Tales of Faerun

[AurianaValoria1]

Rhaine was about to answer the half-elven stranger as she straightened the velvet sleeves of her Gala gown when she looked up and saw Leif marching towards her...

 

...in a dress.

 

Her dress.

 

It was an exact replica, all the way down to the white silk skirt and the beaded black velvet bodice.

 

A thin red brow rose, and she bit her lower lip to maintain a serious expression, crossing her arms and answering in a deadpan tone, "Well, it sure as the Nine Hells won't be me."

[GrueMaster]

We'tak stretched as he stood up, stiff chitin popping at the joints, and greeted the new day with barely-contained excitement. He had spent the night in prayer, hoping that his clutch, members near and far, all remained safe, but once Mighty Sun arose, the thri-kreen's concerns soon faded to the depths of his mind. Today, I get to go to a softskin celebration! But... this may be a great challenge... He thought grimly.

 

He was struggling to get the dress on.

 

The young insectoid had taken it off before resting for the night (It supposedly kept it looking nice, as he overheard the softskins saying). Even though he had an exceptional memory and could recall how he got it on, albeit with help, We'tak was struggling to put it back. However, he absolutely refused to ask for help this time; A thri-kreen, even though one should rely upon the clutch for survival, should be able to survive alone as well. This was no different. He heard his clutchmates going by, but he was not done yet, determined to "look nice" for his clutch, and finally, after his great ordeal, the bright blue dress and bonnet was fully donned.

 

It was quite the spectacle as he made his way downstairs. With the vibrant dress, and his attempt to walk in the same "proud, regal manner" he'd seen the softskins walking, We'tak could only be described as awkward, if only he knew that was how he appeared. He felt rather pleased with his personal success, and failed to notice the odd glance or dozen thrown his way.

 

"Rhaine and Leif are wearing same cloth?!" He exclaimed, before scurrying over to the matching pair, lower hands daintily holding the hem of the dress up as he was shown to keep it from getting caught underfoot. Studying his clutchmates closely, there was only one conclusion the thri-kreen could arrive at:

 

"Have clutchmates decided to mate?" We'tak asked, that curious tilt only made more noticeable by his bright bonnet. Mating thri-kreen will sometimes use a talisman to show the bond, so maybe this was how the softskin "marriage" equivalent. *Chee...* He chittered, having overheard the slightly heated conversation between Leif and Rhaine and trying to resolve it. "Well... Winged Pointy-ear is the Alpha of the clutch, and so clearly would have the power over the mating bond, so she would get to decide what to do, Leif." He explained according to thri-kreen tradition. "Thiss one would do whatever she wishes, Leif. She has proven to be a good, strong clutchleader, and has blessed you by choosing you as her mate... You should be honored! Although... Does this mean we will be having softskin hatchlings soon?" *CHEE!*

 

Leaping from one conclusion to another, the prospect of possibly seeing softskins being hatched made the excited thri-kreen even more animated, with more awkward questions being spewed forth, such as how many hatchlings would there be, and whether the children would all have wings, or pointy ears, or be blessed by spirits by virtue of the power of their clutchparents, and all the ritual preparations they would have to make to bless the offspring in Mother Moon's Light...

 

 

Kaji spotted the matching companions and then the blue-clad We'tak, watching in equal parts horror and ludicrous amusement as he watched the situation spiral rapidly into the realm of insanity, trying not to laugh and appreciating the much-needed refresher of spirits.

 

He had spent the night in complete silence, nursing a pot of tea in the common room as he pondered his encounter the day before. Dark winds are blowing... What does it mean? Arrrgh, I hate riddles! Running his hands through his hair, the wu jen gave a frustrated huff.

 

Hi-chan for her part, knew her master well, and kept silent, knowing her master would speak up once he had managed to sort everything out and was ready to share with her. But, while her master and the others were distracted by the rambling thri-kreen, she noticed the half-elf trying to attract Rhaine's attention. "Master," she said, pulling on his arm and bringing his attention to the newcomer.

