A hint of alarm flares in the young man's eyes when he sees everyone without exception is injured. "Yes, that's me, Jon Kilran, yes," he says. He fairly snatches the parchment. The sight of his master's rune at its foot reassures him and he begins reading.
"He's gone to stay with Thyrin," he says. "He's left me in charge! He's left me in charge." By the way he first stands up straight and then glances nervously into the tower, he has mixed feelings about this news.
"The bearers of this letter... Come in, come in, you'd better come in," he says, ushering everyone through the door, which opens into a well appointed waiting room. There are comfortable couches set about a low table that sits on a fine rug. Jon closes the door, and heads for the couches, but after a few steps he stops and sniffs the air.
"Perhaps we... we should stand here, in the middle of the floor, without touching anything," he suggests.
"So, the noisy halfling girl was right! There was a creature, but you defeated it, not without some trouble. Rilithorne says he does not know what it was - Rilithorne himself! - but he fears it was even more dangerous than any of you knew... and... right, I am to note down all your names so the city knows who you are. We'll do that."
Jon sways on his feet and blinks.
"He goes on to say that the sorts of people who respond to threats to our city without thought of their own safety should be encouraged and rewarded, and I should give away the - oh, how horrible, there is a gobbet of black mucus spread here. It's hard to read. The... foolish boots and the like? Well, I like that! I made some of those myself! I suppose we have no use for them. Generous, though. Very well!"
Jon beckons everyone to follow and crosses to the side of the tower's great staircase. There is a cupboard beneath the stairs, which he opens to reveal a closet, dusty and not a little cobwebbed, lined with shelves on which sit a few pairs of footwear.
"Hmm," he says, and more or less at random picks a pair of boots made of fine leather, which he thrusts into Midias's hands. He follows this up with a second taller pair, which end up with Pendrake. The third pair are of blue leather with thick soles. He passes them to Ngikhnit, with the comment, "They'll stretch." That seems to be it for boots. Next up is a pair of what can best be described as slippers. "I made these!" he says. "Well, with a bit of help from Rilithorne. Suit an elf."
Gillin interrupts the proceedings. "I don't need a pair of shoes! Can't eat shoes! I came here for money," he says cantankerously.
"Ah," says Jon. "And you have the look of a wizard," he addresses Peladus. "I daresay you'd prefer to look over Rilithorne's scrolls or wands or such like? That can be arranged, certainly."
He fumbles around at the back of the closet and comes out with the last few objects, emptying the closet. He shakes out the first to reveal a cloak of fine weave in blue with a silver clasp. "Uh... matches the boots," he says, and passes it over to Ngikhnit. "And I made these too, as an exercise, you understand." These turn out to be a set of arm guards. "You're not wearing armor, they'll be fine for you," he informs Quozen.
"Right - that's all the 'foolish boots and the like'! Rilithorne is the greatest man I've ever known, but sometimes I wonder if he truly apprec- no, he's just very busy, and I'm tired. They are all magical. Just put them on, and I'm sure you'll work out what they do. No tricky magic words to say."
"Please, sign your names on the reverse of the parchment before you go. There will be pen and ink somewhere about. Thank you, thank you. Grandfather, come back tomorrow afternoon. Arngrim keeps the accounts and the purse strings."
He turns to Peladus, with the favouritism of fellow feeling between wizards. "But we can go through the scrolls now, if you like, if you're quick."
