Star-Crossed Half-Elves

Taken from the Norrin's Band IC Roleplay chat on Discord. Collated and edited by J. Chapter 1 - The Bard and The Ranger Emerging from D'Ashe Manor after a successful meeting with Sir Norrin, the newest member of Norrin's Band, Kevan Blackguard (travelling half-elf bard and minor inconvenience), has a list of items to equip himself with, in preparation for the group's next call to action. Not on his list, but equally important, is who he intends to accompany him on the trip. Amongst the hustle and bustle of D'Ashe's wedding preparations, Queale (the legendary, yet mysterious, half-elf ranger of Norrin's Band) proves incredibly hard to spot, her elven cloak doing its job even in this safest of places. Just as Kevan's heart begins to sink, he spots the ranger heading out of the grounds and onto the road to Solanna Bael. Ok, play it cool. He starts to walk in that direction, but soon notes that his casual gait is no match for her brisk walk. He then picks up the pace into a muted trot, much like somebody who needs the bathroom but can't break social convention by sprinting to the nearest toilet. If she turns around now, what on earth is she going to think?! Within a few moments, the half elf realises the error of his ways, and reverts to his walk, now a little closer. Come on, Kevan. You've never been one to shy away from attention! He tugs the strap of his lute, the instrument wheeling round from his back, comfortably landing in his hands. Ok... here goes! Kevan strikes a chord, followed by a sharp "Hey! Queale!" He waits for her to turn around. "I was wondering if... ummm, well actually I wanted to say... hehe sorry I mean err," he withers a little. Snap out of it! You're the star, remember?! He exhales sharply to steady himself, his face feeling uncomfortably warm all of a sudden. He tugs his single earring and smiles sheepishly. "Let me start again! I... I was impressed with your marksmanship back at the cave – the stories about you clearly did not exaggerate! Hahummm... in fact, it has inspired me. I don't think I will best serve Norrin’s Band by being in the frontline, and I DID train in archery many moons ago – more than this humble bard would care to admit!" He laughs nervously, one hand tugging at his collar to let a little steam out. "So I thought, 'who better to take bow shopping with me'! I-i-if you're free anytime today... or later on this tenday?" It was a shaky start, but the newly bashful bard finishes confidently, his head lolling to one side with a grin. She looks faintly bewildered and mildly bemused by his flustered state followed by the sudden veneer of confidence, noting how he tugs at his earring and fusses with his clothes. Tilting her head, she considers him as she parses his tumble of words and considers her own answer. “Thank you for the compliment. As for archery, there is never shame in having learned a valuable skill, especially once that will help save a life - be it yours or others. Many of us have learned some skills that do not align with our expected path but you never know when something might be useful.” She considers his request, not quite sure what to make of him and all his contradictions but he hasn’t insulted her yet in the conversation, and he is going to be travelling with them, so after a quick glance at the sky to check the position of the sun, she agrees. “If I’m not mistaken, the armourer will be open. There is no rush for me to go to Solanna, so we could stop by and see what is in stock, and if there is a bow that will best suit you or if one needs to be ordered. And if you wish to improve your skill, then I can certainly help, and Bearchaser too.” Kevan cannot help but beam, feeling a lot lighter in the chest than he did a moment ago. “Wonderful! I may take you up on that, milady! Though, I have just been to the armoury actually and… oh, the armourER - I see. Sounds good. I actually could do with a few other non-weapon goods too: some parchment, ink and so on - I was hoping to write a poem and a song for the newlyweds.” He blushes a little, looking down at his matching gold trim black leather boots. “Not the most impressive gift, I know, but it will at least be unique and personal.” He brings his head back up to meet her gaze, momentarily lost in the blackness of her pupils. “I… I was also seeking a small magic item. Norrin had suggested going to Helix, perhaps. Do you know it?” She glances down to see what is so fascinating about his boots but responds, “I know the way to Helix, yes, but for that, it’s better to see about arranging a horse for you, especially if you plan to go shopping or if the item is large. I’ll speak to the stable hands and see if a horse is available for tomorrow. Would you prefer to do all your shopping in Helix?” She’s so practical. So different to… “Whatever you recommend, my lady.” he winks. “I am new in town and don’t actually have a lot of plans. If it’s better to shop around, we’ll shop around. Perhaps you can give me the tour?” his face lights up hopefully, his emerald eyes sparkling. She tilts her head as she considers. “Yes, best you see what is on offer here to compare what is available in Helix. It is easy enough then to buy what you need either there or return and buy it here, though the prices will be similar enough but for some things you’ll get a better deal here. Come, we’ll stop by the stables first and see if a horse can be made ready for tomorrow or we’ll have to visit Meryem and see if she can loan you one if not. Then we’ll see what you need and if it’s available here or not, including the bow. If Malied hasn’t bought out all the paper for his scroll spells, there should be plenty for your compositions. Otherwise, we’ll have to go barter with him or see what’s in Helix.” She shifts some of her gear into her bag since there is no need for so many weapons in town and strides off towards the stables to ask for Rocco and another horse to be made ready for the morning, if possible. At the back of the Festhall stables, Queale and Kevan find Tom the stable hand en flagrante with Cindli, a pretty Festhall wench. The two lovers hurriedly disentangle, having the grace to look embarrassed. "Mistress Queale! Mr ...Bard! Rocco and another steed for the morning? Oh yes of course, ma'am! Most certainly!” says Tom, red-faced and pulling up his britches. Queale recalls hear tell that Tom is looking to marry Cindli and perhaps set up as a horse farmer, and thus is likely looking for money and a land grant from Lady D'Ashe. Such only go to vassals of good character, of course. Cindli blushes but gives a little wave. "Hello Mistress Queale." Q greets them as if nothing had happened, paying very close attention the cleanliness of some nearby tack while they sort themselves, then half introduces the bard and half thanks them, as she says, “Kevan and I thank you for preparing the horses for tomorrow.” Then she ushers Kevan back out, but the bard doesn’t move. As she reaches the exit, she turns back and taps the side of her nose with a faint smile; as long as everyone is consenting, it’s their business as far as she is concerned. But she does wonder if there is something odd in the water and if she needs to switch to tea. Tom nods eagerly: "Yes, Mistress Queale, Ma'am!" He turns to Kevan. "I loved your performance last night, Sir!" Since entering the stable, the widest of grins has not left Kevan’s face. He leans over to Tom, a hand outstretched ready to shake. “My thanks, friend. Kevan Blackguard, and you must be… very lucky indeed,” he winks knowingly at the pair. “I am preparing some new material for the coming nuptials. Would you have any requests?” He looks from Tom, to Cindli and finally rests his eyes on Queale, where his gaze lingers a little longer than he intends, before snapping back to the current conversation. He politely awaits an answer, one foot ready to follow Queale out of the stable. “Perhaps they can think upon it and let you know in the morning when we collect the horses,” Q suggests. “I suspect they have more pressing things that we are keeping them from.” Tom gives Queale a grateful nod. "Y-yes please Mr Blackguard, Sir. I'll have a think." Cindli smiles too. Kevan gives her an impish grin. “Oh no, they don’t seem too busy. Are we keeping you?” The grin turns to deep sincerity as he looks at the pair, even Q takes a moment to register the conceit. After enough time to let Tom and Cindli stew under the tension, Kevan laughs reassuringly, “I jest, friends! We shall see you on the morrow,” he follows Q out before quickly turning back and winking slyly, in a low enough voice to avoid Q’s elven hearing. “I have some pressing matters myself.” Then more loudly, “lead on, Miss Queale!” She waves to them in parting from the door and turns her feet towards the armourer to look at bows. Nothing he sells will match the bows she has but there should be something good enough for the bard to start out with until a better bow can be found. She makes a mental note to ensure he gets a quiver of some sort. “You may have to add your own decoration or personal touches to anything you buy,” she comments. “Most of the items are functional rather than beautiful but they do function well.” Kevan thoughtfully picks up one shortbow, giving it a cursory examination. “A shame. I am always more drawn to the beautiful than the functional. Such is the impracticality of performers,” his eyes linger on her again, before shaking it off with a chuckle as he returns the bow. “Oooh are those caltrops? Imagine the mischief I could make with THESE whilst invisible!” He tosses one up and down casually as he moves the conversation on. “But how about you, Q? Are you more drawn to the functional or the beautiful?” She glances up from one of the weapons she was examining, “I prefer something that is both,” she says with a smirk. “What is form without function and function without form?” She lets her fingers drift along the body of a bow before she moves to examine another weapon. Watching the path her fingers chart along the bow causes a few hairs to stand on the back of the bard’s neck. He averts his gaze to avoid lingering further. “I couldn’t agree more,” Kevan smiles, withdrawing an item from his pocket that Q recognises. “Which is why your feather is now a quill.” His cheeky demeanour softens a little as he continues, his eyes looking back to the caltrops. “Thank you again for this. It may not be much to you, but the best gifts often cannot be valued in gold. It was this that first invited me into your world - which, given our initial exchange, was a surprise indeed… but a welcome one!” he quickly adds. “A feather is both function and form, is it not? It helps a bird fly or be a quill,” she adds with a twist of her lips, “and yet can be bright and bold. Best of both worlds, no?” She glances over at the caltrops again and shrugs. “But it was not a very useful gift. These will be,” she crosses over to purchase the caltrops and hands them over. “Try not to annoy the others into fireballing you.” Raised amongst nobility in Impiltur, Kevan knows it is expected for the male to offer to purchase, but his travels over the last year have also taught him that such practices are, at best, archaic and, at worst, profoundly insulting to the fairer sex. By the time he has finished this internal debate, Q has already placed the bag of caltrops in his hand. “A SECOND gift from the mysterious Ranger? I live a charmed life indeed,” he raises a mirthful eyebrow. “But I’m afraid you do me a disservice, Miss ‘of no last name’ - the feather is the better gift, and a perfect reflection of the giver… a perfect balance of function and form,” he adds boldly, a part of him impressed at the spontaneity of the statement - he really was in the moment and in his element all at once! Just then, a shadow engulfs Kevan. Bearchaser, the almost 8ft Goliath bowman enters and approaches behind the bard. Q looks up and over Kevan and up some more, smiling up at Bearchaser in greeting. “Did you collect your arrows?” "Hi Q. Yes, I did thanks. A fair price, too." Bearchaser pulls one of his arrows to show it off. "Fletchings are nice." He passes it to Q to inspect. “Very nicely made,” she comments. “Looks like they will fly true.” The arrows are longer than the shortbow Kevan had previously been inspecting. Bearchaser puts his massive hand on Kevan's shoulder and leans forward. "Hello, Kevan Blackguard. See anything you like here?" Seeing the unmistakable shadow, Kevan’s grin lessens, now no longer in as fair a company as he was a moment ago. Unflinching, but cheerfully still looking ahead at Q, he replies, reflecting the overall formality of the Goliath’s speech. “Hello, Goltho Bearchaser Anakala… Anakalalalathai. I have seen at least one I like, yes. And the lady has already bought me a gift,” he holds up the bag of caltrops. "Just call me Bearchaser, Kevan Blackguard." He looks at Q and grins. "A fine gift, no doubt. I look forward to hearing you sing about it later." She hands back the arrow and can’t quite suppress the lift to the corner of her lips. “Kevan is in need of some supplies, so we are investigating the local options and will travel over to Helix tomorrow morning. Have you or Meryem need of anything whilst we are there?” "Oh, I didn't think to ask." A panicked look crosses Bearchaser's face. "Should I have asked?" “Not at all,” she soothed. “It was just decided today. If she needs anything, send word to me before the morning.” "Phew, thank you." Bearchaser puts his hands over Kevan's ears. "If I'm honest, I really don't know what I'm doing. Meryem Bloodletter kinda took me by surprise!" "From what I can see, Meryem seems plenty happy and I haven't heard any complaints, so you're doing fine. Just remember to listen when she speaks and offer your own thoughts and opinions. You'll figure it out together," she assures. "Well, if she's happy, I'm happy. I certainly don't want to make her angry - have you seen her in battle?!" All too aware of when he is being mocked, Kevan lets the Giant-Kin think he’s gotten away with his jibe, waiting patiently as the two archers conversed. For one panicky moment, he suspected Queale was going to invite Bearchaser on their trip but gave a sigh of relief when she denied the 8ft oaf the opportunity. Summoning his Mage Hand to tap Goltho on the shoulder, Kevan uses the distraction to remove the pan-sized hands from him. He takes his place next to Q. Bearchaser turns at the tap then turns back to Kevan, who is now looking him in the eye from over two feet down. "Haha. Good one.” “Don’t worry, Bearchaser, none of us really know what we’re doing. Some of us are just better at pretending we do than others! Love will always take you by surprise - that’s part of its magic, a magic greater than any other I know. THAT is the kind of thing worthy of song… though if you’d like a simple limerick about caltrops, you need only ask,” he quips in signoff of an otherwise genuine speech. “And call me Kevan - no need for last names; we wouldn’t want to make Q jealous!” He playfully nudges Queale and winks at Bearchaser. Q chuffs out a soft sound that is something akin to a strangled laugh. "Jealous, huh."   She shakes her head to clear the expression and the thoughts and turns to Kevan and redirects his focus back to the task at hand, "I believe there was more you were shopping for?" “I think I've got your number,” Bearchaser interrupts. “You're a lover not a fighter. That's fine, you keep pretending, I'll keep skewering our enemies on these." Bearchaser taps the quiver at his side. "And you gave me your name, Kevan Blackguard. If you'd prefer, I can call you by whatever you wish.” Kevan smiles broadly, since the bulky bully has set up his next line perfectly. “Why be one or the other, Goltho? I’d prefer to be both,” he looks at Queale knowingly before turning back to Bearchaser. “Why else do you think I am looking to buy myself a bow or carry a sword? I don’t know if you read many books, but you should know never to judge one by its cover,” he smirks. Careful, Kevan. He’s a big lad but he might not be able to take what he dishes out. Wait, does he think I'm some kind of halfwit because of my size? The Goliath’s thoughts glower. "Books, huh? I read books. In fact, I've not long finished one called 'A Treatise on Archery, or the Art of Shooting With the Longbow'. It was quite fascinating. I would recommend it to you, but looking at those arms, you'd probably be better off sticking with something smaller." Sensing a nerve has been struck, he smiles innocently at Goltho before teasing, “a book on longbows read by a longbow wielder? How surprising,” "I'm sorry, I didn't realise you were after my complete reading list." Bearchaser shrugs. The bard continues, “but in all seriousness, you are correct. I have never mastered the longbow, the shortbow suits me just fine. As the old adage says, ‘it is not the size of the bow, but how you use it’. I have seen many a knight walk around with a longbow or greatbow and wouldn’t have the first clue on how to shoot with it, for the stance is quite different to a shortbow, is it not? For them it was a status symbol or, as I like to think,” he winks at Bearchaser, “overcompensating for what they lack elsewhere,” The Goliath doesn’t appear to be amused. "The thing I've come to realise with knights is they train hard. They have to. But not just knights, all fighters. They find their preferred style according to their nature and hone it, but never neglect other disciplines. While they may not be as effective with a bow as an archer such as myself or Q, in such situations as it is required, they can usually hold their own." Reflecting upon his and Q’s earlier discussion of functional versus beautiful, Kevan nonchalantly feels the hem of his leather jerkin. It has been his favourite since the earliest days with the Beaumaris, even if he has had to alter it considerably since then. Perhaps now it could be altered again? He excuses himself from the conversation and goes over to the vendor. Bearchaser looks to Q. "Q, would you mind running me through your shooting technique, please? I'd like to speed up my nocking and bending, if I can?" He reminds her of her brother in a way so she can do nothing but smile and say, "Of course, my friend. After I have helped Kevan of-the-last-name," she teases Kevan with his own playful words, "with his shopping list here, we can run through this together this afternoon, if that works for you? And we can do some more when I'm back from Helix if you want more practice." Meanwhile, Kevan addresses the smith. "Good day! I was wondering if it would be possible to have studs added to the lining of this?" he unfastens the metal clasps and red leather belt and opens it up, revealing its thick lining, as well as a baggy dark blue cotton shirt with a red ruby necklace on top. The shirt matches his breeches. "I am attached to the beauty of the piece but feel it's functionality can be improved." He nods towards Q, before turning back to the vendor. "Would you be up to this challenge? To help a humble half-elf?" The smith, Horm, looks down at the light leather armour. Gives Kevan an incredulous look. "That's not how it works... Ye don't know much about armour, do ye?" "That'd be perfect, thank you Q.” Bearchaser moves up to the counter, ignoring the smith’s incredulity. “Now, I just need a new string for this please, Horm the Smith." Bearchaser takes the 7ft-something bow off his back and presents it. "The fletcher suggested I could get one here?" Horm nods and gathers the string, still frowning. Queale looks between Kevan, Bearchaser, then the incredulous smith, and shakes her head a little. "He's a little new to this, Horm," she says, picking up the jerkin and pushing it back into Kevan's arms. "He'll be travelling with Norrin and the rest of us and we're trying to outfit him a little more to keep him alive. Though if he keeps poking at the others..." She re-focuses, on the smith, "He's interested in your stock and would like to know your cost for your bows and your studded leather to contemplate his options. He may also be interested in the dyeing skills of one of the other craftspeople." Horm nods. He turns to Kevan, indicating a partially finished suit of studded leather on the wall. "Studded leather isn't just leather with added studs. 'Tis something of a misnomer. The brass studs or rivets you see here are not defensive in themselves, they merely connect the articulated plates of the boiled leather, or 'cuir bouilli', as they say in Impiltur – the construction is not that dissimilar to splinted brigandine...” For the first time, all three customers are of one mind, as they momentarily tune out of Horm’s monologue. “…of course the term is often used to refer to a variety of light armours of mixed leather and steel construction, where metal plates - not studs - do protect the more vulnerable regions... In any case, it is constructed quite differently from your leather jerkin.” The smith finally finishes. Kevan does not for a moment look embarrassed at the exchange with Horm, just genuinely interested. “Ah! Yes I recall comparisons to brigandine and studded leather being made before! Forgive my ignorance. I would love to purchase that piece, and can simply wear it under my jerkin. Style and substance combined!” He grins. “My thanks for your assistance. Perhaps I could come here another time to learn more about arms and armour?” Horm nods cordially. "Aye, this looks like it can be fitted for you. I'll need to take some measurements, and it should be ready in four days. 45 gold pieces," Kevan turns to the lady who has been waiting. “My apologies, milady, there was more to buy. But I believe I can purchase them all on our trip tomorrow if you’d rather assist our long lad with his aim? He looks like he could use the practice,” he flicks his tongue out at Goltho and winks. “I am, of course, joking Bearchaser. But I think I have pushed my luck quite enough for today.” "My aim is fine. I simply seek a little more... finesse. Something Q here has in droves. Oh, and you may wish to get that tic looked at; nobody winks that much naturally.” A wry grin greets the Goliath, “thank you for your concern, Winkchaser. It is just a signal that I am merely japing with you. In a weird way, despite how much it appears to the contrary, I actually enjoy our verbal bouts. You’re more quick-witted than you appear, just like the books you no-doubt read,” he finishes with a very slow and deliberate wink, accompanied by a warm, genuine smile. "Heh. Careful. That almost sounded as though you were judging the book, Kevan." Bearchaser smirks before dipping his head to Q. "I shall await you at the butts, if that suits you." He turns and leaves the smithy with a wave. "And thanks to you, Horm the Smith." Q nods to Bearchaser, “See you there shortly.” Horm also nods cordially to the Goliath; he clearly much prefers Goltho to Kevan. “I wouldn’t dare! Else I would go by the name Bookjudger!” He calls after Goltho with a chortle. Now alone again, besides Horm, the half-elf then moves up to Queale, a little apprehension crossing his brow. He speaks softly, making the open space of the smithy feel rather more intimate. “Thank you for today, and for the gift, Miss of-no-last-name. Meet you in the morning?” He offers a hand. She catches Kevan’s forearm as is traditional. “Early morning, at the stables.” She nods to him and the smith and strides off. He is caught off guard by the briskness of her departure, mouth agape. Did I... have I messed up? This erroneous thought is then silenced by a much a louder one. No! She's meeting you at the stables in the morning, silly! You've only gone and got a DATE with her! Exhilarated in a way unfamiliar since before he left Impiltur, the half-elf marches up to Horm, places 45 gold pieces on the counter, nods "see you in four days, chief!" and strides out of the armourer, a stupid grin now a semi-permanent feature on his face. Probably should get an early night... and maybe think about getting something a bit more permanent if I'm sticking around here for a while? Who are you kidding, Kevan? You've landed on your feet here! Worry about more permanent digs tomorrow. The Festhall will do for tonight... probably... Q finds Bearchaser at the archery butts. Watching his form, she notices he's not drawing the string so much as leaning his weight into the bow itself. When he looses the arrow, it flies fast but with a graceful curve. Q watches him nock another arrow from his quiver and notes where he places it (drawn from his right hip, placed on the left side of the bow). He looses that at the butt and then turns to face Q as she gives a little cough. She approaches him and moves to stand just to his open side. “Your draw length is too short, it’s causing you to hunch up and lean your weight against the bow. You’ll find yourself becoming more fatigued too quickly because of that.” She directs him on how to fix that. “Let me see your stance?” "I've been told that before, but this is not a bow that can be drawn on the fingers. But I am open to your tutelage." Bearchaser takes his shooting stance. It starts relatively open but closes as he bends the bow. “The stance is usually quite similar,” she says. “Try it this way and if it doesn’t help, we’ll see if we can tweak your usual stance. You have the strength to pull, and leaning can put too much pressure on your body.” She makes sure he is standing straight, with his feet shoulder distance apart so his stance is slightly open with his non-bow side foot slightly back. She checks the position of his draw arm and has him loosen up his shoulders before checking his bow arm is straight but not locked with a slight bend in his arm. “When you draw, pull the string back to your face, imagine drawing a line across your shoulders and from your throat to the ground. They should be straight. Keep your eyes on where you want the arrow to go, don’t look away until you have loosed.” Then she adds, “Your hand knows where your quiver is, you don’t need to look. Or if you do, keep practicing until your muscles know and you don’t need to think or look to grab an arrow. Now, try another shot,” she encourages, keeping a hand on the back of his shirt to keep him standing straight and not leaning forward. He does as instructed and Q notices he is indeed not drawing with his fingers. Instead, his thumb is hooked around the string and locked beneath his index finger. To release the string, he simply relaxes the finger and the thumb uncurls naturally. Looking closer, she sees he wears a ring to protect the thumb. “Locking with your thumb will slow your next arrow. It takes more time to set up,” she advises. “It would be better if you can draw with your fingers. See how I can release and reset in a smoother motion?” she demonstrates the move slowly so he can see. “It allows me to fire faster.” "I will try, but I have always shot like this so it may take a while to adjust." He tries but simply cannot draw his bow to full using his fingers. “Practice when it is safe to do so, but if you look for speed, that will be the fastest way to draw a second arrow quickly. For now, just monitor your stance and when in battle, do what is comfortable,” she smiles. "I will work on this. Thank you, Q. Please let me know when we can train again." “Any time,” she volunteers. “Just call upon me when you wish to practice more.” She practices a bit more with him and then wanders off to sort herself for the next morning’s trip.

