"Then a brooch you shall have!"
Damn. Two pieces...
The wizard was certainly capable of making a high-calibur ring, brooch, or necklace, but the funding for two would be bothersome.
During his time before shipping-off, Dalton was a man of industry. He made numerous errand trips to those with the precious metals and gems, converting his coinage and stones into those of the appropriate color, size, and grade.
Interspersed with his collaboration with Rilka, Dalton was not only able to learn a great deal, but also put his knowledge to use. How easy alchemy makes the formation of alloys.
When the pieces were finished, Dalton looked over them with approval. The cloak-piece wasn't as much his specialty, the mithral base made for an elegant albeit professional staple. Set in the middle was a sunburst jasper, not the most valuable stone, but one of a commanding visage.
The ring, however, was a masterpiece. Intricate patterns weaving harmonic waves down the band on both sides parted only for a moment to leave room for a small inscription. In reality, this blank plaque could be used by one dexterous and knowledgeable enough to reveal a very fine chamber within the ring. Just large enough for a momento...
After inserting his gift, Dalton inscribed the plaque, but not in a mundane sense. Ella. The arcane mark was a useful tool for such purposes, and he did the same for Geoffrey, adding his namesake to the brooch's reverse.
He looked at the top of Ella's ring, a stunning ruby faceted to the edges in triangles, surrounded by six spherical black opals. Though the opals were tiny, they exalted well the catchy nature of the ruby. Perhaps a bit gaudy, but she did so ever like to flaunt...
Well knowledgeable about her size, Dalton did not have any worry about the ring fitting. He smiled inwardly as he packed them, delivering them to the appropriate Aestheric contact for the shipping to Geoffrey. I wonder if the base material of the setting will be worth it...
The letter within the package:
Dear Geoffrey,
I hope this brooch finds you in good spirits. You should find it can take a tug or three, for mithral is not known for being flimsy, yet it is as light as a feather. I wouldn't want you weigh you down as your duties seem to have you!
Yet as a gesture of good faith towards my mother's care, I have also included a ring for Ella. I am unaware if she is wed, though as I worked under her house for many years, I am certain this will fit her slight fingers. Please give it to her for whichever the next appropriate occasion is. I'm sure you'll be much thanked!
Salubriously,
Dalton
Ianna and Toramin spend a pleasant afternoon with their great uncle. When they return to the base, Toramin makes sure that the letter is passed along.
Toramin scowls at Geoffrey thoughtfully, and lays a hand upon him washing away his fatigue. "We should let the man work, Ianna."
Ianna sighs at Toramin's heavy handedness, but turns her lovely smile on Geoffrey.
"I know you are terribly busy, but would you like to have dinner with us before we leave Andril? My brother has told me so much about you, Sir Geoffrey, and I would love to become better acquainted with you."
Geoffrey looks visibly relieved at the touch. He nods to Toramin, knowing exactly what just happened. "Thank you. That will make my next few hours easier."
He looks at Ianna, then gazes up, eyes narrowed in thought. "I wish I could, but I simply don't have the time. Perhaps...in a few days I am going to be personally escorting a representative from Akropash into the city, and that includes taking him somewhere to eat. Due to the political situation I'm both escort and bodyguard, and I can't imagine it would be too difficult to request you both on as additional security."
As sunset stretches across the sky, Rilka leads her companions through Taryin’s streets, passing street vendors packing their wares for the day, craftsmen and guild members seeking relaxation, beggars, mercenaries, and the occasional city guard. She is wearing a yellow pastel dress, slightly clashing with her violet, gray, and white harlequin hose. Often, she waves at someone she recognizes and calls out a brief greeting.
As they reach the Halfling Quarter, she says, ”We’re almost there. Don’t worry, there’s plenty of room for you. My dad bought the house specifically because the ground floor has a high ceiling. He likes to entertain clients at home. You didn’t have any problem did you Bjorkus?” she asks, referring to the last time she and he were here.
