The Gap Year

She calls out as you're walking away: "You're welcome to spend them at my table! I have other games! What's your name, friend?"

(Edit: Did you want to Intelligence check DC: 16 the situation?)

-The man looks back chuckles slightly and maintains a very wide smile-
"I am a leaf turning in a turbulent river, why does my name matter if the river will flow away from here? And as for the gold, I've always been told to quit while I'm ahead!" -He gently tips his straw hat forward and turns back continuing his whistling-

(Naah, the man took it for what it was, a game of chance)

Rholor watches the sunrise from one of the high towers of the city’s fort while a pure white birman cat with deep silver eyes gently purrs on his shoulders. It has been one full year since the battle that changed the faiths of so many and yet, everything seems to be back to normal.


It seems like it was yesterday, when Rholor was here at the entrance of the fort preparing his 30th ritual. After the disaster that was the Orcish invasion, he was having none of that. All possible precautions should be had. The ritual was his idea and Aurelia loved it but the funds were low so it had to wait a while until there was some leftover money to ward the fort against evil. No one would be able to plane travel into this locations and many perilous creatures would suffer the judgement of the Moonmaiden just by entering this terrain. He was happy with the outcome although sad he couldn’t procure the materials to expand the warding magic to the entirety of Daring Heights.


He shook off those thoughts, after all, no one could blame him for not trying and then again there had been way more attention worthy problems appearing here and there throughout Kantas. As the sun continued to rise, he remembered the creatures that had sprouted from the deep places of the world underneath Vorsthold and that he had fought as part of his promise to the dwarves. He knew they would call in for a bigger favour soon but he had hopes that by regularly visiting the dwarven fortress a healthy relationship could be formed.


“Damned dwarves though… stubborn as the stone they carve their faces on!”  -Rholor says in Dwarvish which is immediately followed by a loud ‘meow’.-


“I know Argent, I know… It IS much better though, I swear I can have a full conversation in dwarvish now!” -Argent softly swings his tail against Rholor’s face in a ‘sure, sure’ type of gesture-


In the streets of Daring Heights, towards the end of the year spotting Rholor walking by with a white-furred cat by his side was not an uncommon view. It was also not uncommon to see him fly away on a Pegasus towards the south, whenever a visit to the dwarves was needed.

---

Although Rholor spent some time visiting Vorsthold, that wasn’t the only place he had been during this last year. In the few first weeks after the repopulation of Daring, he visited the Feywild several times to assure that the town’s relationship with the Eladrin that helped them in the battle wasn’t broken. Over those visits, he had many interesting conversations with fellow diviner Regius Milthorian of the Eladrin which developed into a cordial friendship that was further enhanced during the rest of the year.


Later, towards the end of the year, when the town’s daily life and economy was flowing more naturally, Rholor took on a very personal endeavour. He called on his closest friends and companions that had aided him countless times in the past and with those that heeded his call, he headed west towards the snowy peaks of the mountain range. A week later, the expedition returned tired and beaten up but carrying a big heavy wooden chest. That very night there was one more burial ritual in the now much expanded Daring Heights cemetery.


A few weeks later, with the aid of some men in town, a marble statue was brought from the backyard of the Temple to Selûne towards the main square of town right across the entrance to the Ettin. It was a statue of a grinning half-orc donning an apron, gently petting a baby rhinoceros with his left hand while holding an intimidating glaive on his right hand. In the base of the statue there was a plaque that read: “A memorial to friendship and diversity. In honour of Moth: chef, warrior, friend… hero of Kantas.”

---

"And so a year has passed and Daring appears the brightest it has ever been. But Rholor was no fool, no… not anymore. He knew something would come sooner or later. What? He could not tell but soon he would be called to action for something greater than the Twilights or the Orcs for that is the way of life in the land, the tides of evil are never ending and all he can hope for, while he stares at the abyss, is that the abyss won’t stare back."

Barden writes:

Following my rescue by the heroes of Daring Heights, I set my shoulder to the joint effort to rebuild the town and fortify the new fort at its centre. My dwarven stonecunning assisted the town's stonemasons in the construction of the fort, mindful of the threat the orcs still presented to Daring Heights.