Taken from the Norrin's Band IC Roleplay chat (as well as PMs between J and K) on Discord. Collated and edited by J. Chapter 2 - Half-Elves in Helix She’s at the stable well before dawn, with packed meals arranged from the feast hall. She first checks over Rocco and the horse set aside for Kevan and then while she waits for him, she goes through her quiver, checking each arrow as she contemplates her discussions from the previous night, and the continually changing political landscape. Waking before dawn is not something the half-elf has ever gotten used to, not being a natural morning person, but on this occasion he rouses immediately, keen to get himself ready for the big day out. Grasping his ruby necklace thoughtfully for a moment, the half-elf hesitates – he hasn’t taken it off since leaving Impiltur. He sighs and leaves it on. Still you haunt me. He shrugs off the thought and pulls out one bundle of clothes from his backpack; his elegant outfit reserved for days at court and fancy balls: a silken white shirt frilled at the neck and wrists, a deep gold doublet embroidered with lighter golden leaves, and matching hose. They are all rather crumpled from being at the bottom of his haversack. Hmm maybe a bit flashy? Remember, beautiful AND functional. A eureka moment strikes him, and Kevan puts on the silken shirt, but reaches into his bag and pulls out a pink cravat. He then slips back into his dark blue breeches and his black leather jerkin from yesterday. For the final touches, he pulls out his performer’s kit and withdraws a small mirror . Looking good, Kevan , he admires himself, but notes he needs a little shave to get his stubble fashionably short again. He sleeks back his hair and pulls out a small glass bottle – perfume that he only wears on special occasions. He opens the stopper, getting a whiff of bergamot and narcissus. She’s worth it, he reassures himself, noting he’s running a little low of his favourite fragrance. He applies a little to his neck and wrists, before packing it all away. He tugs his single earring for good luck. Ok, here goes! Backpack over one shoulder, leaving nothing in the room, Kevan strides over to the stables, unsurprised to find Q waiting for him. “Beautiful. Morning,” he says with a deliberate gap between each word, trying to gauge her reaction. She looks up from her examination of her weapons as she hears the approaching footsteps and, when she realises it is the bard, she moves to put away the arrow, but has to pause to take in his outfit with a hair to shoes glance. She finishes replacing the arrow and stands, shouldering the quiver in the same move. “Indeed,” she replies, reaching down to grab one of the two meal bundles, which she holds out to him. “Breakfast, if you haven’t had it. Or lunch if you have.” Gratefully, Kevan takes the bundle. “A THIRD gift from the lady? I really must get my act together and get YOU something soon enough,” he chuckles. Her nose twitches slightly as the morning breeze wafts an unexpected scent towards her and she sniffs at the air, before realising it’s coming from her travel companion. “Is… are you wearing perfume?” He looks Queale up and down, taking in the full majesty of her form when he sees her nose wrinkling, and the question of perfume leave her lips. Her features are very difficult to read . Is this approval or disapproval? Well, no sense hiding it now. “Yes, my lady. Can you detect the flavours?” He takes a cheeky step closer and opens his neck towards her, turning his head a little to one side. She raises a brow at his actions but lifts her nose to the air once more. “Citrus and flowers. You smell like spring,” she comments almost absently, before quickly pressing the wrapped food into his hands and stepping back towards Rocco, busying herself checking the girth. Keeping her gaze on the leather, she adds, “I wouldn’t have…You didn’t mention planning to meet anyone at Helix,” He must have plans already in Helix and only did want a guide to speed his trip, she thinks to herself . After all, who wears scent and silk on a ride like this unless they had further plans already made. Shaking her head, she pushes the thoughts aside and leaps up atop her mare. Used to changing situations and chiding herself for silly thoughts, she brushes that all aside and motions to his horse. “Mount up and we can get going. You never did mention what item you were looking for,” she clucks her tongue and Rocco steps out of the stables, Q ducking low to dodge the doorframe. In an almost reflex response, the bard cannot help but joke with a wry grin, “You never know when you might meet someone,” realising how that sounded, he quickly recovers as he leaps up onto the saddle with surprising ease, “but no, I have no plans to meet anyone today other than you,” he winks before remembering his newly acquired bashfulness and looking to the stirrups. Ah, so he was hoping to meet someone there. She thinks. Maybe he didn’t want to get involved with a Feasthouse girl in case it was somehow odd for him with Norrin? Doesn’t matter. Not your business. She pats Rocco on the neck and checks all her gear is settled to hide the faint burn of embarrassment staining her cheeks. It was only supposed to be an easy walk for the horses but it could always turn if there was a surprise ogre or warg. It takes a few carefully controlled breaths to get her emotions back under control. Somewhat relieved that the conversation is moving on, Kevan taps the horse with his heels and trots out of the stable, copying the same duck that Q did. “Oh yes! I was after a ‘Horn of Silent Alarm’ - when I was invisible inside that Orc cave, I realised there was no way for me to communicate with the rest of you without giving myself away. I had heard rumours of this item and thought it would be an ideal fit! Perhaps we will find it - or something better. I often find the best things when I’m not looking for them,” he smiles, his eyes rest on her ahead of him, watching the rhythmic bouncing in the saddle. He mentally slaps himself in the face and looks away to the surroundings. “I’m not sure what will be available, but the traders can always be on the lookout for special requests,” she replies. She scans the horizon carefully but almost absently. She glances skyward and at tree lines, though she is fairly certain there will be no issues. They keep the surroundings quite safe. She lets Rocco’s reins fall loose and lets her well trained horse follow the road and somewhat awkward (from her side) silence falls, broken only by the clip-clop of the horses’ hooves on the path. An uneventful 20 mile ride via Dwarfstead through early autumn moors and woodlands brings them to Helix four hours later, just after noon. Sensing the ranger was not quite awake enough for full conversation yet, Kevan bided his time on the road, occasionally strumming his lute as he started to compose his gift for King Fraener and Sir Norrin. As they enter the town, the bard cannot keep silent any longer. He flicks a leg over so that he is sitting in the traditional Impiltur Ladies’ saddle position momentarily, so that he may face his companion and swiftly dismount. “So, this is Helix, eh? And to think I had heard it had been overrun with Orcs not so long ago,” he hops off his horse and gently grabs the cheek piece of the bridle to guide it along. Q arranges to stable the horses temporarily and leads the way to the shops for the best chance of magical items. Kevan joins her, walking side by side. Come on, Kevan. You’ve never been short of conversation before! “So… tell me, Miss Queale. Your legend is shrouded in mystery, which piques my curiosity. I appreciate you may have your secrets, but what say you to a game of ‘you tell, I tell’? I’ll start - where do you come from?” “Hardly meets your game rules as you have already announced from whence you came. Lyrabar, you said… unless it’s not the truth?” The bard looks a little impressed at her sassy retort, enough that forgets to respond, standing with arms folded. Having frequented Helix before, Queale knows that Valeron the Elf offers enchanted bows and, despite a lot of demand this year, could possibly scrape together enough Blackened Forest spider silk to create either a Cloak of Protection or Cloak of Elvenkind – all would be sold for around 800 gold pieces. She turns to Valeron’s shop first, curious if there’s any Bags of Holding available – or if he knows of where to find one. Immediately, Valeron directs her to Turgen's Goods, Turgen has one! Upon her opening inquiry in his shop, Turgen replies, “Phase Spider silk harvested by the gnomes of Moonglen - very rare and precious! To you milady, only 2000 gold.” He continues, “I represent the Silver Standard trading coster, if you happen to have any rare and precious items for sale, we give excellent prices!" Q attempts to bargain: 2000 is a lot, and she’d like to save some money for future endeavours. Turgen looks offended. "Have it your way - I can get 3000 for this, easy." Rooting around in the shop, Queale finds the horn she's looking for amidst a stack of mundane horns. "Beautiful horn, eh? 200 gold." Turgen nods. “I’ll buy the bag for 2, throw in the horn for free? My friends’ kids would have fun with it.” Turgen scowls. "You want another store. Try the Bogtown crone." With a sigh, Q puts down the 2200. "No, I've changed my mind. Got some rich adventurers coming in soon - better save it for them." She shrugs and walks out. Looks like she’ll have to consider those spiders herself. There’s other weavers who can do the job. She makes a mental note to go see if Meryem and Bearchaser are willing to have a drink with her of the evening when she gets back. She’s had a surprisingly disappointing day. She also considers checking if Kevan is fine to make his own way back if he’s going to stay and look for companionship in Helix, so she can start back. The bard smirks as she exits the shops. “Making friends?” He continues, “to answer your earlier question, yes I was born and bred in Lyrabar. Typical story of a half-elf serving boy at a tavern, discovered by a local Lord, and brought on board as a retainer and troubadour. But even a sprawling city like Lyrabar cannot contain a young songster. I had to spread my wings and see more of the world!” Queale reveals bitterly, “your Horn and the Bag I seek are both in the shop, but he wouldn’t sell them to me.” He ushers her a short distance from the shop. “He has the horn, you say,” trying to stifle a laugh. “And a big bag,” he cannot stifle this one. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry! But wait, a bit of a snooty one, eh? Why don’t you let me try? I’m sure I can talk him round! If you wouldn’t mind looking after my belongings, I’ll take your coin purse and see what I can do,” he puffs out his chest, feeling this is just the moment to prove himself and start his romance of the ranger. He takes off his backpack and removes his jerkin, revealing his almost shimmering silk shirt and pink cravat. He pulls out the ruby necklace to put it on full display and alters his gait to look almost on a regal level of superiority. “If I do this, you must tell me about your past - the game’s afoot!” He winks, arm outstretched to receive her coin purse. She holds her coin purse out. “There are things that are better left never said. Things I won’t say,” she half corrects herself. “You may be disappointed with your game, but I suppose I can play to an extent... but you did say you were interested in meeting someone. I’m sure that would be more interesting than half answers…?” “If you do bargain, best get your horn first, if possible. I can always get the bag later,” she adds with a shrug. Kevan looks momentarily confused but regains his confidence. "No, I didn't. I said the only person I was meeting today was you... and you are quite interesting enough for me," he takes the coin purse, spins on his heels and heads for the shop. Before entering, Kevan tidies his hair and, for a final touch, withdraws the Immovable Rod from his belt and tucks it under his arm like a cane. With rhythmic, graceful strides, chin jutting forward and nose pointing skyward, Kevan enters the shop, looking every bit the discerning noble of leisure. He casts his eye about the place with a little awe creeping onto his face as he says to himself, "ah so this is Turgen's Goods, of the Silver Standard, purveyors of the delightful, unique and - unless I'm very much mistaken - many magical curios...." he suddenly acknowledges the shopkeeper. "And YOU must be Turgen himself! A pleasure to meet you, friend," he extends a delicate hand in a rather foppish manner. Bilworth Turgen beams back. "Ah, good day, Sir! Up from Ravensburg are we, Sir - staying with Lord Ironguard at the Manor, perhaps?" He shakes Kevan's hand, looking slightly awed. "I'm Bilworth Turgen, Sir." Kevan continues his patter. "I have been travelling the length and breadth of Damara, exploring the wonderful hidden gems it has and the fine, fine people besides. I'm afraid most of my life has been spent performing for the nobility of Impiltur, who are of course very influential, but sometimes one feels they lack a certain..." he sniffs the air and rubs his fingers, pretending to be looking for the word he already has lined up, "rustic charm - something which a city buff like myself sorely craves." He looks with longing at an invisible rustic charm on the wall. "Mostly, I have been looking for a new muse, inspiration for my songs and stories. I travel far and wide, telling people of the tremendous value for money one can find in otherwise overlooked businesses..." he leans in a little closer, a hand at the side of his mouth so that others may not hear, "and forewarning them of those who would sell their own mothers - and charge over the odds for the pleasure," he moves back to his original position. "Now, my good man, I'm afraid my guide out there is growing rather weary from lugging my many instruments, outfits, weapons and other curios of value. Well, most of them," he exhibits the Immovable Rod and the magical shortsword, "one can never be too careful! Now, I have heard that you have in your possession a magical satchel that would be able to accommodate these many fine things. May one perhaps take a look at it?" With a casual pushing back of his hair, he casts his eye over the store, searching for the Horn of Silent Alarm, along with any other magical items, not for a moment breaking his heightened RP accent and poised stance. "Oh yes, Sir! I see.... you must have many tales to tell, performing at the great courts of the land... perhaps you know Jorian Whitefeather?" Bilworth produces the Bag of Holding. "Was there anything else in particular you were looking for, sir?" "Thank you, my good Bilworth! Yes, I would be most interested in any other magical nick-nacks and curios you have to offer," he looks towards the Horn and casts a hand over the display, "such as these fine items, what have you there?" he squints at the items. “What is that splendid-looking horn you have there? One is most impressed at the craftsmanship," "Ah, yes, a fine piece indeed! It's only 200 gold.” Bilworth nods. "I do happen to have one of these in stock..." he reaches under the counter and produces a complex looking door/chest lock. "The lock of trickery! Also but 200 gold. The tumblers in this lock magically adjust to thwart burglars... very handy in my line of work as you can imagine, sir. Sometimes we get those Bogtown folk coming over 'ere, casting an eye over my precious wares... you can't be too careful, I always say!" Kevan looks from the horn to the lock, his face contorted as if struggling with an internal debate on which item to buy. "I'm sure it is, good fellow. Though, it may put my guide and guard out of a job!" he laughs in that almost breathless way that poshos do, as if they believe it to be some sort of frail exhalation. "Of course, I believe you to be a trustworthy fellow, and you would not wish to oversell your goods. Why would this horn be worth the princely sum of 200 gold pieces?" "Why sir, look at the workmanship! The gold edging! See the fineness of the craft - worthy of Gorlock himself! An excellent accoutrement, whether on battlefield or hunt!" Bilworth appears to be considering. "Of course, if you are purchasing more than one item, I'm sure we could come to an arrangement..." Kevan laughs merrily with a hint of haught, "but of course, good Bilworth! Why, if that bag is as magical as you claim, I may be able to fit most of your shop within it! But one must look after one's purse strings, as no doubt Lord Ironguard would agree. What say you to the bag, the lock and the horn, of which you have yet to disclose any magical properties, for 1500 gold, a good word put in with the Lord of Ravensburg, and the patronage of a soon-to-be regular customer and composer," Kevan extends his hand with conviction behind his cheery demeanour. Bilworth stiffens slightly. "Well sir, it's 2000 for the bag, 2400 with lock and horn... but I've always been a fan of the performing arts, sir. Let's call it 1800, and you put a good word in for Turgen's Trade Goods around the local courts, eh?" "Oh, and the Lord of Ravensburg is a Lady, Sir- the Duchess Malla Devlin." Kevan's charm seems to be rapidly wearing off as Turgen realises Kevan is not in fact a friend of his manor lord. Kevan takes a moment to consider, a stern expression soon melts into a wry grin. "You drive a hard bargain, good Bilworth! But that must be why you have such a thriving business! One admires your temerity - 1800 it is." He withdraws Q's coinpurse and places the coin on the table, before catching the Ravensburg comment. Sensing now would be an appropriate time to exit, he scoops the items into the Bag of Holding as he blathers, "oh silly me, good Bilworth! One was referring to Lord Ironguard of the Manor. The road has been long and can take a toll on a weary traveller, especially one who encounters so many nobles and dignitaries. Good day to you, Sir Turgen. One shall return before one knows it!" He takes the Bag of Holding, items within, and briskly strides to the door. Bilworth swiftly counts his coin, smiling affably. "Oh yes, my lord Krothos Ironguard is a man, alright - at least that's what the girls over at the Foul Pheasant say!" he chortles. "Well if you do ever get to meet the Duchess, tell her I said hullo. Good day to you, Sir!" As soon as he is outside, Kevan grabs his own coinpurse, takes 200gp out and places it in Q's. YES BOY! Now you're hero of the hour! She's going to be so pleased! He can't help but swagger and grin as he heads back over to Q, proudly thrusting forward the Bag of Holding. "Your bag, my lady," he offers it to her in mock-reverence, bowing theatrically. He then cranes his neck up to behold her from his new position. "Though I'm afraid this doesn't count as a gift, since it was purchased with your coin. However," he draws himself up to his full 5 ft 7 and takes out Q's coinpurse, "I managed to save you a few pieces," he hands it over, still with 400 of the original 2000gp left. "More than enough to buy me a drink from The Brazen Strumpet, once we have everything we need," he winks. Q accepts the Bag and her coin purse with a pleased smile, which dims slightly as he mentions The Brazen Strumpet. Think of this as no different than Norrin or the others, she reminds herself. She carefully tucks away her coin and her new Bag of Holding, using it as a distraction for herself for a moment. “Thank you,” she says. “That does mean a lot. And I’m sure the others will be pleased to not have to follow me into a spiders nest for silk and risk poisoning, though we may end up doing it anyway,” she muses more to herself. Those spiders might be a danger and maybe the others want bags or cloaks. “Still, I do appreciate it. Enough of my shopping, what of your own? As the horn has been found, is there aught else you are specifically looking for?” He mentioned a drink and company a few times, she remembers and awkwardly offers, “Or I can leave you to your shopping, if that’s your preference. You remember the way back to the Feast Hall?” His pride at having won the item for Queale suddenly diminishes into concern as she talks of leaving, his face doing nothing to hide his emotions. “Oh no no no, please you don’t need to leave,” he then word by word regains some composure. “I only have a few things left to get: rope, parchment, ink and so on; and then I’m all yours! If it’s all the same to you, my preference would be to have your company a while longer,” he locks eyes with her, “nobody else. Just you,” he smiles, his heart firmly on his sleeve. For a longer moment than either half-elf anticipates, Kevan holds the gaze before shaking it off and putting on his jerkin with a small chuckle, “besides, you have yet to tell me of your past - and that was the agreement, remember?” He teases. She blinks a little at his forward words and settles on the least difficult answer to the whole situation. “I believe the agreement was to continue your game but no guarantee on my answers. If we finish up your shopping list - you can deal with the shopkeepers,” she clarifies, “then we can start out back to the Feast Hall shortly and hopefully arrive before we are too late for hot supper and better alcohol. There’s a few hours’ ride for your game; it may pass the time. Unless the Brazen Strumpet is particularly appealing?” Taking her lack of a ‘no’ to spending more time together as a good sign, Kevan nods enthusiastically. “Certainly, my lady. I shall do the shopping; you advise me on the best quality items, and I will convince the vendors to part with them for less than they expect - we’ll make quite a team!” He offers the crook of his arm, so that she may slide hers in to lock with his. “As for the choice of venue, I have no strong opinions, though the Strumpet may offer less familiar faces if you desired a little more privacy?” After a moment of hesitation, she