Fantasy Righteous Fiends: Arc 1 - Daybreak

[Grey]

A bell tolls, rousing you from slumber.

From the comfort of your beds, you can hear the sounds of day-shift siblings coming home and preparing for sleep. For those of you so blessed, your armour thrums and writhes beneath your flesh, ready to flow from the implanted cavities and envelop your body for the work ahead.
You have no assigned duties, and so the night is yours, for now.

No doubt some elder will tasks for you, unless you can avoid running into a parent with things to do.

 

[Spiderheart]

With a heavy heart, Rahu unwinds the twist in his adrenal gland that lets him alternate between ceaseless work and pseudo-hibernation. The graft is useful over short periods, but leaving it in for over a month can do permanent damage, and he's already past the three-week mark. He replaces it with an aerosolization gland, carefully attaching it to the specialized pseudo-liver he uses for medicinal substances. This last work-cycle has borne fruit, but only a single dose of it for now, and if he's to share this lovely new hallucinogen with as many people as possible, turning it into a gas is the best option.

(Replacing an unnamed graft that alters the user's sleep cycle to 120 hours awake, 48 hours asleep with Breath of Night)

He takes his sitar from its stand and plucks it experimentally, nodding in approval as the strings adopt their proper tones. He doesn't compose under the influence, but improvisation while drugged can be an act of devotion in its own right, a sort of abstract prayer. Now he just needs some fellow musicians to join him. It shouldn't be hard; he's earned a reputation for the quality of his compounds. When everyone around you is focused on macroscopic work, it pays to dig into the details.

After cursory prayers and basic hygiene rituals, the Surgeon leaves his chambers, though not before slipping one of his mice into his pocket. He likes to bring one along with him, in case of sudden insights into the primordial nature of the Mouse. The little creature curls up and falls asleep quickly enough, allowing him to make his way towards one of the inner courtyards. There's an ash tree there that is, by tradition, the meeting-place for musicians who feel the need for accompaniment. He plucks idly at the sitar as he walks, immersing himself in its soundscape in preparation for actual playing.

 

[dr xenon]

Rolling from her bed Vorkerrigan relishes the cool stone beneath her feet for a moment as she rolls up from the crouch, feeling each vertebrae stretch through her back. As her head rotates up her ice-blue eyes open, focusing on a point far off through the night shrouded window of her chamber. She begins a series of exercise and contortions, chanting along to the movement in a steady, practiced drone.

"What is your Duty? To serve the Goddess’s Will.
What is Goddess’s Will? That we fight and die.
What is Death? It is our duty.
What is your Duty? ... "

Again and again she chants the Prayer of the Awakened Titan as she prepares for her night, until finally, as she finishes her last push up on the chamber floor she spots a flicker of movement in the shadows under her bed. Heedless of the distraction, Vorkerrigan drops into a plank, her forearms against the floor when the shadows burst into a tangle of claws and flashing white fangs - she pivots on her right arm, rolling to her right side as her left hand snaps out to grapple the assailant. Together they roll until the Savaan sits, legs crossed on the floor - her assailant grasping her left arm in 3 pairs of legs, its tiny fangs trying to sink into the web between Vorkerrigan's thumb and forefinger.

The warrior's right hand slips onto the shadow-grey hexa-cat's belly and begins to gently scratch it.

"Who couldn't wait for her scratches?" Vorkerrigan asks the wee beast in a tone reserved for babies in her family and small furry animals, and is rewarded with a purr for her efforts, and a cessation of fanged attacks. The hexa-cat temporarily mollified and with no assigned duties as yet for the evening, she dons a casual outfit of leather and mail crafted nearly to look like her armor, grabs a satchel filled with old books and her prophecy journal, and leaves for the library.

Perhaps I'll pass by that courtyard where the musicians play by the ash tree, she ponders on her way out the door. The music is a good distraction while I take notes.

