Elendor
A challenge is issued
Djembe and Alimah express interest in each other's blood, while Barjad looks on
Sort Date: no date set
Location: The Mumakil's Tusk
Game Date: February 3047
IC Time: Evening
Description: The Mumakil's Tusk
The "Tusk" has become a little sparse in recent days. Business is slow, and the looks upon patrons' faces is one of wariness - wariness of each other. A small stage in the rear is empty of performers. A large bar lines one wall, and tables and chairs pack the room. The walls are lined with Mumakil trophy heads, tusks, and ivory works of art. The bartender works steadily behind the bar, cleaning glasses and serving customers with a grim look.
Obvious exits:
Kitchen, Stage, and Out
[+TIME] Middle-earth time is:
Nighttime on Highday, Day 25 of February.
Execute the +TIMEFRAME command for year information.
Real time is: 14:37:21 MDT on Wed Jun 10 2009.
IC year: 3047
[Djembe(#29535)] Night has enveloped Umbar in a thick blanket of clouds and darkness, and as such the only stirring on the streets of the desert city is a result of the faintest breeze, rushing cool and quick off of the sea. Even the Mumakil's Tusk--normally a bastion of revelrous debauchery-- is mostly quiet, and occupied by only a small contigent of weary-looking souls spread too sparsely apart to even speak, much less enjoy one another's company
One such man is seated at a table in a dark corner of the room presently, reclined in a chair that squeaks quietly with his weight as he props two booted feet on the table in front of him. After smoothing the white robes that adorn his body, a hand absent-mindedly strokes the stubble on his chin, and he says nothing.
[Alimah(#24218)]
The tavern door squeaks open to admit a Corsair woman, big-nosed, clad today in burnt-orange billowing trousers of silk, tucked into supple leather boots and topped by a thigh-length tunic of golden yellow silk trimmed in deep red. A scimitar, sheathed, hangs from the belt at the woman's waist. Alimah gives a quick wave to the barkeep, putting one finger up to order a drink of something that she mutters under her breath. Then she looks about for a seat and heads decisively to the dark table and white-robed man
Make that one more to join the weary, as Barjad steps quietly into the room, rubbing at his face. What has brought the man to this part of town, who can say? He glances round the room uneasily Djembe is given a curt nod, while his companion ... gazing at the gauzy orange, Barjad blinks and stares. He heads over to the bar, awaiting the bartender's attention, but from the looks he's giving over his shoulder he will likely join the other pair.
[Djembe(#29535)] The white-clad man in the corner's gaze raises to meet the colorfully-dressed corsair's approach, the mane of black hair atop his head tumbling apart to reveal dark, thick eyebrows and cat-like eyes--unmistakeable components of a countenance that could belong to none other than Djembe, son of Djimbe.
No expression graces his lips as his eyes search for contact with hers, though he does cross his arms over his chest. The pirate's son regards her approach with only a nod, and no words escape his lips.
[Alimah(#24218)]
"And how are you, Djembe son of Djimbe?" Alimah says as she takes a seat unasked at said man's table. A moment later a serving girl plunks a mug of ale down in front of the Corsair, and she digs a coin out of a pouch at her waist to pay for it. "Been lurking anywhere interesting of late?"
Barjad, lingering behind, murmurs an order to the bartender before trailing slowly in Alimah's wake. He, at least, has the manners - or is it caution? - to ask the man quietly, in slow, nasal Haradaic, "May I sit?"
Glancing then to Alimah, the right side of his mouth pulls back as he adds, "Is the sun not good enough, that you must try to be brighter?"
[Djembe(#29535)] "How am I?" Djembe repeats, eyes intensifying as soon as they make contact with Alimah's. His voice is hoarse and rough, mocking incredulity adding a sarcastic tone to it, if only so slightly to be noticed by the most attentive of observers. "I am ... intrigued," he continues, "by your unrelenting interest in my comings and goings."
His lips part as if to say more, but then close again abruptly as he's interupted by Barjad's approach. He nods slowly and says, "It seems to be fashionable to disturb a man's peace this evening."
