Despite, or maybe because of, their heavy defenses, the Dwarves appear much less concerned with visitors than others the group has encountered.

Maybe it's the fact that the party isn't coming with a large group of wagons, just a small and fairly unthreatening looking group.  Maybe it's that Dwarves, at least the Dwarves here, believe in procedure, and the party isn't allowed entry until they go through the very standard Halt Traveler State Your Business routine.

The Dwarves make a ritual out of it.  A half dozen Dwarves in enough armor to equip two dozen human warriors march out of the gate and form a line.  The one in front makes his (her?  it is SO hard to tell with Dwarves) announcement and expects an answer.

Which, more than likely, is not one of the answers in the Dwarves' book of gate protocol.

Nwofia does not speak Dwarven.  She does not even speak Germanic and so she waits for others to communicate with the dwarves.  She on the other hand remains perfectly still as she waits to see what the dwarves say or do.

Celeste takes up to duty of giving the Dwarves what she thinks they expect:  an honest and polite explanation of who they are:  a group of traveling performers here to perform for the Dwarves.

Unlike the hosts at their last few stops, the Dwarves do not find this strange.  Rare, yes.  Strange, no.  They recall...

"Such things did abound in olden days," says the head of the Dwarf "greeting squad", "though these days the roads are not so traveled for so light of purpose.  Armies, refugees, and the occasional well armed merchant caravan is all we've seen in a long time.  Still by our law you are merchants, and merchants are to be accorded safe haven if they are not cheats and scoundrels."

The small group is led across the bridge to the Dwarven island fortress.  It's heart is an open plaza.  Dwarven homes and shops surround it.  They are not individual structures built inside the fort, each and every one appears to be a planned and architecturally integrated part of it.

"What is your name, so that you may be properly announced?" the Dwarf asks.

Tahra Schwarz, chiromancer [palmreader] and singer among other things. And this bat is Klimmin.

"Nwofia Barandi" says Nwofia with all due formality on hearing Tahra introduce herself and her bat.

"Siankiir," said the elf, nodding her head politely as she did so.

And all the while trying to push aside the numerous insults and complaints her mother had for the dwarven people echoing in her head.  How they were dull and smelled of soot and drunk all the time.  How disgusting their beards were.  How none of them would know grace if it bit them on their noses.  How greedy they were...

...and gods only know what they must think of me if they've had to deal with elves like her beforehand...

Alayna curtseyed, and her Angel did so as well, bowing down and lowering his head.

"Alayna, rider, tumbler and friend of my horse Angel. We come to entertain with physical skill."

Topaz waits what he hopes is a reasonable amount of time for Celeste to introduce herself, and perhaps the performers as a whole.  Eventually, in an effort to alleviate the awkward silence the Faun gives a slight bow.  "Topaz.  Skald and musician, occasional envoy at large to the court of Her Diminutive Highness, Princess Nia Sian Rosedrake."

Gesturing to Celeste, he offers with a wry smile, "Celeste Argentos, she who leads our merry band and inspiring us ever to great feats of renown."

One of the Dwarves has a sudden, happy reaction to Alayna.

"Ah!  A tumbler, you say!  Of stones, to clean and polish and bring out their natural beau..."

Another Dwarf suddenly engages in some frantic ear whispering.  The first Dwarf goes through several rapid changes of facial expression, including two variations of befuddlement.

The Dwarves give Alayna close look, as if trying to figure out what "physical skills" someone with her physique could possibly do.

How hard could she possibly throw an ax?

"I am Celeste Argentos," Celeste says.  "Of the Argentos troupe of performers... you may have heard of..."

Dwarves shake their head.

"Nevertheless we are known from Basilia north and south throughout Gaul.  We have never been this far east before, and we thank you in advance for your hospitality."

The Dwarves make a very official sounding announcement of the party's arrival.

They tell the party that they have a Caravanserie, in accordance with law and custom, every town of Roman law must provide a place of safety for travelers, including merchant caravans.  It is alongside a wall... everything here is alongside a wall... and is roofed and has available fresh water, in accordance with the law.

The Dwarves seem proud of the fact that they have observed the law to a T.

"Let everything else blow away in the wind, we have not even shaken," a Dwarf observes.

Anything beyond a roof and water may be obtained from their inn, the Rhine-House.  That, according to the law, does not have to be free.

And the Rhine-House's proprietor is already hustling out of the inn to greet the party, perhaps expecting customers.  It's hard to tell male from female with many Dwarves, but this one looks female, with long blond pigtails and a long and quite sturdy looking leather apron over a heavy and near floor length dress.

"Weary travelers of afar," she says as if it is a very familiar line.  "I welcome you to our fair town. We have had traveling bands of performers visit us... but not of late.  I was young.  It was.. oh, I think seventy or eighty years ago when the last one came through.  We may be a little rusty on how it is supposed to be managed and all that."

Mistress of the Rhine-Ho9use, the behavior of all who have met us is a rusty as a newly forged anvil.

We would not want to fall afoul of the law here. Are the statutes written. If not, well, we are well-behaved folk.

