PhoenixAsh
First Post
Update #32: Four Women, One Wizard
“A real adventure,” the young woman muses. “To think, in only a few months you saved a Prince of Aundair and recovered a Cyrian noblewoman’s tiara, why I expect it is only a matter of time before King Boranel himself will be thanking you and showering you with accolades, at the rate you are going.” Her piercing blue eyes fix on Ruel as she seems to weigh this possibility.
“Such is the lot of successful adventurers,” Ruel acknowledges with an easy smile.
“What was the name of the Cyrian noblewoman?” she queries.
“You will forgive me, my lady, if I do not provide you with… all the particulars of that expedition. A good deal of it I am bound to keep confidential.” Ruel answers glibly, reaching for one of the flower shaped candies on the table, the specialty dessert of Galdin’s Garden. Ruel savors it, even as he affects a good-natured wince, “I fear I may well have over-eaten, shall we take a walk through the ‘Ups’*? We have some time left before the show. With all that has happened, I have yet to really have the time to do simple sight-seeing.”
The woman smiles, “Of course, I would love to.” She reaches for a white-chocolate flower, eating it as the wizard across from her calls for the check, paying out a lavish sum for their extravagant meal. She swallows back a lump in her throat even as she swallows the sweet; it is far more than she would be comfortable spending herself.
After settling the check, Ruel charters the pair a private sky-coach to the Upper Meniths and some of Sharn’s best nightlife.
After they board and Ruel directs the driver to their direction, the woman looks to Ruel again and smiles, “No doubt after all that you did her, whoever she was, she threw herself at you, handsome and charming man that you are.”
Ruel is distracted a moment by the view out the sky-coach window, Sharn opens like a great maw beneath him. “Mmm… yes and no.”
***
Ruel sits in the bowels of the ship, within its small library. Normally, the room would be crowded with passengers, but only a day has passed since their mission into Whitehearth and they have not yet recovered their passenger complement. This leaves the wizard with both ample room and privacy to study.
A glowing spell-shard sits at one hand, arcane symbols tracing and retracing themselves within its crystalline interior, Ruel’s eyes flicker toward it constantly and he deftly traces and retraces the symbols with his fingertips, making minor adjustments to a curve or line occasionally, he frowns slightly, “So close… so close.”
The massive Cannith tome sits central on the desk before him, and he flips between pages, marking notes in shorthand on parchment beside it, trying to pick apart the complex code the Cannith engineers have inscribed the books secrets with. The diagrams alone are fascinating, but not nearly consequential enough for complete understanding. He sighs as he looks at his meager progress so far, it could take weeks to come to any real understanding and his time is limited. Lady Elaydren d’Vown Cannith was so pleased at the recovery of the schema that she did not ask about any of the other treasures the Irregulars recovered, an oversight that Ruel is certain she will correct soon enough.
At his left sits the Cannith Journal. A Cannith symbol is seated on its cover, but its interior is completely blank. Ruel has studied it under Detect Magic and it does have an interesting aura, though he has been unable to determine its nature exactly.
“Assuming the journal is not blank; its contents must be protected. Obviously there must be a trigger to make its contents appear,” Ruel muses to himself and sighs. “Equally obvious, Lady D’Vown will have the trigger, or at least know what it is. Probably something tied to their dragonmark symbol, perhaps their signet ring.” Ruel grimaces, “I dearly wish I took one from the facility.”
A faint scuffling sound draws Ruel’s attention and he whirls in his chair. It is Errol, the cabin boy with a tray in his hands, who looks sheepishly up at the wizard. But Ruel smiles and gestures him forward, “Errol! Errol, my lad, just who I was hoping to see. Is that bound for the guest quarters?” Ruel points to the tray and Errol nods. “Good, would you mind delivering a note for me as well?” Ruel quickly scribbles an invitation to Elaydren and lays it on Errol’s tray.
“Um… sure, sure I can do that,” Errol replies.
“Thank you Errol, I appreciate it,” Ruel smiles warmly. “When you are done there, would you mind asking Fortunato if he would make me some tea as well?”
“Um… okay.”
Ruel smiles and winks at the shifter boy, “I knew from the moment I met you that you would make the finest cabin boy to sail the open skies.”
Errol brightens, and quickly scampers out of the library.
It does not take Elaydren long to call on the wizard upon receiving the note. Ruel observes that there are still dark circles under her eyes, but her bright blue gaze seems filled with a new energy and excitement. "You found a Cannith Journal! May I?" She reaches for the slim blank volume at Ruel’s side.
His attention having wandered back to the swirling patterns in his spell-shard, Ruel nods, "Please." He pushes the smaller black book over, "As near as I can tell, the writing is invisible unless the correct object is in close proximity."
He forces his gaze from his spell-shard and leans forward with hands clasped on the table, "A Cannith symbol, I presume."