[Alimah(#24218)]
One of Alimah's shoulders rises and falls in a shrug as she considers Djembe's answer. "You intrigue me--what can I say. And I would imagine many in this city would be interested in your..." she pauses. "In your progress, let's call it? Seaward but not Seaward, Dark Citadel but not?"
Alimah sips delicately at her ale before smiling to Barjad. "It is winter. The sun is dull and the dys dreary. Why should I not add a bright spot in the day? and how are you?"
It is Alimah that Barjad answers first. "Because ... my eyes have had much sun, and that," he points to the burnt orange of the trousers, "hurts." He blinks in exaggerated fashion. It is at this point the server interrupts him, and he is distracted enough by the business of handing over coin to forget her other question.
Djembe, though - once he has his drink in hand, Barjad looks to the white-clad man with frank curiosity. "You are of Seaward? Or not ..."
[Djembe(#29535)] The slightest whisper of a smirk plays on Djembe's lips, but disappears just as quickly as it arrived. "You are not the first woman to be intrigued by a Sanbanyi man, fair Alimah of Farside, and I suspect you will not be the last," he says, a strange note of playfulness present in and contrasting sharply with his otherwise-gruff tonality.
The pirate's son then looks at Barjad and replies, "Seaward? My family served Seaward for many years ... but a different path was chosen for my life, and my allegiance now is only to myself--and to the one true Master of men." A cryptic, strange answer to a seemingly simple question, but he says no more.
[Alimah(#24218)]
If there is a flicker of interest that runs across Alimah's face at Djembe's words, it comes and goes in an instant, replaced by a neutral look. "Djembe," she explains to Barjad, "was a friend of our mutual friend. The Inquisitor. But whether or no he is sworn to the Dark Citadel, I have not been able to ascertain. The man does not easily declare his allegiance, nor give out his name. But I found him out."
Barjad's torn lips twitch slightly at Djembe's response to Alimah, but he lets the words to her pass without comment. The man's answer to him, though ... "Does one ally- ally - serving," he substitutes after stumbling over the Haradaic word twice, "stop the other?"
Alimah's explanation is acknowledged by a nod he does not look at her directly (whether that is due to her unfortunate choice of colours or merely greater suspicion of Djembe, who knows?)
[Djembe(#29535)] "Found me out?" Djembe asks, narrowing his eyes slightly at Alimah. "Who and what I am is no secret, lady," he continues, his voice slow and deliberate as if choosing each word carefully, "if one only knows where to ask." Finally removing his boots from their resting place atop the table, the pirate's son scoots in closer to the group and places his worn elbows on the table-top, resting his chin on black, callous hands.
"Representing the Eye and serving a tower are not exclusive duties," he adds to Barjad, "unless one makes them that way. I choose to serve only those worthy of a man of my discipline--and so few truly are."
[Alimah(#24218)]
"Perhaps so, but I did not know who to ask--and you certainly did not tell me when I asked you directly after introducing myself," Alimah shrugs. "Therefore, I found you out."
"Have you heard further word of whether the Dark Citadel will send another Inquisitor to investigate the worship habits of the law-abiding citizens of Umbar, Barjad?" she asks the man. "Or perhaps you know, my good Djembe, being that you serve that Citadel and its god?"
Barjad's shoulder lifts in a shrug. "I choose to serve only the one I oathed - no. The one I did give oath. Which is right?"
Alimah's question brings a sidelong glance, and the man's scarred features crease in a clear scowl before he hides it behind his mug. "I do not hear such things. If the Eye has its coin, its power - then wny would it worry?" A note of challenge creeps into his voice, and his gaze shifts from the woman to Djembe.
[Djembe(#29535)] "A woman who will go to such lengths to learn a man's name is rare indeed," Djembe replies, his eyes intensifying further for a moment looking away from Alimah quickly and lifting a hand to indicate his order nonverbally to a passing server. "And yet how could I answer your introduction with my own," he begins, gazing at Alimah anew, "when you were so quick to grasp the hilt of your scimitar at the very sight of me?"
