Eloria genuinely forgot how cold it was outside the Maw.
The brawler shuddered and shivered as she stood in the knee-deep snow, watching as their benefactor talked to his bodyguard outside his carriage. Thanks to the whipping winds and the cold snatching her attention, she only caught bits and pieces of their conversation. But for the most part, she understood that they were discussing the expedition back to Neverwinter. How they'd go about it and whatnot.
Amid her shivering, she turned her attention to the others. The rest of the party she had been tasked with working alongside in order to find this "Soul Savior", a relic she never heard of. Dalakos stood over a makeshift bonfire, one made using his strange armor. Xyris sat next to it, huddled close to his feathered raptor, and Sir Goolahad knelt next to it, extending several of his tendril-like pseudopods to loom near the flames. Zraull stood close to the stone wall of the Maw, just next to the doorway they all came through, rifling through his doctor's pack to ensure that nothing was missing.
"If ya fellas need a lil' more heat, don't hesitate to say so," Dalakos lowered his arm and glanced to the others. Namely, at Sir Goolahad. "…I'll be honest, slime man, didn't even know ya could get cold."
"Well, technically, I can't. Slime and all," he rolled his wrist. "however, my slime can potentially freeze if left in frigid temperatures too long. Which does leave me rather exposed until I thaw. If I ever thaw, that is, given we're in the Dale."
"This is the daytime cold," Xyris hissed. "the nighttime cold will be much worse. Much more lethal. We are losing daylight."
"Our generous benefactor insisted on havin' a word with his mate, scales," Dalakos noted. "best not to disturb 'em, unless ya want the bastard cancelin' our meal ticket."
"Feh…he best hurry, then." He kept himself close to the flames. Eloria didn't blame him, given he was cold-blooded. One wrong move and he'd be doomed.
Eloria paid attention to their benefactor again, right as he shook hands with his bodyguard and climbed into his wagon. The door was sealed, and the guardsman driver tugged the reins, directing the horses to get moving, leaving the bodyguard behind. As he produced a shrill whistle and pointed towards the emptier wagon nearby.
"Inside, all of you," he called. "it's going to take us eight days to get back to Neverwinter and about three to get out of the Dale properly, so we'll be using inns and taverns along the way for safety from the cold."
"Oh, wonderful. Maybe while we're there, ya can tell 'em the thrillin' tale on why ya brought a gaggle of monsters into said tavern," Dalakos snarked. "cause I'll save ya some time on the endin'. Someone gets shot."
"Lord Dawnguard left me a sizable amount of coin to bribe and pay off any innkeepers out here, and they're too far from civilization to really be a bother. If coin doesn't speak, cold iron to the neck will. Now move." He said before circling the wagon and planting himself in the driver's seat.
"…I have some…reservations to potentially threatening unarmed innkeepers into allowing us shelter," Sir Goolahad said, as his tendrils sank back into his armor and the slime knight stood. "I'm sworn to protect the innocent and weak. It would go against my Code to threaten them into allowing us to stay for the night."
"Well, simple solution then, slime man. They don't make trouble." Dalakos said as he moved for the wagon. "Cause I don't like their chances of successfully scarin' off someone with a firearm. So…" he hopped into the wagon, planting himself on one of the wooden benches inside. Xyris rose and moved for it next along with his pet, same for Zraull. Eloria looked over at the slime knight, his expression masked by his helmet. Still, she knew he was bothered by what the undead bastard said.
"I-It'll be okay, Goolahad," she offered. "I've been to the Dale before back when I was normal. People tend to look the other way out here if you provide enough coin. Especially for throps this far out. Hells, they'd probably like us." She wasn't sure if the last bit was true, but…it seemed right to assure him at least.
"I should hope so. But that rapscallion Dalakos rubs me the wrong way. His flippancy gives me the impression he could be a risk, should the circumstances prove dire." He noted as he began to walk towards the wagon.
