"Ew, egg whites?" Astraden curls her lips, then remembers Zeech is right across the table and gives a little smile and wave. "Well, the cake body is pretty good. I didn't know this much cream existed in Greyhawk, let alone Alhaster. I just hope the ziggurat was purely symbolic, and not like enchanted to suck our souls out and feed them into a divine monster."
"Well, I'm no, uh, what's the word? Confectamancer, or what-have you. But it's sure a lot less solid than it looks. All it took was for part of the cake to stop holding it up quite so high, and down it came. Speaking as someone who hasn't had cake in a while—" He takes a bite, nodding thoughtfully, and washes it down with the rest of his own c'rosch. "It's funny to come back to it like this.""Yeah, sad." Farrukh says noncommittally between bites of cake.
"Is that marzipan stuff hard to work with or something?"
"...Right. Guess it's as hard to get cake on patrol as it is while traveling."
"MMmpf. I like cake. 'S good," Cuetzpalli says through a mouthful of frosting. "Why don't more people give us cake?"
"Probably because the places and people we hang with aren't super powerful and rich like the Prince. Wow he's so great."
"Good point. We should go back to Greyhawk and visit that real estate guy who went with you guys while I was dead. He'd give us cake too, right?"
"Rodrigo? Sure, but with him, there'd probably be naked people jumping out of it..."
Cuetzpalli blushes, and puts another mouthful of frosting in his gob.
"Rodrigo? Sure, but with him, there'd probably be naked people jumping out of it..."
"...What? Why? Who wants to eat cake someone else has been sitting in for who knows how long?"
"...Right. Guess it's as hard to get cake on patrol as it is while traveling."
"Uh, right." Vulras gives Farrukh a funny look. "Well, anyways, it's just funny how some things are more fragile than they look."
The cake is delicious, aside from the unfortunate marzipan nobly choked down by Eben MacTeague, and there is a brief and welcome quiet as everyone enjoys the final course. For his part, Zeech eats his cake in brooding silence.
As the feast draws to a close, the Ominous Fabler rises once more and clears his throat, and everyone at the table for another screeching declaration.
Instead, he speaks in a dignified, booming bass that would make an ogre jealous as he says, "Ladies and gentlemen, it is time for the dance of the dead. Any who are skilled with a musical instrument are welcome to join us, naturally."
From the murmurings of other guests, the party gathers that this is a tradition for Alhaster, involving dancers dressed as the dead founders of the city. But instead, the Fabler waves his wand, and the skeletal minions return to do the duty.
As the help quickly and efficiently clear the table the Fabler leads the guests into the palace ballroom, trailed by his skeletal dancers and several hired musicians. It is a strange, slightly off-key but nonetheless exuberant tune playing as the guests pour after the skeletons into the ballroom and the dance begins. Prince Zeech, still angry at the failure of the fifth course, does not take part, and instead watches silently from a throne.
Aside from Zeech, only the Fabler, Smenk and Filge, and B'kruss also stay by the sidelines. Kilraven looks between Tanith and Carina questioningly.
Cuetzpalli leans against the wall, watching the dance with some uneasiness. He does not dance or attempt to talk to the others who aren't dancing.
Feeling more than a little emboldened by the c'rosch, Carina smiles at Lady Kilraven and offers her hand.
"Would you like to dance?"
Astraden drags Cuetzpalli onto the floor. She may not have danced before a group ever before in her life, and she may have a complete lack of understanding for the popular dances in Alhaster, but she knows how to keep time with the beat. Her style incorporates the jigs of Diamond Lake, adding angular arm jabs and something she announces as "The Armadillo Walk!"
She manages to mesh her dance pretty well with Cuetzpalli's, avoiding elbowing him in the face as well as stepping on his toes, and giving him guidance when needed.
Cuetzpalli gets swept up by Astraden, trying his level best to not look like a complete fool. He doesn't do very well, but his ineptitude makes Astraden look even better.
