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Posted by the GM
9th Age
Party's Agenda
1: Locate Valanni Krinst to deliver Mayor Lann's request for aid for Wartle

2: Locate Gherin Mauk at Heidmarch Manor to report the findings at the Sanos site and the events at Wartle

3: Travel to Sandpoint for Jaspar's sister's wedding and the Swallowtail Festival

Those are the three most vital tasks to complete in the immediate future.

Also needing to be addressed are the following, in no particular order:

A: Find lodging within Magnimar
B: Buy/sell some items (general goods/weapons, magic items, supplies for magical scribing, potions, rogue supplies)
C: Find Caman the Wise
D: Varisians search for information/book regarding the Amulet of Beasts
E: Varisians find Magnimarian acquaintances
F: Locate Dwarven Standing Stone near Magnimar
G: Find the Drunken Otter to ask about brewing methods for Jarwald
H: Deliver items for Yorich
I: Find Shariss at The Silken Bowl, telling the password/phrase "the Sun Rises Twice"
J: Jaspar wishes to touch base with friends/acquaintances that he trusts regarding the events, including Corian
K: Find out information about Dagmar Lazurias, Constantin Lazurias, and the Hand

Feel free to add anything on to this list. I made this post editable by anyone.
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Posted by the GM
World of Orphel
Flight From The Aerie
In case people don't recall what was happening, after getting far but not all the way into the Aerie, the party left and started down the mountain toward Redcrow city.

When last we left the party, they were hiding among large trees as acid rained down from the sky once they failed a miserable stealth check.
Session: Down to the City of Redcrow - Sunday, Aug 12 2018 from 12:15 PM to 2:15 PM
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August 10
Huricane Hannah

We agree with the Lady of the Rock that we will send her a ship to take her and her household to our island.

We then sleep and shadow walk back to Port Peril. Upon arrival, Adele has a story to tell us, but is interrupted when the First Mate of the Tyranasaurs wants to board our ship, Chambros Egrossa. We allow him to board. This is the first mate of the flag ship of the Pirate Lord we suspect of being a Cheliaxan spy. We accept the gift from the Captain Arronax Endymion and Hector fails to open it until we remind him that he is muted. Then he opens the small box and discovers a small pile of platinum.

We go to his ship. Both he and Chambros and all of his crew are crisply dressed. Captain Endymion wants to assure us that he has nothing to do with Cheliax. He is seeking our aid to remove the source of these dastardly rumors against his honor. He will loan us a squadron of ships should we dash these rumors. There is a small group of Cheliaxan performers who purchased a seaside tavern in Hell Harbor named The Theater of Corruption who are the source of these rumors.

I am 100% certain it is a trap. We cannot get any sort of writ to assure us of safe passage and/or freedom form local law enforcement. 3 performers Gorbeard Trench the tuff, Lady Nightshade the woman of translucent skin and visual effects, and Isowen the Diva (singer).

Adele's story is that Scaggs (who recently left Captain Harrigan) shot Dagon's Jaws. Current in middle that sinks ships and something pulls your compass off course. Thought is that Scaggs shot the Jaws, successfully, to escape Harrigan and then disappeared himself.

Sandra Quinn is off on her personal journey as a priest of Bessmara and will be out of contact for awhile. So we can ask Knuckles Gripe to collect the Lady of the Tidewater Rock. We tell Tessa Fairwind of the task we are doing for Arronax and our method (shadow walk there in the morrow). After that task is done, we will take the ship to Dagon's Teeth.

I purchase a crisp dark brown linen suit and dye my hair a stunning red. I buy and modify a parasol for 24 gp that will hold my wands and my dagger. I need to leave the boarding pike at home.

We shadow walk without event. Jeinko and I head separately to the tavern to information gather and to see the show. It is a good show. I pose as Lady Alexandria the Lady of the Rock with a Tide and inquire about patron opportunities. Isowen is open to a discussion of patronage.

Hector seeks out info in the neighborhood of the theater. It seems on the up and up. Flayer swims below the tavern and finds a body. He uses his ring (yea!!!) to discover the guys name was Harcore Spindleleaf. He was a boatswain on a successful ship who was beaten to death and the killer then wallowed in his blood. I engaged a realtor to look at properties and offended the realtor by accidentally implying that he was Cheliaxan.

