You find yourself on this fine evening in the commonroom of Defender's Heart, the largest inn in all of Kenabres. The place is packed and seats are becoming a rare commodity. But for the first time in months, morale among the crusaders is high, for tomorrow is Armasse!
Traditionally an opportunity for scholars and priests to come together to study the lessons of history from wars past, since Aroden’s death, this holy day has become more about training commoners in weaponry, choosing squires, and ordaining new priests. Over time, Armasse has grown to encompass jousting competitions, mock duels, battle reenactments, and other festival events. In Kenabres, the festival (which takes place on 16 Arodus) is eagerly anticipated, for it provides distractions from the horrors of being on the front line of the war. Smiles on faces normally marred by downcast eyes and furrowed brows do wonders for city morale in the weeks leading up to the event.
And this is where you find yourself, a crowded inn on the eve of the most anticipated event all year!
Having only recently arrived with a patrol from Nerosyn, Dorotea struts into the Defender's Heart with a disdainful air. Briefly surveying the common area, she move quickly to grab one of the few remaining seats before attracting the attention of a harried looking waitress.
You! Does this place stock a decent Chelaxian wine? If so bring me a glass, and leave the bottle.
Reinnwulf growled slightly as his arm was jostled once more, spilling a froth of ale over his hand. Men were not meant to be packed into such a place, like swine in a slaughter pen.
It was his first night in Kenabres, and though he had expected a large number of people, he hadn't known about the Armasse until he arrived. Gods above, the town was clearly overrun with people. Warriors, clerics, and paladins aplenty, of course. This close to the Worldwound, that was to be expected. Magic users too, and this is what had Reinnwulf's skin itching.
He had learned, over the years of his travel outside the Land of the Linnorm Kings, that not all magic users were evil. But, he still didn't trust any of them. Their arcane ways and cowardly attitudes didn't sit well with the Ulfen, and thinking back to Esgvah...
No! Do not dwell on it. She is dead, and the one responsible was sent to the deepest hells by your hand...
His musings were cut off when his arm was jostled once more. This was intolerable. He turned to growl at the person who had bumped him, when she called out for wine. Instead of barking at her, Reinnwulf instead looked more closely. She had the look of someone who could fight, and well at that. Moreover, she wore the outfit of one of the patrols.
He called to the woman, raising his voice to be heard over the crowd, even though she was a scant few feet away. "I see you wear the colors of the patrol wardens. I too seek to join the crusade. Know you what is involved? Be there a common place of recruitment? Oaths? Blood-gild for the fallen? My name is Reinnwulf, of the Silverwolf Clan of the North."
Set off to one side, as one part of the evening's many entertainments, is a Keleshite girl performing what is billed as a 'Qadiran Blade-dance.' While the movements contain a surprising amount of sensuality, the movements she makes can each be seen as precise and at least somewhat deadly, if they were done perfectly. Her clothing is slight enough to allow others to see the movements well, and she twirls about and about in eye-catching patterns as the musicians play...well, a fair approximation of Kelish music.
It is her last set, at least for the moment, however. So once done the young dervish sheathes the tired scimitar with a bow, and steps off the stage into the crowds to get a drink.
The festive atmosphere is infectious enough to draw even Michael out of his sour mood, at least for a while. After securing his armor and gear in his room at the inn he makes his way to the bar and get a drink, perhaps two.
Tomorrow will likely bring fresh worries about the crusades, and everyone's aware that the odds are that half of them won't be around this time next year...
... But for just one day, let tomorrow look after itself, he muses on his way to the bar, looking around the room for an empty table, or failing that, an empty seat at a not too-crowded one.
waiting patiently at the packed bar Thomas attempts to catch the eye of one of the bartenders, as he would like a drink or 2 to celebrate this jovial event, but just one or 2, no need to spoil a fine night by getting intoxicated. He is however too polite to shove his way to the front, or yell for a barmaid, so he waits. Then once one of the tenders finally notices him and asks if he needs anything he replies No thanks distracted as he is by a raven haired beauty who has caught his eye.
By the time he realizes his folly the bartender is gone, and when he looks back towards his raven haired beauty, she is gone as well. Oh well, she wouldn't have much interest in my anyway. I wouldn't even know what to say to a beauty so fair.
