Aust Thale
Adventurer
Respen & The Party
~Kissing hands and shaking babies ~
Respen's experience with Enllaves nobility was particularly different than that before him in Dyvers. Dewydd's party had attracted some attention, and Respen was watching the show. He felt Nel's absence, remaining in Hochoch hidden away in Abigail’s care and protection. It seemed every single lass, and quite a many married woman, were interested in tet-a-tets as a function of social climbing. Respen laughed to himself. Dewydd was not a trivial person; he had to have a reason for this exercise. Frivolity aside, the games that Dewydd devised appeared to Respen to be more than simple demonstrations of arcane ability or combat expertise; they were auditions. Respen paid attention when he teleported with Dewydd to and from Moresby Manor, now magically nearing completion as an estate complete with small castle. Moresby was doing more than simply acquiring treasure. He was using it. A bardic college and noteworthy architecture promoted an aesthetic that was attractive. Dewydd was building something. Respen smiled in spite of himself. Humans were funny sometimes. Their limited lifetimes, on balance, produced a tireless work ethic and a distilled analysis of risk. Respen hoped he would see more from this Lord. More indeed.
Respen paid close attention to two of the arcane games and the archery game. He was very tempted to participate, but he had resolved given his beloved Nel (being Drow), the birth of the twins, and his widening circle of friends and associates who coveted their privacy that he would refrain. It went entirely against his instincts, but the importance of anonymity had grown exponentially. Respen’s intent going forward would be to walk among rain drops without getting wet. He had even purchased a wide-brimmed hat from Felwin, and with Vale’s assistance, he imbued it magically both as a hat of disguise as well as one that provided wholesale anonymity and non-detection, allowing a preternatural ability to nearly hide in plain sight. He was most pleased with it. Even Dewydd hadn’t noticed him until Respen hugged him and wished him a happy birthday. He had helped Vale with the“Bolt Shirt”. In fact, it had been Respen’s idea. Dewydd was deadly when he had the proverbial high ground; with this shirt, he could pretty well keep that high ground during a particularly tough fight.
Respen watched the competition among the dwoemers and the illusionists. Felwin, who was attending from Hochoch and was considerably more talented than Collin had let on, caught Respen’s eye. He was with his protégé, a red-headed late adolescent human who could have been Vega’s long-lost younger brother. The boy was clearly interested, so focused he was that he did not notice Respen’s observation. Felwin did notice, and he approached Respen after the contest. “Who’s your shadow?” Respen asked Felwin, without looking at him.
Felwin, politely reserved in his response, answered Respen’s question, “Neville Emberwine. He was an assistant groundskeeper and cook for a widower landholder to the east of Hochoch. I say ‘was’, as now, he’s my ward and apprentice of sorts, also courtesy of that same fellow. The man’s late wife took in Master Neville aboutten years ago as a war orphan. The boy worked on their estate.”
Respen,detecting something in Felwin’s comments, asks more questions, “So what happened in between?”
Felwin motions toward Respen to move to the veranda outside for a smoke. As he lights his pipe, he abandons his customary careful diplomacy. “The landowner acquired wealth and land holdings in marriage. His wife died a little over a year ago, her caravan attacked by the brigands operating southwest of Hochoch. The coward survived the attack, grieved all of a day for show, and he has spent every minute since making what was her effects into his effects.”
Felwin sees Vale come outside, and nods. Vale sits down alone, seemingly pleasant with wine, ale, and pipe.
“The woman saw something in the boy early in his time with them, and she sought advice from me as to an appropriate maester, someone who would not draw attention while starting him early and properly in terrestrial education, martial practice, arcane arts, and divine magic as well. Her husband frowned on the whole affair, as did the wizard guild. So, I quietly recommended a fellow who was a lesser wizard but a fellow of considerable talents and a grand teacher. As he was also a gifted culinary artist, she hired him easily as a family chef. She quietly commissioned him to tutor the boy in addition to his culinary duties, and he did so until her death, as my friendwas also killed in the attack. He was under his tutelage daily for ten (10) of the last eleven (11) years.
The guild would not touch him, politics being what it is. Fortunately, the lady had made allowance for Neville in her will, something the husband wasn’t able to steal. Instead, he simply turned the boy out of the estate to his own devices. The young fellow picked up some culinary ability from his former teacher, and he’s an able chef. He lives in the upper attic level above my shop, and he works in the tavern across the boulevard. I have tutored him for the last year, rather,I’ve monitored his progress. He soaks up learning nearly everything as a sponge, but he needs purpose. And not with a middle-aged gnome with a clothing shop.”
Respen, keying on Felwin’s remark, replied, “Aye. A simple tailor are you?” Respen knew full well what the gnome was.
Felwinsmiled, “Aye. A simple tailor indeed. With a chef and groundskeeper in his attic. One in sincere need of better prospects.”
Respen,replied. “A chef and groundskeeper, eh?”
Felwin, “Indeed. And more. Shaping up to be a Jack of All Trades. Would be a good step up for him to work or study near a Bardic College. He can pay his own way while he proves himself. His late foster mother certainly saw to that.”
