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"Yes, I'm sure you love playing adventurer," Jetta says in a biting tone. "You know, rather than doing something to fix things back home...""It takes a lot of time for any organized effort such as this to destroy the environment," said Percival, noticing the near-unanimous air.
"At any rate, consider the offer in the charter: 'Land, Gold, and Title'. Considering this lush, fertile land, it stands to reason that the lands and titles in question would be granted to Sir Tolgrith, the first settlers, and ourselves. I, for one, would not leave this place so soon after the road is complete. I'd say it's growing on me."
"Fixing what is broken is what I do, Hellknight," Percival's said steadily, holding to the reins of his steed tightly. "It behooves one to know the limits of their strengths and abilities, and fulfill their potential in any way that is proper."
"It really doesn't matter who lives here now, does it? Ultimately, the Vale will belong to the Crimson Throne. Lands and titles can be taken away. The next king or queen might decide to gift them to someone else at their whim, unless there's something concrete stopping them from doing so. Like a charter amendment.""I suppose it's impossible to give assurances to Master Oakbrow that his requests will truly be honored in perpetuity.
"I'm just loath to leading him to think that any accord with Sir Tolgrith will be respected for more than a dozen years as a result. His help will increase our chances of succeeding in the Vale, which in turn will only hasten the development and eventual betrayal of our accord. Civilization being what it is."
"That is true," conceded the priest. He then added, "And yet, yearning for anything to remain forever is folly to the mortal mind, and is beyond the purpose of our union. Man does their part, and the gods deal out destinies. Ultimately, only the wise can see where all roads end.
"We shan't worry about a future that is not in our hands; it does no one good.""Perhaps he'll be able to reassure us. If he doesn't, however, I don't know if I can allow Master Oakbrow to believe in a certainty that isn't there."
"The man has the authority to make such a deal, at least in the near future. If not..." the man said, before adding with a cynical undertone, "Proper development of such regions take place slowly--over the course of decades or even a century or two, considering our records*. By that time, we'd be either powerful enough to stop it, dead, or the druid will be dead, or the whole world might be wholly consumed by the Worldwound."
He then spat over the side and made a symbol to avert evil.
The trip back through the woods from Oakbrow's hut is quiet, the wind in the leaves and the occasional rustle of a small creature the only sound. Upon your return, a page reports that Sir Tolgrith is occupied in a disciplinary hearing with one of the soldiers; I'll let 'im know you're back, though - 'e said t' let 'im know soon as you returned. Jus' have a seat in 'is war room, 'e said.
Several minutes later the commander enters the planning room with a sigh, the grim look on his face lightening up somewhat upon seeing everyone gathered around the table and the new map added to the patchwork of parchment already covering the table. So, then, you've returned. I take it that means things can't have gone too badly...what of this Oakbrow fellow? Is he a friend, or a foe?
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So, then, you've returned. I take it that means things can't have gone too badly...what of this Oakbrow fellow? Is he a friend, or a foe?
"The druid seems friendly enough," said Percival, granting Tolgrith the new map. "He did ask for some assurances, and he gave us vital information considering our surroundings. Did you know there was gold in the hills?"
"More than friendly--he is a potential, powerful ally in Korvosa's attempt to steward the Vale. He had some wonderful ideas, and of course proposals, to maximize both the city's investments and the locale's value as a natural, historic site."
She nods as Perry talks.
"Yes, gold, darkwood, black ash, fertile soil. The Vale hardly seems the ghostly wasteland of legends." The shadow of uneasiness brushes Anthuria's face as images of the ghostly wraiths flicker through her mind. She spirits them away.
The story of the conversation with the druid seems to perk Sir Tolgrith up; as he looks over the map, his eyes grow wide. Gold, darkwood...And I assume these assurances are that we will manage things responsibly, avoid destroying this place trying to get what we want from it? Well, I'll certainly do my best to accede to his wishes - I've no desire to turn this place into the next Cinderlands, not if it's got all this to offer. And I welcome any input he has on how to do so - the stories always paint druids as exceedingly wise, even if sometimes overzealous.
But even if I set rules to limit my soldiers and laborers, I've little to do with travelers coming through here...and make no mistake, when the Crown hears of this, the inrush will be unbelievable. I'll do my best to keep any more settlers apprised of the situation, and indeed, it's the men and women already involved in the Vale's taming who'll own the lion's share of the property in it, yourselves included - but I'm afraid any disciplines we impose will last only as long as those who made them, unless we do something drastic I've not thought of yet.
He sets a hand on the scrawled map. Of course, I must inform His Majesty of these discoveries. I don't know if he's got the manpower on hand any more to send his own laborers to work at harvesting these, but perhaps there will be some trade companies interested in sending up personnel to take over management of these more remote sites. And with the expertise to extract it with as little impact as possible, of course.
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The next few days pass mostly without incident. The trade caravan you arrived with has turned around to make the trip back to Korvosa, but with the road growing close to completion, a few of its travelers have stayed behind - including the harrower Katsa, who has taken a room in the Boar's Bones and can be seen every night performing readings or luck rituals. Intriguing omens, she replies cryptically when asked. I could not miss seeing them out. But from the steady trickle of patrons coming to her each night, it seems an interesting future isn't her only motivation - she's one of the only names in the game for entertainment in the keep, and it's turning out to be a lucrative prospect.
