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Harper's Tale - Tuesday, October 09, 2001,
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Gathering Hall
The room seems to loom as you enter, though the warmth within easily overcomes that feeling. It's huge, easily taking up a good third of the hall, and offering room for most people to sit and chat. The heat of the great hearth on the far wall spreads throughout, the merry crackling adding a peaceful undertone to the usually occupied room, heard even above the murmer of voices. Tables are all but littered about, pulled into and out of place by friends at a regular basis. Several more permanent tables and benches are settled along the far edge, an ever-full klah pot and several trays of various and sundry snacks almost always set out for the hungry and bored. The walls are decorated, tapestries denoting every part of Pern society strung about. Along the wall above the kitchen, in particular, is the pride and joy of the weavers: a string of dragons flying Threadfall. The vibrant flames and metallic hues of the dragons seem to glow as the flickering firelight strikes them. Above everything runs a long overhang, people passing to and fro, passing overhead of the figures and gatherings below. A handful of glowbaskets light the upper ends, the rest of the mainroom light brightly with candles and decorative lighting.
Various scents assult your nose as you walk in here. The rich smell of foods from the kitchen. The fire's smoke and heat. The sweet odors of various pipeweeds from the gossipers surrounding the hearthside table. The aromatic baskets do little here, except add their own faint undertones.
Clinging to a high beam are Fawnix, Skittles, Topaz, Parsiron, and Arboric.
You see Bonehead here.
Obvious exits:
Kitchen Smith Infirmary Courtyard Grand Staircase Lower Level

From the balcony above, Jerad slowly ambles in from the East Wing.
From the balcony above, Jerad slowly ambles to the Grand Staircase.
Jerad slowly ambles in from the Balcony Landing.
Jerad slowly ambles to the Courtyard.

From the balcony above, Evan glides silently in from the SmithCraft Office.
From the balcony above, Evan glides silently to the Grand Staircase.
Evan glides silently in from the Balcony Landing.

Liesana is sitting in a shady corner, a wary look in her eyes as she spots Evan. Apparently the Smiths she'd talked to were anything but reassuring about the outcome of angering Arakiel. And she's still confused about exactly what she did, too. The legendary Harper insight seems to be malfunctioning at the moment.

Evan nods to Liesana as he moves towards the klah pots, "Good evening."

Liesana clutches at her klah mug. So far so good. No knives, anyways. Yes, Liesana is now paranoid. A nod. "How goes the day?" she inquires smoothly.

Evan shrugs, "Not too bad. However I do have something that I would like to discuss with you when you have a moment."

Well, so much for a reprieve... But the rational Evan of this evening is much preferable to the irritated Arakiel of yesterday, so Liesana is game enough. "I have a moment now, if you wish."

Evan
This man's blue eyes never rest long in one place as they flicker intently from one point to the next. Reflected light glitters wolf-like off of their surface from within a pair of eye sockets that appear deeper than they truely are thanks to the effect of wrinkles and the stern set of his face. Once black hair is mottled by the beginnings of gray hair which streak through his closely shorn locks. Despite these signs of encroaching age, or perhaps because of them, he retains an air of authority and strength that is carried in every motion, gesture, and stance. Clearly this is a man who expects to be obeyed. Nevertheless, he can usually be found at the edges of a room, staying well away from a crowd as if skulking silently by unnoticed. He might easily be mistaken for a hold guard thanks to the array of knives almost constantly at his belt, his gliding stride, and the way one hand hovers close to the knives, as if constantly on the threshold of drawing. At the very least, the contrast of his lithe, light movements and solid, well honed frame are the mark of a fighter.
Evan is dressed mostly in plain, unnoticable black. A pair of sturdy but worn black wherhide boots are mostly covered by a black pair of pants, although the gleam of a knife blade occationally appears from their inside edge. A black belt clasped with a buckle sporting a tongue made to look like a knife is crowded by several knives. Eight in all the knives are plain well made blades their hilts wrapped in black wherhide. The only mark of elegance is a well-cut gemstone at the pommel of each one, these knives are the trademark of this man. A dark red sissal shirt buttoned to the throat gleams metallicly. It is revealed by a black coat with silver buttons. Occasionally his right coat sleeve will fall back with the shirt to reveal a scar running from the man's wrist up his arm. Too clean and straight for a burn, it looks like a cut by a knife, intentionally judging by the length. The only mark of craft or rank about the man are two silver pins at the collar of his shirt, a knife on his left, and an anvil at the right. Evan wears a relitivly plain band on a finger, symbol of his marriage to Arakiel. Evan wears a pair of Golden Earrings. Although tiny hand work scrolls across them, it is all but invisible to any except the most trained eye. Perched on Evan's shoulder is Lazy.
He is awake, but has been staring off into space for 4 minutes.
Evan is 48 Turns, 5 months, and 22 days old.

