Tryll's Paragon Quest (Tryll)

[Anastasia]

The elf that emerges is rather unremarkable for an elf - beautiful certainly and graceful, wearing leathers and a cloak, walking out with a staff's help.

"Yes?" He asks blandly, "You seem to want to meet me enough to terrify my assistant."

[Yuthirin]

"He was pretty rude." Calleigh points out, "He called me an imp and a barbarian!"

[Anastasia]

"Quite," The elf says blandly, "But let's put bygones to bygones and get to the reason why you're here."

[Yuthirin]

"MmmmmmmmOkay! We're looking for information on the Ritual of Heavenly Daffodils. No." Calleigh looks confused.

[Anastasia]

"Ah, I believe you may be confused then," The elf smiles, "But I do have some daffodil bulbs if you'd like to grow some yourself?"

[Yuthirin]

"Definition!" Calleigh cries! "Not daffodils. But those are nice too."

[Anastasia]

"I find daffodils more interesting than that ritual," The elf concurs, "One can rarely go wrong with white and yellow daffodils. Yet you want to be a purple daffodil, like any proper eladrin. Or is it for your friend with the scythe?"

At this Westwind shakes his head, "No, I am a Grand Caliph. I'm merely along for the adventure with a friend."

[Yuthirin]

"I don't wanna be a daffodil at all! That's sounds boring! I wanna be a super-courre!"

[Anastasia]

"I see, I see, I see," The elf murmurs, "Excuse my curiosity, but what drives a courre to seek such power? You are hardly the carefree child you should be if you have such might. No, you are a familiar doing your master's bidding."

[Yuthirin]

"Yup!" Calleigh points up. "It's kinda sad when you people figure it out though. More fun to surprise you!"

[Anastasia]

The elf looks up and frowns, then closes his eyes. When they open, they blaze blue and white. "Ah," he says, "How brazen of you. Were your course of action anything but confusing, I would send you to your final judgment. Explain yourself in the name of the Elf Father and the Three that are One."

"My good elf," Westwind says, "I have been told Tryll is often mistaken for an aboleth, but is not one. A djinn prince would not travel with an aboleth. Peace, peace."

[Yuthirin]

Silently, Tryll manifests his true form; a transparent 40-foot long squiddish aberration. Though his face has no humanoid analogue, he nevertheless appears somewhat smug. 'This is true. I am not an aboleth. I am superior. I have a sense of humor!' Tryll broadcasts to the group.

[Anastasia]

"A point to you over the aboleths," The elf replies, "What you seek is not lightly given. Why do you seek it?" He does not seem overly perturbed by your form, standing loose. Tryll's seen enough battles and warriors to know one when he sees it. This elf is no stranger to combat, you're fairly certain he could explode into motion in a split-second.

[Yuthirin]

Tryll is ever-placid, like a calm pond. His tendrils float as though he were submerged, but otherwise he does not move. 'It is a somewhat long story.'

[Anastasia]

The elf leans forward on his cane, and then out of nothing but the faintest stirring of magic, a chair appears behind him. A good wooden chair with padding, which he promptly sits on.

"I have all day," The elf replies. "As do you, I don't doubt."

"Ah, an elf of refined tastes," Prince Westwind says, sitting on the air itself, "What is civilization if you cannot bring to you when you wish?"