Over the general din of the market at the docks, a haunting tremolo carries through the frigid breeze coming in from the harbor.

Those who follow the noise through the bustle of holiday shopping and foodmongering are led to a positively festooned stall set up off a side lane, lit by ornate glass lanterns. The stall's table is lined with foreign-looking trinkets, stuffed animals made of patchwork silk scraps (some of which appearing to be some manner of puppet), and hand-painted portrait frames of astonishingly fine quality. A sign seemingly painted by the same hand reads Kymenos Family Imports and Fine Crafts.

A purple tiefling with chalk-white markings sits on a stool, playing a violin while evidently waiting for a customer. Her clothes are a colorful hodgepodge of prints and textures, contrasted by her rugged boots and the simple black cloak pushed back over her shoulders. A small, rectangular pouch hangs from her belt, nestled among scarves and bell strings.

When a customer comes around the corner, her eyes flick up-- silver irises shimmer in the lantern light, shining starkly against black sclera. She seems unaware of her countenance's jarring quality as she stops playing and grins at you, her tail flicking mischievously as she greets you with a lilting but exuberant voice.

"Hello! Do let me know if you see something you like. I also offer fortunes and songs, for a price."

To say that the Moonlit Docks of Eclipse City are astoundingly different from Darkveil would be an incredible understatement.

It is difficult to quantify all the ways in which they are different. There are the physical differences; the air of the Moonglade is cleaner, clearer, a faint, earth-and-floral scent imbued into the very air, devoid of the phantoms of ash and smoke drifting down from Mount Drakolt. There are stars here, a veritable plethora of them, peering through the cloudless night, tiny alabaster embers caught in a jar and scattered across a backdrop of blue velvet. In all the ways that Darkveil City is the place of silver-tongued rogues and sharp steel, this is a place for poets, a well of metaphor and simile for them to wet their quill-tips with.

It is not a piece of the world Askr understands well, but it is a piece of the world they have been shoved into all the same.

Captain Oleaae's mercenary business tends to keep them busy on the eastern side of Charon, above all. The Ash Lands, Zeinav Desert, King's Valley, the Dragon's Cradle, so on, so forth, wherever coin and their captain's whims may lead them. It had been... surprising when she'd given the news that they had been given a mission in the Moonglade, all the way out in Eclipse City, and yet, if a single one of them asked her about it, heat rose to her face like smoke blossomed from the lava pits and she would hastily deflect, insisting it had merely been an offer of pay they would all be fools if they refused.

And so here they stood, in the wake of their completed job-- which truly had not seemed all that pressing, but questioning Oleaae was not and never would be Askr's place--, left to wander the docks alone. Askr had merely intended to slip into their inn room, to clean their blade and settle in for the dawn of a new journey come morning, but the fine captain had paused in rifling through a crate of wine she'd dragged into the room, shot them a withering look and insisted, "Kid, for once, go live a little, will you? We're not around these parts often."

They had elected not to mention the fact that she simply seemed... rather eager to go meet up with their employer, who was waiting around outside the inn, nowhere near as subtly as she seemed to believe. It was, as always, beneath them to question their captain.

The issue remained, of course, that Askr had absolutely no idea what to do out here, on their own. The rest of Oleaae's men had shuffled off to taverns, to dancing rings, to anywhere they could toss their funds or savor the night, but such things could not capture Askr's interest. Their footwork was meant for a fight, not for a dance, and they knew not how their inorganic constitution could handle alcohol-- human games were for human beings, and Askr knew better than to play pretend.

So they walk, idly, searching for something to do-- only to pause at the distant sound of a string instrument over the chorus of voices, an easier sound to catch amidst the natural music. They pause for a moment, glancing about for the source, until that sun-gold gaze lands on a strange, charming little stall nestled away amidst several others, myriad trinkets laid out for the eye to peruse. A tiefling woman all in lilac sits there with a violin in arm, the motions of the music as natural to her as the weight of a weapon is to Askr.

