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The three entered the room somewhat warily, not completely trusting
this elf. All of the elves that Gnarl had ever dealt with had been decent
fellows, but this Aristo seemed to be the exception. Had Aristo been a
drow, then the gnome would have expected it, but he was a grey elf, and a
strange one at that.
They all took seats on the ancient furniture in the room after Aristo
closed the secret panel. Their movements rose great billows of dust that
had remained undisturbed for untold years.
Sneezing when a particularly thick cloud of dust went up his
prodigious nose, Gnarl observed, "Your furniture could use a thorough
cleaning."
"I rather like it," returned Aristo, drawing one thin finger through
the dust on a side table. "It has that lived-in look."
Targ shook his head slightly. Who in their right mind liked dirt?
But he set those thoughts aside, instead pursuing the line of inquiry that
was foremost in his mind. "So, then, just how much time have you spent in
these passageways?"
"Not enough to get over my dislike for those who drove me beneath the
surface." That was meant as an insult towards the trio, but not knowing
anything about Aristo, they failed to pick up on anything other than the
insulting tone evident in the elf's voice.
Somewhat surprised by the comment, Targ asked of the elf, "Why, were
you run out of elven society?"
"Sounds like what happened to the dark elves," tossed off the gnome
insinuatingly.
"I've never met a dark elf, but they sound a lot more engaging than
the interminable light elves who drove me forth with their insipid ways."
Having heard tales of the powers and attitudes of the drow, Aristo had
always been convinced that he would have had more fun being a dark elf.
"Insipid ways?" Targ echoed, confused by Aristo's phrasing. "You
mean there was some sort of tradition which inspired them to force you
out?" That was the only thing which came to his mind by way of an
explanation for the elf's choice of words. Perhaps Aristo had violated
some ancient taboo.
"No, I mean that I could not stand their ludicrous beliefs and
ridiculous pastimes, so I left."
"Are you saying that you dislike your own kind?" Outside of the dark
elves, Targ was not aware of elves who were not chummy with one another.
"Hatred would be a more accurate term for the way I view elves,"
Aristo corrected him, rapidly disliking the direction this conversation
was taking.
"But you are an elf," Gnarl pointed out with the sparkle of gnomish
humor glinting in his eyes.
"I've never claimed to have liked myself." Aristo refused to be
drawn out by the gnome's probing statement, aware that like any gnome,
Gnarl was trying to use the point to make a joke.
"I've never heard of an elf who wasn't in love with himself,"
continued Gnarl.
"We're about as rare as gnomes who are able to make jokes that are
actually humorous."
"Verily, you must be a unique elf," quipped Zander, who loved to bait
his gnomish comrade. Gnarl ignored the attempt, preferring for the moment
to try and poke fun at this elf.
"Actually, I don't think of myself as being an elf. It makes things
rather easier."
Not letting the chance pass by, Gnarl rubbed the tips of his ears and
observed, "Then I take it you haven't looked in a mirror of late?"
Remaining silent, Aristo casually unsheathed the four daggers he
carried on various parts of his body and began juggling them with the
practiced ease that came from whiling away endless amounts of time spent
in exceeding boredom. Targ and company became uneasy at this, and were
obviously itching to ready spell or weapon for whatever this elf had in
mind.
Only then did Aristo say, "You have a most cutting wit, gnome.
Perchance you would like a demonstration of mine?"
"I was hoping that we could avoid bloodshed," offered Targ, hoping to
do just that.
"Bloodshed? I've found that corpses seldom bleed much," responded
Aristo hintingly.
"Are you threatening me, elf?" Gnarl pronounced the word "elf" with
as much insult as Aristo had "gnome."
"Not yet." A dagger broke from the whirling formation and with
blinding speed buried two inches of its blade in the top of the table
beside Aristo. "Why, would you like me to?"
"What say we forget the promises of violence and return to the
conversation? You were saying why you left the world above, weren't you,
Aristo?" Zander's unease was audible in his voice, for he disliked the
ease with which this elf handled his daggers.
