RP:A Trolls End

Part of the Of Contracts and Families Arc

Location: Frostmaw Tavern, Faux Twilight Cavern

Synopsis: Elioyahazer stops at the tavern in frostmaw to have a drink before taking off to collect a book that has been missing for some time. It's an item he needs for a quest he was given by Dyraxdiin. When Gilemdar arrives there as well he decides that perhaps, this could be a rather interesting adventure. Both mildly recognize the other and Elioyahazer hires Gilemdar. They explore the Twilight Caverns searching for a Runesmith Wizard who had gone missing a long time ago. In the end they succeed, find the book that Eli was looking for and Gil agrees to join the guild.

A Trolls End

Elioyahazer has carved out a section of the bar for himself, sitting directly across from the barkeep Drargon who draws a lazy smile at those who have gathered around. Eli, might have been Santa recently, and actor of Aramoths will, but today he does not carry that title. No matter how many people poke and prod him with jokes. ‘Who’s ever heard of a cinnamon skinned Santa?’ A few people ask, while others waggle their eyebrows and ask if they can sit on his knee. The desert born has grown rather tired of his temporary fame, and lifts a mug of ale to his parched lips. In all, he appears nothing like he had previously, decked out in arms and armor - looking like some odd half breed of shadowy stalker and ranger. Wearing a black leather jerkin and two very special leather wrapped sleeves - gilded with runes to ward against fire and water respectively. A single pauldron over his right shoulder, which is an appealing amalgamation of leather and metal. Once he sets his drink back down, he pulls free two leather gloves and puts them on over his digits, and ruffles with his assassin styled cloak. A bastard sword of unknown origin lays against the countertop just within his reach. Beyond the commotion of the bar and their current ‘guest’ things are normal as always. “Look you guys, I played the role for a single night only. Probably won’t happen again.”

Gilemdar arrives to the bar just as any other commoner might. This is to say, he does so in a non-bardic fashion; the door admit's his entrance and the elf simply makes his way to the bar where he would order a drink, ignorant of the person sitting next to him. "Whiskey, neat," Comes the elf's words, his tone deep and simple, lacking it's previous theatrical quality a few days prior. In fact, his garb has changed significantly, alike the spellblade next to him. Gil sports an elegant sword only describable as of Elven make, which rests at his hip. The ease with which he carries it might suggest his proficiency, or at least that he is used to the weapon's presence - while beautiful, it is not for decoration. His hair is simply swept back today, strong jaw lines, peppered with five o'clock shadow, is framed by a high-collared leather duster. Straps criss-cross his midsection beneath the open duster, which holds a myriad collection of survivalists tools. Herb pouches, a dagger, flint and steel, a book, and even some vials of nondescript contents. The Gil today indeed looks much more like a seasoned adventurer and less like the dandy of Love and Beauty. Once Drargon pours the whiskey, Gil exchanges coin and leans heavily against the bar.

Elioyahazer for lack of better words, is still fending himself off from all these unwanted advances, until Drargon has his final laugh and shushes the group, waving both arms to send them away as if they were nothing more than a gaggle of geese. Once that’s finished, he pours Gil’s drink and accepts the coin. “Weren’t you the lad who broke out in song at the yule ball?” Drargon questions the bard. However, Eli is still lost in thought. Good gods of the deserts, why do you enjoy trying my patience? The mug before him is raised once more, and a few swigs are stolen. There are only a few days left until the Guild had a party over their recent victories on Twister Island, where they had defeated their foe: Crimson Cloak. But until then, Elioyahazer has a few other things to take care of, such as collecting a few items, one of which could be found here. Finally, his gaze moves to Gil, after the barkeeps words. His mind had been fuzzy for the briefest of moments, but now has cleared. That is the songster from the other day. Interesting. “Surprised you aren’t out wooing the women. There’s plenty of them to be had here.” His gaze shifts to point to the plethora that are still around this very room. Each of them eyeballing one of these two men. “Though, by the look of you, I’d guess that isn’t your thing.” He looks more like an adventurer than anything in this light, and Elioyahazer simply comments on such.

