The boy looks to Samen for a silent word of advice, his tongue catching in wonderment at a nightmare almost past.
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"Tis true our price is but a little thing for such as you. We strive to be most generous in our terms, however fixed our price. As he has said. Return fair Lumi’s brother. Give us back our natural forms. And bring no further harm nor mischief to our lives. From this you’ll call us generous folk, and we shall say to all who ask that Phocce’s word is true."
Seeing an advantage, Birne grips his brother’s hand harder and finds his voice. "No harm this day, as you have said, oh lonely Puck. Our treasure’s worth a dozen toys within your crowded chest."
The boy grips the bauble tightly as fear, hatred, and hope flash across his face. He looks at Samen for strength. I always disobey. And then I go back in the box.
The boy takes Samen’s hand in his own, steeling himself. "Present yourself, whom some folk call a prince and old wolves call Phocce. We’ve dreams to trade for flesh and blood."
The doll becomes a boy and reaches into his bag. "I'd like a honeycomb for Monsieur de Gateau." He wishdraws a waxen mustache comb filled with the golden liquor of a giant whisky bee. "I doubt that this'll do the trick."
Shock. Anger. Disillusionment. Birne stands, unsure of what to say. "My gaoler sits before me. Made a doll to ease her pain." He seeks shelter in Samen’s shadow.
Birne sits beside her, but remains a bit wary. "Tis true. His cages trap with glamers that may leave you feeling free. For many moons I sat within his manse, a puppet clothed in dreadful finery." Birne describes his escape, conceding that even that may have been intended by the Rabbit Prince as just an extension of the leash. "If not for your sweet granddaughter, milady Lumi, who now sleeps. She kept me out of Robin’s grasp. And now my brother here, the younger but for Puck’s perverted curse." He pauses. "I trust the child still lives. Capricious though he is, the prince does not dispose of any toy. Could finding one mean saving both from their ill fates?"
"Good gosh, madame. They're rescuers who freed me from the Rabbit Prince. I bring you news: The child yet lives. Alas, another's caught in sleep's embrace whom you most surely love."
The boy goes to the door and knocks. "Madame! Madame!"
"Tis truly sweet to see her Nana's home at last. If only our good Queen could see our kindly deeds just now." The tyrant is watching us! Have a care!
In Sylvan, Birne says, "What need have you to ‘scape, my friend!" He offers a hand. "We’re sworn to Lumi, not the Queen nor haughty prince."
"He has no evil ogres as his kin. But reason that he may resist the rule of Klavak queen or king." The boy lightly shakes the pointy show as Samen knocks. "Hello, oh sleepy head."
Birne gazes on the snoring feet-and-blanket and softly murmurs a lullaby of roots. In his minds eye, the sleeper's memories of family branch out. Discern Next of Kin, Will DC 17: You can scan the thoughts of one individual and learn the names and locations of the target’s living relatives, as well as the attitude of the target toward those relatives (and vice versa). You learn about one relative per round you concentrate on the target. For example, you might learn the target’s father’s name, that the father lives on a nearby farm, and that the target and his father don’t get along. Since this spell reads the target’s mind, you can learn only what the target knows or believes.
Birne tends to his brother and then his other companions as he muses, "The shorter path may take us swift unto our doom. Fair wager, though, to reach our Miss post-haste."
Caught up in visions, the boy screams as the astral storm rips at his flesh.
Birne moves to the edge of the pit. Looking down, he sings of summer places bereft of death and fey trickery.
"My goodness, hunger has consumed our hearty lads." Birne sings a reassuring ditty to himself. "Said the raven to the fly,
Birne says, "Perhaps another spot, Gateau. Dear brov, let’s scout ahead for better grounds to rest our heads." He gives a slight glance behind to indicate he has other plans.
Assuming Samen agrees, he uses a wand to give his stride a boost and sings a ditty for a few moments as they walk. Then, he stops singing, letting the effect linger as walks behind a tree and begins to sneak towards the stalker. The underbrush does not impede him.
The boy holds the felt Rabbit Prince doll in his hand, choking it's neck firmly while he rides his pony. Not much of a rider, he instead steers his pony with gentle song, urging her down the well trodden path.
With limited knowledge of the forest, the boy looks to Klaytal for guidance. "You've trod these shaded paths much more than I. Where shall we start our hunt?"
The boy rubs his face into the ermine ruff of his luxuriant new jacket and fingers its cobalt blue suede. "‘Twas good of you to think about our comfort as we trot the forest depths, friend elf." He shudders as he imagines a world where such beautiful clothes with brutal origins are protested with the throwing of red paint. And hugs his well-blanketed pony. "I ask you, who’s a good, good pony, Roan Oak? Tis you! Tis you!"
The boy rattles off a brain teaser just slow enough to understand, yet too fast to truly parse. "Good sir, I gift you sage advice, as favorite of our future queen. If you should seek to rise within the ranks of... the Klavakian... you'll follow orders yet to 'scape your lord commander's lips. Tis folly to expect your prince to know what future holds. I bid you, fancy this: An hour from now, the prince will hear his love was safe an hour in the past — but thanks to your obedience, her most unwelcome fate was sealed."
