The Snapa-verse

Musa was as firm set as a stone wall when the girl jumped her for a hug. Her necklace tingled and her earrings swung with the force but she maintained her stance of crossed arms and scrutinious features. Once Avari peeled herself away, she jerked her chin back towards the tent and spoke in a volume that only she would hear. "The setup of the tent took an hour longer than scheduled, a handful of wares were destroyed and had to either be thrown our or sold for a signifcantly less amount, and one of the Eirka nearly escaped after another had started a hunting frenzy. A majority of this could have been avoided if we had the extra pair of hands that we brought on the trip with us." She finished with a clip. Her eyes stared her down for a long while, stormy yet bright. Then Musa blinked and her body visibly relaxed. She reached a hand up to stroke one of her braids. "Where had you even run off to, might I ask?" She hummed curiously.

Uncle Andle finished his mug of beer as Uluru was suddenly downed violently - a targeted hit.

"Well, damage done at least those responsible are put away," Andle sighed, watching with a smile as Boh helped a traveller out. "Regardless welcome to Dol-Duna," He said, turning to the rest of the group present as the crowds of bazaar began to pass by again, the scene with the salamands finished and done. "I don't know if you've ever been but... there's a lot to do. If you need any crystals I'm your man, Iconic Andle... just don't buy into any new gimmicks," Andle paused, as though remember a dark part of his past. "...And don't go to any Nomad tents, from what I heard the Naima clan is in town... they can be... dangerous."

"Yeah... hopfully they can keep the show rollin'." He took the bandage from her and wrapped it around his wound, tucking the end in so it wouldn't fall out. "Thank you, I'm Xaverius Rusten, wanderer and scavanger." He held out his hand to shake with Bohdana.

"Bohdana Yātrī," Boh took his hand with a stiff shake, nodding her head to Andle, "That there's me uncle. If you need any Taqa's he's your man to trade with. Are you a nomad as well, then? Only I noticed you called yourself a wanderer..."

"Yup. Never could get into the whole clan thing, kinda seemed limiting on where I could go. I left my parents when I was 18, and now I'm here at 40, makin' my name where I can." He said, trying to rub the blood off his bandana with his sleeve.

Uluru brushed himself off, glancing over at Dustin. "Thanks for that," he noted wryly. "Might not want to hold onto that for too long...they tend to heat up," he pointed out as the salamand began to shake intensely.

He then turned to Andle, scratching the back of his head. "Dangerous? Why's that. Was hoping to visit some of the Nomad huts myself..."

Andle stared at Uluru, a glint in his eyes. "You have anything sacred? Any... beliefs?"

"Oh wow, that's cool!" Bohdana grinned, "We don't meet so many clanless these days. You travel on your own then? Must be hard. It's only me 'n my uncle but we have friends in all corners of the Sea, so that's something."

"Some, yes," Uluru responded vaguely. "What does that matter?"

Andle nodded and smiled. "The Nomads will change them." There was something sinister in his words.

He glanced over the group and nodded. "Well, glad to be of help," He gave a slight wave before stepping over to his niece.

"Uncle Andle himself," Uncle Andle introduced to the man. "Boh, who's your friend?"

"It can get pretty tough, but I manage. Guess I should be thankfull that my body retains fat so well, don't really need to worry about starvation, and gives me some slight protection, didn't seem too effective on that salamand though." He chuckled. "And I'm Xaverius Rusten, pleasure to meet you!"

It was like Avari was back at home again, receiving another sharp scolding from her grandmother for reasons she couldn't quite lift from her hazy memories. It was hard for her to think while under duress, harder still when she hadn't expected it. Fidgeting with her fingers in front of her, she averted her gaze from Musa as she felt her stiff smile begin to slip. When her body eased, so too did Ava's, like a breath of fresh air after a period of tight suffocation. The tense atmosphere had yet to dissipate however, and it showed in her quivering tone.

"I didn't know that something like this would happen," she muttered, still looking away. "I wanted to surprise you, but. . ." The bag shifted on her shoulder, and rustling inside was a parting gift she had meant to hand her - a small wreath of brightly painted petrified flowers to adorn one of the horns on her bone mask. ". . . maybe this wasn't the best time." Ava paused for a moment, not in thought but in a kind of emotional stasis. She was on the verge of tears, but tried not to let it show. Swallowing with a dry throat, she continued, "I arrived not long ago, I was looking for you at first but everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves so much, I thought I'd have a little fun myself." Her eyes flickered back up to face Musa. "Sorry."