We go back. There is an invisible spiny devil on the roof. (I have see invisibility.) Jeinko watches from outside. I see the show again with Hector. Flayer searches the rooms during the show using Shadow Walk. The male actor is truly vicious. He mutilates himself during the show and his scabby beard gets worse (Gore beard trench). (Bearded devil???)

So, we have a devil on the roof, a bearded devil in the show and a tiefling (often opressed in Cheliax) in the show. This seems to be a Cheliaxan troupe. I propose to Hector that we leave immediately at the end of the show, return to our hotel and formulate a plan to slay them all, whoops I mean talk to them.

We break to formulate a plan which probably involves greater invisibility, feeblemind, fly and going back to Port Peril to find a fighter.

I can contribute:
Fly spells
Spider climb spells
Mage Armor spells
Greater invisibility and/or invisibility sphere spells
See invisible. (Personal. Do we have any items of spellstoring). Can combine this with glitter dust but spell resistance will apply)

To attack:
Ice Storm
Lightning Bolt
Cone of Cold
Acid Arrow

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A Fifth Letter Sent Via the Lady's Temple (second part)
The Fathomer’s voice in my mind either faded somewhat or, and this thought is more worrisome, became just the same as my own as we made our way into the segment labeled as 3, sneaking toward the ice cavern. Or perhaps it was sneaking that quieted him. He seems to like sneaking into terribly dangerous place to do risky things. Again, I hope we are more different than I fear we are.

The rune here is encased in ice, that is clear as we approach the cavern near to the base of the ridge.

The cavern is vast and deep, all approaches iced completely. And, rather than lower ourselves into uncertain darkness, Jokhula attempted draconic diplomat, as best she knew it. Her mantle perhaps assisted, as her manner showed none of the doubt she expressed when first she proposed the idea.

A voice responded in some surprise, then a moderately sized white dragon flapped up, taking a commanding perch on a wall that overlooked our position, clearly prepared for treachery.

“Cousin,” Jokhula began, “we mean you no harm, nor theft. We are strangers come to this place in pursuit of an enemy of our people and have discovered the damage to reality here and which to do what we can to repair it. Will you let us pass thru in peace, to examine the rune in ice on the cliff above?”

The dragon considers for a moment, studying us. “Prettily said. So you are here about the statue and the puzzle. And you are the children of the Lion. This is an especially treacherous place for you to be.” She switched to common after the first, to bring us all into the conversation. I have, in this telling, translated from the Draconic as best I can... the common tongue lacks much of its formalities, however. “Not everyone has the opportunity to learn the true tongue. The rune is covered for a reason.”

“For safety?”

“It is knowledge that I possess. It has value. More than gold or jewels.” The dragon, Caessalax by name, was clearly protective of this treasure.

“You are wise.”

“And you mean to unlock the pedestal?” She seemed skeptical about the whole thing.

“Do you wish to be in this place?” Jokhula asked.

“I am here by choice. I am not of these other times. I have been studying this place. From what I understand of the way things are supposed to work, there ought not be so many of you here.”

“That is so.”

“I find it far stranger, however, that you and you are here together.” Jokhula and Yvor, in their aspects, seem less a pair than they are normally, a dragon noble and a dragon hunter. The observation is not without merit. And its suggests to me that we are not only echoes of our prior selves, but can be more if we choose to be. I find that comforting, after a fashion.

Jokhula, perhaps, took it differently. “It does seem a sign of some intention," she said, "a sideways portent or prophecy.”

“In my limited experience, prophecies are like eels. Slippery, hard to catch, and seldom taste good.” Caessalax studied us again. “A fight between us is too risky, and I care not to discover your place in the Pax. So I will propose a trade. Bring me either the rune from the forest or the rune from the dark place and I will give you the rune from here.”

She seemed to be unusually clever and subtle for a white dragon, who lore tells me are usually more simple and brutish. But she offered a reasonable trade, we thought, safer than conflict.

We withdrew and started to make plans for the fey wood. Charm and etiquette being essential, we though our skald, Aillie, likely to be our best resource. That conclusion was to be challenged soon, though.

We cross from the ice of 3 thru the wastes of 4 and into 5. The shift into rich forest is rich and sudden, the scent an feel of vibrant life impossible to ignore, invigorating as if the life of this place sought other life to enrich and be enriched by.

