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Fragments from Salt Sower
Posted: 09 Jul 2005 07:47 PM |
[Earlier fragments collected by Salt Sower regarding the ancient history of Midor and its origins with the Civilization and Society known as Aristi can be found among his research notes. These are comprised of a number of small papers written and overwritten as though paper were conserved at every opportunity, and pressed into a portfolio made from planed wooden shingles tied with strips of leather. Salt also records these discoveries into a bound volume in narrative form. These writings however are rarely disclosed, being less than empirical and in fact quite speculative.]
[Fragment 5]
Source=Aceston Pount
Conversation in Port R. several nights ago
***Witn’ss to materialization of Midoran!!!
Battle betw/ forces of White Maiden B.L.B. and Righteous Swords
----->Blanche La Belle defeated on the Grt. Plns.
----->High Paladin wanders, out of his mind
R.S. summoned by Midoran?
~Aceston says they appeared at his command
~Midoran returns to Midor with R.S. and army of Vidus
Presumably Midoran-figure is currently within Midor, Vidus at his right hand and his rule no longer remotely questionable.
That is to say: no question can remain that Vidus K. speaks for Midoran and obeys his will in all things.
[Fragment 6]
On the External Appearance of Midoran:
Source=Aceston P.
Midoran-figure accompanied by the following manifestations:
1/ Pillar of light
2/ Voice Ethereal—Lips did not move when Midoran-figure spoke and voice disarticulate/disemb.
IMPORTANT - It is commonly held that Midoran does not appear bodily to his disciples under any circumstances, in fact may never have appeared irrefutably before this materialization.
The above point is somewhat speculative, however in taken w/ the fact that Midoran-figure had a voice discrete from his body suggests hoax
~~~How then would the White Maiden and her allies be defeated?
~~~Whose power moves behind this manifestation, if hoax?
[Fragment 7]
Disposition of the Prophecy
Witnesseth: Regards the stff of ARISTI, Who holds the STAFF holds the FATE of MIDOR
So says B.L.B. Brandibuck Vle ~Source=myself and witness Edrik Tate, Ret. Midoran Guard
The White Maiden must have struck with certainty that this prophecy would be fulfilled and victory assured in toto.
Disappointment must be terrible—B.L.B. needs help to understand that prophecy—needs help to know what she must do in order to fulfill it |
"What are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about dying."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means lying in the ground with dirt on your face and holding your breath forever."
-Burt Reynolds, "The End" |
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Re: Fragments from Salt Sower
Posted: 09 Jul 2005 11:28 PM |
| ((*clap clap*)) |
Purpose in life: finding better ways of allowing players to kill themselves. Repeatedly.
--
"...Cause he mixes it with love
And makes the world taste good."
--
<@James42> Lawful good isn't in your vocabulary, it's on your menu.
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Wolves at the Door
Posted: 05 Aug 2005 04:18 AM |
Wolves at the door, and so Salt cannot sleep. He climbs from a short cot already dressed in his saffron-colored robes, gathers up a portfolio of papers, steps into his slippers and makes for the large common room at the Hole in the Ground.
Winky is fast asleep but a pile of red coals still glows in the hearth. Salt uses them to light a hemp matchcord, and then gathers three short candles melted into thick green glass cups. He opens the portfolio and begins to tear paper into small squares, inscribing each one and then arranging them on the tabletop so that the facts make sense.
[Fragment 23]
The Ripple
Source= Lex the Storyteller
also presnt~~ Norran W. and young mage called Vikrall, Trademaster and Ender, wives of same
Arr. w/ Norran at Bloodwood close before dawn
Both witnessed a ripple move toward us beneath the leaf litter as though some thing swam there in the humus
ripple caused by something= flat;; gaseous;; immaterial;; or traveling through the earth or some combination of these things
***L says ripple is “signs of the beast [meaning=Archiax] catching the scent of new prey, and breathing in its sleep--To send the nightmares your way”
later:
“The trick is not to let them catch your scent or you'll be marked. If they latch onto something here {at this point in the narrative he indicated his head--mind--thoughts w/ gesture}... they'll hold on with nightmare jaws and not let go.”
L confirmed that the things appear by night only but also indicated tenacity-
L confirmed are pieces of it—Archiax—N. calls it The Sleeper
will follow scent
[Fragment 24]
Archiax
--The Sleeper
--The Beast
--Source of Nightmares
Maldovia
--Valinor founder
--Celestial guard captain name Avadielle
Mirghul Forest - rangers there before time of Midoran
--contained or destroyed what it was so important to S. in vicinity of Mald?
--L says same rangers still walk in Vives
Aristi
--plague drove Valinor to found new settlement
--wife among first victims of plague--the first victim? Ref=”plague virgin”
Source= L.
A Cycle of Darkness
A dark unnatural cycle—may have only occurred one time before
--not more than 1000 yrs ago—followed founding of Maldovia by Val.
Cursed by S. make pilgrimage to vicinity Mald.
L. dwelt there at the time this took place ~~~ Shadows or Nightmares massed in/at thing/place called Archiax before marshaled to overrun Mald.
***before it was Maldovia it was some thing else important to S.
Valinor settled in that land
S-cursed descended on living human settlement—now is place of undeath
[Uncounted Fragment]
N=What you were guarding. Relevance to The Sleeper?
L=She has no relevance to Archiax
~SHE~
=portal?
=some entity not yet named?
???Does she command him???
And
What is his role in awakening The Sleeper
[Fragment 25]
Phenomena witnessed at the Bloodwood, Cont.
Present=Norran, mage Vikrall
Also the heroes Vandle and Luther
Bloodlust
Second try at Bloodwood, in daylight—seem that denizens very active esp. Ettin
Came upon V and Luth who appeared to draw out ettins into groups and them slaughter them—Luth wielding katana and V a longsword—both soaked in blood
***Resemblance to sacrifice cannot be denied
Slew perhaps 30-40 ettin in this fashion
With time a change in mental state could be perceived in both—they had been under sway of some power and compelled to kill
~V specially suscept. to this~
Also note
halfling giantslayer A. H. also taken with lust = blood and killing
group req to restrain him
Feeding blood to The Sleeper disaster ~~how to prevent?
[Fragment 26]
Trademaster of Ender knows ~L
***will speak if press’d pursue further first opportunity
[Fragment 27]
Premonition
The last scrap is left with that single word. Ink runs into a pool from the tip of Salt’s quill and soaks through to mark the tabletop underneath. Still Salt stares at the word, pen unmoving but pressed to paper. What can he say, about the visions that came over him? About the gaps in time? It is not as things have been in the past.
He puts down the pen and blots the ink, and then he begins to arrange these and other squares of paper, creating short stacks that he reorganizes and recombines and lays out diagrammatically on the table. Strangely, fewer and fewer stacks appear on the table surface, and as the candles burn low and smother in melted wax he finds that all notes pertaining to this issue have been assembled into a single large pile. He knows that the pile represents a problem that he simply cannot tease apart. It represents failure. There is not yet enough information.
Frustrated, Salt strikes the table with his fist and the notes spill over onto the floor with a dry splat.
Two of the candles smother themselves leaving only one for illumination, and the faint red glow of charcoal in the hearth.
Salt tries gather the notes off the floor, but can’t be sure he’s recovered them all. |
"What are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about dying."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means lying in the ground with dirt on your face and holding your breath forever."
-Burt Reynolds, "The End" |
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Re: Wolves at the Door
Posted: 05 Aug 2005 05:38 AM |
| ))Hate to pick favorites, but this is probably my favorite journal, reminds me of myself, scribbling stuff down, very well composed, and a creative use of ... well... a forum *thumbs up*(( |
The Legacy Saga |
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Re: Wolves at the Door
Posted: 05 Aug 2005 06:32 AM |
| ((best part is, he even got one or two facts right... *lol*)) |
Purpose in life: finding better ways of allowing players to kill themselves. Repeatedly.
--
"...Cause he mixes it with love
And makes the world taste good."
--
<@James42> Lawful good isn't in your vocabulary, it's on your menu.
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Re: Wolves at the Door
Posted: 05 Aug 2005 08:44 AM |
| ((Thanks folks! I too am a scribbler.)) |
"What are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about dying."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means lying in the ground with dirt on your face and holding your breath forever."
-Burt Reynolds, "The End" |
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Re: Wolves at the Door
Posted: 05 Aug 2005 01:56 PM |
((Awesome thread, tho I must nit-pick one small thing, Van uses a great sword, not a long sword as mentioned above.
The flow of the journal is what strikes me, it's as tho you are reading his pure thoughts and it invades your mind as you read it and becomes your own thoughts.
Or something like that ))
-V |
I'm The Cult of Personality. |
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Three Accounts
Posted: 21 Aug 2005 10:52 PM |
.
1. The Missing Fragment
[refers to the notes that Salt made in Alton’s Notebook while on the Island of Frobozz—as such it is not really missing]
Shadow Dragon e-merges from the Red Forest
Everywhre in evry clr
Every forest Every Shadow
A glowing portle
Colors em-erge from drk-ness
Bloodwood=only one clr of the spectrum
Alton HH
HH holds another
Alton is another color
[Text missing—At this point the pen ran dry and Alton dipped it into ink so that Salt could continue writing]
Ice Fire Lightening Shadow
Red Blue White Black
Gold Slvr Ameth
[end]
2. Being There
Alton had a plan for getting through the labrynth. In spite of this, he and Salt found themselves at a dead end, a blind chamber with no exit other than the way they had come.
