Post by Malri 'Taffeta' Thistletop on Nov 1, 2018 23:34:02 GMT
'So how did you get interested in Granny?' asks Taffeta.
She and Lady Sunday are walking through the farms and fields that fringe Daring Heights, following the dusty road that connects the town to Port Ffirst. 'Up in the mountains there, you seemed pretty keen to know more about her.'
'It seems everyone has met her!' exclaims Sunday. 'Almost everyone on the Council or who has been here a while has had dealings with her. Tugark, Nowhere, Aurelia, Rholor, Dvargar, that one who lost his name, Barden. I don't doubt Varis and Dorian have also crossed paths with her. They all say to beware of her, and yet they've all met her and made bargains with her. So she can't be that bad! I wonder what deals and bargains have been made that we just don't know about.' She kicks a small stone from the path and it skitters off into someone's barley field. 'I just want to meet her and see what all the fuss is about? Have you or Daisy met her? Do you want to come along if not? Maybe we could ask Aurelia more about her!'
'No, I've never met her,' says Taffeta. 'I heard tell of her when we first arrived in town but I think maybe she'd already left by then. I don't really know what dealings other folk have had with her, but it sounds like maybe they ended up regretting it. I can't say I'm keen to meet her myself, but if you've a mind to...'
They walk a little further as Taffeta searches for the end of her sentence. But something else comes in stead.
'What would you ask her for, if she offered?'
Lady Sunday stops walking and turns to face Taffeta, who stops as well, puzzled. The tiefling's hand shoots out towards her companion and suddenly, extending from it, is a huge black maul. Its blood-encrusted head stops a foot from Taffeta's own. 'Why do you want to know?' snaps Lady Sunday.
Then, in a blink, the weapon is gone again and its owner is shrugging carelessly. 'Who said I wanted anything, anyway. I’m just curious. Come on, let’s go find Aurelia.'
The road is beginning to pass among scattered buildings now. As the pair walk on, Taffeta says idly, 'When I was a girl learning the bow, the grown-ups always used to say, "Never aim but you mean to fire." Of course that was for hunting in those days, before the strange times when we began to see goblins and suchlike in the woods. But we still say it, I used to say it to the girls when they were learning. We learned to use swords and knives too, in the strange times, though I didn't like that. I never tried a weapon like that great hammer of yours though. Not sure I could even lift it! How did you learn to use one?'
'Did you kill the goblins?' responds Lady Sunday. 'Did your girls kill the goblins? I killed things when I was a girl, when I was also learning to hunt. Like yours, my teachers talked a lot about fire and flames during those lessons as well..... we were surrounded by it....'
Lady Sunday trails off as a small tongue of flame springs into life on her upraised palm, the embers and sparks mirrored in her purple-black eyes as she stares intently into the glowing light. There's a flickering in the depths of her irises. Glancing sidelong at her, Taffeta isn't entirely sure whether the flicker is from the reflected image of the flame in her hand or... something else. Her speech is casual but beneath it the halfling senses horrendous memories.
The flame goes out with a snap of Sunday's fingers, the same motion bringing her maul back into view.
'I got this during those days, too. But I hunted this down myself. Or maybe it found me. I forget now. It would be funny to see you try and lift it: but I can't let you hold it, I'm afraid. It said only I'm allowed to play with it. No-one's been able to take it off me since.' The voice is tense and the face seems a little pale. Taffeta has never seen Lady Sunday show any fear, but if she had to guess what that would look and sound like, this would be it. But Sunday's back has also straightened and something like a smile has come to her lips, as if she were pleased or proud of something too.
She looks like she's about to say more, when something seems to catch her eye. Suddenly she vanishes and Taffeta hears her voice from further up the road. She's standing by a tree, shouting, 'Hey, look, someone's stuck something up here!'
Taffeta approaches. A crude board has been nailed to the tree, which stands just at the point where the scattered buildings turn into full blocks of houses separated by paved and cobbled streets. On the board is a large piece of parchment with large letters painted on it in red. Lady Sunday is stooping to read them, as the board stands about Taffeta's height.
'What does it say?' asks Taffeta.
