"So adventurer's! What will it be?"

     Castille proclaims to the group. Dekker scans over the notes eyes narrowed, trying to decipher the handwriting. After hearing the options and Ja'han's input, Dekker becomes fixated on one story in particular: The coliseum in the Extaras desert, in the criminal city of Karzekastan. Trying to prove to himself that he can be the hero his people think he is, a glorious coliseum sounds like the best start. He shoots a glare towards Ja'han,

"It is not death that a man should fear, for in the end the cold embrace will find us all. The real fear is not living in the first place. I vote for the coliseum in the Extaras Desert!"

Wallace considered the options they'd been given, "Personally, I'm most interested in what information you've got on that dragon, but there's no way we're ready for that yet. If we're deciding between the necromancer and the coliseum, my vote goes to the necromancer. The coliseum isn't going anywhere, and the more experienced we are, the better our odds of victory when we challenge it. As for necromancer, Ja'han is right. It's a more immediate threat, and one that could only get more dangerous if given time."

Just as abruptly Taalomar stilled, he stirs once more to place both hands on the table, and looks over to Dekker. Light has returned to his eyes, though only just. "Much as I'd like to visit this coliseum as well... though albeit to study their no doubt unique tools of entertainment. I am with the others on this one in the removal of this necromancer. 'less this one is mistaken. Manipulation of the dead in such a matter is a violation of many laws. Both natural 'nd rule of land. Besides--" He glances over to Ja'han. "Even if only rumors, I doubt friend Ja'han will be able to keep self from seeking swift and final end of necromancer, dah?" 

Taalomar straightens back out again, and looks over to Castille. "That all said. It would be most appreciated if those contact of yours could... hmm... how do say, 'drive deeper'?" He pauses for a moment, and then with a huff continues. "Dig deeper into word about these metal forest men. The Father --" Taalomar hesitates and glance over to the others. "We can discuss at later date about additional fee if need be. Okay?"

Castille smiles widely and says, "Seems that's settled then!" He nods at Dekker and says "Don't worry boy. There is just as much glory in helping people as there is in entertainment. Now, it seems as if majority rules, so necromancer it is. Let's see here, my notes say that the temple of Bhaal is nestled into the edge of the mountains in Fenrin, maybe four days journey from here. Some bandits thought to raid the place, and only one survived the undead that were prowling the halls." Castille glances up from his notes to judge reactions before continuing, "But they were just bandits, so nothing to fear right? And odds are that someone will pay for his removal, not even counting the magical items he himself may have stored away. So here is this..." Castille says as he quickly jots down a map from Greenwood to where the Temple of Bhaal is said to be, then slides it across the table to the group.

"And, a parting gift for you all! I want to keep my businesses safe after all!" Castille reaches under his cloak and pulls out four potion of healing and sets one in front of each person. "And don't worry my tall friend," Castille says to Taalomar, "I'll have my best informant start scrounging up leads on that hidden city for you." Castille then stands and shakes each person's hand in turn, then states, "I cannot wait to hear how you do. Best of luck, and may Paladine bless you!"

Ja'han smiles at Dekker. "Your wisdom is quite admirable, my friend," the monk says in elvish, then continues in common, "for, indeed, someday all will fade. But it is my duty to ensure that that day is far, far away for the good people of Gelinor. You help me in my mission to remove this blight from the face of our land and you will find in me a valiant ally when we fight in the Coliseum. You have my word."

Ja'han casts his friendly gaze to the dwarf that pat his shoulder. "Well, friend Taalomar, if he can be redeemed we need not kill him. But I am prepared to do what is necessary to ensure life endures. With our combined efforts, I have no doubt we can bring an end to this necromancy."

The monk pockets his healing potion and takes the map, examining it for a moment before looking to his newfound compatriots. "Well, I suppose we should decide whether we leave now or later. Thank you, exalted one," he says, bowing his head toward Castille.

