#there is only one correct response to Lorroakan

[snotoflathander]

Some very relatable Astarion dialogue from Neil Newbon's BG3 stream, featuring Tom de Ville in total agreement for once.

[evillittlebirdie]

Refuge: Tav/Rolan

Lia and Cal deserved better.

One day, they would have it. Lia and Cal could have stability and the resources to pursue if Rolan could provide for them. Most importantly, Rolan needed to protect them. And not let some flitting hero come in to save the day. Instead of Rolan, Tav was the one to save his siblings from Moonrise Towers. Tav even saved Rolan when he went out on his own. How he hated that sweet, clueless look on her face when he lashed out at her. That damn, lovable, dashing rogue did what Rolan couldn't do and she did it without breaking a sweat. 

And if Rolan needed to go through Lorroakan's education to ensure his competency, then he would. 

***

"Wrong." 

But Rolan knew he was right. 

"Master, I do not mean to disagree with you, but-"

Lorroakan raised his hand, and a sudden gust of wind left his hand. Rolan lost his footing and fell on the floor. His head hit the wood, causing a sudden ache. Lorroakan walked over to him, standing over the tiefling. "Now, I'll ask you again. What can disable an animated armor?" 

"Sussar Bloom," Rolan replied breathlessly. Even if Tav hadn't regaled her story of exploring the Underdark, he would have known sussar bloom was the correct answer.

"Wrong," Lorroakan repeated. Lorroakan delivered a vile, physical kick to Rolan's ribs. He could feel the trauma spreading along his side. Rolan let out a cry before scrambling to his knees. That was a foolish move. 

Once Rolan moved to his hands and knees, Lorroakan stepped on Rolan's left hand. Rolan hissed in response. Each move to pull his hand away caused Lorroakan to dig deeper into the extremity. 

"If you scratch my floor with your claws, I will personally rip every one of them out," Lorroakan threatened darkly. Rolan stopped moving, keeping as still as a statue. 

"I am your Master. And I am always correct. If I say the sky is purple, then it is purple. If I say that you are a pathetic tiefling, then you are not fit to lick my boots," Lorroakan pontificated, twisting his heel more and more into Rolan's hand.

"Master," Rolan struggled to speak despite his aching head, bruised ribs, and trapped hand. "I only just-"

Lorroakan interrupted him, "I don't recall asking you a question. I merely reiterated the reality of your situation. If you have an issue with my teaching methods, you can leave. You can hawk cheap magical items and whore out cantrips like the pathetic performers in the street. I'm very sure that you'll support your family that way." 

The facetiousness of Lorroakan's words dripped like venom from a snake. Lorroakan moved his boot from Rolan's hand. Instantly, Rolan stretched out his fingers and wrist. He could barely move. The pain shot from his dorsal up to his elbow. 

"You're welcome to resign if you don't want to be my apprentice. And you'll be just another refugee in this city taking up space," Lorroakan said, stepping back from Rolan. He gestured toward the study's door, "There is the exit. Go, and you'll be free. And I'll see to it no other wizard on the Sword Coast will take you on. You'll be lucky to find a job sorting scrolls in a library. However, if you decide to stop being a brat, you can get started on reading and memorizing the fifth volume of Fringe Philosophy." 

Rolan's eyes darted to the door and then to Lorroakan. The wizard had walked away, leaving Rolan on the ground. He walked to his desk and sat down. There was no further direction. 

Lorroakan didn't need him. There was a line of eager apprentices willing to subject themselves to his methods. Rolan was replacable. And Lorroakan knew that. Rolan swallowed bile and his pride. He stood up on his feet and ignored the stars in his peripheral vision. He walked over to the bookshelf to pull out the book and started reading.

***

Rolan should have met Cal and Lia for dinner hours ago. The night was pitch black and most shops were closed for the day. Rolan had been in Baldur's Gate long enough to know his way through the streets. The alleyways were dangerous, but private. He didn't have to hear the words of anyone passing by. He could lean his body against the stone wall and concentrate on the throbbing sensation on his belly. His fingers ran down his side, wincing as even the featherlight touch grazed the spot where Lorroakan kicked him. 

Lia and Cal were worried about him. And yet Rolan could not bring himself to face them. 

The drunks were stumbling on their way home. The barkeepers were hollering, "Last call!". Sex workers had claimed their clients. Thieves had successfully stolen their quota from witless victims. 

