Kalamar: The Lost Tomb of Kruk-ma-Kali
- Thread starter Scarogoth
- Start date
Scarogoth
What do other people have?
How Evaristo became a eunuch, O my best beloved...
A cloud passed over Veshemo and, as though a thick veil had slowly been passed across a lantern, once more the sleeping city was plunged into darkness. Not that that mattered to the gnome hidden in the shadows of the balcony; those of his race had been blessed with eyes that could see as clear as day when only Diadolai, the Elven Moon, was in the sky. This evening, although there were plenty of clouds that scudded and flitted through the cool evening air, both Veshemo and Pelselond were shining brightly, and the world was rarely hidden for long, even from the humans.
But, of course, there were no humans around to witness this neverending aerial reel. When people spoke of the 'middle of the night', it was these few, small hours that fitted the bill best. He'd heard the taverns in the centre of town finally disgorge their final, reticent, but vocal, customers onto the streets hours ago, and the clock tower of the Hall of Oaths had not struck since midnight. As it was still far too early for even the fisherman down by the docks to be stirring, Evaristo knew that this was as quiet as the world ever got. Had he been in the forests of his youth, or even in the surrounding countryside round the city, the air would have been full of the strange noises of nocturnal birds, beasts and insects as they screeched, wailed, cackled and chirruped to themselves and their mates until morning. But here, in the centre of Svowmahni, there was nothing; the world was silent.
Evaristo had been sitting there for many hours, quietly biding his time and minding his own business behind the large tub of betulia flowers in the harem garden -- he had always been a patient gnome. Though to say he was minding his business perhaps gives the wrong impression of why he was there. He was a spy. A sneak. A scoundrel. An infiltrator. That was his business. And, tonight, he was on a mission.
A member of the Golden Alliance council had contracted him for a lot of money -- a LOT of money, Evaristo smiled to himself -- to enter the town house of Vanno Mohmehn and carefully copy out the secret cipher the great merchant had written on a wooden cylinder he kept in a canister round his neck. Quite what transcripts and materials were going to be translated with this device was entirely unknown to Evaristo, and to be honest it didn't matter to him. That was not part of his brief. He couldn't steal it directly, of course. That would be not only be unethical, but also futile -- Vanno would naturally immediately change all his codes and order a new cipher. No, apparently, it needed to be copied, and Evaristo was the man, well, gnome, for the job.
Slowly, he unwound his body, and stood up in the shadow of the topiary tubs on the edge of the balcony. He had no weapons on him, no armour, nothing that could impede the completion of his task. Having spent so long curled up, he spent a few moments in some gentle stretches that loosened his muscles up again, and after a while he felt ready to proceed. There had been a very civilized banquet in the gardens below him that afternoon to celebrate the birthday of Vanno's fifth wife. Because it had started so early, by the time evening came, people were already feeling sleepy and pleasantly drunk, and the evening's revels had not lasted as long as Evaristo had feared they might. Naturally, Vanno had retired with the lady of honour, but as he always slept in his harem anyway -- he was a man who took care to enjoy the pleasures his immensely successful textile business had brought him -- there was little surprise in that.
Feeling the cramp in his legs disappearing fast, the young gnome began to make his way over the incredibly expensive tiles of the balcony, and headed to the open screens of the harem -- the summer heat had made Vanno's wives plead that the shutters not be closed, which was indicative to him of how easy things were going to be that night. Evaristo cannot quite suppress a frisson of delight as he begins to count in his head the hundreds of gold coins each step across the terrace is costing his employer, and a cynical smile slowly spread across his face.
The gnome peered in through the delicate filigree of the internal screens, and quickly saw that his task was going to be easier than he even imagined. The great bulk of the merchant was clearly delineated in the central bed, completely dwarfing the curled up heap that Evaristo took to be Wife No. 5 -- the other ladies of the harem were sectioned off by thin,
translucent satins, that allowed them the illusion of semi-private quarters, and these were dotted around the perimeter of this large, circular turret.
Aha! Evaristo's eye alighted on the pile of clothes casually discarded by Vanno as he prepared himself for his night of passion. Was that, or was that not, a canister he could see, lurking atop the pile? A stertorous, but regular, breathing convinced the gnome that a combination of food, drink, and marital exertion meant that there was little chance of the merchant awaking, and one or two of the wives could easily run alongside him in a snoring competition, so he carefully pushed back the hinged screen of the harem.
Real quality, thinks Evaristo to himself as it glided effortlessly back on itself without a single squeak or clang. One day, I'm going to live in a house like this...
He lowered himself over the sill, and dropped himself down to the floor, the soft goat leather pumps on his feet making no sound that could possibly be heard above the gentle rustle of the silken sheets as they billowed in the sea breeze. He swiftly stepped across the intervening space.
! he thought as he felt his foot slip in puddle of liquid and the world suddenly seemed to slow down. One of the merchant's ridiculous wives had brought up a beaker of water with her to prevent herself having a headache the next day. Clearly in her sleep, she had knocked it over, and on such shiny tiles, he'd failed to see it until too late. The gnome's training swiftly kicked in -- he knew how to fall, and how to fall quietly at that, so he threw his arms out and back to attempt to soften his fall, even though he knew it was really going to hurt his tendons. To his horror he heard his left hand bang hard into a small side table he had completely failed to notice. It was soon to get a lot worse, though.
The table rapidly revealed itself to be a terribly delicate, single-pedestal, spindly affair that was placed centrally in the room with a large golden bowl of hard, round boiled mint sweets in it, placed so that the ladies might never accidentally offend the master of the house with their stale breath. So delicate and light, in fact, was the table that it didn't take much to make it totter. The gnome's outflung hand managed to make it do considerably more than that, however, and the whole caboodle skidded dangerously across the room for a considerable while, before finally getting its legs tangled up in one of the silken drapes. Its momentum arrested in this sudden way, allowed gravity take hold with a vengeance and it launched its cargo high up into the air.
Years later Evaristo could look back on the event with a delicious mixture of fear, loathing and humour, particularly in light of the fact that he managed to land himself, very, very quietly. But, unfortunately, the bullet-like mints, solid golden bowl and expensive, small-tiled floor had other ideas.
There had never been a hailstorm in the city of Svowmahni before, but that evening in the house of Vanno Mohmehn, it certainly sounded like one. The ruckus was frightful -- the bowl arrived on the scene slightly later than the mints, but it attempted to make up for that with the vigour of its entrance. It rolled round and round the floor, picking up speed and sounding every revolution more and more like an almighty great gong.
Naturally, by now screams of disturbed female sleep and terror were added to the mix, and having righted himself, Evaristo quickly decided that this evening's mission had not been the great success he had envisioned. Time to scarper, he thought to himself, and he swiftly turned himself over, adopted a sprinter's position and prepared to leg it back to the terrace. It was at this point that Evaristo began to wish he'd done his homework a little better. Vanno, it turned out, was not a miserly, powerful merchant at all, and had had some very modern conveniences installed in his house.
"What, eh, what?" Vanno boomed, blinking hard in the dark, sitting upright in bed, and pulling the emergency cord above his bed. An alarm rang somewhere else in the palace, and that was more than enough for Evaristo, who was already bolting towards the exits. To his absolute horror and terror, though, the cord had triggered some other devices. All around the turret he could spy great metal sheets snapping shut across all the windows and doors -- Nobody told me about those! he screamed to himself. He circled wildly, desperately seeking another way out. Thank all the gods they can't see in the dark, he thought to himself. However, clearly somebody had put a hex on him, and reported him to the Minions of Misfortune or something -- although they're were harldy likely to want to sacrifice him as this month's fortunate being, it would seem! He curses himself, as well, though, for it was really obvious that he hadn't done nearly enough research before taking the job on.
Vanno's other miracle device were some golden glow globes that we shuttered in the ceiling. Even as the metal shutters clanged down over the doors, so they moved to reveal these magical lights in the ceiling. Clearly, the game was well and truly up on this occasion -- the ever-increasing light levels also showed him that there was nowhere to go.
He was caught -- he'd be tried as a thief and have his hand chopped off, or maybe even lose his head, after torture, of course... Unless... unless.
.. unless...
Suddenly an idea popped into his head, and he didn't have time to think through whether it was sensible or not before he found he'd already started acting upon it. He ran into one of the wives cordoned-off areas, and ripped down one of the satin drapes. The woman in the bed, a rather old lady in comparison to many of the others, gathered her sheets up around her neck, cowered back against the wall and screamed. To her utter shock Evaristo screamed back at her, instantly cowing her into silence.
"Sssilk!!!" he screamed. "You have sssilllk!!! Give me silk, pretty lady, pretty, pretty lady..."
The lady in the bed started hyperventilating rather dramatically. Evaristo leapt at her, and attempted to drag the bedclothes off her. That was more than enough for the lady, however, who gathered up all her sheets around her and vents a piercing shriek once more, one which actually caused the gnome some pain. Stumbling away from the clearly mad creature, she shuffled and tripped in her blankets directly into the space of another wife.
"There's a MAD gnome in here -- he tried to take my BEDclothes!!"
However, Vanno's voice soon cut through the air yet again, as he stood on his own bed, a vast, naked pile of indulgence and indolence, shamelessly displayed to the world. "What's going on in here?!" he bellowed. But Evaristo wasn't ready to give up the act just yet. If he'd a hope of saving his skin he'd got to come over as a complete lunatic.
"You don't have SILK!! And are very, very UGLY!!" said Evaristo, pointedly,
careering round the room some more, slowly gathering up more and more wives who scuttled away just in front of him, as he raced through their apartments. "Only pretty ladies have SILK. Pretty, pretty ladies, pretty, pretty, PRETTY ladies..." And, once more, to another chorus of screams, shrieks and screeches, Evaristo lurched through another curtain and at yet another of the young ladies.
"Let me touch your silken garments, ladies. Show me your knickers! Can I wear your veils? Give me SILK!!"
The screaming, though Evaristo found it hard to credit, got even louder at this, and the terror was truly now at fever pitch. Added to the mix there suddenly came the sound of furious knocking, as the merchant's guards began to bang at the barred doors of the harem. As Evaristo crashed round the room, his ever-increasing mass of sheets, curtains and blankets trailing behind him, and his herd of frightened, naked women permanently retreating just a few steps ahead, Vanno took the opportunity to pad to the internal door and release the secret catch that opened it to allow his mercernaries in.
"Be very careful," the merchant said, immediately borrowing one of his surprised-looking guard's shields to cover his modesty. "The gnome is quite mad. Quite, quite mad. I think he's a sex maniac or something. Don't do anything rash!"
And although they'd all immediately drawn their swords, they didn't immediately leap to the attack, and warily circled the whirling dervish of fancy finery in the middle of the room. For a moment, nothing seems to change, and it's not clear quite what's happening, for Evaristo's face is now so muffled in twisted knots and cords of the finest silks Svimohzia has ever produced. But, at last, the guards work out what this exotic creature was doing. Their midnight prowler appeared to be singing.
