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The gathering darkness...
Posted: 19 Dec 2005 03:38 AM |
It began in sorrow, determination and celebration....
Sorrow at the loss of lfe, Ferein mourned. Many had died with the city; friends, family, loved ones.
So many.
Determination to live on, Ferein gathered its strength. The Elves had suffered before, would suffer again; they would rebuild. A new city would rise.
Celebration at the curing of the Sickness that had afflicted the realm, the shards were found, darkness retreated, the snows melted, the beasts and the birds returned.
Ferein lived again.
Ferein lived, protected by the power of Elbereth and nurtured by her clergy, guarded by the watchfulness of Aros and his followers.
But....
In some parts that life was a travesty, a pale image of what it should be. Over central ferein the darknes still held sway, the Elves wandered through woods which though alive had no growth. Lived only by the power of Elbereth holding them in that life, preventing their death.
And then came word... as yet known to but a few.... |
ELVES! |
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Re: The gathering darkness...
Posted: 19 Dec 2005 03:38 AM |
| ((bumped to main forums)) |
ELVES! |
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Re: The gathering darkness...
Posted: 19 Dec 2005 03:53 AM |
((Following posts added to this thread with due acknowledgement to the authors concerned))
THE WORDS OF A SEER - SALT SOWER
I
A single tallow candle burns in a clay dish on the top of a table, and over the flame Salt sees a great black raven, who pulls bits of flesh from a pickled fish snitched from a barrel outside Fredo’s storehouse in Brandibuck Vale. Salt watches with pleasure as the raven takes his leisurely meal, and he thinks about how everything whispered to him by his familiar has come true.
Bogie, as he calls the bird, told him when the druid was ready to be found. Bogie whispered it into Salt’s ear. Ready to prepare some record from several days events, the old seer moves to his writing desk leaving the raven to finish its meal in solitude.
Salt takes a full sheet of fine cotton rag paper from a leather folder that contains at least a hundred blank sheets. Each sheet bears a faint watermark in two of its corners, and each watermark is slightly different except that they are slightly tinted in the same tone of blue. He dampens the paper to soften the sizing, selects a well-worn quill and begins to write:
These People were Present when the Druide
Leadership of the Mirghul Rangers was discovered~
Fell Undtivives
Iris Tammarack
Jakad DeVives
Nathan O’Reilly
Radra
Willom Wilde
In addition to my self. All heard what was spoken and under-
Stand the need for secrecy. All heard the Druid speak thus, that
None must reveal exactly how much we know of the sickness
That begins with two and will spread to all if not met with
Force and skill and wisdom~
Still it is trew that secrecy cannot be guaranteed. For that
Reason we must assume that what we have seen will be
Revealed and become widely known as this number is too
Great for secrecy to remain~
Salt puts down the pen and simply remembers. The party that he listed on the paper had come to him as he worked with rare herbs cultivated by a breed of mushrooms that walked and moved as men. There in the cavern of the Myconids he recruited them to bring him through the Mirghul Forest safely, to that place on the coast of the Inner Sea where the Mirghul Rangers had pitched their camp and set to enlarging it.
Steep cliffs dropped sharply downwards to the coastline of the Inner Sea, and the rangers had built a carriage that descended on thick ropes to the shore where the surf broke far below them.
Reaching the bottom, the party found a natural terrace safe from storms and surges at nearly the level of the sea, with ancient forest growth trimmed and groomed in the subtle way of those rangers who use the wood every day. In a hollow, long-dead tree a sort of home had been made, and the smell of food mixed with pungent medicinal herbs in the wood around it. It was clear that this was where they would find the Sunbringer, and the charge that Salt knew would also be found within.
It was as Salt’s familiar said it would be. And yet, the sight of the druid so long missed was staggering. His Sunbringer guardian turned and narrowed her eyes warily at their entrance. “Who are you?” she demanded. “What is this?”
“My greetings to you,” Salt began unsteadily. “You do not know me, but I have an understanding of... an understanding of...”
The half-elven druid coughed and slowly opened his eyes. He lay on a mat near a cauldron and wore a caul of blankets pulled over his head like a hood.
Seeing that he was conscious, Salt spoke up. “I am a seer and a prophet, Sunbringer. If you would allow me to speak?”
“Speak,” the Sunbringer commanded, looking from her charge to the visitors and back again.
