“How much longer are we going to wait?” Grove asks.

“What’s the rush?” Gereb says, nodding toward Chlora. “Whatever it is you have planned, I imagine we won’t be starting until morning, right? Not much sense is casting out at this hour.”

Chlora smiles toward the halfling and turns to Grove.“What IS your rush?” she asks. “You’ve asked some version of that question every ten minutes since getting here. It isn’t making the others show up any sooner, sadly.”

Grove frowns, becoming frustrated. “Chlora,” he says, “I will happily wait up until the still hours tonight for our companions. I don’t care about that.”

When Grove fail to continue, Chlora prompts, “But...?”

He sighs, spreading his hands, “It’s like I said earlier : HERE? NOW? I trust that you have your reasons; I do. But that faith does nothing to sate my restless curiosity. Something has obviously happened, changed. I want to know what it is.” He pauses lowering his voice and leaning across the table toward her. “This is the most important thing in my life – in ALL of our lives.” He inclines his chin toward Thump, then Gereb, “Assuming that Gereb…”

“Thump’s concerns are my concerns,” Gereb agrees, matter-of-factly. “We will see this through.”

Grove nods appreciatively toward Gereb before returning his attention to Chlora. “I am impatient, it’s true. Considering tonight is meant to be the culmination of everything I’ve done these last few years, everything I’ve tried to become, yes, Chlora, I am VERY eager to hear what you have in mind.”

Chlora sighs, “You’re right. And I appreciate the position I’ve put you all in. “Thump?”

At Chlora’s inquiry, the table’s attention turns to the warrior. Thump has just finished assimilating a fifth empty mug into a growing pyramid on the tabletop. “It’s eating me alive,” she says, slowly pulling her hands back from the monument. She shakes her head as she glances at Chlora. “I almost didn’t come,” she admits. “I don’t know what Grove’s been up to, but I’m not ready for this.”“None of us are,” Grove says. “How can we be? We’re still barely removed from that day. Hell, when I think back on what happened, it STILL feels fresh, festering. I can still see the scared child who --”

Grove pauses as his eyes begin to glint mistily. Fueled by smoldering emotion, his voice rises, its tone becoming sharp and pleading. “I THOUGHT I had time, years to prepare, to be ready for what needs to be done. I thought--”

Grove’s body begins to shudder and Chlora reaches out to gently place her hand on his shoulder. He stares pointedly at the tabletop as if transfixed by the patchwork of stains on its surface. Grove takes several long, deliberate breaths and covers Chlora’s hand with his. Slowly, he visibly calms, his body relaxing, and his darkening features lightening steadily.

When he finally looks at Chlora again, he offers a sad smile. “THAT’S why I’m impatient,” he explains. “This is everything to me, Chlor. That’s why I need to know why we’re here.”

“And I share this man’s curiosity.”

The companions glance up, startled by the interloping voice, to find three newcomers approaching their table. The speaker, like Chlora, is clad in robes. However, unlike the thick, blanketing fabric enshrouding her, the other’s garments are slimmer, more form-fitting. His hood is pulled back, exposes a thin smile as he considers the group.

Beside him, a woman grins mischievously, though her eyes, independent of her countenance, flick rapidly, almost nervously, across the room. The leather armor she wears is faded, worn out at the joints, and sighs noisily as she leans against the robed man.

To the robed figure’s right, the third newcomer stands, arms folded across his chest stoically. He is the shortest of the trio, though not nearly as diminutive as Gereb. His unique features have already attracted unflattering attention from many tavern patrons. Whereas Gereb’s tiny form can easily be mistaken for that of a human child, none misinterpret this figure’s pointed ears and casual, almost haughty disposition.

There is a moment of apprehensive uncertainty, but it soon gives way to an outpouring of excitement as recognition dawns upon Chlora and her charges.

“Now THIS is a sight,” Grove exclaims. Rising, he shrugs loose of his frustration (and Chlora’s hand) in one smooth motion and beams warmly at the newcomers. “I’ll be damned.”

The leather-clad woman frowns, speaking through the corner of her mouth to her companions. “That’s strange,” she tells them. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure I can adapt, but to be honest, I think I still prefer ‘Grove.’”