The three days after meeting Oakbrow turn out to be unusually grey and dreary ones; rain falls in sheets on the vast forest, gutters are close to overflowing trying to keep up with the flow, and the road becomes a soupy mess of mud and loose gravel under the torrent. As the rain continues, there begins to be some worry that the Petal River will jump its banks, and its waters certainly are higher than usual, roiling and churning...but fortunately, as the rain slacks off, so does the river's rise, and the weather proves to be no more than a gloomy inconvenience.
Jetta says little as the others report on the successful mission. She had given her counsel on the way to the Fort, and assumed Mairen and Perry would deal with the possibility of legal confirmation as they would. After the main topic has been settled, she steps forward and salutes Sir Tolgrith, standing at attention until given permission to speak.
"The page said something about a 'disciplinary hearing'," she says. "What was it about? If you don't mind me asking, sir."
Balthus was strangely contemplative during the next few days. The talk with the druid and subsequent discussions got him thinking.
Would he really be one of the people that would have a say as to what could or could not be done in the Vale? He was supposedly going to get some land here. Isn't that what landowners did? Dictate laws and... enforce them.
Once the soothsayer had retired for the evening, the ranger gathered his companions around and asked, "Ok, seriosuly now that the charlatan woman has left, who's thinking of hanging around here after the road is built? Is anyone seriously considering settling down on some land here?"
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Percival rarely sat in the inn, preferring instead to eat in his office in the keep, but something seemed to be on his mind as well.
Today, however, he felt a strange itching for company.
Once the soothsayer had retired for the evening, the ranger gathered his companions around and asked, "Ok, seriosuly now that the charlatan woman has left, who's thinking of hanging around here after the road is built? Is anyone seriously considering settling down on some land here?"
Percival said nothing at first, drinking from a side flask, before saying with a ruddy face, "I intend to stay for a while...perhaps a season or two. I am not sure of the scope of the King's reward for completing the road, so circumstances may change."
The lord then looked to the table, and said with a surprising bit of honesty (spurred on doubtlessly by booze), "The money is sorely needed."
During the meeting with Sir Tolgrith Amund stands silently.
Much of Amunds time is spent either with the Owlbear cubs or with the locals who visit. During the silence of the night he lets his mind wonder about his future and past.
Once the soothsayer had retired for the evening, the ranger gathered his companions around and asked, "Ok, seriosuly now that the charlatan woman has left, who's thinking of hanging around here after the road is built? Is anyone seriously considering settling down on some land here?"
Sighing with his voice lased with irritation. She has done nothing to deserve your harsh words Balthus. You need to let that go.
Lifting his ale and finishing off about half of it, I have my orders and if I were to stay that is my Commanders decision. Perhaps if I were to set up a place to train others to patrol the caravan trails... There is a bit of longing in his voice.
Jetta says little as the others report on the successful mission. She had given her counsel on the way to the Fort, and assumed Mairen and Perry would deal with the possibility of legal confirmation as they would. After the main topic has been settled, she steps forward and salutes Sir Tolgrith, standing at attention until given permission to speak.
"The page said something about a 'disciplinary hearing'," she says. "What was it about? If you don't mind me asking, sir."
Sir Tolgrith responds with a crisp salute of his own, granting permission to speak. No, it's fine - there was an argument between two of my soldiers. Poking fun at a letter from a love back at home, or something like that. Tempers flared, fists flew, and now I've got one with a black eye and another with a bruised jaw. I've done my best to instill some discipline in them...but it's a tough assignment out here, not exactly what the Korvosan Guard tends to train for. Sometimes emotions get out of hand.
Sighing with his voice lased with irritation. She has done nothing to deserve your harsh words Balthus. You need to let that go.
Lifting his ale and finishing off about half of it, I have my orders and if I were to stay that is my Commanders decision. Perhaps if I were to set up a place to train others to patrol the caravan trails... There is a bit of longing in his voice.
Balthus scoffs, "Listen boy, if you don't see me doing anything about something, it means I'm either Ok with it or don't care. I told you before that my only concern was when she got involved making decisions in the field. She can do with her time whatever she wants."
He continued to look around, "So none of you are thinking of staying. Sounds like it would be a nice place to grow some roots if you ain't got any."
He looked at Meiren, "What about you girl? Any chance you wanna honor your god and help set up a little community here? Anthuria, you going back to that college of yours?"
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Sighing with his voice lased with irritation. She has done nothing to deserve your harsh words Balthus. You need to let that go.Balthus scoffs, "Listen boy, if you don't see me doing anything about something, it means I'm either Ok with it or don't care. I told you before that my only concern was when she got involved making decisions in the field. She can do with her time whatever she wants."
Percival looked between the two, and cleared his throat.
"Did the harrower cause trouble?" he asked, confused.
