"So who is that?" Drau asks, surveying the room suspiciously.
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"You don't like travelling at night?" Drau asks Otis while staring intently at the bird. "I find there are few times more suited to travel than the cover of darkness. My people - my family, rather - conducted all of their business at night. I think I just feel more at home there. That's what my mother used to tell my brothers and sisters, though I believe her exact words were 'your brother should be kept in the dark about these activities.' That was my dear mother for you: considerate to the end." Drau plays with the hem of his sleeve and looks around. "The end? I hear you ask in your thoughts. Surely the mother of this poor scholar cannot have departed this mortal realm! But she has," says Drau sadly. He rubs the corner of his eye with his fingertip. "Her children are orphans! Someone else has picked up the mantel of the head of our House, yes, but we are without the firm hand of a parent to guide us. It is truly tragic. I miss my mother greatly." He sniffles now and blinks his eyes rapidly. "Come then, let us send the bird back. We shall depart in the morning as you prefer."
Drau thanks the man and wanders back out into the street. He finds the first reasonably well-dressed person he can and walks up to them. "Excuse me? Old man?" he asks politely. "Could you tell me what Vorkstag and Grine's Chymic Works is? Or where it is? Or if it has anything to do with chimes? It sounds like chimes. I do so love a well made set of chimes. It reminds me of the sober days of my youth." He chuckles. "Not that my adult years have been spent deep in cups, smothered by a haze of inebriation. Rather, I meant the other meaning of the word sober. Devoid of frivolity, you understand. I did not grow up in a House filled with the ringing laughter of elves at play. No, my family doesn't see the point. It was terribly tragic, now that I can think back on it as an adult." "Anyway. What can you tell me about this Chymic Works?" Drau smiles politely and waits for a response.
"Ah, yes, the University. Judging by the architecture of this place, which is both awe-inspiring and grotesque in it's own disturbing way, it is between one hundred and seven thousand years old," Drau says in his best tour guide voice as he shows everyone around the campus. "The university was undoubtedly founded by some rich individual who inherited his wealth, never did a day of work in his life, and wanted some sort of legacy so people could remember his name rather than his deeds - or lack thereof. Well, the joke is on him. No one seems to know a damn thing about the history of this place." Drau stops at the enormous wood and iron front door of one of the buildings. "Now, just to clarify a few things here," he says and clears his throat awkwardly. "I don't really know Professor Derein that well. We only met once and that was under particularly tragic circumstances. You see, I had a crate of beautiful pseudacris feriarum brought in for a lecture on the effects of love songs on frogs - which do not mate the same way you or I might... Well, you all, anyway. I don't seem to be particularly attractive to the women of this university and I have no idea why. I think I'm rather clever and I feel I have a lot to offer a woman in terms of companionship." He shuffles uncomfortably and pulls at the collar of his robe. "Ah, right. Yes. Where was I? Oh yes. Professor Derein may have accidentally ordered the deaths of all two hundred of my test subjects. The frogs, not the students. Haha. Oh, to be young and in love and eviscerated on a cold stone slab by a child with a knife. University is so full of all kinds of unexpected life lessons." Drau leads the group to the Department of Health in search of Professor Derein to inquire about the tools.
"Can I get you a drink, Mistress?" Drau asks Rowena, wringing his hands nervously. "Perhaps a Coconut Blade? A Doomed Scarlet? Maybe a finger of Jumbo Jim's Grape Scotch? My personal favourite is the Larger Drink, though to be honest, I don't like the taste as much as I like ordering it. A Larger Drink please, busty wench!" He laughs to himself and goes up to the bar. "Excuse me!" he calls to the staff behind the bar. "If one of yon delightfully busty wenches has just a moment, I'd like to place an order." He smiles sweetly. "I'd like a Philanthropist's Mystery and if I could also order a Tristram Shandy for the lovely lady here, there'd be an extra coin in it."