* * *

Oath leans forward, wrapping his arms around Thump’s back and arms. The fighter’s mouth cocks crookedly as she stares at one of the encircling sleeves. “What took you so long?” she asks. “Needed time to iron your robe?”

Oath glances at Thread while telling Thump, “We had some debts to balance but we’re here now.” He draws back his arms, resting them on the warrior’s shoulders. With stunned abashedness, he says, “Thump...you, uh – have you done a fair bit of growing since last I saw you?”

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Easily, she unfastens his hands, stands, and turns to face him. Oath’s eyes widen as he stares up at her.

“Oh,” he comments simply.

Thump offers him a self-satisfied smirk. “Welcome back,” she tells the Cleric as she reaches out and lovingly smothers him.

Grove has circled the table to embrace Thread. “I didn’t even see you come in,” he tells her. “Your training must be going well.”

Thread groans and Grove releases her, brow wrinkling in puzzlement. She again glares at Oath, saying, “Despite some newly-revealed sabotage.”

Oath’s muffled chuckle induces a sulking frown and, “Thump, do me a favor and squeeze him tighter.”

Thump complies; Oath begins to laugh harder, reconsiders, and tap’s his companions back frantically. She releases her grip and Oath pulls away. He bends forward, hands on his knees, and sucks in several long, hungry breaths. “Just...having...a little...fun,” he wheezes.

Chlora approaches Errow, patting her palms against the sides of her robes sheepishly, unsure of how to behave. Finally, she says, “It’s good to see you again.”

Seeing her nervousness, he smirks. “You have a good memory,” he tells her. “It’s true, I’m still not fond of physical acts of affection. But --” he lurches forward, sloppily envelopes her with his arms, and pats the center of her back. “If ever there was a cause for exception, it’s now.”

Chlora relaxes, adjusts within his grip slightly and returns the gesture. He giggles, an almost melodious sound, and whispers, “Sorry, I don’t have much practice.”

None, she recalls, at least in my sight. A special occasion, indeed.

“Thank you very much for coming,” she tells him. “It’s good to see you.”

“It’s my pleasure.”

They part, and Chlora nods toward Oath, Thread. “All of you,” she further extends the greeting. “I greatly appreciate you accepting my summons, though… I hadn’t realized you would be coming together.”

“Neither did they,” Errow says with a wry grin toward his companions.

“Yes,” Thread agrees, frowning, “though our elven companion missed the part in your invitation about who, exactly, is supposed to be able to hide in shadows.”

Chlora smiles, shaking her head at the elf, “Is there anything you CAN’T do Errow?”

Errow tilts his head to the side thoughtfully, genuinely considering the question. His eyebrows raise, “Ah.” He lifts onto his toes, stretches his arm above his head toward the tavern’s arching ceiling. “Reaching the top shelf,” he concedes.

* * *

The companions spend the next several minutes settling in, ordering food, and, finally, replacing their emptied tankards with freshly-filled substitutes. They recount their experiences since arriving at the Fort. Grove describes the fire-tender’s parlor trickery. Chlora recreates Grove’s nostalgic monologue. Gereb details he and Thump’s interaction with the unsuspecting bullies, though none of the party are surprised by its sudden, violent resolution. Finally, Errow’s serendipitous arrival to heckle Thread and thwart Oath’s gamesmanship is detailed to the former’s chagrin, and the latter’s reluctant amusement.

“I was GOING to tell her eventually; of course I was!” Oath argues good-humoredly.

“Sure you were,” Thread grumbles, “after you pulled that on me a few dozen more times.” She thrusts her finger toward him, “How many of my training sessions have been undermined by your spell-casting?”

Oath holds up his hands defensively, “Not many, I promise. Though, honestly, much of the time, I don’t even realize I’m magically interfering.” He lowers his hands as he shakes his head, “It feels so second nature to me at this point, my spells come out almost on their own when I need them.”

“That could be pretty dangerous, depending on the spell,” Gereb suggests, chuckling.

