5:17 Shadow of the Hammer.

 The morning was new enough that the air had not swelled up to its full heat or humidity.  The sun played coyly with the tops of the trees, peeking at birds, cattle, and people alike as though it were a child playing tag.  

The abbot, a salt-and-pepper haired Human man of sixty odd years, spent a few contemplative moments gazing at the eastern skyline, then walked over to his heavy wooden desk and sat down.  He rustled through the copies of laws, legal suits, notes, and personal letters that waited there, and upon not finding any written correspondence from the object of his thoughts, reached for the small hand bell at the far corner of his desk.  A few moments later, a young man wearing a freshly pressed set of purple and white layman's robes stood awaiting his command.  The abbot handed over a short note with a wax seal so fresh that the other side of the paper was warm to the touch.

"Please go to the Dragon barracks, hand this to the officer of highest rank available, and don't return without an answer," the older man said in a quiet, but firm voice.

"Right away, Abbot Rigel," the young man replied, hustling out of the office.

Just as skittish as when he was but a lad, the abbot chuckled with a small smile.  Squirrel-spirited, that one.  You'd think it'd wear off with age, but-

A priest turned into the office and gave a small bow of respect to the elder clergyman.  "Abbot Rigel, I've received a messenger from the docks with two more letters from the priests who were brought to Urmlaspyr from the Isles."  The priest briefly looked back down the hallway at the still air that the young man left behind him.  "If Sylus continues moving at that pace, he may beat the messenger back to the docks, actually."  The moment of contemplation passed, the priest righted himself and stepped all the way into the sparsely furnished office to hand over the correspondence that he held in his hands.  "Anyway, this one is from Brother Marius and this from Brother Arel.  Both mention Father Iona, but the man himself has put no word to paper."

The priest's suspicious tone, just hardly masked, brought a slight frown to the abbot's face.  "Did either of them mention that his eyes had been burned out?" he asked.  "Father Iona has been studious about communicating his progress up to this point; I find myself hoping that the descriptions I've read so far from the other brothers and fathers have been exaggerations."

"Brother Arel mentions that his eyes were 'changed' rather offhandedly, but because Brother Marius attempted to help the alchemist who was aboard the woman captain's ship to heal him, he delivers a much more comprehensive description of the problem than anyone else has so far," the priest replied, as he gave the abbot the two page letter in his right hand.  "He starts the description in the second paragraph on the reverse of the first page."

The older clergyman obediently flipped the first page over in his slender, amber skinned hands and looked over the writing there.  "Ah, this is quite detailed... and the damage is worse than the others imagined.  Marius states his belief that Iona will be permanently and totally blind as clearly as possible without inking those exact words- he might as well have done, but... of course, such blindness precludes Iona writing anything to anyone, without a trustworthy scribe."  Rigel took a few moments to quickly send his eyes over the words of both letters.  "Still no mention of what 'ill news' separated him from the brethren, however.  Hobson has, in my place, done an admirable job of 'preventing loose talk' about whatever personal scandal may have arisen; no one else seems to have any idea what Iona's intentions were or are since leaving Marsember."

"Father Hobson's own ideas perhaps err on the side of hope," the priest mentioned slowly.  "There is now, I understand, a persistent rumour of the judgement of Tyr falling on the temple of Lathander in Marsember.  Whether or not Tyr's judgement was indeed there pronounced, Marsember was Father Iona's home, and his family is a prosperous, well-connected one.  He could be courting the attentions of a few high class patrons looking for a man of letters and legal proficiency to serve their estate.  The rough business of bringing law to the lawless here seemed... insufficient for him; isn't that why you sent him on pilgramage in the first place?  The temptation to return to a life of relative ease could be great."

The abbot could only hum softly.  " 'Relative ease'," he echoed as he looked over Brother Marius's letter again.  His mind, far from actually being invested in the words written there, flitted briefly over the hours of confessions from Iona about the life that he'd left behind.  "Let me be plain with you, Nataniye.  I sent Iona on his current journey with the idea that he may prove himself worthy of becoming a knight of holy judgement, even at his early stage of development within the order and faith.  He is not on a vacation; once his trials and tasks are completed, I expect his return."

The priest moved to one of the two simple chairs in the office and seated himself.  "In that case, I feel that I ought to speak plainly about Father Iona's having taken brethren to the Pirate Isles in the first place.  You did not send him there, did you?"

"No, but I-" Rigel looked up from the letter and, noticing the priest's tense posture in the chair, quieted himself.  Setting Marius's letter to the side of his desk, he sat down in the chair there.  With a sigh, he said, "Before you wind yourself up, know that I had many concerns myself, and so much as recalled the entire group here because of them.  I thought myself in the right of the matter, until I received a very grateful letter from the new adherents to the teachings of Tyr on Paldir.  There was a small town there- who knew it was possible, in that place?- but it had been looted, burned, and sewn with salt by several groups of treasure hunters all working together.  As it was written to me by more than one of his companions, and even the man himself, Father Iona daily preached to the people, and nightly prayed for their deliverance.  The hearts of a ship full of mercenaries were so turned by his words and orisons, that they relocated the people of the town to a place that they built, complete with a small temple and mission to Tyr.  They trained up some men in simple arms, so that they would not be completely defenseless against invaders, and then left.  Iona left from them soon after the mercenaries did, possibly in response to my demand, and this- people's missive, if I can find it here- includes a request for him to be resent to them, to serve as the priest, chief lawmaker, and judge of the town." 

The abbot tumbled a few papers on his desk and handed over a page that was full of writing on both sides.  Nataniye accepted the letter, looked at it for a long time, then frowned as he laid it back on the desk.

"Any vaguely moral person would stand out like a lighthouse in a fog of sin that dense," he argued.

"That is true, and that argument crossed my mind as well," Rigel admitted with a slow tilt of his head.  "But I wonder, brother, when was the last time you ever heard fog ask a lighthouse to pierce it.  Further, I have two other such letters, from places to which I did send Iona, if you'd like to see them.  So I cannot in good conscience call such requests 'uncommon'."

Nataniye sat in motionless silence for a few moments, then reclaimed the letter that he'd placed on Rigel's desk and looked at it again.  As he studied its content, Sylus did in fact poke his head into the office with a quiet knock on the opened heavy wooden door.

"Enter, son," Rigel said welcomingly, turning his attentions to the young man.

"It seems like there's a lot of goings back and forth, Abbot," Sylus smirked.  "I caught up with one messenger who said he'd just come from the docks, and as we were talking and going, a second asked us the way here.  She was new, it looked like.  I told her, and came here with her, after the other messenger promised to take your missive to the highest ranked officer as you asked, but as soon as she could see the place, she handed me this and turned back.  If I'd known her name, I'd have called her more earnestly, but I worried about what others might think of my going on calling, 'Oi, girl!', or 'Hullo, miss!'."

"She probably thought herself just in leaving whatever it is in your capable hands, although she's accidentally cheated herself," Rigel noted with a gentle laugh.  "It's not common for monasteries, temples, or any other centers of healing or worship to give messengers any coin for their footwork.  So, likely she hustled off to get a better paying run before the others snap them all up.  Try, 'Excuse me, young lady!' next time, or- better yet- simply learn the child's name.  Now, the friend that you put my missive in care of, you're certain he'll do as I asked?"

