If Acanthya was shocked by the dwarf's unusual display of sentiment, she did not show it. Instead, she clung tightly to her old friend and comrade, welcoming the comfort. It took all of her considerable willpower not to break down at Hargrim's earnestness. With tangible regret, the dark-haired woman disengaged from the brusque embrace. Despite her best efforts, tears welled up in her blue eyes, unshed, but threatening.

"I know you would have Hargrim," Acanthya said as she surreptitiously wiped her eyes. "Enough of this maudlin talk! Let us sit, feast, and remember the good old days!."

Taking a seat, Acanthya waved down a passing barmaid. "Bring food, ale, and wine. Plenty of each and make sure it is your best!

As the barmaid scurried off, Acanthya glanced back to Hargerim and taking care to speak softly and in dwarven, she continued, "I take it you received the same summons. I wonder how many of our old companions will show up?"

Grim raised his tankard and chuckled briefly. ”To happier times of fleeing for our lives and waking up the sound of drawn steel!” Some might take it for a joke, but Grim was a bit wistful for those simpler times.  He hadn’t set out to be a king; he’d had a crown thrust on him, and knew no one else was strong enough to wear it and keep his people safe!  Still, a chance for a bit of adventure without a cadre of elite protectors was quite the temptation.  He pointedly ignored Acanthya’s unshed tears; if she wanted everyone to see her cry, she would. Not his place to draw attention.

As to her other question... “I’m honestly not sure who to expect.  I haven’t heard much from Markus beyond a few veiled threats in polite letters,” Grim sounded quite pleased with that. “But the lad can hardly complain if I spoil his little ones on their birthdays...even if the number of ponies must be a little alarming by now!  Other than him, I haven’t kept anything close to contact with the others, though i’ve Been hearing of some copper pot mercenaries who claim to have bought our name...what of you?  Any word from the rest?”

"No, Kadrian and I did our best to divorce ourselves from our adventuring ways. Not that we didn't miss everyone, but we had thought those days past. Our hopes were to start a family, but that was not to be. Which reminds me, how is your little family doing? Being king and all must mean you have what, ten wives and several hundred willing concubines, bearded and ready to pleasure you."

Acanthya couldn't keep a straight face at her own jesting. She knew dwarven culture was very staid when it came to marriage customs, but she did always enjoy poking fun at Hargrim. Some might say this penchant was influenced by Satari's own peculiar brand of humor and others might say it was the eons old elf vs. dwarf dispute, though mollified somewhat due to Acanthya's mixed heritage. Regardless, it was all in good fun and Acanthya had missed their verbal sparring matches.

  It was already time for any sensible meeting to begin, and Kella was only now on the streets of Aradwyl.  She'd sold the horse at the gate for a handful of "magic" beans.  The sheer brazenness of the attempt made her laugh so hard, she figured it was worth a horse she wasn't planning to need anymore.  She chuckled again at the memory before tucking them in a pocket, all but one.  One went in the mud, a tribute to blind hope and blessed fools.  It was the kind of night when you made that kind of prayer.

  The thought immediately darkened her expression.  Kella picked uneasily at the linen wrapping on the back of one hand; she barely noticed the pain anymore, but the stares never got easier to take.  Whatever actually happened—she was decidedly not sure she believed anything the sending had suggested—her past had caught up with her somehow.  She spat in the gutter, annoyed at the thought but unable to banish it.  She chewed the inside of one cheek, glaring but silent, as she stalked down literally the worst back-alley route to the Stag she could identify.  There were two things that always drove off thoughts she couldn't shake.

“Just what I need...a few years away and now you’re another Satari?”  Grim sighed and shook his head.  When he did look back up though, his eyes sparkled. ”You recall how I used to tell you all about not wanting to mention my family, because they fell when Timuscor—May his blackened, shriveled soul burn forever!—raised his army of the dead and fell on the kingdom?  After I left the company, I learned some survived—my wife and my boy survived, Kass!  Maerin’s as fine a woman as any man could want.  And no beard on her, I promise.  Thrain’s a good lad; his mother’s brains, his father’s strength. He’ll keep the kingdom safe for my return.  I’ll miss them dearly, but tgey’ve Heard too much of you all to let me turn away.”