In a matter of seconds, Aristo had skillfully resheathed all of his
blades. "Indeed, I found all of the races of the world to be as bad as
elves, and so descended into these tunnels, since those who live down here
are so much nicer. And yourselves?"
Disbelieving his ears, Targ echoed, "Nicer?!? You're the only one
we've met down here so far who hasn't attacked us outright. You call that
'nice'?"
"But of course. If a body does not attack you outright, that only
means he will stab you in the back later on when you least expect it." He
favored the trio with one of his twisted half-grins, wondering if they
were bright enough to pick up on the meaning of that.
"Surely you don't believe that." Zander was not certain if Aristo
was serious or not.
"Surely I do," countered Aristo, recalling the painful experience
with the pair of dopplegangers. "When they attack you right off it makes
things a great deal easier."
"So, do you prefer to kill people right off, or wait until they're
not expecting it?" inquired the gnome.
"Actually, I don't normally kill people unless they do something to
annoy me... Sort of like what you are trying to do..."
"Gnarl, behave yourself," Targ admonished the gnome, hoping for once
to get out of an encounter with an inhabitant of these tunnels without an
excess of blood and gore. "Aristo, we agreed to an exchange of
information, not insults."
"Then, since I've been the only one who has been presenting any
information, I would say that it is now your turn."
Accepting that as a hopeful indicator of no further threats of
violence, Targ asked, "So, what information do you seek?"
"Ultimately, nothing you would be able to grant me." At their looks
of confusion, Aristo clarified, "I am in search of wisdom and ancient
lore, which you obviously do not possess."
Trying to rephrase that in his own terms, Zander said, "In other
words you're down here in search of power."
"Too bad," quipped the gnome. "Were it not for your attitude, you
could join up with us."
Aristo glared flatly at the gnome. The gnome's idiotic comments
aside, Aristo had no desire to join up with this messed up threesome. And
why is it that every group of adventurers I've met so far has had major
problems? Aristo wondered to himself.
In any case, Aristo was tired of pursuing the bland process known to
adventurers as "dungeon crawling" any further than he had to. He had long
since grown weary of that approach, mucking about in age-worn passages
inhabited by suicidally bloodthirsty monsters. He had once thought that
it would be fun, but the time he had spent down here had been mostly
tedium and dullness, or worse, he thought, recalling Gnymar and the other
gnomes.
Besides, adventurers were always thrashing monsters for the sole
purpose of getting more treasure, and treasure was not what inspired
Aristo. He could have gotten all of the treasure he could carry from the
halflings, or any of several other groups he had thus far encountered.
And these three, Aristo knew, would be of no use to him in his quest. A
pair of illusionists and an overly self-confident martial artist were not
what Aristo dreamed of as the ideal adventuring companions. Not to
mention that the gnome was getting on his nerves and would likely not
survive for long if Aristo were to actually join up with them.
"I have no need of treasure or material wealth, which is what you lot
are after. It is of no use to me down here, since I have no intention of
ever again returning to the world above. I am in search of knowledge and
the power it grants. That is why I am a real mage, and not a faker
illusionist."
Not one to lightly take insults to his profession and the time he had
spent in learning it, Zander countered with, "Your manners are wanting."
He would rather have said something stronger, but had no desire to provoke
Aristo.
"Wanting what? My manners are impeccable when I choose to use them."
Indeed, his elven upbringing had seen to that, although he would rather
have forgotten the lot of it.
"Then perhaps you should use them more often," Zander advised him,
since he did not feel that manners were something to be used only when
convenient or useful.
"I see no point in such needless expenditures of energy. I have
better things to do."
"With an attitude like that, it is no wonder that you have problems
getting along with others."
Aristo did not fully agreed with that, since he was usually willing
to give others a chance, at least until they began to annoy him, as these
fellows were starting to do. However, others never seemed to be willing
to give him a chance, and refused to attempt to tolerate his differences.
"I? 'Tis not I but others who are intolerable."
