Boy, it sure is hot in here!'" a rotund halfling male mimics the muffin waddling over to its companion, then speaking in a rather matter-of-fact voice. "The other muffin then said," Then, suddenly, he turns around, a shocked look on his face as he exclaims loudly, "Oh my gods! A talking muffin!"
An airy sounding chuckle comes from a petite, bronze-skinned woman as she gives her eyes a quick roll up towards the ceiling.
Without much thought, a man of average height's left hand begins to idly rub a youthful female Seari's back in small circles, the gesture apparently familiar judging by the trace amount of concentration needed. Still watching a fidgety Dryth woman, he begins to murmur something in a soft tone.
You overhear a man of average height whisper to a fidgety Dryth woman, 'I have received news from the brotherhood- it seems dire. Please sit yourself, we need to talk.'
A platinum-haired man chuckles slightly, but not much as he listens to the joke.
A scarred young man shakes his head at a rotund halfling male's joke and turns his head slightly to regard a platinum-haired man. Smiling softly he nods in acknoweldgement and then turns back to regard a rotund halfling male intently.
"Before I found myself at Telantha, I went to a fortune teller, as I believed them to be full of bunk and the like." a rotund halfling male speaks much with his hands, gesturing as he sets up the joke. "When I approached him, he was grinning ear to ear, much like this." He widely overexaggerates a grin, straining his facial muscles. "I took this as a sign that he was going to try and fool me like everybody else, so I bopped!&N" He throws a fake punch to the air in front of him. "him right on the nose. Then, of course, a guard walked in and arrested me for striking a happy medium."
A platinum-haired man lets out a slight snort before he busts out laughing, he quickly tries to calm himself, but he can only reduce it to chuckleing.
A scarred young man smiles broadly and chuckles a little, but shakes his head and regards the floor as he does so.
A low chuckle rises up from the back of the room, the sound drowned out by a suddenly loud and cackling laugh from a woman sitting in a corner who belatedly 'gets it'.
A fidgety Dryth woman sways slightly where she stands, seeming to fall back in a seated position upon the bale of hay beside the man of average height, though her eyes continue to gaze ahead absently, her lips parting slightly, though no words come.
A rotund halfling male "Now, soon after this event, I decided to become a fortune teller myself. I continued with this line of work, until one day a man thought that the rather... unfortunate result" He grins at the pun "I had given him was untrue, and had me arrested. Also back then, I was significantly thinner than my current state." He shakes his wide belly to prove his point.
A rotund halfling male "I was placed in a jail cell, but unfortunately, they seemed to have forgotten my status as a halfling. I squeeeeeezed through the bars and escaped! The authorities that had put me in the first time published a headline in a pamphlet, spreading the word of my 'misdeeds', if you will. Unfortunately, they were a bit daft, as you will see." He holds up a large piece of paper, which he reads for those in the back, as well as the illiterate. "It reads, 'Small Medium at Large!"
A petite, bronze-skinned woman's voice raises with a belly-shaking laugh as she leans back against the bale of hay, needing its girth to support herself.
A scarred young man bends at the knees and sighs heavily, a scowl on his face as he stands back up against the wall, settling back into his orginal position. Reaching into his belt pouch, he removes some food and takes a bite casually.
The parted shirt allows for the fine silk of a youthful female Seari's gown to brush lightly across a man of average height's chest, his hand continuing in small circles along her back. As a fidgety Dryth woman sits down, he clearly takes this as an indication to continue speaking- very little of his attention seems directed to the Halfling.
"I suppose I'll torture you poor folk with only one more..." a rotund halfling male grins to hismelf, looking down at the stool before returning his gaze to the audience. "Two friends decided to go fishing at a new spot. They found the -perfect- creek by which to fish. After a wonderful day, they decided to return there twenty years later, after they had both set up families and such."
A platinum-haired man is still chuckleing from the first joke, however he seems ot have calmed enough to look up at a rotund halfling male
You overhear a man of average height whisper to a fidgety Dryth woman, 'This is likely not be best place to speak of such, however- my second oldest brother has been killed. They are not sure by whom, but the methods are startlingly familiar, our own in fact. It has caused massive disruption among the brotherhood, many do not believe the structure of the council will hold on much longer.'
