Andrew's Songbook

[RollinsCat]

In a not-so-steady italic script.

Symphony.

Tyra has told me a little of your experiences.  Since Hlint was poisoned, or whatever it is, I have been outside the gates trying to assist in whatever way I can.  And now, I don't know if anyone has told you but my lady has taken ill with whatever it is.

I don't know what help you can offer but I am reaching out to everyone who's done anything with the Cult.  This thing they've unleashed will leave the town a quarantined graveyard, Minu among them, and it won't be the first I believe. I would do anything to prevent that.

Is there any help you know of?  You have been places and seen things, I recall some discussions from Argali's situation, and I pray you have some idea that might help.

Please let me know if you can do anything to assist, or have information or names that would further a cure.


Andrew Reid




To Andrew Reid, greetings from Jennara Creekskipper.

I hope Tyra has not exaggerated her tale and left you with misinformation and false hopes.

Since I do not know what the Cult has done, I do not know if anything I know will help. Word of what was captured outside the gate may be more helpful than anything I can offer.

My experiences against the Cult have been primarily on two fronts. The first is an attempt to gather ingredients for a cure or antidote to the modified affliction they use, and the second is the recovery of a stolen book. The latter has no bearing on the current situation in Hlint.

The former endeavor met with general success, but remember that was only to gather ingredients. I am not aware of the results of any attempts to create a proper cure or antidote. Since I do not know what has happened to the water in Hlint, I cannot say that any cure produced would be applicable to the situation.

I will attempt to discover an answer to that question.

Knight of the Wyrm Section Commander Jennara Creekskipper
Heart of the Dragon
Protector of Echo

[RollinsCat]

Minu

I was thrilled to get your letter.  To know you're alive has given me renewed hope - the event I mentioned did not go well.  I will tell you more when I see you.

I don't know if you've heard but Kuhl has declared war on any part of the world but the ones who will lick their boots.  They have marched on Hilm and are threatening the families of anyone who was at the recent Willie the Bard show to try and remove them from play; as we were not there, those little things dearest to us are safe, I believe.

The Toranites and will be marching and when they do, I will be marching with them.  In fact I am on my way to Hlint to talk to Ragrian about her Halberdiers joining the effort.  I will bring everyone with me, one way or the other.  Consider us en route.

More, love, when we are fence to fence.  Until then, a song for you; keep this to yourself, as our friend sung it recently and someone might get clever.


Love rain over me
What shall be shall be
To rise and fall with passion’s call, love rain over me
 
Stronger than steel, binding but loose
A shackle I’ll gladly wear
I’m captured and free man from what you have given
Fiercely in love with our crazy affair
 
Love keep my heart true
What we must do we do
To your hands hold and your self mold, love keep my heart true
 
A day and a decade rolled into one breath
One minute that never stopped growing
No walls will stop what we've made of this madness
Or the changes our passion is sowing

I fought it, I ran
No commitment for this man
But Lady Love don’t much like to hear no

I’m dense, yeah, it’s true
Finally, it’s you
My fear’s the only thing letting go
 
Love bridge the divide
Keep us side by side
Oceans away to you I pray, love bridge the divide...


Soon, Minuet.  


Tashe





My Dearest Tashe

My Love, I have finally received word back from Omer, on his efforts in Spellguard and wished to waste no time at all in getting in touch with you.

He has asked that if you are able to reach out to our friends, Keela, Shadowleaf, Tyra, Argali, Andrew Storold, Ferrit, and Ygraine, to meet at Moraken's tower, along with Sister Moonriver in an effort again scry the answers we are seeking to cure the illness.

I know you will do all you can to aid in this effort and pray that this letter finds you swiftly on the wings of our feathered friend.

All My Love,
Minuet

[RollinsCat]

My Dearest Tashe,

Lianna has returned, and her tales though I am sure are slightly embellished, are no less than the truth that she was attacked on her way back to deliver us our message.

She did not come baring the message we hoped for but did give us a message to give us some hope. I will not go into any further details in this letter, but in your hands are the documents to deliver to her Majesty Queen Mourning. Please be careful My Love. It is not safe, there are people watching I am sure what happens here in Hlint.

All My Love,
Minu

-------------------------------------------------------


Sealed and marked for the eyes of Queen Mourning of Trelania eyes only a letter is sent with Andrew to be given only to the Queen.

My Dear Queen Mourning,

I am imploring you to provide what information you can to enlighten us of any findings, any information found from the entity Storold Doerccha delivered, as it may currently be a vital piece of information that is needed to find the cure to the illness in Hlint.

We fight for a cure, with so little information to go on. I was there with the Protector, when he came to offer his aid, but we have not heard any more from him on what he has been able to discover of the entity or that of what the Church of Lucinda may have found.

I beg of you for your aid, for your enlightenment. These lands are my home, the home of my friends. These people are your own, if we can not find a cure, Hlint may come to an end and with it what little hope there is that we can find a cure.

In the name of My Beloved Aeridin, I pray that you will provide what assistance you can.

With Deepest Respect,
Elohanna Min A'Litae
Priestess of Aeridin
Instructor, Tower Academy of Port Hempstead




Upon reading this, Andrew heads to the gates to speak to Elly.

"Minu, love.  It seems the Protector has declined for reasons he does not elaborate on.  We can't know what is or is not a piece of whatever affects the town - I will ride for Blackford immediately to see what information they might have on the "thing" Storold captured.  However, I doubt they will release a single word of any findings to someone like me unless I come with proper credentials.  Will you provide a note, and I'll take the Protector's note, and perhaps even something from one of the head Sisters inside?"



I am sorry to say that time as a researcher is at an end. Hopefully the people at Blackford castle can inform you of their findings.
I will not be present at the meeting as things stand.

*Signed*
Storold Doesscha



Dear Protector:

My priestess has sent word for us to meet at the tower near her current location as soon as we can.  The headmaster has news.

Please join me there as soon as you can.  I am on the way.

Singer

[RollinsCat]

Andrew,

I will send an offical sealed letter to the Wolfswood Ranger Core and ask if they will meet with me to discuss if they have any available scouts, marksman and trackers to offer in the cause...

Although it has been a good number of years since I last seen him, I will travel to his treehouse in Folian's Vale and check and if he still resides there. Enzo is the retired Commander of the Wood of the Wolfwood Ranger Core and might be able to introduce us to the right leaders of the Core.

After I send a letter off to the Wolfswood Ranger Core, I will make haste for Silkwood and see if Enzo still lives there.

Do be safe my friend, and know that Elly is in our prayers and thoughts. When you travel to Hlint the next time and converse with Elly throught he gates, please let her know that Melaa really misses her "Gammie Elly" and cant wait to go blueberry picking with her again.

Leaf




My friends

I would call upon your help yet again. I have the idea to ask those of the Kitherian church for archers and scouts for that which seems inevitable.

However, they have a rather vexing lack of formal address. Would you know any place I could start - or would you be willing to pursue this? I suspect there would be some followers in Dapplegreen and the Wolfswood and I'd guess the Wolfswood Rangers would know quite a bit but I am a city boy and always will be and they can smell it on me. Or so it seems.

Come to think of it, the Wolfswood Rangers would be a good group to ask for assistance as well; we'll need a lot of scouts I'm betting.

Send me a note back if you can help or if you wish to ask some questions. I think you'd have better luck than I.

Love to Melaa and may the Muse inspire you both


Andrew

[RollinsCat]

In a neat italic script.

Paladins, Captain -

I was looking at one of the maps, and something occurred to me.  Let me preface this by saying as I do not have a large-scale military mindset, most of my suggestions will be for moving small and very targeted groups for specific strikes.  

And as such as I looked at the map, I noted that near Stormcry Hollows in Kuhl there is what looks to be a deep channel that is fed by Swarm Lake and the River Vesper, and feeds off into the Immer River that runs by Ash and ends in Mamouth Lake.

I have heard of potions that allow one to breath water, and transmutations that can do the same thing.  In addition I have suggested to the Captain that you contact the Goranite Church as they make some very nice things I'm told, and it's possible they have apparatus that might mimic that magic.

If you wanted to land a strike force deep into Kuhl, going underwater might be one way to do it.  They will have ship and boat routes watched for certain; but will they have eyes under the surface?

I am on my way to Hlint to see Minu and see how the cure is coming.  If you need me you need only send a bird that direction.  Also, you may wish to keep in touch with Shadowleaf back with the Wolfswood Rangers as he is trying to reach Captain Serim.


Andrew

[RollinsCat]

Greetings to the Paladins

I've been in Hlint to keep Minu's spirits up and we discussed something that I wonder if you've used yet.  Namely, misinformation.

I know this is not going to sit well in your Toranite hearts, but this is war after all.  I thought on this as I discussed that concert ambush a while back.  Naturally it is a concern of mine - innocents being caught up in the affairs of the stonebound - which is why I have not been public with my music lately.  But in musing it occurred to me that you can use those tactics to your advantage.

A few well-placed and carefully constructed plausible lies that would encourage the Cult to turn their eyes in a specific direction; maybe rumors of a strike-force buildup outside Sedera or Kuhl, and even troop movements in that direction, with a second set of orders to for them to set ambush and additional reinforcements to deal a fatal blow to whatever the Cult sends out. Or, to strike behind their troops and in front, leaving them running in both directions; or just to suck them out of position.

In any case, I suggest you use this tactic to your advantage.  I am certainly willing to help if you need a trustworthy voice to get things into the bloodstream of the rumor mill.  I know a lot of people who will happily repeat things like this; you can bet it will reach the right ears sooner rather than later.

