Part 2: The meeting of paths

Akiran meets Dredan's glare with a friendly yet obviously concerned look. Nodding with a simple "You honor me" after the quartermaster relents. Though The scales around Akiran's eyes widen at Thezra's remark, looking over to Dredan he shakes his head and with a friendly tone "Please forgive my ally. She is not used to working with the honorable soldiers of the Heartlands. Dredan is the Quartermaster for the Fort, without his say we would not even have been allowed to enter. It is with Fortune's grace that he is spared us a moment of his time, and a measure of his trust." Nodding with a deferential air towards the quartermaster. As the general enters Akiran watches the general trying to guage her response, as he tells himself that helping the Heartlands has to be the right thing to do. Jumping in as she poses her question "Of course, more than sufficient. Though I would like to offer our aid. We have proven ourselves capable, and may open doors where soldiers of the Heartlands are not able too."  

"Thanks." Ascian turns and Ember follows, disappearing into the Amber Market to search for a fletcher who will receive far less gold than he might have ten minutes ago.

Katrin nods, her expression grateful. "We leave the morning of the 34th. I can pay extra if that would speed things up."

Trask nods.  "We will let you know if you can be of any further assistance. You're welcome to investigate on your own. We may pay you if you find anything out. But for now, no further contracts will be implemented." Following the directions he was given, Ascian finds himself at the  Knocking Point , a small building off the Amber Market with an archery range in a small yard out behind. Inside, finely made bows line one wall, barrels of arrows and other archery supplies are spread across a small show floor. Behind a table, a tall, blonde-haired elven male is in the process of unstringing a bow. He looks up and smiles.  "Ah, welcome to the Knocking Point! I'm  Óliver. What can I do for you?" The woman smiles at Katrin and wiggles her fingers.  "These fingers only work so fast, dear."

"Very well," Sable acknowledges, offering the general a hand to shake. "It was our pleasure. If we discover anything more, we'll be sure to keep you informed."

Katrin nods again, another smile touching her face. "Of course. Thank you, for taking this on. I'll be back in a couple days." She takes another look around the shop. "My name is Katrin," she introduces herself, realizing belatedly that she should've done that when she first walked in.

The general takes Sable's hand, her grip much stronger than Sable's own through the leather gloves. "It's appreciated." The woman nods. "I'm Miranda," the woman says. "Miranda Savich. And, of course. It's not everyday I get to make a shirt for a dog."

Katrin laughs. "It's certainly appreciated. I'll see you in a couple days." She turns to head back out into the daylight.

Ascian wanders the store, looking over the different arrows with glassy pale eyes before they cut abruptly to the elf. "Do you have anything good against demons."

Akiran debates pushing further but realizes better to keep them friendly than risk losing them. Holding out his armored hand "Of course. We'll bring you anything of note that we find. And please, if you are able share anything that you learn. They know who we are and we kicked a rock into the dragons den, if you know what I mean. Any knowledge of our mutual foes you can share could be the difference between life or death for us."

Óliver raises his eyebrows. "Demons? Hmm. I've got some enchanted arrows that a friend of mine makes, but they are quite expensive. A few enchanted bows, but...well, the same problem there." The general shakes Akiran's hand as well and says, "We'll make sure to fill you in on anything you need to know."

Thezra exhales slowly through her nostrils, having stepped back upon hearing her companions' attempts to diffuse a situation she didn't realize had been started. Again, for that matter. The idea of speaking up makes its way straight to the tip of her tongue, but she presses her lips together to keep it from escaping. No doubt she'd somehow anger this General by even just commenting on the weather. Instead she decides to take the time to size the woman up, tracing her eyes over the fine green and gold trimmed lines of the regalia she wore, coming up to stop on the sharply accentuated scar that crossed her cheek. All of it spun a tale of struggle and upward climb that Thezra notes wouldn't stand out among her own people As the others seem to reach some sort of agreement with Trask, Thezra watches intently as the wizard and the warrior shake her hand, and quickly reaches her own out in kind. "Us as well. And I look forward to hearing what you learn. I may not have any familiarity with the ways of these lands," she looks down to meet the General's eye, her thickly orcish-accented common spoken in its usual firm-yet-calm cadence, "but strength and capability is recognizable across cultures." 

