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Steel Dragon's "Tales of Orea"
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<blockquote data-quote="steeldragons" data-source="post: 6132874" data-attributes="member: 92511"><p>“With the Ihs Repahl, we can ‘wind’ ourselves anywhere we like...I think.” Alaria posed. “The question becomes, do we go directly to Nor Gorthok...or do we think the dragon will sit and nurse its loss on this front and take time to rework its plans? If I, all of us, could have a bit longer to study and research, train up our skills just a bit more. We might be in a much better position to take Tresahd-Desaarthal head on.” the magess finished her thought.</p><p>“And the demons...the hobgoblins and wights...??” Haelan said with a fearful voice.</p><p></p><p>“Don’t forget our friend Rach’sha.” Duor added.</p><p></p><p>“Or whatever 'the Overseer’ is.” Fen added. When the others looked at the druid without understanding, Fen explained. “In the goblinoid camp, Erilyn and I uncovered the proof we needed to assert Tresahd was, in fact, the dragon Desaarthal. One of his/her contacts is known simply referred to in the communications I saw as 'the Overseer.’ “ Fen shrugged. “There was no indication what that might be. Only that is was yet another of Tresahd’s minions. There were also communications with someone named ‘Galtin’ who, it seems, awaits Tresahd’s bidding at Nor Tyrilith.”</p><p></p><p>“Thaaaa’s a lot of minions.” Jovias added, unbidden. The satyr had been listening intently to the council as he took periodic swigs form his, now nearly empty, wineskin.</p><p></p><p>“Nor Tyrilith?!” Haelan said in distress at hearing this for the first time. “That is an entirely unholy place. Cursed since before the elves ever came to Miralostae, if I’m not mis-remembering my histories.” </p><p></p><p>“You do not, Hilltender...unfortunately.” Braddok added quietly. “And it is within the lands ofteh Great Kingdom*. If Nor Tyrilith is again occupied then we may have less time to return to the west than I already believed..." the warrior’s sentence trailed off as he scowled at some inner thought.</p><p></p><p>*<span style="font-size: 9px"><em>Braddok’s home nation of Grinlia is known as “the Great Kingdom" because of its sprawling size. Grinlia encompasses nearly a quarter of the Orean continent. Though Braddok’s home realm, the Barony of Barforth, is far south of Nor Tyrilith (practically the entire kingdom away, in fact) it is general Grinlian attitude that a threat in any of Grinlia’s lands threatens the kingdom as a whole.</em></span></p><p></p><p>This debate went on for some time before it was decided, the companions would return to Deanfrii. Not to Bridgetower, but the Dragonmage’s own keep in the heart of the magical land. Alaria’s reasoning was sound and with the resources avaialble at Dragonwing Vale, all of the companions could continue to practice and train their skills, hopefully, to their collective benefit within a short amount of time and still strike at Nor Gorthok before the spring thaw. Braddok reasoned that it was unlikely Tresahd would make any push outside of the Feldmere before then.</p><p></p><p>Agreed, the companions spent one more night in Lord Seniiris’ court and then respectfully took their leave of the elf kingdom’s eastern province.</p><p></p><p>Invoking the Ihs Repahl’s most potent power, Alaria, Braddok, Haelan, Duor, Jovias and Buttercream were transformed into wispy cloud-like versions of themselves and sped their way toward the Dragonmage’s stronghold. Fen wished to travel by foot and hoped to meet with his order along the way. Pyrnion, capable of his own flight, agreed to accompany the half-elf and wing them to the Vale when Fen’s business was complete. All of the companions agreed it wise for none of them to be traveling alone at this time. Within Dragonwing Vale they’d have no cause for concern of infiltration by any of Tresahd’s creatures...something they were less sure of in the border keep at Bridgetower.</p><p></p><p>By the end of the day, the bulk of the party arrived in Dragonwing Vale, unable to make the whole journey in their windy forms due to the protection set up around the Dragonmage’s citadel. They entered through the large town that surrounded the citadel on foot. The diversity of their company was not particularly of note. Gnomes, daelvar, elves, even centaurs and satyrs were almost commonplace among the vale’s population. They did attraact some notice for their obvious armaments, armor and traveling garb. </p><p></p><p>Given the fact Midwinter was only two days away, Haelan helped his bipedal companions (and himself) to a prayer against the wintery chill. Though the day was bright and sunny the air was crisp and snow caked along the rooftops and road sides, not in inconvenient ways, but just enough to give the whole of the town a fluffy white coat.</p><p></p><p>“Huhf...Huhf...Huhf..." Jovias exhaled, making little clouds of “smoke" expel from his mouth.