Chapter 20: Coming Dawn

[Ken]

Belarin again smiles with delight. After "Dark Cali" introduces "Fey Histra," Belarin performs a courtly bow toward Histra and says, "My lady Histra, as refreshing as an autumn breeze and as beautiful as the colors of the leaves, I welcome you." His head still bowed, he then speaks a very beautiful phrase in the Sylvan tongue, which translates as, "Calirataia, I'm straining to keep from laughing because Histra will turn me into her zombie slave if I do. Well done!"

Rising, he then joins in the applause from Melethos.

[Jeff]

Calirataia clearly enjoys the applause, but she gives Belarin a returning nod. Although she has shown a great dislike for all things necromantic, she seems comfortable with farce.

Histra only grows nearly as red as her garments. "This is not a performance," Histra says to anyone clapping, and it's clear she's not going to really get into character. "It is . . . eveningwear."

Dark Calirataia turns around and places her hands against the mast, speaking words of magic. The mast appears to grow in width, becoming less smooth, less even. Branches shoot out from it, and brilliant deep red leaves sprout all around until a great tree now replaces the mast altogether. Two more smaller trees grow up soundlessly from both corners of the sterncastle, one with yellow leaves, the other a flaming orange. Autumn hues abound.

These must be illusions. Brack's view of the river ahead would surely be obstructed by the mast-tree. But he might just be able to see right through it.

Then Calirataia walks over to the table of food. "Friends and minion, eat and drink first."

Thul doesn't wait, going right over to the table and taking up some cooked crab first. He seems to try to distract himself with the food from all this fey nonsense. Kurra sets out some water with the mugs, but then catches Brack's attention. The captain has Kurra take the wheel for him. The shifter goes down the stairs and into his cabin as if fetching something.

Attachments:

[Dave W.]

Jun 9, 2021 16:00:09 GMT -4 Joe said:

"This is as much for them, as it is for us," he says to no one in particular. "How lucky we were to find these people."

A metal hand touches Streko's shoulder from behind. "We are indeed, Lucky indeed." Adamant says.

Then Histra and Cali appear. Adamant is stunned. Melethos applauds and Belarin greets Histra; Adamant still behind Streko, says quietly "Well, this is … complicated."

Adamant struggles to figure out what role he has in this play; he recalls Calirataia asking him to try something that stretches his normal boundaries. "Okaaaay." stretching the sound…

He steps forward to Cali-as-Histra and also bows, not as gracefully as Belarin, but adequately. "My… ummm.. Dark Mistress…" It is almost a question. "I am indeed your minion. Command me as you will." The last with more confidence and humor.

[Joe]

"Ah!" Streko gives a sigh of deep respect. "Such as this is what would bring my story to the fore. As only Calirataia could do, and with the other fey influences surrounding us, it seems only natural that it be an origin story of sorts. My brother, this shall be a night not forgotten," he says to Adamant, just as the warforged heads over to the dryad. Adamant seems...entranced, and certainly not against his will. Streko feels a great happiness suffuse his spirit watching his brother of metal and wood, smitten by a creature of fey elegance.

"Well played, my beloved Host. Well played, indeed!"

[Dave B.]

Shorak immediately joins Melethos in applauding the antics of Histra and Calirataia, knowing that it was all Calirataia's machinations. When Histra complains about the applause, Shorak only applauds more. When Calirataia invites them to the table, Shorak does not hesitate to follow on the heels of Thul, trying not to run over him and get smacked by the grumpy fighter. He grabs a plate and fills it with cooked crab meat and the roasted vegetables. He adds a cup of water to wash his meal down with.

[Darren]

Kal watches with amusement, but when Calirataia and Histra are finished and everyone moves to the table, Kal finds himself hanging back near the edge of the light, trepidation clear on his face.

[Jeff]

Calirataia laughs and takes Adamant's metal hand. "Rise, friend and servant," she says, and he can see she's not really intent on inhabiting the role for long. It's the costumery she is indulging the most. "I will need you soon."

Histra walks over and stands beside Belarin, adjusting her dress, doing her best to remain pleasant. 

Starg walks over to Kal, the shrewd minotaur having noticed his expression. "Do not worry overmuch," he says. "I will remain on watch. I do not think the captain has laid aside all caution." He indicates Kurra, who is minding the helm at present. "Nor Kurra. I, too, will be watchful, and I have asked Sem to the do the same."

At that moment, Brack emerges from his cabin, and he does what he never has done before: he wedges it open, nice and wide. There are lights within. He holds two large bottles in his hands. "Calira," he says, holding out one. The dryad comes and fetches it from him. "Captain Thul," Brack calls out, to get the Karrn's attention. "Nightwood Ale from the Brinter Distillery itself. I don't open this lightly. I trust you can dispense this properly."

Thul whirls around. "No shit?" He walks over and takes it from Brack, using his still-recovering hand deliberately. "Aye, you're not the worst shifter I've met." Kal takes note. The last time he saw a bottle of Karrnath's most vaunted spirit was at the gala at Lorsmarch Palace. When encountered outside Karrnath, it's a rare and treasured beverage indeed. To Karrns, it's usually the taste of home.

Brack laughs, then points right at Kal. "Lord d'Deneith, come and talk with me." He turns and goes back into his captain's quarters, the door still open.