Respen,“I see where you are going with this conversation. I’ll discuss it with Dewydd.”
At that moment, Respen, who had been talking with Felwin but observing Dewydd talk with a rather self-important fop who fit the bill for a human diplomat or merchant. The man held a ring toward Dewydd as if togive it to him, as Respen noticed with his newly acquired arcane sight the magic aura accompanying it. Dewydd evidently saw it as well, and he didn’t like it any more than Respen. Dewydd’s reaction was swift, moving into a fighting stance and calling Dyvers guards to his aid. Felwin realizes abruptly that he was speaking to thin air as Respen had moved with sudden speed back inside toward the quickly growing commotion. “Vale! Trouble.” The dwarf was incapacitated, severely drunk and mostly asleep. He stirred, turning over and toward the events, but he was in no condition to fight. Respen continued quickly inside, moving toward Dewydd, but stopped as the fellow offering the ring produced a potion almost out of thin air and consumed it. Respen waited for a moment, but…nothing. The potion drinker smiled, and almost as quickly froze in place as Laramon cast a spell to paralyze him. It was then that Respen realized that he had nearly not noticed as the fellow had turned invisible and visible again, the only evidence being that his hue had changed. Respen hadn’t realized what to look for until Laramon had ended the event.
At Lathir’s revelation regarding the ring’s similarity to the ring that had bewitched Sheriff Denby, as well as the fact that several other guests present possessed copies of it, Respen reacts viscerally, but silently, preparing his teleport spell to abduct the offender and drop him in the middle of Dame Clare’s food supply, or in Benquist’s dungeon, depending on how the next few minutes proceeded.
He slides close to the paralyzed man, at the back of his left shoulder, speaking quietly but audibly to him, “I am not impressed with your pomp nor your diplomacy, and though you are paralyzed, I know you can hear me. I can put you in one of two places, one being Benquist’s good care. There are fates worse than those currently facing you, blood-bag.” Respen smiles. He’s having fun teasing the poor bastard, in spite of himself, “Yes. Many fates indeed.”
As Benquist’s guards deal with the other party-goers with rings, Respen scans the room with his arcane sight and magically messages Laramon what he sees. Nearly simultaneously, he notices Lathir making his way surreptitiously through the crowd. He scans toward the location with his arcane sight, locating every enhancement, enchantment, or otherwise magical item in the room. His wide-brim hat providing him the subtlest of disguises and non-detection from others around, he maintains his veneer of secrecy.
"Eenie-meenie-meinie-mo. Catch a brigand by the toe. If he hollers, lay him low. Eenie-meenie-meinie-mo."
~Kissing hands and shaking babies ~
Respen's experience with Enllaves nobility was particularly different than that before him in Dyvers. Dewydd's party had attracted some attention, and Respen was watching the show. He felt Nel's absence, remaining in Hochoch hidden away in Abigail’s care and protection. It seemed every single lass, and quite a many married woman, were interested in tet-a-tets as a function of social climbing. Respen laughed to himself. Dewydd was not a trivial person; he had to have a reason for this exercise. Frivolity aside, the games that Dewydd devised appeared to Respen to be more than simple demonstrations of arcane ability or combat expertise; they were auditions. Respen paid attention when he teleported with Dewydd to and from Moresby Manor, now magically nearing completion as an estate complete with small castle. Moresby was doing more than simply acquiring treasure. He was using it. A bardic college and noteworthy architecture promoted an aesthetic that was attractive. Dewydd was building something. Respen smiled in spite of himself. Humans were funny sometimes. Their limited lifetimes, on balance, produced a tireless work ethic and a distilled analysis of risk. Respen hoped he would see more from this Lord. More indeed.
Respen paid close attention to two of the arcane games and the archery game. He was very tempted to participate, but he had resolved given his beloved Nel (being Drow), the birth of the twins, and his widening circle of friends and associates who coveted their privacy that he would refrain. It went entirely against his instincts, but the importance of anonymity had grown exponentially. Respen’s intent going forward would be to walk among rain drops without getting wet. He had even purchased a wide-brimmed hat from Felwin, and with Vale’s assistance, he imbued it magically both as a hat of disguise as well as one that provided wholesale anonymity and non-detection, allowing a preternatural ability to nearly hide in plain sight. He was most pleased with it. Even Dewydd hadn’t noticed him until Respen hugged him and wished him a happy birthday. He had helped Vale with the“Bolt Shirt”. In fact, it had been Respen’s idea. Dewydd was deadly when he had the proverbial high ground; with this shirt, he could pretty well keep that high ground during a particularly tough fight.
Respen watched the competition among the dwoemers and the illusionists. Felwin, who was attending from Hochoch and was considerably more talented than Collin had let on, caught Respen’s eye. He was with his protégé, a red-headed late adolescent human who could have been Vega’s long-lost younger brother. The boy was clearly interested, so focused he was that he did not notice Respen’s observation. Felwin did notice, and he approached Respen after the contest. “Who’s your shadow?” Respen asked Felwin, without looking at him.
