Ashilia coughs up the morsel of food lodged in his throat onto his plate. The Marquess makes a face of disgust. Hans wipes the sweat from his brow. Yaloni begins clearing plates from the table.
“An excellent idea,” the Marquis replies to Iagon, ”Until then, Violet can lodge with Master Ashilia here. He’ll return with her after you delivery him safely to the Lodge.”
At this, Ashilia turns a greenish hue, “Hoo. What? Me?” He pulls at his collar. “Uh, is that right m’Lord? Wouldn’t she be better off staying with Yaloni, or in the stable... or... or with the Marquess!”
The Marquess scoffs, or laughs. “Coward,” might be the first word she’s spoken all meal.
Ashilia glares for a bit out a window and is the first to excuse himself from the table. The Marquess does soon after, a smile playing at her lips. She retires to her quarters, her veiled shadow close behind.
The table hangs in silence.
“A lovely meal,” Captain Rodrigue stands and bows stiffly, “Excuse me, a Captain has a ship to run.”
“Sorry, oh, sorry!” Yaloni calls out after the Captain, then stands there in awkard confusion.
The Marquis clears the air with a wave of his hand, “It’s alright Yaloni. You did fine. A fine meal. Thank you.”
He stands and bows cordially, “I will see to my room. Prepare for tomorrow. If you need anything, ask Hans.”
The Marquis leaves through a separate door.
Hans and Yaloni are left in the room with the group. It is nearly noon.
Attai has very little idea of what has transpired, concentrating as he is on focusing on maintaining eye contact with his meal. And only his meal.
He looks up. Many of the diners have gone.
"Uh. Wait?!...So, we go to find people to sign an accord?"
Iagon watches the interaction between the Marquess and Ashilia with interest; having seen Ashilia as a bit of a kindred spirit, it pains him to see his discomfort. Afterwards, he looks to Hans and Yaloni. Is there something we should know, there?
Hans wipes the sweat from his brow, nodding to Attai, “It seems so, lad.” Then to Iagon, “Don’t ye worry none ‘bout the Marquess. She’s royalty, y’know. ‘Er father’s a senator, an’ ‘is father a senator all the way back to the beginnin’ o’ time. She’s not used ta tis kind o’ livin’, so she grows bored. Pickin’ on ye an me an Ashilia there’s jus’ ‘er way o’ havin’ a bit o’ fun. Don’ take it personally when it comes yer turn.”
“As for Ashilia, don’t know why ‘es all bent outta shape. The Lodge whot’s sent ‘im up ‘ere ta keep an eye on all us. I’d expect ‘im ta be ‘appier ta ‘ave one o’ ‘is own staying up here.”
“Listen up, I’ll get yer payment for the things ye’ve gathered o’ late, an’ get yer contract an’ payment from m’Lord, Miss Turante. That way ye can all ‘ave a little jingle in yer pockets when ye go from town ta town, okay?”
Iagon nods thoughtfully, and the remainder of Hans' words seem to fall upon deaf ears as he contemplates the intrigue of the situation. He had no mind for such things, being a simple man of simple upbringing. Why couldn't everyone just say what they mean, and mean what they say?
I'm ready to go anytime, then...
"Thank you, Hans," says Túrante with an inclination of her head. "I think I am well-prepared - as much as I can be - for our travel."
The meal ended thusly, everyone goes about their day.
Sometime later, Hans finds Attai and hands him a purse of 176 gold pieces.
He then finds Turante and has her sign a contract with the Marquis. Doing so, he gives her a purse of 20 gold, a month’s pay, and a single token stamped with an emblem of three towers. “Te Marquis’ Favor,” he tells her, “Might be wort’ sumtin’ ta sumbody.”
In the afternoon, The Marquis approaches Iagon with a small wooden coffer. “As promised, a gift from the ladies Rose and Violet.” He gives Iagon an encouraging pat on the back and walks away, laughing. Inside are three vials: one inky blue liquid, one deep brown gritty liquid, and one soft brown liquid.
Late at night, in the middle of her watch, Liamae finds herself approached by the Marquess. “I see the way you look at your male companions,” she says, “If I EVER catch you looking at my husband in such a way, it will be your life at risk.” She doesn’t wait for a retort, but slips back into the night. In the low light of the moon, Liamae sees the shadowy veiled figure linger for just a moment before turning and following the Marquess.
