Donovan leaves the tomb behind and carries his helm under his arm as the group reassembles and then travels on to their next destination.
"I think I need a little time to pray," he says. "Not too long. Just... to reflect."
There's a piece of stone on the ground that seems somewhat untouched post-construction, but is hidden by some foliage. Sophiel brushes it away, and touches the piece of stone, and a small trapdoor appears. She sighs, and opens, gesturing for Mum to go inside.
Once they're situated in the extradimensional space, she moves over to Chrysa, ignoring the chairs and tables, and hugs the tiefling gently, "we have little time. Here's the status, Brevoy has spies in the country. Magical and mundane. The cities are warded against teleportation, but every gold piece I spend on warding is less money for... mercenaries, troops, defenses. Brevoy is trying to disrupt trade diplomatically - and Pitax has now blocked our trade routes west, to Mivon and elsewhere. They cannot track me easily, or you and Vincent, but the others - your Aunt has tremendous resources."
She steps back, "now, I do have some counters to their infiltration - for the last ... eight months, I've been hiding something from everyone - I have had spies in Brevoy and Pitax and elsewhere, of my own." She smiles quietly, "they don't know about our most important resource. Her name is Mila, and she grew up at my father's - in Stoneclimb. I didn't spend too much time with her, but my family vouched, and she's been very reliable. She has her own aims, and has suffered, but she's strongly against the Surtovas, for various reasons."
She tugs at one of her braids nervously and says, "our... our only saving grace is that Pitax is isolated. Iorvetti must go, one way or the other. Mila is there, now, in Pitax. Disguised as a student. I haven't heard much to threaten us, but our western flank is not well-defended. All of our troops are defending the northern border."
She looks worried about adding more context, "I got the Nomen to make a cavalry troop and... enlisted some aid..." She looks ashamed, "please do not be angry - Marcanth had some other gathlain, servants of Magdh, come from the First World. But they are all paladins - they have good hearts. Like him, they aren't ... they aren't like the ones that hurt you. I'm sorry."
She looks nervously for Chrysa's approval, "worst of all - Tikroch is right. 'Dimensional' Tears keep appearing in Gliocas, and fey-touched creatures come through. Some aren't aggressive, but ..." she trails off, thoughtfully. "I'll talk to him about it. Our library is extensive, but Pitax has been around longer. Their bard college has some old texts apparently. There may be a ritual he and I can do to stop this."
Waiting for Mum's reaction, she finally adds, "the worst development, though, is this - Imeckus Stroon - the mage from Drelev, he knew who Vincent was, and he saw them working with Sootscale. Your aunt knows he works with me. So his cover is blown. Vincent either needs to defect from Shadowfall, or we need to revisit Shadowfall's relationship to Gliocas." She's cautious, "or, or - you tell me what to do."
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With a shake the plush form of Mum dissolves into a short lady of grace, curving coal black horns, and open arms. She returns the hug of her best friend will all she has, even though an increased bulge from her middle separates them a little.
Moments later, her gloved hand, still stained in blood and bone dust caresses' that belly, as Chrysa listens to the leader of Gliocas. She could have attempted to respond to the many points made but she waits until Soph is done, knowing it is vastly easier to do so.
"These..." the baroness of Shadowfall paused long enough to tamper the hate out of her tone "... fae, you trust them?" the red head quickly shakes her head and answers herself "Stupid question, ignore it.
"Know this, Sophiel Medvyed, if they betray you I will kill them, each and every one of them, despite your wishes or our laws." her dark eyes hold Soph's lighter ones, making her know the promise was real.
Chyrsa knew that a betrayal at this point would most likely lead to the destruction of their lands, and that any energy spent on revenge was almost a waste, but she would do it, tear them apart, light their bark bodies with cold iron fire, and watch as they screamed.
The gaze holds, and waits for a response. Chrysa's preference (when the world allows) is to focus, deal, then move on to the next issue. One more point that shows that these two women, while so close are so different.
Sophiel considers the question, very carefully. "Trust them. That's a good question." She sits down at one of the stone chairs, and leans back. "I venerate one of the Eldest. Magdh. She sent Marcanth to me, and he has never steered me wrong. I trust him. I trust the paladins. But ... as much as I love Magdh, and what she's given me..." she blinks rapidly, as if trying to hold back some emotion, "no. I don't trust her. Not completely. The eldest are... complicated. They have their own goals, and their own morality." She looks up at Mum, "I don't know what her goals are, but I've seen glimmers of something wrong. Or really, intuited, kind of like... when you stare at the ceiling and start seeing faces." She considers for a moment, and then opens up her magic satchel.
She rummages through it, and takes out a book, with loose papers sticking out from the edge of the biding, "before I say more, I should show this to everyone, it concerns all of us."
She knocks it with her fist, "but - there's something going on here." She gestures towards the portcullis leading outside, "and there."
"It was almost... too easy for me to consolidate power." She shakes her head, "Things have just... miraculously worked out. I know Magdh has helped steer me to this point, through signs and portents - patterns." She sighs, "but why?"
Chrysa's hard stare softens. "Too easy?" she laughs slightly, not with mirth, but with the memories of those they have loved broken and scattered. "Those are not words I agree with." the red head holds up her hands "But... I understand. Hearts and minds were won with significantly less resistance than normal." a light frown on her lips.
Chrysa looks at the binder and then the entrance, wanting to ask, but Soph must have a reason she wants to show it to everyone first. In ANYONE else that would have caused a spike of suspicion in the baronesses heart, and the desire to tear that information out of them in whatever way she can.
Well, almost anyone. As her thoughts slip to who else has her trust so completely, she sighs. "Our separation is getting us nothing if my aunt is still targeting you."
Tikroch takes some time with Vincent explaining exactly what he is looking for in the crafting of a new headband. He also provides any casting of the spells needed for such an endeavor as the mage requests it.
"I observed some of the elders in the Wildwood Lodge had something similar but with... extras. I think simply adding the mental enhancement will be enough."
