Kivan nods to Mikmek.
"No thanks are needed. I may have provided some help, but at the end of the day you figured it out. Just like how you figured out how to use a mill run channel for the water wheel, so that it can stay on solid ground. It is wonderful to see such industry here."
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Chief Sootscale nods at Kesten. "Welcome, friend of the self-lords. You are a lord as well, but not of this land else I would know of you. Another self-lord, then? Regardless, a friend of the self-lords is a friend of ours."
When you translate this to Kesten, he bows stiffly from the waist and replies "In a manner, yes. I am from far north of here. I call no man my master but am obliged to my family. You could call me a self-lord. Your welcome is most gracious, Chieftain. I see your subjects are most industrious, though your project there is not of the kind usually made by your ilk."
Chief Sootscale either doesn't understand the slight jab or he chooses to let it go, as he makes the peculiar "smiling" face of the kobolds. "Indeed, we are more fortunate than most. Our tribe has received many blessings, the aid of your friends not the least among them. Come, the sun is hot and a traveler needs refreshments."
Mikmek flushes with pride at Kivan's compliments and chats with the well-read elf as you walk. "It was not all me. Ell-Ell, our Fish-Seer, told me it was foolish to build at the river's edge. She showed me how deep the mud seeps up your legs at the river bank, and told me of floods which would wash all work away. I devised a plan to cut a new channel and line it with stone. Such work is natural to us - it is not so different than tunneling." The engineer digs through a leather satchel and retrieves a plan inked on parchment showing a complicated mechanism. "To guard against floods, I will build this: A hollow log floats in the channel. If the river rises past this point here, the log will rise enough to push this toggle with a lever, releasing this wooden wall set into the hillside on rollers. The wall slides out and blocks the channel. After the water has lowered the wall can be pushed back into the hill. We will lose the wheel's power for the flood duration, but save the structure. Does this seem sound to you? Could it be better?"
Chief Sootscale leads you to a shady area where the hill blocks the worst of the sun. The red-scaled young female you saw when last you visited appears with drinking skins. Shyly, she hands them out. The water within is pleasantly cool and tastes of pine. The youngling pats Sicarius on the head and makes herself scarce. After drinking, Chief Sootscale addresses Maja. "We have fared well in the rain. The river is generous, and sets the fish in motion after a storm. I am told they are hungrier and take bait more readily. This allows me to assign the lesser experienced fishers to the river, and divert the more proficient to guard duty. There is not so much difference in watching the waters for fish and striking with a spear, and watching the plains for enemies and striking with a spear. We are painfully exposed at the moment, and need every spear-hand at watch. Hokmak is driving his troops hard - this project must be completed quickly."
In answer to Pretty's question, Chief Sootscale shakes his head. "No, we have seen no sign of any foes. We have you to thank for that, and we are most grateful. It was not easy to convince my tribe to undertake this project, and it would not have occurred if we had the Horned One's men to worry about. I can tell you that no Sootscale slew the unicorn. The only ones who have ventured outside our domain are Yatpank's wood-gathering gangs, and he would not raise claw against such a being nor tolerate such a deed in his presence. As for you, self-lords, what tidings?"
Seraphina spots Yatpank near the construction, holding an adze and looking at a log critically.
"That was a marvelous work, chief." Pretty looks at the waterwheel for several moments, before proceeding on with more important subjects, in her opinion.
"We have had fairly peaceful days, aside from some minor events. It's boring in a few days, with nothing to be found. Anyway, you should watch out for a last bandit party leaded by a wizard name Xen. I'm pretty sure he's the one behind the Unicorn's death, but that's just me. We will deal with him, soon enough, but for now we had no opportunity to get his trail, or else we would have hunted him already."
"Thanks. We will try to deal with them as fast as we can." For the lack of anything else she wanted to discuss at the moment, and old doubt came into her mind, and she wanted to get rid of it. "Chief Sootscale, for how long have the Sootscale lived in these lands?"
Seraphina smiled, pleased that things seemed to be going well. She took a deep drought of the cool, fragrant water and sighed contentedly as she continued to converse with the kobolds in Draconic, relying on Idris and Pretty to translate for Kesten.
"Thank you for the refreshments. It gladdens my heart to see the noble Sootscales prosper. We have been favored by providence as well. When next we return this far south, I expect we will begin rebuilding the old Stag Lord's fort as our own stronghold. We shall be close neighbors, beneficent allies and by our proximity support and watch over each other. I hope that pleases the Sootscales as much as it does me. Tell me, have there been any troubles since you all have been toiling in the open air and sunlight? Any travelers that took notice of your activities? Perhaps the man we met travelling along the river has already returned this way?"
"My friend, Lord Garess, is more familiar with the war-making kobold tribes near his homeland. Chief, would you be so kind as to speak of the wisdom that led the Sootscales to find their unique path?"
Once their conversation had concluded, Sera said, "I see that Yatpank is at home, for once. Could I trouble him from his task to join us as we speak about the wilderness?"
She brought out their freshly sketched out map and greeted Yatpank warmly in Draconic as he approached. "Ho there, O crafty woodsage! It is good to see your scaly hide remains intact! Your advice about the wildlands was quite helpful in our exploration and I wanted to share the information we have gathered."
She pointed out those locations where they had met with something dangerous and updated with how they left it. "Here we found a nest of Tatzlwyrms and drove the mother and her egg off. I expect she will give this area a wide berth but be watchful in your travels as she has been displaced. Here we found the dead unicorn, that troubles me greatly... The magics used to kill the creature were most fell indeed. Yatpank, do you know of any wood-lore that speaks to the existence of an Elder Nymph in these lands? I had thought nymphs were goodly, but the more we learn of this one, the more I worry that is not the case here."
Once that business was all completed, Seraphina sought some minor excuse and drew Yatpank away from the group a short distance to make a more personal inquiry. "I spoke with Mikmek about these matters but he seemed to think you might be more helpful. I was born an oddity in my family, the only female among my siblings, the only one with my fiery coloring, and the only one who manifested innate magical abilities. Through my studies, I have learned much, and I think I may now understand from whence these strange powers and traits came." She stretched her fingers and curled them into the jade tipped gleaming claws, demonstrating for the woodsage. "I believe we may have a metallic dragon crouching on some hidden branch of my family tree. I understand you are also possessed of sorcerous magics... Do you have a way to confirm or deny this suspicion?" She blinked her shining scale-lined eyes expectantly at the kobold trying to discern if he looked different from his fellow kobolds in the way she was beginning to look different from her human kin.
