Nakir walks through the crowd, most people make way. Those that don't get seemingly pushed by the air around him. He didn't like such packed cities, at least not when he could not make use of his abilities more fully. Aolis had told him to restrain himself, what fun was that. He could have easily moved about invisibly or in the form of a swordlord. But he had been told the locals would take offense, as if they could see through his illusions. Everyone around here had swords for brains. They had less magic then in the wilds.
Or so it had been, Aolis had those mages with him now. They were cautious of him, he wouldn't be able to toy with them. Just then he noticed a pick pocket taking a merchants pouch. With a flick of his finger the thief's prize leaped from his hand on to the rear end of a guard not five feet from him. The guard whirled around and Nakir was amused, at least for the moment.
Aolis was slowly making his way through the crowd but it was tedious. More so with a pair of guards, not that he wasn't appreciative. Honestly their was little to no chance of any attempt on his life, frankly if their was these guards would be of little help. While his magic was not the most destructive, it could take care of most threats that simple guardsmen could contend with.
He spotted his old comrade Aramil in the distance. Yet at the rate their were moving it would take a good deal of time and he could move along.
"Thank you for the effort my friends. You can head back, I think I'll do fine on my own from here."
With that he disappears, slipping between the world until he makes it beside Aramil. Appearing suddenly with a small gust of air.
"How did you get through all that alone?"
Aramil glances as Aolis pops out of the air next to him. Smiling, he says, "A dueling sword is good for more than just fighting, you know. In a city such as Restov, it often affords one a modicum of space and the ability to move through a crowd more easily - not out of fear, but respect. How have you been these past nine months, Aolis?"
He twirls his cane once before leaning on it.
"Well mostly keeping Nakir from causing havoc, moving about, and getting involved with some fellow mages. We call ourselves The Frozen Flame, I was chosen to represent the group. What about yourself, what have you been up to?"
While speaking he keeps alert. Old habits from the road and an eye for detail that just won't stop.
The Casket-Head Inn, located a short ride down the road from Restov proper, has seen a few hard years—with bandits what they are these days, even among the farmlands, there's less and less travel and trade into the Stolen Lands; and those that ride with wealth and status prefer the peace of mind offered by well-guarded city walls. In a few days, Father Mackowski will be leaving the inn and all of its contents to his creditors. But Orvin Rabinoff is quite well-read in Rostland contract law, and is confident that this only includes whatever happens to be left behind in the inn. The furniture, the rugs, and the candlesticks have already been sold to junkers or bundled up into wagons; the provisions that will keep are squared away as well, as the priest of Cayden "sold" every last tack loaf, mead barrel and strip of jerky to himself (and, legally speaking, his final customer) for all the spare change he had in his pocket. Which means that everything else in the storerooms—the meats, eggs, and small beers that would spoil fast on the trail—will be eaten tonight.
It was supposed to be a small celebration. The Brothers Rabinoff, their personal servants, and a few other members of the Iron Alley Boys now also gone legitimate, smoking whole sides of beef over a roaring fire while good old Caskethead Mackowski showed once and for all that he had finally got the hang of brewing. There were enough rooms in the inn for everyone to sleep comfortably in a bed one last time—or at least to sleep on half of a bed. But then the others showed up. Men, women, a few canny and well-armed orphans. A certain familiar shiftiness to their company, though signs indicated that they might not own the same generous quantities of soap Anton Rabinoff had purchased for his followers. And the names they called themselves—terrible names, the sort that reveled in shamelessness, with "High Bounty" apparently being the consensus. A few had been invited by the trappers, and they invited others, and others, and soon half of the inn was people its owner couldn't name, sleeping on the floor where they passed out, bringing their own jars and bottles of terrible grog, and praising Anton Rabinoff and his brother in ways that made the Swordlord scowl with embarrassment and disappointment.
Still. If people other than the original hand-picked team want to follow the well-stocked Rabinoff wagons, they'll no doubt learn to fall in line quickly, and realize that this expedition is a clean slate, not simply a coat of paint. And this thought gives Mackowski and the rest of the Iron Alley Boys a bit of relief, as well as knowing just who will be in charge of rationing the good beers.
* * *
It's still quiet a full hour after sunrise in the Casket-Head Inn. A few men have woken up, stoking embers in the fireplace while the rest still sleep. In the broom closet, Orvin Rabinoff hides under a pile of blankets, slipping notes out through the door to request breakfast from the first person willing to make some. Upstairs in his room, Anton practices his standard morning routine—training quietly with a wooden sword for a full two hours after sunrise, only to emerge later than everyone else in the inn, and politely apologize for sleeping through breakfast. In his experience, being a Swordlord comes down mostly to practice and experience.
Anton Rabinoff has no interest in actually standing around in a square full of farmers and soldiers for two hours listening to rumors while everyone gets cold and smelly. Instead, he has found a seat at the nearest actual eating establishment with a balcony view into the square; his herald, Barnie Costak, works the crowd, listening for names, making introductions, and potentially inviting others over to Anton's table for a cup of tea and a brief respite from the noise and crowd.
Still, tucked away carefully in his haversack, Anton carries a number of books. A few of these are blank; on the pages of one, he writes down every name his herald mentions. Later, he will look up the families, deeds, and arms of any names he does not recognize; especially those who might be aligned to a noble house.
* * *
As he's moving through the crowd, a small bard taps Darvan on the knee. "Hey! Fist man!" the halfling squeaks. "I hear you've been challenging Swordlords to a punching contest all morning. That's a realllll bad idea—telling hot-tempered duelists who devote their lives to the sword that they'd be better off without one is about as bad as insults get, and I'd be careful not to wander into any South-side alleys for the next day or two. Still. Stilllll. If you want to see how your foreign battle arts stack up against an actual Swordlord, I know exactly one who'd be willing to give you the time of day... though perhaps any day other than this one."
Feeling the contact on his leg, Darvan halts in mid-stride, looking down to ensure that he hasn't just unknowingly run over one of the children or small-folk in the crowd. Finding instead that the contact was intentional, and meant to get his attention, he listens carefully to the proffered warning, as well as the offer that follows. Though the fellow is entirely mistaken as to Darvan's purpose in attempting to challenge a swordlord, this is hardly the time or place to get into a lengthy discourse on Darvan's personal philosophy, so the paladin maintains his silence in that matter. The offer itself has a broad grin appearing Darvan's face as he responds. "I thank you for this most wonderful news, and ask that you contact this swordlord of your acquintance to arrange a meeting. You'll find me encamped roughly a quarter candle mark's brisk walk out from the west gate, under the colors of the Dashing Harvesters, ask for Darvan."
With that said, Darvan nods his head in thanks and resumes his interrupted journey, with a bit of a spring in his step over the prospect of the impending challenge, even if it won't happen for some time yet. Before he can get too much deeper into the crowd, he suddenly veers to one side as he spots a familiar and somewhat eye-catching bit of garb among the people filling the Red Table Square. It doesn't take but a few moments of ducking and weaving before he reaches the side of his friend, Theodric. Before he can get close enough to call out, Lillana makes note of his arrival and stops Theodric with a hand on his arm and some words that Darvan can't make out over the noise of those around him. Reaching the pair, Darvan claps Theodric's shoulder in greeting before offer Lillana a polite nod, which she returns. "And a fine morning to you, Theodric," Darvan says brightly, voice full of cheer. "I hope you haven't been stuck in this mass for too long, it looks as though the whole of the city's populace is trying to pack this square today. Probably explains why I had such poor results in my searching."
