So, we rush on to the canyon of death and suffering. Gee, thanks, pally. Thanks, Casns. Such a good idea.
Unless...
"Huh, I thought you two, of all people, would love to investigate that tree they mentioned searching before.", mentions Themp.
"You know, the 'lair of the werewolf'?", he adds, quoting with his hands, mock grin on his face.
Nme'an nods at being reminded of the mayor's earlier words. "This tree you spoke of before," Nme'an asks her, " what reason did your people have to suspect it was the werewolf's lair?"
:p
Tom’s eyes blink open and he glances up at the knight appreciatively, and soon drifts back to sleep.
The mayor’s eyes narrow for a second, but answers the knight nonetheless. “Unless old Deloris did some remodeling I am unaware of, this is the only fireplace in the house, save for the cookfire in the kitchen. It looks like she already has stones warming beside it for your beds, however. This isn’t one of those big-city inns you’ll find in Thaleniel; Deloris is a mother to many sons and daughters. Once they all grew and made homes of their own, she kindly opened it to visitors.”
At the other questions, she shrugs. “You saw how the men can be. A few of them claimed they spotted the beast in the shadows of the forest over the past month, and each sighting was a stone’s throw from a particularly gnarled grey tree. I’m sure at least one of the men will be eager to show you where they think the lair might be.”
After listening to everyone's comments, Beorae looks up, new resolve set in her blue eyes. “Well, I suggest you keep the weapon, then. At least for another month, until you can be certain that no more werewolves will threaten Axton.” The druidess shifts her feet slightly and stands a little straighter, “As for our part, Mot is right, we should be heading north in the morning. If the beast had riches or valuables stowed away at this tree of his, then it seems to me that Axton could use them more than we can at this point.”
She takes a long look into the flames, then to Themp, and nods, “Let's do it while we can.”
Well, this is it for whatever the hell that weird couple was scheming about.
With a shrug, Themp reaches into his pocket, picks up the scroll and hands it over to Beorae.
"Here, Freckles, you do the honor. I don't want to accidentally trigger the spell by throwing it into the fire the wrong way."
Beorae smiles at the rogue's amusing comment as she takes the scroll, “That's… not quite how it works.”
Turning the parchment over in her fingers, she considers the power contained within. My curiosity threatens to get the better of me, but this is for the best. Grabbing a stoker next to the fireplace, Beorae kneels down and stirs the logs and embers. Feeling the fresh wave of heat push against her face, the druidess commits the scroll to the flames and watches as the parchment turns brown, then black as it is consumed into nothing but smoke and ash.
Nme'an nods his gratitude at a job well done but then frowns at the druid's earlier insinuation.
"I did not mean to look for riches or valuables in the tree. My only concern was the safety of the town."
Mot watches from his place in the room, observing the strange actions of his companions with a dull, if ernest, interest. Setting the heavy silver weapon down, the barbaric man draws his dagger and begins to clean under his fingernails.
Mayor Garwell watches the proceedings in silence, not exactly sure what is going on, and perhaps not caring to. When the four are finished, she nods and bids them good night, adding that she will see them off in the morning.
After a few more minutes, Deloris thuds down the stairs and smiles at the visitors. Grasping Beorae’s hand tightly, it takes her a few minutes to convey a need for help with the heating stones near the fire. In no time, four carry the hot, smooth river rocks upstairs. The top step leads them to a hallway with six doors. The heat of the fireplace below saturates the walls of the large house. She mutely gestures which room is hers, and then shows each of them the place she prepared for them. Small, starkly furnished rooms offer little more than clean, dry beds, wall pegs, and shelves. A lit candle burns in each of the rooms, and a heavy cloth is draped over small windows to keep the heat in. In the room offered to Beorae, a large mound of blankets lays in the corner for Shark. In the rooms of Mot and Nme’an, a coat hanging rack stands in the corner, presumably for their armor to hang. As she shows Themp his room, she reaches up to pinch his cheek and winks before turning to the hallway. She claps her hands to get the attention of the four and makes an effort to indicate that if they need anything, just knock on her door. With that, she smiles good night and turns in for the evening.