”Hargrim Steelsplitter...you bastard!  You evil, wicked despot!  How dare you!  To insult me so is to court Death itself!”

Materializing seemingly from nowhere came a massive, shadowy figure, which slammed a gauntlet-encased hand against’s Hargrim’s shoulder and tightened its grip.  The figure’s voice was pitched quietly, barely passing beyond the table, but so deep it sounded more akin to a rockslide taught to enunciate than to an actual voice. A glance at the figure showed a face shrouded in menacing shadows that seemed to dance before their eyes...until, abruptly. The illusion was lifted, revealing a slender, red-hues hand covered by an open, metal-played glove.  A glance up now would reveal the devilishly (in nearly every sense accurate) grinning face of Satari herself. She trailed her fingers over Hargrim’s shoulder, then leaned down to kiss Acanthya’s cheeks before sitting at the table with them.

”Acanthya!  You turned him into a hugger?!  When?  How?  What did you say?  Also...how was it?  Just between you and I, i’d Always imagined Hargrim having quite firm...hugs.  He seems the sort to keep a girl embraced until she’ll never forget it, no?”

Satari’s eyes flashed with amusement even as her voice dropped almost salaciously with innuendos that dangled like warm honey. She winked at Aycantha, silently laughing as she made not even the slightest of efforts to keep Hargrim from hearing.

”Come, come, you must tell me how you’ve both been!  Sadly, i’ve Hardly had a chance to misbehave since we last met.  It it weren’t a story about me, it would be dreadfully boring, but even I can only do so much!  Now spill it!  I’m a decade behind on the latest gossip!”
This message was last edited by the player at 00:22, Fri 11 Jan 2019.

"Well, I can say that ten years have done little to dampened your flair for the dramatic," Acanthya said with a wry grin. "As for Hargrim, what can I say. It seems family life has softened his rougher edges, if only slightly. Comforting is how I would describe it. Comforting and very dwarven."

Taking a sip of wine to bolster herself, Acanthya's grin faded slightly as she continued to answer the tiefling's queries. "As for myself, Kadrian and I found a small, quiet village and built a house. He worked for the constabulary and I became a teacher. It was a far cry from our adventuring days. It was very quaint and very peaceful. We were happy, in our domestic tranquility, and we decided to have children. Unfortunately, I was never able to conceive. Then, Kadrian died. I've been alone for almost three years now."

Taking another healthy gulp of the fortifying beverage, Acanthya shook her head and looked back around at her friends. Her smile returned to its normal brilliance. "So, what have you been up to this past decade? Rumor has it, even in my little neck of the woods, that someone actually sold the naming rights of The Silver Company to some young, upstart adventurers. I wonder who that could have been..."
This message was last edited by the player at 17:37, Fri 11 Jan 2019.

Satari threw her head back, laughing.  It was a rich, melodious sound.  Something that just radiated delighted amusement to everyone around her.  "My dear, the sun could burn out, the gods themselves wither, and music lose all value, and I'd still keep my knack for making an entrance!"

Satari folded her hands on the table and rested her head on them as she listened at Acanthya.  Her old comrade wouldn't be even slightly fooled.  Satari might not catch everything, but there was little she couldn't keep track of when it mattered.  And for now, she had decided this mattered.  She leaned over and kissed the heartbroken half-elf on the cheek.  "When I have the time, I'll write a proper dirge for Kadrian."  Even while the Company still traveled together, Satari's dirges has been infamous.  Usually for their demoralizing effect on foes.  But as it turned out, nobles loved them.  Demands for a funeral dirge written by Satari Creed were outrageous, and more than one of the Company's adventures had been financed by way of her lyre.  The least she could do for a lost comrade was honor him properly.

"Naming rights, you say?  Lies!  All damned lies!  I sold them the name, so long as they lived...if I find out they tried to resell..."  Shame?  That was only a word in Satari's vocabulary.  Not an emotion!  She grinned at Acanthya like the cat who ate the canary and framed it on the troublesome dog next door.  "As for my adventures...they were sadly lacking.  Given a choice between reparations and a headsman's ax...well, I still wonder if I made the right choice.  I've done nothing for ten years!  I'm so pent-up I could hug Hargrim myself!"

