Severed Fate (Spheres)

[Kallimakus]

Spring Sun shines down from clear skies, disturbed nary by a cloud. The old village of South Cross sits along the largest trade road through the Contested Lands. It is a diverse settlement, housing humans, halflings, half-elves and rarer races besides.

Foe Sophie in particular, it's one of the few places where she isn't made to lodge at a stable with beasts. A centaur by the name of Tauron runs the inn called Monster's Rest that caters to those not holding to human form. He is also a connoisseur for fine drinks, which sees it a popular stopping point.

Right at the border of the village, a large pavilion tent of white and sky blue has been set up, beneath it a table and some seats. Elven servants fuss over a seated elf of obviously more noble bearing. A glass of wine sits on his hand idly, as he awaits for Matthew's arrival in plain sight. The elf is Lord Finuriel, in need of brave souls to reach the Lady's Light.

Matthew Quakesworde is such a brave soul. At least in the story that the trip is sure to become. Now that the lord is waiting, it was time to assemble the crew.

[Geordnet]

A stately man with black hair walked down the street to the tavern, though none noticed him. He wore a travelling greatcoat, sturdy leathers and a sword at his hip, but beneath all of that peeked hints of fine silk. Only the very astute may tell his shadow doesn't quite match his silhouette.

He stroked his goatee, muttering to himself in a deep baritone. "Hate improv. Mustn't say 'here to see a horse about a sword'. Alas, had I the coin to refuse or delay..."

With a sigh and an utterance of "Enter Matthew," he dismisses the magic suppressing his presence and proceeds through the door.

Matthew moves with purpose to the bar, is pleasantly surprised with the menu and orders a shot of the good stuff, then looks around for anyone of interest. He'd heard a certain centaur was in residence, and perhaps he could spot some additional talent in the crowd?

[tonberryking]

She was standing on the patron side of the bar opposite another centaur who'd served her a drink.

Not that Sophie was correctly identified as a lapith very often, probably because she couldn't change forms, but there she was with the bay red equine body and nearly black hair and tail, politely sharing a conversation in sylvan with the bartender. In fact she seemed rather engrossed in it, though likely not with any romantic inclinations... Few would notice a nervous twitch passing her comely features at random; Tauron was a professional and wouldn't bring it up, and Matthew is too polite. She embarrassingly explained it off as something that happens when her sword gets grumpy, earlier.

Ah, that sword. Resting over one shoulder behind a wedged-topped shield with no heraldry, it's an odd, curious thing. The blade ends not in a point but a squared flat edge, the hilt is a half-coin and the slightest bit of exposed steel around a large ruddy opal is black. A dull stoney black. Sophie always forgets to buy a bigger scabbard for it (as the sword herself reminds her wielder) because it would be that much harder for some random passerby to notice that, and worse, potentially recognize it.

The moment of feeling normal, and above that, welcome someplace sadly turns fleeting as she looks down and waves over Matthew, her tail only flicking slightly rather than accidentally catch anybody, Sophie switching from Sylvan to common without much effort. {"I certainly will be coming back here, you have no earthly idea how taken I am with this establishment--} "Oh! Mr. Matthew!"

She takes only a couple steps to get closer to the human, hands clasped in front of her (an oddly human gesture, but again, Tauron is too professional to make a point of her mannerisms) "Was your endeavor to find us a guide successful? I was able to contact an old friend of mind so tha will bring us to four if so..."

[Geordnet]

"Matthew will do, or formally Bard Matthew—which is how you should address me in front of Lord Finuriel." Matthew actually knew Sylvan, as well as nearly a dozen other languages, but the time was not ripe to make that fact known.

"As for the guide... In time, we shall both know." He looks around the room meaningfully. "Your friend is arriving soon, I hope?"

[Hjolnai]

The door opens once again. It is a good thing this door was built for "monsters" - an ogre-sized silhouette enters the frame.

As the door closes, and the brightness no longer conceals her features, it becomes apparent that the huge woman is a half-orc. Beside the doorway she sets a monstrously large axe and helmet - both seeming somewhat smaller once they leave her hands - and makes her way over to the bar.

"Tauron."

She nods. The simple greeting belies the fact that she has not been here in several months.

"Strong spirits. Three fingers."

The coin which rings on the counter is made of gold.

The greenskin glances around the inn, her greenskin eyes unhindered by the dim light. She soon catches sight of Matthew, and approaches him with a much quieter (but still deep) voice. She gives an acknowledging glance to Sophie, as well, almost seeming to apologize for the interruption.

