PM to join [Herring Square] On the trail of ...

[Gybe]

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Timestamp 75th Summer 515AV (late-afternoon)

"What time is it?" Gybe wondered as he finally made it back to Herring Square. He was so exhausted that he just gave a little wave to the Haversham's at their booth and didn't even bother to go talk. He still tried to keep up a happy attitude though as people milled about and looked at the fine wares that were out. The fish had all gone from the square by this point and the sun had dried up the wet stone that lined the streets. The wind had blown away most of any of the fish scent that rose from the cobble. Now the vendors were at it, hawking goods and stinking up the place with their spices and perfumes. Though he admitted that this was the time he probably loved the best because all the ladies and their fine wear came out to see what was new and to chit chat. He wasn't alone in this and joined in at a table full of men. Some of them were old, some young, some pretty boys and others were real men with hair on their chests. All were welcomed it seemed and there were even some more spots open at the table. He began chatting people up and over the past five years he had made some decent acquaintances. Were they useful to him? No, but every person he met was a potential use at one point. For this reason he gave great care to the veiny web he wove.

The moon had begun to pop its head up over the surface and while it was still light, Gybe could almost feel the pull of the tides. Having his whole life attuned to them and the Otani, the life never leaving the water, this was torturous. He longed for the day he could return, and on that day something would burn. Yet he was a kind-hearted fellow in appearance and seemed genuine. While he was to a point, he still would do what he came to do. Now that he was resting his burning feet he slightly kicked off his sandals and began to roll up some tobacco to smoke. It was one of the few joys he actually had. Snagging the candle off the table, he lit his cigarette and gave it a few puffs. Smoke filled his face as he slowly let it out and then he began to shape it into various circles and things. If anyone seemed to be interested he would give them a puff on it as well, being amiable in all regards.

Other's Words -- My Words -- My Thoughts

[Clyde Sullins]

75 Summer 515

Clyde was still gaining his bearings in Nyka. He understood the city in a theoretical way. The celestial's bit in the middle, surrounded by the four quarters. Each were linked by bridges over the aperture. Each quarter was ruled by a different group of monks, and so its own unique ruling body.

In theory it made perfect since. In reality, it was confusing and didn't help much with Clyde finding his way. Because of this, and perhaps a general poor ability in navigating cities, Clyde was lost. Again.

Considering the lateness of the day, it was nearing time when he'd need to head to his room at the Safehaven Hostel. But it wasn't quite so late, and he still had a bit of time to orient himself with the city and its people.

One thing he'd learned so far was that he tended to stick out. If nothing else the peoples clothe were different. Clyde didn't go in far with clothes, though he did have a second nicer set for special occasions. From day to day though he usually wore more or less the same apparel, the same robes.

Of course they couldn't be called the same old robes, as they weren't just mundane cotton, but still he wore them most every day.

Likewise a common appearance in his ensemble was the staff in his hand, Cha. At least she was colorful, being made of a blue wood from Mura, even if his other garments were not anything special.

As he neared another area, he noticed the thrum of activity and motion. It seemed he was nearing yet another city center, or at least a place where denizens of Nyka interacted and met. At first he'd smelled the salty scent of sea air, but as he neared he smelled other more potent scents. Perfumes, fragrances, spice, powerful enough in their numbers to drown out the scent of the sea.

Heading about, he saw a number of stands with merchants hawking there wares. Off to the side in the other direction he saw some tables, with various people talking, resting, lounging, smoking, and a number of other activities.

Heading over to one of these tables, Clyde sat down a bit heavily, glad to be off his feet for a bit.

He smiled at those sitting at the table, then let out a sigh before speaking to those at the table.

“Greetings. I am Clyde. Clyde Sullins. I can't say I've been to this bit of Nyka before. It looks interesting.”

[Gybe]

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There were good times in the square and bad times. When a fight would erupt in the middle of the people it could get downright violent. However this was a chill evening and Gybe had his cigarette. As the tall, gangly man approached his table, he considered the man. He had a trained eye at not so much investigating nor observing, but picking up on the subtleties of a person. The way they talked and the way they moved through crowds could yield a great deal of information.

By just being the casual observer and seeing how Clyde shuffled this way and that as he looked around yet heading toward them, he could tell not only that he was a foreigner, but also that he perhaps had been lost. It had to do with the relationship between the group he has observed for 5 years and how they moved and the way this man moved. It was like he was highlighted in Gybe's eyes. If he was a thief, this is how he would identify him, but alas he wasn't.

