There are a few things in life that Sorin Dalca enjoyed more than anything else. Waking up with a couple of beautiful women or men in his bed, great parties, performance, and being recognized for his obvious greatness. The Feywild seemed lacking in all categories.
After leaving behind dead fungus creatures called “Red Caps” and deciding to venture on to find Boyd, the people Sorin considered the next best thing to his left behind troupe ran headlong into a group of swamp creatures. They had come here seeking something called the “Gravetree” searching for sap in a mission for Riordan’s patron. “And some patron too,” thought Sorin sulkily, “No gold, no fame, no beautiful women – just the risk of death.”
The crazy elf, Riordan, had jumped ahead of the group making an immediate run towards.. something. Sorin couldn’t be sure what as the light here was dim and thus seeing anything was very difficult. As he stayed behind with Jace, Mithrellis had started after Riordan taking his light with him. Slowly Jace and Sorin followed behind.
No, the Feywild had thus far proved to be quite the disappointment, Sorin ruminated. No beautiful women, no parties, no chances to perform, and really nothing seemed to recognize him as anything beyond prey. In the near distance some things sounded to be shambling in the swampy land. In a different direction, he heard Mithrellis begin to engage with some enemies.
The tattoos on Sorins skin begin to glow lightly under his shirt. Idly a wandering thought in his brain regretted not having a mirror nearby or a warm body to impress – Jace certainly wouldn’t care, and it was a serious pity that nobody was around to appreciate just how awe inspiring he certainly looked in that moment.
A great tattoo not far from his heart ignited sending power surging down through the inked lines on both of his arms. His hands moved bending backwards as he touch the undersides of his wrists together. The energy streaming down his arms coalesced into a flaming mass before his eyes and then launched into the distance. An explosion could be seen shortly after, three bodies suddenly ignited, two falling to the ground.
Well, there was perhaps another thing Sorin enjoyed more than anything else. Burning things to the ground. He smiled, and went to work.
Great makers – Riordan on his crazy mission for tree sap had lost a foot. He had grown sulky, and annoyed. Everybody wanted to flee the feywild, but Sorin was now pretty committed to staying. He liked Boyd, and missed his company as a drinking companion. Of all the others in this ragtag family, Boyd was one of the few that Sorin could really have some fun with. Gambling, drinking, sex – Boyd understood it all. Though admittedly substantially more disciplined than Sorin, the elf certainly appreciated the finer things as well.
After some debate, they decided to stay. Riordan was positive that this was his best chance to get his foot back. To his credit this crazy warlock had accepted that they could leave him behind in the Feywild to tend to this task on his own. Jace was certainly tempted, but Mithrellis interested in finding what had happened to Boyd, was interested in staying. Sorin would not be happy leaving family behind, regardless of how recently that family had been adopted.
During the debate a strange old woman had appeared. She sought a way out of the Feywild. Jace was immediately suspicious. Sorin smiled inwardly – who wasn’t Jace suspicious of? As the others talked to her, Sorin reflected on Jace. They had travelled together for some time before they met these others. They lived in the same traveling caravan, but had never known each other well. Even now in some ways he felt that he knew even Mithrellis better than he knew Jace, but that one wore his feelings on his sleeve more often than perhaps he knew. Admittedly Sorin was more comfortable with Jace, felt closer to her in some ways, but still she was an enigma.
The hag had a magic stone and Jace erupted in distrust. Still, the party calmed and asked her questions. She was a diviner, and she told them what she saw. She knew of a way out, but she also knew of Boyd. Jace again agitated the group to leave, Riordan encouraged staying, and even Mithrellis was faltering. His commitment to the demon-hating genie’s cause was absolute. Sorin weighed in at last. “We should stay the course. She sees Boyd, he is not far. We will worry about a way out soon.” The group decided, with Jace hesitantly agreeing. They moved on to Boyd.
The old woman was hard to read, but there was something about her that reminded him of Grandmama Ileana. Jace didn’t see it. She was waiting for her “I told you so moment.” She was always waiting for the “I told you so moment.” Sorin briefly considered writing the next part of his play about the Wardens, considering giving Jace’s character that line multiple times in the show. He thought it would be funny – she always warning them of danger, them always ignoring her, she always saying “I told you so!”
Sorin reflected for moment – perhaps he should listen to Jace more often.
Eventually they found Boyd. Well, Boyds, as there seemed to be two of them. Sorin thought this was a fun game, but the threat was certainly clear. In some ways the Feywild was really starting to grow on him. Flammable swamp creatures, tricksters playing games, strange flora and fauna – what a show. The party debated which could be the real Boyd, and each of them attempted to ask it questions to tease out the knowledge. Sorin appreciated games, especially games without rules – that meant he could play how he chose. One of his lesser tattoos lit up suddenly, and minor power began to circle around his chest, radiating in a holding pattern. Suddenly he made a choice, or rather he chose to make no choice between the two. Triggering the energy down to different paths, Sorin split the firebolt through both of his hands and fired at both Boyds.
