The excitement of Sokol Keep's beacon and Guard Sergeant Grim's subsequent hanging has faded into the past, and life in Phlan has settled back into routine for many. After her chat with Ola, Zelra left in high spirits, citing some new business opportunities and wishing you all well.

At the moment you have gathered for breakfast at The Laughing Goblin; rowdy by night, you are the only ones here in the tavern this morning, giving you a chance to speak openly with one another about the events of the last tenday. You are joined today by a new contact of Arnald's from within the Order of the Gauntlet. While you wait for Fat Mar to bring your meal, you have a moment for introductions to be made.

Our Party:

Arnald the Keen: Human Fighter (Battle Master)
Eonis Valsparr: Human Cleric (War Domain)
Ola do Mari: Water Genasi Paladin/Warlock (The Hexblade)
Sylyra Wasanthi: Wood Elf Druid (Circle of the Shepherd)
Uragum: Goliath Wizard (War Magic)

Eonis Valsparr is a human female in her mid 20s. She has wavy shoulder length brown hair, tanned skin that might have once been pale, and a black cloth eyepatch that covers nearly a quarter of her face and her left eye. Her form and features would be considered beautiful by the standards of the region if not for that, although her appearance leans more towards the ideal lower class beauty, buxom and full lipped, than the delicate features and form of noble ideal - more how someone would idealize a courtesan than a priestess typically.

She wears one black glove on her right hand, opposite the black eye patch over left eye, and a white glove on the right hand. She wears chainmail armor with the purple colored vestments of a cleric of Tyr, and her tabard displays the god’s holy symbol, a pair of scales balanced above a Warhammer.  She does carry one of the trademark weapons of her deity, a Warhammer, along with a shield also displaying the sigil of her faith, and a simple but well made quarterstaff. 

Her right eye seems to dart in all directions on entering. She takes care in her movements and positioning, keeping her back away from windows and away from strangers, keeping a distance of several feet from others and keeping them from her blind side. She moves deliberately and precisely, often looking down at her feet before taking rapid shuffling steps forward, then suddenly stopping at some fixed location before repeating the process. Despite the calm environment they are meeting in she behaves as if she was in the worst sort of seedy alleyway, on guard for pickpockets or knives at her back. 

On seeing her contact, Arnald, Eonis raises her hand in acknowledgment, then moves in an odd zig zagging course to where he awaits. She has a nervous energy and paranoia that is uncharacteristic for the clergy of Tyr, but other than that, and the evidence of an eye injury, she looks the part of one the clerics seem at The Waiting, as she knows the local temple of Tyr. 

 If Eonis knows Phlan's temple of Tyr, then she knows Ola, who, until recently, worked there constantly helping healers. It's not Ola's abilities (pretty mediocre aside of stubborn dedication) that made her notable, but appearance. She looks like an elf - with all the "slender beauty" coming with the term, but of all shades of blue. While blue hair is something common enough, and deep blue eyes is not something unheard of, but skin has a hue too intense even for the sea elves, and all that combined make her to stand our in pretty much any crowd.

She dresses as a warrior most of the time and though nothing in her equipment looks remotely magical (even quite exotic shield, made of a dragon scale) all of it is of a good - very good! - quality and not of local craftsmen.

It can be assumed (if Eonis indeed had dealings in the Temple) that with her features, Ola can know her too, even if indirectly. She would give a short nod, greeting a familiar face.

Eonis has been in Phlan for a bit, but given the distinctive nature of Ola there is some recognition. “Hello, I think I’ve seen you around The Waiting. I don’t know your name, apologies. I was introduced to Arnald recently. I’m Eonis Valsparr, Cleric of Tyr. It looks like we will all be working together.”

She speaks in an odd cadence, sometimes trailing off slowly and then suddenly firing off a rapid fire series of words. 

 “I’m looking forward to finding a way to make myself useful to the fellowship of Tyr and to the city of Phlan, yes.” She looks at the available chairs, then moves a free one several feet, adjusting her positioning somewhat, before taking a seat. 

During conversation she displays a series of odd patterns that could be nervous tics or something else altogether, drumming her fingers one by one on the table as if counting the seconds, hitting twice with the thumb as it resets, as if repeatedly counting off intervals of six seconds. She occasionally shifts her posture, crossing her legs or her arms, touching the grip of her Warhammer, the length of the quarter staff, or her coin purse, as she does so, as if frequently reassuring herself of the permanence of those objects. 

