We have to tell them what's become of you. You may not have your own body anymore but you live on. There's no reason for the Hammerfist name to fade from time.
I'm not sure what you're trying to accomplish, boy! Taurman is a fine servant, but he has no power or influence over... Garlana.
Dtukk's (correct) assumption that she has seen a dark spirit even though Niyut herself never mentions any such visitation only serve to increase her discomfort.
She struggles to keep her composure.
"Quarraine? What can you tell me of his nature and majesty besides for his dominion over lies?"
Her soft voice does not stumble and her breath does not quicken, which is a testament to her own deceptive capacities.
Some might consider shadows and illusions to be lies; perhaps Quarraine is the god who visited me.
In an attempt to muddy the waters and preserve her secrets, Niyut asks about Halcyon after Dtukk tells her what he knows about Quarraine. "How does the great spirit of life commonly appear?"
Then I'll speak to her myself.
"I'd like an audience with Lady Garlana. I should deliver this news myself. She'll know best what to do next."
"Not much is known of Quaraine. He exists in the shadows and whispers that cross the land, always on the lookout to take advantage of the weak minded and bend their will to his own devises. I know of no dedicated religious order nor culture dedicated to him. His might, among the Ealintaine, has remained a mystery since the Great Awakening. I've heard some say that his power grows as every lie is repeated and spread throughout the land... but I believe that is rubbish! The truth of the matter is still hidden."
As Niyut refocuses her attentions to Halcyon, Dtukk visibly relaxes. "Ah, the Lady! Rarely does she appear before the mortals. Legend has it that, in her true form, she appears as a brilliant white light, blinding to all those unworthy to be in her presense. Haha! I'd like to learn such a skill!"
Taurman nods to you and re-enters the estate. After several minutes, he returns. "My Lady is currently not receiving visitors. She will send word when she becomes amenable to a conversation." With that, he turns to leave.
Typical...
"That monster was made of shadows! It could of been the Lord of Lies!" Viosil keens in her mind.
Niyut gives Dtukk a small smile. "I imagine that he would be a lackluster Lord of Lies if all his purposes were known. My people do not speak of a 'Great Awakening.' To what does it refer? Perhaps we speak of it by a different name? How many great spirits are active in the world? Do you have reason to suspect that there may be more than those commonly known?"
The young woman's eagerness to learn and her curiosity are so genuine that even her poise cannot mask them.
"I understand but time is short in this case. My companions and I go to war again tomorrow with the Guard. If I fall in battle against the goblins, Lady Garlana will never hear the news I have for her that could save her house."
Within the temple where your cots have been set up. There are many other refugees of all races. You note that there are very few children and elderly. It seems that mainly the strong survived.
"Excuse me for the interruption, mistress," he says to the matron whose attention he's caught. "But could you possibly direct me to someone here in Eastgate selling flasks? Nothing fancy, just common stuff that's usually bought by the crateful."
The female dwarf looks up at Garidan with wonderfilled eyes, "Are you one of the outsiders who defended Jolnar's Font? You must be! I'd be thrilled to show you the way to the glass-blowers guildhall if only you would tell me of those nasty goblins! Did you kill any of them? Is that your sword? It looks kind of small... Are you a soldier from Talanor?"
And so the questions continued for some time...
"Ah, yes, I did clear the Font of goblins, but it was very much a group effort from myself and my allies. I did kill a few, but again, my allies made that possible, and claimed quite a few on their own. And yes, that is my sword, and it's just the right size for the way I fight. No, I'm not a soldier, from Talanor or anywhere else..." Unaccustomed to such attention, Garidan spends the entire walk blushing and stammering answers to his guide's various questions, even as his sister's nonstop laughter fills his mind.
