Dreams and Sacrifices: Part 9

Gorion was more relieved to reach the village of Taringville than he cared to admit. Too many of his companions were wounded, and the party's sole cleric was barely conscious. The man's condition had worsened over the two days it had taken to reach the town, so unless he received some intensive healing and fast, he might not last the week. He was fairly confident that the Eilistraeean priestesses one of his associates told him about would be able to help, but he was privately worried about the health of his fellow Harpers anyway.

"Careful, don't jostle him too much," the mage cautioned one of his companions as the person adjusted the blanket tucked around the party's injured priest.

The young woman looked up briefly at the sage and nodded, though she did not abandon her patient's side. Shandili was walking behind the two and gave Gorion a significant look. Her expression seemed to say that this was not the first time the woman had taken it upon herself to aid the cleric, and that she had been keeping her eye on the pair for some time now. The older woman cleared her throat and said to the girl, "Keri, I'm sure Eltor will not perish if he's not completely covered by a blanket. He needs healing, not more cloth swaddling him."

Keri was about to protest, until she got a good look at the warrior woman's face. Though the expression was kind, there was a hardness to the woman's features that strongly hinted at the steely personality behind them. The younger Harper lowered her gaze and said, "Yes Shandili, I understand."

As the group passed the outer boundary of the town, a flash of movement caught Shandili's eye. A large contingent of men was coming down the same road the Harpers were traveling on. A man dressed in fancy armor that shone brightly in the sun, led this new group. Gorion's old tutor snorted in contempt and remarked, "That man is an idiot, if he thinks that garish suit of armor impresses anybody. All it does is make him a good target."

"He looks like a noble, and an overly pampered one at that. We had best pass by him quickly, for a confrontation is not needed," Gorion said in a low voice, gripping his staff
tightly.

"You don't like speaking with spoiled members of the aristocracy, even though you are better at dealing with those types of people than any one of us are," Shandili told him. "That means, if he decides to take issue with our presence on the road, you are the one who gets to speak to him."

"If I didn't know any better, I would say that it's just you and your sense of humor talking," Gorion replied. "You are probably right, though I am not going to let him bother us too much if I can help it."

The Harpers did not pause on their journey as they walked and rode in a double line formation. Unfortunately, Shandili's words proved to be prophetic when the gaudily dressed man at the head of the approaching group rode directly towards them. He had the look of someone who was quite used to getting his way, no matter what. However, the stranger ignored the men behind them, almost as if their presence offended him. The haughty man was also blocking the road, leaving little to no room on the roadside to pass him by. Gorion glanced at the uneven ground lining the path and frowned, for walking there would be unnecessarily rough on the injured members of his group.

The two groups of people met each other and stopped, neither being able to advance so much as an inch. The leader of the larger knot of people sneered and stared wearily at Gorion.

"I say move aside old man, you're blocking my path out of this collection of hovels," he sniffed.

The sage did not take kindly to the man's attitude. He had dealt with his kind too many times before, and was in no mood to try to mollify his injured ego. Gorion looked him full in the face and said, "We have some injured comrades in our group, and we must get to town quickly. Any delay in treatment would only worsen their injuries, so kindly let us pass."

The stranger sneered at the collection of Harpers, as if they were beneath him. His brown hair was slicked back with so much oil that his head vied with his armor for sheer brilliance. Gorion peered at the armor and thought that it was designed by somebody who got all of his ideas about the perfect warrior off of an old tapestry. There was gold lining the edge of every flared edge of the stranger's suit, and the breastplate was encrusted with jewels. The sage snorted, for if the fool didn't manage to get himself killed the first time he tangled with an enemy, he would eventually fall victim to thieves who knew an easy mark when they saw it.

"I don't think I should give way for a mere peasant," the man said contemptuously. "Stand aside so that your betters may pass."

Gorion sighed, thinking that the only person who had ever irritated him this much was Ulraunt. The only difference between the Keeper of the Tomes in Candlekeep, and the dandy before him, was the fact that Ulraunt granted him a grudging respect. This fop had no respect for anyone, and if Gorion was not so eager to get help for his companions, he might have taken the time to correct his behavior.

