“But, no, I have not seen those you describe. Strangers here are few, and a wealthy lord would attract some attention.” She describes the two or three strangers she has seen in the past few weeks, and seems sincere in that she has seen no one of Gilbraith or Lenna’s descriptions.
Tiff leaves the old woman and seeks out her friends, her body language imperious and seeming ready to fight.
“What is it?” Nathaniel asks quietly as Tiff approaches, thunder in her face.
"Whatever happened, it doesn't look as if her welcome was any warmer than ours. We should go."
Eliva looked downcast as they leave town to circle back to the windmill. "These people...they should work together to build a strong community that can take care of itself and welcome additional hands. It's like their community is sick. I wish I could help them see that working for a living off the land is a challenge to be faced cheerfully, not a burden of suspicion and defeat." She settled her bow more comfortably on her back and began to walk with determination. "Let's find out what this woman wants. Maybe she knows why these people are so defeated here."
"If we happen across any wandering minstrels, perhaps we should send them this way. A decent bard might do this place a world of good!" Erfan shuffles along after the others, hiking up the over-sized shirt with one hand and balancing his spear on his opposite shoulder.
The party makes its way out of the village, the villagers’ looks of distrust mingled with what can only be described as relief at seeing you go. As the party leaves the village behind, they are glad to note that they do not seem to be followed. From the hillside, the village looks like a blighted smudge upon the landscape. A pale sun shines upon you as you make your way across the hills beyond the neglected fields surrounding Tamoire.
Ahead of you, atop a small rise, a huge windmill creeks slowly under the light breeze. Its shattered blades turn as if out of habit, creaking and groaning from lack of grease. The structure itself is made out of rotting wood, covered in brown paint which is peeling off in huge flakes.
You have arrived for your meeting early, but you spot the figure of the hooded woman already there ahead of you.
“I wondered myself whether an hour may be too long,” she says with amusement. “Fifteen minutes is too long in that horrid village.” She pulls back her hood, and you see that she is quite young. Her raven hair and bright eyes, as well as her bright jewelry, now displayed openly, mark her as some manner of gypsy. “I am Darra,” she introduces herself.
"Greetings Dara, I am Tiffana." Tiff says with a nod, her orange flacked eyes study the other gypsy keenly seeking any hint to her trustworthiness.
"What's wrong with the people here?" Angalia still looks uneasy as she remembers the furtive half-heard comments of the villagers.
Darra regards Tiffana with interest, “Greetings, Tiffana. I sense something of a kindred spirit in you.”
She sighs at Angalia’s question, “In a way, I pity the people of the village. Theirs is a sad lot. They have seen much tragedy and misfortune, and it has turned them to fear and superstition. I have lived among them these past three weeks, awaiting your arrival. I carefully cultivated a disguise among them for my own safety, which is why I could not be seen speaking with you openly. Now that you are here, I must admit I am relieved to be out of that place. My people are wanderers, and chafe at being confined to one place for long, especially one as suffocating as that village.
“But perhaps I get ahead of myself. You must be puzzled when I say that we have been waiting for you. An elder of my people foresaw the arrival of a band of travelers from outside and dispatched several of us to various locales in this part of Dementlieu to meet with you. This can be a dangerous land for those such as yourselves who do not know its ways.”
"Indeed," Eliva agreed as she watched the woman carefully, "I wonder about much in what you say. What do you mean by 'outside'? Can you tell us about this place? And why would a band of travelers be so important that your people would send watchers to such unpleasant places as this town?"
"You are not from this place, unless I am horribly mistaken. I am not mistaken, am I?" Suddenly she seems unsure.
"I was told that you would be coming from beyond the mists. To scholars in your land, this place is probably called the Demiplane of Dread, or something similar. Those of us who live here do not call it anything. It is simply the world. Surely this landscape looks unfamiliar to you."
"An elder of my people foresaw your coming in a reading of the cards. She said you bring change - some kind of change for the better. I doubt even she knows what, the cards being somewhat vague. Mother Kindry, for that is what we call her, can tell you a great many things. She said your coming is a good omen. We are to treat you as honored guests."
