Tzleztor puts his hands on his hips feigning insult at the mention of a Mephit serving a witch.
"Are you certain that it was a Mephit and not an Imp or a Quasit? Generally witches are not aligned with elemental creatures. We can be trying at times but we are certainly not evil."
He pauses for a moment in reflection.
"Still who knows? I cannot speak for all Mephits just as you cannot speak for all humans I suppose. I can only speak for myself."
Tzleztor boasts quite outrageously.
"I am Tzleztor, Salt Mephit extraordinaire. Raconteur of stories, adventurer of the many planes of existence and quite often the rescuer of my traveling companion Xilt."
The plucky Mephit looks around.
"So when is the party really starting? I feel the need to air dance."
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Smarmy annoyance at Cerelan rebuff is quickly overshadowed by the announcement of their hostess' arrival. He quickly moves towards the table, intent on getting the best seat possible.
He is in luck, finding a place between the Trade Prince, and the Lioness herself. The dwarf silently congratulates himself on his good fortune, and his smile almost seems genuine for a moment, as he strikes up a conversation, on both sides... trying to gain a little favor before the food starts arriving.
"Baron Smarmy. From Kravenkus. A wonderful gathering you have managed here, m'lady. I, personally, am honored to have been invited!" He says with his best ingratiating smile, before turning towards Aaqir. "And good to see you too Trade Prince. I have been eagerly awaiting a chance to talk shop, if you will."
Baron Smarmy is met with a charming smile from Trade Prince Aaqir. "Greetings to you as well, my friend. It would seem the Society is well represented, by Pathfinders and those that conduct noble political moves. I am well, as are my daughters, thank you. They are my pride and joy."
***
Ofarah looks down briefly at the Baron with a look that is hard to read but seems interested and benevolent. "I apologize. I am looking forward to the discussion with you. Unfortunately, I have to start the dinner now if you allow."
—
Ofarah waits patiently as the guests find their seats. She is a tall and strongly built Garundi woman, with dark hair styled in an elaborate mane of dreadlocks. She favors gold jewelry that jingles when she walks, accenting her feline stride, which suggests both grace and purpose. Once all of you have been seated, she addresses those gathered.
“Welcome friends! I apologize for my tardiness, but I hope you had an enjoyable time conversing in the parlor. Tonight, in celebration of my birthday, we will have a sumptuous meal prepared by the embassy’s finest chef, to be served in six courses. As we dine, I look forward to getting to know those of you with whom I am not yet acquainted. Please don’t hesitate to ask anything of our servants, who are here to please, and who will do all in their power to make your meal as exquisite as it can be. So without further delay, let us eat!”
An intimidating amount of silverware adorns each place setting, Aleimare seems a little lost. He tries to watch to see what the others pick up, mimicking them, but fails to be too discreet for the more observant to notice.
Xilt turns to Yala as they are all ushered into the banquet hall.
"Your heroism against the witches is well-documented among the scholars of the north. There are rumors that should you be able to secure the elixir you might be able to continue this struggle for the years to come. A laudable goal."
Yala seems to be genuinely surprised. ”You know a lot about me! Maybe I should invite you to my place to see where you know this from!“ Rough and tumble she looks at Xilt, and he realizes that this warrior can probably keep up with—and often outperform—any man put before her.
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Xilt smiles at Yala's invitation.
"The official records are quite bland sadly. Written by old warriors well past their prime in Whitethrone. Now there are more interesting tales about you that I have heard from a traveling Dwarf minstrel in a Hillscross tavern. The details of which could be repeated in a more intimate setting if you like."
Once they begin to eat Xilt notices Aleimare struggling with his silverware.
In an attempt to spare people any embarrassment Xilt casts a simple spell and the proper forks and knives begin to levitate slightly for the appropriate courses.
(Xilt's take 10 on K-Nobility is 21)
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Vornsk Tsks at the countess flirtations. As dinner begins she turns to Gabapentin "Tat is too free wit her affections. Broken many hearts she has, by treating people like tings not peoples. Protect your heart and your dignity. Avoid tat lady. She warns the merchant.
Vornsk struggles with the soup course falling through her fork and the salad course from falling off her spoon.
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Alisa know everything about basic and even some advanced high society manners. Some meals she consume, some - just touch, but everything with grace.