When Themp turns to his bed, he finds a bit of wrapped candied peppermint on his pillow.
Searching his room, the young man finds more candies hidden in nooks and crannys.
The dark clouds blot out the setting sun, thundering and flashing over the quiet town, with only the handful of watchmen occasionally stirring under the downpour. The amber glowing windows of the small houses begin to wink out one by one over the next few hours.
Beorae gives a motion of gracious thanks to Deloris and turns to her companions. “This has been a long day – I'm going to turn in for the night and wake up early in the morning to train with Shark. If anyone cares to join me, we'll be up before dawn.” With that, she gives them a smile and turns to her room to get some rest.
Shark curls up on the blankets and Beorae readies herself for bed before extinguishing the candle.
"Good work today, all of you. Be proud that you saved one town and likely a city too through your actions this day." The knight turns to enter his room when he hears Beorae's inquiry about the morning. "I will join you," Nme'an replies.
Once out of the hallway Nme'an carefully removes his armor and inspects it for damage. While it shows some scratches, most significantly on the front of his shield where the wolves failed in their attacks, and on the front facing bands of his chest piece which managed to keep a werewolf at bay!
Well... mostly at bay... He thinks as he places his hand on his neck once more and is still a bit surprised when he finds no evidence of his grievous wound.
"Asante kwa akiwaacha maisha yangu na wale wa wenzangu. Inaweza matendo yangu katika siku zijazo kuweka mimi katika neema yako." he prays quietly before extinguishing the solitary candle and getting some much needed sleep.
"Thank you for sparing my life and those of my companions. May my actions in the coming days keep me in your graces."
What a lovely, lovely lady, thinks Themp automatically.
"I'm tired too, you guys. That river almost beat the hell out of me... I'll retire. Catch you all in morning, then?"
Without much longer lingering, Themp gets himself into his assigned room and prepares to sleep, not before surveying the room for any tricks, traps, escape exits and fortuitous treats left behind by past... clients.
After all, Themp hasn't kept himself alive for so long by crashing as soon as a comfortable bed is presented to him.
Surprised to find candy, of all things, Themp pockets them for breakfast, not before checking off the other items of his mental list.
Climbing up the stairs behind the others Mot finds his room and flops into the empty bed, not even bothering to undress.
The storm rumbles through the night, but in the morning, the sky is clear again. Everything is soaked, but all smells new, clean, and alive. Axton’s first stirrings in the pale predawn light are greeted by gentle dry breezes from the Plains of Armaag. Quietly, dozens and dozens of burly, axe-bearing men gather to the raft where a boatman begins to ferry them across to the forest.
When Beorae and Nme’an leave their rooms, sounds and smells of cooking reach their senses from downstairs. Tom smiles at them from a table where a large bowl of porridge, a platter of bacon, and diced red potatoes wait beside a short stack of clean empty dishes and eating utensils. A few watchmen bid good morning to knight, druid, and the big cat as the three train a safe distance away from the homes of the townsfolk.
The sun streams in over the tops of the Carenthir and slowly lifts the chill of night. The yellow beams find Axton fully awake, with their tradesmen and women hard at work. Mothers teach their children, or chase those who would rather play, and those who are almost fully grown help parents with their livelihood.
Not long after sunrise, however, Deloris’ front door does not remain closed for more than five minutes at a time. Families stop by to thank the five heroes of Axton, including Tom in their praise. They leave on a separate table a growing collection of meat pies, fresh baked bread, apples, savory beef jerky, berry preserves, pickled fish, wedges of cheese, and a one-gallon clay jug of what smells like a strong and bitter homebrew. There is even a bundle of freshly picked leaves labeled for your adorable big cat! among the table full of gifts.
The bundle of leaves appear to be Feline’s Felicity, a low-growing green edible to man and beast alike, though it seems to produce a euphoric reaction in domestic cats.
