Author Topic: Another spy? -- Booya  (Read 1148 times)

Nyr

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  • Posts: 9033
Another spy? -- Booya
« on: September 03, 2014, 09:15:45 AM »
The last "single meeting" between spies that we have in a log here, at least, one that is perhaps discussion worthy.  I recognize several of the characters involved here, so I figure their players may enjoy seeing what happened between this meeting and the secret one.

Quote from: Booya
******

You send a telepathic message to the geometrically-inked man:
     "Krath. How am I scary?"

The geometrically-inked man sends you a telepathic message:
     "It's all the khole."

Bobbing a little nod over, you say to the slight, freckled woman, in sirihish:
     "Well, if Kadius doesn't work out for you, perhaps we could work something out if you're interested. In the meantime if you find those stones though, i'd appreciate it."

With a warm smile, the geometrically-inked man says to the slight, freckled woman, in sirihish:
     "Walk safe, Masha, hrm? Even a little step from His gates is dangerous."

The geometrically-inked man sends you a telepathic message:
     "Hey now, wait a second, am I not good enough to be an actual guard?"

You send a telepathic message to the geometrically-inked man:
     "Nope. But we could make up a title for you!"

With a quick nod, the slight, freckled woman says, in sirihish:
     "I will thank you, it is good advice, and I will keep an eye for them."

A foreign presence contacts your mind.

l
Zaerach's Way [NSW]
  Flat bits of sandstone cover the ground here, set a bit unevenly to
make a wide path which winds itself in and out of a mixed assortment of
new stone buildings and older, thatched huts which bear a darkened line
at a uniform height of about half a cord up from the ground.  Tufts of
drying brown grass and scraggly, thin-leaved loreshi bushes sit astride
the path, sparse and scattered. Charmingly mismatched, the sandstone
used to define the path is an assortment of shapes and colors, cobbled
together like a mosaic underfoot.< /div>
  Decoratively carved stone forms a wall to the east, where to the
west, a small wooden hut is situated between two larger buildings
made of stone.
The pale, sable haired woman is standing here.
The slight, freckled woman is standing here, looking tired.
The geometrically-inked man is standing here.

Shifting her kohled, warm gaze, you look up at the pale, sable haired woman.
Long tresses of svelte hair cascades down the delicate shoulders of this
pale skinned woman and sway about her back and chest. Maintained loosely
without any fastening, her hair would naturally fall into neat clumps of
varying size while often obscuring her facial features. Set on her fragile
small head are a pair of dark brown eyes under thinly trimmed eyebrows and
over a sharp nose with a slightly upturned end. Narrow lips maintain a soft red
color, perhaps by paint, while sitting directly above her slight jaw and narrow
chin. Somewhat reedy long arms and equally extended fingers add a vine-like
appearance to her body while contrasted by a pronounced chest and finished
with long slim legs. Overall this woman is an exercise in contrast with ivory
pale flesh and black hair, with narrow limbs and a rounded torso.
The pale, sable haired woman is in excellent condition.

The pale, sable haired woman is using:
<neck>                   a blue and purple inked band
<across back>            a light brown, leather instrument case
<on torso>               a tight-fitting, aureate and crimson halter top
<around right wrist>     a belled leather loop
<around left wrist>      a strand of yellow beads
<hands>                  a tattoo of a six-pronged star
<on right index finger>  an amber inset bone ring
<on left index finger>   a ruby studded bone circlet
<on right middle finger> a gem-inlaid, sun-bleached agafari ring
<on left middle finger>  a japuaar tourmaline and alabaster ring
<on left ring finger>    a ring of white jade
< div><as belt>                a bead-sewn pouched belt
<around body>            a silver linen abaya
<about waist>            a garnet-beaded, gold silk sarong
<on legs>                a pair of vivid orange tights
<on feet>                a pair of soft black, heeled shoes

She is carrying:
nothing obvious

The slight, freckled woman smiles to you and the geometrically-inked man before slipping away when your attention turns.

The slight, freckled woman walks south.

