[h3]Calitan[/h3][b]Tall Trees, Long Shadows II[/b]
[sub]Loriindton
Interactions: Lyen [@Tackytaff] and Dyric [/sub]

Murder. It fell into their laps, a Parrence-allied Yasoi caught with blood-red on their hands, except…



The mette'stiroi, Loriindton itself even, hit Calitan with a brick of emotions. They were mostly positive. 

Calitan drank, he gambled, bartered with what little he had. He gave stories of the fighting to those who he thought might value it (surprisingly few), and for the story about [i]the frog who jumped into the water to get back his voice that the fish stole, but ended up tearing it in half, which is why the frog talks without moving its mouth and the fish moves it mouth without words[/i], he got a nice meal.

But even Calitan knew where’d he end up. Everything else was just him circling it, flirting. Mez’Qadurat, an old love.

He hadn’t meant to fight. He was here with another purpose, or two, depending on who you asked. Yet somehow he had found himself in the ring that climbed all the way skywards, soft dust and hard rock underfoot. This was the trouble when you had such an ugly face: people tended to recognise you as an old champion. 

Blood was iron on his tongue, sweat salt. He added an ear to his collection. And then another. Perhaps there would have been another again, if not for the hornmaster, singalling the mockery. Mockeries were always fun, and two of the Vyshta possibilities would be there.

Then… murder, it fell into their laps, a Parrence-allied Yasoi caught with blood-red on their hands, except she was innocent.

Calitan had been paying attention. Adrenaline still rushed, his senses read the mess of magic around him almost instinctively. So when the woman from the rhyming game the night previous, a non-ally, spoke, he sensed, focussed on this not-stranger. When she touched Merit he didn’t notice anything. It took him a second to process: that was wrong. There should have been some draw, some trace. There was nothing.

What a golden opportunity this was for Eskandr. 

But she was innocent.

“It was not her,” Calitan shouted, as much to Dyric as the crowd, essence amplifying his words, as he shoved through to her side, “she did not draw, did you not notice?”

He had no idea if his words were useful, but maybe the support of an opposed Yasoi would stop the crowd becoming a mob. Those had a way of resolving things rather suddenly. Not that this worried Calitan; he had probably just earned himself a knife in the back anyway.