Meredith checks in on her companions very regularly.....possibly to the point that it becomes a bit of an annoyance having to tell her that you are alright.....she also writes many, many letters....the majority of them are bound for Baldurs Gate and positively vibrate with suppressed emotions as they are carried northward but a number are sent to Calimport enquiring after family members and former employers and with tales of many of the things she has been up to....not everything of course some are not for the ears of parents.
She plays with Malaka and the small pride she has gathered about herself from the cats of Candlekeep, chatting with them about goings on and recording their observations and interactions in her field journal.
A lot of time is still spent among the stacks....and she does pester some of the scholars about the whereabouts of any passages or gates to the Feywild...but she also spends time lying out on the stones with a book and baking herself in the warming sun. Suffice to say she has a lot more of her mothers colouration after a few ten days, and her hair has lightened somewhat and grown out a little to just above her shoulders in a somewhat manageable sun-bleached textured lob.
She really, really,really wants to go to Baldurs Gate but can't think of an excuse good enough to shirk her duties that won't get her on the bad side of certain Avowed.
With the bonus she received she does have a fairly risque jade carving of herself made and sent along with one of her letters to Prysqis Durcelle.
In a warm, dimly lit room, Bell sits at a small wooden table, the flickering candlelight catching the intricate stitching of her well used quilt her mother had made for her so long ago. Before her lies a piece of parchment, a quill in hand, its tip dipped in a small, slightly congealed pot of ink. A tankard of cider sits untouched nearby.
As she writes, she murmurs to herself, occasionally pausing to gaze into the fire, her eyes reflecting the dancing flames and a hint of a far-off, forgotten memory. Her description evokes the scents and sounds of the road: the earthy smell of damp forest floor, and the faint, lingering scent of a magical elixir.
Her words are a tapestry of adventure, describing a few of the close encounters she and her companions had wrestled with over the last few weeks. She had to think before setting quill to parchment; careful to not convey the actual dangers they had faced or the consequences of some of their decidedly 'not totally pure' actions. The letter to her family was still filled with vivid details:
The Thrill of Combat: "I write this with a slightly trembling hand, for yesterday we faced a creature of shadow and soul-lessness which nearly captured and controlled the entire Keep with mind magic hidden in a fractured nursery rhyme. Though things looked grim, we persevered...
The Bonds of Fellowship: "I travel with stout companions now — Meredith and Erudisia are wonderful friends and adventure companions. It was awkward in the beginning but we are bonding in the Light and Work. A surprise addition has been the ogre we call, 'Little One'; he loves reading and has been a true asset and treasure. We have saved each other countless times and are better for it.
The Call of the Unknown: "The world beyond our humble valley is a place of wonder and peril, a grand tapesty of magic and mystery. Though my heart aches for home, the road calls to me still, whispering of forgotten ruins and ancient power. I still have so much to learn..."
She read the letter thinking she was done when a 'last thought' sprang to mind.
"I have entrusted a portion of my earnings to a traveling courier bound for the East who is slated to pass through our village on their way. Under bond is a promisory note from Castlekeep for a sum of 200 gold pieces -- which was a special 'reward' for our part in the latest set of assignments for Castlekeep. This payment is meant to slay that persistent beast the Tower sent to our home -- specifically, my student loan debt. From what the Tower administration sent in those letters you forwarded to me, I fear this will be the first of many more courier deliveries.
Though how I accumulated such debt on a 'free scholarship' is beyond my kin. Be that as it may, I hope this offering helps lift some of the heavy concern from your shoulders, freeing our family from the shadow of the Tower's threats about moneylenders and collections. "
With a final, decisive flourish, Bell signs her name and carefully folds the parchment, rolling it tight and sealing it with a small, wax seal bearing a simple star motif. She will deliver it to the message runners in the morning along with making the payment arrangements, along with a few copper pieces, asking to ensure its safe passage via the next reliable merchant caravan heading east. Her task complete, she finally takes a long draught of her cider, a thoughtful smile playing on her lips as she anticipates the next chapter of her grand adventure.
As Flamerule waxes, Erudisia becomes a familiar sight in the Court of Air. She rises in the early morning, before the shadows are banished and begins her dancing, and as she dances she sings, and as she sings she casts. Just so, the magic of her master becomes ripe, and she learns to hold the arcanum and sigils of her spells a little more tightly through exertion and effort.
A more restful time for the Scholar's Shield, Erudisia finds herself wistful and reflective. She thinks of Rogi, she thinks of Errata and all her siblings. She remembers travels and travails through the fairy trod, and, eventually, she finds herself in the warmth of The Hearth with a parchment and ink. An envelope she marks in advance: The Honorable Lady Odewright
Dear Mother,
I write to you now from the sheltered nook of the Last Hearth, a warm and welcoming hidey-hole of the type Exploratia and I would sometimes bolt to in the kitchens or kennels of Odewright Hall, or the second Study of Papa’s Bastion in Sunset, when we wished to be together and Papa was absent. When we wished to pretend that we were only a loving family, and tender dear sisters, whose mother was not you.
Recently, myself and some fellow scholars with whom I share a communion and office banished an immortal evil from this plane — ask Papa if you wish the details of where I am and what I do, and he shall furnish you gladly, I am sure — and in the course of several near-death experiences with shadows and specters, as my lucidity became turgidity, my mind molasses, I began to see your face upon my mortal enemies’ formless visages.
Now, with lamplight and hearth banishing the chill of that memory, I find myself wondering why…
Not, of course you grasp, why I should see your face upon my foes. That, in any of your aspects, I imagine you see most clearly, ma mère honorée. No, rather I find myself stuck on the idea, like a tongue lingers on a kernel caught between teeth, why a high Shay, borne into luxury in the entourage of the High Lady of the Shay might be so different to an Eladrin who recently I met.
