When the Voice Whispers-IC Roleplay Thread

[Breten]

Okay guys diner is served! Feel free to use this to chat and develop your characters outside the timing of the adventure movement.

Brian

[Nycthemeron]

Ailae follows the others out of the Church, bowing her head and making the sign of the Flame to the altar as she leaves. In the streets she turns to Alestair "Well, where shall we go Mr. Woland, I believe the restaurant was to be your choice?"

[Morituri]

Arching an eyebrow, Mort adds, "Yes, I recall promises of spicy foods. I do hope that Garlic will be involved?"

[Glawackus]

"I can only hope that they have some authentic Valenar food," Shrike says. "Whenever I am not in Valenar and ask for Elven food, I usually get Aerenal salad." He wrinkles his nose at the last word. "I will never understand my brethren's love for all those...vegetables without meat."

[Nycthemeron]

"Oh don't be so hard on Salad, I quite like aereni food, though," Ailae smiles wryly, "not all the time."

[Miraqariftsky]

Breaking his spell of steely silence, Wrath grinds out an innocent question. "What... what does it feel like--- to eat, to drink and to breathe?"

[Glawackus]

"That depends, Wrath," Shrike says. "Once, I was out training in the deep desert with my fellow soldiers, and we were set upon by bandits. We went without water for two days, and then finally met the warband that had been sent out when we did not report to our superiors. The water that they gave us was simply regular water, but I will never drink anything as sweet as that."

[Uncle_Putte]

"Yes, I do know a place that would fit perfectly. They're quite new in town, only a few years on their backs, and with the competition of the readily established halfling festhalls in Flamekeep they are by far not as prestigious as they would deserve to. They also have a certain policy on treating all customers as equal that generally puts them at odds with the big money - cardinals and noblemen find themselves above standing in line, for the most. I did have the foresight to make reservations earlier on, though, and I am glad I was correct in doing so. I would have hated to dine alone, which I certainly would have done instead of letting the chance go to waste. The place in question is Delmorano's, by the way, a little ways off from Cathedral Square. They serve all the staples of high food, Karrnathi ales and cheeses and Aundairi wines, as well as in the Aundair fashion of six to eight courses per meal but in small portions, yet the food is distinctly Thranian in make and ingredients."

He pauses for a moment, starting to walk in his tottering pace towards up-town and streets busy enough to find a cab in.

"And... what it is like to eat, or to drink? That is a difficult question to answer, in the least... but to be a little philosophical, the experience is twofold. There is the feeling of physical satisfaction which, to you, must be the hardest one to understand - at the bottom, it would be that if there were to you a need without which you would perish, such as what Shrike gave an example of, could you not imagine feeling security and a certain satisfaction in fulfilling it? And distress in the face of being unable to?"

He pauses his words for a moment, before continuing;

"I have to admit, though, having lived my life in the security of civilization, despite even the lean years of war, I have had little experience with going in physical need apart from by choice when there were too much to do to stop and eat. But as for the second aspect, Wrath, for a comparison I should like to ask you, do you like to hear the birds sing? Or music? Perhaps the smell of flowers or the spring forest, or the sensation of the sleek leather of the hilt of a new sword on your fingertips? It is strongly akin to these, the sense of taste, and some of us, such as I, make an intellectual pursuit out of eating. Always on search for the new taste, smell or texture in food."

[Miraqariftsky]

With a speed belying his great bulk, the trident slips back into its shoulder-harness and out sweeps his greatsword. Caressing the black blade with one fat finger, Wrath gazes into his reflected visage in the untarnished sword. His silvern eyes flash with a light beyond feeling and beyond reasoning as his unseen mouth spouts verses from an overflowing heart...

"Is there more to life than death?
For my kind, killing is to you, breath.
Dawn and dusk, noon and night
Time passes in slow-seasoned sight

Rage and calm, sword and spear
Is there anything that I should fear?
I wondered of fleshforged's slumber
But I met in deactivation, its same thunder

And more beside. For I still saw and heard
Every crooning call, every bleeding bird
The mortal moaning of my comrades-at-arms
I could not help them ease into Dolurrh's charms

One by one they died
No more to the Keeper the lied
Helplessness. What is immortality
When without action, everlasting I be?

Even in the height of action, it strikes me still
When arcane power uplifts my sinews to rage's bill
Times, there are, that I smite 'til none against me stand
Wading in blood, agonies of the innocent swayed not my hand

There. There lie my fears and my needs
Pray thanks that you shall not reap the seeds
Of my sin and my suffering
That you are forged of flesh, O blessed breathing"

[Uncle_Putte]

For the longest moment, Alestair walks slowly and in thoughtful silence.

"Remarkable. Remarkable. This was, so to say, spontaneous? Nevertheless, it is quite something - I suspect we both have an appreciation for the forms of beauty. Even more remarkable I find that while I am capable of viewing beauty, unlike you I know not how to make such. It is shameful, but I merely consume beauty, while yours is the gift to produce. Remarkable."

