HEROIC REALMS

Morgan walking back from a patrol of Dark entry road, heads down to the tavern to see if Zeesa is around.

At about the same time, Artha heads to the tavern to see if Orogom is around. He appears to be mumbling in Draconian as he passes the Constable, and his thinking out loud forgets which language to use for a moment. "<Hello--> errr... hello Constable. Sorry, practicing my Draconian a bit more, trying to get rid of the accent."

He pauses for a moment, then snaps. "Oh, right. I wanted to talk to you about... well, about my interest in joining the Guard. No offense, but... after what's happened recently, I don't think I'm suited for the Guard, and I'd like to take back my interest. Sorry."

Laurelin sits on one of the stumps arranged near the forge, staring at the portal. Her hands are crossed and folded in her lap as she casts a casual glance in the direction of voices. She eyes both men a moment, her head inclined. With a solemn expression, her gaze then drifts slowly back toward the portal, her hands moving to prop under her chin, her elbows on her knees. Her momentary break from her thoughts more a listen for news of more trouble than anything else. Not hearing any she returned to her ponderings.

"Whew, thanks." Artha sits down at one of the chairs. "Seen Orogom anywhere? I was looking for him to see if my Draconian has gotten better."

Orogom, upon hearing his name, comes out of the back-room of the tavern. Seeing Artha over in the Dragon's Den, he let's out a roaring growl that is a standard greeting in Draconian, then goes in back and grabs two ales while he waits for Artha to come on over.

Artha blinks for a moment, then snaps. "Right, that's a greeting. Still need to work on the phrases..." He chuckles, heading over to Orogom, and answering with the same roaring greeting.
"<So, I have the word structure down... now just a matter of the accent. What kind of accent is it, anyway?>" Artha says, in what likely all but Orogom will hear as random growls and roars. "<The only difference I've noticed is that the dragon spoke in a much more echoey tone, and you just sound... louder, I guess. Is that it?>"

Incase anyone notices, Artha is missing his bandana, and has been, suspiciously, since returning from the Scourge Mountains.

((Stuff in <>'s is Draconian.))

Zeesa is sitting in the Tavern enjoying her ale when Artha walks in.......she watches as Orogom and Artha speak Draconian which to her sounds like gibberish. She takes a nice long stretch and yawns right as she is stepping out of the Tavern.

She looks around to see Laurelin & Constable Morgan about.....she begins to make her way over toward them.....

"Good day Constable....Laurelin......I see it that you are both doing well???"

Laurelin hearing her name, looks over in Zeesa's direction and manages a slight smile and a nod in greeting. Her gaze lingers a moment longer than would be considered normal before tearing it away and looking back to the portal once more.

Orogom hands one of the ales to Artha and explains, <It's about your posture. Accent in draconian comes from how you carry yourself. Did you notice how in the den of Big Red back there I kept a dominant posture, even when supplicating myself? Try not to look so...meek when you talk and that will clear up the accent.>

Artha gives a brief Draconian thanks for the ale, taking a sip as he thinks this over. "<Posture...>" He chuckles. "<Now that I think of it, the posture I was probably in was looking down, my master is a dwarf. Though... hmmm...>" He shrugs. "<Well, I suppose 'meek' will be a problem until my instinct around dragons isn't to cower. They're quite intimidating creatures.>"

Laurelin realizes after a long pause, that she was being spoken to. Turning her head she seemed quite surprised to find Vica there, never having heard her approach.

"Forgive me Vica, I did not see you there, were you speaking to me?"

Doing her best to manage a smile, she waits for Vica's response.

Orogom takes a hearty gulp of his ale and replies, <Intimidating might be a good word for it. Perhaps it's my age, but were I a few centuries younger, I would probably have had a load of dung in my pants back there. It's not something you master overnight, but rather something that comes from experience. Hang around this stronghold long enough, you get a few other adventures under your belt, then perhaps the thought of dying won't phase you as much.> Orogom chuckles, his tongue still set to speak Draconian, so it comes out as a uvulating growl, and he takes another swig of his ale.

Morgan wrote:Morgan looks at Zeesa. " I am as well as can be, but I need a favor. I need you to send a message to Taldrin and Rawlin because I need to speak with them as soon as possible. It is very urgent and I am in a quandary about it."

But of course Constable - Is this a private matter, would you like to step over here?

Zeesa extends her hands out in the direction of the lower field

Laurelin smiles despite herself, though her tone reflect a measure of defeat, "It seems to be just a giant mess of problems and I am trying to see my way clear. Only this time... no answers or ideas are coming to me... Im beginning to think... well let me rephrase, I already know we are in over our heads... but I am having my doubts at least of my capability to deal with any of it." Laurelin pauses glancing at the portal once more. "Did you ever wonder why us?"

