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"An honor to meet you, Duchess," Aterro echoes back. He ponders a moment on what an appropriate title it is to call her 'Duchess'. Nothing but 'Duchess' would seem to do in this situation.
"Scramsax, do you not think that she makes a most excellent Duchess?" Aterro asks the halfling, wanting to make sure that the halfling knew she was regal, and had such an appropriate title. He was also a little bit curious about what had gone on during the battle, while these two were indisposed.
Indeed, she seemed every inch a Duchess. He noted that she did -not- call herself a 'Duke' for that would quite ludicrous indeed that a noble lady would call herself such a thing.
Indeed.
"And you are quite right, Duchess, we will hunt down and eradicate any errant dog-hair-monsters, as soon as we have illuminated your situation."
"*shrug* Gender-Bending Potions (GBPs) are real." is all the halfling can offer the confused WarCleric, rifling through the shards of broken and negated diamond for anything valuable.
Gunnar continues to prioritize and fix any flaws, even minor ones, well past the size that would be important, until the structure has satisfied his Dwarven sensibilities. He then comes over to the others and listens intently to their conversation.
"You have indeed been faithfully guarding this dangerous portal for many centuries, Duchess. The people of our world owe you thanks," he says respectfully.
"Gone? Retreat? Certainly not." Dawnflower says shaking her head in complete disbelief. "That is quite preposterous. Valeria will stand forever. As for thanks, such is welcome, but it is our duty to protect the lands from such invasions."
She waves her hand dismissively. "I know there have been troubles with those upstarts in the West, but they will be dealt with I am quite certain. No. I shall return to Goldenfield Castle and see what has delayed my sister's return."
Turning her gaze and thoughts back to Kalisuel, she places an arm around the girl. "You shall accompany me as well. With a bit of rest and time, I will unlock your memories and we shall see who placed this strange curse upon you. And for doing such a thing to one of royal blood, they shall pay a severe penalty. The King of the Meadow Court will not look kindly upon such a thing."
Even as the imperial fae tries, and mostly fails, to grapple with and understand what is being said, Gunnar finally finishes the repairs of the crystal prison to his dwarven satisfaction.
Scramsax scrambles about and locates a few more broken pieces of gemstone that might actually be of some value, although he can't be certain given the fae nature of the entire bier.
"Duchess Dawnflower, many things have changed since you have slept. Today there are not many who would name their children Sarastra, because the being who goes by that name bears the titles of Goddess and Queen of Night and Magic, Duchess of the Heavens, Countess of Thorn, Mistress of Air and Darkness, Lady of the Summer Palace and Bride of Shadow, and Patron of the Shadow Fey."
"It is a great pleasure to have met you. I wish you the very best welcome home." Luthael nods a bit in respect and honor.
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Aterro listened, eventually, to the explanation, and was only just now beginning to grasp what they were seeing in the form of the Duchess.
"My lady Dawnflower," he begins, tentatively, "I had thought to hold my tongue, for you are indeed a lady of the world, both wise and powerful. Any with eyes can see that," he continues, sprinkling sugar on the medicine. "But there is more than ancient history at play here.
Even now, as we speak, the greyskin plague is invading the lands of free peoples. The movement has been quick and powerful. Much that was good now lays fully behind enemy lines."
He was having trouble keeping his emotion in check. The Duchess was lost in time, in all senses, and ignorant of the loss of his homeland. But he was still sore about it, and liked not talking about.
"There is a multi-national army gathering at Nargenstal, and we could show you the way. The commanders there would be much glad of your assistance, and, perhaps, in time, with a successful counter-attack, this Castle Goldenfield, or what lands it had stood on, could be secured and returned to a state of grace.
But now? Powerful forces are being thrown at the undead tide just to CHECK its ADVANCE! The very thought of you venturing toward the foe, alone...milady you would walk unto your death, no matter your personal power.
I beseech you, return with us to the bastion of civilization and, at least, be given a firm grasp on what now befalls our loved lands."