You suffer from use of the Way.

The lithe, henna-haired woman glances south down the road then bites her lower lip.

Bouncing his eyebrows, the geometrically-inked man looks at the pale, sable haired woman.

In an arch whisper as she cups her mouth with her hand, you say to the pale, sable haired woman, in sirihish:
     "I'm apparently quite scary."

l me
This woman has shoulder-length hair dyed a reddish brown and it frames a
rounded, softly accented face.  She watches the world from dark brown eyes,
framed by thick black brows and lashes and her nose is blunt above thinnish
lips.  Her caramel-hued skin is flecked with small scars and imperfections
and she has slight contours that tell of her femininity.  Her lithe physique
and lean limbs tell of an active lifestyle, and her hands have callus-tipped
fingers. 
The lithe, henna-haired woman is in excellent condition.

<in hair>                some pink flowers
<on face>                subtle kohl eyeliner
<neck>                   a blue and purple inked band
<across back>            a braid-strapped leather satchel
<on torso>               a white damask dress with silk sash
< div><around right wrist>     a bracelet made of tiny flint arrowheads
<around left wrist>      a wood-clasped charm bracelet
<hands>                  an inverted, silver triangle
<on forearms>            a supple, dark-grey strap-sheath
<on left index finger>   a sunburst-carved ivory signet ring
<as belt>                an interwoven belt of white and sable silks
<right ankle>            a tattoo of three orange triangles
<on feet>                a pair of silver silk slippers

The moustached, tan-skinned man sends you a telepathic message:
     "Evening... Chosen.  Private Rill of the First -- familiar via'a mutual friend a' ours -- would be a pleasure to buy you a drink and have a chat sometime."

The geometrically-inked man sends you a telepathic message:
     "Well now I just feel insulted. I would make a spectacular guard."

116/116;110/119;96/96;walking
Nodding, the pale, sable haired woman says to you, in sirihish:
     "I believe it."

stat
Your encumbrance is no problem.
You are:
Apprentice of the Bards of Poets' Circle, jobs:
The Hlum of the Servants of Gol Krathu, jobs:
Relationship to the land is neutral.
You are currently speaking sirihish with a northern accent.
Your mood is neutral.
You are standing.
Your mind is in contact with the geometrically-inked man.
You are refusing saves on: arrest.
You are merciful on: kill | flee | .
You aren't watching anything in particular.

You suffer from use of the Way.

You send a telepathic message to the geometrically-inked man:
< div>     "But you're untrained! As yet."

cease
You dissolve the psychic link.

You contact the moustached, tan-skinned man with the Way.

The pale, sable haired woman says, in sirihish:
     "So."

The geometrically-inked man sends you a telepathic message:
     "Well obviously that will be remedied."

You suffer from use of the Way.

Exhaling an amused sigh, you ask the pale, sable haired woman, in sirihish:
     "You think so too? And so...might you have those things?"

The pale, sable haired woman says to you, in sirihish:
     "Ah yes."

It is dusk on Yochem, the 40th day of the Descending Sun,
In the Year of Silt's Peace, year 9 of the 22nd Age.

The pale, sable haired woman passes some folded clothes over to you so that an onlooker might not be able to tell what they are.

The pale, sable haired woman gives you her see-through beaded over-shift.

The pale, sable haired woman gives you her brief leather skirt.

The pale, sable haired woman gives you her short, tight-fitting, sleek brown hide skirt.

You are carrying:
a short, tight-fitting, sleek brown hide skirt
a brief leather skirt
a see-through beaded over-shift

You open your braid-strapped leather satchel.

Tucking the bundle away, you put your short, tight-fitting, sleek brown hide skirt into your braid-strapped leather satchel.

Tucking the bundle away, you put your brief leather skirt into your braid-strapped leather satchel.

The geometrically-inked man eyes the clothing with an arched brow.

You put your see-through beaded over-shift into your braid-strapped leather satchel.

With an innocent whistle, you close your braid-strapped leather satchel.