Yours in the Muse and justifiable deceptions,


The Ilsarian

[RollinsCat]

Reid,

As per our agreement you have completed what I have asked of you. I know that you spoke to the Toranite Argos Stargazer. For this you have my thanks. I am already aware that what I have asked of you is no longer... viable. However anything that you were told is of great value to me.
 
I am also aware that my reputation is not what it should be, and as such you may be weary (and rightfully so) in aiding me. Matters though, have changed. This war is pulling in more factions than first anticipated. Unfortunately I am not at liberty to go into detail, but this Demi-Lich Mechidil is imperative to success in certain matters. I must know that which you do as fast as possible. Speed is of the essence here . If you do not trust that which I say, speak to Steel. He will tell you what you need to hear.

~Jay~

[RollinsCat]

Minu

I'm well, or as well as can be; I've been helping with the war effort in whatever ways I can think of, having no official capacity.

I wonder that this cure the one that Symphony told me of.  Of course I will be there and in fact your letter finds me traveling from the Breath of the Muse to Hlint so expect me within a week.  

I have been praying to Ilsare for you every day, love.  I will take this as a sign She's heard me.  I will be there soon.


Tashe




My Dearest Beloved,

Tashe, I hope this letter find you safe and out of trouble, as I know you are so good at getting yourself into it. I have had a visit of late from a mutual friend, and in his visit he has brought a renewed hope to Hlint.

He speaks of possibilities, it is not an absolute and I write to tell you My Love, that he has asked for a volunteer. I am certain he asked me because he knew I would do it, without a second thought. I do it because I know it is the right thing to do. I said yes, but with conditions.

One of them is that you must be nearby, and the other is that all information regarding his request has to be disclosed to Sister Moonriver, so that she may know what to expect.

Please forgive me for agreeing to the unknown, but My Love you know as well as I, that we can not wait much longer. We have to try everything. Please come soon Tashe as I miss your presence and the sound of your voice. I miss your arms wrapped around me and the passion of your kiss, the sweet taste of your lips.

Yours Eternally,
Minu

[RollinsCat]

Andrew knocked on the door of a stately home in Fort Vehl, breathing shallowly through his mouth to minimize the smell of rotted flesh, old blood, and chickens. The home's owner was taking his time or coming from an upstairs room; he tucked his head down to listen but the wailing of mourners nearby made it impossible.

An impression near the house caught his eye as the failing sun broke through cloud cover. A mud-cast, deep and clear, of where one of the mist creatures fell. It was death's sculpture in reverse, painted with blood faded rust red. Probably Argali's doing. He smiled but it was a lightning flash on his tired face; three of those mist monstrosities had dropped him mid-song during a battle, and the Soul Mother had heard him. He was still off-balance from that.

Even with the sobbing of the women still carrying in the air, he heard a scuff from inside and slid his hood back that his face was visible. He brushed back straight black hair that now tickled his back - must get this cut - and put it up in a queue before smoothing down his dark eyebrows and rubbing his face. It felt like someone else's hands, he was so tired. Squeezing his eyes closed, he let his thumbs linger inside the corners of his eyes, almost on the bridge of his nose, and pressed; then blew out a breath and forced himself to his full six-and-a-half feet.

Light from inside illuminated the ornate carving of the thick wood as the door was opened and a medium-height, medium-build man with hair the color of the overcast sky, loose this evening and brushing his shoulders, looked out. Andrew gave a short, fifteen-degree bow, body straight and arms at his side, and waited.

The man within returned Andrew's bow - the inclination of which as perfect as if the man had studied the rules of etiquette known to so few outside the courts of Tilmar nobility.  Whether the precise angle of the bow was accidental or purposeful, who could say?  A small smile, bordering on a smirk, tugged at the corner of the man's thin-lipped mouth.

"Welcome Master Reid - please, come in out of the ..."  He made a vague hand gesture to the vista of grief and horror outside the manor.  "... Please come in."

With a soft click, the door closed behind Andrew and his host.  The contrast between inside and out could not have been more stark.  A scent of jasmine.  The ripple of a harp somewhere nearby.  The oak paneling on the walls did its job and the world outside the door, though only a few feet away, might as well have been on the other side of the world.

"Please, take a seat ..."  Another flash of a smile. "... that's a figure of speech by the way, I'd appreciate if I could, at the end of the interview, keep my seat. It's one of my favourites.  A drink for you?  Brandy?  Wine?  Ale?  Something lighter?  Juice?"

Taking a seat in one of the plush armchairs within the front parlour room, Arkolio raised a hand and clicked his fingers - some might say arrogantly - and within moments a man bearing the dress of a butler appeared, as silent as a rogue, bearing a tray of drinks. Arkolio took a snifter of brandy.

"Thought I'd better fortify myself for the grilling that awaits."

Another flash of a smile.

"Lay on!"

Andrew smiled at the bow returned, walked in.  Took in the tone of the room without filling the air with chatter as he usually did. He was tired and his nostrils stank of the blood of those they could not save, albeit jasmine scented blood now. Sitting down was momentary bliss.

He couldn't be this tired, not here, and forced himself alert.  The suave, educated, and very dangerous man relaxing across from him was not someone he could jabber with and expect to find out anything.  And he was indebted to this man, much more deeply than if he were just paying back borrowed coin.  Nothing that generous was ever without price.  His was to justify that which he feared might tarnish the silver heart and clef around his neck.

But some things you just want, and to hell with the fee.

"Juice, is fine, thank you." He wasn't one to observe; his eyesight was bad. But he listened, closely, to the tone that Arkolio used with him, and with his servants, and to the snap of the man's fingers. His impression, gathered from the few times they'd met, is that the Lord liked being the center of attention, was used to it, but did not rely on it.  He understood that. Appreciated it, even.

"I am grateful for your time, Lord Salvorre. I have made an appointment to view the Inn as soon as the owners are able to show me the whole of it." The brandy and juice arrived, freshly pressed grape for him. He believed it was not coincidence that his favorite beverage for riding on metaphorical wagons was known to the Lord of Fort Vehl. He tipped the glass toward his benefactor in thanks, and sipped.

The harpist softens the tune from some unseen place. It gave him an idea. "At the risk of a jarring lack of segue, do you play?"

"Do I play?"

"Master Reid, there is playing and then there is playing. I am afraid I will only ever fall into that first category of playing. My fingers can find the notes, my ear can hear the notes ... but - " He made a vague hand gesture - "... I am afraid I will never be considered a player.  A long pause. "Let's say I play often enough that I know the difference between a real musician and one who can only aspire to..." A smile. "Play the notes."

He crossed his legs at the ankles, taking a sip of his brandy.

"May I be frank, Master Reid? I hope I can be frank - I am ever an advocate of direct speech."  He barely waited for an acknowledgment.

"You are here to determine if you've, as they say, sold your soul to the Pits in return for realizing your dream of building a haven for musicians and musicianship?  Is musicianship even a word?"

He smiled again.

"Regardless, I guess my question is, how can I prove to you that you haven't? What would you have me say?  Is this conversation just an exercise in soothing your conscience?  If that is what we're doing, let me know what you want to hear and I can ..." A flash of a smile again.  "... Play the notes."

The younger man leaned back in the chair.  "I suppose my conscious could use some salve, yes.  You are alternately a creature from the bottom of the Pits, or an angel straight from the bosom of heaven, depending on whom I speak to, and I begin to think you are in fact both.  A man of calculated whims, as it were.  So..."  He sipped again, looking annoyed at himself. "So I might have answered my own worries just now.  Will I buy the inn?  Yes, likely.  Will I owe you for it?  Definitely.  I guess the only question is which of your whims I'll be defending, when public relations are called for."

[RollinsCat]

A small travel journal is set near the larger songbook.  Inside are several dates and locations, and words spelled phonetically in a language not common; the notation "verb, object, subject"; and page after page of short phrases also spelled phonetically in common.  The language, when spoken, is gutteral and harsh but has an elemental beauty to it.  The same neat italic script that marks the author's handwriting during calm moments is at odds with the starkness of the words on the page.

From the phrases in the book; "[Talk well you], [dance well you], [eat want I], the author might be able to speak the language as a toddler of the native tongue.

Another date is added and additional words - the first is [purple].

[RollinsCat]

Milady Angela, Milady Alantha

I write with a request that I do not make lightly. I would like to secure your help in negotiations with the leader of the Stormcallers, the Riptide, and any subsequent actions thereafter.

As you know Cult ships approach Sedera, and four sickened dragons are laying waste to parts of the kingdom. We cannot fight ships of Cult armies as well as the dragons and the ships are still at sea. I believe the Stormcallers could sink them, or a lot of them - enough to turn the battle to our favor and let us concentrate on those dragons.

I have spoken to Hardragh about this as he is the only Mist follower I can locate. Point of fact, the Riptide was his suggestion - I was originally going to try and recruit clerics. He is willing to arrange the audience and throw in something the Riptide may be interested in as part of the cost.

I know this is a huge request, especially as I do not have the funds to prepare a proper payment for services rendered and that will definitely be demanded, and so I turn to you. I believe this is a way to strike a win in this war and keep the Cult from securing more of Dregar. I will make good on every True I end up owing you for this. Please help and let's sink that fleet to the bottom of the Sea of Fury.

Yours in a Free Lor and the Muse's Love


Andrew Reid



A letter is delivered, addressed to Andrew Reid.

Greetings beloved of the Muse,

We are intrigued by your ideas and wish to hear from you in more detail, perhaps over a cup of tea (Ally will bake soemthing)? The letter suggests you have a plan long in the making and we would like to hear your thoughts on it. Perhaps you would consider elaborating on the riptide and the stormcallers as well, and the cost you mentioned.

The letter is sealed with wax and stamped with a crest of a tiger battling its own shadow. The tiger itself is not covered in the usual kind of stripes, but with clearly visible lightning bolts.