</p><p></p><p>“Wut’re yeh doin’?" Duor said with some annoyance at the satyr two steps behidn him.</p><p></p><p>“Dragon breath." Jovias replied with ciprian nonchalance.</p><p></p><p>“Yer wut?" Duor turned to look at the satyr, completely confused.</p><p></p><p>“Huhfffff" Jovias blew a cloud of chilled air into the dwarf’s face. “Dragon breath. Air’s cold. Makes your breathe smoke puffs.” The red-head and russet haunched satyr said to his new “master” as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.</p><p></p><p>Haelan giggled and immediately joined the satyr in blowing “smoke puffs” with his breath. “Don’t you dwarves do this? *Huhf* I’d think it’s cold enough underground.”</p><p></p><p>“I ain’t from underground...not in a long time. And it’s not as cold as all this.” Duor answered the halfling in annoyance.</p><p></p><p>“Huhf!” Duor caught another blast of “dragon breath” from Jovias.</p><p></p><p>“Knock it off!” Duor waved away the satyr.</p><p></p><p> As the party passed through the crowded street of the market distrinct, they were stopped by a familiar voice.</p><p></p><p>“Alaria?! Magess Alaria ‘Stormrider’, is that you?” came the female voice full of surprise.</p><p></p><p> The magess whirled around to see the Lady Elhianne of Bridgetower. The noblewoman sported a fur trimmed gown of flowing pale blue. Her blond curls beneath a fur-filled hood from her mantle of deep indigo. She removed the hood. Two maids similarly cloaked against the cold stood behind her, their arms burdened with several bundles each.</p><p></p><p>“Lady Elhianne?” Alaria said somewhat caught off guard. The magess tucked a strand of her dark brown hair behind one ear and silently berating herself at her “road worn” appearance in the face of the Lady of Bridgetower’s natural elegance and beauty. With a cantrip breathed under her breath as she dipped her head toward the noble woman in a respectful half-bow, her gown was somewhat cleaner and had a bit of shimmer to it. Her hair gained a bit of a luster and smooth wave to it and when she again lifted her head, her face showed a bit of color and lips a touch more red. Still, the R'Hathi woman admitted to herself, she could not hope to compete with Elhianne's golden effortless grace...and she hated herself for that self-realization. </p><p></p><p>“What a pleasant surprise. What brings you to the Dragonmage’s vale?” Alaria smiled as the two women exchanged kisses on their cheek.</p><p></p><p>“Same as you, I would imagine. The Midwinter Gala!” Elhianne said in some surprise and exhuberation.</p><p></p><p>”Oh....is it <em>that </em>time already?” Alaria gave a somewhat inelegant chuckle. ”I‘d completely forgotten. I don’t think we’ve received an invitation?” she looked questioningly around at Haelan, Duor and Braddok. </p><p></p><p>Haelan shrugged while the swordsman and rogue looked at her dumbly. Behind them Alaria noticed Jovias cozying up to one of Elhianne‘s maids.</p><p></p><p>Alaria, mentally, rolled her eyes. Satyrs.</p><p>“Well of course you haven’t.” Elhianne’s voice snapped the magess’ attention back to her.</p><p></p><p>“Too busy out saving the whole of the realm, aren’t you?" Elhianne giggled at her own jest. “NONsense! Stuff and nonsense. You are the saviors of Daenfrii. Invitation or not, I <em>insist</em> you accompany Rynthis and I as our personal guests. The Lordmage himself could hardly complain. I won‘t hear another thing about it.</p><p></p><p>“Have you selected a gown yet?” Elhianne asked considering her invitation automatically agreed to.</p><p></p><p>Met with a stunned silence from Alaria, the lady of Bridgetower gave the R’Hathi magess a sidelong look and coy grin. </p><p></p><p>“Of course you have. I can see.</p><p></p><p>“If you’ve spent these weeks since you won the war in Evandrial no doubt you have a spectacular dress and jewels of elvish finery. You simply <em>must </em>show it to me. I am all but exploding in envy. I cannot tell you the joy you...<em>all </em>of you,” Elhianne amended diverting her eyes from Alaria for a moment to take in the rest of the crew, “have brought to the realm. Unbelievable. Rynthis told me the reports of your victory...against a demon wolf and an army of ghouls?! Is it true? You <em>must</em> give me every detail..."</p><p></p><p>Elhianne slipped her arm through Alaria’s own and began leading the magess through the streets.</p><p></p><p>“Where are you staying? We’re at my sister’s? You remember Dauphinne, of course. Rynthis had some things to do back at the tower. Tying up the details of the invasion, you understand. But he’s arriving tomorrow. Are you taking Braddok? He<em> is </em>quite the strapper isn’t he?" Elhianne tittered a courtly giggle.