"Silks, silks, beautiful silks, there's nothing quite like them, I love all their ilk! Knickers and pants, vests and bras, God bless them all, hip,
hip hoorah!! Silks, silks, beautiful silks, God how I love them, really I do. Tra la la, tra la la, tra la la, Lah! Show me a woman whose..." Fortunately, not all the words make it through the layers of textile, and to be truthful, Evaristo had rapidly run out of rhymes. The armed men slowly approached the mystical creature that had so dramatically appeared in their midst, but they were all far too astonished to react quickly.
After a while, though, one of them carefully reversed his sword in his hand, and approached the now slowly-spinning tangle of material, practising his action by swinging his sword once or twice to get the feel of it in this somewhat unusual orientation. With a superbly judged, fluid gesture, he suddenly plomped the crested hilt down on to what he supposed to be the creature's head. A solid sounding thunk abruptly ceased the song.
The last thought that passed through Evaristo's mind as a grateful blackness consumed him was: Well, at least they didn't kill me...
A cloud passed over Veshemo and, as though a thick veil had slowly been passed across a lantern, once more the sleeping city was plunged into darkness. Not that that mattered to the gnome hidden in the shadows of the balcony; those of his race had been blessed with eyes that could see as clear as day when only Diadolai, the Elven Moon, was in the sky. This evening, although there were plenty of clouds that scudded and flitted through the cool evening air, both Veshemo and Pelselond were shining brightly, and the world was rarely hidden for long, even from the humans.
But, of course, there were no humans around to witness this neverending aerial reel. When people spoke of the 'middle of the night', it was these few, small hours that fitted the bill best. He'd heard the taverns in the centre of town finally disgorge their final, reticent, but vocal, customers onto the streets hours ago, and the clock tower of the Hall of Oaths had not struck since midnight. As it was still far too early for even the fisherman down by the docks to be stirring, Evaristo knew that this was as quiet as the world ever got. Had he been in the forests of his youth, or even in the surrounding countryside round the city, the air would have been full of the strange noises of nocturnal birds, beasts and insects as they screeched, wailed, cackled and chirruped to themselves and their mates until morning. But here, in the centre of Svowmahni, there was nothing; the world was silent.
Evaristo had been sitting there for many hours, quietly biding his time and minding his own business behind the large tub of betulia flowers in the harem garden -- he had always been a patient gnome. Though to say he was minding his business perhaps gives the wrong impression of why he was there. He was a spy. A sneak. A scoundrel. An infiltrator. That was his business. And, tonight, he was on a mission.
A member of the Golden Alliance council had contracted him for a lot of money -- a LOT of money, Evaristo smiled to himself -- to enter the town house of Vanno Mohmehn and carefully copy out the secret cipher the great merchant had written on a wooden cylinder he kept in a canister round his neck. Quite what transcripts and materials were going to be translated with this device was entirely unknown to Evaristo, and to be honest it didn't matter to him. That was not part of his brief. He couldn't steal it directly, of course. That would be not only be unethical, but also futile -- Vanno would naturally immediately change all his codes and order a new cipher. No, apparently, it needed to be copied, and Evaristo was the man, well, gnome, for the job.
Slowly, he unwound his body, and stood up in the shadow of the topiary tubs on the edge of the balcony. He had no weapons on him, no armour, nothing that could impede the completion of his task. Having spent so long curled up, he spent a few moments in some gentle stretches that loosened his muscles up again, and after a while he felt ready to proceed. There had been a very civilized banquet in the gardens below him that afternoon to celebrate the birthday of Vanno's fifth wife. Because it had started so early, by the time evening came, people were already feeling sleepy and pleasantly drunk, and the evening's revels had not lasted as long as Evaristo had feared they might. Naturally, Vanno had retired with the lady of honour, but as he always slept in his harem anyway -- he was a man who took care to enjoy the pleasures his immensely successful textile business had brought him -- there was little surprise in that.
Feeling the cramp in his legs disappearing fast, the young gnome began to make his way over the incredibly expensive tiles of the balcony, and headed to the open screens of the harem -- the summer heat had made Vanno's wives plead that the shutters not be closed, which was indicative to him of how easy things were going to be that night. Evaristo cannot quite suppress a frisson of delight as he begins to count in his head the hundreds of gold coins each step across the terrace is costing his employer, and a cynical smile slowly spread across his face.
The gnome peered in through the delicate filigree of the internal screens, and quickly saw that his task was going to be easier than he even imagined. The great bulk of the merchant was clearly delineated in the central bed, completely dwarfing the curled up heap that Evaristo took to be Wife No. 5 -- the other ladies of the harem were sectioned off by thin,
translucent satins, that allowed them the illusion of semi-private quarters, and these were dotted around the perimeter of this large, circular turret.
Aha! Evaristo's eye alighted on the pile of clothes casually discarded by Vanno as he prepared himself for his night of passion. Was that, or was that not, a canister he could see, lurking atop the pile? A stertorous, but regular, breathing convinced the gnome that a combination of food, drink, and marital exertion meant that there was little chance of the merchant awaking, and one or two of the wives could easily run alongside him in a snoring competition, so he carefully pushed back the hinged screen of the harem.
Real quality, thinks Evaristo to himself as it glided effortlessly back on itself without a single squeak or clang. One day, I'm going to live in a house like this...
He lowered himself over the sill, and dropped himself down to the floor, the soft goat leather pumps on his feet making no sound that could possibly be heard above the gentle rustle of the silken sheets as they billowed in the sea breeze. He swiftly stepped across the intervening space.
! he thought as he felt his foot slip in puddle of liquid and the world suddenly seemed to slow down. One of the merchant's ridiculous wives had brought up a beaker of water with her to prevent herself having a headache the next day. Clearly in her sleep, she had knocked it over, and on such shiny tiles, he'd failed to see it until too late. The gnome's training swiftly kicked in -- he knew how to fall, and how to fall quietly at that, so he threw his arms out and back to attempt to soften his fall, even though he knew it was really going to hurt his tendons. To his horror he heard his left hand bang hard into a small side table he had completely failed to notice. It was soon to get a lot worse, though. The table rapidly revealed itself to be a terribly delicate, single-pedestal, spindly affair that was placed centrally in the room with a large golden bowl of hard, round boiled mint sweets in it, placed so that the ladies might never accidentally offend the master of the house with their stale breath. So delicate and light, in fact, was the table that it didn't take much to make it totter. The gnome's outflung hand managed to make it do considerably more than that, however, and the whole caboodle skidded dangerously across the room for a considerable while, before finally getting its legs tangled up in one of the silken drapes. Its momentum arrested in this sudden way, allowed gravity take hold with a vengeance and it launched its cargo high up into the air.
Years later Evaristo could look back on the event with a delicious mixture of fear, loathing and humour, particularly in light of the fact that he managed to land himself, very, very quietly. But, unfortunately, the bullet-like mints, solid golden bowl and expensive, small-tiled floor had other ideas.
There had never been a hailstorm in the city of Svowmahni before, but that evening in the house of Vanno Mohmehn, it certainly sounded like one. The ruckus was frightful -- the bowl arrived on the scene slightly later than the mints, but it attempted to make up for that with the vigour of its entrance. It rolled round and round the floor, picking up speed and sounding every revolution more and more like an almighty great gong.
Naturally, by now screams of disturbed female sleep and terror were added to the mix, and having righted himself, Evaristo quickly decided that this evening's mission had not been the great success he had envisioned. Time to scarper, he thought to himself, and he swiftly turned himself over, adopted a sprinter's position and prepared to leg it back to the terrace. It was at this point that Evaristo began to wish he'd done his homework a little better. Vanno, it turned out, was not a miserly, powerful merchant at all, and had had some very modern conveniences installed in his house.
"What, eh, what?" Vanno boomed, blinking hard in the dark, sitting upright in bed, and pulling the emergency cord above his bed. An alarm rang somewhere else in the palace, and that was more than enough for Evaristo, who was already bolting towards the exits. To his absolute horror and terror, though, the cord had triggered some other devices. All around the turret he could spy great metal sheets snapping shut across all the windows and doors -- Nobody told me about those! he screamed to himself. He circled wildly, desperately seeking another way out. Thank all the gods they can't see in the dark, he thought to himself. However, clearly somebody had put a hex on him, and reported him to the Minions of Misfortune or something -- although they're were harldy likely to want to sacrifice him as this month's fortunate being, it would seem! He curses himself, as well, though, for it was really obvious that he hadn't done nearly enough research before taking the job on.
Vanno's other miracle device were some golden glow globes that we shuttered in the ceiling. Even as the metal shutters clanged down over the doors, so they moved to reveal these magical lights in the ceiling. Clearly, the game was well and truly up on this occasion -- the ever-increasing light levels also showed him that there was nowhere to go.
He was caught -- he'd be tried as a thief and have his hand chopped off, or maybe even lose his head, after torture, of course... Unless... unless.
.. unless...
Suddenly an idea popped into his head, and he didn't have time to think through whether it was sensible or not before he found he'd already started acting upon it. He ran into one of the wives cordoned-off areas, and ripped down one of the satin drapes. The woman in the bed, a rather old lady in comparison to many of the others, gathered her sheets up around her neck, cowered back against the wall and screamed. To her utter shock Evaristo screamed back at her, instantly cowing her into silence.
"Sssilk!!!" he screamed. "You have sssilllk!!! Give me silk, pretty lady, pretty, pretty lady..."
The lady in the bed started hyperventilating rather dramatically. Evaristo leapt at her, and attempted to drag the bedclothes off her. That was more than enough for the lady, however, who gathered up all her sheets around her and vents a piercing shriek once more, one which actually caused the gnome some pain. Stumbling away from the clearly mad creature, she shuffled and tripped in her blankets directly into the space of another wife.
"There's a MAD gnome in here -- he tried to take my BEDclothes!!"
However, Vanno's voice soon cut through the air yet again, as he stood on his own bed, a vast, naked pile of indulgence and indolence, shamelessly displayed to the world. "What's going on in here?!" he bellowed. But Evaristo wasn't ready to give up the act just yet. If he'd a hope of saving his skin he'd got to come over as a complete lunatic.
"You don't have SILK!! And are very, very UGLY!!" said Evaristo, pointedly,
careering round the room some more, slowly gathering up more and more wives who scuttled away just in front of him, as he raced through their apartments. "Only pretty ladies have SILK. Pretty, pretty ladies, pretty, pretty, PRETTY ladies..." And, once more, to another chorus of screams, shrieks and screeches, Evaristo lurched through another curtain and at yet another of the young ladies.