Barjad's attempts at provocation draw the white-clad man's attention, but his face remains expressionless he is either unaffected or very practiced at hiding it. "Worry?" he asks nonchalantly.
"Worry concerns only weak men," he says now, voice deepening--almost growling. "The Eye cares not for such ... trivialities. It is by His grace that the Lokhikhor was sent to inform those who do not pay service to Him of their error before it becomes their end. They all serve his designs whether they choose to or not."
[Alimah(#24218)] "No sense covering old ground on that again--I have already explained why I went for my weapon. but if you are scared of me still, then perhaps we should cross blades outright? Spar in the Square of Judgement, say? Or, if you will use the word that our Gondorian guests prefer, a duel? And then, Djembe Servant of the Eye, you might get past this worry that you cannot trust me because I nearly drew my weapon?" Alimah smiles even as she offers this challenge. "Though...the Farside Fleet Master would be quite upset at my death, so a spar might be more in order."
"If Lokhikhor was sent by the Eye, then why did the Eye's messenger kill him for doing his duties? Your god is quite confusing to me."
To Barjad, Alimah gives a long, searching look before asking quietly, "where are you from?"
Barjad's breath comes out in a snort. "You're a lucky man," he tells Djembe lightly, on listening to the words exchanged by his two drinking companions, and once again the right side of his mouth pulls back in what must be an attempt at a smile. Djembe's other words bring a frown. "I think," he states in his slow, nasal Haradaic, "that only greed sent Lokhikhor. Not the Eye. Maybe that is why Lokhikhor is dead." The 'smile', if one can call it that, widens.
At Alimah's question, though, it disappears, and he shrugs. "Does it matter? North - I am no Stonelander, do not fear that." A brief tugging at the side of his mouth again. "They took me on the coast, I had .. had use?, and so I did stay. In the end, I chose to."
Djembe rotates his head back toward Alimah now, smirking slightly for a split second. When he speaks, his voice is emphasized with the musical tones of amusement--at least as musical as Haradraic allows. "Now it is I who is intrigued," begins the pirate's son, a slight glimmer in his eye. "Only fools and the brave seek swordplay with a Sanbanyi! All that is left, I suppose, is to see which you are ... I accept your challenge--though obviously I will not kill you. Such an entertaining mind should not be wasted."
Then his countenance and tonality return to their serious predisposition, and he directs his words to both of the people at his table. "What errand set the Inquisitor at odds with the Eye, I can only guess," Djembe says plainly. "He was my mentor only for a short time, and I doubt he'd have called me a friend. His secrets lay in his grave beside him," he says finally.
"As do any man's."
[Alimah(#24218)]
"Then it is set. The Square of Judgement at a time and place of your choosing. To the first blood, shall we say? Certainly not to the death--best to save that for a glorious death against the Stonelanders if need be," Alimah repiles. "I am neither fool nor brave. Only confident."
"And yet," she continues to Djembe, "if he was your mentor, do you follow in his footsteps? Certainly the High Priestess needs friends, if her words that I delivered to the Black Paladin are any indication."
Barjad's tale draws her attention, and a slow nod. "If not the SToneland, then where?" she asks. "And I am not afraid of the Stonelanders, even if they bring my death one day. Their men are women and their women, men. You should meet the two in Farside that are sworn to Lord Alphros and the pitiful specimen held in Farside's prisons. I'm surprised their men don't twitter and chirp like preening songbirds."
The return of Barjad's lift of the mouth is swiftly hid behind his mug. "I do not think that the Judgement Square will have the end of the ... the challenge." His eyes, bright as ever, are not hid, and clear amusement shines in them.
Alimah's query is met with a frown. "North. Many weeks north, on a ship. Not the Stonelands - my folk fight Stoneland's ally. In our own tongue it would be," here he utters a name in some guttural-sounding speech, one that holds echoes of the cry of beast or bird. "And I have met the Stonelanders - met one, anyway." He winces and rubs at his left shoulder. "He is raven, not singing bird - his knife is sharp."