He continued to look around, "So none of you are thinking of staying. Sounds like it would be a nice place to grow some roots if you ain't got any."
The priest looked to the ranger, and smiled tiredly, saying, "Sounds to me that like you like this place, Tauran. Plenty of unwitting victims."
Clad is a sky blue tunic that reaches mid-thigh and that's cinched at the waist with a broad belt, Mairen leans back in her seat, cup of warm milk in hand and eyes Balthus over its rim.
"Stay and start a community? One day, perhaps. When I'm old and grey and lifting my sword causes all my old war wounds to ache." She cracks a smile. "That day is still aways off, however. Though there's no telling how long clearing this Vale will take. A couple more months? A whole year? With stories of drakes and chimeras and even dragons in the mountains, there's much work to be done here."
She slides her gaze over to Perry. "And much potential profit." A beat, and then she probes a little. "Is there a cause you're looking to fund, Lord Arizian?"
Percival looked between the two, and cleared his throat.
"Did the harrower cause trouble?" he asked, confused.
The ranger minimized the issue, "Could have been trouble but Jetta stepped in and solved it. It turns out that the harrower wanted a say on which path to take for getting here. She claimed her skills were better for this than the scouts. The same scouts who had set foot on the trails."
He shook his head, "I'm glad we followed the scouts' advice and got us here safely."
He smiled, "So which one of you have had your palm read by the harrower? Any dragons in your immediate future?"
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"Is there a cause you're looking to fund, Lord Arizian?"
"Several. There is a village by Deadeye Wall," The lord said, shaking his drink. "Constantly plagued by orcs. The dangers there are more...seasonal, but I have a fondness for the place, though it's been seventeen years since I last fought there. A cadre of Erastilian priests helped the effort, hence it may sound familiar.
"But beyond that, finances are a tad tight on a personal level," he added, before taking another drink."So which one of you have had your palm read by the harrower? Any dragons in your immediate future?"
The priest's brow furrowed in interest, though he said nothing, before taking another drink.
"Is anyone seriously considering settling down on some land here?"
Jetta stops to think for for a moment, scratching at one of the jagged scars on her upper arm.
"I'll give whatever land I'm granted to my order," she muses "Perhaps we can set up an outpost here, and help keep the trade caravans safe. Maybe I'll be stationed here then, who knows. It's not my call."
"But beyond that, finances are a tad tight on a personal level," he added, before taking another drink.
Jetta casts a worried glance towards the priest, but does her best to go back to feigning indifference. She is not too subtle about it.
"Anthuria, you going back to that college of yours?"
"Well, yes, of course..." Why wouldn't she return? Her whole life was at the College, after all. Her mother, her garden, her books, her plays, her... There was something else, wasn't there? With some personal shame, she remembers. Serba. She'd barely thought of him in recent days, when under normal circumstances her worry over him would practically have consumed her thoughts. She looks to Amund, wondering if there is anyone in his memories with the gravity to draw his thoughts back, around and round, in an inescapable orbit.
Then she thinks of the Vale itself, its natural beauty, and then Fort Thorn, and all the people she has met. She pictures the fort growing into a proper settlement, with homes, children, and a school. In her mind's eye she draws this painting. There, a young, dark-skinned woman strolls down the street, her hair drawn back in a handerkerchief, carrying a basket of fresh carrots. And there she is again, leading a gaggle of school-aged children in song and dance. Is there a place for her in this picture? Could this be her home?
"For a time, anyway. My mother is in the city, and all our possessions, such as they are. But in the long run, I haven't quite decided where I'll take root." Then, with a smile, "Maybe Katsa the fortune-teller would have some advise for me. Or, all of us?"
At Perry's statement, she nods her head in understanding but remains silent. It's impolite to count other people's money, after all.
After the talk with the others Amund would ask to speak with Sir Tolgrith.
Amund requests to meet with Sir Tolgrith, but discovers that the commander is occupied in another meeting, this time with the leaders of some of the various work crews; some time later, Tolgrith emerges, finally catching up with Amund on his way out to visit the owlbear cubs. For several moments, he watches as Amund cuts up a dire boar liver and tosses the chunks into the owlbears' enclosure with a coo; only once Amund has finished does he clear his throat loudly. I'm told you wanted to speak with me?
Signaling that he wants a refill knowing he might regret if he has to many Amund glances that apparently social Balthus. Balthus are you wanting to stay and is this a way to see if any of us will stay with you?
Amund requests to meet with Sir Tolgrith, but discovers that the commander is occupied in another meeting, this time with the leaders of some of the various work crews; some time later, Tolgrith emerges, finally catching up with Amund on his way out to visit the owlbear cubs. For several moments, he watches as Amund cuts up a dire boar liver and tosses the chunks into the owlbears' enclosure with a coo; only once Amund has finished does he clear his throat loudly. I'm told you wanted to speak with me?
Wiping his hands on a strip of fabric and saluting Sir Tolgrith. Yes Sir I did. Thank you for finding time for me. Unfortunately I do not have anything but those rock to offer as a seat. Regaurdless of if Sir Tolgrith sits Amund would remain standing.