"Let me touch your silken garments, ladies. Show me your knickers! Can I wear your veils? Give me SILK!!"
The screaming, though Evaristo found it hard to credit, got even louder at this, and the terror was truly now at fever pitch. Added to the mix there suddenly came the sound of furious knocking, as the merchant's guards began to bang at the barred doors of the harem. As Evaristo crashed round the room, his ever-increasing mass of sheets, curtains and blankets trailing behind him, and his herd of frightened, naked women permanently retreating just a few steps ahead, Vanno took the opportunity to pad to the internal door and release the secret catch that opened it to allow his mercernaries in.
"Be very careful," the merchant said, immediately borrowing one of his surprised-looking guard's shields to cover his modesty. "The gnome is quite mad. Quite, quite mad. I think he's a sex maniac or something. Don't do anything rash!"
And although they'd all immediately drawn their swords, they didn't immediately leap to the attack, and warily circled the whirling dervish of fancy finery in the middle of the room. For a moment, nothing seems to change, and it's not clear quite what's happening, for Evaristo's face is now so muffled in twisted knots and cords of the finest silks Svimohzia has ever produced. But, at last, the guards work out what this exotic creature was doing. Their midnight prowler appeared to be singing.
"Silks, silks, beautiful silks, there's nothing quite like them, I love all their ilk! Knickers and pants, vests and bras, God bless them all, hip,
hip hoorah!! Silks, silks, beautiful silks, God how I love them, really I do. Tra la la, tra la la, tra la la, Lah! Show me a woman whose..." Fortunately, not all the words make it through the layers of textile, and to be truthful, Evaristo had rapidly run out of rhymes. The armed men slowly approached the mystical creature that had so dramatically appeared in their midst, but they were all far too astonished to react quickly.
After a while, though, one of them carefully reversed his sword in his hand, and approached the now slowly-spinning tangle of material, practising his action by swinging his sword once or twice to get the feel of it in this somewhat unusual orientation. With a superbly judged, fluid gesture, he suddenly plomped the crested hilt down on to what he supposed to be the creature's head. A solid sounding thunk abruptly ceased the song.
The last thought that passed through Evaristo's mind as a grateful blackness consumed him was: Well, at least they didn't kill me...
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Scarogoth
What do other people have?
Lisanara and Feledar get acquainted...
Lisanara and Feledar appear in a 15 by 15 room which has a well in it. Feledar immediately notices the heat in the room and casts endure elements first thing as they arrive._ Lisanara waits for him to finish then says, "You will probably need that everyday here if you are going to wear your armor all the time. However, I would suggest that until we are ready to depart on the expedition, you consider leaving it off for your own comfort. You will draw a lot of attention to yourself here wearing that amount of armor about the town."
"Naturally." Feledar says. Not revealing he was just being prepared for the worst case of some nasty ambush when they arrived in this place unknown to him before.
"Now, if you'll follow me," instructs Lisanara.
"After you, Milady!" says Feledar. She opens the door of the well house, the blinding sun makes if difficult to see at first but your eyes quickly adjust._ You enter a courtyard in front of a large one-story stucco house.
"This is my home," and Lisanara approaches the double front doors set in the centre of the building. She opens the right-hand door and enters the darker interior, waiting inside for Feledar to enter before she closes the door. The interior of the house shows stone slabs for the floor and pale cream coloured walls. It is much cooler in the house out of the burning sun. They are currently in a hallway about 10 feet wide and Feledar can see a door at the end.
"You have a nice apartment here," Feledar compliments her.
"Thank you, it was provided very nicely by a black dragon some years ago," she says with a small smile. "After we slew it of course," she continues. Feledar raises an eyebrow and smiles knowingly.
"Come through to the livingroom and we'll have a chat," invites Lisanara.
Feledar follows the lady to the end of the short corridor, noting that two other corridors branch off to the right and left. Entering the doorway straight ahead, Feledar sees a rather large room.
"Where could I leave my equipment, Milady?" asks the captain.
"Just set it there on the floor for now. I'll have Veeta show you to your room later. Would you like to remove that armor too?" asks Lisanara.
"If we are not going to meet some Black Dragons here too," Feledar smiles at Lisanara.
She smiles, "Not today I hope." Her expression does change slightly though, "However, there is a good possibility we will encounter a red one in our expedition. But I'll tell you more about that in a few minutes."
Lisanara removes her cloak. Before she lays it over the back of one of the several chairs in the room, she reaches into an inside pocket and pulls out a weasel! Cuddling the little creature she says, "This is Ella."
Feledar gives Ella an approving look but doesn't comment otherwise.
Setting Ella down Lisanara says to her, "Ok, off you go for your lunch. But don't be away for long." Turning to the captain, "Are you hungry captain? Or would you like a drink?"
"A drink perhaps, please," he replies.
"Some refreshing juice then I think. I'll be right back; make yourself comfortable." Lisanara then slips out the open door and disappears to the right.
The livingroom contains several comfortable looking chairs and a rather impressive expanse of books along the back wall. Feledar thinks, slightly sullenly (hmm... juice instead of wine...) but smiles for his thought and makes himself comfortable on one of the chairs after removing his armor and setting it carefully on the stone floor against the wall. He perks up a little at noticing the small rack of wine bottles at the end of one of the bookshelves._ (At least she does drink wine,) he thinks. Feledar just looks at those bottles longingly for a while before Lisanara returns.
He hears her footsteps returning down the hall and she slips back in the door. "Veeta will be here soon with the refreshments. Tell me captain, you must have many more questions. Share them with me."
Lisanara settles in one of the single chairs giving the captain her full attention.
"First I would be happy to hear whatever you might know about Kruk-Ma-Kali, Milady." he says.
"That covers a lot captain. Do you want to know all about his reign as king over this region 500 years ago? Or do you mean the tomb?" she responds.
"You could do a short version of his history and then concentrate to the tomb," answers Feledar.
"He ruled over this region for about 13 years. His empire extended at least as far as current Kalamar Empire and over the Legasa Peaks to the west into Brandobia. He seemed unstoppable. But he eventually was murdered by an assassin's poisoned blade by all accounts. His loyal followers then constructed a tomb for his body. Reputed to be full of traps, and then buried or disguised the tomb so well that it's remained undiscovered up until present day. Past expeditions have tried to find it."
"And now you claim to have found it, right?" says Feledar.
"I believe I am onto a solid lead that will take us there," she nods. "All the expeditions have gone north from here, toward the Great Valley. A large valley that is cut into the mountains."
"One could easily think now that is a wrong direction, right?" asks the captain.
"Not necessarily," says Lisanara. "I believe one expedition did indeed manage to find the tomb, but then most were probably killed by a red dragon. I will need to locate one more book before I'm sure. This red dragon surfaces in many of the tales of the area."
"A dragon sounds a formidable guardian," says Feledar.
"Whether it knows it guards the tomb or not, it is hard to say," responds Lisanara. "And yes, a red wyrm is indeed a formidable guardian. But not impossible I believe. It will be narrowing down the 'where' in the Great Valley the tomb is located. I'm sure its not just out in the open or it would have been found by now."
"Shouldn't we try to find first some means to fight the dragon then? I have heard of powerful enchantments to arrows that could slay a dragon with a precisely aimed shot," says the captain.
Lisanara smiles, "Yes, I too have heard of such things. However, they are not without great cost and extremely difficult to find."
"And you don't have any lead to those items of great power?" he asks.
"Unfortunately, items of great power often seem to be associated with wielders of a greater power, and who do not necessarily wish to part with them... if you understand me captain," Lisanara says with a patient smile.
"Certainly," responds Feledar.
"Crafting magic weapons, I'm afraid, is not my area. There are few I believe who would have the power to even construct such items," she continues.
"That is true. Then we will have to find more common means to get around that foe," says Feledar.
"I truly believe that through magics and intelligent forethought, we will prevail," says Lisanara with confidence.
"I'm sure the Old Man will help us there," Feledar also smiles confidently.
"Unfortunately, the dragon will probably not be our only opponent between us and the tomb. Many creatures are known to inhabit the area. Getting there will probably be as difficult as traversing the tomb itself." She smiles, "But the rewards will be worth it I am sure." As she speaks, you hear footsteps along the corridor again.
"Most likely. I have heard Dijishy is a place for monster hunters to come at," says Feledar.
"Absolutely captain," responds the wizardess.
"Now tell me more about this tomb," starts Feledar. However, in through the door comes a young woman of small stature. She has an innocent beauty and bears a tray containing a pitcher with glasses and a couple plates with cold meats, cheese and bread.
"Veeta, thank you dear," says Lisanara. Veeta enters with a shy smile and moves to place the tray on the table.
"Thank you," Feledar says politely to the servant.
"Veeta will show you to your room in a bit. Thank you," she says to the departing girl. Lisanara rises and pours them each a glass of juice.
"I prefer fruit juice during the heat of the day, captain. Sometimes alcohol and the heat do not mix well. Come the evening and the cooler temperatures, then we will share some wine between all of us to cement our budding relationship," says Lisanara.
"I trust in your experience of the ways of the desert," Feledar says.
"Dijishy has been my home for some years now," responds Lisanara. "I picked here because of the Great Sanctuary of Knowledge."
"What did colonel tell you about our churches interests in this mission?" asks Feledar.
"Parama and I have been speaking for some months. I did not wish to fully commit to the project until I was fairly certain I could deliver. I know what we must obtain for your temple, the Banner of the Old Man. Or the Banner of Kruk-Ma-Kali as it was also known," says Lisanara.
"Are you confident it will be found in his lost tomb?" asks Feledar.
"It is mentioned a few times in the historical books of the time," says Lisanara. "And since it disappeared at the time of his death, one could safely assume it is in the tomb. It would have been a prize worthy of a king's tomb."
"I sure hope so," says Feledar. "What do you know about the banner?"
Taking a sip of her juice, "The banner, being a minor artifact itself was a very powerful tool for Kruk-Ma-Kali. From what I can tell about the military accounts, it seemed to boost the morale of his troops while reducing that of their enemies. There are other accounts of how the fallen hobgoblins seemed to be able to pass off mortal wounds and get up to walk away after the victory. I do not think they were raised from death, but they did not seem to give in to their deadly wounds. But I am sure there is more.
You might consider researching it further in the library. I've only concentrated on deciding it was in the tomb, not all of its abilities."
"Do you think we might encounter some krangi expeditions looking for the tomb too?" asks Feledar.
"It is possible," respond Lisanara. "I do know there are some Krangi living in the Great Valley. We will need to use absolute stealth when traversing the area. That said, I do not think it wise for you to wear that armor until absolutely necessary."
"I speak fluent Krangi if we should need to converse with them," says Feledar.
"As do I captain," says Lisanara.
"I thought so," he winks.