Feeling a tug on his sleeve, Theodric stops and leans down to listen to Lillana. "I've just seen Darvan in the crowd," she says, struggling to find a balance between speaking loud enough for Theodric to hear, but not so loudly that everyone around them does as well. "He's seen us as well, or rather, you, and is moving to join us." Even as Lillana says this, Theodric feels a hand on his shoulder, the touch accompanied by the voice of his friend and mentor as the paladin finally reaches them. Noting the apparent lack of disappointment in Darvan's voice, Theodric is curious as to the cause. "I'm not surprised you had little luck in finding any swordlords today, but your not as unhappy as I thought you'd be. Why not," he asks. Hearing about the offer that Darvan received, and the warning that came with it, Theodric can only shake his head in resigned amusement. "Right, so I guess I'll tell the others to expect a swordlord's representative to show up at some point starting tomorrow, looking for you. And hopefully it won't be one looking to address some unintentional slight you may or may not have made."
As the trio begins yet another circuit of the Red Table Square, Theodric questions Darvan about the crowd, or more specfically, those within it. "I don't suppose you see any faces we know in this cattle yard," he calls back to the bald martial artist. "Lillana's been quite good at picking up rumors so far, but that's one thing she can't help with, since she wouldn't know who to look for."
***Darvan***
Darvan takes in the crowd around them for several moments before answering Theodric. "No friend, I see none here that are known to us. Of course, the sheer number of people here makes it quite possible that someone we know could be standing just beyond a cluster of onlookers, and we'd never know it." Looking around with a thoughtful expression, he then continues. "In fact, I think it best if we find ourselves a vantage point and remain there until the announcement is made. For I am quite certain that this crowd's numbers are only growing, and movement through it may soon prove a challenge even I would hesitate to attempt."
He twirls his cane once before leaning on it.
"Well mostly keeping Nakir from causing havoc, moving about, and getting involved with some fellow mages. We call ourselves The Frozen Flame, I was chosen to represent the group. What about yourself, what have you been up to?"
While speaking he keeps alert. Old habits from the road and an eye for detail that just won't stop.
"I've been staying in Restov for the most part. Some of my distant kin from Kyonin came up looking to receive some training from my father for a 'great task' they were going to set themselves on. They were hoping for more practical combat training, however, and my father is not particularly inclined to that direction. I've been teaching them instead. Once word of this expedition came out, they were all eager to see if we could join up as further preparation for their task - which, of course, isn't something simple, oh no. They want to retake Sevenarches 'for the glory of the Elven peoples'. I helped them organize themselves as a group - they chose the ridiculous name of 'Mageforge' - and when I went to help them sign up, some fool bureaucrat or other listed me as the group's leader. While I would gladly have joined the expedition, I'd have preferred to seek out yourself, Amavin, and Azrael to form a group to join it. Perhaps it's because I wasn't raised among the Elves of Kyonin, but I just don't have the same sentimental attachment to 'liberating' Sevenarches they do. What do you think?"
Yuri Magrar woke before dawn in his pavilion, covered in furs, but not particularly warm. He uncovered, stood, and dressed himself, briefly grooming his beard as well with a mirror and a sharp dagger. He then collected a candle, his spellbook, and his tinderbox from his pack. He had a slight headache from the previous evening's debate, which in Dwarven society invariably involved consumption of a copious amount of ale, and last night had been no exception. Nonetheless he continued with his morning ritual, and memorized his desired spells from his spellbook.
Yuri had taken counsel with the members his small clan the night before, as they camped on the outskirts of Restov. Not everyone had agreed with the decision to come.
”We are givin' up 'ar claim to Golushkin if we swear fealty to this Surtova whelp, know that. This may be a grave mistake, especially if'n it doesn't pan out. What if this Lord Greensky dies a week into the expedition? Human nobles are frail beings,”
Yuri's uncle Angrod had chuckled, draining his flagon of ale, before continuing,
”And if I understand it correctly, if that were ta' happen, we'd be obliged ta' follow the whelp's whelp? A mere child. Pah!"
”We need allies at any rate. And the Surtovas are in charge now. And you are drunk, uncle,” Ingra's kindly and calm voice cut in.
”If half the rumors I've heard are true, its the Surtovas what did for your folk in Golushkin anyways. An' he may be too drunk, but you're not drunk enough by half, Ingra,” said Elga, Angrod's wife.
Of all the members of the group, she had lived the furthest from luxury all her life, never having had a dwarf-hold to call home, but rather living almost perpetually above-ground and on the road, usually among humans. She was rough, but ever-ready, and Yuri usually treated her kindly and took her advice to heart.
Yuri's voice was not kindly when he spoke,
”I have warned you all about that rumor. If I hear of it being spoken again, especially while we are on this expedition, it will be taken as if the speaker had struck me,”
he hesitated, looking around the fire at each dwarf's face in turn, then continued,
“For which the punishment would be loss of the hand, or banishment. I will not warn you all again.”
Elga's words might have truth in them, he thought, as he put on jewelry that suited his noble attire, mostly focused around rubies, opals, and diamonds. He wore a black velvet tunic and trousers, with gold thread sewn into the shape of a radiant sun and rubies sown into an anvil shape on his chest. Clan Magrar had never possessed its own sigil, but since the founding of the Forgedawn he had thought it necessary to have a symbol. He also wore numerous rings and heavy gold chains, fully adorned in all the splendor of a noble, dwarf or otherwise.
True or not though, this Chalm Surtova was only a cousin of the New Stetven Surtovas, and consequently, he doubted that Chalm was involved if it was the Surtova's who were responsible for the Vanishing. Either way, this was a great opportunity for his clan, and Yuri, a lover of language and grammarian, could see further into the future than most, and had told them so last night.
”The Stolen Lands region of the River Kingdoms has massive potential,”he had said,”The lives of dwarves are long. If we follow Lord Chalm Surtova and earn his trust, we will indeed serve his son, and his son's son. I may do so even, if I live long enough. We will have our opportunity to retake our home, and if necessary, for vengeance. Our lives are long, but our clan's memory, as long as one of us lives, is eternal.”
This final word had seemed to stop all debate. He had seen his sister Tarna nodding heartily in agreement, as were others.
Truly, Yuri hadn't needn't to make this argument to his clan, as ultimately his word was law among them, but he was glad that he had anyway, as it was a decision of great importance to his people's future. He wanted everyone to be on the same page.
As he took a swig of his waterskin, washing away the taste of last night's indulgence, he could hear someone at his tent's door.
“My lord, all is now ready. Are you prepared?” came the voice, which he recognized as that of Volken, his nephew and Tarna's squire.
Yuri strapped his crossbow, which served as his arcane bond, to his back, grabbed his pack, and went to the door.
“Aye, Volken. I am ready.”
It was Tarna's daily practice, after finishing her prayers to Torag, to continue her worship to the Lord of Creation by performing maintenance on her weapons and armor. She would typically awake an hour earlier than normal to undertake this ritual. She polished her exquisite gray and gold full plate to a shine, and her squire Volken helped her put the armor on. The breastplate of the armor showed the hammer of Torag atop the anvil of the sunburst anvil of the Forgedawn. She had made the adjustments herself only a few weeks before.
After he had helped her don her armor, Volken went to see if Yuri was ready. Tarna polished her longspear, and then headed out of the tent just in time to see her brother and lord leaving his tent.
“Helga, as I said, you're to go with Azagnar into Restov and see what you can find out at the taverns and markets. I want to know the price of salt and the price of a rumor. Volken and Tarna are with me of course. Even Angrod is already up and in armor! Well, blessed Torag! Uncle, you and Ori are to ride out and get a lay of the land, and if you get a chance I wouldn't mind if you brought home supper. Elga holds the camp, with Ingra, Azala and Melken. Make sure those ponies get to graze, and it wouldn't hurt letting them run a bit if you can. And get those new recruits up to snuff on traveling routine and watches,” her brother looked over the assembled dwarves as he gave his order.