Salt offered respect to the treeherder who had tended the Mirghul Forest since the time of Aristi. “This is he, the one that the Mirghul Rangers have missed for so long?” he asked.
The Sunbringer thought to dissuade him of the idea. “That's not- ”
“Not a secret, anymore.” The druid interrupted and chastised all at once. “No more secrets, too much darkness. Darkness comes and day will never be again…”
The druid was reduced by a fit of coughing, and then continued. “Dying, dying, the world is dying and the mother…”
Again the druid began to cough uncontrollably. “Listen,” he said to Salt coughing into his hand, “as only you can…”
Kneeling before the prostrate druid, the Sunbringer in close attendance, Salt listened. After a time, the Druid said aloud, “…the sickness of us all.”
“Then a cure is required,” Salt replied as the druid coughed into his hand. “I knew that you were sick, terribly sick. Now you say it is the sickness of us all?”
“Not just me,” said the druid, “not anymore. Others now. And more will follow. But only us for now, her clergy, her voice, her hands. The druids.”
Another in the party asked a question. “This sickness is contagious?”
“Druids only it seems, Fell,” said Iris Tammarack as the speaker again fell into a fit of coughing.
“But it will affect us all,” said Nathan with urgency.
“Affect all?” said the druid. “Of course. Darkness comes.”
“It is said that the land has drunk too much,” Salt said, “that the thing which has passed left behind its poison.”
“Someone else's darkness,” said the druid. “So many shades of black.”
“The Sleeper?” asked Salt Sower.
“No, no,” replied the druid with finality. “He sleeps.”
The Sunbringer interposed herself saying to the druid, “You should be resting.”
“A cure is needed,” Salt said urgently. “I know where to begin, but the next step is lost on me…”
“Silent too long,” said the druid. “Hid myself too long. No more time for secrets, now…”. He continued: “The signs.. Wait for the signs. The sickening…”
“The Sickening of Ferein?” Salt interjected.
“The sickening of Vives,” came the reply.
“The whole world?!!” asked Iris Tammarack.
The druid mustered his last bit of strength. “Any healer knows… what affects one part of the body affects the whole. But the signs. Wait for the signs. Tell no one. If they know we know- ”
Outside, Willom looked at Salt, straining and struggling. “I am very confused, Salt. What is happening?”
Nathan, that tamer of bears, pulled down a pear from a tree near the hollowed-out haven of the druid.
“What signs are we waiting for?” asked Iris Tammarack.
“Signs like the ones in Buckshire,” Nathan suggested around a mouthful of the pear’s delicate white flesh.
Iris Tammarack disagreed. “That was resolved,” she corrected. “I don’t think that is related…”
“Aye, it is resolved, but it was a sign of something…” Nathan argued. “It was a visible symptom”
Willom shrugged. “Maybe they just fixed a symptom, but not the sickness.”
Salt’s mind was on other things, however. "If they know we know..." the seer repeated, from the warning of the blighted druid.
“I dunno who They are,” Nathan said, finishing the sugary pear. The swordsman named Fell Undtivives repeated it, nearly in unison with him.
“But we know,” reasoned Salt, “that there is an agent behind this. It is not simply a blight that can be cured.”
Iris nodded somewhat cryptically. “There is always an agent.”
“Agent?” asked the blue-skinned Jakad. “What do we know of this agent?”
“Our opponent...” Salt began slowly, “will remain unknown for now. We tell no one, because our opponent cannot know that we have begun to act on this. They may never reveal themselves, if we are precise in our movements.”
II
Salt withdraws another page of the fine rag paper and prepares to inscribe a letter. He plans to give the letter to his elven acquaintance named Yggsdrazil, who has favorably impressed him, and whom he hopes will deliver it to Tel’Ilmela, the seat of power in Ferein, where Princess Sairalindë Nènharma sits on her thrown.
Shudderingly, he considers the quality of his penmanship in the knowledge that his letter will go before the eldest acting member of the Ferein Council. Archmage of the Tel’Elena tower, Camthalion Tasratir pointedly refused to speak the common tongue during Salt Sower’s late visit, except to direct the following question.
“Why you?” Camthalion had asked. “Why you, old man? Why is it that a warning concerning us should come through you… of all people?”