"You're Matt? I'm Kera. My kin say you have work."

[Geordnet]

Matthew raises his glass in greetings, its contents no less potent than, if far less voluminous as, Kera's own drink.

"'Tis Lord Finuriel's work, but I'm the middleman for it. There's an old lighthouse by the coast he fancies, and we're to see it his. Negotiation of payment to occur upon the team assembling, for which we await one final member."

After a moment of awkward silence, Matthew realized he'd forgotten something.

"Allow me to introduce you to Osophia, wielder of the Sword of Bitter Mercies and slayer of Vernock the Tyrant. Sophie, Kera of the Pine Hearth is the guide I called for."

[Hjolnai]

Brass-edged steel plates scrape quietly as Kera raises her head, for once not needing to look down as she meets Sophie's eyes.

"Right. Good to meet you, Sophie."

She takes a sip of her drink, the alcohol burning on the way down.

[tonberryking]

While her stature as a lapith is impressive-- not even the loose tunic under her armor can hide that Sophie is built like bricks-- the soft, all but demure expression Sophie has doesn't seem like the type a slayer of tyrants would bear. She has the sunny disposition of a gardener, a baker, a nurse maybe but...

Her left eye twitches.

"Actually Matthew my full name is Oni-sophia but...Kera is it? It is very good to meet you; I hope our journey together will be fortuitous."

It's subtle, but there is something dangerous about this one, even if she's hiding it exceptionally well, or is just in a very cordial mood.

[Geordnet]

Matthew scowled slightly as he bowed his head. "Apologies, Onisophia." It wasn't like himself to get a name wrong: his nerves had to be getting to him. He quickly knocked back the rest of his drink, trusting in the hard liqueur to take the edge off.

"Bartender, Tauron was it? Would you kindly bring us some table wine or ale, or simply water if you don't stock inferior beverages?"

Matthew fishes out a couple of silvers from the shadows within his coat, as well as an ornate pocketwatch that he checks once before returning to the darkness.

"Not to be hasty, but we cannot afford to waste time while the Lord is waiting. We shall be working together in the near future, so we need to have an idea of each others' skills and talents, and what roles we hope to play in our joint venture.

Sophie, you should go first—your tardy friend presumably knows you well enough, so you need only audition to Kera and myself."

[tonberryking]

With a wane smile, Sophie fidgets with her hands, her tail flicking even though it's a bit of a risk in a crowed bar (no matter the accommodations and sizes of the occupants,) "Well, I do not wish to brag, but I have years...of experience with swordfighting," she emphasizes 'years' with faint drops of regret, and seems to have intentionally chosen her words rather than call it fencing or swordplay,"Against many kinds of opponents and armaments. I've had guard training. Many would call me stronger than ten men. I have a few other magical tricks up my sleeves but dear Aquilonia, she motions to the hilt of the sword over her shoulder, and somehow the opal at the hilt of the blade almost seems eye-like when attention is brought to it, " Has blessed me with healing magics as well. I wouldn't call myself a cleric, but I can sustain our party well after combat."

[Geordnet]

"Indeed..." Matthew restlessly strokes his goatee, his curiosity unsatisfied. "Would you care to enlighten us upon your preferred mode of engagement? Do you hit and run, or get 'stuck in'? Duel mighty foes or reap swathes of destruction? Relentlessly endure, or burn bright and quick? Any supplemental skills, such as a knack for scouting, logistics, interpretive dance, or architecture?"

[tonberryking]

Sophie twitches again, though at least this time Matthew and Kera see her glance back over her shoulder, "No, Aquilonia, they don't need to know about the slippers incident..." she hisses quietly, apparently unware she was speaking out loud.

Sufficed to say when she does realize it, she laughs behind her hand and takes whatever drink is offered her before taking a hearty draw from it.

ahem I am very precise at striking my foes before they can strike me, She acts as if nothing had happened,"Nothing fancy, like disarming my foes, tripping them, I just hit them, and hard, not even giving them the chance. I don't want to go revealing all of how my powers work here in a bar, in earshot, but know that if necessary I can traverse anywhere, even places that would normally not allow one of my size, though it is a little difficult. And I am exceptionally hard to kill because of the way my healing magics work..."

She lists off her explanation the way one would dictate her grocery store list, though at the end of it she glances back over her shoulder with a slightly cross look and a sigh, "Aquilonia feels I may have said too much, but I'm trying to be helpful."

