Heff examines the old man for a moment, arcing an eyebrow at the sugar comment. "If you worked for Nuro then you belong in cuffs. Your sweet days of crime are over." Heff chuckles.
"Yeah, I think I'm quite close to done with this. Let me just check my numbers..."
He then mutters to himself, making a few odd gestures, and vanishes.
"Please be reasonable," Dalton counters to Heff. "I doubt the man has some gruesome plan in for us; not everyone had a wide selection of choices to make a living with a ruler like Nuro."
Dalton gestured with his hand for the group towards the illusion aura as the man moves. "I have no quarrel with you, lover of art. But they will hunt you down if you try to flee. Just tell them your story." While Dalton understood what it was like to be under the thumb of his betters, he did not want to set the precedent of people running off from him; after all, it would weaken his bargaining hand with this potential deal with Heff's team.
Despite searching the room heavily with magic and mundane means, apparently Twainel is gone from the room. Heff says he didn't feel anything brush past him at the door.
Puzzled by the bizarre looter and his sudden disappearance, Bjorkus shrugs.
"So when's that feast happenin'?" he asks the present Heff.
Slightly flustered at the situation, Dalton happily turns to Bjorkus. "As soon as we return, hopefully. That must have been some painting!"
As Dalton finishes his sweep, he notices a loose piece of magic in the center of the room.
"Now why the devil..." The ruffled wizard uses his telekinesis to lift a coin he removes from his satchel and poke around the extremities of this "hut", attempting to find the opening. "Come now, I've had plenty enough games for one day!" The transmuter speaks as if an annoyed parent to a resistant child.
After a moment of poking, the wizard sees the man has no intention of exiting. "Our difficult friend seems to have sealed himself off in an invisible shelter here," informs Dalton. "Instead of simply talking to him and learning something about the painting, you've gone and frightened him with your talk of cuffing." It was clear Barrowwheel didn't care to be jerked around like this.
Toramin smiles at the half-elf's never ending litany of complaints. What would he do with himself without all these minor setbacks at which to direct his anger? Maybe he would turn his intellect towards self-reflection. Maybe he would ask, why am I always so unhappy?
Bjorkus studies the seemingly empty air.
"How do we get him out?"
"Ah," starts Dalton. "That's a touch beyond my ken. We could always wait."
Bjorkus shrugs. "What do you wanna do Heff? He was looting the place until you got here."
Heff examines the magic, running a hand along it. He murmurs something, then turns to the party. "Well I suppose Tiasar is on his way and I'm sure handling such a problem is within his power."
"You want us to stand guard or should we join the party?" the bull rumbles in anticipation.
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A few minutes later Tiasar arrives on the scene; and he. Looks. Pissed. It looks like he hurriedly combed his long hair down after it being set on fire. His wounds have all been healed, but you can see the various tears and holes in his clothing where he was struck. However, the most curious (and disturbing) sight is the left half of his face. From his chin up to his eye it appears that his skin is flaking off, but instead of flesh there is a maelstrom of chaotic energy underneath. "I've had a very long day. What is it."
After being caught up on the situation Tiasar walks into the room and looks at the hut. However, as soon as he enters you hear a pop! and the hut is gone. Tiasar's face remains impassive as he studies the area, then says flatly "Your man is using planar travel." He turns, and as he looks at you the maelstrom pulses slightly. Tiasar scowls and covers it with a hand. "Do you need anything else?"
Bjorkus scratches at his mane. "Nope. That's it. What's up with your face?" the bull rumbles.
A bit unnerved by the elf's strange condition, the hulking bull shudders briefly before returning his thoughts to the celebratory feast.
"Anything else you need Heff? I'm gunna try to find some rum. Someone's gotta get this party started."
"Did the genocidaire do that to you?"
Dalton departed the Dwarf dabbling with diseases. Breaking-away beside Bejorkus, beef, bread and beer boded beneficial.
Heff studies the damage on Tiasar's face, snapping back when Bjorkus addresses him. "Give me a few hours. Need to talk to many people first. Tonight we feast!"
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Tiasar turns. "No. I attempted to breach the private quarters of some spellcaster working for the king. I dispelled many traps before entering, but I underestimated his power. My only guess as to what happened is our contingencies continued to try and counter each, mine protecting myself and lashing out at anything wishing to harm me, his attempting to harm or disable me. I doubt you've heard either term before, but I think this is some sort of primal spellblight."