"If we happen across any wandering minstrels, perhaps we should send them this way. A decent bard might do this place a world of good!" Erfan shuffles along after the others, hiking up the over-sized shirt with one hand and balancing his spear on his opposite shoulder.
“Or a priest,” Nathaniel suggests. “It is lack of faith in the gods that turns people like that.”
“We’re not from around here,” Nathaniel admits. “Dementlieu did you call it? I know that we’re far from home but you make it sound like … like we’re in some other world. What did you say – ‘Demiplane’? Of … Dread?”
Nathaniel looks at the woman in confusion.
"Why would chasing our repulsive Lord Gilbraith take us to another world? That makes no sense."
"I'm afraid I don't know the answer to that," Darra replies to Angalia. "But Mother Kindry is wise, and may be able to divine an answer. You ought to speak with her. Our caravan is not so distant - we ought to be able to reach it before sundown, and we would be well-advised to do so, for it is not safe to be about at night."
"Returning to the village does not seem to be an option." She looks down at the village, where the sharper eyed among you can see commotion and the movement of lit torches. "It takes most visitors the better part of a day to turn them into a mob." She grins with amusement. "Very impressive."
Eliva's lips curled as she looked back and saw the beginnings of a mob. "I have no love for these people, but also no desire to harm them. I am for leaving."
Tiff shrugs her shoulders at the distant sign of lit torches, "S#!$, you help an old woman light her fireplace and people get their loin clothes all wadded up."
"On our way. So far the only person we've met that haven't tried to frighten us, kill us or eat us has been you. I think that's a good start."
Darra leads the party inland, skirting wide of Tamoire. "It will take them a while to figure out that you are long gone. They will not pursue you beyond their village."
The route takes you along the edge of a wood. The old trees cluster together, and between them dark, hungry shadows conceal unknown secrets. The wood seems to have an unnatural foreboding about it, but then, so does much of the landscape in this place.
Darra avoids taking you too close to the trees. She leads at a comfortable pace, and even knows a safe spot to rest and take a picnic lunch. As the afternoon turns into evening, you reach a hilltop. "There, you can see the caravan down in that valley," she says, pointing. "They have already lit the cooking fires." She heads down the hill in the direction of the caravan.
Res follows along silently still trying to wrap his head around the idea that they have left their home plane entirely. He has never heard of Dementlieu or even the Demiplane of Dread for that matter. However, the opportunity to do some good in this forsaken land appealed to him. In his experience, when an evil attempts to rule a land, it usually is necessary to spill some blood to affect change, and that certainly always pleases his god, Gorum.
Nathaniel follows around, bow in hand, keeping an eye out for any trouble – whether an ambush, a mob following from the village, or ghouls or other monsters.
The prospect of finding some answers among people who might not try to kill her makes Angalia less perceptive than usual. She walks beside Tiff, glancing from the girl to Darra from time to time.
Eliva moves forward, hopeful but trying to be cautious as she looked around and tried to gauge the intentions of the people in the caravan.
As the group approaches the caravan, Res shakes himself out of his musings and regains his focus. He keeps an eye out for anything unusual.
Perception:
Sense motive
Brightly painted wagons form a rough circle surrounding a blackened firepit, now glowing with a new fire. The raven-haired gypsies tend mundane tasks: cooking, tending to horses, splitting firewood, mending clothes. But even in these ordinary pursuits, they are garbed in garish colors, with bright beads and bangles dancing in the glow of the cooking fire. They go about their work with purpose and pride.
As Darra leads you into the encampment, a man's voice calls out, "Darra!" and a swarthy man runs toward her, twirling her about in an embrace. They exchange a tender greeting without much regard for propriety before Darra leads him back to you. "This is Tannis, my promised," she says.
"Thank you for bringing her home safely," Tannis says, with a hint of good-natured teasing in his voice.
Darra says, "You are all welcome here. If my nose is not mistaken, they are preparing a fine meal for you."
Angalia relishes the first remotely normal people she's seen outside her own friends for what feels like weeks.