Looking back to Vica, her tone takes on a hint of her old self, "As for that portal... Im just waiting for it to unravel somehow and a giant war party to come running through."

Laurelin leans in to listen to the whisperings and then replies in the same manner to Vica. A rather in depth discussion being had between the two.

"<I'm surprised I didn't wet myself either. Perhaps...>" Artha shrugged. "<I don't know exactly why, but somehow the fear of being killed or eaten or whatnot hasn't fazed me too much lately. Call it idealism, perhaps, but even though I get that feeling in my gut that I should be terrified, it never seems more than that.>"
He takes another drink of his ale, pondering it. "<Or maybe I'm just getting used to it...>"

Orogom sizes up the mage and replies, <Well, the main point is that we survived and because of that, Cali will be fine...now, would you be kind enough to do me a favor? Can you contact your master and have him research in the Great Library all the past instances of Red Dragons asking favors of humans? Sexual joking aside, I cannot fathom what a dragon would need a human to do that it could not do itself...> The Triclops trails off, his mind again begining to work on the question as he talks with Artha...

"<Yeah, sure.>" Artha takes out a paper and starts writing up a scribed letter, written in Draconian. He speaks quietly as he writes. "<Hmmm... Dear Alkanahl... It is Artha again. I have a request to ask of you on behalf of one of my allies and I. Could you look into any records of previous encounters between dragons and humanoids for me? Specifically red dragons, and any time a dragon has asked a favor of a humanoid. Thank you, and say hello to my parents for me, since I know by now you've told them the rumors. Sincerely, Artha Locke. PS: Write back in Draconian, I could use the practice.>"

Artha makes a distinct design beside his name, perhaps some kind of seal. He takes a swig of ale, and switches back to the common tongue. "Ugh, too much growling. That hurts your throat after a bit." He takes another drink, then folds up the letter and sets it in his journal. "I'll mail that out in the morn. Fair warning though... my master is a bit scatterbrained, and he's terrible at checking his mail, that was traditionally my job while I was there. I doubt we'll get a response before the end of the moon. Luckily, that still leaves four more."

Morgan wrote:Morgan says "Sure". Then starts to walk over near the scourge. " Please tell them I need to have a meeting with them both. I think we may have more problems. If they want me to come to them that is fine also. I feel this needs to get done as soon as possible. I would rather not say more because people could be listening in.

Sensing the urgency in the Constable's voice Zeesa quickly replies..."I will speak with Taldrin about arranging a meeting for you in the Klor's guild meeting hall......you should be safe their from wandering ears"

With that Zeesa quickly runs off up the hill and into the woods.

Orogom thanks Artha and replies likewise in common tongue, "Thank you, and yes, the growling gets to you after a while. Now, if you will excuse me, I must go meet an old friend. If you would be so kind as to tell Zeesa to mind the tavern for a few days, I must make a trip out of town." In Draconian, the Triclops adds, <If I'm not back in 6 days, get Zeesa and come find me starting at the first tavern on the road to Trillador. I'll be in disguise so you will want to look for a dark-skinned man named "Trip".>

Orogom gives a slight bow to Artha, then leaves the tavern and goes up to his cabin to grab his things, intending to leave immediately.

((OOG: Keith - look to the PM))

Artha nods. "<Will do.> Good luck, and enjoy the trip."

Orogom strolls back into the Stronghold, upset that he didn't find everything he had been looking for. Criss-crossing the Stronghold, he looks for Stark and, when he finds him, whispers something into his ear that makes the former pirate turn red with rage. Afterward, Orogom heads to the tavern and plunks down behind the bar, tired from walking for a good part of the day.

Artha, currently in there drawing or something of the sort, looks over and smiles. "Oh, good, you're back in one piece. Good to see you again."

Orogom looks at Artha and returns a wan smile and says softly, "Have you seen the Constable? I need to speak with him...Zeesa as well if you know where she is." The Triclops reaches up and unlocks the stock-room door, then reaches back and pulls out a ladle of well water and drinks it in one drought.

"I haven't seen either today, at least." Artha shrugs, tucking away his drawing... or more accurately, what looked like equations written in the magic runic language, with some notes in Draconian on one side. And some doodles in the margins. Artha was, however, wearing his bandana again. "So, the letter to Alkanahl is sent, though there was some trouble at the manor house. Nothing as bad as the last time we went up there, though, thank gods. And... uh... I have some odd news that I just realized. I think I dropped my bandana and mask back in the red dragon cave... I really hope that isn't going to come back and bite me in the ass somehow."

