About Tindómiel ItarillëMELDENYA TINTALLË TINDÓMIEL ITARILLË * * * CR 1:
XP 400 Female elf arcanist (Eldritch Font) 1 LG Medium humanoid (elf) Init +1; Senses low-light vision, Perception +1 -------------------- DEFENSE -------------------- AC 11, touch 11, flat-footed 10 (+1 Dex) hp 8 (1d6+2) Fort +1, Ref +1, Will +1 Immune light-based blindness and dazzle -------------------- OFFENSE -------------------- Speed 30 ft. Melee dagger –1 (1d4–1/19–20) Ranged Special Attacks consume spells, font of power Elf Spell-Like Abilities (CL 1st; concentration +8) . . at will—light Arcanist Spells Prepared (CL 1st; concentration +8) . . 1st (4/5/day)—magic missile . . 0 (at will)—detect magic, mage hand, prestidigitation, read magic -------------------- STATISTICS -------------------- Str 8, Dex 12, Con 12, Int 20, Wis 8, Cha 13 Base Atk +0; CMB –1; CMD 10 Feats Skill Focus (heal) Traits Natural-Born Leader[UCA], Riftwarden Orphan[WotRPG] Skills Heal +3, Knowledge (arcana, geography, planes) +9, Profession (librarian) +3, Spellcraft +9, Use Magic Device +5 Languages Celestial, Common, Draconic, Elven, Gnome, Orc, Sylvan SQ arcane reservoir (2/4 points), arcanist exploits (quick study), lightbringer[ARG], weapon familiarity Combat Gear scroll of gust of wind, scroll of hold portal; Other Gear dagger, Appearance:
Tindómiel wears her straight, blue-black hair long, except for a severely-cropped fringe of bangs. Her expressive ears peek out of this curtain of hair, perking up when Tindómiel is excited, focused, or happy, twitching when she panics, and drooping when she feels depressed or disappointing. She has naturally olive skin, but has gone somewhat wan due to how little sun she gets. Her large, violet eyes sparkle with light; sometimes the raspberry glow of her dweomer, sometimes the piercing glint of the stars. Her Seeker's Spiral birthmark appears on her left thigh, but is almost always covered by her robes.
These are plain, modestly cut, mauve-colored wool, well-suited to the northern climes of Avistan. Tindómiel cinches a wide sash the same color as her eyes around her waist. From it hang three practical leather pouches containing her spell components, her money, and her books, papers, and other supplies. Each is assiduously organized so that Tindómiel can get what she needs quickly and without fuss. She also keeps a dagger on her left hip. Her soft moccasins and wool cloak are both a dark sapphire blue; the cloak is clasped with a red beryl brooch emblazoned with the Seeker's Spiral in silver. Tindómiel hangs her bow and quiver over her shoulder. Background:
* * * Nerosyan, 4660 AR * * *
Tindómiel lay on her belly in emya's study, absorbed in a treatise on how the conjunctions of the Moon and planets affected the strength of the wardstones. She hummed quietly as she read, using a cantrip she'd recently mastered to turn the pages. Around her, were heaped haphazard piles of books. Eventually they would all have to be re-shelved; Tindómiel had worked out a system, based on genre, author, and date, and pasted it to the bottom of the top shelf. But she'd already polished atya's telescope, washed the dishes, oiled the horns, tuned the harpsichord, and felt she deserved a break. Her parents weren't due back until after sunset. Or maybe they were early! Tindómiel had no idea why they would knock at the door instead of walking right in—or teleporting, as they sometimes did—but the sharp rapping from down the hall couldn't be anything else. She scrambled to get at least a few of the books off the floor, shoving them into the shelves with hands and magic and with no regard for her system. Finally the study looked somewhat presentable and Tindómiel felt comfortable going to the door. She peeped through the peephole like she'd been taught, even though she had to stand on her toes to do it. To her surprise, she found not emya or atya, but a young, nervous-looking human she had never seen before. "Excuse me," he said, glancing down at his sleeve. Tindómiel could see a small square of paper protruding from the cuff. "May I speak to Miss Tintallë?" Tindómiel unlocked the door immediately. "Come in," she said, and waved the stranger into the sitting room. He took the armchair, but pushed the footstool away and motioned for Tindómiel to sit on it, facing him. She did, but he didn't say anything. Instead, he pulled out a pipe, shredded the paper, packed it into the bowl with some tobacco, and began to smoke. He coughed almost immediately. "How in blasted Avernus the Molthunis can stand smoking paper …" Tindómiel's eyes widened at the oath. "I'm sorry," the stranger said. "It's just I know