A tale of Alihen: the hunt for Drakahr's crystals!

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A tale of Alihen: the hunt for Drakahr's crystals!

"I-I do not know, M-Milord! Las-Last I w-went fo-for a round there were..." He huffed and puffed, short of breath. The elf seemed to be born from woodlands, as his skin was a peculiar olive, and the ears particularly elongated. All in all, a very comical look on his face, even when pressured with organizing the people that'd, hopefully, save Alihen. The King's voice boomed once more, rustling the fancy curtains that adorned the throne room. "Telean! I DEMAND you rally them once more. Keep them in formation, do not let them wander or leave their place, I will tend to them in a moment. GO." His raspy, stern commands were usually calm and collected, yet something bigger than even the dragonkin King was unveiling, and evidently it warranted for his abrupt change in behavior.

The forest elf ran out of the throne room flailing about the cyan sleeves of his silk shirt. Panic had struck Alihen: the lands of the west, the east, the center of the world, the north and south-- murder, war, famine, treason, greed, it was all here. These, amongst many other catastrophes had lead the elder council of Ursenseth, the land of the reigning dragonkin, to believe a prophecy was soon to be realized. One in which the very world could collapse if left unattended. From what little was known by the elders, they determined the best course of action was to take every nation's Crystal of the Great Drakahr's Crown and reunite them at the altar atop the Drakahr-Kan, the mountains in which the Great Drakahr stood when giving birth to the world of Alihen.

Fast forward to a few weeks later, and we have Lord Urseb IV, dragonkin's King, drafting mercenaries, adventurers, and all that are willing to embark in the noble mission that was reuniting the crystals. It was the day! A warm Detson evening: the last day of the week, and quite a way to end it. A sound came from the majestic cape as it wavered, signaling Lord Urseb IV rising to his feet. He traversed the ample hall of the throne room, being greeted ceremoniously by each of the guardsmen, their halberds rising in an honorable fashion. Upon reaching the exit, he found himself on the second floor of a lavish castle: from the polished stone of the walls, to the marvelous designs of colored glass on each of the windows, all the way to the ornament torches and a small army lined up in a square formation. His slanted eyes took the imagery in casually, save for the makeshift soldiers that awaited their future.

He came to rest his hands upon the square railing, the scales of his hands and forearms standing on end nervously. A deep breath: the ceremonial red robes puffed out their designs sewn in gold string; exhale: a vague whistling noise. The bodyguard behind him nodded whilst stretching his neck outside, to which the guards on the first floor responded. Trumpets sounded and he looked down on them all. With a stoic visage, he spoke in a loud, clear voice:

"Men! Women! Children even! Good evening! I am your host for the evening, and Lord of the center lands, Urseb the fourth. My title is unimportant for what I've contacted you..." In a humble gesture, recognized at least by the dragonkin and scholars, he took off the crown of gems and gold spikes and raised his right hand as a ring with a purple jewel was taken off his middle finger. "I speak to you all as a person. It is not ignored by the majority of you the recent conflict in every land of Alihen. From the war in Yntae and Myritae, to rumors of necromancy and desecration in Drakahr-Nus. The conspiracy theories of Araleten, and the accusations of arson and kidnapping of Kerthos' citizens. There are many more instances, but these are enough for our council of elders to believe we are reaching the end of an age..."

With some signs of his hands, the kings of each land rose from their seat: humble thrones set for the occasion beside Lord Urseb's own standing place. "We have gathered our champions, heroes, legends, soldiers; we have hired mercenaries. Each and every king in Alihen has taken the best of their land and offered it to prevent the prophecy of the end of ages from fulfilling itself. See, we may never know if the end of an age will be the last end we see. The last time an end happened, it was Lord Urseb I that lead the mission, a tad more than 500 years ago. We know how that ended, as we stand today: each crystal in the Great Drakahr's crown was handed to the ancestor of each king present. The goal is as clear as the elder council could make it: take the crystals and reunite them in the Set'Ak, the Altar of Sealing. Until then, it is perfectly conceivable."

A servant passed behind the thrones, handing each king a cup of fine wine from a silver platter. Lord Urseb took his own and drank a sip from the cup, setting it on the thick rail afterwards. He leaned forward, causing a jingling sound from some of the adornments of his robe. "The inconceivable comes when we must actually reach the Set'Ak. We do not know how, or if Lord Urseb I ever reached the peak of the Rose of the Great Drakahr with his men. Anyone capable of reading the scriptures likely does not live, and even then, it'd be a matter of finding them. We have been lead to believe its location is indeed atop the Drakahr-Kan." The dragonkin passed a hand along his long face, then slid it down one of the many tendrils that hung down from his head as hair did on humans.

"Regardless, you WILL reach the peak of the Rose, and suceed. For your family, for your friends, your neighbor, and even your enemies. 'Wise is he who does the Great Drakahr's bidding not out of fear, but to bring joy to his surroundings and himself'. Parties will be formed and each will be assigned a part of Ursenseth's army, including our own generals. Know that to succeed will bring about not only the land you love, but glory eternal, and riches beyond your most beheaded dreams. Also known that failure will bring shame and torture to all. Eternal damnation of our land, our people, our ideas and thoughts. They will all be consumed in the putrefying, desecrated land of the dead."

With his left hand an elegant scepter was risen: sleek and made in a dark colored wood. Using the bright green orb at its tip, he motioned the doors: the gargantuan gates opened and revealed the gardens outside House Ursenseth. "This is the moment in which you choose to stay or leave. To risk or hide like a coward. To aid your land, or to let it perish. The choice is not mine, for I seek you out not as an oppressive overlord, but as another person."

A myriad of faces, still looking up, listening and hanging onto every word that was uttered by his pursed, vermilion lips. The fangs on his upper jaw were no longer visible as he quit speaking. Some faces still sought the King's face, whilst others hung in shame. Most viewed the floor one last time, admiring the intricate designs of flowers, clouds and depictions of dragonkin pantheon. Finally, these unambitious mercenaries, careless heroes, half-baked legends and mediocre champions turned their backs on Lord Urseb, opting to leave with the shred of pride left in them.

As the sound of steps began to die, the guardsmen stared struck by fear at the outside: some of their own comrades were leaving for their family, their business, their so called lives. Remaining stoic, the King merely closed his eyes for a moment. When they were opened, he eyed what remained: some thirty men, counting his own. Not even all of the generals remained. They were all still in formation, perhaps as nervous as he were. One by one, he pointed with the scepter at each one of them, asking the same question:

"What is your name?"

"I am Serthas Yanda, M'lord."

"What craft accompanies you?"

"No craft accompanies Serthas. I am but a gambler seeking to try out hiss luck." The lizardman did his best to suppress his accent, but the dragonkin tongue that had been accepted as universal in Alihen proved difficult to those with a long, unforked tongue. Even the leather in his boots shaked subtly when he answered. This was the ultimate test of fate for him, and to be rejected for his plain, unmotivated means would be devastating to the gambler.

