| Heartwood Logs |
2000-01-16
| Heartwood |
| Realms |
Retired
| Reality Fault |
General Info
 |
The Wrong Choice
One could already taste the first hints of snow, as the harvest slowly began to close, the season of storms foreshadowed by the white tops of the far away peaks. For the traveling Lady Roxanna, it had been a long and hard season, caught between the Mountains and the Forest, and for her company three merchant wagons and their guard. Bound for Bordertown they were, with bolts of samite destined for Grand Talantal, along with finely crafted jewelry for the proud nobles. Quiet they had been, day to day, week to week, month to month until they had past Brementown and finally broken out into the rolling plains. Almost completely different people they were then. Colby the boss teamster actually smiled, once out from beneath the shadow of Dirkwood Forest. The nighttime fires were now a time to relax and chitter-chat, and not just tall bonfires to keep the beasts of the Forest inside the Forest. Young Tommy actually had a good voice for fireside songs, though Master Rennick usually kept his apprentice close.
The Road East -- Brementown
The merchant trail winds its slow
way north, slipping through the highside fields. The path itself is but
hard packed earth where generations of wagons have traveled and many men
have walked. To the east, at the very edge of sight, lurks the deathly
Forest of Roth and to the west haunts the farthest extremes of the
fell Dirkwood Forest. North, of course, rises the tall ramparts of the
Black Mountains, while to the south the land opens up to lush rolling
hills. This is the very edge of the High Tarn, and farther south and
west lie Bordertown and the rest of the world...
And just before dawn each day the small caravan was up, the wheels rolling for first light. Though the last pair of days, Colby met the morning with a bit more work and an odd private grumble.
It was evening, of course, when Brisa, Khari and Benedict came across the handful of wagons. Half shadowed by Her fading light, they were welcomed to share the campfire. Benedict, of course, was met with a quiet nod and a mote of respect, as he bore the blue robes of Lord Hastur. Brisa couldn't help but raise a few odd looks and a handful of darker chuckles, perhaps a bit of whispered speculation. But that speculation was cut short by Master Rennick, as the merchant offered the traditional traveler's hospitality.
That was when Colby came by and mentioned the bat.
Roxanna says, "A bat, Colby? What kind of bat?"
"It must'a be a bat or somethin'," The grizzled Trundle teamster growled. "... caught in tha 'orses manes an' wrappin' tidbits of cloth, like birds o' nestin', until tails an' forelocks all knotted up an' tangled were. Thought I caught one, I did, 'it it good with a length o' wood..." He held up a short and battered branch, picked up from the side of the trail, " But I could nae find tha' beastie... but w'erever, 'e will nae bother tha 'orses agin."
And Colby's words were spoken true. No tangles in the manes come morning.
Just the rising of a bloody sun above the glistening waters, and the smell of soft pine where there be no trees.
Colby was the first to be lost, green hands and sharp teeth drawing him deep beneath the still waters, just a stream of bubbles marking his wake. Rennick followed, his voice calling out through the unseelie fog, getting fainter and fainter with each heartbeat. Tommy was found with a little gnarled man standing atop him, painting a tall felt cap red, red with blood from Tommy's open head. One by one, as the caravan panicked, one by one all were lost, knowing they were not on the path any more, and someone had cursed them into Faerie. Until three were left, small beneath the thinning mists, lost without a milepost pointing the way home.
Tir Eadochas
A wisp of gray, like a dream of frosty breath
upon a cold storm season night, the scent of soft berries tantalizing
against the gurglish swirl of the warm and shallow water. Bloody is the
light that dances off its still surface, still as far as the eye can
see. Tall shards of grass slash out from the water like spears all in
rank, and every now and then a patch of green with twisted willows bears
the promise of a heartbeat of dry land. The crimson sun glimmers low
on the horizon, a dull perennial glare, while in this forever twilight
sparkles tiny stars, always just upon the edge of sight. Turn to look
and they are gone, like a memory forgotten.
Brisa rubs Khari's nose gently as she looks around slowly, studying their surroundings, checking to see who or what is left, if anything.
