#pyrope almandine

[a-r-t31]

Pyrope

[vukasin-torashtai]

Pumpkin Boat Racing

Date: October 5th, early afternoon

Location: Pineridge

Status: Closed. @pyrope-almandine

It had started off as a drunken bet, but Vukasin had never been one to back down from a challenge. They were an artist after all, and artists did not kneel. Not even when that might have been both the higher route and the wiser solution. 

They’d never claimed to be wise, after all, only skilled with their hands and tongue. “I!” They exclaimed, “am going to build the coolest looking pumpkin boat to ever take to water! Just watch me!” Declaration made they had retreated to their nest for the evening, and promptly passed out on a stack of pumpkin boat sketches. 

The following morning, they had awoken with a pounding head, a nasty taste in their mouth, and the feeling that they had volunteered to do something incredibly stupid. Their neighbors were kind enough to validate this suspicion of theirs, and even to point them in the direction of the pumpkin market. 

Which brought them to the present, standing in front of one of the vendors, and eyeing a large yellowish squash. “Anyone know a thing about pumpkin racing?” they asked dryly, “Vakri, if you could quit laughing and help me out, I’d appreciate it.”

[romera-shop]

A Little Gift for Pyrope

“I’ll be honest, this one took a bit of thought. What do you get a woman who has it all? All in this case being a whole suitcase full of emotional and mental baggage, with some added violent tendencies for flavor. My first thought was therapy, but we don’t sell that here. So, I went with my second thought. A knife. Enjoy!”

The note included reads: 

“The Iron flower

This small, simple red hair comb is unassuming at first glance, and decorated with tiny delicate flowers around the edge. It’s perfect for stowing away in a small purse or bag, or to be worn as a hair ornament. As an action, the wearer of this comb can turn it into an iron dagger. The dagger’s hilt is the same red color as the comb, with the same flowers carved along it.”

[vukasin-torashtai]

Date: Mid-September Time: Early evening Location: Khaggon - The Dead Nightingale Status: Closed. @pyrope-almandine

Eyes half-lidded, head rested against a column, an empty glass held lazily between long fingers. Clothes tailored just right, so that the folds hung fashionably. A promise that whispered of sweetness and warmth. They were the picture of an insouciant noble. 

They were also on a mission. Albeit a self-mandated one. Rumors had reached their ear of a new bard in town, one who had strewn words about her as carelessly as rampaging bull and left many a soul in the wreckage. They shivered. Excitement coursing through their blood. The last bard they had met had been a master, and the competition the two had engaged in was the most fun they had had in weeks. Unfortunately, they had lost sight of her as they fled from an angered Dwarf. 

They sighed languidly, and raised their glass only to discover that it was empty. “Ttt.”

  <<I’m in need of a new drink, it would seem.>> Though the thought was cast out halfheartedly, the intent behind it was real. A rapid pattering of feet reached them, and a blue haired humanoid handed over a glass brimming with some kind of sugary concoction. They accepted it with a smile and a wink. "Aren’t you thoughtful, my thanks, fair one,” they said before returning their attention to searching through the crowd. 

And there! A flicker of pink, the swirl of a dress a little too long, a little too flowery. They slid from their post, and with the drink cradled carefully, made their way straight towards  the figure. Words flitted through their mind, only too be cast back out just as swiftly. With a pirouette too leave a ballet dancer jealous, they stepped up to the bard’s side. 

“Begging your pardon, my fair lady, but you are a bard, yes?”