Gilemdar casually draws glass to lip, green eyes regarding the barkeep over the brim of his glass, before he takes a long, hard swallow. That's as much answer as he's going to offer Drargon. Eli, on the other hand, is given a sideways glance. "There is nothing to be gained with the wiles of a bard this eve. It's a performance, nothing more." The bastard prince takes another drink from his whiskey, attempting to swallow down bloodied memories of his youth which are threatening to bubble up to the surface - being reminded of what he's had to do to survive all this time is never easy. Perhaps he'll forget those memories in due time. "What of you, swordsman? Taking a load off after a long night of delivering presents to the common-folk?" A brow raises in sarcastic fashion, yet the elf decides to seat himself after all, preferring the company of this spellblade over the looks and affections of the women who regard the duo.

Elioyahazer offers a sarcastic rebuttal befitting his own mood. “If you mean leaving weeping women with child, no.” He assumed Gils’ comment about delivering presents went somewhere other than it should have, considering the circumstances he is currently in. “I save such things for silver tongues and nobles. However,” A thumb raises to point at Drargon the barkeep. “He doesn’t like fights in his bar, so here is as safe a place as any for those jealous men that follow that flock around.” He wants to roll his eyes. Besides, he has a feeling that half of these ‘noble’ women have more impure thoughts than he. Wanting to be on his knee is merely just coy banter for something else entirely. “And actually, I’m here for a little liquid courage before I explore the twilight caves.” He doesn’t give much more of a description than that, but plucks his sword up from the bar and slings it over his shoulder. “Might even be a little danger involved.” He eyes Gilemdar, squaring the man up. “You up for a little adventure and perhaps a fight?” He thinks over his question only for a few moments, the elf looked like he could take care of himself. “The job does pay.” He throws that in finally.

Gilemdar grunts in response to Eli's statement about the men following the flock around. He's had his fair share of bloodied noses and busted knuckles, earned in tavern's across the lands, much like this one. The elf finishes his drink and slides it back across the bar to Drargon, a nod of his blonde head is given in thanks to the one-eyed barkeep, before Gil clicks both boot heels to the floor and slides out of his seat. A skilled hand drops to the hilt of his sword and he draws it an inch out of habit - now certain that it is not caught with frost or dirt - then slides it neatly back in. "I always did prefer the jobs which required sword over lute. My fee is half the spoils collected in these caves. If what is earned is worth more than 150 gold, no further payment is required." His voice is monotone, as if reciting a well-rehearsed script, "If you should come to bodily harm, I will heal you immediately if I feel your life is in danger, but know that such a service comes with further cost." Gil tightens his studded leather vambraces, which connect to leather pauldrons and still further armor beneath his sleeveless duster. A keen ear might detect the faintest 'rattle' with his step, which would indicate he's wearing some sort of metal-mesh shirt beneath leather armaments. He's lightly equipped, or at least as lightly as can be possible when traveling and adventuring the world alone, without mount or mule. "If these terms are agreeable to you, we can be off at your leisure."

Elioyahazer produces a broad smile, listening to Gilemdars offer of priced goods. Lords, was he purchasing a slave? To such thoughts he merely chuckles. “To be honest, I’m searching for a wizard who went missing eons ago. Rumored, according to the texts I’ve read, to have had a rather fond fascination with the caves I’m about to go explore. Oneus the Runesmith. I hope that we can find wherever he disappeared too, and perhaps find a few of the books he was known to carry. I’m offering you quite a bit more than 150 gold though.” The desert born pulls out a bag of coins and tosses it to the Elven bard. The heavy bag carries near 16 and a half times his requested amount of 150 gold. “Half now, half upon completion of the task.” With a deal like that, who knows what kind of trouble they might find? “And I’m more than just a swordsman, I am a spellblade, and quite capable. Truth is, I’m curious about you.” Not many people were like Gil in these lands, and if there were others, Eli had yet to meet them. “So, what do you say?” He finishes with his final offer.

Gilemdar catches the the bag of coins in his off-hand, without breaking eye contact with Eli. It is as the man says, a great deal more than 150 gold - something indicated in the weight alone. The elf pauses, inhaling slowly while working it over in his mind. The last time he accepted a payment this high, it was for cold-blooded murder. Either it's that, or this is a very dangerous cave. Before eye contact and silence has a chance to drag painfully into awkwardness, Gil cinches the bag to his belt, a gesture of finality to his decision. "Very well, spellblade. I accept this arrangement." He doesn't make mention about himself further, despite Eli stating he was curious about the bard. A Bastard Prince, turned murderer and adventurer for hire. There isn't anything worth telling. Instead, he'll let the spellblade make of him what he will. "If we are ready then?" Gil motions to the door.

