"A lot could have happened in the time we were gone. How do you want to proceed if it turns out they aren't friendly to us at all?" Darvesch asks Alis. "Also, these are my nicer clothes." He gestures to his armour.
"That's true, a lot could have, although it is still a journey of at least two months by ship from Aramol proper. If negotiations turn aggressive, Ieana will cover our retreat with her spells. Should worst come to worst, contact Lureene's group and have them detour to the Tidestone. If that is activated, any ships in the vicinity will plunge straight to the seabed."
She looks at Darvesch's armor and smiles a bit as she applies a quick polish with a prestidigitation. "There, how's that?"
Glancing to her significantly taller bodyguard, she says, "Cheer up, Sergeant, if they are friendly, you finally get a reassignment along with that promotion you've earned!"
"Reassignment?" Mal gives Alis a dubious look. "I'm less worried about being on your bad side than Larathiel's. She doesn't hit like a girl."
The princess laughs recollecting the game of 'tag' that she and Mal had on the rooftops of Caen Carrinac the night he had delivered her orders to assume governorship of Dafar. "You still remember that?"
Alis rolls her eyes and waves a hand dismissively. "Don't worry about any of that, Mal. Darvesch is quite capable of baby-sitting me. Now then, let's meet back here in a few minutes once we are ready."
As she returns to her room, Alis thinks to herself, I hope some of my dresses still fit me...
"Besides," she says more seriously, "I need a ranger I trust on Reaver's Shiv to keep Priyya, Aycenia, and the reinforcements I'm sending safe. I believe our intrepid priestess intends to sanctify Red Mountain to Alíta."
Tyralor, Prince of the kingdom of Del-Synar, safely enfolded within the warm sheets of his bed is roused by his captain's words. Still somewhat in a dream, he runs a hand through his sleep tousled tresses and murmurs sleepily his voice a deep rumble, "Hmmm. A lighthouse, eh, Namrath? I shall be on deck forthwith."
Rising from his bed with a yawn, he quickly dons his attire, grabs his spyglass and finds the captain on deck. Bringing the spyglass to his eye he finds the lighthouse as the soft south wind whisks through his unbound hair causing it to dance like tongues of flame.
A smile plays upon his lips as he takes in the shimmering light of the lighthouse upon the waters. Tyralor muses inwardly "So...We've finally reached our destination after months of nerve-wracking tedium and fruitless encounters with savages. Should this discovery prove to be one that yields diplomatic fruit, none shall be the wiser to my Mother's actual purpose behind sending the crown prince upon such an endeavor."
Turning to his dear friend with his amber eyes dancing, a barely concealed grin upon his lips, he utters, "Namrath, have the First Lieutenant assemble a capable away party. In the meantime, have the boatswain signal the lighthouse using the usual diplomatic protocols, hailing at three minute intervals until we have word from the lighthouse. If no answer is given after the prescribed waiting time, we can assume that the occupants may be hostile. I would wish the flag of truce be set aloft and guns at ready. Warning shots may be fired at your discretion if the situation warrants as such."
Leaning forward he grips deck rail tightly as his heart races in anticipation, his mind filled with visions of possible outcomes. Still speaking to Namrath, the statuesque prince chuckles, "Hope ever springs eternal in this idealistic heart of mine that something good shall come of my Mother's errand. Mayhap, this may yet turn out to be an auspicious day: One filled with intelligent conversation, real negotiations and general goodwill unlike our prior interactions with less-than-agreeable, spear-wielding barbarians who have no cognizance of diplomacy." He pauses thoughtfully, then chuckles,"No doubt our crew tires of the ship's less than remarkable food stores and should like a respite from this voyage. I know I would! Ahhh...for a sip of a flavorful foreign wine."
The prince glances over at Nimniel with a mischievous grin and an arched brow,"I'll wager that our dutiful and capable Lt. might even break out into song in honor of this discovery should the proper amount of libation be added. Would you not agree, Namrath?"
"My... Lord?" Lieutenant Nimniel looks from the handsome prince to her captain and back again, cheeks blushing slightly as her brow furrows with concern. Fighting sea monsters, piloting a ship with a crew of 300 men, and reading navigational charts... all these she took in stride. Dancing and singing though? Now that made her palms sweat.
Suddenly conscious of her wind-blown hair, even though she normally didn't concern herself over looking anything other than a presentably dressed officer, the first mate tries to smooth it out and fight back the butterflies in her stomach. Clearing her throat and responding more firmly, she says, "My Lord, I have little doubt my singing would set the crew to fighting over beeswax..."
"Prince Amthyrian. Sir." Bowing quickly to the inscrutable prince and saluting her captain, the first mate hurries off to put together a team to man the launch and escort a team of both diplomats and guards ashore.
Tyralor's golden eyes fall upon her fair, flushed cheek and dance like twin flames and his smile widens to a grin. He directs his comments to the Captain, "Namrath, I do believe our fearless warrior maiden, who never flags when faced with an army of foes and countless dangers, quails at the mere thought of social interaction!"
His eyes lock with hers, his gaze warm, kind and respectfully amused, "Nimniel, if that be the case, then your crooning may serve a tactical advantage in our next engagement!"
At this the rich, almost musical tones of his laugh echo across the deck.
Still laughing, he adds in a mock commanding tone, "Namrath! Tell the cook to have the ale at ready before we meet the inhabitants of this isle. One never knows when we will be in need of Nim's unique, er- talent to cause a distraction should things get a little hairy."
"HA!" Namrath slaps the ship's rail even as his first mate seems to wither beneath the attention like a flower in the noon-day sun. "Always good to have a secret weapon."
The older officer eyes the tall lighthouse noting the atmospheric perspective and and scale of the structure.
"Gods, Tyralor," he murmurs, "is it just me or is that 'lighthouse' big enough to house a compliment of giants? You don't suppose the Malatestans somehow established a presence here, do you?"
"Well," he nods toward Nimniel who is hurriedly putting together an away team, "at least there's your secret weapon..."
Within a few minutes, Nimniel returns with a good half-dozen men. "Prince Amthyrian. Captain Namrath. I have assembled a retinue. Response from the lighthouse indicates a beach in an inlet off the south-west corner of the isle. A party shall greet us there. We can depart whenever you wish, My Lord."
