Logs:All Roads Lead --
| All Roads Lead -- | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | a long while ago & somewhat displaced from time "Close, but also very far away." |
| Location
וᛁ ᛍ◟ˎ╵╵╮ˎ◟⸍╵ - Crooked Market - Foul Courts - Otherworld | |
It's an absolutely abysmal day outside, and around here that's saying something. The streets are flooding, thick and dark, though it hasn't been raining -- just don't look too hard into the murk. Or do, if that's your speed; some of the braver mages are venturing into the flood for samples and of them, some of the more well-practiced are even surviving. People have their ways, of course, and even before the streets became really impassible there were already a host of enterprising (and prepared) fae offering ferrying services in all manner of magickal airborne conveyance. Unlike the mages, even the experienced among them don't seem to want to have anything to do with the clouded not-quite-water. Amidst hippogriffs and enchanted chariots, carpets flying on their own and carpets borne by patient sylphs, there's still lively interaction aplenty to be found in the center of town, but -- Certainly, here at the bustling inn, foul weather makes for a packed crowd. From the outside this place doesn't look like much, just a plain but sturdy wooden door in a cramped-looking row of buildings, quite near to the most bustling part of town. The shingle hung on the door is blank, but that doesn't stop it successfully advertising, a touch of enchantment that projects the strong feeling of comfort and safety to passersby. Inside it's not nearly as cramped as its modest exterior suggests it should be. What the actual guest-rooms above look like is anyone's guess, but the dining room -- such as it is -- molds itself seamlessly to the perception of each individual viewer. To that pair of A'askvarii over there the room is in the marshy shallows of a great mandrake grove, roots weaving in and out of the water to form the tables for their meal. To the Cotati in the corner, a sunny-warm meadow with rich earth to root in. For many of the travellers it's a cosy homely room with sturdy tables and rich food-smells -- snug enough to encourage getting to know your neighbor but not so small that it feels stifling. To Damien, right at this moment, the beautiful cave flecked with luminous crystalline structures for soft ambient light is feeling a lot like a prison. The young fae is dressed plainly, for his kind -- spider-silk shirt with just a shimmer of stardust decorating it, his woven belt growing its own living drapery of some local vine to swish, skirtlike, around his legs. He's been weaving through the bustling room with an effortless grace to deposit a dish here, a glass there, a bowl there, and by the time is tray is emptied he's just depositing himself on the nearest empty seat to tip his eyes up toward the ceiling above and take, for a moment, a deep breath. Alestair is sat not too far from where Damian plops down, nose buried in an old leather bound journal and an empty plate with some chicken(?) bones in front of him. He’s dressed in a crisp white button down, black slacks, brown leather brogues, and a deep green cloak depicting the phases of earth’s moon down his spine. The metallic fingers of his right hand drum mindlessly on the old wooden table in front of him before he suddenly seems to realize somebody has sat down near him, distrust flashing in his eyes momentarily before quickly being replaced with a warm smile as he lowers the book. “Pardon my rudeness, I didn’t notice you there. Absolutely dreadful out today, no?” Damien sits up reflexively, eyes riveting on the traveler -- mostly on his cloak, whose moon phases he's observing with a bright curiosity. "Hardly rudeness, I wasn't here," he assures Alestair, "and now I am." He glances away towards the front of the inn, tipping his head like he's listening to the unnatural up-pour outside. "These flash floods are a nightmare," he agrees, though there's a brighter impishness in his eyes as he lowers his voice to confide: "-- but the fungi that sprout in its wake? Some of the most potent you'll find in any 'verse --" and here, he's waggling his head a little noncommittally side to side: "-- depending on how dangerous you like your spellcraft, anyway." “Wonderful. Sometimes I lose myself in my reading and forget to pay attention to my surroundings.” Alestair explains with an idle wave of his flesh hand before his own smile creeps up into a grin, “Back home they figured out how to synthesize a potent drug from ergot, a fungus that grows on wheat. Take enough of it and even the uninitiated can peer into the astral sea. I’ve been known to partake every so often myself, if you find yourself on earth I highly recommend trying it, though I admit, I’m not familiar with how the Aos Si might be affected.” "Does that mean you can see past the astral sea, on this fungus?" Damien's brows hike, a tickled kind of intrigue in his voice. "How far is this earth, is that where you come from? Do you have many interesting mushrooms there?" “If It’s safe enough for human consumption and I can find a safe place to try it, I’ll be sure to let you know.” Alestair looks like he’s lost in thought for a moment, “Close, but also very far away. There are several paths that lead from here to Earth. It’s a lot less magical though, most humans don’t even believe in it past a certain age.” The grin quickly returns, “Oh yes. Golden teachers, penis envy, Liberty caps, b plus, wavy caps, azzies, and much more. They taste horrible but too many and you’ll be stuck seeing visions and find yourself violently ill though. We have even more with no psychoactive effects that just use for cooking though. The authorities aren’t very keen on them though and you can find yourself in some pretty severe trouble depending where on earth you are though.” "Don't -- believe in it?" Damien's head tilts quizzically, like possibly Alestair just said don't believe in air or don't believe in time -- okay, maybe that one is reasonable to disbelieve. "I haven't been violently ill since I accidentally delivered the wrong drink to a witch. Total accident, of course, but you put a drink spiked with holy water before one and they just won't believe an honest mistake. -- I've never been outside the Market, you know. Every day people come and bring the most fascinating stories and then -- leave and take them with." He's swivel ling slightly where he sits, the full and rather intense weight of his attention settling onto Alestair. "Tell me a story," he's asking, earnest, "your favorite road out of here. And in return," his long fingers are unfurling in the direction of the storm outside, "I could teach you how to harvest a murkcap's spores and live to tell of it." “Now I haven’t had a chance to confirm this, but it would probably be the human myth for how Odin got Sleipnir the greatest of all steeds, and a free wall around Asgard. Maybe after this we can find the right path and ask.” Alestair clearly isn’t serious about this, but also hasn’t had enough time here to drop his habit of joking. “When the Æsir arrived at in Asgard they felt they needed a wall around it. His name has been lost to us, but a giant approached them and agreed to build a wall in three seasons, but demanded the hand of Freya and possession of the Sun and the Moon. After some consideration and stipulations the Æsir decided that if he could do it with no help but that of his horse Svadilfari . The three seasons quickly passed and the giant was on track to finish the wall several days earlier than agreed, so in a panic they went to Loki the god of mischief for help, so he used his magic to transform into a mare and lure Svadilfari off…” | |
