pretty // S H I N Y // things. }{ {open.}

[pikky]

Tamasha Village, in all of its bustling glory. Oh, what tales have begun in this place. People of all races drifted to and from this... perhaps not a nerve centre of Valear, but certainly an important place. The Commerce Capital; in the cobbled streets, people traded, shouting out their wares—street urchins dodged and ran amuck around and about the creaky stalls, horses clattered to and fro, along with an all manner of creatures. Pubs were open all over the place, ale already pouring, even so early in the day; and, let’s face it, the streets were messy. Crowded and messy. Some wooden blinds banged open on a top floor and a woman with hair in a messy bun and a stained apron on shouted out a warning only seconds before emptying a slop bucket all over the streets.

In between the stalls—so small it was hard to tell, so quick it was hard to see—a tiny creature was rushing about. Papery wings beating quickly in the air, feet skimming just above the ground, the pixie shot through the streets until he arrived at the end of an alley, where he dropped a pile of cheap jewellery that had been for sale at the stall belonging to a rather unfortunate peasant. Like a magpie, Pikky collected shiny things with a demented relentlessness; once he arrived at a small gap in a wall (the stone of the first layer had fallen out), he stored his armload in there, fluttering back out of the wall in delight. How... insane.

Standing at a whomping five and a half inches, Pikky wasn’t the most intimidating of creatues, but he had always been a slightly... scary fellow. He had a permanent scowl on his freckled face, and very sharp teeth. So sharp that they could probably leave a mark that lasted for... oh, my, perhaps two whole days! He also liked to scratch, and fly into people with no effect. Deary me. He was an evil little critter, but when in the presence of something shiny (or milk), he turned into something resembling the cross between a shark on the hunt and a three-year-old on a sugar high. Do-gooders would certainly try to stop his theft, but what did he care? Pixies were meant to be nature’s tricksters, right?

Still. If anyone touched his little treasure trove, he would rip their arms off (or try to, anyway).

He flitted out of the alleyway to find some more shiny things; he spotted some iron nuts and bolts, glistening on the back of a cart, and instantly he was down there, making sharp corners, darting in between the busy population of the town, until he found a pretty-coloured stone—it happened to be tied to a woman’s wrist (that’s called a bracelet, Pikky), but that didn’t matter; he bit it off quickly, and was gone—the woman bent down to look at the floor, wondering where her bracelet had fallen. Heh. Hehe. Heee. Pikky’s a little demented about shinies.

Finally, he arrived back at his alleyway; if there was an intruder... there would be big trouble. Well, perhaps more accurately, little trouble. Tiny trouble. But that could be just as bad, right?

{open.}

[Silvarn]

"You dare to insinuate the price of powdered adamant is higher than that which I gave?" the irate grey-robed man growled.

"Aye. By a good amount, to boot. Why, it should be at least twice the price you're asking!" the smithy retorted.

"Do you know who I am?" the grey-robed man snarled, venom in his voice.

"No. And frankly, I don't care." the smithy folded his arms in defiance.

"Bah! You will learn to one day fear the name of Grey-Eyes. One day, it will be you asking me for over-priced adamant. Why? Because, that day is now!"

The smithy scoffed at the grey-robed man, then froze, panic opening his eyes wide. He tried to speak, or inhale perhaps, then clutched at his temples. "No! No! Not that! I'll give you the adamant for your asking price! Just get this thing out of my head!"

"Gladly." the grey-robed man made a retracting motion with a hand and the man's agony ceased. He tersely tossed a satchel of coin to the smithy. "Exactly enough. My adamant, if you will."

"Don't ever come back here, stranger." the smithy threatened, sliding a glass cube filled with dull blue-green dust to the grey-robed man. "I never want to see your dead, grey eyes ever again."

"A pleasure doing business with you." the grey one replied, taking the cube and stashing it into a pocket located in his sleeves. He turned and marched out of the smith's shop and out into the bright, sunny atmosphere of the marketplace.

A thing, am I? a voice whined from within the grey one's cranium. I will show him how wrong he is. I will show him the powers of a Malfean Demon!

"A Demon of the the First Circle, if I am correct. There are three, the First being the weakest, correct?" the grey one asked an apple.

You certainly have a way of crushing hopes and dreams, huh, Grey-Eyes? I like it. Maybe that is why I have tolerated you all these years. the demon sneered.

"Enough of the emotions, Scorcahr. I need to see if there's anyone of interest around here." Grey-Eyes ordered.

Oh, yes, yes of course, Your Imperial High Majestic Pompous...

"That will do."

