William's face fell a bit as Perrin delivered his news.

He wasn't coming.

William shook his head a bit, mastering the emotions that filled him. He managed, knowing as Perrin spake his wish that it was true, Perrin wanted to go, but simply couldn't. The smile returned, one resigned, tired, sad as he said "May you serve well, my friend." He clasped tightly then, holding Perrin's eyes with his for an intense moment. He nodded firmly and let go Perrin's arm. He turned then, to answer Taran. "I am, Taran. Well met. It is, indeed, and honor." He allowed the conversation to build around him, nursing a hurt he hadn't expected.

The priest nods slightly at the newcomer, not shifting from his chosen position by the wall.  He folds his hands against each other in a peculiar gesture that appears to connote some sort of greeting; as his does so, his dark, thigh-length cape billows slightly, and an emblem can be glimpsed on the right side of the tabard beneath, some blazon featuring a jawless skull.

"I am Lyssander Khiver," the tall, athletic-seeming man introduces himself, "or Lyssander the Pale, in men's parlance."  'Khiver' is the Celestial term for 'pale', as those in the chamber who speak that tongue recognize.  The name is apt, for the man's skin is unusually pale, especially for one who appears to have seen many travels.

Like Penville, the Sealer waits for the others to finish introductions.

Perrin was smiling at Taran as he entered, letting him introduce himself as he wished. It was obvious he was happy to see the man, but the light around him was still far more dim than before.

As Williams farewell ended he gave a smile and nodded. "I will serve as is needed and join you as soon as I am able. You will do well with Taran, but a healer he is not so be careful." The last words were spoken with sadness in his voice.

He turned and grasped Taran's hand, holding it at the elbow. "Look after them and serve Lathanders will. Be sure to send me letters when time allows so I can join you later." Nodding he then turned and headed for the door, a hand clapping William's shoulder as he passed. "Good luck on your trip. Taran will know where I am if you need me."

With that he left, it was a long trip back and there was much need of his talents...

Happily shaking Penville's hand he smiles and copies the salutation from the cleric. "A pleasure to meet you both." He was about to continue when Perrin is about to leave. A slightly disappointed look crossed his face as he realised he would not be able to spend time catching up with his friend.

"I suppose you do have to rush... I will look after them as well as I can, Lathander as my witness. Take care on your travels." His hand was clasping Perrin's hand to his elbow as well, both men looking as though this was not quite what they had wished.

He looks as Perrin leaves, waving at him before the other man passes through the doors. Leaning towards William he speaks sadly, "In the first letter I got he said he wanted me to join him with you... he was looking forward to introducing us... this did not go as well as we had hoped..." Shrugging he turns back to the others, wondering if there was someone else he should meet.

   "My name ish Jade" lisps the 10-year-old boy, stepping around the elven warrior to tug at Taran's sleeve. A tiny hand attached to a thin frame and the greenest eyes ever seen is thrust forward in preparation of being shook. "Pleashed to meet you shir."

He steps away from William, hoping the man was not as sad as he looked. Though, he supposed he had felt no better when Perrin had told him he could not join them after all.

Turning he sees the boy tugging at his sleeve and smiles, Taran shakes his hand in a firm grip. "A pleasure to meet you boy, may I ask if you are part of the group as well?"

He was a bit uncertain what to do, it did not seem everyone was as eager to introduce themselves.

"The... wyrmling is the child of the copper dragon, Filaux, metamorphed into human form."  Lyssander looks the newcomer over appraisingly.  *Taran... A worthy wanderer's name.  And - Lathander, is it?*  Followers of the Morninglord had been frequent allies of his Order over the centuries, even if they often did not know it.  The Sealer had not himself had much dealings with them, though, and the few Lathanderites he did meet had generally struck him as unnervingly naive and irritatingly optimistic, to the point of rashness.

Time tempers all.

Laconically, Lyssander briefs Taran on the twists and knots of the plot thus far, and introduces Talrylil by name.  He is soon done, and leans back against the wall, arms folded.

   "They tell me I'm the *reashjon* for the group!" Jade at first beams, but then remembers that several people have died trying to keep him safe from, or take him away from, any of the other groups that seem so interested in keeping his company. His face falls back to neutral, and he glances up at Tal, whose hand still grips the boy's other tightly.

