Meredith looked positively gobsmacked......then began to turn a very bright shade of red....which was thankfully not as obvious as it might be if her complexion hadn't mostly been borrowed from her southern heritage rather than her northern heritage.
She stared intently at the table for almost a full minute.
" Wine.....wine is definitely needed.", she said softly.
Rogi is standing next to your table, having noticed your entry, spoken quietly with the ogre for a few minutes, then picked up two glasses of wine and his current glass of ale and crossed the common room, wearing a wry smile. "So...," he drawls, definitely into his cups, but also definitely alert, placing the two glasses of wine on the table in front of Bell and Meredith. "So what did you say? To Janussi. I assume she made you the same offer she did me."
While the others head towards the Candlekeep's most social site, Erudisiamakes her apologies, saying that she needs to write a letter to her family and with such momentous events silence would be best to avoid unnecessary inksplots and blotting.
Of course, once she returns to her room, she knows that that must come second. The linen of her bed is uncrumpled and pleasantly fragrant and she sits on it now as she thinks on how to approach this. Not too firm, she must advise that although it might involve her spending less time amongst the study rooms of the keep, it will certainly keep her here for longer -- and, what's more, it will be mysteries that have confounded sages. A chance to solve puzzles that her Patron and his loyal servant will be able to kindly gift to the Avowed, things that could not be done without his magic, and guidance.
The head of her dragonchess piece stares at her, and -- with a pop not unlike uncorking an old and much desired bottle of wine -- she stares into the hidden part of her focus and token, and then in a breath she is within.
The heptagonal space is lined with tall bookcases. The fornices are gilded in brass, the space lit by flickering, heatless lamps, hanging from hooks in heptagonal glass cases. Where the center lies there is only a geometric pattern in silvery thread, whorls and sharp edges somehow coming together to look almost like the wind in motion, subtly but unmissably contrasting against the rich, thunder-dark colour of the carpet otherwise. Next to the pattern, a small lectern sits. The book from which she learned her Eldritch Blast is now gone.
She is sure that the bookcases are false, that there is some secret passage from the plane of air into this quiet place, though she cannot hear thunder or gales or music or life. She is sure that this vessel is not in her plane. Try as she might, she has never proven it, yet to find if there is a switch or trick book that might grant her Patron entry to review her missives and change the books that sit within this place.
Four chaise longes form a rough square bounding the central space from the walls that are bookcases. Erudisia sits on the one that faces directly the lectern.
"Master, most high, esteemed scholar and pedagogical professor: I seek an audience with you, if you might find yourself with an excess of office hours."
Rogi is standing next to your table, having noticed your entry, spoken quietly with the ogre for a few minutes, then picked up two glasses of wine and his current glass of ale and crossed the common room, wearing a wry smile. "So...," he drawls, definitely into his cups, but also definitely alert, placing the two glasses of wine on the table in front of Bell and Meredith. "So what did you say? To Janussi. I assume she made you the same offer she did me."
" I said yes."
She snatched up the wine and drained it quickly, " Oh that's better. Thankyou!"
At the moment the summons leaves Erudisia’s mouth, she feels a slight stirring in the space, an almost imperceptible draft. It tickles her nose, a sensation she notices a mere moment before she feels something dry and cool against her fingers. The half-elf looks down to see that her hand is holding a small scrap of parchment that wasn’t there before. Two snowflakes lightly touch its surface which almost immediately melt before her eyes, blurring the hastily scribbled words: Five minutes.
It is closer to twenty minutes before a second, sudden whooshing of cold air signals the imminent arrival of the Odewright Patron, the Archduke of the Court of Air.
Suddenly, he is there, shaking the frost from his heavy woolen overcoat and tugging free a scarf that had wound itself in rebellious knots about his neck. Shrugging off coat and scarf, they both disappear before hitting the floor. His spectacles fog in the welcoming warmth of the chamber, but he pushes them up onto his forehead with an impatient hand and they too vanish as he brandishes a slim leather-bound volume.
"Thought I'd stumbled upon a gem, you see," he begins, his voice laced with the kind of indignant energy only academic disappointment could muster. "A purported treatise on pre-Delimbiyran influences in Illefarnian drama. No, not the other way ‘round! That’s the point. Marvelously obscure, tantalizing even! But the author—my word!—seems convinced that every line of Nolaloth is merely a coded homage to Lalondra. Lalondra! The wyrm couldn’t have conjured more nonsense had it consulted the false seer of Thay." He throws himself onto the chaise next next to Erudisia's with a sigh, flipping the book into the air, where it, too, vanishes in mid-flight.
"Well, out with it then," he admonishes sagely, as if there had been the slightest opportunity for Erudisia to have spoken since the moment of his arrival.
Bell smile grows wider when Rogi mentions Janussi and 'The Offer'. She dips her hand to her neck and pulls on a chain until the badge appears. "I said yes too."