Dawnflower staggers backward as the words of Luthael and Aterro begin to truly gain some purchase of understanding. Yet to have them do so is like suddenly finding herself standing upon a great precipice overlooking a miasma of the unknown. A suddenly old looking hand reaches out to grab the edge of the bier to keep herself from falling. Despite the emotions clearly whirling through her mind, she would not show such weakness as to swoon like some common serving girl. She is afterall a royal princess of the Court of Meadows and dignity will be maintained.
All remains silent for several moments. Little else can be heard except for each person breathing and the constant scrape and tinkle of Scramsax's incessant shifting of the debris to find as many bits and pieces of gemstone as possible.
Finally, slowly, the tall fae nods. "I...I do not see how what you say can be true. She begins slowly, but you each can see as the decision is made any conflict or hesitation is quickly squashed and exterminated with ruthless efficiency. "But if things do stand as you say, then your words are wise. It would be folly to set out alone in a world a vastly different as what you describe. I will accept your offer of escort to this Nargenstal and from there I shall determine what to do."
Come child." She says to Kalisuel, stretching a hand out to the young bard. "While the others hunt down any of the Doomspinner's offspring, I wish to know more of what has been hidden within your mind and spirit."
The thorspear flares as Kalisuel's eyes glitter in the dim light of the tomb. "I am most certainly not a child." The elfmarked says through clenched teeth. "I have witnessed much and survived many a peril over the last weeks, including the twice now, near destruction of this little corner of the world. Whoever you may be, I'll not be treated as a babe still wrapped in diapers."
There is a long pause as the two stand looking at each other. Eyes locked in a battle of wills. Eventually Dawnflower throws back her head and laughs brightly.
"Indeed, the blood of the Meadow Court flows in your veins." She says warmly. "For you've the fire and heart that runs deep in all of our line." She nods her head to the bard. "Come. Let us begin again and truly, I do wish to learn more of the mystery of how you came to be here."
Adding a nod of her own, Kalisuel smiles back and soon enough the two begin to take the tunnel back up to the surface where they can converse in solitude under the bright light of the sun.
Scram made a point to follow the Dawnflower and Kali up to the first tomb, to ask about the inscriptions there "Who are they? Why were they entombed here? And just what exactly is a Mound?"
Seeing the fae queen leaving, Luthael readies the magic carpet hovering it a foot off the floor. "All aboard who's coming aboard."
The prophet starts wondering about the historical puzzle about what this could mean to Midgard with the arrival of a being equivalent to Sarastra. How will she react to the Shadow Realm and Sarastra? How will she react to the undead rulership? How will she react to the Grand Duchy of Dornig? Khors has certainly put him at a brilliant location to represent His interest.
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Aterro nods, briefly, to himself. That went about as well as one can expect, given the nature of ancient guardians and nobility.
"Pray thee, take pause, Luthael," the WarCleric says as the follower of Khors makes for the carpet. "I was earnest in thinking we should clean up any mummy-beasts that might still be about. Given the recent disruptions to this area, I shudder to think what mischief they might cause if they got out.
So too, given the nature of not inanimate strands, but actual demons made manifest, I would have them run out from our world entirely. It does us no good to leave this place to put out more fires if we leave embers upon dry timber to our rear.
Worry not that we will be overly delayed. Scramsax seems to be well engaged in gathering a harvest that I am SURE he will SHARE with the rest of us. So a few moments more fighting will cost little and save us much."
Still feeling flush with divine and martial powers both, Aterro stalks about, to put word to deed and clean up the filth that might be laying about.
Scram resembled a swollen poofball mushroom, but rather than musky spores it was a cloud of diamond and ruby dust sublimating from his pockets and folds. Disappointed at Aterro's words he pulled him aside a moment "Eh, Crackles, share with everyone? Look, we just met the lady...she's not even a member of the Narg Nasty 6..." he reasoned.
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"Oh, of course, not her," Aterro replied in hushed tones. "Of course I only meant the NN6. I'd not sully her noble hands with our leavings."
Aterro gave little truck to respect that was supposed to be handed out simply because of a condition of birth. And, to be truthful, the lady had not done anything to earn respect in his eyes, save for, apparently, being 5 centuries old. That is something, but not much.