"This is not about what I want, but what he wants from me." She smiles back to her father, coming a little closer. It is interesting how, when young, people are so sure about what they want or who they are supposed to be. It is very sad how many are wrong or clueless, though.
To her mother, she frowns a bit. For some reason, they had always poked each other as if they were siblings. "And I know it will not be easy." Truth being told, she was telling the truth. No delusion there and she wasn't afraid of getting her hands dirty.Their home wasn't really close to Eagle's Watch so she had a pretty rural upbringing. It never bothered her in the least. When visiting the "big city", her cousins would sometimes mock her a bit, but screw them, for in addition to learning how to sew, she'd also learned how to shot. And she loved it. Among many things, she got this from her father.
"But I'll miss you." She adds to her father, hugging him, before walking towards her mother to hug her as well.
He hugs her back, and sighs, and ruffles her hair playfully, picking a leaf out. "I think it'll be good for you, really. Stoneclimb is a little more cosmopolitan anyway. Sometimes the Orlovsky's can be... well..." he trails off, "we are all loyal to the Surtovas, yes?" Mila knew there was something else going on - a reason why it was useful to go south. One of the Medvyeds was to come North - each to act as sort of, wards - but if there were politics associated with this, it was opaque to Mila. She had met the boy a few times, he was nice enough, but a little distant, and in any event - they weren't to interact much. He would likely stay in her room - apprenticing at the stables to become a horse trainer to the king.
It was a common belief among those in Eagle Watch and the environs that the Surtovas were beggars on the throne that rightfully belonged to Rogarvia, but such a thing was only whispered in the quiet of the night. The Orlovskys had maneuvered to strengthen ties with the houses where they thought there might be support - Medvyed, Garess, and other minor nobles - support to deal with the Surtova problem or at least, to have strength in case the Surtovas saw them as a threat. The mountains were almost impossible to attack, but also the reach of the Orlovsky's was limited.
Mila wanted to train in the woods, with an elder priest of Erastil - Korodri. He had been a paladin in his younger days - and lived a life of seclusion within the forest. It was an easy decision. She would learn a bit of southern courtly grace, and spend much of her other time learning how to care for the communities so often left behind by the drama of "Brevoy."
Korodri was well-respected in the area, among the most, and promised to take her on as an apprentice - though he made it clear that the work of a paladin was not to be taken on lightly. He spent most of his time visiting people, healing, helping with crops or animal husbandry. He was a little reluctant to take on someone who would slow him down, but Mila's bright personality won him over, and the pact was made.
************
Drulv looks down at her, and sighs, "well. I think you'll do great. Just don't get lost, okay?" He hugs her.
Vindya comes over, smooths down her dress, and sighs, folding her hands in front of herself. It's obvious she seems anxious, but she summons some reserve of will and extends her hands to hug her daughter, "I just... it's hard. Seeing you go."
Well, almost anyone. As her thoughts slip to who else has her trust so completely, she sighs. "Our separation is getting us nothing if my aunt is still targeting you."
Sophiel shakes her head, ”she will target me anyway. Her puppet- I suppose your cousin- will have to make a show of strength to quell the brewing rebellion. The Rogvarian loyalists have been making it clear they don’t care for the direction of the country, and the lords don’t like … my country.” She inhales deeply, ”like Taldor and Andoran before us, we threaten the status quo. It makes the serfs restless. So, what your Aunt wants is to turn you against me - with a carrot or stick - she does not care.” She smiles slightly at Chrysa, ”she knows I have a weakness for you, and cannot fathom that you could have warmth in your heart for me. This was only advantage - but something which will soon vanish. And - if rumor is true, your family has more than just troops at their beck and call. Any family that can cause the Rogvarians to disappear is not to be trifled with .”
She shakes her head again, ”and the Surtovas would rather let Brevoy collapse than give up what they’ve won.”
Then her mother. "Oh, come on, mom! Do you really wanted me living with you forever? I'd leave eventually and it is not as if I'm travelling the world... I'll visit you whenever I can."
The anger and hate is an iron ball in the center of her chest. If she could kill her aunt now she would, but her power is too strong currently. They would have to wait for her to make a mistake.
She nodded at the description of her family. Losing was not tolerated.
"So the ruse continues. Vincent should be fine. A common tactic is for one of your most trusted allies to defect. It serves to feed the enemy nation false information while also accomplishing gathering information." there was distraction the in the baronesses voice, as if this was already decided on and her mind was working on the next issue "I'll make that known to enough of my advisors that is will spread to enough ears that my aunt will hear. So if he is seen in the Fall, they will assume he is reporting to me and snicker at you being played but not suspect the truth."
Mila’s mother tries to control herself, and only cries a little. Her father does the same, while smiling, and it’s clear that they’re very proud of her but will miss her terribly. The rest of their things are packed up, her trunk is carried to the carriage.
The truck takes the better part of the day, and she finds herself at the ancestral hall of the Mevyed’s, Stoneclimb. Gurev and Fantol are not around, but the servants take her, and put her up in a small room for the night. The morning comes, and she’s invited down for breakfast. Fantol is taking his breakfast - a hearty meal of oats, fruit, and eggs. He invites her to sit down. The man is a heavy, bearded man with laugh lines near his blue eyes, and his dark hair in a ponytail. Resting on the floor near him is a composite longbow, and a longsword, near a well-work satchel. He’s wearing a battered steel breastplate and has dark green clothes, as if he frequents wooded areas. He gestures for Mila to sit down, ”please - have breakfast. We have a long trip to Korodri.” He chuckles to himself, ”forgive my manners, I’m Fantol Medvyed,” standing up, and wiping his hands on his napkin to extend his hand towards the young woman.
Sophiel nods, gravely, "it could work. Let's talk to him. Meanwhile, we have work to do. If we can delay the attack a little longer, I can take Pitax. The other cities of the river kingdoms - they've been under Iorvetti's thumb too long. But..."
