Author: Dennis

Anticipation and Trepidation

by Dennis••0•Posted inConjunction of Planes

Previously, the heroes were preparing for the arrival of Epidemius, gathering support, and rallying a defence of the city. Quentin wrote a letter, bound by steel, to his father, which was delivered by Neamhan. Céleste, the socialite wine merchant, came to the Careless Wanderer to buy up any surplus wine stock, but the heroes had no time to find out what had happened. And Quentin and Neamhan visited the Seat of Friendship, at Neamhan’s insistence, and attempted to restore Quentin’s memory of his betrothed, which was taken from him by the Sisters of the Grove. They were confronted by the sisters, but were at least partially successful. But at what cost?

Third Day, Second Ride, Autumn Twilight, 1262

(Silvermoon is waning, Bloodmoon is waning, Darkmoon is waning)

It was the late morning when the heroes were nervously awaiting the confrontation with Epidemius they expected to happen the next day. Chakuq returned to Steward Square once more to investigate its layout and find any helpful vantage points.

Luca attempted to read Aurion’s tome, but found that the pages were blank. He turned to Blackstar, knowing this to be the source of Aurion’s disapproval, and tried to break his bond with the weapon. To Luca’s surprise and further disappointment he found that Blackstar refused to break the bond. Frustrated by being caught between the weapon and his master, Luca pivoted and started to prepare a ritual of protection ahead of the confrontation with Epidemius, for which he needed the true names of his companions. He knew it to be a gamble, considering his master had forsaken him, but Luca tried anyway.

And Emrys checked and double checked his belongings, more to keep himself occupied than anything else. He found some letters the crusaders had written while they were in Old Llygad. The heroes had them translated by an elf that was among the crusaders and it had given them insight into the Silver Crusade during the Age of Fear. Emrys stumbled upon a letter which wrote about how to treat certain wounds with a demonic origin and he decided to pay a visit to father Devon at the Temple of Pholtus to share the knowledge ahead of the confrontation with Epidemius.

At the clinic, Emrys found that the beds were full, and the patients were afflicted by the burden that Epidemius had put on the city. The patient that father Devon was tending to was the almost unrecognisable form of Pip, the halfling accomplice to Céleste. Father Devon explained that he had been the victim of a brutal attack on her wine shop. Looking over the notes, Emrys found that she was horribly wounded, and that the burden of Epidemius was making her recovery even more unlikely than it had been under normal circumstances.

Emrys returned to the Careless Wanderer after sharing the treatments with father Devon and found that Quentin and Neamhan had returned from their trip to the Seat of Friendship. Quentin was sullen and morose after the confrontation with the Good Sisters and after Neamhan had restored his memory of his betrothed, being left with a feeling that something had been returned to him which he had willingly parted with, and for Neamhan to pay the price for that, one way or another.

Quentin and Neamhan have a falling out, and Neamhan goes to cool off upstairs. Quentin admits feeling overwhelmed and betrayed. Emrys assured him that he has friends that will help him carry the burden. Astrid, tired of watching Quentin’s frustration, told him that if he wanted to determine the course of his own life, he should stop letting others direct it for him, giving a pointed look at Neamhan walking away.

Dame Pauline and the Morvrayne riders arrived at the Careless Wanderer, and were reunited with Quentin, their lord and commander. Dame Pauline was given a room, while the Morvrayne riders found beds in the common room. Wojciech, the stablemaster, took the Morvrayne mounts to be cared for and bumped into Chakuq on his way across Steward’s Square. Chakuq joined the stablemaster and helped him with the horses at The Bridle, north of the square. The two Silesians found a kinship in their common heritage, despite Chakuq being a mountain tribesman and Wojciech a plainsman.

A message was delivered to Quentin by a courier from the rookery. It was a letter from Lord Dorian:

My son, there was an attack on the camp last night. Highlord in critical condition. Your father, Lord Dorian.

Quentin wrote a hasty reply, indicating that he was unable to send help due to the impending arrival of Epidemius. Neamhan took the letter and promised to deliver to the hands of Lord Dorian. As she is set to depart, Dame Pauline wishes her a swift and safe trip.

While the heroes continued to wait for tomorrow with some trepidation, Chakuq shared a story, with some measure of pride, about stealing the horses from an enemy encampment. All the while, Luca was wondering where his friend Falka had been all day.

Red Eye

by Dennis••0•Posted inJournal

Last week, I flew to San Francisco for a couple of days to hang out with Eva, Scott, and the girls. The flight over was eleven hours, but went by smoothly. The flight back, however, was another matter. I knew it would be a rough one (flying west to east always is, for me), but the girl sitting next to me deciding it was okay to use me as a back rest, and the guy in front of me thinking it was completely appropriate to throw his seat back, spill my drink, and then continue to lay his head in my lap for the next nine hours, was a bit much. It’s 2024; I thought we had all stopped putting our seat back without at least having a conversation with the person behind you first.

