[PF] Port Ffirst's first crusade – 4 Apr. 2019 – Taffeta
Apr 14, 2019 10:02:57 GMT
Varis/G'Lorth/Sundilar, Daisy, and 4 more like this
Post by Malri 'Taffeta' Thistletop on Apr 14, 2019 10:02:57 GMT
1496 DR, 11 Tarsakh
A gentle rain is falling, but the forest canopy above the dryads’ glade, now just beginning to come back into leaf, deflects some of it. What still filters down onto Taffeta’s head is refreshing after so many days in clammy tunnels and caverns.
Tille, who is also beginning to leaf and bud, hands her a wooden cup. Taffeta takes it gratefully from the forest spirit and sips the invigorating spring water. She looks from Tille to Adrien to Elaine and sees the nervous expectation in each of the dryads’ faces.
‘I’m sorry to say,’ Taffeta begins quietly, ‘your half-sister is dead. I… couldn’t see any other way.’
The dryads drop their gaze to the ground for a long minute. A tear falls from Adrien’s cheek, and a white flower sprouts from the place where it hit the ground. Elaine, the oldest of the three, takes her hand, then crosses the sprout-like fingers of her other hand with Tille’s. Elaine finally breaks the silence: ‘Taffeta, dear friend.. I am sorry that you were given such a burden to carry this news to our grove. If your heart has the strength to retell the story, we need to hear it.’
Taffeta hesitates a moment. ‘Er, I should say, I’m not certain she was your sister. She was known as Iraya, for sure. And she seemed like the person you described: a drow woman, very dark grey skin, black hair, tall, agile. I must say, though, I didn’t know a drow could be a sister to folk like you – how is that, if you don’t mind my asking?’
‘Yes, that sounds just like her. She is our half-sister only. If you could say that. The dryad who was watching over this grove before us, who came from our Mother Tree, once fell in love with a drow man. This is how Iraya was born.’
‘Oh,’ says Taffeta, wondering what a 'mother tree' is and how dryads are born anyway. ‘Well, so, Obara, the Warden of Xarribia, told us that one day Iraya just appeared, no family, no lineage – seems like normally those things matter a lot to the drow, but somehow Iraya was able to gather a lot of followers and power very quickly and became the high priestess of Shar in the city. Then she started gathering magical artifacts and building a fortress in the shadowfell. She somehow opened a stable portal between that plane and the temple of Shar in Xarribia. When we arrived – it was me and that fellow I told you about, the one who organized the expedition… I say "organized"... he’d got some folk together and that was about as far as his plan went… Anyway, when we arrived, Iraya was off in the shadowfell but Obara was there in the temple with her… bodyguard, I guess. We nearly came to blows but when Ginead mentioned Iraya, the Warden got interested and gave us the story.’
‘She asked us to kill Iraya for her. It suited her to have us turn up: we could remove a threat to her power in the city, and it wouldn’t be traced back to her. I don’t like killing folks, especially not to suit someone else’s power-games. But from what you told me about Iraya, and from what Obara told us about what she was doing, I couldn’t really think of an alternative. I thought perhaps we could trap her and talk to her, but when we got to the temple she was already there and it all kicked off. The stone you gave me helped to keep her off-balance and it was all over pretty quickly. I’m sorry I couldn’t find another way.’
‘I guess her fortress is still there in the shadowfell, half-built or however she left it. We didn’t go and look – I’ve been to the shadow plane and it’s no place to go unless you’re in a very good mood when you set off. The portal’s still there too, in the temple of Shar, unless it’s closed now without Iraya to sustain it. I don’t know. Obara’s guard promised me she’ll keep it safe, but I don’t know…’
As Taffeta has been speaking, the dryads’ eyes have widened more and more.
‘She must’ve found another location…’ - whispers Tille. ‘Taffeta, dear friend... We told you that our grove is very special. It is connected to the cave of the Great Keeper in the Feywild. Whatever happens in one, reflects on another. What we didn’t tell you earlier was... well... There is a location in Shadowfell that has that same connection with our grove, although we did not know where it was. You say Iraya was building a fortress in Shadowfell?’
‘Yes, that’s what Obara told us.’