She sighs, "Daggermark. They run the Council of Thieves. They won't stand for direct assassination," and frowns slightly, "despite the fact that they tried to kill me. Iorvetti has an army, but I know there's unrest - and he's been worried about this... other nation." A dark look crosses her face, "that skeletal dragon - them." Her lips form a thin line, "I expect... such a thing would not be in alignment with most of Shadowfall's ideals, or at least your own, our friend Vincent excepted."
She waves her hand away, "anyway, this is complicated, let's gather the others together. Most of this, just keep it to yourself and Vincent. I'm compartmentalizing this information in case a possible operation goes south." She stands up, "the last thing I need to know is - how long do you think you can keep, you know, getting into the mix, before you want to rest, you know, for the baby?" She folds her hands in front of her, "we don't want anything to happen to them, and I don't expect any of the danger to be reduced."
She sits when she is invited to and exchange more pleasantries as she serves herself from the table. If there were servants to do so for her, she did not notice.
As they were finishing the breakfast, Mila takes courage to ask the Lord. "If I may, I'd like to ask for a favor... or perhaps this is a request?" She seems uncertain, biting her lip. "I'm decided about my path and my calling." As much decided as a fourteen year old teen could be. "But one thing is for me to say this now, while dressed in laces and sitting by this wonderful table... so, in case I falter and send you a message that I've given up, could you be so kind as to ignore it? Even if then I look desperate and miserable?"
Fantol shakes her hand,
At her request, Fantol Gurev laughs, "I understand. And I can extend to you such a courtesy; it shows you are taking this seriously." He seats himself down, "of course - it will be difficult. Korodri didn't teach me directly, really, since I'm more of a ranger - but he does expect effort. Every paladin of Erastil has to have a little bit of ranger within them - the love of green places transcends training, for us Erastilians." He points at the simple wooden holy symbol on his neck. "well, tell me about yourself, before we go?..." and Fantol and Mila spend some time talking about their background, and what she can expect to face.
**********************************
In short order, Fantol has, with Mila's supervision, the contents of her trunk split into a few different bags. One for her, one for him, and one for a servant to carry. A few of her chosen items he questions, and asks her to leave them here - things that would be impractical. They remain in the trunk . Mila changes into hardy traveling clothes of her own, though Fantol checks to see if they're sufficiently robust - and they pile the bags into a rustic-looking carriage led by a pair of large horses, and the servant, the carriage driver, the noble, and the trainee head off into the forest - through the one well-maintained road that runs vaguely through it. Within a few hours, they find their stop.
There are flares on the side of the road, easy enough to spot, and Fantol grabs his bag, the servant grabs one, and Mila grabs hers. He tells the carriage driver that they'll be back within a few days, and the carriage turns around and heads back to stoneclimb. Fantol checks his wilderness gear, and helps Mila with her own checks - water, navigation tools, trail rations, and the like. Fantol says, "come on - it's a few hours walk. Not many folks know how to reach him - so Mila, try to pay attention. The trail isn't always clear..." he says this as if he's telling a joke to himself.
Soon enough, that becomes apparent. The blue blazes they are following seem to disappear in short order - as Fantol seems to step off the trail - into the primeval woods that must have never felt a logger's axe. He stops periodically to point things out to Mila, subtle markers - here and there - easily missed by the untrained eye. Mila soon becomes utterly lost, and the sun starts to dip into the afternoon, with strange shadows being cast by the orange light filtering through the boughs of the ancient oaks, elms, and maples. A hint of a trail always remains beneath their feet, and there are periodic signs of something odd within the forest - mushrooms in a circle; the shadow of diminutive figures that ends up being sticks and leaves; a tree that has a face when looked at from a particular; a low, broken wall, across their path that Fantol knocks on as they pass, and a ruined foundation where the light seems to disappear. The wind itself seems to whisper a song, of a sort, soothing, and Mila could swear she saw lights off to the left on a few occasions - merry and twinkling, like torches in a clearing for a grand party.
Fantol says, "Grozni is and old forest. Far older than my family. We respect it, we love it, but we don't trust it." as he brushes away something from his face that seemingly only he can see, whispering "shoo - not today." He opens his hands, "most of what you may notice is harmless - in a manner of speaking. They don't actively seek to harm any of us - unless we cross them. But you would be wise not to venture deep without Korodri, there are ancient things within this place that should not be disturbed," as much as it sounds like a warning, it has an air of true fear within it which Fantol struggles to contain. "come."
Within an hour, after twists and turns and even backtracking, they stop. Fantol smiles slightly, and points towards the largest tree that Mila has seen in some time, and trails his finger upwards, "look." At first, Mila sees nothing, but then - it becomes clear - within the upper boughs is an expansive tree house - nearly as large as her childhood home. There are multiple stories, and much of the house seems to be made of the tree itself, the boughs having been shaped to serve as a wall or a floor. He nods, "go ahead, knock on the trunk. Korodri is expecting you," he hesitates, and adds, "he is not a nobleman, and though he has a nobility to him - he is ... not what you might expect." Mila knocks on the trunk and waits. She knocks again, and a humming sing-song voice echoes from the house.
Mila starts, though, when from the tree itself, a comely woman with green, leafy hair, and bark skin, steps out. She smiles down at Mila, and in a gentle, soothing voice says, "you must be Mila. It is wonderful to meet you. I'm Navessa." She gestures to the huge oak behind her, "this is my tree."
It's much to take in, when the humming intensifies, and rappeling down a rope from the upper boughs is probably the tallest gnome Mila's ever seen. With dark green hair, a dark green beard, and camouflaged clothes, the gnome swings down and with a somersault, lands next to Navessa with a flourish. Brushing dirt off of his smart outfit, the gnome goes on tiptoes and kisses Navessa on the cheek, who turns a slightly darker shade of brown , but extends a hand down and touches the gnome's back. The gnome looks up at Mila, as if appraising her.
