The group continues catching up as they finish their meals – an act that takes far longer for some than others. Thump has replaced her pyramid of empty mugs with a precariously-balanced mound of shorn chicken legs. Whilst delivering her most recent sum, the tavern girl glares at the monument and grumbles, “Guess it’ll be stew tomorrow, then.”
Though her companions’ gustatory endeavors have yielded less spectacular returns, it hasn’t been for a lack of trying. Only an hour removed from reuniting, the company, famished from the day’s travels, has depleted a substantial portion of local food stores while buoying the Fort’s meager economy. Evidence of the exchange now exists only as crumbs, stains, and greasy bones on the tabletop and as frantic ink smears in the financial ledger of the tavern’s stunned proprietor.
Still, a growing anticipation underlies the feast. Around mouthfuls, casual glances toward Chlora betray excited or nervous expectation. The atmosphere is pleasant enough, though, and rustic and isolated as the Fort may be, the cuisine is both satisfying and plentiful.
Yet, all involved share an increasing motivation to confront the true purpose of this reunion. Good brew, tasty fare, and boisterous conversation are insufficient sustenance for the companions’ real appetites.
The meal nearing its end, their shared eagerness has bloated as assuredly as their well-tended bellies, threatening to burst.
“Is it time NOW?”
The table (and a good portion of the tavern’s other clientele) become silent.
For the second time this evening, many eyes fall upon Grove. Seeing this, he roughly gnaws a cheese wedge and explains, “Well, someone had to ask it. All this tension is giving me a headache.”
Chlora gives the front door one last, sighing appraisal. No new, familiar faces have manifest within its frame. Throughout the last hour, while mindful of her companions’ intimating glances, she has been minding the tavern’s entrance, waiting, hoping. Regretably, it seems, fortune has already expended its reserve on her behalf. Loyalty has exceeded her expectations, but disappointed her hopes.
Resigned, when the tavern regains its noisome demeanor, she finally addresses her companions, “Again, let me thank you all for answering my call. Some of you have traveled halfway across the continent to be here, and I want you to understand how much I appreciate that sacrifice. Likewise, you have done so years before you anticipated such a summons.”
“Also,” she continues, “I understand and SHARE,” here she nods slightly toward Grove, “the sense of urgency in getting this matter underway. I appreciate your patience and willingness to abide me the last few hours.”
“’Dinner is on me’,” Thump quotes.
Chlora smiles at the big warrior. “Regardless, I do appreciate it. Understand, I haven’t been stalling solely for the sake of torturing you,” another glance toward Grove. He smirks. “I just wanted to ensure everyone was present before proceeding.”
“Not everyone IS present,” Thread reminds her, “not even close.”
“I know,” Chlora admits with a sad sigh. “Some never responded to my invitation; others have and, apparently, changed their minds after doing so. Perhaps more may yet arrive before morning.”
Despite the hopeful tilt of the sentiment, the likelihood of such optimism’s fruition is slim. All present recognize this, Chlora included.
“Gereb,” she says, changing subject, “I apologize, but first I must put you on the spot once more.”
“Yes, Chlora?” the halfling asks.
“Has Thump explained to you the purpose of this gathering?”
“Yes, Chlora.”
The mage continues, “Good. But to be absolutely clear, has she specifically described the circumstances surrounding our separation as children, and why we pledged at that time to reunite as adults?”
Gereb nods, answering with a simple but solemn, “Revenge.”
Chlora’s mouth quirks and she nods back. Still, she presses, “But did she provide details of whom was responsible, the depth and nature of their betrayal?”
“And why they deserve to die,” Errow adds coldly.
“Yes,” Gereb confirms to Chlora; then, to Errow, “Implicit considering the breadth of destruction and suffering.”
This response satisfies both party members, but Gereb continues. “Chlora,” he says, “I do know about all this, and I am truly sorry for what happened to all of you, your families…”
Thump absently mouths the word as Gereb speaks it, “But,” he says/she ventriloquizes. “My understanding is that your village is -- excuse me, WAS – quite some distance from here; likewise the offending parties. I share Grove’s, erm, passionate frustration on this. I don’t mean to criticize and I do very much appreciate your kindness and courtesy, but” – one word, two mouths; Thump invokes the word vocally this time, though Gereb doesn’t seem to notice -- “I really must ask... why did you bring us to this awful place?”
