Feytower - Side Entrance (Glen, Sithani)

Glen didn't get an invitation from his superior, so he takes a bronze symbol out of his pocket.

The symbol looks like a curved half-moon. The number 8 is stamped on the moon--the orientation indicating that the curve of the 'moon' is supposed to be held in the down position, as though it were liquid in a wine glass.

It's supposed to be sewn into his clothes to identify him if he's killed in battle, but it means enough to him that he keeps it in his pocket all the time. Sometimes just knowing it's there helps him feel grounded.

"Glynlen Liadon, Eighth Division. My commander ordered me to report to Laerdya Siannodel today. There was no one at the front door, so we've been trying to find our own way in. We don't want to keep her waiting."

The wasp-keeper handles both these tokens, looking them over carefully and then back to their owners.

"This is a letter," they tell Sithani. "It's a very nice letter, but I mean. Anyone could've written it. Miss Siannodel's seal isn't even on it. This is... less rubbish," they admit, running their fingers over Glen's token. "I don't know why in Boccob's Secret Name we'd want an army boy, though. But fine."

Then they perform a bit of a double-take at Sithani. "It is not a fish, and you are not to speak of it outside these walls, and why it is here is a need-to-know basis and you do not need to know. I swear, they'll let anyone in here," they grumble, digging in their pockets.

"Here," they add a moment later, handing Glen what looks like a thin stick of incense. "Light it and ask for Miss Siannodel and it'll show the way to her office."

Sithani blinks. "You have a person - admittedly a very arrogant person with no respect for privacy - locked up here and you expect me to just drop the subject? Why are you keeping it a prisoner?"

Glen takes the incense and his symbol, really trying very hard not to very forcefully retort about this person calling his division symbol rubbish. He holds the incense up to a torch on the wall to light it and says "We have an appointment with Laerdya Siannodel."

Unfortunately, as he waits for the incense to start doing its thing, he can't just swallow his words, so he pipes up after Sithani finishes, "Sithani, maybe we can ask Miss Siannodel about it? I very much doubt this beekeeper has much information."

"There's no need to be rude about beekeepers, Glen."

The wasp-keeper rubs their temples and eyes Sithani's rod warily. "It's... not a person. Okay? It's not a person. It's an ancient evil which poisons everything it touches and seeks to undo the very fabric of reality, and it also happens to produce a unique sort of poison which we're hoping might be the key to unlocking a cure. How can you be a wizard and not recognize a newly coalesced Aboleth?"

At Glen's words, they perk slightly. "Yes. Go bother Miss Siannodel with your questions. I have to get back to my duties."

The incense flickers to life and then the stick goes up in smoke, quick as flash paper. Glen is left staring at his empty hand, fingers smarting from a pain that didn't actually happen but which his eyes feel certain ought to have. Then the smoke lingering in the air around his face draws together in a tight line and drifts down the corridor back the way they came. They are apparently meant to follow it.

"I've got no problem with beekeepers! He was rude ab- oh nevermind." Glen follows the smoke, turning his hand over and trying to figure how it is that it didn't hurt him.

(OOC: rolled a 1 on an Arcana check; Sithani has no clue whatsoever what an aboleth is)

"Who said I was a wizard? Anyway, thank you for the helpful smoke; we'll be on our way. Oh, and please be humane to the ancient evil once it's no use to you."

Turning away from the grumpy apiarist she accompanies Glen as he follows the smoke. "For all I know he just made all that up. Have you ever heard of an aboleth?"

Glen thinks for a moment.

Nature roll to see if he knows what an Alboleth is:

"I'm afraid not. Most of my experience is with forests and trees and the like, not... Wherever that thing is from. Sorry."

He looks at her as they're walking. "You say you're not a wizard? I had assumed something similar, what with you talking from inside my head."

"Oh, that's not something you learn. Well, it's not something I learned, anyway. I'm a warlock." She grins. "It means I bribed the teacher rather than study."

"Ha! Well, if it works for you, so much the better. Wizards do spend SO much time studying. We should probably get going to our appointment, but remind me to ask about your teacher some time. If that's alright with you, of course."

"Oh, of course! There's little I know about it in particular, but so much derives from what I felt in its presence."

"You don't know much about your own teacher? I think I must have missed something. I'm afraid I'm just a bowman - the closest thing to magic I've encountered is the wonder that Obad-hai weaves in nature itself, but even that is beyond my own grasp."

"Such a tricky word, 'nature'. So many unearned connotations. Anyway, my patron is only my teacher in a metaphorical sense. It reshaped my mind into something that could grasp the weave of magic, but I'm the one who discovers the ways I can use that power."

"That's incredible. I'm glad that it sounds like we're going to be working together - maybe your patron will somehow help with stopping the plague I've been hearing about, which Miss Siannodel seems to be working on. Either way, it seems like we may be working towards the same ends. I'll gladly have your back, Sithani." Glen smiles warmly, genuinely. Blundering into a terrifying monster and then giant bees while still keeping cool - and she's been straightforward with him, even about her unorthodox powers. Glen feels like he might even be able to trust her.

She snorts. "Somehow being the operative word there, I fear. Maybe she hopes I can get my family to give her money." Though I have no idea what help an archer might be in curing the plague, she thinks to herself. Unless it's a spell cast by an evil mage and she wants them dead.

"At least you have some guess what you could do. Neither I nor my commander knows what in the world I'm supposed to do here. All I know is that I'm supposed to do whatever she tells me.*

"Huh. How delightfully mysterious."

"Just glad to be on the team." One of Glen's absolute favorite expressions, he smiles as he says it.

They notice that the smoke has begun to take them up a staircase. He looks up to see if he can determine what's at the top.

The stairwell is poorly lit, the torches lining the stone walls only granting enough light to see where to step. It seems to spiral up forever into the darkness but the column of smoke--which is not waiting on its followers--seems only interested in ascending to the second floor and passing ethereally through a closed door on the landing.

"Well then." Sithani bounds up the stairs, knocks on the door, and - presuming no one shouts for her to go away - opens it.

Glen hopes the door doesn't have more terrifying nightmares or bees behind it.

The door lets out onto another corridor, but this one is richly appointed in every possible way: gild upon gild, jewels in frames, dark delicate wood furniture lining the walls under rich paintings and tapestries. The carpet is so soft, Sithani has to struggle not to lose her shoes in it.

This must be the hallway visitors use. The smoke column, picking up steam now, disappears into a door just down the hallway.

"Gods, you'd think they'd put the aboleth up here, wouldn't you? Impress visitors with proper magic weirdness, not stuff you can find in any rich house." She starts walking towards the indicated door, but swerves off to investigate a tapestry. "Mind you, that is rather nice."

He nods. "It is quite lovely." He's quiet for a moment - trying to decide to tell her that the alboleth would probably horrify most people, or whether to be more practical. He goes with practical. "The alboleth was truly amazing, but the tank looked enormous. Is this part of the tower even big enough for that thing?" He genuinely can't tell, having gotten lost in the twists and turns and unable to discern the general layout of the tower itself.