The Feldmere: Part VI: The Swan Maid
The party kept their eyes glued to the tall silvery spire upon the small isle in the center of the mirror lake.
It was obvious, as they neared, that the shining light that provided a "sun" of sorts for this wintery realm was fixed directly over the tip of the tower.
Around the base of the isle, a multitude of swans calmly swam about, leaving trailing ripples in the otherwise perfectly still reflective surface of the lake.
A few snowy white egrets could be seen poking about the lightly colored reeds at the island's edge. Haelan and Fen observed one, as they neared a short low pier of white wood, pull a silvery fish out of the shallows and gulp it down hungrily.
The swan shaped skiv in which they rode came to a smooth even halt at the side of the pier.
"Guess we get off here?" Festus said tentatively. He was becoming increasingly nervous in this strange land which, "obviously!", was inhabited by "snow fairies."
"'Course we get off here, goat-butt. This is where the treasure is!" Duor scoffed at the satyr as he clamoured out of the boat before anyone else.
The companions stood, calmly on the short pier and, after taking in the elegant and beautifully carved tower, began wandering to the shore.
Before Duor could set foot on the actually ground of the isle, a breeze swept up and the form of the woman of snow again coalesced before them. Eventually, she was entirely solid and the breeze subsided.
She was about five and half feet tall with curling locks of the palest blond, almost white, that flow freely all about her down to her waist. She was swathed in a fitted gown with billowing skirts, all of white with intricate brocade of glistened like actual silver. Her exposed skin was, likewise, incredibly pale.
Her eyes were most captivating, large and round, with irises that also glittered of metallic silver. They seemed to convey curiosity, a calming wisdom, and soul-piercing intensity all at once.
She said nothing, but just looked from one companion to the next.
"Snow fairy!" Festus burst and again drew his blades.
She looked at the satyr as if he were a blank wall.
Braddok stepped forward to lower the ranger's blades.
"She's definitely not one of my people." Erevan whispered to Alaria.
"Is that a Selurian, Alaria?" Haelan asked nervously recalling at once the archivist's description of them as "albino" but also calling to mind the horrid tales he'd heard as a child of the demon-worshipping, infant-eating, would-be world conquurers of the last age.
"I...I don't know Haelan." Alaria said calmly, attempting to take in as much of the woman's facial expressions and body language as she could. Her Magess' curiosity flooded her mind with her own quetstions. What, in fact, was she? Who was she? Where were they? What did this have to do with the tomb...or the dragon...the poem...Nor Gorthok?
"Ok, Snow Lady, where's the treasure?" Duor blabbed.
The woman just cocked her head and looked at Duor.
Her expression was unchanged and yet, the dwarf felt firmly cowed.
"Greetings, my lady." Coerraine posed to the silent woman. "We've come to...um..from..." the paladin's attempt at an elegant introduction halted as the woman's gaze turned to him.
She looked at him for a moment and the slightest, most demure, courtly grin formed on her lips. She blinked.
"Are you a Selurian?" Haelan asked, his face full of sincerity and curiosity.
The woman looked at the daelvar and grinned further.
"Thou wouldst be heroes. Yet thou coat and arm a child?" the woman said with...not concern...but curiosity.
"I'm not a child! I'm a fully grown daelvar, thank you very much. I have a full thirty-five springs." Haelan protested. <DM's note: In Orea, it is true that most of the hairfooted folk are, actually, born in the spring. Even if they are not, the daelvar measure age by number of springs, regardless of when in the year one is actually born.>
"Apologies, gentle folk" the woman replied with a short curtsy. "I have ne'er seen one of thy kind. Be at peace and welcome to Gorathgraard."
"Aight, so yer talking now. So let's not have any upset. Where's the treasure? We fought the tomb guardian of Eats-his-gruel and..."
The woman's silver eyes turned to the dwarf with obvious surprise. The first indication of emotion she had revealed.
"Thou hast seen Itzizgruel?!" the woman breathed in shock. "He lives yet?"
"Apologies, my lady. But no." Alaria interjected in an attempt to get things more on track and, hopefully, some information. "My dwarven companion has the name mistaken. We entered this realm from the tomb of Ifthrakuel."
"I see." she said, obviously deflated. "Yay. Ifthrakuel was one of the first to fall. Of Itzizgruel I have known not for..." She lifted her silvery gaze to the top of the large statue breaking the tree tops beyond the edge of the inner woods.