They pause.

She pauses, and then her eyes are alight.

Oh. She's... she has seen them, and she expects them to approach, and this is the part of most interactions out in the world where Askr lingers behind Oleeae and lets her do the talking, but there is no Oleaae because she is out there at the side of some emerald-haired woman all in white for the evening. This... this unfamiliar fight is theirs.

"...Hello," they begin, uncertainly, taking a few hesitant steps forward, forcing their gaze to rove over the items the woman must be selling. "...this... is a vendor's stall, then. What... are you selling?"

It is not often that Thesalor sees fit to enter a city. Any city, really, big small, a town, a village; all of them make him wish to shy away. There's far too many people, happy and alive, going about their days as if the world has not died inside of him. Thesalor swallows down the growing pit in his chest, clutching his daughter tighter. 

Norphira clutches him back, taking in the busy docks with her large child's eyes. Her little pointed ears are safely and warmly tucked into the hood of her coat, hands covered in fleece lined mittens. She's so little and darling Thesalor wishes he would take her home and tickle merry giggles from her, but then she would have no good presents for the holiday season. 

He knows his brother and his family would and will delightedly spoil the littlest member of the family, but that is far from the point. Fathers give the best gifts, not uncles. Even if she was only two, his baby would get whatever she wished. Already, his pack was full of whatever she had looked at, from a shining bell to a colorful quilt. 

"Baba," Norphira mumbled against her mitten, waving her hand at a nearby food stall. Sweet smells of vanilla and cinnamon carried on the breeze. Cinnamon cookies. "Hungry?" Thesalor indulged, already stepping into the fast moving line. Norphira nodded, snuggling against his neck as the breeze whistling through the dock. It was getting late. Perhaps a few more stalls, and he would head home. 

Not more than a minute later saw Norphira happily gnawing on a soft cookie, Thesalor nibbling on one of his own in a free hand. A lovely strain of music rose over the crowd of people, only just beginning to dwindle as the sun began to dip lower and lower. With little else to do, Thesalor followed the music until it drifted to a stop as a man, young in an all too perfect appearance, approached a tiefling whose tricksy nature was written on her face. 

Far from the oddest thing he had seen, but curious nevertheless. Thesalor peered around the "young" man, patting Norphira's back. "My my, a stall indeed," he agreed, tilting his head. "Now, depending on what the young miss says and what you can see, young sir, what would you buy? How about you, Norry?" He nuzzles his daughter's plump cheek until she giggles. "What would you buy, my little dear?"

For her part, after a mildly industrious day, Vadoma was just beginning to contemplate dinner as her fingers nimbly ply her strings. It's getting late, and she's sold enough for the day to call it a lucrative one, enough to buy dinner and drinks and not feel the least bit bad about it. Maybe she can talk the tavernkeep at the Purple Lantern to let her play if they have no one booked--

But a boy comes into view, followed by a man with a small child. Perfect. Customers with children are her preferred customer; pull the children in with the trinkets and Papa's stuffed toys and puppets, make the parents stay for Mama's painting, where the serious money is, then hook them good for readings. The boy is an unknown quantity, but she'll catch his vibe quickly enough and will know what to sell him soon. She slides off her velvet stool, beckoning the customers closer.

"Why, all sorts of things! I have handicrafts by my family, trinkets from far-off Dvoryanin and beyond--" She gives a wave of her fingers to illustrate their mysteriousness, "-- and I even have a few talents of my own on offer, depending on what soothes your need, between music and mystical insight." She flicks two fingers upward, a card appearing between them: a wheel, wreathed in fantastical animals. She snaps those fingers, and one of her papa's tiniest puppets appears on her finger, a tiny raven wearing little adventuring leathers. Her finger bobs up and down at the baby to talk. "What about you, little one? Do you like trinkets and toys?"

