The march back to Melvaunt was uneventful, and no mention of the encounter with the dragon was made by Slegna, JessaKat, and Arcadian.
The arrival at the city didn’t go as smoothly as the march. Barely after entering the city, the party was surround by uniformed thugs, even popping up on the rooftops. Heavily outnumbered, the party fought back, and the thugs swarmed. They downed Aerndin, sticking a knife in the elven prince’s throat to ensure the kill. One down, they continued to press the attack, but were interrupted by a pair of armored dwarves. After cutting down the thugs on the ground, the ones on the rooftops fled.
“Bravos” one of the dwarves says in common. “Ain’t seen one ’o them aroun in a bit”.
Slegna The Faceless readies his shield and grunting, he speaks in between deep breaths. “WHat… is yer business, kin… Ye dun wish to end up like these petty humans, eh?”
The dwarves reply in a somber tone. "Hold yer axe, friend. Our quarrel is with these ‘er Bravos.
“AYe…” Slegna replies. "Lower yer weapons, then. We might not swing the first blow, but we’ll swing the last."
“The Bravos…” the dwarves laugh amicably, “are Lord Leiyraghon’s hired goons.” They lean over, swiping an ear from one of the thugs. He turns to his partner, and they continue, headed wherever they were headed before they came across the ruckus.
Gaffarion summons a couple skeletons to collect Aerndin’s body, and they move him to a back alley. Arcadian’s distaste for the nobles getting the better of him, he makes no effort to stop the shortfolk from defiling the corpse of ‘his’ prince. With a swift blow of his axe, Slegna takes Aerndin’s head. Gaffgarion speaks up.
“There, that is my mask.” the gnome delights in the designs floating aroudn his head.
“This’ll make a great mask” Slegna replies, stuffing the head in his pack. “Now, let us go collect our reward for runnin’ off that wizard.”
They head towards the city watch headquarters, and are met with an annoyed captain.
“What do ya want?” he grumbles.
GAffgarion speaks up. “We have slain teh wizard Bargle, and have come to claim our reward.”
“You killed ’em?!” The city watch captain’s jaw drops in shock. “Lemme see ’es head!”
“Slegna…” Gaffgarion says slyly. “You have the wizard’s head. An elf, as I remember.”
“An elf?” The watch captain looks puzzled. “I always thought he was a human… but that explains why he evaded capture for so long.”
He hands over their reward, and asks them to dispose of the head themselves.
After selling the loot from their haul and splitting the reward, the group decided to meet again in a week and set about their ways.
DArnell souht out the nearest blacksmith.
Gaffgarion found a bathouse to refresh.
Slegna finds himself a dark corner of the tannery, and set to his work. He spends the entire week, meticulously crafting a mask out of the remaining flesh of the fallen elf, whose name he can’t even recall. Using his new high quality sewing kit, and the local tannery, he creates the best mask to date. He almost feels sadness making such an amazing craft for someone else. He crafts the mask out of the face of the elf so that it’ll fit the smaller head of a gnome. The mouth of the mask is open, and the face made is an expression of pure fear and pain. The long elven ears are used to create a “strap” to tie the mask firmly to the wearer. The face still resembles the elf, but is a grim, horrifying reminder of the last moments of the elf’s life. The skin is hardened in a way that it doesn’t bleed, or have a lot of saggy, fleshy movement. Instead, the flesh has been hardened like leather to protect the wearer like armor. After a long week of excruciating work, the mask is completed. He places the mask inside of a black box, and paints a sloppy dwarven skull in white on the box, and leaves it in Gaffgarion’s inn room.