[Brian]

Melethos looks at Belarin. The lady Histra, looking ever so much a Lady in her dress, stands behind him.

"Nightwood ale?" he says to the warlock. "I'm not familiar with it."

[Darren]

"Of course, Captain," Kal calls in return. Looking up at the minotaur beside him, Kal says, "I appreciate your vigilance, although I do not really fear an attack right now. No more than any other time, anyway." As he begins to walk towards the cabin, he mutters, "It might be a welcome distraction right now, actually..."

[Jeff]

Tangat follows as Kal steps into the shifter's private quarters and finds them pleasant, clean, and homey. He also sees hints that the clean-up was fairly hasty; a few things tucked out of the way rather than truly ordered, like a bachelor doing his best when company is coming over. There is a bed larger than any on board, a desk, several bookshelves, a table, and a few trunks and chests. There is a pleasant, herbal smell to the room. Only one painting is hanging on the wall, directly across from the door: the medium-sized portrait of a young shifter woman with catlike features.

"Make yourself comfortable," Brack says, taking a seat himself at the table.

Outside the cabin, Starg drifts to the food table and carefully assembles himself a salad.

Thul holds the bottle of Karrnathi ale, and immediately pours some into a cup for himself. He holds it like he's the appointed keeper of the Nightwood Ale, and to his credit he does look around to see if anyone else wants some.

A quiet and slow-shifting melody plays from somewhere like a form of magical ambient music. Calirataia says to all, "I have asked each of you if you would share something of yourself this night." She nods toward the captain's cabin. "When Bracken rejoins us, who would be willing to go first?"

Attachments:

[Ken]

When Histra stands next to him, he whispers into her ear, "You are amazing and beautiful." A pause. "Take deep, calming breaths." He helps himself to crab meat and a banana.

Jun 11, 2021 7:15:06 GMT -4 Brian said:

"Nightwood ale?" he says to the warlock. "I'm not familiar with it."

"Oh, it's good," says Belarin, raising his eyebrows appreciatively at the bottle. "Captain Thul, would you please? And for Melethos as well -- he doesn't know what he's been missing. Histra, any ale for you?"

After Calirataia speaks, he says, "Oooh, I can go first!"

[Darren]

Kal takes in the surroundings of Captain Brack's cabin and wonders at the life the man leads. Not luxurious, for sure, but he is in command of everything around him. He imagines the independence of life on a ship, traveling where the next contract takes you, without obligation to anyone but your crew and your contract. Kal sighs to think of it, then remembers watching his brothers training in Sentinel Tower and hears the voice of his mother. "The grass is always greener beyond the tower walls." Perhaps his mother was right.

Kalarian settles himself onto one of the chairs opposite Brack and raises a glass to the shifter. "To you, Captain, and the crew of the Dragonfly. You have been more than accommodating and extraordinary hosts. The ship is a marvel." He drinks deep from the glass and then refills it, offering to fill the other man's at the same time.

[Jeff]

Brack raises his mug at Kal's words. "Aye, there's nothing quite like the Dragonfly, or the crew that keeps her afloat. I've been doing this for long years now and had my share of harrying journeys, but none quite like this last one. I mean it in the best possible terms, Kal, when I say that our return trip to Stormreach will be exceptionally boring, and quite possibly safer, without you and your friends aboard. You've made it interesting, and I am quite glad to have made your acquaintance."

A bit of Calirataia's laughter filters in through the open door. "You should know that I've had passengers on this ship who never even knew about Calirataia. She does not make an appearance to everyone. But she has embraced you and yours. That means more to me than you know. She is very dear to me, and to Kurra. I am, uhhh, sorry for my part, when I've gotten upset at you. I'm defensive about the fate of this ship, but you've defended her at every turn. You are among the greatest warriors I've seen, and that's saying something. And you've done right by us."

The shifter's face darkens a little as he looks up at one wall, where Kal sees another map tacked there. "I don't now what to think of where you're going or how you'll fare. I hope—that Eye be damned—that you just stay alive. Every one of you. I don't care about much else, or who gets the cursed thing. I've seen war and worse, the aftermath of war, and I'm sick of all the powers that be. If you and I meet again after tomorrow, and you're going my way, and you need a ride . . . you'll get a slight discount." His eyes glint as he gives Kal a toothy smile.

When Belarin volunteers to go first, Calirataia whirls on him with wide, eager eyes. Adopting an imperious tone, she says, "Master Belarin of the Riotous Tongue, this pleases me. I will let you live another day."

Histra leans over to whisper in his ear, "As will I." She takes his hand.

---

FYI, we don't have to roleplay and walk through every moment of this revelry, just the important bits. Ken, go ahead and prep yourself, if Belarin is going first. Right now it's like small talk happy hour + dinner, with the cabaret performances to follow.  When Kal and Brack exit his cabin. 

[Darren]

Kal laughs and raises his mug again, slamming it hard into Brack's. "I'll drink to that, Captain!" Draining the mug again, Kal begins to feel the slightly heady effects of the alcohol. He leans closer, resting his elbow on the table. "I have made no secret of my opinion on this search for the Eye. I would see the thing remain hidden forever, or destroyed. It is too much power for any nation to wield. No ruler, no matter how well intentioned, would ultimately use it for good. Objects like that are what caused the last war, and..." Kal pauses, looking into his empty mug, "I don't know about how, but I've seen too much of that already." Kal fills his mug again, and quickly takes another drink. "Well...." he says.