Seeing that Vornsk screwed up a bit, Alisia will help with Invisible Servant and some Prestidigitation. And may be use some gestures to advice how to proceed dinner ritual
—
As four liveried servants prepare to serve the first course, seared sea scallops presented on a bed of butternut squash pureed with exotic Thuvian herbs and drizzled with chive oil, Ofarah turns to Paracountess Zarta Dralneen and poses her first question.
“My dear Paracountess, I have heard you yourself throw rather lavish parties at the Chelish Embassy. How do you find tonight’s affair, and what advice can you offer me for future events?”
The paracountess squints for a moment in thought, as though trying to think of a tactful way of saying something with no possible positive spin. “My parties are much more lively, to say the least. I enjoy the company of many, and this small fete would hardly provide enough warm bodies to keep me occupied at one of my gatherings. Perhaps, if you’re open to the idea, I could invite you to my next soiree, which is set to have an enticingly Infernal theme?”
At the conclusion of the answer, Ofarah nods to Zarta. "Quite fascinating. "
She says, then turns to Alisia and asks, "What are your thoughts on my party, especially in comparison to those thrown by the paracountess in the Chelish Embassy?"
You noticed a hint of displeasure on Ofarah’s face as she listened to the paracountess speak, especially when the Chelaxian suggested she attend an evil-themed party.
The little Mephit watches on as these strange (to him) humanoids converse and eat food with varied utensils. He wonders if any of them are having any fun at all.
He whispers to Xilt and others in the party through the Message spell.
"Pst. How are you all doing? You guys really do not know how to party."
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Alisia shows thankful to Opharia for giving a word. She makes a sip of water before speaking.
Dear Opharah! I am actully happy to be on such a party! As you might know Pathfinders spend much time at the road at sea and so on. Sitting, relaxing without haste and eat as long as you want - brings satisfaction. I'd say that Chelish party's are stylish and passionate but ... I honestly try to avoid some rules and details which devils are all about. Oh, this remind me about one Chelish Embassy party where Paracountess was too bandaged and restricted even for her preferenses. ,- Alisia smiles with a mistery upon face and whispers at Zarta's ear I will continue just with your aproval, lady Dralneen.
Alisia once investigated Zarta's dissappearence at the Chelish Embassy party... but doesný think it is a good idea to detil this event.
So, I wonder what will follow here and hope that no dance or other physical entertainment will it be.
Ofarah nods slightly and smiles, "Fair enough. An answer with mystery behind it, but honest I think."
* * *
As the second course—reefclaw cakes presented with fire roasted corn, garlic, and sauteed leeks—is placed before you, Ofarah poses her second question, this time directing it at Yala.
“Yala, you are known as Witchbane among your people. However did you come by this title?”
The Ulfen warrior stands proudly, pounding on the table and sending a smattering of reefclaw onto her neighbor’s plate. “I am the bringer of death to the witches of Irrisen, and my bloody blade is the last thing their icy eyes see before I send them straight to Hell! If I lived a thousand years, I couldn't kill enough witches, and if I could wipe their filthy spawn from the face of Golarion tomorrow, I’d give my last breath to do so!”
When Yala ceases her tirade, her face red and her eyes wild, Ofarah turns to and asks Guy, "What do you think of witches, especially with your clerical background?"
* * *
You notice that Ofarah watches wide-eyed, looking back and forth between the raving barbarian and the food that is getting tossed across the table.
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Guy puts down his fork, folds his hands, and tilts his head in consideration, looking off to the side. After a moment he looks directly into Ofarah eyes and responds,
"In general I am a 'live and let live' sort of person, but witches aren't the 'let live' sort. In fact, in my course of travels I have met many such beings and have supported the team in ... 'dealing' with them. Unlike our northern friend here, though, I do not take so much pride and joy in it, nor am I cut out to be a witch hunter. My idea of a perfect day is to read about witches in a nice quiet library, not struggle through the snow in an epic confrontation. Still... If I were to HAVE to confront evil of that nature, I would want Yala there... And, it seems, a healthy supply of reefclaw cakes! "
He picks up his fork and for a moment it is poised to take another dip but it pauses in mid air.
"Life is strange that way, isn't it? There is a place for everyone; you just have to find your niche. It seems Yala has found hers."