Tarna had to admit that he was a good leader; despite being a bit rough around the edges, and not exactly the world's greatest public speaker, he had a way of getting one's attention quickly, and keeping it.
And so Tarna went with her brother and her squire to Red Table Square. The festival-like atmosphere was almost overwhelming for Tarna, who wasn't used to being around so many people and didn't particularly like it. She had always been quiet, though it wasn't the noise that bothered her. She had practically grown up in a forge, and the cacophonous sounds of hammer and anvil could put her to sleep as easily as rain on a roof for most people. It was the closeness. It was hard to move five feet with being bumped into by someone. She prayed silent prayer to Torag for calm.
Her brother was preoccupied. On the walk over he had been talking about how he had heard that one of the other groups was a band of elementalist mages, and he was interested to speak to them. Yuri had briefly studied earth elementalist magic at the arcane university in Tar-Kazmukh, he had said, and wanted to see where they learned their spellcraft. Not to mention seeing if they minded swapping a few spells.
”I see some elves over there, if its not the Frozen Flame at least it might be the magi I heard about, I think they call themselves the Mageford. Wouldn't mind meeting them either." Yuri smiled and headed over to where some elves were gathered talking. Tarna nodded and followed. Perhaps some conversation would make her feel less confined.
Yuri, Tarna, and Volken approach Aolis Greenborn and Aramil Wellys.
”I hope I'm not interrupting, my good elves, but I am Yuri Magrar, conjurer and leader of the Forgeborn. Well met.”
Yuri smiles broadly, and offers his hand to whoever will take it. Tarna bows.
Acaciano woke with the sun and yawned casually before stretching, standing, and moving over towards the door of the tent. As he pulled on his gear, he glanced back to the other side of the tent where Tai was following a similar routine, likely initiated by the same sunbeam.
"Well, today's the day. Ought to be interesting, that's for sure. Let's hope we didn't come all this way for nothing," Tai offered.
"Have a little faith, Tai," Acaciano replied. "And if worst comes to worst, we can always attach ourselves to another caravan. We'd have to say goodbyes to the rest of the 'Trees' I think but..."
Acaciano smiled trailed off as Tai laughed lightly at his teacher's mention of their impromptu attachment. Both men were a bit amused by their pairing with the other Druids, but ultimately thankful for the company.
Pulling on his final boot, Acaciano opened the door to their tent and stepped out into the cold, seeking out Heartwood.
Finding the treant wasn't particularly difficult, as he'd not moved much in the night, and he happened to be the only 'tree' in the field they were camping in. Looking around the camp, Acaciano saw the occumpants of the other, adjacent camps beginning to stir. Patting Heartwood softly in greeting, he offered a quiet greeting to his companion before finding a comfortable place to sit on some of the well-trampled snow. Closing his eyes, he started listening to the noises around him, blocking out all the unnatural distractions and really listening to everything that was left.
The obvious things, the birds singing in the skies, the excitable dogs off in the distance, and the dozens of pack animals made the most, and loudest noises. But under the snow, Acaciano found what he was really listening for. The grasses, patiently waiting to sprout in a few months time, greeted him. The roots of trees, the bodies long displaced, sang a sad song. And far off in the distance he could hear the familiar hum of the forests, calling him. He bathed in the noises, taking a great deal of comfort as he communed with nature itself, until the cacophony grew to a climax. Smiling, he opened his eyes, stood, and shivered in the cold.
'Excellent timing,' he thought, as the previous day's spell wore itself thin. Sifting through his pack, he pulled out his Rod, and using its magic, along with his freshly granted spells, re-cast the Endure Elements spell on himself and Heartwood, ensuring they'd remain comfortable throughout the day.
On the other side of the camp, Tai followed suit, protecting himself from the cold as well.
With the most of the required morning rituals out of the way, their pair moved on to the last one-- breakfast.
”Well, good thing we saw your mother yesterday,” Tai quipped to Acaciano as they entered the Red Square a few hours later.
”Because it looks like our ‘today’ is going to be rather… occupied.”
Glancing around, both men took in the sights, sounds, and smells of the square with a mix of strong reactions. Both loved Restov, certainly, but years away had certainly left them changed. The city still appealed to them, it just felt a little louder than they remembered. Today, maybe it was.
”Indeed. ‘Occupied’ I think is the perfect word,” Acaciano laughed back.
”I don’t think Heartwood enjoys staying back at camp but today, especially today, there’s little doubt it’s the right choice.”
Moving through the square, a number of familiar faces stood out to their keen eyes. Some they recognized from the buildings where they’d signed up initially for the venture, and some they recognized from the camping fields. Some, Tai figured, were strange enough that they had to be adventurers waiting for the announcement-- there weren’t that many “interesting” folk in Restov, at least that he remembered.
A few minutes later, as they worked through another clogging knot of people, Tai’s ear’s picked up a few interesting words. With a firm tug on Acaciano’s sleeve, he subtly pointed out a rather varied collection of people. ”Pretty sure I just heard ‘liberate Sevenarches’. Now there’s an interesting idea, eh Acaciano?”
Acaciano redirected his focus from a different group of people he’d been looking at on the other side of a large ring of onlookers surrounding a dancing performer. He’d caught a glimpse of a horned woman with a somewhat scaly face who he’d seen disappearing into a camp on the outskirts a day ago, with a large cat on her heels. He started to wave-- they’d need allies at some point and that pair would probably have more in common with them than most others would-- and then he felt Tai tugging at his arm.
’Sevenarches? Now that IS unexpected’ Acaciano thought, before replying,
”Very, friend. Very. Let’s get a closer look and see who exactly this is.”
Following Acaciano's lead, Tai made his way over to the group, keen to introduce himself.
Amavin rolls out of bed, ready to face the day, but still exceptionally grumpy about the facilities available. That, and the truckloads of people in the city, made her irritated. Washing herself, she changes into her more formal attire, before yanking out a package from under her bed, bringing it into the next room.
"Happy Birthday Ishana" she remarks happily, knowing full well the the younger women hated to be reminded every time she got a little bit older.
Ishana groaned slightly, stretching under the bedclothes before appraising Amavin slightly, "Ah yes, dear friend, thank you for reminding me - even with many things to prepare, you can still manage to find ways to amuse yourself at my expense"
Putting on a wounded expression, Amavin drops the package on Ishana's lap, observing the women tear into the packaging. "Its a fashion upgrade dear", she remarked when Ishana had finished unwrapping it. "I commissioned this outfit for you, made by a highly priced Calistrian dressmaker, according to the styling that you enjoy. Its something for you to wear at high society events, but I am assured that it should be able to hold up in combat just as well as normal adventuring gear. I even included an option to add a chain shirt within the clothing, so that you can still go around looking armored while still being fashionable."
Ishana nods gratefully, and both women move to separate rooms to dress for the day ahead. Amavin then takes them directly to the square which was stupidly crowded. Scanning the volume of people, Amavin is mildly surprised to notice Aramil already, and makes a direct heading towards the tall elf.
"Well isn't this a surprise, some of the old guard back together already hmm?" she remarks, also noticing Aolis there.
"Oh. That's the one with tree," Deneb says at Lyda's side.
"What?" she asks, following his line of sight. She wasn't sure how he spotted them but ahead in the crowd was a duo, dressed in what you could only call rustic garb. One seemed to have armor either covered or made of leaves. Both also had the tell-tale slightly pointed ears of half-elves.