The general considers Thezra for a few moments again, then takes her hand and shakes it. "That it is." She releases her grip, and looks back to the quartermaster and says, "If you've paid them, have the guards show them out. Pleasure doing business with you all once again."

Ascian blinks. "How expensive." He thinks to say that he only has ten gold, but that feels like poor business.

Óliver grabs one of the enchanted arrows and places it on the table. "25 gold a piece, but they hit harder than anything you've shot before, and they should work on demons, too. Other than that, I have some bodkin and broadhead arrowheads that pack an extra punch. I've also got some more...eclectic ones that are interesting." He shows Ascian a selection of arrows. Some have vials of acid inside them, some look to be designed to attach to a rope. Some have tiny, strong nets inside, while still others be blunted with packs of powdered dye in place of the piercing head.

Ascian spends a not insignificant amount of time pouring over the arrows, but the pointed lightness in his pocket and reminder of more important purchases stills his hand from walking out with the arrows that he would have easily purchased an hour ago. As he had with Barnes, he dumps his coin pouch into his hand and meticulously counts out what is needed, curling his palm over the single silver that remains before handing the bulk over to the elf in return for an assortment of silver, broadhead, and even dye arrows that make him think of Marius. "Thanks."

Zachary H. said:  The gnome smiles. "Bone broth, ginger, and hot sauce. It'll make yer nose run, but the drumline poundin' in yer head'll fuck right off." He laughs. "I make no guarantees aboot the taste, though." Lilliana dubiously looks at the concoction, then back to the gnome’s smiling face. ‘Have to learn to trust at some point…’  She grimaces at those words, knowing exactly where they would have come from, but raises the little glass in a mock cheers before tipping it back and drinking the contents down.

Sable heads back to the guildhall to begin scribing his spells, and Thezra and Akiran head off in search of the runesmith that Fliek had described. There's no sign out front of the building that Fliek gave directions to. It doesn't even look like a shop -- rather a simple home made of old wood that stands solidly apart from the rest of the buildings around. Thezra's knock on the door is met with silence. But eventually, the door parts a crack, revealing half a face ensconced in shadow and framed by a long grey beard. "Yes?" a wizened voice croaks. The liquid burns going down, and Lilliana almost chokes on it. Her throat is left scalded by the near-caustic liquid. The cook chuckles and says, "Give it a few minutes. You'll feel better. Here." He hands her a tray with a poached egg and a slice of toast. "Eat something."

The whole walk from the General's to the runesmith's, Thezra was lost in thought as she traced her steps back over the error she'd seemingly made in that last conversation. And the ones before that last night. It made little sense to her why others reacted so strongly when she was never anything but up front. The others seemed to have little problem winning people over, even when their words came off as boisterous and insincere to her ears. When the older voice spoke out to them, she opened her mouth to speak, but quickly clamped it down, instead swishing the words that had immediately sprung to mind around in her mouth. Once more she glances over at the dragonborn, and an idea crosses her mind. It is worth a try, surely.  Plastering the most genuine fake smile she can manage onto her face and standing arms akimbo, she swallows and forces a deep laugh up from her stomach. When she does speak, it is with words she hopes are not her own. "Greetings and well met, friend! I am Thezra of tribe Grum'rusch, and this is Akiran of Dragons!"  She booms, the hearty inflections of her companion echoing in her head as she speaks, if, unbeknownst to her, not aloud as well. "I have heard rumor that an inscriber of runes dwells here, and, being something of a runesmith myself, I would be honored to have the chance see your craft firsthand, and perhaps spend some gold. Gold received in the service of the, ah, great and honorable people of this city, as it happens! For, uh, we did heroically and valorously slay all manner of demon and fiend just yesterday! It is a story you simply must hear!" She winces, the words rolling off her tongue like slugs off a sword. "Not now, of course." I think that sounded good.

The eyes look Thezra up and down. "I have no time for stories," the voice says. The door closes, and the sound of a few latches being drawn back can be heard through the wood. Then the door creaks open and the voice can be heard saying, "Come in." Inside, the furnishings are spartan -- not completely bare, but close to it. A few chairs in the living room sit untouched. The man ambles into the kitchen, his back to Thezra and Akiran. He calls out, "Sit, please. Would you like some tea?"