“Or detrimental to one’s professional self-confidence,” Thread grouses again, viciously skewering a boiled potato from her plate. “I wouldn’t treat YOU that way. We’re supposed to be--”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Oath says quickly, leaning toward the dejected thief. “I swear, I’ll make it up to you the first chance I get. I promise.”

Thread looks up from the mangled spud, her frown easing, “It had better be something good; you’ve damn-near given me a complex.”

Oath smiles warmly at her, “It will be. You’ll see.”

“Um… not to interrupt here, exactly,” Gereb says tentatively. Oath, Thread, and the rest of the table turn to him expectently. “Oh…” he sighs, “well, yes, I suppose that WAS an interruption. Sorry.” Thread smiles; Oath nods; everyone waits.

Gereb clears his throat and then continues, “Ok, so, I realize I’m an outsider here, the only person among us without a direct… tie, let’s say, to this thing. So, because of that, I hope you’ll forgive me if I have a few, well, confusions, that--”

“Just ask your question,” Grove interjects sharply. Recognizing the brusqueness of his own words, he cushions them with a smirk and, “Please.”

Gereb laughs. “’To the point, Gereb; there is more important business to hand.’” he self-admonishes. “Yes.” He turns to face Oath and Thread. “Are you married? Or is the relationship more casual?”

Oath’s eyes snap open wildly while, beside him, Thread explodes into a gout of laughter, projecting glistening, liquor-infused spittle and slivers of potato across the table.

Grove crosses his arms behind his head and leans back in his seat. To Chlora, he whispers, “Oh, I can’t wait to hear this.” Chlora giggles, covering her mouth with her sleeve.

Gereb appears mortified, twisting from Oath to Thread and back. Though he is unclear of his offense – or amusement – he feels compelled to apologize… or bow. Both? He compromises by doing nothing except drooping his head in self-recriminating stupefaction.

With Thread jubilantly incapacitated, the duty of explanation passes to the stunned Oath. “No-no-no-no,” he stammers. “Not like that at all. No – I… we give that impression?”

Gereb’s head is bowed against his chest, his eyes shut, and cheeks puffed out. He expels a long sigh and mutters to himself, “And this, Gereb, is why you only have the one friend. No, no,” he lifts his head, showing Oath a nervous smile. “Not… exactly. What I meant was : you seem to be very close – wait; I mean... you seem to have a very, uh, tightly-knit relationship like --” his own eyes widen now as realization’s mailed fist strikes the center of his belly, “OH! Siblings – oh, I’m so sorry; yes, it’s very obvious. I can’t believe I made that ridiculous mistake!”

Thread has relaxed enough now to gasp, “Technically… no… but… functionally… yes.”

Gereb looks to Oath for conformation. The cleric nods.

“I...see,” Gereb says slowly. He considers a moment before admitting, “Actually, no, I guess I really don’t.” He glances at Thump, “Though, I do understand atypical relationships quite well.”

At Oath’s prompting, Gereb summarizes his Thump stewardship once more. At the conclusion of his explanation, Thump reiterates, “It’s a complicated relationship.”

“Well, there you go,” Thread says, gesturing toward the other companions, “’complicated relationships’ all around; you’re in good company.”

“So, please,” Oath adds, “don’t feel uncomfortable asking questions – even if they do, occasionally, catch one or two of us off-guard.” Seeing Gereb’s eyes downturn guiltily toward the tabletop, he quickly continues, “Believe me, we’ve been questioned about this more times in our lives than I could ever count – even by people who currently sit with us at this table. It was only your… conclusion that was a bit startling – not at all illogical, just…”

“Absurd in ways you couldn’t even imagine,” Thread offers, sweetly batting her eye lashes toward her brother. She then spins and supplies a hearty, good-natured shove to Gereb’s shoulder. “But thank you SO much for the laugh. Oh, but that felt good after the day I’ve had.”

Gereb grins sheepishly, “You’re...welcome?”

“And you aren’t any kind of outsider” Chlora interjects, “truly. As a friend/protector/BODYGUARD to Thump, that makes you one of us as well.”

“Thank you,” Gereb tells her. “That actually means a lot – especially after that muss-up with the locals.” Reflexively, his eyes seek out the three hooligans, but they find only an empty table. Klum’s gang is gone.