In a mildly sardonic tone, blue-grey eyes glinting like steel, she asks, "Orders on preparing your 'secret weapon'... My Lord?"
When a couple of the men behind her chuckle, the slightest turn of their superior's head sets them straight at attention. Evidently the respect her temper if not her prowess as a vocalist.
The prince regards the lighthouse thoughtfully narrowing his eyes, "It is entirely possible and all the more reason why we must be as cordial as we can be with our relations should their greeting be a tad cooler than we hope. In light of this, it is perhaps advisable that I should make my presence quite known and accompany Nim for this first meeting. I think my appearance at the outset would allay any thoughts they may have of attempting to attack us. Agreed?" He looks to Namrath for his response to this declaration.
At hearing the sarcasm in Nimniel's voice, he turns to regard her with a teasing glint in his eye, "Indeed, Nimniel! Just carry a good flask-sized full of the strongest ale we have at hand along, sipping at it discretely at regular intervals through out the diplomatic engagement."
His eyebrows raise with boyish enthusiasm and a smirk twitches at the corner of his mouth as he adds, "After all, we'll need to prime the pipe for this to at all be effective. I have confidence that you are clever enough to be able to discern when things may be turning sour and will finish off the contents of said flask with alacrity. Should the signs be unclear, the signal will be when I jump up wailing like a stuck peacock, crossing my eyes."
Theme: First Contact
Captain Namrath stroke his beard and nods thoughtfully at the prince's plan. "If anyone can thaw a cool reception, it would be you. Aldarien, your team is ready?"
Nimniel coughs once to keep from laughing and holds up a pewter flask emblazoned with her family's badge. "Armed and ready for... anything, Sir."
When the captain nods in approval, she orders the men to man the ropes and vaults over the rails and into the launch, extending a lily-white, yet steady hand to Prince Tyralor. "Mind your footing, My Lord."
Within a few minutes, the tiny craft is well underway towards the uncharted island, the imposing lighthouse and its mysterious inhabitants looming large overhead.
"Gods below," Alis sighs, walking down the beach with Darvesch and Mal, "do you know what a disaster this would be anywhere else, meeting a contact dressed in fencing gear instead of a proper gown? I was half tempted to shrink down to my old height using one of Laithoron's pins!"
"Nevermind my attire.." He chuckles. "I just hope they think nothing of it."
"You both look fine." Mal gives a groan of annoyance and tugs at the banded collar of his long, black coat. "So Alis, why didn't you just use the damned pin? It would be better than hearing you complain for the last two miles."
Rather than a corset, his employer was wearing a tight-fitting bodice of scarlet leather over a ruffled white blouse with lace trim. A pair of close-fitting leather breeches that laced up along the outside of the leg revealed a red, silken lining within. At her throat was tied a large scarf of yellow silk which encircled her neck and spilled out helping to conceal her ample cleavage. It was affixed in the center by a large platinum brooch with a dozen pearls encircling a sapphire.
For additional modesty, she wore her small, black bolero, now adorned with the frilled gold epaulettes from her captain's coat. Draping from her right shoulder to the opposite hip, bejeweled rapier was supported by a matching baldric. Her boots, just like the gloves girding her hands, were of the same supple red leather as her bodice, her ornate signet ring flashing in the early morning sunlight.
Lastly, upon her perfectly coiffed golden head, the princess wore the insignia of her station, a delicate mithril circlet with a single, tear-drop shaped of impressive fire and weight suspended from the center of the brow. With tiny braided plaits draping from her temples, and braids from behind her tapered ears keeping her hip-length tresses constrained, she looked just dandy as far as the 7-foot-tall ranger was concerned.
Putting on her best impassive smile and whispering thru clenched teeth, she hisses, "If you have to ask, then you wouldn't understand the answer. Now quit fussing with your collar, Mal, they shall be here soon..."
Nimniel coughs once to keep from laughing and holds up a pewter flask emblazoned with her family's badge. "Armed and ready for... anything, Sir."
When the captain nods in approval, she orders the men to man the ropes and vaults over the rails and into the launch, extending a lily-white, yet steady hand to Prince Tyralor. "Mind your footing, My Lord."
Tyralor laughs at Nim's response and after changing into attire appropriate for diplomatic negotiations, he follows her and the rest of the entourage to the ship.
At the offering of her delicate hand, he looks at his own and the size difference. Taking her hand as he boards the ship, he regards her with a most sincere expression he can muster and intones, "I am quite glad for your strong and able assistance here, Nim. Though I have grown up the prince of a seafaring people I have kept hidden for years that I am quite deathly afraid of water. T'would be most ignominious to House Amthyrian had the crown prince publicly fallen to a watery grave. Shame has been averted due to your timely intervention Lt.!"
His eyes widen as he regards her with a jocular admiration in his eyes, "Secret weapon and protector all in one! You have proven to be an invaluable companion on this journey. One wonders what other surprises you conceal behind that stormy gaze?"
At that he taps her affectionately upon her shoulder, winks and readies himself for the short journey to the island. His mind is alive, full of anticipation and the eagerness for the challenges ahead. Despite his playful outward mood, internally he is quite serious and contemplative. He muses, 'If indeed the Malatestan's have a foothold here, I may yet be able to serve a higher purpose for which I was created. Perhaps my mother foresaw this moment and it precipitated her rather unusual request to send me on this journey.'
Looking up as the ship reaches the shore he mutters, "Either way, I have a distinct feeling I will soon have my answer."
While Nimniel's hand may seem delicate at first glance, the callouses on her palms and fingers from the hilt of her blade, and the Zephrys' wheel testify to a hidden strength. Certainly after weathering the good prince's banter for the last 5,000 leagues without either breaking or being reduced to a mewling, infatuated school girl, there was more behind her mildly amused smile than just another pretty face.
Indeed the prince's amber eyes spotted the lacquered escutcheon she wore tethered by a silver fob at her hip, its surface painted with Stëora's holy symbol. It was not only the crew of the the prince's ship that she served, but the goddess who symbolized personal excellence.