Rolan traveled through the streets, subconsciously rubbing his wounded hand with his healthy one. He couldn't face his siblings. Yet he could not return to the tower. 

"There you are!" 

Rolan pulled his staff off his back, putting himself in a battle-ready stance. Anyone who approached him in the middle of the night in an alleyway was looking for trouble. But instead, he came face to face with Tav's cheerful, pleased expression. Rolan could not control his reaction. He jumped back from Tav's body, almost knocking himself back into the alleyway. "Must you always sneak up on people?" Rolan asked, stilling his rapidly beating heart. He returned his staff to his back.

"I was worried you'd run off or something. You don't exactly like me," Tav stated bluntly, looking over the man.

Rolan swallowed uncomfortably. It wasn't that he didn't...like Tav. He just wished she would mind her own business. And stop showing him up. Otherwise, she was lovely.

Now, where did that adjective come from?

"Cal and Lia asked me to find you. You were supposed to have dinner with them about eight hours ago," Tav pointed out, shifting on her feet. 

"Well, you can tell them I am fine. I just...I was busy," Rolan gave a poor excuse, knowing that Lia and Cal would give him an earful when they finally got him alone in a room. 

"Ah, yes, busy hanging out in alleyways. Not even a nice alleyway. This one smells like piss. Don't tell me you're searching for ingredients for potions or whatever magic crap you wizards do," Tav rambled on, her eyes still on Rolan. 

That would have been a much better excuse. 

"Can't a man walk around a city? It's not like I was in any danger," Rolan commented, lashing out in self-defense. 

"No, we just have a serial killer roaming the streets. Other than that, Baldur's Gate is as safe as a garden meadow," Tav replied sarcastically. But her sarcasm was not biting. It was in jest. She gave Rolan a small smile, "Look, I know you can take care of yourself-"

"You must not. Given your rescue mission in the Shadowlands," Rolan pointed out. 

"Noted. The next time we find ourselves surrounded by shadows, I will wait patiently until you ask for my help," Tav stated, rolling her eyes playfully. She was still smiling. How could she still be smiling? "I'll just relay to your siblings that I found you and you're okay. And I'll leave you to..." She looked around the alleyway before setting her hands on her hips, "Whatever...sulking...wizard...male...tiefling shit you are busying yourself with." She avoided eye contact with Rolan before she commented, "You know...if you ever wanted company on these...brooding outings, I'm free."

Thoroughly insulted, Rolan responded bitingly, "I don't need a bodyguard."

Tav huffed frustratedly, "Not as a bodyguard, you ass. As a friend, a companion. Maybe someone who would guide you away from the alleyway and to a restaurant instead. At least the smell of piss comes from the beer. For an intelligent man, you are an idiot."

Rolan quite had it with being humiliated. "I don't have to stand here and listen to you berate me. Maybe that's why I want to be on my own," Rolan snapped before walking by Tav, leaving her behind in the alleyway. As he took a few steps, he mulled over what she said to him. 'away from an alleyway and to a restaurant instead'. He frowned, bemused, before turning back to Tav. 

Rolan smiled, amused, at the sight of Tav already beginning to climb the walls of the alleyway. She was taking her leave. 

"What did you mean exactly, by taking me to a restaurant?" Rolan inquired. 

Tav paused her hand on the shingle of the nearby roof. She stared down at Rolan, her smile now returning to her face. "You know...you and I haven't had a proper conversation. I thought forever that you hated me."

Rolan could feel his cheeks warm, "I...I don't hate you." 

"Well, I know that now. Your siblings made that clear."

Rolan fully blushed now. Cal and Lia teased him mercilessly. Whenever Rolan muttered about Tav, they giggled. They called it 'schoolboy love'. 

"That's why I suggested a restaurant. We could have a proper conversation. And if you don't like me, then at least you get a meal out of it. My treat," Tav offered, now swinging her body back and forth on the edge of the roof. There had to be a story behind Tav's comfort with Baldur's Gate. 

"Well, I suppose that we could..."

"I'll take that as a yes!" Tav called out, her voice loud with excitement. "It's a date. I'll pick you up from the tower tomorrow. No backing out. It's a date," She beamed before hopping up on the roof. And within seconds she disappeared into the night.

