This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Meanwhile: Casta freezes in dreaded moral indecision. She was ready for what her eyes told her. Brutes taking prisoners for the slightest offense. Being in the streets after dark, urinating in the main road, scrounging for food during a crisis, ‘rioting’ of this morning, trivial infractions and an overzealous, panicking Flaming Fist. Casta is ready to intercede with arms or tongue to see justice upheld, even if Justice is against the enforcers of the vicious Fist. The badge in her hand feels like she is brandishing a poison poultice or a puss filled boil. For a greater good… Remember Casta, Diplomacy before Destruction. Reconciliation before Compulsion. Gain the foothold to negotiate for their freedom. But ... this foothold is slick.
Her question surprisingly leads toward a different path. Impressment. Exploitation but not permanent. Slavery by a lesser name, but also a lesser slavery. And yet, the need is dire. The city is in crisis. This act is morally repugnant, but perhaps necessary for survival. One can choose for themselves to lead a moral life, and even to lay their life down to remain morally pure, but can one risk the lives of others and even of the whole city to stay one self morally pure? Where does it stop? How can I stand pure when it contributes to the breaching of the door and the loss of the city? How can I redeem them for falling into the same fetters I now willingly accept upon myself? Intercession is hypocrisy. . . . Isn’t it? Unless the fall of the city to refugees is, in fact, the greater good.
Do I turn from this hypocrisy and put down this badge? In so doing, I then become a lone vigilante, separate from the Company. Moral peril at each option. Mortal peril in many paths.
She scans the eyes of those around her. Fimrold is supportive, but only to a point. Feldior cringes in the shadows. Rigor, Murdoch, and Sorore seem off-put but not ready to intercede. Belmort is an unreadable blank slate. If I should intercede, I go alone. I need to intercede. But I also need to fail. What do I do?
The voice of her mother breaks through her mental paralysis. CASTA, you beautiful mess! You cannot stop all ill so stop trying. Stop what you can when you can. Helm sees it all. It’s not all YOUR problem. Cease leading with your mind full of self-judgement and doubt. Lead with kindness. Follow with strength. An open hand backed by the gauntlet. Be the open hand. Look again at the chains and follow where kindness leads.
Casta looks through the mist at the half-ogres now leading the conscripts away. She sees with new eyes. What is their place? What is their greatest need now? Let go your own judgement and see their world. They will have a clear task. Do they have a purpose? Upon their hearts is where she should bring Helm.
She tracks behind the half-ogres, close enough to be heard, but not close enough to be considered a threat. She calls out to the unfortunate, but perhaps necessary, press gang.
Oye! Oye! Helm the vigilant sees all. He sees you and your suffering. You have been called to suffer for the city. Bear it well. Keep closed the gates. Keep this city alive. If the city survives, I and Helm will see that you are all well paid for your sacrifice. See that it survives. Keep sealed the door, men. This is an hour of great need and you will be standing in the gap. Serve well and be seen. Helm watch over you.
------------
Casta encourages the poor sots to serve well and be rewarded, trusting she can make good on her promise in time.
Casta looks down and flits her eyes left toward Brother Rigor, a wan smile creeps into her terse lips. Somewhat embarrassed at her transparency but appreciative for the fraternity.
The paladin’s clear voice, now carrying the weight of her convictions as her mind settles upon her course, proves compelling as it carries beyond her into the swirling fog toward the Flaming Fist half-ogres and their manacled charges, now just diminishing shadows in the diffused lantern light.
“Vigilance for the Vigilant One,” “The Great Guard is watching,” and, “Thank Helm, watching over us,” drift back among the unsteady voices, and Casta knows that her encouragement reached at least some few of those now forced to protect the Gate in its time of need.
Neither Rigor’s active search nor the rest of the company’s wariness reveals a further threat as the soup of fog settles back into the large intersection of cobblestone streets, muffling sounds and dimming vision while movement among those still outside resumes more quietly, more cautiously. Feldinor separates silently from the shadows, rejoining his companions, and A Cuspide Corona resumes its own direct path crossing in the midst of others upon the streets this evening, toward their destination somewhere near ahead.
Upon the far corner of the intersection, right before the stretch where the mist-cloaked street resumes its descent in a shallow arc that reaches the Gray Harbor Docks several blocks distant, the distinct, elegant silhouette of the Elfsong Tavern emerges from the thickening fog. At closer range, the old two-story building’s grace is somewhat lessened by its apparent age, under the weight of the many years it bears. Perhaps, however, it is also enhanced, by the faintest blue, shimmering glow of its profile in the darkness, and in the soft azure hue of the light that emanates from inside as the large taproom door opens, beckoning the adventurers within.