Looking over his shoulder, Kal sees his friends enjoying a warm moment and hears their laughter. "Go on," he says to Tangat. "I'll be right behind you." He returns his attention to Brack, raising his mug in one more toast. "To those we have lost," he says, taking another drink. "Now, Captain, I believe this is a celebration. So, let's go celebrate, shall we?"

[Dave W.]

Jun 11, 2021 6:34:16 GMT -4 Jeff said:

Calirataia laughs and takes Adamant's metal hand. "Rise, friend and servant," she says, and he can see she's not really intent on inhabiting the role for long. It's the costumery she is indulging the most. "I will need you soon."

"I am at your service." Adamant says very brightly, much relieved that the role-play is short-lived.

"Your home is beautify decorated," he says waving his free hand to the vines and tree, "and your tree is magnificent." He seems like he almost wants to add something but stops. I will keep this image with me. he thinks. but no parting thoughts, she is happy; I will not mar it.

Belarin volunteers to go first, another relief... he is prepared for his part but there is a pang of nerves.

[Jeff]

Jun 11, 2021 11:13:49 GMT -4 Darren said:

Looking over his shoulder, Kal sees his friends enjoying a warm moment and hears their laughter. "Go on," he says to Tangat. "I'll be right behind you." He returns his attention to Brack, raising his mug in one more toast. "To those we have lost," he says, taking another drink. "Now, Captain, I believe this is a celebration. So, let's go celebrate, shall we?"

"We're not quite done toasting," the shifter says, rising to his feet. "But watch how much you drink. You'll want to remember tonight."

Brack leads Kal back out of the cabin to join the rest of the party. He keeps his door open, even gestures toward it. "As long as you don't wreck the place, everyone is welcome in."

The captain replaces Kurra at a wheel, and then quietly watches the gathering, frequently turning his attention beyond the ship.

Calirataia bats her eyes at Belarin. "What will you conjure?"

[Ken]

Belarin smiles flirtatiously at Calirataia. “Oh, Dark One, you’d be surprised at what the Riotous Tongue can conjure! Excuse me for a moment….”

He brings Histra’s hand to his lips and kisses it, then he walks over to the hatch leading to the galley and descends. Five seconds go by… then 10… 15….

Suddenly, a booming voice emerges, seemingly from the center of the ship. It sounds like a strange mix of Wylkes and Larest: “Harken! You who call yourselves ‘adventurers’ – you have faced many terrors! But the most frightening event is yet to come…! BEWARE!”

Then, on the other side of the ship, near the table, emerges a figure from the shadows. It’s Belarin. He’s wearing a silver, shimmering, double-breasted jacket with blood-red piping along the collar and trim, over a pink, frilled shirt. His trousers have the opposite color scheme – blood-red fabric with bright silver trim. In his right hand, he waves an obsidian wand with a glowing tip, and motes of fairy light trail behind it. He is resplendent.

But despite his smile and apparent confidence, Belarin’s friends can sense … nervousness? “Are you ready to be terrified?” he says to his audience, still smiling.

And the warlock begins … to sing.

“There be none of Beauty's daughters
“With a magic like thee,” he looks at Histra,
“And like melody in the forest
“Is thy sweet voice to me

“So the spirits bow before thee
“To listen and adore thee;
“With a cool but soft emotion
“Like the caress of Autumn’s breeze

“When, as if its sound were causing
“The charmed forest’s pausing
“The leaves lie still and shining
“And the lull'd winds seem dreaming…”

He turns to look at each of the assembled group, and then up at the sky.

“And the setting sun is weaving
“A blanket of ebony deep;
“And her breast is gеntly heaving
“As an infant's asleep.”

He turns toward Histra again. “So the spirits bow beforе thee
“To listen and adore thee;
“With a cool but soft emotion
“Like the caress of Autumn’s breeze

“When, as if its sound were causing
“The charmed forest’s pausing
“The leaves lie still and shining
“And the lull'd winds… seem dreaming.”

And then Belarin "extinguishes" the lights from the wand, and leans against the table. His face is flushed, with beads of sweat visible on his forehead.

_________________________________

Some creative use of Seeming, Misty Step, Minor Illusion, his One with Shadows invocation, and his feyweave's lights. Charisma (Performance) check: 1d20(4) + 4 = 8. Alas, not his forte, but Cali did ask him to leave his comfort zone!

[Dave B.]

Shorak finishes his water and offers his cup to Thul for some of the ale. He then takes a seat on the deck to watch the proceedings, sipping the ale and finishing what's left on his plate. He's not sure when he will have to do his part in the celebration, but he would like to watch some of what everyone else does first before he takes his turn.

[Jeff]

Everyone sits in silence as Belarin sings. Histra is statue-still, eyes wider than usual, completely unsure how to act. But she is riveted. Meawhile, Calirataia is delighted and though she does not move anywhere to cause any distractions, she naturally sways in place and even spins around slowly along with the cadence of Belarin's voice.

