Prologue: The Obligatory Inn

By the time the other arrive, Elandra is seated at a table with her back to one of the wooden support beams littering the inn's interior, a backpack full of traveling supplies and a warhammer neatly placed on either side of her chair, and a heavy shield rests against the column itself. The warhammer's handle resting in easy reach of her left hand. Her posture is one of relaxed patience, her head bowed slightly as she reads slowly, reverently through a tome of some sort of ecclesiastical lore. Shaggy, silver-white eyebrows are creased in thought as she flips a page. Her stark, severe features are framed by a bob of shoulder-length white hair, unusual for someone who seems no more than thirty years. Gray-black eyes occasionally flit up from the page to scan the room, and some attention is paid to the door at every pass.

She is slender but well-built, tall and necessarily heavy for the amount of muscle and gear she carries with her. Her shape is hidden among the folds of warm, black and gray traveling clothes and a white woolen traveling cloak, her torso protected by a battered but masterfully-made breastplate. She bears the markings of a life a violence, with scars visible on her face, the most prominent being one running from through her left eyelid, starting at her scalp and ending at her jawline, likely made by a dagger or claw, and which miraculously, one might say, missed the eye. One of the fingers on her right, shield hand is disjointed form the rest, as if broken and badly set back before being healed.

A half-eaten bowl of mutton stew sits just past the tome in easy reach, with a wooden spoon sticking out of the mix of rabbit and broth. Five chairs have been left empty around the circle of the table, intended for arriving companions. As the door opens and a stranger enters, her mask of patience cracks for a fraction of a second, and she grumbles to herself, "They should've been here half an hour ago." She takes another bite of stew, careful to keep even a drop from marring the pages of her book. The second one of the other adventurers enter, she flips the book closed, resting the bowl on top of the artfully-molded metal of the book's cover.


I'm down to maybe have us all have adventured together in the past. Maybe not recently, but perhaps as a band on some previous quest a few years back, having then parted ways in the intervening time?

Singer sallies into the common room of the inn on a gust of wind. Her iconic purple boots flutter their white wings furiously as she swerves around the tables between the door and the bar. With a thud she lands and then shoulders her way between to burly patrons (despite the fact the next three stools are empty) and comes to a stop with a jingle and a clatter of bracelets and the many necklaces she wears. She diffuses the protests of her intrusion with a smile that slits her eyes and wrinkles her nose. The two men immediately back down and the younger man blushes as Singer leans into him and offers an apology. Turning back to the barkeep she calls out "Garith, the usual please!", just as the bar keep sets a large frothing tankard of hard cider and small bowl. Just as she is about to pick up the two vessels she tilts her head to the side as a creature of some kind emerges from Singer's bright red hair. The creature at first appears to be a woman wearing an ornate headdress and white porcelain mask with painted on features, but as the creature continues to emerge it's torso seems to be covered in scales, starting at about the navel. The creature's lower half turns into a snake's body. The scales however are white and pearl in color with patterns of yellow and purple lightning bolts. The creature slithers around Singer's upper arm and speaks to her in a sing song voice.

"I require meat as well, Singer. Buy us some. Oh and you are late again. Elandra is already here."

Singer tosses a silver coin onto the bar so that it rolls in a tight circle around her drinks, whisking them out of the way as the coin lilts inward on its path. She nods to Garith and says "And some of the roast please." letting out a short exasperated sigh. She finally gathers her drink and the bowl, offers the younger man another smile and turns away from the bar. With a step she is hovering a few inches above the ground as her boots activate once more. Her Yellow and purple robe billows with the displaced air baring her legs to the thigh. The voluminous white silk shirt underneath the robe also billows and reveals many gold chains and pendants around her neck. The largest pendant appears to be a blue flower made of some precious stone and silver wires.

"Firstly, you don't 'require meat' your are simply a glutton, Z. Secondly, we wouldn't be late anywhere if you didn't insist on being manifested for the trip, you know you are slower than I am. And thirdly, I mean finally, of course Elandra is here, she is always punctual!"

With that Singer lands beside Elandra and takes a large gulp of her cider before slamming it onto the table. it appears it is going to spill over for just a second, but the wave of libation curls and stays within the tankard. The creature Ziersa has moved down Singer's arm and is about to lung for the small bowl just as Singer places it on the table and twist her hand to grab the eidolon about the middle. and brings her back to Singer's shoulder.

