Thread: Holy Duty [ Bear & Cheshire Smirk ]

A small crowd had gathered around the tall stranger strumming on a lute at the edge of the bazaar. The man's voice carried with unnatural force and clarity, sharp highs and deep lows as he sang a rather ribald song about a stablehand and her mule. A sturdy booted foot tapped along at a brisk tempo. Sometimes his foot struck ground toe first, other times it was heel or even a side of the foot. Each movement made a noticeably different sound, each sound loud enough rival the performer's voice. The one-man show captivated passersby, ensnaring one lingering soul and then another. After a few moments even the market guards began to take notice of the spectacle. Some of the guards moved to get a better angle on the scene, unsure of whether watching the growing crowd for signs of trouble was as important as making sure this man never had to stop playing. Roughly two feet to the man's right there was a case for the lute, opened up to serve as a receptacle for whatever coinage the audience felt like donating. Small baubles and strange idols from foreign lands were scattered about in a haphazard but strangely deliberate manner. A shaggy black mass of fur that looked more like a small bear rested next to the case, watching the world with a pair of topaz-hued eyes. The beast's eyes were strange on their own, but were even more uncanny if one noticed that the strangers eyes held the shame striking shade. Near it's broad stout slightly open to reveal massive teeth several coin pouches were also opened and starting to over fill as the gratuities increased proportionate to the audience. Another rowdy tavern song followed and people were starting to move, small circles of jigs and even what looked like a line dance began to form. There are too many of them! I've got to find a way to end the projection without this place becoming a beacon to the Nullifiers for a month. The man's thoughts were panicked. He'd became caught up in the act again and had probably bit off more than he could chew. Were the weaves collapsing? A glimpse of horror washed over the performer's face as he saw the air begin to drift and laze, swimming as if a heavy heat haze had settled over the market square. Boil me in cow's blood and serve me to the fae, this is NOT good! he thought, his fingers working faster on the lute as he tried to finish the song up a little earlier than usual. A keen observer would notice that the man in the limelight was dressed in a manner meant to attract little attention. A heavy cloak sat about his shoulders, beneath it a sturdy jerkin and a pair of travel-worn trousers beneath. Barely kept mahogany hair fell down to the man's throat, a month's worth of unshaven scruff accentuated a strong but not overly imposing jaw. One could tell by this performance that he was able to wander quite comfortably and yet he did not don the spectacular clothing of a traveling Bard or member of a showman's troupe. No, it was clear that this man had spent years learning how to make himself scarce when necessary. But then alas, Deus Ex Machina! A female voice called out as the song finished, it's speaker clearly addressing the stranger. Always one to trust the Fates' design he gave a shrug and looked around to the audience. One low bow and then he swiftly packed up his gear. Instantly that behemoth of a hound rose up on it's haunches and began to slowly pace, circling around her master while ensuring no disgruntled audience members tried to take their contributions back. Preparations for departure took about 30 seconds, every bag, pouch and bauble safely stowed away within a seemingly endless number of pockets concealed within that unusually bulky cloak. The traveler produced a small, somewhat conical hand rolled bundle of strange herbs and black flower buds and pressed it to his lips. The man gave a glance at the ground and snapped his fingers, lighting the cigarette with a discreet cantrip. One long slow inhale, and an even longer exhalation then the man answered the summons. Sorry folks, I was really only playing to get her attention. Maybe you'll catch me again! And with that the traveler made his way through the parting crowd, faithful companion close at his heels. Swift steps paired with a surprisingly long gait helped the man make his way quickly to the temple's looming doors. A low growl rose up in the dog's throat when the two stopped, the scent of blood overpowering it's keen nose. The stranger's nose wrinkled in time, his own otherworldly-touched senses able to smell each lingering drop of ichor. Arzale had been called over by priestly types before and it never seemed to end well. Perhaps this time would be different! The man's shadow distorted on the ground beneath him, flowing and writhing as a pair of black wings rose up from it's shoulders and then settled forward defensively, like an eagle guarding it's nest-eggs. You'll have to forgive me but I've never heard of your god before...Homos, was that his name?