"Not Quite the Sylvan She Had in Mind" Log Date: 8/26, 8/28, 8/30, 9/1/00 Log Cast: Sunset Tide, Faanshi, Bashirrah, Sara, Muirglas Log Intro: Faanshi has been ordered by the Queen-Maharani she serves to find the Sylvans who were responsible for ruining the ritual of Invoking the Flame a month now past. Not even the rumored death of Khalid Atar himself -- a rumor which Thalia Tritonides Khalida has quite steadfastly denied -- is enough to dismiss the halfbreed shudra healer from this task. For weeks now she has applied herself to the matter, asking her teacher FallingStar for her aid, travelling with FallingStar out to speak to the Ettowealona, and when that proved unsuccessful, coming back at last to start scouring the streets of Haven for any Sylvans she can question about the incident. But winter has set into the city in earnest, and it's been a hard search for Faanshi thus far. She's had plenty of distractions, not the least of which has been an impetuous Mongrel man who's developed a disturbing interest in what lies behind her veil -- but not one Sylvan has she found thus far who has been able to enlighten her about the intruders that stole into the sacred Varati ritual. Or who have been _willing_ to enlighten her. As it happens, though, the Sylvan she is about to find today is about to provide her enlightenment of another kind.... *===========================< In Character Time >===========================* Time of day: Afternoon Date on Aether: Monday, December 30, 3906. Year on Earth: 1506 A.D. Phase of the Moon: First Quarter Season: Winter Weather: Snow Temperature: Freezing *==========================================================================* Beach - Haven Soft sands from years of gentle ocean currents greet the feet of those who explore the expanse of beach that leads from the streets of Haven to the edges of ocean. The hushed roar of the waves can be heard, a lulling sound to the attentive ear. The sand stretches out for about a quarter of a mile and allows for plenty of space for pursuits of leisure. Depending upon the time, you may be graced by the awe-striking sunset, the peaceful glow of the moon, or the comforting rays of the midday sun. Several ocean birds fly overhead as if frolicking around and playing in the air, occasionally swooping down towards the ocean surface to retrieve a tasty morsel. The ocean itself seems to be calm and relaxing near the shore for several hundred feet before the sands slope harshly and drop. There, the water is safe only for experienced swimmers and boaters. There is a small path that leads towards the town that is paved with sand and lined on either side by flowers. Contents: Kosha Sunset Tide Obvious exits: Path to the City Haven Bay Sunset Tide This is obviously a Sylvan man, slightly on the short side as Sylvans go, with slightly almond eyes and sharpened ears. He seems to have an easy going stride that carries him along with a light, rolling step or sway. His frame is thin and nimble by appearances, though based on the cast of it the proportions seems to be fairly accurate when totaled to the whole. High boned cheeks and easy lips make it seem as though the fellow is always smiling, which is pretty near the truth. Long brown hair is loose, hanging to about his shoulders, though it seems to have some curious white-green undertones. Strangely his sparkling eyes are not the usual vivid, lovely green many Sylvan enjoy but a more sea, or aqua, green instead. The general pervasive air seems light, fit and trim, healthy with his thin body and just minimally shortened height. Strangely, also, is that this Sylvan seems to dress in nice and proper clothes by most of society's standards. At least, when in the city. No strange furs or copious nudity. His legs are, presently, gilded in knee high, black boots of nicely wrought leather. Vividly green breeches adorn his legs, laced along the sides to cinch them to his thigh and looser on the lower torso for freedom's sake. About his waist is is a leather belt that sweeps along just above his hips to barely hold tight against his thin frame. Over his torso is a vest of the same softly worked, green leather that is dyed so vividly to match the bright spirit of its wearer. Upon his wrists are bands of leather, worked to match his outfit, which cling to his left wrist from just below the elbow to just above the hand. Their design is random pattern of woven trees and waves with a sun interblended. Faanshi At first glance, some things about this individual are easy to discern. The garments worn are those oft seen on Varati females, yet, this figure stands at only 5'9", small for a woman of that race. But woman she clearly is, if the glimpses of slender hands and feet and of the shape beneath her flowing garb are to be believed. What portions of her skin are visible are a warm shade of gold; a hint of a braid of coal-black peeks out from beneath her sari. Shy or perhaps simply trained to submissive silence she must be, for she rarely raises her eyes to anyone unless specifically bidden, and she speaks so seldom and so softly that it is nigh impossible to determine the quality of her voice. Only the most astute of observers might notice that every so often -- perhaps when she thinks no one is watching -- this silent one peeks with furtive curiosity out from behind her veil at the world at large, with eyes set at a slight un-Varatish slant in her face, eyes the color of summer leaves. She is simply clad, her garments of humble make but excellent repair, perhaps the clothing of a servant whose household garbs even its servants well. Her sari is of a subtle but pleasing pattern of shades of red, trimmed in gold thread around its edges; beneath this, when her movements allow, a bright red choli and bright blue silwar might be glimpsed. Her veil is blue silk, light but not translucent, opaque enough to effectively hide the shape of her lower features from view. On her feet are a pair of simple sandals, whose long straps are looped up her calves and tied behind them. The sea's swell rolls back and forth just a few dozen yards off, the beach is covered in snow as a cold wind blows in off the sea. Sitting upon a small copse of stones and boulders which provide a slight upraised view of the sea and its shifting currents. On booted foot pressed into the soft sand at their base and its mate rested on a rock halfway aloft over the stone. The very slightly small man's butt resting on what was probably a very cold stone before he dusted it off and got it warmed up. Yes, it is quite cold and Sunset Tide has added a heavy, wool shirt beneath his vest to account for that fact at this time. His sea foam eyes watch the water as he cocks his head off to one side, truly the beach is a barren place in the winter. So few people love the ocean when it is cold and harsh, but they never realize that it isn't the ocean when it is anything else. At least, not to a sailor's mind. Such lofty ruminations are not on the mind of the large hound who comes run, run, running through the snow that has blanketed the beach, flinging little flakes of white and tan and brown up behind him with every impact of his enormous paws upon the sandy slush. Untroubled by the cold thanks to his winter pelt, Kosha finds the Running on the Icy Beach game quite delightful, and furthermore, he's learned that sometimes tasty things can be found in tidal pools if he starts hunting for them. Barking enthusiastically, the creature comes charging into view, his only thoughts ones of trying to roust shellfish or crabs out of their hiding places and never mind the cold. The noise he makes almost drowns out the plaintive call of a soft voice some distance behind him: "Kosha! Kosha, you _must_ wait for me...! Kosha!" And noisy he is too! Quite the large beast that he is, this simple Sylvan would have no part in a beast of that size, even given his racial affiliation with beasts he'd not want to partake of this creature. "Ach, what a bloody large hound tha' is," comes the watery sounding voice, a deeper shade of tenor and quicksilver in his fluid tones. Then the voice, a woman's voice very much obviously. What a queer accent she has as well, he ponders to hismelf, "Sounds th' role'a some kinda 'rati..." he comments to himself in a thoughtful manner as he slowly stands upwards. His leather boots crunch upon the slightly hardened surface of the sand as he begins to walk towards the sound of the voice. A good solid enormous beast of a hound he is, and no mistake about it. Kosha gets larger as the Sylvan draws nearer, though the dog appears mostly bent upon thrusting his nose into fascinating little rivulets and gullies that the ever-shifting waves dig into the sand. It doesn't take too terribly long before the owner of the voice that had called the hound comes into better view, as well -- and aye, those are Varati silks that clothe the willowy figure, crimson sari and blue silwar standing out against the winter drabness of the beach. "Kosha," she calls out in gentle scolding to the determined dog as she treks cautiously up behind him, her sandals less sure on the slush than Kosha's big paws, "a crab will bite your nose!" Though he, too, stands out in his vivid and brilliant green colors the Sylvan man seems to go unnoticed as his boots carry him towards the curious pair. Inspecting the hound for a moment to determine whether it's some type of Shifter he determines that its mannerisms do, indeed, appear natural and not holding the usual odd intelligent Shifter animals. "Aye, that they might... clamp onto 'is little nose and send 'im squealin'." comes the bright voice, fluid and rolling to you in a manner much like you'd expect hot water to wash of your sore body. The sound is intended to be sweet and slow, "Yet, I think yuir hound could handle th' pain... after he stopped 'is fleeing and yelpin' tha' is." he grins at you with lips that are easy