"Interesting! If I were to attempt this hunt, do you have a recommendation of where I might begin? Or where else I can learn more of this great quarry?"
"I've never seen it, the last catcher was well before my time. It is said to be a celestial creature, no mere animal. Tell you what though, this may be an opportunity...the Black Prince intends to hunt for it as well and often takes a large hunting party with him. Perhaps I could arrange you and your companions to go along with him? I believe your friend there was looking for an opportunity to meet him anyways..."
Approaching the tower, you recognize one of the popular duelists leaning against the doorway. Apparently guard post here is her second job, though she is dressed more like a wizard than a warrior. Her companion is much more strange, simply a floating white crystal about the size your head which glows with a warm blue flame. They seem to be engaged in chit-chat as you approach...
"...no she doesn't. Rava is her rival, that's the only reason why." the duelist argues.
"*crackle pop shhhhh pop crackle crackle" the light counters.
Looking more upset, the duelist wags her finger at the crystal "So stupid...just what the hell do you know about emotions, anyways? You really are a pain, you know it? Oversized peryton salt-lick..."
The light suddenly turns as it sees Lexi approach and quickly hovers to block her passage, which gets the duelist's attention as well.
"Halt. State your...oh. It's you. So, fresh from defeating Caleb the Celestial-ass you thought you would give Anya a try, is that it?" she inquires.
"Hello. I'm here to speak with the Lady of Mirrors about having a helm crafted as a gift." said Lexi with a Curtsey.
"You don't say. And I suppose you don't have an invitation?" she smirks "I didn't think so. What do you have?"
The tower's large iron doors swing open abruptly, and out strides a woman in a silver sheen dress, runic symbols dancing about her head and wrists. "Enough Anya. The Blind Seer foretold of their coming. This is the 'shadow who is also a raven'. I'll see you, come. And don't mind the ward..." and adds "...nor the guards." motioning to the dumbstruck pair.
As soon as you pass through the door, you see a bright sunny beach with white sands. Suddenly in the distance a great wave rises and rolls straight towards the doorway, some 40 ft tall and threatening to crash with tremendous force!
Lexi walks forward as if the wave isn't there.
Damn illusions. she thinks to herself.
The warm sand crunches under Lexi's boots as the gigantic tsunami crashes down over her...
...and does absolutely nothing. A simple ward, as the lady suggested...able to fool monsters and scare small children. As the translucency of the illusion becomes apparent, you might wonder why all the fuss. The tower's interior appears downright abandoned compared to the lavish furniture and decorum of the palace. The walls are humble bare brick of mismatched sizes, offering many nesting places for the tiny lantern dragonettes that light the interior.
The lady waves her hand to the right and a small section of bricks glisten until becoming reflective, and the images of you both and the light of the dragonettes swirls and distorts into a verdant little study overlooking a moonlit ocean. A warm breeze dances with the candlelight and idly turns random pages of a variety of tomes spread about. There is a curious little fishbowl containing an octopus on a carved wooden pedestal.
"Welcome to my little corner of the Tower of the Lords of Light. I am Aileelia, the Keeper of Mirrors...enchantress and scholar of arcane artifice. Making a helm is simple, making a gift...now that is challenging. Tell me, what do you wish this gift to accomplish? What kind of person will ultimately receive it?"
”Everyone. I appreciate yer help. I think I’ve decided, that if I’m going to woo her, then I need to it being meself. With that in mind, I need yer help. Find me a way to talk to her, please. I’ll do whatever is needed. Fight any champion they have! Once ye can get it, find me at the forge. I know what I must do in preparation.”
——-At the Forge——
Hrungnir began his work, unable to wait for the others to (hopefully) agree to his request. With very little to work with, he began with his gold coins. To start, he had to purify the gold. This was easy enough. All he needed for this was to add some copper and silver before adding the gold, and then using nitric acid. For this, his own spells did much of the work.
As he worked, he sang, loudly and clearly for all to hear:
He sang from the heart, without shame or hesitation.
Are you going to Zobeck Fair?
Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme;
Remember me to one who lives there,
For you were once a true love of mine.
As he sang he worked the gold into the shape of a ring.
Have you make me a mail shirt
From Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme
Without no seam nor twist of work
And then you’ll be a true love of mine.
He thought of what he had learned of the song, and how it was not meant to be taken literally. It was never a test of craftsmanship, but rather of his character. As he worked, he put his heart and soul into his craft. He was determined to do his best, just to show her that he cared. All he wanted from this was to make her smile. To show her that he understood of what she sung of. And that if she would but deign to wear what he made, then it would complete him.
