Through the Faerie Ring: Encamped Beneath Alien Skies

[DoctorGlock]

The campfire burns silver under the unfamiliar stars, and even after hours the sky has not darkened nor brightened, the only change being the serpentine winding of the aurora across the skies. In the distance behind you, Myr Tarniel has faded to a speck, and fell lights glimmer in the distant woods. On the horizon, vivid violet lightning flashes, and even here the eerie thunder reaches your ears, distorted words borne on the winds.

Zeeke has been busy, ranging for foodstuffs, and in the time you wait the subtle wrongness, or at least alien nature of the land gets to sink in full force-- the latent stillness gone outside the circle, you can hear whispering on the wind, as if endless faint echoes, though you cannot make out the words. All around is a sense of presence-- not quite of being watched, but as if in a room with another, as if the very land was alive and waiting with bated breath.

Meanwhile, your guide is speaking with one of the group, sharing tales.

'In truth I had thought 'humans' were a tale told by the elders to make children behave,' you overhear. 'They would come in the night and take you away to dark towers with iron knives if you did not behave and respect your elders. But some spoke of you as if you were real and remembered...'

Zeke returns, interrupting the reverie, A six legged pale blue rabbit clutches in one hand. A bush with what appears to be red walnuts. A nearby stunted tree bears golden fruit. The gold and purple fields do seem o be some sort of grain though. Combined you could probably make some sort of stew, or if you wanted to take a long time, bread and a marinated, glazed rabbit roast...

Zeeke just looks at the blue rabbit... "hm... ah alright." Zeeke will cut up the rabbit so be similar to pieces of ham. Zeeke will also grind up the grain into a fine powder and wraps the blue rabbit slices in them. He then gets a pan on the fire to cook the covered meat up. Cutting both the fruit and walnuts,Zeeke waited for the rabbit pieces to cook well before adding both in to spice it up. Zeeke lets it roast alittle longer before making a serving for everyone. [COLOR="#0000FF"]"And there it is, my first making of food from another world, hope you guys like it!"

In a short time everyone is fed, the first time since waking up hungover-- not quite a breakfast, but fried rabbit(?) is on the menu, and Zeeke's cooking is certainly up to snuff. It tastes sweeter than rabbit, with a faint spicy aftertaste like cinnamon and red wine. Still, it is food, and facing the tail ends of that monstrous hangover and whatever terrors lie ahead, a full belly comes as a welcome change.

Gwylith looks up from a despondent search of a saddlebag, holding the empty lantern in one hand. 'You asked before about the oil,' he says to the Drow, 'And I was too overcome to answer. It is made by Aelvish wondersmiths, who know a secret for singing starlight down from the sky. I traded dearly for that, a weapon against the Seven. All gone now.'

[TaiLiu]

Seeker of Iron Secrets.

She gobbles up Zeeke's roast blue rabbit, famished. She had eaten nothing since awakening, and fighting against the otherworldly monsters had left her hungry. She compliments his cooking, and then addresses Gwylith's tale with one of her own, telling him of the old elven myths regarding elvenkind and the fae. "I think the myths are true, and we must've been one people, long ago. This place is alien to my eyes and ears, but a distant voice makes me think that there is an element of familiarity. Your stonework is similar to ours. And look!" She gestures at her mythril armour. "I glanced at your armoury. Your armour is made from the same metal as mine."

She then pulls out a few items she looted from the ruins of Myr Tarniel, - a faerie blade, a crude cleaver, the magical greatsword, and the wyrmskin book - wanting to examine them the first three for elven similarities. As the last object is removed from her backpack, she gets a good glance at her left hand, and her mind is directed back to the mild pain and dark scars. "Talia, do you mind examining me?" She holds up her scarred palm. "I picked up a book, and this burn isn't going away."

[Eldest]

Talia nods. I'll see what I can do. She takes her hand in hers, examining it through pipe smoke.

[roll0]

[DoctorGlock]

'I've never heard such tales myself, is that one of your Faen tales?' the Fae asks, laying the book down on a dark silk he unrolls from a saddlebag. He opens it, and you can make out tight script, tiny and dense-- and you notice the book is remarkably thick. 'It's a history tome? Who would go so far as to bind a history tome in wyrmskin?'

'Someone who thought it was important,' the horse snorts.