When Belarin is finished, Histra comes forward in her regal, autumn-queen attire, leaf-dress swishing. She stops and stands in front of Belarin, her eyes conveying something strange. A bit of challenge, maybe a hint of anger, but they are wet with tears. she shakes her head once, as if to say, Why? No: Why me? She clearly has no fitting words; she is socially awkward enough in front of everyone else. The only thing she normally leans on confidently in front of others is anger or wizardry. She has none to offer now. So she just steps up close to him, a slight smile cracking at last as she regards his resplendent attire. She then pulls him into a very public kiss.

Sem claps his hands wildly now. Kurra joins in. Brack gives one sharp whistle, the kind that pierces the ears.

Calirataia slides over to the couple, swirling her black robes like wings around them as if to give them privacy. Her face is bright with joy, though; the dryad cannot hold the necromancer's demeanor beyond moments at a time.

Thul turns to face the dark river, pulling out his pipe and fishing for his tobacco. He looks very intent on not facing the moment, maybe too intent.

Belarin gains Inspiration. No worries about the Performance check. That's mostly about earning money and a crowd's attention. This being a debut performance, Belarin doesn't have to worry about that so much.

[Darren]

Kal watches Belarin's performance from the doorway of Brack's cabin. When it is finished, he raises his mug and calls out in a clear voice, "Bravo, Belarin! To Belarin and the lady Histra, who have shown us that love, no matter how strange, can not be defeated by even the largest of snakes!" Kal raises his mug higher, then drinks to the couple.

[Joe]

“I shall go next,” Streko says suddenly.

He clears his throat as he wanders into what has become a circle of his friends, with Belarin and Histra at its center. Only Brack stands outside and above, their current guide toward an unknown future.

“I once went to a concert of bards,” he says. “These bards were a traveling band of musicians, there were three of them, but they sounded more like thirty when they played. I had hoped they might have seen my sister, who was still missing at that time, and for whom I still so desperately searched. These three, whose names I don’t recall hearing, were quite well known in the Eldeen Reaches, though less so in Karnath. Yet, they made quite the circuit, traveling across the breadth and width of Khorvaire, never staying long in any one place, allowing their legend to grow. In their day, they were a sight, and sound, to behold.”

“Now, I will certainly NOT attempt to outdo Belarin’s performance by singing a song of theirs that, through today, holds special meaning to me. However, perhaps you would like to hear their story? It is a story of our family here, and yet, it is also the story of each individual. Each of us. I bid thee…look off in the distance…there…”

Streko points and another Streko appears. He seems to be searching for something on the ground. Tracks perhaps? The voice from this second Streko booms out, unbidden and unrecognizable. It is, perhaps, the voice of one of those bards he had heard so long ago…

“There are those who believe life has nothing left to chance.
“A host of holy horrors to direct our aimless dance.
“A world of playthings, we dance on the strings of powers we cannot perceive.
“The stars are not aligned. The Gods are malign. Blame is better to give than receive.
“You can choose a ready guide in some celestial voice…”

Suddenly, an orange light appears from beneath Streko’s chest. He peels off his jerkin and the dragonmark blazes there, just over his heart. Another voice booms from a second light that flashes into view at the tip of a branch overlooking the river.

“If you choose to not decide, you still have made a choice.
“You can choose from phantom fears, or a kindness that can kill.
“I will choose a path that's clear, I will choose Olladra’s will!”

A quick, blinding flash of light and a boom, as from thunder!

“There are those who think they are lost and those born of a station they can boast.
"The cards may be stacked against them. They weren't born of the Host.
"All preordained, prisoners in chains, victims of venomous fate.
"They pray for a place, in Siberys’s unearthly estate."

Then, Varna appears next to Streko. They hold hands and the elder sister picks up her younger brother and swings him around, Streko feet lifting in the air as he laughs, a little boy once more.

"You may choose to live your life in fear, or you may choose kindness still.
"I shall choose a path that's clear. I will choose Olladra’s will.”

Slowly, the lights fade until the the second Streko is once again alone. Then, he turns to the audience.

“Each of us is imperfect and incomplete,
“with uncertain ends, we seek a fortune that's far too fleet.”

The voice fades, as does the second Streko.

Those within the circle suddenly notice that the original halfling, the one in the center of their group at the start of this story, has also vanished.

Suddenly, from above them, at the railing near Captain Brack, Streko, blazing with an orange light that seems to emanate from behind his new dragon armor, calls out Olladra’s name. The light appears almost as a halo around him, shining down upon the group.

“Choose a ready guide, a celestial voice.
Or choose not to decide, that is your choice.”

A violent, silent explosion of light envelopes the armored Halfling. Then, there is darkness, not complete, thanks to Calirataia's beautiful work, but it is striking how quite it becomes.

Then, Streko appears amidst them once more. The armor is off. Just the Halfling remains in his meek, religious garments.

“You might fight with your greatest fears, or sing stories meant to thrill.
“I will choose a path that's clear, I choose Olladra ‘til…the end.”

With that, Streko takes a bow and, once again, vanishes.

Moments later, he reappears, armor donned, outside the ring, looking in.