This isn't actually working is it?  She follows the man inside, only briefly noting the odd lock arrangements for what was ostensibly supposed to be a shop, or at least she thought that's what the tabaxi had said.  "Of course, that is incredibly kind of you!" she twists her face into as best an approximation of the odd pained-smile the dragonborn seemed fond of making at times like this and takes a seat. She looks about, and it's odd. She'd quite expected a smith to have all manner of works lining their walls, goods on display and a workshop on hand. But the whole house is hardly even furnished. He must do his work somewhere in secret. Better to protect craft secrets, surely. "Tell me huma-, er, I wonder, my good sir. Is your craft one that was passed to you from previous generations? That is often the case for my own people's technique. Or did you study in another way?"

From the kitchen, the voice says, "I've studied runesmithing from many cultures. Dwarven, Tollanian, elven...each is different in its own way, but shares a common thread that you find when carving the lines." The man returns with the tea, and for the first time, Thezra can see him in the full light of the midmorning sun pouring through the window. Wrinkled green skin, long white hair and beard, and yellow eyes that still hold the keenness of youth. "But first," he says, passing a teacup to Thezra, then to Akiran. "I studied orcish runes, much like you."  The orc living in the middle of The Crossroads proffers a small metal pitcher. "Milk? Sugar?"

Akiran's follows along in a near zombie like state as they make their way to the runesmith, though this is broken the moment he hears Thezra's voice boom out in the most cheery tone he's heard the warrior use. In the moment he doesn't know whether to be offended, flattered or entertained, as the Orcish woman adopts a pale reflection of his own charming persona. In the end, his choice was what often came natural to the Dragonborn, let the entertainment roll. Allowing Thezra to take the lead he almost fails to contain his laughter at the boisterous display and the unexpected appearance of a fellow orc. Fearing the conversation is shifting to business, Akiran decides to lend a "helping hand". Looking at the orc and human as he nods over to Thezra "Time may be short my friends, but why deny yourself the excitement of hearing of Thezra's triumphs! She has a such a way with words, after hearing her speak your blood will boil and you will wish to fight as well!"   His voice genuinely happy he turns to Thezra "Come come, tell these men a tale of your glory."  

Thezra's eyes go wide and her jaw slack, Akiran's words falling on deafened ears as she stumbles back, dropping the overdone posture she'd adopted instantly.  Kargash amul, of course the one time I abandon myself is before an elder.  Dropping her head in a quick nod of respect, her voice is her own when she speaks. " Aka'magosh ,  Tenosha.  I had not expected to find another of our own when I was told to come here. I should have known."  She takes the teacup in her hand but can hardly take a sip as the excitement, awash with more than a tinge of embarassment, flows out in the form of questions.  "You have studied so much, and there is so much I wish to ask... from what tribe do you originally hail? How did you study tollonian runes? What are you doing here of all places?"

"Stories can wait," the orc says, shrugging and setting the small picture of milk back down. "I am from the Grum'rusch. I lived in Ore'Agah for quite some time...most of my life, in fact. But I travelled. To Hol, to Estar...even the Wildlands for a time. I am here," he says, looking around at the modest accommodations around him, "Because I choose to be. Because here, ironically, is where I am most inconspicuous. I grew tired of orcish politics. The tribe no longer had need of my expertise, because my apprentice had learned all she could from me. Well...all I would teach, that is."

“You’re… from Ore’agah? How have I not heard of you before.”  Thezra frowns, her face scrunching up in thought. “This apprentice of yours, I can’t imagine it is so but her name wouldn’t happen to have been Rata by any chance, would it?”

Zachary H. said: The liquid burns going down, and Lilliana almost chokes on it. Her throat is left scalded by the near-caustic liquid. The cook chuckles and says, "Give it a few minutes. You'll feel better. Here." He hands her a tray with a poached egg and a slice of toast. "Eat something." For a brief moment, Lilliana's eyes flicker towards the gnome with a sense of betrayal as the liquid burns her throat and she wonders if he had simply poisoned her, but as she regains control she nods to him with a small smile. "Thanks. I think?"  She takes the tray and finds a spot to sit and eat, where her back is to a wall and she can watch the entrance to the cafeteria. 

The old orc smiles. "Yes, Rata was my apprentice. But I wouldn't imagine she would have told you about me. We had trouble seeing eye to eye on many subjects."