to smile, easier still to grin. What? Hey! Who's that? Kosha's doggy head snaps up at the sound of the unfamiliar voice, and in obvious oblivion to the fact that his mistress has already just started and whirled about at the sound of the words just behind her, the hound lets out a vigorous string of barks and charges right at the Sylvan, determined to inspect him and see whether he is safe. "Kosha," squeals Faanshi a fraction of a second too late, "do not knock him down--!" His eyes, a mix between the blue of the sea and the brilliant green of the forest in more ways than one, widen perceptibly as the monstrous Kosha pounces. Oh, surely the beast is fairly harmless when not attacked, but neither is the Bright Green Man ready to be pounced upon by a charging hound and is, thus, toppled beneath the huge thing's weight with a faint, "Ach!" and a thump on the sand and a spray of white powder flashing around him. Arms flailing for a moment to catch himself the big dog's speed and weight drive him to his back nonetheless and soon, Sunset Tide is looking up into a big, floppy tongued dog face which belongs to the creature known as Kosha he now knows. "Oh -- oh, Ushas... Kosha, get off of him, you naughty -- oh!" Faanshi throws herself to her knees next to the dog and the man he's tackled, even as Kosha thoroughly sniffsniffsniffs the sailor's face, hair, neck, throat, and everything else in immediate range. The maiden's tone is still soft and flustered, her movements nervous, but for a moment she achieves an almost imperious tone as she orders the dog, "Kosha, heel at once!" _That_ seizes Kosha's attention, and he slinks off the Sylvan he'd pinned to inch around behind his mistress. Left to focus her attention upon the hapless stranger, Faanshi says plaintively, "I humbly beg your forgiveness, imphadi, h-he has been incorrigible for days now -- y-you are not hurt?" Just looking at the big mouth the looms over his nose and face for a moment the fellow considers as the hound prepares to leave, "Yuir beast's got some fine teeth, but... all things considered I'd rather it was ye jumpin' on me chest." Sunset Tide says as he raises himself to an elbow to look at your face, "Aye, yuir probably much smaller, could nae get his speed and ye certain would ha'e better breath, or so a man can hope." he says, his humor already returned as his eye flickers into a quick wink at you, looking at the big dog. "Bad Kosha, nae jumpin' on me nae more ye unnerstand." he says in a half hearted, mostly amused manner. Swinging his head around briefly, he sheds some of the snow that has been caught in the Sylvan's hair. Her face. Not much can be seen of it, with that opaque blue veil concealing her features, though above it can be glimpsed sungolden skin and black brows and lashes; these last are demurely lowered, in a flustered fashion, as she ducks her gaze out of the line of your sight. "I... I suppose that you are not hurt," she mumbles shyly; as you move, so does she, beginning to gingerly rise to her feet. "I can sense no injury... but I-I-I must apologize, still, Imphadi... your clothes are wet...!" Behind her, in disgrace, Kosha watches Faanshi dolefully, his ears drooping downwards and his entire doggish countenance mournful. "Ah, me clothes is always wet anyway lass. Ye come to th' beach an' ye don't get wet? What sorta dry lander logic do that be?" the man says as he rests his elbows on his now steepled knees while he looks up at you, "Ye got some funny eyes for a 'rati woman, ye know." he says after a moment of thought and he begins to look over your clothing. Nope. No idea what those colors mean at all, but they sure look wonderful on you he considers. No idea you're not Varati either, a bit small but not so much so and your skin certainly has their usual bronze color. Slowly the han reaches out a hand to the big dog, intending to scratch behind the mournful hound's ears with careful fingers. "Buck up, lad, ye did nae hurt me so much." he gives the dog a gentle, light pat of the head. Kosha whimpers hopefully, sitting there on his furry haunches in the snow as he's been bidden, but not passing up the opportunity to sniff the proffered fingers. Especially if they are going to scritch him. The girl, however, seems to grow more flustered, giving a small start to the remark about her eyes; she seems to shrink in on herself a bit while she murmurs in a tiny voice, "I... I know, Imphadi..." Now it seems to be her turn to be mournful, as her gaze fastens itself upon her sandals. Or perhaps upon the basket looped over her arm. It's difficult to tell, exactly; regardless of what exactly she's looking at, Faanshi is now looking down. And, lo and behold, Sunset Tide is looking up at you as well as he slowly stands up and keeps one hand adeptly on the big dog's ears, scratching it with the tips of his fingers carefully back and forth. "Aye, lass, now s'your turn to buck up," his voice says to you in a crystal clear, brilliant manner while he seems to catch you mood and offer you that easy and playful smile, somewhat impish and wholey pleasant is his hope, "I ha'e meself a second hand to scritch ye as well if it'll help ye cheer up." he says with a quick tone, humor in his voice intent of the laughing that he's so accustoemd to from other folks around him. This one's meant to make you laugh, of yes, that is one of the things he does. What? You're actually suggesting _touching_ her? The girl in Varati silks starts again, blushing furiously behind her veil, and finding herself flustered by a man about her own size. Faanshi doesn't seem to quite comprehend the teasing tone, though; her reaction is one of befuddlement, and a shyly mumbled, "Th-that... will not be necessary... I thank you... um..." Kosha, for his part, decides that he approves of this skitching business, and perks up rather significantly; his tail starts to wag, leaving tracks in the snowy sand. The Sylvan man, playful as he may be, looks down at the big dog and grins at him with a quick smile filled with sparkling teeth as he says, "Ach, see, yuir hound certainly seems to like me attention. See, fella, I'm nae the great kracken come atop land to eat yuir momma." he says to the furry, heavy beast in an easy and playful manner before he looks back to the sari clad maiden, "Yuir nae cold in those clothes? Ye got leg warmers'r somethin' unner there do ye?" he says to you in a thoughtful manner, "Well, ye do nae want scratchin' that's fien too, just leaves more for Kosha 'ere." he proclaims with a playful sniff. Another attempt at playful humor. Strange. You are Sylvan -- that much is obvious, with pointed ears peeking through loose brown hair -- but Faanshi cannot recall ever hearing one of the Sons of Earth speaking as Mongrel men, in her meager store of experience, are more wont to do. Taking a confused step backwards, she settles for blurting, "These... are the clothes I have..." Apparently, as far as she is concerned, this is more than sufficient explanation. She does, however, specify whether she is in fact cold. No, his words are quite similar to those of the baser Mongrels, yet somehow they are different as well. A little more salty and lyrical in sound, if truth were told, not quite so sharp and clipped as they are fluid and rolling. "Aye, so I see that, lass." Sunset Tide says to you with a curious furrowing of his brows as he removes his hand from the now joyful hound that you control, well, mostly control. "Ye need nae be 'fraid'a me. I ha'e nae been in a fight in years and I could hardly stand the idea'a hurtin' anybody, let alone a lass as high placed as ye must be to have such pretty things on ye. I can see that they be 'rati clothes, but they still be fine ones and that must mean ye got some kinda power." the man says as he shrugs his shoulders upwards, "Well, uh, I guess I'll leave ye be now. Eh, lass?" he says as his attempts at humor have utterly failed so far. Power? Her? "I-I am only a humble servant, Imphadi, I... have no power," the maiden murmurs, still not lifting her gaze to the now slightly confused ocean-green stare regarding her; there's something haunted lurking for a moment under those otherwise shy words, but for the most part she utters them in stoic truth. But... wait. She _has_ trudged through the snow and the cold today, seeking out just such an opportunity as this, by order of those she serves. Faanshi fidgets uncertainly, too flustered to risk an upward peek, yet all too conscious of her mission at hand. "I... if you will permit me... may I-I ask you a question, before you go about your business?" Considering you for a moment as you speak, the man's eyes seem to veritably glow like shallow sea water under the glass of the sun. Finally his lips part; they offer you a smile as Sunset Tide speaks to you in a gentle manner, "Ah, they call you what o'er in their compound? Narakis?" he asks you in a manner even as you consider speaking to him in such a manner and then he shrugs his shoulders upwards again in a deferential manner, "Aye, ye can ask me whate'er pleases ye, lass. I like th' sound'a yuir voice, s'very quiet and pretty, they teach you that in those 'rati places?" he asks you as he looks over your clothing again. She _must_ be cold; look, there, how the girl unthinkingly curls her arms about herself, against the nip of the ocean wind in off the water. "I..." Trying to formulate her thoughts on how best to ask her urgent question, Faanshi is thrown off track by the further questions about her... and the compliment to her voice especially appears to fluster her, for the stammer in her words increases even as she attempts to solemnly reply, "You see, Imphadi, I-I-I am commanded... I must find Sylvans, question them... you are the first I h-have seen all day... there was a ritual, a-a ritual of the Varati people..." The dog, for his part, whuffs out a breath of air as the attention of this clearly