[Djembe(#29535)] A firm nod is Djembe's only sign of agreement to Alimah's offer, interupted part-way through by the arrival of a server who places a mug on the table before him. A few coins are procured from somewhere beneath the folds of his robe and he drops them into her hand before taking a very long, deliberate potation from the mug. "Confident? Yes, but confidence leads either to foolishness or acts of bravery. The difference between the two," he says, taking another drink in the pause, "is always skill."
The white-robed man then flashes a sidelong glance at Barjad's comment before reclining in his seat and listening silently, taking the occasional drink from his mug--that is, until Alimah's second pronouncement attracts his attentions. "And what message was that?" he askes simply in response.
[Alimah(#24218)]
Barjad's response about his homeland draws Alimah's attention and a sympathetic nod--and especially a look of surprise as he tells of the Stonelander's skill with a knife. "Perhaps that is why Lord Alphros allows him to serve Farside," she mutters. But the rest of Barjad's comments draw a sudden scowl, which lingers as she answers Djembe.
"Skill, yes. We shall see exactly what kind of skill you have as well, sir." The woman quickly drains the rest of her mug of ale and sets it down, standing, and half smiling to Djembe's last question. But she does not answer--only nods her farewell to both men and leaves quickly, calling back, "send word as to where and when!"
Barjad lifts an eyebrow at Alimah's abrupt departure, and when he looks back to Djembe the right side of his mouth is curled up again. "I think you did make ... " the speech trails off, and he growls under his breath. "What is the word? A good or bad thought of someone." He shrugs, leaving it for now. "I would like to see your fight, if I do not work then," he comments, draining his own mug in preparation to go.
[Djembe(#29535)] "Impression?" Djembe suggests, draining his own mug afterward. "Take it from me," the young man continues, feigning wisdom beyond his age, "a woman -always- knows when she's dealing with a -real- man." He gathers his robes and stands now, lifting the hood attached to them and using it to cover the curls of black tomentum pouring out of his skull. "You are welcome to watch, of course, and I expect you will find the outcome quite amusing. Good night!" he says, and in a bustle of white linen is out the door himself.
The "Tusk" has become a little sparse in recent days. Business is slow, and the looks upon patrons' faces is one of wariness - wariness of each other. A small stage in the rear is empty of performers. A large bar lines one wall, and tables and chairs pack the room. The walls are lined with Mumakil trophy heads, tusks, and ivory works of art. The bartender works steadily behind the bar, cleaning glasses and serving customers with a grim look.
Obvious exits:
Kitchen, Stage, and Out
[+TIME] Middle-earth time is:
Nighttime on Highday, Day 25 of February.
Execute the +TIMEFRAME command for year information.
Real time is: 14:37:21 MDT on Wed Jun 10 2009.
IC year: 3047
[Djembe(#29535)] Night has enveloped Umbar in a thick blanket of clouds and darkness, and as such the only stirring on the streets of the desert city is a result of the faintest breeze, rushing cool and quick off of the sea. Even the Mumakil's Tusk--normally a bastion of revelrous debauchery-- is mostly quiet, and occupied by only a small contigent of weary-looking souls spread too sparsely apart to even speak, much less enjoy one another's company
One such man is seated at a table in a dark corner of the room presently, reclined in a chair that squeaks quietly with his weight as he props two booted feet on the table in front of him. After smoothing the white robes that adorn his body, a hand absent-mindedly strokes the stubble on his chin, and he says nothing.
[Alimah(#24218)]
The tavern door squeaks open to admit a Corsair woman, big-nosed, clad today in burnt-orange billowing trousers of silk, tucked into supple leather boots and topped by a thigh-length tunic of golden yellow silk trimmed in deep red. A scimitar, sheathed, hangs from the belt at the woman's waist. Alimah gives a quick wave to the barkeep, putting one finger up to order a drink of something that she mutters under her breath. Then she looks about for a seat and heads decisively to the dark table and white-robed man
Make that one more to join the weary, as Barjad steps quietly into the room, rubbing at his face. What has brought the man to this part of town, who can say? He glances round the room uneasily Djembe is given a curt nod, while his companion ... gazing at the gauzy orange, Barjad blinks and stares. He heads over to the bar, awaiting the bartender's attention, but from the looks he's giving over his shoulder he will likely join the other pair.
