"My companion is perhaps coarser than I would have put it, but he speaks plainly and truly. I cannot fault him for that. I was complimented or threatened by the one who called himself Julian Opal; although I think it may have been both or neither at the same time." Abnaki claps his hands together. "But come! Although he has given us much to think about, we both have promises to keep to each other, and although I am proud of the effort needed to gain the story that was requested of me, I am not as hardy as I would like to be. The effort of dispersing the crowd outside took more out of me than I had anticipated, let us perhaps sit, and discuss further?"
Bozhe curses softly when he hears the name of Julian Opal.
Okshana, the vine-haired ele, walks out of the nearby wall in a tangle of bark and wood that give way before her. "Yes, of course, tale-weaver." She flashes you a winning smile. "Come, sit, all of you." With a wave of her hand, creaking branch-chairs and soft mossy cushions grow from the soil of the floor.
"I only wish our people could offer you food and drink, as proper hosts would, but I'm sure strong, experienced adventurers such as yourselves have your own provender." She waits for you to take your seats before taking her own. Bozhe is stalking about the chamber, muttering to himself.
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"I had hoped to save this for later in the discussion, but it seems that we have started on a somewhat uncomfortable subject. Perhaps if I tell my tale, we can start afresh, and put some of this unpleasantness behind us? I'm sure none of us want to start these negotiations with a perceived imbalance."
After a moment he adds, "And I find that the injuries I received in the acquisition of this tale grow somewhat more difficult to bear. I must warn everyone present, this is not a particularly pleasant tale, but it was requested I bring my best story of the witch to this meeting, and I hope I do not disappoint with common tripe."
Abnaki stands in the center of the room. He takes a couple of deep breaths, before speaking. When he does speak, it is not the common tongue, instead the words to a spell. He casts first ventriloquism and then silent image. It is only after this that he begins to tell the tale. "Come anyone who would, for this is not a tale that I mean to be a secret. Listen. And I'll tell you of how the Dead Witch gained her name. Listen. And you will hear of the folly of those too proud for their own good. Listen. And you will hear why no good ever comes of hurting the innocent." As he speaks, he begins to weave the illusion into the shape of the witch, using the ventriloquism spell to make it sound as if he speaks as her when needed for the story. But silent image can only make one person. So for a while, it seems as if the witch will be the only figure in the story. But in the last two minutes of it, Abnaki activates both inspire competence(perform oratory) and harmonic spell to activate a second silent image, of the suitor to the witch, manipulating them both. This will take up two first level spell slots, and the rest of my bardic performance for the day.
After the performance, Abnaki takes a seat heavily, obviously spent from the exertion of maintaining two complex illusions while also keeping the story itself interesting. He does not bow, merely taking a seat when he came.
Phon nods, acknowledging the host but not taking anything. "Thank you but I am not hungry after that conversation..."
She takes out some of the mead that she enchanted just before and handed some out for her allies, "Should you want, it would be rude for an undine such as myself to not provide you all drink."
"Abnaki, please before you go."
The warpriest listens in, remembering the better times with these stories.
There follows a long silence after Abnaki's performance. Finally, Bozhe and Okshana slowly stand. A feeling in the room, a sort of pressure, has been building - one of gladness, like the wonder of a newborn babe in a bright nursery.
Suddenly the two Fey are embracing Abnaki, Oak and Thorn sheltering a small animal within their branches.
Bozhe is the first to recover his voice as the two step back from Abnaki. "To hear one with the blood of the ifrit speak that tale, and know it for the tragedy it is...this is quite a handsome gesture, story-teller. Thank you."
The tears he does not weep instead gently cascade down the walls, an impromptu waterfall that soothes all of you to merely listen to the soft flowing sounds.
Abnaki is startled by the sudden outburst of affection from the fey, but tentatively returns the embrace. "It pleases me to be able to bring such joy to ones as old and wise as yourself. There are things that we must discuss now, of events yet to come, but I think Samen would be a more apt choice; his understanding of the network of interconnectivity between the elements far outstrips my own."
Osna notices that Samen twitches at suddenly being asked to speak, and the sylph steps forward. "Look, we all know everything is screwed up. What I know is I don't see Fey trying to take over whole cities on "accident" like Moon and Gem and all those jokers are saying. I see a Quiet Elder that has been living peacefully in a city of ifrits, despite how stupid ifrits can be sometimes. Who cares about the balance of elements and the cosmos and all that cac?"