Eben raises an eye at the Fabler's challenge, borrows a stringed instrument from one of the musicians, and briefly joins in on playing the Dance of the Dead. Considering he's never heard the song before... Well. He doesn't do too badly, all things considered. At one point he shakes his head, almost as though an invisible voice in his head is complaining outrageously about his not practicing enough.
Once he's made a token attempt at being impressive via music, he does a much more practiced turn on the dance floor, asking one lady after another to take a turn with him. In order, he invites Mahuudril,Miszen, Lashona, and (daringly) Hemriss to spin around the floor with him for a few minutes (Lady Kilraven he leaves for Carina and Tanith). Anyone who accepts finds themselves the recipient of fairly banal chatter, no intrigues here from the silly drunken bard, thank you. Finally, seemingly at a loss for guests to dance with, he reaches out a hand and invites Ms. Lowri Chau to dance with a wink. "Just saving the best for last..." he says, low enough that it's hard to hear over the music.
Captain Kilraven bows and takes Carina's hand. "Certainly, Ms. Viera, that sounds wonderful."
"Your group interests me, Ms. Viera," she says, as the music rises to obscure her words. "It wasn't my first choice to come tonight, but I am glad—" she twirls Carina around her, "—that I did. You handled yourselves well for adventurers back there. You might even have avoided the Ikrus. Tell me, what do you think of Alhaster?"
Hemriss seems a good sight more annoyed by his chatter, and keeps trying to steer him toward discussing his group's endeavors—but she's no match for the drunken master of yammering.
Lashonna only takes one stab at conversation before yielding to his wish to keep discussions light. "So, did you kill Mahuudril's latest catch-of-the-day, or is there some incredibly circuitous metaphor I was missing back there?"
At last, as he takes Lowri's hand, Lowri smiles wryly. "You were a special sort of surprise tonight," she says, allowing him to lead—the brawny blacksmith isn't a very good dancer, unsurprisingly. "Your party cleans up well. Imagine if you all went on your, uh, quests like this."
She leans in. The ioun couatl nimbly avoids colliding with her head. "Are you safe, do you think?"
Lashonna dances with anyone who wishes to dance, and she is as skilled as one would expect of a bard. She asks Prince Zeech first, and receives a courteous refusal. After Zeech, her attention is quite focused on the members of Spiny's Six—to the extent that when she notices some members of the party avoiding most of the dance, she offers to accompany them on a walk through the courtyard. "It's good to clear one's head now and again," she says with an easy smile. "And the Prince won't mind us sneaking off. He knows I would never steal his dusty old candlesticks."
She winks at Prince Zeech. He doesn't seem to notice the joke.
Behind her, an escaped corollax lands on a discarded glass and sticks its head into the glass to sip up the mulled wine.
As Eben follows a complicated footwork sequence with Lashonna, he nods gamely. "Technically, yes, we killed him- well, Tanith did-, but honestly, it was more of a mercy kill at that point, since his head had been, um, impregnated? By a baby mind flayer? So that part of the back and forth wasn't exactly a metaphor either."
With Lowri, Eben is perfectly happy to lead her around the floor and not bother with more sophisticated steps that an inexperienced partner would need to live up to. "I think that would be interesting adventure-style, but maybe a bit bad for the outfits. Imagine you wearing that amazing dress while hammering away at the forge..." He considers his next words. "Danger? Hmm..." He glances over at Zeech. "Maybe? A bit? Honestly, that was why I danced with everyone else first... I didn't want you and me to be too obvious to anyone that didn't know about us, in case there's any kind of splashback, but on that note..." He guides her closer to the band where the music is a bit louder and speaks a bit lower himself. "Does Mahuudril know we're dating? Because I know you said she's been great to you, but I have a really, really bad feeling about her, not just from her reputation preceding her. She's got two re-animated dead enemies of ours, plus you. It's like she's making a collection." He pauses, and then tosses out the most damning evidence that his still-tipsy brain can muster in defnese of his crackpot theory. "And she smells like mint."
She then blinks. "Wait--what was that you said? Ikrus? What's that?"
After about seventeen minutes of foot-stamping hurly-burly, Astraden disentangles herself from the dance and stops a passing servant to ask for some more wine. It's at this point Lashonna and some of the other party members approach.