As the trip comes a merciful conclusion outside of his destination, Garidan thanks his guide and enters the building with a speed reminiscent of panicked flight from some fearsome monster. And still, his sister laughs. Taking a few deep breaths to calm himself, he manages to tune out the sounds of amusement filling his mind and concentrate on what he's here for, looking over samples of various wares made by the artisans here. After a bit of browsing, he engages in a discussion a nearby guild member who was apparently waiting on him to come to a decision. "I'm looking to purchase a number of pint flasks, at least twenty, and packaged for transport under rough conditions. I don't need anything fancy, they just have to hold their contents securely and break when I need them to."
Noting the expression on the dwarf's face, Garidan quickly explains. "You've no doubt heard about the undead roaming outside the gates? Well, my associates and I are heading into some fairly rough places, and haven't the services of a priest to fend them off during the journey. The best alternative, particularly for the nastier sorts, is copious amounts of holy water. The flasks will be the means by which this is delivered, especially since any sort of undead that merits such a response is also likely to be incredibly dangerous if it can get close to its targets, or vice versa."
Garidan claps his hands together softly and gives the guild member a questioning look. "So, do you have anything like that available, in quantity, and with the sort of transport container I need? And if so, how much will it cost?"
The dwarven artisan lucky enough to receive unwanted inquiries from a young, eager human looks stoically back at his verbal assailant. "Yer kiddin', right?" When Garidan nods in affirmation, he sits back in his chair and folds his arms. "Not one day after a cataclysm of such epic proportions that the entirety of the world was reshaped in a massive and violent attack... you want to buy a large quantity of glassware?" He raises an eyebrow and waits for a response.
"Well, yes," Garidan says shortly, a bit confused by this response. If the guild is still in operation in spite of what has happened, as it clearly is, shouldn't the artisan before him be more concerned with completing a potential sale? Something about this strikes Garidan as a bit off, and he studies the dwarf carefully.
"I will relay the urgency of your message," he responds and once again heads to the manor door. As he approaches it, the door swings open and the young female dwarf can be seen. She address Taurman then turns and talks to another, unseen person behind the entryway. Taurman nods and returns to the gate.
"The Lady Garlana says she will come to the Temple this evening following supper to speak with you. But for now, she asks that you leave her to rest and recover."
"Ok, then. I have six newly blown flasks right here," the artisan says pointing to his workbench. Pointing to a cabinet across the room, he continues, "Over there, you'll find four more flasks. They're a bit thicker and heartier. They won't want to break, but if you give them a good toss, I'm sure you can manage. I'd ask a silver crown per flask... so that's a gold crown so far. And through that door," he moves you aside and points to a large wooden door towards the back of the guildhall. "Through there, we have a bountiful supply of easily broken flasks. You're welcome to as many of those as you'd like. Oh, and here's a box." From behind his workbench, the artisan pulls out a small wooden crate stuffed with hay. He hands you the crate and extends his hand for payment.
Before you can respond, your guide to this guildhall and another female come bumbling into the workshop. "No, no, no... I must pay for those vials for this young man." She opens a small leather coin purse and retrieves a coin. Pressing it into the artisans hands, she exclaims, "This is a war hero, mind you. You should treat him with a bit more respect."
Raising an eyebrow, the artisan responds with a dry wit, "Really..." Clearly unimpressed, he returns to his work.
After the artisan points out assorted flasks and quotes a price per unit, a price that Garidan feels is entirely unreasonable, the impending haggling is suddenly cut short by the unexpected reappearance of Garidan's guide. Finding that a part of his order has been payed for with no input on his part, Garidan adds three gold crowns of his own to the first and begins loading the offered box. As he does so, he stares at his benefactor and her friend with a rather nervous expression, but innate politeness compels him to speak.
"Thank you for the generosity, mistress, but you really didn't need to that. Particularly since a great number of these flasks are likely going to end up intentionally broken at some point." While he speaks, he adds flasks to the box carefully but quickly, unconsciously stacking them in the most efficient way that their size and shape, and the dimensions of the box, will allow, with a dense layer of hay at regular intervals. "Is there, uh, anything that I can help you with?" Garidan honestly dreads the answer to that question, given how... enthusiastic his guide had been about his supposed heroics against the goblins. Garidan tried, rather valiantly, to explain that he hadn't done all that much, and that the others in the party had contributed just as much (or more, in Niyut's case).
