Quoted By:
You find Karz scribbling in his new journal with a quill of some unknown sort, seemingly a spine from some insect or arachnid of the Drow’s menagerie of such companion-arthropods. Olu the Archer is there, also, and to your surprise you find him plucking and strumming a harp—the battered, bent, and apparently restrung harp of the late Infiltrator Paeris. To your admittedly-untrained ear, his technique is not very good, something Karz’s expression at every especially-offkey twang confirms. His expression is solemn, focused.
“Are you capable of bardic music as well?” you ask, catching the Degenerate off-guard and breaking his concentration. He hurriedly sets the harp down, as if embarrassed.
“No, I am not, Superior One,” he admits. “I only thought to… Well, it does not matter.”
His eyes follow the chain in your hand to Davora, and then flit back to you. He stifles a small laugh—not of mockery, but of bemusement.
“You rested well?” he asks, nodding to the female dwarf.
Davora’s face reddens, as if—even failing to understand the True Speech, the implication of what is being said is not lost on her.
“Did you?” you counter, causing his grin to grow and the peculiar melancholy you sensed in him to vanish. “How do the elf leader’s preparations proceed?”
“We should have a force ready in a few days’ time.”
You nod. All according to schedule. Excellent.