In a voice far deeper than she expects, the gnome strokes his beard, his twinkling brown eyes creasing around the corners, "a whelp, eh? A little early for these things, but - well, it is no matter. Glad to meet you. I am Korodri - Paladin of Erastil. You've already met my wife, Navessa" and the dryad inclines her head, "tell me - young lady, what could possess you to join the order, eh?" Mila realizes that the height of the gnome seems to indicate a stockiness and strength which is abnormal for a typical gnome, of those that she's seen before. He puts his hand on his hips, and repeats the question, before she has much of a chance to respond, "well?"
The gnome is wearing a tabard with a stag's head, and longbow that's almost as large as he is. He has some brass piercings in his ears, but otherwise, his clothes and bearing seems impeccably clean, a stark contrast to the trio who have been trudging through the forest.
Chrysa's hand curves around her belly, slightly showing at this point. "If I don't fight, they are in danger anyway." her voice is softly filled with love, as it always is when talking about her child. "So I will continue until I cannot anymore."
"Undead look different than they did in life causes unrest among the people. Unless there is a very good reason to do otherwise, the Fall would not support an undead dragon. Though my aunt would have no qualms about doing so."
Sophiel nods, and points at the exit, tapping on the book once. ”matters for another time, and things which we must consider. As for this, well - I think you and Tikroch will care about this in particular; it concerns the first world.” She gives Chrysa another quick hug and moves to leave the sylvan hideaway.
Once they are topside, she sends messengers to the others to have them gather in her office. When they’ve all done so, she explains, pointing at the book. ”Thank you all again for your help. This is research I’ve compiled, with the help of some others - regarding those portals that seem to have been opening between the stolen lands and the first world.” She looks at Tikroch knowingly, ”between all of us, we have some differences of opinion about fey in general - but I think none of us wish for any sort of permanent conduit to be made. Perhaps for different reasons, but we share the same goal, yes?” She waits for the others to confirm before finishing, ”that’s where this is leading. These portals seem to be opening for longer, and are occurring more frequently. If you do the math, and I have, it’s just a matter of time. I have divined what I could on the matter - but got little, except perhaps that if we do nothing, it is likely to happen. For the newcomers, you should understand,” she turns to Tikroch and Donovan, ”something has been … interfering with our group. Terrible misfortune has occurred for most of our party before you joined. I have spent many resources trying to figure out the source - and I have a theory - but it is at the edge of my knowledge, as if it is a piece of fruit hanging from a tree, just out of reach. Anyway, I think at this point, the portals and that interference is connected - Mum and Vincent can fill you in on the details about what happened - but I logged all the events, and made contact with many of my friends in the woods, and discovered that every time a misfortune occurred, a portal opened around the same time.” She turns towards Mum, ”the Lebedas, Annalla, and other events - they seem to have been connected. It was as if suffering was powering these openings.” She turns towards Tikroch, ”so - even if I were so inclined to have such a connection with the First World, which I am not - I would never, ever hurt anyone to do so. Something else is toying with you. With us.” She opens her hands, ”now - be mindful that everything I say has a reason. Every place I say it has a purpose. I have a plan to stop the portals, but it requires a book. An old book. There are only a few places that have it, based on my divination. Absalom. The first vault. And maybe, the bardic college in Pitax.”
She smiles slightly, ”Pitax - I hope - is familiar to you all. That wretch Iorvetti is scheming against us, and has been. I am trying to fend off his next attack. But I see this as an opportunity - what I’d like you to do is to head to Pitax, as soon as we find an excuse to do so, and steal this book. It may take a little while to come up with an excuse, but until then - rest, prepare, and muster what resources you can.”
She turns to Vincent, ”the resources you need will be delivered to your tower.”
Mum leans against a wall with arms crossed as she listened to Soph. The baroness within tightens those arms at the mention of the fey. She'd burn their entire world down if she could, which is why Soph is the better one to investigate this threat.
At the mention of the tower, she looks over at her friend and gives him a wink. "Break into an enemy stronghold, plunder the vault, and kill any bad people along the way. A perfectly wonderful suicidal plan, Queen Lady Medvyed. I'm in." in these moments of continued Mum-ness, Chrysa finds herself thinking of Isabella Lebeda. Her tease becoming a little wistful at the end.
Tikroch looks grim as Sophiel explains what she's found out. "I had a feeling this was going on but it doesn't make me happy to be right... You may show pity... or compassion I suppose, for the fey creatures but this cannot be allowed to continue. I can appreciate that in your lands, not all of them are as cruel as others I've encountered elsewhere. You may be of another order, but we are still brethren through ritual. I'll honor your respect for your fey... but there's no telling what they will do if they are exposed to the first world once again. Some may choose to simply go home after living in this world for a while. Others may take it as an excuse to start their 'pranks' again. If the way to stop these portals is this book, you shall have it. We will stop the meddling of the first world in ours one way or another."
Mum's eyes watch Tikroch as he speaks, and for a moment one can see the baroness of the Fall behind in them, instead of the nicer more fey tolerant Mum.
Agreement is what one would see in them. Other than a ruthless desire to protect without mercy toward her enemies, that is.
Donovan rubs his chin with his free hand while holding his helm under his other arm.
"Pitax. Ugh. Irovetti is both despotic, and artistically vapid."
"There are strong reasons for the separation between the First World and the world that we have today. Undoing that separation carries dreadful risks, especially if it is, as you surmise, powered by suffering. A malleable, shapeable world fueled by suffering? That's just another vision of the Outer Rifts."
Vincent inclines his head with a smile to Sophiel and says nothing. There's no need at this point and besides, if he speaks then someone scrying on the room might realise that the child curled up with a book in the corner is actually part of the meeting rather than an unimportant bystander.
Sophiel inclines her head, "very well - feel free to do what you will. If you have some free time, I would appreciate it if folks would help secure the slough. Since we took Fort ... Drelev," she looks like she swallowed a bug when she says this, "and... something should be done about the name - I'm open to ideas" she continues, "I need to link up with it, but I also need some of the other areas cleared out of monsters," She points at the map
She taps it, ”just some things I noticed flying around - interesting terrain and landmarks. In terms of time - well, my thought is that maybe we could get an invitation to this event in Pitax - the Rushlight festival. It’s a tournament. Archery, log splitting, boasting, and jousting - if you’re up for it.” She smiles slightly, ”even though Iorvetti is a snake, if we could diffuse this conflict with him before escalating to full-war, it would save a lot of lives and a lot of trouble, right? The contest is in three months.”
