Lina gets a disquieting feeling that she’s missed another something, again, but at least the crowd’s attention, having moved on, is no longer on her and puzzled or aghast, so she can flee walk with brisk purpose to what serves as her solar for now.
Once safely ensconced, she immediately sets down her observations from administering Kundal’s cure, and after that finds herself somewhat calmer. By the time she’s also looked over various notes and files and taken a look from the window to imagine where a barracks and prison might eventually stand, against the backdrop of the real Limen, she’s able to sigh and probe cautiously at her feelings about the day as a whole.
They did what they set out to do, no thanks to her, really. If it hadn’t been for the others’ finding ways to frame their decisions in ways that the ordinary citizens found acceptable, things might have got rather uncomfortable until Lina (or, bitterly but more unrealistically, the others, again) found a way to patch things up.
The thing is, she’s pretty damn sure she’s right. About how to treat lycanthropy, for one, about how the magic she called upon, personally or otherwise, to prove that she wasn’t just being led by the nose by the accused, works. She didn’t just announce that she was satisfied and exonerate Kundal without further explanation, as she might have done.
She will have to write to Alaïs forthwith: she always knows what to say, both to make her feel better and just generally, and she’ll be able to provide Lina with advice on how to people with folk who aren’t magical, herbalists, or adventurers. It will take a few days for a letter to reach Pitax, though, so there’s no point in catastrophizing tonight, and Lina might just as well pour a glass of wine in her sweetheart’s honour and think things over some more.
And then it hits her: earlier, Brental was hinting at gentle interest for how Helikia’s head witch in charge was feeling about the fraught business of balancing everyone’s ideas and concerns. Lina decides she could do worse than finding a bottle of something nice and a certain druid, and talking things out too. Gods know she needs the practice.
"I'm not sure." Meneas replies. "I'd like to focus on the areas around Limen first, before we range quite that far." He pauses, considering silently for a few moments. "We can ask Tyg and Peri, though. They should be somewhere about..."
"Of course, last time we asked about this sort of thing, they were very cagey."
Trying to cultivate good grapes for wine was a long process, and Brental was convinced that most magical solutions to speed the process left a poor aftertaste. He had worked with the others in these early days of their fledgling kingdom to start planting vineyards, selecting both imported cultivars and seeking out local wild grapes to try. Orchards, too, and fields of different grains for both food, ale, and spirits. Everything was still very small, but as they drew more people to Helikia, there would be more people who would be willing and able to work the fields. And with Brental as a guiding hand to ensure crop rotations and fallow fields, within a few years they would be both agriculturally rich and sustainable.
That was the reason for the dandelion wine. They were still early in the days of establishing trading partnerships, and most of their neighbors seemed eager to charge high prices for the privilege of importing even young vintages. While they had some disposable income, it was not a good look for the rulers of the new land to spend it all on alcohol. And yet there were celebrations to be had, and no good Caydenite would allow for a dry kingdom to persist for long. Thus: dandelion wine. It was even better after fermenting for a couple of years, but it was drinkable and pleasant after only a couple of months. Brental goes into a cellar where he has been fermenting a few bottles, checks the simple ribbon labels tied around the neck indicating the date of bottling, and selects the oldest one.
A few minutes later, he stands outside Lina's door and knocks. "Good evening, Lina," he announces. "It's Brental. May I come in?"
Together, through Signy's keen eyesight and Meneas' tracking skill they are able to confirm that no other werewolf's seem to be about but they do notice tracks of four other wolf-like creatures which seem to be prowling closer and closer to the village... a small pack it would seem. Headed by a larger wolf-like creature... Probably a worg.
Venturing into the forest Tyg and Peri are easy enough to seek out as it smees that merely calling to them summons the rambunctious pair forth.
"Cowled Protector and Godly Inspector! To what do we owe the pleasure of such company we treasure?" Tyg bows deeply and flutters her lashes playfully as Tyg cartwheels about through the air dancing around Signy in particular.
"Have you come for a song? Or maybe a drink? Maybe you've come for a deep ponder or think?" Peri chuckles as he places flowers in the inquisitors hair and places a daisy crown on the head of the dark cavalier.
A few minutes later, he stands outside Lina's door and knocks. "Good evening, Lina," he announces. "It's Brental. May I come in?"
Before Lina can do more than rearrange her papers into a disorder that suits how she thinks she might pick things up next time, there’s a knock on her door, and she finds Brental behind it.
Name a demon properly and he’ll come calling, she thinks, remembering a proverb she gathers is current among the fighters holding the line against Tanglebriar in Kyonin.
“Of course,” she says from the doorway, a rueful smile tilting up the corners of her mouth. And he even bought a bottle. I guess we must know his true name after all.
Brental smiles in turn as he enters. "I almost brought glasses, but I thought you'd have your own. Dandelion, if you don't mind."
He offers his witch friend a healthy pour (or at least until she says stop) and then does the same for himself. "To averting a crisis, or at least stopping it before it got further out of hand," he offers in toast.