"I have been studying the tomb for some years. Gathering bits and pieces of information so that one day I could take part in just this venture. I believe I only need one further bit of information from the library, and then we will be ready on that front." As you speak, you notice Ella return, looking a bit rounder, and she slinks over, climbs up into Lisanara's lap and curls up for a sleep. Lisanara absently strokes Ella's fur. Feledar doesn't pay much attention to her familiar. He's seen enough of those in Bet Rogala already.
"How about I have Veeta show you to your room for now captain. And we'll continue after you've settled in. I am expecting a visit soon from Evaristo, another member of the team. I'm sure you'll wish to meet him."
Feledar nods and Lisanara rises, holding Ella in her arms. She calls to Veeta and the young girl leads the captain to his room. Ten feet by fifteen feet, it is not overly large, but looks comfortable enough. There is a small table and a chest at the end of his bed which is empty. Feledar begins to settle in to his room.
Lisanara and Feledar appear in a 15 by 15 room which has a well in it. Feledar immediately notices the heat in the room and casts endure elements first thing as they arrive._ Lisanara waits for him to finish then says, "You will probably need that everyday here if you are going to wear your armor all the time. However, I would suggest that until we are ready to depart on the expedition, you consider leaving it off for your own comfort. You will draw a lot of attention to yourself here wearing that amount of armor about the town."
"Naturally." Feledar says. Not revealing he was just being prepared for the worst case of some nasty ambush when they arrived in this place unknown to him before.
"Now, if you'll follow me," instructs Lisanara.
"After you, Milady!" says Feledar. She opens the door of the well house, the blinding sun makes if difficult to see at first but your eyes quickly adjust._ You enter a courtyard in front of a large one-story stucco house.
"This is my home," and Lisanara approaches the double front doors set in the centre of the building. She opens the right-hand door and enters the darker interior, waiting inside for Feledar to enter before she closes the door. The interior of the house shows stone slabs for the floor and pale cream coloured walls. It is much cooler in the house out of the burning sun. They are currently in a hallway about 10 feet wide and Feledar can see a door at the end.
"You have a nice apartment here," Feledar compliments her.
"Thank you, it was provided very nicely by a black dragon some years ago," she says with a small smile. "After we slew it of course," she continues. Feledar raises an eyebrow and smiles knowingly.
"Come through to the livingroom and we'll have a chat," invites Lisanara.
Feledar follows the lady to the end of the short corridor, noting that two other corridors branch off to the right and left. Entering the doorway straight ahead, Feledar sees a rather large room.
"Where could I leave my equipment, Milady?" asks the captain.
"Just set it there on the floor for now. I'll have Veeta show you to your room later. Would you like to remove that armor too?" asks Lisanara.
"If we are not going to meet some Black Dragons here too," Feledar smiles at Lisanara.
She smiles, "Not today I hope." Her expression does change slightly though, "However, there is a good possibility we will encounter a red one in our expedition. But I'll tell you more about that in a few minutes."
Lisanara removes her cloak. Before she lays it over the back of one of the several chairs in the room, she reaches into an inside pocket and pulls out a weasel! Cuddling the little creature she says, "This is Ella."
Feledar gives Ella an approving look but doesn't comment otherwise.
Setting Ella down Lisanara says to her, "Ok, off you go for your lunch. But don't be away for long." Turning to the captain, "Are you hungry captain? Or would you like a drink?"
"A drink perhaps, please," he replies.
"Some refreshing juice then I think. I'll be right back; make yourself comfortable." Lisanara then slips out the open door and disappears to the right.
The livingroom contains several comfortable looking chairs and a rather impressive expanse of books along the back wall. Feledar thinks, slightly sullenly (hmm... juice instead of wine...) but smiles for his thought and makes himself comfortable on one of the chairs after removing his armor and setting it carefully on the stone floor against the wall. He perks up a little at noticing the small rack of wine bottles at the end of one of the bookshelves._ (At least she does drink wine,) he thinks. Feledar just looks at those bottles longingly for a while before Lisanara returns.
He hears her footsteps returning down the hall and she slips back in the door. "Veeta will be here soon with the refreshments. Tell me captain, you must have many more questions. Share them with me."
Lisanara settles in one of the single chairs giving the captain her full attention.
"First I would be happy to hear whatever you might know about Kruk-Ma-Kali, Milady." he says.
"That covers a lot captain. Do you want to know all about his reign as king over this region 500 years ago? Or do you mean the tomb?" she responds.
"You could do a short version of his history and then concentrate to the tomb," answers Feledar.
"He ruled over this region for about 13 years. His empire extended at least as far as current Kalamar Empire and over the Legasa Peaks to the west into Brandobia. He seemed unstoppable. But he eventually was murdered by an assassin's poisoned blade by all accounts. His loyal followers then constructed a tomb for his body. Reputed to be full of traps, and then buried or disguised the tomb so well that it's remained undiscovered up until present day. Past expeditions have tried to find it."
"And now you claim to have found it, right?" says Feledar.
"I believe I am onto a solid lead that will take us there," she nods. "All the expeditions have gone north from here, toward the Great Valley. A large valley that is cut into the mountains."
"One could easily think now that is a wrong direction, right?" asks the captain.
"Not necessarily," says Lisanara. "I believe one expedition did indeed manage to find the tomb, but then most were probably killed by a red dragon. I will need to locate one more book before I'm sure. This red dragon surfaces in many of the tales of the area."
"A dragon sounds a formidable guardian," says Feledar.
"Whether it knows it guards the tomb or not, it is hard to say," responds Lisanara. "And yes, a red wyrm is indeed a formidable guardian. But not impossible I believe. It will be narrowing down the 'where' in the Great Valley the tomb is located. I'm sure its not just out in the open or it would have been found by now."
"Shouldn't we try to find first some means to fight the dragon then? I have heard of powerful enchantments to arrows that could slay a dragon with a precisely aimed shot," says the captain.
Lisanara smiles, "Yes, I too have heard of such things. However, they are not without great cost and extremely difficult to find."
"And you don't have any lead to those items of great power?" he asks.
"Unfortunately, items of great power often seem to be associated with wielders of a greater power, and who do not necessarily wish to part with them... if you understand me captain," Lisanara says with a patient smile.
"Certainly," responds Feledar.
"Crafting magic weapons, I'm afraid, is not my area. There are few I believe who would have the power to even construct such items," she continues.
"That is true. Then we will have to find more common means to get around that foe," says Feledar.
"I truly believe that through magics and intelligent forethought, we will prevail," says Lisanara with confidence.
"I'm sure the Old Man will help us there," Feledar also smiles confidently.
"Unfortunately, the dragon will probably not be our only opponent between us and the tomb. Many creatures are known to inhabit the area. Getting there will probably be as difficult as traversing the tomb itself." She smiles, "But the rewards will be worth it I am sure." As she speaks, you hear footsteps along the corridor again.
"Most likely. I have heard Dijishy is a place for monster hunters to come at," says Feledar.
"Absolutely captain," responds the wizardess.
"Now tell me more about this tomb," starts Feledar. However, in through the door comes a young woman of small stature. She has an innocent beauty and bears a tray containing a pitcher with glasses and a couple plates with cold meats, cheese and bread.
"Veeta, thank you dear," says Lisanara. Veeta enters with a shy smile and moves to place the tray on the table.
"Thank you," Feledar says politely to the servant.
"Veeta will show you to your room in a bit. Thank you," she says to the departing girl. Lisanara rises and pours them each a glass of juice.
"I prefer fruit juice during the heat of the day, captain. Sometimes alcohol and the heat do not mix well. Come the evening and the cooler temperatures, then we will share some wine between all of us to cement our budding relationship," says Lisanara.
"I trust in your experience of the ways of the desert," Feledar says.
"Dijishy has been my home for some years now," responds Lisanara. "I picked here because of the Great Sanctuary of Knowledge."
"What did colonel tell you about our churches interests in this mission?" asks Feledar.
"Parama and I have been speaking for some months. I did not wish to fully commit to the project until I was fairly certain I could deliver. I know what we must obtain for your temple, the Banner of the Old Man. Or the Banner of Kruk-Ma-Kali as it was also known," says Lisanara.
"Are you confident it will be found in his lost tomb?" asks Feledar.
"It is mentioned a few times in the historical books of the time," says Lisanara. "And since it disappeared at the time of his death, one could safely assume it is in the tomb. It would have been a prize worthy of a king's tomb."
"I sure hope so," says Feledar. "What do you know about the banner?"
Taking a sip of her juice, "The banner, being a minor artifact itself was a very powerful tool for Kruk-Ma-Kali. From what I can tell about the military accounts, it seemed to boost the morale of his troops while reducing that of their enemies. There are other accounts of how the fallen hobgoblins seemed to be able to pass off mortal wounds and get up to walk away after the victory. I do not think they were raised from death, but they did not seem to give in to their deadly wounds. But I am sure there is more.
You might consider researching it further in the library. I've only concentrated on deciding it was in the tomb, not all of its abilities."
"Do you think we might encounter some krangi expeditions looking for the tomb too?" asks Feledar.
"It is possible," respond Lisanara. "I do know there are some Krangi living in the Great Valley. We will need to use absolute stealth when traversing the area. That said, I do not think it wise for you to wear that armor until absolutely necessary."
"I speak fluent Krangi if we should need to converse with them," says Feledar.
"As do I captain," says Lisanara.
"I thought so," he winks.
"I have been studying the tomb for some years. Gathering bits and pieces of information so that one day I could take part in just this venture. I believe I only need one further bit of information from the library, and then we will be ready on that front." As you speak, you notice Ella return, looking a bit rounder, and she slinks over, climbs up into Lisanara's lap and curls up for a sleep. Lisanara absently strokes Ella's fur. Feledar doesn't pay much attention to her familiar. He's seen enough of those in Bet Rogala already.
"How about I have Veeta show you to your room for now captain. And we'll continue after you've settled in. I am expecting a visit soon from Evaristo, another member of the team. I'm sure you'll wish to meet him."
Feledar nods and Lisanara rises, holding Ella in her arms. She calls to Veeta and the young girl leads the captain to his room. Ten feet by fifteen feet, it is not overly large, but looks comfortable enough. There is a small table and a chest at the end of his bed which is empty. Feledar begins to settle in to his room.
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Scarogoth
What do other people have?
Evaristo pays a visit
The figure might not have cut much of a dash in some cities, and normally a passing gnome would escape attention altogether from many of the taller races, but the brilliant hue and sheen of its vermilion cloak meant few failed to note its passage. Of course, in the hot, desert-adjoining Dijishy, a cloak was not considered a necessary part of day to day garb, but Evaristo had always enjoyed its colour, and the lightweight material fluttered like a sail in the breeze. There was just something about silk...