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"We have lived here in these caverns for untold generations," replies the Chief. "No Sootscale lives today who remembers the oldest Sootscale to remember the oldest Sootscale who came to this place. It is good to have you Self-lords as neighbors, but I do worry somewhat. Humans making a home means more humans soon after, and I do not trust all to be as wise and tolerant as you. We have had no trouble since your last visit, and the boat-man has not passed this way again."
Chief Sootscale leans back against the hillside and sips from his waterskin. "Of course I will speak of it. Long ago, many hatchings before my time, a human from the woods approached us and allowed our warriors to capture him. He was a strange man, who spoke some of our tongue, and bore with him a book of scripture and holy writings. If you are familiar with our kind, new self-lord, you know of our usual ways. Scheming, plotting, laying traps for friend and foe alike as each kobold fights his way to the top of the pile. This holy book spoke of community, of strength in numbers and trust. Where one kobold is weak prey, many kobolds are formidable. More formidable still are many kobolds who fight and live as a team, abstaining from internal chaos. The book told of strong leadership directing willing claws to greater purpose. The book taught us to farm and to hunt, providing for ourselves instead of taking our needs from others. In this way we Sootscales have gone unnoticed, strong and safe. It seems these teachings are not unknown to your kind as well."
"He speaks truth," pipes up Mikmek, after the Chief's speech is translated. "Ma-Ja examined our holy texts and declared them the same scripture as she carries in service to her god."
Kesten doesn't seem quite convinced. "Hardly an opportunity for you to raid, as far out as you are," he scowls. "You've got a lot of spear-bearers for peaceful folk."
Mikmek scowls back. "Thus speaks the armored warrior with a sword of fine steel!"
"I never claimed to be peaceful!" retorts Kesten, crossing his arms with the soft chime of mail on mail.
Mikmek starts to reply, but the Chief waves him into silence. "I speak for the Sootscales, Master Builder." A moment passes in silence while Mikmek and Kesten eye each other. The Chief continues. "I admit our ways are unusual, but I submit that your friends have spent time among us and can vouch for what I have told you. You are welcome to spend time here as well for your own peace of mind - but I will ask that you still your tongue before it speaks hatefully. As you said, there are many spear-bearers here. If you cannot come among us peacefully, it would be better for all that you depart instead of causing a tragedy."
"Boil me in piss," curses Kesten. "I'm being lectured on civility by a kobold!" The knight turns away and fishes one of his pungent cigars out and lights it, chewing the end angrily. After several long drags and a few moments of silence, he turns back, calmer. "The fact that a kobold is lecturing me instead of trying to carve me to pieces is unusual. I will give you that. I apologize for my hasty words."
Yatpank seems distant. He only listens halfheartedly to your information, preoccupied with the shape of the tree limb he is shaping. "No, no nymph," he chirps out in his pidgin Common. "Yatpank wood-wise, know of all in the land. No nymph. Unicorn is strong and good, sad to hear died."
When you pull him aside, Yatpank makes a sour face at you and drops the Common for Draconic. "Yes, you can do dragon magic, are growing scales, and can hear our flutes. Confirmed! You have dragon blood! Sleep easy at night now! Yes, I have some magics. I listen. When something speaks to me of its nature, I hear! If you understand the nature of a thing, you can use its power." The old kobold thumps you in the chest with a scaly fist. "You should learn this, too! All things have a nature. The nature of things must be respected - you should learn this!"
Yatpank doesn't seem to be different from his fellows in anything but age. Old kobolds are rare for obvious reasons. The scales around his muzzle and eyes are bleached and fading in color. His left eye is slightly foggy. Yatpank's scrawny body belies his speed and ability, and his scales bear the weathering and scars of many years spent adventuring in the open. The old kobold looks at you, clearly peeved.
Kivan innocently looks at Kesten.
"If it is your desire to be boiled then using water would be quicker. If it must be waste that you are boiled in then I'm sure that we could have a big enough pot full by the end of the week. If the kobolds would be so nice as to donate some as well."
"Lord Kesten, in the Bulwark of Gorum, it is taught that the Lord in Iron spoke to the ancient taldane General Tacticus, saying, 'If you would have peace, prepare for war.' A society preparing weapons and defenders doesn't prove that they are warlike -- it proves that they are sane. Not one nation in Avistan lacks an army, except those that are subjugated by another." Idris recalls the teachings of her mentor, Father Kilkynn, who was very intent on spreading the idea that worship of Gorum, exultation in battle, and preparedness for war was not only compatible but fundamental to maintaining a prosperous, stable, largely peaceful society.
Pretty shakes her head to Kesten when Kivan speaks, clearly forming a word with her lips, although no sound is made. Ignore it.
After they debated about their peaceful ways, Pretty goes back on her question. "I don't remember having asked you that before, but do you have information on who built that Fort? Or maybe how long ago was that?"
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"That I do not know, friend. As far as we Sootscales know, the fort has always been there. The Horned One occupied it but recently."
Kesten blinks at Kivan's statement, and a brief moment passes in silence before Chief Sootscale excuses himself. "Pardon, Self-Lords, but I must attend to many matters. If you have other questions or needs, seek me out."
As the group drifts apart, Kesten muses out loud to anybody near. "You know, I've never seen a kobold tribe that wasn't the same color throughout. I see most of these lizards are dusky grey, but some are red. How is this?"
Mikmek is eager to show off the fruit of his labor, and gladly leads you around the partially built structure. He excitedly points out features and components yet to be built. "I owe you gratitude for your help, Kivan," chirps the little lizardman. "You must have studied in a great academy for all your knowledge. Would that I could do the same! I have no doubt that I could excel, were it not for my race. It is hard to present yourself for study when every human thinks you a threat to be exterminated."
After you conclude your business with the Sootscales, you head northwest once more towards the Levetons' post and the end of your mission.
Jegred pauses as you set out, and addresses the group. "Friends, I believe I shall stay in the wild for now. These trackless plains and budding woods are more home for me than any city wrought of wood and stone could ever be. I shall await your return, and look after the area in your absence."
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Location: Hex T5(plains, The old Sycamore)
Date: 17 Desnus, 4710 Absalom Reckoning
Temperature: 73° F
Weather conditions: Overcast, light wind (6 mph) from the southwest.
Food: 10 days' supply
After many long weeks of wandering, you find yourselves back in the area formerly claimed by the now-vanquished mite tribe. Happily, you see no evidence of recent activity. The old sycamore still thrusts its lightning-blasted limbs into the sky like claws, but no longer shelters murderous fey and vermin.
In the early afternoon, a shadow falls upon you. Looking up, you see an enormous bird blocking the sun. Its size defies all logic - with a wingspan of around 80 feet and talons large enough to grasp a horse, this is clearly no ordinary avian. It is gliding high in the sky, and if it sees you it gives no notice.