You suffer from use of the Way.

The geometrically-inked man asks the pale, sable haired woman, in sirihish:
     "Can you get me one of those?"

You suffer from use of the Way.

You ask the geometrically-inked man, in sirihish:
     "To wear?"

The geometrically-inked man says to you, in sirihish:
     "Don't judge me, ma'am."

The pale, sable haired woman says to the geometrically-inked man, in sirihish:
     "Kadius could."

You send a telepathic message to the moustached, tan-skinned man:
     "Evening Private Rill. How good to hear from you. A drink and a chat would be lovely, indeed. Are you off duty this evening?"

Pursing his lips, the geometrically-inked man says, in sirihish:
     "Ah... Haven't seen a Kadian in a while."

You suffer from use of the Way.

The moustached, tan-skinned man sends you a telepathic message:
     "I am.  You have a prefered place to drink?"

The rugged, ruddy man has arrived from the south.

time
It is late at night on Yochem, the 40th day of the Descending Sun,
In the Year of Silt's Peace, year 9 of the 22nd Age.

weather
It is a warm night.
A warm breeze blows from the south.
Jihae, the red moon, is high in the sky.
The white moon, Lirathu, is high in the sky.

The rugged, ruddy man looks up at the pale, sable haired woman.

The rugged, ruddy man looks at you.

You send a telepathic message to the moustached, tan-skinned man:
     "How about the Ghaati terrace? It tends to be peaceful up there."

You suffer from use of the Way.

The pale, sable haired woman says to the geometrically-inked man, in sirihish:
     "Sorry, it's the only pair I have."

The moustached, tan-skinned man sends you a telepathic message:
     "One of my favorites.  His Radiance, until we meet."

You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.

The rugged, ruddy man makes a respectful nod to you as he walks down the way, and then to the pale, sable haired woman, and then to the geometrically-inked man.

You send a telepathic message to the moustached, tan-skinned man:
     "His Light."

With a nod, the geometrically-inked man says to the pale, sable haired woman, in sirihish:
     "Alas, I'll have to do without."

Returning the nod with a little smile, you look at the rugged, ruddy man.
This is a hard-featured human male in his prime. His face is heavy, with a
thick brow, wide cheekbones, a strong and square chin, and a prominent,
hawkish nose. Murky blue eyes are set very deep, and the folds beneath his
brow lend them a perpetual squint. A large mouth holds what seems like a few
too many teeth. He is broad at the shoulders and narrow at the waist.
Despite his hardy appearance, a careful observer may note signs of ease -
a relatively untanned, though reddened, complexion, soft and cared for hands,
and a general lack of the scarring and blemishing so common in the Known world.

His hair is thick and a lustrous reddish brown. It hangs about his shoulders.
He is closely shaven.

The rugged, ruddy man is in excellent condition.

The rugged, ruddy man is using:
<on head>                a desert-carved, stained-bone circlet
<in right ear>           a dangling ivory filigree earring
<across back>            a fringed shoulder bag
<on torso>               a full-cut, white silk shirt
<around right wrist>     an elegant bracelet of blackened ivory and moonstone
<around left wrist>      an ivory and sapphire bracelet
<hands>                  a pale, faint-looking scar
<on right index finger>  a narrow band of pure white ivory
<on left index finger>   a lapis lazuli signet ring with an evening stone
<on left middle finger>  a narrow band of pure white ivory
<as belt>                a white pouched belt
<hung from belt>         a dark, rantarri-hilted dagger
<around body>            a patterned, vibrant blue abaya
<on legs>                a snug pair of blue, pocketed suede pants
<on feet>                a pair of knee-high, white leather boots

He is carrying:
nothing obvious

The short, slender man has arrived from the south.

The short, slender man walks north.

You suffer from use of the Way.

You suffer from use of the Way.

Pausing briefly in his walk, the rugged, ruddy man asks, in sirihish:
     "A charmed night when both Jihae and Lirathu are ascendant, hm?"

With a nod, the geometrically-inked man looks at the rugged, ruddy man.