Unspoken but implied were many questions. Did Ferein not have its own seers, its own mages skilled in divination and blessed with the sight? How could the vision of a man of positively inferior credentials, who absorbed what little magic he knew from his time in service to the mages of Ka’azim rather than from any formal training, have any relevance to Ferein and its affairs?!!
Salt missed the opportunity to ask Elvalia Mellebin, the youngest member of the Ferein Council who was also present, and whom the old seer counted as a friend, what was signified by the exchange that followed between the archmage and Princess Sairalindë in the elven tongue. At its conclusion, however, Camthalion had left the chamber containing her throne. To that point Salt would not have supposed that any member of the council, least of all its wisest, could be overruled by her Highness. The matter required further consideration, and serious inquiry into political matters internal to Ferein as well.
Now Salt wrote not to Archmage Camthalion, where a letter of recommendation would likely have the consequence of ending any hope for membership in the mage tower of Tel’Elena, but directly to Her Highness, who would share the letter with the council and perhaps use her influence on a younger elven mage’s behalf.
Tel’Ilmela Tower
Her Highness~
Sairalindë Nènharma
Daughter of Celebess~
and Sovereign over the Ferein Land
This letter regards the matter, which I brought to the attention
Of the Ferein Council just several days hence, and in which
You accepted me into your confidence by sharing many De-
Tails already known to the Council regarding the sickness or
Sleep of Revered Náriël Arnatuilë that continues to the present day.
If your servant understands the information that you presented
The last time Priestess Náriël was heard to speak was also the
Most recent appearance of the mysterious figure who names Her-
Self as Itarillë Telemnar~
The woman who names her friend and companion as Silmarwen,
Who sleeps somewhere as Náriël sleeps in a sickness that
Cannot be broken~
Since our meeting your servant has been visited by the app-
Arition of Itarillë once again. It was in the Temple Gardens where
I sought repose to contemplate our meeting that Itarillë appeared
And spoke unto me and much that she said confirmed the
Words you spoke as well. The warning issued in this vision
Was terrible and I share it now with you…
* * * * *
Tell them, Elvalia formed the words across the council chamber at Tel’Ilmela silently with her mouth, encouraging Salt to do what she had brought him before Princess Sairalindë to do.
Those members of the council who were able to attended were his audience. Before him was the princess herself, as well as Archmage Camthalion Tasratir, and Salt’s friend and supporter, Elvalia Mellebin. Three, of the four ranking Councilors who comprise the leadership of all Ferein. High Captain Eowarar Gelin stood to the side among the personal guard that he commanded. “Highness,” the outsider began speaking common, “I am called the Salt Sower by those mages at Ka’azim. I am an independent practitioner of divination, a seer and at times a prophet.”
“A seer?” asked the princess.
Salt humbly replied, “Yes, Highness.”
The princess glanced towards the others of the council. “Lady Elvalia said you had word of… a vision. Is that true?”
“I have learned things in my way, that are of consequence to Ferein. Truly, they are of consequence beyond, to all.”
Princess Sairalindë nodded that he should continue.
“If her Highness consulted with her advisors, I trust she should learn a great deal about the Rangers that once defended Mirghul Forest, from a great evil on the coast...”
“We know of this,” said the princess.
“The Rangers still exist,” Salt said. “For a time I sought the ancient, secretive Druid who leads the Rangers, that he might tell me of the former evil that recently brought the Sleeper to wake, and now to sleep again.”
“This druid,” Archmage Camthalion said peremptorily. “He has a name?
Salt faltered. “His name… has not been shared with me.”
Elvalia frowned at Camthalion slightly. Salt did not notice, focused as he was on the ancient magus. The seer searched for the proper words. “Highness, the Druid…”
Princess Sairalindë left her thrown and approached to within ten yards of the speaker. “Continue Master Sower,” she said.
He did continue, mindful of the warning that echoed mysteriously: Tell no one. “The Druid was missed for nearly an age, hiding from an enemy that I do not know, and now he lies suffering from sickness. I tell you this in full confidence of your goodness. You will understand that there is great risk to sharing this information.”
The princess frowned slightly. “Has he knowledge of what this sickness is?”
“The same sickness has also stricken in Ferein, Highness.” Salt let his statement fall. It was something that he could not possibly know.
The princess inclined her head. “How so?”