He knocks on their door wearing his best clothes, hood off, blue-black hair longer than normal and tied back neatly. Any refreshments offered are accepted graciously and enjoyed, and he offers up small talk and a song or two while they settle.

Soon enough he begins to outline his idea. "There is some background to this. I have been wondering what we could do to sink some of those Cult ships, and I have in the past loved a lady dear to Mist, and one stormy morning when thinking of her and the approaching ships it came together. I know Mist's clerics can call down storms and thought to contact them through Hardragh, but he suggested the Riptide instead.

The Riptide is the leader of the Storm Bringers, the naval might of Mist. Most of them are privateers but they come together and are a terror on the seas if my research holds true. Better, they act as mercenaries, and so might be enticed to attack that fleet for us with proper financial inspiration. Muse what I would not give for some good old-fashioned avarice, with the kinds of things our "allies" demand of us sometimes." He blows out a breath.

"The Riptide himself, one Murray who is the Tide of the...stars and song, which was it...north? Northeast? North-something...anyway, he's a bit of a cipher and I have not been able to discover his feelings about the war. What I have learned is the church is divided - but since Mist's followers have no obligations to each other or to the Church as a structure it seems, if he is not charitably inclined toward the Cult, he's free to join the fray. But we'll pay for it, and as my funds are currently nil from spending all my time working on this war and none of it earning any True, I must come to those who plan better than I do for their financial futures."

"What I plan to do is ask Hardragh set up a meeting. Hardy is willing to throw in a shield with some historical significance to sweeten the pot while negotiating for the help of the Storm Bringers and to act as a liaison to the meeting since he's known in the church. I'll do my level best to convince Murray to bring his ships together and any of the Trade Winds who will ride with them. Assuming we come to a price and he agrees, I'll ride with them of course; can't do to put their lives on the line and not my own. I will leave the planning to him, I'm no naval commander...yet..." He smiles at them. "...and we'll do what we can do." I'd like to time this to Steel's actions, as I understand he's going to be hunting dragons soon. If he's keeping them busy we'll have a much better chance of success."

"I know this is a lot of if's and maybe's, but at this point nothing can be lost by asking. What I need from you is agreement to support the cost of the Riptide's services; and your swords and spells, if he agrees and you wish to ride along." He sits back and waits for them to think through his idea while he nibbles on refreshments, trying to do so without giving away how hungry he really is.

Angela and Alantha both listen to what Andrew has to say, then looking at each other briefly.  They speak back and forth, almost as one at times.

"We see one problem with this and that is the time you suggest this to be done."

"Unfortunately we have already pledged to help in the "dragon hunting" as you call it."

"Would you consider timing it differently, we can't be in two places at once."

"Well we could split up but we don't do that."

They speak in unison.  "Where she goes I go."

While they let Andrew consider this, Alantha goes to fetch her freshly baked and much too sweet biscuits along with some ginseng tea.  "Don't mind the biscuits, they'll be... chewable, once you add tea."  She nods knowingly while pouring a cup of tea to Andrew and Angela, then finally one for herself.

"We understand getting a solid number might be difficult, however you should be aware our credit is not unlimited and we are funding another project already."

"This does not mean we are broke but coughing up cold hard trues might be difficult if the sum becomes large."

"Perhaps we could throw in something nice and shiny?"

"Something magical yes?"

Alantha takes a sip of tea and dips a biscuit in the tea holding it there for a good minute or two before eating it.

He nods gracious thanks, dipping a biscuit into the tea repeatedly to soften it and sweeten the tea. "Timing is a issue, and as I am associated with Steel's Suicide Squad, I envy your mission. It's not required for you to be with the ships; it was only a nice idea, as I've seen what you two can do." He flashes them a white-toothed grin.

"I have no idea what the Riptide will request for his services, assuming he agrees at all, but certainly magical items would be good bargaining tools. Any...special requests he might make will fall on my shoulders alone, unless Hardragh wants to leap to my rescue on that and I won't be holding my breath that he will. But if you are willing to provide backing in some way, it's enough to get the process started. I pray we can move fast enough.

I'll be contacting Mist's friend Pallena as well; as I recall she has a way with animals and I'm going to request, bribe, dance naked, whatever she wants for intelligence on that fleet so we're not caught flat-footed by what's incoming if this whole thing gets underway."

He pauses to sip tea and gnaw on the soggy yet oddly hard biscuit, smiling at some thought, before speaking again.

"I know this came out of the blue and sounds hare-brained, although passionately so. I still believe with Ilsare's blessing and a bit of Deliar's as well, the Storm Bringers can help tip the scales. Time is critical and we may be fighting them right offshore Audira, but with the dragons being harassed at the same time - "...A weary but still engaged smile to the ladies and he uncrosses his legs and leans forward, focusing on them as if they were the only two people in the world. "Can I count on your help?"

Angela smiles sweetly and takes another sip of tea while Alantha is still gnawing on that biscuit pausing to speak now and then.

"You may count on our support."

"Yes what she said."

"We are just making sure you do not have any illusions about what we can and cannot provide."

"Yes that would be unfortunate."

"Perhaps we could meet again in hempstead, and see what we can provide for starters?"

"Just don't be too eager to show your hand."

"Will this arrangement work?"

"It will, Milady. Ilsare will make it so and I'll do my damndest as well. Thank you both...I will portal to Center and meet you in Port Hempstead as soon as you wish, and send word to Hardragh to arrange that meeting." He reaches to take both their hands, planting a grateful and courtly kiss on each if they allow it.

Later, a message is sent to Hardragh, informing him that the ladies are on board and would he please arrange the meeting. A second note is sent to the temple of Mist off Leringard's coast, requesting a meeting with Pallena.

..................

Discussions with Pallena were informative and positive - she left to query dolphins and he to the Dragons.  She had stressed one thing that left him nervous, excited, and troubled enough to sing himself over and over, using all of his training to keep himself on even keel.  But she was right.  And thinking about it...he still wanted her, help with the Riptide or not.  He wrote the letter that night.


Night Sky

I pray this message finds you, and finds you well and happy.

I will be asking the Riptide for assistance against a Cult fleet soon.

If you would be willing to stand with me, I need your help. I'm over my head with this - and yet I will try, still.

I am around Leringard some days, Hlint some days, and Mariner's Hold more and more, if you wish to speak to me about this. It will be soon.

I miss you.


Arioso

.........................

Pallena will come find Andrew, as soon as she is able. She looks tired; it's obvious she has been exerting herself for this.

"From what I hear, Murray is one of those who is pretty indifferent towards the cult. As I told you, the church as a whole is as neutral as we ever get, so that's not really surprising. You had better have some pretty" expletiveing "...good payment, or it'll be a lost cause. And you better act quick, if you want to get there in time."

She pauses, looking at him.  "I think the opposition is going to be tough. You're looking at about 24 ships, I think. At least one dragon.... and the biggest vial of poison I've ever heard of."  Her face clouds in uncharacteristic worry as she mentions the poison.

Again, pausing, looking at him with piercing eyes.  "I'll come meet the Riptide. BUT... I am going to be honest. Like I said, though I oppose the cult, I'm not sure if involvement is the best thing for the Mistral, and if asked, I will give my opinion. Having said that, you still want me there?"

"I want you there."  A pause.

"We need to remove that vial of poison.  I can guess who it's for.  That's a whole separate issue, and it could be broken open in the battle - Muse, what that would do to the seas..."  He gives her a sidelong look.  "If we have a battle going on, it might be enough distraction to let a group of stealthy druids get it and get out.  Was there any description or indication which ship carries it?"

"That should be easy enough - it will be the ship they have drachs or things swimming around. Problem is, what in the Pits are we supposed to do about it?

Say we get close enough to try and remove it from the chains... how are we supposed to stop them from just smashing the thing and releasing it into the sea? Better they use it any other way, really.

What if overcome the guard somehow, not giving them time... what could we do with the thing? Its only slightly less dangerous in anyone else's hands."

She shakes her head, angry and frustrated.  "That and half of the druids still see the cult as just another human regime, no different than any other."

She mutters imprecations.

Softly.  "There is a possible cure; I'd like to get it to the persons working on that.  I think we're going to have to try and take the whole ship.  

This is bigger than I thought and frankly it scares me.  I might have to convince Steel's group to consider this the more urgent mission.  That means the Riptide, assuming he can be bargained with, would be a distraction...which might sit better with him or might not.  But as you said, we have to move and fast.  If there is any way to verify the identity of the poison ship, that would be ideal.  I'm going to get more help."


Hardragh

Need to meet soon as possible. Set up meeting with RT ASAP.

Thanks to another of Mist's own I know what we're facing.


AWR



He goes to Raz's home.  He isn't sure he wants to - but he does.  He's going to need more help than he has, even if the Riptide agrees.  Even if he can pay the cost.

Raz is there, Mara being in town but out with Zari, when he knocks.  The slight elf is relaxed in his home and gracious as a host.  He does not draw out conversation but lays his request on the table.  

He leaves out the part about Mist and the Riptide.  He tells Raz what he thinks is coming - and about the poison.  That catches the elf's ears and they discuss ways to get it while strolling around Raz's palatial home.  He is impressed; art, sculptures, instruments.  The home is comfortable.  There is love in the expression of art, and love between sisters and by a brother captured in that art.  He likes it.

A brief respite from his thoughts, though.  They speak frankly but without rancor.  Raz will possibly back him financially and is interested in getting the poison out of the Cult's hands, and taking out the dragon.  And it didn't hurt as much as he thought it would to ask.

He sang a prayer later that night.  Maybe he could hope - a little.