‘This must be the place... If she had summoned enough magical force to that place, she would overpower our grove and the Great Keeper completely. We are going to make sure that place is sealed off forever, it is time that we got out of this grove for once. Thank you for telling us about this.’
‘Listen,’ says Taffeta, ‘I… I know this isn’t my business, but if you need help, will you tell me? I don’t know how, but… you could send an animal or something to find me? I live in Daring Heights, in a house on the north side, near a little copse of crab apple trees that have low branches, my daughter loves to climb them – oh!’ exclaims Taffeta, ‘I hope that isn’t disrespectful, I’m sorry. Or my husband has a pie shop near the middle of town, that might be easier to find… I’m worried about the planes, you see. There’s a man called Oriloki, he’s come from Faerûn from some group of very clever mages, and he’s very clever too, and they’re all worried about what’s happening with portals and planar events round here. At first I thought it was just fussing, like clever city people like to do, but since all this started, I don’t know… So I’d like to help, you see, and I told the Great Keeper I’d try. And I met someone else too, in Port Ffirst with Ginead and the others, Jacinta, she’s a hin like me and she seems to know about the planes, she may be able to help… Anyway, I’m babbling, sorry. But if you feel anything out of balance again, or… or just if you need me… please call on me.’
The dryads smile. ‘You are are a true friend. You do not need to worry about us. All forest spirits are now alarmed thanks to you and your friends. We will see you soon, Taffeta. Now we must leave.’
‘Well, take care now,’ says Taffeta, finishing her drink and carefully resting the cup on a mossy stone. ‘Good luck, and I hope… I hope things will be more peaceful for you after this.’ And she shoulders her bag and walks off into the trees, not much bothering about which way she’s going.
She assumes that, like every other time before, she’ll get lost for a while. The first couple of times she thought it was bad luck, or that her way-finding skills had let her down. But she knows her own ability well enough now to understand that if there were a way to leave that place, or arrive there, without getting lost, she’d have found it by now. It’s part of what protects the dryads, she reckons, and if that’s what it’s for then she isn’t going to try to fight it. She’ll find her way again after a while, and then head back home.
It’s the longest she’s been away since the Lassitude. She wonders whether the silver buds on the crab apple trees have turned green yet.
A gentle rain is falling, but the forest canopy above the dryads’ glade, now just beginning to come back into leaf, deflects some of it. What still filters down onto Taffeta’s head is refreshing after so many days in clammy tunnels and caverns.
Tille, who is also beginning to leaf and bud, hands her a wooden cup. Taffeta takes it gratefully from the forest spirit and sips the invigorating spring water. She looks from Tille to Adrien to Elaine and sees the nervous expectation in each of the dryads’ faces.
‘I’m sorry to say,’ Taffeta begins quietly, ‘your half-sister is dead. I… couldn’t see any other way.’
The dryads drop their gaze to the ground for a long minute. A tear falls from Adrien’s cheek, and a white flower sprouts from the place where it hit the ground. Elaine, the oldest of the three, takes her hand, then crosses the sprout-like fingers of her other hand with Tille’s. Elaine finally breaks the silence: ‘Taffeta, dear friend.. I am sorry that you were given such a burden to carry this news to our grove. If your heart has the strength to retell the story, we need to hear it.’
Taffeta hesitates a moment. ‘Er, I should say, I’m not certain she was your sister. She was known as Iraya, for sure. And she seemed like the person you described: a drow woman, very dark grey skin, black hair, tall, agile. I must say, though, I didn’t know a drow could be a sister to folk like you – how is that, if you don’t mind my asking?’
‘Yes, that sounds just like her. She is our half-sister only. If you could say that. The dryad who was watching over this grove before us, who came from our Mother Tree, once fell in love with a drow man. This is how Iraya was born.’