Archmage Camthalion frowned in Salt’s direction and said something in the Elven tongue.
“This is what I have seen...” Salt offered, defending his statement. “The sickness will affect those who are held in the hands of Elbereth, first. It will spread through her followers like a blight.”
This statement was followed by an exchange in Elven among the council members.
“There is more, that I have seen. That I have been shown.”
“Tell me,” said the princess.
“What stood as the shining city of Ferein, and is now sealed forever... Something moves there. I do not know what, or why it is important. But it is a certainty. All is not quiet in that tomb. I have also received an indication of how we might proceed, but it is vague.”
“And this sickness... the druid... the city... they are connected?” The princess was putting together disparate information, making decisions as the seer continued.
Salt, however, demurred. “It cannot be known through my powers alone, Highness.”
The sound of disregard, a subtle snort. It had come from the archmage.
“Then how?” asked the princess. “How can it be known?”
“I add two facts, to this. First, there are to be signs, and they will show the way to dissolve the sickness.
Princess Sairalindë nodded quickly to Elvalia. Something he had said to them was in agreement with what they already knew.
Salt continued. “The signs might not be intended for our eyes or our perception, Highness, and this brings me to my second and final point. We are opposed, if we move to stop this sickness. If we interrupt it's course, we face an enemy that cannot be allowed to know what we attempt. This enemy--unknown--cannot be allowed to realize that we are even aware of what is happening.
It pained Salt to see the princess frown so deeply. “There is no word of what these signs may be?”
The seer considered. “I am led to believe that I will know them. I believe that any who are aware will know them as well.”
“Why you,” Camthalion intoned in common, and it echoed sharply through the cavernous council chamber.
Uncertainty. Camthalion’s questions initiated a discussion among the council member present for the audience. Salt could not follow it. At its close, the archmage departed, probably returning to Tel’Elena.
When the air had calmed and the only sound was the softly clittering armor that hung lightly on the palace guard, Princess Sairalindë again addressed the Salt Sower. “Tell me... Master Sower, what do you know of the Tears of Elbereth?”
Salt said that he had taken part in the recovery of one shard of one tear. He had witnessed the Sickening of Ferein. “But,” he said “you would grace me to speak on the tears.”
“There were four,” the princess said, now seated again on her throne. Four, once guarded at the place of the same name. You know of it?
Salt nodded comprehendingly. “I do know the place.”
“They were stolen. By means unknown they found their way into the hands of those who mean harm to us and others. Two were recovered some time ago… The other two found themselves in the hands of Gukathul. We cannot know for sure, but it is believed that he sought somehow to pervert them to his own use. One, as you know, he destroyed in his frustration. It was from that Tear that the shards were recovered. All but one, at least.”
“The other,” she continued, “the remaining Tear, he corrupted despite the efforts and the pursuit of Lord Aros. However…due to the attentions of My Lord, or so it is thought, Gukathul gave up his claim to the Tear, and by means unknown it was returned here, to Ferein, to what was the Inner City.”
The princess smiled ruefully. The expression was not altogether unbecoming on her face. “It was that, Master Sower, which caused the Sickening of our land and the destruction of our city.... and many of our people. Due to the efforts of some... like yourself, the shards, or most, were recovered and the Sickness abolished from our lands. The Tear however.... the fourth Tear is still there. Since the destruction of the city the gates have been sealed, on the orders of the Council.
“Yes, Highness,” Salt said.
“None know what now lies beyond,” Princess Sairalindë said. After taking a deep breath, perhaps to dispel a tinge of pain that bubbled up from her grief, she began to share. “There have, however, been signs.”
Salt gripped his staff tighter as the princess continued. “You recall a few months ago that there was a battle... in Icy vale?”
“Oh yes, Highness.”
“What do you know of it?” the princess asked.
“I found myself on one side,” Salt said, “when I should have been in the middle.”
She nodded, and asked, “You recall the outcome?”
Salt said, “The hin named Alton Highhill was given the means to create peace by Vilyave. There was a rending of the fabric of Vives, and upheaval. Some were scattered across the land, from the scene of the conflict.”
“Storms in the air,” Princess Sairalindë said. “Trembling of the land. But among these were other more subtle events also, and their meanings were not clear at the time.”