"Yes," Sylus said with a touch of sheepishness.  "I wasn't quite sure that I should let it go, but he promised me he'd go straight to the commander without delay.  I told him I hadn't any coin, and he told me that because I was doing the girl a solid, he would do me one.  So, I gave him the missive."

The abbot laughed again, a bit more gustily.  "Well!  My, it's been a while since I've heard that kind of talk- 'doing someone a solid.'  However, in my experience in this wilderland, 'solids' are taken quite seriously; I will content myself to believe that my will shall be done."

"I hope so," Sylus sighed.  "Here- this is the message the new girl had.  It seems to have been unsealed and resealed, though."

"Curious, but I hear there have been some strange goings on in Suzail of late," Rigel answered.  He took the letter that the young man handed him, turned it over a few times in his hands, and noted the same stress marks on the edges of the wax seal, the same extra creases in the paper, and the same scratch marks on the paper from whoever-it-was trying to carefully pop the wax up without breaking it or taking it all the way off.  After quite a while of noting these and other small clues of tampering, he opened the letter and began to read it.

"Oh, interesting," he mused after nearly an entire minute of silence had gone by.  "This is the long awaited correspondance from Father Iona, but it's penned by his sister-in-law, one Missus Susanna Chelois Raibeart.  According to this, he went home primarily in hopes that a proper healer in the capitol would be better able to attend to him than some woe-be-gone alchemist serving a woman captain, but even after visiting with some of the best healers in the country, he still can perceive the world and those around him only as 'shadowed figures on a moonless night'."

"He's prettying up a grim matter with that description," Nataniye frowned simply.  "The fact is that Brother Marius is right; Father Iona is blind."

"His sister wrote this, remember," Abbott Rigel reminded gently.  "The gossip between orders and temples about the Chauntea acolyte who ran away from the order because it was discovered that she'd gotten pregnant was quite true, and this is that same wayward acolyte, trained to write as gently and beautifully as any other lady of letters who would have been expected to write psalms to the goddess.  Iona likely stated the matter as plainly as you did, and his caring sister-in-law guilded it up so that the terrible misfortune sounds like an unlooked-for blessing.  It seems, anyhow, that Iona is aware that the rest of the brothers have left Marsember already, and since he neither wants to travel alone nor does he have anyone near him who can easily travel, he has asked for someone to come and guide him wherever I wish him to go from there.  Well, Sylus, get running; the missive that I sent was intended for Marsember, but it should go to Suzail instead.  Hurry, and you'll know for yourself whether your friend did as you asked him or not.  Be sure to tell him, swear to him by Tyr's left hand, that I sent you to change the course of the missive, so that he does not feel that you followed him only to check whether or not he acted honestly.  And Father Nataniye, prepare yourself; I will send you to guide Father Iona to Halfhap."

"Halfhap!" the priest sitting before the abbot exclaimed at once.  "If anything were there but a garrison!"

"A garrison, and the energies and influences of Tempus the Foehammer," Rigel argued, "and what better weapon could Tyr have against the Foehammer than the Firehammer?  You will ensure that Iona has all the guidance and counsel he needs, since that is what Tyr has planted in your heart to do for him.  If it were not so, surely you would be at your own prayers, instead of complaining of his possible intentions to me."

5:6 Undue process.

In the middle of the late Kythorn afternoon, while any passer by could look and see, a team of three Purple Dragons systematically tossed things to each other to dump into a burlap sack.  The commanding officer had set himself up near the front house door, which was level with the street, and was taking note of each confiscated item in a small evidence notebook.  The second officer was indiscriminately picking up every small vial he could lay hands on, whether it had been labeled as part of Bliss's Blessings or not.  He called out descriptions, then tossed each item to the third officer, who caught them either with his hands, or sometimes simply by raising the bag enough for whatever it was to fly in on its own.  Since the third officer was at the kitchen entrance, sometimes the thrown items fell short of his reach, went too far and smashed against the kitchen wall, or didn't clear the corner between the sitting room and the kitchen.  The people who would have wanted to purchase the items were told by the commanding officer that anyone who had made purchases from the illegal front room shop could be seized for aiding and abetting it.  Of course, no one admitted to anything but curiosity.

It had been a morning close to normal.  Breakfast had been easily acquired in the market and prepared in the kitchen- bread with a bit of fruit and cheese.  Susanna prepared the last of some tea that Mi'ishaen had sent a few days before, repeating the Tiefling's admonition that if they didn't use it up by the end of the tenday, it wouldn't taste right.  There followed a brief conversation on ripening, molding, fermentation, and general food waste in which Iordyn and Iona discovered they had little to contribute.  Iona found the topic boring, but Iordyn was surprised at how knowledgeable the children were about such matters.  After all, none of them were farmers or brewers, or in any danger of being apprenticed to any such folk.  When all were finished dining, the dishes were cleared quickly by Susanna, Sarai, and Salone, and Sarai smilingly left to attend her apprenticeship as soon as they were cleaned.  Stephen, Saul, and Sylvester all headed down to the shop.  Iordyn aided Iona up the stairs to the shrine room, while Valeria waited for him at the bottom of the staircase. 

Valeria was, in fact, the first herald to the coming of the Purple Dragons, jumping and barking shrilly while they were still so far up the street that Iordyn, who came downstairs at once to see what the matter was, did not believe that they were coming to the Raibeart house.

The three soldiers barged in as soon as the door was opened to them, pushing their way past the astonished Susanna to take their places and get about their work, with almost no explanation at all.  Salone, in contrast, walked into the sitting room and sat on the floor next to the low table, with the price list for the items on the floor by her side as though she still intended to sell them.

"C'mon, sweetie," the second officer cooed after a few minutes had gone by.  "No telling why you're here, but why don't you at least go sit with Mummie while we get this stuff sorted?" 

"You are Jealousy's hands," Salone replied simply.  "Everyone will pay for this waste twice over."

"Lona, please go to the shrine room and see if your uncle needs anything," Susanna said worriedly.  Something about the way her youngest child had just spoken made her heart beat so hard that she thought she might faint.

"I can't help him," Salone replied, turning the same stoic gaze upon her mother.  She shifted not a single inch, and Susanna got the sudden impression that her youngest child could possibly be possessed.

"You ought to mind your mother, girl," the commanding officer reproved, looking up from his notebook with a frown that would have better befitted a blood relative.  "That fresh mouth wants the back of your father's hand."

"Please don't threaten her, ser," Susanna breathed, tentatively reaching out a hand for something upon which to steady herself.  "You don't know-"

"Do you think she'll find an apprenticeship, or a husband, if you don't take her in hand?" the commanding officer scoffed.  "You're setting yourself up to have an aldermaiden, Lady Raibeart; mark my words.  Bad enough she's mixed up in- whatever this outfit is."

Sly, who was down in the shop with his brother and father when the Dragons made their brash appearance, had tried to quickly forge some merchant papers, since he'd seen enough of them at his apprenticeship.  Saul caught him at it, however, and snatched his work to hurriedly shove down into the water barrel.  He checked his little brother's scribbling every few minutes after that, just to ensure he wouldn't keep trying again, and Sly resigned himself to the fact that he wouldn't get away with the attempt after four more ruined sets of papers. 