Liesana
Almond shaped eyes of amber warmth glimmer brightly amidst fine and expressive features, while crimson-pink lips reflect a range of emotions, from devillish mischief to rare pensive moods. The young woman before you is petite, despite a medium stature of 16.2 hands, slim figure carrying not a trace of extra flesh. She does lay claim to her share of feminine charms, however. Wavy chestnut hair falls to the small of her back, outlining an hourglass figure with a well-formed, if small breast. Neither is work a stranger to her, nor good times: gitar-born callouses on her fingertips, and several old scars on her arms, hint that here is one who does nothing half-heartedly.
Peasant-styled shirt of eye-catching white flutters loosely about her form, fitting closely only at the cuffs, and where a grey cloth vest cinches it in, leaving the hourglass of her figure clearly visible. The vest sports a vee-cut front, so that the lacings of the peasant shirt are also visible. Black denim slacks fit closely, leaving no excess fabric to flap irritatingly, and the outfit is completed by leather boots, also dyed black, that reach to mid-calf and are equally suited for riding or walking. Her hair is gathered in a low runner's tail, and small earrings of onyx stone glitter on her ears. Perched comfortably on Liesana's head is Lu-nar, who peers back at you.
Rich Harper blue twines with the red of Smith in a double cord knot of single loop and long tail. Fastened prominently to it is a roundel badge bearing a blue harp. Combined, all this finery heralds a Journeyman of the Harpercraft, posted to Smith Hall no less!
She is awake and looks alert.
Carrying:
Lu-nar Chestnut-Wood Gitar
Brown Leather Carrysack
You notice Liesana gazing upon your form.
Liesana is 23 Turns and 27 days old.

Evan nods and pulls out a chair at Liesana's table. "I hear from Arakiel that the harpers have had people wandering around in disguise here." He waits patiently to see what Liesana has to say.

Liesana simply nods, deciding that honesty is the best policy. "There was indeed a Harper poking about, but to the best of my knowledge he was /not/ under official Craft sanction at the time.", the explanation given in clear, if slightly formal tones.

Evan frowns, "Well I certianly hope that your craft is dealing with that with the severity that it deserves. If the harpers ever do have some _official_ reason to snoop around my craft, I expect to be notified. I might even give permission." He frowns at Liesana a moment to make sure his point sinks in. "And if I find out that you are using the lack of official sanction to avoid taking responsibility for the actions of your craft, I suggest you remind your superiors that my wife is a trained assasin. Assure them that they will never see her coming."

Liesana nods, and gulps. "I will indeed..." And Liesana resolves to lock her door quite firmly. "To be fair, I suppose I should have informed you the first time he was hanging about, but I really didn't think he'd be back... It was wrong of me to assume, and I ought to know better."

Evan looks delibrately at Liesana for a long moment. "Good. Just remember that this is _my_ hall. Whatever my wife, or anyone else, might wish, it is my responsibility to manage the hall to the best of my ability. And I can not make rational decisions if I do not have reliable information." After a moment he nods and takes his mug to another nearby table.

Liesana meets Evan's gaze, and nods silently. And when the Craftmaster finally concludes the interview, the journeywoman resists the urge to let out a long and noisy sigh of relief. Or at leasts modifies it to a long and /quiet/ one. She survived!

OOC: Evan says "she survived... but if anything ever happens without her knowledge she's going to be held respoinsible. :>"
OOC: Liesana grins. Yup. =) Good thing Harpers are nosy. ;)

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