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Session Stories - Moments in Roleplaying (updated 6/15/2023)
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<blockquote data-quote="Nthal" data-source="post: 8466357" data-attributes="member: 6971069"><p style="text-align: center"><strong>Story XXI – A Dance for a Quarry</strong></p><p></p><p><strong>Context and warnings: </strong>There are spoilers to events that occur in <strong><em>"Rime of the Frostmaiden"</em></strong> below. </p><p></p><p>Having said that, there is a point in the adventure that Apolyta catches up with the party to interogate a character Nadin, about the wherabouts of a chest. But, there was a question of course on how did Apolyta actually find them in Icewind Dale to start with, so I wrote a short and posted in our discord...and left it at that. So enjoy!</p><p>[HR][/HR]</p><p></p><p></p><p>The mood in <strong><em>the Northlook </em></strong>was grim. It had only been a few days since Dougan’s Hole and Good Mead were leveled by a fearsome monstrosity. Some said it was a clock work dragon, with a giant key twisting in its back creating flurries of ice and rime. Others said it was a magical creation, made of deep blue ice, and spat out rays of sunshine, that melted flesh from bones. No matter what it really was, it was laid low in Easthaven by a group of adventurers, although not before half the town was set ablaze.</p><p></p><p>And there was the source of the darkened pall in the inn; hundreds of lives displaced, and all came to Bryn Shander seeking warm and food. But the winter in its third year, had left shelves bare of both oil and sustenance. Many now huddled outside the walls in makeshift tents and lean-tos, while the acolyte of the House of the Morning lord did his best to feed the hungry with tasteless gruel served from a rusty pot left behind by an adventurer who was using it to hold toys, pillows and bags of herbs. But while the gruel was thick and filling, but it wasn’t enough. The town itself was already on the edge of starvation before the refugee’s arrived, but oil for lamps and stoves were too becoming scarce. It was growing time for the next drawing; on who would be cast out to placate Auril this moon, and some had reached the point that it couldn’t be worse than the winter that gnawed at them now.</p><p></p><p>This made <strong><em>The Northlook</em></strong> a paradox of sorts, a bright place in a field of darkness if only by comparison. Trout stew was still plentiful, and there was enough oil to keep the interior above the temperature of biting cold, to somewhere above chilly. The liquor stores, while low, hadn’t run dry, although that might have been Scramsax’s pricing. And while Good Mead was leveled, Scramsax had the fortune of the last known batch of mead to leave the namesake town, even if others had less fortune to buy it from him.</p><p></p><p>The crowd huddled in and savored their lukewarm soup, and some with a chaser of mead to keep their bellies full and warm. And while the mood was grim, there was a note of excitement. The dragon thing was destroyed; it didn’t level all the towns, just two of the smallest ones. Things could be worse, and there was a swell of pride that the Towners could take anything, no matter what the Reghed thought of them. So tonight, an old man played a viol with a slight bounce, and there were smiles to be found as a bit of hope had crested over the denizens of the Ten Towns.</p><p></p><p>As the fiddler warmed his strings, the door to the inn opened a crack, and a figure slithered in. Heads turned and faces hardened with dark times, found something interesting to look at. The lithe feminine figure was not dressed in the thick clothes seen here in the north; that wasn’t a surprise as the Goliaths tribespeople had little need for it, as did the rarer Oyaminartok or bearkin folk. But the figure was clearly neither of these. Nor was she Reghed who occasionally were said to have Auril’s blessing to endure the freezing temperatures of the north. She was instead dressed in close fitting white leather, with a slim sword at her hip, and bow folded up on her back. As she closed the door behind her, she pulled down a hood and shook her copper hair free and shook it about. Her skin was deeply tanned, and her green eyes sparkled with curiosity. What caught most of the patrons’ eyes were the ears; slender points marking her as a <em>Tel’Quessir. </em>She, like others of her kin, had that grace and poise rarely seen among the other races. And rarely were they seen this far north, away from the warmth of their forests to the south.