"Primal refers to an elemental connection -- either very concentrated or uncontrolled, yes? I have never heard of spellblights, but I have heard of spells and blights. Is it like a disease? Can it be cured? I know some skilled dwarven healers and elementalists; would you like me to write to them on your behalf?"
Though there was a slight snap in his voice -- almost as if Toramin is getting tired of the constant assumption that he is somehow mentally deficient or unlettered -- his offer and his voice sound very sincere. Just because nothing happens when I rub two spell components together doesn't mean that I wasn't paying attention when literally everyone in my family cast a spell.
Heff whistles as he leaves. "Well well, make way for the prissy elf. Can't really blame him though. A wizard of that power being completely wardless." He glances around at the looks he got. "Well it's obvious, isn't it? He prepared nothing but offensive magic today, and with those traps blowing through all his contingencies and wards he's about as well protected as a civilian."
A knock is heard on the front gate, and behind it are several important looking officers of the Andril army. Geoffrey excuses himself to speak with them.
Heff watches him leave, then looks at all of you, clapping his hands. "Well, things to talk to and people to do. I shall see you tonight!" With a flourish of his hat he bows and makes his exit.
Later that night
The courtyard is a center of celebration. Food is piled high, the laughter and music is loud, and the drinks go quickly. Heff is seen on the dance floor with a different woman every time you look. Geoffrey sits at the table, smiling politely and conversing with anybody that approaches, but mostly sulking and nursing his drink. Despite any questions or searching, Tiasar is nowhere to be found.
Bjorkus is invited to a makeshift stage, where the crowd demands the song of Nuro's death. The band backs him up, prepared to play any tune.
Arjax is invited to drink with the nobles of city, to drink and tell jokes but also to talk of the future of the city.
Toramin is approached by one of the dwarven forces, invited to celebrate amongst his own kind where the mead flows stronger.
Dalton is approached by Fenrir, who looks sweaty and out of breath. He looks at your for a moment, then smiles. "Oh no, I wasn't worried at all about...well I thought I had given you...anyways let's celebrate!"
Lindale wanders alone at the beginning of the night, but eventually one of the resistance members he was playing cards with invites him to a game. The men welcome him openly and deal him in.
Upon being invited, Bjorkus gladly climbs atop the stage leaving the girls he'd been entertaining disappointing behind. The bull gestures to the band for a simple repeating chord before loudly clearing his throat and belting out the song.
While war raged heroes approach
Chaos-Cloaked and Battle-Hidden
Unseen and Unheard
Castle-Breaching
In Helen, an ally is found
Servant no more
Lion-Hearted Beauty
Guidance Granting
Through secret way they strike
Darkness-Stalking
Witch-Slaying
Guardian-Defeating
Fool-King flees
Honorless
Spineless
Coward
None escape death's axe
King-Cleaving
Sorcery-Shattering
People's justice
Between each rumbling verse and as his song comes to an end, Bjorkus pauses to work the crowd. The minotaur makes plenty of eye contact with his admirers, especially with Daina.
Toramin stomps his feet in counter point to Bjorkus' oratory. He also hoots and hollers when it is done. He doesn't abandon his new acquaintances quickly, but he is drawn away by some dwarves for mead. Mead, gods-honey, tongue-fire, mind-awakener, Bjorkus should drink some before next he kens, Toramin thinks with a smile.
Dalton adjusts his spectacles at the man, then takes a swig of his drink.
"What are you talking about? And where's your drink - you should be enjoying yourself!"
Dalton walks off with the man to find a festive beverage as the bull performs. Singing minotaurs. Who knew?
"Oh I don't drink, addles the mind. Well, addles the mind in ways that I don't care for." He says with a bounce of his hair, and you get the slight feeling he's under some other mind altering drink.
Dalton gives the man a once over. "On second thought, you're quite right. Why not come with me and listen to a cow sing? I daresay this is better than the court jesters I saw in my day, and I don't even get scolded for peeking in!" Dalton chuckled as he escorted Fenrir along with himself to find a nice spot to listen.
