”Sorry. I’ve never heard of Chauntea or the Northern Light but they both sound great. What has she given the world? Was it trees? I’m really fond of those.” Rowan says before barreling on. “No, the only thing I’ve ever lost is self control. Sometimes my emotions just bubble up and out and then all of a sudden I’m across the room or rainbows are shooting around or even extra arms spring out. But thankfully nothing like that has happened today. Do you think it’s still today?”
"chauntea, hmm, I've never been the religious type but knowledge, as they say, is power, pleased to meet you all either way, I think we'll have our work cut out for us here and yes indeed it was a hoe that was stolen from me, but not just a hoe, an heirloom, a rite of passage really, something that signifies a certain respect in my community" Greg sits and listens, stretching his feet out and using this time not only to chat but to rest... "wait wild magic? I've only ever read about that kind of thing. Does that not make you dangerous!? Or at least a risk, if indeed that is what is afflicting you?" he asks Rowan with some degree of surprise.
"You know, I've never thought of it that way," Rowan says. "But, yes, wild magic is the best name for it. Sometimes, if I focus hard, and that's really difficult to do, I can even tell if a spell has been cast or if there's magic nearby. But the wild magic, well, it was a bit scary the first few times it happened. Something that looked like a flumph showed up and floated across the lane to the grainery where it promptly exploded. That was quite the sight but it took hours to explain that I didn't do it. But I've had years of practice dealing with whatever shows up. So now I can generally control at least who gets caught up in the magic."
He pauses for a moment and looks lost in thought.
"Do you think the flowers that bloom whenever I walk by have something to do with the wild magic too?" Rowan asks. "My parents were almost as scared of that as the rainbow lights that come sometimes."
Then Rowan laughs.
"I would very much like to see your hoe," Rowan begins before adding. "And hear your voice, and well I guess I don't really want to see your grandmother's recipe but I think I would like to taste whatever it made. What was it for? A cake? That is interesting that you've all lost something at the carnival. But I didn't. I actually don't think I've ever lost anything. Though I did overhear my mom telling my dad that she thought I was lost. But I was just in the other room so not really sure why she thought that. Did any of you see other people in the mirrors back at the carnival? People besides you I mean? I saw my parents but I saw other people too."
"I think you may have lost something, but I'm not sure Barria would like me to guess at what it is" Greg notes, eyeing the dwarf and remembering her admonishment of his previous comments. "What I know of wild magic is mostly the dangers, what's been written in books on the subject, though in sure if there are silver linings to it you would most definitely find them hm?" He closes his eyes making the most of the short period of rest his hiding space allows and then begins reminiscing, "oh my hoe was a beautiful tool, she was hand crafted in the mountain, etched with gnomish symbology along the holds, perfectly balanced and oh the curves, haha, passed down from one generation to the next, oh how my parents were angry when I came home from one of my jaunts without it, I almost blamed myself for being careless but knew deep down, it wasn't my fault, those condescending sisters are to blame! And wouldn't you know it, I was bloody right! As per usual! Hmph, parents know nothing, always stressing and complaining, I'm only in my 50's plenty of life ahead of me, no need to take over the family farm or... Well whatever else it was they were drowning on about" he pulls his hat over his eyes with a chuckle.
Mulligan transmits these "answers" to the group chat after g'Reginald suggests that Rowan did indeed lose something. It's apparent that not everything lost or stolen is a tangible, physical object. If they can steal a voice then there's nothing to stay that they cannot steal something even more ephemeral...
But mostly Mulligan has his hat tipped low so it covers his eyes and he can get some bit of rest while listening to the others talk...
The party settles down inside the magical space, clear of the wind that tugs at cloaks and hair, but still touched by the wind's constant howl through the peaks. Thunder rumbles in the distance, a slow, mournful drum that seems to echo the unspoken weight of the mountains themselves. Mulligan's discarded wings flutter awkwardly down to the ground, then lay on the rough path, twitching in the wind like an injured butterfly.
Even amongst the gloom of the storm and the barrenness of the rocky mountains, Yon feels alive. Pebbles clatter softly down the slopes, as if the mountains themselves are shifting their posture. Shadows stretch and twist in odd ways, sometimes forming fleeting shapes that resemble the travelers’ own postures. Nearby, a lone mountain goat emerges to stand on a rocky outcrop, its bleats echoing from the peaks like mocking laughter. Once only, there is another sound, high above but closer than the thunder, which seems to pass by overhead - a sound that can only be described as... "burbling".