Tell you forged it in a sycamore wood lane
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme
And gather it all with a basket of flowers
And then you’ll be a true love of mine.
He made the golden ring to adorned with images of puppies at play. Along the gold they chased each other in a circle. A never ending loop of innocence and joy.
Have you found me on an acre of land
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme
Between the sea foam and over the sand
And then you’ll be a true love of mine.
He sang, on and on, his voice unwavering. Finally, in this place, so close to her, all of the endurance and craft of his people was on full display. He felt as if though he could work for an eternity. Each face, every paw, was a testament of his love for her. His eyes were strained to their limits as he tried to make the movements be just right, so that it truly looked like they were in movement.
Love imposes impossible tasks
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme
Though not more than any heart asks...
On the inside of the band, in the most delicate dwarven script that he could write, he wrote in his native tongue, that this was his gift, and that it contained with it his undying admiration, and appreciation for her unfading wisdom and beauty. While technically it was far easier than the outside images, he found pouring his soul into words to be the harder of the two tasks.
Finally, he was done. And the singing began to end. He looked over what he had made, his brow dripping sweat. He held the ring up. His singing at and end. He held up the ring, and prayed that he would have a chance to present it. Looking at the ring with longing in his eyes, he said the end with a parched throat and a voice on the edge of cracking: ”And I must know, are you a true love of mine?”
"Vale typically walks the Puzzle Box Chamber while hoping for inspiration. As for Arrowdyn its anyones guess, he has teleportation abilities above and beyond normal shadow fey...I've heard he can even phase into Midgard and back without a shadow portal. Of course, he is the current favored by Ulara of the Seven Veils, so might be in that courtesan's bedchamber..."
"I hope Vale is amiable or Ulara of the Seven Veils is not jealous. I doubt she would appreciate a newly minted Grey Lady asking Arrowdyn for dancing lessons otherwise," Raseri muses.
"Court Royalty is notoriously difficult to arrange meeting with...their schedules are filled seasons in advance. Typically if they wish to speak their messengers will find you. It may be easier to do something that warrants his appearance...then surreptitiously bestow your gift. Even then though...its risky and I'm not sure how it could be done."
"Interesting! If I were to attempt this hunt, do you have a recommendation of where I might begin? Or where else I can learn more of this great quarry?""I've never seen it, the last catcher was well before my time. It is said to be a celestial creature, no mere animal. Tell you what though, this may be an opportunity...the Black Prince intends to hunt for it as well and often takes a large hunting party with him. Perhaps I could arrange you and your companions to go along with him? I believe your friend there was looking for an opportunity to meet him anyways..."
"If you could do that, I would be most grateful," Raseri says brightly, giving Kolya a large grin. After a moment, her smile fades, and she looks to Kjeta, then to the hilt of Hugrekki. "Kolya, before coming here, I killed a fey hound in Zobeck. It fought bravely, and I have tried to honor it the way my people always honor great beasts that fight well. I still have some of the bones and teeth I took from it. Would... Would you like me to make you something using them for you as thanks?"
She pulls Hugrekki from its sheathe and holds it out for him to take and inspect. "I can forge any kind of blade you could wish. I... I am sorry. I can see you care deeply for your charges, and it pains me to know that I may have killed one of them."
Kolya's response is a bit of shock and disgust, he refuses to touch the offered blade but tries to do so gently and with good manners "No my Lady...Lance would never forgive me if I adorned myself in one of his kin. Although, if it was truly in Zobeck recently, that was likely a Roren hound. Their breeds are mixed with the Void and Illumination magics of the Court of One Million Stars...more magic than grit." he says with a smirk, as if it complements his hounds.
"I want this gift to show someone who is having problems being comfortable in her own skin that she is good and pure and...well, beautiful. I have an idea of what I want it to look like, but I would, of course, rely on your expertise. I do know that I want it to include these" Lexi produces the Peryton feathers she took from it's corpse.
Nodding to Raseri, Kjeta says "Then YES, thank you. We'd be most grateful if you could get us added to the hunting party. Will you be a part of it as well?"
"Until then!"
"The Lords of Light have been known to do so in the past. Not Moggo of course, but previous kings. Believe it or not Moggo is more stable than some others have been. ...there was another...'Tug' he called himself, for what he did to the heads of chickens. The Lords of Light deposed him with wordplay, ensnaring Tug in his own stupidity. They may have some defense against that terrible scepter. However, I think these days they are too distracted with the Demon Lord to take the fight to the lower courts."
