Thread: Ascension to the Heavens|Descent into Hell(Corsair and Xana)

Verrier shifted uneasily in his rest, treasure sliding and scales scraping as he did. He wasn't sleeping, precisely, but he had entered a contemplative torpor that allowed him a vague sense of all that transpired on his mountain. He could feel the faint vibrations of the Drakul as they moved about their tasks. His nostrils were full of the warm scent of their flesh, the dry must if books, the rich damp of freshly turned earth. And he could taste the approach of... Haldebar, he rumbled, his whisper a distant echo of thunder in the hall. My lord, he heard his thrall respond. Verrier cracked an eye, staring at the tiny figure, garbed in grey and posessing iron-grey hair. Speak, my servant, he commanded, resting his great head on the cool marble. Your mate has been sighted, my lord, Haldebar declared. Verrier opened his jaws a little, fants displayed in hideous approximation of a smile. He chuckled slightly at the sudden stink of fear his servant exuded, but noted with pleasure that he gave no other sign. So soon? In what shepe does she come? In the shape of a dragon, my lord. Verrier stretched, uncoiling himself as he did. Does she, now? And does she come in love, or in war? Haldebar pursed his lips, staring upwards at his master. My lord? It...it is the appointed time. Verrier snorted in disgust. Pfaugh. She is a dragon, Haldebar. One day she will accept this. And then... Without finishing his thought he stalked towards the graat mithril doors of the hall, flowing on great winged limbs like a sinuous bat. Haldebar scurried to keep up. And then, my lord? Verrier uttered a terrible boom of laughter. On that day, she will come to me or come to kill me. Either will be more interesting than grudging obedience to a pact. I'll be honest, Mykel said, spearing a meatball and dunking it in some sort of greenish sauce. This is not what I expected. He popped the meatball in his mouth, and his eyes went wide as it began to burn. The town? Rynne asked, pushing him a tankard. Or the food? Both, Mykel gasped after draining half the tankard. Far, far too hot. He took another drink. That sauce is a killer. The Welcoming Wench was a pleasant, inviting tavern - more a restaurant that served drinks, really - and inn. The owner was a demon, a squat thing with toad legs and bat wings and the head of a ram, but it he? hadn't hesitated when the young Paladins had entered. It had greeted them warmly and led them to a table with a fine view of the harbor, grandly proclaiming that the special of the day was shrimp and mackrel meatballs in green chili paste. Warned by her brother's example, Lily speared a meatball and dipped it carefully in the sauce. Her face flushed a little as she ate it. Rebirth? Baptism? What are they on about? I am following in the footsteps of your esteemed father, if not at the same speed. Everyone turned to look. Standing before them was a tall, emaciated cirpse of a figure. A demon, with charred leathery skin stretched tight over a fleshless skeleton. It wore a white kilt around its bony hips. Lord Furtan, Eva said, rising. You honor us... The demon waived a taloned hand. Nit at all, not at all. It is my great pleasure to welcome servants of the Goddess of Love and War to Reeve's Bluff. May I join you?