#ithelan

They stayed in the warm inn for long, unfortunately, because Mist heard that the townspeople were celebrating a festival called christmas and after the barmaid explained what it was about, something about giving each other presents, he pulled Ithelan to the market. Good, he could use the time to stock up on ingredients he needed for spells but the cold really got to him and after it started to snow again he left Mist on his own to go back.

At the inn there was a surprise waiting. An unpleasant one, at least for him. The barmaid on the other hand enjoyed the full house, shuffling around the tables to get everyone their drinks and food. The common customers were sitting there, travellers with tired faces, happy to finally get a meal. At one table there was a dragonborn sitting over a meal who caught the eye of the others but he didn’t seem to mind the few gazes the people shot him. And the oddest bunch of them all was catching his eye even though they weren’t sitting together at all. It was the chaos group he saw back where that amulet was. Ithelan walked to the table he and Mist sat at earlier, drinking mulled wine. Some of the people looked at him, but didn’t pay any more attention to him. Wearing a heavy cloak wasn’t uncommon as well as hoods covering the face. At least he wore a different one so they probably shouldn’t remember him anyway. As soon as he sat at a table the barmaid placed a cup in front of him. “Something to warm you up,” she said before she left again. Oh, she sure was happy to have something to do. Ithelan had overheard her complaining about how she cleaned the place twice in the morning out of boredom when he entered the inn for the first time. He sipped on the drink but stopped, looking at it with surprise. That tasted so much like chocolate. A bit too much for him but having something warm in his hands was a pleasant feeling. Finally he put off the hood and looked around a bit.

There was a big tree in one corner next to a fireplace, decorated with ornaments and stuff that really causes too much work to clean up again. In front of there, on a blanket that was placed on the floor sat the dwarf they saved back then, together with her elven friend. They were holding plates with some cookies, while cups were standing beside them. They were talking and gesticulating with each other while the music was in the background. And that music came from the half-orc playing a… harp? It was the first time he saw someone with orc blood in them playing an instrument like that. But it was a nice melody, staying in the background while fitting in with the chatter and laughter and was actually nice to listen too. The other time when he heard the lute play it was almost annoyingly loud, back in the dungeon. The people seemed to enjoy it too. Ithelans gaze wandered again, stopping by the last three of the bunch who were standing at the end of the bar, drinking. The thiefling was also watching the other people in here, looking rather bored. Well, at least there was no screaming today. Ithelan remembered the cause for when he experienced that loud mouth, something about apologizing but he didn’t know why he had to. He had been too angry about being called a youngster to listen to all the shouting. The other two, the elves, looked more into their mugs than anything. Occasionally exchanging words but not yet holding a conversation. They seemed like they didn’t really care about the festivities going on here, sometimes sighing when the laughter was sounding through the room. At least the drow seemed to enjoy the stay at the inn a bit more than the other one. Ithelan was interrupted with watching the people when the door opened up, bringing in a stream of cold air. The muffled up person stood in the entrance for a moment before coming up to him. Looks like Mist had enough of the weather outside and he sat down opposite of Ithelan. Humming while he got rid of his cloak he didn’t notice that Ithelan was staring at the sweater he was wearing. The new sweater. With the sentence ‘When I think of you I touch my elf’.

At first Ithelan didn’t say anything, his mind blank until he muttered: “Where did you get that bullshit?” Hearing that Mist put his hand on his chest, breathing in in a dramatic manner. “I didn’t hear that right now,” he declared, his hand leaving his chest again as he grabbed something from the cloak pile beside him. “More so because I brought you one too,” he said, pulling another sweater up and placing it on the table. “Oh no, you didn’t!” Ithelan spoke, louder than he had wanted to. It got him a look from the thiefling who stood nearest to them but he didn’t notice that. Instead he looked down at the sweater, looking at the elf face and the letters spelling ‘He’s an angry elf”. He looked back at Mist. “I’m not wearing that.” He wanted to shove it back when a hand reached for it.

