Rynvale Amphitheater

Not all remnants of Archomsia's tyranny in Rynvale were destroyed. Where there was once screams and death, there now is laughter and life. The imposing arena where gladiators battled until their last breath of life has been retrofitted into a majestic amphitheater where actors entertain both the wealthy and impoverished. Funded entirely from the coffers of the restored government of Rynvale, all are welcome to experience the rich cultural gifts the various societies of Hollow have to offer. Taking seat in the interior of the vast oval structure, your eyes take in the exquisite environment. Grand tapestries along the walls hang overhead while laurels and wreaths of beautiful flowers have replaced the macabre decorations that once stood when blood flowed freely in the arena below. Your senses are pleased and pampered from the spectacular sights and sounds of everything from High Elven operas to Lycan tribal dances. Truly, this amphitheater stands as a testament that the life can never truly be extinguished.

Brennia waits a little longer for the rain to let up and motions for the few bard’s guild members that are with her to wrap the saxophone back up and to start making their way to the docks. Promising she will be along shortly for she has a more private, or sensitive, matter to attend to. Opting to keep her cloak on over her bended wings in such a way someone might not even notice she’s Avian if it isn’t for the tattoos lining her dark hairline, elongated pointy pierced ears, and her six two height; oh yeah… and that favorite scent to anyone with keen senses emitting from her. Seems a lot of strangers are requesting her help these days, keeping in mind to steady a hand on one of her tucked away obsidian Sai daggers, hidden quite well in the strapped hilt at the heart of her cloaked wings. Her free hand looks down at something palm sized which makes her smirk down at the golden pendant once more before tucking it down in her long sleeved silky white shirt for safe keeping.

Ranok particularly enjoyed the rain. It came from his heritage, really, though this fact was not often shared. Today, there was no time to enjoy the waning rain, as much he might have. Business to attend to, like so many other times. The smith was a slowly approaching figure in the general mist, recognizable simply by the fact that he wasn't scurrying around under eaves or trying to stay dry as much as possible. Instead, he trundled towards the theater as if he owned the place. And, if you asked him, he did. In a roundabout ways. However, that was neither here nor there. As Alvina was a departing figure, barely recognized if not for a telltale glint of golden on the hand. Head tilts back slightly, but she's far gone before he can relay a greeting. For the best, as he was there. Brennia was unrecognized, given how she was swarthed and his unfamiliarity with the headmistress. The reverse might also be true, but she held an advantage. Ranok held some measure of reputation in Rynvale. Most often called 'the bastard', he held a mixed relationship with the eyes of the public. Despite how he'd defended the city, his taciturn nature and harsh handed policies when he held some power before relinquishing it did him no favors. As well, he was not exactly a friend of the criminal elements of the world. But, still, this was his city. He brushes past Brennia, the rain stifling any scent she might be emanating in the overpowering release of moist earth and the smell of the sea that was ever present. Into the amphitheater he goes when he pauses. There was naught there but the rain and the person he'd brushed past, leading to an obvious conclusion. Booted heel gives a crisp sound as he turns upon it, facing the avian, "Brennia, I assume?"

Brennia stands under the overhang of the stage area still out of the rain as she sees a man walk into view of the outdoor oval shaped Amphitheater. Liberty blue hues set on the man wondering if this was the one who asked her here to meet, but just won't go asking strangers ‘hey? Am I secretly meeting you here?’ She also doesn’t have the authority to go asking people to leave, so soft leather booted feet saunter across the stage as if she were prospecting the area for a future performance, before the man finally addresses her. Offering a kind smile up at him which exposes perfect pearly whites and pokes a dimple in one of her caramel complexioned cheeks, “You assume correctly. Merry meet, and you are?” She won't be doing any assuming as her free hand waits for any gesture on his end to shake hands and whatnot. A subtle vibrating sound emanates from the hidden pendant which she pointedly ignores for now.