Ignoring Ozhna, Bozhe says, "You have shown good faith, tale-weaver. You have braved poison and cold and crow to bring us a true story, proof of you intentions."
"So what may we do to prove our faith to you?" His frogskin eyes dim for a moment, showing the simple brown on an oread.
Phon listens, she finds that when people speak they always leave cues, her included. Abnaki seemed to have the floor so she focused, there must be twitches even these fey had.
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So, you only listen to stories and tales? or is it the art behind it Gabriel has been, no shocker... Quiet for a while. just listening in to the conversations at large, his tone now is one of curiosity.
Though Fey are hard to read, you get a hunch about Bozhe - when he is showing his more elen side (like now), he seems to be more truthful is his subconscious cues and body language. It also does not seem like he notices his appearance is subtly changing.
"I appreciate your kind offer. There is much that I would ask of you. Comfort for my aging parents. Knowledge of the correct words to say to pursue the relationships I crave. Protection for my battle-brother Rost, if he still lives. Secrets, or power, or fame. But those are all selfish requests. I tell my tales to heal the damage to the mind and soul. If you wish to show your dedication, help us to combat the Dark."
Samen shakes himself free of the stupor he found himself in. The story was more affecting to him that he anticipated. "Moreover, we would request the strongest of weapons against our enemies; knowledge. Elenity has fought the Dark at Volcano's behest for centuries, gaining no ground. Now Moon and Gem are on the march and elenity, on the whole, is blind. We need to know how to fight, and what battles are worth engaging in. We need to know their tactics and how to counter them. We can rally forces, but we need to know what to do with them."
Phon relaxes a bit, but not enough to let her guard down. "Knowledge is a worthy pursuit." She remembers the vows she took when she became clergy, "Besides, it would be the safest for you as well. It would be far removed, and should something go awry you would be insulated. I do not think there is any loss here."
Bozhe nods slowly. "Yes." The word seems to be both agreement and acknowledgement.
"We do not share knowledge in the same way elens do. Hearing our tales...eating our food..." he scratches idly at his right ear, "you cannot be the same el you were."
He drums his fingers on his wooden throne, like heavy raindrops. "Only one of you will drink our stories directly." He points to Abnaki, the fingernail slightly crooked and green. "You, tale-weaver. This burden falls upon you. To hear, and to know."
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Abnaki hesitates for only a moment before nodding his head. His voice catches slightly in his throat, "Your kindness is appreciated. And I will of course, accept. I only ask... that I am given a few minutes to get some of my affairs in order. There are letters that I should write, things I should say if I am to undergo a change."
"I am ready now, what is needed of me?"
"For now, just sit, and ready yourself to listen."
Bozhe turns to Abnaki's companions. He says nothing, for now simply observing their reactions.
Osna's jaw is visibly straining as he bites down any thoughts he may or may not have regarding this insane, reckless decision to allow faery stories to soak into the brain of one of his companions.
Samen frowns, but nods silently. He always expected it would end up being him to compromise his elenity first. With any luck, he won't end up like Bozhe, here. Nevertheless, a willing sacrifice is often the most effective.
"Samen, in case this goes poorly, would you make sure that these letters make it to the people they are addressed to? I am sorry to put this burden on you, but I trust that you will be able to get it done."
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Samen grasps Abnaki's arm in fraternal devotion. "Of course, Abnaki. Your soul will be changed, but make your will your own. Be stubborn as stone and adaptive as flame."
Phon Vos, the truth spell is now burning your palms like a bowl of hot soup. You hardly notice the details of the twisting pathways that lead you and your companions--minus Abnaki--away from the throne room.
With your story-teller gone, the wisperflies no longer flock to your group. Instead, your only escort is a tall oread, a proud el, who does not deign to speak to you.
Invisibly (save to your elemental Sight), Abbygailiwy slips from her oaken home and, without a word, slips down a side corridor within the Elder. You have no idea if she expects you to follow her, or if she believes you cannot see her.
Without more specific directions, from either the oread or Abby, Samen moves down the path behind Abby. It's unclear what her intentions are, but there's no telling how much trouble she could cause unsupervised. Besides, she might be on to something interesting.
Phon Vos, the truth spell is now burning your palms like a bowl of hot soup. You hardly notice the details of the twisting pathways that lead you and your companions--minus Abnaki--away from the throne room.
With your story-teller gone, the wisperflies no longer flock to your group. Instead, your only escort is a tall oread, a proud el, who does not deign to speak to you.