At the same time as the young pair of brothers were having their hushed disagreement, Iordyn went downstairs with Valeria, and found Stephen already ensconced in an icy silence.  His questions went unanswered, and his statements passed without comment, so he decided to do his best to be an obstacle to whatever destructive intention Stephen may suddenly have.  Rather like Saul occasionally checked the work of Sly's tricky fingers to ensure that it had nothing to do with trade or commerce, Iordyn kept finding Stephen just one more thing to do, one more method to demonstrate. Valeria, charged up with nervous energy, was constantly under Stephen and Saul's feet as they tried to continue working.  All commands to sit were obeyed for about five seconds, and then discarded in favour of anxious tail chasing and circling the shop. 

Stephen was at war within himself, fighting valiantly against the all consuming cold at the center of his chest.  Everything Iordyn said to him sounded as though it were being garbled through rushing water; he could hold on to no meaning in any of it.  He kept moving through repairs mechanically, absently, carefully trying to hold on to some scrap of normalcy until he could safely come back to himself.  Working through the instinct to rage upstairs and tear something- anything, and possibly everything- apart felt like pushing into a wintery wind filled with razor sharp snow.

Iona listened to the confiscation process from the solitude of the shrine room.  At first, he had been surprised, because he had not believed that the confirmation of the tip that the Dragons had received would result in the ransacking of his eldest brother's sitting room.  He thought of going downstairs to mediate, but was hit by a pang of embarrassment so strong that he had to sit back down.  Wouldn't the soldiers recognize him as the one who confirmed their information?  In the end, wouldn't it be he that Stephen had to thank for this incursion?  And he would know, of course, that Iona's intentions were not as pure and lawful as others might believe.  With grinding teeth, Iona prayed to Tyr once again for a justification of his mind, annoyed that he seemed no further along the path to freedom from his bitterness than he had been when his confessor had sat him down for a series of long talks.


And the sun took its time gazing upon the various spectacles from shifting vantage points in the sky.  Morning wore slowly into afternoon.


"Can't you simply make a report of the products without smashing them all to bits?" Susanna asked for the third time.  "Also, some of those things aren't even-"

"Look, Lady Raibeart, I hate to make you cry, especially now, when the baby's taken hold of your wits, but this's got to be done," the commanding officer replied, again looking up from his notes.  "Now, it's only the evil we're taking, alright?  Everything that's yours is in its place.  Come on now, be peaceful, and we'll be out of your house faster."  He crossed the sitting room toward her, drawing the stone cold gaze of Salone.

"Lona, please," Susanna began, not certain what her youngest daughter could do.  Oh, Mother Chauntea, if she chooses this moment to turn to witchery-

"I can't help," Lona repeated, just as distant as her father had ever sounded.  The little girl looked down at her hands, for some reason, and Susanna suddenly noticed that the hearthfire that she herself had lit that morning was out.  Her head swam again, and her eyes welled up and burned with tears that could not decide on their purpose.

"You're right about the baby brain," one of the other soldiers noted as he turned one small bottle of vibrant green fluid in his hand.  "It's fierce; terrible stuff.  My wife was a mess this Greengrass; couldn't put a pot on the stove but for scorching it.  I repent me of making fun of her handling of her daughter; she probably can barely make heads or tails of anything this moment.  Nevermind the child; mice take advantage when the cat's sick abed."  He shook the bottle a few times, then tossed it to the third soldier.

"True enough; true," the third soldier noted as he caught the bottle.  He pulled the cork stopper out and sniffed it.  "Oh, this one's pretty smelling.  A shame."  But with no remorse about him at all, he shoved the stopper back into the bottle and tossed it into the sack.  The tinkling of shattering glass made Susanna wince.

"I'm telling you, not all of the things in there are to be sold; that was from the midwife, for me!  Can't you at least return to the apothecary the things that are hers?" Susanna argued desperately.  "If you destroy all her work, she won't have any for the College to even test-"

"My lady, the apothecary would be arrested immediately, if we could lay hands on her," the commanding officer soothed as he tossed his notebook to the second soldier and took Susanna by both elbows.  He gently began stepping the pregnant woman back toward the kitchen.  "That is, unless I already have hands on her."

There was an incredible clang from downstairs, followed by a series of insistent hollers, to which only Susanna and Salone paid any heed.

"Oh no," Susanna breathed.  Salone simply nodded once at her mother, as though affirming something good, which further agitated the mother.

"You probably don't," the third officer sighed as he looked at the bottom of the sack he held.  "I've always heard tell of Lady Raibeart to be a former priestess what'll read and figure for anyone who asks her, but not once heard of her being a witch or an alchemist.  It's someone taken advantage of her state, I'd bet my life.  Ought to be ashamed, the cretin."

"Wait, wait, wait-!" cried Iordyn from somewhere between the shop and the sitting room.  But Stephen, who had heard that a guard had hands on his beloved wife, could hear nothing else.  The smithy charged into the room, passed his stoic youngest daughter, and served the second guard, who was closest to the smithy stairwell, a clean right hook before anyone had time to process the fact that he was there.  The guard's head snapped sharply to his right, and he crumpled ungraciously to the floor, just barely avoiding hitting his head on the stone wall.

"Stevie, no!" Susanna cried, trying her best to wrest herself away from the commanding officer to try to get to her wrathful husband.  She couldn't do so, but her alarmed voice alone was enough.  Stephen stopped, blinked, and rubbed the knuckles of his right hand with the fingers of his left, as though the punch had hurt him.  Absolutely everyone, even Salone, knew better.

The commanding officer unhanded Susanna to step toward Stephen, but Iordyn stepped around the low table where the rest of the alchemics were and physically got between the two.  "I also am a Purple Dragon, and by that seal, I ask you to reveal to me your rank."

The commanding officer started for a moment, then replied, "I am Oversword Gregris.  It's... unusual, to say the least, that you, a blade, would call upon the seal and then claim to be asking my rank.  It's... been no secret that some kind of... infirmity of mind had settled here, for one reason or another.  I was commanded to remove all trace of the illegal shop from this place, and to arrest the alchemist.  I have no designs to charge or arrest anyone else- well, I hadn't, until one of my subordinates got knocked clean out by the commissioned blacksmith."

"I beg you think it over," Iordyn sighed wearily.  "This poor man's zeal for his woman is as famous, I think, as his excellent craftsmanship.  Lady Susanna is highly blessed among women in intelligence, courage, and beauty; would you not act the same, if you had such a prize, and heard of her in any form of danger?"

Gregris chuckled quietly, but genuinely.  "Well, that's Garimond's apprentice if ever I heard him.  But remember, boy, Garimond has rank, and you don't."

"I have an effective right hand that says you will neither take hold of my wife nor call the very well grown man Blade Iordyn Valiere Raibeart 'boy' in my presence again," Stephen rumbled.  "The infirmity of mind is all mine, and it will direct me, presently, to make it so neither you, nor anyone with you, are found for many, many weeks.  And when you are, it will be because someone will have recognized some stray burned piece of you.  By the time that happens, old age would have shackled me before you could; think that over."

"How far House Raibeart has fallen," Gregris scoffed.  "Your grandfather and father were both war heroes, and here you are, the pair of you, devolved into slick-talking thugs and murderers."