Elaydren doesn't hesitate but taps the mithral thread of the Cannith symbol in the cover with her signet ring. As she opens the book, Ruel can see lines of spidery writing filling the pages. She reads a little on the first page, mumbling “It seems to be the journal of one Dorlan Emeril d'Cannith.” Minutes go by and Elaydren pages through the book, while Ruel’s attention diverts back to his spell-shard, both studying in silence.
Elaydren breaks the silence first, "He went to Xen Drik!"
"Xen'drik? Odd that his journal would end up here in the Mournlands." Ruel remarks mildly, his eyes not straying from his flickering shard.
She flips to the last entries in the volume. Her face drains of color as she reads intently. Ruel glances up as several moments pass without any pages turning, and he watches Elaydren stare at the last page as she obviously struggles to bring herself under control. Finally, she looks up at Ruel while closing the volume. "What else did you find?" she gestures to the larger tome and smiles. It's a forced smile and there is a hint of glassiness around the bottom edge of her eyes.
“There are references to a Xulo pattern, the meaning of which is unknown to me. "It is difficult to translate, and no doubt it would take significant time and effort to fully study. Now in the back here there are designs for what he refers to as an 'Eld-“ Ruel pauses, mid-explanation, his eyes drawn back to his spell-shard, where he quickly fidgets with the design of one of his symbols. “Oh yes, that is very good…” he murmurs.
Elaydren blinks, “Ruel?”
"Erhm, excuse me. As I was saying it’s a design of an... an Eldritch Machine... which we found... ourselves... down in the bowels of the, erhm... the site." Ruel explains haltingly, his fingers and eyes darting amidst the complex pattern on the surface of his spellshard. Ruel forces his attention back on Elaydren, but as he removes his fingers from the spell-shard it sizzles and a tendril of energy arcs between the shard and Ruel’s fingertips, then streaks through the air to a candle sitting on the desk. The candle’s flame explodes in a dazzling display of Pyrotechnics.**
Ruel grins as the room goes pitch black after the cacophony of bright lights, “Wonderful!”
Elaydren screams; they are both blinded.
“Please stop screaming! It is all right, your sight will return in a moment, do not panic! Please, just hold still until your vision clears, so you do not run into anything!” Ruel tries to calm her, though his attempts are somewhat foiled by brief fits of laughter.
Ruel clears his throat as their vision returns. An uncomfortable moment imposes itself until the wizard grasps a stray thought and pounces on it, “Tea! Perhaps I should get you a cup of tea?”
"Tea… tea might be a good idea." Elaydren's voice is very, very strained.
Ruel swiftly exits and almost runs over Errol bearing a tea service back to the library. When he returns, Elaydren is slumped over the table, her back shaking with quiet sobs.
Ruel sets the tray down on the table between them, “I am very sorry, I did not intend…” Ruel trails off as Elaydren rises off the table and nods, wiping at her eyes. Ruel turns his attention to pouring tea for two, setting the cup before her, “How did you know him?”
“Know him?” she squeaks, clearing her throat and reaching for the tea.
"Dorlan Emeril d'Cannith. You said it is his journal, it seems like you know him,” he replies.
"Ah, I see how you could have come to that conclusion," Elaydren says softly, quickly regaining her composure. "No, I don't know Dorlan personally, but I will need to take both of these books back to someone in the House so that they can help us with the Creation pattern. My role in the House is more… political… than it is technical. I am sure that some of my contacts in Sharn will be able to decipher these.” Elaydren reaches a slender arm over to the larger book, deftly flips it closed then stacks the smaller journal on top of it.
She smiles at Ruel, "I really am quite overwhelmed at all that your team brought back from Whitehearth. I gambled on this, much more than perhaps I should have. But it seems now that I made the right decision. I'm sorry for such an emotional outburst; I guess the excitement of the last couple of days is just catching up with me."
"And I must apologize for my Pyrotechnics,” Ruel replies. “No doubt your contacts will have better luck than I, but the volumes are really quite fascinating, I could not help but examine them. I hope you do not mind my indulging my curiosity,” Ruel smiles, " I hope that, should the need arise, you will not forget us in the future."
Ruel reaches over for his tea and takes a casual sip, "Perhaps you should try and rest? You will forgive me if I say it seems as if you have had precious little lately."
Elaydren nods at the suggestion, "Thanks, I should rest. You know, I was hoping to see the Whitehearth facility myself, but between the threat of the Emerald Claw and the Liralen’s schedule, there just wasn't time. Perhaps someday I'll be able to come back.”
She rises from the table and picks up the books, giving Ruel a wry smile, "And I've yet to meet a wizard that wasn't curious about books. Thank you for showing me these, I am sure they will help us a great deal in our efforts."