Signy pulls out a couple of bottles and asks in reply "Why choose just one? I'm up for all those things."
Brental smiles in turn as he enters. "I almost brought glasses, but I thought you'd have your own. Dandelion, if you don't mind."
He offers his witch friend a healthy pour (or at least until she says stop) and then does the same for himself. "To averting a crisis, or at least stopping it before it got further out of hand," he offers in toast.
Lina gets the glasses out and accepts a generous cup. She knows it will be a few years until the vines can really get going, and she makes a mental note to experiment with fangberries. Their sugar content is high enough, she thinks, that it would lead to quite an interesting sweet wine even after maturing. It would make a nice surprise for Alaïs, who would doubtless then be able to suggest ideas for refining the brew. Something to consider for the next harvest, anyway.
“Cheers, and here’s to us all,” Lina says, happily accepting the toast with a clink of their glasses before she and Brental make themselves comfortable and a wistful expression settles on her face.
“And it occurred to me, belatedly, that I didn’t mean to avoid your question, earlier. Just a lot of work to catch up with,” she sighs, gesturing behind her to the various documents that are piling up for several projects about Limen. She returns to the matter at hand, “Anyway, I’m not sure what I’m doing wrong. I know we’re all a bit different from all but the most adventurous townsfolk, so I tried to connect across where our interests do overlap, and I neither want to assume that anyone has enough spellcraft not to need more guidance to follow a magical trial, nor to be patronizing. I mean, if folk get the idea that I’m talking down to them, compared to those who like playing with words, for whatever reason…”
She trails off, and wherever an answer is to be found, apparently it’s not in the last half-inch of wine in the glass. Her voice is soft as the ironies of the case strike her, “My burden has been so much lighter. Kundal could trust his body, but not his mind or spirit. Compared to that, when it was the other way around for me, if I had to choose, I know what I would have. I’m not going to ask anyone to be something they’re not.”
After that, she’s quiet for considerably longer until she finds a way to dislodge her unwanted mood and unhappy memories.
“Which means I’m eager to hear ideas about how to get folk more used to the idea of a wordy witch being very influential,” she grins. “I’m thinking living up – or down – to what they might imagine frivolous elven princesses might be like, from the stories they might have heard about my people’s courts. And, while it’s too late for the first generation, instituting a scheme of free and compulsory schooling.”
She is immensely pleased with her paradoxical way of phrasing the last bit, and wonders how easily a grammar school can be organized in Limen, and suitable teachers recruited.
Meneas giggles quietly, folding his hands before him. "Lovely as always, friends. Alas, our curiosity brings us here for grimmer ends." Shifting back into a more prosaic manner of speaking, he continues. "Do you knew anything about werewolves in the Greenbelt? Someone infected with lycanthropy attacked the village, as you likely know, but... he wasn't born that way, meaning someone infected him."
Tyg and Peri (especially Peri) seem overjoyed at the offer of a friendly drink with their dear friends and gather round to partake of the intoxicating beverage.
After a few gulps Peri looks up to Meneas with what can only be assumed to be a reptilian smile. "We may have heard tell of some impudent mutt."
"If legend holds true you all kicked it roundly in the butt!" Tyg giggles her cheeks a rosy hue the alcohol effecting her cat-sized form rather quickly.
Peri snorts mid sip causing booze to spray from his little nostrils. "No idea about more than hat."
"If knowledge of werewolves you seek to glean from us your chances are fat!" Tyg shakes her head and resumes drinking greedily.
"More?" Brental interjects to encourage Lina to continue. As his witch friend explains, the druid sighs internally. Despite having known each other nearly a year at this point, it was still difficult to read each other. Brental had gotten to second guessing almost every interaction that he had, subconsciously (and sometimes proactively) looking for plots, schemes, words between words, and more. Logically, he knows that such attentiveness is a gross overreaction to the splintering of his Order, bordering on paranoia. And yet he finds it difficult to quiet his mind.
It helps that Lina is direct with her words most of the time, even if they are suffused with poetry. At least with Brental, she was not trying to be cagey. At least that's what she said. He believes that she got distracted and wasn't intentionally trying to avoid him. That was very like her. However, she seems to have at least a vague sense of her disconnect with the populace of Limen: what she is trying to communicate versus what is being received. That is the gap to close, obviously. But what then?
Brental purses his lips as Lina completes her initial self-diagnosis. Lina seems to have tapped into something in her memories that Brental isn't sure of, and he isn't exactly sure how to proceed. "It's a hard thing," he says during the pause. "Knowing what they are looking for and how to provide that. We weren't raised to be leaders, exactly, and yet that's the role we find ourselves with. I think of all of us, you have the knack for the administrative sorts of things. You also have a unique flair for the dramatic." The druid takes a sip of the wine and leans back in his chair. "Would you mind a modicum of feedback, Lina? If not, feel free to tell a former Oaksteward to stuff a sock in his mouth."