In the corner of the chamber was a pool, around which black cohosh plants seemed to thrive. Salt was drawn to the pool as a practiced alchemist who knew the value of those plants in compiling a powerful healing wort. Drawn close by that bait, he realized that the pool itself contained more interest. He bent to examine the pool so still, so clear.
His vision swam. He saw eyes in the pool, looking at him. Unblinking eyes, that drifted through the still water and rose from its depths.
Alton could see it too. “Dat pool is freaky,” the Halfling said.
Salt clutched his temple before falling over. And then, a trance came over him. “…don’t touch it,” he said desperately, “don’t disturb it…”
“It glows like you do,” Alton said enigmatically.
“Oh,” Salt said. “…a dragon!”
“Eh? Where?” Alton peered into the darkness of the chamber.
“Drag-“ Salt said, falling to his hands and knees. “Dragon.”
“Oi! Wot ‘appened?” replied the Halfling. “Where?!!” Alton murmured a prayer to the goddess Vilyave that revealed all in the chamber to him. “I ain’ afraid o’ no dragon!”
Salt pressed his hand to his head. “A red shrouded forest… hounds become dragons…” He fell into a sitting position against the rough-hewn rock wall panting. He looked at Alton, obviously struggling. “Dragons that can see into your soul? Are there any such things?”
Alton produced a notebook and began writing the words, saying to Salt as he did so, “…Red forest? Bloodwood? Dey’re gonna become dragons?”
“A glowing portal,” Salt continued. “Wait, wait, I am losing my grasp…”
“Dat could be da portal in da camp,” Alton said.
Salt responded, “Can… can I have that paper?” Alton handed him his notebook opened to a fresh page, and his pen. With some relief Salt dropped it next to him, and started to write automatically, head slumped as in trance.
“I write everyfin’ folks tell me ‘bout da sleeper ‘ere,” Alton said, peeking at what came out of the end of the pen. Salt wrote crookedly across the page. Alton tilted his head. “Dat doesn’t make sense Mister Salt…”
The old seer’s head bobbed as though he slept shallowly. The automatic writing continued.
“Wot’s a ‘clr’?” Alton watched the end of the nib. “Spectrum, eh? Dat prob’ly means ‘color’… ‘Ey, dat’s me! I ‘old wot?”
The pen ran dry. Salt continued to trace out letters joining them into invisible words in the notebook. “Oi, I can’t read dat!” Quickly Alton lifted the pen into a pot of ink with his light Halfling hands so that Salt could continue. Alton’s eyes widened as the last few words were formed. “Does dat have to do wiv Lady Vilyave’s war?” The final words seemed to describe the known dragons of Vives.
“Mister Salt?” Alton said.
The seer replied, “Umph.”
“Salty?”
Salt shook ink from his fingertips and searched the space between his furry ears. “How strange. How very strange.” He tried to write more, but nothing occurred to him.
“Okay, dat’s ‘nuff Mister Salty,” Alton said. So he stood, glanced at the page of writing and satisfied himself that he could reproduce its contents, and handed the notebook back to Alton. With that the two gathered themselves, turned and departed from the chamber, to face other hazards and humiliations that Frobozz would throw at them that day.
3. Salt Sower’s First Hand Account of his Premonition at the Island of the Maddest Wizard Frobozz
Salt conducts his disorderly research in three stages. Little of it has proceeded beyond the first.
There is in his possession a leather folder containing letters in various moments of composition. All of them are addressed to the librarian of Ka’azim, and none of them have been completed. The third stage of his research is this epistolary one. While none of these letters is ready to be delivered, certain facts must be brought to light, not in the mage tower at Ka'azim but in Brandibuck Vale where they can do some good.
Good? Since when does he concern himself with what is good? The thought is crowded out as he begins to compose, hands working with the materials automatically.
Salt withdraws a piece of fine lambskin parchment usually reserved for spellscrolls, and on a whim he grinds pigment appropriate to contain said abjurations and enchantments. Who knows? Perhaps it will ensure that the message has potency. At the very least it will be durable. He puts a fine point onto a fresh new hawk’s wingfeather and dips a rag into clean water, moistening the parchment so that it lays flat. When the surface no longer sticks to his finger he incises a series of straight lines horizontally across the page, and then he begins to write:
To Whom This Letter Must Reach~
What follows is my record of a premonition that I received under circumstances unclear, while traveling with a Halfling named Alton Highhill. The one named Highhill witnessed what is detailed here and took his own record of what I said and did.
This premonition is of concern to the events taking place in the Bloodwood since The Sleeper first began to Stir, which might have been marked by the first appearance of blood-drinking bats along the trail through Mirghul Forest. The precise significance is open to interpretation. Play of interpretation therefore will no doubt reward—or torment—the reader.
The clearest portion of this premonition can be addressed to those events nearest in the future. Some large thing emerged violently from beneath the floor of a forest that was shrouded in a red mist. It had long wicked spines and leathern wings, and had peculiarly the fleeting qualities of shadow despite its great size. The dragon bobbed and flew weightless just above the earth and seemed to vanish and appear in horrid fashion from in and amongst the trees. This creature had eyes of green that seemed even in my vision to look into my soul, at my most closely-guarded nightmares. I believe the heroes Luther and Vandle would recognize this sensation if they were available for questioning.
A Portal glowed.
Then there was only shadow, and darkness. Perhaps in the vision I entered the portal, and found this darkness beyond it. Or perhaps the darkness came through the portal to where I stood, enveloping me and my environs. This is an important point of ambiguity that I cannot resolve.
It became clear to me that what was happening to me was happening everywhere. Just as this dragon had come to the Bloodwood, so there were everywhere dragons.
I saw dragons of red, dragons of blue, and white, and black. I saw dragons whose scales shown like polished metal that moved like liquid gold and silver, a crystalline dragon that was like quickened soaring amethyst. I saw dragons whose colors are not known to the limited perception of a human eye, existing perhaps in some corner of Vives where color does not obey the art of painters, nor gardeners, nor jewelers, nor the makers of dye for clothe.
I cannot say whether the waking of The Sleeper announces the arrival of a new generation of dragons in all corners of Vives. I hope that it signifies something else. Perhaps these other dragons together will overcome the sleeper, for in my vision the darkness was eclipsed by them, each color to its part.
For Alton’s role in all of this: I could see at the end that Alton held something small and glowing in his Halfling hands. Alton was Another Color with a role to play but not by any means the only one.
Perhaps the truth is this: that for every dragon that slumbers in its forgotten corner of Vives there was at one time a dragon of shadow. The battle between them has gone on for millennia. This secret history was compressed in my vision allowing me to perceive something that has gone on for millennia in a single sight.
I have spoken to many of the significance of Mirghul Forest and its import as a boundary against the land home to Maldovia, and those cursed by Syn. Few can write on that Dark God with any confidence, and I certainly cannot. There lie avenues for further work. There are undoubtedly others. Perhaps down one of those roads the reader will find me,
In Haste,
~Salt
[This letter is left with Winky at the Hole in the Ground with the instruction that he share it with those friends of Brandibuck Vale who are expected to gather at Swiftfoot Hall in the near future.] |
"What are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about dying."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means lying in the ground with dirt on your face and holding your breath forever."
-Burt Reynolds, "The End" |
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Two Letters of Record
Posted: 15 May 2006 12:25 PM |
Smiling, Salt surveyed his new laboratory materials including hundreds of pieces of glass. His stock was simplified to just those reagents he had immediate plans for. The old herbs, powders and essences, some growing stale and impotent from time, were sold off. This work, his alchemical research, brought him peace and sleep, and he looked forward to renewed experimentation.
How long would it last, his sleep? Signs indicated that soon it would be gravely disturbed. The pillow that held his nightmares and his visions of the future, and a visitation all pointed to a dreadful thing just over the horizon.
His traveling bag and staff rested near the stepladder allowing egress from his cluttered subterrane. First however, he put pen to paper. He would deliver these letters personally to those who lay along his route.
Lucius,
How fares your work at the alembics? The concentration of orgones ~ which are as we know the source of divine and alchemical healing, both ~ is carried to its greatest extent in the combination of ingredients now in your possession. I can deliver more essence of the clover as it grows plentiful in Swiftfoot Glade, where I spend a great deal of time these days. Just send word.
Please understand how important it be that you do this work. Did you know, before you mastered the alembics and baths and compounds and worts, the one-armed dwarven wizard B made scores of healing potions for his own profit and sold them to Vives’ wealthiest at ten thousand coins apiece? This is why I support your efforts. Such power must not be monopolized. We are men and not greedy ~ our happiness lies elsewhere.
I envy your knowledge of the proper immersion for making the healing wort. I have tried but for all my experience am lacking this insight. The ingredients are difficult to acquire. Did you know, Cohosh once grew along the Northern Highway, just twenty steps outside the Four Winds? Can you imagine it?? I am reminded: how have you satisfied the demands of F whose roots you poached?
I mention this because we may soon have cause to visit again the land where the Black Cohosh plant grows. I have begun to see the signs. You know the one named Lex, who made camp to guard the strange portal beyond the Bloodwood? I have seen him. Something is stirring in the Synn-cursed lands. You must be wary and slumber only lightly, lest the nightmares take you in sleep.