Elaydren stifles a yawn and heads back to her stateroom with both volumes under her arm. Ruel watches her go for barely a momeny. His attention is inevitably drawn back to his spell-shard and with a grin, he picks it up along with his notes and leaves the library. He passes Dox in the hallway, “Oh, Ruel! Glad I ran into you. I wanted to know if you needed any of these,” he holds out two handfuls of Cannith signet rings. “You know, maybe they’d help with the books?”
***
“How unfortunate!” the woman laughs lightly. “But surely that was not enough to dampen her enthusiasm, surely such a fine tale ends with the hero getting his girl.” Her eyes twinkle with gentle mischief.
Ruel wrests his eyes from the dizzying depths of the city of towers, looking back to the woman. “Not this tale, another perhaps,” Ruel replies with a wry smile, which causes the woman to break her gaze with him. “Besides, that was not the only… incident.”
***
After picking up her compliment of passengers, life aboard the Liralen quickly begins to return to normal. All of her crew are busy not only attending to the needs of the ship, but to the passengers as well. Rooms need to be cleaned, sheets need to be changed, food needs to be served, and guests need to be entertained.
In the midst of singing and dancing for the assembled passengers in the dining hall over dinner, Ruel considers one of the newer passengers, Ermineth d’Phiarlan. The elderly sculptor has made herself a quick friend and even a confident to many of the ship’s passengers and crew over her few days onboard. Most consider her a harmless, matronly elf, but Ruel believes he knows better. There are elves in House Phiarlan not involved in the dangerous trade of ‘information gathering’ but he suspects that at best Ermineth is not here merely for a pleasure cruise, and at worst she is spying on him. He intends to find out why.
The matronly elf lingers after dinner, sitting beside a morose Jasper Pauncefort. Ruel imagines the balding man is simultaneously unwilling to approach the object of his affection and likewise unable to keep himself from observing her in her performances. Ruel shakes his head, murmuring, “Poor fool… no girl is worth that much headache.”
For her part, Ermineth can tell the ship’s entertainer is ready to approach her. She always keeps red clay at hand, finding its constant smooth and pliable presence between her fingers relaxing. She no longer makes idle motions with it, however, beginning to shape it, forming flat petals between her fingertips.
"Jasper, I think it's time you go have a talk with your lady bard."
Jasper’s eyes become large as saucers and he opens his mouth, managing no more than a startled squeak.
"Go Jasper. Don't think - just go." Ermineth’s tone is friendly but tolerates no wavering and she hands her dining partner the red lump of clay, now an exquisitely formed rose. Jasper leaves the dining area with an almost palpable sense of misgiving surrounding him.
“Perfect timing,” Ermineth mumbles to herself as Ruel approaches and she smiles up at him.
"May I join you? I do not think we have been properly introduced, though I know your work by reputation. Ruel Dunnanne d'Phiarlan..." he bows formally, then casually leans against Jasper’s vacated chair, speaking quietly, "Trying to help Jasper? I fear he will need a great deal of aid."
Ermineth laughs, a surprisingly boisterous chuckle, "Between you and me, I'd be very surprised if he gets up enough courage to talk to her. It's one thing to tell Jasper not to think - it'll be quite another to get him to act on impulse. Besides, I'm not sure how amenable the Liralen's bard would be to discussion right about now. Things could go very well for Jasper or very poorly.
But at the moment I seem to be bereft of company, and as that is something I truly do value, I would be very pleased to have you join me, Ruel." Ermineth’s eyes sparkle with mischief or humor.
Ruel laughs but inwardly he cringes as he sits beside her, “What are you doing Ruel? By the Host and the Six what does she know?”
"I would wager on very poorly. All that would make me hesitate would be that fine rose you just made," Ruel replies out loud. "Still, I can understand where he is coming from. Kashandi is quite an attractive woman, if you can get past her personality of course. I fear her performances have not quite been up to her accustomed level lately, regrettable, as I enjoy a challenge."
Ruel makes himself comfortable maintaining his easy smile, "May I ask what has brought you aboard this fine vessel? I trust you have been enjoying your trip thus far?"
"My! You're very direct aren't you,” Ruel opens his mouth to object, but she interrupts him with an upraised finger, “Not to worry, my boy - I like that. My interests on board are rather mundane; that of getting from here to there. I finished work in Fairhold, some statuettes commissioned by the royal family, the berth was open and I must admit I rather enjoy luxury, so I snatched the opportunity to ‘travel in style’ as they say. I'm enjoying every minute of it. Might I turn the same questions to you? What has brought you aboard the Liralen, Ruel Dunnanne d'Phiarlan?” Ermineth studies Ruel closely as he answers.
Ruel's response is measured, but immediate, "Opportunity."
He leans back and looks forward, "Opportunity to see the world and expand my art. Who knows, perhaps someday I will be able to weave tales of my own adventures, instead of those of the ancient past?" Ruel gestures grandly with one hand as he speaks, a particular gleam in his emerald eyes.