</p><p></p><p>And yet here she was. She looked around a moment, and then approached the bar, with the ox-built man behind it.</p><p></p><p>“Greetins. You lookin for food? Rest? Something to warm your veins or your…limbs?” the beefy man known as Scramsax said with a devil like leer.</p><p></p><p>If the elf noticed or cared, she gave no indications. “I heard you are as well informed as anyone Scramsax,” the elf purred.</p><p></p><p>“Have we met before?” the man asked puzzled not recalling giving out his name.</p><p></p><p>“We have not…but my father had been here about a decade ago and his memory of you…well let us say you haven’t changed much.” The elf gave a small smile.</p><p></p><p>Scramsax shook his head, “I can’t say I remember another Quessir that I would call your kin.”</p><p></p><p>The elf pursed her lips, “I don’t…look much like my father, so your confusion would be understandable. But his name you might remember; Kylan.”</p><p></p><p>At the mention of the elf’s father, Scramsax froze like a hare caught in sight of a distant wolf. “I..I..do know that name. What do ya want miss?...”</p><p></p><p>“I’m looking for someone. I understand that they passed through here recently.”</p><p></p><p>“A lot of people do.”</p><p></p><p>“Do all they descend from <em>dharrow</em> and carry a golden harp?”</p><p></p><p>“That’s…pretty specific of a description,” and the man reached behind him to grab a mug of clay and started to fill it. “Brandy? Miss?...”</p><p></p><p>“A brandy would be wonderful.” The elf smiled, demurring again on the topic of her name.</p><p></p><p>“Ah yes…well…you see most folk here prefer to be…left to their own devices. We don’t ask where they’ve been or where their goin neither.” He slid the mug to the elf and watched expectantly.</p><p></p><p>She smiled and ran her finger around the rim of the mug. “Well, I am sure that your conscience will be relieved that it isn’t about him; just where a misplaced object might be.” She slid over to him, five golden coins in a stack. "I hope you might be able to tell me something.”</p><p></p><p>Scramsax wiped the counter and scooped the coins off the top in a swift motion. “I am glad to hear that Nadin isn’t in any more troub—”</p><p></p><p>“—Nadin?”</p><p></p><p>“Ah…yes. Seems to fancy himself a ladies’ man, and I can say he can ply his harp with a bit of skill. He’s travelling with a number of other folk; you couldn’t miss them if you tried; A goliath, a human, a tiefling, a scarred half-elf, a bearkin, and get this…a Tabaxi from Maztica!”</p><p></p><p>“I don’t see how anyone could miss a group like that,” the elf agreed. “Where did they go?”</p><p></p><p>“Well…that’s just it I don’t—”</p><p></p><p>“—give me back the coins.”</p><p></p><p>“Wait, I told you what I—”</p><p></p><p>Then she leaned forward over the bar and wrapped her hand around the much larger human’s neck. But instead of pulling the surprised bartender towards her, she pulled herself across the bar top until she was eye to eye with the startled human. She then just stared into his eyes and glanced downwards.</p><p></p><p>Scramsax followed her eyes and saw that her right hand was just where his thumping heart was. There in her fingers was a shimmering blade of light; one that he swore wasn’t there a moment ago. The shimmering light was poised to make a fatal blow; all the elf had to do was push.</p><p></p><p>“Waitwaitwait…I do know who might! Right here in the bar even!” He said stammering and near tears. He pointed with his chin to a corner of the bar, “There…that woman there. Her name is Letya. She was with them until they left. She’ll know more I swear!” the man swallowed visibly in fear as the elf coldly stared at him.</p><p></p><p>The light at his heart winked out, and then her lips parted into a smile. She then kissed the frightened barkeep on the cheek and let herself slide back down to her side of the counter. She turned to look at the woman that Scramsax pointed out, and over her shoulder said. “I’ll need another cup of brandy…in a clean mug.” Scramsax wasted no time complying with the elf’s demand. She smiled, tossed a pair of coins on the bar, and took the second mug, and slowly approached the oblivious woman.