Let us see...farmer, quaker, baker, candlestick maker, gossip hens, theif, assassin, spy, noble, pixie, guard, vendor...

"What was that?" Grey-Eyes stopped in the middle of the busy street.

Why are you taking interest in a vendor? He is only selling...concubines! My apologies. I thought your tastes were still unrefined.

"No, no. You said something about a pixie? One of the Fair Folk?"

Oh, right. It is down the alley. But what would you want with a pixie, Silvarn? It is much too small to...

"Enough, Scorcahr." Silvarn silenced the demon. He bodily pushed his way through the throng and stood at the entrance of the alley, his iconic ancient grey eyes scanning the dark, making sure to leave nothing sacred.

[pikky]

Pikky was quite unaware of the drama taking place in the blacksmith’s... then again, Pikky always remained quite unaware of most things when in the presence of anything shiny. Pausing to snatch a button off of someone’s ragged shirt, he nipped through a window, passing through an empty kitchen before leaving through the open back door, on the steps of which a young woman was scrubbing at a large cooking pan. With a burst of speed from his wings, he shot over her head, flying out and over another home until landing on the top of a thatched roof, next to ‘his’ alleyway. His small, sparkling eyes scanned the area—pixies always did have sharp eyes.

Pixies were also very territorial. Of course, they usually came in entire clans; if a pixie set up a hive within somebody’s home, it was worth a lot of money to get them out... though, like all mythical creatures, pixies do have their weaknesses. Pikky, like most of his kin, had an allergy to all things silver; touching it burned his skin like acid, and if any got into his blood, he would certainly die. That is why almost every piece of jewellery he stole was worthless. There wasn’t much gold around here; but plenty of silver. Silver that he couldn’t touch.

Tilting his head, pointed ears alert, he took off once more; his off-white wings were a blur in the air, somehow attached to his shoulder-blades, seeming papery and light. With his green-tinged skin and dark hair that seemed to stand on end on top of his head, it’s hard to imagine how someone could miss the little fellow; but pixies were quick. They could dart and shoot through tiny gaps, leaving nothing but small shadows, leaving people wondering whether they had even seen correctly or not. The minimal amount of magic that they possessed was not good for much; a shot of sparks here and there to move an object a couple of feet, perhaps the ability to make something catch fire—but nothing major.

Ah, the ‘Fair Folk’. Whoever came up with that name was possibly having a joke, or a seizure. Pixies were nasty little things; terrors, in fact. People reasoned that they couldn’t do much damage at their size, but plenty of farmers, shop vendors and other miscellaneous, unfortunate people beg to differ. The pint-sized man suddenly dropped from the sky, bracelet and button held with both hands, but easily; pixies, as most know, could carry things several times their own body weight. About four pixies could lift an average-sized man. But this pixie was alone. Anyway, that was when Pikky noticed the Grey Big. His territorial brain took over, and he instantly dropped the bracelet and button to the floor, letting them roll where they would.

The Big was looking in to the alley, but didn’t appear to be quite inside, yet. Oh well, he was close enough to be a ‘threat’ to his stash. Pikky flew forwards at an incredibly fast speed, hovering in front of the Big’s face for a moment, before flitting around his head an downwards, coming forwards again through his legs and glaring at him from as many angles as possible. “What do you want in my alleyway, Big?” he snapped, in his teeny little voice that wasn’t exactly menacing. Most people found Pikky quite amusing, actually. He could, however, cause pain when he wanted to.

Oh, and by the way, what he means by ‘his’ alleyway is that he has claimed it as his own, nothing official. He made sure to keep flitting from place to place around the Grey Big, like an irritating wasp.

[Silvarn]

Silvarn was confused, deciding whether to be amused or annoyed. Or, possibly, both. He tried to keep his sight on the flitting fiend, but the diminutive creature could only be caught in the corner of his eye.

How touching. I think he likes you. Scorcahr sneered.

"Be quiet, Scorcahr. If I want your opinion, I shall ask for it!" the planeswalker commanded. He paused to swat at the pixie to make it cease its irritating dance throught the air, but his open palm only connected with a stone wall. Silvarn flexed his hand in response, making sure nothing was broken.

Though his hand was fine, his pride was damaged slightly, and augmented by Scorcahr's cackles.

Hee, hee! He certainly got you good! the demon cheeked.

Silvarn ground his teeth together. "Make the stupid thing stop moving, Scorcahr."

Oh, no, no, no, O master! I may be a Malfean Demon, the most feared creature in Creation, but even I will not dare tread the minds of one of the Fair Folk. They frighten even us. Scorcahr whined.

