Bob Aberton
First Post
Next Installment:Before the crowd turned ugly again, the elves escorted Nystyra and her friends back to the road, where they made ready to depart. But first, Erwyll, Nystyra's elfish father, spoke.
"Nystyra, I may have fathered many bastards over the centuries, but you are truly my daughter. And as a father, I bestow a name on you, a fitting name. Nystyra Elfblood, I name you, for you have done a great service to both Druids and Elves in warning us of that poisonous snake who was stirring the common folk against us."
"Elfblood! Elfblood!" the Elves shouted with one voice.
"Three cheers for Miss Nystyra!" squeaked Eliad.
Nystyra smiled uncontrollably, enjoying this adulation. She could get well used to this, she thought. No sooner had she blinked her eyes, though, then the Elves had disappeared, gliding back into the forest without even a word of goodbye.
"Ah...my lady," said the Druid, Math. His voice was harsh and raspy like a saw blade when he spoke. "I...owe you my life, and I, ah, I would travel with you...dammit, never mind. Mathonwy, you do the talking..."
"You'll have to excuse him, he's, well, not really comfortable around people. What he means is, he owes you his life, and we have no place to go. That is, we'd rather not return to Greatree, or we may find ourselves on a stake again. If you don't mind, we will travel with you, at least until we find somewhere else to go," Mathonwy said, picking up where Math had, somewhat awkwardly, left off.
Nystyra tried to explain that she didn't even know where she was going, but it was clear to her that Math and Mathonwy were going to be stubborn. Besides, it might be refreshing to have someone to talk to beside Eliad, who had the attention span of a magpie and as much inclination toward "borrowing." And Mathonwy was handsome, she thought...
And so it was that they struck off to the north again, once again following the road. They had found Math's pet, Silvercoat the wolf, huddled in a roadside copse next to the sign that proclaimed that Greattree was That Way. Mathonwy proved an intelligent and sociable travelling companion, though Math wasn't sociable at all. Nor was he particularly intelligent, either. He barely spoke, and when he did, it was in short, one-word sentences. He seemed more at home with his wolf than among humans.
They learned from a passing farmer a few days later that there was another town not far from there. It was called Urglath, a dwarven name. Apparently, it was located near a played-out mine and had formerly been inhabited by a clan of dwarves called the Swifthammers. They managed to glean these tidbits out from the farmer's mostly off-topic chatter, about his wife and daughters and fine young son, and how well the crops were doing this time of year, and didn't they hear that it was to be a long witner coming, and the harvest was doing quite well, and had they heard about Goodwife Sharp and her lover, that it was the talk of the town, and - they had a hard time shutting him up. He was chattier than Eliad, which is saying a lot.
But they found Urglath eventually, by following the farmer's carts. It was a small, sleepy town - or it would have been had it not been teeming with soldiers and camp followers. Nystyra wondered if they had had the luck to visit right in the middle of a war. But as there didn't seem to be any fighting going on at the moment, the travellers strode through the town gates. Inside, it was chaos. Through narrow, twisty streets, crowds of people, from mud-covered farmers to dangerous looking soldiers, shouted and screamed and laughed and shoved one another. Chickens, cats, and stray dogs chased each other through the streets, somehow miraculously not getting trod on. And, of course, there were farmers. Lots of farmers, in carts, who all seemed to have greatly short tempers, poor eyesight, and only the vaguest idea how to drive a cart. It was as though someone had taken the entire population of Avalon and crammed into a space about the size of a tilting field.
As soon as they got into the gates, they had to immediately dodge a farmer's cart that flew down the road, with a furious peasant at the reins. Another cart came speeding up the street from the other direction.
"Oo, I can' watch!" muttered Eliad. He covered his eyes as the two carts collided, their horse breaking free of their traces and galloping down the street. The carts both flew to pieces, vegetable and sheaves of wheat and ripe red apples flying everywhere, pelting the crowd. The two drivers climbed out of the wreckage of their carts, then clenched their fists and began tearing into each other. The Elfblood Wanderers, as they had named themselves on their long walk to this town, walked on, toward the sign of an inn in the distance.
After dodging another farmer's cart, picking their way through a jumble of sleeping drunks, pushing their way through a street fight between two rival mobs of unruly soldiers, and ducking a pan of dishwater thrown from a second story window, they finally made it to the inn, the Leaky Keg Tavern and Rooms, feeling like battle weary veterans who had fought their way through a besieging army, returning home to their nice, safe, fortress.