I, umm. Breathing deeply and squaring his shoulders. I wanting to ask you a few questions and if I am to forward in doing so please let me know. You mentioned before that you were having problems with some of your guards and then referenced the Korvosan Guard.
That and a conversation with the others I have been working with got me thinking. I know Balthus has been working with them but he seems the type for scouting and more solitary work than the style most guards use. In no way am I wanting to undercut the effort he has put in. This place is a very different kind of wild than I am accustom to. If you would like I could send a letter to my commander and see if perhaps once the road is complete if some people could be spared to come out here and work with your guards.
I, umm. Breathing deeply and squaring his shoulders. I wanting to ask you a few questions and if I am to forward in doing so please let me know. You mentioned before that you were having problems with some of your guards and then referenced the Korvosan Guard.
That and a conversation with the others I have been working with got me thinking. I know Balthus has been working with them but he seems the type for scouting and more solitary work than the style most guards use. In no way am I wanting to undercut the effort he has put in. This place is a very different kind of wild than I am accustom to. If you would like I could send a letter to my commander and see if perhaps once the road is complete if some people could be...
It's not too forward at all - I'd welcome your aid. Any help we can get is valuable, especially expert assistance, and if you're from the Guard yourself, perhaps you'll be able to connect me with some of their more capable. These boys we've gotten are doing their best, to be certain, but I wonder sometimes if they aren't sending me the greenest of the lot to avoid losing more competent recruits. And of course, they don't consider that perhaps part of the reason we've lost so many is because they're green. He sighs heavily. All we can do is work with what we're given, yes?
It's now the fifth day after visiting Oakbrow, mid-afternoon, and perhaps the wet weather has turned out to be more than simply an inconvenience...at least, if the woman and horse struggling down the now-quite-soft path are any indication. Both horse and human are speckled head to toe with muck, and the woman is leading the horse by its bridle as she walks, giving the beast a chance to slow its heavy breathing. Alys Sarina, she huffs out crossly to the guards calling to her, and I'd thank you to not slow me down! Get Dirk and that other stableboy out here now - Dancer's half-ready to drop!
And tell Sir Tolgrith another crew's been attacked at the front end of the road - the rest of my crew's coming in behind me and the other crews as well, although who knows how much longer they'll be in this mess. It's spiders this time - spiders the size of an aurochs! Killed Porter and Binks, and Thallin's gone missing!
It's not too forward at all - I'd welcome your aid. Any help we can get is valuable, especially expert assistance, and if you're from the Guard yourself, perhaps you'll be able to connect me with some of their more capable. These boys we've gotten are doing their best, to be certain, but I wonder sometimes if they aren't sending me the greenest of the lot to avoid losing more competent recruits. And of course, they don't consider that perhaps part of the reason we've lost so many is because they're green. He sighs heavily. All we can do is work with what we're given, yes?
Nodding, That is true Sir. And once I have the opportunity I will send a message to my Captain and see if he is able to help.
"Giant spiders?" Anthuria cannot help but overhear the talk of murderous, overgrown arachnids. "Just when we think we've a handle on the Vale, it shows us just how precarious this situation is!"
Anthuria sets out to find Balthus or Mairen, those accustomed to the wilderness, in order to determine whether they should attempt to combat the spiders.
Curiosity pulls Amund from spending the day with the Owlbears again.
Running out to feed them and then back to join Perry and Anthuria to visit Kasta for a Harrowing. Thank you Lord Arizian for waiting for me. And it is nice to see that you are coming with as well Anthuria.
"Hmm? Oh yes, of course." Anthuria tries makes a great show of appearing nonchalant, while in fact she is both excited and nervous. She had never given much stock to the Varisian fortune-telling game. After all, if they could truly see the future, why were most of them living in such poverty?
Because, Anthuria, there's more to happiness than the coins in your purse.
Her father's sing-song voice dances through her head as she envisions the response he would have given her. Growing up in a gardener's cottage hardly placed her above the pseudodragons in the pecking order of Korvosa. Still, they were happy within the little paradise of the College grounds. Poor, but happy. She smiles, realizing that perhaps she has more in common with the Varisians than she thought.
"Maybe she holds the secret to placing Balthus in a cheerful mood."
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"Thank you Lord Arizian for waiting for me. And it is nice to see that you are coming with as well Anthuria."
"Personally, I know divination is an unreliable branch of magic," said the lord to the two youngsters as he headed to the settled caravan in the fort's common space. "But the Rose King's premonition unsettled me greatly. I am interested in what she has to tell.
"Though if I get the Death card in the end, I'm leaving. It's so cliche."
With the rest of the caravan having departed to return to lowland Varisia, Katsa's riotously colored cart looks lonely, blues and purples dancing on their own in the field outside the Four Wheels Hall - yet strangely, Katsa's manner is that of one of supreme calm and fulfillment, despite the somewhat lonesome arrangements. Outside her cart, a small iron cauldron sits on a wooden block, with a delicious-smelling steam rising from it into the cool air. The harrower sits on the brightly colored cart's steps, holding a small clay pipe etched and inked with a swirling grey pattern evoking roiling smoke; as she takes another draw from it, her own puff of smoke follows the etchings' smooth steps.
