Part II

Name: Slade Raveneye

Birthplace: Diessa Lowlands, Ascalon

Occupation: Baron and Lord of Raven's Keep, former lieutenant and second in

command of the Venator Solaris guild.

Description: Slightly above average height, Long black hair, beard stubble, tired green eyes, plump stomach and cheeks, wearing a wine-stained shirt of finest Elonian silk

Estimated age: late fifties/early sixties

Nicknames: Raven/The Raven

Trademark skill: Poison Arrow

Favorite emote: /No

Class: Ranger/Necromancer

Deity: Grenth

Time-line: 1101 AE (Mouvelian Calendar), Season of the Scion

Place: Raven's Keep, 10 leagues Southeast of Lion's Arch


Seated on opposite ends of an over-sized table adorned with intricate wooden carvings in the main dining hall of Raven's Keep, the now fully clothed Slade motioned to one of the servant girls. With some time to gain his composure, Slade looked animated, if not completely sober.

"Something to drink for the captain, Elza dear!" He said heartily.

Elza, a shapely, mouse-haired girl in her early twenties, bowed and disappeared into the nearby kitchen. A few moments later she resurfaced with two steins containing dark, murky ale.

"No, no, no! Not this Elonian swill, are you daft girl?" Slade barked after having tasted the ale. "Fetch the Ascalonian stout from the cellars, and step on it!"

The girl winced and recoiled at her masters words as if they had physically lashed her, quickly collecting the two ale-filled steins and vanishing from sight again. An awkward silence ensued for a few moments.

Fabian eyed his old friend skeptically in the flickering torchlight. Once sprightly and muscular with an unyielding aura of vitality about him, the man in front of him looked unkempt and worn out; His hair was long and greasy, a thick black stubble covered his face and his belly protruded in a round arc underneath his wine-stained silk shirt.

"You've let yourself go." Fabian noted casually.

Slade shrugged. "All perks of leading a Baron's life."

Fabian raised an eyebrow. "Aye, must take a terrible toll on a fellow."

"Pah!" Slade scoffed. "Not all of us can be content with the life of a peasant. After all we went through, I'd say it's well deserved. No?"

When Fabian didn't reply, Slade raised his voice, calling out to the servant girl again. "Elza! Where is that damnable stout!" He smiled apologetically. "The girl is slow, but she's a good romp in the sack so what can ya do." He shrugged. "Now, what was I saying?"

"I believe you were justifying your becoming a plump, ill-tempered, servant-abusing drunkard." A harsh undertone had crept into Fabians voice, and his eyes had hardened. "Let's hear it."

"Oho!" Slade's face flushed with red as he retorted "So it's going to be like that is it? I'll not be insulted in my own keep, not even by you! Besides, you don't exactly look like a freshly hatched moa chick yourself, face it Fox, we're not young anymore!"

"It's true, much is lost with age," Fabian mused. "But I should think one's dignity would remain intact – Perhaps the good Baron Raveneye needs a mirror to see the damage he has inflicted upon himself?"

"Dignity? Dolyaks shite!" Slade flew up from his seat, sending his chair hurtling backwards. "Why did you even come here for...? What has it been, ten years? Fifteen? Why DOES the great captain Grey grace me with his presence?"

Fabian sighed, his shoulders slumping down. Here they were, at it again. Ten years had passed, but nothing had changed. For some reason they were as irritable around each other as ever. He realized that much of it came from still holding his friend to the standard of the past – that he might never again live up to – but it was difficult to simply accept his comrades downward spiral. The Slade he remembered would have looked down upon this disheveled and broken version of himself as much as he did – if not more.

"Apologies friend, I did not come to dredge up old grudges – Too much of the old captain left in me I suppose." He straightened up again, his eyes and voice softer. "I came here to invite you to my daughters wedding."

While the two men looked at each other, one fuming, the other calm and collected – Elza appeared quietly from a side-door, tip-toeing up to the table and carefully setting down two ale mugs and a dusty, ancient-looking bottle carrying the seal of the old Ashford brewery.

"Thank you... Elza was it?" Fabian murmured. "You can retire for the evening." The servant girl gave a quick courteous nod and scurried out of the dining hall.

"Don't presume to...!" Slade began, but Fabian interrupted him, raising his hand. "She's marrying some upstart merchant prince from Khodash, can you believe it?"

Still wearing a sour expression, Slade slowly relaxed his stance, finally collecting his chair from the floor and sitting down again.

"I was away from the settlement a mere ten-day," Fabian continued while reaching for the flask of ale. "Helping the locals of a neighboring village to deal with an Ettin problem you see, and when I got back, this traveling merchant prince from Elona had swept into the settlement with his entourage."

He paused and poured the ale into the cups, shuffling one towards Slade.

"They were all the rage in the settlement, all anyone would talk about. To me, they looked like a bunch of flamboyant rainbow-colored peacocks, but..." He shrugged. "A sign of my age I suppose, not keeping up with the times?"

"Pah, Elonians..." Slade snorted and took a swig from his ale. "They ARE a bunch of rainbow colored peacocks, the lot of them! And DON'T get me started on the Canthans!" He paused for a moment, then added; "No proper Ascalonian stock in that settlement of yours?"

"I suppose I should be more protecting as a father," Fabian laughed. "but it's a new world old friend, it's a new world. Besides," he went on, "the settlement could never prosper if we shut our gates from the rest of the world. Right now the future of the Ascalonian people depend on how well we can adapt and integrate with the other nations."

"Yes well," Slade murmured, looking away. "At least you're not letting her marry an Asura." He sighed. "So, when is this atrocity taking place?"

"At the turning of the season, three moon-cycles in." Fabian replied, his face growing serious for a moment. "It would mean a great deal to me if you would come, though I won't hold you to it."

Slade snorted. "Fine-fine. At least you didn't use the 'for old times sake' speech."

"It's settled then!" Fabian grinned broadly. "Oh, and Slade, if that thing is still stubbornly clinging to its life – for the sake of my daughter – leave your disgusting pet spider at home will you?"