"Young man, you look like you are of noble blood. How is it that you are here and not taking care of your family's estate?" Gorion asked the aristocrat.

The brightly dressed stranger pulled himself up to his full height in his saddle and announced in an imperious voice, "I am Nathiel de Eleragul, son of Baron Iorn de Eleragul, and I don't have to tell you anything old man. Now stand aside."

Gorion thought that the argument might last all morning before the snooty aristocrat would give way. A weak groan coming from Eltor negated any debate the sage wished to engage in with the irritating noble, though before he could think of a suitable way to remove the man from his path, a welcome distraction intruded upon the confrontation.

"What in the nine hells is going on here, Nathiel?" an older man with salt-and-pepper hair asked as he approached the disagreement. He was dressed in a well-tailored set of clothes made from a soft brown fabric. His face was rugged and though he was by no means handsome, he carried with him a presence that made others pay him a little bit of extra attention.

To the man's right was a youth dressed head to toe in black, who watched the confrontation with interest. Gorion flicked his gaze quickly over the two, and came to the
conclusion that the pair was father and son, as the younger man was a near spitting image of the elder one.

The last figure to emerge from the settlement was one that only a couple of people recognized. He was an obvious warrior type, who carried a large sword strapped to his back. His facial expression said that he had a clear contempt for the dandy dressed in the showy armor. Unlike the aristocrat blocking the road, this person was completely covered in leather armor, which showed evidence of frequent repairs. One also got the impression that this fighter could use his fists as well as a weapon in combat, and it would be an unwise man indeed who got on his bad side. The warrior glanced in Gorion's direction and coughed. When he was sure he had the sage's attention, he rubbed his neck as if to loosen his collar. The mage had to keep his smile to himself when he briefly caught sight of a telltale silver pin.

"These people are blocking the right of way, mayor," the aristocrat told him in a condescending manner.

Pressing his lips together for an instant the mayor replied, "The name is Mayor Gracile to you, and it looks like you are the one who is preventing these people from reaching the town. Even I can see that some of them are injured, so make room for them before I am forced to clear the way myself."

The noble fidgeted in his saddle, torn between obeying the mayor's commands and holding fast to the belief that he earned the right to go wherever he wanted by the simple virtue of his birth. The intimidating warrior standing beside the mayor casually started cracking his knuckles, bringing to mind the unpleasant picture of bones snapping. It did not help the extravagantly dressed Nathiel that the man was staring at him, waiting for the slightest excuse to make an object lesson out of him. Snarling out of sheer frustration the aristocrat nudged his steed to the side of the road, and the rest of his men quickly followed suit. He didn't say anything else, though his expression said volumes about his displeasure as he led his men out of town.

"Finally," the mayor said once a path had been cleared. "Thomas, run back to the inn and tell those priestesses that we've got a lot of injured people to take care of. Also, tell your mother to get a few rooms ready to receive the wounded. I'm sure it won't take her too long if your brothers help her out. Oh, that includes you as well Thomas, so don't you get any silly ideas on skipping out of the work."

Thomas looked glum over the prospect of actually having to work, but he was smart enough not to disobey the man. "Yes father, I'll do that right away," he said before he scampered off to the village.

Gorion signaled to his fellow Harpers to resume their trek into town, and Mayor Gracile elected to accompany the sage the rest of the way. The fighter took up the position on the mayor's right and looked significantly at the mage's injured arm. Gorion had wrapped whatever scraps of cloth he could find around his wound, and the bandages were stained with a mixture of two-day-old blood and mud.

"Your intervention was timely, Mayor Gracile, but it was hardly necessary," Gorion told him.

The mayor snorted and said, "It was your associate Merand here who suggested that I intervene before that overdressed fop made a complete ass out of himself."

"It's far too late for that, mayor," Merand interjected. "That idiot in the child's suit of armor already is an ass, with no real sense of decorum. It might have put you in a difficult position if the Duke's spoiled son had been turned into a toad while still under your jurisdiction, even if the whole situation was his fault."