Gunnar gets on the carpet and waits for the others to be ready. In the meantime he works on some spells he has been crafting, every delving deeper in the arcane mysteries of thunder and lightning. Looking up, he says, "I used my most powerful spells already this day, but I should still be able to provide some support in eliminating whatever fragments of the entity remain."
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Dawnflower's face grows more and more confused as she climbs up the stairs and comes to the first tomb. As she studies the writing and the long decomposed bodies she sucks a sharp breath in between her teeth and anger grows in her eyes.
"It seems my...sister...may have much to answer for." She practically hisses. "The words inscribed were not part of the original ritual. There was no need for blood sacrifice. We were not meant to be 'eternal guardians of the Meadowlands' as these words so eloquently state. It was meant to be temporary. The only sacrifice, a bit of our magic to tie into the ley line and create the initial crystals and gemstones. It was supposed to be a simple shrine to guard the gateway until it could be closed. A marker for allies to find us quickly. Not a Tumulus where we would lay trapped until the seasons found their end."
Her voice is full of sorrow and growing anger. "These are...were...members of my personal guard. Now I understand why they perished so easily in the Dreamrealms. Their bodies were already dead here so there was nothing keeping their spirits from being completely devoured."
She turns to Scramsax and the others. "You say that the elves all left this world. And yet, here is living proof of how that is not true." She adds pointing a finger at Kalisuel. "The blood of my kin, flows in her bones, yet she is no older than a hundred maybe two. Barely out of swaddling clothes for my kind."
Her eyes narrow in thought. "Betrayal is the only answer it seems." She turns to Kalisuel. "And you may be the first key in unlocking who and why."
While Dawnflower examines the upper chamber, the rest of the Narg Nasty 6 are able to take a few moments to rest and gather their strength.
The Dream Wizard was tired of dreaming, and didn't elect to take a nap there in the ancient seal. Cautiously, yet with an energetic kick to his step, he probed the unexplored area.
Luthael shrugs and putters the carpet along to follow the fae queen, "I'm not opposed to continuing the extermination. Khors will not suffer them to live. Lead on Thorson."
"I still have some of His blessings for the day."
Gunner remains sitting for the moment and enjoys the ride.
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Aterro nods at Luthael. "Aye. Let us see this thing done, and then take some rest and refreshment. Once our rear is secured and our strength restored, we may ride out and make tracks."
Aterro just follows Scramsax, who is making a lot of noise. He must be trying to get the enemies' attention and draw them out, so the rest of them can take them in the flank! What an honorable thing to do. Just when you think someone can't get any dumber, they go and completely redeem themselves.
"I have seen you grubbing and gathering the various gems and artifacts of this place." She says casually. Even if you start to object, she waves a hand dismissively. "I am not concerned with this minor thieving. The stones have little value or meaning to me at this point. But now I most know the truth, have you taken anything else from this chamber or any other?" She gestures toward the long dead bodies. "Each of these should have their swords, badges, and other items marking them as royal guard. Some of these being items crafted by my own hand. Yet they are gone. Do you have them?"
It seems an honest and earnest question and one that Dawnflower appear little inclined to be turned away from.
Scramsax begins walking up the tunnel whistling a jaunty Barsellan sea-explorers tune in an effort to truly put Aterro's surmised strategy to the test. But after about fifty paces the halfling puts an abrupt end to his pucker-lipped impression of a bard, and slinks forward a bit more cautiously.
After another thirty feet, the halfling leads the group into another intersection with another smaller tunnel leading toward the end of the ritual area, while the main corridor continues on up. Scramsax sees nothing but darkness and cobwebs down the side tunnel, while the way ahead seems to be partially blocked by fallen stone and rubble.
Before a decision can be made, there is a blur of motion from the side tunnel as two of the Doomspinner creatures lunge forward. There is a flurry of ravaging claws as the two creatures, both apparently goblins in their former lives, maul the halfling's badly in the first few moments and proving that as planned, he did an excellent job of drawing forth the enemy.
"Yeah, I took them. All of it." he lied for no reason, as was his habit. Why was it so hard to just tell the truth?
The stupid dum-dum head person rolled with the first strike, but was too much of an idiot to see the second coming. Brainlessly the dullard waddled back behind the party to let them deal with it. What a moron.