nice and discerning biped seems to waver away from the all-important task of Scritching His Head. Kosha butts said head against the nearest lean sunbrowned hand, attempting to win some attention back. The hand curls beneath the chin of the huge dog, rubbing at jowls and thick furry hollow underneath the creature's lips. Firm with the tips of his fingers, but gentle so as not to hurt the poor Kosha. The Sylvan tilts his head to the side, baring his sharpened ear to you so that he can better hear you with it it, his eyes look down at your feet for the moment while he thinks. "Ye can dispense with that imphadi stuff, lass. I'm nae man to be sirrah'd and curtsy'd to. Do they do that in th' 'rati places?" he asks again in a curious manner, his eyes still shining with the vivid life of the sea, "Aye, ritual ye say? Some 'rati's got ya chasin' Sylvans? Well, things must'a surely changed while I was at sea, last I heard they were on good terms. Well, mostly." he says and offers you a wicked playful grin once more. "A.... as you wish..." Clearly, the girl is either unaccustomed to being bidden to dispense with formal titles, or else ill-practiced at handling such requests gracefully; one might wonder how often she receives them. While her dog blissfully thumps his tail and leans heavily into the sailor's active fingers, she tries to keep her gaze down... but one of the things about men practically her own size is that their faces are much more in her line of sight than she is accustomed to, as well. So she catches a bit of that wicked grin, enough to make her blush deeply. Faanshi swallows down a lump of nervousness in her throat, and tries to keep her voice more or less steady as she explains, "The ritual... of Invoking the Flame, you see... it was disrupted by Sylvans... my mistress bids me look for aid in discovering the miscreants... I-I must find them, I _must_... people may be hurt if I do not!" On these last few words, that haunted tone comes back into that soft little voice of hers, letting a glimmer of what may well be a deep, worried pain out past her evidently deeply shy exterior. But then she catches herself, realizing the import of what you've said. "But... you have been at sea...?" "Aye, I do wish." he chimes to you in a firm, but not hateful, voice while he watches you shift uncomfortably beneath hsi simple, gentle gaze for a few moments. His fingers, long and used to grasping ropes and rungs on a ship are weathered and tough as they scratch beneath the heavy head of your lively hound, "Mistress? Are th' 'rati nae ruled by men? Women go sendin' their justice now, tha's somethin' funny to hear." he says to you with a bright, flighty grin on his lips as he leans forward in a mock conspiritorial manner to you. Then, he takes on a serious tone at the desperation in your voice, "'ey now, lass, do nae go soundin' all hurt on me. I do nae know any'a the folk ye speak'a, nae. I ha'e been at sea for two moons now, just came back to port last week. I can nae help ye with this mission, but do nae go soundin' like that on me. I'll get all weepy on ye if ye go cryin' on me." he reaches out a hand, the free one, to lightly and gently touch at your hand, bundled against your stomach so tightly. You have been at sea. She has been searching through Haven for days and days now, ever since her equally futile trip out to see the Ettowealona, and the first Sylvan she finds is a... sailor. Who has been at sea. Faanshi's face, or at least what little is visible of it, crumples up in a fashion that hints at impending tears despite her stoic disclaimer of "I... shall not cry, Im... I-I mean..." Crying, after all, is not a safe thing to do, outside one precious inviolate place in Haven, no matter how compassionate a stranger she might have just come across. This numbers as one of many hard little lessons she has accumulated in her young lifetime, and she strives now to deny a wave of heartsick frustration welling up within her. Kosha's mood begins to shift as Faanshi's does, though, and the dog lets out a little whine, lifting his chin off the Sylvan's active fingers. Whurf? "'ey, 'ey lass." Sunset Tide says to her in a quieter and gentler voice, shifting to soothing and easy tones instead of those flaringly playful ones that he prefers. He moves his hand to your shoulderto touch it gently, "Surely I nae be such poor company? Come now, lass, if'n ye must cry lay yuir head on me shoulder so's that ye do nae stain your pretty veil." he says to you in a teasing manner, but still solemn and gentle when he speaks to you. Stepping closer he moves so that you could easily be consoled, that is, if you were a normal woman. "S'alright if I touch ye, right? Yuir dog will nae rip me arm off will he?" the Sylvan asks you in a quiet manner, partially joking but certainly not entirely sure if that is not, indeed, the case. Kosha does not seem inclined to deprive you of a limb as of yet, but the dog does yurf in a bit of bemusement of his own now as you move closer to his beloved mistress. As for said mistress, her shoulder when touched might be noted to subtly tremble -- but whether with cold or with tension might not be so easily gleaned. At least, not until she looks up involuntarily, eyes gone wide with the sort of alarm you'd expect if you'd just asked her to strip down to her silwar and run half-bare through the Rialto. "I can't... I cannot do that," she squeaks, dampness now threatening her leaf-green gaze, and more visibly so now that she is looking up. "'ey now, why not?" Sunset Tide says to you after a moment of consideration, his hand moving on your shoulder in an entirely innocent manner, rubbing it warmly. He beams at you when you look at him, though you can tell its just for your benefit, "I know, ye hardly know me name... well, they calls me Sunset Tide and after ye tell me yuir name then ye can cry on my shoulder and we'll call it even, nae?" he says to you in that quicksilver voice, used in a gentle and soothing tone as his warm sea blue eyes watch your fearful face, "I'm nae goin' to hurt ye, nae that I could with yuir dog anyway. Hells, I do nae e'en ha'e a knife or anything." he says to you confirmingly. Kosha might be an overgrown puppy by temperament, but then, he _is_ a hundred pounds of overgrown puppy, with large, sharp teeth. Suitably provoked, he can and indeed has done damage to anything he's considered threatening towards Faanshi... though thus far, the pointed-eared sailor does not yet seem to qualify. However, both the dog _and_ the veiled maiden seem a little unable to figure out what to make of Sunset Tide, staring as they both are with matching bemused gazes for the moment. "Faanshi," is the shudra girl's only answer, then. "M-my name is Faanshi..." As with any animal so is mankind, and Sylvan kind and Varati kind and any kind, you must first offer it a gentle hand to sniff before it will let you touch it. And, indeed, his hand is gentle as it touches your shoulders with an soothing warm, merely a natural warm which comes from one's body in chilled weather. "Aye, s'a pretty name, Faanshi." he says to you, your name rolling off his tongue like a fine wine rolls through one's mouth before being swaallowed. "Aye, tis very pretty... does it mean anything in your 'rati words?" he asks you as he watches for your face as much as he can, trying to discern your mood behind that veil. He's not the practice that men of the Varati have at reading their women's eyes. Kosha had been easily lulled by a good sniff of Sunset Tide's hand, but it seems that the maiden he so loyally follows about requires much more delicate handling. Still a little skittish about the work-roughened palm making contact with her -- and she clearly doesn't have much on under that sari, for there seem to be only a few layers of silk between her and the chill winter air -- Faanshi nevertheless is prevented from shying away by that last question. Her gaze flickers down again out of force of habit, but having a man her height so close to her flusters her enough that those green eyes of hers do not point their regard in any given direction for very long. "It means... 'refuge'," she admits timidly, sounding vaguely surprised. How often has she been asked _that_? Tilting his head to the side as he makes an effort to look you in teh face, he seems puzzled as you try to avoid his gaze, "Ach, you are a shy one to nae look a man in the eye for more'n a half moment." he says to you in a teasing voice as he removes his hand a steeples his fingers against themselves for a moment, "Refuge ye be then, and refuge ye need. Yuir gonna catch yuir death on this beach with those flimsy little clothes, pretty as they may be they're nae meant for winter wearin' plain to see." the man says to you as he shakes his head lightly and he offers a hand to you, "Let us be gone from 'ere, we can go to some inn or tavern near a fire and get you a drink." he pauses and thinks for a moment, "One near to yuir big castle I'd guess would be better, some folk 'round here don't take kindly to pretty maids in traditional 'rati silks." he says to you in an honest fashion, a base warning that he supposes you're actually aware of. Faanshi is an innocent -- but she is not entirely without skills of observation. She knows of the Siren's Song; she has, in fact, set foot in the place. But not by choice, and not for pleasure. Another blush heats her face behind its veil at the mere thought of the place, and she's torn between blurting that you do not need to trouble yourself with escorting her somewhere warm... and providing a suggestion for just such a location. "There is an inn," she blurts out, "near Atesh-Gah... it is very respectable..." And, most importantly, _warm_. Faanshi has been to the Gem Inn as well, and right now, truth be told, the notion of being near any fire at all sounds far more delicious than she's quite willing to let herself