As we head to the cliff-face to find the run, there are many woodland creatures, birds, deer, etc, that scatter as we approach. And occasional faint laughs and vanishing figures.

Rounding a tree, we saw a small man in the path toward the cliff. “Good day to you, Travelers.” He bent the knee, doffed his cap. He was barely 2 feet tall, clad all in green. Clothes of a wealthy gentleman, visibly armed only with his walking cane.

When Sir Jarrad apologized for the trespass, but he said he doesn’t claim any of this land, nor command of it. And when told we seek a rune of power, asks if we want any particular one. When we identify it as the one carved in the rock above, he calls it the dark rune.

“Not for any dark purpose,” Jokhula insisted, but he says that’s no concern of his.

Jarred offered bread and honey with a cup of magically created water, all with a good bit of ritual that seemed familiar to him, practiced.

The fellow warned us it’s quite dangerous to be here, as the lot of us are mortal. "And there’s a dragon about and 'Himself' might try to skewer ye should ye approach the rune. As such, He has shrouded the rune, to keep others from abusing it."

He also offered that in the court, the “usual rules” apply, and we might, as little as it will help, tell them Master Briar Green Trews speaks well of us.

He vanished as we make our way further into the wood, approaching the sounds of revelry.

We chose to skirt the celebration if we can, but Yvor’s best path clearly circled us away from the base of the cliff and the rune as well.

The wood respond to him when he tells us they are pushing us away. Once he realizes we can all hear them, he introduces us to the wood. Which seems mocking, but says it is the work of Himself that we can’t approach the rune. As they ask us our identities, Jarred answers in tree-ent tongue, at which they all bow to him. “It has been many turnings since the King walked among us.” (apparently his cyclical mantel is some sort of nature king.)

“We have come for a rune. The dark rune.” Jared is clear and straightforward, as apparently his kingly mantel shares that trait with him. Again, I wonder how like or unlike we can be, at the nature of how people are chosen to bear these powers, or if we somehow choose the power. But this was no time to consider such things.

“That is problematic. The Earl-King guards that rune, as he disapproves of the effect it and its like have on the wood.” The trees were not unfriendly, just clearly respectful of their "Earl-King" and of the threat of the Zolosian rune.

“We need it in a cause to prevent a great evil that threatens the wood, the world, and the very cycle,” Sir Jared answered.

“We would not be here if it were not so. You could challenge the Earl-King. It need not be to the death. If you bested him, he would need to grant your request. But recall that he is a terrible opponent.”

“I do not wish to disrupt this place any further,” snd clearly Sir Jarred believed that challenging the Earl-King would do so. Looking back, I must say he was likely correct.

“There are but two beings the Earl-King respects. His Lady and the Dragon. The second is a latecomer, but many denizens of the wood have spoken in hushed tones and gone out of their way to avoid the Dragon.”

“It seems our lot in life to rush toward such things.”

“Then we can set your feet on the path toward the Dragon.”

Another dragon. Indeed, our lot in life.

After friendly goodbyes, we head onto the path toward the dragon. But as Aillie commented about how all she really only wants a good bath, a claw-footed tub fell from the sky onto Cabhan. Perfectly level and not spilled a drop, despite its bumpy landing.

Kaela pulls him out from under with a magical dimensional shift. And Aillie then took a bath, the nature of this place or her expressed wish or some other effect, perhaps her mantel, somehow making her utterly unabashed about that.

Attempting to be a gentleman, I suggested we keep out focus on going to the dragon, and getting what we need. The wood is clearly paying attention to us, the path a bit wilder and less stewarded, but not blocked. And yes, behind us, the bathtub, carrying Aillie and a tall mound of strongly perfumed soapsuds, gently follows along.

Pushing thru some lightly thorned flowing vines, we come into a clearing in front of a cavern where something sleeps. Piles of fruits, berries, and honeycombs along with crystals rest outside the cave.

Jokhula approaches, there was sound of wings furling, flapping, and then a cat-sized iridescent dragon flaped out of the cavern. He flattered her melodious voice, and
wondered where all the tribute came from, as if it were a surprise.

Jokhulla introduces us, and he wonders why we’re here and why with a woman in a bathtub. And offers us some of its vast feast, if we want any part od it.