One of the younger Dwarves, part of the "Welcome Troop", looks at the mistress of the Rhine House and asks, "What, there was a lot like these once upon, Aunt Grulla?"

The Dwarf woman nods.  "But when there were lots, that was even before my time.  Things didn't change all of a sudden, Bovdin. Even when Orcs came by, the Huns, the Goths, it wasn't like one day we had daily visitors the next day none.  It was like, it was once a week, then once a month, then once a year, but the pace slowed gradually. You had to live a long time to notice.  But there was a time, Germania to the north was flourishing, and so was Italia to the south, and so many people came and went along the roads between and some even took the minor roads, like ours.  The time of Once Upon."

The Dwarf woman returns her attention to the party.  "I remember them telling tales with music and dancing, and juggling fireballs, and having colorful birds that spoke.  Always strange things.  We haven't seen anything much more than our own faces in ages.  You don't happen to have a talking bird, do you?  I would like to see that again.  I was a young Dwarf then, but I remember."

Alayna couldn't help but giggle at the dwarves. She could hear the comments with her keen hearing, and she was not insulted. She was not strong in the dwarven sense, but she was strong in her own way. They would see. And if the little she understood was true, they would like it.

Her winged costume might be good. She could not fly, but she could soar. And with Angel, she would.

She followed everyone to the Rhine-House, curious and almost bouncing on her toes in eagerness to experience something new. What tales she could tell to her love! Still, she looked around in amazement.

"I do tricks of tumbling and tricks on my horse, Angel. Which reminds me, can I bed her down somewhere? She needs nothing special, and I can sleep with her if I need to. But I always take care of her first. Before having fun!" The teen giggled.

After translation, Nwofia smiles her brightest, whitest, toothiest smile. "I remember talking birds from my childhood.  A beautiful grey bird called a Psittaca. In the wild they do not speak but imitate all the sounds they hear. The traders of Zanj like to train them, just as they train monkeys to dance and turn cartwheels and play drums".

Topaz goes along with the flow, travelling with the other members of the troupe to whatever lodgings are offered.  Idly, he twirls a short wooden whistle through his fingers as they go.  There is an inn, apparently with a tavern, the Faun considers to himself before voicing aloud, "Everything's going to be just fine."

Playing to type, he smiles his warmest smile.  "Is there a time where folk gather at the Rhine-Inn?  I'd like to wet my whistle and bend a string in thanks for your hospitality."

"I have stalls," the Dwarf woman says while giving the horse a serious look.  "In the old days there would have been food for the horse.  The eat... well it must be the same thing as our ponies, yes?"

She looks as if she is really hoping that the answer is yes.  Like the other Dwarves here, she's not exactly familiar with horses.   Dwarves do not take to horses as well as Humans and Elves do.  It's a simple matter of body design.  Their short legs do not do a very good job of straddling the horse's body.  They do have ponies, strong and tough and short of leg... like Dwarves.  But those ponies are not nearly as numerous as horses are among the taller folk.  It's not that they are too expensive... it's just as much as a "thing" in Dwarven culture.  Perhaps its all those centuries living in the mountains.

Then the innkeeper turns back to the group.

"Oh, we gather every day when the work ceases with the sun down.  Work hard, but there's a time for it and a time not to, right?"

Something clicks in what she remembered about these traveling groups.

"Do you want a crowd there, then?  Are you going to... well, whatever the horse does, we certainly can't be having that in the inn. Rafters will clear a tall Human's head, but no further."

The Faun smirks, then gives a little chuckle, short tail wagging with amusement.  "There are some things that're best done outside, on the green or in a large courtyard.  For this evening, though, there's no need to gather up a crowd.  Far better for such a thing to come of its own accord should people find their own reasons to come."

With an easy smile, he adds, "Tonight, the inn would be best."

Nwofia smiles imagining a performance in an Inn with rafters.  This was going to be even more fun than zephyr dancing.

Alayna puzzled out parts of it, but then Topaz set her straight. "I can perform without my horse, if need be. I have other skills." She smiled, already getting excited to perform again.
This message was lightly edited by the player at 04:53, Fri 23 Apr 2021.

A chance to rest for a bit would be welcomed, but Siankiir promised herself to stay alert for the sake of the others.  The dwarves so far seemed hospitable -- and she hoped it would stay that way.

As they settle in, the Clan-Lord shows up.

It's an old title, but Dwarves hate changing things.  Sure, centuries of mixes and matches have left clans as more fuzzy concepts than solid realities, but the Clans.. whatever they are... were the masters of Dwarven domains, and so the Clan-Lord is the acknowledged hereditary ruler of Tasgaetium.


Age is hard to tell with Dwarves, with those white beards filling out so early in life (Dwarf babies are born with wisps of hair on their chins, giving them a head start).  But perhaps this one looks young for his title.  Not young for a Dwarf, just young for one called a Clan Lord.

He seems curious, if bewildered.

"Guests?  Travellers?"

"Performers," the innkeeper says, nodding.

"Oh.  Err.. Umm.. Respectable ones?  Good references?  Morally upstanding?"