"True enough," the man conceded. "Now, why don't we catch up on the latest news as I show you the way to the inn, mister…"

"Gorion Greylain, at your service," the sage supplied helpfully. "Suppose you start by telling me the important events that have happened around here recently"

 

Elideira and her darker sister were sitting at one of the inn's tables, quietly enjoying a cup of tea. Well, the blonde half elf was the only one who was drinking tea. Tey'Lena was feeling a little contrary this morning and elected to drink something a little stronger than tea, so she had asked the tavern owner's wife if she would kindly get her a cup of Evermead. After a bit of haggling the woman complied, though she had seemed uncomfortable talking with the dusky woman and refused to look her in the face.

Tey'Lena had soon found out why the human woman could not meet her eyes, and it had nothing to do with her heritage. Thomas Gracile, the young man who had developed an instant and powerful crush on the woman with Drow blood running through her veins, had approached her a few minutes after his mother had spoken with her. He had his sketchbook in hand (a collection of a few sheets of high quality parchment mounted on a thin board) and had eagerly shown the priestess the fruits of his labor. One of the first images he had shown the sisters was a sketch of Elideira posing on a rock, and looking out over the ocean. It was amazing in its detail, especially considering the fact that the village was nowhere near the coast.

After the half elf waxed poetic over the lovely picture he had drawn of her, he gave the two sisters the rest of his drawings to look at. Tey'Lena took a good, hard look at those pictures, for many of those images were pictures of her in various states of undress. The C'rintri wasn't offended by the sketches of her being nude-far from it-but the nature of Thomas's artwork had gone a long way to explain his mother's odd attitude towards Tey'Lena, her dark elfin blood notwithstanding. With Elideira laughing softly in the background, the Drow half elf was forced to go over to Mrs. Gracile and convince her that she had not actually posed for those pictures at any time during her stay in town.

The peacefulness of the morning was shattered when Thomas came bursting through the inn door. He ran past the two sisters, stopped and turned around. He told them that a group of people just arrived in the village and were on their way to the inn. The talented young artist told them that some of those people were injured, and needed the help of a cleric. He ran upstairs before the women could question him further, shouting at his
brothers and his mother that some rooms needed to be cleared out and fast.

"He's energetic, for a male," Tey'Lena remarked, swallowing the last of her Evermead in a couple of seconds.

Elideira barely heard her sister talking. She was too busy thinking of how many priestesses were left to deal with a collection of wounded people. The half elf realized that there were only four clerics left to act as healers, as the greater bulk of the Dark Maiden's priesthood had left the village shortly after the monster's head had been given to the local Baron. Depending on the severity of the injuries and the amount of wounded individuals, the four could be kept very busy indeed.

"Tea, can you run to our room and grab my pack for me, the one with the blue ribbon tied on the front?" Elideira asked the dark half elf. "That's the one I keep all my potions, bandages and herbs in. If you have any supplies left, then you should bring them down here as well. Hopefully we won't need to use all of them, but it never hurts to be prepared."

"Ha, you are acting much like a general, dalninil," Tey'Lena remarked. "Are you sure you are not a Matron Mother in disguise?"

Elideira flashed her sister a smile and jogged to the back of the inn to find the others. She found the rest of her companions in the stables, and they immediately followed her into the common room of the tavern. Selona asked her if the missing Harpers had finally arrived, and the half elf was unable to give her a certain answer. The C'rintri returned to the main room with two backpacks in her hands and handed one of them to her sister. Just when the half elf was rummaging through her pack and pulling out healing supplies, the first of the new arrivals entered the inn.

Merand and an older woman were carrying a badly wounded man on a stretcher. They were directed to a room on the second floor by one of Thomas's brothers, and all three took great pains to ferry the inured man to a comfortable and clean room. Selona and Ser'lentianna immediately followed the two, leaving Elideira and Tey'Lena to attend to the rest of the people.

The sisters were kept very busy indeed, as the main room of the inn quickly became a place to attend to injured people. Many of the wounds they dealt with were impact wounds, such as the kind one might get when hitting a hard surface with more force than one expected. A good portion of the injuries were burn marks in various states of severity, and since Tey'Lena had more knowledge on how to treat burns, she was the one who took care of those injuries. The C'rintri used a combination of potions, some herbal infusions and her own goddess granted healing abilities to make people whole again. A couple of the strangers shied away from her when they caught sight of her charcoal skin and pointed ears, but she brushed their ignorance aside and treated them anyway.