He very much wants to ask what Lina means by "when it was the other way around" for her. But Lina gives him a tacit opening to provide gentle encouragement and feedback, so he proceeds in that direction first. He chuckles at free compulsory schooling before nodding. "Yes, you're certainly playing to expectations. And while I would rue the day that you become less verbose, I wonder, if you don't mind my suggestion, whether simpler vocabulary in a less erudite tone might allow the people the level of trust you're seeking. It's like..." another sip, longer this time as he thinks of a comparison, before switching momentarily to the Elven tongue. <"It might be like if I rendezvoused with a cadre of ignoble elves and asseverated exclusively in sagacious terms.">
He smiles, having extended himself just to produce that sentence. "It's a second language for me, and so the elves might think that I was either trying to show off for them, or to show them up. The shorter-lived races, if they even bother to learn a second language, typically possess vocabularies restricted to what they do regularly. They have no reason to learn words such as salubrious, even if it is the perfect connotation for the situation. So it leaves them agog to hear it, much less from someone who has acquired Taldane as a second, third, or fourth language. You have had what they would consider multiple lifetimes to refine a lexicon fit for every occasion. They have a chosen role in life and find it more useful to learn to carefully differentiate the tools of their trades. There is nothing wrong with linguistic precision, but we may need to be careful with how we employ it."
Brental finishes his glass and pours himself another while waiting to see how Lina reacts. If she still seemed open to further conversation, whether on the same yarn or a different thread, the druid is quite keen to while away his time in conversation, serious or diverting, in any of their five shared languages.
Signy drinks with Tyg and Peri, glad to have a break from going here and there with her nose (figuratively) to the ground.
"Fair enough, werewolves don't make for very enjoyable stories anyway. But there is something else, a weirder thing that keeps coming up here and there. A gigantic crow or raven." Signy isn't sure what the difference is, if there's any.
"It's so big it can carry people away in its claws. In fact, it did pick me up and carry me away once, so I've seen it myself. So did the man who is now the werewolf. Have you heard anything about this bird? We think it serves some master or purpose."
Very suddenly Tyg and Peri cease their jubilations. They stare up at Signy and seems almost ready to flee but hold themselves just barely due to their apparent comfort with the woman.
"W-We dare not speak her name." murmurs a shaking Tyg.
"She'll slit our throats and make it a game!" mutters a trembling Peri.
"A failed goddess with desires upon this land is she."
"Our future queen, so be wary I prithee!"
"To her your blades may as well be rust."
"All kingdoms she will turn to dust!"
"A future queen and once consort."
"Through games of the eldest her morals did contort!"
Signy skips her turn with the bottle and passes it back on to her fey friends.
"That doesn't sound very good at all" she says with a frown.
After letting a moment or two pass in silence, she asks "is there anyone you know who would dare to say more about this future queen?"
"More?" Brental interjects to encourage Lina to continue. As his witch friend explains, the druid sighs internally. Despite having known each other nearly a year at this point, it was still difficult to read each other. Brental had gotten to second guessing almost every interaction that he had, subconsciously (and sometimes proactively) looking for plots, schemes, words between words, and more. Logically, he knows that such attentiveness is a gross overreaction to the splintering of his Order, bordering on paranoia. And yet he finds it difficult to quiet his mind.
It helps that Lina is direct with her words most of the time, even if they are suffused with poetry. At least with Brental, she was not trying to be cagey. At least that's what she said. He believes that she got distracted and wasn't intentionally trying to avoid him. That was very like her. However, she seems to have at least a vague sense of her disconnect with the populace of Limen: what she is trying to communicate versus what is being received. That is the gap to close, obviously. But what then?
Brental purses his lips as Lina completes her initial self-diagnosis. Lina seems to have tapped into something in her memories that Brental isn't sure of, and he isn't exactly sure how to proceed. "It's a hard thing," he says during the pause. "Knowing what they are looking for and how to provide that. We weren't raised to be leaders, exactly, and yet that's the role we find ourselves with. I think of all of us, you have the knack for the administrative sorts of things. You also have a unique flair for the dramatic." The druid takes a sip of the wine and leans back in his chair. "Would you mind a modicum of feedback, Lina? If not, feel free to tell a former Oaksteward to stuff a sock in his mouth."
He very much wants to ask what Lina means by "when it was the other way around" for...
“More to convince the other Limenals to trust us and that we know what we’re doing,” Lina explains. “If it hadn’t been for you three, I imagine there might have been quite a bit of grumbling, and who knows how that might have festered, going forward.”
“It was reassuring that the spells I had prepared were useful in the fight the night before, but that wasn’t in the public eye, as I should certainly hope not! But that means, if I misspeak and my tongue gets tied when we’re holding court, am I just a pretty face? And there’s only so much room and – honestly – spectacle, for watching me in the garden or at my herbs. What if people start to ask, ‘Why’s she so special to think she can boss any of us around?’”
She holds her hands up apologetically. “I’m sorry, that’s far more self-doubt than I ought to inflict on anyone without warning. It is that sort of thing that runs wild in my thoughts, given occasion.”