Arriving with his sisters, brother, and mother, Psotheos appears at the feast with new clothes, his hair freshly cut and oiled, smelling of mint. A light green silk shirt beneath a sable coat. Dark gray leggings.
His companions are pursuing their own amusement individually, so rather than introducing them as a group he approaches them one at at time. In time he finds Bjorkus, Toramin, Lindale, Dalton, and Gabriel, as well as the Colonel and Heff. ”May I present, my mother Lady Ulloia Arjax. My sisters Vandria and Selenia. My brother, Lord Leander Arjax.” He scans the crowd quickly. ”I probably have some cousins here as well, if you would care to meet them. Perhaps Uncle Metautheos as well. I haven’t seen him in many years. He was a big supporter of Nuro. He may not be here, of course.”
Ulloia, Vandria, and Selenia wear traditional robes used for grand feasts that are much like the style from the founding of Xilres, centuries ago. Despite wearing expensive clothes and jewelry, Leander appears uncomfortable. His eyes dart around the crowd nervously. He walks with a limp. In fact half his body seems to move more slowly than the other half. Dark bags hang under his eyes. He rarely smiles.
”Lord Arjax has kindly agreed to host you, should you wish, one year hence for a feast. I realize your future may take you to exotic lands for extended periods of time, so if it isn’t exactly a year from now, never worry.”
As the night wears on, Psotheos finds Colonel Geoffrey and Heff. He bows then offers them his hand in friendship and thanks. ”I want to thank you for your offer. If I wasn’t needed in Xilres, if I didn’t think that my skills in architecture and building were essential to our rebuilding, I would join you. Perhaps in the future, after my sisters have married, and my brother too, to continue the Arjax name, I will arrive in Andril seeking to build closer ties between our nations. For now, I must remain here. I have arranged for the bow we discovered to be brought to your compound. Its magic could be well used in your missions.”
Bjorkus greets the Arjax daughter and matron with all of the swagger of a minotaur pirate captain. He winks at the Psotheos's sisters with obvious intent and bows to his noble mother.
"Your brother showed the courage of ten men", the bull rumbles. "Even in the heart of Nuro's nightmares, it never faltered. His deeds alone are worthy of a song."
Bjorkus
The crowd roars its approval, giving him a standing ovation at the end and demand more songs.
Dalton
"A cow sing? Now that is something I would like to see!"
Arjax
Heff nods, clasping Arjax's hand and wishing him luck. Geoffrey stands and looks at him. "I trust you Arjax. Keep the peace here, next time I visit I'd rather not be at the head of an army." Despite the days events he gives one of his warm smiles.
The sun sets, the fires burn low, and the conversations get quieter. There's a bit of applause as a brother and sister step off stage, then an old elf (even old by elves standards) shuffles up to the stage. The area falls silent as everybody turns to look at the wrinkled elf, leaning heavily on a quarterstaff as he takes the stage. He sits carefully in a chair, slowly taking out a pipe and lighting it. He puffs it once, twice, then breathes out a few rings of smoke. He clears his throat, then begins speaking.
"Long before the humans built their great cities, before the west was abandoned, before the east was a desert, before even the dwarves built their halls in the mountains the dragons reigned. Their reign was neither good nor bad, chromatic and metallic dragons alike ruling their own domains, but their reign was absolute and unchallenged. Drivnr the Volcano, Argent the Righteous, Gelrint the Wise, Bahuyen the Cruel, and many others who history has long since forgotten."
"For many millennium the dragons ruled, always bickering amongst themselves and using the two legs to achieve their will. It was not until Bahuyen the Cruel's avarice grew too great did bloodshed occur. Bahuyen had long since been under the foot of Argent, the conflict between the silver and black dragon dating back long before the existence of our world. Bahuyen lived to the east, where Argent's lands enclosed his and kept his greed in check. But Bahuyen was treacherous, and he dared to crack open the earth to unite and unleash the dark elves. With new allies by his side he marched upon Argent's cities, laying terribly waste to the land."
"Argent was beyond furious, not only at the treachery but also letting the drow step upon the surface. His wrath shook the mountains and froze the oceans as he came down upon Bahuyen. The battle was great, but eventually Bahuyen's wing was torn off by the great silver dragon. Argent's fury was roused though, so it was turned upon the dark elves who dared to rise and strike at him. Argent then worked a great piece of magic, one which we still do not understand to this day. He stripped the dark elves of their ancient magic power, then destroyed their underground haven. Lost, weak, and homeless they dark elves scattered to the four winds."
