11. The Council of Speakers

The wizard, without a doubt, looks like every wizard from every children's story. His long, white beard is forked and decorated at the ends; his purple robes are heavy and deeply cowled, though the hood is pulled back enough to reveal his face; his deeply-set wrinkles show both pain, laughter, and concentration; and a tall, gnarled wooden staff supports both him and his position.

Though he appears to be standing impatiently as though waiting for the Council to begin, it is clear to your trained eyes that he is looking for someone. His surprisingly sharp eyes dart from face to face, and lock on Bells as she enters. A look of consideration, then some form of recognition despite them having never met. The bells probably gave her away.

At some moment in the interspersing month, Zinvaris took Bells aside to walk through the snowy forest around Good Mead. The wood elf seemed like he was building up to something, mentally preparing himself in a way Bells was beginning to become familiar with. Zin turned and took Bells’ hands in his, interlacing fingers that fought back against the surrounding chill. Zin looked at the woman with a calm expression, a slight smile on his scarred face. The rogue's piercing blue eyes searched for something in Bells for a moment before he began to speak.

Carving is an act between two living beings. The true carver learns to listen to the wood, to feel its intentions, its spirit. The wood helps you to see what it wants to be. The process of carving is not forcing the wood to be something it’s not, but of revealing what it always wanted to be. In elven legend there was a mighty tree, the Shanta Ath Faen. The tree of life. In myth, the tree was broken and from its branches it produced all of the trees we see now. Every forest shows the different aspects of the Mother Tree, but it is said that the tree that most resembles the Shanta Ath Faen is the Ash, or Yggdrasil as it is called in the old tongue. With the gift of its wood, the Ash gives wisdom and knowledge.

When I was young, when I was new to the Dale and even when I met our new family, I never expected… To feel the way that I feel about you. My life was on the course of the tap root, ever pressing alone into the darkness. When you… When you brought me into the light with your compassion, I don’t know if you realize what kindness you showed to me, Bells the bard. Like a new shoot, I felt a connection to you growing that has only become stronger the longer we have traveled together. I… I wanted you to know that, though words failed me. The Ash spoke to me in that failing. The Ash and I together made this…

Zinvaris pulled a small carved wooden medallion tied with a leather cord from inside his cloak. The carving is delicate and intricate. The pattern of Bells’ henna tattoos are woven into the wood and oriented to display a tree with widespread roots and branches that mingle together in a way that at any moment roots could be branches or branches could be roots.

...To give you the knowledge of my love for you. For me, you have acted as this tree... Zinvaris placed a thumb on one side of the amulet to symbolize the roots. ...and helped me rise and see the sky again. As he spoke, Zin rubbed his thumb around the outer diameter of the amulet to rest in the boughs of the branches of the symbolized tree of life. Zinvaris paused as he scrutinized Bells’ face. Do you like it?

---

Zinvaris surveyed the arrayed speakers, carefully examining Maxildanarr to see if the man harbored any ill intent. The wood elf smiled and nodded to Oarus. The rogue's gaze came to rest on the purple robed wizard. Zin noted the recognition of the man and puzzled slightly at that. Then Zin realized he traveled with someone who announced her presence everywhere she went with her melodic bells. He turned to Bells, smiled and nodded then made his way up to the wizard. You look as though you've been waiting for us, wise one.

Olivessa had stated with a hogshead of whale oil that Bells would have the capital to move forward with a plan to make the Staves proper citizens of Good Mead. But despite bringing a whole barrel of lubricant, Bells was having trouble getting the two sides to slide one inch from their ingrained prejudices. Each side had taken to presenting their point of view anytime Bells made a public appearance. Yes, maybe progress could be measured in the fact the citizens were debating the merits of each proposed step but all seemed to accept the ultimate outcome would be citizenship if rather loudly. Maybe that was why she was hiding in her office at the noon meal instead of at the hall. Hiding? No...just regrouping. Bells was determined to unite the town behind one wall but perhaps not today.

A whiff of a clean alpine breeze with hints of cedar tickled the speaker's nose causing her to look up from the papers scattered on her desk. ZIN! Oh my! You startled me. It still catches me by surprise at how silently you move.

Escaping into the woods with the elf sounded like a perfect respite. At first steps were hurried as the pair made their escape but slowed as a shyness seemed to creep between them. The bard twirled among trunks while the rogue took measured steps. Bells bit her lip as Zin's hand captured hers, holding until her eyes met his. Silence rang through the forest in this moment where the two seemed as one. And then he spoke...

Zinvaris Willowmire who always sounded like he was reciting poetry in much of his speech went past saying flowery words and honeyed phrases but spoke words of promise and power equal to the elf himself. Bells trembled at the depth of feeling the elf held for her undone that her own emotions were returned. Do I like it? Oh, Zin.... That you would even consider me to be the roots that ground and nourish you or the branches that lift you toward the sun or the shade to protect your brow, I am humbled because I would be anything you need. I love you. With such a declaration Bells the bard offered her lips to Zinvaris and despite the winter chill.....the desert flower bloomed.

