Speaking in tongues

[Ismene]

6th of Ashan, 717

Pulling her cloak around her to keep out the chill, the dark-haired young woman headed out of her house and towards the City Square, where she had been told there was a festival today. Festivals at home had always meant lots of cider and stew and then possibly a romp in a haystack - fun, but not particularly inspiring - so she was intrigued to see what a city festival might be like. As she stepped out of the narrow shop-lined street into the wide open square, she was greeted by bewildering display of different stalls. It seemed all of Ne'haer had turned out for the day. There were plenty of humans and biqaj, of course, but also types of people she had only heard about. One stall had been set up in the branches of one of the trees that fringed the square. It was adorned by feathers painted with minuscule, intricately detailed designs, and a silvery spider web hung as a backdrop at the back of the stall. Two Tunawa were in the middle of a demonstration of their bird calls. Ismene recognized the sound of a cuckoo, a blackbird, an owl and even the tock-tock-tocking of a woodpecker, all apparently produced by the Tunawa although it sounded as if the birdsong was coming from high up in the tree.

Entranced by the displays, Ismene wandered happily for a while through the square before coming across a stall that didn't seem dedicated to any particular language or race. It was larger than the others and had a raised platform to one side with a banner that read 'Poetry Contest: All Languages and Competitors Welcome' and then in smaller letters, 'Ask at the desk for registration and information about prizes'. A diverse crowd was gathering around the platform, stamping their feet and blowing on their hands to keep warm while they waited for the competition to begin. Ismene decided against joining them, and looked around for the nearest bar instead. A mug of warm wine would go down a treat.

The first bar she found was tucked into a corner of the square. The stalls certainly offered a fascinating insight into the cultures of Idalos, but it was here that the diversity of the city was really on show. A hubbub of conversations in several different languages surrounded her. Regardless of race the speakers had all evidently been attracted by the same sweetly spiced aroma of hot wine drifting out of a steaming iron pot. There was lots of Common, and she was able to catch a few phrases of Rakahi, but her knowledge of the language was not enough to understand fully, especially when the speakers were slightly tipsy and all talking over each other. As to the other languages, she could only guess. She elbowed her way to the front of the crowd and called out to the barmaid to serve her a mug of wine, slamming a couple of coins down on the counter as she did so. While she was waiting for her drink, she looked around. Her eye was immediately caught by a striking young Biqaj woman, perhaps a couple of years her junior, who was leaning on the other end of the bar, apparently alone. She glanced over again, intrigued, to find that the woman was staring straight at her. Flustered, she looked away quickly, although not before noticing a flash of a smile on the girl's face. She was distracted by the arrival of her wine for a few seconds, and when she looked back in the girl's direction, she was gone.

Ismene headed away from the jostling crowd at the bar and took a couple of gulps from her drink, feeling the hot wine slide through her like liquid fire. Warmed by the wine, her breath billowed out in clouds of steam as she looked around, trying to figure out where to go next. Up on stage a muscular Lothar was midway through a rendition of what looked to be a heroic battle tale, at least based on the gestures and sound effects that punctuated his otherwise incomprehensible speech. She stood in the crowd, enjoying the warmth of the wine and the heat from the surrounding bodies. There was a sense of merriment in the air, with most people several ales down by now; unlikely friendships seemed to be sprouting all over the place. Ismene enjoyed the sensation of the wine going to her head as it always did when drinking in the afternoon, and let herself be carried on the wave of high spirits.

[Ismene]

Another cup of wine later, Ismene was back in the crowd, watching the next competitor climbing onto the stage. Pausing for a moment to ensure she had the audience's attention, the Eidisi launched into a slow and solemn recitation in the Ancient Tongue. Her blue skin and measured tone made her seem strangely detached from the seething crowd below. She paid no heed to the swilling of ale and slapping of shoulders as people started to talk over her, impatient with the lack of action. During previous performances, the audience had not seemed bothered by the fact that most of them couldn't understand what was being said; the performers had used gesture, song and even some slapstick humour to keep the spectators entertained. But the Eidisi just stood almost motionless on the stage and intoned her poem, ignoring the growing din from the bored crowd. There was a gradual exodus towards the various bars in the square. But eventually, after what seemed like an eternity, the tall, pale woman stopped reciting, held out both her hands with the palms upwards, nodded briefly and then left the stage. There was a polite ripple of applause from those who had stuck around to hear the end.