tucks her fingers around his arm as she had seen many others do in the past and nods in the direction of the next shop. “I think a few hours ride on a fairly quiet road would offer more privacy than someplace where secrets are gathered from dark corners like a currency in Helix. We are lucky any Feast Hall secrets would be reported to Lady D’Ashe and I trust her to guard them.” Feeling her gentle but firm grasp upon him, Kevan has to take a breath or two to get his heart rate under control. “Then our path is clear, I will let you be my guide Miss Ranger.” They walk together to the nearest shop as Kevan squeals, “Oooh is that silken rope? Style AND substance,” An hour or so later they are back on the road, the bard with far more strapped to his horse than when he arrived. As the horses clip-clop down the long road back to D’Ashe Manor side-by-side, the air between the half-elves is much more at ease than previously. Kevan looks expectantly to Q, a suppressed playful look across his face. “Soooo? Will you answer my question?” he grins. She glances over at him, then down at the new bag at her hip, then back up. “Ostel or Praka, depending. I studied in Praka. I prefer people not announcing where I am from, though. Are you really from Lyrabar?” He considers her words carefully to himself. “Depending? Then I would guess you spent your earlier life in Ostel before moving to Praka to study… study?!” He sounds rather surprised but enthused. “I wonder what? But then, it’s not my question next, it’s yours!” Does she smell a rat? He scoffs a little. “Yes, yes of course I’m from Lyrabar. It wouldn’t be smart to say something so loudly if it was an obvious untruth,” he laughs. “I’ll let you have that one for free. Now, your turn to ask me something - something we can both answer: ‘you tell, I tell’, remember!” She considers her question for a moment. “Languages. We sometimes try to speak to each other in languages that our enemies may not know - this allows us to plan around them mid fight without them adjusting to our strategy. It would be good to know which ones you have that overlap with everyone else. So, what languages do you speak?” “I speak five including Common and Elvish,” she adds, then muses, “and I really should work on learning Dwarvish since we are often travelling with Fraener or one of the others.” His eyes light up, feeling he can be of use to the beautiful bow-wielder once again. “Well, it appears you have hit the jackpot with me, O Lady of No-last-name, for I speak Common, Elvish and Dwarvish! Not one to gloat, but my Dwarven accent is particularly convincing, since I was raised by a pair of dwarves in the tavern…” he stops short, sensing he’s said too much. She looks at him curiously at the stop short, after a heartbeat or two without him continuing and taking in his expression, she suspects that’s a secret he hasn’t meant to spill, so she brushes past it and says, “Dwarven is good for communicating with our Dwarvish companions then and Elvish, of course as many of us speak that. You can help Fraener or the others teach me some basics.” “And…” she offers hesitantly. “I do have a family name. But we don’t talk about it, not outside my family. And I won’t share it, so don’t ask. Likewise, I won’t ask about things you state you don’t want to talk about.” He smirks. “Oh, I’d be happy to give you some private tutelage. That would give the dwarves a surprise!” She can’t help the small huff of laughter that escapes at what Fraener’s face would look like if she started to swear in Dwarvish suddenly. His face flattens, a little apologetic. “Oh. I’m sorry, I didn’t know. I don’t have… I mean, many of our kind don’t have family names so I just assumed…” he cycles through all the information he’s already gathered. “So I imagine, by extension, you may not wish to talk of family life? I will steer clear to be on the safe side…” the ends of his ears go a little red. “When you have time,” she says, “I would appreciate the tutelage. I’m a fair student.” He lifts in the saddle at that, both mentally and physically, “well, I’m a merciless tease, but I can certainly teach you a few things,” he winks with intent, trying to put across the double-meaning in as subtle a way as he can. “The others know a little, and they’ve had time to put things together, so I suppose it’s only fair that you also know the same: my brother was captured and enslaved. I was too weak and too late to save him in time. So, yes, I do avoid getting into the details of my family,” she shakes her head and pats her mare’s neck even as she scans the trees. At his words, she adds, aiming for more light-hearted after that heavy topic. “I think everyone has noticed at this point you like to tease. Anyway, yes, language lessons. But I suppose it’s your question,” she turns her attention back to him. Upon hearing about her brother, Kevan stays unusually, but respectfully, quiet. Enslaved? How awful! I feel the deep pain with every word she speaks. How well she hides it from most. Perhaps I have more in common with her than I first thought - I know well what it is to carry a heavy heart. His sympathy turns to future fantasy, as it often does. I hope I can lighten the load for you, sweet one. Maybe one day I could… no, no don’t get ahead of yourself, Kevan! Remember why you’re here. One side of his brain struggles with the other. He looks back over to his graceful guide, even the smallest of her movements as fluid as dancing in his eyes. “I think you are stronger than you know, Q… you don’t mind if I call you Q, do you?” He interjects himself. “Nobody would know the weight you carry upon first meeting… except me, perhaps. Not from anything you did, it’s just the old saying ‘birds of a feather, flock together’. Plus, I tend to play close attention to people I’m…” Whoa! Slow down, songster! “…interesting people such as yourself.” He recovers. He flicks one leg over and into the side-on position in the saddle to face Q, clearly used to riding horses. The smallest and sincerest of shy smiles appears. “It is my question… but first, I have my first gift for you! Please could you pass me your new Bag, milady?” Once offered, he reaches in and pulls out the Lock of Trickery, offering it up for her inspection. “We all have our secrets, or things we’d rather keep locked away,” he breathes, resonating more with his words than it would appear. “Now, you can lock them away with this.” He makes sure she is looking his way before tossing it playfully into her lap. She catches the lock, balancing it on her lap, and letting her fingers run over it, mind briefly surfacing ideas about how to pick it. She did catch the stumble in his sentence, his change in words, but she lets it be for now, instead she replies, with manners her parents drilled into her, “thank you for the gift. I’m certain it will be useful. And yes, you are welcome to call me Q. All of our companions often do, so you may also. It’s easier than my full name in a fight, also.” Her fingers click the lock open and she absently examines the key’s craftwork. A noise has her looking up for danger out of habit but seeing some local wildlife, she relaxes. Toying with the lock, she glances back to him, waiting for his question. She has plenty of patience and they have hours of the gentle ride and a few questions of her own. “Q is certainly quicker - but Queale is far prettier,” he smiles at her before looking back to the road. “It’s quite close to Queen, which seems kind of appropriate… your majesty,” he teases with a miniature bow and flick of his wrist. “So, how did you end up joining Norrin’s Band?” “My path crossed with a friend, the Ranger Illyria. She invited me along to assist her in working with them to solve some trouble. I followed them back to rest and heal and when we were, there was more trouble to hunt down. They invited me to help. I did. It sort of grew from there. I’ve helped them, they’ve helped me, and we’ve all sort of settled into this odd life - kings and horse farms, magical schools, and risking our lives to make things safer for people who can’t save themselves.” She contemplates her next statement for a few moments and speaks slowly as she works out her words. “I don’t trust easily but the group has earned mine, proven themselves. If there is something that plagues you, just know that you can raise it with us, with me.” She glances down at the lock again, then up with a gentle smile. “We’re good at solving problems, after all, we’ve saved people, stopped evil, fought dragons, and cleared the path for Kingdoms - you’re going to the wedding at one. So, even if it seems impossible to you alone, as a group we can do much.“ Boy regards girl for a moment, an invisible connection between them. He turns away to hide his face, a momentary sadness creeping in. I WISH I could tell you, my lady. But there is more to risk by telling you than anyone else. He musters the smile and turns back. “Well, you know how I came to join Norrin’s Band! I insulted your heritage and put the others on edge all through the medium of song! I have been trying to dig myself out of that hole since,” he laughs sardonically. “My thanks for the offer, girl. I will keep it in mind… and same to you, if you ever wish to share anything with me - in whatever language you choose,” Noticing him pushing the topic away, Q simply states that the offer will remain for the future and turns conversation to a hopefully more light-hearted question, of, “What made you wish to be a bard?” He grins from ear to ear, this clearly being a favoured topic. “Well, it certainly beat waiting tables at the tavern! I had rather humble beginnings, and those who are in such states need song to lift their spirits. To me, it elevates the soul in a way that material items simply cannot. Music is life - good, bad, tragic, comedic, performance encompasses it all,” he paused for a moment, reliving that fateful day, “I was just lucky that music became my life in a professional manner too. I am, believe it or not, a humble bard,” She watches him turn away and nods to herself. There is something in his past eating at him. She’s more than familiar with how the past can dig it’s claws in deep. She ponders if Norrin or Strohm would be better to address it. Maybe Bearchaser as he is also newer to the group. But for now, she leaves it. He clears his throat. “Now this is slightly breaking the rules of the game, but I guess we can bend them just this once. You may be many things, Queen Queale, but a bard you are not. So now you must tell how you became the bow-wielding beauty…” Did I just say that?! His face moves from uncertainty to sudden conviction as he nods. “It’s not a glorious story. Rather a selfish one. After all, someone had to go try to save my brother,” she said, fingers twisting the key in the lock absently. “One develops skills in the situations I got myself into looking for him. The bow gave me distance to deal with … situations where my own strength is less effective.“ Kevan is awestruck. “Saving your brother from bondage? Sounds pretty glorious to me - heroic some would say,” he winks. His next question has presented itself. “So, bard you may not be, oh queen of the bow, breaker of chains. But I wonder, are you musically inclined at all? What instruments, if any, do you play?” “It wasn’t heroic,” she demurs, then jumps on the change of subject, “As for instruments, I was given the basic training on some of the traditional instruments as per my standing. I wouldn’t make your ears bleed with the scales but I never advanced with any of them beyond the expected level as my teachers rightly noted I had no real talent and the music was passionless. Rather opposite of yours. I did better with hand-crafts. Carving, quilting, things like that.” “With a heavenly voice like yours, it seems the Gods had to deny you other talents to keep you humble.” He teases. She blushes faintly. “You ride well, especially considering our kind does tend to do well with horses,” she pats Rocco’s neck. She had yet to meet anyone with elven blood that couldn’t ride well. “Where did you learn?” He recalls being taken under the wing of the Baron, though he is a little guarded in his response. “Part of becoming a squire and retainer for a Lord fond of the hunt,” he shrugs. “The sergeant-at-arms taught me to shoot too, though it’s been a few years,” he pats the newly-acquired shortbow strapped to the saddle - Q’s pick from Valeron’s stock. He adjusts his new fur-lined bracers and leather fingerless gloves - his own pick that Q was less than keen on. “Perhaps, in exchange for lessons in Dwarvish, you can tell me how good I am at shooting… for one of my kind,” he raises an eyebrow, the definition of cheek. She tilts her head at him, lips twitching as she suppresses a smile. “I would be surprised if one of our kind is a poor shot. I suppose there’s ways to work on your aim, ensure your nocking points are correct, and your stance is flexible but strong.” "Never a bad thing, being flexible but strong," he smirks. Q’s lips twitch a bit more as she considers her next comment. Perhaps she has misread his preference for friendship? Or maybe he simply was a bardic flirt? She had dealt with flirts before and while she didn’t usually reply in kind, there was nothing to prevent her from doing so; it didn’t have to mean anything after all. “Not at all. Of course, I’m sure you know the basics of archery: how to make sure your arrow shafts are straight and how to properly oil your bow, so stance really is the important thing.” The sudden hint of promiscuity from the usually prim half-elf sideswipes Kevan. For a moment his mouth is agape, words failing him for the first time in years. He quickly recovers, the upper lip stiffening. "Stance, yes... true enough. Stamina too," he adds, almost as an afterthought. Q can’t help but burst into a musical peal of laughter. There is nothing mean about her laugh, simply mirth at his speechlessness. “Come now, don’t serve what you will not eat yourself,” she wipes at her eyes. “Is it your question or mine?” "Your place or... OH questions... right," the half-elf is looking a little hot under the collar. It takes a profound amount of time for him to gather his thoughts. "S-s-s-s-so you said you studied in erm... Ostel? NO Praka, sorry PRAKA hehe," a bead of sweat appears on his brow. "What did you study?" She grins at him, still amused, “Praka, yes. I was studying under Sage Hardby along with Tenho before…” she shakes her head and chases away the thoughts that follows. “The Sage wasn’t always in the best shape to teach but the mouse was a good study partner.” Given the delicate nature of their earlier conversation, even Kevan knows better than to pry further... mostly. "The mouse?" “The mouse,” she nods as if that explains everything. "...as in squeak, squeak, squeak?" She glances at him oddly. “Yes.” He looks at her equally oddly. "...not a very timid friend with a nickname but a..." he holds his hands up as if they were claws, sticks his front teeth out and sniffs exaggeratedly. She tilts her head. “Yes. Have you never heard of the mouse?” She seems incredulous, then sheepish as she realises that maybe it’s not so well known. “I thought everyone knew of the mouse, but maybe that’s just local information.” She waves her hand dismissively. “It doesn’t matter. There’s a mouse. It fits in your palm. Sober. That’s the important thing. Anyway.” He splutters incredulously, turning back in the saddle to be astride the horse again. "I know what a mouse IS, you cheeky little... I was just surprised that you studied with a mo-oho I get it now. The Sage is a druid, right? The mouse was a druid in a different form, right?!" “No. It was a mouse,” she clarifies, cupping her hand to emphasise the size. “Small animal. Likes cheese. Still an excellent study partner.” “Seeing as the mouse has you boggled, I’ll make the next one simple,” she teases. “Give you time to recover. Favourite colour?” "I'll give you study partner!" he shoves her playfully in the arm. He chuckles. "You're lucky you're so good-looking or I'd..." Umm... what WOULD you do? "...anyway, hold your horses - not literally - I haven't told you where I studied yet!" He feels his cheeks flush, but he doesn't feel the need to hide it. He hasn't stopped smiling for about 30 minutes now. "Unsurprisingly, the College of Lyrabar, when I wasn't under the Lord's jester - surprisingly unfunny, but a very clever man." "And green, though I'm starting to come around to brown," he looks deeply into her dark eyes. “I’m partial to blue myself. Green is my second favourite,” she says after clearing her throat. There is a moment where all Kevan can hear is the breath between them; all he can see is her face. Lost in this moment, he breathes "anything I can do to make to make it your favourite?" She blushes and glances away, tucking the lock away into her bag and straightening her cloak. “You jest,” she clears her throat again. Don’t be foolish, he’s just being a flirt. He said he was potentially looking for company at Helix. She glances across the tree line again. She looks uncomfortable, Kevan. Probably a good thing, remember who you're here for?! He turns back to the road ahead, but his head soon sinks towards the horse's mane. If she knew what you were doing right now she'd... his heart sinks. Would she even care? Did she ever love you at all? A guilt takes hold and silences the bard. She chances a glance at him out of the corner of her eye. He looks miserable and she twists her fingers in the reins uncertainly, damning her own awkwardness. She heaves in a deep breath. “You confuse me,” she says on the exhale, ignoring the anxious knot in her chest. “I don’t know what to think about you or what you mean. You say things that could be taken in a certain way but then you say something contradictory.” Her sweet voice breaks his melancholy. He looks up uncertainly. Contradictory? "If this is you teasing me about the mouse thing again..." his eyes are wide, but he appears to be trying not to smile at the joke he believes her to have inferred. She shakes her head. “Never mind, I must be misreading things.” Foolish indeed, he doesn’t even realise the things he is saying! “Your question, I believe, if you wish to continue…” Kevan is puzzled, but eager to delve a little deeper. I hope she doesn't think ill of me. "No, go on. Give me an example," he nods encouragingly, "I don't want to get off on the wrong foot," She bites her lip and tries to find a way to word it without seeming like some silly maiden complaining about nonsense. “It’s just. You wear scent for a horse ride and a shopping trip. You asked for my company but said you would be happy for different company at Helix.“ She shakes her head. “Like I said, it’s silly, please ignore that.” Kevan's mouth tries to create words but seems to momentarily fail before, "I... I never said I would be happy with different..." he can't help himself as the words continue to fall out, "I never said... I just wanted to spend some time with you so I asked for your company, and I wanted to smell nice and you just have this way about you that I just don't quite know how to deal with like when you..." he huffs, his brain trying to wrestle his mouth back under control. He sighs and drops his head towards the saddle, before tilting his head towards her, still looking at the road below their steeds. "You disarm me, Queale," She huffs a small, embarrassed laugh. “Then that makes us a pair. Confused and disarmed. Thankfully we’re on a relatively safe road or we’d be easy targets.” He shrugs, "I've heard you're quite the marksman. I knew I was a sitting duck the moment you first laid eyes on me," the pout recedes back into the smile. "Confused and disarmed," he hums thoughtfully. "There's a song in there somewhere," KEVAN! You forget yourself - and what hangs about your neck! He chides himself, though his face shows nothing of the sort. The other side of his brain bites back . It's not a ball and chain! I owe her nothing! Nothing! She has not contacted me since I left... nearly two years ago now! I could be dead for all she cares! She still has her lands, her titles, the cushy life of a Baroness. If she wanted me so badly, she would have left all that behind, wouldn't she! The first side snidely snubs, WOULD she? Q blows out a little breath. “See you say things like that. And I don’t know how to take it.” She glances up at the road, uncertain if she wants to press. Maybe this is something better left alone. To not know, is it better than flat out rejection? "Sorry, I know I harp on about music all the..." he catches himself. "SEE! Did it again!" he chuckles at himself before noting her serious expression. I HAVE upset her somehow. He looks up the road. Surely D'Ashe Manor can't be far now? Dwarfstead has been and gone. Should you just quit while you're ahead? He contemplates this... She quirks a smile at him. “Nearly back. So, I think we have time for one more question.” You helped her get her magic Bag, you saved her some money, you bought her a gift and escorted her around town - arm in arm - you've flirted, you've talked of your next meetings together, at the books or the butts. She has got a lovely butt - stop it - was kind of nice riding behind her - STOP IT! He snaps out of it at the reminder of one last question. He hesitates, knowing exactly what he wants to ask, but without the Damaran courage to aid him. He beholds her glowing face again, opens his mouth, but falters. He glances back at the reins. "Hmmmm... one more, you say," he tries to sound playful, but his heart is racing. He looks back at the ranger, scanning her from head to toe. She is... absolutely breath-taking... and totally out of my league. Well, if she's out of your league, then you have nothing to lose! He turns back to the road, huffs and frowns, then relaxes and turns back to her one last time. "Would you... um... would you go for a drink with me?" She blushes faintly and nods. “Yes.”

