"Sure. While you're doing that... you two come here." Basil says, gesturing Edda and Niklos closer. He will fish the Tick-Tock man's token from inside his armor and show it.
"Found it on his table. We don't really need to go back there." Basil says. "And that moon was either a stroke of bad luck... or he realized we found it."
Niklos takes a closer look at the object, trying to acertain its nature.
Edda reaches up her sleeve to scratches her armpit with her wand in an unladylike manner and comments.
"We agreed to many things so far...most of which we do not intend to honor I think since this reality is really just too far gone off 'the mine cart rails.' This...feels different however. The Ant Queen wanted this guy dead too. Remember? We don't have her stone. Besides, he's the guy we can buy things from if we need them. Right? Can't hurt to visit the guy."
You re-enter the Tangled Briar, and for once do not happen to stumble into Algon. If going somewhere was easy, following the guidance of the Deck of Harrowed Tales, getting lost proves to be far harder, and you wander through brush and ferns until your stomach starts rumbling. Finally, the Trackless Dearth opens in front of your eyes, vaster than anything you've seen in all of the Realm.
Parched earth and featureless dunes stretch as far as the eye can see, blurring with the sky and obscuring the horizon. The sun above shines brighter here, but sickly and yellow, and there is no landmark in sight as far as the eye can see.
Edda removes her heavy fur cloak frowning and sweating in the uncomfortable heat.
"Let me guess...its really endless: Literally, not figuratively. Maybe its like the Briar...focus on finding the guy and we will?"
Spitting she frowns again as her spit is almost immediately absorbed by the dry sand.
"Maybe there is a card for this?"
"Maybe there is a card for this?"
Niklos nods, rummaging around in his pockets and sleeves. "Oh, yeah. That would likely be one of the shields. The one with the lion-man on it. Or is it a man-lion...?"
Edda smacks her forehead and pulls out the Desert card.
"Should I use this now or save it? I would hate to waste it now..."
"I have fur." Basil says. "It wouldn't be a waste."
Niklos shrugs. "Go ahead. I don't reckon we'll find anything more... desert-y."
Edda shrugs. Quickly changing into her more Hirsute form, with climbing claws and a bear's snout, Lirotha raises the card.
"Here goes nothing then."
Focusing on trying to find their quarry, Edda activates her Desert card with a flourish.
With a silvery tone, the magic of the Harrow card resonates with the desert. You start feeling more aware of your surrounding, as if you were in tune with the land itself.
Sadly, this comes with the depressing realization that the Nightpeddler is far. At least two weeks' march away from you, all through this desolating landscape, the blank space that Sonnorae never penned down.
Edda relaxes into her normal features.
"OK...that was unexpected. We have a long way to go, so let's get a move on then? We can travel the rest of today and into the cooler night. Then we'll camp until dawn, move until the hottest part of the day starts then rest again, hopefully with some sort of shade, then move out again in the late afternoon. I've heard that's the safest way to travel in the desert, when possible. Can anyone summon water?"
Niklos looks at the barren expanse, stroking his beard in contemplation. He had never travelled through a desert before, nor was he a friend of the wilds even in a general sense. But this was no ordinary journey, and his freedom—and a dragon's riches—awaited him at its end.
"Sounds good to me," he says with feigned confidence. "Lead the way, cousin."
"Yeah, I can conjure water." Basil replies. "Food will be a problem; I haven't followed my kind's normal aptitude for 'roughing it'."
Edda frowns.
"Water is good. I grew up on ships and beaches myself. Food was easy enough. Not forests and deserts. Hunting sounds like fun...I have some rations myself."
"We should procure rations beforehand then. Don't want to die out in a fake desert because of real starvation." Basil comments.
Edda looks around.
"How? Go back to the Carnival?"
"The Rakshasa would have what we need... but we will need to pay up."
