Date: May 14, 1999
Place: The Rialto - Haven
Cast: Alinor, Fern, Deianyra, Dremmond, Ilex, Kallista, Lailah, Ranjeet, Rose
Scene: Dremmond makes a speech in the Rialto in the hopes of drawing support for Avalon, the "new kingdom" established in the once-Empyreal province of Arelate.

Heading idly into the Rialto, more on a pleasurable night stroll than a shopping expedition, the Varati male, Ranjeet, browses through the marketplace with casual interest, idly fingering fabric samples, though his gaze is drawn to the growing mass of mongrels that seems to be collecting, one brow raised speculatively.

An evening stroll. Perhaps Kallista can make it last until after Mother goes to bed. She looks up, surprised, to see all the mongrels gathered in the marketplace. Her eyes scan for the source of interest as she hangs back in the shadows.

Alinor enters the Rialto from the western part of Main street.

The older Mongrel walks along with the red-haired woman and speaks quietly with her. As he weaves through the crowd, he comes to an old booth that has been abandoned for a few months now it would seem. He pauses and smiles. It was the booth he used in a short career as a carpenter upon returning to Haven. But for now... now, it will make a decent podium. In an action that is more spry than a man of his age should be attempting, Dremmond bounds up to the counter top and then takes the edge of the wooden canopy in both hands and pulls himself atop. Once there, he stands tall and proud. In his deep voice, he calls out across the Rialto, "Some of you know me... many of you do not. I do not come here today with a fancy banner, nor an armed guard with polished armor, flanking me. I come as myself. Just a weathered man, and with me I bring a message of hope...."

Alinor strolls in from the west with long strides, something of purpose in her movements. She moves with all of the coiled energy that the flickering tail of a cat waiting to pounce might exhibit. Near a food table, she pauses, stopping to cock her head and listen.

Well now, so much for a comfortably laid-back slouch. As Alinor's positioning places her between Fern's seat and a view of Dremmond's 'message,' the mongrel woman is forced to sit up slightly and lean out to the left. Not entirely comfortable, but she still has a fine view. A small grin settles in about her lips as she takes a final swig from her mug and then places it on the table beside her.

Rose keeps to the ground of course, standing a wee distance away from the booth Dremmond is perching on to get a good look at him... and the crowd he is speaking to. Listening, she idly polishes a large mushroom with a small bone-knife, cutting away the bad parts. White, scale-like pieces fall to the ground to join the rest of the Rialto dirt.

His gaze flickers, the silk in his hands forgotten for a moment as Ranjeet's eyes focus more directly upon the Mongrel who has raised himself above the crowd. Casually leaning one hip upon the counter next to him, the Varati cocks his head up with a mildly curious expression crossing over his features.

Ilex moves through the crowd, searching out a good place to stand and watch. Fortunately, her height gives her a distinct advantage over the rest of the gathered listeners, and she easily finds a suitable spot. Impatient for the older mongrel to continue, she pulls a bit of jerky out of her cloak to snack on.

Kallista hangs back in the shadows as she listens to the speaker, wondering what his message could be. It should be interesting, at the least.

The weathered man's good eye slowly scans over the crowd, observing the hodge-podge collection of souls that have come to hear him... or to heckle him. "The older among you may remember the young man that once walked these streets, with both his eyes, as a Hound. That young man went away for twenty years and came back one eye less a man.

"In five decades, I walked my own path, but never truly belonged anywhere. I was always told that I was 'just a mongrel' -- impure, imperfect, inferior. Allow me to shatter some delusions. Few of us believe that. Some suffer it quietly, others will answer the insults with a fist. But I see not a mongrel before me that is inferior to any 'pure race.' They possess their heritage that they will cling to, but they will not tell you what yours is... Allow me to show you..." Dremmond reaches to his hip and takes the hilt of his sword. The sound of metal scraping is heard as he draws the weapon and holds it up over his head.

Kallista nods her agreement at the man's assessment that the mongrels are no 'less' than any other race. And perhaps now it is lucky that she is in the shadows, for most other Empyreans would ridicule her for her beliefs. In this respect, however, she is very much her mother's daughter. Constancia, in fact, would likely be most interested in this speech. For once, Kalli wishes her mother were here.

The Varati's features darken at the mongrel's bold words, more so at the drawing of the sword, a clear call to arms, even if the words that are to follow deny any such suggestion. But otherwise, Ranjeet stands by, impassive, calling out no threats or warnings. No, it is far better to watch and wait and listen.

From her slightly canted position at the food tables, Fern raises an eyebrow and scans the crowd automatically for the familiar figures of Hounds. A mongrel drawing a weapon so blatantly within the Rialto is bound to draw their notice. Dremmond's words... eh, she hears them, but the prospect of seeing some action stirred has much more promise for the moment.

