The Triad

Fluphy gives a happy toot of affirmation, and then drifts over to a tree with scintillating, multihued leaves. In awe, the flumph responds with some color-changing of its own.

After some food and drink, some eladrin pull out instruments and begin to play some lively tunes. Ilvisar laughs and gestures to the party. "Come! Dancing on Arvandor's grass under the stars is better than reverie or sleep. When Corellon returns, you will be as rested as if you'd retired for a tenday!"

Laughing, Aribeth and Fenthick rise and join hands. Aside from their armor, the two seem to fit right in with the dancing eladrin. It's odd to see such an honest and open expression on Aribeth's face, but she seems genuinely happy.

"Might I have this dance, fair lady?"

Alalla looks up to see Erevain's extended hand, the smile on his lips perfectly complementing his green eyes. "It would be a shame to miss out on this chance to dance with my wife."

Halla looks up from her salad. "Um... How can dancing be more restful than sleep? 'Tis not as though these elves even understand what sleep is..." Still, her eyes seem to shine with wonder in the twilight.

"Hrrm...rr crrrious qursstion," Zenithral garbles, his mouth stuffed with fruit. He swallows, clears his face of juice with a wave of his hand, then stands and extends a hand. "Let's find out, shall we, dearest?"

Alalla doesn't eat. She's too on edge. She pokes at what's on her plate and gives compliments when someone looks at her but she doesn't consume anything.

When Erevain offers her his hand, she looks up at him with concern. He does enjoy a chance to relax, but he really shouldn't be as comfortable with this as he is. She takes his hand and reaches out and yanks Zenithral over by the back plate of his armour.

"Erevain, Zenithral, in Targos people would tell stories about people going to fey parties and dancing for years before they've noticed time had passed at all. Most people thought they were as dramatic as the ones about orcs priests making gloves out of human hands, but those ones are true! She looks around at the party, all enjoying themselves thoroughly, feeling half-insane.

"Hrruugh!" Zenithral yelps as Alalla drags him away from Halla, and listens.

"I...hadn't heard those stories," Zenithral admits, suddenly deeply disturbed. He glances to Halla. "But that makes two concerned about being trapped in eternal bliss." He puts a finger to his chin and raises an eyebrow, ponderously. "Arannis taught me about an arcane archer technique that could beguile a foe, while hitting it with arrow no less."

He looks longingly over at the Aribeth, Fenthick, and the dancing eladrin, then thinks back to Kuldihar, Targos, Bryn Shander, and rest of the Icewind Dale. He turns back to Alalla.

"You're right. We were sent here to complete a mission, and we've had enough time off. The meal should suffice, and dancing can wait." he glances around, starting to appreciate that Alalla's extreme caution hadn't dwindled over the years. "I fancy not finding this is to really be an arrow to the heart."

"Gather Aribeth and Fenthick," Zenithral tells Halla and Erevain. "Alalla, let's find that Ilvisar, and see whether our host has finished rummaging through his sock drawer."

Alalla stands quickly with relief. "Yes, Captain." She gives Erevain's hand an apologetic squeeze. "Another time, melindo," she whispers, then hurries after Zenithral.

Erevain frowns as he's pulled away. "Alalla, dear, it's just one dance. We'll leave as soon as Corellon returns with the key..."

He blinks and shakes his head as she and Zenithral speak. By the end of their conversation, he seems to have seen reason. "Very well, but you owe me a dance, sharukh." He turns to make his way toward Aribeth and Fenthick.

Halla glowers. "I'll teach them to make me like something. The sooner we leave, the better." She goes to join Erevain.

Alalla and Zenithral find Ilvisar approaching with a magnificent longbow in hand. "Zenithral! Here it is: Amlath'hana, the bow of Corellon Larethian himself! Come this way; there's an archery course set up on the other side of the gardens."

Alalla freezes and looks at Zenithral, hoping beyond hope he will be strong.

"Ilvisar! Exactly the eladrin I wanted to---oh, by the love of my drawstring..." Zenithral bites his lip then grinds his teeth, jealously eying the magnificent bow, the holy origin of elven archery. He hoped Halla wasn't watching the way he looked at it.

"Yes...archery course, of course! Wait, no...well, we need to---Corellon!" the archer babbles. "What's the draw weight---I mean...! Where is he?"

"I must try that b---no, I mean, save me!" Zenithral pleads to Fluphy as he finds his hand drawn to the glorious weapon.

Alalla intervenes first. She steps between Zenithral and Ilvisar, and leans down into Zenithral's face.

"I have a tribe and a baby waiting for me at home. If this quest keeps me away for years, so be it, but when Aiwë asks why I was gone so long my answer had better not be because her uncle wanted to show off!"

"Eeugh!" Zenithral pulls his hands in defensively and leans back, terrified as Alalla's fiery eyes bore into him. Zenithral heard stories from Ug how viciously protective mothers could be, and Alalla was already so before she was a mother. He doesn't dare give the bow another glance.

He closes his eyes and clears his throat, collecting himself. "Quite right," he says softly, both grateful and ashamed she had to intervene.

He turns way from Ilvisar and the grand, glorious, perfect---Zenithral shoves down further thoughts about the bow.

"Corellon?" Zenithral asks to thin air. Surely the god would be watching them. "We thank you for the meal, but are quite ready to leave. Have you the fork?"

Ilvisar - bow in hand - frowns at Zenithral. "But trying this bow is the chance of a lifetime..."

Corellon appears suddenly, speaking as though he had been part of the conversation the whole time. "Children! Ahh, such a joy. I am great with children, by the way; they adore me. How old? Who did you leave them with? Give me a name and I'll scry them up for you, check in on the little darling..."

"Rrrr, he's almost worse than Belhifiet..." Zenithral groans to Fluphy.

The flumph floats over and places a tendril on the half-elf's head, causing memories of his conversation in Trueheart return in full vibrancy.

"...Quite right, Ilvisar," he says, looking over his shoulder at the eladrin, "but so is our mission. If I took every chance of a lifetime, there wouldn't be much lifetime left for a half-elf such as I." He waves his hands dismissively a few times. "It's probably light as a feather, strong as an ox, and true as a lion, or something poetic like that, but I'll survive..."

With Corellon's sudden reappearance and Alalla distracted, he turns back and whispers. "Unless you'll let me try it right here! Are there any more slaadi in sight...?"

Fluphy's glaring eyestalks poke down from above, directly in front of Zenithral's own. and got the distinct mental impression that he'd have a horrendous mouthful of putrid flumph-spray if he so much as touched the godly bow.

"No?" he suddenly answers for the eladrin. "What a shame..."

Alalla freezes, imagining the shock and outrage on the faces of the elven court at a conjured image of little half-elven Aiwë nursing from an orcish matron in the midst of her tribe's crèche of orclings.

"Aiwë is only a few months old. That's such a kind offer, my lord, but I'd much prefer to see her myself when I'm finished this quest. Do you have the key?" Al's voice is tinged with desperation.