He asks me where his cloak is, as what I wear is not my own, which I can't say I quite understand. And that my mother might help him find it, though when I said she’s
been lost some eight years, he just replied “As you say.”

He warned Kaela against calling gods or demons before the Erlking and Aillie to put on some clothes more fit to meet the Court’s expectations. Then he suggested that the Knight and the Wavestrider make the approach, as the Knight is of the Fey Lands and the Wavestrider respect because of his parentage. Again, I had no words to ask the questions that raised.

His name, he offers, is Glimmerflitt. A troubleshooter or fixer or problems. He offers us to eat of his feast, under his protection.

Aillie finished her bath, stepped out, and still quite causally dries then redressed herself, though courtesy demanded we not look. At least Sir Jared and I considered that necessary courtesy.

Glimmerflitt asked us if we’re elderly, because sometimes there’s a bit of passage of time involved in visiting the court and Mortality was a controversial thing there, and
structured time a relatively new concept. We concluded we were likely safe, though that proved only mostly true.

The forest are dense an imposing again as we traveled to the feast, though somehow I began to become more comfortable within it. Perhaps I was succumbing to its magic, though I never felt any specific charm or working.

We came then to a canopied clearing, a throne room, where numerous fey lounged and gamboled about. Seated in the bowl of a cooperative tree was the Erlking. As we entered, the clearing went silent and everyone stopped in place except to turn toward us.

Jarred introduced himself and us as Scions on Ancar, and the Erlking turned to the Lady beside him, who I, at least hadn’t noticed before, lost in the focus the Erlking drew, and gestured the two of us forward. Benches were brought out for the others.

I explained our purpose, to seek to battle eVIL, but the Erlking saID one seldom needs look far to find evil. "On many occasions, misdeeds can come in the name of the light as well. But, out of respect for your grandmother, I will speak plainly." He offered no gap for me to question this, and my mouth went too dry to attempt it anyway. "We have little love for any of this endless repetition. The sequential nature of time makes it see pointless, but we were not consulted. Understand Us, even were We inclined to reveal the Rune to you, there is no guarantee you will be successful in neutralizing the threat. If we maintain things at all, it remains unopened. These are threats from ancient days, when even mortals were more. To show you the Rune is to allow for another great Sorrow to be visited upon the world.” He looked then at Aillie. “You will forgive me if I doubt you can grasp it and put it in your bag.”

I suspect Zolos can open the Trials even without the rune, and said as much. To which the Lady says “To do nothing is still a choice.” She then asked Kaela the state of affairs beyond the wood, of Her Master’s handiwork (which is to say, of the Arch). Kaela suggested, as she saw things it remained fine, except here. But 2-7ths (or more) of this place lay outside the Working, and that may spread. Kaela, Aillie, and the Lady all slowly circle around this idea in conversation I wish I could recall more fully, but the Erlking again demanded my focus, though I cannot say he made a gesture or spoke a word to do that.

I warned of Outsiders working in alliance with Zolos, and tried as best I could to praise the fine court he commanded, but the Erlking said only “Save some of your fine words for the Court of your Grandmother.” And again, I found I could not ask the questions that screamed in my head.

Glitterflitt then said this was all stupid, we have been courtly and the Lady understands our purpose, and "these children have stepped from their world, from the world, because it is in peril. They did not create the rules you, Erlking, chaffe under, so you ought stop being such an ass."

The Erlking was not pleased with this. “So once again, it comes to this. I am expected to place my faith in the hands of mortals.”

“If it goes that badly wrong, you merely have to wait.” Aillie pointed out, the cycle being as it was the focus of his complaint.

“The problem, Moonthief, is that once the door is open, the early bird might get the worm, the the second mouse the cheese.”

He points to me then, without warning, and I was frozen mid-thought. He will reveal it only to me, he said, and trust that my blood will carry the day. Frozen, I could not second guess him and so I follow him away from the court into the wood, which quickly grew deep and dark, imposing and more threatening with each step. It reached toward me, as if to take my concentration into its endless branchings and twisting.

The Erlking apologized then, if only in saying that this would be harder for any of the others. He brought us to a stop at the base of a tree. “It pains us to use one of our mightiest for this, but only such could contain it”

Padhraig’s mantels, now many, all speaking in my head, insist that might need every bits and defend his mind. Against the power that was obvious even looking at this mighty timber colossus before me.

