Quote Originally Posted by Erik Vale View Post
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Kalandor enjoyed the meal immensely. It may not have been large, and I't may not have been good in comparison to divine quisine, but having lived as various insects for the last several days, anything that isn't raw and bleeding or tough and dry is a plesure, for which he offers his complements and his thanks. He knew, though to a lesser extent, the curse that is living in an arid land.
As for the musicians and dancers, it was true they where great, and Kalandor complemented them as such, and offered to show them a tune of his own devising, a simple song which he acompanies with his staff, which somehow forms a hollow with a single string in front of it, which changes in length, acting as a lute, his voice taking many changes, and, once where the wolf is refferenced, his very throat seems to shift, and he manages to replicate with perfection the wolfs longing howl, which lingered in the air as only the haunting wolfsong can. When Fayruz offers to take up the harp in song, Kalandor is only to pleased to listen, and then, to lead the entire group in song and dance.

Upon the coming of the light, Kalandor merely responds with "The light could well be anything, but let us enjoy ourselves this evening, and concern ourselves with our difficulties on the morrow." Thinking internally that she could well use the rest and fun. He would probaly lend her some of his energy, for it was no use working herself to exhaustion. The Arival of the clay child left him silent and watching, to see Fayruz interact with her people and the respect with which her people deffered to her, something he would well love to enjoy such, but knew that he would not if he desired to truely live amoungst his people and live his own life. When the clay child and Fayruz talked, Kalandor listened intently, and smiles in response to Fayruz. "My dear sister, do you honestly think any of us could do anything otherwise. Some of our hardships may vary both in type and ferocity, but we would not be given any more than we can handle." To this, Kalandor quickly curses internally for invoking Finagle. "But come! Let us celebrate, to our love ones and their succeses." Kalandor embraces Fayruz, and she can feel his joy radiating from him, warming her heart as a fire warms the cold man, and she feels a small part of his power enter her, nothing major, but it removes her pallor, making her skin glow with vibrant colour instead of being an exhausted white, and where Kalandor to feel exhaustion, he does not show it, nor does his skin reveal it. Looking to the child he rests his hand upon the clay childs shoulder, smiling. "Give Avyra my regards, and should you rest to travel from here now or later, go with my blessing." He turned back to Fayruz, smiling, "Now come sister, I think I saw a dance I would like to learn, and if you havn't learnt how to dance as these buetiful girls yet, I may have to slow you down a little." Reaching out he grabbed her by the hand, and everyone in the tent started to become infected with his exuberance.
A Dance For Kalandor

Fayruz, filled with the vigor of her brother, was a sight to see, indeed! She was both uniquely of the rocklands, garbed in her dirty white reversed robes, and of the White City. Oh, and how she wore them! On her, they seemed not to make her lesser but to make her more, not dressing up or decorating the flower but simply highlighting the beautiful life of her face.

She grasped at Kalandor's hands, entwining her delicate marble-pale fingers about his rough, calloused ones with a bell-like laugh. "Brother," she said, "Most dances here are done alone! However..." She began to move their feet in a familiar pattern, sweeping him into an elegant ballroom dance straight from the White City.

The other dances around the circle quickly stopped. The Fayheran danced with passion, no matter whether they were descended from the dour Dereg or the wild Ma-Shen. When they were happy, they danced with wild abandon; when lustful, with enticing allure; when sad, with great motion and tearing of hair. But none of their dances could match the shadow of elegance shown before the fire. Fayruz was, for a moment, the princess of the White City in all her finery, dancing with her youngest brother. Her hair was as black as the night sky, her skin as bright as the sun caught within marble, and she moved as if she were in the Plaza of Song once more, not trapped down below. They spun and twirled with quiet elegance, caught in the spell of home.

Then the two dancers slowed, they stopped, and Fayruz and Kalandor stood face-to-face, their fingers intertwined so tightly, before the bright glow of the fire. She looked at him, and for a moment she was the most beautiful thing in the world; her eyes were the sun fallen from heaven, her skin as pure and faultless as the White City itself, but for the enticing veneer of her sweat gently slicking it, and her lips were as red as the brightest rubies. If all the gods had some primal terror lurking within them, this was hers: that one might fall in love and never fall back out, unless she were to take pity on you and show you the one who loved you most, to break her spell. But then compassion and warm love marred that terrible beauty, softened it into the beautiful face of a sister and a virgin mother.

"If you want to learn the dances of my people," she said, "I am certain that we would love to teach you. Although there are some more... feminine... dances that you might wish to avoid, darling brother. Avyra or Neive could quite certainly perform them, but... perhaps not one of my brothers."