 

[dae mec]

Raaye blinks awake at the sound of the bell. Humming to themselves, they prepare for the night with brisk efficiency: washing, dressing, and saying morning prayers. They sing a piercing line from a song of adulation just as they finish preparations, and Raaye winces. Yes, that had definitely gone off pitch. They sigh before walking to the small window in the corner. With ease borne of practice, Raaye clambers through and jumps to the wall below, landing with grace. They start running along the narrow ridge, their feet silent against the stone.

They do their rounds in the early night, and Raaye keeps pace to prayer. Each mental word is punctuated by a footstep. Their breathing is steady, and their eyes are sharp: one of the Shade's responsibilities is to watch the flock, to ensure that hearts remain pure and blasphemy-free. Even on their free day, Raaye takes that job seriously. To their quiet satisfaction, all they spot are the expected activities. After their fifth circle, they jump from the wall to the ground, walking briskly to the courtyards.

Raaye could practice the combat styles in a silent corner, but they are aware that the body too needs rest. Or they could visit their family; their nephew is growing remarkably fast. Then Raaye hears the soft twang of music, and the choice is made for them. They scale the dividing wall and swing their legs over the edge, resting an elbow against their knee and their chin on their palm. An ash tree grows from the center of this courtyard--a meeting place for skilled musicians. One day, Raaye too will have the skill to openly perform for Her glory. For now, they are content with listening.

 

[Lunaria Silver]

Callisto had been awake for a little while now, relishing in the quiet that came with her brother's slumber. She used this time to brush up on her studies, something that she couldn't spend much time on when her brothers were bothering her or just otherwise being loud.
Of course, all good things must come to an end. For her that end came with the sounds of her brothers awakening. With a sigh, Callisto closed her book and prepared for her day.
Ordinarily she would have no problem with handling her brothers, but this was a free day. Callisto did not get these very often. She intended to use it. (Besides, she knew better than to use every free moment she got on training. She had almost collapsed one time because of it.
Callisto, having been dressed ages ago, stood up and did one last thing before heading out: she closed the third eye on her forehead before tying a bandana around it. When not on patrol, it really had no function, so she saw no need to flaunt it. It would inevitably give her a headache, anyway.
That being done, Callisto set about her day, leaving her home in the dust before her family could ask her to assist them with anything. Now she just had to think of something to do...

 

[Spiderheart]

It seems Rahu has an audience rather than an orchestra today. No matter; getting high can wait. He sits cross-legged in the grass at the base of the tree and plays a few experimental notes before launching into an old hymn in praise of Kroms itself, and through that praise, a declaration of gratitude to the Living Goddess. There are words, and Rahu quite likes them – we have taken you, Kroms/into ourselves, and become/unbreakable, unyielding,/honeycombed with wonders/undreamed in other lands is one of his favorite pieces of poetry – but he doesn't feel he could do both the music and the vocals justice at the same time, so he focuses on the former.

His rendition is softer than the traditional version of the hymn, which usually contains percussion and seeks to exemplify Kromsian geology in musical form. And the land is stark; the soil near to barrenness. But in Rahu's eyes, it really is beautiful, in its own way; sharp edges and all. The twang and drone of the sitar echoes off the walls of the courtyard, amplifying its sound into a sort of audiotapestry. This is where mild hallucinogens would be nice; he could segue from the hymn into a synaesthetic depiction of the Peninsula's austere beauty. But such things need more than one performer. Instead, to keep things interesting, he begins incorporating structural elements from a Ker Viteur work-song. Such material is rarely... pious in subject matter, but perhaps simply because no one has given them religiously-informed music that also serves to keep time easily. The lyrics will need to be simplified, of course... perhaps he should look into more of their standard liturgies.

 

[dae mec]

Raaye closes their eyes, mentally reciting the words that correspond with the droning music. Melody is beyond their skill, but rhythm has been beaten into their muscles: Raaye taps their heel against the wall in a steady beat. This, at least, is no different from their morning prayers, though far more beautiful than their tuneless thoughts. Then, the pattern shifts, and Raaye stills. They tilt their head in with sharp intent, different from the meditative haze of before.