"And of course there is the opportunity to meet people, movers and shakers, politicians, nobles, business men and women, artisans." Ruel turns his gesture to Ermineth, who acknowledges the gesture with a slight dip of her head. "I would be fascinated to see some of your work, by the by. May I take it Sharn is your home? Where might I go to see your craft?"
While Ermineth considers the question, Ruel muses once more, "I think most of all, an opportunity to live my life, to see and feel and experience, to do that without doing so vicariously through the lives of others in tales or songs. That is an opportunity worth risking for."
Ermineth sighs. "Adventures. Now those were the days - now I consider getting to the privy on time enough of an adventure for my taste. But there is nothing quite like living an adventurous life, unless it is surviving to tell the tales to your grand children, or great-grandchildren as the case may be. I have eighty-one of them now. Some of them are great, some of them are great-great - and so on and so forth. Keeping my family calendar up to date keeps my mind sharp and my art keeps my hands busy. I have little left to ask of life than that.”
“I would love to show you my gallery and Sharn is indeed my home. I will reach home a few days after you. I have some business in Wroat and when I get back I will… look you up. Have you made plans yet for your layover? Captain D'meryl mentioned that the stay-over will be a touch more lengthy than the norm. If you plan to visit the city, you will want to take a good guide. It is easy for visitors to lose their way.”
“I have not yet made plans, I suppose I will need to speak with some of my companions. Do you have any recommendations?” Ruel replies.
“An artist of your caliber? The Upper Meniths, without question. I could recommend several stages there,” she replies decisively.
Ruel nods, “I would appreciate it. Tell me, can your work be found only in Sharn, or across the length and breadth of Khorvaire as well?”
“Across the five nations – and even further in a few cases. I was quite the traveler when I was younger, and some of my pieces have been sent to areas where I cannot go now. A great deal of my best perished with Cyre, my home before Sharn. I even had a piece or two in the great palace of Metrol. Rumors seem to indicate that you may have recently experience the Mournlands yourself? It is not a place for casual travel, would you say?” Ermineth studies the young half-elf while pulling out yet another lump of clay from a large satchel beside her chair. This clay is white and shapeless and she works it in abstract swirls across the ebony tabletop.
“You have lived in Cyre? I have heard…” Ruel shakes his head, “Fortunato, our cook, had mentioned that he did not wish to see what had become of Cyre? Tell me, what was it like?”
“Cyre was beautiful. Especially before the war. Green and rolling – you never knew what quaint village you might come across over a hill or settled in a valley. Then the war came and the quaint villages burned, the land was overridden with clashing troops. We thought that was the worst that could come. We were quite naïve, weren't we,” She answers mildly.
Ruel nods and his expression grows serious, "I never got a chance to see it, that saddens me hearing your description of it. But who could have predicted what happened, unless you listen to rumors…”
Ermineth's gaze meets Ruels evenly, "Remember prediction and causation are not the same, no matter what rumors abound. I can't blame many who start the rumors about the Day of Mourning, those who do are looking at factors that they do not feel add up to coincidence. In my book that means they are at least thinking and that's far better than those who walk around not truly interested in the matter." Ermineth’s tone is still good-natured, but she speaks seriously now, “I am still interested in what the Cyre looks like now, Ruel.”
"The rumors are not incorrect. Fortunately we did not have to do much traveling within the Mournlands, merely above them, being onboard this ship. Even still, one of the expedition groups ran into trouble with the gray mists which surround the land when descending on one of this ship's pinnances, and I believe they can be just as dangerous for travelers on foot or horse. I heard tales of roaming packs of wolves, wolf skeletons, a crab made of carcasses, dead bodies from the war that look as fresh as if they had died moments ago... and magical creatures that defy description." Ruel dissembles with casual ease, his eyes never straying and his expression unflinching. “A grain of truth with every lie,” Ruel muses, smiling inwardly as he briefly watches confusion work its way across Ermineth’s features. “You mentioned finding a guide, can you recommend any?”
Ermineth takes a breath and her expression clears, "It's been a long time since I've needed a guide in Sharn, I doubt any that I knew are still in the business. My guess is that you most likely won't be taken in by anyone who would leave you in mortal danger. Stay away from any who identify themselves as being from the Boromar clan. The halflings are mostly criminals, and will mislead strangers. Tourists who go off with a Boromar guide are likely to pay dearly for their ignorance."
Ruel’s attention is distracted by a clatter of dishes. Alexander works at cleaning off dessert plates and coffee mugs, balancing them all in as high a stack as he can. The muffled conversations of lingering passengers drift around the ornate dining area. And from behind the thick velvet drape across the stage comes a familiar voice, “Who helped you write the note!?”
Ruel flinches reflexively, then sets his face in a resigned smile on hearing that particular voice follow that particular line of questioning, murmuring to himself "Knew it would happen eventually..."
“RUWELL!”