Taken from PMs between J and K on Discord. Collated and edited by J. Chapter 3 - Never Have I Ever For some reason, the bard is completely silent. For a moment, Q wonders if he had actually heard her response, but as she regards him, she can see that he seems to have been momentarily paralysed. Had some hedge mage just cast Hold Person on him? Q senses nothing amiss magically and sees no enemies, particularly this close to safety. Upon closer look, he just seems stunned, so she prompts, “So I’ve given my answer, it’s your turn to answer the same question - isn’t that how the game goes? Would you like to go have a drink with me?” The horses carry them towards the stables without guidance. Rocco knows her way. The stable hands are already waiting for the horses in the near distance. It takes another few moments for words to form in Kevan's mouth as he resembles a fish gasping for water. Kevan. Kev-aaan. Kevan? KEVAN? DEVERAN! He awakens from his stupor. He's never been asked before. "I'd love to." She smiles and dismounts from her horse. Rocco plods up to the stable hands ready to be untacked. “The Feast Hall should still be serving warm supper. I’m sure they won’t mind we smell more of horse and road than of bergamot and narcissus and there’s probably a table for two they can arrange?” “Unless that’s too forward? Or you’re tired?” Gods, I love it when she takes control. He blushes. "No, no. That sounds good," he gushes. "Provided they can accommodate 'Confused and Disarmed', the dynamic duo who just won't quit." That was actually pretty witty. She laughs softly. “Give the horse over to the stable hands and let’s see if they can.” He does so and follows her like a lost duckling. Pull yourself together, man... elf... whatever you are! A quick word with one of the girls at the Feast Hall secures them a quiet(ish) table in the corner away from the general bustle of people who have had hours to drink and have forgotten indoor voices. A bottle of wine is set on the table and two plates of dinner are brought out, almost before they have even removed enough gear to sit down. Q glances around for glasses but there are none to be found. She shrugs and uncorks the wine, takes a sip and passes Kevan the bottle as she readjusts her quiver out of the way so no one trips. “They’ll remember glasses eventually. I think.” He watches her sip, transfixed. Such soft lips. Not thin like I thought. He coughs for a moment, leaning to one side. He readjusts his seat and pushes his hair back. "Oh, I am but a humble bard, my lady. I have no need for such accoutrement," he gestures casually before taking a polite swig himself, catching himself gazing at her again. Brushing a stray lock of hair back behind her ear, she considers what to do next. Sheltered upbringing didn’t make one knowledgeable and what she saw after on the streets didn’t help in such a situation, so she decides to treat it like any social event and searches for a gentle topic of conversation. “I believe we had moved into easier questions,” she remembers. He groans playfully. "But easier questions aren't as much fun!" But probably a good idea, before you get yourself into MORE trouble. He pantomimes a sigh but then brightens up with a devilish smirk. "How about a change of game? One more appropriate for our surroundings." He places the wine into the centre of the table. "It's called 'Never Have I Ever': you make a statement starting with that phrase. If you HAVE done what is in the statement, you must take a sip." He can see her uncertainty already, but coaxes her nonetheless in his backwards way, "Of course, if you're too scared..." his eyes glint. “Nothing specialty specific. Because I’ll be through my drink after a dozen or so bardic adventures,” she laughs. “Although, I suppose we run the risk of running out of topics quickly if we can’t challenge on topics of adventure or specialties.” Kevan raises an eyebrow and fixes a piercing gaze. "Oh, am I so difficult to talk to? Didn't realise rangers were such skilled raconteurs..." “I suspect that there’s a few things that we have overlapped. While not professionally, I have been in front of crowds, sung and played, as part of my youth. And I don’t think being chased by a dragon is that far off from excitable crowds.” I bet she has a lovely singing voice. Oh, what sweet music we could make together! "I read a story once of a halfling that flattered a dragon. Managed to trick the worm into leaving his hoard long enough for him and a company of dwarves to make off with the lot! Oh, the power of words!" he laughs before adding with a wink, "especially when they come from the mouth of someone so fair," He shakes himself, remembering the game. "Ok, I'll go first. Never have I ever... slain a dragon," he leans back, cockily. She shakes her head with a faint smile and takes a sip as she contemplates her statement. “Never have I ever used a magic spell, inappropriately,” her lips quirk. Kevan's eyes narrow. He slowly leans forward, picks up the bottle and sips. "To be clear, you only have to drink once... not once for each time you've been inappropriate," he sets it down and gestures to the bottle. "Now you," he summons the Mage Hand, which picks up the bottle and hovers by Q's face. She bites her lip to stop herself from laughing at his statement. She takes a bite of supper while waiting for his challenge. His eyes narrow to a squint and leans in closer. "You've NEVER used your magic inappropriately?" He is shown to be judging her. At her calm biting of supper, he leans back again. "Well, you're either a liar or you simply haven't lived," he quips. "Never have I ever fletched a bad arrow," he grins maliciously. “I didn’t say what appropriate was - that was for you to decide,” she smirks, then scowls playfully at him as she takes a drink at his challenge. “You’ve never fletched your own then. Everyone does when they’re learning.” Kevan defiantly snatches the wine and takes a sip himself. "Satisfied? But you're right, I've never fletched my own... only the Lords I served." “We’ve all done it,” she chuckles softly, then peers at him, judging his expression at the follow up words. She nudges his hand with hers, “you’ll get plenty of practice for your own now, unless you buy them, like Bearchaser. One day, I’ll get him to fletch his own.” He notes the callouses on her hand, and brings his left hand next to it, revealing the tips of his fingers that are more callous than fingers now. "Our passions come at a price," he says thoughtfully. She traces her fingers over the tips of his. Her passive perception is high enough to notice a faint tremble from him as she does this. She looks up at him, wondering if her touch is unwelcome. She pulls her fingers back with a murmured apology. "Don't st..." he utters. No, don't encourage her! Don't you remember who you came here to save?! Stop getting distracted by a pretty face! "Ahem! Umm sorry, it was my turn, wasn't it?" He struggles to think of what to say, the face of her haunting him. Helga. She blinks up at him, sensing something is wrong. “Are - is there anything…?” She pauses. If there was an issue, he wouldn’t appreciate her pressing. “Maybe we’ve had enough of games. Tell me about your song for Fraener.” He chews thoughtfully on his meal. "Perhaps for tonight. But we should definitely revisit at some point. It's as good a drinking game as when I play the Dwarven tavern favourite 'Rock Clan'," he muses. "Well, since he and Norrin are getting married at once, I have written a joint song for them to be performed at their joint celebration," he grins widely. “If Fraener hasn’t put you into the rota yet, remind me, I’ll check with him about how they are doing performances. I think there are two events on the pre-wedding night - divided into females and males - and then some things the wedding day itself. Likely, if it’s a personal message, you’d probably be best to perform it during the pre-wedding events.” He stops chewing suddenly, then after a moment swallows hard. "Ummm... hold on. Doesn't Norrin get a say? It's his day too!" “They decided on separate weddings in the end. I think Norrin would have preferred to share and let Fraener handle the planning but Barbara has some relatives who are not Dwarven compatible. If you want them both together, the pre-event should have both there.” He drops his fork with a clatter, eyes bulging. "WHAT?! TWO WEDDINGS?!" He nearly rises up to the ceiling, but stops himself. "I'll need to buy another outfit - most unsightly to wear the same thing at two different weddings!" The reality hits home. "AND I'll need to come up with another gift for the other celebration!" She laughs at him. “No one will care here about wearing the same outfit. Just accessorise differently. As long as you’re dressed, it’ll be acceptable. We live with barbarians, after all.” The last is said teasingly. Quick as a flash, he retorts, "Imagining me undressed already, Miss?" raising one withering brow. She picks up the bottle of wine and tilts it at him. “Which answer would you prefer: the polite or the impolite?” After a moment, he laughs uproariously. "Never have I ever... imagined Kevan Blackguard naked." She tips the bottle and takes a sip. He motions for the bottle. She hands it over with a laugh as he sips. Still grasping the bottle, he goes again. "Never have I ever SEEN Kevan Blackguard naked." He leaves it a beat, studying her features. She tilts her head, bemused but confused. “Where would I have had the opportunity?” He takes a sip himself. She chuckles. “At least in terms of weddings, you have plenty of experience using your magic inappropriately, a minor illusion would likely go unremarked upon if you can’t find accessories in time.” He places down the bottle and scoffs. "Until someone wishes to touch it." “Accessories not whole outfit,” she chuckles. “I’m certainly not advocating wandering around without clothes. We know a number of people who can see through illusions. Wouldn’t want to give someone’s mother a bit of a surprise.” He chuckles again, recalling the children's tale. "Mother! The Emperor has no clothes!" he then begins to act out the shrieking women, the clueless emperor and the embarrassed dignitaries. Q takes a sip of the alcohol and watches with amusement. He catches her sipping. "A little presumptuous, aren't we, ranger? But I suppose, once you have a target in your sights..." he wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. “I’m not the one nearly sitting in stranger’s laps that first night,” she raises one brow in a playful challenge. "HEY! They don't call him Bardchaser for nothing!" he objects. She salutes him with the bottle, drinks, passes it over and then has a bite of supper. He mimics her, saluting, drinking and then nibbling on some food like a squirrel, shooting wicked glances as he does so. Q relaxes into her chair as they eat and contemplates everything he’d stuttered or gotten distressed over. She makes a mental note to have a word with Norrin as the bard seemed impressed with him. Maybe he could coax the issue out because there was certainly something that clawed at him. Her sense of people was usually fairly good, and she didn’t sense that he was someone bad. A little lost maybe, sad perhaps, but not bad. He didn’t feel like a slaver or a cultist. His magic didn’t scrape down her nerves as if it was unclean. If they could help him clear up whatever plagued him, then he could certainly grow into his own goodness. As he tucks into the food, Kevan reflects on Q's little tells, these flickers of the real Q, not just the archer spoken of in tales. There was a tenderness there; a sadness, a pure spirit - a pure soul. Hers was the purest and most intricate of spider's webs, more magical even than the strands used to create her new Bag: beautiful, yet fierce, delicate, yet harder than dragon scale. And here he was, the fly, tugging on just one pure thread before willingly wrapping himself up in the entirety of her. She will be the death of me. He stares out of the window across the Festhall. Unless Baron Beaumaris kills me first. Aware that silence has reigned for some time, Kevan decides to lift the mood. He grabs the bottle and holds it aloft. "Never have I ever enjoyed a shopping trip to Helix with only a half-elf for company," he takes a very large swig and places the bottle down, crossing one leg over the other and relaxing into his chair. She picks it up and considers, “I know rather a number of half elves, but I think this was the only shopping trip to Helix with only one half elf.” She takes a drink and salutes him with it. “To enjoyable company.” He holds up an invisible glass and nods. "I'm sure you do, my lady. But there's no half-elf quite like this one," he spreads his arms wide, gesturing at himself with a smirk. It soon drops into an earnest look. "And none quite like you, actually." She passes him the bottle. “To being unique, then.” “And maybe continued good company?” She asks, almost gently. He goes to sip from the bottle, before looking in through the top and tipping the bottle upside down, demonstrating its lack of liquid. 'Continued good company'. Hang on... she's not referring to... is she? His heart begins to race; perhaps the alcohol is having an effect? It HAS been a long day, after all. "Maybe," he blinks slowly, almost fluttering his eyelashes. “Maybe,” she nods. She’s dealt with plenty of people in the past whose demons made commitments difficult. She, herself, had issues with it, so a maybe was an acceptable answer to her. “It’s late, the ride today was long, and the wine is unfortunately gone. But we were successful and have full stomachs, so I think it’s a good time to wash the road off and get some sleep.” She stands and stretches a little before bending over to scoop up her gear. She pauses by his side of the table and hesitates for a moment. “Thank you, for the gift and my bag.” Indecisive about his comfort level with touch outside his performances, she moves her hand to lightly touch his cheek with just her fingertips: a compromise between a shoulder clasp and a kiss on the cheek. He allows it; frankly, he welcomes it. He fixes her gaze, heart in his throat. "Any time, my lady," he blinks softly, her gentle touch relaxing him. As her hand moves away, the poet fires into life one last time, springing up out of his chair. "Oh no you don't!" he playfully runs his hand up her arm, ending with his linked in the crook of hers, drawing perilously close to her face. He tilts his head a little to one side. "I don't want to give us bards a bad name! We have been called many names for centuries, not all of them good." He thumbs at himself with his free hand. "But this one, at least, is a gentleman. Allow me to escort you safely home." He blinks heavily again, as if this is a code of communication of its own. She tilts her head, amused. “You can keep me company the short distance, if it pleases you.” She has a room provided by Lady D’Ashe, as unlike most of the others she has not moved out into her own place, so it’s a short distance indeed. She is oddly reminded of a cat suddenly at his behaviour, and how slow blinks mean trust. While it’s probably not an apt comparison, it still warms her. Unaware of her residence, Kevan allows her to lead the way. Arriving outside the door moments later, he laughs lightly. "There you are, safe and sound!" the laugh dies down naturally. He blinks a couple more times, appearing to steady himself. "And... thank you : for your many gifts, your advice, your eyes and your..." he remembers his first bold line back in Helix. "Just... you," he lingers. She blushes faintly and opens the door behind her without moving away, hesitating in the open doorway, letting her gear slide off her shoulder, down her arm to rest inside the room, freeing her up from its weight. After a long moment, she murmurs, “I did say no more games today but I do have a question…” Gods, I want to hold her right now. You foolish boy. You lucky, stupid, lucky, foolish, idiotic boob of a bard! Do something... well, at least SAY something! “Do feel free to say no, if you are at all uncomfortable,” she states, holding his eyes and waiting until he nods. His Adam’s apple bobs, seeming a little short of breath. “Would you mind ever so much if I steal a kiss?” She doesn’t move closer, simply waits for three heartbeats. Ohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuuuuuuuck. He doesn't appear to move. When he doesn’t indicate either way, she starts to step back into her room, ears turning pink with embarrassment over her forwardness and seeming rejection. It was a maybe, you fool. She thinks to herself harshly. “No matter. Good night, Kevan. Sleep well.” She nudges the quiver’s strap out of the way of the door with her toe and moves to close it. WHAT are you doing?! She's going! MOVE! Kevan walks face-first into the door. Hearing the “thunk”, she reopens the door, confused. Kevan is rubbing his nose and forehead, a bump surely moments from appearing. "I'm sorry I... don't quite..." “Are - are you alright?” She asked a bit dumbly, glancing at the door like it had somehow done something bizarre like bite the bard from a distance. Seeing as it seemed like her usual door, she turned back to the other. "Sorry I... I err," he looks about the room, as if he'd only just entered it for the first time. She reaches out without thought to touch his forehead and sweeps her fingers down the red marks, nudging his fingers aside as healing magic pours from her hand, soothing the injuries. He looks into her eyes as they focus on healing his head. Deep bursts of browns, like the thickest of hedgerows in autumn. He waits until she finishes and then catches her trailing hand. "I'm sorry. You mentioned something about... stealing... a...?" He says, doubting his words, wondering if it was all just a dream. Her ears pinken in embarrassment. “It was too forward of me, I’m sorry for the presumption.” "...don't be," he leans forward, his eyes never leaving hers, stopping but a hair's breadth from her lips. She closes the gap, stealing a quick kiss, pulling back after the briefest of moments. It was but a moment, but it felt like a lifetime. It felt like his brain had exploded in one of Malied's fireballs. His lips sparked into life, tingling, whilst his eyes closed immediately and firmly. She feels his breath stutter and she pulls back to check his expression more clearly. She’s not sure if that’s a good or bad expression so she presses her hand to his cheek to get him to open his eyes. “Ok?” She checks. Awaking from the sweetest of dreams, Kevan thinks he sees an angel before him. An angel and an archer to boot. "Hmmm?" “How hard did my door bite you?” she asks, a touch concerned. He seems quite spacey, and while flattering, she’s a little worried that maybe a concussion is involved. She contemplates another healing spell even as her thumb smooths back and forth on his cheek. Shrugging off the almost certain concussion, Kevan's face totally relaxes. "It wasn't the door," he suddenly brings a hand behind her head, into her thick, tied-back hair, as he steals a kiss of his own, placing his free hand on her hip. She lets her hand fall from his cheek to the front of his shirt, tangling in the fabric, her other hand still holding open the door and leans up into the kiss. The two sides of Kevan's brain are dead silent. Blown to smithereens. She pulls back, panting slightly. He untangles his hand from her hair, sliding it down one side of her womanly form, resting on her hip, parallel with the other. He, with some regret, pulls away. She inhales slowly and lets her hand fall from his shirt. "I'm sorry... I... I shouldn't have..." he takes her in one more time, scooping up one hand in his. "Good night, Miss Queale," he utters delicately, a little sadness creeping into his face. Confused, and a touch hurt by the apology’s implications, she catches his eye. “Disarmed and confused, again,” she smiles ruefully. “Just one more question, then, before we part for the night?” "Always," he replies with a half-smile. "Keep stealing questions, ranger, for I will seize upon any reason to look at you a little longer," he seems to be poetic as naturally as others breathe. “Yes or no, are you looking for something more than flirtation with me? Doesn’t have to be barbarian speed,” she laughs softly, “but save me the crushing embarrassment of later if it’s nothing.” This takes him aback. She doubts your intention, Kevan. Wise girl. “If you can’t be mine like that, I’m fine with another companion, but just, yes or no.” she continues. He clears his throat. "I err... well, if you'll pardon my impertinence, I think we've gone a bit past flirtation now, don't you?" he smiles. “I never did ask if you had another waiting,” she replies. “I should have before I…” She shakes her head, cutting herself off as she looks up at him. He remembers another phrase he had said to her this day, on the road to Helix. Before he had said it entirely in jest, but now it has more relevance and weight than ever. "I wasn't looking for anything, Miss Queale," he shrugs. After a moment, "but I always find the best things when I'm not looking for them." He blushes. Go on, Kevan. Tell her if you have another waiting. I'm sure she'd love to hear all about it. The cruel side of his brain mocked him. Tell her EVERYTHING about the Knave of Lyrabar. He acts swiftly, feeling his emotions getting the better of him. He goes down onto one knee, still clasping her hand. He brings the hand to his lips, kissing it briefly but tenderly. He then immediately rises, nods briskly and spins about on his heels before marching away. She watches him go, then steps back inside and closes the door. After a moment she twists the lock, settles her gear away properly and rests her hands on the little desk. How did none of her contacts mention Lyrabar - nothing in any of those letters? She needs to branch her network further out. Tenho will know what happened in Lyrabar. I’ll ask him when he’s next here in a few days for Fraener’s wedding. He turns back, watching the door close. His shoulders sag, a heaviness in his chest. A heaviness around his neck. With one silent sigh, he continues his forced march back to his room. No sooner has the door closed that he stumbles to his bed, tears in his eyes, his hand held fast against the necklace. Why?! WHY do you still have this hold over me? His eyes sting, his mouth foams, but still, he does not make a sound.

