~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *~ * ~ * ~
Cutscene: Margarita and the Druid’s Circle, part 1 of 2
If there was one thing sorceresses were good at, besides politicking, it was storming off in a huff. Despite her outward attempt to appear cool, Margarita Laux-Antille seethed at witcher Fenris’ retorte. Her heels clomped up the shoddy wooden steps of the podunk ink.
”Not my job,” she hissed, her usually measured and melodious voice trembling with indignation.
”Isn’t it nice to see that even at the edge of the world, witchers are still self-righteous ass… Ohh!” Shoving her door closed and placing an
arcane lock upon it, Margarita stumbled over the words in her anger, having to enunciate to get them right. Breathing heavily, she sat down in front of the mirror she’d brought with her, powdering her face and reapplying her eyeshadow to watering eyes. For a moment, she felt that old familiar pain in her legs, and the blonde sorceress squinted at her visage.
”I am in control,” she whispered.
”I am in control,” she hissed slowly with measured self-discipline.
The witcher had challenged her to investigate the druidic circle for the spell
Dewch o hyd i'r llwybr (Find the Hidden Path) which offered a way through the magic mists around Dol Blathanna. Margarita was not one to back down from a challenge. She’d relied on a witcher to save her life before, but this time she wouldn’t need one. This time she would do it on her own, without her sisters mired in politics, without her students burnt at the stake by Radovid, and without a witcher. Rising, she slid a few components into her belt pouch along with several slender vials.
”Show me, white-winged one,” she intoned, letting her eyes become milky white, seeing through the eyes of her white raven familiar who flew over the druidic standing stones. Bright light. Good visibility. No sign of bandits, no monsters or witch-hunting mobs, and no so-called “hags.” Slowly, her eyes bled back to their true hazel color. A simple
teleport spell would do the trick. After adjusting the crystals in her megascope to allow for a rapid recall should she find herself in distress, Margarita sketched out the magic circle upon the floor with powdered nightmare hoof and hematite, placing red candles at the cardinal directions. An incantation she could have uttered in her sleep, and the megascope flared to life, illuminating the circle. If only she hadn’t still been cooling off from her altercation with Fergus, she might have remembered to include an object corresponding to the site…
| GM: | Margarita teleport mishap %, Advantage from megascope Viewed Once - mishap 01-43 - similar 44-53 - off-target 54-73 - on-target 74-100: 2D100.HIGH(1) = [8, 27] = 27 Mishap!
_: 3D10 = [7, 7, 10] = 24 24 force damage, and rolling again…
Viewed Once - mishap 01-43 - similar 44-53 - off-target 54-73 - on-target 74-100: 2D100.HIGH(1) = [57, 33] = 57 off-target!
1d10 x 1d10 %: 2D10 = [3, 10] = 30 30% x 2.25 miles = off-target by 0.675 miles
1 N, 2 NE, 3 E, 4 SE, 5 S, 6 SW, 7 W, 8 NW: 1D8 = [5] = 5 South |
|
If the impact didn’t take the sorceress’ breath away, the cold water filling her lungs did. Her left side sore from smashing into a submerged boulder after the the drop into the lake’s shallows, Margarita came to the surface gasping for air. Pain flooded her body as she crawled to shore, her auburn traveling dress streaked by mud. When at last she was mostly ashore, able to breath again, Margarita clutched her side. Nothing broken, save for her pride.
”Damn it!” she cursed, pounding the mud flats with her fist in frustration. Achingly rising to her feet, the sorceress painted the perfect picture of a sullen lady dumped in mud by her betrothed. She had no one to blame but herself…or so she thought.
Slogging across the mud flats, Margarita made it to the forest’s edge. A quick casting of
Yennefer’s tidying up removed most of the dirt saved for the most pernicious and restored her eyeshadow to a semblance of its beauty; the spell was no replacement for a mirror and proper beautification skills, however. Lake and mountains to the south. She had to be near the Lyrian border. That meant her spell had taken her not far south of the Circle of Tagha Bough.
”Margarita, you fool,” she hissed at herself, checking the attunement crystal to her megascope, making sure it was undamaged by her humiliating fall. It had the faintest glow to it. The closer she came to the old druidic circle, the brighter the glow would become, signaling she could return to her megascope…assuming nothing else went wrong! Slowly, Margarita began her way through the forest…
Though she moved slowly thanks to the pain in her side, Margarita made good time in half an hour. However, clouds were moving in with unexpected speed from the northern expanse of the Blue Mountains. A storm front. Pausing, she noted several runes scratched deeply into an alder tree. A runic language, something more primitive than the Elder Tongue…its structure resembled that of cave paintings she’d studied dating back to before the Conjunction…during the time before mankind’s arrival, the time of elves and relicts. What did it mean? Margarita listened to the wind, then held up her arm, allowing her white raven familiar to land on her glove.
”What news do you have for me, precious?” she cooed, stroking the raven’s soft chest plumage. In her mind’s eye, her vision distorted like a bird’s, Margarita could see two people entering the clearing and ascending the small rise to the standing stones: one the size of a massive man in obscuring disheveled robes, the other a lithe blonde female warrior with a vicious scar along her left eye. Not druids, clearly, if one was a woman.
While Margarita was not one to assume the worse, it was better to be prepared than to be caught the fool. Uttering a swift protective incantation, she erected
Alzur’s Shield around herself, a barely perceptible blue aura surrounding her and extending outward to form a translucent sphere. Then, gathering her cloak about herself, the intrepid sorceress ascended the hillock towards the standing stones…
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *~ * ~ * ~
The pungent odor smells almost like wet earth or mushrooms, and a taste of the bitter bits of seed and pale purple petals confirms Elora's suspicions. Ergot seeds and feainnewedd. The "white witch" Osfala had taught her well.
