No stranger to such reception, Shiva plays up her part. Her stride is unwavering and forces those in her path to give way, her body language speaking to an ease with both a blade and the taking of a life. She smirks as people ward themselves in fear and winks rakishly at the women pulling their gawking children away.
She shouts in Taneman as the soap-box priest rattles off tales of woe and destruction and the reclamation of a bygone golden era. She brings her voice into chorus with the pitches and falls of the so-called priest. "Do you SEE THEM, friends? Those that bring CORRUPTION with their backwards ways? Your CHILDREN will forget the faces of their ancestors. Your WIVES will have their first orgasms in DECADES at the hands of these FIENDS!"
She cackles brightly as she stomps away, only to be met by a man with a blade. When he silently refuses to step out of her path, she regards him with open animosity.
Alaris pauses at the head of the column, the hush of the crowd settling over the group like a gathering storm. Every whispered prayer and wary glance seems to make the surroundings press ever closer. For a moment, they feel a literal choking, smothering feeling. Maybe you should just lay back... try to fit in,whispers the other Alaris. I mean, it's not anything I've ever tried, but people keep telling me it's an option.
Shiva's shout brings the aasimar out of their reverie with a cough and a shake of the head. No - wasn't it you who told me we're too... what was your word? Fabulous... too fabulous to hide? They lift a hand—palm open, fingers steady—and draw a slow, calming breath as they move to stand beside Shiva.
“People of Beschadik,” Alaris begins (in Sarameian with a lilt of Piotrgrad to it), voice clear but gentle, carrying over cobblestones and chatter. “I know your hearts quake at what is unknown. You see armor etched with symbols you do not recognize, faces that do not belong in your markets, and you wonder what omen we bring.”
They let their gaze sweep over the silent soldiers and curious laborers, then rest on the children peeking from behind their mothers’ skirts.
“We are not demons, thieves, or unwelcome spirits,” they continue. “We are travelers seeking truth and justice. I do stand here under the light of a goddess whom you may not know — but no shadow can claim those who serve the Lady of Light.”Alaris steps forward, lowering their voice so the cityfolk must strain to hear. “If you need proof of our purpose, look to our acts, not our looks. We bear courage, careful counsel, compassion, and above all, loyalty to one another. Judge us not by fear, but by the light we choose to carry.”
They close their eyes for a heartbeat and murmur a prayer to the Lady of Light. When they open them again, the faintest glow seems to linger in their iris.
“May the Light of the Lady reach even the coldest hearts today. If you offer us only suspicion, we will return it only with kindness. If you offer peace, we will pass in peace. And if you simply step aside, we will walk through without harm.”
With that, Alaris lowers their hand and inclines their head—a formal blessing and an invitation. Then they fall quietly into step, letting their words ripple through the courtyard, hoping the light they bear will kindle courage in Beschadik’s wary souls.
Eshuvenniel Kazander Ravid,Valor Bard and Acolyte of the Goddess of Luck Caradoc Langham, Halfling Rogue - Lost Magics - Epic of Pre-made Proportions! I'm not looking for heaven or hell... just someone to listen to stories I tell...
Iskander releases a weary sigh, even though this is only the beginning. "Maybe I shouldn't have translated that," he says to Astrid and Caio, helpless to do much but watch this chaos unfold.
He finally steps in when Shiva squares up to a swordsman, switching to his native Sarameian to try and defuse the situation. "Please forgive her,"he asks with hands raised in a placating gesture,"these people visit from far away on a holy pilgrimage, they do not know our, more civilised, ways."
Shiva's chaos and Alaris's calm inspire a mix of fear and fascination in the onlookers. Some laugh nervously at the tiefling's bawdy mockery, while others spit curses under their breath. However, the bogatyr's words strike a different chord, resonating steady as a hymn.
The man with the blade glances from Shiva's smirk to Alaris's glow, his jaw tightening. When Iskander steps forward, speaking in an easy, crisp Sarameian, the man’s grip tightens on the hilt of his weapon, knuckles whitening as he listens. His eyes flit once more between Shiva and Alaris, before narrowing on Iskander.
"Pilgrims?" He spits, voice rough with distrust. "Funny, I’ve never seen pilgrims swagger like sellswords or mock our faith in the streets. If she were truly a holy woman, she’d know when to keep her tongue behind her teeth."
He takes a deliberate half-step closer, blade tilting just enough to catch the light.
"Beschcadik has bled enough for foreign causes. You want peace, stranger? Then keep your dogs on a leash."
Shiva's grin remains as the man airs his revulsion towards the group.
"That's because I am a mercenary, cock snot. These-"She waves her hand wide as she indicates to the others. "-good holy folk think they can save me from my wayward path."
She takes another step forward, entering the man's space.
"But if a dirty devil of a foreigner walking these streets is too much for you to bear, then I'd be happy to alleviate your suffering and escort you unto the next life."
She crosses her arms, standing straight and confident.
"We're passing through. We share this world, no one has right to say who belongs where and when so long as they go their own way and leave others unharmed. I wouldn't give you a second look if I saw you in my hometown."
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No stranger to such reception, Shiva plays up her part. Her stride is unwavering and forces those in her path to give way, her body language speaking to an ease with both a blade and the taking of a life. She smirks as people ward themselves in fear and winks rakishly at the women pulling their gawking children away.