Were the red not enough, his clothes were similarly garish -- an astonishing layer of patched cobalt blue cloths, tied loosely round with golden thread, as was the tradition of his people back in Svimohzia, also added to the overall effect, and just to round things off, his hair was tied up in a vertical topknot on the top of his head with a lime green band to such an extent that it managed to look like some kind of exotic palm tree. Although the dryness of the air was relatively new to him, the intense heat was nothing, and he quite happy to leave the very dark skin of his arms and legs open to the brilliant sunshine, whereas many of the paler races would fry and blister in no time.
The bobbing mass of colour and hair made its way down the street, smiling attentively and happily at every creature that crossed his path, but eventually came to the house in which he’d become a regular visitor.
Reaching under his belt, with an enormous flourish he produces two entirely spherical maces, one in each hand, and pretending the timbers of the front door where the largest marimba in the world, he taps out a familiar tattoo on the quaking beams.
Finally, just as the gnome was beginning to wish he hadn’t started this musical fest, the small door within the main body of the gate opens and Veeta pops her head out. As he always pretended to do, he’d heard her approach and has his right mace precisely over the spot where her face appeared. As is her wont on these occasions, Veeta gives a little squeal -- it really is hard to imagine that he’s got the weapon until control, it moves with such speed. But he’s a fully trained monk, and he hasn’t even grazed her as yet. Still, even though she knows it’s coming, Veeta can’t help but flinch and shy away. It’s not much -- but he knows she did, and what’s worse, she knows that he knows.
Evaristo laughs good-naturedly. “Hello, heartface. Is the old battleaxe at home? That was a lot better than you used to be... but I ... saw... you... MOOOoove,” he says, ending up almost singing. “Practise, practise, practise, my dear.” However, he’s clearly at home here, for he waits for no reply from the young girl, but instead hops over the bottom lintel, and marches towards the house as though he owns it.
He tucks his maces back under his belt, and removes his cloak, which he thoughtlessly hands to Veeta and lays across her arms.
With a shy giggle Veeta says, “Yes, the lady is home Mr Evaristo.”
“HEeeeelllllOOOOOO!” he sings into the cool marble of the atrium. “Anybody HOoooommmme?”
“In here,” says a voice from the livingroom. “And I heard that ‘battleaxe’ comment.”
Doing a little hop and a skip, Evaristo zips into the living room.
“Hello darling,” says Lisanara to her long time friend giving him a peck on the cheek.
“Hello, angelfart. Well, I mean. I don’t remember old Croxalatl giving you this house volutarily...”
With a little chuckle, “No, he didn’t.”
“Well, what’s cooking?” asks the gnome, dropping his maces on the floor and flinging himself backwards into the largest comfy chair in the room. It dwarfs him.
As soon as Feledar hears Evaristo’s yelling at the corridor he walks out of his room and sees someone enter the livingroom. He follows there and looks a little puzzled at Veeta who has quite pale face, but enters the living room right behind Evaristo.
“Our first guest has arrived darling. Do be nice. Feledar, meet Evaristo.”
The gnomish monk looks wounded at her suggestion that he might not be nice.
“Evaristo, this is Captain Feledar.”
“Good afternoon.” Feledar nods at Evaristo.
“Darling, that was a little below the belt,” he mutters to Lisanara. ”Not that that bothers me anymore,” he giggles, leaping up and running to shake Feledar’s hand.
“I’m delighted and honoured to meet you, good sir. My, but aren’t you a big boy, though?” he says, as he stares up at this unbending cleric.
“Feledar, I’ll leave you in Evaristo’s good hands so I can be off to collect our next member. He’s pretty up to date on all the information we have.” And with a wink and a a mumbled “Prompeldia,” Lisanara disappears in a slight flash.
Feledar looks,puzzled, but finally bows a little to enable himself to shake Evaristo’s hand. “Pleased to meet you.”
Feledar towers near 7 feet tall and has a quite well built muscles over fighting in several wars. He’s in his very late 30’s and has a brown hair with streaks of silver in it and reaching well below his shoulders. His moustache seem to be also well grown and tended. He wears white Tunic and a green cloak, on which two crossed spears and two chevrons are clearly emblazoned. He looks very wise and charismatic figure in his stance there.
“Don’t worry, love,” says Evaristo to the hulking great priest, “she’s always popping off like that. She’ll be back soon enough. You fancy a drink to pass the time?”
“I am used to that kind of thing, as I have lived almost next to the college in Bet Rogala for years,” Feledar explains to Evaristo. “Why I do believe a drink would rather pleasurable.”
“I see you are a priest of Natirel,” the gnome says, looking at Feledar’s emblem. But, he doesn’t really wait for an answer, and pops across the room to fetch his new, tall friend a drink for Lisanara’s cabinet.
“Yes, I have been called by him for decades now. If I understood correctly, you have been helping Lisanara with her research for quite a some time already?”
“Oh, well, one does what one can. I don’t claim to be a great scholar by any means, but I have one or two, ahem... skills that she occasionally feels the need to call upon...”
Ella has climbed up on the chair her mistress vacated and looks to be asleep.
“Where’d you say you were from? Bet Rogala? I don’t think I’ve ever been there. Is it much fun?”
Feledar walks to the cabinet too as he sees Evaristo can’t quite reach the bottles without chair. He points one of the bottles and asks “Is this one good? Shall we?”
“Oh you want wine, do you?” asks Evaristo in surprise. “Tend not to drink that in the day over here, I’m afraid. Can make you incredibly drowsy all afternoon. I was going to recommend a rose-scented, pimaka juice cocktail of my own concoction...”
“Hmm... a person like you might consider Rogala as a fun place. For our order the current times make it more work than fun there though. Indeed... Lisanara told me something about that quaint custom here...” Feledar sighs.
“You’ll love the cocktail, ducky. Can give you a FABulous tingle all the way down...”
“Feel free to serve me one of those, too, then,” the great priest smiles at the gnome.
“Oh! Kind of greedy for a priest, aren’t you?” he jokes. But the gnome happily takes the bottle that Feledar is proffering and shouts for Veeta. “’Ere! Veeta! This ‘ere bish wants a drop of the ol’ nectar. Be a dear and fetch me an opener, will you?” He turns back to Feledar and winks at him. “That’s me boy. Save the hard stuff for the evening. Of course, I never touch the stuff...”
“Oh?”
“No, very dangerous. It’s very bad for my figure. Last time I had a binge or two, I went up a whole dress size. It was AWful. This silk can show EVERYthing. Plus, of course, drink tends to slow your reactions down, and, you know, those bods”, and here he winks and gestures with his eyes upwards, “in charge upstairs don’t tend to like their monks reeling around the place, semicomatose... So I don’t touch it, of course.”
Evaristo pauses, and then adds, “Except for festivals. Fortunately, I know a lot of festivals. Even some Krangi ones...”
“Ah... so you belong to some monastic order then? That explains it.”
“Didn’t she tell you? Oh, that thoughtless old cow. I’ll kill her. Yes. I’m a member of the Order of Virtue. That and everyone’s worst nightmare, a lawyer.”
“Hmm... Interesting.” Feledar says approvingly, even though the realization causes him some concern as he realizes that the gnome he’s talking to must have been castrated.
“Yes, I’m kinda involved with the Keepers of the Word, too...”
“So how did you end up to work with Lisanara then?”
“It’s a long story... It’s kind of like a soulmate thing you know...”
“Please entertain me with it.”
“I’m not sure when we actually became friends, but she’s a bit of a bookworm on the sly. Spends all her time digging around in the library here.”
“I would expect that.”
“Anyway, because of my job, sometimes I’ve got to go around digging in the library for various letters, precedents, rulings... you know the sort of stuff... inCREDibly boring, but I guess someone’s got to do it... And, I mean, I don’t go very often, but you could just betcha bottom crown that everytime I would do so, she’d be sitting there all prim and pretty, scratching away with some infernal feather... SOOOOooo... anyways, there I am, just trolling around minding me own business, when a quick vada shows me that she’s fallen asleep in the middle of one of these big old books she seemed to be so interested in, and she’s fast asleep. Drooling...”
Feledar can’t help but smile, but Evaristo’s in full flood...
“Making a big old sticky smudge of all that beautiful old ink work. So I thinks to myself, Evaristo, you can’t have that happen to some of the holy words in the Great Library. It would... not... be... ETHical.” So up I jumps, and goes and pats her on the legs, wakes her up, tells her she’s working too hard, and takes her out to lunch. And, really, I guess, that’s where it all started. Been friends ever since.”
“One would think a monk would have patience to do that kind of academical digging though.”
“It’s just books I get bored with. Ask me to stand in a field for three hours holding sticks out level... I’m your gnome... But reading in a dingy, old dark room, with nasty old small print some horrible old scholar’s dribbled all over... count me out...”
“I’m sure we will have something for you to do in the upcoming expedition, that is certain.”
But, finally, the gnome has finished the mammoth preparation that is his cocktail. “’Ere,” he says, shoving a tumbler of “Evaristo’s Special Spangly Sparkler” into his fist. “Slap your lips around that...” And with that he skips back to the comfy chair, and awaits Veeta’s return with the grape juice...
Feledar takes the drink and takes a sip. The bubbly, fizzing tingle on his tongue tastes of sour grapefruit but it is surprisingly refreshing in the arid desert climate. “Thank you” he says to Evaristo “this is quite good.”
“Quite good!” snaps Evaristo. “QUITE good? Give it a while, give it a while. And for god’s sake don’t hurry it.” Unbeknownst to Feledar, because it is so well hidden in the flavours, the alcohol content of a Special Spangly Sparkler is actually rather high.
At that moment, Veeta cames bustling through the door with the open wine, and sets it down on the table, asking “Anything else for you gentlemen?”
“Not at the moment, dear...” Evaristo says to the bobbing maid. “I think I’ll have a glass of her majesty’s best grape juice, but our “friend” here’s enjoying his very first ‘triple S’!” he finishes with a wink.
Veeta scuttles away again, but you might have heard a little chuckle as she turned.
”Sooooo... anywise, what’s made Mistress Popsicle magic you over here...?” asks Evaristo, settling down to hear Feledar’s side of the story. He pours himself a glass of the wine, but shudders. “I hope she gets back soon. This needs chilling, and she’s got a marvellous little incantation that can do that in seconds... Always be friends with a wizard, as my dear old mother used to say.”
“So you don’t know our church has hired Lisanara and the company for a specific mission?”
“What, you mean that rotten old flag Lisanara’s always harping on about. Sure, she’s mentioned it. You really reckon you’re going to find it?”
“Yes, we are to recover lost Banner of Natirel.”
“Well, bully for you. To be honest, I’m not sure that we’re going to find anything, but I fancy a bit of adventure, and I’ve got to look after Lisanara, because she’s determined to go on this wild goose chase. I wouldn’t get your hopes up too much though.”
“I am here to look after all of you. I will provide the help from our church to this expedition.”