admit. Nodding his head at your words once again the man offers you a bright smile as he nods once, swiftly and easily to you, "Indeed, then I ought be a good man and offer to walk with ye there and then buy ye somethin' to drink or eat as well, s'what a proper man ought do I guess." he says to you with a slight chuckles from hsi lips, oh is an easy sound that you think might come fairly often if it were beckoned for by nearly any calling. "Though, I hear that 'rati don't make much as proper menfolk go, they seem to prefer their women folk inna doors and cloistered from th' eyes'a folk like me. How'd one like ye escape?" he asks you as he offers to walk by your side before moving through the powery snow and the soft sand beneath. For just a moment, Faanshi hesitates... and then, at last, she lets herself fall into step at your side. She is shy, but those are long legs she's got, and her stride is long when she lets it be so; right now, she alternates between long steps and short ones, looking for the best places to set her sandaled feet. Kosha, seeing the two bipeds setting off, promptly falls into step at Faanshi's heel, trotting along gamely in her wake as if hunting for crabs in the icy water had never occurred to him. "I..." Escape. Well, she did escape, pure and simple, and not a day goes by that Faanshi does not whisper prayers of thanksgiving for her deliverance from the mad Warlord of Clan Sarazen. This does not, however, make it any easier a memory to bear. Drawing in a breath, she finishes in reverent tones, "I was... kept from the eyes of men, until the Amir-al decreed that his Favored one could free me a-and that I could serve her." This brings him some confusion for moment, "Kept from the eyes'a men? Well, I s'ppose ye know yuir own life, but why did ye need to be freed and why did it take a man like their bloody god to get ye free?" he asks you in a light and brilliant voice, curiosity shines in his bright sea green eyes, oh you can even see the foam washing in them sometimes if you look closely enough. His step is easy in his thicker, more versitile booted feet as he moves towards the exit, "Oh, um, ye'll need to lead me there... men like me do nae go to those 'rati places by ourselves lest we find ourselves in the next shipment'a slaves headed north to the burnt lands." he says with a smile and a shrug, oh he's not worried at all. 'Bloody god'? Faanshi freezes for a moment, not entirely certain she likes that particular phrasing used in reference to the Hawk of Heaven... but she utters no word of reproach. What she _does_ do is turn her gaze away, pointing a hand towards the north and trying to keep it from shivering with cold. And her voice seems to shrink in on itself even as her posture seems to often do when she is most flustered; her words go nearly toneless, almost dull, as she mutters, "The Warlord of my birth Clan was my master and kept me locked away but he had gone mad and broken the holy surahs." Almost swift, too, are those words, as if she cannot bear to linger over them for very long and they must therefore be uttered as quickly as possible. "Imphada Kiera discovered this and delivered me, a-and my heart-mother, from the Warlord and I-I became the Imphada Kiera's shudra." [The healer and the sailor and the dog take their leave from the shoreline, and soon, after making their way through the city...] The Gem Inn - Haven Muted jewel colours decorate this large, square room. The walls are of a highly polished golden brown oak with colourful tapestries of Varati history hanging from them in regular intervals and large windows, deeply set, sporting coloured glass. The floor is mostly covered by several plush wool carpets in saffron yellow and cayenne red, squeaky clean despite this being the restaurant room of the inn. A big portrait of a summer scene from the Varati mountains hangs over the bar mirror, nearly covering that entire short side of the room. The bar is a sturdy old oak thing, the surface nearly as reflective as the mirror, apart from some nicks and scrapes through the varnish. From the ceiling hangs a black wrought-iron chandelier with thick beeswax candles in it, scenting the air with a light waft of honey. The rest of the smells in here are mainly from the exquisite foodsorts being prepared, spices, sweet and strong, along with dried fruit and herbs lingering in the very wood of the inn. Contents: Sunset Tide Obvious exits: Small Door Spiral Staircase Out Leaving the cold beach, covered in snow with the chill wind blowing in off the ocean, the Sylvan walsk along the streets with the Shudra. Truthfully it is she who leads him once they reach a certain part of the city, deep within where those who live by the sea rarely go. The people are thinner in the dead cold of winter, but hardly rare or so few as to leave the streets entirely deserted of presence. After several long minutes the pair arrive at the Gem Inn, which Faanshi has suggested as a fairly decent tavern or inn that has a warm hearth and something to eat and drink. "So... why did he ha'e ye locked away for? 'cause he was a fruit'r somethin'?" he asks you in a polite manner, voice still flightly and lively though not pursuing or prying. The shudra maiden has spent much of the walk from the beach to this inn aviding that very question, inwardly grateful that her unexpected companion of the moment hasn't pressed the topic as they've walked through the cold; indeed, you've seemed content to settle for her occasional murmured directions. But now, here is the inn, and as soon as she's at the door Faanshi almost sags with the relief of the warmth within. Almost, but not quite. She merely pauses for a moment as Kosha scurries happily past her to survey the room in canine delight, tail a-wag and ears uplifted at the plethora of smells to be sampled here; she pauses, and she convinces herself not to shiver. Then she half-turns back to you, eyes still downcast, and all the maiden says in reply is a soft and resigned, "Because... I.. was an abomination in his sight, Imph..." Just in time, she catches herself before she utters the title, and then she starts nervously, pulling her attention off to one of the tables. "D-do you wish to sit?" Her choice of table appears as modest as her demeanor, not too near the hearth-fire that crackles merrily in the common room of this place. Nodding his head in a rapid, vivid movement he motions for you to choose your own seating arrangment and makes to follow your lead. Hand quickly moving to pat the power pup on the head for a moment as he feels the warmth on his skin in here, perhaps a bit too much warmth all things said and done. These Varati certainly seem to like things hotter than most of the rest of the folk around do. Maybe it's living under the supervision of a fire god? Tide has no idea and doesn't speculate, "Why were ye so hated by the man, lass?" he asks you as he stretches his legs, standing on his tip toes for a moment and offers you a bright grin from his lips, "Tis warm in 'ere, s'at common for ye folk? Ach, its hot actually." It might be noted that Faanshi chooses the seat farther away from the fire, at the little table she has selected by the wall. This might be because that's the closest seat -- but then again, given her downtrodden demeanor, could it also be because she is inclined to yield up greater access to the warmth of a fire to a male companion? Still, she seems to almost collapse into a seat, while Kosha undauntedly approaches the hearth and flings himself right down in front of it, soaking up the warmth in the time-honored fashion of all dogs everywhere. Nervously, then, the girl seems to belatedly register your last question. "I-is it too warm for you?" she blurts, seeming to begin to rise. Should she give up the seat she's just chosen? Or find a different table? "Do you w-wish to sit elsewhere...?" "Nae, lass. This will do fine he says to you with a thoughtful smile flashing upon his lips, brilliant and gentle as he watches you with those aqua green eyes for a moment, like foam sparkling in the sunlight as it washing along the breaking stones near shore. "Ye really do nae wish to tell me 'bout yuir past, do ye? That's alright then, I'll just keep meself busy being curious and interested in some other manner." he explains as he rolls his shoulders around briefly and slowly while the heat pounds on hi mrelentlessly. "So, what's good here? That a normal, workin' fella could pay for without losin' 'is hand." "Imphada Opal prepares good, thick stew," Faanshi murmurs, head bowed now as if she thinks she's addressing the tabletop. She subsides back into her chair, her stance broadcasting abject humility and confusion that also shows itself in her voice as she appends, "My... past is... I-I mean... I thought you wished to speak of the Sylvans, Imphadi?" How, indeed, did the conversation turn towards _her_ and her background? Tilting his head to the side a little bit for a moment as he slowly shakes his head, "Nae really. I know plenty 'bout Sylvans, since I'm bein' one and all." Sunset chiems to you with a grin and a wink of his eye before he shrugs his shoulders beneath the heavy wool shirt, "Ye wished to speak on SYlvans, but I did nae know what it was that ye were tryin' to speak on. Twas news to me." he says with a slight smile and looks up in time to see the tall, Varati woman arrive to offer to take their orders. Polite and calm, "Ach, mmm... stew and ale, if ye please." he says to her. Probably the same thing almost everyone eats. Faanshi says nothing as you deliver your request to the servant woman -- which doesn't seem to surprise said servant, either. What does perhaps surprise her is seeing someone in her own people's garb sitting at the same table with a Sylvan... but then, if the Varati woman _is_ surprised, her veiled countenance yields no sign of it, and her bearing is much less easily readable than the nervous