"What do you think?" he asks, his voice tremulous and even meek!
_________________________________________________________

Lots of Invoking Duplicity, Cloak of Shadows, Light, and Thaumaturgy.
With a great deal of thanks to Mssrs. Lifeson, Lee, and Peart for the inspiration for this story!

[Darren]

Kal marvels at the spectacle wrought by his Halfling friend. But when Varna is conjured from thin air, Kal's face grows still and he shrinks a few steps back from the circle, retreating further into the shadows.

[Ken]

Belarin responds intensely to Histra's kiss, and he's glad for Calirataia's attempt at giving them some degree of privacy.

When the kiss is over, he just stares into Histra's eyes for a moment, and he smiles. Then, with his arm around Histra's waist, he turns to watch the continuation of the festivities.

[Dave B.]

Shorak smiles and applauds Belearin, adding a few whisltes when Histra steps up and plants a wet one on Belarin; in public yet. Streko's presentation is no less impressive and Shorak offers his appreciation with more applause for the faithful halfling.

[Jeff]

Streko gains Inspiration.

---

Calirataia goes very still when Streko tells his recounted tail, as though either not expecting it or merely surprised by it. But she is riveted anyway. She is most delighted by the cleric's illusionary doubles, and seems delighted that she cannot tell them apart until the end. "Thank you, Lord Streko," she says when he finishes,

Thul turns around then, a pipe in his hand, which still smokes. He gives everyone a strange glare, as though he is about to lay into everyone. Though he is never wordy, the Karrn soldier is famous for rebuke and insult. With his still somewhat crystalline hand, he holds up a finger is if to call for silence. He eyes Calirataia with a guarded look, but then a nod. She is silent. Thul then sets the bottle of Nightwood Ale down, fills a cup, takes a deep draft, and sets it down, too. He holds only his smoking pipe as he clears his throat, sighs, and . . . sings?

"I had a daydream two morns ago,
Of Feylands, Feylands, away, my lad
I dreamed a dream the other night,
Of Feylands, far away!"

The captain's voice is gruff, as always, and his words are more spoken than sung. It sounds like a sea shanty. The melody is faint, as Thul is not a very good singer. But there is, miraculously, some feeling in it.

"I dreamed I saw my own true wife,
In the Whitepine, Whitepine, away, my lad,
I dreamed I saw my own true wife,
In the Whitepine, away!"

The Karrn makes eye contact with no one, just looks into the shadows as he sings.

"She came to me in the mist of sleep,
From the Whitepine, Whitepine, away, my lad,
I dreamed I saw her final eyes,
Not in Feylands, after all . . .

"And then I knew my wife was dead
In Dolurrh, Dolurrh, away, my doom,
I dreamed I saw my own true wife,
In Dolurrh, far away . . ."

When Thul's voice stops, the ship is as silent as the wife in the song. Only the lapping of the water can be heard. Thul puffs back on his pipe, retrieves his mug, poors some more ale into it, and then sits down on the stairs.

Kurra looks pensive now, and Calirataia has become silent. But her disquieted expression slowly softens and she smiles lightly. "Thank you, Captain Thul," she says. But the dryad looks around, as if wondering who would be willing to follow the grim Karrn.

[Brian]

The sun sets and darkness grows heavy. Everyone has enjoyed their crab dinner. Streko and Shorak both pat their bellies, wide grins on their faces. Brack is at the wheel, making sure the Dragonfly doesn’t run aground.

Melethos pushes himself back from the table and makes his way to the center of the deck, careful to keep his distance from the ship’s rigging. He walks slowly, methodically; his broad form seems to cut through the humid air. There’s a certain grace to his movements, not entirely unfamiliar to those who’ve watched the tiefling fight, but never to such a pronounced level. Melethos keeps his head down, his eyes hooded in concentration.

He stops and turns so he’s facing the table. Lifting his head, you can see his gold eyes are bright with what looks like tears. He stands still, as of gathering himself, then opens his mouth.

And he begins to sing.

He starts out softly, the words floating on the air, yet you have no trouble hearing him. It is a song of love, but you hear in the tiefling’s voice a timbre of loss and terrible grief.

Sleep tight, sleep tight.
Know everything is alright.
And tonight I will be here
Watching over you.

Melethos reaches up and touches the crystal hanging from his neck, around which he’s woven Jyoti’s hair braid, and you realize for whom the song is intended.

Sweet dreams, sweet dreams.
It is never as real as it seems.
And in the morning when you wake up
I will be right here.

A light begins to glow around the tiefling, the color of dawn. A minor illusion, no doubt, but the effect only heightens the melody’s soulfulness.

So be still, be still
For you know that I always will
Tonight and forever
Be watching over you.

The glow fades, and the song ends. Not with a crescendo or a flourish, but with a simple bow by a humble warrior.

Melethos moves slowly back to his seat and sits.

His head remains bowed.

_______________________________________________

Jeff, I apologize for the cut-and-paste lyrics. It's a cheat, I know, and you deserve better from me. But I have a reason to crib the ELP lyrics.

Twenty-five years ago today, my older daughter died. I almost didn't recover from it. Sadly, my ex-wife didn't, and she gradually went mad. Before she lost touch with reality, we had Dana, and I would sing those lyrics to her as a baby, part of a promise to myself never to let anything bad happen to her as it did with Janine. Those lyrics kept me going, and for that reason, I will never forget them. That's why I chose to have Big Red sing them now.

