interlude: The Thank You Dinner. Report

General Summary

The group of people seated around the table were not the kind you would expect to find travelling together. David, looked like he would be more at home behind a school desk, then with a group of battle-hardened adventurers. Slim and a bit scrawny, David looked more at home with a pen than a staff. On his shoulder sat a small miniature Brass Dragon, its head curling down and nuzzling David’s chest, just inches from a medallion that was fashioned to look like an even smaller version of the Dragon itself. It would open it’s eyes every so often and tap his tail on David’s back, prompting the young man to take a slice of red apple from his plate and hold it to the dragon, who would hastily snatch it up, barely taking time to chew the sweet fruit before swallowing it with a pleased glint in his eyes.

To his left sat Finn, almost as young, but with a less than naïve look about him. Finn’s Staff, its tip glowing faintly leaned against the table next to him, and Finnused his own dagger to carve the meat on his plate with expert precision. He spoke while chewing, as if he knew that if he took too long to finish his plate, it would be taken away, even thought there was no sign that would happen. While he seemed relaxed in this company, his gaze often swept around the room, ever watchful.

Willie sat to Finn’s left, eating with a voracious appetite. Willie, in stark contrast to the others was older and carried the look of many roads travelled on his weathered face. He couldn’t have been that old, as his hair was still a dark shade of red and he moved with a youth’s grace, but his face showed that he spent a lot of time outdoors, and he had seen things that many would not believe existed. He passed meat down to a large black and grey wolf, who lied obediently at the foot of his chair, waiting patiently for any scraps his master may pass down to him. His tail wagged and slammed the wooden floor making a constant thump.

To David’s right, sat Carados, another red-haired youth, but his looks were almost the opposite of Willie. Carados was lean where Willie was strongly built. His clothes were well laundered, and well cut and of good quality, while Willie’s attire was more practical and comfortable and showed signs of wear. Carados’s hair was trimmed and styled, and his face was smooth and quite handsome. He had the kind of look that made women take a second glance, and then a third. It was also possible he was wearing a bit of makeup, to highlight the finer features of his face, though if so, then it was expertly applied. He spoke eloquently between bites of the meal, and his voice had a quality to it, that made people stop and listen. His tone was clear, and inviting, and his accent just strange enough to invite curiosity, without being off-putting.

Dylan on his right, was listening intently to the tale Carados was spinning, about their recent tangle with a devil worshipping cult, as if he had not been there with him. Dylan, had removed his thick heavy plate armor and laid it in the corner of the dinning room, his holy symbol, the Platinum Dragon openly hanging around his neck for the first time in a long time. His tunic and breeches were bright, as the sun rarely touched them underneath his armor, so they had not faded much at all. He sat with his chair turned a bit to the side, a standard warrior habit, so if he needed to rise quickly, he could do so. His sword, was still strapped to his waist in case there would be need of it. Despite his readiness, he conversed with the others in a jovial and easy manner, and ate heartily.

Traveyn, to his right, also wore his sword, a slim blade compared to Dylan’s thick curving one. Of all of the party he looked the most relaxed, for he had spent time here before. This table was not new to him, nor was the cooking of their host, whom he glanced over at often, almost as if she might disappear if he took his eyes off of her for too long. His skin seemed to glow whenever he looked at Brenlia, as if from an inner light. Anyone who knew him, knew this was not just an illusion of the firelight. Because of this, he paid a little less attention to the conversation, but the others couldn’t fault him for that. He was there at the battle too and all knew how close they had come to a very different outcome. One of sorrow rather than celebration.

Luck, or perhaps divine providence was on their side, though, and they were able to save the life of their host, and young woman whose shoul was captured to be traded to a Devil in payment for foul services. They had stopped the evil ritual just in time, and fought the devil back to its home. Brenlia and Trevayne had invited the group over to thank them for what they did for the young woman, and she had cooked them a meal in gratitude. Brenlia was not a cook by trade, and apologized for the quality as soon as she had served, but compared to what the party had has to eat on the road, anything home cooked with though and purpose was a treat. As Brenlia was not there for what happened, she listened intently as each told about their own piece of the rescue, a tale of instigation and danger. Their lives had been put on the line several times, and Brenlia could not understand, why mostly strangers would risk themselves for her, someone they only knew through Trevayn. But it soon became apparent that these were good men, the kind that are to rare in the world today and they cared about what happened to others. Not only did they care but they had the courage to do what was needed, something that was not found in many. Brenlia was moved to tears several times during the night. The talk shifted to other tales of their travels, both dangerous and humorous and the group soon found themselves just enjoying the moment. There were toasts, thought David only raised his glass of orange juice, and boasts, and even a badly sung song, as Carados was a talker, not a singer. There was even a moment of recounted terrible poetry, which almost ended the night early in a fit of groans, but was fortunately save by many tales of the long familial line of the Malavorax’s adventures in annoying their neighboring dwarves. It was almost as if all the troubles of the world had gone away and the group could finally relax in peace. Of course as all good things go this one too was cut short, as there were noises out on the streets. Trevayn and Brenlia, both residents of Hilston, and the least conspicuous of the companions, went outside to see what was going on and returned with unfortunate news.

A dragon had been killed, and the Vemoraxx now roamed the streets in greater numbers than before. They were visiting certain residents, who were known as dissenters. Fortunately, there was no descriptions being passed of the party and Brenlia was known as a loyal citizen. The story was that the attackers were unknown. What the Vemoraxx were saying though was hiding a truth that was being passed around the city in hushed voices. This was no random act, and the perpetrators were no faceless threats. They had left a message. The tale passed from person to person, and where it went left either joy or fear in its wake. One emotion rose above the others though. Hope, for the message was clear.
The Order of the Platinum Dragon had returned.