The blade on the ground is wrought of the same shimmering metal as Gwylith's sickles-- not mythril, you notice on examination, but moonsilver. As mythril is to steel in familiar mortal realms, so is moonsilver to mythril. Impossibly light, and bonds to magic like nothing else. And rare beyond measure-- at least in the lands you know. The blade is frigid under your fingers and you note the light reflecting on the blade isn't shimmering in time to the aurora above, but the metal seems lit from within. The design is familiar though, akin to ancient elven court blades, relics of the Age of Might.

'A Castellan's blade, blessed by the Lady of Winter herself, damn her eyes,' your guide remarks. 'A very rare token, and very potent. Not that it did its previous owner much good.'

The cleaver is a crude and ugly thing, almost more slab than sword, made of a heavy bronze that gleams a sullen green in the twilight. It feels oily under the skin, as if trying to escape your grasp, and there are deep grooves in the blade, each sticky with caked venom and blood. It is primitive and brutish and shares no commonality with any worksmanship you know of.

As Seeker's hand brushes over the blades, the pale burns ache as a reminder, and Talia comes over to examine. The wounds are pure white, like something dead and drowned, and icy to the touch, and you fear necrosis. But there is no putrid stink, nor infection. But underneath your trained hands the wounds still feel wrong and disquieting.

Killian looks up, sniffing the air. 'Those wounds are cursed. How did you get them?'

[TaiLiu]

Seeker of Iron Secrets

"One of many. Are you unconvinced?" She gestures at her armour again. "And it is good that the sword is valuable. One of us might put it to good use in a fight, or we might trade it for something else. Perhaps more starlight?"

As she hands her hand over to Talia, Killian comes sniffing. "From the book," she explains, and she points toward the wyrmskin tome Gwylith was pursuing through. "At first, I thought it was a burn from the heat of the fire. But now I suspect it to be something else."

[Eldest]

Aye, it looks to be dead, though there's no necrosis of the tissue. Strange. I'd need to research this before I could attempt to heal it.

[whoiam]

Fae not-rabbit would have to be added to the list of foods Alauniira'a would never have expected herself to eat. But, hey, it wasn't bad, so...

"I know plenty of people who would accord such import to history; Nobility whose legitimacy is derived from the actions of their ancestors, for instance. Most librarians. Or, perhaps, someone who knew that there's something in those histories the Seven wanted to suppress. If you had to preserve knowledge from the most dangerous entities of your world, how far would you go? Far enough to write it on wyrmskin and hide it in a regular library?

Anyway, if you're done with it, I'd appreciate a chance to try reading that book. I'd love the chance to bring some Fae history back to my people; Our memories of this world are all but faded.

The story, as I was told it, was that the ancient Elves were a mighty tribe of Fae who carved out a great Empire in the world of Man, only to find ourselves trapped on the other side once the portals between the worlds closed. Elves like her, " Alauniira'a pointed at Seeker, "and Drow like myself are both descendants of those trapped Fae.

You mention the Aelvish, however, and that is a word I've encountered before - it's how some of the oldest dwarven manuscripts I've translated styled my ancestors. Suddenly I find myself wondering if the group you got the oil from are the other half of that original tribe - the ones who were still in the lands of Fae when the two worlds were forced apart.

If we get the time, I would appreciate a chance to find them and see for myself..."

[TaiLiu]

Seeker of Iron Secrets

Inwardly, Seeker sighs. Research might very well be impossible out here, so it might be a long time till her left hand feels normal again.

[DoctorGlock]

'You stuck your hand into the Seven's flames? Blood of Iax...' the horse sighs. 'If your elder doesn't have a trick for that we will need to see the Lady of Amber,' he says to Gwylith. 'It's cursed. No I don't know the specifics, because everything I've ever read on the topic is vague bordering on uselessly unhelpful. But most sources use words like 'dire,' 'woeful,' or 'grim,' so it can't be good.'

Gwylith grimaces at that. 'Perhaps we'll have to meet your legends sooner than planned then. Lady Amber is one of the Aelves, albeit a strange and solitary one.'

As he speaks, Alauniira is already opening the book, gazing at it in consternation. It's as if it was meant to be painful to read. Not only is it a history, it's written in archaic poetic pentameter, with thick and florid prose. But you wonder at the term history book. As you read it, the structure seems familiar, faerie tale familiar to be precise. Given where you are though...