The red-headed woman drinking herbal tea speaks up. Yes, none, and yes. More importantly, a breath of fresh air, for once more the World to the west is changing.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:16, Thu 22 Apr 2021.

Nwofia sips at her spring water and watches quietly, following Topaz's lead, even though following the lead of a faun may not be the most morally upstanding idea but she's an alien so what can she do?

Once it was translated fully, Alayna relaxed, asking for tea as some of the others. "I am but a girl, and I love my woods, my horse, and those that perform with me." She leaned back in her chair, and sighed, her long hair falling behind. "I have no home, but I mean no one harm. And I be happy being me, with no malice. Accept me if ye will. I will be content either way."

Truly, the teen was happy. Good friends, good tea, her horse was happy. What else did she need?

For references, Topaz has none but the best, having travelled with the Argentos' Travelling Show intermittently.  He's performed for royalty and served as courtier, special envoy, and occasional advisor to courts across Gaul.  His manners are impeccable, though he's likely a mite short of moral rectitude as far as Dwarves are concerned.  That, however, is not his role.  Still, he knows how a Dwarf might see him.

"We come from the Argentos Travelling Show, m'lord, and perform various arts of entertainment.  The Show itself is much larger, with many more players, but the road from the Baiovari is no longer well-kept, thus the full troupe has not made the journey.  We made our way through the forests along the Rhein."  Regarding upstanding ethics, he lets the response of the others carry the message.  He is hardly one to suggest that working hard is the best way to spend one's day.

"All I have as reference is this.  I crossed the Great Sand Sea, what Romans call Desertus Sahara in my bare feet", says Nwofia.  "I have performed and drawn applause from all those who crossed my path.  I hope to do so for the Dwarves of Bodensee."  She stands impassive as she awaits the translation of her words.
This message was last edited by the player at 14:43, Thu 29 Apr 2021.

"I am but their guard and defender on these roads and paths," Was all Siankiir said.  Her blades remained peace-bonded in their sheathes.

The Dwarves are most fascinated with the story of Nwofia, as the others represent things that are at least somewhat familiar.  Alayna... well that just sounds sorrowful to them.  Dwarves love their homes and their families.  To not have a solid, familiar place where you can sit beside a fire at the end of a good day's work... it sounds sad, and she can see sympathy in their craggy faces, even as she tells them she likes it that way.

The Lord of Tasgaetium is impressed by Nwofia.  "An extraordinary journey! To have come such a long ways, great tales you must have!  Stories of far off kingdoms!"

One of older, craggier Dwarves concurs.  "I have read as much in the Library at Constantia... they have Ptolemy, you know.  There are kingdoms south of the Sea of Sand.  Not any Dwarves, mind you.  And strange animals such as the Efellant and Hyperpotenus."

The innkeeper speaks up.  "A shame they've got no exotic animals.  I remember a bird, that talked..."

Apparently the tale is a familiar one.  The innkeeper gets a few looks from other Dwarves and stops talking.

The King continues.  "As you may know, though we are proud of our home, it is only the western gateway to the Bodensee.  We cannot claim the magnificence of Constantia or Brigantium.  Any audience you might find here would be small- only ourselves, perhaps a few of the Gnomes that live in the area. Maybe even Humans if they are nearby, they come and go.  But it is our duty to know what passes through our gates, and bar the way to Constantia to those not worthy.  We must require that you give us at least a demonstration, lest we hear from the Lords of Bodensee, what rabble do we send them?"

The head of a large bat emerges from Tahra's clothes. It emerges fully and looks at her. Then it turns its head toward the innkeeper. Master Innkeeper, I possess no such memorable wonder. However, here is my friend Klimmin. If you wish it, he will light upon one of your forearms, and permit himself to be petted. I believe you will find the sensation pleasant.

Alayna clapped her hands, only just keeping her own arms from raising for the bat. She loved seeing Klimmin, and simply showed her joy for him.

The Dwarves know what bats are.  They don't keep them as pets, but they are familiar with them.  And as Tahra learns, not in a bad way.

"Now this is finer than a bird, for it is an Earth Dweller as our ancestors were," the Clan Lord says.  "They have found the sky and still they return to depths of the Earth.  Like us, one does not lose that calling so easily.  A good pet you have there!  Does the animal perform?  I am sure we would like to see it!"

There is applause from a few of the Dwarves.  Whether it indicates approval of the bat, or of the Clan Lord, is uncertain.

"You'll do a little something here, then?" the innkeeper asks.  "For us?"

A friend Tahra repeats. I've never asked him to perform in the way of doing tricks or such. I, myself, can sing somewhat, tell a tale, recite a poem, or share news. And I am as eager to listen as to utter. For example, what you have to say...share...should be known  by the wider world.

Something about Klimmen: When I sleep, should a bug come to feed on me, it finds out too late that it's food for him.

The approach Topaz has to life could not be more different than that of Dwarven folk, with their rules and structure.  It's certainly not anathema to him and not entirely foreign, but it's certainly not the manner in which he approaches the world.  He makes some guesses about their way of living, their social norms, and such.  Still, Dwarves can't be entirely stodgy.  They have taverns, after all!