Bohdana grinned at Xaverius, about to reply before her uncle joined them from behind her. Boh looked over her shoulder at Andle, "He's a clanless, like us!" she turned back to Rusten, "From where did you travel to get here? Did you come across the sandsnake eastern migration by any chance? We got word from the north that it came early this year so we did a detour, came up from the south. Took us a few days later to arrive, but we got here in time."

"I came in from the east, did a bit of scavenging then headed into town. Traded a gizmo I found for a roll 'o tape. Had a drink at the bar, got bit by a salamand, and now I'm here." He responded.

Thessir could hear the man talking to him. He could also hear the sounds of general commotion outside. His mind was not with those events at that time. He was enthralled with his work, examining the crystal for flaws. He was also looking at the shape, determining just how exactly the gem should be cut and fit. While useless now the gem held great potential. This was no mere taqa crystal.

Alas it seemed the general chaos outside was not going to let up. Sidling a strap of his bag off one of his shoulders he swung it over and set his tools along with the gem inside. With those packed away he downed what water was left and rose from his seat. He ventured over to the doorway, close enough to see but not close enough to be too exposed to the light.


From what he could see what commotion there had been was resolved. There were many eccentric figured talking including the one he had sort of spoken with at the bar. He listened in on what was being said, following the talking at he stood safely tucked away in the tolerable shade of the indoors. He gave a sigh, annoyed with the sun's habit of taking it's time going down.

"I shouldn't be awake." He spoke mostly to himself in a low mumble. His dark, tired eyes peered into the scene ahead. At this point he was just killing time until the sun left. The night was the real time for him. A time to search for some leads towards the ancient cities he's heard about in his time among the outlanders.

As soon as Sören laid eyes on the small woman he knew she was a religious person. Her clothing, combined simply with the air about her, and the way she spoke to him, made him think of the mystics of his own clan. In the spring they would remove their heavy fur and hide coats and cloaks in favor of lighter clothing, in brighter colors. They would build a great pyre, sacrifice a stag, and dance around, singing and chanting about the gods who sleep all around. Once the pyre died down they would retrieve the antlers of the stag and they would be broken down, and the best piece would be used to craft the handle for the blade which would be used for the next sacrifice.

Sören could almost smell the smoke of the pyre and had to shake his head a bit to clear his mind. Lowering his head a bit he listened to the young woman before him. When she claimed that he was a man of great virtue, he blushed slightly, but thankfully his cloak would hide this from anyone looking his way. It wouldn't do for people to see such a large figure displaying such emotions. Or so he had been raised to believe.

"I do not know if he is here this year, but I know of a metalsmith. He holds a stall near my own space, across the center of the village." As Sören says this, he turns to look in that direction, frowning when he finds that a crowd has formed there. Being so tall he is able to see over most of the heads, and catches a few glimpses of those small red creatures being dispatched in one form or another. The people have gathered around to watch, and within the clearing, which seems to already be dispersing, Sören can see several out of place figures. "It seems those tiny red creatures caused more of a disturbance than I thought them capable of." Turning back to face the woman he says, "In any case, I can lead you to where the metalsmith was last year. Perhaps he can help you."

Before Sören can say anything more, Duneyrr nudges him in the small of the back, beneath the back he carries, making sure to hit his body rather than the spear slung across his back. When Sören turns to look at the white stag, Duneyrr tilts his head, then opens his mouth and sticks out his tongue.

"Very well, we shall hurry along then." Turning back to the woman Sören explains, "Duneyrr is thirsty and would like a drink of water soon. If you would, please follow me."

With that the northman begins to lead his stag towards the gathering of people, hoping that they will be kind enough to part for him and his wagon. It is too big a craft to travel down any of the smaller side streets, and with Duneyrr thirsty he would like to move along without further incident.

Aisha nodded and followed the man, trailing by his side with her shorter strides. She asked, "Duneyrr, that's your animal, right? I'm, uh, not quite familiar with it's, erm, breed. Is it supposed to be your mount?" Judging from the man's size relative to the animal's stature, it didn't look like the sort of creature that could carry him, but, perhaps it had a secret strength to it. She would pause for an answer.

Aisha decided it was probably a good idea to make conversation. "Those creatures, indeed... I, I thought I could appeal to a benevolent side within them, but, I guess... I must be inexperienced, is all there is to it. If all people have a virtuous spirit within them, perhaps there's a possibility that animals carry the same trait. Good sir, do you think animals have souls?"