He was about to just lay down when torches on the walls light up, not all of them but the once that did looked like they showed him a way. There was the feeling that he had experienced this before so he looked at them, trying to remember but his thoughts were clouded by the agonizing pain. That path could also be a trap but there was nothing he had left anyway so he went forward, stumbling, crawling. He moved slowly but there was nothing he could do about it.

When he reached a little room he knew why he felt something similar had happened. He had been here before, the torches showing him the way out, not in. He entered a big room, lit by only six torches and a big opened door on the opposite site. And from there he could already see some coins reflecting the dim light in that room. It took him another few minutes to slowly grope his way along the wall but without anything to lean on he would just land on the floor again. Somehow he still managed to enter the last room and the door fell shut behind him. He would be safe here, at least for some time.

“You really came again,” he was greeted and he looked up to the stone figure. “I said I would, didn’t I?” He used telepathy, his throat hurt too much and seeing the stone figure jerking its head was totally worth it. “Don’t worry, I just can’t speak so I use this way to communicate. It’s easier.” As he said that, Ithelan sank down in front of the stone being, biting back a curse as even that sent throbbing pain through his body.

“You don’t look so good,” he got as a response to his action and almost laughed. There he was, bloodied, wounded and his cloak so torn that there was no way to repair it and he was told that he didn’t look so good.

“You on the other hand haven’t really changed at all. And that amulet still suits you perfectly.”

“I know, thank you.”

What came after that was lost in unconsciousness. He was too weak and now that he was sitting it hit Ithelan and he couldn’t fight back.

The next time he woke up was when he was gently poked by the figure. Even though it was gentle it still hurt a lot which was the only reason he really woke up. After it was sure Ithelan was awake the figure raised up to its full height again.

“There are two people in the other room. They seem to be concerned,” it told him, pointing at the closed door.

“Why didn’t you let them in? Not that I want to complain about it since I’m in no condition to fight,” Ithelan asked, trying to move a bit but stopping thanks to the stretching feeling on the wounds that stopped bleeding.

“I don’t think they want to fight and I can fight too,” was the answer he got.

“Then why don’t you let them in?” As soon as Ithelan finished the stone started to move, opening the wall and revealing two people who stared at the door. One of them found his voice first after seeing Ithelan on the floor.

“Ithelan!” he shouted, rushing over to him and hugging him which caused Ithelan to let out a groan. The woman walked over slowly, not looking at him but at the statue, expecting something her companion didn’t. And she wasn’t disappointed. The arm moved up to Mist before he realised and a voice shouted at him.

“Don’t attack him!” The voice was loud in the room and Mist jumped back in surprise while the woman just smiled.

“We aren’t here to attack. It’s the opposite. He’s not going to last very long so we would like to take care of him, …” she said but looked at Ithelan at the end, waiting for him to tell her the creatures name.

“Byein-tek,” he croaked, coughing right after he spoke. No his throat was still too sore to speak without using telepathy. But she turned her gaze to the figure again, looking so tiny in comparison to it.

“Mr. Byein-tek. If you would let us tend his wounds it would be appreciated.” She bowed a little bit, not breaking the eye contact.

“Why are you calling me that? They gave me the name Bof?” it asked, the woman looking at Ithelan again. She knew he didn’t lie, she would have noticed. If not from his body language then from the pact they both shared.

Ithelan touched the figure, “That was the name the others gave you, not me. I’m not letting a harsh sounding name like Bof out of my mouth. I’m sorry but I will not call you that.” If he was expecting a reaction to that he didn’t get one. Instead the figure moved its hand back and Mist carefully approached Ithelan again.

“You can be happy your damn patron showed up in the body of that woman,” he whispered as he was near enough to carefully pull back Ithelans hood. He examined the wound on his forehead first. “You should have seen that. They attacked me when I stumbled upon a group in the forest and suddenly she stopped moving, turned around and attacked them. Fuck, I thought you were dead when I figured out how strong they were.”

