A Potluck with a View

Asavardi is set at a point where the main canyon narrows a bit, and the cliff walls soar up hundreds of feet. The sandstone walls are a riot of natural color, smoothed by wind and time into fantastic shapes that the winged elves have taken full advantage of, as evidenced by the paint and carvings. The river is wide and deep, and the banks are warm, sandy soil dotted with wildflowers.

The docks are set in a quiet eddy, closer to the cliffs themselves, and a sturdy platform beyond them is the anchor point for a lift. The lift itself, suitable for cargo or passengers, has a gate and woven rope fence for safety. If you follow the support cables up, you can see that they lead to a set of brightly patterned sails, slowly turning in the constant wind through the canyon. More sets of sails scattered throughout the canyon mark the positions of other lifts; most of them are anchored for the holiday, and many have been decorated and are serving as impromptu party platforms.

As the lift rises, visitors get to see the city the way the residents do. The cliff walls, striated with bands of color, have been carved and smoothed into the shapes of immense trees, with the ‘branches’ forming the paths and walkways. The breeze carries the scent of growing things from the sculpted gardens that cement the effect, adding foliage to the illusory forest. If you look closely, you can see the abstracted shapes of plants, animals, and elves worked into the stone.

Homes and businesses dot the walls, accented with wooden decks and all cheerfully lit. Interestingly, most of the lights are simple lanterns with colored paper or cloth walls instead of glass. It helps diffuse the light, and also turns the canyon walls into a multicolored starfield. The colored light does nothing but enhance the riotous colors the city is decorated with. Every available surface has been carved, painted, or both.

Music drifts by on the breeze as well. Most buildings have at least one wind chime hanging nearby, and those blend with musicians playing and the bright, clear singing that the winged elves are known for.

The cliffs are abuzz with activity. Year’s End is a major community holiday for the winged elves, and preparations have started a few days early. Doors and windows are thrown open, welcoming guests, and the savory smell of food fills the air. As the lift passes streets, people wave and call greetings to the passengers. A few of them toss small treats to those willing to try to catch, and one perches on a small spur of rock to lean out and offer cheerful flowers.

About midway up the cliff, the lift is locked into one of the platforms, and you are directed down a broad path paved with a careful mosaic of colored stone. Town Hall (it never did acquire a better name) is set in what was one of the largest natural caves on the cliff, and has been improved and expanded to include offices, storage, and a small tavern.

And one heavily-guarded closet.

Shadimon, Shrike (who is quite pregnant and perched on a stool), and several armed guards - both winged and dreamdust - are the only people in the room.

But not for long.

First into the room is the Hunger. “Shadimon, good to see you,” he says, wheezing ever so slightly. “Is this it, then?” he says.

Terror dashes in behind him, scant seconds later. She gives the Hunger an annoyed glare, and then sets herself against the wall by the entry door, keeping her eyes fixed on the closet in front of her.

Shadimon nods to them both, “Seems so. Just wait until you hear the actual story.” He glances over toward the entrance, “We’re operating under the assumption that he’s afflicted, but we didn’t have the supplies to test for sure. I assume you do…?”

“As always,” the Hunger says. He slips a vial and a thin silver needle from a tunic pocket, trying to smooth out a few wrinkles as he goes. “You still have him sedated, is that correct?”

The dreamdust elves sitting in front of the door grin and Shadimon chuckles a bit, “Yes. They’ve been having a little too much fun, but we’ve been taking as many precautions as we can think of. They decided to get creative; their regular darts didn’t work. Silver ones did-”

“But where’s the fun in that?” one of the dreamdust guards adds with a toothy grin.

“And you have a curative? Or at least something to bring him to enough lucidity that we can get more out of him them rambling and hallucinations?” the Hunger says. He proffers the needle to the grinning guard. “Get me a bit of his blood, if you would be so kind. I would rather expose him to as little of my particular scent as possible, just yet.”

The guard laughs, “He’s not going to be smelling anything for a good long while, but I get your meaning.” She disappears into the closet, with the others keeping a very close watch, but there’s no sign of movement other than her.

“They tell me they can have him lucid enough quickly,” Shadimon says. “Enough, but not too much.”

Dust snorts, having just arrived. “It’s easier if they’re still a little dazed. Good job capturing him, by the way.” Pebble and Steve are right behind him, but settle near the wall.

“Yeah, neat,” says Skulk, who is leaning against the wall near the corner, entirely unannounced.

“Indeed,” the Hunger says. “Which brings me to my next question -- how?”

“Some bullshit,” Skulk answers unhelpfully.

Shadimon and Shrike both burst out laughing, “You don’t even know the half of it, but I’d prefer to save the recitation for when everyone is here. My question is what we do with him.” Shadimon gestures around the room, “As you can see, we aren’t exactly set to keep prisoners. I have no particular interest in him leaving this room alive, but if anyone else has preferences, I’m quite happy to hand him over and let him be your problem.”

“That depends entirely on how we conduct this interrogation,” the Hunger says. “Several of our possible options -- the Tourist’s presence, for example -- leave only one possible, and permanent, solution for him.”

The front door swings open and Terje saunters in at the end of that comment. He looks around the room briefly, gives a brief two finger salute, then turns back to the door and states “Clear.”

Ehra enters a few moments later, flanked by Siiri and two swordelf guards. He looks mildly frustrated.

“No one else has an armed guard,” he comments to Siiri.

“You’re a target, grandfather,” Siiri reminds him.

“Shadimon, Hunger,” Ehra dodges the comment and gives a brief bow to the pair, “He’s contained?”

“Thoroughly. Tied, gagged, and drugged to within an inch of his life,” Shadimon says wryly. “Blue was just in there getting a blood sample for Hunger, and everything looked good still.”

“Good,” Ehra nods, “Hate to miss the show. My apologies for interrupting, carry on.”

Dust wanders closer to the door. “Have you picked up anything so far, or has he been out the whole time?”

“Nope, he was pretty banged up when the flaps brought him in here, and everybody agreed to just knock him out immediately and worry about it later.” She grimaces, “Especially when we had to break out the silver darts.”

“That… is more than slightly alarming,” Ehra comments, “Even if he’s afflicted, a lycanthrope’s durability is not that pronounced in humanoid form.”

Dust swears under his breath. “That is a very bad sign.”

“Fuckem,” Shrike mutters emphatically.

“Yeah, fuckem,” Skulk repeats.

“Intriguing,” Hunger says. “But unless they’re also immune to fire, ice, lightning, and acid, and also don’t breathe, that sounds like an absolutely wonderful way for us to decrease the cost of detection kits. I hope Cantia keeps up the good work. Maybe she can throw on some obviously furry ears while she’s at it. Any luck with that sample, Blue?”

“Yup, here you go. And I don’t know about the other ones out there, but this one has furry ears, elbows, and a fuzzy ass like he was hoping for a tail.”

Dust snorts.

Hunger pauses. “...What.”

Blue waves a hand, “Not fur fur. Like humans, you know? Just in weird places. But furry ears, definitely.”

“So stubble, then?” Hunger coughs (it might have been a chuckle).

“You can get an eyeful yourself whenever the last few get here,” Shadimon says, failing to hide a smirk. “But I’d prefer at least the Tourist get here first. Which brings me back around to what we do with him.”

“If he sees or smells the Tourist without her disguise, he cannot leave that closet,” the Hunger says. He takes the needle from Blue, pops the cork out of the vial, and spins the blood through the dirty liquid inside it.

The liquid reacts immediately. It pops and hisses, congealing into a tarry mass… then suddenly stops. After a second or two, it is a lump of disgusting brownish colored gunk at the bottom of the vial, with about half of the material still liquid.

It has never done that before.

"...Huh." Dust's eyebrows speak volumes. They imply things like 'what the fuck' and also 'what the actual fuck'.

Pebble snorts. "Dust, language."

Dust's eyebrows quirk at a slightly different angle. Pebble giggles.

Hunger flicks the vial with his finger, disturbing the gunk on the inside. “Curious,” he says. “Either a grandparent of his was a Lycan, or this is something new. And intentional. And possibly a carrier, so anyone who has had contact with his fluids will need to take wolfsbane, just in case.”

“Hearing the word ‘curious’ from you is giving me a headache and you’re not even my alchemist,” Vahn states as she approaches the collected group with purpose, “Be careful of whatever belongings he had as well.” The tiny black bundle on her chest wiggles unhappily, but gives up on trying to free itself from the dark material it is trapped in.

Shadimon nods toward a pile of things not far from the door, “Everything he had on him is over there. Fortunately word of their nasty tricks has spread, so people were careful of it even before Greg’s warning came through. It will be worth checking people again, but so far things have been alright.”

Vahn gives him a curt nod, “Good. I am already tired of their tricks.”

Muffled shouting echoes through the front door.

The Terror leans sideways, and casually pulls the door open.

Barrabus Leafstorm and the Fury are standing directly in front of the doorway. Fury's hands are on her hips, her mouth hanging open, and eyes scrunched into a glare, like she'd been derailed mid-harangue and was now struggling to put her arguments back together.

Barrabus steps neatly in the room, leaving the confused Fury behind. "Ah, Shadimon, good to see you! Is there anyone else who might be missing, or captured, or mysteriously kidnapped to some Wolf Elf city, fort, or anything else?"

“Why? Eager for another rescue already?” Shadimon asks with a grin.

“Of course!” Barry says. “But since there’s no one to rescue, I’ll be just as happy to stay put, and not pretend to be a Wolf Elf so we can desperately extract someone from their clutches.”

“Our lack of intelligence on them would make that slightly more dangerous. Only slightly.” Behind him, Shrike rolls her eyes and prods him with the butt of her spear.

“And I could hardly pull off a good performance with so little material,” Barry says. He drops into a nearby chair and immediately moves to lean back, before quickly noticing the lack of back, and scooting the chair up against the wall. “Glad we’re in agreement.”

Fury still stands flustered in the doorway, glaring at Barry. Her mood is not helped by Skulk sidling over next to the door and leaning towards her.

"'Sup, Sparky?" The cryptid asks casually.

Fury sighs. “Hi, Skulk,” she says, giving the Cryptid a tired smile. “Sorry; I’m not trying to sigh at you. I just spent half an hour arguing with an idiot.”

Barry whistles nonchalantly.

"Sounds familiar," Skulk grumbles then rolls her eyes.

A breeze from outside suddenly rustles the edges of Fury’s chiton, “Oh good am I on time? Hi Fury, didn’t mean to blow you around there.” Anasatri is leaning into the doorway, a reasonable distance back from Fury.

"Might wanna move," Skulk deliberately pokes the two elves until they shuffle into the room as there is a commotion outside.

Litoria gets pushed down the pathway by an impatient winged elf who doesn’t have time to deal with answering her questions that he can barely understand in the first place. She enters the room, still dressed in her armor, holding her massive spear at an awkward angle to avoid hitting the ceiling, and has her pack of belongings still on her person.

“Que?” she asks, clearly not having received any kind of update from any source of information. “Que que que?”

“Oohhh...you had already left when the message went through, hadn’t you.” Shadimon says with a grimace.

“Weeeeh... we’ll go with that, weh.”

He points at the closet door, “Quick version: captured wolf elf spy that needs dealing with.”

“Oh.” The Warmaster puts her sack down out of the way. “Pourquoi the closet?”

Shadimon sighs, “Prisons haven’t been high on our priority list. Or on the list. At all. We improvised.”

Litoria shrugs.

“Mais. Best be gettin’ on with it, then.”

“We’ve determined he’s ‘lycanthropic’, bare minimum,” the Hunger says. “He’s retained his physical resistance even in elven form, but he’s also not exactly a real lycanthrope, either. We’ll have to be extremely caref--”

Hunger is interrupted by the door slamming open once again. Bryti storms into the room, only nominally in her Katya disguise, with Allophryne tagging behind her grumbling.

Bryti's eyes sweep over the room. Briefly, she makes eye contact with Litoria. The look between the two is cold. They do not acknowledge each other. Instead, Bryti stomps forward to Shadimon.

"Where is it?" She demands.

Hunger gestures to the closet, without even looking up.

Bryti glances at Hunger, then immediately begins intently marching towards the closet.

“He’s still drugged, apparently,” the Hunger continues. “And please fix up your disguise first. Your roots are showing.”

Without turning to look back, Bryti touches her magic disguise and dismisses it entirely. She stops and stares at the guards in front of the door.

"Get out of my way," she commands them.

“If you show him your face, I will kill him once we’re done here,” Hunger says.

"And?" She glances briefly at Hunger.

The guards glance at Shadimon, who shakes his head. “Is that how we’re doing this, then? Do you have a plan beyond ‘tear his head off’?”

Allophryne sighs. Allophryne has had a bad week. Allophryne starts quietly scanning the room for any newly minted shapeshifters. Thankfully everyone in the room appears safe.

“And if he’s afflicted, I would assume you had no choice,” Hunger says. “Or that he is beyond saving. But if he’s not?”

“The test reacted in a way we’ve never seen,” Dust points out. “Reacted, but not like normal. That raises questions: why, and how, and is this reversible or curable, and would he prefer that or death.”

Shadimon nods toward the dreamdust guards, “If you’d start getting him ready to wake up, please. Dust, I assume all of you are ready to hear anything he has to think?”

Dust nods. “If the interrogation lasts longer than I can maintain, Pebble? You next? Work out the order for everyone, just in case. This needs to be seamless.”

Bryti exhales hard, then reapplies her disguise more carefully without comment.

Two of the dreamdust guards quietly go into the closet. After a few moments, they bring a very groggy wolf elf out into the main room and sit him on one of the nearby stools.

He's broader than most elves, with skin slightly greyer than normal. True to reports, his ears are covered in wolflike fur. There are also patches of the same fur on his arms and legs. He slowly blinks open yellow eyes, though he is still tied up and gagged.

Allophryne: He detects as something that's for sure. It takes Allophryne a few seconds, but he recognizes it. It's the same wolflike black aura he saw in the dark elf settlement.

Bryti's eyes go wide as he wakes up.

"He's not afflicted," she states quietly before he's conscious.

The wolf elf's eyes fully open. They go wide momentarily before he glowers at the assembled elves.

“So,” the Hunger says, “What kind of hair-brained scheme was it this time?”

Fury winces. “Hunger, please.”

Bryti grabs the gag and yanks it out. The wolf elf spits.

"I taceoDraconic: I say nothing," is all he says.

To Dust's shock, all he gets is a wall of mental static. This spy has been trained to resist mental intrusion, and trained very well to be able to even attempt to resist Dust's formidable abilities.

“Take a good look around this room and reconsider,” the Hunger says mildly. (Intimidate check: 19)

The spy looks around the room as commanded. He sees the assembled elven leaders and warriors and simply shrugs.

Though the magic has failed, Dust's more traditional skills hold strong. This wolf elf seems calm, even placid. He is not afraid. It takes Dust a moment to realize it, but the way he glances at the more deadly leaders confirms it: He has accepted that he's not getting out of here alive.

Shadimon sighs quietly and goes to one of the winged guards, plucking a canteen off their belt. He approaches the wolf elf, taking a drink as he goes, and holds it out, “Water? You’ve been in there a few days.”

The wolf elf pointedly looks down at his bonds, then back up to Shadimon with a raised eyebrow.

Shadimon snorts, “Yes I’ve been tied up before too.” He holds the canteen within reach if the spy wants to drink.

The spy takes a drink slowly, then settles back down for the interrogation. He appears to not acknowledge the gesture further.

Shadimon simply nods and tosses the capped canteen to the pile of the wolf elf’s belongings, and steps back.

“I think you and I know how this goes,” the Hunger says, moving up to the Wolf Elf and leaning over him. “But let’s set the ground rules for the ‘less experienced’ crew here. Congrats, you’ve been caught spying, and didn’t blow yourself up properly. Based on that, I have to assume that either you think we’re going to kill you anyway, or that you’re protecting something so important you’d be better off dying than revealing it.

“Then again,” he continues, “You’re also the type to let dear Cantia play hokey-pokey with your physiology. So maybe you’re just stupid.

“So I’ll be blunt. There are several possible solutions to this particular conundrum you find yourself in that leave you alive, and still a functional, sentient organism. There are also several where you are tortured first -- standard thing that happens to spies, yes? And there are others where all we do is talk, possibly with some drinking involved.

“Whatever option you choose, we’ll be certain to provide it. So which do you prefer?”

"Doesn't really matter," the spy replies in a casual voice, "I couldn't tell you anything important even if I wanted to."