Aisha would purse her lips for a moment in thought, before deciding to introduce herself; "Oh, by the way, my name is Aisha Abdul'la, an acolyte of the Samariamus clan." She nodded, as if she were agreeing with herself.

Jake followed the Salamand through the Bizarre Bazaar, until, not far away, he came across the large scene of chaos. The Salamand whistled, and pointed at the cages that were now stuffed full of the Salamands again.

"Hmm, yes, I see," Jake said, touching his hat grimly. "I'll ask."

Going up to the smartest-looking person, Jake tapped the robed man on the shoulder. "Excuse me," he said politely, "what would be happening with these here Salamands, if you please?"

"Must've gotten loose from somebody using them for labor," Uluru shrugged at the man in the odd hat that had approached them after the commotion settled. "Bad idea unless you can keep 'em fed. But it seems to have quieted down now, so either all of them have been taken down...or some have just wandered put of town."

"Duneyrr, that's right." Sören says, looking down at the woman. "He is a stag, and should I need to do so, yes, he can bare my weight, but I have not brought him along to be a mount. He pulls the wagon for me, yes, but he is my friend more than anything else." As the northman says this, the white stag nuzzles his shoulder a bit, and Sören reaches back to scratch between his antlers. "I have known him since the day I was born, and I would not willingly go anywhere without him."

Sören takes a moment to consider her next words, thinking it over carefully, glancing back at Duneyrr, then over to a stray dog wandering the streets looking for scraps. Across the way he spots a the tent of some trader, and he can see large cats nearby, and goats tending to themselves in another direction.

"Yes, I think that I do believe animals have souls, just as you or I do." Sören says finally, letting out a breath that mists in the air. The heat of the day is catching up to him now, and he activates his runes for just a moment to cool himself down once more. The woman, if she were walking close enough, might feel an aura of cold around the large man for a moment as he does this. "I am from Kalterle, a village in the Dead Forest to the north, and we believe that all living things have some type of soul, as do the seasons and the elements. We call them the vættir, the nature spirits. Some of them are wise, some are foolish. I think that maybe those red creatures are of the foolish sort, though they did not seem to be without some cunning."

In a lull of silence between the two of them, Sören began to speak, to introduce himself to the woman, but before he could do so she seemed to have the same idea.

"Well met, Aisha Abdul'la. I am Sören Ahlgren, heir..." He pauses then, trailing off. No, he was no longer an heir to anything. As the wise woman had said, he would never return to the Dead Forest now, so what was there for him to be the heir of? "No, I am just Sören Ahlgren, of clan Rotgevir now."

"Labor against their will, most likely," Jake snorted. "Why anyone would even want to use them, as they're notoriously unreliable..." He turned to the Salamand. "Let the others know to get out of town, and be quick about it, and not cause any more trouble."

The Salamand nodded and disappeared into the dirt.

As he stood watching Thessir perked up upon someone speaking about needing a metal smith. He had an inherent interest in such matters as he often worked in shaping minerals. Reluctantly he emerged from the shaded doorway and approached the two as they attempted to navigate the group.

"You speak of metal, yes? Of working of the ore?" He peered out from under his big hat to get a better look at the two. The one man seemed to be adorned with horns similar to the beast which followed him. The woman was dressed in vibrant colors with many articles of jewelry upon her. From the looks of things it was a necklace of hers which had been damaged by the latest fuss.


"I do work of metal. Of the stone. An item of yours is damaged? I could repair it." He spoke to the woman specifically as he figured it was her issue first and foremost. This was not a particularly unusual situation for him as he traded for most of his supplies with wares earned through his expertise. If it came from the ground he could probably make something of it. Later on he was probably going to need supplies, in particular something to trade for the knowledge he sought.

Aisha nodded to Sören, but was caught slightly by surprise when a called out to them. He had a certain unorthodoxy about him, but nonetheless, he did make an offering. "Oh, well, if that is the case," Aisha pulled the golden necklace of hers out of her satchel and presented it to the hatted metalworker, "It's just a small fix that it needs. The connection here was torn," she pointed out the broken link.

"Are you capable of making a fix within the day? The night? Or, at least before the end of the Bizarre. It belongs to someone else, so... Oh, and, um, what sort of payment will it require? I've... got some medicinal powders, or..." Aisha thought for a second before pushing up her sleeve, revealing it to be almost entirely covered in beaded bracelets, which all were made of different materials. She pointed at a couple different ones. "This one's made of ebony, for strength, or, I'm pretty sure this one is real ivory, for perseverance. This shiny one is made of Old World 'nuts', for wisdom, oh, and this one is magnetic; it's meant to develop an inner balance within yourself. I've got more like these on the other arm, and in my satchel."