With her free hand, she gestures broadly at the table to the boy. "Feel free to look, friend! I have lots of interesting things for sale, bells, peace flags, scarves, all sorts of wares that would make excellent gifts at this special time of year." She waggles her eyebrows in suggestive salesmanship.

There's flashes of familiarity in the way this woman speaks.

She adopts the same easy friendliness as most of the older mercenaries who no longer have much to lose, peppering her speech with endearments, as if she's greeting old companions instead of total strangers, her demeanor relaxed and tone of voice easy. She's the same as the bards that linger in the taverns Askr finds themself getting dragged off to after a day's work has passed, words light and lyrical, her body and all its little gestures as much of an instrument as her forgotten violin. This tiny, lantern-lit stall is no stage, but she has made it one all the same, and she seems all too happy to have roped in an audience.

The second stranger who slips around behind is none too different, with his soft, serene voice, a spoken lullaby-- he addresses Askr and the armful of child he carries with equal compassion, equal interest, as though he is not addressing some stranger he will likely never see again once his purchase here is made. It is... odd, to say the very least.

It occurs to Askr, however briefly, that either the Moonglade is full of extraordinarily open and excessively friendly individuals, or perhaps the shroud over Darkveil weighs so heavy that behavior like this has merely always gone unseen.

"...I do not know, yet," they answer honestly, voice quiet, smooth, a pretty little sound, and yet, too-practiced, too-rehearsed. They have been given the gift of wind chimes, but only a hurricane storms around them. "...I lack expertise in purchases of this variety."

They swallow, glancing over the trinkets before them.

"...Dvory trinkets?" they elect to ask, latching onto the first sign of familiarity, the first bit of something they Know. As much as the concept of this woman's so-called "mystical insights" may intrigue them, asking about a field they are so ill-acquainted with feels... unwise. Askr's gaze flits between the strange woman and the elven man beside them, paying careful attention to both parties before settling back on the table. "...Northern or Southern?"

As the afternoon had drawn to evening, Norphira's energy had waned. She was only a little one, after all. Just like many little ones, however, she could easily find a second wind after a sugary treat and a vivacious stranger to catch her attention. Her eyes sparkled as she watched Vadoma twirl her fingers, first a card, then a cleverly outfitted little raven puppet. "Baba, bird!" She gasped, instantly charmed and wiggle-hopping in Thesalor's arms. 

He laughed softly, adjusting his grip to keep hold of Norphira. "I see, a cute little bird," he agreed. "What do you say?" Norphira thrust her hands out, making grabby open-close hand gestures. "Please, thank you!" She begged, her green eyes pleading at Vadoma. 

A child who had rarely been denied, she instinctively knew such an expression would be complete with a tiny pout. After all, it had worked so many times before. 

Thesalor bit his lip, shoulders shaking as he withheld chuckles. Please, thank you, indeed. 

"Are you familiar with Dvory goods?" Thesalor asked the young man, distracting himself from his daughter's baby scheming. "It's been some time since I was in that area. Twenty, perhaps thirty years?"

Oh spirits. Is the boy Dvory? She manages to keep her smile from cracking by taking a deep breath, throwing one hand upward to send a single spark to highlight the string of peace flags hanging from the edge of the stall. “Both, of course. The peace flags and scarves and toy horses are northern, the bells and cows are southern.” At least, that’s her best guess. Her knowledge of the different halves of Dvory culture is rudimentary at best, having attended a few Racing Crowns when she was younger, but the answers she gives feel right. “Are you from Dvoryanin? You’re a long way from home.” Her head tilts curiously.

She flicks the little bird puppet off her finger, sending it fluttering into the baby’s hands. “What good manners! You have a very sweet little girl, sir. What about you? Does anything catch your eye? Perhaps one of the painted pieces? A bell? Or a reading of your baby’s fortunes?”

...Both?

