Of parlor tricks ...
The afternoon of the following day I kept open, remaining in Outentown to organize a number of notes as well as catch up on some reading. It was today that a gathering of minds required my wisdom regarding the most recent troubles that had fallen over Sarshel. Of course, I made no promises, and I'd decide for myself after examining the gathering up close.
It was to the establishment of the Sailor's Star in Sarshel they all wished to see Noal Dagar, Master of Illusionary Arts. I would not disappoint.
"Reveal yerself, both of ye. This be a honest establishment, where showin' yer face be required of ye," spat a familiar, yet rounder face than I recalled upon my entry. He shot a glare toward a fellow wearing the mask of a skull as I walked on by.
I took my time coming down the flight of stairs, taking note of all those already present. Hróin and Fenneken stood out, previous ventures together in our past allowed us to have crossed paths.
"Dagar," Hróin growled dourly as I removed my hood.
"Hello Noal," came Fenneken's friendly voice, although her eyes held a different thought for the masked man still standing on the stairs.
I offered Fenneken a smile, and she in return offered a faint one of her own before adding, "Well Hróin, please remove the skull faced jester then."
My eyes took in the room, with its lavished drapes, mosaic tiles and large fireplace.
"It's good to see you walk again, Noal. Who would have thought a year ago we would say something like that." Fenneken's voice pulled my eyes away from the pattern of the mosaic and up along her form until our eyes met.
My fingers flashed quickly before her.
- I am unable to communicate by normal means at this time. I found this in a nearby town. It requested my knowledge and person. -
Digging through my satchel, did I provide one of the many parchments spotted in Outentown and Sarshel. Her gaze told me she may not understand signing. Eventually, we made our way into a more private room for more serious discussions. Or at least, so I had thought when I was given a scroll and some ink to write with.
Taking a seat at the table, I gathered much of the discussions would begin, but it seemed Hróin had other plans. The dwarf was more interested in cheap parlor tricks for any who happened to walk into the back room.
"Pardon me..." came a softer voice from a woman with long, bouncing curls. "I saw the notice."
"Mmhm. And who ye might be, human?" Hróin asked.
"I am Wilhemina. I saw the fire and lightning in the sky. I waited till it was gone before I came here."
Hróin grunted. "Be ye an adept of the Ways Magickal, human?"
"I...know the ways of what you speak, yes." Wilhemina leaned on her staff then.
"Prove it, then, if ye would. I would see a non-offensive incantation cast from ye hither!"
I used the time to remove a clay bowl and a dry flower, picking each petal one at a time while the first parlor trick was performed.
"What matters if she can perform a magic trick? We're not here for cantrips," added the woman to my left. I nodded softly toward the clay bowl. Finally, some direction!
But Wilhemina did as she was asked, closing her eyes for a short time until there was a slight change in the air. A small gust flicked up around her, until the flames of nearby candles flickered madly. Too many petals to concentrate on myself, but when I took a quick glance, she had a soft glow about her frame.
With all of that out of the way, I put aside the half-picked flower and got the parchment and inkwell at the ready.
Then the next trick walked on in.
"Show a magic trick and you may sit. Otherwise you may leave. Please don't interrupt more than necessary," added the woman to my left as a very large man stepped into the room. Why wasn't she running the discussion I pondered.
"You want magic trick?" the large man asked.
- Burp your name and take a seat. - My own fingers flashed before me. It was very unlikely the man would do so.
A gnome then bumped his way through the door and past the large man still standing in the door. "I convey socially acceptable form of greeting. I am making assertion that I am looking forward in future for our mutual informational exchange!"
I pinched the bridge of my nose, slid the parchment and inkwell aside, and resumed working on the dry flower petals.
The large man responded with his own trick, drawing a very large weapon. Its blade began to burn a deep red. "Is this enough for you?" he asked.
"That is impossible to perform without sufficient arkon radiating translocational pattern!" the gnome burst out with some excitement.
"I study arcana, and that is enough for me to stay," said the large man. He took a seat on a nearby bench. The excited gnome quickly followed.
"This matter will be resolved by vote. Such be the way of this table," Hróin added toward the large man.
Another entered then and she caught my gaze immediately. Lori by name from what I recalled. She took a seat across from me as the vote to keep the large man at the discussion took place.
"Good evening," Lori said as she took an empty seat. Her stare upon my features lingered. "Noal..."
I found myself sitting a little more straight after that. Her perfume was so exotic!
The vote went as expected, and none raised a hand to allow for the large man, or his red glowing weapon, to stay for the discussions at hand. Although he was not pleased, he left on his own.
Just as the large man exited, did a frail fellow limp into the meeting room using a walking stick for support. I gave the inkwell and parchment another longing gaze, and continued with what I was already doing. "Be place study daemon?" did he ask.
Another round of requested tricks for the new arrival, and after some back and forth, he promptly took a seat next to the fellow gnome on the bench.
Hróin's voice rose through the room. "This be a place for those of Arcane aptitude, regardless of their origins or differences, be they professional or otherwise, to come together and debate upon matters that be deemed of common interest."
I watched the room. Everyone was settled, so I pulled back the inkwell and parchment. The discussion had begun.
As if on queue, a broad shouldered man entered the room, and once again it was back to the dry flower petals.
Despite the man departing quickly, I remained working. The next one to saunter through the door may be expected to juggle or swallow a sword. As those around the table spoke, it was decided to vote on Celith being allowed to remain, just like all those previous being asked to leave.
"Those that would have the Elf known as Celith act as a silent observer, under an oath of silence, raise their hands now." Hróin held back no punches.
I was quick to use the quill on the provided parchment to give my vote, letting Isalin read it for Hróin. He called her an apprentice too.
If his silence is as bad as his tracking skills, it would be best suited he depart this room.
"The matter be decided!" Hróin then spoke to Celith.
The Elf paused by the door to address the table, giving me a quick nod. "You would do well to beware this one as well and the dark master he sought to learn from." He then left.
Finally the room only had those who understood the ability of the Weave, but already two hours had passed from the constant required parlor tricks and voting, that the time I put aside had all been spent. I gathered the plucked flower petals into the clay bowl and cleaned up the table before me.
"To the matter at hand. The demonic attack."
"Where did it come from?" Isalin asked.
"It was summoned in the temple, somehow." Lori replied.
I scribbled quickly upon the parchment provided, once again having Isalin read it aloud.
A pleasure it was to find parchments about requesting my personal knowledge, but I am afraid such discussions are well beyond my abilities.
Returning the inkwell and parchment to Hróin, I departed the meeting room and closed the door quietly, leaving the remainder to discuss the tragedy that had fallen upon Sarshel just days before.
... and daemons.