"After one dragon war was fought the rest erupted, old alliances and hatreds rising to their full fury. But it was not a war to be done, to have a victor and a vanquished. The dragons destroyed the land, reshaping the very earth under them. Gelrint the wise saw the destruction, realizing if this continued they would wipe out the two legs in their blindness. Even the chromatics respected the ancient gold dragon, and so their war was taken elsewhere."
A single tear rolls down the elf's face, and he steps up and leaves the stage. Much whispering breaks out between the guests.
Not one to disappoint his fans, Bjorkus tells the tale of the mad king's ice labyrinth. His story-song includes the party's encounter with the vicious traps, battle with the beastly yeti, and the drow/ogre/shadow team up. He embellishes, just enough to keep things interesting.
Heff nods once to the man, and for the first time you see him treat something with naught but solemn respect. He turns to you at the end. "Consider yourselves lucky. Not many get to hear that tale." He strolls off, putting his arm around the shoulder of a servant man and talking in his ear as they walk away.
After the well-spoken story, Dalton turns to Fenrir "That tale was unknown to me; have you heard it before?" Heff was right - rare at least to me. Yet not rare enough for Lindale, I bet. The wizards sarcasm was potent in his mind as he thought of the drow's reaction to his people depicted as such.
Before too long, Dalton excused himself and made off to glean knowledge from the deceased. This is so much cheaper than buying scrolls at a library...
Lindale searches through the treasures while the others are busy with the strange old man. There was one particular item he wanted to get his hands on. The trouble was not knowing which form it was in. Does it have a default form?
Something caught his eye, a leather rim peeking out from underneath a table full of gold. He crouched down and picked up the hat. Using his detection abilities to make sure it was magical, he examined it. On the outside a perfectly normal black leather hat. On the inside however, a band of runes were inscribed around the edge. Definately magical and likely the exact thing he was looking at getting his hands on. He slipped it under his cloak in all the confusion.
Tiasar had a nasty looking spellblight and Lindale didn't have the slightest idea what it was. Hmm, his skin is flaking. I wonder if there is any similar connections with the mutated zombie rot... blights... He files the thought away to research later as Tiasar hurries out on important business. Lindale sees what looks like a small coin sized medallion in the shape of a pidgeon on the table. Interesting. It detects as magical also as Lindale studies it closer. A token. He closes his hand around it and looks up, it seems everyone was heading towards the celebrations and not wanting to be left behind he took several long strides to catch up.
The courtyard is abuzz with the celebration and music and drink. He watches Bjorkus perform for a little while before the resistance soldier recognises him, not difficult him being the only drow in sight, and he sits down to play. Several drinks later he is laughing and joking with them all taking their money one hand and losing it the next, though winning a little more often than not.
He stands and bows when Arjax introduces his family. "I would be honoured to accept such an invitation from such a distinguished house as the house of Arjax. I am but a lowly soldier in the right place at the right time. You honour me too much. You are a family of influence here in Xilres. If you would be so accomodating, would you happen to have any knowledge of others of my people here in your lands?"
He leaves the men and their cries of 'thief' with mock laughter behind as he goes off to find Geoffrey. He sees him at the same table he has been all night. He goes and sits across from the man before speaking. "A fine night Colonel. You don't look like you are enjoying yourself too much. Have another drink, you could use it." He stops and his face is one of seriousness. "If I may speak on a sensitive topic sir. I would ask, what is being done to remove the danger of the zombie rot? Though we have the kingdom out from under Nero, what if someone else were to get their hands on it. Has anything been gleaned from the notes we recovered from the underground labratory?"
Lindale was quiet as he listened to the elf preach his story. He scoffed silently. There was always more than one side to a story and no one considered the Drow perspective. It was true though that the victors were the ones that wrote history. Argent was as wicked as Bahuyen, what he had done to Lindale's people because they marched against him was unforgivable. Victor or not. Lindale hated the dragons and their magic. It had ruined the drow for a long time when they no longer had a home to return to after the lost war. But no one cared about their plight. No one. Yes old fool elf. Cry your tears. You have nothing worth crying for...