Markus entered Aradwyl City like a man who expected to have a crossbow bolt fly out from the shadows at any moment. His eyes never stopped roaming the streets around him for any potential threat. And to be fair, there is a lot of potential danger everywhere, but ones hunting specifically for him had their own particular flavor.

Many had called Markus paranoid in the past, but here he was, breathing the stench of the city, while many of his detractors had rotted away beneath the ground decades ago. It's not paranoia when a lot of people really are trying to kill you. But the merits of Markus' "proactive pragmatism" would have to wait, as he had business to attend too. The Gilded Stag awaited.

The veteran Bounty Hunter needed to find the right stable to store his destrier for the duration of the meeting. It had to be close enough to make a quick getaway if needed, but far enough away to not bee too obvious. Only amateurs stabled their mounts in the very closest available option. Once he had paid for the service, the big man ducked out of sight of the main street for a private moment. When he emerged once again, a different man stood in his place. Gone was the fitted arms and armor of a grizzled warrior. Instead the filthy street rags of a pathetic beggar hung from his large frame.

It is amazing how little people pay attention to the destitute, for Markus found his way to the Gilded Stag with no one looking twice at him. Just before he entered the door, he tilted his head to see if he could hear anything particularly interesting within. With an almost violent start, he realized that he recognized those voices. He had assumed, perhaps arrogantly, that the dream apparition was calling him alone. But the remnants of the Silver Company could refer to the whole group.

Without words or preamble, Markus slipped into the building. After the almost automatic scanning of the room for assassins waiting with poisoned daggers, he made for the table where his companions stood, having their little reunion.

"You all talk too much. I could hear you outside," Markus grunted in an admonishing voice, though those that knew him well could see the ghost of a smile on his lips.
This message was last edited by the player at 04:52, Sat 12 Jan 2019.

"And I could smell you coming from even further," Acanthya said with a pointed wrinkling of her pert nose. "I see your taste in clothes hasn't changed."

The last was said with a soft laugh as the dark-haired woman stood and walked over to her former teacher. It was almost comical how much larger he was than her, but she wasted little time in wrapping him in a ferocious bear hug despite the stench of his obvious disguise. Releasing him and stepping back, she looked up at the towering man with an easy smile and motioned for him to take a seat.

"I'm surprised at you Markus, you're usually a bit more punctual than this. Even Satari beat you here and you know that she's always fashionably late. So, how are things in your corner of the world?"

Sitting back down, she spoke an arcane syllable and made a small, esoteric gesture. As she waited for her friend's reply, she carefully waved her hand over where her clothing had touched Markus' rags. The spell, prestidigitation, was one of the simplest magics in existence, but it was very useful. Any lingering stench or stain was quickly whisked away by the incantation and while Acanthya was itching to use it on Markus himself, she refrained.
This message was last edited by the player at 05:38, Sat 12 Jan 2019.

  The fight only really lasted a few seconds.  The kind of delinquent who tries to snatch an old woman's purse never really lasts long.  And he'd done it in an enclosed space, too.  She left him alive, anyway.  That was one.  And so it was a decidedly less sullen Kella who finally reached the door of the Stag.  After all, she'd find number two inside, plus either walk into exactly her favorite kind of ambush or get to dash the hopes of an actual king!  As she pushed the door open with an elbow, the smirk had almost grown into a real smile.  She kicked it closed a little harder than necessary, just for the noise—to let whoever was in wait know she was here.  She had played along.  And she went straight for the bar.

  There wasn't a lot left to suggest their old companion, either.  Kella Stravnos had been loud and cocky, overflowing with an intensity that wasn't quite beauty but commanded a similar attention.  Never as flashy as Satori, but at least as vain in her own way.  Hell, the last time any of them had seen her, she had taken to wearing her war trophies for no reason but the psychological impact.