She shouts in Taneman as the soap-box priest rattles off tales of woe and destruction and the reclamation of a bygone golden era. She brings her voice into chorus with the pitches and falls of the so-called priest. "Do you SEE THEM, friends? Those that bring CORRUPTION with their backwards ways? Your CHILDREN will forget the faces of their ancestors. Your WIVES will have their first orgasms in DECADES at the hands of these FIENDS!"
She cackles brightly as she stomps away, only to be met by a man with a blade. When he silently refuses to step out of her path, she regards him with open animosity.
"You lose something over here, friend?"
Alaris pauses at the head of the column, the hush of the crowd settling over the group like a gathering storm. Every whispered prayer and wary glance seems to make the surroundings press ever closer. For a moment, they feel a literal choking, smothering feeling. Maybe you should just lay back... try to fit in, whispers the other Alaris. I mean, it's not anything I've ever tried, but people keep telling me it's an option.
Shiva's shout brings the aasimar out of their reverie with a cough and a shake of the head. No - wasn't it you who told me we're too... what was your word? Fabulous... too fabulous to hide? They lift a hand—palm open, fingers steady—and draw a slow, calming breath as they move to stand beside Shiva.
“People of Beschadik,” Alaris begins (in Sarameian with a lilt of Piotrgrad to it), voice clear but gentle, carrying over cobblestones and chatter. “I know your hearts quake at what is unknown. You see armor etched with symbols you do not recognize, faces that do not belong in your markets, and you wonder what omen we bring.”
They let their gaze sweep over the silent soldiers and curious laborers, then rest on the children peeking from behind their mothers’ skirts.
“We are not demons, thieves, or unwelcome spirits,” they continue. “We are travelers seeking truth and justice. I do stand here under the light of a goddess whom you may not know — but no shadow can claim those who serve the Lady of Light.” Alaris steps forward, lowering their voice so the cityfolk must strain to hear. “If you need proof of our purpose, look to our acts, not our looks. We bear courage, careful counsel, compassion, and above all, loyalty to one another. Judge us not by fear, but by the light we choose to carry.”
They close their eyes for a heartbeat and murmur a prayer to the Lady of Light. When they open them again, the faintest glow seems to linger in their iris.
“May the Light of the Lady reach even the coldest hearts today. If you offer us only suspicion, we will return it only with kindness. If you offer peace, we will pass in peace. And if you simply step aside, we will walk through without harm.”
With that, Alaris lowers their hand and inclines their head—a formal blessing and an invitation. Then they fall quietly into step, letting their words ripple through the courtyard, hoping the light they bear will kindle courage in Beschadik’s wary souls.
Eshuvenniel Kazander Ravid, Valor Bard and Acolyte of the Goddess of Luck
Caradoc Langham, Halfling Rogue - Lost Magics - Epic of Pre-made Proportions!
I'm not looking for heaven or hell... just someone to listen to stories I tell...
Iskander releases a weary sigh, even though this is only the beginning. "Maybe I shouldn't have translated that," he says to Astrid and Caio, helpless to do much but watch this chaos unfold.
He finally steps in when Shiva squares up to a swordsman, switching to his native Sarameian to try and defuse the situation. "Please forgive her," he asks with hands raised in a placating gesture, "these people visit from far away on a holy pilgrimage, they do not know our, more civilised, ways."
Shiva's chaos and Alaris's calm inspire a mix of fear and fascination in the onlookers. Some laugh nervously at the tiefling's bawdy mockery, while others spit curses under their breath. However, the bogatyr's words strike a different chord, resonating steady as a hymn.
The man with the blade glances from Shiva's smirk to Alaris's glow, his jaw tightening. When Iskander steps forward, speaking in an easy, crisp Sarameian, the man’s grip tightens on the hilt of his weapon, knuckles whitening as he listens. His eyes flit once more between Shiva and Alaris, before narrowing on Iskander.
"Pilgrims?" He spits, voice rough with distrust. "Funny, I’ve never seen pilgrims swagger like sellswords or mock our faith in the streets. If she were truly a holy woman, she’d know when to keep her tongue behind her teeth."
He takes a deliberate half-step closer, blade tilting just enough to catch the light.
"Beschcadik has bled enough for foreign causes. You want peace, stranger? Then keep your dogs on a leash."
The Chronicles of Arden: Sheercleft - DM for Aiden, Bründir, Jex, Thurston, Valaith and Vark
The Chronicles of Arden: Hunters - DM for Alaris, Astrid, Caio and Shiva
Shiva's grin remains as the man airs his revulsion towards the group.
"That's because I am a mercenary, cock snot. These-" She waves her hand wide as she indicates to the others. "-good holy folk think they can save me from my wayward path."
She takes another step forward, entering the man's space.
"But if a dirty devil of a foreigner walking these streets is too much for you to bear, then I'd be happy to alleviate your suffering and escort you unto the next life."
She crosses her arms, standing straight and confident.
"We're passing through. We share this world, no one has right to say who belongs where and when so long as they go their own way and leave others unharmed. I wouldn't give you a second look if I saw you in my hometown."