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Location: Hex S4(plains)
Date: 18 Desnus, 4710 Absalom Reckoning
Temperature: 68° F
Weather conditions: clear skies, light wind (5 mph) from the west.
Food: 9 days' supply
You press on, inching closer to the end of your mission with every step of your horses' hooves and scratch of quill pen to map. Nothing of note occupies this area, and you encounter no creatures.
In the evening, Kesten finds a moment where Maja is alone and out of earshot of the rest of the group, and approaches her.
"Sister of Erastil's flock," he begins awkwardly. "I would speak to you of a private matter which embarrasses me somewhat. It concerns Lady Medvyed. I am aware she is a magi of considerable talent, and such power sometimes manifests with side effects. I presume you've noted her ability to grow claws when needed? A handy talent, but I've also noticed - scales? Forming about her eyes and neck. I worry, Sister - is Seraphina afflicted with some ill of which she's spoken to you? I have heard tales of spell-slingers consumed by their power, and I worry for the Lady."
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Location: Hex S3 (Forest, Moon Radish patch(
Date: 19 Desnus, 4710 Absalom Reckoning
Temperature: 70° F
Weather conditions: clear skies, no wind
Food: 8 days' supply
Roughly two months after you first rode out to this untamed wilderness, you finally cover the last piece of ground and scratch the final details of your survey onto your charter map. This close to the Trading Post, with the twin threats of mites and bandits extinguished, you expect no trouble, and no trouble is what you find. The day is beautiful, and your familiarity with this area from passing through several times makes light work of your survey.
You do notice that the Moon Radish patch has been completely depleted. You might expect a few bushels of the useful tubers at this time of year, but the entire crop has been harvested.
Idris is on watch, a short distance from the camp, when she is suddenly grasped by a pair of strong arms from behind! A familiar smell of clove and musk washes over you as Bara hisses in your ear. "I think it's time for that wrestling match, Idris!" You can clearly feel her body pressed against yours in the hold - she's unarmed and unarmored.
"It's a ritual they do at adulthood. They rub their scales with soot until they change color, permanently, I think. Like taking a young nobleman out drinking and buying him a night with a whore, I guess, " says Idris, ending with a joke.
Idris tenses with fear as the arms come around her, but relaxes when she smells Bara's familiar, pleasant scent, and when Bara speaks, Idris grins, realizing the game being played now. "Ah, so that's how it is... I accept!"
Never did much grappling at school... I'll just try to break her grip...
Idris tries to force Bara's arms apart with raw strength, but fails.
-Posted with Wayfinder
Kivan nods at Maja's wisdom.
"Ah thank you for explaining that to me. I didn't know why Kesten would want to be boiled alive, but not everything you humans does make sense sometimes, but I would love to show you the waterwheel with Mikmek."
As they travel along the waterwheel tour Kivan shakes his head at Mikmek's praise.
"While I did have many books to teach me I wasn't in any great university. I was lucky enough to be apprenticed to Edwin a master wizard. He was a great dwarf who taught me much about knowledge and how important it is, because of his influence I plan on opening up a university of my own and making it available to any person from any race. If I can see that dream come true you would be the first person I would like to extend an invitation to Mikmek."
Kivan seems earnest about his offer, but he also seems to realize that Mikmek might not be able to pursue his dream because of clan responsibilities.
Kivan nods sadly at Jegred's parting.
"I will miss you good druid. Make sure to stay safe."
"Indeed. They should all be dark-scaled, but sometime ago a purple kobold came from somewhere, and messed up with their traditions. He was a powerful Shaman, and kinda intimidated the others on doing some stupid stuff. Part of that was stop the tradition of burning their scales, and thus that batch of eggs remained red, as they were born." She looks around, searching how many red-scaled she can count. "They were the ones who supported the purple evil kobold, who even stole one of their relics and gave it to the mites, to have a reason to incite them to fight. Well, we've put some sense on his mind, and he now only has peaceful thoughts. I promise you he will not harm an ant from now on."
Pretty asks the kobolds, be it Mikmek or whoever is around, to have a couple pounds of fish so they could take it to Bokken, as the promised payment. She will ask Kivan and Maja if they have any magic to keep the fish fresh until they get there.
"See ya later, then, tiefling. Try not to get yourself in trouble, as I've already gotten more than I wanted to."
"Oh my demon gods! Look at the size of that thing! Does anyone got a master ball? An encounter with that thing would not be pretty..."
"Oh, well, I was expecting to have some of these to take to Bokken as well, but I guess the fangberries will have to do it, right? I see whoever took this planted some seeds, so it could be the kobolds or even Bokken himself. Are we making a quick stop there before returning?"
"You said something about a Master Ball?"
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"Boil me in piss," curses Kesten. "I'm being lectured on civility by a kobold!" The knight turns away and fishes one of his pungent cigars out and lights it, chewing the end angrily. After several long drags and a few moments of silence, he turns back, calmer. "The fact that a kobold is lecturing me instead of trying to carve me to pieces is unusual. I will give you that. I apologize for my hasty words.'
Seraphina snickered through her nose softly at the nobleman's pouting discomfiture and nearly choked on her refreshment when Kivan's remark blanked the man's face entirely.
As the Chief bid them farewell, Seraphina thanked him again. "I appreciate your taking the time to indulge us, Chief. Remind me again when we can expect your trading party at the post?"
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When you pull him aside, Yatpank makes a sour face at you and drops the Common for Draconic. "Yes, you can do dragon magic, are growing scales, and can hear our flutes. Confirmed! You have dragon blood! Sleep easy at night now! Yes, I have some magics. I listen. When something speaks to me of its nature, I hear! If you understand the nature of a thing, you can use its power." The old kobold thumps you in the chest with a scaly fist. "You should learn this, too! All things have a nature. The nature of things must be respected - you should learn this!"
Sera gaped inarticulate for a moment, her features first painted with shock and hurt, slowly resolving into outrage. Her auburn brows narrowed to a point as she tried to fathom the kobolds meaning, copper irises flashing in the suns rays. Still she had the presence of mind to check that Kesten was properly occupied and placed her back to him in an attempt to conceal the woodsage from his view.
She held herself haughtily upright now as she rounded on the old kobold also speaking Draconic.
"Sleep easy? Ha! I was raised to understand human natures. So teach me, O woodwise Yatpank, what have I failed to understand or respect that offends you so much you treat me thus when I come to you for knowledge... for help?" She was doing her best to hold her emotions in check but that word Confirmed! was now stamped upon her mind and the as yet unthought of implications of knowing without doubt were bubbling up like caustic ideas in her head. Her eyes glistened with unshed, acidic tears.