“OOoh! I think I heard a pop! That means she’ll be back with somebody else in a second.”
The figure might not have cut much of a dash in some cities, and normally a passing gnome would escape attention altogether from many of the taller races, but the brilliant hue and sheen of its vermilion cloak meant few failed to note its passage. Of course, in the hot, desert-adjoining Dijishy, a cloak was not considered a necessary part of day to day garb, but Evaristo had always enjoyed its colour, and the lightweight material fluttered like a sail in the breeze. There was just something about silk...
Were the red not enough, his clothes were similarly garish -- an astonishing layer of patched cobalt blue cloths, tied loosely round with golden thread, as was the tradition of his people back in Svimohzia, also added to the overall effect, and just to round things off, his hair was tied up in a vertical topknot on the top of his head with a lime green band to such an extent that it managed to look like some kind of exotic palm tree. Although the dryness of the air was relatively new to him, the intense heat was nothing, and he quite happy to leave the very dark skin of his arms and legs open to the brilliant sunshine, whereas many of the paler races would fry and blister in no time.
The bobbing mass of colour and hair made its way down the street, smiling attentively and happily at every creature that crossed his path, but eventually came to the house in which he’d become a regular visitor.
Reaching under his belt, with an enormous flourish he produces two entirely spherical maces, one in each hand, and pretending the timbers of the front door where the largest marimba in the world, he taps out a familiar tattoo on the quaking beams.
Finally, just as the gnome was beginning to wish he hadn’t started this musical fest, the small door within the main body of the gate opens and Veeta pops her head out. As he always pretended to do, he’d heard her approach and has his right mace precisely over the spot where her face appeared. As is her wont on these occasions, Veeta gives a little squeal -- it really is hard to imagine that he’s got the weapon until control, it moves with such speed. But he’s a fully trained monk, and he hasn’t even grazed her as yet. Still, even though she knows it’s coming, Veeta can’t help but flinch and shy away. It’s not much -- but he knows she did, and what’s worse, she knows that he knows.
Evaristo laughs good-naturedly. “Hello, heartface. Is the old battleaxe at home? That was a lot better than you used to be... but I ... saw... you... MOOOoove,” he says, ending up almost singing. “Practise, practise, practise, my dear.” However, he’s clearly at home here, for he waits for no reply from the young girl, but instead hops over the bottom lintel, and marches towards the house as though he owns it.
He tucks his maces back under his belt, and removes his cloak, which he thoughtlessly hands to Veeta and lays across her arms.
With a shy giggle Veeta says, “Yes, the lady is home Mr Evaristo.”
“HEeeeelllllOOOOOO!” he sings into the cool marble of the atrium. “Anybody HOoooommmme?”
“In here,” says a voice from the livingroom. “And I heard that ‘battleaxe’ comment.”
Doing a little hop and a skip, Evaristo zips into the living room.
“Hello darling,” says Lisanara to her long time friend giving him a peck on the cheek.
“Hello, angelfart. Well, I mean. I don’t remember old Croxalatl giving you this house volutarily...”
With a little chuckle, “No, he didn’t.”
“Well, what’s cooking?” asks the gnome, dropping his maces on the floor and flinging himself backwards into the largest comfy chair in the room. It dwarfs him.
As soon as Feledar hears Evaristo’s yelling at the corridor he walks out of his room and sees someone enter the livingroom. He follows there and looks a little puzzled at Veeta who has quite pale face, but enters the living room right behind Evaristo.
“Our first guest has arrived darling. Do be nice. Feledar, meet Evaristo.”
The gnomish monk looks wounded at her suggestion that he might not be nice.
“Evaristo, this is Captain Feledar.”
“Good afternoon.” Feledar nods at Evaristo.
“Darling, that was a little below the belt,” he mutters to Lisanara. ”Not that that bothers me anymore,” he giggles, leaping up and running to shake Feledar’s hand.
“I’m delighted and honoured to meet you, good sir. My, but aren’t you a big boy, though?” he says, as he stares up at this unbending cleric.
“Feledar, I’ll leave you in Evaristo’s good hands so I can be off to collect our next member. He’s pretty up to date on all the information we have.” And with a wink and a a mumbled “Prompeldia,” Lisanara disappears in a slight flash.
Feledar looks,puzzled, but finally bows a little to enable himself to shake Evaristo’s hand. “Pleased to meet you.”
Feledar towers near 7 feet tall and has a quite well built muscles over fighting in several wars. He’s in his very late 30’s and has a brown hair with streaks of silver in it and reaching well below his shoulders. His moustache seem to be also well grown and tended. He wears white Tunic and a green cloak, on which two crossed spears and two chevrons are clearly emblazoned. He looks very wise and charismatic figure in his stance there.
“Don’t worry, love,” says Evaristo to the hulking great priest, “she’s always popping off like that. She’ll be back soon enough. You fancy a drink to pass the time?”
“I am used to that kind of thing, as I have lived almost next to the college in Bet Rogala for years,” Feledar explains to Evaristo. “Why I do believe a drink would rather pleasurable.”
“I see you are a priest of Natirel,” the gnome says, looking at Feledar’s emblem. But, he doesn’t really wait for an answer, and pops across the room to fetch his new, tall friend a drink for Lisanara’s cabinet.
“Yes, I have been called by him for decades now. If I understood correctly, you have been helping Lisanara with her research for quite a some time already?”
“Oh, well, one does what one can. I don’t claim to be a great scholar by any means, but I have one or two, ahem... skills that she occasionally feels the need to call upon...”
Ella has climbed up on the chair her mistress vacated and looks to be asleep.
“Where’d you say you were from? Bet Rogala? I don’t think I’ve ever been there. Is it much fun?”
Feledar walks to the cabinet too as he sees Evaristo can’t quite reach the bottles without chair. He points one of the bottles and asks “Is this one good? Shall we?”
“Oh you want wine, do you?” asks Evaristo in surprise. “Tend not to drink that in the day over here, I’m afraid. Can make you incredibly drowsy all afternoon. I was going to recommend a rose-scented, pimaka juice cocktail of my own concoction...”
“Hmm... a person like you might consider Rogala as a fun place. For our order the current times make it more work than fun there though. Indeed... Lisanara told me something about that quaint custom here...” Feledar sighs.
“You’ll love the cocktail, ducky. Can give you a FABulous tingle all the way down...”
“Feel free to serve me one of those, too, then,” the great priest smiles at the gnome.
“Oh! Kind of greedy for a priest, aren’t you?” he jokes. But the gnome happily takes the bottle that Feledar is proffering and shouts for Veeta. “’Ere! Veeta! This ‘ere bish wants a drop of the ol’ nectar. Be a dear and fetch me an opener, will you?” He turns back to Feledar and winks at him. “That’s me boy. Save the hard stuff for the evening. Of course, I never touch the stuff...”
“Oh?”
“No, very dangerous. It’s very bad for my figure. Last time I had a binge or two, I went up a whole dress size. It was AWful. This silk can show EVERYthing. Plus, of course, drink tends to slow your reactions down, and, you know, those bods”, and here he winks and gestures with his eyes upwards, “in charge upstairs don’t tend to like their monks reeling around the place, semicomatose... So I don’t touch it, of course.”
Evaristo pauses, and then adds, “Except for festivals. Fortunately, I know a lot of festivals. Even some Krangi ones...”
“Ah... so you belong to some monastic order then? That explains it.”
“Didn’t she tell you? Oh, that thoughtless old cow. I’ll kill her. Yes. I’m a member of the Order of Virtue. That and everyone’s worst nightmare, a lawyer.”
“Hmm... Interesting.” Feledar says approvingly, even though the realization causes him some concern as he realizes that the gnome he’s talking to must have been castrated.
“Yes, I’m kinda involved with the Keepers of the Word, too...”
“So how did you end up to work with Lisanara then?”
“It’s a long story... It’s kind of like a soulmate thing you know...”
“Please entertain me with it.”
“I’m not sure when we actually became friends, but she’s a bit of a bookworm on the sly. Spends all her time digging around in the library here.”
“I would expect that.”
“Anyway, because of my job, sometimes I’ve got to go around digging in the library for various letters, precedents, rulings... you know the sort of stuff... inCREDibly boring, but I guess someone’s got to do it... And, I mean, I don’t go very often, but you could just betcha bottom crown that everytime I would do so, she’d be sitting there all prim and pretty, scratching away with some infernal feather... SOOOOooo... anyways, there I am, just trolling around minding me own business, when a quick vada shows me that she’s fallen asleep in the middle of one of these big old books she seemed to be so interested in, and she’s fast asleep. Drooling...”
Feledar can’t help but smile, but Evaristo’s in full flood...
“Making a big old sticky smudge of all that beautiful old ink work. So I thinks to myself, Evaristo, you can’t have that happen to some of the holy words in the Great Library. It would... not... be... ETHical.” So up I jumps, and goes and pats her on the legs, wakes her up, tells her she’s working too hard, and takes her out to lunch. And, really, I guess, that’s where it all started. Been friends ever since.”
“One would think a monk would have patience to do that kind of academical digging though.”
“It’s just books I get bored with. Ask me to stand in a field for three hours holding sticks out level... I’m your gnome... But reading in a dingy, old dark room, with nasty old small print some horrible old scholar’s dribbled all over... count me out...”
“I’m sure we will have something for you to do in the upcoming expedition, that is certain.”
But, finally, the gnome has finished the mammoth preparation that is his cocktail. “’Ere,” he says, shoving a tumbler of “Evaristo’s Special Spangly Sparkler” into his fist. “Slap your lips around that...” And with that he skips back to the comfy chair, and awaits Veeta’s return with the grape juice...
Feledar takes the drink and takes a sip. The bubbly, fizzing tingle on his tongue tastes of sour grapefruit but it is surprisingly refreshing in the arid desert climate. “Thank you” he says to Evaristo “this is quite good.”
“Quite good!” snaps Evaristo. “QUITE good? Give it a while, give it a while. And for god’s sake don’t hurry it.” Unbeknownst to Feledar, because it is so well hidden in the flavours, the alcohol content of a Special Spangly Sparkler is actually rather high.
At that moment, Veeta cames bustling through the door with the open wine, and sets it down on the table, asking “Anything else for you gentlemen?”
“Not at the moment, dear...” Evaristo says to the bobbing maid. “I think I’ll have a glass of her majesty’s best grape juice, but our “friend” here’s enjoying his very first ‘triple S’!” he finishes with a wink.
Veeta scuttles away again, but you might have heard a little chuckle as she turned.
”Sooooo... anywise, what’s made Mistress Popsicle magic you over here...?” asks Evaristo, settling down to hear Feledar’s side of the story. He pours himself a glass of the wine, but shudders. “I hope she gets back soon. This needs chilling, and she’s got a marvellous little incantation that can do that in seconds... Always be friends with a wizard, as my dear old mother used to say.”
