#tyrik

Notes on my companions:

Taenion Naralthar is a snow elf of 147 years old. Snow elves are a rare variant on the elves most are familiar with, found in the northern reaches of Istralar. Taenion’s tribe, though he’s said little of them, seem to be located in the northern reaches of Iskaldhal. He apparently left his tribe shortly before he reached adulthood to function as a link to the outside world, but he’s always been vague on the specifics of his true purpose. He’s an expert with natural magic, particularly that related to ice and water, and prefers to stay out of close combat if possible. He and Tyrik have a particularly close bond due to their longer partnership - both were also members of a previous adventuring party that fell apart after the deaths of all members but them. Bringing this up to Taenion is a fantastically horrendous idea. Taenion also seems to have an incident in his past involving the drow, as mentioning the historical enemies of his kin is one of the fastest ways to infuriate him. Personality-wise, Tae is wise and logical, with practiced dexterity and an intelligence beyond his years. He acts somewhat like a mother stereotypically does, restraining us from doing anything too ridiculous. He loves warm and mildly spicy food and drink, but detests anything too hot, and describes cold food as ‘bearable, but not pleasant’. He’s fine with nearly any level of cold, but becomes uncomfortable in the warmth, a fact Esran likes to play with. He likes to wear full-length robes not unlike those of a wizard, which often causes him to be accused of wizardry - he shows hints of mischeviousness when he transforms into a bird (or similar) to prove that he is, in fact, a druid. He seems to enjoy being alone, and will often wander away from the group if he’s certain that we’ll be fine. Tyrik has threatened to put a monitoring collar on him. This is likely a good idea.

Tyrik Reiduln is a stout dwarf of 68 years old, hailing from the central region of Iskaldhal. Iskaldhan mythology, and indeed most Dwarven myth, claims that this region is where the dwarves first broke free of the earth, marking those from near the crater as the oldest families and tribes of all dwarvenkind. Like Taenion, Tyrik is rather vague when talking about his home. He instead likes to ramble on about differences in crafting styles, the power of Torag, exact specifications of metals and similar minutae. As mentioned, he was previously a member of another adventuring party - he was the one to tell us of them, and let us know about their untimely deaths. He and Taenion are similarly wise, but Tyrik is far more built around strength than dexterity, and he’s less focused on book-smarts. If Taenion is the group’s mother, he’s the group’s father, preferring to teach and chastise after the fact, stepping in when necessary and restraining Tae when the elf is being too restrictive. He loves any kind of alcohol and welcomes warm, spicy meals, showing a characteristic distaste for anything too leafy. He seems to be happy at any temperature, and feels more at home when beneath the surface, but dislikes being at sea, as there’s no connection to the earth. He tends to wear full suits of armour, or at least proper clerical robes and medium plate, wielding axes or hammers as suits the occasion. As one of Torag’s faithful, he can always be found with a holy symbol of some sort, and his clothing tends to be at least trimmed in Torag’s colours. His favourite haunts are pubs and bars, and he delights in taking Esran and Kesia out for drinking nights. For reasons unknown, he despises small dogs. Esran insists that this is proof that Tyrik, and by extension all dwarves, are goblins in disguise.

Kesia Raahiri is a 21 year old suli woman, originally from the western reaches of Takawaoku. Her culture dictates that all young adults must prove themselves to be worthy of continuing on the tribe, and with her genie heritage awakening, she left home to find glorious wealth and power to bring back one day, and found herself loving the adventurer lifestyle so much that she now just sends gemstones and trophies back occasionally. Her hometown is apparently a small place, a little human settlement that regularly trades with the nearby gnomish towns. When her heritage first emerged, it was these gnomes that helped her family realise what was happening, as they’d kept far better records. Her mother was the one to teach her how to fight, and she makes a habit of yelling battlecries taught to her by said mother in the larger fights. And in the smaller ones, and when we’re on stealthy missions. I have silenced her in the past for this. She’s very strong and decently charismatic, but seriously lacks both smarts and common sense. Particularly the former. She loves overspiced food and drink, alcohol in general, anything meaty and anything similar to what she remembers from her youth - in addition to a general love for food. As our group’s main fighter, she’s usually in full armour with a weapon at the ready - which is, most of the time, a longsword, but she does like to switch on occasion. She and Esran are quite close, with the two having a near sibling relationship thanks to their outsider blood. I also consider her to be a close friend. Kesia likes, above all things, being able to take down her enemies in an impressive manner, whether that manner be humiliation, attacks, or simply drinking them under the table, and she boasts an impressively high fortitude for drinking to prove that last point. She detests having to be overly ‘girly’, citing it as something she’s never had to do, and protested wearing a ballgown for two solid weeks before I was able to convince her otherwise. Overall, she has a fairly sunny disposition unless you anger her or hurt one of her friends, at which point she’ll grow nearly as angry as a raging barbarian.