So often fate uses the foolish things of this world to confound the wise...that is the maxim, is it not? she murmurs cryptically with a small smile as you approach, drawing again on her pipe and sending up a cloud of mystery about her. I was told there would be visitors of import today, strong of body and mind...yet still brought low beneath the heavy yoke of the future's uncertainty. And now this place's wisest and strongest come to my step...yet you may find that my answers only burden you further. Fate is a cruel driver.
Suddenly she laughs, a surprisingly high and clear chuckle for the older woman. Or perhaps you simply come with a kiss or a kick for a spooky old lady. I've gotten plenty of those as well, drawn along in Desna's swirling wake. She rises from her seat and bows, her pipe smoke swirling in her own wake and a deck of cards dancing excitedly in her left hand. What is it you require of me?
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What an attitude. She must have had her fill of doubters and headaches, thought Percival, approaching.
"Harrower Kasta," started Percival, standing before her lonely cart's steps. "I have brushed against the veil that cleaves between tomorrow and yesterday. I wish that you may aid us by consulting the Cards. I cannot see far into the mists of the future, and I fear that something dark approaches mine blind eyes. May we go in?"
Of course - come in, come in! Katsa replies, stepping aside to let everyone past. Her eyes linger on each person as they pass, though Amund, taking up the rear, seems to draw the longest look.
The inside of the cart is crowded, though surprisingly tidy given the volume of its contents. Shelves and cubbies along the top of the walls are stuffed to the gills with assorted herbs and books; the low, velvet-covered benches around the lower walls prove to be tucked-away storage as well, and you can see the hood of a heavy wool cloak just peeking from beneath one of the plush seats. In one of the gaps of wall between the overhead shelves and the benches, a long scarf is carefully hung; the complex loops and whorls of the pattern are almost indecipherable.
Atop the table on one end is a clay vase with several ornamental dried herbs arranged attractively in a bunch; she sets the vase off to one corner as she takes a seat behind the table against the cart's far wall. Everything has its season - and this is certainly not the season for many flowers, she comments with a smile. Come, everyone, have a seat. The close space has a perk: there is no such thing as a poor spot.
Setting a stick of incense in the folded hands of a porcelain figure of a lillend, she lights the end and blows it out with gently pursed lips; the smoke instantly fills the small space with a spicy, heady aroma. As she shuffles her deck in her hands, the swirls and knotwork on the back seem almost to writhe and dance...and did one of the eyes worked into the knotwork just wink? Must have been a trick of the dim light, the curling smoke, the mystical decorations, the mystical purr of the older woman's deep voice...
Now, children - what is it you ask of the spirits of the Harrow? she croons. To ask simply "What comes next?" yields little insight, for there are as many futures as there are questions to ask of what comes, and so many turns on each of their paths that the cards could never hope to guide true. After all, a compass points only to Desna's eternal realm; give me a question as a guiding star, that the Harrow may light your path.
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Percival waved his palm before his nose, coughing slightly. A strange sense of overall chaos hung heavily in his mind's eye, though it bore no malevolence.
It was something he never tried before--through all his forty-few years of living, and he never sought counsel from a harrower. Today will validate that--or make him question it all.
"I shall start," he said firmly, sitting on a jutting shelf, and watching his head. "This question bears a little mystery: I spoke with a being between the veil, just after his death and before the Final Journey. He said to me these riddles three:
"1. He said to me that beasts descend upon us with fire in their bellies and fire in their souls. How will such an encounter end, and would any preparations I make deliver us from such evils? What signs must I look for to help me, and what must I do to guard me and my flock?
"2. He said to me that time will crush everything in its wake. Do the cards reveal such moment to be soon, or looming upon us? Is the road we work on significant enough to warrant a prophecy?"
He then fell quiet, before noticing that he mentioned three riddles but said two.
"Oh, right. He didn't actually give me the last riddle. Sort of flashed the proverbial finger."
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Ah, she sighs. So eager to seek answers, to defend his newfound flock - and yet the spirits require a single question, a single destination on which to focus. She closes her eyes and breathes deeply, composing herself. What you ask is this, it seems - what is the nature of the doom which this being has foretold? The words of the question are in a higher, almost musical tone, and as she croons the inquiry, she waves her right hand over the deck sitting in her left. And at the wave of her hand, the deck rearranges itself before your very eyes - nine cards flick out from the stack one by one to arrange themselves atop the neat pile, perpendicular to the others.
Picking up the smaller group, she nods ponderously. Ah yes, the Hammers. Suited well - for this is indeed a question of might, of prowess, of victory. But whose victory? She holds forth the small stack, fanning it out with her thumb face-down. Draw, now, and we shall see what part you shall play in the grand events to come.
You draw forth a card that depicts a man leaning over an anvil, hammer poised in mid-swing as fire mephits dart around his hands and arms. It seems that, just as the smith may meld many minerals to form a sword with the qualities he desires, so you are bringing together many different sorts to create a weapon for your cause, and taking in the best qualities of all for the glorious whole. She chuckles. It seems you are a singular man, for one so high in your Key Lord's faith. Many of your brothers are not so tolerant.