'Up here it says "Who holds your strings?" And then underneath is "Illison is coming". That’s a weird message - who’s Illison?!'
'Haven't a clue,' replies the halfling. But the shapes of the letters do look familiar. It reminds me of that note in the Ettin a few months back – that fast little fellow, what was his name... Kerfuffle, that was it!'
··•··
The pair walk on into town, Taffeta telling the story of Kerfuffle and his mine. Arriving in the main square, they spot Aurelia leaving the council house and Taffeta runs up to her. She seems busy and distracted, and more tired than Taffeta has seen her for a while. However, when she sees her she smiles and asks, 'Ah Malri, how can I help you this fine day?'
'Good afternoon! Er... How are you, Aurelia? Is this a bad time to talk?'
'Ah I am never sure if there is a good time to talk nowadays, we all seem to be rushing hither and yon.' She breaks into a genuine large smile. 'It is certainly a good time to talk, how can I help you?'
'Yes, I've been feeling that way too. I was wondering... I'm trying to find Nowhere. You remember he seemed to appear in the mountains, in the giants' camp - I just want to talk to him, find out what happened to those young dragons. Have you seen him, or heard anything?'
Aurelia frowns a little. 'I am afraid I haven't heard anything definite, but that's always the way with Nowhere. I have heard rumour though. There have been rumours of some seeing him in Port Ffirst, rumours of some seeing him here in Daring. Even rumoured sightings of him around Neverwinter! Who knows.'
'What I would say is this. If you are truly seeking him, speak to Rholor. With his help you might have Rholor scry on Nowhere and see where he is. But be warned. Scrying could be an expensive solution. Maybe Rholor has other, cheaper, suggestions.'
'Thank you, Aurelia, truly. I'll talk to Rholor. And I hope your burdens will be eased soon.' Before taking her leave, Taffeta turns to see whether Lady Sunday wants to ask Aurelia anything about Granny. But Lady Sunday isn't there: looking around, Taffeta sees her tail disappearing through the door of the Three-Headed Ettin.
··•··
As Taffeta knocks on the large wooden doors of the temple of Selûne, the sound of the thuds echo through the seemingly empty inside of the building. A few moments later, she is greeted by a young woman, maybe late teens or early twenties, neck-length, straight, dark hair and piercing hazelnut eyes.
'Oh... hi Mrs. Thistletop! I was not told you'd be visiting,' she says with a surprised look on her face. Taffeta has the feeling that all the noteworthy arrivals at the temple are somehow expected. 'Please, come in. Did you come to pray or seek guidance from the Moonmaiden? Or shall I will brew some tea and send word for Master Rholor? I'm afraid he's in town on council duties but I can try and grab a hold of him!'
'Oh! Hello. Er, thank you.' It strikes Taffeta that, although she wasn't sure what she'd been expecting to find at the temple, this young woman wasn't it. 'I, er, I was actually coming to ask Rholor something. Aurelia suggested he could help... But there's no great hurry,' she adds quickly. 'If he's out, I could come back later.'
'Oh no, that is fine, Master Rholor always has time to help adventurers like yourself! I will send word and he shall be here as soon as he can...' - the girls smiles. 'Can I prepare some tea then? Or would you prefer something more... spirituous?'
'Tea would be grand, thank you.'
After waiting for about half an hour, Taffeta hears again the resounding sound of the temple doors creaking open echoing throughout the main hall into the side room she's been led to. A few moments alter, a man enters the room you've been waiting in, a man she once briefly knew as a jovial and excitable young cleric but who now carries an invisible weight and aura of responsibility on his shoulders... almost palpable, almost overwhelming.
'Ah Mrs. Thistletop, I have to admit I was not expecting your visit... Isn't it funny? One can see above and beyond the astral cloth and yet it is the smallest thing that surprises you! But tell me, tell me, how can I help you? Does this have anything to do with dragons?' he says with a cheeky smile while he pours a thick brown liquor onto a short glass and starts slowly sipping.
Still a little touchy after Mistress Underbed's offer to make her taller, Taffeta is momentarily put out by being called 'the smallest thing', but then realizes that the temple-master was speaking figuratively.