A tear formed from the woman's eye and trailed down her cheek before seeming to freeze and fall, solid, with a soft sound into the snow about her feet.
"My lady," Coerraine attempted to begin again, "if I may, what is this place? How did you come to be here? What is your name that we might thank you for the timely assistance in the woods."
She nodded. "Nay. Thy thanks art necessary not, fine paladin. Thou art of obvious character and valiant cause. Though, I confess, I nay have ken thy coat of arms. Long has it been since I stopt to dream for champions for Gorathgraard."
"Is that where we are? You still haven't answered the Selurian question...your, um, ladyship." Haelan asked.
"Swanmae! I've got it! You're a swanmae!" Festus burst. "Not so bad as fey-folk go...definitely not like pixies...and, if I may say, one lovely to behold." the satyr concluded with a leery smile and raise of his eyebrow as he noticeably adjusted his crotch.
"A...what? Yay, I was once called as one of our lord's Swan Maids. Though of the faye art I surely not! Surely not so nearly as thou, satyr." she replied with some annoyance.
"So you are a Selurian, then?" Helan again pressed. He was getting decidedly fearful at the lack of answer.
"A 'Sel-ur'...? Ah, yes. I remember. One of the White Tribe of the East, thou means? Nay. Our lord gave us this place long before their rise.
"Though I see the Green Tribe of the South still roams the land. Star-blood or nay I wouldst know thy kind anywhere, traitor!" she concluded with a scowl in Fen's direction. The breeze returned and raged a bit around the lake and island before subsiding.
"The Green...what? No, milady. No! I am of the Holy Order of Mist-" Fen began to explain with his most charming smile in an attempt to soften the maid's disposition.
"Thy charms art wasted on one such as I." she said now fully frowning at the company. The winds again rose and intensified and became bone-chilling.
"Alright. That's enough of that. Nice goin', druid. I'm gettin' my treasure now!" Duor growled and withdrew his ethereal blade.
"Heroes thou wouldst pretend, yet I art to be deceived by the Black One, once again! I pray for champions and find delivered, instead...
"Greed!" she spat at Duor.
"Lust!" to Festus.
"Apathy and Avarice!" toward Fen and Erevan.
"Ambition!" toward Alaria.
"My lady, no!" Alaria protested. "We're here to help! Duor, stay your blade!"
Duor made a dive toward the woman, his intent clear.
She did not move, nor spoke any word, but the winds now swirled around Duor's form. The mini-blizzard entirely shrouding the dwarf from the others' sight.
When the winds and snows dispersed after a moment, where Duor had been now appeared a crystalline statue of blue-white ice, in the shape of the dwarf. Only the green smoky glow of his dagger was unchanged, in the frozen grip of his now ice hand.
"My lady, please!" Coerraine said in horror.
Her gaze, now filled with anger shot at the paladin and then softened immediately.
"Yay. But I am also brought valor..." she said, again softly.
"Innocence." she said turning her silver eyes to a fright-filled Haelan.
"And one touched by the Eight...Desri, is it?...if I do not forget." looking to Braddok.
"Well, I never actually touched her...but um...Yeah, you could say we 'met'...kind of." Braddok replied, with a nervous look at Duor's form.
"My lady...could you...um...unfreeze our friend, please?" Haelan asked politely. His eyes glued in shock to the ice sculpture that had been their dwarf rogue.
She grinned lightly and blinked slowly.
A moment after, Duor transitioned, before their eyes, to be a living breathing, if impossibily cold, dwarf again. He dropped to his hands and knees. The ethereal dagger falling from his grasp. The dwarf shook uncontrollably from the cold.
Festus rushed forth and placed his woolly patchwork travelling cloak over the dwarf and rubbed him vigorously to warm him up.
"W-w-wuh're yeh w-waitin' f-f-f-fer. Slag her!" the dwarf protested, noting none of his companions attacking.
"Be still, Duor!" Alaria commanded. "And be grateful to her ladyship. Lest you spent the rest of your days as a sculpture."
"W-wuh?" the dwarf said confused. He looked up at the again totally blank stare of the white woman. "Yeah. Ok. Thanks blizzard witch." he said under his beard.