"Remember, I saw a moving tree in a camp across the river. One of them was even talking to it. I think that's him." She looked down at her friend and had to be impressed with his eye sight. "Let's say high."
"What?" She really needed to expect unexpected things from him. Her vocabulary was suffering. They were walking in the direction of another group that was growing in size. A group that exuded experience and confidence. A group she figured had the greatest chance of being called on to serve Chalm Surtova. As if she wasn't nervous enough.
"C'mon. They look important." He starts walking towards them without a backwards glance. Lyda sighed. He was really intent on drawing her into social situations. He said it was for her own good but she had a sneaking suspicion he enjoyed watching her in uncomfortable situations. She followed anyway.
He approaches the group that was growing at an alarming rate. Even the normal populace was giving them some space, somehow sensing their importance. But halflings were fearless in almost all situations. Lyda followed, double-checking her attire to make sure nothing...concerning was showing.
"I've been staying in Restov for the most part. Some of my distant kin from Kyonin came up looking to receive some training from my father for a 'great task' they were going to set themselves on. They were hoping for more practical combat training, however, and my father is not particularly inclined to that direction. I've been teaching them instead. Once word of this expedition came out, they were all eager to see if we could join up as further preparation for their task - which, of course, isn't something simple, oh no. They want to retake Sevenarches 'for the glory of the Elven peoples'. I helped them organize themselves as a group - they chose the ridiculous name of 'Mageforge' - and when I went to help them sign up, some fool bureaucrat or other listed me as the group's leader. While I would gladly have joined the expedition, I'd have preferred to seek out yourself, Amavin, and Azrael to form a group to join it. Perhaps it's because I wasn't raised among the Elves of Kyonin, but I just don't have the same sentimental attachment to 'liberating' Sevenarches they do. What do you think?"
Aolis ponders it for a moment.
"I doubt very much that sentimentality is at the core of it. That aside I think our kin from the homeland need to look pass their supposed superiority in most if not all things and consider a very simple concept. Perhaps the druids have a very good reason to keep specifically elves away from Sevenarches. Would it not be so much simpler to ask, if they refused to answer then build diplomatic ties to the point where we can be trusted with the truth. Certainly we have the time as a people. It seems a bit juvenile and petty to force the issue in such a matter. More so with druids who share many of the same values and perspectives with our kin. Truthfully I think both groups are to similar, which is more at the root of the problem. To busy thinking their way is not only the right way, but the only way, to keep an open mind to other ways."
He waves a free hand about the whole matter.
"We could keep going on about it but in short. Do what you think is best, while trying to help them see more then their narrow view. Just remember in the end their choices are their own. You can only hope to guide them to a new path."
Before he could say more or bring up another subject. They are interrupted by Amavin's arrival.
"A good day to you, Amavin. I do miss traveling with you, I remember that one night you had some of that chelish red vividly. Rather a bit to much of it, as you did the most interesting dance. How you managed to use those clouds while nude in such a manner has perplexed me on more then one night. Apologies I was side tracked where is dear Ishana for I miss her as well, it would warm my heart to see her."
He gave a wide boyish smile, his solid blue eyes filled with mischief.
Before Wealday:
Darivan mostly keeps his head down, listening the city as it bustled around in preparation for The Party. While the ten representatives from the Auram Chain were a fairly sizable group, they were far from the biggest in Restov (some of whom, Darivan had heard, needed to rent out an entire townhouse just to have a place to sleep). They were staying at a small, cheap, but good-quality inn at the edge of the city.
Wealday:
Darivan rises early, even before the sun, and spends some time appreciating the relative quietness of Restov as it wakes up. He then spends most of the morning wandering the city, as he’s taken to doing, wandering the streets listening for rumors about who will be selected for the expedition. While he loves a good competition, he still prefers to actually see his competition, and gauge his chances of winning. He’s relatively fine with losing, but all of this waiting and suspense set him on edge. A little after ten, though, he was caught off guard by a bird swooping by barely a foot from his head. Running after the falcon, he found himself near Red Table Square, where he finds Sylvia.
”Haven’t you taught your bird to get someone’s attention… gently?” He sarcastically asks his friend, “She nearly gave me a heart attack, and nearly crashed into a passerby!”
“Oh, I have. She’s smart enough that I wouldn’t even need to tell her.” She strokes her familiar’s feathers as the falcon is perched on her hand. “But why would Gwaihir want to do something boring?” She replies in the exact same tone.
“Ooookay then. What did you need me for that was so urgent?”
“Oh, I just wanted to make sure you were keeping track of the time. It wouldn’t do to be late, after all. I know how absent-minded you can be.”
Darivan raised an eyebrow. He was always the one who kept track of time, and Sylvia was the one who was always late. "You mean, you wanted to make sure you weren’t late?"
He didn’t say it out loud. He didn’t need to. Sylvia knew him well enough to know exactly what he was thinking.
Sylvia looked away and smiled slightly. "No comment."
The two of them laughed, and as Gwaihir flew off, they headed into the bustling Red Table Square.
Hopefully, I’ll have more up soon. Christmas prep has left me running in every direction, but I should have a bit of time soon. I had a lot more characterization in my first post, but I accidentally deleted that…. I’ll hopefully be able to jump in on the RP soon, and that should help a bit.
Amavin smirks slightly at Aolis's anecdote. "Ah yes, but I looked good while doing it - and as Ishana tells me, that's always the main thing...speaking of..."
Amavin glances around, craning her neck around to search for Ishana, who she was sure had been moments from by her side. "Hmm, I seem to have lost her in the crowd, but then again, perhaps its for the best. Its her birthday today, but don't ask me what she has planned, on a day like this, I don't really want to know, I have a suspicion that pleading ignorance might be a good tactic just in case."
"Someone asking after me already?" Ishana remarks, doing her trademark glide, sliding effortlessly through the crowd as she arrives at Amavin's side and looking between Aolis and Amavin. "Its all this ones fault", she remarks, half whining, half smiling as she jerks a thumb towards Amavin. "Finally I get a day off all to myself, in the middle of an urban center no less, but Little Miss Pretty Face gets invited to a square that currently involves all of us standing around doing nothing. Fantastic. Silver lining though, she owes me big for this, so I'll get an opportunity to cash in later when an opportunity presents itself"
-So this is the day...
Tomas is wearing a nice red cape. It is cold, really cold today at the Red Table Square. Actually, he wouldn't have been here if it weren't for the fact that the announcements were about to be made.
Yes, today, Tomas is about to know whether he and his people are accepted into the march for the Stolen Lands. A lot of things cross through his head.
-Look at all these people. Looking for a chance, just like me. Elves, dwarves... I see quite a motley here. Who knows? Maybe one of them is going to save my life out there in the cold... or maybe take it.
Trying to distract his mind from these bad omens, Tomas has a look around the people to check if he finds someone known.
Nodding at the truth in the other Elf's words, Aramil thinks for a moment before he notices Amavin's arrival and laughs at Aolis's anecdote. With a rueful shake of his head, he says, "Those were quite grand times, weren't they? Well, Ishana, I am sure you will have the opportunity to celebrate once the announcements are made. I cannot think they would keep us out here in the square for no reason. Tell me, how have you both been? Have you a group to venture forth with?"
"Been keeping fairly busy - although my talents haven't really been taxed in a while", Amavin remarks casually, trying to sound respectful about her organisation even though she misses the old days very much.
