Chapter 39

Just past Sommayid and Ehosia's borders, Gwenh lands and resumes her elven form. Not all creatures distinguished between "good" and "evil" dragons, and the mere sight of one is enough to send entire cities into a panic. Never mind that it's much harder to eat a decent meal when you weigh as much as a herd of cows.

This means the trip back isn't as quick as it might have otherwise been. It's about a month of travel afoot to return to Miday; Morgan manages to secure horses for the group of you, and that shaves off about two weeks of travel.

Don't ask her how she got them.

And so, while in a far-off land, clerics hotly debate the meaning of the draconic appearance in Shariz, the company of adventurers trots into the trading town. Up ahead, on the left, it the battered sign with its frothing groundhog-like emblem.

Aaron gingerly gets off the horse, it being a while since he has ridden one for any length of time. His gait at the moment not exactly the clasic pose for a sailor, unless he had been barrel riding. Walking by the dismounting Gwenh, his rolling gait something from another place and time when men were men and outlaws a danger. He swats her on her projecting posterior and says in a cheerful tone, "I guess your buying the first round....untill I can gamble some coins out of the local rubes...ahem..patrons that is" Moving off at a fast bow legged wobble, hardly his normal graceful movement. Looking to catch the attention of a stable personage, these four legger nightmares needing a certain amount of care. Aarron doesn't ride very well at all, far prefering a ship under his feet and the bracing spray of the ocean in his face.

Leaving the horse in the care of the stablehand, if neccesarry leaving the horse as security untill he can build up stake money again, and hurrying as best he can with his impaired gait, near feeling the burning stare from Gwenh at his back. Grinning an evil grin back at her over his shoulder, he quickly vanishes inside the Inn...

Toshiro spent the trip back mostly deep in thought. Things had not turned out anywhere near the way it could have and more questions were raised than answered.

One thing was certain though- the Empire's relations with the Ehosians had to change. And a conversation with Ryo on more than Diplomatic changes....

Watching the 'barbarian' swat Gwenh's but and scoot away, he chuckled as his head shook his disapproval. As Aaron disappeared inside, Toshiro walked over to the offended party. "Gwenh, I would not take all that much offense. His way of joking around.... and besides, he could be a snack later." Winking as he said this, Toshiro swept a hand toward the inn. "After you, M'Lady..."

A town boy who noticed the adventurers coming up the road is eager to help with the horses. There's a beam nearby, with troughs for feed and water. With practiced care, he'll remove tack, put on some rough rope halters that he's acquired, and secure the horses to the beam. Morgan flips the kid a shining coin; it would mean that he'd keep an eye on the gear and not rifle through it too much.

Inside the Wombat, it is cool, dark, and smells of stale beer. A few other folk are scattered at the tables in groups of two or three, enjoying a drink with lunch. An older woman, her grey hair cropped close after the manner of a soldier, loiters behind the bar, mug in hand. She straightens as Aaron enters.

The other diners glance up and return to their own business. The barkeep asks the newcomer, "What can I get you?"

Aaron looks around at the interior with one raised eyebrow, taking careful note of exits, AND more importantly the height of the building should he have to leap out a window again. The combination of taverns, barmaids, and the occasional husband combining to make life more exciting than even he bargans for.

Unslinging the sword and runebag from his shoulder, having both to hand plus taking the weight off of his raw and acheing shoulderblade, feeling around on the leather runebag scrip and nodding to himself at the reasuring feel of the small amount of coinage that he has sown in the double layer lineing, good job the prison guards were not all that thourough. The extra padding making sure that, at least, the sounds of the clink of metal would not be heard.

"A warm mead and a hot meal in that order, " Aaron says in a tone slighty pain filled, "And while your at it. Something that can unflatten ones badly pounded posterior." Shooting a dark glance towards the stable he mutters, "I really hate those four legged nightmares... give me a good ship and a good crew any day..."

Every step bringing a slight wince of pain to his features, he can ride...but not all that well. Prefering to walk if he can't sail....

"That'll be a silver for the mead (and you're doing it a disservice to have it warm) and the food," the old woman rasps. She pours some of the golden liquid into a earthenware mug, setting it near the fire. She looks up as Morgan enters the Wombat. "Took you long enough," she grumbles sourly. "Did you get it?"

"No," the half-elf replies, pulling up a chair. "And it's good to see you again, too. We got him, instead." She gestures in Aaron's direction. "And busted your Ehosian clerical friend out of jail. But after that..."

"After that, things were too hot to go after the Sun's Tears. Damn," she grumbles, spooning stew from a kettle over the fire into a wooden bowl before plunking it unceremoniously in front of Aaron. "Another time, maybe. Where's Gryppen?"