”If you can’t remember anyone’s name, no one will be offended. All my brothers and sisters should be there. A handful of cousins too. Maybe an uncle or aunt. Friends and neighbors too will probably appear, especially once the music starts.” She’s walking backwards with the occasional glance over her shoulder as she explains a bit of the history of the quarter and pointing out noted places. ”There’s the theater where my grandfather, my mom’s dad, performs, once a week. He’s done that for decades. Well, he had more shows when he was younger. He may mention how he wanted me to perform on stage, but I didn’t want that or to follow in my parents’ business.“ She leads them down a street where the sky is blocked by wooden boards and lattices crossing from roof to roof at various angles, braced by ladders and support beams. The last vestiges of the sunset gleam through various gaps in the anarchic overhead street crossing.
”So we’re just off this street, Sky Bridge, down about forty yards along Copper Fountain Lane,” she points at a fountain with a greened copper statue of two halflings holding a water jug between them, pouring out fresh water into a stone basin. A young halfing is filling a jug with the water.
”Any final questions?”
Dalton had switched out of his mundane-looking magical robe into his mundane-looking artisan's attire for the event.
"Well, I'm glad I won't be chastised for forgetting names! I'm horrible when it comes to that. Are there any customs of etiquette we should know?"
It would be relaxing to meek Rilka's family. Halflings are a welcoming folk.
Bjorkus snorts and nods in agreement.
"There's plenty'a room and the food makes up for the few places it's a tight fit", the bull explains with a rumbling laugh. "You think your father's gunna have that brandy again?"
"That seems a clever solution to our conundrum. I doubt I will be much of a bodyguard, but you and Toramin will make up for any lack on my part. Hopefully, It will be someone Toramin knows."
"I'm very excited to meet your family, Rilka."
"Likewise, large families make me feel at home."
Rilka shakes her head at Dalton’s question. ”Nothing that comes to mind, like different forks or spoons for different parts of the meal. You’ll be fine. Plus the kids will love any prestidigitation that you do.
”I was here earlier helping prepare, and he was bringing up his ‘guest’ spirits and wine from the cellar,” she answers Bjorkus.
”They’re excited too!” she says. ”I agree about large families. There’s more opportunity for squabbles and disagreements sure, but overall it feels the way life should be.”
They reach a house that is three stories tall (but only as tall as a two-story in other parts of the city). There is a three-foot stone wall surrounding the building, but it is not so much for security or privacy as creating a place for games and dancing. A wooden platform on barrels is set up as a stage. A few halfling children are playing kemari. They wave and stop the game, falling behind the group and chattering excitedly. Passing through the house’s arched front door, Rilka brings them into a courtyard open to the sky. Tables are laden with steaming platters of food, stacks of plates, utensils, cups and napkins. Two pots of soup simmer, and flames flare around the meat on the grill located in the back right corner. Despite family members approaching with open arms and smiles, Rilka whistles and trills then calls out ”We’re here!”
A halfling woman, slightly graying hair, mimics Rilka’s whistle and trill then gives her a big hug. ”Welcome, welcome!” she says looking up at her guests. Other halflings have gathered around waiting their turns for hugs and greeting.
Mom, these are my friends. Bjorkus, you remember. How could you forget? Please welcome, Dalton Barrowwheel, and a daughter and son of the Trealamhgabha clan: Ianna and Toramin.”
Rilka introduces her parents Wylla and Miro, her oldest brother Middle, her older sister Wodkla, another older brother Robas, and her two younger sisters Mirtha, Vishtey. There’s Dogozar Fingertoes, and some cousins Dobar, Zarmis (his sons), and Fernley and Aerta (his daughters). Jiggins Featherfeet, another cousin, is the last one she introduces for now, but clearly there are nephews, nieces, more cousins, and neighbors at the gathering.
Wylla and Miro shake the hands and bow to their guests, pulling them into their home with glee and pride. "Would you like to start with a pint of something?" Miro asks, pointing to a table brimming with bottles.
Reciprocating the warm greetings, Dalton sniffed about. "If you lot are as good of people as that soup smells, Miss Featherfeet is lucky indeed!"
He rubbed his chin. "Certainly, a bit of drink should get the day off right, thank you. Not anything too strong for me - they'll need all you have." Dalton gestured at the dwarves and minotaur, grinning. "Is there anything I can do to help? Table settings, decorations?"
