Lac Dinneshere

Zenithral jerks his head towards Alalla, worry on his face. "And he might be invisible..."

"What?" Al groans.

Zenithral’s spells do little to improve Jhonen’s condition. Each time, the decayed fisherman wakes only to return a moment later to his unnatural slumber. It would seem that his body simply lacks the energy to continue on without his soul.

"Reòthadh, bring that weird sword over here!" Al waves him over from the beginning celebrations. "If this doesn't do anything," Al mutters to Zenithral, "we're going to have to leave him at the cave. We need to get moving on things."

"Invisible, you say!" Nym’s voice comes from startlingly close by. "Why, you lot have grown so astute! And yes, that trinket does interest me, but at the moment I have other plans."

His voice instantly shifts to come from another direction. "Plans that don’t involve the land being overrun by demons. That’s generally bad for business. Even I have some limits, you know."

Another change. "I don’t suppose you like to team up again, Rowthadge? Just like the good old days?"

Zenithral shakes his head and turns to Alalla. "It's no good. His soul is still severed from himself. We need some kind of resurrection or reincarnation."

Zenithral sighs when he hears Nym's voice. "Speak of the devil...or no wait...If I get to use that bow, then I'd love---" Zenithral shuts his mouth and defers to Alalla, a slight childish earnestness in his eyes.

"Take yer sword, boy. ‘Tis rightfully yers now...."

Before Alalla responds, he narrows his eyes and he looks around. "Hm...alright. Show yourself and then we'll talk."

As Reòthadh presses the hilt of the ancient sword into Jhonen’s hand, he can’t help but compare the fisherman’s face to his memory of Aihonen’s. Where the paladin of old was bright, handsome, and cocky, this man seems worried, concerned, and sad... even in ‘death’. Still, to Reòthadh’s knowing gaze there are still some signs of nobility beneath the fisherman’s bleak features.

Lying there on the frozen ground with the sword clasped over his chest, Jhonen almost seems to fit the image of some long-forgotten king taking his final rest upon a funeral byre.

But there is no change in the man’s death-like state.

Alalla grits her teeth and then eases herself. She tosses her hair gently as she stands. "Reòthadh doesn't speak for the group, and neither does Zenithral. I do. And I think that all the times we've worked together have worked quite well. Though they weren't as fun as you implied when we first met." She pouts slightly in his assumed direction. "Still, there is time for that, isn't there?" Al casually passes the belt knife from her right hand to her left and holds her now free hand out to shake.

When/ if he shakes, she will cast branding strike and stab him.

"Ah, yes. Well. As glad as I am that when last we met none of you tried to kill me, I would rather keep my mysterious allure intact."

The voice jumps again, to just behind Alalla’s right ear. "Hmm... and now you’re a married woman? Even more tempting..."

Try as he might, Zenithral can’t find any tracks indicating where the drow is. It seems as though he is not leaving any tracks at all.

"Hmm." Alalla tries to gently lean back into his voice. "You'll notice my husband is absent at the moment," she gestures about with a simper in her voice. "But he may not stay that way for long. Come now. The allure is palpable, but I can hardly work with an invisible man. What will it be?" She wiggles her outstretched hand in a playful way and rolls her eyes out through her skull- in her mind.

As far back as Alalla leans, somehow Nym seems to stay just out of touch. "I’m sorry, darling, but the truth is I just can’t do tieflings. Trust me, I’ve tried. But if you ever get back to being your lovely old self..."

His voice suddenly shifts once more. "But let’s talk shop then. The tower. That stunning piece of architecture. You want in, and I happen to want to get you in."

Yet another change. "Interested?"

Alalla spits orcish curses as she checks to make sure her horn buds are still covered. "Fine." She pulls a handkerchief from her pocket and picks up the spike with it, the leather of the belt, and her metal gauntlets between the spike and her skin. She bundles it all up, ties a knot, and stuffs it in her bag. "Talk, Nym."

"Fantastic! I’ll get you inside, Alalla. Once you’re there, I’ll need your help retrieving something. After that, Belhifet shouldn’t be any problem to you or to me."

The companions can almost hear Nym smile. "Are you ready?"

Alalla shares a glance with her companions. "We need a brief moment to wrap up ends, first."

While Nym speaks with the companions, Hjollsted and Tansia converse in hushed tones, until they both step before Reòthadh.Tansia raises a hand. "What do you wish the tribes to do, Reòthadh? The devils may already be aware of what has occurred here." She looks down at Jhonen. "And what do you wish done with this... body?"

"Send for all willing to stand against the devils to gather, to those that would not fight, release them back to their families. This one would meet with the chieftains of Wolf and Bear, he must hear out their wants and needs before sending their kin to their deaths."

Pausing for a moment to collect his thoughts, he remembers the odd fellow laying in a deathly stupor.

"Oh and take this poor soul to our base in the caves, he appears dead, but supposedly that’s something he does."

While the barbarians scatter to obey Reòthadh’s instructions Nym’s voice comes again to Alalla and Zenithral. "Looks like the dwarf has his hands full. And they’re going to be fuller. Erm... more full? Anyway, get moving towards the tower. Try to be inconspicuous."

Chief Skaudmol approaches Reòthadh and claps the dwarf on his broad shoulder. "What a duel! More sorcery used than I’d like, but you’ve got a finer beard than Not-Jerrod." He frowns down at the dwarf. "You have some two hundred fierce warriors at your side and itching for a fight. What would you have them do?"