The Hyacinth Trail, board-wide topic :: open to all

[Dungeon Master]

The Hyacinth Trail
with thanks to Geoffrey Chaucer for the inspiration

As spring dawned upon the sleepy land of Nerandor her creatures stretched and spread their legs; venturing out from winter holes to seek the harvest brought forth by the warmth of the sun and the light of the lengthening days. For her peoples it was a time of activity, where those who had been cooped up in one place by the deep winter snows were now free to roam about, seeking new adventures, opportunities, and sights.

At the town of Ravensberg four roads joined to form a crossing. The first road headed south along the coast; the second north by east towards Caelin Tal, the Kingdom's capital. The third road was the least traveled, heading north into the forest, while the fourth road passed east through the great plains. Ravensberg was a thriving port for travelers and traders, merchants and scholars, noblemen and peasantry alike who passed along these roads. And while the marketplace was the town's beating heart, and the guild of artisans and scholars its sharpened mind, it was at the Tabard Inn where the diversity of cultures met and mingled to form its personality.

With this new spring came the annual pilgrimage to Dione, the city of the gods, where the great temple had been built in ages past. Travelers of all classes of men set out upon the eastern road to visit the shrine of their chosen god or goddess; their throng followed by eager bands of entertainers, merchants, and entrepreneurs. On busy nights the common room of the Tabard Inn was filled with patrons from all layers of society, sharing news or tales and enjoying cheerful company before embarking on the next leg of their journey.

One particularly busy night a group of travelers gathered together about the main table. Some had come in company with one another, while others came alone, but all shared the good food of the table and good conversation with each other for hours into the night. A minstrel played near the head of their table, singing with a pleasant voice when conversation lulled and playing simple melodies upon his lute when his audience was engrossed in song and tales of their own. The keeper of the Tabard, a stout and cheerful man by name of Ian Haust, was so engrossed by this party's revelry that he called their attention, that he might praise their conviviality.

"My lords and ladies," he began, "Truly you are all welcome here, and heartily; I have not seen this year a company in my inn fitter for companionship than you before me. If you would allow me such a gesture, I would suggest that you make the journey as one party, and further I would help you pass your travels with as much enjoyment as you have found here at my table. All here I know travel to Dione, and well I also know that as you travel you'll tell good tales to each other, for there is no mirth to be found riding the Kingdom roads silent as a stone. And therefore I propose to you a game, that I have this moment invented for your pleasure, and if you like it all unanimously your journey shall be more the fun along the way."

All the party raised their glasses, agreeing to their host's challenge, and so he continued, his cheeks red with drink and merriment. "My lords and ladies, it is my design that each of you, to shorten the time of your journey, shall tell one story as you make your way to Dione, and another coming home; about adventures that happened in the past. He or she who plays their part the best, that is, who tells the tale of best element and joviality, shall have a supper here at all others' cost. And, to hear and judge your tales, my friend Dale Weiss, the minstrel here, who by my ear needs hear some new tales for his meagre repertoire, especially ere he goes to entertain in the city of the gods."

The minstrel laughed, hearing the mocking of his friend, and he too raised his glass. "Yea! I am amenable to this; I will gladly ride with you myself and be your guide, and judge the telling of your tales. And if it please you, my lords, I shall play upon my lute as we ride to please your ears."

And so they toasted their accord, fetching wine and drinking heartily. Thereupon the party went to rest without further tarry, and met early the following morning in front of the Inn to begin the first leg of their journey.

(OOC: Please see the recruiting topic for instructions before posting. Thanks!)

[Shaebodine]

The light of the single lamp as it swung in the spring airs cast strange shadows across the face of the man. The dirty light fell across his weathered and brutal features in hues of tarnished bronze and pitch black, heavy features devoid of any easily defined emotion. The wood-splitter in his hands seemed like a toy, for he stood head and shoulders above other men, his hands seemingly so powerful he could tear the rounds of pine into pieces with his fingers. The winter long he had stayed at the inn, inspiring and confounding gossip, for each day he came down from his room, the very floorboards groaning beneath his feet, hunched almost double upon himself to fit within the stairwell, the heavy silver coin required to lodge in his hand. The cook looked over at him from the door of the kitchen. Every day he had come to the servants entrance, and explained that he would like to cut such wood as was required. Then, as ceaseless and tirelessly as the waves of the ocean washed upon the shores, the wood-splitter was raised, and fell, and the wood stack grew all the taller.
"Mr Dunimir, ser. Why don't you come inside tonight, into the common-room I mean?"
The gargantuan man finished splitting the pine round, but his expression had changed. As if the simple-enough question posed for him an effort of consideration.
When the wood was stacked he stood up, to his full height -seeming for all the world like some gnarled pine tree changed into the shape of a man. "I could." He said.
The Cook's face was momentarily crossed with a frown. "Yes..." She floundered for the choice of words, wondering what she'd said earlier, and if she'd been unclear. "Yes I know you could. What I mean is why haven't you before?"
The man placed the wood-splitter in it's place, leaving it precisely as he'd found it. "No one asked me." His huge serious face frowned, and he peered down at the cook, only the light reflected in his eyes to be seen within the encompassing shadow of his brow.
"Well, if I asked you, would you come?"
The man stood, the question moving inside his mind, showing in his face with the effort of heavy gears and wheels turning. "Yes."
"Well, why don't you come inside?"
"You haven't asked me to."

Dunimir smiled awkwardly at the serving girl, his knees only barely fitting beneath the bench. He stooped down toward her, speaking over the ruckus. Even from where she stood the serving girl still had to look up at face him. "what's your pleasure mister?"
The giants' expression was confounded. The cook whispered over the serving girl's shoulder, who frowned a moment, and cocked her head. "What would you like your drink to taste like?"
Dunimir told her. The proprietor himself brought the bottle to the table, taking the weight of silver in advance before he drew the cork from it. The amber liquid spilled from the slender neck of the bottle, the fragrance lifting onto the air of the common room like the find memory of a childhood autumn. The gargantuan hands, every finger of which was larger than the glass gingerly lifted the wine to his lips. He sipped, and nodded, his eyes looking into some inflective distance within him. And this is how Dunimir came to be sitting at the edge of the proposition, of the telling of tales.

[E'doa A'nii]

(Couldn't find Dunimir.>_< So correct me if I get his features wrong.)

Midnight Emergency
["Never ever leave your wards unattended ~Lesson learned from watching too many movies]

With a crash and a bang Rowan shoved the door of the Tabard Inn open, staggering in and laying the unconsious Olivia down on the floor. She had been severely injured as the blood stains on her and Rowan indicated. Forgetting all about closing the door, and keeping out the freezing night air, he set about using his remaining power to heal the young woman's leg.

And anxious waitress, closed the door for him and hovered about wringing her hands; offering assistance. Rowan ignored her for a moment, concentrating on the leg. His sister must get well. She must not be in pain any longer then necessary. He had been a fool to leave her there by himself. What was he thinking? to leave her alone at night...with the wolves and wild animals. Softly his hands glowed as he joined to gether bone to bone, muscle to muscle, skin to skin. When he was finished the leg was mended save for a vary thin strip which had not been completely healed. Olivia looked pale, but she seemed alright otherwise.

"Yes please," Rowan accepted the waitress's offer. "She will need a bed for the night." He handed her some coins. "Infact if you could keep her till I come back..." The waitress nodded obligingly, running a hand through her hair nervously.

"How long will you be gone?"

"Hard to say, I'm going to Dione."

The woman nodded and began to say something when Rowan interrupted her. "I will pay you when I get back, alright?"

She nodded again, and set off to prepare a room. Rowan followed her carrying his sister. After a few moments, he and the waitress came back down. As he sat at the large main table, the waitress asked him what he wished. Rowan ordered a small dinner and one for Olivia, when she was conscious. As he gloomily ate his meal, he studied the tall giant, Dunimir. (who dwarfed the football player sized son of Lord Marlin). He probably would not have left a girl out in the open meadow by herself, to face wolves alone. Dunimir did not look the sort of fellow who would be so daft.