'Thank you kindly,' she says. 'Yes, it does have to do with dragons. You've heard about what happened in the west mountains, in the giant camp? I just want to find Nowhere and ask him what he did, whether he saved the wyrmlings. Do you know where he is?'
'Yes I have heard. Quite a story huh?' he smiles. 'Sadly I do not know where he is at this point in time, he has acquired a peculiar taste for inter-planar travels... and I cannot assure you that the wyrmlings are "saved"...' The priest seems to put a strange emphasis on the word. '... But not everything is what it seems to be.'
'Tell me Malri, if you'll allow me to use your given name...' Rholor starts to fiddle with some objects on the table, picking up an ink-pot and waving it in the air between himself and Taffeta. 'Imagine this is Daring Heights –' Rholor then drags a candle across the table and places it underneath the ink-pot. '– and this is a roiling cloud of chaos slowly approaching it. What will happen is that this flame will slowly heat up this glass ink-pot and it will eventually shatter... spilling all the boiling ink, burning everything around it and you will never have this ink-pot back. Even if you glue it together and fill it in with new ink, it will never be the same ink-pot.'
Rholor pauses, grabbing a small wooden plaque with the symbol to Selûne engraved on it, a pair of eyes surrounded by seven silvery stars. 'Now, this engraving... I like it very much and it is precious to me and others... but not as precious as my favourite ink-pot.' He shakes the glass container in his other hand. 'If I place this plaque over the flame...' He does, and the plaque eventually catches fire and Rholor is forced to drop it to avoid his fingers to burn. '– it will burn, heat my hand and I will eventually be forced to let it go, making it fall on the candle, snuffing it out and leaving a gods-damned mess all over my table.' Rholor gestures towards the actual mess he has made and pauses.
'But what about the ink-pot?' He shakes his other hand again. 'My favourite, precious, pristine ink-pot is still intact. The ink is a bit hot but otherwise, safe.'
The seer touches the candle on the table and the little wooden plaque, mutters some words and the candle stands up straight once again and the burnt area on the wooden plaque vanishes. 'Would you prefer to protect Daring Heights?' he asks, dragging the ink-pot across the table in Taffeta's direction. 'Or do you really want to save your dragons?' He drags the wooden plaque across the table.
'I know this might sound vague but I am in no position to explain things further sadly. If you really wish for in-depth answers I can help you narrow your search for Nowhere. I just need to gather some materials and I can conduct a ritual to try and find answers.'
Taffeta frowns at the two objects lying in front of her, almost at eye-level, on the smooth table-top.
'I grew up in the woods, Mister Rholor,' she says in an oddly flat tone. 'We didn't have any inkpots or engravings. Our plates and cups and toys were made of wood. If they broke, we fixed them. It didn't matter if we could see the cracks.'
'People are what I care about.' She looks up at last and meets the cleric's eyes. 'I'm sorry if I'm not smart enough to understand what you're trying to tell me. I'm no good with mysteries. But if you can help me find Nowhere, I'd be very much obliged. If you need materials, I've some money saved up.'
'Ah... but of course,' replies Rholor. 'I do not wish to force your hand and that is why I speak in vague terms and cryptic metaphors... but I too care about the people. We have seen enough suffering for generations to come. I will help you find Nowhere. Head to town, grab –' Rholor scribbles on a piece or parchment '– these items and return in one hour if you can. I need to focus to get your answers.' He stands up and guides her to the door.
'Before you leave,' Rholor calls, 'Taffeta..., Malri..., the ink is whatever you wish to protect no matter what. Keep that in mind.' He smiles and closes the temple door.
··•··
A little shopping and a little spell-casting later, Rholor delivers Selûne's answer:
'You will find Nowhere through patience.'
'You will see Nowhere through patience and faith.'
'You will speak to Nowhere through patience and faith that not all that is true is on the surface of things.'
··•··
Frustration. Disappointment. Helplessness. Taffeta tries to disguise her feelings, not wanting to seem ungrateful. 'Thank you, Mister Rholor. Thank you for...' She intends to say 'helping' but can't force the word out. '... for that,' she finishes awkwardly.
'I guess I'll just have to wait.'