Ranok makes no move to offer his hand. Part of the whole taciturn nature and all that. "I am Ranok." He does, however, move his left hand to the brim of his hat, tugging it slightly. Metal digits slough the rain off like nothing, leaving a dull metal gleam in the day's gloom. But, at least, he was making an effort at doing the whole 'being diplomatic' thing. He walks, booted feet echoing off stone and wood, the soft patter of rain mingled gently, "I am what you might call the guardian of the island. Of sorts. A great amount of history that is, frankly, unnecessary at the moment. I am pleased you made it." Graveled voice echos, too, the acoustics of area tuned to seize and throw even the most quiet of voices into booming larger then life. The smith's graveled tones, deep and base, were more then both. "I do hope the trip was not overly difficult. But, to business." Arms lower, and the man sinks a hand into a pocket, thumb hooked over. His duster swung freely, the only accomodation to the swelling heat of Rynvale's enroaching spring, and in turn its summer. "I have an unusual problem. I'd hoped for your predecessor, as we'd worked together before, but you have obvious skill to have gotten to where you are." An ear twitches at the vibrations of her pendant. They were sensitive to such things, even tucked beneath the hat and hidden at sight. Perhaps she'd catch a glance of gray eyes to roughly where she kept the thing hidden, but he wasn't prying.

Brennia doesn’t mind that either, his hands look like they might be callous and spotting the metal arm she deems it’s probably best. She gives only on bow of her head in response to his pleased nature of her arrival and a subtle shrug when he mentions the long journey to Rynvale being difficult, proving she doesn’t care either way. “Not at all, it’s nice here in most parts… Sort of reminds me of home.” Gently mentioning before he went on and she knows of whom he mentions, “we continue to collaborate from time to time.” Her posture and tone is very diplomatic, indeed, for it was just her upbringing and old habits die hard. The pendant vibrates as a reminder of an unchecked mention and she swiftly pulls it out under the protection of her cloak to reveal the large golden pendant and sidestep away, “excuse me a moment.” Surprisingly able to mask a smirk at the message before she caresses a reply over the surface of a mirror and stows the item back away. “Apologies mister Ranok,” she steps back over and tucks some silky cascading black hair behind a pointed ear, “how may I be of assistance to you today?” Glossing over his compliment of sorts.

Ranok looks skywards a moment, tipping the brim of his hat back to do so. Gray clouds overhead grumble and toil, "Most wouldn't call this weather nice. But I have to agree. You should see it when the sun is shining." There seems to be unawareness of any familiarity with the isle she might have. "Home enough, anyways." He mutters to himself, but he moves on, "She has lost or forfeit her title, and she is not the...hardy sort. Eilyo is a skilled musician to be sure, but she wilted a bit when she was away from a parlor. She tried, but I'm hoping you could..." An eyebrow is raised as Brennia was stepping away to tend to her pendant. An impatient sort of expression darts across his worn features, but it was fleeting as the mask slides back into place. He could deal with three hours of arguements over the price of a shipment of crabs. Dealing with minor delays was nothing. After all, it wasn't like the world was in danger or anything. Still, he was curious, "Avian technology, I presume?" The design seemed familiar somewhat, from what he could see. Less a question and more a statement. Avian technology in all its shapes and sizes, whether the far superior lost technologies and techniques to the more modern day. The former was hard to find and enigmatic, the latter a much more mundane norm. How much those sharp eyes caught depended on how fast she moved away. But that was neiher here nor there, "I have a request of you. I have brought Alvina into the task, but I feel it a task that many people might wish to try."

Brennia was purely talking of the actual island and not the weather. “Weather was pleasant for a spot yesterday, I was able to enjoy it,” was all she mentioned and even though her shape is well hidden at the moment, few would be disappointed to miss that. Brennia declined making any remarks of a woman she holds with utmost respect and only continues her neutral expression to him. All she offered to his inquiry of her pendant was, “of sorts… Technically, yes.” If he saw anything on the pendant it would just be the mirror within and the intricate clockwork runes on the opposite side of it, work of Mister Vi, a tinker mage. Large liberty blue hues rest on the lines of Ranok’s face as she wasn’t willing to waste anymore of his time, “let’s have the task then.”

