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[Maxinum McDreich]

''Eh.'' Nathan puts a hand to Rurail. ''He didn't suddenly bristle into unending wrath at being 'slighted', I'd take that any day.'' Nathan smiled. It was clear he was not going to add more to the conversation. He was still a little dazed and he hated sand, so was not able to think clearly, and he knew it. Once a plan was set, he'd follow for this one.

[Rolepgeek]

[BETA | Desert]

Daethwin sighs and then hisses in pain when he mistakenly tries to run his hand through his (missing) hair. "Well, look, they have golem-elemental things. I'm thinking they're sand or stone elementals. Part of the Red Tribe, I think, who aren't that bad, at all. Really, I want to fuck up whoever did this to me, but they aren't a drow. Elven, yes. Dark elf? No. I think there's some new people in charge, and it looks like the drow don't like it. I think diplomacy is the best bet; we might even get the drow to help us if we're smart about it."

[Xanmyral]

[BETA | DESERT]

"Dark Elf, no?" Jewel tilted his head and went "huh" as he contemplated the new information.
"We go group, yes? Fight, talk, go same. We go."
The stone elemental lifted one of his gauntlet-clad hands into view and raised a finger. "Talk."
Then another finger. "Fight."
Another finger was raised for a total of three. "Run."
He presented the last option jokingly however.

[GrizzlyAdamz]

With due pause regarding Thales, Rurail shrugs (subtly acknowledging Nathan) and goes to address Jewel & Daethwin- keeping the angelborn in his sight.

"So leaders bad, not drow, and drow don't like leaders..you (really) think you can persuade them? If they come to us, the leaders will speak, not the drow."

177

[Rolepgeek]

[BETA | Desert]

As the group walks, Daethwin prepares himself. If fighting starts, he wants to be ready. To this end, he prepares to cast several songs upon the beginning of the fight. In order of casting, they go: Mass Mana-Stream, Major Counterspell(if untoward magics are being cast), Mass Inspire, and Banshee's Wail.

[Xanmyral]

[BETA | DESERT]

The elemental happily clanks along with the group, sinking into the desert sand a bit with each trudging step. While traveling Jewel does various light stretches to ensure he's ready to move quickly should the need arise, as well as make sure that his mace and meteor hammer are available. Ah, the meteor hammer, truly ingenuity on a chain.

There's also prep in his dagger and hidden dagger. One can never be too careful, after all, although they're rather pitiful weapons. How these soft-bodies survive when even a dagger is a dangerous weapon is beyond the earth elemental. Simply more motivation to make sure he takes the hits their fleshy selves can't, he supposes.

[Ross Vernal]

[Beta]

Relative Timing/Location - In a huge yurt at night in the desert, right in the middle of the LARGE camp.

Notable NPC's - Twenty-six guards, Clan Heads, Orange Clan, Red Clan, Green Clan, Blue Clan, Golems, Etc

Other Details - Tread lightly. You're guests, for now. Nobody likes you or wants you there, though.

***


The members of the party decided to parlay with the dark elves, given the general disposition was "we can always just kill them later"; after a short discussion with the Fire Giants to express the sentiments, they grumbled, shrugged, and came anyway. It was, perhaps, inevitable that they would be noticed by scouts; unforuntately, their luck was bad enough to stumble across a watering hole that had the rest of the tribe - and the herd - present. Or, at least, were quickly overtaken by the rest of the tribe somewhere within visual distance of the watering hole. Or at least, it would have been within visual distance had it been daylight; either way, the air was just slightly less dry and if you could smell anything over the cattle, you'd smell water.

They were, of course, greeted with effusive greetings (and tightly gripped weapons, especially the spears of the ones with red sashes on their robes) and made to feel welcome (as much as you could feel welcome with armed unfriendly strangers glaring at you) with offers of water or possibly some butter on flatbread; after being served and left alone (aside from the aforementioned guards in stabbing distance, naturally) for quite some time in a softly-lit octagonal tent, a few more guards would enter, followed by two older dark elven women and one man of indeterminate age. The senior of the two - or at least, the one with longer white hair, a red sash, and finer clothing (and knife at her side) - eyed the party disdainfully and spoke to them quite frankly:

[Demoran=ON]

"I don't like you. Well, I might like you" - directed at Rurail - "with saffron and pilaf - but I don't like you. You're outsiders, and all you outsiders do nothing but meddle."

The second, who wore orange and had copper hair to boot, spoke up.