Sylyra is standing at the bar, squinting a little, and asking Imizael for something that might help a headache when Eonis enters The Laughing Goblin. The elf turns to look at her and immediately begins scrutinizing the eye patch, the mismatched gloves, the fit of her armor, and her odd gate. His eyes narrow steadily as he watches, but widen as she and Arnald share a wave. After she stops at their table, Sylyra approaches, his head — fine features framed by enviable locks of white blond hair — now held high, clearly feeling superior. He is tall, thin, and beautiful, and his green eyes seem to glow. Today, he is wearing his adventuring cloak of dark green. Once at her side, the elf places his left palm on his chest. A gold signet ring with onyx and emeralds on the middle finger of the hand catching her eye. "Sylyra Wasanthi," he enunciates carefully. He pauses to see if she recognizes the name, then goes on. "You have business here?"

 Eonis nods, her right eye darting about as the takes in Sylyra from head to toe, evidently draws some unspoken conclusions which cause her to adjust her posture slightly to be more formal, her nervous tics under control, before replying.  "Yes, on behalf of the Order of the Gauntlet, I was introduced to Arnald, a fellow member.  I'm hoping to be of some use to your group, and to the Order." Despite the awkwardness of her speech, there is something oddly rehearsed about her responses, as if she spent time putting together the simple greetings and answers she has provided thus far. 

She provides no cues as to whether she recognizes the elf by name, and in her response makes no attempt to pronounce it.  

"Ow, ow, okay, okay I'm im getting out.  Just send a plate of that stuff out.  Its good, and don't forget the bacon," Uragum calls back to the kitchen as he ushered.  From the opening a massive Goliath steps out.  His head bald but covered in a series of intricate brown markings not uncommon to Goliaths.  He wears some simple clothing of dark browns and green.  Around his waist is a thick chain used both as a belt but also runs through a hole in a thick book with arcane runes upon the cover.  Tucked into the chain is a thick leather glove with blade protruding from it.

Using his long strides, Uraguk makes his way to the table and takes a seat.  "They got some good stuff in the kitchen this morn..." he begins then stops.  "New face here, don't recognize ya... Names Uragum."

Sylyra turns a surprised look on Arnald. "The Order of the Gauntlet?" He pauses, and his face then changes as he appears to reconsider the situation. The elf nods. "Smart." He turns his gaze back on the newcomer. "It looks like we have our own 'in' with the Order, so we won't be in need of you."

"This is Eonis Valsparr ," answered Ola to Uragum for the newcomer. "From the Temple of Tyr." She nodded to Eonis "Yes, we certainly saw each other, though never were introduced. I am Ola do Mari, pleased to meet you. Never mind Sylyra, help of a cleric is always welcomed. But we did have some run-ins with the Order and can be a little prejudiced."

"Would you mind me to ask - your presence here, does it mean the Oder of Gauntlet wants something from our group?"

Eonis shifts from face to face like someone parrying sword strikes, rather than engaging in a casual first meeting. To Uragum she replies, “Yes, a new face - Eonis Valspar, Cleric of Tyr, associated with the Order of the Gauntlet. I was just introducing myself to your friends and now I’m introducing myself to you.” She seems to go a bit off of her prepared script with that one, and frowns slightly. 
 
To Sylyra’s comment she responds off the cuff, with none of the prior stop and go cadence, “Oh, you don’t need me for reasons of social contracts with local power groups, I certainly overlap with Arnald in that arena. I would imagine I’ll fill a tactical role as a skilled melee combatant and divine spellcaster.” 

She pauses after that comment and resumes the nervous tic of tapping the table in rhythm. “Sorry. A few minutes in and I’ve said something weird. Uh, I’ll be able to help you.”

She looks a bit blankly to Ola, and just nods once. “No offense taken. We all need to grow comfortable with one another here and now so that when our lives are threatened we can function in perfect unison as a well oiled machine. This sort of banter is productive. Probably.” 

Sylyra frowns and looks at Ola, Uragum and Arnald. "What is she ... ? Did I miss something? 'Fill a tactical role'? Is she ... Is she supposed to be taking Zelra's place?" Sylyra stammers, looking both appalled and angry.

Eonis closes her good eye and takes a deep, centering breath, and folds her hands to prevent any nervous movements. “Maybe I wasn’t ready for this. To go back into the field, to be around people. Just forget about it. It’s... a thing I do. I spent a lot of alone seeking a certain epiphany, and... I found it, and I suppose it makes it difficult in these sort of social situations. I tend to see everything as a battle, and battle as an... abstraction of sorts. It’s difficult to describe.” 

Though she seems to try to restrain the impulse, she gives in and blurts out, “Who is Zelra? Someone who died? They were part of your group?” 

Ola sighed: "No one is going to replace Zelra, no one can replace Zelra. All it means, our group became famous enough for others to wish to join our cause, or ranks, if you wish."

