Forums » Fantasy Roleplay » Trick-or-Treat: Sarí and the Daelis Tribe

((Genre-flexible, but expect mostly fantasy flavoring.))

The blazing sun had slipped too far down the sky to continue to beat upon the the wide desert in with all of its oppressive wrath; instead it had lit the sky afire as it fell, cursing the icy-white moon that dared rise to replace it. Frost would threaten all life in the land by morning, but for now, life could thrive in the battlefield of evening for so long as the vast expanse of sand and rock retained some warmth. This, at least, was not the deep desert, but merely the far more tame fringes where small, brave settlements clung, interdependent after generations with the desert's nomadic tribes they simultaneously feared. It was not uncommon for the tribes to capitalize on that fear, but on this particular night, the visiting tribe had something very different planned.

The Isari of the Daelis tribe were as enigmatic to outsiders as any: protective of their camps and secrets, and seeming themselves like mere shadows under their pale cloaks who seemed able to simply vanish into the very sand beneath their feet. Where the Isari generally kept to one well-defended camp at a time, though, the small tribe had opted to set up a secondary pseudo-camp for this particular evening, and word as to why had spread quickly: the second location was, in essence, a party which the Daelis tribe was hosting for the settlement and others they considered to be outsiders. There was to be food and drink, entertainment themed around the human concept of Halloween, and interactions with Isari always included the chance to trade. The tribe members hosting that second camp had even dressed themselves up with paints, bones from various creatures, and strange leathers.

There was, of course, a sort of fee to gain entrance to the party: something of a reversal of "trick or treat." Money was not needed; in fact, money was one of the worst things to try offering to the nomadic survivalists. They favored things that were easy to carry, be it an item, some kind of food, or useful information. They sought after things with a stable-enough value to trade off elsewhere, things which were difficult to come by in the desert, and sometimes things that could simply delight an individual by its novelty to them. One only needed to present some acceptable "trick" or "treat" to one of those standing guard to access the strange celebrations within.

That... and to keep in mind that entering an Isari encampment put one under that tribe's usually-unwritten set of laws. It was probably best not to think too hard about where some of those bones and leathers came from, too, or what all might be in the food.

---

Stuff to Know!

Per the Trick-or-Treat event, there may be some inferences about some of the more extreme things that can come up in a more regular RP with the Isari/Sand Elves, but I'll be making a point to keep things a bit more light and friendly. Perhaps one of the most relevant things to mention: yes, the food and drink are safe (but it might be good to have your character be mindful if they have dietary restrictions like allergies or are vegetarian or such; lot of stuff will include or be dried meat, high-calorie, heavily salted/seasoned, otherwise preserved or long-lasting in a desert climate, etc).

I'll likely be juggling multiple tribe members, not just Sarí. If you see someone already listed as a tribe member who you're interested in interacting with, feel free to mention that, but I can't promise I'll be able to get them to you if they're occupied or something. You can also try describing the sort of interaction you'd like, and I might be able to come up with someone on the fly to try to give you that.

I type slow and my frequency can get really unpredictable at times. I'll be trying to sustain high activity for the event, but it may take me a few days at times (and hopefully not longer). If you need to drop out for any reason, please let me know so that I know I don't need to keep a character waiting on you; alternatively, if you think you'll need some extra time, let me know so I can better avoid abandoning you. Also please let me know if you think I might have missed you! (If you've got some social stress getting in the way, you might find some useful things over in this topic about avoiding "ghosting.") And of course, you're welcome to just interact with other visitors if you'd prefer.

There's a good chance that I'll have long, multi-section posts if I get many visitors, and I may use collapse tags to help keep things compact (probably using character names to direct which section is at who). I've heard that collapse tags may make things difficult for some folks, though. If collapse tags are a problem for you, please let me know!

I will try to avoid having a cutoff on how many people can join this thread at a time, but if I find myself getting too overwhelmed or it seems too chaotic to me, I may still end up with a cutoff.

