The Pain With No Name – Flirting versus Feelings
Nov 1, 2022 9:41:46 GMT
Jaezred Vandree, Toothy, and 1 more like this
Post by Velania Kalugina on Nov 1, 2022 9:41:46 GMT
Takes place some time after Fourth in the Pain With No Name plotline
A tenday after Jaezred and Velania's first sparring match
Written with the ever-magnificent Jaezred Vandree 🕷️
Marpenoth. The month of leaf fall. The low morning sun in Daring Heights shines brightly, almost painfully sharp, piercing through the yellowing trees. Velania returns to the Temple of Selûne from a dawn walk outside the city walls. For some months, she has been on retreat. Reflecting. But for some reason, this morning, she feels restless.
To her surprise, a sealed letter is waiting for her. She frowns, not recognizing the elegant handwriting, and opens it.
What follows the paragraphs is a bar of musical notation – a simple, folkish melody. The note is signed “J.V.”.
She sets down her things, brews the kettle, and pens a reply:
Jaezred shows up at the temple when she least expects it, likely to catch her off-guard as it pleases him to do. Nevertheless, Velania is glad to see him again. The day melts away quickly for the two of them, alone together in the reception room of the temple, with an ceaseless stream of gossip, adventure stories, and cocktail-drinking – sticky toffee apple cocktails which are masterfully mixed by Jaezred in front of her with the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to the elbows, showing off his muscled forearms. The flirtatious smirk never leaves his lips in that afternoon.
Soon it is time for dinner, and Jaezred offers to cook it for them both, letting her choose the menu. She decides on a dish of braised broccoli, toasted nori, with a lemon and hazelnut topping, accompanied with a mango pomelo sago – a refreshing summer dessert made with mango, pomelo, sago, milk, coconut milk, and evaporated milk. At his suggestion, Velania joins in with the food preparation as he directs his unseen servant to pour red wine for them both.
While preparing, Velania asks him about the melody in his note.
“Oh, yes,” Jaezred says as he is braising the broccoli. “Dreadful business, that, though not in the way you would expect. It concerns the matter of… ugh…” He puts his palm on his forehead, as if trying hard to remember something. “A little girl. Yes. I believe… it was a human girl. You see, I have met this girl before and yet I cannot remember her, because the memory of her existence has been taken from me and everyone else who ever knew her. Including her own mother.”
She scowls at the mention of his mind being tampered with. “I am sorry, Lord Jaezred. That must be incredibly frustrating. I assume the notes themselves are safe to hum, as long as one does not know how to imbue them with power?”
“I believe so. Miss Oussviir said it is the tune of a murder ballad she heard once or twice in Port Ffirst. About a woman steering a man’s ship into a storm, so they would both be consumed by the sea. This girl I apparently forgot had a sailor father who died during the invasion. It’s a good idea to write things down…” he adds in a mutter.
“Then has Zola also been affected by this magic? How disturbing this all sounds. I hope its effects have been contained as best as possible.” Velania frowns while chopping the hazelnuts thin, ready to be added to the recipe. Jaezred steps aside to let her throw them into the pan. “It’s distressing to hear of a missing child. Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Why, Miss Oussviir was apparently giving this girl sword-fighting lessons. I found her one day wandering in the square looking lost. She, too, could not remember a thing about the girl. Then, one night last week, she banged on my door, claiming she heard this song and the voice of the girl speaking to her.”
“Interesting that she remembers the song, but so little else of the girl. Given that, it seems far more like this child – or whatever it was bearing her impression – does not wish to be located, far less rescued, don’t you think? Whether she means ill or well by us, she seems to pose a danger to the people of the Dawnlands.”
“Well, priestess, whilst I do not remember the girl and therefore can say nothing of her character, she appears to have been kidnapped by a cult of Loviatar worshippers and is now being held captive in some other plane of existence. They are likely the ones who are causing the memory loss. In making everyone who knew this girl forget about her – especially her widowed mother – they are inflicting pain that cannot be described. A Pain With No Name. This is how they please their mistress of the whip.”