"Yes, I could stand to walk," Astraden replies. She flashes a metallic grin and leads the way to the Balcony.
"Sure, we killed him. And Filge, through negligence."
The fact that the big man was anything but light on his feet didn't keep him from enjoying a dance. Especially after several drinks and a long night at a with company he'd rather be punching.
He rotates in where he can find an opening, making an effort to take a turn with Carina and then Lady Kilraven.
***
Tanith gladly joins the others in stepping outside. ”He was half-melted and hollowed out by mindflayer spawn. I would argue he was technically already dead when I crushed his skull”, he argues in regard to the former mine manager. ”Filge I regret. He tried to help us at one point and we got him killed.”
"Well, I think Madril knows about us now, given you clearly explained our relationship when you thought I had amnesia, and then I kissed you on the cheek in front of her, and all that. As for before, I try not to talk about your whole...affairs. Especially in a place this, um, colorful. I don't think I ever brought up your name. She knows some adventurers saved me from an illithid, is all."
She chews her lip, deep in thought. This makes dancing with her a bit more difficult, but Eben is able to avoid any terrible crashes or obvious stumbling. "I reached out to Madril when I came here—everyone said she was the person to talk to about getting a business set up in Alhaster, and her people always have a demand for high-quality weaponry. She kind of took me under her wing. She's...good at people. Better than you, I think. And if wits were pins, she'd be a hedgehog.
"That said, here's an alternative reading. Maybe she's alright. Maybe she just likes mint. Maybe Sleazy and Wheezy over there got themselves resurrected. And from what you're telling me, I feel like there's maybe a commonality between the three of us that you aren't considering here—one that has pretty much nothing to do with you at all." Her eyes turn hard and flinty. "Zyrxog's still out there, isn't he? You'd have told me if you caught him."
She leads Carina in a curved walk around the ballroom as she goes on. "Redhand Ikrus is distilled from the venom of a local species of dire sea urchin. Nasty sort of creature, too."
"And how often do people you killed show up again to haunt you?" Lashonna taps her chin thoughtfully. "I will grant you, this has probably been the second-most exciting banquet I've attended since the revolt. It's not that I'm complaining."
"I mean, I didn't kill either of them. I wasn't even there. And yet I am tormented by these vengeful - oh, you're talking to Tanith."
"You're in the same organization, aren't you?" Lashonna blinks slowly. "Dinner parties aside, I must confess that I think any member of a party should be able to stand by their fellow partymembers' behavior. Otherwise, it's less a party and more a... soirée, don't you think? Rather irresponsible."
Farrukh is grateful for any chance not to embarrass himself trying to dance, so gladly takes Lashonna up on her offer for a walk.
"And how often do people you killed show up again to haunt you?" Lashonna taps her chin thoughtfully. "I will grant you, this has probably been the second-most exciting banquet I've attended since the revolt. It's not that I'm complaining."
"It's pretty rare, actually. Most people we kill are in such bad shape a lot of resurrection magic doesn't work on them. Frankly I'm surprised Smenk made the cut. Unless he's undead or something now, it's hard to tell."
"But as for your other question, Zyrxog's still out there, yeah. He sends us mocking messages sometimes just to remind us he's still kicking."
"Well, it's nice to know your nemesis still cares enough to write. Especially when you usually mangle them so... sufficiently, the way you tell it. Aside from the odd spy, Old Wicked never even bothers to harass Zeech and I anymore. People can get so... caught up in themselves when they haven't got a coherent archenemy to focus on, don't you think?"
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Her eyes turn hard and flinty. "Zyrxog's still out there, isn't he? You'd have told me if you caught him."
"But as for your other question, Zyrxog's still out there, yeah. He sends us mocking messages sometimes just to remind us he's still kicking."