The morning mists greet you and help the chill air penetrate through skin and clothes. Yaloni prepares a hearty breakfast, and wrings her hands in worry as the party prepares to depart. Ashilia sits atop the rescued donkey and waits at the gates. The Marquis hands Turante a satchel containing the treaty amendments to be signed. Linus is up early and eager to help Kytes pack and care for Eir. Kytes may notice the bandages on Linus’ hand are still red with blood.
With a sobering lack of fanfare, the group is off, departing south along the River Road towards the Isle of Arenway.
Liamae smiles and curtsies gracefully before the Marquess. "I wouldn't dream of it, Your Grace," she says to the woman's departing back. But she inwardly bristles at the preemptive chastisement. Tell me what to do, will you?
***
The elf finds the chill air brisk and invigorating, making no efforts towards preserving her modesty. Goosebumps rise up on her swathes of exposed skin as she mounts up and prepares to depart.
As Kytes sees the wounds still on the boy's hands, he takes a moment and offers an orison to the Inheritor, asking for the healing touch given to the truly faithful. He then lays his hands on the lad's wounds, healing them at least a little. He pats Linus on the head, and allows him to feed Eir.
He is resolute during the preparations, ready to do his duty despite the risks and unknown. When they depart the gates, Kytes sends Eir airborne to provide some form of aerial scouting and he marches solidly alongside the others.
Iagon nods deeply in thanks, then grins. Thank you for delivering it sir, I'll be sure to thank the ladies when they arrive. I think they'll be quite the addition to what you're building here.
I'll have to see if someone can tell me what these things do...best not look like an idiot in front of the boss.
He sighs deeply and takes in the open air the following morning. The freedom offered by even a potentially dangerous journey is welcome; being cooped up within walls was never quite his idea of a good time.
Iagon greets Ashilia with a smile, patting the donkey as he looks up at the fellow. Good morning, master Ashilia, ready to feel untrampled ground underfoot, and feel the sweet cold breeze of fresh air?
Turante is back to her traveling gear, her all-weather clothing and blade at her hip, ready for the overland travel called upon for this new task.
"So... do we have a map? Or just a general idea of direction?" she asks.
Attai sports the red longbow taken from the hobgoblin, remembering the ambush and the time it took to reload his heavy crossbow. Much like Iagon the sylph relishes being on the march, fresh air and the hint of danger keeping his blood pumping...
Linus stares in amazement at his own hand as Kytes prays over it. Looking up at the holy warrior, his wide eyes break into a smile and a laugh as he embraces Kytes in a hug.
Ashilia is staring off into the distant trees as Iagon approaches, “Huh? Whazzat? Oh, uh, heh, yeah, actually I’m kinda dreading it. I mean, going back to the Isle. I, uh, actually think I prefer it here. Things can get, eh, weird, you know, druids...” He drifts back into lost thoughts.
The Marquis hands Turante a map of the region and instructs her, “It’s quite easy. Follow the road south along the river. Nothing between here and Arenway but forest. Should be two days if you don’t dally. You can find Rear Admiral Trudy’s there. He’ll see to your supplies. Then it’s east along the Verduran Highway to Belhaim, north to Wispil, and back here.” He gives her a smile and pats her back, then approaches the others to bid them safe journey.
Heading south, the marshy clearing quickly gives way to dense forest. The road follows the river, but often twists and turns around the heavy trunks of large and tall dark oaks. The trees form a canopy over the road, and only the occasional beam of sunlight dapples through. The temperature warms under the trees as they trap moisture from the river. Towering ferns dominate the forest floor, punctuated by wild irises, just coming into bloom.
At about midday, after a few hours of walking, stomachs start to growl. Everyone is just setting their packs down to rest when Turante hears something moving in the underbrush. In this forest environment, her trained eyes spot a creature rumbling through the ferns towards them. Just then, Eir screeches out a warning from up above and Kytes spots it too. Something, about the size of a large warthog, but rounded and covered in long and sharp quills, is quickly approaching.
These porcupines have quite the foul temperment. I'd suggest we move back and give it a wide berth. Iagon practices what he preaches and moves back, holding his arms out wide in an effort to accentuate his point and also try and to protect the others. Knowing that a beast like this could only be driven back by potential danger, he raises his voice and rails at the beast.
Get out of here, shoo!
Iagon further recalls that the giant porcupine’s quills are a defensive measure. It’s best not to engage with it with anything shorter than a spear, if you have to engage with it at all.
