Astre had been content to indulge in a bit of playfulness with Moyrah for a time, reared back on his haunches to bat and swat at the asparagus like a bit of foxtail grass.  At least until she paid more attention to her stomach, after which he simply settled into a quiet curl between hers and Mallory's chairs to rest.

---

"Who knows what would have happened if you all hadn't arrived."

"Perish the thought." Mallory sighed.  No matter in who's favor the whole mess had ended - be it Gam's or Moyrah's - it would've been a bad outcome regardless.  There was no happy ending in that sort of mess; even with timely rescue, Moyrah's troubles hadn't really lessened at all.  And there was still the matter of her burglary as well laying another tier of woe on her affairs.  "I just hope some time in a cell will serve to enlighten that fool to the error of his ways.  To think that anything could drive a man to such heinous action..." she shook her head in pitying dismay.

"I will take your advice miss. You have proven to be wise beyond your years from what I have seen so far." Moyrah took a quick sip before continuing the conversation. "So, I have overheard from your conversation with Dannika that your caravan is heading out tomorrow? Are you intending to leave Targos with them?" Without a doubt, Moyrah question was tinged with a bit of sadness. Seeing the people she met recently, who treated her with respect she hasn't felt for such a long time, heading out of Targos, filled her with sorrow. At the same time, she would welcome gladly an opportunity to join the band of travelers, an escape that she has been wishing for some time already.

"I... well..." though she began to answer immediately, hesitation brought a second thought to Mallory's painted lips.  She had no choice but to dwell on the matter for a moment as she let her eyes shift briefly to Dannika across the table.  "That is certainly my intent.  I have family based out of Bryn Shander I'd intended to visit; we were never really supposed to be here in the first place.  The guide escorting our caravan from the main roads got us lost entirely and we ended up here.  Though... given what we've been able to accomplish in our short time here, I might be more generous to attribute the whole affair as Tymora's whim."

It was perhaps odd for a self-proclaimed soothsayer to attribute anything to luck, let alone its deity's hand, but Mallory did so with a shrug.  Despite the horrid scene that she'd witnessed through her supernatural sight shared with Astre, she had to admit that they'd accomplished much good all the same.  With luck Targos would be on a better standing in coming days thanks to what the lot of them had managed.  "I've no desire to remain in Targos for long, to be perfectly frank.  Depending on when the Ice Troll remains are made available tomorrow, I may have to extend my stay another day to handle them.  Bryn Shander isn't so far that I couldn't make the trek without a full company, after all."  She could only hope Niels didn't intend to leave first thing in the morning; at least mid-day would be enough time for her to harvest what she could of the Trolls, especially with Dannika's help, and still be in time to make the wagon out.

"What about yourself, Moyrah?  I don't wish to assume anything but... well, after what happened tonight and all... do you really feel well lingering in Targos?" she tried to be as delicate as she could, but there was no side-stepping the difficulty of such a question.  "Perhaps you might visit Bryn Shander as well?  See what opportunities might yield themselves?  I dare say there'd be a place for you on the wagon or, if I must extend my own stay here, that I'd feel far safer were you to accompany me.  Were you willing, of course."
This message was last edited by the player at 02:46, Sat 07 Aug 2021.

“Juusht. From one of the more southern clans. A bit more sweet than I prefer, but still quite good.” She explained cheerfully, cracking the keg open as she did so. It definitely smelled like berries. “Usually served with ice or warmed. I doubt any of you would like it with ice in this weather.” She smiled at that, then carefully poured out the alcohol to whoever wanted some. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had the pleasure of a party with my people. I’m not sure I would enjoy it quite the same.” Her voice had shifted to something a bit more melancholic, but her smile remained the same.

At some point of her filling the drinks, a small carved representation of Astre ended up in front of Mallory, the little carving strung from a thong like a simple bead. It was anything but simple, and was instead rather impressive for how small it was. “I wouldn’t say it was Tymora’s whim.” She sat down as she added her own aside to the conversation, having served everyone a bit of her drink. She’d have to reseal the barrel in a bit,  but she’s get to that later. “Oh, and do try not to slam it back. Goliath brews are on par with dwarven brews.”

“Would anyone care for a drink? I will warn that it is quite strong. But smooth. Very smooth.”

"Oh, certainly! I've been dying to get a hold of something to warm the belly all day." As he talked, Torgrim was carefully counting the content of one of the smaller bags, which he had unceremoniously poured out and scooped together on the table in front of him. "It's been a while since I've had this kind of money, to be honest. It's certainly more than the silvers and coppers one gets from singing ballads and shanties to drunken fishermen."