</p><p></p><p>Scramsax sighed in relief and muttered to himself, “Well…she’s nicer than her father.”</p><p></p><p>[HR][/HR]</p><p></p><p>The elf slowly made her way across the common room and looked at the woman. She was huddled in her wools and furs keeping to herself. The first impression she gave was one of a frightened hedgehog, puffed up and blocking their burrow with quills. But as the elf watched she could tell it was something quite different. Her ginger hair was in a pony tail, that now looked frayed, her bangs disheveled. Her deep blue eyes were full of remorse. Her strong toned build spoke volumes on its strength, but her posture spoke of sleepless nights and her cheeks were stained by fresh tears. The woman wore her feeling openly to those who could read the language; she wanted comfort and safety; but not alone, simply on her own terms.</p><p></p><p>The elf moved quietly to the table and then smiled and asked softly, “Excuse me, but may I sit with you?”</p><p></p><p>The woman’s head shot up in surprise and blinked. Her mouth hung open in surprise as she looked at the elf, who’s face wore nothing more than warmth and kindness. In her hand she offered a mug and said, “I’m a stranger to this town, and I would rather sit with another woman…If you don’t mind.”</p><p></p><p>The woman swallowed, and nodded dumbly, not expecting to be approached. She gestured to the seat next her, and the elf sat down gracefully. She pushed a mug towards the woman, and the elf took a sip of her own. Out of habit, she offered a hand knuckles up, but before her tablemate could react, she quickly clenched her fingers. She then turned it offered her hand out for a hand shake.</p><p></p><p>“Sorry…and old habit. My name is Apolyta. What is yours?”</p><p></p><p>“Let…Letya. Letyaof Amphail.” The woman said, taking her hand timidly. The elf’s hands felt soft and warm, and she clearly didn’t want to let go. But after a moment, she did and then quickly took several swallows of brandy mug</p><p></p><p>“Amphail?” Apolyta said surprised. “I’m from the Misty Forest, not far from Daggerford. I guess we are both a bit far from home then.”</p><p></p><p>“Wasn’t exactly by choice,” Letya said as she took a long sip of the brandy.</p><p></p><p>“Nor I suppose,” Apolyta said biting her lip. “But what brings a single wom—”</p><p></p><p>“—I’m not single!”</p><p></p><p>Apolyte blinked, “I’m sorry…I meant…a solo traveler out to the ends of Toril.”</p><p></p><p>Letya shook her head, “No…I’m sorry. It’s been…been…oh,” and she sank into her seat dejectedly. “I don’t even know how to describe it now.”</p><p></p><p>Apolyta narrowed her eyes and then asked delicately, “I don’t mean to pry where I’m not wanted, but did you need…to…talk?”</p><p></p><p>Letya looked up with her deep blue eyes to meet the elf’s gaze. “I came up here because of a bargain I made and…and I had to…to…shoot my wife.”</p><p></p><p>“What?” Apolyta set her drink down and leaned forward. “You killed you—”</p><p></p><p>“—No! I didn’t kill her…I guess I was lucky. But I didn’t want to either! I was forced. But she survived and she…came after me. Not, to hurt me though…she wanted to save me! To help me! And I…”</p><p></p><p>“Hush,” and Apolyta slid next to Letya and put an arm around her. “I take it, nothing went according to plan?”</p><p></p><p>Letya shook her head, “I…I made a bad decision…I thought that she left me and joined a cult. I tried to save her, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t even find her.” She hung her head in shame. “I then…um…how does one say this…sold my soul to stop the cult. I wanted to stop it and save her. But…” and the tears flowed down her cheeks freely. “I didn’t want to…mean to kill her as part of that.”</p><p></p><p>Apolyta stroked Letya’s hair and sighed. “And you sold your soul? Isn’t that a…”</p><p></p><p>“It’s a terrible idea. But I was desperate! I didn’t know what to do. But it gets worse,” she said morosely.</p><p></p><p>“How?” Apolyta gritted her teeth, unsure on what she would hear.</p><p></p><p>“My wife…made a counter deal to save me; a quest I guess. But she was turned into a…shes…shes…a tief—” and Letya sniffed and cried and clutched onto the startled Apolyta.</p><p></p><p>“Isn’t what’s inside, that matters?” Apolyta said, feeling suddenly out of control of the conversation.</p><p></p><p>“That’s…just it. She was going to…no she <strong><em>did</em></strong> sacrifice herself to save me…and I I…” she took another sip from her mug.