Geoffrey waves a hand dismissively. "I very seriously doubt any attack on the ambassador, it's mostly a show so they know we are concerned for their well being. Well if there's nothing else, I will have a servant sent for you when he arrives." He stands and with a smile offers a handshake to each. "Thank you so much for visiting. It was a welcome relief from my day."
Wylla bows her head at Dalton’s compliment. ”That’s very kind of you. Thank you for looking after our Rilka. All of you, thank you.” She bows, eyes beaming, ”It’s so good to see her again. I know she’s an adult and very capable, but the world can be a dangerous place. Mothers worry. It’s part of our job.” She smiles, blinks numerous times, her hazel eyes reflecting the multi-colored paper lanterns strung above the courtyard.
Rilka throws her arm around her mother’s shoulders and kisses her on the cheek. ”Awww, Mom, that’s sweet — hey, Little Miro!” she suddenly releases her mother and points a finger at a young halfling behind Toramin. He’s about sixteen inches tall, wearing a striped blue and cream shirt, with a tangle of brown curly hair. ”No ‘practicing’ on the guests.” She sighs, looking up at Toramin. ”He’s not taking anything. Just playing ‘pennies’ — slipping pennies, well really steel coins into a belt without being noticed. Haha -- but you were noticed. My nephew Little Miro. Ten years old. Didn’t Wodkla say none of that tonight?” she addresses the back of her nephew as he darts away from the crowd. Laughter and applause follow in his wake.
Miro brings Dalton a mug of beer and Bjorkus a glass of brandy. ”I recall you liked this the last time you were here Bjorkus. Try this beer! It’s brewed with sweet potatoes. Though if your palette craves more elven fair, we have some wine and a small cask of mead or port I’ve been waiting to tap. Decorations? Don’t worry about it.”
A halfling wearing a deep brown dress, chased with silver embroidery at the hemline hugs Rilka from behind. Rilka laughs in delight and embrasses her. Smiling in joy after finishing a kiss, she says, ”Took you long enough. This is Leddipaug Saltworth, my girlfriend. Leddi, we have Bjorkus, Dalton Barrowwheel, and two siblings of the Trealamhgabha clan: Ianna and Toramin.” Her dark hair is braided, wrapped and supported with golden wire to add another seven inches to her height. She is wearing the dwarven necklace Rilka bought in Dağın Kalp.
Leddi bows deeply and says, ”Thank you for looking after our Rilka.”
Dalton noted the silver on the lady's garb. Those metallic lines really are popular these days. If only I could get into business with a tailor...
He lowered his glass; after all, halflings couldn't toast otherwise!
"To Rilka's return and a long happy life!"
As she suggested, Dalton began to do a couple minor magical tricks with his cantrips for the youngsters. How I would've liked this at their age... Though he loved them being entertained, he began to resent the years he'd spent laboring instead of enjoying his childhood innocence. After a while, he went to fish up some food and socialize with the adults.
A hot meal, a warm family, and a sturdy home. That is not a tall order for happiness. Yet the merchant's family was broken, and his home was a house. He filled his stomach with food and suppressed his regrets.
Ianna looks around at the happy family and their home with delight. She gives a small curtsy to Wylla and Miro.
"Thank you for having us in your home. It is really quite lovely. If you will forgive the liberty, when I learned that Rilka had invited us to your home I wrote to home so that the Trealamhgabha could give a home-gift of the foods of the mountain with your family."
At a gesture from his sister, Toramin sets down a cask of cider, a cask of beer, a cask of whiskey, several rounds of different hard cheeses, and basket filled with dried mushrooms -- all dwarf made from Dalgin Kalp.
"I hope it's not too much, but I couldn't decide what would be best."
When Leddipaug is introduced, the priestess of the love goddess almost squirms in delight. She takes Rilka and Leddipaug's hands saying, "The Golden Gift smiles on all lovers. May she bless and keep both of you."
Normally, Ianna comes across as slightly reserved or perhaps shy, but both young women can almost feel the priestess radiate joy.
Toramin, for his part, seems to fit in easily with the Featherfeet family and extended friends and relations. If there is any surprise concerning the gruff dwarf, it is how well he deals with children.