He smiles awkwardly towards Wrath, and adds;

"If this is not an isolated thread of fancy, what you recited, I would think that if one were to put all your thoughts between covers, you could give food of thought to many across the realms. I have yet to hear of poetry that touches the warforged especially, and none better could invoke feeling in them, I suspect."

[Glawackus]

"Well composed," Shrike comments, looking around at the buildings.

[Morituri]

Walking in silence during the deep philosophical discussions on the nature of being alive, Mort turns back to the walking group following a poignant pause after Wrath's soliloquy, "So there will be garlic, then?"

[Nycthemeron]

Ailae applauds flatteringly, "Very impressive Sir Wrath, poet, former heretic and defender of the Church's honour, why haven't we met before? Please do tell me, I've seen warforged using potions and such like, how does that work for one who does not eat?" As she speaks, she moves toward Wrath, proffering her arm for Wrath to support.

[Glawackus]

Shrike cracks his knuckles loudly. "Garlic would be good." He turns to the inquisitive. "Alestair, you are a detective? Are you employed by the Thrane Watch or something similar? I have served as something of a lawman myself, when necessary."

[Uncle_Putte]

"Ah, garlic - there will be, I suspect, even more so if you were to request for it. I had something intresting not long ago where we are headed - hors d' euvres consisting of pickled cloves, pesto a la Zilargo and spinach leaves wrapped in air-dried ham from local monastries. Assuming you meant garlic in a positive way, Mort, it shouldn't be a problem."

Finally spying one of the few cabs in Flamekeep that can seat six, he hails for it and as it grinds to a halt before the group, takes care to open the door for ms. d'Orien, all the while chattering towards Shrike.

"That is nice to hear. Yes, I served in a role in the guard for a time, but as it was in the war years, my activities consisted more of city defense duty than law work. I was a member of the city guard longbowmen, you see. That was only for a few years, though, before I received a - ah... promotion? I suppose that could do. In my new role I was employed more in an inquisitive role, to some extent of success, until my honorable release from duty due to injury some six years past. After that, I worked for a few years as a private inquisitive to ward off boredom, but for the last few months I have taken to living in retirement. Until tonight, of course."

As the landau rolls to a halt before the well-lit courtyard of the neat, urban three-story apartment building that, as a whole, serves as the restaurant Delmorano's, Alestair adds with only the slightest hint of sarcasm;

"As for my second retirement, there was no such dramatic reasons as injury, but for the mere solemn truth that of all the inquisitives, the ones whose names are never heard of do the greatest of favors to society. I had the misfortune of having become subject to some passing popularity to the local creme, and as a direct result, whenever a lady of good breeding were to misplace a bracelet, or an elderly matron's poodle would go amiss, or a strapping young scion would run off with a chambermaid - everyone would insist the great Woland rush to the rescue and relieve them of responsibility from their own indiscretions. It grates on the nerves over time, so to say, when one would be intrested in real problems."

He shrugs, stepping out of the carriage and passing back a slightly hapless smile.

"But that is enough for bitterness - the great Woland is barely past thirty, but a bitter old crone seems to hide in his little gray cells. Do tell, Shrike, I am most curious of your experiences as a man of law."

[Glawackus]

"I see," Shrike grins. "It is a tale perhaps best left for another day, but my duties to the Keepers require me to maintain mobility, deliver the faith to those who need it, and defend the people. At times, I have had to...defend the people from themselves, you might say." He glances out the window of the cab and continues.

"Nothing so codified as a city guard, though. I had my steed and my sword,"--he touches the hilt, almost reflexively--"and my badge of office." He touches the large insignia pin. "I had no alleyways to pursue criminals down or any...'locked room mysteries'. My jurisdiction was all the way out to the borders of the nation, and my superior officer usually miles away in the capitol. Murderers are somewhat uncommon among my people, but there are always thieves. The worst, ironically, considering what I am up to now, were the freelance adventurers. The Valenar are more than willing to let people into the ancestors' tombs, providing they go through the proper channels, not kicking the door down and plundering everything they can get their hands on." He smiles briefly, as if recalling a past battle, and then returns to his usual passive expression.

"Eventually, I was needed elsewhere, and I left behind my brothers and sisters in that service. I have done many things, however, and would not find it objectionable to return." Shrike looks over at Wrath.

"What is all this heretic business that I hear about, now? I have known many heretics in my time, but you do not seem the type. My apologies if I am being too forward."

[Nycthemeron]

Ailae bows her head to Mr. Woland as she disentangles herself from the Warforged's arm and gracefully accepts his lift into the carriage. Whilst aboard she listens intently to Alestair and Shrike as the coach rattles up the sloping streets of Flamekeep, throwing little titbits from her own experience into the coversation. As they alight she opens up a little more, "I'm rather ashamed to admit that most of my experience comes from the other end of the scale. I'm technically a detached agent of the Couriers Guild though I'm really an 'adventurer'." Her voice is light and self deprecating, one can hear the punctuation. "Though I don't like that term and I don't plunder, mostly I do work for the Twelve Acquisitions Directorate. I've got a degree from the university in Korth, thaumaturgy and theology joint honours. With my powers and contacts I serve as a theologian, defender and arcanist for expeditions. I won't deny that I've made independent expeditions however, though none to Valenar." She smiles somewhat sheepishly and shrugs slightly.

