Through the Faerie Ring: Under a Violet Moon

[DoctorGlock]

Spoiler: Intro, again

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A full moon hangs in the darkening skies above; the silver orb girt by stars like diamonds studding the red and blues of sunset. A winding path has been trampled through the wheat fields and long grass . It snakes past the farms on the periphery of the backwater township where you have spent the past few days. There it meets the wooded foothills of the vale's mountain girdle. Throughout the day the path has been trampled into the soft dirt and mud-- a gift of fall's first rainfall-- by hundreds of feet as townspeople make their way into the hills.

As night falls, the pilgrimage has slowed from a constant trickle to nothing. People must wake early to get the crops in, and no fireside dance will change that, even if it does make the crops come in better. Besides, who wants to be nursing that hangover without a good nights sleep. Besides, who knows what comes out at night?

But not for you are the superstitions of simple folk. Durance Crossing is a small and quiet town in the middle of a chaotic country; a good central place to meet and nothing more. But gods above! The drink they brew here! Whatever the local moonshine is, it is stronger than anything you have ever tasted. They said it's made with apples. Well, mostly apples, anyway. And what is the harm in participating in the ritual a bit? At the minimum you will blend in better and have some time to catch up in private...

And the path gives way to old cobbles, sparse and worn smooth by centuries of ritual; a beaten path into the woods. When you reach the clearing the sky has darkened to deep midnight shades and the moon shines bright above. The bonfire that roared through the day is smoldering embers now, and the clearing is strewn with empty bottles.

And rising above the ashen pyre are the dolmens. A circle of old stone pillars, roughly hewn and coated with ages-old moss and lichens. Some stand like gates, one slab perched above two more. The long grass has been beaten down by dancing feet around the old stones, but none have crossed the threshold.

The people of Durance Crossing speak in hushed whispers of the dolmens, though none seem to know why. Some say they are the grave of old kings. Others say sleeping giants rest beneath the hill. Still others say it is where they fey steal through at night to snatch children back to their winter realms, and they quickly touch iron afterward.

But not for you are the superstitions of simple folk. And it seems like a good place to sit and enjoy the drink.

It does taste a bit of apples now, doesn't it? Well, mostly apples...

And now one of you has started another bonfire, though the bright moonlight seems to have washed the colors out. It's too pale. But the drink is flowing strong one someone started singing. You never would have guessed he had such a singing voice. Which of them is that now? Your head is spinning.

Oh well, there were more bottles. Nothing another nip won't fix.

And now you are dancing, because someone was singing, and because it's tradition and seemed like a good idea at the time. And above the stars are wheeling, unless that's just your pounding head, and as you dance about the landscape seen through the dolmen gates seems to dance and shift with you. And someone is singing again but there seem to be too many voices and the laughing sounds off and everything is spinning and fading.

Fading to black...

'What are they?'

The voice comes filtering through a throbbing hangover induced haze. The world is black, though you suspect that's because you are afraid to open your eyes. Whatever was in the local drink, it packs a punch worthy of epic tales.

'The clearly aren't the Seven, the Silent Watchers, emissaries of the Cold Queen or the Witches of the Sunken City, ciridun, and thus outside your duties.'

The voices are wrong. Musical in a lilting and inhuman way. They have a cadence to them that strikes the ears in ways that mere words shouldn't. But the tongue is familiar. Ancient though.

'They smell like iron. Whatever they are, they don't belong here. Their presence stains the soil. It taints the wind and darkens the moon. They are abominations. Why should I not grant them blade's mercy and be done with it?'

'Because you will be no closer to your answers. Because the whatever they are might have seen something. Because I'll happily tell the Daonine about it. Because killing one of the mountainborn tends to irritate the others. And because those two are waking up and they outnumber you six to one.' The last is accompanied by a snort a whinny and a stomp.

Zeeke and Seeker suspects the voices are talking about them. They do have the severe misfortune of being awake. The throbbing in your skulls is testament to that. Still, they are taking about you, you suspect, and this time is is unlikely that you have woken in a ditch with a lampshade on your head, so peeling your eyes open can't reveal anything too horrible, right?

Right.

As you blearily open your eyes the first thing to strike you is the stars. there are so many of them in the purple and lavender skies above, far more than you can remember, more and more than in the skies at the distant corners of the world where men have not brought so much light. The second is that you didn't know there was supposed to be a brilliant Aurora burning in the skies in flaring hues of green and orange and pale blue. The moon hangs the dark of the new moon, a black void in the sky above where it had been full when you were carousing earlier...