</p><p></p><p>“Didn’t handle it well?” Apolyta guessed.</p><p></p><p>Letya shook her head. “No…I was confused and angry. Not at her, but what had happened. At myself. At <strong><em>my</em></strong> poor choices. And I blamed her for it all, and I didn’t…didn’t know what to feel about it. Or say. And I probably hurt her.” Letya said sadly and took a deep drink from her mug.</p><p></p><p>“Probably?”</p><p></p><p>“No. I hurt her.” The woman said bitterly, and she took another sip. As she put the mug down, Apolyta slyly switched her full mug for Letya’s nearly empty one. “And now she’s risking everything to save me. I should have been thankful or told her I’m worth it or …anything but what I said.”</p><p></p><p>Apolyta thought a moment, “She’s not trying to do this quest alone is she?”</p><p></p><p>“No…no…she has some friends helping her…well maybe not friends…but others are helping.”</p><p></p><p>“That’s…that’s good,” Apolyta said approvingly. “So..where did this quest take them?”</p><p></p><p>“I’m …not sure,” Letya took another deep sip from her mug. “I remember the…the…d—d---d”</p><p></p><p>“Dark?”</p><p></p><p>“No…<hic> Dead looking one…although he did have dark skin now you mention it. Something about a duchess and a bell…Angajuk’s Bell!” Letya took another sip of her brandy and sat back.</p><p></p><p>“The <em>Dark Duchess</em>,” Apolyta said with a smirk nodding. “When did they leave?”</p><p></p><p>“Oh, a day ago by sled with that...Harpell woman.”</p><p></p><p>Apolyta sat up, “Harpell? From Amphail?”</p><p></p><p>Letya nodded, and took another swallow of brandy, “Small world, isn’t it? And she sighed as she leaned next to Apolyta. As she did so, the fiddler in the bar struck up a soft slow waltz. An elderly couple, in heavily dressed winter clothing, stood up and embraced each other as they slowly danced on the floor.</p><p></p><p>“That’s sweet…” Letya slurred a bit as she eyed the couple.</p><p></p><p>“Come on,” Apolyta said as she stood and pulled on Letya to stand.</p><p></p><p>“Dance? With….you?”</p><p></p><p>“Elves dance for many things; to celebrate; to grieve; for joy and for sorrow. There are as many reasons to dance as there are emotions. And you…don’t even need name them. And you can dance for joy when you see your wife again.” Apolyta pulled Letya up onto her feet, and pulled her close, whispering more. “A dance is to be shared with others; it is not a breech of trust. It is something for you alone to feel and let your soul embrace. For if you can’t dance for yourself, how can you dance with ones you love?”</p><p></p><p>Apolyta turned Letya on her unsteady feet. The human woman murmured to herself and started to sway and felt the slow rhythm of the viol in her bones and heart as she stepped awkwardly on the floor. “I’m better with a hammer than my feet.”</p><p></p><p>“You are the best dancer in your heart; no need to compare yourself with another.”</p><p></p><p>Letya’s eyes drooped as she rocked back and forth on the floor, the liquor firmly taking hold of her head. “You feel so…so…warm…the warmest I have felt in…”</p><p></p><p>“Shh…its magic,” Apolyta said with a smirk. “I hate heavy clothing…too hard to move in”</p><p></p><p>“I’m…I’m feeling …tired. Can you help me to my…my room…upstairs,” and as she moved, Apolyta merely smiled, and slowly moved and spun slowly on the floor towards the stairs leading to the rooms. But as they danced, Letya’s stumbling feet no longer touched the ground. She floated just above the floors, as Apolyta directed her up the stairs with only the lightest touch. She continued to waltz down the hallway, following Letya’s drunken lead. Leyta took out from her pouch a key and nearly dropped it when she stared at it in a haze of drunkenness.</p><p></p><p>The key had fallen half way to the floor, but it now hovered there and floated to the lock on the closed door. Letya looked at it confused as Apolyta took it and turned the key in the lock and opened the door.</p><p></p><p>Letya looked at Apolyta her mouth quivering, “I…I…don’t want to lead you on…I am…I am…”</p><p></p><p>Apolyta placed a hand on Letya’s mouth to quiet her, “This is a friend helping a friend find her room safely. Nothing more. Just lean back and fall into bed Leyta.” Letya’s body went slack as she murmured “The little horns and tail are kinda cute…”, and Apolyta guided her falling body to the nearby mattress, and with a motion of her other hand, she covered the now passed out human for a nights’ rest. Apolyta laid the key on a nearby table, and exited the room, closed the door behind her and with a small motion of her hand, the sound of the lock engaging in the latch was heard.