"The time finally comes around for them to meet again, and they do, in fact... meet." a rotund halfling male stops for a moment, frozen, then continues. "One of them says, 'Oi! This is the spot, right 'ere!' The other replies, ''ou daft 'ool! 'is ain't the spot!' ''ure it is! 'ook at that patch 'o clover o'er there, by the 'reek!' The other man responds, 'Silly 'ool! 'ou can't judge a brook by it's clover!"
A scarred young man pulls out three rather beaten up looking potatos and begins eating them ravenously. After finishing the first in what must be record time he licks his fingers clean and then begins to devour a second. Plowing through that one at only a slightly slower pace, he begins the third, quickly polishing that one off as well. Looking around guiltily, he smiles sheepishly and then settles back to listen to a rotund halfling male speak. Laughing heartily he makes a fist and covers his mouth with the top of it.
A soft groan is quickly covered by a chuckle as a petite, bronze-skinned woman raises her hands up and applauds a rotund halfling male cheerfully.
A platinum-haired man chuckles again, also appluading a rotund halfling male, his gaze turning to a scarred young man, chucking again before looking back towards a rotund halfling male.
"Don't flatter me, m'lady, it wasn't -that- funny." a rotund halfling male says to a petite, bronze-skinned woman with a grin. "Just in case anybody gets any funny ideas about, say, hanging this poor jester, just remember one thing: No noose is good noose." a rotund halfling male bows at the waist, then says softly. "Thank you for accompanying me on this trek through the lowest level of comedy." He descends the stool rather quickly and finds himself a spot beneath the bar rather quickly.
A fidgety Dryth woman slowly closes her eyes, beginning to slump lightly as she sits. Her eyes move beneath closed lids, as they come to crinkle, as if straining to see something, despite her eyes being closed.
Right on cue, a voice pipes up from near the doorway, "Get yer bloody shirt off!"
A petite, bronze-skinned woman grabs hold of her tambourine and hefts it up into the air between both hands. Giving it a quick shake, she raises an eyebrow inquiringly towards a curvy young, blonde haired woman.
Piping up from beneath the bar, a rotund halfling male responds in a loud voice: "It may actually garner more of a laugh than those jokes did, let me tell ya!"
A loud laugh is followed by another, and higher voice calling out, "Get yer pants off then!"
A young curvy woman nods for the petite, bronze-skinned woman to continue.
"Well, one thing's for sure, if I did that, we'd put to rest the rumor that the term 'halfling' applies to everything!" a rotund halfling male responds again, then rests against the bar, noticing a curvy young, blonde haired woman's movements.
Without any further response from a fidgety Dryth woman, a man of average height falls to silence now, his attentions sluggishly moving about the room to regard the crowded area, before alighting upon a petite, bronze-skinned woman for a time, but finally his gaze returns to the woman who sits in his lap, and he lays a very subtle kiss against the lower-ridge of her left ear.
Smiling gracefully at the gathered patrons, a petite, bronze-skinned woman slowly draws herself up to her full petite height. With a wink towards several faces she knows well, she raises her tambourine above her head and waits for the din to quiet.
A fidgety Dryth woman shuts her eyes tightly, two tears, one from each eye managing to slip through her clenched lids and stream down her cheeks.
A youthful female Seari slowly relaxes her legs, drawing them away from her chest to dangle down over the side of a man of average height's thigh, her body further reclining against him, for all the world looking like she sleeps if it were not for the twitch of her ears, the tips following the sounds of the room beyond her.
A petite, bronze-skinned woman shakes her tambourine and slaps it against her hip before singing in a lighthearted, playful voice: "They call her Lady of Pain, Queen of Wrong, ; Was she ever in love? Well, I don't know. ; But if Morhiag ever wrote a love song ; Here is how I think it might go:"
A platinum-haired man seems to direct his attention towards a fidgety Dryth woman, a frown crossing his face slightly.
A scarred young man looks pale at the mention of the goddess of death, and makes a quick religious gesture and kisses the medallion around his neck, mumbling something to himself.
A petite, bronze-skinned woman moves towards the centre of the cleared area, gently shaking and tapping her tambourine against her slightly swaying hips. Her high-pitched voice is filled with mockery and bawdiness as she belts out the first stanza, "My love, I've never known music ; I prefer to give musicians disease ; But I will set aside their sickness ; If they find me a tune that you please."