Kjeta scratches her chin. "Hmmmm. I'd like to know more about those Lords of Light. Can you tell me anything? Or point me in the right direction?"
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
Kolya's response is a bit of shock and disgust, he refuses to touch the offered blade but tries to do so gently and with good manners "No my Lady...Lance would never forgive me if I adorned myself in one of his kin. Although, if it was truly in Zobeck recently, that was likely a Roren hound. Their breeds are mixed with the Void and Illumination magics of the Court of One Million Stars...more magic than grit." he says with a smirk, as if it complements his hounds.
"Oh, I, uh?" Raseri feels foolish as she finds herself at a loss for words. She sheepishly puts the blade back in its sheathe and tries not to blush with embarrassment as she stammers out an apology.
"Kolya, please forgive me. I– I have apparently lost all sense. My offer to craft you something still stands. I'll just avoid using anything... questionable," she manages to get out. Part of her wants nothing more than to hid in a hole as all of her insecurities come rushing back, but she doesn't quail under the pressure. She can't afford to.
"Well, they are sworn enemies of the Demon Lord of Roaches for one. They claim to be one of the only forces of 'good' here in the shadow courts...and are a very small cult, really. Not many denizens of shade ally themselves with Khors-Amon, Lord of the Sun. Supposedly they keep a blind celestial at the top of their tower..." he points to the tower behind the goblin kitchens () "...that can see the future...always 'Seer says this' 'Seer says that' with those ones. I don't know, not my kind of people to be honest...I prefer light hearted conversation with some music and a drink. Not knowing the future is kind of the fun of life, in my way of thinking." the artist explains. "Their power in the arcane and divine arts is undeniable, though."
"The hounds will be there, no doubt...all their training has been for this moment. As for me, it is the choice of the Black Prince to honor me so...or snub me like last-seasons fad. I am but a mere hunter, Lady Kjeta, and do not expect ever to rise above a certain level of notice." he smirks "Nor do I care to. The shadows and the hounds suit me fine..."
"...?" taking the feathers curiously, the Lady grasps at a pearl on her bracelet, using it as a monocle to inspect the ridges closely. "Interesting...the beast that pretends to have some humanity until mated. The symbolism is very complex there, but perhaps you just like the visual style."
She brings a plate of little pastries over, which smell freshly baked. Strawberry, you think. "Would you like to share with me more directly your experience with this special person?" No doubt, she is referring to the Ritual of Memories Lost.
Together with anyone who cares to join her, Kjeta makes her way to the tower of the Lord of Light's followers.
"She's brave but doubts herself, strong but feels weak, and and beautiful but is afraid."
Would you like me to make you something using them for you as thanks?"
He shrugs "Thanks would be preemptive, I've no idea how the Prince will respond to taking Midgardians along at all. It is a bit of a mystery to some why your presence here is even tolerated, the most scornful whispers talk of you as terrorists in the Queen's Reclamation of Zobeck. Of course I care little of any of that fuss, personally...my responsibilities keep me here in the Lower Courts, not across dimensions. But if you must toil over me, I am always in need of quality forged arrowheads for my fletching. My supplier in Dalliance is a bit of a haggler."
She frowns slightly, putting the plate of pastries aside "I was hoping for something more personal. Very well, I suppose that will have to do. Come back in a few days, I will prepare the necessary dweomers...the Seer appreciates your presence here." she adds.
Together with anyone who cares to join her, Kjeta makes her way to the tower of the Lord of Light's followers.
Carnadine conspicuously and politely begs his leave of you for this journey and stays in the suite. His excuse is attuning to his new magic sword that he needs to study more before he relies on it in melee.
Just before you hail the guards at the base of the Tower of the Lords of Light, the door opens. A red bearded man in solid gold armor greets you "Yes, you are expected and welcome. I am Wenceslaus, Deacon of Metaphysics. I am to serve you in the waiting room until Revich is ready to question you. Won't you? We have hot apple strudel and frostberry juice..." he says, as if such a treat nearly ensures your compliance.
That evening, as Deimus contemplated the flesh of his newly polymorphed body, he recalled the fortune given to him by the Clockwork Oracle back in Zobeck's Temple of Rava.
He had never opened that small written missive for some reason, perhaps refusing to admit his fate and personality could be modeled so predictably as a machine's function. But having now transcended further form with magics of his own inspiration, he felt he could laugh off whatever the voice of his Creator claimed to know about his spirit.