Holding to the last of their earlier planning, A Cuspide Corona enters the Elfsong Tavern and is suffused in the sapphire glow of the many driftglobes floating about near the ceiling, the only source of light other than flickering candles and the crackling fireplace on the east wall. From the movement within the taproom itself, easily over two dozen well-armed patrons are already settled into their drinks and evenfeasts, all along the bar and at a number of stout tables and dark, secluded booths cordoned off with hanging tapestries. Passing within, the company is very deliberately assessed by two hulking entities flanking the entrance from within – a massive female half-ogre warrior, perhaps not as tall as the Flaming Fist enforcers but seemingly more dangerous with the discipline and calculation apparent behind her ruthless gaze, and an imposing suit of full plate armor, only dark shadows within its empty helm, that nonetheless moves with the grate of metal and alters its stance to watch each of them pass.
With the arrival of the adventurers’ sizable group, one of the two young human males serving throughout the taproom comes out from behind the long, polished wooden bar, and with a hand wave and a ready smile approaches the companions once they’ve passed the Elfsong’s menacing security.
“What will it be tonight, friends?” he begins, while also assessing his options for seating the company, his eyes settling quickly upon the lone remaining empty table within view in the open taproom. “Evenfeast, drinks, gaming, privacy, or some thael mix that frees your coins and lets you escape the Gate’s dark troubles for a night?”
OOC: Good Evening, adventurers, and as well a Happy Anniversary and, most sacred, a Happy Easter!
OOC: At last, after many an "interesting diversion," A Cuspide Corona has reached the Elfsong. I look forward to your interaction with the young man before you, and/or any number of other patrons about the taproom or elsewhere, and what those actions might bring about in turn. Always guessing, with this fine company…:-)
OOC: It is that time again…a map will be forthcoming, but please don’t let its temporary absence impede your engagement!
"ahhhh...now you are someone who speaks my language! I'm up for all of that. how about some nice evening appetizers like wheels of cheese and some fresh fruit. Perhaps your finest ale to wash it down. I hear you have some that comes in pints!" Feldinor does look around for the best privacy and assesses the lone empty table for its ability to conduct private business.
Then he searches around for the games that seem to be a foot and the sorts of patronage that could be easy marks that should be educated on the unfairness of any unscrupulous types or sources of information.
Casta is expecting to find Yokai and focuses her attention on that task. She extends a bit of willpower to not engage those engaged in folly of the dice. The house always wins, and they take more than your money. That minor sin, however, pales in comparison to the murderous slayers they now hunt.
As no strong emotion is currently overtaking our heroine, no otherworldly flora bouquet emanates from her space.
“Well now, Sir, ‘all of that’ is a tall order indeed these troubled nights,” the engaging young man responds jovially, one eyebrow cocked at the bit of irony in his words, “but your good coin will surely deliver! Let’s see, now; the spiced cheeses are a wonder of the ‘Song right now, with just the right pickled fruits to settle it all back down again. No better place in the ‘Gate for your thirst, of course; of the ales, we're still pouring pints of Baldur’s Pale and Baldur’s Red, and knowing your own people’s favorites, we’ve a bit of your Belbuck and mayhap the last of the Moon Mountain Dark remaining.” He says this last with a glance and nod that take in both Feldinor and Fimrold behind him.
The rogue unsubtly assesses the taproom and the table they approach as the fellow speaks, and perceives that little privacy is to be found outside the tapestry-enclosed booths. The young man clearly observes the halfling casting about, however, and gestures first to the wooden staircase on the east wall, and then to the chest beside the couch on the northern wall as the company reaches the table.
“The Baldur’s Bones are already well-on upstairs, and the night’s getting lively even this early. Games in the taproom won’t start until after evenfeast clears, but if ‘Bones aren’t your good time, there’s dragonchess boards, well-used three-dragon ante cards, and more games aplenty to be coming out of that old sea chest, later. If it’s privacy you’re still wanting after all that, we could still rest you either the Umber Hulk or the Displacer Beast, for a candle or an evening, but the Green Dragon is already taken. What will it be, friends?”