As what little coin he already had made its way into the bag and onto his belt, Torgrim had received his complimentary drink from Farwalker. "Ah, thank you. Cheers!" He took a vigorous swig, emptying half the cup before the poignant taste and smell hit him simultaneously. As the brew burned its way down his throat, it took a visible effort not to cough it out all over the bar.
"Oh, and do try not to slam it back. Goliath brews are on par with dwarven brews."

"Duly *cough* *cough* noted" The usually talkative half elf quietly raised the cup in Farwalker's direction and forced out a single choked "good" through red eyes and a forced smile.

"He *cough* He says thank you, by the way."
"The Fisherman. For the *cough* fire I suppose."

Rhydd nodded upon hearing Hlin's quiet admission that she felt pain all over. "Well, have a care with those hurts inflicted by Troll-claws," he replied. "Hopefully 'twill turn out to be naught but some more battle-scars for you, but I'd hate to find out after being away for a while that you had passed from the wound-rot."

The archer looked thoughtful upon hearing Farwalker offer up drinks  of a brew that was apparently made by some of her people, with the warning that it was quite strong. By way of an answer, Rhydd strolled over behind the counter and returned with an empty flagon, which he set down on top of the table next to his unclaimed coin-pouch.

After staring down at the coin-pouch for a short while, he seemingly came to a decision and picked up the pouch. Then he slid his empty mug over towards the Goliath. "If you please," he said.

"I've always had a taste for Dwarven ale," he admitted. "I'm curious as to how this measures up."

Moyrah enjoyed thoroughly her pleasant conversation with Mallory, it was a welcome moment of respite after the group's ordeal recently. "Isn't it interesting how such an unfortunate turn of events has led you and your fellow travelers here, to pull this forsaken town out of the muck? I hope that you lot may have set an example by your actions, but I wouldn't get my hopes up honestly, some things just never change." A slight shrug of the shoulders, followed her words, almost unintentionally.



Mallory's offer caused the corner of Moyrah's lips, to curve up devilishly. A way out was something she yearned for, for quite some time now, and seeing the opportunity presented felt a bit too good to be true. "Well... If you asked me that question a few months ago, you would have gotten a completely different answer out of me. Ever since my father's unfortunate hanging, I have lost the tether which connected me to Targos, and despite trying my best to search for the space which I can occupy, I haven't managed to truly find it. Whatever your travelling arrangements might be you can count me miss Mallory. I don't know much about the roads connecting the ten Towns, but with Rhydd, and his knowledge, you won't have much trouble finding your way to Brynn Shander. I would be very much grateful if your family members in Brynn Shander could direct me to someone who can give me more insight into these..." Moyrah slanted her head towards her tattoos for a moment. "... as these are the only things left in my possession that can help me understand my heritage."

"How long do you think it will take for Naerth's people to deal with the troll's remains? I might need to take some time tomorrow to finish transferring the missing part of the etchings onto a parchment, but maybe your know-how of the illusory magicks might help speed it all up?"

While such a token surely would've delighted Mallory, she never actually saw it.  She was too busy watching Torgrim nearly choke himself on his own hurried quaff while trying to hold back a giggle.  Astre, on the other hand, was keenly aware.  No sooner had the little carving been set down than the Tressym's head poked up at the side of the table - ears perked and eyes wide into broad, glimmering discs of obvious excitement.  A swish of his paw stole the trinket away and he vanished beneath the table in a fit of happy purring, rolling about by everyone's feet and tugging the carving's strap through his fangs.

---

"I hope that you lot may have set an example by your actions, but I wouldn't get my hopes up honestly, some things just never change."

"I'll drink to that." a short, somewhat bitter toast followed by a careful sip of Farwalker's blend.  Even that was enough to make her eyes water as she held it in her mouth to let the curious sensation fully seep through her tongue; there was a significant difference between something that was drunk for the sake of pleasure, or simply getting sloshed, and something drunk for its experience.  The noble considered her mouthful ponderously before she finally swallowed with a controlled grimace for its intensity, then blew out a long sigh through pursed lips to feel the way moving air made her tongue tingle.

"That is quite something, Farwalker.  You could certainly take to market with a special reserve, if you cared to try.  The flavor doesn't stand much against an aged Dwarven brew, but the evolution throughout the drink is very enticing.  My grandfather would be mad for something like this."  Little surprise that someone of the nobility would approach food and drink from a taster's standpoint.  Mallory gave a gesture up the side of her glass; with an arcane shimmer the remaining beverage within promptly warmed to a gentle, pleasant steam.  Warmed, as Farwalker suggested, and well worth another sip to try the difference.  "Mn!  Oh, I much prefer it warmed... Dannika, darling?  Mister Maldhon?" she offered to warm the others' portions as well with an outstretched hand, if they cared to try.

