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milliways, the lurking thereof
A few years ago, Deekin would have been very cavalier about this weird demiplane that just inserted itself into the Underdark, much as he was about basically everything. Times have changed, though; now Tynan is a factor, so instead of skipping merrily towards the bar, Deekin keeps his crossbow high and his stance low, even as the baby pokes his head out of his rucksack and babbles merrily.
...This place doesn't seem to be dangerous in any way.
This is intensely suspicious.
But after a quick casting of See Invisibility, a nip of Barkskin potion for Tynan, and a nice loud Curse Song in case someone's still hiding somewhere, Deekin feels comfortable enough to sit at the very polite bar and get free drinks. (Tynan gets some kind of strange black milk, which he obviously enjoys. Deekin gets something he thinks might be apple cider with a shot of cow blood, which is very nice even if it does kind of remind him of Tymofarrar.)
...This place doesn't seem to be dangerous in any way.
This is intensely suspicious.
But after a quick casting of See Invisibility, a nip of Barkskin potion for Tynan, and a nice loud Curse Song in case someone's still hiding somewhere, Deekin feels comfortable enough to sit at the very polite bar and get free drinks. (Tynan gets some kind of strange black milk, which he obviously enjoys. Deekin gets something he thinks might be apple cider with a shot of cow blood, which is very nice even if it does kind of remind him of Tymofarrar.)
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Enserric groans loudly. "If you tell the unadulterated truth one more time I swear to Mystra I am going to rust myself."
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The interesting thing about being perfectly honest all the time is that people often forget that you can lie. Deekin has become very good at being perfectly honest.
Draconic channeling is a complex process, and training in that process necessitates that the student learn control. Control of oneself, control of one's environment, and most of all control of one's thoughts. Deekin's thoughts at the moment are split between ingenuous joy at being free of the dark and danger, earnest planning of how best to protect hundreds or thousands or millions of innocents from a galaxy-spanning war, and an ever-present awareness of the child on his back.
Notably absent is the thought that he is going to find whoever is responsible for the harm that has been done to his soon-to-be home and destroy even the dust that remains when he has disintegrated them.
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She is going to be checking up on him because that's good practices, but she doesn't think he's lying to her.
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"Deekin can give you instant communication with Deekin over any distance if that helps. Even if just for chatting, really, would be nice to have friend to talk with in new universe."
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His speaking voice is high-pitched and unimpressive. Put uncharitably, he talks like a living dental drill. Singing, though, he's a crystalline tenor, filling the air with wordless notes pitched in perfect harmony with the vibrations of the universe. He accompanies himself, somehow, with his wings; looking very closely, they seem to be slowly working along a suite of invisible violins, a ten-part harmony executed perfectly by every twitch of his body. The dagger in his hand works like a conductor's baton dictating the beat of a thousand inhuman hearts.
After some minutes of this, his eyes fill slowly with brilliant light, which flows across the divide into Callida's own. The music fades out; Deekin slumps, bleeding from his slitted eyes, and gropes around his pack for a potion of healing, which he knocks back to obvious relief. "Wooh. Fun... times."
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Callida should maybe not let this person into her universe without being very very sure of them.
"Are you all right?"
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And now we can talk telepathically!
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'Lo, Enserric drawls. I'll butt out if you'd rather.
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Huzzah! Deekin cheers.
Back in meatspace, Tynan rolls his eyes at the general telepathy and vanishes back into his haversack/apartment.
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