It takes a few moments for Raaye to place it: the underlying rhythm is similar to the work songs of the Ker Viteur. It could be one of many—they are often simple and interchangeable. But the one that comes to Raaye's mind is one that was previously... discussed. (Bend, break/Build, break/Work in sunlight/Work in midnight.) It's in the format of call-and-response: the lead shouts out the first line, and the rest echo it, slightly modified.

Raaye has been tasked before with observing the Ker Viteur when there is no visible overseer. Sometimes, their music has words that need to be corrected. Break, bend is not one of them: there is nothing blasphemous in its lyrics. However, it does have a superficial resemblance to a Hkaeri marching song—a resemblance that was determined, in the end, to be just a coincidence. Still, the song was quietly dropped from the musical lexicon of the Ker Viteur.

The words of the two intertwine unconsciously: unbreakable, unyielding,/bend, break/honeycombed with wonders/build, break. Raaye examines the compound hymn before dismissing it from their thoughts. They pull up their legs and wrap their arms around their knees, returning to stillness. What made this musician decide to integrate something so... unusual? They're curious, now—it's a question to ask after the performance.

 

[dr xenon]

In the dim light of the courtyard Vorkerrigan sits on the ground., her back to a tree, her eyes straining to read her notes in her prophecy journal. Some where in the background a Savaan plays a lone sitar, and another Savaan crouches and listens.

She twitches slightly as the armor nested in the pods above her shoulders trembles.

Right, she thinks. I have sat for too long.

She gathers her belongings back into her satchel, and rises, gracefully to her feet. She stands, feet planted, looking as immovable as the tree next to her.

But perhaps I will wait for this song to end and thank the player - a surgeon I think - before seeing what else this night holds for me.

(mentions dae mec , Spiderheart )

 

[Spiderheart]

Rahu shows no real interest in stopping, but it wouldn't be hard to interrupt him, and he doesn't exactly give off an unwelcoming aura. On the contrary, as his muscle memory takes over the process of playing, his attention turns to the audience. A Guard, and one of the more stolid ones, as he recalls; but apparently with more music in her heart than he had realized. Well, no one is wrought wholly in the Destroyer's image. And over there, in the corner... is that the Shade with the voice like the bastard offspring of a loon and a crow? He's heard them singing, sometimes, and what they lack in talent they make up for in gusto. He enjoys eavesdropping on them; even poor art can be worthwhile if done with sincere piety and zeal.

He shifts from his hybrid composition to simple chamber music, insofar as a sitar can produce chamber music. Easy listening, at least. He shoots each of his listeners an amicable smile before moving his composition to a faster tempo, the callouses on his fingers catching the strings with practiced ease. To a musical peer, sharp influences of Laman composition can be heard in his playing, along with both the religious and secular music of the Savaan... insofar as the latter exists. The playing isn't particularly complex, at least not for a land where a single musician can have six arms, but it's pretty; Rahu would be able to score social invitations off his musical abilities even if he didn't have such nice medicinals.

 

[Grey]

"Levenat, hrm?" booms a jovial voice, and the imposing form of Ralek Bamya ambles into the courtyard with a pair of taut drums under one thick arm.
Bamya is something of a living legend; said to have singlehandedly defeated an entire H'kaeri battalion before retiring to train those who would master the way of the Titan. He certainly looks the part, his armour accentuating existing musculature with highlights of pristine bone. Tendrils tap a gentle staccato on his neck as if his helmet is eager to surge around his broad features and shaven pate.
Easy to forget he's actually in his seventies.
"No, no, don't stop, let me find a place..."
Sitting beside Rahu, he still towers over the Surgeon - and notices Vorkerrigan, favouring her with a bright smile.

It is not wholly different from the way he smiles after punching an inattentive acolyte clean across the yard.

Another figure is not far behind him - a willowy, delicate young man with a flute in one hand and the Kinnoch scarbrand on his shoulder. It takes Raaye a moment to recognize their youngest cousin, Suryat, whom they have not seen since he was five. He seems reluctant to join the other players and lingers near a potted orchid, but for all his body language screams shyness his eyes are sharp and watchful.