The look on Askr's face is indecipherable, really-- they tilt their head as they glance over the trinkets the strange woman pointed out to them, those golden eyes roving over the fabric, over the sweep of wood. It's strange, just how flawless everything seems-- not a stitch out of place, not a splinter of wood to be seen out of line in the carvings, but... perhaps they're merely of a very particular quality. The Dvory people, to their knowledge, value their symbology quite a bit, after all-- it is no wonder that they'd show such delicate care toward their craft.

Really, the only thing that sticks out as strange to them now is the fact that she's obtained crafts from both tribes, all the way out here in the Moonglade, and is selling them off. Perhaps she's merely a very frequent visitor to the Racing Crown. Perhaps she is just... passionate about sharing the craft of cultures of the east out here. It is not as though Askr understands, nor could they, so they will not pretend they do.

"No, ma'am," they say simply, shaking their head. They pull at one of the cords of their jacket, loosening it just so, slipping their pale fingers past the lapels to reach for an inner pocket, producing a tiny, jet-black metal insignia, cast in the shape of an olive branch. "I travel with Captain Oleeae Bleier. Leader of a mercenary band. I am... from Darkveil City. A bit... further out than Dvoryanin lands, actually."

They cast a quick glance over at the man beside them as soon as they're addressed, giving a bit of a short nod.

"To a degree, yes, sir," they say quickly. "We... pass through their lands. Offer some aid, occasionally. It is not often, but I have some degree of knowledge of Dvory culture, yes."

As soon as the words leave their lips, Askr pauses, shifting awkwardly in place as if they've spoken too much-- though their expression does not shift, they're quick to tuck that insignia away, their limbs falling back into the same careful, practiced position they've maintained this whole time. It is... strange to say so much, all at once, to offer so much information. It must come easily to many, come easily to people like the man who stands beside them, the man with his daughter who this strange woman eyes with such fondness, but it is not something that comes naturally to them.

Still, even within their bubble of uncertainty, they cannot help the sparkle of interest that lights low in their eyes at the mention of a fortune, though it is not offered to them. They've... never seen anything quite like that, before.

Can divine knowledge fall so easily into mortal hands?

As delicately as a small toddler could, Norphira held the tiny raven clad in tiny leathers. Her eyes were big as she presented it to her father as though it were a great treasure. Theaslor smiled, and pet the little puppet's head. "Is that your friend now?" He murmured, feeling the soft quality of the material that made the finger puppet. Norphira nodded seriously, tucking the raven puppet against her chest, enraptured, and pet its head as she had seen her father do. 

"She is," he beamed at the tiefling proudly. "Her grandmother worked very hard to impress these manners on her, otherwise she would be too much like me." It wasn't that Thesalor had no manners or didn't, occasionally, use them. Simply that he saw little point in them. If the company was good, as it was here, then who would mind? If the company was bad, well, they wouldn't care either because they had no intention of caring to begin with. Or perhaps it was just him...? There might have been a time or two he had gotten into a spot of trouble with his way of speaking. Ah, something to ponder later. 

Oh? Northern and Southern Dvory, distinctions! Had it been like that those years ago? Probably, Thesalor wasn't the best at noticing those kind of things. Really, at most be remembered the hot and the sand in every bit of clothing. Something about racing, maybe. The culture? Hm, well, if he couldn't remember then it must not have been of great importance! Thesalor smiled blithely. "How interesting! I don't know much, I was distracted at the time. Heat doesn't mix well with me." Not in the way the cold did. 

He peered at the insignia before it was hidden away again, intrigued. "Mercenaries, what an fun occupation," he hummed, gently patting Norphira's back as she rested her head against his chest. No doubt her small body was reaching the limit of how long it could be awake. "Enjoy it while you have people around to enjoy it with. It's no good being alone and traveling." 

"You know, I usually don't hold much to divination. It's rather fickle, don't you think? Who can say that the future is set and unmoving when nothing ever stops moving?" Thesalor hummed, considering the tiefling woman's offer. "But perhaps it will be of comfort to me. If it isn't, well, I knew better going in. How much for a reading, young miss?"