Hashkar 130, day 186, Peak (Open)

[Stix]

Along the border of The Lady's Ward and the Lower Ward sits a lone building in the middle of a small square -- the Society of the Luminiferous Aether, something of a social club for mages. The membership dues are extremely steep (several thousand gold coins, an enchanted item, or a spell the Society has yet to add to its extensive libraries), but once every few years, for the sake of enlightening spellslingers of the general public and profiting from their talents, their Lower Ward library holds an open exchange and a small public market. Today is that much-touted occasion.

Roaming around the tents outside the building are interested parties of all sorts, from recognizable fiends and celestials to gith, modrons, and stranger races (like that basher over there who looks like he's made entirely of enormous cut gemstones).

A sign on an engraved wooden panel hangs from each tent, announcing its wares and services. They are, as follows:

Alchemical Miscellany
Spell Formulae Traded and Sold (Thread already open)
Miraculous Trinkets
Rare Components Bought and Sold (Thread already open)
Magical Theory Questions Answered
Spell Keys: to Stay Alive on the Planes! (Thread already open)

[feq]

"Well ondfullr Moer," Vatndir says to Wraith as she exists the tent, "I think I'm as free as need be to enjoy the day. I imagine I must check a little more of this area out, as my mind is not wasteful of such areas." Vatndir surveyed the crowd, encouraged by the wealth of interesting people miling about. his mind had been very active.

"As to our specific destination, thats something I think requires some thought." Vatndir looked around, taking in the tent names. "I think I could go wherever you like, if you have your own needs, but I imagine it would be beneficial for me to check the Spell Keys and Trinkets tents."

Vatndir had an afterthought and added, "However, I imagine it would be fun simply to bang about with friends. Did I use the term right? John's been trying to teach me the lingo."

[Uathach Blackmantle]

"Aye, you used the term correctly... although the idiosyncrasies of the Sigillian dialect aren't nearly so important as most Cagers make it out to be. I've lived here my whole life - never left, never had a reason to leave - yet a lot of the time, I chose to speak the Cant less than most other bashers. Why bother when it changes more often than a Sensate changes his clothes?"

Wraith shrugged. A soft smile played across the tiefling's pale lips, and she met the Genasi's glittering nereid eyes with a thoughtful expression of her own; illumed by the gentle touch of genuine amusement.

"You have... an unusual way of expressing yourself, Vatndir." She admitted at length, pursing her lips thoughtfully and ponders asking exactly what Ondfullr Moer meant. If it was a regional dialect native to another plane, it was one she'd never heard before... until now, that is.

"We could bang around the Great Bazaar for a while until nightfall, if you wish; unless you can think of someplace better..." Wraith said with another slow smile. "I'm sure an out-of-towner like you might appreciate the beauty of the torus' night-lights, when not veiled in smog... I-I know I do."

[feq]

Vatndir nodded and smiled at Wraith's commentary. While on some, it might look like patronizing, Vatndir's eyes showed a sincerity and interest that dispelled any such assumption. "Whew. Glad to know I don't have to make the extra effort with you."

While his scaly skin did not blush, there was a clear pride in Vatndir's expression in response to Wraith's compliment. It was not so much the words, but the joy in having Wraith actually meet his eyes of her own accord.

"Its settled then" Vatndir said with a bright smile after Wraith's suggestion. "We shall check each of the tents in turn, even if just breifly, such that the thought in creating them was not wasted, and these others won't be deprived of a fleshed out shop. When the night decends, I cannot imagine anything more pleasant than a night-lights tour without smog. I shall depend on you as my guide." Vatndir bowed for extra emphasis.


"Lets try the spell key tent first. I shall be traveling shortly, and I imagine the purpose of thinking of this tent was to ensure I had the proper spell keys. If the line is too long, I imagine I can do without them." Vatndir started for the spell key tent, and had a thought. Not wishing to be accidentially separated in the croud, he extende his hand to Wraith, offering to "guide" her to the tent.