Best,
Salt
Enough writing for pleasure. Another sheet of thick stiff paper was drawn forth. Pigments were ground on a flat stone and dissolved with water. Pens were sharpened and with the same knife Salt split a hard pear, and then he bit into its bitter under-ripe flesh. After finishing half of it Salt sat again at his writing desk and composed the following.
Shamn the Elder
Magi of Ka’azim
Sir,
Please use discretion as you act on the following.
The fair that Mayor Ebert brought to Buckshire was well-attended. Esteemed magus Balthor Mountainhand offered a demonstration of his magics that you must have felt over the waters, I do not doubt. The bard known as Tyailin Caiaphas, also of Port Royale, delivered an oration that conjured forth such figures as make for legends.
These successes crystallize the usurper Elbert’s hold over the office of Mayor. Once the majority recognized the gnome’s coup, now his rightness to govern a human settlement seems fixed.
Away from those gathered for the fair sat the wise and mysterious old one we know as Lex.
When the fair had ended and I packed up my goods and reagents Lex rose and approached me with rather an urgent word. It is this that I report to you now so that the record of his movements and activities is as complete as possible.
These things were arranged for me into a warning~
I/ Lady Natika who dwells in the Castle of Valinor in Maldovia
II/ The stones found throughout Vives inscribed in a spiral and said to be ‘portals’ or ‘emitters’
III/ The Incorporeal Ones who are said to reach the living in our Nightmares
From these things Lex shewed me a vision in which the Lady is to seize control of the emitters ~ and please recall that the context in which Lex first became known to me was as guardian of one such structure beyond the Bloodwood near the Thundering Cliffs ~ and send through them those Incorporeals who are without form.
Lex could not say more save that the threat posed by the Incorporeal Ones could only be countered by means to stave off nightmares. Of this I will try to learn more from certain materials that the strange one delivered to me.
Until then I remain,
Your Servant,
The Salt Sower |
"What are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about dying."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means lying in the ground with dirt on your face and holding your breath forever."
-Burt Reynolds, "The End" |
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A reply
Posted: 15 May 2006 03:26 PM |
Salt's expectation that he would see Lucius at the Four Winds was dashed when Uwe informed him that Lucius did little more than store his things there. He would need to continue on to the Broken Mask, where Lucius had taken up with the woman Uwe referred to simply as "that witch".
He took the ox-cart to Port Royale, and, after making enquiries of Margaret, made his way to to the apartments in the back, whence he lightly tapped on the door with his staff.
"By the morn's quarter light, I'd expect the man to be up," he muttered quietly to himself, as he heard stirring from within the room. The door opened a crack and green eyes looked up to Salt, appraising him a moment before the door opened wider, and the diminutive woman slipped quickly into the hallway, pulling the door closed behind her.
Her red hair was unkempt and slight circles appeared under eyes that looked up to Salt quizzically. She wore an overlarge robe draped around her, such that only her face was visible. She rubbed her eyes for a short moment before finally speaking.
"Dana da happiez Salt nock. Some leetul peepulz tink bettur da breakz in."
Thinking it best not to ask for elaboration on that, Salt asked to see Lucius, but Dana shook her head.
"Heem haff da bad dreamz," she said. "Heem da sleepiez now. Dana not da wakiez heem up."
Nodding, Salt exchanged pleasantries with the woman Uwe had referred to as "that witch", before heading off to Ka'azim.
A few hours later, Lucius sat in the back of the Broken Mask with thumb and forefinger pressed to his throbbing temples. A raven-feather quill lay on the table in front of him next to an open ink-pot and a piece of parchment. He inhaled the tavern smells of stale smoke, linseed oil, and yeasty ale as he pondered his response.
Why was it that everyone wanted to talk to him like he was their nephew or little brother, somehow in need of their guidance? At the most basic level, Salt had made an atrociously bad business deal. Lucius would pay 500 gold for a vial, 500 gold for a sheaf of wheat, and 500 gold for a clover plant, and not bat an eyelash at doing so. Salt just sold him all three mixed together for 100 gold pieces per increment. That equated to a 1,400 gold saving per essence, and he had bought in excess of forty from Salt.
Immediately after, the man had appealed to Lucius' 'better nature' to spread the heal potions he made around, had told him that he had a 'responsibility' to use his skills 'responsibly'.
"Thirty-eight years old and I still have people telling me what to do," Lucius grumbled to himself. "Offer and acceptance. He offered the essences at 100 each and that's what I paid. The deal was concluded before he added his...conditions."
Lucius re-read the entry referring to Balthor with a certain relish, however. "Yes, yes. You're spot-on there," he muttered to himself. "And I am a man, and certainly more magnanimous. What need I for coin from potions when I can make a great deal more coin smuggling weapons? Also, I'm curious HOW Salt can know anything about my dreams. I thought that was between Dana, Solus and I."
Lucius also thought of the Illumine Alliance, looking around to see if anyone had noticed him talking to himself. He was sure that the time would come that they would ask for a sane and kindly wizard to join them and somehow represent 'all' wizards, or Ka'azim, or some such nonsense. Finding a kindly wizard was hard enough. Finding one that was sane was a near-impossible job, and he supposed only Salt fit the bill. Perhaps Salt would hear Lucius' concerns, where the paladins had simply shouted him down, or, in Rosen's case, suggested he join up.
"Best I not burn this bridge," he said quietly to himself, swallowing a certain dollop of pride as he penned his response.
Dear Salt,
I have received your letter and thank you for your offer, kind words, and advice. I have been pleased to see you walking the lands once more, and much enjoyed your company of late.
In response to your concerns regarding healing potions, I can assure you that I have never accepted a single gold piece for any that I have manufactured, and plan to never do so. I view them in the same light that I view casting a stoneskin dweomer on a compatriot - they are a part of the arsenal that keeps my travelling companions alive. I will perhaps take you up on your offer of ingredients, though a letter such as this is hardly the place to discuss details.
I agree that the dwarf is perhaps blinded by gold. You delivered this letter to someone who gives me a reason to draw breath, and certainly there are weightier matters facing the lands than the size of my purse. I suspect that there are some things even the dwarf cannot buy or manufacture. I can think of two items I have on my person which I would not trade to him for all the gold in Vives.
I'd ask that you not address the matter of how I came into possession of black cohosh root in any medium.
I suspect that you, however, have been in contact with members of the Illumine Alliance by now, and they have perhaps asked you to join their ranks. If so, you are well on your way to securing a safe source of the root. If you ask Cedrych, Ulalume, or Rosen for black cohosh root, you will no doubt find that it is readily available to each of them, and I do not imagine that they would charge you the going rate. It is my experience that they have negotiating skills roughly akin to your own, in fact.
As a final note, it frankly amazes me that you would have any intuition about my nightmares, but your powers of divination are, I suppose, well known throughout the lands. I am dealing with these matters myself and hope to put them behind me soon.
Regards,
Lucius
Lucius stared at the letter for a long time before folding it twice and placing it in an envelope. He broke his raven-feather quill in half and used a simple flint to light it on fire, enjoying watching it burn in what had become something of a ritual to him. He frowned once more at the envelope when the flame guttered out.
"I suppose I could have written that letter in a fashion that didn't attach my lips so firmly to his arse," he said quietly to himself, before summoning Jane to deliver it. |
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Re: A reply
Posted: 15 May 2006 04:44 PM |
| ((What a delightful response! You play perhaps the best straight-man in Vives. Few paladins are straighter!)) |
"What are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about dying."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means lying in the ground with dirt on your face and holding your breath forever."
-Burt Reynolds, "The End" |
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Re: A reply
Posted: 15 May 2006 10:54 PM |
((What a delightful response! You play perhaps the best straight-man in Vives. Few paladins are straighter!))
((What a nice thing to say. I have rp'd Lucius from the start to like girls. It's nice that somebody has finally acknowledged that. Just kidding!! After Rosen explained it to me, I think I understand what you're saying, and it's still very kind.)) |
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Sleeplessness
Posted: 11 Jun 2006 11:44 AM |
Salt lay atop his featherbed, with a goose-down quilt pulled up to his nose. Thrown over that was a woven blanket of oily spun wool, all underneath the crushing weight of a brown bear skin beaten to supple softness and combed free of dirt and parasites.
A soft sleeping cap was tied under his chin and threatened to strangle him as he turned sleeplessly. Lucius, he mulled. His brother Leto. His dreams…
Lucius had asked him to make contact with his brother, Leto. His brother Leto, deceased. Salt was aware that the necromancer Solus tormented his friend and colleague. Was this not a job fit for a necromancer? Was Lucius’ brother, properly speaking, undead? To Salt it seemed the answer was no. Not until it should be proved otherwise.
Forsaking sleep yet again, the old seer followed a series of intuitive deductions to the conclusion that followed.
Divination sinks its roots into necromantic magic.
Salt remembered that the practice of divination in Midor is a capital crime, and was punishable by death long before the Purge, perhaps even before Vidus’ ascendancy. He had no place to put that information. It resided elsewhere in his notes anyway.
I can help Lucius contact his brother. I can do what Solus would not do.