Finally receiving his long saught drink he searches for a place to sit. Seeing none simple starts to drink when someone knocks into him from behind. Sorry, says the stumbling man who wanders off in a drunken stupor. Thomas looks down at his shirt covered in ale, and his cup, now free of said ale, Its going to be a long night
Just as you are about to find seats or get drinks from the serving staff, you hear a loud slam from the entrance way. Several of the patrons and wait staff look over and gasp in surprise, several mercenaries and crusaders reach for weapons.
You looks over at the commotion and see a tall individual straightening to a full height of seven feet, having to bow almost in half to enter. Large horns from his forehead curl around his ears and his complexion is a deep crimson. He is dressed in full scale armor with a large imposing mace at his side. Upon his breastplate sits a symbol that is almost as deep red as his skin, a pentagram...
Compulsory knowledge religion check on the red star, reach for the starknife and the shield, and I move in front of any nearby patrons that look unprepared or too drunk to defend themselves, then wait.
"What in the nine hells is that?" Reinnwulf muttered, before realizing that in this place, so close to the Worldwound, the saying had a more literal meaning. He reached for his spear, leaning against the wall at his left elbow.
Reinnwulf was a tall man by most standards, but if he were standing beside the behemoth entering the building, he would still only be able to stare him right in the chin.
Gesturing in the general direction of the bar, Dorotea responds to large oaf attempting to lean on her I would imagine the lieutenant is around here somewhere, if he's still sober.....
Seeing the giant figure entering the room, Dorotea slowly reaches for her sword, watching the reaction of the rest of the rooms occupants.
Enshi walks into the room, trying to adjust the fit of the enameled armor his father had just given him in celebration of his decision to join the Crusade. He's still fiddling with it, head down, when he bumps into a very large figure in scaled armor. Looking up, Now how often does this happen, he sees the horns and the pentagram.
Recoiling slightly at the man's height, Enshi straightens up. Tall for a human, he's still dwarfed by the Tiefling in front of him. "Oof. Please, excuse me, brother." With a brief bow, Enshi moves quickly toward the bar, keeping his head down and hoping to avoid making a scene. Why the Father of Lies? Things always go wrong for me with them. Why couldn't he have been a Sarenite? Or at least an Iomedaean? Please don't look at me.
Nenthil had just entered, looking things over and the large creature before him.
He was an oddity to be sure. Wearing Keleshite robes of white, red, and gold while clearly possessing some Kellid blood and an utter lack of scars or thick muscle.
"Well what do we have here?"
Michael finds himself suddenly wishing he hadn't left his armor upstairs. How in the seven hells did something like that get this far into town without a lynch mob forming?
Like many other patrons he reaches for his weapon, but forces himself to wait.
... Answer your own question, Michael. If he were here with actual hostile intent he'd never have gotten this far. What does your soul tell you?
He takes a deep breath, reaching for the inner focus he needs to call on the first of Iomedae's gifts to Her favored champions -- the ability to look beyond surface appearances and discern true malice.
Weyland leans against the bar enjoying a refreshing ale. Turning to see what all the commotion is, he nearly drops his mug at the sight of the obviously tainted creature entering the inn. Taking a moment for one last fortifying gulp of his brew, he crosses the inn floor to intercept the creature.
"Halt fiend," Weyland says, throwing up a hand. "I know not what you are, but I would know your purpose here. If you seek the inn's comforts, then your business is with the proprietor, but if you seek blood, then I must end you. Speak true and let us be known as mortal enemies or simply tavern companions for the night."
Aaliyah backs away from the sudden intrusion of the apparent demon in surprise and alarm, before she calms down for a moment. With a brief internal debate, she starts slipping through the crowd to approach, cautiously and with the intent of getting a better look before she takes any kind of action.
The large tiefling looks down at the shining paladin and points a finger down at him and is about to say something before a drunken patron slaps the tiefling on the shoulder. "Drake! Come join us! How's your infernal queen these days?!" He begins to lead the large man away.
Drake nods to the paladin, and speaks in a deep bartone voice "Apologies, good sir, my heritage can sometimes cause me problems. If you will excuse me..."
Nenthil is left wondering what was the problem. He looks at the paladin.
"You know that's very rude of you. Bullying someone as they come in for a drink. A bit shameful really."
Shaking his head he looks for someone to get him a drink, a nonalcoholic one that is. He was never one for loosening his head, at least not near the worldwound.
After seeing the situation diffused, I will turn my attention back to the bar and getting a new drink. Unfortunately, many other people beat me to that thought, and again I am left with a small crowd between me and the bar.