But *tzk*, this drab bedchamber wouldn't do for such an occasion. He needed a more beautiful setting to ponder and/or confirm the greater meanings of his existence, and therefore strolled out among the King's rookery in the Winter courtyard, ascending the tower in his original kobold form into the stars and moonlight overlooking the stark shadow forest.
The stars were ever present, points of constancy embedding the aether of the celestial sphere. Before them meandered Moon, an ever-changing leader whose cycles of light-skin stood prominent...glorius and announcing itself. Deimus and his clutch. But the moon had a grave, and a new sky consumed the eternal aether.
Such conflicts of nature distracted him from the soft padding footsteps from behind...
"What is the price for your work?" Lexi asked.
Kjeta is clearly surprised to have been expected.
"Impressive!
"Greetings, Deacon Wenceslaus! I'm Kjeta Strongmalt, servant to the Alemother and friend to Khors, but...", she chuckles, and eats a generous bite of strudel "Perhaps you know all this already too?"
She licks a bit of caramel from her fork. "Deacon of Metaphysics, eh? How long have you been here in the Court? What brought you here--or keeps you in this Shadow realm?"
Lexi has no desire to go anywhere near anyone called the Lords of Light.
The Lady of Mirrors smiles "There is little of material value that could match the good of such a heartfelt gift. My part in this pays for itself, so the Seer has foretold."
"Greetings, Deacon Wenceslaus! I'm Kjeta Strongmalt, servant to the Alemother and friend to Khors, but...", she chuckles, and eats a generous bite of strudel "Perhaps you know all this already too?"
He smiles admitting "Quite so, but that bit did not require a Seer's foresight, just a bit of nosiness on my part."
She licks a bit of caramel from her fork. "Deacon of Metaphysics, eh? How long have you been here in the Court? What brought you here--or keeps you in this Shadow realm?"
He seems earnestly attempting to give an honest answer, considering the questions deeply before "20 seasons I think...though the mark of time means little when it is so subject to the influence of others. I am here to serve our Seer, Revich the Fiery Angel, whose gaze burns away all illusions. Our primary purpose is to proselytize...Khors' light is a difficult sell in the courts of Shadow you might expect. But there are more of us here than most realize, many choose to hide their factional allegiance...making us something of a secret society I suppose. We are given a heavy burden to bear you see...but we must stand against the fiends and darkness that spread their bile here."
Standing next to Kjeta, Hrungnir bowed politely. ”And I am Hrungnir, worker of runes. We’ve heard much of ye, of both power and wisdom. It is an honor to be here.”
"Who is this seer, and why do they care that I have a helmet made, or why do they even care about me in general?"
She taps her chin "Care? Did I use that word? Well, I couldn't really say if he does...such a different kind of creature its hard to understand its emotions. All I know is a path was made clear to the Seer, and that path has you and your friends on it...intersecting my own. Paths that either preserve the balance of good and evil here, or tip it in our favor...such as Khors-Amon wills, the Seer portends. And there are many evil things here festering down in the dark..."
The Deacon arches an eyebrow "Truly? The honor is ours. The arts of rune magic are hushed and forgotten in this Realm...to see it in form, true, here and now before us speaks of a turning tide." he smiles, though his yellowed, honey mead stained teeth give a sharp contrast to his golden mail.
He seems earnestly attempting to give an honest answer, considering the questions deeply before "20 seasons I think...though the mark of time means little when it is so subject to the influence of others. I am here to serve our Seer, Revich the Fiery Angel, whose gaze burns away all illusions. Our primary purpose is to proselytize...Khors' light is a difficult sell in the courts of Shadow you might expect. But there are more of us here than most realize, many choose to hide their factional allegiance...making us something of a secret society I suppose. We are given a heavy burden to bear you see...but we must stand against the fiends and darkness that spread their bile here."
Kjeta nods, "Well, if there's anywhere I've been that needs to burn away illusions, it's this place! I look forward to learning more of your operations, and meeting your Seer."
"Is there a chance that I could speak to him to see about clearing all this up?"
*gong*
A low, meditative bell rings from high up in the cylindrical tower "Ah, Revich will see you now." Wenceslaus motions to the bare brick wall.
It's funny you didn't notice before, but there is actually a set of stairs leading up to the top...it was arranged at an angle making them blend in with the wall before. They are solid enough for your boots and you ascend easily.
Into warmth. Into light.
Your eyes wince, gone so long without the burning sun overhead, the daily embrace of the sun's rays...the Seer's chamber is a welcome substitute. Hundreds of lantern dragonettes call this place their home, apparently. The black granite of the tower is nearly changed to an iridescent white from them all.