Esran, no last name given, is a 72 year old ifrit who has fully embraced his fiery nature, quite literally. He’s a sorcerer whose bloodline truly stems from his outsider background and he has no qualms about proving that, throwing flame about as easily as Tyrik might throw a snowball. His past, however, is shrouded in mystery - about all he’s let slip is that he spent most of his childhood in the Sunari Wilderness. His skin bears a myriad of faint scars that seem to hint at a rough past, but this isn’t surprising - the Wilderness has never been known for its lawful nature, and Esran seems to enjoy provoking anyone he can’t get to sleep with him into a fight. His charisma is on par with mine, and as such, we’re a deadly force when combined. He also manages to move with artful grace and dexterity - something honed, allegedly, by his sexual prowess. Unsurprisingly, he’s not the most perceptive of individuals, but can still pull some gems of knowledge when needed. As a mage, he focuses on a mixture of damage-dealing and controlling the battlefield, working with Taenion (and myself, of course) to ensnare our foes in plantlife that then bursts into flame, creating easy targets for Tyrik and Kesia. The battlefield is one of the only places we ever see him taking things seriously, however - he’s usually very happy-go-lucky, and he likes to amuse himself by goading Tyrik and Kesia into drinking contests, or by playing various games with us, one of his favourites being Truth or Dare. He’s effectively our group’s troublemaker. He’s another fan of spices, also loving dry food, teas, and coffee. He’s actually surprisingly good at cooking, which is a shame as Taenion refuses to touch half of what he makes (and the remaining half is only after myself and Tyrik have both tried and given the thumbs up to Esran’s latest creation) due to his strange cuisines. Esran’s usually clothed in the most revealing outfits he can manage without coming off as a stripper, which tends to involve robes ‘accidentally’ left untied, or unbuttoned shirts. He likes to leave his hair slicked back, but it’s naturally fairly spiky and tries to mimic flames, flicks of actual flame included. Of our group, he’s the most outwardly bizarre looking. He calls it a blessing, as it means ‘the ladies are always curious!’, but.. well, it’s drawn enough attention that it could quite easily be a curse, too.

This city already unnerved him. His kind weren’t exactly common even in the northern reaches of Iskaldhal, preferring to remain in close-knit tribal communities to protect themselves, and these city-dwellers didn’t hesitate to remind him of that. He’d been accused of being a sylph or a vampire, or perhaps some magical abomination from their mountains. He’d almost slapped that one in a brief fit of indignation: Valathe’s mountains were hardly worthy of even being called mountains, and yet this upstart wished to accuse him of both being from there and being some sort of abomination? Hmph. They should be glad that he was above their filthy street brawls.

(Kesia had taken offence on his behalf more than once, threatening the brutes in her guttural native tongue. The one time that hadn’t worked, Sonja had glared one of them down and forced him to walk away. He’d never admit it aloud, but Taenion was thankfully for the girls’ overprotective nature, even if it did tend to get them into trouble.)

The ball itself had, at least, been entertaining, if not worrying. Lady Alysia had warned them of possible threats, and they’d kept an eye out. Esran’s distraction with the adventurous halfling had allowed Kesia and Tyrik to knock out and pull away a would-be assassin before he’d acted, Sonja had entered a staring contest - and won - with a vampire who’d been keen on claiming her powers for his clan, and he himself had proven vital in capturing some foolish assassins within the vines climbing up the castle’s walls. Of course, they’d also helped the other adventurers protect Lord Cyne, and his comrades had taken to interrogating the perpetrator rather enthusiastically. In front of the weak-hearted nobles. He’d had words with them all about appropriateness later on, of course - what use was his research into cultural behaviour differences if it was ignored? - but had largely been pushed aside in favour of caring for Esran’s sickness.

Of course, Esran had had to get himself separated from the group. The ifrit’s reckless nature and lack of self-respect was infamous in their party, and whilst Taenion had done an admirable job of hiding the concern during the ball, he’d given the ifrit a long lecture about being careful and identifying poisons afterwards. Tyrik had stood by him on this, the two presenting a unified front for once - one that was almost immediately ignored by Esran leaving for some time with that halfling. The audacity of that boy. Tyrik had forced Taenion to sit down and drink a mug of ‘one hundred percent Dwarven ale from back home, spiced and heated to perfection’ to prevent the snow elf from sending his companion after Esran to ‘keep an eye on him’. It had worked, if only because Kesia had switched the brews with a decidedly too spicy brew from her home, only complaining about how bland the Dwarven one was after he’d taken the first sip. He had not needed, nor wanted, to know how it felt to breathe fire, yet he was near certain he now possessed this knowledge. It was most certainly not wanted.

