Children of Ruin, part seven

"So then," asked Jacques Fontaine, taking the lead while his sister Yvette settled back to observe and their brother Julien leaned against the wall to watch for trouble, "What can we do for you?"

"Join us for adventure, of course!" boomed the golden-scaled dragonborn who had introduced himself as Scar. 

One of the True Elves touched Scar on the elbow and drew him slightly back, then offered a small bow. They were in the Grand Hall, where Lady Emiliana Fontaine had often held court -- or dinner parties for the local notables. It was also where they'd held vigil for her after she died, and again when their own mother had passed -- but he pushed those memories aside. This was... Tybalt? Was that right? Jacques was pretty sure it was, though between the sheer number of new names the resemblances between the three new half-dragons and all the various elves was enough to test even his memory. 

"Forgive us," said Tybalt, as he straightened. "Our arrival was unexpected for us as well -- Magister Latosh only spoke of it as we were departing Duendewood. If it smooths the waters any, it was your father's idea."

"Forgive me," said Yvette, before Jacques could respond. She stepped forward. "I'm still collecting names and roles. You were Tybalt?"

"I am," he said, and offered her a bow as well. 

"And you are a cleric..."

"...Of Ruin," Tybalt confirmed. "God of the Lost." He and his full siblings had settled on that after some discussion; it was the thing that best seemed to them to gather the various roles and traits that had defined their father in his mortal life and after.

"And Ruin was our own father's friend, the True Elf who ascended living to Asgard, and with his friends freed the souls that Galvera had taken, thus becoming the Highwaymen."

"Correct," Tybalt said simply, with just the slightest glance back at the half-dragon behind him, who towered over him without diminishing his presence in the slightest. 

"Thank you," said Yvette. "I think I have that straight now." She glanced around the room, smiled. "I'm afraid I may need your names again at some point; the crowd of you is quite a lot to take in."

"We wouldn't have it any other way, m'lady," said Scar, but he'd managed to rein himself in and kept his voice gentle this time. 

"...Which brings us back to the point of this visit," another of the True Elves, stepping forward. She was, Jacques thought, Tybalt's full sister -- the paladin called Ash. "We're reliably informed that a band of gnolls has made their way down into the Ladriano Woods, and is raiding settlements around Aldpond. We decided to do something to prevent that, but... Well, Magister Latosh, would you take it from here?"

The old man nodded. "Your father much desired for you to know the children of his friend and ally, and felt that the three of you might also benefit from this experience. Possibly not in that precise order."

Jacques made a quick visual count. Twelve, with the three of us -- and that's if Magister Latosh chooses not to remain as well. He nodded slowly. "Even with no other troops, this is a formidable force," he observed.

His brother Julien stepped up beside him and said, simply, "If father calls, then we can hardly refuse. And while Aldpond lies well outside our demesne, our duty as nobles is clear."

Jacques sighed. He supposed the end of the poem -- and the rest of his letter to Lady Fiona Silvercliff -- would simply have to wait on his return.

Still, he couldn't deny a certain excitement. He'd been trained for a life at Court: oratory and music, swordsmanship and a variety of magics. The chance to test himself, to show the worth that the Dukes had viciously turned away from... No, I can hardly let a chance like this pass by.