Chlora chuckles, first at Gereb and then at Grove’s smug smirk. “Thank you,” she tells the former, “I just needed to be sure.” Addressing the whole party once more, she goes on, “Now, to answer his other question – THE question. Unlike those who have chosen to absent themselves from our oath, you have all kept your word – not just about coming, but about taking the necessary preparations in the interim. We have all begun progressing down paths that will make us into useful instruments of retribution.”
“We have,” Thread interrupts, “BEGUN down those paths, as you say. The agreement was, and correct me if I’m misremembering, to reunite only AFTER we had become --”
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Chlora cuts her off with a sharp wave of her hand. The face behind it, however, offers a tolerant smile, “I know,” she says. “I was there, I remember our words, the bond we formalized. Like the rest of you, I will never forget it, nor will I forget the tragedy that necessitated it. But please, let me explain why I’ve hastened the fulfillment of that pledge – I swear to you, I’m getting to my point.” She smiles again and Thread nods with a measure of reluctance.
“Yes,” Chlora continues, “we are, at best, apprentices, understudies – beginners. Thread is not wrong. At the moment we have no chance at completing our ultimate goal and fulfilling that commitment.”
She pauses a moment. The morose admittance swirls between them like vagrant dust motes.
Gereb turns to Thump and leans his cheek against his hand. The action obscures his mouth from the others. He frowns with concentration… waiting…
“BUT--” Chlora says while Gereb emphatically mouths its likeness.
Thump beams excitedly, giving the halfling a light arm bruising. “Now you’re getting it!” she whispers to him. Both return their attention to Chlora, who ignores their exchange.
“Recently, a...” Chlora considers her words carefully, “unique… opportunity has presented itself – one that made me rethink our arrangement.”
“And make a unilateral decision without consulting any of us first?” Oath asks. “Your letter certainly read as a command, not a suggestion, to my eyes.”
“I know, I know,” Chlora admits, holding up her hands. “And I’m sorry for that. But surely you understand how protracted consulting each of you would have been. It would have delayed proceedings substantially, if it would have even been possible at all. Our diaspora proved far broader than I had expected. And that’s fine. From what I’ve learned, both around this table and beforehand, in our time apart, we have each flourished. We found new homes, new people to trust and care about.” She nods appreciatively toward Gereb. “We haven’t replaced what we lost – we could never do that; you can’t replace family and you can’t revive innocence – but we have stolen back measures of contentment and purpose.”
“But, due to all of that, I needed to make an executive decision as it were. While we certainly never thought to appoint a ‘delegate-elect’ for future decision making, I believe that my current disposition has necessarily elevated me into that role. This is insofar as planning and preparing this reunion only – expediting the timeline being part of that preparation.”
When the magic-user pauses again, Grove peels his lips open from a long-standing grimace and interjects, “Chlora, you’ve been eating around the edges of something here since you started talking, but I can’t for the life of me work out what it is you’re trying to bite into.” He looks to the others for support, then raises his voice, “Can we please just FINALLY get to the part where you tell us why we’re here?”
Several mumbles of assent from the other party members commence as Grove leans back, waiting.
Chlora sighs and then grins wearily at Gereb. “See,” she tells him, “they do it to me, too. You’re one of us, all right.”
Gereb chuckles. “Well,” he admits quietly, “I think we’d all like to know.”
Chlora nods. With sudden urgency, she proclaims, “The fastest, most efficient method to improve our abilities is to USE them – to put them into practice. Training and study and THEORY only take one so far; eventually knowledge must be applied to real-world situations. This creates genuine aptitude and experience. I suggest we SHARE these experiences as a team. We can work together, grow together. Eventually we will need to rely upon one-another’s talents anyway, so why not begin right now, while those talents are still in their infancy, still being refined? Instead of evolving as individuals and eventually trying to come together as rigid veterans ,relative strangers, we can synergize WHILE we prepare. We will adapt, overcome, prosper, and grow TOGETHER. By the time we have achieved sufficient prowess to confront our true enemy, we will ready – a party of friends and allies who trust one another, not just through nearly-forgotten bonds of childhood whimsy, but as warriors who have been through hell and back TOGETHER, and KNOW – not hope, but KNOW – that nothing can stand in our way – not evil the ultimate evil.”