Elideira was brusquely efficient at taking care of her patients. She made comments over the way some of the people had patched themselves up, for most of their efforts were quite sloppy. One individual who had wrapped a scarf over a ragged wound in his leg particularly vexed the half elf. The man admitted that he had washed the injury with wine when the priestess questioned him as to how he dealt with it. She chided him on his carelessness, as she took proper care of his injuries. He tried to impress Elideira with a tale of how his group fought with a dragon, but she ignored his attempts at flirting and sent him to rejoin his companions once she was done with him.

The mayor surveyed the scene from the front door, though the half elf never noticed him, as she paid more attention to her work than anything else. He was talking with the other group's leader for a while, until he excused himself for some reason. Once the innkeeper left him alone, the stranger made his way towards Elideira's table as she was dealing with what she thought was the last of her patients. The woman being treated by the priestess glanced up at her leader and quickly excused herself, as she had been talking with the half elf for the past couple of minutes.

Elideira hear someone clear her throat behind her, and for an instant she thought it might have been the mayor or one of his sons. She turned to face the new arrival and paused in the midst of greeting him, for she recognized the man even after all this time. He wore a long mage robe and a simple cape, both in the same shade of bluish gray. He had a touch more gray in his hair, but otherwise she was sure he was the same man she had met the day before she left her home for good. The half elf tried to say something, but no sound came out of her mouth at first. She glanced at his amateur attempt at taking care of his wounded arm and motioned for him to take a seat.

"I am Elideira Silversong, priestess of Eilstraee Silverhair," she greeted him in as professional voice as she could manage. "I assume you are a Harper, like the rest of your party is?"

The man took the seat across from the half elf and nodded in confirmation. "I am, and I gather by your remark that my associates are having some difficulty keeping their affiliations to themselves. Ah, but I am being rude my dear, by failing to introduce myself in a timely fashion. My name is Gorion Greylain and I am a mage, as you can well imagine by my choice in clothing," he told her in a kindly voice.

Elideira managed a brief smile, before she ordered Gorion to give her his injured arm. She sighed deeply before she cut off the filthy bandages and tossed them aside. Next she brought out a half empty bottle of disinfectant and a clean rag to wash his jagged wounds free of any dirt that might make him sick if it remained. Then she used the last of her magic reserves on him, singing a healing spell granted to her by her goddess. Gorion had fallen silent while the half elf went to work on his arm.

A flash of dark skin passed by Elideira's seat as Tey'Lena positioned herself to overhear the conversation between the blonde half elf and Gorion. Had the priestess seen the expression on her sister's face, she would have realized that her sister had former her own opinions of what was going on between herself and the Harper. As things stood, Elideira noticed nothing, for she was busy trying to come up with something good to say to the man she had waited to meet again.

"Gorion, I have a question to ask of you," the half elf began, feeling the blood starting to rise to her cheeks.

"Go ahead and ask me, Elideira," the sage replied.

Gathering her courage together and forcing herself to look him straight in the eye, Elideira wondered, "How is the horse? You know, the one I sold you near the woods bordering my family's estate."

"She's served me well the past few years," Gorion responded, unconsciously leaning forward. "If you like, I can show her to you so that you can see for yourself how she is doing. I have her in one of the stalls of the inn's stables. Perhaps you can join me for a cup of wine later, and we can speak of what has happened to the both of us since we last met."

Elideira's eyes went wide, and the blush she fought so hard to prevent stained her skin a delicate pale pink. She lowered her gaze immediately and hoped that she didn't appear too foolish in front of her companion. When she glanced up again, she kept her gaze fixed upon the mage's forehead least she lose her train of thought again.

"Yes Gorion, I would like that very much," she said as she accepted his offer. "It would be lovely to see the mare again, and I would like to… talk, over a glass of wine."

Elideira continued to make small talk with Gorion for the rest of the morning. She was glad to have met him again, and she silently thanked the goddess that she had a chance to finally know the man.