A petite, bronze-skinned woman winks at a few of the men in the audience and nods to all with a knowing smile while continuing to keep the beat with her jangling tambourine. Her toes begin to tap along as she quickens the rhythm of her instrument. "Seeing folks agonize is what I prize ; But I love you more than pain. ; Sweeter than cream is the sound of a scream ; But nothing's as sweet as your name."
A petite, bronze-skinned woman takes a few steps away from the centre, brushing a few thin wisps of reddish-brown hair from her eyes, then looks about the room before smiling flirtatiously at a man of average height. "I love you more than flesh filleting cuts ; And more than broken bones ; No amount of blood and guts ; Can silence my heart's moans." She shakes her tambourine in front of her and slaps the head to emphasize her steps and swaying hips.
A swift turn causes a petite, bronze-skinned woman's gown to fan out before settling back down and swirling around her slender ankles. A merry laugh peels forth from crimson lips as delight dances in brown eyes. The tone of her voice picks up, carrying even higher and louder than before. "Better still than warm, fresh blood ; Is the touch of your sweet lips. ; I adore your kiss more than dark catalysts ; And more than the cracking of whips." With a flick of her wrist, a petite, bronze-skinned woman emphasizes a whip cracking in a scarred young man's direction.
A petite, bronze-skinned woman steps towards the right, the heels of her feet clicking in time with the music. She smiles at the audience as she weaves her way about the hay bales and chairs. Her hips sway from side to side with the tambourine accenting her sensual movements. Every so often she pauses to touch a patron's cheek then half-turns to blow a crimson-haired man kiss. "I have no bed of goose-down pillows ; I've always preferred a bed of nails ; But if you would sleep on such prim nonsense ; I would lie beside my love without fail."
While a petite, bronze-skinned woman sings, a man of average height's gaze is focused upon her, almost from the moment she uttered the name of Morhiag. And while his expression makes an attempt at neutrality, a raging malice has been ignited in his eyes, which now bore holes into the woman's petite frame.
Cleverly using hands, elbows, shoulders, hips and feet to create a dizzying rhythm, a petite, bronze-skinned woman is fairly dancing with her tambourine! She spins around in a tight circle, raising her arms higher and higher, all the while beating the instrument at a loud, frantic pace. "I'll bend your knee without agony ; So you may offer me your ring. ; I'll answer 'yes', I'll be your goddess ; So you may wed the Queen of Suffering." The air suddenly stills as a petite, bronze-skinned woman falls to her knees in a living mockery of an engagement proposal, halting her rapid rhythm.
You think to yourself: 'This does not bode well. Is she that stupid to invoke Her name here?'
A fidgety Dryth woman's hands come to up over her face, shielding her face as tears seem to start flowing more freely, though they lower once again, as the tears seem to cease momentarily, shaking her head as if to snap herself out of a trance, murmuring softly. "As you wish.." She comes to stand, swallowing hard as her hands come to ball into fists at her sides, her tone, though wavering through tears, coming stern. "Stop this performance at once...One should not speak out in such mockery against any of the gods."
Standing quickly once more, a petite, bronze-skinned woman's lips turn up into a quaint smirk in a fidgety Dryth woman's direction. She bobs a small curtsy in the four cardinal directions before heading back towards her seat - tambourine hanging limply from her hand.
A platinum-haired man blinks at a fidgety Dryth woman's actions, nodding slightly he directs his attention towards a petite, bronze-skinned woman, awaiting her response.
Tensing quite visibly, though likely felt more than seen by a youthful female Seari, a man of average height glances up toward a fidgety Dryth woman, and then to a petite, bronze-skinned woman, though an element of something akin to glee begins to replace the flames which had been burning behind his eyes. His attention returns to a fidgety Dryth woman once again, watching her expression closely.
A scarred young man looks visibly relieved the performance has passed, and a sigh escapes his lips.
A crimson-haired human looks over at a scarred young man, apparently recovered from his earlier fit. He stands, making his way over to a scarred young man's side. "Perhaps we should try our little act?" he says softly to the man, a half-grin coming over his lips.
As she sets the tambourine down, a petite, bronze-skinned woman says in a clearly delighted voice. "It was just a song. Short as it was." A laugh sounding remotely like crystal clinking together peels from the woman's lips. "Sung often before even this night." With a jerk of her head towards a youthful female Seari she continues, "As if that wasn't -more- of a mockery in itself."