Moyrah's continued mulling on what would become of her and her plans for the future drew Mallory's attention back over; she listened will full sympathy for her position.  Though on the note of being practically eager to join in travel, she couldn't help but feel relieved - both for the sake of being an opportunity and because she was leery of being surrounded by rough-edged men all the time.  "Well, you're most certainly welcome with me for as long as you deem worthwhile.  It looks as though this Chwinga-hunting company is growing apace, isn't it?" she joked Dannika's way.  "I don't know if Uncle Hukkush would be of much use in finding answers though... he's not an arcane scholar like myself.  But he does deal in shipping, so he's bound to have plenty of connections scattered throughout the realm.  We won't know for certain until we try, right?

As for our schedule tomorrow... hm.  I suppose it might behoove me to bother the Speaker before he settles in for bed." she let her gaze drift up the stairs where Naerth had headed before.

"He *cough* He says thank you, by the way.  The Fisherman. For the *cough* fire I suppose."

Torgrim's eventual sputtering recovery lifted Mallory's brow his way a moment.  "Beg pardon?  Does your spectral spectator have some care for Targos?"
This message was last edited by the player at 19:02, Sun 08 Aug 2021.

Burning trachea aside, Torgrim had to admit that the goliaths' liquor did have a unique taste to it. The coughing fits had barely subsided before the cup once again made it's way toward his lips for a smaller sip.

"Beg pardon?  Does your spectral spectator have some care for Targos?"

"So it *cough* appears. If nothing else, he seems grateful for the fire being put out. Oh, thank you." He put out his cup in Mallory's direction following the offer of a heated beverage.  He then gingerly went back to the cup for a sip, which quickly went down behind gritted teeth without any of the swishing or savoring posh folk were want to do. "Can't imagine why though. If I'd ended up on the gallows, my vindictive ass would want nothing more than for this town to burn to the ground."
This message was last edited by the player at 20:25, Sun 08 Aug 2021.

Hlin glared sideways at Rhydd, puffing out another near-perfect ring of smoke. "It'll take more than a couple of scratches to fell a Dwarf. A Mountain Dwarf, no less! Don't mistake us for any lowly, fragile hill-folk." She flung her wool blanket, woven green with patterns of blue, across her lap to tuck herself further in. "And don't you go worry about tired old hags, Rhydd, my friend. We've had our excitement. No, even if I went, battle wounds would be a fitting end to me. A good end." She watched to Ethen, who had finally untied her kerchief and settled down on a stool by the kitchen to catch her breath with most of the chores done for the day. "I am grateful my wounds are only exterior. If they get too bad I can always have them treated with salves and slings. I'll ask Ethen about her supply, just to get you off my back." The last comment was accompanied by a playful smirk and wink.

"Specters?" Dannika inquired after accepting Mallory's preheated Juusht. After a brief whiff to get a sense of the aromas she placed her lips upon the mug and carefully tilted it back until a small droplet touched her tongue. As the burning hit her, she scrunched her nose, sure, but found herself pleasantly surprised after it washed down. "I must say, I'm not usually one for strong drinks of any sort, but this wasn't all too disagreeable, Miss Farwalker. How does your tribe go about making it?" As she apparently endeavored to prospect on two fronts simultaneously, she then took another, more hearty sip of the warmed beverage. Not enough to acquire her own coughing fit, but enough to get a better sense of the taste.

---

DM Bears rolled 2 using 1d20+1.  Dannika Wisdom Saving Throw.
This message was last edited by the GM at 22:43, Mon 09 Aug 2021.

“Clans, not tribes.” Farwalker corrected Dannika. Not harshly, just simply stating a fact. “And each clan has it’s own method for this particular drink. My clan uses a traveling dwarven still and makes alcohol from the berries found on the higher reaches of the mountains. It’s always a little different every time. But always with snowberries. It’s been almost two decades since I’be had a snowberry jhuust.” She swirled her own mug, having sat back down after giving Rhydd his share. “Perhaps it’s nostalgia speaking, but it is one of my most favourite drinks. I cannot wait to try it again.”

She looked up thoughtfully at the talk of spectres, “I take it your compatriot is on the ethereal plane? Perhaps tomorrow I could see about speaking with him as well. If nothing else I should be able to see him. Though I am curious. Are they perhaps a member of Moyrah’s family?”

"Specters?" Dannika inquired after accepting Mallory's preheated Jhuust.