Don't know what the "Isari" are? They're my own flavor of desert elves, basically. They look a lot like Drow, having pretty dark skin and pale, basically-white hair (because the sun does that). They've also got a pair of simple, little antlers, tend to have a number of scars, and (gasp!) have typically dulled color vision compared to the average human, but a keener eye for value (light/dark) details. It's also not all that unusual to find mixed-race Isari (especially half-human); they recognize some practicality issues with it, but it's not any big taboo, nor are their mixed-blood members considered any lesser. In general, they're big on survival, trade (not always fair/honest, but documented contracts are taken very seriously), and combat. The Daelis tribe in particular can be a bit wary of obvious magic.


Edit: By the way! If you want your character to stay around and enjoy the party, but you as the player would like to check out, feel free to leave a little OOC note about it to let me know! You don't have to stay trapped here just because you brought a character who'd like to stay.

If Flynn were a demon, a party would be their summoning circle. But as much as some cultures held no worthwhile distinction between demons and fey, Flynn was the latter; and thus actually a very different creature entirely. Less powerful than an archfey, but of more direct fey ancestry than elves, Flynn was afforded a set of features unique to them - at least when it came to the genetic element. There was a good chance that somewhere out there, a similar fey existed; but their lineage would likely be somewhat far removed. Their naturally pink hair grew not just on their head, but also upon their long simian tail and deer-like ears. Each of their limbs was one digit short of what one would expect of a typical humanoid. And like many fey, they did not fit into any reproductive binary, or even any variations thereof. And today, their body was adorned with an outfit that even by their eccentric standards was flamboyant. Or at least, it would be on any other day.

On this particular Halloween, Flynn had opted to don an extravagant ensemble that looked like it could perhaps service as ceremonial robes for some kind of archfey archsorcerer. Upon their head sat a crown of silver leaves, accompanied by a similar-coloured circlet with a single pink gemstone in the centre. Glittering silver earrings dangled from either of their ears to match the subtle glitter-like make-up on their cheeks that reflected the moonlight. A simple pink short-sleeved crop-top and half-thigh-length form-fitting shorts served as undergarments to a loose translucent tunic of delicate shimmering silver silk. thin pink form-fitting leg warmers and the arm equivalent spanned from knee and elbow to wrist and ankle, hooked under heel and over thumb. The same makeup as what adorned their face also lay upon their buttonless stomach, the backs of their hands and tops of their bare feet; as well as coating their finger and toe nails. What gave the outfit its mystical look was the heavily-cropped robe that sat upon their shoulders. Pink and with an elaborate upturned collar with silver accents, it reached down their body barely half the length of their already cropped undershirt, the back splitting into a two-tailed cape with pattern-adorned downward-pointing triangular tips on each tail, which barely extended beyond the base of their actual tail. A medium-sized satchel bag dangled at their hip from where it was slung across a shoulder, as ornate as the rest of their attire.

Flynn made their way across the sands to camp they had heard so many rumours about, their steps uncharacteristically dainty and elegant. But they had to play the part to fit the costume. Noble archfey were famously aloof and haughty. Not like Flynn in their natural state, who was hyperactive and carefree. But despite all that, they were oddly rather good at mimicking the sort of etiquette befitting the type of demi-god they were emulating.

Flynn parked themselves at what they guessed to be the entrance to the camp, curtsying politely. Even amongst gendered archfey - who actually could change their sex upon a whim (though Flynn might also have still inherited such an ability themselves, they had simply seen no need to test as much) - there was no fixed expectation on what sort of bow one was expected to perform. And the same generally rang true for lesser fey like Flynn as well. They felt their outfit was one that was best introduced with a curtsy, so they stuck with that. They waited silently upon their feet for any instruction of how to proceed, trying desperately hard to keep down their giddy excitement at a having arrived at such a social event.

The settlement the Daelis tribe had set up camp near was still handling its own influx of visitors for the unusual event, so few of the settlers had made their way over yet, and the same was so far true of those visitors as well, so Flynn had no long wait. Among the Isari lingering by the entrance, most decorated to look like various skeletons, it was Sarí who shifted to more fully face the pink and silver visitor. She even returned subdued version of the curtsy, accomplished with the sand-colored cloak that hung mostly behind her and showed off more of the painted-on bones that she, too wore. Her good eye took Flynn in curiously; she had considered removing the blank white false one, but opted to avoid the increased risk of getting sand or anything else in her eyesocket.