"Next person!" It'd seemed Serthas was safe, or as safe as they'd ever be. The King went on to question the next in line, now some seven spaces left from the lizardman. The King would proceed to ask from right to left, going after the lines in the front first and finishing with those in the back. Anyone else still standing was to be asked those same questions, and hopefully answer honestly.

"Troll-spit! I'll have no part in this conscription!" He spat, unsatisfied with the conditions placed before him. He had heard nothing of the Ursenseth's forces joining in this and certainly not in this manner, this was indeed an unpleasant suprise.

The young man, distinguished by his light skin, brown hair and the three jagged marks running down his left cheek -turned around to face the freshly opened doors. Haste was hard to make through the crowd from the front row, especially when those in formation stubbornly refused to budge.


Dedicated loyalty or sheer stupidity, he did not know but he was about to push either one of them aside when he noticed that only a handful of men remained. Even the some of the palace staff made their way through those gates. At this point it was not hard to be curious about the organizer's expression when something like THAT took place ...and distracted, he briefly glanced at Urseb's expression.

Closed eyes, controlled breathing. Still unmoving eyeballs behind the lids, inner turmoil boiled beneath a concrete will to uphold an image and not cause any more damage on the outside. The expression was all too familiar.

Urseb was desperate. Ripe for negotiation.


He spun on his heel, no longer pushing through the crowd.






"What is your name?"

The scepter would be pointed generally where a human man stood, having just returned not few moments ago.

"Fergus, Ferguson Yntae Stonewright." He enunciated each word. As if proud but not overly so. Individuals who are well-learned of the history of human lands may recall that "Stonewright" was the surname of the noble ruling family over Yntae. Descended from the first masons who settled there, from whom built the fort that still stands there today.



"What craft accompanies you?"

"Linguistics." Fergus then took a deep breath.

"Arr rhassh-suras. Drakahr-sahr, vochss populliss. Hae s-saereth tovah."
(Loosely translated: I read and write many different languages)

He hissed fluently in the dragonkin tongue -only as humanly possible, in contrast to Serthas who tried to hide his accent. Not only to show that he was no liar but also to impress, for he made his demand next.

"I will render my skills where need be, as a mercenary, for we share the same cause. But I will not join your army." The man said as he looked left and right at the guards ready to react at any sign of drawing, he probably stepped over a thousand lines but he believed that opportunity await those who have patience and are brave.

Somewhere in the shrinking multitude stood Jovie, being deliberately quiet and pensive beneath the deep and dark undertones of the entire situation. The feeling of trepidation was thick in the air, and she could even sense the discouragement of the young and the naive flanking her who had come to pander to Lord Urseb IV. For what? For the glitter of gold or for a name? For nothing, apparently, because though they turned up their eyes to Lord Urseb as if to appeal to his every word, their breaths were quivering. They reminded her all too much of her parents, who begged and tugged at her to stay at home "where the certainty of safety was guaranteed." Safety was futile, especially in these ages. She made sure to remind them of that the day she threw the rucksack over her mare and 'flew the coop'.

But like the yellow-bellied men and boys (and very few barbaric-looking women), Jovie wasn't entirely sure why she was here herself. What good was she to the endeavor? Since when did artistry become grandeur? Maps or daggers or even-- forbid --household duties, she wanted something to be committed to. There was a tiny pearl of adventure growing somewhere beneath the shelter her parents built over her. Soon, it would have to outgrow its home and become something... Something...

She could almost hear the townsfolk applauding and waving her back home. Lady Jovie Stromholmes, our Lady of Honor! Our Lady of --

Jovie felt a ping in her chest as the great shadow of Urseb fell over her. It was probably the ping of her heart shattering asunder. She'd never stood so close to anyone so high up the social pole. As he left Fergus, who was more or less nearest to Jovie, and turned to her, she felt her teeth lock.

But then, fortunately, the words found her.
"Jovie... Stromholmes. Artisan cartographer, able-bodied and willing..."

Well, at least they were words.
And still, she heard a few snorts and chuckles under the epic silence. She couldn't figure if it was because she was a tall, blond-haired, blue-eyed, skinny thing setting herself up for death, or if it was just because she was a woman. Or maybe it was just the anxiety in her voice. Damn it all anyway.

She felt her shoulders fall and tightened her grip on the straps of her rucksack.

"Ach Ye sorry bunch o'f yella bellied swine,"
John Black grunted in contempt of the crowd of would be adventurers already deserting the throne room, another pack of cowards scared off by the words of yet another damn fool King.
John Black did not set much store by the Monarchs words, more his coin and a strong desire not to see the World come to the end, as it was, after all, where he lived.

The Mercanary stood leaning against a pillar, glowering into his thick, bushy black beard, his one good eye sweeping the hall, the other covered by a plain black eye-patch.
Folding his arms across his broad chest, Black puffed away at the small clay pipe clenched between his teeth and was soon surrounded by a thick cloud of smoke as the King began pointing his Scepter at the gathered adventurers in turn-

"Next person!"

"Keep pointing that thing at me lad, an' I'll shove it up yer arse. I ain't one of yer damn servants."

Many of the gathered servants and guards blanched at Blacks tone, and a few tried despratley to stifle sudden, semi-silent fits of laughter.

"What is your name?"

"Mind yer own business."

John Black was not one for Monarchs, Royalists, the Gentry or the 'Upper classes,' and this fact came across in many small, subtle ways whenever he spoke.

"And what craft accompanies you?"

"I'm a mercanary, standin' 'ere in plate armour, sword an' my trusty brace o' pistols... What do ye think my craft is... Pottery?!"

Black rolled his single eye and grinned, ignoring the few guards now glaring at him, and the others ramming their hands over their mouths and shaking violently, as the King moved on;

"Aye jog on, sooner ye stop asking silly questions, sooner we can get started!"

Laale was quite thrilled; it wasn't everyday someone like him was allowed free entry into the king's castle, and it was much less often still that said king would speak to nobles and commoners alike as his equals. Surely, the dragonkin was being too dramatic with all his end of the world talk, but the young elf could appreciate a decent performance. He didn't believe for a moment there was really need for the king to degrade himself or call onto random adventurers and misfits for help, for without a doubt he had more trustworthy and capable individuals he could rely on, but whatever goal the lizard was hoping to achieve by that, he did. As for the wizard himself, he only cared about the opportunity he saw in this event.

He was quite content with the majority of the people leaving. As far as he was concerned, most of them would only get in his way. Even if they all worked for a common and noble goal, he doubted many were doing it out of the purity of their hearts; the Great Drakahr as his witness, he wasn't, and he still considered himself a better person than most. The task before him sounded simple enough: collect some ancients stones of no real worth and bring them to a specific place. It wasn't going to be that easy, of course, but he could always sucker others into helping him.