The woman, Ithelans patron also came closer in the meantime and crouched down. Raising her hand she run her fingers through his hair. “It was something I had to do. I won’t let you leave that easily, you know. But you should sleep a little bit.” And after the words from his patron Ithelan closed his eyes again. She turned to Mist. “Do you want to carry him or should I do it. The body is good at fighting but I don’t know how I do with carrying him on top of all those weapons.”

“It’s alright, I’m carrying him back as long as you took care about his wounds,” Mist answered. He didn’t want them to open again as carrying him wasn’t the best idea to begin with. But they needed more equipment than they had at hand. The woman stepped up to Mist and kissed him, short and surprising.

“I’m good with that,” she laughed, seeing Mists facial expression.

“It will take a long time until I’m getting used to that,” Mist mumbled, focusing his attention to Ithelan again. He grabbed him while the patron still chuckled.

The string of her lute had snapped. This should not have been a problem, her dad had taught her how to change them, and how to tune the instrument. Still, Heidi had been sitting here for an hour. Her big hands were just not made for fragile work like this.

A quick and painless death was what Myr’s religion stood for, what the priests had taught her from a young age; no need to prolong suffering, a quick death was better than a painful recovery. And yet people put flowers on graves, visiting them again and again. It was as if the pain the dead were spared, the living wanted to inflict on themselves.

Armor on, armor off, armor on. Tis was not stealthy, she knew that, so she had figured hey, this one’s definitely a trap, I’ll just walk through and if I get hit, it’s better if I do wear the armor this time. Gouda and Chadriel had looked at her with concern when she had announced that plan. Now that she was almost bleeding out, Cheddar frantically tending to her wound, she realized she probably should have just stayed home.

Gouda had not expected death to come for him today. When he was honest, he had not expected it at all, not for another seven hundred years or so. He had rolled his eyes whenever his parents had alluded to him being but a child with his 18, 19, 20 years, but now that the hole in his stomach was about to rob him of centuries to come, he was inclined to agree.

He had not really made it his mission to be an element of chaos wherever he went, it had just sort of happened. When you thought about it, nothing about Ithelan’s life was truly chaotic. He did have clear goals, he knew what he wanted, took what he needed. The chaos he left in his wake, though, well, was that really part of him once he left it behind?

Mahandrir wanted to scream but no sound was kind enough to leave his mouth, he was not granted that relief. He was no stranger to being paralyzed, but the excruciating pain radiating through his body, making him unable to move, to breathe, was enough to make him want to pass out. He was not granted that, either.

Myr’s warhammer had taken many lives. Well, not many, but it had done its job. Hit, smash, done. Puddle of blood, death, no pain. Unfortunately, this time she had missed her target (why did these goblins have to be so short?) and hit a barrel of explosives. Welp. This one would not be painless. Good thing she still had a spell slot to fix herself afterwards.  

“Kill it with fire” was an overused line and usually a vast overreaction to whatever the situation calling for that phrase happened to be. With spiders, though, Naeris did have a tendency towards overreaction. This inn would need some new interior design. But hey, at least they no longer had a spider problem.

Peperoni did not want to complain, seeing as he was on an important mission, and honestly, the people he was trying to help here had much more serious ailments than him, so he just shifted uncomfortably. Being a dragonborn with an itch between the shoulder blades was already bad enough, what with the scales and all, but a dragonborn in full armor? Today was going to be a long day.

Her best friend growing a featherbeard would not have surprised her – though it would have been a pain in the neck, seeing as she was allergic – and even an accidental burst of flames would have been something she was used to. This, though… Well, Tis mused as she sat down in front of the flowerpot once known as Gouda, she was just gonna have to wait here until he turned back.

Peperoni’s kind was often associated with the elements, which made sense, of course, as many of his kin stemmed from dragons that controlled fire, or ice or lightning. As such, people often assumed him impervious to the weather. If only that were true, he thought, as he hid his snout deeper inside his scarf. The cold sure stung.