“She appeared,” invoked the Ferein High Priestess Liana, standing on the periphery of the group opposite from Captain Eowarar. Salt had seen her standing there, and recognized her from another gathering during the Sickness Ferein had seen not so long ago. “After the storms faded, after the ground quieted… She appeared in the temple, the one known as Itarillë.”
“That name,” Salt said…
“Indeed,” said the princess, “that name. One unknown to us then at least…”
“The sister of Elvalia, named Bronwyn,” Salt said, “has spoken of this to the man named Connavar.”
“Others also have spoken of her, and one also named Silmarwen,” Princess Sairalindë intoned. “Silmarwen is one who she apparently seeks. And on that day also, Náriël fell, and has been unwell ever since. Náriël has not so much as spoken save but twice.”
“Nor is the druid of the Mirghuls able to speak,” Salt said meaningfully.
“Once, she spoke to Bronwyn,” the princess continued. “The second time, to Itarillë herself.”
After a pause, she said to the seer, “You see Master Sower, you are not the first to speak of what lies beyond the gate to the Inner City. Yours is the second warning that something perilous might lie beyond it. The first came from the one called Silmarwen who spoke with Náriël’s voice. Then however, we believed only that it was Ferein in possible danger. Now... thanks to your good self, it would appear otherwise.”
“Permit me, Highness” Salt said. “It is known, what Náriël spoke to Itarillë?”
Princess Sairalindë shook her head. “The language was not understood by any present save the two of them: Itarillë, and the one named Silmarwen, who spoke with Náriël’s voice. Those present,” she said, looking to Elvalia for their names…
“Yggsdrazil, and A’mael,” said Elvalia.
“Those present spoke of the tongue being familiar yet elusive.” The princess paused. “Itarillë… Itarillë has not been seen, nor has she spoken since. At least, not to my knowledge. However, she told those present that the gate should be opened, that without whatever lies beyond being dealt with, Silmarwen would not awaken, nor would Náriël recover.”
“Then, Highness,” Salt said, “perhaps I bring new urgency. There are other lives and other peoples at risk.”
“Perhaps I was at fault in not allowing it to be opened sooner. Yet I will not see my people at further risk. We have suffered enough. We must prepare, ensure that what lies this side of the gate is safe from harm, only then will we give the word that it shall be opened.”
Typical of his vision, Salt saw a frightening possibility. “How can it be certain that the gate has such significance... that what lies without can be called safe at any time?”
“You misunderstand...” the princess stated. “I do not doubt that what lies beyond is evil... what happened to my people is proof enough of that. What I mean to… and will ensure... is that it remains there come what may, that we do not suffer again as we did. However... Unlike some would have you believe, we are not oblivious to the world outside our borders. It is clear from what you say that more is at stake than just Ferein. We will prepare, and prepare rapidly.
Here the princess looked meaningfully at Elvalia, who nodded firmly in return.
“I would say at most three weeks will be needed,” the princess finished.
Salt answered, “I will not squander the time, Highness.”
“It... it cannot be forgotten that there is an enemy,” Salt later said to Elvalia.
“I am known for many things Salt,” she said in response, and laughing softly. “Breaking a trust isn't one of them.”
“I understand that, Elvalia. To be certain. And yet...” the seer struggled to express his misgivings.
“There are many enemies,” Elvalia said. “Some of us have more than others…”, and now the princess too joined in soft respectful laughter.
“I came here because I knew you would listen,” Salt continued. “Any with this knowledge would know you would listen. And yet...”
“And yet?” asked Elvalia.
“Why was this not brought to you sooner?” said the seer. “There must have been a sound reason for secrecy, among the Rangers of Mirghul. That troubles me.”
Elvalia surpressed her amusement. “Not all are as conscientous as you, Salt. Not all are as caring of others.... especially us. Some would have heard the news and cared less about it.”
“That is one explanation,” Salt said. “But the one who kept this secret is much wiser than that. Much wiser than me, in fact. That troubles me greatly. I do not doubt that I have done the right thing, but still something lingers.
“It may be that he was unable to send word...” Elvalia answered. “He has after all been distracted by other problems. The Sleeper. The Bloodwood.”
“’Tell no one. If ~they~ know that ~we~ know...’” Salt quoted. “That is what the druid said to me.”