"Rogi, when I walked into the Hearth - my first thoughts were how you would love this place. Magic and mechanicals working together to make something greater! I was thrilled to see you here -- especially with what we spoke of before the meetings withJanussi. I am glad you are still here."
Meredith put the glass down on the table for a moment before snatching it up and headed over to the bar to refill it....where she watched Bell and Rogis interaction with interest....
Rogi’s gray eyes rest on the pendant for a moment, inscrutable.
“Mind if I…,” Rogi says a moment later as he sets down his glass of ale and sits – or rather, slouches – in a wooden chair next to Bell. He leans back, so that the chair creaks onto its back legs. “How’s your head?
“So I was right, anyhow. Janussi called me in yesterday about my book that I brought to get in. I told the Avowed something like, ‘Apparently, the illusionist Berevar Bero argued that since Transmutation deals with changing reality in general, and Evocation deals with changing it in a specific way, therefore the latter should be viewed as a subset of the former. Malviser's rebuttal goes into some detail on the complexities of the Evocation spells and the school's ethos as distinct from that of Transmutation.’ But I actually wrote the whole thing myself the night before.
“Well… they couldn’t identify the author, of course. They bumped it up to Janussi who figured out what I did. But when she called me in, she surprised me. She said, ‘the ruse was unnecessary. The questions you raised, both the argument and rebuttal, are valid and insightful. We have attributed the work to you, Rogi, and it is now shelved and cataloged under Magic Schools, Theory.
He smirks ironically, raising his glass, “Cheers to me,” and waiting for Bell to respond.
MEREDITH
At the bar, the ogre looks up from his book and turns to Meredith after she has requested a refill from the bartender.
“You is Meredith, right? Rogi is… tell me about your story, you fours. You from Calimshan? I read about it but never go. Do Calimshan people really say, ‘Never trust the storyteller, but always trust the story,’ eh? Mmm,” he holds out a fist for a fist bump, “they call me Little One.”
Bell's smile widens as she hears Rogi's story. "A creator of a new theory AND sanctioned by the Head of Candlekeep! So much better than getting expelled."
She nods in the direction of Meredith and the Ogre at the bar, "Are you teamed up for a task already?"
“Oh... Little One?,” Rogi says, glancing over to the ogre and Meredith. “Well, no. Just uh sharing a goodbye drink.” He avoids looking at Bell, gently rocking on the back legs of his chair for a moment before elaborating. “I actually… I’m not staying.” When he meets Bell’s gaze, she sees that he’s conflicted but not undecided. The lines of his face are warm and dulled by the lantern light from the big chandelier, and the green flecks in his irises make his eyes appear large and deep. “I said ‘no’ to Janussi.”
Rogi’s gray eyes rest on the pendant for a moment, inscrutable.
“Mind if I…,” Rogi says a moment later as he sets down his glass of ale and sits – or rather, slouches – in a wooden chair next to Bell. He leans back, so that the chair creaks onto its back legs. “How’s your head?
“So I was right, anyhow. Janussi called me in yesterday about my book that I brought to get in. I told the Avowed something like, ‘Apparently, the illusionist Berevar Bero argued that since Transmutation deals with changing reality in general, and Evocation deals with changing it in a specific way, therefore the latter should be viewed as a subset of the former. Malviser's rebuttal goes into some detail on the complexities of the Evocation spells and the school's ethos as distinct from that of Transmutation.’ But I actually wrote the whole thing myself the night before.
“Well… they couldn’t identify the author, of course. They bumped it up to Janussi who figured out what I did. But when she called me in, she surprised me. She said, ‘the ruse was unnecessary. The questions you raised, both the argument and rebuttal, are valid and insightful. We have attributed the work to you, Rogi, and it is now shelved and cataloged under Magic Schools, Theory.
He smirks ironically, raising his glass, “Cheers to me,” and waiting for Bell to respond.
MEREDITH
At the bar, the ogre looks up from his book and turns to Meredith after she has requested a refill from the bartender.
“You is Meredith, right? Rogi is… tell me about your story, you fours. You from Calimshan? I read about it but never go. Do Calimshan people really say, ‘Never trust the storyteller, but always trust the story,’ eh? Mmm,” he holds out a fist for a fist bump, “they call me Little One.”
Bell's smile widens as she hears Rogi's story. "A creator of a new theory AND sanctioned by the Head of Candlekeep! So much better than getting expelled."
She nods in the direction of Meredith and the Ogre at the bar, "Are you teamed up for a task already?"