"Greetings! We are Daelis and I am Sarí," the woman said chipperly, and already prepared to switch to another language should it be needed. If necessary, there was always the option to find a tribemate who knew the right one. "Have you brought something to trade for entry?"

Beyond the temporary wall, the glow of torches and a bonfire could already be seen. Music that came mostly from percussion and a few voices was joined by the sound of an amateur - but not painfully so, at least - pipe or flute of some kind. By the smell of things, at least some food was still being cooked, as well, and may well be through the night.

Flynn was no stranger to entrance fees. As someone who enjoyed parties, they had attended their fair share of clubs and performances. That being said, such places usually demanded currency rather than trade. Still... Flynn did carry plenty of value upon their person.

Trying as hard as they could to maintain their put-on air of aloofness, Flynn slipped an indifferent hand elegantly into their bag and pulled out a small glass vial, which they held up between thumb and middle finger. Though they typically kept their nails trimmed, they had grown them out for this costume long enough to style them into subtle points. Within the vial that they held appeared to be a fully transparent liquid with wisps of silver that swirled about within.

"Water..." they said, doing their best to sound distant and distracted, as though their attention was spread between multiple affairs beyond the mortal veil. "From the waters of Elwynenwe, deep in the realm of fey. A single sip can provide a day's worth of hydration even to the thirstiest beast." The fact was that they had packed multiple of such vials for their time in the desert.

Something about this strawberry stranger reminded Sarí of times her young twins were doing their very best not to burst out laughing at the other's "hidden" antics when they'd grown too bored of some task or lesson. She didn't comment on this, though. She merely eyed the small vial and the one who held it.

The Isari had a number of ways to manage their water, of course, some of which were guarded secrets while others were practical enough that they often turned up in the fringe settlements like the one nearby. There was nothing wrong with adding more options, of course. Even so, Sarí's eyes narrowed a bit as she eyed the water.

"Fey water?" she queried, unable to help the note of doubt in her voice. Her one-eyed gaze returned to Flynn's face. "And quenching thirst is all it will do to a mortal?"

"Mmm?" Flynn flickered a glance at Sarí, as though pretending to only just notice she had spoken. "Oh... no, it will do nothing more... nothing that regular water would also not do. On its own, at least. My word as fey." A flicker of the tiniest smile overtook one side of their lips. "Though if such properties are what you seek... it can be arranged..." Flynn still carried on their person small amounts of rare herbal remedies that in the right combination could have... interesting effects on an individual. "Fey water makes for a potent reagent. On a related note, it is also often a sought-after alchemical ingredient, should you prefer its use for later trade."

With the desert being as open as it was, the lack of places to hide almost made Bho agoraphobic. Catfolk much preferred their jungles, where towering trees billow their canopies over the forest, as if protecting the ground below. As much as he despised his home, Bho now had no such protection. Yet even then, the alien feeling wouldn't stop him; not on his quest for magical items and not on his quest for a good time. Thus, he marched through the sand with boots that had collected way too much sand for his own comfort. It was rough and coarse and it got everywhere.

Bho at least made an effort to look into the traditions they held before he attended their little 'Halloween' gathering. Before tonight, he didn't even know what that was, compared to the traditional harvest festival. Though nothing was free tonight, he'd heard of free food on the eve of Halloween and that piqued his interest more than anything. All one needs is a simple 'trick-or-treat.' This time, it was the reversal for entrance though; a fee, of which he had just the perfect thing for.

Having delved further into the traditions, he learned the Isari don't much enjoy magic. With his plan of being a black mage for his costume ruined, he opted for a more classic Halloween costume; a mandrake, of course! He'd stuck dried leaves in his hair with a flower right on top, fastened to the base of his tied-up bangs. It looked a little silly, maybe even undignified, but he thought it topped off the cape of foliage he wore and the dark makeup around his eyes. It was a bit hot, even during the freezing night. Yet he smelled like the forest floor and that was enough comfort for him.

