Game Thread Chapter 3: Feed the Devil, Eat the Snake - Page 12

PlaidPeregrine · #**166** Feb 12th, 2023, 10:17 PM

Thistle Marmalade Brambleweaver

Thistle marched down the hallway, retracing her tracks to the start of this adventure. The copper cookie-cutter spray of lantern light filled the passageway that was pleasantly damp and still had traces of rich green moss clinging to the stonework. The petite Gnome remembered how the guard left them quickly once he pointed out where the group should go. He didn't even go so far as to bring them to the root cellar proper. How would anyone hear them if the pseudo-soldier is keeping watch way up on the tower. There are carrots and parsnips above them, so there would surely be mice or rats to speak with, but they would be on the other side of this stone door, and sadly they are not very strong.

"Does the amulet work on the door, Roofs?" Thistle asked hopefully with a perked-up smile. Lowering her knotted staff, she crept up closer to the stone, lantern in one hand while placing the other flat against it. Maybe there are words written or carved on this side. Maybe Tibby, being not the brightest, put a note on the door with a password. The others got out. Was it a matter of strength? Well it was surely time to find out, so with long pointed ears perked, the attentive Gnome became like a fox hunting a mouse under the cover of fresh snow, and Using the Perception roll of 23 from Feb 4thexamined the area.

Stat Block

Actions & Movement

ElderOblex · #**167** Feb 13th, 2023, 01:31 AM

Blue hair don't care about guards

(c)Jose Vega

Roofs scratched her chin as she tried to remember what the guards in this town were like. Were they sketchy? "There was that old military dude at the gate," she muttered, oddly remembering that he didn't bat an eyelash about seeing a blue tiefling marching barefoot into town with an obviously uncivilized weed-smoking forest gnome. What kind of reprobate does that? "Yeah, I rolled an 11 on Insightdunno. Nugs blazing and thunder-roaring and door-kicking and pancake-eating it is!" Roofs declared, making her sharp infernal teeth shine blue as well, with cheeky wink at Thistle.

Hearing Flyde's usual apocalyptic declarations that they were all going to die by an acid-eats-toes scenario and the wild gnome's perceptive query, Roofs marched toward the door with Bad Baldy's sketchy pendant. The tiefling clutched it like a badge, with a loud, "עפענען סעסאַמי!'I Am Politely Asking You to Open' in Infernal*"

OOC

lostcheerio · #**168** Feb 15th, 2023, 05:03 PM

At the Stone DoorHmm, the guards don't really distinguish themselves in your memory. One soldiery guy after another, one slouchy girl in work pants after another. Three figures slumped by the fire, gender uncertain. Two hunched over dinner bowls, noses pointed down. Does it redeem their participation in this mess at all to imagine they felt guilty enough to avoid looking you in the face? Or does that make things all the worse, that there was some level of moral torment bothering them, but not a high enough level for them to become one of the crossed out names, refusing the payout. Maybe you don't remember their faces because they didn't want to distinguish themselves. Whatever the reason, there's no particular one whose face or conversation you recall.

When Roofs marches up to the door with the amulet held high and shouts her command, no arcane lock dissolves, no crack appears between the door and the wall, but Thistle you pick up some conversation behind the door.

"That's Roofs!" you hear, in a tired gnomish whisper. "We're svaed!"

"Shut it, you," in a louder male voice. "Or we're putting the gag back in. That's Tibby Greykilt."

"I don't think so," another gruff human voice, but this is Eva, your carpenter friend.

"You two pipe down," the loud voice says. "And don't move."

You hear the sound of feet clumping toward the door and then the voice says, "Greykilt? What's the password?"

Yoshimi · #**169** Feb 17th, 2023, 11:17 AM

Sigur Borthi

Sigur accepts the two emergency berries from Thistle with a grateful smile and chews each briefly before swallowing them. She shivers at the slight tingling in her wounds.

After a hastily whispered conference, she nods at Thistle and Roofs. The warrior then draws herself up to full height, and points the tip of her sword at Thistle to get into the proper frame of mind. Then she cries, "Tibby Greykilt, my fallen companions shall be avenged! I, Sigur Sharpsword, claim thy head at the very dread portal you used to trap us like vermin in a cage."

