Shavay

Stormsinger Shavay Silvamon
Status	Active
Race	Elothean
Gender	Male
Guild	Bard
Instance	Prime

Description

You see Stormsinger Shavay Silvamon, an Elothean. He has tilted almond-shaped grey eyes. His amber hair is shoulder length and wavy, and is worn loose, tucked behind his ears. He has fair skin. A blood red ruby with a cat's eye flaw in the center is positioned between his eyes, casting a fiery red glow against his skin. He is middle-aged. He is clean shaven. He has a tattoo of a crimson band of intricate knotwork threaded with chains of intertwining silver musical notes on his forearm.

He is wearing a black leather cavalier hat with a long crimson plume, some thin spectacles with jade-colored lenses, a hammered gold earcuff worked with a Bardic Soul Knot, a sweeping crimson greatcloak with a braided gold fourragere draped over the left shoulder, a scuffed leather portfolio, an ebony silk instrument case embroidered with blood-red iera flowers, a worked leather staff harness, a brown rumweave haversack buckled with a polished shadowstar, a rich red silken knotwork armband woven with a Bardic Blood Knot, a brillant red satin doublet stitched tightly with midnight black raven's feathers, some billowing black satin pantaloons edged with flame red piping, a deep sable three-forked sword belt with brass buckles and fittings, a crystal tankard etched with a barely discernable crest labeled "True Brew", an elegant flute case inlaid with fine goldbark, and some night black boots with silver heron-shaped buckles.

Conversations With A Professional Stranger

Hey, look out! Oof, sorry. Didn't mean to run into-- er, quick, stand over here. Right, don't mind me. Looks like they didn't see me turn, wonderful.

Right! Well, one good turn deserves another, eh? Let's get you a drink. I know a great place down by... hm, probably shouldn't go back there. What? Oh, nothing, just a little misunderstanding regarding a lady. You know how it goes. Ah, here's as good as any. Well, some. Be ready to duck.

So what's your fancy? Don't take too long deciding; the only thing drinkable is the whiskey. They don't call this Old Rat's for nothing, you know. Good place to get lost in for a while. As long as you're quick.

Ouch! I told you to be ready to duck. That'll clean right off. Well, most of it. So what bring's a lad like you to the wharfs? Looking for excitement? Adventure? Derring-do? It's overrated, trust me. Unless you enjoy running, I suppose.

Good one! See, as long as you can duck, this place is fine -- uh oh. Looks like they found me. Hey, if they ask, you don't know me, right? Of course you don't. I'll just slip out the back...

* * * * *

Did you see a group of men run by here? Looking a tad upset, maybe? Perhaps even a trifle... perturbed? No? Good.

Hey, it's you again! Let's have a bit of a walk. Had enough of the sea air, did you? Yeah, the smell gets to you after a while if you're not used to it. Not that a river town is much better: same fish, less salt. But hey, you go where the money is, right?

Been in the city long? Nothing like the city crowds to help one blend in. Or stand out. Depends on what you're going for, really.

So what's your business? You don't look much like a free-lance mercenary to me. I would guess a Guilded Trader: you have that lean-and-hungry look of a man with too many dues and not enough profit. Me? Oh, I dabble here and there. I've been just about everything, at one point or another. But I always seem to come back to music.

Yeah, the lute's a dead give-away, isn't it. Heh.

But find a brisk corner on a bright day, play a lively tune, and folks can't help but notice and be appreciative. A few coins here, sometimes a wink or a kiss there. All in a good day's work. As I said, it takes a crowd to really stand out.

Ah. Hm. Looks like blending in might be better about now. Here, mind wearing my hat for a moment? Nothing personal about this...

* * * * *

Can a traveler get a lift? Thanks, neighbor. Mighty nice of ya.

Oh, it's you! Driving your own caravan now, not bad. Profits doing a bit better, I see. Glad to see it. Sorry about shoving you into the street that time, what, two years ago? Three? Whatever... I really needed the distraction at the time, as I recall. Did they rough you up any? Ooh, sorry. Let me pay you back for your hospital bill.

Is that my hat? Hah, I thought I'd never see it again! Looks like you kept good care of it, too. Ah, good to have it back, though.

How've I been? Oh, well enough. Traveling about, mostly. Headed north after seeing you last, spent some time in Therengia. Took a trip back out through the Qi'Reshalian archipelago as well -- not by choice, I assure you. But I haven't been home in a while, so that's where I'm headed. Well, near enough. Have you ever been there, to Shard?