 

Nodding, Kaji spoke politely while sticking to his taboos. "I believe Rhaine-sama is busy at the moment, Hi-chan," He addressed the fire elemental before bowing slightly to the stranger with a smile. "She should be able to meet with her guest shortly. For now," tthe wu jen smiled, "Let's enjoy this beautiful blooming scene before it wilts away into history!"

[josh900]

Leif scoffed to Rhaine's remark. "Oh you're just jealous that I make this look good." He said in a matter of fact tone.

 

When We'tak approached in his own dress and began to unleash the pot of gold that were his questions, Leif was no longer able to contain his smile, resulting in him standing there with an open mouth grin, watching in amazement as the situation snowballed further and further down the mountain of ridiculousness that was this situation. "Sound good to you there sweetheart?" He said to Rhaine. "You wanna be the one to steer this relationship hey, you can be my cowgirl anytime if ya know what I mean." He said, clicking his tongue with a wink, emphasizing his double entendre. "I'm sure our children won't be too off-kilter to be functioning adults by the end of it."

[AurianaValoria1]

Only when We'tak entered and erupted in a barrage of bizarre commentary was Rhaine in the least bit flabbergasted. The fact that he was wearing a dress was merely amusing; what came out of his mouth was positively bewildering - both his conclusion and how he arrived at it. The Doomguide was not the only one left momentarily speechless by his words...Maydiira cocked her head and stood with mouth agape as she, too, tried to comprehend what exactly he was talking about and why.

 

Once the mindless chattering reached the subject of children, Conall tugged at his formal jacket and strode forth with a loud, "That is quite enough, We'tak. You've made a lot of assumptions based on your own culture's customs...your ways are not the ways of all others, remember?" He gave the thri-kreen a stern look with his icy stare, "This is not a matter of 'mating' or children, and we do not discuss such matters in as public a place as a tavern's common room, for Selune's sake!"

 

At that moment, Leif's words registered in Rhaine's head, and with a sudden, deep frown and a flash of her eyes, she backhanded the dress-clad half-elf in the mouth.

[josh900]

The blow echoed around the common room and on-lookers watched the scene unfold, mostly to gawk at the beautiful women of the group. A call for a cat fight rang out from somewhere as a smirk on Leif's stricken face slowly grew into a full grin. "I dunno Conall, some couples might call that hit a precursor to both." He said with an immature giggle, knowing full well that he was playing with fire at the moment.

 

Embarrassed by the type of talk that was going on, Lucas had started to slide down his chair in an attempt to hide himself from the awkward conversation. His eyes desperately trying to avert themselves from the scene, they at on Maydirra at the opposite end of the table. Despite the group's small size and the length of time she had been among them, Lucas had yet to get to know the Drow, his difficulty with speaking to women being one of the many reasons for this. Looking at her now though was not going to lesson that challenge any as a blush slowly crept up his face as he stared at her, admiring just how beautiful she truly was now that he had gotten a closer look at her.

[Lisnpuppy]

Sin sat, in a small grey room with little light. The only things in the room were a putrid mattress on the floor, a bucket in the corner to be used as place to do her business, and the bolt of beautiful drow-spun material. The young Drow slowly ran her hand over it, the prize she had longed to have. Even in the dim light of the room the colors flowed in the material. At first it seemed to be dark purple and black, but in the light the material shown with the colors of a thousand starts. Purples and blacks merged with reds and pinks, silvers and greys, every little bit of light was magic on this cloth.

 

She had seen the beautiful wardrobes and gowns being made for her friends. She had no money but figured she might trade a piece of her leathers or her daggers for the cloth. It began when looking around at cloth, Sin was approached by a small human woman, and over a conversation on the available cloth the woman mentioned hearing of a trader that had just arrived, one that traveled many places and had obtained this magical Drow cloth. And though her Carnie friends had expressed some concern, Sin dismissed it as this woman had seemed so nice and it was likely just a normal drow cloth that often found its way topside.

