Talinvor (prime)/Where There is Smoke

(OOC note: This vignette has been reviewed and has the approval of GM Quilic)

In the afternoon

Talinvor arrived at The Stumbling Penguin... no, it was still the Stumbling - what was it now? Regardless, he was hoping for some sort of update or news on the island, and Greth was typically the first person through which gossip flowed.

Greth eyed the dhe’nar dubiously. The bard did have a tendency to enable (The) Ordim, and was probably somewhat to blame for the busted door and the infamous new nickname to his bar. “Gonna have to ask you to order something,” the barkeep growled as he mopped the bar with his dirty rag. Wrinkling his nose, Talinvor scoffed but relented. Pointing at something on the menu, he didn’t even bother to look before Greth plunked the drink in front of him.

Cringing inwardly, he glanced down the bar and noticed that a nearby patron had just finished his liquor. Sliding his drink down the wet bar, it clinked to a stop against their empty glass and was met with a surprised glance and a wide grin as the man lifted it and toasted to Talinvor’s health.

Shrugging nonchalantly, he pulled a fresh glass from his case and poured himself some bloodwine he procured from Luna’s Rest. Glancing at the bar, he spied a nearby paper and folded it up to try and keep his glass dry despite that it immediately started soaking up water. The gesture gained him an irritated look from Greth. "Read that an' respond, or keep yer hands off it. Ye may not care 'bout town business, but others do."

Giving an exasperated sigh, Talinvor pulled the paper from under his glass and flicked it open, spattering droplets of dirty water back onto the floor. Holding it by the corner, he lifted it up to peer at it, the ink somewhat smudged from the water it soaked up but still mostly legible.

“Fires that are hotter and burn faster, hm?” he chuckled. “It seems an excellent opportunity to offer our young administrator *my* help. The answer is obvious.”

Dropping the paper onto the bar, it plopped like a gob of wet paper would. “First we will answer her question,” he stated, grabbing a fresh flier and rolling it up into a tube. Then knowing that Greth would overhear as he slipped out of the bar, he continued “But I should point out that she’s asking the wrong question.”

By dusk

The sound of metal striking metal echoed from a short distance from the forge. As he entered, the prickle of sweat immediately touched his brow as the wave of heat expanded out from the hot coals where Roggtar was stoking the fire with poker and bellows.

“Kris Har’esh,” the khanshael recited as if by habit rather than by any sort of friendliness. “Kinda busy.”

Talinvor made his way toward the forge and noting with slight irritation that the dwarf wasn’t turning around to acknowledge him further, he took the opportunity to discreetly wipe his forehead with his sleeve.

“Not this time, you’ll be happy to note,” he replied to Roggtar in an even tone. “I came here to simply watch for a bit and think how to respond to Zofiya’s request for help.”

Pushing the bellows, the hiss of air was followed immediately by a flash of flames and the searing orange glow throughout the coals. “You’re never without reason, bard. Why are you really here? Not to help me or her, I’ll wager.”

Fanning himself with Zofiya’s flier, Talinvor smirked. “Seeking inspiration,” he replied, his eyes watching the dwarf work his magic over metal. He began to hum and the air swirled around and picked up dust and debris from the floor and created little eddies. Then, suddenly he altered the melody which combined the tiny zephyrs into a gust of air that he aimed directly into the forge’s flames. The flames flashed white and a sweltering wave of heat roiled from the furnace.

“Feth you, Tal!”, Roggtar cursed as he backpedaled from the burst of flame. His gloved hands patted his beard to make sure none of it singed off. Then he rubbed his thick eyebrows. Exhaling a sigh of relief he pivoted to finally face the bard and then back to the still billowing flames. “Knock it off, I can’t work if you’re going to mess around,” his hand edged toward his hammer and with a low grumble of incomprehensible words of dwarven, he picked up a piece of...something and hurled it in annoyance at the dhe’nar.

Ducking the poor throw, he changed an octave and recontrolled the air around him and drew the air back from the flames as he clenched his fist dramatically. The fire all but disappeared, leaving just smoke and smoldering coals.

“Are you done now?” Roggtar asked with full on exasperation at Talinvor’s theatrics, as though this wasn’t nearly the first time that the dhe’nar had interrupted him. Hands on hips, his brows knitted together until they were almost touching and the angry purse of his lips made his mouth disappear altogether beneath his thick beard. It was almost comical, but the dhe’nar stifled his mirth at the sight.

“Eii, for now,” he replied simply and then handed over a flask to Roggtar. Eyeing it dubiously, the dwarf uncorked it and took a whiff. Eyes watering, he grinned. “Ah the good stuff!” Clapping Talinvor on the arm, Roggtar took a swallow of the fire whiskey, then exhaled heavily as if he were literally breathing fire of his own.

“Sha’haisa, Tameshai,” Talinvor added distantly and nodded respectfully as he stepped back toward the doorway. “Yea yea,” the dwarf responded as he smoothed his beard and took another swig, hardly noticing the dhe’nar’s exit.

That evening

A small folded piece of paper, shaped like some odd bird swept in through an open window of Zofiya’s office and landed expertly on her desk. Distantly, the sound of a familiar flute flowed ethereally with the wind.