Something Strange is Happening in the South...

Anwin walks up joyfully to, Aetoris Nail and Oma Salie embracing them both enthusiastically. She speaks to them both my friends it's been a while since I last saw you! I hope you are doing well and that the paths that have met your feet have been comforting. Why if I do recall the last time we ventured together in Pelor's good grace, was ridding the country side of that terrible beast! Wow what a great story that has become even though it has seem to have taken on a life of its own, as the last I heard the story the beast blotted out the sky and its teeth were as big as a troll. .
She laughs infectiously.
but one things for certain this blade that we found in its lair, the stories will never do it justice
She says tapping a spectacular hilt tucked into her belt.
me and this blade sure have had some great adventures since, we need to catch up soon and exchange some stories over a cup of mead.
But it looks like we are being called together for something a little more pressing

...I'm telling you Aetoris, I grew them with caps the size of your - well at least my hand! And let me say.... Oma Salie walks in with Aetoris, babbling nonstop until she sees Anwin come towards her. She hugs her firmly, almost a tad too long, like she's trying to ascertain​ if Anwin's still healthy by feeling her hugstrength.
My oh my! Look at yooouu foxy lady! Although I must say a bit of my newest batch would do you no harm... Let's see where did I put it? She starts patting her body, like she's looking for her keys when Aetoris places a hand on her shoulder and she looks up at him.
Oh, right, right, this might not be the best place to open the hole. Later...

Oma listens to Awin's recollection of the story of her sword, smiling broadly and making some weird moved and noises likes she's back there again.
Well I'm glad you like the sword! I myself can't get enough of this trusty fella I got from that mean witch when we sold her some herbs on our way home that other time, what did we do again Aerty? You know, that weird woman with the children working for her, what did we do before that? When I gave her some nettle mixed with dandelions and took this broom in exchange? Do you remember Anwin, were you there? Anyway the old hag had it coming, with her evil laugh! Now it's my lazy ass flying around all day! She laughs loud, slapping her thighs and wiping tears away.

Tinwë enters the room slowly. For someone so graceful, it might seem odd that she picks her steps so carefully. Those who know her well, however, understand that it has been many years since she last set foot in this place that used to be her home...

But there are familiar faces here that belong to dear friends! "Pyrrha, how good it is to see you!" Smiling beneath her hood, she embraces her cousin warmly, then pulls back to look at her. Still so young! But then, time passes differently in this realm...

Tinwë lightly touches Pyrrha's magical cloak, a marvelous garment that is identical to her own. "I am glad to see that you still wear this! Mine has protected me countless times, and it brightens my heart to know that you enjoy the same security. You remember the day we were given them? You and Fah'lin looked so beautiful standing before the king. I was infinitely jealous of you, as I had to be carried by my father..." Tinwë trails off as she looks around again at the room, then shakes her head to clear away resurgent memories.

"Fancy that the three of us have become such influential figures! I have heard many lovely ballads detailing your escapades, and Fah'lin has become the most renowned scholar of arcane lore in the region! Whatever it is that your father wishes of us, I am confident that we will see it done. Especially with the talents of these others..." Tinwë points out Aetoris. "Have you met the elf warrior over there? The Loresingers of his people say he slew a wyvern with a single arrow! They forgot to mention that he used a child's bow... I was there, you see. He is the one who taught me to shoot. I wonder who is the better shot now..."

Aetoris stands happily with Oma Salie and Anwin, smiling at the retelling of their exploits. When Tinwë mentions the wyvern shot that earned him the bow strapped to his back he turns.

Ah, Tinwë, so glad you keep telling that lovely tale! I remember well your training sessions with the guard. Few of those hooligans could pull a string so well as you, and they had decades on you! But do you remember our session in the field that summer? he says as he squeezes Oma's shoulder before heading over to Tinwë and Pyrrha.

In case she hasn't mentioned that trip, I may as well give you a light regaling. I was travelling with her training squad, trying to get the philosophy of silent woodsmanship through their skulls. Just going to get a bit of info on this group of goblin bandits that had been raiding the nearby town. Couldn't figure out how in the nine hells they could get in and out as quickly as they could. We get into it, and come to find out, that nasty Hobgoblin leader they had - what was his name - Effertz or some such stupidity. He managed to get himself this cap that would let him teleport his merry band of greenskins right into someplace, at least so long as the little bastards had someone sneak in and take something from the camp. Not really sure how they got their hands on it. Either way, we flushed the hobgoblin out and three of the squad managed to skewer the ugly mug right in the throat as he was trying to use his little hat. Aetoris is very animated as he recounts this tale, having truly enjoyed that outing.