"He…seems a bit off, but I'm giving him the benefit of the doubt. We all need one another, after all." Eloria was the last one in the wagon, shutting the doors behind her. The interior was lit with a few lanterns affixed to the wooden walls, trapping some of the ambient heat in with them, though not nearly enough to keep them comfortably warm. The brawler took a seat on a bench as she heard the wagon lurch. As the bodyguard got them moving away from the Maw and towards an uncertain quest.
As the wagon creaked through the snow and ice, Eloria afforded herself a moment of…elation. Happiness, even. She'd been trapped in the Maw for…what? Two years? Three? She lost count. Hells, she hadn't even seen the sun since she first got captured and buried into the Maw. But now…well sure it was for a job, but she was free. It was hard not to bask in that revelation. That comfort she yearned for, deep down. The comfort of freedom. Even if it came at a cost.
Silence filled the wagon, aside from the creaks as it drifted across the snowy path. Eloria took a calming breath as she leaned against the wooden wall, her eyes drifting to the others once more. Dalakos worked on tinkering with his strange firearm with the tinkerer's kit in his lap. Xyris sharpened a menacing, curved dagger while his raptor napped at his feet. Zraull sat slumped against the wall, seemingly inert, as Sir Goolahad next to her idly sloshed and moved in response to the wagon's creaks. She guessed they were all taking a moment like she was. Basking in the fact that they were free, even if it was just to fulfill a mysterious task.
The brawler sighed. Beggers couldn't be choosers.
If only there was time to collect some research information about the Dale. Snow depth, the wind speed, or even the age of the bones buried under the snow. All had useful information to gather and collect. Though within the covered, wooden wagon, he couldn't see the snowscape pass by as the wagon shot across the path. The human, Samuel, urged the horses to move faster. Above their usual speed. They would doubtlessly tire faster, but they would reach shelter before the night fell. Despite his illithid biology, he could perish from extreme temperatures. Another reason his enthralled kind never left the safety of the Underdark.
Zraull jotted things down in his journal, using his charcoal pencil to jot down notes. Questions for later, hypotheses to draft, and general thoughts on things. Like the Reborn's pepperbox. One he flippantly twirled around as he reclined on the wooden bench across from him. He'd seen firearms before, and even kept one himself, but he had only seen simple flintlock weapons. Not something so sophisticated. And yet it was in the hands of someone who both viewed it as a toy, yet was fully aware of how dangerous it could be. A human trait.
"Y'know, while we got time, got a question for you, squidface," Zraull's eyes shifted underneath his mask. The doctor looked away from his journal and to Dalakos, as the undead man tapped the front of his stitched helmet. "what's with the mask? I know it's for ya weird disguise, but…that all it does? Just askin' outta curiosity."
"…the lenses are darkened," he began to answer. "designed using the resources in my old lab. The light beyond the Underdark burns my eyes. This ensures that I can still see perfectly and perform my medical tasks."
"So, you're actually a doctor? Not a pretend one just to eat people?" Dalakos asked. Zraull nodded. "Like…what kinda doctorin' do ya get into, then? Settin' bones in place or shite?"
"I've handled a myriad of tasks, from administering anesthesia to performing surgery on people when a healer couldn't be reached. Or when an affliction is beyond their reach."
"Mhm…I'd hate to see some shite a cleric can't fix, then." Dalakos nodded. The wagon suddenly lurched, and his journal flew from his hand. The others shifted around sharply, voicing mixed complaints and gripes to suddenly being thrown forward. "Ach! What the hells?! Ya okay out there, Sammy?!" The Reborn called as he got to his feet. "Did we hit someone? If so, leave some coin an' hope no one saw! It's what I used to do!" Sir Goolahad glanced his way after that comment. Not even Zraull was sure why he admitted tha—
He glanced up. He heard them in his head. Whispers. Hurried, eager ones, in Common. He couldn't discern what they were whispering, but the fact that he heard them meant someone was near the wagon. And fast approaching.