A number of people were questioned by the king about their identity and skills before Laale's turn came. They were pretty much all the same: either fools seeking fame or mercenaries seeking fortune, or something in-between - but there were exceptions, like a young woman completely unfit for this kind of mission and the man who spoke right before him, a sell-sword with an unkempt look and a foul mouth. Of course, the only reason he even payed attention to the latter was because of his rotten attitude; it was no more than an imbecile mistaking rudeness for a sign of strength in his eyes. But, finally, it was his turn.

"My name is Laale Escarlata." He answered the king, stepping forward with his head held high. He wasn't anybody important yet, but he intended to change that. What did it matter if he was born to commoners when he was vastly superior as a person anyway? "My craft is that of the mind; I am a scholar and adept user of the arcane arts." He stated proudly, letting everyone in the room know just how much better he was: as far as he could tell, the rest could use a basic spell or two at best. He had no doubt he received more than a few condescending looks earlier thanks to his less than imposing stature, but now they all knew not to mess with him. He waited patiently as the king moved to ask the same questions of the remaining people; it was no more than a formality, but he rather enjoyed the feeling of importance it gave him.

Each and every answer received Lord Urseb's complete attention: he made mental note of every person and answer that came into mention. His expression remained calm, showing the discipline of a man born into arguably the most strict royal family. The first name came to being, the surname Yanda did not bring memories or knowledge from his experience, yet the fifth in line, Stonewright... He'd read of the first ancestors not too long ago. The King however only raised his eyebrows a tad in a show of curiosity. This raise became noticeable when he heard the man give out conditions for departing with them. Still, no reply was given, as Lord Urseb only squinted his eyes and furrowed his brows.

So came the next men and women in the band of misfits: from down on their luck adventurers to others seeking their next trophy for their hall. Some seven or eight names later, a peculiar human girl, little more than a child. An artisan, looking to join his forces in what some in the very elder council dubbed a suicide mission. It brought back memories, to say the least; still, it did him best not to show it. He nodded and moved on to the next names: a lumberjack, a hunter, mercenary, mercenary, bad mouthed mercenary. Repeating the glare from before, Lord Urseb held back the desire to have the man beaten for insulting him in his own castle.

Still, he'd requested help as merely another person, and as such, was subject to anything other persons were. The King only nodded again, his cheeks puffing just a tiny bit as he bit his tongue not to talk back to the insolent one. It would appear as if the scholars had arrived last, as there were a few in the last two ranks, including one with an air of pride he'd made note of, if only because he seemed inexpert in the arcane arts. Upon finishing the questionnaires, with one of his own generals being the last recipient, Lord Urseb stood straight, took a deep breath, and in a deep, clear voice proceeded to speak whilst walking to the right of the hall.

"We dragonkin do our best efforts to show respect for others which are different from us. As such, you'll find that we'll appreciate whatever use we have for your luck, studies, crafts, combat abilities, magic, or even odd habits..." This was said as the ample, burgundy and gold carpet was traversed down the staircase. "Like attempting to shove a scepter into the insides of one's employer. For those of you who've come out of free will, I will personally pay you upon success of the mission. For those of you who've been hired as mercenaries by another employer, I will make arrangements with him. Those of you who've been hired personally by my own consultant will find he'll be the one to fill your coffers after the task."

Lord Urseb stood facing the near empty formation's left flank, speaking now with an indoor voice and a young dragonkin, a page, beside him. The King took the parchment from his tiny purple hands, patted his head and proceeded to read the document. "But enough rambling. I will proceed to divide the thirty-two men present into four groups of eight. Each group will then be named and tasked with recovering four of the seventeen crystals of The Great Drakahr's crown, thankfully we've kept Ursenseth's own safe all this time. Now, in attention, children."

Some mumbling followed, and then the fates of each person in the room were sealed:

"Group Alten! Commander Gyani, Esther Vyal, Sant Milea, Inyt of Kerthos, Orom, Leonor Draz, Grek'Nob Sar, Reyhus L'astre! You are tasked with the recovery of the crystals in Anatah, Neydfal, Odos-Odos and Lyjinia."

"Group Borni! General Narfen, Delethos Myan, Lerene Metiko, Wendyr Asnev, Itir-Er, Itir-En, Arihol, Melendrel Caratah! You will take the crystals of Caratah, Orboroth, Myritae and the Wru-Qa archipelago to the Set'Ak."

"Group Gelenor! Commander Rowan, Serthas Yanda, Ferguson Yntae Stonewright, Jovie Stromholmes, "Mind yer own business", Laale Escarlata, Seyke-Halas, Untat Essar! The crystals of Malva, Kerthos, Paeren and Araleten will be your task."

"Group Desere! Captain Ikuh, Melissa Nyer, Qwee Dill, Aerthos-La, Cro'Kar-Seh, Rodaldo Iawar, Toraugh Vidauri, Ingighti Osen. The last crystals, those belonging to Almeru, Gro'Bur-Tak, Yntae and Nefnydegg."

The figure of authority did little to impose himself with his voice, but simply proceeded to fill them in on the final details. "We've little time at our disposal. The elder council has advised me, and I will heed their advice: each party will have a hundred days to gather the crystals. From there on, you will advance together to the Drakahr-Kan. You will depart at dawn for the destination of your choosing in a ship I will provide. As for the acquisition itself, diplomacy is of the essence. I am sure none of the Lords present will have qualms with handing their crystal to you..." With a sure look up, he made brief eye contact with each King, mostly to feel ensured. He begun to pace left and right, eying front and back rows alike as he spoke.

"Upon adquiring all of the crystals, you will bring them here, where you will await remaining groups or future orders. When you are reunited, or when the crystals are all here, you will proceed to the One's Rose. For now however, our squires will lead you to your rooms for the night-- dinner will be served to your room in an hour. He redirected himself to the squires lined up on the wall: eight in all. With only hand gestures, they were all sent to the front of the soldiers' formation.

"Group Alten, to the second floor, left wing guest rooms!"

"Group Borni, to the second floor, right wing guest rooms!"

"Group Gelenor, follow me to the south halls."

"Group Desere, we will go to the third floor's guest rooms." The last squire looked at the King with uncertainty in his eyes, as if the third floor were... Never mind, he was reassured by a satisfied nod.

"Hello, little human... We go to south hallss, yes?"

"Yes sir. Please, follow me."

"Correct..." The lizardman did his best attempt not to intimidate the young lad, who seemed to have a hard time keeping a straight face already. Perhaps unused to seeing such a diverse crowd, Serthas made sure not to stand out too much at the time. Keeping to himself as he followed the boy, the scenery was taken in: beautiful paintings of scantily clad ladies, so called goddesses of a culture far too different from his own. As they strode past the foyer, he took notice of the servants that went about their business, their fancy silk uniforms, and how they all seemed carry different meals in silver platters.