“So, you want to know why I brought you here, now, to this walled hovel in the middle of nowhere?”
“Friends, there is a massive Hill outside town, just across the river. Surely you noticed it as you arrived. The townsfolk speak of it as a revered monolith, but I see it for what it truly is : a testing ground. Cloaked in mystery it may be, but whatever dangers its mist-laden slopes may conceal, I am certain we can overcome them – together. The locals insist that no one to ever challenge the Hill has survived. Tomorrow, we’re going to change that.”
The group is hushed for a moment, Chlora’s impassioned solicitation swirling conflicting emotions in most of their minds.
There is a more practical consideration, however, one that has literally been staring them in the face. Thread is the first to bring attention to it.
“But,” she glances down despondently at her pocked and musty leather vest, “h...how?”
“Yes,” Oath agrees, “Your appeal is… incredibly moving. Truly. But you said it yourself, we aren’t ready for this. It’s more than just lacking experience,” he reaches across the table and, with a weighty groan, plucks Thump’s warhammer from where it leans against the wood. Carefully, he extends it toward Chlora demonstrably. Its head is scarred and corroded, several deep chips broken from its face. Its handle is splintered and nearly cracked in half a third of the way down its broad length.
Seeing the display, Thump shrugs, “Well, it does still HURT.” She takes a long, conciliatory drink of ale and frowns.
Oath lays the weapon across the table like a bedraggled sacrifice. “We can’t AFFORD to do what you say. All of us, our equipment is rough-shod, barely functional. Such an expedition across that river requires a boat, provisions, better weapons and armor. And, speaking for myself and Thread at least,” he nods toward the thief, “we are BROKE.”
The thief holds up a meekly slanted hand, “We do have other qualities, too, though.”
“They’re right,” Grove says. “Chlora, I see what you’re getting at – FINALLY, I think I understand – but I need to agree with Oath. Even if our fledgling training is somehow adequate, we can’t AFFORD to be doing this right now. I appreciate, even admire the idea, but how exactly are we expected to pay for all of this? Sure, I’ve had reasonable luck after fleeing. I’ve made friends, established and worked on my craft, pulled together something resembling a life, yes, but I started with NOTHING – we all did. Had you not paid for this trip and,” guiltily he shrugs toward the culinary graveyard before him, “this meal, I couldn’t have come. It’s not a question of honor or intent, I simply couldn’t have afforded it.” Others nod in reluctant solidarity. He looks again to Chlora, sighing apologetically, “I’m sorry, but I CAN’T do this.”
All eyes on Chlora, she sits, hands steepled above her lips. The points of her forefingers tap together rhythmically as she listens to the others’ reservations. Finally, she sighs, pulls the warhammer to herself and examines it thoughtfully.
Grove and Errow exchange a worried expression, causing the latter to uncharacteristically raise his voice, “Chlora!” he says. She glances up, slightly recoiling in surprise. More sheepishly, Errow adds, “They’re right. As much sense as your suggestion makes, how do you expect us to pay for it?”
Chlora lowers the warhammer across her lap, groaning at the sudden burden. Thump rises quickly and retrieves her weapon, prompting a very appreciative grunt of relief from the mage. When Thump has re-seated herself, Chlora leans forward and smiles wanly. It is the satisfied grin of the hunter who has just watched his unsuspecting prey stagger irrevocably into a well-laid trap. “How do YOU pay for this?” she asks rhetorically. “My dear friends, YOU do not. All expenses of this expedition, including weapons, food, and every other cost that may arrise, will be covered at no expense to any of you.”
Errow stares back at her, stunned. “H-how is this possible?” he stammers.
Chlora’s smile expands until it becomes a thin dagger, glinting in the torchlight. “Simple,” she says. “I’m rich.”