The elven waiter sidles alongside Cillian, his shadow flicking on the young walls. He pulls out a seat by the fireplace. “Feeling cold, old man?” he says monotone, while pushing in the chair.
“Cold, excited, restless, content, you name it, I feel it,” Cillian grins, “And to top it off I am feeling exceptionally festive due to a recent bit of success, so despite your curt and rude manners I remain jubilant.”
The waiter nods.
“Is this place always so dead? Where are all the people drinking and being merry?”
“A few Wryllenic citizens, myself included, have been forced to occupy this hovel of a town in an attempt to... bring some sense of civility.”
“With some brighter colors in here, maybe open a window or two, and a more positive attitude this place could shape up nicely.”
The waiter rolls his eyes. “Excellent suggestion, sir. And what would the good lord be having this evening?”
“That’s the spirit!” Cillian says with a wink. “I’ll be having a white wine and fresh figs, if you don’t mind.”
The waiter slips off into the restaurant’s hush.
Cillian thumbs through The Illusionist’s Guide to Artful Dupery, refreshing some of the core tenants from his favorite school of magic; he is content.
“Pardon my interruption, sir, but I have a missive here from King Owain Dantaglion himself, addressed to Atrassarorin,” the waiter says, eyes wide.
“Ah, yes, King Owain has something to say. That little rascal. I wonder what he wants now...” Cillian closes his book and then shifts in his seat, “Hand it over.”
The waiter lingers. Cillian makes a subtle gesture, and then a call from the kitchen sounds, “Get in here!” Without a word the waiter turns heel and rushes into the back.
Cillian breaks the New Gwestland seal.
Dear Atrassarorin,
Your services are greatly appreciated by all in the Dantaglion family and the New Gwestland Kingdom. A million thanks would hardly touch the gratitude we hold. Yet urgent matters must be discussed in regards to your brave and victorious rescue of our beloved Gwyllion. Please return to our court as soon as possible.
Warmest Regards,
King Owain Dantaglion, Ruler of New Gwestland
Cillian holds the note out in front of him, fire-light turning the paper transparent. A spark of magic glimmers from within the fabric of the note; it looks to be the letter D; authentic. Cillian wonders, Ah, they want to interrogate me, do they? I’ve been known to enjoy a good interrogation here and there. Let’s see... I have no desire to lose my place by the king’s side, so I better not confess to anything. Many strange sites appear on the battlefield too, like that one time I saw an undead orc riding a demon both explode from holy light... that was something... I am an illusionist after all, so anything is possible, plus Gywllion practically adores me after my daring rescue; I could easily talk my way out of this. I’ll simply deny all incriminating accusation, and attribute any strange sights as my magic illusions. Cillian, you’re a genius.
Satisfied with his reasoning he tosses the note into the fireplace. “Oh my food,” he says, looking down at a plate of figs and cup of wine, “when did you get here?”