Secret weapon and protector all in one! You have proven to be an invaluable companion on this journey. One wonders what other surprises you conceal behind that stormy gaze?"
Bracing herself with a guy line as she steadied the prince, she replied evenly, intent upon not letting him fluster her in front of her men, "All in a day's work, My Lord. Men, set us down and row us north past the western foundations of that lighthouse."
For the whole of the brief journey, the lieutenant remains silent, leaving her prince to his peace. When at last they reach the beach, four rowers leap out of the skiff to push it up past the lapping of the surf. Nimniel along with two other guards remain alert, eyes scanning the beach for signs of ambush. Instead they find only an eclectic trio. In a quiet voice, Nimniel offers, "Well, if they are giants then at least they are small ones."
The black-haired lieutenant assays the trio but stares intensely at the incredibly tall, powerfully-built man standing in the long, black coat, hands hidden within its voluminous sleeves. She deftly hops out onto the sand and offers Prince Tyralor her hand should he need it.
While her back is turned to their welcoming party, she comments, "A dwarf, a leather-clad swordswoman, and I daresay, I think the one on the right might be even taller than you, My Lord. He has all the bearing of an irritated lion. Be cautious, he may not need weapons..."
Tyralor smiles kindly at his able and stalwart Lt. his eyes full of the deepest respect. Her matter-of-fact response which was just what he was aiming for. Their sparring game had been one of his only sources of amusement on this long journey and her faint smiles his sought after reward. During their time together on this voyage, he had noted her efficiency, diligence and devotion and held her in the highest regard. And while his affection for her was merely platonic, these traits she exhibited proved she would make for a good wife given her noble status should the time and need arise.
His hand rests gently on her shoulder as he says softly, "Such a good sport you are Nim! Putting up with the daily pranks of a bored prince must be such a burden for one so capable. You do have my permission to hit me if e'er my wit is too sharp and provokes you to fits of rage. I am sure I am deserving of it by now, I will admit I have been hoping to get an impassioned response from you. It should be fun to have you challenge me."
Upon seeing the trio assembled on the shore and winking as he takes Nim's hand, he says, "Perhaps the Malatestan's have taken a draught of minimizing to lure us into a false confidence. Worry not, my dear, Brave Nimniel. All shall work out well. Should we make it through this unscathed you will have an added benefit that I may find more victims to barrage with my waggishness."
Nimniel seems to crack the slightest smirk at her prince's last comment. "Just be mindful that razor wit of your doesn't draw first blood, My Lord."
After a moment, she looks up and says simply, "That is my duty, after all."
With that, she gives quick and efficient hand signs to the men indicating the four rowers should guard the launch while the other two guards follow at a non-threatening distance. Prince by her side, her cool gaze sizes up the trio before her, the adornments of the shapely... elf? maiden clearly marking her as the leader.
With graceful poise, she gives a shallow bow, eyes never leaving the three before them. Left hand never straying far from the hilt of her longsword, she extends her right to the prince and decides to greet them in what she expects is the blonde woman's native elvish tongue.
"Greetings and salutations, My Lady. It is great hospitality you show in receiving us on this far shore so early in the morning. Please allow his humble servant to introduce My Lord Tyralor Amthyrian, Prince of the Kingdom of Del-Synar, Heir to the Duchy of House Amthyrian, Master of the good ship Zephrys. We some in peace seeking knowledge and friendship."
With that, the tall woman bows out of the way in deference to her lord.
The sound of Nimniel's polite, melodious elvish is like a drink of cool water to Alis.
How long it seems we have been speaking Estorian or Malatestan!
It is only after the modest yet attractive woman has finished speaking and an awkward silence has set in that she clears her throat and glances at the silent bodyguard looming beside her.
Oh hell...
Trying not to look like he's gritting his teeth yet failing miserably, the gigantic, predatory-looking elven man with shoulders as wide as the haft of a great axe's handle is long steps forward. Although he looks like he should be clumsy and slow, his movements are as smooth as hunting cat's, his deeply tanned skin revealing rock-hard, ropey musculature. Green eyes burn with a primal pride as he extends a hand towards the the neatly-dressed blonde.
"Greetings to you, Prince Tyralor. This is Alissariel Kirmoon, Princess of Silverwake, and soon-to-be Governor of Dafar. We welcome you to Reaver's Shiv, such as it is."
It's also clear from his ineloquence that he is no herald.
Sense Motive Checks:
Before Alis stands a tall man dressed in robes of the deepest crimson silk overlaid with silver leaf and vine patterns. Upon his hair he wears a circlet, his brazen hair pulled away at his temples with the remainder cascading over his broad shoulders. His thigh high boots and gloves are made of tooled black leather with his family crest (A gnarled Tree under Brightpool's glow whose roots form into the suggestion of a firebird) emblazoned upon them in silver threading. His waist is cinched with a wide and expertly tooled belt inlaid with silver and gold accents. An elaborately tooled baldric with a gnarled tree motif crosses his chest and at his side he wears a bastard sword which glows faintly from the scabbard as if alight with an internal flame.
At Nimniel's introduction he walks forward and he carries himself with a princely air, his gaze trained upon those assembled to greet him. As his eyes seek out the elf maiden before him, he seems to slightly intake his breath and turn pale in the morning light. After the giant announces her name and title a tight smile appears on his lips. He moves forward and bows at the waist in respect but he remains silent.
Upon meeting her eyes a sudden and excruciating, searing surge of molten fire courses through his veins causing his intake of breath and lacing his body with intense pain.
In spite of herself, Alis regards the tall, handsome prince with an admiration that escapes only her tall bodyguard. She only just notices as Mal finishes and glances back towards her, giving him a faint smile and a subtle nod indicating that he is done.
By Heaven's name, he is a prince! Oh no, is he injured?
In a light voice, clear as a silver bell, the princess curtsies and responds, "A star shall shine on the hour of our meeting, Milord Tyralor. These shores are an unlikely court are they not? What brings the Zephrys and her brave crew thru the perils at Light's End and into the Gulf of Dafar? Are you in need of aid?"
Sense Motive Checks:
At mention of Light's End and the Gulf of Dafar, Nimniel straightens and casts a glare back at her men who have begun murmuring. She however remains quiet, noting her prince's silence along with the princess' admiring gaze.