Giving a stern, man-like nod to the man, Clyde could see that Gybe was no softie or pretty boy. He looked tough, his beard weathered and wirey but clean and trimmed. Despite his appearance in dress and appearance like that of a Nykan, he had tan skin from being in the sun all day. Hanging lower than his left shirt sleeve Clyde could see a mark of Laviku as it swirled in appearance and waves crashed with bright blue hues. The same blue colored eyes of Gybe met Clyde and he offered him a puff on the cigarette as he sat down.

In common he said fluently, "Evenin' pal." looking around he nodded in agreement to his comment of it looking interesting. "Yep, it is at that." Looking back to the thin framed man he nodded to him in gesture and asked, "Enjoying the city and all it has to offer?" he then reached out a hand over to him across the table to shake. "Name is Gybe"

Other's Words -- My Words -- My Thoughts

[Clyde Sullins]

As Clyde spoke to those seated before him, he seemed fortunate in that at least one seemed in the mood to speak. He'd met quite a few Nykans who refused to speak to foreigners or to deal with them at all. Generally this happened less in the celestial quarter, but was more common amongst the outer four.

The man who spoke, and also offered him a smoke, had something on his arm that quickly drew his attention. A moving illustration. At first Clyde thought it was a trick of the light, or some such thing, but after another glance he noticed it was indeed moving. He'd never directly interacted with a Svefra before, and so hadn't seen their gnosis. He'd barely more than heard of Svefra, though even he'd heard mention of them once or twice during his voyages across the outer oceans.

Clyde met the mans gaze, blue eyes to his own blue eyes, and continued to smile. He shook his head at the offered smoke, uttering a quiet but polite “No thank you.”

When he moved to shake Clyde's hand though, there was a few moments of awkwardness. Clyde held Cha in his right hand, and the man wanted to shake his right, so it took Clyde a moment or two to manuever the staff into his left hand, and to then extend his own right hand in greeting. It was a brief moment, but likely noticeable in such a quick contact, at least when compared to the length of time that a hand shake usually existed as.

Once he managed to move his staff, Clyde shook the man's hand in turn, squeezing with strength in turn. Not attempting to crush the mans hand, nor to offer a limp noodle, but to give a good grip in turn.

“Nice to meet you Gybe. And yes, I suppose I am enjoying Nyka. I'm still getting used to a few things. Particularly the rations... But I can't complain.”

“What of you, what do you do in Nyka? What is your place here? And... If you don't mind me asking, what is that on your arm? I can't say I've seen such before.”

[Gybe]

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Pulling back the cigarette, he accepted the rejection and stuck it in his mouth once more. Taking a pull off of it, he then released the thick smoke out the side of his mouth and downward so as to not blow it toward the foreigner. He looked like it would cause him to choke on the smoke anyways. As he offered his hand and waited, the man shuffled his staff about. The awkwardness wasn't intentional, but he didn't really shake much with the other hand; so there he waited. Eventually the awkward greeting was over and he returned his hand to pull the cig out of his mouth.

He could relate to the subject of rations and gave a chuckle when Clyde said he couldn't complain. Many of the people at the table had family in the monks and so he didn't mention what he really thought of the monks or their rations. With a nod, he accepted what he said and then commented back, "Well make sure to come back here in the morning. You'll get a belly full. We catch fresh fish every morning here. Haul it onto those tables" he said whilst gesturing vaguely in the direction of the stalls that now sold perfumes. "Sort of a charity. A festival if you will..."

One of the men at the table patted Gybe on the shoulder and said "Ole Gybe here catches a few of the fish himself. Out there every morning in the dark bringing them to shore."

Gybe smirked at the man and said, "Ya, and you gobble 'em all up." The group laughed and he chuckled slightly. His attention was caught once more as the man asked about his mark and he brushed up the sleeve of his shirt. In doing so, where his hand brushed skin, it seemed almost to put the tattoo as if he dragged his hand through the water. A torrent of eddies and whirlpools in bright blue color followed his hand as he swept up his sleeve.

One of the others answered for him saying "That's a mark of Laviku. Gybe here dun got his favor for some reason."

Gybe snapped at him slightly and said, "It's cause I don't fish like a mad dog." He then turned to Clyde and said, "It's a mark of Laviku, God of the seas. I've spent a lot of time on them and been fishing all my life. Never took a catch in full, always tried to maintain balance. Always offered Laviku respect when in his domain. Years and Years of doing that and I was blessed by the God himself." He avoided eye contact as he took another puff and blew downward, pulling his sleeve back down.

