Khari nods in agreement, "Yes, I thank you m'Lady, but I think I s-s-should s-s-sleep on it." She smiles at Moira's continued support.
"Yes, of course. And forgive me, I must have been caught up in the moment." The Baroness offers Khari another embrace. "You should all get some rest, take care of yourselves, and prepare for the morrow. I'll have the treaty signed for you and your companions in the morning as well, to fulfill my end of the bargain."
All take their leave from the temple; Lady Devy and Eupaphania remain to keep vigil.
Back at the Wise Piper, Talia serves up a bowl of mutton stew and a cheese platter, fresh baked bread to warm the soul. As the elves eat, the crowd begins to die down as people finish their suppers and make their ways back home.
Selja departs with Moira and Fenchurch to rejoin their party, and enjoys the excellent meal from Talia. She helps heal the remaining wounds in the party at an opportune time.
"If ya don't mind some company overnight, I'll take o' some o' ya tonight. A bit o' care can do wonders." Selja will encourage rest, offer honey tea with herbs, and otherwise tend to the others' needs.
On the walk over, Moira thanks Selja for her singing. "That was fantastic. We should do some more duets sometime. Could really bring down the house, the two of us..."
Moira gets a room with two beds, pointing out the second to the spider-woman, "Unless you'd rather go home tonight..." She yawns deeply. "Need food..."
She makes the rounds downstairs, sleepily checking on any visible friends and associates as she procures bowls of mutton stew, cheese, bread, and a big bottle of strong wine.
After eating with Khari (if K is up for it), she drinks most of the alcohol before dropping like a stone into to one of the beds. She disrobes in place, giving herself a last horizontal Prestidigitation to get cleaned up and uses Mending on her clothes as necessary.
Before going to sleep, she casts Blindness/Deafness into her new spell-storing dagger, leaving Chill Touch in the sword.
Khari joins Moira for dinner.
Selja can't suppress a smile at Moira's compliment. "Yer an amazing singer! I'd love to sing with ya again. Ever tried singing hymns to Shelyn?"
Moira smiles sleepily and says, too tired to be tactful, "I did all my praying when I was a kid, but I can accompany a hymn if you don't mind me not putting my soul into it."
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Selja wants to make a good impression on Moira, but struggles to hide a frown that quickly replaces her smile. "How can ya deal with all the death ya see without callin' on the gods? Well, guess not all gods. But the good ones. When it comes to Shelyn, any good n' beautiful song'll do well. Doesn't have ta be official or nothin'. But puttin' yer soul in it is everythin.'"
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The haggard and exhausted Moira takes a long look at the half-orc, wondering if she should accept a lecture on how to properly allocate her spiritual energies the evening after a day spent with her friends passing through peril, slaying the enemy, restoring the natural order, bringing a family together, hiking home, and pretty much saving the day... she takes a similarly long pull of wine and replies with a sigh, "If I have any more soul to give, I'll give it to the godsdamned people, not to the beings who roll dice on our lives from some theoretical extra--dimensional plane above. Maybe they answer when you call, but I tried them all once, and... nobody responded, none fair or foul. Most of us have to make do without gods. I guess they find most of us uninteresting. I hope we can still sing sometime, though. Music has magic of its own."
"It's not either the gods or the people . . . " begins Selja, but she trails off, realizing that she probably shouldn't start lecturing a stranger. "Of course we should sing together! Doesn't have ta be hymns to Shelyn at all--I sing all sorts of stuff. Orcish songs, human songs, happy and sad songs. Music is magical, and it can be healin' too." She raises her glass, trying to make amends. "To music?"
Moira raises her bottle in cheers. "To music!" She takes a deep and long drink, a deep and long breath, and starts roaring out a tavern song, banging her drum and generally blowing her last ounces of energy into the boozy, smoky atmosphere of the bar...
Yeah. They'll remember this one! And Selja hasn't even started yet...