His tight faced smile fades into a look of shock, and with eyes widened, he utters, All this time of wandering at sea to find myself in already charted territory? Milady Alis, we set sail to seek after Wildethar! What a happy chance of meeting you here. We are not in need of aid but had been blown very far off course by a fierce hurricane. Seems all our attempts at navigation have been quite useless."
His smile widens though it does not reach his eyes as he says softly, "Perhaps other forces were at work Milady that we should meet one another in such a place. Circumstances have granted me an unexpected gift: being greeted by a lady of station whose beauty is a balm to the flagging spirit of a prince who has been too long at sea. What aid I shall require may be the honor of your company and the pleasure of conversing with you at length about the affairs of the world that have transpired in my absence." His pallor does not seem to abate and at the very end of this utterance he slowly intakes his breath.
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"Gods in Heaven!" Alis cannot help but show her astonishment at Prince Tyralor's revelation.
Alexis' convoy must have sailed north of... Wait, one can cross The Boundless and sail to Ur-Nár? How long have they been at sea?!
Glancing briefly at her cousin, Alis purses her lips and rests a hand upon his shoulder. "Milord, I would dearly love to hear your tale and share our own. As my Frændi– indeed as all my companions can attest, this island is at the very crossroads of Fate and Luck."
Extending a slender, gloved hand to the mithril-clad dwarf, she says, "This my Frændi, Darvesch, my honor-cousin in the tongue of Ortalok. The man who introduced me is my man-at-arms, Lieutenant Malandraenas."
Relaxing somewhat, she smiles compassionately and says, "I have no doubt you and your retainers could use refreshment. We haven't much here, we were shipwrecked not long after the last new moon actually, but some choice vintages from my collection survived and we have all the bounty of a jungle's fruit and game at our disposal."
She motions back up the beach towards a dirt path leading up towards the promontory to the south. "Shall we retire to the lighthouse to break our fast together? The island should be relatively safe at this point; we have slain every last giant, ghoul, demon, god, or devil that has crossed us, but there are still wild beasts in the jungle and sea scorpions prowl the surf. If you would prefer to reconnoiter aboard your ship, I would not be opposed to seeing first hand a vessel that defied The Boundless and lived!"
Darvesch bows his head, "Pleased to meet you, Prince." He takes a deep breath and exhales with a smile,
The swashbucklerian princess gives a short laugh and smiles back at her cousin. "I never specified if that was good luck or bad, you know..."
Turning her gaze back to Prince Tyralor, she smile wryly. "I would like to imagine, however, that Lady Luck favors the bold... or at least the hopelessly persistent. Now then, wither shall we wander, Milord? And please, you may call me Alis if it suits you."
[ REAVER'S SHIV: Map | Position (Extent of Exploration) | Overland Rules ]
Glancing briefly at her cousin, Alis purses her lips and rests a hand upon his shoulder. "Milord, I would dearly love to hear your tale and share our own. As my Frændi– indeed as all my companions can attest, this island is at the very crossroads of Fate and Luck."
She motions back up the beach towards a dirt path leading up towards the promontory to the south. "Shall we retire to the lighthouse to break our fast together? The island should be relatively safe at this point; we have slain every last giant, ghoul, demon, god, or devil that has crossed us, but there are still wild beasts in the jungle and sea scorpions prowl the surf. If you would prefer to reconnoiter aboard your ship, I would not be opposed to seeing first hand a vessel that defied The Boundless and lived!"
At the mention of such dangers, Tyralor lets out a merry guffaw, "Demons, Devils, Demigods! What is the world coming to if a princess can not go out on a sailing holiday without being harassed by such minor irritants!" His eyes briefly lose the look of pain and dance with admiration and amusement for the diminutive yet fetching swashbuckler.
"Reconnoiter upon my worthy vessel? Oh indeed Milady, I think my men would enjoy a respite from the endless rolling of the sea and should like to enjoy the pleasures afforded from the immovable solidity of the island. But only if this is well with you. If this be your pleasure, a tour of The Zephrys will begin soon enough as we make ready to leave and deliver you to your desired destination."
With a smile and slight arch to his coppery brow he utters in silken tone, "I look forward to returning to my vessel's confinement when afforded such a captivating and bewitching inducement: Spending time learning more of you."
Tyralor turns his amber gaze from her to the stalwart form of Darvesch. Bowing slightly at the waist as he regards the dwarf with respect and a bright though strained smile, though his tone is jovial, "Well met Darvesch, Honor Cousin to such a brave and unusually skilled princess! I will say that it is an honor indeed to be presented to you and your companions. With foes such as the ones you mentioned I look forward to hearing the tales of your deeds of reknown! If it were not Fate and Luck that saw you through such trying times, mayhaps we need informing as to what did? Your twin war axes perhaps?"
Conspiratorially, leaning forward, speaking in a stage whisper, "Seeing that you are capable and worthy warrior, no doubt, you would prefer draining the contents of a cask of Ale to forcibly enduring the endless prattlings and formalities diplomacy entails. To that end, I will bring forth from my ship's hold my very favorite Del-Synaran brew to share allotting for you a double portion of whatever the rest can hold!"
Regarding the man at arms with a smile, he adds, "You are included in the distribution of libations as well worthy Lieutenant Malandraenas!"
He turns to Nimniel with wink and a grin, "There may be singing and dancing yet my brave Nim! Send word to Namrath of our results here and make sure to have them break out the finest ale from my own collection."
"You forgot giants and ghouls. And they were no minor irritants, I assure you." He continues, in reply to his axes, "With all due respect, you may want to check again. I have but one axe, though it is not my own. Also, a man of my station wishes not to relive certain things. Let's drink." Darvesch smiles
"Reconnoiter upon my worthy vessel? Oh indeed Milady, I think my men would enjoy a respite from the endless rolling of the sea and should like to enjoy the pleasures afforded from the immovable solidity of the island. But only if this is well with you. If this be your pleasure, a tour of The Zephrys will begin soon enough as we make ready to leave and deliver you to your desired destination."
With a smile and slight arch to his coppery brow he utters in silken tone, "I look forward to returning to my vessel's confinement when afforded such a captivating and bewitching inducement: Spending time learning more of you."