The giant porcupine bursts through the brush between two trees, just in front of Kytes. It stops suddenly, wide eyed, lifting its nose to snort and grunt at the group spread out on the road before it.
Then, wild laughter erupts from the forest behind it as one, then two, small arrows wizz just past the porcupine. The beast grunts angrily and looks like it’s about to charge.
Iagon grits his teeth in frustration. Whomever those arrows came from was spurring this creature right at them. He looks around to his allies, knowing that this prickly little creature could prove quite painful to one of them. Watch out for those quills! Get too close, they'll bite ya'
Hoping to end the conflict quickly, he charges up his blast and sends a torrent of surrounding detritus at the creature.
Túrante doesn't have enough time to deal with the porcupine in the middle of the fight; she sticks to casting her mage armor spell and keeping her eyes and ears peeled for the direction to the hidden archer.
The porcupine takes a barrage of splinters to the face, which is likely enough to have it consider alternative options.
Ashilia holds tight to the donkey’s lead as his skin toughens to a bark-like consistency.
Attai stands his ground and yells at the creature, hoping to keep it from further harm.
Hai!!! Go away!!!”
Porcupine is obviously not a language he is fluent in.
Kytes follows Attai's lead, banging the hilt of his drawn longsword against his steel shield and shouting enough at the large rodent that it turns back the way it came. While he makes a lot of racket, he scans the tree line for any sign of the archers who are driving the beast before them.
The porcupine looks from person to person, caught off gaurdian by all the yelling. As it hesitates, Kytes peers into the tangled wilderness behind it. He sees two blurs of movement, but his mind can’t make out what his eyes see. Birds? Plants? People? Bird-Plant-People?
Then, the figures burst out from the foliage on either side of the porcupine, further confusing the poor beast. Lithe bodies of feminine proportion, just slightly smaller than Ashilia, hover in the air. Plantlife seems to grow from their very flesh, forming covering, hair, and a pair of wings sprouting from their backs. Their faces and ears, slender and longer then an elves, hold wild, black, and alien eyes proportionately large for their heads. They wield shortbows and carry rapier-like blades on their hips.
They call out in their Fey tongue:
“Victory is at hand! Lay down your weapons foul beasts, lest we lead you to your grisly deaths!”
“The battle is already won! Hand us your gold and your donkey before we slay you where you stand!”
“Huzzah!”
“Huzzah!”
The one before Kytes throws its free hand up at his face with a flash of light.
The world spins as Kytes feels like he just stood up too fast.
As Kytes just stands there, the Fey thing flies around him and towards Ashilia and the donkey.
The other creature flies near Turante, reaching out with wiggling fingers.
Apparently, Turante’s magic armor isn’t enough to prevent her from being tickled. The elven princess bursts out in hysterical laughter, unable to retaliate.
“We have them on the ropes cousin!”
“I say! Lilacea will surely favor us now!”
As the fey emerge to harass and tickler her friends, Liamae calls out to them in their native tongue.
Kytes mouth opens in wonder at the fey creatures, but before any sound can come out, his brain crashes shut from their magical dazing spell.
The porcupine, its pursuers now before it, huffs and turns and flees back into the forest.
The Fey pause and have an exchange with each other:
“Cousin! This pointed eared one can speak!”
“Amazing! Perhaps it is intelligent?”
“It wants to parlay!”
“Of course! It knows it is defeated.”
“Poor thing! Let us subjugate them some more. This is fun!”
“How exciting!”
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Túrante bursts out laughing, heaving several times with great guffaws, then catches herself, wipes her eye and says - rhyming! -
"There shall be no subjugation
For we have no trepidation;
We are children of the green
Serving a forest queen
Though we wander far from home
We come hither with a poem:
Be our neighbors, or our friends
Not antagonist brigands
With our fey-kin, now a truce
An exchange of words, not of abuse."
Turante’s song has the Fey stop once again.
“I say! Cousin, do you hear this?”
“I do cousin! She must be royalty!”
“Exquisitely done!”[‘b]
[b]“Fair maiden, we will spare you your gold and your donkey if you hand over your tongue!”
“No cousin! We must keep her intact!”
“How so?”
“Think of it! If she is royalty, then she can aid us in joining Lilacea’s court.”
“I see! Indeed! How brilliant! How about it majestic one? Will you aid us in our quest?”
At this point, Ashilia, who’s been following the whole conversation, says nervously, “Hey, uh, Turante, I’m not quite sure you, uh, want to go getting involved in, uh, Fey courts. Just saying...”