Selja grins as Moira gets going on a tavern song. Moira was really knocking it out of the park! Selja hadn't heard it before, but she downs some ale as she picks up the tune, and gains enough courage to try singing along anyway. Her slurred words are goofy, but that only adds to the fun!
Thematically Correct Posthumous Nocturne
Clink!
Moira and Selja finish their duet with a toast, a bit of their ale sloshing into the other one’s mug. They look about the tavern toward the sound of a single person’s applause. It’s Khari, looking as human as ever, although a bit rosy with wine. In the background, Talia ushers out the last of the patrons, Old Man Thomskins, the town drunk.
[b"Why, what a lovely diddy. You girls feel free ta enjoy te fire, but I’m afraid te kitchen’s closed. Tis a big day tomorrow wit te funeral. Shelyn’s blessins. Goodnight."[/b]
Talia shuffles off with the last of the empties, and Khari too takes her leave, wandering back through the streets at night to her fake uncle’s abandoned home, alone with her unknowable Aranea thoughts and feelings. Moira and Selja finish their drinks and philosophizing and eventually head upstairs. Moira hits the hay and Selja goes to work. She finds Iagon in bed, shivering with fever. After administering tea and a wet compress, she heads out to find Liamae. She finds her room locked.
The morning breaks quietly. The smell of fresh baked bread and pan fried sausages rises from Talia’s kitchen. Somewhere, off in the distance across town, a bell tolls. Selja finds Iagon has broke his fever. When he wakes, he’s practically mortified to find you in his room.
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Selja grins. "Oh, hey Iagon. We had such a lovely night together. Hope you're feelin' better. Now if you'll excuse me. . ." Selja moves to leave Iagon's room.
She's feeling tired but tries not to show it. There would be time to rest after the funeral.
Fenchurch spends much of the evenings' events in quiet contemplation. She is no genius or strategist, but she's not dumb either. She has nothing at all against the Baroness Devy, Khari assuming control of the Belhaim barony could be advantageous in the long-term maintenance of the balance enabled by the Treaty of the Wildwood. As someone Fenchurch had fought side by side in battle, she felt she could trust Khari to heed the knight's council as an agent of the Verduran and -as a being with a foot in "both worlds", so to speak- Khari could be uniquely well suited to holding a position of power within that delicate political ecosystem.
Speaking of the Treaty, Fenchurch still was not certain why it was being re-ratified. She certainly did not want the Treaty to fail - that would be disastrous beyond measure - but she needs to know what other forces are at play if she is to carry out her duty effectively.
So lost in thought, she didn't realize the group at the temple were departing until they were half out the door. She hurried after them - it appeared Khari had elected to table her decision until the next day. Fenchurch would have to take her opportunity to council her then.
Joining the others in letting of some steam and filling their stomachs at the Wise Piper, Fenchurch remains mostly quiet; though she makes an attempt to appear less taciturn. The large woman isn't much of a drinker, but she elects to enjoy a pint of ale with her food. She smiles appreciatively at Moira and Selja's song, and is almost lulled to sleep by it.
As the night ends, with Liamae, Túrante, and Iagon all indisposed, she takes the opportunity to thank Moira as a representative of the party. She is clearly making great effort to speak more formally than is usual for her.
"I know I sort of... barged in on you all earlier today, but I appreciate you letting me accompany you. I haven't traveled with others in a good long while, but I take my obligations to the Woods seriously and a significant threat to it's balance was eliminated today - one I could not have handled on my own and likely would never have even discovered without your group. For this, I will always be grateful to your band."
She pauses.
"I am a... disadvantageous person to be associated with in a great many places within this region. I won't subject you to my life story when all of us are desperate for a bed, but I'd like to speak to the group tomorrow after the funeral. At which point you can decide for yourselves if you'd like to keep me in your company."
Fenchurch wakes early the next day, and takes breakfast at the earliest opportunity.
