The elven woman seems surprised by the offer. "Oh, thank you. I have already eaten, but if you are in no hurry to leave, I would not want to hurry you, of course." She smiles at Randall's question. "I would very much like to hear of your families... your lives growing up... anything, really."
Asht'el gives the young elven woman an appraising look, gauging her true intent and, as he usually does, he comes away convinced she's being straightforward. People are just generally pretty honest I guess...except maybe in Riddleport.
He gathers his robes about him and moves to stand up, slightly weighted down by breakfast but ready to see a bit more of this place. Just before he hauls himself up, however, Randall gets a curious look on his face and invites Yril to stay and talk with them. He's definitely not the trusting sort. I wonder what he thinks our new elf friend is up to?
*Swallow* "Well, in every way that matters, my family are those you see before you. Any relation I once had by blood has gone to Pharasma's judgement. Or neglected to introduce themselves to me." *Take another bite*
Xiddik doesn't say anything. She doesn't seem to see herself as one of those being addressed.
The elf tilts her head, a look of distress on her elegant features. "I am sorry... I did not realize. Not having family is... almost unheard-of here, but I should not have pried. Please, forgive me."
Jametor grins.
"We are family. We just don't look much like each other." he says matter-of-factly.
Asht'el mis-hears Jametor at first, considers a moment, and says, "And sometimes we don't even much like each other. But we still stand together. So we really are family."
Yril's face relaxes a bit as she looks around at the others. "How did this come to be? Have you known each other from childhood? And you, Master Darksbane of the Arcanamirium... are you no longer in contact with your parents?"
”The last few months have been tough”, Njord chimes in. ”But it’s those tough times that help you realize who’s important to ya.”
Randall continues to work on a pastry as he waves off her concern. After a swallow and a washdown with tingle-juice, he says, "My mother has been gone from this world many years. I remember her fondly, but I no longer grieve for my loss. Her life was difficult - she deserved to move on to her reward."
"It is as Njord says. We have actually only known each other for a short time. Our bond was created and strengthened through mutual need - namely that someone was trying to kill all of us and we stood together to defeat them."
"What of you and your family?"
"I have always lived here, in Iadara," replies Yril. "There is not much to tell of my family... my mother is a potter, and my father a jeweler. I came to know the Queen quite by accident when we were both much younger, and when it came time for me to choose my place..." She smiles. "She is family to me, much as I think you are to one another."
"There you go. So, I must wonder, having spend so much time around very untrusting souls before I met my family, does the queen ask you to be our guide because she wants us to have the aid of someone she trusts completely or because she wants a report back on who we really are from someone she trusts completely?"
He says this gently, trying to avoid offending her, hoping to catch her off-guard and get a true answer.
The elven woman blinks a few times, seemingly not expecting the question. She hesitates for a moment, glancing around before responding. "You are shrewd, Master Quickstep. Let me ask you a question... would my answer change your opinion?"
"My parents. No, I don't contact them, they have passed on. I not old for an elf, but much older than these." indicating his friends. "But probably less world wise than most. Forgive us for being un-trusting. We've found it to be helpful in this world. Most, if not all, of those we've met have wanted us dead. But we have spoken the truth in our report to your queen. The drow are moving and they are a force to be sure." He says finally.
Yril frowns. "I would rather we did not discuss that," she replies. After a pause, she continues, "Come... would you like a tour of our city?"
"We've got some damage that doesn't seem to go away, perhaps to a priest or priestess? Something like that?" Jametor asks, pretending the request to not discuss the drow wasn't heard.
"Certainly," replies the elf. She smiles at the others. "Shall we?"
Njord licks his fingers one last time. "Har! Let's go."
Asht'el has been quietly thoughtful through most of the discussion of family and what it means, but comes to have a gentle smile on his face as he realizes once again he has a family that has accepted him in spite of what he is, and because of who he is - which is more than his own family did.
His smile widens at Njord's enthusiasm for pastries and seeing what's around the next bend, and he stands and says, "Indeed, let's take a look around. Let me just fetch Covakis, I'm sure he'd love to see everything."
Yril hesitates, then nods. "Please wait a moment," she adds. Stepping outside the room, you hear her speaking in a low voice, after which she re-enters the room. "Please inform... Covakis... that he will need to adjust his appearance to be more in line with... well, with what is expected."
A few seconds later, there's a knock on the door, and a servant hands in a hat.
They don’t want to see anything that will contradict what they already believe, eh? Well, no point in stirring up trouble with our hosts – or captors.
He accepts the hat, studies it a moment to understand how it works, then carries it to Covakis. After a few moments of pantomimed conversation, he makes it clear to the drow lad that he needs to make himself look like an elf – or something less worrisome than a drow - and that he should join them to take a look around.
Njord frowns when their guide suggest that Asht’s fosterling wear a disguise. He knew from experience that there was nothing worse than living like who you were was something to be hidden.