Unfortunately, his guide didn't seem to get any of that, or maybe it was more a matter of him being present and not the others, and so Garidan found himself the focus of an uncomfortable level of attention during the walk to the glassblower's guildhall. And now she was back. With a friend. And expressions that gave Garidan a rather hunted feeling. Unfortunately, fleeing would be incredibly rude, and so Garidan remains in the guildhall, packing his purchased flasks while the two female dwarves look on.
It's a close fit, but Garidan just manages to get all of the flasks that have been paid for into the packed box, with just barely room for a final layer of hay followed by the lid to seal it. The last flasks in the box are the four which the artisan mentioned as being a bit thicker than usual, which Garidan feels might be useful enough that they shouldn't be tossed like the others. Hefting the box carefully onto a shoulder, Garidan starts to leave the guildhouse for the temple, uncomfortably aware of his two shadows following closely behind.
Greed... that separates you and I. You desire to possess what I've spent a lifetime preserving... but with the Shaping, perhaps both of our lives have been for naught...
Though slow to feel deep emotions at this stage in his life, the battle-tested mettle of the dwarven clan's morale was not lost on Gruskorb. They respect their dead, but this is not a rare occurrence. Maybe on this scale, but they have little unfamiliarity with loss.
What was not yet familiar was the spirit in Gruskorb.
Greed? EVERYONE is greedy. Some are just better at hiding it than others. If you think for a minute I want what particular thing you spent your life on for myself though, you're probably wrong; I didn't know you, and I'm not a collector looking for the last item in my set.
The rogue had a laugh of his own now at the spirit within him. I imagine most lives are for naught. We leave this world when we're done, after all.
********
The rogue made his way back to the proximity of the party by hearing Garidan work-out the fine points of some glassware. Unfortunately, the artisan seemed unimpressed with the man's progress with the goblins. That was unacceptable to Gruskorb.
Striding into the shop with wide steps, the heightly hobgoblin set a hand on Garidan's shoulder. "This man must not care much for the ancestors' resting place. Odd, for even among us hobgoblins, we pay respect to the dead, their tombs, and those who preserve them." He shook his head at the shopkeeper and looked to the guide. "Your generosity is appreciated. I'm just surprised gratitude isn't a staple in your kind; it goes against everything I've heard."
Truk'tosh nods in understanding and leaves Taurman to his task.
"Oh, no! It is our pleasure. Most outsiders just pass through and rarely interact with the good dwarves of the Eastgate, much less help us in our time of need!" the guide gushes as the other female just smiles and nods. They are immediately startled with the sudden appearance of a hobgoblin with a nasty whip on his belt.
The artisan looks up at Gruskorb and then down at his outstretched hand holding the four gold crowns. He stands up from his work bench and bows to Garidan while keeping his eyes fixed upon the rogue. "You misunderstand, sir. The glassware in the back is free for the taking. I would be remiss if i were to charge you for it," he acquiesces, placing three gold crowns back in Garidan's hand. A handful of chuckles can be heard throughout the workshop although none of the dwarves lookup from their benches.
Quite happily, Garidan pockets the coins, and after packing the 10 flasks in the workshop, he and Gruskorb with the women in tow head through the back door. As quick as a mouse darting through a whole in the wall, so too does Garidan's smile fade as he exits the guildhall and finds himself in an alley. Piled against the back wall of the hall is a mound of broken glass taller than either of the outsiders. The scrap pile is surrounded by a make-shift wire fence with a small opening.
No sooner had the pair taken in the sight of their free glassware, a lone dwarf comes out of the guildhall with a wheelbarrow and shovel. He passes the them and their admirers giving a quizzical look and then loads up several scoops of broken glass before heading back inside.