Between the events of the day and night, Rolan was swimming with emotions. Maybe it was some rational part of him that allowed him to smile. He rubbed his hand again. The pain had lessened. He would be able to write with it soon. Rolan could only hope to please Lorroakan and be free by the time Tav arrived for their date.

Wait...

What...

"...A date?"

[blackjackkent]

OK, picking up with Hector the morning after fighting Aradin. Apparently Aradin's body is just going to remain on the floor of our hotel room indefinitely, which is kind of a bummer.

Hopefully we can move him or something later, but for right now we have important business, namely helping Aylin beat up Lorroakan.

(To recap: Lorroakan not only tried to have Aylin captured/kidnapped and probably has Bad Intentions for her, but he also had a trick rigged up in his shop that almost straight up murdered Hector, and also seems like he beats Rolan as his apprentice. So this guy needs a thrashing.)

The questlog item says we need to go to Ramazith's Tower, which is in the Upper City, but it seems like the only way we can do that is by going in through the portal upstairs in Sorcerous Sundries (the right one, that is, not one of the ones that almost killed Hector).

Since we're currently barred from entering the shop, it's time to load up Jaheira's Wind Walk spell again. Technically Gale's invisibility spell, since it lasts a full minute, would be sufficient this time since we know exactly where we're going, or even (it occurred to me after yesterday's session) Disguise Self, but Wind Walk is objectively much funnier, which is worth a sixth level spell slot.

Out of gas form and into the correct portal we go.

Lorroakan is sitting on a chair made of books in front of another pile of books, perusing a book. Rolan, looking bruised and somewhat cowed, is standing nearby. Both wizards look up curiously at the sound of Hector and his companions flowing through the portal one after the other-- and then Lorroakan starts to his feet as he recognizes Aylin among them.

She doesn't give him time to speak, but strides towards him with fury in her gaze, her wings furling behind her with an elegance that belies the violence she is capable of. "What have we here?" she snarls, her voice resonant with the divine power of her birth. "A magician in a tower, hiding away from the frightening world..."

"What are you so scared of, magus? Not the Nightsong, surely... why, she's nothing but a relic to be purchased and pursued!"

Rolan's head snaps back, his eyes widening. "My gods..." he mutters hoarsely. "The Nightsong is a person?"

But Lorroakan does not share his apprentice's shock. He simply stands slowly from his throne of books and stares down at the newcomers with a slow, satisfied smile.

"At last..." he murmurs. "There you are, my dear..."

"You will address me with due deference!" Aylin thunders in response; her wings give a sharp flick in emphasis. "I am Dame Aylin! And you are a whelp without honor, without pride, with nothing but a tower full of trinkets!"

Hector can almost feel her rage; unlike Karlach's which cooks the air with physical heat, Aylin's is the cool blue-white of moonlight, icy and sharp. Is Selune watching this confrontation, he wonders somewhat dizzily. Does she witness her daughter's struggles, and those who stand beside her?

Lorroakan, uncowed by the aasimar's anger, simply smiles wider, and gestures with one hand in an elaborate mock-bow. "My apologies, *Dame Aylin,*" he says. "I meant no disrespect. Perhaps we could start over. I am Lorroakan. I am *most* pleased to make your acquaintance."

His eyes flick to Hector. "And that of your fine companion, who perhaps heard I was looking for you."

Hector abruptly finds himself remembering another moment, quite different in tone but not in import - Araj Oblodra turning away from Astarion dismissively and treating Hector as the vampire's keeper. In a way, this feels similar; Lorroakan thinks he is about to make a trade with Hector for the life of this woman, as if she was nothing more than an object to be bought and sold. It makes Hector feel more than a little uncomfortable.

Were it not for the questions about the whole business that still linger - and the fact that Rolan is here, potential collateral damage - he would simply stand back and let Aylin loose. As it is... he has to play this carefully.

"You've offered a huge sum to whoever brings you the Nightsong," he says. His voice is tightly controlled, carefully reserving his anger until he is certain Lorroakan has said everything of use that he might have to offer. "Explain why."

"Dame Aylin," Lorroakan says brightly, "I have discovered a device that would allow your immortality to be shared. It would cause you no harm, no pain of any kind." He takes a cautious step forwards towards her - apparently blind to the fact that her wingtips are lifting again, her fists clenching at her sides. "You serve your mother, Selune, I belive? She who has blessed our realm with so many gifts. Honor her by sharing yours."