“Sometimes a price must be paid, or be taken from us later.”

He touched the tree and it tore apart, and thus the glyph was shown. It burned itself into my memory even before I started to try to study it, and is still there as I close my eyes to rest them. I will not record it here. Zolosian letters should not be written.

I returned then to the rest, after this most exhausting hour's effort. Save that it was no hour, and I felt on my chin the growth of more than a week's beard.

“You have our gratitude,” Jarred offered. “Just succeed,” the Erlking said bitterly.

“We do hope for your success, perhaps not always in such grim tones,” the Lady added. “We may do some small thing to assist your journeyings. It is not much, but if you are willing, we can extend our blessings.”

“We still have terrible places to go, and any protection is welcome,” Sir Jarred said.

“I would not take it in place of your armor, but this will still do something.” The Erlking glowered, but she reached her hand toward Jared and the blessing flows…

Then, as we walked for the clearing, Jokhula offered her thanks to Glimmerflitt and an offer of future assistance, he said “That is fine and good, but I’m coming with you.”

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O Velho dos Livros #1: O Banquete dos Pucke
Era uma manhã tardia já na vila de Ebbslinger - e assim como o nome sugeria, tudo se mantinha exatamente da mesma forma como ontem, anteontem, amanhã e para sempre. Pequenos Hins corriam pela pequena praça, anéis de fumaça se esvaiam pelos ares, e o cheiro de javali fresco se espalhava pelas casas. Havia um banquete sendo preparado: na casa de Tirminton Pucke, o nobre senhor opulento de Ebbslinger.

Todos os Hins da vila estavam no lar dos Pucke - afinal, era uma toca bem grande - e uma enorme mesa ovalada cercava-se de mais e mais convidados, as crianças e os velhos e os adultos normais. O lorde dos Pucke, por sua vez, encontrava-se na beira mais distante da porta da mesa do banquete, rindo de caneca na mão, sua terceira de hidromel, enquanto falava de suas caças de javali selvagem que fizera na manhã passada. O banquete, obviamente, era javali; o que ele mesmo tinha caçado e se esbaldava de contar em todos os detalhes. Ao redor de todos os convidados e Pucke, havia a sala de jantar da casa, o primeiro cômodo virando à esquerda da porta. Além da sala de janta, haviam três quartos, uma sala de troféus de javali, uma sala de estar e por fim, uma saída pelos fundos - uma saída dos fundos, em uma toca de Hin. Tirminton Pucke morava com sua esposa, Anibelle Pucke, e ambos pareciam feitos um para o outro, rindo alto, falando futilidades, e de olho para que ninguém quebrasse nada da sala de jantar.

O banquete corria perfeitamente bem em sua ordinariedade, até o inordinário acontecer. Como um feitiço, o bater nas portas da toca silenciaram toda a casa. Passando-se alguns segundos de completo vazio sonoro, murmúrios passavam de uma boca a outra, sussurando a mesma incredulidade. Não poderia ser ele, o único que não foi convidado, simplesmente não poderia ser! E continuaram falando até que foram outra vez interrompidos pelas batidas. O que eram murmúrios tornaram-se olhares, vertendo-se lentamente da porta para o rosto carnudo de Tirminton Pucke. O dele, em resposta, olhava para todos na mesa e, em um ato de desespero, riu a mais amigável risada que podia. Mas é claro que era ele! dizia, enquanto levantava-se da cadeira e encaminhava-se à porta. Antes de abrir, dirigiu-se reflexivo e franzudo - é claro que era ele.

Tirminton girou a maçaneta e o semblante em seu rosto agudava-se cada vez mais com a abertura da porta. De fato, estava certo: era um Hin de feições magras, costeletas e barba bem feitas cobrindo todo o contorno do rosto, apontando-se no queixo e respeitando a distância de um nariz proeminente. Seus cabelos, assim como o resto, eram grisalhos, e curtos mais nos lados que no topo, onde se espetavam cuidadosamente. As roupas eram simples - um colete de couro cor-de-carvão, combinando com a calça monocromática e cobrindo a camisa esbranquiçada. Não usava sapatos, os pés sujos de algo pareciam marcas de terra e cascalho absurdamente distantes da grama de Ebbslinger. Toda a roupa contrastava com as sedas de Tirminton Pucke em seu colete, acompanhadas de um kilt e meias brancas, e sapatos pretos bem polidos. De tudo presente nos dois Hins, porém, a maior antítese jazia na sinceridade do rosto fechado do velho. Um pequeno instante depois da abertura da porta, Pucke deu as boas vindas mais honestas que pôde ao desconvidado.