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Sera shook her head sadly and approached to say goodbye. She reached up and squeezed the druid's shoulder warmly, indulging her claws for the moment since Jegred had always seemed to favor her scales.
"I was afraid this was coming. Take care, my friend. I hope we shall be reunited soon. And as for YOU!" She said, rounding on Sicarius playfully and scratching his ticklish spots. "You keep him out of trouble, eh?"
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"After this life of the moon and the next," replies the Chief as he leaves. "The mines are still for the moment, but we shall make up for lost time once this building has concluded."
Kesten looks gut-punched. "A dragon cannot change its scales," he says ruefully, flicking a plume of ash from his cigar and watching the Chief head off. "Except for when they do. I suppose I've wronged these lizards, then. I see them fishing, perhaps they could catch me a crow to sup on tonight. My apologies, worthies. I feel I've made quite an ass of myself."
Pretty can see only a handful of the red-scaled kobolds amid the Sootscales.
Mikmek beams a toothy 'smile' at Kivan. "I would like that very much. Perhaps my collection of books could find a good home there. With any luck, our next few Hatchings will yield us scholars. I am proud of what I have learned on my own, but how much easier it would have been with a teacher!" The bookish kobold looks sober. "Had you not ventured to these lands, I fear what I have gathered would have been lost with my death. I truly owe you everything."
Yatpank sweeps his little arm over the construction site, gesturing at all the open industry. "This! Tell me, wanderer, do you know of kobolds who build on the surface of this world and live in the open?" The old kobold gestures to himself, holding up a spindly arm. "Kobolds are small in a world of large threats. It is not our way to move openly, to signal to the world: 'Here we are, come get us!' And yet, here I stand amid just such a declaration. I have traveled far in this world, and seen other tribes of kobolds and their ways. What brings these tribes to grief? They become threats. They attack you tall folk, force you to take notice. Then, you come. Armored in metal, with terrible metal weapons and fire, your kind slaughters mine and brings the tribe to ruin. Our way is better - be unknown, stay strong without drawing attention."
Yatpank sighs. "Mikmek is a very smart kobold, and an asset to the tribe, but he's a damn fool. Worse, he has our Chief's ear for this nonsense. He talks of building a city, and you building a city, and trade, and kobolds walking boldly among your people. He forgets our place. To think your kind could ever tolerate mine - unthinkable! Mikmek says 'the self-lords will protect us', and the Chief nods. The Chief commands: Build this thing. I obey, for I am loyal to my tribe even unto death. I fear, though. This is the first step down a path which will see our end. Suicide, self-lord, suicide! The killing of one's self! If the Sootscales abandon our ways, what else could you call it? It is not the way of the kobold to live as a tall one, and you have put this foolish notion into the Chief's head. You will bear the stain on your soul for the demise of my people!"
Yatpank looks at you fiercely. "Self-lords, Mikmek has titled you. Empty words! How can you be lords of what you do not understand? You come to me mewling questions that you already know the answer to. Why is this? Do you doubt your heart? Do you fight against your blood? Listen to your heartbeat. Hear the breath in your lungs. Feel each moment with your whole being. Know yourself!"
The old kobold crouches down, resting. "I know myself, human. I know my people. We are the children of Tiamat, Queen of Dragonkind. In the beginning, Tiamat sat in her lair, watching over her eggs. Tiamat possessed greater wealth than any had ever accumulated to that time or since. Thieves and assassins lusted after her gold, and the tall races feared what would come to be should her brood hatch and take flight. Massive armies assembled to assault Tiamat's lair, to end her brood and take her treasure. Tiamat rose in defense, and laid waste to her enemies. Each swipe of her claws slew thirtyscore at a blow, and her fiery breath scoured invaders from the earth mercilessly. Her scales protected her from attack, yet the armies that assailed here were so mighty that some attacks harmed even her. Tiamat drove her attackers off, yet was weakened sorely by the battle. She needed rest, but dared not leave her eggs unguarded. Thus, she caused her most promising egg to hatch early, and Kurtulmak, forefather of our race, was born. Denied his future as a true dragon, Kurtulmak was given the cunning of Tiamat as she slept. Kurtulmak burrowed around Tiamat's lair, building defenses. Innumerable were his traps, and his craft was so great that none dared step foot near Tiamat's lair lest they die horribly. No intruder ever laid eyes on Kurtulmak, nor returned alive from Tiamat's lair. In time, all attacks were abandoned. Tiamat regained her strength, and the race of dragons was birthed into the world. We bear the legacy of Kurtulmak in us today - craft, cunning, industry, stealth - survival. You are educated, look upon this:"
Yatpank grabs a stick from the ground and scratches out K-U-R-T-U-L-M-A-K in the dirt in the ancient runes of the Draconic script. "Translate each rune into the tongue of any people you care to. Yours, the elves', the dwarves', the orcs' - it matters not. What meaning do you find in His name?"
Directly translated, the runes spell out "He who Survives".
Yatpank continues, tiredly. "Thus I know my race. I know myself from many days of this life. I have seen the moon die and be reborn five hundred and fifty-two times, human. I have seen fifteen Hatchings and four Chiefs. Every kobold from my Hatching has passed from this world to the next. I have seen my mate die twice. I have held hatchlings to my chest and felt their first breaths, then performed their final rituals many years later as they took their last. I have seen much joy and much tragedy, yet through all the Sootscales have stayed true to our ancient ways, and survived. All this," he says, gesturing at the construction again, "is not of our way. It will be the death of the Sootscales. I desire my own heart to stop before the fruits of this planting come to be, that I not be witness to our end. That is my lesson for you - think on it."
"I know of a magical device known as the Iron Bands of Bilarro" says Kesten. "When thrown, it expands to capture its victim as if bound in iron. Perhaps you are referring to something similar, Pretty?"
"Not good enough!" says Bara. The assassin twists your arm behind your back and kicks your legs out from under you, sending you crashing down to the ground. She lands on you, none too gently, and holds the pin for a moment before releasing you and rolling off. She gets to her feet in a crouch a few feet away. "That's a fall. Come get me!"
Idris winces as Bara lands on top of her, but merely grunts with the impact, and when Bara releases her, she immediately swings her legs in a rapid movement to get her to her feet as quickly as possible. "You bet your ass!" she replies to Bara's goading.
Idris digs her boots into the dirt, wishing she were barefoot for this, and makes a quick feint towards Bara's legs, then with a leap similar to a Balestra, grabs for the half-orc's shoulders, using the momentum of her body to bring her arms together.