     Dekker grasps the potion, examining the red liquid. He has never relied on such material things outside his own magic abilities. Upon storing it with the rest of his equipment, he turns towards Ja'han and speaks in Elvish,

"Perhaps our newfound bounty is as evil as he seems, or, perhaps you only admire the view in front of you when it is pleasurable to do so."

     And then in common,

"I would be careful to not judge one so quickly."

     Turning back to the map, Dekker plans out a possible route in his mind. This isn't going to be simple. He stretches his arms out and rolls his neck back and forth. You can hear a few pops and cracks."I suggest we rest from our journeys to this tavern and set out with the rise of the sun. Best to prepare for the worst, but hope for the best."

Taalomar glances up at the pat, and listens attentively. Yet after all is said, Taalomar simply nods and turns back to the others,  wordless accepting the compromise.  Taalamor is only silent for a brief moment before asking, "Four days journey? Hmm? By foot, I hope?" He looks to Castille for confirmation. Regardless of the answer, the cleric cups a hand about the chin, and silently observes the old elf at work on the map. 

"Oh, Master Evergreen~ You are too kind. Too kind!" In spite of his words, Taalomar does take up the offered potion with token reluctance, holds it up high to studies its contents, then slips it into the pouch at his side. Throughout the process, he doesn't pay much mind to quips thrown between his elven compatriots... not that he could understand elvish in the first place. 

"And too you, son of Paladine--" He strides over to place one hand on Castille's shoulder, its opposite grasps the edge of the shield at his back, and with head slightly bowed intone in something in dwarvish. As the prayer comes to completion, the symbol etched into the shield glows faintly for a few seconds, and  -- to Castille at least -- his body warms; including places long thought deadened or muted to such sensation from age. 

 Then, Taalamor bows once to their employer before belatedly re-acknowledging the others. "So! Wha... What was this about a morning start? Not that I mind, mind you! But if youuu all feel the need, then I think temper my enthusiasm for at least an evening. What say you, friend Wallace?" 

"Yes, Taalomar, it is four day's journey by foot. If you hired horses and a carriage, it would most likely take only 2 and a half days, however that can become expensive to do." Castille seems to enjoy the warmth, and says, "Then I guess this is settled. I shall return home, and you all shall head off in the morning. Best of luck!" Castille then smiles and bows, before exiting the building.

"Sure, I wouldn't mind a good night's rest before we set out." Wallace replied, picking up the potion. "Better to be well rested for the journey ahead." Wallace looked around at his new companions. Well, this should be interesting at least. He thought to himself.

"Ah, ah, ah! But first, new friends, a round to commemorate this moment!" Taalomar pumps a fist in the air, then places the same hand on his chest. "On me of course. And perhaps even if time left, we could exchange a story or two?" The last part is accompanied by him pantomiming brow waggling using his hands. "Come, come! Is good for early relations, or at least so I hear." He chuckles a bit nervously. 

Performance(For Eyebrow Waggling):  2

Ja'han chuckles at his dwarvish companion. "Some rest would do us good, for certain. Thank you for your kindness, friend Taalomar. I have never been much of a storyteller," he begins, turning his face toward Wallace, "but you appear to be well-traveled, Wallace. Why don't you tell us a tale?"

Wallace grinned at Taalomar's gesture, then turned to respond to Ja'han. "Yeah sure, I've got some stories I can tell. What kind of tale tickles your fancies? Ghost stories? Dark guilds? Dragons?"

"It's too bright out for ghost stories or dark guilds, so how about dragons?" Ja'han says with a smirk. "Barkeep, I'd still like that glass of wine, please!"

Meanwhile, Taalomar is paralyzed in shock, or just simply very silent. Hard to say when expression relied so heavily on interpretative dance on the like for the metal man. Soon enough, he does hastily slip into Castille's abandoned spot (having been standing the whole time for whatever reason), rest elbows on the table, and hands steeple together. 

"Dealer's choice, my friend. For who better than knower of story to decide best way of delivering them..." He leans in close. "With greatest impact." Taalomar leans back in his seat. "So... Do tell. And spare no details. We are all mature beings here, yes?" He asks, voicing barely contained glee. 