“Oh... Little One?,” Rogi says, glancing over to the ogre and Meredith. “Well, no. Just uh sharing a goodbye drink.” He avoids looking at Bell, gently rocking on the back legs of his chair for a moment before elaborating. “I actually… I’m not staying.” When he meets Bell’s gaze, she sees that he’s conflicted but not undecided. The lines of his face are warm and dulled by the lantern light from the big chandelier, and the green flecks in his irises make his eyes appear large and deep. “I said ‘no’ to Janussi.”
Meredith doesn't hear the conversation between Rogi and Bell as she is a little discombobulated by the ogres question and Bells interjection.
Meredith awkwardly held up her first and failed dismally to bump anything...
" I am, uh, Little One."
" It is a phrase I've heard before though not too often, I think it is an older saying....a little out of fashion in todays age. Though nonetheless true or false depending on whose telling the story and the audience."
Her Patron enters in a storm, his passage a gale, his words a flurry of cold enlightenment hidden within a blizzard of turns and leaps, each crackling with the energy of a dark thunderhead and just as dangerous for a mortal to try and grasp. One cannot fight the headwinds, but it is foolish to let them direct your sails.
"How disappointing, your grace," she says. "Perhaps I can take some of the sting of disappointment from today for you, with your approval, I have been approached for a scholarly enterprise that I think may serve your aims more ably than I could ever have alone." So saying, she describes the offer of the Scholar's Shield and what it might mean for her place in the Candlekeep.
Once she is done, she holds her breath. It is rare that she can say so much uninterrupted, or without a performance or written analysis being requested before an answer is provided.
The ogre reveals that a few years ago, he was like many others of his kind—brutish and cruel. He met a halfling adventurer wearing the shiny gold Headband of Intellect that he is now wearing, and killed the puny runt for it. When the ogre attuned to it, the headband grew in size, enabling him to wear it. With an improved ability to reason and ponder, the ogre felt remorse, and a compunction to seek out a better life. He adopted the name Little One, to honor the halfling whose life he cut short. Shunned by polite society, Little One's new curiosity and intellect led him to Candlekeep where he has already begun to defend the Head Keeper's interests. He wears a Scholar's Shield on his collar.
ERUDISIA
The Moonshae Lady becomes aware that she has been holding her breath for a very long time indeed. For she realizes that there is no air whatsoever in the chamber. He took it away.
The Archduke’s countenance blazes with contempt and privilege which, in this vacuum, shines upon her comparative impotence like a star consuming a tiny cold rock in space. When he turns away, she feels herself fighting for breath, for consciousness even.
“But of course. Of course.” He is saying, over his shoulder, as he searches for a title among those lining the walls. “Aha!” He finds a particular volume and holds it out to Erudisia. “You’ll need to fill out this notebook first,” a hundred blank pages by the looks of it, “with an account of the events that led to Janussi’s generous offer being made. Your writing will leap off of the page, I am sure.” A threat, a ransom. “And then, we will see.” He seems about to leave, donning his jacket and scarf again from nowhere. “You have until midnight. A higher price, because… your appetite increases…,” he pulls his glasses from nowhere back down onto his nose and then, smiles, impish and warm. Which is ironic, because Erudisia is about to asphyxiate.
He is gone. Air returns. Breath whooshes into Erudisia’s lungs. She does not collapse.
(How will Erudisia convince the Archduke that he should grant her request? She knows she is bound within the chesspiece until she fulfills his requirements. She knows, too, that he can immediately contact her family across the ocean. Will she ask him to convey her request to them as well? Spoiler alert: Both requests are answered ‘Yes.’ But kindly tell us why this transpires.)
The ogre reveals that a few years ago, he was like many others of his kind—brutish and cruel. He met a halfling adventurer wearing the shiny gold Headband of Intellect that he is now wearing, and killed the puny runt for it. When the ogre attuned to it, the headband grew in size, enabling him to wear it. With an improved ability to reason and ponder, the ogre felt remorse, and a compunction to seek out a better life. He adopted the name Little One, to honor the halfling whose life he cut short. Shunned by polite society, Little One's new curiosity and intellect led him to Candlekeep where he has already begun to defend the Head Keeper's interests. He wears a Scholar's Shield on his collar.
Meredith recoils then recovers and nods slowly, she would make no judgements of a Griffon or Manticore who killed it is not her place to judge this ogres former self.
Spotting the Shield she leaned in, " So.....uh....what sort of things do they have us Shields do anyway?"
”’Not sure exactly,” says Little One, belching tremendously. “Why, ‘scuse me. Anyhow, she just appointed me this morning. ‘Guess it’s a new idea of hers. I’m all in. I like it here and the Avowed don’t care what you look like, long as your hobby is their hobby. Books.” He holds up the tome he is reading to underline his point.
She does not cry, a proud daughter of Moonshae does not cry. Still, the panic; the gasping airless breaths that brought no relief while the fingers of terror pushed deep into her chest, and the red worms of fragile capillaries writhed up her neck into a blushing face... Her eyes stream, tracking across her face, but she does not cry, she will not call them tears... only, the product of exertion.