</p><p></p><p>Apolyta sighed and she leaned against the wall looking upwards and talked to herself, “I don’t know how you did these types of things father. It’s too intimate for my tastes.” She exhaled and looked down the hall before muttering,</p><p></p><p>“Alright Nadin. You can’t hide from me now.”</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Nthal, post: 8466357, member: 6971069"] [CENTER][B]Story XXI – A Dance for a Quarry[/B][/CENTER] [B]Context and warnings: [/B]There are spoilers to events that occur in [B][I]"Rime of the Frostmaiden"[/I][/B] below. Having said that, there is a point in the adventure that Apolyta catches up with the party to interogate a character Nadin, about the wherabouts of a chest. But, there was a question of course on how did Apolyta actually find them in Icewind Dale to start with, so I wrote a short and posted in our discord...and left it at that. So enjoy! [HR][/HR] The mood in [B][I]the Northlook [/I][/B]was grim. It had only been a few days since Dougan’s Hole and Good Mead were leveled by a fearsome monstrosity. Some said it was a clock work dragon, with a giant key twisting in its back creating flurries of ice and rime. Others said it was a magical creation, made of deep blue ice, and spat out rays of sunshine, that melted flesh from bones. No matter what it really was, it was laid low in Easthaven by a group of adventurers, although not before half the town was set ablaze. And there was the source of the darkened pall in the inn; hundreds of lives displaced, and all came to Bryn Shander seeking warm and food. But the winter in its third year, had left shelves bare of both oil and sustenance. Many now huddled outside the walls in makeshift tents and lean-tos, while the acolyte of the House of the Morning lord did his best to feed the hungry with tasteless gruel served from a rusty pot left behind by an adventurer who was using it to hold toys, pillows and bags of herbs. But while the gruel was thick and filling, but it wasn’t enough. The town itself was already on the edge of starvation before the refugee’s arrived, but oil for lamps and stoves were too becoming scarce. It was growing time for the next drawing; on who would be cast out to placate Auril this moon, and some had reached the point that it couldn’t be worse than the winter that gnawed at them now. This made [B][I]The Northlook[/I][/B] a paradox of sorts, a bright place in a field of darkness if only by comparison. Trout stew was still plentiful, and there was enough oil to keep the interior above the temperature of biting cold, to somewhere above chilly. The liquor stores, while low, hadn’t run dry, although that might have been Scramsax’s pricing. And while Good Mead was leveled, Scramsax had the fortune of the last known batch of mead to leave the namesake town, even if others had less fortune to buy it from him. The crowd huddled in and savored their lukewarm soup, and some with a chaser of mead to keep their bellies full and warm. And while the mood was grim, there was a note of excitement. The dragon thing was destroyed; it didn’t level all the towns, just two of the smallest ones. Things could be worse, and there was a swell of pride that the Towners could take anything, no matter what the Reghed thought of them. So tonight, an old man played a viol with a slight bounce, and there were smiles to be found as a bit of hope had crested over the denizens of the Ten Towns. As the fiddler warmed his strings, the door to the inn opened a crack, and a figure slithered in. Heads turned and faces hardened with dark times, found something interesting to look at. The lithe feminine figure was not dressed in the thick clothes seen here in the north; that wasn’t a surprise as the Goliaths tribespeople had little need for it, as did the rarer Oyaminartok or bearkin folk. But the figure was clearly neither of these. Nor was she Reghed who occasionally were said to have Auril’s blessing to endure the freezing temperatures of the north. She was instead dressed in close fitting white leather, with a slim sword at her hip, and bow folded