Taken from the Norrin's Band IC Roleplay chat on Discord. Collated and edited by J. Chapter 4 - The Bachelor and The Hen The halls of Khundrukar are abuzz with activity, as the union of Fraener ap Durgeddin, King Under the Mountain, to Mirna Norasdottir, is only one night away. Tonight will be their last as bachelor and bachelorette: many events are planned to mark the occasion, as one by one the guests arrive at the mountain, each dressed in their best. Q is clothed in a very fine dress; it’s not the latest season but obviously well made. Her hair done up in delicate pins and clips, studded with gems in Elven or human in design, depending on the piece. Unlike normally, she wears delicate ear cuffs and a long chain necklace, which is tucked into her dress so whatever is strung on the necklace doesn’t show.  She doesn’t wear her weapons, but she does wear/carry a spider silk bag on her hip (her new Bag of Holding), half hidden under a heavy cloak. Unlike Fraener, she can see the bride, and visits to offer her best wishes and see if any assistance is needed. Mirna asks Queale if she may wear the beautiful platinum jewellery, she gave her, as a wedding present the next day at the ceremony? Q happily encourages it. Once she’s not needed, she heads back out to playfully tease Fraener over having seen his bride’s beauty, which he has to wait for. “Queale! How wonderful you could make it! Isn’t she a beauty though?” His eyes twinkle mischievously. “Of course, if I’d known you scrubbed up so well you may have been the lucky girl to catch me!” “Fraener, my friend,” she greets cheerfully. “Not a prettier diamond in any mine you’ll ever find than your bride.” She brushes a hand down her dress, a little self-consciously. “I don’t shine half as well; I’m sure! But speaking of scrubbing up,” she laughs, lightly tugging on his outfit. “You’re a sight better than after a battle. I think she’s the lucky one.” Fraener is delighted by Queale’s flattery. They are joined by the visiting Dwarf Lords who he introduces by turn, as their unmistakable Goliath friend appears, dressed in a highly polished breastplate. "It's good to see you again, King Fraener of Khundrakar. There are a lot of people here..." Bearchaser looks around and is visibly nervous at the number of pavilions, horses, people… "Q! You look lovely. Is Kevan Blackguard not with you? I wonder who he is winking at now!" Bearchaser says with a smile and a wink of his own. He laughs a shade too enthusiastically at his own joke. Q smiles at Bearchaser’s laughter, glad that her companions are all happy and contented. “He’ll be around, and he’ll find us when he arrives, I’m sure. He’s a bard - they do like their dramatic entrances.” Meryem smiles warmly upon seeing Queale. She is dressed in her new silk tunic and breeches. She is also wearing knee high boots and her elven cloak. The Durgeddin battle-axe and magical shield are strapped to her back. Her Breastplate is hidden underneath her tunic. Her fiery red hair is braided in an elegant, yet functional style unlike the thick single braid she usually wears. She feels oddly plain and underdressed next to her half-elven friend. She shuffles her feet and tries to slip away: not an easy thing for a six-foot five redhead barbarian to do! Queale waves Meryem over (and down – due to most being taller than Q) and unclips a pair of the clips from her own hair, using them to help bind Meryem’s hair back. “There. A little sparkle to help highlight your inner glow. You don’t need it, but always nice,” she smiles and pats her friend on the arm. “Doesn’t she look splendid?” Encourages, Fraener. The gathered Dwarf Lords all hastily agree that Meryem is a fine-looking woman. “We should get you some rubies to match your hair for the next party. Maybe emeralds,” she considers. “Only if you want, of course.” Meryem smiles gratefully. "I would like that very much," she says as her hand touches the clips. "I will be sure to return these to you after the celebration." “Emeralds.” Interjects Vizier Vylfa smoothly. “The contrast would be stunning.” The bustle of the arrivals pulled Meryem away from Bearchaser whilst he got surrounded by a few dwarves. It's easy for him to keep his eyes on her, what with most of them barely reaching his waist. He can't hear what is being said, but he can tell she looks a little uncomfortable. Excusing himself from the dwarven mob, he makes his way over to her. Arriving just after Queale had given the hair clips, Bearchaser approaches from behind Meryem and places his hands on her hips. "When do you think we can start drinking? I need something to calm my nerves." He whispers in her ear. Meryem hands Bearchaser her tankard of beer. "I agree," she replies in a whisper. "I made my introduction, but it appears the bride has quite a few guests to entertain so I am ready to leave." Meryem turns around to face Bearchaser. “Let's go find some of that fine Dwarven ale the Khundrakar has been brewing, and something to eat." Norrin and Barbara arrive at Khundrakar in a wagon; Barbara's advanced state of pregnancy makes riding a horse difficult and uncomfortable, but the trip is quick and safe under Norrin's expert hands. Norrin is wearing his armour, cleaned and highly polished. He wears his Cloak of Protection which he had embroidered with his eagle crest, looking very much like the knight in shining armour he is. But all eyes are on Barbara. She is wearing a low-cut velvet dress in dark blue which emphasises her bosom, her makeup and jewellery tastefully done. Her hair is done up in a western style. She is wrapped in a woollen fur-lined cloak to ward off the chill. One gets the impression that she could have done more, but it's not wise to outshine a bride on her wedding day. On the back of the wagon, strapped down securely and wrapped in burlap, is the chariot gift for the bride and groom. Fraener leads the gathered friends and guests to meet Norrin and Barbara from their wagon. Solicitously helping the heavily pregnant lady down. He introduces them to those they do not know and all assembled stare with wonder at the amazing wedding gift. “Come, Lady Barbara, let’s get you somewhere more comfortable. It’s so good to see you both and so good of you to travel with the baby this close; when is the little one due?” "About two months - they should post-date our wedding, at least!" Barbara smiles brightly. "I will be bringing the Forestedge midwife, and our priest of Lathander will be on hand as necessary." A flicker in the eyes reveals a little inner turmoil as Norrin hears the word ‘they’. Fraener goes a little misty-eyed at the thought of children. “You are so lucky. Now come, can my brother take you to Mirna? I am not allowed to see her until tomorrow, but I know she will be delighted to see you!” Barbara nods and smiles. "Of course!" About an hour after Norrin and Barbara, four more riders approach in two ranks. One is wearing a white silk blouse under a black cloak, red breeches which match the colour of her hair and has a small bundle tied to her chest. The other riding at the front is a male half elf wearing a cloak which flutters dramatically in the wind, far more than it should, given the actual breeze. Behind these two are two others in armour, a male human and a half-elven female, bows and swords strapped securely to their saddles but easily accessible. Both look as though they have seen combat in the past, and they can certainly handle their own affairs, but currently they are just chatting jovially. Looking around, and seeing no-one she immediately recognises, the redhead reins her mount in near an outlying tent. The dwarf outside looks up to her as she leans down to speak with him. "Do you know what we do with the horses?" "Er, most of 'em bin goin' tha' way", the dwarf says, indicating where Fraener ap Durgeddin had been greeting guests. "Thank you." She says and walks on. Arriving finally at the makeshift stable, all four riders dismount and approach the doors to Khundrakar. “Norrin! So good to see you after all this time!" Norrin turns to see Jyrdani holding a swaddled baby in her arms, flanked by Syrus the Bard. "Tenho told us yours and Barbara's news, Norrin!" Syrus says, reaching into his pocket for something. "Syrus, we talked about this. Don't..." "Congratulations!" exclaims Syrus, flinging his arm in the air and sending an arc of glitter in Norrin's general direction. "Sorry we missed you. We were hoping to catch you before you left the manor, but Will told us you'd already left." Jyrdani explains. The two soldiers to the rear are standing smartly, but not to attention. They too wear black cloaks, but theirs are emblazoned with a scarlet raven on the breast. Norrin grins through the cloud of glitter. "I was expecting that," he says to Syrus. He gives the bard a comradely clap on the shoulder. "Good to see you!" He looks over at Barbara, chatting gaily with some dwarven noblewomen. "Yes, I have an heir. And a bride. Of course, the two of you," he nods to little Erasmus, correcting himself, "the three of you are invited to the wedding." Turning to Jyrdani, he reaches out and embraces her gently, taking care not to harm her precious cargo. "And I trust all is well with you? And little Erasmus?" He glances at the two soldiers. "You came well protected, I see. Well, the region between the Galenas and Carmathan is not what it once was. It's safe now, thanks to us. Thanks to you. What was once a dragon's domain is now ploughed fields, the mines that orcs and ogres called their home are now again being worked by goodly folk." "Thank you. The Duchess has looked after us. These two are Tyrala and Asten,” she indicates the woman and man behind her, “guards from the Palace. I did insist we wouldn't need an escort, but Arthur said it would be no good to lose an officer on the road. Even one currently busy with this little thing." She bobs baby Erasmus, who lets out a gurgle. "I was impressed on the ride over. You have done good things around the Manor, and it looks like Fraener has certainly made his mark here too. Are the others here yet?" Norrin bows his head, truly honoured at Jyrdani's words. "I haven't seen Malied or Strohm yet, but I know they were invited." He looks at the baby, and his smile falters a little, remembering that he was the last one to see the child's father alive, and was powerless to help him. "Oh. No doubt Mailed has his head in a book somewhere, and Strohm has his in a woman. It'll be good to see them again." Jyrdani surmises. "We have made great strides in bringing peace and stability to southern Arcata, something that I hope will gain a momentum of its own.” Norrin continues. “Duke William has offered me a barony on certain conditions, and I intend to take advantage of that." "A barony? You really are making a name for yourself." Jyrdani lowers her voice and leans forward. "Your actions have not gone unnoticed in Ravensburg." Just then, Fraener roars his welcome across the gathering crowds. Delighted to see his old chums, he makes his way towards them. First embracing the flamboyant Bard, bracing himself for the confetti and glitter that he knows will be coming his way, and then, silently and with a tear in his eye, Jyrdani. “This is Erasmus’ child?” "Fraener!" Jyrdani leans down to hug the dwarf as the child instinctively grabs a handful of his beard. "No, I picked this one up from an orphanage. I didn't have time to arrange a gift so I thought you could use an apprentice. I left Erasmus covering my post at the palace." She says with only the faintest flicker of sarcasm. "Of course, it's him! You only need to look in his eyes." she adds with a little more melancholy. "But he's a good boy, not moving around much just yet but he is rolling lots." Fraener is positively jolly as the guests gather and the ale flows. Not his usual serious self, weighed down with the burden of his responsibilities. Now alone, Meryem heads further into the complex, to where Mirna and her bridesmaids are. She feels awkward having never met the dwarven bride and unsure how to address Mirna if she would be received by the royal dwarf female. She finds Queale with the bridal party, Mirna being toasted by the Snowbeard princesses. A stout dwarf-wife of Khundrakar offers her a beer. Meryem accepts, thanking the dwarf-wife. She steps forward. "Ah, your majesty I am Meryem Bloodletter, a friend of Fraenar."   Taking the phrase “fashionably late” to new extremes, a single horse with rider canters up the winding road to the Mountain Gate, barely visible in the dying light. Swiftly leaping down from his chestnut steed, the rider grabs a torch from the saddlebag and lights it. The rider appears to be a half-elf noble with a penchant for music: pointed royal blue suede shoes lead to white stockings and burgundy breeches. Above that, a sky-blue silken tunic with a thin black belt, a finely crafted gold-edged silver horn tucked into it. A dark green cape is about their shoulders, fastened by an ornate silver pin, a lute also hanging across the back. A necklace appears to be tucked into the tunic, with one audacious ruby ring and a single floral earring being the only other jewellery of note. Above the fine brown stubble of beard, sparkling emerald eyes and strong brow rests brown, combed and sleeked hair, an as-yet featherless green bycoket hat sitting atop it. Turning around and facing the festivities with a deep, composing breath, Kevan scans the throng, looking for the somewhat familiar faces of Norrin’s Band. The dwarf guards at the picket line nudge each other as they see the dapper rider approach. “I think the stripper’s arrived for Lady Mirna’s Hen-supper,” they murmur. One points towards a stout matron keeping watch up by the Mountain Door. “Go see Mrs. Gunnderson, she’ll take you where you need to change.” Utterly baffled, Kevan does as instructed, thanking them in perfect Dwarvish Mrs. Gunnderson looks Kevan up and down. She’s seen more meat on a Ravensburg butcher’s pencil, not at all her cup of tea but that seems to be what the young ones want these days. Poor beggar. They’ll eat him for breakfast. She thinks silently to herself. “Second chamber across the bridge on your left you can get ready there. You go on at 10.” In impeccable Dwarvish, Kevan replies, “a thousand thankyous,” and heads in that direction. On at 10? Has Fraener requested me to do a set? Well, who am I to deny a king? he shrugs.   Mirna Norasdottir is not amused. Although tradition is at her core, she has never quite understood this particular one at all. But the clan-women expect it and she’s a hardy enough campaigner to grin and bear it for one night. Q passes her a little cake. She disappears and reappears with three drinks balanced in her hands, pointing them out one by one in a quiet undertone. “Very watered down, normal, extremely potent. Take your pick and I’ll keep them coming.” Mirna likes Fraener’s serious-minded friend, Queale. She thanks her quietly for her thoughtful action in securing the adulterated ale. “We should talk when all this is over. I’m pleased my husband-to-be has you on his side.” Q smiles and resolves to ensure that Mirna get the correct drink. “Be glad to talk with you; I’m on your side now too.” “We will achieve much with quiet diplomacy and common sense that the men cannot with their bluster. Cheers!”   Following Mrs. Gunnderson’s directions, Kevan soon finds himself in the room that’s been put aside for the entertainers: mirrors, grease paint and a host of props and costumes, all of which are familiar to him in his profession. A dozen convincing looking dwarf Valkyrie’s bustle past him, heading to the outside stage to do their ‘number’ for the gentlemen. The last notices Kevan and shouts back at him. “You the ten o’clock turn? That’s the big stage inside.” She passes on hurried directions, eying him saucily. “Shame I won’t get to see it! Remember to keep your hat on!” They all hurry off giggling. The crafty Kevan eyes up the Valkyries as they pass. Short in stature, but more than making up for it elsewhere! In Dwarvish, he coos back, "Until later, beautiful," before turning to his dressing table and setting down his backpack, weapons belt, shortbow and the rest. Still new to these parts, and of no fixed abode, it makes sense to Kevan that he should take everything no matter where he goes. In this instance, that thinking had proven its worth. The BIG stage, eh? Oh Kevan, nothing but the best for you, you devil! How can I make myself a little more... WOW? He opens his pack and pulls out his Performer's Kit. As he opens the clasp, the answer is staring at him - the purple half mask lifted from the hijacked goods at Khain's End. He begins to tune his lute. Keep my hat on? Perhaps Fraener is not a fan of hair... does he have much hair, come to think of it? Ah maybe he's bald - jealous of a full head of hair! Makes sense.   Among the late-arriving guests are: Tenho Isotalo, along with handsome Sir Palador deVir and his Magist, the glamorous and skimpily clad Brandi Ducaris. Brandi greets her cousin and friend Lady Barbara D'Ashe with much 'mwah' air kissing. Tenho, with a self-satisfied smile, introduces them both to King Fraener and Sir Norrin. "I'm sure you have much in common!" Palador smiles too. "Congratulations, King Fraener, on your wedding, Sir Norrin on your impending nuptials." Fraener has met Tenho before and is glad to see him again. His greeting to Sir Palador is less regal than he would have hoped for as he seems to have Jyrdani’s child tangled up in his beard. Tenho wipes a tear from his eye as he surveys the scene. "So good to see Khundrakar restored... a strong dwarf realm on Damara's western frontier has long been my dream." He looks to Sir Norrin. "And a strong human realm rising from D'Ashe manor, eh?" “Thank you, Tenho. It could not have been achieved without the help of Sir Norrin and the rest of my friends.” King Fraener thanks the spymaster. "That is the plan, Master Tenho," Norrin replies. "A small settlement has risen around D'Ashe, not quite a village, but a few small businesses call it home, and the farmers and settlers are finding it a safe and welcome place to conduct their trade. You should visit sometime, and I can show you around." He turns to Palador. "Sir Palador, I am very pleased to meet you. Your reputation precedes you, and I have heard much." He drops his voice. "A pity concerning the recent events in Valls, at Duke William's court. I can only imagine. Perhaps when the time is right, we can discuss it at length? Now is the time for men of action, such as us, to direct the future of Arcata, and Damara as a whole." He bows deeply to Brandi Ducaris, and kisses her hand in a gentlemanly manner, keeping his eyes properly averted. "My Lady," he says, greeting her. "I have heard much about you. Lady Barbara was excited when she heard you will be attending." To Tenho, Palador and Brandi, he says, "You are all invited to Barbara and mine's nuptials. It won't be as elaborate as King Fraener's and Lady Mirna's, but you all would be welcome." He turns as the small orchestra is striking up the latest tune by the Dwarven Bard, Wagner Borrinson. Cheers erupt as a dozen scantily clad Valkyries take the stage! Tenho, Palador and Brandi all agree enthusiastically to attend Norrin & Barbara's wedding in two weeks’ time. Tenho, Palador and Norrin then join the larger contingent of male dwarves for Fraener's bachelor party, whilst Brandi is escorted off to the hen night.   Loud wolf whistles and a steady rhythmic pounding of heavy-booted, female feet drift to the dressing room. As the water clock drips closer to 10PM, the inebriated dwarf clanswomen are building up levels of lust that would frighten a Troll. Q drinks, but not ridiculously so. They are safe and well-guarded so she can let her hair down, so to speak. She has her own self-appointed duty to Mirna tonight, so she remains relatively sober, at least enough to remember her task. Still, she is pleasantly relaxed and enjoying the party atmosphere. She turns her attention towards the stage that seems to be drawing everyone’s attention. Plop-plop-plop goes the water clock in the dressing room… The female crowd are fairly baying now. The clapping has started in earnest. Magical lights are produced especially to brightly illuminate the dark stage once the ‘star’ is in position. Staring into the mirror as he hears the crowd cheering, Kevan psyches himself up, almost looking cross under the purple ball mask as he regards himself. Come on, Kevan! Your time to shine! He takes a swig of Dwarven brandy to steady himself, his face contorting as he coughs and splutters. "Gods, that's strong!" Queale tops up Mirna’s with her choice of drink, and accepts another drink pressed into her hands. She can’t match Meryem or the others drink for drink but she sips at it, waiting expectantly. The tempo and volume of the stomping and clapping is reaching fever pitch. Kevan hears music starting to play and looks down at his lute. "Oh," he says to no-one. "But I thought? Well, I don't usually perform in a band but... it's Fraener's night!" he shrugs, takes one cleansing breath... takes another shot of brandy, splutters, takes another two cleansing breaths... then heads for the stage. Remember, grand entrance Kevan. GRAND entrance. They'll never know who you are under the mask! He takes his position centre stage, lute at the ready, facing upstage with his back to the braying crowd. Awful lot of women's voices for a bachelor's do? Suddenly, the lights go up… and the crowd goes W-I-L-D! “GERRR ‘EM OFFFFF!” a hundred drunken dwarf women bellow in unison. Lady Mirna discreetly raises her opera glasses to make sure she’s seeing things properly. 