"And can you say that your grandmother and mother would recognize you, ser, as you threaten me and throw my sitting room into disarray?" Susanna cut in, her words laced with an icy fury dangerously close to Stephen's.  "As you scorn both myself and my youngest daughter?  Praise be to every god that my eldest is tending her apprenticeship far from here.  You have so little respect for those of my kind that only the solid hand of one of yours could put brakes to the rampage in this house.  As unlawful as this little store may be, abuse of force is likewise unlawful.  Papa Raibeart defended this house and me from you just now, and anyone in court would render the same verdict."

Gregris inclined his head as a sort of acknowledgement of Susanna's points.  "I ask you again, dear my lady, from this respectable distance, without any physical pressuring whatsoever, are you the apothecary?  And if you are not, do you have knowledge of the apothecary's whereabouts?"

"I am not," Susanna breathed, made suddenly weary by the sharp drop of adrenaline.  "And whereas I know the apothecary, her current lodgings and whereabouts are unknown to me.  I do know that truly she did pay, with honest coin, the goods that went into the makings of these efficacious ointments and salves.  Now, if you sin against a talented healer by destroying her work, she may turn poisoner.  Well you know, I'm sure, that while many who work wickedness know not how to cure it, most who cure know also how to hurt.  For all our sakes, please, I pray you, put these crafts aside carefully, and let her answer for them in a proper testing.  Some of the weeds for these things were not easy to come by, and no one has so far complained of ill practice.  Please, by Mother Chauntea, I beg you, and if I do not get down on my knees to do so, it is because I am well gravid, and cannot easily arise from the floor."

"The antics you all will get up to in order to avoid getting your due," Oversword Gregoris smiled grimly.  "Each and every lotion and potion in this room will be destroyed, because it is, every drop of it, illegal.  You cannot say that no one has complained, for someone has, or we wouldn't be here.  Don't bother asking who; the person's protected from your revenge.  What you might rather do is sit quietly and let us do our work, as I told you."

"Don't talk to Lady Raibeart that way or you'll go the way of your subordinate down there," Stephen warned. 

"I could arrest you for obstruction of justice and assaulting an officer," Oversword Gregoris threatened.

"He could countersue for abuse of force, and he'd win," Iordyn reminded.  "Lady Raibeart is not the apothecary.  There's no reason to touch her.  Further, all the shop items are labeled, but you've clearly been taking everything without checking whether or not it was actually a part of the shop.  I can smell the salve that we just paid for yesterday; it had nothing to do with Bliss's Blessings and everything to do with Lady Raibeart's pain seared lower back."

Salone finally got up, in the silence that her uncle's words left, and walked over to her mother.  "Don't worry," she whispered confidentially.  "She'll come.  The old ones say so.  They think we should ask Ser Alek's daughters for help, though."

Susanna replied only by hugging Salone very tightly to herself.  She closed her eyes, but couldn't put sufficient sensible words together in her mind to pray to anyone.

Iordyn stepped back past Stephen slowly, and began picking up a few of the items on the table.  "I'll comply if you agree to take what I hand you.  I know this house; I know what's belonging to it and what's foreign.  When I'm done, you can look about and question me about anything that I've left behind.  By the crest, by my own soul, and by Lathander himself, I'll answer anything you ask me about any cream, salve, potion, or other alchemical item that I do not hand you.  Can we agree to that?"

Oversword Gregoris frowned, but nodded after a few moments.  "Can we do it without half the house standing witness?" he asked as he beckoned the third soldier closer.

"My woman and my little girl I will send out of here, but I'm not going anywhere until you get out of my house," Stephen rumbled.  "You want to look at me less, work faster."

5:15 Any port.

Neither of the moons bothered themselves to peer through the thick, dark clouds.  The Urmlaspyr streets were almost eerie in their empty silence.  Planted neatly in the Elven Quarter was a lovely stone built home that looked old enough to have been part of the rebuilding atop the embers of Urmlaspyr's first incarnation.  Mimsa climbed the small, but straight cut stone steps outside.  She looked briefly around herself first, then down at the circular brooch half hidden by her cloak.

It's irritating, not to mention painful, to have to make these little "sacrifices" every time, she thought to herself.  Jindranae must think I need to wear gloves when I sew, at this point.

Firming her lips into a thin, pale line, Mimsa unlatched the brooch and pricked her right ring finger with its point.  For a few moments, she pressed at her finger with her other hand, pushing enough blood to the small puncture to get the smooth, featureless plate of slate rock that pretended to be the door's keyhole to respond.  When she touched the blood of her finger to it, a low, soft tone sounded, as though someone had struck a deep piano note from a far off distance.  Moments later, a tall, slender, ivory skinned woman with purple robes and flowing dark hair opened the door with a smile.

"Ah, do come in, my lady," she cooed sweetly.  "I'd wondered when you might decide to pay another visit.  I'm afraid you won't care for my answers this time any more than you did last time, however."

The woman closed the door behind Mimsa and began walking away, and Mimsa wordlessly followed her to the modest sitting room.  A few servants, clad from head to toe in black, scurried to and from the kitchen with ripe fruit and dark tea to offer the ladies.  Mimsa shook her head to indicate that she didn't want anything, but the woman accepted a juicy looking plum.

"I'm still working with the information given me about the little dark quarter mascot," the woman said pleasantly.  She held her spider-boned hand out toward a comfortable chair across a low table from the one in which she clearly intended to sit.  Mimsa first drew the indicated chair closer to the table, then sat down.  "I'm afraid the disappearance date will have to be pushed back a bit, due to being unable to secure a reliable alibi."

Mimsa did her best to keep her face plain as she spoke.  "Well, time is running short for the completion of the task.  I hope you don't intend to wait around until a no-confidence vote goes through, so that you can keep my coin without having done any work for it."

The woman nodded once, but grandly, as though she were a queen.  "I do understand your concerns, good my lady.  However, quality work absolutely cannot be rushed.  Are you quite certain that you do not wish to have a piece of fruit, or tea?  I don't want to let it be said that we are short on neighborly provision here."

Mimsa's cheeks began to redden with the strain of holding her temper.  "I don't see how this can be called quality work, since no results at all can be shown for all the blood and gold that I have paid," she managed at last.  "I wonder if I shouldn't cancel the entire arrangement."

"Oh, be certain that work has been done," the woman replied.  Her smile widened until it became a sickening grin, and Mimsa lost a bit of her temper.  "Please, accompany me."

The woman rose, setting her untouched plum on the low table.  Without a word, she swept open her left hand, and a servant stepped forward to hand her a dark metal candle holder with a lit candle.  Mimsa got up and followed the woman out of the sitting room, past the kitchen, and down a narrow hallway to a small room in the back of what used to merely be a house.  The room was entirely without lamp or light of any kind, so Mimsa stood in the doorway and waited.  The woman, unabashed, walked into the center of the room and lifted the candle above her head, so that small bits of glass and metal throughout the dark space glinted in response.  Mimsa couldn't see whatever item belonged to her- or perhaps belonged in her- in the faint light, but a dull ache of loss rushed through her being as a wind might whistle through the bleached bones of a skeleton in a desert.

"Your blood and gold absolutely were not wasted, let me assure you," the woman repeated as she lowered the candle again.  "And it would be poor form for you, a noblewoman, to break a contract."

"I... I never agreed to become a lich," Mimsa whispered, feeling all the warmth drain from her face.