"Arbitair Pip!", saudou em vozes altas, "entre!". Ignorou os espantos confirmados de todos os convidados. E de fato, entrou Arbitair, olhando ao redor da residência.
"Pucke. Não sabia que havia um banquete em sua casa hoje. Acho que o cheiro do javali não chegou em mim", disse Arbitair, mantendo o rosto fechado. Pucke riu, olhando do recém-chegado ao convidados incrédulos.
"Ora, meu caro, mas o cheiro podia ser sentido de toda a vila! Acho que tem algo errado com suas narinas", afirmou Pucke.
"Oh, aquele que você caçou por um dia inteiro e tomou crédito. Teve ajuda do macho que disputava sua parceira?", perguntou Arbitair, e apenas a pergunta foi o suficiente para despertar ares de dúvida aos que serviam-se da besta na mesa de janta. Arbitair também se aproximava aos poucos ao banquete, olhando os quadros, os enfeites e os pratos guardados. Poucos notaram o instante que Tirminton arregalou os olhos ao ouvir a fala de Pip, pois se recompôs no momento seguinte.
"Mas poxa, de forma alguma! Foi uma caça limpa, e cada flecha certeira! Mas nós caçadores não podemos ter pressa, não é mesmo, por isso a demora", manejou Pucke com as palavras. Arbitair não ouvia mais o nobre, a poucos passos da mesa.
"Claro, claro"
Finalmente, o velho sentou-se em uma cadeira vazia - seu dono estava em pé observando em desgosto e desespero a chegada do Hin, mas estava catatônico demais para fazer algo a respeito. Arbitair pegou uma caneca já vazia, a encheu de hidromel e tomou três goles inteiros sem interrupção, descansando-a na mesa após um tempo. Pucke, por sua vez, pegou uma cadeira da sala de estar correndo, acomodou a mesma em um espaço apertado e sinalizou para que todos sentassem, incluindo o que estava na cadeira pertencente agora a Arbitair. Sentou-se e disfarçou o semblante cansado de sorrir tanto com um gole de hidromel.
"Então... o que faz aqui, digo, o que faz em Ebbslinger de novo?", disse Pucke entre tosses por beber muito rápido.
"Bem, eu sempre volto, não é como se alguém pudesse impedir, não é mesmo?", disse Arbitair. "Meus livros precisam ser escritos em um lugar seguro, não quero perdê-los".
"Ah, claro...", respondeu Pucke. Subitamente, notou que naquele momento havia uma chance de tomar controle da situação outra vez. Debruçou-se confiante sobre a mesa e perguntou ao rival:
"E bem...sobre o que você escreveu dessa vez, Arbitair?". Satisfez-se quando ouviu mais que uma vez um riso contido de descrença dos outros convidados ao velho. Este, porém, manteve-se quieto, girando o conteúdo restante de sua caneca.
"Dessa vez não foi muita coisa, não cheguei tão longe quanto queria. Ouvi uns cavaleiros falando sobre como algumas montanhas podem ter algum deles, mas não sei se é verdade. Vou checar pessoalmente daqui a uns dias."
O ar incrédulo retornou à sala de jantar, dessa vez direcionada ao velho. Havia uma dualidade entre julgar como mentira e loucura tal história, e crer em seus contos, e o quão insanos eles mesmos seriam se de fato fossem reais. Tomando partido da realidade, mas ainda descrente, Pucke olhou de profundo a Arbitair.
"Espere... você está dizendo que vai sozinho checar o covil de um...", perguntava Pucke, quando a resposta chegou mais cedo que o planejado.
"Sim, de um dragão".