As the pair’s conversation continues, Lina considers Brental’s suggestions carefully. Privately, she thinks she probably has to concede the ‘dramatic’ point, perhaps because it wouldn’t have occurred to her to think of it like that. She tends to think of herself as a performer on instruments and of songs rather than of parts, but maybe there are ways that the last can be performed without being false.
“Roles within roles,” she muses, before brightening and speaking up a bit, “I think I can try that. Strike a balance between accessibility and my sense of the dignity of the office, especially when making pronouncements ex cathedra.”
The witch’s face promptly falls, a bit embarrassed. “I’m … doing it again, aren’t I? Ah, well. We learn to walk before we run, I suppose.”
She swallows the last of her cup, and gladly accepts another, hopeful again with a better idea of changes she can try out, as the conversation moves on to more general topics.
Brental is glad that Lina seems to be taking his modicum of advice in stride, and he relaxes, his cheeks lightly flushed as the wine works its magic.
"While you are a pretty face, you're clearly more than that. The people are still getting used to us. Leadership, I think, is more than a title. It's trust. And trust develops over time as the people invest their trust in us, and we in them. Like you have done with our magical cupcake maker! She seems eminently comfortable with you. You both have a role to play in the community, and respect flows from that mutual recognition. At least I don't get the impression that Zuki considers you to be bossing her around. Although, depending on which cupcake you pick, you could have a role as a roll." Brental keeps his face deadly serious during the pun, waiting to see whether he or Lina will crack first.
Curiosity begins to get the better of Brental, and he eventually steers the conversation back to one of Lina's earlier comments.
"If you don't mind my asking, you...well, you said something earlier. You said that Kundal could trust his body, but not his mind or spirit, and that there was a time when it was the other way around for you. What did you mean?"
Sip. A long one this time.
The fey frown further as if thinking hard on the inquisitor's request.
"Perhaps Tiressia could tell you more."
"A journey to to her grove would not be a bore."
"But one should be careful to embark on such a quest."
"Do not take this warning lightly, we do not make it in jest."
"The druid and her satyr have enchantments to play with your trust."
"And they shall certainly use their good looks to toy with your lust." The pair rhyme out their warning.
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Brental is glad that Lina seems to be taking his modicum of advice in stride, and he relaxes, his cheeks lightly flushed as the wine works its magic.
"While you are a pretty face, you're clearly more than that. The people are still getting used to us. Leadership, I think, is more than a title. It's trust. And trust develops over time as the people invest their trust in us, and we in them. Like you have done with our magical cupcake maker! She seems eminently comfortable with you. You both have a role to play in the community, and respect flows from that mutual recognition. At least I don't get the impression that Zuki considers you to be bossing her around. Although, depending on which cupcake you pick, you could have a role as a roll." Brental keeps his face deadly serious during the pun, waiting to see whether he or Lina will crack first.Curiosity begins to get the better of Brental, and he eventually steers the conversation back to one of Lina's earlier comments.
"If you don't mind my asking, you...well, you said something earlier. You said that Kundal could trust his body, but not his mind or spirit, and that there was a time when it was the other way around for you. What did you mean?"Sip. A long one this time.
“I don’t think I would dare be too imperious with her! As you say, heads (of state) would roll!” Lina tries – really, she does – to match Brental’s po-faced, er, poker face, but it doesn’t take long for her laughter to ring out brightly in appreciation of his quibble.
With that, and with another (and only one other) cup of wine, Lina finds the tension of the past couple of days starts to ebb away. While she didn’t handle things perfectly, the others more than made up for it, and nonetheless a life or two have likely been saved, and their sinister, crow-summoning enemy has been thwarted before their schemes could advance too too far.
As the evening continues into proper night, though, the conversation returns to more serious matters before the witch even notices. When Brental’s question registers, silence settles over the table as Lina is finally able to match him this session – for curiosity. It’s neither uncomfortable nor particularly appraising, but she’s clearly taking uncharacteristic time to arrange her thoughts.
There’s another pause as her gaze settles into the middle distance and years long gone. “The short version is, basically: when I was born, my family thought I was a boy, as well they might have done, until I was in a position to let them know I wasn’t. I figured myself out early on, compared to some, and it was probably easier because it was a question of which side of the either-or that most folk fit into, but it wasn’t all sunshine and buttercups. There are herbs that can help, though those will only go so far without magic, but that’s by-the-by.”
Lina’s eyes move back to her druid friend again. “People like me need to trust their mind and spirit, because the body may not agree without intervention; as I said, I can’t blame my family for their first best guess. There can be more subtleties, but my case was simple. Anyway. On the other hand, a poor soul like Kundal, in whom lycanthropy was working exactly as it ought while leaving him unawares… It feels a bit like looking into a warped and tarnished mirror. I can’t imagine myself being anyone other than the girl and now woman I always would be, can't imagine not having that experience and that sureness, but maybe in some other world there’s an elf child who would not need to find her own name and be Hyalinnea, or for whom such a thought would not be right. Sometimes one stumbles across something that awakens the past, or speculations of paths history might have turned down. A bit like scrying, I suppose? Again, mirrors.”