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Moira looks blearily at Fenchurch and says, "Fench, they aren't my band! I've only been traveling with these folks for..." She tries to count the days in her head, but she's in no state for even basic arithmetic. "Umm, like less than a week, I think?! The others have been together for a while. I think I like them, I think I kinda like this place, or at least Khari and the baroness and the singing priestess, and I'm richer than I've ever been before, and I haven't had any friends in a long time and... I don't care if you're disadvantageous! You're alright in my book."
She puts down her nearly empty bottle and gives the cavalier a big, warm mortician's hug. She's been going easy on the people she's hugged lately, but Fenchurch's solid shoulders get the full squeeze.
The princess and the courtesan head off for some much-needed rest, but Selja interrupts later them with a knock on the door. Túrante answers the door in a robe. Liamae are lies face-down on the bed with her back exposed; her skin looks red and inflamed.
”Oh good,” says Túrante. ”Liamae’s back is all itchy and I was worried that it might be a fungus! Do you have an ointment or anything that might help?”
She steps aside to let Selja into the room.
"Yes, please," Liamae murmurs into the bedsheets. "I cannot be seen like this! I will be a laughingstock!"
Selja nods. "That looks terrible, don't it? I've got a thing or two that might help. First thing is to clean the area, of course."
Putting on a pair of gloves, Selja works to clean Liamae's back before spreading some healing ointment and putting on some bandages. "Just keep this on overnight--hopefully it'll help!"
"Thank you so much!" says Túrante. "I realize now that that was very rude of me, just assuming that I could rope you in to trouble you like that." She takes a seat in a chair while Selja works with the ointment. "I was just very worried, after what we saw that happened to Arnholde... and of course it's very itchy and uncomfortable for Liamae."
"I do appreciate your help and it looks like she does too. Is there anything I can do for you in the meantime? Questions that I can answer? Can I prepare some hot tea for you or fetch any supplies that you might need?"
"Mmm, yes, that is much better," Liamae sighs, wiggling her toes happily. "Thank you, darling."
As Selja does her work, she accepts Turante's offer to help, asking her to grab various supplies from her bag and the like, until the work's commplete.
She grins at Liamae as the work's complete. "No trouble 't all, I came here because I wanna help. Whatever ya had to go through to rescue Arnholde couldn't have been pretty. I'll check back in the mornin'." She cleans up and makes her way out--there was more work to be done tonight with Iagon for sure.
Túrante obediently hands various things to Selja when asked, though sometimes she has to double-check as she's clearly not that familiar with the healer's trade.
"Thank you again so much!" she bubbles enthusiastically when Selja finishes up bandaging Liamae's back. "We do really appreciate it. I'm sure that Iagon will be well under your competent care. We'll see you on the morrow!"
Despite Selja's caretaking, Liamae wakes to find the irritating rash has spread. She feels feverish, weak, tired, and overall unwell.
After all fasts are broken, Talia and family close up the tavern and leave for Arnholde's funeral. A dreary fog hangs about the air, and the town is quiet save for the distant tolling bell. Townsfolk make their way toward the Devy Manor, most dressed in black or at least wearing black armbands to signify their mourning.
The crowd gathers at the Manor in the center of town, and are ushered through the gardens toward the family plot around back. Two centuries worth of gravestones, all with the name Devy, fill the overgrown plot. White lilies and purple irises are already in bloom this early spring. A freshly dug grave erupts from the earth, and next to it, the dark oak coffin holding Arnholde's remains. Lady Devy stands over the coffin, quietly weeping behind her dark veil. Beside her is Braldon, in his white and gold robes, offering what comfort he can, as well as Bassy the gnome chronicler. Khari stands somewhere among the crowd of villagers. Eupaphenia stands at the head of the grave and begins her eulogy.