It was worth the fun time in San Francisco, though. Seeing Eva and Scott was really nice, playing video games with the girls was great, and taking a driverless taxi was cool too.

Mourning the Loss of a Number

by Dennis••0•Posted inJournal

When I moved to the UK I switched my Dutch mobile subscription to a prepaid number so that I could hold onto the number. I had that number since 2001, so I would want to keep it. One of the stipulations was that you’d have to use it at least once every six months or so. Unfortunately, I must have missed using it, and it got disconnected and assigned to a new subscription.

Goodbye, +31 653 212 414, you will be missed.

A Fun Day

by Dennis••0•Posted inJournal

My passport is expiring soon and I was offered two choices; for a renewal, I could either go to the embassy in London or return to the Netherlands and do it at the airport. A quick investigations of those two options showed that doing it in the Netherlands was about three times as expensive, but it would afford me the opportunity to go and see my family, which I had not done since early December. So I booked two tickets, one to fly round trip to Amsterdam on the same day so I could submit the application, and a second for a weekend the next week in which I could pick it up. Today I went to submit the application.

I got up super early in the morning, drove to the airport, flew over and had a pretty smooth time submitting the application. The only snag was that the passport photos which I had made in England were not in the right format (despite the photographer assuring me that it would be valid for Dutch passports.) The lady who helped me apply told me that my photo was rejected because of my “cage fighter ear”, which I thought was funny. Luckily I could get new ones made at the airport, which took five minutes, and are actually better photos, despite getting very little sleep.

I took the train into Amsterdam, met Moulsari, my brother, his new girlfriend Kataryna, my friend Mounir, and Ruurd and my sister for a big, steak lunch. Had a blast. Ruurd and my sister dropped me off at the airport. The airport was quiet. I breeze through security. Flew back to England and drove home. I’m pretty tired, but I’m feeling good about it. It was such a fun day.

Next week I fly back on Thursday evening, pick up my new passport on Friday and fly home on Sunday. I’ll have a bit more time, and if it’s half as fun as today was, then it’s worth the time and effort.

Sly and Subtle Folk

by Dennis••0•Posted inConjunction of Planes

Previously, Neamhan delivered Quentin’s steel-bound letter to the Beauclair delegation’s camp, meeting both Lord Dorian and Highlord Gauthier. Finding that Lady Gwenaëlle was part of the delegation, Neamhan felt it important to try one more time to restore Quentin’s memory of his betrothed.

Third Day, Second Ride, Autumn Twilight, 1262

(Silvermoon is waning, Bloodmoon is waning, Darkmoon is waning)

Neamhan flew east, Quentin clutched in her vicious talons, for several hours until Gheolgothis, the enormous tree that formed the Seat of Friendship with its boughs, came into sight. She decided to land a few minutes to the north to give her some privacy to change back to her elven form, and for Quentin to gather himself after the cold and uncomfortable flight. The had departed at the eleventh bell, and they walked into the clearing of the Seat of Friendship just past the second bell past noon.

As they approached they noticed a druid, wearing a green tartan, in the tree-line, accompanying a comely, young woman, who had gathered firewood together. In the clearing, another druid, this one wearing a blue tartan, was tending to a modest bonfire. The last druid, wearing a red tartan, a thick fur, and a hood adorned with antler parts, was going around the clearing, talking to the different folk that came to rest underneath the great oak’s protection. Neamhan knew him as Ciarán.

There was a group of szygani fixing a wagon, a halfling couple having a picnic, a troop of dwarves finding some rest, and a merchant with several guards preparing to head to Kingsport. There were also two women, one middle-aged, the other one elderly, who were sitting at a small fire preparing food. Besides them stood a powerful, horned bull with a black hide, restlessly stomping the ground and occasionally rutting one of its horns through the soil.

When Ciarán noticed Neamhan and Quentin he made his way over to chat. When Quentin introduced himself, Ciarán immediately recognised him to be one of the Heroes of the White Eye. The druid went to ask for some food from the halflings and brought it back to the heroes, together with some warm tea. Neamhan explained that Quentin had lost part of his memory, which she wanted to restore, using the Seat of Friendship as a place of power to boost the efficacy of the ritual. When Ciarán asked after the source of Quentin’s memory loss, Neamhan explained that she was opposing the Ladies of Three. Ciarán said that while she was welcome to use the Seat of Friendship as a place to perform her ritual, he could not aid her in any way, lest the druids lose their neutrality. He showed the heroes a burrow in between the massive roots of Gheolgothis, which the druids used for shelter, and offered that as suitable place to perform the ritual, away from the eyes of any travellers.