Andrew,

The Riptide has agreed to grant you an audience. I dare say his mood is good, so this is as well a time as ever.

Will be awaiting you at the temple in Leringard.

Hardragh

......................

Andrew finds Steel at the Arms. He seems in a hurry, natty in his very best blue clothing. He waits until Steel is ready to speak and adjusts his tone for the man's ears only.

"I know what is coming to Sedera's shore. Twenty and change ships, one dragon, and one bloody huge vial of poison. Pretty sure I know who that is intended for.

I'm on my way to meet with Mist's Riptide, along with Hardragh and Pallena, and try to bargain for the services of the Storm Bringers to challenge the fleet. I need net throwers; Tyra is moseying along with her project and I can't hurry her nor can I be there right now to do it myself. Can you get me a few, within a week?

As for the ship with the poison vial, I'd like to take that intact while the fleet is busy, assuming the Riptide comes on board with this and I have the scratch to pay the bill - I have backers, so Ilsare willing that won't be a problem. Any magic that can be used to contain the poison would be helpful - I really, really, really do not want to poison the seas and my own magic doesn't run that way. And I need to consider more than the three of us for a team to take that ship or steal the poison away. I know I'll die in a quick hurry to the myrdrachs guarding it.

Again assuming this doesn't go to the pits I plan to turn the vial over to those working on the cure - Xora, likely."

After the rush of words, he leans back and waits for Steel to comment, humming deep in his throat and running his silver heart and clef back and forth on its chain repeatedly.

"Net throwers? You'll need launchers of some sort. But I have another option, what I've been researching to take down the dragons: a modified web spell. Honestly, for regular drachs, the normal web spell may be sufficient enough to hamper their flying, but if we may also be able to sling more powerful webs at the flyers if I have enough time and magical aid.

As for the ship carrying the poison, we'll have to board ship after ship until we find it, unless it is somehow distinguished from the others. I'm not sure we'll have the time to do that. It will be much easier to capture that on land. Of course, it may be too late by then.

What is your goal here? To take out as many Cult ships as possible? To delay the Cult ships?

Let me offer a suggestion, and consider this when you speak with the Misties. With the drachs and dragons on their side, sending in ships to attack the Cult fleet is a losing battle. Rather, consider a way to set the Cult ships off course, to delay them, and to sink them without ever engaging them directly. Send them into the storm of the century, the maelstrom of maelstroms. You'll have to convince the Misties to pray for the storm, and they'll have to convince Mist herself to create it, but that's our best bet right now, I think. With just a little more time, the dragons terrorizing Audiria will be neutralized, and the troops from Rael and Succession will converge on the city. If we don't give the Raelian or Succession troops long enough, this battle will be much harder.

Call upon the Storm, Andrew. Call upon the Storm."

..........................

Andrew meets Hardragh and Pallena at the Arms, dressed in shades of blue and humming quietly to himself. He's put up some rudimentary wards around the couch he's sitting at. He doesn't waste time with small talk and pitches his voice low.

"Steel is going to assist. After discussion and thought, I am back to my original idea - the best chance of turning the tide of this battle is to bring up a storm, a big one. The Riptide might not be able to get enough ships in place in the time we have to effect battle and it would be suicide to attack the fleet without net flingers for the lizards. If you have another idea, let me know, otherwise a storm is the tack I'll lean.

I see three major challenges; get the Riptide to commit Storm Bringers and possibly Sea Furies to the fight; identify the ship with the poison on it - Steel seems to think we can disrupt the poison, spoil it somehow before it's used, although I have no ideas on what would do that; then pray that Mist gives us one bloody huge storm. We should get word to Audira that it might want to evacuate sooner rather than later.

As for the poison, Ori or not I believe we're into scrying territory and should try to leverage it to peg that ship. We'll need to board it somehow, at the beginning of the storm or action - or in the absence of that, we're still going to need to get to it.

And that poison has to be spoiled, destroyed, or removed before an accident releases it into the sea."

He looks to Pallena. "I have not heard from the Flail. We go on, and if she gets the message and can catch up, I'll be glad. Otherwise, onward. I trust that you both know your Goddess far better than I and what is best for she and her followers. If it comes down to this is not the answer, at least we still have some time to alert the War Council, and we can still take action on that single ship. So tell me what you think, and let us come to agreement and go meet the man."

"Lady Doom is a goddess of chaos and change - I have ideas about what is best for the church, but I don't presume to know what is best for Her."  Pallena grins.

"Now, you have to understand... Mist tests her followers.  If a storm is raised, its quite possible she'll throw it at everyone - if we can't deal with the storm better than the drachs, we probably didn't deserve to win anyway, you see.  Maybe she'll test us by withholding her blessings entirely - all part of the fun of following Mist."  She smirks, and after a moment sobers.

"My real concern is that vial - assuming its the poison, of course.  I don't know if there will be any way to identify the ship from the sea or sky."  Pauses.  "I'm not sure how many others who can swim I might be able to find, but I can put the call out.  If we have means to neutralize the poison, that's got be my prioity." Her voice turns hard.  "If we kill every last Drach but that poison gets into the water we will have lost."

She pauses to let that sink in.  "Find out everything you can about the means to neutralize the poison - I won't have that thing corrupting the ocean from some botched attempt to deal with it on my concience."

"I am in complete agreement.  We can't let that vial destroy the ocean.  Steel is sufficiently convinced of it's importance that he's offered his help and I can call on Razerium as well, and perhaps others.  We will have competent help.

I'll see if I can find out how to 'spoil' the poison.  If you can have some swimmers holding off and waiting, should the ship sink and the vial remain intact - and I believe if they intended it for Longstorm, it should be well sealed as they can't predict the weather; we can obtain it that way as a last resort.

And if Mist wishes to test a follower of her friend Ilsare, I'm up for it.  The Muse knows Mist's tested me through love before..."  A slight smile, fading quickly.

Hardragh shows an amused smirk. "Sometimes you just have to roll with it.  We can stand here and guess at what the Riptide will ask, or what he can provide, but it won't change anything.  I reckon you should just get in there and improvise. Do what is necessary to get him on your side.  Tis not like more can be expected from you.  On the poison, key is to identify the ship that carries it. If we can achieve that, we're a lot further than we are right now.  And Mist'll do as she pleases. The best we can do ourselves is proof our worth in her eyes, as we always do."

"Now, I think someone is waiting to see you Andrew.  If we get that audience over and done with, I reckon you'll have a better view on what is still needed."

Pallena turns to Andrew. "Right. Who is going to be there?  Do you know many people the Riptide will have with him?  Are there others besides Hardy and me that will be coming?  If the Flail can't make it, I know another priestess or two that might be sympathetic with our position - should I contact one or more of them?"

"The Riptide said myself and two others, or that is the way I interpreted it. I think we should reach out to every Mist follower that is willing to stand with us, because we may end up having to pray for this storm on our own and my voice doesn't carry the weight yours does.

But we won't know anything until after we speak to Murray. And for the meeting, as the man says -" Nods to Hardragh "- let's keep it to just us."

Hardragh shows a slight smile, then nods.  "I agree, once everything is set into motion, we might need every help we can get. But Andrew has done more than enough in preparation for this meeting I would say, let's see what happens."

Andrew laughs and runs a thumb over his upper lip before standing.  "Hells with it.  Let's get moving.  And may Mist and the Muse be standing together, smiling down upon us."  He sings a prayer as they walk - and shifts it to sea shanties dedicated to Mist as they wait for Murray.

[RollinsCat]

Pallena shows up, clad in her normal sky-blue, practically-cut (if rather showy) leathers, and a symbol of Mist burned into the wood on the amulet around her neck.  A green scaled shield is slung across her back.

Andrew, Hardragh, and Pallena knock on a back room door three times in rapid succession before the door opens and a bald headed man with a powerful build and tattoos covering half of his head looks out and nods, motioning them all in.

Inside they find Murray seated at the far end of a table with a man known as Dougal on one side of him and an unknown Mistite to his other side.  Murray appears quite relaxed and motions them all to sit. Behind him are two Mistite priests.

The man who motioned them in slams the door shut behind them and resumes his guard post.  His body is hugely muscular and close observation reveals him to have orcish heritage within him.

Murray's face curls into a smile.

"Ahh Hardragh, still carrying that old blade around?  You know, If you ever want to sell it, I'd be very interested."

Beside him Dougal shifts almost in annoyance and his eyes flash angrily at Hardragh.  Murray seems to enjoy the mans discomfort.

"Now, I understand there is little time and there is a matter of great urgency. Not that it really matters to me, but I have agreed to meet with you and listen to what you have so say and so here we are."

He motions to Andrew to speak with an almost theatrical hand waving gesture.

Andrew studies Murray while the man speaks.  Shakes of Arkolio, a man used to power who enjoys deeply; but again, not one who needs it to be deadly.  A Tide of Mist, after all.

He stands between Pallena and Hardragh, forming a line rather than standing in front of them.  With the flourish of Murray's hand he gives a formal Huangjin bow and assumes a relaxed but square-shouldered stance, one hand gripping the other wrist casually across his torso.  A flutter of last-minute thoughts like wings of a frantic bird; he hums them away.

Sink or swim, Tashe.  Don't choke.

Pallena gives Dougal and the other figure a curt nod, and graces Murray with a nod a touch slower, a bare note of respect. She holds herself with confidence, obviously not intimidated by the presence of a luminary of the Mistral.  She smirks at Murray's banter with Hardragh, but does not speak yet.

Hardragh shows a courteous bow to Murray at his words and offers a slight smile, though whether the smile is aimed at Murray or Dougal is unclear as he locks his sight on Dougal for a moment. "Thank you again for allowing us this audience, Riptide."