“Pourquoi pas?” Litoria asks, “Why not?”

"You'll find out," he answers unhelpfully.

“Magic?” Shadimon asks, tilting a glance at Hunger. “This Cantia seems like the type to set up some kind of anti-interrogation.”

"I'm sure she could," he answers, "At least more than you could handle."

“Maybe once,” Hunger says. “These days, she’s a little sloppy.” He paces around the Wolf Elf’s chair. “But I suppose killing her a few times hasn’t helped that much, has it?”

"I think she enjoys it, honestly," he gives another deferential shrug, "What about you? Enjoying what she gave you? I hear you wear it well."

“Oh yes,” the Hunger says, deliberately glancing down at the ring on his left hand. “Delightful.” There’s a twinge of sadness on the edge of his voice.

Behind the others, Anasatri shifts a bit and lightly nudges Steve with her elbow. Her hand flicks through a small spellDetect Magic, and she peers around to squint at the wolf elf (Knowledge arcana: 34). She wrinkles her nose a little bit at the twitchy feeling. “Shadimon, Jādū marēkō, calirahēkō prakriyā.”Shadimon, necromancy, ongoing.

Shadimon twitches his ears and leans forward to whisper the message to Hunger, “Necromancy, active spell on him.”

Not privy to the whispers going on, Vahn begins to cast something in the direction of the wolf elf for the sake of her own curiosity. The dispel washes over the wolf elf, but seems to have no effect on whatever spell is on him.

"No?" He asks Vahn, "Too bad."

Vahn shrugs a shoulder in response, “Your dead speak better than you anyway.”

"Tell Allophryne," Hunger whispers to Shadimon. "See if he has remove curse or something. This might require some dedicated efforts." He turns back to the Wolf Elf. "And we do have plenty of time."

“Weh, that’s good,” Litoria says with a shrug. “‘Cause I’d for shore like t’ know where they’re keepin thems hidy holes a’fore we done just stumble on it on accident.”

Steve steps closer. "Can remove." He tilts his head, lips pursed. "Can try."

Hunger gestures to the wolf elf. "Please do."

Steve starts to cast Remove Curse, but appears to get distracted by the wolf elf's ears.

While assorted magic is happening, Shadimon clears out of the way, casually going past the Tourist to Allophryne. “He has some kind of necromancy spell going,” he says quietly. “I assume that’s what they’re trying to get rid of. Think you can take a shot at it?”

“Non,” Allophryne states blankly. “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ bout. Mais, I can’t remove any curse.” (Bluff: 8) He doesn’t even bother to keep his voice down.

Bryti gives Allophryne an extremely suspicious look. She snarls in frustration and barks out a few spell syllables, touching the wolf elf’s shoulder from behind. There is a small arc of black energy from the wolf elf to her hand, causing her spell to fizzle. She shakes her hand angrily.

“Why are we just toying with it?” She growls.

She strides out in front of the wolf elf, grabs one of the ropes that binds his arms, and roughly drags him to his feet. He gives her a startled look in response as she glares directly into his eyes.

“What is your goal? Why did you do this to yourself? What ambition was so great that you mutilated yourself in such a way?” She practically yells at him.

The wolf elf recoils from her slightly, but she doesn’t let go.

“What… what are you…” the wolf elf sputters momentarily before giving her an odd look, “... The wolves left behind power. They were always afraid of it and never bothered to understand it. We simply-”

“LIAR!” Bryti practically screams and throws him to the ground, “IMBECILE! You have no idea what you’ve done!”

Her hand starts to stray for the sword on her back.

Without warning, and from a decent distance away, Litoria forcefully shoves Bryti’s leg between the tines of her cruelly pronged spear. She rotates the weapon and pulls the other elf down, tripping her onto the floor and pinning her there. The long giggin’ stick’s reach keeps her out of range when the were-elf flails in rage. The wolf elf tumbles back, to get dog piled by the guards.

“Get off me!” Bryti snaps at Litoria as she tries to wrench the spear free, though her leg stays resolutely pinned to the floor.

Terror tries to catch Litoria’s eye, nodding to Bryti.

“Trying to get some information out of him without magical interference,” Hunger says towards the fallen were-elf. “You’ll have plenty of time to yell at him later.” He glances at the fallen wolf-elf, and then hauls him carefully back into his seat. “Best hurry,” he says to the wolf elf. “It seems you’re not popular around here.”

“Interesting, that,” the wolf elf gives Bryti a curious look.

“It’s not,” the Hunger says. “Your people just have this uncommon tendency to enrage people. Probably from all the murdering we’ve caught you doing.”

“Awful opinionated, for a mercenary…” the wolf elf comments before looking back at Hunger, “Who’s trying next?”

With a grunt, Bryti pulls the spear free of the floor and shoves it back towards Litoria. She stands up swiftly as Litoria resumes her stance. They glare at each other momentarily. Neither of them speak.

Bryti moves first. She turns away from Litoria and stalks towards the door. She slams it open with more force than strictly necessary and leaves the room, heading outside without another word.

Barry blinks. “Oh. Oh!” He glances at Litoria. “Oh. Err.”

“Mais...” Allophryne looks at the wolf elf a bit skeptical. “What exactly kinda spell is on you, weh?”

The wolf elf looks Allophryne over cautiously, “One that ensures our security. You can quit trying to get rid of it. I promise none of you are capable of it.”

“And if we extract answers from you?” the Hunger asks. “Would you die?”

“It wouldn’t matter,” he answers.

“I think we can decide that,” the Hunger replies.

The Terror sighs, like wind through a chimney. She marches over to the wolf elf, grabs him by one ear, and stares directly into his eyes. “Talk,” she says. “Or break.”

“Gah,” the wolf elf winces as she grabs him, “V-Very well, the… a-average lifespan of an elf is… about… five hundred years, the… capital of the Human empire is… C-Colin’s bluff, the wolf is a canid animal that-”

“Ooh, try singing!” Barry says, sipping at a mug full of brown liquid. “It’s a great stalling tactic, in my expert opinion. I got to talk to the last guy she interrogated -- or what was left of him at least -- and he said that bought him almost two minutes!”

The wolf elf’s eyes jump back and forth between Barry and Terror, finally settling back on her.

“I take requests,” he comments.

Terror grabs the other ear, and starts compressing. The wolf elf’s smirk disappears and he grunts in pain. He hisses through his teeth and his eyes widen.

“You… have a question?” he manages to ask.

“How long until your skull crumples?” the Terror whispers.

“Useful… Intel…” he gasps, clearly in pain, “Carry on…”

Terror carries on. The wolf elf grunts as she tightens her grip, but doesn’t talk at first. When smoke starts to rise from under Terror’s hands, real fear starts to cross his face.

“You…” he gasps out, “... only get intel out of my… skull if it’s in one piece…”

Terror says nothing. Ash sprinkles to the floor beneath her.

“Fine…” he croaks out as he tries to breathe, “Then I’ll tell you a secret. We want the exact same thing you do. Elven unity.”

There is a sound like searing meat. The wolf elf screams in pain as a symbol burns onto his forehead. He thrashes as the brand glows red then falls limp, his eyes glazing over. The symbol is the draconic rune for “Traitor.Spellcraft DC 20: Mark of Justice, though it appears to have been tweaked"

The wolf elf blinks. His eyes dart around the room then suddenly focus on Terror.

“What…” he slurs slightly, “What’r you doing!? Stop! Please!”

Vahn frowns as she eyes the mark, “Modified Mark of Justice. A good solution for keeping information quiet depending on the curse they used.”

“Oh, hey, look at that,” Fury says, hunching slightly on her stool. “Can we stop now, please?”

Shadimon steps up beside Terror, frowning, “Who are you?”

“I…” the wolf elf eyes focus on Shadimon wildly, “I… I dunno. What’s she doing? Please! Please make her stop! It hurts!”

Terror releases his head, and takes a step back, revealing two hairless, sunburnt-pink wolf ears. He plops down on the floor and rolls around groaning, then looks at himself with shock.

“What happened to me? Why am I naked? Why.. what…”

Shadimon’s shoulders slump and he looks up at Terror, “Now what?”

Terror glances at Dust, and gestures to the wolf elf.

Dust sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose. “There’s been an incident, and you seem to have some memory problems. Please stay here while we figure out what to do next.” He steps back, far enough to be out of earshot if they speak softly. “What are the odds he knows anything useful anymore?”

“Non.” Litoria walks over to the door and picks up her things. She gives the group a backward glance filled with sadness and leaves.

“So. Will he remember becoming a wolf elf-- we are still assuming this is a process, I believe?-- and if not, will he consent to testing and experimentation, perhaps?” Dust muses softly.

“Why do I have fur?” Mutters the wolf elf.

Vahn removes herself with a loud sigh from the conversation the other leaders are having and kneels next to the wolf elf. She holds out a hand, “Let me look at your ears.”

“Why?” the wolf elf looks at her suspiciously, “You going to crush my head too?”

Another forceful sigh and a roll of eyes is how Vahn feels on the matter. “No.” She reaches out and touches an ear, channeling a small amount of healing energy to it. The small amount of fuzz comes back.

“Thanks?” He says.

“Mother have mercy on your lost echo,” is all Vahn says as she stands once more and moves away to deal with a now fussy bundle.

Shrike watches Vahn and sighs, rubbing her eyes. She props her spear up against the wall and vanishes into one of the side rooms. When she comes back, she has a bundle of fabric in one hand and a small knife in the other. “I’m not going to stab you,” she says, as she sits down near the wolf elf. “I’m going to cut that net off. And here,” she tosses the bundle of fabric at him, “You’re bigger than us, but that’s a cloak and you can improvise a kilt or something with it.” She starts working on the ropes, “Do you know your name?”

“No…” he rubs his wrists as he’s freed, “I… don’t know if I can remember… anything.”

Dust fetches something from Pebble and comes close, crouching in front of the wolf (?) elf. (idk how tall this stool is but I’m just assuming that puts them at eye level) “I have some hard news for you, I’m afraid. Someone experimented on you-- that’s why you’re fuzzy-- and sent you here to cause trouble for us. When we started questioning you, a spell triggered that made you forget.” Dust shows the wolf elf the back of the small mirror he’s holding. “Do you want to see what was done to you? And do you want us to see if we can figure out how it was done, and reverse as much as we can? It might not be possible, but we won’t know unless we try.”

"What the fuck?" The wolf elf looks in the mirror, touching his ears and the symbol on his forehead, "Traitor…?"

Hunger coughs. “We might be able to get his name back,” he says. “I have parchment and pen here. Signatures are muscle memory, rather than cognitive, for the most part; he might be able to write it automatically.”

"Yeah, sure, I'll do whatever you want," the wolf elf eyes Hunger then Terror, "Just… get me away from that… that thing."

Terror stares at the wolf elf for a few seconds, and then stalks off.

Fury stands up, and steps quietly over to Dust. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help,” she says.

A group of dreamdust and winged elf guards usher the mind wiped wolf elf out of the room. He will be cleaned up and his interrogation will continue later, but there is little else to be gained by keeping him in front of the group of assembled leaders.

Vahn watches them go and grumbles out another sigh. “No chance for a cross reference. No helping it.” She rubs her forehead and glances around the room at those still present, “I don’t suppose the name Faustus at Ýtersto means anything to you all off of the top of your heads?”

Fury glances at Vahn, and taps at her chin. “Not all as one name, no. ‘At Ýtersto’ just means ‘Finally’, so it’s more like that’s an epithet or something. And Faustus…”

She pales. “...Where exactly did you hear that?” she says, forcing a grin.

Vahn looks directly at Fury, eyes sharp. “A dead wolf elf with an intact head answering my question of their leader’s name.”

"Has to be a coincidence," Fury says, her grin rapidly cracking. "The only elf I knew named 'Faustus' is very, very, very dead."

“That seems to be a running theme,” Vahn responds, her voice softening just slightly. “If it is a coincidence, perhaps it is someone carrying on something started by the one you knew.”

Fury closes her eyes. "Faustus Goldheart was the governor of Muspelham. He couldn't carry a tune without ruining it for the rest of us. If these…" she grimaces. "If these poor idiots are trying to enact something of his… then all I can feel is sorry for them." (DC 25 Sense Motive: "and also really, really scared")

Shadimon comes closer with a frown, “The governor of Muspelham. Wasn’t the other person...Brighteye? Wasn’t she supposed to be the governor’s right hand? And...I’m sorry, but I have to ask. Is this a ‘presumed dead at Muspelham’ or ‘I watched them bury him and pissed on his grave’ kind of dead?”

Fury opens her mouth, but then hesitates. "...He's dead," she says. "If that didn't kill him, nothing will."

Hunger steps up. "Cantia Brighteye was his chief alchemist -- as much as you can be one to a lazy waste of flesh such as Goldheart. I'd be surprised if he even knew what she did, other than the occasional parlor trick she'd do to keep him appeased." He turns back to Fury. "But you're sure--"

"Drop it," Fury says, eyes closed.

Shadimon nods, “A name is a start, whatever it ends up meaning.” He glances off in the direction the guards took the former(?) spy, “We’ll see if...we can help him. Hunger, you’re the alchemy expert. If he’s willing to work with you on looking into how this was done…?”

"That man was a blade elf once," Ehra speaks from the back of the room, "His accent came back slightly after he lost his memory. Judging by that and his facial structure… I'd say he might have come from Muspelham, or that region."

“With known former blade elves like this Cantia involved, that seemed likely to me,” Shadimon says with a nod. “But that this seemed to be also an...unwilling change is what has me sick to my stomach. We have confirmation that they’ve taken some of our refugees too…”

"That might suggest he was one of ours," Hunger says. "Though somehow I doubt he was in Muspelham at the end -- there would be some trace of this," he gestures to himself, "left. And yes," he says, addressing Shadimon. "I'll help how I can. I know Cantia's work. And… this doesn't surprise me, to be entirely honest. Not all of her tests subjects were… entirely willing, I suppose."

Shadimon shakes out his wings, “Ugh. Vahn, you said you had bodies? Is it something Greg might also be willing to look into?”

Vahn makes a noise that might be one of mental pain but nods, “...He would be thrilled. All too gleeful, in fact.”

With more of the group distracted, Ehra quietly steps up next to Fury. He gently places a hand on her shoulder.

"We will stop him," he states quietly.

She tenses, but only for a second. "He's dead," she says quietly. "There's nothing to stop. I saw it. I was there."

Ehra doesn't say anything to that. He remains by her side quietly.

Aside: A Pair of Monsters

Actual Potluck Starts Here

The potluck has been set up on the top of the eastern cliff the following evening, in a sort of plaza in front of several earth and stone buildings. A variety of small tables are set up in a semicircle near the cliff’s edge, which has been cordoned off with a rope fence, already scattered with the finger foods the winged elves favor. They appear to be divided based on the known dietary requirements of their allies (uncooked, dairy-free, etc).

Most of the familiar elves are in attendance: Baijani, Anasatri, and Dhakamari are near the lift and ladders up from the canyon to greet people, and Shadimon and Shrike, the latter perched on a tall stool, are in the circle of tables chatting with two strangers, a man and a woman, both with red and black feathers.

Siiri and Terje assist Ehra in lifting himself up to the top of the cliff. He dusts himself off and adjust his clothes as he stands up.

"Yes, thank you, I'm still capable of using a ladder," he scoffs.

"Yes, grandfather," Terje and Siiri reply in a deadpan chorus, still flanking them.

Ehra chuckles slightly, then proceeds towards Shadimon and Shrike. He smiles brightly and offers his hand to the extremely pregnant winged elf.

"Shrike, Shadimon!" He beams, "I apologize, but with all the fuss yesterday I didn't have a chance to say congratulations! I'm so happy for you, all of you."

Shrike grins back at him, throwing an arm around Shadimon’s shoulders, “Thanks, we’re all thrilled too. The really crazy part? Twins. Again.”

"Twins!?" Ehra laughs and gives Shrike and Shadimon both a hug, "Oh, that's wonderful! I am so happy for you!"

"Just in time for a celebration too," Ehra steps back slightly, giving them both a more subtle smile, "And I know what this means, to both of you. I am proud of you."

Shrike’s smile is softer, “Me too. But here, let me introduce you to the rest of the family.” She nods toward the two people standing out of the way. “This is Tathariel, who’s the other father, and Vatsarava, his sister. Thari, Rava, Grandmaster Ehra, Quartermaster Terje, and Corpsmaster Siiri.”