Ohoho, I cannot wait for some food in sstomach, it will-- wait, Serthass... Why am I thinking in that cursed dragonkin tongue?! Agh. It is so comfortable when I do not speak it. Thoughts that went against his xenophobic culture were slowly creeping over his psyche, much to his dismay. The gambler could only follow along the lit corridor, passing a lavatory, a kitchen, and three storage rooms on the way to the guest rooms in the southern first floor. Finally, he'd come upon a large wooden door with designs of dragonkin dancing etched into its core in a deep trace. "Very interessting, lad. Very interesting indeed. This is where we sleep?"

"That's correct sir; if you will excuse me, I will see to it my partner brings your fellow knights to the room."

The lizardman chuckled heartily, nodded, and took a seat on one of the top bunk beds in the large room. "Ahaha... Knight. Serthas is no knight, but that is a noble saying." His half-baked dragonkin tongue had proven to be growing the past few days...

As the child exited the room, he came to meet a large, imposing figure. From the confines of a dark green armor with a heralded cloth along the waist, an intimidating face looked down on the squire. "C-Commander Rowan!" A snarl only came out of the ugly snout of the orc commander, with him completely ignoring the reverence of the aspiring knight. Once in the guest room, he took a seat beside a small table and turned his attention up and to the front, to meet the lizardman across him: "Marshbelly! Good evening, chaw-haw-haw! Who are you?"

Amongst the racial slurs towards lizardman, marshbelly was a mild one, which only implied the lizardman were a bad hunter and had resorted to eat the mushy swamp ground of Almeru as sustenance. "Evening dungsnout. Don't think you can treat us all so bad because it is your King's castle. We are all in thiss mission together after all."

"'Til I get hungry, slithers. 'Til I get hungry." With a loud thud, the orc set his mug on the table, shaking the blue mead inside it. The lizardman, not fazed by his displays of arrogance, stretched out of the bed, and turned his neck to see outside: hopefully the other squire had rounded up the rest of the party-- he couldn't wait to see whom he'd make friends with. After all, friends made for nice gambling partners.

Fergus held a loosely clenched fist under his nose, forcing himself to hold back any laughter, out of consideration for the man's feelings, in a chortled cough when Urseb called for "Mind yer own business". He cleared his throat later as he returned to pay attention, until he realized that they would be in the same team.


"As for the acquisition itself, diplomacy is of the essence. I am sure none of the Lords present will have qualms with handing their crystal to you..."


He remained stoic-looking, as he let out a single word under his breath. "...crap."




Soon they strode down the carapette hall, Ferguson busied himself with admiring the pieces of art that were framed elegantly against the marbled walls. Certainly not a rare sight to him, but it did remind him that there was an artist among them. A girl, Stromholmes, if he was correct, he had to have to put a name to a face if he were to survive any a court.

She was an artisan, just like him, for when asked for their contributions they both presented learned trades as signature skills. Unworried that they would be laughed at by the brutes and magi surrounding this place, or the high chance that they would be mocked as dead weights. He respected her for that. (To a certain degree, Serthas' and his unmotivated answer as well.) But something worried him still.

"Pardon me, good man," As he refered to the usher, stretching an open hand in his direction.

"But might you, by any chance know, why your lord did not ask for me in the party going to Yntae?" Not that he really expected the man to know but he had to start somewhere, maybe even help the man be recognized if he brings it up to his ruler? More of a good deed for the day and to satisfy his natural curiousity than to actually switch places with someone on the other team, afterall he did not terribly miss the civil warfares of home.


"It would have been a most logical choice, being I am from that land, w'ldst it not have been so?" Fergus asked, confident in the logic of his questions.

He reached out to pat the man's shoulder assuringly.

"I know it's not your place but Urseb seems kind to his staff, I think he might appreciate your input if you brought it up by chance." He added in a 'just saying' kind of manner, looking forward and sauntering past the nude carving of a water-bearing woman in the garden. They could see the many levels of the establishment here and they paused as Fergus squinted having tilted his head up.


"What's on the third floor anyway?"


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(OOC: Feel free to automatically assume that my character would join the others in entering the room Serthas is in, if this conversation does not bring up anything in particular that would change the course of events.

Tips that may help if you would like to make a post about it: Fergus will seem to know a little bit about general directions of the palace, at rare times being a foot faster than the one leading him.

I will settle the fonts in a few hours, also this message will self-destruct in 3 days.)

And at the mention of her name, she let out a quivering sigh. This is it. No going back.

Jovie was slightly intimidated by the snark of the mercenary, but even more so by the one who claimed to be professional at the arcana. And as if matters couldn't be worse, they were all destined to be in the same group. She made a mental note to stay 10 feet from either of them.

The crowds officially cleared, and Jovie relented her mare Ursa to one of the young stable-hands. Before they parted, Jovie gave the mare a good scrub beneath her forelock with her knuckles and a few kind words. It seemed like just yesterday that Jovie was in the stable-hand's position, but the reality was that it had been about five years. Her experience in that department improved her stamina and patience. Mostly patience, and for that, utter gratitude. She removed her scabbard and sword from the saddle and sent Ursa off, who looked absolutely nonplussed about the entire situation.

Jovie followed close behind her peers with her ears mostly shut and her eyes wider than ever at the elaborate and visually exciting masterpieces that adorned the way. She recognized some of them which had been crudely redrawn in ink within some of her art books. They were inspiring to her throughout most of her artistic career, and here they were in full oils. So vivid... and almost surreal. For some, I guess you'd say it was like coming face-to-face with your favorite adventurer or bard. Yes, even bards have their place in infamy. All attempts were made to be attentive, but for a few paintings, she had to pause and admire just long enough to take it in.

Which reminded her -- Graphite? Yes. Parchment. Yes. Sketchbook. Yes. Of course, yes. There were too many valuable secrets taken from clients both criminal and wealthy to simply abandon the sketchbook at home. It was choke-full of confidential information, mostly blueprints, secret passages, and hidden treasures which may or may not still be there. Why would they trust her with this information? Because she's a lady. And nobody, no matter how miserly and vicious, would hassle or harm a lady for something as trivial as a map. Or perhaps it was just her impeccable reputation and the fact that she was the only cartographer within the area. How else do you think she got business? All the other cartographers were dead.

Without any fanfare, she entered the room and stopped dead in her tracks to stare brazenly (or stupidly) at the lizardman. Getting used to the dragonkin was easy, but seeing and hearing something like a lizardman was something else. They weren't unknown to her, she even had a client who was a merchant lizardman, but being amongst them never got easier even after that transaction. She eased only slightly, tried to not be offensive, gave the other party members an apologetic nod, and retreated to a lower bunk farthest from everyone... Especially Serthas.