maiden's. "Certainly, Imphadi," she murmurs politely, and then glides off to acquire food and drink for the both of them. As she does, Faanshi gingerly settles her basket down on the table before her, obscurely relieved to have at least a little something behind which she might hide -- as though her veil were insufficient cover from those curious, foam-clear eyes. "I apologize," she murmurs humbly. "I-I have not told my tale very well..." "Nae, perhaps ye ha'e nae told it very well, but ye need nae speak it if ye do nae want to." the Sylvan man says in a sparkling manner and flies you the brightest of smiles and then plops his hands down on the table, folded, while he waits on his service. "Yuir quite timid, aren't ye? Ye needn't be 'round me, ye know. I'm nae one'a yuir bosses'r whatever they like to be called, I'm pretty much a normal common fellow like I guess ye'r." the man says to you in a thoughtful fashion. Timid as she is, still Faanshi is not a rock, and she is not entirely immune to the ingratiatingly accented tenor falling upon her ears -- even if she can't make herself look the Sylvan speaking those tenor words in the eye for more than three consecutive seconds. You do, however, get those seconds, in a momentary flicker of leaf-green above the dark blue veil. And there's an odd, wistful note creeping into her voice now, as she blurts, "All the Sylvans I meet say that..." Then her gaze drops again. "I am... not brave, no," she mumbles, abashed. Considering this a moment the man, thoughtlessly, moves his hand across the table to touch your own hand with his worker's hand. More accustomed to touching ropes and wood than they are to touching another person's flesh, but you can probably sense the touch is meant to be consoling and gentle. "Ah, nae e'eryone need be brave, Faanshi. Nae in th' way ye are refering to in any case, I think. Ye ha'e a certain type of bravery in ye, though. A firm courage and the will to be alive and try to do the best ye can. That's a type'a courage too, ye know." he says as he pats your hand for a moment. Retracting it as he sees a bowl of soup and a mug come for him in just a moments, "thank ye." he says to the Varati server maiden. "But... you do not know me, Imph... I-I mean... how can you--" Faanshi cuts herself off though as the serving woman arrives, unsurprised that she brings food for Sunset Tide first; he is, after all, the man. The maiden remains silent, however, until the other woman returns to fetch Faanshi's portion. Only after she is gone does the young shudra finish tinily, "I do not understand... why do you say this...?" And again, even if only for a fleeting instant, she peeks up over her veil. Lifting his hands in an open manner while he speaks to you affirmingly, "'cause I want ye to be comfortable and happy with speakin' to me, a'course." Tide says to you with a quick and fluid laugh ripping from his lips while he shoots you a brilliant smile, caring and easy to trust for most folk. "Ye should try to smile a bit more, nae that I can tell when yuir silin' behind that blanket ye ha'e on yuir face there lass." he says in a teasing manner, flying a wink of his sea foam eyes at your look up at him to peek at his face. Soon, his hands become busy with feeding himself at a slow and easy pace. Feeding. And her veil. Oh dear. Faanshi suddenly realizes that eating _and_ drinking might be a tricky proposition at this moment in time, and the same notion appears to have occurred to the serving woman. That Varati _is_ bringing food and drink for Faanshi, but she hasn't brought it _to_ her; indeed, the server pauses to peer surreptitiously at the girl in Khalida colors, as if to ask her silently exactly why she thinks to eat and drink in the company of a man. Between that and the amiable tone from her companion, the halfbreed grows quite distracted. "I-I smile," she blurts plaintively. "Sometimes...!" As she does, she tries to slide the server a surreptitious shake of her saried head, in attempted silent communication of her own. Do not mind her. Of _course_ she will not try to take sustenance before the Imphadi, even if he is a candala. Especially since he is a candala. The man eats quietly and deliberately, apparently used to taking his meals from bowls in ships and such-like. "Ye do?" Tide says to you in a curious manner and then, slowly, shrugs his shoulders upwards. His voice sounded teasing and playful, joking at you with a gently jibing tone to his voice before he pauses to become slightly more reserved sounding, "Perhaps one day ye'll let me see ye smile. I had heard that ye 'rati women take 'ffense if'n a man tries to look at yuir faces without being invited to do so." he says in a comment that is as much a question as it is anything. Resigning herself to food later (ah, well, it is at least good to sit here for the time being where it is warm), Faanshi folds her hands in her lap and tries to look at them rather than at the hearty stew the Sylvan sitting before her has been served. "It... it is not a matter of offense," she says then, tentatively. "At least... well... we... I mean, Varati women... a-are not supposed to show our faces." A beat. "Not in public. T-to men." Another beat, and then the shudra girl concludes in an even smaller voice, "It is improper." "Oh." Sunset Tide replies to you as he seems to think on this thoughtfully, "Ye know. I do nae think that Sylvans have any such conventions so to speak. For the most part I think we'r pretty comfortable with the way we look and do nae really care who sees what on us." he says in an honest manner, refering to the Sylvan propensity to take nudity and the display of their bodies very lightly. Even to utter strangers, "I know most 'lanteans go 'bout in the buff for the greater part'a their times." he says and slightly shrugs his shoulders upwards for a moment, "Tis nae somethin' that matters I s'pose." Faanshi's sungolden brow crinkles up a bit, as she starts to ask exactly what 'in the buff' might mean -- then, belatedly, it occurs to her. The context of the conversation is not out of even her innocent ken. Blushing sharply, she somehow manages to duck her gaze even lower while she tries to keep her voice steady. "The... the way of the Varati... th-they wish... to protect the b-beauty of the women. A-a wife should only be seen... by her husband." So much for keeping her voice steady. _Ushas, girl!_ she chides herself. Bashirrah enters from the street. Bashirrah has arrived. "Oh." Tide says to Faanshi in response to her words while he considers how to respond to that and absorbs the information that has been given to him at this moment. "I can unnerstand that, I s'pose. So, then, the 'rati consider themselves 'specially beautiful?" he questions the shudra who sits with him at the table. His meal of stew and and ale, pretty much gone though Faanshi seems to have shunned eatting at this point. He smiles again with a bright smile from his easy lips and a wink of his sea foam eye. By some unkown force of pure dumb luck, none other than a Varati woman enters, her dress not following usual racial standards. Her face is uncovered, a hard stonic, expression chisled upon her lips. Oddly out of size for a normal woman of her race, she crosses the lobby over to a point where she can receive service from a section of the inn which has been convered to a resturant. Bashirrah A woman who stands above most of the crowd seems to draw your attention. She's about six and a half feet tall with chocolate colored skin and curly dark hair that is cropped close to her head. Not only her height but her build attracts attention. Some of her femininity has been lost to her thick bones and muscular upper arms which are completely visible due to her sleeveless dress. She walks with a certain air about her, an almost 'leave me alone' type of pomp. She's wearing a long purple dress with a scoop neck than hangs from both shoulders and drapes itself in one piece all the way to her ankles. Her large dark feet are protected by a worn pair of leather sandals. There are several more curious things about the woman. One is a bulge at the tailbone under her dress. Another is a thick golden stubble at each elbow. As she turns your direction you notice that she has a wide nose set between her two chestnut eyes whose whites are yellow in color. She gives you a look for a moment and her thin eyebrows arch slightly before her eyes move on, never meeting with yours. While Kosha snoozes blissfully at the hearth-fire, lolling in canine ecstasy at the warmth on his fur and rousing up only enough to accept a chunk of meat offered him by a nearby amused merchant patron, the girl who sits with the Sylvan blows out a nervous-sounding breath. "No one... has e-ever said as much to me, Imphadi," she has to admit. "I have... seen but a little of such things. Varati women are..." _Not like me,_ the back of her mind finishes mournfully, though she does not dare finish that thought aloud. Perhaps fortunately for the shudra girl, the hand of some kindly god might be responsible for the well-timed entrance of the distinctive-looking woman who strides in through the door. Faanshi happens to glance her way, and cannot help but start. What manner of woman is _that_? Reclining himself back in the seat ever so slight while he watches the woman across from him, the shudra that she is. Though he has yet to discover she's anything other than your normal, everyday household servant to the big folk who live in the hills to the north. A curious smile rests on his lips as he considers her words and then he shrugs his shoulders, "Subdued? Timid?" Tide says to Faanshi in that same liquid voice, quicksilver and lyrical as he grins ever so slowly. When Faanshi's attention is draw from his words before he really gets going he looks over his shoulder at the huge woman. "She puts shame to yuir hound." Specifics are left unspoken. Bashirrah