spyscribe
First Post
Part the One-Hundred Eighty-Seventh
In which: among other miscellaneous encounters, Anvil gets up close and personal with a sheep.
Philinimbram has appointed himself the group’s official liason to the rest of the village, and he happily spends the afternoon introducing the village population.
From their conversations, the party learns that all the hues have the same “clan tattoo” that Philinimbram does. Apparently, it is a clan ritual to tattoo their children at birth. When asked about the origins of the custom and the symbol itself, none of the hues have any idea. Not that this appears to bother them. “It’s just what we do,” they explain.
Eventually, Anvil rejoins the group, having concluded his conversation with Granny.
“Does she know anything about Barnabus?” Annika asks hopefully.
“In a word,” says Anvil, “no.”
###
As the villagers prepare for the birthday revelry that night, the party goes to explore the island. The only other inhabitants are a flock of sheep, munching contentedly in a sunny meadow a few minutes walk from the village.
The party approaches cautiously, but it soon becomes evident that the sheep are quite tame. Even when Thatch lifts one to look for signs of the sigil carried by the hues and other creatures they’ve found on the islands, its only response is a plaintive bleat.
“I don’t see a sigil on it,” Thatch offers, “but it is kind of wooly. There could be something under there.”
“Well I’m not going to try to shear it and find out,” Eva announces, a sentiment quickly seconded by Lira.
“Besides,” Lira points out, “it’s not like everything on the islands has the sigil. The grass doesn’t, the docks don’t. Really, it’s only the weird things that try to kill us.”
“And the hues,” Thatch adds.
“They just didn’t try very hard,” she corrects him. “Remember the spears?”
Thatch is unconvinced. “They were pointy sticks.”
Lira is not one to let logic get in the way of a perfectly good point. “Whatever.”
While Thatch inspects the sheep, Anvil casts speak with animal in an attempt to ascertain its origins.
“Have you seen humans before?” he demands.
The sheep blinks at him.
“Beings like us.”
The sheep thinks about it for a bit. “Someone as tall as you,” he agrees eventually.
“How did you come to be here?”
“We walked.”
“You walked?!”
The sheep points its nose towards the woods at the edge of the meadow. “From over there.”
“No,” Anvil persists. “How did you come to this island?”
“Island?”
It takes some work, but the party does eventually explain “island” to the sheep. That hurdle cleared, they even manage to convey the concept of a boat. Now clear on what the party wants to know, the sheep agrees that it was once on such a craft, some number of days before.
“How long did you spend on the boat?” Anvil asks gravely.
The sheep chews for a long moment, then bleats unhappily.
“You can speak,” Anvil reminds it. “Do so. How long were you on the boat?”
Before that moment, Lira would never have thought it possible for a sheep to pout.
“We ate on the boat,” the sheep finally answers.
“How many times?”
The sheep’s only response is another plaintive bleat.
“Umm…” Thatch suggests. “I don’t think sheep can count.”
“Once?” Anvil asks. “Or more than once?”
Alas, try as they might to come up with a common reference, the sheep’s concept both of time and numbers proves too impressionistic to allow the party to estimate how far the sheep might have traveled to get to the island.
Next, they show the sheep a picture of the sigil, but the sheep doesn’t recognize it. Eventually, Anvil decides that he has gleaned all of the useful information he is going to be able to get out of this subject, and allows Thatch to set it free.
As the sheep is not exactly light, Thatch is more than happy to oblige.
###
The gathering that night is quite the shindig. Although the hues might celebrate their birthdays frequently, the regularity of the festivities does not appear to dampen the participants’ enthusiasm.
As dark falls, everyone in the village gathers in the common area between their burrows. Several sheep are roasting over a large bonfire. The hunters are quite pleased with their quarry, and share tales of the latest fearsome sheep hunt as several cooks bicker good-naturedly over the best method of preparation.
The good mood of the night is infectious, and the adventurers quickly gets into the spirit of the celebration. Thatch becomes incredibly popular with the children as they take turns being lifted onto his shoulders and trotted around the commons for a big-feets-eye view of the village. With some amusement, Lira catches a few of the adults sending longing looks in his direction, clearly curious, but not quite wanting to ask.
As Thatch begins to look just a little tired on his twentieth-odd trip around the bonfire, Lira beckons a group of children over.
