After their potentially fatal initial encounter, the cynical Fortu is surprised to find himself sitting in a camp clearing, sharing a fire, food and wine with the very horse-men creatures that had, so very recently, tried to kill him. He'd never imagined life outside the arena could be so much like it was within it.
The ruggedly handsome Tsigane, had been true to his word and the group of adventurers were made welcome, even as the two gravely wounded Centaur warriors had been hurried away to the tribal healers. Sir Briefadel had repaid their hospitality with the majority of his remaining wine stocks but it turned out to be a wise gesture. What could, potentially, have been an awkward evening had turned into a glorious feast with music, dance and genuine laughter.
The 'Centourists'; Silver and Mr Ed are by far the most attentive, curious for news of the elven and human worlds. They are cautiously watched over though by the true centaurs though, and any responses to questions from the party about the magical pool are quickly stamped out with a stern glare or subtle shake of a maned head. Perhaps Sir Briefadel had better luck in his private conversation with the grizzled Chief Rozinante?
Later on though, Little Silver organises a choral performance and sings an emotional but odd song about a magical 'Lightning tree'. The elven Arowe enjoys the powerful blend of savage and sylvan influences. The more closed off Liga Burr though, notices the deliberate eye contact Silver keeps making with him and, although the lyrics are lost on him, he's gratified to see their bard; Rifkin paying close attention.
One by one, everyone drifts off to their shared marque-like tents, some more worse for wear than others but Sir Briefadel and his wizard squire; Egrow are conspicuously the first to retire.
That night, Arowe and Liga Burr examine the longbow and medallion gifted as restitution and gratitude for sparing their young warriors lives. The Longbow is masterfully crafted, even by elven standards and obviously enchanted. The medallion though remains a mystery. Even Rifkin and Egrow can't define its purpose beyond 'magical protection' of some sort.
In the morning Egrow's normally tasteless gruel-like porridge breakfast is made surprisingly palatable by the addition of fruit, nuts and berries supplied by the Centaurs. Finally, with broad smiles, floral leis and wishes of good luck, the party lead their horses out of the camp with a renewed feeling of optimism.
"We're close." Sir Briefadel beams. "I feel it in my very bones!".
"for the tree was born in a thunderstorm"
ReplyDeleteand a few "la la the lightning tree" is about all I can remember.
Still worried about Briefedel knowing about the nature of the magic pool.....