***
*’Ups’ – Upper Meniths
**The Irregulars reached 3rd level on the trip home.
“A real adventure,” the young woman muses. “To think, in only a few months you saved a Prince of Aundair and recovered a Cyrian noblewoman’s tiara, why I expect it is only a matter of time before King Boranel himself will be thanking you and showering you with accolades, at the rate you are going.” Her piercing blue eyes fix on Ruel as she seems to weigh this possibility.
“Such is the lot of successful adventurers,” Ruel acknowledges with an easy smile.
“What was the name of the Cyrian noblewoman?” she queries.
“You will forgive me, my lady, if I do not provide you with… all the particulars of that expedition. A good deal of it I am bound to keep confidential.” Ruel answers glibly, reaching for one of the flower shaped candies on the table, the specialty dessert of Galdin’s Garden. Ruel savors it, even as he affects a good-natured wince, “I fear I may well have over-eaten, shall we take a walk through the ‘Ups’*? We have some time left before the show. With all that has happened, I have yet to really have the time to do simple sight-seeing.”
The woman smiles, “Of course, I would love to.” She reaches for a white-chocolate flower, eating it as the wizard across from her calls for the check, paying out a lavish sum for their extravagant meal. She swallows back a lump in her throat even as she swallows the sweet; it is far more than she would be comfortable spending herself.
After settling the check, Ruel charters the pair a private sky-coach to the Upper Meniths and some of Sharn’s best nightlife.
After they board and Ruel directs the driver to their direction, the woman looks to Ruel again and smiles, “No doubt after all that you did her, whoever she was, she threw herself at you, handsome and charming man that you are.”
Ruel is distracted a moment by the view out the sky-coach window, Sharn opens like a great maw beneath him. “Mmm… yes and no.”
***
Ruel sits in the bowels of the ship, within its small library. Normally, the room would be crowded with passengers, but only a day has passed since their mission into Whitehearth and they have not yet recovered their passenger complement. This leaves the wizard with both ample room and privacy to study.
A glowing spell-shard sits at one hand, arcane symbols tracing and retracing themselves within its crystalline interior, Ruel’s eyes flicker toward it constantly and he deftly traces and retraces the symbols with his fingertips, making minor adjustments to a curve or line occasionally, he frowns slightly, “So close… so close.”
The massive Cannith tome sits central on the desk before him, and he flips between pages, marking notes in shorthand on parchment beside it, trying to pick apart the complex code the Cannith engineers have inscribed the books secrets with. The diagrams alone are fascinating, but not nearly consequential enough for complete understanding. He sighs as he looks at his meager progress so far, it could take weeks to come to any real understanding and his time is limited. Lady Elaydren d’Vown Cannith was so pleased at the recovery of the schema that she did not ask about any of the other treasures the Irregulars recovered, an oversight that Ruel is certain she will correct soon enough.
At his left sits the Cannith Journal. A Cannith symbol is seated on its cover, but its interior is completely blank. Ruel has studied it under Detect Magic and it does have an interesting aura, though he has been unable to determine its nature exactly.
“Assuming the journal is not blank; its contents must be protected. Obviously there must be a trigger to make its contents appear,” Ruel muses to himself and sighs. “Equally obvious, Lady D’Vown will have the trigger, or at least know what it is. Probably something tied to their dragonmark symbol, perhaps their signet ring.” Ruel grimaces, “I dearly wish I took one from the facility.”
A faint scuffling sound draws Ruel’s attention and he whirls in his chair. It is Errol, the cabin boy with a tray in his hands, who looks sheepishly up at the wizard. But Ruel smiles and gestures him forward, “Errol! Errol, my lad, just who I was hoping to see. Is that bound for the guest quarters?” Ruel points to the tray and Errol nods. “Good, would you mind delivering a note for me as well?” Ruel quickly scribbles an invitation to Elaydren and lays it on Errol’s tray.
“Um… sure, sure I can do that,” Errol replies.
“Thank you Errol, I appreciate it,” Ruel smiles warmly. “When you are done there, would you mind asking Fortunato if he would make me some tea as well?”
“Um… okay.”
Ruel smiles and winks at the shifter boy, “I knew from the moment I met you that you would make the finest cabin boy to sail the open skies.”
Errol brightens, and quickly scampers out of the library.
It does not take Elaydren long to call on the wizard upon receiving the note. Ruel observes that there are still dark circles under her eyes, but her bright blue gaze seems filled with a new energy and excitement. "You found a Cannith Journal! May I?" She reaches for the slim blank volume at Ruel’s side.
His attention having wandered back to the swirling patterns in his spell-shard, Ruel nods, "Please." He pushes the smaller black book over, "As near as I can tell, the writing is invisible unless the correct object is in close proximity."
He forces his gaze from his spell-shard and leans forward with hands clasped on the table, "A Cannith symbol, I presume."