She offers Brental a small smile again. “So no, I wouldn’t trade my fate for anything like what Kundal went through, even if in many ways it’s easier to deal with, speaking of buttercups, or country cousins thereof, as wolfsbane may be.”
Brental listens quietly and carefully to Lina's admission, never interrupting, only leaving her space. His face mostly matches hers as she discusses both vexing times and the ensuing euphoria of being oneself as oneself. It strikes him that he may have inadvertently said things over the last year, even over the last day, that may have awoken some of these old memories. But overall, he is just happy that Lina feels sufficiently comfortable with him so as to be fully authentic. And so he says so with a warm smile.
"Thank you for sharing that with me, Lina. I'm truly glad to know you, and to know you."
The emphasis Brental places is one that, in an interesting linguistic quirk between Taldane and Elven, Lina would probably recognize as directly referencing Elven concepts of the nous.
The druid once again leans back, draining the rest of his glass of wine, and stretches. "We need to do this more often," he says. "Let our hair down, discuss flowers, and drink. Running a burgeoning kingdom is hard work."
Meneas listens quietly, keeping his counsel to himself and allowing Signy to do the questioning for the most part.
The Hooded Knight seems startled and somewhat suspicious. A future queen, one that they fear...? A failed goddess, too. What does that even mean?
"We'll have to speak with Lina and Brental about this." He says finally. "Both this Tiressia and her satyr." He considers a moment. "Is Tiressia a mortal?"
"Tiressia sounds quite a bit less awful" Signy says, perhaps a little doubtfully.
"Do you know where she can be found? Not that we're going right out to find her mind you, it's just good to know in case we have no choice."
"Thank you for sharing that with me, Lina. I'm truly glad to know you, and to know you."
The emphasis Brental places is one that, in an interesting linguistic quirk between Taldane and Elven, Lina would probably recognize as directly referencing Elven concepts of the nous.
The druid once again leans back, draining the rest of his glass of wine, and stretches. "We need to do this more often," he says. "Let our hair down, discuss flowers, and drink. Running a burgeoning kingdom is hard work."
“That’s very kind of you to say, and I hope you know the feeling’s mutual,” Lina offers, after explaining some of her story more directly than she has before. “I didn’t want to pry about what happened last year with your former colleague, either at first or later, once you were able to talk with other friends, and I certainly also hope that you never have to go through anything like that again, but if ever something happens that it would be helpful to talk through, you’re welcome to bend my ears. Or if it’s the sort of thing that an herb or a judicious hex can solve.”
With that, she does her best to lighten the mood, and Brental’s suggestion to repeat the evening is certainly welcome, and sparks the beginning of an idea that the witch will have to sit with for a bit to see where it goes. Something about the joys that can come with what she and her friends are doing. “Absolutely, and we’ll have to get Meneas and Signy in on it.”
She politely covers a kittenish yawn as the lateness of the hour registers, and before suggesting she should retire for the night, adds, “Speaking of whom, we should keep an eye out for when they return or send a message about any loose ends – wolf hairs? – we might have missed.”
"Tiressia and her consort are quite mortal.. which may offer you an edge."
"Your questions she will certainly answer if your services you will pledge."
"The pair deal with a most dire plight."
"If you send to help them you'd best prepare for a fight."
The fey rhyme to Meneas.
After their drinks the fey inform Signy and Meneas that the dryad can be found due east of Limen across the Skunk River just to the south of where they buried the unicorn.
Brental suppresses a yawn of his own and nods. "I'm not worried much about them. Meneas is friendly enough with the fey that they'll keep him safe if they can help it. And Signy survived on her own in these wilds after escaping from the nastier fey for who-knows-how-long before stumbling back into us."
The druid rises from his chair and bids Lina good night. "We'll catch with them in the morning. Until then--may your dreams be kind. Perhaps of Alaïs, mmm?"
And then he withdraws to go check on Vodnykel, whom he is keen to offer an apple.
Signy is content to stay and continue doing what she's doing until either their fey friends or Meneas tires of it and breaks up the party.
Meneas nods gravely. "Thank you for your help, friends. We'll see you again." He looks to Signy, signaling that he's ready to return to meet up with their companions once more.
Their next lead acquired Signy and Meneas head back to Limen to rest with the intention of speaking with their friends and allies in the morning.
Lina can feel her cheeks growing ever so slightly warm as Brental makes his final sally before parting for the evening, and her inner voice murmurs almost subconsciously, though with bemused appreciation, about interfering druids and their good intentions and such. His heart seems to be mostly in the right place, as far as she can tell. Loosening up a bit, but perhaps still needing a bit of cheering up and encouragement to consistently see the better side of things and people.
Before turning in for the evening, in anticipation of what Meneas and Signy might have to report, the witch considers the possibilities for spells to prepare in the morning. Probably something closer to her usual selection: charms to bolster friends and imprecations and illusions to bedevil foes.
Signy is no equestrian so her scouting foray with Meneas leaves her tired and sore. She's grateful for a long night sleep in a soft bed. The next morning-ish, or brunch-ish, or maybe noonish if one is a pedant, Signy finds the concerned parties and relates the information from Tyg and Peri.
