Uninvited guests

[Lilira]

I sat in my room in the Dead Orc in Waterdeep. I’m saving my platinum to purchase a nice quiet little cottage,, somewhere to keep my wardrobe, which is getting out of hand, if nothing else. But I digress.

I sat in my room in the Dead Orc in Waterdeep, ink splotches and paper everywhere around me. So much had happened in the Final Battle against Auzorm’tvorl, it overwhelmed me. I had scribbled down as many notes as I could upon my return to Waterdeep, but there were so many! How was I ever to string them together into a story worthy of the sacrifices, battle, the loan of god-blessed weapons, and the spirits bound to them? And the dragons, ahhh the dragons were worth a hundred pages alone! I didn’t want to alter the tale, as the truth, for once, was incredible enough for an epic! There was so much detail anyone telling the story would still be there in a month, with listeners eagerly bouncing like children to hear the end.

That sleep I had promised myself was refused to me as the images still danced in my head clamoring to get out.

I sat in my chair, looking around the room at the blizzard of paper, my head aching and eyes burning, when someone pounded on my door. I stared at it stupidly for a moment, forcing my brain to understand what the noise was. I stood up and staggered to the door, opening it with a growl on my lips. I had left word not to be disturbed.

“What damm,,,,,” was all I got out before the door was shoved out of my hands by a large form who pushed past me, stood aside, allowing a slender woman to slip through, before closing the door and standing in front of it. I hadn’t slept much in a week. I had left my room only twice since my return at the request of some of my friends. It had been three days since I had last done so. I was tired and irritable. I grabbed my glaive off the small table, sending papers flying in every direction, and whirled to face the intruders, dropping into a defensive stance.

“Get out,” I told them, my voice husky with exhaustion and disuse. The man at the door snorted with what appeared to be amusement. He looked vaguely familiar, but my tired mind refused to supply me with a name. I turned to the woman. An elf. Not the watered down version like myself, but a full elf from the isle. Her clothing and demeanor screamed mage to even my fatigue fogged mind. Honey-gold hair was braided into a single braid down her back, and dark green eyes stared at me scornfully.

Arrogance was etched on her face, her voice cold as an icicle as she spoke to me, her inferior, in elven. “I have been sent to fetch you.”

“Oh,” I replied in common, that one word speaking in volumes of my distaste for her attitude. I refused to play her game. I have had many companions who were elven, none of them treated me with such hauteur, but then they have left the isle to adventure and have learned better. “What if I do not wish to be ‘fetched’?”

She snorted with elegant derision, eyes flicking over me. “I can see by your appearance you are exhausted. Even fully rested, do you think to challenge me?” I blinked for a moment at her words. I took a second to glance in the polished steel mirror on the wall. Inwardly I groaned. My short-cropped cap of silver stood up in every direction, where my hands had run through it in frustration. I had ink smudges on my face, ink smears through my hair, and dark circles under my eyes. My clothes, thank the gods not silk for once, had ink spots all over them. Even my feet, bare for comfort, were not spared. Not the best I’ve looked to be sure. Certainly not my worst, but I wasn’t bleeding this time, so I really had no excuse. I heard her murmuring under her breath and saw her fingers twitch. Not taking a chance, I sung out a spell to wipe her mind of incantations. I felt the tingle of a spell wash over me, but nothing happened. I watched as my spell appeared to fail. A blur of movement signaled the barbarian’s attack, and I stumbled out of the way, swatting at him with my glaive.

I opened my mouth and sang the worst song I could think of, blasting them with baneful music. They both staggered for a moment, reeling from the blast of power my song created, and I took the opportunity to shove past, open the door and run down the stairs. The common room fell silent as I ran in, looking like a wild creature, bare footed, out of breath, wielding my weapon.

“Lass,” a dwarf, I vaguely recognized from the party I had entertained for just weeks ago, called with a questioning air, “Got ye a problem?” I stammered out what had just occurred. “Right,” he said standing up and grabbing his axe. He looked at his companions, more dwarves, “Let’s go have us a look see at this elf who would try to ‘fetch’ our little bard friend here when she’s not wanting to go.”

