Targos
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Lord Ulbrec looks back at Alalla. "I remember my time as that giant lizard only dimly. What was the nature of the deal he sought to make with you, Alalla?"
Zenithral conjures a small, shimmering illusory image of half-orc Alalla in his hand. "Alalla chose not to follow through, but Erevain, however, chose to go through with another of his bargains." The image splits into two---an orc and a human. The orc image swirls into a glowing orb and floats away. "He has...half of Alalla's soul now? The orc half...?" He closes his hand, the image dispersing into smoke. "Erevain, what did the full deal entail? It's most certainly our busines now."
"Poquelin said that he could free me from Gruumsh, and in exchange I would take over his armies, and show the orcs a better way. But I wasn't interested in leading them from one slave master to another, and I fear what the devils will do with the souls of so many. Here or the hells. I don't- ugh- I don't- err" She puts a hand to her head. By the hells it hurts. With effort she straightens once more. "I don't know the detail's of Erevain's deal or- hmm- or what's been done to me." She wishes they had met outside. Isn't Ulbrec at least sweltering in his armour, too?
Zenithral clears his throat. "At any rate...Dorn's Deep...? I'm not terribly familiar with the locale. What do you all know about it that the rest of us should know before we head off? Assuming we're going...that is..." Zenithral shrinks back in his chair.
Swallowing, he continues, "anyway, I'm going to grab a room and retire early. You all got this, see you tomorrow."
Vincent walks over to the counter tosses the innkeeper a few coins and gets a key to a room, then heads upstairs. Lying on the bed he finishes his sandwich and lays back for a quick power nap.
He nods, not truly trusting his voice. When that doesn't seem to be enough, he squeaks out a "thank you" before needing to look away. As he follows his friend, he thinks about Zen's words.
He could be himself. That he could do. Even if his self seems very, very small sometimes.
The elf pauses and looks at Alalla, considering her new appearance. "Like a diseased limb, the orc part has been cut out and thrown away, leaving no hold for Gruumsh to claim. All it cost was my soul. When I die, my soul will join the baatezu in their Blood War."
Erevain looks down at his hands, which since his resurrection have gained once more their share of scars and callouses. "But until then, my life is my own. Belhifet has no other hold on me. He only agreed to the deal because he believes it will encourage Alalla to find some rescue for me - and so he hopes yet to snare her in a deal." He breathes out a heavy sigh. "But so long as she does not succumb, she is free of both Gruumsh and Belhifet."
His brow furrows with concern as he notices her apparent pain. "Are you well, Alalla?"
"What now?" Her voice reverberates simultaneously in Orcish and Elvish as well as the Common she had spoken. "Wha- AUGH." At her shout she falls to her knees and all the windows in the common room of the inn slam open. Two fiery wings spread from her back and and her dark eyes become pools of that same flame. The inn shakes as Alalla cries out in pain, the result of the two curling horns sprouting from the top of her head, and the knifed tail escaping her armour.
Alalla feels her head and finds the horns. She grips the base of each one and her face twists with irritation. "No." The tremors stop and the windows slam shut. Her hands burn with heat and the horns begin to crackle as the smell of burning hair fills the room. Al sweats with the heat, pain, and effort, and the horns glow and darken as they heat and begin to turn to ash. With a grunt Alalla rips them free. She only glances at them before dumping them to the floor in a spray of embers.
Standing shakily, Al moves to the decorative mirror left askew on one wall. She takes in her flaming eyes and wings with a grim face. "She's an angel," Al murmurs to herself, her voice echoing in that same way she had heard Zariel speak, though lesser. "Zenithral, how do you make this- Oh..." The flaming wings dissipate, and her eyes return to normal.
Alalla turns back to face the party and notices the long tail trailing behind her. "Oh, gross..." She catches the shocked eyes looking at her and clears her throat. "Zariel is Poquelin's boss in Avernus. In hell. She's an angel, or was." Al's tail sways gently as she speaks. "That's why she and Poquelin are so angry when you talk about the gods. They have refused to get involved in the blood war, or something. That must be why Poquelin likes to pretend to be a priest. Irony, or an insult. And the orcs: Slap Gruumsh in the face and get an army. I'm all for the first, but the last..." Al grunts with irritation as her tail catches her eye again. She seizes it.
"Belhifet must be in stitches," she snarls, drawing a handaxe."Cut out the orc and implant some devil or fallen angel or whatever this nonsense is. Free of Belhifet, indeed."
Then he notices the tail in one of Alalla's hands and her handaxe in the other. "I... am going to kill that devil."
Alalla wrestles with her tail and her axe behind her back for a moment before deciding that she hasn't thought this through. She wasn't going to manage a clean cut close enough to its base to satisfy her. And she is in an inn. In front of the mayor.
Al sheaths her axe with a muttered Orcish curse. She returns to attention and pretends she is the same she has always been. Even that is different, though, with her frustration and anger fleeing quicker than usual. She ignores that too. Back to business.
"My apologies, my lord. I... I know you probably don't trust me knowing what you do, but I'd like to speak with the orcs that have asked for me."
The mayor points at Alalla. "Except you. You and I have more to discuss." He glances at Erevain and frowns at the elf's stiffness. "Your husband may stay if you wish it."
He leans back and regards the warrior woman and her elf husband. "She took her duty as mayor's secretary seriously. Appointments, legislation, interviews, paperwork. There are very few things about the people of Targos that she did not know." Ulbrec sighs and rubs his face. "When you two came here a month ago or so past, I knew nothing of your... particular circumstance. She told me, after you left. A half-orc, living within the walls for years. Part of the militia. Given special responsibilities and honors." The mayor shakes his head. "I was shocked, yes, but I could not be angry. Not with her. I trusted her judgement. I still do." He breathes shakily. "She didn't tell me because there was no reason for me to know. Not until you came to us with questions, and I had no real answers for you."
Ulbrec looks toward the floor, where Alalla's horns still smoke amid a pool of blood of some unfortunate soul. "I think she always knew that you were destined for something great. She helped guide you to the militia, encouraged Crale to give you responsibilities. She often checked in on your family's well-being, especially while you were away. We... never had any children of our own, but..." The older man puts a fist to his lips, trailing off for a moment. "...but she obviously cared for you a great deal. And here you are. You and your friends arrived just in time to save Targos - as much as it could be saved."
The mayor closes his eyes. "And now, what will you do? Your orcish blood is removed, but you seem to be marked by another still. What are you going to do with yourself?"
When the strange warrior is ready, he begins his hunt for Pomab...
The dragon-gnome pauses her ramble and looks deeply into Ras' eyes, concern etched on her brow. "How are you, Rastix? Besides exhausted from a nightlong battle against impossible odds, I mean."