Anyway, push came to shove and their lieutenant offered me the first pick of spoils on account of my position as senior field instructor for the mission. I snagged that cap of his and carry it with me to this day. Nothing makes life with Oma Salie over there easier than being able to quickly get back to the herb shop once we've picked our fill of new plants. he says, pulling a funky looking cap covered in swirled arcane letters from his pack.

And Tinwë, any time you want to test your bow against mine, we can gladly take the time. At least once we get done with whatever horrors the king has uncovered that calls for an assemblage of people like we have here. Names that echo in the grandest of halls all together.

Anwin looks a little blush as Oma Salie is telling the story of the old witch. I'm sorry Oma Salie I must confess something, well you know me and confessing and Pelor and all, and not coveting stuff..... Well I was just overtaken by your broom and I just had to have one so about a year after that incident I finally said "that's it" and I went to the wee'olde magic shop and had them commission me a broom just like yours

Anwin looks away briefly and turns back to Oma Salie, I hope you're not upset with me, heaven knows I couldn't have that

Fah'lin hears her name spoken by Tinwe as she crosses the room. Her attendants break off and find places against the wall where the king's own servants wait to be needed. She offers a slight nod to the spymaster Rollana as she passes. She approaches Princess(?) Pyrrha and makes a deep curtsy to show her respect.

"My lady, my father sends his regards and adds his well wishes to my own for your continued good health. I come in answer to your father's call, it is my honor to be regarded in such fine company, your grace."

Her comments might be a tad formal, considering how close she and the princess are, but there are several people in the room who Fah'lin is not as familiar with, so keeping to tradition she shows the proper reverence. Turning to Timwe, Fah'lin smiles as she remembers the ceremony where her cloak was given.

"We were such precocious children. Thinking ourselves capable of thwarting that mad wizard's plans to enchant the king and usurp his throne. But here we are, and the criminal remains locked in jail. The king told us that if we insisted on dealing with dark wizards like that, he was going to make sure we had the best protection available."

Then she adds silently to her two friends, 'Though I wouldn't mind if the king added his champion to my protection detail.' Turning her head slightly to take the brute in she arches an eyebrow in appreciation.

Seeing Lady Fah'lin look at him while in the company of Lady Tinwë and Lady Pyrrha, Kuz goes to them. Adressing them in orcish then with the broken common of somebody not used to it,"Gadaj Dajdok Danak Reknoz Tanoz. If we travel together soon, Kuz life is shield for King's family." Kuz turns to Lady Tinwë, "Last time we speak, you said this be useful to you." Kuz hands her a small bag. "Kuz not need. Gift for you. Help somebody if can."

From her place along the side of the room, not in shadow but somehow still seeming to be (by force of habit), Rolana watches as the other people mill about in the room, greeting one another in surprised happiness at meeting again so unexpectedly. She knows all of them, of course - it's a rare thing for the spymaster to walk into a room without knowing who will be there or without recognizing everyone she finds upon arrival. But her knowledge of these illustrious personages is no feat of intelligence gathering; she knows these people because she's worked with them before, even stood beside some of them in battle. And they are among the few who both know who she is and - even rarer - what she does, and has done, in her professional life.

And yet, this has not translated to much in the way of intimacy between her and her gathered colleagues. As if to punctuate this point, Fah'lin Sohl sends Rolana a subtle nod on her way to formally greet the princess Pyrrha Fralantia. Returning the nod with a smile just as reserved and subtle, Rolana recognizes that this is her life working as designed; it's a feature, not a bug. Rolana is a spy - and not just a spy, but the best. That achievement has come with costs, and a lack of close attachments has always been a known sacrifice, even before Naysen Rheem recruited her into the king's service, back when she was practicing the long cons on the streets. You can't afford to get close to people you're trying to fleece, after all.

Still, there had been camaraderie among the teammates working the scam together, hadn't there? With some surprise (and Rolana is rarely surprised), she realizes that she suddenly misses that. Her work has been her entire life, and she wouldn't trade it for anything, wild hill giants couldn't make her give it up. But at this point in her life, isn't it permissible to cultivate some genuine relationships? Scanning the room again, she reflects that they are likely all here because the king has a mission for them. Quite probably a very dangerous one. If there was ever an appropriate time to allow herself to get close to people, the eve of a very dangerous mission with those people is probably it.

They all seem to be bonding by reminiscing over magic items they'd acquired together. Rolana does have a story like that. She walks on silent feet until she is standing next to Aetoris Nailo.

She leans against a table, feet casually extended, and waits until he catches her eye. When he does, she smiles. Do you want to know my favorite memory from my adventuring career? It's not the time that we infiltrated that band of assassins. It's not the time you and I intercepted the scout bringing back intelligence about the king's security so that I could impersonate her.

She glances down at her feet. No, my favorite memory is most definitely, without question, beating you at cards to win these magnificent Elvenkind Boots that we took off that scout. She flexes one booted foot luxiously. They're so comfortable, you see. And so sleek and stylish. And so utterly... mine. She cocks her head to one side, smiling more broadly now. Hello, Aetoris. It's really good to see you.