Striding forward to the front of the party alongside Aterro, Gunnar sets his feet and prepares a spell should the goblin aberrations close.
DC 15 Fortitude Save for half and negates 10 foot pushback.
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"Well done, Scram," Aterro mutters sincerely to the halfling as he scurries back. It seemed wisdom to have the scout absorb the first strike, leaving the front-line still fresh to absorb the general engagement. He really should have thought of suggesting that himself.
Seeing his Brother-in-Thunder prepare a shield wall, Aterro joins him at the shoulder. As it should be.
Luthael stands should to should with the Thorsons. He readies his holy symbol and shield. When both creatures get within thirty feet, he presents his holy symbol to create magical sunlight to banish magical darkness and damage the unholy.
Starting at 2nd level, you can use your Channel Divinity to harness sunlight, banishing darkness and dealing radiant damage to your foes. As an action, you present your holy symbol, and any magical darkness within 30 feet of you is dispelled. Additionally, each hostile creature within 30 feet of you must make a Constitution saving throw. A creature takes radiant damage equal to 2d10 + your cleric level on a failed saving throw, and half as much damage on a successful one. A creature that has total cover from you is not affected.
Also at 1st level, you can interpose divine light between yourself and an attacking enemy. When you are attacked by a creature within 30 feet of you that you can see, you can use your reaction to impose disadvantage on the attack roll, causing light to flare before the attacker before it hits or misses. An attacker that can't be blinded is immune to this feature. You can use this feature a number of times equal to your Wisdom modifier (a minimum of once). You regain all expended uses when you finish a long rest.
* Improved Flare
Starting at 6th level, you can also use your Warding Flare feature when a creature that you can see within 30 feet of you attacks a creature other than you.
With that she leaves you to rejoin the others to finish hunting out the dream spider's parasitic minions.
Having fully fulfilled his duty to the Narg Nasty 6, Scramsax scrambles away from the frenzied creatures. Even as he scurries back behind his companions, the three prepare for the inevitable mindless charge of such unthinking beasts.
When it comes, the result is quick and quite efficient. Thunder erupts in a wave from Gunnar that drives the second creature backward. Mere heartbeats later, Luthael fills the tunnel with the radiant power of Khors. The light burns away silk shrouded flesh and although the second creature manages to fight against the brilliant power it can do nothing as Aterro steps forward to slam Deathmetal into its chest. The blow knocks the creature off its feet and leave little more than a scorched and battered corpse lying on the stone floor.
With a quick pivot, the Warcleric turns to the remaining creature and drives another blow into its midsection. Although not as powerful as his first strike, it is enough given the arcane and holy damage previously dished out. Like it's companion, it to falls to the floor quite dead.
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Watching the massive explosions one after the other "Heh. That'll learn em."
After confirming the creatures are destroyed, he asks, "Scramsax, are those the last beasties? Have you found enough valuables to fund our journey down south?"
The prophet walks around absorbing the ancient architecture.
"Heh, you kiddin? Worthless, the lot of it...but I have an idea for the gem dust. No, not even a gold piece to my name, fair Invictusol...I've had the same stubborn 4 silvers and 4 coppers in my pocket since getting dumped out the World Tree. Unless you want to sell Rad's gifts we've got close to nothin, funds wise." he informs his companion.
"But hey, chin up. Still some rooms left to explore."
Distracted from the matter at hand, Gunnar suddenly remarks, ”Perhaps some of those various gem dusts can be used to augment the fae essence you harvested earlier, Scramsax, though a binding agent of some kind might be required…perhaps some properly aged ethanol…”
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Aterro stands straight, looks at the twin corpses, and nods in great satisfaction. "Ha!" he shouts in triumph. "You see that? When brothers of faith stand tall in the battle-line, known can stand against us! A squad had led us a merry dance afore, in a bottleneck, but now that we stand strong against them, a full brace can not live through the briefest of contacts with us!"
Aterro again looks over the corpses before grunting in honor and glory and resting a moment.
"Oh, you should know," he starts, sagely, "Scramsax is lying. I can tell because his mouth is moving." He pauses and gives way to a rare smirk.