The first six pages seem to tell the story of a man trying to win a lady's heart, showing wonder after wonder, none of which impress her. As it goes on, your eyes start to water. It reads like a children's book, but the way it's written is too dense for any child not possessed. You note with dismay that there there are still thousands of pages left.

Of course, then the name of the unfortunate man strikes you. 'Iax.' The same one that horse just cursed with.

[whoiam]

"I can see I'll likely have died of old age before I finish this one, " Alauniira'a notes to herself. "Assuming that I age in this place. Supposedly my ancestors did not; amongst my people there was often discussion as to whether our agelessness was lost because we became less than our ancestors had been, or because the world we were trapped on lacked the magic to sustain us indefinitely. I guess I'll find out eventually if we can't find a way back..."

Drawing her rapier, she carefully slices a half-inch strip off the end of her scarf. This is then inserted into the book as an impromptu bookmark. She didn't fancy having to skim pages again to find her place - not on this tome!

"Still, meeting an old-style 'Aelve' should prove 'interesting'. Let's just hope they're not too similar to base Elves, eh Seeker?"

[TaiLiu]

Seeker of Iron Secrets

Seeker looks back at her wound. "It doesn't hurt that bad," she says, "though it is somewhat irritating. It makes it harder to hold things. I think I'll ask your master about it."

"And they shouldn't be." Here she is replying to Alauniira'a. "The elven empire is falling apart because they are stubbornly sticking to the old ways. Things are probably different with the ælves, if they are able to command so high a price for their liquid starlight. Speaking of the old ways..." Seeker pulls out a naming scroll and unrolls it, displaying it to the whole party. "How do you use this?" The question is directed at the faeries. "Is it anything like the scrolls we have?"

[DoctorGlock]

The horse lets out a long whistle. Again, how he does that with horse lips is a great mystery to you.

'A Namer's scroll,' he whispers, 'and a strong one. It shouts to me, but you have not ears with which to hear. It is no spellscroll, but a Namer's self and essence bound to paper. Nearly indestructible, even dragonfire would be hard pressed to burn one.' He pauses, ears twitching as he listens. 'Vorincilaen, his name was, and he new many Names, though it seems stone was his preference, it whispers loudest.'

He regards you a while. 'Not a spellscroll, but perhaps something far greater. Learn to listen and perhaps you can learn to Name. I reckon it's been a while since a mortal picked up that knack.'

So, pick a party member for it to bind to. Want to start learning truenaming?

[Eldest]

Talia blinks at the scroll owlishly, looking it over. I would... greatly appreciate studying this. It could help my great work. She manages to say the last with great conviction and fervor, belaying the creepiness of it.

[whoiam]

"...Stone? You think the True Name of stone will help your work? ...How?"

To be fair to Talia, Alauniira'a didn't have any particular reason to learn that word, either.

Oh, true, she had plenty of incentive to learn Truenaming in general (Arcane Magic, as she had been taught it, left her as something of a poor echo of the Namers of old), and Stone wouldn't be a bad starting place for someone from an underground culture like the Drow... but still, there was no particular reason why she had to start with stone.

...Other than the fact it was the name that was available, of course...

[Eldest]

Talia, A Scant Handful Of Days Later

Killian? May I ask you some questions? The doctor appears hesitant, almost furtive.

[DoctorGlock]

Starlight gleams in the horse's three eyes as turns his pale face towards you. 'I was wondering when you might. It does not befit a Namer to be timid.'

[Eldest]

Talia smiles. I don't do brash well. It doesn't befit a doctor, after all. Trust me, there is steel behind the silk. She steps forward, nodding. I am... unfamiliar with your customs. Is there any title I should address you by, if I am learning from you?

[DoctorGlock]

The horse lets out an amused snort. 'Brash Namers don't live long enough to master their craft. But there is a difference between brash and bold.' He stops, seemingly in thought for a moment. 'Our kind are too attached to formality and ritual, but I am too old for all of that. The old Namers would go by 'Master Namer' in an apprenticeship, but it has been very long since such a thing has happened. Very few fey take the path of Namer... it was always more of a mortal gift. I suppose I would rank as a Master, though I fear I have forgotten more of the Craft than I once knew... Master Killian? Bah!' He spits, and the fire crackles blue around it. 'Killian will suffice, unless you prefer formality. It has been too long since I shared the craft.'

[Eldest]

She nods. Killian. Then my first question is this: did I move the stone, or change it's nature so that it was simply in that form?