No. Dunimir looked the type of fellow who could face off a pack of 30 wolves with steam to spare. He could probably strap Olivia on his back and go hunting anyway. No worries for him. When he had finished his lamb (which was very good and tender, though Rowan scarcely noticed), and drank part of his drink, Rowan decided he was settled enough in his mind and stomach to make conversation. Though he wasn'tparticularly interested in talking. But the bard made nice music, and so Rowan decided not to say anything. He didn't feel like it anyway. His mind was torn between seeing Olivia and kicking himself for leaving her alone. And the music reminded him too much of Olivia as it was. He had half a mind just to stay with her. But the trip had to be made. So Rowan held his ground at the table, and tried not to hear the music; or think about Olivia. The giant was drinking something anyway, and seemed to be self-reflecting, so conversation was at the moment out of the question.

----------------------------


Olivia had been sitting very quietly and very still in the darkness. She hated being alone. Especially being alone at night in the great wide open outdoors. But Rowan had said he would not be very far away, and he never was. Besides, he had only gone hunting. So Olivia sat down very close to the fire and tried to keep a tight rein on her nerves; to wait calmly for her brother's return.

Something rustled in the bushes. Olivia jumped. An owl hooted goodnight in it's perch far away. Olivia jumped again. She kicked herself mentally. Fool girl, it's just the wind and the brids. But all the same she jumped anytime she heard a noise.

At length she heard foot steps in the dark. It was Rowan! He came back! But it was not Rowan. Out of the dark leapt a massive wolf. It was at least half of Olivia's height and weighed twice as much as she. The wolf, too experienced to fear man's fire eagerly looked forward to this easy dinner.

It was nothing to pounce on the tiny woman. She gave way so easily. Olivia uttered a silent scream as his teeth sank into her leg, introducing searing pain. Tears gushed from her eyes as she landed in the dirt, fumbling for her knife. Another wolf howled a short distance away. There were more of them! Where was Rowan?! --Oh Rowan! Come quickly!-- He had never been gone this long before...!!

Panic welled up in Olivia, as she thrashed about, trying madly to get away or kill the beast. Suddenly there was a loud noise and a bright flash, and Rowan was wrestling the great silver wolf. Olivia flinched as he tore the wolf's jaws from her leg. And then, Olivia fainted.

[Nemaisare]

Curled up by the fire and desperately warm… But the food was much closer to him that way, and the cook had to step around him every time she wanted to check on her roasting lamb. It was something of a troublesome situation to find himself in. After all, he was panting worse than a leaking bellows and risked a boot to the ribs the longer he stayed where he was. Yet if he left without getting any begging in at all, he’d go hungry for the rest of the night, and probably a good portion of tomorrow too.

The hound sighed gustily, letting the air wheeze out of his lungs just as a friendly kitchen maid walked past and looked down at him. Oh, he knew his timing, he did. When she paused, he looked up at her, brown eyes round and wistful. And when she stayed there for a moment, he shifted his tail from left to right a few times, just for good measure. She smiled at him, but her hands were full, and the place was busy. No one had the time to spare for a hungry dog, not when it couldn’t pay for its food. Lacchi sighed again, then stood, stretched luxuriously and danced between the legs of the inn’s staff. Perhaps he’d have more luck with the innkeeper himself. The man knew him, somewhat, or at least, he recognized him as the mutt who was always straying inside and who had, once or twice, repaid his full belly by chasing off thieves. Of course, there weren’t that many thieves around here…

But there was that strange, giant of a fellow who seemed to have made himself a home out of this inn, just as Lacchi was attempting to. Of course, since the man had silver and Lacchi didn’t, it went without saying that the former was having more luck than the latter. Still, he lifted his muzzle to the air, and tilted his head as he looked about. The innkeeper wouldn’t appreciate being bothered at a time like this, and the cursed hound never liked making himself unappreciated. So, he decided that maybe now was a good time to find out how friendly the big fellow was.

Weaving his way between tables and chairs and outstretched legs and all the coin purses hanging from belts, he could well imagine the pickings he would have scrounged from this one night alone had he still had fingers and thumbs and a reason to steal. But now, no one would think a dog was trying to buy something for himself if he came up to them with a bit of coin and dropped it into their hands. And he’d attract too much attention to himself if he tried. So he wasn’t going to. Instead, he plunked his behind on the floor next to the big man and stared up at him. His ears went back as he had to crane his neck. The fellow was even larger than he’d thought, but that wasn’t going to stop him! Oh no, he was hungry. Lacchi lifted a paw and whined beseechingly, before scooting closer to the table and putting his chin uncomfortably on the edge so he could eye that plate… that wasn’t in front of the man…

Well, what by the seasons was he doing sitting here if he wasn’t going to eat anything?! He felt both foolish and annoyed, and backed off with a snort of disgust that he’d not noticed the lack of food sooner. But it seemed someone had noticed his begging, for a rough hand suddenly descended on the scruff of his neck and started dragging him away despite his whimpered and thrashing protests. He just wanted some food! And then, the hand that was paired with the one grabbing his neck held a chickenleg in front of his muzzle, and the gruff, but not unfriendly voice of the innkeeper told him to eat that and stop bothering the guests. So, Lacchi did. Snatching the meat-laden bone and high-tailing it to a corner where he could watch the new ruckus unfold.

Over the stink of the inn, the blood was faint, but it was there, and it almost enticed his curiousity enough to bring him out to investigate, but as soon as he stood up, another bone was hurled his way and he decided that if the innkeeper really wanted him out of the way so badly, well, he’d comply, Just so long as he kept getting food thrown at him…

So, he was still in his corner and gnawing away at the thin bone when the man returned to the main room without his sister, and he’d learned, through listening quietly, that the large group he’d tried begging from were all of them headed for Dione, and would be telling stories together along the way. Now, the story part didn’t really interest Lacchi, but such a large group was sure to have plenty of opportunity for him to create a little mischief… Now, if only he could get himself a little something to drink…

[Trivia]

||I'm going to post this first and then get her character profile up since I've a feeling that might be appreciated by some ||

What a disgusting night! Oh, it had started well enough, with clear skies and gloriously sparkling stars. The breeze was refreshing, if a little crisp and the moon seemed to hang just within reach if one could jump. The big tease. Clouds had been rolling past the stars now for the past hour and they were beginning to take up residence over the lone traveler's bent shoulders. As the night darkened, the air gathered winter's lingering cold to itself until every wavering breath that found its careless way through her clothing nipped her skin. The memory of snow made her leg ache. Its scarred end throbbed with each forward lurch, but, as always, Kithara bit down on the pain.

At least it wasn't raining. Though, she glanced at the heavy wisps of cloud, that would be put to rights soon enough.

Having looked forward to a long night of travel and no company, the woman was not pleased at the prospect of stopping because of the weather's whim. Not pleased that the promise of rain would force her inside... with people. Kithara knew this route well enough to know that the nearest inn was a big one. Big enough for a crowd and likely to be filled with more than one. She sighed.

No sense in stopping now, in any case. Reach forward, plant the crutches, pull and swing. Reach, plant, pull, swing. Reach, plant, pull, swing. It was tiring. No, it was bloody impossible, this business of dragging herself the whole way to Dione! On one leg and two short bits of wood... All the way to Dione! Her muscles bunched as she lurched forward another pace. Who was the idiot who'd thought it necessary to stick all the great gods' temples in one city? Some greedy bastard, she was sure. Some greedy bastard without a thought to spare for little woman who were only three quarters of who they were as a child.

She didn't want to go to Dione. She'd never had any desire to so much as see the city's bright walls, but her father had. It was all her mother's fault! She'd had to tell stories about where she'd spent her childhood and how someday, she'd make it back. Well, that was all bloody brilliant until she'd caught some disease and shriveled her way into death. Kithara could still remember that last day and the spilled soup... Her father's sobs barely muffled by the thin wall of their house as she curled up in bed next to her mother who'd finally stopped coughing. Besides that harsh cough, the house has seemed so quiet in those last few days, but then, with only her father's tears breaking the silence...

One worn cane caught on a stone and she stumbled from her thoughts with a curse, unable to find her balance before falling to the ground. Her cry was bitten off as the scar-covered end of her right leg slammed into the ground. More than twenty damned years since that idiot of a doctor had sawed away the infection and the black bruise that was her foot and calf. He'd taken her leg from just above the knee, wrapped it up in bandages and told her she'd be fine and what a brave little girl she was. Kithara had been too groggy from pain to spit in his face back then, but she sure as hell would have enjoyed the chance to do so now.