After Rilka teases Little Miro, Toramin plays a reflex game with the tiny halfling boy. Toramin has both his hands palms up with Little Miro's hands hovering just above. Toramin's goal is to tap the backs of the boy's hands before he can jerk them back. Little Miro is much quicker than the paladin, so there is a great deal of giggling and teasing.
"Sweet potatoes you say?" Bjorkus asks after Rilka offers him a glass. "Well if it's as good as this soddin' brandy I wouldn't mind givin' it a try."
The bull watches with amusement as halfling after halfling is brought out and introduced and he recognizes quickly how proud Rilka of her extended family. It wasn't too different from the pride he had in his crew.
When they have a quieter moment, he taps Rilka on the shoulder and leans down to whisper. "How much does your family know 'bout what we do? With whats goin' on maybe you should give 'em some kinda warning. That bastard that's been comin' after us might make a move on Little Miro like he went after Ianna."
Dalton eyed the foodstuffs brought as gifts when Ianna mentioned them. Mmm... perhaps I was meant to be a dwarf in earnest. The mage made sure to mosey to the provisions once they were served. Those mushrooms must be a regional specialty.
Everyone was enjoying themselves. Truly, this is wonderful. And it was all done without servants. Everyone pitched-in. Unlike those I worked-for long ago...
There’s a cheer for Dalton’s toast, quickly followed by another cheer when Ianna and Toramin reveal their gifts. Within a minute space is cleared on tables for the cheese wheels and mushroom basket while a new table for the casks appears from the kitchen. A crowd forms to sample the exotic dwarven fare. Grandfather Fingertoes pushes his way to the front.
Rilka and Leddipaug beam under Ianna’s blessing. ”Thank you, Priestess,” Leddi says, squeezing her hand back.
During a quieter moment, when Bjorkus finds Rilka on the second floor, watching the festivities in the courtyard, she nods. ”I worry about them in general. That’s why I used Anafa. But the most recent developments have added a new tension.” She points to a male halfling wearing a city guard uniform. For a halfling, he looks a bit grim, only somewhat laughing and joking. ”That’s my cousin Gobus. He’s mean and I don’t like him very much, and he doesn’t like me, but I think he can protect the family while I’m away.”
She takes a sip of dwarven cider. ”My family believes I’m an adventurer. Left the army to go seeking treasure. My mom relates it to some distant ancestor of hers, Great Gran Stanafa. Supposedly she was a soldier then an adventurer. Finally settled in Taryin. So Mom says I’m following in her footsteps. They were comforted to see you last time. I’m sure they're more at ease after meeting the others too. And my pistol. They liked that it was magic when I showed it to them.”
With Bjorkus, Rilka continues speaking about her parents, ”They run a successful security firm, don’t forget. They have contacts with the army and wealthy clients.” And safe rooms here, she thinks. ”Thanks for thinking about my family. I’d hate to see Little Miro, or Big Myro,” she points to another nephew sliding down a bannister, ”or anyone else injured due to my...adventuring.”
Bjorkus nods in understanding and takes a long draw from his mug, polishing off the last of his brandy.
"You do what you think you've gotta do to keep 'em safe. It's hard to say what's best when you're dealin' with this kinda danger but just remember that this guy's got the whole Council worried. With someone that powerful out there, it couldn't hurt to double up on defenses. Do the Aestherics have eyes on this place - if something did go down here would they know it?"
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
”That’s a good question, and one I don’t have a definitive answer for,” Rilka admits to Bjorkus. ”I think they’re watching.” She looks around for a few long moments, into the corners of the courtyard, and up across to the third floor. She finishes her cider, holding the mug upside down to watch the last drop fall onto the bannister. ”I try to focus my energies on things I can control. So many aspects of life are beyond our influence, for the most part. Do you want another drink? I could use one.”
Leddipaug approaches Dalton. ”Rilka said you’re a wizard,” the halfling says, after watching some of his cantrip diversions. ”A really good one too! That was quite a display. Do you mind if I ask you some questions? I’m a bookbinder and wondered what do wizards look for when buying a spellbook. How often do you need a new one? I’m exploring how lucrative selling spellbooks would be. I understand if you'd rather not talk about it. You're at a party after all.”