Elaydren doesn't hesitate but taps the mithral thread of the Cannith symbol in the cover with her signet ring. As she opens the book, Ruel can see lines of spidery writing filling the pages. She reads a little on the first page, mumbling “It seems to be the journal of one Dorlan Emeril d'Cannith.” Minutes go by and Elaydren pages through the book, while Ruel’s attention diverts back to his spell-shard, both studying in silence.
Elaydren breaks the silence first, "He went to Xen Drik!"
"Xen'drik? Odd that his journal would end up here in the Mournlands." Ruel remarks mildly, his eyes not straying from his flickering shard.
She flips to the last entries in the volume. Her face drains of color as she reads intently. Ruel glances up as several moments pass without any pages turning, and he watches Elaydren stare at the last page as she obviously struggles to bring herself under control. Finally, she looks up at Ruel while closing the volume. "What else did you find?" she gestures to the larger tome and smiles. It's a forced smile and there is a hint of glassiness around the bottom edge of her eyes.
“There are references to a Xulo pattern, the meaning of which is unknown to me. "It is difficult to translate, and no doubt it would take significant time and effort to fully study. Now in the back here there are designs for what he refers to as an 'Eld-“ Ruel pauses, mid-explanation, his eyes drawn back to his spell-shard, where he quickly fidgets with the design of one of his symbols. “Oh yes, that is very good…” he murmurs.
Elaydren blinks, “Ruel?”
"Erhm, excuse me. As I was saying it’s a design of an... an Eldritch Machine... which we found... ourselves... down in the bowels of the, erhm... the site." Ruel explains haltingly, his fingers and eyes darting amidst the complex pattern on the surface of his spellshard. Ruel forces his attention back on Elaydren, but as he removes his fingers from the spell-shard it sizzles and a tendril of energy arcs between the shard and Ruel’s fingertips, then streaks through the air to a candle sitting on the desk. The candle’s flame explodes in a dazzling display of Pyrotechnics.**
Ruel grins as the room goes pitch black after the cacophony of bright lights, “Wonderful!”
Elaydren screams; they are both blinded.
“Please stop screaming! It is all right, your sight will return in a moment, do not panic! Please, just hold still until your vision clears, so you do not run into anything!” Ruel tries to calm her, though his attempts are somewhat foiled by brief fits of laughter.
Ruel clears his throat as their vision returns. An uncomfortable moment imposes itself until the wizard grasps a stray thought and pounces on it, “Tea! Perhaps I should get you a cup of tea?”
"Tea… tea might be a good idea." Elaydren's voice is very, very strained.
Ruel swiftly exits and almost runs over Errol bearing a tea service back to the library. When he returns, Elaydren is slumped over the table, her back shaking with quiet sobs.
Ruel sets the tray down on the table between them, “I am very sorry, I did not intend…” Ruel trails off as Elaydren rises off the table and nods, wiping at her eyes. Ruel turns his attention to pouring tea for two, setting the cup before her, “How did you know him?”
“Know him?” she squeaks, clearing her throat and reaching for the tea.
"Dorlan Emeril d'Cannith. You said it is his journal, it seems like you know him,” he replies.
"Ah, I see how you could have come to that conclusion," Elaydren says softly, quickly regaining her composure. "No, I don't know Dorlan personally, but I will need to take both of these books back to someone in the House so that they can help us with the Creation pattern. My role in the House is more… political… than it is technical. I am sure that some of my contacts in Sharn will be able to decipher these.” Elaydren reaches a slender arm over to the larger book, deftly flips it closed then stacks the smaller journal on top of it.
She smiles at Ruel, "I really am quite overwhelmed at all that your team brought back from Whitehearth. I gambled on this, much more than perhaps I should have. But it seems now that I made the right decision. I'm sorry for such an emotional outburst; I guess the excitement of the last couple of days is just catching up with me."
"And I must apologize for my Pyrotechnics,” Ruel replies. “No doubt your contacts will have better luck than I, but the volumes are really quite fascinating, I could not help but examine them. I hope you do not mind my indulging my curiosity,” Ruel smiles, " I hope that, should the need arise, you will not forget us in the future."
Ruel reaches over for his tea and takes a casual sip, "Perhaps you should try and rest? You will forgive me if I say it seems as if you have had precious little lately."
Elaydren nods at the suggestion, "Thanks, I should rest. You know, I was hoping to see the Whitehearth facility myself, but between the threat of the Emerald Claw and the Liralen’s schedule, there just wasn't time. Perhaps someday I'll be able to come back.”
She rises from the table and picks up the books, giving Ruel a wry smile, "And I've yet to meet a wizard that wasn't curious about books. Thank you for showing me these, I am sure they will help us a great deal in our efforts."