“Do you want to see a trick?”
They all nod eagerly, eyes bright.
“Look carefully…” Lira tells them, and pretidigitates a shower of sparkling flowers that rain down on the children’s heads.
Much to her dismay, as one, they all take to their heels, shrieking in terror. Lira turns to Eva, stricken, “I hope that isn’t—”
Before she can even finish the thought however, the children have returned, and Lira is up to her knees in a tiny mob pleading, “Do it again! Do it again!”
Lira is happy to indulge them.
###
Reyu watches with amusement from a little distance away, then turns back to her conversation with one of the villagers, a woman who bears the family name of her old adventuring companion, Hue Brindlestock.
“Tell me,” she asks, “do you have a relative named Hufaziloranix?”
The woman thinks. “That was my great, great, great, great, great, great, great grandfather’s name… I think.”
Reyu cannot hide her disappointment. “No one more… contemporary?”
The woman shakes her head. “Why?”
“I met an individual of that name who would seem to be a… person… such as yourself,” Reyu explains. “He did not know of his origins. I had thought perhaps they might be here. Apparently not.”
“It might have been my great, great, great, great, great, great, great grandfather,” Ms. Brindlestock helpfully suggests. “No one’s seen him in a really long time.”
Somehow, Reyu doubts it, but is too polite to say anything.
The other woman leans in close, as though to whisper a confidence. “Some of the hunters were talking earlier,” she confesses. “Is it true that big feets live for hundreds of years?”
“Not… all of them,” Reyu responds diplomatically.
The woman’s jaw drops. “Some live even longer?”
###
As the night wears on, Anvil discusses the group’s mission with some of the village elders who are slightly more… cogent than Granny. The hues do not know of a man named Barnabus. They are equally ignorant of the builder of the island’s dock. They do confirm that the dock—and the village itself—are the areas of the island where they are most likely to find big feets tracks. Those who have studied the phenomenon agree that the big feets usually come to the island in groups of two or three at a time. To what purpose, remains a mystery.
Anvil files this information away and finally asks the question that has been weighing on his mind since he first encountered the hues.
“Tell me,” he says gravely, “of the Justice of your people.”
In which: among other miscellaneous encounters, Anvil gets up close and personal with a sheep.
Philinimbram has appointed himself the group’s official liason to the rest of the village, and he happily spends the afternoon introducing the village population.
From their conversations, the party learns that all the hues have the same “clan tattoo” that Philinimbram does. Apparently, it is a clan ritual to tattoo their children at birth. When asked about the origins of the custom and the symbol itself, none of the hues have any idea. Not that this appears to bother them. “It’s just what we do,” they explain.
Eventually, Anvil rejoins the group, having concluded his conversation with Granny.
“Does she know anything about Barnabus?” Annika asks hopefully.
“In a word,” says Anvil, “no.”
###
As the villagers prepare for the birthday revelry that night, the party goes to explore the island. The only other inhabitants are a flock of sheep, munching contentedly in a sunny meadow a few minutes walk from the village.
The party approaches cautiously, but it soon becomes evident that the sheep are quite tame. Even when Thatch lifts one to look for signs of the sigil carried by the hues and other creatures they’ve found on the islands, its only response is a plaintive bleat.
“I don’t see a sigil on it,” Thatch offers, “but it is kind of wooly. There could be something under there.”
“Well I’m not going to try to shear it and find out,” Eva announces, a sentiment quickly seconded by Lira.
“Besides,” Lira points out, “it’s not like everything on the islands has the sigil. The grass doesn’t, the docks don’t. Really, it’s only the weird things that try to kill us.”
“And the hues,” Thatch adds.
“They just didn’t try very hard,” she corrects him. “Remember the spears?”
Thatch is unconvinced. “They were pointy sticks.”
Lira is not one to let logic get in the way of a perfectly good point. “Whatever.”
While Thatch inspects the sheep, Anvil casts speak with animal in an attempt to ascertain its origins.
“Have you seen humans before?” he demands.
The sheep blinks at him.
“Beings like us.”
The sheep thinks about it for a bit. “Someone as tall as you,” he agrees eventually.
“How did you come to be here?”
“We walked.”
“You walked?!”
The sheep points its nose towards the woods at the edge of the meadow. “From over there.”