Niklos nods along with Basil and Edda, trying to look like he knows what they are talking about. "Well, you may have a point there. Since Basil already snatched Ol' Ticky's token, we aren't in any great hurry to get to this Peddler fellow. Let's head back to Bernie's and buy some grub. Who knows, maybe we'll bump into somethin' of interest on the way back..."
Edda shakes her head negatively.
"Like that stupid Paladin? I'm inclined to just head out and take our chances if we have to do that."
As you expecte, Algon comes to meet you in his clearing, but a few quick mendacious words twist again the credulous paladin on his righteous quest.
Bernaditi greets you lying on a chaise-longue, smoking a water pipe. "Welcome back, folks. I assume that the eclipse earlier was your doing somehow? You must have put old Zassrion in quite a frenzy. So, how can I help you?"
Edda speaks up quickly but with reservation in her voice.
"Turns out we need to cross that unforgivable desert, but will need provisions. Travel-food mostly. Can you...aid us in this? That giant's pie only goes so far."
"Ahh, so you're after the Nightpeddler. Weird fellow, that one, I'd bet he's found some way to sneak out of this Realm. Let me see what I can have for you..."
The rakshasa opens a chest next to a poof, rummaging inside before drawing a large sack. "Wandermeal. Halfling invention, it combines with water, of which I assume you have a source, to create a nourishing paste. Almost tasteless, and you need to eat something else at least once a week, but it'll keep you fed. A sack can feed a grown person for a month, and I'd advise buying one each, the Dearth is not forgiving. It should have been filled with all of Sonnorae's unwritten tales, but... well. What happened happened. Will you need a donkey to carry all of this?"
Bernaditi counts the gold before slipping it inside a coat pocket. "Ah, how I've missed doing some business. Good luck with the Peddler, he's a shifty sort of fellow. And that's me saying it."
As you move towards the Briar, leading the placid camels (did Bernaditi use them for a show? Or did he just produce them out of thin air?) you see Brambleson, fidgety and restless, pacing around. As soon as he spots you, he hops in your direction, stopping just short of the Midnight Circus. "Oh dear. Oh dear! You did it! Are doing it maybe, but it's semantics! Point is, you are changing things! All those like you who came before died horribly sooner or later, mostly sooner. Some of them were nice guys too, these boots came from one of them who drowned in the Fen. But that's not the point! The point is, I saw a flower! A FLOWER! In the Briar!"
He seems very excited about that.
Niklos looks askance at the newly purchased camels, trying to figure out if he can actually ride one. When was the last time he had ridden a horse? Probably just before he and his sister had departed from Brevoy—it had been mostly boats after that, or wagons. Kornelia had always been better at horse riding than he was, and more fond animals in general. Niklos had always thought it pointless, but humoured her when she brought in pets from time to time... not that many of them lasted long, with the life they were living.
Lost in thought, Niklos is unusually quiet and morose during the preparations. At Brambleson's reappearance, he startles out of his reverie. "So... uh, what's so special about a flower? Not something you see often, I take it. Are they worth something?"
Walking casually, Edda is unworried about the camels since they seem docile enough.
However, with the sudden presence of Brambleson, Edda looks askance at the excitable creature.
"Calm down Sir. What does that MEAN to us?"
"Worth? Oh, more than all of the gold in the Realm! But realistically, nothing. It's the idea of the flower that's revolutionary! There never were flowers in the Briar! It just wasn't written like that! You are making new narrative, bringing some life to the old stories! What next, Balimar and Balio giving a new coat of paint to their theater? Marzalee making some new statues? Who could say? Not me!"
With a somersault, Brambleson sits on top of the nearest camel, gazing into the animal's eyes intently before continuing.
"So I did something spectacular and went to visit old Sonnorae in Prophet's Garden, see if maybe it was her somehow behind it. So she tried to murder me, and I mean, how bitter must one be? It's been so long since we killed her! Anywho, I found something I never saw before, especially since I'd never been there before."