'Get 'im off?' I haven't even started yet! Kevan feels the lights on him, but cannot recall the tune that's currently being played. Better style this one out. He begins to sway to the music slowly but rhythmically, still facing upstage for now, his dance training showing as his hips do most of the work. A little timid at first, soon enough the tempo courses through him and the bard chances a steady backwards walk downstage. Not yet, not yet! He wills himself not to turn around. The shrieking intensifies, the very rock of Khundrakar threatening to crack under the strain. He catches the backing singers wailing 'you can leaaaave your hat on!' which suddenly sparks an idea. Yes, we can have fun with this! Tucking one foot behind the other, raised ready, he bows his head down at a right angle, his chin touching his sky-blue tunic, the bycoket hat more than long enough to mask his head. Ok, POWER POSE! He spins around on his heels, planting his feet shoulder width apart and raising one pointed hand skywards, head floorwards. More shrieks as several pairs of sturdy and serviceable Dwarven undergarments are hurled at the stage. Thankfully, none connect. He pauses, listening to the rhythm. Where the fuck do I go from here?! The volley of Dwarven undergarments litter his feet, but the bard is too preoccupied with planning to notice. If only I had three hands. He smirks. Oh wait... I do! He summons the Mage Hand. The spectral force grabs the hat and pulls it off his head, keeping it at the same height. Quickly, Kevan snaps up, the bycoket still masking his face. With both hands free, he chances a few appropriate chords on the lute. Teasing being his forte, Kevan needs no more encouragement from the crowd. He begins to use the Mage Hand to manipulate the hat a little, tilting to one side to reveal one eye under the mask, then the other. Despite being a little drunk, or perhaps because of it, something about the lute has Queale watching the hat… and something about that mask… Through the bright lights shining at him, Kevan can just about make out a bunch of Dwarven women screaming raucously, gesticulating as if they are about to remove their clothes. He cannot see any Dwarf men... or any other men AT ALL for that matter. Hang on. He looks down at the flowers that were thrown at the stage. They are awfully lacy, triangular and large for... Ohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuuuuuck! “OFF! OFF! OFF!” Was this all some big joke? A bachelor's prank at my expense?! He's only sent me to the hen do! Kevan's eyes narrow. Well, I'll show them. King or not, I'll be champ tonight! Kevan keeps an eye out for a particularly well-dressed Dwarf and a particularly pregnant Lady as he reaches for the strap of his lute. Deftly, he steps on one blue suede shoe, slipping his foot out of it with ease. He then flicks it softly into the crowd, ensuring the projectile is not going at a velocity that could cause harm. He then does the same with the other, finishing with a scissor kick to send it further into the sky. He hears a far-off crash a few seconds later, but grimaces through it. Q glances at the projectile shoe that landed nearby. She leans over to pick it up and frowns at the performer. There is the faintest scent of bergamot and narcissus that clings. Now shoeless, the polished stage can serve a new purpose. Rock star slide! Kevan slips the lute strap off as the Mage Hand shoves the hat on his face, he bites down hard on it to keep it in place. Raising the neck of the lute close to him, he takes a short run up before dropping to his stocking-covered knees, sliding several feet across the stage as he strums a power chord. The Mage Hand free, he uses it to then grab the lute by the neck and carefully take it offstage, as he replaces a hand on the hat and frees his mouth. Now what? He sees that he is now right on the lip of the stage... Q murmurs to herself, “Mage hand, a lute, that scent… the pieces seem like they should add up…” She takes another sip of and tries to catch a glance of the face behind the hat.     Still no sign of Kevan. Bearchaser thinks to himself. I didn't take him for the shy, retiring type…   He athletically hops back to his feet but notes the stockings have been ripped to shreds, his knees escaping relatively unscathed. Might as well. He turns away from the throng, replaces the hat on his head, then slowly and sensually bends over, his fitted breeches revealing the shape of a proud, peachy posterior. He first removes one stocking, tossing it casually over his shoulder into the crowd, then removes the other, replaces the hat over the face and spins the remaining stocking above his head like a flail, turning back to face the crowd before blindly (due to the hat) throwing the stocking into the audience. Unfortunately, the stocking strikes Kevan as it takes off, taking him off balance, the hat slipping momentarily from his face before he can course-correct. Q nearly spills her drink at the sight of a familiar mask. She grabs at Meryem’s arm, then realises that her friend is enjoying the show and probably won’t be much help. Help! She thinks and heads for the door, hoping to find one of the stewards. She is in no way prepared to interrupt unnecessarily and get torn apart by drunk ladies when their entertainment is stopped. Why would he do this? I thought he had a song as their wedding gift, not a strip-tease - Fraener may not be particularly appreciative. She slips to the door and looks up and down the hall for any steward or otherwise helpful individual, but none seem to be around. Closing the door, she leans against it uncertain about what to do. Ok Kevan, time to turn up the heat. He re-summons the Mage Hand to the hat, leaving his hands free to unfasten the cape as he looks for a gap within the crowd with his obscured vision. Though there doesn't appear to be a natural gap, Kevan believes he can create one on the left side by throwing his cape at the centre. The ensuing scrum should give the space he needs, if the way two maidens wrestling over his shredded stocking is any sign... With a flourish, Kevan swirls the cape about him, twisting it thin to pantomime it as a towel scrubbing his back, before casting it into the central mass. With the hoped gap appearing, he grabs the hat in his own hand and hops off the stage into the auditorium. Queale slips back to the table, uncertain about how to deal with this. If he’s doing this, then it must have been agreed somehow but it’s so unexpected for this particular entertainment to be their teammate! Now to find the brides-to-be! But how without revealing myself... so to speak. He clicks his fingers. As he flicks the hat away from his face, he casts a Minor Illusion of a crate that encompasses his head with 'DANGER! HOT CONTENTS!' written on it. Seeing through his illusion, he can freely inspect the room...     Meanwhile back at the men’s stage the Valkyries give their bows and file off to polite applause. The stage manager is beside himself as the next turn hasn’t arrived yet. Some Bard called Blackguard supposed to be singing a song about Fraener.   The lights are so intense, and the Dwarven maidens, whilst short, so precocious, and descending upon him. Ok, more height needed. He replaces the hat and hops onto a nearby table. Q holds her breath when the table wobbles, but fortunately it holds. The Mage Hand resumes hat duty as the bard starts to undo his tunic belt. He feels the horn start to slip from it. THE HORN! He deftly catches it with one hand, before throwing it up in the air. The Mage Hand whizzes over to it, whilst his other hand grabs the hat. Letting the belt carelessly drop to his feet, he goes to grab the tunic, and realises his problem. No way I can remove this with one hand holding THIS. Ok! Style it out. Wait for the Hand. He starts knocking his knees together to the beat, his body bouncing a little as he extends one arm with finger pointed to the crowd and starts casting it across from left to right. Once the Hand returns, he whips off the tunic with lightning speed, revealing a relatively lean torso underneath. He has no scars, short fine hairs and a modest figure - no six pack, no stranger to the odd indulgence, but somebody who looks after themselves and takes relative pride in their appearance. Queale blushes as more clothes start to be removed. She’s had too much to drink or not enough… she’s not sure which! The human sorceress Brandi Ducaris sits close by the bride-to-be Mirna Norasdottir and Ted's date Narcissa, watching the strip-tease act appreciatively. She turns to Narcissa. "Dwarven weddings are even more fun than I expected!" Narcissa grins wickedly, "Oh, you ain't seen nothing yet..." Lady Barbara D'Ashe is sat between Mirna and her cousin Brandi, watching Kevan's antics with mild amusement. "Worth coming up the mountain for..." Mirna looks suitably mortified. Q is about the same colour as Meryem’s hair, partly due to drink and partly due to watching one of her new friends undress. Surely, he would have mentioned to her if this was what was planned? The horde seem to not be satisfied with just the cape any longer. Kevan's table is beginning to feel rather small. He peeps beneath his hat, looking to the other tables. In some ways, it reminds him of skipping across fords... if the river was filled with horny fish... Narcissa whistles loudly and calls out to Kevan from the table she shares with Miss Ducaris, right beside Barbara and Mirna's table. "Oi, gorgeous! Over here!" She waves. Brandi giggles. With the Tiefling throwing him a lifeline, Kevan doesn't hesitate. With a masterful leap, and bending low to cushion the landing, Kevan comes face to face with Brandi and Narcissa's... personalities . Lady D'Ashe sips her wine as she watches, listening to Mirna's disapproving tuts. "It is a bit much. But the women of Khundrakar and Dwarfstead have worked hard all year - we shouldn't resent them a little fun, I suppose." She smiles hopefully, hoping to blunt Lady Mirna's annoyance. Narcissa looks rather tipsy, but expertly fends off the mob of frenzied dwarf-wife hands reaching for Kevan. Brandi joins in, though both women are swiftly dishevelled in the tussle - and in Brandi's case there wasn't much to shevel in the first place! "Hands off, ladies - he's only human!" Brandi eyes Kevan appreciatively. "Well, nearly..." Shaking himself out of his reverie, the bard nods in thanks to the striking pair... and the other striking pair... of eyes ... he then notices that both the brides-to-be are also at the table, though the dwarf looks far less comfortable than the glowing human. Climbing down from the table, he moves behind the pair, letting his silken tunic brush over them. To Mirna, in Dwarvish, "my Queen to be." To Barbara, in Common, "my Lady." He begins to use the tunic as a towel again, this time on the ladies. But this requires two hands, so the Mage Hand is summoned back to hat duty. Barbara nods affably, Mirna somewhat stiffly. Kevan becomes aware that Narcissa is right behind him, hauling off a drunken bridesmaid before she can tackle Kevan, bowling her into a trio of dwarf-wives. Narcissa grins to Kevan.  "Hey baby, would you like an escort out of here?" Her tone is surprisingly solicitous. Feeling the devil-kin's hot breath on his shoulder causes literal steam to waft off Kevan's exposed neck. A few hairs stand on end. Don't get tempted by the dev... Suddenly, he hears movement nearby and chances a glance from under the hat. His heart skips a beat. Q, hearing Narcissa, stands from the table, a bit awkwardly. Queale?! The panic swings violently to admiration. Perhaps it was the lights sparkling, or just spots on his vision from over-exertion, but… She looks... she looks... I... I... there are no words. As violently as before, it swings back to panic. She can't see you like THIS! Narcissa nods to Queale and Brandi and indicates the door. "You two lead the way - I'll guard his rear..." Q steps up to the table and shoos a few dwarves out of the way. She doesn’t meet Kevan’s eyes. Brandi currently is topless, those thin blue straps really aren't suitable for a scrum, holding a plump Khundrakar dwarf-wife in a headlock. She nods breathlessly to Kevan. "Coming?" The hat comes very close to falling off. "...soon." With the three women in place as a guard, Q braces herself and starts clearing a path. He squeals a little, before altering his voice to a much more bassy tone. " Umm if you could get me back to the stage, I would be most appreciative ." “I think the door is closer. And we can close it,” Q suggests. Narcissa eyes the stage and the frenzied throng. "If that's what you want, babe. Sure you can handle them?" He looks her up and down. "...with permission," falls out of his mouth Q glances back, startled at that strange statement from the bard. She looks up at Narcissa and nods her head to the main door. Narcissa raises an eyebrow but raises a thigh-booted leg and climbs onto the table, yelling in a VERY loud voice: "LADIES! THE PERFORMER WILL BE RETAKING THE STAGE!!! CLEAR THE PATH!!" As the women lead the way, Kevan continues the show, strutting rhythmically. Q's going to lead me outside. THEN where can I hide?! He leans over her shoulder and softly utters in her ear in the slow, deep voice, " I have a song to finish, Miss ," “You didn’t say you were performing for the Hen Supper. I thought you were performing for Fraener. That’s a different stage,” Q states. Ohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuuuuuuck! He pauses for a moment that feels like a lifetime. Q starts towards the stage as Narcissa bellows, clearing the path. She glances back at Kevan to make sure he’s not been swarmed. As he leaves the table, Kevan playfully tosses the tunic onto Barbara's pronounced belly. " Have a good evening ma'am. Ma'am ," he nods to both her and Mirna from behind his hat. Kevan is escorted stage-ward once more. Narcissa whispers in Kevan's ear as she provides a rear-guard: "Any time you want out of here, honey, just let me know. These dwarf girls are fiercer than a Krellan demon hound!" " Thanks babe ," he turns back and chucks the Tiefling's chin before passing a finger along it and her lower lip, continuing to face that direction as he struts back towards the stage. Narcissa seemingly half swoons at Kevan's touch. She giggles and blushes as she turns away from him. "Wow – what a performer!" She nods to Brandi. Caught up in the moment, Kevan’s peripheral vision deceives him, causing him to bump into Q. Instinctually, he catches her hand with his free hand, and chances a look through the side of his hat. She is more entrancing than ever... and I'm not even looking directly at her! Holding her hand is the only thing stopping him swooning. He leans in intimately close to her, his thumb grazing against her palm, as he whispers, "This isn't my fault. I'll explain later," She nods faintly at his words, an acknowledgement she heard, and finishes clearing the way to the stage. With Kevan safely up, Narcissa makes her way somewhat unsteadily back to her table. Brandi Ducaris adjusts her outfit to meet minimal standards of modesty. Eyeing Queale thoughtfully, Brandi follows Narcissa back to their table, whilst Q squeezes past the others and towards the door leading out into the hall. Kevan sneaks one last look back, spotting her heading for the hall. Ok, Minor Illusion. Don't let me down! Get her to look one more time! He summons the sound of a voice in the space just behind the fleeing ranger. It says one letter in a familiar voice "Q!" In a swift, flowing movement, Kevan removes his breeches, revealing the undergarments he had remembered to put on. He turns to face the crowd one last time, as the music builds to its inevitable conclusion. Is she going to be looking? IS she going to be looking? She glances back as she slips through the door. Feeling the build-up, Kevan really wishes he had the Immovable Rod with him. Hearing the cue, Kevan just has time for one more thought. So long, pants. Many things then happen at once. Kevan drops the Mage Hand, causing the hat to fall. He rips his pants at one side with one hand, causing them to start to come away. He flings his other hand round with a flourish to catch the falling hat in JUST the right place. Finally, as the crowd cheers, he summons the Mage Hand inside the hat, leaving both hands free to wave and blow kisses to the crowd. Thank the Gods I have this damn mask! The door closes behind Q, the noise buried under the screaming from inside. Her attention is immediately taken by Jyrdani, who is strolling down the hall. "Oh, evening Queale. Just got done putting the baby down and thought I'd come check out some of the entertainment. What on Toril is going on in there? Sounds like a melee! Hey, are you okay? You look a little... peaky." “Jyrdani,” Q greets, obviously shaking herself into a different mindset. “You’ve just missed a rather, uh, unexpected act, I’m afraid, but there is plenty of alcohol still flowing freely. It got a bit rowdy,” she looks down at the shoe she is somehow still holding. Jyrdani looks to the shoe, too. "Er... is that a man's shoe? I tell you what, as wonderful as Erasmus is, having a child means you miss out on so much. If you're sure you're okay, I may just pop in and grab a quick drink. See you in a bit!" The barbarian enters and stops dead in her tracks. "Um, Queale - there's a naked man in there..." Q sighs heavily, hefting the shoe up in response. “I know. He should hopefully still have the hat.” "He does, but he's waving with both hands..." Jyrdani blushes a little more. Q reaches out and pats Jyrdani’s arm. “Meryem’s the redhead in there, she’ll have plenty of drinks.” She looks up at Jyrdani, “I’ll be back inside in a few minutes. If Meryem hasn’t gotten you well and truly started, I’ll find you something strong.” "I... um... okay." Jyrdani peels her eyes of the 'spectacle' and glances around the room. She sees the other redhead and nods to Queale. "I see her. See you in a bit." Q leans against the re-closed door for a moment then pushes off to go find a mirror and fix her hair after tussling with excited Dwarven ladies. It didn’t matter how you felt, she had grown up knowing you had to look your best at all times in courtly situations. Before the horde decide to charge the stage, Kevan gesticulates wildly for the lights to be put out with a cutting motion across his neck. Once in the dark, he awkwardly and briskly waddles back to the dressing room, scooping up his burgundy breeches and severed pants with one hand. These will need stitches. Jyrdani approaches Meryem and coughs. "Um, excuse me but, are you Meryam? Queale said I might be able to bother you for a drink?" Meryem sees a young woman, not a lot older than she is with fairly similar-coloured hair. She's muscular like Meryem too, but smaller in stature. Meryem smiles at the other redhead. "Sure, follow me. I need a refill as it is," the tall Redhegman barbarian replies. "Thank you. I love your hair, by the way." Shyly, Meryem reaches and touches the clips. "Q put them in," she replies. "She did a good job, it looks great. Cheers, ladies." Jyrdani raises her glass. After fixing her hair and clothes, calm settles around Q like armour. Checking her hair once more with deft fingers, she returns to the hen supper. She opens the door into the noisy room, glancing up at the empty stage and absently notices another shoe. She collects it from where someone had maybe attempted to use it as a glass and drink out of it. The cloak is being worn by a cheerful dwarf-lady and the shirt is folded neatly by Barbara’s elbow. She decides to attempt to trade a fresh bottle of superb alcohol for the cloak later and stashes one away. She drops down by Meryem and Jyrdani after refilling Mirna’s glass and holds up her own towards the barbarians in cheers. "I should probably go see the bride-to-be before I retire. I have to be there in case the baby wakes. Goodnight to you both." Jyrdani rises and leaves the table, heading over to where Mirna is sat with Barbara. "Lady Mirna? Congratulations on your wedding. I wish you the best of luck for tomorrow. Barbara, it is lovely to see you, we must catch up when time allows. I'll see you both tomorrow, I must go and be with Erasmus. Goodnight." “Dear Jyrdani, I have heard much about you from my husband. And about the sacrifice made by Erasmus, without whom none of this would have been possible. I thank you for coming, you bless our union and our home with your presence. You will always be welcome here as will your son. Good night and sleep well.” Soon enough, most of the other guests start to say their goodnights and turn in for the evening, ahead of the big wedding ceremony in the morning. Q manages to collect most of Kevan’s shed clothes by way of picking them up when others were distracted – and if the bottle of booze that was a distraction was placed down by her, well, she’s not bothering anyone with those details. By the time she retires, the only thing she couldn’t find was one stocking, which doesn’t surprise her as she grew up with the story of the stocking-eating monster and had lost a few stockings herself – though she’s pretty sure his is just tucked into a dwarf maid’s pocket. Looking at the clothes in her hands, she folds them up into a careful bundle using the rescued cape as a bag of sorts and goes to find a steward who could perhaps return them to the bard. Hopefully someone found him some clothes other than that hat in the meanwhile. And get ahold of yourself! You've made a fool of yourself already . She reminds herself, thinking back to the rest of the trip from Helix, and the meal after, with a bit of a cringe. Brother would have laughed... That acts like a bucket of mountain water: icy and sobering. Brother would have laughed then gone to threaten him, but brother is gone. And I need to know more about Lyrabar; something didn't come through from my network. I really should have spoken to Tenho before the Hen Supper; I must speak to him before he goes.