She leaves the temple and stands in the square for a while, just looking around. Then she trudges home.
She and Lady Sunday are walking through the farms and fields that fringe Daring Heights, following the dusty road that connects the town to Port Ffirst. 'Up in the mountains there, you seemed pretty keen to know more about her.'
'It seems everyone has met her!' exclaims Sunday. 'Almost everyone on the Council or who has been here a while has had dealings with her. Tugark, Nowhere, Aurelia, Rholor, Dvargar, that one who lost his name, Barden. I don't doubt Varis and Dorian have also crossed paths with her. They all say to beware of her, and yet they've all met her and made bargains with her. So she can't be that bad! I wonder what deals and bargains have been made that we just don't know about.' She kicks a small stone from the path and it skitters off into someone's barley field. 'I just want to meet her and see what all the fuss is about? Have you or Daisy met her? Do you want to come along if not? Maybe we could ask Aurelia more about her!'
'No, I've never met her,' says Taffeta. 'I heard tell of her when we first arrived in town but I think maybe she'd already left by then. I don't really know what dealings other folk have had with her, but it sounds like maybe they ended up regretting it. I can't say I'm keen to meet her myself, but if you've a mind to...'
They walk a little further as Taffeta searches for the end of her sentence. But something else comes in stead.
'What would you ask her for, if she offered?'
Lady Sunday stops walking and turns to face Taffeta, who stops as well, puzzled. The tiefling's hand shoots out towards her companion and suddenly, extending from it, is a huge black maul. Its blood-encrusted head stops a foot from Taffeta's own. 'Why do you want to know?' snaps Lady Sunday.
Then, in a blink, the weapon is gone again and its owner is shrugging carelessly. 'Who said I wanted anything, anyway. I’m just curious. Come on, let’s go find Aurelia.'
The road is beginning to pass among scattered buildings now. As the pair walk on, Taffeta says idly, 'When I was a girl learning the bow, the grown-ups always used to say, "Never aim but you mean to fire." Of course that was for hunting in those days, before the strange times when we began to see goblins and suchlike in the woods. But we still say it, I used to say it to the girls when they were learning. We learned to use swords and knives too, in the strange times, though I didn't like that. I never tried a weapon like that great hammer of yours though. Not sure I could even lift it! How did you learn to use one?'
'Did you kill the goblins?' responds Lady Sunday. 'Did your girls kill the goblins? I killed things when I was a girl, when I was also learning to hunt. Like yours, my teachers talked a lot about fire and flames during those lessons as well..... we were surrounded by it....'
Lady Sunday trails off as a small tongue of flame springs into life on her upraised palm, the embers and sparks mirrored in her purple-black eyes as she stares intently into the glowing light. There's a flickering in the depths of her irises. Glancing sidelong at her, Taffeta isn't entirely sure whether the flicker is from the reflected image of the flame in her hand or... something else. Her speech is casual but beneath it the halfling senses horrendous memories.
The flame goes out with a snap of Sunday's fingers, the same motion bringing her maul back into view.
'I got this during those days, too. But I hunted this down myself. Or maybe it found me. I forget now. It would be funny to see you try and lift it: but I can't let you hold it, I'm afraid. It said only I'm allowed to play with it. No-one's been able to take it off me since.' The voice is tense and the face seems a little pale. Taffeta has never seen Lady Sunday show any fear, but if she had to guess what that would look and sound like, this would be it. But Sunday's back has also straightened and something like a smile has come to her lips, as if she were pleased or proud of something too.
She looks like she's about to say more, when something seems to catch her eye. Suddenly she vanishes and Taffeta hears her voice from further up the road. She's standing by a tree, shouting, 'Hey, look, someone's stuck something up here!'
Taffeta approaches. A crude board has been nailed to the tree, which stands just at the point where the scattered buildings turn into full blocks of houses separated by paved and cobbled streets. On the board is a large piece of parchment with large letters painted on it in red. Lady Sunday is stooping to read them, as the board stands about Taffeta's height.
'What does it say?' asks Taffeta.
'Up here it says "Who holds your strings?" And then underneath is "Illison is coming". That’s a weird message - who’s Illison?!'