avoids taking a seat and rather appoaches the bar where a open stool is at. "Bartender," she says summoning him quietly. "Your best wine please, and the dinner menu." A few look in the Varati's direction. Wearing the color purple - the color of royality or the rich - draws a few looks, but her size is what draws the stares. The 'tender pauses for a moment before heading off into the back to find the wine. Whatever Faanshi had been about to say, the shudra girl appears to have had it shocked out of her by the appearance of that unusual-looking woman across the way. She actually looks up long enough to give her Sylvan companion a clear view of her eyes -- even though they aren't directed at him. Indeed, her leaf-green gaze lingers upon the big woman in purple, as if the halfbreed girl has never seen anything quite like her before. Only after a moment does she start, recollecting that Sunset Tide had addressed her, and in bemusement she jerks her attention more or less back to him. "What did you say, Imphadi?" she blurts. For a few moments Sunset Tide stares at the huge woman, likely he's never seen a woman of that size before coming from the Sylvan folk. While they're not tiny, its rare for them to grow exceptionally large either. Particularly the women of their culture. After he's had hsi fill of gawking the slightly smallish Sylvan man shakes his head and looks back to the shudra companion, "Eh? Oh, somethin' 'bout 'rati women folk." he says as he slowly shakes his head and offers a thoughtful smile, "I ha'e ne'er seen a woman quite that bloody big 'fore. Are they regularly that big out inna mountains'n stuff?" "I... I do not know," Faanshi has to confess, deeply bemused. Her gaze lowers again to the table as she murmurs, "I... have... not seen most of the Varati people, Imphadi... but I... I _think_ she must be a Daughter of Fire..." Surely a woman of that size must hail from the Varati, from whom come men who easily reach seven feet? And with skin of that hue, as well? Leaning across the table as he whispers, very quietly, to Faanshi the Sylvan man comments in a playful tone of voice. "Ach, I think I'm startin' to see why ye folk wear them veils." he shoots her a very quick wink of his sea foam, sparkling aqua eyes before he sits back in his seat while his hand pats his itself for a moment. He doesn't precisely clarify his meaning when he says this, but it shouldn't be very difficult to ascertain what he says. "Do ye look like that unnerneath all'a them clothes and veils and stuff?" he asks Faanshi with bemusement. "No, Imphadi..." Apparently, Faanshi has forgotten her companion's injunction to eschew titles for him. The wink is missed, but not the teasing tone that goes with it, and it prompts up a blush underneath that veil. _That_ goes unseen, but the uncertainty in her voice is still quite evident. A faint tch sound breaks from the back of his throat as he watches you, in bemusement, "Nae on the imphadi's there, ye little lass. I'm nae yuir boss and I'm certainly nae goin' to accept any such title that ye will offer to me in any case." he considers you once more as he tilts his head from side to side, "Nae. Yuir a good bit smaller'n yuir skin is lighter too, welll... what I can see'a it anyway. I can nae tell in them robes'r whatever but ye seem a good bit daintier'n that one." the man says in a thoughtful voice and then purses his smiling lips into a line. Oh. Right. Blushing again at her lapse, Faanshi cannot help but peek at one of her own hands, noting its sungolden hue somewhere between the sailor's own complexion and that of the big muscled dark woman getting her wine and menu from the bartender. The maiden can be heard to let out an uneasy breath, while she considers. Should she tell him? He _seems_ kind... and to be sure, so far no Sylvan has seemed to care much upon discovery of exactly why she doesn't quite look like a proper Varati woman, her clothes notwithstanding. "I... am smaller... and paler," she breathes in awkward tones, "because... I-I am not entirely... Varati, Im--" She catches herself then on the 'Imphadi', and just stops, right there. For a fraction of an instant she risks a peek over the veil, praying that this sailor will prove to be like those others of his kin who have taken kindly to her. His eyebrows knit together as he considers your words for just a few seconds, pondering their precise meaning in the scheme of things and the conversation. "Aye, smaller'n paler'n... not 'rati?" he says in a moment of curious questioning before he slightly shrugs his shoulders and has a dawning look upon his eyes, like sun rises over the horizon of the sea, "Ah. I see... yuir a mixbreed?" he says in a curious manner as he leans nearer as though it would offer him a chance to see this better, even though it won't by any means thanks to your clothes. The lump in her throat is no more obvious than the blush still pinkening her cheeks, but the way Faanshi draws her hands together and fretfully intertwines her fingers is obvious enough. Her red-saried head bobs up and down for a moment, nervously; then she casts a shy glance off at the impressive figure of the woman at the bar again. The big, muscled, _unveiled_ woman. Is she Varati? How could she be anything but, unless she is simply the most enormous Mongrel woman Faanshi has ever seen? But if she is Varati -- why in the name of Ushas does she dress that way? "S-so you see," she explains haltingly to her companion, "I... I do not look like that... many Varati women are big, not as big as she, but I... I am small." Too small. Too pale. Among other things. After a moment he leans back to his seat and nods his head slowly, his face instantly loses any sense of serious measure that it may have once contained, like a wave washes sand from one's body. "Oh, what's the other parts'a ye then? Nae wings so yuir nae a directly related to any pidgeon folk an' yuir skin's nae the right tint for the fish folk, I should know." he says with a chuckle from his throat, lyrical and musical like water flowing easily across stones and then he pauses, "So, that means yuir eitehr very mixed with lotsa races'r yuir a halfbreed who's got some'a my folks directly matched to yuir 'rati self." he says to you in a speculative manner. Very softly, and again almost wistfully, Faanshi murmurs, "My... father was a Sylvan... yes." She watches her own hands now, as her fingers repeatedly change position; her right hand twines itself in between the fingers of her left, then moves over one finger, then moves back, over and over. She still seems in unshakeable earnestness... but then again, she's talking now, after a fashion. Perhaps the sailor's continued playful demeanor is soothing the maiden, as inexorably as the warmth of the hearth-fire has lolled Kosha to sleep. Nodding his head for a moment while he listens to you, his face easy and open to read while he watches you, should you 'dare' look at him or look him in the eyes. His hands move in easy languid gestures, still somehow vivid and lively and his eyes continue to flicker and shine with an interest and playfulness. Somewhat like a child, but make no mistake that he is a grown man even if his demeanor is purely that of joy. "Ye sound like ye think that I'm gonna get up'n walk out on ye for findin' that out, eh lass? Well, ye need nae worry for such things... if ye know Sylvans at all ye know that we're nae at hing if we're nae unconcerned with the little details of somebody's blood lines." he says in an affirming and bright manner. Sara enters from the street. Sara has arrived. Sara peers in shyly "Most people are not... pleased when I tell them this," Faanshi ashamedly informs her companion, the Sylvan who sits across the table from her, empty dishes before him. And aye, indeed, she dares another unsure peek over the top of her blue veil, fine delicate dark brows drawing together in consternation over her eyes. With eyes like that, how can she not be at least part Sylvan? Though Sunset Tide does not receive nearly the same level of outright shock that the big unveiled Varati woman across the room had gotten from this maiden, the sailor is still greatly bemusing to her. If the glances she keeps stealing him are any indication, the halfbreed girl no more knows what to make of his clear-eyed, amiable fellow than she did of seeing a Daughter of Fire built like a warrior... and dressed far less like a Varati woman than she is. "Y-you do not mind? Truly?" Sara peers in shyly. she tiptoes quietly past the pair discussing things, and moves to the bar. she stands on tiptoe to beg the tender's ear, and whispers shyly to him about something. Considering these statements, as well as your timid demeanor, the Sylvan man considers the shdura womans words as flashes a brilliant, friendly smile on that easy going face of his. His sea foam and green eyes peer at her intently despite the amusement on his face, turning briefly to watch Sara pass them and then he says in his liquid and silky voice while he replies, "Oh, nae. I do nae mind one little bit 'bout that sort'a thing. Back a few generations me mother, a while back ye see, was one'a the fish folk and e'er since me family 'as had this fascination with the sea and going on 'bout things like that. E'er one'a us has been a sailor or a shipwright e'er since then." he says to Faanshi in an encouraging manner, "We sylvans are a lenient people." Sara A gorgeous mongrel young girl who has probably just recently come of age, Sara is still in the process of budding into a woman. Her clothes are plain and simple, and don't hide this fact very well at all. She's tiny, less than five feet tall, but her clohes are even smaller. Her one-piece dress shows off her elegant shoulders and back, and leaves her slender arms bare. It is very tight around her slim waist, so much so that she can't turn without raising the hem and having it stretch out over