Bho reached the camp in due time. He surveyed the area with his single remaining eye, his tongue briefly tracing his sharp teeth in thought and anticipation. Contently, he approached the entrance, a satchel made visible from under his cloak so he needn't look suspicious. Besides, how else would he carry all his goodies?

"Happy Halloween," he said, almost questioningly. That was the right phrase, no? "I come in peace and prrrosperity."

Being a traveler herself, Wakumi was so stranger of going through a desert environment. Attending a party by a desert tribe on the other hand, was an another story. Being curious of what this party bring, the pharmacist decided to check it out. As for the entrance fee, she could offer what was always one of the most important things for such tribes as long as she was concerned: medicine. Carrying a bag of various medicines, Wakumi briefly lifted up the rim of her Asian-style cone hat, which was good protection against the sun and heat. Instead of the usual high bun, her dark-brown hair was now in low twin-buns. She was wearing a long green outfit, resembling an Ao Dai (traditional Vietnamese clothing).



"So there it is..." she took a deep sigh, looking up as she spotted the camp of the Daelis. Relieved that she arrived at her destination, she walked forward.

A slight, quizzical smirk crept onto Sarí's face, but whatever thought might have caused it went unshared. She stayed focused on Flynn and the offer of an item that should be safe to use in a pinch, but that likely would indeed go right to some future trade.

"The unchanged water is acceptable," she told the pink-haired visitor, and held out her hand to receive it while her other gestured toward the entry. "In exchange for your treat, you may enter and enjoy. Food and drink from the red tables are included within reason, but must be consumed within this camp."

Bho received attention fast enough in his foliage; the gaze of multiple individuals settled on him. The first to address him directly was a man appearing similarly-aged or a little older, who repeated back with a noticeable, somewhat sharp accent, "Happy Halloween. We are Daelis. I am Mael."

The Isari man crossed his arms. Though most would not consider his presentation to be rude, per se, and there wasn't any aggression, some might still describe it as reluctantly polite. Considering how he seemed the most practically-dressed and least decorated of the Isari currently visible, it'd be reasonable to guess he perhaps didn't really want to be there.

"What do you offer for entry?"

Meanwhile, as Wakumi approached, the one to greet her had apparently opted to forgo the skeletal look and was instead covered in white-paint handprints of various sizes, from adults all the way down to tiny infants. He remained seated in the still-warm sand, likely something to do with the sheer age he appeared to be. All he did was wave with a calm, pleasant smile, still a bit distant to speak. Alternatively, the woman speaking with a prior arrival looked like she was almost done with her welcome.

---

Inside, among tents and torches and more members of the tribe, there were indeed adequately table-like structures that had been painted, dyed, or otherwise covered in red. Food and drinks were spread across them in an eclectic mix of "dishes" and containers. Some placed near a bonfire had sticks and poles near to indicate they were to be roasted at will. Another set were actively tended by a pair of Isari: a man who had decorated himself in various small blades rather than any paints, teeth, or bones, and who readily used them with all the skill of a stereotypcial teppanyaki chef; and a woman whose movements were just as skilled but whose results were consistently less appealing in both appearance and taste.

Pockets of conversation dotted the area, most being held in a common tongue, but a keen ear might pick out several other languages in use as well, most of them ones from other lands that lay about the edges of the deep desert. Some of the conversations were concerning fairly mundane topics like weather and trade, while others were clearly story circles which naturally drew in some of the younger tribe members. The musicians with their drums, shakers, and other simple instruments kept near the bonfire as they played and sang, and sure enough there was just a single child handling any further melody with a brightly-painted globular flute.

"Happy Halloween!" Wakumi greeted the man with the white-paint handprints. She became a bit curious, though she figured it had to do with traditions within the tribe. She bowed, then showed her bag. "I shall offer this as a treat. It contains medicines, made by myself."

Flynn handed the vial over and began drifting into the camp, breaking character for the briefest moment to skip forward a couple of steps and offer a wink and playful smile toward Sarí before assuming their performance once again.