Amiably, you say to the rugged, ruddy man, in sirihish:
     "It really feels like it. It's good to see you, Trader Rulon."

The geometrically-inked man sends you a telepathic message:
     "Geeze, you even get the Kadians to speak fancy to you... Wait no, he does that for everyone with tits."

Dipping his head again, the rugged, ruddy man says, in sirihish:
     "Too kind, Chosen Lady. "

The athletic, olive-skinned woman has arrived from the south.

The athletic, olive-skinned woman walks north.

Pleasantly, the rugged, ruddy man asks you, in sirihish:
     "I wonder what title you prefer. I was speaking with the Chosen Lord about the variety of titles available. Chosen Hlum, Chosen Lady, Chosen Lady Hlum...?"

The rugged, ruddy man says, in sirihish:
     "Chosen Consort..."

You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.

With a chuckle, the rugged, ruddy man says, in sirihish:
     "There's a great degree of customization, it seems."

You exclaim to the rugged, ruddy man, in sirihish:
     "I have a little business I wouldn't mind discussing sometime soon when we get a chance, actually. And, Chosen Lady or Chosen Consort are fine. Either, and quite!"
Paint on a mustache and be a dude for a day. Stuff some melons down my shirt, cinch up a corset and pass as a girl.

With appropriate roleplay of course.

Nyr

  • Red Fangs
  • Posts: 9033
Re: Another spy? -- Booya
« Reply #1 on: September 03, 2014, 09:21:52 AM »
Quote from: Booya
With a whimsical smile, you say, in sirihish:
     "You need never get bored."

You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.

His eyes crinkling as his wide mouth grins, the rugged, ruddy man says, in sirihish:
     "I'm at your disposal, Chosen Lady. Only summon me, or, if you'd prefer to pursue that business now, I'm free."

You say, in sirihish:
     "I'm afraid I need to go now and see someone about something. But soon! Next week, if not later this. I'll try and find you."

l
Zaerach's Way [NSW]
  Flat bits of sandstone cover the ground here, set a bit unevenly to
make a wide path which winds itself in and out of a mixed assortment of
new stone buildings and older, thatched huts which bear a darkened line
at a uniform height of about half a cord up from the ground.  Tufts of
drying brown grass and scraggly, thin-leaved loreshi bushes sit astride
the path, sparse and scattered. Charmingly mismatched, the sandstone
used to define the path is an assortment of shapes and colors, cobbled
together like a mosaic underfoot.< /div>
  Decoratively carved stone forms a wall to the east, where to the
west, a small wooden hut is situated between two larger buildings
made of stone.
The rugged, ruddy man is standing here.
The pale, sable haired woman is standing here.
The geometrically-inked man is standing here.

With a dip of his head, the rugged, ruddy man says, in sirihish:
     "Of course. Thank you. His Light."

To the pale, sable haired woman and the geometrically-inked man, you exclaim, in sirihish:
     "I need to go, see you later though!"

With a little wave as she starts off, you exclaim, in sirihish:
     "His Radiance!"

You stop leading the geometrically-inked man.

The rugged, ruddy man looks up at the pale, sable haired woman.

*****Off she wanders to the Ghatti****

A foreign presence contacts your mind.

scan
You intently scan the area.

The geometrically-inked man sends you a telepathic message:
     "I'll think on the offer, alright."

You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.

cease
You dissolve the psychic link.

You contact the geometrically-inked man with the Way.

You send a telepathic message to the geometrically-inked man:
    "Yep."

You send a telepathic message to the geometrically-inked man:
     "Light Baker Boy."

You dissolve the psychic link.