some part of her body so tightly that she may as well be bare there. It hugs her tiny, pretty litting breasts; they are flat and don't sag in their girlish, conical mounds. Her hips are still boyish, but her rump is perfect and sweet. Just muscled enough to be firm, and round enough to be soft and lovely to touch. Her skirt covers it for the most part, but a section has been torn out of the fabric in a circle around on spot on her right cheek, so that people can see a tiny triangular black brand. Her legs are the same, muscled lightly from a life of labour and service, but still lovely and shapely. They are not narrow and gorgeous like a noblewoman's, but perhaps they will be when she is older. Her feet are bare and delicate. Sara accepts a parcel from the bartender, and bows her head. then she turns and tiptoes out again. Kosha stirs again, yawning drowsily, and gives a peek about the room. Who all's here, and is there more food? Now that his fur is toasty warm, the big dog shifts position and peers curiously at the newcomers that have come into the room while he was soaking up warmth from the fire. Like that shy little creature that's just wandered in. Faanshi sees her, as the sailor had done -- and if Bashirrah's entrance had served to underscore for her how she does not resemble her mother's people very much, the delicate little Mongrel serves to make her feel large and ungainly -- even as she has to blush yet again and peek away from the ragged condition of the girl's clothes. Ushas, is she the only woman here besides the servers dressed as the Varati traditionally dress their women? Still, though, something in Sunset Tide's words seizes her attention, and those big liquid green eyes of hers blink over at him. "Truly...? You... you are part Atlantean?" And see there -- she's still looking up. Sara's cheeks turn a bit of an embarrassed pink as she feels eyes on her. selfconsciously she pulls down her hem a bit to try and move the hole to conceal her brand. her eyes travel over the patrons to try and see if she was really being looked at. when it appears noone was, she hugs her parcel to her chest and scampers out Nodding his head in a quick, vibrant and vivid motion the Sylvan man offers you a bright grin as he watches you patiently and assuringly. "Aye, lass. I am. Though, truth spoken, tis so distant that I'm pretty much a Sylvan but for a few little traits that'r pretty much cosmetic." he says with a slight shrug of his shoulders once again at your words, playful smile flickering across his lips, "So, ye see, tis nae easy for me to be judgemental'a folk who don't 'zactly ha'e the best'a blood runnin' through them." he watches the tiny little girl flee from the place as fast, or faster, than she arrived on the scene. He does notice the mark and frowns a bit and says, to Faanshi, "Must be some pidgeon's. She's nae dressed right for a 'rati slave... I didn't think they branded 'em anyways." Sara exits the inn in favour for the street outside. Sara has left. "The brand is for... dishonor," Faanshi murmurs, her voice turning uncomfortable again. But still, that engaging grin didn't escape her attention. Seeing it, even if only briefly, she finds herself compelled to add, "But I am grateful to hear that you think this, Im..." A pause. "Sunset Tide." This she enunciates with only a little hesitation; perhaps Sylvan names are not entirely unfamiliar to her. Then she guilelessly inquires, "This is why your name comes from the sea?" Nodding his head at your words while he grins, an affirming face that you sense shows some pride in your deduction, "I'm guessin' ye know that, usually, our names come from somethin' dear to us or somethin' that we did. 'least, the ones we give to folk on the street. Mine comes from the fact that I love the sea as much, maybe more'n, I love the woods and forests. After all, the sea's nae less wild'n the forest will e'er be." he explains to you regarding his namesake. Flying you one more wink Tide offers you a lighter, easier smile that is gentle and friendly, "I like it better when ye look me in the face, ye ha'e pretty eyes." Oh dear. Faanshi must not, it's quite clear, be very accustomed to receiving compliments. She makes a little gasp, those eyes of hers ducking their gaze again as a hint of rosy color starts creeping up over the top of her veil. "I-I-I know a little of Sylvans," she babbles shyly, "because my teacher in healing is Sylvan... I have a few Sylvan friends... graisha, some of them... I... I... thank you..." Those last two words come out of her in her tiniest voice yet. Ah. So she's not completely ignorant of praise, then? Perhaps just extremely flustered by it? Unlike many folk, this fellow isn't one to try to analyze the mind of another person. There's nothing for hi mto gain in it at this point, and probably never. The mystery is part of the beauty, "Ye 'eal too?" he says to you, suddenly the man becomes very fascinated by your very presence, Tide's eyes sparkling in a playful and brilliant manner, "I do nae recall e'er havin' met meself a full blown 'ealer 'fore. I guess it be the luckiest night'a me year to meet a pretty woman and she be 'ealin' folk as well!" he says with a quiet fervence and a playful demeanor, teasing you just mildly; definitely in a friendly manner than a harsh one. "I-I heal, yes..." Sensing at least on some level the change in the foam-green gaze upon her, the halfbreed maiden is seized with an almost irresistible desire to fidget with her sari, or her veil, anything to have something to do with her hands. Fortunately Faanshi still has her basket before her, and so she starts unsettledly rearranging the little bags of herbs she has tucked within, stirring up hints of the scents of what is stashed away in the packets and pouches. "It is... what I-I do. A blessing. Like Kosha...!" Catching whiffs of these various roots and plants the man finds their scent familiar, some over sweet and some bitter and some musky. He doesn't seem to mind, having been around nature much of his life when he hasn't been at sea. "That's pretty interestin'." Tide says to you with a type of rapt fascination with you all of the sudden, though he still seems friendly and certainly no less gentle or caring the man seems to have taken on a kind a thoughtfulness about you, "Eh, me. I can only fix wood stuff." Nae very interestin' is it? S'helpful with boatin' and makin' ships, though. S'why some'a the captains love me so well, ye see." "But it is interesting!" pipes Faanshi, her hands stilling themselves for a moment in their nervous rearranging of the little herb pouches in her basket. And she seems to have found enough bravery to look up yet again, motivated perhaps either by the conviction of her words -- or the simple fact that the young sailor sitting across from her is gently encouraging her to look him in the face. "I do not know many men who work with wood -- you are skilled at it?" Muirglas finds a seat and looks around the room, like someone who's from out of town but is trying too hard to not look like a tourist. Cocking his head to the side for a moment as he looks at the sari clad woman across from him, the just a little undersized Sylvan man. "Oh, I like to think that I'm pretty good at the wood I work with. Sailin's in me blood'n I learned how to swim almost as fast as I learned to walk. Wasn't too much'a leap to learn to build small ships and start learnin' to build bigger'n bigger ships. S;what I do, shapin' wood helps building the small ones. I'm nae strong 'nough to build large ships fast 'nough to be'a use. Least nae yet." he says to her as his lips turns towards a slight smile, friendly and easy. "You are a mage," Faanshi breathes, sounding almost childlike for a moment, fascinated. A curious light begins to come into those big shy eyes of hers, suggesting perhaps that if she is gently introduced to something new, the maiden in sari and veil can be persuaded to put aside at least some of her shyness. "A shaper? I-I do not know many shapers of wood..." She pauses, and then considers, and then admits plaintively, "I do not know how to swim...!" In the meantime, rising up from his slouch by the hearth, the maiden's big dog Kosha lifts himself up to his feet and shakes himself thoroughly all over. Look! A new person? Does he have food? The canine stares with those big dark intelligent eyes of his towards the Atlantean who also appears to be staring around the room, and lopes over to investigate him. Yurf! Hi there! Who are you and do you have food? His hands open up in a thoughtful manner as they move into the air and he offers Faanshi a faint smile, Sunset Tide considers. "Well, now ye know someone who knows the ways'a wood. Are ye nae proud?" he says in a bright and playful manner, aqua eyes glittering brilliantly to her as she seem so utterly enthralled by his own middling talents. The Sylvan shrugs his shoulders upwards and adds, "Tis nae a hard skill to learn, if ye wish to put in effort to learnin' it. Any sailor worth 'is merit will know how, elsewise they'd be nearly useless if they fell o'er the brim'a the ship." the man says and says in a light, easy voice. "When s'warm, I'll show ye." Muirglas hesitantly reaches over to pet the big dog, clearly a bit nervous at first but then more confidently. He gently scratches behind the ears of the friendly dog and smiles. Muirglas Muirglas is a male Atlantean of average height and light build. His shoulder-length bluegreen hair has a bit of a wave to it (naturally!) and his eyes are of an identical hue. He is relatively fair complexioned, his skin having just enough pigment to it to keep him from looking like a drowned thing. He is clothed in a garment that looks like something halfway between a bathrobe and a yuukata, made from white cloth and showing a bit of wear. Ooh. Skitches! What a nice blue-haired person! Kosha pants happily, tail thumping against the