up on her back. As she closed the door behind her, she pulled down a hood and shook her copper hair free and shook it about. Her skin was deeply tanned, and her green eyes sparkled with curiosity. What caught most of the patrons’ eyes were the ears; slender points marking her as a [I]Tel’Quessir. [/I]She, like others of her kin, had that grace and poise rarely seen among the other races. And rarely were they seen this far north, away from the warmth of their forests to the south. And yet here she was. She looked around a moment, and then approached the bar, with the ox-built man behind it. “Greetins. You lookin for food? Rest? Something to warm your veins or your…limbs?” the beefy man known as Scramsax said with a devil like leer. If the elf noticed or cared, she gave no indications. “I heard you are as well informed as anyone Scramsax,” the elf purred. “Have we met before?” the man asked puzzled not recalling giving out his name. “We have not…but my father had been here about a decade ago and his memory of you…well let us say you haven’t changed much.” The elf gave a small smile. Scramsax shook his head, “I can’t say I remember another Quessir that I would call your kin.” The elf pursed her lips, “I don’t…look much like my father, so your confusion would be understandable. But his name you might remember; Kylan.” At the mention of the elf’s father, Scramsax froze like a hare caught in sight of a distant wolf. “I..I..do know that name. What do ya want miss?...” “I’m looking for someone. I understand that they passed through here recently.” “A lot of people do.” “Do all they descend from [I]dharrow[/I] and carry a golden harp?” “That’s…pretty specific of a description,” and the man reached behind him to grab a mug of clay and started to fill it. “Brandy? Miss?...” “A brandy would be wonderful.” The elf smiled, demurring again on the topic of her name. “Ah yes…well…you see most folk here prefer to be…left to their own devices. We don’t ask where they’ve been or where their goin neither.” He slid the mug to the elf and watched expectantly. She smiled and ran her finger around the rim of the mug. “Well, I am sure that your conscience will be relieved that it isn’t about him; just where a misplaced object might be.” She slid over to him, five golden coins in a stack. "I hope you might be able to tell me something.” Scramsax wiped the counter and scooped the coins off the top in a swift motion. “I am glad to hear that Nadin isn’t in any more troub—” “—Nadin?” “Ah…yes. Seems to fancy himself a ladies’ man, and I can say he can ply his harp with a bit of skill. He’s travelling with a number of other folk; you couldn’t miss them if you tried; A goliath, a human, a tiefling, a scarred half-elf, a bearkin, and get this…a Tabaxi from Maztica!” “I don’t see how anyone could miss a group like that,” the elf agreed. “Where did they go?” “Well…that’s just it I don’t—” “—give me back the coins.” “Wait, I told you what I—” Then she leaned forward over the bar and wrapped her hand around the much larger human’s neck. But instead of pulling the surprised bartender towards her, she pulled herself across the bar top until she was eye to eye with the startled human. She then just stared into his eyes and glanced downwards. Scramsax followed her eyes and saw that her right hand was just where his thumping heart was. There in her fingers was a shimmering blade of light; one that he swore wasn’t there a moment ago. The shimmering light was poised to make a fatal blow; all the elf had to do was push. “Waitwaitwait…I do know who might! Right here in the bar even!” He said stammering and near tears. He pointed with his chin to a corner of the bar, “There…that woman there. Her name is Letya. She was with them until they left. She’ll know more I swear!” the man swallowed visibly in fear as the elf coldly stared at him. The light at his heart winked out, and then her lips parted into a smile. She then kissed the frightened barkeep on the cheek and let herself slide back down to her side of the counter. She turned to look at the woman that Scramsax pointed out, and over her shoulder said. “I’ll need another cup of brandy…in a clean mug.” Scramsax wasted no time complying with the elf’s demand. She smiled, tossed a pair of coins on the bar, and took the second mug, and slowly approached the oblivious woman. Scramsax sighed in relief and muttered to himself, “Well…she’s nicer