Taken from the Norrin's Band IC Roleplay chat on Discord. Collated and edited by J. Chapter 5 - Wedding Tensions The great day dawns, and rather hungover revellers gather in the great hall of the Foundry for the wedding of King Fraener Ap-Durgeddein and Lady Mirna Norasdottir. With a mildly sore head, Q hunts down Tenho to indicate she needed to talk to him in private about Lyrabar before he leaves. Her gown today is far more stylish than her one yesterday, her best reserved for such an occasion, and her hair done intricately as per one of the wedding attendant’s styles and she drifts through the guests looking for him, pausing to greet familiar faces. She skips the morning meal offering as she expects that the wedding feast will undoubtedly put the seams of her dress to the test. Early morning and Fraener seeks out Tenho and Queale. He wants to run some concerns of his past the duo who seem to have their fingers on the pulse of current events. Fortunately, Q and Tenho find each other first. Tenho's eyes widen slightly at the sight of Queale looking her best. "My goodness... " he nods at her request. "Lyrabar? Yes, of course." “Specifically, events surrounding a bard, possibly raised by dwarves, perhaps worked under the local Lord and was trained up by the Jester, maybe.” She adds. Tenho's eyes narrow again. He nods thoughtfully. "A bard, indeed. A bard who, perhaps, seduced and abandoned the Lady Helga Helleborus, wife of the Baron Beaumaris?" She blinks. “That is interesting and not at all what I was expecting.” Spotting Fraener, Q goes to see what she missed last night. “Morning Queale, sounds like the ladies had a fine old time? I’m afraid we men were somewhat in the shadow of events to properly relax. Can I run an idea or two past you and Tenho before I bring it before the Dwarves?” He suggests they retire to his private quarters behind the throne room. The one with the big map table. She nods, “Yes. I was wondering if anything had been discussed that would be good for me to know. Such events usually include interesting conversations, although not so much on our side last night. If we spot Tenho; I’ll need a word with him as well but that can wait.” Standing before the great map, Fraener points out the various locations as he outlines his concerns. “We seem to have enemies all around. Enemies who by themselves would be a concern but, when held together by some unknown hand, could threaten all that we stand for and have built.” “I’ve noticed threads of this in the letters from my contacts and the news Tenho has been bringing,” Q agrees, tracing a gloved hand over the map. “Why don’t you lay out your concerns and see if my information aligns?” Fraener continues, pointing at the map, “To the west and north, it would seem my suspicions, long held, that the Frost Giants are in league with the priests of Talos at Stormcaller Tor, have been confirmed. Worse is the news brought by Tenho that it could well be a conspiracy of Giants that will fall upon Arcata and maybe as soon as the coming winter. Fire Giants building a lava road across the Galena’s, Dwarven exiles from Hillsafar Hall working in concert with the Frost Giants and his revelation that Talos is also favoured by many stone and cloud giants - and a few storm giants of harsher nature. Speaks a stark warning of the troubles we can expect in the coming months.” She nods, “That would indeed be a possibility. A winter attack would be more devastating due to the Frost Giants’ advantage in the cold. And if they ally with the Fire Giants, they could bring them across the snows easily and destroy the winter food supplies, starving out whole regions.” “And with a weak Duke at Valls ….” “Chaos. Ripe for political manoeuvring,” she agrees “I have a plan.” She rests one hand on the map, “Speak it, my friend.” The careworn cleric, who will be wed in but a few hours, puts forward his desperate plan. “I have made no secret of the plans Mirna and I harbour to secure a Dwarven alliance. To build a shield for southern Arcata. These plans, I hope, will come to fruition very soon. Indeed, my brother hopes to lead an expedition against the Ogres on Fang Mountain straight after the wedding and then free the Sidewinder of the Crocodile-Demon that has haunted it for too long. “Once the Vale is secure, my suggestion is a bold strike on the Frost Giants before winter. Gruffyd, in his time on the glacier has uncovered the whereabouts of the Frost Giant’s home. If we can strike fast and hard, I think we can stop this winter’s attacks. But we must gain political capital from this dangerous adventure too. “Duke William is deathly afraid of the coming raids. He seeks to use our friend Norrin to shield Valls. Well, I think there should be a considerable cost attached to Norrin’s help. The Ducal seat itself.” He pauses, waiting to see if his treason is well-received or denounced. She nods. “If we interrupt the giant alliance now by attacking the frost giants before it gets cold, we will have some advantage.” “We would indeed, though on the Glacier the cold is always as great an enemy as the Giants. I would suggest we must strike no later than the end of this month.” “That would then give us time to position Norrin over the autumn politically and would leave the fire giants weak in the winter. Then come spring, push him politically.” “William is a thing of the Banacath’s who in turn is on a throne that rightfully belongs to the Dragonsbane. But for the Witch of Ostel, that worthy champion would be King now and much in Arcata would be better.” Fraener outlines the machinations of the wicked baronesses of Ostel, pointing out her seeming alliance with the Crimson Monks and reinforcing the rumours that she was behind the Banacath succession. “By having a worthy and strong Duke in Arcata, one who supports Gareth Dragonsbane. We not only have a better chance to save the people of Vals and beyond but to replace a suspect King with a fine one. I say the price of saving Valls and southern Arcata, is Norrin on the Ducal throne and Gareth Dragonsbane on the throne of Damara.” He breathes deeply. His plans have been a secret for a long time. Now they are in the open and he’s unsure what support they will have. She nods, “let me know where my bow is best placed to help.” Fraener breathes a sigh of relief, “And for now I beg your discretion. Timing will be everything in these matters and I must first wed my love and then secure my Kingdom before we strike.” Showing his fellow conspirators out he retires to his chambers where he will dress in the freshly polished armour of his grandfather, the last King Under the Mountain. Now it is his turn and, with Mirna Norasdottir at his side, he will have a fine chance to build a future. Queale turns to Tenho, remembering their earlier conversation. ‘A bard who, perhaps, seduced and abandoned the Lady Helga Helleborus, wife of the Baron Beaumaris?’ Could it be? “I need all the details.” *** Kevan awakes with a start and a cold sweat. He has a splitting headache and no real recollection of what happened after the show… or why he’s still in the dressing room, buried in a pile of costumes. The brandy bottle is empty in one hand, his other is trapped below a pile of Valkyrie dwarves. There appear to be at least three in his immediate vicinity. He looks down and sees that he is shirtless. Oh no! I didn’t… He lifts the costumes off his lower half, revealing he is still, thankfully, wearing his burgundy breeches. This is quite possibly the worst hangover the bard has ever had - and he’s had a few bad ones in his time. He dunks his head in the water-clock before stumbling over to his dressing table. Looking in the mirror, he notes his face and bare chest are covered in kiss marks, he still has the purple half mask on… and a Valkyrie helmet has been strapped to his head. Despite the evidence that there was a wild and enjoyable after-show party, Kevan can’t shake the nagging feeling that he is about to get in a LOT of trouble… *** Tenho nods. "That will take some time. Lyrabar is far away. With your permission, I would like to go straight to the horse's mouth, as it were. Truth or falsehood, both can be enlightening..." Tenho rubs his bearded chin. "Queale... I probably don't need to say this but… be careful with that one. You know the reputation of Bards - love them and leave them - I have no wish to see you hurt." She smooths a hand down the front of her dress, a nervous habit. “I admit I may be deeper than I know is wise. I think that conversation needs to be done.” Tenho Isotalo nods. "I will speak with him." Something about his tone indicates that, should the answers prove unsatisfactory, things will not go well for the Bard of Lyrabar. Despite her embarrassment at her own actions, she relays what she had gleaned from the various conversations. “He doesn’t ‘feel’ off but there is certainly something hidden.” Tenho listens and nods. He turns to leave Queale, then pauses and turns back. "Oh, I believe his real name is Deveran." Her hand smooths down her dress before she catches herself in the motion and folds her hands neatly, her face smoothing out into an expression of Elven calm. “Deveran,” she repeats back, then nods. “We are both aware that there are always two sides of the story. If you have need of me for this conversation, let me know. Otherwise, I would appreciate knowing the outcome of the… discussion.” *** Taking an incredibly long time to get ready and put on his wedding outfit (the gold, embroidered doublet, and hose, over the silken white shirt, with his gold trim black leather boots subbed in for his missing blue suede shoes), Kevan adjusts his hair and applies his bergamot and narcissus fragrance. Suddenly, he feels a sinking feeling in his stomach, and an unexplained feeling of existential dread... he rushes to a nearby toilet... *** The great bells of Khundrakar ring out to announce the betrothal Of King Fraener and Queen Mirna, signalling that the wedding feast can begin. So far unable to make his way to the King and Queen of Khundrukar without encountering various dwarf-wives giving him a double-take, Kevan sighs and goes to the bar, placing the two bound scrolls of parchment he has on the counter. He then feels a foreboding tap on his shoulder. "A word, if you please, Mr Deveran,” utters Tenho Isotalo. Kevan feels the tap and hears the words but doesn't move. "I'm afraid you are mistaken, friend. I am Kevan Blackguard, travelling bard and minor inconvenience," he then turns to face the voice, regarding Tenho with a smile. Tenho smiles back, but the smile doesn't quite reach his eyes. "It was bold of you, to sing of the Knave of Lyrabar, that first night at Norrin's Hall." Tenho steeples his fingers. "I am Tenho Isotalo. I am not well known, perhaps, but I know a lot of things. A lot of people. Such as my good friend Donlevy the Young, the Baron Belmaris of Polten. His cousin Richard, the Baron Beaumaris of Lyrabar, reportedly was cuckolded by a cunning knave. A man he had once regarded as a friend. A man, it appears, who now travels Damara, singing of his misdeeds..." Tenho pauses. "But I am not here to defend Beaumaris honour. You are becoming close to someone I care about… very much. You understand my concern." Ted, the half-orc, gives his good friend Tenho a wave from the dancefloor as he struts his stuff. Tenho turns and raises his hand, acknowledging his good friend Ted, the deadliest assassin west of Ravensburg. Q aims to steal a dance from Ted, as he’s one of the few currently dancing not wearing heavy armour that will crush her feet with a misstep. While she’s dexterous, in her soft shoes that still hurts! The smile melts away from the bard's face. Though he doesn't show it outwardly, he is horrified at what has happened. Tenho... that name is familiar... 'someone I care about, very much'... He follows the wave to Ted and spots his new dancing partner. Her tight-fitting dress shines in the light, illuminating her more than anyone else in the room. But the dress is not the most beautiful thing about the dancer: it's the elegant, slender, proud, and pure half-elf underneath. Deveran watches her for a moment, noting the wide smile and laughter as she nimbly avoids the thrusts of the deadly half-orc with her. The reality hits Dev all at once. Queale. As if sensing eyes on her, Q skims the room. She spots Kevan (or is it Deveran?) and Tenho. Her smile falls away for a moment, face turning serious, but Ted draws her attention back and she can’t help but laugh at her dance partner’s enthusiasm. Tenho follows Kevan's look. "She's very beautiful. I can't honestly say I've ever seen her so... radiant." He remembers the conversation with the half-elven maid on the road back from Helix. The game they played, the story of where she studied. "The mouse," the bard chuckles to himself. He turns back to the threatening Tenho. Speaking in a low voice, grimacing a little. "Have you ever heard of hiding in plain sight... friend ?" the last word almost chokes him. "Word travels, might as well travel with them," he leans closer to Tenho's ear. " I know a few things too." Tenho folds his arms. "Hardby's mouse?" He evidently has good hearing. Kevan looks back at Queale dancing, but now she feels further away than ever. He huffs, without looking back. "What do you want? Me to leave? Have her to yourself? If you know who I am and where I am then doubtless others do too." Tenho chuckles, not very mirthfully. "At present, you are entirely safe. What I want... is to know what you want." Now THERE'S a question. What DO I want? "How is Dick? Still unhappily married?" he asks, referring to the Baron Beaumaris, the same Baron who Deveran has been running from. "Still married, last I heard. Happiness... well, Ilmater teaches, our reward is in Heaven." "Hey Narcissa!" Ted pulls the Tiefling onto the dance floor to join him, Q and the other dancers and encourages them to join him in a Goblin Town crowd pleaser. Q smiles over at Narcissa, preparing to cede the dance to Ted’s date, sliding to the side for her. Tenho continues. "I'll be happy to fill you in on all the latest court gossip, and anything else you should wish, once you have answered my questions, with something other than questions of your own. But I would advise that honesty is always the best policy." Tenho glances again over at Ted and Queale and Narcissa, then back to Kevan/Deveran. "At the very worst, you have had a little fun, and may depart now with your head high and your ball-sack intact." Kevan gives a rueful smile, shaking his head as he still watches the dancers. "The price on my head?" Tenho shakes his head. "What happened between you and Helga, Lady Beaumaris? What do you intend towards Queale? Answer me, now." The cheerful rogue's face is darker than those who've known him have ever seen. Q cedes Ted to his partner and deftly manoeuvres to where she sees other companions, to see whoever may agree to dance with her. As she moves, she casts a quick glance towards Tenho, looking for any signal to come over, even as she glides towards where Meryem and Bearchaser are standing heads and shoulders above most the rest of the guests. "I'm not doing this here... who knows who could be listening. Perhaps you'd like to take me to my dressing room." Kevan states rather than asks. Tenho nods curtly in agreement. He glances over as Queale catches his gaze, and calls over, smiling. "Queale! I just have a little business with Mr ...Blackguard... here before that dance I promised." She smiles back, a touch tightly to those who know her and then blinks, confused. A few shrieks from nearby dwarves are heard upon the sudden disappearance. Whilst Tenho had turned his back to look at Q, Kevan had turned invisible. Tenho's eyes widen as he sees Kevan is gone. Almost without thought, Q moves towards the doors. First rule of panic is to run for a way out – she’s dealt with many panicking people before. They hide or run. Kevan struck her as the running type and as an excellent rider, he’d know horses are the fastest. He was nearer the doors, but he’d have to move carefully which would give her time to get there first. Tenho sighs, "It seems I have my answer" - Then turns to the shriekers. "A Bardic trick. Do not be concerned." Kevan/Deveran knows his every instinct is telling him to run - like he has done for nearly two years now. But one thing keeps him tethered to this place, these people. Queale . He slips through the startled crowd, doing a large loop before approaching the dancefloor. He watches Q move to the doors, her eyes peeled. She's so practical. But has some deadly friends... does she want me dead? We need to talk. I'm not telling it all to some old flame of hers I barely know! He sneaks up behind Q, considering his next move. What will alarm her least? “Of all the silly things to do, he goes and flees while invisible,” she grumbles to herself as she strides out, dress flowing like mist behind her. “Emotionally constipated, that’s the issue. Can’t simply ask for help, can he?” "Oh I think you'll find I can," the bard cannot resist, trailing behind her. “You!” She spins around and points at the air in the general direction of his voice. “You promised me an explanation! And you were naked!” She snaps, then seems surprised at herself. “But that’s not the point!” She takes a deep breath and calm washes over her expression and posture, though she has to work her jaw once or twice to get her poker face back into place. Emotional armour in place, she glances around and finds a quieter corner and steps in that direction, assuming he’ll follow. He remembers their game back at the Festhall. He follows her and murmurs just loud enough for her to hear, "never have I ever seen Kevan Blackguard naked. Guess you'll have to drink next time," he can just about still laugh, even though his nerves are fried, like a cornered animal. Her sharp ears catch something; a strained tone to his voice, a quiver of breath – something to indicate something amiss. Finding a quiet corner, she points to it. “I’m not having this conversation to the air. Visible, now .” He retorts indignantly, "and have your psycho ex-boyfriend put a dagger in my back?! No thank you!" “Boyfriend? Who…? Tenho?” Q gapes for a moment then laughs, a musical peel. “Oh, goodness, no. Tenho is as family. Was he giving you the shovel talk?” She chuckles over the thought. “You don’t need to worry about him stabbing you in the back. But I’m wondering if I do need to worry about that from you?” She points again towards the corner. “Visible.” Ever one to respond badly to people barking orders, even one as beautiful as Q, he stands behind her, places his hands on her hips, and reappears. She turns fast on her heel, grabs his shirt, and yanks him away from her, glowing fist already dropping with an elven curse. Releasing his shirt, she snaps, “you insist on getting into my personal space without warning, don’t you!” The glow fades from her hand. She takes a deep breath and manages in an even voice, “you owe me an explanation.” He is standing there in his best outfit, and she in hers. Even as she scolds him, there is no place he would rather be. He hopes against hope that this will not be the last time he will be in her company, but things have just become more complicated. His smile feels sorrowful. "I know... but I'm not the only one who has some explaining to do." He fondly remembers that game he came up with for their ride back from Helix. He adjusts his posture to stand up straight but raises a single mirthful eyebrow. It is the only mirthful element of his appearance currently. "I think it's time for 'I tell, you tell' , don't you?" She considers him. “Depends, am I going to get the whole truth out of you?” “Deveran?” she adds bitterly. He considers her, but his pupils narrow at the mention of that name. "Depends... can I trust you to keep my secrets for me?" She tilts her head in consideration. “I suppose I could dig out a blood oath pact given enough time, but I really would need Tenho’s help with the ritual. Come, my room will be safer to have a conversation on secrets than a hallway.” "BLOOD pact?" Kevan is now a little more suspicious of the half-elf. After all, he's only known her a couple of weeks. Still, he can't help but follow her. Well, if she's a vampire I'm dead already. Halfway up the stairs, another thought comes to Queale’s mind. “Did you get your clothes back, by the way?” "My clothes? Umm... no, no I don't think so," He replies, still struggling to recall what happened after the show. “Hm,” she glances back at him. “I found everything but a stocking. No idea where that went. And your trousers, but the rest I gave to a steward to return to you. Maybe they put it in your room. You’ll probably need to let the shoe dry some more.” She... gathered up all my clothes for me? This was a kindness he did not expect. “I am interested in that explanation, and why I have bruises all up my shins from unhappy Dwarf-wives that took umbrage with not getting to, what’s the common slang? Cop a feel ? Luckily for you, I doubt anyone else recognised the mask, but I’d probably keep my clothes on around the dwarf-wives for a bit in case they recognise other pieces of you.” She pushes open the door to her room and glides in. He imagines all the horrible fates that could have befallen that shoe. Probably should burn that one... could always buy some more. He wants to laugh about the whole event with her, but her tone is far too serious for that. "Where did you want me to start? How I ended up being the talk of the Hen Supper, or whatever it was that got you to send the Ball-Sack Butcher after me?" he starts off in an even tone, but there is a little hurt in his voice by the end. He steps decisively into the room and closes the door. “I asked about Lyrabar,” she admits honestly. “Tenho is overprotective but honestly, he wouldn’t have gelded you unless you actively meant me harm.” She pulls off her gloves and lays them on the table. “But you did promise me an explanation. My shins deserve it.” She lifts the hem of her dress to reveal one still bruised shin. It wasn’t worth using a healing spell on as they didn’t really hurt. Pulling out a chair, she settles into it, carefully arranging her dress so as to not wrinkle. She motions to the other chair. He remains standing and huffs. "Harmless, is he? Could have fooled me." He folds his arms defensively, but his face then softens, basking in the presence of her piece by piece revealing a little more of herself; one hand, then the other, then a shin. Before he falls under her spell further, he shrugs off her subtle charms. "What are you, a spy? An assassin like your friend, Ted?" “I didn’t say he was harmless, I said he wouldn’t geld you. Really, it’s the mouse you would have to worry about, but luckily for you the mouse isn’t here.” She says, remembering events from long ago. “I’m neither spy nor assassin. I suppose you might call me criminal but only if you own slaves. I’ve broken into many places to grant freedom to people.” It was the straw that broke the camel's back... or the mouse that broke the tension. He laughs uncontrollably. "The mouse," he shakes his head. She motions to the chair again, her lips twitching into a small smile. Her words sink in, but it reminds him of his original purpose as much as of a title he once gave the ranger. "Breaker of chains, indeed. Still doesn't explain why you sent Tenho the Psycho after me." He walks close to the chair but still stands. “I asked Tenho about Lyrabar. He told me things which don’t align with what I see in you. So, tell me a story Deveran-Kevan. And tell it to me true.” She holds up a quick hand to stall any immediate response. “Don’t tell me the court lies that Tenho heard or the pretty version to spare me. Tell me the truth of it.” He pauses, looking deep into her eyes. He suspects no falsehood in her, but he has to be sure. "Promise me that you will keep this between us." “As long as what you tell me will not mean I have to overlook harm to you or others, then it is of no business to anyone else, and I do not share other’s business. But if what you tell me and needing to keep it secret means harm elsewhere, I cannot promise.” He nods. "Then you must know that to repeat this secret will result in harm to me. Even death." She nods. “I understand. Then I expect what you tell me to be the