But how? Salt had asked Lucius to provide something close to his brother. This was guesswork. He needed advice, from the most proficient scryers and diviners he knew of. It was time at last for him to seek an audience in the tower at Lake Ladriel. |
"What are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about dying."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means lying in the ground with dirt on your face and holding your breath forever."
-Burt Reynolds, "The End" |
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Re: Sleeplessness
Posted: 12 Jun 2006 12:32 PM |
While in the six by eight cell that Xaranthir-Frobozz had sent him to, Lucius had had little to do other than write and ponder, two things he did a lot of whether he was imprisoned or not. One of the first deliveries he made when he was released was to a hole not far from Brandibuck.
For a man who was to have his verbosity pointed out to him later that day, the letter was quite succinct.
Dear Salt,
I have retrieved the rabbit's foot. I would like to meet up with you to speak of it some time soon.
Yours truly,
Lucius |
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Dead Rabbits
Posted: 17 Jun 2006 01:17 PM |
((with Robber Barron))
Wearily, Salt climbed backwards down the ladder that led to his dwelling, just a laboratory, table and bedstead placed within a water-cut pocket in the rock near Brandibuck Vale. Similar to a pond left behind by a meandering loop of river, the waterfall nearby had cut a channel as it flowed through this stone, leaving a slick polished surface. Out beyond the edge of the slick-rock the cool fresh waters that originated at Lake Ladriel welled playful and moved swiftly past.
Sometimes when the waters were warmed at the surface, a mist collected above this subterranean stream. Sometimes when Salt awoke in his bed piled high with quilts, furs and comforters, sleeping cap tied under his chin like an infant, he would find his dwelling filled with that mist. It surrounded his bed lovingly and lay over him, a thick silent scentless atmosphere like ectoplasm. With the pall of Ladriel mist the chamber resembled the corridors of his mind, half-seen shadows of furniture and alembics and lights nearly extinguished flickering dimly and out of reach. A confusing worry of mist and shadows, lights about to go out. His mind was a thin-walled vessel containing unfamiliar things. He feared the mist as he feared his dreams.
Salt worked a large iron key in the grate that barred entry to his dwelling and shoved it aside with some effort. Bogie called an amiable greeting. The raven was devouring a rabbit that had found its way in between the bars of the grate, ironically having fallen down the ‘rabbit-hole’ that Salt had just himself descended. The seer made a sour face as its black waxy beak struck blow after crunching blow and then consumed the bunny’s cheeks, brain and eyes.
The bunny jostled something free in his memory filled with shades and mists. He stuck an arm up into the sleeve of his coarse yellow robe and felt around for it concernedly. Each hand searched the other sleeve. Have I lost it? Lucius would never forgive me… oh, careless, careless!
Bogie spared only a glance for his concern, gibbet of flesh on the tip of his cruel beak catching the lantern light like a jewel.
Where has it gone?! Salt felt his person and discovered a lump near his liver, hard-boned, clawed, soft-furred. He untied his sash and a rabbit’s foot dropped between his feet. The old seer picked it up and moved it to a clear spot on his workbench. For good measure he contained the rabbit’s foot underneath a green glass bell jar.
When he had dropped his traveling bags and packed away the herbs, powders and reagents he had gathered, stepped into comfortable slippers and built up the fire for heat and light, he again approached the object. Salt slid aside the bell jar and lit an oil burner, warming a day-old infusion of herbs and petals in dark water. He tidied his workbench and found a clay drinking cup, grasped the beaker with a cloth and allowed a stream of tea to trickle into the vessel. This and the bell jar were brought to a round oaken table surrounded with chairs, laden with books, bottles, stacks of dirty dishes, half-finished projects, sewing patterns, notes on scraps of paper, dead flies, and some of Bogie’s droppings. A few sips of the tea and he lifted the bell and took up the rabbit’s foot, cupping it in both hands, one hand over the other.
*****
The first step was taken. Salt closed his eyes and unfurled his sensitive intuition.
Lucius had entered his mind, a critical distraction leaving him unprotected from the impressions absorbed by the rabbit’s foot from the one who kept it last. Salt’s face darkened. Bogie flew immediately to him and lighted on his shoulder as his knobby hands began to flutter still squeezed around the object of papery skin over bone and taut dry sinew strong as a bowstring.
“No!” Salt shouted as rodent claws flashed and curled inwards biting through his calloused palm. The thing scrabbled wildly and unliving yet the seer could not release it. Blood dribbled onto the tabletop. Salt grimaced and then screeched animalistically from pain and terror: “Yeeeaaaaaaiiiiiiii…”
Bogie darted forward buffeting with black wings and snatched the object from between his hands. The raven dropped the rabbit’s foot – just fur, just as Lucius had delivered it – onto the slick-stone and began to stomp it as he would stun a mole digging up through the surface. He shot out a stream of droppings and assessed his companion with a round black eye.
Gods! he raged inside. I should have anticipated this! His hands were his own again, fingers leathery from work at the loom, spotted from burns, spills of ink, and age. They shook badly. He did not even examine them.
Salt gave some time to his workbench. He brewed up a calming tea and let it do its work.
*****
The rabbit’s foot had belonged to Lucius’ brother Leto, a fetish kept for good luck. Salt did not know how Lucius had come into its possession, nor could he comprehend what had been done with it by the necromancer Solus. The horrid limb that writhed petulantly between his palms… this pain had been immediate, but more disturbing things entered into Salt’s mind as he reached out moments earlier. This is the creature who would organize this land’s sorcerers and wizards into a Magistry?! This creature would collect the most powerful relics and enchantments from across Vives?
In that moment Salt became an enemy of the Magistry.
A second step now would be taken. Salt had other means to search out the information that Lucius desired. Though he eschewed necromancy some comprehended a relationship between that art and the practice of divination. Salt depended upon this to accomplish for Lucius what Solus withheld.
Salt filled a flat copper pan with clear water and heaved it over to the table. Before long the water sought out a level surface within the pan. When the water was still Salt seated himself before it.
He entered a trance.
There he sat staring into the pan of water, the surface of the water demarcating the separation between this world and another. Through it he was transported to a somewhat surreal landscape.
*****
The moon shines down on a small hill, as a nearby swamp sends tendrils of fog to flirt with the roots of two trees that are firmly anchored in the scrabbly ground.
Salt slowly climbs the hill and walks closer to the trees, wondering at their significance. His own legs disappear from the knee down beneath the fog. He can see that both are deciduous trees in midsummer, on the basis of the fullness of the leaves. As he comes closer, though, he can make out another tree, black as the night, between the two.
He first approaches the wild maple on his left. A strong tree, Salt thinks, a tree that buries its roots deep into the ground and grows up straight and strong. As he rubs his hand on the rough bark of the tree, the fog swirls beneath his feet, revealing a decaying shoot from the black tree.
Wiping his hand on his robes, Salt follows the shoot to the black tree, choosing each footstep carefully. Even if this is a dream, it wouldn't do to sprain one's ankle. That, too, might have significance.
The black tree is without leaves, and the branches are alternately dry and brittle or soft and fragile from the ants and termites that now make it their home, inexorably eating at the body of the once-living wood until it is consumed entirely.
Roots extend from the black tree towards the other tree that he'd first noticed, and Salt follows a particularly large one to a point midway to that tree, where it meets up with one of its thick, strong roots. This tree is different than the wild maple.
Salt deftly pulls one leaf from this new tree and examines it closely. Aspen, he determines. Commonly referred to as poplar trees where he grew up, so long ago. They can grow anywhere, and survive anything. Rather than digging deep into the ground, their roots extend laterally across the land, making them able to thrive in shallow soil.
He frowns as he examines the tree. Another aspect of the aspen is that it can survive losing branches, roots, and leaves, even being split in half. This one was split viciously down the middle, dead wood splayed to either side, but a new growth had emerged from the center of it, a growth that rose strongly skyward, and shot leafy branches out on all sides.
It is the roots, once more, that catch his eyes. Fog parts, and a whitish-grey root reveals itself in the moonlight. He once more carefully shadows its path down a steep depression behind the tree. There, at the bottom of the hill, grows a third tree, unseen from his original vantage point. This tree is thick around the trunk and extends more outward than upward. It is also an aspen.
Salt stands at the bottom of the hill and puzzles for a long time over the significance of the four trees, coming to no conclusions, not even any postulates. Finally he begins to retrace his steps, the fog no longer parting to give him a path to follow. Soon enough, he once more stands at the base of the wild maple.
He circles it once, unable to shake a feeling that he's missed something, that some important detail about the maple has eluded him, but the fog, this time, does not part. The fog, this time, does not lead him to answers or links. Instead, it thickens and surrounds him, leading only to the end of the vision. |
"What are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about dying."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means lying in the ground with dirt on your face and holding your breath forever."
-Burt Reynolds, "The End" |
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Salt's Rescue from Carfax Wood
Posted: 17 Jul 2006 04:14 AM |
Rain soaked the Carfax Woods until the earth could hold no more. So, the earth shifted. Wandering boar examined the turned soil greedily, insensible to the elements. Water carved runnels through the ground and sluiced into a gap in the rocks where a river once fed the wetlands between the woods and the coast. There like an island on the rock lay pelted the remains of Salt Sower. His form was shrouded in sodden yellow, flat within his robes draping him completely but for one foot kicked free of its slipper, and his bared head. His face told of agony, eyes hollow beneath their lids, cheeks sunken, and a white tongue protruding from gaping jaws.