Zraull slowly pushed himself to his feet and grabbed his bag. The doctor stepped over Xyris' fallen pet, still confused over the sudden lurch, as he planted himself before the wagon's rear doors. With a clench of the hand, he telekinetically opened it, sending a wave of frigid air into the wagon, much to the complaint of the others.
"My word, what are you doing, Zraull?" Sir Goolahad asked, as the armored knight sloshed to his feet. "You intend to see what's stopped us?" He nodded and stepped out of the wagon. Landing in the thick snow coating the road. The landscape had changed only slightly. Instead of the near endless snowfields surrounding the onyx obelisk of the Maw, they neared a set of small, icy cliffs. They weren't too high up, but as Zraull studied them, squinting at them from behind his mask, he deduced that some of the whispers came from them. With two more further ahead.
He heard a second thump and watched as Sir Goolahad righted himself in the snow, brushing some of it off his armor. "If there's something out there, it'd be rather foolish not to embark with you." The doctor nodded and slowly circled the wagon. Moving to the front to find Samuel staring down at a rock in the road. A heavy boulder blocked the way forward.
"What happened here, Samuel?" Sir Goolahad addressed the bodyguard. "Why's there a rock in the way?"
"Something knocked it down," he said. His head was turned towards the cliffsides. Searching for something. "might be an ambush."
"It is." Zraull said. The whispers drew closer. "And the culprits are about to emerge any moment now." On cue, he watched several men emerge from around the boulder. Six in total, with two aiming crossbows their way, two more armed with shortswords, and one even armed with a greatclub, as one of them led the pack, armed with a set of scimitars. All of them wore rugged, run-down fur armor.
"Bandits…" Samuel grumbled. "I should've known."
"Ah, so you've dealt with this before?" The one leading the pack chortled. No doubt he was their leader. Their captain. "Great, so you know the routine. No sudden moves, else the boys here'll loose some arrows. Same for the ones up there with muskets." He pointed towards the small cliffsides. "We're gonna search the wagon, take all you got, and if we're feeling nice, we may let you go—"
"You'll do no such thing, bandits," Sir Goolahad interjected. The armored slime trudged through the snow, towards the bandits. Zraull could practically hear the building ire to his undulating voice, as his gloved hand clenched around his longsword he carried with him. "of all the rapscallions I've encountered, I've come to loathe bandits more than anything else. Those who prey on the weak, the sick, and the helpless, are—" an arrow sank into his helmet, causing him to stop walking. The bandit who let loose the bolt lowered his crossbow and moved to load another, as the arrow popped right out of his helmet, causing the bandits to jerk back in shock.
"What the hells?! That was right in your gods damned head! How are you not dead?!"
"For a wealth of reasons, my foolish foe. None you should concern yourself with, in my humble opinion." He resumed his approach. "Unless you allow us passage, you're about to have bigger problems. Understand?" They were terrified of him, though not for the reason he figured. Two more arrows jammed into his armor, courtesy of the cliffside bandits, and like before, the arrows popped out and fell to the snow. The other bandits shirked back, while the bandit captain looked rooted in place from confused fear.
"Now," Sir Goolahad stopped mere feet from him. "are we to have a quarrel, sir?"
"W-What?"
"I said," several pseudopods emerged from his armor. The gooey tentacles oozed and loomed around the bandit, each vibrating before a maw formed upon each. "do we have a quarrel, sir?" The extra mouths all asked in unison. The captain dropped his scimitars and fled around the boulder. The whispers grew distant on all sides, as the bandits retreated and fled. Scared off by Sir Goolahad's display.
"…that was disgusting." Samuel said.