Right away, her nose went into her sketchbook, if only to show clear avoidance. On occasion, a curious eye would leer at Serthas and the new arrivals, but it mostly stayed in her own business.

"HA!"
Black snorted as the King read out his 'Name' before grinning savagely into his beard,
"Diplomacy is my middle name!"

=======================================

John Black strolled down a long, well furnished corridoor after the Usher leading him towards his quarters, pausing only to glance at a large, ornately framed portrait of some Godess or other, apparently standing naked on a beach, in a clam shell.
"Nice tits,"
He commented, before following on after the Usher once more.

Uopn arriving at the Groups rooms, Black flipped a silver coin to the Servant, pushed open the door and stepped inside.

The Guest Room was as plush and well furnished as the rest of the Palace, and currently occupied by what appeared to be a Lizardman, an Orc and a young Chit of a girl.

"Evenin' all,"
Black grunted by way of a greeting, before seating himself at the table, leaning back comfortably in his chair and resting his boots up on the highly polished wood.
Producing his tobacco pouch and pipe from his belt, Black thumbed down a pinch of the leaf into his bowl, struck a match on the ornately carved golden arm of his chair, and was soon swathed once more in a cloud of thick, blueish smoke.

The elf was somewhat displeased to hear he would be traveling alongside a multitude of companions. Eight people were four or five too many for his liking, and to make matters worse, they would not get to decide on a leader as a commanding officer was assigned to each group. As if a military person could possibly hope to be able to make proper use of his talents. The punchline was that said officer was an orc, one of the uglier creatures found in this world. It was preposterous; there was no way this oaf could be allowed to command someone of his mental capacity. Of course, Laale had no intention of obeying anyone the group would have chosen as leader (save for himself) anyway, but an "all brawn no brain" type wouldn't even be able to properly appreciate his input.

He expected all of them to be left to their own devices, free to go about collecting the crystals in any way they saw fit. The elf would, of course, find a few companions whose skills could be of use to him; the mercenary brute and the lizardman could be seen that way, but the artist girl and nobleman? What could they possibly do that wouldn't be a waste of time in this sort of quest? The king did say that diplomacy was going to be key in acquiring the crystals, but somehow, that felt doubtful. If diplomacy was so important and the lords of their lands had no problem with handing over the crystals, then why didn't they? What need was there to gather random people, herald the end of days and promise a fortune to those that participated if everything was going to be so easy? No, there was definitely something they weren't being told, although Laale had a pretty decent idea of what it was.

The young mage looked around himself with little interest as they walked. The palace exhibited a truly regal furnishing and countless artistic pieces, most if not all of which were originals, but it was of no consequence. He snickered quietly at the girl who appeared mesmerized by all this splendor; Laale could appreciate things like luxury and culture (although they had little to do with each other), but in the end, all that really mattered was something no person or event could take away from oneself - their own mind. Even knowledge wasn't perfectly reliable, as there was always a risk of anything you knew turning out to be false.

The room they were led to was somewhat less decorated, perhaps out of fear that one or more of them would get the idea of taking a "souvenir" before departing tomorrow. The elf wouldn't think of such, but he wouldn't put it past some of the present company, even under the (doubtfully) watchful eye of the orcish knight. Laale had to suppress a chuckle at the mere thought of using those two words together; as expected, the creature's behavior did not befit of one.

So far, he was not particularly fond of his companions-to-be. The lizardman seemed rather slippery, no pun intended, the girl and nobleman seemed quite useless, the bearded human was likely every bit as foul as the smoke he was exhaling, and the orc, well, him being an orc was bad enough already. Hopefully, the remaining two would be more bearable, but at the very least he hoped they would be of some use. Of course, personal qualities aside, three from the group appeared useful enough, but he would prefer not to get involved with them if he didn't have to. Only nodding in greeting to everyone else, the elf proceeded to claim the top level of one of the four beds in the room. He scoffed a bit as he tried to make himself comfortable; considering they were "heroes" on a quest to "save the world", the king could have at least provided them with better accommodations than those of mere soldiers.

"Be a dear, young one: head for the messenger outpost, to the left and before the gardens, and tell Ernest I will need to send the falcon he offered. Do not give him a message, he knows what to write already." Lord Urseb gave out an order to one of the newer pages working on the castle. He'd still paid the same attention to whatever quirks he could notice, intrigued to remember every face that remained on the foyer. After turning the human child on the right path, the King rose and kept to himself, eavesdropping on the fainting conversations of Group Gelenor as it departed to the south halls.

Focusing on the halls themselves, the squire that ushered the rest of the party found himself answering Stonewright's questions to the best of his ability. Despite being one of the oldest squires, at 19 years of age, he wasn't trusted with a lot of the intricacies in the castle, mostly for his safety, they told him. "I would not know that, Knight. I believe Lord Urseb wished for each party to see a different region of every continent, though I do not know the reasoning behind this." The second question came and the young human almost sunk in embarrassment: he did not know the answer to a lot of things.

"I-Uh... It does indeed sound logical, Sir." He paused dumbfounded, but then again, Lord Urseb had always worked differently from his ancestors from what he'd heard of the older habitants of the castle. "I will have the King hear this, and a falcon will be sent to both squadrons if there is a change in locations. For the time being, I do not believe it'll be possible for me to get a piece of his time: his Highness is rather occupied today. Perhaps tomorrow early, before you all leave."

Casually walking along the hall, the paintings proved bland to the ignorant squire by now - his silent, though mindless rambling ceased with a poorly muffled chortle-- he'd heard a rather coarse comment regarding the art on the walls. Just before actually laughing out loud, he found himself thankful to answer the third question the Knight made. Anything not to seem empathic with that barbaric sellsword. "That I wonder as well. Lord Urseb does not allow pages and squires unless it's a very rare occasion. Rumors have it..." Looking both ways before proceeding, his voice lowered to a whisper. "Hidden passages are a plenty within the entire floor--" The squire paused abruptly, rising from his slightly crouched position as if he'd just seen a ghost. Noone dangerous could be found nearby, save for the vague outline of Commander Rowan. With a throat clear, he pointed to the room with an open hand.

As the rest of the people began to enter the room Serthas tucked his neck back into the outline of the bunk bed, now gazing down to whomever came into the room, and greeting each and every one with a jolly "Hello!" as they came in. When the young woman came into the room, he was a taken aback by her stare... Perhaps his hello had not been warm enough? He grinned. Sharp, white and pointy, his teeth bore themselves, as his entire visage formed the most welcoming expression it could muster. Maybe this human has never seen another one like myself. His elucubration was confirmed when she disposed herself to draw something on a book that seemed little by his standards.

