— Keira —
The rest of the walk to the tavern was pleasantly uneventful and soon Keir, Lovisa, Mesalin, and Alasdair were sitting or standing around the end of the bar. Most of the other counselors had spent some time with them before moving to join one of the other tables, almost all of which were now filled.
Keir had a faint smile as she watched Lovisa excitedly describe finding the Hematic Grape Progenitor Node, with only mild embellishment. Around the point when Lovisa was describing how surprised she’d been to realize her find had been a progenitor node, Keir looked away and reached for her glass. She reflexively swirled the vibrant amber colored liquor before raising the glass and taking a drink. As the sweet, smokey, and slightly metallic liquid burned its way down her throat she caught eyes with Mesalin who gave her a slightly teasing smirk.
Mesalin seemed rather pleased with herself and Keir had to admit it was warranted. It was clear a lot of work had gone into building an impressive variety of drinks for the tavern. Given the village's location Keir was not surprised to see the wide variety of dwarven whiskeys or the gleaming copper bottles of flavored gnomish schnapps. She was a bit more apprised to notice more than a few bottles of kumis each stamped with a different orcish clan mark. Despite that she definitely hadn’t expected to see the harpy reach under the counter and pull out an ornate greenish blue sea glass bottle of steel coast rum.
She didn’t want to interrupt Lovisa’s well earned moment so she simply tapped her finger on the rim of her glass and smiled appreciatively. Such a taste of home was rare so far inland.
Mesalin simply shook her head almost imperceptibly as her smirk grew and flicked her eyes between Lovisa and Keir.
Keir wasn’t completely sure why but she took another larger drink to hide her non-existent blush. Before she could think of a response the bar quieted noticeably as the door swung open.
From behind her she could hear what seemed to be a pair of people approaching. One pair of footsteps was the confident tread of a warrior’s boots. The other was a somewhat odd uneven gait alternating between a soft leather clad step and the clack of metal on wood. Mesalin looked surprised but pleased to see whoever was approaching so rather rise from her seat Keir simply swiveled on her bar stool to examine them.
The footsteps belonged to a pair of dryads who were as different looking as two dryads with the same type of tree could be. Their skin was bone white with wood grain like patterns clearly visible and their leaf like hair was the same dark bruise color. That was where the similarities ended.
The taller of the pair looked to be around as tall as Keir’s own six foot two inches if not a few inches taller. Her hair was short and messy. Her eyes were deep pits of shadow with yellow firefly like specks in place of pupils. Her polished iron oak armor and the comfortable way she held her polearm showed Keir's assumption she was a warrior was accurate. She moved with an easy almost predatory grace, her slender form clearly taught with muscle.
By contrast, her companion was well over a head shorter and she was the sort of thin that came from a childhood spent in a sick bed and or deprived of food. Her hair was worn loose and hung down to the top of her butt if not a bit further. She wore a simple pale green dress with an asymmetric hem. On her right side it reached down to mid calf and the other stopped a little over a third of the way down her thigh. Likewise the sleeves were different lengths. The left sleeve in so far as there was one was more of a wide strap and the other stopped just below her elbow. While appearance likely played a role it was obvious at a glance that the shape of her garment was at least partially dictated by more practical concerns. Her right leg was replaced with an enchanted clockwork prosthetic just over halfway up her thigh. Her left arm was likewise replaced at the shoulder and fully half of her right hand was a prosthetic. From the look of it her face had not been entirely spared the injury or illness that affected her limbs. Her eyes were pits of shadow like those of the other dryad, though one was dark green and the other was a vibrant pale blue. Judging from the discolored and melted wax like skin around her blue eye it was likely that before returning from the veil that eye was at least blind and more likely missing.
Keir had to make a conscious effort to keep her surprise from her face as she looked at the likely dwarven prosthetics. She wasn’t sure what surprised her more. The fact the dryad was allowed to live with such extensive damage done to her or her use of mechanical assistance to overcome that damage. Perhaps more surprising than either was the fact the other dryad was dressed in the armor of the famed Thorn Guardians. As a member of the militant arm of the temple of the Emerald Grove she was required to cut down the other dryad.
Mesalin’s voice was bright as she said “Cara, Dervla I’m glad to see you’ve woken. We hoped you had also returned from the veil but we couldn’t be certain.”
The dress wearing dryad smiled and responded “I am glad to see so many other familiar faces seem to be present.” Her oddly flute-like voice was bright and genuine.
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The other dryad's voice was deeper with a bit of an edge when she added “You will forgive me for saying I am neither surprised nor sorry to see Drethlin is not among those who returned.” She glanced over at Keir taking in her armor and the sword leaning against the bar and continued “Is this his replacement?”
While Keir was torn between asking who Drethlin was and introducing herself the grinding stone sound of Alasdair’s laugh rang out and he said “Nay, Lovisa ‘ere took on tha’ job.”