Orogom chuckles at the mage and replies, "Well, worst case: it now has your scent. Best case: it will have a hanky to scrub soot out of it's nose."

"Nah, worst case scenario is that it has my scent covered in caramelized sugar, and over the moons decides I'm that much more tasty." Artha shrugs. "Oh well, at least I brought some extra material and had time to learn how to sew." He chuckles. "Amazing how I'm learning all these skills after heading out into the world. Back at home, needing new clothes would be as simple as hiring a tailor to do it for me, or a cook if I was hungry, and that sort of thing. Now... I'm really on my own, besides what aid I get from my allies here. It really has been quite an enlightening experience."
He pauses for a moment, then snerks. "Ehe... also very glad that not every adventurer is like Hanz and Xollio. If I was still traveling with them all this time I doubt I would have survived. Dangerous pair, those two."

Orogom raises his eyebrow at Artha, but instead of replying simply reaches back and fills the ladle with water again and sips it this time. After a few moments, the Triclops speaks softly in Draconian <You may wish to be careful about speaking of your family's wealth. I understand you are proud of your heritage, but also remember that any number of people that pass through here would be happy to grab you and ransom you back to your family. Though I admit, it is nice to think about having a bunch of people cater to my whims.> Orogom chuckles and drains the ladle again.

Artha blinks, a bit surprised by Orogom's comment. He thinks for a few moments, then frowns, speaking in draconian as well. "<...I... never thought of that. Wow... You're right, that does seem like something that could happen...>" He rests his head on his crossed arms against the table.
"<...Orogom? You seem to be one of the more tell-it-like-it-is folks around the Stronghold. What do you think of me, as far as... well...>" He sighs. "<I don't know, maybe it's just the adventure-seeking little kid in me, but I feel like I don't really have any use around the Stronghold. Hanz is on the Guard, Xollio has already gained a name around here as the resident alchemist, even Tabris seems more respected around here, and he barely even talks. And Samarac is a far better mage than me as far as skills go, not to mention the other casters like Laurelin and Zeesa. I don't feel like I'm the odd man out, I just...>" He shrugs. "<...I don't feel like anyone, I guess. Just dead weight with a blue stick and some magic tricks.>"

Orogom chooses his words carefully as he replies, <Forgive me for waxing platitude on you with this, but the measure of a man is not in the power he has, but in the spirit he brings to others. Worry not about how much of an impact you are making on the world, but simply live your life as you feel it is right to live and let the historians choose which of us should be honored. Think of it this way - for every historian that has ever written about brave men facing down a dragon, they will never do what they write about. Likewise, some of the greatest adventurers to have ever lived are totally unknown because they died before their stories could be told. If you want to be seen as "useful" around the stronghold, then perhaps there is a niche that you can fill that no other person around here can. learned how to brew ales because I refused to be ont he guard and there was no other way for me to make money, and now I'm the tavern keeper. Stark was a newbling guardsman once himself, and now he's the second-in-command to the Constable. Zeesa was once a common farm girl who discovered a powerful gift. Each of us all have our pasts that have helped shape who we are now, but we are useful because we have all come here and dedicated ourselves to this place and it's protection. You too are useful in that capacity, but adventure alone does not give one purpose in life, and if that is the route you intend to pursue, then you most likely will find yourself one day on the wrong end of a blade, for it is rare that you find an adventurer dying of old age.> The Triclops lapses into silence, his eyes misty with memories of how he learned these lessons...

Artha stays quiet for a bit, thinking over Orogom's words. By the time he's done thinking, he's speaking in Common again "That's true, but 'spoiled city boy who wants to be a hero' is hardly a niche. I want to get involved. I want to be important. I'm willing to do whatever I can to get there, but... nothing. Just me being another face in the Stronghold. I was raised on dreams and ambition, Orogom... perhaps I just have an inflated ego, but I cannot stand just waiting for my chance to be useful."
He seems agitated, but then he just shrugs, and seems to calm down. "Eh, I've almost got the art of magical Permanency mastered, that's one niche, I guess. I'll at least be useful once every three moons or so. And assuming Quintaras does make himself available again, at least I can make some coin here and there taking notes." The sarcasm is as obvious as a dragon in one's backyard singing a sea shanty.