"Abadar, of all things, is fair. He teaches that all things must come with a price. We, the people of Belhaim, are paying a heavy price today. Our town is built in the name of one great hero who freed this savage land from the tyranny of dragons, and since then, we have fought and struggled to maintain the light of order and prosperity in an unforgiving wilderness. Our dear Arnholde, whom we lay to rest today, was inspired by the legacy of Lady Belhaim, and took it upon himself to seek out a new means of wealth and livelihood for our town. In doing so, he put himself at risk, and gave his life in the pursuit of a greater commonwealth. I pray that all who bear witness carry forth Arnholde's bravery. It is up to us to carve out our own survival, to settle the wild places, to pave way for new beginnings and greater prosperity, or else the fruit of our labors fall to rot in the earth. It is with a heavy heart we pray for this young soul, may he find passage to The First Vault of Abadar, where he may find peace at last."
The priestess nods, and the pall bearers lay the coffin into the earth. Lady Devy wails and sobs, while those in the crowd begin covering the coffin with one handful of dirt at a time. Worshippers of Shelyn throw in a rose, the Green Faith holly, and the Abadarians a spare copper or silver. One by one, the townsfolk say their blessings to the departed and make their way back home, until the Baroness, Bassy, the Abadarian priests, and Khari remain.
Moira stands as close to Khari as she can get while still inhabiting her role as a professional mourner. She beats a funereal rhythm on her drum and sings soft dirges. She grits her teeth at the eulogy, more about Abadar than about Arnholde and full of inaccuracies... amateurs. But a bad eulogy is better than none, so she does what she can to help it along. When the speech turns to settling and paving the wild places and ways, she shoots a quieting glance at Fenchurch (if present), accompanied by an ironic raised eyebrow to clearly communicate that she's on Fench's side in this matter. But discretion, valor, whatnot.
She stays on afterwards, out of professionalism, out of curiosity, out of feeling for Lady Devy... and to back up Khari should she back out of the House of Belhaim.
Selja takes her place beside Nilos as the funeral proceeds, representing the clergy of Shelyn. As the proceedings wind down, she approaches Lady Devy and offers words of condolence. "Arnholde was a good man, and we're are all the poorer without 'im," she says simply. She gauges whether Lady Devy would want a hug, offering one if so, before bowing respectfully and offering to give her space.
Khari seems quiet and contemplative during the ceremonies, looking downward behind her silk veil.
Lady Devy wipes her tears away and nods to Selja, "Thank you, you are very kind," but clings to the arm of Braldon, who gently leads the Baroness toward her manor.
Bassy approaches Moira and Khari (and anyone else present) as the Baroness walks away, "M'Lady will need her space, but she means to make good on her promises. She will want to speak with you, when you're ready. How 'bout you return after lunch. You too, miss Khari. She... we all await your answer."
Moira turns to Khari. "Whatcha thinkin' about it all, kid?"
She tries to get a sense of Khari's feelings... and what would be in Khari's true best interests here. Does this shy lass have what it takes to run a province? She was brave in battle, so she's passed one test. She's run risks for love, passing a second...
Khari turns to Moira and nods, "I think I s-s-should accept m'Lady's offer. It is generous, and s-s-she is right, I think, it is what Arnholde would want. He would not want his people to go without a leader, and, with m'Lady's guidance, I hope to be as good a leader as he would have been."
"I s-s-shouldn't forget my first mission in living among these people. This town has many s-s-secrets, and, in a position of royalty, I s-s-should be able to uncover them and return them to my aunties. What we found in those caverns, for instance..."
"It will be difficult to hide my true nature from m'Lady, but now is not the time to expose myself," she adds after a moments consideration.
"...who are your aunties? I think you mentioned an uncle, but this is the first I've heard of aunties..."
Back in October... Seems like ages ago.
"My s-s-sisters and aunties... the other Aranea. My real family. The wizard wasn't really my uncle."
As the others talk, Selja gives them space. Instead, she decides to try and follow Bassy, chatting with her. "So, whaddya think happens if Khari won't take the offer? Is Lady Devy gonna name someone else? Or give it to the Abadarians?"
Moira facepalms. "Oh yeah, sorry!"
