This post's authors have general content warnings that might apply to the current post.
View Flat HTML
View Metadata
Search Post
A few years ago, Deekin would have been very cavalier about this weird demiplane that just inserted itself into the Underdark, much as he was about basically everything. Times have changed, though; now Tynan is a factor, so instead of skipping merrily towards the bar, Deekin keeps his crossbow high and his stance low, even as the baby pokes his head out of his rucksack and babbles merrily.
...This place doesn't seem to be dangerous in any way.
This is intensely suspicious.
But after a quick casting of See Invisibility, a nip of Barkskin potion for Tynan, and a nice loud Curse Song in case someone's still hiding somewhere, Deekin feels comfortable enough to sit at the very polite bar and get free drinks. (Tynan gets some kind of strange black milk, which he obviously enjoys. Deekin gets something he thinks might be apple cider with a shot of cow blood, which is very nice even if it does kind of remind him of Tymofarrar.)
"A man who wants an intimidating name should check for homophones beforehand," Enserric drawls. "And ideally, he should also check that it doesn't make him sound like an idiot."
"So," Enserric continues, "what do you do that brings you into contact with men with stupid names and calls for black armor? Are you an adventurer, or is that more of a local phenomenon?"
"I believe that's more of a local phenomenon, though - what do adventurers do? Maybe there's a comparison point."
"Descend into tombs, dungeons, ruins, et cetera. Retrieve treasure. Slay monsters who have made themselves inconvenient to nearby populations. Dodge questions about their line of work."
Her? Dodge questions? Never.
"Mm."
Never has a sword looked quite so unimpressed. It's a mystery how he manages to convey body language without anything even resembling a face or, for that matter, body.
"Deekin, would you give some musical accompaniment to this awkward silence? A 7-chord on the Ganadon Lyre would be much appreciated."
Deekin rolls his eyes at the sword, but begins rummaging through his bag. "Always wanting specifics."
She shifts a bit, ready to bolt. And grab her lightsaber, of course, but she would like to dodge an attack first. Being able to block it is not guaranteed.
Deekin comes up with a beautifully crafted lyre. He strokes its strings and accompanies himself with a melodious humming.
In a wash of strange energy (not like the Force, but something), the runes inscribed in the wood glow a pale, greyed-out blue. "Deekin tell you," the kobold grumbles.
Enserric makes a frustrated noise. "Oh, shove it."
Deekin waves a hand. "Some of Deekin's best friends evil. Deekin maybe have to leave, but unnecessary murder not great life policy."
"If I were 'evil,' by whatever bizarre definition a fucking lyre has," growls Callida, "Why would you think it a good idea to piss me off by invading my privacy with an artifact?! If I were evil, I'd shown you no hostility, just a desire for privacy! Which you just invaded!"
Deekin shrugs. "Sword?"
"You were being evasive!" Enserric complains. "I didn't reach the age of eighty and then get murdered by a skeleton king by trusting people!"
Deekin nods. "Sword. Paranoid dick. Keep Deekin and Tynan alive for several years of Underdark nonsense, but paranoid dick. Deekin not think you were evil anyway, just indulging dumb sword. No privacy invasion except evil or no, though, glowiness not very information-dense communicative metric."
She breaks out the air quotes. "'It's not privacy invading except evil or no' oh, I'm sorry, do you know my life situation, do you understand that certain questions getting magical affirmatives could literally get me killed? No? Then don't! fucking! assume!"
Deekin is beginning to look tense.
"Sorry. Rude to do unfamiliar magic, Deekin understand. Not big spell back home, nobody get mad about detection, Deekin not think about it. Deekin know for fact impossible for spell to explode or be allergic, though. And questions getting magical affirmatives very privately, considering we only people here, so unless question getting answered kills you instantly Deekin not think it huge concern. And Deekin not know about evil-baggage, so Deekin not think it very fair to blame him for not knowing other-universe human ladies got some kind of trauma history with evil, when back home nobody think like that!"
Tynan climbs atop his head and starts rubbing his spines. Deekin exhales and starts tapping his fingers on the table jerkily. "Deekin not liking interpersonal conflict much. Sorry shouting."
"... Apology accepted," she huffs, after counting to ten in her head and reminding herself that she can use this to extort useful items out of him. "Do not do anything like that to me ever again without my express permission. And I do not recommend just assuming other people's cultures are like yours and that means it's okay to do whatever you want. Understood?"
She sits. Fuming.
"Deekin not planning on it," he snaps.
"...Sorry," he adds, after a bit. "Sorry again, sorry better. Hard to apologize right when yelling happening. Used to apologize too much when Old Master angry, now just get angry when shouting happening."
"I apologize for yelling," she says, with a surprising degree of sincerity for how upset she is. But that is what happens when you casually cast magic on me without my permission, she doesn't add, because that is not helpful.
Deekin smiles shakily. "Nice of you."
He gets a bottle out of his bag and knocks back the blue-green liquid inside. There's a strange glow to it, and when he's finished he himself seems for a moment filled with sunlight.
He shakes his head vigorously, and turns back to Callida with the light returned to his eyes. "Blessing potion. Good stuff; calm down, feel better, not scared, not sick, no bad stuff. Want some? Very good for Deekin, maybe good for Callida too."