Oh, and the stars are entirely wrong. Wherefore is the Hunter, the constelations of his bow and the Serpent, his prey?

And the fields? No wheat grew in those purple and golds, glinting in the eerie and alien lights from above. Untamed and wild brush and long grasses surround the stones...

Where are the dolmen stones, at that, with their crude and ugly doors? Here are nothing more than dark and stubby stones, a crude circle that ill matches the mysterious henge of Durance Crossing.

Ah, and the figure sitting on one of those stones in a semi crouch with two blades drawn, curved and sickle-like things that seems to gleam with their own pale and inner light, reflecting in silvery mail glinting with iridescent hues like moonstone. That figure is not human. Or elf, though he seems to bear many similarities. But his face is wrong, too pinched, too predatory and inhuman, sleek and streamlined, though you'd be hard pressed to say how... as if his bone structure reflected the will within. Long black hair hangs down, bound behind long and pointed ears with a band of leather from something green and scaly. Slit pupilled yellow eyes regard you with intense focus. Behind him is a silver horse with three pale blue eyes, one smack in the middle of it's forehead. It seems to regard everyone at once.

The horse speaks. 'See, now we can make introductions and ask politely.'

Behind Zeeke, the others begin to stir.

No, you get the feeling you aren't in Durance Crossing anymore.

[Eldest]

Talia stifles a groan and sits up, blinking her eyes open. She shakes her head to clear it, takes one look at the elf, and flips over, upchucking onto the ground. "One sec coulda sworn you looked off. She packs a few herbs into a pipe slowly, naming each deliberately as she goes, and lights it, puffing happily on the hangover-cure, giving it time to set in and staring blearily at everyone else getting up off the ground.

Spoiler

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Prepare and use Polypurpose Panacea: Analgesic. Less pain, and +2 against pain spells, for whatever that's going to do.

[Morbis Meh]

The dull ache pulsing through his skull was nothing particularly new since he had been knocked out on numerous occasions during combat sparring but the taste of sour apples combined with the queasiness of his stomach were a unique experience altogether. He fought the urge to vomit, not wishing to relive the taste of whatever he consumed the previous night, it was quite unlike him to drop his guard so quickly and even more worrisome that he imbibed to the point of blacking out.

He cautiously began to open his eyes, steeling himself for the inevitable splitting pain that comes with exposing bloodshot eyes to sunlight and was eternally grateful it was still nighttime... That shouldn't be there.... why is there an aurora? He sits up, finally registering that there were beings here speaking about them in such a cavalier manner. Those definitely aren't normal,
am I still intoxicated or did a horse just speak to me? What was in that apple hooch those people fed us?

His mouth was dry but he managed to croak out "I assure you we have no affiliation with the people you just mentioned nor are we hostile in nature. As for not belonging here well we don't exactly have any evidence to the contrary since I am fairly certain we are not in the same place we began in before losing consciousness. I implore you to sheathe your weapons for the moment so my companions and I can get out bearings and try to piece together what has happened. I am Gunter McCort of the Loyal Order of Branded Waerloch and the person to the right of me puffing away is Dr. Talia Nasser, I ask you to forgive the stench of her concoction I can vouch that they do more good than harm even if they are unpleasant."

Spoiler: Diplomacy

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(1d20+11)[16]

[TaiLiu]

Seeker of Iron Secrets

She awakes on her back. Her head throbs, her eyes half open to the purple sky and peculiar stars. She thinks back, a little...

What a party last night! She didn't usually drink that much, but much drink was needed. A celebration, to old friends and new places! What a surprise to see young Essgar, travelling without his master. And Talia, and Tik, and - oh, what a coincidence! No, they had to drink. It would have been rude not to.

Voices. Voices from the man and his horse, alien and familar to an uncanny degree, a twisted elf and a twisted colt. A request for introductions. They might be dangerous, she thinks, and she sits up, feeling for Rairhdlailr, for her backpack, for her bow.

"Where are we?" A voice spoke in her head: Rairhdlailr. "What are those... creatures?" She could feel disgust and fear.

I don't know, she thought back. I'll try to find out. And, she thought, an introduction wouldn't hurt. Perhaps they were friendly. They didn't try to kill her, after all, and that was more than she could say about a lot of the world. And she was in no position to fight, anyway, what with the hangover and the disorientation.

