As they approached the main hall, the sounds of revelry grew louder. Raucous laughter, the clash of tankards, and the unmistakable thuds of fists meeting flesh echoed through the stone corridors.
"Ah," Aerovind remarked dryly, "I see the Nightstalkers are as committed to sobriety and decorum as ever."
Zellrid's lip twitched in what might have been the ghost of a smile. "You haven't seen anything yet."
The massive oak doors swung open, revealing a scene of controlled chaos. The hall was filled with Larians in various states of inebriation, many sporting fresh bruises and cuts that were already beginning to heal. At the center of it all, two massive figures grappled, their movements a blend of raw power and inhuman speed.
One of the fighters, a mountain of a man with a shaved head, let out a booming laugh as he threw his opponent across the room. "Is that all you've got?" he bellowed. "I've had stronger challenges from human children!"
His opponent, a wiry woman with a shock of red hair, snarled as she picked herself up. "Big words from a man who can't even grow hair, Ordeon!"
Ordeon's laugh redoubled. "Hair is for those who need to hide their ugly faces, Mira. Now, are you going to fight, or shall I find a real challenger?"
The hall erupted in cheers and jeers, with several Larians pushing forward, eager to test themselves against their leader.
Aerovind leaned close to Zellrid, his voice low. "Charming fellow, your Ordeon. I can see why you speak so fondly of him."
Before Zellrid could respond, Ordeon's head snapped towards them, his nostrils flaring. The hall fell silent as he strode forward, the crowd parting before him like water.
"Well, well," Ordeon rumbled, his scarred face splitting into a feral grin. "Look what the cat dragged in. Zellrid the hollow hunter, gracing us with his presence once more."
Zellrid met Ordeon's gaze unflinchingly. "Ordeon," he acknowledged. "I see you're still solving all your problems with your fists."
Ordeon's grin widened. "Why fix what isn't broken?" His gaze shifted to Aerovind and Ela, his eyes narrowing slightly. "And what's this? Bringing strays into our home, Zellrid? You know that's against the rules."
Zellrid's hand drifted to the hilt of his sword. "We need to talk, Ordeon. Privately."
The tension in the hall ratcheted up a notch, every Larian present poised on a knife's edge between violence and restraint.
Aerovind, seemingly oblivious to the danger, stepped forward with a flourish. "Gentlemen, gentlemen," he said, his voice carrying easily through the silent hall. "Surely we can discuss this like civilized beings? Perhaps over a drink or ten? I, for one, am parched after our journey."
Ordeon's attention snapped to Aerovind, his eyes narrowing further. He looked the newcomer up and down, taking in the yellow eyes and the easy confidence. "And who might you be, short stack? I don't recall ordering a jester with my prodigal Nightstalker."
Aerovind's grin widened, undaunted by the towering Larian. "Ah, where are my manners? Aerovind, at your service. I believe you sent for me, though I must say, your invitation left much to be desired in terms of hospitality."
Ordeon's eyebrows shot up, recognition dawning on his face. "You're the one I sent to fetch Zellrid? I expected someone... taller."
"Yes, well, good things come in small packages," Aerovind quipped, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "I'd offer to prove it, but I'd hate to embarrass you in front of your adoring public."
For a moment, it seemed as though violence was inevitable. Then, unexpectedly, Ordeon threw back his head and roared with laughter.
"By the blood, Zellrid," he chuckled, "where did you find this one? He's either the bravest man I've ever met or the biggest fool."
"The jury's still out on that one," Zellrid muttered.
Ordeon's laughter subsided, but his grin remained. "Very well," he declared. "Drinks first, then we talk. But the child…," he added, his tone brooking no argument.
Zellrid tensed, but Aerovind laid a hand on his arm. "It's alright," he said softly. "Ela will be safe with me. Won't you, little one?"
Ela, who had been watching the proceedings with wide-eyed fascination, nodded solemnly. "I'll be good," she promised.
Zellrid hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Fine," he growled. "But if anything happens to her..."
"Yes, yes," Ordeon waved dismissively. "You'll tear us all limb from limb. Your reputation precedes you, old friend. Now," he clapped his hands, the sound like a thunderclap in the quiet hall, "let's drink! And you, little yellow-eyes," he pointed at Aerovind, "I want to hear how you managed to drag this grumpy bastard back home."
As if a spell had been broken, the hall erupted into noise once more. Larians surged forward, eager to hear tales of Zellrid's exploits and to size up the strange yellow-eyed newcomer who dared to banter with their leader.
Aerovind found himself swept up in the tide of bodies, Ela clinging tightly to his hand. As they were pulled deeper into the throng, he caught Zellrid's eye one last time. The message was clear: be careful.
With a crooked smile and a wink, Aerovind allowed himself to be carried along by the crowd. "Well, my towering friend," he called out to Ordeon, "it's quite a tale. It involves a dragon, three angry bitches, and a particularly stubborn nightstalker. But first, about that drink you promised..."
The crowd roared with laughter, and even Zellrid's perpetual scowl seemed to soften.
— — —
The raucous laughter of the Nightstalkers echoed off the stone walls as Aerovind finished his tale, his animated gestures and quick wit having captivated his audience.
Even the usually stoic Larians were wiping tears of mirth from their eyes.
Ordeon, his massive frame shaking with laughter, clapped Aerovind on the back hard enough to stagger a lesser man. "By the blood, yellow-eyes, you're full of surprises! To think you not only managed to drag our brooding hero back but also stopped his eldritch madness in Senura and killed an avatar of Mammon!"
Aerovind, barely fazed by the blow, raised his tankard in a mock salute. "All in a day's work for a humble traveler such as myself."
Ordeon's eyes gleamed with a mixture of admiration and curiosity. "You've got skills, little man. How would you like to become one of us? A Nightstalker? With your abilities and our blood, you'd be unstoppable."
A hush fell over the crowd, all eyes fixed on Aerovind. Even Zellrid, who had been quietly nursing his drink in the corner, looked up with interest.
Aerovind's ever-present smirk softened into a genuine smile. "I'm flattered, truly. But I'm afraid I must decline. You see, I'm already a bit of a mutant myself." His yellow eyes seemed to glow a little brighter. "It's quite the tale, but perhaps one best saved for another time."
Ordeon nodded, respect evident in his gaze. "Fair enough, yellow-eyes. You're welcome here, mutant or not."