Sitting up, she pulled her long skirt aside to inspect the bandages that remained wrapped about her stump. They were soaked through with bloody pus, and that was only from midday. Quickly checking her pack, she made sure nothing was amiss before bending over and massaging her leg, hissing against the pain that brought.

It was the sound of friendly conversation and music that had her looking up and catching sight of her destination. The windows were all lit up with the warmth of a hearth fire. So close. She sighed. A few more minutes out in the cold and she'd be able to force herself back upright. Just a few more minutes...

The first rain drop that hit her was soundly cursed.

[Angel of Chaos]

Fantasy is a necessary ingredient in living, it’s a way of looking at life through the wrong end of a telescope and that enables you to laugh at life’s realities. ~Dr. Seuss

/\/\/\/\

Danica's day today was...interesting, to say the least.

In the morning, after her meditation and breakfast, she was about to continue her journey down the road towards Ravensburg when she encountered a young human boy wandering in her direction. The star-speckled monk asked the boy why he was all the way out on the road. The boy--named Lang--explained that he ran away from home, from his mother. After a rather adorable back-and-forth question-and-answer conversation, Danica learned that the boy's mother was a drunk who beat him on a daily basis. She also learned that the mother had a huge belly, which told Danica that the mother was pregnant. In all her time in the monastery, Danica had never been so appalled in her life. Against Lang's better judgment, Danica firmly set herself to go to Ravensburg and set that mother straight.

That same afternoon, after arriving in Ravensburg, Danica was led by Lang to the house where he and his mother lived. The hours that followed were some of the longest of Danica's life, ranging from coaxing to shouting to method after precarious method. Yet the drunk mother was surprisingly steadfast and more than willing to harm both Danica and Lang. Danica had to defend herself--and Lang--more than once from the mother's outrages. It took a lot of patience and a lot of faith, but eventually she got the woman to sober up and tell her tale. It turned out that her former husband left her not too long after Lang was born, and she was forced to prostitution to take care of the infant Lang. As he got older, she was forced to keep her work a secret. But as time passed, the intense stress between the prostitution and her son became so great that she resorted to drinking her problems away, which led to new problems such as beating Lang up.

No sooner after Danica consoled the woman and gave her possible solutions was when the woman felt the pains of upcoming childbirth weighing down upon her. After the boy returned with the town doctor and after an hour of struggle, the woman gave birth to a healthy baby girl, whom she named Haria.

That had been quite an interesting day indeed.

It was night now, and here Danica sat at one of the tables of the Tabard Inn, the conversation that followed after the ordeal still fresh on her mind:

/\/\/\/\

"My thanks to you...for helping me," the mother spoke, cradling her newborn daughter gently in her arms.

Danica gave a sweet smile that seemed to sparkle out of the starry void of her face. "Anything to help a soul in need," was her reply.

"It's been too long," the mother mused. "I had completely forgotten the joy that I had felt when I had Lang...and now that this precious daughter of mine is here...I feel so jubilant again..." At that point, soft tears of happiness ran down her cheeks.

"You have every right to be happy. Everyone does," Danica spoke, taking in the adorable sight of the sleeping babe.

"I'm very grateful as well," the mother spoke. "If it would not trouble you, starry woman, I have a sort of request for you."

"Yes?" Danica asked, cocking her head to one side.

"Can...can you be my baby's godmother?" was the mother's request.

Danica's cheeks grew hot with embarrassment and confusion. "Oh, ah, wait--I mean, what? Why, um...I couldn't possibly..."

"Oh, but you must!" the mother exclaimed quietly so as not to wake the infant. "You have turned my life right-side up again. The least I can do is offer you some significant place in my baby's life."

"Ah...th-thank you, but I can't. I would if I could, but--"

"Oh, I see. You have other places to be, do you not?" the mother interrupted. "I vaguely remember you saying earlier you were a monk. I'm sorry for troubling you with such a petty favor."

"Oh, do not say such things, madam. I should be the one to apologize. I did not aim to upset you," Danica said, bowing her head slightly.

"No...no you haven't," the mother said, giving a tired smile. "Well, I suppose the least I can do is give you a bit of good advice on where you can travel next."

"Oh?" Danica said, purely interested.

"You can go to Dione, the city of the gods," the mother informed. "There's a pilgrimage that goes to Dione from here at least once every spring season. You should consider going."

The city of the gods. The very sound of that moniker held much promise for her. She had also been traveling alone for quite a long time, so some merry company sounded ideal. "Thank you. I shall give your advice much deliberation. Now I feel that I must leave."

"So soon? But you just arrived!" the mother quipped.

"I know. But do not fret. I promise I shall journey back when I have found what I am searching for at Dione," Danica said with truth in her eyes. "Just remember what I have told you: find a new job, work hard, have your son help you when you can, and always have faith in yourself."

There was a short pause before the mother responded, "Alright. I shall. I hope you have a safe journey. But one more thing, if you do not mind my asking. What exactly are you searching for?"

Danica hesitated before answering, "All I seek is enlightenment, madam, of myself and those around me. I hope you, your son, and your new daughter have a long and happy life." Danica gave another sweet smile and gently hugged the mother. She then gave the sleeping infant a small kiss on the forehead, and with that she left.

/\/\/\/\

Being a good samaritan was hard work, but very rewarding in the end. It always left Danica with a warm feeling inside her starry night body.

A waitress approached Danica and asked, "What's your pleasure, madam?"

Danica looked up with deep blue eyes and a small smile and answered, "Just some stew and some ale, thank you. Nothing too strong." As the waitress ran off to get her order, Danica opened her purse and noticed that there was still a meager sum left in it. She then looked around at the various characters sitting around the main table where she sat. The most conspicuous was a giant of a man sitting several seats down from her sipping a bottle of booze that seemed too tiny for his huge mitts. Across from him was another large man with a stocky build and pale white skin. Though he was big, he paled in comparison to the giant of a man she observed earlier. They both looked rather imposing, but haven't done anything to cause a row yet, especially the pale-skinned man, who seemed to be rather gloomy.

As soon as the waitress arrived with her order, there was an announcement made by the innkeeper that there was going to be a storytelling event during their pilgrimage to Dione. Now that piqued her interest. The reason why it caught her attention was that she had heard a very interesting tale from the monastery about her kindred, the starchildren. She was told it was a myth, but she wanted to know for herself if it actually happened or not. This pilgrimage was a golden opportunity for her to retell the story just as the monks told her. She could not care less for the reward if her story was the best; she just wanted to tell it to everyone else. And so she politely raised her mug to the toast and politely ate her dinner, anxious for tomorrow to come.

['ekekeu'poki]

“Your ale and stew, sir,” Rhiannon Sablemane neatly delivered the order to a rather large customer, and hurried back to the kitchen, weaving between full, boisterous tables, and stepping over spilt liquids on the floor. The common room of the inn was quite busy, filled with men reaching for annoyed barmaids, new friendships made over many a drink, and one or two entertainers, ever ready with an instrument or fantastic tale.

“Gods, if it ain’t a busier night than usual,” gasped a red-faced woman. She rested against the counter of the bar, fanning herself with a chipped plate.

Rhiannon nodded in agreement, and fondly squeezed the older woman’s arm. “There must be a significant occurrence to attract all this business of late.”

“Aye miss, have you not heard?” called a rough-looking man seated at the bar. He gulped the remaining liquid in his cup, and then turned in his seat to face the women. “’tis the annual pilgrimage to Dione. What? You have never heard of the pilgrimage?” He raised one grizzled eyebrow in disbelief at the blank stares that met him. “By the gods, the trek is one many faithful folk make to the city of the gods. It is a pleasant journey, usually one filled with good company and entertainment. I undertook the very same pilgrimage when I was of a more lively stock.” The amiable man leaned back to rest a hand upon his considerable girth. “As you can see, the years have not been kind to good ‘ole Ferrin, and merely the thought of such a voyage brings about aches to my back and blisters on my feet.”

“Well Ferrin, then I thank the gods for your aches, for how could I appreciate your good company otherwise?” Aerys smiled pleasantly at the man in farewell while hastily leading Rhiannon to the kitchen. She did not like the restless light that now shone brightly in the young maiden’s golden eyes. Not one bit.