"So... It's seems to me like we better go find this druid and her satyr buddy soon. This queen that the giant raven serves doesn't have any trouble making werewolves, or who knows what else next. It's going to be a lot more trouble in the long run to fix what she breaks again and again than it will be to stop her breaking things in the first place."
Brental listens to Signy and Meneas' report, his face deadly serious in contemplation. A failed goddess, once consort, and future queen who had significant dealings with the Eldest. And that line: "All kingdoms she will turn to dust!"...
Brental had mentioned it to the others when he met with Porphyra and Daggold, but he hadn't put too much stock in the rumor. Still, he repeats it now.
"When I met with the friends I still have in the Green Faith at the last Moot of Ages, I heard rumors that some fey have been conspiring to rip these lands from the Material Plane and deliver them to the First World. Brother Salazar, may he rest in ash, was at the head of a movement to prevent new kingdoms like ours from being established, in order to prevent the ritual from being possible. My mentor, Porphyra, is among those who wish to instead bolster and protect us and our neighbors. I would venture that this person that Tyg and Peri referenced is part of the plane-stealing ritual. That might be the dire plight, or else there is something else happening in our lands that I am unaware of."
Brental thinks a bit on satyrs to guess on what they may expect.
He also tries to think about the name Tiressia, whether he would recognize a fellow druid by name and reputation alone.
There is plenty about Limen to keep Lina out of (or in) trouble until Signy and Meneas decide they have something to report, so she’s in no hurry to disturb them. She starts her morning with preparing what seem to be her most frequent spells so far for various bits of trouble – she really hopes she’s seen the last of small vermin for a while, or, really, vermin of any size – and spends some time thinking about where and how to start building up defense and administration structure in town (such as it is), and then the more restless of her councillors check in.
Lina decides she’ll have to visit Tyg and Peri herself soon: they’re always fun, though she’ll also have to brush up on her rhyming, probably. The additional details Brental is able to provide are enough to begin to shade in the outline of some of what they’re dealing with, and it’s certainly alarming.
“We’ll have to be very careful,” she says gravely. “Your point is well-taken, Signy, but we’ll need to find a way to set this would-be queen off-balance without directly confronting her. From what the rest of us were able to see of the giant raven at the old sycamore, it can open a perfect portal to the First World, and anything that powerful is probably capable of enough to laugh at anything we can throw at it right now, so anyone who can command it…”
She shudders. “Still, we might be able to return the favour discreetly, and stir up trouble in wherever this pretender is holed up if we can find out where that is, exactly. “
But, in the meantime, there’s another damsel in distress that needs help! From what Lina knows about chivalry and courtliness, she can’t not look into this Tiressia’s troubles. And there’s still Alaïs’ teacher Annamede to worry about, though she seems to be safe enough for now, as the witch understands it. Fortunately, no one seems to be causing Alaïs herself too much grief, but the very idea sets Lina to clench her jaw. Maybe she should invite some Gyronnans back to Limen after all, or at least some of the more … aggressive sort of Calistrian, until as much of the Shifting Lands as Lina has any say about know better than to trifle with women.
"This dryad and satyr seem like a good start, if they've run afoul of our raven's quean," Lina nods.
Though their bodies are almost always those of attractive and well-built men, much of the satyrs’ talent for seduction lies in their talent for music. With the aid of his eponymous pipes, a satyr is capable of weaving a wide variety of melodic spells designed to enchant others and bring them in line with his capricious desires.
In addition to their constant frolicking, satyrs often act as guardians of the creatures in their forest homes, and any who manage to turn the satyr’s lust to wrath are likely to find themselves facing down dangerous animals surrounding the faun. Still, while satyrs tend to value their own amusement well above the rights of others, they bear no ill will toward those they seduce. Children born from such encounters are always full-blooded satyrs, and are generally spirited away by their riotous kin soon after birth.
Brental thinks long and hard on the name of the druid Tiressia but, unfortunately, no memories spring to mind. He reasons that this is most likely because, as a dryad, she would not be able to move far from her tree and thus would be unable to confer regularly with other druids such as those of his faith.
As far as plights go... well, anything that endangers the land could qualify especially for a dryad so the options are potentially endless from undead to dragons to simple loggers.
Meneas flexes his fingers thoughtfully. "Strange." Is all he says after a time. "And troubling. What would happen to the rest of Golarion if this effort to take the lands into the First World were effective? Anyways... I think any plans we might make against this foe are premature. We simply don't know enough about her - other than the fact that she is powerful."
Shaking his head, he focuses on the matter at hand. "As Lina says, our first steps should be to deal with the two that Tyg and Peri have pointed us towards."
What she certainly hopes is an absurd vision of chunks of the landscape vanished from the planet like holes in a particularly airy sort of cheese pops briefly into Lina’s mind at Meneas’ question. Maybe something more metaphysical? Or, if more direct, involving stretching, warping, or transposition? Still, though…
“Nothing good, I imagine,” she speculates. “It would weaken planar boundaries, I’m sure, and with the Worldwound to the north, that’s more pressure that they don’t need. I wonder why, though. Just a collecting habit? I suppose it would be more efficient, in some ways, than other methods.”