Out of his pants, the rabbit produces a sheet of parchment covered in spidery writing. The words twist and turn like when you try to read in a dream, before settling into a passage.
...currently, the nature of these Harrowed creatures is to live as I've written. Deviations from their diegetic nature are corrected quickly, as they return to obliviousness and their patterns. And yet, there are some who seem to manifest a spark of self-consciousness. I've been trying to rewrite them for half a century, making them into completely sentient beings, and it doesn't work yet. I'm afraid I'd need some mortal spark of creation, some other mortal, with their stories and their tales.
Before storykin, before the Deck of Harrowed Tales, the Harrow cards were born as a narrative device. Most stories can be expressed as variation of the cards. And what is a harrowing if not telling the story of a person? This realm is my story. I wish someone would enter, so that I could observe how their narration would interfere with what I've written. But I can only hope for someone to find the deck.
There comes a point, in every narration, for separation. From home, from a loved one, from a dying mentor. I've been thinking that maybe that is the reason why I got trapped here, that having written no separation, I found myself irremediably away from home. This realm will punish those who stay together. Consider, for example, the Twins card. Balimar and Balio are inseparable, and they are my gratest failure at creating something with talent. With time, their inseparability became their weakness, and now none can act without the other.
Basil raises his ears as he reads. "Does it mean... does it mean that we should split up? Each of us look for the tokens separately? And how would we manage that?"
"You found this...where exactly?"
"Her writing's desk, near the pool of blood! You haven't been to the Prophet's Garden yet? Beautiful place. Idyllic, even. Too bad Sonnorae's still cranky. Or what's left of her, anyway."
With surprise obvious in her response, Edda looked at him aghast.
"She's still alive?"
Niklos scratches his chin thoughtfully, obviously missing the significance of Sonnorae's continued existence. "Hm, I s'pose we could split up, to cover more ground and all that. Not a bad idea, Brambles. I don't fancy any of us going out by our lonesomes, though..."
"Okay, how about this: You coneys stick together, and we Varisians do the same. We get along famously, don't we cousin?"
The scoundrel flashes his most charming smile at Edda. "Gisele can go with y'all and deal with Miss Crankypants in the garden, while we scout the wastes for this Peddler fellow. I'm pretty sure I can talk him out of his token, no problem there... wouldn't be my first time haggling, savvy?"
"Alive?" cheerps Brambleson. "Oh, no, definitely dead as a doornail. But she didn't let such a little thing stop her, nossir. I guess she was just too tied to this place to lay quiet."
Gisele, meanwhile, seems to appreciate Niklos' idea. "These writings, assuming they are authentic, support that course of action. I guess we may find ourself at the Circus as soon as we're done?"
And Basil looks excited at spending more time with the Rabbit Prince, as well as investigating the creation of the Harrow.
Edda shrugs.
"Been on my own long enough to take care of myself. Splitting up for now means we can move more quietly and quickly."
Niklos nods at Gisele. "Sure thing, luv. We'll meet up at the circus after we're done."
Taking up the reins of his camel, he turns to grin at Edda. "So, do ya suppose we're the one's that have to deal with that jack*ss of a paladin, or does he go after the others? Or both at the same time? Wouldn't be the oddest thing we've seen so far... anyhoo, wanna bet on it?"
Frowning at Niklos' humor, Edda spits into the nearby bushes as she walks and simply leads her camel for now.
"He can rot for all I care! Why create such an annoying creature?"
Brambleson leads Basil and Gisele towards Prophet's Garden while you head for the Dearth. As soon as the Briar closes behind you, a terrible epiphany strikes you. The tokens! The cards! You have split up your most precious items for survival in the Realm! But as you check your possession, you weirdly find that your own deck is complete, and you still have all of the tokens.
Sonnorae's diary page, also, looks different. The swirling, living ink coalesces into new writing.