'Haven't a clue,' replies the halfling. But the shapes of the letters do look familiar. It reminds me of that note in the Ettin a few months back – that fast little fellow, what was his name... Kerfuffle, that was it!'
··•··
The pair walk on into town, Taffeta telling the story of Kerfuffle and his mine. Arriving in the main square, they spot Aurelia leaving the council house and Taffeta runs up to her. She seems busy and distracted, and more tired than Taffeta has seen her for a while. However, when she sees her she smiles and asks, 'Ah Malri, how can I help you this fine day?'
'Good afternoon! Er... How are you, Aurelia? Is this a bad time to talk?'
'Ah I am never sure if there is a good time to talk nowadays, we all seem to be rushing hither and yon.' She breaks into a genuine large smile. 'It is certainly a good time to talk, how can I help you?'
'Yes, I've been feeling that way too. I was wondering... I'm trying to find Nowhere. You remember he seemed to appear in the mountains, in the giants' camp - I just want to talk to him, find out what happened to those young dragons. Have you seen him, or heard anything?'
Aurelia frowns a little. 'I am afraid I haven't heard anything definite, but that's always the way with Nowhere. I have heard rumour though. There have been rumours of some seeing him in Port Ffirst, rumours of some seeing him here in Daring. Even rumoured sightings of him around Neverwinter! Who knows.'
'What I would say is this. If you are truly seeking him, speak to Rholor. With his help you might have Rholor scry on Nowhere and see where he is. But be warned. Scrying could be an expensive solution. Maybe Rholor has other, cheaper, suggestions.'
'Thank you, Aurelia, truly. I'll talk to Rholor. And I hope your burdens will be eased soon.' Before taking her leave, Taffeta turns to see whether Lady Sunday wants to ask Aurelia anything about Granny. But Lady Sunday isn't there: looking around, Taffeta sees her tail disappearing through the door of the Three-Headed Ettin.
··•··
As Taffeta knocks on the large wooden doors of the temple of Selûne, the sound of the thuds echo through the seemingly empty inside of the building. A few moments later, she is greeted by a young woman, maybe late teens or early twenties, neck-length, straight, dark hair and piercing hazelnut eyes.
'Oh... hi Mrs. Thistletop! I was not told you'd be visiting,' she says with a surprised look on her face. Taffeta has the feeling that all the noteworthy arrivals at the temple are somehow expected. 'Please, come in. Did you come to pray or seek guidance from the Moonmaiden? Or shall I will brew some tea and send word for Master Rholor? I'm afraid he's in town on council duties but I can try and grab a hold of him!'
'Oh! Hello. Er, thank you.' It strikes Taffeta that, although she wasn't sure what she'd been expecting to find at the temple, this young woman wasn't it. 'I, er, I was actually coming to ask Rholor something. Aurelia suggested he could help... But there's no great hurry,' she adds quickly. 'If he's out, I could come back later.'
'Oh no, that is fine, Master Rholor always has time to help adventurers like yourself! I will send word and he shall be here as soon as he can...' - the girls smiles. 'Can I prepare some tea then? Or would you prefer something more... spirituous?'
'Tea would be grand, thank you.'
After waiting for about half an hour, Taffeta hears again the resounding sound of the temple doors creaking open echoing throughout the main hall into the side room she's been led to. A few moments alter, a man enters the room you've been waiting in, a man she once briefly knew as a jovial and excitable young cleric but who now carries an invisible weight and aura of responsibility on his shoulders... almost palpable, almost overwhelming.
'Ah Mrs. Thistletop, I have to admit I was not expecting your visit... Isn't it funny? One can see above and beyond the astral cloth and yet it is the smallest thing that surprises you! But tell me, tell me, how can I help you? Does this have anything to do with dragons?' he says with a cheeky smile while he pours a thick brown liquor onto a short glass and starts slowly sipping.
Still a little touchy after Mistress Underbed's offer to make her taller, Taffeta is momentarily put out by being called 'the smallest thing', but then realizes that the temple-master was speaking figuratively.