He then puts the fork aside and muses,
"You know, when I was young I was bullied terribly. Crude boys with more muscles than brains tormented me. But I have since found that crude and strong are not the same thing as evil. A typical team of pathfinders is quite varied and almost always includes at least one warrior or things tend to end badly. I think it is the same on a more macroscopic scale."
Ofarah smiles at Guy's well-delivered reply and nods.
"Your words are wise. As was expected by someone of your station."
Even Yala seems impressed by his answer, though she is heard to mumble something about "the only good witch is a dead witch".
Small talk continues as the second course is enjoyed. Ofarah continues the conversation with Yala and Guy, discussing the differences between the witches of Irrisen and those that exist elsewhere in in the world.
* * *
During the third course of roasted beets in a dwarven mead reduction, presented with fresh goat cheese and pickled Chelish greens, Ofarah continues her efforts to get to know her guests by engaging Trade Prince Aaqir al’Hakam in conversation.
“Honorable trade prince, I understand you are a relative newcomer to Absalom. As an outsider myself, I am curious about your experiences here.”
The handsome Qadiran smiles humbly, and raises an eyebrow as he dabs his napkin to the corner of his mouth. “What an excellent question! In my years seeking financial partners while living in Katheer, I traveled here many times and find the opportunities more promising with each visit. Now that I am here permanently, I find myself ever seeking the company of those from distant shores, with whom I may make even more ambitious arrangements to ensure mutual financial gain. And I find keeping an eye on my daughters in such a big and corrupting city quite a daunting task!”
At al’Hakam’s insinuation that she should go into business with him, Ofarah instantly loses interest in his statement, which had captivated her to that point.
Ofarah turns to Xilt and looks also at his Mephit, "What has life in Absalom been like for you? A Pathfinder and Wizard probably has an answer, too?"
Tzleztor tries to keep up with these complicated people and their multiple meanings.
He remains at a loss to see what they are really saying.
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Xilt like his familiar tries to keep up.
However his limited social skills do not allow him to see the true meaning of their words. He feels that he must answer this question somewhat blind to what Ofarah is really asking.
"As a Wizard and a member of the Exchange I can tell you that there is a great deal of opportunity and a reservoir of knowledge in this great city. There is also as the fine trade prince mentioned much corruption to avoid."
Orafah seems not so pleased by Xilt's brief answer that backed the trade prince.
* * *
You continue the conversation through the rest of the course. Soon, though, your dishes are cleared and they begin the main course.
Composed of grilled fillet of ankheg, presented with caramelized shallots in a Thuvian wine reduction, crisp truffle-scented potato, white asparagus, and Darklands mushrooms, as this course is served the hostess continues her line of questioning, now turning her attention to Gaspar Desime.
“Gaspar, I have to ask, whatever are all those medals for? I assume you earned them on the battlefield, no?”
The already-tipsy Isgeri chugs his wine uncouthly and slams the empty goblet down onto the table dramatically.
His gaze ever on the Paracountess instead of Ofarah, he begins an interminable recounting of the epic tale of his career: “Why yes indeed! Over four hundred hobgoblin foot soldiers died by my blade alone, and my name is still uttered along with the most honored heroes of the Goblinblood Wars. Why, were it not for me, one can only imagine what would have become of fair Isger at the hands of the wretched hordes. To think of all that missed opportunity.” he says proudly.
That Gaspard is not talking to her is incredible. Ofarah is annoyed at Gaspar's drunken, boorish and overconfident behavior.
* * *
Looking to Vornsk, Ofarah asks, "Battles are one way to gain prestige. Tell me lady Vornsk, what would you consider to be your greatest achievement?"
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Vornsk is taken aback by Gaspar's braggish claims. If one could swing a sword once every tree seconds--more likely once in six seconds--and every swing was instantly letal as he claims, te war would not have lasted four years. Vornsk blows air quietly through pursed lips. ppht
Was tat out loud?
Mistress, I am a guest here, I do not come to brag of my accomplishments. Can I just say that my discretion is one of my proudest attributes?
Not expecting that to work to get everyone's eyes off her, the quiet occultist has a story ready. "Tough, I expect a good meal such as tis is worty of a good story, no?" She smiles bashfully, but addresses their hostess.
"It was not I, but we, tough I am proud of my part in it, so I shall tell you about te ghosts haunting te Varisian city Magnimar, te 'City of Monuments'. Restless spirits, dark rituals and bloodtirsty cultists terrorized te night.