"I was approached by the Golden Company a few months back - asking me to do some freelance work for them. Turns out they needed a spokewomen, someone skilled with diplomacy-"
"-and good looking" Ishana cuts in, with a wry grin.
Amavin shoots the warpriest a glare, indicating her friend was pushing the boundaries a little too much.
"Anyway, whatever their reasons, I accepted the proposal, and I guess they use me now as the face of their organisation. Its not hugely exciting work, but it does the job."
Deneb approaches the group of Amavin Zephyra, Aramil Wellys, Ishana Tamanna, and Aolis Greenborn with typical Halfling gusto. Lyda is quite a but more reserved. Lyda double-checking her attire as she went to make sure nothing...concerning was showing.
Deneb waits for a pause and makes his presence known. "Scuse me. You guys seem important. Mind if we stand close by? Might improve our chances." He smiles winningly but not for long. The poor introduction earns him a flick on the head by the tall woman behind him. "What. They do."
"What he means to say is hello. I am Lyda and this is Deneb Flynvias," she said, gesturing to the two of them respectively. And while she talks Deneb put his hands behind his head and continues to smile. He only said that to make her take charge. "We were registered as Voice of the Mountains. Are you not all leaders of your own respective groups? Where we supposed to gather here?"
Acaciano held up a hand and stopped Tai from walking forward and interrupting the group they were watching. The younger man was reasonably seasoned, but Acaciano’s experience, and intuition, told him to listen to the rest of the conversation before making themselves known. If there was more free information to be had, why stop them from sharing it?
As the elves speak of their personal opinions of their colleagues, Acaciano relaxes a bit. It was still a bit unsettling that there was a big group with such a goal, but if their leadership wasn’t enthusiastic, it probably wouldn’t turn into much. Still, he’d keep an eye on that group. His loyalties were undoubtedly to the Druidic order and to the Green Faith, and as much as it pained him to see those organizations at odds with elves, he trusted his fellow Druid’s decision-making fully.
”Hrm. Might be nothing, Tai. Still, probably best to keep an eye on those ones,” Acaciano muttered.
”Agreed,” Tai replied. Then, louder, he continued, ”Hey isn’t that the pair from the camps joining up?”
Acaciano nodded in agreement as Lyda and Deneb introduced themselves. They’d apparently moved over while he and Tai had been surveiling the elves. Strange.
Ah well. No time like the present he thought, as he smiled and shrugged at Tai, and stepped towards the rest of the group.
”Well, I suppose now’s as good as any to introduce ourselves,” Acaciano said.
”I’m Acaciano,” he said, pointing at himself, ”and this is Tai. I think we’ve seen some of you around the camps outside, and truthfully it’s been a good while since we’ve had the company of kin. Well met.”
The last phrase he repeats in Elven, offering a friendly smile.
At Amavin's reply.
"Granted."
He says simply, then Ishana shows up and speaks.
"Well the day is hers but the night will be yours. We all know which is the better dear Ishana."
He puts a hand to the side of his mouth in a not so much whisper.
"I know where to get some elven wine, that chelish red will look like watered down ale compared to that. Consider that my gift, along with any entertainment they may come about from it."
He nods toward Amavin with a wink and a chuckle. He drops his whimsy slightly as the topic changes. He takes a moment to mull over the information.
"Personally I don't like that, you being used for their goals. If your their spokesperson then you should have a bit more influence. Being tied to a group like that without proper input could cause you trouble. I'd advise keeping an eye on them if you don't know their true intent, that way you can avoid getting dragged into their problems by association."
He thought it best to catch her up with Aramil and himself.
"Aramil is leading and teaching some elven magus if I am not mistaken. I leave the rest to him as well as their....unique choice of names for themselves."
A smile creeps up on end of his mouth before he speaks again.
"As for myself, The Frozen Flame is the name of my group. I was chosen to represent them. All mages looking for a place to teach and raise magelings."
Before the conversation can move forward they are interrupted by a halfling and woman.
He noticed the woman's scales around her eyes. He made a mental note but would not draw attention to it, that would be ill mannered and bring about nothing good.
"I can't speak for my companions about your presence but I will agree with their decision whatever it may be. As to our importance, again I can only speak for myself. I am not all that important, I was simply chosen by some colleagues to represent their collective interest to the best of my ability. As to our gathering, I would like to think we are old friends just catching up. Their was no directive or order to gather group representatives as far as I know."
Again another interruption breaks the flow of conversation, odd were they so outlandish to be noticed in such a crowd. This time it was a pair of half elves. He thought it best to let Aramil handle this pair. He was not used to dealing with his kin even half bloods or their ways considering his upbringing. Not that he did not have the knowledge to pass it off, still he rather play to his strength's when he could and let his betters to theirs.
Two Weeks Ago:
Kaellin ate his lunch in the in the Restov inn without a lot of enthusiasm. It had been over six months since he and Sylvara had arrived in Brevoy. Sylvie was ecstatic to tour the kingdom and take in the culture. He did not mind; Brevoy had its fair share of exciting things to do. For the many months his little group of adventurers known as the Reckless have been in the kingdom, they've slayed monsters preying on peasants, fought against and alongside bandits in Gronzi Forest, retrieved lost artifacts from ruins in the Icerime Peaks. Indeed, his little group had been making a name for themselves in Brevoy, although they tried to avoid becoming too embroiled in the politics of the greater houses and the Swordlords. It was not that hard, actually, the Reckless do not exactly fit in what you would consider proper society.
Jacqueline the halfling rogue and her old partner in crime, the dwarf warrior Barock, were former bandits who preyed on the Aspis Consortium. The forlorn elf swordsman for hire Lenciel the Vagabond had a long history of performing unsavory jobs. The half-orc barbarian Kresh enjoyed every bit of being the stereotypical belligerent brute. And the gnome Jebedioh had a tendency to make things go boom, especially when they should not be. Kaellin himself had no patience for backroom shenanigans. Only Sylvara had the training and temperement to navigate the treacherous waters of high society.
Speaking of whom, Kaellin's musings were interrupted when Sylvara burst through the inn's front door, her long blonde hair whipping about behind her. She had been out all morning, taking in some early sights of Restov. She rushed to Kaellin's table, excitement on her fast. She slapped down a written notice on the table. "I got it!" she exclaimed.
Kaellin leaned warily away from the girl. You never knew what was up when she got this excited. "Got... what?"
"Our next adventure, you doof! Look, it's a call from King Noleski for adventurers and pioneers to go settle the Stolen Lands." She pointed outed out on the notice as she sat down next to him.
"I know you've been feeling antsy, lately," she continued as Kaellin read through the proclamation. "I know politics isn't your thing, but think about it. Venturing into a dangerous land, trying to build something out of it? Sounds just like a challenge for you. For both of us, even!"
Thinking about the possibilities, Kaellin started to get excited. Something about establishing a frontier colony really drew him in. He and Sylvara had been constantly traveling for so long that the idea of putting down roots somewhere was really appealing. And it would not be without its fair share of exciting adventures. With a familiar cocky grin on his face, he locked gaze with the blonde elf's green eyes. "I'm in. When do we sign up?"
Sylvara had that familiar, confident smirk on her face. "Already taken care of! All we need to do now is start getting supplies together and present outselves to the proper authorities." The elf then fell back to being super excited. "This could be it! If things go right, my recounting of this endeavor could be my saga that'll make my mark in the world. Now, we got to start planning. We need upplies, transport. I'ts going to be cole, we'll need more blankets. Oh, what else, how much gold do we still have left..."