Another carcass lay nearby, though its species was indistinguishable. The thing had no bones and seemed to be dissolving or decomposing very quickly within its black raggedy skin. The animals of the wood avoided it, dead though it was. Little was left for the rescuers to find. Salt’s remains however were gathered easily, save for one article that dropped to the stone as his person was assembled for transportation.
Alton…ith that you? Alton, did that thing take your life’th blood as well…?
Had he thought it, or had he said it?
“Timik, sir,” the hin corrected, “and no, I survived it miraculously.”
Salt coughed as he turned his head painfully to face Timik. “Oh?”
The witch that he feared was standing at the foot of his bed. Was she even permitted inside of the Seven Sisters? “Hullo’s,” Dana said and waved a hand at him.
Another Halfling who had participated in the recovery of Salt’s flimsy remains suggested, “He thinks every hin is Alton. You’d near figure he’d lose his mind if he stepped foot in Brandibuck.”
But Fennigan had no sense of the voluminous tragedy in his words, nor the yearning that the seer felt to see his friend again.
“Whothat?” Salt queried through a daze, “I th-thee a beautiful w-woman…” His hand clutched the bedclothes as one of the Sisters soothed and cleaned his head with a wet towel.
“Dat be Dana.” She blushed as she said it. And she smirked at his sudden lisp.
His eyes stared blankly before him. “It’ the Port!” he croaked.
“We’re not in the Port,” said Fennigan.
“It’s the Palath! Acquinath Palath, I th-thee it!”
“What’s a palath?” Fennigan asked.
Salt’s hand scrounged towards Timik, who stood nearby. “Paperth!” he demanded.
“Papers?” Timik interpreted, “Papers in the palace?”
“Thimik,” Salt said, “…give me thum paper…” His eyes were fixed on a phantom and tracked etheric movement.
Timik grabbed a book from the nearby shelves and, after a moment’s hesitation, opened it to a random page. “You need paper, Salt?”
“Who thaid that? Thimik? Yeth… yeth!” He reached blindly with a hand, cheeks sunken over the toothlessness of his mouth.
Dana chuckled amusedly as Timik pulled a page from the book with a long deliberate tear. Salt snatched the sheet and slapped it down next to him. He slapped his hand against the page two times impatiently and groped the air between himself and the hin. Retrieving a pen from Timik, Salt began to scratch invisible lines on the page according to his vision.
“Thimik? Thtay clothes to me…” The seer frowned as the soft quill’s nib scraped dryly, and Timik lifted his hand dipping the pen into an inkpot. A box formed on the page, and then became a building. The roofline of the structure was distinctive, as were its windows, door placements and other architectural features.
The pen poised, a new drawing was begun on the same page, a face with a cut that extended from laterally across its cheek. Nearby Dana touched her cheek, which bore a similar scar. The face on the page however was a masculine one.
Salt tapped the drying pen on the page twice. “He grabbeth her!”
“Who?” Timik asked as the others listened.
Salt shook his head vigorously. “I don’ know…” His eyes were still cloudy as though blind. He drew another page from the hin nearby and the pen was guided into the ink.
“Knows da wummen?” Dana asked warily. Now each hand was wrapped around twin daggers sheathed at her waist.
“Woman…wearing a blue drethhh… An’ in her hair…” …the seer’s hand drew out a single hawthorn flower in graceful lines and then traced the flower over and over as Salt searched for more detail.
“What sort of flower is that?” Fennigan asked.
“Am I making a flower?”
“Yeah,” Dana answered him.
Timik slipped another page under Salt’s hand. The book had quite a few of them left. Salt’s pen seemed to move randomly over the page. Timik tried to help Salt up into a sitting position, but the seer resisted.
“Eh? No! Juth…juth pleath, leave me lay here.” Eyes flashed signaling concern. “…Th’woman ith trying noth to be thcared…”
Lines drawn across the page became a flight of stairs. Then appeared the scarred face, this time depicted atop a thick neck and broad trunk. “Dat be Ced,” Dana suggested, and as Salt drew a figure in a dress she muttered something about a tin-clad whore.
“Dana no’s tink da brainz getz dat life yet.”
“The man is touched,” Timik said with perhaps a little frustration. “Must be possessed by a ghost… or whatever it was that he ate last.”
“Who thaid that?!”
“It was Alton,” Fennigan said, “he just ran outside…”
“Good,” Salt replied, “Alton hath theen me thith way before… Oh!” The cry was choked in his throat.
Inky boxes arranged together on the page became a paneled door dotted by reinforcing metal studs. Aside the door and out of scale appeared a key. Salt’s hand seemed to draw independent of his body or his will.
“Oh no!”
The pen dropped from Salt’s spidery hand. He started to struggle and kicked off his blankets, arms raising before him and wavering ineffectually.
“Salt, calm down. There’s nothing here,” Fennigan pronounced.
The breath caught in his throat then. He stopped struggling.
“Oh…” Dana observed, “…him go’s die now.”
“No, no,” Timik objected, “I just used one of my poultices on him, and those are expensive. Whata waste if he dies again!”
Salt sat up with one hand wrapped around his throat. He looked around at them, seeing them for the first time but still seeing the vision as well. Some of the papers slid off the side of the bed as he gasped.
“What happened, what did you see?” Fennigan demanded eagerly.
A fluttering hand took up one of the papers and Salt looked at them. Without breath he said softly, “…what is this place?”
“Great,” said Fennigan, “He’s lost it.”
Salt turned the page to them. The façade he had drawn on the page was not unfamiliar.
“Looks like Askwith Manor,” Timik said. “You drew Askwith Manor.”
Salt looked at them with horror. “A murder is being committed!”
“The woman in the blue dress?” Fennigan asked.
Salt slapped down the drawing where all could see. “Timik, I think you are right! This is Askwith Manor, and we must go there at once!!”
((Continues…)) |
"What are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about dying."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means lying in the ground with dirt on your face and holding your breath forever."
-Burt Reynolds, "The End" |
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Letter to Lucius Edmonds
Posted: 18 Jul 2006 05:09 PM |
No murder. No murderer, though plenty of horror to go around. Salt Sower could not be certain whether his vision pertained to the past, or to the future. What is certain is that his vision did not pertain to the present.
A series of six drawings sits arranged on the table before Salt Sower. Each drawing is made on book paper and hasty lines of ink cut across words that the paper bore previously. Each page has three smooth-cut edges and one that is torn.
Salt studies the pages by the light of an oil lamp. For two weeks now he has remained at the compound of the Order of the Seven Sisters, to do service. This he does to return their kindness in restoring life to his remains, after the bittersweet journey he enjoyed with Timik Gorozai. After laboring through the day, his evenings are his own for contemplation of the things he has seen. When necessary the Sisters have concealed his presence, knowing his desire for privacy.
The two weeks were productive. He has given aid to adventurers arriving to the Sisters’ doorstep as he did. Taken for a fixture by several who do not know better, he has learned a lesson from their generosity and its infrequent repayment. The stores of healing tonics, vital essences, antidotes and potions were increased significantly by his labor. From the Sisters he finally has learned to compound the healing wort, working like an apprentice to the Order’s best chirurgeons. Now he assembles his notes and papers in preparation of departure.
The drawings are from a vision that he experienced two weeks ago. They are detailed here:
1/ A rather detailed drawing of Askwith Manor, easily identified by anyone who is familiar with the Port. The roofline, the door placement and the locations of piercings and windows, as well of other architectural details are there. This is the most complete and comprehensible of the drawings.
In the corner of the same page is drawn a man’s face. The face floats on the page and a cut or scar is inked extending from his eye across his cheek to his ear.
2/ A hawthorn flower is traced over and over such that it becomes somewhat stylized.
3/ A woman’s likeness fills a third page. She wears a floor-length dress and has a flower in her hair that could be from the hawthorn.
4/ A stylized staircase appears as a series of horizontal lines reducing up the page and bracketed by lines that converge at the top and widen towards the bottom.
5/ Two figures are drawn side-by-side, comprised by a man and a woman. The man has a thick neck and bulging violent eyes. The woman is indistinct and barely drawn at all, save for large frightened that are traced over several times.
6/ Last depicted is a sturdy door inked from squares, lines and dots that suggest the door is metal and fixed together by rivets and panels of iron. Above the door a key is drawn, large and out of proportion.
During the month leading up to this vision Salt had focused his divinations upon several questions put to him by Lucius Edmonds, and so he regards these drawings and these visions as relevant to that issue. His first stop, therefore, will be to the Broken Mask, where he will deliver a letter. Paper for the following is provided by the Order of the Seven Sisters:
Lucius Edmonds,
Respected and Revered of the Ninth Circle
the Broken Mask Tavern
Port Royale
Friend~
I write in furtherance of our business.
Who would know when we spoke months ago that I would carry out augury after augury as though I were your retainer rather than your Colleague! Nonetheless I have news of another vision.
Find enclosed with this letter six drawings. Please keep them in safety after you have examined them, as I may require their return.
I will not detail the circumstances in which these drawings were made. Let it be known that they pertain ~ in my opinion ~ to your Brother Leto or perhaps your father. They regard as well a woman I cannot identify, and a scoundrel. The scoundrel appears widely known, and I trust you will recognize Him.