"Very well. Peace." said the woman. She seemed to stare off again, beyond the party.
When her eyes returned to the strange assembly of "heroes" on the pier, she again spoke, "Apologies, my hospitality hast become lax in my time. Come. Let thee warm thyselves by my fire. If thou wouldst like."
"Yes! Thank you, lady." Alaria interjected before anyone else could speak.
"May we have thy...er...thou...um...your name, lady?" Braddok again asked gently. "That we may thank you, properly."
"Amthyriine..." she said softly. Then, with more strength. "I was known as Amthyriine." <DM's pronounciation note: "AM-theer-ee-en">
Without another word, nor waiting for any thanks from the company, she turned and seemed to float more than step over the snow, leaving no footprints, to the single large doorway at the base of the tower.
Slowly, with cautious looks to each other, the party followed.
Erevan found himself feeling some unknown sadness as his companions trudged their way through the serene blissfully undisturbed snow as they followed.
Fen, Braddok noticed with surprise, seemed to walk over the snow. His footsteps not disturbing a single flake nor leaving any trail at all. Druid magic, something in the warrior's mind told him.
Alaria's mind was a flurry as she followed the woman, keeping a close eye on her back...for all of the good that'll do! she thought. She was desperately cataloging what little they had revealed.
This realm was called "Gorathgraard" which had to somehow be related to Nor Gorthok...This woman, Amthyriine, was one of the "Swan Maids" of the legend of the Swan Prince...how long again was that, again? She didn't know what a daelvar was?...and the Selurians she referred to as 'the White Tribe'...which Alaria could recall and confirmed to herself.
It seemed they had been correct to assume that Ifthrakuel, and apparently someone named Itzizgruel, had been one of the Swan Knights of the legend...She had mentioned being deceived by the "Black One" which Alaria could only presume to refer to the "Black Swan" of the Ballad...which archivist Felton asserted to be imagery for dragons...how laughable.
Her mind, unbidden, went to the "Black Wizard", Tresahd...what was it the elves were calling him on the battle-front? The "Black Drake"...Drake...Dragon? No...That could not be! Alaria shook the thought from her mind and laughed inwardly at her own unfounded leaps as she entered the silver tower.
The party kept their eyes glued to the tall silvery spire upon the small isle in the center of the mirror lake.
It was obvious, as they neared, that the shining light that provided a "sun" of sorts for this wintery realm was fixed directly over the tip of the tower.
Around the base of the isle, a multitude of swans calmly swam about, leaving trailing ripples in the otherwise perfectly still reflective surface of the lake.
A few snowy white egrets could be seen poking about the lightly colored reeds at the island's edge. Haelan and Fen observed one, as they neared a short low pier of white wood, pull a silvery fish out of the shallows and gulp it down hungrily.
The swan shaped skiv in which they rode came to a smooth even halt at the side of the pier.
"Guess we get off here?" Festus said tentatively. He was becoming increasingly nervous in this strange land which, "obviously!", was inhabited by "snow fairies."
"'Course we get off here, goat-butt. This is where the treasure is!" Duor scoffed at the satyr as he clamoured out of the boat before anyone else.
The companions stood, calmly on the short pier and, after taking in the elegant and beautifully carved tower, began wandering to the shore.
Before Duor could set foot on the actually ground of the isle, a breeze swept up and the form of the woman of snow again coalesced before them. Eventually, she was entirely solid and the breeze subsided.
She was about five and half feet tall with curling locks of the palest blond, almost white, that flow freely all about her down to her waist. She was swathed in a fitted gown with billowing skirts, all of white with intricate brocade of glistened like actual silver. Her exposed skin was, likewise, incredibly pale.
Her eyes were most captivating, large and round, with irises that also glittered of metallic silver. They seemed to convey curiosity, a calming wisdom, and soul-piercing intensity all at once.
She said nothing, but just looked from one companion to the next.
"Snow fairy!" Festus burst and again drew his blades.
She looked at the satyr as if he were a blank wall.
Braddok stepped forward to lower the ranger's blades.
"She's definitely not one of my people." Erevan whispered to Alaria.
"Is that a Selurian, Alaria?" Haelan asked nervously recalling at once the archivist's description of them as "albino" but also calling to mind the horrid tales he'd heard as a child of the demon-worshipping, infant-eating, would-be world conquurers of the last age.