If Feldinor seems a bit distracted by the wealth of options the Elfsong lays before him to indulge his interests, Casta remains well-focused, and un-swayed by the lure of the games underway and at-hand. Still, though the tavern’s taproom already bustles, for the most part, with well-armed and observant patrons, neither of the adventurers find Yokai among them…
Sorore observes this exchange and the others' various reactions for a moment, waiting for some sort of revelation. She sees none, then eases around to the other side of the young man to speak quietly to him.
"I am Sorore of Ilmater, friend. Let us first find that privacy, if we could, and then we'll consider the rest after that. It wouldn't do for our paladin to get overly distracted by other activities she might unintentionally witness. We're also looking for a couple of others who you might be able to help us with in finding, once we can speak privately."
OOC: Ok folks, I just know some of you are better at this than me! :)
"Hmmmm I guess privacy rules the day. But hopefully food is allowed in the Displacer Beast. I've always wanted to see one of those. Can you show me the way?"
On the way to the private room, Feldinor will attempt to locate visually the Green Dragon to see if the missing Yokai is present.
“Privacy it is then, Saer,” the young man readily continues with Feldinor, while already turning again toward the bar. “I’ll be taking the matter of it to the tavernmaster for you, though, as he handles the private rents and such personally, whilst I see to your cheeses and fruits and…what was your ale to be, Saer? All of it and more allowed in the Displacer Beast Room, so long as you’re not trying to feed it or quench its thirst.”
The friendly lad leads most of the companions the short distance over to the bar, where he exchanges quiet words with a handsome, middle-aged half-elf, who could only be Tavernmaster Alyth, presiding over its long, polished surface amidst a number of patrons. As Feldinor turns to follow, the rogue's searching eyes take in the stretch of the taproom’s eastern wall, and a well-made heavy door recessed to the right of the stone fireplace, with a vivid, elaborate painting of a rampant green dragon across its wooden surface. At the same moment, Murdoch quietly separates from the company, his own steps taking him towards the wooden stairs to the right of the Green Dragon Room’s door.
“My thanks, Falten,” Master Alyth replies in a normal talking voice to the young man, once his quiet words end. “Tend the bar while I assist these patrons, and send Yimiur for their provender.”
The half-elf steps deftly from behind the bar and approaches the adventurers, bearing a forged key and candle in one hand, and a small hooded lantern in the other. He speaks to the companions in a friendly, if somewhat guarded manner, as Falten takes the tavernmaster’s place behind the bar and calls back to the kitchens for Yimiur.
“Welcome to the Elfsong. I gather from Falten that it’s the Displacer Beast for you by the candle, to start your evening in privacy. If you’ll follow me upstairs, then… Well-met, by the way, even in these dark times for the ‘Gate. Alan Alyth at your service; the Elfsong is mine. And how shall I know you, friends?”
OOC: Good Evening, adventurers! Glad to see your engagements with the Elfsong environs slowly unfolding and revealing its secrets. As always, I look forward to your interaction with others, Master Alyth and/or any number of other patrons about the taproom or elsewhere, and what those actions might bring about in turn.
OOC: A map will be shortly forthcoming, but please don’t let that slow you down! :-)
OOC: Looks like I'm needed again here since I'm next to the guy, with the charismatic one that doesn't do cross-talk and the hungry burglar! :)
After a brief hesitation, Sorore finds herself again called to speak, and responds quietly to the tavernmaster.
"I am Sorore of Ilmater, Master Alyth. These are my companions, Feldinor, Casta, Fimrold, Rigor, Belmort, and Murdoch. We, and one other whom we hope to reunite with soon, are known as A Cuspide Corona. Once we're settled in the privacy of the Displacer Beast, we would also like to ask you about other matters. One of them may be of great importance to Baldur's Gate in these dark times, as you say. We thank you kindly for the hospitality of the Elfsong."
Murdoch approaches the narrow wooden staircase that climbs the taproom’s eastern wall to the second floor. He considers the morning’s encounter with Zodge, and realizes that the company received nothing beyond Tarina’s name from the brutal Flaming Fist Captain, and unfortunately didn’t further inquire when given the chance to question him. Still, as his senses canvas the taproom under the dim blue glow of the wandering driftglobes, he does catch a few words of significance from the tapestry-draped booth to the southeast, spoken with frustration in a voice just loud enough to carry.
“The Flaming Fist is decapitated,” the graveled voice begins. “The captains have already started bickering over who should be in charge, with Ulder Ravengard gone.”
The voice immediately lowers behind the tapestries, as Murdoch reaches the foot of the stairs. Across the taproom, Sorore’s quiet voice is just drawing introductions to the tavernmaster to a close, when another voice entirely rises as “…Elfsong” passes her lips.