</p><p></p><p>“You must forgive me, Alaria. I am nearly out of my skin when the Gala comes around. It is<em> the</em> highlight of the entire year!” her voice, though filled with excitement seemed to end on a hidden note of remorse. </p><p></p><p>“Oh my dear, I am overjoyed to see you. We<em> simply must </em>have tea this afternoon...” the lady of Bridgetower hugged the arm she had absconded. </p><p></p><p>Alaria’s eyes went skyward even as the tight grin formed on her lips to Elhianne’s well-intentioned though completely inane droning. This lovely lady, Alaria reminded herself, truly needed more time among courtly ladies and less at a border-crossing like Bridgetower.</p><p></p><p>Braddok offered to help the maids with their packages but they declined to with a blushing giggle, stating that their lady simply wouldn’t permit it. One dared to add, “‘Heroes such as you should not be carrying gowns and garlands.”</p><p></p><p>“Damn right.” Duor replied to all, though no one was actually speaking to him. He strutted off behind the Hilltender with Jovias smiling apologetically to the women close behind. Braddok followed after and the maids, finally, came after.</p><p></p><p>The odd procession of nobility and adventurers made their way through the snow-capped rows of stuccoed two and three storied townhouses until the huge walls of Dragonwing Keep came into view. </p><p></p><p>They climbed up, passing the various temples that surrounded the citadel. First, they passed the large dome and broad gates set with armored spear-wielding and crimson clad guards of Celradorn. All of the companions found themselves staring at the eight-pointed red star symbol of the Golden Defender and saying silent prayers for Coerraine.</p><p></p><p>Then the plain boxy multi-storied “library temple” of Sorilorr, the All-knowing. Shaved-headed priests and monks wandered in and out, most with arms cradling at least one scroll or tome each. Their bright orange robes and tunics, offset by emerald green trim or breeches flowed with apparent purpose and complete reverence, as if the papers in their possession might break with their slightest misstep.</p><p></p><p>The final ascent tot he citadel’s gates sported two holy spots. To their right, sloping down back toward the town, the public open amphitheater style devoted to Manat, the Blue Star, goddess of magic. Brightly colored frescos painted the columns and sloping rows. Their images moved regularly, portraying images of the great feats and legends of the goddess of magic and her most devout followers, Keth Dragonwing, the first Dragonmage and his descendants among them.</p><p></p><p>To the left, the healer’s halls and temple of Gilea, it’s broad staircase lined with huge rose bushes, kept in bloom throughout the year by “the grace of the Merciful Mother.” </p><p></p><p>Coming around to the open, though guarded, gates as Elhianne took a breath between rambling altering questions and answering herself, Alaria was finally hit with a complete abject horror she had not felt in many many moons...since before leaving R'Hath...</p><p></p><p>What<em> WAS</em> she going to wear?!</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="steeldragons, post: 6132874, member: 92511"] “With the Ihs Repahl, we can ‘wind’ ourselves anywhere we like...I think.” Alaria posed. “The question becomes, do we go directly to Nor Gorthok...or do we think the dragon will sit and nurse its loss on this front and take time to rework its plans? If I, all of us, could have a bit longer to study and research, train up our skills just a bit more. We might be in a much better position to take Tresahd-Desaarthal head on.” the magess finished her thought. “And the demons...the hobgoblins and wights...??” Haelan said with a fearful voice. “Don’t forget our friend Rach’sha.” Duor added. “Or whatever 'the Overseer’ is.” Fen added. When the others looked at the druid without understanding, Fen explained. “In the goblinoid camp, Erilyn and I uncovered the proof we needed to assert Tresahd was, in fact, the dragon Desaarthal. One of his/her contacts is known simply referred to in the communications I saw as 'the Overseer.’ “ Fen shrugged. “There was no indication what that might be. Only that is was yet another of Tresahd’s minions. There were also communications with someone named ‘Galtin’ who, it seems, awaits Tresahd’s bidding at Nor Tyrilith.” “Thaaaa’s a lot of minions.” Jovias added, unbidden. The satyr had been listening intently to the council as he took periodic swigs form his, now nearly empty, wineskin. “Nor Tyrilith?!” Haelan said in distress at hearing this for the first time. “That is an entirely unholy place. Cursed since before the elves ever came to Miralostae, if I’m not mis-remembering my histories.” “You do not, Hilltender...unfortunately.” Braddok added quietly. “And it is within the lands ofteh Great Kingdom*. If Nor Tyrilith is again occupied then we may have less time to return to the west than I already believed..." the warrior’s sentence trailed off as he scowled at some inner thought. *[SIZE=1][I]Braddok’s home nation of Grinlia is known as “the Great Kingdom" because of its sprawling size. Grinlia encompasses nearly a quarter of the Orean continent. Though Braddok’s home realm, the Barony of Barforth, is far south of Nor Tyrilith (practically the entire kingdom away, in fact) it is general Grinlian attitude that a threat in any of Grinlia’s lands threatens the kingdom as a whole.