   "Aye, tis true" Says Kraansh, glad to get his feet back under him after the one-sided staring contest Harmony held him under. The female priest leads Perrin away after another brief set of farewells and well-wishing, and the charm is completely broken.
   "Coming from the outside, as you are and as both William and Penville have, gives us an edge over these factions we face. Jade is the youngest fryling of a great Copper Dragon, Filaux, who chooses to guard our merchant routes out in the bay. Jade had been kidnapped by someone, ostensibly to protect him from harm, but now it seems that the local thieves' guild, a group of Dragonbone Cultists, and a third, more mysterious group all desire to posess the boy. We have a paladin and a wizard out on the trail of one of the groups at this moment, and are debating the merits of returning the youth to his father and risk being attacked in the process, or trying to deal with these three groups in our own way and maintain some semblance of control over the whole situation."
   He goes on to reiterate that while the Temple of Waukeen is a sanctuary and haven, that protection can only be extended until sundown this day [approximately 9 hours from now]. What he leaves UNspoken is that there are more politics behind that declaration than he cares to discuss in their current setting.

Smiling more broadly at the revelation that the young "boy" is indeed a young dragon, Taran switches to draconic, the slithering language almost sounding native as he speaks, if not for the impossibility of a human to produce a range of the sounds. "An honour young one, I will do my best to keep you safe from harm." He smiles at the others, listening to Lyssander and nodding, absorbing the information.

"Seems like a most interesting situation, if not ideal... is it safe to speak here or do you know of a better place? Have you already got a plan of action? Is there any way to contact his father?" He thinks for a while before continuing, "Are the three groups co-operating?"

"Don't you want to go back to your dad? Or are you having fun beign away for a bit?" Penville says, directed at Jade, for they were eye to eye, or near enough.

"I guess if there are all these groups that need information colelcted on them and to be tracked or controlled, holding the key to their desires means we know what they'll be after, planning and likely to do, so information can be more easily collected. I mean we know what they want. Wait, you can turn into a human? Then what do you really look like Jade?" The halfling finishes, after addressing the adults, back to the boy.

Penville hadn't ever seen a real dragon.

The priest nods in agreement at Taran's words regarding contacting the wyrmling's father.  "Warden," he turns to the orc, "it would be well if the clergy here were to arrange for Filaux to retrieve his son before we are... to be granted Waukeen's travel-blessing.  Should the great dragon learn that his child had been rescued and brought to sanctuary, but then had departed at the temple's... invitation, and been kidnapped again, or worse - such an occurrence might carry... unwelcome consequences... for commerce in this town."

Lyssander's words are carefully selected, more diplomatic and less terse than usual, but the dangerous, predatory gleam in his eye, the hint of black irony at the corners of his mouth, and above all his tomb-dry tone of voice, leave no mistake as to the subtext.  If they kick us out, and harm comes to Jade, Filaux will slaughter the cleric responsible for the decision.

Talrylil's head was spinning, as was the case in this whole adventure. The elf was a simple man, point and shoot. He was always the one to attack first and ask questions later, but when talk came about what to do and what was right..he was better off talking to Jade. Tal did hear his name come up and went up to the person and made his introduction. "Name is Tal, please to meet ya.

Tal then turns around and conitnues to clean his armor, going to every chain and link to make sure the blood is washed off. He wanted to make sure his armor and weapons were clean and ready, for what he had no idea. He just wanted to make sure the headache stopped, too many twists and turns for the simple minded elf.

He listens to all and nods his head when asked, he would go with the group, for the elf was fond of William and Lyssander. Pennvile and his dog was growing on him.

 William nodded slowly to Taran, a look of sadness tinging his eyes. Perrin was the best of companions. To write. He'd have to.

The discussion of what to do began, though William had no real opinion, other than to get the child back to family, and he voiced that desire. The rest., well, wasn't really his concern. Or so he hoped. The mysterious third group might indeed be worth investigating.

"We could return Jade, inform Filaux that there are loose ends and that Jade's return should be kept quiet, and see if we can't smoke out the strange crew that may or may not be involved. Dragonbone, was it?"

   Jade seems quite eager at being returned to his father, though he does seem to like the body he's been polymorphed into. His balance when walking has improved dramatically in just the past day, a testament to the natural agility his brand of dragon posesses. Still, his lisp is ever-present; he still can't get used to the lip-jaw-tongue movement of human speech.
   The group seems unanimous in their decision to send word to Filaux, and then stops...for no one seems to have any great idea *how* to send such a message. Surely the dragon patriarch is not sitting idly in his cavern upon the island, and even if he was, no one would be brave [or foolish] enough to take a boat out there to deliver a message to the likely enraged drake.
   Certainly a magical message of some sending type could be created, but that is a thing for mages, not priests, and wizards in this little town generally don't have much in the way of power beyond the detection of magical auras and the protections necessary to ply the open trade routes.
   Of course, there was a Thayan wizard in town recently....