Benedict looks around into the mists, sighing to himself. He had hoped to see more of the world of man, not the world of the seelie. This might prove to be a rather final end to his mission. "Which way do we go?" he asks softly.
Roxanna says, "Faerie, isn't it? Should we go anywhere?"
Brisa nods quietly, "Is good ye both did not panic. Well... first we collect our goods, then we have breakfast. Is always easier to face day with a hot meal inside. Why do ye not start a small fire, Benedict, as I showed ye?"
Benedict blinks to Brisa. Fire? Now? With half -- no, with all of the caravan being... well, why not? "All right." He nods, clearing a small area. At the very least, a fire couldn't hurt. The fey had no trouble at all in finding them even without fire.
The last of the caravan lurks like a fallen soldier, the last wagon tilted and flooded, half sunk into the treacherous bog. Its team had panicked and ran, their pace through the water a loud, loud splashing, a welcome cacophony against the uncomfortable silence. Just a memory, now.
Brisa paces silently to the water's edge, Khari clopping quietly at her side, and studies the wagon with a frown... she's no intention of stepping into Fey swamps, but if she can leap to it she'd like to see what's in the wagon.
Roxanna says, "Take a note, Master Benedict. When you find bats tying knots in your horse's manes, don't bash them."
Brisa smiles over her shoulder at Roxanna, "Was no bat, dama, nor should Colby have harmed it... but I suspect we all know that." She goes back to her thoughtful regard of the wagon.
Roxanna sighs. "Whatever it was, it was gone when I went to look. Foolishness, to harm something unknown that was doing no real harm."
Benedict sets up a small pile of tinder. "I can't say I don't disagree with her. Bats' relatives hardly ever, well, do what we've seen."
Brisa nods absently at Roxanna's words, then grins, "Da... and it costs little to comb out the mane, and elflocks harm the horse not at all."
Roxanna says, "Doubly foolish. Wicked to hurt something harmless, stupid to hurt something dangerous."
Brisa murmurs absently, "Pity we could not save one or two of the horses though..."
Roxanna sighs again. "Da... always the innocents suffer."
Brisa gives Roxanna a long, interested glance over one shoulder... then smiles, and goes back to her regard of the wagon. She'll finally walk over to it and simply look into it curiously.
Benedict remains quiet as he builds up the fire as Brisa had taught him. 'it is the role of the Eye of Hastur to lend many men his ear and few men his tongue,' someone once told him. Besides... he knew next to nothing practical about the fey. That was why he was out in the world after all, trying to learn what the books couldn't teach him.
Brisa sorts out the food, setting perishables aside to be eaten at once, and laying the non-perishables on the wagon seat to dry out as best they can. She looks at the cloth, then gives her traveling companions' clothing a long, careful look. "Pardon me, Dama, but ye do have a good, warm cloak that'll shed the rain for ye, aye?"
Roxanna nods. "It's served well enough so far. Trundle isn't a warm place, truly." She points to a bundle where she'd been sitting, consisting of a change of clothing, a cloak, a blanket and a balalaika bundled into a knapsack.
Brisa says, "Well enough then. Is boy I most worried about am, shto. I'm thinking he's not used to Storm Season in the mountains. Hmm..." she pulls the sturdiest bolt of cloth out, unfolds a few folds of it, and lays it also across the wagon seat, "An' Herself smiles on us, this will dry for boy." She looks up, then smiles and nods, "I greet ye, Lady of Attera. The boy's name is Benedict, and he is an Eye of Hastur. I hight Brisa, and this fine lady," she smiles fondly at the gray Amber mare standing next to her, "-is Khari. I'm hoping she'll be able to lead us home, in fact." The gray horse whuffles, and then resumes pacing in the shallow water.
Roxanna smiles and holds out her hand in greeting. "Roxanna, I am. Formerly of Trundle-On-the-Hill, now... I don't know yet." She looks at the horse. "You think she can find her way out of Faerie? The others all panicked and ran."