"Why would I want to make you a lich, my lady?" the woman laughed gently.  "No, no; if you were to make an... unfortunate decision... concerning our agreement, I have the power to find you.  No matter how you travel, the plane on which you travel, or how far in that plane you choose to travel, I would be able to quickly find you and... help you to... rethink, let's say, your default.  Of course, you gave me this power with your own hands- and even if I choose not to use it right away, there's always the court of hearsay to judge you for me.  Imagine if it ever came to public knowledge that you, a seated council member, bought the assistance of a priestess of Shar, merely to be rid of the first captain's little hedge witch wife.  Now, when you do the fair thing, which is to see the bargain through properly, every drop of your blood will be returned, in a tasteful, decorative vial.  You could certainly make your own phylactery if you so desired, but more importantly, your bond to this place- to me- would be dissolved.  You could destroy the vial and pretend that you'd never so much as spoken to me; there'd be no proof to the contrary.  Wouldn't that be nice?"

Mimsa nodded quietly.  "I look forward to it," she agreed.  "And to that end, I concede a point that you made in an earlier meeting."

"Oh?" the woman asked with a note of actual surprise.

"Yes," Mimsa breathed, deciding to get on with the matter without giving herself time to change her mind.  "You were right about my original request being unrealistic, so I'd like to recant it.  Instead, get rid of Imaraide in whatever way is most easily accessible, by this time next week."

"That... gives me much more latitude," the woman purred.  "Are you... quite certain that you'd like to be that open with your terms?"

"Quite certain," Mimsa said firmly.  "The fastest, most immediate way.  Next week, at the latest.  And I'll take the tea, just as black and bitter as it comes."

The woman blew her single candle out.  And in the all-enveloping darkness, she smiled truly, surrounded by the whispers of approval from the phylacteries that surrounded her.

5:14: Doing without the cavalry.

As she was seated at her small, square dining table, Dani gazed into the water of Diego's stone basin, where the muted images of Meridha and Hindy appeared.  Meridha was in plain clothes, with her unbound hair making a fluffy halo around her face.  Hindy, who had bound her hair back into a thick, puffy braid that morning, was curled up in Meridha's lap like a child a few years younger than she actually was.  Dani sighed sadly as she watched the soundless scene, considering the situation in which the cousins found themselves. 

"Either Meridha's advising her, telling her a story, or she's singing to her; I can't tell which without being able to hear them," she at last admitted to the man standing across from her.  "It just... seeing them this way... it reminds me that they're children."

On the other side of the table, with his clenched fists pressed onto its worn surface, Diego gave a bitter hum of understanding.

"You've done all for them but invoke parental right, which you can't," Dani said quietly, looking up from the water to gaze upon him.  "Don't be cross."

"I'm not," Diego cut in.  The moment the words left his lips, he heard his own tone, and regretted it.  "Well, I am, but not any of you."

"You won't do yourself any favours with that temper just barely under control," Dani reminded as gently as she could.  "Try to calm yourself.  Considering that you were rather blatant in both intent and action, you're lucky not to have been demoted, or stripped of the crest entirely.  Consider the mayhem that has become nearly normal as of late.  At least it seems the commanders are merely vaguely suspicious of the decisions of the one of the very few Skullwatch boys who fought his way up to a commanding position."

"That they're moved to harm others by vague suspicion of me is what's most irritating.  The single best performing College watch is being dismantled, and it couldn't have been at a worse time," Cimaretto replied, with the softest hint of a growl rumbling under his speaking voice.  "Reassigned to market duty, or to muck jail stalls, or replace border guards.  A pair were even shipped out to Westgate- Westgate!- without being permitted to take their personal belongings- I whisked their things all away to my own home, and surely enough, not an hour later, I was being questioned, no doubt because they intended to rifle through their things without anyone present to stop them."

Dani clamped her hands together in her lap and looked from Cimaretto down to the water in the bowl.  The phantom growl in his voice had broken her concentration, and the water showed her nothing but her own worried visage.  "It's not that I don't understand your point.  I of all people know what it is to rage against the decisions of the Dragons, when it comes to those I care about.  Westgate is... honestly like sending the poor children to the Isles themselves.  And if you were anyone else but you, I'd tell you to take whoever authorized the searching of someone's personal effects without their knowledge or consent straight to the Pillars," she frowned.  "But as it is, you must have lied to them, which any half-decent diviner will be able to suss out in open court.  You could lose your job, and dishonourably too, if anyone thinks to bring charges against you for obstructing their search."

"Their search for what?"  Diego nearly roared back.  Dani raised an eyebrow at his tone, and Diego took a deep breath before he spoke again.  "It's as though all the brass has gone thoroughly mad- first of all, there's absolutely no legal basis for them to be confiscating those officers' belongings, or to be rifling through my house!  Second, of course they would all have magic trinkets or tomes; I trained them specifically to work the evening shift on the College grounds.  Most nefarious plots are enacted at night- what sort of idiot would I be to let them go artless in an area where there are more mages of all types and skill levels per square foot than there are grains of sand in the same space of beach?"

"There's nothing to do for their idiocy but survive it," Dani said sternly.  "Your officers are likely to be no less upset than you, and thus, in need of your continued leadership by example.  Since you know where they've all gone, make the most of that blessing, and write to them."

"And allow more of my correspondence to be opened and inspected?" Diego replied with a laugh too harsh to be genuine.  He shook his head at the mere formation of Dani's rebuttal.  "There's no other way anyone would have known to specifically look for Boudica on those unmapped, winding trails.  Even old Ranclyffe couldn't have snatched that out of any of our brains."

"I'm sorry I didn't meet the woman," Dani offered, trying to put the fact that "old Ranclyffe" only had a few more years to him than she herself had.  She noticed that the tips of her fingers had become very pink, and consciously relaxed her clenched hands.  "I'm certain that even if she couldn't manage to cobble all these bits and bobs of research together to form a cohesive theory, she would at least have offered a different perspective on the one we already have."

Diego went silent for such a long while that Dani looked up from her hands to him again.  He had dropped his head down so that it hung between his shoulers, and knowing what she knew of him, Dani couldn't help but imagine him as a weary sheperding dog.  

"She's been dodging witchhunters all her life; she's unlikely to be put off helping her niece by one little scrape.  And wizards have crafty ways of hiding themselves," Diego breathed at last, looking up from the table to catch Dani staring meaningfully at him.  "Do I look so poorly?  Meridha had the same face before I left her bunk."

Dani huffed and bristled a bit, making business of smoothing her plain dress over her knees.  "Well, I imagine Meridha also told you to calm down before you left her side.  Did you suppose that the urbanized old biddy would have less to say about your obvious rage than your mountain-born pup?" Diego scoffed softly, and Dani continued.  "At any rate, the way things stand, I wonder hasn't your correspondence to the Bone College met some sort of del-"

"Ah, no; that hasn't.  I have their reply.  It's a rare soul who, knowing anything of the Bone College's history, would make themselves in any way a humbug to its business," Diego smirked as he finally leaned up from the table.  He easily fished a tightly folded bit of paper out of a purse strung over his rough leather belt.  "This was sent me by... Questioner Sabine Pritch... who says the vampire's 'court' is not easily or safely contacted, even by their Master Inquisitor.  The process- which could take up to an entire month- requires me not only to be in Urmlaspr in person, but to allow one of the students to make an offering of some of my blood to the ennobled creature."