The confirmation comes as less of a surprise than she expected. Her aunt had a lot to say about a great many things, but her own past was rarely one of them.  "Perhaps it slipped her mind." Her chin dips down towards her chest and her eyes fall to the murky tea in her hand, ripples running across the surface.  "For all her efforts to communicate with those from it, Rata is rarely one to speak of the past. I'm her niece by the way. Though maybe you already knew that."

He chuckles. "I didn't know, but I guessed at some relation." He sips his tea thoughtfully, and then asks, somewhat hesitantly, "How is she?"

"Fine."  Thezra shrugs the hand off her shoulder, instead moving to sling her sword over it instead. Rata's face is crestfallen as she draws her arm back. "Stay, she says, her voice almost a whisper as she moves to place herself between the door and Thezra. "There would be no shame in it, grelka. To leave things be." The longing to listen to her aunt lingers even now, as fresh in her mind as that day she left. Instead she stepped past the woman who'd raised her, trained her, protected her -- and through the door.  "Last I saw." She takes a sip of the tea now, letting the heat burn the desire to say more from her tongue. "What do you mean you did not see eye to eye? What is it you wouldn't teach her?" She bites her tongue, fearing almost immediately she's overstepped her bounds in asking so imprudently.

"She wanted to learn everything, all of the knowledge that I hold from other cultures," he says, taking note of Thezra's tone as she reports on Rata's wellbeing. "But I could see the turmoil coming for orc-kind. And I didn't want to hand over the knowledge I have just to have it end up in the hands of zealots."

"What? Rata is no zealot," she finds herself leaning forward faster than expected. "She bears no love for those traitors." She takes a deep breath in and sighs. "I don't mean any disrespect, Tenosha , I understand your concerns. But that is not the woman I know." Letting herself fall back into the seat, she places her tea down beside her. "As it happens though, it is that turmoil that brings me here as well, on Kerak's behalf. We -- Akiran and I, and our companions -- slew Duar'ken and exposed his treachery. The bastard consorted with a sold his soul to a demonic cult, and while he's dead thrice over, they're still out there."

The old man holds up a placating hand, but drops it as Thezra explains the situation with Duar'ken. His green skin turns a bit paler and he slumps in his chair. When she finishes, he takes a deep breath and then says, "I knew that the traitors, that Duar'ken, would gain power. I didn't want to put Rata in a place where she would be forced to 'betray' her tribe. I know that she is no zealot." His head sinks into his hands. "Duar'ken truly consorted with demons?"

She nods bitterly. "For a group called 'The Watchers', if that name means anything to you."

He shakes his head. "It doesn't. But I fear that I am to blame for his initial demonic connection." He sighs, the sharp exhalation ruffling his mustache. "I was the one that taught him how to contact the Abyss. Back before his traitorous ways came to light."

Thezra blinks. "You... did?" For a moment she wants to feel anger. Duar'ken was gone -- she hoped -- but with him went culpability for the damage wrought. The Watcher stubbornly insisted he wasn't to blame, and no matter how much she knew his disingenuous distancing had to be a lie, it still meant no true culprit existed yet. Yet that hardly mattered, not compared to actual retribution. Instead she settled for clenching her fingers against the grain of the chair, the green of her fingertips nearly turning white for a moment, before relaxing. "No, you couldn't have known. But if you knew something like this would happen, why didn't you stay? Someone of your knowledge and influence..." her voice trails off, leaving only her eyes to stare, almost pleadingly but with clear confusion at the older orc.

"I believed Duar'ken had the willpower necessary to take what he could from the Abyss without becoming corrupted by it. I believed that I could teach him." He gives Thezra a look with sad, yellow eyes. "Rata disagreed. She warned me. But I was too confident in my own abilities. And when Duar'ken cut me out and began gaining influence, I left with my shame."

She looks down, placing her chin into her hands. There's a long moment of silence as his words hang in the air around them all. There'd be no shame in it. Her aunt's words cut through the silence once more. To leave things be.  She sighs.  "Then help me now. Help us  now. I am not Duar'ken. And I am not my aunt either. But  I swear to you by the spirits I will see those who'd turn our own against us cut down. You don't need to teach me everything, but let me help you set things right." Thezra's eyes are fierce, meeting the orc's on the level.  "Please, Tenosha ."  

"Call me Ale'ken," he says, the emphasis on the second syllable of his name a telling indication of who this man is and who Duar'ken was to him. "I am nobody's Tenosha ." He stands, stretching old, tired muscles and crackling joints. "I will help how I can, but please understand: my knowledge is not free. Inscribing runes costs a great deal of time, patience, and gold. But what would you have me do?"