PlaidPeregrine · #**170** Feb 18th, 2023, 09:27 PM

Thistle "Tibby" Marmalade Brambleweaver

"Open, dang it!" Not-Tibby squeaked in a panicked, illusioned voice. "She's after our crown!" The voice was obnoxiously high-pitched, shrilled out of a cute Gonme nose that would have been covered with a large acron cap. Then came a WhiIiiiinne of a cry that could have been of distress or pure annoyance.

Let the guards be confused, or on guard but not too much on guard! Confusion is best, and maybe the thought of saving the coveted GOLD Crown would be motivation to open the door, unless "Open" was the password, because…Tibby.

Thistle stood at the stone slab of a door, staff ready if she needed to jam it into a space. She was prepared to bolt under Big Legs. Where did my tawer friends go? The small critters as smooth-seeming as fine glass, toddled around without rhyme or reason as their Nogme creator worked on her illusion of the freshly deceased Tibby. Though it partially hurt her heart, having faith in the would-be-adventurer, hoping she was simply misguided, Thistle knew deep down the traitorous Gnome met a fate that she earned many times over. Looking over her shoulder, the petite Druid nodded at Roofs and Sigur as she readied herself for escape.

Stat Block

Actions & Movement

ElderOblex · #**171** Feb 20th, 2023, 07:17 PM

Hostage sitch

(c)Jose Vega

Huh. Held hostage? Roofs mused as she tucked the pendant back in a front pocket. So some of the guards were definitely part of this schmuck-sucker-punching dungeon. Question was, how many of them? How many guards were added there in Sigur's list? They must be on the crown-payroll.

It was no use speculating while they were still trapped inside, though. So Roofs did what any sensible person in her place would do. She drew a dagger then banged it against Sigur's pointed-out sword. She did this a few times, screaming in faux rage and then slamming the knightess' shield for good measure. Then she dropped her weapon, letting it clatter noisily on the floor.

Roofs let the dead air linger. Then she thought:

Janny! Loudspeaker mode!

The mote whirled in the air obediently, pausing by the trap door. She sensed what the tiefling was about to do. Roofs herself closed her eyes, remembering the events of just a few minutes ago. When she opened her black eyes again, they glowed gold; an indication that she was Minor Illusion: Soundcasting something.

"Hey, guys!" It came out from a vibrating Janny-mote. Male. Smooth, buttery, creamy. Sleazy yet self-righteous. Like an idiot farmhand greasing his hair with a milky hand.

"Ow! P-in UP!Trying to command the guards to 'Open up'*"

She stitched the paladin's words and letters as best she could. The delivery was a bit mechanical, but Roofs was especially proud of that authoritative scream Parsnip growled at Tibby at the end. Anyway, who cares? There were only dumb guards beyond the door to fool.

OOC

lostcheerio · #**172** Feb 22nd, 2023, 03:17 PM

Out of the Dungeon!From behind the stone door you hear a few urgent whispers, a great shuffling of feet, and then a surprised voice shouts, "Ten thousand sons!" With a deep rumble of stone gears, the door swings slowly open. Your lantern light meets the torchlight of the basement room, and illuminates the worried face of an ordinary soldier, who lofts his sword at you hopefully, and then, once he takes in the situation, drops it. Both of the guards here surrender when they see that you have bested Curt, Tibby, and Gronch, and they ask for your mercy. Hey, they were just following orders, they try to explain. But you know that those who opposed the con were scuttled away, and those who remain are at least marginally complicit.

Moving out of the stairway, through the excavation and into the root cellar, you find your comrades, Eva Dale and Palona Greenbottle, hands tied and bonds looped through metal hoops in the wall to keep them secure. They've been treated not terribly cruelly, but the wizard has been gagged as a precaution against spell weaving, and both are eager to be released. They report they were told they would be sent back into the dungeon if you failed, to activate the devil's mouth and the magic sword. If they did this, they were promised they could go free, but they were doubtful that would ever happen without your intervention.

The guards who are upstairs surrender to you or run. A couple make a mad dash for the gate or try to scramble over the wall. If you pursue or threaten arrows or magic, they will drop and give up. At the end of the struggle, you have five prisoners to do with as you will. The nearest authorities are in the last town to the south, but you can stow these guys in an outbuilding for a bit.