Thankfully, it’d been a few days since that incident, and neither the suli nor the dwarf had tried to get him to drink anything strange since. Instead, Sonja had been leading them about the city to meet old acquaintances of hers and show them the sights of Undria. Currently, they were being accompanied by Lady Alysia, only adding to the stares and whispers, as they walked through the city’s religious district. Sonja and Alysia had always seemed to get along well, from their first meeting after the group had felled the sea serpents to the current day, and now both seemed to be locked into a religious debate on the sources of various powers. Tyrik had already dived in with his own thoughts on the matter, the cleric never being able to ignore a chance to speak on the greatness of Torag. Esran and Kesia had fallen behind slightly, arguing between themselves on... surely he’d misheard.

He spun around to give each of them a scathing look, chastising them in the group’s preferred tongue - a regional variant of Dwarven, one commonly heard in all reaches of Iskaldhal with various levels of comprehensibility. They’d taught it to Kesia and Esran. Sonja, being the group’s best linguist, had long since learnt it when they’d met. “You two have far better topics to discuss than the preferred amount of flesh upon someone’s behind, especially in earshot of a Lady. Handle yourselves.” His sharp comment silenced the religious discussion, and caught the attention of those nearby - perhaps using an unfamiliar language in a city’s centre had been unwise. He ignored the flush of heat that reddened the tips of his ears in favour of continuing to glare at his two foolish companions, who grinned at each other before each darting forward to surround him. Tyrik, ahead of them, let out a laugh and asked Lady Alysia something about her foresight, smoothly resuming that conversation and not-so-subtly letting Taenion know he’d be on his own with the two imbeciles for now.

Kesia’s - or perhaps Esran’s, he really couldn’t tell at that moment - hand squeezed his backside firmly, bringing his attention back to the two flanking him. She laughed at his displeased reaction, teasing gently. “C’mon, Tae, it’s an important topic! There’s an optimal level of booty and we’ve gotta decide what it is.” Esran followed up with a wink, flicking Taenion’s chest gently - both of his hands were visible, he’d been right in guessing it was Kesia who was being forward - and his own comment.

“For instance, Tyrik’s buttocks are muscular and handsome, but there’s not quite enough to make them exciting, whereas Kesia’s is supple enough that there’s plenty to hold onto.” Thankfully, the conversation wasn’t being held in Aletheia’s native tongue, and Taenion couldn’t see any looks of comprehension or disgust on the faces of those they passed. Esran was mercifully holding back from projecting images or drawing diagrams in the air, likely not wanting to test Taenion’s patience too much.

Kesia nodded sagely. “Yeah, but my butt’s also a little too big for most people’s comfort, especially midgets like Tyrik or that Kraia chick you slept with. You need that perfect balance of--”

“I do not see how this relates to me, why you are discussing this within earshot of a noblewoman, nor why you choose to discuss this in a religious sector.” he interrupted, unable to bear the woman’s touch any longer. “Unhand me, please. I do not wish to make a scene.” He saw the victorious looks pass between the two as they released him, and sent them disgusted ones in return, striding forward to get away from them only to see that in his absence, the others had gotten into a discussion with a wandering zealot wearing a similar amulet to Sonja’s own. Not more of this. The religious debates they’d held around campfires were bad enough. Deciding that he’d dealt with quite enough of the party’s bickering and debating for one day, Taenion closed his eyes for a moment and focused, shifting into the form of a small bird. His friends hadn’t noticed, distracted with their two conversations, but it wouldn’t be the first time Nature had taken him away from them, and so they wouldn’t worry. After all, they knew where he’d go. He’d been enamoured with Undria’s nature district since their first pass through it, and immediately set course for it. None would take note of a simple bird resting in a tree.

As he’d predicted, it was a few hours later that his friends came searching for him, having finished their travels. Alysia was no longer with them, he noted - they’d likely accompanied her back to the castle. He flew up above them, listening to their conversation for a few moments.

“...wasn’t our fault her brother wandered off with the other adventurers. She sounded kinda pissed at him.” Kesia laughed, waving her hands in the air. “Least she’s got us to find out where he’s got to!” Esran nodded in agreement, his golden eyes scanning the trees for any sight of Taenion - or so Taenion assumed, at least.

Tyrik grunted in response, shifting the axe on his shoulders. “We ken where they’re heading, we dinnae need to find them. I’m curious meself about that vision. Ye pick up on it, Sonja?” A vision? Perhaps he’d made a mistake in leaving. The oracles of his homeland oft needed assistance during their fits of Sight. Tyrik had been there, at least. Sonja nodded as she glanced around, auburn hair glinting in evening’s light.