“Nice to finally meet you,” Vatsarava says with a cheerful grin, “Shrike has plenty of stories about her time with you all.”

"Yeah," Terje coughs into his hand, "And we have plenty of stories about her, too."

Shrike laughs, nearly tipping backwards off her stool, “Oh come on, Jaakob was thrilled to see me again!”

"Didn't say they were bad stories," Terje grins, "Just glad to see you're, y'know… happy again. Really."

“From your mouth to the Mother’s ear,” Shrike agrees fervently. “It’s been too long.”

“Mother guide my patience,” a voice grumbles from the side.

Vahn hauls herself up the last bit of the ladder with a grunt. Her usually tightly braided bun is instead in a loose braid, and it looks like she has acquired little to no sleep. There are muttered grumbles about damn cliffs and too many ups and downs.

Amenidal pops his head up from behind her as he climbs up, “I’m sure you can go… like… take a nap in a chair, Lady Vahn. There are plenty of people here who would be willing to watch the baby for you…”

“Damn right there are,” is the only response she gives him as she waves half-heartedly at the winged and blade elf group. She wanders over to a chair and flops into it.

Baijani chuckles as Vahn stomps by, and goes to give Amenidal his annual hug, “Mother’s breath are you taller again? And new tattoos! Those are lovely.”

When Amenidal smiles, it is dim but no less genuine than it usually would be, “Thank you, tetuška. I figured I would try to get my tattooing style down… since uh… I’m apparently going to do more Chronicler things now.”

The comment of his height is awkwardly ignored.

"I'm fine, I'm fine…" Járn's voice grumbles in common from the ladder below, "Just not lookin' down…"

The broad half elf pulls himself up from the ladder and resolutely does not look back. He steps over to Baijani and Amenidal.

"Uh," he switches to his somewhat rote sounding elven, "Hello, my name is Jean."

Baijani smiles, “Hello Jean, I’m Baijani.” She switches to common, “Common is easier for you I gather?”

"Yeah, but… oh," he switches back to elven, "I am trying to, um, find my elven… self. I would like to speak elven gooder… shit." The last word was in common.

Baijani laughs, “You’re fine. You have an accent, but you’re understandable.” She looks between the two young elves curiously, “How did this friendship develop? Through the Hilt’Inn?”

Amenidal gives ‘Jean’ a reassuring arm bump as he speaks to Baijani, “Actually while we were on our expedition. Did Satri tell you we were doing that? I don’t remember… it’s been a really long year.”

Anasatri herself, hearing her name, leans around Baijani, “Me? Oh Amenidal! Hi! So the expedition went well? Right, Jani, they were going back to their original caves to collect some of their stories and histories.”

“Ahhh, yes that makes sense. Did you find what you were looking for?” Baijani asks Amenidal.

A far off look takes hold of the young dark elf, “Ah… you could say that. And then some.”

She pats his hand, “Not comfortable, I understand.” Then she turns back to Jean, “Well, be welcome to Asavardi. These potlucks are very freeform; everyone just mingles as they please. Food is all over there. Satri, I’ll leave them to you. I need to go bother Vahn.” She pats Amenidal’s hand again and heads off.

Anasatri grins and hugs Amenidal, “It’s been too long! I’ve really enjoyed your letters, by the way.”

There is the tiniest of pauses but Amenidal does hug her back, “It really has been too long! But I can understand how busy you have been! I want to hear more about this observatory that you have been talking about in your letters.”

“Absolutely! Someday you have to come visit! Oh!” She claps her hands, “We almost have the orrery itself working! We were working on repairing it this spring. We got the pieces made and all assembled, but it just wasn’t working quite right. You won’t believe this: the math was wrong! Not our math, the Lycan math! We figured out where the error was and corrected it, but that means we had to totally remake a lot of the parts. But we’ve got a really good grasp of how it works now!” She suddenly pauses and glances at Jean, “Oh, I’m sorry! That was probably way too fast for you! I’m Anasatri, by the way. Amenidal and I have been friends for a few years.”

"My name is Jean…" Jarn repeats the memorized elven phrase with wide eyes.

A head pokes over the edge of the cliff, well away from the walkway up to the ledge. The face attached to it has ashen-grey skin; a pair of twisted Fire Elf ears poke from each side, through a matt of messy grey and black hair. “Hey, is this where they’re having the potluck? Or did I stumble onto some kind of astrology convention by mistake?”

The remaining winged elf in the area has been just as lost in the rapid-fire nerd talk, but the voice catches his attention. Dhakamari steps around Anasatri’s wings and perks up, “VitaCohort to The Terror. Frequently assigned to scouting missions.!” he goes over and offers her a hand up, “Welcome, I didn’t know you were coming!”

“Dhak!” Vita says, propping her head up on her elbows. “I finally made it to one! Had to speed through another scouting mission to get here in time… but hey, I get to be a real government person now, right! How’s things?”

Jarn briefly turns to glance at the newcomer, but seeing her hanging out on the cliff causes him to immediately turn around with a face several shades greener.

“Been interesting here,” Dhakamari replies. “Do you need a hand? Are the rest of your people down there too?”

Vita shakes her head. “I took a shortcut.” She rises slowly upward, until she’s floating unsteadily a few inches above the edge of the cliff. After a second, she drops onto the ledge, stumbling and catching herself on the rope fence. “Hovering is hard,” she says, brushing a bit of dust off of her thick travel tunic. “So what’s this about an orrery?”

Dhakamari covers his face as Anasatri whirls around, very nearly slapping Amenidal with a wing, “We have one! Well, pieces of one! There’s an old observatory on top of Watchtower Rock, and we’re getting it repaired!”

Amenidal laughs as the wing whiffs past him and places a hand on Jarn’s back. “Come on, let's get you a bit farther away from the cliff side, yeah?”

"Yes that is good," Jarn replies in metered elven, turning to go with Amendial.

Amenidal scooches them closer to the area where Vahn is, making minor eye contact with her but flicking an ear in the negatory when she raises a hand to potentially cast something.

Vita grins. “I’m gonna have to check that out at some point,” she says. “I’ve only ever read about ‘em, and now I’m really curious. Speaking of things I’ve only read about… so, not to be rude, but I’ve got no idea who anyone here is, besides you. I’m gonna guess, you’re Anasatri,” she says, turning to Anasatri. “Based on what Fury’s said; nice to meet ya. And that must be Amenidal and one of the Crag over there -- haven’t met you to either, hi, how’s it going… And, uh, that’s all I got. Hi?”

“That is Amenidal, yeah, but his friend is a half-elf, not a Crag. Trust me, you can’t miss them if they show up-”

The gears on the platform crank, raising up the elevator. Allophryne and Bryti are aboard, both casually sitting on their obese leather sofa known as Blinkin. Once the lift locks into place, Bryti stands up and steps onto solid ground. Allophryne has to slap Blinkin's tail a few times to convince him to drag himself onto the clifftop, which he does reluctantly.

Bryti folds her arms and looks over the assembled elves for a few seconds. Her shoulders sag imperceptibly as she apparently doesn't see something.

“Sakya! Allophryne!” Anasatri whirls around again. Dhakamari casually side-steps her wings, pulling Vita out of the way with him as Anasatri bounces over to the newcomers. Surprisingly, she actually checks herself and pauses, “Hugs alright?”

"I… of course," Bryti replies in a tired voice.

Anasatri's hug is a little more restrained than usual, more comfort and less cheer. Allophryne, however, gets as tight a hug as she can manage.

Bryti responds to the hug with a mechanically stiff back pat.

"...Is this a ritual thing?" Vita says to Dhakamari. "Should I be hugging people or something? Cause I'm not good at that, and Claude gets a little snippy if he gets crushed."

"Nah, that's just Satri. Most of us tend to be more touchy than other elves, but it's not a requirement or anything." Dhakamari nodded toward the tables, "Hungry?"

"Famished," Vita says. "Flying works up an appetite. Who's the black-haired elf? Think I've seen her before."

Allophryne, from his comfortable position on the leathery walking sofa, begins to quietly check the new faces for any additional were-elves in their presence. It’s a reflex at this point.

Bryti glances at him, then looks around the party. She puts a hand on his shoulder.

"Don't use your Sight," she instructs quietly, "It is best not to over-rely on it. Tell me what you see without it." She is looking vaguely in Jarn's direction.

Apparently Allophryne didn’t catch on to what she was asking him to do. He glances around at the people already gathered and then shrugs.

"That one," she tilts her head almost imperceptibly to Jarn, "Look close."

Allophryne takes his time, carefully observing the half-elf’s posture, the way he moves, and listening to his accent.

“He’s more’en just half ‘en elf, he is,” is the best conclusion he can come up with.

"Correct," Bryti answers, "Look at his build, his hair and skin color. Watch his posture and hands. Have a guess as to what type?"

“Mustelid.” The river elf squints and looks at the way the still somewhat shellshocked halfelf is habitually holding his hands. “Burrows, but not a mole. Too thick for weasel. Too tall for stoat. Badger? Mais non. That’s a wolverine.”

"Excellent," Bryti actually smiles slightly, "Your Sight is a priceless gift, but it can still be fooled by mortal magic. Always keep your mundane senses honed. Good work. I'm keeping an eye on him, but… he seems rather harmless. Thoughts?"

“Litoria will want’ta have a chat wi’ him. An’ I’d want’ta know where he done come from, me.” Allophryne shrugs. “Ain’t that many Secret Lycans out there, weh?”

"Agreed," if Bryti suppresses a flinch at Litoria's name, it's hard to tell, "For his safety, as well as everyone else… Amenidal sure is standing close to him, though…"

“Kids these days...” Allophryne shakes his head slowly.

The gears crank again, and after a second, the sound of a loud conversation echoes up the ledge from the platform below.

“...is the universally accepted currency medium within the Lowlands,” the Hunger’s voice says. “Using it as the medium of transmission encourages traders to view it as a standard currency, while at the same time encouraging them to trade in Surt, so they can also use it for its other advantages where needed. Plus, gold is a thaumatically and chemically static substance, which is why it’s already heavily used in thaumatic craftsmanship.”

Unfortunately, the voice that responds to The Hunger’s is an all-too-familiar one. “Well, I can see the point, now that you mention how chemically static it is. It would be a frustrating consideration if your ‘notional material value’ could expire simply due to oxidation…”

As the platform rises, The First comes into view, starting once again with his obnoxious coiffure. He appears deep in thought, pondering the implications of The Hunger’s information. He is not the only Crag on the lift, however; Standing beside him are two others, wearing a garb reminiscent of that which was worn by Jahnni last season. Unlike Jahnni, however, their shawls are a simple, drab grey, their hair is dull slate grey and cut short, and their eyes are a matching color. In fact, curiously, they appear to be nearly identical copies of each other. They regard the proceedings with calm attention.

Hunger nods, and steps off the platform. “I’m more and more convinced that this is why the ancient elves chose to use gold in the first place. A more impermanent substance could only be used for inter-settlement value trading, as it would have to be replaced regularly, and its value would be limited by the locale.”

“Indeed, when put that way, it seems almost sensible. It never ceases to amaze the numerous ways the Lowlands encourages bizarre workarounds to problems that only exist due to the unpredictable nature of-” The First’s tirade cuts dead off as he becomes aware of his surroundings… in particular, the accumulation of elves… in specific, the presence of one particular elf. His eyebrows furrow, his eyes narrow, and his hand raises to point a finger directly at one of them: Anasatri.

“You.” His conversation abandoned, he power walks towards the Loremaster… before slowing his pace somewhat as he also notices Baijani. That seems to make him reconsider his ‘headlong rush’(read: mildly aggressive powerwalking). Instead, he stops, coughs into his fist, and approaches at a more sedate pace.

“Loremaster. I congratulate you on your keen deception. I generally consider myself to be quite capable of sussing out falsehoods, but it seems you played the part of the ‘yokel’ expertly. Well done.”

Anasatri blinks up at him and glances at Baijani, “Um? Sorry, but I have no idea what you’re talking about. Hi, by the way. We didn’t get a chance to talk last year.”

The First’s eyes narrow once more. In fact, one of them twitches. “...Look, I just told you that I had finally seen through the affectation. No more sense in keeping it up. A clever story indeed, ‘our society is based entirely on memorized lore’... and then I get here, and you have adequate stoneworking, shockingly advanced architectural concepts, and an actual functioning ascension platform based on a complicated system of pulleys and levers.” He inhales sharply. “So, more the fool seemed I when I tried to prepare other Crag for what we were likely to see here. So, yes, well done. I am officially ‘pranked’.”

He then proceeds to almost successfully perform a sarcastic golf clap.

“Uh, thank you? The builders will be thrilled to hear they’ve done a good job! Stonework is new for us; we’d never done anything large scale before we came here.” She taps her chin, looking out into the canyon, “The river elves helped us assemble the lifts; we just don’t have the strength for it. But the designs were old ones that were scaled up from before and modified. I think. I don’t actually live here anymore.”

She brightens, “Oh! Right, you knew that I have all of our stories and histories memorized, but thanks to advice from you and other people, I’ve started transcribing everything. We have a settlement on Watchtower Rock - that’s on the other side of the mountains - and we’re starting to make a proper archive over there. Some of the other elves have started to contribute books; we’d happily accept anything you’d be willing to share. Stories, poetry, architectural ideas, whatever is alright with your secrecy needs.”

The First shifts from irritated, to confused, to flustered, then back to confused. This oscillates for a moment, but it seems that this time, confusion won out. “I… You… Never done…” He rubs his temples. “... So is it pathological, or…” He again glances over to Baijani, and stops mid-tirade.

Suddenly, a hand alights on his shoulder, possessed by one of the other Crag who accompanied him. They’ve been watching the proceedings attentively, and while their mouths are very pointedly not smiling, their eyes definitely are. Reminded, The First clears his throat once more. “Ah… Yes. I would like to introduce, to all officials gathered here, two Crag of some esteem. They are a part of the Bloodline of Elpahka, the Wisdom of the Crag, and they have asked that I ‘vet’ them before you, and assert the correctness of their presence here. Er… Upon my Authority as the First Among Scholars, none should question their right to be here at these… hallowed… proceedings.” He is quite clearly making this up as he goes.

Baijani inclines her head to the other two, “In the Mother’s name, be welcome. I’m Baijani, the lead cleric here. This is Anasatri, our Loremaster. From what I gather, she and First Among Scholars have similar roles.” She’s successfully managing to not smile too much at First, and gestures toward the tables with one wing, “Make yourselves at home, this is an informal party.”

Thusly recognized, the two direct their attention towards Baijani. The one on the left begins speaking. “We are so welcomed, and appreciate your offer of hospitality and all that it entails. I am Selnah, “
The other then chimes in. “, and I am Telerg. As has been said, we are of the Elpahka, and have come into your gracious fold so that we may know more of those of the Lowlands,”
Selnah picks back up, “,and so we may be known by those of the Lowlands. It is our understanding that there has been much that has been concealed, and for good reason,”
", but we have been given guidance that such mysteries may be ground for more confusion and fear than justifiable protection. And so, we wish to reassure you from any concerns you may have,”
The First looks nonplussed. “Wait, you wha-”
Selnah continues to talk over him. “, and answer any curiosities that you may hold in your hearts regarding the nature of the Crag people. While we cannot guarantee answers to all,”
“, Our guidance has given us considerable leeway to eschew discretion.”, Telerg finishes.

Baijani does start laughing quietly as Anasatri’s wings fluff up and start to rustle, “Oh dear, now you have her attention.” She puts a hand on Anasatri’s shoulder, “Be polite, and don’t overwhelm the poor people.” She nods to the Crags, “I’m going to get back to mingling, but feel free to come find me if you need me.” As she wanders back toward the center of the plaza, she hears Anasatri cheerfully chattering away, and hides a fond smile.

It seems the two Crag actually had a plan concerning Anasatri; according to them, “The First Among Scholars was quite capable in preparing us for those we were likely to meet”. One of them, Selnah, has tasked herself exclusively to handling Anasatri’s exuberance, while the other, Telerg, remains on hand to field the concerns of the more sedate members of the Potluck. For his part, the First seems rather put out by all this.

“You’ve got a library?” Vita says, through bites of pastry.

“They’re working on one, yeah. The observatory had a basement archive full of star charts and a bunch of other records that they’ve been parsing out.” He shrugs a little, “My team found the place, but once we cleared the area, the scholars took it over and I haven’t had a chance to go wander around it since.”