Kaellin sat back, and tuned out Sylvara's itemizing all the minutia. It was what she was good at, and for reasons beyond him, she was really into it. Kaellin instead wondered how the two of them will fit in. He might not the smarts to plot and plan, but he had a good nose for bullshit, and its scent lingered all over this. He glanced that Sylvara, who was busy writing things down. Ah well, like always, he'll trust his instincts, and he will put anyone into the ground if they try to hurt her.
* * *
Red Table Square
Midmorning, Wealday 1st Calistril, 4710 AR.
One thing that Kaellin really will not miss are city crowds. He was glad that Sylvara was with him to keep him occupied. Otherwise he'd just go slink off toa lone corner. But according to her, he needed to be up and in front for this. Luckily, the rest of the team were happy to avoid this.
"Ooh, look at this crowd!" Sylvara was giddy with excitement. "Check it out, it's like a who's who of all Brevoy's independent movers and shakers. I think I see the Dashing Harvesters. And that has to be the Swords of the Legion. Oh! And could those be the Gilded Dawn?!"
Kaellin let out a sigh. "Yeesh, Sylvie. You sure it should be me being here? Kinda feeling out of place, here."
"Of course, Kael!" Sylvara reassured him cheerfully. [b]"You may not think of yourself, but you ARE our leader. You were the one that brought up together. You were the one that get us into messes, and then get us out of them. Trust me, you're the one that needs to be here." She wrapped her arms around his as a show of support.
Kaellin took a deep breath, and gave her a look of gratitude. "All right, all right, thanks, Sylvie. Well, whether we get selected or not, at least we got enough supplies for our next adventure."
"Hey, you better hope we get selected! I am not missing out on writing my magnum opus with these guys!"
Azrael walks up to the group confidently and smiles warmly.
With a height of just 5'10" and average weight for a lean but well-muscled young man, he still seems to stand out in any crowd. His gaze is intense and grey eyes peruse the gathered folk and wavy, jet black hair frames his face. With sun-tanned skin, he obviously spends much time outdoors. The edges of arcane (or perhaps divine?) tattoos are barely visible at the edges of his clothing and armor. His hands and arms bear the scars of a trained swordsman.
Two rings on his fingers stand out... one plain of heavy gold design, and the other ornately covered with Celtic braid inlay. He wears a silver circlet on his brow. At his side is his usual companion, large St. Bernard. Reddish-brown and white with a full mask, Corwin always seems intently aware of Azrael, ready to defend him in any situation. Despite his loyalty and protectiveness, Corwin remains always a gentle giant to all good creatures.
"Good to see you all again.. and hello to you that I don't know. I'm Azrael... and somewhere nearby is my friend Hareth.. he was right behind me a moment ago... probably distracted by something or someone. I'm am so honored to meet you all!"
"I represent the Gilded Dawn. We are paladins and other devotees of goodly deities, out to wreak havoc on the evils that dwell in the Stolen Lands."
Noticing that a group is forming, and that more and more people are attaching to it, Tomas moves near all of them to try to overhear something. He knows it's not the most polite of things but, after all, rumours are the everyday of high nobles and kings. And if he's going to go to the Stolen Lands during Calistril, he might as well be a bit informed of who's going to go with him.
Captain Dargaryen Blanc enters with the air of authority. He turns and nods at Marlovaur and the flanking soldiers. "Be on guard. We are in Rostland, but I suspect that not everyone here is who they seem. Large crowds like this are vulnerable to mayhem. Keep silent and be vigilant. If something happens, remain calm, follow my lead and remember your training - we fight as a team."
Darg silently watches the crowd and waits for the evening's events to unfold.
Aramil chuckles at Aolis's comment about the Elven wine, remembering the time his father had consumed just a bit too much of it. It was one of the most hilarious things he'd seen - although they had still been finding dancing silverware a month later, which had greatly worn on his mother's patience.
He says to Amavin, "The group I am apparently leading calls themselves Mageforge. They are a group of my distant kin I have been training for the past 9 months, and they seek to gain experience and knowledge before trying to further 'glory for the Elven people.' I hope to dissuade them from their foolishness."
Aramil notes the arrival of the halfling and the woman and nods in greeting, allowing the much smoother-tongued Aolis to handle them.
As the half-elves approach, Aramil greets them in the Elven tongue in response, "I am also pleased to make your acquaintance." Switching back to the common tongue, he says, "I have actually been staying in the city, not the camps. I was born and raised here in Restov, so it remains my home - to some extent, at least. I am Aramil Wellys. What might your names be?"
With Azrael's arrival, Aramil smiles and clasps the other warriors hand. "My friend, I am most pleased to see you. Tell me, do you hope to have your band encounter some of those bandits who fled from before?"
"I can't speak for my companions about your presence but I will agree with their decision whatever it may be. As to our importance, again I can only speak for myself. I am not all that important, I was simply chosen by some colleagues to represent their collective interest to the best of my ability. As to our gathering, I would like to think we are old friends just catching up. Their was no directive or order to gather group representatives as far as I know."
"I apologize for our intrusion then," she says. She inclines her head carefully to avoid throwing it off or too far up. The fabric was starting to make her horns itch. She barely turns 45 degrees before Deneb speaks up.
"Not important? Aren't there like 8 of you guys plus a lot of support in the Frozen Flame. Casters too. And they usually don't like to be under anyone. But you're the leader. Pretty important in my book."
Lyda looks at his companions as Deneb speaks and sees she might have a few moments at least. A few were preoccupied with others gathering around. "You sure about this gathering? You are attracting more." she nods in the direction of the new comers Acaciano and Azrael.
"I represent the Gilded Dawn. We are paladins and other devotees of goodly deities, out to wreak havoc on the evils that dwell in the Stolen Lands."
When Azrael introduces himself as a paladin, Lyda goes stiff. "I'll let you catch up with your friends," she says as excuse and begins to walk away.
"Hey. What?" Deneb apologizes to Aolis and followed not knowing what was going.
Kyras exits the pavilion tent where he spent the night, dressed practically and ready to head to the square. He took his time getting ready this morning, not wanting to get to the square too early. He takes a deep breath, letting out a contented sigh at the feel of the cold late-morning air. He looks up at the sun, though, and frowns slightly. I hope I didn't wait too long, it is later than I hoped... He began to hurry off, then paused when he reached where the giant elk was tied up. "I better not take you in to the city today - far too crowded." The animal gives a low snort, as if saying that he didn't see how that made any difference at all, before bending down and nuzzling against Kyras's shoulder. "Don't worry, I'll be careful." With a quick pat on the beast's shoulder, Kyras begins to head out, bundled up in his cold weather gear.
There had been no end of concern from his friends this morning. First there was Cedric, always going on and on about the need for guards, even though Kyras was more than able to take care of himself. He'd been doing so for many years before Cedric came on board, and he hadn't died yet. Then there was the cleric, Turgek, trying to get him to accept an Endure Elements spell, so he could go to the square in style rather than bundled up. What a waste of resources! His furs worked just as well, all things considered, and you never knew when Turgek's spells might be needed elsewhere.
As he was heading out, he heard the tent rustle behind him, and a small voice call out "Kyras, wait up!" A tiny halfling came hurrying out of his tent, still struggling into the last of his winter gear despite the late hour. "I said I was coming, I just wanted one more helping of breakfast first! What's the rush? They won't make the announcement for hours yet." The halfling shrugged into his final layer of furs, and hurried to catch up to Kyras.
Kyras looked down at the halfling and smiles. "The rush, Milo, is that many important people will be gathered there this morning, and how will it look if I come strolling in last? You know the importance of this trip, and that we need to get off on the right foot with what will hopefully be our traveling companions soon."