Idris breathes heavily, cheeks flushed with excitement -- much of it from the fight, but also because she found the slap Bara gave her backside oddly exhilarating. Bara's scent, too, seemed very warm in her nose. The young fighter puts all of this out of her mind and makes another move, this time using her agility to the maximum advantage that she could.
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"Ooh, you tricky b$&%#," Idris says with a grin, twisting and shifting to try to escape, but finding Bara's hold very difficult to break. "Balls!"
-Posted with Wayfinder
Idris exhales abruptly as landing on the ground forces the air from her lungs. She remains game, however, and considers how Bara has gotten her so far.
Idris tries to imitate the motions that Bara used to pin her last time, attempting to use the same sort of hold. She is not successful at repeating her opponent's move, though.
"Getting me back for the duel, are you? Fine, but I won't make it easy for you."
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Pretty is even more confused on what do you mean. "What? What are you talking about? Are you two out of your minds?!"
Kesten looks gut-punched. "A dragon cannot change its scales," he says ruefully, flicking a plume of ash from his cigar and watching the Chief head off. "Except for when they do. I suppose I've wronged these lizards, then. I see them fishing, perhaps they could catch me a crow to sup on tonight. My apologies, worthies. I feel I've made quite an ass of myself."
Sera's eyes shone kindly on the nobleman, twinkling with amusement and... something else. She patted his shoulder soothingly. "Nonsense, you kept your promise to me to reign in your ire and trust to your observations rather than your prejudice. I am more than satisfied, I am proud."
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Seraphina endured the old kobold's tirade stoically, seriously considering his words though still with a scowl on her face. Prideful as she was, she meant to give as good as she got.
"I know my heart, old one... but it is a strange thing to watch your flesh change before your very eyes. You are fearful now to see change among your kin, but scorn me for worrying that my own will not know me and fear what I have become? But if you look upon my hand of friendship as if it were one of those cold, cruel steel-jawed traps we disabled... as if it hides your doom beneath it's shining scales, then you understand less about my nature than you imagine! That strife between man and kobold is exactly what I hope to avoid."
"There is no longer a corner of the world not haunted by men and everywhere they commune with races they warred with in centuries past. Smaller things even, without the might of the tribe behind them. But you are not wrong, nowhere else are kobolds building in the sun. Nowhere else do kobold and humankind stand in peaceful conference together... You say this is unthinkable and yet here we are. So what makes this possible in the here and now and as yet unlikely among the other kobold tribes? It is not myself or my friends or even Mikmek that is the aberration here. It is the Sootscales themselves! It was long ago that the Sootscales brought a man among themselves and took his message of self-sufficiency, fellowship and duty to their hearts. Qualities now bloom in your natures that tall-folk can respect and trust. Most humankind view skulking and scheming as dangerous vices and so they will always mistrust those who display such qualities and react as to a vicious threat when they find such."
"You speak of your ancestors as if you would turn from the ways your tribe has adopted and prospered under. Would you see all the aid from our hands reversed and again face the civil unrest of Tartuk? You should know we have discerned his motive here. That purple abomination was either mad or deeply cursed. The journal he left was written in undercommon and contains the account by which he infiltrated and destroyed two kobold tribes before he came to the Sootscales. You say you know of other tribes, what of the Hoarfrosts and the Bitterleafs? Tartuk wrote that he destroyed them utterly with his lies and manipulations. The Hoarfrosts he whipped into a frenzy and led them against his former village while the Bitterleafs were betrayed to goblins once their numbers were sufficiently depleted by the in-fighting and rookery sabotage the purple imposter wrought. Would you curse our interference enough to see your tribe returned to this peril?"
"It is too late to again be unknown here and I do not imagine you would wish to leave. This place has been a good home to the Sootscales, you have done more than survive here, you have thrived. I would see you continue to thrive here. I would offer you the benefits of my community because I know what strength and safety comes from such an alliance. My tribe has a saying, 'Endurance Overcomes All'. So I shall endure and you shall survive and together we might show the world that dragon-kin are not to be mistrusted and despised. Do you doubt my sincerity, woodsage? Or simply my capacity to see my will done? Curse me as you will, I cannot reverse what has been done."
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Yatpank looks grim. "I did know of of the Hoarfrosts and Bitterleafs. I did not know of their demises. They are - were - many tendays of travel away. I do not doubt your sincerity, self-lord, nor your will while you breathe. I am old, very old. It will not be many seasons before my breath falters and I am given to the river to follow my kin in death. You are but young, a tree in flower in the springtime of your life. Yet age will lay its heavy hand on you in turn. What then of our peoples? Your people are warlike, Seraphina. You make war upon the other whenever the other is found. When there is no other, you make war upon yourselves. I do not absolve my kind, either. We are driven to make war upon your kind when we can, and only the distance between tribes prevents infighting. You will see there is but one tribe of kobolds in an area, for if two collide one shall surely perish. Can you say that we will not sit in the afterworld and gaze upon our people at war?"
The old kobold shakes his head again. "It is a bold claim to know your heart. If you knew your heart, you would know your flesh. Here, I will share a gift with you. Perhaps old Yatpank can help you after all."
Yatpank reaches out a scaly hand and places it on your chest, over your heart. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. "It is no simple matter to know the nature of a thing. The world is deep and layered, and we are made so as well. Close your eyes. Slow your breathing. Turn your eyes inward. I will help you see!"
You feel a warm sensation on your chest where the old sage has placed his hand. Tuning out the outside world, the rhythm of your heart is plainly felt. Each chamber pumps in sequence, squeezing warm, rich blood through your arteries. A fog of red clouds the vision of your closed eyes, tinged around the edges with a black void. Your heart beats again, and every inch of your body crawls with the sensation of flowing blood. ba-bum. sluuuurk. The sound is rich, low, and seductive. Your lungs sound a warning note, and bundles of raw nerves echo their call from your chest, up your neck, into a ball of warm light where your spine meets the back of your skull. ba-bum. sluuuurk. A clarion call echoes back down the nerves. ba-bum. sluuuurk. Powerful muscles in your chest and abdomen hear the call and heave. Cold, fresh, wonderful air gusts into your lungs and sends an electric shiver through you. ba-bum. sluuuurk. Freshly charged with the life-giving air, sludgy thick blood brings succor to a roaring chorus of hungry cells who shout their relief back into the cacophony of your being. ba-bum. sluuuurk. A strange sense of confinement overcomes you, stifling and cloying. You have to get out. You kick, strike, lash out against your inprisonment, feeble blows against a hard, unyielding wall. ba-bum. sluuuurk. You have to get out. Summoning your strength, you smash a mighty blow against the walls of your prison, and feel them crack. Encouraged, you strike again and again, and the wall is breached. ba-bum. sluuuurk. Blinding light assails your eyes and a sharp pain pricks the side of your neck. Furious, you spin to confront an assailant - but you are falling. ba-bum. sluuuurk. The sun beats upon you as rushing air batters the strong scales of your enormous, powerful form. Lazily, you roll on your back, unfolding massive wings that snap taught as the wind catches them. You pull out of the dive, lord of all you survey. The gentle green lands far below call out to you - 'rule us, o mighty one. Bend us to your will!' ba-bum. sluuuurk. Triumphant, you feel the burning rise in your gorge and along every inch of your veins and nerves. You are alive. It is wonderful. ba-bum. sluuuurk. You exult in the sensation, and a cry of joy escapes your lips. Your eyes snap open, and you are back in the Sootscales' domain in your normal form. The world returns in your senses. The pain in your neck remains, as does the warmth in your chest. Yatpank stands before you, watching your eyes with his little scaled ones and holding a shining copper scale in his hand.