Serthas was of average, perhaps a tad taller than average size when compared to other lizardmen, but when compared to humans, he was amongst the tallest, standing in at 6'5", so ultimately, he figured it may have been his brutish size. The next person, yet another human, was kind enough to greet everyone, yet the smoke from his pipe was foul. Tobacco if my smell is not bad. Why do people burn plants to smoke... No ritual, no prayer, just for smoking. That is not healthy for them, or for the plants.

Then came an elf which he also greeted, taking note of his ears: most lizardfolk had reasonably sized pores on the sides of their head which served as ears. They say humans come from elves that left nature and started to make steady villages... So they did not need good hearing anymore, which made their ears shrink. He went over fairy tales and memories of mother: he was quite far from home. A nostalgic mindset overcame him, and the lizardman only waved at the next few to enter.

These were, not the remaining group members, but four servants, each pushing a large metal cart, with four floors, each of them with a tray of food: from pork, to beef, to meat belonging to all manner of critters: fish, sealurkers, birds, ornosteeds; salads of exotic plants and fruit, drizzled with exquisite sauces from traditional dragonkin cooking; pastries, cakes, blubbery, sweet, squishy-- a meal worthy of Lord Urseb himself! The orc Knight eyed the four as they set the trays around the long table in the middle of the room and began to set it with blindingly quick speed. "Our apologies for the tardiness: the cooks had a bit of a rough time with the ornosteed steak..." They bowed and began to set the contents of every tray on the table. Much to Serthas' surprise, all of the food fit on its surface. Oh... No eating from the pan? Well... I suppose forks and knives are not so bad. Given nobody had set under his own bed, he merely swung over the wooden beam and landed on the ground standing.

"But you were not late... We are not even all here. Thank-you very mu--" "Tell Leonard that Commander Rowan said he wants his food when he enters the damned room, not when he is near full of pasty mead!" He growled, as was common of orcs when they'd not been fed in a long time. The servants walked backwards with their heads hung low, running off as soon as they passed the door frame. "Damned the sellswords that are missing, let's EAT!" His brown eyes turned some shiny hazel with the sheer excitement of food. The brute pulled a seat violently and plopped himself on it. With a turkey leg in each hand, he ignored the plate completely.

"If you say so... Perhaps it is a nice time to choose our first destination, yes?" The orc stared up from the four turkey bones he held on his hands, quit licking them and replied with an annoyed expression. "We go to Paeren. NO DISCUSSION NEEDED. Now eat before I finish it all." Serthas, merely avoiding the trouble and potential fight, kept quiet afterwards, pouring a modest portion of rice with herbs and some of the salad closest to him, in the corner seat furthest from the orc.

"Must've 'een losh em too..." Clearer than his voice, the stench of seafood. Still, the lizardman understood he referred to the two missing members. Serthas shrugged and went back down to his plate, stirring the rice on the plate with a knife. Looks a little like marsh, I suppose...

"Onesh Irm fool I go sersh for emf, you don't leave the room for a DAMN THING." Then only question was whether he'd eventually be full enough to go seek them.

Fergus eyed the orc with furrowed brows and sharp yellow eyes as he entered the room. Annoyed not only by the way he treated the waiters, which he attest, would likely have had a better life serving him in Yntae instead of this greedy-greasy-pile. If they didn't mind politics and a much shorter lifespan. But Rowan's loud voice being the first thing to greet him had spoiled his day. Amongst other reasons.

Though, there was no need for conflict. Ferguson Yntae Stonewright, if anything, learnt to tolerate social misgivings since a young age.


"My fat brother slapped our chef once," ...But that was before he left for here.

"Food was cold during dinner, I heard." His gaze slowly turned towards the door where the men had hurriedly left. "Blessed boy puked maggots at my birthday party a year later." Then swirved back and looked at the turkey, a little grimace crept over his features briefly and he shook his head.

"My brother died, of course. The gall!" Exclaimed Fergus, he seemed awfully cheery about the matter.

"Turns'out the chef put corpse dust in my sibling's dinner ever since, almost untraceable and quite the vengeful type of poison too. When he died, left a bloody mess in my keep that night. Chef ran away from us and never seen him again." He shrugged.

"Last I heard, he was heading north. Smart man though, we could have used someone like that." It WAS wasted talent.


Fergus then sauntered over to Serthas and took a seat opposite him, on the same bench as the orc and began to have his dinner -at the same time start noticing the others in the room. If he had anything to say about Paeren, he would have, but the orc made some logic. Only simply. Hopefully that was the most thinking Rowan would do in a long awhile, he did not want to think such a foul-mannered creature could actually be smart. The thought was ...disconcerting, to say the least.

Jovie listened intently to Commander Rowan's ravings. There was definitely an easily dissatisfied aura about him, and she supposed that an attribute like that did make for a good leader. She didn't argue the idea and remained reserved, but when he mentioned Paeren, she began discretely rifling through her map portfolio. She could remember a season ago crafting a map for a travelling merchant and adventurer who helped her transcribe the lay of lands. He described landmarks and moors which led all the way into the mountains of Drakahr-Kan, as if he frequently went to and fro between the harbors and the furtive summits of the dragons. Jovie never knew his trade, as he seemingly disappeared and never returned to pick up his commissioned map.

She thought for a moment on this before concurring that the map wouldn't be of use to them and put it away. At this point, it was safe to set work aside and maybe be a little bit more sociable by joining the table. She didn't generally like being last anywhere, but she's being extra observant today.

Now, let's see. Sit next to the orc or the lizardman. We could sit next to Fergus whose candor brought on bile-turning stories, but that would mean leaving a spot in her radius for the abysmal elf to sit. Or John Black, who was radiating the stench of tobacco which put off her appetite quite a bit.
She sat next to Fergus obligingly after giving Serthas another once-over and began filling her plate with meager portions of everything. The food was quite exquisite, and the mead especially. Yes, it was certainly a caliber she'd never tasted before. It was nice to feel privileged for once.

"Onesh Irm fool I go sersh for emf, you don't leave the room for a DAMN THING."
"-- I could help," she interceded. It may have been the mead speaking, but she felt that this could be her foot in the door for becoming the most favorable party member. Ahem, and who wouldn't want to be most highly regarded when this is all over?

Her eyebrows were peaked with her interest.

"AH!"
John Black grinned, tugging off his gauntlets and setting them aside,
"Food! There's a good lad!"
He beamed, pausing only to flip a gold coin to the waiter that set his plate down, before helping himself to a side of beef, several chicken legs and a handfull of plump saussages.

"Bloody good this,"
He commented as he began working his way through the grub with enthusiastic speed, pausing only to take the occasional long gulp of mead, or loud, contented belch.

