With the Drow finished and the fire extinguished, we tried to figure out what had happened in the first place. We talked to the rescuees and, after a bit of confusion, discovered that they had been fleeing the Torveldan Civil War, specifically fleeing the draft in Gandondela. They had originally tried to get into Wrenttague, but were unable to pass the fortress and so came by sea to Elvenset instead. Lathaeril explained that the Reverent Dreamer was allowing refugees to take shelter in the monastery, causing Durlan to complain over his choice of appellations.
As I started to tune out their arguing, Durlan apparently managed to beat Lathaeril in using his locket to gain access. Teleporting once more, we appeared in front of a set of wary guards, only letting their guard down once Lathaeril bombastically announced his successful return. As the guards left, Drusilia approached, softly happy to hear of his success. Lathaeril started searching frantically for the moon blade before she stopped him, letting him know the return ceremony would be later. She then greets her brother Durlan who promptly shifts the blame for the commotion of the arrival onto Lathaeril with an escalating set of insulting adjectives for him. Tittlin, ever the helper, encourages him to keep going and find the “right” one.
Drusilia laughs gently behind her hand at the scene before asking for an introduction from the rest of us. I provide her with a bow and my standard introduction. Spesof introduces himself similarly, while Tittlin introduces himself at the CCMB’s resident elf. This brings another quiet laugh as she gets his actual name.
We receive a quick summary of the layout of the town and a reminder of the ceremony tomorrow before she turns to leave. Just as she does, another senior member of the clergy arrives and complains about having even more mouths to feed. I’ve seen such behaviour from some younger dwarfs in their rebellious forties, but would have expected better manners in person for an elf so apparently high in the hierarchy. Drusilia turns to this Beiydark and smoothly shifts the conversation over to her failures. Apparently, she was supposed to have exterminated the drow a month ago. The verbage feels a bit harsh, but as I think on it I’m not sure any dwarven clan would treat the Duergar any better.
After Beiydark storms off and Drusilia makes her leave, I double check with Lathaeril does still have the Moonblade. It insults me the second his bag of holding opens. I refuse to rise to its bait, informing it that it won’t be the first talking sword to get the better of me. As he closes the bag, I start to ask about the order, but am promptly interrupted by Tittlin calling me over.
With a sigh, I wander over to see what he’s up to. He’s apparently mis-referring to one Stargazer Zinro as “Ball Gazer” and is claiming that his mace is a baby’s rattle, with a suitably infantilizing description. Having seen plenty of ornate maces back home, I call it what it is. Tittlin, determined to prove… something asks Zinro to hit him. With a shrug, he does so. I wince at the crunching sound, but distinctly hear a rattling over it. Tittlin, hunched over in pain exclaims triumphantly “See! I told you”. Zinro furrows his brow, holding up and shaking his mace with another rattling noise. As convincing as the sound is, I’m damn near certain that this is somehow Tittlin’s shenanigans. Tittlin then offers to check out the mace, claiming that he’s very experienced at it. Zinro wisely refuses the offer and heads off to the smithy to get it checked out, with Tittlin following and wheedling him to trust him.
I head back to Lathaeril and try to discuss Aemmin’s motivations for targeting this place, but hav difficulty speaking over the sound of pan flutes nearby. Which are apparently called blowholes here? I eventually manage to converse enough to realize that, despite his enthusiasm, Lathaeril is not the theologian I’d need him to be. He does know someone else who is though, and I’ll be able to talk to them later. I turn back around to find Tittlin holding a wallet, harassing and chasing someone else.
I figure that the elves can deal with their own mischief and decide to wander the town with Spesof instead.
• M go back to L, ask if he know’s why we’re here • L: To gaze upon the beauty of Lady Drusilia? • T: Wait, so you’re sleeping with his sister? • D: He better not be • In dreams instead • move conversation back on track about ?Amon? • Explain • L: You suspect he’s already amongst us, like pubic lice • D walks away disgusted • M tactfully says no • L says the right man for the job • Try to work on it together • Tit over by a satyr convincing him to call his pan flute the blowholes • Strange sounds • Spesof goes off to talk to refugees • Titlin joins in • T finds torveldan thief, steals wallet and starts harrasing him • M realizes that L is not going to be useful (not a theologan) • T follows thief to refugee house • Momen & spesof wander town, see magical ink shop