floor as the Atlantean seems to understand that Kosha Coming to Person means Person Gives Food, or else Person Gives Skitches. Quite content to receive the latter at the moment, the dog half-closes his eyes in bliss. Faanshi glances sideways to see what the hound is up to, and for a moment or two gazes with an undisguised tenderness at the creature, far braver and more outgoing than she. But then Sunset Tide's words haul her attention back, and she can be seen to start. "What... swim? _I_?" The notion seems to deeply startle her. "Well, if ye want to in any case. I do nae s'pse, livin' where ye do, that yuir e'er gonna ha'e much use for swimmin'r the things that the sea has to offer ye." Sunset explains to the startled shudra maiden as she looks back at him. Waving a hand so taht his palm faces her, shaking back and forth as if to sooth her he says again, "If ye do nae want to, that's fine as well. I can go swimmin' on me own just fine, thank ye." he says firmly and with a bright grin. Muirglas continues to stroke and scritch the dog affectionately, getting the hang of it now. "You must be a dog, yes, that's what I think you must be. Do you have a name?" He grins self-consciously as he realizes how silly he must sound. "I do not suppose... I could swim very well with my clothes," the maiden mumbles sheepishly, her gaze dipping away again. The voice across the way addressing Kosha distracts her, though. Faanshi peeks in the Atlantean's direction, and pauses, torn. But she doesn't pause for long. "Imphadi, his name is Kosha," she calls then, shy, soft. Perhaps the Sylvan sitting at her table has soothed her nervousness more than she realizes? "He does not bother you?" Looking over at the other fellow for a moment the Sylvan blinks his sparkling, sea foam colored eyes a few times and then shrugs his shoulders with a grin. "Careful, the lad's gotta penchant for knockin' o'er a fellow if'n he takes it in 'is head that yuir dangerous." the liquid, watery voice chimes at teh other fellow in a merry and light manner. Looking at Faanshi once more he says in a thoughtful, quieter manner, "Nae, lass. Nae in those ye could nae. They'd drag ye to the bottom bein' inexperienced'n all." Muirglas looks up and across the room to the woman veiled in blue. "Oh, no, not at all. It's always nice to make a friend." He looks back down at the blissful canine and smiles. "Hi Kosha! I'm sorry I don't have a treat for you today. Maybe next time." Apparently the dog is not bothering the Atlantean, and so Faanshi shyly bobs her head in that fellow's direction -- though as she's done at least initially with Sunset Tide, she does not actually bring herself to look the fellow in the face. Back towards the Sylvan sitting with her, she says wistfully, "I do not suppose I should try it, then..." With one dainty sungolden hand, she plucks at the front of her sari, as if finding it vaguely vexing; then, however, she lowers her hand to her lap. Vexing... but necessary. Nodding his head as the fellow offers a smile, understanding and not seeming to mind Faanshi's defense against his offer, "Well, ye'll ha'e it yuir way then. I'll be fine by meself out inna waters and such. Yuir fire folk sure weren't made for it I guess." Tide says to the woman with a wink of his sparkling eye and the playful tone of his voice as he eyes her, then looks at the other fellow for a moment but says nothing. Having not been addressed in return and then lifts his mug up and sips from his ale carefully. Startled from his reverie and the almost meditative act of petting Kosha by the other man's voice, Muirglas realizes that he failed to acknowledge the man when he addressed him. He looks up in time to see that the other had glanced at him briefly but had already turned back to his companion before Muirglas could catch his eye. "Ah, sir, I did not mean to neglect your advice. I was quite overcome by the friendliness of this creature, and the customs of the surface world slipped my mind. But he does seem friendly enough, though I'm sure I'd not want to be on his bad side." "I... suppose not..." Faanshi utters these last three words to Sunset Tide in a very small voice, shyness returning in force as soon as the Atlantean man addresses the Sylvan. To be speaking one on one with the sailor was one thing... but now another man has entered the conversation, and it would seem that this is almost enough to send the shudra girl right back into her shell of shyness. She falls nervously silent again, one hand still fidgeting with one of her herbal pouches even as she peeks over at the dog. Kosha, for his part, peremptorily butts at Muirglas' webbed fingers; hey. You. Keep skitching! Kosha, at any rate, doesn't have his young mistress' problems with shyness. Muirglas gets back to the scitching of Kosha, focusing exclusively on that and hoping his body language indicates that he was not trying to intrude on the conversation of the others. "I'm sure that ye'll do as ye wish." Sunset Tide says to the curious red sari'd shudra as he quirks the corners of his lips into a thoughtfully amused grin flits across his sun warmed features while he considers Faanshi's words, "So, ye do nae want to learn to swim? I hope nae big waves come'n wash ye away... I heard the other day that we're lookin' at a rough winter here abouts. So, the water sure will nae be habitable for soem months to come. That'll give ye plenty'a time to make up yuir mind, l'ess, a'course, I go'n die'r somethin' unpleasant." he says with a toss of his hands absently. "I... am curious," Faanshi admits, "but... I-I do not think it would be proper... but thank you for offering, Imph... I-I mean, Sunset Tide...!" The girl looks up again, gaze a trifle plaintive, but as earnest and straightforward as the attention the hound is giving the Atlantean over there. "I-I would not know what to do in return for such instruction, anyway... unless you became hurt and I could heal you...!" Chuckling at her for a moment the Sylvan man's laugh is an easy sound, gentle and watery in its tenor tones as he shakes his head slowly. Faanshi's appealing look is offered an easy and honest smile, "Ye'd need to pay me nae one thing lass, tis just somethin' to do in me spare time. As it is I'm havin' to trade me skills for other things 'bout these parts. Nae like I could pay 'em all that much in any case." Tide's easy voice speaks to the Varati dressed maiden, "I'm nae a man interested much in the ways'a money 'cept to keep meself alive." Muirglas gives Kosha a last round of skitches and a friendly pat, then stands up. "Well, Kosha, I must be moving along. Say goodbye to your friends for me." And with that he heads for the door... Muirglas exits the inn in favour for the street outside. Muirglas has left. Awww. He left! The dog snorts out once, softly, then turns and lopes right over to Faanshi, nudging at her knee in hopes of attention from HER. That can always be relied upon, can't it? And indeed, the girl does turn to gently scritch at her beloved canine's ears while she says softly to her companion, "Again you speak with words of kindness... I thank you..." Nodding his head in a slow and slight manner while he considers your dog for a moment and grins as he slowly shrugs his shoulders upwards again. "I just speak inna way that most folk find pleasin', so that I do nae go gettin' me head smashed in by the bloody fellows." Tide responds in a thoughtful and easy voiced manner and looks at Kosha again, "I think yuir hound wants to be done with 'ere, lass. He seems to ha'e been done with 'is treatements and such." Still gazing down at the canine as she gives him his scritches, Faanshi does not answer the young sailor for a moment or two. When she finally does her voice is tinged with a hint of regret, soft and gentle though she still speaks. "I... cannot dally here too much longer," she acknowledges, very quietly. "I must return to Atesh-Gah..." Black brows knit together over her pensive eyes, as she contemplates that she will have to head back out into the cold to do so. But at least Atesh-Gah is now not very far away, from this place. Nodding his head the man seems to take none of the words harshly at all, his smile never loses a bit of its luster and his aqua eyes glow like the sea on a sunny day. "Then I'll let ye go, lass. I'll pay for me food and head back to me house and what ha'e ye... maybe go back'n look at the sea for'a few more minutes." he comments to you as he slowly rises from his Varati sized seat, a little oversized for him as it is, and scratches at Kosha's ear absently for a moment, "Well, Faanshi, I hope ye ha'e a good day'n I hope ye feel better e'en if ye do nae find those folk yuir lookin' for." "It is a long walk in the cold..." Faanshi begins, and then she sighs and gets to her feet. Feel better. She's not sure she often hears those words, and they make her peek tentatively at the Sylvan with the foam-green eyes. Kosha thumps his tail for Sunset Tide as well, regarding him with doggish affability, while the young shudra shyly appends, "Thank you for escorting me back thus far...!" Nodding his head slightly and in amusement, "I hope to see ye again some day soon lass'n be careful. Do nae make yuirself a stranger there Faanshi." Tide says to you as he reaches out to give your hand a playful 'thwap' from his own and flits you one last wink of his sea foam green eyes before he drops a few coins upon the table and makes his way towards the door and soon after, onto the street. See him again...? Faanshi considers this, watching the Sylvan sailor go, and calling timidly after him, "Perhaps... namaste'...!" She does not quite count on it -- after all, she has seen person after person claim to want to see her again, and then never do so. Will this particular person be any different? Perhaps, she tells herself as he vanishes out into the cold, she will simply have to watch... and see. [End log.]