[/I][/SIZE] This debate went on for some time before it was decided, the companions would return to Deanfrii. Not to Bridgetower, but the Dragonmage’s own keep in the heart of the magical land. Alaria’s reasoning was sound and with the resources avaialble at Dragonwing Vale, all of the companions could continue to practice and train their skills, hopefully, to their collective benefit within a short amount of time and still strike at Nor Gorthok before the spring thaw. Braddok reasoned that it was unlikely Tresahd would make any push outside of the Feldmere before then. Agreed, the companions spent one more night in Lord Seniiris’ court and then respectfully took their leave of the elf kingdom’s eastern province. Invoking the Ihs Repahl’s most potent power, Alaria, Braddok, Haelan, Duor, Jovias and Buttercream were transformed into wispy cloud-like versions of themselves and sped their way toward the Dragonmage’s stronghold. Fen wished to travel by foot and hoped to meet with his order along the way. Pyrnion, capable of his own flight, agreed to accompany the half-elf and wing them to the Vale when Fen’s business was complete. All of the companions agreed it wise for none of them to be traveling alone at this time. Within Dragonwing Vale they’d have no cause for concern of infiltration by any of Tresahd’s creatures...something they were less sure of in the border keep at Bridgetower. By the end of the day, the bulk of the party arrived in Dragonwing Vale, unable to make the whole journey in their windy forms due to the protection set up around the Dragonmage’s citadel. They entered through the large town that surrounded the citadel on foot. The diversity of their company was not particularly of note. Gnomes, daelvar, elves, even centaurs and satyrs were almost commonplace among the vale’s population. They did attraact some notice for their obvious armaments, armor and traveling garb. Given the fact Midwinter was only two days away, Haelan helped his bipedal companions (and himself) to a prayer against the wintery chill. Though the day was bright and sunny the air was crisp and snow caked along the rooftops and road sides, not in inconvenient ways, but just enough to give the whole of the town a fluffy white coat. “Huhf...Huhf...Huhf..." Jovias exhaled, making little clouds of “smoke" expel from his mouth. “Wut’re yeh doin’?" Duor said with some annoyance at the satyr two steps behidn him. “Dragon breath." Jovias replied with ciprian nonchalance. “Yer wut?" Duor turned to look at the satyr, completely confused. “Huhfffff" Jovias blew a cloud of chilled air into the dwarf’s face. “Dragon breath. Air’s cold. Makes your breathe smoke puffs.” The red-head and russet haunched satyr said to his new “master” as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Haelan giggled and immediately joined the satyr in blowing “smoke puffs” with his breath. “Don’t you dwarves do this? *Huhf* I’d think it’s cold enough underground.” “I ain’t from underground...not in a long time. And it’s not as cold as all this.” Duor answered the halfling in annoyance. “Huhf!” Duor caught another blast of “dragon breath” from Jovias. “Knock it off!” Duor waved away the satyr. As the party passed through the crowded street of the market distrinct, they were stopped by a familiar voice. “Alaria?! Magess Alaria ‘Stormrider’, is that you?” came the female voice full of surprise. The magess whirled around to see the Lady Elhianne of Bridgetower. The noblewoman sported a fur trimmed gown of flowing pale blue. Her blond curls beneath a fur-filled hood from her mantle of deep indigo. She removed the hood. Two maids similarly cloaked against the cold stood behind her, their arms burdened with several bundles each. “Lady Elhianne?” Alaria said somewhat caught off guard. The magess tucked a strand of her dark brown hair behind one ear and silently berating herself at her “road worn” appearance in the face of the Lady of Bridgetower’s natural elegance and beauty. With a cantrip breathed under her breath as she dipped her head toward the noble woman in a respectful half-bow, her gown was somewhat cleaner and had a bit of shimmer to it. Her hair gained a bit of a luster and smooth wave to it and when she again lifted her head, her face showed a bit of color and lips a touch more red. Still, the R'Hathi woman admitted to herself, she could not hope to compete with Elhianne's golden effortless grace...and she hated herself for that self-realization. “What a pleasant surprise. What brings you to the Dragonmage’s vale?” Alaria smiled as the two women exchanged kisses on their cheek. “Same as you, I would imagine. The Midwinter Gala!” Elhianne said in some surprise and exhuberation. ”Oh....is it [I]that [/I]time already?” Alaria gave a somewhat inelegant chuckle. ”I‘d completely forgotten. I don’t