Since drinking seems to be a but, I will search for the nearest not intoxicated person and inquire, pardon me sir, but do you know what and who just walked in?
To find someone
To gather information
Aaliyah swallows down her fear. While not usually the outgoing sort, she realizes she had been thinking some rather improper thoughts. Whatever he is he isn't beyond discussion. Even if I never see him again... She makes her way towards the tiefling, knight of Asmodeus, and all-around questionable-looking chap...and promptly gives him a small bow, speaking perhaps a little too softly to be heard in the crowded bar unless one has an unusually good sense of hearing. "I'm sorry for my preconceptions sir." After that, she tries to fade back into the crowd in order to fetch a drink from the bar from her pay.
Weyland looks from the drunken patron to the tiefling and nods, "No need to apologize, I tend to forget that these trying times make for," he pauses to frown at the pentagram emblazoned on the tiefling's breastplate, "for odd bedfellows, as it were. No matter, please allow me to purchase a round for you and your companions to apologize for my rudeness."
Whatever the response, he steps back to allow Drake to join his drinking companions.
At his comment, Weyland's attention is drawn to Nenthil. "Rude indeed, but propriety must often be sacrificed on the alter of vigilance. Besides, I did not miss the mention of his 'infernal Queen'. For now the enemy of my enemy is my friend, but once the threat of the worldwound is no more, Cheliax will need to be dealt with. We may yet meet in battle, he and I."
Michael lets his hand drop away from his dagger and exhales a relieved breath. Whew. Violent incident averted.
He spares another look toward the tiefling. I wonder what his story is. We've all got one, but his is bound to be more interesting than most... Ah well.
With a mental shrug he turns his attention back to his drink... Which he only now realizes he dropped when he went for his dagger. ... Blast..
He heads back to the bar to order a new one, almost bumping into a dusky-skinned nomad woman heading in the same direction. "My apologies, Miss."
Isaac was hoping to avoid seeing people as much as possible today, unusual as that may be for him. Everyone assumed that he would love Armasse, being the valiant, noble holy warrior that he is.
Hah! To think that I would condone such waste when there is evil on our doorstep!
As he storms down the street, looking for someone to complain to, Isaac notices a rather significant bit of tiefling march into the Defender's Heart.
Aha! Something is afoot! I will serve my god today, yet!
Isaac follows the tiefling into the common room, inspecting him for signs of wrongdoing. If there's one thing Isaac hates, it's injustice.
It wouldn't be fair to assume this "man" is up to no good. I shall have to investigate.
Asmodeous...well, that's a strike against. Unfortunately, I cannot challenge this fiend unless I know of wrongdoing. At any rate, I shall keep an eye on him. That character questioning him is only interested in honor. I must uphold justice once again.
You there! Tiefling! Pardon my interruption, but may I inquire as to your business here? You know full well that this is no time nor place for trouble, and you are obviously not causing any right now. What is your agenda, and why did you not share with the other gentleman? I ask only for the sake of upholding the law. It is my highest duty.
Aaliyah glances up at Michael, glancing back out of the corner of her eye. "..ah, it's no trouble." ...that's about when the newcomer stalks up to the tiefling who had caused such a stir earlier. "...excuse me," she says as she turns towards the new disturbance.
Michael nods at the girl, about to introduce himself when someone starts loudly accusing the Tiefling. He mutters something in Celestial, then turns toward the commotion as well.
"He's just here for a drink with old friends, apparently, and right now the only person causing trouble is you, so please do everyone a favor and sit down, order a drink, and relax. If you're looking for evil to fight, you're in the wrong place."
Aaliyah just follows. While she looks like she's about to open her mouth to say something, Michael beats her to the punch and so she stands back, waiting, staring with suddenly hard eyes..
Enshi walks over to Weyland, clapping a hand on his shoulder as he talks about needing to deal with Cheliax. "It may be, friend, that all they need is guidance. The Dawnflower teaches us that all may be redeemed, if given the proper support. Drake may worship Asmodeus now, but every dawn brings new light. Be not too quick to judge the man for his horns or place of birth. He did not have the fortune that you and I had to be born somewhere it is safe to worship other than the Father of Lies." Don't cause a scene, don't cause a scene, please don't cause a scene ...
Turning to the other man, Enshi will raise a hand. "My brother, how fare you this evening?"