Felwin, politely reserved in his response, answered Respen’s question, “Neville Emberwine. He was an assistant groundskeeper and cook for a widower landholder to the east of Hochoch. I say ‘was’, as now, he’s my ward and apprentice of sorts, also courtesy of that same fellow. The man’s late wife took in Master Neville aboutten years ago as a war orphan. The boy worked on their estate.”
Respen,detecting something in Felwin’s comments, asks more questions, “So what happened in between?”
Felwin motions toward Respen to move to the veranda outside for a smoke. As he lights his pipe, he abandons his customary careful diplomacy. “The landowner acquired wealth and land holdings in marriage. His wife died a little over a year ago, her caravan attacked by the brigands operating southwest of Hochoch. The coward survived the attack, grieved all of a day for show, and he has spent every minute since making what was her effects into his effects.”
Felwin sees Vale come outside, and nods. Vale sits down alone, seemingly pleasant with wine, ale, and pipe.
“The woman saw something in the boy early in his time with them, and she sought advice from me as to an appropriate maester, someone who would not draw attention while starting him early and properly in terrestrial education, martial practice, arcane arts, and divine magic as well. Her husband frowned on the whole affair, as did the wizard guild. So, I quietly recommended a fellow who was a lesser wizard but a fellow of considerable talents and a grand teacher. As he was also a gifted culinary artist, she hired him easily as a family chef. She quietly commissioned him to tutor the boy in addition to his culinary duties, and he did so until her death, as my friendwas also killed in the attack. He was under his tutelage daily for ten (10) of the last eleven (11) years.
The guild would not touch him, politics being what it is. Fortunately, the lady had made allowance for Neville in her will, something the husband wasn’t able to steal. Instead, he simply turned the boy out of the estate to his own devices. The young fellow picked up some culinary ability from his former teacher, and he’s an able chef. He lives in the upper attic level above my shop, and he works in the tavern across the boulevard. I have tutored him for the last year, rather,I’ve monitored his progress. He soaks up learning nearly everything as a sponge, but he needs purpose. And not with a middle-aged gnome with a clothing shop.”
Respen, keying on Felwin’s remark, replied, “Aye. A simple tailor are you?” Respen knew full well what the gnome was.
Felwinsmiled, “Aye. A simple tailor indeed. With a chef and groundskeeper in his attic. One in sincere need of better prospects.”
Respen,replied. “A chef and groundskeeper, eh?”
Felwin, “Indeed. And more. Shaping up to be a Jack of All Trades. Would be a good step up for him to work or study near a Bardic College. He can pay his own way while he proves himself. His late foster mother certainly saw to that.”
Respen,“I see where you are going with this conversation. I’ll discuss it with Dewydd.”
At that moment, Respen, who had been talking with Felwin but observing Dewydd talk with a rather self-important fop who fit the bill for a human diplomat or merchant. The man held a ring toward Dewydd as if togive it to him, as Respen noticed with his newly acquired arcane sight the magic aura accompanying it. Dewydd evidently saw it as well, and he didn’t like it any more than Respen. Dewydd’s reaction was swift, moving into a fighting stance and calling Dyvers guards to his aid. Felwin realizes abruptly that he was speaking to thin air as Respen had moved with sudden speed back inside toward the quickly growing commotion. “Vale! Trouble.” The dwarf was incapacitated, severely drunk and mostly asleep. He stirred, turning over and toward the events, but he was in no condition to fight. Respen continued quickly inside, moving toward Dewydd, but stopped as the fellow offering the ring produced a potion almost out of thin air and consumed it. Respen waited for a moment, but…nothing. The potion drinker smiled, and almost as quickly froze in place as Laramon cast a spell to paralyze him. It was then that Respen realized that he had nearly not noticed as the fellow had turned invisible and visible again, the only evidence being that his hue had changed. Respen hadn’t realized what to look for until Laramon had ended the event.
At Lathir’s revelation regarding the ring’s similarity to the ring that had bewitched Sheriff Denby, as well as the fact that several other guests present possessed copies of it, Respen reacts viscerally, but silently, preparing his teleport spell to abduct the offender and drop him in the middle of Dame Clare’s food supply, or in Benquist’s dungeon, depending on how the next few minutes proceeded.
He slides close to the paralyzed man, at the back of his left shoulder, speaking quietly but audibly to him, “I am not impressed with your pomp nor your diplomacy, and though you are paralyzed, I know you can hear me. I can put you in one of two places, one being Benquist’s good care. There are fates worse than those currently facing you, blood-bag.” Respen smiles. He’s having fun teasing the poor bastard, in spite of himself, “Yes. Many fates indeed.”
As Benquist’s guards deal with the other party-goers with rings, Respen scans the room with his arcane sight and magically messages Laramon what he sees. Nearly simultaneously, he notices Lathir making his way surreptitiously through the crowd. He scans toward the location with his arcane sight, locating every enhancement, enchantment, or otherwise magical item in the room. His wide-brim hat providing him the subtlest of disguises and non-detection from others around, he maintains his veneer of secrecy.
"Eenie-meenie-meinie-mo. Catch a brigand by the toe. If he hollers, lay him low. Eenie-meenie-meinie-mo."
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