"I'm Seeker," she says, standing now, unsteady. They spoke Common, right? Or something like it? "And as my friend Gunter said, we're not from around her. Perhaps you could show us a way home?"

[Nightraiderx]

Zeeke stirred as one of the voices suggested killing them, he wasn't so keen on fighting after that crazy party.
It seemed Essgar was doing well on his own, making new friends and acquaintances... not too many for himself though.
He opened his eyes to see that everything was different but felt that he had little time, defense was the first thing to mind as
his survival instincts came to him. Standing up quickly as he wobbled alittle from the change of altitude he looked at such a strange sight
of the two creatures. "I heard one of you thought it would be wise to end us, glad the other reconsidered their options." looking from one to the other.
"So may we ask who you are? I'm Zeeke by the way, and for now that's all I'm saying."

[Dondasch]

Essgar wakes to a pounding headache and strange sights. 'Musta had too much to drink... horses aren't supposed to have three eyes, are they? No, that's ridiculous. But... this place doesn't look like Durance Crossing. And the others seem to be seeing the same things, and Seeker's pretty smart. Something's up.' Despite his muddle, he still manages to catch enough of the conversation to guess what's going on. He remains sitting down as he starts speaking, turning back and forth between the not-elf and the not-horse as he does so "I'm very sorry, we didn't mean to come here, wherever here is. If you know a way back to Durance Crossing, we'd be happy to take it."

[DoctorGlock]

The elflike creature regards you coolly and levelly, eerie aurora light reflecting in his too dark eyes as he addresses Gunter and Seeker. 'We have never heard of such a place as a 'Durance Crossing,' nor have we encountered such as your travelling companions. But as to your associations...' the dark eyes flicker to the twilight horizon where perhaps a league distant can be see the rising walls of a fortress castle of ancient design. And now that you begin to sober, you can smell an acrid smoke on the air.

'Seven signs for seven watchers, and I spied some from afar. Their flames danced merrily upon Myr Tarniel and about the dolmen stones. And upon the morrow and the setting of the moon I find creatures such as you and the burning stink of Iron. In all of Faerie, only Seven have been said to wield the Bitter Bane.'

Ah yes, that niggling in the back of the mind becomes clear as your vision focuses on your little camp of sorts. The ground is blackened and scorched all about the stubby stones that seem a pale reflection of the Dolmens back in Durance Crossing, and the air seems unnaturally still and cold. Beyond the circle of the stones and devastation you can see the long grasses tossed by a stiff breeze... one you cannot feel at all.

'So I ask,' it says again, and you note it has made no move to put away its blades, manifestly not iron or steel, 'What are you?'

[Eldest]

Talia puffs happily on her pipe as it soothes away her pain, pulling it out to gesture and point. Mortals, muscle, flesh and sinew. Earth and fire, if you wish to be philosophical about it. The falling angel meeting the animal rising up. So the question becomes, instead. Puff, puff, point. What are you? Her eyes roam over the pair, trying to pick out what they are.

Spoiler

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I mean. OOC I know they're fae. (1d20+11)[29] know: nature to try to figure out what sort of people they are. Maybe noticing they're more elf-like than elves and extrapolating from there?

[TaiLiu]

Seeker of Iron Secrets.

Watching the creature continuing to hold out its blade, Seeker grips Rairhdlailr, ready for a fight.

"Don't be rash," the scimitar warns. "We do not know this place. And listen - a clue as to where we are."

Seeker listened, and remembered, and realized he was right. "We're in Faerie," said Seeker, as much as to herself as to Essgar and the group at large. "And we are far away enough that we seem strange to them, and them to us, and they have never heard of Durance Crossing, and we of Myr Tarniel."

Then her attention shifts back to the seeming elf and the seeming horse. "We have never heard of your seven. They cannot be us."

[DoctorGlock]

'Oooooooh,' the horse lets out a low whistle in response to Talia's statements. How he does that through his horse lips is a mystery, though far from the biggest one that surrounds you. 'I thought them merely elves that had crossed the wrong puck and gotten themselves emboggled!' The horse is grinning, a rather twisted expression for a horse that shows way too many teeth, and even odder it begins to sing...


