Takaral stepped back from the feathered refugee a moment. "Would you trade the secrets you mentioned for ensured survival of the flocks?" The inquiry was flat, not with antagonism or gloating.
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The mechanical man extended a hand towards Pazeek in consolation. "You are not alone now. Together, we can retake your lands from the giants." Though his statement had nothing to do with the people living there, the Tengu flock was actually Takaral's main reason for interest. I've never visited with them before. Adamantine workers are talented; this will be a sight to behold indeed.
Regardless of their stripe, mortals seem to have various problems caused by others they seek others to resolve. I suppose when your perception of time is limited, this makes sense. For Takaral and his ilk, they were more likely to outwait benign issues. I suppose a more active role would be best to fit-in - even among these tengu. Talented, though too acute. The construct's eyes went to Heff as Toramin provided the segue for them.
Back in his noble's guise, Takaral raised his eyebrows at the bird-man. "A tengu? How exotic. I'm known as Takaral, Pazeek." He stepped forward to a few feet away and gave the creature a slow pan of her eyes. Not at alien as I am, but getting there. "What brings you do this organization?" The stranger sought to know more about the motives of this place.
"I don't really have any romantic interests anyways." "That's a shame," chirped S'meena, after placing her drink back on the table and looking back to Geoffrey from the queen.
2 cp says Heff is secretly courting Geoffrey in one of his disguises and keeps toying with his emotions as a way to keep him just effective enough while keeping tabs on him. It explains why Geoffrey was looking like he was dying of something chronic and why he would want to get away to something that would provide an excuse for distance from this "romance" that he otherwise cannot exclude himself from. 3 cp says Heff would break it off by saying "It's not you, it's me." - perhaps after Geoffrey has an affair while deployed, revealing his identity in the process. That hussy thinks she can steal Geoffry from Darla?! Joke's on her - he never had 'Darla' to begin with!
S'meena seemed content with the answer, her eyes panning to and from the queen and her guard.
S'meena did not have Dalton's concern for rocking the boat of unwritten rules. "A queen who handpicks her own guards? My cousin elves would do well to learn from your example! They've grown accustomed to reliance on magic, delegation, and their long lives to see them through things. Their personal touch has faded." The wood elf seemed somewhat feisty at first, yet became more crestfallen at the end of her statement. "It is good to see yours remains strong in your youth, majesty." It was clear S'meena meant the last part as a genuinely positive observation; she was not attempting to flatter the queen about her years.
With the mention of a position opening with no reason given, S'meena looked to the guards the queen did bring here for a clue. They might be resentful of newcomers. How do they feel about Geoffrey?
It would be hard not to be more local than I am, thought an amused Takaral.
Unaware of the hostility from the queen's retinue, S'meena had no retort of posture or language to present to them. To the queen, however, she remained pleasant if somewhat unappreciative of Pame's fully power. "A higher lady of a larger land," identified the less-than-polished elf woman to the queen after Geoffrey introduced her. Placing her hand over her heart, S'meena leaned forward in a diagonal fashion. "Your realm has been safe and generous. My thanks for the hospitality of your people." Though those particularly knowledgeable about elves would know that as a sincere gesture of politeness, people having shallower knowledge might interpret the gesture as somewhat inadequate for a queen.
Becoming less tough for a moment, S'meena gave a slightly inviting smile. "Not in public. Your friends would rather not have your standing lowered by embarrassment in a spar." She glanced across the table to Toramin. "One of the earth-children hasn't shown the strength of stone to this youngster? I'm surprised."
S'meena turned her head sharply such that her hair carried its movement with the momentum when she stopped. Facing the group, she hoisted the topic. "This man has skill with a sword? Though it is my second weapon, I would not want to see him cut down in an unfair fight should you encounter any peers of my undertalents."
When the drinks arrive, S'meena quickly makes a toast. "To open fields and good hunting for Geoffrey!"
"Just that," the paragon of a woman flatly replied. "Our tribe and I fought how best to handle the "odd" changes happening in our land. They won," she admitted with obvious pain. "I left."
S'meena raised an eyebrow skeptically at talk of the surfeit of libations. "You can do the job, captain? The hunt runs long sometimes." She bowed her head down and to the left in thanks for the offer of hospitality. "What meat roams in this land should do for me." This man has something going on beneath the surface. I do not trust him.