The five of us trooped back up the stairs, but I had a feeling I knew what we would find. I motioned for them to hold, and sang the small incantation that would allow us to see the invisible. No surprises. I softly sang my song to reveal all, and looked through the door. The room appeared to be empty. Save for a fire burning merrily in my washbasin. I faltered in my song.

“No,” I gasped, pushing past my would-be heroes, shoving open the door and rushing to the basin where my notes had been shoved in and set ablaze.

“What is amiss,” Durnad, I remember his name now, asked.

“My notes,” I wept, reaching into the fire without thinking, ignoring the pain, in an attempt to save my work. With a curse, Durnad shoved me out of the way, grabbed the full water pitcher and dumped it over the fire. One of his companions examined my fingers where the flame had touched them. His prayers to Berronar repaired the damage to my hands as he held them, but my heart ached. I knew there was no way I would be able to recreate those notes. Yet another of Durnad’s companions walked over with a note he had picked up off the bed, handing it to me as I stared into the soggy ashes.

Durnad rolled his eyes and started fishing salvageable pages out of the sodden mess as I scanned the note the elf had left. It was in elven. My tired mind fought to translate it.


***
Lilira,

This will not be our last meeting. Lady Lysiana is most insistent that you present yourself to her immediately. If you do not wish our discussion to continue at another time, when you haven’t the luxury of defenders, I suggest you travel to Leuthilspar immediately.

Elwynia Ravenfrost, House L’thelias

***

I crumpled the parchment into a ball, anger beginning to burn. Hours and hours of work gone, because of that woman. That damned woman who had centuries left to live, yet couldn’t be patient and leave me be. That damned woman who had treated me like a pile of manure when I had presented myself to her those five years ago, grieving and heartbroken, yet expected me to jump and run to her when she called.

She could take her summons and go to hell.

I stood quickly and started throwing my belongings into my travel bags. I grabbed a waterproof bag and tossed what notes Durnad had managed to salvage into it. I would have to see what was left later.

“Problem bard?” Durnad asked, noting the angry flush on my cheeks.

“Elves,” I muttered darkly. He snorted and the others nodded.

“Flighty, worthless, self-centered bastards they are,” Durnad grumbled, “No slight meant bard.”

I stopped and looked at him and the others with him. For some reason that struck me as funny and I surprised the dwarves by collapsing on my bed, laughing until tears streamed down my face.

Durnad shooed the other dwarves out the door, telling them to wait for him in the tavern, then waited, foot tapping until I calmed myself.

“Yer a right comely lass for a halfy,” he grumbled at me while I still shook with the after affects of mirth, “But yer a mess. Get ye cleaned up before you go anywhere or ye’ll send small children fleeing. I’ll wait outside yer door in case the mage decides to pop back in on ye.” With that, he left the room, closing the door behind him. I heard him plant himself outside the door, leaning on the door jam. I finished packing my belongings. Now, where to go?

South. South was looking good.

[Lahgen]

Lahgen relaxed, peering at the patrons and the proprietors of the Yawning Portal Inn, from an abandoned corner. "Thank you," he nodded to Tamsil, as the latter handed him his ale.

He hated this brand of liquor, but he didn't care anymore. Lahgen didn't care about much before he fought Auzorm'tvorl, and after having tasted death and rebirth, he didn't care about anything at all. He felt as though he lost a piece of himself somewhere in the final confrontation. As a result, Lahgen gave himself fully to wanton, reckless ways. Lahgen was now wholly a freebooter, wandering as he pleased, heedless of all other needs and consequences..

He sipped the foul swill absentmindedly, when the drunken banter of a pair of foul dressed ruffians piqued his interest.

"Heya, did'ja hear about th' commotion at the Dead Orc," said one to another drunk.
"No, whut happen?" was the latter's reply.
"Some fancy looking elf, en a brute barbarian went after that halfbreed bardess."
"Ah, th' one wit th' silver hair?"
"Aye, that be her."
"Whut happened?" he hiccuped.
"Some dwarf challeneged them, and they ran away, I hear..." the first swigged back on his ale.
"Oh."
"Though the poor lass was cryin' and running east of the city!"

Lahgen frowned, and slammed the tankard on the table.

"Zhentil Keep..." he whispered softly to himself.

A pair of crows in his path flew off, as he departed the inn.