"The Great Awakening was when the people of Malta awoke from the slumber that followed the second war of the Ealintaine. The devastaion was so great that Alaquendai and the other Foundation Mages cast a web of darkness over the world and let the people fall into a fugue state. The mages cleansed the world and set the Ealintaine in Talmor and Midian... but you won't hear that in any Temple! Haha!" Such an idea seems far fetched to Niyut that she almost chuckles along side Dtukk, but 'at' him, not 'with' him.
After composing himself, Dtukk continues, "How many Ealintaine... or spirits? Hmm, I'd count them as two dozen that we know of... possibly more, but they have no followers and their power would be severely limited."
So intent is he on packing and nervous speculation that Garidan completely misses the arrival of Gruskorb, and the sudden hand on his shoulder makes him twitch rather violently. Once he realizes who it is, he settles quickly with a few more deep breaths, then makes his way toward the back of the guildhouse and the rest of his flasks. He finds it rather odd that the artisan refused payment, but won't object to free!
Finding his intentions rather thoroughly quashed by the pile of shards and dust before him--and only now realizing what the artisan had been hinting toward with his mention of the disaster--Garidan hangs his head, sighs, and mutters mostly to himself. "Of course, that's what he was referring to. Violent earthquakes hitting a glassworks, what else would happen? Damn it." With a final, deeper sigh, Garidan shrugs in resignation and manages a faint smile. "Well, at least I managed to get some flasks," and he takes a moment nod his head in gratitude to his guide before continuing. "Though I think I'll be a little slower to start tossing them about indiscriminately."
Closing up his crate, Garidan returns the guildhall's interior and stops briefly before the artisan who sold him what little he had available. "My apologies for my thickness about the meaning behind your earlier question, and my condolences on the loss of your livelihood. I hope you at least have a bit of something to chuckle over in regards to my momentary lack of brains." Garidan is quite sincere about his words; he really does hope the guild's member get some amusement from the situation, as Garidan himself certainly will when the embarrassment isn't quite so fresh.
Looking dejectedly at the crate in his hands, Garidan thanks his guide once more and makes his way back to the temple with Gruskorb. Arriving at their rest area and waiting supplies, Garidan does another check of everything, then settles on his cot. At first simply staring at nothing in particular, his gaze eventually settles on Gruskorb's armor and gradually sharpens. "Gruskorb? How would you feel about some better armor than what you've got on right now? We still have that suit made of the strange material, which would fit you quite well with a little bit of adjustment." Frowning in thought, Garidan looks over at the armor in question. "I've been thinking over what Niyut said about the possible source of that material, and now that I've had a bit of time to really consider it, I'm certain it came from a reptile of some sort, and a fairly large one at that based on the size of the armor's various segments. So it isn't made out of people, if that's an issue for you."
"The Firebird Clan abjures these greater spirits -- the ones you call the Ealintaine -- in favor of our ancestors, spirits of nature, and spirits of the elements. These three have concerns closer to ours and, besides for our ancestors, rarely have political ambitions for our people. From what lore we have of the great spirits they are untrustworthy hungers that squat in the world of spirits as petty chieftains on a hill.
I fear that with the loss of so many people and with the destruction of so many sacred places that these great spirits will either feel starved of power and substance from the world of flesh or see opportunity for advancement amongst their kind in the ensuing chaos. I do not know if it is common among your people, but two of these great spirits have spoken to me in the last day. These petty chieftains are hungry. These petty chieftains are looking for new thralls to replace those they lost. Likely, these petty chieftains will leave their hills and go to war.
In a few hours I will leave your halls and no longer be able to partake of your wisdom. Would it be possible for me to buy a book that contains the names and scholarship concerning the two dozen of these . . . Ealintaine? I have little gold, but what I have I would offer to you."
Niyut stumbles over the unfamiliar word and seems somewhat embarrassed about this request.
The artisan barely looks up from his work to acknowledge Garidan, but does nod... and chuckle softly.