The voice is clear and quiet, yet seems to come from everywhere within the tavern at once, suffusing it in song. It is clearly that of an elven female, hauntingly beautiful and mournful. While the words of her song in Elvish are understood by few, the entire tavern grows still and quiet, the only other sounds the creak of ancient timbers and the breaths of patrons...and Master Alyth, suprisingly...in wonderment…
O sing a song of Elturel
Of water, woods, and hill
The sun dawns on her ruddy cliffs
Across fields green and still.
This land of long-abiding joy
Home of the strong and brave
Renowned by all, across the realms,
And never once a slave.
O sing a song of Elturel
When foes are at her door
Her green fields torn by cloven feet
From some infernal shore.
Arise the mighty Hellriders
Take up your swift, keen swords
Then charge into the hellish fray
And scatter devils’ hordes.
O sing a song of Elturel
And when the night does fall
Sleep safe beneath Companion’s light
Until the dawn does call.
We’re bound by mortal covenant
That only ends with death
And so we’ll sing of Elturel
Until our final breath.
OOC: Portentous, indeed, Adventurers, for the two among you who can actually understand the words of this haunting song... Enjoy!
Casta stands transfixed while the soulful lilting cadence washes over her and the rest of the patrons. She is lost in the moment, feeling the mournful cascade she imagines in the refrain. The air around her fills with the rose as she comes to wallow in sympathetic empathy.
When the voice recedes, she encourages Murdoch to continue on but asks "Who can translate Elven for the rest of us?"
The entirety of the gathered, hardened, and well-armed patrons and staff of the Elfsong Tavern join Casta in her reverie throughout the melancholy song, further touched by looks of wonder among those grasping the Elvish lyrics, with the revelation…
“Such words in the Elfsong have never been spoken by the Lady’s spirit in all my long memory,” Master Alyth whispers in Common. “What in all the dark deeds of this troubled world must have taken her thoughts from her love lost to the ages? ‘Hellriders,’ she sang of…”
The tavern slowly returns to the matters of the evening, with low voices only tentatively rising and the wooden stairs softly creaking in the almost reverential silence following the Elfsong. The Paladin of Helm’s own question is answered by an apparent half-elven nobleman in a coat of blue and thread-of-gold, and polished black boots…Yokai, and yet, not as his companions know him…
For his own part, the tavernmaster silently notes the adventurers’ association, nodding his head in acknowledgement, yet still lost in deep thought. Following loosely behind Murdoch, Master Alyth leads the rest up the groaning staircase to the second floor. The stairs end in a great hall, a massive windowless room with lanterns hanging from the rafters, its wooden floor covered in thick rugs, dominated by two large tables filled with patrons drinking, eating, and gambling on their games of Baldur’s Bones.
Heading for the stout wooden door opening into the western wall of the upstairs great hall, the tavernmaster escorts the reunited A Cuspide Corona into the spacious, well-appointed private dining and meeting room beyond. The mounted head of a monstrous great cat, with glowing yellow eyes and covered in sleek blue-black fur that seems to warp the light around it in such a manner that its location appears to shift across the eastern wall above an armoire, clearly inspires the Displacer Beast Room’s name.
Master Alyth regains some level of self-awareness, enough to secure the door firmly behind him once the companions are within the room, before he places the forged key upon the table and lights the candle with the lantern’s flame, then settles the taper in its holder at the table’s center.
“I…cannot yet explain the words of the Elfsong, friends,” he begins, “but I do appreciate one’s need for privacy. How may I be of service, then, in these other matters of which you spoke downstairs?”
OOC: Good Evening, Adventurers! I hope this finds you well. Look forward to your questions of Master Alyth above, and at your discretion, please feel free to roll a History check if your mind wanders to what you might know of the Hellriders earlier referenced...
Meanwhile: Casta freezes in dreaded moral indecision. She was ready for what her eyes told her. Brutes taking prisoners for the slightest offense. Being in the streets after dark, urinating in the main road, scrounging for food during a crisis, ‘rioting’ of this morning, trivial infractions and an overzealous, panicking Flaming Fist. Casta is ready to intercede with arms or tongue to see justice upheld, even if Justice is against the enforcers of the vicious Fist. The badge in her hand feels like she is brandishing a poison poultice or a puss filled boil. For a greater good… Remember Casta, Diplomacy before Destruction. Reconciliation before Compulsion. Gain the foothold to negotiate for their freedom. But ... this foothold is slick.