"You have no eggshell, but I believe this will do. When next you return I will have a further gift for you."
Seraphina's face had softened over the course of their discussion. The adrenal rush of her outrage had faded and she now looked on the grizzled kobold soberly. "I am sorry to bring you these sad tidings, then. I do not know for certain the account is truthful, though it was certainly compelling."
"I do not have the gift of prophecy, Yatpank. I cannot say our people shall never come to conflict, but when may that ever be known? All I know for certain is that we will never know what we can achieve together if we do not try. We now build the foundation for the generations to come. When that job is done well, a founder's influence is felt long after they have returned to dust. My friends and I had only dreamed and speculated of how a society might be built on the principles of merit and capability, and lo and behold we find a fine example of such right beneath our noses to serve as model. It is almost too much to believe, but I will not look down my nose on providence. I will make good use of my time and work toward this worthy goal."
She knelt down like an obedient student at Yatpank's offer of help and relaxed into his sorcery. Her claws ripped the ground beside her as she struggled to break free of her confinement and was left panting with excitement and exertion as the spell played out. As she regained her external vision, she regarded the old kobold with new respect.
"That was... I was... " She shook her hand, abandoning the half-formed reactions and gathered herself instead. "I thank you, Yatpank. I will remember what you have said and done for me. I shall endeavor to be thoughtful and remember not to be naive and shortsighted concerning the risks the Sootscales face."
"Don't worry Pretty it is only a Roc."
Bara and Idris Bara AoO: 1d20 + 6 + 2 ⇒ (17) + 6 + 2 = 25 Bara grapple: 1d20 + 6 + 2 + 2 ⇒ (11) + 6 + 2 + 2 = 21 Bara jabs a knuckle into your ribs as you rush her, then knocks your right arm out of the way with an elbow. As you bump into her, she grabs the back of your neck and tucks her head, clinching.
Idris struggles against the clinch, but finds herself unable to find the right combination of moves to escape Bara's arms. She finds her face pressed against Bara's green-grey skin, that warm smell in her nostrils still maddeningly distracting.
-Posted with Wayfinder
"Ah, nah, I don't worry. If it came our way I would probably try to ride it. Always wanted to fly..."
Although she is sleeping, if Pretty had seen how much Idris is suffering she would say. You have no chance, girl.
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Bara wraps a leg behind yours and pushes. Once more, you find yourself flat on your back with Idris atop you, straddling you with her taut and muscular body. Breathing hard from exertion, she locks wide eyes with you and looks at you for a moment. Suddenly, fiercely, the half-orc plants a ferocious kiss on your lips, pushing your head back into the dirt. After a moment, she lets you go. Her hold on you changes from a pin into something gentler, and her face hovers just above yours. "You are fierce and strong, Idris," she breathes. "You make me feel in ways I thought I had banished from my mind. I would know you, if you will have me."
Idris's eyes go wide as Bara plants her lips against the young swordswoman's, then half-close as her head is pressed back, the half-orc's mouth hot and demanding. When Bara withdraws and speaks, a thousand thoughts go through Idris's mind at once.
Oh, so that's why she's been acting weird.
Ohmigod she kissed me she kissed me!
Have I been flirting with her without realizing it?
F@+~ she smells good!
How dense have I been not to notice this?
Holy s!*@ I want to kiss her back!
This could also explain a few things about me, too.
I wonder what her tusks feel like...
Trust passion, Idris hears in her mind, the voice of Father Kilkynn, trust your heart and your gut and your muscles. Don't think. Act. So she does.
Just as Bara begins to wonder if she made a huge mistake, Idris presses her mouth back against hers, closing her eyes and returning the kiss. Her lips part, tracing Bara's lips with her tongue, and presses her body up against the one holding her down.
She finally pulls back to breathe, panting again as she was during the grapple.
"I've never been with a girl," she whispers, "A lot of the others at the Academy did that but I was an outsider, I tried once with a boy but it went nowhere... maybe this is why..."
-Posted with Wayfinder
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Bara shuts you up with another kiss. Her love is like her, rough and wild, and the stars blur overhead as the night gets away from you both.
Later, you lie in each other's arms in silence. Bara turns to look at you, and moonlight glitters off of tears in her eyes. "Idris, I cannot go with you to Restov. The Assassin's Guild has eyes and knives everywhere and I would not have you made prey as well." She runs fingers through your hair. "It was not so long ago that I would have almost welcomed death's finality. I-I thought Pharasma had called me that night you chased me through the woods, but the way I've been treated since... you all are the first to even pretend to care about me, to make me think I could find something in this life besides scorn and blades in the dark. I... I will wait out here for your return, I will not bring danger upon you."
Bara runs her hand down your body, lingering on scars. "I like your scars, Idris. They tell a story. You are today who you are from trials of fire and iron, and your skin is proof." Bara touches the long, knitted scar in your side where the Stag Lord dealt a grievous wound. "And you will remember the foes you've overcome through the marks they leave upon you, and honor their worth with your being. It is right."
Looking into your eyes, Bara slowly bites down on your shoulder - hard. When she lets go, her lips are bloody and you have a perfect imprint of her teeth and tusks broken through your skin. "So I mark you, Idris. You have overcome me, and I would be remembered should I fall."
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Location: Hex S2 (Plains, South Rostland Road, Oleg's Trading Post)
Date: 20 Desnus, 4710 Absalom Reckoning
Temperature: 70° F
Weather conditions: clear skies, light wind (2 mph from the west)
Food: 7 days' supply
The weather remains clear and pleasant as you ride back to Oleg's Trading Post. In anticipation of Svetlana's hospitality, breakfast is light and hastily prepared. The morning sun is yet young when the welcome sight of the walls of the Levetons' sturdy and comfortable house hove into view over the horizon. The gates are swung wide to admit you by a smiling Oleg, who overcomes the exertion of manhandling the hefty gates to welcome you back to his little pocket of civilization. Kesten's men watch the proceedings from their posts atop the walls.