It would be much easier to plan an elaborate garden if one could just snatch up an entire forest or field from a biome of interest, she supposes. It would also almost explain that lunatic fire druid’s grievance, though why he didn’t lead with an explanation rather than a flight of arrows is another matter. And, speaking (or thinking) of battles…
“It sounds like Tyg and Peri’s friends are, at least for now, mostly holding tight? It would probably be wise to prepare as best we can before getting into what we know will be a fight.”
Hmm. It’s a start. “And it would probably be an idea to sort out, or get a start on some other things before we go gadding about.”
You can use this skill to identify monsters and their special powers or vulnerabilities...A successful check allows you to remember a bit of useful information about that monster. For every 5 points by which your check result exceeds the DC, you recall another piece of useful information.
Brental agrees that the situation is dire, but that visiting a fellow local druid seems like the best course of action. "I can confer with the local flora and fauna about anything untoward that they may have noticed outside of our recent lupine problem. When we're ready, we can set out to meet Tiressia. We may also want to deal with the worg that the two of you found evidence of. But should we send word to Vlad first, before we set off?"
"I think it best we also supply ourselves with potentially useful equipment... and perhaps ask around to see if anyone else has had strange dreams or encountered the raven." Meneas says, still somewhat distracted. A kingdom in the First World would be bad. But what if it were unified? In Golarion and the First World? Or closely tied? Fascinating...
"I'll be leaving tomorrow morning to visit the Levetons and Vlad. Anyone who wants to come along is welcome."
"They've a wider stock of goods than we do in Limen, at least for now. If we're going to purchase things, we should send word ahead and they might be able to get ahold of them." Meneas muses.
Brental considers whether to come with Signy or not. They had just seen the Levetons, and then come back to unrest in Limen. "It is likely best if I stay here and attend to the spiritual needs of our people here, especially if we're preparing to go on another excursion. I can do some reconnaissance in the meantime."
Lina's tremendously excited: she's heard and read stories about dryads before, but since she grew up a bit of a river rat, she's never actually met one or had much call to look into more realistic accounts of what they're like. There have been times that she thought she would rather like to be one - what with the whole beautiful, maiden tree-spirit angle - even at the expense of mobility, but if anything, that's less helpful for practical purposes.
"I think I should also stay here," she says carefully, as the plans are being finalized, "and we could meet you on the way? We might ride along the riverbank, I think. I would love to join you - and please give my sympathies to Vlad and my regards to the Oleg and Svetlana - but I think I could do more good here, in terms of making it less likely that something like this happens again."
After all, the others know Vlad much better than she does, and it's not hard to tell that Lina's still a bit wary of throwing herself into another social situation after the most recent debacle.
She thinks she might be able to find a suitable place to break ground for a new militia/guard building before she and Brental have to get going, apart from being available for other business, and just maybe she'll have time to think of a suitable floral offering for a dryad to show they come in peace.
"It's fine. There's no reason for anyone else to come unless you have a reason of your own to. It'll be a quick trip, up there tomorrow and back the next day. If you can wait until the day after that, I'll go looking for the druid with you"
Meneas flexes his fingers thoughtfully. "I might want to pick some things up at Oleg's." He says finally. "I'm not in charge of the law in the village, anyways. Kesten has that mostly under control."
Brental nods. "Well then, we might as well give the happy couple a note to expect you. Not that it will give him too much time to order anything special not already in stock, but it will help them to be ready. It's good when friends know that you're stopping by instead of simply showing up unannounced."
Brental draws out some paper and ink to lie on the table while he goes out to the window and begins whistling a simple melody that grows increasingly complex in pitch and rhythm. The druid pulls out a small handful of insects from a pounch on his left belt and holds out his hand as he waits for his new--or possibly already well-known--friend responds to the call.
In the morning Meneas and Signy depart for Oleg's trading post while the others stay behind to attend matters at home.
The trek in slow, what with major roads not yet having been constructed but the pair of adventurers know it well and as they plod along the sounds of birds cheerfully chirping in the treetops and squirrels dashing about fill them with a sense of calm...
Several hours in the weather begins to turn cold misty, a deep fog rolls in and soon the two can barely see the path before them.
-----
Meanwhile back in Limen Brental and Lina are going about their daily business when they come upon a small crowd of villagers seemingly gathered around a pulpit upon which a congenial looking man with a dark black beard and round stomach sermons them. His garb is posh and the large feather atop his head seems particularly over-the top but of greater concern are the man's venomous words as he smiles insidiously at the gather townsfolk.
-of the gross negligence of these supposed 'heroes' who purport to be the lords and guardians of this burgeoning town! Every chance they get they will leave to go off on some 'adventure' or other and leave you all susceptible to monster attacks... or bandits... or even worse. Is that any way for a lord to act? Don't you people deserve better?" The man preaches.