"Elan, darling how are you? How have you been is feels like ages since we last saw each other. What have you been up to? We have been having quite the adventure haven't we Z? Indeed, just three days ago we returned form the ruins of Hlath'men Tal where we discovered some very interesting evidence that the warlocks of Man'e'thule weren't in fact demon worshipers, but demon slayers, who on the realization of the imminent decline of the kingdom of Hlath succumbed to the temptation to use demon magice to try and save their nation. Of course we both know that to trust a demon to do anything but twist your words into your worst nightmares is utterly foolish at best. But that was over four thousand years ago. Perhaps it wasn't known back then, and desperate times and all that blah-dy blah. So how've you been?"

All of that seems to have come out in a single breath. Ziersa meanwhile, continues to try and get to the table unsuccessfully two more times. Once by sliding down Singer's sleeve and once by flying off her shoulder. Both times Singer deftly catches the eidolon in one hand before it can touch the table. On the third try Ziersa appears to bite down hard on Singer's finger and small sparks fly off the small creature. Singer giggles as it obviously doesn't bother her at all. Finally she relents and places the creature next to the bowl. The beverage inside appears to be brandy.

"We were late because of your dalliance were with those two broodlings of the lords Blenoth and Sauzka." Ziersa acidly as she dips her whole head into the brandy.

Singer's skin flushes from the olive color to a deep red , similar to her hair. "Z, please, watch your language when we are in public, please."

Finally quieted down Singer lets Elandra get a word in.

Had another of their companions been the first to enter, Elandra may have shown a bit greater care and concern when closing her tome, to not appear rude. However, the second she realizes it's Singer to be the first to arrive, she slams the book closed so hard that the little key clasp binding the book together clicks shut of its own accord.

She watches the summoner work her way over though the crowd, her calm, patient expression fixed like a mask on her face. However, once Singer starts monologuing, Elandra's composure cracks completely, and she rolls her eyes as she waits for Singer to finish, though a smile briefly graces her lips. While she's always been fairly sure the summoner's pet has a mind and will entirely of its own, even if it serves Singer faithfully, she always felt like watching the two banter would've been no different than watching the brightly colored woman argue with herself.

She lets the silence hang on the air for a brief instant after Singer's last exchange with Ziersa, to ensure that, really, she can talk now, and greets her old adventuring companion warmly, her words coming out with slow and deliberate precision, an indication perhaps of high birth or really good elocution lessons, "Hello Sin, I have been well. I can not say I have been as...busy as you seem to have been in recent times, but nonetheless I have found my own measure of truth in my studies of the Book of the Laws," she gestures idly at the tome sitting in front of her, "after returning to my family's estate in Glen Naomh. Truly it feels as if it has been an age since last we met."

She pauses, her throat feeling dry. Turning towards the bar, she calls out, the intonation of her words shifting from precise and ladylike to the sharp, clipped speech of a drill sergeant, the tone she tends to reserve for vagrants, demons, and barkeeps, "Garith, your house red, if you'd be kind!" She turns back, paying him no further mind, trusting a glass of dry red wine will be brought to their table in due haste, and continues speaking to Singer, her voice shifting back almost instantly to prim and proper, "How have the seasons treated you, dear? What news of the others?"

As the kitchen doors opens and a barmaid walks out with a tray stacked with bowls, plates and glasses for the bar patrons a diminutive halfling saunters through the swinging doors and jumps up grabbing the glass of red wine while not spilling a drop of the over-sized tankard of ale held in his other hand. Dimal gracefully bows to the barmaid who rolls her eyes playfully and walks on to her first table.

He winds his way across the floor drinking from his tankard the whole way and jump/plops into the chair across for Elandra. " sorry for the delay, that blasted war dog, Crusher, was trying weasel his way into the pantry again. I believe this is yours my dear." He deftly slides the glass of wine across the table to Elandra and turns to Singer. " Did I hear the start to an exaggerated tale of victory and intrigue in the ruins of Hlath'men Tal? If you want to hear a story about Demons, let me tell you about the time..." Dimal trails off as if he saw something that distracted him from his story.

Dimal shakes his head vigorously and refocuses on the ladies in front of him. "Anyway, how are you ladies doing this fine evening?