Ranok included the weather in the general beingness of the island. What use was liking the land if the weather was not to taste? They went hand in hand, at least in his book. Hand draws out a cigar, sticking it into his mouth. The hat protected it from getting rain upon it. Just one more reason why every man ought to have one, "Technically?" An urge to examine it rose up within, but there was a sensing that the offer was to be declined. That and there really was business to be done, "Right." A finger is raised to the cigar, and it lights. An puff or two, and he begins, "I am a collector of avian remnants. Of sorts. It is difficult to be so, for a number of reasons. Difficulty in recovery, rarity, and then the premier floating graverobbing...sorry, archeology site, went and floated off. But, I've managed to procure a few little interesting numbers. Among which, this." As cigar smoke floats, immediately batted down by the falling rain and stifling its own sharp, sweet scent much in the ways it carelessly knocked aside Brennia’s, Ranok reaches and draws aside his duster. Left hand delves within and pulls out a circle of fine crystal work. Or, circles. There were three. A central band of clear glass, crystal, or perhaps even diamond, was flawless, rounded, and sparkled even in the dim light. Beside each was a fine band of gold, mingled with fine bumps that were in actuality ancient script. Indechipherable to nearly all, given how the language was dead and gone longer then any were alive, dragons included. "This is...well, I am not entirely sure. What I do know is that it produces harmonics." Transferring it to dangle on his right index finger, cigar clamped into his mouth, he brings up his left to rear back its own metal digit. A gritted mouth, a determined expression, and a solid tap. The thing hums in his hand, overpowering the sound of the rain. But the hum was not pure. It was piercing, off kilter, and discordant. To Ranok's sensitive ears it was like an icepick, hence his expression. Brennia's bardicly tuned ears might suffer a similiar fate, if only at how wrong it was.

Brennia nodded once at his further questioning of her dear pendant. She doesn’t mind cigar smoke as it only reminds her of poker night between the staff up at her college and a pursing of her lips when she found she wanted one too now… In due time. When he apologies of the other township floating down she gives no regard on it for she also doesn't care. She has no kin on his land and everyone she knows from her homeland is well… There. Brennia’s scent she gives off is purely an avian trait and she actually has no idea it has an effect if any on those around her, also not caring, but it would explain some of her natural allure. Gaze following his movements before he procures the items he needs assistance with and a soft smile spreads across plump shapely lips. Avians have great hearing, I mean you don't have ears like -that- and not, but other than this she is attuned to notes and frequencies. A soft scowl is only given from her as she is able to keep herself quite composed under such circumstances, but her eyes steady on the bumps, “You ever consider that this is placed within a contraption of sorts to play it. You need the right tool to strike it just right for it to give off the sounds it was made for.” She dared not take the item from this stranger, but only held out a tattooed hand; seems she’s covered in ink, “may I?”

Ranok wasn't smoking tobacco. Too much of his smoke might have a few peculiar effects. Hopefully Brennia didn't get all that close. The man's head flicks and he barely resists the urge to tear off his hat and scrub at his ears. The damnable things were a nuisance at times, to be sure. But the demonstration done, the thing need not be touched again. Hopefully. Dealing with the effects of the ringing leaves Ranok with a more taciturn expression then usual, counterpointing Brennia's smile and lush lips. "It might be. It is certainly connected to something. But what is unknown. The bracelets were...acquired in haste. There were no other components. Just a few. Eilyo has one, in actuality. Alvina has the other. This is the third. I feel that they are out of tune. Each one produces similar effects but each is different. The issue is that I lack the musical ear to properly find what they need." Finger extends and lays the crystalline thing upon her inked hand. "Do be careful with it."