     Dekker chuckles to himself.

"Dragons you say? I would love to hear of this tale."

     He hasn't ever seen a dragon before, let along heard of anyone fighting one and surviving to tell the tale.

The Barkeep quickly comes over with a tray, balancing four glasses of elven wine on top of it. "Here you go lads, sorry for the wait, the meeting you all were havin' seemed important. Castille said before you got here to put a bit on his tab, so these glasses are on him. Drink up. If you need a room tonight, he also rented out a couple rooms for ya up the stairs, the first two on the left whenever you get tired. But don't ya feel rushed, bar's open all night." He places the four glasses down before heading back behind the counter.

"So, a tale of dragons then?" Wallace said, taking a seat in among the others. He took a gulp from his glass, then let out a contented sigh. "That story is one of the few I've experienced firsthand." After a brief pause, he began: "Alright children, gather 'round and I'll tell you the tale of Caldrum; a sleepy little trading town nestled against the Kingsteran mountains. It was a day like all the rest, merchants peddling goods to travelers passing by the mountains, caravans passing through the town square, and I was working as a blacksmith with my mentor, a stubborn old dwarf named Alberich. There was a bell tower in the center of town; it was there as a warning signal in case of emergencies. I'd never actually heard it until that day. The bell rang from outside the shop, but before I made it outside to check, the sounds of the tower breaking apart shook the ground. Alberich and I rushed out, weapons in hand to see guards frantically evacuating citizens, and the square lying in ruin and ice. A dragon swooped from overhead, breathing frozen death on those below. It became obvious that no one was getting out alive. Not unless some of us distracted the monster. A band of us got together and fought back, but a disorganized militia is hardly a match for a dragon. The great white beast was a storm of fangs and claws. Every beat of it's wings stirred icy torrents of wind, every swing of it's tail threw a dozen men from their feet. But Alberich was different. When the beast set it's sights on me, I thought I was dead. It's icy jaws lunged towards me, only to receive the steel of Alberich's warhammer. The old dwarf got a few good hits on the beast, eventually breaking off the end of one of it's horns. But that was a mistake. The beast roared louder than any noise I'd ever heard, in rage and pain. I could barely hear anything at all when..." Wallace trailed off for a second, the memory flowing through him like an old wound opening. "When Alberich was snatched into the creature's jaws, and thrown into the rubble of the bell tower. Him being the only one to visibly hurt the dragon, all of our hearts dropped. From there, we did all we could, but that wasn't much. Apparently while the others were evacuating, they came across some traveling adventurers nearby and convinced them to check out the village. When they arrived, they fought and fared far better than we had. They managed to chase the dragon off, but I'd hardly call it a victory. From the body count they estimated that 38 people stayed to fight, but only 6 of us were left. The other survivors tried to move on, to start new lives in new places. As for me, I decided to become an adventurer. I didn't have much of a home anymore, and I wanted to become like the heroes who saved the 6 of us that remained. But most of all... On that day I decided that I was going to get strong enough to hunt down that dragon, and honor my mentor by using it's bones to craft the finest blade this side of the continent." Wallace exhaled and looked at his comrades. "So, how's that for a dragon story?"

"A fine story indeed, my friend!"

     Dekker pats his new companion on the back.

"Though the winds may carry along your nightmares, a circle is formed..."

     He pantomimes creating a circle, holding one hand up in place, the other following it around.

"Horizon to horizon, life begins where a journey ends. Continue on with the honor of your mentor, for tonight I drink for him."

By the end of the story, Taalomar has his forehead pressed into the back of once steeped but now clasped hands. For a time, he says nothing, giving the others plenty of room to speak their own piece before he has a mind to. 

"I...I am of agreement of with elven friend, though-..." 

Taalomar hesitates for a brief moment, then slide his cup of thus far untouched drink to Wallace. 

"To you, my friend, so that you may do in my stead what I've been sworn not to."