During this time, I developed my garden in Daring and assisted the herbalists by growing their specialist herbs and plants, as well as cultivating a potent spikeweed enjoyed by the townsfolk and for which my family was known back home. In this way, I was able to eke out the modest living befitting a holy faenor, improving my battle skills and continuing the divine worship of the Reverend Mother, apparently as her only missionary in this strange land.

Also during this time, the impish daemon, calling himself Nigel and often occupying my shoulder invisible to all except me, came and went as his fancy took him. His practice was always to admonish me (since the rescue) for lack of courage on the field of battle and failing to escape the orcs. He mocked me with whispers in my ear, always at times of stress and distraction. He spoke hissing sarcastic utterances, referring to himself in the third person (e.g. "Nigel sees. Nigel knows. Those Eladrin died because of you. If only you had charged the orcs sooner, fewer would have died! Nigel sees, bearded one!"). Nigel the imp personified a heartwrenching reminder of my failure to act in saving my father from the undead horde shortly after which the diminutive daemon first became my unwelcome companion. Initially, I dismissed Nigel as a mental aberration caused by the trauma of seeing my father killed brutally by the hated zombie flesheaters. Over time, it became clear that this deamon was a real entity from an altogether darker place at the command of Berronar-knows-who. Whence it came or why I know not.

Since visiting the altogether evil Granny with some of the heroes of Daring to request assistance in the battle then to come, the witch's dark words had come to my mind more and more as our rebuilding work continued. She had perceived Nigel as a presence, and expressed her offer to deal with the imp for me - for the right price. I dismissed it as too great a price to pay, especially since losing a part of myself to her during that visit. I do not know what I lost, but I now have an emptiness in my soul which I swear on Berronar's Rings that I did not have before that visit.

As the months passed, the town rebuilt, I felt Nigel was becoming bolder. Sometimes he would not only shout his insults whilst I was in discourse with others and heard only to me, but also blow a horn discordantly, bang drums furiously and out of rhythm, and let off firecrackers with such an alarming din that many saw my discomfort and shunned conversations with me, avoiding my company in Daring's streets and common houses. They clearly did not hear the noise I was hearing and were discomfited by my bizarre reactions. I grew lonelier, while Nigel grew stronger relishing my failure to connect with other townsfolk.

I resolved to pay the price Granny would extract and so set out for her cottage that lay some way outside of Daring Heights. Approaching the cottage on a late hazy summer afternoon, nature fell away and I perceived a darkness overhead and the presence of undeath which set my emotions and my divine senses aflame with both fear and loathing. As soon as I was feeling this, Granny was before me, as if appearing from thin air, and in her earthly form, but still hideous to my eyes.

"You want rid of Nigel, yes?? Yes you do, I can see it in your soul. The imp's possession is stronger since your defeat at the hands of the orcs. Tut tut, looks like the little one wants to own you, or at least his patron does. We can't have that: there wouldn't be anything left for me, hahaha ..." I felt her power, and part of me wished to run, but also perceived something altogether different: a fearful Nigel on my shoulder, now seeming unsure and hissing in defiance in her presence. I cried out as he dug his little claws into my flesh. The imp's fear felt empowering, and I knew that Granny was the more terrible presence, and I grew even more afraid at that notion. My mind, however, was made up: Granny seemed to offer a way out that I could bear, or so I thought at the time. "Granny, tell me your price to rid me of this foul imp on my shoulder". I heard Nigel hiss an insult in my ear, and I flinched from his claws scratching at my cheek.

"I can do one better than that. For a cost you can afford, you can possess the daemon, to summon as your loyal familiar from the hot place where he dwells to this world in order to do your bidding."

"Speak your price, o wrinkled one," said I.

"Less of the wrinkled, you cheeky monkey," replied she.

"Sorry."

"For a start, I need holy water. You clerics can make the stuff, and I need lots of it - at least a day's worth, 24 hours of your time creating holy water. So hop to it."

Granny disappeared, and before me, in the middle of Granny's garden, there appeared a stone table with many empty vials stacked on it and nearby a stone font of water which appeared to babble from an unknown underground source. I set to the task, and working until dusk, making camp nearby, and then all the next day, and then most of the following day, filled all the vials with holy water, each vial's liquid blessed by way of a divine ceremony learned from the practice of my faith in Berronar Truesilver. Nigel had disappeared from my sight, and it seemed to me he was in fearful hiding. A full 24 hours of ceremony spread over two days later, and the last bottle was filled. Then the stone table, font and holy water vials disappeared suddenly, and Granny appeared.