There was no denying that Aisha was very fond of the bracelets. Indeed, followers of the creed sold 'power items', or merchandise intended to appeal to the superstitious side of people. The idea behind them, besides further spreading awareness of the creed, was that in theory they would contain mystical power of their own. How? They were simply mystical because people believed they were mystical. For example, Aisha's bracelets were intended to give spiritual enhancements to those that wore them, such as granting them determination or dexterity or whatever 'enchantment' the bracelet held. Thus, in believing they have been granted mystical power, a person may become driven to live up to the aspect of themselves they want to improve. In that way, 'power items' like Aisha's bracelets truly did have an invisible mystical power, one that drove the soul on the path of self-improvement without realization. They will simply believe that the bracelets really did give them strength.

They certainly worked. Aisha herself could attest to that. She wore them all the time.

Sören could not recall ever meeting this man before. The way he spoke suggested that he was not from this area, but then again, due to the festival, Sören supposed that many people were from far away. For some reason though, the man struck him as odd, but not in a bad way. Besides, who was he to call anyone odd?

As Aisha spoke of her bracelets and showed them off to the man, Sören studied them. Some were made of wood, and he would almost bet that at least one of them was carved from wood from his homeland. He listened to her words, of how each one granted her some sort of enhancement, and again he was reminded of his clan. His spearhead was carved from the fang of a saber cat because it was believed that, made of such a material, the weapon would be stronger and sharper. Personally Sören took it all with a grain of salt, relying on what he knew of the materials in question.

This is when Duneyrr nudged Sören's shoulder once again, before taking a step forward, placing himself between Sören and Aisha. Lowering his head, the white stag nosed at a silver bracelet that the acolyte was wearing.

"How would you even wear that Duneyrr?" Sören asks his companion, petting his neck. With a sigh he then says to the others, "Once your business has concluded, I believe I will need to see about trading you something for one of those bracelets. Duneyrr insists on having one, it seems."

Uncle Andle smiled at Rusten and gave a nod. "Well I've gotta go back to business - summer bazaar don't last forever." He glanced over at Boh. "And you young lady have more errands to run... while everyone's enjoyin' the festival we still got salvage to run, crystals to trade - hopin' to make our travels safer with a magnet rifle or something of the like."

Suddenly a massive smash was heard, screaming accompanying it. Past the centre row of stalls on the other side of the main-street a man in scraggily black clothing was breaking wares, yelling as a trio of guards surrounded him. "Of course, more trouble - always seems to happen when you bring the clans together," Andle sighed as they watched the scene through the stalls.

The man, brown-haired, bloodied, and very sandy, backed away from the approaching guards. "Don't come here!" He yelled, grabbing a vase off a stand and pelting it at the guard's feet. "I will PUNCH YOU IN THE FACE, alright? Don't come here! I swear, I will, this is PROLOGUE: RAGE." The traveller had crazy green eyes, and his voice was deep and rumbling - though not at all collected. "Leave me alone!"

"We recognize your uniform, that insignia on your boots," One of the three guards said. "Wetlander."

The brown-haired man responded by grabbing an apple and throwing it in the guard's face before attempting to run through the stalls "I'm looking for the Naima Nomads! I'M LOOKING FOR THE NOMAD CLA-" A trader was quick to respond to his yelling, punching him in the nose. The Wetlander let out a scream as suddenly a guard's chain flung forward and wrapped itself around his neck, yanking him back onto the ground. The guards began to pull the chain back, dragging the man through the sandy streets toward them as the crowds watched.

"Wetlander?" Andle frowned. The clans did not know much about the Wetlands - other than they had a lot of water, and the Qafar didn't. That alone was reason to hate them.

"It's alright, citizens," One of the three Dol-Duna guards said, wiping the dirt off on his bone-armour and raising his hands to the crowd. "This Wetlander is of no threat. Dol-Duna is safe!"

The crowd surrounding the scene spoke among themselves, many booing and calling out. "Ow, I HATE YOU!" The man screamed, the guards pulling him up and shackling his hands. Some members the crowd began to throw rotten fruit at his form.

Andle rose an eyebrow. "Don't be going near that crowd, Boh," He muttered wearily. "I have a bad feeling."