Gradually, her deep wracking breathes become more shallow and she returns to the chaise longe (when Erudisiafell to the floor she does not know).
Her master is as mercurial as the wind, and she knows this, but even for him this was unusually ... forceful.
Smoothing the linen of her dress, she picks up her assignment and moves to a writing desk that was not previously there. She knows her master's preferred style of referencing, his preferred manner of writing. Point -- evidence -- conclusion. Rarely has Erudisiabeen tasked with an accounting of her own life, it will be a little more difficult to reference supporting evidence, though she travels from bookshelf to bookshelf looking for any fictions that deal with trapped protagonists or academic texts that cover extra-dimensional spaces. As she reviews covers and forewords she rubs absentmindedly at her neck.
At least the notebook is only as long as her hand, rather than her forearm, a hundred pages will only be a tight squeeze before midnight (especially with no way to track the time). Then she begins. She documents the events and findings of Fistandia's magnificent manor. She avoids adverbs and adjectives for her master surely abhors them. She makes use of hendiadys to make things more homely and authorative and fey. Previously her master has reacted well to this, and he rarely gets bored on only the second use of a rhetorical device. Still, for added measure Erudisiamakes the style epistolary: a fictional series of letters between herself, Matreus, Fistandia, Cumin and the others as she recounts their exploration.
If the format of letters and addresses (covering rooms and the layout of the manor) means that the pages fly by, eating up blank space and allowing fewer words to cover further then that is all to the good.
She concludes with a letter and invitation to the Scholar's Shield -- one page, perhaps too bravely, occupied by a stylised imagination of a Scholar's Shield calling card if they were ever to hold a ball or quadrille -- and then a small post-script documenting her method and desires for the work and its intended audience. She follows this with a dedication to her family and her desire in their regarding this work. This would be usually enough that her Master would discuss it with her father at their next interaction, as he usually does with those mentioned by works he has acquired.
She sets her quill down and blows on the page. An aching wrist is her closest thing to a timepiece as she waits, though not long, for she surely did not have more than moments left before the noble Genie's deadline comes to pass.
”’Not sure exactly,” says Little One, belching tremendously. “Why, ‘scuse me. Anyhow, she just appointed me this morning. ‘Guess it’s a new idea of hers. I’m all in. I like it here and the Avowed don’t care what you look like, long as your hobby is their hobby. Books.” He holds up the tome he is reading to underline his point.
Meredith glanced at the book in interest then a thought occurred to her, as she pulled out her notebook and travel quill, " Do you have time to answer a few questions? I'm wondering about the metaphysical and cultural presence of felines in west Faerunian Ogre culture....if its not an imposition."
Shooting Bell a supportive look as it appeared her conversation with Rogi was not going well, she downed half her new wine glass and set to work.
The ogre blinks twice at Meredith’s question, shakes his head as if slugged in a brawl. His hands compact into fists and knuckles pop as he seems to tower over Meredith, rippling pectorals straining his tunic at her eye level. The smells of him — beer, linen, something wild and pungent barely masked by cheap cologne, make her hackles rise. But at that moment, the circlet around his brow gives off a subtle glow. His eyes clear, he relaxes, and anger shifts to amity.
“Felines…? I…glad you ask. Is something I ponder about early ogre tribe ruin with cat god depict outside Waterdeep…”
ERUDISIA
Something has shifted in the Archduke’s demeanor, the Moonshae Lady notices immediately when he again appears in the heptagonal chamber, bringing a sudden flurry of snowflakes that vanish before hitting the thundercloud carpet.
He silently sheds his heavy garments as before, revealing perfect sky blue skin and white eyebrows like a gull’s wings. He is carrying a scroll, and this he carefully sets upon the lectern, regarding it for a moment as a smile curls. His apparent good cheer dulls when he finally turns to regard Erudisia. Dulls, but does not entirely depart.
A tiny whirlwind carries the notebook from her delicate hands to his, and he absently skims through it, stopping several times, seemingly at random, to read a complete page or paragraph.
He hands it back to Erudisia, and she sees innumerable words and letters circled, crossed out, edited, in red ink. But not the page discussing the Janussi’s invitation.
“Scholar’s Shield: alliterative, descriptive, apt, though also transparent and uninspired.” Yet, Erudisia knows his moods. Her work is acceptable. He has noted the dedication, and glances shrewdly at Erudisia over his glasses. He will bring it up with her family, probably within the next day, for she knows her father has the Archduke’s ear almost every other day.
“Stand, daughter of Odewright. Do as I do,” he commands.
+++
Hours have passed by the time the Archduke once again departs, lifting straight up with scroll in hand and disappearing into a storm cloud which somehow the ceiling has become. In that much time, her patron has taught Erudisia fragments of forbidden knowledge that imbue her with an abiding magical ability. Eldritch invocations. Two of them (congrats on reaching 2nd level!).