---

ooc: Ok, I've come up with several ways to stretch this adventure a bit longer. I promise you won't have to do ALL of them. :P

Lyssander waits for the pudgy, oleaginous temple functionary to cease his belief-beggaring prattle about how a magick of sending was in the domain of wizards rather than priests.  The silence lengthens, and the Sealer debates internally whether to openly challenge the statement of the Waukeenite.

*Ye gods!  This lies beyond greed - 'tis perversity naked and complete.  The wyrmling were certain death for them to expel, yet detaining him here, keeping him from his father for a moment beyond the necessary were almost as dangerous.  And still they seek to turn us out, and dither while we find some beady-eyed mage to cast this magick for us.*

Contempt fills the pale-skinned priest, and his eyes darken with a blackness beyond the mortal measure.  But his adamantine discipline keeps him from naming as liar the functionary, who appeared to be of at least mid-level rank in the temple's hierarchy, judging by the ornaments and insignia on his robes.  Instead Lyssander bows his head in acceptance, albeit an acceptance tinged by the same black irony as before.

"Thank you, Goldenhand, for agreeing to look after the boy while we go seek out a trustworthy mage on your behalf, as you suggest.  Our hearts rest easier knowing Jade will remain safe in your care."

Any cleric trained in catechisms will recognize the meaning behind the words.  The wyrmling is now your responsibility to protect, and we go to hire a spellslinger only as a favor to you, to shorten the period over which Filaux will hold you to account for his son's safety.

"We realize any delay on our part could potentially place you in an... uncomfortable position."

Flat on your back while a furious dragon trickles molten gold down your quickly-blackening throat, would be my guess, if anything happened to the boy.  Or even if the elder wyrm merely determines that you took an unjustifiable risk.

"We are duly humbled by the trust you place in us, and will do what we can to return swiftly with the mage.  In the interests of expediting negotiations, I would venture to suggest that some upfront payment may be required by the spellcaster."

Can you bear to part with some of your treasure, to quicken our task and reduce the risk to your precious hide?  Of course, if you want to remain responsible for Jade's safety while we engage in long-drawn-out negotiations without the facilitation of a suitable upfront fee...

Normally a man given to laconic expression, Lyssander is nonetheless well-versed in the veiled barbs and hidden messages that can be enfolded in wrappings of pleasant phrases, the games of words that men of the cloth so often enjoy playing.  He fixes his stare on the Waukeenite now, and finds some grim amusement in the choice he has put to the functionary.

Listening to Lyssander speak to the poor functionary, Taran nearly flinched at his use of words. He might be new to the group, but words had long been a passion of his and this was bordering on blackmail... Well, it would sound like that to the cleric at least, though it was all the truth of course.

The safety of the child would have to come first, taking him with them would be, unwise at best. His fingers moved to the scabbard of the sword, tapping lightly on it with his fingers. Stepping forward a bit after Lyssander is done with his... chat, he adopts a warmer tone towards the cleric. "I am certain it will not take us long to locate a caster who can help, I hear the Temple of Lathander has several gifted with talent and I am certain they will be happy to have our donations." Smiling he gives the man a bow and turns around to face Lyssander, the unmistakable clink of coins can be heard as he does so.

"Perhaps we should start our little excursion then? The boy will, as you said, certainly be safe here among the clergy." It seemed the man was the leader of the group, or at least none other had so far spoken much, well, with the exception of William and the slightly odd halfling.

Penville peers up with eyes twinned with such innocence and, no waut, this wasn't a young one but a halfling folk. It was aobviously stupidity, or at the very least nieveity.

"Well if the dragon can't magic up the location, or find hiw through walking and talking, might he not be sitting idly in his cavern upon the island, so all we have to do is take a boat out there to deliver a message to the likely enraged drake. Or even just take Jade along with us?" These big folk always seemed to overcomplicate things.

Bigby silently wept.

The Sealer shrugs at Taran's words.  "Whatever our friends here deem wisest.  If they are amenable to our seeking the assistance of the Temple of Lathander on their behalf, I will certainly defer to their sagacity."

Lyssander retrieves his spear from its place by the wall, and waits for the group to start heading out.  It does not appear that he particularly cares about the destination - whether the Thayan or the dawn temple.