Brisa nods and takes Roxanna's hand, bowing politely over it, "Dama Roxanna, a pleasure to meet ye, although I could wish for better circumstances." She straightens, then chuckles, "Ah, don't compare her to the other horses... she'll be insulted! She's of Nehrimstel line, out of Amber... smart as they come, she is." She adds with a quiet smile, "She's my partner and companion, and has seen me safely home in one piece more than once."
Roxanna's eyes widen a little. "Oh, an Amber horse? We don't see many of them in Trundle." She pauses, then grins a bit, and bows to the horse directly. "No offense meant, mi'lady."
Brisa grins with considerable more appreciation at Roxanna, and decides she's okay. The mare's ears flicker, following Roxanna's words, its eyes bright. She shakes her head and neck, her soft mane flying in the thin mist. A second whuffle then, before she too looks out across the bogs.
Brisa smiles quietly, "Patience, Khari... hot food would be good for all of us, and I've my doubts you'd turn your pretty nose up at a nice hot mash, mm?" Khari whinnies quietly, ears tall and forward. Brisa turns to the small fire Benedict's got going, and starts whipping together a good hot breakfast for them all, as calmly as if they were safe on the Highland Path. As she does so she glances at the Atteran, "So... ye play the instrument? Would ye grace us with a tune p'raps, Dama?"
Benedict finishes with the fire, sitting back on his haunches and studying it. That should do well, all told. A bit of warmth. He looks up, frowning, at the mare's whinny. Even to an untrained novice like himself... that doesn't sound good.
Roxanna says, "Why not? Nothing seems to be bothering us here, and perhaps any watchers are music lovers, nyeh?" She takes the instrument out of its travel case, and tunes the strings. "Anything in particular you'd like to hear? "
Brisa straightens slowly, intently watching the small gray mare watching the bog... softly she says, "Something peaceful and friendly-like, please, Dama..."
Roxanna notes the looks, and nods. She starts into a gentle lullaby, soft and quiet, the words mainly a murmur of nonsense syllables.
Brisa looks around once, checking her back automatically... if nothing's there she continues to watch Khari, one hand resting lightly on her sword belt... but not her sword.
Benedict notices the wariness of the other two. He lets out a soft breath. In theory (and dogma) Truth is its own weapon, sharper than any sword, more cutting than any blade. Unfortunately, murderous fey and various other hazards of the world usually didn't pause to discuss Truth; at least these fey didn't seem to at first. The provision that a priest of Hastur, least of all an Eye of Hastur, not be armed then, made things... troublesome.
Brisa murmurs quietly to Benedict, "Add a little more to the oatmeal, would ye please, Benedict? Am thinking would be improper to be ungracious guests here, should someone come visiting..." Roxanna continues her song, nodding at Brisa's words.
Benedict nods to Brisa, tending to the fire. Here's to hoping the guests are more hungry for oatmeal instead of blood. Actually, that would be interesting... maybe they'll be more inclined to be sociable if we're not running in abject terror. Should make for a few good journal entries... on either side of the grave.
Khari starts, as the song slowly ends. Her ears snap up, one heartbeat, and then two. But then with a whuffle, she suddenly calms.
Roxanna finishes the lullaby, and looks around the area again, though she is so unfamiliar with even Heartwood countryside that seeing any hidden dangers is quite beyond her. Still, something approaching openly would stand out..."Is that normal, mi'lady warrior?" She begins a second song, a more rollicking one this time. A jolly love song, traditional in the villages near Trundle.
Brisa watches quietly, still standing, and shakes her head, "I... am thinking I do not know, Dama... but... Khari has exceptional horse sense. If she is not afeared... then perchance we may calm also?" She stoops slowly to aid Benedict in the preparation of breakfast, pulling a few small, wrinkled apples out of one sleeve and neatly slicing them into the oatmeal with her dagger... although she pauses frequently to keep an eye on Khari.
And it's only when Brisa looks back that she sees... her. Small, hair the color of flaming metal tossed in a breeze, soft alabaster skin shimmering beneath the finest samite, slipping loosely about daring curves and tall pointed ears. Eyes of metallic burgundy sparkle, narrowed, standing quietly in the water, young, like an old child, fascinated by the tones slipping from the fine balalaika.