how personal that name is, so I did my best to make sure I wouldn't learn it, and I thought I was really clever about destroying it. … I'm rambling. Let me start over. My name is Alden. I knew your parents, Silmion and Samendel." "I know," said Tindómiel. Who else would have told him her secret name? Especially without giving him theirs? And there was something strange about the way he was talking, too. "Call me Tindómiel." "Alright, Tindómiel," said Alden, taking another pull on his pipe. He made a face, but it seemed to calm him down. "How much do you know about your parents' work?" "A little," she admitted. Why was he testing her like this? She was determined not to disappoint Alden, though, so she continued. "They keep demons from coming through and hurting people. It's very important. Sometimes they have to leave me alone for a while, and they don't say where they're going." "Beyond the wardstones," said Alden. Tindómiel gasped. "Mapping and closing outlying rifts. I really admired them." He sighed. "They were supposed to be back at Kenabres two days ago. We tried contacting them, and searching with magic, but there was nothing. I'm sorry." Tindómiel stared dumbly at Alden, a stew of emotions roiling in the pit of her stomach. He had to be lying. How dare he!? He must know she'd found him out, why else would he be looking at her in such fear? She looked down; she'd lifted up off the footstool, and her whole body was glowing with a rich, rosy light. What did that mean? Tindómiel was scared. She wanted atya to tell her everything would be alright—but that would never happen again. A white light flashed from behind her eyes and Tindómiel heard two pops followed by a crashing thunk, then she flopped to the floor, completely spent. When she came to, the first thing Tindómiel saw was the overturned armchair. It looked like one of the back legs had collapsed under it. She crawled around and spotted Alden lying still on his back, angry red marks on his chest and abdomen and blood pooling around the back of his head. Tindómiel began to panic, panting fast, shallow breaths. She felt the blood. It was warm and slightly sticky, but it hadn't hardened. She couldn't have been out too long. She crawled over to Alden, staining her frock in the pool, and shook his shoulders. "No, no, no, no …" Outside, she heard the tromp of boots and the clatter of armor. "Hold," came a voice. "I shall call if I need you." The door swung open and Tindómiel looked up. In strode a woman clad head to toe in gleaming armor, a blue tassel hanging from her helmet, a red cape from her shoulders, a sword from her belt, and a shield from her arm. As soon as the Queen of Mendev saw Tindómiel and Alden on the ground, she dropped her shield and knelt next to the wounded man. Tindómiel thanked her stars she was already on her knees. "Tell me what happened, my child," said the Queen. She took off a gauntlet and gently felt the back of Alden's head. "I—I don't know, Your Majesty." Tindómiel gulped back guilty tears. "He told me … something, and I couldn't bear it. I got really mad, and started floating, and there was a bright light—" "We could see it from the Cathedral," the Queen replied calmly. Tindómiel glanced at the window. From this angle she could see the majestic white spire of the nearby Cruciform Cathedral. She didn't need to see the serried ranks of crusaders waiting outside her door; she knew they were there, and the image alone gave her pause. Tindómiel looked back at the Queen. She'd placed her gauntleted hand on Alden's heart now, and both hands pulsed with soft, golden light. "Bring my shield," she commanded. Tindómiel did, and helped the Queen roll Alden onto it. "Does this mean he'll be alright?" "Yes, my child. But he will need to rest. Will you help me take him back to the Cathedral?" "Yes, Your Majesty." Tindómiel had to scrabble and strain to lift her end of the shield, but she managed. She paused, however, before the door. "Am I in trouble?" "No," said the Queen, turning to look fully at Tindómiel. "It was an accident. You have a rare and precious gift, and I believe you can tame it through focus and study." There was an edge to her words, but Tindómiel could tell it wasn't directed at her. It was like the Queen had something to prove. "Will you help?" "As much as I can." The Queen smiled beatifically. "If I read the signs right, though, your friend can help you more. Do you want to be there when he wakes up?" Tindómiel nodded. "And say I'm sorry." The Queen gave her an approving look. "Does that mean I can stay at the Cathedral?" "For as long as you like." * * * Nerosyan, 4682 AR * * *