OOC:  Lead on, Taran :)

Getting everything he had ready, he turns to the boy and sits down on one knee, looking at him and smiling. "Tell me young one, would you like to come with us? I am certain it will be safer for you here, but if we are lucky you will get to see more of the city and perhaps even get to talk to your own father before he comes to pick you up." He held his walking stick in his hand as he spoke, waiting for the child's answer.

A dragon was a fascinating creature, he was really quite excited to be talking to one instead of just reading a book about their habits.

William was stunned by the hidden venom of Lyssander's comments. His eyes narrowed as the comments continued, leading William to wonder how life would be with this companion. He kept silent though.

Until Taran invited the wyrmling. "Taran, that might not be the wisest of things."

   True to form, the priests of Waukeen feel little compulsion to part with any of their own coin, despite Lyssander's exhortations otherwise. They explain as politely as possible that the return of the wyrmling, while outwardly and obviously beneficial to the people of Phent as a whole and to the trade generated within the city's limits in particular, it is not *their* quest to complete the safe return of the child to his sire, and in any case, dragons and Thayans rarely ever offer something of fair or equal marketable value when pressed into service.
   William's concern about the boy travelling with them is echoed by Kraansh and others, and it is decided that Jade's safety would best be promoted by allowing him to remain in the temple's basement sanctuary for the remainder of the day.
   That being said, the party once again ascends the spiral staircase and emerges into the light of the midmorning sun. The events from the night before still wear on their minds and their muscles; truth be told, those involved in the recent battle in the orchard wouldn't turn down another few hours of sleep. And a hot bath. And a banquet.

   "To arms! To arms!" The call was loud and clear, shouted from the tops of the two nearest towers to the east, and echoed through the town's streets by knots of guards and citizens alike. The streets were abuzz with activity, though not exactly the type one might expect from a town [possibly] on the verge of invasion by outside forces.
   "What is it?" asks one passerby to another.
   "An army on the south road!" comes the quick reply. The party of heroes turns right and follows the main swath of curious merchants and tradesmen heading in that direction.
   "Thayans? Giants? Orcs?" A flurry of possible antagonists are thrown about, some outlandish, others -like the orc suggestion - are quickly squelched by shaking heads and angry glares. Theskian orcs, after all, are the lifeblood of the mining community hereabouts.
   "No...gnomes!" The nearby crowd stops, and one person laughs...a sound which, while nervously given, is quickly taken up by the surrounding people. Gnomes, indeed! They haven't been hostile to humans in, well, ever. Why should Phent endure a call to arms over them?
   But, as the gathering reaches the southern edge of town, it is clear that there is a small contingent [no pun intended] of armed and armored gnomes marching up the road from the southeast, perhaps a hundred, perhaps more. Dirty and sweaty they seemed a grim lot, marching in fair unison and led by an honor guard which contained no less than three unarmored brethren. Dimplomats, no doubt.
   "We are the heralds of Filauxerimos!" The front-most gnome called out as their company came to a halt some thirty paces from the nearest nervous human guard. As he spoke, the two gnomes to either side of him unfurled great [for their size] banners which, once unfurled, bore shining coppery dragons upon their cloth. The rippling of the breeze on the pennants gave the illusion of flight to the banners, and the crowd of onlookers gasped audibly at the majesty of the unveiling.
   "Now see here, good sir" declared the sergeant of the watch, stepping forward from his squad of guardsmen. "If you wish a formal audience with the mayor, that's one thing, but you can't just come traipsing into Phent with an army of men and..." A raised hand from the foremost gnome stifles the man as quickly as any blow to the head would have.
   "We have heard that there is a great and terrible tragedy taking place in your town, to the extent that many are emboldened to strike out at former allies, while still more are cowed into a failure to act against those same bold knaves!" The gnome herald's voice was rich and resonant, seemingly 'too big' for his frame, yet somehow it seemed to fit the man's personality just right.
   "We are here to ensure, above all, that peace continues to reign in Phent, the community that has given so much to us, and our friends and allies in this corner of Faerun. To that end, we have informed our Lord of these events, and now invite him to deal with matters directly." The gnome takes from around his neck a fine chain, upon which is suspended a large, finely cut emerald of rather large proportions. Backed by a shiny silver disk, the gnome angles it in such a way as to send a glowing green beam of light up into the air, visible even in the bright day's sky.