While Tahra and others converse, he begins to play softly, weaving a thread of music into the dialog, a musical version of small talk.  He can sing, or dance, extemporize a poem or rousing speech, even play just about any instrument as if it's an extension of himself.  For now, though, he offers a light melody, plucked on a fiddle plainly meant to be bowed, as a complement and counterpoint to the discussions underway.

After all, life is better when there's background music.
This message was last edited by the player at 18:43, Wed 05 May 2021.

Off to one side, leaning against a wall in the inn and keeping a watchful eye out, Siankiir's mouth quirked into a small smile at the sight of fuzzy little Klimmin.  Unconsciously, her foot tapped as Topaz played.

Entirely consciously Nwofia's foot tapped to Topaz' music, then her ankles moves with her feet, her legs and hips and indeed her whole body followed in a dance as soft and subtle as the shifting sands of the Great Sand Sea.
This message was last edited by the player at 19:30, Wed 05 May 2021.

The Faun plays, but doesn't really "perform".  He doesn't have an audience, only other people with whom he is having a conversation, only his part is offered musically.  In the beginning, he augments whomever is speaking, matching a tone to their words and intent.  Occasionally, he plays a counterpoint, adding unintended emphasis or teasing a tune from his fiddle that can make the speaker sound ironic, sarcastic, or even comical.  Throughout, however, Topaz never causes anyone to become the butt of the musical joke.

Given time, he'll even offer a soliloquy by way of a solo, a short tone poem composed in the moment on the last topic of discussion.  Each time, he moves the topic to another person and smoothly slips it into their hands as gently as if he'd asked them about their opinion.

The great thing about a fiddle is that it leaves him free to speak or to move about in way s that other instruments don't.  The Faun rises from his seat, reaches for his bow and continues as if the topic's never changed.  He steps across the space, hooves tapping as he moves.

"M'lady," he inquires in his mahogany rich baritone, bowing slightly to Siankiir, inviting her into a pas-de-deux.  Irrespective of her training or natural talents, she might somehow feel that in this particular moment, she can perform as well as any of the more practiced performers.  The music is just that encouraging.

Alayna had no reservations. The music started, and her foot began tapping, as she considered that the Dwarves had wanted to see what they could do. Well, there were things she could do, even without Angel.

She started moving, her lithe form finding the rhythm, making a simple dance out of the understated melody, slowly twirling, dipping and moving in the small space she had to work with. Then, she began tumbling, doing seductive rolls, then moving into stretches, splits, and other gymnastic moves, following the music, letting it guide her. Rising to her feet, she did a few dancing jumps, then a flip backwards. She winked at the faun, clearly happy and enjoying the moment.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:54, Fri 07 May 2021.

"Oh!"

There Siankiir was, keeping an eye on everyone on the outskirts of the inn's common room.  Nwofia and Alayna were dancing, nearly as graceful as nymphs.  Tahra was chatting merrily away with her sweet little bat and Topaz was fiddling.

And there was her, on the outside looking in.  Someone had to keep watch and stay alert...someone had to--

Topaz was asking her to dance.

Siankiir's violet eyes grew wide in surprise at the offer.  Her voice caught in her throat and suddenly she looked very shamed and unsure of herself indeed.  The elf's gaze suddenly went downcast

"...I--I can't, no..."  Siankiir rubbed her forearm reflexively.

The Faun focuses a moment, though he never ceases to play.  He conjures an exact duplicate of himself, another Topaz taking fading into being and at once taking up the tune.  They play a duet for short period of time before the illusory double sits in the very chair he'd stood from but a few moments before.

Setting his fiddle on the table, and the bow alongside it, he smiles warmly to Siankiir.  "Perhaps not, m'lady.  Alone is a difficult thing, but together all things may be accomplished."

His clothing shifts elegantly through a variety of changes until it's a near perfect complement to her own.  As the music drifts into a stately tune, another tone poem in paean to a pastoral life, Topaz smiles warmly, and entreats, again.  His eyes to hers as if all other things have ceased to exist, the Faun offers his most gracious courtier's bow and his hand for her own. "'Tis but a dance, lovely Lady Siankiir, with naught to fear nor regret in the doing.  Others will keep vigil.  Pray do me the pleasure of your hand and your regard for a few moments."

Siankiir allowed the faun to take her hand and lead her to the dance, despite her obvious discomfort and fear.  Gradually, the elf woman adapted to the rhythm, showing a little promise in how she moved.  Obviously, she wasn't as skilled as Alayna or Nwofia, but objectively, Siankiir had some grace of her own.  With training, the swordswoman could develop some talent in dance.

So, of course, that's when the voice of her mother had to butt in, hammering in that self-doubt.

("...a filthy half-breed and a human savage can dance better than you!  Even these idiot dwarves can see it...useless, absolutely USELESS!")

What might have been a smile in surprise suddenly turned to clouded uncertainty on Siankiir's face and she began to pull away...

Topaz is not currently reading minds nor enthralling an audience, so he can't know the particulars of Siankiir's concerns.  Yet, while he's no expert, he is well enough skilled to recognize the shadow of self-doubt which creeps over his partner's face.