Brisa blinks and goes still, staring in awed astonishment... then, slowly and deliberately, she quietly continues slicing apple bits into the oatmeal, careful to make no sudden moves or interrupting sounds.
Roxanna's eyes widen, but she continues to sing. When the song ends, she stands and bows to this amazing person. "Be welcome, mi'lady. Would you care for another song?"
The strange one's gaze flickers. "So swift."
Roxanna settles herself again with her instrument, but pauses at these words. "Swift?"
The gray mare slowly turns and splashes, looking back across the camp, noticing the intruder, stomping one foreleg in the water.
She, the fire haired waif, nods, earnest, solemn. "Like the wish, ended just before it had begun."
Brisa grins quietly at Khari, raising an eyebrow... so, even the quick-eared Khari can miss the approach of the Fey, eh? She glances at the Fey woman/creature, and wonders what wish is being referred to.
Roxanna ponders this cryptic comment.
Brisa murmurs softly, "Maybe her ladyship might like a longer song, Roxanna? Unless she'd rather talk about her wish?"
Roxanna says, "We live shorter lives, mi'lady. We do everything as quickly as may be."
At Brisa's words She claps her hands brightly, like a little child.
Roxanna smiles and begins another song, this one a traditional one from the Empire. "How about the Liberation of Talesan's Village?"
Tilting her head, the little one speaks, slow and serious. "Where the Fierce Ones died?"
Brisa glances at Roxanna, trying to see if she knows who the 'Fierce Ones' are.
Roxanna stops, almost before she begins. "Mayhap... though this tale talks of the common villagers."
Brisa thinks a moment, then says softly, almost urgently, "D'ye know the ballad of Dall Gwynn, Dama Roxanna? P'raps that might prove more entertaining to her ladyship?"
The strange little creature sympathetically whispers, "Oh. You die all the time." The little head just tips back and forth a couple times.
Roxanna smiles. "Da, that I do. The Legend of Dall Gwynn, then." She starts into the tune. Brisa watches the small fey creature with fascination, cautioning herself to not hum along.
Benedict just sort of... watches the fey, trying not to look like he's watching her. The Hastur priest in him is bouncing with glee. A fey, a real, live fey! Right here! In front of him! If he had had a painter on retainer, he'd ask her for her portrait. The Benedict within him is also bouncing with glee, at still being alive and not... well, whatever whimsical fate the seelie would come up with for him.
The little one listens, her eyes suddenly sparkling. As the legend of the lost city vanishes into the mist, Roxanna's chords falling silent, the strange waif claps again, so bright. "New." She stands, quiet, her hair tousling as if caught in a windstorm. "Our Paths..." the water begins to tremble at her feel, whirling in a maelstrom, "...lead to Our Homes and Special Places." She is lost, within the waterspout, a pretty figure in samite and rose hair. And then a slash of lightning, and the waterspout is gone. She is gone. There is a sharp and bitter taste to the air.
Roxanna says, "Curiouser and curiouser..." She sniffs at the air. "Smells a bit like lightning, nyeh?"
Brisa muses puzzledly, "'New'?! the Dall Gwynn's been lost more years than we know... 'our Paths lead to Our Homes and Special Places'... could the Dall Gwynn be a special place to the fey, perchance? Or was she just warning us not to follow any paths here?" She looks up and sighs softly, wishing for Herself to appear again... then goes back to what she's doing, "Well then... I'm thinking we should eat, neh?"
Roxanna says, "I was wondering that myself. New, I think she meant the song. It's not very old, She probably never heard it before."
Brisa nods slowly, "Was good of ye to sing it then, I'm thinking... every musician I know is very happy to collect a new song or verse or tune."
Roxanna says, "P'jalst...it isn't that new. But how often does a human bard have such an audience?"
Brisa starts dishing out oatmeal and apples into small wooden bowls (and one large one), and observes calmly, "To her it might be that new..." she looks up and grins, "And ye have a point there, dama Roxanna... p'raps you could make a song of it for our return, neh?"