There is brief concern written on Singer's face when Dimal trails off in the middle of his story. Sin wonders if there is more to be concerned about, but doesn't want to bring it up during what is supposed to be a happy reunion of friends. Instead she presses on with the conversation, her regular smile returning quickly
"Yes a victory, at least an academic one. Not worthy of one of your songs master bard. We have learned some truths buried by time."
She takes another swig of her cider and Ziersa surfaces from the brandy. "I didn't get to me at anyone at all. It was boring" About that time the serving girl brings a plate of roastbeef and some boiled red potatoes. Singer looks her up and down and gives her that smile that wrinkles her nose and says " Thank you." Ziersa immediately attacks the meat. Her electrified bite causes the part she is chewing on to sizzle. She hacks at it with her tail blade and eventually tears off a piece to gnaw on. Singer eats one bite of potatoes as she watched the serving girl walk away, one eyebrow is arched. Then she turns back to the plate and begins cutting tiny bites for Z.
"So to answer your question, we are doing quite well"

Aenwyn slips in while everyone was talking, quite willing just to listen, for now. The half-elf, traveling cloak a deep blue with silver spirals worked into it, looked far more suited to temple or library than hunting undead, which was her vocation and training. "Mead, please," she murmurs to the barkeep, looking around. There are several she recognizes, traveling companions at one point or another; Elandra more than once, clerics and inquisitors often having similar goals.

A middle-age gnome with vibrant pink hair and a beaming smile bursts through the front door. A chilly breeze slips around her petite form and, in the moment before the door swings itself closed, everyone in the inn shudders. She sees some of her old companions, Dimal, Aenwyn and Elandra gathered with a new comer. It was, after all, the appointed time. They had made a pact after their first adventure, to gather again in a decade - 10 years - at the very Inn they first met. It was strange to think of what they looked like a decade before. Younger, brighter eyed and eager to save the world. Tiana knew that, in her case, the vision of her life she had then was not the life she had come to lead, and wondered what the others had done since the last met. It had been 7 years since she saw Aenwyn, when they had together saved a little village from a rampaging young green dragon. It had been 6 since she left Elandra's company to unearth her own heritage and discover who she was.

She strode over to the table and, in her usual fashion, plumped herself down on a stool beside Elandra, Hey! Long time no see. Tell me, what tales of dragon-slaying have filled your intervening years? I've missed the variety of sour expressions you lot were always good at conjuring." She smiled in her disarming way and waved at the barkeep, who immediately set to pouring her a drink.

Singer gives a quizzical look to the pink haired gnome, then scans around the table looming at each of her friends, expectantly, in turn. When no one responds, Singer leans in and extends a hand in greeting and with a bright charming smile says, "Well met traveler, my name is Singer Glamdor. It would seem you are quite well accustomed to my dining companions this evening, but you and I have not had the pleasure of being introduced, and since no one else seem inclined to speak up, I shall take the duty upon myself to welcome you to our table. In return for that comfortable chair and the service of this sturdy table upon which you might set your libation of choice, I ask only the price of knowing your name. Or if that be to much then the monicker of which you are most commonly known by among our mutual companions." All of this is followed by a demure flutter of her eyelashes and a tinkling laugh.

The gnome smiles and extends her hand for a firm shake, "Tiana, please to meet you. If you've managed to survive adventuring with this rag-tag band, then I'm sure you're a great friend and companion." At that moment her drink arrives, a dark aged beer of some kind, and she knocks back a hearty mouthful. She leans in to the middle of the table and points across the room, "Hey, have any of you seen her here before? Looks like a new face." between breaths she burps (as politely as one does), "She looks like she's about to say something..."

Singer stands and watches the female bard flee. After she is gone she utters a word and makes a scooping gesture with her hand and a ghostly apparition of a gloved feminine hand appears near the floor and begins gathering the moonstones on the table in front of the party.

"That was...odd?

"A lich queen? Is this a local legend?" Aenwyn frowns - the singer had interrupted her about to greet Tiana.

Tiana shrugs, "Dunno, never heard of it, and I've basically been living out of this tavern for the last four months waiting for you lot to show up again for our reunion! I did like the tune, but it was - admittedly - quite haunting." She puts the remains of the bead strand and the few stones still clinging to it on the table, "Aenwyn." She smiles, "Hardly noticed you quietly sitting there. Thinking deeply? Head in a metaphorical book as usual?"

Elandra's expression is grave, and her eyes remote, as she listens to the song. As it ends, and the singer makes her departure, she scans the room, noting the expressions of her companions and the other patrons of the tavern. "That was...troubling. Have any of you heard of such a tale before? A lich queen, captured angels, stolen relics? It seems as fanciful as any bard's tale..." She blinks, glancing at Dimal and hastily adds, "No offense, Dimal," before continuing, "but I feel as if there's a note of truth within it, as well. Something, perhaps, we should investigate."

"None taken, Elandra. As you know bards always tell the tale in a way that captivates and enthralls but can sometimes be lite on the truth of the matter. Not my tales of course, but other bards for sure. Shall we see were our troubled singer has gotten herself off too?" Dimal pulls his flute of scrying from his pack and gestures at the group asking for their opinion on the effort.

"By all means," Aenwyn says, before responding to Tiana: "Of course! They're the best kind." She smiles faintly.