'Thank you kindly,' she says. 'Yes, it does have to do with dragons. You've heard about what happened in the west mountains, in the giant camp? I just want to find Nowhere and ask him what he did, whether he saved the wyrmlings. Do you know where he is?'
'Yes I have heard. Quite a story huh?' he smiles. 'Sadly I do not know where he is at this point in time, he has acquired a peculiar taste for inter-planar travels... and I cannot assure you that the wyrmlings are "saved"...' The priest seems to put a strange emphasis on the word. '... But not everything is what it seems to be.'
'Tell me Malri, if you'll allow me to use your given name...' Rholor starts to fiddle with some objects on the table, picking up an ink-pot and waving it in the air between himself and Taffeta. 'Imagine this is Daring Heights –' Rholor then drags a candle across the table and places it underneath the ink-pot. '– and this is a roiling cloud of chaos slowly approaching it. What will happen is that this flame will slowly heat up this glass ink-pot and it will eventually shatter... spilling all the boiling ink, burning everything around it and you will never have this ink-pot back. Even if you glue it together and fill it in with new ink, it will never be the same ink-pot.'
Rholor pauses, grabbing a small wooden plaque with the symbol to Selûne engraved on it, a pair of eyes surrounded by seven silvery stars. 'Now, this engraving... I like it very much and it is precious to me and others... but not as precious as my favourite ink-pot.' He shakes the glass container in his other hand. 'If I place this plaque over the flame...' He does, and the plaque eventually catches fire and Rholor is forced to drop it to avoid his fingers to burn. '– it will burn, heat my hand and I will eventually be forced to let it go, making it fall on the candle, snuffing it out and leaving a gods-damned mess all over my table.' Rholor gestures towards the actual mess he has made and pauses.
'But what about the ink-pot?' He shakes his other hand again. 'My favourite, precious, pristine ink-pot is still intact. The ink is a bit hot but otherwise, safe.'
The seer touches the candle on the table and the little wooden plaque, mutters some words and the candle stands up straight once again and the burnt area on the wooden plaque vanishes. 'Would you prefer to protect Daring Heights?' he asks, dragging the ink-pot across the table in Taffeta's direction. 'Or do you really want to save your dragons?' He drags the wooden plaque across the table.
'I know this might sound vague but I am in no position to explain things further sadly. If you really wish for in-depth answers I can help you narrow your search for Nowhere. I just need to gather some materials and I can conduct a ritual to try and find answers.'
Taffeta frowns at the two objects lying in front of her, almost at eye-level, on the smooth table-top.
'I grew up in the woods, Mister Rholor,' she says in an oddly flat tone. 'We didn't have any inkpots or engravings. Our plates and cups and toys were made of wood. If they broke, we fixed them. It didn't matter if we could see the cracks.'
'People are what I care about.' She looks up at last and meets the cleric's eyes. 'I'm sorry if I'm not smart enough to understand what you're trying to tell me. I'm no good with mysteries. But if you can help me find Nowhere, I'd be very much obliged. If you need materials, I've some money saved up.'
'Ah... but of course,' replies Rholor. 'I do not wish to force your hand and that is why I speak in vague terms and cryptic metaphors... but I too care about the people. We have seen enough suffering for generations to come. I will help you find Nowhere. Head to town, grab –' Rholor scribbles on a piece or parchment '– these items and return in one hour if you can. I need to focus to get your answers.' He stands up and guides her to the door.
'Before you leave,' Rholor calls, 'Taffeta..., Malri..., the ink is whatever you wish to protect no matter what. Keep that in mind.' He smiles and closes the temple door.
··•··
A little shopping and a little spell-casting later, Rholor delivers Selûne's answer:
'You will find Nowhere through patience.'
'You will see Nowhere through patience and faith.'
'You will speak to Nowhere through patience and faith that not all that is true is on the surface of things.'
··•··
Frustration. Disappointment. Helplessness. Taffeta tries to disguise her feelings, not wanting to seem ungrateful. 'Thank you, Mister Rholor. Thank you for...' She intends to say 'helping' but can't force the word out. '... for that,' she finishes awkwardly.
'I guess I'll just have to wait.'
She leaves the temple and stands in the square for a while, just looking around. Then she trudges home.