Erfan smiles at the caravan and particularly the scent of food that wafts on the air. The hems of his overshirt have become soiled and wrinkled after being constantly stepped on during their walk. He tugs at it uncomfortably for a moment, then sighs and removes it completely, offering it back to Nathaniel.
"These people seem more accepting of us, and I've no further need of your modesty," the gnome says with a wink. "Thank you, though."
The gnome's body, as before, is a mix of tribal tattoos, dirt, and body hair (though fine and sparse). He bows to Darra and her companion, takes up his other possessions, and heads further into the caravan group in pursuit of food.
Eliva smiled and nodded to both Tannis and Darra. "Thank you for your welcome! My name is Eliva. It warms the day to meet people with a sense of community in this new land we find ourselves in. We have a small contribution we can make to the stewpots if needed."
Eliva waited for an indication of where they should go as she looked around the camp for the wise woman Darra spoke of.
The gypsies seem rather shocked, then amused, at the naked gnome. "I see he's made himself comfortable," Darra remarks.
"Your contributions to the meal will be most welcome," she adds to Eliva. "Come sit near the fire, and I will see if Mother Kindry is ready to see you." Darra shows you to a nice, out of the way spot and then heads over to consult in one of the wagons.
brushes off coat and clothes
enters camp with a wide smile for anyone who meets his gaze
asks Tiffa quietly,
"Does 'other plane' mean these are demons or such?"
Gradually, Angalia calms herself down enough to look around and see if there's anything she can help with.
"I can't cook - or at least not if anyone wants to eat the results, but I can mend things."
"Everyone contributed to what I have here, not just me, but if a little addition of fish stew would be welcome, I can get started in making it." Eliva chuckles at little at Angalia's admission. "I'm no great cook either. Hopefully I can pull together something that is satisfactory, though."
"You can't be a worse cook than me. Ask Nat."
Interrupting your culinary discussion, Darra returns a few minutes later from one of the brightly colored wagons. “Mother Kindry is actually quite anxious to meet all of you. Among the Vistani, none are so respected as a wise woman with the gift of the eye. While Korinald runs the day to day operations of our caravan, Mother Kindry is our revered elder and spiritual guide. We have no use for formality or protocols, but she has earned our respect through her wisdom.”
Darra ushers you into one of the wagons. It is spacious, but inevitably cramped with so many of you. Colorful fabrics are draped around the windows and along the walls shelves are cluttered with arcane bric-a-brac. The warm light of many candles fills the wagon with a golden glow, while the scent of incense hangs lightly in the air.
An elderly woman sits in a chair beside a small table. Even at her advanced age, she is dressed in the wild colors of the Vistani, albeit somewhat more modestly than the younger women. Charms and talismans are draped about her neck, and rings with mysterious stones are set upon her fingers. Perhaps her most striking feature is her eyes: the left is a striking blue that seems to take everything in with the acuity of a much younger person, while the right is completely white and drifts blindly.
“Welcome,” Mother Kindry says kindly. “I am sure you have many questions, as do I. I hope that face to face, we may come to understand what has been hidden.”
Darra closes the door and stands back in a corner, observing.
Tiff seems to be truly at home here in the gypsy camp, her smile is so big as to be seen from the moon itself if one had a ladder tall enough to reach it. "I can't wait to dance, I haven't danced around a fire in far too long it seems."
In the presence of the elder however, she seems reverent, almost worshipful. "Blessings of the spirits to you Old Mother, may I be of service to you in any way, you must simply command it so."
Erfan is eventually rounded up and directed to the elder's wagon where he joins the others. He nods respectfully to the old woman and looks around the wagon with bewildered amusement for a moment as she speaks.
"Many questions, yes... but what questions could you possibly have of us? We are the strangers to this land, not you. This land..." the gnome trails off, looking outside. "It does not live the way our land lives. It feels so hollow... and cold. I have not yet spied an animal since our arrival. Not a living one, anyway. What manner of place is this?"
"You can't be a worse cook than me. Ask Nat."
“I wouldn’t say you’re a bad cook,” says Nathaniel chivalrously. Then he grins. “I wouldn’t say it ...”