Brennia gently takes the artifact and her left hand finally leaves the handle on her Sai dagger while one of her fingertips only touches the bumps around the circular thing without making it sound out. She was attempting to read it like braille and even if she accidently struck it she was quick to counter it with a gentle hum which seemed to mute it for now. “It was acquired in haste? Do you care to share with me where?” She was looking for descriptions as she softly muses out, “I had many of these back home… It was a sphere though, made of gold and you put it in this box of sorts. It rotated on it naturally with all of the curves, divots and dots to play music. A recorded tune… or message.” She brings it close to her face as her satin sounding native tongue slips, “Joueur sphère.” Large blue eyes set back on him past the item before her, “Since others have those, do you mind if I study this one?” She goes to hand it back if that ends up being a no.

Ranok gives Brennia a leveled stare. Asking the man's secrets was a great way to earn one. It was not a full forced glower, the sort that could strip paint and make the lesser willed cower. But it was intense nonetheless. But the moment breaks, "Well. If I am to have you assist me." Chin raises slightly, hooding eyes from view a moment. Brennia was tall, to be sure, but the man reached at least seven feets. Those boots didn't hurt, either. "I was on the island before it changed. I was trapped in a sphere. Eilyo came up to help me with the assistance of a dragon by the name of Rayala. A crisis after forshortened any attempts at scouring more. But that is where it was found." A fingertip extends, his left, to denote the writing, "That script is not a musical sheet. I recognize some of the markings from other sources." His hand was entirely prosthetic, joints overlapping and palm covered in a thin skin of something dull and reflective. "The reason why I believe them to need tuning rather then being but a toy is there being three of them, and their placement. The trap that caught me was not to be in a nursery. Call our understanding of Ancient Avian culture poor, but toys are not built to last for tens of thousands of years, nor are they placed with things that can kill even me." The hand falls away, "You may keep it. I would like you to coordinate with Alvina when you can. But I surmise that it needs...something. Natural. Subjecting it to modern tuning methods and purely produced notes of sounds gave a response. It was still discordant, but a result. This faded soon. There may be some...eidetic component. Some of their tech is more in depth then it appears. And the Avians were formerly able to make artificial life in the homoculi. This is why I needed someone more...rustic. You would be going out to seek these...well, let's call them Pure Notes. I have a few theories on where they might be found. As well, I've secured a few protective contacts in the Warrior's Guild. I might able to assist myself."

Brennia only softly smiles in return of his stare and in duration of his long winded speech. “I see… Just because it reminds me of something from home doesn’t mean that’s what it is. Only making observations.” A tilt of her head when she went back looking over the instrument in her hands, “interesting... “ Her responses a bit dull to him as she replies here or there, “will do,” to his suggestion to work with Alvina. Her grin widened when he called her rustic, with the quirk of a dark brow, “are you calling me old, Ranok?” Her tone and smirk would be evident she was merely teasing and doesn’t care if someone calls her such being nearly a hundred. Her eyes would go back to the item with the tucking of her plump bottom lip between perfect and white teeth, “I’ll send my owl if I find anything, sir Ranok. I must catch the boat back to mainland now. Merry part until we merry meet again.” Placing fist over heart she gives a short bow, waiting any other instructions and departing on foot towards the docks.

Ranok still looks a little less then enthused about all this. But there had to be certain measures of trust. "Do not lose it. Or sell it. And should you have your..." A glance at the pendant, or its location. A few assumptions, mostly on the smile she'd held when she gazed at the piece, "...pet tinker mage look at it, do not take it apart. Might be best to have him keep his hands off. I will check in periodically with any information or developments." Lacking any other way to take out his frustrations, the cigar's butt is chewed between teeth. Still, he steps back, "Until we meet again."

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RP:Avian Artifacts

Rynvale Amphitheater