Ahh, Shard. It's like... it's like poetry in physical form. There's no way to describe it and do it justice, you just have to see. There's a reason it's called Evershine City, after all. Just, er, probably better if you stay in after dark. Why? Oh, no reason. Just stay in.

Hm? Oh, right. So I've been getting by, doing a bit of this and that, you know. Traveling a lot, but I already told you about that. Yep, still playing the music. It can keep a body company on the road, you know. Cheer you up when you're feeling blue. Heh, no pun intended. Eh? Oh, sorry. Bard reference.

I've some business to take care of before getting through the mountains, so I'll get off here. If you get to the city after dark, just head to Brickwell and they'll take care of you. If it's still light and you care to afford a little luxury, though, head over to the Golden Phoenix on Moonstone Street. Best in the city. But, er, doin't tell Deirdree I sent you. Yes, I know you don't know my name. Trust me, it's better that way.

* * * * *

Looks as if business is treating you well, friend. Yes, me as well, I suppose. Nothing too fancy, but I get by well enough. That's all a fellow can ask for, really.

Home? It was a nice trip. Didn't stay long before heading back to the city, though. I've a place I stay when in Shard, and that seems as much home as with my family these days. As much as any place, really. I guess they're right when they say you can't go home again. You really need a crowd to blend in, you know. Yes, or stand out. You remembered. But music, now that's everywhere.

Best of luck with the business, friend. I'm sure you'll go far. I'll see you around.

Oh, you can call me Shavay.

An Overdue Conversation

(December 14, 2010)

The cloaked figure swept into old storeroom-turned-office in a rush, eyes hidden beneath the brim of his hat.

He raised his head as he began speaking, not quite shouting at the lean Human behind the desk.

"Listen here, you fat bast--" He broke off suddenly. "Um."

"Not who you expected to see, then?" asked Tasdrean.

"Not... exactly." The Elothean glanced back and forth across the office. "Where is--"

"Unavoidably detained. I am filling in as Guildleader in Riverhaven for the time being."

"Ah. Well. I am--"

"I know who you are. You have quite an interesting file."

The Elothean blinked. "File?"

"Yes, very interesting." Tasdrean digs through the piles of paperwork on the desk and extracts a bundle of parchments in a folding cover. He opens the file, scanning a few pages, tsking occasionally. He shifts his gaze upward, green eyes locking with slanted grey. "How may I help you?"

"I want..." The Elothean takes a breath, squaring his shoulders and glaring at the seated Guildleader. "No, I DEMAND readmittance."

"You demand?"

"Indeed I do. Four decades and more is a bit long for some silly grudge over--"

"The 'Incident,' yes. It's here." Tasdrean scans another page of handwritten notes, tsking again over the contents. "However," he says, closing the file, "there is nothing I can do for you." He stands up, setting down the file, and walks over to the stove.

"Nothing you can do? Nothing you can do?! Fine, then, I shall petition a more senior Guildleader."

"That will accomplish nothing, as well," came the calm reply.

The man gritted his teeth through a flash of anger. "And why is that?"

Tasdrean turns away from the stove, casually gazing at the fellow before him. "One cannot be REadmitted to an organization one has never left."

Confusion replaced the more intense emotions in the almond-shaped eyes. "But Ezruh--"

"Was upset? Yes. Lost his temper? Definitely. By his own notes, he came very close to assault." Tasdrean pauses, letting the information sink in. "Struck your name from the rolls of the Guild? Never." He walks back behind his desk, sitting down as he picks up a quill and a scrap of parchment.

"So I... I am--"

"Horrendously behind in your studies? Quite." Tasdrean flips through the file again, continuing to the many, many pages past the recounting of 'the Incident.'

"We really expected you to check in before this, and yet--" Tasdrean shrugs, making notations on the scrap of parchment. "Well, the Guild does not force its members to do so."

He signs the scrap and holds it out to the Elothean across the desk. "Here is your Guild voucher for the various athletic and collegiate institutions about town. Do try to make use of them."

Reaching for the parchment, the man asks, "So I'm... I'm still..."

"Indeed. Always was. Always shall. We don't let go of our own so easily."

Their eyes meet again, understanding and comradeship passing silently between them.

"And if there's nothing else, I have work to do. As do you."

"Yes. Yes, sir. Good day." Settling his hat and pulling his greatcloak about him, the Elothean turns about and exits the office through the door he entered.

Tasdrean gazes after the departing form a moment, then reopens the file still sitting on the desk before him. Flipping to the last pages, he begins writing.