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?"

Valrakas seems to have regained his high spirits after the briefbout of melancholy brought on by Hadari's toast to the Soul of the Sea. The minotaur speaks little it, but the former pirate has let slip a few times that it was a shipwreck that brought him to dry land.

Back to his usual, loud self Valrakas lauds each song by banging his tankard on the table and roaring with approval. And so it continues deep into the night. At one point the minotaur himself sings a humorous song about a fat fishwife, a stick-thin Abbot, and a pork sausage.

The next day...

It is early morning, with the sun barely risen above the sand dunes. The desert looks perfectly still but if one knows to look, it is teeming with activity: lizards and bugs are scrambling to collect precious dew before it dries up. A lone scorpion tracks across a gravel bed dragging the body of the mate it just killed. Jackals and rodents, redolent after another night of hunting, and in some cases, feasting, lounge in the dwindling shade. Birds take flight, riding the thermals spiralling up from the salt flats. Feng, the young aarakocra monk, takes it all in, as he soars higher than even the desert falcons, reveling in the bracing morning air while it lasts. Soon enough the sun will climb higher and hotter and the Kamatayan desert, true to its name, will be a killing field. This is nothing like his mist-shrouded mountain home, where the air is crisp and clean and devoid of dust. Here in the demesne of Lady Tsira, all must fight daily to survive, and the buzzards take the rest. And yet there are true treasures in this, the Omon Treasure Hoard - Feng has made friends here. And there are pricelesd lessons to be learned in a places like these.

A dust devil spirals by. The air begins to shimmer as the sands heat up. It is time to shelter. Feng banks his wings and flies back to the keep for his morning meditation and exercises.

Qiora is at breakfast, dressed plainly in a simple robe and leggings. Her sleeves are rolled up as she enjoys a breakfast stew with hot cider and bread. While at the table, a brush appears to be moving on its own through her hair. Throughout the meal, Qiora's hair braids and ties itself neatly with ribbon.

The halfling sets her empty mug on the table. A nearby ceramic pitcher is lifted by an unseen servant and pours a new round.

After leaving the Great Hall last night without a word of response to Qiora's request, Hadari was nowhere to be found. Yet in the morning he strides into the hall with an air of self-ascribed purpose. He sits across the long table from Qiora, holding a clear bottle full of seawater, a small piece of driftwood, and a clam shell shaped like a bowl. He draws a long breath that demands attention as he looks unblinkingly at Qiora.

With a simple motion, he places the driftwood in the clam bowl. Then he reaches for the seawater bottle and begins to pour it into the clam.

"This is Setharis," he says with utmost conviction. "He is the torrent that crushes the weak. He is the flood that devours the prideful. He is the storm that lays waste to evil and falsehood."

When he finishes speaking, he stops pouring. The driftwood flails at the base of the clam bowl, held down by the force of the flow, until that force abates and it rises to the water's level.

"This is also Setharis," he whispers reverently. "He is the ship that cradles the worthy. He is the harbor in times of great trouble. He is the drink that slakes our greatest thirsts."

Finally, Setharis pours more seawater until the driftwood escapes the bowl, and water spills over the longtable. At this Hadari nearly tears up, overcome with the joy of his faith.

"He is tide that carries us to greatness beyond what we can imagine. He is the rain that washes our souls clean. He is the sweat that cools us in our times of greatest toil."

After a brief pause, Hadari stares into Qiora's eyes, no longer staring at the water he has cast around the hall.

"Do you see? Do you understand?"

"Oh yes," Qiora purrs, almost blissfully. "Definitely, that's spot on. That's good."

Then she blinks as the water spreads over the table. "Oh, sorry! Fabio was giving me a morning massage." She cricks her neck and gestures idly to the seawater. "Fabio, be a dear and clean that up. Hadari seems to have spilled something." Qiora's Unseen Servant begins to mop.

"You were saying?"

Hadari stomps back out of the hall, leaving damp, indignant footprints as he goes.

Qiora watches the genasi stalk off. "Aren't you going to finish your breakfast?" she calls out after him, pointing to the clam shell bowl and driftwood.