Willing participation is so very different from acquiescence and the shift is easily apparently.  He's no satyr to drive madly ahead, heedless of the wishes of one's partner.  The Faun steps with Siankiir, releasing her easily should she truly desire to break the dance, but he does raise his hand and hers, encouraging her into a slow twirl, one then another, and a third in time to the music.

"They lie, you know," he murmurs to Siankiir just low enough that others mayn't easily overhear.  "The silent stories that we tell ourselves.  They tell us we can't do the thing that we're doing, right when we're doing it.  They say we'll fail or we'll fall, that others will judge us."

He smiles warmly, offering to take her on an easy promenade.  "The trick, m'lass, is to just persevere until you can look back on them from a remove and see what pale things they are.  But moments ago, you couldn't dance, but now you're in a pas-de-deux with the Fey."
This message was last edited by the player at 21:29, Sun 09 May 2021.

The trek to the dwarven fort was not so difficult on him, but his perception of difficulty was different then most others. Reality was a fickle thing and as one who walked as much in a world of fiction as he did in a world of reality. His perception of things gave him a perspective that stretched beyond the minor inconveniences.

he listened to the Innkeeper go on about colorful birds that talked. So when a natural break in the conversation appeared he manifested the illusion of one such bird. Waiting to see the reaction it drew before he caused the illusion to speak.

Alayna saw Siankir and Topaz dancing, and giggled with delight. Finally, the Elven girl was having fun! She laughed, throwing herself in a series of spins and almost falling, then allowing herself to fall, making a dramatic end to her dancing.

Catching her breath, she went to see what the dwarves thought, and to maybe get something to drink.

Nwofia watched to make sure she was there to catch Alayna should catching be needed and, once she was sure no such rescue was needed, she begins making use of all that she can find, whether trees, walls, hillocks or whatever to move the dance into the third dimension, appearing sometimes to dance in the air as well as on the ground.

Alyana grinned at Nwofia, seeing her look at her. Then, she paused to watch her. She felt a bit of jealousy, watching how she moved, how she danced. So easy, so free. She found herself mimicking the arm motions, the stretching of the legs.

She promised herself to talk to her and find her secrets. For herself, she began to dance again, and to try to be as free and confident as the other women.

Dwarves tend to be described as "dour", "taciturn", and "serious" folk, never bothering with the fanciful, carefree styles of the Elves, or even many Humans.  This is not really true- but it true that Dwarves are very purposeful.  They express emotions that to them, have a purpose, write songs that have a purpose, and build things with a purpose.

The latter can be very ornate and elaborate, but the Dwarves assume the purpose, in that case, is to showcase one's sculpting abilities.

Freeform artistic expression otherwise is nearly unknown to them.  Like the Innkeeper's experience with the Talking Bird, they can be impressed with it, but sometimes it leaves them wondering about purpose and intentions.

A few of the younger Dwarves (beards haven't begun to go gray yet) watch and whisper to themselves.

"I can't follow the story."

"I don't know if there is one.  Maybe it's symbolic."

"Oh, yes, I think so."

For the Clan Lord there is one thing of paramount importance here; that the performers not present messages that are lewd or accepting of unlawful behavior.  No tales of daring and charming robbers permitted among Dwarves, no matter how much the Humans seem to favor them!

But how to judge when there is no message at all?  He falls back on the "architecture example": if it is solely art, then the skills of the artist are what matter.

The Clan Lord nods.  "Nothing to be ashamed of here."

This is, of course, high praise.  At least as high as could be expected.  Some of the other Dwarves might have other reactions in their minds but they keep it there.  A Dwarf does not dissent from the Clan Lord lightly.

One, though, steps up to offer appreciation.  This is not his Clan Lord, so he's a little more free with his thoughts.

"I am Portham, a humble boatsman out of Brigantia.  I too am only passing through here.  Finely done, may I say!  Such expertise, and very Symbolic!"

Tahra responds Expertise, yes, and it can be symbolic...either the musician's and dancer's intentions or what the audience creates. Then took it's good exercise, strength and agility, plus it helps synchronize the rhythms of the body. Besides that, the mind is exercised translating the music into movement.

Topaz winds up the tune, and the dance with Siankiir.  "Thank you, m'lady,"  he offers along with a slight bow.  "You are a most delightful partner."

The Faun's illusory double rises, bows, and smiles in thanks before fading away as might morning mist before the rising sun.

From the conversation, Topaz has come to a conclusion about the Dour Folk.  Songs of great toil, recitations of epic battles where the Dwarves were the underdog, and other sorts of overcoming adversity through resilience, hard work, and dedication to tradition.  If they've been moved by simple beauty of art, they'll certainly find more once the group has had a moment to discuss and prepare.

Siankiir nodded, slight tremble in her form.  "Would that I was better for your talents, good faun.  It is -- I am, well...I am not a worthy enough dancer."

She stepped back.

"...and it's all so overwhelming..."

Tahra looks at Siankiir, considering. She looks away.