[DoctorGlock]

"You start with a question that has vexed Namers for ages, and none have answered it, though many bled for it. We Namers held that by Naming a thing, by knowing it, you shape its nature, and the world follows suit. To abuse the gift was to rend the higher nature of the world, and so we sought not to overuse the gift. The Shapers believed that by Naming a thing, you had command over it and could make the world as you desired. There was no danger in it, for all things followed the will.'

[Eldest]

Talia nods. Alright then. Less cerebral questions, I suppose. Does Stone have one name? Or many, one for each stone?

[DoctorGlock]

'Another question with no simple answer,' Killian responds. 'A common theme in Naming. Each stone has a name, and each stone has countless names, and all such names are one, all at once. A Name of a thing is its story, its nature, its essence. It is a description and a spoken command. All at once. I suspect you search for a science to it, but it is very much an art, ever shifting. A Name and a Namer are never the same thing twice.'

He reaches out with a hoof and nudges a stone in the ground, then stomps on it, splitting it in two, before kicking one a short distance. 'If you were to reach out and try to know the stones, they would have different Names, though similar now. But come back many moons hence and the Names would have little in common, each stone having a different story. That split, that nudge, that change in location and position, each becomes an element of a Name, even if they fundamentally begin in the same place.'

[Eldest]

She frowns and searches for words. So... similar to that goblins and hobgoblins are of the same genus, but different species? They are similar enough that if you name them abstractly, you could in theory affect all the stone that might hear. She blinks. The... stone does need to hear you name it, yes?

[DoctorGlock]

She frowns and searches for words. So... similar to that goblins and hobgoblins are of the same genus, but different species? They are similar enough that if you name them abstractly, you could in theory affect all the stone that might hear. She blinks. The... stone does need to hear you name it, yes?

'The stone must hear you, yes,' Killian replies. 'But if you were to take half of that stone the other half could still hear you, perhaps from very far away, so long as the names remained fresh. Thus it is very dangerous to let a Namer get hold of your blood or hair, and especially guard your Name.'

[Eldest]

Talia whistles. Name as in, call me "X". Or name as in, Namer Name. She carefully says the capitals.

[DoctorGlock]

'The second. It is born out of a level of self knowledge and surety that the Namer defines himself by. And it is no weakness, for it gives the Namer an absolute mastery of himself. Those who had mastered their own Name could change form at will, and with little risk. They could unmake any wound, and mortal Namers were said to be able to extend their brief spans.' Killian stares into the fire again, eyes distant. 'Of course, it is not only Namers that have such Names, but it was mostly us who could know them. That comes at a price. A skilled Namer can read enough of that nature to leverage power over another. It was said that Iax had only to glance at a man to know his Name.'

[Eldest]

She swallows. And... that man? Who is he?

[DoctorGlock]

'Was,' Killian whispers. 'It has been many an age since the greatest of Shapers walked this world or any other. None more mighty, nor more ambitious, he knew the names of all things. It was he who first rent the gates between our worlds open, seeking the one thing denied to him. Immortality. He walked with others, paragons of their craft, determined to make a new world in their image. He rent the very moon from mortal skies to set it above our own,' he says turning upwards towards the silver disk. Among alien skies and unfamiliar stars, the moon you recognize. 'There is but one,' the horse whispers, at times in your world, and at times in ours.'

'The early Namers opposed this madness, and thus was the Creation War fought. Namers and Shapers and all of Faerie in that time. Mountains split, seas boiled and all manner of madness birthed, and woke were the dark horrors that sleep forgotten in the earth. And when it seemed that all Faerie was doomed to ruin, Iax was betrayed to his death.'

Killian gazes at you long. 'The story of mortal madness is known to every fae that dwells beneath the moon. And even now there are some that remember those days. Pray to whatever your kind holds sacred we do not meet them.'



Know history: DC 23

Iax is a name that appears a couple of times in very ancient texts-- the first texts really, since they date back to the beginning of recorded history as the Age of Myth faded into the Age of Might. Iax was a great Namer, perhaps the greatest since Ur-Kadesh himself (because of the age and incomplete nature of the texts and conflicting narratives, some say he was Ur-Kadesh himself. It is impossible to know now secrets lost thousands of years before.) who simply vanished, perhaps no more than a myth as well, much like the age he was born to.

[whoiam]

[roll0]

About that topic, Alauniira'a knows...

...not enough to contribute meaningfully to the conversation.