“Rhiannon, would you please make yourself useful and go buy a pound of flour from Dorrin’s mill?”

“Now? It is nearly nightfall!” Rhiannon stared in disbelief at her flustered mother, who was now pushing a few coins into her hand. "Moreover, the inn is filled to the brim! Can you do without the help?"

“Yes now, silly child. I will manage with what I've got. Now go and make haste, will you!”

Rhiannon hesitantly accepted the task, and traded her stained apron for a long green cloak. Outside on the cobblestone streets, the air was cool and the sky wide. The maiden breathed in deeply, now appreciating her mother’s strange request, as it freed her from the confines of the small pub. The Laughing Swan was only one of several small inns in the city of Ravensberg. They generally didn’t have this much business, as the much bigger Tabard Inn attracted most lodgers, and Rhiannon felt nearly stifled in the heavy company.

She strolled down the fairly busy street, exchanging nods and smiles with passers-by. While walking past the Tabard Inn, a wisp of words wound its way toward her, and pulled her in like a fisherman reeling in a catch. The Inn was filled to the brim, but the patrons seated within were silent, unlike those at The Laughing Swan, and all attention was directed towards a man who was challenging those who would go to Dione to a storytelling contest. Rhiannon listened with rapt interest, and found she was cheering and toasting along with the gathering.

More than an hour later, she returned to her mother’s inn, cheeks flushed with excitement. By now, the common room was empty, save for a drunkard strewn in front of the fireplace, mumbling nonsensical words to the empty pint in his hand.

“To my understandin’, failing to purchase a pound of flour is a strenuous task, one that takes all hours of the night.” Aerys leaned against the bar, a well-used rag slung over her shoulder. Her unruly wheat hair, so similar to Rhiannon’s, framed a round face, and backed the blaze of the fire her head seemed to glow. The two women shared the same golden eyes, and the delicate upturn of a straight nose. But that is where the similarities end. While Aerys sported round human ears, Rhiannon’s were pointed and decorated with a variety of jewels.

“Mum, I’m sorry…I got caught up in talk of the pilgrimage and-“

“Rhiannon, go to Dione.” Aerys fondly grasped her daughter’s shoulders, a resigned look on her face. “I cannot keep you here when I know the wild blood in you is desperate to take to the road.”

Rhiannon stared at her mother, a smile tugging on her lips in spite of herself. “I would leave tomorrow morning, should I choose to go.”

“I will pack some food and necessary items for your journey right away,” Aerys said quickly, turning away to hide the tears welling in her eyes.

“Mum, thank you. I'm sure to return with all manners of things from my adventure, least of which will be amazing stories." Rhiannon pulled her mother into a fierce hug, and then rushed off to bed, eager for the next morning to arrive. If there was one thing she was certain of, it was that she was more than ready to explore the land once again; the pilgrimage to Dione was a godsend.

[Dungeon Master]

Revelry and song continued late into the night, while 'neath the moon spring showers passed across the land and left the Nerand soils quenched for thirst. The lanterns of the Tabard Inn faded only in the early hours of the morn, and few that slumbered there awoke early at the rooster's crow. The day dawned bright and crisp, with gray clouds parting ere the sun's rays touched the earth, and flowers bloomed beneath the window sills and in the gardens where barefoot children played.

The party gathered one by one afore the Tabard Inn, where Ian Haust awaited to bid them a farewell. Their steeds danced upon the muddy cobble-stones, the crisp air sparking their lust to stretch their legs upon the open road. The minstrel Dale Weiss sat astride his sorrel mare, his lute across his lap and his pack cinched tight upon his back. "What ho! My lords, my ladies, 'tis midmorning past, and time we were well on our way upon the eastern road to Dione. Our dear host has come to bid us all a kind farewell. But tarry not, else tonight we camp upon the road instead of at the Cedar Inn."

Ian Haust stepped forth, dispensing full skins of water to the party. "Aye, my friends, 'tis time that you were off! Remember, each day on the road to Dione, one of you will regale the others with a tale of adventures past. Dale shall hear and judge your tales as you go, and play upon his lute to please your ears. Once you reach Dione the party will disperse, and each of you will have four days' time to complete your pilgrimage to your chosen god or goddess. Then the party will resume the journey home, and each of you will tell a second tale for Dale to hear. Farewell, guests, I await your return!"

"Farewell, my friend, and thanks!" Dale led the party out upon the eastern road; some followed on horseback, others afoot. The bustle at the crossroads precluded any tale-telling for the remainder of the morning; merchants and farmers with their wagons, travelers passing by cart or horseback, and buskers sitting by the roadside distracted eyes and ears and filled the attention of the jovial party. By midday the crowds had thinned, and Dale began to strum absently upon his lute.

"By now you've all a tale prepared, I'm sure!" he said, eager to begin the game. "What say the first of you to entertain us shall be the young man, Rowan?"

(OOC: Eddy, when you're ready, post story #1! Others fill free to work on your stories in the meantime - let me know in the OOC thread if you have one finished.)

[beflexor]

(OOC: Just making a little introduction so you know which two characters I'm picking.)

One man hadn't gained much attention at the inn, and still he didn't, for his clothes were plain, his expression grim, nor did he talk much to anyone. Not the first time did he wonder why he was going. The Gods were always fickle in whom they answered, and even then, they were often vague and cryptic.

But Weave had different questions than was typically answered.

He thought for a moment upon telling a story, thinking that perhaps it would be best left to the others. Then again, he did have a story to tell, one with a point, and it would be easy for them to assume it to be a fictional tale.

Yes, that could work. Weave knew he would be dining at the expense of the others...

~

While Weave was brooding, a late newcomer was quite a polar opposite.

Edgiel crashed through the trees, tucking his wings in just in time before he came into full view of the traveling party. He adjusted a ridiculously oversized backpack's strap and poked one of the horses.

Why did an angel go on a pilgrimage? Why not?

"Hello!" he called out to everyone in a voice that pierced the group from front to back. "My name is Edgiel, I'm happy to see you all!"

Ooh, sounds like some of them were having a story time! Edgiel wracked his angelic brain for something of his own to tell. Maybe he could tell them about the time he broke the entire Angelsoft system in the Purgatory Department and they had to move the Monks and the Catholics into the same room for a while. Or the time a Monk, a Rabi, and a Priest found the break room complete with minibar.

His smile managed to grow even brighter when he decided upon the two he would tell, but in which order? he wondered.

[E'doa A'nii]

Ah! Entertainment! Rowan was good at that. Here, he had an opportunity to practice some of his skill, and also to take his mind off his sister. He smiled and gave his most courtly bow. He would be all too happy to oblige. With his feet taking one long stride after another, and the quiet breeze in his face, Rowan contemplated what he wanted to tell. It would be a simple story. Light hearted and easy on the mind. But with a point and a twist...

Her name was Avila. Princess Avila. He began, Eyes as clear as the sky and skin as white as snow. She was well built and graceful in her ways. Avila’s most notable trait, was her hair. It was ,quite truly, made of pure gold. Every year, Avila would go to the Smith and have him weigh her hair and cut it. Such excellent gold it was, that kings far and wide would pay much money to own whatever was made out of it. And from that money the Princess would help her people. It was, at this time, that Avila’s father, King Steven, having no heir and seeking to cement his throne through alliance, offered his daughter’s hand in marriage to the first king who could win her heart.

Now, there were two kings who lived on separate islands across the sea. King Gregory of the West and King Fionn of the East. King Gregory of the West was a proud new king; having just recently inherited the throne, and all his father’s wealth. His merits as a king were yet to be seen. Whatever his leadership skills, Gregory was tall and very handsome. It was said that women swooned at the sight of him. Gregory was very wealthy. He was so wealthy, infact, that his palace was made of diamonds and his streets were paved with silver. King Gregory did not like King Fionn.

King Fionn of the West was an old king. He had been ruling for many years with a fair and just hand. His peasants loved him. He was not nearly as wealthy as King Gregory, but what he lacked in wealth and looks he made up for in charm and hospitality. His kingdom was always open to visitors, (the friendly kind) and his palace was always ready to aid or entertain. King Fionn did not like King Gregory.