They regarded the food tables thoughtfully. They could think of three possibilities regarding the rules on display here. These people either had their own distinctly unique Halloween customs, did not fully understand the spirit of Halloween or they purposely subverted it. Venues and residences were - in Flynn's experience - supposed to offer treats. Not demand them. And the fact that the food here had to be eaten on-site only further diverged from the concept of taking goodies back home. But Flynn was neither disappointed nor offended. In fact, they were intrigued.

Flynn did not immediately approach anyone. Partly, they wanted to stay in character for a bit longer, which meant remaining aloof and outwardly indifferent. But also, they wanted to observe the customs on display and see what they could learn from them. Generally, Flynn preferred being an entertainer than a guest. Their idea of a good time was showing off. And amusing people in the process, of course. For that, they needed a natural opening. Flynn's specialisation may have been in ambassadorial-related diplomacy, but they were no slouch when it came to acts of entertainment. They were, after all, often considered to be a travelling bard.

Without much flourish to it, aside from the peaceful wave of his near-furless tail, Bho reached into his satchel and presented an elaborately sealed skin. It is tanned and furless, shaped much like a bag and sitting at about the size of his own head. The bag, though light, feels decently full, but not to excess. To Bho, there was indeed a fine line between generosity and boot-licking.

"Salmon jerky," he announced plainly. "Smoked and maple-glazed. It is made from a species of fish that keeps surrrprisingly well, especially for something so rrrarely found in the desert."

He could have used cheval salmon, which he had a surplus of, but that was his favorite. Why would he give that up?

The old man waited for Wakumi to draw a bit closer, but bowed his head a little to return the respectful gesture and repeated back the themed greeting. He shifted forward to his knees, rising only high enough to peer into the bag and gently pick through some of its contents to see better. He squinted a little and breathed deep to help with his assessment, and commented, "They look well crafted. Are they all well-labelled for their use?"

It was hard to say just how diverse the knowledge of a given Isari or tribe might be, but there were always bound to be more still they did not know, and medicine was certainly not something to handle blindly.

Mael took the skin from from Bho and wasted no time before prying the thing open to examine its contents. The unfamiliar mix of scents made him blink with a start, but didn't stop him from pulling a small piece free and popping it into his mouth. As he analyzed it, Sarí slipped over and murmured a short, strange word to him while taking the skin to stash away along with the vial from another visitor. As much as a sound he made back might have sounded like a growl, his expression was more akin to to slight annoyance of facing some minor inconvenience.

The woman's left eye landed on Bho's left eye. With a smile she gestured with an elbow toward the entry. "I am Sarí. In exchange for your treat, you may enter and enjoy. Food and drink from the red tables are included within reason, but must be consumed within this camp."

If it was attention that Flynn wanted, they were not left without. No one made any immediate approach to them, either, some still more caught up in their own activities, others because they had been told to allow visitors a chance to at least investigate the foodstuffs before demanding too much of their attention. Eyes were on the fae, though, appraising their appearance, their finery, and how they might have achieved such brilliant pinks. While older members of the tribe observed with a bit more caution, the fascination of those who were younger - and certainly more plentifully present, be it children or younger adults - displayed a more open interest.

((I profusely apologise if the original version of this post caused anyone any discomfort, as it was entirely unintended! I got a bit carried away with the description of the costume change, and though my intentions were tame, I was made aware that it was possible to take it the wrong way. I've since altered the post to make the intended tone more clear.))

Flynn gave the camp one more sweeping look, then made their way toward what seemed to be the most central-to-the-party open space of the camp delicately, one step at a time. They came to a stop like a monarch amongst a gathering of subjects or a powerful entity about to subjugate a village, an expression of empty indifference on their face. But they made no gestures of ill will.

Rather, Flynn reached under their bizarre cape and seemed to undo a few subtle fastenings, allowing the transparent tunic beneath to slide off their form and fall to the sand. They stepped out of it and then unfastened the cape itself, letting it fall behind them along with their bag. Reduced to the more ordinary garments they wore under their costume, which looked far more befitting of an acrobatic performer, they raised their arms in the air in a Y shape and turned around 180 degrees.