To Ismene's surprise, the next to mount the stage was the Biqaj girl she had noticed at the bar earlier. She seemed to be completely unselfconscious, and immediately started a lively song in Rakahi. Ismene could only catch a few words here and there, but she could catch the gist of the story from the dance that accompanied the song. The girl's voice was not always in tune, but she didn't seem to mind. The song started cheerfully, with gestures that indicated a child being born, and a simple, peaceful dance. But soon the tone changed, the girl's voice dropping an octave, and she started to move slowly across the stage in a half crouch. Then the words got faster, and her movements became jerky. She leapt about the stage, throwing her arms and legs out and ducking and diving, all the while chanting louder and louder. Ismene understood that there was a fight going on, although she could not work out who was fighting, or why. At the climax of the fight scene, the girl's body arched backwards as if from an impact, and as she fell her song changed to a haunting, high-pitched ballad that continued as she lay on the stage, getting softer and softer until her head fell back and the song stopped in the middle of a phrase, the unresolved melody quivering in the air like a tear. There were plenty of damp eyes in the audience as she stood up and bowed repeatedly to the crowd's appreciative cheers before leaving the stage and disappearing into the crowd.

Ismene was just finishing up her mug of wine and beginning to wonder whether to wait and see the next performer, or to go and order another mug, when she heard a voice at her shoulder. 'You're not from round here,' it said in Common. Ismene turned to see the girl who had just performed smiling at her lopsidedly, as if she knew something Ismene didn't.
'No,' she replied. 'How did you know? I enjoyed your song, by the way. Did you write it yourself?'
The girl laughed. 'I know everyone round here so a new face always catches my attention. And thank you, but no I didn't. It's an old Biqaj tale, I've seen it performed many times. Are you going to enter the competition?'
Ismene shook her head immediately. 'Gods no, I'm more of a watcher than a performer. I don't much like attention.'
'I can see that,' the girl said, glancing at Ismene's uniformly dark attire and then at her own brightly coloured, loose clothes. 'So where are you from, O mysterious one?'
'Treth,' Ismene replied, feeling slightly wrongfooted by the girl's wry tone and half-playful, half-provocative way of looking at her, as if she was assessing her. 'I moved to the city a few days ago. What about you?'
'I'm from everywhere,' the girl said with a wink. Her eyes were silvery green, like sunlight on waves. 'I suppose you could use a guide, then...?'
Ismene smiled and nodded. 'And another mug of wine, too,' she added.
'Ah, I know just the place. Much better than overpriced, watered-down festival wine, and its own sort of poetry too. Follow me.' And the girl was off, darting through the crowds like a colourful little fish.

[Hans]

Hans leaned back against the dirty courtyard wall, watching the colours of the festival flash and dart in front of him. He was drinking a large mug of ale, which he had walked right out of a tavern holding with no one stopping him. Perhaps it was his impressive size, his tall stance, or his brooding eyes, but no one even seemed bothered to stop him. In fact, people scattered around him.

It was interesting being in Ne'haer for the festival, and not for business. No one here would recognise him as the Ambassador for Lysoria; this was a festival for Commoners, and Hans had decided to descend into the madness, to see just how the mood affected the commoners. It was interesting, Hans supposed. Despite the tidings of war and the political unease that the region was in, no one seemed to be worrying about that now. Rumours, he knew, had to be making their way into Ne'haer, but no one seemed to be letting that bother them. Today it was about the drinking and the laughter and the dancing.

Hans pushed himself up from the wall, draining the mug. Another drink? Perhaps. Or at least to the bar. Hans began to walk on long strides through the crowd. He found that people seemed to move around him, rather than Hans having to duck and weave his way through the crowd. He towered above most of the people there, and he could see his destination before him. It was because he was so tall that he did not really pay attention to where he was going. As he walked, he didn't see the pretty young thing dart in front of him, and Hans walked right into her. With a grunt, he reached out a large hand to stabilise her, holding both shoulders.

She was pretty, with dark skin and dark eyes, and there was a certain confidence about the quiet way she moved. Hans raised his eyebrows, already feeling the itch to dive into her Tangle, but resisted for now. "Alright there?" he murmured, smiling a crooked smile at her. "Better watch where you're going. Little ones like you could get trampled in such a busy part of town."