The common room was as crowded inside as the streets were outside. Farmers, merchants, soldiers, and thieves rubbed shoulders in the cramped, smoky room. The smells of stale beer, sweat, and food were overpowering. Nystyra surreptitiously cast a minor spell, a cantrip that Adrin had called Prestidigitation, to create a waft of pleasant, pine-scented air under her nose. She decided to get a room right away, to get away from the smell and bustle of the common room. Math and Mathonwy also wanted to get away from the common room. Nystyra could already tell that they were missing the fresh, woodland air of their abandoned grove in Greattree. Eliad, on the other hand, didn't seem to mind at all. Bearing a tankard only a little shorter than he was, he made his way through the crowd toward a table in the corner, where a odd, grim-looking woman sat. She was so short, her feet didn't touch the ground. Birds of a feather...,Nystyra thought.
Math, Mathonwy, and Nystyra fought through the crowded room to accost a harried-looking serving girl. The tavern goers gave the them a wide berth - these strange travellers, with pet wolves and eagles and mystical look to them were not to be trifled with. Although the serving girl looked to have seen sixteen or seventeen summers, she was barely five feet tall. Short and stocky, she looked much like the grim woman in the corner table. Family? Nystyra thought.
"Excuse...Miss! Miss! Excuse m - " Nystyra tried to get the girl's attention as she darted around the room with a huge tray balanced precariously on two fingers.
"Rooms are upstairs, 4 silver crowns a night. You get breakfast and supper for another 2 silver crowns. Ale is a copper a mug, plonk is a silver a glass, good wine is a gold crown a glass. Anything else?" she said quickly, not even looking at Nystyra. Her whole manner was taciturn and hurried.
"Yes, there is something else," Nystyra said. "Who is that woman over there in the corner, the short one?"
"Oh that's my aunt, Diesa," the serving girl said. In an instant her whole manner had changed, from taciturn and hurried, to friendly and conspiratorial. "She's actually a Dwarven priestess, if you can believe that. She normally lives underground - that's why she looks so pale. Anyway, me and her, we belong to the Swifthammer clan. Only I don't live underground - I wanted to see the world, you know, but all I see is the inside of this inn. Anyway, I gather that she's come out from under her rock, so to speak, because she's looking for something...or was it because someone died? Maybe its both. Anyway, she's been very, well...grim lately, so I guess it must have been pretty important, what she's lost. Privately, I think she could use a little help, she spends all day wandering around in the foothill out there and praying to her goddess, but she won't admit that she needs help. She's stubborn as a boulder. But anyway, who cares about that? I mean, she'll find whatever she's looking for eventually. If you ever need me, I'm here all the time, and - " She never got further than that, because some soldiers at the other end of the common room were banging on the table and calling for service.
Somewhat later, Nystyra was in her room, sitting cross-legged in a pentagram design she had drawn on the floor with a piece of chalk. She held in her hand her spellbook, a huge, wieghty grimoire she had written herself, under the instruction of Adrin Emberlord. She immersed herself in arcane signs, sigils, and incantations, scraps of seeming meaningless rhymes, recipes to potions, and instructions on casting various spells. Ginger, her cat and familiar spirit, prowled around her, occassionally crawling over her lap. It was sometimes hard to believe that the lazy, orange cat was a supernatural spirit from Otherwhere that she had bonded to during a lengthy ritual. It was this bond that allowed her to cast spells, and her Coal was the symbol of that bond, wrought by fire, branded with her own sigil, and marked with her blood and her familiar's blood. Some sorcerers preferred using wands or staves for their casting, thinking they were more traditional, but the Coal was Nystyra's primary spellcasting tool. So every day, she studied her spellbook and annointed the Coal with her own blood, infusing it with her life to keep it magical, and too keep it bonded to her.
As hours passed and Nystyra didn't stir, suddenly her door creaked open. Eliad walked in.
"Miss Nystyra, wake up!" he stepped over one of the pentagram's lines.
Nystyra was concentrating deeply on her Coal, her spirit floating on the Astral plane, in limbo between this world and the next. When Eliad's foot broke the continuity of her warding pentagram, she felt a cold rush of air on her face.
Her eyes filled with visions of fire and blood. She felt burning on her skin. She was burning up! Faces, leering and hideous, and all aflame, danced before her eyes. Faster and faster, and faster still! She was surrounded by phantoms, human shapes wreathed in flame. Now they were dancing. Around and around in a mad dance, they twirled, grinning horribly! They were reaching for her - they would touch her, and she would die, she would join them, she would go mad...far off, she heard a scream. It was her voice, she was screaming, and then, she felt as though she was falling. Falling and falling, her spirit was literally falling back into her body. She opened her eyes. The horrid phantoms were gone. The fire was gone, she wasn't burning up any more. Eliad stood before her, looking concerned.
