Titans of Moradin

In the Sanctum of the Ent-Lord

(sort of assuming here that Nuri fails the bluff check) 


Elvish is a beautiful language – lyrical and elegant. In its graceful lilts one can hear the rustle of golden leaves in the fall, the happy patter of a forest stream bolstered by spring rain, even the weight of traditions that were ancient when the first man awoke to walk under the stars. It is poetry given form, song given structure, history given voice.

It is especially jarring, then, to be woken by curses in Elven, like being slapped with filth wrapped in finest silk, like being pulled from the release of sleep by a lover's kiss, only to find yourself in the embrace of a troll.

These are the thoughts that run through Lyrandyr's mind as he stumbles to his feet – only to be replaced by an Elven curse of his own as he notices the party's avenger racing after a retreating earth elemental, axe at the ready.

Shouting to the others, he chases the other elf, only to have the chase suddenly ended in the grove of Father Ent, and to find himself surrounded by a group of agitated and hostile forest elves. Glancing around, Lyrandyr sees Kendalius kneeling before the great tree, flinty-eyed and haughty, pleading forgiveness for some wrongdoing.

Muttering to himself, Lyrandyr strides forward, trying frantically to recall the formalities of his elven relatives. Raising his voice, he calls out in sing-song Elven, in the solemn tones of the ancient dialects:

"Tree-friend, ent-brother, I beg you, stay your anger!

Forgive this little one his misguided deeds, whatever they may be.

Corpse-maker he is, and filth-spreader, death-bringer, all of these, but know this – many are there that count themselves his enemies, many who may one day find eternity granted by his obsidian blade – but you are not among them, nor are your people.

We will control his rage, restrain the corruption that roils inside him, keep him from staining this bastion of life, the Ent's deep-dwelling."

Drawing back his sleeve, Lyrandyr raises his arm, showing the living tattoo that covers it.

"By leaf, by bark, by the seed that links us to your domain – I swear it."

Diplomacy: Roll(1d20)+14: 17,+14 Total:31

(I used the official D&D dice roller, here: http://www.wizards.com/dnd/dice/dice.htm)



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