"Yes, Mister Torgrim here mentioned before that he's accompanied by a spirit he knows only as 'The Fisherman'.  One quite eager to see the Plesiosaurus from before dealt with, apparently." Mallory elaborated a bit, though she felt it best to leave it to Torgrim himself to explain the matter.  Talk of being followed by invisible spirits was the sort that might get one in some trouble in your average backwater town but, in the company of those versed in the varied arcana, it was a perfectly reasonable notion.  "It's not at all unusual for people to have some innate affinity for the sort of planar attunement that might draw such forces to them, really.  Quite commonplace among Tieflings."

"Though I am curious. Are they perhaps a member of Moyrah’s family?”

That suggestion got a wide-eyed, scandalized look cast the Goliath's way.  "Farwalker!  If that's supposed to be some kind of jest, it's in terrible taste." she balked out of concern for Moyrah's feelings.  To speak so glibly about deceased family struck her as simply awful!
This message was last edited by the player at 03:34, Mon 09 Aug 2021.

"Yes, Mister Torgrim here mentioned before that he's accompanied by a spirit he knows only as 'The Fisherman'.  One quite eager to see the Plesiosaurus from before dealt with, apparently."

"The latest in a growing line of the recently deceased that've come to me for help with some favor or unfinished business. First one to linger this persistently though. That was a lie. Ever since that fateful night in Good Mead there had been another, but Torgrim purposefully pushed the memory far into the back of his mind. The cobbler would visit again in time like always, but he was in no hurry. He took another swig of his cup, nearly emptying it.

"It's not at all unusual for people to have some innate affinity for the sort of planar attunement that might draw such forces to them, really.  Quite commonplace among Tieflings." Torgrim pointed to his ears. "In my case, a gift from my mother's side."

“I take it your compatriot is on the ethereal plane? Perhaps tomorrow I could see about speaking with him as well. If nothing else I should be able to see him."

"They are wayward spirits that have not yet passed to the Fugue Plane as they're blah blah blah." Torgrim spoke in an uncharacteristically stern and precise tone, his best imitation of his mother's lectures many decades earlier. "If that sounds like the etherial plane, I suppose that's where they are. My mother is many things, but an engaging teacher is not one of them."

"Though I am curious. Are they perhaps a member of Moyrah’s family?”
"Farwalker!  If that's supposed to be some kind of jest, it's in terrible taste."

Torgrim laughed, uncouthly oblivious to Mallory's timely interjection. "Hah, now that'd be something! Any humans in your family, Moyrah? Tall, bearded, hangman's scar around the neck?

Over the course of the evening, Dannika gulped down what Goliath brew was generously offered, endorsing Farwalker's initial pitch on its smoothness wholeheartedly. And while she was certainly a scholar, it seemed her knowledge in books did not extend to herself and her own tolerance. It took surprisingly little for her to start slurring her words and wobble in her seat during conversation, even when accounting for her lithe frame. And she grew no less chatty. At one point she'd leaped heads and bounds ahead of whatever the topic was — she hadn't been paying too close attention — to rattle on enthusiastically about some dragon bone stew recipe and Wyrmdoom Crag, a Goliath settlement she'd read of in Candlekeep's Pillars of Pedagogy.

Hlin's contribution to conversation consisted mostly of her snoring. It did not take long before she was asleep in her chair, only waking briefly near the conclusion of festivities to take the time on her pocket watch. Instead of continuing to doze off in her chair, she fetched her bedroll and found a secluded corner by the fire to settle for the night.

There was no sign of Arkemos, though Astre — and anyone sharp-eyed enough to spot the briefest of disturbances in the darkness outside* — was privy to a familiar face flying by the inn's icy windows. Xhar's.

---

*For the sake of it, I'll count Farwalker and Rhydd among those able to spot Xhar, as they both have a +4 to Perception (as opposed to Moyrah's +3 and Torgrim's +1).

---

Upstairs, Naerth's door was ajar. Mallory could hear the scribble of a pen and the crackle of the wood stove. Warm, beckoning candlelight flickered softly from within, lighting the entrance in an otherwise gloomy hallway. The door creaked when opened, and Mallory could see Naerth sitting in a chair by a small, but ornate and neat desk. Though undeniably more snug, things were tidier here than in his office, and far less dusty. A table near the window bore platters of cheese and fruit, a pitcher of wine, and a cutting knife driven into the wood. Atop a drawer next to a couple of lidded crates was a small, hissing cage draped in cloth not entirely at ease.