Oma Salie's eyes begin to sparkle with excitement at Anwin's confession, a huge grin spreading on her face. Upset? Why would I be upset?! This means I can race you! she claps her hands, jumping up and down.
Suddenly her attention is grabbed by Rolana's words and she walks over to the group, waving for Anwin to come with her.
Aety! You never told me that's how you "lost your boots" Hahaha! I'm telling you, he was mopey for a year, a full year I say! You should've seen his face! She pokes Aetoris in his side with her walking cane.

Aetoris sticks his tongue out at Oma Salie before turning back to the spy, face falling to an attempt at a sad visage. Aye, that was such a "good" time. he says, voice a bit mopey still. Like Oma says, I was miserable for a year, at least, after that. But, you'll be happy to know I managed to find someone to commission me a set all my own. he says, sticking one foot out, revealing the slight leaf motif dancing across the surface of the supple boot. His face breaks into a smile again as he holds his hand out. It's good to see you again Rolana, it's been too long since we've managed to grab a small drink. he says with a quick wink.

Given how closely you hold his ear, have you heard any wind of why we're all here? he finishes, hoping that he could get some little bit of information before the King arrives.

Tinwë laughs as she listens to Fah'lin reminisce. "You did most of the work. All I could do was distract the old goat by reciting horrible poetry!"

As the Champion approaches, Tinwë snickers and whispers, "Speaking of which, if you break the heart of dear Kuz, I shall compose a sonnet that will make you even more famous, Fah'lin, though perhaps not in a way you might enjoy!" Then she speaks normally, addressing the muscular half-orc. "Thank you, Champion. Let us hope we do not need them."

After Aetoris tells his story of the teleporting goblins, Tinwë rolls her shoulders in an exaggerated shrug. "Yes, senior field instructor...I doubt anyone in this room is older than you. What are you now, at least half a millennium old? I hope you can keep up with the new generation."

"I doubt very much that my reputation would survive such a blow as your words could land Tinwe. I shall try to avoid drawing them out." Fah'lin retorts, at a conversational level, not caring to hide them.

Stepping politely closer to the orc the warlock speaks directly to him, "It is an honor to make your acquaintance Champion. I've seen you fight in the arena. To call your work impressive would be to sell it short. We should all thank the gods you found your way to us here and are no longer leading the wild warbands who raised you. What treasures did you procure for Lady Tinwe that would be useful, but we hope not to need?"

Answering to Fah'lin's compliment by shrugging his shoulders, "I just have fun in arena, most fights too easy. I win shiny rocks for Lady Tinwë. She breath life in dead soldier with shiny rock. I no need it so I give to Lady Tinwë."

Taking in the the myriad faces that pour through the doors of the council chamber, Pyrrha stands as still as the royal garden statuary just off the grand room's centre. Her poise does not betray it, but she is tense. Rarely in the company of those important anymore, she is nervous. For such an event, her first appearance at one of its kind in a number of years, she wears her best and carries with her four magical curiosities. Her fathers's vehement protests against her leaving the safety of the castle only stirred a juvenile defiance in her. Dressed like an adventurer of stories and wild tales, she silently rebels. The garb does not aid her discomfort. However, she relaxes just a little as Tinwë, her cousin and a dear friend strides toward her with all the grace for which she is known.
"Pyrrha, how good it is to see you!" As her hood falls, Pyrrha meets her eyes and takes in her features just as the half-elf scans her own.
Every time we meet, she ponders, the rift between our years seems to grow.

Her cousin's hands move from her shoulders to examine the cloak around them. As she finishes recounting the story the cloak reminds her of, Pyrrha softly corrects her,
"Ah, this isn't quite that cloak. Not as joyous a memory is associated with this one. As it happens, the cloak you are thinking of now belongs to my dear half-sister. My father bestowed it upon her in my memory, before he discovered I yet lived." The young princess speaks of the time she was believed dead with an almost unnervingly inappropriate nonchalance, at least to someone of noble manner. "No, this cloak," she fiddles with one corner of the diaphanous material, glittering softly in the torchlight, "was taken from someone not quite so fortunate. Once an object of worship for those vile cultists, I hope to give it better use."

"Fancy that the three of us have become such influential figures! I have heard many lovely ballads detailing your escapades, and Fah'lin has become the most renowned scholar of arcane lore in the region! Whatever it is that your father wishes of us, I am confident that we will see it done. Especially with the talents of these others..." Pyrrha listens attentively as her cousin continues.
"I hope I can be of some assistance. My father has forbid me from heading south, but I will provide all the knowledge I possess to aid you." Her expression sours, not unlike a petulant child, but her calm demeanour all but conceals it. "Would that I were a soldier or war mage, I could provide assistance on the field of battle, but alas not." Her eyes swing upwards from her own feet as Tinwë points to the elf. He is composed, but looks like he would be more comfortable in a jerkin and boots than in the clothes suitable for this council. She cannot shake the feeling that she recognises him from somewhere. "I must say, I cannot imagine anyone being a better archer than you, cousin. Still, a single arrow, you say?"