One of the Boyds detected the incoming firebolt and immediately shifted shape running off for cover. “Gotcha,” thought Sorin, smiling widely. The other firebolt struck the real Boyd, who had barely managed to put up his shield in time to defend from it. That Boyd sputtered in rage and charged after Sorin shouting about how he was just another fey trick. This was not the first time in his life Sorin had failed to consider the long term odds, he was certainly not the best long term planner in general. He was a tumbler by training and tendency – do a fancy move, then roll with the punches.
Jace had Sorin’s back though, stopping Boyd in his tracks through some Bardish trick. Briefly Sorin thought, “Maybe a protagonist which both says I told you so and saves the party more than her fair share of the time!”
Mithrellis or Riordan, Sorin wasn’t sure which, had gone on to confront the old woman. Only she was no longer an old woman, she had transformed into something much more familiar holding a magic rock. A hag. “Oh great makers,” thought Sorin, “here it comes.”
“TOLD YOU SO!” Jace’s voice was loud, it’s fine training in the Bardic arts making her statement impossible to ignore.
They squared off against this new threat, and before too long they had cut it down.
It was eerie, really, watching Jace talk to the dead. But they gained some useful insight. Now the party was off in search of a remedy for Riordan’s leg. Again the debate had arisen. Jace clearly wanted to leave, Mithrellis, Boyd now in hand, was also favoring this choice more strongly. Sorin stood solidly with Riordan – you do not abandon your family, though he kept this to himself. He was not sure the others viewed him the same, and his pride prevented him from vocalizing how much he had come to rely on and appreciate the others. His foolish, beautiful pride.
After the fight, Boyd was not quite himself. He travelled with them, and they set off together seeking the Unsealy Court. It was not long before they were set upon by fey elves who identified themselves as the Mithrindain. They demanded the group relinquish their weapons and accompany them as prisoners to the city. Unsurprisingly, Mithrellis and Riordan would have none of this. Yet another fight in the Feywild began.
The Mithrindain’s were not much of a match. Their swordbearers did not last long under a fight with Mithrellis and Riordan. Jace helped to keep the archers at bay, and Sorin enjoyed lighting a few people up along the way. Sorin didn’t think much of the fight – in the notes he was taking for future plays, this battle would have to be substantially trumped up in order to have a place in the story. Otherwise this minor skirmish would just be window dressing, a role Sorin was happy to fill most of the time on his own.
At the end Mithrellis mentioned how odd it was that they were so often taken into custody by government officers. Inwardly, Sorin considered – there is a lesson that, Mith, do not trust those in power. He kept his comments to himself, not wishing to engage with the honorable elf about law and good.
Mithrellis, Sorin could hardly believe, stripped the female Mithrindian captain of her armor. She was naked underneath, the armor and cloth all being of one piece. Mithrellis was embarrassed and Jace confused about the effectiveness of such armor. Sorin enjoyed the women he knew naked by choice, and in an unusual act of modesty looked away. Jace helped dress the woman, and they bound her in some kind of strange, silver rope.
The captain was unusually compliant for somebody who had just been taken prisoner. She gave the party all the information they needed, and was surprisingly friendly about the entire exchange. Sorin just assumed their culture was honor oriented, and fair loss in combat was not taken personally. Shortly after being bound, the captives were willing to lead them around the nearby, seemingly hostile city and out to find a river fey named Urioros – a creature Riorden had been told could restore his lost foot.
Once they were in range of the river where Urioros resided, the elf captain asked to be released. Once freed from the rope, the elf captain’s attitude changed substantially. Apparently the rope held some very interesting qualities. Jace wanted the rope and, while Sorin certainly considered it’s many fun applications for some of the more risqué liaisons he’d encountered, there were no true objections for letting her hold on to it.
The group made their way to the river’s shores where they encountered a set of nymphs. Most of the group hung back allowing Riordan to take the lead. The nymphs wanted more from the warlock than he appeared to be able to offer, but in the end, after drinking from a bottle, he jumped into the cold river. It went quiet and no bubbles floated to the surface.
While they waited Sorin decided to take some of his concerns out on his viola. Picking up the bottle, he drank occasionally from it while playing through a new tune – somewhat abrasive and reflecting his mood. The others chatted, but Sorin didn’t really notice. He was watching the river. It is true that Riordan had appeared suddenly in their lives, but he had played an integral role in several battles. Despite his gruff nature, Sorin had enjoyed showing him up with that incredibly attractive and confident tiefling thief. Sorin’s mind wandered.
Beneath the river’s waters, Uriorios and Riordan negotiated. Riordan eventually was able to work out a deal by which he one day would provide future help to the fey creature. After the deal was struck he swam to the surface and indicated he knew the way to return the party back to Rynn. All of them made their way into the river, and swam downstream eventually emerging back into the Empress River in Rynn proper. They made plans to meet up with Kazmir in Quhua, and planned to continue their work to secure the ley lines.