Alis gives Tyralor a subtle smile, blue-violet eyes twinkling in the morning light as they unflinchingly meet his. The fact that his pain seemed to ease with his charming overtures was not lost upon her, although she could not yet say if it was simple relief or something else...
"Truly the crew of the Zephrys has longer deserved to stretch their legs than have we to leave these shores. After all the 'minor' inconveniences we faced to make the place safe, it would be a pity not to enjoy its simple luxuries. By all means, let us tarry a while and regale one another of our exploits, we have time."
As the prince drew near, he could make out the delicate scent of lavender, and also tell that while the princess' make-up was perfectly applied, she was wearing precious little of it upon her fair, flawless visage.
Once the attractive yet unadorned woman he called, Nim, had set about attending to his orders, and the prince had finished giving Mal and Darvesch a good ribbing, she said, "Let us walk together, my prince, there is much to talk about..."
As the two begin walking, side-by-side, the Princess of Silverwake puts a slender finger to her full lips and muses, "Now, where to begin..."
.
.
.
.
-
- I'm not certain if you know of House Talthaur, but my elder step-sister, Larathiel (the crown-princess of Ilmarond), informed me of some rather nasty business involving one Eidolee the scion of a noble house whom they abducted and brainwashed for dark purposes.
- The reason I mention that is, given the opportunistic encounters we had already met at their hands, and that they knew both our ports of arrival and departure, I deemed a measure of misdirection was necessary. Therefore, calling upon the services of my personal 'tailor', I arranged disguises for my friends and retainers, substituting a number of my agents and allies in our place aboard my escort convoy.
- For the most part, our voyage aboard the White Pearl was uneventful. Ironically, we had no idea that Darvesch and his cousin Grimnon had already heard of my assignment as governor and set out on their own to aid me in Dafar. As Luck or Fate would have it, while we were delayed passing thru Elsmyr Dale and Valehaven, their ship had already been wrecked upon the northernmost shores of this island.
- Fighting prowess not withstanding, it was not long before they were overwhelmed and captured by a clan of cannibalistic giants — degenerate Malatestans who were wrecked here some 70 years prior in the midst of a terrible naval engagement where they tried and failed to wrest Dafar from Ilmarond's military protection. Sadly, the giants learned only too late that dwarves are unpalatable as people are wont to joke. So it was that Grimnon met his fate while Darvesch was spared — intended as a sacrifice for the devil I alluded to.
- While Darvesch bided his time in captivity, the rest of us made our way here on the Pearl which proved to be a much swifter vessel than I had bargained for. We out-paced my convoy to Light's End by a wide margin.
- Now a few of the individuals you shall soon meet were fellow passengers or members of the White Pearl's crew...
– Ieana d'Adora, a professor of archaeology at the principal Academy of Starsha in Malatesta proper.
– Aerys Mavato, the ship's lookout and, judging by her looks, possibly a blood relation to your fair Nim. Her lover, Alton Devers, the first mate, is the only reason we are speaking. He gave his life to rescue all of us from the wreck whilst we were unconscious from the calamity of the crash.
– Jask Derinidi, an old priest, now reincarnated as a young priest, who had been wrongfully imprisoned for crimes against my government that I believe he did not commit. Something I plan to investigate further as it may have something to do with the unholy mess I have to clean up.
– Gelik Aberwhinge, a field researcher and collector of oddities for the Academy, with a fine eye for the feminine form.
– Sasha Nevah, a... most unusual girl. As it turns out, she is the great grand-daughter of Chivane, the same assassin who tried to kill my companions and kidnap me. Oddly enough, she bore us no ill will and has no desire to pursue the 'family business' — she quite simply loathes taking orders and would rather hunt big game for sport. She's not the sharpest knife in the cupboard, but she and my personal retainer, Lureene, have become quite close.
- The rest were already members of our merry band. You have already met my cousin, Darvesch, and my bodyguard, Malandreanas.
– Darvesch serves the Church of Kahn, whom you and I know as Tuonwe.
– Malandraenas, in addition to his natural charm and impeccable etiquette, is a distinguished member of Ilmarond's marine corps. He was formerly station in the Dæmonshade where he used to enjoy long walks on the scorched earth, hellish sunsets, and refreshing pools of boiling slime.
– Priyya, a brave and loyal warrior-priestess of Alíta whose goddess set her to walk the same path as mine for these last three months.
– Lady Lureene Ourson, as I mentioned, she is my retainer. I have little doubt you will find her quite fetching. Her appearance is as captivating as it is unique. She also happens to be a wizardess of no small talent and is possessed of a heart of gold.
"While I am certain you are eager to hear about our delightful romps thru this tropical paradise our intrepid priestess has come to love, there was excitement a-plenty whilst shopping on Light's End!"
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- It seems that the island-city was in the midst of a turf war between the Order of the Wasp, the Ruby Coil's enforcers, and a cult of Raukán Zaal calling themselves the Sacral Umbra.
- As it so happens, the assassins in Sasha's family bear a distinctive tattoo on their back that identifies them as such. The members of this cult ended up engaging us not because of me (you'll recall we were disguised), but rather because they mistook Sasha for her cousin Sorsha whom they had been fighting for some time.
- In a twist of irony, Sorsha ended up coming to our aid and we defeated the cultists before continuing on our merry way. She even gave us one of their tokens and instruction on how to summon a member of their order should the need arise. Suffice it to say, I keep that well hidden within a leaded coffer!
- Even after departing Light's End trouble continued to follow us. As we braved the narrow channel between the Silver Sea and the Gulf of Dafar, the convoy we were part of came under attack by titans from legend: a Scyllan and her twain the Charybdis! We only narrowly escaped thanks in part to the skill of the White Pearl's crew, and Ieana's spellcraft.
- Indeed a great deal of my surprise at seeing a ship flying the gold and green of Aramol this morning is due to the fact that my sources have informed me that the threat was only recently cleared by the forces of King Tarquin of Mestara. My own convoy is yet a week or more behind you.