 

[Spiderheart]

"Please, call me Rahu here. The arts are families in their own right, don't you think?" The Surgeon smiles in spite of himself. The old brute is the poster child for the warmongering, bloodthirsty, atavistic arm of the Savaan that weighs them down and prevents any real progress – but the man himself is lovely, and a damn good percussionist. Rahu struggles to hate anyone on more than an abstract level, and even a walking mass of spite would have trouble resenting Bamya to his face. "Any particular muse striking you at the moment?" He jumps into a hymnal, then a stripped-down version of a heavily syncopated dancing reel that requires at least one extra arm to play in full, then an upbeat, almost gaudy piece whose lyrics vary but are inevitably crude. Rahu's favorite version could probably get him executed in Kelen if the wrong person heard it. "Just call the tune; I live to please."

The flautist needs to be invited, it seems. Silly boy. Rahu remembers when he was that shy. "It's a pity," he declares in the sort of voice actors use to feign obliviousness, "that we've got just the two of us. So many new pieces can be played with a third instrument. A flute in particular would be splendid," he adds, shooting Bamya a mischievous wink and shifting to the upper end of the sitar's range. "If I'd known there were no flutes about today, I might not even have shown up."

 

[dr xenon]

Vorkerrigan's left eyebrow twitches up in response to Bamya's bright smile as if recalling a time or two she was launched across the training grounds by his blows. Her face remains otherwise impassive.

"Master Ralek," she says, dropping her eyes in respect, "I had no idea you would be playing this evening. This is a rare treat to see you perform ... on drums. I think I will stay a bit longer."

Turning to Rahu she gestures casually in an open-handed way by way of greeting, as if symbolically opening a door.

"I am Saturninus Vallista Vorkerrigan," she says politely. "Your playing has been a welcome diversion this evening. Thank you."

Then turning toward Raye she continues, "Perhaps if two of us appeared to be an audience, then more would gather. Would you join me nearer the players?"

 

[dae mec]

Raaye watch Bamya approach with mild fascination--the legend was never their teacher, but he is a legend nonetheless. Now he is an example of someone who uses every inch of flesh in service to the goddess. Their gaze eventually shifts to the flautist, and they raise their eyebrows upon recognition of their cousin. Ah, he is about age with Danash, is he not? Indeed, much time has passed. Raaye considers approaching him, but they feel eyes on them and turn their head to find the source.

They are vaguely familiar with this guard Vokerrigan, at least by sight, though Raaye hasn't placed a name to face until now. She haunts the same libraries that Raaye's sister does, but unlike Neetiva, Vokerrigan clearly does not slack on the physical aspects of her calling. A moment passes before Raaye plasters a bland smile on their face, straightening in a fluid moment. They jump straight down, their armor surging around their legs to absorb and dampen the impact. Raaye lands standing and silent, their knees only slightly bent. The armor recedes as Raaye approaches.

"With an invitation like that, I cannot refuse," they say, inclining their head. "I am Raaye." They tilt their head deeper, slower to Bamya before shifting to give a quicker nod to the surgeon with the interesting music selections. Finally, Raaye faces the youth who is doing a masterful impression of a potted plant. "Cousin Suryat. It's been some time. It seems that your services on the flute are in demand." Their voice isn't quite warm, but it's a passable attempt.

 

[Chordling]

Tonzael...

Tonzael... wake up.

The bells rang through the air demanding for his attention. That soft, faceless voice whispered to him again as he opened his eyes to a bare squint. Tonzael tried to remember but the dull flutter of the flocks scattering off of rooftops was enough to break his focus completely. He watched himself in the mirror hanging on the wall across from his bed as he raised his arms to stretch his body. There were no assigned duties this evening. He could take his sweet time if he wanted to. The lull of music and hymns breached through his window. Tonzael murmured along with the words as he pushed himself out of bed. Two things were evident to anyone that could hear him. His voice was quite tired and he was nothing short of a bad singer.