[Ismene]

As Ismene pushed through the crowd after the girl, she kept her gaze firmly fixed on the blonde head and emerald green cloak bobbing and weaving through the boisterous drinkers like a dolphin navigating choppy water . She slipped through the crowd easily, as if she could sense where the path of least resistance was, and Ismene had to keep her eyes constantly trained on her back to avoid losing sight of her.

And so she completely failed to notice the tall, dark stranger until he walked right into her. She was caught off balance and stumbled, treading on the foot of the man beside her, but he was so drunk he didn't even notice. She felt powerful hands on her shoulders, steadying her and then pulling her towards their owner, and was forced to look away from her rapidly disappearing new friend and up into the stranger's stare. He was handsome in the conventional way, all chiselled cheekbones and broad jawline, and a glance at his clothes told her what she had already guessed from his immaculately groomed hair and the haughty arch of his raised eyebrows: he was rich, and used to having what he wanted.

As she had feared, when she looked back over her shoulder towards where she had last seen the Biqaj girl, she had melted away into the crowd. Ismene's first instinct was to snap at him for holding her back against her will and making her lose the girl, but despite the wine she had drunk her natural caution told her not to be hasty. He looked like he could be a useful person to know, and she could always find the girl later. So suppressing her initial annoyance, Ismene considered the man as he spoke to her.

She had to restrain herself again when he called her a 'little thing', but it was certainly not the most irritating thing a man had ever called her, and well worth putting up with if this stranger turned out to be worthwhile. And his lopsided smile and low voice told her she had piqued his interest; perfect. All men were the same, after all, no matter how good their tailor was. This one would be as easy to manipulate as the farm boys back home. The thought made her smile, so that her expression as she replied to the stranger revealed nothing but genuine pleasure, although not necessarily for the reasons he would think. The only question now was what she wanted from him, and to know that she would have to find out what he had to offer.

'Well isn't it lucky there are tall strangers about to protect me,' she replied, matching his smile with one of her own. 'Why don't we go somewhere a little... safer,' gesturing towards the nearest bar, 'so you don't have to worry about me getting trampled?'

[Elijah Ki'Ouj]

Elijah knew nothing better than partying. He was over 100 arcs old after all, he had been to an unimaginable amount of festivals. This particular one he had attended a multitude of times in the past. He had no reason to expect it would be anything different from those times, people singing and shouting, alcohol flowing like a river and somewhere he was sure the drugs he had helped smuggle through Cylus were being enjoyed. There was nothing better than a party, that was for sure. So, following how he had spent much of his life, Elijah could be found sat at a bar with a tankard of ale in his hand. His straw hat was on the bar stool next to him and his cutlass hung comfortably from his waist.

From where he sat, with his back against the bar, he could see the many colourfully dressed citizens of Ne'haer pass by. The sound of laughter and the many different languages were thick in the air. He could pick out the common easily and even the odd bit of Rakahi, even if he had managed to forget most of it from his long lost childhood. He had moved away somewhat from his own people, the Biqaj, instead found himself dealing with the less honourable humans. They seemed to be much more interested in breaking the law than his own family and friends. Of course if he was to meet a Biqaj who was interested in smuggling with him he would greet them with open arms, no human sailor was better than a Biqaj.

He took a large gulp of the ale, it had not cost him much only a few silver nels. It was lucky it had not been too expensive, he had not made any money since Cylus and with his lifestyle money burned fast. The ale was not of high quality but it did what was needed all the same and after a few more of these Elijah would have gained himself a slight buzz. Not to mention his ability to understand foreign languages would certainly 'increase'.

Elijah watched the moving crowd of people and spotted an interesting looking couple. A young woman, easy on the eyes with dark hair and dark clothes, and a large man, dressed like he was about to go on some kind of business trip. They both seemed out of place among the festivities, the clothes and the way they looked at each other was not quite fitting with the rest of the people around them. Of course maybe they matched each other but Elijah had seen many a couple in his lifetime, more than he would care to admit. He knew what it looked like when people were in some kind of relationship and it was clear these two were not, even if they were maybe attempting to look so.

[Hans]

Hans smirked as she looked up at him. Her expression was one of frustration, but quickly morphed into an easy innocent smile. Ah. She was like him then - ready to use and manipulate. Hans liked her already, but he wouldn't let her know he was onto her game. Easily, he slipped into her Tangle. The colours there were bright and woven, but there were darker colours too lurking in the shadows, hinting at an ambition there that Hans was not surprised by - a deep magenta leapt out at him, hinting at contempt. Ah. So she thought he was simply a rich party boy. Hans nearly tugged on that thread, made that contempt rise to the surface just for fun, but it was not worth it. She was sharp, clever. He pulled out of her Tangle and focused again, careful not to make her suspicious. After all, this was Ne'haer, not Lysoria - who knew how she would react?