"No, that was decisive," the armored ooze corrected, as his many pseudopods seeped back into his armor. "no one needed to die on either side, and all it took was giving them a little scare. As my Code dictates, I don't try to kill unless I've exhausted every choice for my foes. After all, even lowly bandits can find redemption somewhere. Now," his posture visibly slackened as he looked towards the boulder. "any ideas as to how to remove this from our path? I doubt a simple push will be enough." Zraull approached the boulder, running his gloved hand along the frigid stone's surface. Judging its weight. Assessing how treacherous it would be to move.
"Please move, Sir Goolahad." He instructed him. The armored ooze eased back, as Zraull concentrated. Focusing his mind and letting psionic energy build in his hand. Gloved fingers flicked upwards, and the boulder slowly lifted from the path; lifting higher into the air until, with a flick of the wrist, he launched it far off into the distance. Far from the road.
"My word! You can move things with your mind?" Sir Goolahad exclaimed. "I knew illithids possessed impressive psionic gifts, but never have I clashed with one that could move such things with their mind alone!"
"My circumstances are different." Zraull began moving back for the wagon, telekinetically locking his doctor's bag. Thankfully, it wasn't needed. Samuel retook the reins, and the two of them circled the wagon. The doors were opened once more by the same telekinetic means, and the doctor climbed back in.
"Well, what kept y'all?" Dalakos asked. "Heard a ruckus outside, but figured ya two had it handled."
"That we did," the ooze retook his seat on the bench. Zraull did the same. The doors were closed and the wagon lurched again, their path resumed. "a couple of rapscallions tried to ambush the wagon. But with some quick wits and a little fright, we sent those foolhardy buffoons packing without so much as a scratch!"
"…rap…what?"
"Bandits," Zraull answered. "bandits tried to ambush. Sir Goolahad frightened them away using his abilities."
"Frightened 'em? Eh…what a waste?" Dalakos shook his head and leaned back.
"Excuse me?" The ooze asked.
"Yeah, a waste. Why didn't ya just kill 'em?" Dalakos asked. "Why bother even entertainin' their mess? They're just bandits."
"Because I do not kill unless I'm met without a choice, sir." Sir Goolahad said. "Unless I am met with a truly irredeemable foe, beyond salvation or redemption, I do not take the lives of those I clash. They have a chance to turn their lives around."
"…y'know, weird way of lookin' at it. But, as a mate used to say, not my circus, not my monkeys. Just seems like a feckin' waste of time in my opinion." He leaned back against the wagon wall as it creaked and groaned from the trip. Sir Goolahad stared at the man for a moment more before he settled back as well. Silence hung in the air again, as they hurdled towards their next destination, now with a bit of tension in the air.
As long as it didn't imperil his research, Zraull didn't quite care. And as he settled again, the doctor picked his journal back up and went back to taking notes.
The cold was both frustrating yet exhausting. In all his hunts, he rarely stalked in a climate as frigid as the Dale, for wealth of reasons. Firstly was the cold, and his lack of a way around it, and second was the fact the ideal prey out there did well never to be found. Maybe that would change in the future, but for the time…that wasn't the case.
Xyris gave a silent groan as the wagon hurtled on. While the inside was warmer than it was outside, it was only warmer just slightly. Just enough to keep him from nodding off and being at risk. Scytheclaw rested in his lap, his faithful pet sharing his warmth to keep the huntsman safe. A boon that velociraptors, while not warm-blooded, retained considerable warmth in their feathers.
"Y-You okay, Xyris?" The dead-spawn, Eloria, asked. The huntsman glanced her way, as she looked at him with her brows knit in concern. "I know cold isn't…good for you. Just…making sure you're gonna last until we reach a tavern or pitch camp." He narrowed his eyes slightly, then gave a silent exhale.
"I'm…managing. The biting cold is getting to me, but Scytheclaw's warmth staves it off. I just want this damned human to hurry."