She sits down and staightens some paperwork down. ”So, Pitax. I haven’t been honest with everyone here, though - it’s more a matter of withholding. Since our country was … reputationally attacked by this rabble rouser last year, and even before, I have understood the benefit of spycraft. What does this mean? I have spies. In all the neighboring kingdoms, baronies, autocracies, etc,” she waves her hands as if simplifying, ”our best spy is a woman named Mila. She … spent a good amount of her youth living near my family’s estate. She knew my father - more than I did …” her voice trails, ”she can be trusted, but you will likely need to earn her trust. She’s been hurt. But much of what I know about Brevoy and Pitax has come through her reports. She is loyal to my family, and she is against the Surtovas, and as such - I trust her. Her work in the field is nearing the end - I can recall her and she can aid you all, if you’d like. She will likely need to be involved directly with the Rushlight and any work with Pitax, since she knows the country well at this point. Is this agreeable?”
As they leave the carriage, Mila strings her bow. It is a longbow and she isn't particularly strong, but she was thought how to do it, even if it takes some effort. She is a bit red in the cheeks once it is done. She takes a deep breath to calm herself. "Right, lead the way. I'll pay attention."
"These are related to the fey, yes?" She asks, pointing to the circles and the trees. She was heard stories, like many of her friends. The thing was that it was somewhat hard to distinguish between what was true and what was just nursery tales... yet, she also heard that behind most of these tales, there were also truth behind them.
It takes her a moment to recover from so the meeting with Kodori and Navessa. A gnome? She'd have never expected, since she always heard they were too... free spirited? "Aaa.... a calling?" Yikes, that was nonsense, as if Erastil would stop what he was doing to do such a thing. No what she felt was more in line with her own will. "I just, feel this is the right thing to do. I've been talking about since I was smaller, but I don't really recall when it started."
Fantol nods while shrugging, ”the fair folk and … other things. Erastil will teach you that any wild place has folk who live by their own rules. Some folk sleep - until awoken, for better or worse. Some folk are best left undisturbed.” He gestures for her and the servant to follow.
Korodri appraises Mila, noting her skepticism ”a feeling - that’s usually enough. Just as long as you want to, not because you should. The Stag Lord believes in duty, but should you take the oath - you will be bound to such a duty.” His voice is deeper than Mila expected, ”long ago - my people left the first world for Golarion. The reasons are lost to history. But tales are told that when they first arrived - the Stag Lord was one of the first Golarion gods who welcomed us into his communities, when others would have cast us out.” He seems proud, ”it’s true that many gnomes stave off the bleaching with… whimsy. Others become bleachlings. Fewer still have the dedication necessary to avoid the effects without both.” He seems proud, somehow, and gruffly notes ”I come from this line. Duty. Honor. Wisdom. Fortitude. A bond to the land itself which is unbreakable. Erastil grants me the power to sense the status of the towns and villages within the forest and far beyond- and though this is my home, I travel extensively.”
He begins to pace, his hands behind his back, ”you will be a Shepard, and your flock is everyone in the spaces between - those who scratch out a living growing food for themselves. The town blacksmith. All who are willing to work, but have fallen on hard times - we are there for them. Sometimes, I am not a gnome - my job is to provide comfort, not to cause trouble - but I show you how I look now so you know not to judge others without getting to know them. Your first lesson.” He nods sharply, ”Old Deadeye has placed in me trust to train all young paladins in this part of Avistan, but as I said, it is a difficult path. Are you certain you wish to walk this path? You showed doubt before.”
"I hear the Baroness up north has been invited out to Pitax before, maybe she'll be at this festival by invitation as well." the Mum one says with distraction.
Talk of festivals and tournaments... distractions from the looming threats. But they provide an avenue to get this book. A necessary distraction I suppose.
"Yes, recall your spy. Establish a meeting point and I, and whomever else wants to, can retrieve her and return. Or, while we are already out in the wilds, we can check out some of these locations you've identified. I wouldn't imagine an effective court spy would also desire to spend time camping outdoors. Especially if it isn't necessary to her mission."
He takes some time to memorize the points on the map and any nearby landmarks. "May we use your arboretum? It may also be prudent to acquire a few magical tree feather tokens to create a quick avenue for escape."
Sophiel smiles slightly, ”you may find she’s more comfortable in the wilds than you expect. I can make tree tokens - but you must be extremely prudent about how you use this greenhouse - it’s a backdoor entrance to the castle that’s otherwise warded. I don’t want just anyone coming in here, for obvious reasons.”
Tikroch considers Sophiel's words for a moment before nodding. "Fair, in that case it shouldn't be difficult to find a tree outside the city limits that fits our needs for coming and going. Unless you desire to keep this contact's identity a secret, bringing her in the traditional method is probably best anyway. Maybe I should commission my own grove for such purposes so as to not give yours away. Or just use whatever is available in the wild. I would hope another with our skills wouldn't be working against us but you never know."
"While I do feel I should take this path, I also want to."
Tikroch considers Sophiel's words for a moment before nodding. "Fair, in that case it shouldn't be difficult to find a tree outside the city limits that fits our needs for coming and going. Unless you desire to keep this contact's identity a secret, bringing her in the traditional method is probably best anyway. Maybe I should commission my own grove for such purposes so as to not give yours away. Or just use whatever is available in the wild. I would hope another with our skills wouldn't be working against us but you never know."