First I saw a beautiful woman dressed immodestly in a blue dress walking down the cobblestones of Port Royale. I do not doubt that it was Port Royale, though the facades were different. Aquinas Palace was unmistakable, and you will recognize Askwith Manor among these drawings.
The woman had blue eyes, thick brown hair, and full lips. Her eyes darted around furtively as she approached the Manor. I wonder, what was the Manor before it came into possession of the Askwiths?
A man came out from the Manor to meet her. He was wearing the fashion of the nobility, but had a rough look to him more at home working the docks. Thick neck, large-armed and strongly built, with a scar that ran from eye to ear.
He seized the woman and panic occurred to her as he did so.
A flower ~hawthorn it was~ fell from her hair.
The dockworker in finery pulled her into the building known to us as Askwith Manor. She tried to compose herself, speak to him. He seemed agreeable but never released her arm. She was drawn up a flight of stairs, down a winding corridor and to a strong door. There she was paid a quantity of gold.
The rest of what I Saw was not illustrated. I moved to reach the Manor with all haste, believing that perhaps I was witnessing something that transpired Now, events in which I might intervene and spare a life to the most brutal violence.
Here is what the drawings do not detail.
Beyond the doorway what’s key was held by the man lay the horror.
The woman seemed to smell it before she saw it.
She screamed and try escaping from him to no avail as he pushed against her and put his arm around her throat.
The man backed into the room prepared to savage her but when the door was to close the man found that it would not.
A young man had intervened and prevented the door from closing.
Oddly, he was dressed as though a Paladin of Midoran, though none of these exist that I know of.
There was no confrontation. The burly scarred man relinquished the woman to the Paladin in my vision and the two departed from the Manor peaceably.
In other visions I have seen the hawthorn growing on the branch, accompanied ~as you will remember from our previous discussions~ by other trees consisting of:
~WILD MAPLE of deep roots
~ASPEN SPLIT by violence yet growing fresh from the split
~BLACK ROTTEN tree growing between them and connecting them by shoots
~ASPEN HEALTHY growing away from these others…
In a later vision, I received a more complete vision of these trees that perhaps indicated something of your Family’s history:
~REPLACING the black rotten tree was a specie of HAWTHORNE as bore the flower from this most recent vision
~the WILD MAPLE young and straight
~tendril traced from the wild maple reached a SWAMP WILLOW indistinguishable from its neighbors in a bramble rather like box grows
INDUBITABLY the black rotten tree and the hawthorn are the same. They are THIS WOMAN.
Now is for your labor to be contributed. Who is the woman to you? Where are YOU, in these visions friend?
Finally, know it that there is a journal. It may contain more intelligence on your brother, or your father, if that is who I envisioned. The journal is in the hands of the Halfling, Timik. In my presence he removed it from the scoundrel’s possessions, the damnable chamber in which his horrors are carried out.
We will meet again soon.
~Signed
~Your Servant,
S |
"What are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about dying."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means lying in the ground with dirt on your face and holding your breath forever."
-Burt Reynolds, "The End" |
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Re: Letter to Lucius Edmonds
Posted: 18 Jul 2006 08:15 PM |
((Wow. Thanks for the time you've put into my rather self-indulgent story, knowing that there's no DM, no greater plotline, no xp, etcetera. Seeing what you've done with the visions, both IG and through PMs, just reinforces my opinion that you're one of the best roleplayers I've come across. Salt is also an awfully nice guy.
Lucius is currently taking a little holiday in Naillamne, so I will unfortunately have to leave you hanging until he gets back to the Mask.
Cheers,
RB)) |
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Re: Letter to Lucius Edmonds
Posted: 18 Jul 2006 08:39 PM |
| ((Thanks, and NP RB - Salt's on a little vacation of his own!)) |
"What are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about dying."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means lying in the ground with dirt on your face and holding your breath forever."
-Burt Reynolds, "The End" |
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Re: Letter to Lucius Edmonds
Posted: 21 Jul 2006 12:58 PM |
Much had happened in the last few days, and it took some time for the letter to make its way into Lucius' hands. He read through it once, his jaw slackening, the tissues of his newly-formed eyes itchy in much the same way that his rapidly fused bones itched. It was a dull itch that could easily be ignored. What Lucius couldn't igore were his tears. He was a grown man, sitting in the Mask, the eyes of many hardened customers passing over him. He wiped the moisture away, feigning dust in his eyes, and looked back down at the page.
Some time later, the following letter makes its way to Salt:
Dear Salt:
Respected and revered of the ninth circle? Please, Salt, such formality fits the likes of Solus and his subjects at the Magistry, or the sycophantic and unworthy mages who are descended from the inbred gentry, pardon my bluntness. You and I are neither. Also, the adjectives bear no resemblance to the truth.
I continue to be amazed at your capacity to receive and parse together disparate visions into something bordering on coherence. It is a gift that few have, and I am forced once again to look upon my rash actions of approaching a master of the undead to aid me with regret. Your method does not offer up simple answers, for so much seems to come in riddles, but you are definitely making headway.
It is with a heavy heart that I tell you that I believe I do know the identity of one person from your vision. From the description you have given, the woman appears to be my mother. I do not recognize the others, either from sketches or from descriptions.
Yours sincerely,
Lucius |
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Fragments of Thought
Posted: 31 Jul 2006 03:05 AM |
Salt strode away from the Broken Mask during a rare break in the rain. His pace was very deliberate not belying his shot nerves. Sweat from his palm gave him a strong grip on his staff and he clung to it, swinging it far ahead with every other step.
Had he really done it?
He replayed the conversation in his head like a chessmatch.
Would Lucius understand?
Salt was confident that eventually he would. So unlike him, he imagined Lucius saying. Never raises his voice like that, Lucius saying, never behaves so irrationally, never grows so angry he had to quite a body’s company…
If Lucius thought it through he might realize that all of it had been for Jessup’s benefit.
Had he really done it? Had he really laid out his position regarding Jessup’s black grip on the Lower Port, including the sway he exerted over so many persons of otherwise fine quality? Jessup himself joined the gathering of adventurers that found themselves in the Broken Mask. Days earlier, Talion had revealed Lucius’ attitude towards Ophelia, and her role in the attack on the Seven Sisters’. Salt wished to pursue this. Did Lucius feel that Ophelia and the ranger named Kal were bound by their agreement, that Ophelia was personally responsible for the safety of innocent lives that the Emissary held hostage? Before long the conversation came around to bargains and the nature of contracts, wise or unwisely entered. And Jessup registered this clearly enough to comment.
That had been an excellent moment. The Leviathan chose to roll out a few words. He emerged from feigned boredom and said, “Zhe broke her contract. A zervize was performed. A payment waz required. Nah a wize choize ta enta inta a bargain with it.”
And so it was with Port. This is what Connavar freed himself from, at great personal cost. This was why the Novus Aristi refused help from any tainted by the Black Hand’s touch. This was why Willom Wilde and Karlina Goodfellow wrote a play about Midor’s bishop while the Younger stood on their throats.
Lucius brought this closer to home. “Someone has to enforce contracts…” he said, implying more or less directly that Jessup held the position that was titularly assigned to Queen Aquinas. Lucius conjured the struggle between the Black Hand and the Night Masks…
Jessup conveys much with a cough. A cough from Jessup means you’ve already said too much.
Walking through the Lower Town, Salt chuckled to himself, mostly from relief. Or disbelief. Had he really done it? He supposed that he had. And he hadn’t felt this alive since the days when he was living in Midor. |
"What are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about dying."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means lying in the ground with dirt on your face and holding your breath forever."
-Burt Reynolds, "The End" |
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The Glyph of Desthedes' Desire
Posted: 09 Aug 2006 11:19 AM |
The library at Ladriel had no comparison in Salt’s experience.
The seer trailed a finger wonderingly down the spine of one thick volume, bound in what appeared to be smooth bark that was glossy from wear. It was of ancient elven origin and written in an incomprehensible script. Salt held a small, cool-burning lamp in his palm and brought it close to examine an illumination in detail.
The book had nothing to do with divination. Rather, it was addressed to the other major theme under which the library at Ladriel was organized. Appalled, Salt shut the book and returned it deliberately to its place.
Here was a work bearing a sigil and registration mark, indicating that it had been taken from the Sapienza before Vidus Khain took power in Midor. There were many of them. He noted with interest one title: Plague Virgin ~ Collected Accounts of Myth and Memory by a man named Romero. A cabinet supported musty parchments preserved within tinted glass frames. And here, there were texts too dangerous for casual examination. These were secured in place by a sophisticated mechanism worthy of a prison, and a prison it probably was. Some were bizarre and beautiful, of alien construction. Others seemed to be collections of notes, research papers and the like. There were trial records and testimonials. Another shelf bore rolled papers, tied with strips of skin trimmed with what appeared to be body hair. Salt was still in the wrong section of the library.
He set down the oil lamp, fearful he would drop it otherwise. He had broken into a sweat. He dabbed at his forehead with the yellow sleeve of his robe.
Then, one of the guardians for this library took his arm gently and steered him towards the works he was looking for. For this he was grateful. His initial effort had taken him out of the light and into shadow. The works on divination were struck appropriately by sun and his small stone oil lamp was not necessary.
