"Oh my," Durielle says. "Ominous, you say?"
The oracle looks a bit unsettled. "I—I'm afraid...I don't really recall..."
She looks rather distraught now. "I'm so sorry! I really thought I was helping."
Durielle sighs and sits down once again looking quite embarrassed.
"There is nothing to be sorry for." Vladimir says, attempting to reassure the elf maiden.
"Rest assured, your visions did help. If nothing else you reminded us that the task set out before us will not be simple and if we are not careful dire consequences could befall more than just the five of us."
Relief washes over Marisol as Durielle recovers. She stands in tandem with Durielle, offering a hand for support.
"Not to worry, Durielle," she says firmly. "We asked, you answered. You've given us information about what to do and what not to do - and of course we will listen."
"But, as always, you are more important to us than just your talents."
It takes a moment for Oleg to recover... he stands wide-eyed even after Vladimir calls out his name. Kesten nudges him. "Master Oleg... you have accommodations? The young lady could likely use some rest."
"Oh oh yes of course." Oleg gestures to the small guest house within the fortification. "I will go... and make certain it is properly prepared."
Balter goes quiet when Vladimir and Marisol attempt to coax a divination out Durielle. The ranger pours himself another drink, trying hard to maintain his typically skeptical demeanor, but failing to conceal his genuine curiosity. As the oracle begins he raises his mug and takes a long, slow sip, while concealing the lower half of his face. He watches at first with interest, but then with alarm as Durielle's premonition becomes more and more intense. When she collapses to the ground he pushes his chair back and stands, as though to intervene...
...but the ranger freezes in place when she jabs a finger in his direction. As Durielle(?) speaks to him with unfamiliar contempt, his expression suddenly changes; one might think that the Stag Lord had just nailed him with another arrow, from beyond the grave. For a moment his hand hovers over one of his swords, but he closes his eyes and shakes his head. By the time he opens his eyes again, it is over.
With a rather profound frown, Balter looks to the others, and then back to Durielle. When it becomes apparent that she isn't going to drop dead, he slowly returns to his seated position, and takes another draught from his mug.
"I guess we'd better use the Stag Fort, then," he says finally, sardonic as usual. In spite of his joking tone, his expression remains troubled. "I'd hate to cause the end of the world by setting up here instead."
"I agree - it's settled," says Marisol. "What should we call our new village?"
"A fine question, Marisol. I can not say that it is something that I have give much thought. Although in theory we have two things to name, our first settlement and our fledgling nation."
"Something like Stag's End for the settlement could be appropriate, but I think I would prefer something that makes that monster nothing more than a distant memory rather than a constant reminder of his barbaric villainy."
Scratching his chin that was now in dire need of shave, he asks, "Any preferences, thoughts?"
With a quirk of a smile Marisol says, "Stag's End was the first thing that came to mind, too, but I agree that we should decide on something to celebrate the future, not the past."
In contrast, Balter did not have so much as a single hair on his chin, perhaps owing to his elfish nature. Were he more human, he'd have doubtlessly grown a beard worthy of a dwarf or wizard by now.
He shrugs his shoulders, but somehow, the gesture does not come off as being one of indifference. "I don't know. I kind of like the sound of Stag's End. It's not just about glorifying the fact that we lopped off some drunkard's head. Maybe we need a reminder of what happened there. A sword to dangle over our heads. For the people that'll come to live there, the name would be a mark of our triumph. And for people like Dovan... a warning."
Having apparently ranted for longer than he usually cares to, Balter takes another drink and gestures at Durielle. "Besides, we already have someone that can look to the future."
Durielle gives Balter a wounded look uncertain if he's poking fun at her given his wry comment before.
"Personally, I would prefer a different name. The budding citadel I saw was a wonderful place and a name commemorating death and the blood of a former tyrant doesn't suit that vision."
She takes a breath and considers thoughtfully.
"I think would much rather something like 'Tyela en' Lye Lema.'