She nods, ”I agree. In fact, perhaps I am worrying too much. I can count on one hand the number of our order within 500 miles with such skill. And none of them know about this secret grove. But the Surtovas have a long reach,” she chuckles, ”as we’ve found. Even if they are listening, now they would struggle to find it.” She winks at nothing but the air. She looks back at Tikroch, ”when coming back, you could come through the university’s largest oak tree. It’s only a few minutes away, and if anyone tried to follow you somehow to attack them, the intruder would be in for a world of pain.” She places her hands together, ”well, thank you Tikroch. For trusting me. And everyone else. I’ll get Mila back, and start working on your feather tokens. Feel free to rest and relax for a few days.” She nods towards the corner, and to the mercenary, Mum ”thank you for your services. What’s left of your payment will be delivered in short order.”
Korodri continues to appraise the girl, eventually nodding, ”then it is as it should be. Fantol can take his leave and we can start the rites of initiation. Thank you.” He nods to the nobleman, but doesn’t seem to put on airs, and doesn’t address the human with any honorifics. Fantol nods back, and extends a hand to Mila, ”best of luck to you, kid. Just keep in mind that he means the best.” and his craggy face breaks into a grin. Korodri narrows his eyes and shops him and the servant away, and then points at one of the bags, ”come - I have a room set aside, your first task is to get your things to it. I’d do it quickly, the forest floor can get dangerous after dark.” He grabs the rope and climbs up nimbly, pulling the rope behind him.
Navessa turns to Mila, ”oh, my dear, he is a kind man. Please forgive him. He wants what’s best. I’ll help where I can,” She leans down, her hair and skin smelling of earth and the rain on leaves, and smooches Mila on the cheek. She then steps into the tree and disappears, though the surface somehow changes slightly, and there are footholds and handholds that make things more manageable.
Mila manages to climb up with her bag to a landing on the treehouse, climb back down, and grab her other two bags, without much effort, and without even really needing the handholds. The landing is about twenty feet off the ground, and Navessa emerges from the trunk, ”he wouldn’t say it, but if he saw that, he would be impressed. Well done. Come along,” and she leads the girl to a small room nestled away from the main building on a broad branch. The treehouse itself seems to have been shaped from the living tree itself, with rounded corners, and open windows. She peeks into some of the rooms as she passes, and sees a spartan living space, kitchen, workshop, and other spaces, with accents of stone that seem to be nestled within the tree “wall” here and there, as if they were brought here - and the tree grew around them. Her room is spartan, with a small bed, chest, and table, but a glass skylight that peeks out to the now-dusky sky, and Mila can see the stars starting to emerge. Navessa touches Mila on the shoulder, ”sleep well - tomorrow will be a long day.”
Mila unpacks her things, and prepares herself, and has the best sleep she will have for a few years.
As dawn breaks, her training begins. Korodri knocks on the door, shouting, ”day’s wasting, Mila. We have much to do, and you’re not going to live forever. Come along.” and the girl scrambles to get dressed, hesitating and then grabbing her bow and quiver, putting on her traveling clothes, and heading out into the sun-dappled branches.
True to his word, the training is difficult. Tracking, climbing, swimming, archery. How to bond with the creatures of the forest. Daily repetition of the mantra of Erastil. Studying from an enormous library, writing essays on the nature of morality. Of work. And Of duty. Studying animal and plant husbandry. Dry, repetitive lessons that are taught with vigor, but high expectations. Korodri does not let half-measures pass, and if Mila makes a mistake - sometimes she has to start from scratch on a problem, staying late - her desk only lit by magical lights that she had to learn to conjure on her own. Most evenings she crawled into bed, her body broken and her fingers bleeding - until callused formed and her strength grew enough she soon found herself waking each day with gusto. Days, and then weeks, and then months passed, and she learned more and more.
Only after two year of tireless dedication did Korodri perform the ritual of induction, and only then did she feel Erastil’s true blessing. For until that time, she had begun to be worried. She had felt nothing, or at least that’s what she realized, once she became a Paladin. When Erastil granted her the divine gifts - she knew she had his favor. She knew she had mad the right choice. Her aim became truer. She felt his hand on her bow when she hunted, and learned the secret words of his blessing, whispered to her by Korodri once after a skillful shot. She learned to move through the first unimpeded, and how to identify corruption, and she and Korodri worked together to put to rest a shade from a battle long ago, haunting a battlefield long-since covered with trees. She took the lead on negotiation with pixies, who wanted help killing some scrags, and Korodri taught her to make makeshift acid flasks, and how to identify the vulnerabilities of any number of monsters. Surprisingly, Mila absorbed the information in the library like a sponge, exceeding Korodri’s expectations. Another few years passed, and she became a powerful asset to - and she soon realized this, ancient gnome - able to cover ground faster than him, and traveling in his stead to deal with problems in the nearby communities. She found herself traveling along more often than not - and Korodri finally gave her the freedom to move around on her own. Finally able to visit her family again, she tearfully reunited - proud of her accomplishments, as her mother held back tears and her father beamed at her - she was no longer an apprentice, but a champion of Erastil, and the natural world was her ward.
By this time, Fantol came to visit once in a while, or she saw him in villages at the forest’s edge when she checked in on them. Usually he came to help them with odd jobs, repairs and the like. Sometimes he hunted and brought back game if their harvest was lean. He occasionally collected taxes - surprisingly little Mila noted, but he also paid bounties for monsters, and would hire adventurers for various things - serving as sort of a stabilizing presence - especially considering Mika’s past experiences with the nobility of her own county, which tended to be somewhat cloistered. She met all the Mevyeds, though she soon found out that Fantol had once fallen in love with an elven maiden from far away, and had a melancholic air whenever something reminded him of her.
It was a cool afternoon on a late Rova day. Fantol happened to be in town of Voldish at the same time that Mila was there, and he was nailing up a poster to a board. The poster said, Wanted: Adventurers to look into recent disappearances. Please contact the mayor. Bounty to be paid upon resolution. He steps back, and spies her, and cracks a smile ”Mila! How nice to see you. Doing your rounds?”