Alinor's hazel eyes flicker over the speech-maker, something like a slow smirk spreading its way across her lips. She crosses her arms beneath her chest and adjusts her stance to stand firmly on feet that are a shoulder's-width apart. She waits. She listens. She watches.

Ilex munches idly on the piece of dried meat. At the drawing of the sword, she raises her eyebrows, but otherwise shows little reaction. She's not terribly threatened.

"You will look at this and say it is just a sword. You would be right, but the art of making such weapons is one of a thousand things that have shaped the course of history." The steely, grey eye scans the audience with a restrained intensity. Dremmond continues, his deep voice carrying out over the market. "But what does it take to make a sword? It is more than just metal. The metal from which it is shaped comes from the earth. While in the forge, the air from the bellows will fuel the fires to a great heat. Within those flames, the metal is heated so it may be shaped to a wicked edge. And then within the crystal waters, the metal is cooled and tempered to great strength. A sword is an example of what all the elements together can labor to produce. So too are the Mongrels."

Dremmond lowers his sword and slides it back within its scabbard. "What others have shaped with Magic, we have built with our own hands. We bear the heritage and strength of the elements from which all things are made, but we have never belonged; always living beneath others or between the cracks of their society. Now, however, we have the chance to have a home of our own."

The Varati folds his arms over one another, eyes narrowing to small slits as he considers the mongrel's words and display. Very pretty ... but not really accurate. No, the mongrels are more like the metal of the blade. When you mix in impurities, it changes the temper of the blade, weakening it, making it fragile and easy to shatter. The races do not mix well ... they may each have their strengths, but when merged, each is diluted, lessened. They become not assets but impurities. Such impurities are to be purged.

Aw... humor-laced disappointment tinges Fern's expression as the sword is replaced without incident. Rising slowly, she comments to those about her, "And I thought we all had a home of our own, right here in Haven." The voice is loud enough to be heard a clear distance away, but not ... directed, per se. A few chuckles and smiles follow, but more than a couple of her fellow listeners simply ignore the Mongrel woman in favor of intently watching Dremmond.

Alinor's dark brows arch upward and her head tilts to the other side. The movement stirs the long braid down her back. The gaze she gives to Dremmond is carefully assessing, but there are underlying hints of something more there.

Hmm. Interesting. The green-cloaked Herald arches one dark eyebrow and shifts her weight to one foot. Although she's not the sort usually to admit things like this, Ilex is actually impressed by the mongrel's analogy, and awaits the rest of his speech almost with anticipation.

The steel-grey eye finds Fern. And strangely, with a nod, Dremmond agrees. "I once believed that as well. But I learned the truth of the statement was lacking. As a Hound, I learned that an Empyrean noble could commit crimes through his Mongrel slave. The mongrel slave would be found and killed, but the owner was in no danger of answering for the crime." He looks up again to the crowd in general. "And a city where a Mongrel woman and her daughter can be raped and murdered, and have the crime go unpunished because the villain was of a 'pure race,' is nowhere I wish to call home. So with a rag-tag band of refugees, I helped them reach Arelate. Do you know what we found there?"

Dremmond does not wait long for an answer, as the question was rhetorical. "We found a bigger-than-life task and a lot of hard work. And in finding it, we exchanged smiles and set to work. Now, though, some land has been given to us, and everyone expects us to fail. We will not. Empires have been built on our backs before... Now we will build our own, with our own two hands."

Kallista's eyes open wide at the revelation of what would happen with the noble and slave, or crimes going unpunished. That is simply horrid, and hard to credit. Yet the man's voice has a ring of truth to it. Kalli may be naive, but she is not stupid (despite her mother's attestations to the effect). She listens more carefully, concerned eyes narrowed.

Land has been given? Not seized or taken or found? Ranjeet holds perfectly still, more akin to a statue than flesh. But he is all too aware of what is being said, pondering silently to himself, wondering who it was that has 'given' these mongrels this place to build?

Repositioning herself in a seat atop a nearby table, Fern sits with feet braced upon the bench and elbows placed upon her knees. In such a forward-leaning stance, she gives the appearance of carefully listening to Dremmond's words. His response to her offhanded comment gains the man a nod, and curiously, a teasing wink. For all the seriousness of the topic, the woman seems to find great humor in it.

Lailah has arrived.

Alinor takes a lazy step forward, stirring at last from her waiting stance by that table upon which Fern perches. She angles her way through those gathered to be a bit closer to the booth that Dremmond has claimed for his speech. Once there, she waits again, but this time her hands are loosely at her sides.

"And so I make a call to every Mongrel who is free to choose his own way. To every half-breed whose heart sinks as children shrink from them in fear in the streets. To the pure-bloods that have never been able to belong among their own kind." Dremmond scans about the crowd, eye falling on different faces -- some look skeptical and mocking... some look stirred... and as he sees Alinor below him, some even look familiar. "All I can offer you is hard work. But with that hard work, we can build something none of us have ever had. A place where were we can stand on our own as equals, where we will never be living by someone else's leave. We have a chance to build a home and the heritage we have been denied. In what was once the Empyreal Province of Arelate, we will make our Avalon!"