"Wagon's goin' as fast as it can, scales," the other dead-spawn, Dalakos, chimed in. "any faster an' those horses might give out. Then we'd really be in trouble." He grumbled at that. "Nah, but don't fret, scales, I used the time we had to fix your lil' problem." The undead gunslinger rummaged about in his belt-mounted pouch for a moment before withdrawing his hand and producing something. A ring, one that he offered to Xyris. "Here ya are! One Ring of Warmth!" Xyris stared at it for a moment…then narrowed his eyes.
"…no boon comes without a price," he hissed. "what do you covet? What do you hope to gain by assisting me?"
"Nothin'. We're to be workin' together on this, no? It'd be a piss poor idea to leave one of ya unable to survive in the damn cold. So, fixes that! Though ya may have to attune to it an' all that shite. So…not outta the cold yet." Xyris stared at the ring for a moment more before finally accepting it from the undead man's gloved hand. Pinching it between his talons to examine it.
"…thank you, then." The words felt strange to say. Stranger still to mean them as well. Many urges in his mind still assumed it was a trick. A ruse. But he pushed them aside. The huntsman raised his arm and flipped open the protective, wooden case there. Where his main ring rested, his Flawed Ring of Invisibility, affixed to his vambrace's interior directly. A loophole his friends helped him come up with to circumvent the ring's flawed state. One that left it unable to magically resize to fit him, like a proper magic item would.
None the less, he carefully pushed the Ring of Warmth into place next to the flawed magic ring and closed the vambrace case. He'd attuned before; it would just take an hour of contact and meditation—
The wagon lurched again. Xyris hissed and reached down to prevent Scytheclaw from tumbling off his lap. The others rattled and shook about as well, finding their own footing as the doors creaked open, and the bodyguard stood there, out in the snow.
"Good news," he announced. "found us a tavern. Bad news, it's fairly isolated. So, best behavior. All of you. We can't afford to resume the rest of this trek until the horses rest and we restock on stuff." One by one, they filed out of the wagon, with Xyris being the last one to drop down into the frigid snow.
Before them rested a tavern made from sturdy wood and stone, but the surrounding area was what perplexed Xyris. It looked destitute. Only a handful of wooden homes and buildings surrounded it, as if the tavern were the lifeblood for the place. It wasn't even a village; it was a damned throp. A mere collection of homes and workplaces with the tavern serving as the heart of it all. He had nothing against throps, but he understood they were usually…wayward. Wayward and secluded.
"Follow my lead. Do not do anything out of the ordinary," the bodyguard said. "we're already unsure if they'll even allow us for the night, but we can't survive a night in the wilds. Not with the supplies we have." The human parted the wooden door first and sauntered inside, with the others gradually following suit. He was the last one inside, along with Scytheclaw, as the huntsman stepped into the tavern properly.
A wave of much-needed warmth hit him the moment he stepped inside of the tavern. A spacious, wide tavern, with a long hearth running through the center. Tables were strewn about, where various tavern-goers sat about, drinking from tankards and having idle conversations. A wrinkled, old man tended the bar, seemingly ignorant of their arrival. At least until one of the men pointed them out. And then a collection of eyes fell to him. And then grimaces. Xyris suppressed a hiss in response. What the hells were they plotting? What were they planning—
He shook his head. No. It's fine. Not everyone was plotting on him. And if they were, there wouldn't be much aside from maybe a harsh comment or two. Humans were prone to boasting and threatening over actually swinging immediately.
"Find somewhere to settle. I'll talk to the bartender, get things situated." The bodyguard informed. He moved for the bar, and Dalakos followed suit. Xyris slowly settled down at a wayward table, with Scytheclaw curling up by his legs the moment he sat down. The huntsman kept his eyes on the other tavern-goers, studying their judging stares and glowers as he worked on upkeep. Maybe they had never seen one of his kind before. Scalykind never ventured to the Dale, after all.
Xyris looked over to the bar, as the bodyguard earnestly spoke to the bartender. Even pointing at him accusingly. Over the hustle and bustle of the tavern, the huntsman couldn't understand what they were discussing, but it sounded tense. As long as the fool didn't dare to throw them out, lest he'd be the first to "persuade" the human in allowing them to stay.