"Friends!" beams Oleg, taking the reins of your horses, "It is good to see you again. Come in and take a load off. Two weeks in the wild's more than I'd care for, that's for sure. The guest rooms are empty, dump your stuff and stretch out. I'll be along with some mail for you once your horses are settled."
Oleg leads your horses to the stables. Kesten excuses himself and heads for the walls to speak to his men. You find the guest house to be as tidy and comfortable as ever. Svetlana greets you warmly as you head for the common room. "Oh, how nice to have you here again. Come, have a seat." Svetlana's dress swishes as she whirls about and heads for the kitchen. She returns after a few moments with a tray of fresh, warm bread and a roast haunch of beef. A second platter holds a bowl of sliced vegetables. "You're quite in luck today, this is something new. A man from Osirion taught me this recipe. You shave off the beef like so, and fold it with these cucumbers and peppers in the bread. I think it's fantastic. Oleg won't eat it without pickles, I have some of those too if you'd like. Let me bring you some water, I've had strawberries and blueberries soaking in it in the icebox overnight."
Svetlana is clearly in a great mood. The food and drinks flow freely, and the morning cool blows in with the breeze through open windows.
Some minutes later, Oleg joins you, kicking his boots against the side of the building to knock dirt and filth off. He has three letters in his hand, which he delivers to Seraphina, Kivan, and Pretty before carving himself a slice of the roast beef.
The letter is fastened with the wax seal of your noble house. Inside you find the familiar flowing script of your mother's handwriting.
My dearest Seraphina,
How lovely it is to hear from you! I am so glad to hear of your continued health. You know how your old mother worries, there are nights I simply cannot sleep knowing you're so far from home in the rough wilds. Your uncle tells me he's sure in your abilities, but such confidence cannot still my fluttering heart. When you've finished with this beastly matter, I presume you shall be returning home?
It does my heart no good to know your association with Kesten. That man is a scoundrel and a ne'er-do-well. His whoring and carousing ways are more akin to the low-born mercenaries with which he surrounds himself than the acts of a proper nobleman. Had he not lucked into his position by the accident of his birth, he would justly be a simple swordman scratching out an existence. It is the shame of House Garess that the younger of the two brothers is more fit for leadership of their clan. Kol is everything one could want in a nobleman, and it pains me to see your heart rejecting him with the foolishness of youth.
It is lonesome in these empty halls without your father by my side and your brothers underfoot. You have reached womanhood, my precious daughter, and watching you bloom is the proudest thing in my life. I am sure your father is smiling down upon you from the hereafter, dearest. You have proven to be witty, beautiful, and intelligent, taken your education well, and been an obedient child. It is time, my sweetest, to set aside the folly of youth and embrace your duty to our ancient House. Kol makes inquiries to your health every few days, you know. The joy that will be yours when you wed and start a family is a light that soothes me.
I have not received any missives from Thora and Zak, but it does not worry me. They are your friends, Sera, and not mine. What use do they have for a lonely old woman? I will mention to them when next they grace our doors that they are close in your thoughts.
On the matter of your abilities, I am afraid I cannot shed any light. When first you showed promise in magic, your father and I consulted Methesnus, the old crow-bones who lives at the foot of the mountains at the edge of our domain. He told us that such abilities may lie dormant through many generations and only manifest occasionally. Your great-aunt Illyna had hair like yours, my precious daughter, and possessed some magical talent which she professed a lack of interest in developing. She was from your father's side of the family, so they would bear any lore on the matter. There are some archives in storage in your father's study here, but I cannot hardly bear to enter that room any more. It is a nearly unbearable pain with your father gone, my darling. I pray you never understand how I've felt these last months, Sera.
I look forward to your return, my daughter. May the road home be easy underfoot, and may the wind at your back blow you to these forests of ours.
With all the love in my heart,
Mother
At first glance, the letter in your hands appears to be an inordinately dry and boring list of shipping manifests and boilerplate contract language. Anybody uninitiated in the Thieves Cant would draw no meaning from this missive, but you use the (incorrect) date on the letter head as the key to the cypher written in between the lines. After some work, the message stands revealed.
In the spring, the Swift builds nests in hidden nooks and crannies. The male of the species constructs the nest from reeds and rushes as one would find in the western swamps of the Sellen. In this way, the Swift erects a safe shelter in which predators cannot find nor strike at him. There is plenty of food for this bird, yet great exertions are required before his flight becomes unfettered. Water is important to the Swift as well, aiding him in finding direction both north and south, by which he brings his findings and scratches for feed. The swift occasionally must venture east in the company of other birds. If one is to find the swift on his wanderings, you will find him in the company of the cockatrice.
The letter in your hands is scented with a distinctive perfume which you remember quite well. It's the fragrance that Viciona wears when dressing herself to infiltrate a high society event (usually as a prelude to robbing a safe while the guards are occupied).
Dearest Kivan
What an absolute doll you are, to think of me and send these along. You will be glad to know they fit exactly - you must be as diligent in your tailoring as your spellcraft. I look fantastic in them, and they've aided me already in several escapades which would be my undoing should I be foolish enough to commit them to paper. You absolutely must come see me when you're done with your errand. I would not mind a change of scenery, and this little future bazaar of yours sounds like just the trick to lay low when Johnny Law is hot and bothered about me. You'll probably not be surprised at how useful I can be when things need done.
You stay safe, kid
Viciona
As you're digesting your breakfast, Kesten rejoins the company. He's changed from his riding leathers into his smoking jacket, and reclines in his customary overstuffed chair with a sigh of contentment and lights yet another cigar.
"So, then," ventures Oleg. "I gather you've finished what you came here to do, alongside with a whole lot you didn't know needed doing. What's next for you, my friends? I suppose it'll be off to Restov for your reward. Whatever way the winds blow you, know you all will always be welcome here on account of what you did for us."
Pretty returns to the watchpost, once again, disguised to pass as an Osiriani, with a turban and light clothes covering most of her body. She eyes Artus intently on the walls, but her tail is undercover, so she does not shake it seductively to the boy.
She is happy to be back and to have a bed to lay on, after their long days riding. "Nice to see you again, Oleg? Actually it was two and a half weeks... Too long, honestly. We're glad to be back."
Later she gets interested in the new stuff. "Icebox? What's that? Oh, and no pickles, thank you. They are bad for the red skinned."