"My second task for you ... hmm ... 'wrinkled' you said, didn't you? ... I wish to have fewer wrinkles ... I desire more youth ... I desire strength such as that found in the battle hardened young templars of Berronar, your athleticism as the greater part of your youthful vigour - you will give me a part of your athletic vigour! In exchange for which, you may reach into this silken bag and pull out your Nigel as your true and faithful familiar to do your bidding until you dismiss him back to the abyss. What you lose in vigour, you will gain in the help of this little daemon as your servant! A price you can afford, hahahahaha!" I hadn't seen it, but Granny was now holding a fine shimmering bag made of a material I knew not, in changing shades of scarlet as it moved, with a craftily woven drawstring made of fine plaited fabric or the hair of some mythical creature.

"But ... I ..."

"Take it or leave it, holy dwarven fool! Go and be forever cursed by this Nigel, he will eventually take your entire being down to the pit and his master if you do not take my offer!"

I reluctantly agreed. As I heard Nigel screech in my left ear, the skies darkened and I could feel him drawn towards Granny who now appeared in a three dimensional shimmering pentangle of purple light, changing her appearance, now a hideous deformed beast, now a beautiful naked female, all the while as she spoke unknown words whilst surrounded by a penumbra of arcane light, a spectacle of dark magic I had never seen. I felt both a heat and coldness, a wind without source, and perceived a fiery red mote spinning around her as her form mutated and the dancing purple light beset her. For a fraction of a second I saw Nigel's face in terror within the red mote as it continued to fly around Granny until it settled into the open bag in her palm, with a final fading screech that sounded like the imp in despair. The pentangle of purple light and the presence of arcana then abruptly disappeared: the summer afternoon, now turning to evening, was restored and Granny was a little old woman again, pulling tight the drawstring around the red silken bag in her hands.

She handed the bag to me, it felt weighty, as she smiled a hideous grin. But I felt heavier, older, the life draining from me, like the feeling of years of ageing in my bones in a matter of seconds, so much so that it was painful. I felt stiffer, some life was drawn from me, and a subconscious feeling of regret that would never leave me descended and remains to this day as a loss to my soul forevermore. At the same time, freedom from the imp, freedom from the guilt of losing my father Krakden, freedom from my defeat at the hands of the orcs, I felt empowered. Was it worth it?

Granny said "Open the bag and reach your hand in". I loosened the drawstring, reached in and felt a hot slimy creature within, as like a moistened lizard. I drew out the creature as if to throw it on the ground before me, and there, hovering in flight, some 12 inches or so in height with outstretched lizard wings flapping slowly letting off wisps of black smoke as he moved, was Nigel. He bowed his ugly red little horned head and said: "What's your bidding, numbnuts? You shouldn't have done this for the sacrifice of some of your vigour and athleticism. You're clumsier now, you nob." A part of me was glad that Nigel was not altogether cowed and retained a certain honesty, but he was under my control now.

I looked up to Granny, but she had disappeared, and so had her cottage, and it seemed I was transported to a glade with evening crickets starting to chirp. Nigel said "She's gone." I decided to make camp for the night and bade Nigel build a campfire and cook up some supper, which he did satisfactorily. I said to him "Do you know I think this could work out well, Nigel," to which he responded "If you're done, please let me go back home until the next time, you bellend."

"What am I going to do with you, Nigel!" I said, laughing, as Nigel rolled his eyes, mumbled some curse words, and directed a nasty grimace and his middle finger angrily at me before disappearing in a puff of blackened smoke ...

I'll help hunt these foul orcs, Dvaergar. A dwarf never forgets a slight - or a punch on the hooter from an orc captain!

[Meta version: during the time-jump, Taffeta reaches level three and becomes a horizon walker (ranger archetype from Xanathar’s). She also becomes proficient in insight, which she’s mainly going to use to check up on people’s moods and make sure everyone’s okay.

She also becomes more sociable and friendly with people around town. Reply or drop me a message if you think your character becomes friends with Taffeta over the course of the year!

Also thanks to andycd for contributing what’s going on with Idari. Intriguing...]

(andycd Who's the Bear King?


Edit: And is he seeing anyone? Tugark (Retired))