The Wedding

As the time for the wedding draws near, the townsfolk of Kuldahar are all happily bustling about. Father Tulfgyr rushes from place to place trying to get things ready for the lovely couple, but there is much to do. He could use some help to make this event one to remember for everyone involved.

Ug happily lends his cooking services for the wedding. A good natured bounce appears in his step as he makes the new couple a massive Goliath size cake. As a Centerpiece atop the cake, Ug whittles figurines of the bride and groom depicting the two in one of their first cherished memories: Al standing over erevain after she broke his ribs with her crit.

And as his personal gift for the two, Ug spends the better part of a day knitting a set of matching loincloths.

Fergy walks around in his new body, playing with the children. He casts illusions to tell stories with a beautiful tiefling as the witty hero, and when someone falls and gets a scraped up knee he's quick with a heal and a piece of candy. As the preparations come to a head Fergy recruits the wiliest bunch of children to be his minions. With candies, and promises of fun and not getting into trouble, Fergy is able to head what they name, the Choas Parade.

Questions are asked when all the toilet paper (leaves?) goes missing.

Things heat up when all the folded napkins come undone.

Tempers rise as the small little salad forks are put on the wrong side of the plates.

Spit starts flying as all the toilet leaves are found shredded and frosted in the place of the wedding cake.

Cursing is heard when someone realizes all the water has been dumped out of the vases and the flowers are beginning to wilt.

Punches are thrown and tables knocked over by kids drunk on spiked punch.

Things come to a tipping point when Al's changing room is filled with tiny spiders

And finally when the ceremony is about to start, somehow, everything is as it should be.

Alalla spends most of her time trying to feel like she hasn't just finished being on the road for weeks while fighting for her life every other day.

First is clean clothes. She doesn't even try and find a dress amongst the townsfolk- she is inches taller than all the other women- but she is able to obtain some new breeches and shirts to replace those largely ruined by traveling and combat.

Al feels a pang of regret for the neglected dresses stored in her uncle's home in Targos as she picks out an outfit to wear that night, but she shakes it away. The shirt and breeches she has chosen are clean and without holes, and she thinks a couple of quick alterations will make them more flattering. Besides, the browns and greens of the cloth remind her of the Great Oak. They will do just fine.

A bath is next. Alalla spends time tidying her dreadlocks and cleaning their collection of beads as she soaks in the blessedly hot water.

When she begrudgingly exits the now-cool bath, the feeling of clean clothes on clean skin makes her want to weep.

Alalla then turns her attention to her gear. The last thing she wants to wake up to in the morning is cracked leather and rusted steel because she couldn't be bothered to take care of her things properly.

After everything is cleaned and oiled, Al goes in search of some makeup, as hers was ruined long ago. She manages to track down some things to line her eyes and bring colour to her lips, and after so long on the road, that is enough to make her feel like a woman again.

Alalla goes about these tasks quickly, all the while pretending that large and important social events don't make her anxious. She supposes there is more she can do to look nicer, or to help with the feast, or decorate, or something, but the call of her bed- a real bed!- in her room of the inn is irresistible, and she retreats for a nap, utterly spent.

Besides, she thinks as she drifts off, though she is fond of her friends, she doesn't really want to know what else is happening out there.

Knowing how important this day must be for Al, the tiny goblin somehow convinces her to let him do her makeup.

"Me help granny do makeup when me am younger. Me swear she over 100 year old, after me do makeup, she only look 50."

Although the goblin produces a pallate of colors very complimentary to Al’s features, the goblin struggles to keep his balance on the stool as he tries to apply the makeup, Islimach isn’t very helpful either as he accidentally tickle ms the goblin while giving directions.
In the end although the makeup is poorly applied, the brilliant colors seem to lessen the shoddy job.

After leaving, feeling like he could have done better, Dok goes to work on his gift. Working his tools with expert precision, weaving magic into the mundane pieces of metal, the goblin manages to create a fancy trinket.

Dok casts fabricate.

Having nothing else to do, Ras has been helping Uncle Oswald fix the airship. Busy hands help keep Ras occupied, mentally and physically, especially when he starts tinkering with some leftover springs and gears. Without thinking too hard about what he is doing, Ras adjusts here and tightens there, letting his hands do whatever comes naturally.