As they entered the city proper, passing through the Stolen Gate and past the various specialty shops west of the square, the crowds begin to get thicker and thicker, making it harder to move forward. When the square comes in sight, Milo begins talking with a concerned look on his face. "Are you sure we shouldn't stick together? I don't like the look of this crowd. You never know who might attack you, and you might need my help!" Almost before he even began, Kyras was already shaking his head. "You are an excellent bodyguard, my friend, but you sound too much like Cedric for my tastes right now. No, we need to split up to try to talk to more people. I trust you to be my words for me, but you can't do that standing next to me!"
Still with a concerned frown on his face, Milo nods in relunctant agreement, and as they enter the square they split up. Kyras began walking around, trying not to bump into anyone too badly, and keeping an eye out for anyone he knows or anyone that might look important. As fate would have it, he almost immediately bumps in to someone he knows, a tall woman who seemed to be hurrying away from something. "Excuse me... Lyda? Sorry, didn't mean to bump into you like that, this place is a madhouse. Is everything alright? You seem distracted."
"Excus..." Lyda begins until she recognizes who she ran into. "Kyras?" She looks surprised to see him here. Then realizes she shouldn't be. Why wouldn't he come also. Strange they hadn't ended up in the same group. "No. Wait. Maybe. Depends on if the paladin follows me." She looks over her shoulder at Azreal to see if he was. "I might need someone help explain my ability."
"Paladin?" Deneb questions from her right? "Oh right." He says, a light going off in his head. He looks back too. "Hopefully he's a little more mellow than most. Not the kill and ask questions later kind. Remember that one time in that port on the coast of the lake and the evil cult."
"Not the time," she scolds Deneb. "I doubt he's the latter. Not in a public space. But a voucher from someone else would help." She looks back at Kyras, hopeful.
"Of course I'll vouch for you" he says, without a moment's hesitation. "You've done far too much good for my house and many others to be harassed by any holier-than-thou paladin. I'm glad you're here - good to see a familiar face in the crowd."
Looking at the halfling, Kyras says "It was Deneb, right? Good to see you again, friend. I hope Lyda hasn't gotten you into too much trouble since last time we met."
Looking back and forth between the two of them, he says "So what's the lay of the land here? Anyone of significance I should talk to? Milo is around here somewhere, trying to make connections with others in the crowd."
Does Detect Alignment overcome Cloud Alignment, or would it help simply by having someone else seeing the same thing as our friendly paladin but able to explain it better?
He then listens to Lyda speak as well as the halfling.
"I can not say what their preferences are but I find them willing to listen. As to leadership, I was chosen to represent them. That does necessarily mean I lead them. Perhaps you should seek out the truth on your own rather then the truth of others. Or more simply, rumors and gossip should not be believed. Otherwise I am sure you would not be speaking to me."
His smile becomes a little sly.
As Azrael arrives, he can't help himself. He throws his free hand into the air.
"Oh great the paladin is here and he brought more with him. Party's over folks."
He says with a smile and chuckle. Just then Lyda leaves abruptly, her halfling friend following.
"Well I didn't actually think you would have that effect Azrael."
He says with a shrug. Even as his eyes follow her with more then a passing interest and intensity that does not match his face.
Theodric is making his way past a larger cluster of people in the crowd, Darvan and Lillana alternately leading or following as the press dictates, when a chance lull in the immediate noise level brings the words "bandits who fled" quite clearly to his ears. Stopping in his tracks, he cranes his head in the direction from which the word came, his attention now firmly focused on making out what else the speaker has to say; information on active bandits is always of interest to the young man, and it appears that someone here is possession of such knowledge. Edging a bit closer to the speaker, he tries to be as nondescript as a man in a hooded robe and full, eyeless, facemask can possibly be while listening in.
As he quite shamelessly tries to overhear what is being said, he leans toward Lillana and Darvan and says, as quietly as possible so that they alone can hear his instructions, "Make note of everyone in this grouping here, as best as you can, with particular attention on those who appear to be together or otherwise familiar with one another. Someone spoke of bandits, and I want to know more about the speaker and whoever stands with him." With his friend and subordinate making barely-heard sounds of agreement, Theodric is free to devote his full attention to the conversation he wants to hear more of.
Aramil notices the strangely dressed man attempting to listen in so poorly that even his politically-disinclined mind can notice. Turning, he notes the eyeless mask, the robes, and the pair of dueling swords - and immediately knows whom he is speaking to.
"Pardon, but I believe you to be Theodric Valtara. I also must tell you that eavesdropping is quite rude, and you may wish to get better at it should you try to make a habit of it."
Finding himself unexpectedly addressed--and by name no less--Theodric twitches visibly, then slumps slightly, guilt and embarassment visible in his bearing for a moment before he straigthens up and steps forward cautiously. Extending his right hand in the traditional warrior's greeting to show that he is offering no threat to the speaker--a display whose effectiveness is lessened somewhat by Theodric's bearing a blade on either hip--he clears his throat awkwardly before apologizing. "I beg your pardon for the rudeness of my actions. But, and with no intent to do so on my part, I overheard you say something regarding bandits. As you already know my name, I can only assume you are aware of my interest on that particular matter. It does not excuse what I did, merely explain why it was done." Finished speaking, he tries very hard to ignore both Darvan's poorly-stiffled sounds of amusement and Lillana's equally poorly-muffled muttering about his abysmal choice in garments, and how going entirely naked would be less attention-getting than what Theodric wears.
"Of course I'll vouch for you" he says, without a moment's hesitation. "You've done far too much good for my house and many others to be harassed by any holier-than-thou paladin. I'm glad you're here - good to see a familiar face in the crowd."
"Thanks. I don't want another paladin Dance on my hands. Still don't know if has his powers back."
Looking at the halfling, Kyras says "It was Deneb, right? Good to see you again, friend. I hope Lyda hasn't gotten you into too much trouble since last time we met."
"Right oh. And you know me. Good old eagle eyes. Or Roc eyes in my case. Always looking out for trouble." The halfling says jovially.
"Minus the "out"," Lyda adds looking down at him disapprovingly. But she can't hold it for long and they both laugh a little.
Looking back and forth between the two of them, he says "So what's the lay of the land here? Anyone of significance I should talk to? Milo is around here somewhere, trying to make connections with others in the crowd."
"Keep your friends close and your halfling's closer, I always say," Deneb says.
"They're prone to wander and get in trouble," Lyda adds.
Interruption aside Deneb continues. "They banned Garuda so I couldn't get a literal lay of the land but the pair of elves over there seem pretty chummy. Looks like a few of the leaders on the roster know each other a little more than we know each other. That's probably a bonus in their favor. I saw Voice of the Trees, The Golden Alliance, The Frozen Flame, The Gilded Dawn, Mageford, and others moving in. If you want to make friends, its a good opportunity but I doubt it will help anyone's chances at this point."
Ishana actually claps her hands appreciatively at Aolis' whispered suggestion for a gift. "Oh Aolis, you always know how to think of the best gifts for me, I'll gladly accept it" she remarks, before flickering her eyes to a rather obvious eavesdropper sidling up to the conversation and frowning slightly.
"Well I don't know who he is so I contend its still rude!" she says in a disgruntled voice, ignoring Amavin's superior look - being well used to her friend often already knowing who someone was before she did.
"I was unaware of your interest in bandits. I've merely moved through the Swordlord circles enough to know that there must be only a single person who would carry and wield two dueling swords." Grinning, the Elf says, "Next to you, they consider my blending of magic with the sword to be tasteful - although they still don't approve of my doing so."
Tomas, not being able to listen much appart from fragments, has a look around to see if he spots someone famous.