Beorae rubs her eyes and throws open the window coverings to take in the early morning sky. From a seated position on her bed, the druidess meditates while the sun slowly brightens the room. After an hour, Beorae dresses and readies her things, taking a moment to to enjoy the dawn for a few moments before the memory of last night's deadly confrontation comes racing back to her. It all happened so fast. We were lucky that Mot found that club so quickly. Leaning down, she rouses Shark with a scratch between the ears and inspects his neck, impressed with Deloris's healing abilities.
Silently making her way down the stairs so as not to disturb the others, Beorae greets Tom with a smile as she grabs a plate and builds a simple breakfast before taking a seat. “Good morning, Tom. You're looking quite well this morning! Feeling better, I hope?”
Shark lies in the corner near the fireplace until Beorae and Nme'an are done with their quick breakfast. Outside, Beorae smiles at the passers-by while trying to avoid puddles in the street. She casually takes note of the breeze and looks up at the sky, wondering if more rain is headed their way, or if travel will be nicer today.
Over the next few hours, Beorae and Nme'an work on Shark's combat and attack skills. The work is vigorous, but training goes well and the time seems to fly by. Before she knows it, the sun is peeking through the trees and casting long shadows on the ground. After wrapping up, the three of them head back to Deloris's.
So focused she was on the training that Beorae didn't notice the endless stream of visitors to the house, so she is surprised when the trio returns to find a table piled full of baked goods and foodstuffs. A wave of happiness rolls through her as she realizes that these gifts are meant for them. She finds the bundle for Shark and immediately recognizes it, “Oh, now who's this adorable big cat? We wouldn't know anyone like that, now would we, stinker?” Plucking a single leaf, Beorae crushes it and rolls it between her fingers before extending her hand to Shark's nose. Almost immediately the adolescent tiger starts chuffing and nuzzling everything in sight, eliciting a few laughs in the process from those in the room.
Nme'an wakes early and watches the dawn approach through his uncovered window while he says his morning prayers. He finishes strapping on his armor and weapons as the sky begins to warm and heads downstairs thinking himself to be the first one up. His supposition is quickly proven wrong as he finds Tom already eating breakfast at the table.
"I am glad to see you pulled through," Nme'an says to the brave watchman before digging into the meal waiting for him.
Once finished, Nme'an follows the Druidess and her cat to an open area of grass and weeds. He does his best to return the thanks of the few villagers who stop to greet them, but accepting praise was never one of the knight's strengths...
Fortunately, combat is something Nme'an is good at. Together he and Beorae put Shark through his paces. Perhaps the last couple of days traveling with the group and protecting them from dangers have started to pay off...
In between drills Nme'an tests the balance of the sword the group retrieved from the werewolf's corpse. Though the improvements in weight and balance are subtle to be sure, he can feel them none the less.
In the lull, Nme'an notices the cheerful flow of towns folk towards Deloris', and can even make out that a few are carrying things, but they are all too distant for him to determin what the bundles in their hands are.
Still, no one seems panicked so he steps back into the fray with Beorae and Shark.
Their training session complete, the trio return to Deloris' where Nme'an is as surprised as Beorae to find the table full of tasty items. A smile even breaks through his typically neutral expression.
"Bora zaidi kuliko dhahabu kama tunaweza kutafuta njia ya kuleta yote na sisi," Nme'an comments as he and Beorae begin examining the unexpected gifts.
"Better than gold if we could find a way to bring it all with us,"
The noise and the delicious smell of food slowly ease Themp back into consciousness. He hadn't slept this well in... well, a couple of days.
This much luxury must be making me soft. Still, why not enjoy it while it lasts?
Slowly taking his time to dress up and further check his room, Themp moves down to the breakfast table.