[Kallimakus]

Tauron nods to the newcomers, smiling for Kera as he hands the orcess her drink, suited for her size. he briefly returns to other customers before Matthew orders the drinks.

"Got all sorts" he replies to the bard, delivering a bottle and some glasses of wine, movement accompanied by the sound of hooves clapping on the wooden floor. He deposits a bottle of wine, a human vintage from the Northern lands. "Enjoy"

Their discussion is largely ignored by the other patrons, though a few predatory ears always follow newcomers in the small settlements.

[Geordnet]

Matthew doles out the wine once it arrives, smoothly refilling Sophie's cup after she nearly drains it in one swig.

Definitely the comic relief, he thinks. The Schadenfreude is strong with her. By the same measure, to dismiss her is to invite great peril.

"That much is already quite helpful to know. So, then... a Charger? Quite becoming. We'll have to see about what we can do to maximize your impact; with the right setting, I can see your mere approach routing a full company of men."

Matthew tastes his own wine in the manner of a proper connoisseur. It is of decent quality—which is rather high praise for mere table wine, especially given the price. He mutters to himself: "Overlooking this establishment has been, perhaps, my second-greatest mistake since arriving in town. I must rectify that if possible... Heimlít in the original Jötunn, or 'The Orkish Play'? Innkeep'll know the audience."

Snapping back into reality, he checked the door again, before sighing. "We'll catch up the fourth later. Proceeding:

I am Bard Hendrick Matthew Quakesworde, but do call me Matthew. Or Bard Matthew in presence of nobility, as we soon shall be. I am a playwright by trade, but spellwright also. No great fighter am I, but can acquit myself with a sword well enough to see off a cobbler; or, perhaps, provide an opening for a more seasoned combatant? Additionally, I am knowledgeable in a vast range of fields. I can provide practical advice for nearly any task we might come upon in our travels.

My specialty is what a layman might call Illusions, though that name invokes the image of a skulker or a fool, of which I am neither. I am a stagemaster, a narrator: I utter cues and exposition, and the action is played."

Matthew clears his throat, and begins a recital:

"Burst into life,
burst into being,
be a mighty bull,
a hundred-headed snake,
a fire-breathing lion."

The words cut clearly through the air, and although they aren't much louder than normal speech, they turn some heads. But when nothing obvious happens, (let alone the sudden appearance of a monster) the bystanders' attentions waver.

Matthew doles out the wine. Wait, weren't those cups already full? He leaves nothing the bottle on the table, in easy reach of everyone.

"Such is my magic. Do not underestimate its power: in the end, is not reality but that which one experiences? The world is what one perceives it to be. It is limited only by imagination..."

[Hjolnai]

Kera nods respectfully at Tauron. She scowls slightly as Matthew reveals his abilities. She picks up her wine cup - no fuller than before - and drinks. Though she makes an effort to look unconcerned, the deliberately smooth movement shows she is somewhat bothered.

"My turn then. I know the local tribes, and they fe- respect me. I know the wilds. I can fight."

She takes a moment before elaborating.

"Like the Great Bear. I hit hard and I don't go down. I can handle groups, too, if they stay close together. Punish them if they turn their backs. Not just steel; animal spirits grant me their strengths."

[Geordnet]

Much harder to pin down... If it were just these two, she'd be the straight man, but there is another yet to meet.

"...A Bersark, perhaps?" Matthew mused, dropping an orkish title to hopefully build a bit of familiarity. "I can see the shape of it now: we are Linebreakers. Though we shalln't face an army soon, that'll be a good angle to sell the Lord on our mettle.

Speaking of, we should depart for him swiftly upon our last arriving, and introducing himself."

[ezekielraiden]

Furtive glances and furrowed brows were no strangers to the svelte, scaled man, but the set of his gaze did not betray anything beyond focus as he walked the streets. An old companion--perhaps not so close as friend, but surely not so distant as acquaintance--had prevailed on him to aid with a mission of mystery and difficulty. Another opportunity to learn, perhaps to right old wrongs, and certainly to do the Fate-Defier's work in the world.