Nwofia moved over to Siankiir and wrapped her arms around her.  "We are all strangers in a strange land, sister", she whispered, "and we are all worthy.  You will find what makes you unique, not only out in the world but even among elves, and you will learn to love that, whatever it is.  You are worthy of love, of kindness and of admiration.  This I promise you in the names of the Sun and of the Dog Star."

As the self appointed Tour Manager of this little detachment from the Argentos Show (being the only Argentos present) Celeste makes the arrangements for food and lodging.

She has a conversation with the boatman about traveling, before returning to the others.

"I think we all know that the Rhine Fey left us with a very poorly defined task- to win the hearts of the Dwarves.  It's a vague target, and they clearly like us here, but I don't think the Fey will be satisfied with a quick performance for the first Dwarves we meet.

"I also think the Fey folk have a few misunderstandings about the Dwarves.  They are not cold creatures, they just warm up to other things.  It may not be the same things that move the Fey folk, but then, it's not the things that move the Orcs, either.  The boatman here can take us directly to one of the Dwarven cities on the Bodensee, a real city with thousands of Dwarves.  I think we have an idea now how we can best impress them...and we have Marcus with us, who can add some color to the show.  Maybe it is ambitious to go straight to a main city, but I think we can do it.  And the boatman says the lake transport is big enough for your horse, Alayna.  We can do this, right?"

"Would it make sense to perhaps ask around if there are any topics the dwarves would consider taboo or maybe legends they would appreciate being touched upon instead?"  Siankiir would be the first to admit knowing nothing about dwarven history, but she did understand diplomacy.  A ribald ballad meant for laughs might very well draw offense with the wrong audience.

"I am ready, as is Angel. Whatever tale we tell, I am good. And if I work with anyone else, I am happy. Please, I just want to make them happy."

Having danced for the Dwarves, she felt both a little embarrassed and a lot happy. The Faun made her feet move, and knowing she was watched was always fun. She would do and dress and perform as they wanted.

Celeste agrees with Siankiir, there is but one chance to impress the Dwarves in one of their big cities, the audience will be large and likely not so entertainment-starved as this small outpost.

"It makes sense," she says.  "Still I would not want to tarry, or miss the opportunity of the boat.  We will have to work fast.  Maybe split up.  Talk to Dwarves and see what they say about the do's and don'ts of entertaining Dwarves?  If they are like these dwarves, ribald is certainly not going to do it."

Those that know Celeste understand the satisfaction in her voice when she says this.  Ribaldry is something she has never accepted.  From her point of view it is crude, and interferes with the purity of their arts.

Marcos was not a fan of crude physical humor, it had its places like among the gnomes of his home land that enjoyed practical jokes or with the orcs who despite the attempts to civilize were still entertained by slapstick antics.

He had not had a tremendous amount of exposure to dwarves, but from what he read he suspected that the details of craftsmanship would be something worth paying attention to, as would a fair amount of cooperation between multiple entertainers.

I am as ready as i can be at the moment.

"I am ready", said Nwofia softly, indeed almost silently, her smile obsidian, her eyes glittering like veins of crystal.

"When we split up, I can translate and hopefully aid in gathering any pertinent information," nodded the elf.

They spend an evening in the inn at Tasgaetium.  It's an unusual kind of inn in many ways, one of them being the way it is built into the common structure of the Dwarven outpost, rather than as a freestanding building.

Dwarves like it that way, it seems.  Efficient.  Everything has a function.

And every function has its rules.  Dwarves do not stay up late, even when there is the novelty of strange performers in town.  Very quickly after their show the Dwarves of Tasgaetium disperse, headed back to their homes, which are also apartments built into the fortress.  Soon, the innkeeper is sweeping up, and only the night watch-dwarves are up and about.

Celeste tries to talk the boatman into holding the ferry for a day.  Whatever she tells him works, and she reports back that the ferry will wait tomorrow, giving the party a day to learn and plan before continuing on.

She suggests copying the Dwarven schedule: early to bed, early to rise, prepare to be.. productive... come the dawn.

"A peculiar people with their own set of values," she says.  "They have accomplished a lot, they have much to be proud of.  We have a day to plan, so let us make the best of it."

The party spends a night.  It's a very peaceful night, with very little noise.  If they are listening, every few hours they hear the ritualized change of the guard.  The Dwarves here take everything seriously.  Even if it is just one more change of the guard shift in the middle of the night with no one around to see or hear, they go through every word and motion as they should.

In the morning, there is a full Dwarven breakfast in the inn.

Marcos finds the ritualized nature of the daily schedule quite similar to his own. Given the chance, and assuming the dwarves don't find offense in his choice to turn down lodging in the inn. He much prefers to rest where he is able to see the stars. he has spent many a night lying on his back watching the stars make their march across the sky as he waits for sleep to arrive. in the morning he is one of the first rouse from his night's rest. he goes about preparing his spells.

At breakfast, Tahra reports that Klimmin found the night peaceful and filling. She also relays his impression of the dwarven guards being unbothered by bugs but perhaps bothered by his flutter-bys.