'They came with gifts of gold and lead
sharpened iron, songs in their head
works not wrought by faerie hand
and in their stead they would demand
But lesser miracles and dreams
trifling wonders, it would seem'

His eyes flicker down to the various weapons the group is studded with. Iron. Steel. No fey can bear its touch, as ubiquitous a part of the tales as any...

'Old Myr Tarniel was watchpost to an ancient Gate. A Gate Ciridun, a Gate! There to your answers!'

The Sidhe rider scowls. 'It cannot be. No Gate has opened since the market days, untold many moons ago. No manling has set foot in Faerie in an age and some.' His eyes seem to focus on you for the first time, taking in all the iron and the unfamiliar faces. Slit-pupiled amber eyes regard you with a level gaze. In fact, the Fey's whole stance seems to have shifted into something less predatory, but no less eager. But the blades have lowered. 'Very well, answers for answers then? I am called Gwylith, Ciridun of the Daonine.'

Spoiler: Talia

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Well, you know some old faerie lore. Daonine is a familiar term too. In ages past, or so say the tales, faerie markets would spring up near the wild places, at the edge of human civilization and the untamed places.
Daonine were known as market fae, trading little wonders and miracles and magic for almost nothing, songs and dreams and memories. The horse's song seems to confirm that. But those markts became rarer and rared as man progressed into the wild places, and eventually fades from the world entirely, along with all its mystery and wonder.

[Eldest]

You're fae. Talia's face pauses, as if lost in thought, and she checks her tin of herbs that she'd used to stuff her pipe. Yup, nothing hallucinogenic. She takes a good pull on the pipe again, exhaling a shaky smoke ring, before nodding. Interesting song. So, the question becomes then, if we want to go home, and if we do how we would. I, for one, wish to study here for a time at least, if I may of course. A respectful nod towards the armed fae follows. I've no doubt they have their own healing arts that I could learn from.

[Dondasch]

"Ah, well, I'm Essgar, a sorcerer in training." Essgar says, visibly relaxing as Gwylith lowers his blades. 'This is amazing! I bet the fae know all sorts of things about magic and Names that we've forgotten or lost, and this is a chance to recover some of it.' Essgar turns to address the not-horse. "What should we call you?" Not pausing for a reply, he continues on "And since we're not likely to be able to reactivate this... Gate easily, is there somewhere we should go for now?"

[Nightraiderx]

Zeeke puts his hand to his head shaking it, "You're telling me that somehow we got shoved into a gate into another world that we thought were only faeire tales?! You've gotta be kidding me...." Zeeke looks around at the landscape, sighing. "So, Gwylith, Ciridun of the Daonine, is that your full name or do you go by fancy titles here too?" He moves his hand away from his sleeve watching it carefully.

[DoctorGlock]

'I am Gwylith,' he replies. 'I am also ciridun and daonine. My companion is called Killian. But we know better than to give mortals our Names,' he answers Zeeke.

'There is but one Gate now,' Gwylith answers the others. 'The Gate of Shadows, beyond the farthest shore of the lands of night, and a path that none can walk. If you would return to when you came, you must make your way where none have returned from before... or seek the ones responsible for your predicament. They have much to answer for already. My duties already have me on their trail.' He raises a slender arm, fingers pointed towards the ancient amidst the swaying grass.

Myr Tarniel, the elder watch.

[Halfelf ninja]

Tik look around, and take a deep breath wow, i must be still drunk, because the last time i saw a horse speaking was when i took the master hunter's ale withput his premission... and then he look at the sky and understand that these are indeed are not the sky he used to look at so many time in his life. He look at the horse, and then put his hand on his nose carefully "you said that we can go back from...here the faerie, land of kid stealers, if magic, where the hunters taught me there is danger everywhere to our world if we will take a dangerous road no one ever took before?" He asks, and he sounds like he would prefer the answer to be "no, not at all" and then he look around him, searching for his hawk, stormtalon.

[TaiLiu]

Seeker of Iron Secrets.

Seeker and Rairhdlailr shared a certain interest with Talia - and unbeknownst to them, with Essgar: they would need to find their way home, of course, but while doing so, they could take the time to explore and learn as much as they could.

"They may be of no help in understanding iron," admitted the scimitar, "but if the old elven myths are true, then we are their descendants. Perhaps they have kept the old glory."

And now we have an idea of how we got here, Seeker said mentally. And now we know of two routes of going back home. Then, outwardly, she greets Gwylith and Killian, asks for more information about those responsible, and then offers to assist the two in their duties. "I cannot speak for my companions," she says, "but it sounds like the fastest route to Durance Crossing is to assist in the capture of those who you said were responsible. My blade and I will offer assistance."