Naerth, attention tacked to the paper, held up a finger. "Hold one moment. And shut the door behind you. I'll need to send out this letter, and I'm afraid it's somewhat pressing," he said as he hastily wrote the remainder. "Business hours, and such. I'd say it's the other party's fault, but alas, it is none but my own — I've been subject to a fairly busy day, as I am sure you can sympathize with." Once done, he signed it and rolled it before sealing it with wax, choosing one of two stamps at his disposal. He rose from his chair, letter in hand. "Bonheur. The name eluded me since yesterday — I could not recall where I'd heard it prior. Only once I had sifted through some of my old bookkeeping could I place it. Your family is situated in Neverwinter, correct?"

Like Hlin, Mallory was prone to checking a fine timepiece from within her breast pocket now and again as the evening rolled on.  Part of her yearned to drink as merrily as Dannika did but she settled for simply helping the sloshed scholar to bed sooner or later, then going about her own affairs with a far greater sense of sobriety than she really preferred after the day she'd had.

It wasn't until a glimpse of that meddlesome raven appeared that Mallory eased into action herself, in a manner.  None of those hasty charges out the door like before.  No, the young noble put on a different manner to make her way down the quiet hall with Astre draped about her shoulders in his usual slump.  Well before she ever neared Naerth's door she took a few minutes to quietly prepare herself in more than just a sense of mental fortitude or social glibness.  She lingered in silence with her focus drawn inward, pulled toward a singular point within herself until, on a long exhalation, she released it and her awareness bloomed outward into a whole new dimension.  All around her she could see the faint glimmer of passing leylines and scintillating threads; subtle, endless, and interwoven through everything in the vicinity.  She idly considered the lantern rod Dannika had loaned her and hummed over the way its mixed magics glowed within her altered perception, luminous and warm.

Finally, the young noblewoman drew a breath and knocked gently at Naerth's door.

"Hold one moment. And shut the door behind you. I'll need to send out this letter, and I'm afraid it's somewhat pressing."

Not an unexpected reply and Mallory respected it with a simple nod.  Though as she waited for the Speaker to finish his task, Astre sniffed absently about before seeming to grow anxious on his own.  A faint mewl was all it took for her to open the door a crack once more and let her apparently fussy feline scamper off on his own devices, with the door shut once more in his wake to leave Mallory and Naerth finally alone.

---

Prior to entering, Mallory ritual casts "Detect Magic" on herself to keep her senses open for any magical items/effects within 30' of herself.

While Astre is in the room with her, he'll give a sweep with his "Detect Invisibility" vision and sniff about and use his innate "Poison Sense" to detect if there's anything amiss.  Particularly in the food and wine (I'm assuming, of course, that he's experienced enough to tell the difference between the base tier of "poisonous" that alcohol is by nature and actual poison).  He'll inform Mallory of anything he notices via Telepathy, then head out.

Once Astre is outside, Mallory will dismiss him to his pocket dimension and then re-summon him 30' outside, preferably on the rooftop directly above her.  From there, Astre's going to go Stealth and keep an eye out for Xhar and/or Arkemos.

Astre - Stealth
Mallory Bonheur rolled 15 using 1d20+4

Astre - Perception
Mallory Bonheur rolled 25 using 1d20+5
Nat 20, for all the good it does.  ^^;

---

"I assure you that you bear my every sympathy.  Even just being an unwitting visitor to this town has laid enough head-and-heartaches to last me a year.  I can only imagine the stresses you endure, Naerth... if I may be so casual?" she asked hastily on the end there, with a faint smile and raised brow.  As before, there was a certain dance to be had when it came to gauging another in conversation.  The back and forth, the give and take.  Though without Moyrah or Farwalker in her company, Mallory's manner and tone were a fair deal looser.  Not unguarded by any measure, but simply... more assured in the situation, perhaps.  A dance one was more familiar with, rather than a new tune and uncertain steps.

"Only once I had sifted through some of my old bookkeeping could I place it. Your family is situated in Neverwinter, correct?"

"Indeed.  I'd love to say we're a company of greater repute for our name to spread this far north but, alas, we've no trading branches out here just yet." she noted as she took a seat, legs folded demurely knee-over-knee.  "I'm curious as to what ledgers you have that would feature us.  Perhaps we share a sponsor or two?  There's a few I could think of who dabble in so many industries back home."
This message was last edited by the player at 00:35, Thu 12 Aug 2021.

Rhydd's eye was attracted by the movement of something outside, something that had flitted by one of the fogged-over windows of the inn.

The huntsman had no particular interest in speaking to Naerth again. So he grabbed his bow, pushed the hood of his heavy winter jacket up so that it covered his head, and slipped quietly outside.

Whatever he had seen was dark and fairly small. If he had to hazard a guess, he suspected that it was the raven that belonged to Arkemos. He glanced this way and that in the gray gloom, hoping to spot the creature again -- if nothing else, to confirm what it was that he had seen.