Elaydren stifles a yawn and heads back to her stateroom with both volumes under her arm. Ruel watches her go for barely a momeny. His attention is inevitably drawn back to his spell-shard and with a grin, he picks it up along with his notes and leaves the library. He passes Dox in the hallway, “Oh, Ruel! Glad I ran into you. I wanted to know if you needed any of these,” he holds out two handfuls of Cannith signet rings. “You know, maybe they’d help with the books?”
***
“How unfortunate!” the woman laughs lightly. “But surely that was not enough to dampen her enthusiasm, surely such a fine tale ends with the hero getting his girl.” Her eyes twinkle with gentle mischief.
Ruel wrests his eyes from the dizzying depths of the city of towers, looking back to the woman. “Not this tale, another perhaps,” Ruel replies with a wry smile, which causes the woman to break her gaze with him. “Besides, that was not the only… incident.”
***
After picking up her compliment of passengers, life aboard the Liralen quickly begins to return to normal. All of her crew are busy not only attending to the needs of the ship, but to the passengers as well. Rooms need to be cleaned, sheets need to be changed, food needs to be served, and guests need to be entertained.
In the midst of singing and dancing for the assembled passengers in the dining hall over dinner, Ruel considers one of the newer passengers, Ermineth d’Phiarlan. The elderly sculptor has made herself a quick friend and even a confident to many of the ship’s passengers and crew over her few days onboard. Most consider her a harmless, matronly elf, but Ruel believes he knows better. There are elves in House Phiarlan not involved in the dangerous trade of ‘information gathering’ but he suspects that at best Ermineth is not here merely for a pleasure cruise, and at worst she is spying on him. He intends to find out why.
The matronly elf lingers after dinner, sitting beside a morose Jasper Pauncefort. Ruel imagines the balding man is simultaneously unwilling to approach the object of his affection and likewise unable to keep himself from observing her in her performances. Ruel shakes his head, murmuring, “Poor fool… no girl is worth that much headache.”
For her part, Ermineth can tell the ship’s entertainer is ready to approach her. She always keeps red clay at hand, finding its constant smooth and pliable presence between her fingers relaxing. She no longer makes idle motions with it, however, beginning to shape it, forming flat petals between her fingertips.
"Jasper, I think it's time you go have a talk with your lady bard."
Jasper’s eyes become large as saucers and he opens his mouth, managing no more than a startled squeak.
"Go Jasper. Don't think - just go." Ermineth’s tone is friendly but tolerates no wavering and she hands her dining partner the red lump of clay, now an exquisitely formed rose. Jasper leaves the dining area with an almost palpable sense of misgiving surrounding him.
“Perfect timing,” Ermineth mumbles to herself as Ruel approaches and she smiles up at him.
"May I join you? I do not think we have been properly introduced, though I know your work by reputation. Ruel Dunnanne d'Phiarlan..." he bows formally, then casually leans against Jasper’s vacated chair, speaking quietly, "Trying to help Jasper? I fear he will need a great deal of aid."
Ermineth laughs, a surprisingly boisterous chuckle, "Between you and me, I'd be very surprised if he gets up enough courage to talk to her. It's one thing to tell Jasper not to think - it'll be quite another to get him to act on impulse. Besides, I'm not sure how amenable the Liralen's bard would be to discussion right about now. Things could go very well for Jasper or very poorly.
But at the moment I seem to be bereft of company, and as that is something I truly do value, I would be very pleased to have you join me, Ruel." Ermineth’s eyes sparkle with mischief or humor.
Ruel laughs but inwardly he cringes as he sits beside her, “What are you doing Ruel? By the Host and the Six what does she know?”
"I would wager on very poorly. All that would make me hesitate would be that fine rose you just made," Ruel replies out loud. "Still, I can understand where he is coming from. Kashandi is quite an attractive woman, if you can get past her personality of course. I fear her performances have not quite been up to her accustomed level lately, regrettable, as I enjoy a challenge."
Ruel makes himself comfortable maintaining his easy smile, "May I ask what has brought you aboard this fine vessel? I trust you have been enjoying your trip thus far?"
"My! You're very direct aren't you,” Ruel opens his mouth to object, but she interrupts him with an upraised finger, “Not to worry, my boy - I like that. My interests on board are rather mundane; that of getting from here to there. I finished work in Fairhold, some statuettes commissioned by the royal family, the berth was open and I must admit I rather enjoy luxury, so I snatched the opportunity to ‘travel in style’ as they say. I'm enjoying every minute of it. Might I turn the same questions to you? What has brought you aboard the Liralen, Ruel Dunnanne d'Phiarlan?” Ermineth studies Ruel closely as he answers.
Ruel's response is measured, but immediate, "Opportunity."
He leans back and looks forward, "Opportunity to see the world and expand my art. Who knows, perhaps someday I will be able to weave tales of my own adventures, instead of those of the ancient past?" Ruel gestures grandly with one hand as he speaks, a particular gleam in his emerald eyes.