My grandmother told the same tales to me and my brother. And yet they were different, because they were listened to by two very different persons. In the same way, I believe that some of the Harrowed Realm could work in the same way, becoming different tales for different people (of course, I have no way of validating it as long as there's only me and storykin). Sometimes stories split, changing themselves. And if two different individuals, each with their own vision of the Harrowed Realm, diverged into their own storylines, how would the Realm react? As it adapts to narration, it would make sense that it would split into two different Realms, and yet both the same. And now I'm starting to get a headache.
Sure enough, you meet Algon the Ever-Seeking again. And sure enough, you tell him the same lie that got you through before.
It takes a few hours, but in the end the Trackless Dearth sprawls before you just as the wooden sun is setting.
It's been a couple of week since that uncanny, unnatural humanoid kidnapped you. Days spent with heavy manacles on your hands, and shaken by the nausea of planar travel. With you, there are around thirty other prisoners, all chained and dressed in rags and hoods. Most of them refer to themselves as "storykin", a term you never heard about, and show evident signs of obliviousness and single-mindedness. A woman named Reasha seems to be the de facto leader. Rumors have started running through the prisoners, voices speaking of a revolt for freedom. But you are tired, shackled, many are hurt and your weapons have been taken by the Nightpeddler. How the revolt could work is a mystery.
Hrain sits, patient but watchful for any sign of a rebellion, knowing that it will come to him when it should.
Edda waves at the Dearth.
"I have no idea where we are going. Do you Nikky?"
Niklos shrugs, smiling wryly at his new nickname. "Well, it's not like we've really known where we were going afore now, eh? Let's just keep, uh... heading where we're supposed to go. Or something like that."
The setting sun seems to be as good a direction as any one for someone whose name involves night, so you two spur the Humptys and Mister Dumpty, heading in your best try for a straight line.
The wooden figures on the ceiling move on and on as you keep your dull trek through the literary nothingness that Sonnorae never could write up. But your orienteering skills are better than they seem to be, as you finally manage to find traces in the sand. They look like hooves from a single horse, going on behind a dune. And judging from their distance, the beast was going at a rather hurried canter.
Niklos stands up on his stirrups, squinting as he tries in vain to see over the dune. Suddenly overcome with indecision, he slumps back down on his saddle, and takes a moment to rummage in his sleeves for a card...
Muttering darkly to himself, Niklos looks back on all the times when prudence had saved his life—and when false confidence had robbed him of his dear sister. He clambers down from the saddle and ties his mount onto the camel carrying their equipment.
"I'll sneak in and take a gander," he tells Edda. "Move up behind me, but keep your distance..."
Niklos stops for a moment to stare at the witch with an odd expression on his face, and then abruptly shakes his head. With that, the rogue slinks off and skulks up the dune, crawling the last few feet up onto its crest on his stomach.
Edda does as Niklos asks: Keeping behind him but at a discreet distance.
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Sorry for the delay in replying, I was waiting in discusion
Marinda would be comforting the other slaves, not looking for an opportunity that would lead to bloodshed
Behind the dune, the sight is bizarre, at the very least. A centaur wearing a comically large backpack is running away from what looks like a whirlwind raising clouds of reddish sand. The pursued creature appears to be growing tired, but the pursuer's trajectory is apparently erratic.
Seemingly not in any danger of being spotted, Niklos looks down at the centaur's plight with some amusement, but fails to recognise the source of the unnatural wind. Whatever it is, it certainly is not acting like a normal cyclone...
The scoundrel motions Edda for to come up beside him. "Any idea what this is about?"
Edda approaches.
"Air elemental."
Niklos rubs his chin and nods along, unsure as to what Edda's answer entails, exactly. "Uh huh. Well, I'll take your word for it. At least that horse-man has it distracted, eh? Bad luck for 'im, but good for us, seein' as we're down a few arms..."
The scoundrel rolls back and starts sliding down the dune, intent on gathering their camels and circling around the chaos as soon as possible.