Prejudice

Glowing with candlelight, The River Oyster bustles with wealthy and important citizens of Thradnyss enjoying a fine dining experience. Cutlery clinks on china plates and myriad conversations blend together into comforting background noise, dampened by the sumptuous cushions and furnishings within. The entire restaurant thrums with prosperity and good feelings - except for one private dining room on the west side.

In that dining room, five beleaguered adventurers - a dragonborn, a half elf, a dwarf, a forest gnome, and a wood elf - recline around their table, which is heavily laden with expensive delicacies. An uncomfortable silence hangs over them, heavier than the elaborate tapestries on the walls. None of them have even begun to fill their plates from the family-style service.

“Well,” Lorilla begins in her characteristic whispery tones, “Guildmaster Aithlin certainly does not disappoint with rewards for a job well done.”

“Aye,” Darrak agrees, though he shoots a sideways glare towards Naivara, who sits in a corner glowering at the plate in front of her. “Might as well enjoy it and fill our bellies.”

“I’m hungrier for answers than any of this,” Rhogar replies, his black scales bristling.

“Let’s not–” Vladislak begins.

“Don’t you start,” Rhogar interrupts. “You can’t tell me you’re not bothered that one of our own speaks the secret tongue of those snakes we brought to justice today.” His venomous glare is fixed on Naivara, who refuses to meet his gaze.

“Perhaps it is best that we…clear the air,” Darrak says, also turning towards Naivara. The wood elf keeps her eyes on her plate and says nothing, allowing the uncomfortable, oppressive silence to blanket their table again.

“Well, Naivara?” Rhogar prompts. “Care to explain why you speak snake?”

Finally, the reticent rogue looks up, fixing Rhogar with a glare of her own. “Abyssal. The snakes happen to speak the language of demons.”

“That’s not…better,” Vladislak winces. “I want to believe you have a good reason for this, that you’re not in league with them, but you knew more about MindFog than any of us before we went into that caravan inspection mission, and then you could speak their language–”

“You should be thanking me. The interrogation would have been much less productive without my knowledge of that tongue, and without that interrogation we wouldn’t have appointments with the Silversword Artisan’s Guild tomorrow, nor such heavy purses.”

“We have to take your word for what they said, though, and if you were ‘in league with them,’ as Vladislak put it–” Rhogar argues.

“If I was in league with them, why would I betray them?” Naivara snarls. “Why wouldn’t I have ambushed you instead of them at the gates?”

“Guildmaster Aithlin’s assistant did confirm Naivara’s translations,” Lorilla reminds Rhogar. Darrak nods, stroking his beard thoughtfully.

“You may not be in league with them now,” the dwarf allows. “But in the past?”

“Never,” Naivara snaps.

“How do we know we can trust you?” Rhogar cuts in, still eyeing Naivara with suspicion.

“You trusted me well enough to have your back on that caravan inspection, and I kept a sahuagin from skewering you with its harpoon half a moon ago. What cause have I given you to think I’d betray you?”

“You spoke snake. And snakes are evil.”

“I spoke demon.”

“That’s worse, Naivara. You do see how that’s worse?” Vladislak points out.

“Pretty much the same, as far as I’m concerned,” Rhogar huffs.

“Every single one of us has gotten to where we are today by doing what we had to do to survive,” Lorilla interjects. Her voice exerts a calming influence on the others at the table. “Whether that was traveling across the continent, becoming a skilled lute player and trickster, learning an uncommon language, or other things.”

“Uncommon isn’t the issue, Lorilla. Aren’t you listening to me?” Rhogar hisses. “She speaks the same devil language as those accursed snakefolk who are trying to start a pandemic in Thradnyss with this MindFog.”

“Demon. There’s a difference,” Naivara mutters, but Vladislak is the only one who hears her, and the hearing makes him cringe.

“I’m beginning to think that the snake part is the main problem,” Darrak observes.

“YES!” Rhogar exclaims, throwing up his clawed hands in exasperation.

“I didn’t learn it from any snakefolk. Can’t say as I’ve seen any snakefolk like that since our mission today,” Naivara grumbles.

“But if you learned it from a demon…” Vladislak’s voice trails off; he’s unwilling to finish the thought.

“Cultists.”

“You’re in a cult?!” Darrak demands, one hand reaching back for his battle-axe.

“I was their prisoner.” The elf’s sharp eyes rake across her companions. Only Lorilla’s face is remotely friendly. “Until I killed them all.”

Vladislak inhales sharply. “How many?”

“Dozens. Maybe two score. Most of them were sleeping. It was easy.”

“You killed them in their sleep? Hardly honorable,” Darrak scolds, but this is more palatable than the idea of her being in a cult; his hand lowers slowly back to his side.

“The dishonorable thing was the way they treated their prisoners. Killing them quickly was better than they deserved.”

“The snakefolk we took prisoner today kept talking about Iuz and some other dark gods,” Rhogar remembers. “You think they’re cultists? The same cult, or different?”

“Different in whom they serve and how they go about it, from what the bastards said,” Naivara answers. Her usual hardness belies a hint of compassion for Rhogar, and her gaze softens a bit as anxiety replaces anger in Rhogar’s draconic features. “But I wouldn’t say that’s a meaningful difference. I’d rather die than be connected to any cult again.”

Naivara’s declaration lingers in the air for a few moments before anyone else speaks.

“Well. I believe you,” Darrak decides. “That’s the most you’ve said about your past since we met you.”

“Thank you,” she mutters, but it’s clear she doesn’t mean for anyone to get used to her openness.

“Rhogar?” Vladislak asks the dragonborn.

“Yeah, all right. You pass. For now,” Rhogar tells Naivara, who smiles thinly.

“Then I think it’s best we enjoy this supper, and celebrate a job well done,” Lorilla recommends.

“Right. Drinks all around!” Vladislak calls to whatever waitstaff might be nearby. “My treat this time.”

“Better be. You owe us big time,” Darrak says gruffly, but he’s smiling.

“A toast,” Naivara proposes, holding her tankard high. “To a snake-free future.”

“I’ll drink to that!” Rhogar agrees immediately, and for the first time all night he looks at Naivara like a friend.

“To a snake-free future!”