"An honest mistake. And a reasonable one at that!" Garidan's new female friend comments. The other woman nods in agreement. They say their extended goodbyes consisting of many handshakes, a few lengthy hugs and one pat on the back uncomfortably low for Garidan. As they depart, you hear the guide remark, "He's a handsome human and quite gifted with an aura of rugged courage... if only I was a hundred-fifty years younger..."
The quiet voice comes forward again in Gruskorb's thoughts.
Perhaps, I judged to hasty. My life was simple... and the land's provisions were bountiful... I sense that your life, before we met, was lacking. But now I sense wonder and freedom in you where I feel loss... and guilt. The voice retreats again.
Dtukk listens to Niyut with great interest. "That is an interesting hypothesis you present, lass. And your description of the Ealintaine aligns with my view as well... although Klagor may have a different opinion. I'd keep these thoughts to yourself at least until you're far from here. However, be mindful of what the learned say, 'a god in your pocket is far better than a sword in your hand'."
Upon hearing here request, the wizened dwarf smiles, "It just so happens that I 'ave one of four known copies of the tome, "Of Creation and the Ealintaine" written by Enasilaor, the Keeper of History for the Aleamitore House of Noble Elves. I shall loan it to you if you promise to keep it safe and return it to me."
Malthazir idly shadows the party as they talk trade. They seemed more than capable of handling the details and he was busy wrestling with the being in his head again.
You should use me more sparingly.
How did I know you have those kind of pathetic limits?
Because I was saying you should stop.
I was a little busy fighting for my life.
Please, you weren't within bow range of half those goblins.
There was a spellcaster.
A distracted one.
A good spellcaster is never distracted.
Then what are you right now?
Malthazir grits his teeth and blocks out the noise, realizing he hadn't been paying attention and was caught in his own game.
~Meeting Dtukk~
Malthazir extends a hand. "Dtukk Flamefest, it is a pleasure to meet another student of the arcane arts. I would hazard to guess with that name that you fancy evocation?"
He listens quietly to the assessment of the blood. An evil sorcerer perhaps? Or maybe an oracle... He looks up. "If we are up against gods, then I think resistance would be futile anyways." Even as a student of the arcane, it is foolhardy to not acknowledge the existence or power of the gods. The dwarves should know better with how powerful their clerics grow.
"Legend has it that, in her true form, she appears as a brilliant white light, blinding to all those unworthy to be in her presense. Haha! I'd like to learn such a skill!"
"I think suddenly arriving in your true form would blind a few people." Maltahzir says in a sudden bought of dry humor, betrayed only by a small smirk.
"Aye, I do. I've been known to blow up a thing or two! And what type of Arcane magic have you studied, lad?"
"It isn't that I don't acknowledge their power... ethereal, political, military or whatever... It is that I just don't believe they are deities. Surely, they have immense power and it should be respected and revered and, should the need arise, called upon to help us protect our friends and family. And if Jolnar or any of the Ealentaine should come to my aid, I will call them by name and thank them thereby increasing their power and, in return, my power as well."
Dtukk bellows in delight as the elf finds some humor, Haha! "One look at me, and they would singe their eyebrows off!"
"Primarily a conjurer. I find it gathers less attention then evocation." He jests. He gives a more honest smile. "Well I think at this point we're getting into nomenclature as opposed to actual abilities. 'A rose by any other name is still a rose', and such holds true for beings of such immense power. Does it matter that we don't call them gods as long as they have all the same powers and abilities that a god does?" He is enjoying the unexpected philosophical banter. It's a good break from the postapocolyptic nightmare. Who says dwarves and elves can't be friends? Well I suppose both being intellectuals helps...
Niyut sniffs at Malthazir's assertion of futility.
"As far as I have been taught, that while the great spirits will always be powerful; but, their reach into the world of the flesh is limited to what we allow. Resistance is fraught, but not futile.
Thank you, Dtukk, for the loan of your book. I will treasure it."
Niyut sniffs at Malthazir's assertion of futility.