At that, he shifts on his feet, turning to slightly face Andrew as the Ilsarian addresses the Riptide.

"Thank you for seeing us.  I am Andrew Reid, this is Pallena -"  He nods right "- and Hardragh you know."  His head tips left with a brief smile.  

"I have come to ask for, bargain for, your assistance with a fleet headed toward Audira.  I'd like to see that fleet sunk in a tempest enough to reshape the coast of Sedera.  I'd like the help of you and those Storm Bringers who can answer in time to ask Mist for that storm."

Murry smiles yet again at Andrews demeanor, taking time to remove a stone from a leather pouch next to his glass on the table. The stone is dark in colour with swirls of red and blue. He holds it almost reverntly in his hand and rubs a thumb gently over its surface.  "What do you have to offer for such a....spectacular display of Her power?"

Pallena turns to Andrew, obviously curious herself.

A glance then a longer look at the stone - some memory drifts over Andrew's face and his eyes lose focus before he snaps back.

"Well, that's the rub.  I tried to do some research into you, you see, to find out what the Riptide of Mist might find enticing."  A flash of a smile.  "You don't give up much for the outside world to know.  Now, Hardragh has something that might tickle your fancy...and I have access to magical items and True, if that's your bent, and we only need to decide how much of what.

However, if there is something more specific that you want..."  His voice trails a moment and he eyes the stone. "Then let's discuss it.  I'm certainly open to possibilities.

Less tangible but no less a reward is the circumstances that bring me here.  The fleet that I speak of is Green Dragon Cult, as I'm sure you know.  Should Mist favor a storm, and the fleet destroyed or atrophied, the War Council in Blackford will be forced to acknowledge Mist's contributions.  One cannot hold tight to the ideals of Toran or Vorax and not give credit where credit is due without looking to the rest of the world like hypocritical idiots.  If that becomes the case, the world will hear about it - I'll make sure of that.

If this fails for any reason, my fault or not, I assume the blame.  If it succeeds - Mist, and you and her followers, assume all the credit.  And we both know that which put enemies of your goddess in a position to thank you carries a lot of personal satisfaction, in addition to giving Lady Doom something to smile about."

A heartbeat, and a smile. "Not to mention sticking it to some of those who didn't take the opportunity to make a change."

He remains relaxed and still, humming softly to hear himself in the Resonance, as Murray responds.

Pallena mutters to Andrew.  "I did warn you I was going to be honest . . .She raises her voice to a more normal level; its unclear if she is talking to Andrew, or Murray, or just the room at large. Her tone is firm.  "Those who follow Toran or Vorax are hypocritical idiots.  We would be fools to expect them to behave in any other way.  Personally, I wouldn't turn down an opportunity to make them look bad, but fail to see how ingratiating ourselves to them is any reason to act."

Her tone here changes, it is almost as though she discussing something purely hypothetical - a rather detached, academic air. "Now, the thankfulness of the people may be a different matter; people who are in chains of one sort or another have difficulty dancing in the storm, and a little push, or inspiration by example can often help a group of people find the will to struggle, to rebel - and that, in my estimation, is a more worthy goal."  With that, she inclines her head to Murray.

Hardragh tilts his head and follows Pallena's comments with a audible whisper to Andrew.  "I already gave him the shield... an insult and an empty promise might not be the best start."

Andrew listens with head tipped toward Pallena as she speaks, and his smile is brief but genuine.  To Hardragh's whisper his face flickers confusion, then settles back.  "Apologies - I stand corrected on the shield."

During the short exchanges between those present Murray continues to rub a thumb across the stone he holds in his right hand.  His face is contemplative as he listens.  After a few moments of silence he speaks.  "Here's the kicker, the Silver Cresent have been good to us over the years, not that loose alliances mean much to us."  He chuckles. "But, business is business and bad business is....painful. You're asking us to ignore lucrative sources of income, not to mention you want us to go against a large number of those who follow Mist in order to sink this fleet. You don't seem to realize that while the Cult soldiers are in it, many of the sailors manning the Silver Crescent Ships are our brethren.

Aside from that I've spoken already to Hardragh about possibilities for protection for our people who decide to do this which is enticing but...I am finding myself balancing on a precipice.  I look at each side and I really am not sure which way to jump.  Whose going to be the victor here?  We don't really know and I kinda would like to be on the side of the winner, if you know what I mean.  Besides that I have to weigh up allegiances, however loose they are, do I throw my lot in with untried and untested allies such as yourself or do I work with those who know and love the Lady in all her fickleness as I do?  The way I see it, our aid on either side will change the course of the battle significantly and so you see my dilemma.  Which way do I go?"  He regards Andrew as if completely unsure which way he should choose but it seems he is highly amused by the prospect and enjoying the situation immensly.

Pallena does not seem to share Murray's amusement, but she does nod in understanding and agreement at his words.  She unconciously fingers her cloak clasp - a small medal - as she listens.  Then, perhaps sensing hesitation in her companions, or perhaps just to throw in her perspective, Pallena speaks up again.

"Either you have truly good information, or truly poor... can you say with confidence that the brethren that sailed with those ships are still with us... that they have not been turned into drachs, literally had their hearts poisoned against our Goddess?

Even if they are still human, what Mistite worthy of the name could serve the Cult?"  She snorts.  "The way they run their lands is as bad as Rael, as bad as the Rofis...surely you know this.  They are the spirit of subjugation and control - we are the spirit of freedom and rebellion."

She pauses, and fixes Murray with a firm look.  "I, personally, will fight the cult because as a Druid I believe they must be stopped.  There are druids who disagree.  I oppose them because as a Mistite, I believe they should be fought.  There are Mistites who disagree.  I will do what I have to.

As far as the church as a whole... perhaps it is in the Mistral's best interest to join this fight in Sedera.  Perhaps it is not.  I do not pretend to know.  Rest assured, however, that the day will come when we will contend with Cult.  They will not let those who advocate for the Storm's fury and freedom to have voice forever."

After a longish pause in which the bard is clearly weighing the Riptide's words and listening to Pallena's, he speaks.  "I cannot tell you who will win or make assurances to that end anymore than I can assume Mist will answer the call for a storm.  It's a gamble, as is everything.

We may be untried and untested...but the two I stand between love Mist as passionately as anyone in that loose alliance you speak of.  I have spent years close to Lady Doom's own and discovered much; to enjoy the unpredictable.  To be in awe of the storm, even if you fight it.  I remember facing a tsunami that was surging toward Port Hempstead, mesmerized by that tower of water and yet singing my brains out to stop it.  And while I do not follow Mist, I follow her ally the Muse.  

The Cult sends out their sickened dragons and poison and rampant murder in waves..."  He pauses, swallowing back his goodie-goodie rhetoric.  "Silver Crescent slavers might staff those ships - and contribute to your coffers - but as the lady says, in the end, you'll have to deal with them and the Cult.  I know from very personal experience..."  A wintery smile. "...that freedom of expression is not high on their list, and they have no problems slaughtering everything to make a point.  Not in the way a storm lets the strongest and cleverest have a chance to survive - but pure attrition by whatever means.

My plan is to ask for Mist's fury to whip up the seas, and to intercept a certain ship in the beginning confusion of the storm, may she bless us with it.  To deal with the vial of poison they are bringing to Sedera on that ship and adulterate it or steal the vessel if I can - can't make that call until we're there.  And to witness the gorgeous power of the storm while it sidetracks, batters, and sinks those ships.  I welcome whatever challenges Mist throws at us.""  Brief but genuine smile.  "You included.  Finally, and simply: we need your help."

With that he looks to Hardragh.

Deliberating on your words for a short time the Riptide suddenly leans forward, his eyes gleaming and he raises the stone in front of his face so that you may see it.

"Are you willing to leave everything up to the lady herself then?  A single cast of the stone, fate done as it may be, in her name?  Are you willing to stake everything on that one cast?  That, is my offer.  A cast of the stone to determine the will of the Lady."  His eyes take on an almost feral gleam at the prospect of staking everything on a single cast.

Pallena grins, her eyes lighting with a feral gleam to match Murray's, focused on the stone.  Andrew leans forward, his own almond-shaped eyes almost black in the room's light and flickering with the same inner fire.  His smile is sudden; it's the same smile he's had when running gamboling events in his inn, or taking bets at the arena, or working stakes at demon card events.

"Cast the stone."

In the seconds before the gamble, he begins to sing.  The music is quiet, written for someone who has loved, fought, and dedicated herself to Mist - someone that he still loves with a passion that is frightening in it's lack of boundaries.  These are the first words that come to his mind and he can't keep them from his voice anymore than he could resist her if she walked in that moment.

"Who keeps this lowly third mate burning
What keeps me at this porthole yearning
Whose song rings around me sharp and bright
Her face a vision slowly turning

A gaze like the ocean, a voice of the sea, her touch an untamed wave was the undoing of me...

The melody rips me up inside
An acid bath to my pride
Humming it to myself over and again
A hymn, a penance, a love denied

Who keeps this third mate locked in need
Head and heart and body agreed
Is the question then need from want
Or what do to should I succeed?

A voyage of trust, a ship in uncharted seas, mapping her waters was the undoing of me...

You can never tell the dangerous ones
The sirens song doesn't leave for question
Introspection or seize the day or live out life in quiet obsession..."

The cast is made and eager eyes watch as the stone rolls on its edge and then rotates in equilibrium around and around.  Seemingly time slows and all focus is on that single stone.

After what seems like echoes of eternity the stone falls.  Slowly Murray shifts forward on his seat, the wook creaking as he does so.  He gazes thoughtfully at the stone then looks up at them.

"The lady has spoken it seems." He looks at Hardragh. "I assume everything is in place?"