Faux Twilight Cavern

Elioyahazer raises an eyebrow to Gilemdar, and then smirks. “Let’s be off then.” Without further word, the spellbade takes his leave of the tavern after paying the barkeep for services rendered. He’d never leave that man hanging on coin; not if he could help it. The march across Frostmaw is treacherous as always, and Elioyahazer is not one to produce unneeded conversation. Gil, seemed to also be more of the quiet type, which is literal music to his ears. After what seems like forever, their march through Frostmaws wildlands comes to an end. “This is where the caves are found.” He pulls out a map, and shows it to Gilemdar so that he might peer over it for himself. “The issues I’ve heard about this place is that a troll, supposedly wanders through here.” He offers the elf a serious look, “Best have your wits about you.” Elioyahazer puts the map away, and draws that basic bastard sword - taking a few precious steps into the cave. When they dive further into the place, nothing seems right. Black sand, chilling yet unfrozen waters. A foul stench lurked within, and a giant pile of troll dung laid nearby. However, its creator is nowhere to be found. Gazing upon the cave walls does indeed look to be a star riddled night sky, but closer inspection reveals that this is caused by gemstones embedded in the walls themselves. Elioyahazers voice reaches out in near whisper, “I don’t see the creature anywhere, but I do feel the presence of magic.” His gaze moves to Gil once, “Do you sense where it’s coming from?” He honestly doesn’t know if he can, but figured that he would ask. If Gil concentrated, he might indeed find that there is a hidden door, a passage crafted with magic. It’s entrance has a carved riddle written upon it. Elioyahazer takes only a few moments to locate such a thing as well, his mind reading over the inscribed words: ‘What can run but never walks, has a mouth but never talks, has a bed but never sleeps, has a head and never weeps? Falls from mountains, though never rolls, passes through bridges, and pays no tolls?’ His eyes turn to Gil once more. “What do you make of this?”

Gilemdar follows Eli from the tavern and through some of the most difficult, inhospitable terrain that Gil's ever seen. Really, this Frostmaw is a frozen hell. The silence, beyond the whipping winds and scattering snow, is a refreshing change from the last few days of celebration. The elf makes no attempt at disrupting it, feeling that Eli too cherishes such quiet times. When the pair enters the cave, Gil clears his sword from it's scabbard entirely - nearly a twin in length to Eli's hand and a half sword, though it's width is slimmer - a trait of most elven arms. He doesn't brandish the weapon, instead holding it low to his side, confident in his ability to react to whatever they might find. "There are several indications of recent troll habitation," He points with his sword to some troll dung, and once more to a collection of stinking clothes, rags, straw and the like, which is probably used as a bed of sorts. "As for any trace magic in the area, this entire place has likely been spelled into existence." The green-eyed elf regards the lake and the iceberg further in, his elvish eyes capable of picking out the odd structure atop it. Curious. Eli finds the door before Gil does, who was caught up looking at the structure in the lake. He reads it too, a brow to raise in question. "A riddle, then?" It's a river, likely. As a bard, he knows many riddles and silly word-puzzles - it's part of the trade, so he simply says, "A river." His weapon readied with a deft movement, in case he needed to defend them from something beyond, magical or otherwise in nature.

Elioyahazer is caught up within the inscription, and the puzzle that it presents until Gilemdar answers the riddle and the door simply vanishes - leaving a gaping hole where it once was. However, Elioyahazer is almost too caught up to sense the grounds sudden and alarming vibrations - growing ever heavier and bigger, until the could both literally hear rocks crushing beneath something large and weighty. Is this the troll? His mutated eyes shift, and gaze out from beneath the veil of shadow produced by the hood he wears. “Damnit, we’ve got company.” What reveals itself is one of the most uncivilized things Eli has ever had the pleasure of meeting. Rough and calloused skin, a loin cloth, and a human leg carried in one hand. The massive creature spits and the odor produced from it’s saliva is enough to make him gag. Disgusting. “Me, smell Hooman, ‘n dainty Elf. Jyabaka not eat Elf, long time. Me want elf.” His words are barely tolerable - and that’s not just from the breath he’s releasing into the cave which wafts out like a fog. “Me smash hooman, ‘n eat Elf.” With that, the troll picks up his makeshift club - which is more akin to a stout tree branch, and tries to use it like a hammer, to flatten or smash and ultimately pancake Eli with a singular downwards slam attack; which will ring out in a thunderous clash and clamour of gods awful noise. Thank the gods that be for his quick reactionary time, for he’s leaping through the air; narrowly escaping such a blow that could end his life prematurely. With a singular word does his sword light up in flames. They’d have to deal with the troll first. Elioyahazer darts in towards the 9 foot beast and releases a serious attack meant to cleave the creatures thigh. The troll however, uses the human leg to bat his attack off and away with a laugh.