You enter a white-tiled teahouse.
Lucky Ghaati Teahouse [WU Leave Quit]
   Screens, made of oiled paper printed with swirls of red and yellow
lozenges, block out the sandladen wind while allowing light into this
high-ceilinged, echoing chamber.  Bubbles of glass holding oil and wicks
hang suspended from the rafters at varying heights.  Low, round tables are
scattered across the floor, each surrounded by threadbare cushions that
serve as seats.  From the back of the room comes a constant hiss of boiling
water and steam from a ceramic samovar, pitted with age, that towers behind
a low wooden counter.  A red-railed wooden staircase leads upwards. 
The Tuluk bulletin board is here propped up on a stand.
The lithe, sinewy soldier watches those around him over the rim of a teacup.
The bulky, black-haired soldier relaxes by the samovar, off-duty.
A lanky, grey-braided bard sits to one side playing a mandolin.
A scarlet-haired, jade-eyed woman sits drinking a cup of tea.
A fat-bellied, brown-haired woman sits near the samovar, serving tea.
A sweet-faced, diminutive woman sits playing a guitar.
The bulky, pale-skinned female soldier relaxes here, off-duty.

Up above is Atop Lucky Ghaati, Overlooking Poet's Circle.
[Near]
The moustached, tan-skinned man stands here, overlooking the circle below.
A black-bearded, bowlegged man sits playing with a pair of dice.
A green-eyed, blonde elvish woman stands pouring cups of tea.

You contact the moustached, tan-skinned man with the Way.

You send a telepathic message to the moustached, tan-skinned man:
     "Do you have tea?"

A foreign presence contacts your mind.

The moustached, tan-skinned man sends you a telepathic message:
     "I do.  I hope you like Dwarfflower."

You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.

u (pattering lightly up the steps
Atop Lucky Ghaati, Overlooking Poet's Circle [D]
   The adobe roof of the teahouse furnishes a surface here for several
small tables and benches in a rooftop garden that overlooks the main sweep
of Poet's Circle to the north.  Halved wine barrels have been planted with
crimson-flowering cacti.  The edge of the roof is surrounded by white tiled,
raised half-walls.  On the street below, crowds swirl and eddy, making their
way along the Circle's concourse. 
The moustached, tan-skinned man stands here, overlooking the circle below.
A black-bearded, bowlegged man sits playing with a pair of dice.
A green-eyed, blonde elvish woman stands pouring cups of tea.

Offering a grin as his gaze shifts to the stairs, the moustached, tan-skinned man looks at you.

Heading over, a little smile playing on her features, you look at the moustached, tan-skinned man.
This man is of just below average height for a human, his form that of
corded muscle and little fat.  His skin is certainly Krath-worn, but is a
rather even tan, with the faintest hint of olive.  His hair is dark black
and falls with a mix of wave and curl, giving it a naturally unkempt
appearance.  The hair on his head is let to fall long on either side, and
the top layer is pulled back into a sort of top-knotted ponytail.  His face
sports a thin moustache of moderate length, and a skinny bit of hair beneath
his lip.  His eyebrows are thin, and sit above plain, brown eyes.  His face
has a slightly skeletal appearance, and his nose is slightly hawk-like. 
The moustached, tan-skinned man is in excellent condition.

The moustached, tan-skinned man is using:
<around neck>            a sunburst-crested wooden collar
<slung across back>      a sun-pommelled, bone-bladed shortsword< /div>
<across back>            a rough canvas backpack
<on torso>               a sunburst-emblazoned woodsplint vest
<on arms>                a pair of sunburst-branded woodsplint sleeves
<around right wrist>     a studded tembo-hide bracer
<around left wrist>      a studded tembo-hide bracer
<hands>                  a tattoo of a six-pronged star
<primary hand>           a small wooden cup
<secondary hand>         a small wooden cup
<as belt>                a sunburst-buckled, hardened leather sword belt
<hung from belt>         a durable leather healer's belt-pouch
<hung from belt>         a sun-pommelled, bone-bladed shortsword
<around body>            a long, hooded red and white tabard
<on legs>                a pair of sunburst-branded woodsplint leggings
<on feet>                a pair of knee-high black leather riding boots

He is carrying:
nothing obvious

Grinning widely and offering his small wooden cup, the moustached, tan-skinned man says to you, in sirihish:
     "Evening, Chosen.  How good ta' see you."