With an unnatural ease, he manages to exchange a dialogue with the kind elderly woman and learns that the paladin and the druidess had already woken up and were outside, probably playing with the tiger. He also, not so easily, manages to find out it was her who placed the all the candy in his room and, with even further difficulty, express his gratitude. Themp also notices he's not the only one she's nice with. Seemingly the entire town walks in and out of her house, setting gifts of gratitude for the champions on the table, all the while Deloris serves them food, drinks and warmth.
So, so kind. There are far too few like her back in my streets.
With a pang of sadness, the memory of his streets brings his mind back to the quest and what it represents to the kingdom.
Chaos. Utter chaos. Not even I would enjoy it for a single moment. We must save the king.
It is at that point that the half-elves arrive with the tiger, surprised to see all the gifts. Glad to have a distraction from his sad thoughts, Themp opens up his best grin and addresses the newcomers.
"Yeah, I guess we've gathered a few admirers, huh?"
Yawning fiercely, Mot forces his eyes open against the built up sleep and residue of a solid nights rest. Rolling onto his back he stretches, nearly knocking over the unused armor-rack standing in the corner. As consciousness begins to take hold, the big Urlghain sees that it was the warming morning sun coming in through the window and seeping through the small blanket, that woke him from nights embrace.
Rising to his feet in a ponderous tumble the warrior glances around the spartan room before remembering that everything he brought with him is effectively ready to go. Stretching again, hairy upraised hands brush the old wooden ceiling and the Casns reaches down to take up all his loose gear in a big awkward double-armed grasp.
Shouldering his way through the door, he makes his way down the narrow stair case and into the main room. Promptly dropping all equipment, he begins moving towards the gift-laden table just as the Paladin and Druid make their way inside from the early mornings activities.
He smiles greetings at his four companions and an obvious look of appreciation and relish takes his face when he begins to peruse all the home-made delectables. It doesn't take the hulking fellow long to locate the clay-jug and discern it's contents. Rumbling with delight the fighter locates some cups and begins pouring for any and all who stop by, starting by offering the gallant Tom first taste. In even less time Mot is seen toasting the morning, the town, her people, last nights storm, small "bumbling bees," the heroics of home-town heros, and the refreshing nature of swift-flowing rivers. Liberally inserted are quick little prayers to Cayden Cailean thanking him for a happy journey thus far and requesting more "trayveleen mercees" for the road ahead.
Tom grins widely at Mot’s honoring gesture and raises his cup to the highlander’s toasts. “...and to the brave four who saved our town,” he chimes in, his voice good as new, “May the sun rise up to meet you, and may the wind be ever at your back.”
Draining his cup, he smacks his lips appreciatively and stands with a smile. “Well, it’s back to the grindstone for me. Thanks to the healing hands of Deloris,” the grandmotherly woman pauses to curtsy while busily cleaning and offering tea to visiting townsfolk, “and the good Sir Knight, who I did not expect to be blessed with such a gift, I can return to my post and keep watch over my neighbors.”
He begins to make for the door, shaking the hands of the four just before leaving, “Safe travels, each of you. Cailean bless your long road.”
Chuckling with amusement, Nme'an attempts to palm a fresh apple from the arrangement of gifts only to knock it to the floor. Sure that someone must have noticed he just shakes his head and picks it up from where it rolled to a stop. Bitting into the juicy fruit he heads back up stairs to collect his things.
Mot is just getting to toasting the bees by the time Nme'an returns. Seeing as it appears that his companions will be busy a while longer the Knight takes a chair near the fireplace and is content to observe the comings and goings along with the big man's antics.
“So it would seem,” Beorae responds to Themp's observation. The druidess thanks Tom for his blessings and slowly prepares to leave, attempting to pack up as much of the food as she can.
Delighted by the barbarians light mood, Themp quickly joins in on the seemingly endless toasts, setting the dark thoughts bubbling in his mind finally at rest.
Noticing the paladin awkwardly fumble at his attempt to remain inconspicuous as he goes upstairs, Themp chuckles. The lightened mood and the sight of Nme'an kneeling down suddenly brings a playful thought forth.