A quiet grunt left him. Slowly, his shoulders slouched, and he worked on general upkeep. The huntsman reached to his lower back to produce one of his prized tools of the hunt, a collapsable spear forged during his training. Forged by his faithful allies, whom he direly needed to see, now that he escaped captivity. With a dark wooden, collapsed haft, no longer than a telescope, the complex mechanisms within were primed and ready to go. The unique metal the dual-ended spear was forged from was a well-guarded secret, according to his allies. Only a handful of their forgemasters knew how to craft weapons of such impressive durability and lethality. Another reason he valued his training with them. His time with them.
The memory brought a smile to his maw, as his rattle quivered a bit.
"Everything okay, Xyris?" He was tugged from his reverie by Eloria's voice. Xyris looked away from his spear just as she sat with him at the table. She held a tankard of ale in hand, and while her hood was still up, her bandana was pulled down to reveal her fanged mouth. "Is it warm enough in here for you?"
"It's better than the damned wagon," he began, as the collapsed spear was returned to its spot upon his lower back. "why do you ask?" He tried his best to shroud the caution to his voice. She had to have a reason for her insistent prying.
"Just…making sure you're okay?" She asked. The tankard was set down, and Xyris noticed it was filled with water. Not ale. "Look, I'm just…thinking we got off on the wrong foot, back in the arena. With you calling me a 'dead-spawn' and all that. So, can we start over? For example," she offered her hand for him to take. "Eloria Summercrest of Waterdeep." Xyris stared at her hand for a moment, studying it and her shrouded face for several moments before, finally, he reached a hand down to enclose it upon her pale hand. Shaking it slowly.
"…well met, Eloria." He recalled what his allies taught him about proper greetings. "Xyris of the Skullsworn, soon to be greatest huntsman in all of Faerun."
"…huh." The dhampir said, as he released her hand. "That's…unexpected."
"Unexpected how? What is unexpected about my name?" He questioned, his rattle twitching slightly.
"N-Nothing, just…I met a yuan-ti merchant down in Waterdeep. She introduced herself differently. Like…she said something like…Isa of House…I forget the house. But I think it was her last name."
"It wasn't." Xyris corrected. His talons drummed upon the table. "Yuan-ti normally introduce themselves by their given name and their House. Such as House Eselemas or House Hss'tafi. Traditionally, and for example, I would greet you as Xyris of House Sauringar. Though that is not my House, I use them as an example."
"No, that makes sense," she nodded. "…but…why did you introduce yourself differently?"
"I lived elsewhere, so I introduce myself as my allies do. Out of respect for them." Respect and devotion, rather. After all, he owed them everything…including his life.
"Hhhhey, pretty lady," a slurred voice drew his focus. As one of the tavern goers clumsily plopped himself down in the seat closest to Eloria. A clearly drunken man, with a half-empty tankard of strong, foul-smelling ale. "yhhou new in town? Chhhause I've never seen a lhhhady like you around before…" He hiccupped slightly. Eloria grimaced and eased away.
"I-I'm good. Just here talking with my friend—"
"Fhhhhriend?! You friends with a damn snakeman?!" He laughed. "C'mon, girl! Ghhhhet real! Spend some time with a rrreeal man, not a shhhhhnakeman!" Xyris let the man ramble, judging his every move with a mixture of mounting ire and morbid curiosity. Purely because he had a hunch the fool was about to cross the point of no return. From there, whatever came next, it wouldn't be the huntsman's fault.
"Are you finished yet?" Xyris asked. "Because she seems to be recoiling from you, human." The man's face twisted into a furious grimace. He pushed himself to his feet haphazardly, struggling to stay standing as he glowered up at Xyris.
"Oh yeah? Well whhhhy don't ya get the FUCK out, snake? 'Fore I MAKE ya!" He slurred.