Hardragh nods.  "The fleet has sailed already and just before we came into this meeting they were attacked by the Crescent just inside Sederan waters."

Murray laughs suddenly.  "Well, it seems our people in the Crescent have had their turn, now its ours.  Besides I never did like their priestess, she always did think a little too highly of herself."

He looks at them once more.  "I will send a call with all due haste, those who answer we will need to somehow get to those ships in time to actually make a difference.  I can get them to Sedera fast but to the ships in another issue.  I'll work on that however."  He sips from his drink. "Let the games begin."

Andrew's expression is that of fierce enjoyment and the wild eyes of a winner who had bet it all.  He gives another formal bow.

"I need to identify the ship with the poison, and I'm sure I can - I've been close enough to feel the sick magic that fuels it, or at least what they used on Hlint.  If we can't hijack that ship at sea, I'll need to get word to some people on land to intercept.  Not the War Council -" Shifts his eyes to Hardragh. "-but Steel."

"One way or the other, I'm going to be on a deck in that storm."

Hardragh curls his lips into a smile, amused by Andrew's gamble and often glancing at Murray's stone. "I for one can not wait to see this play itself out." He looks briefly at Dougal, then to Andrew.  "Ah, reckon I'll be in the battle myself, wouldn't miss it for anything. Got to live the song before you sing it, aye?"

He then considers Andrew's comment.  "And aye, Steel's pretty reliable in his do or die approach...I just wonder what risk the poison poses to us during the battle. I'm altogether content with improvising on the spot. Keep an eye out, but don't plan on idle hope that the ship is easily engaged, it might be in the rear, or not."

[RollinsCat]

The inn was empty.  Dust motes twinkled and the outside wind worked through tiny cracks to cause eddies.  It didn't matter how clean they kept it, a place that big always got dusty.  This time he didn't stop to marvel at the miniature starscape.  Barring the door, he tossed his travel pack and instruments in his office without looking and headed straight for the bar.

He hadn't said a word since finding out the dark elf woman had been hung.  Not a word nor a song.  It was the longest he'd ever gone without speaking and he was surprised at how much one could do without words, if one avoided social entanglements.  Aside from helping Rose - it had been harder to keep his silence, then - he'd managed to get his point across, travel, and avoid having to listen to the murder weapon of child and mother and the reason that a possibly innocent Az'attan now lay moldering.

Gods he was a stupid bastard.  Stupid, stupid, bloody bastard, always charging around like he could save the world, and what had it gotten him?  Here.  Standing here, his voice shut off as if Ilsare's fingertip had brushed across a switch, with a bottle of Silver Buckle in his hand.  His voice had caused the Krandor Hospital to lose reputation, caused three deaths, and that was only this time.  His concert as Willie the Bard wasn't too far from his mind.  How many had he killed then, friends and family even?  His crutch, his one trick, his one talent, was death.  And screw anyone who said he was wallowing in pity, they hadn't killed a child.  His stomach growled as if agreeing.  He tried to remember when he'd eaten last.  On the boat maybe.  Had he?  A day or two ago.  Potatoes.

Why had this mistake cut so deep?

Memories came unbidden, whispering to his question.  Ty, a baby; Ty, a toddler; Ty, playing his first song on guitar all the way through, writing letters, talking about what he wanted to be when he grew up...saying goodbye in a daze, watching his father leave him behind in the care of a bunch of elves he'd never met.  That was what this was about.  A child, not unlike his.  A child he'd accidentally killed, and only because he had the money and the friends that he did had boy and mother been raised.  Even then, a near thing and it didn't salve his consciousness at all.  Next time, there might not be a cleric nearby.  Next time, it might be Tyr'riel, and he would not be there to save his son.

The images flashed over and over along in a stream of sounds and voices that was an axe strike to his head.  He wanted desperately to blot it out and yet the memories churned in a loop without mercy.  He could not sing.  He could not talk about it -- he didn't want to speak, let alone bare his soul.  That left him exactly one option, currently uncorked but not yet drunk, neck dangling from the middle fingers of his left hand.  That bottle was goodbye to Night Sky if he ever saw her again.  She would not suffer this foolishness twice.  He should reach to the Heartsong, let the beating soul of the Muse wash over him...Ysgraine's tossed off comment when he'd tried to offer solace to the newly raised woman and child was as sharp as the moment she'd said it; "remember what happened the last time you sang".

Ilsare would not stand for what he'd done.  Xeen was right there, in Rose (now that she'd admitted it) and in the bottle.  Never too far, that one.  Always willing to wrap him in a chemical hug.  His first swig happened midway through that thought.

The burn caught him by surprise; he'd forgotten...then it settled in, and he remembered.  The shiver was powerful, fully involuntary, delightful.  A second or two of adjustment where he forgot why he was drinking.  His body tasting the favored of all his poisons, blocking out other conscious moments.  Bliss.

The second swig was easier on the tongue.  The third, numbing.  He didn't want to be drunk in the bar so he headed to the basement.  That felt about right.

The moment of bliss was dispelled as he passed the red and white flag of Krandor Hospital Clinic.  He stood in the doorway to the staircase hall, one shoulder propping him up, head down, for exactly eight seconds before tipping back the bottle and killing half of it in one swallow.  Poured it straight down his throat, to be exact.  He took a few steps forward, feeling a little light in the head but otherwise fine.  Basement steps straight ahead.  Down, one step...down, two steps...

He was at the bottom of the stairs and crawling.  Standing, he'd been standing.  How...he tried to lift his head from staring at the floorboards, had to curl up, something was punching him in the stomach, gods it hurt it hurt who was hitting him gods, his mouth was watering, his throat burned, no -- no -- the smell -- the gin --


Ragged breathing.

His shirt was wet.

Cold, and wet.  He was shivering.  The breathing was louder.  The smell of gin and something else, something bitter, was overpowering.  He opened one eye, could see Minu's crates on their side, fuzzy and spinning, spinning -- oh gods not again --

[RollinsCat]

Footsteps, soft.  Coming closer.

"Boss?  Mister Reid?"

More steps, the scuff of leather on wood.  Fabric shifting over skin, breath sounds.

"Mister Reid?"

A poke, warm fingers.  Headache.  Spinning.

"Beat all."  Thump.  "Miss Elly's going to have a fit she sees you like this, sir.  Best we clean some of that up."

The voice.  Young.  He tried to speak.  Shhh, not so loud ...

"You, ah, stay there."  Two clinks, a creak, a step.  Silence.
 
Footsteps.  Fabric on his skin - someone wiping, roughly.  Fabric on wood.  Tugging, pulling, a rush of shivers.  He was damp.  And cold.

"Ain't going to cover the smell, but got the worst off I think.  Pardon if I don't give you a bath, but that'd be plain weird.  I'll help you upstairs.  Here..."

Standing -- no -- staggering, feet a million miles away encased in blocks of ice.  Where was that bottle?

"No, don't - sir -- sir, come on.  I can't hold you if you go bending like that.  Bottle's upstairs, I took it with.  Not rightly a good idea as you're wearing the other half."

Oh.

One step.  Two steps.  Three steps.  Light pounding through his lids making his brain curl up on the back of his skull and whimper.  Spinning...he was walking sideways, everything was spinning again, his head was in a sling at the end of a pit fiend's twirling hand --

 "Oh shi-"  

He dropped, the impact enough to turn over his stomach, but there was nothing.  He constricted throat to testicles, over and over, in a whole-body effort to purge.  Nothing but strangled gasps and bitter yellow saliva.

Footsteps, fading.  The stairs were cool, the double doors open.  He shivered and everything was still spinning, sometimes slower, sometimes faster, he was moving in slow circles on a lazy river of gin.

Warmth, suddenly.  Blessed warmth.  He wanted so very much to say thank you. "Blanket's been by the fire, should stop that shaking.  Going to try again, sir.  Up you go -- "  So warm, so warm...one hand curled around the blanket edges to clasp it to his front.  He was standing, then leaning, being led, more than half his weight on the man next to him.  Stairs again.  Very slow.  One step.  Two steps.  Three steps.  Four steps.  Five steps.  Shuffling forward, the smell of woodsmoke.  He didn't dare open his eyes.  "Almost there, Mister Reid.  Just a few more.  Just a few...there, sit..."  

Something soft that conformed to his backside...a feather mattress...he tipped sideways, legs still hanging off the bed.  They were lifted up.  Footsteps, a short distance and back.  Soft thump, louder thump.  He smelled Mariner's Hold well water.

"Best drink, sir.  I'm going to hold your head up -- there you go - there's a bucket on the floor.  It'll come back at first, but keep trying."

Awful.  A few swallows and he vomited.  His head was lifted, the glass pressed to his lips, again, again, ending up in the bucket again and again, until the last few swallows sluiced over acid-burned tissue and stayed put.

"I'll get some more."

Footsteps, receeding.  He blacked out.

Peaceful...a delta...a dream...was he dreaming?  The delta splitting into three, the sounds of birds.  He moved forward and was frozen.  All sound stopped when he did.  The delta's silted river muck was yellow, stringy, and he smelled gin instead of water but could hear nothing -- the birds were gone, the river didn't burble, there was no noise except an insistant buzzing, where was the screaming, wasn't there screaming about now?  He was moved as if by an invisible hand, jerking around, grinding, he remembered that, he knew what was coming next --

"...up. Wake up.  Wake up."

"unghh."  Hands on him, on his left side, then not.  He felt sick again.  Shaken, not stirred -- he giggled thickly.

"Sir -- can't have that.  You have to stay awake.  Ups a daisy, as my da would say to my ma.  No napping.  You have a long way to go."

Glass pressing on his lips again.  He was cold and sweating.  He drank.