"The Orange Clan doesn't like you either. But we don't grudge strangers. You aren't from around here. What do you have to trade?"

At this point, the drow man in a blue so absolute it was black grinned, his white teeth shining even in the dimness.

"Well, I don't mind you lot. In fact, I like you. You smell good. Now, introductions!"

He sprung to his feet, and pointed at each clan-head in order.

"Names are sacred, so - call her Red. Orange. I am Emir."

Silence. Direct stares. Stone-faced guards. Emir's shiny grin as they waited for proper guest courtesies.

(color to come later)

[Xanmyral]

[BETA | TRIBE YERT]

Jewel stood awkwardly on the side, not entirely comfortable--an understatement really--with their position. The elemental ran through several ways this could go, his mind judging what he should or could do if one, or more likely all, of the guards assaulted him, his allies, some combination, or all of the above. The spears didn't particularly worry the stone elemental particularly, at least, not for himself, but it does for his allies, those soft-skinned friends of his.

The introductions from the three important elves didn't do well to particularly ease him either, at least with what he could understand. Which is some rather confusingly mixed signals here. Mountain Mother, guide my tongue, and if need be, my shield.

The earth elemental composed his thoughts to properly remember what little Tradespeak-Demoran he knew, gave his best grin to show off those grey slab like teeth of his, and tried to sound cheerful while he nodded. They gave names, although the elemental is skeptical it's their real names. Maybe. Elves are weird, after all.

"I Jewel. Many happy meet."

[Rolepgeek]

[Beta | Tribe Yurt]

Daethwin watched the elves' faces while they talked, eyes flickering down to their hands, feet, and shoulders whenever they shifted. After they finished speaking, he bowed, and introduced himself, and the others; in Demoran, of course. His smile almost matched the Emir's. Almost. "If we are on the topic of introductions, please allow me to respond in kind. You may call me Daeth, and this, of course, is Jewel. The man with rather large wings is Thales, and I sincerely apologize on his behalf for any damage said wings might have caused to your camp. The fishkin is Rurail, and our other resident human is Nathan. Unfortunately, we don't have much to trade with us at the moment, as I believe we left most of our gear less suited for exploration and travel with the wreckage, and I don't know what we might possess that could interest people with elementals at their disposal. But, beyond that, I'm sure you're wondering about why we're here, and in all honesty that's a fairly simple answer. We're adventurers, you see, and we were asked to negotiate a settlement with you; something about a village being attacked?"

Through all of this, the astonishing thing was that he never seemed to pause to take a breath, yet didn't seem winded in the slightest.

[Remuthra]

[BETA|ELFHUT]

Thales sniffed dissatisfactorily. Who were these mere elves to get in the way of the mighty will of Arnum?

Demoran OnWatch your tongues, vulgar desert-trodders! You block the way, through your inconvenience to this admittedly unsatisfactory expedition, of Arnum's inexorable march to the final enlightenment and the reconquest of His true place among god and man! Provide us with directions to our goal, then stand aside, lest you offend His divine will, and are cast aside into the fires of ignorance with the rest of your heathen kind before you have even had a chance to perhaps redeem the affront of your existence!

[GrizzlyAdamz]

[Beta|yurt?]
[Before Thales speaks]
Seated between Daethwin & Jewel, poker-face set, Rurail hears his name mentioned & makes eye contact with each of the three, accompanying it with a nod. Taking a sip of the offered water, he'd assume the Smiling One and Daethwin would be doing the talking, and would shift his gaze to those two after his acknowledgement.

[After Thales speaks]
He looks at the angelborn, worried by the interruption & who made it.

[Ross Vernal]

Everyone started yelling all at once, and after a few seconds, both Emir and Red looked to Orange as the guards in the tent shifted attention to the angel.

"Ah... you do have trade. You trade death."

Exchange of glances.

"The Orange Clan, as always, desires peace. It is the humans who bring war to us. Several hundred years ago, humans and their like showed up. Things were peaceable until they needed more labor..."

"Slaves."

"They took our children."

"We paid tribute. The children came back - some of them. The tribute rose higher and higher every generation, until the Clans could give no more. Then, they attacked. Sacked our caves. Stole our children. Killed our herds."

"You claim to be adventurers. You claim to want to negotiate and settle. I tell you this: there will be peace when the invaders are dead."

"Or when we die. They breed like vermin and have less honor than vultures."

Orange glared right at Thales as she said "vultures".