[userpay]

Just then a loud snore breaks through the air. Leading over to where a shield seems to be propped up against a stone yet closer inspection shows someone curled up, partially hidden by the stone and the rest mostly hidden by the shield that appears to in use as a hard blanket of sorts. There's some mutterings as if the half-elf underneath were about to awake but then quiets again.

[DoctorGlock]

'Have you any children, to fear from the cold queen?' the horse asks Tik before being hushed by a hand to its flank. 'Many have tried to walk the Gate of Shadows,' Gwylith replies, 'but have all vanished into the Night Lands. It is possible they they found what they seek, but none have returned to tell a tale. Many ciridun have tried that journey since the closing of the gates, and all have been lost.'

'But danger is around every corner,' Killian adds. 'And the trail of the Seven is just as perilous. Just as none have walked the Gate of Shadow, there are perhaps none who have fought the Seven and lived to tell the tale, perhaps outside of Shanzallar, and it is unlikely to have a reasoned conversation.'

'For those bound by duty or a lack of sense,' Gwylith says, 'we ride for Myr Tarniel.' He vaults onto the back of the silver horse and they begin to walk in the direction of the tower.

[TaiLiu]

Seeker of Iron Secrets.

"Not just yet," said Seeker. She walks over to the snoring stone, where a shielded half-elf sleeps. She didn't think she saw them at the party, and is somewhat taken aback by the stranger's appearance - half-elves were a rare sight for the eyes - but she quickly gets over it. After all, in the last few minutes, she had seen far stranger. She tries to shake him awake. "Awaken, friend." She shakes him harder. "Do not shut your eyes again; this is no dream. You must've been caught in the spell. Awaken! Did you not hear the faerie speak? We ride for home today!"

[Eldest]

Talia whistles while she walks, slowly creating another hangover cure-in a potion of course, she's not sharing her pipe- and tossing it to Seeker, iron vial and all. This might help.

[Morbis Meh]

Gunter allowed those more knowledgeable than he to wrestle with the question of what happened while he concerned himself with what to do in the immediate future. The mention of this other portal was troubling but he was more worried about why they were brought here. Seeker had already seemed to make up her mind about what to do and he didn't have an argument to refute her decision so he shrugged and stood up.

"I have no kin to worry about, I am an exile so I am in no rush to return aside from aiding my companions. Could you speak more of this 'Cold Queen' the name is a trifle cliche..." The snoring of his companion interrupted him which caused Gunter to sigh "Don't bother with alchemical niceties just douse the lazy bugger with cold water."

[userpay]

"Zzzz... Break through... Sky... Zzzz..." Raymus just shifts around a bit at the shaking initially. It takes several moments of continual shaking for the half-elf to rouse properly. A stretch, a yawn, then Ray's eyes open and he freezes. Having an elf standing over him wasn't exactly the best of situations under normal circumstances. Another moment goes by as he takes stock. Guards? No obvious ones. Bindings? None. Arms and armor? Check.

"Well I assume I'm not under lock and key so... Good morn fair lady." Grasping his lucerne hammer Ray uses the butt of it like a walking stick to leverage himself up. Some throbbing but that's likely the hangover than someone having attacked me. He thinks continuing to take stock. Then he sees the strange colors all about. "...Did I have more to drink than I thought? I swear the plants weren't that color when I last rested my head down."

[Dondasch]

"Well," Essgar says while clambering to his feet, "it's not like we really have anything else to try. In any case, I'd rather stick with someone who knows this world than wander around blindly."

[DoctorGlock]

'Our worlds must have been separated long for the Cold Queen to fade from memory,' the Daonine answers.

'And lucky them,' spits the horse. Its rider gives Killian a sideways glance before continuing. 'She is the queen of unseelie kind and the lady of winter. She is among the greatest powers in all of Faerie and older than any can remember. Cruel, vain and petty, it is said she knows the Names of all things that live, and only desires the day they are all entombed in ice. And she is one of the great enemies of the Daonine.'

As you step outside the stones the subtle wrongness, or at least alien nature of the land hits you 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.

