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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Isida Kep'Tukari" data-source="post: 1286241" data-attributes="member: 4441">*Arkas, the Steward seems to be pleased by your arrival, though she still looks a bit harried.  She listens to your request and nods a bit absently.*"I'm afraid I don't know about Naima, feykin, as I've been rather busy in attending a dozen other things.  But if you would go check up on her, I'd be in your debt.  Far from me to disregard any member of this community," the giant says.  She'll also give you directions to Naima's home, if you want them.*Eryic, the Featherwing is run by a quickling faen called Weara Youthsong, and upon hearing your request, nods quickly.*"Ah yes Master Quill, good man good man, a room you're wanting yes? good, five Queens a week and supper each night besides, can't beat that and my cook is good yes," she says brightly, her words spilling into one another as she speaks at a breakneck pace.*At the Weary Chisel the barkeep will nod and take your coins.*"I'm glad someone's taken an intrest in his welfair, it's usually not good for me to deny the inn custom," he murmurs in half-apology.*In the temple district the Wind Temple isn't too hard to find.  Made of finely-carved woods, along with many live trees, windchimes and suncatches adorn nearly every surface, allowing even the smallest of breezes an additional voice.  Asking for Quelsa, you're directed to a small secluded grove of birch.  Here is kneeling a woman with long white hair, dressed in a flowing white gown.  Her back is to you, and she sing softly into the wind.**Agracahn, you recognize no one right off the bat, though after a half hour (and two performances later) you see some of the dandies from The Singing Frog come in.  Finally, an hour after you arrive, a lighting of red lamps signals the beginning of Barlareen's performance.  Gliding onto the stage is a lithe and strong-looking litorian woman, her golden fur brushed to a burnished finish, with fine lines shaved in it, imitating the current fashions.  Scarves of red silk that slide sinuously through her hands and across her body, preserving "modesty" by the thinest of margins, and sometimes not at all.  The music that swells around her is laden with throbbing drumbeats.*  *A wind begins to blow from the east, swirling the insense-laden air around her, but quickly turnng from a playful breeze to threatening windstorm.  Someone shrieks as an oil lamp is overturned, catching the silk scarves on fire.  In this confusing infurno, you suddenly notice Barlareen.  The music has stopped, and the dancer is staring at the flames in her garden, a longing yet conflicted expression on her face.  As the wind shrieks again, whipping the flames into a frenzy, Barlareen gives a low moan and throws herself toward the fire.*[OOC:  This windstorm is happening at night, and only in the dancer's district on the northern end of town, which is near the temple district.  Agracahn is on a slightly later time stream than anyone else, so unless anyone else is in the dancer's or temple district in the evening, they wouldn't know about this fire right away.]</blockquote>

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