Her question surprisingly leads toward a different path. Impressment. Exploitation but not permanent. Slavery by a lesser name, but also a lesser slavery. And yet, the need is dire. The city is in crisis. This act is morally repugnant, but perhaps necessary for survival. One can choose for themselves to lead a moral life, and even to lay their life down to remain morally pure, but can one risk the lives of others and even of the whole city to stay one self morally pure? Where does it stop? How can I stand pure when it contributes to the breaching of the door and the loss of the city? How can I redeem them for falling into the same fetters I now willingly accept upon myself? Intercession is hypocrisy. . . . Isn’t it? Unless the fall of the city to refugees is, in fact, the greater good.
Do I turn from this hypocrisy and put down this badge? In so doing, I then become a lone vigilante, separate from the Company. Moral peril at each option. Mortal peril in many paths.
She scans the eyes of those around her. Fimrold is supportive, but only to a point. Feldior cringes in the shadows. Rigor, Murdoch, and Sorore seem off-put but not ready to intercede. Belmort is an unreadable blank slate. If I should intercede, I go alone. I need to intercede. But I also need to fail. What do I do?
The voice of her mother breaks through her mental paralysis. CASTA, you beautiful mess! You cannot stop all ill so stop trying. Stop what you can when you can. Helm sees it all. It’s not all YOUR problem. Cease leading with your mind full of self-judgement and doubt. Lead with kindness. Follow with strength. An open hand backed by the gauntlet. Be the open hand. Look again at the chains and follow where kindness leads.
Casta looks through the mist at the half-ogres now leading the conscripts away. She sees with new eyes. What is their place? What is their greatest need now? Let go your own judgement and see their world. They will have a clear task. Do they have a purpose? Upon their hearts is where she should bring Helm.
She tracks behind the half-ogres, close enough to be heard, but not close enough to be considered a threat. She calls out to the unfortunate, but perhaps necessary, press gang.
Oye! Oye! Helm the vigilant sees all. He sees you and your suffering. You have been called to suffer for the city. Bear it well. Keep closed the gates. Keep this city alive. If the city survives, I and Helm will see that you are all well paid for your sacrifice. See that it survives. Keep sealed the door, men. This is an hour of great need and you will be standing in the gap. Serve well and be seen. Helm watch over you.
------------
Casta encourages the poor sots to serve well and be rewarded, trusting she can make good on her promise in time.
Persuasion 14 + 4 =
Edit: 18 not bad!
Rigor watches Casta through her inner turmoil while watching for other threats to their passage.
”You came through that moral crossroads well, Sister. I think Helm would be pleased.”
Casta looks down and flits her eyes left toward Brother Rigor, a wan smile creeps into her terse lips. Somewhat embarrassed at her transparency but appreciative for the fraternity.
"Thank You, Brother. I pray you are right."
The paladin’s clear voice, now carrying the weight of her convictions as her mind settles upon her course, proves compelling as it carries beyond her into the swirling fog toward the Flaming Fist half-ogres and their manacled charges, now just diminishing shadows in the diffused lantern light.
“Vigilance for the Vigilant One,” “The Great Guard is watching,” and, “Thank Helm, watching over us,” drift back among the unsteady voices, and Casta knows that her encouragement reached at least some few of those now forced to protect the Gate in its time of need.
Neither Rigor’s active search nor the rest of the company’s wariness reveals a further threat as the soup of fog settles back into the large intersection of cobblestone streets, muffling sounds and dimming vision while movement among those still outside resumes more quietly, more cautiously. Feldinor separates silently from the shadows, rejoining his companions, and A Cuspide Corona resumes its own direct path crossing in the midst of others upon the streets this evening, toward their destination somewhere near ahead.
Upon the far corner of the intersection, right before the stretch where the mist-cloaked street resumes its descent in a shallow arc that reaches the Gray Harbor Docks several blocks distant, the distinct, elegant silhouette of the Elfsong Tavern emerges from the thickening fog. At closer range, the old two-story building’s grace is somewhat lessened by its apparent age, under the weight of the many years it bears. Perhaps, however, it is also enhanced, by the faintest blue, shimmering glow of its profile in the darkness, and in the soft azure hue of the light that emanates from inside as the large taproom door opens, beckoning the adventurers within.