Alayna, as all know, is not a morning girl. But she awakes anyway, and though rested, needs something to wake her fully. Even her horse is a bit annoyed, snorting his displeasure at the early hour.

Nwofia still doesn't speak and now her eyes look as though she hasn't slept since the flood waters receded and the Sahara Forest became a desert.  She moves slow and steady though and whenever she can, she catches a catnap.

Her evening trance uninterrupted, Siankiir felt better prepared to tackle assisting with gathering any local dwarven gossip or politics about the city beforehand.  Carefully, she tucked into the breakfast, already trying to push aside her discomfort from the day before about trying to dance.

"How should we approach this?"

"My thinking is to be open and honest about it," Celeste offers.  "Find a Dwarf who appreciates what we do, ask questions, ask for...  no... that wouldn't really work, would it?  We'd end up with what Dwarves think is right for a show, but what we really need has to come from us.  My father has the gift for deciding on shows, but he's not here and I've never done the planning like that."

She trails off in thought for a few moments, eyeing breakfast as if expecting inspiration from it.

Perhaps there is.

"Well we shouldn't ask them, really, not as if we don't know what we're doing.  But we should make some observations on how they think, and what's important to them.  Things working properly, for one, that's obvious.  No mistakes!"

Introduce yourself, or selves, tell what you do to perform, show what your first attempts were like, then show you getting better, then as you are now. Finish, if all goes well, what you hope for the future. And remember what our purpose in coming here is.

Myself, I plan  to relate developments in the west and do some foretelling.

"So to begin with", says Nwofia, "I will dance like a child taking joy in the dodging of riverhorses and crocodiles, then like an adolescent, joining the winds and dancing in zephyrs and sandstorms, and finally as I am now, moving that dance into the third dimension, but how do I explain my hope to move into a fourth dimension when I do not yet know what such a dimension must look like?"

Marcos pauses for a moment before speaking.

I can tell a great story. I have many lifetimes of stories to tell. But few of these stories are mine alone. I was central to very few of the stories and merely an observer in most.

I can tell stories of great heroes facing vile foes, or of great loss and horrible tragedies.

Or i can tell beautiful lies, through the use of colors and tricks of the eye and ear.

With no set schedule for the day and no shows to do, breakfast easily fades into the rest of the rest of the morning, and they are free to explore the Dwarven outpost a little more.

It seems overbuilt for what it is.  It's compact, yes, but even so it easily has room for twice as many Dwarves as live here now.  In the morning, after a loud blast on the horn that tells the Dwarves its time to go to work, the outpost is noisy, with the sounds of Dwarves as work, and one might surmise that if it was more populated it would be noisier still.

The noise is not just hammering, though Dwarves seem to do a lot of that.  The island divides the river, and thereby forces the water into channels, and the channels are used to power water wheels that turn mills and grindstones.  The Dwarves have an elaborate mechanical polishing system, and that is a big source of employment here.  With water power they polish stone tiles and sharpen blades, and these are sent back to their cities (that don't have such a convenient power source, apparently) on the ferry the party will be taking.  Noise from the grinding reverberates through the outpost.

Dwarves set about their tasks surprisingly eagerly, even if it seems to be simple drudgery.  They seem to have definite attitudes towards work and play- curiosity and interest regarding the visiting performers is put on hold during "work hours".  That will have to wait until the end of day horn sounds.   Or maybe the lunch break horn.

It worried the elf at how lackadaisical the approach of the entertainers were about this.  That, regardless of what the dwarves might say or do, the troupe members would just carry on how they wanted to perform, dwarven tastes or comfort level be damned.

Internally, Siankiir sighed.  Hopefully, she was wrong and just paranoid.  For her part, she would gather what gossip she could about the dwarven capital and tell the others.  Whether they then chose to use it or not to tailor their acts was out of her hands entirely.

Topaz is, perhaps, the very embodied principal of Siankiir's concern.  He stays up late the evening before, enjoying such night life as the Dwarven settlement has to offer.  In spite of the omnipresent din of hammering, he sleeps late, arriving only to catch breakfast as it threatens to become lunch.  Despite the tardy arrival, the bard looks none the worse for wear, but appears quite well rested indeed.  But then, he's a Faun and occasionally revels in the overt opinions others have about his folk.

For his part, Topaz wanders where he's welcome, watching and chatting amiably with Dwarves at their work, listening to what conversation occupies them while they toil.  He knows little enough of them, other than stereotypes such as the very ones he enjoys playing to.  Still, do they gossip or sing, work in silence with only a minimum of conversation, or even sing and dance in time to their mechanical works?  There's a rhythm there and, with it, a story to be told.

No master of languages, the Faun listens attentively for sounds and phrases, quick ear turned to the sound of the Dwarven tongue.  The choice of each sound in a word holds meaning, can be used to convey a sense of time and place even if any particular word isn't present.  Still, it's plain it wouldn't be long before he had a smattering of helpful expressions and could conduct himself passably in Dwarven society.  As the remnant of the morning dwindles, he can be seen toying with the musical geist of the place, experimenting with instruments and percussion in attempt to capture it in a replicable way.