  The woman at the bar was just some middle-aged peasant, dreary and bone-tired.  Hair fading too unevenly for the original color to be clear.  Maybe the facial bone structure was similar but you could just see so much of it.  And she was dressed all over in the various and wondersome shades of mud.  Except for the bandages wrapped carefully over her hands and forearms.  Kella had always done that: all the way down to each fingertip, not a speck of skin exposed.  She said it had taken two years to learn how to do it and not make her hands too stiff to cast spells.  The woman at the bar poured herself a shot of something amber and traced a fingertip around the edge of the shotglass before she drank.  Twice left, once right.  The first of the night.  Kella had always done that, too.

  But Kella Stravnos had been dead for ten years.  There wouldn't be any reason to even notice the resemblance, on a normal night.
This message was last edited by the player at 08:04, Sat 12 Jan 2019.

”Marcus!  I was wondering when you’d finally catch up to your destitute stench!  Do you know dear, i’d Been imagining you half-again as filthy, and drunk to boot?  Kudos on being one of a rare few to prove me wrong!”   Satari stood up, and after making a show of dipping a scrap of cloth from her robes into her ale and rubbing Markus’s cheek with it, she gave him a brief, fond kiss.  ”Come sit, you homeless, dour bastard. And stop pretendingbyou’re Not ready to skip with joy at seeing me again...you’re a terrible liar.”

Satari turned to Acanthya and pouted extravagantly. ”Oh how you wound me dear!  I’ve never been lates day in my life, though I am quite fashionable. The world is simply too crude and unaccomodating to admit that iI’m on time and everyone else is gauchy early.”   While she sounded her normally entitled (with good reason!), flighty self, Satari’s attention was divided.  She was a consummate performer, and a part of that was knowing her audience. Someone at the bar was paying attention to them. Not very shocking. But something about this one tickled at Satari’s memory. She didn’t feel threatened, but mysteries always bothered her.

  Sure, the voices had been a little familiar.  But you go without social interaction for a few years, you get a little loopy.  Everything sounds familiar, because you're craving familiarity.  Life is deja vu.  Kella was used to it.

  But then she caught the tiefling looking up.

  "Low blow," she muttered, standing abruptly.  She held eye contact, but with the way the emotions were jerking her face around, it looked more like eye contact had her trapped.  "Low fucking blow..."  She started toward the others with a stumble that had nothing to do with whiskey.  She even left the bottle behind.  By the time she'd stalked past the collective Get Lost zone Hargrim and Markus tended to establish, there was smoke rising in trickles from her bandages.  Her posture said a stiff breeze could knock her over, but a mad kind of light in her eyes said it really shouldn't.  Really really.  She finally looked away from Satari, took in the rest of the table, and staggered a bit.

  "This... is sick," she gasped, tears welling up in her eyes.  The smell of burning cloth was getting a little strong.  "How dare you?!"

Well, hi.

Grim started as a hand suddenly slammed down on his shoulder.  He'd nearly cleared his seat before the menacing voice turned into one no less troubling, but at least considerably less menacing...until she threatened him with a hug, at which point Grim finally looked unnerved.  "It's...good, I think...to see you too lass, but I'll thank you to stop with the hugs."

His nose wrinkled at the smell that hit the table, but when Markus spoke, Grim nodded his way, and held up a finger in a gesture of warning.  "Lad, it's not too late for me to send three ponies o to each of the girls this year for their birthdays.  Think carefully."

The final, mysterious blow to fall was when a strange woman came to their table, trembling...in fear?  Sadness?  No...rage?!  But something in her voice, in the faint charring cloth smell in the room, the smoke from bandages, it was too familiar!  "Kella?  Lass?  Is that really you?  We thought you were dead!"  Grim made no effort to hide his shock and pleasant surprised, even if he wasn't sure of her reaction.

Having been paying attention to her companions, Acanthya did not even notice the woman at the bar. When she stumbled toward them, accusations tumbling from her lips, the half-elf woman turned a questioning glance toward her. Recognition came with Hargrim's exclamation and a plethora of emotions rushed through Acanthya as she realized who the raggedy woman was.

"It can't be...she's dead," Acanthya mumbled as she looked around at her friends.  "We saw her die...in that...explosion."

  It isn't the behavior she expected from whatever spies she expected them to be, and the confusion of explaining the difference steals a lot of her anger's momentum.