After the paladin sets down in his chair by the fireplace, with great care, the rogue palms an apple from the same bunch Nme'an tried to.
He then moves up right behind the paladin's chair, as soundlessly as he can muster.
As quickly as possible, Themp drops the apple over Nme'an's right shoulder into his lap while moving up in front of him by his left chanting to all in the room about the (made-up, comical) tale of the Sir Knight Butterfingers, who single-handed managed to not only destroy the castle he was supposed to save but set free the mighty evil dragon which his predecessor managed to imprison, all by being extremely clumsy and dropping his sword all the time. In the end, Sir Knight Butterfingers manages to accidentally save the day by, also accidentally, breaking a dam onto the dragon, simultaneously putting out the raging fire that threatened the entire city under the king's castle. The rogue makes sure to keep his story as hilarious as possible, with grandiose gestures and dramatic interpretations of all the characters, using props such as the food on the table a often as possible, always taking a bite out.
All that, of course, not before winking that mischievous wink of his, along with his now-famous grin, to the stupefied paladin, sitting right in front of him.
Nme'an hold up the unexpected apple as a knowing gesture to Themp, then plays along saying "I think I knew him..."
The townsfolk that happen to hear Themp’s story guffaw heartily at the tale, and even Deloris holds her sides and quietly shakes in merriment. Mayor Garwell even catches the last half of the story, and chuckles behind a hand at the scoundrel’s dramatic telling.
Before too long, however, much of the townfolk are returned to their livelihoods, and Sharon Garwell leads the four heroes to their horses. Finding a pair of small boys brushing their flanks, they help rebuckle the saddles onto Rexel, Drexel, One Sock, and Daisy. The boys and Mayor then help the four pack as much as the gifted food as they can into the saddlebags. Soon, the champions of Thaleniel trot out the gate with a handful of Axton residents waving farewell, including Mayor Garwell, Tom, and Deloris.
An hour passes as Axton slowly makes its way to the southern horizon of the four. Here, there is no road to follow, but the northern Komat Mountains draw nearer and nearer, and the river serves as their guide to the Blackcrag Pass. The quiet from the western badlands spreads up to the edge of the Emestar; the prominent sound of the uncivilized landscape gushes a deep and strong current. Despite the clear, cool sky overhead, the highest mountaintop ahead, Armaag’s Peak, keeps a grey wisp of cloud around its rocky heights. Still the four have quite a ways to go until they reach the foot of those mountains.
The four horses carry their riders along the riverside for another hour before movement some distance ahead catches the attention of the travelers. Two figures garbed as woodsmen step out from hiding places about two hundred feet away, gesturing as one would greet a neighbor too far for words. Their long pointed ears mark them as elves, and one of them has arms full with bundles of cloth. Longbows and arrow fletching sticks out from over the shoulders of the elves. Among the champions, Nme’an and Mot are the last to notice the pair, who make no step toward the four as they wait for an acknowledgement.
The watchful thief spots a third elf in hiding, a short distance from the other two, watching the four approach.
Beorae remains quiet for the moment, but scans the road, the wood, and the elves for anything else of interest.
Noticing the hidden elf, Themp does his best maintain his manner. Whispering moving his mouth as little as possible, but still enough to be discernible, he warns the band.
"You guys, I don't mean to unnecessarily stress you all, but there's another one of them hidden from us right next to these two."
"I am going to approach them... Be ready," Nme'an says. As per his usual protocol the knight dismounts and slowly approaches the distant elves making sure to show no overt signs of aggression.
Munching idly on a ration of bacon brought by the well-wishers, Mot sits on his horse. His eyes narrow somewhat when the third elf is pointed out to him, but otherwise he remains unmoved.
Beorae, now paying closer attention to her surroundings, sees where the third elf is hiding. Beyond that, nothing else seems out of place. The river flows and the occasional rustle of critters in the Carenthir break the silence, and the desolate plains to her right spread out to the horizon.
