"...can, from time to time, get hold of more basil than moss. If that were to occur, you can safely substitute-"
"No, you can't," Moondew piped up at once.
The Firebirds had 'nested', according to the townsfolk of Archenbridge, in the shadow of a formidable looking- but completely empty- stone tower. Moondew and Marrowfire had taken up residence in an inn to better accomodate their trade, but took time in the early mornings to go and visit with the Firebirds who preferred to live outdoors. This particular morning, after Moondew's uncommon outburst, Glorysea, the grey-and-brown haired woman who had been walking in and through the circle of younger Firebirds turned her head coyly to the side. Everyone in the circle turned their attentions back to Moondew, who bit her lower lip and sat up straighter.
"I've used this as a ward and as an offering many times, my dear," Glorysea said soothingly, with her thin, but pleasant alto voice. "When I was your age, I wasn't bright enough to collect moss when I happened across it- and a lot of markets were closed to us, back then. I had to make various market-going costumes, so as to fool townsfolk into believing that I was just a harmless travelling alchemist, and not a Firebird. Through thorough research, I learned that basil will replace the moss nicely."
"It's unsafe not to know how much blood might have soaked into the soil," Moondew said, forcing herself to speak more loudly than she would have preferred. No one seemed to start as though she had yelled, but a few people who were closer to Glorysea than they were to her did have to lean forward in an effort to hear. "Moss is safe, because it won't tolerate more than the mixture actually needs. Basil will soak up every drop of blood shed anywhere near it, which will throw your mixture off, and if you use deep cave or swamp water-"
"Ah, I see the trouble," Glorysea purred sweetly, folding her hands in front of herself. "I'm told you lived in the swamp when you were younger, so you've likely come across this formula the hard way. While different practices yield different results, pain is pain all over. I'm sorry it happened, and glad you're here with us, now."
Everyone gathered made various noises of support, and the two Firebirds closest to Moondew scooted toward her on either side in order to snuggle with her. Moondew, very accustomed to being touched without being asked, permitted the contact without a second thought.
"Why don't we talk about totems?" Glorysea suggested, seeing that Moondew had nothing further to say at the moment. "Another way to protect your space is to make and charge a totem."
There were more positive noises made by the others gathered, to which Moondew paid no attention. Sneaking a hand up to her loose hair, she pulled a single mouse-brown ringlet forward far enough to get into her mouth, and thought deeply as she savored the taste of the vinegar, rose water, and olive oil that she used to wash her hair the day before. Beyond her, Glorysea's informal lecture continued, complete with a question and answer period during which Moondew was entirely silent. At some point, the two snuggly Firebirds on either side of her sat up in order to listen better to Glorysea as she continued to walk slowly around, and Moondew was left to ponder the fact that the mornings had been growing warmer and warmer since Greengrass had passed in peace.
"Little sister? Little sister. Would someone tap her for me?"
Moondew came to herself when the Firebird closest to her right side, a full-faced, dark-skinned Dwarf named Pepperfang, poked her in the shoulder.
"Ah! Welcome back!" Glorysea enthused when Moondew looked at Pepperfang with confusion. "Where did your spirit go?"
Moondew, rubbing at the spot on her shoulder, pulled her hair out of her mouth. She felt warmth rising in her cheeks, and couldn't find any words to say. In her silence, Glorysea pulled her long strap braid over her shoulder, then walked straight toward Moondew. She seated herself carefully on Moondew's left side, and wrapped her right arm around her, physically encouraging Moondew to lay her head on her shoulder with a very gentle push.
"Anything you have to say or ask, I'll listen," Glorysea encouraged, tightening and relaxing her embrace just slightly.
"I wonder," Moondew began in a whisper as she looked at Glorysea's creased and calloused bare feet, "if the ward you'd mentioned before tends to invite illness. On the person or persons that you're trying to protect yourself from."
"It can do that, yes," the woman replied warmly. "Talk up, sweetheart, so everybody can hear you."
Moondew breathed deeply as she toyed with her carefully manicured ivory fingers in her lap. She could feel the eyes of the gathering on her again. "Can it invite bad events- maybe a fight with a partner, damage to property, trouble with the larger community?"
"I've been told of that sort of thing, yes," Glorysea nodded, leaning away from Moondew slightly so that she could look down at the top of her head. "You know, you do know quite a lot about the effects of that ward, for someone who doesn't use it."
Moondew leaned away from Glorysea, who let her head and shoulder go with no contest. She dug at a large side pouch, from which she produced a leather-bound journal. It was weathered, but obviously well cared for, and the pages within had no damage further than the yellowing that time and use caused. Moondew pulled the knot in the fresh blue sash that bound the old journal shut apart, then knowledgeably and carefully turned the pages, easily happening upon a recipe that had many notes along the edges of the main text. Glorysea merely glanced at the page at first, but quickly began to truly read it. After a few moments of silent poring over the page, she gingerly moved the journal from Moondew's lap to her own in order to see the detail better.