[RollinsCat]

He woke disoriented, dizzy, and having to pee so badly it hurt.  He was on a bed.  There was no light in the room, no windows; an interior room.  He could smell the wood polish and the mahogany which made it the room he’d put Symphony in back when Minu had come.  For a long moment he could not remember how he’d gotten here, or why he felt turned inside-out, until his eyes grazed the simple hickory bucket over the edge of the bed and random chunks of memory slammed home – a bottle of gin, stumbling, falling, awful-tasting water, a young man’s voice telling stories of a lost childhood and a drunken mother.  Remembering was like stripping a bandage from a weeping wound.  And good bit was just gone.  He couldn’t guess how long it had been since he’d guzzled the gin, but everything between a close-up view of slowly spinning crates and Paddy’s gentle, practiced ministrations was a pitch black tunnel.  

Gods, he had to pee.  The privy was miles away, and the bucket was right here – he one-armed himself to sitting position, almost making himself sick at his own smell.  Sweat, gin, and puke.  Lovely.

His silver heart and clef was a gentle weight, neither warm nor cold on his neck.  Was She with him?  Could he sing?  He was afraid to try and had more pressing needs.  He started to remove his belt and glanced down; one look in the bucket and his stomach decided him, he’d go to the privy and nevermind how uncomfortable he was.  All well and good until he tried to walk and the spinning started again – slower, a graceful pirouette instead of the free-for-all of before.  Doing the pee dance didn’t help and the trek down the hall was as staggered as walking a ship in a storm.  Paddy was gone – or he could not hear the boy – and Bella was not to be seen either, not that he wanted to be seen.  In the midst of those assorted thoughts he made his destination and minutes later was able to walk back to the room with less of a hop to his step.

The room stank and would have to be cleaned, so he stripped and ran a bath right there.  He wasn’t thirsty, oddly – he didn’t think he could ever be thirsty again.  He felt waterlogged, sodden from the inside, but reasonably alert and the more time on his feet, the more the twirling of the room faded to an annoyed tick on one side of his brain.  Hot bathwater helped; he wished he could clean himself before entering for a soak, but the bucket was – busy.  He was going to throw that out, the hells with cleaning it.  He soaped up in the tub, unusal for him but desperate times.  Half an hour later he felt marginally human, if weak, sickly and monsterously sensitive to sound and light.  Hung over.  A flash of anger - he’d skipped drunk entirely, no glow, no lightheadedness; he loved that, he would always love that; no laughter at things that would be funny at no other time.  No pleasure.  Xeen’s promise had been slapped right out of his hands.  Ilsare was mightily tweaked off at him.

It took that and another chain of random musings to remember why he’d done it.  To remember the boy and the mother and how much he wanted more children, children of his blood and his loins, and how the one he did have was so far away and practically a stranger to him.  He felt sicker and was tempted to pour himself a glass – just one.

Just one.

I'm burning up inside
All senses opened wide
Wrestling the desire to fight this fire with fire
I'm burning, burning up inside

Funny how things fade a few years down the line
Just one sip won't hurt
Just one sip
Just one...

No.

He’d written that years ago, after quitting the first time.  Nothing had changed.  He tried to hum it, failed, gathered up his rancid clothes and stuffed them in a basket.  Wandered down the hall to his room stark naked and dug clothes from among the books and scrolls and staff paper stuffed in his armoire.  At least he’d look clean, if rode hard and put away wet.  

Downstairs, to the kitchen; his stomach rebelled at even the thought of food.  The bar was a bad idea.  The stage offered no comfort.  There was no one in the clinic to tend him, and he was holding the basket of his clothes of the previous two days for no reason.  Gods.  He wandered to the fireside conversation area, dropping the basket as he went.  His short velvet coat flopped out.  He didn’t turn around.  The red velvet chair...he did have a velvet fetish, didn’t he?  His chair was waiting and warm from the fire.  There was still a chill inside him and he sat, legs stretched out toward the heat, still as death with his head flopped back.  He could sleep here.  At least here it didn’t stink of booze.

Footsteps.  Light and quick, too quick to be Paddy or anyone else who he would expect to find here, and even in his addled state he recognized the pace.  How did she get in?  Had he left the door open again?  Raising his head was too much effort so he listened.  She came from the door, purposeful at first.  Stopped at his coat; he could not hear her sniffing, nor could he see her expression; but they’d known each other long enough.  He pictured her face, nose wrinkled and delicate mouth ticked down in a practiced frown.  The pause was just long enough that she knew that he knew she’d smelled the gin.

Footsteps again.  She stood in front of him.  She did not sit.  He finally dragged his head up and caught her gaze; her eyes were not steady on his but taking in his pallor, the ring of sweat already damping the shirt he wore, the circles under his eyes.  The smell of gin that seeped from him.  Half a bloody bottle was all, and he’d thrown most of it up – why was he leaking like an old cask?

“Did you come here to arrest me?”

Both eyebrows raised. “Should I?”

“Probably.”  

“What did you do?”  

“I killed a woman and her child.”  

“Maybe I am then, yes.”

Maybe?  "Didn't the constable of Krandor send you?"

"No."

Long moments of silence.  She waited him out with patience he could never match and he knew it.  “Do you want an explaination?”  She nodded.  One long breath, and then he let it all out.  About visiting Krandor hospital.  About the dark elf visitor, the hospital door opening – the sounds of scuffling feet and Ysgraine’s screetched warning.  How he’d thought the dark elf had brought friends, or had friends come looking for her – or set them up.  He didn’t bother explaining his paranoia.  She seemed to understand that.  

He explained his burst of song, loud enough to stun, loud enough – he’d never thought about it before, never used it in a town or around anything he wasn’t threatened by – loud enough to kill.  About the woman and boy he’d slaughtered with his voice.  His voice, that he had never wanted to use as a weapon.  He’d avoided the skald’s path like it was poison.  He’d never even learned the song of cursing, for the Muse’s sake.  And he’d killed two innocent people with his voice.  That stopped his narrative while he fought for control.  His eyes burned.  It was a minute before he continued, speaking of the Aeridinite who was in the end able to raise both victims of his stupid reactionary presumption.

After the rush of words, he felt deflated and slightly less sick.  She watched him, still standing. “They are alive now?”

He nodded and waited for the handcuffs, or rope, or...something.  Instead, she began to speak, not a story but a recounting, hesitant at first, building to a conclusion she didn’t seem to want to remember.  Werewolves and the children they had stolen to make their own; she’d been part of the group investigating that.   She told him of traveling to Moraken’s tower, of being met on the hill outside by several of the stolen kids.  Her hands went to her eyes, covering them even as she stood by the fireplace in his inn, decades removed from the act.

“I tried not to hurt them.  I didn't want to.  They were hurting others... I killed children.  I killed them and they are still dead.”

He was struck dumb, wanting to offer comfort and having no words to give.  He had only a guess of what it had taken her to offer that memory; she was a follower of the Gold, a woman of law, and a lover of children.  He knew the last to be true.  He knew that in the same circumstance he could not have done it, wrong or right.  He felt himself vibrating, but his focus was shifted entirely to her and her words that followed.  Symphony was the center of his universe, music he’d only ever heard in a verse here or there, a bit of chorus, an intro, opening to his ears.  He gave himself to her as he listened.

She didn’t stop.  There was more, her words feeling part confessional and part...something else.  He’d never heard of the Krakarian Academy but her description of the battle at the walls put him there in the middle of it – choices too horrid to make, that had to be made.  She’d taken the battle to the gate, then inside the main door.  She recalled the children screaming upstairs and how everything had gone to the pits.  The children had not died that time, but her whispers grew harsh when she bluntly said if she’d reacted faster, maybe...maybe that many people would not have had to die.

He wanted to tell her she was wrong.  He knew it was no comfort and never would be; such gentle words only worked on people who had not made those decisions year after year, decade after decade.  And maybe she was right.  He’d be as hard on himself – was – for similar reasons.

Her quiet voice tightened further as she recounted a mage trying to become a lich and the children that mage had sought for that purpose.  He was transfixed, at some point he’d slid to the floor to look her in the eyes.  He still vibrated, thought he heard music and knew somehow her pain was helping him...

They’d failed.  It hurt to listen. “I couldn't move or do anything to help. No one could. He murdered the boy right in front of us, sacrificing him for the ritual and some sort of revenge against his father, to end the line, and used the girl's soul as some sort of living phylactery.” Worst, it didn’t end with that.  She described the children of the group’s members, people he knew with kids, becoming the targets.  Hardragh.  Hardragh had a son.

Had.  “At the Arms, we found Hardragh's son being held by one of the lich's servants.  He demanded we all stop our pursuit of his master for the life of the boy.  Hardragh agreed, and Kobal... Very few did.  I could not.  I had a duty... He murdered the boy right in front of Hardragh.  It hurt.  It hurts now.”

Stars and song, Hardy.  That explained a few things.

She wound down, her face drawn.  He spent a moment imagining being the one watching his flesh and blood killed before him and made a quiet resolution regarding the older bard.  How do you move past that pain?  How did he?  How does she get up and carry the emotional weight that she does?  How does one live with that?  He’d fallen apart even though the child and his mother were alive and safe in the end...

“How do you...I mean, have you ever lost it?  Really lost it?”  She didn’t speak.  A gesture at himself. “I came back here, and I lost it.”

Her expression was guarded before she looked at him. “After killing those children...I don’t remember what happened after that.  I do not remember what I did.”   He was quiet for three breaths, staring at her as if he’d never seen her before.  If her opening up helped him, maybe he could help her.

“I can’t sing, Jennara.”  More panic in his voice than he intended.