After a time, the conversation lulls into silence, and each retreats into their own thoughts. The bleating of the goat grows ever more distant and faint, much like the memory of the carnival and life before the fateful step through the mirror. Still the words shared with one another echo within each mind - riddles spoken, songs sung, scenes observed - how strange they seemed then, but yet how real they now felt. The many voices of Kettlesteam, the contrasting speech of Mister Witch and Light, the song of the mermaid, the gruff yet tender voice of Hurly the bugbear, a talking tree, a talking squirrel, a talking...
...another voice is heard. And another. But this time they aren't memories from the carnival, but carried on the wind and echoing from the cliffs. Two male voices, one deep and one high. Gradually louder they seem, until they are accompanied by the crunch of feet on gravel. None dare poke their heads out the secret space, but instead sit and listen.
The footsteps stop. There is a conversation, and only snatches of it reach the group in their hide:
...Welcome Wagon... ...more visitors... ...be anywhere by now... ...need our help, but never fear... ...that over there!
The crunching footsteps are heard again, and then a soft golden light spills across the rocks below, warm and unnatural amid the cold gray of Yon. The footsteps stop immediately underneath where the group are hiding, and now a figure is visible on the ground beneath. It is a tall and well-built male elf, with hair a bright red and blonde colour, like flame. His clothes are close-fitting and bright yellow, sleeveless with a short cape at his waist that blows in the wind - the golden glow seems to come from the elven figure himself!
Only one figure is visible, and yet two voices are distinctly heard:
This is from the Carnival. Really? The one you and your sister came from? Yes, I'm sure of it. The witch has claimed another victim. Oh, fie! Fie on that hag! Alas! Her wickedness knows no bounds. Oh come now! Do not cry, my love! Let me catch your tears as faeries collect morning dew. Let me lift your spirits like a seed on the breeze! Together, the three of us shall right this wrong and restore those who love one another to their long-bereft fellowship.
"The three of us"!? The words are clearly heard, and the two voices distinctly different, and yet only the bright elf is visible.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
How does a red dragon blow out the candles on its birthday cake?
Greg peers out of the hole not making himself visible just yet, but with a raise of his finger to his lips he reckons the group to look too. Pointing at the elf, he whispers, "that's Glister, the shadow's brother, I saw him on a poster at the carnival... If his sister is being controlled, or at least her shadow, by the youngest hag, then he may be inclined to help us."
Rowan clearly is eager to go down and meet this newcomer, or is it three newcomers. It's all very exciting but Greg and Mulligan are in the way and seem intent on secretly watching the elf below.
"How about I just pop down and say hi?" Rowan says quietly to Greg. "They seem nice. I've got a good feeling about them."
Greg grins, "greet the man, as I said his name is Glister, if something goes wrong we will help you" and moves out of the way, handing Rowan the rope to be able to descend easily
The bright elf below looks around in confusion, but then calls out to the darkness: Yes, I am called Glister. How do you know me?
Then in response to Mulligan's second statement, Glister adds: In where? Where are you?
Glister then looks up in surprise as a rope drops out of thin air beside him, and Rowan the elf appears magically at the top of the rope, descending...
What new devilry is this? speaks the second voice, although the source of it is still unclear to those in the magical hide.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
How does a red dragon blow out the candles on its birthday cake?
"Chauntea? You mean you never heard of her?" The dwarf clutches the collar on her blouse, then continues, "Well it's a good thing we all met up! Why she is the Great Mother! The goddess of all things reaped and sown! What is seeded and harvested, bred and butchered, and whatever is made from all that. She is our sweet goddess of the crib, the hearth and home." Barria bows his head a bit in quiet contemplation after her little speech.
Listening to the others about what is stolen she asks Rowan, "Did you ever um.. sneak into the carnival without paying? Oh! and my Grandmother's recipe makes the most amazing tart.. and well, it's a bit magical if you do it right."she gives a little knowing grin on this.
As the newcomers arrive, she too is very curious and agrees with Rowan. "I'll be right behind you!"
Then in response to Mulligan's second statement, Glister adds: In where? Where are you?
How many people are in your head? Hearing like three voices but only seeing one you. But me? I'm in G'reg's magic hole. It's not as dirty as it sounds...
With that assurance placed in Barria's head Mulligan then listens to her ramble on about Chauntea but he doesn't pay it much head. He's heard plenty of street preachers and missionaries and holy folk talk about this one and the other, mostly enticing the less fortunate to listen by serving free meals and the like. They all sound good enough, after their fashion, but Mulligan himself has never had much use for Gods. It always seemed to him that most of them that recruit for them spend more time singing their praises rather than doing anything useful. But the most of them have decent hearts even if they don't realize a helping hand is more meaningful when you don't mention how helpful you're being when you give that hand.