Rayne leaned against the of the council, lazily watching the members of the council. After the interaction between Zin and Bells, he smiles, remembering the fluster of the two when the old seer demanded her kiss. His smile quickly fades however as he recalls who was the ultimate recipient.

Rayne fights off a yawn at the prospect of another council meeting. He is here to support Bells and do what he can for the surrounding towns, but the politics are beyond him. His mind wanders to the Huskies, and their growing number and the logistics of training and supplies. By leading effective guard patrols and completing odd jobs requiring some brawn and protection, some have been able to leave their day jobs and become full-time huskies. In addition to helping some of the townsfolks became better able to defend themselves and their loved ones, those dedicated few have been finding a living more lucrative than any other they could squeeze out of the harsh north. Rayne makes a mental note to appoint captains and form a clear leadership structure within the organization at their next meeting. This would also help take some of the burden of planning off his shoulders and allow him to focus on the matters at hand.

Noting Zin approaching the wizard, Rayne joins him. The purple clad figure seemed to be searching for someone or something out and was bound to be more interesting than standing around waiting for the council members to start.

Bells had received the thick parchment sealed with a generous portion of blood red wax pressed by an official looking seal with ten different tips of weapons fanned out in a circle. The speaker briefly wondered if a particular sharpened blade represented Good Mead before wielding her own blade, a letter opener, under the edge causing a crackle as the wax crumbled. A very orderly looking script in direct business like wording(someone must have their own Olivessa) invited her, the new speaker of Good Mead to attend the Council of Speakers.

Although the invitation was not exclusive to her! The Charms had been specifically invited to join which brought immense satisfaction. Obviously, their reputation had circled the area making an impact.

The Council of Speakers! Eek! The Council of Speakers! To some maybe a round of rather dry meetings but to Bells it was an opportunity to not only visit Bryn Shander but to actually put faces to names of all the Speakers. Visions could be forged allowing all in attendance to see the quality of her metal when she offered her support. Granted Good Mead was one of the smaller towns even when Bells' policies went through would allow the town to officially double in size but even then it had a ways to go before it had the population of one of the big boys. But the bard had a punch that delivered above her weight class. Five...no...not anymore...only four clinched fingers that could deliver a knockout blow to trouble.

Cognizant if the bard started crying her kolh would streak across her cheeks so she took a steadying breath fanning her face as the pain of Anders loss struck her anew along with doubts. The ranger had been an intricale part of the team, helping navigate the unforgiving terrain. Would they have the same impact without that element he provided? Only the next challenge would answer that question. Bells found herself staring at the healed cut that had left the slightest of scars across her palm.

---

Bells had arrived the day before in Bryn Shander to ensure any delays would not make her late to the meeting. And truth be told, Bells didn't want her first appearance to include snow from the road so the luxury suite at the Cat's Meow allowed her the tools like a brass tub filled with fragrant herbs and the services of a lady's maid who erased all creases from her garmets so nothing less than perfection was presented.

Jingles accompanied Bells lively steps as she approached the meeting hall. Security measures caused a moment's hesitation before Zin looked back questioning. Returning his look with a brilliant smile, Bells continued forward. A friendly wave was given to Oarus as Bells leans over to playfully whisper to Okto, Now that I am out of the competition, feel free to pursue....he certainly looks as tasty as ever, don't you think?

Bells had not intended to stick with the Charms letting the four of them gather their own information and impressions to share with one another later. So the woman had started to take a step toward the huddled speakers to introduce herself when Zinvaris and Rayne pulled away to greet a wizard if his robes spoke true. A wizard? The first wizard Bells had witnessed in the Ten Towns....well the first not consumed in flames. Bells definitely needed to have a conversation so the bard found herself following her companions.

The wizard stands tall (though not too tall) before the elf, grips his staff, and clears his throat. Ahem! "I have indeed been awaiting an opportunity with which to meet you and yours. I assume that you are the Charms that have been floating around the gossip of taverns for some time now. Well, I am Magister Rhoqium the Purple, though I have gone by many names amongst many cultures. I suppose Rhoqium will suffice." Having found himself a little off topic, he clears his throat once more and begins anew. "I have heard that you were recently in Caer-Dineval, and had dealt with the secretive keep and perhaps, he says with a quirked eyebrow, "...perhaps you came across one by the name of Avarice?" It was not often in the nature of wizards to head straight to the point, but it would seem that Rhoqium had very direct interest with this newly-beginning line of inquery.

At Rhoqium’s question, Zin furrowed his brow in thought as he rubbed his chin. A recollection sprung in Zin’s mind. A woman. Seeking Netherese magic in the Dale. I do not believe we met her, but Bells’ ward spoke of the woman.