The two, having met at Gregory’s coronation were to be permanently at odds. Gregory was arrogant and demanding. He disdained Fionn because his kindness was perceived as a weakness. In addition Fionn held the best fishing territory off the southern coast which he would not sell; a piece of water that was worth a fair bit in trade and naval strategy.

King Fionn, himself, felt that King Gregory was young and arrogant; unwilling to learn from his ways and bound to be a trial to his people. Fionn decided that it would be a very good thing to put Gregory in his place, and winning the heart of Princess Avila of the North would be just the thing to do it. Not only would Fionn be insured an heir and a beautiful wife, but he would prove that good looks and wealth weren’t everything.

King Gregory, too, thought the lovely princess would make a fine prize. What better woman to add to his current standing, than Princess Avila? She was beautiful, rich. She would make all the other rulers green with envy.

And so it was that the Kings Fionn and Gregory set about winning the heart of Princess Avila the Golden Haired: The Kings sent expensive gifts and talented servants; they promised everything the Princess wanted, and then some. They sent her exquisite, jewel laden dresses, fine horses, lavish jewelry, trained parrots and pedigree kittens-anything they could think of that a woman might like. But to no avail. The princess sent them all back. She wanted to meet them, she said.

Then it was, that King Fionn’s heart despaired within him, for he was old and ugly. But Gregory rejoiced, for he was young and heart-rendingly handsome. Surely, Princess Avila was his! Speedily, the two kings set out on the long voyage to see the beautiful princess. And so it was, that, upon arriving the pair happened to meet at the dock.

“ King Gregory!” Fionn nearly fell off his horse in surprise.

“King Fionn!” Gregory gasped.

“What are you doing here?”

“Ah, I-I have some business with the king. And you Fionn?” Stammered Gregory, nervously rubbing his hands together and looking guiltily about.

“Oh! I have some business too!” Hastily agreed.

“Won’t you join me then? I have much too many horses, and not enough people to ride them.” King Gregory made an off handed wave towards the vast caravan exiting his ship.

“I have my own thanks.” Fionn replied, patting his brown stallion. “But I would be happy to accompany you all the same.” Neither king wanted to let the other out of his sight for fear that some trickery would be played behind his back. Fionn could wait for Gregory to finish unloading his ship.

It was indeed a great caravan that disembarked. --Hundreds of horses and their riders descended in file from the ship. Trunks made of gold and filled with finery sat on the back of every horse. All the riders were fine looking young men and women. Ladies in waiting, jesters, acrobats, --all manner of human entertainment. In addition he had birds in cages, and cute, fluffy little animals in boxes. A pair of riderless, perfectly matched white horses stood at his side, decked out in the finest tack. --It took ages for the whole procession to disembark. Fionn’s beard grew two whole inches by the time the last horse and rider had walked off the plank.

It was a long trip to the palace. Mostly because King Gregory never stopped bragging. King Fionn really wasn’t listening, though. He was convinced that he had absolutely no chance to win the heart of Princess Avila. Women were notorious for falling for single, rich, handsome men. Who wanted to live with someone as old and ugly and set in his ways as he, when she could marry someone younger and more virile? After all, the only reason anyone would marry him was for money, and King Gregory even had more of that!

When they arrived at the palace, there was no Princess to greet them; only a village girl to take their horses. (And she was at it quite some time too as Gregory brought half his kingdom on horseback.) Avila’s father welcomed them heartily and feasted them. He accepted all the lavish gifts which Gregory had brought for his daughter, and provided housing for all the Eastern King’s servants. He apologized for his daughter’s absence and explained that she was on a journey but would be back soon.

Indeed she was back the very next morning. And what a sight she was standing there at the palace gate! The bright sun glinted off her hair making her almost impossible to look at. Both kings had to shield their eyes as they reached out to kiss her hand. And what a hand it was! Small and dainty and very white. Very cold, like ice. It froze their lips to touch it.

Once inside the palace, she was much more observable as the light from the fire produced a soft glow from her hair. Gregory gasped. Fionn smiled. As she turned to face them, the King’s understood at once why she wanted to meet them, Well, at least… they thought they did. Avila’s hair was her only beauty. Her eyes were each a different shade of blue, and her left was lower then her right. The princess’ nose was crooked. Her smile was buck toothed. Avila had a neck the size of a thick tree stump to hold up her head. Her shoulders were crooked; her back was humped. Avila was ugly as an old goat with a voice to match. Infact… she was old. Her milky white skin was wrinkled and sagging. And whatever she touched gained a layer of frost.

Gregory immediately became angry. He had been tricked! Steven’s daughter wasn’t the fair and lovely princess everyone said she was! She was an ugly old hag. Well, he would fix her! He would. Steven too!
So it was with a cold bow that he excused himself and prepared to call on her highness for the evening. He would charm her off her feet, marry her, and take her home. There he would hide her in a tower where no man could see. He would marry another woman on whom he would place a wig of gold. She would be called Avila and none would be the wiser.

While Gregory was scheming on how to get the princess’s gold without her companionship, Fionn was quietly celebrating. He had a chance! Hoo hoo! What a lucky man! He smiled his snaggle toothed smile and bowed deeply retiring for the evening as well.

The evening did not go well for either king.

Avila’s personality was as cold as her touch. She was unmoved by Gregory’s lavish praises and good looks, and just as equally unmoved by Fionn’s unwavering devotion and unending attentions. She snubbed them, insulted them, ignored them and generally discouraged their attempts. Gregory was too smothering. Fionn was too worshipful. Did the King of the East never shut up? Did Fionn never stop staring? Gregory’s gifts were too gaudy, too extravagant. Fionn’s were too simple. Too poorly. Such imbeciles! Did they not know how to court a princess?! In the end the princess stalked off to her room, leaving two very disappointed and dejected suitors; both equally convinced their failure was the other’s fault.

Gregory went to his room to sulk and rant, while Fionn went out to cool his head and ease his heart in the garden. It was there that he saw the maid from the stables. She was tending the garden with all the love and care of a mother for her children. Young, comely, and with an aura of sadness. The moonlight gave her an almost ethereal feel, and for a moment Fionn stood and watched as if in a trance. The maiden was very graceful; gentle in movement and action. The flowers seemed to visibly brighten at her touch and it was possible to see where she had come from because the garden behind her was so much more lush then that before.

After a while Fionn shook himself and approached the peasant girl.

“Good evening.”

She dropped a deep curtsey.

“What is your name?”

A smile.

“Do you talk?” Fionn wondered if the girl was just shy, or if she was ailed in some manner.

The maid shook her head.

Fionn smiled. “That is alright. Do you mind if I watch you?”


Fionn spent much time in the garden after that. Whenever Avila was mean or cold (attitudes which, I am sorry to say, were regular occurrances) he would excuse himself and head out to the garden to visit the peasant girl. The princess may not have been warming up to him, but the maid certainly was. The pair sat together in happy silence in the evenings.

Gregory, however, did not fair so well with either the princess or the maid. He discovered the girl shortly after Fionn did, and had not much to say to her except to criticize or condemn. He rather liked her ,though. The girl was attractive in both heart and manner and it irked the King that he could not marry her or show affection because of the disparity in social rank.

The maid seemed to feel the same irritation towards Gregory.

Oh, she did not like him. Not that way. But she had a humorous way of pushing all his buttons at once. The first time she had to bring him breakfast, the eggs were a little under cooked and the bacon was a little too crispy. The King might not have been so angry, except that he hadn’t slept too well. His bed sheets had been shortchanged the night before. In addition the lute the princess played in the room next door whined away till the odd hours of the morning. Not knowing how to change beds, the tall king had found himself rather uncomfortably scrunched up the whole night.

Infact, his legs were still bent in the morning. He was positive his back would have a permanent hunch; and the dark circles under his eyes rivaled the night sky. So when he received his breakfast he was testier then usual.
He yelled! He ranted! He raved! one owuld have thougth he'd gone mad! He frightened the peasant girl so much she dropped her tray and ran from the room.

Things went on in such a manner for quite some time. With each passing day, the Western King grew uglier and uglier. It got so he couldn't even look in the mirror any more. His hair was wild, his eyes blood shot. His once sparkling grin yellow and snaggly. And for every defect he gained, the village girl gained more beauty.