"Certainly no more so than you," Zander assured him. As he saw it,
Aristo definitely had problems relating to other people.
"I? Intolerable? Were I so you would already be dead, and better
off would we both be for it." This conversation was going down hill, and
Aristo's patience for it was almost gone. It was beginning to remind him
of the insipid ideals his elders had tried to thrust upon him before his
patience had run out and he had departed his elven House for good. Being
lectured always put Aristo into a foul mood.
Targ shook his head slightly, wondering if this elf had perchance run
afoul of some dire beast in these dank and evil caverns, for he had heard
tell of creatures with powers to bend the minds of others and drive them
insane, and Aristo certainly seemed rather unbalanced to him. He was not
sure this conversation would last much longer, and he was beginning to
doubt whether they would learn anything useful from it. Targ was already
in a mood to move on, for right now he would rather have been fighting
orcs than conversing with this unusual elf. But he did not want to give
up the chance to find some valuable hoard of treasure, for he was certain
that if Aristo had truly been in these tunnels for long, then he would
have heard of at least a few such hoards.
-- 9/6/6526 --
Aristo watched as the trio of irritating adventurers retreating down
the passage. He closed the secret panel, glad to see the last of them,
having grown fed up with their presence. Besides, he had learned nothing
useful from them. They were just some base adventurers, out for a thrill
or two and plenty of treasure. Thus, they had not known much of the
dungeon, and had consequently failed to provide him with any information
or enlightenment.
In fact, Aristo was surprised that they had survived long enough to
get this deep into these tunnels, for they did not strike him as being
competent enough to survive against the creatures lurking about down here.
Actually, that seemed to be a fit description of all of the adventurers he
had ever met down here. Such must be why adventurers seemed to get killed
so frequently, as the majority of the adventurers he had thus far run into
were dead, and he assumed that this trio would soon be added to that
number, and he would not be saddened in the least were it to happen.
Thinking about that, Aristo wondered how it could be that there
remained so many adventurers about down here, what with their propensity
for being killed and all. The reason for that was beyond Aristo. It must
be related to orcs -- they were always being picked on and killed off, and
yet there seemed to be an endless supply of them, for their numbers never
appeared to decrease. Assuring himself that some supernatural agency was
involved, Aristo gave the matter no further thought.
In return for their lack of useful information, Aristo had only given
the trio a small portion of what little knowledge he had garnered about
these passageways, regretting only that he did not know the location of
any powerful monsters, that he might direct them into the lair of such a
beastie. He had considered directing them to where the halflings were
hold up, but decided against it, since the halflings might learn about
this place where he was currently resting, and being chased by vengeful
halflings was not something Aristo could have possibly taken seriously.
As for the three adventurers, they had obviously not cared for
Aristo's company. Gnarl and Zander hated Ari because of his dislike for
illusionists, while Targ loathed him for the way Aristo despised an
orderly approach to life, preferring a more random and chaotic one, which
was something quite contrary to the beliefs held by the members of the
Brotherhood of the Golden Twilight.
Since they were finally gone, Aristobulus could rest in peace and
examine the trinkets he had lifted from some of their pockets, which had
taken a good deal of effort because of their distrust of him. The stuff
was mostly worthless junk, with a few slips of paper covered by illegible
scrawls, a section of a map that was instantly wadded up and tossed in the
far corner, a number of coins, and some other baubles that were of no
value to him, although he did lift a pretty piece of amber off of the
gnome. Ari shuddered at the thought of gnomes: they truly got on his
nerves.
Too bad he had not been able to play any good mind games with them,
but they had been paranoid and on their guard against everything that
Aristo had said and done. He would have liked to have messed with their
minds, especially that bloody gnome, who had continually tried to provoke
Aristo. The little bugger must have had a death wish. Aristo would have
gladly fulfilled that wish, but had decided in the end that a gnome was
not worth the effort and satisfied himself with knowing that the three of
them would almost certainly get smashed by some vicious critter before
they were through.