~Present~"Perhaps this time I won't be injured before the fighting even starts, eh?" He jests. Not his usually-disguised self, Takaral had opted for a guise less than usual - at least for those around him. The sentient construct gave a terse nod to Geoffrey as the others left, bringing right fist to left shoulder. "S'meena." S'meena looked a touch different than Takaral appeared during the maritime trip. S'meena was a female elf, an archer hunter-leader of some renown in the Southern reaches, though that reputation almost surely did not preceded her here; few elves ventured out, and nothing in particular about the elf was otherworldly-enough to mention; there were plenty of talented elven archers, so mentioning that aspect to commonfolk would be met with a shrug - it would be more common were she not to be skilled in that manner. Dressed in what seemed to be an assortment of crude, tribal leathers and assorted bone and stone jewelry, S'meena was nonetheless a fount of beauty. While Ianna might have had the garments, this wild child was the pinnacle of fitness, and while her skin was darker than some of the arcanists cousins of her kind, living under the forests' canopies kept it from during a darker brown. She glanced to Dalton before narrowing her eyes at Geoffrey. "You are not ready for a fight - look sick, worn," she stated with a thick elvish accent. They were the eyes of a hunter, scanning the vitals of what she sounded confident could be her prey.
Well, as Dalton and Takaral are there, they'll need to chime-in to the interactions with Geoffrey. I would've done so earlier, but I had to know the auspices under which Takaral would be appearing, and that posting line has been going since Monday.
That's fine except that Takaral would only know individual elves who venture to the north. The wood elves are very reclusive, borderline xenophobic. Perhaps I was unclear. In his curiosity of mortalkind, Takaral took on the identity of such an elf in its native state, living as such for years. While he may have known a few elves which ventured into more "civilized" territory, the main idea is Takaral was himself known to be one of these wild elves ... though even they did not know him as Takaral.
I am going to write Takaral in - pending objection from you - as an apt hunter from such an area, ensconced enough to be a weighty voice in one of the elven tribes without being one of their political leaders. He will appear as this form while on the trip to Geoffrey. While it is a disguise, the experience is authentic, one of his many dabblings with humanity - or elvenity, as it were.
Ah I missed that. I'm at work and blanking, what was Moultrie again? One of the settlements on your map of Erandor.
Relevant for Takaral in this situation with Geoffrey.
Takaral scan's Seg's bare body for any tattoos or other abnormal features he might consider adding to his disguise. "I hope you return safely from the water; this crew needs you." After they split ways, the kolyarut disrobed, dispelled his glamer, and folded his garments. He did his best to reimage his skin tone to the tanned nature of the crew, replicate some scars in high-use areas of the epidermis, and fabricate some sunspots as appropriate. Poorly-kept teeth, above-average muscle, untrimmed body and head hair, stubble for facial hair. He hefted a dagger from the cook's corner to look at himself. Sufficient. Takaral laid the knife town before returning to the captain. The thinking machine reconvened with Bjorkus with his new look and unaltered bastard sword, just as ornate as before. His voice sounded weathered and older, deeper - the melodious tenor having become a gritty baritone. "Since they're armed, if you choose to meet, you could be as well. If so, I'd ask you bring this if it's not too heavy; I'd look out of place if I brought it, but I'm thrice as useful with it than otherwise."
Takral nodded in thanks, following Luthor to Seg to get his change of garments.
I guess it's good he's curious as to the reason. More complex than I thought. "One of my kind's talents is altering our appearance to blend-in with the local population. These clothes are a bit posh for the upcoming encounter, and I'd rather not draw attention to myself. The ability, however, is an illusion, and given the wind and water about, it would become readily apparent my spell-clothes were not blowing in the air, dampened by moisture, or - if contact is very close - touchable at all." The kolyarut poked his aristocrat's face a few times to make his point clear with the metal-on-metal tapping sound. "Real clothing makes my appearance all the more real, and I'd need a set of whatever your crew is dressed in now. Preferably from one of those swimmers, as I don't imagine they'll need them. From what I gathered of ship culture, the nudity shouldn't cause them the discomfort it does landfaring folk, especially for a swim. If it embarrasses them, I can simply make do without."
No longer trusting Kal's capabilities, Bjorkus nods toward his first mate. "Get some men in the water and make sure nothin's wrong with the ship." "Could you send one of your tallest along with them?"
Similar to a dog, Takaral tilted his head to the side at Bjorkus's question. "It should be noted his reconnaissance lets Crajun know precisely where we are and a good idea of your crew's numbers, readiness, and oversight of their presence until now. Who knows what else they've done in the water to prepare for this .... discussion in the meantime." The sentient sentinel's tone was less belittling of Bjorkus's crew and more concerned of the problems possible by this situation.
Using his foot to make others afoot, Takaral observed softly "An aquatic operation with a trio of our seaworthy friends is in motion." He frowned. "Swimming isn't my forte."
"Not all. Just most." Takaral smiled. "But I'm sure Bjorkus would know best here. Let's defer to him with his area of expertise." The construct and conjurer looked to the captain for conviction in the matter.
"Or you might make them feel like a bunch of cornered animals. I imagine that will go quite well," added Takaral with a hint of sarcasm.
"We wouldn't be killing them, just maiming enough to force submission. I know it's not considered proper for your kind, but it is effective."
"You sailors sure seem to care a lot about your ships," observed Takaral, tapping his cheek with a finger. "Why harm the ship and threaten the crew when you can reap much more from threatening the ship and harming the crew?"