[DoctorGlock]

And resurrecting this thread for its original purpose-- out of sequence extended discussions-- did the scene shift before your follow up question? Did you want to touch on an off hand mention in conversation? As your traveling companions here.

[TaiLiu]

Amber's level gaze regards Seeker long. 'I know little of your mortal wizardries, but I know to speak a Name changes you each time you speak it. Neither myself nor Killian were always as we are now,' she says, her soft voice betraying a cold finality.

'There is an old ritual, between a master and a student. If you know not your name we shall discover it. But guard it above all things, and beyond all worldly treasures. And take care never to lose it.'

Amber rises to he feet. 'Follow me, niran nasu, Namer's apprentice.' She strides through the twilight glade to one of the crumbling archways.

You recognize the way, at least part of it, and brace yourself for the rush of water as you step out underneath the cascade, bracing yourself to keep your balance on the slick stone bridge. The dew about glitters on Amber's olive skin as she beckons you to a rough hewn stairway beneath the fells.

Gracefully she descends the treacherous moss-grown span. Leading you through the mists and lickens to shallow tide pools at base of the cliff face. Aside from the thunder of the falls you realize it is quiet, with no assorted fae or fauna to breach the peace. Above you can see the blaze of the aurora filtering through the clearing.

'You will Name through knowledge of yourself. I am not like Killian, nor Iax or Mab. I cannot teach you to call the tempest or ride the winds, but my craft can make it that no blade can pierce you and no poison harm you. But you need knowledge of your own name.'

She guestures for you to sit, there are lichen covered stones encrusted with barnacles and shellfish. 'What is your nature?' She asks, her alien eyes focusing on you with a blazing intensity.

Seeker.
One Year and No Days Left

She folds her legs and seats herself on a nearby stone gently brushed with freshwater and animal life. There is a great dampness in the air and on her seat, and she takes a deep breath and feels herself taking in the moisture, the crash of the waterfall, the strength of her newfound teacher. Despite the noise, she could hear Amber speak as clearly as transparent crystal, the faerie's question cutting through all her senses and concerns. There was nothing in the world except her question.

"I'm quick," Seeker says, "and committed. I have sought the secrets of iron for over a hundred years, and never have I strayed from my path, until my companions and I woke up in the land of Faerie.

"I strike when I need to. I speak when I need to. I do what needs to be done as swiftly as I can, and when I know what I need to do, I let no force stand in my way.

"But I am not inflexible. I have sought the secrets of iron for over a hundred years, but I have seen firsthand the strength of Naming in this land, and with your help, I shall bring the forgotten art of Naming back and rebuild the glory of the Elven Empire." She meets Amber's eyes with her own, a certainty shining behind her golden pupils. "But I must begin with myself. Lady Amber—Teacher—What is my Name?"

[DoctorGlock]

'Your Name,' she bends through the fells to whisper in your ear, a long susurrus of serpentine sylables. 'It is a good name, that means word-bearer, star-bringer. I have had time to watch you. Driven by a quest that binds you like any oath of this world. I have seen Names warped by obsession through the ages. Would your world remember this art? What sort of empire would your people build? I wonder if you know yourself beyond your quest?'

She reaches down and lifts an oyster shell, slick with pearl and filled to the brim with clear waters and sets it in your hands. 'Know this. knowledge of your Name is not mastery of it. That requires a mastery of yourself. What will you do if your self and your quest are at odds?'

[TaiLiu]

Seeker.
One Year and No Days Left

For the first time in a long time, Seeker hesitates and stops to think. She rearranges her folded legs and takes hold of the full oyster shell. In the distorted waters, she takes in her quivering reflection and looks back up.

"It has been over a hundred years," Seeker admits. "I do not know what the Elven Empire is like anymore, and I have been chasing a dream for so long that I do not know who I am without it. In truth, I do not know who I am beyond it."

She falls silent. The waterfalls continue to thunder, and thunder takes the place of conversation for a solid minute or more. But then, at last, Seeker starts again. "I am not alone in my quest," she says, "which is why I cannot abandon it. My sword is alive and binds iron and song in a way that no other sword can, and it, too, seeks to restore the Empire. This weave of spell and swordplay is my sole strength, and it points only towards one direction. My quest and my self can never be separated."

She seems to say this with a crystal finality. But its tone betrays hairline cracks of uncertainty, and she looks down and again falls silent, and then the thunder, once more, takes over.