Yet, she endured. She complained. She cried. She doubted her choices more times than she could remember, and every night that she wasn't totally beaten, she'd play her lyre, always cheerful tunes. She'd always heard that a musician should use music to express their feelings, but Mila wasn't that self-centered... no, her music was an escape, a trip to other times and place. Fake it until you make it, she heard her mother saying more than once, and while she found the saying absurd, in the end it was at least partially true. Her music helped her to get through the rough first months and before she'd noticed, she was as cheerful as her music.
The bulky man nods, ”good. I’m glad it’s gone well! The inn is bustling - hopefully you find a good audience.” He taps the sign, ”this might interest you, if you have some free time.” He points at the bottom of the sign, which indicates the reward is 1,000 gold pieces and the favor of the Medvyed family. ”Some kids have gone missing - you know, 12 and 13-year olds. There were signs they went into the forest, but the trail disappeared inside.” He shrugs, ”I couldn’t figure it out. Of course, other than playing, you may be busy - for my part, I have to get on the road soon.” He pats his horse on the haunch, ”your parents are proud of you - I hear, and though your mother is loathe to say it, I can tell. Your father can’t help but talk about his Paladin daughter.” He looks into the middle distance, a faraway look in his eyes, then back to Mila.
”just … if you do find out what happened, think about letting me know before talking to the mayor - I’m a little worried, and …” He doesn’t finish but he does shake his head, and then sigh, running his fingers through his beard.
Sophiel nods, and adds finally, ”thank you all, again,” and she returns to the greenhouse to retrieve her spy.
********************
Mila is in her dormitory, and it’s late morning. The small city is bustling outside of her window, but the academy’s location - affords a small amount of privacy. Mila has the window open, and is practicing with her violin, when a greyish cat with violet eyes appears on the windowsill and stares at her for a moment. The cat proceeds to lick its right paw, nonchalantly.
"I'll tell Master Korodri about it, but it doesn't seem something that can be looked into during free time." Which was sparse to begin with. Aside from the fact she was a terrible tracker... she did excel in most of her classes with Master Korodri, but tracking? Hugh, he mentioned repeatedly he has never thought a worse student. It was true, unfortunately.
"By the way, now I know why you were smiling when you saw me." Being a paladin of Erastil, she was sort of bound to look at it and would not probably even be able to ask for the reward. It was her duty. "I'll let you know when I find something."
*********
Mila skips just a single note at the cat's arrival. Here, as the student, Mila was called Ellinda, her hair was brown and curly, and kept in a ponytail, save for two locks. Her nose was a bit bigger than what would be considered the norm of beauty, but Mila long found out that small 'imperfections' added a lot to a disguise.
She eyes the cat. Violet eyes. Unusual. Very comfortable in her window. Also unusual. So she concentrates to look for magical auras. She keeps practicing, though, since Ellinda was very focused on her practice and would never stop mid-song to give a stray cat any further attention.
Fantol nods, "if it comes to it, I'll take a look into the issue myself - but you gave me a good idea - maybe we'll have better luck at the inn" He looks contemplative, "and - I have to stay there, anyway, at least for a few days."
He shakes his head, "it's..." The man frowns, and he clenches his fist - and Mila can tell he's worried about something. Sighing, Fantol beckons her, and they go towards the small tavern/inn near the center of the village - the Gilded Mule.
As far as these sort of establishments go, it is well-maintained. The stench of spilled beer is merely faint, and there are any conspicuously seedy corner tables with shadowy fingers. Fantol pushes open the door, and the barkeep nearby looks up, a jolly and gregarious portly-looking human of middl-age - who raises a rag up, announcing in a gruff voice "Lord Fantol! What a pleasure to see you again." Fantol chortles, "Gregory - still kickin' around I see. I have some business, though." and he gestures at a roll of paper in his hand as he ambles up. The other patrons look up briefly, and then return to their drinks and conversation.
Fantol gestures to Mila, "Mila - Korodri's student."
Gregory nods, wiping his hand on his pands, and extending a hand, "a pleasure, as always, Miss Mila" and bows slightly.
Fantol unrolls the sheet, "the kids, Gregory. More have gone missing, right? I'm about to go look for them myself, but time is not on my side, " and he raises his eyebrows to Gregory, who nods.
"Aye, milord. Don't I know it. They're staying upstairs, and it quite a spectacle when they found out this was the only inn in town," responds Gregory, quietly.
Fantol whispers to Mila, "the Surtovas, or some of them. Some cousin's cousin," he gestures vaguely, and turns back to Gregoy, "well, it can't be helped. What room?"
Gregory nods, and takes the poster, putting it up behind the bar with a bit of paste, and responds, "1 and 2, of course - I had to move this young couple with a newborn into room 3 - travelers from up north." He shakes his head, pale, "anyway, I'll leave you to it."
Fantol turns to Mila, "I have some business to attend to, take a look around - if you have time before you perform, please appraise the crowd - see if there are any adventuring types, at least." He nods, and inhales, and then clomps up the stout wooden stairway up to the second floor.
Mila surveys the assembled company. Largely a gaggle of humans, with a few others mixed in - in the assembled company there's probably only five that look like they might be an asset to a group: a human woman with a high ponytail with a bravo's blade at her hip chatting with a human man in enameled heavy armor, battered but well-maintained, clearly a priest of some sort. There's a dwarf, drinking at the bar alone, a pair of axes crossed on his back. A half-orc with a hood sits in the corner, nursing hard liquor - scotch probably. And a half-elven man with thick spectacles seems to have a few concoctions across a bandolier on his chest as he reads a book.
The cat stares at Mila, unblinking, and then returns to licking. Apparently satisfied, it stands up, looks around the room briefly, and stretches, and then sits again, tail twitching as it watches Mila for a moment, and then seems to look at the woman's satchel, before languidly returning its gaze to the lyre.
Somehow, Mila gets the strong sense that the cat is waiting for something to happen.
Mila then sits by the stage and takes her lyre, testing a couple strings just to confirm it was still well tuned. Meanwhile, she appraises the small crowd, but doesn't approach them. Not yet, not before the first round of songs. This was something she'd learned from her father. If you want something from others, specially strangers, it is always better to start by giving them something, no strings attached, and then make your offer. In her case, her songs were the initial lure.