"He went on his way, looking for his gypsy. The rest should be in shortly, and they'll all be hungry. Here, I'll go get some more bowls." Morgan hops up and heads for what must be the kitchen.

"Hmph." The old soldier retrieves the mead and sets it down on the table rather more carefully than she did the stew. "There you are. Don't know what'll unflatten you, 'cepting maybe some Warrior's Heart. It'll either pop everything back to where it ought to be, or just plain lay you out on the floor - evil stuff. I've tried it, and I don't think I'll care to repeat the experience. You want any?"

Kvelti waits... and waits... and waits until the party has finally managed to stumble in. Gone is Brother Brygund - he stayed at his temple to catalogue his trip to Ehosia. The drow Kyriel and her companion have been missing for a very long time. Gryppen has headed off for parts unknow. And Falling Leaf, of course, remained behind in Ehosia. Of the original company that set out with Thorn, only Cael, Gwenh, and Toshiro are here today. New faces include the runecaster Aaron and the metal-fisted thief Morgan. Kvelti welcomes you all back gruffly, but makes sure large bowls of stew are available for all.

"I'm glad you're back," she grumbles. "We've got some sort of trouble amongst the elves, I think. I don't know quite what to make of it." She knocks back her mug. "Where'd that elf I sent down with you get off to? She ought to be hearing this. There's some bloody holy quest going on. This mystical sword," she waggles her fingers in the air for effect, "just shows up one day. Next thing you know, some kid's being hailed as the Blue Hero or something."

Morgan raises a dark eyeborw. "Blue Hero? Azure Champion, maybe?"

"Yeah, that's it." Kvelti gets up stiffly to refill her mug. "Azure Champion."

Morgan whistles. "I heard those stories growing up. The last Azure Champion, Zoricha Deerchaser, started the war with the Nargoth Empire five hundred years ago. The elves of the Legasha Forest aren't too grateful, let me tell you."

Kvelti frowns. "I heard it was a holy sword."

"It's supposed to be. It was forged during the Sundering Wars, to root out the new followers of Lolth and her brood. Deerchaser said it was telling her that the humans were as much of a threat as the drow had been, and so she decided to attack them. Bad, bad move." Morgan scowls into her own drink.

"Yeah!" Kvelti exclaims. "That's it, then. Because apparently there's some elves that's getting help from one of those Dark Gods. And the Blue Hero's going through them like a knife through butter. Says they're corrupt, courting another Sundering, all that sort of thing."

"But on the other hand..." Morgan prods.

Kvelti glances around, leans forward and lowers her voice. "But on the other hand, the dae faroth are the best weapon the elves have against the Patriarch right now." She pauses in the silence and straightens up.

"I'm no elf," she says more loudly. "And I sure as hell ain't no moralist. I don't know who's right, and who's wrong." A gleam in her rheumy brown eyes belies that last statement. "But I thought such heroic types as yourselves might be interested in such a conflict."

Aaron looks up at that last, in the proccess of ordering posterior unflattener hell he's game for most things, otherwize he would have not jumped into the silken sheets of Mirabai the Cortesan of Celderoon. Who, it is rumoured, and Aaron can verify, that she has in her collection of men one of each race. The problem is, that Aaron really does not like to share, getting out of the embrace of that amourus ogre and out of the window nearly cost him something rather vital to the integrity of his vocal range.

The look on his face that of, 'a hero type, who me?' the term causeing him a vast amount of internal amusement. Listing Pirate amoung his more notorious appelations, as well as rogue and all around scoundrel, somehow, he reflects to himself, the term hero hardly applies, at least to his own mind. There have been instances where his own self oppinion has been called into debate, usually by the more enamoured of limmited intelligence but well endowed fainting maidens. He never did have much regard for those that swoon to excess.

About to comment on the concept of heroism in general, first taking a deep draft of what Kvelti termed 'bottom unflattener', he is suddenly distracted by the fascinating wood grain on the ceiling. The powerful concoction corseing through his body and sending him bonelessly to the floor as he had attempted to stand up and expound. Usually he has more sense than to down some new form of ethel without first partaking of edible alcholhol absorption, ie food. But right now, he is lost in a rapt contemplation of the artistic wood grain, the suble swirls in the wood somehow conveying the secret of existance to him.

A few moments latter he is heard to exclaim, "Yes the truth is found in the holy pickle" before coming back to himself with a start, and wondering exaclty what it is he is doing on the floor in the first place. Wondering if perhaps this Tavern is enchanted and is possessed of a sense of humour, replacing the walls with the floor....

Looking at Kvelti he says, "Errrr hero? What were we talking about again?"