These were a treasure. Collected prophecies gave insight into the techniques and interpretive strategies of sages and seers from ancient pasts. Water-method, Salt’s method, was thoroughly documented. Crystal gazing, rune throwing, dowsing, automatic writing, remote viewing and extra-sensory perception, bone rolling, precognition, augury, trance and communication with the dead were all developed in one book or another. So were the protections one might take against such measures.
The fan-stitched panels that comprised the Naillamne Tablets were laid out upon soft thick linen mats. Though written in cipher, Salt recognized them immediately and comprehended their unimaginable value. They merited special treatment and required permission to examine in detail. Supporting notes on the cipher were available, the attending guardian told him. Mal’Varak himself had delivered the tablets to the library for reasons she could not give.
The Basic Lessons of Theus were there, some coated with dust that perhaps had traveled from Ka’azim. The set was incomplete, and only eight of the twenty volumes were present. Volume IV was especially worn. The rest of the Lessons might lie in another range of the library.
A fine wrought-iron case caught his eye and he found it cool to the touch. Its blackened surfaces were polished with care yet pitted in places. Inside was a weighty document rolled on two iron bars. “Its author was named Aldu’rme Seh Sorens,” said the guardian. “He was a great priest of Helkris.”
Salt nodded and peeled his fingers from the case once it was returned to its shelf.
There was a copy of the Codex of Clarities, which Salt was told had been copied personally by Lady Alianda. He had never examined this work before. Nor had he seen mad Moop’s Blame ~ Chronicle first hand. Moop had been a hermit and his prophecies were inscribed upon the dried skins of badgers and other small woodland creatures. And there was more. There was much, much more.
Salt took several volumes and papers to a small table and began to read.
According to one work attributed to the visionary, reclusive hill giant Yggaerxagy, a more deliberate application of the Lore of Legends could take a great deal of time, but could also promote the discovery of hitherto lost knowledge:
The legend lore spell is used to determine information available regarding a known person, place or thing. If the person or thing is at hand, or if the magic-user is in the place in question, the likelihood of the spell producing results is far greater and the casting time is only one to four turns-in-place. If detailed information on the person, place or thing is known, casting time is one to ten days. If only rumors are known, casting time is two to twelve weeks. During the casting, the magic-user cannot engage in other activities other than routine: eating, sleeping, etc. When completed, the divination will reveal if legendary material is available…
Salt already knew that his research would take time. For this reason he was grateful for the privilege of access to Ladriel’s comfortable guest quarter. The text continued:
It will often reveal where this lore is – by place name, rhyme, or riddle. It will sometimes give certain information regarding the person, place or thing when the object of the legend lore is at hand, but this data will always be in some cryptic form.
Interpretation, then, would be crucial. Salt considered that the wisdom necessary for interpretation ensured that knowledge lost would not be rediscovered by the foolish. This however created a serious concern for his own success in making a discovery. More than once his interpretations had been wanting. He recalled how the Ferein dragons, Silmarwen and Itarillë, had grown impatient with his lack of insight.
Also from the work of Yggaerxagy:
The spell is cast with incense and strips of ivory formed into a rectangle, but some item must be sacrificed in addition – a potion, magic scroll, magic item, creature, etc. Naturally, legend lore will reveal information only if the person, place or thing is noteworthy or legendary.
So it was that Salt began to work, assembling the proper materials for the extended casting of Legend Lore and detailing his questions as follows.
[fragment]
I/ For what purpose was the Glyph of Desthedes’ desire created?
II/ How will the Glyph be known or recognized?
III/ Where will the Glyph be found? How is it protected?
IV/ What word or concept does the Glyph represent?
V/ When was the Glyph created and by what means?
VI/ Is the Glyph metal, mineral, vegetal, or of another composition?
VII/ Is the Glyph alive? Is it intelligent?
VIII/ How will the Glyph be used or activated?
IX/ What are the Glyph’s powers or capabilities?
Salt continued to refine his questions, producing several drafts until the questions are finalized and inscribed clearly onto parchment. He then prepares the material components, cooks enough food to feed himself for the first several days of the ritual, and bathes in the lake. He has some difficulty selecting an appropriate item to sacrifice, and visits his home nearby to recover some of his most precious magic scrolls. Then he sets to work to divine what he can about the Glyph of Desthedes' desire. |
"What are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about dying."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means lying in the ground with dirt on your face and holding your breath forever."
-Burt Reynolds, "The End" |
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Prison Notes
Posted: 29 Aug 2006 10:19 AM |
How can I say that Dana is a good person?
Dana is wicked.
She has a heart like a mollusk shell. It spirals and leads to places where nobody can go. She pretends that it is a simple child’s heart, but it is not. Her heart is cruelly, coldly calculating and seeks her own advantages.
If she put her will into it she could rule M’Gok Tukar. She is that cunning.
She is that powerful.
She holds truth to be of no value whatever.
She does not know remorse. She committed these acts without passion and without care. She feared no consequence and she fears none even now.
Everyone it seems is fooled.
Is Lucius fooled? How can he be?
[Note 1]
Interview Notes – Ferein Detention of D & O
Met w/ criminals against Ferein in Det.
Condition of D excellent.
Condition of O deteriorates.
--Harms self, does not take food
--Sleep or torpor constant
The Trial - will be presided over by F.C. –
Archer
Priestess
Princess
Jessup’s scribe to defend and will call witnesses
[Note 2]
Interview of Dana
What is a good person???
Who are good people at M. Tukar???
~Shaman good person
x makes sick orc well
x knows the history of his people
x smart - wise
x saved Dana’s life ~ made her his daughter
~Borogask ~ CHIEF ~ good person
x mighty warrior
x Leads the tribe – says what the tribe must do
~All at M’Gok Tukar are good person
What does all of this mean???
ORC VALUES LOYALTY TO TRIBE
NOTHING OUTSIDE TRIBE IS GOOD???
or
WHAT IS OUTSIDE TRIBE HAS NO RELEVANCE TO WHAT IS GOOD???
or
OUTSIDE OF M. TUK. THERE IS NO RIGHT OR WRONG ~~ THE ORC IS NOT PREPARED TO BE A PART OF LARGER LIFE OF VIVES???
Contain the orcs in M. Tukar and there will never be a problem
OUTSIDE of M. Tuk. ~ Does an orc-blood try to recreate a tribe and define what is a good person along these same lines???
X X X Dana believes will be pardon because she is good person X X X
!! important !! Dana is not of orcish birth. Shaman at M. Tukar
Lived at M. Tukar most of her life from infancy but parents are HUMAN
~Though raised by ‘orclun’ D. knows that she has no orc blood in veins~
Problematic to a defense premised in the inferiority of orcs as a race – Dana’s exceptionalism
[Note 3]
Interview of Ophelia
Said to be Daughter of Orsk Fiendreaper
Also exceptional for her race ~ not raised at M. Tuk. but under cruel and terrible conditions
Speaks both the tongue of men and that of orcs equally well ~ should be a political asset to M. Tuk. if the orc had a political heart
O was kept like an animal in early life ~ from birth if I understood
Kept locked in a lightless airless BOX and raised like a PET
Her MASTERS ~~note plural~~ saw her used for pleasure and other things
HER FIRST MEMORIES are of killing things ~ say she killed her first man when she was only 5 or 6 yrs.
Imprisonment especially hard for her ~~ so she has closed in on herself and forgets where she is and under what circumstances
Does she remember these things now only because she is in prison? Is this the only opportunity for her to remember where she has come from?
Should she be allowed simply to forget?
OR
Should she go to her judgement fully aware of who she is?
[Note 4]
Analysis
1/ What will I say on their behalf?
Dana retrieved my remains and saw me raised from death. I would not be here today if it were not for her actions on my behalf.
Though she is born of MEN she had an orcish mind and thinks as the M. Tuk think
A woman born of MEN who lives among the M. Tuk has a difficult life as the orc is brutal and does not prize her fine human qualities
x x This life twisted her human heart and made her a murderess x x
Ophelia has been gentle and despite the upbringing she has forgotten
She is the only orc I have ever thought noble and she acted out of character
She too was raised to kill virtually from infancy ~~ kept as a slave for killing and to entertain her masters who I believe were evil men
HAD THEY BEEN GOOD MEN, an orc child could not acquire the finer qualities of the human character
Like Dana she draws strength from these challenges~~where D became cunning and learned to hide her heart Ophelia has learned to value life
SO her crime can only be attributed to the weakness of her race.
2/ What could justify these acts?
The orcs are an inferior race x x x BUT DANA WAS BORN OF MEN x x x
They have no sense for politics and perhaps are not capable of comprehending them
They care only for their tribe~~When an orc leaves M. Tuk. they make a new tribe and then care only for it
No rep. from M. Tuk. will defend D & O
The orcs will never change ~ ~ > AND SO unless they will be eradicated they MUST be contended with politically
That BOROGASK sent them to do this thing is enough to explain everything
This was not a crime but a blow struck in WAR
X X IT WAS FEREIN’S POLITICAL FAILURE X X
THIS is what must be dealt with. USE THIS OPPORTUNITY TO INITIATE DIPLOMACY TOWARD M. TUK
It must be TRIBE~meets~TRIBE
The objective of this DIPLOMACY would be to end the threat posed by M. Tuk and draw a promise from BOROGASK
Salt gathers these pages into a pile, and holds them together over the flame of an oil lamp. He is alone seated in the Falling Stars of Ferein.