Eben guides Lowri into dipping him, just for kicks. "Zyrxog's still out there, yeah." He doesn't, of course, say anything about mocking messages, because such a statement would be patently untrue and is totally not the kind of villain Zyrxog is (well, okay, but just the one time...). "Last hint we had of it was just a few days ago, actually. Sounds like it might have teamed up with some other people and things we've sort of let live longer than we should have. Good news was, sounded like they were going on a trip. I'm sure there's bad new eventually to follow that, because that can't be for good reasons, but it keeps them more plotting something super-bad and less concerned about personal revenge or loose ends or anything." He bites his lip in thought, though the concentration doesn't make his dancing any less suave. "So I doubt he's directly connected to Smenk and Filge either. One was just food, the other was a babydaddy." He tries to smile reassuringly. "Just... keep an eye open regardless, mm? Those two are potentially bad news regardless. And just be cautious about Mahuudril. Maybe she is harmless. But being good with people doesn't make someone safe either. I mean, imagine what I could do if I ever wanted to take over the world!" His smile with that statement is much more genuine as he pulls Lowri into a spin. "If we have to leave town again anytime soon, I'll see if I can't get Zal, Carina or Astraden to whip some kinda magic up for you if you need to get in touch with us in event of emergency."
The big man's dancing is largely rhythmic swaying and he's happy to let the more adept ladies do the heavy lifting.
"That's very honest of you to say, Ms. Viera. I'm surprised you haven't learned the most popular motto of our town." Kilraven winks. "Speak falsely. Not all the crooks of this town wear it so clear on their sleeve as the Angels and the Watchers." She performs an elegant heel turn. "But since you're flagrantly disrespectin' our local customs, I guess I'll try and do the same. I've noticed a lot of folk who aren't very happy right now. This Project is the last straw. For some."
"Are we talking about the powerful and influential sorts or the people?" Tanith asks in a low tone while glancing at those in attendance. And what about it upsets them so much? I've seen a lot of ugliness since we've been in Alhaster. I've seen a people just about as broken down as they can get - it's like they've forgotten what real strength looks like. What's different about whatever new cruelty the prince dreamed up this time?"
"I think that's collective punishment, my lady!" Astraden says with a laugh. "Which of course I support, Praise Hextor and so forth."
"Do you want me to check if Smenk is undead, Farrukh?" she chimes in as the warrior answers Lashonna's more salient points.
"I think that's collective punishment, my lady!" Astraden says with a laugh. "Which of course I support, Praise Hextor and so forth."
"Honestly, Hextor isn't much to my taste. He can be awfully hypocritical, if you don't mind my saying so. But I believe that if you march with someone, guard their back, heal their wounds—and accept their protection in turn—you're at least somewhat responsible for whatever they do after that. That being said, I didn't say you should share their punishment." Lashonna raises an eyebrow, turning to face Astraden directly. Her expression is curious, measuring, and otherwise perfectly neutral. "I said one should be prepared to stand by what they did. Otherwise, why do you fight together?"
Lowri clumsily goes along with Eben, successfully dipping him without dropping him onto the floor. "Oh, no, believe me, her being good with people isn't an assurance. You can't trust charismatic types, you know, especially if they're more charismatic than me." Lowri winks. "But that sort of thing, a communication item, I mean, would be nice. I've been working on a reusable wondrous item in my spare time, but getting it to work without being a proper mage is like... trying to hit a puppy by throwing a live bee at it. Which is a really weird visual and let's just forget I said it."
Her voice lowers. "Zeech has been a lot of things, but he's never been mad. Maybe back when he was a paladin, but... well, they're all kinda mad, paladins. But this Great Project? Nobody knows why he's building it. Some dream came to him, or something like that. I've heard not even Lashonna is a hundred percent sure. And if he's not even telling her, and he doesn't return Heironeous's sendings anymore, who is he listening to these days? And who's gonna talk him down?"
Lowri clumsily goes along with Eben, successfully dipping him without dropping him onto the floor. "Oh, no, believe me, her being good with people isn't an assurance. You can't trust charismatic types, you know, especially if they're more charismatic than me." Lowri winks. "But that sort of thing, a communication item, I mean, would be nice. I've been working on a reusable wondrous item in my spare time, but getting it to work without being a proper mage is like... trying to hit a puppy by throwing a live bee at it. Which is a really weird visual and let's just forget I said it."