Nenthil did not approve of making enemies where none currently existed, more so on the edge of the abyss. But a fellow worshiper beat him to it, simply nodding his head.
"A man with sense, after all if one knows their legends. Asmodeus was instrumental in binding the rough beast. The unredeemable are few and far between thank Sarenrae. Even if one has fallen off the path, it does not mean they are completely lost to it."
He gives a slight bow to Enshi.
"Pardon my rudeness, I am Nenthil Wardcaller. Who may I have the honor of addressing?"
He is an Aasimar, a native outsider bearing the blood of a celestial. By the looks of him an emberkin or peri-blooded.
The large tiefling turns around in his seat to look at Isaac as he is addressed by the man, he is about to speak when several of the patrons come to his rescue. He raises his glass to Weyland for purchasing it for him.
The tiefling begins to speak, his low bass voice easily carrying throughout the inn. "I've always loved the noble crusader. Ready to kill you one second when they think you are evil, defending you to the death the next. I was worried the fourth crusade was lacking in them, but being here tonight has restored my faith."
He takes a small sip from his drink before continuing. "I am here for the same reason as everyone else, to kill demons. They represent entropy, the decline of order, and must be kept in check. Father hates them just as much as the Inheritor does, with good reason. He was the First, he bound order to the maelstrom."
The tiefling's party groan in unison, almost in exasperation, giving you the hint that it wasn't the first time Drake gave this explanation.
A fairly tall man with burnished skin walks into Defenders Heart and surveys the scene. He wears a red, sleeveless vest with no shirt, dark green trousers, and black boots. His silver hair is twisted into several braids, and pulled back into a ponytail, the tip of which ends between his shoulder blades. Slung over one shoulder, he has what appears to be a very well made pack. Spying an open seat, he makes his way through the crowd, sits down, pulls a worn book from his pack and begins to read.
As the tiefling departs, Dorotea walks over to join Enshi and Weyland. With obvious scorn in her voice she addresses the group, Asmodeus? Leave the twisted half-breed to his misplaced faith.
As for Cheliax, you are free to try to "deal" with them if you wish paladin. While their laws may be strict, they allow a lot of good people to live peaceful, productive lives. Are you willing to sacrifice the well being of a nations people just because you disagree with the source of their laws?
Sitting with his back to the wall at a table with several hard drinking humans, a dwarf in food stained long coat and wide brimmed hat surveys the inn. He absently bites into an apple he holds in his left hand as his right hand rests on a dirty backpack with an exceptionally large hammer tied to it. A standard sized warhammer is tacked in his belt next to a large belt pouch.
Hmm, I should have saved some money for a drink. But the food at the market looked so invitingly I just could not resist. And uncle Anvil always said, “Make sure you always have enough provisions”. Well, at least there are so many people here nobody cares whether or not I order something. And these drunks have not even noticed I do not drink with them.
I will attend the festival tomorrow and right after that I have to start looking for some archives about the last crusade. Too bad Uncle Anvil did not want to tell me more about my parents. One could say his silence on the subject could mean something bad. But I will never know if I do not find out.
So lets have a look at the company here. It never stops to surprise me what kinds of people come to Mendev to fight against the bloody demons.
As the commotion erupts by the door, Konny sits by and waits what is going to happen. Why do these people always think the horny bastards have to be the enemy?
The drunk next to Konny looks startled by the horned guy and spills some beer on Konny’s already stained coat.
Watch out, sonny. You should be more careful with your drink. You know, uncle Anvil always said “Never get drunk, because when the tax collector comes, you might want to shoot him. And might miss” , the dwarf smiles, but the drunk looks at him with a confused expression obviously not comprehending the meaning of his words.
Oh, never mind, thanks for your company, Konny gets up, takes his gear and heads closer to the front part of the establishment, as it looks like a cool head might be needed to defuse the situation.
Vaelor's stomach rumbled to remind him that he needed food. Closing and storing his book, the Aasimar stood up and walked to the bar. Ending up by a group of three people, who seemed to be discussing Cheliaxian Law, the Sorcerer waited to get the attention of a server.
Managing to get one's attention, he asked, "What sort of food do you have ready at the moment?"
Reinnwulf relaxed as the tensions in the room died down. he still didn't understand what was going on, but no one else seemed to be overly concerned about the new arrival. He followed the dark-haired woman as she chastised the group.