[Djembe(#29535)] The white-clad man in the corner's gaze raises to meet the colorfully-dressed corsair's approach, the mane of black hair atop his head tumbling apart to reveal dark, thick eyebrows and cat-like eyes--unmistakeable components of a countenance that could belong to none other than Djembe, son of Djimbe.
No expression graces his lips as his eyes search for contact with hers, though he does cross his arms over his chest. The pirate's son regards her approach with only a nod, and no words escape his lips.
[Alimah(#24218)]
"And how are you, Djembe son of Djimbe?" Alimah says as she takes a seat unasked at said man's table. A moment later a serving girl plunks a mug of ale down in front of the Corsair, and she digs a coin out of a pouch at her waist to pay for it. "Been lurking anywhere interesting of late?"
Barjad, lingering behind, murmurs an order to the bartender before trailing slowly in Alimah's wake. He, at least, has the manners - or is it caution? - to ask the man quietly, in slow, nasal Haradaic, "May I sit?"
Glancing then to Alimah, the right side of his mouth pulls back as he adds, "Is the sun not good enough, that you must try to be brighter?"
[Djembe(#29535)] "How am I?" Djembe repeats, eyes intensifying as soon as they make contact with Alimah's. His voice is hoarse and rough, mocking incredulity adding a sarcastic tone to it, if only so slightly to be noticed by the most attentive of observers. "I am ... intrigued," he continues, "by your unrelenting interest in my comings and goings."
His lips part as if to say more, but then close again abruptly as he's interupted by Barjad's approach. He nods slowly and says, "It seems to be fashionable to disturb a man's peace this evening."
[Alimah(#24218)]
One of Alimah's shoulders rises and falls in a shrug as she considers Djembe's answer. "You intrigue me--what can I say. And I would imagine many in this city would be interested in your..." she pauses. "In your progress, let's call it? Seaward but not Seaward, Dark Citadel but not?"
Alimah sips delicately at her ale before smiling to Barjad. "It is winter. The sun is dull and the dys dreary. Why should I not add a bright spot in the day? and how are you?"
It is Alimah that Barjad answers first. "Because ... my eyes have had much sun, and that," he points to the burnt orange of the trousers, "hurts." He blinks in exaggerated fashion. It is at this point the server interrupts him, and he is distracted enough by the business of handing over coin to forget her other question.
Djembe, though - once he has his drink in hand, Barjad looks to the white-clad man with frank curiosity. "You are of Seaward? Or not ..."
[Djembe(#29535)] The slightest whisper of a smirk plays on Djembe's lips, but disappears just as quickly as it arrived. "You are not the first woman to be intrigued by a Sanbanyi man, fair Alimah of Farside, and I suspect you will not be the last," he says, a strange note of playfulness present in and contrasting sharply with his otherwise-gruff tonality.
The pirate's son then looks at Barjad and replies, "Seaward? My family served Seaward for many years ... but a different path was chosen for my life, and my allegiance now is only to myself--and to the one true Master of men." A cryptic, strange answer to a seemingly simple question, but he says no more.
[Alimah(#24218)]
If there is a flicker of interest that runs across Alimah's face at Djembe's words, it comes and goes in an instant, replaced by a neutral look. "Djembe," she explains to Barjad, "was a friend of our mutual friend. The Inquisitor. But whether or no he is sworn to the Dark Citadel, I have not been able to ascertain. The man does not easily declare his allegiance, nor give out his name. But I found him out."
Barjad's torn lips twitch slightly at Djembe's response to Alimah, but he lets the words to her pass without comment. The man's answer to him, though ... "Does one ally- ally - serving," he substitutes after stumbling over the Haradaic word twice, "stop the other?"
