The Omon Great Hall (IC Chat)

I have been working on a few new songs. Shall I play one for you all before you go out on a mission?

"Hopefully it is not a dirge," jokes Qiora, tuning her violin. "Something upbeat, yes? Let's play together!"

"Oooh, how lovely!" Leilara appears ready for a show, but is markedly more interested in the instruments than the impending music. "Did you inherit those? Or were they made for you? Oh! Did you find them somewhere?"

Some time later, after Leilara has left the hall to meet with Tsira along with the rest of the members of the expedition to Bhjurba's Den, the doors bang open and the minotaur Valrakas stomps in. He slams a keg of ale onto the table, broaches it, and fills a flagon from which he drinks sloppily. "Bel's sweaty balls, I hate this gods-damned heat! Th' only thing I hate more is all this fucking sand!" He shakes his great horned head and sits on the tabletop, taking great draughts as he listens to Rhograx and Qiora play.

Valrakas raises his flagon appreciatively as the song ends. "At least I'll not want fer entertainment in this dusty hellhole! So what d'ye think...Magnus, Yrsa, the white dragon, an' one o' them halfling girls - I can't tell 'em apart - goin' t' meet a buncha slavers? Mebbe next week Tsira'll be sendin' us' t' buy 'em back!"

"That would be expensive," chimes Qiora. "But it brings up an interesting question; what would you pay for one of them? Let's say... Magnus?"

Farik sits cross-legged on the floor, his staff laid out on the floor in front of him and listens with interest as they discuss his brother's slave price.

"By the way, Vally-dear," says Qiora with a smile, as she puts away her violin. "I'm the other halfling girl."

Valrakas blinks at Qiora and laughs uproariously. "Right, right...I can never tell ye two apart! Sorry, lass, muss be th' desert heat, addlin' me brains."

"Pay?! I'm not partin' with me gold! If they be needin' rescuin' I'll pay 'em slavers a visit wit' me blade, aye!" Valrakas draws his sword from its ornately carved wooden scabbard and lays both on the table. The enormous weapon is curiously shaped: the straight, single-edged blade widening towards the tip before tapering. The tip itself sports a wicked, curved spike.



"This be a kampilan. Ye ever been to th' Far-East? I been sailin' out there, farther East than where that birdman Feng was hatched. A buncha islands called Hiyasan. The locals're expert sailors, aye. An' ferocious fighters. You shoulda seen 'em, wee brown men cuttin' ogres in half wit' one o' these." Valrakas puts the sword away. He continues with a glint in his eye, "Ye know, in th' Hiyasan tongue, 'Kamatayan' is th' word fer death."

"I forgot that you're also a sailor," says Qiora, ignoring the sword for now. She continues in a comical tone, "Honestly, I can't tell you apart from the other one, what with all the hair!"

"I be th' pretty one, o' course!" Valrakas boasts, before erupting in more raucous laughter.

Rhograx breaks into a final ballad for the night before retiring.
Now you all know
The bards and their songs
When hours have gone by
I'll close my eyes
In a world far away
We may meet again
But now hear my song
About the dawn of the night
Let's sing the bards' song

Tomorrow will take us away
Far from home
No one will ever know our names
But the bards' songs will remain
Tomorrow will take it away
The fear of today
It will be gone
Due to our magic songs

There's only one song
Left in my mind
Tales of a brave man
Who lived far from here
Now the bard songs are over
And it's time to leave
No one should ask you for the name
Of the one
Who tells the story

Tomorrow will take us away
Far from home
No one will ever know our names
But the bards' songs will remain
Tomorrow all will be known
And you're not alone
So don't be afraid
In the dark and cold
'Cause the bards' songs will remain
They all will remain

In my thoughts and in my dreams
They're always in my mind
These songs of hobbits, dwarves and men
And elves
Come close your eyes
You can see them too

A grunt of respect comes from the blue-skinned, white-beared man in the corner. "A pleasant enough tune. Your winds create fine waves, bard."

Valrakas turns to regard Hadari. "I hadn't noticed ye there, mate. Drink?"

Hadari gives you a scrutinizing look. "Cold water, drunk in the health of the Soul of the Seas, if you would."

"The Seas, aye!" Valrakas passes Hadari the water jug, raises his ale tankard, and takes a long draught. The minotaur sailor bthen turns uncharacteristically quiet, with a faraway look in his eyes.

Hadari notices the brash minotaur's sudden calm and walks over to him. Putting his on Valrakas' shoulder, Hadari speaks softly and less sternly. "The waters give and take of all of us my friend. Yet I assure you, Setharis has a grand design. Wait long enough, and he shall send the tides to raise you up, just as surely as they have receded."

"Tell me about Setharis," says Qiora, sliding out a chair and taking a seat at the same table. She plants her elbows on the table, and her chin upon interlaced fingers.

From the darkness in the corner, you see two small hands emerge and clap. The small cloaked figure steps from the shadows and pulls back his hood. His face has several scars running across it and is hardened.

"A pleasant tune indeed. I am glad to live another day and hear another tune. Thank you Rhograx, you take me to my youth!" Jorkus almost whispers. "I don't know about Setharis, but I know Tsira has a grand design for me!"

"One more quick song before I retire for the night!

Pastimes with good company,
I love, and shall until I die.
Grouch who list, but none deny,
So Gods be pleased, thus live will I.
For my pastance,
Hunt, sing and dance,
My heart is set;
All goodly sport,
For my comfort,
Who shall me let?"