 

She went outside the town and the protective walls. There was the trader, his carts, carriages and a few others workers. They were also in process of dying some clothing which explained why they were outside the walls. Crinkling her nose, Sin came up and mentioned hearing about the material. The trader was cagey and first denied the cloth. Sin persisted and showed her daggers, a gift from her mother and Drow made. Looking over them the trader laid them down on counter. Finally the trader nodded to her and motioned her into the larger of his carriage carts. He gestured for Sin to go in before him.

 

As she went into the space, it was dark but her Drow eyes quickly adjusted. Suddenly a door slammed shut behind her and a bolt fell on the outside. Sin turned and began banging, " Let me out you fool!" As she raised a hand again to pound, something came behind her and grabbed her arm and a gloved hand covered her mouth. Sin was pulled tightly back against a thin form. A face moved against her cheek and whispered,

 

"Ol zhah kl'eril ulu matar" (It is useless to fight.)

 

Upon hearing the words in High-Drow, Sin knew she was in trouble.

[FreemasonGamer]

“Regardless whether Eirene has reported to Harlock, she is in danger. He knows of her, and that is threatening enough.” Rameses answered Conall’s troubling inquiry with no small degree of surety in his ominous words. As volatile as his old nemesis was, the fire genasi knew the criminal was a determined, capable individual in spite of his questionable sanity, or even the lack thereof.

 

Just when things were starting to lighten up, Rameses had complained bitterly in the secluded recesses of his mind. That crook had quite literally pursued him across the whole of Faerûn for the greater part of a year, and their grand game of cat and mouse just seemed to have reached its peak. Tethyr, the Lake of Steam, even the Shaar and the Alamber Sea; Rameses had never suspected Harlock Dorne of being such a masterful pursuer through quite a variety of landscapes. Now, here they were both in Furthinghome, ironically the farthest from home either of the two adversaries would ever be. The world was apparently filled with ironic surprises.

 

Kaji’s sudden vanishing act had pulled the fire genasi out from the drowning depths of his brooding thoughts, however, and left him in a quandary until his fellow fireskin companion reappeared in the correct plane of existence; the wu jen’s shaken demeanor following his return hardly eased Rameses’s similar state of being. With few alternatives, Rameses apprehensively began the trek back to the Gleeful Sage alongside his compatriots, a revitalized air of anxiety lingering about his form as his mystic szuldar smoldered darkly with the negative energy.

 

Upon their arrival to the inn, Rameses found himself occupying his time with little more than the occasional sip of pale ale and the infrequent nibble of delicious food, allowing the afternoon to painfully drag onward like a sack of bricks hauled down a gravelly path. He didn’t know what he was waiting for, but the genasi didn’t stir from this stupor for a troubling amount of time until dusk eventually cast its shadows over the city. By that point, it dawned on him that he had never gotten around to seeking out a tailor that would make him a proper outfit for the upcoming niceties.

 

It was high time for dinner, and the Gleeful Sage was on the verge of chaos as every employee not slaving away in the kitchen hastily scampered about to collect orders and deliver meals. During this time of rushed business, Rameses wordlessly slipped out into the equally bright and lively streets, enjoying the touch of cool air on his face. With any luck, he could find a tailor’s shop still open at the unusual hour for any last-minute customers such as himself. If not, then Rameses would simply indulge in the marginally relaxing nature of a stroll through the evening and seek out a tailor at dawn.

 

What dangers probably lurking in the dark concerned the genasi less and less as his walk beneath the moon and stars ensued. Over the course of the day’s later half, he had begrudgingly come to accept the reality that there was little more he could do to elude Harlock. All Rameses felt he was able to do was go about the next few days hoping that his old rival might dare show his face so that their enmity could be brought to a swift and long overdue end. Perhaps it was Rameses’s arrogance that drove him to adopt such an opinion, but it just as easily could have been his deeply-rooted contempt and aversion to the man seemingly hellbent on making his existence miserable.

 

~

 

The light, rhythmic sound of pacing footsteps resonated throughout the creaking warehouse. It was the sound of troubled footsteps, a sound not even disturbed by the usual scurrying of rats throughout such a destitute structure; those pests had already either fled or been devoured, abandoning their former domain to the devices of much more sinister creatures.