Two dragons curled quiet and still up each arm, peeking out when his robes ruffled; their heads among clouds and stars and other objects of the heavens. He wore no armor, and carried no weapons. Despite this, some strange air about him and the set of his shoulders, or perhaps the unmistakable glow in his eyes, cautioned those who stalked these streets in hope of a mark: pass this one by. A third dragon also could be seen, but this one moved of its own accord--no larger than a sizable cat, draped across the man's shoulders, gazing about at the things around. It looked down at a small child, whose mother clutched her close as if to protect her from the man, but the girl's eyes betrayed her mother's care. A chance encounter that might, some day, spark the selfsame wanderlust of this wanderer and his companion.

Caladar could not recall if he had come to this establishment before. It was not common for him to sleep in town, used as he was to the rigors of the road. Though his ways were not so far from the common man's that he could not enjoy the occasional drink and tale, he was at heart perhaps a little too serious to do so more than occasionally, and ere long his feet would pull him to the journey again.

He entered the bar silently, but gave the barkeep a slight nod; whatever others might think of him at a glance, he was not wont to show disrespect in another's house, or indeed at any other time. Fortunately, it was not hard to identify where he had been called. Like him, Onisophia stood out from the typical resident, but by dint of her body plan moreso than the skin that covered it. It was good to see her again, and know that she was well.

Seeing as the table grew silent at his approach, he spoke. "I greet you. Caladar Arkhos'ka, I am called, and this--"

"This is Voice-of-Dawn. I can speak for myself, Caladar." The tiny dragon glanced to the others at the table, clearly curious, though of course they recognized Sophie right away.

Caladar gives his familiar a wry smile, then turns back to the group. "Onisophia has told me there is light to be brought into darkness, and aid to be brought to those in need. Though perhaps in not so many words."

[Hjolnai]

Kera gives the scaled newcomers an appraising look - perhaps curious, perhaps suspicious. She is not one to speak too quickly; she waits for the others to make their greetings first.

The half-orc's wine cup goes back on the table, not to be touched again. She sets a large hand on her stronger drink, but does not lift it.

[tonberryking]

"You got my message!"

The centaur perks up as Calandar arrives, moving forward and clasping his talons in her hands, Sophie's usual neuroticism forgotten, replaced with utterly sincere cheer. "It's so good to see you again, Calandar; our new compatriots are very nice and capable. Here, have a drink, introduce your dragons, tell us how you've been!" In her cheer however, she forgets she's got that whole "Ten Men" strength and might squeeze the dragonborn's hands a little too tight...

[Geordnet]

"Intriguing... Sophie didn't do you—any of you—justice." Matthew examined Caladar carefully, not dismissing the 'dragons' on the latter's arms as "mere tattoos", as others might: few knew better the power of images than him.

"I'm afraid I poured only four cups of wine, and I doubt you'll find the bottle filling..."

As soon as Sophie released the comparatively lanky yet surprisingly durable reptilian, Matthew began the formal introduction.

"I am Bard Matthew, and this is Kera of the Pine Hearth. One indeed needs our aid to relight what was extinguished, but the truth of it is less noble than that. Although, I'm sure at least a few honest sailors would be grateful if we assist the elven Lord Finuriel in reclaiming the lighthouse of Lady's Light.

He awaits us even now, so we must be brief. I am an illusionist, the middleman, and more besides; Kera is our guide and additional muscle. Once everyone is ready, we all shall thank the barkeep for his hospitality and proceed directly to the lord's pavilion, where we can negotiate the final contract. We can discuss the details en route, so...

Anyone have anything to say before we leave?"

[Hjolnai]

"No."

Kera stands with the caution of one who has broken too many ceilings with her skull.

"Caladar and Dawn, greetings."

She extends a hand, then lets it drop awkwardly; Caladar has clearly had enough hand-shaking from much stronger beings. After a respectful head-tilt at Tauron, the half-orc's next movements are to the doorway, where she retrieves her axe and helmet.

[Geordnet]

"In that case," Matthew said, after finishing his wine, "we must away."

Before leaving, he made sure to let Tauron know that he'd be in interested in playing here one day: not every tavern is friendly to un-'humanwashed' (or 'elfwashed' etc.) narratives.

As the group starts heading for the door, Matthew began to lay out the plan.

"So, when we reach the camp, we need to wait on the perimeter first to let the lord know we've arrived. Once he begs us enter, we proceed one at a time: first myself, then each of you as I formally announce your names and titles. Try not to show any reaction to whatever embellishments I make.

Caveat, though: our audience is racist. The trick is going to be playing into the parts of his prejudice which suit us, while avoiding those that don't. I'd liken the image we desire to that of a war hound: savage, yet disciplined.