“Whatever it was, it wasn’t to do with us. Something to do with the dwarves of this land. She glanced at you, Tyrik, then towards the mountains in the distance. Given her need to depart...” she trailed off, each of them connecting the dots. 

Esran frowned, glancing towards the mountains marring the horizon. “More drow activity, ya think? A few of them were involved at the ball..” Drow. Were he not a bird, his glare would have surely mutilated Esran. That a drow assassin had escaped them had infuriated him. If their next mission were to involve eradicating the beasts, he’d be pleased. Bird form or not, though, he’d been noticed.

“Tae, ye can get down here now. Ye’re not subtle.” Tyrik called out, beckoning him down with a stubby-armed Dwarven wave. He sneered mentally, but landed and transformed back gracefully, levelling a haughty glare at all of them.

“I appear to have missed something significant,” he said, rather imperiously. Kesia’s eye-roll at his manner didn’t go unnoticed, and the suli became subject to his glare in turn. “Something involving Lord Cyne, a fit of Sight, dwarves and filth. I suggest we adjourn to our quarters so we may discuss things in private and can decide a course of action for our party.”

Tyrik grabbed his arm and muttered, “Calm yerself, Tae. Save yer cold fury for later,” gently leading the snow elf in the direction of their quarters with a meaningful look to the rest of the group. Sonja hooked her arms through Kesia and Esran’s, forcing them to match her step and staying just behind, as Tyrik kept up a litany of mutterings that slowly bled into Taenion’s form of Elvish.

It was a nice thought, but Taenion wouldn’t be distracted from the mentions of filth that easily. At their temporary home, Sonja told them what she’d discovered of the current situation in Aletheia, of how the other adventurers had already stopped a cel of drow activity in Undria proper. Tyrik took over to fill Taenion in on what Alysia had asked them to do: find her brother and make sure he was alright. Cyne had disappeared in the middle of the night. No signs of a struggle, and the other adventuring party - who he’d travelled with in the past - had departed earlier that day, but... he was her brother, and a little more importantly, the Heir to the entire bloody Empire, in Tyrik’s words. They’d agreed to track him down and make sure he was alright. Taenion asked after the vision, noting that aside from Sonja’s words at the beginning, nobody had commented on it. With commentary from Esran and Sonja - Kesia remaining silent, not caring for magic in any of its forms - Tyrik filled him in on how Alysia had near collapsed in the street, words in Celestial spilling out incomprehensibly and uncontrollably. They’d gotten her away from public earshot quickly, but she’d been understandably disturbed when she’d come out of the fit, and had insisted they keep what they heard to themselves, refusing to elaborate on anything. She’d been quickly escorted back to the castle shortly after, as in Tyrik’s expert opinion, she desperately needed rest.

Their observations on what they’d heard concerned him, but the prior request - to find the Heir - was indeed more important, and he assured Tyrik of this. Not that there’d been much doubt, however. Taenion and Tyrik were the most logical of the group, just as Sonja and Esran were the most charismatic, and Kesia the most likely to run in and hit things.

They decided to make for Solariste first, to depart at morning’s light. If anything, the town of light would at least have seen the other party’s infamous way of travel pass through, and they could decide their direction from there.

That night, Taenion’s dreams were plagued with shadows. Tyrik, his party, his home - fleshwarped monstrosities and feral drow tore at each of them, their disgusting laughter ringing in his ears as familiar bodies fell to the floor broken, bent, their screams cut off by the talons that hooked through their throats... and he was torn out of the nightmares by Tyrik. The dwarf’s arms had wrapped around his midriff, and he appeared to have been maneuvered into a nest of furs on the floor. “..?” His voice felt hoarse, overused. Tyrik gave him a gruff smile.

“Ye woke me up, ya bastard. Temperature’s dropped a good chunk, too. Calm yerself and let’s get some good rest, aye?” Embarrassed, Taenion nodded, wrapping furs around the both of them and laying back down. He’d be gone by morning, as per usual, but the dwarf’s presence would at least keep away the night’s horrors. 

Neither man noticed Sonja at the door, her expression relaxing upon seeing them intertwined. She closed it gently, turning to the two behind her. “It was Taenion this time. Let’s let them be.” she murmured. They nodded, understanding.

After all, they’d all been told what had happened to the northern duo’s previous companions. This wasn’t the first time, nor would it be the last.

And come morning light, when they departed, there would be no teasing, nor any comment that they’d seen or heard anything. Instead, Kesia beared the brunt of morning banter, accused of moaning in her sleep - the subsequent argument serving to thoroughly fluster both her and the uptight Taenion, to the amusement of the other three. They departed shortly after, continuing to bicker over pointless topics, just as a good adventuring party did.