truth. If this is understood, you have my word. It won’t stop me from pushing you to seek help if I think it would be of value,” she advises, “but I guard many secrets.” She tugs a little at the necklace chain before settling her hands on her lap. "Fine," a weight falls from him as he half-collapses into the chair. "Then I shall tell you about Deveran... and Kevan Blackguard." He looks about the room. "You might need a drink... I know I will." She stands and crosses over to the silvery bag and withdraws a bottle of the good booze from the Hen Supper that she hadn’t had to use as bribes when rescuing his clothes. She sets it on the table and settles back into her chair. Kevan sighs a long sigh. “I have told you some of this before... more than I should have, actually. But you do disarm me, Miss Queale,” he smiles at her pitifully. “I made every effort not to lie to you. I just... may have omitted some parts... “Deveran was a half-elf orphan, taken in by two Dwarves. Their names were Rawlin and Tamarind. They owned a small Inn under a bridge in Lyrabar. The boy waited tables, washed pots, did whatever else and tried to keep out of the way. But music was always in his heart. A musician was playing one night, and the boy started singing as he waited the tables. One Lord was there that evening and heard the boy's voice. He was the old Baron Beaumaris himself. He saw potential in the boy and took him in as a retainer.” He smiles warmly. “Deveran was raised to be a troubadour, house servant and even squire to the Baron's son, Richard Beaumaris... Dick. The two were brought up together and became fast friends. As teens, Dick would go on adventures and bring Dev along with him. Dick and Dev... it sounds so silly now. Dick was the knight-lord, Dev was his inspirational squire, for he had started to learn music's connection to the Weave.” The smile drops to sorrow. “At age 24, Dick and Dev lost their dad. Baron Beaumaris passed away peacefully, but that didn't make his passing easier. Dick was the new Baron, and the most eligible bachelor in Lyrabar. Many threw themselves at him,” he laughs bitterly, “as feverishly as the dwarf-wives... but Dick did not want a wife, at least, not yet. “One day, the pair were out in the provinces, seeking shelter at a local tavern. There they met a young noblewoman, red-haired, clever, fierce and beautiful." He swallows hard. "Her name was Helga Helleborus.” He pauses a moment to take a swig. “Dev recognised her from when he was a child. Her family had once visited the tavern too. He struck up conversation with her, his usual charm failing him under her gaze but, despite his best efforts, she grew fond of the squire, and he her. Unfortunately, the new Baron Beaumaris felt the same way, equally enjoying her company.” His head droops. “He took her for his wife.” Queale folds her hands tightly together to keep from moving or otherwise interrupting. “Dev was hopelessly in love, a forbidden love. The Beaumaris' had given him everything: his life, his opportunities, his station. But he would give it all up for Helga. Within a few years, the Baron grew tired of his wife, going on longer and longer excursions with his trusty squire in tow, fighting, hunting, whoring. He had changed from the boy Deveran had grown up with. But Dev had changed too. He had begun to lie and deceive. Though he hadn't acted yet, he had betrayed his best friend. “It started with love letters, discreetly passed between each other. Helga and he dreamed of running away together, starting a simple life somewhere. It was never to be. His anger at the Baron's treatment of her made his betrayal all the easier. Dev faked an illness to get out of Dick's latest excursion. That is when he and Helga's tryst began... an affair that would last for years, undetected.” He blinks profusely and shakes his head. “Deveran never asked why the Baroness simply wouldn't leave the Baron, why Deveran had to be the shadow, the other man , the bit on the side. I don't think he wanted to know the answer. Safe to say, he never got to ask. One day, a servant caught him in the Baron's bedchamber and raised the alarm. Deveran looked at Helga one last time, took what he could carry, and ran.” He puts a hand on his chest, feeling the necklace below it. He looks to Queale, tears in his eyes, but not yet running free. He bows his head and reaches inside his doublet, fishing out the necklace and, for the first time, takes it off, showing the ruby pendant to her. “Including this. It was hers.” Q instinctively holds out her hand for the necklace. He places it carefully in her hand, avoiding her gaze, before leaning back into the chair, staring sheepishly at a spot between the wall and the floor. “Deveran went into hiding, desperately trying to find a way out of the city. He heard rumours begin to spread about the Knave of Lyrabar. That he had made the Baron cuckold, that the Baron's wrath knew no quarter, that the price on his head was high. Deveran was forever tarnished... Deveran would get him killed. “Deveran was a coward, a traitor, a snake, an adulterer... the Knave of Lyrabar? A blaggard... a Blackguard.” He puts the invisible pieces together. “Knave Blackguard... Kevan Blackguard.” She turns the necklace over in her hands and ponders what she has heard. “So why seek out Norrin? If you had hoped to hide, then why go to a group that has unflattering rumours? You had to know that to walk alongside us would be to open yourself for scrutiny.” He shakes his head, silently chiding himself. “Because if Norrin's Band had assassinated nobles before, could they do so again? Or better yet, could these liberators of slaves save a Baroness from her gilded cage?” He beholds Queale again, a single tear running down his cheek, but more threatening to follow. "I wished to save her... but she does not need saving." He wipes it away, but another soon takes its place. "For two years, I have been on the run for my own foolishness, beholden to a woman who never loved me. The more time passes, the more I see that. She could have left of her own volition if she chose. She could have tried to find me, make contact... something! But instead..." his voice breaks. "...nothing." Q reaches out to brush away the tear with her thumb as she considers him and her next words carefully. “I think… that no one needs to be freed, except maybe you. Funny thing, this little ragtag group is good at saving people, especially those that want to be saved.” She drops her hand to grip at his. Setting the necklace on the table, she stands, tugging him upright. When he’s vaguely on his feet, she wraps him in a hug like she remembers her parents used to do, like her brother used to do. He holds her tight, the tears flowing freely. She murmurs soothing nonsense and pats his back gently, letting him work through the emotional storm. It takes a few moments, this release years in the making, but when it subsides, he pulls back, his hands on her waist. “I set out to save someone,” he blubs. “I never knew it was me... until I met you,” he searches her face, trying to read her expressions: her beautiful, expressive face. She rubs at the tear tracks on his cheek and teases gently, “I told you we were good at saving people, we didn’t even know you needed to be saved yet and we managed.” She gets serious again, “I won’t speak of it to Tenho or the others – not beyond assuring them that all is currently well – but you should consider it. Tenho is far better at politics and intrigue than I and, if you are done running, he’s best placed to help clear your name or bury it. But you should tell Norrin – if he’ll be offering protection, then he’ll need to know from what.” A laugh emerges from the blubbing. He wipes his face and breathes deeply, taking in her advice. He speaks more evenly. “Enough of this 'we' business, Queale. We didn't save me – you did!” He remembers the words that clung to him in Helix, and outside her door. “Nobody else… just you.” Her expression softens. “Disarmed and confused, hm?” “Like the worst knight in history.” “Speaking of knights – or rather this night. It’s Fraener and Mirna’s night so I must rejoin the festivities. And I would hope that you’d be willing to brave it, though fair warning, you will likely have to tolerate some… posturing from Tenho, I’m afraid. He’ll not be overly satisfied with a vague explanation and your disappearing act wouldn’t have enamoured him,” she explains. “But,” she adds, “at least it’s not the mouse.” He nods, the trademark smirk appearing for the first time this evening. He locks eyes with her. “Fortunately, I'm not trying to enamour Tenho the Miserable... nor the mouse,” he chuckles before regaining focus, tilting his head and raising his eyebrows to tell her the rest of that sentence without words. “One last question, before we depart?” “Mm?” Her thoughts are already on smoothing things with Tenho. He bows like a true gentleman of the court, extending his hand. “Will you, the most beautiful woman a bard has ever written a song about, dance with this lowly lad from Lyrabar?” She slips her hand into his. “You only had to ask.” She tugs him towards the door and casts a glance back at the necklace abandoned on the table. He replies in kind, tugging her into his arms. She lets him steal a kiss, relaxing into it for a moment, “You asked for a dance,” she murmurs, as a reminder, then steps back and smooths a hand down his shoulder until she’s able to tuck her hand into his elbow. “What can I say? Kevan Blackguard is a rapacious rogue, indeed!” He winks. “Best get that dance in before the mead has become too potent, and anyone realises where Ted’s dances originate from. Not sure how much of the dance floor will be left after that.” She continues. “There’s time for working out everything else later. Oh, and before I forget…” "Hmm?" “There has never been any proof of assassinations of nobles done by any member of Norrin’s group, to my knowledge,” she says as she tugs the door shut tightly behind them, eyes grinning though her expression is bland. “Guess that’s why we need a bard, to help our reputations in face of such rumours, yes?” She looks up at him, a question in her expression. To continued good company? He gives a knowing side-eye as they continue their route. "That's one reason... but bards have many uses. Besmirching the reputation of certain lazy Dukes, for instance. Spreading illicit rumours. Diplomatic missions to smooth relations with potential allies. Creating very convincing documents. Insulting entire peoples through song." He waits for her inevitable look. "This bard is a jack-of-all-trades." A corner of her lip twists up in a smothered smile and they had back to the party. Tenho Isotalo is, as expected, hovering close by outside. He looks to Queale's expression, satisfying himself that all seems well, and nods slightly, almost to himself. Arm in arm with an angel, Kevan smiles smugly at Tenho and nods. "Ah, Tenho the Testicle-Twister. Good to see you again, Mr Isolate-o." He doesn't wait for a response and continues to the dancefloor at Queale's urging. Tenho just looks thoughtful as Kevan parades past with his angel to the dance floor.

Taken from the Norrin's Band IC Roleplay chat on Discord. Collated and edited by J. Chapter 6 - Amongst Friends Some dances later, Q manages to locate the steward she had given Kevan’s clothes to and finds out they were put in a corner, since the bard hadn’t been able to be found at the time. She collects the bundle and puts it into her Bag of Holding. The two scrolls Kevan had left at the bar are also produced from a safe spot. Anything left on the bar is tucked away for its owners later to be protected from flowing beer and other assorted alcohols. She passes them over to Kevan. He gratefully takes the scrolls with a sigh of relief. "Thank you, Miss Queale," he says politely, as if speaking to a stranger, before adding in a hushed tone, "I hope you will not always have to clear up after this mess of a maestro!" He surveys the scene of Dwarven joy and the sea of faces, familiar and new. He leans a little closer to the immaculately dressed ranger. "I'm not sure the others are ready for this yet... whatever this is," he indicates the two of them with his eyes. "Besides, if there's one thing I've learned in my time... it’s that, despite the danger, there's nothing quite as exhilarating as trying to evade discovery. Don't you agree, ranger?" She considers him for a moment, mind spinning through thoughts, discarding silly ones like is he embarrassed, or afraid of Tenho. She finally decides to set the matter aside for the moment. "I think we need to figure out what this is first, until then, there's nothing to share, is there? And that can wait for a few days until there is less excitement." She taps the scrolls with a faint smile. "Don't you have a gift to deliver? And some sort of explanation that doesn't involve explaining who Mirna's unexpected entertainment was." NOTHING to share? If I had a close confidante, I would be sharing every last exciting detail! Perhaps I should start journalling? He shakes off the thoughts with a smile, “And we have all the time in the world to figure that out, milady,” he winks. Suddenly he recalls the events that lead to him being the bard in the buff, “Oh, I would hope Mirna's new husband would have explained... I believe it was some sort of bachelor's prank. They stitched me up better than my re-sown undergarments!” He looks at the scrolls, “Kind of ruins my wedding present though. I had hoped to perform it for them both. Perhaps I'll leave it until Norrin's party – the song was written about BOTH couples, after all.” She looks at him bewildered, “I... don't think so. That's not Fraener's style.” “Wait, what? It isn't?” he thinks hard about who would wish to humiliate him most in Norrin's Band. “Bearchaser then, most likely,” “Bearchaser wouldn't have either. Meryem was in there.” She frowns out over the party, puzzling over this. “Who told you to go to that stage? And for that matter, why did you...” she makes a vague motion with her hand, “…perform.” Kevan shrugs. “I still think he would have – a person of his stature would never suspect me to be as well-e...” her questions distract him. “Oh erm... didn't get her name, actually. Umm... the lady over there,” he points to Mrs Gunnderson. Mrs. Gunnderson glowers at the effeminate stripper, her ears burning. That is definitely what the guard told her – the ten o’clock slot for the big stage. “As for why... at first, I thought it was my usual set at the King's request. By the time it dawned on me that the audience wanted – more – I realised I had been duped. But I'm never one to back down from a challenge!" he tilts his head. “Probably what drew me to you, actually. Seeing that smoulder and pout as I sang my song about being a fey mistake,” he teases. “We're not,” she says, voice firm. “We're not mistakes. Just because we aren't as pedigree, doesn't mean we're lesser or half of any other race.” He looks up at her sudden shift in tone. Admiring her angelic face, he sighs wistfully. “In your case, my lady, I am sure you are right. Nothing as perfect as thee could ever be an accident.” As the music number ends, Meryem looked up into Bearchaser's eyes. “That was nice. If you don't mind, I would like to have a word with Q. I will be right back.” She slips out of Bearchaser's arms and blows him a kiss as she walks away, her velvet gown swaying seductively. Kevan looks back to the crowd, and sees the blood-haired Meryem Bloodletter approaching before quickly turning back. "In my case, no. If I was intentional I would never have been an orphan." Approaching Q and Kevan, Meryem clears her throat to get their attention. Q is about to approach Mrs Gunnderson to figure out what had happened last night when she sees Meryem, “Hello, Meryem. You look very lovely tonight.” Kevan’s sadness is soon painted over by his social cheeriness. “Meryem! Wow! You look simply radiant!” Meryem blushes at the two compliments. Her cheeks are nearly as red as her hair. “Ah… thank you very much,” she stammers. “I have a favour to ask, if that is ok?” Q nods. “How can I, or we, help?” “After this next task to aid the dwarves, I will be going to a horse breeder to buy Bearchaser a horse of his own. I need you to keep him distracted while I am gone. Can you do that for me?” Kevan looks seriously at Meryem, before turning to Q with a sly grin. “I can't speak for the elven maid, but she certainly is the most distracting person in the room tonight,” he turns back to Meryem with a nod. "Though, you are a close second, oh lady of red!" “He’s sex mad!” Mrs Gunnderson tuts to herself, not impressed with his antics. “Can’t keep it in his trousers! Just like Mr. Gruffy said.” Q nods to Meryem, “Certainly. I'll invite him to practice and I'm sure there are plenty of other things we can do to keep him entertained.” "Thank you so much!" Meryem replies. "I won't be long; maybe three hours at the most." "Not a problem, Miss Bloodletter. If needs be, I'm sure I can make Bearchaser, the Bardchaser!" he grins. Meryem giggles at the image of Bearchaser chasing the much smaller bard. “Be careful. If you taunt him too much, he will forget you are a friendly and things could turn ugly.” “He will need to remember I am a friendly first, Meryem,” he adds dryly. “You proved yourself on our last adventure. He will never tell you, but he respects how you handled yourself.” The red-haired maiden states. Q nudges him a little. See? Kevan laughs loudly and suddenly. “I KNEW IT! He's just a big softie really! Oh, he'll never hear the end of it from me now!” he remembers where he is and reverts to a much more serious tone. “I mean, thank you for your kind words, Miss Bloodletter. Feels nice to be accepted by you,” he turns to the nudging Q, and adds in a flat tone, “all of you,” only Queale can see the deeper meaning in his eyes: the Deveran beneath the mask of Kevan. Her expression softens for a moment, but she turns to Meryem, “Just let me know which day you are going out, and consider it done.” Her eyes slide back to Mrs Gunnderson, curiosity burning at her. “If you can excuse me for a moment, I must have a quick word with someone, but I'll be right back.” "I will let you know. I need to get back to Bearchaser. He looked ready to bolt earlier. I think he is a bit nervous with so many people." She gives Q a quick hug and chucks a fist lightly on Kevan's shoulder. Kevan bids the ladies goodbye with a wave, before looking about him. Alone again... naturally. Queale heads over to Mrs Gunnderson for a quick chat. The worthy dwarf-wife curtsies before the famous ranger. Taking the opportunity to slip her false teeth back in. “Yes, ma’am?” “Sorry to interrupt, I was just curious about a little bit of confusion yesterday. Did you speak to a half-elf performer yesterday, by chance?” “The stripper? Yes ma’am I did. Can’t keep it in his trousers that one. I know the sort. All hair cream and no pay packet at the end of the week.” Q chokes slightly on her air. “Stripper? Who, um, indicated he was a stripper?” “Why he did, ma’am. I heard Guard Hagras ask him if as he was the stripper. Then he shouted over ‘turn for’t big stage, 10 o’clock. Heard it as plain as I’m hearing you now.” She purses her lips. “Not that I agree with that sort of thing.” “Ah, I see, thank you for that, and for your time.” Q bows slightly and excuses herself back over to Kevan. “Very welcome.” She mouths breathlessly. Q considers Kevan. “Did they ask you at the gate if you were a stripper?” she asks softly, mindful of other ears. Q eyes Malied swaying in the distance and wonders if she needs to find the drunken wizard a quiet corner or a bucket. Kevan takes a moment to think, “Ummm, not that I recall. I remember the guards shouting over that I needed to speak to the older dwarven matron, and she directed me to the Big Stage, my slot being the 10 o'clock one.” He remembers the Valkyrie dwarves, “I DID think it was odd that the Valkyrie girls told me to leave my hat on – but who am I to deny a king?” He follows Q's gaze to Malied. “Aha! The pyromancer made it after all. Shall we get him a drink...” he pulls a little nauseated face at Malied's state, “...of water?” “If you'll excuse me for a moment...hic!” Malied makes his way unsteadily out of the room towards the privy. “I think there was probably a bit of confusion,” Q watches Malied stagger out of the room and makes a mental note to ensure he gets some water if he manages to return. Turning back to Kevan, she adds, “They were expecting some entertainer of a similar description to you. I'd like to have a quick word with Guard Hagras at some point.” He scoffs. “Yes, we're two-a-piece, performers. I wonder what became of the REAL... ahem... McCoy,” he ponders. “That is an interesting question, that I have been wondering about. There wasn't a follow up act, certainly. When the guard called out to you, can you remember for certain what he said?” He catches Malied's blabbering and calls him over, “Mr Edicast!” Aside, to Q, “I'm a tough act to follow, Miss Queale,” he winks. Seeing Malied staggering over, she sets the sensitive topic aside and asks the steward for some water for the magic user. The wizard, meanwhile, has cast Mage Hand and Unseen Servant and is beginning to juggle a ball between the three of them. Quoth chases the ball from one to the other. "Having fun, Malied?" Q asks. "I assume you've tried the wedding brew?" "...I think so. I've never been to a wedding, you know." Swaying slightly, he asks, "this enough entertainment?" "Very much so," she says, hoping that he doesn't plan to add fire to his entertainment. Her dress would never be salvageable if there was an accident. “Fair enough...” He looks at Q. "Do you know how to Dance?" "I do, certainly. Are you certain you can manage a dance at the moment though," she looks pointedly at his swaying. "I'll be fine, Quoth will keep me steady, won't you boy?" The raven looks at Q and seems to sigh. Q hides a smile at the disgruntled looking bird. "Perhaps a bit of water first, and a sit down," she recommends. "I'm not sure Quoth is quite ready for a turn around the dance floor. Why don't we give him a few minutes?" She motions to the table where Meryem and Bearchaser are sitting where there are plenty of free seats. "OK, come on boy, I'll even have a drink with you..." it would appear that Malied is going to have one hell of a hangover tomorrow. He reaches for more alcohol before Quoth jabs him again. Q deftly swaps it out with water. She glances around to do a headcount of the rest of her friends. After skimming the room a few times, she still comes up short of Ted. Another check reveals no Narcissa either, which was an explanation to his disappearance. She relaxes into a chair to chat with her companions, nudging out the chair beside her for Kevan, and settles in to enjoy the rest of the evening until exhaustion or other entertainment draws them away. She casts a pitying look at Malied – he is very much going to regret the next morning. Kevan looks from Q to the water, to Malied, to his cup of beer. "Sure. One drink can't hurt," he grins. He deftly swaps Malied's water with his beer. "To new friends... and half-elven fortitude!" "I don't think half-elven fortitude is doing Malied much good tonight," Q points out. "I don't think he realised the wedding drinks are extremely potent." "He's lucky he didn't have the dressing room brandy," Kevan murmurs. Q's eyes flick his way, curious but not asking. "Oh sorry, Malied. You appear to have my drink," Kevan catches the tankard before Malied can sip from it and swaps the drinks back. Mailed has his Unseen Servant bring him some food and Mage Hand bring him some water. Life appears to be so much easier as a Wizard, even when you’re drunk. Kevan, as mischievous as ever, leans forward to the table, "Now, Mr Inebri-cast, let me introduce you to some classic drinking games. We need to train you up for Norrin's do! Shall we start with 'I Tell, You Tell', 'Never Have I Ever' or WAIT... I can play that old Dwarven favourite Rock Clan ! So basically, all the dwarves drink on 'Rock Clan' while everyone else drinks on 'Go down the Red Mine'..." Kevan regales the rest of the table long into the night with his party games, making sure Malied is topped up with water, and Queale, above everyone else, is still entertained...