“Scholars, right?” Vita says, slipping a bit of meat into a front pocket. “Always hogging all of the fun. So those are the Crag, right? Thought they were bigger.”

“Don’t know about you, but I’d much rather be outside than in a basement looking at charts all day.” He studies the Crags for a moment, “They’re smaller than the others I’ve seen. The one with the eyebrows is a scholar, and I guess the other two are...administrators? Their fighters are definitely something else.”

Vita waves a hand. “Terror’s probably still bigger.”

“...You’re probably not wrong.” He pauses and covers his mouth for a moment, “One of the Crag at last year’s party was very impressed by her.”

“Oh really?” Vita says. “Are we talking, like, ‘newest Leafstorm broadsheet’ levels of impressed, or what?”

“The word ‘arousing’ was thrown around a bit.”

“Oooh.” Vita frowns. “Now I really feel like I’ve missed out. Next you’re gonna tell me the Tourist showed up or something.”

“Alright, I won’t. Wouldn’t want you to feel too bad.”

Vita blinked. “You for serious? ...Should I, like, keep watch or something?

Dhakamari glances around and nods toward the blade elf lurking near the alligator, “Want an introduction? I haven’t met her officially, but Satri...is busy. Shrike and Shadi know her.” He glances at her with raised eyebrows, “Or you could just ask Terror when she shows up.”

Vita shakes her head. “No way. She’s way too short to be the Tourist. You’re messing with me.”

He chuckles, “Suit yourself. Hopefully we don’t have to worry about any more disguised people.”

Vita stares at the blade elf Dhakamari nodded to. “Nothing for it then, I guess,” she says. “Be right back.”

She dashes right up to Bryti, keeping one hand in the satchel at her side. “Hi!” she says. “I heard you’re the Tourist. If I’m wrong, sorry about that, and you’re definitely a bit short for it, but umm… hi anyway. Call me Vita.”

"Who…" Bryti growls at Vita, "Short!?"

“Yep! I was expecting at least eight feet tall,” Vita says, smiling. She pulls a faded book out of her pack. “So you give autographs right?”

The creaking ropes herald the arrival of more elves on their way up the cliff wall. Litoria, looking mighty glum still this evening, and an older river elf with balding hair and a gold racing stripe down his creamy tank sides. They appear to be arguing in Sylvan, and Litoria pretty thoroughly ignores most of the crowd to walk straight to the food tables, deposit a still-twitching live fish upon them, and snag herself a drink.

Prosalirus, for his part, delivers a plate of spring rolls, and continues to urge his Warmaster to be less of a grouch at a celebration.

As they disembark, Dhakamari’s feathers ruffle and he tries to catch Vita’s eye, nodding toward the river elves. Vita nods back.

“...Actually, hate to do this, your Touristness, but I might need to come back and ask you for that autograph again in a few,” Vita says. “Gotta follow up a lead. Work, right? Don’t go anywhere -- I’ll be back in a bit!”

Left behind and seeing Litoria's arrival, Bryti stays in place making extremely complicated facial expressions.

Dhakamari squares his shoulders and follows. He doesn’t understand their conversation, but the tone sounds at least familiar. As they turn from the tables, Dhakamari smiles, “Hello, Warmaster, I hope your trip went well.” He glances at the older river elf, “I’m sorry, I forgot your name?”

Vita dashes up, coming to a stop by Dhakamari. “Yes! That! That guy! What’s your name, sir?”

Litoria gives both elves a long-suffering sideways glance.

“Prosalirus Prosaliridae?” the older elf answers, looking somewhat confused. “Did I not meet you both previously?”

“You did, yes, on the edge of the badlands.” Dhakamari glances at Vita, “Your timing on finding us grounded by duststorms was perfect, you didn’t happen to mention what flotilla you were with, and your accent is very distinct. I’m getting the impression we were wrong so this is probably very rude, but” he glances at Litoria, “Definitely one of your people and not another disguised spy?”

“Yes! Mister Prosalirus -- if that is your real name -- where’s your… aww, wait, you already mentioned the accent, didn’t you?” Vita says, glancing first at Dhakamari, then back to Prosalirus. “Well, if it helps, you’re really well spoken. Articulate, etcetera.”

Litoria laughs, but it’s an ugly cruel laugh. Prosalirus looks highly offended.

“I’ma leave you t’ these two racists.” She takes her drink and goes to find a seat elsewhere. “Have fun wi’ yer new friends.”

Vita winces. “In my defense… yeah, screw it. Not really a good defense on this one, other than an apology. Sorry, Prosalirus. I got a little freaked out when you showed up out of nowhere, right where we were hunting for wolf elves, and made some assumptions that were pretty bad in retrospect. And then dragged Dhak into it when I freaked out. Is there a way I can make it up to you other than jumping off this cliff so you won’t have to deal with me again?”

“Public humiliation is a poor motivator, but it seems like it would be an appropriate response to such a demeaning set of assumptions made of my character. I came to your assistance, and invited you to join us on our journey. Certainly that should not cause suspicion against my loyalties.” He points to the fish. It flops. “Please locate a second fish for me.”

Vita nods. "Will do," she says. "My screwups, my issue to fix; just don't blame Dhak for this, cause it was all me." She steps over to the edge of the cliff. "River's about there…" she mutters, "adjusting for wind speed… Yep, about right there." She puts a foot out over the edge, pauses for dramatic effect, and then drops neatly off the side.

Dhak stares for a second, and then immediately darts off the edge after her.

"Apparently, though they can determine that I am a spy by my diction, they do not comprehend idioms." Prosalirus grumbles to himself a bit before returning to the party.

The ropes on the edge of the cliff creek and groan, and once again, shouting echoes up from the elevating platform.

"It’s just... not comfortable, seeing from this side, okay?"

"...I don't think it would be comfortable from any position."

There is a brief flash from somewhere below the cliff edge. "Shut! Up!"

"...I was being serious. No entendre intended."

"I know, and I. Don't. Care. I just... its too close..."

"...Too easy to empathize with?"

"Too many people I knew died like that, all right!"

The cart comes to a stop, revealing a rather shocked Barry and a cherry-red, glowing, sizzling Fury.

Fury storms out first. The air shimmers around her. She marches right past the cliffside buffet, trailing sparks with every step, before dropping down onto a stone bench several paces out.

Barry's face drops from stunned to sheepish. "May have pushed a little hard there," he says to himself. He steps off the platform, and takes a second to take in the surroundings, before turning and heading straight for the drinks table.

His eyes fall on Bryti and Allophryne, and then pass briefly over to Litoria.

He grabs three mugs, and pours a careful selection of alcohols into each, before turning and marching over to the Lycan, River, and lizard trio.

"Here," he says quietly, shoving a mug into first Allophryne's, and then Bryti's hands. "Platonic drinking event, as promised."

Bryti glances at the drink, but takes it with minimal hesitation. She lifts it slightly to Barabbas.

“Very well,” she says.

“Mais, thanks!” Allophryne flashes Barry a smile.

Barry raises his cup to Allophryne, smiling back, and then drops neatly into a chair opposite the trio. “I promise, it’s not mead,” he says, taking a sip. He frowns. “Though it’s not my best mix, either. Ghoul mead might have been better.”

“I was furious about that, actually,” Bryti grumbles, “I thought that perhaps someone had finally learned how to make a good mug of mead again, only to have my hopes dashed by ghoul booze. We used to throw our mead barrels in snow banks for a few days for the same effect. I was honestly considering buying Tallflower’s stock and just dealing with whatever ancient curse doubtlessly came with it.”

“Exactly!” Barry says. “Cal’s ass, I kept a bottle! It was the only booze worth drinking left, since Hunger sent most of the looted stock to burn in a horse.” He sighs. “No one has the experience yet, is the problem. Those that could only want to make ales, because that’s all most people seem to care for.”

“I suppose mead will have a bad connotation for a time,” Bryti sighs, “Perhaps someday it will be in fashion again as a novelty.”

Barry takes a big swig from his mug. “And now you’re just being depressing,” he says.

“Been doin’ a lot’a that lately.” Allophryne takes a long slow sip of his drink. He turns to Blinkin’ and then says, “You’re designated sober person, y’hear? Don’t you git drunk now, non.” And then he wanders off to try to find a dark elf... any dark elf. Just get away from this downer conversation.

“I thought that was better than average for me…” Bryti grumbles as she takes a drink.

Barry raises an eyebrow. “You do seem less chipper than you were in Surt,” he says. “Clearly we need to find more ghouls for you to slay.”

“Are you kidding?” Bryti makes a disgusted noise, “I was getting whiffs of ghoul bile from my clothes for weeks after that.”

“That’s how you can tell it was a good adventure,” Barry says. “By how terrible you smell afterwards.”

“I…” Bryti grumbles again, “... Sorry. Not doing well with the banter at the moment.”

“No pressure,” Barry says. “You seem like you have a lot going on, anyway.” He gives Blinkin’ a tentative pat. “Anything you care to talk about, or should I just stick to ‘platonic booze-drinking mode’ and leave it at that?”

Bryti narrows her eyes at him, “I think you already have an idea what you want to talk about. You’re being altogether too reasonable. What are you getting at?”

“Maybe I just don’t want to piss off any more women that could kill me than I already have. Today, even,” he says, glancing back at the heatstorm still roiling around Fury. “But I can be blunt, if that’s what you prefer.

“First, I want to apologize for assuming Fury was your girlfriend. I wasn’t serious, but I thought I should lead with that anyway.

“Second, you and Litoria seem to be having a rough time. I know neither of you especially well, but you’re both decent people, and… well, I won’t seriously call myself something of a ‘love expert’, and expect you to actually believe that, but I thought I would offer to help.

“Third, I want to thank you for not killing the spy, then and there.”

“Thank her, not me,” Bryti glumly takes another sip of her drink, visibly deflating a bit, “I was a couple seconds from taking his damned head off if she hadn’t stopped me. As far as…”

Bryti quickly glances in Litoria’s direction, then back down to her mug instantly, “You are too late. I already destroyed… It… I fucked it up,” she suddenly snarls the curse.

“Can I ask what happened?” he says quietly. “If it’ll help, I can rattle off a few relationships I’ve driven into the grave, over the years. I have some pretty damned bad screwups I could tell you about.”

“I… do not want to go into detail,” she closes her eyes and sighs, “Safe to say, my duties and oaths got in the way, and as I always do I chose that without hesitation.”

Her jawline visibly tightens, “Didn’t even try to talk about it. Just… destroyed everything without a second thought. I thought maybe things would be different this time. It… felt different. I’ve… I’d never been… attracted to a woman before, it was…”

She takes a hard chug of her drink, forcing away a blush, “... I’m an idiot and I continue to destroy every serious relationship I remotely approach. How about you?”

Barry smiles. “Why, I’m clearly a brilliant king of romance, with several serious relationships active at any moment. Certainly not a modest bard with an inflated reputation, oh, Cal’s grace, no.” He sighs.

“Don’t worry,” Bryti suppresses a flat smile, “Your brand recognition is safe with me.”

“I do depend on the loyalty of my fans,” Barry says. “...I won’t pry. I can promise, if it helps, that you’ll have a lot of time -- what that means, depends on you, but you will have a lot of time. And trust me on this: if the average unstable madelf of this world can still manage a serious enough relationship to produce offspring before expiring, well, since you’re not unstable, average, or mad, you’re well ahead of the curve, and will do fine.”

“How’s one out of three?” She grumbles.

Barry raises an eyebrow. “Are you trying to tell me you’re average, or just mad? Or both?”

“Recent events call into question both my sanity and my stability,” she explains, “Which I say after you give me alcohol.”

“My experience is that no one is stable or sane,” he replies. “We just pretend really hard, hope no one notices, and occasionally let it out when we can blame it on alcohol. So take some advice: don’t blame yourself. Blame Calestros. It’s way more convenient, and helps explain a few things if you think on it too long.”

“Yet we’re just getting to know each other,” she answers, “That sounds rather rude.”

“She’s into it,” Barry says. “Self-doubt is an inherent part of the Elven Condition, and she is us, after a fashion. So why not skip the middle step, and give her what she wants? ...And here I am, ruining a perfectly good relationship discussion by contributing philosophy to it. My old man would have tanned my hide for such a waste of good conversation.”

“I admit it is both interesting philosophy, and endearing that you are so earnest yet so terrible at this,” Bryti speaks casually, then looks at him carefully, “Do you honestly believe I have a future here, or are you just humoring me?”

“Yes,” Barry says, quiet and serious. “To the first, obviously. And more to the point, I think the fact that I can come to this potluck, sit down, and have a drink with you, without either of us getting murdered, is the first truly positive sign I’ve seen since the damned war ended.”

Bryti watches him carefully, then takes another drink.

“I suppose we shall see,” she says.

“Here’s hoping,” he says, taking another swallow himself. “Lighter topics. I’ve really gotten under Fury’s skin. Any ideas on how to cool her off?”

“Well for a start, don’t phrase it like that,” Bryti snorts, “She’s entitled to her emotions. Let her have them.”

“So wait it out, and keep watch from a distance, until she finally looks a little less murderous?” Barry asks. “I might, in this case, deserve some of that emotional ire -- not without cause, I’ll note, but I might deserve some of it.”

“Don’t forget to apologize,” Bryti adds, “... and not like that. More like how you just talked to me.”

“Ah, I see,” Barry said. “I should be drunk first.”

“Maybe,” Bryti laughs a bit, “Perhaps it would work, but not quite what I was getting at. Drop the mask for that. The real you is preferable to the brand.”

“...Including spending way too long on bad philosophy?” Barry says. “I should have tried that years ago.”

“... Slightly preferable,” Bryti adds.

“My name is Jean,” Járn carefully pronounces, trying to avoid his accent, “Is that better?”

“Definitely better,” Baijani says. “Right now I think it’s as much that you’re trying so hard it sounds unnatural, but there’s nothing for that but practice. How is listening? Is it getting a little easier?”

“Yes,” he answers, then hunts for words momentarily, “I have to listen, uh, slowly, but I catch up. Thank you for the help.”

“Certainly,” Baijani lightly bounces the grumbling baby, “It doesn’t help that all of us have different accents. But being thrown into the middle of it like this is the best way. If you’re planning on staying around the HIlt’Inn, you’ll pick it up quickly.”

Amenidal smiles at the interaction between Baijani and Jarn, sitting off to the side while they talk. There is a book open in front of him that he seems to be doodling in as he glances around the area at the many different elves present.

Vahn is currently taking a face down power nap at one of the tables now that her baby is currently being sat.

Allophryne does not know this particularly tall dark elf. But he’s got a message to pass and it’s of critical importance that it not be intercepted by the wrong sort of dark elf.

Allophryne sees that Vahn is having a snooze. All Allophryne knows about this unnaturally tall dark elf is that he’s hanging around a werewolverine. And that seems untrustworthy given the contents of the message that needs to be passed.

Allophryne tosses back the rest of the drink Barry so thoughtfully provided and proceeds to take the most roundabout way of passing the message possible.

“Mais, what a cute little bug, you’ve grown so big! May I?” The river elf asks Baijani, extending an offered hand.

“Of course, mind the ears, they’re much bigger than you’d expect and get everywhere.” She carefully passes the wiggly bundle over.

Allophryne coos and makes appropriate noises of baby-appreciation. He’s a little rusty, but the dad-skills are still there somewhere. When Baijani is a decent distance away, he then makes a loud snorting noise.

“Pfwoo-ee! Someone needs a new nappy!” He locates Vahn’s diaper bag and stealths off to go “change” the baby’s diaper. And by that, he actually... well no, he actually does need to change the diaper. Go figure. In the process, he inserts a small letter into the long wrap that the dark elves prefer to dress in - a quick note of his observations on Wolf Elf similarities to the aforementioned Dark Elf Problem Child That Was Noted At An Earlier Time. Just in case the note gets intercepted. Obviously. One can’t be too careful when trusting their secrets with an infant.

And with that message dutifully passed, he returns with the bundle of wiggly ears and permits the cute little useless potato to be passed to another doting substitute grandparent.

A cloud of dreamdust elves emerge from a corridor. Steve and Dust are mid-conversation, and Pebble is arm-in-arm with a dreamdust elf in loose tan pants and a dark red top, accompanied by two goats. The perceptive will notice that the adult goat is Namib, and there is a new kid in a sling under Pebble’s arm. Steve and Dust deliver the usual array of exciting and non-exciting pastries to the food table, and move to a table to continue their conversation.