"I think they're blood heroes! They saved the town from that werewolf didn't they? Stopped my inn from burning to the ground!" Retorts the familiar voice of the owner and proprietor of the Martyred Manticore red cheeked and hands on her hips in stern indignation at the words of the man on the pulpit.
"And where were they when the werewolf arrived? Hmm? The way I hear it the whole band took off to have a party and left you helpless to defend yourselves from such a ferocious beast. Where were their 'heroics' when Marion needed them hmm? What about poor Billy? So they stopped the beast after they let it go about killing your loved ones for a few days? So what? Too little too late I say!"
The man scoffs as Agatha turns a progressively more intense shade of red. "And where is the wolf now? The way I hear it the fools plan to just let him go! Release him to start his killing spree anew! And tell me Agatha, who was it who set your beloved tavern alight in the first place? I think we all know the answer deep down inside... Is this the kind of 'protection' you want? You deserve? Protection that comes too late and only solves problems it created in the first place?"
Brental listens to this exchange between the stranger and Agatha for longer than is probably necessary. He gives Lina a sidelong glance and then clears his throat, stepping forward and letting his hood down.
"Are you quite done with your slander, stranger?" he says. "Visitors are welcome to Limen, but I find it curious that one whose face I have not glimpsed before purports to know so much but gets so little right."
The druid catches Agatha's eye and smiles at her with a nod of thanks for her defense. "We founded this town and invited each of our residents to join us, which they have done of their own accord. You dare utter the names of our dead citizens, whom you never met, while we are about the work of laying them to rest. You claim that we leave at every chance, and yet here we are to witness such a lie. And when we do leave, you imply that we leave the town defenseless. Another lie, or shall we call on Warden Garess and the town guard to discuss how helpless the town is?"
Before the posh man can interject, Brental continues on unabated. "And if you mean to imply that leaders should not travel, then I question what you are doing here? By your dress you seem to be a person of some importance, and yet you appear to have left your charges, whomever they may be, supposedly 'susceptible'. You talk out of both sides of your mouth."
If at any point, the man begins to interrupt Brental, the druid taps Vodnykel's hide and the mastodon unleashes a trumpeting peal to drown him out until Brental can continue. "And as for the man, for he is no longer a werewolf, he is under careful watch right now and is not free. You insist on criticism with lies and bluster yet have nothing constructive to offer in return."
Brental turns to Lina. After their most recent talk, he isn't sure whether she wants to try her hand at speaking with the people, but he is also quite confident that she doesn't want to live this liar down either. He ends his retort and looks again at Lina for her to offer her own response.
The next day starts off promisingly, with Lina confident that she’s found a suitable spot for a barracks for the militia, or guard, or whatever they want to call it. Something to aid the concentration and projection of force, as may be required to keep Limen safe.
She’s far from the most observant person at the best of times, but even she can notice a crowd and a soapboxer, especially if the latter is wearing an interesting hat. It gets her wondering if some sort of feathered headband might suit her: her tastes in headgear run characteristically delicate and borderline impractical, barring magical enhancement.
Lina’s sartorial musings are interrupted as she and Brental get close enough that the content of the stranger’s harangue starts to register, and she stops to listen while the man continues to dig himself deeper. It’s almost impressive, and she’s grateful that her friendly druid is here to intervene.
“Brental is quite right,” the witch says, turning too to acknowledge Agatha’s loyal defense with a nod before drawing herself up to her full height. “Who are you, sir?”
Her inflection makes it clear that she’s not using the title as a term of respect. “Consider the size of even a modest settlement such as this, and the fields beyond. While we’re bandying questions, suppose, though such a circumstance beggars belief, you were in state chambers: how quickly could you race from within to where the road leads out of town, to where the flocks pasture? How many werewolves have you subdued in close quarters with no mess and no more killing? How many cured?”
As she gathers her thoughts – wondering when would be appropriate to remind everyone that a truth-telling spell was in effect at the trial – she remarks, “It is easy to speak without knowledge, though I prefer to avoid it. So, on a related note – though I hope my friend will excuse me in demurring as to your consequence – I repeat, who are you?”
Lina tries to place this obnoxious stranger. Galtan rabble-rouser? Bit out of the way, but one of those weird Kalistocrats? Some more traditional, god-crazed fanatic? Or just some random lunatic? She vaguely regrets that her wanderings have fostered in her more familiarity with the broad fellowship of travellers than any specific cultures beyond that of her native people.
Meneas sighs grimly. "This is ill-omened." He says softly to Signy, gripping the hilt of his sword. He turns his hooded gaze back and forth, casting his mind back to the weather patterns of the previous few days. Did someone plan this, or...?
Signy keeps her head forward, trying to act casual, as she passes on what she hears in a low voice.
"And the fog isn't even the worst part of it. Multiple, sounds like dogs or wolves, all around us and pacing our movement. The horses know it too and don't like it one bit."
"Keep your eyes peeled for a defensible location. If we see one, might be good to stop there, dismount, and prepare."
Anticipating trouble in the every near future, Signy casts Bless Meneas and herself.