Roxanna says, "It may be. I'm not really much as a songcrafter, though. I just sing and play." She puts her instrument away for now and finds a bowl and spoon in the scattered belongings of the departed caravaneers. When breakfast is finished and cleared away, she stands and looks around again. "So... any ideas on where to go next?"
Brisa smiles ruefully, "Nyet, not really... but I'm thinking if anyone knows how to get back home it'd be Khari... so I'm planning on tacking her up and letting her pick the path of her choosing."
Roxanna shrugs. "As good a plan as any, I suppose."
Brisa tacks up Khari, makes sure her traveling companions are packed, and if they allow it, taking their two light bundles of traveling goods. She ties them neatly behind her saddle, then pauses to gently rub Khari's ears and feed her the last bits of apple core. She'll murmur softly to Khari as she does so... "Ye need to be leading us home now, pretty lady... this is no place for the likes of us, neh?" When Khari's done she mounts up, pats Khari's neck, then drops the reins and gently nudges Khari's sides... she'll let Khari pick her own path.
Roxanna is quite happy to let Brisa pack her bundle on the horse, though she'll carry her instrument herself. She prepares to follow where Khari leads.
Slowly the gray horse moves through the water, her ears forward, her pace slow. Each hoof fall is a splash, through the marsh, though the tall damp grass. Her ears are forward, listening. And while the day does not darken as time goes by, the mist does grow, slinking like cats, shifting thicker and thicker. And yet Khari moves forward, in long lazy curves. Still ahead she listens, the horse. Until, at the very edge of hearing, maybe... could it be... could it be that Khari is following the sound of a soft, sad melody?
Roxanna follows as quietly as possible, though in a marsh she splashes and stumbles. She took her boots off when it became apparent that Khari was going to stay in the water, and is mostly soaked by this time...
Brisa looks back at one particularly loud splash, and gets a slightly embarrassed look on her face. She checks to be sure her tucked-up tunic and cloak are still firmly tucked into her belt, then slips off Khari without drawing rein (leaving them loosely looped over the pommel), and strides back to Roxanna. Unless Roxanna dodges away or tells her not to, Brisa will scoop Rox easily up into her arms, and then up into Khari's saddle. She murmurs quietly, "Leave the reins be, please, dama," and walks slowly alongside Khari, one hand on the pommel for balance should she need it.
Roxanna blushes, but accepts gratefully. "Thank you. Both of you... I'm afraid I'm not used to this sort of thing." She sits a little nervously, and hangs onto the saddle to keep her balance.
Brisa smiles up at Roxanna, "Is not trouble... just sit up straight and graceful-like, and ye'll be fine." Roxanna tries to follow the advice, and at least doesn't seem to lose her balance.
Deeper into the mists and swamp Khari walks, until one is sure that she follows the sound of a lonely flute somewhere ahead in the bog. Its notes cry out as the fog thickens, swallowing the notes, tumbling upon itself until one cannot be sure that it is a trick of light or actually something out there, shadowing them through the bog.
Roxanna joins the song of the flute as the fog thickens, chanting along with its plaintive tune.
Brisa walks along next to Khari, her right hand resting on the pommel of her saddle. She brings her left hand up, palm upwards, and studies it intently... she murmurs softly to herself, "Grant me aid, bright sisters..."
A small, bright spark of light flares to life over Brisa's left palm... it floats there for a moment, then dances lazily up in an arching curve to drift along about a foot or two above Khari's small, forward-perked ears. Brisa looks around intently once the area is slightly better lit, trying to see through the fog.
And the light from the little star creates a soft blue glow in the gray, gray fog, and while it does not cut through the mists it does make the shadows real. The tall monoliths that rise from the muddy waters, the stones they have wandered into, a circle of nine plinths reaching to the sky, twice as tall as Roxanna atop Khari. And Khari stops, one step ahead of the low flat central rock, the one with carved channels atop. All about them, the sad flute whistles, close, as close as the ring of deadly yellow eyes glowing just beyond the ring of stones...
Brisa goes stock-still, standing in place next to Khari, her eyes darting around the circle.
Roxanna says, "This may work...or not. Don't the circles form Gates sometimes?" She looks around very nervously...
"I think that Khari and you had better have a talk..."