Os rostos de toda Ebbslinger reunida transfiguraram-se em espanto. Preferiam acreditar que não fosse real a loucura de Arbitair Pip, mas o medo de tais fatos permeava suas mentes. Pip era diferente, andava para fora da vila e voltava com histórias das mais absurdas, e com nada de prova além de papéis e mais papéis de esboços de seus estranhos livros. O velho não voltava há anos, e nos próximos sete dias, declarariam sua casa como "Patrimônio de Todos" da vila de Ebbslinger, para que pudessem pegar seus pertences, e fazer o que quiserem com eles.
Para o espanto maior de todos, um grito estridente correu pelos ouvidos de todos os presentes, tomando-os de surpresa e encolhendo-se ao barulho.
"O QUE VOCÊ ESTÁ FAZENDO AQUI?!", dizia o grito. Era Anibelle Pucke, saída da cozinha com um bolo de frutas variadas fumegante.
"Tirminton, pela mãe Yondala, por que esse VELHO MALUCO está em NOSSA CASA?!", gritou Anibelle. Seus dizeres faziam parecer que os sessenta e cinco anos de Arbitair parecessem o dobro.
"Anibelle, querida, ele apareceu aqui e, bem, como você sabe, nós, os Pucke, precisamos ser hospitaleiros com todos, não é mesmo? Somos conhecidos justamente por isso!" disse Pucke, rápida e desesperadamente, acovardando-se perante à esposa.
"Sim! Nós somos conhecidos por hospitalidade! Mas ao mesmo tempo, não podemos deixar qualquer um entrar em nossa casa! Você acha que esses pisos vão se manter limpos com os pés desse heremita?! E a caneca?!" disse Anibelle, dando ênfase com os olhos à caneca de Arbitair como se fosse um filho às mãos de um troll.
"Eu, eu acho que, eu--"
"Tire ele daqui de casa AGORA MESMO!", vociferou a mulher.
Não foram necessárias mais palavras, porém, pois o próprio Arbitair Pip levantou-se da cadeira calmamente.
"Anibelle, não se preocupe com minha presença mais, queria apenas passar um tempo com meus velhos companheiros de Ebbslinger", disse. "Não há necessidade de mais alvoroço, já estou de saída"
Pegou um garfo na mesa e observou-o contra a janela talhada elegantemente. Era uma pena que um metal tão bom fosse usado para a comida de esnobes, pensou. Engarfou um pedaço do javali que restava, levantando-o à altura da boca.
"Tirminton, meu 'caro'. Não se preocupe, não entrarei mais na sua casa e causarei qualquer mal entendido. Mas enquanto não estiver pronto para ir até as montanhas, estarei vagando na floresta, vendo o que encontro de interessante", disse antes de abocanhar o resto do javali e deixar o garfo na mesa. Dirigiu-se à entrada da toca, e virou-se uma última vez, olhando para Tirminton Pucke.
"Ah, e da próxima vez, procure mirar na cabeça. Mirar na traseira do javali vai fazer ele sangrar por muito tempo, é sujo e desnecessário para o animal. Sinceramente, se não fosse pelo outro bicho, você realmente teria ou deixado a coisa fugir, ou teria encontrado sua carcaça devorada por qualquer outra coisa que pudesse vir de mais longe. E acho que esse você não teria muita ajuda para contar com", finalizou Arbitair, fechando a porta atrás de si.

O banquete durou por mais pouco tempo, em completo silêncio exceto o tilintar de poucas canecas e as facas colhidas para cortar o bolo de frutas. Tirminton Pucke não comeu do bolo, ao invés disso ficou observando a mesa de jantar por um incontável tempo, antes de despedir todos os convidados enquanto falhava miseravelmente em conter o seu desprazer do encontro com o desconvidado. E assim cresceu em um passo gigantesco o desgosto dos Pucke por Arbitair Pip, ao mesmo tempo que a reputação da nobre família dos Pucke caiu mais do que caíra em anos e anos e anos de contos mentirosos, pequenos favores, e os bons costumes dos Hins realizados à exaustão. Um dia ele conseguiria tombar aquela casa cheia de livros de Arbitair Pip, mas não antes de trazer fazê-lo pagar pelo que fez. Mas antes mesmo disso, era bom comer o bolo de frutas de Anibelle Pucke: sabia o que aconteceria se não provasse de qualquer comida que a esposa fizesse - e não disesse que estava ótimo.
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