than her father.” [HR][/HR] The elf slowly made her way across the common room and looked at the woman. She was huddled in her wools and furs keeping to herself. The first impression she gave was one of a frightened hedgehog, puffed up and blocking their burrow with quills. But as the elf watched she could tell it was something quite different. Her ginger hair was in a pony tail, that now looked frayed, her bangs disheveled. Her deep blue eyes were full of remorse. Her strong toned build spoke volumes on its strength, but her posture spoke of sleepless nights and her cheeks were stained by fresh tears. The woman wore her feeling openly to those who could read the language; she wanted comfort and safety; but not alone, simply on her own terms. The elf moved quietly to the table and then smiled and asked softly, “Excuse me, but may I sit with you?” The woman’s head shot up in surprise and blinked. Her mouth hung open in surprise as she looked at the elf, who’s face wore nothing more than warmth and kindness. In her hand she offered a mug and said, “I’m a stranger to this town, and I would rather sit with another woman…If you don’t mind.” The woman swallowed, and nodded dumbly, not expecting to be approached. She gestured to the seat next her, and the elf sat down gracefully. She pushed a mug towards the woman, and the elf took a sip of her own. Out of habit, she offered a hand knuckles up, but before her tablemate could react, she quickly clenched her fingers. She then turned it offered her hand out for a hand shake. “Sorry…and old habit. My name is Apolyta. What is yours?” “Let…Letya. Letyaof Amphail.” The woman said, taking her hand timidly. The elf’s hands felt soft and warm, and she clearly didn’t want to let go. But after a moment, she did and then quickly took several swallows of brandy mug “Amphail?” Apolyta said surprised. “I’m from the Misty Forest, not far from Daggerford. I guess we are both a bit far from home then.” “Wasn’t exactly by choice,” Letya said as she took a long sip of the brandy. “Nor I suppose,” Apolyta said biting her lip. “But what brings a single wom—” “—I’m not single!” Apolyte blinked, “I’m sorry…I meant…a solo traveler out to the ends of Toril.” Letya shook her head, “No…I’m sorry. It’s been…been…oh,” and she sank into her seat dejectedly. “I don’t even know how to describe it now.” Apolyta narrowed her eyes and then asked delicately, “I don’t mean to pry where I’m not wanted, but did you need…to…talk?” Letya looked up with her deep blue eyes to meet the elf’s gaze. “I came up here because of a bargain I made and…and I had to…to…shoot my wife.” “What?” Apolyta set her drink down and leaned forward. “You killed you—” “—No! I didn’t kill her…I guess I was lucky. But I didn’t want to either! I was forced. But she survived and she…came after me. Not, to hurt me though…she wanted to save me! To help me! And I…” “Hush,” and Apolyta slid next to Letya and put an arm around her. “I take it, nothing went according to plan?” Letya shook her head, “I…I made a bad decision…I thought that she left me and joined a cult. I tried to save her, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t even find her.” She hung her head in shame. “I then…um…how does one say this…sold my soul to stop the cult. I wanted to stop it and save her. But…” and the tears flowed down her cheeks freely. “I didn’t want to…mean to kill her as part of that.” Apolyta stroked Letya’s hair and sighed. “And you sold your soul? Isn’t that a…” “It’s a terrible idea. But I was desperate! I didn’t know what to do. But it gets worse,” she said morosely. “How?” Apolyta gritted her teeth, unsure on what she would hear. “My wife…made a counter deal to save me; a quest I guess. But she was turned into a…shes…shes…a tief—” and Letya sniffed and cried and clutched onto the startled Apolyta. “Isn’t what’s inside, that matters?” Apolyta said, feeling suddenly out of control of the conversation. “That’s…just it. She was going to…no she [B][I]did[/I][/B] sacrifice herself to save me…and I I…” she took another sip from her mug. “Didn’t handle it well?” Apolyta guessed. Letya shook her head. “No…I was confused and angry. Not at her, but what had happened. At myself. At [B][I]my[/I][/B] poor choices. And I blamed her for it all, and I didn’t…didn’t know what to feel about it. Or say. And I probably hurt her.” Letya said sadly and took a deep drink from her mug. “Probably?” “No. I