think we’ve received an invitation?” she looked questioningly around at Haelan, Duor and Braddok. Haelan shrugged while the swordsman and rogue looked at her dumbly. Behind them Alaria noticed Jovias cozying up to one of Elhianne‘s maids. Alaria, mentally, rolled her eyes. Satyrs. “Well of course you haven’t.” Elhianne’s voice snapped the magess’ attention back to her. “Too busy out saving the whole of the realm, aren’t you?" Elhianne giggled at her own jest. “NONsense! Stuff and nonsense. You are the saviors of Daenfrii. Invitation or not, I [I]insist[/I] you accompany Rynthis and I as our personal guests. The Lordmage himself could hardly complain. I won‘t hear another thing about it. “Have you selected a gown yet?” Elhianne asked considering her invitation automatically agreed to. Met with a stunned silence from Alaria, the lady of Bridgetower gave the R’Hathi magess a sidelong look and coy grin. “Of course you have. I can see. “If you’ve spent these weeks since you won the war in Evandrial no doubt you have a spectacular dress and jewels of elvish finery. You simply [I]must [/I]show it to me. I am all but exploding in envy. I cannot tell you the joy you...[I]all [/I]of you,” Elhianne amended diverting her eyes from Alaria for a moment to take in the rest of the crew, “have brought to the realm. Unbelievable. Rynthis told me the reports of your victory...against a demon wolf and an army of ghouls?! Is it true? You [I]must[/I] give me every detail..." Elhianne slipped her arm through Alaria’s own and began leading the magess through the streets. “Where are you staying? We’re at my sister’s? You remember Dauphinne, of course. Rynthis had some things to do back at the tower. Tying up the details of the invasion, you understand. But he’s arriving tomorrow. Are you taking Braddok? He[I] is [/I]quite the strapper isn’t he?" Elhianne tittered a courtly giggle. “You must forgive me, Alaria. I am nearly out of my skin when the Gala comes around. It is[I] the[/I] highlight of the entire year!” her voice, though filled with excitement seemed to end on a hidden note of remorse. “Oh my dear, I am overjoyed to see you. We[I] simply must [/I]have tea this afternoon...” the lady of Bridgetower hugged the arm she had absconded. Alaria’s eyes went skyward even as the tight grin formed on her lips to Elhianne’s well-intentioned though completely inane droning. This lovely lady, Alaria reminded herself, truly needed more time among courtly ladies and less at a border-crossing like Bridgetower. Braddok offered to help the maids with their packages but they declined to with a blushing giggle, stating that their lady simply wouldn’t permit it. One dared to add, “‘Heroes such as you should not be carrying gowns and garlands.” “Damn right.” Duor replied to all, though no one was actually speaking to him. He strutted off behind the Hilltender with Jovias smiling apologetically to the women close behind. Braddok followed after and the maids, finally, came after. The odd procession of nobility and adventurers made their way through the snow-capped rows of stuccoed two and three storied townhouses until the huge walls of Dragonwing Keep came into view. They climbed up, passing the various temples that surrounded the citadel. First, they passed the large dome and broad gates set with armored spear-wielding and crimson clad guards of Celradorn. All of the companions found themselves staring at the eight-pointed red star symbol of the Golden Defender and saying silent prayers for Coerraine. Then the plain boxy multi-storied “library temple” of Sorilorr, the All-knowing. Shaved-headed priests and monks wandered in and out, most with arms cradling at least one scroll or tome each. Their bright orange robes and tunics, offset by emerald green trim or breeches flowed with apparent purpose and complete reverence, as if the papers in their possession might break with their slightest misstep. The final ascent tot he citadel’s gates sported two holy spots. To their right, sloping down back toward the town, the public open amphitheater style devoted to Manat, the Blue Star, goddess of magic. Brightly colored frescos painted the columns and sloping rows. Their images moved regularly, portraying images of the great feats and legends of the goddess of magic and her most devout followers, Keth Dragonwing, the first Dragonmage and his descendants among them. To the left, the healer’s halls and temple of Gilea, it’s broad staircase lined with huge rose bushes, kept in bloom throughout the year by “the grace of the Merciful Mother.” Coming around to the open, though guarded, gates as Elhianne took a breath between rambling altering questions and answering herself, Alaria was finally hit with a complete abject horror she had not felt in many many moons...since before leaving R'Hath... What[I] WAS[/I] she going to wear?! [/QUOTE]
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Steel Dragon's "Tales of Orea"
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