“Hello,” bizarrely enough, Ink is standing next to Pebble.

“Ink!” Pebble greets him enthusiastically. “It’s good to see you! This is my partner, Dusk. Dusk, this is Ink. And look, Namib is all grown up now! This is her kid, Kalahari. How have you been?”

“Okay,” he answers, in a mildly pleasant voice, “Doing… better. Hello Namib. And Kalahari.”

He gently pets one of the goats before looking at Dusk, “Pebble is good. You must be, as well.”

Dusk appears to blush slightly, and squeezes Pebble’s arm. “Thank you. She’s too good for me, really. But the goats were very insistent that we talk.”

“Good goats,” Ink nods.

From the circle of tables, Shadimon suddenly laughs and turns his attention to the new group. “You’re Dusk! Dust was keeping me updated on all the local gossip while I was in Coldwater. He said the goats were very, ah, opinionated.” He comes closer, followed by Tathariel, “I can also probably still give an impressive lecture on goat health because of him.”

Dusk snorts. “Opinionated is an understatement.” Kalahari bleats loudly. He tilts his head. “Goat health is my specialty, if you’re ever inclined to discuss it. I’m one of the vets.”

“Maybe some time,” he quirks an eyebrow up at Dust, “It actually came in very useful not too long ago. Some sort of...undead goat...thing up in the mountains. Didn’t move right, and screamed like murder. Ah,” he pauses, “this is Tathariel. Thari, Pebble, Dusk, and Dust and Steve are over there. And this is Ink.”

“Lantern goat,” Ink comments quietly.

“That’s a known thing?” Shadimon mutters.

Tathariel nods politely to the dreamdust elves and then looks up (way up) at Ink with lively curiosity. “Oh! You made the feathers!” He gives another polite nod, “I’ve been looking at the new one; magic items are my specialty. The way you managed to layer and combine those spells is brilliant. I can almost tell what all is in it, but the combination is amazing.”

Ink turns his head towards Tathariel and waits a moment before speaking, “Sending… primary. Rest are… redundancies. Security. Interlinking, preventing interception, abuse, scry focusing… defenses. Simpler spells than Sending, only added carefully.”

“Ohhh, I see. Relying on subtlety instead of brute force, and linked together in a way that it’s hard to tell where one ends and the next one starts.” He thinks for a moment, “The entire thing would probably come unraveled if you tugged on the wrong piece, instead of just, say, dispelling the protections. Brilliant!”

Ink nods, “Prevents tugging.”

The appearance of Ink has not gone unnoticed by the two new Crag in the room. While dutifully fielding questions, his appearance prompts both Selnah and Telerg to stop, possibly mid-sentence. They say nothing, their faces as calm as ever… but the smile from their eyes has disappeared.

Ink’s eyes flick towards them briefly. Whatever he feels about them, it’s hard to say.

“I understand,” Tathariel continues, missing the glance exchange. “I was very careful not to touch it when I was looking. Several people would have killed me, and rightly so. Stop me if I get into trade secret territory, but - ow!”

A large raven swoops down to his shoulder, carrying a piece of food in its beak. It shoves the food toward Tathariel’s face and caws a few times when he finally takes it. “Alright, alright! Do you insist I hand feed you like some kind of royalty?”

The raven tilts its head, and says “Yes” after a small pause. Tathariel grumbles and breaks up the pastry into small pieces before glancing back up at Ink. “This is Drop-It. Are you stuck with a familiar or were you smart and picked an item that doesn’t talk back?”

"Hello Drop-It," Ink greets the raven politely, "I have a familiar."

“Oh?” Pebble asks. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen them. Can I ask more? Could I meet them sometime?”

"Yes," Ink looks to Pebble, "Can show you."

“I’d love to, too!” Tathariel says, shoving another piece of pastry at his raven.

“Okay,” Ink turns away from the group and walks over to the edge of the canyon.

He stands at the rim and spreads his alarmingly long arms wide open. He closes his eyes. The tattoo on his chest swirls momentarily. A black shape grows on his chest, appearing like something approaching from a distance. It slowly grows until it covers his entire arm length.

A massive black shape leaps from Ink’s chest and flies into the canyon. It takes the form of a black bird with a nearly forty foot wingspan that looks as if it was drawn in stylized black ink. The massive bird takes a slow swooping turn across the canyon in plain view to practically everyone before turning back around and heading back to the party.

The shadow roc lands next to Ink making barely a sound. Ink reaches up and scratches its chin. It does not react in the slightest. Ink turns back to the group.

“This is it,” he states blandly.

Tathariel looks up at the huge bird with excited awe, “Oh...that’s a roc.” He prods Drop-It in the chest feathers, “We need to work on your presentation.” As the raven grumbles irritably at him, he slowly approaches and pauses, “Can I touch…?”

"Yes," Ink answers.

The roc's feathers have a smooth texture to them and are cool to the touch. It doesn't quite feel like a real feather, and it doesn't react to being touched.

Pebble stares wide-eyed. “Ooooooh…” She absently shushes both goats. “Does your roc have a name?” Beside her, Dusk is muttering something about “but what do you feed that?”

"No name," Ink continues to scratch its chin, which even he has to reach for, "Not… real. Not really. Hrm. Shadow construct. Not… alive."

"Drop-It… better conversation," he says to Tathariel.

The raven puffs up her chest feathers appreciatively.

Behind Tathariel, Shadimon whistles appreciatively, and Shrike is thoroughly distracted from her conversation with the blade elves. Particularly perceptive people will notice several excited conversations coming up from the canyon, as people stop their partying to try to get a better look.

Steve gasps excitedly, and stands up. Dust’s expression clearly reads “oh here we go again”. Translucent black wings unfurl from his back, and he flaps them once at the roc, a cheerful grin on his face. Satisfied, he folds the wings, they vanish into his back, and he sits back down. Dust sighs and takes a large drink.

Ink looks back at Steve, then turns to his "familiar." The bird opens its wings once and returns the gesture before settling down again.

Litoria looks up from what she's doing, notes the Roc, and tells Terje to never, ever, ever speak a word of this to her cousin.

Amenidal abandons his sketching and moves until he is standing to the side of Tathariel. He stares up at the large shadow bird, eyes dancing. “Oh wow…”

He smiles at Ink in amusement as he reaches out a hand but doesn’t touch it, “It fits you. May I?”

Ink nods. The roc feels odd. On one hand, it has a strange semi-solid and almost oily texture. On the other, it has extremely detailed feathers and has details as realistic as breathing.

"Made it myself," Ink comments, glancing at Amenidal.

“I can see,” Amenidal chuckles as he continues to gently run his fingers over the feathers, “The attention to tiny details is breathtaking… and telling.”

Thanks," Ink says quietly.

Amenidal responds by looking away from his feather inspecting and to Ink again, giving the shadowmage a soft smile.

“Hi Amenidal,” Tathariel says, still looking up at the giant bird. “Good to see you again.”

“Same to you Tathariel,” Amenidal comments as he still continues to pet the feathers, “We’ll have to catch up on notes sometime tonight.”

“Definitely. We can grab Satri when she’s done interrogating those Crag elves.”

On the other side of the Plaza, The First spits out the piece of raw fish that he was sampling, eyes narrowing at the massive familiar. He clutches the table with a death grip, and makes a low keening noise. “No. No No. No, Net, Nei, Nein, Non, No and No,” he mutters.

Jarn, apparently unwilling to go that close to the cliffside, watches the group and the bird. He doesn't say anything.

Finally starting to cool down after several minutes of glaring angrily at nothing, Fury notices the long, bird-shaped shadow stemming from just beside the building Steve and Dust emerged from. She glances up. And stares.

“...Does your brother normally have a giant shadow bird?” she asks, gambling that Skulk is both in the general vicinity and listening to her.

"Damnit," Skulk grumbles she appears next to Fury, "How'd you know?"

"Spooky spellcaster powers," Fury says. "Seriously though, is that a… wow."

"Yeeeah," Skulk sighs, "That's my brother alright. Never gives up a chance to show off… and pretend he's just doing whatever. Jerk."

Fury nods. "Like how you never give up a chance to surprise someone?" She smiles.

"Ah, ya got me Sparky," Skulk waves a hand, "It's too fun."

“Oh, yes, definitely.” Fury grins. “...I should get up and take a closer look. It’s very pretty -- and also enormous, scary, and impressive -- and more importantly, your brother deserves a chance to show off every once in a while, since it makes him happy. Plus, I owe him another favor.”

"Better check it out," Skulk rumbles, "He can only keep it out for a few minutes."

Fury nods, standing up. “You coming? Or are you going to let Ink hog all the fun?”

“Ah, sure,” Skulk stands up and follows Fury.

“Hi Ink!” Fury says, stepping past the tables and up to the group. “Hi, Amenidal. Who’s your friend?” She gestures to the black roc.

“Hi Lady Fury,” Amenidal greets her in turn with a smile and some ear wiggles as she approaches, “This is Ink’s finely crafted and very good bird.” He pauses for a moment as he thinks and looks to Ink again, “I think I heard that it doesn’t have a name?”

"Yes," Ink states, "Not alive. Doesn't care."

"It's very pretty," Fury replies, hands on her hips. "Is it conjured in from somewhere else, or does it come into existence when you summon it?"

"It is a tattoo," Ink says, "Watch." He reaches up and touches the bird's chest. The roc seems to flow over his hand like a liquid, returning to his body over a few seconds. It forms a black tattoo in the shape of the bird that moves down his arm. After a few moments, it merges with the central tattoo which swirls then returns to normal.

Fury's eyes go wide. "So it is the tattoo?" She pauses. "That… sounds like it takes a lot of energy to maintain. And reactivate. Hold on, I'll do the math..." She reaches to her side, and then glances around. "How is it that you always do your most amazing things when I don't have anything to write on?"

"I am very secretive," Ink gives Fury a sideways look.

Skulk rolls her eyes, "I call it Shadowchicken."

"She does," Ink narrows his eyes.

Fury smiles. "Doesn't have a name, huh? Shadowchicken sounds like a pretty good name to me."

"Yeah," Skulk agrees, "She said so."

"Fine," Ink sighs, "Shadowchicken."

"Much more exciting than 'the bird with no name', I promise," Fury says. She glances at the crowd still circling near where the bird was, and then at the long, long drop beside them. "... Let's step a little further from the cliff, if you don't mind. We don't want Skulk to fall off, or anything."

The platform begins to rise again. This time, there are several Skywatchers on a loose patrol as it rises. One of them gives Shadimon an “all clear” signal, but they stay watching the group rising on the platform.

Three Vaqueros step off onto the cliffside. Matias is in the back along with Shift, who is now wearing an orange and black shemagh and a brown duster. Breaker is in the lead. The brand around her neck is still rimmed in painful looking red, but seems to be stable. The burns quite clearly resemble a rope. There is a conflicted look on her face as she scans the party.

Shift moves first, headed towards the group that contains Dust and Shadimon with a wave that happens to reveal the tattoo around his wrist. With some prodding from Matias, Breaker follows.

“Hola,” Shift states, “Thanks for inviting us.”

Shadimon steps forward to meet them, “Glad you could make it.” He hugs Matias, “And good to see you as always, amigo.”

“You too,” Matias returns the hug. Shift gives a polite handshake and a smile. Breaker steps up and gives Shadimon a light punch in the shoulder with a very slight smile.

“Hola, pollo,” she greets him with a slightly hoarse voice, “Price of an invite was pretty high, but it was worth it. Getting into town this way’s a lot easier, si?”

“Hola yourself, Kiara. And yes it is. You know they completely rearranged the road planning?” He glances up at the circling Watchers and tilts his head, sending them back to their regular duties. “But welcome! How’s Coldwater doing?”

“Good,” Breaker nods, then looks at Shift.

“She’s holding together,” Shift explains, “The three of us make a pretty good team, it turns out. Breaker’s been keeping the military in line and keeping the streets in order, Matias has been keeping the church growing and making sure people don’t lose help, and me? Well, turns out when I’m not fucking blitzed all the time I’m pretty good at organizing and delegating, so… we’re making it work.”

“She’s starting to feel like a real city again. Half the place is still in ruins and we’re getting it running. We’re still running the government out of the Cantina, but there is a government.”

Shift pulls back his sleeve, revealing the mark he received for his time as a Cazadore.

“That helped,” Breaker nods to it, “Hang together or hang apart, all that shit.”

“Yeah…” Shift rolls his sleeve back, “Matias… has something to ask Baijani, I think. Breaker’s gonna take the role of Sheriff if I can convince her to keep the fucking pin on, and me? I gotta figure out a title. ‘Governor’ has some bad connotations these days, si?”

Shadimon grimaces, “That it does. I’ve been very carefully avoiding that one too.” He looks around, grumbles at all the taller elves, and jumps straight up to get a better view. “Ah, Baijani is over there. Looks like she’s babysitting for Vahn again. Feel free to go bother her, Matias. She’ll be glad to see you too.” He steps back a little and gestures to the tables, “But come on in, make yourselves at home.”

"Gracias," Shift smiles and heads towards the table. Matias gives Shadimon a pat on the arm and heads in a straight line for Baijani. Breaker waits a few moments, folding her arms and looking around the party.

"Terror here?" She asks Shadimon quietly.

“Somewhere. She hasn’t made an appearance yet. Might be still off sulking somewhere.” He grimaces, “That’s unkind. Some bad shit went down yesterday, and I suspect she’s being overly hard on herself.” He pauses and glances around, “Actually...I think you’re the last group so everyone is here now. One moment please.”

One of the nearby tables is mostly empty, and he hops up on it, spreading his wings to get everyone’s attention. “Welcome to Asavardi, and thank you all for coming. These get-togethers are the only times most of us actually get to talk in person.” He nods toward the river elves, “Last year, the flotilla reminded us all of the value of remembering the past and continuing to move forward. For us, Year’s End is also a time of reflecting on the previous year, and on renewing the connections we’ve made.

“Most of you hopefully got a message about how we do things.” He wiggles a woven bracelet off his wrist, “We make and exchange tokens, usually small jewelry like this, to recognize people who have had an impact on us throughout the year.” He grins a little, “It can be as public as anyone wants, or as private, and no one is required to do anything. But, if you want to, please, feel free. We find the physical reminders of our social connections to be a valuable thing.”

Shadimon carefully turns on the table and gestures off to one side, “We’re all busy, and time can be hard to come by. We have some of the materials here, if you maybe weren’t sure, or just didn’t have time.” He slips off a second bracelet, “While I have everyone’s attention, I also want to ask a question. I don’t need or expect an answer right this moment, but it’s something we need to keep in mind.” He pauses for a moment, looking out into the canyon with its constellation of lights, “We’re elves, and we’ve worked together for decades to see all of us through. Are we making one elven nation here? Or several smaller ones?” After looking around for a moment, he dips his head and wings to the guests, steps down from the table, and makes a bee-line toward the Hunger.

As he approaches, he undoes the small clasp on the bracelet, revealing a long braided leather cord set with polished stone beads in mostly shades of red and orange, but with a few bright blues. “Hunger, thank you for your advice. I’ve been agonizing over how to achieve what I need to for my people, and you all helped me find the starting point.” He holds out the cord, “It’s mildly enchanted to resist heat, or it can just hang on the wall if wearing isn’t more your style.”

Hunger pauses, shoulders back, and then reaches out and takes the bracelet. "Thank you, Shadimon," he says, slipping it neatly onto his wrist. "...I'm really not sure what to say, other than that I'm glad to have helped."

“And that’s that right response. Now to go bother your coworkers.” Shadimon gives a polite nod and disappears back into the crowd in search of Fury

Fury, who is standing by Ink and Skulk (or at least where Skulk was), is ready for this. She waves a hand in Shadimon's direction.

Shadimon laughs and jogs over, “Not shocked by people appreciating you, are you?”

Fury laughs. "I'm just used to making a spectacle of myself," she says.

“Entirely fair!” He offers her another bracelet, intricately braided leather with a piece of copper wire also woven in. “Also enchanted for a bit of heat resistance,” he says with a grin.

"Thank you ever so much!" Fury says, tying the bracelet around her wrist with unpracticed inefficiency.

Breaker puts a hand on Shadimon's shoulder. When he turns around, she offers him a bracelet made with orange and black stone worked into beads.

"I'm gettin' to know you pretty good pollo," she speaks to him seriously, "And I know you're the type to beat yourself up over signing off and watching me get burned. I wanted to let you know… it wasn't just that. You gave me a second chance."