"Hm. I pretty much don't know anything about making magic items, and I do know how to cast spells, so really, you're one up on me... what about Ph'rexis? Is he around, in case the crafty ladies of Spiny's Six can't make what I have in m ind?"
Astraden takes a deep breath and sighs, shrugging. "The way I see it, we fight together because our group is defined by mutual hatred of a few enemies. Also money, in the beginning, at least." She nods her head towards Farrukh. "Does Farrukh agree with my beliefs? No. Do I agree with Tanith's god's dragon racism? No. I was goofin' about Smenk coming after me, and I am actually glad Tanith killed him. But if Tanith wants to go out and fight some evil dragons, or if I assassinate a lawfully reigning ruler, without involving the group, I don't see why I or Farrukh, respectively, should feel any responsibility for it. We weren't involved in the action and we didn't voice our support for it. It's similar with you and Zeech - I don't blame you for working with Zeech when it helped your goals, and I wouldn't hold you responsible for those actions of his that you didn't help with. I might be suspicious of you, but I wouldn't judge you without something showing that you've helped him make Redhand such a terrible place." She jabs the chest of her tunic with her thumb. "From what I've heard, you've been staying the hell away from this tyranny shit for as long as it's been going on."
"I suppose we disagree, but I can see your point." Lashonna shrugs. "I don't believe I can abdicate my responsibility for Prince Zeech, and I don't believe you can abdicate it for Tanith's god's dragon racism. But we accept those kinds of sacrifices for the greater good. Good is hypocritical in that way."
She takes a deep breath, strolling along the edge of the Terrace. Her tone turns distinctly more casual as she adds, "So, are you here for Smenk, then? Or the Prince? Who's the mutual enemy on the cutting board for today?"
Lowri clumsily goes along with Eben, successfully dipping him without dropping him onto the floor. "Oh, no, believe me, her being good with people isn't an assurance. You can't trust charismatic types, you know, especially if they're more charismatic than me." Lowri winks. "But that sort of thing, a communication item, I mean, would be nice. I've been working on a reusable wondrous item in my spare time, but getting it to work without being a proper mage is like... trying to hit a puppy by throwing a live bee at it. Which is a really weird visual and let's just forget I said it.""Hm. I pretty much don't know anything about making magic items, and I do know how to cast spells, so really, you're one up on me... what about Ph'rexis? Is he around, in case the crafty ladies of Spiny's Six can't make what I have in m ind?"
"He's probably still in Greyhawk. I could contact him, if only I had, say, a device that could cast sending regularly." Lowri rolls her eyes. "Do you still have a link of some kind to Dantares? He could get Ph'rexis. I think he basically owns half the neighborhood at this point. At least he's lowering rents."
"Much bigger fish, really. We're looking for an old scholarly dude, an obelisk taken from an old city called Kuluth-Mar, and a dragon called Dragotha that might've taken the obelisk. Our mutual enemy is this dead god called Kyuss, guess."
"Of course, that doesn't rule out other enemies along the way. But things have gotten a lot clearer for us since we found out about the Age of Worms."
"He's probably still in Greyhawk. I could contact him, if only I had, say, a device that could cast sending regularly." Lowri rolls her eyes. "Do you still have a link of some kind to Dantares? He could get Ph'rexis. I think he basically owns half the neighborhood at this point. At least he's lowering rents."
"I don't have a direct line to Rodrigo, no. But one thing we're gonna have to do, soon, is sell off a bunch of loot we've got in the past week- dragons and apocalypse cults have the weirdest things in their hoards- and that might be worth Zalamandra teleporting us there, or Magepoint, for better market value. If we do that I'll see if I can't find something like we're talking about, either from Ph'rexis or someone less crazy." He executes a flawless- on his part- spin. "If I find something like that, it's all yours, so we can keep in touch when I'm away, and maybe you can use it to make more similar items. Reverse engineer it, use it to be able to cast sending to make more things that cast sending, etc..."
