>>5337296The dark elf smirks somewhat, while the Bugbear Boss blanches.
“Luckily, that is not what I have planned for this realm,” you continue, taking another drink to steel yourself.
“So we come to the heart of it,” the Ranger-Captain says. “YOUR plan, for YOUR realm, Oh Copper Dragon. Does Princess Jakarmel know of this?”
…Princess?!
“It is… Something that will be discussed with the Queen of the Drow, when the time is right,” you respond, “to our MUTUAL agreement and assent. But these ARE my people’s lands. I doubt any race here has yet forgotten the Age of Scales… The Age of DRAGON, when The Red Dragon ruled these mountains, and the lands beneath?”
To your gratification and amusement, both the mammals shudder visibly at the invocation of your ancestor.
“I do not seek your ruination or slavery,” you assure them. “I seek ALLIANCE. I said it, and I meant it. This realm IS ours, by right, but there is a place for a Drow nation here… And for the Bogbarri, if you can corral and control your people, bugbear.”
The Bogbarri Boss grunts, suddenly less sure of himself, and takes another drink.
“I try,” he mutters.
“And for the future I envision to succeed—a future where Drow live with plenty of resources, expand outward and upward to breadths and heights unknown since ancient days, the Drow MUST commit to this effort. They MUST work with the Bogbarri. THIS, ‘Princess’ Jazkarmel knows, and approved, and sent you to see to. Do you not agree, Ranger-Captain?”
The elf is silent for a time, then snatches the mushroom-jug from the unresisting Bugbear Boss and takes a deep swig.
>15He nods, and passes it back to you.
You smile, and lift the jug.
“A toast, then,” you say, “to the New Age of Darkness!”
The other leaders share you toast with mixed emotions, but without dissent. They might not like each other, might even be wary of you, but they have come to recognize the need you three factions have for one another.
The three of you finish the bottle. Both of them handle it well enough, eventually settling into a strange soporific stupor and exchanging old war and hunting stories. Over friends and children lost to predators, disease, starvation, they begin to actually bond. You are positively shocked when, drunk and disabused of his artificially-inflated ego by the drink, the Bugbear Boss comes to openly weep for the loss of an entire family—a female, several cubs—to the Devourer. Both the mammals toast you again with the last of the wine, for your victory over that terrible titan.
The drink affects you most of all, though. You’re proud to say that you maintain your solemnity and dignity, not letting any inner turmoil spill forth to sully your diplomatic success, but as you excuse yourself and stumble back to your camp, you lose track of the fairly short journey.