Gilemdar furrows his brows at the troll that presents itself in all it's stinking glory. "Vile." The elf mutters beneath his breath, stepping to flank the creature all the while. The troll's attack upon Eli is the moment that Gil erupts with kinetic energy, lean muscles carrying him towards the creature's left flank. The bard wraps his second hand around the hilt of the sword and deftly thrusts the brand at the side of the troll's knee. The weapon creates a whistling melody that begins and ends with violent finality, the crescendo of which is punctuated by a harrowing concussion of fire erupting like an explosion within troll-flesh - to blow the knee out of the creature and send it reeling. His sword may be little more than a toothpick to the burly creature, but it is capable of mirroring that tree branch's destructive capabilities. Gil recoils from the attack, ever attempting to gain an edge via flanking the creature.

Jyabaka finds himself sneering while chanting through gritted teeth. “Stoopit Hooman too slow. Jyabaka big n strong. He kill lots o’ hoomans.” That knotted branch is brought back once more, before he unfurls it in a vicious horizontal swipe to simply golf swing Elioyahazer into the frigid waters nearby. However, Gils chosen form of attack, and Jyabaka’s currently distracted nature means that his golf swing is interrupted. Violently so. His kneecap burst from his skin in a fiery display of power. The troll screams in high pitched words and the club is let go - where it sails off into the distance and away from Elioyahazer. In moments the beast has fallen to the floor, and Eli steps in and thrusts his fiery brand into the skull of this troll, where it sizzles and smokes for a moment, adding the scent of charred troll flesh to the cave. With another word, the blades flames die and is sheathed. “Well done,” He nods to his new found partner obviously enjoying the skills that he had seen. “Here’s your reward.” Another bag is produced and thrown to Gil, before he moves to the hole created from that riddle and picks up a single book from the clutches of a skeleton. “If your interested in more adventures, the Guild I represent could use a man like you. Rather, The Adventurers’ Guild could use you. There’s lots more pay where that comes from, plenty of adventure. A few parties and others to work with as well.” His sights turn back to Gilemdar. “What do you say?”

Gilemdar watches, unflinchingly, Eli end the creatures life. He flicks his blade, cleaning it of stinking troll blood and slides it back within it's scabbard in one fluid motion. He catches the second payment, which he ties to his belt alongside the first. "I have heard of this Guild, but I didn't know you were a member, otherwise I'd have asked to join earlier, in the tavern. I would be honored to enlist." Gil retrieves an empty vial from one of his criss-crossed belts and leans down to the troll to collect it's blood. Were Eli to show interest in what he is doing, Gil would respond with, "Troll blood stinks. Vampires hate it and Lycan's know to fear it, because it represents a threat they'd rather not have to tangle with. It keeps me safe when I find myself sleeping in places others would not." A handy tip, for an adventurer, at least. If Eli doesn't ask, Gil simply collects the blood, places the vial back on his belt and nods his head to Eli.

Elioyahazer nods once to Gilemdar. “Rather odd to collect Troll blood don’t you think?” It’s been a long time since Eli had simply roughed it, and slept in less than savory places. “We’d be glad to have you,” he tosses another item to Gil, a marker of a fellow guild member. “That item will allow you access into our building. Welcome to the guild, I’m Eli, its deputy leader.” He turns on foot once Gil has finished collecting the troll blood. “How ‘bout we go get ourselves another drink and I show you where headquarters are?” Without further words, Gil, should he agree, would find himself led back to frostmaws tavern for a quick break and the finally down into the xalious mountains where HQ is.