“So you don’t know our church has hired Lisanara and the company for a specific mission?”
“What, you mean that rotten old flag Lisanara’s always harping on about. Sure, she’s mentioned it. You really reckon you’re going to find it?”
“Yes, we are to recover lost Banner of Natirel.”
“Well, bully for you. To be honest, I’m not sure that we’re going to find anything, but I fancy a bit of adventure, and I’ve got to look after Lisanara, because she’s determined to go on this wild goose chase. I wouldn’t get your hopes up too much though.”
“I am here to look after all of you. I will provide the help from our church to this expedition.”
“OOoh! I think I heard a pop! That means she’ll be back with somebody else in a second.”
Scarogoth
What do other people have?
Wren joins the party...
Meanwhile, in the well house, Lisanara appears with another man. Wren is average height for a human with black hair cut short in crew cut style, with a goatee. He is wearing leather armor, and has a short sword on his left hip, and a blade on his right leg.
“Mr Wren, please follow me to my home.”
Wren turns to Lisanara upon arriving. “Not much for decorating I see!”
A small smile crosses the wizard’s face. “I’ve never considered decorating the well house. Interesting,” she says, winking at him. Lisanara and Wren pass through the courtyard and cross to the house, entering through the front door. “Anyone home?” she calls.
“Hang on,” says Evaristo to Feledar. “I’m just nipping out for a second. This is turning into a party, and when there’s a party, you gotta have canapes. I’ll go help Veeta. See you in a bit!” and with that, Evaristo dashes out the room to the kitchen. He spots Lisanara and Wren in the hallway and gives a quick wave on his way past to the kitchen.
Feledar just turns to look at the doors of the livingroom, expecting someone to enter soon. Lisanara just shakes her head and proceeds into the livingroom, turning and beckoning to Wren to follow. Wren is still watching the small figure zoom by in the passage. “Who, might I ask, was that?”
“You’ll find out in a minute,” Lisanare says. “Come and meet my other guest first. Mr Wren, this is Captain Feledar, a cleric of Natirel.”
“Please just call me Wren no need to call me by a title.” Wren extends his hand to the large man. “Pleasure to meet you.”
“Wren is a man with a good reputation for dungeon crawling and tomb excavation, Feleder,” she says.
Feledar has naturally stood up to greet the new arrival. In doing so, he is swift to discover that the little gnome had put some of the ‘strong stuff’ into his drink but fortunately that amount doesn’t really kick too much for him yet. “Pleased to meet you Wren.” Feledar says.
“Wren will be our expert on traps... and avoiding them.
“Splendid! A man worth his weight in gold in old tombs,” agrees the cleric.
“Captain Feledar will be in charge of making sure we survive if we get injured. Amongst other protective magics and a good fighting arm.”
Lisanara scoops up Ella and gives her a cuddle.Her lips curl in a wicked smile for a moment. “That little devil,” she says under her breath.
Suddenly, the three turn as one as they hear a loud crash from the kitchen, followed by a short squeal from Veeta. Rolling her eyes, Lisanara only shakes her head.
“Gnomes...” Feledar mutters into his moustache...
“Don’t worry gentlemen, it’s just Evaristo scaring Veeta again.” To Wren, she adds, “Veeta is my assistant.”
“I have not worked with them much,” the leather-clad rogue admits, sourly.
Next Evaristo’s unmistakable voice pipes up. “UMMMMMM!!! I’m TEEELLLLLiinggg. You’ve broken one of her BESTest plates!!!”
“They are... unique,” Lisanara says diplomatically.
“You PINCHED me!” Veeta squeals...
Then it’s Evaristo’s turn to squeal. “NOoo!!! Not the ROLLing pin... ahhiiii!!!”
“So. Would you care to tell something more about yourself Wren?” Feledar asks, attempting to nobly ignore the hubbub from the adjoining room. It is, however, difficult.
“Veeta broke a plaaa-ate... Veeta broke a plaaa-ate...” seems to be a refrain that emanates from the kitchen. Soon, the unmistakable sound of a chase is heard.
“Not much to tell really I spend most of my time retrieving lost items, and digging around undeground,” Wren confides.
Seeing the bottle of white wine set out, Lisanara crosses to the cabinet. Picking it up by the bottle by the neck, Lisanara’s fingers begin tracing some sort of pattern in the air over the bottle and she says, “Cold as a witch’s titty.” Immediately the bottle ices over with a fine coating. As if pulled recently from a very cold box.
“What kind of past experience you have for reference then?” Feledar asks Wren, trying not to notice taunting screams of the gnome, and the unusual words of the wizard’s spells.
“I could list a dozen or more tombs and crypts if that will make you more comfortable?”
“Gentlemen, we will have plenty of time to learn each other strengths and weaknesses before we set out. I do not intend on starting this expedition ‘cold.’” Lisanara swiftly adds, smoothing any ruffled feathers.
“Well, naturally, I trust in Lisanara’s choice without hesitation if you don’t want to elaborate more.” Feledar says politely. “I am here to provide help of our church to this expedition. As Lisanara might have told you, our order has hired her to this mission.”
“I mean no offense Feledar, I just did not come with a resume” chuckles Wren. “I would be more than happy to go over some of my past experiences with you, when time permits.”
Removing several wineglasses from the cabinet Lisanara begins pouring drinks. “Our number isn’t quite complete,” she says. “But it will be a day or so before our final member will be joining us. He’s on a job but should be done soon.”
The sounds in the kitchen seemed to have died down somewhat. And now you can hear chopping, and scraping... another squeal from Veeta, however, is rapidly followed by a new sound as little feet come running up the corridor. Evaristo comes belting around the corner with Veeta hot on his heels with a broom.
“Hello everybody!” he squeaks as he races past the open door.
“And stay there,” says Veeta, legs akimbo, broom at the ready, standing like a guardian over the entrance to her domain. But once he realizes Veeta is not coming further than the door of the kitchen, Evaristo smiles wickedly, and turns round and returns to the living room.
Passing out glasses of wine, Lisanara say, “We can share later, first a small toast.”
Wren takes an offered glass and waits for her toast, as does Feledar.
“Hi,” Evaristo says, nonchalantly entering and reaching for a glass of wine. “Canapes are going to take a little longer than expected, but they should be ready soon.”
“To success,” Lisanara says, pausing a bit, looking directly at Wren, and adding “in finding the tomb of Kruk-Ma-Kali.”
“And for the Banner of Natirel!”
“Cheers, me dears,” says the gnome. “Oh yes,” he adds, but very quietly. “Mustn’t forget the flag rag....” He quickly clears his throat, however, and says “Hmm, told you Feledar! This is always SO much nicer when you’ve witch-tittied it, dear...”
Wren looks at Lisanara, somewhat shocked, and drinks the wine in a single gulp, an event in itself which makes Evaristo’s face mirror that horror!
“That is a 533 Pekalese chardonnay!! Please do NOT drink it like it’s soda! And WHO is your tailor? You MUST give me his address...”
Feledar enjoys his wine also with very civilized manner. “I thought so!” He comments to Evaristo. “This particular grape grows in the western parts of Pekal.”
Wren looks to the gnome. “My Tailor? Oh you like the armor, actually i found it on one of my earlier jobs.”
“...Oh that’s a relief. For one horrible moment I thought you might have PAID for that...” Evaristo sneers.
“I would have paid a heavy price for such armour little one.”
However, then an expression of concern returns to his features. “Kruk-Ma-Kali. Did I hear you correctly?”
“Yes Wren, you did,” Lisanara says. Turning to the others, “I’m afraid I had neglected to tell Wren until now WHERE we were going. I did not feel safe discussing it where we were. But Wren is the best in the business, or so I’ve been told by others.”
“I have no problem with the task, I am just somewhat shocked. I am going to enjoy this greatly.” Wren begins to feel the heat, and removes his outer jacket of hsi armor revealing a tank top style shirt, and a bandoller with 3 daggers along each of hsi sides, there is also a dagger in a sheath on his wrist. He sets the jacket on a chair, and looks to Lisanara. “Another glass of wine please.”
“Here’s the bottle, pour as much as you like. Oh, and try not to puncture anything when you sit down,” she say with amusement. Wren accepts the bottle and pours himself another glass, and then sets the bottle on the table.
Evaristo looks in great concern at the glass in Wren’s hand.
“You must excuse Evaristo, he’s a bit... eccentric at times.” Wren give Lisanara a wry smile, and finds a place to sit. Evaristo gives her nothing but a nasty look.
Feledar turns toward Lisanara “Could you ask Veeta to bring sevaral empty decanters here?”
“Certainly, captain,” she replies, and Lisanara rises gracefully and heads for the kitchen, finding Veeta, who’s presently muttering dire things in relation to gnomes, and one in particular.
“You’re not going to be sick, are you?” Evaristo asks with concern, looking at the tall priest and wondering whether he couldn’t cope with the Special Spangly Sparkler as well as the wine...
Feledar just chuckles at the gnomes comment.
“And what might your specialty be?” Wren says to the gnome!
“Me?! Oh, me. I’m just a friend.”
“A friend? Does that mean you will not be accompanying us on our journey? Or will you be coming along to provide comedic relief?”
“Oh fear not. I’m coming. I’m not going to let Lisanara out of my sight for a second.”
Lisanara returns with Veeta and they both carry trays with empty decanters. About 10 in all.
“Thank you! That’s splendid!” Feledar says when the decanters arrive. He says a short prayer to his god and soon the decanters start to fill with several different types of wine. Best ones you could ever get in Bet Rogala, only of divine origin.
“I hope you don’t plan on us drinking all this tonight!” Lisanara laughs.
Evaristo’s eyes widen in amazement as he sees what Feledar is doing.
“There you, my gnomish friend. No need to worry if Wren takes a glass of wine down in one sip anymore.” He gives a wink at the gnome.
“I’m glad YOU’RE coming,” Evaristo says, forcibly. “Sounds like parties at the archbishop’s must go with one HELL of a swing...”
Wren smiles as he realizes what is happening. “Well it appears the cleric has plans on this being a enjoyable evening. And I only drink for toasts, like that, my little friend. Though too many toasts in one evening, however, can be quite hazardous to one’s health!”
“Yes, might as well enjoy ourselves now. We have much work to do soon,” says Lisanara.
“I think you could bottle some of those up for later usage, Lisanara. Otherwise Evaristo might get a little too happy,” Feledar adds.
“Perish the thought,” she says with a wink to the captain.
“That, my little fruit bat, is kind of the idea!” says the gnome, dipping a finger in and tasting the vintage.
“Oh and that drink you made for me...” Feledar suddenly says. “It was quite good.” He winks again to the gnome. “But don’t try to fool me like that again.”
