>>5449567>>5449279>>5449270>>5449257>>5449210>>5448958>>5448952>>5448876>>5448856“The sample will not keep indefinitely,” you note, and gesture to the Ghoul Supreme’s decapitated dome. “Focus upon that. Glean what you can. It may be useful for the advancement of our ‘Junior’.”
“Or your own advancement,” the Novice notes.
You look at her questioning, and she explains further:
“If what you say is correct, the so-called Ghoul Supreme wasn’t only a powerful telekinetic, but was capable of wielding that magic to essentially mimic others—geokinesis, near-necromancy, maybe more. Not only that, it was able to command lessers...”
“…Not unlike the Fearsome Presence of a dragon,” you acknowledge, though the comparison seems heretical.
“Just as with the draconic fleshweaving, what starts with our lab-rat can become a source of advancement for your own flawed nature,” the Novice cackles.
You’re not sure you like the phrasing, but her enthusiasm for the project has grown at least. You leave her to it, and take your recommended rest.
When you rouse, it is to discussion at the doorway.
“The Dragonborn sleeps,” you hear Oluwadamilare explaining in his practiced dark-elven. “He has fought hard, and must now rest.”
“Then let him sleep in comfortable quarters, with good food, and good music,” a friendly but unfamiliar voice replies.
One of the Queen’s other agents, representative of her House Yvonlace, come to collect you?
“The Dragonborn choice this place,” Olu asserts. “You may bring him this offer again when he is…”
The half-human archer trails off as you approach, and both eh and the elf at the doorway turn to you; the latter looks first at yoru mostly bare chest, and then up from there, as if startled at your sheer size.
The stranger is clad in unusually-fine silks for a Drow, even a highborn one, and these have been further accented with dyes and tastefully-incorporated swatches of surface-fabric adorned with complementary patterns. She appears feminine at a glance, with bright eyes which pair well with the attire. The cut is a clever one, too; you know next to nothing of frivolous fashion, let alone ELVEN eccentricities in the field, but it is clear to you that the cut is somewhat uncommon while still not being out-of-place among the local cultural milieu.
“I like your armour,” the elf-maid compliments you, before inquiring with some skepticism: “House Yvonlace made this?”
“I commissioned it from them,” you say. “They did good work. It has held up well in my campaign against the Ghoul Supreme.”
“So we heard!” the strange elf says, clapping her hands together and beaming. “But the aesthetic sense… Yes, I knew it must not be Yvonlace, but you! The Royal House of Tlintear understands the importance of such things. It’s not enough to gather wealth and wear it about with no thought. That is… Simplistic. Basic. Your taste is clearly advanced.”