Nwofia too listens as Topaz does, but in her case, it could take several lifetimes until she masters their language.  The musical genius loci on the other hand is less a problem.  As she hears Topaz playing the music he extracts from the geist, she begins to dance, following his music, absorbing his music, becoming his music and from that music a new dance.  So with Topaz' help, whether intended or not, Nwofia dances with the spirit of this Dwarven outpost, and thus with the spirits of the dwarves.

Marcos endured Siankiir's derision, he was who he was.

Marcos spend his morning studying architecture and watching the dwarves work taking note of the fine details and utilitarian functionality of each and every thing the dwarves touched.

He found the system of aqueducts and waterwheels particularly intriguing. he made a point not to disturb the dwarves of get in their way.
This message was last edited by the player at 23:29, Tue 20 July 2021.

The Music (tm) just *is*.  The world speaks through both silences and sounds.  Some are quick and intentional, others eons in the making and incidental to existence.  Making something of that is what Topaz does.  In his way, he's perhaps no less the fabulist than Marcus Conner.  He can give the impression of a place or time with music, but it's only a suggestion.  Ultimately, the construction of idea occurs solely inside the mind of the listener.

While there's also composing from whole cloth, performing a new thing that hasn't ever existed before, his current composition in the Rhein River Suite is of the former.  This piece is rather more full of percussion than his usual music.  When Nwofia joins him, he lets her carry the rhythm while he plays no melody, but only complementary notes.  It makes the music strange, but in its absence of tonality the music of Dwarven industry speaks loudly of duty, community, and work ethic.

Alayna was blind to whatever the Dwarven language or work ethic was. They loved working, or at least loved their work, that was clear. She had just enough Elf in her to be oblivious to the joy of 'work.' And unlike her other members, she was not inspired to make her show reflect this. The young girl was truly oblivious to the fact that the many hours she spent with Angel working her routine was the same as what they did. To her, she was allowed to do what she loved, and she couldn't imagine others doing that as they toiled at stone and earth.

For her part, she stretched and worked with her horse. She felt the best she could do was show how hard she worked to make her craft its best. And the irony of that was fully lost on her.

As Nwofia dances, the rhythm grows more and more complex, as if the simple rhythms of work combined into something greater than the parts, until the collective is not a simple layering of the simple rhythms of individual effort but the complexities of Music as if the mines and workshops breathed together and those combined breaths became something new, became rock music, became metal.

Each in their own way, they spend a day in Tasgaetum.  Many of the Dwarves seem puzzled, at least during working hours, as they wonder about just what it is the odd visitors are doing.

Eventually it becomes apparent:  Aha, this is a trade, they are working on something, and this is how they practice.

Even that seems a little odd to them, after all, the troupe is all (apparently) professional and experienced at their craft, and you don't see experienced Dwarven craftsmen knocking out practice pieces.

Or maybe you do...  the characters overhear Dwarves debating this.

"True, True, not like an apprentice would, but when my cousin Obirin invented sour cherry bread he did practice loaves for a while before he'd sell one, and he's no novice baker!"

The entertainers become the subject of many a conversation in the little town.  It's how it often is- in such a small and remote place, there often isn't much to talk about.  Whenever anything novel presents itself, people are glad just to have a new subject!

And their discussions, at least when the characters overhear, reflect Dwarven culture and Dwarven ways. They focus on technical things, and on philosophy.  No comments on what the performers are wearing.

As the day progresses and the characters periodically regroup, Celeste points out a minor dilemma, having been put in a philosophical mood by listening to one too many Dwarves.

"You know, we really can't observe anyone in their natural state, can we?  What we see is their state in our presence, which can be different.  On the other hand, it would be even more disruptive with the whole caravan here.  In a way we get to see more of the normal life.  I'm so used to my father putting together the show... do we know yet what we'll be doing when we get to the Dwarven city?  It's a very important show, and it's... well it's just us.  This is the first time I've done anything like this."

Unaware of the discussions, and not knowledgeable about dwarven to follow it, Alayna, though sheer boredom, fell back on what she knew. Exercising and working out with Angel. She did both, doing her stretches, practicing tumbling, then working her horse through all of her routines. She worked hardest on the dismounts, the flip and double flip. She wanted to make those so second nature that she could do them without thinking, and worked them until she was dripping with sweat and unable to continue.

Then she rested, ate, slept, then did it again. The others in the troop knew her dedication, but she went beyond, pushing herself. If the Dwarves were perfectionists, then she would show them what hard work could achieve.

Marcos understood changing the over all performance to appeal to the audience. But the sentiment of not disturbing the dwarves seemed very out of place. The troupe were entertainers, being a diversion from the day to day life is central to that job description.

He understood how the terrain was the reason the entire caravan did not come with them. but in Marcos' view terrain was the only reason for that.

Diversions and distractions were fine if the idea is to get people to forget about their problems for a day or two, but the underlying issues still remain.

Marcos was a "gnome" covered head to toe in technicolor clothing. He is a master of illusion. Being distracting is his defining personality trait. But he kept his opinion on the subject to himself.