"As far as I have been taught, that while the great spirits will always be powerful; but, their reach into the world of the flesh is limited to what we allow. Resistance is fraught, but not futile.
Malthazir nods. "Well they are not limited by what we allow, but they do have their own set of rules and limitations that prevent them from using their full power to enact their will. Primarily the fear that their enemies will do the same."
"Absolutely, it does. If I call Jolnar "my god", I am submitting myself to his will... and no one has absolute dominion over Dtukk!" the dwarf's voice begins to rumble with confidence.
finally someone with half an ounce of intellect... A half-orc and an elf, no less.
Upon returning to the temple, Truk'tosh seeks out his sister. He knew he could count on her cleverness in complex situations like this.
Niyut nods along with Dtukk's words.
One should never make a bargain when one cannot foresee the consequences of that bargain. Power for indefinite devotion is inherently a bad bargain. Neither Quarraine nor any of his fellows shall have me so easily.
"I should rest before we go deeper into the mountain and then up and out. Could I borrow that book now, Dtukk? Thank you so much for your council."
********************
Later, she returns to the temple carrying a book. "Hello, brother, what have you been doing after we parted ways?"
Gurskorb rolled his eyes at the amorous comment about Garidan, instead getting to material matters.
"Let me see it. What makes it better?" After getting a sense of the armor's properties, the rogue had a better idea of what Garidan meant. "More defensive, yes. Harder to move in though. It's a trade." Given the situations they'd been in recently though, he felt it was a worthy one. "Sure, sounds good. It would be nice to know what it's made out of though; I don't want it falling apart on me."
As they walked away from the shop, he moved the topic. "We should see what the orcs and elf are up to; dwarves usually aren't fans of them, and they almost took advantage of you there, too." He's too nice.
********
I can imagine being "alive" when you were dead is a step forward where freedom is concerned. The land surely has changed. Where did you live?
Malthazir chuckles. "Well that I can agree with. We are each our own master."
"Yes, Niyut. Rest would be good. These extended conflicts are running me short on magic time and time again."
Helping Gruskorb into his new armor, Garidan uses his recently gained skills to ensure that it's fitted properly. Looking Gruskorb over after, he nods thoughtfully. "Fits like it was made for you. Good workmanship right there," he says with an approving tone of voice. Hearing the hobgoblin's suggestion that they go look for the others, Garidan frowns. "I don't know about that. We could leave here moments before they return and waste hours as a result. And we wouldn't know where to even start looking for that matter. Although, having Niyut or Malthazir around right now would be helpful."
He points at the crate partially-filled with flasks. "Had an idea for a way to get more of those, but it needs a particular kind of spell. I'm hoping one of them may know it. It's a neat little spell that does nothing more than mend broken things." Garidan then flashes a broad grin at Gruskorb. "And didn't we just get back from a great big pile of broken flasks? A bit of scavenging on that pile and a few hours of casting could see that entire crate filled and then some," Garidan concludes with a cheerful expression, clearly pleased by what he feels is a pretty ingenuous solution to a problem.
Rising from his cot, he stretches a bit, then shrugs. "If, however, you insist on looking for them, I won't object. But if we get stopped by more dwarves looking to speak with the foreigners who bravely cleared Jolnar's Font of those goblins, you get to do the talking. And risk the wandering hands."
A pointed urge comes to Gruskorb from the back of his mind; he knew it was the spirit.
"Show me some of those broken fragments."
As he carefully held the glass pieces in his hand, the spirit came to the fore again.
Creation and destruction are part of the natural order of things. Seeing the full circle lets you turn the circle to the point you need.
In his mind, an image of what the flask might look like appeared, then it shattered. A pair of the pieces lay apart, but something was slowly moving them back together. The rogue gave them a mental nudge of his own, accelerating the process. As he did, he felt the pieces move in tandem, then watched them meld their borders into a smooth finish.
