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Salvo Dal was walking along a main concourse, the hustle and bustle of Glenveil mostly ignored within his brisk stride.

He too was mostly ignored except for those that above his eyes did look.

After all, he seemed the average shaved man, short shorn auburn hair, eyes a dull green. His stomach was not pronounced, yet still firm and beer-fed. Thick flabby arms marched along with the step of legs.

Who now would notice a man wearing a rough cotton vest and well worn hempen trousers, patched here and there with wineskin and fishing rope? Yes, Salvo Dal looked perfectly normal.
Although there was the orb... squarely within a hole in his forehead, set above determined eyes, there whirled and danced a polychromatic blob of gas, a little chameleon sun that changed from red to rainbow to giraffe spot in no immediately perceivable pattern.

"I have to have to find a sewer and some silk. Wander here wander there, a gift to get a garb to gather and a snack to store. This town, this road this place oh what a bore! Let Festus come and the two unite. Let the bri-"

Salvo was torn from his manic little jolly song by the guffaw of a beggar. Sitting crossed legged, pan of coins balanced upon one knee, the geriatric man studied him amusedly. Might as well ask him, Salvo thought as he tossed a few golden nuggets into the bowl.

"Ho, oh wise road rat, can you direct me to the tailor of this town, the best constructor of clothing?"

It took some time for Salvo to locate the street described by the mendicant. Finally he found himself in front of a two storey building, garbed in tree green all over. The heavy door stood open.
This is it, Salvo thought.

Jabbing his thumbs into his belt, taking a good breath and arching his back he shouted: "Hullo, ye tailor and greetings! Salvo I am and this an emergency be! Can you aid me in a quick fashion, for not long now, a week I say, to a great cosmic event I must be under way!"

Pigeons flew from roofs, a cat skulked back into the shadows and Salvo, Salvo waited under the sky and upon the street, carts he had not seen swerving around him, irate whip-wielders cursing his madness.

The cloth scrap is torn and frayed. It’s partially burned... partially dissolved. In addition to the smell of old death from it’s owner, it seems to also smell vaguely of chlorine. On the one remaining good edge of fabric, there is silver gray trim, and an example of an arcane rune. It’s about an inch square in size, and embroidered in indigo thread. It certainly looked like an arcane symbol, but to one educated in the runes and letters of the language, it held no meaning. It, like the robe itself, existed only for appearances.

“Well, yes, and No.... they do not need to be actual arcane symbols. The only magic that I ever put into the robes are mending and cleaning effects... and if I have the time and money, a permanent one. If you know the arcane language, I will not turn down some real ones for the embroidery... but I still need a few fakes added in as well.”

Isabella shrugged. “Appearances. Oh, and have you ever see how annoyed someone gets trying to read a fake langua-“

She turns in her seat, looking back toward the front of the store. “...I think you are being summoned...”

Outside, Lucky, the bedraggled mule, finally lifts its head. The small beast of burden barely reacted as Salvo Dal initially arrived to the store... but the exceptionally loud greeting seemed enough to provoke an actual response. Lucky stomped a foot again, then set back to grazing.

Lady Forest reaches out, and with two clawed fingers, carefully pushes Stubbs' card and hand away.

"A kind but unnecessary offer. Draconus is a retired paladin." She smiles politely. "Save th' card for someone who really--"

She hadn't seen Salvo, but his shout serves well to get her attention! The shopkeep's lips dip into a frown, and she wordlessly gives the medic permission to browse with a flick of her hand around her shop.

"...I've got it, Draconus!" She barks over a shoulder on her way to the front door. Taking up the doorway is an easy feat when two wings are jutting from your back, and Lauren does just that as she takes the time to assess her new patron.

She's straight-faced as can be, much like her first interaction with Isabella.

"Th' tailor's busy with a client at th' moment. What manner o' attire might ya b' seekin' from him?"

Draconus studies the cloth scrap with care. A lover of languages himself, he's visibly disappointed by the nonexistent nonsense stitched in.

But when someone hollars for him, interrupting their conversation, the tailor almost utters a huff of annoyance. He starts to rise, more bothered by the distraction than wanting to meet another customer. Do people lack manners?!

"Well whoever it is will have to wait," he answers Isabella. Thankfully half a second later, his wife's call removes obligations to seek the yeller out. Draconus settles back into his seat. His head is still half-turned to the doorway.

Stubbs was about to bring up his hand to wave off the shopkeeper's apology about the card. Honestly, the only reason he was required to hand them out was because the Engineer insisted that he hand them out. "It'll be good for business " he said... suuuuuuuure... Either way the guy counted the cards, so he'll know if Stubbs didn't hand any out. Conagher was nothing if not diligent.

Before the merc could say anything though, Salvo Dal entered the building with his loud greeting. He barely offered the man a glance as he decided his best course of action would be to get out of the way and acknowledge Lady Forest's invitation to browse.

As he walked away though, he whispered a quick "Good luck!" to the shopkeeper. He had a feeling the newcomer might be a bit... difficult.

Promptly, Salvo found himself facing a cheetahfuan, barring the doorway. Her wings were spread out and he saw that she had a queer tail. Judging by her speech he decided she had to be a guard, or some sort of apprentice.

Taking a step from the street, he was narrowly missed by a page rushing by upon a destrier. While listening to the woman, he noticed a well-worn mule. For a while he stood considering the grazing beast, mulling over what he needed, truly needed from a tailor. They had been very vague on that, yet Salvo Dal had to impress. What an event, and to stand there in garb of miller or mussel catcher...