‘Oh,’ says Taffeta, wondering what a 'mother tree' is and how dryads are born anyway. ‘Well, so, Obara, the Warden of Xarribia, told us that one day Iraya just appeared, no family, no lineage – seems like normally those things matter a lot to the drow, but somehow Iraya was able to gather a lot of followers and power very quickly and became the high priestess of Shar in the city. Then she started gathering magical artifacts and building a fortress in the shadowfell. She somehow opened a stable portal between that plane and the temple of Shar in Xarribia. When we arrived – it was me and that fellow I told you about, the one who organized the expedition… I say "organized"... he’d got some folk together and that was about as far as his plan went… Anyway, when we arrived, Iraya was off in the shadowfell but Obara was there in the temple with her… bodyguard, I guess. We nearly came to blows but when Ginead mentioned Iraya, the Warden got interested and gave us the story.’
‘She asked us to kill Iraya for her. It suited her to have us turn up: we could remove a threat to her power in the city, and it wouldn’t be traced back to her. I don’t like killing folks, especially not to suit someone else’s power-games. But from what you told me about Iraya, and from what Obara told us about what she was doing, I couldn’t really think of an alternative. I thought perhaps we could trap her and talk to her, but when we got to the temple she was already there and it all kicked off. The stone you gave me helped to keep her off-balance and it was all over pretty quickly. I’m sorry I couldn’t find another way.’
‘I guess her fortress is still there in the shadowfell, half-built or however she left it. We didn’t go and look – I’ve been to the shadow plane and it’s no place to go unless you’re in a very good mood when you set off. The portal’s still there too, in the temple of Shar, unless it’s closed now without Iraya to sustain it. I don’t know. Obara’s guard promised me she’ll keep it safe, but I don’t know…’
As Taffeta has been speaking, the dryads’ eyes have widened more and more.
‘She must’ve found another location…’ - whispers Tille. ‘Taffeta, dear friend... We told you that our grove is very special. It is connected to the cave of the Great Keeper in the Feywild. Whatever happens in one, reflects on another. What we didn’t tell you earlier was... well... There is a location in Shadowfell that has that same connection with our grove, although we did not know where it was. You say Iraya was building a fortress in Shadowfell?’
‘Yes, that’s what Obara told us.’
‘This must be the place... If she had summoned enough magical force to that place, she would overpower our grove and the Great Keeper completely. We are going to make sure that place is sealed off forever, it is time that we got out of this grove for once. Thank you for telling us about this.’
‘Listen,’ says Taffeta, ‘I… I know this isn’t my business, but if you need help, will you tell me? I don’t know how, but… you could send an animal or something to find me? I live in Daring Heights, in a house on the north side, near a little copse of crab apple trees that have low branches, my daughter loves to climb them – oh!’ exclaims Taffeta, ‘I hope that isn’t disrespectful, I’m sorry. Or my husband has a pie shop near the middle of town, that might be easier to find… I’m worried about the planes, you see. There’s a man called Oriloki, he’s come from Faerûn from some group of very clever mages, and he’s very clever too, and they’re all worried about what’s happening with portals and planar events round here. At first I thought it was just fussing, like clever city people like to do, but since all this started, I don’t know… So I’d like to help, you see, and I told the Great Keeper I’d try. And I met someone else too, in Port Ffirst with Ginead and the others, Jacinta, she’s a hin like me and she seems to know about the planes, she may be able to help… Anyway, I’m babbling, sorry. But if you feel anything out of balance again, or… or just if you need me… please call on me.’
The dryads smile. ‘You are are a true friend. You do not need to worry about us. All forest spirits are now alarmed thanks to you and your friends. We will see you soon, Taffeta. Now we must leave.’
‘Well, take care now,’ says Taffeta, finishing her drink and carefully resting the cup on a mossy stone. ‘Good luck, and I hope… I hope things will be more peaceful for you after this.’ And she shoulders her bag and walks off into the trees, not much bothering about which way she’s going.
She assumes that, like every other time before, she’ll get lost for a while. The first couple of times she thought it was bad luck, or that her way-finding skills had let her down. But she knows her own ability well enough now to understand that if there were a way to leave that place, or arrive there, without getting lost, she’d have found it by now. It’s part of what protects the dryads, she reckons, and if that’s what it’s for then she isn’t going to try to fight it. She’ll find her way again after a while, and then head back home.
It’s the longest she’s been away since the Lassitude. She wonders whether the silver buds on the crab apple trees have turned green yet.
I think I'll refrain haha