As you follow the Fae horseman you also get a better look at your surroundings. The long grasses within the circle are dead and blackened, as if withered from a harsh winter or a great heat, but not burned as you thought before. You note that as a breeze lashes through the field, bending gold and royal purple stalks before it, you feel and hear none of it within the stones. Only a still and sullen silence. Those who get up to look note that previously hidden behind one of the larger dolmen-lumps is a winding path of similar desolation leading away. Gwlith raises a hand and points along the path towards the horizon. There a great and gnarled forest of arcing roots and thorns and primordial trees rises before the foothills of mountains reflecting the eerie purple twilight. As the forests edge is an ancient looking tower of pale white stone, it's architecture reminiscent of the flowing arches of ancient elven make. Just looking at it fills you with unease and foreboding.

'Myr Tarniel,' Gwylith says. 'Once a home of the Pale Knights, then of the cruel hobgoblins, and then of crueler Winter. Last night it burned with blue flame and now rings with silence. Perhaps also our answers. Make haste, Killian!'

Killian snorts and rears back, speaking a single word that echoes about and seems to fill your ears even though you cannot understand its meaning, it spirals out on the whispering wind, which is suddenly as your backs as the horse sprints along the trail of devastation. As you follow, your steps seem weightless and you make the journey, which seems to be about a league, in a matter of minutes, seemingly borne on the gusting whispers.

Spoiler: Knowledge: Arcana. DC 20.

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The horse just uttered a true name.

DC 25.

Spoiler

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That horse knows the name of the wind, one of the harder ones if old tales are to be believed.

The breeze dies down and you suddenly feel your weight return like a sack of rocks, never before noticed until it was gone. Around you the syllables of that word refract of the swaying long grasses, shattering and tinkling like glass chimes. Before you is a squat and rounded tower of some pale stone, like a granite in hues of white and blue, marbled with gold and etched with elaborate paterns. There is a dead and sullen silence in the air and shadows seem longer. A dull chill hangs in the air. Cold, where it is obvious fire blazed hot the night before. Disturbed by the passage of the horse's wind, cold grey ash drifts like snow from the parapets above.

Spoiler: Know: nature. DC 13

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A fire big enough to burn this place would still smolder, the stones and air should still be warm.

Before you a vast bronze double door hangs open like the slack mouth of a corpse, covered with a thick layer of green tarnish. You can barely make out the impression of figures carved into the door, twin humanoids with outstretched hands in a warding gesture. Some foul black ooze dribbles down the tarnish. Inside the shadows seems to lie thicker, seeming to layer over on themselves, moving like some alive and consuming thing.

'Ciridun, seven signs for seven watchers, I see six yet,' the horse's words sound flat and harsh in comparison to the jovial face he presented before.

'And ye shall know them by their signs,' Gwylith whispers, aloud, though if it is meant for you or for him you cannot tell. It is almost singsong, obviously something recited many times and commit to memory.

Fire burns blue against the night,
And life withers to black
They bear the chill touch of shadow

Maggots writhe in what once flourished,
And wrought works dull and tarnish
They bear the biting touch of ice and iron.

Cursed. Nameless. Despised.
They that do not die,
But above all, they bear silence,
and in their wake leave only more.'

His hands tighten on his blade, knuckles pale, face eager. 'One last then, Killian,' he says, spurring the beast. Reluctantly it seems, dragging his feet, they approach the threshold.

[TaiLiu]

Seeker of Iron Secrets.

Eventually the half-elf awakens, murmuring something about having too much to drink. Seeker holds up her palm and catches Talia's well-aimed flask, which she then hands to Raymus. "Our healer-doctor gives you her regards," she says, gesturing at the alchemist. "It's for your hangover. Do you know anyone amongst the crowd? I do not know you, nor do I have your name, but perhaps you recognize someone here."

She looks up at Gunter, responding to his call of "lazy bugger." "Do you know this man?" she asks the dwarf. "You seem to know how he sleeps and wakes, and perhaps a familiar face will help him orient himself." She doesn't wait for either of them to respond before getting up and joining the two faeries. They could talk on the way.

***

"This land is stranger than any other," mutters the scimitar. "I feel as if we were being watched, and not by something animate."