As Astraden speaks plainly, Lashonna halts in her pacing. For a moment, it looks like something has hit her—she's completely frozen.
She turns to face Astraden. "I'm sorry. What was that?"
Though her chosen words are as cordial as ever, her voice clips and halts irregularly, almost stumbling.
"Madril knows of all kinds of special shellfish and... creatures in the Nyr Dyv. She's spoken of one creature, the witchsend abalone, that's born in pairs with a psychic link." Lowri chews her lip. "If you have a few days to spare to help out, and she's able to help me catch a pair of those things, I think I have an idea for a wondrous item. I can craft one half of it now and... yes, I can finish the other half here if you have to leave. Maybe you could get a couple of your sportier friends to help on the fishing trip..."
She begins retreating into her own plans, going on about the complexities of crafting with non-metal, the time-saving options she has that might make the creation process more challenging, and international Nyr Dyv whaling laws.
As Astraden speaks plainly, Lashonna halts in her pacing. For a moment, it looks like something has hit her—she's completely frozen.
She turns to face Astraden. "I'm sorry. What was that?"
Though her chosen words are as cordial as ever, her voice clips and halts irregularly, almost stumbling.
"She said we're fighting against the Age of Worms, return of Kyuss and all that. You should probably walk closer so you can hear a little better, she's probably going to tell you about all he prophecy stuff next."
"I mean, I don't know the prophecy stuff any better than you. It's like, 'the Ebon Triad wins' and 'Raknian summons a bunch of ghouls in Greyhawk.' And one of those didn't happen?" She shrugs. "That first one could still be real, though. 'Swhy we need to find Bucknard."
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"Okay, so look. I've been thinking. Remember how I was talking about starting my own business with the Champion's Games winnings? Well, I've been talking to contacts. I think I've found an artificer who...well, he's a bit weird, but he really wants to get out of Greyhawk for some reason. Something about doors opening and closing. What's important is he'll work cheap, by mage standards.
"There are some locations I'm thinking about. For some reason, this city called 'Alhaster' keeps coming up. Apparently it's a hot spot right now, and there's a lot of demand for good crafters with good connections. With everyone mentioning it, it almost feels like the Iron Mule himself wants me to go there."
Lashonna's brow furrows. Her eyes dart from side to side, and she looks almost like a spooked rabbit as she glances rapidly between the partymembers. "So...that's why you're here. I did wonder, with your fight against the Ebon Triad, if you'd come following Balakarde's trail. That's who you mean, yes?" She clasps her hands and stretches slightly, making a transparent effort now to appear relaxed despite the gears almost audibly whirring behind her eyes. "He always feared he was being followed. Never shared his real name, but I could hazard guesses, theories. Bucknard's fairly famous, you know, among a certain class of archmage. I have a copy of his book."
She stares out over the precipice. The corollax Eben spared earlier hops about the remains of the appetizers earlier, searching, perhaps, for some discarded pineapple amongst its cooked brethren.
"If they are the same man, I also believe I own his journal. Or... what's left of it." Her lips tighten. "As for where he is now, I need to think. I need to think. Let us... let us suppose for the moment that I trust you. I would like to. You might not believe it, but for all my efforts here, I am still but a blackbird who has caught the ear of a condor. It would be such a relief to pass this little... obsession of mine off to someone else, before I wind up knifed in my bed, or fed to maggots, or any of the other horrors that these people visit upon those who dare to challenge them. And I think you have convinced me tonight that you are decent people, more or less. Decent enough.
"... So, supposing I can trust you." She blinks rapidly, still staring over the edge of the cliff, off into the blackness of the night. Only the sounds of the waves crashing against the rocks breaks the silence, a reminder of the storm raging just beyond the palace boundaries. "Bucknard trusted me.
"And I am fairly certain he is now quite dead, Astraden. You see, when I last saw him, he'd gone off to the Wormcrawl Fissure. Do you know what lives there?"
The bard doesn't wait long for an answer. "Nothing. Nothing at all. 'Their tongues, cut off, have learnt to talk. What ought to crawl have learnt to walk.' I haven't heard from Bucknard in sixteen years."