The pages blacken but the paper resists the flame long enough for him to reconsider. He blows out the fire that licks the edge of the papers. The smell of paper smoke lasts a long time in the air.
He folds the papers together and crams them in between the pages of his spellbook - not a book so much as a riot of loose, unorganized papers. It is a safe hiding place. Whatever he says at the trial, these writings will never see the light of day. |
"What are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about dying."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means lying in the ground with dirt on your face and holding your breath forever."
-Burt Reynolds, "The End" |
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Notes on Talion Deraith
Posted: 20 Sep 2006 11:23 AM |
[A Note]
A weathered and sun-faded item has been inked by hand and is pierced at its corners where it was posted at the Buckshire Trading Post. Salt recovered it in the course of this research into Talion’s character and – presuming that Balthor had indeed been rescued – pulled it down to include in his file.
The noted wizard, Balthor Moutianhand, fell in the forests of Fenghuul. Aid is sought in the recovery and raising of this noble dwarf. Any skilled adventurers that are willing to offer aid in this attempt should leave their name with Doc. We will leave when a suitable force is assembled.
~Talion Deraith, ambassador for the Magistry.
* * * * *
[Fragment]
Talion – the Magistry
What does the “Ambassador to the People” do?
From Magistry Memoirs Chapter II Guide to All Things, &tc &tc &tc
Ambassador = “Scholar of the Magistry” and high – but not highest – authorization for use of spells and possession of artifacts. Equiv. Bronze or higher
Permitted to Borrow items of rare quality
Judging from literature avail. it would seem that the M would collect and safe-guard magical items, relics, artifacts &tc and ensure that they are used responsibly
Does Talion own these robes, or does the Magistry???
Has he acquired these robes through borrowing them from the M
* * * * *
[A small inexpensively-produced pamphlet, folded open and marked with a box around the following passages.]
From Chapter III, The Absolute Musts of Magistry Membership. In Magistry Memoirs
“Magical Items
Its your ABSOLUTE duty, to collect, report, and file any magical items you may come accross to the Magistry. To hold onto such items, is considered one of the highest crimes of membership. You are not required to give them to us permanently, but we must at least look at the item.”
* * * * *
[Letter Received]
My dear Salt,
I hope El'Zash did not cause any trouble, but know it is the most efficient way for me to send a letter.
The subject Talion Deraith:
I am afraid I can not comment on his character, since I have not spoken to this man myself yet, I have just seen him two or three times. What I can tell you is merely hearsay, but I can´t even tell who it was saying this Talion is 'a good man'. As you know yourself trusting the judgement of someone else, most probably biased, does not help getting an impression of one´s character for yourself. So I can just wish you good luck to find reasonable sources to picture his character.
The Art of Sequencing...a topic that always leads to long lasting debates amongst mages. Perhaps even a good topic for our meeting.
Anyway, I was in the same situation a few months ago. Certainly you remember Daimon Rabianara? A good example since we are speaking of sword-fighters, since that one calls himself the most skilled. (I will not argue that, Daimon is one of the most reliable and skilled sword wielders I have ever had the pleasure to meet)
Well, it was him who asked the same of me. He possessed one of these robes, although only the schooled eye would have realized the vest he´s wearing is one of the most potent pieces of magical crafting.
What did I do? To be honest, I did not think about it for too long...but I was in the situation that I knew him very well and I knew what he would be using the enchantments for. It were the days when we had to travel down to Nethar'u, and as you might know Daimon is one of the very few so-called demonhunters.
So, yes, I did the enchantment for him.
Would I do it again? Only if I knew the purpose, and only for one I would trust in his actions. Of course, it depends on the kind of spell you would store, but I am thinking of the powerful circles here.
I hope my words will make your decision a little easier. It is your decision what powers you think are best to grant him.
Many of those who know magic do not understand it. Many of those who understand magic do not know it.
This might not make sense really concerning the topic at hand, yet I am sure the next time we meet this makes an interesting discussion...
Yours sincerely,
Shihaya'zad
* * * * *
[Letter Received]
Esteemed Magister,
As requested, here is writ my unadorned appraisal of X.
In my experiences with X, I have found him to be nothing if not reliable on the field. He is competent in battle and applies a tactician's senses to many areas of life. Basic conversations can illustrate this much.
As to the content of his character, there is very little I can truly say with absolute certainty. The man is as closed to me as any other. Time and again I have witnessed selfless, nonchalant acts from X, but I gather that much of his generosity has to do with his ability to instantaneously generate great sums in short order. When it comes to something he wants, X spares no expense in its acquisition. I noticed a rare suit of armor in a display case and remarked as to its quality in his presence. Within a week, it had been delivered to me, unsolicited. As of yet, I have heard no pressing requests for reciprocation, and this was some months ago This, to me, is indicative of his nature. He is no fool. A gift given can be a fetter to the recipient, and as such X has many in an unofficial tow.
He traffics not in cynical schemes, but in social convenience. He does have rather strong opinions concerning the proper method of conducting oneself, but spares little thought when selling his wares to the black market of Port. Moreover, he was chosen as the Magistry's ambassador with good cause. He is single-minded in his pursuit of his desires and is a diplomat possessed of such skill that, while not in the same plane as his swordsmanship, is enough to sway many round table conversations in his favor. To this date, aside from his association with said Magistry, I have seen scant behavior warranting rebuke, save an occasional looseness of tongue in mixed company.
I have also seen little to warrant such a uniquely powerful gift. He is a man of the world, magister; this gift is an acquisition to X. He may or may not understand the full implications of it, but I rest assured that you do. The ultimate decision is, of course, yours, and for all the (perhaps unfair) harshness of my appraisal of him, I place my trust in you for this judgment. As many cautionary tales and auspicious acts as either he or I have witnessed, you have participated in half again the number.
Divinande ilunas cognoscead
Rosenellia Vimes
Il Crepusculari Paladine
* * * * * |
"What are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about dying."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means lying in the ground with dirt on your face and holding your breath forever."
-Burt Reynolds, "The End" |
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Communique from Ferein
Posted: 15 Dec 2006 12:31 PM |
[Letter personally delivered into the hands of High Captain Phillipe Jongras at Haven, with instructions that it be delivered only into the hands of his wife Blanche La Belle, or Byron Lorion. No one else may view its contents; Salt has imbued the text itself with an evocation such that it will combust if the letter is opened by any others.
The evocation will expire within a month. If neither of these two can be located in that time, Jongras is authorized to open the letter himself, view its contents, and act upon them as he sees fit.]
Falling Stars, High Quarter
Ferein
Esteemed Aristi~
I enclose to you a transcription of a document that I discovered in the
Library at Ladriel Tower, inserted between the pages of an irrelevant book,
Perhaps concealed there by the formerly Archmage of Tel’Elena,
Camthalion Tasratir.
The importance of this document will come clear immediately.
I have not been able to authenticate it to my own satisfaction, but
Another to whom these articles have great importance is satisfied
That they are genuine. I speak of her Highness, Princess Sairalindë Nénharma.
Together with the Ferein Council, she related to me the manner in which
This information seems to have surfaced.
As some are aware, the lady Blanche alerted Ferein of the impending
Battle that would become known as the Battle of the Plains. Your order
Earned the gratitude of the elves by her doing so. In return, Camthalion
Tasratir was commissioned by the Council to undertake certain researches
On behalf of the Novus Aristi, namely to recover whatever lore of ancient
Aristi possessed in the holdings of Tel’Elena, and perhaps other repositories as well.
The notation appearing on the enclosed transcription is clearly in
Camthalion’s hand on the original ~ which remains in my possession.
It appears that he discovered these articles and concealed them within
The library of Ladriel Tower.
It is said that the fugitive Tasratir departed Ferein with his research
Notes on Aristi in his possession, as well as other articles. The source
Of this text is therefore unknown. My feeling is that this text can only
Be truly authenticated by matching the original page to the text from
Which it was taken. Until such time as Tasratir is arrested, this seems
Unlikely. Until then, I submit this to you in accordance with the wishes
Of Princess Nénharma and the Ferein Council.
These articles call for your utmost discretion. The Princess Nénharma is
Yet to be Crowned. Some would use this document to unseat her ~ it may
Be that the Fugitive Tasratir plans precisely this. Therefore I call upon
You to take this opportunity to build upon your existing alliance with
Ferein. If you must make these articles public your love for the Princess
dictates that you delay until her rulership over Ferein be confirmed.
I Remain Sincerely~
Your Servant
The Salt Sower
[Enclosure]
The Ladriel Parchment
transcribed: Salt Sower
“(name illegible) and Aristi joined in union,
one born of lust. From the union came two
progeny; twins, both male, and favoured
likewise with traits of each of their
parents.
The brother Marcus was taken by his
Father Davion Aristi to dwell among
Humankind.
His twin, Inwé, favouring in appearance the
Traits of his mother, was placed among the
Elven, with the House of Nénharma, having
No male heirs of their own.
Among them he was treated as one of
Their own, coming in time to be leader
First of his house; then, as King, of the
Entire people…”
At the foot of the parchment, much more clearly written in a script which is in a different hand, and evidently more modern, are the words:
“Nothing but human lies, clearly forged and
best forgotten
CT”
* * * * * |
"What are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about dying."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means lying in the ground with dirt on your face and holding your breath forever."
-Burt Reynolds, "The End" |
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