With a new drink (an onion whiskey), Rilka finds Little Miro and Big Myro. She takes them aside, slipping them each a vial. After about a minute, her two nephews and about six other children approach Toramin, half-pleading, half-boasting that together they can lift him up. ”We could even carry you to the third floor!” Big Myro says.
”That’s a good question, and one I don’t have a definitive answer for,” Rilka admits to Bjorkus. ”I think they’re watching.” She looks around for a few long moments, into the corners of the courtyard, and up across to the third floor. She finishes her cider, holding the mug upside down to watch the last drop fall onto the bannister. ”I try to focus my energies on things I can control. So many aspects of life are beyond our influence, for the most part. Do you want another drink? I could use one.”
"I know how that goes, especially these past few months. Yeah, I could use another drink. Maybe some of that sweet potato stuff you were talkin' about."
"Many hands can lift even the heaviest stone. Let's see what you can do."
Toramin's smile is indulgent. Spending time with his younger siblings and his more than a hundred first cousins had been his most regular respite from his father's "training." That was before his mother and father had their fight. That was before Grandmother Yana had seen the Master Maker use a golem to discipline his son.
These are not things that Toramin thinks about when the halfling children try to lift him, he has a great deal of practice not thinking about the less pleasant aspects of his childhood.
Dalton takes a bite of cheese and responsed to Leddipaug. Sharp. Delicious. "Spellbooks are important to wizards and some other mages, as you may know. Every arcanist can prepare a spell to read magic from memory, but other that that, many would be high and dry without a spellbook!"
He finished off the tasty chunk. "Because of that, the primary factor with spellbooks is durability. Mine is enchanted to resist water and flame and whatnot, because a book is quite the investment to lose. However, some mages opt to simply cast a spell to protect the book every few days. I'd still say the lion's share of the market would rather just buy one that's protected though."
Tapping the table for reference, Dalton continued. "But spell or not, a good, hard cover would protect against sharp weapons. As a binder, resilient wood or even metal plating could work wonders and fetch you a pretty platinum. It may sound expensive, but if you expand the book's page count past the standard hundred, you're looking at a choice item, a staple for a mage. The extra weight from pages shouldn't matter too much as the plating would be the main factor."
"I dabble in jewelry myself, and I suppose engraving a design of sorts on the cover or spine of a book wouldn't be too hard, though I'm sure you'd be better. A symbol or few words referencing the style of spells within if you're making a special order could be beneficial to one who is looking at having more than one book. However, if you're selling to a field wizard, they may prefer a lock on the book for security. Much of what matters you'd need to find from the owner, but you're right to think they are valuable!"
The halfling children surround Toramin, getting positioned. As they lift, they squeal in delight, half surprised it is working. Toramin is held aloft about a foot off the ground. The adults laugh and clap in amusement. Suddenly all but Little Miro and Big Myro let go and step back. There’s a moment of confusion as the expectation of a dwarf landing on the floor is not met. Instead the two remaining halflings balance Toramin between them and even begin to slowly spin him in a circle. The adults laugh more and cheer.
Rilka watches as her two nephews start to spin Toramin faster. I didn’t tell them to do that! They are jogging, giggling at warnings from adults not to go too fast. They stop suddenly and prop Toramin back on his feet, supporting his back so he doesn’t fall, laughing. Once Toramin is standing under his own power, they flex their arms, showing how strong they are.
Leddipaug’s eyes shine in excitement. ”All that is so helpful. I dream of making covers with inlaid gems. Would learning how to water-and-fire-proof books take much study?”
"As a jeweler, I can share your taste in the gemsetting. The proofing, like all magic, takes time to learn, though it is on the simpler end of spellcraft, so not as much as most spells."
Leddipaug continues talking to Dalton until Rilka begs her for a dance. They work their way outside, holding hands through the crowd.