Ale’ken.  She meets his eye and nods. “ Aka’magosh . I am truly glad to have found you then, Ale’ken.”  “And do not worry, I understand the nature of the craft. I cannot speak for my companion here but as for myself, I seek ways of amplifying my sword.”  She pulls the blade forward and lays it out horizontally with both hands, passing one over the faintly glowing crest of her own etching inscribed just above the crossguard. In a way she has never shown in front of Akiran before, she passes the weapon to Ale’ken, parting with it for the first time in as long as she can remember since leaving home. “I do not have much in the way of gold, but if I cannot afford it now I will make sure to the next time. Regardless, something to aid me whether it be against demons or in enhancing its sharpness. What do you think?”

Ale'ken inspects the blade, running a finger over the runes etched into the steel. "Much of the work I do requires a defining, magical rune to imbue magic into the weapon or armor piece I'm working with. The materials required for those runes are quite valuable, and I'm afraid I don't have them in great supply at the moment." He frowns. "I do have a few things that may be useful though." He gives Thezra her blade back, and meanders into a back room, then returns with a couple of sheets of vellum. "I have these two runes. This one will make your weapon glow in the presence of demons and their ilk. This one will make it so your armor gleams even if you've just rolled in the mud." He gives a glance at the ornately-armored dragonborn. "Seventy gold each: 10 for the scripts, and 60 for the act of inscription."

Akiran allows Thezra to drive the conversation, he still didn't much care for the warrior. But the Dragonborn knew all to well the loneliness of being the only one of his kind, cut off from the clan. Even if she was bullheaded and insufferable she deserved that sense of belonging. So Akiran spaces out during much of the conversation, thinking of what he can spend his new found wealth on and what doing good really is. That is until he hears mentions of the Abyss and Ale'ken having taught Daur'ken how to reach the Abyss to "take what he could". The slow gears of his mind begin to turn, if this guy talks to the abyss and is the reason the orcs got demon crazed. Taking him down or turning him in had to be good right? But that slow train of thought comes to a swift end when he hears mention of a gleaming rune, "Hold on a minute. You're telling me if I have to trek through sludge, shit & grime my armor could still shine as bright as the day it was made? Even if some crazy goblins or demons hide out in a slime filled sewer? Cause believe it or not that shits happened twice in the past two days." He belatedly adds in a hurried tone "Oh and you're not doing anything foul with reaching out to the Abyss right? It's all on the up and up?" 

Ale'ken listens as Akiran speaks up, then gives a slight chuckle. "I have nothing to do with the Abyss. I was merely the holder of knowledge." After a pause, he adds, "And yes. with this rune, your armor will never dirty."

Akiran chuckles as the Orc says he has nothing to do with the Abyss, shaking his head he adds "Sure you don't, you take what you need from it but you don't got nothing to do with it right?" holding his hands up in front of him he adds "But that's your business." Rifling through his pouch he drops 70 coins on the table "But I do think we can do business."

Thezra's eyes widen as her eyes dart to the side to look at Akiran.  "You'll have to forgive my companion, he is not used to working with the spiritualists of Ore'agah. That first inscription sounds quite useful though if we're to be dealing with this group. If you would teach me the script, I'd gladly pay. You don't need to inscribe it, though. Your knowledge itself is already invaluable, and I still want to practice my own hand more."

There's a long silence, even after Thezra speaks, where Ale'ken's eyes match Akiran's. A cold menace radiates from the orc, and he eventually opens his mouth to speak. His voice is level, controlled, with no threat to it. "And what about you, dragonborn? Will you transcribe the rune yourself, or will you be paying the full price?"

Akiran meets the Orc's gaze and pushes the gold over, more and more convinced that something should be done. Deciding in the end to tell Katrin and see what her upstanding morals thinks of the matter.

The orc hands the script over to Thezra, taking the 10 gold from her. Then he looks at Akiran, and motions with his hand. "I'll need you to take off  your armor," he says, and scrapes the dragonborn's gold off the table into a bag.  He looks at Thezra. "Do you have the requisite acids and inlays to prepare and carve the metal?"

She smiles, accepting the script with both hands and a bow of the head. "Not on me no, but I figure I can find some around here. You don't also have any you'd be willing to sell as well, would you?"