“You were singing.  Do you see these gloves?”  She held out her small hands.  He’d never looked at them.  They were more shapely than he’d assumed, the digits tapering and flaring, the fingers surprisingly long – well, she did play violin. And yet they looked hard under the silk of the gloves, more a perfect stone carving of a hand than flesh and bone. The gloves had a shimmer of Al’Noth and seemed to be woven of mithril and silver lace.  Tiny, tiny rubies dangled, an incongruous bit of artifact against her otherwise simple clothing.

“I was singing?”  Dumbstruck.  He hadn’t heard himself.  She nodded.

“They were given into my care to help, by Master Jonir Ilisix, who took charge after the death of Master Krakaria.  He gave each of us something from the vaults, and said... these were special.  That they could choose to allow themselves to be worn.  They likely would have gone to the murdered boy, but... Now I see a reminder of my failure every day.”

Again dumbstruck.  Every day, she wore gloves of a child she failed to save.  He reached up for his necklace and tried to absorb that.  Every day, she was reminded of the death of a child that she felt responsible for.  Every  day.

He almost couldn’t grasp it.  Strength – it was her strength, not a source of it but a result.  Five years ago, ten, he’d have considered her stupid for rubbing her own nose in failure.  At that moment a curtain rose and he saw why she wore those ornate, bejeweled gloves.  He thought of all the things he’d run from, sending letters from distant places or vanishing when he didn’t want to deal with consequences or have to think about what he’d done. The booze that had been his insulator from those acts.

“It will take time. You will never stop hurting, only become used to the pain.” He looked in her eyes, then closed his own and thought.  It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence.  They’d said a lot and let words settled around them while the fire crackled.  

Maybe he would have that strength someday.  Maybe he’d have no choice.  That he could have that much wisdom he doubted; it wasn’t his nature.  But dammit, he would not run again.  He’d unlearn the stunning song, banish it from his brain – he would not use music to cause another person pain.  He would find himself in the Resonance, and find that mother and child, and make amends.  He would find the strength to face it.

She shifted her feet and he gave a last thought to this woman and to all the women in his life.  All the wisdom he’d held on to came from women.  His mother, Annwyl, Jaelle, Elohanna, Jennara, Argali, Ranewin, even Alazira despite their differences.  He knew precious few wise men.  Even the wisest of them, his friend Daniel, had fallen to the bane of men everywhere and let the wrong head do his thinking – why else would he have married a known associate of Steel?  No, he’d keep his ladies close, and maybe they could help each other.  And he’d been quiet long enough.

“Would you like to get some pear juice and play a few hands of darts?” She nodded, and he stood, and they headed for the game room together.

[RollinsCat]

I took it
I gave it
I paid it
I failed

I said it
I lived it
I cried it
I’m jailed

Not a man who slaves to rules but this time on the wrong side
Wish I could make better amends but to say, to say I tried

Now we’ll never know
Redemption or a whip
Now we’ll never know
A truth, a lie, a slip
Paranoia’s little trip

Can’t sing my way from this one and I don’t really want to try
Three skeletons in my closet and only two can see the sky
And one condemned to fry
To absent strangers
Goodbye

I sang
I killed
I wept
I prayed

I sang
I killed
I ran
I’m afraid...

[RollinsCat]

To Andrew Reid, greetings from Commander Jennara Creekskipper.

I send a warning.

A suspicious offer was received from the Cult, which included a threat regarding the use of secret operatives. These agents could and would be ordered to take action against various targets, including "eminent individuals participating in the war."

I am writing both to warn you of this potential danger and to ask that you send word to others. It is my hope that the letters will continue and spread so that all may be warned and be alert.

In addition, the Cult source suggests that there are "adventurers" who can verify the claim of agents hidden within multiple kingdoms and organizations. If you know of evidence to support such a claim, please send word to the War Council at Blackford Castle. If those you contact know of such evidence, please ask them to contact the Council.

Do not be disheartened by these threats. Be safe and stand firm. Take actions you feel are appropriate to limit the opportunities of Cult agents.

Knight of the Wyrm Section Commander Jennara Creekskipper
Heart of the Dragon

[RollinsCat]

Looking over the screaming thrall
How did one man get so tall
And still a speck, so small
A voice of love in bloody places I want to sing, sing, sing

Too many can’t count them all
Wondering if I’ll take a fall
A crumbling battered wall
A guitar and my violin I sing, sing, sing, sing, sing...

Just a little wink in time – this is all I can call mine
These words are all I have and they will
Live me forever

Can’t keep flesh on my bones - my grave’s marked and sown
Each song a mile to my death but they’ll
Live me forever

Watching campfires on a sky of dirt
Our side tired bleeding hurt
Playing a one–man concert
May be all I’m good for but I can sing, sing, sing

Guess it’s true what they all say
Under pressure white turns to grey
All the choices we have to weigh
A thousand desperate moments and I sing, sing, sing

A blink and this too shall pass – it’ll be some other evil caste
Inspired long enough to write and
Live me forever

Right now not much use – a bard, a fool, obtuse
Going to be here to the end though and
Live me forever

It’s all I got and it’ll
Live me forever...

[RollinsCat]

Love

I haven't looked yet and won't until you are with me.  I would not deny you a minute of my surprise!  I do have a favor to ask if you're back, though; I apologize for coming out of the blue with this.

Amaria and I spoke last night and Ilsare blessed me, us, with a song that she was able to hear in her very troubled dreams.  At points last night I wondered if she was possessed, so rapidly was her expressions changing - during a shyer, more lucid moment; the Amaria we see most often; she spoke of a tower in Bydell, one she went to often, lived at or worked at, that was gold and silver with a red door and flowers all around.  She said she knew what was in there but could not remember; it was always on the tip of her tongue.

I tried to soothe her with my song and she fainted, and then fell into an internal struggle that left her briefly conscious and then unconscious again.  During my second attempt I sang her through walking up and opening the door of that tower.  I've never been able to do that before and it was - indescribable.  I can see, clearly, why the Resonance keeps such a strong eye on its members.  I had her best interests at heart, or so I believe, but someone who did not would have been able to do terrible things, love.  I felt Ilsare's heartbeat last night, singing to Amaria to face her fear and open that door in her dreams, and I am humbled that the Muse would trust me so much.

Amaria opened the door and spoke only a few words; "No, Master, NO!".  She struggled further and I sang her away from the door but she woke anyway.

I need to be here in case Thalia comes early and to continue to help Amaria.  Could you make a trip to Bydell to see about this gold-and-silver, red-doored tower?  Amaria is clearly hiding here from someone.  She is worried that we've mentioned her presence.  So in addition to keeping her a secret for now, any investigations you would do would have to be extremely circumspect and not name her.

I do not think she comes from wealth.  She mentioned a harpist she admired, dead from alcohol, and I will get you his name as soon as I remember it - Elmer?  No, that's not it.  But when I recall it I'll let you know.  Anything you can find out about the tower or her past that does not bring anyone back here looking for her (yet, until we know who is safe and whom she might want to be re-united with) would be of great help.

Can't wait to see what's in the cabinet!

Love,


Tashe.



My Dearest Love,

I am sorry I was gone so long, but I do not think you will be to upset at the reason why. When you have a moment, when you feel the need to take a breath. I have left something for you in your chest in our room.

I love you Always,
Your Minu

[RollinsCat]

Letters sent.  Bags packed.  Tomorrow they leave.  On his hip, as always, Muse's Sting.  He remains a little embarrassed by the name; he gets enough teasing about rapiers as inferior pig stickers and not proper methods of defense.  That rolls off his back, as it would Razeriem's or Tobias's or Angela's or Damon's.  But Sting?  It sounds like a mosquito bite, although never in his lifetime would he tell Buddy that.  Or replace it with a shining mithril blade, for that matter - he has songs to boost his weapon if needed.  The white metal's extra bite isn't worth losing this gift that remains one of the finest rapiers he's ever owned.

The red-tinted metal gleams.  He never pulled it out in Stormcry.  He's learned, finally, that whether rapier or bow or knife or spitball, attracting attention from certain creatures is a fast ticket to being able to count the wrinkles of his intestines.  That said, it's been too long.  He is rusty.  The Inn is quiet - Minu off doing something, somewhere, avoiding his unnatural stiffness around her.  He can calm himself, he knows he's learned a lot, but the question of the price he is making not one but two other people pay for that knowledge will not let him go.  There is nothing that can be done for it at this time unless he wants to pay someone he likes better to court her, and he knows it's too late for that.

Unsheathing is always a sound he enjoys - the fire adds crackle to the metal on metal hiss.  A stack of combat dummies are scattered carelessly in a corner.  The blade enhancement will make short work of them, but his iron rapier doesn't feel the same anymore.  He needs to practice with the fire.  His first few swings are wild; Damon would have him drilling until he dropped if he saw that.  

Back to basics.

One hundred hits in the same place, one arm at a time.

One hundred hits alternating both arms.

A cigar and some water - he's coated in sweat.

Hits high and low until the dummy is a charred wreck.  Replace dummy.  Resume.  'Again...'

Swapping the rapier from arm to arm while hitting the same spot with both.  He's been playing music left-handed on and off since he learned to use both hands, and writing that way as well when the mood strikes.  It's never quite as good with left as with right but playing his guitars left-handed has pushed him past writer's block more than once.  One of the most useful things Damon ever made him learn.

Still one thing he can't do left-handed, though.  That makes him laugh - if he wants to pretend he's having a wild night with a stranger when he's alone, all he has to do is use lefty.  

Okay, Tashe, enough giggling.  Back to work.

Today remains upper body work until he can barely hold the point upright.  Too long.  This is good for him, he feels...better...not in the same way as singing for himself or for others but in a clean, exhausted way.  

A bath, one last check of the bags, and an early night.  Tomorrow they leave.