 

“Have the Doomguide’s righteous adventurers changed their accommodations?” Asked an amused, silken voice, its owner reclining in a worn-out leather chair with his heels comfortably propped atop the surface of a weathered walnut desk. The pale, black-haired man watched his agent pace silently, and her anxiety fueled the mocking pity sparking in his icy blue eyes.

 

“No.” The woman answered truthfully, having kept watch on her quarry since their arrival to Furthinghome. With such recent revelries inspiring the city’s hectic activity, observing the group residing within the Gleeful Sage inn while remaining hidden amid the crowds was too easy of a task.

 

“What of the girl ranger? Have Malar’s hounds found her yet?” The dark man inquired curiously with a raised brow, a dark sense of humor flowing over his words like quicksilver.

 

Eirene Atemu was a mistake, the progeny of his earlier desperation mixed with his bizarre brand of creativity. So, he had enlightened his lycanthrope affiliates of a fellow Selûnite associated with Conall Whitefang seeking refuge in the rural landscape outside Furthinghome in preparation for the full moon. They were all too happy to oblige when he informed them that the lonesome werecrocodile was a problem which required hasty resolution, any resolution they saw fit.

 

“No.” His subordinate echoed, her sapphire gaze glistening with genuine sympathy for the Mulhorandi. If fate smiled favorably upon the young lycanthrope, then she would be slain quickly and spared the barbarity of the Malarites who took rabid delight in tormenting those of Selûne’s faith.

 

Silence briefly dominated the rather one-sided conversation as the man studied his partner in crime, although such a distinction cast a false light on the nature of the woman’s existence. Porcelain skin, raven-black hair, and bright blue eyes that shined with cunning intellect; she was quite a precious specimen. To any ignorant onlooker, the duo might have seemed like siblings or even twins by how similar their appearances were. However, the two had simply adorned similar disguises with the aid of their kind’s inherent magical prowess.

 

“Has Rameses been acting strangely?” That cutting question of his hung in the air like the gravest insult, and the man grinned devilishly when his companion ceased her anxious pacing about the room only to cast her seething glare at him.

 

“What do you think, Harlock? He knows what you’re doing, and he refuses to cower in some cellar, much to your displeasure.” She hissed spitefully, having grown sick of the man’s twisted source of entertainment the past few days, taunting the fire genasi just to see what reactions he might goad from her.

 

A soft chuckle rolled over Harlock’s tongue, his pearly white teeth glinting similarly to the hateful mischief in his eyes. With a brief shake of his head and a mere moment of concentration, he reinforced the control he held over the spitfire through arcane means, and she immediately stiffened as the magic took hold, stripping her of any semblance of free will. A familiar combination of terror and despair filled those sapphires of hers, and he indulged in the spectacle.

 

“Don’t let petty emotions influence your perception of business, Rylee.” Harlock warned the roguish young woman with that usual ridiculing snark of his, the one that he knew irritated her most. While the sickeningly cruel man took unique pleasure in disciplining his unruly inferior, he was careful to preserve her rebellious spirit. Without it, she would be nothing more than a boring, obedient servant.

 

Holding Rylee without struggle or resistance, Harlock sighed as he glanced around his new base of operations. Life had become very tedious on the road while he sought out that damned fire genasi, slandering the Galeran’s name every step of the way, but now Harlock’s existence had begun to regain some degree of normalcy now that he could return to proper business. By the end of their first night in Furthinghome, he had quite easily coerced the former owner of the warehouse to ‘willingly’ transfer the ownership of his business and its assets to Dorne’s Trading and Commerce, and Harlock’s enterprise seemingly rose from the dead in the matter of days.

 

It would still take months if not a year or more for his company to become a known entity in this part of the world, but Harlock was a patient creature with most matters except those that warranted his ire, and those matters were few and far between. As patient as he could be, Harlock couldn’t help but gather a handful of thugs and enforcers to stake his claim in the underworld of Furthinghome and, by extension, Aglarond. Many petty gangs and one or two marginally powerful organizations inhabited the city’s darker recesses, but Harlock would gladly play the waiting game, keeping a keen eye on the opposition for an opportune moment to strike them down.