I offer no theorem. In my years to date, I have never understood even the shallowest portion of you (in that regard, my fascination far outstrips my ability). I look forward to your answer, rapt, keen and attentive.
Your daughter by ill chance,
Erudisia
p.s. If you might show this letter to father, in a flurry of disinterest and ennui, my salutations Sir, and I hope you weather the marital winter well. My regards always.
p.p.s. Papa, I find the stacks and tomes of Candlekeep do conceal more combat than expected when we countenanced my venturing here. Already I have encountered imps, werejackals, shades, Lamia, and even a planar being I dare not hint at. Any magical aid of a martial nature, for which you no longer have use, would be most kindly received.
The letter sits in her room for several days, a weight between her shoulder blades, but eventually she haggles with a courier and the letter is sent off on its own adventure toward the Moonshae islands. Suddenly, her feet glide across the courtyard, and her spine is so straight and her mind so light, she feels almost like she might fly.
Erudisia finds herself in the Erudite Outfitters and Clothiers.
"Armor," she says, "I want something a little more ... enchanting, if I am to continue to serve Candlekeep."
Meredith checks in on her companions very regularly.....possibly to the point that it becomes a bit of an annoyance having to tell her that you are alright.....she also writes many, many letters....the majority of them are bound for Baldurs Gate and positively vibrate with suppressed emotions as they are carried northward but a number are sent to Calimport enquiring after family members and former employers and with tales of many of the things she has been up to....not everything of course some are not for the ears of parents.
She plays with Malaka and the small pride she has gathered about herself from the cats of Candlekeep, chatting with them about goings on and recording their observations and interactions in her field journal.
A lot of time is still spent among the stacks....and she does pester some of the scholars about the whereabouts of any passages or gates to the Feywild...but she also spends time lying out on the stones with a book and baking herself in the warming sun. Suffice to say she has a lot more of her mothers colouration after a few ten days, and her hair has lightened somewhat and grown out a little to just above her shoulders in a somewhat manageable sun-bleached textured lob.
She really, really,really wants to go to Baldurs Gate but can't think of an excuse good enough to shirk her duties that won't get her on the bad side of certain Avowed.
With the bonus she received she does have a fairly risque jade carving of herself made and sent along with one of her letters to Prysqis Durcelle.
"I have entrusted a portion of my earnings to a traveling courier bound for the East who is slated to pass through our village on their way. Under bond is a promisory note from Castlekeep for a sum of 200 gold pieces -- which was a special 'reward' for our part in the latest set of assignments for Castlekeep. This payment is meant to slay that persistent beast the Tower sent to our home -- specifically, my student loan debt. From what the Tower administration sent in those letters you forwarded to me, I fear this will be the first of many more courier deliveries.
As Flamerule waxes, Erudisia becomes a familiar sight in the Court of Air. She rises in the early morning, before the shadows are banished and begins her dancing, and as she dances she sings, and as she sings she casts. Just so, the magic of her master becomes ripe, and she learns to hold the arcanum and sigils of her spells a little more tightly through exertion and effort.
A more restful time for the Scholar's Shield, Erudisia finds herself wistful and reflective. She thinks of Rogi, she thinks of Errata and all her siblings. She remembers travels and travails through the fairy trod, and, eventually, she finds herself in the warmth of The Hearth with a parchment and ink. An envelope she marks in advance: The Honorable Lady Odewright
Dear Mother,
I write to you now from the sheltered nook of the Last Hearth, a warm and welcoming hidey-hole of the type Exploratia and I would sometimes bolt to in the kitchens or kennels of Odewright Hall, or the second Study of Papa’s Bastion in Sunset, when we wished to be together and Papa was absent. When we wished to pretend that we were only a loving family, and tender dear sisters, whose mother was not you.
Recently, myself and some fellow scholars with whom I share a communion and office banished an immortal evil from this plane — ask Papa if you wish the details of where I am and what I do, and he shall furnish you gladly, I am sure — and in the course of several near-death experiences with shadows and specters, as my lucidity became turgidity, my mind molasses, I began to see your face upon my mortal enemies’ formless visages.
Now, with lamplight and hearth banishing the chill of that memory, I find myself wondering why…
Not, of course you grasp, why I should see your face upon my foes. That, in any of your aspects, I imagine you see most clearly, ma mère honorée. No, rather I find myself stuck on the idea, like a tongue lingers on a kernel caught between teeth, why a high Shay, borne into luxury in the entourage of the High Lady of the Shay might be so different to an Eladrin who recently I met.
I offer no theorem. In my years to date, I have never understood even the shallowest portion of you (in that regard, my fascination far outstrips my ability). I look forward to your answer, rapt, keen and attentive.
Your daughter by ill chance,
Erudisia
p.s. If you might show this letter to father, in a flurry of disinterest and ennui, my salutations Sir, and I hope you weather the marital winter well. My regards always.
p.p.s. Papa, I find the stacks and tomes of Candlekeep do conceal more combat than expected when we countenanced my venturing here. Already I have encountered imps, werejackals, shades, Lamia, and even a planar being I dare not hint at. Any magical aid of a martial nature, for which you no longer have use, would be most kindly received.
The letter sits in her room for several days, a weight between her shoulder blades, but eventually she haggles with a courier and the letter is sent off on its own adventure toward the Moonshae islands. Suddenly, her feet glide across the courtyard, and her spine is so straight and her mind so light, she feels almost like she might fly.
Erudisia finds herself in the Erudite Outfitters and Clothiers.
"Armor," she says, "I want something a little more ... enchanting, if I am to continue to serve Candlekeep."