"Oh?" Xyris stood. The man's furious glower slowly softened to a frightful one as he was firmly reminded of the height disparity between the two. As the huntsman looked down at him. His hand clenched and his blades jutted free. Causing the drunken man's already malding confidence to further wain and erode until he stumbled away. Him standing caused Scytheclaw to rise as well, and his faithful pet glared at the man; hissing at him as he dragged his sickle talons along the wooden floor. Ready to pounce on the huntsman's command. "And how will you be doing that, hmm?" The man slowly eased back. Further and further. Seemed he was just sober enough to recognize a firm threat and, rationally, back down. "A pity. Run along now. I'm talking with my friend and I don't need the stench of your cowardice to spoil the mood." The drunken man eased away, maintaining a frightful, yet baleful glower the entire time. Xyris hoped, for his sake, that would be the end of that.
"Thank you," Eloria sighed. Xyris retook his seat and retracted his blades, just as Scytheclaw plopped down next to his chair once more. "I-I've dealt with my fair share of drunkards back in Waterdeep, but usually I had friends to chase them off. I never know the right thing to say to defuse the situation peacefully."
"Sometimes, the peaceful solution cannot be reached." Xyris offered. A bit more receptive to talking, now that the dhampir proved she was okay to trust. "Sometimes, the right course of action is to threaten them away. Give them a firm reason to move along."
"But…never been good at that either. I can never tell where to reign it back with the threatening before it becomes…well either it works, or it makes things worse." Eloria grimaced. Xyris nodded. Some humans, and humanoids, were…a tad strange. Like they sought an excuse to crash out and fight. "Besides, back at the monastery, I was never really taught to threaten, if that makes sense. My master used to tell me, and I quote, 'let your enemy posture enough and he'll gladly expose his neck for you to strike.'" Xyris slowly nodded. Her master sounded a lot like his.
"Have you ever seen a poison dart frog?" He asked.
"In a shop once, yeah. Back in Waterdeep" She nodded.
"Mhm. They dwell where I trained as well. And they make no effort to hide themselves in the jungle, are visible as clear as day to any and all threats…and yet nothing dares to prey upon them. You understand why, yes?"
"They're highly poisonous," she answered. "just touching their skin's enough to be at risk, and most of their toxins can be fatal."
"Indeed. Those frogs are rarely preyed upon because, without so much as a bark or a growl, they communicate colorfully that they will spell a predator's doom. Try something like that. Without a word, look threatening enough to make it abundantly clear that you are not to be trifled with. Does that make sense?"
"I…think, but I'll give it a shot next time a drunkard tries something. Thanks, Xyris." Her fanged maw curled into a grin. The huntsman nodded in response. She was an odder one. But at the very least, she expressed concern for his and Scytheclaw's safety. She could be trusted.
And despite every nerve in his mind refusing to believe it, he did mean his words. In calling her a friend.
The tavern was silent. A calming sort of quiet, much more different than the container he was confined to within the Maw.
Goolahad sat at the now empty bar, drumming his ironclad fingers against the wood. A pseudopod was extended from a chink in his armor, plunged into a tankard, as the ooze quietly "drank" the ale. His sense of taste was…strange; he could perceive the strong, sharp flavor of the cheap liquor, but it wasn't like it needed to be. He just knew something was…off with it. Amiss. He couldn't put his finger on it, no matter how many he made.
He swiveled his head around, his eyes gazing upon the rest of the tavern. It was entirely empty, with the patrons either up in their own rooms for the night, or off in their homes for the night. While the bartender said people could idle in the main area of the tavern, he did lock up all of the ale kegs. The ooze was just smart enough to grab his at last call.
He continued to silently sip from the tankard, taking a moment to just…bask in his freedom. In his first night free of the Maw. Hopefully, the freedom would stick, and he wouldn't find himself sent back to the Maw. Where those dastardly scientists ran all manners of tests on him. Questioning how an ooze could, allegedly, develop sentience and believe itself to be a questing knight.