"The mayor turned to us, Patfinders, to find and deal wit te issue. We visited almost a dozen monuments to sanctify tem. One time in battle, but anoter time trough dance, and ten by prayer, and by vigilance we restored sanity to the city's guardian spirit of Ordellia. She led us to an azata tat cultists planned to sacrifice. Vornsk draws on the power of the Khyber crystal and shadowy tendrils form into a blue skin man with black markings and butterfly wings. It looks strikingly similar to a scar she now bears.
"But we saved him, quelled te treat, and he warned us, tat te true culprit was still out tere. A malevolent will-o’-wisp called Tulvhata was corrupting te Glade of te Silver Spark. It was proud for me, because te Azata trusted me wit his power and I was able use it and to transform when we later dealt with te creature." She pauses before continuing, and looks up at Ofarah as if coming back to herself. "Tat was mostly battle so will not bore you wit te detail."
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You are doing great, and almost not wet. - Alisia sends message with bare look and some face mimics.
It is obvious that Gaspar annoying almost every person in high society. So the mesmerist will whisper at Zarta's ear almost touching with her lips.
Lady Dralneen, I want to spare us from this uncomfortable person. Do you mind
At the same time she will Stare at Gaspar to make him feel uncomfortable and maybe provoke to leave. Without further scalation yet.
Ofarah smiles at Vornsk. "Very honorable achievements. Companionship is a valuable commodity in any place, and acts of heroism will outlive us all, no matter what our lifespans might be."
Ofarah continues her conversation for a time with Vornsk, and seems genuinely interested in her magical shadow skill, even showing interest about the Khyber crystal.
***
The penultimate course, a dessert of sorbet served with berries soaked in Irrisen ice wine and topped with a delicate chocolate lattice, is accompanied by yet another question from Ofarah, this time directed at a the Sapphire Sage, Amenopheus.
“What can you tell me of the past, Amenopheus? What is the earliest notable event that occurred within your own lifetime?”
The aged Osirian raises his eyebrows at the insinuation of his advanced age, but smiles nonetheless and responds.
“In all my years, I have never sat at as lovely a table as this one, I will tell you that. Beyond that, however, the tales of yore are lengthy and belong in libraries and dusty cloisters, and not at the dinner table. Though I may have many years on all at this table but our elven friend, I plan to enjoy many more, one way or another. Ask me again in a generation and we’ll talk history then.”
It seems that she wanted to hear a tale of Wisdom or something more entertaining.
She turns to Smarmy with a raised eyebrow, "Baron Smarmy, what tales of time gone by could you share with us?"
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Smarmy leans back and ponders, as Ofarah turns her attention to him.
"If its time gone by you are interested in," He answers slowly. "Then the story of the last of the dwarven sky citadels, Jormurdun, probably fits that bill. Lost for millennia."
"Even the task of relocating it in the first place, is a story all on its own." He adds, with a conspiratorial whisper. "Given that it took infiltrating another sky citadel, this one long ago overtaken by orcs. Once known as Koldukar, it is now more commonly referred to as Urgir, the orcish ruled capital of Belzken."
"But it is not that, nor Jormurdun itself, that I shall speak of now, but the reaching of the later." He finally finishes, his voice solemn. "For Jormurdun was finally located. Originally in the lands of Sarkoris, but those lands were long ago overtaken, and consumed, by the demon infested Worlwound!"
He shakes his head slightly, letting a melancholy note works its way into his voice. "Alas, these were not seasoned veterans, like those from Mendev or my countrymen. No, most were but poncy nobles trying to justify titles they didn't earn, or can barely hold, or grandstanding blowhards, thinking themselves too important to die." He only barely glances Gaspar's way at this last comment.
"But the Worldwound, it is not like other fields of battle."
He looks towards Gaspar. "I have been to Isgar, and fought the goblinoids there. Sorry if I have not heard of you before today, I'm sure you accomplished much." He then turns to address Yala. "And I have kin who have battled the ice witches of Irrisen, I'm sure they were even worse." He is obviously making a thinly veiled slight towards both Gaspar (again), and perhaps Yala's, accomplishments.
"All of those foes, are just trying to kill you, and you them. Battles in the Worldwound are far more dire. When you see thousands of teaming demonic hoards, literally crawling over each other, intend on not only ripping your apart with tooth and claw, but devouring your remains, and your very soul, you will know a true foe." He shakes his head, obviously something he has had personal experience with.