"Scram, you can tell us the truth or we can beat it out of you and you can stay in your girlfriend's room in a more...permanent sense. Your call."
He's smiling so he's probably joking.
Probably.
Scram raised an eyebrow, but said nothing...just a sigh before turning his back on the WarCleric and proceeding to search the remaining chambers.
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"The badges will be made of silver and gold with actual amethyst and jade set in the form of a Effildawnan flower and vine upon a golden meadow background." She says describing the sigil well enough for Scramsax to get a rough approximation on paper and a better one in his mind. "The blades are all Meadow Court blades. Similar to rapiers, although I believe one or two preferred the saber. Golden wheat sheaf motif for the guard, silvered blades, and the silver pommel stamped with the Effildawnan sigil at the end. Their armor was of fine elven chain with white, green and black enameling around neck and waistline."
"As for other items, I do not know for certain. Tulian always wore a ruby and pearl ring given to him by his betrothed. The others I'm certain carried various mementos and trinkets, none of which are here."
Taking a more typical approach this time, Scramsax cautiously and quietly slips down the side tunnel and into another chamber that is a mirror image of the one encountered on the opposite side of the ritual circle. Finding no dangerous beasts, the halfling waves the others forward. Like the other chamber, there are a half dozen bodies laid out upon stone platforms. And like the previous bodies, each is little more than skeletal remains and none still wear any of the items mentioned by Dawnflower or anything of value.
After another heavy sigh "We've been beaten to it this time, fellas...out-heisted. Its as the Dawnflower was saying, their badges, swords, armors and effects have already been taken...lets just get the hell out of here."
"Lead on, Scramsax." Luthael suggests. He has evil swords to collect and destroy.
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Aterro gazes around, nodding. "Aye, you have the right of it. I just wanted to be sure we cleared this area of the foul taint, and we seem to have done so. We gain nothing more by tarrying here."
Aterro turns to walk back to the carpet.
"Still, it does make one wonder. What happened to it? Clearly people of some import were entombed here. So what became of their artifacts? The Doomspinner is only recently come here, and she had no need for trinkets. The goblins and whatnot were mummified and turned into things farther from human than they were originally.
But this place has been gone over with an expert eye. Hence, by whom, and when?"
He says this with the air of one who has questions, but is used to never pairing them with answers.
With nothing else to discover, the Narg Nasty 6 who are really only four at this point, return to the carpet and soon after to the open, refreshing, and cooler air of early autumn in northern Midgard.
Great puffy, white clouds drift overhead as the sun shines upon the blasted hilltop and the surrounding moss covered standing stones. Dawnflower and Kalisuel sit outside the circle talking quietly. Rather, the elder elf is doing much of the talking while the younger answers what she can which is quite little at this point.
When Scramsax poses the question of who she suspects one more time the fae noble sighs heavily and shakes her head. "I cannot know for sure, but all signs point to my sister Buttercup." And suddenly she looks every bit of her several hundred years in age. At least in her eyes as sadness, betrayal and anger all loom there in varying degrees and intensity. "Buttercup was ever jealous and spiteful of me. She was considered the more beautiful and the more powerful in raw force. But I'd more talent and skill, partially because of my own weakness. It forced me to practice, concentrate, and hone my arcane skills. Thus I could find ways to overcome her raw strength and others in the court admired me for it. And though I do not wish to believe she is responsible, I can think of few others who would have had the means, the power, and the apparent desire to kill those closest to me and see me trapped for...such a time as I was."
She then turns to look at Kalisuel. "And if what this child tells me is even partially true, my bloodkin has perhaps fallen even farther than I'd ever imagined possible. Becoming a creature of hatred and chaos. A creator of foul, unnatural things to satisfy her own whims and petty wickedness."
"This is what I fear. What my speculations lead to. But where she is and how to find her, I do not know. That is one reason I must return home. Or to what is left of it, if all you say is true and Valaria has retreated from the world."