Tonzael made his way to the courtyard dressed in his typical fashion, which included a leather belt of sharpened daggers and a tattered scarf that used to smell like old memories. His schedule might be absent of immediate duties but Tonzael would never allow that to be an excuse for any level of unpreparedness. The tunes became louder as he approached. The instrumentation even grew from what his untrained ears could tell but music was never something of his interest or skills. Tonzael found a comfortable spot in the shadows to relax in and let out an audible sigh. Music wasn't even something he found useful. He carefully removed one of the daggers from his belt and inspected his reflection closely on its shining surface. Crap. He should have shaved.

 

[dr xenon]

Seeing Tonzael arrive and sink into the shadows, a look of relief may have passed over Vorkerrigan's face as if realizing that his distance from her did not require her to make any further social niceties for the moment. Then she is visibly distracted by an inner monologue.

Six, she thinks. We are six now. Perhaps a Seventh will arrive to herald a change.

 

[Grey]

Bamya drums his meaty fingers on his instrument for a moment as he talks.
"How about the old Moonrise Hymnal? Good to stretch oneself first thing," he says.
The Hymnal is an old piece, ideally played with various two dozen instruments; a bolero that grows in complexity and intensity as it proceeds from a single drumbeat into an ecstatic euphony over a long hour. At peak.
With just three of you it would be rude to spend longer than ten minutes on it.

Meanwhile, Suryat smiles nervously at Raaye and compulsively fingers his flute. "I am glad to see you well, cousin Raaye. I have been training long hours and so..." he trails off. "I should play. To celebrate."

He takes up a position on the other side of Rahu, though with more space between them than Bamya and the Surgeon. A mild oddity, not that anyone is apt to really judge, but among themselves Savaan are comfortably tactile.

 

[Spiderheart]

"Of course you choose something that gives me the hardest part." Rahu grins cheekily. Strictly speaking, an accordionist would probably have the most difficult part, but between the three instruments present the sitar certainly has the biggest shoes to fill by virtue of the sheer variety of string instruments. "I suppose that's only fair, though, since I've already had a chance to prepare." He plucks out a measure from the lyre's portion of the piece, then the sitar's, and finally the zither's. He's most familiar with the second, but combining them on the fly will take some effort.

"Levenat Rahu, son of Peri," he offers in response to the introductions directed his way. "Though I suppose most of that was available from conversation. I'm pleased that you enjoy my work; it is for the Goddess, first and foremost, but your praise is precious in its own right." He does not acknowledge Suryat, outside of a quick, gentle smile and nod. If the poor boy is nervous, let him choose his pace; personal space can be precious for reasons other than standoffishness. "Ready at your signal, Master Bamya." He stands by his preference for first names here, but leaves the honorific on; the man has earned it, regardless of Rahu's opinions on the ubiquity of violence.

 

[dae mec]

Raaye settles against the wall, keeping their smile. "I wait eagerly," they murmur. They're unsurprised that Bamya picked something so traditional, but the classics are such for a reason. Raaye isn't sure they've heard a rendition with these specific three instruments, and they're curious to see how the musicians handle it. (Specifically the surgeon: he, on the other hand, has consistently surprised them with his musical choices.)

At the same time, Raaye gives their cousin a considering look. They're pleased to hear that Suryat is taking their training seriously, but Raaye does wonder if the boy is intimidated by Bamya—perhaps that's the reason for his skittish distance? It's not especially concerning, but a distant part of their mind makes note of it, as they always do when someone deviates from expectations.

Raaye's gaze shifts to the guard in the corner, the one admiring his appearance in a blade. He looks familiar: Raaye thinks that he may also follow the Way of the Flickering Shadow. Perhaps they passed each other during trainings. With distant amusement, Raaye notes that the guard is certainly doing his best to live up to the literal name of the warrior style.

Out of the corner of their eye, Raaye notices Vorkerrigan's expression change as she falls deep in thought. They tilt their head and bring back the smile. "Guard Saturninus, has something crossed your mind?" they quietly ask, Raaye's tone that of light curiosity.