June is a very bad month for me. My dad died in June. Dana step-grandfather died in June. My sister-in-law's father died in June. My daughter died in June. And just a week ago, I found out my brother has cancer. June can just go and f*ck right the hell off.

There's obviously a lot of projection into this post, but I needed to write it. I guess I needed to share this with the people who mean so very much to me.

I hope you all understand.

[Dave B.]

Shorak blinks away a tear when Thul has finished and another after Melethos has sung his song. He does not applaud this time for either, at least not with his hands. He only catches the grizzled captain's and the tiefling's eyes and just offers a nod to each of them. Loss is something Shorak is well versed in.

Shorak takes a sip from the cup of ale, still nursing it and places it on the deck next to his plate. He leaps up and slaps his hands together. "All right, I guess I'll go next." He walks to a place where he can be seen by all and takes a deep breath, a nervous smile upon his lips. Then he closes his eyes in concentration. He opens his eyes and Shorak's face begins to melt away, quickly reforming into the visage of Kal. Shorak turns towards Kal and gives him a wink, turns back and his face changes again. Now, Belarin is staring back at everyone. Shorak only holds the image of the warlock for a few seconds, when his face shifts again, becoming Histra. The changes are coming quickly now, the speed of transitions increasing, but always a pause of several seconds to be sure that the person whose face he is wearing sees it clearly, as does everyone else. Now his face mirrors Thul, then Sreko, then Sem. Sweat on his arms standing out as he continues to change faces as quickly as his ability allows, if not a tad faster. Kurra is next, then Captain Brack. He smiles as brightly as he can as his visage becomes the spitting image of Calirataia. The transitions now slow slightly as the next ones are either more difficult for him or he is just tiring. Melethos now peers out at himself and the audience watching this display. Shorak knows that the exact sizes of faces or heads are not exact, but the features should be almost perfect. He struggles a little on the likeness of Starg, but he manages it. Finally, he finishes with Adamant. He can't recreate the actual wood and metal of the warforged, but he gets the shapes and colors right, as Shorak is still flesh after all. This image he holds a little longer. "A little extra for you my friend," Shorak says to Adamant, looking directly at the stalwart paladin. "You always mention the lack of emotional physicality, so for you I will smile with your face. Not sure how it will be received, but I thought, for once let us see Adamant actually smile." Shorak as Adamant then smiles, gently and fondly. The changeling/drow does not know what this looks like, he wanted Adamant to be the first to see it. Shorak will have to look in his mirror at some point to see what he managed with the smile. Then almost lightning fast, Shorak's face is back as everyone knows it. He is slightly out of breath, as if he just ran a long race and sweat is now pouring down his face. He smiles a warm and pleasant smile. "I am not one for talking or singing or even coming out of the shadows too much, so I thought a living portrait of each of you would be my way of honoring each of you." He nods then and goes back to where he was sitting on the deck and finishes his ale in one swallow. He sits back down to await the rest of the festivities.

[Ken]

Belarin is silent, asking with everyone else, after Thul's shanty. After Melethos sings and sits down, though, the warlock wordlessly excuses himself from Histra and walks over to his friend. He slowly kisses each of Melethos' horns and the top of his head, and then he rejoins Histra.

Shorak's display is a welcome break from the melancholy -- at least until "Adamant" smiles. "OHHHHH!" says Belarin in horror, yet still managing to laugh. "I've seen carnivorous heads growing in trees, and that's not right!"

[Jeff]

When Melethos sings his song of choice, Caliraita settles right to the deck itself as if lacking the energy to stand amid the sorrow. She watches him closely. When he finishes, and Belarin goes to express his own feeling, she rises again and moves to stand before him. Her eyes are shining with tears. "Thank you," she says, "for revealing your heart." She embraces him, and it still amazes him how light and slight she really is. How fragile. His own size and stature, of course, are a stark contrast.

Then when Shorak uses his changeling skin to imitate each member of the crew and party, Calirataia grins like a little girl watching a puppet show.

Sem, too, is delighted by the theater of faces. Starg actually gives a short laugh (an unusual sound from him) when Shorak recreates the minotaur's face. When the changeling renders Adamant's face and makes it smile, Sem falls to the ground in merry laughter.

The gnome climbs backs to his feet when it's all over, and marches up to the paladin. "Tell me when you're ready," he whispers and produces from his pocket a miniature harp he couldn't possibly play. It's more of a toy. But Adamant knows the gnome's always got magic up his sleeves.

Meanwhile, the dryad approaches Kal. With a soft voice, she asks, "Would you like to go next?"

---

Melethos and Shorak gain Inspiration.

I'll be gone all day, checking back in tonight.

[Darren]

Kal spreads his arms wide, and the light around him dims. One by one, the candles on the table snuff themselves out, and Kal steps back into the shadows, raising the hood of his elven cloak. The colors of the magical garment appear to swirl and sway with Kal's movement, but as he stops moving and the fabric settles, it becomes increasingly hard to see the sorcerer without consciously looking for him.