Even as Tyralor and Alis gaze out over Reaver's Shiv and the Zephrys from atop the commanding lighthouse, Alis continues her tale, "So what saw us wrecked upon these shores, so close to our destination, you ask? The seed of malevolence, dormant for aeons, now planted deep."
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- Not all relics from bygone ages are devoid of power. Ieana had come into possession of an artifact known as the Soul Crown. It was inhabited by the spirit of a long-dead priestess calling herself Yarzoth. This Yarzoth and her dead god, a titan from Elsemar's ancient past known to the Malatestans now as Typhon, but in her time as Qingu, lord of the Scaly Ones.
- Yarzoth, by way of Ieana's body, had traveled to this island hoping to uncover the location of the mythical or rather legendary city of Tantyra-Në. Evidently, it was a place that once and my yet still exist. Her purpose in seeking it was nothing less than to resurrect her slain god.
- However, in a twist of irony, it was not Qingu who sent Yarzoth omens and beckoned her here. Instead it was the very being who had slain Qingu, the one-time champion of Súmalya and traitor to the Lillends, the fallen arch-lillend Charelle!
- You see, buried beneath this island were two ancient temples and their divine protectors. Beneath this lighthouse were caverns leading to a cathedral to Typhon where Mal, Darvesch, Lureene, and Priyya narrowly defeated an avatar of the titan and the clan of giant ghouls who worshiped him. Ghouls who were the undead ancestors of the cannibals I might add. Apparently they viewed the place and the state of undeath as their afterlife.
- The other temple was also once dedicated to Qingu-Typhon, yet it had been repurposed to the worship of Charelle by her cult many thousands of years ago. It seems that it was a refuge against some great calamity wherein the traitor had sealed a proxy bearing a portion of her power. Did I mention this proxy, Shëakatri and her attendants were all shapely vampiresses?
- It was a dire battle we had there beneath the earth. After freeing Ieana from the influence of the Soul Crown, I myself became possessed by it and likely would have killed everyone present had it not been for the fact that Charelle was the being granting Yarzoth her powers and not Qingu.
- However Charelle and her proxy had different plans. Although she had not anticipated that I would waltz straight into her inner sanctum, I have been told that she seemed quite glad to see me, though she would have prefered 'one of the elder sisters', presumably Larathiel or my twin sister, Alexis.
- Thankfully with Ieana's help we destroyed the center of Charelle's power and brought the temple crashing down.
Alis notes with some amusement how the mention of a twin sister peaks his interest. "Yes, 'Sis and I are identical, or at least mirror twins anyway. She is the academician, I am the poet..."
She holds her chin up intentionally feigning an overly dignified air as she begins matter-of-factly, "Yes, Alechsularis is the good twin," she takes another sip of wine and smirks ever-so-slightly, "at least according to our old nursemaid... and our instructors at the Academy... any my bodyguard, and Priyya!" She finally breaks her act and laughs at the thought seemingly reminiscing on all manner of mischief.
"Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, our other exploits here!"
- Obviously you already noted on walk here the hulking remains of the gigantic lizard that nearly smashed me to paste. Yeees, I most certainly did kill it myself! ... Even if it was thanks to Lureene's wand.
- Oh and its handler was the last of the giant cannibals we encountered in our genocidal tour of the island. Their chieftain and their shamaness were both slain in an epic battle the night prior — a battle that was much closer than I would have cared for.
- Had it not been for the fact that Darvesch had been captured and held in that very yard below, we would have been outmatched. Their witch turned Mal into an eel (of all things) at the very outset even while distracted the rest of the tribe with a little song and dance number that I put together... My dance? Oh it was quite droll really, I'm sure you wouldn't care to hear about it. Oh look, an albatross!
- Let's see, what else... There was the 'evil' tree spirit, Aycenia whom we befriend. Evil that is towards the rapacious giants. In truth she was kind and lonely dryad who aided us in exchange for securing our assistance in ending a fungal blight that had been introduced to the island by an unfortunate explorer who happened across the spore pod what was no doubt the seed of some infernal rot-demon or some such.
- Did I mention there was a clan of vegepygmies serving it?
- Incidentally, defeating that fungal god was what led to Jask getting reincarnated by Aycenia following his brave death saving Darvesch in that dark spire. It seems the dryad took a fancy to the old priest and he remains with her even now by his own will. She was quite creative in her reward as well, offering us the most unique fruit in thanks. *ahem* But sadly I doubt she can produce more of it, at least not for some time, so enough about that.
- Oh, there was also a powerful devil that had harried up across the island. We slew it near the... entrance to Charelle's temple. Darvesch actually split it in two with his axe when I launched him thru the air!
- Downstairs, we found a huge statue of Daedelhach that the giants' ancestors must have intended for the pantheon in Port Eldarion had their attempt at conquest been victorious.
Time: 1:00md (afternoon, 1:00pm)
The princess takes a deep breath and sighs, the ample curve of her bosom not hardly hidden by either her blouse or the golden scarf she wore about her graceful neck. It had taken her well nigh unto five hours to recount all that had befallen or fallen to her intrepid companions. Truly even the loquacious Prince of Del-Synar might have found a worthy rival in the Princess of Silverwake.
Even as Alissariel seemed content to enjoy the sound of the wind bearing up the sounds of revelry from the courtyard below, she suddenly snapped her fingers. "Oh yes, and we also befriended a mad tengu named Pezock who enlightened me to the presence of slavers operating out of the protectorate I am meant to steward. Alas, I fear these idle days of simple pleasures here on Reaver's Shiv have ill-prepared me for what lies ahea–"
The sudden sound of commotion and the cheers of men who had gone too long without seeing any women save their stalwart first mate cut her off. As the tall, prince crosses the broad parapets to peer down at whatever the ruckus might be, Alis finishes the last of her wine and notes aloud, "Ah, it sounds like Lureene's group must have returned."
She winks at Tyralor and says, "I believe more introductions will be in order! Let's make our way down and pay them a visit, shall we?"
With that, she holds her left hand a loft curious to see if she is offered an arm or hand to rest it upon. The prince notes Alis' gaze subtly sweeps past Nimniel and Malandraenas perchance to note the silent retainers' reactions as much as his own.