After a particularly loud curse from Oswald, Ras comes back to himself and looks at what his hands have created. Twisted out of wire are two forms, one male and one female. They stand facing each other on a gear, hands joined together. Ras knows the gear is meant to turn, so he searches for a way to turn the device on. With a whir, the couple slowling begins to rotate together. They stare at each other like they are frozen in time and the world is moving around them. There should be music, but there isn't.

Ras carefully puts the device down and stares at it for a while. Then he smashes it. It would be a stupid gift for two warriors anyway.

Instead he steps outside and finds the wedding venue being prepared. He walks here and there, encouraging vines and flowers to grow and beautify the room. Everything looks better with more nature in it.

Al endures Dok's makeover with outward grace and inward panic. How did the little goblin even get in here? One minute shes in the middle of a dream (a dream about napping- the bed was that comfy) and the next she is being propped up in a chair while Dok chatters on about color palettes and contours. She is pretty sure that he is making it all up, but Dok's mixing actually looks intriguing.

As he begins applying, bickering with Mock as he does, her panic mounts, but when Dok presents his mirror with a flourish, Al is surprised to find that she doesn't look bad as she expected. Still...

"Thanks, Dok. And you, too, Mock. I don't think I've ever been so fancy. " Al smiles at the tiny goblin and places him on the floor. He is going to break his neck if he stays on that stool any longer. "I should get back to my nap. But you should leave the makeup! You made such nice colours."

Once Dok leaves, Alalla collapses on the bed with a sigh. Maybe she can tell him she drooled in her sleep and ruined his work. That was sufficiently self-deprecating. Dok would probably think it was funny and not get his feelings hurt. Right?

In the end, Al's decision is made for her when she does drool in her sleep, and leaves more makeup than she intended smeared on her pillow. She gets to work cleaning smudges, and is surprised to find that although her lipstick is a goner, her face doesn't need to be redone. Tidying the smudges from her nap has left her face still looking like Dok's masterpiece, just a little less like he did it while a spider tickled him.

Interesting, Al muses as she reapplies the lipstick. Its brighter and bolder than I normally have the guts for, but it really isn't bad. Maybe he does make his granny look fifty years younger.

"What am I supposed to do?!"

Zenithral paced back and forth, a few hundred meters outside of town for privacy. Fluphy tilted it's body, confused.

"For the wedding, I mean...It's not like either of them need or want help with weapons...I can't give them my old bow...neither of them would even use it...I could...carve something?"

Fluphy bounced happily in the air.

"Yes, that could do... But what would I carve?"

Fluphy lifted two tentacles up, as if shrugging.

"Figurines? No...miniature weapons? No... It should probably have nothing to do with fighting...Earings, perhaps, yes! Do either of them wear earrings? Goodness, I can't remember...I'll make one for each of them, a matching set, and if he doesn't, then they'll both be for her, and if she doesn't, they'll both be for him, and if they both don't, they'll be trinkets to tie to their belts or weapons...yes, that will do"

Fluphy swung slowly on a tree branch.

"But what do I carve?"

With the companions' help, Father Tulfgyr gets everything in place just in time.

In proper course the entire town is arrayed in a special nook between the Great Oak's roots, a location that has by long tradition served as a place for councils and meetings first to the original druids and then to the folk of Kuldahar. It affords a magnificent view of the Tree itself, and has the early evening's light falls through the leaves high above, it seems a magnificent, timeless place.

Children laugh and play, chasing squirrels about in the shade. Conlan stands with Sheemish on his shoulders, the boy proudly pointing out each hero who rescued him. Mirek, Kaleel, and many of the men seem to have gotten a head start on the festivities, staggering slightly but with enthusiastic cheers. Maegan, Natalie, and the women have seized the opportunity to pull out formal dresses that don't often see much use in this wild frontier. They chatter excitedly as the time draws nearer.

Then Father Tulfgyr stands up in front of the crowd, an archway wreathed with flowers behind him - dawnbells, a traditional flower at weddings officiated by a priest of the Morninglord, and which Ras had grown upon request. The old dwarf is dressed in a bright yellow robe with a white sunrise depicted on the chest. He waves his thick hands to get the gathered folk to quiet down, and then when he has everyone's attention he pulls out a pair of spectacles and an alarmingly long script. He places the spectacles on his nose, then blinks in surprise as the script seems to have vanished. He lays a heavy glare on the watching crowd, but as a few laughs and coughs drift through the air he just sighs and mutters something about 'bearded tieflings'.

He clears his throat and intones, "Under Lathander's Guiding Light, the couple may come forward."

