Part 3: InterludeInterlude
The Tavern of Broken Dreams (Music)
A great hush had draped over the crowd. Oudilin lifts a goblet of silver-white wine to his lips, sipping it gently to quench the thirst he had worked up telling his tale. Some sit staring in shock at the ridiculous, and perhaps too mundane beginnings of a legend. Some whisper amongst themselves, surprised to learn that The Nameless One is not, after all, another hedge-wizard's rumor. Most, however, wear wry smiles or roll their eyes at the tale, skeptical of its veracity. None could deny, however, the power of the telling, nor the grisly, living detail it was woven in.
"BAH!" a now-familiar voice growls, "That's ridiculous. Are we to trust a tattered old tome as evidence for a man who lived countless years ago? Proof that a whisper of a legend be true?" The crowd murmured in agreement with the Midget Dwarf. Though mostly unbelieving, not a one is paying attention to anything else now.
Oudilin gives a golden grin, "We devas, though strong in the faith, have not abandoned reason in exchange, friend dwarf. I had myself acquired this volume from an old mentor who served Kylae, a Goddess of Law. He, in turn, acquired it from an old sage, who had stolen it from the Private Library of Solten the All-Seeing. All had claimed this to be the true journal of The Nameless One. Still I was skeptical, and traveled far to the silver-spired city of Noronde, where a thousand seers each with a thousand eyes divined its origins. I flew to the Citadel of Lem'Faal to meet a child initiate with the ability to read visions by touching an object. I descended to the burning shores of the Abyss to speak to the Pillar of Skulls. All have verified this to be true."
Another long stretch of silence follows the deva's speech as the doubtful are converted. After all, if one could not trust the word of one of the host of heaven, who could you trust? Still, stranger things have been found in the Planes than a lying deva.
Sitting at the bar, you notice Shara Six-Blades pouring another goblet of wine, and a wench takes it up to replace the one Oudilin had drained.
The dryad from earlier nods, "True or false, it does make a compelling tale. After all, we need not believe it to enjoy it."
With the murmur of agreement rising and falling, Oudilin gives a respectful nod, "Then I shall continue."