Shadimon takes it and offers in return another dark leather and copper cord, “All of us here are coasting on second or third or fourth chances.” His eyes flick past her shoulder, “Ah, speaking of.” A hand taps Breaker’s shoulder, and she turns around to find Shrike.

“And you helped me really realize that I’m not just what the War made me, which led to making this possible.” She pats her stomach, “I didn’t realize how much I wanted it until you helped me see it was alright.”

“I…” Breaker blinks, accepting the bracelet and staring at it momentarily, “... I’m really happy for you two. Gotta stay alive, si?”

Shrike nods sharply, hands on her hips, “Good, if I’d had to twist your arm to accept it might have gone crazy and started crying again, and no one wants that.” She lightly punches Breaker on the shoulder, “Good.”

“Yeah, good,” Breaker smirks slightly, “Maybe I’ll have to come around again si?”

Shadimon nods, “You all and the dreamdust elves are separated from the main river network we’re using for trade, so I anticipate traffic for you through here eventually. Unless the underground river actually goes where we think it does…” He trails off for a moment and shakes his head, “Business, another time. But yes, you’re welcome. You are welcome.”

“Thanks Amigo,” Breaker smiles, “There’s gonna be one more thing too. The Cazadores all took the wrist tat. They’re loyal to me, and they know where they stand. Coldwater’s stable enough and got enough guards that she’ll stay safe. We’re ready to hit the badlands. I’ll keep my end of the deal.”

“Oh! That’s great!” He lowers his voice a bit, “You need to know then, we have confirmation that refugees have been taken coming this way. I don’t know if it’s in the badlands or not, but you might run into trouble out there.” He tilts his ears, “Trouble I suspect you could handle, but knowing is better than not.”

“Trouble, si?” Breaker grins showing teeth, “Sounds like you might need the best desert cavalry leader alive, huh?”

“Convenient that we happen to have one!” he agrees with a laugh. “Things are stable enough for you to go yourself? Or are you staying in Coldwater?”

“Fuck yeah I’m going,” Breaker laughs, “Why do you think Shift’s the one actually organizing shit? I need to get out of the walls some, and it sounds like I got a damn good reason too. Looking forward to it.”

Excellent. I’ll get you a copy of our map before you leave, see if it’s any better than what you might have.”

“Tomorrow probably,” Breaker nods, “I got tequila to drink and a elf with a bucket on her head to track down.”

Shift approaches Dust. He holds out a bracelet made from an old copper piece, braided with horsehair threaded through a hole drilled in the middle of the coin.

“One year,” Shift smiles, “One year since I touched a drink. I’ve… been doin’ a lot better. Never thought I’d get to where I am now, actually being good at something, at leading people… but, it’s a lot more than that. Luisa let me move back in. I get to see Joshua every day, and he doesn’t see his dad as a drunk cabron all the time… It… it ain’t fixed yet, but it’s fixing. Thanks.”

Dust looks deeply touched by this, and rummages through his bag. “You’re very welcome, though you did all the hardest work yourself.”

“Yeah,” Shift smiles, “But you got me started.”

“Fair enough.” Dust holds out a bracelet of brightly dyed goathair yarn, in orange and black that matches Shift’s shemagh, with a brightly banded piece of jasper in the middle. “You made a difference to me, too. There were a lot of voices pushing for war when we met, and your presence made it easier to find a different solution. I’m so happy for you, but know that you and your family are always welcome among us, or to just drop me a line. Please pass on my greetings to Luisa and Joshua.”

“I will,” Shift looks at the bracelet for a moment, then ties it to his wrist opposite the tattoo, “You should visit sometime, too. They do allow you to get out sometimes, si? You might like our cooking.”

Dust snorts. “On rare occasions, yes. I really should, though, I want to see how the rebuilding is coming along.” He glances around. “On a related note, did you see where Breaker got off to? One of these is for her.”

Shift nods his head over towards Shadimon and Shrike, “Yeah, over that way. Think she wanted to talk to you too. Go on, I gotta work on my political skills… what’s that word in elven? Schmoozing?”

Dust laughs. “You’ll do great. See you around.” He wanders off to find Breaker.

Ink looks around the group assembled near him. Without warning or explanation, he taps the tattoo on his chest. It spirals open into a wide pitch black circle. He reaches up and puts his hand into his chest, his arm disappearing up to the elbow into the black void. A second later, he removes his hand and taps the circle. It swirls back down to its normal shape.

In his hand, he holds five bracelets. They each have beads made from jet black wood and cord made of dark colored vines. He offers one to Fury and one to Amenidal.

“For your help,” he explains.

"Thank you, Ink!" Fury says, smoke creeping out of her ears.

Amenidal lights up predictably as he accepts the bracelet, his ears slightly pink to go with the smoke curling off of Fury’s. “Yes, thank you! It’s lovely.”

“Good to have help…” Ink says as they accept.

“Happy to help!” Fury says. She glances over at the work table. “You’ll have to give me a little bit so I can make you one in return -- since you’ve been helping me, I mean.” She glances quickly to both sides, and then whispers: “On that note… when will we be helping?”

“Soon,” Ink replies, “Still have… decisions to make. Few weeks. Not long.”

She nods. “...And you still want my help, after finding out I’ve been nearly blowing up my city every season?”

Amenidal coughs to cover something that might be a laugh but goes back to pretending like he is not anywhere near this conversation.

“Yes,” Ink states in the same completely flat tone as always, “Might need to blow up a city.”

“Ah!” Fury says. “Well… good choice!”

Amenidal waits for a bit and cuts a glance at Fury before he begins to root around in a pouch on his hip. He pulls out two gossamer woven bracelets with what looks like beads of crystal and voidglass threaded into them. One seems to be a traditional dark elf color choice of black with some white woven in to hold the voidglass beads in place, while the other has the faintest red hue that catches in the crystals and makes them shimmer.

He holds the one with a reddish hue out to Fury with a smile, “I don’t know you very well, but I know you have a kind soul from what I have had the honor of seeing. Thank you for being another mote of kindness in this crazy reality.”

Fury takes the bracelet, a slight glow tracing up her neck, and examines it before carefully slipping it on beside Ink's. "...Thank you!" she says, smiling back. "Its gorgeous! ...Now I really feel bad about not making some bracelets beforehand." She glances between Amenidal and Ink, and then curtsies to them both. "Give me a few minutes, and I'll try to return the favor."

She turns to step away, but then pauses and turns back to Amenidal for a second. "And thank you for being kind and understanding, yourself," she says.

The dark elf flushes, his smile turning shy as he mumbles out something that sounds like a “you’re welcome” to Fury.

He then turns to Ink and offers the other bracelet, his ears twitching slightly. “...Thank you for believing in me,” he says quietly, “It means more to me than I will ever be able to properly express.”

"Oh," Ink holds the bracelet briefly, then attaches it to his wrist. He looks at Amenidal like he is about to say something, but then stops. He glances down at his wrist, then back to Amenidal.

"Back soon," he notes.

With that, Ink casts a Teleport spell in a suitably Ink fashion and vanishes.

Amenidal’s ears droop sharply, but he forces them back up swiftly enough before they become noticeable. He awkwardly rubs his arm and shuffles to a different area to continue the bracelet sharing.

“Way to go Amenidal...” he mutters under his breath to himself.

As Fury walks towards the table, she holds up her hand. There is another bracelet there, made of similar materials to Ink's but with a more reddish colored wood.

She has no idea how or when it got on her arm.

"Thank you, Skulk!" she says, smiling and deliberately not shouting, on the grounds that she's probably still nearby.

She probably is.

Allophryne removes a bracelet from his pocket. It's crafted of a delicate thin chain purchased in Surt, braided with leather cord from their visit to the Dreamdust camp, and strung with sparkly rocks and one alligator’s tooth.

“It were hard ‘t do without you seein’ it,” he says, passing the shiny bracelet to Bryti. “Mais, I think I did a half-decen’ job of it, weh?”

“You…” Bryti is shaken out of whatever train of thought she was following as she sees the bracelet. She looks at it cautiously.

“I…” she seeks words for a moment, “I am not supposed to accept gifts for doing my duty..”

“Ain’t fer that.” Allophryne smiles. “It’s fer bein’ mine ami an gettin’ me an old Blinkin’ t’see so much more of this place ‘en jus’ that what borders a river. I ain’t restin yet, an all this walkin done remind me that we’re meant’t keep on traveling. So thanks fer all the miles. It’s been a journey.”

“Ah,” Bryti takes the bracelet gingerly, “That… is different.”

“Allophryne…” she looks from the bracelet to him with a worried expression, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“He said you needed help, weh. I done thought that you’d leave me behind if’n you thought I were done learnin.”

“He..?” Bryti asks with surprise, then processes that statement, “You mean… your dreams?”

“Weh.” Allophryne nods, rubbing the old holes in his finger webbing, “Weh.”

“Oh,” Bryti closes her hand around the gift, “Allophryne… I… I am sorry. You have been an absolutely loyal friend, have gone far beyond what any apprentice could ever be asked for, and… I am extremely proud of how far you have come. I know I am not easy to be around, sometimes. I… have been distracted, but that is no excuse. I haven’t made any of those bracelets… and I have taken your friendship for granted.”

She looks up at the table with crafting supplies, then back to him, “I believe I can fix that, if it is not too late.”

“Jamais.” The older elf smiles warmly. “It’s never too late to try, cher.”

“No it’s not,” she stands up and starts to head to the table, “And… I am not going to leave you behind, not today. There is still much I need to teach you, but more than that… I couldn’t have gotten this far without you.”

Allophryne doesn’t try to get the last word. He just smiles and lets her leave.

Jarn sits politely at a table. The rest of the group has wandered off, most in the gaggle of elves around Ink and Baijani has broken off to talk to Matias. He sits alone, slowly eating the plate of food he gathered and watching the elves with curiosity.

Litoria is feeling grumbly, buzzed, and wants desperately to just vanish. Someone did not manage to actually forward on any messages to her, and that someone is going to end up getting a large quantity of complaints filed against him when she gets home. She locates the least occupied table and plops herself down beside its lone occupant.

She looks him up and down and decides that anyone who looks that much like a cinnamon roll is probably okay. The Warmaster says nothing and instead sips at her drink.

“Oh, hello!” Jarn blinks at her with mild alarm as she is the one elf present who is a more absolute unit than himself, and he has been specifically warned about her skills in spotting Lycans, “Uh, my name is Jean.”

“Mais, what’chu think ‘bout all this, Jean?” Litoria mumbles to the friendly youngster, “You think there’s gon’ be a single Elven nation ta come outta this annual potluck deal?”

Jarn looks at her with mute panic as he attempts to understand her elven. Was all of that even elven?

“Ummm,” he starts, “I am apologize. My elven is very simple. I am visiting the elves so I can connect to my elven heritage.” The last sentence is clearly memorized.

Litoria gives him a somewhat confused look.

“You ain’t one of Breaker’s half-elf lot then?”

“No Ma’am,” Jarn’s face lights up a bit, he understood that sentence!

“I am a half elf, but not a Vaquero. The dark elves met me while traveling. I wanted to learn about elves, so I went with them. I protect Amenidal.” Those were elven words! He is communicating very clearly, he thinks.

“Ees Low-Draconic easier, en?” Litoria’s accent is every bit as bad when she switches languages. It might actually be easier to follow her Elven.

“Yeah, it is a bit,” he sighs as he switches languages, “I’m gonna get better at elven, I swear. It’s better than it was!” His accent in this language is suspicious.

Litoria reevaluates her companion. That hair, those eyes, the posture, the accent, the suspiciously dull spot in the center of his suspiciously painted breastplate, the way he holds items like he’s trying hard not to crush them, that is a Lycan. That is a werewolverine.

Litoria switches again. To Skaplyndi. Where her accent is probably even worse. But she keeps her voice very low.

“What’re you e’en doin’ here, for real?”

“Shit,” Jarn switches to Skaplyndi and goes pale, his voice also low, “Warmaster, Ma’am, I wasn’t lying about that. The dark elves really did meet me on an expedition, they definitely know what I am, and I really am here trying to learn more about, well, being an elf. Trischal assigned me to protect Amenidal and the Chroniclers because I gained her trust, and I’m definitely an outsider to the… political… stuff they’ve got going on. I’m not here to hurt anyone, I promise.” He definitely sounds afraid.

“You know there’s a’plenty who’ll put a knife in’ya soon as they figure ya, weh?” She glares at him seriously.

“Yes Ma’am,” Jarn answers seriously, but a little less afraid, “Uh, you aren’t one of them…?”

Litoria snorts a bit, narrowly avoiding an actual laugh.

“Non,” she shakes her head, “you could say ‘et I’m not.” She leans across the table toward him, keeping her voice low enough to avoid being overheard. “T’cher, that’s a responsibility you cain’t ever avoid ‘er ignore. Make sure you gots your priorities straight ‘afore you git involved in stuff.”

“Stuff…?” Jarn asks, “And… I know it’s very dangerous out here for someone like me, so I’m keeping my head down. Protecting the Chroniclers is kinda my price of entry, though, and I can’t live under a rock my whole life, so I gotta do that job if I want to live, like, at all, and besides,” he glances at Amenidal, who is currently talking to Ink, “It’s… not bad.”

Litoria has seen a look like that one before.

“Priorités,” she adds enthusiastically, “If’n yer gon’ up an choose one, make sure you know which it ees ‘afore you start a thing you ain’t willin’ t’finish.”

Jarn looks back from Amenidal (who he has been staring at) to Litoria with curiosity.

“I, uh…” he looks from the much lowered drink to her, “I’ll keep that in mind, ma’am.”

She squints at him.

“Kill what you bite.”

Matias approaches Baijani with a smile. He holds out a nicely beaded bracelet to her, in patterns of red and white imitating the holy symbol of St. Errigal.

"For all the help you gave me,” he offers.

Baijani accepts it with a smile, “Thank you, son. You’ve come a long way.”

"Yeah, uh, 'bout that…" Matias rubs the back of his head and blushes slightly, "I… need to ask you something. I've got other acolytes now, and the church is growing, and I've been reading up, and well… I think I'm ready to not be a novice anymore. We still don't have anyone but novices, though… so someone has to officiate the ceremony. I'd like it to be you."

Baijani’s hands jump to her mouth and she lights up, “Me?? Oh son, I’d be honored! I just didn’t expect…” She possibly wipes her eyes quickly, “I just knew you and Eina had been helping each other along.”

"Si, and I owe her my life too," Matias sounds slightly embarrassed, "But you sent people to help rebuild our flock, and there's been a lot of wings around. I think it'd help people, to see you do it. That, and, uh, I'm not exactly sure how to get a message to Eina right now. I'd like her to come…"

“Ahh, yes I see. We can send her a message. Do you have a time in mind? We don’t know where they are either, so she might need some time to get down here.”

"It'll take a few months," Matias also might be wiping something from his eye, “We’re not quite finished with the renovations, and there’s a few things we need to iron out, but… I wanted to go ahead and ask you today.”

She takes his hands, squeezes them, and presses them to her chest, “Yes. I would be happy to.” She sniffs a little, not trying to hide it this time, “Just make sure you have notes on how you do things. I’m sure it’s different from us!”

"We do," he smiles, "I brought copies, I'll give them to you so you can go over it. And Baijani?" He gives her a hug, "Gracias."

She hugs him back, with arms and wings, “You’re very, very welcome.”

Somewhere very far away, Smilisca watches a bonfire as river elves celebrate the new years along a river bank.

“Hello,” a voice says behind him.

He suppresses the urge to throw a mudball.

This time.

Allophryne is on the hunt for a very dangerous bird. He's got a little chain with a polished piece of tortoise shell carved into the symbol of Luna-and-Calestros and is trying to find Anasatri. The only problem is that there's a bit of a crowd and he's really too polite to just go shoving through.

After a while he finally locates her, and holds the little chain out in her direction with a bashful grin.

Anasatri has finally left the Crag alone (for now) and is doing her own hunting. She makes a happy sound as she accepts the bracelet, pausing to admire the work, “Oh Allophryne, this is gorgeous! Oh, and you combined the symbols, that’s so perfect! Just a second, I know I have one...aha!” She sorts through the somewhat alarming mass of strands on her arm and plucks loose a twisted copper torque. “I had to get help, so it’s a little bit cheating.”

Allophryne accepts the torque and offers a hug in reply.