---

OOC: 16:47, Today: Rhydd Maldhon rolled 17 using 1d20+4 with rolls of 13.  Perception Check (Spotting Xhar).

"I assure you that you bear my every sympathy.  Even just being an unwitting visitor to this town has laid enough head-and-heartaches to last me a year.  I can only imagine the stresses you endure, Naerth... if I may be so casual?"
"You certainly may," Naerth responded. "I've never been a devotee of formalities myself. Unfortunately, the position of Town Speaker makes it difficult to avoid them. It makes for a refreshing change of pace. A drink?" He didn't wait for an answer, but poured the wine into two cups, keeping the quantity to a one-third fill. "And don't let me keep you standing," he continued, extending the drink and gesturing to one of the chairs by the table. He did not take a seat himself, but rather leaned wearily against the drawer.

"I'm curious as to what ledgers you have that would feature us.  Perhaps we share a sponsor or two?  There's a few I could think of who dabble in so many industries back home."
"Could be. Though these records date back years. I was doing all kinds of work while in Waterdeep back then, for all kinds of people. You'd find it surprising how hard it is for some to keep simple transactions in order. Dot their i's, and all that. Well, maybe it isn't," He took a swig of his own drink and turned the cup in his hands, letting the candlelight play across the lead surface. "Some just don't have the knack for it, I suppose. They lack the tenacity. Though it would seem not you and your family. You've been clever — not everyone would think to turn to Icewind Dale even in the best of times. It might look unattractive, but turmoil begets vacuums." Naerth shrugged. "Well . . . either you're clever, or you're desperate. It could be one of the two. Or both."

---

The night ran bitter-cold down Rhydd's neck, despite his fur's attempt to battle it. It was no ordinary cold, and it was pitch black outside — hadn't it been for the lights that came from the inn, he would have been completely and utterly lost. But there, in the faint orange light of the kitchen window, he saw the black silhouette of the raven he thought he had spotted, perched atop a barrel. Xhar. The bird had no intention of making the search difficult, however, and cawed to draw attention to itself.

It had brought a small pouch, which it had laid at its feet. Though if Rhydd came too close, the raven cawed again, spreading its wings in an agitated stance. It slowly, carefully, folded them and scowled at the huntsman. "I was told to expect the Speaker Naerth, or the frail innkeeper," the raven spoke in a raspy voice, "not someone else. Not you."

---

I'll delay Astre by one or two posts, depending on development. This makes the most sense to me, as he must have had to spot Xhar simultaneously with Rhydd and Farwalker, then enter Naerth's room alongside Mallory to sniff around, then be teleported out. And, funnily enough, this means these two events are not concurrent. Until my go-ahead, he exists in the void that is the brief time that separates them.
This message was last edited by the GM at 23:38, Thu 12 Aug 2021.

Though Mallory did take the offered beverage, unlike prior, she still didn't drink.  She'd yet to fully rid herself of the lingering warmth brought by Farwalker's concoction and dared not risk a deeper inebriation just yet.  There was still work to do... perhaps after.  For the moment she simply rolled the rim of the cup between her gloved fingertips to idly occupy her hands.  "I was born and raised on formalities.  While I certainly believe in the value of good manners, the rest of it... ech.  The airs, the posturing; it's all utterly exhausting.  I've always preferred a more frank discussion." Dark eyes rolled about on the matter.  "But you can't win when it comes to business partners or the public.  They say they want an earnest approach but, if you give it to them, they scoff at the lack of decorum.  Rubbish."

"You've been clever — not everyone would think to turn to Icewind Dale even in the best of times. It might look unattractive, but turmoil begets vacuums." Naerth shrugged. "Well... either you're clever, or you're desperate. It could be one of the two. Or both."

"If I didn't know any better I'd think you were trying to make me blush with such flattery." Mallory said flippantly.  Her eyes dipped down into the contents of her cup for a lingering moment to watch her own reflection in its surface.  "Desperation is a very useful thing, I've found.  It begets opportunity.  It makes people volatile yet abjectly predictable all the same; an excellent asset when it comes to handling a business.  And wouldn't you know, I arrive in time to find desperation in gross abundance everywhere I look.

You're not from about these parts yourself, Naerth.  It's one thing to come this far into the cold to pursue trade, but public office?  There are considerably easier ways to make a profit and I daresay a man of your capabilities is wasted on Targos.  What are you hoping to gain in all this?" she gestured about vaguely; the Inn itself he'd taken on, Targos as a whole, Icewind Dale alike.
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 06:02, Fri 13 Aug 2021.