Velania saws at the bread with rather too much vigour. “First Shar, now Loviatar. I wish they might just leave us alone. I have to do something about this, you know. I have to.”
One corner of his lips curls up in amusement at the scene of bread-butchering before him. “Well, you’re in luck, for they seem to want you to do something about it. Two more adventurers who knew the girl reached out to me this week, saying they experienced the same thing as Miss Oussviir. They’re all being baited, if you ask me. I sensed divination magic there – it was no accident.”
“As with Loviatar, so with Shar.” She looks at Jaezred meaningfully. “Mind games was how it was with the Heralds of Blade and Ash, you know. Perhaps that’s why it’s so hard for Zola to talk about it. The wounds are not merely physical, but cut far deeper.” She waves the breadknife as she continues. “Much as I don’t relish facing off against followers of one of the, you know, traditional enemies of Selûne, perhaps I can be of aid. If nothing else, I can lend my support to those who are targets of this new intrusion…”
Jaezred looks at her for a long moment with his arms folded. Then he steps behind her and, gently, takes her hand with the bread knife in his own. He directs the knife down to the uneven pieces of bread that she had angrily sawed, and together, they cut them into smaller, more aesthetically pleasing pieces.
“There is a wealthy widow who lives in a townhouse on Dreamer Street. A dark elf of Menzoberranzan like me, and a bard,” he speaks softly in her ear, in a tone far too casual for this intimate manoeuvre. “She had a magic item that was supposed to help the grieving widows of Port Ffirst. Though she remembers nothing of it now, we believe this thing is what the Loviatans are using to induce memory loss, maybe even where the song is coming from. I think she seeks to right this wrong.”
At Jaezred’s unexpected proximity, Velania holds her breath. It does not need a mind-reader to sense that she is very flustered, though she keeps herself still. “A device or technique to influence people’s minds… Quite the dangerous mistake…”
After he steps away, she exhales and touches the back of her neck, almost blushing. “I can look into this… I can make enquiries… I shall go and see her, and see if there is anything I can do… Th-thank you, Lord Jaezred.”
When she peers up at his face again, she sees the huge devilish grin on his face, mischievous and triumphant – as if it was exactly his goal to make her flustered. “You’re welcome, priestess. I gave you the notes because you seem like a perceptive person anyway.”
She nods. “I’ll go tomorrow, and let you know should I make any headway… oh!” she suddenly rushes to the pan to check the food. Fortunately, nothing seems to be burning. It is perhaps as if it never was, and Jaezred was aware of this all along…
“Feeling bit hot in here, priestess? Kitchens can be hot. So hot that sometimes I cook with less clothes on...” He cackles softly as he goes over to the pan and starts plating the broccoli. He is evidently enjoying this way too much.
“Well that certainly strikes me as somewhat reckless.” Velania’s eyebrows rise at this level of overtness, and she smiles gently at him. There is no coyness or playful sparkle in her eyes, merely a hint of bemusement. It is easy enough for Jaezred to read that she is not regarding him with hostility, but merely from the other side of an invisible line.
Everything grinds to a halt as Jaezred stops in his tracks and turns to look at her. Even the oil in the pan seems to stop sizzling. “I hope I have not caused offence, venerable priestess,” he says.
She blinks, somewhat flustered, though the moment lasts but a fraction of a second. Then, a gentle aura of moonlight resonates subtly from her, and her countenance becomes calm, beautiful, divine, like the blooming of an evening primrose under the glow of the evening sky. “Not at all. I’m sorry I was being so careless with this knife.” She sets it down and looks at the pieces of bread. “I suppose we could have croutons then.” She gives a droll chuckle.
Jaezred stands there, seemingly planted in the ground before her. He appears to be… admiring her?