Aetoris' enthusiasm is deeply infectious, and Pyrrha beams with joy, hanging on every word as he recounts the tale. Perhaps it was the lively manner in which he told the story, or perhaps it was that he hadn't addressed her with any tired titles or honourifics - just as a fellow. She cocks her head a little as he produces the curious cap. The thought of a hobgoblin wearing it made her chuckle a little internally, but it did not rise to the surface. She mutters a small word of thanks as the elf and Tinwë turn to talk to each other of challenge and marksmanship.

Only a fleeting moment passes before Pyrrha turns to see another close relative of hers, the very same Fah'lin Sohl Tinwë spoke of.
"My lady, my father sends his regards and adds his well wishes to my own for your continued good health. I come in answer to your father's call, it is my honour to be regarded in such fine company, your grace." Slightly taken aback by the elaborate curtsy and the manner in which she begins to speak, she gives a curt nod of her head in response. She knows Fah'lin well - she was well-raised, and the show she put on should scarcely surprise her. She also knew her well enough to know however, that when not in illustrious company, she was a devilishly mischievous and eminently likeable friend. Many an evening had they spent crouching in eaves and sharing only the choicest morsels of gossip. That was a long time ago however. Fah'lin continues to make polite conversation between herself and Tinwë, reminiscing of a particularly comic incident in which the three of them had gone in over their heads after eavesdropping on the ambitious court wizard. The same court wizard who had been appointed as her own mother's replacement.

As Fah'lin lets down her façade and turns to eyeball the enormous warrior that is the king's champion, her lascivious comment finally breaks Pyrrha's composure. She lets out a small giggle even as she tries to stifle it, and a blush begins to spread to her cheeks as several disapproving gazes from around the room meet hers. She turns back again from scanning the room to meet Fah'lin's eyes, and just looking at her disarms her, forcing her to lift a hand delicately to her mouth to stop herself bursting out in a fit of roaring laughter.

With the comedic timing of the best theatre-players, the champion lumbers towards the three cousins and greets them first in his native tongue, then in his best attempt at their's. His presence reminds her of time spent talking with the wild beasts - wolves, bulls, bears - in her sojourn at the druid's circle to the east. She thinks better of mentioning it however, for fear of being rude.
"It is to be hoped your life will not be needed as a shield, fair champion. And in the event it must, I think it is likely you have enough life to outlive anything that might threaten your charges," she laughed cordially. She wasn't sure whether or not he recognised her words as humorous, but she gave him an endearing smile and a polite nod nonetheless.

Finding herself once again between conversations in this great hall, Pyrrha strides softly towards the two smaller guests with whom she has not been introduced - the elderly gnome lady who, to her mind, looks decidedly out of place; and the halfling bearing the mark of Pelor. "My greetings, esteemed guests. I regret that I've yet to make your acquaintances." Suddenly, in a quick observation, Pyrrha picks up on a familiar smell, and looking down beams a smile that betrays her nostalgia. "Pardon me, but is that flower a sprite's valentine bloom?" she queries the gnome, gesturing to a blueish flower whose petals poke out of one of her pockets. "Such pretty flowers, and useful for treating burns if I recall."

A masked man enters the waiting room, removing a paper from his robes and placing it on the table. The likes of him only a couple know; Pyrrha—knows him as her father's 'man in the shadow' who he calls on for personal errands that need the utmost silence—and Rolana—who has shared a job or two with him. His face though remains a mystery to all in the room.

A raven appears on Rolana's shoulder; it speaks to her in perfect common "I should of expected to see you, if the King requested me to light, surely things are dire." As quickly as it appeared, it disappears and reappears on his shoulder as he turns to face her "I did quite enjoy our last job together, the poisoned king plaguing his underlings if I recall correctly." He pulls an empty gray bag off his belt "I do quite enjoy our bounty earned on completion; the fuzzy company is a boon in my depths." He attaches back to his belt, the raven on his shoulder vanishing once more.

Rolana listens intently to the king's statement.

Your Majesty, I believe there was an operative in Southwatch. Was there no warning of something amiss prior to this caravan's failure to arrive?

"Crack the door so that my friend may fly, Sire." As Ryestro says this the raven appears on his shoulder once more. "Information is the one thing I don't like being in the dark. I can scout the place out without actually being there, in theory. If what happens to the guards happens to the raven, the knowledge will remain with me and be able to output it."