"But it is not just the demons, you fight there, but the land itself." He adds, getting to the point of his tale. "The ground beneath your feet, the air you breath. Every dried out patch of grass or stunted tree twisted into disturbing silhouettes. Every insect or other life still trying to live there." He sighs. "All of it tainted by the abyss, and fighting you as hard as the demonic locals."
"I've seen the ground open up, with no reason, the sounds of thousands of voices, howling and screaming in anguish rising up from it. Voices soon joined by dozens more, as those standing where it opened were swallowed up by it. Only for it to close, leaving no trace. We dug for hours, until hands were bloody, but never saw any sign of any of them again."
"Plant life that sends up clouds of unseen spores, that turn men on each other. An entire advanced scouting team, did just that, tearing at each other with blades and knives, and even teeth and nails, until the last man left, just sat there, cutting on himself." He shakes his head. "By the time we found them, it was too late for even that last. And all due to a patch of moss on the side of a cliff, no bigger than this table." He motions to the table before them, for emphasis.
"Air that suddenly turns toxic in the dark of night." He continues. "Entire tents of men, who do not wake come morning."
"Hell." He adds suddenly. "At one point, it rained teeth. Human teeth, for the better part of an afternoon. We tried to keep our eyes raised and pretend we were just walking on strange gravel... but everyone new otherwise."
"And that is just a handful of the dangers the land itself threw at us... between and ofttimes during the hoards of demons trying to devour our immortal souls."
"But we fought past it all... and reached the gates of Jormurdun itself." He finally exclaims. "But reclaiming that from the horrors within, that is a story for another time."
"We learned a great deal about the enemy, and the lands they had overtaken, during that campaign. Learning with a very high price. I doubt very few men returned home from it without injuries that still bleed to this day. Not just in body, but in here." He taps the side of his head. "And here." He touches his chest above his heart.
"You have not done battle, until you've done it versus the true enemy of Avistan." He finally concludes.
Ofarah whispers "Jormurdun" softly and looks at Baron Smarmy with open eyes. She nods slowly as a sign of respect as if this is all the response needed after such a tale.
After several seconds of silence, she speaks.
"I enjoy your manner of speech, sir. Presented like a bittersweet historic desert for this extensive and maybe a little spoiled dinner party."
She holds her gaze on Smarmy a moment longer with a smile and then looks at the servants.
* * *
After clearing the table, the servants light a number of hookahs, filling the air with the scent of rose-infused tobacco from Molthune. Amenopheus takes his leave without partaking in any of the post-meal smoking, thanking the hostess and wishing all remaining guests well. Between puffs of her personal hookah, Ofarah poses a final question to the elf she knows as Ceralan.
“Finally, my old friend Ceralan. Either time has changed your timeless features or muddied my own memory, for I feel as though we are total strangers now. Tell me of a time we spent together in Lamasara in my youth, that others can share in our friendship.”
The elf blinks silently for a moment as if in deep thought. “Why, my lady, our memories are our own. Perhaps our fine guests would rather we discuss something they too hold dear: a sentiment from childhood, or a memory held in the forefront of the mind?” Ceralan gestures to the group of Pathfinders as he makes the suggestion.
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Hmmmm. Handsome but awkward peroson this Ceralan. He's hiding something. Or is this a society manuer and too edgy nobility play? I need to find out what's happening here.
Alisia becomes lazy after longing feast and start using simle magic to aid herself proceed cunsuming drinks. SHe also uses Polypurpose Panacea to feel more comfortable and a bit high. Her behavior can be described as unbridled this so far.
I suppose that Cerelan is not ready for high society, lady Opharah. Sometimes people act as we are not expect from them... that means we just do not know them well enough, right, Firstborn? , - even if Gaspar still in there - she cross gaze with Ceralan and Alisia's eyes become like sunlight for a moment.
Anyway Alisia continues...
I've got a story about my youth if you are interested in... Alisia tell shortly a story about infiltration Library of the Lion in Kitharodian Academy, Taldor. About being under cover, about beautiful music which helped to cover group infiltration. And about finding Taldor's dirty secrets and intellegence way of work... We succeed and avoided almost every threat. But Lion Blades are too god and we were to young... with lack of cultural adaptation. Anyway, I am free, I am alive and still refusing to enter Lion Blades. - Alisia smiles seductively and misteriously, still staring at Ceralan, tryin to understand if Charm workes.