 

[dr xenon]

Out of the corner of their eye, Raaye notices Vorkerrigan's expression change as she falls deep in thought. They tilt their head and bring back the smile. "Guard Saturninus, has something crossed your mind?" they quietly ask, Raaye's tone that of light curiosity.

"Vorkerrigan, please, Raaye" she replies with a slight shrug as if to say such formality isn't called for among presumed equals, and moves closer to Raaye for a more casual and conversational spacing between the two.

She doesn't settle against the wall, but does settle into a comfortable stance next to it. She falters a bit in her response, as if unsure she wants to share it, or unsure of how to put it. Once she starts, the momentum builds.

"I was ... I was ... just ... contemplating our numbers in this courtyard," Vorkerrigan says with a nod and gesture to the gathering. "We were three, and then five. Both auspicious numbers in Legend and Prophecy - if you know your Lampura Nist Baeryst's Musings on the Ancients or the Tome of Nuhann Mara Marat - but now we are six, which, I am sure you know from even your basic catechisms, has little significance in Legend and Prophecy. But ... if we are awaiting a Seventh to join us ... " a ghost of a smile whispers across her features, and her eyes going into a thousand-yard stare "... then opportunities may arise for a change - for some three, five or all seven of us."

She pauses and looks to Raaye to see if she has lost them.

 

[dae mec]

"Vorkerrigan, then," Raaye agrees easily. They usually aren't the one to initiate lower levels of formality, but they aren't averse to casual address. Raaye leans in a little, mirroring Vokerrigan's conversational posture. Then, they wait.

She starts hesitantly, but she quickly ramps up in intensity. Raaye listens without visible judgement, familiar enough with the concepts that Vokerrigan expounds upon. It makes sense now why she haunts the same libraries as Raaye's sister. (The coin is flipped somewhat—Neetiva is more concerned with the past, but Vokerrigan wants to use it as a lens to see the future.)

Raaye has no interesting in divining—it seems a little pointless since everything that happens is regardless the will of the Goddess. But they have no particular disdain, either, and since Vokerrigan appears to be so intent on this...

Once her gaze refocuses on them, Raaye nods. "And what opportunities may arise, if this possible seventh joins us?" they say, still neutral in their curiousity.

 

[Chordling]

Tonzael continued to inspect his reflection with care as the sounds of the music around him changed once more. He slipped the blade back into the pocket of his belt making sure it was safe from careless damage. He leaned his head back and let out another one of his heavy sighs. Suddenly, a figure dropped next to him as they sat down. They smelled like lavender. Tonzael shifted his eyes to see who his new company was. A woman with dark lipstick and long brown hair had shuffled her way to his side. She was smiling in the most unsettling way while she stared at the group of musicians in the center of the courtyard.

"What an awful bunch," she yawned into her hand. "I mean, hymns? Sacred texts? They're just so boring." Tonzael listened to the woman's voice with care but it did not match the voice that spoke to him each morning as he had hoped. Her tone was far too sinister and lacked any sense of comfort. The woman's eyes sparkled with an idea and she pushed herself off of the ground. Tonzael was relieved for a moment to see her go but she kept walking towards the bards. "I wonder if I can make them a little more exciting and useful."

"What are you doing?" Tonzael grumbled. He shifted his body to watch where she was going. The muscles in his legs tensed as if someone was about to set something on fire. The woman turned her head to look back at Tonzael in the middle of her stride and winked.

"Oh bards," her voice sang as she approached the musicians. "I would like to make a musical demand. Your repertoire is far too boring," she rolled her eyes. "Our brothers and sisters hear enough of our daily hymns and prayers during service. Don't you think you could all do us a favor and liven it up with a jig?" she flashed her signature smile.

 

[dr xenon]

About to answer Raaye, a sudden outburst from a newcomer halts Vorkerrigan's reply.

"Oh bards," her voice sang as she approached the musicians. "I would like to make a musical demand. Your repertoire is far too boring," she rolled her eyes. "Our brothers and sisters hear enough of our daily hymns and prayers during service. Don't you think you could all do us a favor and liven it up with a jig?" she flashed her signature smile.