"So what's your story? What's with the stick?" he looked up back at the man, intending to find out why he was here and to gather whatever information he could provide. "What's the world outside of here doing?" his eyes scanned the man, his clothes, his look, and just everything he could see about him to deduce who he was as a person that was discernible.

Other's Words -- My Words -- My Thoughts

[Clyde Sullins]

At the mention of fresh food, Clyde nodded a bit eagerly. He'd not had a full belly in quite some time, and at the mention of such a thing his stomach audibly gurgled. Clyde tried to play if off with a grin, but he hadn't realized how hungry he was until food had been offered.

It wasn't so bad, as long as he didn't do any magic. That really took it out of him, as he needed food to replenish the djed spent in a casting. He'd limited his magic usage since arriving in Nyka in no small part due to the lack of available food...

“I... I'll make sure to come by early.”

At the mention of a gnosis mark, Clyde understood a bit more clearly. He had one himself, though his was hidden, and he didn't usually mention it. It wasn't a mark as well accepted as the one on the fisherman's arm.

As the man spoke of the mark and Laviku, Clyde noticed a few things. He'd been interrogating people long enough to notice many important things. Like the value not only of what was said, but also what wasn't. Of where people looked, how they looked, their expressions and actions. And of course that people lied. With that in mind he took almost anything he was told with a grain of salt.

Still, he was interested to hear of the mark, its god, and of how it was supposedly acquired. He'd heard enough such stories of how a mark was gained that he didn't doubt there was some editing done there, though in which direction he was hard put to say.

He did notice that the man didn't say what it did.

As he was questioned in turn it was quite clear his counterpart was not as subtle in the art of questioning as Clyde. He was quite straightforward in his questioning, direct, two things that didn't often get a true answer.

“My story? I've been all over Sylira. Caravans here and there, a few ships, worked as a guard some. Been up and down the coast, as far south as Zeltiva. Though that's been awhile. As for the staff, well a good wack from a staff can do wonders. Plus, people tend to underestimate them. Why, a staff once saved my life from a zith who was trying to chew on my face. That length of wood was the only thing between me and its teeth. True story. It was a different staff, but that old beaut still has the claw marks to prove it.”

“As for the world and whats going on, afraid I can't tell you much there. I've been stuck out on a trade trip out in the wilds for awhile, only reached civilization when I got to Nyka. So you likely know more than I do.”

Technically nothing Clyde said was a lie, but neither was it the entire truth. But Clyde found a good way to combat questioining was to give a lot of information, albeit in a roundabout and unuseful fashion. But twisting his words to a useful fashion, spinning a tale without telling one, those were the skills possible only to those well versed in the art of rhetoric.

[Gybe]

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His story was not as interesting as he had hoped, though the thought of the Zith delighted him. He would have loved to see that fight and how that long piece of wood kept him from being carried off and murdered viciously. A gangly man like him with a stick, battling it out. He may not have been able to deal in rhetoric so well, but he was intelligent, and dealing with counterintelligence was something he had to deal with in his life of secrecy. Taking a pull on the cigarette, he let out another puff downward and said, "Hmm... interesting. I'd probably have been carried off." He chuckled and looked at the men at the table.

"If he runs into a Greenwing at least he'll have a stick." he poked some fun at the lanky man with a playful smile behind his thick beard. He was not meaning to insult him so much as have some fun with the man, which was common here, but following with a serious tone he said, "Just make sure you are inside by nightfall as I'm sure you've heard. It's no joke. Strange things are about at night." Pretty much everyone at the table seemed to agree.

"Well, as for this corner of the wor--" he was about to tell him about what was happening in Nyka in general, when a loud crash was heard over by the tables and a spout of flame erupted.

A young man was walking close to the tables with a torch in hand. With the light dimming more and more torches were seen emerging in the crowd, yet what the youth didn't count on was the woman in her bright yellows and reds spraying herself generously with perfume. The elegant mist caught the tongues of flame and erupted in a loud whoosh into the woman's face. Both scared half to death, they dropped what they held, and the confusion grew from there. The glass perfume bottle smashed to the floor and met the newly fallen torch. An even larger ignition was seen and it caught three of the paper-thin sheets of linen that covered the booths nearby on fire. With the various perfume mists that had been coating them all evening for many evenings past, they went up very quickly. It seemed as though no time had passed before anyone was doing anything about the fire, but already it was getting out of control. Instead of putting out the fire, merchants were holding their goods to protect them before the blaze reached them. People pushed to get away from the fire and Gybe sat there with a dumb look on his face thinking "What the hell?" His cigarette leaned on his agape mouth and yet didn't fall.