Rogi blanches in surprise at Bell’s response, speechless. After a long moment though, a mask seems to snap in place. He breaks eye contact and lets his chair’s front legs touch down.
“Yeah, I said No. What of it? This place is, like... a kleptocratic nightmare. Lost in its own self-serving illusion of grandeur. Knowledge is power, and they’re trying to hold all the cards, book by book. Or card by card. Whatever. It’s the opposite of what I want to do. And the Avowed? Matreus is an old buffoon. He should have been mentoring us, instead, he’s off fishing in his private extra-dimensional pond, which is actually an interesting discovery but he’s too dumb to realize it. And he’s one of the Avowed and we depend on him. It’s bull!” He catches himself, and for a moment, his gaze softens once again, drawn to and searching for Bell despite his best efforts. But again he turns away. “Don’t get all softy-eyed and whatnot.” His voice breaks when he says it, which only makes him more upset. “You don't know me. I’m the only one here not falling for this crock of crackpot crap!”
Meredith looked positively gobsmacked......then began to turn a very bright shade of red....which was thankfully not as obvious as it might be if her complexion hadn't mostly been borrowed from her southern heritage rather than her northern heritage.
She stared intently at the table for almost a full minute.
" Wine.....wine is definitely needed.", she said softly.
BELL and MEREDITH
Rogi is standing next to your table, having noticed your entry, spoken quietly with the ogre for a few minutes, then picked up two glasses of wine and his current glass of ale and crossed the common room, wearing a wry smile. "So...," he drawls, definitely into his cups, but also definitely alert, placing the two glasses of wine on the table in front of Bell and Meredith. "So what did you say? To Janussi. I assume she made you the same offer she did me."
DM for Candlekeep Mysteries // Dev Hornd in Curious Critters // Eclipse Faraway in Gallows Dancer
While the others head towards the Candlekeep's most social site, Erudisia makes her apologies, saying that she needs to write a letter to her family and with such momentous events silence would be best to avoid unnecessary inksplots and blotting.
Of course, once she returns to her room, she knows that that must come second. The linen of her bed is uncrumpled and pleasantly fragrant and she sits on it now as she thinks on how to approach this. Not too firm, she must advise that although it might involve her spending less time amongst the study rooms of the keep, it will certainly keep her here for longer -- and, what's more, it will be mysteries that have confounded sages. A chance to solve puzzles that her Patron and his loyal servant will be able to kindly gift to the Avowed, things that could not be done without his magic, and guidance.
The head of her dragonchess piece stares at her, and -- with a pop not unlike uncorking an old and much desired bottle of wine -- she stares into the hidden part of her focus and token, and then in a breath she is within.
The heptagonal space is lined with tall bookcases. The fornices are gilded in brass, the space lit by flickering, heatless lamps, hanging from hooks in heptagonal glass cases. Where the center lies there is only a geometric pattern in silvery thread, whorls and sharp edges somehow coming together to look almost like the wind in motion, subtly but unmissably contrasting against the rich, thunder-dark colour of the carpet otherwise. Next to the pattern, a small lectern sits. The book from which she learned her Eldritch Blast is now gone.
She is sure that the bookcases are false, that there is some secret passage from the plane of air into this quiet place, though she cannot hear thunder or gales or music or life. She is sure that this vessel is not in her plane. Try as she might, she has never proven it, yet to find if there is a switch or trick book that might grant her Patron entry to review her missives and change the books that sit within this place.
Four chaise longes form a rough square bounding the central space from the walls that are bookcases. Erudisia sits on the one that faces directly the lectern.
"Master, most high, esteemed scholar and pedagogical professor: I seek an audience with you, if you might find yourself with an excess of office hours."
" I said yes."
She snatched up the wine and drained it quickly, " Oh that's better. Thankyou!"
ERUDISIA
At the moment the summons leaves Erudisia’s mouth, she feels a slight stirring in the space, an almost imperceptible draft. It tickles her nose, a sensation she notices a mere moment before she feels something dry and cool against her fingers. The half-elf looks down to see that her hand is holding a small scrap of parchment that wasn’t there before. Two snowflakes lightly touch its surface which almost immediately melt before her eyes, blurring the hastily scribbled words: Five minutes.
It is closer to twenty minutes before a second, sudden whooshing of cold air signals the imminent arrival of the Odewright Patron, the Archduke of the Court of Air.
Suddenly, he is there, shaking the frost from his heavy woolen overcoat and tugging free a scarf that had wound itself in rebellious knots about his neck. Shrugging off coat and scarf, they both disappear before hitting the floor. His spectacles fog in the welcoming warmth of the chamber, but he pushes them up onto his forehead with an impatient hand and they too vanish as he brandishes a slim leather-bound volume.
