The Triad

"Trouble yourself not, Zenithral. My eyes see the worth of every soul beyond what grace their garments might show."

The Loyal Fury lifts his hand and a column of white marble rises from the floor beside him, rotating to reveal a mural that comes to life before their eyes. Though the party gazes on the column for only moments, they suddenly understand the scope of the story Torm would have them know.

Eons ago, the gods of man, elf, dwarf, gnome, halfling, and orc met together to distribute the lands in which their respective races would live. To the elves were given the forests, to the dwarves the mountains. Each race received a land to build and grow. Each race except for the orcs, who were refused land and mocked for their desire to participate. In a rage, Gruumsh drove his spear into the world, creating the caves from which the orcs would well up to drive the other races from their lands. Enmity, strife, and war followed for millennia.

Torm raises one hand, bringing their attention back to himself. "Representing the Triad, I declare that We recognize the injustice done to the orcs. They were denied a home and were driven to generations of bloodshed by the vengeful Gruumsh. We now act to tip the scales of justice and give the orcs fair opportunity. For the orc peoples to be free, Gruumsh must release them from their slavery and give up the call for blood." The deity pauses. "We approached Gruumsh himself to repair the damage done, but He Who Never Sleeps refuses to relinquish His unending cry for vengeance."

An extraordinary greatsword takes shape before Torm, blade sunk into the white granite floor. "I will offer to duel Gruumsh for the fate of the orcs, but He will not accept save there be something to gain. We must present a bargain He cannot refuse." His gaze settles fully on each of the companions, with the full weight of a deity’s will. "To that end, you must find and retrieve the Eye of Gruumsh that Corellon Larethian smote free during their legendary battle in ages past."

Alalla gapes, struggling to process the weight of what she just learned. "It's all true... And you! A duel! Gruumsh's eye!" She shakes her head, trying to clear it. "I don't mean to doubt, my Lord, but you're certain Gruumsh will want it? He insists, at least to us, that he was always One Eye. His face clearly tells a different story," she can't keep from shuddering slightly as she remembers her visit to Nishrek, "but Gruumsh is hardly known for reason."

Zenithral turns back, still slightly nervous despite Tomr's words. As the purpose of the meeting unfolds, however, he relaxes, focusing his attention.

So the orcs are the enslaved...Alalla, you mad woman, he thinks with a smile. You managed to cause the gods to reconsider the nature of orcs too.

"Where might we begin our search?" Zenithral asks.

In the midst of this shining heaven Halla grips her staff with both hands, eyes wide and staring like a cornered beast. But rather than flee, she stomps a foot down hard on the floor as though grounding herself. "Gods, deities, powers... And not a tree in sight!" She leans into her staff and inhales its wood scent. "The things I do for you, husband."

Erevain stands beside Alalla with an open look of surprise in his face. "I believe our trail may begin with the one who took Gruumsh's eye." He blinks slowly. "We must meet with the god of the elves. The one I no longer worship." The elf meets Alalla's gaze, but his mind is obviously elsewhere. "And I, married to you..."

The half-elven woman takes a step closer to Erevain and Zenithral. "But surely with so many elf-blooded among us, Corellon will see reason. We are his kin."

Fenthick frowns. "And yet none of us pay him service. He is unlike the Gods we know, Aribeth. Where the Triad is shaped by law, Corellon Larethian follows only his own whims. And I speak so as a full-blooded elf myself."

He casts a quizzical glance at Zenithral, then focuses on Erevain. The two elves wear matching expressions, and neither of them appear pleased.

Torm stands with hands on the pommel of his sword, patiently waiting for the party to come to a consensus.

With a tusked grimace Alalla gives an orcish curse. In her shock she forgets to hide her tusks or be anxious about such displays on front of elvish strangers. "Corellon!" The name is nearly a curse itself. "Can we compile a poorer diplomatic convoy? Apostate elves, ignorant half-elves, an irreverent human, and the Daughter of Gruumsh." It takes a great deal of control to keep herself from spitting on the crystal floor as she speaks the title. She thumps her glaive in irritation, then sighs. "But I don't know where else to start. Still, it's more than my apprehension saying this, but perhaps it be best if I not attend the meeting." She frowns at her husband. "Erevain may also be seen as... provocative."

Zenithral grins at Halla, then turns back to the rest of the conversation ponderously.

As Alalla speaks, he narrows his eyes with a sly smile and begins stepping forward slowly.

"Can we compile a better diplomatic convoy, I might ask?" Zenithral asks in response, turning around and stepping as he speaks to look everyone in the eyes. "Elves who have gone to follow their own whims. Half-elves seeking to better understand their blood's origin, a human impartial to either side, and the chieftess of the first new orcs herself!" He nods, then tilts his head from side to side. "Admittedly, I know very little about Corellon, but such a varied group may yield just the experience and energy needed to sway him."

A wry smile crosses Fenthick's lips. "Well spoken! I hope that The First of the Seldarine is able to see us in so positive a light."

Torm's great helmed head nods. "The Triad has chosen servants with the greatest potential to spearhead this effort. You act with Our authority, representing Our will. No deity will have an easy time dismissing you, not even Corellon Larethian."

He raises a questioning hand. "The God of Elves dwells in his realm of Arvandor, on the plane Arborea. How do you plan to travel there?"

Aribeth puts a finger to her lips. "I don't suppose we could... walk there?"

Alalla blinks in surprise, then laughs heartily. "What would I do without you, Zenithral? I thank Torm that you're here." She trails off awkwardly as the familiar saying registers fully in her mind and she looks over at the named deity. She gives a slight bow in his direction.

"As for the travelling... We could ask your mother," Al suggests to Zenithral, avoiding Halla's gaze.

Halla flinches and stamps her staff down to the granite. "'Tis no small feat, walking the planes, but I can manage it without Ilmadia." She glares at Zenithral as if daring him to say otherwise.

Torm shows no reaction to Alalla's words. What might his face be like under that helm?

Alalla snorts and stamps her glaive down, mirroring Halla. "I'm sorry I'm not up to date on your abilities." She shrugs. "I'd rather have you over Ilmadia any day, and that has little to do with her. Do you have what you need to cast the spell?"

Halla thinks for a moment, then exhales. She rounds on Torm. "Well, this is your quest, isn’t it? Can’t you just ‘god’ some spell components up for us?" She ignores gasps from Erevain and Aribeth, as well as a grunt from Thaistius.

Torm chuckles. "I think, Halla, that you’ll find I have no need to ‘god’ anything up for you. There is One who has done so already." He gestures towards the staff she clutches so tightly.

Halla blinks, and some of the tension leaves her body. "I…" Before the group’s eyes, the staff sprouts a small pronged instrument. The druid touches the sprout in wonder, and it falls neatly into her hand.