Alalla approaches from one side, and Erevain from the other. The elf is dressed in a pressed green tunic that sets his eyes sparkling like emeralds. His golden hair, washed and clean, stirs gently in Kuldahar's warm breeze. Alalla notices that his sword is not at his side, and realizes that Erevain somehow looks more complete without it.

As their eyes meet, Erevain smiles and takes a step closer, hand reaching for hers. "You look beautiful, sharuhk." The words are pitched for her ears alone, in their private language.

Alalla takes his hand, and puts the thought of all the eyes on her back out of her mind. It doesn't matter that this is an intimate occasion. It is also a celebration of life, of victory. One that the Kuldaharans need.

She had been a performer in Targos a literal lifetime ago, thanks to Yxonumei. She can pretend to be the radiant bride the people want to see, and the persona will only help her to be more comfortable in her own skin. After all, she does want to be that bride, Al realizes.

Alalla puts her anxieties away and smiles as she grips Erevain's hand tight, the light catching the engraved leaves on her silver ring. It is a toothless smile, in front of the crowd, but a wide and genuine one. "Thank you. I would have liked a dress," she admits, gesturing at her own deep green shirt, "but we match! And, as promised, I am not wearing dirty travel gear, or a single blade." She winks.

Alalla's dreadlocks hang loose to cover her ears, as usual, but a simple braid beginning at each temple keeps them from her face. Only three beads decorate her hair tonight, sitting together in one of the braids. Erevain can see that each one bears a name carved with decorative dwarven script. Her family's names.

Alalla releases Erevain's hand to pull some greenery and one of the dawnbells from the arch and nestles them into the braid on the other side, then pulls another sprig of leaves free. "I'm glad we are doing this, sharuhk," she murmurs, tucking the dawnbell leaves behind one of his ears. "Thanks for asking me."

Erevain grins as Alalla places the flowers. He looks about to come in for a kiss, but Father Tulfgyr raps him on the wrist with heavy knuckles. "Not yet, boy!" The crowd chuckles, and Erevain's light laughter joins them.

Father Tulfgyr puts tattooed hands on each of their backs - and Alalla notices that the dwarf has hopped up on a small stool. He looks at the two of them, beaming as proudly as a true father. "Don't mind the people. We are all here for the two of you." He ignores the call of 'and the food!' from somewhere in the congregation. "I understand you've each come with vows?" He looks at Erevain. "You go first, boy. Better make them good! This girl," he rubs Alalla's shoulder, "deserves the best." He winks, and then drops his hands and waits expectantly.

"He forgets that I am older than he is," Erevain mutters loudly, eyes twinkling. Then the smile fades away as his face takes on a solemn cast. But though his expression is serious, his eyes are warm with sincerity. He speaks slowly, but confidently.

"Whatever the future holds in store for us, I make these vows:

I will be faithful and true to you, whatever the cost may be.

I will be your support even when there is none other."

He cups Alalla's cheek in one hand, and his voice drops to a lower register.

"I will keep you safe."

He takes a breath and blinks as his green eyes moisten. Alalla can feel his hand tremble slightly.

"I will find joy in every moment that we claim as ours."

The tears fall, but the smile returns.

"I will love and cherish you forever, sharuhk."

Father Tulfgyr wipes his eye with a finger and nods to nobody in particular, then clears his throat and turns to look at Alalla.

Alalla puts her hand over Erevain's and presses it to her cheek. "I wish you wouldn't make promises you can't keep, sharuhk," she murmurs in Orcish, eyebrows knitted with concern. "Or rather," she amends, seeing the seriousness in his eyes, "make ones you shouldn't. But..."

Alalla takes a deep breath, then continues in Common for everyone to hear.

"I promise to let you," she says with finality, feeling the weight of those words. Part of her still wants to chase him away, to protect him from herself. But now she has promised. Al wraps those feelings up and throws them away.

Realizing that the silence is stretching out as everyone waits for her to continue she begins speaking again with a start.

"-And I promise to return yours in kind. My forever is smaller than yours, and I have less to give, but it all belongs to you." Alalla grips Erevain's hands tightly. He had never asked for more. It would have to be enough.

"That's, uh, that's it." She mutters awkwardly to the priest.

When Alalla finished there is some stunned silence, and then a few whispers here and there in the crowd. Erevain, however, nods. "That is all I will ever need." And from the look in his eyes, Alalla knows it is true.