 

In the meantime, he had plenty of exciting loose ends to tie up, Rameses being the most important of them all. That fire genasi would know the wrath he sowed for his audacious acts against Harlock in Tethyr, and the madman would relish seeing the life drain from those red eyes and burning runes of his. The only uncertainty in Harlock’s machinations was the Doomguide whose cause Rameses had recently chosen to follow, and Harlock disdained uncertainties almost as much as the genasi himself, though not quite. Nevertheless, he sat comfortably in the silence and did what snakes do best; he sat silently, motionlessly, waiting for the most opportune moment to strike.

 

~

On the day of the gala, Rameses had been forced to find a tailor early in the morning as expected, and the endeavor quickly turned into a strenuous odyssey for good reason; barely any of the tailors had any sense of fashion. It was a heinous, abhorrent offense to the Galeran name, seeing as Rameses himself had learned more than a thing or two about fashion from his mother and sister, who had practiced the family trade of tailoring. However, he was fortunate enough to return to the Gleeful Sage by noon with quite possibly the most handsome, regal outfit that would ever grace his wardrobe.

 

Much of his attire consisted of crimson silk robes, which were fitted almost perfectly for his physique without being too tight or loose. Upon those robes was a spectacular display of deft embroidery, as well. Majestic designs of fire had been rather skilfully embroidered into the silken robes using many colorful shades of gold and orange that both stood out against the crimson canvas and complimented it. To match these robes, Rameses had fashioned a pair of comfortable red slippers that were also embroidered with a similar fiery motif.

 

Coinciding with the warm tones of his attire, the genasi purchased a pair of magnificent gold bracers under which he had tucked the cuffs of his sleeves; the bracers had been forged in the likeness of outstretched avian-like wings, a design that appealed with Rameses’s unfolding plan. Similar bits of golden jewelry graced his gaudy appearance, too, and he felt entirely vindicated in spending every coin he had earned through honest, bloody labor. Bracelets about his wrists, a multitude of rings, and even a necklace bearing the flaming sword and shield of Tempus all contributed to the wealth of gold he wore. Of these many baubles, Rameses’s favorite was a particular ring bearing an olive-sized jacinth, or flamegem as it was called, that shined with a fiery light trapped within its many brilliantly amber-colored facets.

 

What truly brought the outfit together for the genasi, however, was the gold sash of the finest silk loosely wrapped diagonally across his chest. The soft, glistening fabric rivaled even the actual metallic shine of the numerous gold pieces Rameses proudly wore, and upon that sash was the newly established Galeran crest; a brilliant bird of prey—a phoenix— emerging from an orb of fire. Embroidered with the deepest reds and finest oranges, the crest resting over Rameses’s heart gave him an unprecedented source of pride, and one might say that it even inspired him to stand a little taller with a more respectable disposition.

 

The outfit in total had cost Rameses nearly all of the modest fortunate he had accumulated, and he didn’t care. This gala was supposed to be a time of merriment and luxury, so damn if the fire genasi wasn’t going to dress luxuriously for such merry times ahead of him.

 

Much to his bewildered amusement, Rameses had returned to the Gleeful Sage just in time to witness what could only be described as insanity. We’tak was dressed like some farmer’s daughter attending a harvest moon ball, Conall seemed on the verge of losing his temper as he scolded the thri-kreen for his abundant curiosity, Leif and Rhaine were wearing identical dresses, and Leif himself was recovering from the fiercest backhand Rameses had seen in ages, delivered by none other than the Doomguide herself.

 

Unsure of what to make of the utterly bizarre scene, the genasi followed his instincts, which led him straight to the bar. Ordering himself a glass of fragrant wine, Rameses called over to Conall in We’tak’s defense, “Let the kid ask his questions; better too many questions than none at all! It seems that Leif is soaking up all the dismay-fueled violence for the rest of our sakes, anyway.”