Seeker avoids pointing out the irony of his statement, and instead glances around and takes in the land herself. There is a double-feeling: the land was strange, yes, but some part of her felt as if it were like a forgotten home. The feeling is further amplified by pale stone tower in the distance - her great elven ancestors could've carved that, or something like it. But she did not have the time to investigate this feeling. The horse says something, and suddenly the wind is on the group's back, and everyone is light-footed, and must concentrate on moving and nothing else - the group, it seemed, was possessed by a singular spirit. It was only when they came to a stop that Seeker could process what happened. A true name! She turns to Essgar, wondering if he came to the same conclusion she did. He must've: the sorcerer had an enviable grasp on the old magics, even if only by instinct.

As the two faeries ready themselves to enter, she and Rairhdlailr steel themselves as well. Perhaps home was as close as a doorway...

[Eldest]

Talia troops along with everyone else, before pausing at the ashen tower. This should still be burning... She takes a spare blade out of her pack and presses the iron against the tower, testing a hunch.

[userpay]

Raymus looks dubiously at the vial for a moment as it's passed to him, then glances around. Well... Even if it is drugged not like this doesn't seem like a hallucination of sorts. So thinking and with a shrug he downs the vial. Biting his lip against the flavor. "Well... I swear I saw some of you all at the party. Might have been a bit into my cups before it had taken off so hard to say." The half-elf says bringing up the rear of the group, rather distracted by taking stock of his surroundings than intent on the magic that makes them fleet.

[DontEvenAsk]

Spoiler: On waking up

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Beldarzyne wakes up in a most undignified fashion, sprawled on the ground and drooling faintly, holding a piece of bread heavily laden with some kind of cheese spread. She sits up abruptly, looks around, and winces. "What the lin'bak zaar did they put in that apple drink, I swear twofold I'll get the recipe out of them if it takes all day... huh?" After taking in the situation, she staggers to her feet and bows deeply to the two fae. "I apologize for the, er, stink," she says. "Lead the way."

Bel coasts the sudden dreamlike movement with ease, eyeing the piece of bread in her hand. On the one hand, she doesn't remember it from Durance Crossing, meaning it might be faerie food, so she shouldn't eat it. On the other hand, that might just be because she was very, very drunk, in which case it might be normal food, and she should eat it before it goes stale. A delicate sniff reveals caviar, increasing the temptation.

But there are other, more pressing concerns. That word is unmistakable - a Name of such magnitude from the mouth of a horse, even more remarkable. And she needs to go home. Her fellow Oathsworn need her.

"I have two questions, Ciridun Gwylith," she says, "or rather, two for you. And another to ask of you, Ard-Killian."

[DoctorGlock]

The Faen ranger looks up as Bel speaks, but his hands continue rummaging through packs on the horse. 'Is best to ask them now, as there may be little time once we cross the threshold.'

'Blue pouch, on the right,' the horse says. Gwylith's slender fingers snap to the mentioned pouch, triumphantly drawing out a withered hand with a single black candle curled in its fingers. Moments later a bottle of faintly glowing iridescent liquid is in his other hand.

The horse simply shrugs, a complicated gesture with too much shoulder and utterly unbecoming of a beast, and it answers Bel. 'That depends entirely on the question.'

Meanwhile, Gwylith continues his preparations. From the vial of scintillating light he pours a few drips of onto the wick, which lights with a cold and unwavering light like that of a distant star. 'The shadow of the Seven can only be dispelled by pure starlight or by the passage of three moons.' He says by way of explanation. 'The hand of glory, hand of thieves, by which we may see and not be seen in turn. And a vial of starlight to dispel the dark. Should it be necessary to light the shadows inside, we shall know our quarry.'

'Some wishes are best left ungranted,' the horse mutters. 'Either way, you know how it is getting a horse up a flight of stairs. As bad as donkeys really. I'll shamelessly wait for you lot out here.' The Ciridun scowls at the horse and steps towards the tower, drawing a gleaming sickle once again. He gazes into the darkness beyond the ajar door.

'It's your duty, not mine,' Killian continues. 'I have not lived as long as I have be getting involved any more than the terms of our pact.'

[DontEvenAsk]

Bel nods. "Of course. Ard-Killian: is your way of knowing Names so fluently open to mortals? The Name of the Wind is no simple one to our tongues. I still remember that time I mispronounced it and six library scrolls flew into the larder."

"And Ciridun - since we're about to go in this crumbling zaruuq I don't expect an answer right away, but what exactly is the provenance of this... prophecy that you're working from? And - apologies for the trifle, but - can you tell if this bread comes from here or from, um, back where us mortals are from? I don't want to go into a dark, dangerous ruin with my hand full of food."