Targos
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"I'm more concerned about Lord Ulbrec," she says instead. It isn't a lie. "He has a difficult situation to handle as it is. I don't want to dump eighty orcs into his lap and then run." Grunting slightly, Alalla stands straight again. She looks to Morrugh. "What do you think? Would you follow Lord Ulbrec while I'm gone? He is my chief, and I know he will care for the Cagebreakers properly."
Morrugh watches, patiently waiting for Alalla's reply.
Near the end of their conversation, Aeri lets out a sigh - which, though heavy, also visibly relaxes the gnome-dragon, as though she is blowing away a weight that has long been on her shoulders. "This has done me good, Ras. I'm not sure I've been this at ease in centuries. Or enjoyed myself, either." She plays with her cup on the table for a moment. "Silver dragons are pretty social you know? We like to be around people. Like, people people. Not just other dragons, but the other races. We take forms like yours, walk among you, talk and act like you. In many major cities the shop owner down the street or your favorite waitress could actually be a silver dragon in disguise, living a life that they could never get in the solitude that most dragons prefer."
She drains the cup and flips it over, making a tower of sorts on the table. "The Hand of the Seldarine was my home for a long, long time. The elves of the Hand patrolled the North, you see. Their hippogriffs were a sign of hope and help to those who wandered the Spine of the World. I patrolled as well, but I had a different role, one often taken up by silver dragons. I was to watch and protect against a certain threat... for it is the way of drow to strike out against surface elves, to make war and raid and cause all manner of evil."
She stops for a moment, obviously pained. "But when I came up against a certain drow, I didn't snuff him out like I should have. I was young, and curious. I was naive. I was duped." She sniffles, and her eyes shine with silver tears. "And because of my mistake, my lack of vigilance, they all died. All my friends died... or worse, in the awful abomination that place became."
Aeri leans her head on Ras' shoulder, her sobs shaking him. The other patrons in the tavern don't pay the two much heed. There are plenty of tears to go around Targos today.
"I am so... angry. At that drow. At myself. It's been a part of me for so long now that I... I just don't know what to do with myself anymore." Aeri's words are whispered into Ras' shoulder, her hands tight on his arm. "It kills me that my newest friend continues to be hurt by my past failures. I... understand if you never want to speak with me again, Rastix."
She waits in silence, listening for his answer.
"BarrelMan! How have you been? That was quite some battle, wasn't it?
Ah, you need some help? Certainly, so long as you can remind me where the BarrelMaker lives."
"Thank you..."
When she has recovered her composure, Aeri straightens up. Her growling stomach sounds oddly cavernous, a reminder that this small gnome is much more than she seems. "I should probably go hunt something substantial to eat. Like a yeti. Or three." She slips off her set and lands nimbly on her feet. "Ras... you are my best friend. Thanks for cheering me up." She gives his bald head a fond rub and heads for the door.
The main door to the warehouse has a sizable padlock on it, but the adjoining front office has lamplight shining through the windows.