"Never," she said hoarsely. "Ever. Do that. Again."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
And that's why, kiddies, you never disturb a wizard(ess) while at her studies.
"Nystyra, I may have fathered many bastards over the centuries, but you are truly my daughter. And as a father, I bestow a name on you, a fitting name. Nystyra Elfblood, I name you, for you have done a great service to both Druids and Elves in warning us of that poisonous snake who was stirring the common folk against us."
"Elfblood! Elfblood!" the Elves shouted with one voice.
"Three cheers for Miss Nystyra!" squeaked Eliad.
Nystyra smiled uncontrollably, enjoying this adulation. She could get well used to this, she thought. No sooner had she blinked her eyes, though, then the Elves had disappeared, gliding back into the forest without even a word of goodbye.
"Ah...my lady," said the Druid, Math. His voice was harsh and raspy like a saw blade when he spoke. "I...owe you my life, and I, ah, I would travel with you...dammit, never mind. Mathonwy, you do the talking..."
"You'll have to excuse him, he's, well, not really comfortable around people. What he means is, he owes you his life, and we have no place to go. That is, we'd rather not return to Greatree, or we may find ourselves on a stake again. If you don't mind, we will travel with you, at least until we find somewhere else to go," Mathonwy said, picking up where Math had, somewhat awkwardly, left off.
Nystyra tried to explain that she didn't even know where she was going, but it was clear to her that Math and Mathonwy were going to be stubborn. Besides, it might be refreshing to have someone to talk to beside Eliad, who had the attention span of a magpie and as much inclination toward "borrowing." And Mathonwy was handsome, she thought...
And so it was that they struck off to the north again, once again following the road. They had found Math's pet, Silvercoat the wolf, huddled in a roadside copse next to the sign that proclaimed that Greattree was That Way. Mathonwy proved an intelligent and sociable travelling companion, though Math wasn't sociable at all. Nor was he particularly intelligent, either. He barely spoke, and when he did, it was in short, one-word sentences. He seemed more at home with his wolf than among humans.
They learned from a passing farmer a few days later that there was another town not far from there. It was called Urglath, a dwarven name. Apparently, it was located near a played-out mine and had formerly been inhabited by a clan of dwarves called the Swifthammers. They managed to glean these tidbits out from the farmer's mostly off-topic chatter, about his wife and daughters and fine young son, and how well the crops were doing this time of year, and didn't they hear that it was to be a long witner coming, and the harvest was doing quite well, and had they heard about Goodwife Sharp and her lover, that it was the talk of the town, and - they had a hard time shutting him up. He was chattier than Eliad, which is saying a lot.
But they found Urglath eventually, by following the farmer's carts. It was a small, sleepy town - or it would have been had it not been teeming with soldiers and camp followers. Nystyra wondered if they had had the luck to visit right in the middle of a war. But as there didn't seem to be any fighting going on at the moment, the travellers strode through the town gates. Inside, it was chaos. Through narrow, twisty streets, crowds of people, from mud-covered farmers to dangerous looking soldiers, shouted and screamed and laughed and shoved one another. Chickens, cats, and stray dogs chased each other through the streets, somehow miraculously not getting trod on. And, of course, there were farmers. Lots of farmers, in carts, who all seemed to have greatly short tempers, poor eyesight, and only the vaguest idea how to drive a cart. It was as though someone had taken the entire population of Avalon and crammed into a space about the size of a tilting field.
As soon as they got into the gates, they had to immediately dodge a farmer's cart that flew down the road, with a furious peasant at the reins. Another cart came speeding up the street from the other direction.
"Oo, I can' watch!" muttered Eliad. He covered his eyes as the two carts collided, their horse breaking free of their traces and galloping down the street. The carts both flew to pieces, vegetable and sheaves of wheat and ripe red apples flying everywhere, pelting the crowd. The two drivers climbed out of the wreckage of their carts, then clenched their fists and began tearing into each other. The Elfblood Wanderers, as they had named themselves on their long walk to this town, walked on, toward the sign of an inn in the distance.
After dodging another farmer's cart, picking their way through a jumble of sleeping drunks, pushing their way through a street fight between two rival mobs of unruly soldiers, and ducking a pan of dishwater thrown from a second story window, they finally made it to the inn, the Leaky Keg Tavern and Rooms, feeling like battle weary veterans who had fought their way through a besieging army, returning home to their nice, safe, fortress.