It's evening but on this winter day the sun has mostly set over the mountains to the west. Flyde Butterroot takes over kitchen operations with Palona on hand to provide magical extras, and together they whip up a delicious, fanciful spread, from grilled beet steaks for the gnomes to a roasted goat haunch for those with more ordinary appetites. There's plenty of ale, and fizzy cocktails, a crackling fire, and warm safe beds if you want to stay here for the night. Palona and Eva can't wait to hear all about the horrors and triumphs of the queen's dungeon, and the end of Tibby and the rest.

Over the coming days, acid drips through cracks in the door of the lake room. Eventually it will fill the entire dungeon, although not too quickly to prevent some further trips down into its depths if anything was forgotten or needs to be documented. The enchantment over the place began to fade with the bold statement Sigur made sacrificing the power of the sword. Over time the plinths and doors will fade too, the portrait of the queen and her baby dissolving into the murk of the mild acid, along with the face of the devil, and the body of the king, until all that is left are the specks in solution, that will leach into the earth, one way or another. While the story of Diomedes may now be forgotten, the sour mark left on his family by his wretched, difficult choice will become an inextricable part of the soil and history of the realm, and last forever.

Yoshimi · #**173** Mar 5th, 2023, 11:27 PM

Epilogue I: Four Months Later

Toadstump Hollow was chilly that afternoon - chilly and sticky and busy - but the sun started to break through the carpet of gray clouds as the heroes arrived. Sigur and Roofs, with Thistle as their guide through farmers' fields, then into a thick silver-barked forest with a canopy filled with crying catbirds and a flutter of brazen black-crowned bluejays with small hoppy golden-brown feathered peepers frolicking from branch to branch in wild curiosity as the trio passed underneath. The peeper birds were as gossipy as their cousins the gray-spotted tree-peeper toads, this fun-fact...amongst many others. Any Gonmish Druid in the area was soon to hear about the buel hroned-woman, the sivler knightess and Thistle - who overheard a pair of catbirds remarking on the shiny armor and how they wanted to see if it was like water or hard (or full of other birds which is often the case with reflections); the Druidess just smiled to herself, picked a few overripe sgonoggleberries and carefully passed them around, remarking how lovely they were pressed into fluffy pancakes and drizzled in boiled tree-sap. They walked while the excited Gnome just chattered away.

It had been an arduous four months on the road, but the Companions of the Tomb had completed their mission, leaving in their wake one fewer company of highwaymen to waylay coaches, a troll who promised to stop extorting travelers that crossed his bridge and open a roadside tea stand instead, and more than one narrow early-morning escape from irate fathers coming after Flyde with a crossbow. In the end, every family that lost an adventurer to the dastardly scheme of Tibby & Co. had been located and given a share of the proceeds from the sale of the crowns, with heartfelt condolences. But perhaps the most satisfying was to watch Curt's bronze name plaque being pried from the Wall of Honor in Torm's temple, amid the profuse apologies of priests offering complimentary healing potions.

Leading the way to the heart of her village, Thistle cheerily explained everything about the surrounding Forest, and the damper, watery Hollow as they walked a narrow path fit for Gonmes and raccoons. They met green-clad spear-Gonmes on the way, and after vouching for her friends, they were soon in a village where homes were high off the ground, built into and onto trees, with main stone buildings for community and work activities on raised platforms in a center that was built around a tall, white-flowered blossoming tree, rich in a spicy Jasmine-like scent.

"We made it to the Petal Festival of the Blossoming Elder Tree!" Thistle exclaimed as she started to dance around her Big friends. Soon enough, a gathering of Gonmes collected curiously around Roofs, admiring her hrons, and OH did they admire Sigur's noble stature and shiny, well-crafted armor. Master Gluckin Peppernose (pepper does not make him sneeze or tear-up or sniffle!) Ironhammer Moonblade Riverstone, a sturdy, big-boned Gonme with an iron-antlered circlet around his balding head, tapped on Sigur's armor so it could 'speak to him'. Sigur took the attention graciously, smiling at her admirers and inquiring politely as to what her now-brightly burnished chain shirt had confided to the distinguished Peppernose. She spoke seldom, for despite Thistle's best tutelage on the road, her gnomish fluency was halting at best. But she took it with grace when her proclamation that, "This day marks the start of a brave guh-new alliance between hug-mans and gun-nommes" was met with as much good-natured laughter as applause. And she would not rest until she had painstakingly, and with much dignified pantomiming, explained how Thistle's wisdom in the dream world and her brave frog exploits had been the turning points in their quest. To her satisfaction, the word "hero" was frequently heard in the same awed whispers and excited bantering as the name "Thistle" for the rest of the afternoon.