Holding to the last of their earlier planning, A Cuspide Corona enters the Elfsong Tavern and is suffused in the sapphire glow of the many driftglobes floating about near the ceiling, the only source of light other than flickering candles and the crackling fireplace on the east wall. From the movement within the taproom itself, easily over two dozen well-armed patrons are already settled into their drinks and evenfeasts, all along the bar and at a number of stout tables and dark, secluded booths cordoned off with hanging tapestries. Passing within, the company is very deliberately assessed by two hulking entities flanking the entrance from within – a massive female half-ogre warrior, perhaps not as tall as the Flaming Fist enforcers but seemingly more dangerous with the discipline and calculation apparent behind her ruthless gaze, and an imposing suit of full plate armor, only dark shadows within its empty helm, that nonetheless moves with the grate of metal and alters its stance to watch each of them pass.
With the arrival of the adventurers’ sizable group, one of the two young human males serving throughout the taproom comes out from behind the long, polished wooden bar, and with a hand wave and a ready smile approaches the companions once they’ve passed the Elfsong’s menacing security.
“What will it be tonight, friends?” he begins, while also assessing his options for seating the company, his eyes settling quickly upon the lone remaining empty table within view in the open taproom. “Evenfeast, drinks, gaming, privacy, or some thael mix that frees your coins and lets you escape the Gate’s dark troubles for a night?”
OOC: Good Evening, adventurers, and as well a Happy Anniversary and, most sacred, a Happy Easter!
OOC: At last, after many an "interesting diversion," A Cuspide Corona has reached the Elfsong. I look forward to your interaction with the young man before you, and/or any number of other patrons about the taproom or elsewhere, and what those actions might bring about in turn. Always guessing, with this fine company…:-)
OOC: It is that time again…a map will be forthcoming, but please don’t let its temporary absence impede your engagement!
"ahhhh...now you are someone who speaks my language! I'm up for all of that. how about some nice evening appetizers like wheels of cheese and some fresh fruit. Perhaps your finest ale to wash it down. I hear you have some that comes in pints!" Feldinor does look around for the best privacy and assesses the lone empty table for its ability to conduct private business.
Insight 12
Then he searches around for the games that seem to be a foot and the sorts of patronage that could be easy marks that should be educated on the unfairness of any unscrupulous types or sources of information.
Perception 6
And lastly, Feldinor will attempt to locate Yokai. [ooc]Given my roll for Yokai was several weeks ago, I figure I get a new one[/ooc]
Perception 3
EDIT:OOC <facepalm>
Casta is expecting to find Yokai and focuses her attention on that task. She extends a bit of willpower to not engage those engaged in folly of the dice. The house always wins, and they take more than your money. That minor sin, however, pales in comparison to the murderous slayers they now hunt.
As no strong emotion is currently overtaking our heroine, no otherworldly flora bouquet emanates from her space.
Perception15
------
As poor Yokai has been out of the game since Thanksgiving, I might roll with advantage Perception17
“Well now, Sir, ‘all of that’ is a tall order indeed these troubled nights,” the engaging young man responds jovially, one eyebrow cocked at the bit of irony in his words, “but your good coin will surely deliver! Let’s see, now; the spiced cheeses are a wonder of the ‘Song right now, with just the right pickled fruits to settle it all back down again. No better place in the ‘Gate for your thirst, of course; of the ales, we're still pouring pints of Baldur’s Pale and Baldur’s Red, and knowing your own people’s favorites, we’ve a bit of your Belbuck and mayhap the last of the Moon Mountain Dark remaining.” He says this last with a glance and nod that take in both Feldinor and Fimrold behind him.
The rogue unsubtly assesses the taproom and the table they approach as the fellow speaks, and perceives that little privacy is to be found outside the tapestry-enclosed booths. The young man clearly observes the halfling casting about, however, and gestures first to the wooden staircase on the east wall, and then to the chest beside the couch on the northern wall as the company reaches the table.
“The Baldur’s Bones are already well-on upstairs, and the night’s getting lively even this early. Games in the taproom won’t start until after evenfeast clears, but if ‘Bones aren’t your good time, there’s dragonchess boards, well-used three-dragon ante cards, and more games aplenty to be coming out of that old sea chest, later. If it’s privacy you’re still wanting after all that, we could still rest you either the Umber Hulk or the Displacer Beast, for a candle or an evening, but the Green Dragon is already taken. What will it be, friends?”
If Feldinor seems a bit distracted by the wealth of options the Elfsong lays before him to indulge his interests, Casta remains well-focused, and un-swayed by the lure of the games underway and at-hand. Still, though the tavern’s taproom already bustles, for the most part, with well-armed and observant patrons, neither of the adventurers find Yokai among them…
Sorore observes this exchange and the others' various reactions for a moment, waiting for some sort of revelation. She sees none, then eases around to the other side of the young man to speak quietly to him.