A scarred young man shrugs softly and says "If you'd like...I was getting tired of standing there anyway." He smiles devilishly and stands straight up. Putting out his hand palm up, towards the stage he says "By all means, after you."
Without a turn of her head, a youthful female Seari reaches around behind her back with her right hand, her middle finger extended up in what many in these times would consider a rude gesture. The action is presumably aimed at a petite, bronze-skinned woman.
A crimson-haired human casts a glance at a curvy young, blonde haired woman, unaware of the hostile words and gestures being exchanged between a youthful female Seari and a petite, bronze-skinned woman. "Madam, may we?"
"Of course" Is the curvy young woman's hurried reply as she hastens to deliver a tray of mugs to a rowdy group at a table.
A fidgety Dryth woman appears to swoon, her eyes lightly closing once again, her arm reaching behind her, seaking the bale of hay before she lowers herself back down to it.
A crimson-haired human nods happily, turning his gaze to a scarred young man. "Let's do this." He takes a few long steps to bound up onto the stage. He waits for a scarred young man to follow.
A scarred young man clambers onto the stage, his armoured form encumbering him surprisingly little. Standing at ease, but looking slightly uncomfortable he stands next to, but a little seperate from a crimson-haired human.
A platinum-haired man blinks, grinning as a crimson-haired human and a scarred young man go up to the stage, he walks over to his orginal bale of hay and rests upon it.
"You walk upon thin ice, girl- be weary you don't tread foolishly and get pulled under." a man of average height murmurs, though his words aren't aimed beyond his immediate surroundings, more a mumble. At a fidgety Dryth woman's near stumble back, he raises one brow in question before asking, in a subdued tone: "You've seldom been stirred to action so publicly- what has happened?"
"Ladies and gentlemen, we shall now present to you: a story never before told! Mainly because... we don't know what's going to happen!" a crimson-haired human gestures to a scarred young man. "My friend, here, and I will bring to you the first telling of the story, "Roxyia and the Dragon!" a crimson-haired human glances over to a scarred young man, smiling widely.
A scarred young man smiles broadly and nods his head in agreement with a crimson-haired human's words. Raising his voice slightly he says "Yes, this story has never been told, but like all good stories, it is full of romance, action, and like all good stories it starts once upon a time, in a land far beyond the seas, that only a few of the bravest sailors have ever seen..."
"A land, that these brave sailors once found to be full of the most beautiful women!" a crimson-haired human widens his eyes, smiling widely as he judges the reaction of the males in the audience. "Now, among these absolutely -gorgeous- women stands one in particular, Roxyia Lorela, a woman borne of more beauty than we, as mere mortals cannot possibly imagine."
The man of average height's actions seem to go unnoticed and unheard by a fidgety Dryth woman, as physically her eyes remain closed, and her clawed hand wanders down her thigh towards her knee, where it comes to rest.
Catching the words of the pair, a youthful female Seari swivels within the hold of a man of average height, her head turning so that her eyes can watch the actions and antics of both a crimson-haired human and a scarred young man. The former of which she directs a 'wolf-whistle.'
"Did they faint and try to curl up into a ball like you did when confronted with one?" a man of average height suddenly shouts out at a crimson-haired human's words.
A platinum-haired man chuckles slightly, crossing his legs as he looks towards a crimson-haired human, and a scarred young man.
A scarred young man frowns slightly at a man of average height's words but raises his voice again and says "The Lady Roxyia was the only daughter of a poor miller, and being possessed of such unearthly beauty, was sought after by many of the land's nobility, a trophy wife to keep along with all their gold, but the Lady had notions of marrying for love...and with those intentions she ran away from her poor father and her relentless suitors."
"Unfortunately, not being one to run away often, she did not know that seeking the help to two strange men on the highway would, in fact, be an unwise decision." a crimson-haired human notes the men that chuckle and prod their companions with a gaze, as if cataloging them for future use. "These two men had half a mind to ransom her back to her father, but!" a crimson-haired human holds up a single finger. "They both fell desperately in love with the girl. A love so desperate, they saw each other as the viliest of all that is vile, and that the other must die. One day, one of them said, 'You, my long time friend, have laid eyes upon Roxyia for the -last- time!'" a crimson-haired human draws his sword slowly and points it at a scarred young man. "'Prepare to duel for her returned love!'"