Finaly, the Mercanary sat back and patted his packed stomach contentedly and folding his arms behind his head.
"Ach nought like a good feed, perhaps this King laddie ain't so bad after all."
He grinned through his thick black beard as he watched the others picking at their food, all save for the Orc, who was attacking his plate with almost as much vigour as he had.

Black helped absent mindedly tossed a chicken bone over his shoulder, helped himself to another swig of ale and was refilling his pipe when the large Green Creature barked its order about no one leaving the room.

The Mercanary cackled,
"Ach away wit ye Laddie, if I want tae leave the room fer a piss I will do so, also there's a rather good Tavern in town... With a rather accommodating Barmaid, I sure as hell wont be sittin' here all night!"

Black lit up his pipe once more and grinned, before blowing out a series of neat smoke rings, and snatching up his tankard once more.

Serthas eyed the meal with an empty stare: though his body said otherwise, as every morsel was savored by what little of him remained in this plane. The rest of him was back home, staring down a tree-bridge as he sat on one of its planks. "It is good cooking. Uh... Excuse me." He took a platter with arranged cuts of fish and other sea creatures. As customary of the Almeru lizardfolk, they were to accept at least a small fish if offered, as a show of their detachment from their ancient roots.

Unlike most lizardmen, he wasn't one to do so out of education, as such, his plate was suddenly full of the creatures: those with shells, those with scales, those with barbs, fins and feelers. They were all food after all. And no food shall be left on the table, lest you wish to eat cold, rotting meat for your next meal. Steadily, he came back to and rose his face in time to catch an interesting story from Stonewright. He'd only look eagerly, avoiding speaking-- Drakahr forgive he were to ruin it.

"Nggrlll..." The orc was, quite characteristically, too busy wrestling with an ornosteed cut to pay much attention to the tale. "Corpse dust? Nyegh... Don't taste good. Dry and not smelly enough." Perhaps he'd understood the subtlety of the threat if he were more intelligent, or if orcs weren't known for eating their meals, and occasionally their armor, raw and living to tell the tale. A huge pinky finger went into each of the Commander's ears and out came a wad of earwax the size of a small buckler once he put it all together on one of the empty seats. "Did I hear right? What could you help with?" And that was about the most polite expression anyone would hear from Rowan for a good time.

-Knock, knock-

None too disrupting, the knocks on the open door were followed by the entrance of a skyseed and what scholars dubbed an oasis elf. "Good evening! Our most pompous and overly theatrical apologies. The castle is... Gargantuan." The skyseed spoke through John Black's complaint of staying in the room for the night. Her voice lowered in volume as the came to the two seats left on the orc's row. Both pseudo-Knights exchanged stares when they noticed the ball of wax, though with an intimidating glare, she managed to get the elf to sit on the edge of the 'glossy' chair.

"Seyke-Halas, this here is a good friend of mine. Collector and acrobat, Untat Essar."

"'Ello every-- everyone... Real interesting castle eh? So what were we yapping 'bout? How's the tavern, mate?" He turned to John with a picaresque smile: surely a wench or a keg of ale would be worth collecting. As he did so, Seyke took a bowl with the odd hands that protruded out of the outer tips of her wings, avoiding stretching out. After filling it with nuts, fruit, and bits of fish, she proceeded to speak out. "'Tis getting a bit late eh? I'll have to owe everyone their social dues-- I'm sure we'll have time to get acquainted better soon, right Untat?"

"Y-Yeah..." Alert, the elf's hazel eyes instantly swept off the cutlery he eyed with awe, and promptly turned to meet her companion's. At this time he served himself some of everything close by and did his best not to touch the earwax, which had surely rendered the seat useless until it dried off and could be scraped.

"Well yer right, Miss... It is getting darker and I don't want sand eyes in the morn'. En'way, leave if you want, there are still plenty of guards patrolling the castle for whatever dolt trick could pop into yer noggins." He leaned back on the chair, satiated, with seven empty trays stacked on top of his plate. -Zzz...- And that was it for the Commander until the morning. "Ohoho, he is asleep. I will get him a blanket, but I do not think we can move his body to the bed."

Laale had little interest in interacting with the companions assigned to him at this point. In all honesty, he was still hoping that come morning the situation would change and he wouldn't have to put up with a beast with delusions of grandeur, or most of the others for that matter. So far, he found the lizardman to be the most tolerable of the lot; the two brutes notwithstanding, the girl was too meek and the nobleman too full of himself, and their skill set was not something he could honestly designate as useful at this point. Of course, he was going to need some muscle on the trip, but the ill-mannered human was obviously preferable to the downright disgusting orc.

He didn't rush down from his spot when food was brought in, instead taking his time to examine the cuisine and how the others treated it from a distance first. The table manners of everyone in the room were about what he expected from their appearance, save for Fergus perhaps; the man told quite the macabre story with unmasked glee right as others began to eat. The elf smiled to himself; the poor girl who already looked out of place was probably the one most affected by the words, as others seemed not to care, possibly for being so unrefined.

He perked up a bit when the last two of their group arrived, specifically the elf. No matter what anyone said, it was always nice to see a kinsman in foreign lands. Laale intended to strike up a conversation, but quickly changed his mind. The reason for his initial hesitation was how easily the other elf allowed himself to be bossed around by a bird-woman, but the much more important reason was that the man sat down at the table with these rag-tag "adventurers". It may not have seemed like a big deal to others, but to eat at one table with someone was supposed to be a rather deep gesture for an elf. Whether Untat was ignorant of such tradition or chose to disregard it, Laale lost the desire to speak with him; he actually felt a bit weird reprimanding anyone about a lack of following tradition rather than the presence thereof, seeing as how he was a man of knowledge not generally tied down by prejudice.

The elf remained seated where he was, not bothering to come down for food, instead making it come up to him: with a simple movement of the hand, he made a plate fill itself with a number of dishes that seemed most appealing and float up to his hand. He hadn't the intention to appear condescending or full of himself, but he wasn't about to make the others feel more welcome than they were or accommodate their ignorance. He showed respect in his own way by doing so: neither misleading nor looking down on them, at least metaphorically. He returned the plate to the table in a similar fashion when he was done. In the end, he didn't speak at all during dinner, only taking a moment to comment on Sethar's words before going to sleep.

"What use does a log have for a bed?"

"...I could help ..." Fergus heard the little artist girl who sat beside him squeak meekly, a little too shy in his opinion and it made him feel a little awkward. If she kept this up, he feared that talking to her would be hard. Like cradling a newborn in your teeth, delicate, fragile and ever so prone to the slightest mishaps that could jolly well end it all.

He even cringed, only slightly though so untrained eyes wouldn't notice. At least she took the initiative to sit beside them, he considered her amongst the most amiable of the lot -including Serthas, but the lizardman was neither here nor there. So in return, he asked.