Phon barely feels the world around her before she yells out, "What do you want from me!?" She was hoping to avoid the spell, but it had been gnawing away at her. "I'm sorry." She looks at Samen, "I'll explain later... Not here." Answering the question in advance.
Samen, Abby does not lead you far astray - just two sharp turns, to a small niche, a deep hole that smells of feces and rot. An orean outhouse, or a toilethole? Inside an Elder?
Suddenly, a deformed elen - with a fleshy umbrella face, like a mushroom cap - pops his head out of the malodorous shaft. He says nothing, simply bleats in surprise and scrambles back down and out of sight.
Another humorless oread el, perhaps a twin to your other escort, walks around a corner, eyeing Samen. Abby is gone, back to the staff. The deformed elen is gone, back to...wherever.
"This way. Keep to our paths."
"Oh. Uh, actually, I could actually stand to, um, make an offering, if you get what I mean." He points meaningfully toward the opening with one hand, and grabs his belt with the other. "You don't mind, do you?"
Are you on to something, or just playing a prank? Either way, I'm in.
Hopefully not literally.
No change in expression. "Do not tarry." He takes a few steps and turns his back to you, but you can see his left shoulder from the corner down the hall; he has not gone far.
Abnaki,
Stories of plants
are
slow.
The
blades of grass
do
not
have much
to say.
Time passes. The Sky is bright in these stories.
...
Where is your body?
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The grass grows. Your knowledge grows along with it.
Small things ;
the thoughts of a pink-petal fairy as she glides across clear water
the laughter in the branches,
and the slow, beating heart of a birch turtle.
Big things;
the delicate teal beauty of Sky, stretching forever above you
what Volcano and Moon did
and who is gone now.
Sky's Lover.
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Samen, not confident he could lie about it later, drops his trousers and adds to the feculence. Putting his head between his legs, "I must admit, this is an odd way for an elen to make introduction, but what's your name? I'm Samen."
What... What do I do?
She looks at her hand, and at one point even takes her gauntlet off and nearly presses her hand to her chest but pulls back. No...
The undine does not look like she's in the right state, but keeps idly following, barely noticing Gabriel beside her.
Osna shakes Phon Vos. Whispering urgently, "What the hell are you doing, Phon? Samen slipped away to go change into a leaf or some other cac, and you're here staring into the black heart of Sky! Snap out of it and help me distract our guide, ask him a theological question about roots or something."
You awaken in a dark wooden chamber, alone. You are laying atop a pile of soft leaves.
You think you remember...important information. A way to stop Moon from growing stronger. But your head is fuzzy, as if you've been sleeping a thousand years.
A cheerful male voice says, oh, are we brothers now?
The voice is in your head.
You get a long, gurgle-sounding reply from the hole. It could be related to the Creak language...
Samen wracks his brain, trying to remember the words that came so naturally yesterday. He does his best to piece it together on the fly.
"Who is you? What here? We friend? Me friend. Danger?"
Are you okay Miss Phon? The quiet shadow stained Ifrit asks in his quiet calm tone
"Hello Magical el! Help us! God's finger. Shows sights. Putrid putrid putrid. What does God say?"
Samen and the rest of the group both hear the shout of the second, surly guide, who is clearly losing patience with Samen. "Finish your business and stop muttering to yourself!"
Better question, who are you?
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Are you okay Miss Phon? The quiet shadow stained Ifrit asks in his quiet calm tone
Hearing the worry immediately snaps her back to reality, Duty is heavier than a mountain, death is lighter than a feather.
"So, I must ask, where do you draw your power from exactly? As a member of the clergy I am quite interested to hear what your gods and magic are about." She takes the words literally from Ozna, "What of Samen?" Undine gives a glare around the area.
"Gabriel, I'll be fine. I'll be fine." Her hands instinctively starts to float near her arms.
Samen figures he has time for one more exchange before things get unpleasant. He stands up, uses Acid Splash as a bidet, and quietly continues. "Which God? Who God's finger? How God speak?"
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i... actually am not quite certain. My power was obtained when a ritual performed by the inquistors was forced upon me. Linking me to the shadows themself. But... the abilities i possess are not exactly like spell and i am honestly still learning to use them... they are something to be treated with caution and respect so as to not allow the power to tale over. At the moment i can only cloak myself in shadow to hide, as i was doing earlier while we were moving. As for my gods, well... i do not worship. I prefer to have faith in myself and my friends rather than some ethereal force that remains unseen. This is... the most he has talked to anyone, but his tone remains even as he explains himself.