The two waiting elves watch the paladin step closer. One of them makes a quiet comment to the other and a brief chuckle from the listener carries over the distance. After Nme’an is nearly halfway there, they lightly step forward but say nothing until they are about twenty feet from the half-elf. The elf with empty hands raises one of them and greets the knight with a small smile and an amiable tone. “Habari nusu ndugu. Sisi ajabu nini na kampuni yako ni juu.”
“Hello half brother. We wonder what you and your company are up to.”
The elf beside the speaker smiles and carries four bundles of coarse cloth are tied to resemble four great green pumpkins. Or, grey pumpkins. No, brown pumpkins. The color of the strange fabric appears to shift depending on how the light touches it.
Nme'an first turns and nods to his companions indicating that the random encounter appears to be safe... if not entirely friendly. Nme'an frowns at the mention of his half blood, but ignores the comment. Now is not the time for a petty squabble.
"We are four on an official mission from Thaleniel. More than that I cannot say. Why are you in our path and why is one of you still hiding?" Nme'an questions, keeping his voice neutral.
“Sharp ears, sharp eyes,” answers the cloth carrier, “on one who will not suffer lies.”
The first speaker chuckles again and is a little more straightforward with the knight. “To signal the others, if you attacked. If we are in your way and we do not move, go around. Lady Emestar does it everyday.”
An awkward silence lulls before the elf adds, perhaps realizing his potential rudeness. “Though not before we give you thanks. You and your companions carried out the kindness we failed to, and ended Mooncaller’s suffering. You, especially. Thank you for the respect for our ways.”
The both of them nod their heads forward reverently and return their gaze to the knight.
Nme'an bows slightly, returning the elves' thanks. That they must have been watching the burial... and perhaps even Mooncaller's attack on the town... does not escape his notice, however.
"Mimi kuchukua unajua zaidi ya hadithi yake?" Nme'an asks, even as he eyes the strange color shifting fabric.
"I take it you know more of his story?"
Still carefully approaching with the group, Themp notices the minor tension going on with the paladin.
Turning to Beorae, he asks "Say, Red, the elves sound friendly enough. What did they say to make Nme'an so stiff?"
Beorae responds to Themp in a low voice, but loud enough for Mot to hear as well, “Not sure… they know about the werewolf and the burial from last night, though.”
Sitting a little taller on her horse, she calls to the third elf hiding in the bushes with a reassuring smile, “Wanatoka mahali pa kujificha yako, rafiki, sisi ni si kwenda kuumiza wewe.”
The rogue recalls hearing of magical cloaks worn by the wood elves, that help them blend in so well with their environment, it is like they disappear. Perhaps these are bundles of that very fabric.
The elf with empty hands nods, answering Nme’an. “Ndiyo.“
The third elf rises from his hide place and momentarily forces a polite smile. His tense shoulders relax, but he continues to silently study the approaching party. He does not engage in the conversation.
The one carrying the bundles snickers again.
“Kifo kimeadhimishwa
na ule wakati uliotandazika
mpaka
kila cha zamani kimesahaulika
isipokuwa majani makavu yalokauka
Mitini, mara kwa mara, yakitingisika.”
“Yes.”
“Death is honoured
by time stretched out
until everything past has been forgotten
other than the leaves that dried
on the tree, that tremble, now and then.”
The poet and the first elf nod in agreement, and regard the four with smiling eyes. The third likewise nods, though his body language hints that he is eager to be away from these strangers. The awkward silence persists.
Nme'an considers the elves' actions up to this point before responding...
With a bored expression on his face Mot stares first at the Elves, then the grass, the trees, and finally up at the sky. He's just about to try staring at the Elves again when his ears twitch at the unfamiliar words.
Beorae is a little surprised by the poem, but considers it for a moment before replying, “Nadhani hivyo.”
Taking their silence as an indication that the elves are done speaking about the werewolf, the druidess changes the conversation, nodding toward the bundles in the poets arms, “Nguo kwamba ni badala ya ajabu. Inaonekana mabadiliko ya rangi kulingana na jinsi mimi kuangalia saa yake. Je, kufanya hivyo?”
