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Forgotten Lore (Updated M-W-F)
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<blockquote data-quote="Lazybones" data-source="post: 7169099" data-attributes="member: 143"><p>Not only that, but we're coming up on a level-up! I'm going to hold off on posting the next set of stat blocks for a while, however, since there are some story spoilers in them. <img src="data:image/gif;base64,R0lGODlhAQABAIAAAAAAAP///yH5BAEAAAAALAAAAAABAAEAAAIBRAA7" class="smilie smilie--sprite smilie--sprite6" alt=":cool:" title="Cool :cool:" loading="lazy" data-shortname=":cool:" /></p><p></p><p>* * * </p><p></p><p>Chapter 58</p><p></p><p>Glori lifted her head and pressed a mostly-dry towel to her dripping face and hair. She glanced down at the washbasin and saw flecks of dirt and dry blood around the rim. The water that remained was cloudy. This was the third time she’d washed since they had returned from the estate house and the cellars underneath it, and she still wasn’t clean. She had a feel that it would be a while before she felt fully clean again, in a way that had nothing to do with dirt.</p><p></p><p>She looked up and regarded herself in the mirror over the small dresser that held the basin. The mirror was cheap and blurry, but it was probably for the best that she couldn’t see her own face clearly at that moment. Her clothes were new; the ones she’d worn to the estate were no longer fit even for rags. Maybe the villagers would burn them.</p><p></p><p>“You wanted to be an adventurer,” she said to her reflection. Her doppelganger didn’t respond, of course, and after a moment she sighed. She turned to the bed where she’d laid out her gear, but was interrupted by a firm knock on the door.</p><p></p><p>Her first instinct was to reach for her dagger, sitting on the bed in its scabbard, but she silently berated herself and with an effort of will went to the door. But she paused with her fingers on the latch-handle. “Who is it?” she asked.</p><p></p><p>“Quellan,” came the low rumble through the wooden panel.</p><p></p><p>She opened the door to find the cleric standing there in the hallway. He’d taken off his suit of scale armor, but he managed to look imposing even in a simple robe of undyed gray wool. He was carrying a parcel under one arm, a package that might have been bulky for her but which seemed barely an afterthought for a man of his size.</p><p></p><p>“Ah… I’m sorry, I wasn’t… do you want something?” she asked.</p><p></p><p>“Just a moment of your time,” he said. “May I come in.”</p><p></p><p>“Oh, yeah, sure.” She stepped back to let him come into the room. “Sorry for the mess.”</p><p></p><p>“You should see the room I’m sharing with Kosk,” he said. He glanced down at her bed. “You’re keeping that sword?”</p><p></p><p>She looked down at the longsword that had been the property of Colum, before the giant mantises had done for him on the way to the estate house. “Yeah. Figured I could get Bredan to teach me how to use it. Don’t tell that local noble, okay? I figured he’d be the sort of guy to ask for it back.”</p><p></p><p>“Your secret is safe with me.” He stood there in the center of the small room, suddenly awkward.</p><p></p><p>“What’s that you’ve got there?” she asked, nodding toward the parcel.</p><p></p><p>“Oh, this. It’s yours.”</p><p></p><p>She started to protest, but then saw what it was when he started to pull away the cloth wrapping it. Her eyes threatened to fill up, but she angrily blinked them clear. “How did you…”</p><p></p><p>“You left it in the pile with all the other extra stuff we brought back from the estate. I thought you’d want it back.”</p><p></p><p>She ran her hands over the lyre, her fingers lingering on the curve where the bugbear’s thrown axe had shattered the metal. It was now fully intact, and he’d somehow even found new strings for it. Her fingertips traveled reflexively to the strings, and while the instrument was out of tune it was otherwise as if it had never been damaged.</p><p></p><p>“How?” was all she could manage.</p><p></p><p>“I took it to the local priest. He knows the <em>mending</em> spell. It cannot restore magic items, of course, but…”</p><p></p><p>That pulled her attention from the restored lyre and she looked up at it. “The lyre’s not magical. It never was.” She turned away and laid it on the bed.</p><p></p><p>“You haven’t changed since yesterday,” he said. “Now you know the magic is in you, and not the lyre. You’re still the person you were before. The magic doesn’t change that.”</p><p></p><p>“I know that, intellectually, but I can’t help but <em>feel</em> different. I don’t know, I guess I’m not making sense right now.”</p><p></p><p>“Actually, it’s quite understandable,” Quellan said.</p><p></p><p>She gave him a wry grin. “Well. You’ve known that you’ve been a spellcaster for longer than I have.”</p><p></p><p>“While I can channel the power of my patron, I don’t consider that power to be the feature that defines me,” Quellan said. “I’d like to think that even without it, I’d be the person I’ve set out to be.”</p><p></p><p>“I’m sure you would,” she said. “Anyway, thanks. For the lyre. It was a nice gesture.”</p><p></p><p>“It was my pleasure. Are you going to come down and join us? As a priest I’m supposed to be above such things, but I must admit the thought of a hot meal prepared in an actual kitchen is quite appealing.”