Other's Words -- My Words -- My Thoughts

[Clyde Sullins]

Clyde wondered if perhaps he'd given away too much in what he'd said, even though he'd not said much. Of course, he hadn't given the full story of the zith fight, and he'd never said he'd killed it alone. For all they knew some ally had come up behind it and finished it off while it was distracted attacking him.

In truth he'd filled it with res, thrust down its mouth and throat, and turned it to flame. He'd basically cooked it from the inside, while it was still alive, though it'd died quite quickly.

In truth he was a fair hand at fighting with a staff, though likely not good enough to take on a zith solo.

by the way Greenwing were mentioned, he supposed it was something one wouldn't want to meet. Something nasty.

“Greenwing? What are those?”

Of course, his staff was more than met the eye. Unlike his staff that he had fought off a zith with, this one was enchanted. Beyond being izentor, which made it truly tough, it was also further magic-ed to be more durable. He wasn't sure what could put so much as a scratch on Cha, but he'd yet to meet such a thing.

It was also enchanted though in that it was a Magic Staff, and so a conduit for Clyde's personal magic.

But none of these qualities were clearly visible. The only one that might be seen in normal combat was its impossible sturdiness. Someone might question how it came away unharmed after trading blows with a sword, but that wasn't too likely an occurrence.

Before the Nyka had a chance to continue with his story, let alone answer his question, a disturbance stole away their attention. A crashing sound that told of trouble coming.

In what seemed but moments after the first crash, their was a spark and a flame, and in a woosh three of the stands was burning as if they'd been doused in oil. But then, the air was thick with fumes, so perhaps that had a part.

By instinct Clyde rose from his chair, the wooden construct falling over onto its side as Clyde rose. For a moment their was a decision making process, fight or flight with Cha held up defensively before him, before a plan of action was chosen.

Fight.

Leaving behind his conversation partners and his fallen chair, Clyde ran straight at the flames licking the stands. Already flames were spreading, and an additional two stands were in danger of catching aflame, their combustion inevitable if something didn't intercede.

Once he neared the flames Clyde stopped about ten feet away, and slammed his staff down on the ground once. As it struck a volume of gas seemed to pour forth, as if a cloud had been hidden inside and its striking the ground had opened a catch that freed it.

In reality it was Clyde willing his res to be made manifest, to rise and expand. Except it clearly wasn't a cloud. After all it wasn't the white or grey of a cloud, instead it was bright silver and seemed to glow, and though it was thicker than air it was still see through if making a slight distortion when looking through it.

Once a good sized chunk of it was exuded, about ten feet wide, eight feet tall, and four feet deep, Clyde began to rotate his staff hand over hand in a circle. The motion seemed to aid, acting as a gesture, and also as a focus for the turning he willed upon the res.

As he slowly turned the staff the res rushed forward, Clyde walking along with it. When the cloud neared a flaming stand Clyde willed the res to attract the flame, and sucked it into the mass of res. With another oscillation driven by his will the flame rose, coating the top most layer of res where it spun over and over again in a slow circuit, slowly starved of any substance to burn.

The flame seemed to jump off the stands, as if pulled by a flame magnet.

Clyde did not speak, instead simply walking about with his cloud of res and stolen flame, searching out more and stealing it from its host, the wooden stands, turning Cha hand over hand slowly but surely.

[Gybe]

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"Greenwings...Greenwing fliers. They come out in the summer mate. Just imagine big bat, spittin' acid...Then picture lots of them" He shook his head in dislike for the nasty buggers. Fortunately he wasn't a monk and got to stay indoors when most of them were out and about.

Many of the men jumped to action from the table, least of all was Gybe. Others untied sashes across their waists to willing to jump in and beat the flames, yet he watched from afar whilst slowly rising to almost seem as though he was in a hurry to approach the flame. He didn't want any part of that. That was a potential scarring by flame in waiting. Why get blasted by flame and glass as the bottles exploded and knock were knocked about by these Jimmies and their sashes?