He looked up at Garidan, taken by surprise at this new development. "Looks like the voice in my head knows how to do what you were talking about. I might be able to help fix 'em - but it won't be quick. It'll give me something to do while we wait for the others." Gruskorbs tacit affirmation of Garidan's stance in the matter of reuniting the party was about as smooth as the hobgoblin allowed his concessions.
Asked to provide a broken flask, Garidan gives Gruskorb a questioning look. "Alright, it'll take a few minutes to run down to the glassworks and get one." With that said, Garidan trots off out of the temple. He isn't gone very long, as a steady jog combined with his growing familiarity with Eastgate gets him to where he needs to be and back again, and he's only panting a bit as he hands Gruskorb the pieces of a flask.
His eyes grow wide as he then watches Gruskorb do something that gradually makes the flask whole once more. "Well, I'll run back to the glassworks then and try to come up with with enough matching pieces to put together five more flasks," Garidan says with somewhat surprised expression. "That's a mighty handy spell to have around, and I'm glad to know that one of our party can use it. It'll take me a bit of time to find enough matching pieces, so if the others return while I'm out, let them know what's going on? If you're going to spend the time to fix them, you can at least stay here and relax while I get the broken discards."
Setting the restored flask on his cot, Garidan quickly empties the crate of the purchased flasks, then picks it up and makes his way out of the temple and back to the glassworks to go garbage scavenging. It takes some careful sorting, which is occasionally interrupted by a guild member dumping a fresh load of shattered product, but Garidan eventually comes up with the pieces of 9 flasks, which he carefully places into the waiting crate before returning to the temple with his pickings.
Truk'tosh unconsciously taps the symbol hanging from his neck when Niyut arrives. "Greetings sister."
"I've been pursuing something important to the spirit that started sharing my skin when the world was undone. I believe he was a priest before the Sundering and that calling has caused him to have some unfinished business here in the halls of his kin. From what I have gathered, according to dwarven customs his family line will end unless I can convince their elders that their lost son lives on through me."
Niyut blinks.
Part of her thinks that the idea of her brother as a dwarven noble is ludicrous. Another part of her thought that the idea will put them all in danger. There are always those who stand to benefit from the misfortune of others. It is not like the wealth and the holdings of the fallen noble line would lie fallow for long.
However, it is not in Niyut's nature to tell her brother no. She hopes she can help him see the difficulties inherent in this course of action.
"Is this what your spirit guest wants, brother? It is a noble intention to help bring closure and solace to the living and the dead, but without his full cooperation it also seems doomed.
You should also consider the danger that you expose yourself and the rest of us to if you reveal that you play host to one of their fallen sons. We are strangers here. We provided them a great service, but they do not truly know us. Some will think you mad to hear voices in your head. Others will think you are taking advantage of them in a time of turmoil. Others still will resent the disruption to their own ascendancy that the fall of a noble house represents. Claiming a position of authority in their halls will remind them that they do not know us.
The final piece of this puzzle is whether you actually represent a viable continuation of the line. Are our respective peoples cross-compatible? Would you commit to having a child with a dwarven matron? Would you live out your life in their halls? If any of these answers is no, then the line has already ended."
***************
Before... this happened to the world and to me... I lived in the Everwood, the great northern forest. But I fear it is now gone.
***************
"Aye, some rest seems warranted for each of us. And I hope the book proves helpful, Niyut. Until we meet again, I wish you both good fortune." Dtukk bows his head slightly to both of you and takes his leave.
The remainder of the afternoon and early evening go by slowly. Exhausted from the battle and mentally spent from your subsequent dealings about Eastgate, everyone settles into their cots for an brief rest. Before long, the delightful smells of a warm meal begin to waft through the Temple. Several priests dressed in black robes begin to usher the refugees to the outer vestibule where dinner is served.
Before your turn arrives, Klagor approaches and sets a small cask in front of Garidan. "Well, here you are... one small cask filled with the sacred water blessed from Jolnar's Font. And for you, young lady," he turns to Niyut and holds out two rolls of parchment. "As promised, two scrolls to restore any harm that the undead may cause."
