[D0, Early Evening] A Blue Rose in the Garden

[Illiam'iira]

In Temple Row, deep within the Park of the Infernal and the Divine, a portal opens just a bit above one of the scragglier trees caught between the gardener's battle of heaven and hell. Blink and you'll miss it. Not the yelp, though -- a girl falls through right before it closes, hitting a few branches on the way down (fortunately? for her? they seem to soften an otherwise blunt fall) before crashing into the ground a crumbled heap.

Ouch.

She actually fell rather gracefully, though! Or as graceful as one can fall through a portal to bounce through a bunch of branches then meet the ground with that kinda thunk. No mangling of the eyes or breaking of the teeth, just some nasty scratches and bruises and maybe a cracked bone or two. That's gonna feel pretty bad when she wakes up! 'Til then: the girl's sprawled out on the grass, knocked out, her things splayed out around her tiny body.

Acrobatics roll to try softening fall: 1d20+5 21

[Flession]

It was a definitely a rather strange site to behold. There were a lot of eyes on Drow, likely due to how she appeared rather than being a Drow herself. Still, that didn't stop a few helpful people from going over to 'inspect' her belongings to ensure they managed to escape damage from the fall. Seeing that some of her possessions were bent, like her dragons and other coin-looking objects, the concerned citizen palmed them into his possession them from her bag while someone else made sure she was comfortable.

They needed to be repaired, of course! It would be a lovely surprise for her to see that, when she wakes, finding her coinage had been repaired by a kind-hearted citizen! A happy and welcoming greeting to the City of Doors!

No doubt they would be good citizens and swiftly go repair them, after which they would promptly return it to her person. And, as quickly as her lovely visage came into their lives, the man who grabbed her damaged currency would quickly begin to make a dash to the exit of the park to obtain medical assistance for the poor Drow. "I'll get a doctor!" He shouted to the onlookers, while the few others within this location looked on.

Hopefully that doctor would be here soon.

[Sings-With-Purpose]

Like most proper cagers; by which the folk that lived 'round these parts would mean the 'improper' ones she supposed; Sings-With-Purpose didn't much like coming here. For most of them, the reluctance had to do with the wide open sky. Well, wide and open by the reckoning of the Cage, that was. For Sings, well, that wasn't quite it. She was something of an experienced planeswalker, truth told, and so she'd come to tolerate having next to nothing above her head. No, her reluctance was the *other* sort of reluctance folk might have in coming here. T'was a matter of philosophy, you see.

The garden here told of one struggle of opposing forces, but there was rather a different one that held sway over her reluctance. Good versus evil was one thing, but then so was chaos in opposition to order. And the Lady's Ward? Well, it didn't get much more orderly.

At least it afforded her a chance to stand out. Which sure enough, she did. First, there was that whole *celestial* aura thing she had going on. Now granted, most folk would imagine some golden-hued head of perfectly manicured hair and not the wild forest of deepest black that sat upon her head. But even so, each strand seemed just *perfect* somehow. Same as with her pale marble skin, and the glow that hung about her. No, despite falling far from the median, it wasn't hard to guess this figure might be an Aasimar of one manner or another.

Of course, she also leaned into it with her attire; and engaged in a bit of rebellion against the ward's ambiance at the same time. She wore a short black jacket, within which was contained all the starts of all the universes. Or so it might seem. The fabric itself appeared like a night-time sea of twinkling stars, some of which even seemed to come off the fabric to hang about in the space around her. It was the strangest effect to observe, really. She might move an arm or her whole torso, but the stars did not seem to move the way they should. It was almost as if the jacket itself was a portal to some distant place. The effect induced a mild sense of vertigo, tricking the brain of observes into thinking they were staring into infinity.

Aside from that, there were white-feathered angelic wings sprouting from the back of her jacket as well, moving about as if they were the real thing; which one could easily be convinced they were if one didn't look toward their bottom, where seemed to go from corporeal to ethereal in nature.

She was standing there, leaning against a nearby statue, beginning to strum a few chords on a lute. No, a bandore; albeit a smaller one; for those who cared to note the difference.

Performance: 1d20+14 23

It was a rather odd style of music she was playing, almost certainly entirely unfamiliar to the drow girl who was nearby, in the process of waking up with a crowd gawking at her. Sounded pretty good, though. Maybe good enough that a few of the gawkers actually cared to stop gawking at the poor girl. She wasn't quite certain what'd happened, only arrived after the initial commotion had already happened, but she might've gotten the general gist of it.

Well, at least there'd be a nice soundtrack to the realization that one had woken up in a strange place without one's money and belongings. Such occasions always needed a soundtrack, after all.