Roofs found herself with wee Gonmes bouncing around her, calling her a Faun or a Faerie and how lovely and BLUE she was. In no time, Roofs found herself with strings of freshwater river pearls handed to her to hang from her horns in welcome to the Hollow. She tried hard not to get annoyed at it all, cringing at the happy ministrations of Thistle's weird people who were just as giddy and weird and happy as her. Soon though, even she was having fun. She found the smell of their flowers fragrant, and couldn't help but smile warmly as they practically made her horns a botanical garden. The freshwater pearls festooned around them simply added a note of gratuitous elegance to it all.

"What's next, a nest for birds?" she whined half-heartedly. "Don't even think about it, ya bag-o-feathers!" She suddenly shouted at a suspicious-looking peeper.

Belita Mousewhisker Melonchowder Rosehips the Elder was the first to arrive at all the hub-bub, followed by Thistle's parents, grandparents, cousins, and friends. The adventurous Gnome gave seeds to giant turnips and golden beets to the Greensnaps and Rootweaver families. She tried to explain what an edible thistle-artichoke was, and then as a surprise, pulled one out of her bag to show Tavern Chef Starsinger.

A long pair of oak tables were carried to the center of town with colorful cushions to sit upon as the promise of stories, knowledge and wisdom were to be told by Thistle's new friends. The young Druid spoke energetically of the Queen and Moss Paw, but focused on the bravery and cleverness of Sigur and Roofs. Ever the contrarian, Roofs interrupted Thistle by stating how the good-natured gnome tried to befriend one of the opportunitistic bast*rds - she said "doofuses" instead though for the sake of the younger nogmes - even when she tried to steal their potions. That's just the kind of gmone Thistle was: she sees the best in everyone. Then Roofs shut up, and looked back at Thistle, her eyes oddly gleaming.

The triumphant druid proclaimed the opportunity to help with this Fort at the edge of the world, near the mountains, where the night sky was clear to see and fires lit the grounds of the site. The garden would need tending to and expanded so more people could enjoy a cozy tavern where games were played, and fizzy orange drinks were served. Goats already were herded around, but Gonme goats, the best goats for the bestest socks and sweaters should be raised up there. What a site for a spinning thread in fresh cool air with happy goats and beanstalks as tall as a chimney. They could help supply the Adventurer's Guild with comfort and warmth. The World's End Knitting Circle was a name that was suggested by Bedelia Germander Tubesocks Coppercoins Oakleaf and brought such cheer to Thistle that the skeptical Sigur ended up relenting. "I...suppose so? Evil shall quail at the approach of the Knitting Circle?" The warrior had little head for irony, but the concept eventually brought the barest quirk of a smile to her lips.

More senior druids would need to travel there as well, for it was a very scrubby place, and perhaps the land could be coaxed to grow drier-land reeds, and tall sunseed flowers to support the goats and visitors. So much promise in the North! A real place for Adventurers to gather and train, protecting the North from Orcs and any trouble that arises. "A place for sword practice, and stories, training and quilt-making while eating honey-glazed carrot cakes, and potato pies, with or without meat. A Hin at the Helm! A Roofs to taste-test the fizzies, maybe even selling jugs of it to the taverns to the South. Orange fizzy, Acorn Fizzy, Minty Fizzy, and how about Queen's Revenge Fizzy…which would be a mystery-in-a-jug, always different with some pizzazz-spices!" Thistle gestured with a little 'jazz hands' since she did say 'pizzazz'.

"And them fizzies will all be plant-based! No eldritch additives! Good for the Earth!" Roofs quipped; Bert would always get on her case for how tavern drinks weren't eco-friendly.