Scram was practicing with the cat-piss soaked carpet, gripping the corners of the quadrilateral like the floppy ears of the Dawnflower's chimera manifestation. He was hoping he'd get a chance to pilot it soon, especially to herald their return to Nargenstal. "...Buttercup? Heh, always the cute one's most evil when it comes to sisters. Welp, here today, Mound tomorrow." putting his thumbs into non-existent suspenders.
Waxing poetic in a rare observation, Gunnar opines, "It is often the most fair who become the most foul when they fall. Noble paladins can become despicable blackguards, and a royal buttercup can debase herself to raw putrescence."
"My ladies, would you care for a ride on our magic carpet? Should make the trip faster. All aboard?" He was amazed at Dawnflower and absorbed all of her nuggets of information.
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"Well, that answers that," Aterro mutters to himself as Dawnflower points to Buttercup (what is it with the fragging dandelions and their jolly-pirate names?) as the culprit.
"Greed and envy are powerful forces. We can strive all we like against the greyskin scourge, but even if we wipe out the last one, evil will always stalk us so long as those two things are still a condition of Man.
Thusly is why I am drawn to the path of Thor. Betimes I am too busy standing tall, shoulder-to-shoulder with brothers-in-arms, against the forces that would lay Man low, for such petty emotions to lay to snug a hold.
That forces do not seem to stop trying to get a grip on me is another phenomenon unto itself.
But, yes, let us away. Time and tide wait for no Man."
"..." he stood inches away from the Invictusol, looking up into his eyes. "Can I drive?"
Luthael returns the stare of the halfling and replies. "Of course, Scramsax. It belongs to us. However, don't make anyone scream or fall off."
With the Doomspinner's prison once again secure as it can be, the ley lines flowing once again, and little else to learn about Dawnflower's corrupted sister, the Narg Nasty 6 climb aboard the Nasty Rug and ascend above the tree line heading west toward the sea and the early afternoon sun.
What was a journey of several days slogging through dense forest and swampy bogs, now only takes a few hours. You pass over sights of past trials and bloodshed, witness a herd of elk grazing upon an open meadow, and catch sight of a flock of sprites flitting wildly through the upper forest canopy, playing a game of tag of some other such fae nonsense.
Finally as the sun begins to set in the west and the evening star shines brightly in the east, you all spot the distance waves of the sea and the columns of smoke that mark the growing town of Nargenstal.
Second
”We should get the evil sword into the nullifying case as our first order of business,” remarks Gunnar, adding, “Then perhaps we can decide what to do with the magic items in need or repair or that we may want to sell.”
At the mention of the rug cleaning, he allows, ”A close second in priority to the sword, then…and my armor could use a good cleaning as well.”
After a bit of discussion, Scramsax veers the carpet north setting a final course for Illarya's grove and the old inn. Less familiar with the landmarks and guiding features as seen from the air, it takes a bit of additional time to actually locate the grove with its meadow and restored inn and large tree with the gardens and surrounding fields.
Scramsax brings the carpet down in an easy glide just outside the old stables which are looking completely restored. The scent of fresh hay drifts from the loft and the wicker of a pair of work horses is heard as the animals peer over the gates curiously.
Laughter and music echo from inside the inn and the cheery light of lamps pours through the windows. A brand new sign hangs over a fine set of thick oaken doors. Welcome to the Honey Grove Inn. A pair of old men sit on a new, wrap around porch and deck that stills smells of fresh cut wood. Pipe smoke flows freely from the two as they concentrate on a game of Hnefatafl.
Osberg the Shepard walks out of the inn on his way to the relocated outhouse. The villager stumbles as he spots Aterro, Gunnar, and Scramsax.
"Blessed twins, it's the heroes of Nargenstal and the Saviors of young Katerina!" He says throwing a hand in the air as greeting. "Just dropping out of the sky on a carpet like mighty desert genies."
His eyes then grow especially wide and even a little frightened seeing Dawnflower amongst those stretching and moving about after the carpet flight. He ducks his head and retreats a step or two. "Beggin' your pardon Lady." He says clearly uncomfortable around the regal elf. "I best be about my business, but bless me, Maryanne and Rosemary will be right happy to see you all again." He the strides off toward the outhouse.