So much so was her heart and coutnenance that he felt unworthy to be in her presence, and sick with love at the sight of her. So much so, infact that he was moved to be a little kinder to the people around him. And as time went on and he treated the world with more respect and humility the maid began to like him. Though his appearance never changed, he won the heart of the silent girl.

At length he proposed at the two were to be married. Avila seemed over joyed by the fact. At last! She would be rid of the petty egotist and his simpering rival, Fionn! (For it was clear that Fionn had long since given up; remaining only as an impediment to Gregory's success.)

Everyone was invited! It was to be a grand occassion, complete with much gorging and entertainment. And when the bride kissed the groom- wonder of wonders!-- the peasant girl was no longer the mute peasant girl, but the ugly Princess Avila of the Golden Hair! Gregory practically choked in surprise. The crowd gasped.

What horrible trick was this?

But Avila smiled.

"My King..." She bleated, "The girl was none but I all along, for I am truly a fairy child, adopted by the King. It was my desire to test you."

For a moment, Gregory was too stunned to speak. "B-but." He began. He could not imagine life attatched to such a difficult and uncompanionable woman as the princess.

The princess smiled and took a step back. As Gregory stared at her his horror turned to surprise and then delight. For before him, stood the maiden whom he had come to love; but her hair was made of gold...

So in the end, Gregory learned the power of kindness and earned the heart of the richest princess in the world. Fionn was named godfather of the newly-wed's twin children (for Avila did not forget her old friend); Gregory got used to his two buck teeth, and the King and his Princess lived happily ever after.

And here, Rowan concluded his story, and prepared himself to listen to the tales of wonder which his companions were about to unfold.

[Dungeon Master]

The day passed quickly for the travelers with the telling of the tale, and the group found their way to the Cedar Inn by nightfall. Rowan's story was well-received, and Dale applauded the young man's presentation. "A tale of kings - and well told, sir! A worthy beginning to our game. Now we arrive at the Cedar Inn, where you will find many friends making their own journeys to Dione. Enjoy yourselves, my friends, but mingle not in the common room too late, for the morrow's road is long and we will need an early start."

And so the party made their way into the Inn, and enjoyed the hospitality of the innkeeper and the company of good friends. On the morrow thin, gray clouds gathered on the horizon, sign of a distant rain, and the horses stamped eagerly in the cool, brisk air. Dale led them down the road, humming to himself and strumming upon his lute. When they had found their way out upon the main road, Dale leaned back in his saddle and considered eagerly which of the group to choose next. At length he cleared his throat, and turned to address the party. "Yesterday we heard a grand tale; one of royalty and faeries. Today I call upon our quietist friend, sir Weave, for something different! You seem a mysterious sort, good sir, and I'm eager to hear what tale you might have for us to hear. Would you honor us by presenting your first tale next?"

(OOC: Go-go Gadget beflexor! )

[beflexor]

(OOC: Okay! *asplodes*)

'Sir' Weave? The thief smiled for just a moment. When he remembered his tale, however, it vanished. For a fraction of a second, he thought about not telling it, withdrawing from the group.

Instead, he drew his hood down low. "I apologize in advance if my tale doesn't have such flights of fancy as the previous one, nor as many intriguing twists and turns. Still," he shrugged, "I suppose I could..."

______________________________

Upside.

Upside was a world like no other. It was small, no bigger than a city, a tiny piece of land that floated above a sky of nothingness. Though it was small, it was beautiful.

Huge, exotic buildings towered into the sky, topped with golden spires and painted in bright, garish hues of blue, tan, and yellow. The structures were curved, unlike the squared hovels of most human construction, giving the city a more natural, flowing grace. There were many windows, but none had glass, nor shutters, for Upside's temperature was always warm and sunny, with only a calming breeze on rare days.

It was also quite extravagant, everywhere the wealth was flaunted. Look closely and one would see diamond-studded doorways, golden handrails, tapestries of the finest silk, and bowls of gems put in sunlit places to reflect their brilliant hues across other surfaces.


There were gardens everywhere. Trees studded with every color and shape of fruit imaginable, flowers as small as a pin to as large as a housecat, vines grew every which-way. Everything green. It was hard to tell where the city of Upside merged with that of the greenery around it.

It was like a diamond in a box of cubic zirconia. A golden thread in a spool of yellow. A geode in a pile of plain rocks.

A paradise.

What made Upside especially unique was its knowledge. There were strange things, things you couldn't even imagine, things made of metal, that glowed with artificial light not made by magic. This strange thing is akin to magic, unlike magic however, this one was made slowly, relying on centuries of humanity's previous knowledge to further its development.

This phenomenon is known as technology.

Now, don't be mistaken, there was, indeed, magic in Upside. Unlike most worlds, however, the magic and technology coexisted, even relying on each other. Like lovers, they came together to create something beautiful.

Upside was full of happiness. Happiness gave way to curiosity, curiosity brought discovery, discovery introduced pride, pride happened upon anger.

The end of pride and the beginning of the anger is where things truly begin.

~

Vincent Selwyn clapped heartily, the sound of his two hands heard even over the general din of applause at seeing the small, green image of his sister, Maeja, twirl in a little dance atop the disk-like device that could record a visual image of someone. The real Maeja, holding the device, did a spin of her own, her sapphire blue silken cloak flying out and then wrapping close to her curves when she stopped.

While Vincent was a brilliant young man at only twenty years old, Maeja far surpassed her brother and even the most learned inventors. She was only sixteen.

"Congratulations." Vincent helped his sister off the stage and placed something in her hand, saying "Here, a kind of celebratory gift." When she looked at it, she saw it was a necklace. It was silver, and shaped like a hollow teardrop glistening with tiny diamonds. In the hollow of the teardrop hung a small light blue gemstone.

Maeja opened her mouth to say something, but found herself speechless. Vincent pulled his sister close and gave her a hug.

"You're cold," he remarked.

"I have been all day," she said, finding her voice.

"Nerves I suppose?" he gave a chuckle. "I'm sure you're glad to have the presentation done and over with. They loved it."

Maeja shook her head, her blue eyes distant. "No, I don't think that's it. Something feels different, like the Gods are trying to tell us something."

Vincent gave a dismissing wave of his hand, "Oh please. If the Gods dare do something, we'll just do something right back. We rival them. They wouldn't dare try something against us. To defeat the Gods would mean achieving the highest caliber of being."

"Vincent!" Maeja hissed. "Don't say that!"

"Why not?" he replied smugly. "Everyone else speaks such 'blasphemy.' Why honor Gods when we can already provide everything we want or need for ourselves?"

While Maeja wasn't a priestess, nor did she give praise to the Gods, she always seemed to grow uncomfortable whenever someone slandered them. Vincent didn't understand. The Gods hadn't done anything for them, they had done all of it themselves. They had made Upside into a technological and magical utopia of bliss.

Maeja bit her lower lip. "What if-"

"Maeja," Vincent ran his fingers through his sister's long, ebony locks of hair. "I would build a contraption to launch myself to the sky, and another to fight the Gods, if they ever did anything that would bring harm to Upside and, most of all, to our family."

They stepped out of the gathering hall and all talk of inventions and Gods were forgotten as both siblings looked up into the cloud-filled sky as small, white flakes drifted lazily to the ground.

"Oh Vincent," Maeja breathed as the flakes fell to the ground.

No one in Upside had any concept of snow, as it had never happened before in the time their blissful world existed. The people of Upside delighted in this strange, new thing. They danced in joy as the flakes landed on their skin and melted, leaving small, cold spots in their wake.

They also found it very curious when their breath began fogging two days later. It was like smoke, dissipating quickly, and the Upsiders found entertainment in that as well.

It wouldn't last.

~

"I'm so cold," Maeja said, huddling in her thin silk dress, moving close to the small fire in the kitchen. Originally the metal-enclosed stove had only been used to cook meals, now it was alight all the time. Maeja's quivering hands gestured in the air and the flames flared up for a second before the girl began to slump.

Vincent caught her, making her sit down. "Stop that," he said, worried. "You're going to burn yourself out." Mages left and right in Upside had been falling over dead, having overused their magic to keep themselves and others warm during this strangely odd weather. "We just have to keep feeding the fire until things return to normal."

Maeja winced, hearing the snap of her bed's headboard beneath her brother's foot. They had already long used the firewood stocked for cooking, and were now burning pieces of furniture.