"Lucky indeed," he murmured, inclining his head and letting his hands drop from her side. He was willing to play along with her for now, as long as he could find out soon enough just what those darker colours meant. "Happy to be your bodyguard, my lady," he said, offering her his arm with a suave grin. He waited for her to take his arm before they begun to walk through the crowd towards a tavern. "Might I enquire your name? I am Hans, at your service." He kept his last name to himself for now. She surely would have heard of the Maskarins, rich Lysorian merchants well embroiled in politics. She might have even heard of him, but he doubted it.

"Do you speak any other languages?" he asked, first in Nidtaic and then in Common. It was unlikely she did - most people did not speak Nidtaic unless they were from Lysoria. "It is the Festival of Languages, after all," he explained as they walked. As he walked, his senses prickled - he could almost feel someone watching them. Something lurked on the edge of the emotional landscape. As they walked, he dove back into the Tangle, looking through the mismatches of colours trying to find who was observing them, and why. It would not be long before he found them...

[Ismene]

Ismene slipped her hand inside her new bodyguard's arm and let him lead her towards a tavern. He introduced himself simply as Hans. The name hung in the air, as if unfinished. Nobody who could afford clothes like that was just Hans. That meant he had deliberately not shared his surname or any titles he might have, which told her he thought she might recognise his name. A very useful person to know, in that case. She looked up at him through lowered lashes, allowing the ghost of a smile to hover round the corners of her mouth.

He spoke in an unfamiliar tongue - she grinned inwardly, interpreting it as an attempt to show off - before switching to Common. 'Not yet,' she had to admit. 'Only a few snatches of Rakahi. I'd love to learn a new one though,' smiling sweetly. 'What was that language you just used? I don't remember hearing anything like it round here.' If she knew what language he spoke, it might give her a clue to where he was from.

They walked on, and she could sense his attention wavering. He seemed distant, as if thinking about something very complicated or very interesting that she was not privy to. But if her pride was injured, she did not show it. She took the opportunity to scan the crowd, as was her habit, and briefly held eye contact with a tanned man with a mass of curly hair. He was just as handsome as Hans, but in a completely different way. Where Hans was carefully groomed and suave, this man was rugged, his stubble just on the verge of becoming a beard, a cutlass hanging nonchalantly from his waist. They locked eyes for a moment, and she caught a hint of curiosity in his gaze. She flashed a quick smile before turning back to Hans. 'A silver nel for your thoughts,' she said, not expecting an honest answer but wanting to bring his attention back to her.

[Elijah Ki'Ouj]

Elijah watched the pair approach and as his eyes locked with that of the girl he saw her smile. He returned the gesture with a smile of his own, the brown hues of his eyes seeming to light up as he felt what he had felt far too many times. The urge and the want to have her, like he was a starving man and she the only food he had seen in weeks. It was an unhealthy love, to find the chase so thrilling and to love the company of women so much. They were dangerous after all, women could both make and break you and his father had shown him that. Alas, he had not learnt from his father and instead had found himself seeking to lay with half the women of Ne'haer.

This new target was particularly interesting as she looked away from him and too the man next to her. She seemed to be interested in that man and yet she had smiled to him. Of course it could simply have been a polite gesture but to Elijah it was an invitation. An invitation to present yourself and try your luck, even if they had a male company. She would not be the first woman he had stolen from their partner, he could not say he loved to cross the men like that but when a woman was beautiful like so many were in this wonderful city he could not really help it.

The tall and clearly rich man was an interesting chap, Elijah was not sure he could take the man in a fight if he was offended when he eventually made an advance on his companion. Yet, a man like Elijah had likely survived many more bar fights than him, rich and shielded from the low life scum such as himself. Still he watched the couple, only looking away to take sips of his ale. They were a curious pair and even if he had not decided he wanted that dark haired lady for himself he would likely have been interested in finding out about who they were.

Besides, it was always useful to know those who had power and influence. If he was ever to be caught smuggling he could maybe use the help of a rich man to get him out, especially if that rich man had some kind of political power. So he continued to watch the pair, the tall handsome man and the tall dark haired woman. They were an interesting match and probably a good one that he was seeking to get right in the middle of.