She reads a letter paying with deep concentration, returning to the beginning every once in a while. Then she puts it in a pocket for later, resuming their conversation. "Thanks for your hospitality, Oleg. I'm sure you returned that favor twice already, so if you need anything from me you just have to say it. We're not sure on what to do next, but we've been discussing about settling up on the stolen lands, you know. Brevoy is crowded already. How's business going, by the way? Any news about rangers or adventuring parties riding by?"
Later on, she will write a letter in the same style, although the content is different, and asks Oleg to deliver it, next time he sees the Qadiran merchant.
Last, she asks Oleg how did the letter came, and how long ago.
Sera had been contemplative since leaving the Sootscales. She placed her horse in line with the others and looked ahead with unfocused eyes, her sight turned inward on her memories of the strange vision. She thought upon all she had seen and felt under Yatpank's tutelage in that strange moment that had seemed to take only a few breaths, yet stretched on dream-like to her experience.
Once, she had looked upon the changes in her flesh like some alien influence, but she knew better now. That creature she had glimpsed soaring on the wind was herself, maybe more completely herself than this pallid young woman relying on a beast of burden to bear her along. The sensation of power, of pure freedom that had filled her in the vision was like nothing she had felt before and the absence of it now ached like the hollowness of grief.
Once, she had imagined the dragon part of her slept within and if it woke it would threaten the human part, as if she might one day consume herself like the Ouroboros of legend. Now she understood the folly in that thinking. The dragon was no separate entity, she did not sleep until need awoke her. She was here, now! Considering her situation, and lamenting over her lost loved ones. She wished desperately to see her father's smiling face again, to hear her brothers' teasing laughter. She had collected on the debt of blood, but there was little satisfaction in that fact. Only the grim determination that she would repay death and suffering in kind, like a cold calculation in a merchant's ledger. It would not do.
No, she needed more than the power to avenge those she loved. She needed the power to protect them from harm in the first place. To shelter and guard them like the precious treasures they were. Finally she felt she understood the dragon's urge to hoard, to pile together all that you love and keep it under your ever watchful gaze. But people had the irritating habit of wandering off on their own and into trouble. A slight smile came to her lips as she realized she herself was no exception to this rule. And of course they must be free to seek their own path, for good or ill. How then? How might she protect them without becoming their captor?
She closed her eyes, seeing again the lush green lands as they streaked by beneath her, the cloud banks that soon drifted behind her sluggishly as her wings churned and ripped through the air, propelling her faster and faster than even the wind. Her friends would never be too far from her aid and her enemies would find no safe harbor from her wrath, then. This was how she would protect them, how she would keep them from harm. She must be herself, wholly and completely. She must be known, both for who and what she was. And for what she would do to any creature who dared to harm what she loved again. A burbling rumble sounded deep within her chest at the thought, and she opened her eyes to find her friends gazing up into the afternoon sun. She smiled and nodded to Pretty, feeling almost envious of the great bird soaring high above them.
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With such peaceful days with little excitement, Seraphina had begun to feel restless. No need for much in the way of magic left her retiring at night with her spells unspent. It seemed as if her very being hummed with magical energy that sought it's own escape from her body.
One of these evenings, Bara woke her to take her shift at watch and she seized the opportunity to test out the strange power Yatpank had conferred to her. "Bara, wait a moment. Your orcish heritage affords you certain abilities, I believe? You can see much better in darkness for one. I think my kobold friend has shown me a new trick... would you be so good as to help me test it out? It shouldn't cause you any discomfort."
Provided she did not object, Sera placed the palm of her hand against the half-orc's chest and closed her eyes, turning her sight inward, trying to align herself with what she sensed from Bara. She felt something shift and opened her eyes to a new brightness in the dark night as well as some shock in the eyes of her assassin friend. She looked down at herself and laughed, rather surprised that the spell seemed to have given her body a new form. "Ha! So do I still look like myself? The sight is quite a boon, but I had not imagined it would effect a disguise as well."
The duration was rather disappointingly short as she returned to her usual shape and coloring after a few minutes, but she thought it might come in very useful in the future.
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Sera gave her greetings to Oleg and Svetlana and waved cordially to Kesten's men and then excused herself to the guesthouse to clean up and change. She had promised to show Svetlana the new gown and now would likely be the last opportunity before she tried it out on the nobility of Restov. She cleaned herself quickly with magic and changed out of her somewhat worn green travelling dress and donned the ankle-length black silk gown. The sumptuous fabric clung to every curve and left little to the imagination, but it was still modest enough to be suitable. She put on the turquoise necklace as well and used the sash in her hair, which she arranged into a loose updo, leaving the face-framing wisps of hair out. She observed her reflection and thought the contrast of her coloring and that of the dress and accessories was quite becoming. Svetlana had chosen well.
She joined the others in the common room, making a slow and stately entrance. Partly showing off and partly because the gown did not allow for the same freedom of movement as her usual garb. She stopped especially before Svetlana and swept a deep and graceful curtsey before breaking into an indulgent grin and catching her hands in gratitude. "Thank you so much, Svetlana. It's an exquisite gown, I love it!"
She took her seat and savored some of the new and spicy fare, quite enjoying the change of pace. She ate heartily, but carefully, making sure not to make a mess of the lovely gown. She tried the food with pickles and without and found she liked it better with the acidic notes as well.
Sera took up her letter excitedly, breaking the seal immediately. Her eyes hungrily consuming her mother's words, at first bringing such joy to her face which gradually faded into a more controlled, but melancholy expression. She sighed deeply and tucked the letter away for now.
"Yes, I expect we will visit Restov next but we will be sure to return before our Sootscale friends arrive to trade. Can't leave you on the hook alone for something we arranged, dear Oleg."
Once they had finished with discussing immediate plans, Seraphina turned her attention to Kesten. "Well, my brothers do not appear to be keeping their promise to check in on my mother enough to keep her company. Although, your brother is apparently asking after me often enough to keep her dwelling on my condition! It seems my days of putting him off are winding to an end. So tell me, Lord Garess, do you suppose Kol's ardor will remain undamped once he has seen me thus?!" She flexed her fingers, revealing her jade tipped talons and shining copper scales which advanced nearly halfway to her elbow now. She had meant to broach this subject with Kesten more gently, but the loneliness and grief in her mother's letter had stirred up all sorts of unpleasant emotions ranging from guilt and frustration to defiance and she was all the more intense and confrontational in her turbulent state.
"I'll be coming back as soon as I can, Oleg," Idris says, with a very brief glance at Bara.
After dinner, Idris will walk with Bara in a private spot.
"I'll be gone only as long as it takes to get to Restov, do what's needed, and return. Is there anything you'd like me to get for you there?"