</p><p></p><p>“Maybe later,” she said. “I just need a little time.”</p><p></p><p>“Of course,” he said. He turned back to the door, careful not to jostle any of the surrounding furniture in the cramped quarters.</p><p></p><p>“Quellan?” she asked, causing him to hesitate in the doorway.</p><p></p><p>“Yes?”</p><p></p><p>“Thanks again.”</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Lazybones, post: 7169099, member: 143"] Not only that, but we're coming up on a level-up! I'm going to hold off on posting the next set of stat blocks for a while, however, since there are some story spoilers in them. :cool: * * * Chapter 58 Glori lifted her head and pressed a mostly-dry towel to her dripping face and hair. She glanced down at the washbasin and saw flecks of dirt and dry blood around the rim. The water that remained was cloudy. This was the third time she’d washed since they had returned from the estate house and the cellars underneath it, and she still wasn’t clean. She had a feel that it would be a while before she felt fully clean again, in a way that had nothing to do with dirt. She looked up and regarded herself in the mirror over the small dresser that held the basin. The mirror was cheap and blurry, but it was probably for the best that she couldn’t see her own face clearly at that moment. Her clothes were new; the ones she’d worn to the estate were no longer fit even for rags. Maybe the villagers would burn them. “You wanted to be an adventurer,” she said to her reflection. Her doppelganger didn’t respond, of course, and after a moment she sighed. She turned to the bed where she’d laid out her gear, but was interrupted by a firm knock on the door. Her first instinct was to reach for her dagger, sitting on the bed in its scabbard, but she silently berated herself and with an effort of will went to the door. But she paused with her fingers on the latch-handle. “Who is it?” she asked. “Quellan,” came the low rumble through the wooden panel. She opened the door to find the cleric standing there in the hallway. He’d taken off his suit of scale armor, but he managed to look imposing even in a simple robe of undyed gray wool. He was carrying a parcel under one arm, a package that might have been bulky for her but which seemed barely an afterthought for a man of his size. “Ah… I’m sorry, I wasn’t… do you want something?” she asked. “Just a moment of your time,” he said. “May I come in.” “Oh, yeah, sure.” She stepped back to let him come into the room. “Sorry for the mess.” “You should see the room I’m sharing with Kosk,” he said. He glanced down at her bed. “You’re keeping that sword?” She looked down at the longsword that had been the property of Colum, before the giant mantises had done for him on the way to the estate house. “Yeah. Figured I could get Bredan to teach me how to use it. Don’t tell that local noble, okay? I figured he’d be the sort of guy to ask for it back.” “Your secret is safe with me.” He stood there in the center of the small room, suddenly awkward. “What’s that you’ve got there?” she asked, nodding toward the parcel. “Oh, this. It’s yours.” She started to protest, but then saw what it was when he started to pull away the cloth wrapping it. Her eyes threatened to fill up, but she angrily blinked them clear. “How did you…” “You left it in the pile with all the other extra stuff we brought back from the estate. I thought you’d want it back.” She ran her hands over the lyre, her fingers lingering on the curve where the bugbear’s thrown axe had shattered the metal. It was now fully intact, and he’d somehow even found new strings for it. Her fingertips traveled reflexively to the strings, and while the instrument was out of tune it was otherwise as if it had never been damaged. “How?” was all she could manage. “I took it to the local priest. He knows the [i]mending[/i] spell. It cannot restore magic items, of course, but…” That pulled her attention from the restored lyre and she looked up at it. “The lyre’s not magical. It never was.” She turned away and laid it on the bed. “You haven’t changed since yesterday,” he said. “Now you know the magic is in you, and not the lyre. You’re still the person you were before. The magic doesn’t change that.” “I know that, intellectually, but I can’t help but [i]feel[/i] different. I don’t know, I guess I’m not making sense right now.” “Actually, it’s quite understandable,” Quellan said. She gave him a wry grin. “Well. You’ve known that you’ve been a spellcaster for longer than I have.” “While I can channel the power of my patron, I don’t consider that power to be the feature that defines me,” Quellan said. “I’d like to think that even without it, I’d be the person I’ve set out to be.” “I’m sure you would,” she said. “Anyway, thanks. For the lyre. It was a nice gesture.” “It was my pleasure. Are you going to come down and join us? As a priest I’m supposed to be above such things, but I must admit the thought of a hot meal prepared in an actual kitchen is quite appealing.” “Maybe later,” she said. “I just need a little time.” “Of course,” he said. He turned back to the door, careful not to jostle any of the surrounding furniture in the cramped quarters. “Quellan?” she asked, causing him to hesitate in the doorway. “Yes?” “Thanks again.” [/QUOTE]
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