She looked at Eonis: "Zelra was a member of our group since the time we were not even a group yet".(Ola could not help it but to glance at Sylyra: "Nice of you to see us this way, Zelra would appreciate it.") "She had to leave for her own business, and I sincerely hope she is alive and well. But we do miss her."

"If you are indeed sent by The Order or answered the call of Tyr, it is not up to you now to decide if you are ready or not, is it? Let us try to make the best of it." "Now, what does the Order wants with us?"

At the word "famous", Sylyra's demeanor softens, and he almost looks smug. But then at Ola's aside to him about Zelra, he immediately narrows his eyes and straightens his back. Then, at the assumed pronouncement that this new — strange — woman would be accompanying them, the elf turns his back and returns to the bar and the thin, black-haired barkeep. "Imizael, my headache is getting worse. Do you have anything?"

Eonis shakes her head, and resumes various nervous-seeming movements.  "I think there's a misunderstanding.  I don't have a specific mission from the order.  Arnald and I are both recent recruits to the Order of the Gauntlet, I just came by to make introductions.  You're right, on the latter point.  It's not up to me, the timing.  I've wasted enough time in life.  Yes, I do have a calling from Tyr, and the Order of the Gauntlet, so I will act on it. Here I am.  Acting on it." 

She orders some breakfast when an opportunity presents itself, then says,  "I heard about the hanging recently.  That's a bit of local gossip.  That sort of thing sometimes sparks a conversation.  Conversation on issues of the day is a normal way to pass the time during a meal."  She articulates normally unspoken things aloud as if reminding herself of some mantra, trying to control her words and actions to be more socially acceptable, while likely being all the more alienating in the process.  

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At the word "famous", Sylyra's demeanor softens, and he almost looks smug. But then at Ola's aside to him about Zelra, he immediately narrows his eyes and straightens his back. Then, at the assumed pronouncement that this new — strange — woman would be accompanying them, the elf turns his back and returns to the bar and the thin, black-haired barkeep. "Imizael, my headache is getting worse. Do you have anything?"

 Eonis is insightful enough that she realizes her demeanor is vexing to some of them, but she seems largely indifferent to it, more concerned with awkwardly going through the motions of a social greeting with the group.  "I do have some knowledge of herbalism and medicine.  Given some time I could probably prepare something, if you're unable to find relief for your malady.   Did you drink to excess and fail to hydrate properly?  That's a common cause of morning headaches."    

Uragum laughs, "Eonis was it?  I gots a feeling that you're a stiff.  Might be the new meetin and all but spend time with us and you'll loosen up."  

He stops to take a good gulp of his drink before turning back to her, "A good skirmish will cement ya to the group... or end in youre death or mental break.  I guess we'll see."

Eonis seems to seize onto Urugum’s comment, growing genuinely interested, rather than going through seemingly rehearsed greetings. “That’s exactly right! One skirmish makes all the difference. All the camaraderie and training, days and hours and weeks and months, none of that matters in the end. It’s those seconds - those eternal and meaningful seconds of battle - where life ends and minds are shattered.  I didn’t know you’d researched my own history, sir Goliath. Yes, all the others died, and I suppose my own state afterwards has been described as a ‘mental break’ by most.”

She mistakenly assumes the Goliath wizard was referring to the incident from her own past, a skirmish that ended in her fellow clerics and Paladins of Tyr falling in battle, while she, the lone survivor, was left mentally broken and obsessed. It doesn’t occur to her he might be speaking of some other incident, or a possible future tense scenario. 

”But that’s before my years studying the ways of the Red Knight, finding The Strategy, The System. It’s not as clear to me now as it was then, but I can still see it, in more lucid moments.  It’s something of an obsession. Forgive me, I made efforts to avoid going right there, since many people find it off putting, but as you’ve brought it up, certainly, I’d much rather know about your respective combat abilities than any of your personal traits. A trusted bond built on shared faith and friendship doesn’t matter when those precious seconds start ticking. It’s what you can do. Strength of arm, precision of aim, force of will, and tactical acumen - that’s the underlying reality of the world. That’s the truth I was seeking, and for a fleeting moment I had it.” 

"Uhh..." Uragum said as he took an awkward pause and then a slow sip of his drink.  He had known nothing of her prior and seemed he had struck some sort of chord with her but as she continued to talk it seemed she had made some sort of peace with the situation.  She lost the whole group and managed to bring herself back out of despair to fight again.  It was reapectable and Uragum found himself smiling behind his glass.

Setting it down he said, "Well, if you're asking what my capabilities are.  I'd say come see me at the fighting pit.  Well not just me a few of us frequent the pits.  Nothing like a good scrap to keep you're skills sharp.  Beyond that, I'm sharp with combat magic."