Qiora leans forward for a better glimpse of Hadari's demonstration. "Odd diet," she murmurs aloud before sitting back in her chair. "Must be vegetarian."

Rhograx passes Hadari in the hallway and comes into the common room of the Great Hall, surveying the mess.

"Did the poor fellow make a mess? I think we have something to cure a weak bladder!"

"Wow, with everyone gone, things are a little quiet around here." Rhograx says pacing back and forth.

"Shut up you fool! We are safe and fed here, no need to travel about and possibly die!" Jorkus snaps.

"True," says Qiora, rising from her chair. "But, as I have guard duty now, it'd seem that death can reach us even here." She flashes a grin and skips away to change into her gear, before heading to the parapet at the main gate.

Tsira eats a piece of hard jerky and some boiled water for breakfast while sitting in the hall.

"I don't know what's worse, the weather or the food out here. Hopefully we can get some chickens out here, I miss eggs."

"Excuse me ma'am, we have a visitor seeking our help." Rhograx does a sweeping motion with his arm and brings in the sprite.

At the mention of eggs, Feng looks up from his breakfast. He, too, misses eggs, but not in the same way that Tsira does. The remark made him think of his home. His reverie is broken, however, when Rhograx brings in the sprite. Feng cocks his head curiously.

Valrakas notices Feng's reaction to Tsira's egg remark. He guffaws loudly, and is about to give the birdman a slap on the shoulder when Rhograx enters with a curious little critter. Valrakas turns his great horned head to gawk.

Tsira slowly chews a piece of jerky as she examines the visitor.

"Well, go on."

The sprite back stiffens, and he introduces himself.

Y-yes! My name is Nalu, I'm from the forest- er, you might know it as the Kamatayan Forest."

He goes on the recite his elder's message, stumbling over some of the more complex words.

"Our forest has been polluted by the h-hallucinogenic properties of m-myconids. Our society is falling apart, as fey are susceptible to the spores. I'm one of the few who are resistant to the spores, so they sent me there to get help.

Tsira ponders for a moment, then downs her drink.

"Hmm, it would be nice to get on the good side of the fey... Stay here for the moment, Nalu, and have some food while you wait!"

Qiora briefly makes an appearance, passing through the great hall on her way to the washroom, followed by a trip to the kitchen.

The bard hums a tune to herself as she returns, crossing the hall back to the parapets at the main gate, this time holding a plate of fruit and tomatoes.

"And that," Rhograx sweeps his arm around, "is the grand tour of this wonderful place! Any questions Nalu?

Qiora returns from her shift at the Gate and makes a brief detour into the kitchen for a small bowl of dried dates. She dabs at the beads of sweat upon her forehead with a small cloth, and fans herself with her hat.

"Hot outside," she reports.

"Huh, you're still here?" says Qiora as she approaches the sprite. "Your steed outside is a fascinating creature. Did you have trouble crossing the desert? How did you avoid the... thing, out front?"

"The foul arrow stealing crab monstrosity?" Rhograx says, shaking his fist.

Qiora shrugs. "It left you alone, though perhaps for good reason," she says. "For a steed of that size, the journey must have taken forever! How long were in the desert?"

Tsira strides into the hall to make an announcement.

"Alright Nalu, I've got a party of three to help you out. The party will depart tomorrow at 0400."

She notice Qiora eating the bowl of dates, and jerks her thumb towards the main gate.

"Since you like chatting up the sprite so much, Miss Geng, you're on the mission as well. See you bright and early tomorrow morning!"

"Still time left fer drinkin' then!" Valrakas chortles.

Qiora visibly wilts with a pout. "Yes, m'lady," she says, and gives a curtsey. So much for an easy day of gate guarding.

"Pour one for me, Val!" the bard announces. If she's on this mission, by damn she'll go all in.

"Here ye go, lass. CHEERS!"

As Tsira walks in and announces that there is a party going he looks up and takes note. 0400 its an early start but it's not like there is anything to do round here. Not having unpack fully since arriving Kyros doesn't really have anything to get ready so he just continues to watch everyone else.