"What in the hells is that?! Drau cries, looking at the face in horror. "Well that is vile. Just utterly vile. Wow. Gross. I think I can feel my last meal coming back up to join us. Yikes, guys. It's a face. Otis is carrying a face. Another face. A totally gross face. Gross. Wow." Drau shudders. "Face aside," he continues after a few moments, "I may have a theory. The face is interesting though. The cuts are very precise. Can golems even do that?" He looks to see if anyone is paying attention, before carrying on, regardless of who is seems to be actively listening to him. "There are empty graves, yes? Six of them. But there is also a bag big enough for a body. Usually bodies go in the graves, so they should be filling up, not emptying out. I speculate that someone who has figured out how to navigate using these infernal contraptions-" He points at the coracle as though it is a hideous, snarling creature. "-and has been stealing bodies. Although that doesn't necessarily explain the gag. Who needs to gag a dead man? What is wrong with these swamp people?" "And a darkvision potion? Do golems need those?" the professor muses and taps his chin thoughtfully. Then his eyes grow wide with terror. "That other boat is here. It's been here a while. Boats are need to cross the water. So it would make sense, yes, that where the boat goes, so goes the owner?" Drau looks around, wild-eyed. "Are we even alone here?!"
"I'm not done!" Drau calls over his shoulder, heading away from the group. "Just give me a few more minutes. It's not like it's a big island or anything. What if we're missing something?" He turns around and looks at everyone. "A man's... er... beast's life is at stake here! It is our duty to make sure we learn the entire truth! Which means one thing: we will leave no crevice untouched!" Drau takes 20 to search the island thoroughly.
"There are no cute babies in here!" Drau shouts to everyone, a little disappointed. "I should have liked to have taken one as a pet! It would be both adorable and fearsome!" He chuckles to himself. "I do have a silvery oily thing in a flask, a lovely hip flask - the contents of which I would be happy to sample with everyone - some money, a very nice short sword, and - ooh, a wand!" He waves it experimentally. "Who wants what? Slayers, keepers, right folks? Eh? I'm keeping the wand." He grins brilliantly. Drau casts detect magic to make sure the stick actually is a wand and not just a high quality stick.
Drau looks around and heads off to the tree the manticore nest is in. "If I were a manticore - and I'm not, by the way - where would I keep my valuables?" He may or may not be talking to himself. He's a little vague. "In the nest, of course!" Drau cackles and rubs his hands together, pleased with himself. His robes fall back into place. He hitches them up once more, ready to tackle the tree. The robes settle quietly back into place. Again. (Taking 10 to climb the tree.)
Drau hitches up his robe and darts out twenty feet towards the manticore and fires off two more magic missiles.
Drau lets out a tremendous shriek, mostly of pain, and fires two magic missiles at the manticore.
Drau looks a little faint at the sight of a spike sticking out of his shoulder and casts Mage Armor.
Drau's eyes nearly pop out of his head as he goes through his mental index cards to try to figure out if he's seen this thing in any of his years of study.
"MANTICOOOOOOOOORE!" he shrieks. "KILL IT! KILL IT! KILL IT BEFORE IT MATES WITH US!" He looks at the group a little uncertainly. "Unless you guys are into that kind of thing. Also, you should probably watch out for the spikes and the flying. Just sayin'."
"Tou-chy," Drau whispers to Secoundus, rolling his eyes theatrically. He turns back to Lazne."Thank you ever so much for your hospitality. We shall be sure to inform anyone we encounter of both the assistance and the warm welcome you've shown us here today. Perhaps, if we tell enough people, your primary industry here can be tourism." Drau pushes his sleeves up to his elbows. They promptly slide back down to his wrists. "Would you care to lead on, Otis? The sooner we're away from this man-" He points angrily at Lazne. "The sooner he can remove that rather large shillelagh from his puckered posterior!"
"Elder Lazne," Drau says, bowing lowly and respectfully to the man who has identified himself as Lazne. "We have been sent by the venerable Judge Daramid of Lepistadt to meet with you regarding the Beast. We understand that it was your cunning played no small part in the ambush that injured the Beast and forced it into the swamp. The Most Esteemed Judge Daramid has asked for us to sit with you and hear your tale, so that your words and experiences may factor into her judgement and the subsequent ruling on the punishment of this most foul creature that has wounded your town so grievously." Drau straightens up and smiles at the elder, trying to convey both authority and dignity as he does so.