"I understand you intend to leave later tonight. I wish you good fortune and Jolnar's blessing should an enemy bear arms against you. But before you leave, we have prepared a meal for all of the refugees tonight, and Rohsa has sent over a full cask of her ale for everyone's enjoyment. So, please... help yourselves."
Niyut clasps the scrolls and gives a thankful bow.
"You have my gratitude, Klagor. We too are refugees in your halls, and you have shown us many kindnesses. Fresh food is both welcome and rare in this strange new world."
The oracle very happily eats her fill after performing ablutions. One really doesn't know how often one can clean oneself on the road.
Once they get their cart hitched to their oxen, Niyut re-organizes her pack. All heavy essentials are placed into the wagon while she keeps the book and the scrolls on her person. She also carries with her her sacred instruments. One never knows when one may need to perform a ritual.
Stopping the repair process once the others arrived, Gruskorb was curious. "Find anything interesting around? Garidan's been busy shopping." He held up one of the recently-mended flasks before setting it down next to him.
*******
Gruskorb made sure he was full before stopping his consumption. The filled belly gave him comfort for the journey ahead, and Klagor's gifts allowed him a rare moment of optimism.
"I'm not certain what he wants. At first his only concern seemed to be our survival but now I don't know. I can tell the continuation of his family line is important to him and he seems to have fond memories of his family servant but he's been surprisingly silent as of late."
"I had not considered the danger to us and the others. I would like to believe that people would put the good of others ahead of themselves in these difficult times but perhaps I was being foolish. And, no, I have no wish to stay within these halls and rule as a dwarven lord. Still, I have to believe there's a way to help him save his family line", Truk'tosh adds hopefully.
"My spirit doesn't seem to trust her but the house's matron is coming to meet me here later tonight. Could you meet her with me? I want to understand why my spirit has this ill-will."
Once Gruskorb finishes repairing the flasks, Garidan gleefully packs most of them into the waiting crate. Four of them, however, are left out and the reason for this is soon made clear as he fills them carefully from the keg delivered by Klagor. Making sure not to spill even a drop, he seal the flasks then holds one of them up for the rest of the party's attention. "Here we go, holy water ready to use. The keg has just enough in it to fill very nearly all of the flasks I've acquired--many of which Gruskorb has just finished restoring to a usable state--and it should be just the thing to settle anything like those damn Shadow Rats." Carefully loading the four filled flasks into one of the empty bandoliers, Garidan smiles. "Didn't get everything I wanted on my various supply gathering efforts, but I got what we need, so it's a success in my book."
With that said, Garidan happily relaxes until the party's turn to eat arrives, at which point he digs in with a will, rapidly clearing his plate. He then spends a bit of time in the company of the others before turning his attention to a final check of their supplies. As everything is distributed between the cart and their animals, he notes Niyut's reorganization of her belongings, and he quickly follows suit with his own, the now-lighter pack sitting quite nicely on his back and shoulders.
Only one thing remains to settle before they leave, and he approaches Klagor with a serious expression. "Beg pardon if I'm interrupting you, but have you seen or heard anything of our remaining companion, Elannaris? We've not had any contact with her since our arrival in your halls, and it's rather worrisome."
"The young elven maiden offered to help us scout the goblin defenses. She departed along with several of our elite rangers not long after you arrived. We have not heard from any of them since. But I trust in our rangers, they will get her back safely... and I believe in Elannaris. She is a brave one, that elf." A hopeful look crosses Klagor's face, then he returns talking to the other refugees.
Eating with his sister and their new companions, Truk'tosh feels their eyes shift to something approaching behind him. The sound of a heavily armored soldier rings across the make-shift dining hall and the chatter ofthe refugees comes to a sudden halt. Feeling the weight of a stare, Truk'tosh looks over his left shoulder to see the hulking form of Taurman standing tall.
"The Lady Garlana Hammerfist requests your presence in the acolyte's chamber."