Then she shakes her head slightly. "But that's probably a bit of a mouthful for most folk."
Vladimir smiles and only allows himself a small chuckle, hoping to not offend Durielle. "Indeed that is quite the mouthful, and beyond that I would hope that the founding of our fledgling nation is not the end of our journey, but perhaps more of a beginning."
Turning to Balter, "Perhaps we could compromise. Most forts and castles have names, perhaps Stag's End is the new name of the fort itself...still that does not put us any closer to a name for the village or the nation." the swordsman says, still pondering.
Durielle pouts a bit about the name, but since she's outvoted resigns herself to what is beyond her control.
"You may say you want more of a journey, but I would prefer nothing but peace and a place to call home that isn't cursed to a doom by my presence. Besides, I am fairly sure you will discover there is much less traveling one can accomplish when one is making decisions for a colony."
"You aren't responsible for our choices, and you certainly aren't a 'doom', Durielle. In the vein of Vladimir's suggestion, maybe we call the keep 'Stag's End' and the town that will hopefully grow around it something that brings those ideas together, like... 'Staghearth' or um... 'Hearth Hill' - it is on a hill overlooking the Tuskwater, after all - or... oh, I don't know, we don't have to make up our minds right now, we're not going to the sign-maker. Or we could use an elven name, I just agree that humans are going to shorten it anyway if it's too many words they don't know, so something simple may have merit."
Durielle sighs.
"I'd prefer not to name our new home after a drunken monster, but it seems I have no choice but to accept your collective decision. Whether the future town has a different name or not, the only thing that is there now is Stag's End, so that's what will make it onto the maps and the report that goes back to Restov."
The oracle sounds surprisingly petulant.
"You know, the stag is also the symbol of Erastil, the god of rural communities. We can take something bad and make some good out of it."
"Something tells me saying we've named the town after the end of the god of nature sounds like a potentially cataclysmic mistake. But I do like the idea of including hearth."
Durielle thinks for a moment.
"How about naming the keep Wanderer's Haven or something pleasant like that?"
"I'm not opposed. I like the idea of a comfortable hearth and home."
Marisol briefly rubs her shoulder (where she was shot - after Durielle changed the timeline to save her from a chest-penetrating wound), and grimaces. "Now that I think about it, the less it reminds me of that bow-shooting maniac, the better."
Balter grins ever so slightly when he hears Durielle's suggestion for a name - a mouthful indeed, but pleasant to the ear, even if its meaning did not quite suit him. It felt like it had been forever since he last heard his mother's tongue.
"Then how about Hearthome?" Balter suggests jokingly, already slightly exasperated by the naming process. He quietly wonders whether they'll have discussions like these every time a fort or empty plot of land needs a name. He lifts his mug only to find that it is empty again.
Marisol fetches a bottle to refill Balter's mug and says, "As long as home is where I have all of you, it will surely be where my heart is."
Even though it was meant as a joke, Vladimir contemplates Balter's suggestion. "That sounds like a fine suggestion for the name of our settlement, perhaps only the village itself, but that is all we need worry about for now."
Turning to the others, "Is everyone on board with the idea of naming the keep itself Stag's End?" the swordsman says, obviously trying to wrap up the naming discussion.
Durielle sighs with a shake of her head. Standing, she turns to their host Oleg.
"I believe I would like to be seen to that room now. I have proven to be of no use to my comrades with my abilities or my opinions."
Oleg nods, and leads Durielle to the guest house.
Kesten refills his mug. "The name you choose need not mean anything really." He shrugs... "Make it up... something you like the sound of.. have your rule and what becomes of it give it meaning."
"Durielle, that's not..." says Marisol, but trails off after the elf leaves abruptly. She sighs heavily and watches the other woman go, then looks back at Vlad, Balter, and Hrafen. "I didn't think it was that important... but... I just don't know." She purses her lips, wavering between "thinking" and "slightly upset."