At once he refocused on the woman. As he slowly began to smile a yellow toothed smile, his orb was spiralling inward in hues of blue and pink.

"Well a good fine day to ye, servant of the tailor. A shame it is that the owner busy be, yet I hope I do so hope that aid to me can be given, see..."

Salvo stared at a passing flock of geese, thinking. Once more his head turned towards the inhabited doorway:

"Garn, I do need it all. A cape a cap and socks to match. Shirt the lesser and the greater, a jacket to hold 'em. Boots I lack, and a good pair of underwear also. Perhaps a bracelet or three, also a pair of frilly trousers.
Yet... consultancy! Oh what a bind this is, I need to wear it all yet I know not what to wear. Advice advice advice, yes, I need to be advised. And I need a grand gift to give.. you sell those as well? You see... I am not sure whether I you can tell wherefore the clothes must be donned. But if I do not tell, how can we know what I must wear?"

With this, Salvo closed his mouth suddenly and reset his eyes upon the mule. With a furrowed brow he tried to remember the directives of Festus in exact detail. What a mess, a week to go and his mind in a muddle.

Isabella remains turned, looking toward the entrance as well. Almost as if in a trance. It’s not like the new customer has a subtle voice. It was how he spoke that concerned her. Not all who wander come home. And not all who come home return whole.

Slowly, she turns back, but like Sir Forest, keeps at least a part of her attention back toward the other end of the store. She did not want to get involved... but would if it seemed required.

Her fingers on both hands start moving... stretching, flexing... warming themselves up should she need to weave them through the delicate gestures of her craft.

She had not missed the tailors disappointment at the faux nature of the symbols. It seemed a good place to resume the conversation.

“Not everyone can read or write arcane words... most tailors that do, charge more for it, due to the precision required. At the end of the day, it is all mostly for show... so why demand it? Magical looking gibberish is enough for the average person.”

She taps the one good symbol on the scrap of robe.

“This means nothing to few, and anything I want to many. But, as I said, if you would feel more comfortable with real symbols, that is fine too. I would prefer...”

She glances back toward the front of the store, then back to the table. She picks up a pencil, and quickly writes out a series of symbols. It is a simple spell of warding, protection for the wearer of the robes.

“That. And fill any remaining space with gibberish. Convincing gibberish.”

The shopkeep is quite swift in putting an end to Salvos' misconception.

"I am th' tailor's wife, good sir, and th' primary owner o' this general store." Despite the common mistake, and her firm no-nonsense tone, Lady Forest heeds the strange man's needs.

"Regardless, we sell all o' tha' an then some, if ya care t' peruse th' store while m'usband is wit' 'is other client." She folds in her wings and takes a step back from the door, finally allowing entry. Strange as this man may be, and crazy as she is for letting him in, business is business.

"As for yer...uh... tellin' predicament, per'aps ya can b' vague? Is this a meetin'? A gala? A cruise...?"

"I appreciate your willingness to compromise," Draconus acknowledges Isabella's work with a vocal tone to match. "If you can excuse my initial disappointment, I am quite fond of languages--spoken and written. I can promise that aside from this spell, the rest will be gibberish, as you wish."

The tailor once more eyes the hallway. From where he's sitting, he has a straight shot down it into the storefront. "...would you be interested in seeing the manner of silks and velvets in stock, and doing the measurements for your fit today?"

His question comes off sounding a little distracted--the unknown variable of 'up front' is a mild concern.

Salvo inclined his head once.

"Well good meetings, oh owner, and my thanks for the offer of perusal, for peruse I shall."

Salvo had scarcely entered the store when he heard her question. Turning back slowly, he locked eyes with the shopkeep.

"My predicament? Madam, to answer that I must ask this: What can ye tell me of the Gods?"

Isabella smiles slightly as Sir Forest explains his initial disappointment, and own willingness to undertake the extra bit work.

She waves her hand dismissively. “Do not worry about it, Sir Forest. We all have things we are passionate about...”

She follows his gaze toward the hall, and the tone of his voice for the question.

“I can certainly stay for the measuring... and if you would like, I can browse the fabrics back here for a few minutes, if you need to investigate the... shall we say potential customer up front?”

The shopkeep raises her brows at Salvos' question, and her ears flatten warily.

"Tha' depends on which yer willin' t' discuss," she answers, unintentionally evasive. Oh Gods Actually Above, don't tell her...

"Yer not 'avin' a tea party wit' 'em, are ya??"

"No-- well-- I mean...my wife can certainly handle herself..." Good old 'husbandly worry' settles deep and heavy in his heart despite the rebuff. Half of a second later, Draconus is rising from his seat

"I apologize for keeping you waiting, but I will be just a moment."

You know, just in case a loon really is keeping his wife and store company.

Salvo's eyes widened, almost imperceptibly.

"Oh, oh no nothing so droll, I assure you madam, were I allowed into the realms at teatime, would not a God stand here before you? No, the event is more austere, yet still flamboyant, the event..."

Salvo had to pause. Had not Festus set rules for all the guests, mere mortal shells as he? Yes... to tell all would be folly, foolish pratlings bereaving old S. Dal of ethereal pomp and splendour. Yet cloth had to be had, a hat above shoes and all the rest, costumation which of his reverance toward the divine must attest.

'Well then well then... Oh what a purple pickle! How do you and folk of yours, all hereabouts, view that entity, that deity, which realm is death?"