Dani raised an eyebrow at Diego.  "The more I learn of Urmlaspyr these days, the more I believe that we should have left it a part of Sembia.  An offering of your blood- the very thought!"

Diego continued his thought as though Dani hadn't said anything.  "Rumour has it that this vampire led a few midnight attacks against the Semmites himself during the war.  I haven't heard whether he was made a lord prior to his monsterous turning or afterward- it's as though the matter makes no difference to the Urmlaspyr citizenry.  Some of the vampire's temper at my particular presence may be due to the fact that Cormyreans have not been the best of allies over his long lifetime, and especially recently.  Bear in mind that the brass did believe it right and righteous to replace the leader of the place's entire guard with one of the youngest, least experienced roadcaptains in the entire outfit- he can't have missed tell of the man's arrival to the place for that purpose."

Dani shrugged.  "We certainly spilled enough Cormite blood on that hamlet's behalf to deserve to have a say in its protection.  But, so long as that kennel of Sharran bitches keep to themselves this time, they can do as they like, experiments, slaves, and all; we have enough problems of our own."

"Unfortunately, it's possible that their problems may be our problems, especially where these recent missing persons are concerned," Diego clarified.  He strode over to one of the few windows in Dani's home and looked out as though he could see Urmlaspyr from there, then turned to look back at Dani.  "Michi spoke more than once of her suspicions that some clutch of Shadovar has managed to buy their way past our defenses.  If that's the case, what's been happening is only a symptom of what will soon be a much larger disease."

"Bless her, but that makes no sense to me," Dani said, rolling her eyes.  "We're looking, I think, for a Blighted One; I can't imagine what a priestess of Shar would be doing warding ancient magic texts with unknown, likely homebrewed, diseases."

"We're dealing with someone, or a bunch of someones, who deal both in curses and diseases; Sharrans are far more likely to enjoy both founts of suffering than Blighted Ones," Diego answered wearily as he walked back to the table and eased his right hand over the back of the chair next to Dani.  Both of them remembered at once that it was the chair most commonly occupied by Michi.  "Those two College boys were looking at flesh warding and other ancient magics, but it was a second notebook that gave them the same illness that struck Mitchi.  Those notes might link the magic that was being tested to its practical intent- to give us the 'why' of the matter.  Or if not that, it could at least point us toward some other research material that could make the intent of all the testing and research clearer.  If we could get at the evidence chest-"

"No!" Dani cried at once, her eyes jumping wide with alarm.  "Nevermind that you could be exposing yourself to dangerous magics or contagions, you are not putting your position and your honour in danger by stealing from evidence chests!  Imagine the circus you'd unleash, if you were to be caught, or even suspected!  The damage wouldn't limit itself to you alone; every enlisted soul from Skullwatch could find themselves the targets of vicious retalliation."

 

Diego pushed out a few gusts of air that would have been chuckles, if he could have managed to make them sound less like responses to thudding blows on his back.  "A fine opinion you have of the Purple Dragons and the Skullwatch Boys alike.  I am capable of stealth, you know."

"Absolutely not," Dani thundered, crossing her arms over her chest.  "I thank Lathander that in his mercy, he saw fit to sew a man so tightly to my daughter's heart that I cannot now bear to be rid of the unlooked for son.  I won't allow you to go playing at roguery.  If you were so good a sneak or a thief, you wouldn't make any kind of a successful guard at all, let alone a commander.  Now, come here to me.  You may sit on the floor, for once- come, let's think of cleaner ways to do this thing."

Diego's face took on a genuine smirk, and he walked over to Dani.  Dani sat back from the table and turned her chair so that she could put her hands on Diego's head.  Although he had a great deal of hair, it was soft and thin, so that it truly did feel a bit more like fur than hair.

"What we must do is get the Dragons to work as we wish them to, somehow," Dani breathed as she smoothed her hans over Diego's hair.  "Find some excuse to have them give us access to those notes."

"Open trial would force them to be produced as evidence," Diego reminded.  "But as far as the Dragons are concerned, the matter deadends at the College boundary."

"And they'd have to come to the same conclusions that we have about the source of that poor boy's lycanthropy to want to bother the War Wizards for any studies on the matter, at this point," Dani noted as she absent-mindedly began braiding Diego's hair.

Diego, who smiled genuinely at the familiar pulling on his scalp, didn't shy away from Dani's thoughtless fingers.  "That's the size of it, based on Garimond's last conversation with Michi.  It's she who brought up the possibility of the enaction of an extremely zealous expel and expunge order, and he promised not to run her in to the Alarphons for mentioning it."

"Expel and expunge orders don't wipe out all proof of a mage and their actions," Dani frowned, pausing halfway through a plait.  "If they did, there would be no telling what the order was even for."

"Yes, that's what Michi said," Diego nodded carefully, making sure not to pull his hair out of Dani's grasp.  He began speaking again once Dani returned to braiding.  "Unfortunately, now that she's gone, I don't know that Garimond is willing to send anyone else down that path."

"He's very good at shutting the gates of empty stalls, isn't he?"  Dani finished the single braid and then realized what she'd done.

"Don't take it out," Diego said, bowing forward as soon as he could to keep his head just far enough out of Dani's reach.  "My grandfather braided our hair- mine and my father's'- before we went to track anything.  He said it helped him to tell the difference between the backs of our heads and the hindquarters of a deer in the foliage, but I think he simply liked to be as close to us as his honour would allow him, in his old and rare age."

Dani sat quietly for a few moments, allowing that information to float just above her active thoughts like a mist spreading over a river.  She lightly rested her hands on Diego's shoulders.  "How shall we get Garimond back on the trail of making the proper connections?"

Diego shook his head.  "I don't know yet.  I doubt he's simply let the matter rest, as I can guarantee you the family still wants someone to prosecute for the loss of their kinsman, but what avenues of logic he's travelling at this point- I'm the last to know them."

"I suppose I can prosecute the loss of Michi," Dani frowned, folding her hands in her lap again.

Diego hummed sadly.  "Well, Michi left us notes about the writing that she was attempting to study, so as to prevent us having to come into contact with it again.  It would be more effective if the women who lost their sons brought suit against the War Wizards for negligence, since the College would then be forced to produce the notebook that caused the illness, but putting aside that it will most certainly be kept under guard when presented... getting those women to bring suit in and of itself... may be easier said than done.  All of these losses are very fresh, and while you have mettle enough to want to look the cause of your grief in the face... not everyone is made of such stuff."

"Well I'd rather that than have you digging about in the-" Dani broke her own thought process.  "Have you considered the fact that, sneaking around as you would have to do, you couldn't cast any sort of protections against whatever charm of illness the second notebook has on it?  That's another reason not to resort to thieving from evidence chests and the like."

"We might make allies of those who have greater access to the notebooks than we do," Diego mused, putting Dani's last statements out of his mind.  "I'd bet anything they're still under watch on campus somewhere.  I'm known, if not beloved, by those on College grounds; perhaps I can make a convincing case to whichever wizard has crowned themself warden."

"Are there any ranking War Wizards who feel more kindly toward you than others?" Dani asked, leaning sideways a bit to try to catch Diego's gaze.  "I know you just said you weren't beloved, but certainly there had to be someone who at least cast a smile your way."