She looks down at the town. "So this place has secrets, does it? I guess we have one too, now. And I reckon you won't be the first to hold something back from your mother. Go ahead, itsy-bitsy, take your place in the nobility. Do me a favor: always remember the weak and poor when you're making decisions. The powerful will be in the room with you asking for what they need--but you should work for the people outside in the streets. Nobility is a plague on us all, but even I know that a good lord can be an exception, one that's far better than a bad lord. Or a middling lord."
She sighs. "A big ask from a homeless nomad peasant wanderer."
Edit:
Suddenly she stops in her tracks. Aunties and sisters, I wonder where the brothers and uncles oh wait... spiders... males... eating... oh gods... I'm always figuring things out too late... was she gonna eat Arnholde?
She picks up the pace again and then follows, a little pale, her face troubled.
Brassy answers Selja, "That’s an interesting question, young lady. As you already know, the first Baroness was none other than Lady Belhaim herself, the town built by her loyal followers after the Dragonplague. Her life ended in tragedy, I’m afraid, and the title was given to relatives of her husbands, the Canteclures, who ruled for nearly a millennia. The last of the Canteclures, a vicious tyrant by name of Baron Sarvo, took part in a failed rebellion against the Grand Prince, and was himself deposed. Sir Arkold Devy was appointed the Barony for his service to the Grand Prince, and his line has ruled since."
"Ehem, so, to answer your question, without a proper heir, the Barony will fall to whomever the Grand Prince appoints. It is the Baroness’ concern that this new Marquis is making a grab towards the title with this amended treaty, but there is much to be seen yet!"
She grins at Selja, "Isn’t it wonderful to be taking part in such historical moments as these? Which reminds me, I do need to get the details of what happened out in those woods the past two days, for the record. You seem to be getting close to those adventurers, perhaps you can help?"
——————
Khari nods, "I will do my best to keep the people of this town s-s-safe. It’s what Arnholde would do."
Selja nods pretending to understand--in truth, history generally and human history in particular weren't her strong suits. But she picked up a few pieces, most importantly about the present times. "Yeah, I heard about this new Marquis. Mostly because I heard he's got a tradin' post open. You know anythin' about the fella? Is he a good man?"
"I bet they'd all tell the story of the forest a lot better 'n I could, but I'll let ya know if I get some details. Poor Arnholde. Sure you can tell, but poor Khari's takin' it pretty bad. Think makin' her the heir's a lot o' pressure, even if it's a real opportunity."
"I know you will do great, Khari," Liamae says with a smile. She gives the spider-lady a reassuring pat on the shoulder.
"Well, from what I've heard, his family owns a mercantile company out of Cassomir. They were a noble line deposed during the revolutions in Galt. His title of nobility actually comes from his wife, who is the daughter of a Senator. My sources say that his claim on the land where this trading post is built is from some obscure documents dating all the way back to the Second Army of Exploration! Boy, I'd love to see such historical documents."
----------
"Thank you Liamae," Khari smiles "It means a lot coming from you. I think I would need a new dress for my coronation!" She absently caresses Liamae's silks and seems to wander off in a daydream.
Once again, you meet with Baroness Origena Devy in the great hall of her manor. The Abadarians are there, as well as Bassy. Khari enters with you. The Baroness looks as if she's regained her composure after the events of yesterday's evening and this morning's funeral. She greets you as you enter:
"I do wish we were to meet under better circumstances, but I've come to see these current circumstances as an illustration of the importance of alliance. I've reviewed the proposed amendments to the treaty, with consul, and although a part of me still stands against change, my consul seems to think the change progress. Either way, I am reassured by your presence. You've done my family and this country a great service, and I will not forget it. I can see why the Marquis trusts in you, as I feel I can trust in you too. I believe if you continue to act in his service as advisors, ambassadors... then we might all benefit. I deliver to you the amended treaty, signed, as promised."
She hands over the signed treaty, as well as a small pouch with five tokens bearing the Devy crest.