Reaching her slender hand for the cup, you say to the moustached, tan-skinned man, in sirihish:
     "And you Private! My thanks."

The moustached, tan-skinned man stops using his small wooden cup.

look tables
At 1) a small wooden table are:
      a few empty seats.
At 2) a small wooden table are:
      a few empty seats.
At 3) a small wooden table are:
      a few empty seats.
At 4) a small wooden table are:
      a few empty seats.

Passing it along, the moustached, tan-skinned man gives you his small wooden cup.

The moustached, tan-skinned man motions to a small wooden table and steps along fluidly.

Easing down slowly, supporting his small wooden cup in both hands, the moustached, tan-skinned man sits at a small wooden table.

Settling down, her hands wrapped round the cup, you sit at a small wooden table.

weather
It is a cool night.
A cool breeze blows from the south.
Jihae, the red moon, hangs low in the sky.
The white moon, Lirathu, is high in the sky.

time
It is before dawn on Huegel, the 41st day of the Descending Sun,
In the Year of Silt's Peace, year 9 of the 22nd Age.

At your table, the moustached, tan-skinned man says in sirihish, leaning forward a bit and smoothing his moustache:
     "The news'a your status is most exciting, must say."

116/116;110/119;96/96;walking
You suffer from use of the Way.

At your table, you say in sirihish, a small grin forming:
     "I know. Imagine my surprise!"

Tilting the steaming liquid to her mouth, you sip from your small wooden cup.
This tea has delicate overtones of belshun and kalan fruit.
It's more than half full of a pale pink liquid.

Chuckling and nodding his head, the moustached, tan-skinned man sips from his small wooden cup.

At your table, the moustached, tan-skinned man says in sirihish, to you, smoothing a bit of liquid from his facial hair:
     "S'good to finally have a drink with you.  Mm.  Much changes with the new status?"

At your table, the moustached, tan-skinned man says in sirihish, clicking his teeth and muttering:
     "Many changes, might mean.  Eh.  Either way."

You notice: The moustached, tan-skinned man idly itches at one foot with another.

The enormous sun rises above the barren plains in the east.
The red orb of Jihae, the red moon, begins to vanish as it slowly sets.

Out in the Circle, the tall figure in a scrub-camouflaged sandcloth duster walks east.

Out in the Circle, the bulky, black-haired soldier walks east.

At your table, you say in sirihish, with a wistful little nod:
     "Yes, many -and- much Private. Everything I suppose, except who I am."

Out in the Circle, the lithe, sinewy soldier walks east.

At your table, the moustached, tan-skinned man says in sirihish, to you, bobbing his head:
     "Mm.  Praise the Sun King.  Maintain the same hobbies, or have you mad to make changes?"

The moustached, tan-skinned man leans back and settles in a comfortable and conversational manner.

Clearing his throat, the moustached, tan-skinned man says, in sirihish:
     "Had to make changes, rather."

At your table, you say in sirihish, with an amiable nod:
     "The same hobbies. Though now, of course, I'll be learning to read and write so my pursuit of histories and lore will be enhanced incredibly. I think i'll remain composing songs, though."

Out in the Circle, the muscular, red-haired female soldier has arrived from the east.

At your table, you say in sirihish, her tone faintly whimsical:
     "I always find them terribly helpful to help frame thoughts, if that makes any sense."

At your table, the moustached, tan-skinned man says in sirihish, with a grin and a nod:
     "Aye, I suppose it does.  See a lot of Reon, I imagine?"

At your table, you say in sirihish, her kohled, bright eyes on the moustached, tan-skinned man as she bobs a nod:
     "He's my guard, in fact. He should be here with me, except he's krath-struck."

At your table, the moustached, tan-skinned man says in sirihish, with a bit of a nod:
     "Mm, tends to be.  Told me a few things you might like to have -- can still get them if such hobbies remain of interest to ya'."

The moustached, tan-skinned man adds a chuckle after he finishes speaking.