“No,” Anvil persists. “How did you come to this island?”
“Island?”
It takes some work, but the party does eventually explain “island” to the sheep. That hurdle cleared, they even manage to convey the concept of a boat. Now clear on what the party wants to know, the sheep agrees that it was once on such a craft, some number of days before.
“How long did you spend on the boat?” Anvil asks gravely.
The sheep chews for a long moment, then bleats unhappily.
“You can speak,” Anvil reminds it. “Do so. How long were you on the boat?”
Before that moment, Lira would never have thought it possible for a sheep to pout.
“We ate on the boat,” the sheep finally answers.
“How many times?”
The sheep’s only response is another plaintive bleat.
“Umm…” Thatch suggests. “I don’t think sheep can count.”
“Once?” Anvil asks. “Or more than once?”
Alas, try as they might to come up with a common reference, the sheep’s concept both of time and numbers proves too impressionistic to allow the party to estimate how far the sheep might have traveled to get to the island.
Next, they show the sheep a picture of the sigil, but the sheep doesn’t recognize it. Eventually, Anvil decides that he has gleaned all of the useful information he is going to be able to get out of this subject, and allows Thatch to set it free.
As the sheep is not exactly light, Thatch is more than happy to oblige.
###
The gathering that night is quite the shindig. Although the hues might celebrate their birthdays frequently, the regularity of the festivities does not appear to dampen the participants’ enthusiasm.
As dark falls, everyone in the village gathers in the common area between their burrows. Several sheep are roasting over a large bonfire. The hunters are quite pleased with their quarry, and share tales of the latest fearsome sheep hunt as several cooks bicker good-naturedly over the best method of preparation.
The good mood of the night is infectious, and the adventurers quickly gets into the spirit of the celebration. Thatch becomes incredibly popular with the children as they take turns being lifted onto his shoulders and trotted around the commons for a big-feets-eye view of the village. With some amusement, Lira catches a few of the adults sending longing looks in his direction, clearly curious, but not quite wanting to ask.
As Thatch begins to look just a little tired on his twentieth-odd trip around the bonfire, Lira beckons a group of children over.
“Do you want to see a trick?”
They all nod eagerly, eyes bright.
“Look carefully…” Lira tells them, and pretidigitates a shower of sparkling flowers that rain down on the children’s heads.
Much to her dismay, as one, they all take to their heels, shrieking in terror. Lira turns to Eva, stricken, “I hope that isn’t—”
Before she can even finish the thought however, the children have returned, and Lira is up to her knees in a tiny mob pleading, “Do it again! Do it again!”
Lira is happy to indulge them.
###
Reyu watches with amusement from a little distance away, then turns back to her conversation with one of the villagers, a woman who bears the family name of her old adventuring companion, Hue Brindlestock.
“Tell me,” she asks, “do you have a relative named Hufaziloranix?”
The woman thinks. “That was my great, great, great, great, great, great, great grandfather’s name… I think.”
Reyu cannot hide her disappointment. “No one more… contemporary?”
The woman shakes her head. “Why?”
“I met an individual of that name who would seem to be a… person… such as yourself,” Reyu explains. “He did not know of his origins. I had thought perhaps they might be here. Apparently not.”
“It might have been my great, great, great, great, great, great, great grandfather,” Ms. Brindlestock helpfully suggests. “No one’s seen him in a really long time.”
Somehow, Reyu doubts it, but is too polite to say anything.
The other woman leans in close, as though to whisper a confidence. “Some of the hunters were talking earlier,” she confesses. “Is it true that big feets live for hundreds of years?”
“Not… all of them,” Reyu responds diplomatically.
The woman’s jaw drops. “Some live even longer?”
###
As the night wears on, Anvil discusses the group’s mission with some of the village elders who are slightly more… cogent than Granny. The hues do not know of a man named Barnabus. They are equally ignorant of the builder of the island’s dock. They do confirm that the dock—and the village itself—are the areas of the island where they are most likely to find big feets tracks. Those who have studied the phenomenon agree that the big feets usually come to the island in groups of two or three at a time. To what purpose, remains a mystery.
Anvil files this information away and finally asks the question that has been weighing on his mind since he first encountered the hues.
“Tell me,” he says gravely, “of the Justice of your people.”