The rest of the ceremony passes quickly, and Alalla barely registers any of it. Father Tulfgyr says some more words, then pronounces Lathander's blessing over them. She's sure she must have actually said 'I do' at some point, but all she really remembers is the kiss afterward: timeless, perfect, and with much applause.

Then come the festivities. A couple of hours are spent with food, music, and dancing. At one point Father Tulfgyr tries to quiet everyone down in order to listen to the script he'd found again, but he is drowned out by a rowdy chorus:

"Erevain's lucky, for pretty is Al,
All hail, all hail, to the elf and the gal!"

Soon the dwarf is as lost in the feast as everyone else.

A number of presents make their way to the couple, including the cake toppers, some matching loincloths made with love, a very fancy trinket, a small wooden box with some potions and herbs inside from Halla, a bulky, clanking bag from Conlan, and more.

As townsfolk come by bearing gifts, Brothers Ferg and Gus from the Temple of Ilmater approach to congratulate the couple. Ferg holds out a small package. "The Revered Brother Poquelin came to us just before your group returned. He praised you as mighty heroes and explained what happened to Mother Egenia. He said he wished he could be here for the event tonight - we thought he was referring to the feast - and told us to give this to you."

Alalla's blood goes cold. "Thank you, Brothers," she says with a gracious smile. When they leave, Al exchanges a worried look with Erevain- her husband!- and slowly opens the package.

Goodness, they look surprisingly good together, Zenithral thought during the ceremony.

Zenithral approaches Alalla and Erevain as she speaks with Brother Ferg. He looks sharp, wearing his old guard uniform rather than armor and cloak, but it's somehow a pristine white that matches his hair with green buttons and sashes—magically recolored with prestidigitation. Fluphy wears a green strip of fabric wrapped around his body with tassles dropped from some of his tentacles—probably the most fancy anyone will ever see a flumph.

Assuming the package from Poquelin is just another wedding gift, he begins speaking. "Have I ever told you two how beautiful you look together?" he says. "I believe I needed to explain the fish trinkets... You see back in Easthaven, we—Alalla? What's the matter? If you hate them that much, you can just tell m—What's this?" he says looking at the package as she opens it.

"It's from Poquelin," Al says quietly. "I think... I think it's Bilewing's heart. I think it's the reason Nessa died." Her dark hands are steady as on the package, but through the ice in her heart she thinks they should be shaking. "I shouldn't open it," she says as she slowly unwraps it, "but I think that somehow it's already too late."

Erevain's face does not mirror Alalla's unease. "If it is the heart... Alalla, this could be our answer."

Alalla unwraps the package, and finds a black case with a silver clasp. She pops the clasp and opens the lid, revealing a large black sapphire nestled in dark velvet. Grooves cut through the surface of the gen create a texture much like a dried grape. It catches the nearby lights of the feast and reflects them back in an odd rippling fashion, unlike the cut of any gemstone the companions have ever seen.

A small scroll sits alongside the sapphire. It reads:

Alalla,

This is the heart of Valraxxaxath, prepared specially for a ritual that will allow you to bond it as your own. So long as you have priests and healers on hand, removing your own and replacing it with this will be an easy task, yes?

While not a solution in itself, the heart will prolong your lifespan - and grant other benefits I am sure you will make proper use of - until you trust me enough to save your soul from The One-Eyed God. It is within my power, but I cannot act without your consent. When you are ready to hear my proposal, you may contact me with the sending stone in your possession.

I highly approve of lawful marriage. May yours bring you much satisfaction.

Revered Brother Poquelin

The handwriting seems familiar, but none of the companions are sure from where...

Alalla chokes as she reads the beginning of the letter- Remove my-!- and grinds her teeth as she reads the rest. Approves, does he?

When she is sure Erevain has finished reading, she passes the letter across to Zenithral. She hands the heart over to Erevain, then stares out at the party, breathing deeply.

That man! Her hands threaten to shake now out of anger. Al focuses on her breathing, not really seeing the lights of the feast.

Erevain shuts case and tucks it away. He takes Alalla's hand. "We do not have to think on this right now. Please, sharuhk, let us enjoy this moment! I have a surprise for you that will be ready shortly."

Realizing that she is bladeless, Alalla opens her mouth to ask Zenithral for a knife, but Erevain cuts her off and jars her thoughts. Of course. They are supposed to be in the middle of a wedding celebration.

Al clears her throat instead and grips Erevain's hand. "I'll try, for you. I don't think I like surprises anymore, but I'm sure yours is more pleasant."