   A gasp from the crowd again, paired with dozens of pointing hands, and all heads turn to the west. Flying low over the rooftops there comes the largest gold...no, copper...dragon anyone has ever seen. Wingtip-to-wingtip it spans more than eight horses in length, and nose-to-tail is even longer. It makes a low pass over the crowd, eliciting less fear than one might expect, and more awe-inspired sounds of grand appreciation. Clearly, these people have grown up in the shadow of Old Filaux and his frequent forays from his fortress atop The Dragon's Tooth, and feel they have nothing to fear from him now. Ah, how oblivious they are to the whole situation.
   Filaux loops once more around the south end of town, coming to light near the gnomes in a rather graceful end to his flight, only barely disturbing the dust from the ground near them. In fact, so stoic are the gnome warriors that none even bat an eye or cough in his wake. The herald and his retinue all bow deeply to the drake.
   "So, Haerominim, you have news for me." It was clearly a statement, not a question, and the force of the copper dragon's personality could be felt through his voice. Friendly, but no-nonsense.
   "Yes sir. Our informants tell us your son is in this town now, in the trusted care of...them." The gnome's upraised hand and unwavering finger thrust out at the crowd, which parts as if by magic, allowing the small finger to point unerringly at...the adventurers. Specifically, Talrylil.
   "I don't see him, or smell him." Filaux turns his toothy head toward the group, but does not advance. "Tell me, elf, what have you done with my youngest hatchling? Tell me, and then tell me how you wish to be handled before I eat you." The grin matches the threat.
   Tal was about to tell the dragon that the boy was safe, tucked away in the deep recesses of the temple, guarded by a number of guards, priests, and a very large orc. He was going to tell him that the boy was safe, but that there were just too many loose ends still running around in the town to bring him out just yet. He was going to tell the dragon that they were just about to contact him themselves, which is why they were out here on the street at this very moment. But, alas, he, too, was interrupted by someone in the crowd.

   "Then slay him, Filauxerimos!" The shout came from somewhere further to the east in the crowd, and heads turned this way and that to find out who said it. A heckler? No, not really, though the voice sounded familiar to several of those present.
   "I do not take the counsel of others when handling personal affairs of justice." Filaux's head swivelled, as did those of the gnomes. The warriors, though still in their ranks and files, also seemed to tense perceptibly. "Who dares to be so brazen as to dictate a course of action to a dragon?"
   "I do!" said the man, as he stepped out from the front ranks of the crowd. His clothes were new, and his looks changed just slightly, but there was no denying that this man was the leader of the local Cult of the Dragon, the single greatest threat to both Jade and his benefactors. In his hand he held before him a strangely glowing orb which pulsated and hummed ever so softly. "I dare, and I command you to slay him! And your cohorts! And this entire town!" He thrust the crystal forward with each emphatic phrase, accentuating his words with the gesture. Beside him, several people detatched themselves from the crowd and brandished blades to keep those closest at bay.
   So bold and unexpected was his outburst that none in the crowd could scarecely believe what they were hearing, and so no one made a move. "And while I hold the Orb of the Elder Drake, you cannot resist. You will first be my slave, and then my undead minion, and I shall raise your child to be..."
   The gnome herald, ignored until now, opened his mouth and vomited a stream of greenish-brown liquid at the man. As it struck him his flesh bubbled and peeled, and his bones melted away almost instantly. So sudden and unexpected was the attack that the cultist didn't even have time to scream. As his shrinking, smoking remains settled to the ground in a puddle of goo, the gnome trotted up and took the orb from where it lay on the ground, rolling it over inbetween his two hands like a great green bowling ball. Behind him, the huge copper dragon dissolved into a fine mist and was carried away on the breeze, while the remaining cultists pushed their way back into the crowd in a hasty attempt to retreat. They didn't get far.
   "I knew those bastards wouldn't be able to resist." A broad smile creased the gnome's face, and while the crowd watched, the gnome suddenly grew, expanding in size and changing shape until at last the *true* form of Filauxerimos was standing before the crowd of townsfolk. He was somewhat less grand in size and stature than his illusion had been.
   "And I thank you for your help" he added, nodding in the direction of the party members. "My network of spies in town is not infalliable or without its drawbacks, but at least I've managed to deal a blow to one faction interested in my blood and kin." He grinned down at the heroes again. "My friends here, however, *are* real, and would like very much to partake of your ales on this hot spring day." A great cheer went up from the company of gnomes, who were ushered into the town with much merriment and song.

