"Perhaps it’s not that bad," Othar muttered to himself, lifting another cup of the spiced cinnamon beverage Mortimer had given him earlier. With a splash of the High Roof dwarven ale, the flavor transformed into something surprisingly enjoyable. He took another sip and wrapped one of the fur coats he had found in his quarters around his shoulders, stepping out onto the back porch of the Veiled Haven.
Before him lay the snow-covered expanse of Doskvale, the city blanketed in the fresh winter snowfall. Despite its roots in deceit and shadowed dealings, the city’s beauty in the distance could not be denied. The landscape seemed almost serene, cloaked in a crisp white veil. Othar sighed deeply, savoring the sight, a rare moment of peace amidst their tumultuous lives.
Looking down from the porch, he noticed Totrin and Tinker working on something by the shed behind the Haven. A snort of amusement escaped his lips as he recalled seeing the pair laboring together the first time he approached the manor. How long ago that felt—when they were strangers bound by circumstance. Now, they felt like family, bound by a deeper connection forged in the fires of shared trials.
"Family," Othar mused, a faint smile touching his lips. He brought the cup back to his mouth, savoring another sip. But his reflection was abruptly cut short as memories of the prior evening resurfaced.
Othar’s thoughts lingered on Lady Esmeralda’s reaction when the Veil Ward—the magical barrier protecting the Haven—fell. Her expression of alarm was unlike anything he had seen before. Though she seemed more composed after the barrier was reestablished, the fear in her eyes lingered in his mind.
Mortimer, however, appeared to know more about what had transpired. As they searched for the cause of the disturbance, he had shared cryptic remarks that hinted at hidden knowledge. "Tinker… of course," Othar muttered, recalling the gnome’s contraption that had inadvertently disrupted the ward.
Othar swirled the spiced nog thoughtfully, the cinnamon aroma mingling with the faint chill that crept in from the porch. The Defenders would convene soon—Torganson, Totrin, Grinroot, and himself—but the uncertainty gnawed at him. A clearer understanding of the situation before they gathered might be wise.
Two paths presented themselves in his mind. Should he seek out Mortimer, the ever-cryptic half-orc who often seemed to know more than he let on? Or should he go directly to Lady Esmeralda, confronting the source of his doubts head-on? Both options had merit, yet each carried its own risks and rewards.
Othar sighed, draining the last of the warm, spiced drink. Whatever choice he made, it would need to be soon.
Yes, Mortimer seemed the wiser choice for now. Lady Esmeralda had promised to share more later, and her word deserved respect. Yet something about the situation gnawed at Othar, urging him to seek clarity before the official assembly of the Defenders. Talking to the half-orc might offer insights that Lady Esmeralda could not—or would not—reveal.
Othar rose from his chair, the decision made. He ventured into the Veiled Haven to find Mortimer, hoping the man’s wisdom would shed light on the unseen threats looming over them. He headed toward the servants’ quarters, where Mortimer was likely to be.
Lady Esmeralda’s grace and wisdom had always impressed Othar, but tonight he felt compelled to confront her directly. Her cryptic remarks about the Veil Ward falling, coupled with her sudden unease, hinted at deeper secrets. Othar resolved to approach her now, confident she might trust him with more in private.
Draining his glass, Othar rose and made his way back into the Haven, heading toward the study where she often spent her evenings.
Othar found Mortimer in the quarters, working diligently on some sort of white, fluffy cloak. He frowned, unable to discern its purpose, though the craftsmanship was clearly exceptional. He approached the half-orc, who glanced up from his work with a warm but guarded smile.
“Mortimer,” Othar began, his tone low but firm. “I’d like to ask you about what happened last night.”
"Hmm," Mortimer murmured, setting his tools aside.
Roll a Charisma check (DC10):Roll Charisma Check DC10.
Mortimer smiled, a flicker of understanding in his eyes. “The Lady will explain in her time, sir. You have her word.” He poured two glasses of the cinnamon-spiced nog, offering one to Othar. “You can rest assured that she has everything under control, as she always does.”
Mortimer raised his glass in a silent toast. “Thank you for everything you’ve done to protect the Veiled Haven. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must return to my work.”
Othar nodded, the weight of unanswered questions still heavy on his mind.
Mortimer paused, a sigh escaping him. Setting down his tools, he turned to Othar with a serious expression. “I know you trust the good Lady, sir, but I understand your caution.”
He poured two glasses of the cinnamon-spiced nog, handing one to Othar. “Our Lady has fled her past for a long time, Othar. She’s worked hard to right the wrongs of her youth, but her past continues to pursue her. The Veiled Haven was meant to be a sanctuary, a place where she could finally escape those shadows.”
Mortimer downed his drink, pouring another. “She assembled the Defenders not just to protect herself, but to create a better future for all. Even for those like us—those with sins we’d rather forget.”
Othar nodded slowly, the man’s words resonating deeply. Mortimer smiled faintly. “I’ve probably said too much already. Forgive me.” He gestured to the cloak he was working on. “Would you care to help? It’s a gift for Grinroot.”
Othar agrees, and the two worked together in comfortable silence. (FIN)
(FIN)
Othar entered the study quietly, his boots sinking into the plush carpet as the warmth of the fire greeted him. Lady Esmeralda stood by the window as she often did, her silhouette framed against the soft glow of the moonlit snow outside. She turned at the sound of his approach, a faint smile gracing her lips.
"Othar," she said, her voice warm yet measured. "What brings you here at this hour?"
Othar inclined his head respectfully. "I wanted to speak with you, my Lady, about what happened last night. The Veil Ward falling—it has left many questions."
Her expression faltered for a brief moment before she gestured toward a chair. "Please, sit." She moved to a small table and poured two glasses of amber liquid, offering one to him.
"Roll a Charisma check (DC13):
Lady Esmeralda took a sip of her drink, her demeanor calm but resolute. "I understand your concern, Othar, and I appreciate it. But I assure you, everything is under control."
She met his gaze, her tone softening. "I promise, all will be revealed when we gather the Defenders. Trust me, there is nothing to fear."
Othar nodded, though the vague reassurance left him feeling unsatisfied. They shared a quiet moment by the window, gazing out at the snow-covered city.
Lady Esmeralda sighed, setting her glass down as she turned to face Othar fully. "I owe you thanks for your vigilance, Othar. And for what you did to stop Tinker's contraption." She smiled faintly but it faded quickly.
"But…" Othar prompted gently.
Her eyes flickered with a mix of regret and resolve. "Tell me, Othar, are there things in your past that still haunt you?"
He hesitated, then gave a slow nod.
"I thought so," she said, a knowing smile touching her lips. "We share more in common than you might think. Like you, I am not of this land. But I have come to love it as my own."
She turned back to the window, her gaze distant. "The Veil Ward is more than a barrier. It is a symbol of the refuge I’ve tried to create here—not just for myself, but for others. My past... it clings to me, Othar, no matter how much good I try to do now. That is why I brought the Defenders together. Not just to protect me, but to forge a better future in Doskvale where no one must hide from their mistakes."
Her words hung in the air, laden with unspoken truths