Your celestial buddy Celeste and Tenser giving you the low-down on the Wormcrawl Fissure, Part 1 and Part 2.
"Lashonna has the Prince's ear, doesn't she? She may not have a full understanding of his inspiration but she must know something. Have you tried reaching out to her?"
The big man leans in, testing the limits of doublets stitching with the shift of his massively muscled torso. He speaks in almost a whisper.
"But folks rarely share these sorts of insights with us without having something in mind", he explains alongside a knowing glance. "What has the Prince's Project meant for you and yours? And what role would you want a group of capable well-armed outsiders without any specific loyalties to play?"
Eben looks amused. "Okay, instead of bringing you something nice from the Free City, I'll bring you a couple of dead shellfish, I guess? Wow, I'm the most romantic soul ever!" He laughs and jokes a bit longer about being a low-maintenance boyfriend... 'Sure you don't want a few preserved Pomarjian cockroaches too?', but mostly settles into enjoying the dance.
After a few songs keeping Lowri from Mahuudril-duty, he wanders outside to find the rest of the group, coming in partway through Lashonna's (guarded)declaration of trust. "Wow, sixteen years? I don't know if we realized how long it's been, even, and we even talked to one of the other last things to talk to him. Creepy worm naga named Sruggart. Kind of a nice guy, for all tat. But Sruggart was a bit crazy and kinda immortal, so not sure if he realized what time passing feels like. Anyhow." He pauses, decides that since everyone is speaking openly, nothing they bring up can be too bad, as long as it's not something like So, how about helping us overthrow Zeech after all this is done?, so he picks another topic that nobody else has known the answer to before now. "Did Bala- Bucknard ever mention anything about the Order of the Storm, by any chance? We're given to understand it was also one of the leads he was following."
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"Tell me, do you know a man named Eligos? A loremaster from Magepoint. I think he used to work for Drawmij, before Drawmij vanished? Or maybe Tenser. Before Tenser was murdered. One of those two." She tugs at her collar, rather obviously glancing around as she speaks. She seems to be only getting more jumpy as the conversation goes on. "Certainly is a dangerous world for archmages these days, isn't it?
"A-Anyways, Eligos. I sent him a missive a month or so ago about the Order of the Storm, when I heard he was looking for Bucknard, and never heard back. I assume he's the reason you're here. I hope so.
"The Order of the Storm is a hole in history. They are my specialty—or, I suppose, it became my specialty after I met Bucknard. Perhaps I should say that they are a keyhole." Lashonna taps her nose. "No mortal even remembers they existed, save perhaps for the mightiest of the great wyrms and the most twisted of the aberrations—the ones that don't know how to age because they don't know how to die, like Sruggut." She steeples her fingers. "According to Bucknard, the servants of the Wormgod cannot speak of the Order out of pure fear and hate. Mortals cannot remember it, and the dead don't wish to. But for a bard who loves a good tragedy..."
She sighs wistfully. "Well, you can't get any better than the Order that, out of pure spite, wished itself right out of history."
At that brief lull, there comes a crunch from behind the party. Lashonna spins, her eyes flaring with panicked fire.
But it's just Miszen Mitchwillow, the plump halfling spice merchant, stepping out onto the Balcony of Expectorance for a smoke. She appears to have stepped on one of the dead birds someone missed, and her nose has wrinkled in distaste. "Really, now? Ugh, and now there's glitter everywhere! Awful birds."
Lashonna turns to the party, eyes narrowed, voice lowered—and wavering slightly. "I can't say more here. It isn't safe, not for these matters, not for secrets this noisome. Would...would you seven do me the honor of meeting me at my estate in a day or so? Let's say the 13th." She bites her lip. "I will explain everything then. I promise."
Astraden raises a puzzled eyebrow at the explanation of the Order of Storms, but nods acquiescence to Lashonna's request. She leaves the party soon after to wait for Korush and their carriage at the gates, drinking from a bottle of the blackberry liqueur she's somehow acquired from a servant.