The boy calls from his pony, "Good sirs, we've cause to hurry toward our mission's end. The fowl is liable to fly the coop if we should wait a moment more. Would Prince Ruhtin look kindly 'pon obedience if it resulted in his love's demise? I daresay he'd demote us all, or separate our limbs toward all the compass points."
"I they’re short folk from the north. How strange. She seems to be at peace. I say let’s find her ere we tell the prince. He’s always quick to shout when satisfaction is delayed."
"Ah, yes, a gem that sparkles like milady’s teeth. Enough to seal a pact: your aid, your memory, and never speak of this. Agreed?"
The boy’s smile gleams. "Monsieur, of course you’re right. I have but little coin but let us see...." He makes a show of looking through his coin purse.
"My guardian — this solemn fellow who’s called Monsieur de Einbetten — has offers you shall find most fair. If you would scry upon our lass and share the memory with me."
"You could have sought my help. My songs do loose the lips of even stubborn men. Ah well. We’re done with him. I hope you didn’t leave a mess for our new friends."
"For me, I'm glad the scaredy cat's become a lion true." The boy switches back to the common tongue, winking at the elf. "Dear brother, what's the news? Have you some clues or just the cloying taste of sweet revenge?"
Sylvan:
"Oh, lamb, if you but knew. It wasn't trust and niceties that made me what I am. Tis simply this: A tod, he knows a vixen from a hound." The boy gives Gate a playful poke in the ribs with the wand. "Tis but a lark, Gateau. We speak of your great manliness. Our envy at your mass of chesty hair."
Sylvan @ Klaytal: "The fox, he waits until the time is right to make his presence known. I’d give the wily kit his due. For we’re not hounds, friend. Nor is Monsieur Einbetten."
"Ah, no, Gateau. Friend Gorgo’s now the guard. He’ll bounce but this good lad and his most kindly ma and pa’ll run the show." The boy winks reassuringly at his new friend. "What name would you prefer we use?"
"The Prince will want to know we’ve found some leads upon our next return. I know a soul whom we may trust to scary upon our future queen."
His friends know he doesn’t trust the queen or prince with the knowledge of Lumi’s whereabouts.
The doll becomes the boy, who throws an arm around the “thief”. "Oh little warrior, your family’s free. The inn is yours. But tell me, what dramas did these ruffians enact within these walls?" He looks Samen in the eye, continuing. "And how did they insert themselves into your life?"
He pulls out the healing wand and begins healing his comrades and himself.
"Gorgo, you've got a funny name and mirthful goo-gah-loo-gah-loh." The doll attempts to provoke laughter in the unintentionally gentle giant.
He gives Henrietta a kindly kick as he moves out into the hall.
The doll boy peaks out the window. "Ah, there's my swarthy little brother, come to join the fun. Make haste, o fellow Einbetten." He sings of murder at the end of a quickling's knife, leaving foes shaken and friends hastened.
The boy reappears and gives the little perve a pained wink. "‘Tis not my favored fancy, but I applaud your verve." He sings of a princely egg who, after being shattered in battle, was reassembled by his vassals.
"Have you an yen for gold, or favor from a royal prince?"
The boy blinks back into sight and cackles in blood foam laughter before disappearing again.
The arrows find purchase, causing the boy to erupt in a contralto shriek. He disappears from mundane view.
"You know the man called Samen just as well as I. The boy was one to look (and look, and look some more) before he leapt. That said, the lad I knew would not have traveled through that maze — not once, nor twice or more, as has the man. Let's wait before we press this lovely inn anon for drink and clues."
The boy leans against the wall. "He’ll come. He often takes his time to make a leap. And if it wasn’t so, he’d be a boy like me right now, if not a teddy bear." He taps his toe. And taps. And taps...
"If you should whisper 'Tuulenvire', the breeze will guide you down. Or maybe bluster if you’ve air that’s hot within your mouth." Birne gives a sly smirk toward Gate before he leaps, whispering the name.
Birne the boy, he sings. Of sailors miraculously saved from a storm by nixies. Of caravans who found the oasis to be much closer than imagined.
"Oh goody gosh, a scarf to set my lovers' (and my haters') hearts afire!" Abandoning his jaded barbs for a moment, the boy throws the scarf around his neck like a boa. "Well met, milady Hesperance. Here stands your fated match, Gateau!'
"I must confess, to call me Jack seems wrong. Would you perhaps employ my former given name? I'll go by Birne, if you please." The boy known as Jack and Birne and something else picks up the wand and taps it on his brow.
With a little cantrip, he attempts to open the chest from afar.
The boy laughs and mimics Gate's puffery. "Methinks, Gateau, you think this song was penned for you. But no, twas writ for me, you see?" He loosens the laces on his shirt, puffing out his skinny chest as he turns his thigh outward like a popinjay. He sings up a spell, scanning the chest for magicks.
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