But he, too, quickly regains his composure and puts on that cheeky smile again. “I know I can be a bit of a tease, just hit me with a roll of broadsheets if you think I’m being too much,” he says jokingly, though at the same time sincerely. “You are even cuter when you’re flustered, can you blame me?”
He lets out another low cackle and turns to head for the table to set up.
“Either I’m cute and flusterable, or I’m a high priestess; I can’t deny it is rather flattering that you are attempting to pair the two together, but I’m not sure I can perform both roles at once.” She picks up the last of the dishes to bring to the table. “And yes, you are a terrible tease – and you know it far too well!”
“And why are those two mutually exclusive, O priestess?”
“Why, propriety, Lord Jaezred.” She is smiling playfully as she says this. “A priestess must fulfil a clear role for her flock, after all. It would certainly not do for me to take advantage of my position.” Then she adds, playfully, “Don’t worry, you might know how to wrong-foot me, but I certainly know how to put you off-guard too.”
His grin widens. It is dawning on her that the more chase she allows him to give, the more encouraged he becomes. “Oh, you can certainly try,” he challenges her with a laugh. “But don’t try to tell me that you aren’t tempted with doing the improper thing from time to time. All those repressed desires… Woof.”
“Who said anything about being repressed? We are not servants of Ilmater here. Selûne learned much from her time with Sune – and our worship duly embraces all that the night offers the restless soul.”
He pauses again at that, and – in a rare, fleeting moment – it becomes his turn to blush. Just a little bit.
“As for wrong-footing you, well, I have already witnessed something of your uncertainty when navigating the emotions of others… but don’t worry. I did not plan to cruelly subject you to my feelings this evening, Lord Jaezred.”
“Oh, thank all the gods, surfacer and drow!” he says with exaggerated relief.
Continues in Fifth
A tenday after Jaezred and Velania's first sparring match
Written with the ever-magnificent Jaezred Vandree 🕷️
Marpenoth. The month of leaf fall. The low morning sun in Daring Heights shines brightly, almost painfully sharp, piercing through the yellowing trees. Velania returns to the Temple of Selûne from a dawn walk outside the city walls. For some months, she has been on retreat. Reflecting. But for some reason, this morning, she feels restless.
To her surprise, a sealed letter is waiting for her. She frowns, not recognizing the elegant handwriting, and opens it.
The demilich has been killed, but not all is well. A conniving scholar from the Academy stole something that belonged to it. There are many who lust after the power of the undead.
Unrelated to the undead problem: beware the nightingale’s song, for it heralds a loss of memory.
Unrelated to the undead problem: beware the nightingale’s song, for it heralds a loss of memory.
What follows the paragraphs is a bar of musical notation – a simple, folkish melody. The note is signed “J.V.”.
She sets down her things, brews the kettle, and pens a reply:
Lord Jaezred,
Thank you for the update. I have heard mentions of citizens losing their memory. It is extremely concerning. If you happen to hear more of this going on, please do let me know next time you are in Daring Heights and can spare a moment to brief me more fully. I would be glad to help, if I can.
Velania
Thank you for the update. I have heard mentions of citizens losing their memory. It is extremely concerning. If you happen to hear more of this going on, please do let me know next time you are in Daring Heights and can spare a moment to brief me more fully. I would be glad to help, if I can.
Velania
* * *
Jaezred shows up at the temple when she least expects it, likely to catch her off-guard as it pleases him to do. Nevertheless, Velania is glad to see him again. The day melts away quickly for the two of them, alone together in the reception room of the temple, with an ceaseless stream of gossip, adventure stories, and cocktail-drinking – sticky toffee apple cocktails which are masterfully mixed by Jaezred in front of her with the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to the elbows, showing off his muscled forearms. The flirtatious smirk never leaves his lips in that afternoon.
Soon it is time for dinner, and Jaezred offers to cook it for them both, letting her choose the menu. She decides on a dish of braised broccoli, toasted nori, with a lemon and hazelnut topping, accompanied with a mango pomelo sago – a refreshing summer dessert made with mango, pomelo, sago, milk, coconut milk, and evaporated milk. At his suggestion, Velania joins in with the food preparation as he directs his unseen servant to pour red wine for them both.