He was even surprised at seeing the foreigner rise. He held his staff in defense, which aided to his story somewhat. At least in the brief moments that he analyzed the situation he could see that the man considered his staff a weapon like he had said. That lent credit to him. It seemed in those very short moments Clyde's own thoughts kicked into gear and he charged ahead. Gybe's cigarette now did fall out of his mouth in a bit of awe at what he saw next.

He now realized he stood in the presence of a wizard. Someone who could use his djed for various purposes. While he knew very little of magic, he understood the basic concepts in the most general sense. He watched as the glowing silver cloud overtook the flames and sucked them up like a waterspout. His reaction was just to mutter some curses and then realize his cig had fallen. Glancing down he made sure it wasn't burning anything on him and seeing it wasn't, he looked back.

He curiously watched as the flames rounded about in circle at the top of the cloud and instinctively looked around him to make sure that all this wasn't planned for some nefarious purpose. Yet his eyes met no such person stealing or sneaking off. It just really was happening. Him and just about everyone in the square, including some monks, watched to see what the man would do next.

Other's Words -- My Words -- My Thoughts

[Clyde Sullins]

Clyde imagined his res like a swarm of locust in gas form. Locust that swarmed and consumed flame and carried it along with them. He focused on the sweeping motions of his feet as he walked, and the ever present rotation of his staff which was slow but steadily spinning hand over hand.

It was all about the rotation, Clyde, and the flame, the res of course simply being an extension of Clyde. Nothing else existed.

With each turn of the staff the volume of res turned, gyrating in several unique directions of both motion and attraction. The mass of the res was in a circling motion, sweeping through and over the burning structures. It spun as it moved, pulling in flame and pushing it upward. The upper bit where the flames were stored was in a small spiral like a flattened whirlpool, sucking the flame in and tightening it into a core of compressed flame where it slowly suffocated.

He was the flame, and it obeyed him, following his commands as was natural. There was no doubt in his actions, instead there was a sureness to his motions and movements. Clyde was truly in his element as he did his work.

Clyde was no longer just his body, nor was he just the res, he was a combination of the two, two parts of a whole working in harmony. He thought, and the res did, as if it was his own limb.

In reaction to a popping sound, Clyde reached out a hand to protect his body by instinct. It had been a glass bottle shattering in the heat, the pressure building till it burst. Except it wasn't a literal hand, it was a swathe of flame fed from what had been captured in the single compressed point, reaching down and extending its fiery grip in a over-sized limb that met the expanding glass head on. It of course wasn't just flame, it was also a small mixing of res, its attraction holding the flame to its form and guiding its motion.

With the compressed heat of the blaze smushed into such a form, its heat was great. Clyde could feel it from half a dozen feet away on his face, as it reached down from a spot a bit above and in front of him. The glass however never touched him, sizzling and evaporating away to nothing before it could travel the length of the fiery limb.

As soon as it had appeared it vanished, another alteration to the flow of the res making it retract in but a moment, the flame returning to its single point at the middle of the tidal res pool now that its need was gone.

Perhaps Clyde kept at this for chimes. Perhaps the entire event had taken less than one. Clyde wouldn't be able to say later as he'd been far to concentrated on his work to discern time. He kept at it till every speck of flame burning in the area was absorbed and slowly suffocating in the single point of the rotating res whirlpool.

In his enthusiasm this included lit candles, lamps, and even a few cigarettes still in its owners mouth. Though as distracted as everyone was, it'd likely be a bit before anyone noted this fact if they were one such smoker.

Once he was done Clyde began to reabsorb his res, taking it back into his body bit by bit as his pores opened and greedily inhaled the transformed djed that existed as res. Not all of it of course, he kept the res whirlpool as it held the remaining flame, though he did contract it into a ball, the flames held in its core slowly diminishing, its heat and light radiating outward now the only flame in the area. Some of the res had been lost, spent or diminished or decayed in the time it had been out of his body, though most of it remained.

The flames would continue to burn for a time, slowly dying, though containing them now only took a minute bit of his concentration. This meant he was once more aware of his surroundings, and perhaps only now noticed the looks people were giving him.

Assuming he wasn't accosted, intercepted, or spoken to before he made it back to his seat, he'd return to his table, right his chair, and sit back down, perhaps taking out a water skin and taking a drink. For obvious reasons he was quite parched. His belly however if anything seemed more angry, and he felt like he could literally eat an entire cow hooves and all. Though he imagined that if he'd spent all of the res, and transmuted it, he'd be far hungrier.