The elven woman blinks a few times, seemingly not expecting the question. She hesitates for a moment, glancing around before responding. "You are shrewd, Master Quickstep. Let me ask you a question... would my answer change your opinion?"
He thinks for a moment, grins around his pastry, and shakes his head. After a swallow, "Not really. That there is an answer is an answer in itself."
They don’t want to see anything that will contradict what they already believe, eh? Well, no point in stirring up trouble with our hosts – or captors.
He accepts the hat, studies it a moment to understand how it works, then carries it to Covakis. After a few moments of pantomimed conversation, he makes it clear to the drow lad that he needs to make himself look like an elf – or something less worrisome than a drow - and that he should join them to take a look around.
"Jametor, you can speak to the boy, right? Can you have him just change the color of his skin? Have him look like Firiel - that should be about right, I think."
"I speak Undercommon, as does Xiddik, I believe. We should be able to communicate to Covakis and incidently, I speak Goblin, so I can speak with Trixi, wasn't it?" Jametor looks at Firiel.
Noticing Asht's gestures, Xiddik steps in, her tone bored and snappy (though it's hard for non-Undercommon speakers to tell).
"Thank you, Xiddik, for translating to him," Asht'el says, "that makes the whole thing much easier. You're very kind."
"Is not a problem," Xiddik says.
Jametor tries to suppress a grin at Xiddik's words but fails mostly.
"Yeah, I am sure he got the jest..."
"It's Ruxi," replies Fíriel with a frown at Jametor. Everybody sure is on edge... ugh. They need to all calm down. "I think Ruxi will be fine here," she adds.
Xiddik's tail starts twitching and flicking as the departure seems to take longer and longer.
Finally, her face forms a scowl and she walks out of the room, heading boldly for the exit. I don't need an escort, anyways.
Covakis nods in understanding, donning the cap and speaking a word. In an instant, the drow is replaced by a handsome young elven man, with flaxen hair and dark eyes in place of the solid white drow orbs. He frowns slightly, and the hat itself changes to a less conspicuous circlet that dips across his forehead. With a slight smile, he glances over at Asht'el and raises an eyebrow, as if to say, how's this?
Yril smiles widely, nodding at Covakis. "Thank you. Now, we should be going."
The outside of the palace is nearly as opulent as its interior. The tiny mosaic of paving-stones that had been visible from within is all the more brilliant when outside walking upon it; the soft, tree-filtered sunlight shimmers off the tiles as if off a thousand precious stones.
Yril leads the way through the city, pointing out landmarks here and there, and answering any questions about Iadara and the elves' way of life. After a walk of about ten minutes, the group arrives at the steps of a temple. Its marble pillars rise to over four times the height of a kobold, and an ornate carving decorates the front of the building with a woodsy scene.
Upon entering, the group is greeted by a priest clad in simple brown robes. "Good day," he offers, smiling. "How may I be of assistance?"
"Greetings priest of Ketephys, god of the hunt, I am Jametor and these are my friends. As we've traveled these lands we've run across a few things, one of which was a devourer. Sadly, it devoured some of our...essence? Normal healing and time haven't not restored that essence and we've come to you, servants of the god, to see if you might be able to assist."
Njord looks around, enjoying the wild architecture within the temple.
Xiddik looks around at the church and its carvings. Though the kobold is always hard to read when she's not deliberately making faces, she seems uncharacteristically interested.
The priest frowns. "A devourer? None have gone hunting those in many years. Still... please wait a moment." He turns and disappears into a back chamber, where he can be heard in low conversation. A few moments later he returns and motions the group to follow him. "Silvanas may be able to help you."
Following the nameless priest, the group enters what appears to be a private chamber. The walls of this room are unadorned save for a finely-sewn tapestry bearing a stylistic hawk surrounded by the sun and a crescent moon. The sun shines in gold thread, and the moon (which overlays the sun on its left side) is all in silver. The hawk is a vibrant green thread that brings to mind a verdant scene of forest growth. A plain, low table of dark wood lies in the middle of the room, holding a well-made longbow and a vial half-full of a dark blue liquid.
On the floor in the middle of the room (near the table) lies a skillfully-tanned doe skin, and standing beside it are the room's two occupants: a male elf and a lean, furry canine.
The elf is clothed in doeskin, though he wears no shoes. His skin is more tanned than typical for those of his race, and his hands are a bit dirty. He nods solemnly when the group enters, studying each in turn. "Greetings. I am Silvanas. Neril has explained your situation, and I believe it is within my power to help you. The items I will require are not inexpensive; I trust you have the means to pay for them?"
Randall bows, "We certainly intend to pay for your aid, sir, but we will need to know what form the payment will take. We have exchanged services in the past and one deal required something rather exotic, so I have learned to ask before accepting, you understand."
"I need no services at this time... only enough gold to purchase what is needed for the rituals," replies the elf.
"How much gold would that be, sir?"