At the center of this positive energy nexus is a massive, towering angelic being. Almost equal in size to the fire giants you've seen, but a paragon of humanoid form...chiseled abs and musculature supporting radiant white feathered wings. Across his eyes rests a golden blindfold, and he wards the area with a great crozier, no humble shepard's staff.
His voice is low and rumbling like distant thunder, and he seems to waste no time directly questioning "Tell me of your evil deeds in the mortal world."
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
Hrungnir’s eyes went wide. ”By the secret paths, that’s a Solar!” He said in hushed awe. Without much further thought he fell down to one knee. With only some hesitation he said ”Evil? Can’t say I’m sure what exactly it is that ye’d judge as that. Me Clan called it evil when I abandoned hearth and kin to pursue the woman I love. I’ve killed many an enemy in battle, and they’ve likely thought me actions to be evil. The elflings invading the mortal realm that fell to me hand, for example, likely cursed me for ending their lives. I’ve always done what I think to be right, but what I think and what others do differ. That is the best I can answer...as unlike ye I do not see so clearly.” He said, honestly.
"...that's the price of it. 20 heads for 1, not bad eh?" it was a small voice, like a brownie coming from below. Startled, the kobold Deimus rushed out of sight of the stairs landing there high atop the rookery.
The other was a voice Deimus recognized, Scutarius Thornwalker...? "How can they even hope to escape? With Roren's collapse the fire giants have once again overrun the shadow portal...it would take a cavalry, with a battery of support from the ridge to even attempt regular wares, let alone children."
Deimus pushed his kobold form back against the rookery spire, something about the clandestine conversation sent shivers down his spine "Heh. There's lots of ways...Queen's hedges being the important one. She doesn't spare any expense with her 'dead ends' shall we say. One way trip. *ziiip*" he makes a little rushed whistling sound with his tongue "And everyone gets what they want. Except your new 'Lord', I guess...hehe."
Carnadine? Could the young squire really be plotting against the Captain somehow!? He had heard enough... "Stop. *yip* Betrayer."
"...what the...? Drake-kin in the Courts of Shadow? Quetelmak's assassin no doubt...en garde!" the small figure drew steel but Scutarius hesitated.
Deimus came on in a flurry, the muscle memory of his innate form merged with mechanical rapier's edge in an inspired dance across two lifetimes.
"Stop, this needless..*urk*!" Scutarius stepped between them, catching a blade in the back from his unknown companion.
"Aw. Now look what you made me do. Now I have to clean this up...*sigh*" the little rogue lamented.
Deimus rushed to cast his healing magics on the young squire, grasping with clawed hand of materialized song, pressing it into the fountain of blood gushing from his artery. He had always been an efficient healer...just another form of tinkering, from his perspective. Deimus had a prodigal focus, able to put off any and all distractions until his task was complete...
...and so in his rush to stem the wound of Scutarius, he didn't see the other press him over the edge of the tower, and Deimus fell to his death still clutching Scutarius, just moments away from saving him...but tragically too late.
As the polymorph spell returned him to machinery, his left actuator opened slowly as the spirit faded...the Clockwork Oracle's scroll unfurling, stained with blood and oil. Only a few words could be made out in the end... "...you will not live to see betrayal."
"And would you be so uncertain were you to dedicate yourself to casting down demons, devils, and the dark gods without quarter? Standing fast in battle with courage and conviction...such is the greatest virtue of the warrior. Let your virtue grow, Runes Crafter. For Khors is Friend to Magus and Warrior who said: 'Ne noceat nec umbra innocentes' ... Let no shadow harm the innocent." the last words carried a power from beyond the stars, a heavenly decree that burned into Hrungnir with a force he my have never felt before. The dwarf's heart might flirt fast to thoughts of his innocent princess...
”I am steadfast in my conviction to always do what my heart says is right, wherever that may take me. To put the utmost respect and effort into my craft and to be steadfast in battle. I hope that meets with yer approval, for that is all I can honestly offer.” Hrungnir said, his heart beating like a drum in his chest. He felt unable to look away or to lie.
"Why do you ask about subjective things?" Lexi asked.
Kjeta looked up at Revich, wordless. While she had neglected her religious studies (even by the standards of the generally-less-than-studious clergy of Ninkash) this could be none other than a Solar, one of the greatest and rarest beings of the Celestial realms.
