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To Halcyon: ”The Gardens are open to be seen. Your guess on when he'll grace us with his appearance is as shoddy as mine, little flower. He maintain this room every day for a decade until these past two weeks. When he does return, he won’t be fond of my upkeep, that much is certain.” The druid prunes a couple leaves from the floating hedge. He takes a step back, looking at it with almost glumly.
Adhmad walks past Vincent and Halcyon, hands together by his back.
To Halcyon: ”Monsieur Gardinier, the elf begins, plucking at the shrub, “last in on the twenty-eighth. His plants show, they count on me to keep them tame. Isn’t that right?” He appears to speak to the plants. His mouth curls into a smile in the room’s silence, filled only with the babbling stream. The elf rises to his feet, looking to the new guests. He stands almost a foot above either Vincent or Halcyon, and is robes cause his shape to seem larger than it likely is.
“Adhmad Iochloro. Head Caretaker of the Gardens. Are you expecting to see Luc?” He brings his hand to his chin. “'Expecting.' Wrong word." He bridges the gap, taking strides towards Halcyon. He doesn't seem to notice, or at least act on, her blindness. "Do you know him personally, little flower?” It is clear he addresses Halcyon, almost clearer than the fact Vincent is irked by the druid calling her what he did. Both men still their tongue, awaiting Halcyon’s response.
To Halcyon: , see page for known info.
The room is small compared to the others. No more than thirty by thirty feet. The space is more intimate, and without a clear theme that the others present. One of the walls spews a blanket of water, a thin waterfall, trickling streams over rounded, softened rocks. Grass stretches across most surfaces, spotted with flowers and the occasional speckled toadstool. Three benches form of stone slabs each point at various focal points. One at a vibrant, blooming tree with white petal dancing in the breeze, one at the waterfall and the dancing streams, and another facing a strange hedge, a floating cube of leaves without any grounding to the earth. Another man is in the room, an elf, pruning a hedge by hand. He has long, straight, dark hair, and a crown of golden laurels wrapping his head. He wears a white robe that flows over the grass, with a brown cloak over it. He has a brass symbol on his neck, an assortment of leaf shaped carving that seems to form a face. He doesn't turn to Halcyon, Mako and Vincent. “Welcome to the Gardens, is it your first time?”
To Gill:
Adhmad contemplates your words, silently looking around the room for a minute after your plea ends. He examines your books, fiddles with small vials, checks the condition of any plant present. He crosses his arms as he takes a seat by the table.. “Very well.” He once again marks your map of the sewers, this time in a spot between the Coliseum and the Crater. “There is a small chapel beneath here. One I maintain for the followers of The Green.” He takes the holy symbol off, placing it on the table. “Wear this and you’ll be welcomed. I have a sermon each morning at seven. Don’t come tomorrow, Doctor, give this matter thought.” The druid rises, placing his hood over his head, examining you with dark eyes. “I won’t be responsible for your death, little flower. When you come, come prepared.”
To Gill: ”Your discretion is appreciated. Your research was more extensive than I thought, and I thank you for the concern. Young Priscilla is but a seedling, though she spreads her roots in a domain that is not hers. The Green has a way of reclaiming what it once had, and I am a vessel for it.” Adhmad pauses, contemplating Gill’s words. “Had you different expectations for this matter? You seem as though you believe this task is yours to finish.”
For Gill: The half-elf smiles lightly as you avoid certain topics. “Your words dance like falling leaves swaying in the wind. It seems you came to the same conclusion as I. Speak its name, Doctor, names unspeakable have greater power. ” He walks up to the parchment, taking a pen and marking the map. “Two here,” he says solemnly, marking to a spot near the heart of the city, “and one by the Guard Headquarters. I suspect there to be only a single Fungal Queen. I’ve encountered her already, she calls herself Priscilla, she is quite young. Redeemable.” “But that is my task, little flow- Dr. Sanz. The Green has tasked me with this. Now, as a matter for your services. I imagine we should keep this quiet? Not a stir, correct?” The druid takes out a sizable purse, placing the jingling bag on the table. “Should this happen again, I believe this should cover the expenses. It seems you are quite capable.” He unties a string, revealing a bit over a hundred platinum gold coins. “I take it you want more answers than coin though.”
Sanz:
A bit after the ratfolk are released, a half elf man appears in your infirmary. He appears modestly dressed in a brown robe, though wears the same necklace as Maeral. A small vine wraps around his neck, forming the “chain” of the necklace, and a crown of golden flowers hang over his ears, shimmering beneath his hood.
“You are the one The Green tasked with cleansing those poor boys? You have nature’s thanks. What do you call yourself, little flower?” Sanz: , see his page for results. |