"This isn't going to stop," she said, looking at the window Vincent had blocked to keep the snow from coming in. Already it came up to their knees, and the fierce wind sometimes blew it into other places, making it even deeper.

"Yes it is. Mother and father and the all the other inventors and remaining mages are going to build something to make it warmer again. I promise."

Maeja smiled at her brother's optimism, but her expression was hollow. Instead she reached into her right pocket and produced her image-recording device, opening it up and tweaking with the wires. In her left pocket sat something else.

Something for when, not if, that promise would fall through.

~

The people of Upside were disappearing.

Whether the people were becoming buried under the snow, or burning themselves out of their magic so badly that not even their bodies remained, it didn't matter. Either way, Upside was getting quiet. Even the wind had stopped, though the flakes of snow continued to flutter down to the ground in a thick, endless torrent.

Vincent rubbed his arms, jumping slightly as he realized his hands were like ice. He looked down at his sister Maeja, asleep on a pile of clothing next to the empty fireplace. Her eyes had dark circles under them, and her cheeks were sunken, her skin sallow.

"Gods be damned," he muttered to himself.

"Vincent?" his sister's eyes fluttered open.

He was on his knees by her side in an instant. "It's okay, I'm here. It's okay."

"No it's not," she insisted in a weak voice. "I know why you're already back."

Vincent nodded. "Everyone's gone, even mother and father," he didn't want to tell her what they'd looked like after their mana stores had been burnt up. He feared it because Maeja was starting to resemble one of the many bodies he had come across. "I'm going to one of the other houses, some of them didn't last as long as us, so there still has to be something left to keep a fire going. We have to-"

Maeja's icy hand on his wrist made him pause, "No Vincent. We're done, Upside is no more," she took a deep breath and stood up with considerable effort. "Come with me."

It was hard, their feet stayed on the top crust of snow at first, and then they sunk down to their waist. Maeja took them to just around the corner of their home and reached into her left pocket.

"I know you promised, but it's okay. I knew this would happen," she let Vincent see the small crystal orb she held in her hands. It was etched across the surface with runes, and inside Vincent could see technology splayed throughout it. The tiny, gold tech-wires running inside in an indiscernible pattern. Maeja gave a small toss and it thunked to the ground.

At first nothing happened, but Vincent heard a faint click and a huge, black opening appeared above it, like a round doorway. "Wh-what is this?" Vincent breathed, turning to his sister.

"An escape from Upside," Maeja grabbed her brother by the shoulders and shook him. "There's only enough power for one person to go, however."

Vincent immediately knew what she meant. "No. No Maeja, I won't go. You go. Please. Why me? You're...you're-"

Maybe smiled sadly, "Better? Smarter? Younger? A girl? What does any of that even mean? In Upside, you get to choose what to do with the creations you make. With this device I choose to save my brother."

"I won't go without you," he said adamantly.

"Vincent," she reached behind her neck and unclasped the necklace he'd given her after the presentation, putting it into his hands. "I want you to go through this gate, into whatever strange world lies on the other side, and I want you to weave yourself into the fabric of those around you. Become one of them. Forget Upside. Forget everything here. Live, breathe, be warm. Weave."

Maeja put her palm against his chest and, using the last bit of her magic, strengthened her shove as she sent her brother falling through the portal.

"Weave," she whispered to him.

It was the last word he would ever hear from his sister Maeja.

~

Vincent felt as though he were falling down into a pool of liquid fire, and he instantly wished for the numbing cold of what Upside had become. He screamed as the heat coursed through him, every muscle in his body acting violently in hopes of getting him away from the agony. He was dimly aware of Maeja's necklace slipping away from his grasp as a headache lanced through him so badly he clawed at his own face.

He flew downward through trees, their branches cutting into him before he slammed down to the foliage-packed earth.

Vincent looked up through only one eye, the other was too bloodied to see, if it was even there at all anymore. Whether it was because of the trees or his own doing, he would never know. Soon, his limited vision cleared enough that he saw a building.

More importantly, he saw people emerging from it.

~

To what point is this story told? Is it to teach not to rile the Gods? No. Although teaching that one should respect beings of power, to a degree at least, is an important lesson, this is not what one is meant to take from this story. Maybe the lesson is that Gods are careless beings? No, for the Gods did weep upon Upside's destruction, they, perhaps, were the saddest of all. Is there even a point to this tale at all?

No.

It is just a story.

Vincent never learned of Maeja's fate. It is unknown if she continued to stand there, looking at where her brother had disappeared, until her tears, and then blue eyes, iced over, their perfection preserved for eternity, and her breath no longer steamed. Or maybe if using her last bit of magic burnt her to a wisp. Nor is anyone sure if she stepped to the edge of Upside, her arms raised above her, and simply plummeted off the side.

One thing Vincent was sure of though, Maeja's image-recording device had been tweaked to record sound as well. No doubt she had left a warning, a story, something to whomever might happen across Upside again.

The snow still falls, no one had any idea why. We tried to stop it, but none of our magics would slow it, nor even the most advanced of our technology. Nothing works. Despite the theories of the council, I believe it can't be stopped because I know what created it in the first place. This will be my final recording. I'm sorry, I just can't find the energy to make another.

The device would play over and over, then Maeja's voice would grow dim, then nonexistant.

And Upside would be silent forever.

______________________________


Weave crossed his arms as he drew his tale to a close. "Despite his sister's request, Vincent Selwyn did not forget Upside, for there were too many reminders marked on his body. He had many injuries travelling to the new world, as well as picking up an...anomaly in his magic, one attuned to the portal's function. What he truly seeks as a momento, however, is Maeja's necklace. For it is rumored to lead back to Upside, and he wishes for no one to ever set foot there again. For nothing, and nowhere, comes closer to the term God-Forsaken than Upside."

[Dungeon Master]

"Ah, what marvelous fiction, sir!" exclaimed Dale, upon completion of Weave's tale. All in the party nodded their assent. "What mysterious objects you speak of... with the ability to rival the gods! I see the wings of this Upside of yours melting as they soared too close to the sun, and the droplets freezing and turning to snow. Here, here, for Master Weave's tale!"

Mirth embraced the party throughout the afternoon, and they arrived at the next Inn, the Spindrift, having made good time and fared well upon the road. Most found themselves surprisingly tired, and enjoyed a hearty meal before turning in at an early hour.

The next day the distant rain had at last come upon them, and a slow drizzle prevailed throughout the morning. But the mud upon the road was not deep, and warm cloaks kept the rain off of their backs. "Now then comerades, what say we have another tale to keep us warm?" Dale said at last. "We have an unusual friend with us, one of four legs and with fur upon his back that I'm sure keeps him warmer than our cloaks ever might. Lacchi, what sort of tale do you have to tell?"

[Nemaisare]

As his name was called, the hound turned to regard the minstrel with a strange, mournful look, as though he wasn't entirely certain what to make of the man's irrepressible good mood. He hadn't come along to tell a story, he'd come along because it meant he'd get free food while he traveled. He hadn't even thought that anyone would guess he was paying more attention than was proper to the stories already told. But either this Dale fellow had sharp eyes and a really sharp brain, or he was only making fun and would move on to someone else as soon as all the laughter to be had was wrung from that petty joke. This rain wasn't helping his grumpy mood either. Sure, fur kept one warm, but it also kept in the wet, cloaks didn't do that!

He had rather enjoyed the stories he had heard so far however, even if the last had not been an overly pleasant one to listen to. Perhaps it would take his mind off things, and, if nothing else. It might surprise a few of the people tagging along that the dog actually answered the minstrel. Unless they were all even smarter than he'd given them credit for being. He eyed the man he was walking beside for a moment. A thief if he didn't miss his guess, with something that might have been a true tragedy for a past, if that guess hadn't missed it's mark either. Well, he liked the company he was keeping, and it wasn't as though telling a story was so bad. If anything, they'd be the ones who would suffer having to listen to his narrative until he ended it. Eh, why ever not!

-Wu-hell, now. Lessee. I weren't exactly thinkin' a brinin' ole tales outta their 'idin' places. But ifen yeh're insistin'.- He paused to shake off the water that had gathered in his coat, not worrying about whether or not he shook it all off onto Weave. Then, licking his lips to clear the droplets off his whiskers, he began.