With barely a sound, Tangat leaps up onto the table. Despite his size, he does not disturb any of the plates or glasses there. He lifts his snout, sniffing the air as if testing for the scent of his prey. Suddenly he rears up onto his hind legs, pawing at the air even as the space around the table grows even darker.

When the dog's paws hit the wood again, there is a loud boom as of an animal significantly larger. The lights flare, the candles re-igniting themselves, and when each viewer's vision clears, in Tangat's place stands the largest Swordtooth Titan anyone has ever seen. It stands among the typical flora and fauna of the Talenta Plains, but towers over everything around it. Some trick of scale in the illusion makes it nearly impossible to recall that it's simply Tangat standing on the table on the deck of the Dragonfly. The air is filled with the sounds of insects and the calls of Talenta birds.

Anyone who has seen one of these dinosaurs before knows of its massive size, but this one is different. Any Titan's face looks mean, but this one looks malignant. There's a coldness in its eyes and scars across its chest. It's hind legs are massive, each one as wide around as the largest oak tree. Even its typically small arms appear powerful enough to rip smaller creatures in half if they're foolish enough to come within reach. Just then, a large Spineback comes running past the Titan, the ridges across it's back coming dangerously close to the massive dinosaur. The Titan turns its baleful glare on its cousin and charges, the muscles of its powerful hind legs bunching as it leaps forward, catching the Spineback in it's jaws and snapping its spine with a loud crunch. Its forelegs grasp at the severed halves of its prey even as it lets out a terrifying bellow.

"BEHOLD," Kal's voice booms out, "before you stands Toreon, Terror of the Talenta Plains! Legends tell of the massive beast who could not be killed. It is said that entire Halfling armies could not bring down Toreon." Before the Titan now appear Halflings mounted on giant Battletitans. The hides of the dinosaurs are covered in plate armor and the Halflings bear lances with cruel barbed ends. Some riders wield smaller versions of the curved sharrash that Kal's friends have seen him carry into battle. The platoon of dinosaurs charge at the larger creature. Trumpets sound triumphantly as the first riders thrust their spears into Toreon's side. The Swordtooth Titan cries out in pain. Anger flares in its eyes and anyone watching knows what must come next. Toreon lashes out with his tail, sweeping the Halflings aside. One Halfling is thrown to the ground and raises his hand in fear as Toreon's jaws close down over him. The lights grow blessedly dim before anyone can see any more.

"Tribes who heard the thunder of his passing were forced to quickly pack their belongings or move on. Those who did not would hear his fearsome roar as he bore down on them." Again, Toreon opens his jaws and emits a fearful cry. "It was the last thing they heard."

The scene shifts now, and everyone around the table sees a typical Halfling tribe, their nomadic lifestyle apparent from the tents set up across the area. A larger tent stands in the center of the grouping, a clear gathering hall. As the tents disappear, everyone watching finds themselves now inside the tent. Sitting cross legged throughout the space are the tribe members and their attention is on one end of the space where an older Halfling, sits listening to the concerned chatter of his people. "Here sits Malegan, Iath of the Red Claw Tribe. His people have heard the thunder and cry of Toreon in the distance and have gathered to plan their retreat."

A pretty Halfling woman rises to her feet, long braids falling down each of her shoulders. "Why are our tents still standing, Malegan? We should have been gone long hours past!" Fear is clear in her voice, and she looks to the entrance of the tent where the heads of two small Halfling children quickly disappear, more afraid of the trouble they might get into with their mother than of the creature who could erase their camp from existence at any moment. "There is much at stake! We must hurry!"

All eyes turn to Malegan. There is silence in the tent, and the only sounds that fill the air around the Dragonfly are the whirring of cicadas in the Talenta grass. The Halfling sits silent, thinking, and everyone in the tent and on the Dragonfly grows uncomfortable with the long silence. At last, Malegan lifts his head to speak. As he opens his mouth…

…he disappears. And standing on the table of the Dragonfly is Tangat, his nose pressed into a plate of crab meat. The dog looks around, suddenly caught, and lets out a quick snort as he gobbles down the mouthful he has taken. All eyes turn to Kal, who can't hide his embarrassment at the failure of his magic despite the cloak he wears. He clears his throat and tries to shrink further into the shadows, again raising his arms. His hands clench into fists as he regains control of the scene, and again the lights around the Dragonfly darken and all on board are transported back into the Red Claw's gathering hall.

Malegan opens his mouth to speak. "We have suffered, my friends. We have fought for the lands we now hold. Look around us. These grounds are ripe for hunting. There is water right here. We have been blessed by Olladra with such bounty as we have rarely seen. We wandered for too long to get here. Lost too many already."

There are nods throughout the tent, murmurs of agreement. The young woman again speaks. "Those are the very things that bring Toreon down upon us! Malegan, please!" But the old Halfling just shakes his head. "We will die, Malegan," she says quietly.

"Assemble the warriors," Malegan says calmly. A young Halfling springs quickly into action, heading to the exit of the tent and raising a horn to his lips. Three blasts from the instrument sound, and once again the scene shifts to outside the tent where Battletitans paw at the ground, awaiting the command from their riders to charge into the fray. Again the horn blasts, and the assembled fighters put their whips to the hides of their mounts who leap forward in a cloud of dust. The young halfling woman watches them ride away, then turns her back on them and hangs her head.