Bassy claps her hands in applause, but ceases when no one else does. She chimes in, "Now, before you go, I'd really love to have your account of what happened out there. For the historical record, of course."
The Baroness holds up a hand, "That can wait. For now, Khari, I will have your answer. Will you accept my offer of adoption?"
Khari takes one last look at Moira and Liamae, then nods her head, anxiously stammering, "Yes... m'Lady. I do accept. I... I want to do right by Arnholde. I want to do right by the people of Belhaim."
Lady Devy smiles and holds out her hands, and Khari moves in for an embrace. The Baroness smiles upon her, "Then we can make it official, right here, right now."
Banker Braldon produces an official form that both Baroness and her new Heir sign, while Priestess Eupaphania pronounces over them. Bassy claps excitedly once more.
Selja joins in applause; not the first time but definitely the second, when Khari is formally adopted as heir. It was a hopeful turn of events after Arnholde's unfortunate demise.
Liamae applauds as well, grinning widely. "Brava! Bravissima!" she declares.
Moira taps her drum to add a thump to the applause. The atmosphere of gladness works to disperse some of the clouds that have gathered in her mind, but she still seems subdued for a while. Intervention in politics has its costs... but life is precious.
She stands to the back of the crowd. Her armor and shield are back at the hotel, and her Sleeves of Many Garments have been set to "celebratory dancing black," so she's making a rare appearance in a dress, a well-tailored and ornamented (because why not?) affair in black, cinched tight at the waist, with a large, pleated skirt in case there happens to be any dancing available today. She feels like spinning away her dark thoughts. Despite her finery, she still wears her swordbelt and crossed drum bandolier, which looks particularly businesslike now that a dagger hangs next to the drum. And she wears her boots and hat unchanged from before, of course, because continuity of image matters, too.
Selja decides to scan the crowd. She was curious who might not be happy that Khari was being named as the heir.
Selja looks around the room and everyone gathered here, the Abadarian priests and Bassy, all look pretty pleased at the turn of events. However, she gets the sense that the Baroness' true intentions are masked. It may be that this move is more politically driven than sentimental. By taking Khari as heir to her throne, Lady Devy is insuring the Marquis does not claim it.
After the short adoption ceremony is over, Lady Devy dismisses everyone but Khari from the manor. "Of course a coronation ceremony is in order, but preparations must be made. I'm sure you folks have other business to attend to in the mean while."
Túrante is no stranger to ceremonies of state and remains quiet and still as the various traditional formalities are observed.
Once the transfer of power completes, the princess is quick to offer her congratulations to Khari, then leaves with the team once dismissed by Lady Devy.
Accompanying Liamae, she says, "Let's ask Selja if she has any more ointment for you. I wouldn't want you to get worse! Then we can have something to drink and enjoy the rest of the afternoon. I wonder how the sunset will look this evening?"
Taking her leave, Selja finds a moment to do a painting of Khari's adoption ceremony, to commemorate the moment. She knew she'd be leaving soon, so she does something quick and simple.
Still, it doesn't look too bad.
She wraps up the little gift and drops it off with Lady Devy's staff for delivery to Khari.
"I am sure the sunset will be lovely, but even it won't be able to compare with your beauty," Liamae says to Turante, taking the princess's hand.
"Flatterer," says Túrante to Liamae with a blush. "Besides, if we are making celestial comparisons, you are the sun, while I am merely the moon reflecting in your glory."
Moira falls in with Fenchurch and Selja, somewhat behind the lovebirds... and hopefully well out of elven earshot when she begins to gossip, "I don't mean to sound insensitive or unimaginative, but I always wonder what love is like for elves. They might still be young lovers by the time we're all withered crones. They could stick together for ten years and figure it a minor fling. Or, they might die in battle tomorrow. Elven lives, m'ladies, are just... so long, so short, so strange compared to ours." She sighs heavily, thinking of Khari and Arnholde. "Sorry to pry when we've only just met, but have either of you ever been in love?"