Drau beams proudly at the rest of the group. "Well, that was easy." He is clearly quite pleased with himself. He looks at Araxiel and Secoundus with some concern. "Do you suppose that by if you're a foreigner, he'll come out to greet you soon enough means that he'll offer us a nice cool glass of something sweet and delicious and a place to sit in the shade while he answers our Beast-related questions? Or that he'll immediately take against us because some of us look less local than others and we'll be driven from town by an angry mob feirmeoirí deannaigh a fuath strainséirí fiú níos mó ná gráin siad oideachas agus sláinteachas." He looks around at his companions and grins nervously only aware that he's slipped into Elvish as he finishes his sentence. He coughs politely into his hand and looks off down the boardwalk in the direction indicated by the old woman. Elvish: "...of slime-farmers who hate strangers even more than they hate education and hygiene."
"I'm sorry, Matron," Drau says apologetically. He takes her hand in the respectful manner of a well-behaved grandchild. "I am not Renfro. My name is Drau. I'm actually looking for Elder Lazne. I was hoping you could help me."
"Well, we better get started." Drau walks up to the first home and knocks confidently on the door.
Drau offers Secoundus a warm, friendly smile. At the same time, the rubbing of his shoulder seems to have evolved rapidly into a nervous twitch. "Quiet well. Quiet well indeed, my fine furry friend." Then he falls uncharacteristically quiet, throwing the occasional expectant glance in Rowena's direction.
Drau regards Secoundus with a perplexed expression and rubs his shoulder where Araxiel clubbed him with his meaty paw. "I can offer you tutoring in Common as well, if you'd like. Reasonable fees. It's not a terribly difficult language once you get going. Personally, I learned it as a third language. Occasionally, despite my fluency, I wonder if perhaps I am lacking some of the subtle nuances. For example, if you miss a single letter, you can ruin a perfectly good sentence! I once went to the market to attempt to sell a curiosity I had discovered while on a particularly interesting family foray into - well, it doesn't really matter where we were raiding, does it? The point is that if you mix up glove and love, people tend to talk. And not kindly. Although I did once find a pair of ladies' underthings in my mailbox."
"Yes ma'am!" Drau says, nervously jumping to his feet. "What are my orders? Do you need me to carry anything? How can I best be of assistance? Given my, er, physical limitations - in that I am a scrawny elf and not particularly strong, which I offer my most sincere apologies." He wrings his hands as though in great pain and smiles awkwardly at Rowena without actually making direct eye contact.
Drau is a slight, willowy elf dressed in long black robes with the university crest embroidered on it. White hair pokes out from under his faded red fez. He looks both happy and painfully awkward, offering a nervous smile. Social interactions are clearly not his forte. "A pleasure to make your acquaintances, my dear fellows," he says, scratching behind his ear. "I am Professor Drau Bellend. My father was a Bellend and his father before him was a Bellend. We Bellends have a long, proud history - which I assure you I won't get into right now. I'm a sessional instructor at the university and some day, if I'm lucky and someone dies, I might get tenure." He looks at the brothers curiously. "I can probably arrange some tutoring time to help with your reading. Reading is an extremely valuable skill. In my homeland, illiteracy is a problem among the lower classes. I can help you."
"Oh! Is Embreth a girl's name?" Drau asks thoughtfully. "Well, I thought it was a bit too cute for you. No offense, Gustav. I'm sure the human women find you plenty cute. While I've got you here, do you think I could I ask you a few questions about this Beast? Like, could you tell me everything you know? Well, maybe not everything but, you know. Tell me something interesting - and possibly helpful!" He gives Gustav his most charming smile.