"I don't understand her at all," Balter says flatly, once the oracle has taken her leave. Not that he wouldn't say it to her face if he had to, but... "One moment she's spelling doom for all of us, the next she's talking about how beautiful our lives are going to be. But then it's a name that sets her off? It's so frustrating, knowing that she can just..."
The ranger moves his hands about, struggling to articulate his words. But then, with a frustrated sigh, he skips the mug and goes straight for the bottle
"I'll go talk to her," says Marisol. "Something else must be bothering her and making this topic more sensitive." She puts down her own mug and moves off after Durielle.
"Cut her a bit of slack, Balter. It can not be easy seeing so many different timelines at the same time."
As Marisol leaves to see to Durielle, the swordsman says, "Good luck."
Regarding Kesten's comment Vladimir says, "You make a very good point."
"Thanks, Vlad. I'll do my best," says Marisol with a quick smile as she follows Durielle.
Balter sets down the bottle and heaves another sigh. "There's an understatement if I've ever heard one. I used to think that she was just crazy, but now I'm wondering how she hasn't gone crazy..."
The ranger apparently has more to say on the matter, but lets the matter drop without complaint.
"But yeah... I guess I'm with Kesten on this one. As long as the name has a good ring to it, the meaning will come on its own."
Marisol arrives at Durielle's room and knocks on the door. "Durielle?" she calls plaintively. "It's me. Can I come in?"
Once inside the guest quarters, Durielle removes her hooded cloak and hangs it on a hook on the wall. She sits down on the bed with a despondent sigh when she hears Marisol knock and call out to her. She stands and moves to open the door.
Upon opening it, the elf sees her friend's concerned face. "Of course, you can come in, Marisol. I just needed to step away for a moment."
She stands aside so the dhampir can enter.
Marisol squeezes in and stands to one side in the room.
"Are you all right, Durielle? You know I really value your opinions and your feelings. I honestly didn't mean to seem dismissive. I do think that something inspirational is a good idea so that we can aspire to a better future," she says apologetically.
The oracle smiles albeit a tad weakly.
"What will be, will be. I learned that lesson the hard way," she says quietly looking at her hands.
Durielle's voice lowers and takes on a very serious tone. "There will be many obstacles, Marisol. We—Vladimir, Hrafen, Balter, you, me—we will suffer for the happiness we strive to give ourselves and others. We have not chosen an easy road. Many are the enemies which will appear and seek to bring us to ruin. War, Marisol. I fear it will be unavoidable unless we are so very, very careful."
"We must accept what we are. The future depends on that. Sometimes great good comes from what we fear the most." The oracle's words come out softly...and eerily cryptic. "Do not allow my visions to cause you to fear the path you may have no choice but to walk, Marisol."
She leans close; her luminous silver eyes filling Marisol's vision. The dhampir suddenly feels...something filling the space between them as if she can feel the heavy weight of the oracle's aura imposing on her own.
The elf's voice is almost a whisper.
"Sometimes the most terrible secrets come to burden us because there was no other choice to be made to save the ones we wish kept safe."
She looks into Marisol's eyes for what feels like an eternity—perhaps it is knowing the curse of Durielle's powers—and for that infinite moment Marisol feels almost like she sees her own possible futures in Durielle's eyes.
Abruptly the moment ends when Durielle leans back shaking her head.
"I-I'm sorry. I don't know what that was...I think I shouldn't have done that." Durielle's face shows some angst which she banishes with a tentative smile.
"You come here to comfort me, and all I do is cause you more worry. You needn't fret, my dear friend. You and Vladimir will make wonderful leaders. You both have the charisma to bring many settlers to these lands. The troubles we will face will be no more than any fledgling nation would be likely to endure. Well, I'd like to think so anyway."
"Well.. I'm off to get some sleep. Please let me know if I can be of any use. I am more than willing to serve in whatever capacity you deem fit. I am certain Oleg would not begrudge my exit of service here... he is well aware I yearn for greater things, and to put greater distance between my old life and new."