You have great strength in your possession, it seems, Katsa murmurs as you draw forth a card bearing an image of a bear wearing a mummer's ruff and riding atop a unicycle. What sort, the cards do not say - strength of the arms, strength of the mind, strength of the heart? Or perhaps the strength you nurture in others, man or beast? She gives you a pointed look, and you remember her visit to the owlbears' cart a few days before. But be wary - for the Bear's strength can bring great ruin, should its master lose hold on it.
You have been caught up in things much greater than you ever knew, the harrower whispers as you draw forth your card, an angry scene of roughly-dressed commoners wielding hay forks and spades surrounded by fields of fire. A piece in others’ games...but there are two sides to every conflict. See the crown they hold aloft - another power is rising, and on its wave perhaps you shall rise high. But take heed that this new power does not carry you away...
The card you draw is a terrible sight; in a dark graveyard, a swarm of ghastly hands erupt from the soil, dragging their victim down and threatening to tear him apart. Dangers have beset you, child, Katsa sighs in an undertone, reaching out to gently brush your hand, a look of pity in her eyes. And dangers beset you still, those you see and those still hidden. Cling firmly to whatever you can...otherwise, I fear the things to come may destroy you.
The card you draw is heartening - a man with shackles broken, lifting his hands to the open blue of the sky. At seeing it, the harrower smiles. You have a chance, she croons. Your chains are broken - chains you may never have known you wore. Freedom is your lot...freedom to be what you will, and freedom to be what you could never had imagined. A new world has opened itself to you - open your eyes to everything that world could be.
Balthus shrugged and played along, if only to amuse himself. He had to admit that the Harrower did provide decent entertainment.
He looked at his companions, "I will bet you that I can spin whatever prophecy she has for any of us and apply it to any other person."
When he got their attention, he continued, "I mean that whatever is said about Anthuria will also apply to Amund and to you, Jetta, and to me. To anyone really."
He scoffed, "That's what these people do. They make their prophecy so general that it applies to all of us. Oh there's more to it that that. She has to have a flair for the dramatic and be able to read you in an instant to see how you react to what she is saying."
He looked at Jetta, who seemed hesitant to join them, "Aw, c'mon Jetta. It will be fun."
Balthus scoffed at the paraphernalia strewn just about everywhere. He tried to be respectful to the old lady but suspected that, not matter how hard he tried, the Harrower was already aware of the smirk on his face.
He looked at Jetta, who seemed hesitant to join them, "Aw, c'mon Jetta. It will be fun."
Jetta shakes her head firmly in response.
"You're only going to encourage her," she answers annoyedly. "She'll stick around as long as people are dumb enough to pay her. We'll never be rid of her at this rate..."
Balthus shrugged and played along, if only to amuse himself. He had to admit that the Harrower did provide decent entertainment.
He looked at his companions, "I will bet you that I can spin whatever prophecy she has for any of us and apply it to any other person."
When he got their attention, he continued, "I mean that whatever is said about Anthuria will also apply to Amund and to you, Jetta, and to me. To anyone really."
He scoffed, "That's what these people do. They make their prophecy so general that it applies to all of us. Oh there's more to it that that. She has to have a flair for the dramatic and be able to read you in an instant to see how you react to what she is saying."
He looked at Jetta, who seemed hesitant to join them, "Aw, c'mon Jetta. It will be fun."
Glaring at Balthus, You know no following you when you are out scouting and makes a mockery of you. People see the skill you have and leave you to it. Regardless of what they think about it. Her presence here seems to make the locals happy and since you are wanting to make roots here maybe, just maybe, you should not poke at the things these people like.
Sighing and reigning him his anger at the older man, Yes it is something that can be generalized and applied to most people but that isn't the point. The point is to offer some guidance to those who feel they need it. Your constant bad mouthing will not endear you to these people who are clearly struggling right now and gain some form of comfort from a Harrowing.
That anger clearly spikes back up but it cannot seem to be helped where Balthus is concerned. Scowling but remaining silent unless spoken to.
Looking around at the organized chaos Amund quietly greets the Harrower and takes a seat. Not flinching at the incense, he has smelled much worse in the past.
Keeping silent since it was Perry who wanted the Harrowing and is the one doing the questioning at the moment. Raising an eyebrow at the cards moving on their own Magic is not fair.
No surprised at the interpretation of his personal card. Owlbears can and are very dangerous. Mutely sitting though the others cards and waiting for the end result.
A pawn in others' games. Yes, of course. Anthuria immediately connects this implication to the clandestine schemes of the College masters, sending her unawares into a perceived death mission. But what of the crown, and this new power?
Don't be preposterous! This is no doubt a simple parlor trick.
Still, she shifts forward eagerly, her eyes and ears searching for the next clues from the sage.