In reply to DM Bears (msg # 63):

~~Magicks,~~ Rhydd thought to himself, distastefully, when the black bird spoke to him. He did not have a good understanding of how such things worked -- he would need to ask Lady Mallory for an explanation, he supposed. He did know that the raven was linked to Arkemos in some fashion, but had thought of it as being a pet. Now, it appeared that it was much more. The archer found himself wondering if Arkemos could see through the bird's eyes, or speak using the bird's voice -- if that was the right word.

"Plans change," he said simply, by way of reply to the raven's testiness about his not being one of the people who was expected to show up. Rhydd did wonder at Ethen being mentioned in the same breath as Naerth.

"It's too cold out here to waste time chatting," he muttered, quite truthfully.

"May I take it, so that we may both seek warmer places?" he asked, motioning with a gloved hand towards the pouch that sat atop the barrel, underneath the raven's feet.

Rhydd was aware that the bird could simply grasp the small leather pouch and fly away, if it -- or, mayhap Arkemos -- was so inclined. Of course, he could put an arrow into the raven if it attempted to carry away the pouch, but he did not feel justified in doing that. Not at this point, any way.

"You're not from about these parts yourself, Naerth.  It's one thing to come this far into the cold to pursue trade, but public office?  There are considerably easier ways to make a profit and I daresay a man of your capabilities is wasted on Targos.  What are you hoping to gain in all this?"
"Aside from the joy of helping a desperate people in desperate times, you mean?" Naerth snickered. "Power and control, for starters. Targos is a long-term investment. When this whole thing blows over and The Frostmaiden decides to bugger off to wherever it is she came from, having one of the Ten-Towns in one's pocket will be invaluable in securing a proper foothold. My associates and I have been eyeing it for a while now. And it was either Targos, or Bryn Shander or Easthaven, both significantly harder locations to seize for completely different reasons. Targos, on the other hand, was about ready for an office shake-up." He downed his drink and let out an exhilarating gasp. "And it just so happened that I needed to . . . lay low for a time. Flee the limelight."

---

The raven eyed Rhydd suspiciously. "You were with the mage and her familiar," it continued. "It is payment for a debt owed, not for you to be entrusted with." It grabbed the pouch in its beak and spread to lift off. "It is a shame."

"And it just so happened that I needed to . . . lay low for a time. Flee the limelight."

A sardonic chuckle left Mallory's painted lips, soft and bitter. "See, this is why I prefer these sort of personal conversations.  It's a far better way to learn how much in common people like us have."  A wistful moment was given for her home so far to the south.  The collapse of her family business wasn't something everyone took so graciously, after all.  It had been left up to her parents to settle tempers and handle the contracts in the meantime, but Mallory's own presence would've just stirred things up.

"But what if the Frostmaiden doesn't let up?  Or if we cannot wrangle Kaltro back onto his leash?" she began, only to huff a sigh out the side of her lips and roll her eyes.  "Oh, what am I even saying?  There are always new investments to pursue and old ties to be cut loose, right?  I suppose if the Frostmaiden's antics get bad enough to threaten beyond Icewind Dale, the Lord's Alliance might actually rile themselves into action far too late after the fact again."

Mallory sighed once more and raised one palm; fingers curled about as, within her grasp, appeared the vague forms of undefined figures.  A lean man with pitch-dark skin and white hair bearing swords, another towering and mighty in stature with a war hammer hefted overhead.  "Of course, right when one could really use some legendary heroes, they're nowhere to be found.  Leaving us mere mortals to manage what we can." A scoff blew the illusory figures away like the smoke of a snuffed candle.  "Why do you permit the hangings to continue on in the meantime anyway?  Surely they're not actually helping soothe the Frostmaiden's mood at all... but why did Kaltro target Mister Herve, then?  Was he trying to complete an interrupted sacrifice, or does he fancy himself a worshiper earning favor?"
This message was last edited by the player at 18:20, Fri 13 Aug 2021.

"See, this is why I prefer these sort of personal conversations.  It's a far better way to learn how much in common people like us have."
"Indeed," Naerth said. "Though some things are best left unearthed — I'm not going to pry too much in family affairs."

"I suppose if the Frostmaiden's antics get bad enough to threaten beyond Icewind Dale, the Lord's Alliance might actually rile themselves into action far too late after the fact again."
"In the grand scheme of things, Icewind Dale remains insignificant. If I were to speculate on their approach to this disaster, it entails waiting it out. And even for those fancy figurines of yours, with their armor and their weapons," he gestured toward the dissipating strands of illusory smoke, "a literal god is no laughing matter. We have no choice but remain at her mercy." Before he continued, he grabbed the rolled up parchment he had put down, turned to the cage and removed the covering to reveal two Flying Snakes flicking their forked tongues. "And who knows if the sacrifices work or not? She's a malevolent deity and must be worshiped like any other. The fishermen liken her to Umberlee." He reached his hand into the cage and let one snake coil up his wrist and forearm. "I haven't been around for more than a season, but the townsfolk say they notice a difference. And not just those from Targos, but several of the Speakers vouch to its effect. It's less cold, and the populated areas aren't constantly bombarded with blizzards as they were prior to the arrangement of sacrifices. It puts me in a precarious position." As the snake tighten on his arm, he beheld its opalescent eyes. "To hang a person every ten days, or not? If I had the food to sacrifice instead, I'd gladly do it."