“None will hear from any here, you can rest assured of that,” stated Elvalia with authority. “This might concern the land... yet the peril is here. All in this room are from Ferein, and none would see her harmed.”
Salt smiled at that. “You, too, are wiser than me, Elvalia. If you say this, then I believe it.”
III
What remains is for Salt to complete his letter to Her Highness, Princess Sairalindë Nènharma, and convey the warning that the apparition of Itarillë Telemnar had given to him. He calls her appearance an apparition, because while Salt believes absolutely everything that he perceives, he also understands vision to be the weakest of his senses. He always assumes that what is before his eyes is contradictory, trusting instead what passes before his inner eye with absoluteness.
The continuation of the letter:
…
I met Itarillë in the Temple Garden, and saying
That I was a foreigner to Ferein. Itarillë told me that she too found
The place to be foreign. Her garb and her Badge was unlike any
I had seen though her tongue did not strike me as awkward
Or archaic.
She told me that she was Elven of blood, but that Ferein was
Never her home. I remember that she gestured to the south
And to the east, saying There, there had been her home.
I asked if it was the city called Minyaren, which was given over to
Tarik and destroyed by Elbereth, causing her to shed her tears unto
The times we now live in. I knew soon the foolishness, for the dwell-
ers at Minyaren died or found refuge in Ferein.
Itarillë told me that her home had been the Forests of Fangduin.
Itarillë then told me that those forests now are gone, long covered
By Ice. Where once all was green and pleasant, there dwell now only
White wooly beasts that walk on ground and rivers frozen.
Minyaren, the apparition said, was new, was young to her
Like the Elven homeland of Ferein is young to her.
The apparition recalled a time when she walked the Fangduin Forest
With another named Silmarwen. You spoke this name in my
Presence, as did the Priestess Náriël when visited by Itarillë in the
Presence of the two, Yggsdrazil and A’mael. Itarillë told me that
Silmarwen now sleeps, while She Herself walks alone, and
Yet also sleeps.
Your servant said that he would ask the Priestess Náriël about
The place called Fangduin, in order to provoke the Visitor into
Saying more about the Priestesses strange sickness. Itarillë told
Your servant that Náriël was unwell, and that She Also Sleeps.
So it comes to this~
The Priestess Náriël Arnatuilë, and
Itarillë Telemnar who visited Náriël and Spoke with Silmarwen
And the Druid who leads the Rangers of Mirghul Forest all sleep with
The same Sickness. And none can wake until Ferein is Cleansed.
None Can Wake until Ferein Is Cleansed ~ this comes
directly from the mouth of Itarillë or from her apparition. I write precisely her
Words ~ Until the Gate is opened Silmarwen will sleep, Náriël will sleep,
Itarillë will sleep
At this point, Itarillë walked with me through Ferein to a sheltered cavern
Underneath the Sacred Grove ~ to the Place where Náriël lies
With her caregivers.
I do not know if we visited that place in our Bodies ~ since those we
Passed and those who tend to the Priestess did not see me there nor
Take Exception to my appearance in the Vicinity of the vulnerable
Arnatuilë ~
Nor if in fact if Itarillë appeared to me in a body of her own~
At one point I tried to touch her garments but she withdrew from
my Reach~
Looking unto the prostate form of Náriël Arnatuilë the apparition
Said that Silmarwen was close by as we stood in the presence of the
Priestess.
An image came to my Mind then~
Of two Elven females, one of fair hair and one of dark.
Itarillë and Silmarwen~
They walked through a young green forest of a kind that
May not exist anywhere in Vives, and it was terrible and beautiful
In its youth and vigor~
Both friends were clad in the same garb and wore the same
Badge, and one carried a bow, and one carried a staff~
There was a permanent bond between the two of them that is
Difficult for a man to comprehend, as though no time or distance
Could separate them~
Then the Vision changed and I saw a long, bloody, pitiless War ~ Elves
Were fighting and dying and the Forest became cold and a snow fell
Covering it~
Orcs Rampaged, and another thing behind the Orcs that was
Blanketed by the snows and winds and mists. It was a monstrous Walker
Far greater than the orcs
~ The Walker Behind The Snows ~
Long Years of Darkness and then came the sight of A Harp
And a Woman’s Statue that Glowed Green. Neither had I ever
Seen before.