Again the table grows dark, and when the lights return, there stands Toeron, surrounded by the Red Claw warriors. They jab at him with their spears, and the Titan swipes with his tail, knocking one aside. Another pulls hard at the reins of his mount who leaps aside with nimbleness that belies its size. Toreon roars with frustration and his head comes down, teeth sinking into another Battletitan in front of him, rending the armor like canvas and splitting mount and rider in half.

Before Toreon stands the last rider, his mount dead beside him. From the sheathe at his hip he draws a wicked looking blade, a Talentan tangat. It's almost comical to see the tiny man square off against the massive dinosaur, but he shows no fear. Toreon slowly lowers his head to look at the Halfling. He snorts, and the massive gust of air blows the Halfling's hair back, but he does not flinch. He just raises his blade and prepares. Toreon's eyes narrow and he begins to open his jaws, but his eyes are suddenly pulled away as another horn blast splits the air.

Toreon begins to raise his head, but before he can another horn blast splits the air and suddenly an arrow streaks past the Halfling's head and sinks into the massive dinosaur's eye. Toreon roars out in pain. The Halfling dances to the side, daring to turn his head for a moment to see who is behind him.

A small Clawfoot dinosaur streaks across the Plains. Its curved front claw is painted red in the style of the Red Claw Tribe and it moves with long, graceful strides and not a trace of fear towards the massive predator. Astride it's back sits the young female Halfling, her knees squeezing the mount hard, a bow in her right hand as her left reaches over her shoulder to draw another arrow. "Saratha!" the male calls in surprise.

"Eyes forward, Gerano!" she returns, sounding like a sergeant chastising one of her soldiers. The young man immediately complies, his eyes narrowing as his sole focus becomes the Titan in front of him. Toreon cries out again in pain, his eye now milky white. He tries to snap Gerano up in his jaws, but his wounded eye affects his depth perception and the nimble Halfling rolls easily out of his reach.

Pushing with her thighs, Saratha guides her mount behind Toreon, then around the other side. She takes aim at the dinosaur's good eye, and Toreon roars so loud that the ground shakes and her mount misses a step and stumbles. Saratha is thrown to the ground and she tumbles hard, miraculously maintaining a grip on her bow. The arrows in her quiver are tossed aside, and when she reaches over her shoulder, only one remains. She draws it and puts the end to her bowstring, letting out a long slow breath. The world around her darkens as her sole focus becomes Toreon's good eye. Gerano watches her and waits for his moment. A sharp twang accompanies the snap of Saratha's bowstring and the arrow flies out towards its target.

Everyone holds their breath as the tiny missile sails towards the gigantic dinosaur. Toreon roars at Saratha again, and it sounds almost like a laugh. The arrow strikes his eyelid and bounces harmlessly aside. Saratha's face sinks as she prepares to meet her ancestors. She looks up, choosing to look her end in the eye.

She sees a flash move across the top of Toreon's head, and in that moment Gerano sinks his tangat into the Titan's eye. Toreon screams in pain, tossing his head this way and that, and flinging Gerano in the process. He tumbles to the ground in a heap, and Saratha quickly runs over to him. Toreon continues to whip his head around and stumbles, falling to the ground with a roar. The earth quakes as he collides with it.

Saratha shakes Gerano, but he does not stir. She turns angry eyes onto Toreon, narrowing them the way the beast did when it looked at her. Toreon's movement slows, and Saratha walks over, grabbing hold of the hilt of Gerano's tangat where it still protrudes from Toreon's eye. She slides the blade out, then plunges it back in again. Toreon cries out at the first strike, but as Saratha stabs him again and again, his cries fall silent, replaced by her own. She shrieks like a desert banshee, her frustration and anger and sorrow released with each thrust of the blade. At last she sinks to the ground, breathing heavily. The air again grows silent except for the insects and the calls of birds, a day like any other on the Plains.

The scene stays this way for a long moment, and gradually the lights darken again. Slowly brightening, the crew of the Dragonfly find themselves looking at Kalarian standing on the table next to Tangat, once again in his own wolf form. Kal as removed his hood and now addresses his friends directly. "On the Plains the legend of Saratha is told far and wide, not only among the Red Claw Tribe but in all tribes. Young girls braid their hair and chase after boys who roar at them, but they are no match for these brave warriors." Kal turns to look at each of his friends. "The first time I heard the tale of Saratha, I was in the camp of the Red Claws, looking at a statue that they carry of her. It is unusual for a tribe to carry something so needless, but the girl who told me Saratha's story looked upon the statue with such reverence that I quickly understood why they would make that sacrifice."

Kalarian grows silent. "The Red Claw Tribe is no more," he says. Again, there is silence. From his pocket, Kal draws out a small figurine, a young Halfling woman with braided hair. "Saratha's legend must not be forgotten," he says, looking down at the image of her he holds. "Carry it with you, my friends, as I do, and tell it to any who will listen. Some things should never die." With that, Kal offers a formal bow to his audience, draws up the hood of his cloak, and disappears in a flash.


_______________
With a healthy dose of creative license for use of Minor Illusion, Prestidigitation, and so forth, and a little Lightning Shift at the end to make a quick getaway into the shadows where Kal intends to remain for a bit.