"I still do not understand. What is that beast? Is not this Father of Lies he worships evil? What then is he doing in this place centered on the struggle against demon-kind?" Reinnwulf's confusion is evident on his face. He had never seen tieflings before, at least not up close, and it seemed to him that one demon was the same as another.
"Cheliax I have heard of, though I have never been there. A merchant in the last caravan talked about them. He hated their laws. Of course, he was a merchant, and I think that they hate laws mostly because with laws come taxes."
He turned back to the dark-haired woman. "Anyways, you were saying about this drunk Lieutenant?"
Vaelor couldn't help but chime in, "The Tiefling may be of Devil decent, not Demon. A subtle difference, perhaps, but a difference none the less."
Maximillian had been walking too long in the summer heat; even with night falling, he thirsted deeply for drink. As he walked past a nearby tavern, he could only groan at the commotion spilling out into the street. It was the same this year as any other year - Armasse, the once glorious celebration of Aroden's wisdom, had been given over to hooligans drinking and running amok.
"It's a disgrace, isn't it Meadow? Let's press on."
"Water! Water!" replied the diminutive gray thrush. Meadow wasn't nearly as pretty as the red-breasted males of her species, but she was much smarter.
"Alright, alright, we'll go get a drink." Maximillian entered the tavern to see all eyes on an enormous tiefling. Just as well, thought Maximillian, this should make it easier to get in and get out. He spared a glance at the tiefling and the many aasimar in attendance, identifying them by type.
Sliding his small frame unobtrusively between the press of bodies, he makes his way to the bar. "A summer ale for me, and a small bowl of water with honey for my little friend here." He sets down a few coppers on the table.
In the middle of the conversation, another Dwarf walks in, initially seeming to pay no mind to the others. He is perhaps a little taller than the average dwarf, of equally stocky build. The expression on his face made it clear he wasn't in the same celebratory mood as most of the rest of the city; seeming just this side of a scowl or frown. However, there is definitely one thing about his appearance that is not average: beginning just above his right eye, a two long parallel scars chart a diagonal line across his face, crossing over his eye, nose, and the left corner of his mouth before disappearing beneath the coarse, dark red hair of his full beard.
Weaving his way through the crowd, he seems in no mood for celebration, despite the general revelry going on outside as the city prepared Armasse. His eyes darted here and there, seemingly trying to take in everything around him, alert for any kind of danger. He is dressed in a full suit of scale mail, an unusual weapon hanging at his side: a heavy iron chain about ten feet long, ending in a solid iron ball the size of a large fist. For most of his people, the dorn dergar had fallen into disuse, but here was a dwarf who apparently sought to honor the old ways.
When he did reach the bar, he waited patiently for the barkeep to approach before speaking in a gravelly voice. "Gimme an ale. Somethin' stout and hardy."
After receiving the tankard, he slides a few coins across the counter and then turns in his stool, his piercing blue eyes trained on the crowd.
There was something about the mood of the people that seemed a little off to him...the mood of celebration wasn't the same as it was outside. He pondered it for a moment before shrugging it off as paranoia, picking his tankard up off the counter to take a long, slow draw of ale. It was no matter. He was nearly always prepared for some kind of trouble to erupt, knowing that when it did, he would need to be there for those who could not protect themselves.
Slipping in practically un-noticed behind the dwarf is a female gnome. dressed in rather plain clothes af various darker shades. her dark red hair done in a braided pony tail tha hangs down from the back of her head to just over the front of her shoulder. a small sword slung over her shoulder.
she moves quitely and is barely noticeable except to the most skilled observers.
slipping through the crowd with the grace of a dancer, she makes her way to the bar.
as she moves she manages to grab another person's drink from in front of them while they were distracted in conversation.
the girl takes a seat and enjoys her drink as though she has been there the whole night. She seems to have found a seat beside the dwarf that entered directly in front of her.
she listens to the many conversations listening for something thaty may seem interesting.
As an ale and a bowl of honeyed water arrive, Maximillian turns his attention to his bird, making sure she is satisfied. He then reaches over to grab a drink, only to be startled to see it missing! "Hey, what happened to my ale?" he says to the bartender, only to be met with a shrug. "Did you see anything, Meadow?" But the bird seems content to simply sip the water.