Kilraven:Tanith gives Carina a nod. She's yours after the next song."Lashonna has the Prince's ear, doesn't she? She may not have a full understanding of his inspiration but she must know something. Have you tried reaching out to her?"
The big man leans in, testing the limits of doublets stitching with the shift of his massively muscled torso. He speaks in almost a whisper.
"But folks rarely share these sorts of insights with us without having something in mind", he explains alongside a knowing glance. "What has the Prince's Project meant for you and yours? And what role would you want a group of capable well-armed outsiders without any specific loyalties to play?"
Kilraven looks around, clearly buying time until she's sure the music is swelled and the rest of the room distracted enough that she won't be overheard. "I'm loyal to Alhaster. Always been. I fought with Zeech and the rest against Old Wicked, and I'd do it again. But my loyalty goes to the city. I am no puppet of the Blessed Angels, nor the man pulling devils' strings, and nor whoever's pulling his." Her right hand—her good hand—clenches, almost enough to hurt. "And there might come a time when the city needs a couple pairs of good cuts. I figure your group looks like it knows a good tailor."
Her voice has risen as Montague Marat dances closer to trade off partners, and Tanith finds himself trapped dancing and talking with the self-described "freak collector" for several minutes while Malaven ends up dancing with a Miszen who looks like she very much needs a smoke.
Eben looks amused. "Okay, instead of bringing you something nice from the Free City, I'll bring you a couple of dead shellfish, I guess? Wow, I'm the most romantic soul ever!" He laughs and jokes a bit longer about being a low-maintenance boyfriend... 'Sure you don't want a few preserved Pomarjian cockroaches too?', but mostly settles into enjoying the dance.
After a few songs keeping Lowri from Mahuudril-duty, he wanders outside to find the rest of the group, coming in partway through Lashonna's (guarded)declaration of trust. "Wow, sixteen years? I don't know if we realized how long it's been, even, and we even talked to one of the other last things to talk to him. Creepy worm naga named Sruggart. Kind of a nice guy, for all tat. But Sruggart was a bit crazy and kinda immortal, so not sure if he realized what time passing feels like. Anyhow." He pauses, decides that since everyone is speaking openly, nothing they bring up can be too bad, as long as it's not something like So, how about helping us overthrow Zeech after all this is done?, so he picks another topic that nobody else has known the answer to before now. "Did Bala- Bucknard ever mention anything about the Order of the Storm, by any chance? We're given to understand it was also one of the leads he was following."
Lowri clearly enjoys just talking to Eben about non-business matters, though she does keep quizzing him about his new accessories—especially his clothes, which fascinate her in their material, and his couatls.
"Mortals cannot remember it, and the dead don't wish to. But for a bard who loves a good tragedy..."
She sighs wistfully. "Well, you can't get any better than the Order that, out of pure spite, wished itself right out of history."
Eben blinks a few times. Well, that makes things more difficult... "Tragedy is overrated. Comedy is where it's at. An order that wished itself out of history, only for the wish to be misinterpreted and it's literally no longer part of 'his story', so only women know about it and it's become a bunch of grumpy old men upset that plucky young adventuresses keep knocking on the door? I'd buy tickets to that play..." Eben glances over at Miszen as she interrupts the private conversation with her need to smoke and complain about the birds the dinner party brutally murdered, and throws a few more crumbs down on the ground for the surviving corollaxes out of guilt.
"I can't say more here. It isn't safe, not for these matters, not for secrets this noisome. Would...would you seven do me the honor of meeting me at my estate in a day or so? Let's say the 13th."
He smiles as she makes to depart. "As long as tosbassarrirge isn't on the menu, we'll certainly be there." After Lashonna departs, he heads back inside for a last dance or two, and to give Lowri the details on where he and the part are staying. "The Deluxury, probably just for the next day, I'd say. Probably going to stop paying the premium prices now that this thing is over and we don't have to look high class. After that, we'll probably be rooming at this place Astraden found." And after confirming that he'll be a part of the 'fishing trip', (and a last glass of c'rosch) he departs to take the carriage home.