Try to greet Lord Finuriel the way he thinks a 'barbarian warlord' should be greeted: with a vaguely martial salute, perhaps with a half-bow or half-kneel. You can unstrap your weapons to present them, but do not remove the sheathes unless I start wringing my hands. That's the signal to prepare for trouble, by the way, so don't forget it.

Except when bowing, do not break eye contact with the lord. Do not look at the translator while speaking. And speak in Common, even if you know Elvish. We've got a fine line to tread, 'twixt disrespect and submission.

And above all else, do not mention hard numbers. I'll secure the best deal possible, so only refuse the offer if you truly mean it.

Oh, and I should mention that I do know Sylvan, Orkish, Draconic, and more in case any of you wish to speak with more privacy. Just bear in mind, there's a fair chance the translator knows these tongues as well."

[ezekielraiden]

"You got my message!"

The centaur perks up as Calandar arrives, moving forward and clasping his talons in her hands, Sophie's usual neuroticism forgotten, replaced with utterly sincere cheer. "It's so good to see you again, Calandar; our new compatriots are very nice and capable. Here, have a drink, introduce your dragons, tell us how you've been!" In her cheer however, she forgets she's got that whole "Ten Men" strength and might squeeze the dragonborn's hands a little too tight...

"I think, at least for now, introducing the inked dragons shall wait; they can be boisterous guests." One corner of his mouth quirked up, the dry "joke" a first jab at humor. Onisophia's grip was as strong as ever, and while he couldn't--in this form--match its strength, it was no harm to him. He might not have endured worse, but he had endured at least as much before without qualm. Whether he owed this to his natural durability or his quest for enlightenment alongside Voice, he wasn't sure--nor was he sure it mattered much. "As for how I fare...well enough. Voice and I still seek after their freedom. But we have done good for others, and that is enough."

"Intriguing... Sophie didn't do you—any of you—justice." Matthew examined Caladar carefully, not dismissing the 'dragons' on the latter's arms as "mere tattoos", as others might: few knew better the power of images than him.

"I'm afraid I poured only four cups of wine, and I doubt you'll find the bottle filling..."

As soon as Sophie released the comparatively lanky yet surprisingly durable reptilian, Matthew began the formal introduction.

"I am Bard Matthew, and this is Kera of the Pine Hearth. One indeed needs our aid to relight what was extinguished, but the truth of it is less noble than that. Although, I'm sure at least a few honest sailors would be grateful if we assist the elven Lord Finuriel in reclaiming the lighthouse of Lady's Light."

With a wordless refusal, Caladar passed on any concerns over the wine or lack thereof. He then nodded to the two of them but otherwise remained silent. Kera looked a woman of actions over words. Matthew seemed rather the opposite, but not frivolously--both he and Caladar knew what power words could wield. Caladar could not recall if he had seen a lighthouse first-hand; his tribe had been inland, the sea a distant notion. Perhaps the Lady's Light could illuminate other mysteries. Even if not, the experience alone would be enriching.

"He awaits us even now, so we must be brief. I am an illusionist, the middleman, and more besides; Kera is our guide and additional muscle. Once everyone is ready, we all shall thank the barkeep for his hospitality and proceed directly to the lord's pavilion, where we can negotiate the final contract. We can discuss the details en route, so...

Anyone have anything to say before we leave?"

"No."

Kera stands with the caution of one who has broken too many ceilings with her skull.

"No questions. Onisophia has surely told my story. I bring light to dark places, and grant both new strength and new shape when needed." Gesturing to his tattoos, he added, "I know also some few tricks of paint and potion."

"Caladar and Dawn, greetings."

She extends a hand, then lets it drop awkwardly; Caladar has clearly had enough hand-shaking from much stronger beings. After a respectful head-tilt at Tauron, the half-orc's next movements are to the doorway, where she retrieves her axe and helmet.

Voice did not particularly care which part of their name was used, both were identification enough, so they merely gave a little dragon-y nod, bright eyes glittering in the lamplight of the tavern.

"In that case," Matthew said, after finishing his wine, "we must away."

"Yes, let us go. An adventure grows no easier by delaying."

"So, when we reach the camp, we need to wait on the perimeter first to let the lord know we've arrived. Once he begs us enter, we proceed one at a time: first myself, then each of you as I formally announce your names and titles. Try not to show any reaction to whatever embellishments I make.

