D&D 5E [IC] THE CURSE OF AMBERSTAR

Lyllie doesn't answer the woman... was it really a question, after all? But she doesn't take her eyes off of her--not for an instant, though one would be hard-pressed to discern exactly where Lyllie's seemingly pupil-less eyes were focused at any given time. Who was this woman, and why did she know of Lyllie and the others?

And what was this... are they staying?!

Yttrian lets out a breath and lowers his weapon. Tension was in ready supply, but they didn't feel like an active threat. Turning away from the new arrivals, he returns to the task at hand. The merchants might prove useful, who knows what they might need once the expedition was truly underway. But for now he had no time to spare on money changers and snake oil vendors. Reaching the box he had put down earlier, he hoists it up again and looks around for Portis, continuing their discussion as if there had been no interruption.

"Reading? I suppose it might be common enough, it's not hard to pick up when you have decades to practice. What about you though? You seemed to be reading well enough yourself. Is that common among the Duke's servants?"

He ignores the questions about his gear for now.

"With respect, Eilúvit of White Wood," Icosa says neutrally, "I and those with me are providing security. Your protection is not solicited, nor will it be paid for if provided. We will also be enforcing the Duke's edicts circumscribing your operations, should it become necessary. With those stipulations in mind, you are welcome to share this camp."

Harfik Human Monk

Standing still, looking these newcomers over, Harfik feels the tension raise, almost like a thick fog quickly overtaking them, so thick you can feel it.

The two warriors size him up, he expects a fight from the way they are looking at him. He smiles, even with the tension and distrust his allies don't seem to be signalling a fight, best he isn't the one to start it. He takes mental notes that the Dwarves seem to be the money men, and the Elf is the boss, they all need to be watched.

He looks around the camp taking a mental inventory, watching peoples interactions and notices that he doesn't see Aanzu.

Whispering to Prosper as he walks by with some things from the wagon. "Aanzu"

LYLLIE

Who was this woman, and why did she know of Lyllie and the others?

And what was this... are they staying?!

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Their manners suggest they truly intend to stay, uninvited as they are. As Lyllie studies the elf, she realizes how detached is her behavior. Lyllie understands her markings might bring uneasiness, but this one seems to ignore that. In fact, Eilúvit submits the gnome to such a meticulous, if not inconvenient, scrutiny, as she tries in vain to engage in what she seems to perceive as natural conversation.

“As I heard of you, I became eager to learn of your legendary resilience to the plague that befell many a land. It reached the southern borders of White Wood as well. Nonetheless, we were met with no survivors. You, on the other hand…” – she mentions the delicate topic without as much as a flinch.

ICOSA

"With respect, Eilúvit of White Wood," Icosa says neutrally, "I and those with me are providing security. Your protection is not solicited, nor will it be paid for if provided. We will also be enforcing the Duke's edicts circumscribing your operations, should it become necessary. With those stipulations in mind, you are welcome to share this camp."

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It is not Eilúvit that responds to the warforged’s remark, but the last of the companions. The slim figure walks closer to Icosa, a sly smile on her angular, skeletal face, her hands clearly rummaging under the indigo cloak. “Afraid of competition, are we?” - she walks around him, studying his moves in a way that any organic creature would consider invasive. “Don’t worry, armor-clad, we will play nice... for now. Perhaps you’ll even get to show me your pretty face underneath that helm, eh?” – she blinks at him, a ferocious smile cutting short her heavily-accented observations. This one is probably from the south, from the Roots, an enclave of vindictive, power-hungry surviving elves.

YTTRIAN

The elf notices the effort Portis places in not being noticed by the others, remaining behind the wagon, or behind boxes, or simply looking at the floor. Portis maintains control, but talking makes tension quite clear.

"Reading? I suppose it might be common enough, it's not hard to pick up when you have decades to practice. What about you though? You seemed to be reading well enough yourself. Is that common among the Duke's servants?"

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“Among the lucky ones, yes... It used to be different, though. Everyone used to be educated. The Dukes took care of everything in the past. But after… You know what…” – Portis says, glancing at Lyllie and Eilúvit – “…things changed. People blame the immigrants. They say there’s not enough for everyone.” – she shrugs. “What about your homeland?” – she continues, apparently trying to find another way into Yttrian’s trust.

