DCC DotSK: Act 1-3

Ty starts up in surprise at Dufgal's sudden appearance. A melodious stream of invective spills from his lips that sounds like utter nonsense to anyone not versed in the elvish tongue. Then the beggar recalls himself, and his situation. He takes a breath and shakes his head, as if to clear it.

"Pelgi's teats, man!" Close enough. "You look like an ox, but you move like a woodland deer! With that dagger arm and those doe-like hooves, you're surely the one we'll send ahead to scout out any danger."

Tyravasiel-Llir gestures with his cane at the crackling flames. "Come and warm yourself."

Anora startles at the sudden appearance of the man. She’s suddenly conscious of how they didn’t prepare a watch yet, and instead decided to rest their bones before settling in for the night.

"Some warning on the condition of the bridge would have been welcome." Anora chides, as way of introductions again. "If indeed you were watching our route…"

Aldric nearly leaps out of his skin when Dufgal emerges from the shadows. When he realizes this is no ghastly ghoul or carnivorous beast, he breathes a sigh of relief.

"Ah, Dufgal, you have returned to the fold! Praise Pelagia! Fortunately, The Queen of Brine does not frown upon her followers from solving their problems with steel. Welcome back."

"The task of watching might fall to you, Dufgal, given your propensity to it." the woman says, with a hint of honey to the words. In truth, she wanted to sleep soundly, and the man was a being of almost animal instincts; be that towards violence, going to ground, or passing quietly in the wilds…

I’se ‘appy to be back with you’se, sirs. I’se run through them trees so I’se didn’t cross no bridge.
And Dufgal gratefully nears the well-built fire and begins to dry out his clothes and warm his bones. When time comes to set watch, he agrees to take a shift, whatever the crew wants.

Aldric is concerned with Ty's misspronounciation of the Bitch Queen's name. He's sure that Pelagia would hold him accountable.

"Pell. Lah. Gee. Ah. Pelagia. Got it? Now you try."

He attempts to work Ty through the exercise.

"Don't you Elves revere the gods? Don't you know what they are capable of? If you're going to invoke the Bitch Queen's name and talk about her teats, you have to do with respect!"

Ty re-settles by the fire, with legs spread and knees raised. He rests his cane against the inside of one thigh, then holds his palms out to the flames.

"We recognize certain powers somewhat greater than ourselves," he explains, "though the gulf is not so wide as between humans and their gods. Those powers demand respect, although they do not often reward it unless certain... special arrangements are made. Far better, Father Aldric, to submit to the service of a human deity. Their demands seem principally to be ceremonial, sartorial or linguistic-- your 'teats' this and your 'brine' that-- while their protective power is relatively sure."

The elf pauses, and his easy manner seems for a moment to sag on his face. There are lines cut into the corners of his mouth, the sketch of a frown.

"And so I say hail Pelagia, and the shield of her watery embrace."

Listening without comprehension, Dufgal turns to Ty,
Ain’t you a human too, Tyver…sellier?
The thief may exist within the paradox of bold and sneaky, but he has no extraordinary perceptual abilities. He has taken Ty as presented so far. Plus he has never met an elf so he has no frame of reference other than humans.

Ignoring the thief’s question, for the answer seemed clear enough to Anora, she quizzes:

"And why not simply dedicate yourself to the magical arts? Your people are skilled enough by nature. Rather than beseeching the divine, why not simply elevate yourself to their equal? You said yourself that the gap is not so great."

Ty removes his broad-brimmed hat, then pushes up his blindfold so that it rests upon his forehead like a threadbare bandanna. His eyes are a deep, pine green, verging on black; they have no pupils. He turns this alien gaze upon Dufgal, in order to confirm for the burly thief that Tyravasiel-Llir is not, in fact, human. And not blind. His attention then drifts back to the flickering flames.

"I have some small knowledge in the art," he concedes, to Anora's challenge. "However, madam, not everyone is blessed with your single-minded dedication. Or your ability to flatter a robe."

Dufgal is dumbfounded and can’t help that his jaw goes slack just a bit. He thinks of nothing to say so he simply stares at his first elf experience.

Anora watches the fire dance in the eyes as the creature speaks, determined to try and understand the focus behind those alien eye. How exactly did one know an elf was looking at you, if its head didn’t give the game away.

She wondered on the matter of robes then. To compliment the eyes with a deep green, or to draw attention away with something more outlandish?

"I wouldn’t call it a singular focus. Every once in a while, I find myself on a quest such as this."

That she was doing this to get her hands on a spell remained unsaid.

Tyravasiel does Dufgal the courtesy of not observing-- or at least, not remarking upon-- his gawking.

"The spirit of adventure sometimes moves us all, madam," he says, in a flat tone suggesting that this is the furthest thing from the truth. After all, his own 'adventures' have been forced upon him by the vengeance of a murderous elfin lady...

"Dufgal, I'm sure you've realized this--" again that flat tone-- "but it would be best not to speak of my heritage in company. Your people are not known for their tolerance of the outsider."

Dufgal at once feels the giddy insider and potentially insulted. He is not sure which the elf meant as there were no tone clues in his voice. ’my people’? Did he mean gongfarmers? I guess they could be elf-haters. It’s never come up.
The thief yawns and says,
if’n you’se gonna talk some more, I’se set to rest a spell. Wake me for my watch.

---

DEEP IN THE DARK FOREST, THAT NEXT MORNING (ALL)

The night passes uneventfully, but uncomfortably. The chill and the damp cuts to the bone here, through sleeping furs and blankets and clothing. Sleeping out of doors another two or even three nights does not sound a welcome prospect as the quartet packs up and sets out again, following the old King's Road deeper and deeper into the at-times eerily silent pine forest.

Vivid dreams came to each of them as they shivered and rested, Anora and Dufgal, Ty and Aldric. Fleeting dreams that weren't remembered, that dissolved and drifted into the aether, even before water was splashed on faces and the cookfire was stoked back up.

Save for Aldric's dreams, if he could call them that.

Some of the images, the memories, the tastes and sensations... remain with him. The moon, pregnant and full, hanging low in the sky, swollen and leering. The baying of wolves, the churning fury of the sea as it fought against that pull. The taste of salt water on his lips... and there on the road, a trail of damp footprints leading west, towards Hirot, that no one else seemed to notice...