"I am Flynn..." they said softly with the same put-on mysterious aloofness. Their voice seemed to carry far further than it should, as though pulled along by some imperceptible breeze. As clear as if they had shouted, despite their tone being soft and quiet. Flynn lowered their arms and began to remove their superfluous costume accessories for better mobility. "Descendent of the fey." Now in a more athletically-appropriate crop-top and shorts combo, their archfey guise was thoroughly dispelled. They now appeared more like a performer from an archfey's court. Which they could well have become, had they chosen to take their life in a different direction.

"And I have come..." Flynn stepped amidst the discarded portion of their costume and kicked up their cloak, which they flicked along with their tail and then threw aside with their arm. They clicked the fingers of their other hand and their bag's flap flew open. The cloak whooshed around them, their discarded accessories seemingly being pulled along behind it until they pointed an arm at their bag and the garments flew inside, seemingly taking up no space within. They tossed the leaf crown in after it, but kept the circlet on. When all the unused layers had disappeared, the bag snapped shut and Flynn crouched down beside it, picking it up.

As Flynn lifted the bag, they flicked their wrist and in a blink of an eye, the bag became their signature pink hat, with its faux cat-like ears and cute face. They placed the hat on their head. "To party."

They twirled on the spot, kicking up the sand around them, not enough to create a twister, but still plenty to cause a localised circle of swirling particles around their feet. Then they suddenly stopped with an arm in the air to determine the best place to go for performative dance.

"Well, yes. I label them for their use." Wakumi said and pulled out an example. A dried herb mix for tea used to cure common cold. It was in a small flask, which the label for course telling the usage, including the right daily dose. Being a pharmacist, Wakumi was aware what risk could a medicine hold, this is why she was also cautious when giving them so someone.

Food and drink from the red tables are included within reason, but must be consumed within this camp.

Darn. Bho expected as much, given stockpiling someone else's generously supplied food would be plainly rude. Instead of outwardly complaining at this, he nodded with pursed lips, finding no issue.

"Thank you. I apprrreciate it."

And thus, the catfolk-turned-mandragora head inside the camp at the woman's beckoning. It interested him mildly that she had a damaged eye on the same side. Ultimately, he didn't care - plenty of people had missing eyes like he did - but he was a bit nosy regarding the tale. Perhaps he could be allowed a bit of intrusion to ask sometime. His own cause wasn't that interesting, at least to him. It was far more fascinating to learn what monster or disease hit these elves to cause such corneal scarring.

Oh, well. Enough of that.

He adjusted his jacket as he head inside, the smell of food wafting up to his darkened nose. It twitched in reflex, his eye closing briefly as the scent caressed his vomeronasal organ, which sat just behind his top incisors. It was enough to make him lick his lips, eye scanning the area for the-

Wait a minute.

There were storytellers in a circle. Albeit, surrounded by little rugrats amongst them, but that was to be expected, he supposed. Contently, he gravitated to the nearest one, pretending to remain just disinterested enough that he was looking for something, but just happened to overhear. One of his fuzzy ears turned toward the circle, significantly giving him away. If he was lucky, maybe he could gleam some of the folklore or personal experiences from these people. It would certainly be an aid to his anthropological research. . .

"Good, good..." the old man told Wakumi. "Mm, I am Keibret. Welcome. Food and drink from the red tables are included, but must be consumed within this camp. If someone looks angry, assume you took too much. If you have to make an offer... be specific."

Keibret winked with a faint smirk. He gave no further indication what he meant, but merely pointed her on in.

The scene Flynn made caused a bit of a stir, but perhaps not quite as intended, at least starting out. The immediate area quieted down some and the fae's audience eyed them warily, a few even looking genuinely nervous while others appeared merely distrustful. Eyes darted about and congregated along a few particular paths, but it may not have been until those individuals were hushedly directing others to gaze down the same ways that it could be identified as an evacuation route reminder. No one was actually taking off yet, though; instead, they kept stealing glances as they proceeded with their own activities.