At your table, you say in sirihish:
     "Oh, i'm fine for now I think, but I would be interested in a puzzle of some sort, to keep my hand in. My days of going around seeking certain entertainments along those lines are over, fo course."

At your table, you say in sirihish, rolling her amused, brown eyes:
     "Gosh, now you're making me trip over my words."

At your table, the moustached, tan-skinned man says in sirihish, with a simple nod to you, offering a few chuckles:
     "S'contagious.  In any case, figured as much -- puzzle, aye?  Anything particular I could do for you?"

The moustached, tan-skinned man leans in a tad closer to you, raising his small wooden cup.

The moustached, tan-skinned man sips from his small wooden cup.

You are a little hungry.

At your table, you say in sirihish:
     "Apart from the puzzles? "

Atop Lucky Ghaati, Overlooking Poet's Circle [D]
   The adobe roof of the teahouse furnishes a surface here for several
small tables and benches in a rooftop garden that overlooks the main sweep
of Poet's Circle to the north.  Halved wine barrels have been planted with
< div>crimson-flowering cacti.  The edge of the roof is surrounded by white tiled,
raised half-walls.  On the street below, crowds swirl and eddy, making their
way along the Circle's concourse. 
The moustached, tan-skinned man is sitting at a small wooden table.
A black-bearded, bowlegged man sits playing with a pair of dice.
A green-eyed, blonde elvish woman stands pouring cups of tea.

listen
You start trying to listen.

At your table, the moustached, tan-skinned man says in sirihish, simply, to you:
     "Mm, that, and any particular puzzle you had in mind."

At your table, you say in sirihish:
     "I think they're boxes."

At your table, the moustached, tan-skinned man says in sirihish, with a nod, wrinkling his nose curiously:
     "Mm, I'll keep an eye out, Chosen."

Tilting it back, the moustached, tan-skinned man sips from his small wooden cup.

The lithe, henna-haired woman gestures a little twisting motion with her hand before picking up your small wooden cup again and she smiles.

At your table, the moustached, tan-skinned man says in sirihish, to you, with a grin:
     "S'good to be in such friendly company.  I appreciate the meeting."

The moustached, tan-skinned man tilts his small wooden cup back, emptying the last drop.

The moustached, tan-skinned man puts his small wooden cup onto a small wooden table.

At your table, you say in sirihish:
     "Me too. Let's not make it the last. If you can't get one, let me know. And how about you? How are the Legions suiting you?"

Gaze friendly on the moustached, tan-skinned man, you sip from your small wooden cup.
This tea has delicate overtones of belshun and kalan fruit.
You are a little hungry.
It's about half full of a pale pink liquid.

At your table, the moustached, tan-skinned man says in sirihish, to you, with a simple nod:
     "Wonderfully -- working in His Light provides much opportunity."

At your table, the moustached, tan-skinned man says in sirihish, to you, simply and idly waving a hand:
     "Though not much to speak of -- things have been Harmonous, as they should be."

At your table, you say in sirihish, bobbing a little nod:
     "Is patrolling the streets part of the First's schedule?"

At your table, the moustached, tan-skinned man says in sirihish, with a single nod:
     "Much of it -- myself I get the opportunty to patrol the tenments in the warrens.  The Sergeant plays to my strengths.  Lots of beautiful things to see, as well."

At your table, the moustached, tan-skinned man says in sirihish, adding simply:
     "Mm, such as that wonderful tree off of the North Road -- you know the one?"

At your table, you say in sirihish, smiling a little:
     "Indeed. People call it Isar's tree, on account of it springing up there at his demise."

At your table, the moustached, tan-skinned man says in sirihish, with a simple nod:
     "So I'm told -- one of my favorite spots.  The Sergeant says some day, if he's given the opportunity, he would be glad to take me to see up close.  Wonderous he says."

At your table, you say in sirihish, her lively gaze widening a touch:
     "Gosh! How wonderful to find others who appreciate them too. That is one of my hobbies I mean to continue, as as a bard I was composing a song about them. That, and Isatep's tree in the cemetary. "

At your table, the moustached, tan-skinned man says in sirihish, to you, simply:
     "Isatep's tree -- that's one I've not spotted myself.  Perhaps I've just looked past such.  Special stories of that one?"