Hearing the other make mention of one of the long-standing aggravations in Theodric's life, he groans wearily. "Oh, that," he replies in a flat tone of voice. "It's been years already, and they still go on about it. Every poser in Brevoy with pretensions or dreams of being a Swordlord carries one of these blades, and I know for a fact that a considerable number are in use beyond the realm's borders as well. Yet no one raises an eyebrow over any of them. But let me, a former student who has never made any effort to present himself as a Swordlord, use two of the swords at once, and you'd think I was defying holy writ or somesuch nonsense."
Sighing, he shakes his slowly and continues. "My apologies a second time. I did not mean to make you the recipient of my frustration over this persistent annoyance in my life. Since you are already aware of my name, might I have yours in turn," he enquires politely, tucking his unaccepted hand behind his back with a frown hidden by his mask.
While waiting on the unseen speaker's reply, Theodric cocks his head slightly in the direction of the female voice and responds her observation on his action. "And I have acknowledged as much myself. However, I offer as a counterpoint that you should expect such things and guard yourself against them more thoroughly." Waving a hand to take in the crowd around them, he explains. "You stand here, in public and surrounded at close quarters by hundreds of people. You are grouped in a distinctive clump within this mass, which is bound to draw the eye, and I'll wager that not a one of you is dressed as mere city-dweller either, further garnering notice." Rocking slightly on his feet, Theodric cranes his head a bit in one direction, then back, as though he were examining those gathered in this cluster. "You quite likely look exactly like the sort of people who would have a pressing interest in the particulars of the forthcoming announcement. As such, all manner of folk will be quite curious as to what you are discussing here amongst yourselves, what may be gleaned of your plans and intentions. I'll be surprised if there aren't a few paid ears turned your way hidden among all these curious onlookers. The only difference between them and myself is that my listening in wasn't to enrich myself at your expense, in either coin or life's blood," he concludes.
"Thanks. I don't want another paladin Dance on my hands. Still don't know if has his powers back."
Kyras nods in sympathy. "Well, hopefully this fellow isn't quite as dense as the last one. Cedric, my guard captain, is a paladin but a bit more mellow than most. Maybe this one is too."
"Keep your friends close and your halfling's closer, I always say," Deneb says.
"They're prone to wander and get in trouble," Lyda adds.
He laughs at that, and says "I'm sure Milo is doing fine, but I'll take it under consideration in the future!"
Interruption aside Deneb continues. "They banned Garuda so I couldn't get a literal lay of the land but the pair of elves over there seem pretty chummy. Looks like a few of the leaders on the roster know each other a little more than we know each other. That's probably a bonus in their favor. I saw Voice of the Trees, The Golden Alliance, The Frozen Flame, The Gilded Dawn, Mageford, and others moving in. If you want to make friends, its a good opportunity but I doubt it will help anyone's chances at this point."
He nods along, and says "They sound like quite the group. That where you coming from in such a hurry?"
As more people join the ever-expanding group, many of whom clearly have a history together, Acaciano makes mental notes of each face, hoping to remember who was who.
He speaks up again after Theodric condemns the inevitablity of local eavesdroppers.
"That's well spoken, Theodric, on both counts," he says, acknowledging the spies, while also gesturing to his leaf armor.
"But Restov hasn't been home for quite a long time, and I don't know that I'd remember how to blend in here even if I wanted to."
He smiles pleasantly and shrugs before offering his hand. "I'm Acaciano, and I represent the Voice of Trees. And this is Tai."
-----------------
As Tai introduces himself, Acaciano finds himself scanning the crowd, looking for Lyda and Deneb, and wondering where they got off to so quickly- and why.
Tai speaks up as well: "Pleasure."
The idea of Theodric using two dueling swords simultaneously bothered him far less than most; in fact, he found himself intrigued. His own style, despite being based a traditional Aldori foundation, had evolved over years of practical, live-or-die fighting to be more similar to the sweeping, two handed, and scythe-like cuts Acaciano preferred with his scimitar. He knew his swordplay was better when he could leverage his strength rather than his speed, and he'd long outgrown the need to explain away his style to others.
'Should Theodric's group and ours get selected, I'd like to see him fight with those swords some day,' Tai thought.
'It certainly sounds interesting, that's for sure'
"I think the main difference between them and yourself is that you're so significantly worse at it", Ishana mutters as a reply - but only in an undertone, - fully aware that she didn't want to push her luck with Amavin right there next to her.
Amavin glowers at her friend, before swiftly taking the hand of Acaciano for politeness sake - there was nothing worse than someone offering a hand and everyone ignoring it.
"Amavin Zephyra, charmed of course", she remarks by way of a polite introduction.
"Aramil Wellys. A pleasure to meet you. Perhaps we will have time to discuss the finer points of variations of the style at some point. I am curious about how effectively one can use two of them at the same time, as I would think the length precludes such a thing."
Theodric can only laugh in response as the woman mutter's something that, while he can't quite make out the words, is no doubt just as fiery and stinging as her initial comment. He then offers a quick bob of his head in the direction of Acaciano's voice, unaware of the proffered hand until Lillana murmurs into his ear, at which point he properly offers his own in turn. "Nice to meet you both, Acaciano. I represent the Dashing Harvesters myself and, for the sake of those who do not already know this of our company, one of our goals is the reduction of banditry in Brevoy and its immediate neighbors." Nodding to one side and then the other, he introduces his own companions as well. "The hairless, tattooed fellow to my left is Darvan Singra, and he can tell you all you wish to know, and quite a bit more besides, on that subject," Theodric says, voice full of amusement as he pokes his companion's habit of pedantry. "And the young lady to my right is a member of my personal retinue, Lillana Selveratva." With her introduction, the lady in question drops a quick, perfect curtsy, but remains silent.
Given Aramil's name to put with the voice, Theodric turns his attention back in that direction. "And I return the sentiment. I would also find such a discussion quite interesting, but the short of it is that the length and weight of a dueling blade quite honestly makes it an ill fit as a secondary weapon for most styles that use paired weapons. I did it initially purely as a means of exercise to hone my sense of balance and my awareness of my surroundings after my blinding." He briefly rests a hand on the grip of one of dueling swords he carries before continuing. "Much to my surprise, it proved feasible for use in actual battle, though much work remains to smooth out the rough spots. And, to be honest, I rather enjoy hearing my opponents' occasional complaints about how using two dueling swords at once is unsporting of me," he adds with a nasty chuckle. "As if battles for one's life were meant to be fair or somesuch foolishness."
Giving his friend a flat glare over his introduction, and realizing that the effort is quite pointless, Darvan adds a rude and startlingly childish gesture to the glare--surprising a giggle out of Lillana in the process--before speaking for himself. "Yes, Darvan Singra, holy warrior in service to the Master of Masters, at your service as well," he says with an elaborate bow to all present. Straightening up, he gives an appraising look at the various members of this gathering, lingering on those with obvious martial focus. "And, when matters here are no longer pressing upon our time and attention, I would be quite pleased if some among you would consent to a small test of our respective skills. A friendly test, to be sure, carried out purely for the joy of the effort involved. Though I won't object to any wagering you might make on the side," he concludes with a broad grin. Having--finally--been able to offer challenge to what he sees as worthy prospects, Darvan is quite happy to go back to observing this odd assortment of people.
Ishana eyes up Darvan, noticing his build, likely fighting style, and so on before giving the man a slightly timid smile."My old friends know that I never back down from a challenge, so at a slightly more beneficial time, I'll accept whatever challenge you have in mind - though judging from the look at you I don't think I'll have much of a shot"