So much excitement was generated at the thought of this grand and hilarious expansion of Gnomish industry that in the end it was agreed that a contingent of colonists would accompany the World's End Knitting Circle back to the North Fort as soon as all the needed supplies could be thrown haphazardly into gunnysacks. But just as the festivities were winding down for the evening, an unexpected puff of smoke in the center of the feasting hall caused cries to go up all around, and the three heroes to jump to their feet. When the smoke cleared a curious figure was revealed, standing upright but gray-furred all over and with the muzzle and long ears of a rabbit. The apparition leaned on a gnarled wooden staff as its eyes shifted frantically about the assembly, coming to rest at last on the blue tiefling. In a voice dripping with relief, the creature cried, "Roofs! That's you, isn't it? There's no time to waste. Something has got to be done about your brother..."

Yoshimi · #**174** Mar 6th, 2023, 11:21 PM

Epilogue II: Thirty Years Later

"Wolfric the Wild is raising dissension in Mavro Elos. He will never challenge your rule, but he enjoys making trouble. An itch that is easily scratched by a state visit from Queen Sharpsword."

Sigur shot her husband a reproving look. "How often must I warn you to not call me Queen in private? That is a hereditary title." A faint smile played across Bataar's lips before he gave his automatic reply. "At least twice a week for twenty years." The tall, heavily-muscled Prince Consort looked out from the high castle window, which commanded a sweeping view of the pastures and grasslands of Elytheria. The Unruly Provinces, unruly no more. Sigur got severely disappointed in any Baron who displayed unruliness. He turned back to face his wife.

"Forging a new nation by force of arms in the heartland of what had been an invading army's territory is the other way to become Queen." Sigur waved a hand irritably, to Bataar's further amusement. Even after two decades of reign, his wife refused to put on the airs of one of the mightiest military commanders of her era. He felt a surge of renewed affection. "As well you know, respect for the Queen is all that keeps the fragile equilibrium among the Baronies."

Sigur frowned, but she held her chin high, and her voice betrayed barely-constrained pride. "And respect for the Princess." Bataar grinned broadly, his dark eyes twinkling. When General Sigur and then-Captain Bataar accepted the surrender of the Unruly Barons before the gates of Elytheria, the victorious army's leader had legendarily been far along with child. Iris Borthi had been born two months after the coronation. The Prince Consort agreed, "The army would follow our young Captain to Avernus."

Now Sigur came to stand beside her husband at the window, and took her own turn at looking out across her domain. She put her arm about Bataar's waist and said hesitantly, "I'm full aware that, after all this time I should be…content…with duties of state, but…"

"But your hand misses the grip of a sword." Her husband finished the sentence for her. "It is natural. Fighters will always be fighters."

Sigur nodded and murmured distantly, "I might be able to face all this with equanimity, if there were just…one more adventure…"

At that moment, the couple were interrupted by a strange sloshing sound. They turned to find a pair of translucent possums dripping puddles of water onto the carpet. Sigur's eyes widened, her face breaking into an astonished grin as Llewellyn, the castle's half-elven steward, came to the threshold behind the shimmery creatures looking red-faced and sounding flustered. "Your Grace, two visitors! Nothing the guards could do would stay them from barging forth, and…"

"Oh hey, Batty," Roofs greeted chirpily, emerging from the stone masonry that had suddenly realized it had been temporarily transformed to liquid and could therefore now be violated by Dao machinations. Once her whole five feet tall person stood clear of the wall, the stone turned thick, solid, and structurally tight once more. "Brought your fave Apricot Surprise Purple-Orange Fizzy for you and the boys. Kegs’re downstairs with Higgins. Please tell your guards to horning stop threatening him if they don’t want an owlbear fart in the face."

"Roofs!" With a burst of youthful laughter, Sigur ran across the room, barely stopping herself from throwing her arms around the blue-skinned tiefling. She instead clasped her old friend's forearm tightly, her eyes shining.

The blue-skinned tiefling looked back at Sigur, her face smiling but slowly transforming into a half-scowl as the warrior released her arm. "Flyde’s gone. Again." She explained that the Hin was never one for settling down, and all his talk about making 'littler Roofs' in all the years they ran the tavern together never really saw the light of day; or the dark of a candlelit bedchamber for that matter. Roofs herself had dithered and dallied and claimed she never wanted to settle herself. Add to that her continuing search for her eldest brother Lehem and that whole clusterhorn with their Mother, it was really just too much to deal with at the moment.