"That's quite a low bar; most of the campus could clear it," Diego replied as he looked up into Dani's eyes.  "If you're looking for someone who would at least entertain the idea of a conversation, as opposed to someone who merely smirks at me every so often, then I'd have to say Magister Cualoth-Ra.  Doesn't run the conjuration hall, but is damn near close to doing so.  She was Michi's friend first; I just tagged along for the ride.  She has... interesting opinions... on what she believes Vici is, and in her position, she's entitled to them.  That's what most of our conversations have been about."

"Then someone did know about Skullwatch magics," Dani said, sitting back in her chair and pursing her lips.  "In her position, if I'd seen or heard of Vici, I wouldn't keep the knowledge to myself."

"She's likely to have, if for no other reason than she has few companions," Diego noted.  "I hadn't bothered her before because, frankly, some people, even other war wizards and magisters, are genuinely afraid of her.  She's the only Gith on campus, and for many, the only Gith they've ever seen."

Dani blinked and frowned, then sighed.  "Alright; we go to town on the cart that's passing, then.  Let's see what the good madam is willing to do for you as far as clearing your way toward a protected viewing of that second notebook is concerned."

5:13 On the hunt.

It was Marrowfire's opinion that the Firebirds moved on from Archendale because some of the local folk there had begun threatening to form a militia against them, but that was only one of a few different tales about the matter.  Some others had heard that various priests had begun speaking out against the Firebirds' practices, which of course, said priests knew nothing about.  Still others in the migrant group had experienced market sellers refusing to sell to them, or only making the worst of their wares available for them to purchase.  The rumours of the group's theft, destruction of property, and free lovemaking that sprung up in conversations between townsfolk were subjects for laughter amongst the Firebirds as they moved out of the town.  It was Moondew's opinion that many town wives were much more insulted by the professional lovemaking for which their husbands were sneakily paying than they were about the dewy eyed first love tumbles that the young adults were having behind their parents' backs.  But no matter how true or false one reason or another was, the result was the same- the Firebirds moved out a litle less than a month after they'd arrived.  Most people were grateful that physical altercations had at least been brief, minor, and kept to a minimum.

Led for a day and a half by a Circle of Spores- a handful of druids that were specifically focused on the location, cultivation, study, and use of fungi- the Firebirds were collectively preparing to replenish their depleted stocks of ritual and recreational plants.  Supposedly, they were in the desired area, but the different types of fungi were, for whatever reason, all more difficult to find than normal.  Clusters of three and four people spread out in the area, and the courtesan couple wound up clustered with two Firebirds who were as yet unknown to them.

"Fungi grows all over the swamp, wherever it pleases," Moondew noted to her disinterested partner as the two walked slowly.  "Well, maybe not wherever, but I didn't have to make any kind of long pilgrimage to find anything that was wanted.  Are you really looking?"

"No," Marrowfire sighed in response.  "I've no idea what I'm looking for, and if you hadn't noticed, we were nowhere near a swamp- even the middens outside that excuse for a town were drier than I'm used to."

"We're specifically looking for relshar," Moondew supplied, checking over her shoulder that the other two Firebirds in their group hadn't heard.  "It's golden brown looking, grows wider than it does tall, and has a thick cap.  Very thick; it doesn't cook down to nothing like some other mushrooms do.  And even the stems are delicious.  If you grow enough of it, then harvest, slice, and fry it, you could go without meat for the rest of your life."

"Right," Marrowfire smiled.  "You might go without meat for the rest of your life.  I'd be more than a little upset if I had to substitute a decent pheasant stew with whatever you'd make with that literal rot."

Moondew giggled girlishly.  "It's not that bad.  You can cook and season it so as to make it seem different every so often," she soothed.  "But first, we've got to search the stuff up.  The swamp was quiet.  Relshar needs a place that hasn't been ripped up by battles, or werewolves, or trolls, or-"

"Or whatever other annoying bullshittery runs about shedding blood of humans, elves, and other beasts," Marrowfire sighed.  "Hard pressed to find land like that outside your grandmother's swamp, or maybe way north, in the middle of the Hullack.  The whole of this area seems to like to go to war for fun."

One of the other two Firebirds, a young woman with radiant blonde hair that was both shorter and cleaner than was normal for most people in the migrant group, took off from the immediate area at a trotting pace.  Moondew looked after her with a frown.

"What?" Marrowfire asked immediately, more concerned about Moondew than the departing group mate.

"I don't know," Moondew admitted unhappily.  "But something's not quite right.  I mean, we're not in the forest proper, but we are close enough that we should see some kind of change in folliage, and we haven't."

Marrowfire shrugged.  "Maybe the Elves were partially right, and the outer edge has receeded." 

"I hope that's not it," Moondew said quietly.  "I also hope we're nowhere near those... Elves."

"What about us?" came the jovial voice of Deadriver himself.  Both Moondew and Marrowfire jumped in spite of themselves, and turned around to face him.  "Naw, I know you ain't just jiving about the rank and file.  Bird says you and your kin got some prickly experience with the EV; was she right?"

Moondew instantly shook her head, making some of her brown ringlets tremble, but Marrowfire crossed her arms over her chest.

"What bird?" she demanded with an edge of insult.

"Bird I saw in my mind," Deadriver replied.

There was no arguing with him, and Marrowfire knew it at once.  Anybody who could claim to get very real information from a very imaginary animal was not the kind of person to try to reason plainly with.

"How much do you know?" Marrowfire hissed, her eyes narrowing.

"Enough to not want to stroll up to their welcome mat," Deadriver admitted easily.  "You're right; this area is hella dry.  Usually, the bird flies closer to the forest, but this season, she's just circling high, miles away.  Wants a check in first, so I'm in and checking.  Seems like the blood ain't quite dry in the wound, though."

A tremor of frustration thudded through Marrowfire with her quickening heartbeat.  "What the fuck are you saying, man?  Would it kill you to, for once, just clearly say what you mean to say?"

"Whatever spirit normally guides this journey is refusing to bring the group any closer to their normal foraging grounds because there are people there that you might respond poorly to," Moondew clarified before Deadriver could even blink.  "The spirit believes it would be in everyone's best interest if you dealt with whatever negative energies you have concerning whatever it is that happened with the people before."

Marrowfire turned around to look up at Moondew with a muted anger that still stung deeply.

"Well, you asked for it to be made plain, so... now... it's plain," Moondew whispered.

Marrowfire whipped around to glare at Deadriver with the full force of her anger and embarrassment.  "Go.  Away."

Deadriver gave a small, sharp nod, then turned around and walked away without another word.

"Now you," Marrowfire said with a grim determination, "come with me."

Moondew held out a slender hand, and for a moment, Marrowfire just looked at it.

"Please?" Moondew said, just barely louder than before.

"Nevermind; we might as well sit right here," Marrowfire relented.  "I'll talk first, and then... we'll see, okay?"

"Okay," Moondew agreed, smoothing her skirts and purposefully turning around so that her back was to most of the rest of the group, who were all still uselessly searching for mushrooms in the dry, open area.

Marrowfire carefully sat next to Moondew without touching her, and produced a small flask.  She uncorked it, took a sip, then handed it to Moondew, who shook her head.  