"You done offered so much help, cher, I can't ever repay fer real, me."

She laughs and jumps, entirely confident that he can catch her, “Goddess, I needed as much as I gave!”

“Weh! We gots a big big task ahead too.” Allophryne easily catches the lightweight winged elf. “I’m for shore glad of the help.”

Anasatri squeezes as tight as she can (which is not very), “We do! Hopefully we’ll get to see each other more often. I’ll make sure to go downstairs and say hello to Blinkin before you all head out!”

Allophryne mutely carries Anasatri over to the animated leather sofa that is his animal companion.

“Blinkin’s the designated sober person for the night.” He says with a grin before depositing her atop the obese gator.

Amenidal shuffles around a few tables for a while, ears doing a dance between drooping and being forcefully perked anytime people might be looking in his direction.

He slowly wanders back towards where he left Jarn and freezes at the sight of Litoria sitting next to his friend. Mope forgotten for the moment thanks to what might be a mild heart attack, Amenidal briskly walks his way over to the table and tries to not look like a panicking idiot when he stops next to them.

“Hi Miss Litoria! How’s it going over here?” he babbles and tries to give Jarn a questioning glance of concern. Jarn mutely nods an acknowledgement, though he does seem a bit confused.

“Everythin’s alright cher. Jus’ tradin’ some linguistical pointers.” Litoria has switched back to Elven, and gives the one and a half younger elves a crooked smile.

“It is okay,” Jarn replies in elven, “She is, uh… nice.”

Amenidal glances between the two of them and relaxes just slightly. “Ah, right then. That’s good - Oh!”

He turns to Jarn as he crams his hand back into the pouch at his side, switching to common as he directs his attention to the half-elf completely. “I have a thing for you! It was really damn hard to try and make it without you noticing.”

“Aww,” Jarn grins, then holds up a bracelet made with brown twine and stone, “It was pretty easy to make yours without you noticing. You tend to space out.”

Amenidal sputters just slightly, his face going red. “Harr harr harr…” he grumbles good naturedly as he pulls out a thick leather bracelet with some kind of design tooled into it. A thin silk thread is woven through it with a small clear bead attached to the center. “One, two, three trade?”

“Trade!” Jarn laughs and plays along with the timing, “Oh wow, the one you made me is way nicer…”

Litoria snickers quietly, trying not to interrupt.

“You hush, the one you made me is wonderful,” Amenidal states as he puts it into place on his wrist with Ink’s. He gives Jarn a sunny smile. Jarn returns it.

"Amenidal!" Fury shouts, stepping up from the crafting table with a small pile of bracelets in her hands. She holds one out to the dark elf -- a strand of golden thread, wrapped around and through beads of snowflake obsidian, opal, and red gold. "I hope you like it -- yours was the first one I finished!"

She pauses, and blinks. "I'm interrupting, aren't I?" She turns to Jarn, and extends a hand. "I don't think we've met. Call me 'the Fury'."

Jarn’s eyes dart back and forth between the two extremely high ranked and famous leaders he has ended up sitting between, despite his sincere attempt at staying out of the way.

“Uh…” he gently takes her hand, “Hello, my name is Jean.”

"It’s so nice to meet you!" She gives his hand a warm shake. "Are you from Fort Alfyr?"

“No,” Okay, okay, good she’s using simple words, “No ma’am, I am half elf. The dark elves met me while traveling. I wanted to learn about elves, so I went with them. I protect Amenidal. I am visiting the elves so I can connect to my elven heritage.” Yes, those memorized phrases chained together are probably perfect!

Fury nods. "Are you a little more comfortable with this?" she says, switching to Common. "I hope you're having fun. This is the first potluck we've had in Asavardi, but they're usually really great!"

She scans the edge of the cliff for Ink. Her eyes catch on Bryti instead. "I better finish some gift-giving before the end of the potluck, but you should check out Surt if you find yourself traveling our way. And meet some of the others -- most of us are pretty great people." She pauses. "Except Barry. Don't meet Barry. Anyway, it was nice to meet you!"

She turns, and heads off towards the drunk pile.

Jarn slowly closes his mouth, as he had not yet formulated an answer.

Amenidal is trying to not look horribly amused as he slips on the new bracelet. “Thank you Lady Fury!” he shouts after her before turning his amusement back to Jarn. “She’s pretty cool.”

“Is she-” Jarn briefly attempts to speak.

“Amenidaaaaaaal!”

Amenidal reflexively braces for the incoming ball of feathers.

Anasatri plows into him, sending him staggering back a few paces before Jarn catches them both. The hefty half elf apparently manages to balance the pile of skinnier elves flying at him with ease. This may be a job skill for him.

Anasatri squeezes Amenidal tight, “It’s so good to see you! Oh I want to hear all about your expedition and the stories you brought back if they’re not secret or anything. Hello again Jean!” She gets back on her own feet and hands Amenidal a woven cloth band supported with some thin brass wire. “The wire comes from some leftover brass from working on the orrery! Thank you for humoring me and wanting to share stories. You and Ink are the only two people who have seemed really interested in the library.”

“Good to see you as well, Satri,” Amenidal manages to say while sounding slightly winded as he also finds his own feet again. He pats Jarn’s arm in silent thanks before accepting the bracelet. “I have a few books worth of our older stories written out for you, actually. I just completely forgot to bring them, but it gives me the perfect excuse to instead come and see the orrery while I deliver them!” He grins at her with excitement, “I want to hear about how you all managed to spot a mistake in the Lycan’s math for it.”

“What’s this about ‘en expedition?” Litoria asks, curious.

Amenidal begins to root around yet again in his hip pouch. He glances at Litoria, “We...went on an expedition to gather cultural memories from our old home around the fall of this past year.”

“Yes,” Jarn adds, desperately trying to follow the conversation, “That is when they found me.”

“Of course et is, weh.” Litoria gives Jarn a sideways glance. “Find anywhat else out there?”

Amenidal tilts his head and pauses in his search for Satri’s bracelet. “Lots of history,” he states, “and our -” he cuts off and then brightens. “We found our badgers actually! The old dens were untouched, it was amazing. We’re currently trying to figure out a way to transport a viable population back, but we at least know that they are there.”

“Well nah that’s the best news I heard in a big big long time!” Litoria pats him on the back. “If’n yall ken give us a map might we ken do a thing about that, weh. We got our ways.”

“Oh badgers!” Anasatri exclaims. “That is great news!”

Amenidal perks up, ears vibrating as he tries not to wobble too much at the pat on the back. “Really? That would be… if you could that would be one of the best things to happen for the dark elves in a while.” His smile is painfully bright, “I’m sure we have maps… I mean I can also....!” He looks like he is too busy vibrating and thinking to properly word.

“If’n you want to tag along when we make th’ trip, yer more’n welcome to join up fer the route. Jus’ you two don’t go piercin’ no webs prematurely an it should be fine.” Litoria is 110% on board for anything involving pissing off Lock, so the idea of border hopping to retrieve extra special lost companion critters and wreck his treaty sounds exactly like her kind of thing.

“Piercing… webs?" Jarn sounds a bit lost.

“We- yes that’s a good idea. We may need a few more dark elves, if that is ok, to corral them bu -” Amenidal’s words screech to a halt and his face turns violently red.

He sputters helplessly for a few seconds but no words happen.

Jarn blinks at Amenidal recognizing his trademark skin condition, “Uh, did I miss something…?”

Anasatri suddenly stops and peers off to one side. “Aha! There’s Steve! Amenidal, Jean, I’ll see you later! Just need to go track him down real fast.” She gives Amenidal another quick hug and disappears into the crowd.

Amenidal helplessly holds out a bracelet at her retreating back as he continues to sputter. He manages a squeaky, “No web-piercing, ma’am. Still a lot to work through. Me. Still have a lot to work through.”

“But…” Jarn looks back and forth between Amenidal and Litoria, “What does she have against spiders?”

Anasatri weaves her way through the crowd, following glimpses of bright colors and patterns. Finally she finds Steve by one of the tables, munching on a pastry. “Steve! Hi!” She goes for her characteristic, very enthusiastic hug.

Steve’s face lights up and he returns the hug. “Satri!” He hurriedly fumbles at one of his belt pouches. “Have threads! For you!” He presents her with a thick bracelet of different-colored threads, of different thicknesses. There are knots along each thread, in a dozen or more styles, with irregular gaps between the knots. In places, two or three threads are knotted together before separating again. “Story,” he explains. “Origin, as we see it. Will teach you to read it.”

Anasatri’s face lights up, “You remembered! Oh one second, if I don’t give you yours now, I’ll forget.” She offers him a string of small copper beads and disks. It’s very solid, and rattles pleasantly when she shifts it. She smiles a little, “I thought you might like jingly things too.”

Steve grins at her. “Yes!” He cocks a hip, intentionally jingling the assorted charms and beads hanging from his sash. He carefully fastens the bracelet on his wrist. “Thank!”

“Hello,” Ink, apparently back, leans over and looks at the bracelet, “It is nice.”

“Oh Ink! I was hoping to find you too!” Anasatri unwraps a thin, narrow cord from around her waist, “I don’t see you wearing anything like jewelry, so this is meant to hang on a wall. Or as a sash tie, like I was.” It is another braided cord, black, strung with small polished clear crystals.

“Thank you,” Ink takes it and looks it over, “It… is very nice.”

Ink holds up his hand. He still has the two remaining bracelets made with black wood and vines. He holds them out to Steve and Anasatri.

“For your help,” he offers.

Steve accepts with a pleased smile. “Thank!” he chirps again, tying it beside the other bracelet on his wrist.

Anasatri runs the beads through her fingers with a smile, “It’s beautiful! Thank you so much, Ink.”

Steve digs through his pouch, clearly looking for something. “Ah!” He is holding out what looks like a band of unbroken black, but when looked at closely, it is made of two different dark shades in different textures. “For you!”

“For… me?” Ink asks, gently taking it, “I helped you…?”

Steve nods solemnly. “Talked. Patient. Most… most not-dreamdust aren’t.”

Anasatri reflexively hugs Steve again.

Ink pauses for a few moments before speaking.

“I know how that feels.”

Steve returns Anasatri’s hug, and nods solemnly in acknowledgement. He holds out an arm, offering a place in a group hug. Ink pauses again, but takes up the offer.

Prosalirus watches the bracelet exchanges with mild amusement. He doesn’t really know any of these people, or have any real reason to exchange tokens of thanks with them. Particularly not after having learned just how very bigoted the group is capable of being.

He stands well to the side to just stay out of the way. Not wanting to get entirely too drunk with all these long drops and the near complete lack of safety rails, he’s limiting his alcoholic intake via limiting the surface area exposed. He holds his glass of tequila with only two fingers submerged.

"Neat party," he looks over to see Skulk draped over a nearby chair munching on a few thin slices of raw fish. She nods at his fingers, "Whatcha doin' there?"

“Good evening, ma’am.” Prosalirus raises his glass to the lounging cryptid. “I am attempting to forget an insult via intoxication. It is mildly effective.”

"You can get drunk through your fingers?" Skulk's eyebrows raise.

“Well, yes, one can imbibe alcohol through any of the regular methods of passing an intoxicating substance to one’s interior. As we breathe and absorb liquid through our skin, yes, I can get drunk through my fingers.”

"Jealous," Skulk grumbles, "Can't drink booze anymore. Haven't gotten buzzed in…" she pauses briefly, "... a damn long time."

Prosalirus hands Skulk the drink.

“I am aware of other porous membranes you certainly possess. You might make that attempt in private. A funnel may assist.”

"What do you mean a funnel…" Skulk looks at the drink. Slowly, her eyes go wide.

"You're not getting this back," and with that, Skulk vanishes.

“I do not believe that I would want it.” Prosalirus tells nobody in particular.

Vahn is finally awake from her power nap in time for the friendship is magic bracelets. She leaves Amenidal and Jarn to their own devices and at least catches sight of Ehra as the current holder of her child. She then scans the crowd of elven faces before spotting her ordered target. With a sigh, she pushes herself up and heads in the direction of the craft table that Bryti is at, all the while muttering about certain leaders overcomplicating how to give gifts when not present.

She halts herself a respectable distance away and scans the assorted crafting odds and ends at the table.

“Lady Tourist,” she greets the much taller elf with an outstretched arm and woven bracelet in hand. The crystals on this one are rounded and smooth to go with the white gossamer. One crystal in particular is oblong, pointed, and not very well crafted - though it is obvious an earnest attempt was made - giving a good idea as to who this bracelet is actually coming from. “Domawit Shyrendora sends her regards.”

“Oh,” Bryti turns from what she has been working on, “Lady Vahn.”

Bryti looks at the bracelet. It seems for a moment like she might be about to say something, but once she sees the, ah, craftselfship of the bracelet its intent is obvious. She takes the bracelet respectfully.

“Thank you,” she says, “One moment…”

She picks something up off the table. She hands a bracelet to Vahn, made with black leather cord and small pieces of bone.

“Please give this to the Domawit for me,” Bryti says, “And let her know she has a supporter.”

Vahn visible sags with relief and dutifully takes the offered bracelet with a sharp smile, “Oh good,” she says with a dry but humorous tone, “I was afraid I was going to have to wrestle this onto your wrist and fail spectacularly. Or go back with my failure and watch the Domawit vault out of the window to find you and do it herself.”

"You might have," Bryti says, "As I am not allowed to accept gifts or payment for doing my duty as a Purifier. A thanks for being a friend is a different matter."

There is a moment where Vahn makes a small gesture in the air while touching her holy symbol of Calestros and bows to Bryti, “Thank you, she is going to need all she can get. May Mother’s echoes help guard your path, brave child.”

"Thank you," Bryti bows, "And may Shy demonstrate to her father how a real Domawit acts."

“And if she needs any assistance,” the Hunger says, stepping neatly past a nearby table and cutting into a perfectly good dialogue with unnecessary additions. “Surt would be more than happy to support her in any way we can.” He looks at Bryti. “If you have a second, Tourist, there are some resolutions to your legal history that we need to finalize.”

Bryti raises an eyebrow at him, then gives Lady Vahn a polite bow and steps aside. She glances around briefly to make sure no one is listening.

"If this is about my encounters with the Praesidium," she says quietly, "I swear I was nothing but polite."

“Really?” the Hunger says. “No wonder they were so irritated. Try treating Tsun like an angsty teenager next time; it really helps clarify things.” He puts a hand into a pocket in his chiton, and pulls out a shining gold-and-copper chain, laced with aquamarine stones. A thin golden plate sits on one end of it. “This is yours.”

"Now Hunger," she raises an eyebrow at him, "I'll have you know I have sworn an oath to take no reward or payment for carrying out my duties."

Hunger pauses. “...How in the hells does your order support itself with that kind of oath?” He shakes his head. “Regardless, this isn’t a reward -- it’s the formal result of a Surtian Board of Inquiry as to your territorial visitation status. Just in a permanent form, with a refund on your previous fines attached.”

"I see," Bryti chuckles, "Then with that needlessly complicated and overly technical excuse, I accept."

Bryti takes the excessively shiny trinket and examines it.

The plate reads “TBI 19y4: Officially Authorized to enter Surt” and has a tiny, stylized flame carved onto the end. The rest of the bracelet is made up of alternating gold and copper links, and tiny aquamarine stones carved into spheres.

"Thank you for this purely impersonal and civic-minded gesture," Bryti gives him a bow after affixing it to her wrist.

“And thank you for being a friend,” the Hunger says. “Also, for being willing to try and help me handle the dog. And Cantia. She’s… going to be an issue for quite a while, I suspect.”

"Doubtlessly," Bryti nods, "You look stronger. How are you recovering?"

“Surprisingly well, honestly,” he replies. “I spend a lot less time arguing with myself.”

"That is probably healthy," she nods, "If you ever do feel the need to talk to someone else about what you went through… you know how to find me."

“And if you need someone to bureaucrat for you, you know where to find me,” the Hunger says. “And when we find out where Cantia is, you’ll be the first to know.”

"Good," Bryti nods, then gives him a curious look, "And to answer your previous question… patronage."

As the small crowd around the Crag thins out, an interesting guest approaches. Bryti walks slowly up to Telerg. She approaches slowly and in plain view, giving a respectful bow from an equally respectful distance.

"It is good to meet you, Elpahka," she states, "I am the one you likely know as the Seeker. I… have a slightly more personal question. What have you been told about me?"