At your table, you say in sirihish:
     "That was planted quite normally, to commerarate the Fifth Rising. Whilst Isar's was at the Fourth."

At your table, you say in sirihish:
     "It's an agafari, I think."

At your table, the moustached, tan-skinned man says in sirihish, bobbing his head slowly:
     "Mm, I'll have to take a look, when I can.  You know many others who have a similar interest?"

At your table, you say in sirihish:
     "No, everyone else seems to get terribly bored when I bring it up. Though, Chosen Rylla Dasari generously agreed to discuss them with me some time, when we have a moment."

At your table, you say in sirihish:
     "Oh, Apprentice Ella of Groot was the most interested. We were thinking of duetting about them. Perhaps we can still work something out."

At your table, the moustached, tan-skinned man says in sirihish, with a nod:
     "Mm, I'd love to know more.  I must admit that I'm not sure exactly /why/ I am interested -- though that's the way of things, I figure, eh?"

The moustached, tan-skinned man chuckles, idly twisting one side of his moustache.

At your table, the moustached, tan-skinned man says in sirihish, to you, leaning in:
     "In any case, I'm afraid I have to attend duties, Chosen."

At your table, you say in sirihish, smiling a little as she hitches a gentle shrug:
     "They're so terribly symbolic, I think."

The moustached, tan-skinned man nods once, smiling with half his mouth.

At your table, you say in sirihish:
     "And yes, I understand. Have you met apprentice Ella?"

You sip from your small wooden cup.
This tea has delicate overtones of belshun and kalan fruit.
You are a little hungry.
It's less than half full of a pale pink liquid.

At your table, the moustached, tan-skinned man says in sirihish, to you, collecting up his things:
     "I've not.  Should I know her through a mutual friend, you excluded, or no?"

At your table, you say in sirihish, bobbing a nod:
     "You should. She's a partisan of Winrothol."

At your table, you say in sirihish:
     "Occasionally around at this time of the week, or later. But Private, one last thing. If there's anything I can help you with, please don't hesistate to ask."

At your table, the moustached, tan-skinned man says in sirihish, with a nod to you:
     "Mm, perhaps I should meet with her.  Likewise, Chosen.  I imagine we'll meet again shortly -- in any case, it's been some time since I've seen good Reon."

Chuckling a bit, the moustached, tan-skinned man stands up from a small wooden table.

The moustached, tan-skinned man places his sunburst-crested baobab helm on his head, securing it with a swift tug.

Smiling as she inclines her head, you exclaim to the moustached, tan-skinned man, in sirihish:
     "His Radiance, Private!"

Tilting his sunburst-crested baobab helm and grinning wide, the moustached, tan-skinned man says, in sirihish:
     "His Radiance, Chosen."

The moustached, tan-skinned man steps back toward the stairs, adjusting his long, hooded red and white tabard as he goes.

Boots tapping along, the moustached, tan-skinned man walks down.

Finishing it off, you sip from your small wooden cup.
This tea has delicate overtones of belshun and kalan fruit.
You are a little hungry.
It is empty.

You feel your mental contact withdrawing from the mind of your target.

You put your small wooden cup onto a small wooden table.
Paint on a mustache and be a dude for a day. Stuff some melons down my shirt, cinch up a corset and pass as a girl.

With appropriate roleplay of course.

bcw81

  • Helper
  • Posts: 3053
Re: Another spy? -- Booya
« Reply #2 on: September 03, 2014, 02:28:32 PM »
Hnnng. Stop bringing memories back to kick me in my feels place, Nyr!

Quote
A female voice says, in sirihish:
     "] yer a wizard, oashi"

Aruven

  • Posts: 2347
Re: Another spy? -- Booya
« Reply #3 on: November 21, 2014, 01:13:43 PM »
Oh Rill.