Sigur looked taken aback. She interjected, "Your brother is causing problems again? I thought we resolved that issue with his cambrion ex-girlfr…"

Roofs raised a hand to forestall her. "Ahem. Like I SAID, Flyde left me to deal with all his mess in the Formerly World's End TavernSerpent and Horn. Again. Plus there's trouble brewin' with those Big-Bellied Beardos..." Roofs sighed, a feat that took longer than ten heartbeats. "Thistle’ll fill ya in, obvs. In short, we need ya. Again."

Sigur looked over to the doorway. "Thistle! Where is…"

Speak of the Druidess, and she will appear out of many little splashes of water! For where the two possums had puddled, there now stood the famous Hero of Toad Hollow and Guildmistress of the World's End Knitting Circle. This time Sigur did not restrain herself, laughing heartily and leaning down to sweep the gnome into a tight embrace, while Bataar came forward to offer his own greeting to his wife's warlock friend.

Thistle had found the guards aodrable as she sploshed past them with Moss Paw, who was an intimidating four feet tall now, coated in a vibrant green hairy moss with teeny tiny forget-me-not-like flowers petaling in a pale blue around the water spirit's head like a royal crown. The Forest Gnome looked unaged, really, except her hair was longer, but braided down the front, and a bit down the back, and her wreath of twigs seems to be entwined with thin braids. Wide round blooms of a yellow and purple striped trumpeted flower haloed her head with spirals of velvet and red thin flowers sprouted upwards, reaching for the sky. She was brightly ridiculous, to the degree that a pair of beautifully green butterflies were fluttering about her head, landing on the vines to feed from the array of botanicals of her crown. As she teleported about with Moss Paw like a merrier version of Satan Calus, from out her side satchel she handed out handknit socks to all the astonished denizens of the castle- polka dotted, striped, half-calf, knee-length, thigh-high, leather soled, angor-trimmed, with stars embroidered around the ankle, and some with pink squirrels and purple acorns. By the gods, it was a festival of woolen socks for Winter, along with a few special Gonme-styled caps for Human-heads. Now standing before Not-Queen Sigur and her Princely consort themselves, she offered lovely carved boxes full of embroidered and wooley goodness. A third box was for their daughter, who was not to be seen. But eager to show off its contents, Thistle opened the box nonetheless.

A brushed-smooth woolen cloak of a cheerful violet embroidered with a trim of silver and copper maple leafs, tiny snails, sleeping fawns, and spotted mushrooms was within. On top of the cloak was something familiar yet changed. With a wink and a grin, Thistle showed Sigur the ribbons a fledgling warrior had given her once upon a time in a tavern far, far away. The ribbons were embroidered with a steady hand - tiny rose-red hearts followed along a curved line of green ivy. Silk roses were expertly sewn at either end, along with miniature bluebells and a bundled trio of purple carrots. A smiling purple squirrel holding a trio of gold-thread stars in an acorn basket was in the center of each ribbon. "I thought that you might want to give these to your daughter one day."

Sigur reverently removed the ribbons from the box and held them for her husband to see, who took them into his hands and studied them in wonder. Then Sigur bowed to the gnome. "I am overcome by this gift, Thistle. I know Iris will be honored to wear this symbol of the first adventure of her mother and her godmother."

The thirty-year older Druidess smiled as she always had, no laugh-lines yet, nor any showing of slowing down. She had had no time for romance, being a true adventurer spending every day traveling town to town to recruit a nice, honest merchant to sell their woolen goods, threads, and yarn as well as their Fizzy drinks.

"Your Sigurness," Thistle started, stamping her old staff to the ground as she made a dramatic point of her friend's nobility. "...the Dwarves of the Blue River Mountain Crabby clan are all in a huff about the second, smaller Fizzy Brewery we are building. We are expanding for different flavors, after Ale Master Bloomingwhiskers Twigdigger Honeywhisperer found another source of bubble-water two breakfast walks closer to the mountains. He was able to run the water through cinnamon-red-bark and it tasted like apple pie. It isn't as bitter as the other fizzy. Apple pie, Sigur. And the Dwarves are saying that we're disturbing their fish, and if it wasn't for their silver-finned fish farts, the water would taste like water and not fizzy apples."