Caveat, though: our audience is racist. The trick is going to be playing into the parts of his prejudice which suit us, while avoiding those that don't. I'd liken the image we desire to that of a war hound: savage, yet disciplined.

Try to greet Lord Finuriel the way he thinks a 'barbarian warlord' should be greeted: with a vaguely martial salute, perhaps with a half-bow or half-kneel. You can unstrap your weapons to present them, but do not remove the sheathes unless I start wringing my hands. That's the signal to prepare for trouble, by the way, so don't forget it.

Except when bowing, do not break eye contact with the lord. Do not look at the translator while speaking. And speak in Common, even if you know Elvish. We've got a fine line to tread, 'twixt disrespect and submission.

And above all else, do not mention hard numbers. I'll secure the best deal possible, so only refuse the offer if you truly mean it.

Oh, and I should mention that I do know Sylvan, Orkish, Draconic, and more in case any of you wish to speak with more privacy. Just bear in mind, there's a fair chance the translator knows these tongues as well."

"Understood. You aim not just to tell the tale, but bend what is thought by what is seen and heard." He paused a moment, reflecting on the somewhat volatile and finicky person of this lord. "If you wish it, there are subtle magics I know, of light and strength, to aid you in the doing. No trickery, just drawing forth natural grace that it may be more easily seen."

[Geordnet]

"Light... Too much of it, I find, spoils the ambiance. Highlights the rough edges of props, and exposes the stagehands." Matthew muses with a slight grimace. "Be just in your application of light. Spot only the actors taking center stage."

"For this scene, though, extra lighting could be useful. Go ahead and apply your magics: just make sure whatever you cast before will last through our meeting, as being seen weaving uncalled-for magic by the lord or any of his servants would be a serious offense."

[tonberryking]

.oO(Yes Aquilonia, I know Mr. Matthew is painting quite the picture, and that our potential employer sounds like he really stuffs his shirts. But he can't possibly be as bad as the last Lord we violently hacked apart...) The lapith flicks her tail about, keeping a cheerful mask as she listens to the bard List off the Do's and Don'ts. Of course, she knocks back the rest of her drink, hard, when the others turning their backs to the bar and takes up the rear as they leave.

"Does anybody here actually speak elven then?" she calls to Matthew, walking alongside the others now that they're outside once more, "I'm assuming you do, Matthew, but if this Lord...behaves as such, there is a level of suspicion that may otherwise hang about this adventure if we don't actually know what he's saying." She knows from experience how a bad deal can go south if one is not prepared, but she doesn't go into detail.

[Hjolnai]

It is unclear whether Kera's expression is a grin or a grimace.

"This Finuriel needs warriors? I'll make him shake in his boots. I'm no silvertongue, but I can do that."

She steps through the door, axe rested on her shoulder.

[Geordnet]

"Indeed, I know Elven. The translator has so far been faithful, but I'll keep an ear for foul play. Just remember the signal: if I wring my hands, be ready for action.

Oh, and if you're worried about deeper motives... I can ask around before we leave town. I have ways of uncovering old legends."

[ezekielraiden]

"Never fear, Matthew. This is less a granting of light and more a shaping of natural light around you; Voice tells me it is called a 'lens.' Unless you expect to need more than an hour for this negotiation, neither magic should fail you." Caladar stood straight, his left fist pressed against his open right palm, eyes closed. The colors of his tattoos seemed to shift for a moment, then settled again, and the enameled disk hanging from his neck briefly gave a glow to match his eyes. Opening his eyes again, he touched two fingers and a thumb to Matthew's arm, and...

It was difficult to describe. No new light, he did not shine with unearthly radiance or anything so dramatic, but something ineffable about him seemed sharper, better-defined, more enticing to the eye. "There. For an hour's time, the greater boon; several hours for the lens. Heavens help us if our need outlasts the latter! Even a lord should not love his own voice that much. I speak a few tongues--elf, dragon, orc--should the need arise. That of the angels, too, as Voice has taught me."

Voice, still relaxed around Caladar's shoulders, looks to Matthew. "Unless it proves important, I will not speak aloud." <I can be heard by other means instead.>

Spoiler: OOC

Show

Voice has 100' telepathy, so they can at least speak to anyone nearby without any sign of having done so. PF rules are vague as to whether monster telepathy allows a recipient to reply or not; the rules describe "maintain[ing]...a conversation" but don't explicitly say that it's possible to "think" a response back.

I'm using the following two sphere effects. (This would normally be 2 rounds, but I figure for fluff reasons we can say they're simultaneous, it's not like we're in combat.)