They were misguided. Of course he was a knight! He used to be a man, after all! Sure, he wasn't handsome, but he was still a man! A human man! Alas, that dastardly hag and her curse turned him into an ooze for breaking her deal! At the very least, he learned to make the most from a bad situation. At the very least, as an ooze, he didn't need to fret about his looks anymore.
Movement caught his attention. Goolahad turned to watch as Dalakos sauntered down the creaky wooden steps. His helmet was tucked under his arm, his spectral face on display as he held a tankard in hand. One he brought to his ghostly maw so he could down the contents of the drink. If Goolahad had a brow, he'd raise it at that.
"Forgive me, Dalakos, but I was led to believe Reborn could consume alcohol, given your…condition." The ooze said.
"Nyeh, I can't, but I like the sensation of it. Like a reflex. Sure, I can't taste the shite, but I can imagine it tastes either terrible or subpar."
"Hmph. I can assure you, it's between those," Goolahad chuckled a bit, causing his armor to click a bit. "…Dalakos, a moment, if you will."
"Eh? Got somethin' to say?" He asked as he stopped walking.
"Something to discuss, yes. You have no reservations to killing, whereas I do. I…hope this won't be an issue for our quest. My viewpoints colliding with your own."
"I…see." The skeletal man said. "Ya're worried 'bout that?"
"Rather, I'm worried our viewpoints may collide at the worst times. With me seeking to spare a foe you and the others have marked for death."
"Well, don't fret 'bout that. But ya may need to get open about killin', in my opinion." Dalakos downed more of the ale. The ooze couldn't tell where it was even going in his undead form. A mystery in itself. "Augh…'cause look, we are gonna be lookin' for some extremely rare relic. Shite no one's ever seen before. Understandably, we're gonna have folks tryin' to kill us instead. So, it's KILL or BE KILLED, in a sense."
"I…see." Goolahad shook his helmeted head. "Forgive me, but that doesn't sit well with me. My Code forbids killing unless there's no other way."
"Well, there ain't. Ya let someone go, they're just gonna come back later, now with a way to actually put ya down for good. Ya avoid that by takin' them out. I know it's gonna rub ya the wrong way, given ya seem to carry some kinda Code, but hear me out. Would ya rather take out one bastard, or let 'em take us all out? Ya party?"
"…" Goolahad folded his hands together on the table. Drumming ironclad fingers together. "…it would be dishonorable to allow harm to come to my party. No good knight allows harm to come to his chapter. Still, Dalakos, it doesn't sit right to willingly take lives if there's an alternative."
"There might be. For what it's worth, I'll help ya figure somethin' out. And if ya gotta kill 'em, ain't gotta make it messy. That help?"
"I…suppose." Goolahad nodded. "Thank you for this discussion, Dalakos. It helps."
"No problem. We're a party, as ya said. And a party looks out for one another." He couldn't tell if the skeletal figure was smiling at him. The ooze liked to guess he was.
"Mhm. For now, did you come down here for another drink?" Goolahad questioned. "If so, the kegs are unfortunately sealed."
"Oh nah. I'm go test some of the glyphs out. Make sure it's all workin' right so I don't learn the hard way they ain't all up to par. So…if ya hear a loud boom, I'm probably fine." With that, he set the tankard down and threw open the door before sauntering out. Goolahad watched the door close, his mind a bit at ease now. Dalakos was a…strange person, but they were on the same page, at least. And he didn't try to sugarcoat his words either. So, he could appreciate that—
BOOM!
"Ah for FECK's SAKE! I said FIREBOLT! Not FIREBALL! WHY!? WHY THE FECK ARE THEY SO DAMNED ALIKE!?" Dalakos screamed outside.
"…at least he warned me first…" Goolahad noted, as he finished off his ale. Dalakos was right. It really did taste terrible…