[Desten Callor]

The shouting and small gathering of on lookers attracted the attention of more than pickpockets good samaritans and musicians. The sound of heavy metallic footfalls went through the garden as a towering mass of metal approached the group. The man was clad head to toe in gleaming plate mail a bright blue cap around his shoulders, the only hunt if his humanity ther dark eyes behind suits in the visor.

"Make way citizens!" Came a voice strong and deep punching through music and curious mutterings of gathered witnesses.

He was a figure of small renown in Sigil, not famous really but known, even infamous depending on the circle one travelled in. Though he rarely concerned himself with public opinion.

Desten approached the unconscious woman and knelt down inspecting her for injuries "Did anyone see what happened here?" He asked those gathered as he muttered under his breath and a soft light emerged from an outstretched hand, the healing light of the Saint washed over the small woman to mend any injuries and hopefully wake her.

[Sings-With-Purpose]

His voice might punch through the music, but the music could roll with the punches. As he spoke, the music seemed to repeat the tones of his voice; enough to create the illusion of musical harmony. Almost as if Desten was just part of the act. It was a small thing by which she amused herself, though depending on how hard his head was, he might well take offense to what *could* be taken as mockery by those inclined to such judgements.

Wait a second, she's seen him before, hasn't she? Once or twice or maybe thrice as per the rule. Going to and from the Foundry. Same hardhead patrolling the streets. She supposed it was possible he might be one of the rare ones among their ranks that was half-way okay, if he spent so much time in the Lower Wards, breathing in the fumes.

"Seems t'me someone went and hipped themselves this poor primer, officer," she said, her half-ethereal wings flapping about as she continued strumming a tune, easily improv'ing a melody that seemed to flow with the conversation.

"Then a gleaming pip went to fetch her a doctor," she added; any native cager knowing full well that 'gleaming pip' referred to the kind of pickpocket that gives decent hardworking pickpockets a bad name. At least a real pickpocket usually lifted their gains off the conscious, which one reckoned might require a modicum of skill.

"Mind you, that last bit's just hazarding a guess. For all I know the lad really was gonna go for a doctor. Not like this 'ere's the Hive, after all."

[Illiam'iira]

She's tiny and delicate, all scratched up and bruised from her run in with the tree and... some small scratches on the back of her calf? Otherwise, the drow girl looks fineish, she just took a fall and had a run-in with some critter.

As the magic does its work she begins to whimper, brow furrowing as her whole body tenses from the first sensation of consciousness: pain. "Nnh..." Then there's the recognition of unfamiliar music mixed with a fuzziness in the head. Her eyes -- bright pink and shining -- open to a new world slowly at first then all at once, boggling as she sits up only to immediately regret it. Hugging herself and grimacing, Illi looks up at Desten, squeaking out, "Quev? Vel'klar ph'udos?"

[Desten Callor]

His metallic Visage remained impassive and unreadable as the music swirled and changed about his words and he looked at the musician. "Thank you, I will include that in my report, along with your assistance bard." His voice having notes of disappointment but where that originated was anyone's guess.

Then the small drow stirred and he looked down at her, his presence was cold but he was placed in a defensive posture above her, as much a shield from the on lookers as one man could be. "I am sorry, I am unfamiliar with your language. Do you speak the common tongue?" He asked in a tone that passed for gentle from a hardhead.

[Sings-With-Purpose]

The Aasimar shrugged, then muttered a few lyrical sounding words, strumming a few more notes before placing a hand on her own shoulder.

[Casting Tongues on herself, Sings can now understand any spoken language, and she can be understood by any other creature that knows at least one language]

"Shouldn't be a problem," she said toward the hardhead, before giving the drow girl a friendly seeming smirk, "'Ello there cutter, seems you've gone and got yourself in a spot of trouble, haven't you? You wouldn't happen to know where you are, would you?"

She continued strumming a tune, hopefully putting the girl at ease somewhat.

[Illiam'iira]

"I am sorry, I am unfamiliar with your language. Do you speak the common tongue?"

"Ah..." She rubs her eyes as she leans forward, squinting a bit. That's not her weirdo. She checks the crowd for another in full plate but finds none. "Uhm, yes, I can, one moment," Her hand goes to the brooch hanging from her neck; a soft bell rings as she does so, the sound pleasant and silvery, almost like a warm memory. Illiam murmurs a command, "My voice to my friend," before blowing a kiss to Send the message.

"'Ello there cutter, seems you've gone and got yourself in a spot of trouble, haven't you? You wouldn't happen to know where you are, would you?"

Her gaze then turns to Sings. "Is this not the Feywild..?" Illi looks between her and Desten, even more concerned now.

[Desten Callor]

The tall man stood again and offered the small woman a hand to her feet "No. You have arrived in Sigil, City of Doors." His tone settled onto something neutral and only a little cold.

"This sort of thing happens from time to time. Primer spell gone wrong, teleportation problem. Many ways into the City." He explains a little.