"Thought I'd stumbled upon a gem, you see," he begins, his voice laced with the kind of indignant energy only academic disappointment could muster. "A purported treatise on pre-Delimbiyran influences in Illefarnian drama. No, not the other way ‘round! That’s the point. Marvelously obscure, tantalizing even! But the author—my word!—seems convinced that every line of Nolaloth is merely a coded homage to Lalondra. Lalondra! The wyrm couldn’t have conjured more nonsense had it consulted the false seer of Thay." He throws himself onto the chaise next next to Erudisia's with a sigh, flipping the book into the air, where it, too, vanishes in mid-flight.
"Well, out with it then," he admonishes sagely, as if there had been the slightest opportunity for Erudisia to have spoken since the moment of his arrival.
DM for Candlekeep Mysteries // Dev Hornd in Curious Critters // Eclipse Faraway in Gallows Dancer
Bell smile grows wider when Rogi mentions Janussi and 'The Offer'. She dips her hand to her neck and pulls on a chain until the badge appears. "I said yes too."
"Rogi, when I walked into the Hearth - my first thoughts were how you would love this place. Magic and mechanicals working together to make something greater! I was thrilled to see you here -- especially with what we spoke of before the meetings with Janussi. I am glad you are still here."
Meredith put the glass down on the table for a moment before snatching it up and headed over to the bar to refill it....where she watched Bell and Rogis interaction with interest....
BELL
Rogi’s gray eyes rest on the pendant for a moment, inscrutable.
“Mind if I…,” Rogi says a moment later as he sets down his glass of ale and sits – or rather, slouches – in a wooden chair next to Bell. He leans back, so that the chair creaks onto its back legs. “How’s your head?
“So I was right, anyhow. Janussi called me in yesterday about my book that I brought to get in. I told the Avowed something like, ‘Apparently, the illusionist Berevar Bero argued that since Transmutation deals with changing reality in general, and Evocation deals with changing it in a specific way, therefore the latter should be viewed as a subset of the former. Malviser's rebuttal goes into some detail on the complexities of the Evocation spells and the school's ethos as distinct from that of Transmutation.’ But I actually wrote the whole thing myself the night before.
“Well… they couldn’t identify the author, of course. They bumped it up to Janussi who figured out what I did. But when she called me in, she surprised me. She said, ‘the ruse was unnecessary. The questions you raised, both the argument and rebuttal, are valid and insightful. We have attributed the work to you, Rogi, and it is now shelved and cataloged under Magic Schools, Theory.
He smirks ironically, raising his glass, “Cheers to me,” and waiting for Bell to respond.
MEREDITH
At the bar, the ogre looks up from his book and turns to Meredith after she has requested a refill from the bartender.
“You is Meredith, right? Rogi is… tell me about your story, you fours. You from Calimshan? I read about it but never go. Do Calimshan people really say, ‘Never trust the storyteller, but always trust the story,’ eh? Mmm,” he holds out a fist for a fist bump, “they call me Little One.”
DM for Candlekeep Mysteries // Dev Hornd in Curious Critters // Eclipse Faraway in Gallows Dancer
Bell's smile widens as she hears Rogi's story. "A creator of a new theory AND sanctioned by the Head of Candlekeep! So much better than getting expelled."
She nods in the direction of Meredith and the Ogre at the bar, "Are you teamed up for a task already?"
BELL
“Oh... Little One?,” Rogi says, glancing over to the ogre and Meredith. “Well, no. Just uh sharing a goodbye drink.” He avoids looking at Bell, gently rocking on the back legs of his chair for a moment before elaborating. “I actually… I’m not staying.” When he meets Bell’s gaze, she sees that he’s conflicted but not undecided. The lines of his face are warm and dulled by the lantern light from the big chandelier, and the green flecks in his irises make his eyes appear large and deep. “I said ‘no’ to Janussi.”
DM for Candlekeep Mysteries // Dev Hornd in Curious Critters // Eclipse Faraway in Gallows Dancer
Meredith doesn't hear the conversation between Rogi and Bell as she is a little discombobulated by the ogres question and Bells interjection.
Meredith awkwardly held up her first and failed dismally to bump anything...
" I am, uh, Little One."
" It is a phrase I've heard before though not too often, I think it is an older saying....a little out of fashion in todays age. Though nonetheless true or false depending on whose telling the story and the audience."
Delimbiyran dramatic. Illefarnian dramas. Wyrm. Thay. False seer.
Her Patron enters in a storm, his passage a gale, his words a flurry of cold enlightenment hidden within a blizzard of turns and leaps, each crackling with the energy of a dark thunderhead and just as dangerous for a mortal to try and grasp. One cannot fight the headwinds, but it is foolish to let them direct your sails.