Prior to the descent, Rowan smiles at Barria and shakes his head. "I've never been to that carnival before, sneakily or otherwise. It was quite amazing though. You had all been before though. That is quite the coincidence."
As he climbs down the rope he waves down at the elf below.
"Hi Glister. I'm Rowan," Rowan says. "Are you talking to the dandelion and the bee?"
Hello Rowan. Glister waves a friendly wave. Yes, this is my new acquaintance, Amidor. Is that Greg's magic hole? How many of you are there in there? Are you the one speaking in my head? Have you come from the Witchlight Carnival? Please, come down and join us - I would be grateful to hear your story...
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
How does a red dragon blow out the candles on its birthday cake?
Rowan looks back up the rope as he continues down.
"I think it's more of an invisible room than a hole. A hole is dug out or cut out of something solid, isn't it?" Rowan says. "I think that means you're not allowed to have a hole in the sky. But it's definitely magic."
Rowan looks back down at Glister.
"No I'm talking out loud," Rowan says. "Mully speaks, well more like thinks, in other people's heads. He lost his voice. Or had it stolen. Or both maybe. Someone at the Witchlight Carnival took it. Though I don't really understand all that part."
Rowan hops down on to the roadway.
"Amidor," Rowan begins. "Do all dandelions talk and wield swords like you here?"
Reg raises a brow at Mulligan and Barria, mouthing the word 'dandelion?' in a very confused and questioning way.
Forgoing any degree of safety Reg's curiosity gets the better of him and he sticks his head out of the hole trying to see what this 'Amidor' looks like.
Rowan smiles and waves at Barria as she speaks.
”Sorry. I’ve never heard of Chauntea or the Northern Light but they both sound great. What has she given the world? Was it trees? I’m really fond of those.” Rowan says before barreling on. “No, the only thing I’ve ever lost is self control. Sometimes my emotions just bubble up and out and then all of a sudden I’m across the room or rainbows are shooting around or even extra arms spring out. But thankfully nothing like that has happened today. Do you think it’s still today?”
"chauntea, hmm, I've never been the religious type but knowledge, as they say, is power, pleased to meet you all either way, I think we'll have our work cut out for us here and yes indeed it was a hoe that was stolen from me, but not just a hoe, an heirloom, a rite of passage really, something that signifies a certain respect in my community" Greg sits and listens, stretching his feet out and using this time not only to chat but to rest... "wait wild magic? I've only ever read about that kind of thing. Does that not make you dangerous!? Or at least a risk, if indeed that is what is afflicting you?" he asks Rowan with some degree of surprise.
Rowan settles down a little at gReg's question.
"You know, I've never thought of it that way," Rowan says. "But, yes, wild magic is the best name for it. Sometimes, if I focus hard, and that's really difficult to do, I can even tell if a spell has been cast or if there's magic nearby. But the wild magic, well, it was a bit scary the first few times it happened. Something that looked like a flumph showed up and floated across the lane to the grainery where it promptly exploded. That was quite the sight but it took hours to explain that I didn't do it. But I've had years of practice dealing with whatever shows up. So now I can generally control at least who gets caught up in the magic."
He pauses for a moment and looks lost in thought.
"Do you think the flowers that bloom whenever I walk by have something to do with the wild magic too?" Rowan asks. "My parents were almost as scared of that as the rainbow lights that come sometimes."
Then Rowan laughs.
"I would very much like to see your hoe," Rowan begins before adding. "And hear your voice, and well I guess I don't really want to see your grandmother's recipe but I think I would like to taste whatever it made. What was it for? A cake? That is interesting that you've all lost something at the carnival. But I didn't. I actually don't think I've ever lost anything. Though I did overhear my mom telling my dad that she thought I was lost. But I was just in the other room so not really sure why she thought that. Did any of you see other people in the mirrors back at the carnival? People besides you I mean? I saw my parents but I saw other people too."