"That makes sense. Your kind, the First Circle demons, are the spawn of the spawn of the souls of the Primordials, the archenemies of the Fair Folk. Frankly, Scorcahr, I do not blame you." the grey sorcerer rambled. "In that case, we may need to switch tactics."

Silvarn smiled at the pixie, rather tried to, and said, "Hello. My name is Silvarn. I am here because I simply wanted to say hello, be friendly, and whatnot. Is this really your alleyway? My, it certainly is nice." he smiled presently, all the while deciding which of his spells would be most appropriate for nixing a nix's cousin.

[pikky]

Amusement and irritation were both things that Pikky unintentionally spread to the people around him. I daresay that it isn’t exactly his fault, as he doesn’t set out to cause either, but he’s not the easiest of souls to get along with. Pikky tilted his head as Silvarn spoke to—was he talking to him? Perhaps ‘Scorcahr’ was an insult in his native language, or something. Nevertheless, Pikky made sure to dart out of the way when Silvarn went to catch him. Tricky little creatures, pixies, and Pikky continued to dart all around Silvarn; his head especially. Nothing is more annoying than having something annoying and buzzing flying around your head.

Silvarn’s accidental wall-hit made Pikky give a tiny, derisive laugh of glee, and he shot around Silvarn still faster, until he came to a hovering stop, a short distance above his head, though he continue to flit back and forth, like a wasp, never quite still. The grey man appeared to be talking to himself, and Pikky tilted his head ever so slightly to the side as he spoke of First Circle demons. “Demons?” Pikky snapped in his small—but extremely loud—voice. Yes, it does make sense, sort of. He put his hands on his hips as he hovered, his toes curling slightly.

There was a pause after Silvarn’s attempt at friendliness. Considering that the man had been attempting to swat Pikky into a mark on the wall a few moments ago, he was doing a good job. But, though stupid, Pikky wasn’t exactly that unintelligent. He scowled at the robed figure. “Do you want something, are you goin’ to spew more nonsense?” Pikky demanded, flitting around to fly behind Silvarn. His small eyes were narrowed, his green-tinged skin beginning to flush darker. “You bigfolk are all the same,” he growled scathingly. Tut, tut. Want a pixie on your side? Why, they’re one of the most fickle creatures on this earth—bribery with milk or something that shines is enough to have one in your servitude.

Until, of course, someone else offers something even more shiny. Pixies did not know the meaning of the word ‘loyalty’.

[Brophy]

"Thanks once again for all your help" Brophy shouted behind him.

To his pleasure had just left the home of a fairly renowned mapmaker with a guide in hand to the location of a waterfall just outside of town. Local legend has it that this waterfall is home to a water elemental of imense power that might even be one of the Great Spirits in physical form.

Going about his buisness in the early morning sun Brophy looked down an alley just as a strange man slapped the wall. The grey robed man almost looked to be ranting madly from a distance, just sitting there muttering to himself and waving his hands in the air.

"It takes all sorts." He whispered under his breath. "Hey friend you need any help?" he shouted to the odd individual.

He set his war-club Zantiki at the entrance as he ducked his antlered head under the archway of the alley. Raising his hands in a non-threatening manner he repeated, "Everything ok?"

[Silvarn]

Silvarn's snapped with lightning quickness to the source of the intruder's voice. Had he been native to this realm, perhaps he would have been shocked to see an enormous hermit in the middle of a metropolis, especially one with antlers. But he had seen stranger. Things that not even remotely resemble humans, in both form and intelligence.

Speaking of demons... Scorcahr hissed, No, I lied. He is no demon. Though, he certainly does remind me of my brother Mantarahr. Though his antlers were magnificent. At least, they were, until I ripped them off and sodo--

"No more!" Silvarn growled. "If I have told you once, I have told you a thousand times: keep your twisted family history to yourself!" His face changed from greatly annoying to feigned politeness as he addressed the newcomer, "No, everything is fine, friend."

At this point, the pixie flitted in between the two, causing Silvarn's left eye to twitch involuntarily. As soon as it appeared, the imp darted away. "I apologize, for I lied to you. There is only a small problem here, but nothing I cannot ignore. Or squash underfoot."

O master...I think there is something you should know about our mutual friend the Fair One. Scorcahr whined.

"What?" Silvarn dreaded the answer.

The Fair Folk may scare the living Blue Blazes out of me, but that does not mean I do not know anything about them. I do know they cannot bear the touch of cold iron. Perhaps if we were to strike the cretin...

"There is no reason to be cruel, Scorcahr. It cannot entirely control its actions. To be an annoyance is in its nature."

Silvarn's eyes snapped back into focus on the antler-bearing intruder. "You can deal with this." he brushed past the hermit, melding into the throng.