"I...I don't know Haelan." Alaria said calmly, attempting to take in as much of the woman's facial expressions and body language as she could. Her Magess' curiosity flooded her mind with her own quetstions. What, in fact, was she? Who was she? Where were they? What did this have to do with the tomb...or the dragon...the poem...Nor Gorthok?
"Ok, Snow Lady, where's the treasure?" Duor blabbed.
The woman just cocked her head and looked at Duor.
Her expression was unchanged and yet, the dwarf felt firmly cowed.
"Greetings, my lady." Coerraine posed to the silent woman. "We've come to...um..from..." the paladin's attempt at an elegant introduction halted as the woman's gaze turned to him.
She looked at him for a moment and the slightest, most demure, courtly grin formed on her lips. She blinked.
"Are you a Selurian?" Haelan asked, his face full of sincerity and curiosity.
The woman looked at the daelvar and grinned further.
"Thou wouldst be heroes. Yet thou coat and arm a child?" the woman said with...not concern...but curiosity.
"I'm not a child! I'm a fully grown daelvar, thank you very much. I have a full thirty-five springs." Haelan protested. <DM's note: In Orea, it is true that most of the hairfooted folk are, actually, born in the spring. Even if they are not, the daelvar measure age by number of springs, regardless of when in the year one is actually born.>
"Apologies, gentle folk" the woman replied with a short curtsy. "I have ne'er seen one of thy kind. Be at peace and welcome to Gorathgraard."
"Aight, so yer talking now. So let's not have any upset. Where's the treasure? We fought the tomb guardian of Eats-his-gruel and..."
The woman's silver eyes turned to the dwarf with obvious surprise. The first indication of emotion she had revealed.
"Thou hast seen Itzizgruel?!" the woman breathed in shock. "He lives yet?"
"Apologies, my lady. But no." Alaria interjected in an attempt to get things more on track and, hopefully, some information. "My dwarven companion has the name mistaken. We entered this realm from the tomb of Ifthrakuel."
"I see." she said, obviously deflated. "Yay. Ifthrakuel was one of the first to fall. Of Itzizgruel I have known not for..." She lifted her silvery gaze to the top of the large statue breaking the tree tops beyond the edge of the inner woods.
A tear formed from the woman's eye and trailed down her cheek before seeming to freeze and fall, solid, with a soft sound into the snow about her feet.
"My lady," Coerraine attempted to begin again, "if I may, what is this place? How did you come to be here? What is your name that we might thank you for the timely assistance in the woods."
She nodded. "Nay. Thy thanks art necessary not, fine paladin. Thou art of obvious character and valiant cause. Though, I confess, I nay have ken thy coat of arms. Long has it been since I stopt to dream for champions for Gorathgraard."
"Is that where we are? You still haven't answered the Selurian question...your, um, ladyship." Haelan asked.
"Swanmae! I've got it! You're a swanmae!" Festus burst. "Not so bad as fey-folk go...definitely not like pixies...and, if I may say, one lovely to behold." the satyr concluded with a leery smile and raise of his eyebrow as he noticeably adjusted his crotch.
"A...what? Yay, I was once called as one of our lord's Swan Maids. Though of the faye art I surely not! Surely not so nearly as thou, satyr." she replied with some annoyance.
"So you are a Selurian, then?" Helan again pressed. He was getting decidedly fearful at the lack of answer.
"A 'Sel-ur'...? Ah, yes. I remember. One of the White Tribe of the East, thou means? Nay. Our lord gave us this place long before their rise.
"Though I see the Green Tribe of the South still roams the land. Star-blood or nay I wouldst know thy kind anywhere, traitor!" she concluded with a scowl in Fen's direction. The breeze returned and raged a bit around the lake and island before subsiding.
"The Green...what? No, milady. No! I am of the Holy Order of Mist-" Fen began to explain with his most charming smile in an attempt to soften the maid's disposition.
"Thy charms art wasted on one such as I." she said now fully frowning at the company. The winds again rose and intensified and became bone-chilling.
"Alright. That's enough of that. Nice goin', druid. I'm gettin' my treasure now!" Duor growled and withdrew his ethereal blade.
"Heroes thou wouldst pretend, yet I art to be deceived by the Black One, once again! I pray for champions and find delivered, instead...