Alimah's explanation is acknowledged by a nod he does not look at her directly (whether that is due to her unfortunate choice of colours or merely greater suspicion of Djembe, who knows?)
[Djembe(#29535)] "Found me out?" Djembe asks, narrowing his eyes slightly at Alimah. "Who and what I am is no secret, lady," he continues, his voice slow and deliberate as if choosing each word carefully, "if one only knows where to ask." Finally removing his boots from their resting place atop the table, the pirate's son scoots in closer to the group and places his worn elbows on the table-top, resting his chin on black, callous hands.
"Representing the Eye and serving a tower are not exclusive duties," he adds to Barjad, "unless one makes them that way. I choose to serve only those worthy of a man of my discipline--and so few truly are."
[Alimah(#24218)]
"Perhaps so, but I did not know who to ask--and you certainly did not tell me when I asked you directly after introducing myself," Alimah shrugs. "Therefore, I found you out."
"Have you heard further word of whether the Dark Citadel will send another Inquisitor to investigate the worship habits of the law-abiding citizens of Umbar, Barjad?" she asks the man. "Or perhaps you know, my good Djembe, being that you serve that Citadel and its god?"
Barjad's shoulder lifts in a shrug. "I choose to serve only the one I oathed - no. The one I did give oath. Which is right?"
Alimah's question brings a sidelong glance, and the man's scarred features crease in a clear scowl before he hides it behind his mug. "I do not hear such things. If the Eye has its coin, its power - then wny would it worry?" A note of challenge creeps into his voice, and his gaze shifts from the woman to Djembe.
[Djembe(#29535)] "A woman who will go to such lengths to learn a man's name is rare indeed," Djembe replies, his eyes intensifying further for a moment looking away from Alimah quickly and lifting a hand to indicate his order nonverbally to a passing server. "And yet how could I answer your introduction with my own," he begins, gazing at Alimah anew, "when you were so quick to grasp the hilt of your scimitar at the very sight of me?"
Barjad's attempts at provocation draw the white-clad man's attention, but his face remains expressionless he is either unaffected or very practiced at hiding it. "Worry?" he asks nonchalantly.
"Worry concerns only weak men," he says now, voice deepening--almost growling. "The Eye cares not for such ... trivialities. It is by His grace that the Lokhikhor was sent to inform those who do not pay service to Him of their error before it becomes their end. They all serve his designs whether they choose to or not."
[Alimah(#24218)] "No sense covering old ground on that again--I have already explained why I went for my weapon. but if you are scared of me still, then perhaps we should cross blades outright? Spar in the Square of Judgement, say? Or, if you will use the word that our Gondorian guests prefer, a duel? And then, Djembe Servant of the Eye, you might get past this worry that you cannot trust me because I nearly drew my weapon?" Alimah smiles even as she offers this challenge. "Though...the Farside Fleet Master would be quite upset at my death, so a spar might be more in order."
"If Lokhikhor was sent by the Eye, then why did the Eye's messenger kill him for doing his duties? Your god is quite confusing to me."
To Barjad, Alimah gives a long, searching look before asking quietly, "where are you from?"
Barjad's breath comes out in a snort. "You're a lucky man," he tells Djembe lightly, on listening to the words exchanged by his two drinking companions, and once again the right side of his mouth pulls back in what must be an attempt at a smile. Djembe's other words bring a frown. "I think," he states in his slow, nasal Haradaic, "that only greed sent Lokhikhor. Not the Eye. Maybe that is why Lokhikhor is dead." The 'smile', if one can call it that, widens.
At Alimah's question, though, it disappears, and he shrugs. "Does it matter? North - I am no Stonelander, do not fear that." A brief tugging at the side of his mouth again. "They took me on the coast, I had .. had use?, and so I did stay. In the end, I chose to."
Djembe rotates his head back toward Alimah now, smirking slightly for a split second. When he speaks, his voice is emphasized with the musical tones of amusement--at least as musical as Haradraic allows. "Now it is I who is intrigued," begins the pirate's son, a slight glimmer in his eye. "Only fools and the brave seek swordplay with a Sanbanyi! All that is left, I suppose, is to see which you are ... I accept your challenge--though obviously I will not kill you. Such an entertaining mind should not be wasted."
