We left our heroes in the common room of "The Golden Stag," picking up
and patching up after a bar-room brawl. Morniesul had just come diving
through the window, battle-ready.
Seeing the battle is over, he recovers himself. Tom asks him what
brings him here. He says is "slate" told him to come. We decide to
retreat to our own inn, "The Dancing Bear," before trying to understand
this. Tom tells a waitress to have any leftover wounded from the other
side sent to us, if they want additional patching. Dafnord asks to be
looked at and reveals several stab wounds. Tom does a quick patch on
them with ectoplastic bandages, then whips up a stretcher and has Robbie
and Markel carry the Acro back to the Bear. Tom and Gannar carry Kate
away on a similar stretcher, and Morniesul carries the portable autodoc
with the pixie in it.
Once back in our rooms, Tom asks to see Morniesul's "slate." He
produces a cubit-long stick that magically stretches out into a board
with a handle, rather like an old-fashioned school slate. The face,
however, displays like a personal computer. Morniesul explains it's one
of Alag's projects. Tom probes it and finds plenty of Alag's
signatures, but also traces of Daewen, Nick, and Chris.
Nick, who is traveling with us, confirms that the slate is Alag's, and
that he's helped on it from time to time, though it is now much advanced
since he last saw it. It's a glamour-based computer, and apparently
psychically programmed to alert Morniesul when family members are in
trouble and nearby. ("Nearby" is an elastic term, too. Morniesul was
some miles hence when he got the word, but was riding a Marcher pony,
which is apparently capable of fay flitting.)
Robbie, meanwhile, has sent a dwarvish bell-hop for a healer. He
returns with the old fay sage and his two assistants. While the autodoc
continues to process the pixie, the sage works on Kate and Dafnord.
Tom asks Morniesul what, exactly, the slate told him was wrong.
Morniesul does his best to retrieve the message, looks it over, and asks
Tom if the word "Unseelie" means anything to him.
It certainly does. Tom looks at the slate and sees the terms "Seelie"
and "Unseelie" offered as translations of the names of two political
factions or positions hereabouts. Back in Katrina's world, those were
the names of the two opposed power blocs among the fay, the Unseelie
being marked by violent hatred of humanity.
Since Nick is most expert among us in fay politics, we ask him what
those labels mean here. Nick says the Unseelie are sort of a loyal
opposition, as far as the politics of the Court goes. They are darker,
wilder, and edgier in some alien dimension than are the mainstream
Seelie. Their proportion is higher in the remnant populations. They
are also rather xenophobic (as we discovered empirically). The King's
Own Goblins and the Queen's are sort of semi-Unseelie, which somehow
contributes to their considerable power.
We make a mental note to stay out of Unseelie bars.
We are awakened near dawn by the screams of a terrified pixie who finds
herself in the alien guts of an autodoc. After that's over, Morniesul
has breakfast and then parts company with us again. Tom asks Nick about
the phrase "children of pride," overheard by Dafnord and Markel in the
Golden Stag. He says it's an epithet for dragons, so apparently the
ungulates somehow scented Markel's semi-draconian blood.
Nick points out that there is some conflict between our three goals of
(1) finding out how to repatriate, and thereby rescue, the nephil
remnant, (2) make our contacts with the diplomatic community in
Elvencrown (which is partly a cover for #1), and (3) establish a Lanthil
embassy in Elvencrown (also partly cover for #1). The conflict is
timing. Rescuing people is a matter of some urgency, but fay
politicking usually takes a lot of time. Sometimes in geological
quantities.
We decide we'd better split up, the main party to take on the urgent
task of working on repatriation, Nick to take on the embassy-founding
task. The diplomatic visits could take a long time, but the main group
can start on the ones to nephilite realms, where we are likeliest to
learn about repatriation. Nick suggests we start with the Heronesse and
Elyssia, though he has few details to give about them.
Tom asks Nick how dangerous it is to admit our ignorance around here.
He says it would be bad to admit all of it, but it is even somewhat
flattering to ask your way around; it's safe to admit to being
newcomers, since that's obvious, and fays pride themselves on being hard
to find, so asking directions feeds that vanity.