-There was a man, once. 'E was a king. 'E wasn't a good king, th'way most folks think a'kings as good, but 'e weren't a bad one neither. 'E didn't lower taxes or change what bits a'life as are hard ta bear. An' he weren't a kind person. 'E was a king, as a man what has to be, will be. See, 'e had a choice, an' 'e made it, but it weren't a happy one t'be needin' ta make. 'E was a king, an' 'e was a seer...

The bloodline of the Aldaran Kings did not always produce seers. But the power was passed on and when the dreams came, they were true. For years, this king had been dreaming of something terrible. A dark shadow sort of dream, only, one that he would have much preferred to remain in the shadows. But his power wouldn't allow him to turn away, or to look aside and he knew, without any doubt, that something was coming, and it would tear his country apart. He tried to tell his father what he had seen. But that man would not listen. The memory of these dreams had grown silent, rotting somewhere on an old papyrus scroll.

He was only a child when the dreaming first came to him. And only a boy frozen beneath his bedcovers by nightly terrors when he first saw his country in ruins. The rubble of cities splashed red in blood and the ash of a thousand farmers' fields and their huts darkening the sky. And he was a man grown before he could do anything about those visions. Well, you can imagine it didn't create a pleasant mind. He thought maybe it was only dreaming, nothing but nightmares. But where he'd ever found something to create such horrors in his own mind he couldn't say. And the more he dreamed, the older he grew, the more details came clear. And still no one would listen. Well, there was one...

If you've no one else to tell your stories too, a dumb mutt makes a good friend. And when he starts talking back, well then things get real interesting, don't they just? The poor lad was lonely, temperamental and had a strong kick when he felt like it, but he was frightened, and he needed someone to understand, someone to explain. Huh, fancy imagining a dog might be smart enough for that. He was smart though, not the dog, the boy, and he stopped worrying about whether or not the dreams were real as soon as he figured out that it didn't matter. If they were, he had to do something to stop them, and if they weren't, he didn't want to risk being wrong.

The man that boy became was strong and sure, and there was nothing that would keep him from what he felt must be done. Because his father would not listen and refused him any aid, that man died. He killed him with a word that stopped his heart and a gesture that pulled the air from his lungs. For his father, a good man, he would give the killing to no one else. They were honourable, at least, the intentions behind what he did, and the death was clean, though not painless. Then he claimed the throne. It was his right, and no one else stepped forward to stop him. They all believed his father dead of heart failure. Which was true, in a way. Poor lad lost his way quickly in that tangle of power. A man made king does not instantly become free to do as he wishes, and he had forgotten that. He had needed the strength of the throne and of the men who stood behind it, but it was that same strength that chained him where he was.

The king held responsibility within his hands. There was a balance and a law to answer to, and he lost his chance to keep his people safe. But he did not see that. All he saw were the dead, the dying and the tears that streaked the faces of the survivors. All he could hear were the cries of mothers whose children were gone, the calls of a million black birds feasting and the sweet, cloying rot that invaded it all. If he did nothing, his country would fall to ruin, and he would be forced to watch. So, the king did something.

For three days he vanished into his room. He took no food or drink and allowed no visitors. He banished the servants from their tasks and barred the doors to even that one beast who had been his companion for so long. None know what thoughts ran through his mind during those times. None know what he did or didn't do. There was only silence behind the doors, nothing but silence.

When the king emerged he was pale and tired, there was little power left in him, none of the strength his people had known before. But there was a new light in his eyes. A terrifying brightness as though he'd caught hold of a fever. None of those around him recognized that look for what it was, but the dog knew, for he had seen it before when the boy had been talking about his dreams, and when the man had been cursing his fate. The king had done something, and whatever it was, there would be no undoing it...

He ordered that the trade routes be closed off. The passes through the mountains, the ships over the sea and the bridge that crossed the Shandai River. He gave no reason, and no warning. Those who had come, could not leave, and those who wished to enter, were turned back at the borders. The other kingdoms grew suspicious of this sudden barrier erected between them. They had every right to be angry and some reason to be worried. The king was breaking a treaty that had been in place for more than one hundred years and Aldara was no small threat should it rise up against those on either side.

Then the king did something very strange. He did not attempt to pacify these kings on every side. He did not call them to council and explain his worries. He did not think they would listen, and he was right. But at least it might have saved him what happened next. They raised their armies, those countries did. Jirul, Hundan, lere and Thres. Three marched them to the boundary lines that separated one land from the other and Thres sailed its men towards the harbour. They did not rally for war, but they did not plan for peace. They wanted to know what was happening. It was hard to see the king then, for he wandered through the castle grounds bereft of any soul. It seemed he'd given it away and now the men he was trying to keep safe from the disaster that would ruin his own country came looking for an explanation they would not accept and threatening war should he not return to the code set down by that treaty. But, surely you understand that he couldn't.

In answer, the king gathered all those who came from those countries and sent them back. He gave to each a simple message. Aldara is doomed. The foreign kings heard and whispered, but there had been no indication of any danger, and those who were returned had no tales of horror or plague. Aldara, that they could tell, had nothing to be worried about. Its king, however, was perhaps not suited to rule. They gathered themselves and declared war, thinking to see the people of Aldara free of their crazed king and to bring the balance of their five nations back to the peace that had been before the king's father died. But he could not fight them, they had to be gone by the time his visions came to pass or all his efforts would be for naught. And he believed that the time was soon. So he tried to drive them away.

He sent ghastly creatures through the night shadows and terrible monsters into their camps. Men died, the other kings fought back. He called up a kraken from the depths. Ships sank, the kings fought back. He brought down fire and lightning in giant storms that swept the land. People burned, the kings fought back. In the end, they returned all that he had wrought for he was only one man against them. Everything was returned. The power he had taken from the land came back as beasts that hungered for life and destruction, it came back to tear apart every village that rested near the sea and in firestorms that turned the earth black. It returned until there was nothing left but the king in his castle and the spell he had made during those three days. His people are dead, his land is gone and his life is no longer. All who remember the Last King of Aldaran remember a man who ruined himself and his country, but those who walk those still fertile lands and see the grass dipping in the wind and the forest grown up around that castle know another story. There are ghosts among the ruins, and there is children's laughter still...

Lacchi paused as his story ended, wondering if he had thought to make a point in the beginning or if it had merely been the first one that had come to his mind. He couldn't remember. Ah well, nothing like a depressing yarn to worry away at the appetite. And the rain had stopped. The hound shook out his coat again and glanced around, well, it wasn't exactly dry, but at least the water was only coming from one direction now, and while it was muddy, he was used to walking through mud. Yawning, he smacked his lips and curled his tongue up to his nose, then, finished with shaking himself out of the story, he looked up at those he was walking with. -So, which one of yeh'd like ta share yer supper wit a poor, starved dog, eh?-

[Dungeon Master]

There was no end to the amazement of the party at Lacchi's ability to speak, though Dale nodded in a satisfactory manner. For the minstrel had suspected the dog to have a tale inside of him, and now the little hound had shown it to be true.

They pressed on throughout the day with difficulty, and the mood of Lacchi's tale mirrored the disposition of the party as they trudged uphill through rain and mud. The rain, at least, ceased to fall as Lacchi finished his tale, but the clouds never parted to allow the sun to warm them, and the wind blew harshly. It was a long day's journey to the next town, and they failed to arrive before nightfall. Dale led them steadfast on side-paths and alternate roads when the road grew impassible, and other travelers were forced to turn back. He insisted that they not stop for the night in the foul weather, and an hour after dark they reached the town.

They enjoyed a hearty meal at the Inn's common room, though all were quiet and exhausted. The enormous hearth-fire warmed them to their bones, and Dale regained enough cheer to manage a few songs upon his lute for the innkeepers and their guests. He turned in early, and encouraged the members of the party to take a long night's rest.

Late the next morning the party was assembled and ready to be on their way again. Dale's sleeves were still soggy but the sun was warm upon his back, and he eagerly tuned his lute and played them a medley of traveling songs. It was not until afternoon that he called upon the next individual to give his tale.

"My lady Danica!" he said, beaming broadly. "We've yet to hear from you.. what say you brighten our day even more than this fair sun with your first telling?