"I am Sorore of Ilmater, friend. Let us first find that privacy, if we could, and then we'll consider the rest after that. It wouldn't do for our paladin to get overly distracted by other activities she might unintentionally witness. We're also looking for a couple of others who you might be able to help us with in finding, once we can speak privately."
OOC: Ok folks, I just know some of you are better at this than me! :)
Casta nudges Feldinor with a finger. Elbow being too high to make contact.
Insinuation and cross-talk not being her specialty, she unhelpfully adds "Isn't privacy by the candle the place to start the evening, quick one?"
"Hmmmm I guess privacy rules the day. But hopefully food is allowed in the Displacer Beast. I've always wanted to see one of those. Can you show me the way?"
On the way to the private room, Feldinor will attempt to locate visually the Green Dragon to see if the missing Yokai is present.
Perception 19
Murdoch will quietly make his way upstairs, keeping an eye out for signs of Yokai and the spy Tarina, as described by Captain Zodge.
Perception 27
“Privacy it is then, Saer,” the young man readily continues with Feldinor, while already turning again toward the bar. “I’ll be taking the matter of it to the tavernmaster for you, though, as he handles the private rents and such personally, whilst I see to your cheeses and fruits and…what was your ale to be, Saer? All of it and more allowed in the Displacer Beast Room, so long as you’re not trying to feed it or quench its thirst.”
The friendly lad leads most of the companions the short distance over to the bar, where he exchanges quiet words with a handsome, middle-aged half-elf, who could only be Tavernmaster Alyth, presiding over its long, polished surface amidst a number of patrons. As Feldinor turns to follow, the rogue's searching eyes take in the stretch of the taproom’s eastern wall, and a well-made heavy door recessed to the right of the stone fireplace, with a vivid, elaborate painting of a rampant green dragon across its wooden surface. At the same moment, Murdoch quietly separates from the company, his own steps taking him towards the wooden stairs to the right of the Green Dragon Room’s door.
“My thanks, Falten,” Master Alyth replies in a normal talking voice to the young man, once his quiet words end. “Tend the bar while I assist these patrons, and send Yimiur for their provender.”
The half-elf steps deftly from behind the bar and approaches the adventurers, bearing a forged key and candle in one hand, and a small hooded lantern in the other. He speaks to the companions in a friendly, if somewhat guarded manner, as Falten takes the tavernmaster’s place behind the bar and calls back to the kitchens for Yimiur.
“Welcome to the Elfsong. I gather from Falten that it’s the Displacer Beast for you by the candle, to start your evening in privacy. If you’ll follow me upstairs, then… Well-met, by the way, even in these dark times for the ‘Gate. Alan Alyth at your service; the Elfsong is mine. And how shall I know you, friends?”
OOC: Good Evening, adventurers! Glad to see your engagements with the Elfsong environs slowly unfolding and revealing its secrets. As always, I look forward to your interaction with others, Master Alyth and/or any number of other patrons about the taproom or elsewhere, and what those actions might bring about in turn.
OOC: A map will be shortly forthcoming, but please don’t let that slow you down! :-)
OOC: Looks like I'm needed again here since I'm next to the guy, with the charismatic one that doesn't do cross-talk and the hungry burglar! :)
After a brief hesitation, Sorore finds herself again called to speak, and responds quietly to the tavernmaster.
"I am Sorore of Ilmater, Master Alyth. These are my companions, Feldinor, Casta, Fimrold, Rigor, Belmort, and Murdoch. We, and one other whom we hope to reunite with soon, are known as A Cuspide Corona. Once we're settled in the privacy of the Displacer Beast, we would also like to ask you about other matters. One of them may be of great importance to Baldur's Gate in these dark times, as you say. We thank you kindly for the hospitality of the Elfsong."
OOC: Whew!
99
Murdoch approaches the narrow wooden staircase that climbs the taproom’s eastern wall to the second floor. He considers the morning’s encounter with Zodge, and realizes that the company received nothing beyond Tarina’s name from the brutal Flaming Fist Captain, and unfortunately didn’t further inquire when given the chance to question him. Still, as his senses canvas the taproom under the dim blue glow of the wandering driftglobes, he does catch a few words of significance from the tapestry-draped booth to the southeast, spoken with frustration in a voice just loud enough to carry.