The common room was as crowded inside as the streets were outside. Farmers, merchants, soldiers, and thieves rubbed shoulders in the cramped, smoky room. The smells of stale beer, sweat, and food were overpowering. Nystyra surreptitiously cast a minor spell, a cantrip that Adrin had called Prestidigitation, to create a waft of pleasant, pine-scented air under her nose. She decided to get a room right away, to get away from the smell and bustle of the common room. Math and Mathonwy also wanted to get away from the common room. Nystyra could already tell that they were missing the fresh, woodland air of their abandoned grove in Greattree. Eliad, on the other hand, didn't seem to mind at all. Bearing a tankard only a little shorter than he was, he made his way through the crowd toward a table in the corner, where a odd, grim-looking woman sat. She was so short, her feet didn't touch the ground. Birds of a feather...,Nystyra thought.
Math, Mathonwy, and Nystyra fought through the crowded room to accost a harried-looking serving girl. The tavern goers gave the them a wide berth - these strange travellers, with pet wolves and eagles and mystical look to them were not to be trifled with. Although the serving girl looked to have seen sixteen or seventeen summers, she was barely five feet tall. Short and stocky, she looked much like the grim woman in the corner table. Family? Nystyra thought.
"Excuse...Miss! Miss! Excuse m - " Nystyra tried to get the girl's attention as she darted around the room with a huge tray balanced precariously on two fingers.
"Rooms are upstairs, 4 silver crowns a night. You get breakfast and supper for another 2 silver crowns. Ale is a copper a mug, plonk is a silver a glass, good wine is a gold crown a glass. Anything else?" she said quickly, not even looking at Nystyra. Her whole manner was taciturn and hurried.
"Yes, there is something else," Nystyra said. "Who is that woman over there in the corner, the short one?"
"Oh that's my aunt, Diesa," the serving girl said. In an instant her whole manner had changed, from taciturn and hurried, to friendly and conspiratorial. "She's actually a Dwarven priestess, if you can believe that. She normally lives underground - that's why she looks so pale. Anyway, me and her, we belong to the Swifthammer clan. Only I don't live underground - I wanted to see the world, you know, but all I see is the inside of this inn. Anyway, I gather that she's come out from under her rock, so to speak, because she's looking for something...or was it because someone died? Maybe its both. Anyway, she's been very, well...grim lately, so I guess it must have been pretty important, what she's lost. Privately, I think she could use a little help, she spends all day wandering around in the foothill out there and praying to her goddess, but she won't admit that she needs help. She's stubborn as a boulder. But anyway, who cares about that? I mean, she'll find whatever she's looking for eventually. If you ever need me, I'm here all the time, and - " She never got further than that, because some soldiers at the other end of the common room were banging on the table and calling for service.
Somewhat later, Nystyra was in her room, sitting cross-legged in a pentagram design she had drawn on the floor with a piece of chalk. She held in her hand her spellbook, a huge, wieghty grimoire she had written herself, under the instruction of Adrin Emberlord. She immersed herself in arcane signs, sigils, and incantations, scraps of seeming meaningless rhymes, recipes to potions, and instructions on casting various spells. Ginger, her cat and familiar spirit, prowled around her, occassionally crawling over her lap. It was sometimes hard to believe that the lazy, orange cat was a supernatural spirit from Otherwhere that she had bonded to during a lengthy ritual. It was this bond that allowed her to cast spells, and her Coal was the symbol of that bond, wrought by fire, branded with her own sigil, and marked with her blood and her familiar's blood. Some sorcerers preferred using wands or staves for their casting, thinking they were more traditional, but the Coal was Nystyra's primary spellcasting tool. So every day, she studied her spellbook and annointed the Coal with her own blood, infusing it with her life to keep it magical, and too keep it bonded to her.
As hours passed and Nystyra didn't stir, suddenly her door creaked open. Eliad walked in.
"Miss Nystyra, wake up!" he stepped over one of the pentagram's lines.
Nystyra was concentrating deeply on her Coal, her spirit floating on the Astral plane, in limbo between this world and the next. When Eliad's foot broke the continuity of her warding pentagram, she felt a cold rush of air on her face.
Her eyes filled with visions of fire and blood. She felt burning on her skin. She was burning up! Faces, leering and hideous, and all aflame, danced before her eyes. Faster and faster, and faster still! She was surrounded by phantoms, human shapes wreathed in flame. Now they were dancing. Around and around in a mad dance, they twirled, grinning horribly! They were reaching for her - they would touch her, and she would die, she would join them, she would go mad...far off, she heard a scream. It was her voice, she was screaming, and then, she felt as though she was falling. Falling and falling, her spirit was literally falling back into her body. She opened her eyes. The horrid phantoms were gone. The fire was gone, she wasn't burning up any more. Eliad stood before her, looking concerned.
"Never," she said hoarsely. "Ever. Do that. Again."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
And that's why, kiddies, you never disturb a wizard(ess) while at her studies.