[Glawackus]

"My apologies if I sounded accusatory," Shrike says. "I very much doubt that anyone here would stoop to such levels, considering the Flame's willingness to employ us all."

[Nycthemeron]

"Not at all," Ailae pauses, a puzzled look passing across her face momentarially, "do pardon me, but you are a Keeper of the Past are you not sir? I simply cannot remember how one should, perhaps specifically one not of your faith, address you?"

[Glawackus]

"Ah," Shrike says with a smile. "Usually, the westerners use 'Keeper', which is fine--one higher than me would be a 'Guardian', or even a 'Sentinel'...what you would call a paladin is usually known as a 'Tombguard'. The actual translations of the Elven terms are a bit different. For instance, if my friend Rahna were here, you would probably hear me address her as 'Nail'--the literal translation for the word that most usually make out to be 'Tombguard' is actually more like 'Coffin-Nail' or 'Coffin-Slab'."

He waves his hand. "But this is all navel-gazing. Keeper will suffice, but we are to be friends, serrina. I would expect no such formalities from you, or anyone else."

He looks out at the buildings and catches himself. "Pardon me if I seem a little fascinated. In Valenar, such...permanent structures are rare. It is strange for me to think of a house that does not go on one's back when it is time to move."

He waves his hand again. "Pah. I talk too much."

[Nycthemeron]

Ailae smiles, moving to walk beside Shrike. "That is fascinating," she seems genuinely interested, "how I wonder does the Tombguard parallel the Deathguard and when would they diverge? Anyway also questions for another time.

And of course that is very kind of you. Officially I am Lady Ailae Naealjan d'Orien, but you," Ailae turns to address all assembled, "must of course call me Ailae.

As to permanent structures I have to say I think I'm in an odd camp. I spent some time in the Talenta a year or so ago and, well as an Orien I understand moving, but its the attachment to things as one moves that is so supprising to me. I'll admit to being spoiled with House Orien everywhere, I can teleport or travel anywhere and have a room waiting."

[Glawackus]

"Hahaha!" Shrike grins broadly for the first time. "I have spent much time among the Talenta, during the war especially. They are fierce and proud, good warriors. They honor their ancestors greatly. You must have seen the dinosaurs, of course--no match for a Valenar horse, but still! And the Talenta boomerang--I thought it a child's toy, myself, until one of them knocked out two of my men while we were sparring." He continues to smile, clearly revelling in the memory.

[Nycthemeron]

"Absolutely right!" Ailae laughs strongly, "I was damn glad I had them on side, those glidewings are monsters." She shakes her head, "Even the Valenar, the world's greatest horseelves cannot fly at you out of the sun.

Then again," she looks innocently at Shrike, "I've never seen a warclan of the Valaes Tairn riding at me, shining crimson and gold in the sunset."

[Glawackus]

"Of course not," Shrike says, grinning again. "You would be, ah, with the ancestors now. But, yes, it can be very impressive, very stirring. If our journey takes us back to my homelands, I would be happy to...give you the tour."

[Nycthemeron]

Ailae pulls away from Shrike playfully, "Don't count me out that easily, I keep a few tricks up my sleeve." She pats her cheek, just where the scar runs over her dragonmark. "The invitation however is most welcome, my ancestors are humanity's foremost travelers after all; new lands are in my blood."

[Glawackus]

Shrike cracks a few knuckles and turns towards the door. "Well, I am famished. Shall we?"

[Nycthemeron]

OOC:

Spoiler

Show

Didn't we get out of the carriage in Uncle Poirot's last post? I thought we were loitering in front of a restaurant?

[Glawackus]

OOC

Spoiler

Show

Adjusted accordingly.

[Nycthemeron]

"What a fantastic idea, I swear I could eat a dinosaur. Her thoughts seem meander for a moment, "Actually I wonder if they have Talentan food?

Anyway Shrike shall we lead our merry band." She smiles softly and takes Shrikes arm, leading him inward to the restaurant.

[Glawackus]

Shrike glances down quizically at her arm, and walks into the restaurant. He gestures for the nearest waiter. "We will need seats, and the menu, please."

After they are all seated, Shrike looks over the menu. "I do not know what to choose. Usually, I am eating what I can hunt, or what the cook has prepared for the group." He looks out the window and sighs. "It is times like this that I truly miss my homelands, but the spirits have called me here." He snaps the menu shut. "There is not much I can do, then, if this is to be my destiny. At least my destiny will include the seared pork in swordleaf sauce." He gives a half-smile, half-grimace, clearly a little uncomfortable now.