When Flynn spun, they'd find another member of the tribe approaching. Much of the paint on his arms had been smeared artlessly. "Do party," he said lowly, and it was quickly clear that this was a less practiced language for him. "And care. Many..." He gestured around while seeking the right words, or at least something hopefully close enough. "...unlike wizard."

Despite the mild stir another visitor had caused, the circle Bho listened in on proceeded with only a short pause when another tribe member passed by to mumble something before proceeding along on whatever mission they had. Those listening to the story were already showing a range of feelings; some had likely heard the tale before, but some looked confused or disbelieving, some appeared downright smug about something, some seemed nervous or upset, and some looked focused more than anything on deciphering the words themselves.

"...the farmland got smaller and drier, and their deadyards grow even faster. When they finally have to accept they must move, do you know what they do with their deadyards? Do you know what they do with these places they claim are to honor their dead, and to let them visit their ancestors?"

"They... do not dig them up to bring with... do they?" asked a small voice, one that sounded disappointed by their own suggestion.

The storyteller shook their head slowly. "No, they usually do not. They usually abandon everyone put into their deadyards when they leave."

This was met with clear disapproval, including comments about "liars" and "betrayers." One pointed out, "Nothing to dig up. The sands take."

A wry chuckle left the storyteller. "They try to stop the sands with boxes and bags." Another shake of the head. "But yes. We have looked. The sands may be kept out, but the dead still rot and dry. The deadyards are mostly full of boxes of only bones."

How often did one come across what sounded like self-professed grave-robbers judging others for disrespecting the dead?

Flynn wasn't entirely sure what was being communicated to them, but they noted the change in atmosphere their 'performance' created. Certainly not their intention. "Forgive me..." they said awkwardly, rubbing the back of their head. "I am an entertainer at heart. And rest assured, I am no wizard. My magic is..." it was beyond the capacity of fey of Flynn's sort to lie. But they could twist the truth and omit important information at will. They had to take a second to skirt around mentioning their powers of suggestion. "More orientated toward making friends. And putting on a show. Tell me... is there a dance I may be permitted to join...?" they glanced thoughtfully toward the musicians. "Or would it be better for me to perform my own? No more gratuitous use of magic within the boundaries of your camp, on that you have my promise - and a fey's promise is binding."

'Gratuitous' was of course the important word there. They certainly did not wish to contract themselves out of self-defence. Plus, it was down to Flynn's discretion just what they considered gratuitous. There were definitely personal and social situations important enough to their own sensibilities that they did not consider counted as such.

"Nice to meet you and thank you. I would keep this advice in mind." Wakumi bowed to Keibret and entered the camp. After entering, she looked around. Should she join the dancers? Or the storyteller group? Oh, so much options! Then her stomach growled. This reminded Wakumi she had travelled though her desert for days and she was low on food, so she approached the tables. sliding her hat back onto her shoulder, she began to eat while being cautious to not take that many.

Ajlil's eyes narrowed some on Flynn. He understood a bit more than he spoke, and deceptive phrasing was plenty familiar to the Isari, even if Daelis tribe made less use of it than his former tribe had. While he had joined with this one long after the incident that had left them so disturbed by magic, and so was not nearly so fearful of it as they could be, he had still seen before in Sarí's remaining eye how much it still haunted even her. Perhaps especially her.

"Refrain," was all he said of the magic use.

He gestured over toward the drummers near the bonfire, then. They were playing a little softer than before, and the little flute player was wedged between a pair of them and hugging her legs with a confused pout, but the drums were steadily beginning to pick back up. No voices had yet returned.

"Dance with them. Dance with you. Your choice." His smile was... forced, but it was an honest attempt, at least.

While Wakumi ate, the flashy show of food prep slowed and quieted. There was plenty at the tables for now, after all. The assistant had become a mix of bored with chopping at foodstuff and annoyed with the critical comments of the "chef," too, and was instead paying more attention to any weapons she could spot among the visitors.

The chef himself eventually leaned closer to Wakumi. His dark skin seemed even darker in the limited light of torches, and that same light could seem all the more eerie as it glinted off his eyes, his grinning teeth, and the various blades attached all over him. He uttered but a single, inquisitive syllable: "Good?"