Drau rushes up to the man and grasps his hand, shaking it firmly. He gives the man a warm smile. "Ah! Judge Daramid!" he says, continuing to shake the man's hand. "A right pleasure to meet you. Right pleasure! I came as quickly as I could. I do hope there's something I can do to help you. I don't have a lot of resources but whatever I have is at your disposal, providing what you need doesn't require much more than brain power or a bit of a spell. I'm not too bad at spells. Of course, what I'm really good at is lecturing. My specialty is frogs, of course, and the effects of cantrips on various species. Although I'm sure if you needed a lecture, there are plenty of tenured professors that could help you. Unless you also wanted to confer tenured status on my, ah, um - if you wanted to make me a tenured professor. But if you didn't, I'm perfectly happy to remain on as a sessional lecturer. Anything to educate young minds on frogs." Drau inhales deeply, having run out of breath, and smiles feebly at the man. "It's a pleasure to meet you, your honour."
"You humans," Drau chuckles and shakes his head. "You're too clever by half. That's what my head master said when I was knee-high to a spiderling. Too clever by half." He smiles a nostalgic smile. "Thank you, my dear. Now, I must be on my way." Drau takes his leave of the half-elf. He follows the directions he's been given. Straight ahead into the barracks, up the stairs. "Which door was it?" Drau asks himself quietly, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "Eenie meenie miney mo." He points at a different door with each word. "Catch a drider by the toe. If he hollers, cut his bloody head off so he doesn't alert the entire Darklands to your presence. Eenie meenie, miney, mo." His finger stops on door number one. Cheerfully he steps up to it and pushes the door open.
Drau looks over the notices on the board, lifting up loose announcements and peeking at the ones underneath as he looks for something about the giant wicker man. He glances over the Beast-related notices and moves on. "Um, excuse me?" he timidly asks the half-elf at the desk. "Can you tell me about that wicker thing out front?" Drau looks toward the door. "And if you could possibly direct me in the, ah, direction of Judge Daramid, I would be quite grateful." He tries to give his most confident, charming smile but he looks more than a little scared and confused.
"A good friend in a pinch," Drau sniffs, insulted. "I was a good friend, with or without pinches!" He pulls on his travelling cloak. His hat changes from a battered, dishwater-grey, pointed wizard's hat to a battered, faded red fez with a thinning black tassel. He has given up almost immediately on finding his frog. The more important matter at hand now is to make his way to the courthouse and seek out the judge. "Ah, my dear professor," says Drau to the door knob as he locks up his classroom. "If only you could see me now. Down one frog but up one letter from a judge to inquire as to the whereabouts of one so-called Beast." He taps his bottom lip with the key and drops it into the breast pocket of his robes. "What do you suppose my family would say?"
Professor Drau Bellend, sessional lecturer at Lepistadt University, is in the process of giving a lecture to a group of curious students. The subject of today's class is the effects of performance-enhancing potions on the Hylidae family of frogs. "And as you can see here," Drau says, holding up a large milky-white frog in his right hand and a small vial of liquid with an oily sheen that seems to shift through all the hues of the brown spectrum, from fudge to toffee to caramel to creme caramel and back. "If we apply just a drop of this Oil of Speed to our good friend Manny here, we can observe-" The moment the drop of oil hits the frog's back, it takes off out of the hapless professor's hand, shooting across the room like lightning from a wizard's wand. Drau shrieks and dives for cover behind his desk, a flurry of unmarked essays and robes obscuring his attempted departure. He peeks out at his students, but most of them are making their way hastily toward the exits. "Don't forget you have papers due in four days on the sacral vertebra and it's importance to modern healing techniques!" he calls after them. Three enterprising youths are trying to catch the frog. One of them has a bow. "Don't kill Manny!" he pleads to the boys as Manny runs a rainbow of white frog goo over a wall and out the door. Drau's shoulders slump in defeat. "Five gold to whichever one of you fine gentlemen can bring Manny back alive. I need that frog! ... He's my friend." "Yessir, Professor Bellend!" one of the students says, saluting sharply. Drau blinks at him suspiciously, feeling as though he's being mocked though uncertain as to just how. The elf turns back to his desk to straighten up the papers. It looks like a tiny tornado has torn across his desk, wreaking all manner of disorganized havoc. He collapses in a chair and stares at the mess, then happens to notice an untouched scroll, rolled up and wedged between two jars of frog parts. There's a vague memory of someone handing him the scroll earlier in the day, but who it was or why they delivered it is lost to him. He breaks the familiar seal on the scroll, wondering for a moment why a judge would be interested in him. |