“I suppose so.”
“That cloth is rather remarkable. It appears to change color depending on how I look at it. Did you make it?”
The poem does not sound familiar to Nme’an, and as far as he knows, it bears little to no religious significance, though it sounds like words that would be said at a burial. Also, the half-elf knows that trees are very special to the wood elves -not regarded as holy or sacred necessarily, but a certain reverence is upheld. The knight remembers his mother fondly recalling to memory the elves from deepest parts of Carenthir. Apparently they are prone to break into song or poem on a whim. It is said this is the chief difference between elves who live in towns and elves who live in the forest; according to wood elves, their more urban counterparts have “hardened sap” or “upturned roots”, whatever that means.
They were clearly waiting for Nme’an, or one of the four, to say something.
The poet cloth carrier’s eyes brighten. “Mimi! Wao ni kwa ajili yako!”
“Mtu mmoja aitwaye Morgan imetusaidia iliyopita majira ya baridi. Yeye alimtuma kunguru kwetu na kuandika, kuuliza kukusaidia katika masuala ya uwindaji na mafichoni,” the elf who first greeted them adds with a smile.
“I did! They are for you!”
“A man called Morgan helped us last winter. He sent a bird to us with writing, asking to help you in matters of hunting and hiding.”
For the first time since the conversation started Mots face takes on an energetic countenance. Turning to look at Nme'an and then Beorea he nearly shouts: "Och! What deed hea saay? Deed mahn ears heer a pooem... Ah say!?"
With a self-satisfied expression he turns his beaming smile upon the three denizens of the wood.
Beorae's blue eyes brighten when it is mentioned that the the cloth is for them. She takes a moment to dismount her horse, laughing a moment at Mot's comment about the poetry and commenting to the elves, “Mtu mkubwa anapenda mashairi.”
The tall half-elf then approaches the first two with a smile. “Msamaha kama sisi tunaonekana unsociable—tulikuwa na kujaribu siku kadhaa juu ya barabara, na nadhani sisi ni kuongezeka overly tuhuma. Tulikutana Kamanda Morgan siku chache zilizopita, lakini sisi hawakujua kwamba alikuwa ombi msaada kwa ajili yetu. Hawa ni nini, basi? Mavazi ya aina fulani? Wao ni nzuri kabisa, unaweza kutuonyesha jinsi kazi?”
“Apologies if we seem unsociable—we've had a trying couple of days on the road, and I think we're growing overly suspicious. We met Commander Morgan a few days ago, but we didn't know that he had requested aid for us. What are these, then? Cloaks of some sort? They are quite beautiful, can you show us how they work?”
Thrown off the conversation by all the elven and... whatever it is the big man speaks, Themp settles for admiring the odd fabric glimmering in the sunlight.
Wow. Wish I had those. They could be useful. At the very least I'd make some spectacular money from gullible rich women.
The poet tosses a cloth pumpkin to each of the four, laughing.
“Pin the brooch and don the hood;
soft as snow and quiet as rain,
look like trees or stone or mud.
Use these to hide, hunt, and …เมื่อเปล่า .”
The speaker of poems winks at Mot, and the other elf laughs at the end of the rhyme. Even the third elf smirks at the silly ending, still warily watching the four. Unfolding the bundles, the color-shifting cloth are indeed cloaks; though the fabric is a little rough, it breathes well while keeping the wearer comfortably warm. When worn, it seems to muffle sound and match the surrounding colors with natural earth tones.
“...when naked.”
Mots eyes narrow slightly at the unknown word, but his smile doesn't waver much. Dismounting with a light hop, his powerful legs carry him to the pair of Elves. With a broad smile and singsong lilt he addresses them:
"Whethar raain whethar snoo;
Whaatever weathar coomes doown tha line;
Nevaar weal yoo evar knoo;
Ae baeter frend than ae mighty Urlghain!"