While preparing, Velania asks him about the melody in his note.
“Oh, yes,” Jaezred says as he is braising the broccoli. “Dreadful business, that, though not in the way you would expect. It concerns the matter of… ugh…” He puts his palm on his forehead, as if trying hard to remember something. “A little girl. Yes. I believe… it was a human girl. You see, I have met this girl before and yet I cannot remember her, because the memory of her existence has been taken from me and everyone else who ever knew her. Including her own mother.”
She scowls at the mention of his mind being tampered with. “I am sorry, Lord Jaezred. That must be incredibly frustrating. I assume the notes themselves are safe to hum, as long as one does not know how to imbue them with power?”
“I believe so. Miss Oussviir said it is the tune of a murder ballad she heard once or twice in Port Ffirst. About a woman steering a man’s ship into a storm, so they would both be consumed by the sea. This girl I apparently forgot had a sailor father who died during the invasion. It’s a good idea to write things down…” he adds in a mutter.
“Then has Zola also been affected by this magic? How disturbing this all sounds. I hope its effects have been contained as best as possible.” Velania frowns while chopping the hazelnuts thin, ready to be added to the recipe. Jaezred steps aside to let her throw them into the pan. “It’s distressing to hear of a missing child. Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Why, Miss Oussviir was apparently giving this girl sword-fighting lessons. I found her one day wandering in the square looking lost. She, too, could not remember a thing about the girl. Then, one night last week, she banged on my door, claiming she heard this song and the voice of the girl speaking to her.”
“Interesting that she remembers the song, but so little else of the girl. Given that, it seems far more like this child – or whatever it was bearing her impression – does not wish to be located, far less rescued, don’t you think? Whether she means ill or well by us, she seems to pose a danger to the people of the Dawnlands.”
“Well, priestess, whilst I do not remember the girl and therefore can say nothing of her character, she appears to have been kidnapped by a cult of Loviatar worshippers and is now being held captive in some other plane of existence. They are likely the ones who are causing the memory loss. In making everyone who knew this girl forget about her – especially her widowed mother – they are inflicting pain that cannot be described. A Pain With No Name. This is how they please their mistress of the whip.”
Velania saws at the bread with rather too much vigour. “First Shar, now Loviatar. I wish they might just leave us alone. I have to do something about this, you know. I have to.”
One corner of his lips curls up in amusement at the scene of bread-butchering before him. “Well, you’re in luck, for they seem to want you to do something about it. Two more adventurers who knew the girl reached out to me this week, saying they experienced the same thing as Miss Oussviir. They’re all being baited, if you ask me. I sensed divination magic there – it was no accident.”
“As with Loviatar, so with Shar.” She looks at Jaezred meaningfully. “Mind games was how it was with the Heralds of Blade and Ash, you know. Perhaps that’s why it’s so hard for Zola to talk about it. The wounds are not merely physical, but cut far deeper.” She waves the breadknife as she continues. “Much as I don’t relish facing off against followers of one of the, you know, traditional enemies of Selûne, perhaps I can be of aid. If nothing else, I can lend my support to those who are targets of this new intrusion…”
Jaezred looks at her for a long moment with his arms folded. Then he steps behind her and, gently, takes her hand with the bread knife in his own. He directs the knife down to the uneven pieces of bread that she had angrily sawed, and together, they cut them into smaller, more aesthetically pleasing pieces.
“There is a wealthy widow who lives in a townhouse on Dreamer Street. A dark elf of Menzoberranzan like me, and a bard,” he speaks softly in her ear, in a tone far too casual for this intimate manoeuvre. “She had a magic item that was supposed to help the grieving widows of Port Ffirst. Though she remembers nothing of it now, we believe this thing is what the Loviatans are using to induce memory loss, maybe even where the song is coming from. I think she seeks to right this wrong.”