[Brophy]

"Hmph, some people." Brophy muttered under his breath as the stranger left the alley.

"Well then errr little one, I'll be on my way try not to get caught in any butterfly nets now." With that he turned and began to make his way out of the alley. Grabbing Zantiki he hefted it over his shoulder and made his way into the city street. The glowing green stone that lay clutched in Zantiki's fist of roots radiated in the shadows of the alley.

[pikky]

Oh, great, another one of the bigfolk? Pikky spun to glare at the second intruder for a moment, before fluttering upwards to allow the two to talk, his arms crossed, the unearthly scowl still on his face. There is only a small problem here, but nothing I cannot ignore. Or squash underfoot. Bleh! What an evil thing to say! At least, to Pikky’s ears. But he would just like to see Silvarn try to squash him underfoot. He would probably find it rather difficult—unless, of course, Pikky was tied down with something nigh unbreakable or something of the sort.

Pikky swung himself around to flutter behind Silvarn as he made his exit, telling the Second Big that he could ‘deal with it’. “Yes, you run away, mangy bigfolk!” he hooted, fluttering up and down for a moment as the Grey one was suddenly lost amongst the crowd. He glanced down at Brophy for a moment, still glaring, and flitted slightly closer. Don’t get caught in any butterfly nets, now. Pikky growled at him.

“I am not a butterfly!” he snarled, shooting downwards, aiming his feet to bounce off of the stranger’s head, and then—whether he made contact or not—shooting around Brophy in a brief semi-circle, glaring at the irritating bigfolk. He could always count on the Big Ones to irritate him. That was when he spotted the lovely, glowing, green stone; it’s radiant light attracting Pikky like a moth to a light. Throwing caution to the wind, he circled closer to the stone, not really thinking about the fact that it would be pretty impossible to steal it. Pixies don’t think about things like that.

[Silvarn]

Silvarn halted in mid-stride. Of all the immunities he had built up over the countless years, his pride was still very vulnerable. Even Scorcahr made a distinct gulping noise in Silvarn's skull, followed by whimpering.

"Suck it up, Scorcahr." Silvarn growled from behind clinched teeth. He turned on the spot, his ancient grey eyes suddenly alight with terrible wrath. "No one ever commands me! My will is my own!" Lightning crackled and leapt between Silvarn's long fingers, reflecting the myriad colors of the sunset.

Leave it be, Silvarn. It is not worth it. No, really, the power taken to attack the imp with Twilight magic is far more than what you will receive in return after consuming it. Scorcahr pointed out.

"I suppose you are right, Scorcahr. At least, in this instance." He forced the magic back into his body, shuddering as he did so. He straightened his robes as a straightened his composure. "It would be wise of you, little one," Silvarn warned, "to not insult me again. I might not be able to restrain myself next time.

"And as for you," his overwhelming focus centered on the antlered one, "I would be careful around that thing. He seems to have taken a keen interest in your staff...rod...branch...green, glowing, thing..." Silvarn's calculating mind became active, drawing upon the knowledge of centuries. This particular artifact was unique. He had seen staves attuned to the wood element, but this one actually grew with its wielder, as this one was not yet a full staff. "Very interesting," Silvarn breathed, barely audible, "Yes, take good care of it." he suggested in a mildly louder tone. With that, he turned in a flurry of grey robes and slipped into the throng.

"Scorcahr, if you would be so kind." he addressed the demon.

Far ahead of you, O Master. I have taken control over a weak-minded urchin. I doubt they will even notice him. I, for one, almost did not. Though, Scorcahr's tone changed to a grating whine, I shall have to take a long, hard rest after this. The boy is putting up a fight.

"Or, you could just admit you are not as powerful as you profess yourself to be." Silvarn offered.

I beg your pardon? the demon nearly screeched with indignation, I am a Demon of Malfeas! If you do not believe in my power, then fetch me a concubine and I shall prove my mettle! Why, I shall...

"Oh, spare me before I have to hurt you."

And what could you possibly do to hurt me?

"Perhaps, the ponies?"

I'm sorry. It will never happen again! I swear! Just, anything but those damned cutesy little ponies!

[Brophy]

Shaking his antler menacingly at the disturbing bug like man, Brophy tried stepping away only to notice that the pixie had taken an interest in the glowing stone held by Zantiki.

Really?! Is this guy serious?

"Hey now thats about enough of that." Brophy said more annoyed than upset, who did this pixie think he was trying to steal other people's possessions? With that Brophy squared his feet and made a gentle pushing motion towards the small man, sending a breeze at him to send him off course of Zantiki.