Edited June 3, 2016 by FreemasonGamer

[GrueMaster]

We'tak shied away from Conall's sharp interruption, looking not unlike a whipped dog, fearful of its master. "But why, Conall..." He whined sadly. "With all the mating scents in here, and with how similar Rhaine and Leif looked... I thought everyone was already talking about it... and it was so much like thri-kreen tradition, I thought... I thought..." I thought what...?

 

His words dropped off as the realization fully set in; thri-kreen and softskins are very different. He glanced at the crowd around them, finally understanding that the softskins don't communicate like his people does, can't pick up the vast words, emotions and expressions hidden within pheromones, not even fully capable of expressing their own thoughts and feelings aloud at times...

 

I am alone here... aren't I?

 

This understanding sent a shock through to his core. He knew this all along, but he had hoped it might change, or might not be so significant. His body language now speaking loudly of a wounded and suddenly-lonesome spirit, We'tak couldn't meet Conall's eyes as he chittered quietly "Thiss one iss sorry..." With that, the depressed, confused thri-kreen turned and left the inn, heading for the city gates.

 

Mother Moon... why is it so hard...?

 

 

Kaji laughed at first as things were thrown greatly out of proportion, but sobered down a fair bit when he saw how the insectoid took Conall's words. Feeling bad about the poor young creature, he sympathized with how We'tak might feel about being different. I'm rather an expert on the subject, aren't I? He thought sardonically. But, he didn't know how to approach, and only watched as the thri-kreen left.

 

"Oh, I'm sure he will be fine, Hi-chan!" The wu jen countered the fire elemental's condemning look. "He just needs a little time to himself to meditate on things! Now, Ramesesama, come clean..." He said, walking over and throwing an arm around his friend. "You must confess to me; Where on this plane of existence did you learn your sense of fashion? The geisha? HAHAH!"

 

He slapped the fire genasi's back as he waved for a drink from the bartender. "Come! Let us be merry and celebrate our triumphs and good fortunes!"

Edited June 5, 2016 by GrueMaster

[AurianaValoria1]

Fed up with the ridiculousness that permeated the tavern, Rhaine immediately departed the inn, heading in the direction of the estate where the gala would officially be held. Whether or not the others followed her was entirely their prerogative at this point; they had been made aware of the hour and importance of the gathering - including the mysterious words spoken to her by the old man - but attending was their choice. The Doomguide understood if some of them were less comfortable than others in such a social setting, and she was certain that Gregor and Rosalinde would understand, as well.

 

Maydiira wordlessly followed her fellow Favored Soul, though when she glanced to the side, she noticed Lucas looking at her, and she paused to meet his gaze quizzically. She was used to staring, but his stare seemed to be a bit different than the others she had seen before. It was difficult to read, but perhaps that was just her problem; she always had some trouble understanding surfacer ways. The drow offered a small smile in response before ducking out of the tavern door after Rhaine.

 

Despite Rameses's efforts to ease the situation between We'tak and Conall, the damage had already been done to the former. After the thri-kreen left the inn, the werewolf paladin sighed, shaking his head and leaning on a nearby table. "Sometimes the most valuable lessons are the ones that hit the hardest," he muttered to no one in particular before following the two winged women into the evening streets.

[josh900]

Watching the scene unfold Leif's smile slowly turned to a scowl at Conall's treatment of We'tak's harmless curiosity. "I'm guessing you don't have kids then." He said with a sigh before snapping his fingers, causing the dress he was wearing to instantly transform into a dark green doublet with black pants.

"I'll go check on him, we'll met up with guys at the party." He said as he walked out of the tavern, intent on catching up to the saddened Thri-kreen. That was the easy part, if he heard people talking about a giant bug wearing a dress he knew he was on the right track.

 

When he finally caught up he let out a loud whistle before speaking in a joking manner. "So what's a purty bug like you doing out in a place like this all by your lonesome?"

 

 

 

 

As the party moved out into the city, a presence followed closely behind, remaining unseen in the crowd, waiting for the right moment to reveal itself.