His smile is beatific, dramatically warm-- but Hector thinks he can see past it to something darker underneath. He is not telling the truth; he can't possibly be, based on everything Hector has seen. The magic that bound Aylin to Ketheric was built on a torture chamber. And certainly the words are only having a further galvanizing effect on Aylin; a muscle is working in her jaw and there is fear mixing with the anger in her gaze.

"You do not seek to share my gifts - you seek to poach them!" she cries furiously. "You dare to threaten me with the same magic that held me in torment for a hundred years!"

At once the smile on Lorroakan's lips turns brittle and cold. His fingers flex into a clenched fist and he sneers disdainfully at her. "I had hoped to appeal to your better nature," he says with a dismissive click of his tongue. "Perhaps I overestimated you. No bother..." His eyes narrow threateningly. "I have an arsenal of implements capable of convincing you to see reason."

Hector shifts involuntarily forward onto the balls of his feet; he can sense the situation rolling towards violence, already almost out of control. His companions are doing the same.

"They say madness and genius are separated by but a hair's breadth," Gale mutters. "Perhaps the same is true of madness and stupidity."

Stupidity indeed, Hector thinks regretfully. Just like Aradin's stupidity last night - an unmatched level of hubris, greed, and cruelty, all intermixed. Foolishness.

As if the daughter of Selune would not have more support above her and behind her than these fools could ever hope to conjure...

"A man named Ketheric Thorm already tried stealing Nightsong's immortality," Hector says quietly. "He's dead now."

"But his magic lives," Lorroakan answers gleefully.

Hector feels his jaw tighten. Dimly he had wondered if it was somehow possible - if Lorroakan really had found some miraculous magic that could do what he said without hurting Aylin. It would be nothing without Aylin's approval regardless - but it would have been a sign of something less than abject cruelty on the wizard's part.

But no. It is Thorm's mechanism for immortality that Lorroakan has learned of and wants to harness. It is the same sadistic tool that kept Aylin trapped for a century. There is no nuance here, no benefit of the doubt to be had.

"I'd hoped you'd keep an open mind," Lorroakan goes on. "But it seems you're determined to make this as difficult as possible."

He snaps a finger in Rolan's direction. "Boy! At the ready. once I"ve taken control of the aasimar, she must go directly into the caging runes."

Rolan has been very still, watching this all unfold. Unlike the confident, even arrogant scholar Hector met on the road, his attitude in the shop and in the tower has been more like a cowed pup, kicked too hard by the master it wanted to love. But out of the corner of his eye, Hector has been able to see that he has been troubled by this development...

And whatever gears have been turning in his head have finally come to a decision as Lorroakan snaps the command.

"No, Master Lorroakan," Rolan says. He straightens up, his shoulders squaring, his chin lifting defiantly. The sharp bruise along his jaw shows darker as the torchlight moves over it. "I would never have assisted you if I knew you planned such horrors. You lied to get the Nightsong here - made us all believe she was nothing but a relic."

His eyes narrow. "I have seen what true leadership can accomplish. But never under your tutelage."

And... astonishingly, he turns to look towards Hector with an air of both regret - and respect.

Hector looks back at him steadily. And equally astonishingly, what he feels is pride. Pride in Rolan for seeing through his blind admiration to the true heart of the situation, yes. But pride in himself, too, for how Rolan has just described him-- a leader, and someone who could raise those around him to be a better version of themselves.

We have both come a long way from the Grove, haven't we, lad? he thinks with a slight smile.

Lorroakan's carefully precise air begins to unravel at this expression of disrespect from his lackey. He sputters in astonishment, raising both hands as if to strike the young tiefling across the face. "Watch your tongue, you child!" he roars. "I could make it such that no wizard in the realm will touch you!"

But Rolan stands his ground, his golden eyes narrowing to slits. "If they're all like you," he answers firmly, "I think that sounds like an excellent bargain."

"Ho! Face us, charlatan!" cries Aylin with a cold, mocking laugh. Her wings spread out behind her fully now, the pale glow of moonlight starting to rise around her body. "We who detest you so!"

Lorroakan, too, has no further patience for this conversation. "Myrmidons - imperatum!" The power of the spell rolls through the tower, a wizard's incantation on his own ground, and Hector feels the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

The armored elementals around the room, inert until this moment, begin to stir, their power linking with their master's as he pulls his staff from his back.