A wrinkled hand moves towards and strokes the white beard. By the look on Rhoqium's face, this was not the answer he had been looking for. Hrmm... "That is unfortunate, for her presence in the Icewind Dale is worrisome. If you have been to the keep and cleared it of foul influence, then she will be gone as the fleeting breeze. A shame. She was of an organization that I have interest in pursuing, and would seek the aid of the Charms in assistance doing so. I know of three living members, and have but a single thread to follow on a fourth. Given your reputation, I suspect this may be of interest to you; doubly so, if you understood the implications of their being here. But I do not expect an answer now, for there is the Council to attend to. But later, I would speak with you again, if you would humor me."

With his turn having come, Rhoqium takes a step forward and uses his staff as a walking aid. "Well now, Speaker Shane, my magicks are extensive, but expensive in these lands. There are components that I must expend that are not frequently found here. You know; wings of toad, ditch-delivered babes, slabs of gruel, that sort of thing." With this, Rhoqium winks as though he were making light of the mystery of wizardry. "To compensate for these, I have negotiated the payment of two hundred and fifty gold pieces with Sheriff Southwell, who is not yet in the chamber. I would have the guarantee that this deal will be upheld in exchange for my services." Even as he speaks, making his demand, the wizard reaches for his spell book to signify that he is more than willing to perform.

When Bells was recognized, a gracious tilt of her head accompanied a full smile, Please call me Bells and I am honored to join your circle. I'm sure we will soon be working together for our mutual benefit. Those equally committed to the region's safety and success and often referred to as my Charms are in attendance. Let me reconize them individually: Zinvaris Willowmire, Rayne, and Okto the Frozen Tusk.

Bells sat back slightly tapping on an earring dangling from her ear as the wizard spoke up about the funds promised him for his services. If money for wings of toad was the sage's primary motivation then that would make her own negotiations with the wizard rather straight forward and dare she hope for simple?

I would hear what the Duergar would say considering my last encounter didn't include much dialog, did it Speaker Dan?

Zin nodded at the wizard and moved off to the side. He looked at ease as he moved to lean against a wall, his arms crossed over his chest. The wood elf’s eyes betrayed his inner worry, though as he constantly watched for different vantages he would have used if Bells were his target. Zin gave a half hearted smile and slight nod to Oarus. On locking eyes with Maxdilnar, the rogue tried to use all his power to read the man’s intentions, but it seemed Speaker Shane was right… there would be a truce until the Rime ended.

When Duvessa entered, Zin relaxed his posture. He smiled politely at the speaker, stark shadows splaying across his scarred face. Zin was amazed at the presence such a young person could impose… She would barely be… 70… 80… in elven terms, but she commanded all attention. Zin looked at Bells with pride as he knew these two women were cut from similar cloth.

At mention of a parlay with the Dark Dwarves, Zin immediately became uneasy, grabbing the hilt of his sword and looking between the shadowy alcoves of the room. The rogue called out to the sheriff Has this room been cleared?! I’ve been victim of the Duergar invisibility and their "negotiations" too many times to trust any form of parlay. What’s more is they have an insane plot against the Dale… what good can come of speaking to them?! As he spoke, Zin moved prodding the empty spaces with his rapier and surveying for invisible ambushers.

Zinvaris resumed his wary watch from the side of the room. On the gray dwarf's entry, the wood elf bristled, his senses constantly probed for invisible assailants. After the dwarf relayed his message, Zin's brow drew down in thought. He looked at the gray dwarf and asked Dûrmgrist... Those that resist Sunblight's plans? What would you ask of the ten towns?

With payment guaranteed and joke understood, if not appreciated, Rhoqium nods to the Speaker and stands a little straighter. He taps his staff on the floor once, twice, thrice, and signals that he is prepared to cast his magicks. He waits almost no time after the Duergar enters the hall- maybe one or two moments, as he takes in the sight of the deep warrior in his strange armors- before saying in Dwarvish to the Duergar, "It has been declared that I must cast a weave of translations upon you." From what Rhoqium knew of the gray dwarves, they did not waste time speaking pedantic, but would rather cut to the heart of the matter. And so he stops there.

Under his breath and in a strangely reverberating voice, Rhoqium invokes words long forgotten to man save the magi; he gestures to his mouth a time or two, as well as to his ears. For those in the know, it would seem that he was embellishing the requirements of casting his spell for the sake of ceremony, for it did not align with the feared idea of a wizard smiting you with a stroke of lightning quicker than you can blink. Instead, Rhoqium casts his spell in its more traditional form, and approaches the duergar to lay a hand atop his shoulder. There is no flash, no smoke, and especially no smiting. Instead, the magicks become apparent in the following moments when all present- duergar included- find that they are able to understand the gray dwarf and vice versa.

The wizard's brow furrows as he listens to the speech, translated into an intelligible language through his subtle enchantment. There were whispers of great machines of war crafted by the duergar, terrible and destructive. Creations that belonged only below the surface, and deep below at that. It was strange that they had plans on the surface, and even this messenger agreed. Was he asking for help, in his proud way? Telling that they disapproved of this Xardorok Sunblight and his grand plan? Would the Ten-Towns be able to count on their help in what may come to pass?

But it was not his place to speak. It was his, at the present, to remain the neutral translator.