Orogom shakes his head and sighs, "Artha...you are young yet. I did not start brewing until I was almost 4 centuries old. Stark was raised as a pirate and it took him two decades and an ogre for his life change. You are seeking something that does not truly exist: the romantic adventure. You were raised being suckled on the teat of heroic tales, and the simple fact of the matter is that they are rarely the complete truth. Those stories never tell about stopping in the woods to use a tree as a bathroom, or the cold nights under the stars with the howling wolves as your only company. You say that you want to feel useful, but tell me who else besides you and I can speak with the dragons and potentially forge an alliance with them? You speak of acquiring the spell Permanency, and that is a useful skill, but it does not make YOU useful, it is simply something that you can do." Reaching behind the still open door, Orogom grabs two ales and hands one to Artha and switches back to Draconian. <Look at me. I'm an assassin, born and raised. It is my job to be a cold-blooded killer, and the job certainly comes with useful skills towards that end, but it does not make ME useful. What makes me useful is that I know when to talk and when to use those skills.> Taking a swig of his ale, the Triclopse switches back to common tongue and finishes, "Don't seek usefulness, simply live and you will be useful in your own way. You have found your way here, now it is simply a matter of waiting for the right time."

Artha shrugs. "I suppose I'm just impatient then." He takes the ale, looking it over for a bit, then opens it just enough for the air to flow in, watching the bubbles rise. "Perhaps its how I was raised. Groomed to be an heir to the family, spoiled rotten, dreaming of grand heroes and adventures all the while. I was meant for greatness, yet I find myself as, at best, the start on one's path to greatness. If that, even... a merchant's pride and greed are his two best qualities, after all." Artha chuckles."Silly, isn't it? I'm impatient, and of all the paths in life I chose to be a Mage. Masters of patience and practice in their craft beyond all others, so it is said. Here I am simply wishing for the world to bend to my will. How childish."

Orogom chuckles and replies, "But isn't that essentially what magic is? Bending reality to their will within a local vicinity? You know, about a hundred and fifty years ago, I had the opportunity to travel with an aged human adventurer who had somehow managed to survive into his eighty-fifth year. As we stopped to spend a night with a nomadic tribe, they pestered him with questions, for his deeds had made him a legend in his own lifetime. The poor, aged man still had the heart of a hero, but his frail frame seemed like it might give out at any moment, his mouth had not a tooth in it, and his eyes were old and rheumy. These nomads treated this man as though he were their personal deity and, when one asked him what it is that is important in life, such as glory on the battlefield, etc., he fixed a suddenly steely glare on the person. It lasted a moment as he smiled a toothless grin and replied, 'Hot Water...Good Dentistry...and soft lavatory paper.' A lifetime of slaying vicious beasts, rescuing people, and cleaving a name into the history books, and that was what he found was the most important aspects of life..." The Triclopse lapses into silence as his mind recalls the hero and the weeks they had spent together.

"It is just that, albeit to a more scientific extent." Artha smirks. "And to each their own, I guess. Though I will admit that not being able to bathe regularly is starting to be a personal bother." He sets his feet up on the table, leaning back and looking up at one of the lanterns on the ceiling. "Still... even in my own mind, what I value most in life is power. Power through money, magic, or just reputation. Of course, I lack the experience of that man, so this may just be my opinion as an inexperienced and ambitious young mage. Nevertheless, it is what I feel, regardless of how childish or megalomanaical it may seem."
He laughs lightly, taking the bottle of ale in his hand and holding it in front of his eyes, looking at the lantern light through the colored liquid, which just happened to be rose-reddish in this particular brew. "I understand what you're explaining and agree with it completely, I just don't like waiting, that's all. In the end there's little I can do besides wait for my chance to shine, but that doesn't mean I have to like it." He shrugs, taking a brief sip of the ale. "So come on world, this little mage is telling you to get on with it already! Bend to my will!" He laughs more as he makes overdramatic arcane gestures, clearly back in good spirits, at least.

Orogom smiles as the mage goes on. "Well, you don't have to like it, but you do want to be careful how you complain since the wrong words might attract the wrong attention. Anyways, I think it's time for an elf stick, care to join me outside?" The Triclopse stands up and grabs his ale, intending it to bring it outside with him.

Artha shakes his head. "I don't smoke, and I think I'm more interested in getting some rest while I can actually get it." He waves to Orogom lightly as he leaves, then pulls his bandana down over his eyes as he slouches a bit in his seat.

Orogom smiles and nods at Artha and moves outside into the Dragon's Den. He hadn't realized how dark it had gotten while he was talking with the mage and he can barely see outside. "Well now, who do we have here? Did you all miss your ale-maker while I was gone?" Orogom grins into the circle where he can see outlines of people and lights his elf-stick, rendering himself blind for half a minute.