After a minute--hearing Hrungnir's words as though from far away--she realized there were tears streaming down her face. So beautiful...like the essence of Ale itself...I have heard the very voice of Ninkash, and yet Revich's voice is every bit as beautiful...and to see him...
She lifted her tankard high above her head, and then kneeled. "In the name of the Alemother, I bless you. It is a great honor to be in your presence, Revich."
Seeming to see and hear only the Solar, she goes on. "I have acted foolishly--and hurt those I care for through forgetfulness--but by Ninkash's grace I have always done my best to stay true to my heart, and to her Teachings, spreading the Good News as best I am able.
"When Selang threatened Kubourg, I led my people to fight them back. When fey assassins burst into Khors' temple in Zobeck, I joined with these other brave souls to do the same. If there be demons, devils, and the dark gods at work here, I will do the most I can with what Ninkash has granted me to foil their machinations. Pray only, what do you ask of us?"
"Why do you ask about subjective things?" Lexi asked.
"The illusion of subjectivity is a mortal fault." the solar responds simply.
"The Courts of the Shadow Fey is one of Khors battlegrounds against fiends. It is time to actualize the fate that was promised. Show us your will to engage..."
"What, then, is an objectively evil act?"
"What, then, is an objectively evil act?"
The majestic Solar gives a look of pure pity in the Shadow's direction "It is the mortal's fate for the answers to such questions to remain incomprehensible, the questions themselves to confound scholars for millennia. Only faith in Khors can grant moments of inspiration which transcend the corpus-matter binding your soul here. Your insights unto evil are thus a measure of faith, growing with it. So I ask you again, Shadow, tell me of your evil deeds in the mortal world."
The solar informs Lexi of this greater truth without much knowable expression, its face more similar to a statue. Not even its eyes are readable, covered by that golden sash.
First Hrungnir showed his runes, and demonstrated his use of them. He trusted that the Solar knew of them, their power, and history. He also displayed the arcane power at his disposal.
He then showed his artifice, showing the armor he had made with his own hands.
He spoke then, rather clumsily, about what an honor it would be, but quickly stopped as he began to trip over his own words.
So instead he displayed his knowledge of history, and spoke instead about the history of his people in fighting evil, and his knowledge of such matters.
And finally he showed his skill at arms, proving that he was a warrior, both strong of body and skilled in the use of his weaponry.
Carnadine was concerned when Deimus did not return for the evening. It was not like him at all. The gearforged was always concerned about his new clutch and demonstrated bravery in the face of certain doom to earn the ghost knight's deep respect.
He heeded the advice to not explore the palace at night. It had not proved to be dangerous, especially those silly goblin monoliths. When the dawn broke such at it is transforming the star-pierced, black curtuin into a gray shroud, the knight captain incorporeal left their suite armed for war to search for his missing companion.
Seeing that the solar was still waiting, Hrungnir thought for a moment, and then shared what he had seen about the location’s defenses, pointing out both the strengths and weaknesses, to the best of his ability.
"Aye, I can rise to that challenge!" Kjeta returns to her feet.
"After all, the Alemother Herself has spoken to me, and taught me to brew her Good Brews. If you will, allow me to share Her Blessed Brew with you both, as I have with so many others."
She offers a generous pour to everyone present, and drinks some herself.
As she feels the pleasant, holy burn of the ale in her throat, Kjeta feels the Fires of Ninkash filling her.
You got this, Kjeta. Oh, you've got this!
"When my allies have fallen, I've cared for them with magic, medicine, and healing draughts that I make myself." She takes out her herbalism kit, and demonstrates how she tends to the injured.
She tells the story of befriending both the Roren's owl and the Prince's hounds, and adds, "I find that, when face-to-face with nature's creations, the grace of Ninkash allows me to approach in a way that makes evident that I can be trusted."
"While it's not something I've trained in, I've been happy to help my comrades in our hunts. In fact..."she tells the tale of tracking the Peryton, and how--when useful--she calls on the Alemother's Guidance through key challenges.
"By calling on Ninkash's grace, I can Comprehend Languages I've never heard before--that I might be able to negotiate a reasonable solution--and I try to understand those I meet, looking for peaceful solutions where I can."
She describes some of the insights she's had on the goblins in the kitchens, and their transformed servants.
"But of course there are times when violence is the only language that Evil will understand. In those moments, the Hero of the Hops doesn't hesitate to meet force with force!"
With that, and a prayer to Ninkash, suddenly she's holding a Tankard Of Unusual Size which she shakes menacingly.
...And with that, she bows, clearly pleased with herself.