We then pop Dafnord in the autodoc and settle down to a day of
recuperation. Daphne pokes around the nearby woods and finds some
magically-inclined saplings suitable for making into pixie arrows. The
cat has another chat with the Dancing Bear himself, who has heard an
amusing story of some foolish mortals picking a fight last night in the
wrong part of town...
The sage comes around to do another round of healing on us. Tom takes
the opportunity to ask him about the phrases "children of pride" and
"children of delusion." The sage confirms that "children of pride" is
an epithet (perjorative) for dragons, though he goes to some lengths to
avoid the word "dragon." The bit about delusion he doesn't know.
Tom suggests the gargoyle as a "child of delusion," more or less by
process of elimination. The mage is dubious. He points out that the
word (in elvish) implies self-delusion, which doesn't clear up much.
Tom invites him to take a professional look at the gargoyle, he being a
glamourist and all.
The sage takes a long look and gets rather huffy to Tom. He feels Tom
is jesting with him, since the gargoyle is obviously a creation of Tom's
own. ("Huh?!") Tom tries to placate the sage and tells him how we
found ... we thought we just found ... the gargoyle in a very odd
place of heavy-duty fay glamour. Perhaps we accidentally "expected" him
into existence. Tom looks at the gargoyle psionically and indeed finds
his own signature all over it. Maybe a touch of Kate, too. The sage
leaves, somewhat mollified but still huffing slightly.
The day passes. Evening falls and Markel takes his dragon out for a
ride, scouting the area. Buildings are scattered very thinly through
hills and forest, and he catches sight of fay folk out gathering food,
not cultivating it.
Night falls. The cat straps on his thumbs and his sword, and sallies
forth. Somewhere in the inn's back yard, he sees a pair of eyes up in a
tree. His feline night-vision (genetically enhanced with some infra-red
sensitivity) soon shows the eyes to belong to a very large bird, rather
hawk-like, but leafy and bark-covered.
A few branches down, he spies another pair of eyes, belonging to a
winged cat, who seems to be stalking a pair of squirrels on the ground.
Then, at ground level, there's a long face with a pair of long ears,
peering at him. Wolf? Hm.
Brunalf is distracted from the possible wolf by the winged cat, who
launches itself at the squirrels, misses, glares at him, and flies back
into the tree. When he looks around again, the wolf is gone. Er...
The evening looks up when he spots a nice big mouse under the tree, with
that oh-no-I'm-at-ground-zero look on its face. He draws his sword and
is about to lunge, when foom the winged cat stoops on it. The winged
one gives Brunalf a grin and takes off again.
Meanwhile, the gargoyle has been happily looming out of our upstairs
windows, watching all this. He notes that the big, leafy hawk, further
up the tree, has also been watching, taking a possibly culinary interest
in his buddy Brunalf. Accordingly, the 800-pound gargoyle jumps out of
the window and flaps over to the tree. The branch immediately starts to
collapse under him. He flaps madly.
Under the tree, Brunalf has begun to get the same awful feeling the
mouse probably had. He remembers the leafy hawk. He looks up. It's
stooping on him. With a big shadow behind it.
He bolts out of the way, just as the gargoyle hits the place he was
standing. Milliseconds later, the hawk hits the same place. skritch
Hawk talons don't do much to stone.
The gargoyle finds itself half embedded in loam, being fluttered at by a
bird. The bird is simple; he bats it away. (Way, way, away.) The loam
is harder. Soon, however, Markel flies over and notes the thumping and
flapping, and the slightly hysterical sound of a cat laughing, despite
being somewhat the worse for wear and losing his sword and one
thumb-strap.
Markel and some dwarves from the inn eventually pry the gargoyle out.
They get some version of the story from the cat, who retrieves his
property, and everyone goes in, leaving the night to a bemused wolf and,
somewhere in the middle distance, a badly contused hawk.
Updated: 7-Oct-06
©1984, 1994, 2005 Earl Wajenberg. All Rights Reserved.
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