At Jaezred’s unexpected proximity, Velania holds her breath. It does not need a mind-reader to sense that she is very flustered, though she keeps herself still. “A device or technique to influence people’s minds… Quite the dangerous mistake…”
After he steps away, she exhales and touches the back of her neck, almost blushing. “I can look into this… I can make enquiries… I shall go and see her, and see if there is anything I can do… Th-thank you, Lord Jaezred.”
When she peers up at his face again, she sees the huge devilish grin on his face, mischievous and triumphant – as if it was exactly his goal to make her flustered. “You’re welcome, priestess. I gave you the notes because you seem like a perceptive person anyway.”
She nods. “I’ll go tomorrow, and let you know should I make any headway… oh!” she suddenly rushes to the pan to check the food. Fortunately, nothing seems to be burning. It is perhaps as if it never was, and Jaezred was aware of this all along…
“Feeling bit hot in here, priestess? Kitchens can be hot. So hot that sometimes I cook with less clothes on...” He cackles softly as he goes over to the pan and starts plating the broccoli. He is evidently enjoying this way too much.
“Well that certainly strikes me as somewhat reckless.” Velania’s eyebrows rise at this level of overtness, and she smiles gently at him. There is no coyness or playful sparkle in her eyes, merely a hint of bemusement. It is easy enough for Jaezred to read that she is not regarding him with hostility, but merely from the other side of an invisible line.
Everything grinds to a halt as Jaezred stops in his tracks and turns to look at her. Even the oil in the pan seems to stop sizzling. “I hope I have not caused offence, venerable priestess,” he says.
She blinks, somewhat flustered, though the moment lasts but a fraction of a second. Then, a gentle aura of moonlight resonates subtly from her, and her countenance becomes calm, beautiful, divine, like the blooming of an evening primrose under the glow of the evening sky. “Not at all. I’m sorry I was being so careless with this knife.” She sets it down and looks at the pieces of bread. “I suppose we could have croutons then.” She gives a droll chuckle.
Jaezred stands there, seemingly planted in the ground before her. He appears to be… admiring her?
But he, too, quickly regains his composure and puts on that cheeky smile again. “I know I can be a bit of a tease, just hit me with a roll of broadsheets if you think I’m being too much,” he says jokingly, though at the same time sincerely. “You are even cuter when you’re flustered, can you blame me?”
He lets out another low cackle and turns to head for the table to set up.
“Either I’m cute and flusterable, or I’m a high priestess; I can’t deny it is rather flattering that you are attempting to pair the two together, but I’m not sure I can perform both roles at once.” She picks up the last of the dishes to bring to the table. “And yes, you are a terrible tease – and you know it far too well!”
“And why are those two mutually exclusive, O priestess?”
“Why, propriety, Lord Jaezred.” She is smiling playfully as she says this. “A priestess must fulfil a clear role for her flock, after all. It would certainly not do for me to take advantage of my position.” Then she adds, playfully, “Don’t worry, you might know how to wrong-foot me, but I certainly know how to put you off-guard too.”
His grin widens. It is dawning on her that the more chase she allows him to give, the more encouraged he becomes. “Oh, you can certainly try,” he challenges her with a laugh. “But don’t try to tell me that you aren’t tempted with doing the improper thing from time to time. All those repressed desires… Woof.”
“Who said anything about being repressed? We are not servants of Ilmater here. Selûne learned much from her time with Sune – and our worship duly embraces all that the night offers the restless soul.”
He pauses again at that, and – in a rare, fleeting moment – it becomes his turn to blush. Just a little bit.
“As for wrong-footing you, well, I have already witnessed something of your uncertainty when navigating the emotions of others… but don’t worry. I did not plan to cruelly subject you to my feelings this evening, Lord Jaezred.”
“Oh, thank all the gods, surfacer and drow!” he says with exaggerated relief.
Continues in Fifth