All softness drains from Vorkerrigan's face like moonlight being chased away by the sun's harsh rising. Raaye is close enough to see the flicker of inner conflict as Vorkerrigan struggles to maintain her composure.

"Blasphemy may arise," she spits out in a whisper, and looms up as much as woman of middle-height can loom, from her relaxed position into one of clear martial intent. She looms up into the path of the unknown and brazen new arrival, barring any further advance to the musicians.

"Sister," Vorkerrigan says to the newcomer in a tone absent of any filial affection. Her ice-clue eyes grown cold and hard, "I'm sure you mean no offense to those who praise the Goddess in their own time and their own way and perhaps your words are colored by some revelry you enjoyed earlier today? Your revelry may be welcome in some other courtyard tonight, or if you wish to press your point, then perhaps you can find some 3 or 4 friends to help you 'dance' a jig with me?"

 

[dae mec]

Raaye glances at the newcomer with rather more genuine smile on their face at the sight. As mentioned, here is a seventh person. Perhaps it is the Goddess' will. Who knows what the future will bring? Raaye doesn't, but Vorkerrigan appears to be making a solid stab at it.

Their mild amusement turns sharp the second that the new arrival speaks. They stare, almost dumbfounded at the sheer stupid arrogance of uttering impieties in front of three guards (which included Bamya, a living legend), a surgeon, and a shade. Vokerrigan seems to be equally shocked but more visibly angry. Raaye scrutinizes the unfamiliar newcomer, burning her features into their memory. This certainly is someone who needed to be... discussed. Thoroughly. With languid ease, Raaye straightens and follows after Vokerrigan, standing a foot back.

"Well said, if a little emphatic," murmurs Raaye to Vokerrigan. Then, they raise their voice. "How disappointing that this repertoire isn't to your interest. None of us have expressed any complaints, but as our sister said, there are plenty of other courtyards. There's no need for trouble of any sort."

(Their armor thrums under their skin, eager to let tendrils snake across flesh—though undoubtedly unneeded. Despite Vokerrigan's threat and their armor's own joy, Raaye considers the probability of violence to be low. It would be disgraceful to let it escalate so far.)

They keep their posture superficially casual, and Raaye gives the newcomer a wide, unblinking smile. "What is your name? I don't think we've formally met. I am Raaye."

 

[Grey]

The stranger pauses, clearly taken aback but attempting to maintain some decorum. Unused to this kind of treatment, you would intuit.
She tosses her unusually long hair back and laughs, dismissive.
"Of course, of course, I have simply found myself in the wrong place, at the wrong time," she almost scoffs, turning on her heel.
She doesn't even respond to Raaye, but you can all clearly see the scarbrand on her shoulderblade as she flounces away.
House Sythse, renowned for having produced almost exclusively Surgeons for three generations and considred by some - unofficially - sainted by the Blood in some way.

And as she leaves, Bamya proceeds to lead the tune as if nothing happened.

 

[Spiderheart]

The only acknowledgement Rahu deigns to visit upon the interloper is a quick bit of fiddling with his instrument's tuning. The mountain, he reminds himself, cares not for the wind's howling. Still, his companions seem less ready to take the new arrival's disgraceful lack of taste lying down; he tenses his esophagus in preparation to dose the newcomer and Vorkerrigan with lotus-gas if things should come to blows. This is not a suitable venue for violence; this is a sacred place, even if it's not a holy one.

This doesn't stop him from struggling to not spit on the ground when the woman leaves. An embarrassment – to her family, to Surgeons, and to the Savaan. It is not his place to question how the Goddess distributes Her favors, and perhaps this Sythse is simply immature. But that doesn't make him dislike her attitude any less. Once he's confident that the object of his irritation is out of earshot, he makes an offer to the group – "By the by, I've been working on a new compound that can blend the senses somewhat, and it strikes me that the Moonrise Hymn has sufficient variety to make good use of that quality. Would anyone be interested in sharing some?" He puffs out a small cloud of royal-purple gas that quickly dissipates into the breeze, leaving a lingering odor of excitement.

Wait... excitement? That's not a smell.