A crimson-haired human draws an elegant rapier bearing an ivory hilt from a leather sword sheath dyed a charcoal grey.
A scarred young man draws his sword in dramatic fashion and says in an indignant voice "I shall prove over your body that she loves me!" With that he sets himself into a overly dramatic en garde position and says dramatically "Roxyia shall be mine!"
A scarred young man draws a cross-hilted, blackened steel blade from a leather sword sheath dyed a charcoal grey.
A scarred young man holds that position for a moment before lunging in an overly dramatic fashion towards a crimson-haired human in a move that stops far short of his body.
A lissom looking female arrives from the east.
A lissom looking female wanders in from the east, she pushes back her hood pausing to glance quickly about the room, mussing at the crowd.
A crimson-haired human takes a step back, dropping his blade to the ground and swiping it to the side in an overexaggerated method. "You -fiend-! Your dead corpse will be proof that my love is the one that shall be requited!" He swings his blade back towards a scarred young man, slower than an actual attack would ever be, but still fast enough to keep up the illusion of a fight.
Seeming to come to some internal decision, a man of average height slowly begins to rise to his feet, his left arm wrapping tighter around a youthful female Seari, beneath her arms, and used to hold her against him as he climbs up to a stand.
A scarred young man dodges out of the way deftly and then brings his blade slowly up towards a crimson-haired human's chest, and makes a slight stabbing motion towards his chest which stops short of touching it, crying out as he does "AH HA! She is mine!" Sheathing his sword he steps forward and says "Now the victorious party carried off Roxyia to his hideout in the woods...but before he got there, trouble struck!"
A scarred young man sheathes a cross-hilted, blackened steel blade in a leather sword sheath dyed a charcoal grey.
A platinum-haired man seems to be very interested into the story, until a lissom looking female enters, his smile widening as he motions over towards her.
A lissom looking female raises a faint brow at the 'play' before her, though her head turns as a platinum-haired man waves and she moves quietly and quickly towards him, siddling up next to him on the bale of hay, she grins slightly at him before turning her attentions back to the action.
A youthful female Seari reacts little to a man of average height's lifting, her head simply coming to a rest upon his shoulder. Her eyes are still closed, though her face still manages a questioning look as it turns up to look at him.
A crimson-haired human sheathes an elegant rapier bearing an ivory hilt in a leather sword sheath dyed a charcoal grey.
A platinum-haired man reaches down and gently grasps her hand, leaning over to whisper into her ear.
You overhear a platinum-haired man whisper to a lissom looking female, 'I am glad your here dear..'
"Indeed it did. It struck quite solidly, too." a crimson-haired human chuckles softly as he removes his tabard quickly, revealing chainmail underneath. He gives a knowing glance, as well as a sly wink to the back door, where the voice demanding stripping usually came from. "A great, massive dragon came down upon his hideout!" a crimson-haired human holds the tabard with a dragon crest on it up for all to see. But- now he had a descision to make... does he leave Roxyia there to fend for herself agains the dragon, or does he stand, and -fight-!" He looks at a scarred young man, raising his chin in response to his own words.
A fidgety Dryth woman sighs a bit sadly, the tears having stopped their flow from her closed eyes, though she now murmurs softly. "Forgive me..."
A lissom looking female an ear flicks forward then backward in a slight awknowledgement of a platinum-haired man's words she simply nods without responding verbally.
"Yay-awww...." Comes from the direction that the crimson-haired man smiled and winked to.
Once standing, a man of average height slowly begins to weave his way, with a youthful female Seari, through the dense crowd and toward the eastern exit, though before he is out of sight of a fidgety Dryth woman he turns back to glance at her, offering a nod in leaving, though it is uncertain whether he heard the woman's words, or if he did, assumed they were aimed at him or not. With that he departs.
"Nay, he leaves Roxyia to fight for him and scampers off to the shadows." a youthful female Seari says, her words said tiredly yet loud enough to be carried to those nearby.
You now follow a man of average height.
A man of average height leaves east.
You follow a man of average height.
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Thanks to Carolyn Magruder for the permission to include some of her works which Zoyalla used in this piece of roleplay. To view the original, please visit her site here: http://balder.prohosting.com/tanager/ps-guardian.htm
Posted by ShadowSiege at February 29, 2004 10:17 PM