As the dragon accuses Talrylil, the grim priest steps forward to stand at the Elf's side, ready to offer explanation should his comrade's verbal skills falter.  They had been through this ordeal together almost from the start, and he would not let the courageous Elven warrior stand alone and friendless before the wyrm's interrogation.  But the intervention is unnecessary, and Lyssander remains a silent spectator as the momentous events unfold before him.

When the dragon - the true dragon - finally reveals himself and reclaims his progeny, relief is clear in the set of the Sealer's shoulders, in the minute unclenching of his jaw, in the smoothing of lines in his face that had seemingly etched themselves over the past day or so.  Relief so strong, it surprises the normally stoic priest.  Relief at the lifting of duty's heavy burden, he tells himself.  But no, that is not quite the whole of it.  Though the Sealer will not admit it - is not really aware of it - he has formed something of an attachment to the young Jade, and it is this feeling, entirely unfamiliar, that has set his nerves tightening at any perceived threat to his charge, whether from a cult's malevolence or a temple's internal politics.

Accordingly, along with the satisfaction of a task undertaken and completed, there is also a faint sting of regret that the cleric-militant cannot quite trace, or recognize; regret at parting from the wyrmling before fully taking its measure as a person.

Head bowed slightly in contemplation, the priest stands, staff in hand, an immovable and impassive rock in a sea of cheers, his silence wrapped around him as securely as his dark cape.



OOC:

William Pilgrim:

...leading William to wonder how life would be with this companion.

Hmmm...  If you've seen the series Rome, think Lucius Vorenus, except with the outbursts of rage repressed (not necessarily a healthy thing) rather than externalized - as a very rough approximation...  (And if you haven't seen the series - go see it!  It's good.)
Now, someone like Taran, trying to be more "good" than a paladin, might ask how life would be as this companion, not with him; what Lyssander's world looks like, what accounts for those reservoirs of venom, and whether he can be helped...  (I'm not saying he wants to be helped ;P )

Penville ran off smiling. Jades dad was here! He had to go and tell him. Bigby followed, likely knowing Penvilles mind well. Strangely as it may be, Bigby has trouble catching up to Penville who indeed appears to be flying like the wind. It's only on the straights that Bigby truely gains ground.

The strange sight and sound (many bells a jingling on Penvilles costume) meant people only noticed the passing of the little, running, grinning one. Finding before he had gone past, trying to locate the jingling source, on such a little fellow, was nigh impossible?! But it seemed to help with the spirit of things and keep people laughing.

Inside Penville jumps down the steps, one at a time, then two at a time, then three and finally the rest in one go as his feet don't quite connect and he goes head over tails downwards. Again the bells make this potentially painful experience something that can only bring a smile to the faces of any observers.

Finally bursting into the room, Penville releases "Jwade! Jwade! Yoor daths here!", the lisp, somewhat similiar to Jades, is not due to any affinity they share, rather the knock Penville had falling down the stairs to the basement level. Grinning his face suddenly drops to one of puzzlement, as he reaches in and finds a tooth fall from his mouth to his hand.

Looking at it appraisingly, (with one squinted eye as all the best appraisers do) he pushes it back up where it fell from and mutters a few arcane words before testing the wobble. It's gone.

Taran was standing quite awestruck throughout the spectacle. He wasn't quite sure how to react,  it hardly seemed wise to try and talk to the dragon or in any way interrupt. With wonder and some horror as the cultist makes his move, he was nothing more than an audience to what was happening.
He stands looking, whispering to William. "Is this... normal for you?"

Fingers white from holding his staff so rigidly, he relaxes his grip one the dragon addresses them, giving a slight bow to the dragon, though he hardly felt he deserved to be included.
It itched to be able to talk with the creature, to learn from it... though he doubted the dragon would find any interest in him.

William was stunned by the brazen attempt. As the focus of the crowd, and the dragon, was pulled to that figure emerging, William began to slip away, or not away, nearer. His hand had dropped to his hip, he knew that this person could not be allowed to gain dominion over the great Filaux. But then, as he moved, a gout of acid...

His head whipped around, and William smiled. Of course, the dragon was far more clever than some simple cult leader.

His muscles, tense until now, relaxed as relief flooded the ranger. He joined the applause, pleased at the ending. But he was bothered, too. How could they smoke out the other factions which had been so involved. How, then, could they be brought to justice.

He joined the companions, Taran, Lyssander, Kraansh. And the gnomes. He too was interested to hear what the dragon had to say.