HARFIK

He looks around the camp taking a mental inventory, watching peoples interactions and notices that he doesn't see Aanzu.

Whispering to Prosper as he walks by with some things from the wagon. "Aanzu"

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Prosper simply responds to the monk’s whisper with a shrug. He doesn’t know, but the absence did not go unnoticed. He resigns himself to silence on this topic, probably anticipating some tactical advantage, in case the altercations become violent.

The two warriors size him up, he expects a fight from the way they are looking at him. He smiles, even with the tension and distrust his allies don't seem to be signalling a fight, best he isn't the one to start it.

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“Watch this, sista… This one smiles. That what they teach you in the pits, slave?” – a pair of desert barbarians. Luckily he didn’t meet Aanzu. They hate draconians.

“I see… Too delicate to war, this one, Zanga.” – she answers the man. “Smile, slave. It befits you for accepting that collar of yours.” – she provokes Harfik deliberately.

EVERYONE

The dwarves finish unloading on their own right before setting up their own camp. The area is big enough to accommodate everyone, leaving generous space between the improvised settlements. Oddly enough, they go out of their ways to ignore the Fairwalkers’ attitudes towards the party, almost as if they weren’t their employers at all.

[I’m profiting from the extra time to allow some roleplay and put some story pieces together. If you guys want to proceed, just let me know! Otherwise, feel free to use this time to develop other bits of your characters. I hope you enjoy the story! ]

[MENTION=23298]industrygothica[/MENTION] [MENTION=5044]Charwoman Gene[/MENTION] [MENTION=8858]hafrogman[/MENTION] [MENTION=6776182]JustinCase[/MENTION] [MENTION=4936]Shayuri[/MENTION] [MENTION=6855102]Greenmtn[/MENTION]

Icosa tilts his head slightly to follow her progress, making a little grinding noise.

"I have found that future misunderstandings can be averted by clearly outlining one's intentions and context in advance," he points out. "There is no 'competition' here. The job of providing protection has already been taken up. To compete, you would need to become involved before the decision was made. Perhaps in the future your group will be in time to make a competing offer. That time is not now though."

"Should you decide to do so, I suggest refining your courtesies before making the attempt. Rudeness, whether intended or not, makes such interactions far less likely to succeed. Your fortunes would very likely be substantially better if you acted on this truth."

Harfik Human Monk

Harfik feels the blood start rushing to his head, an anger raising in him before he manages to force it down and maintain his composure. To bolster himself he thinks back to a time he fought a "Sand Flea" to the barbarians credit he refused to beg for mercy from the crowd, Harfik could still remember the smell of his urine as he felt the tip of a spear at his rib cage. He'd hoped that he would give in and get the crowds mercy, there was no need for the fool to die.

Those fights were always the worst. Harfik hated killing those that didn't chose to fight, and were too stupid to admit they were beaten, or to afraid of the consequences.

These sand fleas wanted a fight, the best way to win was to not give it to them. There was no need to kill them... yet.

Harfiks smile returns to his face. "The pits teach much."

"Mercenaries. Criminals, most likely..." Kethra thought to herself, "Scum. Just trying to intimidate us. I've seen enough to know ignoring them is best."

"Icosa," Lyllie says, deliberately breaking eye contact with the strange new woman. "You were going to tell me something. Shall we go and talk?"

Archon Basileus said:

AANZU

The woman laughs gently as she finds a place behind a fallen trunk. “Little bird” – she repeats, amused. The entire area is filled with moist and mud that clings to the draconian’s boots.

“Don’t we always learn the things that interest us?” – she smiles, but does not dare denying the unfathomable and unshaken visage of the prince. “She herself told me – unwillingly, I might add. She found her way up here, and sought protection among the inhabitants of these plateaus. She feared the Duke himself might turn her over to have your allegiance, and so she fled…” – she points towards the way.

“Now, it is up to you to decide if she knows you’re coming or if she believes to be safe here.” – she smiles softly. “And in that regard… As well as what pertains her whereabouts… Maybe… I can help.”

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Unaware of what's going on back at the camp, Aanzu is completely focused on the woman. It seems too good to be true; his prey, hidden for so long, finally within reach? Feels like a trap.

"This one wonders what the little bird seeks in return," the dragonborn says slowly. "And what she suggests he do."