[Uathach Blackmantle]

Wraith glances around at the bustling crowd, seeming uncertain for a moment. Then realising that Vatndir is waiting for her, and no one appears to be paying them any heed, she smiles faintly, and slips her hand into his.

Though cased beneath a snug leather glove, the skin beneath is cool to the touch. Her fingers are long and slender, the bones delicate and almost alarmingly fragile. Yet her grip belies a confident steadiness found only in a professional of no modest skill.

"I'll trust your judgement." She murmurs thoughtfully, and her mind starts to wander again. "Maybe... Maybe I'll even perform this eve, although at this point, I'm not sure where, or if at all. We shall see if I can find an Inn that requires a musician for the night." She follows without complaint - she seems to take some comfort from his guidance and his presence - allowing her eyes to take in the crowd with a cursory study once more, before they enter yet another of the marked canopies.

"I'm curious; what does Ondfullr Moer mean?" She asks, stumbling awkwardly over the words; they sound strange rolling off her tongue, and she's certain she's mispronounced them. "I've heard you speak a few unusual words before, the first time we met. Is it a regional dialect? I've never heard it before."

[feq]

Vatndir smiles as wraith takes his hand. Vatndir's hands are equally cold, though the chill of the sea and the scaley covering seem to be the cause. His hands too are deft and strong, though clearly from a different use. Taking gentle care not to injure Wraith's hand, he pulls her along to the Spell Key tent.

Vatndir stops just outside the tent, and beems at the compliment. "My judgment? That is something I've never had complimented before. Thank you. My imagination and thoughts do most everythign, to be honest, so I think that my judgment is purely by accident. Can't have myself killed off by a bad decision can I? What purpose would there be in imagining that?"

Vatndir lets his "rant" get cut off, and takes in her offer. "A performance would be lovely. I'm sure I can think of a place for you to play when the time comes."

At the entrance to the flap, Vatndir pulls Wraith closer, not wishing to speak too loudly of names. "In honesty" he says with a little uncharacteristic embarassment "it means Soulful Maiden, the sort of woman of infinite depths." Quickly, he regained his distance, and spoke aloud again, any trace of embarassment gone. "I'm sorry if my tongue seems strange. The Cant around here is wierd to my ears, and for." He paused briefly, trying not to use strange words to describe his strange words "important thoughts, I tend to revert to Ysgardian. Old Ysgardian to be precise. My parents spoke it as a common tongue, so I took to learning it early."

With that, Vatndir entered the tent. [Note, after this post, I will continue anything in that thread]

[Uathach Blackmantle]

A deep blush stains Wraith's pale cheeks, and she tenses reflexively, seeming as though she will pull away and retreat to a safe distance at any moment. She relaxes again just as quickly, and fidgets restlessly with the ribbons adorning her elaborate robe. However, the embarrassed reddening of her fair skin remains. She averts her eyes in shame, and stares down at her boots. The foul, brackish mud clinging to the leather soles holds her attention for an indeterminable moment, before she finally mumbles.

"I-I do not deserve such praise. Please, spare such words and thoughts for someone more deserving than I." Her voice is meek and humble, yet it conveys a shade of pain and regret barely concealed beneath. She lifts her gaze for a fleeting moment - what looks like the liquid shimmer of tears has gathered along the crystaline depths of her eyes - and quickly retreats as soon as he releases her.

Wraith doesn't seem to hear him when he explains the nature of his foreign tongue. A second cursory glance would reveal her obvious discomfort and uncertainty. Something has clearly shaken her up. With the way she seems to withdraw into herself, her feeble presence flickering, shrinking like a flame in the wake of a strong draft, the tiefling Dead looks like she wants to leave; as quickly as possible.

Still, she follows Vatndir into the tent, ducking inside behind him; seeming to regain her lost repose with each moment that passes, and each breath she takes to settle her nerves.