Sense Motive Checks:
Lureene can barely restrain her excitement. For the last several hours she had been pushing the group onwards to the lighthouse, only taking short breaks, despite Gelik's pleading to rest just a little bit longer...
I don't think so, Gel. We can rest when we are underway...
Now their goal is nearly in sight, and she sees all of the sailors who she figured must have disembarked from the ship earlier. Idly she wondered just what sort of ship found them. Well, she would find out soon enough.
I don't care what kind of ship it is...as long as it floats.
As she heads off to find the Princess, she motions for Sasha to accompany her closely not wanting to be pestered by the sailors. She notes the sailors seem to be well disciplined, but she soon discovers Sasha has taken an interest in several of the sailors herself!
Groaning inwardly, she finally sees Alis and she happily waves to her. She notes Alis is accompanied by Mal and Darvesch I still need to talk with him about Sash too, mustn't forget... and Mal, along with...she stops suddenly struck by what she sees. She stares transfixed at the handsome noble individual who is accompanying Alis. Lureene realizes she had been holding her breath only belatedly when Sasha (who is still trailing her) lightly nudges her on her wing, whispering "Ummm, Ellie...wake up". She rapidly breaths in a gulp of fresh air, and wills the flush building on her face to go away, with mixed results. Seeing him she now realizes he is a member of the noble class and offers him a deep curtsey.
By all the gods...he is absolutely beautiful!!
As for Prince Tyralor, he see a vision of beauty, both similar to and yet quite different than the stunning Alis. Long wavy blonde hair with several streaks of brown and grey in it pinned up, pale creamy skin, dark blue-black eyes with long sooty black eyelashes framing her finely honed cheekbones and full pouty lips. Her clothing is simple and yet functional, with a light blue silk blouse, and a dark pair of leather pants, along with leather boots. Lightly shaded golden smooth leathery bat wings complete the ensemble.
"Forgive me my Lord for being so forward. I am Lureene Ourson...Lady Lureene Ourson and it is an honor to meet you!" She holds her right hand out and waits for him to acknowledge her.
Sasha is smiling like a little girl in a candy store when she notices that her bosom buddy is distracted. "Ummm, Ellie... wake up!"
It is only when she sees what has fixated the winged-beauty that her green eyes go wide. "Buuuh whooo uuuh..." It is only after a moment, when she tears her eyes away from the towering prince's cut jaw, broad shoulders, and billowing tresses that she notices Alis is by his side.
Even as Lureene boldly marches up to introduce herself, the tall, attractive huntress follows behind. From where he is, Tyralor sees the tall, slender, and athletic woman with tousled red hair and mischievous green eyes lean forward to whisper something in her friend's ear. She is attired as a hunter in close-fitting leather armor that she keeps unbuttoned at the bust revealing more cleavage than would be proper in polite company, yet not entirely unexpected in the 90-some degree heat and crushing humidity. Judging by her accent, she appears to be Malatestan in spite of her fiery tresses and fair (albeit now tanned) complexion.
"Uh oh, better look out, Ellie, looks like you've got competition!"
Still quietly observing the flirtatious dealings between the two royals along with the towering hunter Malandraenas' ill-concealed boredom, even the calm and collected first mate of the Zephrys cannot help but belie some surprise at Lady Ourson's appearance. Not entirely certain which temptress she should keep in her sights, she steps forward and introduces her prince.
"Well met, Lady Ourson, and I presume Ms. Nevah. Please allow his humble servant to introduce My Lord Tyralor Amthyrian, Prince of the Kingdom of Del-Synar, Heir to the Duchy of House Amthyrian, Master of the good ship Zephrys. Princess Alissariel has spoken highly of you both."
With that, she gives a bow and steps back, murmuring something to her liege as she does, completely straight-faced.
Distracted as he is by the bevy of beauties encircling him, Tyralor note the hint of humor in Nimniel's voice, but the fact that the princess by his side understood and was equal parts amused and curious completely evades him. No one else seems to be any the wiser to what the black-haired retainer said.
Bluff Checks
Sense Motive Checks:
Darvesch enjoys some drinks. He makes sure he's only drinking moderately, in case a demon decides to show it's face.
After listening with interest to Alis' tales of their exploits and interjecting with questions at intervals, Tyralor comments with some wonder in his voice, "My own adventures pale in comparison to yours at present seeing as how I have spent much of the time confined on board the worthy Zephrys. The voyage was initiated at the urgent behest of my mother, Queen Karayan Del-Synar. She has since youth been blessed with an oracular gift and though she mentioned that this voyage was one of significance she did not tell me what she had foreseen. Finding myself standing here with you I can only imagine it must have pertained to you and your family. Had she told me that the pleasure of meeting such a ravishing beauty awaited me after the end of a very long and seemingly fruitless venture my objections to proceed would have be quite brief indeed."
He looks deeply into her eyes and though his outward expression is quite warm and almost seductive, Alis' discerning gaze notes something like an obscuring mist preventing her from reading anything further. The prince holds her gaze for a time before raising one eyebrow in playful amusement at the offer of her hand.
In response, Tyralor graciously offers his own and with a sly grin adds,"Well, it seems I am compelled to follow after you, Milady! One does not simply risk the ire of such an accomplished warrior maiden and expect to come away unharmed! But a word from your rosy lips and I would find myself skewered upon Darvesch's javelin!" At this last utterance his eyes widen in mock fear but his expression is warm, inviting the young beauty to continue the game.
Upon seeing the bevy of striking ladies approaching their faces alight with the characteristic blush of admiration, he looks to Nim his eyes-crossed, "To the Gauntlet I believe!" Moving closer, he whispers softly in her ear, "Caution and preparedness are the key to my survival, my dear Nim! Fail me not!"
Calling out to Davrvesch with a feigned overwrought tone to his voice he adds, "Save a little of that ale for me will you, friend?"
As for Prince Tyralor, he see a vision of beauty, both similar to and yet quite different than the stunning Alis. Long wavy blonde hair with several streaks of brown and grey in it pinned up, pale creamy skin, dark blue-black eyes with long sooty black eyelashes framing her finely honed cheekbones and full pouty lips. Her clothing is simple and yet functional, with a light blue silk blouse, and a dark pair of leather pants, along with leather boots. Lightly shaded golden smooth leathery bat wings complete the ensemble.