"How disappointing, your grace," she says. "Perhaps I can take some of the sting of disappointment from today for you, with your approval, I have been approached for a scholarly enterprise that I think may serve your aims more ably than I could ever have alone." So saying, she describes the offer of the Scholar's Shield and what it might mean for her place in the Candlekeep.
Once she is done, she holds her breath. It is rare that she can say so much uninterrupted, or without a performance or written analysis being requested before an answer is provided.
MEREDITH
The ogre reveals that a few years ago, he was like many others of his kind—brutish and cruel. He met a halfling adventurer wearing the shiny gold Headband of Intellect that he is now wearing, and killed the puny runt for it. When the ogre attuned to it, the headband grew in size, enabling him to wear it. With an improved ability to reason and ponder, the ogre felt remorse, and a compunction to seek out a better life. He adopted the name Little One, to honor the halfling whose life he cut short. Shunned by polite society, Little One's new curiosity and intellect led him to Candlekeep where he has already begun to defend the Head Keeper's interests. He wears a Scholar's Shield on his collar.
ERUDISIA
The Moonshae Lady becomes aware that she has been holding her breath for a very long time indeed. For she realizes that there is no air whatsoever in the chamber. He took it away.
The Archduke’s countenance blazes with contempt and privilege which, in this vacuum, shines upon her comparative impotence like a star consuming a tiny cold rock in space. When he turns away, she feels herself fighting for breath, for consciousness even.
“But of course. Of course.” He is saying, over his shoulder, as he searches for a title among those lining the walls. “Aha!” He finds a particular volume and holds it out to Erudisia. “You’ll need to fill out this notebook first,” a hundred blank pages by the looks of it, “with an account of the events that led to Janussi’s generous offer being made. Your writing will leap off of the page, I am sure.” A threat, a ransom. “And then, we will see.” He seems about to leave, donning his jacket and scarf again from nowhere. “You have until midnight. A higher price, because… your appetite increases…,” he pulls his glasses from nowhere back down onto his nose and then, smiles, impish and warm. Which is ironic, because Erudisia is about to asphyxiate.
He is gone. Air returns. Breath whooshes into Erudisia’s lungs. She does not collapse.
(How will Erudisia convince the Archduke that he should grant her request? She knows she is bound within the chesspiece until she fulfills his requirements. She knows, too, that he can immediately contact her family across the ocean. Will she ask him to convey her request to them as well? Spoiler alert: Both requests are answered ‘Yes.’ But kindly tell us why this transpires.)
DM for Candlekeep Mysteries // Dev Hornd in Curious Critters // Eclipse Faraway in Gallows Dancer
Meredith recoils then recovers and nods slowly, she would make no judgements of a Griffon or Manticore who killed it is not her place to judge this ogres former self.
Spotting the Shield she leaned in, " So.....uh....what sort of things do they have us Shields do anyway?"
MEREDITH
”’Not sure exactly,” says Little One, belching tremendously. “Why, ‘scuse me. Anyhow, she just appointed me this morning. ‘Guess it’s a new idea of hers. I’m all in. I like it here and the Avowed don’t care what you look like, long as your hobby is their hobby. Books.” He holds up the tome he is reading to underline his point.
DM for Candlekeep Mysteries // Dev Hornd in Curious Critters // Eclipse Faraway in Gallows Dancer
She does not cry, a proud daughter of Moonshae does not cry. Still, the panic; the gasping airless breaths that brought no relief while the fingers of terror pushed deep into her chest, and the red worms of fragile capillaries writhed up her neck into a blushing face... Her eyes stream, tracking across her face, but she does not cry, she will not call them tears... only, the product of exertion.
Gradually, her deep wracking breathes become more shallow and she returns to the chaise longe (when Erudisia fell to the floor she does not know).
Her master is as mercurial as the wind, and she knows this, but even for him this was unusually ... forceful.
Smoothing the linen of her dress, she picks up her assignment and moves to a writing desk that was not previously there. She knows her master's preferred style of referencing, his preferred manner of writing. Point -- evidence -- conclusion. Rarely has Erudisia been tasked with an accounting of her own life, it will be a little more difficult to reference supporting evidence, though she travels from bookshelf to bookshelf looking for any fictions that deal with trapped protagonists or academic texts that cover extra-dimensional spaces. As she reviews covers and forewords she rubs absentmindedly at her neck.
At least the notebook is only as long as her hand, rather than her forearm, a hundred pages will only be a tight squeeze before midnight (especially with no way to track the time). Then she begins. She documents the events and findings of Fistandia's magnificent manor. She avoids adverbs and adjectives for her master surely abhors them. She makes use of hendiadys to make things more homely and authorative and fey. Previously her master has reacted well to this, and he rarely gets bored on only the second use of a rhetorical device. Still, for added measure Erudisia makes the style epistolary: a fictional series of letters between herself, Matreus, Fistandia, Cumin and the others as she recounts their exploration.