Night is well established. Most of the adult halflings are dancing outside, some balancing on the walls surrounding the house. A small bonfire is near the stage where a few of the older children are leaping over it. The younger children are curled up on chairs or benches, fast asleep. After dancing a reel with Leddi, Rilka goes inside the courtyard to refill a mug of quarter ale, a barely alcoholic drink.
”Rilka,” a voice says from behind her, coming like an ambush, ”you’re acting tall don’t you think? Showing up with your friends, as if you had all manner of grand adventures. Any fool can travel to the ocean or a Dwarven city. Meanwhile I’m here, taking care of the family, protecting the city —“
”Do you expect to be called away any moment?” she interrupts Gobus. ”Why else wear your uniform to this party? Who are you trying to impress?” She cranes her neck, exaggerating looking for someone. ”I don’t see Merria. Haven’t seen her all night. Did you split —“
Rilka gets interrupted by multiple cheers and cries of ”The blue flame! The blue flame!” She sighs and shrugs. ”I guess the party’s over. Excuse me while I round up my friends.” She sweeps through the courtyard. The rest of the halflings in the courtyard empty the house and squeeze into the front yard. Jadomir Fingertoes ascends the stage, holding his hands above the blue flame in the center of the bonfire.
”Despite years on the stage, I’d rather pass
On this custom of the eldest closing
The night, as if I were the rosy dawn.
Gran Ickya, gone nine brief months did it best,
Better than my fumbling expressions.
Family and friends, the time has come to say farewell,
To depart for home, to the comfort of a familiar bed.
I hope our bonds of love were strengthened
By good mirth and cheer, by drink, food, and dance,
If you must feel sorrow, let it be for the end of the party,
And not for words spoken in anger, spite,
Or jealousy. There are enough villains
In this world to be found outside the home,
No need to cultivate the bitter fruits of discord
Or animosity within the family.
Go from here with joy and peace in your heart,
And remember there are no enemies here.”
He bows a final time and most of the halflings move inside to collect their children, coats, and left over food.
Turning to her friends, Rilka says, ”That’s the official end to the party. There will still be people here for a while, mostly talking and dancing to soft music. I know my mom wanted to see you before we leave, whenever that is.”
Wyssal and Miro appear, holding gifts. ”Thank you for coming this evening. It was great to meet you. Thank you for looking after and supporting Rilka.” They both bow deeply.
Miro hands out the gifts, each wrapped in paper and a ribbon. For Ianna, a smooth leather book, Bolka’s holy symbol carved into the cover inlaid with semi-precious gems, ”A book of prayers to the goddess, illustrated by a local artist.” Wyssal says with a wink.
Dalton receives a necklace carved from wood. Stained and polished, the grain appears on the surface and deep within the wood, as if doubled or casting a reflection. ”Arfen wood, carved from a single branch,” Wyssal says.
Toramin’s gift is a polished metal box about four inches long, with three of cranks on one end. Wyssal indicates to turn the middle one. When wound and released there is a sound of gears turning within and then a rude thbbbbbbt. Rilka’s parents laugh. ”We couldn’t pass up giving you this. It’s probably not befitting for a paladin, but as a dwarf you should appreciate the various gears and mechanisms that work in conjunction to make the bladder expel air in such a manner. It can be set for a delay,” she indicates the left crank, ”and a more put-put-put sound with the right crank.”
Bjorkus unwraps a pair of shoes. They are dark leather, highly polished, supple as if made for dancing. ”There’s a tale about a halfling helping a minotaur out of a maze by giving him a pair of shoes,” Wyssala says. ”Not a labyrinth. A maze. These aren’t magical, like in the tale. I just thought a fine pair of shoes may be useful in impressing the ladies. Not that you need help with that or dancing, mind.” Wyssal laughs.
Dalton thanked Wyssal with great sincerity as he donned the necklace. "A treasure from a treasured family." While he was an expert in metalcrafting and capable of shaping bone and stones to his will, wood was less used by him. And it takes a skilled craftsperson to form a piece from a single unit.
"The care and craftsmanship honor the goddess. And the artist is local? It warms my heart to know that the Golden Gift is honored here."
"Thank you."
Toramin carefully examines the device. Hs hands are itching to take it apart and figure out how it works.