[Hans]

"It's Nidtaic," he explained as he walked with Ismene's arm in his. This was information he did not mind giving away. That brief dive into her Tangle had shown him she was looking for information, but to gain trust, you had to give some. While there were certain truths he wouldn't tell her, there was no harm in her knowing who he was and where he was from. "Have you not heard it? It's very Common in Lysoria - sort of a dialect of Common. Have you been there before?"

Still he was searching, searching, looking through the Tangles of the crowd to find just who it was that was observing them. An enemy? A spy for Ne'haer? It could be anyone. Hans remained composed, his arm resting relaxed entwined with Ismene's, but there was a part of him that was cursing coming out today. If this went badly...

Her words jolted him, bringing him out from the Tangles and back to the present. He looked down at the slim woman, and smiled, as if to charm her. "Oh, I was just thinking it's a beautiful day to be out with such a beautiful lady." It wasn't one of his smoothest lines, but it's not like he was going to tell her the truth. 'Oh, just using my magic which is illegal to try and find someone who I think is spying on us.'

"Shall we get a drink?" he asked, leading her to the closest tavern without waiting for an answer. "It's on me." He took a seat at one of the tables outside, pulling out Ismene's for her, before taking a seat himself. He called out to a waiter. "I'll have a red wine - Lysorian, if you have it." He flashed a grin at Ismene. "National pride, and all that. And for the pretty woman...?"

OOC

I'm sorry this is so late!! Real life got crazy. But I'm back on track and back to normal posting.

[Ismene]

The name of the language Hans spoke, Nidtaic, did ring a bell somewhere in Ismene's mind, but she did not know anything about it. Luckily he decided to fill in the blanks for her, explaining that it was spoken in Lysoria. 'No, I've never had the opportunity to go,' she said in response to his question. In truth Ne'haer was the only place she had been besides Treth, but she wouldn't want to admit that right now.

Her ears had pricked up at the mention of Lysoria, though. The name of the city to the north seemed to be on everyone's lips recently. In taverns people had been sharing strange rumours of people who were more than they seemed and even whispers of powerful magic, but nobody ever seemed willing to go into any more detail than that. And alongside those mysterious hints, there was also talk of tension of a more understandable kind. Ismene was yet to acquaint herself with the finer points of Ne'haerian politics, which had not been a common topic in Treth, but she had heard enough snatches of conversation in the street and at bars to know Lysorians were not generally on the best of terms with the people of Ne'haer.

Personally, Ismene felt no particular loyalty to the city she had only arrived in recently. If the Ne'haerians were bristling because of rumours that Lysoria might try and challenge Ne'haer's power, Ismene was happy to remain detached, watching and waiting for anything that sparked her interest. And she had to admit that Hans had managed to interest her. Rich and suave, from a city she had been itching to know more about... although that chat up line was terrible. It wasn't even a beautiful day. She suppressed a faint smirk as she leant into him slightly and pretended to be flattered, enjoying the body heat that radiated through his well-tailored coat.

The tavern Hans directed her to was full to bursting with people searching for somewhere warm to congregate, and there was no room for them to go inside. Revellers had spilled out onto the street, where the barman had wisely thought to set out several braziers of blazing charcoal. The glow from the flames warmed Ismene's face as she sat down, and she ordered a hot spiced wine to warm her belly as well. While they waited for the drinks to arrive, she turned to Hans. 'So you're from Lysoria,' she stated. 'I've heard it's very beautiful there. Almost as beautiful as this lovely day,' she said grinning, one eyebrow half raised and with a sweeping hand movement that took in the steamy wisps of breath that coiled through the chilly air and the people stamping their feet to keep warm around the roaring braziers.

The wine arrived, Ismene's scalding hot and intense with cloves and cinnamon, Hans's ruby red in a tarnished metal goblet. She raised her mug to him so she could just see his eyes over the top of it and thanked him for the wine, and then nodded at his drink. 'I didn't know they made wine in Lysoria,' she remarked. 'Or that Lysorians were in the habit of taking holidays in Ne'haer, for that matter.' She cradled her mug between both palms and blew gently on the steaming liquid before taking a sip. 'Then again, I'm sure there are lots of things I don't know about Lysoria...' She donned her most winning smile as she met his eyes with her own.