"Fair enough.  This is my childhood, before I could even think to spell the word Urmlaspyr," Marrowfire began.  "My father was the only Strongheart in a clan of Ghostwise, you know that.  Unlike the rest of the clan, he loved to roam and hunt- kind of like we're doing now, just for actual animals instead of fucking thick-capped mushrooms, or whatever.  Anyway, he was away.  And me, I always like to follow along behind.  At a distance.  I wasn't old enough to help, but I was good enough to track where he'd gone.  Anyway, he and some others were after some big game, and I was after them, but came across this little lost Human thing.  Fucking pitiful.  Couldn't even tell if it were a girl, a boy, or anything else- almost thought it was some trickster spirit, except it was sniffling and crying.  Clearly had been lost for hours, maybe a whole day.  Can't imagine how it got away from its grown ups.  Anyway, Ghostwise don't talk.  We- they- take a vow of silence from the moment they have the sense to.  And so had I.  But when I couldn't get the thing to take dried provisions and water from me just by shaking them in its direction, well, I spoke.  Two words, to be precise, because they were the only words I could think of in Common- 'good, take.' "

Marrowfire sighed and scoffed quietly, then took another sip from her flask.  When she offered it to her partner again, Moondew took it and held it in her lap without taking a drink.

"The child took the food and water, and then refused to go away from me, so I listened to its description of where it thought it came from, and then started tracking.  It took a day and a half to get back to the camp they'd described, and when we got there, it had been destroyed.  Not by animals.  It took the other half of the day to get within sight of the Human settlement.  I didn't leave the forest, but I gave the child the rest of everything I had and pointed them straight toward what I hope was home.  Or at least somewhere safe.  But the trees have eyes, and ears, and worst of all, mouths.  When I got about an hour's walk away from home, I found that my mother had made camp and waited for me.  She handed me all my things, all packed up neatly.  My father's hammers were on top.  He wasn't with her, but he'd clearly sent them; they were always supposed to be my inheritance.  I was going to cry then, but then my mother walked the hour back with me to the Ghostwise settlement.  It had been razed to the ground, the same way the Human camp had been.  I never saw the Eldreth Veluuthra.  But it was their handiwork; their punishment for my helping a Human.  I had to leave the clan because I'd broken my vow, and that was one thing, but the fact that the whole clan was set upon because I'd helped one Human, just one little lost Human..."

Moondew shifted the flask to her right hand and reached out her left to gently brush away the silent tears that had begun falling down her beloved's cheeks.

"I don't know how many escaped the attack.  Or if they even had a chance to fight back.  That dancing ceremony we had- that was the first I've seen of them, living or dead, since I hugged my mother and walked away from her, knowing I could never come back.  That there wasn't even anything to come back to.  I was so angry.  With everything.  With the stupid vow, the Humans, the Elves, myself.  At first, I made every rookie mistake possible, trying to get myself killed by a bear or something, but.  I made it just fine.  Out of the forest.  Down the terrifying trade roads, dodging soldiers, slavers, and highway thieves that all chased me far southeast.  All the way down to the loud, ugly, smelly, hole in the ground called Urmlaspyr, which was smaller- and therefore more comfortable- than other places I could find to be.  But unfortunately, where the only valuable thing about my being this size is the fact that everything about me is small.  Or I guess the more appropriate adjective would be 'tight'.  Although I'd be lying if I didn't admit that I learned that on the way down- I can't tell you how many tavern masters and travelling merchants demanded that kind of payment for giving me a place to sleep or a lift to the next town or settlement, upon discovering that I hadn't any coin.  It took me getting caught at accidentally undercutting the professional whores that were already in the area to learn that I should be demanding coin for my 'services', though."

Moondew smiled gently.  "That I can understand.  There's a guild, in Daerlun.  I almost got myself beaten up by those women- and I think three men- until I explained that I used to live in a swamp.  One of the men told me to never tell anyone else that, and taught me how to make myself up like he did, and that was that."

Marrowfire stared at Moondew.  "A man taught you how to put on makeup?  The way he put makeup on himself?"

"Yes," Moondew nodded.  "And in return, I showed him how people without penises can aim and pee standing up.  He bet me that I couldn't, and winning that bet was actually the first bit of coin I got from someone other than my grandmother.  We laughed about it, and became good friends."

Marrowfire scooted over and leaned herself on Moondew, who wrapped one arm around her.

"You know, during that dancing time- well, right before we started dancing- my mother.  She made the signs to your spirits, and they made signs back."

"And I didn't understand a word," Moondew sighed with a touch of noticeable nostalgia.  "But whatever it was, it meant I could be with you.  That my grandmother and mother were happy, in fact, to give me to you."

"It means they're all dead, doesn't it?" Marrowfire asked in a small voice.  "Everyone in the clan that I saw.  They're all dead."

"Are we dead?" Moondew asked, tipping her head so that she could look down at her partner.  "I could see them, yes, and they could see us.  But I could also see the Firebirds, and you.  And as far as I know, we're not yet dead.  So who knows?  My mother and grandmother are dead, yes, but your clan- here's what I think.  Your mother sat and waited for you so that you could see with your eyes what had happened.  I doubt she intended to cause you pain, but instead to let you know that the attack had simply happened.  The fact that she survived it, and set up camp to wait for you, indicates to me that the rest of your people, if they were even half as strong as she, at least were able to get themselves away.  She didn't want you to come home, see it in shambles, and think that everyone was dead.  She didn't want you to run into an ambush, or perhaps other clan members who would have been angrier about your broken vow.  And now- well, at the dancing ground, I mean- she came to see you take me as your partner, with this new clan.  It's never going to be as it was with your traditions, and your ancestors, and everything, but- this is your clan now.  Our clan.  I've never even had a clan before; my grandmother barely tolerated a coven.  But, we're here.  And maybe it's not the Eldreth Veluuthra that Deadriver's guiding spirit really wants us to be careful of.  Maybe its the fact that you may see signs of the Ghostwise.  Living, or otherwise.  It might be painful, either way.  Like you said, you've always been a good tracker.  So maybe now I know that you know good and damned well what relshar is, and why you weren't really looking for any."

Marrowfire closed her eyes and snuggled tighter into Moondew's side.  "Yeah.  You know."

"We've joined the circus.  Our clan.  Together.  The first couple to dance on the same day, if we believe that old blind Dwarf."

"Dwarves have long memories," Marrowfire chuckled.  "He's probably right.  Y'know, Stronghearts are so used to being pals with Dwarves- my father's hammers are Dwarven make.  Well, he made them according to Dwarven design."  The Halfling sighed and opened her eyes again.  "How long do you think Deadriver is going to make all these people go on looking for mushrooms in dry grass?"

"How long do you need to prepare yourself to see either more Eldreth Veluuthra handiwork or Ghostwise signs in the forest?" Moondew said very gently and quietly.  "And it's not Deadriver himself.  It's whatever god or spirit he follows.  So we may as well not try to lie to it."

"Since whatever or whoever it is has a big fucking mouth," Marrowfire crabbed.  "Out here telling my business like it's okay to tell."

"I don't know that gods and spirits have the same conceptions of privacy as we mortals do," Moondew snickered.  "I know for sure that magic workers don't, or scrying, telecommunication, and message spells wouldn't exist.  Imagine someone scrying on you while you're bathing!  I've had that happen."