"Forgive me my Lord for being so forward. I am Lureene Ourson...Lady Lureene Ourson and it is an honor to meet you!" She holds her right hand out and waits for him to acknowledge her.
Tyralor bows slightly to her a gentle smile upon his face, "Well met, Lady Lureene. Indeed, never has such beauty greeted me at every turn!"
Surprisingly, the prince makes no obvious start at the bat wings that peer out from the back of the beautiful vision that stands before him and freely takes her offered hand in his, lifting her from her supplicant position. His amber eyes seem to twinkle with kindness and mirth as he adds, "Let not my title cause you to feel it necessary to remain thus before me. There is no need for one so skilled in combat to stay in a position of submission on ceremony. I have heard of your exploits from Milady Alis and I am very much impressed! However, her words could not have prepared me for your beauty! Such beauty should not remain low before another. Be at ease and speak freely! We all shall be confined together soon enough on The Zephrys and our proximity would cause you to kneel before me so often that splinters prick your delicate knees!"
Turning to regard the other striking woman that stands in his presence, he smiles in acknowledgement of her greeting and inclines his head. As the undercurrents flowing between the women are not entirely lost on him, his eyes are friendly and full of amusement. "Well met, Ms. Nevah. I have heard much of your deeds as well. I have a feeling our journey together shall be quite entertaining. To be certain, many of the crew shall fall prey to the intoxication of such comely companions! Mutinous thoughts will surely ensue with each deck hand at odds with one another seeking after the attention of his favorite!" Eyes dancing, he pauses to contemplatively stroke his smooth chin, "Hmm...reason dictates I should avoid such dangers! Scylla and Charybdis have nothing on company such as this!"
Turning to his fair Lt. he asks, "What say you, Nim? Leave these ladies stranded in favor of the crew's safety...Or...is it rather my ?" At this last, he lets our a rich laugh and turns to Alis with an arched brow and a smile. To the keen gaze of the princess there is a hint of something more contained within their amber depths.
Lureene finds it extremely difficult to keep the blush on her cheeks from returning, only an act of heroic willpower preventing further embarrassment (in her own mind anyway). When he mentions the Scylla and Charybdis, she shudders as she cannot help but recall their own narrow escape from the horrid monstrosities.
He is simply..wonderful... As Lureene picks up on the look between 'Lis and the handsome Lord, she intuitively felt the current running between the two. Hiding a small pang of disappointment she steps back from Tyralor and gives him a happy smile.
"I do appreciate that, Lo--uhh...Tyralor. I am just unpracticed when it comes to the finer arts of nobility. I promise to get better though!" She laughs.
As she turns to regard Alis, she lapses into silence. I wonder if 'Lis and Tyralor...they must be, I can feel the sparks flying between them now. I am glad for her, she deserves a Lord's love.
As she stares at Alis, an odd look comes over her face. Once the Princess turns her gaze towards her retainer, she blurts out "'Lis, did you...GROW?"
At Lureene's uncensored revelation, Alis puts forth her best effort not to blush before the towering and charismatic prince or the press of sailors and friends surrounding them. She could almost hear the sound of Miss Nim's eyebrows rising like a reef thru the surf at the remark.
Nearby, a sturdily-built, yet attractive half-elven woman who looks like she could be Lieutenant Nimniel's younger sister mutters, "Hoo boy..."
The quiet reaction standing out in the sudden awkward silence. Grimacing a bit, the woman quickly approaches and gives a clumsy curtsy to Tyralor and Alis before taking hold of Sasha's arm and saying, "Sash, you should be sharin' a drink with me and the good prince's fine lads. Surely such important folks be needin' their space anyhow, eh?"
Not brooking any protest, the athletic lady sailor with the boyish cut to her straight, black hair and sharp blue eyes pulls the red head away against her protests. It's not difficult to tell that she doesn't want her friend to risk any similar faux pas.
Sense Motive Checks:
Still maintaining perfect poise, Alis shakes her head slightly, smiling seemingly with mild amusement. She explains to Tyralor, "My dear friend is always trying to dream up creative ideas to convince me to bestow my wardrobe upon her."
Winking at Lureene, she says, "It is most likely that the promise of rescue has improved my posture. That we are no longer ducking the blows of giants and demigods certainly has!"
As silence reigns over the group, Lureene wonders what the fuss is all about.
All I meant was did she grow in height...
Then the double meaning of her words struck her and she feels herself turning red again. Only Alis' unflappable poise saved her.
"Yes, 'Lis but it is only because I envy your fashion sense soooo much! I mean I love this outfit you loaned me! As for your posture..." She smiles radiantly while stretching her wings out fully. "I would say we both have GROWN!"
Even as the revelry resumes, you can just make out a restrained voice, "Mmm... hate to see you go, but I do so love watching you leave, my dear!"
With Sasha out of the way, you suddenly realize that there was another figure standing obscured by the leggy red head. Just behind where she stood, you find a child-sized figure with the features of a distinguished and handsome middle-aged man clad in fine scholarly robes of blue silk. He has head of tight, pale blonde curls, seasoned with a hint of grey, and a neatly trimmed, dark goatee.
His gaze and the tilt of his head follow Sasha and Aerys' hips as they go, before he turns back to see himself standing in plain sight before the towering prince. Quickly collecting himself, the gnomish gentleman gives a deep bow, twirling his wrist as he extends his hand away from his brow as he has no hat to remove.
"It is an honor to stand in the midst of such people of quality. If experience hadn't taught me otherwise, a gnome might think the right of rulership among elves and men was reserved for the young and beautiful. Gelik Aberwhinge, Academician and Scholar at your service, your highness!"
After he has finished introducing himself, the sprightly gnome turns to regard Lureene and says, "Actually from where I stand, I would say that it is mostly the admiring flock of men that are showing improved posture. Now if I might be excused, I believe I may yet be called upon to defend yet another lady's honor before this day is done."
With that he gives a knowing wink and bows once more before giving Lureene an encouraging pat on the back and wandering off after the red head. "Sasha, my dear, please don't tell me you have misplaced your Baby already! Is that his keening that I hear?"
Bluff Checks
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