"And of course there is the opportunity to meet people, movers and shakers, politicians, nobles, business men and women, artisans." Ruel turns his gesture to Ermineth, who acknowledges the gesture with a slight dip of her head. "I would be fascinated to see some of your work, by the by. May I take it Sharn is your home? Where might I go to see your craft?"
While Ermineth considers the question, Ruel muses once more, "I think most of all, an opportunity to live my life, to see and feel and experience, to do that without doing so vicariously through the lives of others in tales or songs. That is an opportunity worth risking for."
Ermineth sighs. "Adventures. Now those were the days - now I consider getting to the privy on time enough of an adventure for my taste. But there is nothing quite like living an adventurous life, unless it is surviving to tell the tales to your grand children, or great-grandchildren as the case may be. I have eighty-one of them now. Some of them are great, some of them are great-great - and so on and so forth. Keeping my family calendar up to date keeps my mind sharp and my art keeps my hands busy. I have little left to ask of life than that.”
“I would love to show you my gallery and Sharn is indeed my home. I will reach home a few days after you. I have some business in Wroat and when I get back I will… look you up. Have you made plans yet for your layover? Captain D'meryl mentioned that the stay-over will be a touch more lengthy than the norm. If you plan to visit the city, you will want to take a good guide. It is easy for visitors to lose their way.”
“I have not yet made plans, I suppose I will need to speak with some of my companions. Do you have any recommendations?” Ruel replies.
“An artist of your caliber? The Upper Meniths, without question. I could recommend several stages there,” she replies decisively.
Ruel nods, “I would appreciate it. Tell me, can your work be found only in Sharn, or across the length and breadth of Khorvaire as well?”
“Across the five nations – and even further in a few cases. I was quite the traveler when I was younger, and some of my pieces have been sent to areas where I cannot go now. A great deal of my best perished with Cyre, my home before Sharn. I even had a piece or two in the great palace of Metrol. Rumors seem to indicate that you may have recently experience the Mournlands yourself? It is not a place for casual travel, would you say?” Ermineth studies the young half-elf while pulling out yet another lump of clay from a large satchel beside her chair. This clay is white and shapeless and she works it in abstract swirls across the ebony tabletop.
“You have lived in Cyre? I have heard…” Ruel shakes his head, “Fortunato, our cook, had mentioned that he did not wish to see what had become of Cyre? Tell me, what was it like?”
“Cyre was beautiful. Especially before the war. Green and rolling – you never knew what quaint village you might come across over a hill or settled in a valley. Then the war came and the quaint villages burned, the land was overridden with clashing troops. We thought that was the worst that could come. We were quite naïve, weren't we,” She answers mildly.
Ruel nods and his expression grows serious, "I never got a chance to see it, that saddens me hearing your description of it. But who could have predicted what happened, unless you listen to rumors…”
Ermineth's gaze meets Ruels evenly, "Remember prediction and causation are not the same, no matter what rumors abound. I can't blame many who start the rumors about the Day of Mourning, those who do are looking at factors that they do not feel add up to coincidence. In my book that means they are at least thinking and that's far better than those who walk around not truly interested in the matter." Ermineth’s tone is still good-natured, but she speaks seriously now, “I am still interested in what the Cyre looks like now, Ruel.”
"The rumors are not incorrect. Fortunately we did not have to do much traveling within the Mournlands, merely above them, being onboard this ship. Even still, one of the expedition groups ran into trouble with the gray mists which surround the land when descending on one of this ship's pinnances, and I believe they can be just as dangerous for travelers on foot or horse. I heard tales of roaming packs of wolves, wolf skeletons, a crab made of carcasses, dead bodies from the war that look as fresh as if they had died moments ago... and magical creatures that defy description." Ruel dissembles with casual ease, his eyes never straying and his expression unflinching. “A grain of truth with every lie,” Ruel muses, smiling inwardly as he briefly watches confusion work its way across Ermineth’s features. “You mentioned finding a guide, can you recommend any?”
Ermineth takes a breath and her expression clears, "It's been a long time since I've needed a guide in Sharn, I doubt any that I knew are still in the business. My guess is that you most likely won't be taken in by anyone who would leave you in mortal danger. Stay away from any who identify themselves as being from the Boromar clan. The halflings are mostly criminals, and will mislead strangers. Tourists who go off with a Boromar guide are likely to pay dearly for their ignorance."
Ruel’s attention is distracted by a clatter of dishes. Alexander works at cleaning off dessert plates and coffee mugs, balancing them all in as high a stack as he can. The muffled conversations of lingering passengers drift around the ornate dining area. And from behind the thick velvet drape across the stage comes a familiar voice, “Who helped you write the note!?”
Ruel flinches reflexively, then sets his face in a resigned smile on hearing that particular voice follow that particular line of questioning, murmuring to himself "Knew it would happen eventually..."
“RUWELL!”
***
*’Ups’ – Upper Meniths
**The Irregulars reached 3rd level on the trip home.