The ubiquitous smile on Takaral's face widened. "I met a girl. Her lips were looser than they should have been, but that's good for us. Someone is paying good coin to hear about people poking their noses where they don't belong. She is sufficiently enamored with me to override that directive though." I imagine it's also been a while since you've charmed a woman, Dalton. Stick to your conjurations and transmutations. The sentient machine did have to hand it to the wizard though; who needed enchantment when you had charisma? Or are good enough to fake it.
Takaral smiled at the comely young woman, leaning down as he tilted her chin up with his gloved hand. "I appreciate you keeping our contact intimate." The luster of his eyes was aided by his true nature, for the forgery of emotion could only go so far. He gazed into her pupils a moment before caressing her cheek and taking a step back. "It seems my welcome was even shorter-lived than I thought. Forgive me, my lady." Making an about-face, he strode into the more public areas, his sapphire eyes looking about for tracers. Better me than Dalton. That old man wouldn't have his wits about him to spot for those making him.
"Suit yourself then. I'll see you later." With wide strides, the kolyarut made his way to notable people and establishments in the shore town.
As his heavy feet came upon the land, Takaral remarked "Shore leave! It's been some time since I was in the navy, but its just as welcome now as then!" The construct didn't mind boats. His weight often caused problems on them was all. His long, azure cape blew in the wind slightly as he turned to face Dalton. "I'll go about a bit and ask the locals what they know of strange animals, weather, and people. Care to come with me?"
"Not your own?" The planned construct gave a mild smile. "So selfless. Not like many of your arcane mastery. Why that priority?"
Takaral was relieved to be back. "I didn't have enough time to refresh myself on known history from dawn of life through today, but it was enough for now." Humor was one organism tendency the machine emulated well. "Changes in the situation since we last talked are minimal?"
The posh gentleman sent Dalton the first gaze from his eyes that might be interpreted as unkind. "His method is fairly absolute. Barring some intervention, I will arrive, and I will arrive where he calls me. The possibility I'll plummet into the water is slim." His expression warming again, Takaral looked to Bjorkus. "Do not worry overmuch. Your vessel's ability to carriage my weight was my main concern, and it does so effortlessly, captain." The regal manner with which Takaral carried himself in addressing Bjorkus was on par with the etiquette one might provide a knight.
In a guise of light blue nobles' finery, Takaral brought with him a much heavier impact from his feet. It would definitely call for some consideration on ship decks where too much weight in the wrong spot may cause problems. The outsider looked around, taking a few moments before responding to the returning captain. "I dream. Is that not enough?" His smiling reply was as well-made as any aristocrat's. "Private quarters will not be required, though Dalton will be ending this invitation to your place tonight, I imagine. I'll be back soon though." He tapped his left foot twice on the deck. "This is a sturdy vessel. I have seen many a sailor in my years which would have survived had their ships possessed the fortitude they did."
"And do remember, Dalton: Those same fireballs would be good and melting the ice."
His face unreadable, Takaral was silent a minute. He's right. "That is a wise foresight. After our briefing and before you portal away, I will return myself."
"So we must to field operations to learn more." The kolyarut sounded almost enthusiastic. "When do we -"
"Just like back home then." Takaral turned to his host, his cape flowing behind him. "What do you know of these situations? Beyond the greater works of the planes, I haven't followed many specifics beyond an as-needed basis for different cases."
Takaral laughed. "As much of a demon as any of us are, I suppose. You lot would call me an outsider, for this plane is not my home. Most of my kind concern themselves with enforcing contracts. While important, the ability and disposition to fulfill those promises is often paramount in them being maintained or broken." The man paused for a moment, looking a touch wistful. "Trying to understand the latter is what had me imprisoned."
Somewhat surprised, the inhuman's reaction was very human. "That's ... rather unexpected. My thanks, mage." Takaral held up the ring, noticing the aquamarine matched his choice of dye as did the gold setting with his threads' trimmings. "Fashion will not help us on the road ahead though. Besides, I am already well-outfitted for any function of posh attire." Takaral's bragging - intentional or not - was not untrue.
"Now we've got those pleasantries out of the way," segued Takaral, "perhaps the council - "
Takaral raised an eyebrow back at him. ”Then I don’t care to consider what master conjurers are capable of.“ He gazed back to Heff, the mirth in his face gone. "Regardless, I have been a prisoner of nothing but my curiosity for centuries. I would ask your permission to work with your underlings on these matters of import, for my talents may be of considerable use. As I see it from your end, my benign crimes and Dalton's absolute control over my tenure in this plane mean I have little choice but to obey if I want to taste freedom. What have you to lose?" Pending their response, the kolyarut turned to the group. "It is rude to arrive at a party giftless my memory tells me, so Dalton has provided me with some baubles to make do." The prisoner-prince approached Rilka with the box, opening it.
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