Now The Warnings of Itarillë
Itarillë told me that It sees and It knows, as sure as Your Servant is
Able to see and know. She spoke here of the evil thing that Waits
Within the Ferein Inner City now a Tomb, Sealed behind Gates that
We speak of opening.
It knows that the Gates will be opened and that we will come~
It Waits~
It Grows, and Will not stop Growing~
Itarillë Does Not Know what it is ~ only Sensing
That it is twisted hungry and evil~
It it Not Alone ~ It has Gathered others to Itself, to Protect it~
It has Used All it could Find~
This Warning has terrible implicaitions. Those Elves who fell
When Gukathul brought down the Ferein City are Rallied by the Evil that now
Moves there. What comes will be a Confrontation with the Fear and Mystery
Of Undeath to the Elves.
There Will Be Signs.
I wish to Recommend the Bearer of this Letter who is already Known to you
As Yggsdrazli E'lan into Your Service. He is in an exceptional position to
Help this Cause. FIRST he was Visited by the apparition of Itarillë as Your
Servant was, and Itarillë knows His Name and Spoke it to me when I saw
Her. SECOND he can be Depended upon to know The Signs. He has
Demonstrated this to the Satisfaction of Your Servant and there is little that
I Know Even Now that Yggsdrazil E'lan has Not Himself Seen
In my Opinion he ought to be taken into the Confidence of the Council and given
Over to the Tower of Tel'Elena to be trained as a Master of Signs and Portents.
Use your Influence to place him into Tel'Elena if it can be Accomplished.
Your Highness~
I Remain~
The Salt Sower
* * * * *
Salt sets the several pages side-by-side and blows gently into the ink until it cures and is dried. Then he folds the pages together with a flat bone rod designed for that purpose. He slips the letter into an oiled flat leather case strongly stitched with sinew and buckles it fast shut.
The letter is shoved deeply into the sleeve of Salt's robe after he has retrieved his satchel, shoes and bronze-shod traveling staff, and he departs from the vicinity of Brandibuck Vale in search of Yggsdrazil, who will carry his warnings, Itarillë's warnings, to those ears that must hear them.
[OOC--Yggs, find me IG or post here and we'll see if we can't negotiate for you to visit the Ferein Council, only partly on my behalf.
BTW only a little of this is my writing--I'm just taking this dialog from my logs--thanks to all involved for producing it!]
THE WORD OF AN ADVENTURER - FELL UNDTIVIVES
Fell glanced back into the looking glass for the umpteenth time, paying close attention to the dark lines under his eyes. “Were they there before?” He couldn’t remember. Iris has said it would only affect druids… for now. He cleared his throat, which felt a bit sore. “Nonsense, he was fine” he told himself as he stared at his tongue and throat, trying to memorize their hue for later reference.
The darkness under his eyes was probably nothing more than a reminder that he hadn’t slept well since the encounter with the Sunbringer druid three nights prior. Any soreness in his throat was easily attributable to the yelling for more rounds of ale in the tavern last night. Aye, and the blood-shot eyes and the aching head too. He had drunk himself into a stupor two nights in a row, but it still has not helped him sleep much. Still, he would ask Iris about it again when he saw her next. Maybe she could use her alchemy skills to conjure up a tonic to make him feel well and sleep better. He tossed the ornate mirror down on the ostentatious bed with a frown. If he could have found a cheaper room to rent, one with fewer amenities and no mirror, he would never have even noticed those dark lines. The whole episode had unnerved him more than he cared to admit. It was mainly that there was little he could do and none he could tell.
Beware of a new enemy
Watch for signs
Tell no one
It was not in his nature to lie low and do nothing. He would have to seek out Salt Sower and request some task, something he could do to help, something more than watching and waiting. Perhaps there was some way he could help with this supposed cure.
As Fell left his room and walked down the stairs to the elven bar below, his mind ruminated on the seer. Salt seemed like a trustworthy fellow, and he had more than held his own against the various beasts that had accosted the group on their search for the sick druid. Still, this Frobozz business, with the blue mustache and associated strangeness, left Fell feeling uncertain. He decided that in addition to watching for signs, he would also watch Salt and reserve judgment.
He laughed suddenly, as the memory of Salt tripping popped into his head. The seer had twice busted his arse, stumbling on the same uneven board in the ranger encampment. “At least he’s human” Fell chuckled.