When Kytes awakens from his daze, he is surprised to see the combat resolved and the small fey visiting with Turante in a strange tongue. Careful not to offend the fey, Kytes sheathes his sword and speaks to them in the Common speech.
"Welcome lads!" she says smiling, but trying not to appear too toothy. [b]"I am Kytes, what are your names?"[b]
Attai lowers the red bow he holds, but stands ready to raise it if hostilities are renewed. Though he understands not the feyspeak he realises Turante and Liamae are brokering some kind of deal...
Iagon looks from Turante to their assailants, obviously completely lost. While the others debate in their odd tongue, he mentally prepares himself to let lose with his power once again, should the need arise.
“Cousin, this one speaks to us in the course tongue.”
“Gross.”
“Shall we answer it?”
“Yes, but let’s not use our real names.”
“And why ever not?”
“Well, we don’t know their real names.”
“I see.”
“What a lark! I’m game.”
“Agreed.”
The two gathlains introduce themselves as Igor and Gregor, but they look so strikingly similar, it’s easy to immediately forget which is which. They eagerly await an answer.
After hearing the translation, Iagon looks curiously at Turante. Lilacea's court? Is this someone you know? Perhaps not a bad ally to have... He leans in to whisper to Ashilia. Do you know anything about these fey?
Liamae looks to Turante for guidance, but seeing the princess hesitate, the courtier steps in.
Kytes sits back and watches trying to keep up with the conversation which is clearly in a language he doesn't speak. he looks less on edge as the two strangers introduce themselves, but leaves any further discussion to the elves.
Ashilia puts a hand up to his mouth and whispers back to Iagon, “I don’t know Lilacea, but I’m guessing she’s a dryad, could be a nymph, or a really popular pixie. Or something much, much worse. It’s hard to take these things seriously, but you really should. Even high order druids walk off into the forest never to be seen from again.”
The gathlains answer Liamae, speaking over each other almost in unison:
“Lilacea is the best!”
“She’s sooo beautiful!”
“And everything she does is truly amazing!”
“I love Lilacea!”
“As do I!”
“To be in the grace of her court is the highest honor.”
“Can you even imagine?”
“Oh majestic ones, please will you help?”
Iagon awaits the translation, then steps a bit closer to Liamae. Leaning in, he whispers. Are you so sure we want to be in league with these odd creatures? Even if this Lilacea is "beautiful" and "amazing", well...not sure the Marquis would want us to entertain this.
Liamae shrugs. "They seem friendly enough! I'm sure we can handle negotiating with this faerie queen on the Marquis's behalf. But I will defer to the decision of the princess and the rest of the group."
Attai shrugs. ”Our “mandate” is unclear on negotiations with the fey. We are essentially messengers en route.” The sylph eyes the gathlain, assessing them.
”Given the tricksy nature of their kind, and the tensions abundant in relations with Uuhurn, I would recommend caution if not absolute inaction. But I will support you if you wish to treat with this Lilacea.”
Kytes is unsure of what to do, but his typical sense of duty wins out unless there is a compelling argument or danger to another. "Our orders are to get these treaties signed. We should follow those order and not get distracted by these fellows, unless someone is in clear danger or other pressing matter."
He sees the mirthful look on the faces of the gathlain, and doubts there is anything wrong that they would take seriously anyway.
Liamae rolls her eyes at Kytes. "Oh, you're no fun!" she pouts.
She waits to see how Turante wishes to proceed.
Túrante seems to be thinking, then she carefully says,
The gathlains confer in plain sight of everyone.
“She’s so elequent!”
“Truly she will help our cause.”
“But what more can we tell her?”
They shrug, turn to Turante, and continue,
“Lilacea is most significant.”
“She is a daughter of Queen Lavandula.”
“Even more significant!”
“You should pay her the utmost respect.”
“You are standing in her realm.”
“We can take you to her.”
“She will receive us.”
“But you should not offend her!”
“Oh no. Oh no no no no no.”
“You should watch us!”
“Yes, do as we do.”
Ashilia steps forwards and explains, “Queen Lavandula is the Hamadryad, the matriarch of this forest. Her daughter is likely to be a dryad.” He looks around at everyone and shrugs, “Not everyone gets to meet a dryad. She’d only be a threat if we were threatening. And maybe she could help. I don’t know... It shouldn’t be that bad.”