While the heroes continued to talk to Ciarán about druidic magic and the influence of the moons, the restless bull become more and more restless, and louder in its protestations. One of the three women went try and calm the beast, and was aided by one of the druids. Ciarán decided to leave Neamhan and Quentin to their conversation as they prepared for the ritual. Neamhan tried to guide Quentin to find connection to Gheolgothis, and later to the swan of House Morvrayne, but the constant rutting of the bull became an undeniable distraction.

Neamhan lost her patience with the situation and went over to check on the bull and see if she could get it to calm down. The woman who was dealing with the bull was being very rough with it, and the druid was nearby but did not look about to interfere with the woman’s handling of the beast. Neamhan reached out and asked the bull what was wrong. The only thing that came back was frustration, anger and sadness, it kept lamenting its position and questioning why it was in the situation it found itself in. “Why me?” it asked, “I did everything I was supposed to! I made a mistake…”

Granny Griselda, the older woman, interrupted Neamhan, warning her to stay away from her bull. She seemed unconcerned for the beast’s well-being, and when Neamhan, in a fit of frustration, asked her whether the elderly woman was evil, she casually responded that indeed, she was. It suddenly hit Neamhan that the three women, the mother, the maiden, and the crone, were not there by coincidence. A chill went down Neamhan’s spine, and she asked the old woman not who she was… but what she was.

It felt as if time inside the glade had come to a stop. Only Neamhan, Quentin and the three women were there, while everyone else seemed frozen in time. What are you? That question hung in the an air pregnant with tension.

Most fae are sly and subtle folk,
who step as soft as cauldron smoke.

Some go among your kind enshaedn,
glamoured like an oxen laden.

Or wearing gowns to fit a queen,
we know enough to not be seen.

Many of the darker sort
would love to use you for their sport,

and make you pawns within their within their court.
Sacrifice you, no last resort.

What keeps them from their moonlit trespass?
Iron, fire, mirror-glass,

elm, and ash, and copper knives,
and solid-hearted farmer’s wives,

who know the rules of games we play
and give us bread to stay away.

But worst of all, my people dread,
the portion of the power we shed,

when we set foot on mortal earth,
you are more trouble than you’re worth.

While moons are full you may still laugh,
but know there is a darker half.

A clever mortal fears the night
without a hint of sweet moonlight.

On such a night each step you take
might catch you in the Darkmoon’s wake,

and pull you witless into fae,
where you’ll have no choice but to stay.

And on such unfamiliar ground,
how can a mortal help but drown?

Unless they are of lineage pure,
yes, then perhaps they might endure.

And if they’re meant to keep the gate,
protect the threshold t’be their fate,

then their blood best not be banal,
not common stock, but sangreal.

At that point, both Mother Dudenka, and Maiden Meshka, the maiden, joined Granny Griselda to raise their hands in the air, and repeated “Sangreal! Sangreal!”

Granny Griselda offered Neamhan the option of bargaining for Quentin’s memory, and when it looked as if Neamhan was considering it Quentin strongly objected. He felt that he struck a bargain with the Good Sisters and that it was his burden to bear. He did not want Neamhan to be indebted to the sisters as well. Neamhan realised that if the sisters were ready to bargain with her that they must think that Neamhan could succeed. This emboldened her, and she returned with Quentin to the druid’s burrow between the trees roots despite Quentin pleading with her not to go through with it.

Neamhan communed with Gheolgothis only to learn that the Good Sisters were owed hospitality, as were the heroes. It would not interfere, but would also not allow either party to interfere with one another. As such, it kept the necrophages that had begun prowling along the outskirts of the Seat of Friendship, undoubtedly at the call of the sisters, at bay.

The sisters watched calmly, smiling, as Neamhan performed the ritual. This time she was able to break the hold the sisters had over Quentin’s memory, aided by the place of power. Quentin could once again remember, both Gwenaëlle, as well as the deal he struck with the sisters. The one thing that was missing, the thing that was not restored, was any sense of affection for his betrothed. He felt no fondness, no warm, only duty.

The sisters continued to smile, claiming that a bargain had been struck. They quietly turned away and started to prepare for their departure from the Seat of Friendship. Quentin, recovered from the realisation of what happened, ran back to the clearing and yelled that there were necrophages. The visitors sprang into action; the dwarves grabbed for their weapons, the guards that accompanied the merchant moved into a defensive position, and the druids each covered a side of the woods around Gheogothis.

The necrophages soon disappeared as the sisters departed from the Seat of Friendship. Neamhan and Quentin said their goodbyes to the druids and headed north, into the woods. Frustration overcame Quentin as Neamhan turned into her eagle form. “What have you done!?” he raged, before Neamhan carried him back to Kingsport.