Suddenly straightening and drawing a resolute breath, he seemed to have quietly made up his mind on the matter as he tied the note fast to the snake's back. "Kaltro has already earned The Frostmaiden's favor. I'd reckon now he wants to keep it, so he kills those slated to die. Or, in the case of Easthaven, those who refuse to do their part." Naerth opened the window to allow a gust of icy air batter the toasty room, the faint whistle of the cold winds to accompany it. He released the snake and quickly closed the window and fastened the latches again.

"A literal god is no laughing matter. We have no choice but remain at her mercy. And who knows if the sacrifices work or not? She's a malevolent deity and must be worshiped like any other. The fishermen liken her to Umberlee."

That got another bitter scoff out of Mallory as her expression darkened considerably.  "Utter nonsense.  While the power such entities bear is without doubt, everything else... just airs and posturing." she echoed her earlier disdain.  "My upbringing and career in the arcane render to me insight when it comes to the gods; quite different than what you'd get from the churches and their followers.  How they came to be, what they've done throughout time.  There is a core facet shared between the Nobility and the Divine: no matter the power they wield, at the center of it all they're just people with fancy titles and an overblown sense of their own importance.  They are not eternal nor are they irreplaceable.

I see no future in pandering to the tantrums of an ice-laden brat.  But, with the Lake Monster dealt with, hopefully Targos will have enough in their fishing nets soon to spare the lives of its citizens from more than just hunger."

Mallory was certain Naerth wasn't of the sort to enjoy listening to a mage's ramblings on the cosmic order, nor were such topics ultimately of any use to him.  After all, what good did labeling Auril's actions as such have when it came to actually coping with the consequences?  But when one's mood was in such a poor state as hers, she couldn't help but allow ire to seep out.  The young noble brooded in silence while Naerth attended to his messenger serpents, though his assurances of Kaltro's habits offered nothing to improve her state.

"...he kills those slated to die. Or, in the case of Easthaven, those who refuse to do their part."

When Naerth turned back around once more, he'd find another illusion bore in Mallory's upturned palm.  Not a vague insinuation of heroes from long ago, but a far more recent memory rendered in excruciating detail.  The exact, precise image of Herve and his daughter strewn on the floor of their home, frozen and slain; fear locked permanently in their expressions by the blast of unfeeling ice.  Beyond the phantoms hung Mallory's own gaze once more hollowed by the sight that had lingered in her head all day.  A sight that would remain with her, it seemed, in a manner beyond just how her eyes held fast on the image of Herve's daughter.

"What was her name?" Mallory's tone bore a distinct edge to it, yet remained dispassionate.  There was no rage, no heat behind her words.  Just... weariness, of a sort.

---

Persuasion
Mallory Bonheur rolled 18 using 1d20+3
This message was last edited by the player at 22:11, Fri 13 Aug 2021.

Naerth was rocked by the illusion. Not by the horror of it, but by the abruptness of its appearance. But he took a deep breath, sharing in Mallory's woe. "Her name was Maia. And I wished it hadn't happened like . . . that." He nodded toward the replicate scene. "And if I had the final say I'd see him hung from the gallows. But we should not let one unfortunate incident cloud our judgement."

Curled up in a chair next to the comforting warmth of the nearby hearth, Moyrah kept to herself, almost reclusively for most of the night, aside from the short exchange with miss Mallory. Reinvigorating effect of human company, amazing food and drinks was very much welcome and offered Moyrah a sneak peek into the way of living that was unimaginable to her before this night. Rhydd's sudden departure has, unfortunately, put an abrupt stop to this idyllic atmosphere.

"...Where did he go?" Moyrah asked Farwalker and Torgrim in passing, as she made her way towards the exit of the Luskan Arms. Deciding to venture outside at this time of the night seemed insane at best and suicidal at worst, and Rhydd, an experienced outdoorsman must have had a good enough reason to do so. With a strong clench of her fur lined coat, Moyrah turned the corner to find a perplexing sight, Rhydd staring at a barrel. "Are you fine Rhydd, what brought you out here?"