Stepping inside, you find the inn completely restored and filled with warmth and happiness. Stout ales, honeyed mead, and good strong whiskey flow from a variety of taps and barrels. Delightful smells drift from the kitchen. Sweet breads, roasting meats, pies, sauteed vegetables.
A small but boisterous crowd is gathered around the central hearth listening to a trio of villagers that includes Tymothy, one of Rook's wagon drivers playing a big bodhran that booms with each beat. A bearkin sits at one of the tables, tapping her foot to the beat while sampling several of the various brews currently on tap.
"Aterro! Gunnar! And Scramsax! Welcome, welcome!" The young Rosemary exclaims from behind the long bar as she pours a round of drinks. "Did you find Britta? Did you..." Her voice trails off as does the music and all eyes suddenly focus on Dawnflower and Kalisuel as elf and elf marked step into the common room behind you.
Scram did multiple dive bombs of the dryad's fields before landing, both to see for himself the fruits of their shared labor and also hoping his daughter might catch a glance of her old man high in the sky.
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Scramsax the cheered hero politely took a drink, jabbering a forced smile with a few patrons when approached...but only answered with simple, short, one sentence responses. After a time he found a path away from the others, and the next moment he was called for they found only a full tankard sitting by itself, open lipped, on a table. The rogue had left it standing after only a single sip.
He had retreated to find himself, or rather the woman he used to be.
Something lingered closer to the surface of his conscious mind these days, the strange dark portals within Illarya had begun to manifest themselves within his intellect fortress as well...and the uncanny alley-blade couldn't shake the feeling that he had left behind as much as he had stolen.
Scram was a quick study, but Coin's metaphors were getting harder to follow. Somehow thought being different than feeling was supposed to inform him about knowledge versus experience, and in turn enhance his budding psionic abilities? The Barsellan with the smoking habit drifted to other thoughts...remembering simpler times as the Modron collective annihilated the demonic hordes, not to mention the entire binary star system they brooded within. It was at the limit of his intellect he turned a planetary shard over in his hands, and asked his tutor a simple question "Why does it say Book Rentfree on the back?"
"That's a reflection of you as you interact with the object..." Coin had answered. "...a part of your astral identity you impart to it. Of course it happens because otherwise you wouldn't be interacting with the object in any way...there must be some reaction. Present is always becoming the past, even for the Reader. Time is an engine that creates memory, thus the power of Mnemosyne ever increases."
"Er...alright. The hell Coin, thought you were a free agent, soundin' more lately like one of them high rated advertisements for Rumblemuffin's vanilla pudding mix." True, Scram always had a tongue in cheek reverence for the goddess of memory, who simultaneously was the entire universe. Regardless, the recent 'lessons' were sounding suspiciously like indoctrination.
The stoic Coin, whose psychic projection within Scram was difficult to compare to other things that could exist visually, dimmed only slightly. "This contingency is simply to make you aware of things you need to be aware of. Memories of past, of present...the memories of future events. It's inevitable you know that which kno-"
But Scram had cut him off "Yeah? So my needs exist separate from my identity then? Is that how you know them?" This minor logical quarrel was their last exchange, somewhere beyond the abandoned dreams of the Dawnflower, where a shattered past had lingered upon the windows of Ginnungagap. Perhaps it was as far as Coin could take him. He was eager to find a return to warm earth, and the arms of a creature sprouting from hard oak...nurturing arms of a World once shared.
Stepping into the grove they had designed, he didn't need to feel the stickiness of the buds but only breathed a long breath to know its health. There in the crop of sweetleaf he found the woman whose appearance was like a hyper-natural reflection in a mirror "Heya, its me, Scramsax."
The male elfmarked enters unnoticed behind the heroes and regal fae. He casually tours the warm inn with a smile on his face. Reaching the bar, he orders a honey mead expecting it to be excellent.
Headed to the bar himself, Gunnar tells Rosemary, "Indeed, Britta is safe and sound last we saw her--though she did not accompany us back here by means of flight, she should return by more mundane travel soon. Perhaps some cold Dwarven Stout and a hearty meal could find its way to my table? It has been a long few days."
Gunnar heads back to the table where at least some of the others sit and prepares to take his ease for a few moments.