Bjorkus chuckles as he examines the finely crafted silvered shoes. He holds one to a hoof and is impressed to see they're nearly a perfect fit.
"I've never worn shoes on the deck of a ship but with the harsh terrain we've been marchin' on a bit more protection is a good idea. And like you said, ladies love a bull with a bit of bling. I never did find a replacement for the lucky earring I lost to Luthor in a gamble. I appreciate it. They're a damned fine gift. "
Eventually the party dies down and farewells are given as well as a few gifts. The party takes their rest, and wherever they are when they wake up they receive the same letter.
It's time to return.
By the time everybody is done with their morning business, they meet in front of Helen's house. The wind is non-existent but the entire city of covered in grey and there's a steady, miserable rain coming down. The wooden fence is knocked on, but Helen from inside her home looks out from her window and waves the party in after hearing the proper phrase.
Some things change, but the path down to the secret Aestheric base is not one of them. The same multiple ladders leading down, the same unworked stone, the same worked metal, and the same amazing sights as they are rowed down the gentle stream. Finally they are once again marching up to the chamber of the Hand's Council.
Present in the room is Krokar and Jasper, looking at a map on a table. Jasper is whispering something with Krokar nodding along, interjecting on occasion with a word. As the party walks in they look up and Drosil rolls up the map.
"Welcome back. Take a seat, I'll get the others." Krokar grunts, standing up and going to the back. A few minutes later he returns with the rest of the council, Alia teleporting into the room.
Alia waves her hand to cast a spell as Drosil stands, addressing the council as well as the party and other attending Aestherics. His voice still sounds low and hoarse, but is magically augmented to be loud enough for all to hear. As he speaks Heff waves a spell and makes a massive image of a city appear from bird's eye view. "The gnome city of Grastle Hollow. A center of technology that rivals that of the dwarves, and the largest gnome city in existence. It's location is kept secret from the public to protect the gnomes as well as their rapidly advancing technology."
"We have reason to believe that a person of interest is there. An aasimar antipaladin by the name of Calios who was working with the captured lich Acera. His crimes are countless and the deaths of hundreds were by his hand, including over a dozen Aestherics. Right now our reports say he has taken over the underground crime scene in Grastle Hollow and he is using the united power to cause death and chaos in the city. We are sure he has some goal beyond just death and destruction, and we need to learn what it is."
"The mission is simple in objective, but complex in execution. This group is to infiltrate the underground crime scene (with the support of the government of Grastle Hollow, who believes they are hiring help from an independent team of specialists) and investigate what is going on. If they encounter Calios, they are to capture and interrogate him if possible, or slay him if not. Only capture him if it doesn't put you or others at risk; learning information would be good, but he's such an unpredictable threat that having him dead would be no issue at all."
A moment of silence pierces the room. "Any questions?"
"To what end is this Calios's mischief in that city?"
"That is one of your primary goals to find out."
Dalton noted Drosil's reply over Krokar's. "Perhaps our arrival and subsequent intersection is what is desired."
"Is not that the one that Bjorkus introduced to lava, but then who got better? If so, he is like the necromancer -- a regenerating problem. Have counter measures been developed concerning that issue?"
"The very same. I have learned a great deal from Acera, but not the secret of her regeneration, for it is a fact that she herself is not aware of. She was granted it by some superior figure that she can't seem to recall. I am sure magic modified her memory upon capture."
Yes, but they do not concern you for your own good.
"Imprisonment may be our only option then. Do the gnomes have some technology that would be useful in that regard?"
"Quite possibly. You will have the full cooperation of the government, so I'm sure if such technology exists and you ask about it, they will supply it."
"Upon capture? As in a Contingency or as an intervention after we delivered her?"
"I'm not sure when it occurred or how. But it's clear there are very obvious gaps in her memory."
"I think that is more disturbing than the fact that her memories were altered. It could suggest that her imprisonment is not entirely secure. Defeating her once was difficult enough. It would be a disaster if we 'captured' those who were altered and then they were released in the heart of your sanctum."
She waves a hand dismissively. "She's not even on this plane. Security is no issue. I'm sure the magic just wasn't noticed when it went off. A contingency to alter memory would have no visible effect."