  "No, no you're lying..."  She grimaces uncontrollably and shakes her head.  The whole standing-next-to-a-table-of-warriors-and-shouting thing is starting to draw enough attention to make her self-conscious, and her eyes jump from face to face, looking for... proof, maybe?  "There was no...  You were all gone when..."

  She takes a step back, then another, but with the third one, she backs into an occupied table, somehow misses the floor with her foot when she stumbles to recover, and lands hard on her rear.  When she looks back up, the glare she gives Markus is as demanding as frightened.  "What were their names?  The first time... I...  What were their names, Markus?"

---

A boy and a girl.  The husband, if you want to show off.  All human, lower artisan class.  Any of the Company would have caught the detail once or twice, but Markus would have heard the most unguarded grieving and have the best context for figuring out the question.  I'll roll with your suggestions.
This message was last edited by the player at 02:56, Tue 15 Jan 2019.

Markus accepted the crushing hug and kiss to his cheek with what appeared on the surface to be long-suffering stoicism. But try as he might, he couldn't keep the edges of his lips from twitching ever so slightly upward. He even managed a quick pat on Acanthya's back, which was practically a explosion of emotion from someone like Markus.

"Cagriol," he muttered under his breath.

In a heartbeat, the filthy rags that made up his disguised vanished, leaving a fine studded leather doublet in it's place. And the stench thankfully vanished a moment after that. The Bounty Hunter did not fear attack from these people, and they were the small handful of people that could claim that privilege.

"I'd rather be rude and prepared, than punctual and dead. The other way only puts me on time for my own funeral. It's good to see you again, Twig. The family is fine. Growing like weeds," he grunted to Acanthya with an amused look on his face.

"Drop dead, Horn Head," the big man grunted back to Satari.

To anyone listening, that might have sounded like a genuine, threatening rebuke. But in the old familiarity of the close circle of friends that were the Silver Company, Markus might as well have said "I've missed you more than I can put into words."

"Don't you dare spoil them again Stuntie! Serafina and Catrin wouldn't stop asking when 'Uncle Beardy,' would send them presents again after last year! You're making me look bad in front of my girls," he mockingly admonished Hargrim.

Before he could enjoy this little reunion further, the burning scent and enraged question made him spin around with impressive swiftness.

"Bugger the gods..." the grizzled warrior gasped, possibly for the first time in his life caught completely off guard.

But then his old instincts kicked in, and his right hand went to the sword hilt at his hip, while his left went for one of his many daggers. But before he could draw them, Kella landed on her butt and shot him a question. And it was in that moment that he knew she was genuine, and not some trick that was a prelude to attack. No one could fake that, magic or no.

His hands fell from his weapons and he went down on one knee to look his unexpectedly resurrected friend in the eye.

"...Perryn and Adelina..." came the reply so quiet that only Kella could hear him.

OOC: I can easily change these names. I didn't see them written anywhere, so I made them up.
This message was last edited by the player at 02:57, Tue 15 Jan 2019.

  You know those toys like wooden dolls, only with none of the joints connected?  And how when you loosen the string inside them they fold in on themselves and sag comically?  Kella sags.

  "Yeah, she says, nodding as though it had been Markus asking the question.  She raises one hand and lightly presses the fingers against his doublet, right over the sternum.  "Yeah.  I haven't even said those names in..."

  She doesn't have to finish.  It's not the point.  She looks up at the others in shock, sweeps their faces, and at last throws herself forward, wrapping the bailiff in an embrace so tight he'd probably have to injure her to prise himself out of it.  Tears stream down over her cheeks, but she manages to keep it mostly silent, and it was never helpful in the past to talk to Kella about crying.
This message was last edited by the player at 02:53, Tue 15 Jan 2019.

Abyssal was a wonderful tongue. It had countless delightfully descriptive ways to convey all sorts of ideas. For instance, when Markus told her to drop dead?  Well, there was a proper way to answer that.   Satari’s response was bright and cheerful because she was genuinely tickled to see the gruff lawman again.  Mind you, her conveyance of that joy also involved a series of anatomically questionable acts Markus could perform with his mother and a goat with a rather particular skin condition...but Abyssal was up to the task of multiple meanings!  And then the real show began. How had she not seen it earlier?  Of course that woman at the bar jiggled her memory!  She’d simply ignored it!