---
Hum, that cat was up to something, but knowing it wasn't magical was already reassuring.
Mila gets the sense that most folks are a little bored or withdrawn. Some of the assembled look up when they see her, expectantly.
It seems like it would be impossible for it to be the case, but somehow Mila gets the sense that the cat is sending her a message. Every gesture is beyond subtle. The skill required to understand the twitch of the whisker, the languid blink, the stretch, are beyond most mortals - but in this case, Mila sees a mental image imprinted within her own head, as if she’s reading the cat’s mind. It’s time to go; there’s other tasks to do. Meet me at the stand of oaks outside of the city, just to the east.
"Tikroch, can I travel alongside you with your tree-magic? It would be far faster than traveling on horseback."
"Although... there might be value to having a highly visible agent of the court appearing in some place if you want prying eyes to assume that I'm doing something that they should be watching, so that they waste some effort."
Sophie considers Donovan's offer. "Well, Tikroch and you are the most visible people who are on our 'side' at the moment. Mila has an alter-ego that she can take on, and we have two mercenaries we hired. We had Oriol, as well, but I have him training the military." She turns to Sootscale, "Silvermine is running fine, can you join them?"
Sootscale grumbles, "yes - but not now. Things to do. Have to make sure nobody try to ursup me. Many enemies still. Have to investigate." Sootscale grins. "Silvermine allowed to keep some Silvermine law. Number 1 law: Sootscale the boss." He clenches his little fists, as if flexing. "Rebellion happen before. Soph help me kill them. But always sprout back up - like um... you plant people know... weed thing. Mushroom."
Sophiel smiles, and looks at Tikroch and Donovan, "truthfully, the governor manages his people really well, and kindly, but the laws of succession in his tribe - they predate anything we came up with. Only the strongest survive. If any of them wanted to try they could vote him out, but they don't. His enemies keep trying to assassinate him and keep failing." She shakes her head, "a failure of imagination." She shrugs, "but all the subterranean people in Gliocas who are decent respect him, and follow him. Even the dwarves. Even the rock gnomes." She turns to Sootscale, "how you did that I will never understand."
Sootscale hisses, and rubs his nose, "they stink! But not everything has to be fight. Fight gets in the way of success. They good at some things, kobold good at others, dwarf good at others, others good at other things. Um..." He rasps something out in kobald-accented draconic,
"You good at thing, then you can do it. You bad, you do something else, or leave. No moochers underground." He hesitates, "well, some moochers. But not many!" He opens his hand up, "each doing best thing, make best thing. Best thing is sold, makes more money. More money equals more hoard. Much less deadly than following dragon!"
Sophiel chuckles, "indeed. So, if you're up for it Donovan, they could use your assistance with the marsh and plains out west. I don't know what else you could do - I can't really send you out as a diplomat, and we don't have a problem with demons. But surely there will be enemies that will try to fight Tikroch, Mila, and Sootscale, and they'll need all the help they can get to stay alive."
"So, if you go, you should definitely go through the trees, at least to get out there. Much of the work of our Republic comes from exploration and bringing a bit of ... chaos to the wilds, so you may wish to prepare yourself for the exploration part accordingly."
"I'll prepare most of my magics for travel and exploration. I can bring a few with us for long range travel . It should be enough for our expedition. Even through trackless swamps, I should be able to tame the terrain for us at least a bit as well. We can always make camp out there and adjust as needed. I can make ready some spells for that as well as some long range communication . We can send a bird with reports once a day though it may take some time to make it back."
Donovan nods his assent.
"I'll pack some additional supplies and await your call, Tikroch."
After a couple songs, she pauses to eat something and talk with the patrons, taking Fantol's poster with the bounty. "May I join you for a moment?" She asks the woman and the man. "Was wondering if you'd be up for a side quest?"
"Mind you that I've no interest in the reward, so it'd be split just between you and others you feel would be needed." She sips her ale, waiting for their reaction.
She sighs at the cat's message. "She is becoming more and more paranoid, isn't she?" Looking at her unfinished breakfast, she takes a piece of meat and offers it to the cat while she works on packing her belongings, not that it takes her much to do so. In less than half an hour, Mila is waiting by the trees.
The pair look up, and the woman introduces herself. ”hmm? Maybe. We we taking a little break.” The woman’s accent marks her as a brevian, specifically an Aldori. She has dirty blond hair, but it’s slicked back close to her head. Her eyes are dark brown and she seems to have something of a bravo’s confidence and mein. She glances towards the man, who has a mop of black hair and looks to be warm. The enamel on his armor seems to be colored - as if it once corresponded to one house or another - but the enamel is patchwork, chipped, and smudged, as if the armor was made from the castoffs of a forge. When she’s close enough she sees the craftsman’s tools on his pack, which resting against his chair - he’s obviously some sort of devotee of Torag. He says ”mmm,” as he blinks at Mila. His face is broad, he’s bulky, and his hands are callused. The woman says, ”I am Denisa Aldori, and this is Cerny. He is a priest of Torag. Is this related to the lord’s presence? We could not help but notice.”
Cerny nods and takes a drink as he leans on the bar. ”What is the mission?”
The cat’s face is inscrutable as it leaps away nimbly and disappears. Where it seems to have gotten is a mystery.
*********
A little later, at the stand of trees, the cat is seated quietly, violet eyes staring at Mira as she approaches, and staring behind her.
Satisfied, the cat approaches an oak tree, and Mila realizes that this cat can travel through trees, somehow, and then she further realizes the only way this is true is if the cat is Sophiel herself. The cat stops, looks over its shoulder, and rests a paw on a root. The oak splits, and Sophiel watches, waiting for Mila to step through.
"Lord Fantol offered to personally help as well, so it is fair and easy to say this is a mission of some importance." If missing children weren't already pretty important on its own.
*******
"I was joking before, by the way." She lies, close to the tree. "You are just fine Milady." She then steps through while dismissing her disguise.