Lailah slinks into the Rialto from some obscured side-street to the west, whistling softly to herself as she starts making her way through the square -- and then stops. Pale eyes squint towards the crowds gathered around Dremmond and his booth, and then she edges closer to be able to hear what is being said.

As Dremmond makes his call to the masses, his appeal to any and all who might join, Ranjeet's gaze narrows again, with speculation and thought as those words fire off ideas ... possibilities, that he had not considered before. One hand raises slowly to brush his long mane of black hair away from his face, his features clearing as he shifts his eyes to assess the mood and opinion of the crowd. Are they swayed?

Deianyra is lured in from the north by the aroma of baked goods.

Alinor's face is calm, some might even say 'inscrutable,' as those around her erupt into cheers at the one-eyed Mongrel's impassioned words. Her chin tilts up to look at him where he stands atop the abandoned booth, and a ghost of a grin touches her mouth.

Deianyra slips in from the north, weaving into the gathered crowds, wings tucked back carefully.

Kallista remains in the shadows, waiting to hear if any more of import is said before she runs home to report the events to her mother.

Hard work. The echo of Dremmond's words from their earlier meeting pulls yet another laugh from Fern as she rises. Oh yes, most around her get caught up in the cheers as well, but this particular mongrel woman merely shoots a grin and another wink toward the speech-giving man atop the booth before turning to slip through the crowd.

And as he speaks of the new name to the new land, many of the Mongrels among the crowd erupt into cheers. Many remain dubious though -- especially pure-breeds that are about their daily business. The gate-guards at the Delphic Citadel look on, possibly wondering if an Incident will occur. Dremmond, for his part, holds up his hands to speak over the crowds. "Those of you that wish to come, we will assemble a camp outside of town and begin preparations to travel to the new country. To our country. Together, we will march forward into history!" And with that, he jumps down off of the old merchant's stand, landing amidst the group of mongrels that had wandered close to it.

While the majority of the mongrels of the crowd cheer, it is not a decisive vote. There are a number of naraki who look decidedly nervous, their masters there at hand. There are also many scowls as well as smiling faces, as many of the purebreed races do not like what they hear. And for one brief moment, Empyreans and Varati are united ... in displeasure.

Fern travels along North, toward the Fairway.

Alinor's boots stir up dust beneath her feet as she slips toward Dremmond. Edging artfully around a trio of excitedly-talking individuals of her own race, she stops nearby the eyepatch-wearing man and waits, bouncing a couple of times on the balls of her feet.

The Varati lingers for a little while longer, his feet trailing through the crowds as he assesses the audience, tallying up in his mind the reactions and opinions ... and the demographics. Ranjeet dallies at a stall here, a trinket-booth there, but his attention is more upon the beings around him rather than the wares before him.

Deianyra pauses in mid-stride as she hears the fervor of cheering from some parts of the crowd, and the mutters of some pure-breeds near her. One in particular, an Empyrean, turns to her and nudges her arm. "Stupid... mongrels...is... not... sure." Anyone nearby can hear him murmur.

Deianyra turns a look of sweet venom on him and steps away. "Not everyone shares your opinion, Dominus," she mutters, turning attention towards the vacated platform... rather sorry she missed it all.

Lailah reaches the crowds in time to hear the last part of the speech, before the cheers erupt around her. Blinking a few times at those gathered in the place, the small mongrel chews her under lip in thought, but stays silent.

He saw her during his speech, but naturally he was in no position to say anything at the time. Dremmond looks to the tall Mongrel woman that approaches him and nods. The cyclopic man just stands silent for a few moments. As if he is trying to prepare what he wants to say... or at least, what he feels he should say. In the end, he cannot decide exactly what that should be, and so he says, "Alinor... hello..."

Alinor snaps out a hand before Dremmond is even finished speaking. Fingers curling into his shirt and vest, she hauls him toward her and leans forward to crush her mouth against his in a sudden fierce and heated kiss. It only lasts for a split-second before she's pushing him backward with the hand that holds him and rocketing her other caesta-covered fist toward his chin.

Well, to be fair... the heated kiss catches him off guard. Dremmond's good eye opens wide and bulges as the tall woman kisses him. As he's pushed back, his eye immediately find the fist hurtling at him. He should move... but in the split-second it takes for his brain to inwardly groan, 'oh shit,' it doesn't leave him enough time, and the blow connects on his jaw and sends him reeling back. His balance is lost and he falls to his rear. Looking up to the woman, he wipes some blood from the corner of his mouth and says, "It's nice to see you as well, Alinor." Of course, when the stinging stops and if his jaw is not broken, he'll be very proud of her. She threw that punch exactly like he taught her.

FIN  

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