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Taking back each drawn card, Katsa waves deftly once more over the deck, which turns up onto its side and begins to shuffle itself, the cards leaping over each other in a mesmerizing jumble. After several moments, she sets a hand atop the chaos, almost as if to calm it, and the cards cease jumping. With slow, deliberate movements, she begins to draw cards and lay them in front of her on the table, face down in three columns of three cards each. Three by three… she chants in a sonorous tone. Three by three, and we shall see…
With a few flicks of her wrist, she reveals the first column of cards . Power, I see, she begins, a past of great power and glory, as the archon rising into the heavens to sound a clarion trumpet call. He flies strong, true, stalwart in his purpose, certain that none shall challenge his dominion and his good work. And yet - Here she pauses for a moment, her hand hovering back and forth between the Trumpet and the Eclipse.
And yet, just as certainly as that glory rose, so too has it fallen. For see, Heaven’s light is here blotted out, and with no light to show his path, the traveler is certain to be lost, without a guiding purpose, consumed by the remains of what was once vital and vibrant. A curious juxtaposition - strength in keeping to right purpose and destruction in losing the way - yet both have led to this, as surely as I stand before you. And this tyrant, this dragon seeking to rend and devour - perhaps he is the one who hid the sun behind his gluttonous bloat.
Remaining silent for several moments as her words soak in, she turns over the second column of cards . As the bottom card turns, she lets out a small gasp. The Wanderer has lost his way! she exclaims breathily. See the collection he carries upon his back - he has always seen the true worth of everything, from the broken glass that becomes a mosaic to the rusted pot that he may scour clean. If he should fall so far as to lose sight of that value...if his eyes should narrow and he should begin to discard those humble things whose worth is merely hidden...how much do we stand to lose?
Her eyes flick back to the top card of the column, and she lets out a sigh of relief. But it seems all is not lost yet - for, you see, the dance continues on. All in this dance hold their partners close, tread carefully with measured step...and do not forget that their steps affect those of all. For after all, if one dancer stumbles, do not all the rest stumble in turn? Suddenly, and incongruously, she chuckles slightly. Though this place dances the stateliest of waltzes, and my song thus far has been more a tarantella. A stunning change in tempo, it is.
Still smiling to herself, she turns over the final column . And now what is to come - the question which so vexes the mind of our grand priest. For several seconds, she studies the cards, taking a draw on her pipe and sending a puff of smoke wafting over the spread. Your informant spoke true - that is clear enough. I see evil here, some seed of the old past, ready to bloom once again and overtake all in its growth. See how the Briar spreads, and how man’s works are pulled down in its grip!
Emptiness...a bleak time draws near, when aid may seem distant and hope only the blur of an oasis on the far horizon. The sun burns above the Desert, draining it, taking and taking and giving not. But this sphinx - ah, what a strange guardian the sphinx makes. Bewildering, full of riddles, its mind strange and distant and unknowable. But should the traveler heed the sphinx’s words, seek guidance, strange though it may seem...then hope shall arise. A way shall be found through the Desert’s burning, and at journey’s end, perhaps the trek through the wastes will not have been in vain.
And one thing reads certain, as certain as the cards can say - no matter the struggle, clarity shall remain yours. You see, the Lost one is elevated, risen from the deeps where he dwells and kept from running wild in the evil places from which he is wont to corrupt. He would drag you down, if he could - but how could he drag you under raised to the sky? When the moment of crisis comes, you will find that something will point the way; you need only to follow it.
Balthus expression was one of bewilderment; he really just wanted to blurt out WTF did you just say?!
But the old man kept his cool and tried real hard to not let the smirk show on his face. and people pay her for this sort of BS...
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As hard as he tried, Percival saw nothing in the cards.
The thick incense and Anthuria's interest (as well as the heat from the cramped cart) made him feel both sleepy and extraordinarily stupid.
Halfway through Katsa's gasps and exclamations of interest at his destiny (or, apparently, the entire world's) being unraveled before him, the priest's voice in Percival's mind began grumbling.
'The wanderer has lost it's way! The wanderer has lost it's way!' Oh, by the gods, cut me a thick slice of that pish posh to take back home for winter's yule! Why are we even here?!'
'I take everything to account where unknown things lurk,' said the voice of the lord within him.
'The stench of chaos reeks from this whole place. Is this pesh she's smoking?! What will Emma say if she saw you in this peasant's cart!?' The priest's voice continued to bicker and snidely comment, until Percival felt miserable, and the lord's voice faded out in face of inscrutable mysteries. Balthus's snide comments rose to his mind.
"That's what these people do. They make their prophecy so general that it applies to all of us. Oh there's more to it that that. She has to have a flair for the dramatic and be able to read you in an instant to see how you react to what she is saying."
Once the lord's voice fell quiet, the priest's voice rose, saying cruelly in his mind's ear, 'tis no wonder why these people are kicked from place to place.'
And now what is to come - the question which so vexes the mind of our grand priest. For several seconds, she studies the cards, taking a draw on her pipe and sending a puff of smoke wafting over the spread. Your informant spoke true - that is clear enough. I see evil here, some seed of the old past, ready to bloom once again and overtake all in its growth. See how the Briar spreads, and how man’s works are pulled down in its grip!