Alden ran a hand through his thinning hair. "We've been down this road before, Morrow. You're just not putting enough oomph into it." "But all the books say power comes from the stance!" recited Tindómiel. "I know I have that. I measured." "Do you think maybe you've just reached your limit?" said Alden delicately. She had. The possibility scared her. "It's just … I want to be just like Queen Galfrey. How can I do that if I can't fight?" "I should be offended," chuckled Alden, "but you should have a role model even if it's not me." He crossed his arms. "Tell me why you want to be like her." Tindómiel's ears twitched. "That's easy! She's kind, and wise, and giving …" Alden raised an eyebrow. Of course he knew there was more. "And she's been around for as long as I can remember and isn't going anywhere," she said in a small voice. "I see," said Alden, just as softly. He looked down at his yellow-stained fingertips for a moment, then fixed his eyes on Tindómiel again. "And what, pray tell, did any of that have to do with swordplay?" "Well? How else do you protect people?" "However you can. Think of it like a problem to be solved." He reached down, picked up a bit of loose straw from the ground, and handed it to Tindómiel. "There is your problem," he said, pointing to the training dummy. "Solve it." Tindómiel looked down at the stalk. It drooped in her hand. Surely Alden did not mean for her to stab the dummy with it. She pulled a leather-bound book halfway from a pouch at her side, and looked hesitantly at Alden. He kept his face impassive, so she finished pulling it out and started leafing through the pages. It wasn't long before she found what she was looking for. She muttered the instructions a few times to make sure she'd remember them, then put the book away, grasped the ends of the straw in both hands, and snapped it in half twice. On the second snap, her eyes flashed and the twine holding the dummy together snapped. "Very good," laughed Alden. "Now put it back together or Esmé will have my hide." Tindómiel immediately scrambled to pick up sheaves of straw, bundling them under her arm before they blew away. "I'll help," Alden reminded her, and set to work. "Speaking of Esmé," he said, "the priest told us the sex of the baby today." "Ooh, congratulations!" Tindómiel somehow managed to clap a few times without dropping any straw. "Can you tell me?" Alden nodded. "It's a girl. As such … we want you for godmother." Tindómiel's ears twitched. "I'm honored, thank you. … But are you sure? In a little while she'll be older than me—" Alden held up his hand. "That just means you'll be very good friends. And you won't leave her." Tindómiel's eyes widened at her words being thrown back at her. "We're sure." Tindómiel clapped her hands again and did a little skip. "Yes, yes, yes—oh! Did you pick a name?" "It's Lylina." * * * Nerosyan, 4709 AR * * *
"Amen," muttered Tindómiel and Lylina, along with the rest of the congregation. "He would have been glad you came," whispered Tindómiel as people around them picked up their coats to leave. "I know," said Lylina. "Thank you for insisting. How did he go?" "Nodules in his lungs. They couldn't do anything." Lylina snorted. "Always with that damned pipe." Tindómiel looked critically at her friend. "That wasn't why you left, though, was it?" "No." She folded her hands in her lap. "He gave up being a Riftwarden for you." "For you too." It was pointless to deny that Tindómiel had come before her friend. That was just how the world had decided to order things. But Alden hadn't really settled down until he met Esmé and they'd started a family. "Whatever. But you know how important it is. I couldn't just let it go." Tindómiel nodded. "I know people give their lives for it." She sighed. "Does that mean you'll be going back to Kenabres after the funeral?" "I'm gonna leave Mendev for a while, actually." Tindómiel looked crestfallen. "Not forever. I just don't wanna get stuck in a rut. And the River Kingdoms and Galt might have things worth bringing back." "Just be careful?" "For you, ainemya." Lylina laughed wetly, and they hugged. "The Blackwing's gonna be looking for my replacement," said Lylina when they let go. "Do you wanna go to Kenabres when this is over? I know how much you like libraries. Maybe make a few new friends?" Tindómiel glanced at the casket. "Can I think about it?" Apart from … everything else, she knew Lylina had to lay low sometimes during the city's sporadic witchhunts. "Don't be like that. Besides," teased Lylina. "Terendelev lives there, so you'll still have a hero to worship." Tindómiel blushed. "Fine, I'll go!" |
|