“The Flaming Fist is decapitated,” the graveled voice begins. “The captains have already started bickering over who should be in charge, with Ulder Ravengard gone.”
The voice immediately lowers behind the tapestries, as Murdoch reaches the foot of the stairs. Across the taproom, Sorore’s quiet voice is just drawing introductions to the tavernmaster to a close, when another voice entirely rises as “…Elfsong” passes her lips.
The voice is clear and quiet, yet seems to come from everywhere within the tavern at once, suffusing it in song. It is clearly that of an elven female, hauntingly beautiful and mournful. While the words of her song in Elvish are understood by few, the entire tavern grows still and quiet, the only other sounds the creak of ancient timbers and the breaths of patrons...and Master Alyth, suprisingly...in wonderment…
O sing a song of Elturel
Of water, woods, and hill
The sun dawns on her ruddy cliffs
Across fields green and still.
This land of long-abiding joy
Home of the strong and brave
Renowned by all, across the realms,
And never once a slave.
O sing a song of Elturel
When foes are at her door
Her green fields torn by cloven feet
From some infernal shore.
Arise the mighty Hellriders
Take up your swift, keen swords
Then charge into the hellish fray
And scatter devils’ hordes.
O sing a song of Elturel
And when the night does fall
Sleep safe beneath Companion’s light
Until the dawn does call.
We’re bound by mortal covenant
That only ends with death
And so we’ll sing of Elturel
Until our final breath.
OOC: Portentous, indeed, Adventurers, for the two among you who can actually understand the words of this haunting song... Enjoy!
Casta stands transfixed while the soulful lilting cadence washes over her and the rest of the patrons. She is lost in the moment, feeling the mournful cascade she imagines in the refrain. The air around her fills with the rose as she comes to wallow in sympathetic empathy.
When the voice recedes, she encourages Murdoch to continue on but asks "Who can translate Elven for the rest of us?"
A thin pale hand gently touches Casta's shoulder.
"I believe I can help with that", says a familiar tone - but not with the same usual terseness.
"Friends!" He exclaims in a high elven accent. "Come, I have much to tell you."
His garb is fine, and his mannerisms impeccable. As he walks away and towards the stairs, you see a thin purple mist rise from his footsteps.
...and for the first time, you realize he's not wearing a mask.
The entirety of the gathered, hardened, and well-armed patrons and staff of the Elfsong Tavern join Casta in her reverie throughout the melancholy song, further touched by looks of wonder among those grasping the Elvish lyrics, with the revelation…
“Such words in the Elfsong have never been spoken by the Lady’s spirit in all my long memory,” Master Alyth whispers in Common. “What in all the dark deeds of this troubled world must have taken her thoughts from her love lost to the ages? ‘Hellriders,’ she sang of…”
The tavern slowly returns to the matters of the evening, with low voices only tentatively rising and the wooden stairs softly creaking in the almost reverential silence following the Elfsong. The Paladin of Helm’s own question is answered by an apparent half-elven nobleman in a coat of blue and thread-of-gold, and polished black boots…Yokai, and yet, not as his companions know him…
For his own part, the tavernmaster silently notes the adventurers’ association, nodding his head in acknowledgement, yet still lost in deep thought. Following loosely behind Murdoch, Master Alyth leads the rest up the groaning staircase to the second floor. The stairs end in a great hall, a massive windowless room with lanterns hanging from the rafters, its wooden floor covered in thick rugs, dominated by two large tables filled with patrons drinking, eating, and gambling on their games of Baldur’s Bones.
Heading for the stout wooden door opening into the western wall of the upstairs great hall, the tavernmaster escorts the reunited A Cuspide Corona into the spacious, well-appointed private dining and meeting room beyond. The mounted head of a monstrous great cat, with glowing yellow eyes and covered in sleek blue-black fur that seems to warp the light around it in such a manner that its location appears to shift across the eastern wall above an armoire, clearly inspires the Displacer Beast Room’s name.
Master Alyth regains some level of self-awareness, enough to secure the door firmly behind him once the companions are within the room, before he places the forged key upon the table and lights the candle with the lantern’s flame, then settles the taper in its holder at the table’s center.
“I…cannot yet explain the words of the Elfsong, friends,” he begins, “but I do appreciate one’s need for privacy. How may I be of service, then, in these other matters of which you spoke downstairs?”
OOC: Good Evening, Adventurers! I hope this finds you well. Look forward to your questions of Master Alyth above, and at your discretion, please feel free to roll a History check if your mind wanders to what you might know of the Hellriders earlier referenced...