And a place for the party to plan its next moves against the Iron Throne and its threat to the region...
2. The Friendly Arm Inn
And a place for the party to plan its next moves against the Iron Throne and its threat to the region...
Koveras approaches Aiwe's table in the commonroom. He bows his head slightly in respectful greeting. "If I may..." He gestures at the empty seat across from her.
"I have been considering my next course of action, and I believe it would be best for me to depart at once for Baldur's Gate. The Iron Throne headquarters are there. And Rieltar as well." He pauses for just a moment as he considers his words. "I know your companions better now, and truly they're a formidable force; you have no need of an extra swordarm. I believe I can do more good on my own, reaching out to contacts among the merchant guilds, perhaps even approaching sympathizers among the Iron Throne."
The half-orc coughs lightly into his fist, but then doesn't continue to speak. Obviously he's waiting to see what Aiwe thinks...
"Aldous said something similar once. He wouldn't listen to me and I had to comfort Stella over the wreckage of his convoy, but if he hadn't been kidnapped we wouldn't have found you." Aiwë looks up at him.
"I consider you a mite more capable than our young lord," she winks, then pauses, "though he's impressed me lately... but do you really think you'll be safe on your own? Rieltar has to have been preparing. He'll be waiting for you."
He tilts his head and regards Aiwe, truly meeting her eyes for the first time today. "I also wanted to apologize for my former behavior. Disrespecting you was not my intention. Rest assured that I have taken your words to heart."
He blinks. He seems to feel that's the end of the matter, but is giving Aiwe a chance to speak before he excuses himself.
"I know it wasn't intentional. Thank you for the apology. Kish brun." 'No harm done.'
Then she fixes him with a stare.
"Are you sure the amount of good you can do by leaving right away instead of waiting for us to go together—probably tomorrow morning or so—is worth the danger? Are you sure you're not running away from me, even a little?"
Even here though he couldn’t help but go back to that dark tunnel and the eyes looking back at him.
He gestures to the seat next to him. "Have a seat? I can have Bentley bring out some more food, if you like."
His gaze drops to the top of the table. "I do not run away." He says it firmly. "But if put against an impossible foe, why would I remain?" The half-orc looks up at Aiwe. "You've made your thoughts on my request clear. I was in the wrong. Is this issue not resolved?"
She straightens and sits back in her chair. "I trust your assessment, you know yourself, the Gate, and Rieltar far more than I do. You will make a good decision. That said, you invited my opinion so here it is:"
"I want you to stay," she begins, businesslike. "We can always use another sword arm, and your knowledge of Rieltar and the Iron Throne is very valuable. That, and I am certain that we do not face Rieltar—we face the God of Murder, and he has targets. I imply nothing of your skills when I say that alone, you are vulnerable." Aiwë's eyebrows crease, and her eyes don't leave his.
"You deserve the life you want. I hope to see you in it, one day. I do not want to sing a dirge over your grave—or worse, an empty one."
He hoped he was ready to face his greatest opponent, himself.
Rolls
Insight - (1D20+2)
(20) + 2 = 22
The young wizard waves Bentley over to ask for more potatoes, and the gnome proprietor takes off to fulfill the request.
"What field of magic?" He sighs. "I'm not really sure... I had thought Enchantment might be interesting, but it turns out magically influencing peoples' minds is... not great. Morally, I mean." He pokes at his potatoes with a fork. "Blowing things up is probably fun, but seems a bit crude to me. Maybe Divination would help me to decide what robes to wear each day. I can never decide..."
Stephan pushes his plate aside and pulls his spellbook over so that Ida can see. The spidery, arcane glyphs and diagrams aren't what she's accustomed to reading on priest scrolls. "Look at this spell though! It makes people sick, too sick to fight properly. That could have been handy in the last fight."
He takes a deep breath, and Aiwe understands that the normally-stoic half-orc is truly upset.
"I'm sorry." Her voice is small. "You didn't do anything wrong. I... I returned the pain that I felt. Was already feeling. I shouldn't have. I didn't mean to—!" She sits forward, then back, then raps the table twice in irritation with herself. She looks down at the table.
"Will you forgive me? Can we start again?