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“Why, my lady, our memories are our own. Perhaps our fine guests would rather we discuss something they too hold dear: a sentiment from childhood, or a memory held in the forefront of the mind?”
No, not really.
But Guy is too timid to actually say anything. Unlike Ofarah, though, Guys suspicious go on high alert. He squints his eyes at the potentially fake Ceralan and glances around at the other Pathfinders to see if they hold the same suspicion.
When Alisia casts a Charm Person spell on Cerulan he gasps at the audacity, yet unable to intervene. On a scale of 1-10 the breach of etiquette is an 11, right up there with poisoning the host.
Oh, crap. Oh, crap. Oh, crap.
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Smarmy frowns at Ceralan's answer. Combined with the brush off he himself received earlier, the man was certainly acting cagey. Then again, Smarmy had a particular dislike of elves, which might be biasing his viewpoint.
Still, the dwarf pears past Ofarah, looking carefully at the elf himself this time.
Unsure what the man's intentions are, he quickly jumps in to draw the lady's attention back his way.
"Well, the elven renown for elegant words is clearly not all-inclusive." He says, with a frown at Ceralan, quickly replaced by an unctuous smile at Ofarah.
"I can not speak for elves, nor would I wish to. But I could perhaps add a memory of my own."
He reaches beneath his fancy coat, and withdraws a long slender silver letter opener.
"This was a gift from the radiant Paracountess over there, on my very first assignment with the Society." He sends a smile Zarta's way. "Though I doubt she recalls the moment herself. A pesky servant of hers was causing a considerable ruckus, and she merely asked for us to help sort it out... I assume as a favor for the Society to help ease in new recruits, more than anything else. She undoubtedly could have handled it just as simply herself."
"Still, I was new at the time, so it was all very exciting." He adds with an almost genuine smile. "She allowed me to keep this afterwards..." He pauses for a moment, turning the letter opener over in his hands, before adding. "Though she did get me to agree to come back and visit her later, for doing so."
"And I do so apologize for never fulfilling that promise my dear. He adds with a sly grin at the Paracountess across the table. "I admit to being a little intimidated at the time. One in a long line of regrets that still flutter about my brain on occasion."
The elf looks at Smarmy and Alisia as if he just does not care.
"I am no storyteller," Ceralan says. "nor am I comfortable talking about my past."
*
The Paracountess looks admiringly at Alisia during her speech. When Baron Smarmy starts to talk about his first mission, she is first confused but then starts to smile seductively.
"My dear Baron Smarmy, maybe we should have a private conversation tomorrow. Offers come and go ... you never know .. " the Paracountess says and looks into Smarmy's eyes as if he is the only thing she can see at the moment.
*
Ofarah, distracted by the odd exchange, turns to Smarmy and Alisia and says, "I thank you for filling. We shall discuss serious matters a little later."
As the conversation draws to a close, Zarta Dralneen, Aaqir al’Hakam, and Lady Gloriana rise and make their way to the front of the embassy to be retrieved by their respective sedans and escorts, leaving only the your group, Ofarah, Ceralan, and the embassy’s servants in the dining room.
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Alisia listens for Smarmy emotionally, with a smile, mirroring Zarta in some way. Later she hugs all the departing colleagues...
And slap Smarmys butt or back Implementing Shadow Splinter power into the dwarven aura.
Just after to return watching at Ceralan as a cougar hunting her prey. From afar, but almost constantly.
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Once the dinner is over, and folks are distracted by the departing guests, Smarmy's silver letter opener disappears once more, before any of the guards or servants wonder how it got into the building in the first place.
( )
He gives Alisia a glare as she get too informal, though quickly turns his attention back to their hostess. He makes sure to compliment her on the wonderful repast and company... never one to overlook an opportunity to gain favor.
Though he keeps a watchful eye on the elf... still not sure what the man's game was.
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"You two are friends childhood? Maybe the elixer is good to you to be childs with elves?
Hearing the comment about the elven features, and at Cerelan's deflection, Vornsk tries to coax some better details from either. As a deceptive illusionist she takes a discerning look at the elf through the hooka haze.
Vornsk catches the eye of Guy & nods to say she also saw... something.
*