Enhance Focus: +6 enhancement bonus to Perform (Oratory). Spending 1 SP to extend to 70 minute duration.

Halo Effect: "can be used to communicate basic ideas and emotions to anyone who can see the creature," and grants "+3 circumstance bonus to Bluff and Diplomacy checks against creatures that can see them with conventional or low-light vision.... At the GM’s discretion, this bonus may also apply to certain types of Perform checks as well." Spending another 1 SP to extend to 7 hours duration. Push comes to shove, it doesn't hurt, even if Kallimakus rules that it doesn't apply to Perform here.

Also, there's a chance I may not be on tomorrow. We survived the first day of the heat wave, but it's left me pretty exhausted. Tomorrow isn't supposed to be worse, but it's not going to be better either.

[Kallimakus]

In the tavern, Tauron nods his appreciation. A skilled story-weaver is a good draw, beside his superb selection of drinks.

Assembled fully, the group heads to meet their prospective employer. Even in the Contested Lands, an assembly of a centaur, dragonborn, a large orc and an apparently ordinary human is a sight that draws some attention. More than one person gawks at them.

They approach the pavilion of the elven lord, who sips from a glass of wine, flanked by servants that gently fan the air around him. The lord is seated, and beside him his translator approaches to welcome Matthew and his companions. All the gathered elves are fair of skin, dark of hair, finely groomed with narrow faces. Their eyes are dark, faces relaxed. Only the translator seems to pay heed to the approaching guests.
<"They may approach."> lord Finuriel says to his translator in elven, and he speaks it out in Common. "My lord bids you, approach."
<"Offer them drinks also">
"His lordship also bids you enjoy refreshments." the translator adds, gesturing to a table. Despite the heat, there is chilled water, and assorted fresh fruits

While he feigns indifference, Matthew can see the judging appraisal in the lord's eyes.

Spoiler: OOC

Show

I'm fine with Caladar getting both effects with one casting out of combat.

Regardiong Telepathy, it is circumstantial, but I think that outsiders get one-way telepathy by default. So they can speak to others, but others can't 'reply' telepathically unless such is implied by the ability.

[Geordnet]

Matthew frowns at the cold reception. He whispers in orkish: {Kera, try to grab the crowd's attention.}

Putting on a smile regardless, he advances ahead of the party, resplendent in courtly attire as fine (and expensive) as any of the lord's servants, which he'd changed into on the way here. Caladar's spellcraft subtly drew in the eye, making his figure appear to "pop" more from the background as if lit by a spotlight on a darkened stage.

Matthew began with a flourishing bow, addressing Finuriel by his proper Elvish title before switching to common: "<Lord Finuriel, your grace,> your hospitality is generous. I present to you a selection of the mightiest mercenaries to be found within a score of leagues:

Onisophia the Unstoppable, slayer of the mage-tyrant Vernock, wielder of Aquilona—the Blade of Bitter Mercies!

Caladar Arkhos'ka, the Inked Dragon, the Lightbringer, companion of the Voice-of-Dawn!

Kera of the Pine Hearth tribe-in-exile, wandering bersark and traveller of the wilderness!

And of course, myself... Bard Hendrick Matthew Quakesworde, student of history and master of the troupe.

Before you now stands an assemblage of champions the equal to many heroes of myth and legend! The match of villains too, and quite the force to be reckoned with... So then, <your grace,> what is your will?"

Matthew keeps a smiling face throughout the speech, but towards the end he gives Finuriel and the translator a subtle look to ensure they understand that, despite the platitudes, this is not an offer to work for free.

Spoiler: ROLLS!

Show

Perform (Oratory) for the introductory speech: (1d20+24)[27] (+3 more if Halo Effect qualifies)

Sense Motive to gauge Finuriel's opinion: (1d20+15)[33] + (1d6)[5] (introspection die is free)

Perception to keep a metaphorical eye on the crowd without breaking eye contact with Finuriel: (1d20+12)[24] + (1d6)[5] (minus whatever penalty is appropriate for using only peripheral vision and hearing) (introspection die is free)

Bluff check to convey the subtext "we are offering our services, but not for free" to Finuriel and the translator without tipping off (and indirectly insulting) the other servants: (1d20+18)[19] — if I roll a nat 1, I'll spend a Shadow Point to add my introspection die: (1d6)[2] (I get to choose to add it after the roll, but before results are announced)