Searching the room, he's at a loss to find his ale - that is, until he decides to look downward. It seemed a little gnome had suddenly appeared with a lightly colored ale! Another hooligan come to the Crusade, he thinks. He opens his mouth to utter a complaint - only to think twice when he sees the rather exotic blade wielded by the gnome. He decides to try a different tack.
"My gnomish friend, I wouldn't drink that if I were you. I have a rather terrible case of consumption, and I wouldn't want you to catch it."
. He fidgets with his spectacles nervously as he talks. It was a double lie - he wasn't sick and he hadn't even taken a sip.
then I guess its my fortitude against yours she says as she takes a gnomish sized large swig of the ale.
she then hands what's left back to its owner
you may need this more than I do
Turning to face Reinnwulf, Dorotea looks up as she addresses the obviously uncivilized savage.
Perhaps if your merchant friend was managing his business properly the Chelaxian legal system would not prove so burdensome. My family managed quite well in a wide variety of enterprises.
If Chelaxian law extended to this abyssal realm, I would have a far superior life.
"Why would that be, dear lady? Do you think the world would be better under Devil rule? Or are you saying they're structure of law is more stable than what we mortals can come up with?"
I am stating the fact that demonic cultists, acting outside any mortal law, killed my family and nearly killed me. Had we remained in Cheliax, such an event would have never been permitted to occur.
Dorotea pauses to spit on the ground a Vaelor's feet.
And that is what I think of Thrune's infernal pact and the families that rode their coattails to power. For all that the laws of Cheliax keep peace, never imply every noble family practices diabolism.
"My apologies, I meant no offense. Nor did I mean to stir up bad memories. Let me make amends and buy you a drink."
Nenthil had little to do with the way the conversation was going, still he could not resist a point.
"A law can be made by anyone. If a law was passed that women were to be subservient to men would you be so strongly behind it. Their are laws for slaves as well. If you were born a slave would you enjoy your place under someone's foot. Laws can be bent and manipulated if not broken. One does not need to break any laws in order to gain an advantage. For beings of endless time and by extension experience you would be hard pressed to be considered an equal in their game. Such is not to often the mindset of those who deal with them. One does not need to see the chains they are bound by, that does not mean they are not there. Only a fool thinks their view is the only or superior one for it may be nothing more but the illusion of another."
He bows his head for a moment.
"My apologies I mean no disrespect. But if such things were so absolute, the worldwound would not exist. Nor would the world be such a diverse place."
"Um... thank you?" he says, taking the half-empty drink back from the gnome. He sniffs at it before choosing to set it aside - a few coppers wasn't worth testing his intestinal fortitude against the exotic maladies this gnome might have brought. "Another ale, please," he sighs, setting down some more coin.
As he waits to finally slake his thirst, Maximillian's eyes drift toward the odd aasimar debating the merits of Chelaxian rule. A fair topic for debate, he decided. He had been able to place the angelkin paladin and robed emberkin, but this one was different. His features were not of this realm, but not entirely celestial either. His curiosity got the best of him.
"M'Lady. Sir. Won't you join us here?" asked Maximillian, encouaging the Chelaxian and the aasimar to have a seat. He slid over to make space at the bar, causing Meadow to flutter to his shoulder. "It's rare to see such genteel figures amist the fighters and sellswords on the eve of Armasse. Your debate helps me imagine what Armasse must have been like before Aroden's disappearance."
Anyone taking a closer look notes that Maximillian bears the holy symbol of Aroden around his neck.
Barundar casts a glance in the direction of the Gnomish woman that entered after him, quirking an eyebrow at the exchange between she and the human man opposite her. The strange conversation going on about the merits of Chelaxian law nearby befuddled him, as well. Certainly, there were Chelaxians that helped in the fight against the demonic hordes of the Worldwound, but he'd hardly expected to meet any so soon after coming to Kenabres.
At the mention of Aroden's disappearance by the human man two seats down, Barundar glanced over. "'Disappearance'? Fergive meh, but it was my understandin' that th' prevailin' thought was that Aroden is dead. 'E has nae been heard from fer near tuh eight years now, aye?"
The tiefling pipes up at the mention of Aroden, "Eight years? I believe that it has been more then 100. The god of mankind was last heard of in 4606. Most believe that he is dead, while others hold out hope that he is still alive or will be reborn once again. The Inheritor herself has been quite cross with the Lady of Graves for not telling her what became of her Commander."
The tiefling looks distracted for a moment after talking, he features seem to droop slightly talking about the dead god.