Percival sat up. Before he could ask for more details, she harrower continued.
When the moment of crisis comes, you will find that something will point the way; you need only to follow it.
Percival paused, waiting for a concrete answer--or some kind of riddle.
But none was forthcoming.'It is a bad sign when dead fey are more useful than your cultural heritage,' jeered the priest's voice in his mind.
"I...see..." He said, standing up, features stone cold. "Is this it?"
The Harrowing goes about how well he though it would. Easily interpreted a dozen different ways but still able to give advice should the person be willing. Balthus is actually no being rude. Hmm, the end is coming. Lord Arizain seems less than please. Not sure what he was expecting. A clear cut answer. He should have asked his God and hoped for an answer. Shelyn preserve me Balthus is going to be difficult to deal with.
Keeping his features neutral Amund waits to see if Perry is going to be entertaining, if nothing happens, or if he needs to step in. I have never seem a Lord get pissed off and rant. I wonder what the difference is?
The Tangled Briar.
A hazy memory returns to Anthuria, a whisper of a dream, perhaps no more than a feeling of deja vu. She has seen these briars overtaking Fort Thorn itself.
Probably just coincidence...or not.
"But how to stop the briars from overtaking us? How do we raise this "lost one" up to prevent him from burying us? This sphinx, here," she says, pointing to the card, "He represents a puzzle, a problem we need to work through to avoid catastrophe. Oh, but that's the puzzle itself--we don't even know the riddle!" She stands with arms crossed, vexed, as Perry displays his disappointment.
Mairen stands at the back, arms crossed, listening but clearly not engaged. She has a quiet, tolerant air to her, as if this were a novelty or a fair attraction like any other, and is willing to humor her friends as they dig deeper into the mysticism.
Alas, friends, the harrower replies, her eyes scanning the spread again, my craft is not all-powerful. The Harrow is not a window to the future - it is a rare few gifted enough in divination to see actual events before they occur. And the Lord of Man's death a century ago threw all divinations into chaos; this age of our world is not called the Age of Lost Omens for naught. At the mention of Aroden's passing and the accompanying corruption of prophecies, a deep sadness crosses her eyes.
But there is wisdom in the searching, for those with eyes open. We know it is an old evil that approaches, for a field of briars does not spring up overnight. This place has a history of strife - perhaps some seed from that past lies dormant still, hidden from the sun beneath the tangle of troubles that plagues the Vale today. So, then, removing the overgrowth may bring this older seed to light...
"But how to stop the briars from overtaking us? How do we raise this "lost one" up to prevent him from burying us? This sphinx, here," she says, pointing to the card, "He represents a puzzle, a problem we need to work through to avoid catastrophe. Oh, but that's the puzzle itself--we don't even know the riddle!" She stands with arms crossed, vexed, as Perry displays his disappointment.
I have heard you have some skill with gardens, young lady, she replies with a smile. I should have thought it would be apparent - you uproot it before it has a chance to take hold. Or if you cannot uproot it, you damage the roots or the leaves, cut off that gives it life, and the rest soon withers.
Her forefinger taps the beast standing guard over the desert wastes. Though the sphinx is famed as a riddler, his true gift is not the riddle, but the wisdom that solving the riddle brings - he represents guidance from a source few would expect, or assistance when it is desperately needed. Trust not solely in that which seems clear and familiar, for there is great wisdom in those things strange to you, and in many points of view. Her gaze travels back over to the Wanderer. Though perhaps now you find this difficult - I implore you, learn to see past the flaws of the unfamiliar to its value.
But fear not, she finishes, looking at the tortured bodak. You need not concern yourself with the Lost - he is restrained already, whether by fortune or by your will. This I can offer you surety in...when the time comes, your way will be clear, and your strength of purpose will keep you on your path. She gathers the cards from the table and shuffles them back into the larger deck. Perhaps the reading is not what you expect...but then again, perhaps time shall make things clearer.
Now, is there anything else I can do for you? Any tonics or small magics you require? I get a fair few requests for love potions. She gives a jocular wink and leans back in her seat.
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Alas, friends, the harrower replies, her eyes scanning the spread again, my craft is not all-powerful. The Harrow is not a window to the future - it is a rare few gifted enough in divination to see actual events before they occur. And the Lord of Man's death a century ago threw all divinations into chaos; this age of our world is not called the Age of Lost Omens for naught. At the mention of Aroden's passing and the accompanying corruption of prophecies, a deep sadness crosses her eyes.
But there is wisdom in the searching, for those with eyes open. We know it is an old evil that approaches, for a field of briars does not spring up overnight...
Percival silently walked out as the harrower continued. Both voices in his mind were quiet, as if they expended their energies by merely existing--now doomed to be quiet until tomorrow.
What card would Jetta get? thought the priest.The morning air had a hint of fresh approaching winter. Rambling aimlessly, Percival found his feet bring him to a stop near the barracks.
Turning to watch Perry silently leave, despite this being his idea, with a frown on his lips. Turning back to the Harrower. I do not think there is anything I need. Thank you for you time Kasta. And for the Harrowing. It was interesting.