“Yeah!” says Evaristo with vigour, completley missing the wink, “Perhaps we should go into partnership!”
“I create the recipes... you create the drinks!!!”
Wren gives the gnome an odd look, and continues to drink his wine slowly, whilst Lisanara curls up on one of the chairs with Ella in her lap enjoying some attention from her mistress.
“So, who’s missing?” asks Evaristo, sidling off to the biggest chair in the room yet again, and spreading himself out on it.
Meanwhile, in the well house, Lisanara appears with another man. Wren is average height for a human with black hair cut short in crew cut style, with a goatee. He is wearing leather armor, and has a short sword on his left hip, and a blade on his right leg.
“Mr Wren, please follow me to my home.”
Wren turns to Lisanara upon arriving. “Not much for decorating I see!”
A small smile crosses the wizard’s face. “I’ve never considered decorating the well house. Interesting,” she says, winking at him. Lisanara and Wren pass through the courtyard and cross to the house, entering through the front door. “Anyone home?” she calls.
“Hang on,” says Evaristo to Feledar. “I’m just nipping out for a second. This is turning into a party, and when there’s a party, you gotta have canapes. I’ll go help Veeta. See you in a bit!” and with that, Evaristo dashes out the room to the kitchen. He spots Lisanara and Wren in the hallway and gives a quick wave on his way past to the kitchen.
Feledar just turns to look at the doors of the livingroom, expecting someone to enter soon. Lisanara just shakes her head and proceeds into the livingroom, turning and beckoning to Wren to follow. Wren is still watching the small figure zoom by in the passage. “Who, might I ask, was that?”
“You’ll find out in a minute,” Lisanare says. “Come and meet my other guest first. Mr Wren, this is Captain Feledar, a cleric of Natirel.”
“Please just call me Wren no need to call me by a title.” Wren extends his hand to the large man. “Pleasure to meet you.”
“Wren is a man with a good reputation for dungeon crawling and tomb excavation, Feleder,” she says.
Feledar has naturally stood up to greet the new arrival. In doing so, he is swift to discover that the little gnome had put some of the ‘strong stuff’ into his drink but fortunately that amount doesn’t really kick too much for him yet. “Pleased to meet you Wren.” Feledar says.
“Wren will be our expert on traps... and avoiding them.
“Splendid! A man worth his weight in gold in old tombs,” agrees the cleric.
“Captain Feledar will be in charge of making sure we survive if we get injured. Amongst other protective magics and a good fighting arm.”
Lisanara scoops up Ella and gives her a cuddle.Her lips curl in a wicked smile for a moment. “That little devil,” she says under her breath.
Suddenly, the three turn as one as they hear a loud crash from the kitchen, followed by a short squeal from Veeta. Rolling her eyes, Lisanara only shakes her head.
“Gnomes...” Feledar mutters into his moustache...
“Don’t worry gentlemen, it’s just Evaristo scaring Veeta again.” To Wren, she adds, “Veeta is my assistant.”
“I have not worked with them much,” the leather-clad rogue admits, sourly.
Next Evaristo’s unmistakable voice pipes up. “UMMMMMM!!! I’m TEEELLLLLiinggg. You’ve broken one of her BESTest plates!!!”
“They are... unique,” Lisanara says diplomatically.
“You PINCHED me!” Veeta squeals...
Then it’s Evaristo’s turn to squeal. “NOoo!!! Not the ROLLing pin... ahhiiii!!!”
“So. Would you care to tell something more about yourself Wren?” Feledar asks, attempting to nobly ignore the hubbub from the adjoining room. It is, however, difficult.
“Veeta broke a plaaa-ate... Veeta broke a plaaa-ate...” seems to be a refrain that emanates from the kitchen. Soon, the unmistakable sound of a chase is heard.
“Not much to tell really I spend most of my time retrieving lost items, and digging around undeground,” Wren confides.
Seeing the bottle of white wine set out, Lisanara crosses to the cabinet. Picking it up by the bottle by the neck, Lisanara’s fingers begin tracing some sort of pattern in the air over the bottle and she says, “Cold as a witch’s titty.” Immediately the bottle ices over with a fine coating. As if pulled recently from a very cold box.
“What kind of past experience you have for reference then?” Feledar asks Wren, trying not to notice taunting screams of the gnome, and the unusual words of the wizard’s spells.
“I could list a dozen or more tombs and crypts if that will make you more comfortable?”
“Gentlemen, we will have plenty of time to learn each other strengths and weaknesses before we set out. I do not intend on starting this expedition ‘cold.’” Lisanara swiftly adds, smoothing any ruffled feathers.
“Well, naturally, I trust in Lisanara’s choice without hesitation if you don’t want to elaborate more.” Feledar says politely. “I am here to provide help of our church to this expedition. As Lisanara might have told you, our order has hired her to this mission.”
“I mean no offense Feledar, I just did not come with a resume” chuckles Wren. “I would be more than happy to go over some of my past experiences with you, when time permits.”
Removing several wineglasses from the cabinet Lisanara begins pouring drinks. “Our number isn’t quite complete,” she says. “But it will be a day or so before our final member will be joining us. He’s on a job but should be done soon.”
The sounds in the kitchen seemed to have died down somewhat. And now you can hear chopping, and scraping... another squeal from Veeta, however, is rapidly followed by a new sound as little feet come running up the corridor. Evaristo comes belting around the corner with Veeta hot on his heels with a broom.
“Hello everybody!” he squeaks as he races past the open door.
“And stay there,” says Veeta, legs akimbo, broom at the ready, standing like a guardian over the entrance to her domain. But once he realizes Veeta is not coming further than the door of the kitchen, Evaristo smiles wickedly, and turns round and returns to the living room.
Passing out glasses of wine, Lisanara say, “We can share later, first a small toast.”
Wren takes an offered glass and waits for her toast, as does Feledar.
“Hi,” Evaristo says, nonchalantly entering and reaching for a glass of wine. “Canapes are going to take a little longer than expected, but they should be ready soon.”
“To success,” Lisanara says, pausing a bit, looking directly at Wren, and adding “in finding the tomb of Kruk-Ma-Kali.”
“And for the Banner of Natirel!”
“Cheers, me dears,” says the gnome. “Oh yes,” he adds, but very quietly. “Mustn’t forget the flag rag....” He quickly clears his throat, however, and says “Hmm, told you Feledar! This is always SO much nicer when you’ve witch-tittied it, dear...”
Wren looks at Lisanara, somewhat shocked, and drinks the wine in a single gulp, an event in itself which makes Evaristo’s face mirror that horror!
“That is a 533 Pekalese chardonnay!! Please do NOT drink it like it’s soda! And WHO is your tailor? You MUST give me his address...”
Feledar enjoys his wine also with very civilized manner. “I thought so!” He comments to Evaristo. “This particular grape grows in the western parts of Pekal.”
Wren looks to the gnome. “My Tailor? Oh you like the armor, actually i found it on one of my earlier jobs.”
“...Oh that’s a relief. For one horrible moment I thought you might have PAID for that...” Evaristo sneers.
“I would have paid a heavy price for such armour little one.”
However, then an expression of concern returns to his features. “Kruk-Ma-Kali. Did I hear you correctly?”
“Yes Wren, you did,” Lisanara says. Turning to the others, “I’m afraid I had neglected to tell Wren until now WHERE we were going. I did not feel safe discussing it where we were. But Wren is the best in the business, or so I’ve been told by others.”
“I have no problem with the task, I am just somewhat shocked. I am going to enjoy this greatly.” Wren begins to feel the heat, and removes his outer jacket of hsi armor revealing a tank top style shirt, and a bandoller with 3 daggers along each of hsi sides, there is also a dagger in a sheath on his wrist. He sets the jacket on a chair, and looks to Lisanara. “Another glass of wine please.”
“Here’s the bottle, pour as much as you like. Oh, and try not to puncture anything when you sit down,” she say with amusement. Wren accepts the bottle and pours himself another glass, and then sets the bottle on the table.
Evaristo looks in great concern at the glass in Wren’s hand.
“You must excuse Evaristo, he’s a bit... eccentric at times.” Wren give Lisanara a wry smile, and finds a place to sit. Evaristo gives her nothing but a nasty look.
Feledar turns toward Lisanara “Could you ask Veeta to bring sevaral empty decanters here?”
“Certainly, captain,” she replies, and Lisanara rises gracefully and heads for the kitchen, finding Veeta, who’s presently muttering dire things in relation to gnomes, and one in particular.
“You’re not going to be sick, are you?” Evaristo asks with concern, looking at the tall priest and wondering whether he couldn’t cope with the Special Spangly Sparkler as well as the wine...
Feledar just chuckles at the gnomes comment.
“And what might your specialty be?” Wren says to the gnome!
“Me?! Oh, me. I’m just a friend.”
“A friend? Does that mean you will not be accompanying us on our journey? Or will you be coming along to provide comedic relief?”
“Oh fear not. I’m coming. I’m not going to let Lisanara out of my sight for a second.”
Lisanara returns with Veeta and they both carry trays with empty decanters. About 10 in all.
“Thank you! That’s splendid!” Feledar says when the decanters arrive. He says a short prayer to his god and soon the decanters start to fill with several different types of wine. Best ones you could ever get in Bet Rogala, only of divine origin.
“I hope you don’t plan on us drinking all this tonight!” Lisanara laughs.
Evaristo’s eyes widen in amazement as he sees what Feledar is doing.
“There you, my gnomish friend. No need to worry if Wren takes a glass of wine down in one sip anymore.” He gives a wink at the gnome.
“I’m glad YOU’RE coming,” Evaristo says, forcibly. “Sounds like parties at the archbishop’s must go with one HELL of a swing...”
Wren smiles as he realizes what is happening. “Well it appears the cleric has plans on this being a enjoyable evening. And I only drink for toasts, like that, my little friend. Though too many toasts in one evening, however, can be quite hazardous to one’s health!”
“Yes, might as well enjoy ourselves now. We have much work to do soon,” says Lisanara.
“I think you could bottle some of those up for later usage, Lisanara. Otherwise Evaristo might get a little too happy,” Feledar adds.
“Perish the thought,” she says with a wink to the captain.
“That, my little fruit bat, is kind of the idea!” says the gnome, dipping a finger in and tasting the vintage.
“Oh and that drink you made for me...” Feledar suddenly says. “It was quite good.” He winks again to the gnome. “But don’t try to fool me like that again.”
“Yeah!” says Evaristo with vigour, completley missing the wink, “Perhaps we should go into partnership!”
“I create the recipes... you create the drinks!!!”
Wren gives the gnome an odd look, and continues to drink his wine slowly, whilst Lisanara curls up on one of the chairs with Ella in her lap enjoying some attention from her mistress.
“So, who’s missing?” asks Evaristo, sidling off to the biggest chair in the room yet again, and spreading himself out on it.
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