Post by Forfeit on Aug 19, 2023 18:24:54 GMT
A writeup of Dance of Swords
Featuring:
Forfeit, Tiefling, Level 3 Warlock
Raine, Half-Elf, Level 8 Bard
Dulgrun (Wik), Dwarf (Changeling), Level 11 Rogue
Glade, Earth Genasi, Level 14 Druid/Cleric
Continues after The Naming Ceremony
Death. Regrets. Mistakes. Consequences. When a Dwarf is summoned to the Court of Harmony in the Feywild, they are either incredibly blessed or incredibly doomed. Either way, it promises drama and entertainment. It was delightfully sporting of this particular Dwarf to invite a gleeful audience to witness his potential punishment and humiliation at the hands of the Queen of the Court of Harmony.
Naturally, how could I refuse such an offer?
Whenever I enter the Feywild these days, I am hit with a barrage of emotions. Excitement, nostalgia, resentment. A thirst for vengeance. And yes, fear. Because I am weak and vulnerable like never before. But I would rather disembowel myself than admit it out loud.
Ah, but when I get to visit, I bask in the sweet explosions of colour… I drink in the rich forest fragrances… I drift in melodious birdsong… I swim in the lush breeze… I embrace the shifts in the passage of time…
But the gossip! This Dwarf had crossed the Satyr consort of Queen Merla herself. We entered The Heart, a beautiful natural gazebo of trees abundant with blossom, freckled with butterflies. The Satyr asked pointed questions about various adventurers from the Dawnlands, who somehow allowed the Lord of the Wild Hunt to emerge and slay some friend of his, and the Dwarf’s answers fell painfully short. What a treat to watch someone else squirming with discomfort.
The Satyr let the Dwarf live, which I had not expected. But it was not a wasted trip… after he left, we attended the Shieldmeet festival. In honour of Lord Corellon, it is a time for fairs and bazaars, for theatrical performances, for song and dance… so partake we did!
For my performance, I wielded my umbrella in the form of a quarterstaff, and to the accompaniment of a violin, I sliced the air and threw blasts of Fey magic into the sky, letting flowers and wisps of light cascade, bursting into the flame and ash that represent the body I possess. I took the words that bind me and reclaimed them, reciting a challenge of identity to all who listened.
Now, I am no expert in the ways mortals of the Prime Material plane conduct their relationships. But while this Dwarf seemed self-possessed enough to have accumulated friends, it was as though he held people at a distance. Why do mortals guard their private lives so jealously? It is hardly as if they live long enough for any kind of secrets to matter. It clearly did not make him a happier fellow. Yet still.
The Dancer: A Dwarf who danced as elegantly as a Fey creature. Held secrets as close as a Fey creature. Spoke to me with the respect of a Fey creature. If he had been brutally slaughtered for his offences to Queen Merla, I might even have felt brief disappointment. I suppose mainly because I would have missed the deference.
The Painter: An Earth Genasi prone to brooding and flowers. Not a willing party animal, preferring to sit locked in her own reflections, but was encouraged to paint a lilac tree. Remarkably similar to a healer I met recently.
The Violinist: A young musician and composer of inspirational talent. She plays in the Feylight Garden Theatre, one of the only venues of taste in Daring Heights. I should visit more often.
The First Cantor: A dashingly beautiful Elven woman dressed in spring green. She looked sharp and fast and capable, and judging by the glint in her eye, had a clear interest in the Dwarf.
The Satyr: The Master of Revelries of the Court of Summer. Listening to the whole conversation in hiding, he emerged to challenge the Dwarf on holding important details back. Unfortunately, he let the Dwarf’s awkwardness hang in the air as a teaching moment, instead of following it up with steel.
The Pixie and Sprite: Amongst the most respectful mortal creatures I have encountered since my imprisonment. They addressed me with a politeness and deference that is so frequently found in the Feywild, yet seems so hard for Prime Material mortals to muster. Therefore I saw fit to let them decorate me with body paints fit for a festival. Their pearlescent daisies turned into an impressionistic masterpiece of colours that enhanced a near-perfect canvas.
The Performance:
Behold, for I am forfeit.
As thus, I come to the Court of Harmony, the realm of the Bright-Bladed Queen, where my power is forfeit.
My influence is forfeit.
My worth is forfeit.
My mind is forfeit.
My tongue is forfeit.
My body is forfeit.
My name is forfeit.
I am become the realm where Fey meets fire.
Folk of the Feywild, be ye certain, by name alone, of any part of your own selves?