hurt her.” The woman said bitterly, and she took another sip. As she put the mug down, Apolyta slyly switched her full mug for Letya’s nearly empty one. “And now she’s risking everything to save me. I should have been thankful or told her I’m worth it or …anything but what I said.” Apolyta thought a moment, “She’s not trying to do this quest alone is she?” “No…no…she has some friends helping her…well maybe not friends…but others are helping.” “That’s…that’s good,” Apolyta said approvingly. “So..where did this quest take them?” “I’m …not sure,” Letya took another deep sip from her mug. “I remember the…the…d—d---d” “Dark?” “No…<hic> Dead looking one…although he did have dark skin now you mention it. Something about a duchess and a bell…Angajuk’s Bell!” Letya took another sip of her brandy and sat back. “The [I]Dark Duchess[/I],” Apolyta said with a smirk nodding. “When did they leave?” “Oh, a day ago by sled with that...Harpell woman.” Apolyta sat up, “Harpell? From Amphail?” Letya nodded, and took another swallow of brandy, “Small world, isn’t it? And she sighed as she leaned next to Apolyta. As she did so, the fiddler in the bar struck up a soft slow waltz. An elderly couple, in heavily dressed winter clothing, stood up and embraced each other as they slowly danced on the floor. “That’s sweet…” Letya slurred a bit as she eyed the couple. “Come on,” Apolyta said as she stood and pulled on Letya to stand. “Dance? With….you?” “Elves dance for many things; to celebrate; to grieve; for joy and for sorrow. There are as many reasons to dance as there are emotions. And you…don’t even need name them. And you can dance for joy when you see your wife again.” Apolyta pulled Letya up onto her feet, and pulled her close, whispering more. “A dance is to be shared with others; it is not a breech of trust. It is something for you alone to feel and let your soul embrace. For if you can’t dance for yourself, how can you dance with ones you love?” Apolyta turned Letya on her unsteady feet. The human woman murmured to herself and started to sway and felt the slow rhythm of the viol in her bones and heart as she stepped awkwardly on the floor. “I’m better with a hammer than my feet.” “You are the best dancer in your heart; no need to compare yourself with another.” Letya’s eyes drooped as she rocked back and forth on the floor, the liquor firmly taking hold of her head. “You feel so…so…warm…the warmest I have felt in…” “Shh…its magic,” Apolyta said with a smirk. “I hate heavy clothing…too hard to move in” “I’m…I’m feeling …tired. Can you help me to my…my room…upstairs,” and as she moved, Apolyta merely smiled, and slowly moved and spun slowly on the floor towards the stairs leading to the rooms. But as they danced, Letya’s stumbling feet no longer touched the ground. She floated just above the floors, as Apolyta directed her up the stairs with only the lightest touch. She continued to waltz down the hallway, following Letya’s drunken lead. Leyta took out from her pouch a key and nearly dropped it when she stared at it in a haze of drunkenness. The key had fallen half way to the floor, but it now hovered there and floated to the lock on the closed door. Letya looked at it confused as Apolyta took it and turned the key in the lock and opened the door. Letya looked at Apolyta her mouth quivering, “I…I…don’t want to lead you on…I am…I am…” Apolyta placed a hand on Letya’s mouth to quiet her, “This is a friend helping a friend find her room safely. Nothing more. Just lean back and fall into bed Leyta.” Letya’s body went slack as she murmured “The little horns and tail are kinda cute…”, and Apolyta guided her falling body to the nearby mattress, and with a motion of her other hand, she covered the now passed out human for a nights’ rest. Apolyta laid the key on a nearby table, and exited the room, closed the door behind her and with a small motion of her hand, the sound of the lock engaging in the latch was heard. Apolyta sighed and she leaned against the wall looking upwards and talked to herself, “I don’t know how you did these types of things father. It’s too intimate for my tastes.” She exhaled and looked down the hall before muttering, “Alright Nadin. You can’t hide from me now.” [/QUOTE]
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Session Stories - Moments in Roleplaying (updated 6/15/2023)
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