"Speaking for the Green and Blue clans... we will accept peace, under the terms they gave us: tribute. Five hundred years of tribute. Apologies."

Clearly, the party had a lot of work to do.

[smurfingtonthethird]

[Beta]

Sylvari has finished drinking the water and food provided. [1] While trying to understand why Daeth completely ignored him, he starts to form the idea in his head that Daeth is trying to get rid of him for reasons unknown.
"Maybe not engage in genocide of the humans. Do you want their children to feel the way yours did? Because if you do, you are no better than the humans. The green guy has the right idea though, tax them into oblivion!"

[Rolepgeek]

Daethwin goes through several expressions as he watches events unfold before him. Perhaps the most interesting of these changes occurs as the winged member of their party condescends. It is impressive, really; such a feat of patronizing arrogance cannot be called speaking, and takes a truly unique mind to accomplish. The bard, however, has a different reaction.

As the first words leave Thales' mouth, Daethwin's head shifts towards the Angel, turning into a mass of confusion for the first second or two, before becoming anger and intense irritation, settling into frustrated resignation and a cold dread at what the bastard's words would invoke. The yelling confirmed his suspicions, and as he realized the full blunder and processed what the angel-kin had said, his palm smacked into his forehead audibly. Sitting down slowly, head in hands, as the drow spoke, he composed himself and sighed.

"Firstly, let me say right off that he does not speak for us. I am intensely annoyed that he even speaks for himself, and would ask you to excuse me so that I might attempt to ensure it does not occur again." Daethwin does not even look at Thales as he says this, simply holds out a hand, points, and sings a short, clear note that left a beautiful, still resonance in the ears of those who were listening. And abruptly, something is missing from the room that had been there but a second before. One of the patterns of clanking metal, of rustling chain, is gone. And a few seconds later, it can be likely understood that nothing Thales is doing is making any sound at all. Two messages were there, and it would be interesting to see how the drow perceived them. The first, of course, was one of "This guy pisses us off too, please don't lump us in with him", and the second was a display of power. A subtle one, but such a spell would allow for a great deal of stealth, particularly with a person that could glide.

Before anyone could truly respond, though, Daethwin turned and looked at the crusader, crossed his arms, and began speaking. Yet no sound passed his lips. Or at least, no sound passed his lips to all but the person he had silenced; whom Daethwin could in turn hear perfectly well. He spoke the language of celestials, some small attempt at a peace gesture, using the language he figured the angel would be most comfortable with. "Before you get your wings in a twist, let me assuage your pride by saying that no one else can hear us right now, so don't worry about what I say making a fool of you in front of anyone. At least, more than you've already made a fool of yourself. Now, I'm going to give you a couple choices, and you're going to pick one, and abide by it. Choice A: You swear on Arnum's name and your own, by all that is right and true in this world, and all that you or anyone else finds holy that you will play nice and not ruin negotiations with an oppressed peoples whom I would rather not get into a fight with, and I take this silence spell off. You are clearly a powerful fighter, I will give you that, but there's over 4 dozen of them, most with weapons, and at least a few powerful casters, before even getting to the elementals. If you think you can fight them all and win by yourself, you are wrong. Period. I can't speak for the others, but given that you don't like many, if any of them, and the feeling is more than likely mutual, they would probably agree with me in that if you piss these people off enough that they try and kill you, I will not lift a finger to your aid, as you will have called it down upon yourself with your arrogance and condescending attitude. Now. Choice B. You refuse to swear that oath, I keep this spell on, mute you for me as well so I don't have to listen to you froth self-righteously at the mouth for my 'presumption', and I put you on the floor, writhing, possibly unconscious, since you did fall unconscious before, after Renn presumably beat the shit out of you, if you try and smite me in your ill-conceived idea of justice. Now. Choose."

The bard stands there, staring the angel down, somehow meeting Thale's typically unnerving glare with an equally ferocious one of his own, nothing about him speaking of backing down, ready at a moment's notice to sing the short words that would bring all the pain and effects of Thale's earlier experience flooding back in (literally) agonizing detail, should the angel make a move towards him.

[Remuthra]

Before Daethwin could utter more than a line of consolatry, Thales, enraged by his clear and demonic censorship of the Holy Truth of Arnum, which he had been about to bring to these elven heathen scum, that they might see the Light of His Countenance, charges towards the bard, his zealous fury compelling him to forgo his sense of party preservation and attempt to impale his foe with a mighty winged dash, his face a rictus of blind rage.

DIE HERETIC SCUM!