If the format of letters and addresses (covering rooms and the layout of the manor) means that the pages fly by, eating up blank space and allowing fewer words to cover further then that is all to the good.
She concludes with a letter and invitation to the Scholar's Shield -- one page, perhaps too bravely, occupied by a stylised imagination of a Scholar's Shield calling card if they were ever to hold a ball or quadrille -- and then a small post-script documenting her method and desires for the work and its intended audience. She follows this with a dedication to her family and her desire in their regarding this work. This would be usually enough that her Master would discuss it with her father at their next interaction, as he usually does with those mentioned by works he has acquired.
She sets her quill down and blows on the page. An aching wrist is her closest thing to a timepiece as she waits, though not long, for she surely did not have more than moments left before the noble Genie's deadline comes to pass.
Meredith glanced at the book in interest then a thought occurred to her, as she pulled out her notebook and travel quill, " Do you have time to answer a few questions? I'm wondering about the metaphysical and cultural presence of felines in west Faerunian Ogre culture....if its not an imposition."
Shooting Bell a supportive look as it appeared her conversation with Rogi was not going well, she downed half her new wine glass and set to work.
Bell looked as if she had been struck with a long bow arrow from 50 paces.
Eyes as big as saucer with a look of uncomprehesion, all she could get out was, "Why?"
MEREDITH
The ogre blinks twice at Meredith’s question, shakes his head as if slugged in a brawl. His hands compact into fists and knuckles pop as he seems to tower over Meredith, rippling pectorals straining his tunic at her eye level. The smells of him — beer, linen, something wild and pungent barely masked by cheap cologne, make her hackles rise. But at that moment, the circlet around his brow gives off a subtle glow. His eyes clear, he relaxes, and anger shifts to amity.
“Felines…? I…glad you ask. Is something I ponder about early ogre tribe ruin with cat god depict outside Waterdeep…”
ERUDISIA
Something has shifted in the Archduke’s demeanor, the Moonshae Lady notices immediately when he again appears in the heptagonal chamber, bringing a sudden flurry of snowflakes that vanish before hitting the thundercloud carpet.
He silently sheds his heavy garments as before, revealing perfect sky blue skin and white eyebrows like a gull’s wings. He is carrying a scroll, and this he carefully sets upon the lectern, regarding it for a moment as a smile curls. His apparent good cheer dulls when he finally turns to regard Erudisia. Dulls, but does not entirely depart.
A tiny whirlwind carries the notebook from her delicate hands to his, and he absently skims through it, stopping several times, seemingly at random, to read a complete page or paragraph.
He hands it back to Erudisia, and she sees innumerable words and letters circled, crossed out, edited, in red ink. But not the page discussing the Janussi’s invitation.
“Scholar’s Shield: alliterative, descriptive, apt, though also transparent and uninspired.” Yet, Erudisia knows his moods. Her work is acceptable. He has noted the dedication, and glances shrewdly at Erudisia over his glasses. He will bring it up with her family, probably within the next day, for she knows her father has the Archduke’s ear almost every other day.
“Stand, daughter of Odewright. Do as I do,” he commands.
+++
Hours have passed by the time the Archduke once again departs, lifting straight up with scroll in hand and disappearing into a storm cloud which somehow the ceiling has become. In that much time, her patron has taught Erudisia fragments of forbidden knowledge that imbue her with an abiding magical ability. Eldritch invocations. Two of them (congrats on reaching 2nd level!).
DM for Candlekeep Mysteries // Dev Hornd in Curious Critters // Eclipse Faraway in Gallows Dancer
BELL
Rogi blanches in surprise at Bell’s response, speechless. After a long moment though, a mask seems to snap in place. He breaks eye contact and lets his chair’s front legs touch down.
“Yeah, I said No. What of it? This place is, like... a kleptocratic nightmare. Lost in its own self-serving illusion of grandeur. Knowledge is power, and they’re trying to hold all the cards, book by book. Or card by card. Whatever. It’s the opposite of what I want to do. And the Avowed? Matreus is an old buffoon. He should have been mentoring us, instead, he’s off fishing in his private extra-dimensional pond, which is actually an interesting discovery but he’s too dumb to realize it. And he’s one of the Avowed and we depend on him. It’s bull!” He catches himself, and for a moment, his gaze softens once again, drawn to and searching for Bell despite his best efforts. But again he turns away. “Don’t get all softy-eyed and whatnot.” His voice breaks when he says it, which only makes him more upset. “You don't know me. I’m the only one here not falling for this crock of crackpot crap!”
DM for Candlekeep Mysteries // Dev Hornd in Curious Critters // Eclipse Faraway in Gallows Dancer