"Is this your grimmoire?" Glorysea asked in a tone that bordered on accusatory. "Who gave this to you?"
"My grandmother," Moondew replied simply, consciously denying the sudden urge to defend herself. "She and my mother wrote most of it themselves, but the rest may have been another coven mother, or their sisters. There are there different handwritings, and even different languages. This mixture, and the spell that goes with it, both called War Water, was translated into Common from a language I've never read anywhere else in Daerlun, Sembia, or Cormyr. There it is on that page- I re-inked both versions just recently; that's why it looks so new."
Glorysea blinked her eyes rapidly, then breathed deeply as she sat up and closed the journal. "It's... someone translated it from Druidic, which is... forbidden, actually."
There were a few hums of surprise and apprehension from the gathering, which reminded both women that there were others present with them at all. Glorysea didn't outwardly react, but Moondew glanced around herself for a moment before she spoke again.
"It's... not the only one of its kind," Moondew offered quietly, unsure of whether the knowledge would be comforting or angering. "Would you like to see the others?"
"Yes," Glorysea smiled tightly, looking at Moondew with misty eyes.
Moondew re-opened the journal and turned to a spell whose ink hadn't been retouched yet. "Here- the original language is here, on the page between we have Draconic, and then here's the Common translation. It seems to be a tandem effort between my mother and whoever-"
"This is 'Hearthwailer'," Glorysea breathed, gazing down at the page. "I know it well. It says a lot of your mother to keep the Firebird name, despite how odd it must have seemed to her."
"My grandmother boiled the bones of supplicants, hunters, and innocent travellers with jasmine and rosewater, then made jewelry of them," Moondew replied. "She said it was the only thing of beauty they could have made. My mother would just grind the bones up and use them for potion reagents- she was more practical than artistic. So, probably there was a great deal about both my grandmother and my mother that seemed strange to your great aunt as well."
There were a few stray whispers heard as some Firebirds reminded others that Moondew was an unusually beautiful swamp hag. Moondew herself couldn't help but smirk at the resulting reactions, which ranged from suddenly terrified faces to searching looks to total awe or surprise.
"She didn't say anything about that," Glorysea chuckled weakly, "although I guess it would have been difficult to explain to little ones who didn't grow up where and how you did. What she did say was that someone who walked beside her for a while helped her to write it. She said she only practiced it once in her life, but like every other spell she ever knew or wrote, she made all of us learn it for memory."
"The tune my grandmother used to teach me this one was fast-paced enough, but sad-sounding," Moondew replied. "I always wondered why."
"Maybe it sounded like my great aunt felt. It's a very powerful wish spell," Glorysea said quietly as she closed the journal again. "But not all wishes come true, and hers... didn't."
Moondew lifted the journal back to her own lap, then looked back up at the woman, who suddenly looked more tired. "I can trace a copy of the translation into Common and give it to you. And I can write another note on the War Water page. One that says it can be used as protection, if you put your energy into that."
"What you call 'war water' I've always called Spikehail. And you may very well be right about it being a curse," Glorysea admitted. "The difference between protecting yourself and attacking others can sometimes be... unfortunately subtle. But Druidic is a hidden language, sweetheart. No person who isn't part of some kind of druidic order is supposed to have any ability to access it- even those who can cast a spell to decipher it can only figure it out if Nature allows it. I don't know how those two managed to get away with writing Hearthwailer down."
"I've read the notes in the margins of its page over and over, and based on them, it seems to me that the spirits of nature that your great aunt knew didn't see my grandmother or her coven sisters as separate from themselves," Moondew replied. "Both my mother and grandmother always said, 'Some walk through the mists, some with them, and some away from them. But we are the mists.' I didn't realize how serious they were, back then, but... the older I get, the more I think they didn't just protect the swamp lands. I think they also protected everything with a connection to those lands- and druids are most definitely intimately connected to any land upon which they practice. In my father's case, very intimately."
"That sounds like an interesting tale indeed," Glorysea said, amusement returning to her face. "Let's take a look at those other spells you have tomorrow morning." Glorysea reached over and patted Moondew's left hand twice, gently, then put both hands on the ground in order to get herself to her feet again.
"For now, everyone," she continued grandly, "since Moondew and I have talked a bit about complimentary organizations of practice, let's talk about the similarities and differences of a wheel of druids, a circle of mages, and a coven of witches. Bear in mind that some folks are going to call themselves other things, and that's okay. You might hear 'pack', 'family', 'college,' 'clutch,' 'court,' 'cult,' or even more drastic terms..."
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