"Sorry for the net comment, if you like maybe I could grab you a bite to eat. Theres an inn I'm staying at up the hill called "The House of the Setting Sun" so if you'd be willing to let me be on my way after that and continue to gather supplies for my trip I've got no problem splitting a meal and some ale with yah."

After all how much could a little fella eat...

[pikky]

Pikky bobbed happily in the air as his comment seemed to affect Silvarn somewhat. Malicious little creature, he is. The magic crackling on his fingertips did garner some interest, but not the right kind. He wasn’t exactly running away screaming. Instead, he tilted his head, as if hypnotized by the pretty lights. Ughh. Pixies. As the magic finally dimmed away, Pikky looked slightly disappointed for a moment and then hovered a little higher, listening to Silvarn’s little warning. “Ooh, aye?” Luckily (for Pikky, I’d expect) he could think of very little else to say.

Pointing his toes, he whisked himself around so that he was floating above the air in between Silvarn and Brophy, listening to their little exchange of words. His eyes had now shot back from the ‘pretty lights’ to the green glow on the end of Brophy’s staff. The staff-rod-branch-green-glowing-thing? What an odd name. Pikky watched as the Grey Bigfolk vanished again, wondering vaguely if he was going to make yet another reappearance. But that was just another Mystery of Life... and Pikky didn’t really care an awful lot.

Stealing was what pixies did. It was how they survived, though it did get unnecessary to an irritating point. Brophy’s ‘Jedi-powers’ sent Pikky tumbling through the air for a moment, before he beat his wings four times as hard and whisked himself out of the slipstream, a scowl on his face that is probably better left described as ‘vicious’. He propelled himself through the air towards Brophy, hoping to land a pint-sized bite on his hand.

Pikky was unimpressed by Brophy’s offer. “I don’t want your filthy food!” he snapped, shooting in a small ring around Brophy’s head. Truly, Pikky didn’t notice the street urchin—though it would be in his territorial nature to notice if the boy got too close to his little hideaway of stolen shiny things.

[Brophy]

"Uhhh, really?! You bit me! Why on earth would you do that? If you only knew were these hands have been!." Brophy mocked the pixie at his stinging bite. Glancing down he realized the little devil had managed to draw blood."I think that was damned unecasary, for such a small bug you have alot of anger."

"I don’t want your filthy food!”

"Alright just thought I would offer. Maybe you could just find a nice swamp to go off to. It's spring I think the mosquitoes are breeding maybe you could settle down...wife and kids the whole deal really." Brophy said this jokingly and mostly out of wounded pride over the pixie bitting him, slowly but surely this creature would drive him mad. "Look over there. There's a bunch of shiny things why dont you leave me be and go do what you will with those." Brophy pointed at a small gap in the wall, oblivious to the fact that this was indeed Pikky's stash already.

[Silvarn]

Damn. Scorcahr announced as he crashed back into Silvarn conscious.

"What happened?" Silvarn dreaded the answer.

The urchin saw something, rather, a pile of shiny things. Then he saw the pixie. Then it was all over. He started chasing it and I came back.

"Admit it, Scorcahr. You are not nearly as powerful as you tink yourself to be."

Not true. I surprise myself sometimes at my power. I let the boy go out of pity.

"A Malfean Demon showing pity? That will be the day the Yozis, the Neverborn, and the Fair Folk all dance together and not destroy each other. In other, simpler words, never."

From what I gleaned from the druid is he is heading to a nearby inn. House of the Setting Sun, or something. He is currently annoyed with the pixie, so perhaps we can play it toward that distaste. By the way, what sort of devious task are we aiming for?

"That rod of his intrigues me. An artifact that grows in power along with its wielder? Fascinating."

So...by 'examine' you mean 'break into pieces until I understand how the thing ticks then make my own and use it for myself,' correct?

"You know me so well, Scorcahr."

I should. I have spent too long in this cramped cranium to not know what makes you tick.

Silvarn snuck through the crowd, keeping a constant, watchful, calculating eye on the protruding antler.

[Brophy]

Ducking his head under the doorway the shaman Brophy's antler just barely scraped the top of the threshold as he entered The House of the Setting Sun. Sitting at a table in the corner he called over a nearby bar maid.

"Mug of Northrend Amber if you please."

With a smile the cute girl walked away. This was nice Brophy thought to himself. Tomorrow he would finish gathering supplies and then figure out to do about this water elemental business. Hopefully he would be free for the rest of the night from that damned annoying pixie and creepy grey robed man.

As the young waitress came back with his beer Brophy set Zantiki carefully against the table within easy reach and began to survey the crowd.