Then his countenance and tonality return to their serious predisposition, and he directs his words to both of the people at his table. "What errand set the Inquisitor at odds with the Eye, I can only guess," Djembe says plainly. "He was my mentor only for a short time, and I doubt he'd have called me a friend. His secrets lay in his grave beside him," he says finally.
"As do any man's."
[Alimah(#24218)]
"Then it is set. The Square of Judgement at a time and place of your choosing. To the first blood, shall we say? Certainly not to the death--best to save that for a glorious death against the Stonelanders if need be," Alimah repiles. "I am neither fool nor brave. Only confident."
"And yet," she continues to Djembe, "if he was your mentor, do you follow in his footsteps? Certainly the High Priestess needs friends, if her words that I delivered to the Black Paladin are any indication."
Barjad's tale draws her attention, and a slow nod. "If not the SToneland, then where?" she asks. "And I am not afraid of the Stonelanders, even if they bring my death one day. Their men are women and their women, men. You should meet the two in Farside that are sworn to Lord Alphros and the pitiful specimen held in Farside's prisons. I'm surprised their men don't twitter and chirp like preening songbirds."
The return of Barjad's lift of the mouth is swiftly hid behind his mug. "I do not think that the Judgement Square will have the end of the ... the challenge." His eyes, bright as ever, are not hid, and clear amusement shines in them.
Alimah's query is met with a frown. "North. Many weeks north, on a ship. Not the Stonelands - my folk fight Stoneland's ally. In our own tongue it would be," here he utters a name in some guttural-sounding speech, one that holds echoes of the cry of beast or bird. "And I have met the Stonelanders - met one, anyway." He winces and rubs at his left shoulder. "He is raven, not singing bird - his knife is sharp."
[Djembe(#29535)] A firm nod is Djembe's only sign of agreement to Alimah's offer, interupted part-way through by the arrival of a server who places a mug on the table before him. A few coins are procured from somewhere beneath the folds of his robe and he drops them into her hand before taking a very long, deliberate potation from the mug. "Confident? Yes, but confidence leads either to foolishness or acts of bravery. The difference between the two," he says, taking another drink in the pause, "is always skill."
The white-robed man then flashes a sidelong glance at Barjad's comment before reclining in his seat and listening silently, taking the occasional drink from his mug--that is, until Alimah's second pronouncement attracts his attentions. "And what message was that?" he askes simply in response.
[Alimah(#24218)]
Barjad's response about his homeland draws Alimah's attention and a sympathetic nod--and especially a look of surprise as he tells of the Stonelander's skill with a knife. "Perhaps that is why Lord Alphros allows him to serve Farside," she mutters. But the rest of Barjad's comments draw a sudden scowl, which lingers as she answers Djembe.
"Skill, yes. We shall see exactly what kind of skill you have as well, sir." The woman quickly drains the rest of her mug of ale and sets it down, standing, and half smiling to Djembe's last question. But she does not answer--only nods her farewell to both men and leaves quickly, calling back, "send word as to where and when!"
Barjad lifts an eyebrow at Alimah's abrupt departure, and when he looks back to Djembe the right side of his mouth is curled up again. "I think you did make ... " the speech trails off, and he growls under his breath. "What is the word? A good or bad thought of someone." He shrugs, leaving it for now. "I would like to see your fight, if I do not work then," he comments, draining his own mug in preparation to go.
[Djembe(#29535)] "Impression?" Djembe suggests, draining his own mug afterward. "Take it from me," the young man continues, feigning wisdom beyond his age, "a woman -always- knows when she's dealing with a -real- man." He gathers his robes and stands now, lifting the hood attached to them and using it to cover the curls of black tomentum pouring out of his skull. "You are welcome to watch, of course, and I expect you will find the outcome quite amusing. Good night!" he says, and in a bustle of white linen is out the door himself.
Players: Djembe, Alimah, Barjad
Located in: Haradrim