A rough sound emerged from Roof's throat; like gravel spilling on a mithral shield. Her expression was one of mild amusement, though. "Heh. Silver-finned fish farts. Yeah, they mentioned something about angering a goddess of harvest yada-yada something dwarfy, it was pretty confusing. So we offered 'em Fish Fart Fizzy. Special brew, single-origin. It's gonna make their teeth blue. Coz someone - who shall not be named -" and Janny twirled in the air at this, obviously sharing in the joke, "said those dorfs deserve it."

Thistle took a deep breath after all of that was spoken. "So we corked a small barrel of Fish Fart Fizzy, dying it barely blue, and having an expert crafts-Elf imprint the name on a tin plaque, with a copper fish decorating it - and it was really pretty, Sigur. Hand-hammered. Stiff Dwarven print. AND then someone said the name was said in sarcasm?!" She side-eyed Roofs before focusing on Sigur, knowing this is THE most important problem she's ever had being a noble warlord-lady. "I didn't understand, so we met them at the half-built, half-walled new mini-Artsy-Brewery that we named "Fish Fizzy" to make the Dwarves happy, and we gave them the keg-barrel, and ol' Red Beard the Cranky laughed angrily. And he almost pitched our present into the rocks, but his second in command, Red Beard the Stinkeye, decided to drink it out of the keg like an Orc. Who drinks anything with their lips pressed to wood? The flavor would be wrong. But Stinkeye said it wasn't bad and didn't taste like fish, because it tasted like apple pie. But then the Brewer said it tasted more like crabapple cinnamon with nose-bubbles to Bigs. And to Dwarves, it's like spiced-apple-fish-BURPS, which Stinkeye said was different and more hearty. Then I found out the brewery forgot to add the alcohol - however they do that with flowers." The Gonme blinked fantastically at Sigur, knowing she would totally understand the chaos that was going to ensue between water rights, fish hunting, Goddess anger, and giving Dwarves an alcohol-free ale. The last bit there was the most important according to everyone. "Now they moved four Dwarves into our Brewery and said it's theirs, and they were going to 'do it right', and to 'piss off' tiny goat Gnomes. So…can you help? They said we have to talk with the Goddess Queen of Silver-finned Fish of the Dwarves and get her blessing deep in the caverns below where the water goes. Roofs said we should pop'm in their honkin' hornin' noses and set their beards on fire."

Roofs scowled, ever so subtly, then shifted in a flash to a half-devilish, half-demonic toothy grin once Thistle was finally finished. "Soooo. You in?"

Sigur had closed her eyes, concentrating hard to absorb Thistle's hurried explanation. When she opened them at last, she said flatly, "It was wise of you to come to me, Thistle." She paced back and forth as she proceeded to think out loud. "I know dwarves, and their etiquette. As you may recall, my father's barony was aligned with the neighboring dwarf kingdom against the goblins. They take resource rights extremely seriously, with their mining-centered culture. Commerce treaties with a dwarven monarch involve book-length memoranda of understanding that list every individual who might conceivably be involved and their ancestry to three generations, and a symbolic yet punishing contest of feats of strength, as well as copious quantities of drink. Giving dwarves weak ale as a diplomatic gesture is nearly worse than insulting their grandmothers' prowess in battle. But there are ways to bring down the tension in a situation like this one before it falls apart into all-out war…"

The wouldn't-be Queen ended her pacing beside Bataar and looked up at him questioningly. He shrugged and said, "It's a long journey to the Fort. On the way there are bound to be small towns dealing with bandits, random encounters with monsters, and so on." Sigur's face lit up at this prospect, but then immediately started to fall, so he quickly added, "I am sure I can sign documents in your absence, and Iris has the army well in hand. I will tell her when she gets back from her tour of the western provinces."

The years fell away from Sigur in a sudden beaming smile, and she threw her arms around her husband's neck and kissed him. Then she spun to her friends and declared, "Then what are we waiting for? Nothing ever happens here! Let us away to the North..."

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