Satari once more took advantage of Abyssal’s colorful meanings as she watched the drama unfold with Kella.  She wasn’t overly worried about a bonfire raging. There was enough magic and practical wisdom (both residing within Satari’s inimitable frame, of course!) to keep the inn safe from all but the worst conditions.  She came forward, rubbing Kella’s shoulder and whispered into the crying woman’s ear. ”Just let it out darling...you’re safe here, among friends.  We’ve brought one another back from the edge of oblivion so many times before...what’s one more really?”

Markus was still for a moment, but just a moment. Even in an intense emotional state like this, the big man had trouble expressing himself. Only his wife and daughters could expect a sign of physical affection. But even a hard man like Markus had his limits.

His massive arms enveloped Kella in an equally tight bear hug. He did not bother with words of encouragement, or sympathy, or even hope. Those things could not salve the wound in her soul.

Instead he just held her, and let her tears flow without comment. He did stare daggers at any civilian bystanders in the room who might watch and intrude on this private moment. Or worse yet, make mocking comments. His eyes promised murder for anyone who would dare such a thing. And he meant it too.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:01, Tue 15 Jan 2019.

  Well, nobody's going to empty a ten-year reservoir in two minutes, but the force behind the tears soon bleeds off to something Kella can actually hold in check. She takes a loud, shaky breath and wipes the assorted fluids from her face. Leaves them on Markus' armor, though. Like marking territory, really. She sits back when he notices the movement and releases her.

  "So it's real, then?" She asks the rest of them. "You all got the same message? It sounded..." Her eyes widen a bit as she considers for the first time what kind of problem merits pulling these people out of their deserving rest.

Acanthya could only stand dumbfounded at this most unexpected of reunions. She had watched Kella die, watched as her body immolated and was swept away in that awful torrent of fire. It was one of the few memories of her adventuring days that she had suppressed. With Kella's appearance, however, that memory came rushing back and she simply looked on as Markus, Hargrim, and Satari greeted their old comrade.

"I was sure you had died in that fire," Acanthya said as she suddenly rushed over to Kella and embraced her, mud and all. All ready, her keen mind was contemplating the many possibilities as to how she could have survived. Thankfully, her last ten years of teaching had led her down many avenues of learning and a solution presented itself almost immediately.

"You were transported to another plane weren't you," Acanthya asked as she slowly released Kella. "That was the only explanation for your survival. I was so stupid back then to not realize it. When we didn't find a body or any trace, I should have thought about that possibility. I failed you...if only I had allowed logic instead of emotion to guide me after that battle..."

OOC
I'm going with your suggestion of how we separated. If not, I can alter my post.

  Kella waves away the recrimination with a wry smile.

  "If Only never leads anyplace good.  Trust me, Canth.  If anyone should know..."  There's enough remorse buried in Kella's laughter, but that's going to be inevitable.  She extricates herself from Markus with an apologetic look for the imposition and pulls herself a chair at the table.  She sits as though there's a lot of weight on her shoulders, but she's clearly working on acting normal.

  "And all this time I... Well.  It was chaotic.  With the lich, and..."  She smiles, and her attention rounds the group back toward Acanthya.  "You really all made it out, huh?  And Kadrian?  I don't see him here..."
This message was last edited by the player at 16:01, Sun 20 Jan 2019.

He's dead," Acanthya said simply. "After we retired he and I were married. We had seven wonderful years together before the rigors of adventuring finally caught up to him. I buried him beneath his favorite oak next to our cottage. That was three years ago."

The dark-haired woman grew silent after that and simply played with her wine goblet. Shifting uncomfortably in her chair, she stared down at her plate for several long moments before looking back up and smiling at their newly "resurrected" friend.

"Before we go any further, why don't we see about getting you a bath and some clean clothes. I mean, I could use magic to restore your cleanliness, but I've always found a nice, hot bath helps to ease one's mind."

  "I...  Oh."  Kella looks at least as uncomfortable in the silence that follows, and leaps at the exit Acanthya offers.

  "Yes.  Why, yes.  I think it has been entirely too long.  But when the... Well, when the client arrives..."