Telerg does an admirable job of maintaining the same placid expression she has throughout the banquet… but there is a hint of hesitation there. “.. Seeker. Yes. I had suspected as such; I have heard them refer to you by your Epithet, “The Tourist.” As to what I know… I believe the crux you would be concerned with is what The First would have forewarned us of. He did not state the truth in the open, but what he did not say spoke volumes of your True Nature.” There is no malice, or fear in her voice. Just a slight trepidation.

"Good," Bryti nods, "Then that saves me the awkward task of trying to explain it. I know it may be… difficult for you to speak to me, but I have only a few things I would like to ask."

"To start… is your Esteemed doing well?"

With that, the hesitation disappears entirely. “Do not restrain yourself, Seeker, if you fear you will disturb me. That would defeat my purpose here. As for the Esteemed… she fares as well as she may, all circumstances duly considered. Still, she Guides us, Comforts us, and Adjudicates as her position requires.” Telerg’s tone is formal, bereft of warmth.

"That is good to hear," Bryti matches the tone, "Could you bring a message to her for me?"

“Certainly,” Telerg responds.

"Tell her that the words and wisdom she sent me have helped me, and… that I enjoyed the brew. Also, that I will not enter Crag territory without an invitation."

Bryti pauses, giving Telerg a gauging look, "... and on that topic, my duty does extend to Crag territory, as does my offer made to the other elves. If the affliction ever visits the Crag, all you have to do is ask me. No questions asked, no requirements given."

“I recognize your offer, and the spirit in which it is given. It does seem that much of what was not said was true. I also appreciate your affirmation to respect our desire for obscurity, for as long as we may require it. It must be said, to that end, that I’m afraid I must trouble you for a query in return.” Her words flow easier than before… less rigid and formal, and more genuine.

"Of course," Bryti replies, "Though, as you, there are some secrets I must keep."

Telerg inclines her shoulders towards The Seeker. “Of course. It is in regards to communications,” she says, carefully sounding out the term. “ I am lead to believe that Lowlanders have a means of rapid communication amongst themselves, so that all may know of significant events… such as this,” she indicates with a gentle sweep of her hand. “My question is thus; are you also included in this communication network?” Again, the words seem unfamiliar to her.

"Yes," Bryti slowly takes the feather she was given out from under her cloak, "I was included as a gift, so that they might reach me immediately in an emergency. Namely, in case of an affliction where time may be precious."

“ ‘Where Time May Be Precious’,” Telerg repeats, rolling the phrase around in her mouth. “Such a curious wisdom. Yet, it finds purchase in these times. Your response is appreciated, Seeker. Shall I more knowledge impart?”

"Not at the moment," the Seeker bows again, "And I thank you for your understanding. I hope we have a chance to speak again."

“If We Shall, Then We Shall,” Telerg intones. It sounds like a quote.

The ropes groan. The pulleys squeak. The Terror rises to the top of the cliff, soaked with riverwater and looming with rage.

She grips an elf ear in each hand, and drags their two moaning and complaining owners off the platform, before dumping them unceremoniously in front of the bracelet crafting table.

Vita looks up at Terror, and rubs at her now swollen ear. She staggers back to her feet. "Ma'am, please. This is in all parts my fault an--"

Terror grabs her by the ear again, and points a finger at the crafting table.

"Ow ow ow yes ma'am ow ow ow..." Vita continues. She makes her way onto one of the stools, and begins tiredly sorting through various baubles and pieces.

Terror looms over the other elf on the floor, Dhakamari.

Dhakamari is already moving before the looming properly starts, quickly sorting through the available materials and picking up a spool of sturdy cord. “Leather gets waterlogged and shrinks,” he mutters to Vita, pushing some more cord her way.

“Right!” she replies, eyes fixed on her work. “Good thinking. Don’t want to use wood, either, because it gets absorbative.”

Terror nods to herself, satisfied, and moves to stand over in a far corner of the clearing, with a good view of the valley below.

That’s when she notices Fury, on the opposite side of the cliff face, holding up a thin bracelet and grinning at her like a madwoman.

Terror turns and stalks speedily towards the inner buildings.

Shadimon quietly intercepts her, hiding a smile and relatively confident she won’t just run him over. This is proven to be overconfidence when the Terror wafts around him like a wave of smoke.

“Oh now you’re being a smartass,” Shadimon laughs. “I could just give mine to Fury and have her give it to you later? Maybe Breaker? They’re both after you too and I’m sure they’ll have fun with that.”

Terror skids to a stop. “Both?” she says, her voice grinding and metallic.

"ESPANTA!" Breaker's voice pierces through the crowd as well as herself as she suddenly heads for Terror at a dead run, "I'm gonna give you this fucking thing if I have to shove it down your fucking throat, pendeja!"

Breaker makes a direct charge for Terror, holding out a bracelet like she's pointing a holy symbol at a vampire.

Shadimon laughs again, sticks something shiny to Terror’s cloak, and dives out of the way as fast as he can.

Terror glances to her right.

Breaker is gaining speed, and will be on her in seconds.

She glances to her left.

Fury is diving through the crowd around the tables, aiming to cut her off.

She glances behind her, spotting the only option left: the edge of the cliff.

She now really wishes she’d borrowed Vita’s ring of feather fall.

There’s a ledge sixty feet down, and a little bit to her right. With care and reflexes, she might be able to catch it.

Is jumping off a cliff really the better option? She thinks to herself.

She glances back, her eyes catching on the charging Breaker. Smoke trails out from the Terror’s armor. She nods to herself. Yes.

She takes a step backward and to the right, straight off the edge, and realizes just slightly too late that “to the right, facing the edge” would have meant that she should have stepped to the left.

As Terror begins to fall, Breaker does not remotely hesitate. She, if anything, accelerates. By the time she reaches the edge, Terror has fallen just out of sight.

Breaker plants her feet on the edge, pivots, and launches herself directly at Terror. With the extra momentum, she easily closes the gap. She hits Terror's chest plate with a thunk and wraps an arm around her neck.

"Love yourself you stupid bitch!" Breaker bellows over the wind as they fall.

Horror and confusion criss-cross though the Terror’s mind. Her eyes track to the receding cliff face above -- to the winged shape of Shadimon launching from the edge -- to the panicking elves looking out beside him -- to the ground accelerating towards her. Them. Terror’s eyes catch on Breaker’s.

Calaestros, queen of the sea, shattered god, mother, Terror thinks. I need a favor.

Oh sweetie, many voices answer, No you don't.

Terror chokes. Her eyes narrow. Pretty sure I do, mom.

Can't you see? The voice asks again, can't you see yourself? I'm so proud of you. Please look.

"Espanta…" Breaker gasps, "You got a spell or some shit, right?"

Terror meets Breaker’s eyes, and then looks towards the ground, still moving towards them. Streamers of ash speed past them, coiling from of fat, hot smoke cloud growing around Terror’s feet.

Terror blinks. Without thinking about it, she glares at the smoke cloud, daring it to get thicker, willing it to push against her.

The ground slows, and then reverses.

Breaker’s grip begins to slip. Terror puts an arm under her legs, hoisting her up, and drives the cloud back up to the cliff’s edge, past Shadimon, who swooped past them with a clearly startled expression on his face.

Within seconds, the Terror’s feet are level with the top of the cliff. She steps carefully back onto solid ground.

“Meant to do that,” she grunts quietly.

"You know…" Breaker pants, breathing heavily. She holds up her hand and slaps a bracelet made of corded metal to Terror's chest plate with a clank, "... it is really fucking hard to give you a compliment."

“Mother’s fucking eyes, Terror,” Shadimon says as he lands next to them. “Tell me you can fly, please, before jumping off my cliffs.” Shortly behind him, Dhakamari quietly lands as well and slinks back to the table.

Terror nods, accepting the bracelet, before abruptly realizing to her horror that she is still holding onto Breaker. In a princess carry.

She lifts Breaker gently back to the ground, feet first. “Think I got a little carried away,” she says in her normal voice, rubbing at the back of her neck. “With the, umm, jumping. I’m sorry.”

Breaker's eyes snap wide. Without warning, she throws an absolutely vicious right hook that catches Terror right at the joint between her mask and her helmet, carrying through with Breaker's whole bodyweight as she yells.

"A LITTLE carried away!?"

Terror stumbles backwards, dazed. Her hand goes to the spot where Breaker’s fist hit her. She looks back towards Breaker, and looms at her. “Ow.”

"You jumped off a cliff because people tried to thank you!" Breaker continues, apparently unphased by looming, "That's fucked up!"

“There was a ledge right there!” Terror says, gesturing behind her. “I would have been fine!”

"A l… a ledge!?" Breaker gestures wildly, "You'll stand your ground against a fucking army, but a few people and some bracelets makes you dive for cover!"

Terror says nothing.

Breaker makes yet more gestures, then flops her arms down at her sides. She groans, then sighs.

"If you jump off the cliff when anyone else offers you one of these, I ain't following."

"This is a bad time, isn't it?" the Fury says, standing in the middle of the crowd several feet away. "I'm just going to hold onto this for later."

"I don't want you to commit suicide if I jump off a cliff like an idiot!" Terror says, ignoring the Fury.

"Well then stop jumping off cliffs!" Breaker counters, the points at Fury with so much ferocity an onlooker or two duck, "You go over there and you let Fury give you a bracelet and you say thank you because she is your fucking friend and she wants you to be happy and that is really fucking nice of her!"

"We're not really fr--" Terror starts.

"Yes you clearly fucking are because she puts up with your bullshit!" Breaker counters without wasting a breath.

Terror stares. And then, with an audible sigh, she turns and marches over to Fury. She holds out her hand.

Fury smiles mildly, doing her best to suppress a smirk. She loops a thin bracelet of leather and copper pipes around Terror's wrist, and then ties both ends together with a haphazard knot.

"Thank you, Fury," Terror mutters.

"Thank you, friend," Fury replies. "And thank you for not letting me get murdered."

Terror rolls her eyes. She turns to face the Hunger, who is currently lounging at the far end of the crowd, with his feet propped up on a table edge.

"Well, don't look at me," he says. "I certainly didn't make any bracelets -- no offense intended, Shadimon."

Vita waves a hand. "Ooh, ma'am! I've got one I can--"

Terror glares in Vita's direction, and points angrily at the table in front of her.

"Yes ma'am sorry ma'am," Vita says quickly, before leaning back over the pile of components in front of her.

Terror puts both her arms in the air, and turns to address the crowd. "Anyone else?" she roars. She turns back to glare at Breaker.

"You got something on your cape," Breaker points.

Terror runs a hand down the edge of her cape, until her fingers scrape across a bit of sharp metal. She grabs the cape and pulls it up to her face.

A small brooch, wrapped in shining copper wire, has been hooked onto the back of her cape. The inset is a cap of thick black leather, embroidered with bronze thread into a coruscating flame pattern.

Terror turns and looks at Shadimon.

He grins and waves cheerily at her.

Terror runs a hand over her mask’s eyeslits. “Thank you, Shadimon,” she says.

“See now?” Breaker walks up and lightly punches Terror in the arm, “That wasn’t so bad, no?” There is a slight smear of blood from her knuckles.

Terror grunts.

Back at the table, Dhakamari nudges Vita, “Are you about done? I...don’t think I have the courage to go over there alone.”

“Hells yes,” Vita says, twirling a chunky bracelet around her fingers. “Think I got us covered. As long as I figure out when the hells I’m supposed to be shutting up this time, we’ll be in good shape. Take a look.” She stretches the bracelet out in her hands.

The bracelet has been threaded with a thick, tight thread, lacing through a variety of copper beads. Three aquamarine gemstones, wrapped in a ‘net’ of copper wire and carved to vaguely resemble fish, dangle from the bracelet. A thin chunk of iron, wrapped in bronze, dangles from the center.

“This one’s a bit of a loss,” she says, pointing out the chunk of iron. “Don’t have much of it left, but I figure this is a good use. Give him a bit luck, maybe. That’ll help make up for being such an ass to him, right?”

“Certainly can’t hurt.” Dhakamari scans the group for a moment before spotting Prosalirus sitting quietly at one of the tables, back away from most of the busyness. He threads his way over, and pauses by the table, very aware of the very flat look they were receiving. Dhakamari quietly sets his offering on the table: a flat woven band in green and blue, made in a herringbone pattern to resemble ripples with two polished pebbles and a braided loop forming the clasp. “I apologize, Prosalirus,” he says simply.

“I’m sorry as well,” Vita says, setting her bracelet on the table in front of him. “I know this probably doesn’t make up for it, and isn’t exactly what you asked for -- what with not being actual fish -- but I tried to make up for that by putting my best effort into it, and leaving something of myself in there as well. This chunk of iron,” she traces a finger over the pendant at the center, “was from my dad’s shop before the war. From one of the horseshoes he kept around; supposed to give you good luck, and stay warm even when it’s cold outside. I don’t have a lot of it left -- this was my ‘good luck piece’, you see -- but I figured this is probably a better apology than just the bracelet alone. Especially since we owe you for during the dust storm, anyway.”

Prosalirus has absorbed a bit and responds slowly.

“Thank you both for understanding the error that you have made.” He reaches out and picks each of the bracelets up and fastens them onto his wrists. “You will always be welcome to seek shelter in my home again should there be any future storms that require it. Your apologies are accepted.”

Dhakamari let out the breath he’d been holding, shoulders and wings relaxing visibly, “Thank you. I hope...maybe, we can meet out on the job again.”

“Hopefully there will be more fortunate circumstances in the next time our paths cross.” Prosalirus is still speaking with his absolutely precise diction, but he is speaking at a much slower pace.

“Yeah, that dust storm was terrible,” Vita says. “And we still didn’t find any Wolf Elves. Boss even sent me back out there this season. It was completely awful.”

Dhakamari splays his ears and wrinkles his nose, “After those storms two seasons in a row, they were probably as bogged down as we were, if they were even out there.” He spreads and resettles his wings, giving a small bow toward the river elf, “Thank you again, and fair winds.”

Vita nods. “Thanks, and again, sorry. Hope you’ve got better luck on your next run, too.” She bows, and then turns and heads straight towards what’s left of the food tables.

“I do hope,” Prosalirus mutters to himself under his breath, “more than you will ever know.”

Jarn has no idea why those two nice ladies flung themselves off the cliff. That whole conversation was in elven. He couldn’t follow it. At all. All he heard was yelling, brandishing of bracelets, then they were flinging off into the darkness and the really really long drop that he is trying very hard not to think about. And then the nice lady came back up, on fire, and dropped off the other nice lady, who then gave her a right hook that he isn’t sure he could match.

And now everyone’s calm again. Jarn looks back and forth between Amenidal and Litoria.

“Is it always like this?” He asks quietly.

“Mais non,” Litoria replies in her badly broken Common, “sometimes et’s worse.”

“Grandfather, maybe you should step back a bit?” Siiri asks, “We’ve already had two people go flying off tonight…”

Ehra stands at the edge. He looks out over the canyon, and the few lights moving around the homes and catwalks of Asavardi. There are more now, lighting up in response to the various objects that have flown off the cliff during the evening.

“Listen,” Ehra says.

“Hm?” Siiri turns and looks down, “Oh,” she blinks, “I hear…”

“Singing,” Ehra finishes with smile.

From the far end of the canyon, a few voices can be heard singing together. As the sound travels, more and more voices pick up the chorus. A few instruments fade in and out, but for the most part, it’s only voices.

Shrike and Shadimon step up beside Ehra as the chorus grows. “I’m glad you all get to hear this,” Shadimon says quietly. “It wasn’t planned tonight specifically, but it happens pretty often.” Shrike is quietly humming along as the music rushes down the canyon toward them. Right below the canyon rim, very suddenly, a single instrument joins in: an enormous drum perched on the cliff above the town center.

The song rises to a crescendo, the elves on the clifftop joining in, in a chorus hundreds of voices strong. When it ends, there’s a brief moment of echoes ringing in the canyon before the quiet is broken by laughter and whoops from across the canyon. Shadimon bumps Shrike’s shoulder with his, and smiles up at Ehra, “We’re finally home, and people believe it now.”

“I believe it now,” Ehra says quietly as he looks out over the canyon, “Welcome home.”

-FIN-

Thank you all for another elf year of excellent roleplaying!

In recognition of the fantastic roleplaying and excellent character development literally all the central leader characters had this year, all the central characters level to 11!

In addition, you all receive 1 level that can be given to a non-central leader character of your choice.

Thanks again!