Grin threatening to consume his face, Mot stretches out a great meaty hand in friendship towards them.
Themp chuckles a bit too loudly at the punchline. He then whistles in amazement while rubbing the cloak.
"Well, I'll be damned. This things are legendary back where I come from. I can't thank you enough."
He suddenly stops, contemplative.
Slowly turning his eyes towards the elves, he adds, grin widening as he speaks. "However, no matter how grateful I am, I don't think I'll wear them เมื่อเปล่า. No butt-scratching with a legend for me, thanks."
Beorae chokes back a laugh at the unexpected punchline, and is a little surprised when it becomes apparent that Themp knows at least some Sylvan as well.
“Thank you, kind sirs,” she says, fitting the cloak around her shoulders and testing the weight of the fabric. After a moment, with a sheepish grin she adds:
“Cloaks will be most helpful as we sally forth,
and should keep us silent on our journey north.”
It isn't until after her silly ‘poem’ that she realizes that no introductions had been made! “Jina langu ni Beorae Sevenstone, kutoka Deeproot. Kama umewahi kupata mwenyewe juu ya kwamba upande wa misitu, tafadhali jisikie huru kulipa familia yangu na mimi kutembelea.”
Nme'an catches the cloak then nods at Beorae's introduction.
"Ndiyo, kwa ajili ya barabara eti salama sisi kuwa na sehemu yetu ya ... Matukio." Nme'an grumbles. "Mavazi haya itakuwa muhimu sana kwetu katika siku zijazo na kwa kuwa una shukrani zangu. Jina langu ni Nme'an ... ya ... ya utaratibu wa Dawnflower."
"Yes, for a supposedly safe road we have had our share of... Incidents." Nme'an grumbles. "These cloaks will be very useful to us in the coming days and for that you have my thanks. My name is Nme'an... of... Of the Order of the Dawnflower."
The first elf shakes the hand of the Urlghain while the poet regards the highlander with a beaming smile over his face. The third narrows his eyes at the Beorae’s mention of traveling further north, but nods appreciatively at the druid’s offer, and breaks his silence for the first time in a not unfriendly tone. “Nzuri ya kukutana na wewe. Asante tena wewe. Sisi lazima kwenda.” He turns a patient look to his two companions.
“Good to meet you. Thank you again. We should be going.”
The elf releasing Mot’s hand reluctantly nods in agreement, but the fabricmaker acts as if he did not hear his companion.
“One of the old folk!
Ere the land knew of crowns,
giants feared the one stroke
following the Urlghain frown.
Goat herders and humpers,
born to fight and roam,
each of them chest-thumpers
to call the highlands home!”
The poet ecstatically throws his arms up into the air and the first elf chuckles again. The unhiding elf maintains a neutral expression, apparently accustomed to these antics. The rhyming elf turns a curious look to Nme’an when he introduces himself. “A knight, then? Like the ones a moon ago?”
"Unaweza kuona Knights wenzangu? Uhai wao kukosa ni kwa nini tuko hapa. Je, unaweza kutuambia?" Nme'an asks.
The three elves exchange glances before the one that first speaker answers, “Some of our brothers and sisters saw them closer to the mountains, fighting the small lizardfolk, who tried to overwhelm them in numbers. One of the knights was knocked from his horse, and kobolds leapt upon him before he could defend himself.” The elf pauses to shake his head grimly before continuing, “The battle ended when the knights outnumbered the dragonkin and they fled back to their holes in the mountains. The knights buried their brother in arms, and one of them with a blue feather on his …kofia ya chuma, spoke words over the grave. Then they mounted and continued to ride north between the Peak of Armaag and the Komat range, where we dared not follow.”
The elf is quiet for a moment, his dark eyes boring straight into Nme’an’s.
“You must not go after them. There is great evil in those mountains, and madness beyond them,” he warns, with an unsettling sincerity. The other two elves appear quietly uncomfortable.
“...metal hat…”
It is widely known that Prince Titus wears a royal blue feather on his helmet.