"Truly?" In a sincere manner, as far as anyone could tell. Raised eyebrows and a slight smile on his wry lips, his thumb gliding under his chin where the scars ended, Though not awhile later something caught his eye, the orc was amidst one of his disgusting acts.

Watching Rowan, Fergus had half the mind to scrape the wax off the chair, shove it back into his ears and call the mission a success. But such vivid plans flew out the window when an elf and his mistress came in and promptly plopped unto the defiled bench.

It was like no one's business when the orc fell asleep before even hearing finish what had to be said, Serthas, out of hopefully his kind heart, even offered to tuck the grease-pile into bed. Well, at least the elf objected.

"...Or we could scrape off the wax, shove it back into his ears and call this whole mission a success!" The nobleman cheered, sacarstically, he didn't mind uncouthness but that was just gross. Even to a person whom had seen his sibling vomit flesh-eating grubs.

He gave an obligatory nod in the skyseed's direction, to show that he acknowledged her pressence, since she was so courteous about it, Manners seemed rare in this time and place, better to treasure it now than loose it forever. Then he turned back to the girl seated besides him.

"You were saying?" As he chewed on a rare piece of steak.

Well this does not bode well... First I scare the girl, and now our elf friend has barely moved from there. Perhaps bonding is not such a good idea right now. Maybe they are all tired, yes. Serthas fiddled with a small, glazed pastry, making a good effort not to bare his fangs or tongue as he ate. It wasn't usually seen as rude unless they made noises, but still, they were all quite tense already in his mind - no need to add kindle to the fire. With a nod, the lizardman pushed back his seat and got up from the table. "I would quite like to chat but it really is getting late. It has been nice dining with you. Thank-you." With that, he pushed the chair back in, and went for a spare blanket.

When the elf not only denied bringing the big oaf to a bed, but also spoke of him pejoratively, it confused the lizardman. Not the fact that he'd insult the orc, but the phrase itself. "Logs I suppose don't rest much outside the tree..." His head turned, tilting a bit as he pondered why a log would need to sleep, or use a bed... Ohohoho... Logs do not need beds to... Ehehehe. A smirk painted his face as Fergus suggested another possible solution. "Well the ear wax is a little..." "Uncomfortable, and quite a lot at that." Untat looked at him with a degree of disgust.

Boots off, pistol and black powder pouches inside them, mace resting beside the bed: everything was now in order. "Have a nice rest, everyone." He stretched his neck and whispered a prayer in the mother tongue of the lizardfolk. May my family be blessed by your guiding light with each breath they take, each time their eyes shutter, each moment their heart beats, and each occasion in which they remember your Holiness. Let the waters that bred us always be crystal clear, and the earth that welcomed us always be fruitful. After that, blissful slumber in the confines of fur blankets.

"Quit being such a lass, Untat-- be a dear instead and help me sharpen my javelins." It took only a nod sideways to get the oasis elf to rise to his feet and take off the pouch on the skyseed's backpack. He kissed her head in a friendly manner and took a seat on the bed underneath Serthas'. Knife in hand, he dexterously filed the tip of each javelin. "Don't get me wrong folks, I could do it, but these wings make the easiest of tasks into a burden if you haven't done something all your life already.

"Oi, woman, stop yappin' and leave 'em to sleep already!"

"Bah! You're just too awkward to chat with these lovely people." She sneered, then produced a peculiar giggle in his direction. All healthy banter, surely. "He is right though, I must admit that. We will need to be well rested if we're to make ourselves useful tomorrow. A small suggestion? Mingle amongst yourselves before you go to sleep-- sometimes, knowing a few details of your fellow sellswords can save both of your lives..." All throughout the sentence, her eyes did not leave Untat's, after which she got up nonchalantly and went to bed.

When the newest of the lot entered the room, there was a double-take or two. An avian woman and an elf toting beside her. For some reason beyond Jovie's rational thinking, this didn't strike her as odd. Perhaps because this creature -- woman -- was of the fairer sex like her. Or maybe because anything of a bird-like nature tended to be more passive, right? She concluded this as a fact just to reassure herself just in time to see magicked plates deliver themselves to the obtuse elf in his bed. To label him crass so early in the game wasn't fair, but it almost felt as if he should know just from the steely glare she was giving him (which he probably couldn't see from where he kept himself) that magic was not welcome around her.

She seethed for a moment before turning to Fergus with a little bit more bite in her voice.
"Truly," she echoed him, and as to not sound so vicious she added, "but then again, we're all here to help... Some more than others."
Second glare and eyebrow furrowing at the elf Laale just as the plates returned to the table.

Jovie wagged a dry piece of meat off her fork amidst a heavy snore from the Commander. If their first mission was to tuck him in, that was a mission she did not want to be part of. She pushed her plate away and refilled her goblet with mead instead.

"I just want to be as helpful if not more than anyone else."
She smiled, and it could have been perceived as deceptive, but it disappeared quickly behind another sip of mead. It's a good thing there was a quality mead at the table. Jovie had been afraid of tossing and turning all night. Now, she for sure felt the ebb of sleep tugging at her and the tension in her shoulders fall away.

"Untat... What a strange name... You don't practice witchery and nonsense, do you?"

A little outspoken now, thanks to the mead. What a quality mead, indeed!

"Quite a pleasure, you too." Fergus let his attention wander off Jovie for a moment to the lizardman, Serthas was an exceptionally well-mannered specimen of his kind. He seemed to ponder alot in his own thoughts too, as could be seen from the blank expressions that morph, for not apparent reason at all, into bits of amusement amidst conversation.

The odd couple soon too called for bed, not before giving everyone else a vague suggestion though. To mingle. What did she think Fergus was doing then? Nonetheless, he bid them goodnight with a quick nod too before returning to the issue at hand. Jovie. Who had become abruptly quiet.

Tracing her steely glare, he found himself looking at the plates and the elf who had ensorceled them with levitation. Becoming equally quiet as he noted the vibe of hosility emanating from her,

"Truly," She said, some of her destest leaking through to him, Fergus didn't want to seem petty at the moment and brushed it aside. He did, however, note to keep what tidbits he knew about the craft to himself around her from now on.

"but then again, we're all here to help... Some more than others. I just want to be as helpful if not more than anyone else."

"Quite astute." He replied, agreeing, though she has not really told him how she, in particular, could help. And then she called witchcraft 'nonsense' which only confirmed his doubts, Fergus could tell she was really riled up by magic and was directing most of her attention to it. And while he did not share her distaste, things were starting to feel a little odd for him.

"By Thurim. That's quite a picturesque Full Moon!" He commented quietly, seemingly excited and distracted by the window in front the table. The humans of Yntae didn't believe in the religion of the dragonkin and had their own pantheon of hero-dieties and while he did admire the scenery, he admired it more as a decoy to escape the tension in the air.