“At least?” came an unexpected response. Fell looked up from his high-brow elven ale and made brief eye contact with the disapproving elven wench that was tending bar. “Nothing” Fell grumbled, though he longed to unburden himself with the tale, even as the barmaid glowered at him.
It wasn’t the first time he was tempted to discuss the matter. Twice before he had almost told the tale. Last night after Doc Magillicutty had cut him off, he had started to ask the portly innkeeper if he knew any Mirghul forest druids. Doc just raised an eyebrow and retorted “What forest dudes?” Fell nodded and fell silent.
“Tell no one”
Loose lips sink ships, but a slurred word righted the ship that night.
Bloody hell, he had almost blurted out the whole story the morning after it had happened. He had gone to Port Royal to cure the skins from the bears they had fought through en route to the ranger camp, when Natalyia busted him for filching a few coins from the tailor’s wardrobe. Caught off guard, he quickly remember an amulet that Marrya Swift had told him Natalyia might be interested in. After selling her the amulet for a better than fair price, and engaging her in some light banter, Fell felt a deep urge to confide in her what he had witnessed. He opened his mouth and suddenly thought better of it. This was Port Royal, with the Black Hand, the Guyvers, and who knew how many other factions. Eyes and ears were everywhere. Instead, Fell blurted out an awkward question about the Black Hand, bumbled and stumbled, and hastily took his leave.
“Tell no one"
Fell did not think of himself as the type that could not keep a secret, but this was more than a secret. Hellfire, Fell didn’t even know much.
A sick druid?
A sick Vives?
An evil agent?
A cure?
Many more question than answers to be sure.
Fell needed to seek out Willom and Iris, or Jakad, or Nathan. If for no other reason than to confirm that he wasn’t mad. But mostly to confer on a course of action. Doing nothing he would surely be mad shortly, or worse he would tell someone else and risk tipping their hand.
As Fell walked through Ferein on his way to the docks, he detected an unmistakable unease in the air. It was subtle, but it was there none-the-less. Was this a sign? Salt had said they would know the signs when they saw them, but here was a sign he could feel more than see. Fell quickened his step, suddenly feeling the need to be gone from Ferein... |
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And The Druid Coughed
Posted: 19 Dec 2005 04:26 AM |
Here.
Yet not here.
Awake.
And yet I sleep.
For months have I sat here - or have I?
Watching, watching while she slept, tended by the others in prayer and care... and despair. Though they do not show it their concern hangs in the air like something tangible.
For months... long to many but to me the blink of an eye. I who have seen so much.
They are like children, wise in their own ways and yet lost to their past.
She sleeps, as does Silmarwen.
Ah... Silmarwen, I feel you my friend, sense your presence. Yet you are weak. I am weak.
Do I even live?
Is this all but a dream to add to the many I have had, year upon year, century upon century, millenia upon millenia.
And now I sit and watch, sit here in the Grotto unmoving, watching as they care for her.
Yet I felt him, the human. Felt him where I woke and so sought him out, he sees.
How curious that I sit here among our own who are blind to much, and yet this old man should come to teach them, to warn them, to speak with me.
He sees much, perhaps more than he knows.
So mused Itarillë Telemnar, as she sat immobile and watched as she had for many months since her appearance at the temple. The druids prayed, they chanted, watched over their leader and cared for her as best they could while she lay, unknowing, oblivious to all.
Watched by the silent elf who sat in her strange armour, her bow laid in her lap.
Watching.
Watching as those gathered around Nariel prayed for her recovery, moistened her lips tended to her bodily needs.
And then it came.
This was by no means a silent place, but the sound was so unknown here that it stood out among the whispered conversations and the chanting, drowned for a brief moment the softly intoned prayers.
The druid coughed.
Itarillë looked up at the Elf as she knelt by her leader, her hand over her mouth and an expression of surprise in her eyes. An expression mirrored in the eyes of those who stood and knelt around her.
It came again, the Elf coughed once more, surprised, embarrased, and if truth be told, fearful.
The prayers had stopped now, all gathered around looking questioningly at their sister, her expression mirrored in theirs. They watched in silence, one could almost have heard a pin fall to the ground.
Then the silence was broken and heads snapped round, eyes fixed on the Elf sat in the corner as she spoke.
"So.... " said Itarillë, "it begins." |
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