On that solemn note, the dwarf goes back to leaning on his hands with eyes largely hidden behind 'gauntleted' hands.  After everyone has taken their sip in honor (or not as the case may be), the dwarf lets his hands fall to the table. "I confess now that after hearing that story, I am quite eager to learn more of others. But in the interest of fairness as time might very well escape from us, anyone else want to volunteer a story of own?" 

     Dekker finishes his drink. He slides the glass a bit off to the side after hearing Taalomar's interest in other stories.

"I had a disturbing dream."

     He starts off, catching his breath a bit from the drink,

"The only part I am able to recall is a tall androgynous figure sheathed in hues of green and brown with a gold mask leading me among the dead. I heard whispers, but no lips were moving. I tried to cry out, but without breath, my tongue fluttered in vain. I strained to breathe, but my chest wouldn't move. The being spoke to each figure as we passed among them, laughing and joking, as if they were alive. None made any sort of reply. As we approached the end of a forest grove, the figure bent down and retrieved a bit of parchment from one of the hands of the fallen and handed it to me. Then, suddenly, the environment was gone and the world filled with light. I awoke."

     Dekker's long thin fingers rub the bottom of his chin,

"It wasn't until a few days later when I was scouting the area around my community, probably a days travel at most, that I realized what was going on. The trees twisted and turned and paths branched off in every direction. It began to click."

     Dekker snaps his fingers, breaking the moment of silence in the story.

"One pathway in particular looked familiar, and the longer I stayed on this trail, the more I realized it was the same from my dream. Dusty skeletons of lost souls lined the edges of the pathway, their bones sometimes cracking underneath my footsteps. The air was getting thinner and harder to breathe, and then, there it was. Held high, clutched in the hands of a dead man in the center of a large clearing of trees, was a piece of parchment. After carefully removing it, the ground shook and the bones of the fallen rattled. Then, what seemed like hundreds of undead rose up from their graves. It was then that I saw her, wreathed in dark vines with glowing green thorns, her eyes blazing with the fury of the gods."

     It is at this point Dekker's arms are outstretched above him, trying to show the amazement he felt in that moment.

"The fallen stopped in their tracks, shielding their faces. Her weapon, a simple looking sickle, now a brand of gleaming energy, swept once, twice, three times. The undead's heads hit the ground, one after the other."

     Both hands on the table top, Dekker leans in dramatically before continuing,

"It was then that I realized an ancient forest spirit has appeared before me. The tall masked figure greeted me. At first, I couldn't understand a word, but then it started to make sense...

"Be easy, for from the hands of your enemies I have delivered you."

"The figure seemed pleasant, but when they reached out to touch me, I was terrified. I tried to move, but was paralyzed. I tried to cry out, but was not able to make a sound. The figure kept talking, but I felt as though she was trying to cast a spell on me. She revealed within my soul, the truest nature of life. I was shown that nothing is sacred, all things eventually come to perish. The abilities I possess are not to be feared. I was made to serve as champion of this spirit, to bring balance to the forces of nature. This ancient spirit is the figure that has been haunting my dreams."

     He takes a quick pause as he leans back in his chair comfortably.

"They revealed their name to me, 'Tadriel.' She seemed practical and lighthearted, and after the light faded, I found myself outside the grove. The entrance was now blocked off with fallen trees and overgrowth. Finally able to glance at the parchment, I inspected my discovery. It was a map."

     Dekker pulls out from a wooden case, a map. He holds it up, still rolled up and tied. Afterwards, placing it gently back in it's case.

"To what, I do not know. Tadriel still appears in dreams to me to provide guidance, but not in the form of direct commands or simple spoken words. Instead, I receive visions, prophecies and feelings. I scour the realm, searching for anything that matches this sacred map of mine, collecting information of relics and forgotten knowledge of the past with me along the way. Something to reveal the importance of it all."

     Dekker rubs his eye coyly, trying not to bring attention to his sadness.

"Perhaps if I had Tadriel's guidance when I was younger, my friends would still be alive to this day. But that's a story for another time."

     He smiles and raises his empty glass in their memory.