Continues in Rats in the Basement
Featuring:
Forfeit, Tiefling, Level 3 Warlock
Raine, Half-Elf, Level 8 Bard
Dulgrun (Wik), Dwarf (Changeling), Level 11 Rogue
Glade, Earth Genasi, Level 14 Druid/Cleric
Continues after The Naming Ceremony
Death. Regrets. Mistakes. Consequences. When a Dwarf is summoned to the Court of Harmony in the Feywild, they are either incredibly blessed or incredibly doomed. Either way, it promises drama and entertainment. It was delightfully sporting of this particular Dwarf to invite a gleeful audience to witness his potential punishment and humiliation at the hands of the Queen of the Court of Harmony.
Naturally, how could I refuse such an offer?
Whenever I enter the Feywild these days, I am hit with a barrage of emotions. Excitement, nostalgia, resentment. A thirst for vengeance. And yes, fear. Because I am weak and vulnerable like never before. But I would rather disembowel myself than admit it out loud.
Ah, but when I get to visit, I bask in the sweet explosions of colour… I drink in the rich forest fragrances… I drift in melodious birdsong… I swim in the lush breeze… I embrace the shifts in the passage of time…
But the gossip! This Dwarf had crossed the Satyr consort of Queen Merla herself. We entered The Heart, a beautiful natural gazebo of trees abundant with blossom, freckled with butterflies. The Satyr asked pointed questions about various adventurers from the Dawnlands, who somehow allowed the Lord of the Wild Hunt to emerge and slay some friend of his, and the Dwarf’s answers fell painfully short. What a treat to watch someone else squirming with discomfort.
The Satyr let the Dwarf live, which I had not expected. But it was not a wasted trip… after he left, we attended the Shieldmeet festival. In honour of Lord Corellon, it is a time for fairs and bazaars, for theatrical performances, for song and dance… so partake we did!
For my performance, I wielded my umbrella in the form of a quarterstaff, and to the accompaniment of a violin, I sliced the air and threw blasts of Fey magic into the sky, letting flowers and wisps of light cascade, bursting into the flame and ash that represent the body I possess. I took the words that bind me and reclaimed them, reciting a challenge of identity to all who listened.
Now, I am no expert in the ways mortals of the Prime Material plane conduct their relationships. But while this Dwarf seemed self-possessed enough to have accumulated friends, it was as though he held people at a distance. Why do mortals guard their private lives so jealously? It is hardly as if they live long enough for any kind of secrets to matter. It clearly did not make him a happier fellow. Yet still.
* * *
The Dancer: A Dwarf who danced as elegantly as a Fey creature. Held secrets as close as a Fey creature. Spoke to me with the respect of a Fey creature. If he had been brutally slaughtered for his offences to Queen Merla, I might even have felt brief disappointment. I suppose mainly because I would have missed the deference.
The Painter: An Earth Genasi prone to brooding and flowers. Not a willing party animal, preferring to sit locked in her own reflections, but was encouraged to paint a lilac tree. Remarkably similar to a healer I met recently.
The Violinist: A young musician and composer of inspirational talent. She plays in the Feylight Garden Theatre, one of the only venues of taste in Daring Heights. I should visit more often.
The First Cantor: A dashingly beautiful Elven woman dressed in spring green. She looked sharp and fast and capable, and judging by the glint in her eye, had a clear interest in the Dwarf.
The Satyr: The Master of Revelries of the Court of Summer. Listening to the whole conversation in hiding, he emerged to challenge the Dwarf on holding important details back. Unfortunately, he let the Dwarf’s awkwardness hang in the air as a teaching moment, instead of following it up with steel.
The Pixie and Sprite: Amongst the most respectful mortal creatures I have encountered since my imprisonment. They addressed me with a politeness and deference that is so frequently found in the Feywild, yet seems so hard for Prime Material mortals to muster. Therefore I saw fit to let them decorate me with body paints fit for a festival. Their pearlescent daisies turned into an impressionistic masterpiece of colours that enhanced a near-perfect canvas.
The Performance:
Behold, for I am forfeit.
As thus, I come to the Court of Harmony, the realm of the Bright-Bladed Queen, where my power is forfeit.
My influence is forfeit.
My worth is forfeit.
My mind is forfeit.
My tongue is forfeit.
My body is forfeit.
My name is forfeit.
I am become the realm where Fey meets fire.
Folk of the Feywild, be ye certain, by name alone, of any part of your own selves?
Continues in Rats in the Basement