"Greed!" she spat at Duor.
"Lust!" to Festus.
"Apathy and Avarice!" toward Fen and Erevan.
"Ambition!" toward Alaria.
"My lady, no!" Alaria protested. "We're here to help! Duor, stay your blade!"
Duor made a dive toward the woman, his intent clear.
She did not move, nor spoke any word, but the winds now swirled around Duor's form. The mini-blizzard entirely shrouding the dwarf from the others' sight.
When the winds and snows dispersed after a moment, where Duor had been now appeared a crystalline statue of blue-white ice, in the shape of the dwarf. Only the green smoky glow of his dagger was unchanged, in the frozen grip of his now ice hand.
"My lady, please!" Coerraine said in horror.
Her gaze, now filled with anger shot at the paladin and then softened immediately.
"Yay. But I am also brought valor..." she said, again softly.
"Innocence." she said turning her silver eyes to a fright-filled Haelan.
"And one touched by the Eight...Desri, is it?...if I do not forget." looking to Braddok.
"Well, I never actually touched her...but um...Yeah, you could say we 'met'...kind of." Braddok replied, with a nervous look at Duor's form.
"My lady...could you...um...unfreeze our friend, please?" Haelan asked politely. His eyes glued in shock to the ice sculpture that had been their dwarf rogue.
She grinned lightly and blinked slowly.
A moment after, Duor transitioned, before their eyes, to be a living breathing, if impossibily cold, dwarf again. He dropped to his hands and knees. The ethereal dagger falling from his grasp. The dwarf shook uncontrollably from the cold.
Festus rushed forth and placed his woolly patchwork travelling cloak over the dwarf and rubbed him vigorously to warm him up.
"W-w-wuh're yeh w-waitin' f-f-f-fer. Slag her!" the dwarf protested, noting none of his companions attacking.
"Be still, Duor!" Alaria commanded. "And be grateful to her ladyship. Lest you spent the rest of your days as a sculpture."
"W-wuh?" the dwarf said confused. He looked up at the again totally blank stare of the white woman. "Yeah. Ok. Thanks blizzard witch." he said under his beard.
"Very well. Peace." said the woman. She seemed to stare off again, beyond the party.
When her eyes returned to the strange assembly of "heroes" on the pier, she again spoke, "Apologies, my hospitality hast become lax in my time. Come. Let thee warm thyselves by my fire. If thou wouldst like."
"Yes! Thank you, lady." Alaria interjected before anyone else could speak.
"May we have thy...er...thou...um...your name, lady?" Braddok again asked gently. "That we may thank you, properly."
"Amthyriine..." she said softly. Then, with more strength. "I was known as Amthyriine." <DM's pronounciation note: "AM-theer-ee-en">
Without another word, nor waiting for any thanks from the company, she turned and seemed to float more than step over the snow, leaving no footprints, to the single large doorway at the base of the tower.
Slowly, with cautious looks to each other, the party followed.
Erevan found himself feeling some unknown sadness as his companions trudged their way through the serene blissfully undisturbed snow as they followed.
Fen, Braddok noticed with surprise, seemed to walk over the snow. His footsteps not disturbing a single flake nor leaving any trail at all. Druid magic, something in the warrior's mind told him.
Alaria's mind was a flurry as she followed the woman, keeping a close eye on her back...for all of the good that'll do! she thought. She was desperately cataloging what little they had revealed.
This realm was called "Gorathgraard" which had to somehow be related to Nor Gorthok...This woman, Amthyriine, was one of the "Swan Maids" of the legend of the Swan Prince...how long again was that, again? She didn't know what a daelvar was?...and the Selurians she referred to as 'the White Tribe'...which Alaria could recall and confirmed to herself.
It seemed they had been correct to assume that Ifthrakuel, and apparently someone named Itzizgruel, had been one of the Swan Knights of the legend...She had mentioned being deceived by the "Black One" which Alaria could only presume to refer to the "Black Swan" of the Ballad...which archivist Felton asserted to be imagery for dragons...how laughable.
Her mind, unbidden, went to the "Black Wizard", Tresahd...what was it the elves were calling him on the battle-front? The "Black Drake"...Drake...Dragon? No...That could not be! Alaria shook the thought from her mind and laughed inwardly at her own unfounded leaps as she entered the silver tower.
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