Upon entering the presence of the wise woman, Nathaniel nods in respectful greeting, but stays quiet for the moment, letting Tiffana and Erfan take the lead with greetings and questions.
Res enters the wagon and finds a small area along the wall as the party quickly fills up the space. He watches as Tiffana and Erfan make their greetings. Since the old lady has forseen their coming, introducing himself seems redundant. He is, however, eager to learn more about their purpose in Dementlieu and how that purpose will manifest itself.
"You can't be a worse cook than me. Ask Nat."“I wouldn’t say you’re a bad cook,” says Nathaniel chivalrously. Then he grins. “I wouldn’t say it ...”
"You can say it, just not too loudly." Angalia grins at her oldest friend.
Angalia notes how well Tiff fits in with the Vistani and makes a small mental note to follow the gypsy girl's lead. In any case, she is impressed by Mother Kindry and curtseys to her.
"As Erfan says, we certainly have questions. We came here following an evil man who has abducted Nat's sister. We need to find him and then, I think, we need to find our way home."
“And her,” Nath adds quietly but intently. “We need to find my sister.”
"And her. I hadn't forgotten, Nat. We will find Lenna and bring her home."
Mother Kindry regards Tiffana with interest, “I sense the eye in you. I think we shall have much to discuss.”
Then she turns to the rest, “In truth, I know very little about you. What are your names? The cards reveal much, but also keep many things hidden. The cards revealed that the number coming would be eight, but I see only seven. What of the eighth?”
“You come from the worlds beyond. What purpose brought you here, I hope to discern. The Mists of this land reach far and wide, and ensnare those from other worlds for their own inscrutable purposes. These lands – the lands of the Mists – are referred to by some as the Demiplane of Dread, the Land of Mists, or many other names. This land is not like yours: it breathes, it schemes, it bends those who dwell here to its purposes. Here, malice is rewarded, while those of pure heart struggle in vain against powers greater than any of us. We Vistani are resistant to the land’s dark pull, but we wander lands that have been forsaken by light, mercy, and the gods themselves.”
"Perhaps the gods have not forsaken this land." Res steps forward from his place on the wall and continues, "Perhaps they in turn have manipulated the mist to bring us here. I am Res Thanq, trained from birth to guard Lastwall against the return of the Whispering Tyrant, but I later learned that my path led elsewhere. Maybe my true destiny is to assist this intrepid group in bringing this wayward plane back to the others."
"Old Mother, I... we have many questions, you say the mist is a thing alive? What purpose could it have in spiriting us here? And why would our prey be sent elsewhere? We must find him, he has taken Nate's sister, and I have sworn by the spirit of my ancestors that I would help him find her. And punish the bastard responsible." Tiff blurts the questions out without taking a breath.
“I am Nathaniel, Mother,” the ranger introduces himself. “An evil man – if he was truly a man and not a demon – called Galbraith took my sister, Lenna. We thought he conjured those mists … apart from those of us here, another, a good man named ‘Kani was helping us … he didn’t make it …”
Mother Kindry considers Res’s suggestion. “It may bring comfort to imagine that the gods had some hand in bringing you here, but this land is beyond their reach. I think you feel it, Res Thannq. Praying to them here is like speaking to a person underwater. If they have found a way to manipulate the Mists, that would be truly remarkable. The cards did reveal that you would bring change – if it is as you say, that would be great change, indeed.”
She turns to Tiffana’s questions. “Alive – in a manner of speaking. They have their own aims, which we cannot know. The Powers are often drawn to great evil. This Gilbraith sounds like the sort of evil that may draw their attention. The Mists are not delicate, however – they do not pluck a man from a crowded room. If they gathered all who were present, I am not surprised that they separated the rest of you from their intended quarry, like a miller discards the unwanted chaff.”
“This all seems very new to you. Might I ask – how long did you wander the Mists?”
“Nathaniel – you seem to have a particular connection to the fate of this man. The Fates might tell us a great deal. I would like to read your fortune.” She pulls out a battered deck of colorful cards. “The cards tell all.”