Realizing the decision was made for as she now knew that Drethlin must have been the deceased guard captain she stood smoothly and let just a hint of steel seep into her otherwise friendly tone as she said “My name is Keira. The System and the council both saw fit to make the leader of the village after I killed the Ancient Viper Matriarch. I’m afraid I didn’t catch your names, or perhaps more accurately I don’t know which name goes to which dryad.”
The warrior dryad glared and moved slightly between Keir and her companion. Before the tension could increase however the other dryad stepped to the side so the warrior was no longer between her and Keir. She gave a small apologetic smile and said “It is a pleasure to meet you Keira. I am Cara. I hope you take no offense at the actions of my companion; she does tend to be rather over protective.” She gave the warrior dryad a fond pat on the arm and with a hint of exasperation in her tone said “Now, would you please introduce yourself, I would rather not do you the discourtesy of doing it for you.”
The warrior let her glare lapse with a sigh and said “I am Dervla.”
It was clear she wasn’t planning on expanding on that and before Keir or Cara could speak Lindel reached the group and said “I’m glad you are finally awake. We could really use your help getting some of the new crops up and growing. Also what do you know about this?” and pulled out the alraune seed.
At the sight of the seed Dervla’s eyes widened but she quickly schooled her expression before she could give anymore away. Cara was not nearly so closed off and her face broke into a wide relieved smile and she excitedly said “I was so worried when I woke and could not feel this little one beneath the soil. I am so glad to see it is well.” She received the seed from Lindel delicately like it was protected by spun glass rather than a divinely infused bone-like seed coat. After examining it for a few moments she said “Well it is not the element we envisioned for it but it seems this little one will be ready to sprout within the next ten day.”
Dervla had a small reflexive smile as she stared at the seed in Cara’s hands and she said “We should get this little one into some mana rich soil. Maybe with some of the viper bones and blood to feed its death magic aspect.”
Cara nodded excitedly and said “Great idea.” She looked up from the seed at Lindel and continued “We should have some Improvement Points. We can probably get some crops up and ready to harvest. Depending on their natural growth rates we might even have some by morning.”
Dervla put her hand on Cara’s shoulder and said “unless we get a fairly steady stream of gold and the ability to turn it into more points we can probably only manage one harvest at such an accelerated pace.”
With their decision apparently made the three of them said their goodbyes and left the tavern.
Keir returned to her seat and picked her glass back up. As she savored the nostalgic taste of her drink she mostly let the conversation wash over her with a content smile on her face. She’d traveled alone so long she’d almost forgotten how nice a night spent with a good drink and pleasant company.
— King Dalthorian Stonesheild —
As the sound of angry grumbling old dwarves washed over him, Dalthorian gripped the handle of his beer stein. The high quality dwarven ale within it was the only thing helping him keep his annoyance in check.
From the occasional sound of crackling electricity coming from the seat nearest to right it seemed his friend and royal archmagi Minira was as annoyed with the current argument as he was.
To his left the head of the royal guard and highest general of Stonshield’s army Gorazin looked entirely unperturbed. Only the faint creak of his cliche gauntleted fist showed the falseness of that impression.
The meeting had begun promisingly as every member unanimously agreed something must be done to deal with the fools who’d stolen the honor and village of their departed allies.
Things soon fell apart as it seemed no two elders could completely agree on what that something was. Three and a half hours into the meeting two main factions had formed and there were no fewer than eight separate arguments going on in each of them.
One faction advocated for some variation on letting the enemy think their claim was accepted and deal with them when they sent some representatives. Within that faction some argued they should demand the presence of the new village's leadership. Others said they should invite them. Still others said they should simply wait for the inevitable envoy. Alongside that issue were arguments over whether such honorless fools should even be allowed though the gates of the city or if they should be detained or killed at one of several points before they could enter.
On the other side was a call for a force to march forth and deal with the enemy in the village they had stolen. Their arguments were if anything more annoying than the wait for the enemy camp. Most of the arguments were entirely focused on which units should be allowed to sally forth and who would have the honor to lead the forces. One of the arguments was over whether the proposed force of spire horn calvary should number 350 or 352 based on which number theory the elder was using.
With his patience at its end and his duty to allow all voices ample time to be heard, regardless of the fact none of the other elders were likely to listen, he downed the rest of his ale and slammed the heavy iron stein onto the adamant steel table.
After the elders quieted over the course of a minute or so Dalthorian said “The wise counsel of the elders ‘as bin heard. Two plans’ve been set out an’ both ‘ave merit. If’n the scoundrels seek entry they’ll be brought ‘fore the throne in chains. Gorazin will see to tha’. Minira ‘ere will assemble a punitive force to march out ‘fore the sun sets twice more.”