"I'm sorry Zenithral, what were you saying about fish?" She looks at him attentively, refusing to glance back at the black box.

"Remove your--?!" Zenithral exclaims while reading, then stops himself. He glances up with an uneasy look. "Might want to get a priest or paladin to look at the dragonheart before you do anything like that. Even then, I wouldn't---Oh, fish? Yes, fish."

He hands her two wooden earrings, intricately carved to resemble knucklehead trout, the fish from Easthaven. Every scale seems to be individually carved, with some elven writing etched along it. "These are knucklehead trout. The fish from Easthaven, where you met each other. They could work as earrings or simply as trinkets for your clothes, armor, or weapons, whatever suits your fancy." He shrugs. "I just thought I should explain."

Despite the heaviness of the previous moments, Alalla actually laughs at the little fish as she is drawn into a memory.

Al bends to pick up a small tin of makeup that has fallen out of her pack. A little face cream could help hide the green tone that lies under the deep brown of her skin, Al thinks, with memories of sparring with a handsome elf spinning in her mind. Immediately annoyed with herself, she moves to put the tin back in her pack but hesitates at the last second, torn. She grumbles and pulls the lid off the tin, rubs a small amount of the brown cream over her face and neck, then throws it roughly into her pack, grumbling unintelligible insults at herself, all elves ever born, knucklehead trout, and the first knucklehead to decide to fish them.

How long ago that feels. Alalla is rather fond of the fish now.

"Thank you, Zenithral," Al says, admiring the carving with a trained eye. "They're wonderful!" She slips them into her ears with a smile for the half-elf.

Once Alalla had told Erevain that she thought that her and Zenithral's association was only temporary. Business. Having endured what they had together, though, she thinks that now they are friends.

When the time is right Erevain takes Alalla's hand. "Come! It is time for your surprise." He leads her a short distance away from the lights and sounds of the feast to where a tall, thin man in a grey robe stands. It takes a moment for Alalla to recognize Orrick the Grey, as she only saw him that one time the night Kuldahar was attacked.

The smile that touches the wizard's lips is polite, if not warm. Alalla has the feeling that this man does not socialize much. "And here you are. Your husband came to me earlier today to ask a favor. He was quite insistent, and even offered his sword as collateral. The mage puts a hand under his robe and pulls forth a helmet that sparkles with three jewels. He hands it to Erevain.

"Not a scratch," Orrick says, holding up a finger to the couple. He moves to return to his tower, but something in the nearby festivities apparently catches his eye - a small, skulking goblin who has had entirely more than his share of cake. Orrick pulls out a book and begins scribbling furiously, having apparently forgotten all about the couple standing nearby.

Erevain holds up a supplicating hand, urging Alalla to play along. Then, with one hand on the helm and one pulling Alalla along with him, the elf moves to a nearby hedge. He pulls back a branch to reveal their traveling packs neatly tucked away.

He turns to Alalla, gesturing with the fancy helmet. "This will take us anywhere in the world we would like to go - teleported there in an instant." He steps closer to her, speaking excitedly. "It's ours for a few days. There are so many magnificent sights I would like to show you! I would like to pick our first destination, and then after that it is entirely up to you. We can go to Waterdeep, or to Cormyr, or to the Bloodstone Lands. The Moonshae Isles!" He tosses the helm into the air and catches it. "We can go to Targos, and see your father."

He grins. "And you don't need to worry about leaving affairs here, we can be back any time you like. I have spoken with each of your companions, and they - more or less - agreed that they can be without their fearless leader at least few days."

Alalla gasps. "Anywhere? Now?" She laughs and places the black heart box (she hadn't wanted to leave it lying about) inside her pack, then takes up her gear. "I thought we'd be stuck in the Spine until spring! I'd like to go to Targos to see my father, but not until I get to have you to myself for a while." Al grins and takes Erevain's hand again. "Lets go, sharuhk. Anywhere."

Erevain shoulders the packs, then dons the helm and pulls Alalla close. "The first place I would like to take you... You remember that dream we shared? The forest, and the stream? You need to experience it in all its true beauty. Though I know it will be all the more wondrous having you there."

As the gems on the helm light up, he keeps smiling. "There is one other thing you should know... Orrick informed me that the magic of the helm does not guarantee immediate arrival at the destination. There is a small chance that we could end up having an adventure or two on the way." His smile does not fade in the least.

The jewels on the helm flare, and when the light fades, the two are gone.