Gwenh walks through the door as Toshiro opens it, smiling since someone atleast acted like she was a lady, a scaley lady, but a lady none the less. Sitting at the bar, she was suprised to find that food was already waiting for them, asking Kevelti for a glass of strawberry wine she ate some soup quitley, listening to the news of the elves and the sword.

Watching Aaron fall on the floor, she shakes her head, making a note to ask him about the 'magic pickle' later and is surpised when he answers. She considered herself an outcast, not a hero and it almost made her feel good to be called a heroic type, but then again, it made her feel like she should die soon. Her cousin was heroic, and what did it get her? She died in a 'blaze of glory' and took out a city. Gwenh did not want to go out that way.

"Tell us more about this sword. They're killing which elves of which diety now?" She rememberd the elves that helped them earlier, who worshiped the silverhaired diety and hoped it wasn't them, her vengance would be great if it was indeed.

Kvelti sits back down with a grimace and takes another slug of beer. "Rumors are sketchy, and I think I might have more real information from out of the Empire than here in my backyard. I don't suppose that elf girl mentioned anything to you about her patrons, eh?" In mixed company, she didn't use a name. "I'm nearly certain she's one of them."

Wonderful, Toshiro thinks as he lifts his mug. "I know of the one you think of, Kvelti. i have some dealings with some of her followers- none generally good. And if it is her, times could be quite interesting....."

Kvelti raises a grey eyebrow. "How many time do I have to tell you - just because you're Jade doesn't mean you can read minds. The pronoun you're looking for is 'he' or 'him,' Toshiro."

She sighed and drained another third of her mug. "Daniel, Jack, this is getting into Things You Don't Want to Know About." The locals who were quietly conversing about harvest time nodded thanks and rose. "Sorry for the interruption," Kvelti called after them. "Tomorrow, the noon beer's on me. Now then," she returned her attention to the party.

"From what I've gotten out of some of Morgan's contact," Kvelti continues, "the best guess for an infernal sponsor is the Masked Lord of the drow. His cult's growing out west, and there's even reports of a settlement of surface drow in the Urala province of the Nargoth Empire. I'd guess he's also getting power from elves like Falling Leaf, in exchange for their abilities."

Cael waited until the locals left before speaking. "That is an excellent guess, Lady Kvelti. On both counts. At least, that's what the Oghmites have told me, and they seem to be the type that's 'in the know'." He took a gulp from his mug before continuing. "They follow one of the spawn of the Dark Queen; a son who's allegience is... hazy. From him they gain powers, powers that make them expert assasins. In return... well, even the Oghmites were unsure. But from the readings I heard, I'd guess it is something sinister." Cael settled back in moody silence, mulling over the fate of the Dae Faroth, of whom he cared little. Except for one, and of her he cared much too much.

After Aaron's head stops spinning, he props himself up on his elbows and regards Kvelti, squinting his eyes as he tries to asjust her into focus. "One of those epic situations again aye Madam? I take it the odds are against us and the situation is grim?" Not waiting for her reply as he prattles on, a twinkle in his eye. "Sounds like fun."

His question grows comic as he notes exaclty why he has an uncomfortable feeling on his tail bone. In his loose and boneless move to the floor, he seems to have taken his scabarded sword with him. Sitting on the leather encased shaft of metal with the long end protrudeing out in front of him. His crossed eyes focusing on the offending painful seat. The buzz he has from whatever that was he drank affecting his judgement slighty, he attempts to pull the scabbard out from in front of him. The immage is somewhat amuseing if not vaguely naughty looking. Looking a great deal of frustrated as his attempts prove less than sucessful at moving an unbendable length of steel out from underneath his own weight.

Even this situation remids him of one of those many incidents that have made him the joy of women and the bitter enemy of husbands everywhere. But that particular story, involving a scottish sheep farmer is really too embarasing to relate. Not, in this situation at least, able to pull the wool over the farmers eyes.

Trying to shake his head to clear it, which is a BIG mistake he soon discovers as the room rapidly rotates in directions not even the earth moves, he suddenly gets the bright idea of another tac. Removing HIMSELF from atop the blade, of course this has one flaw...

The blade, it seems, is determined to follow him, crawling up on his back and the hilt poking him in the back of the head as if mocking him. His attempts at catching the tricky weapon unsucessful as he starts to chase it around in a circle, making himself more dizzy. Glaring at the hilt, all the sword he can see now, he is sure the thing is laughing at him as he gives it a suspicious look.

Finally floping down in the chair that he slid out of, figuring some food might help, the sword making mockery of his poise, the hilt boping him in the back of the head repeatedly. Looking a bit ill used, defeated by his own weapon, the All Father must be turning away in shame, Aaron tries to regain his sense of presence, at least untill he is able to get the effects of whatever that was out of his system...