"I think you may have lost something, but I'm not sure Barria would like me to guess at what it is" Greg notes, eyeing the dwarf and remembering her admonishment of his previous comments. "What I know of wild magic is mostly the dangers, what's been written in books on the subject, though in sure if there are silver linings to it you would most definitely find them hm?" He closes his eyes making the most of the short period of rest his hiding space allows and then begins reminiscing, "oh my hoe was a beautiful tool, she was hand crafted in the mountain, etched with gnomish symbology along the holds, perfectly balanced and oh the curves, haha, passed down from one generation to the next, oh how my parents were angry when I came home from one of my jaunts without it, I almost blamed myself for being careless but knew deep down, it wasn't my fault, those condescending sisters are to blame! And wouldn't you know it, I was bloody right! As per usual! Hmph, parents know nothing, always stressing and complaining, I'm only in my 50's plenty of life ahead of me, no need to take over the family farm or... Well whatever else it was they were drowning on about" he pulls his hat over his eyes with a chuckle.
Control? His train of thought?
Mulligan transmits these "answers" to the group chat after g'Reginald suggests that Rowan did indeed lose something. It's apparent that not everything lost or stolen is a tangible, physical object. If they can steal a voice then there's nothing to stay that they cannot steal something even more ephemeral...
But mostly Mulligan has his hat tipped low so it covers his eyes and he can get some bit of rest while listening to the others talk...
The party settles down inside the magical space, clear of the wind that tugs at cloaks and hair, but still touched by the wind's constant howl through the peaks. Thunder rumbles in the distance, a slow, mournful drum that seems to echo the unspoken weight of the mountains themselves. Mulligan's discarded wings flutter awkwardly down to the ground, then lay on the rough path, twitching in the wind like an injured butterfly.
Even amongst the gloom of the storm and the barrenness of the rocky mountains, Yon feels alive. Pebbles clatter softly down the slopes, as if the mountains themselves are shifting their posture. Shadows stretch and twist in odd ways, sometimes forming fleeting shapes that resemble the travelers’ own postures. Nearby, a lone mountain goat emerges to stand on a rocky outcrop, its bleats echoing from the peaks like mocking laughter. Once only, there is another sound, high above but closer than the thunder, which seems to pass by overhead - a sound that can only be described as... "burbling".
After a time, the conversation lulls into silence, and each retreats into their own thoughts. The bleating of the goat grows ever more distant and faint, much like the memory of the carnival and life before the fateful step through the mirror. Still the words shared with one another echo within each mind - riddles spoken, songs sung, scenes observed - how strange they seemed then, but yet how real they now felt. The many voices of Kettlesteam, the contrasting speech of Mister Witch and Light, the song of the mermaid, the gruff yet tender voice of Hurly the bugbear, a talking tree, a talking squirrel, a talking...
...another voice is heard. And another. But this time they aren't memories from the carnival, but carried on the wind and echoing from the cliffs. Two male voices, one deep and one high. Gradually louder they seem, until they are accompanied by the crunch of feet on gravel. None dare poke their heads out the secret space, but instead sit and listen.
The footsteps stop. There is a conversation, and only snatches of it reach the group in their hide:
...Welcome Wagon...
...more visitors...
...be anywhere by now...
...need our help, but never fear...
...that over there!
The crunching footsteps are heard again, and then a soft golden light spills across the rocks below, warm and unnatural amid the cold gray of Yon. The footsteps stop immediately underneath where the group are hiding, and now a figure is visible on the ground beneath. It is a tall and well-built male elf, with hair a bright red and blonde colour, like flame. His clothes are close-fitting and bright yellow, sleeveless with a short cape at his waist that blows in the wind - the golden glow seems to come from the elven figure himself!
Only one figure is visible, and yet two voices are distinctly heard:
This is from the Carnival.
Really? The one you and your sister came from?
Yes, I'm sure of it. The witch has claimed another victim.
Oh, fie! Fie on that hag! Alas! Her wickedness knows no bounds. Oh come now! Do not cry, my love! Let me catch your tears as faeries collect morning dew. Let me lift your spirits like a seed on the breeze! Together, the three of us shall right this wrong and restore those who love one another to their long-bereft fellowship.
"The three of us"!? The words are clearly heard, and the two voices distinctly different, and yet only the bright elf is visible.
How does a red dragon blow out the candles on its birthday cake?
Greg peers out of the hole not making himself visible just yet, but with a raise of his finger to his lips he reckons the group to look too. Pointing at the elf, he whispers, "that's Glister, the shadow's brother, I saw him on a poster at the carnival... If his sister is being controlled, or at least her shadow, by the youngest hag, then he may be inclined to help us."
Are you Glister? You must answer aloud. You can hear my thoughts, I cannot hear yours.
Mulligan puts the words into Elf's head after G'reg makes the claim.
How man of you are in there?
This is added quickly after the other words as their speech seems quite unique...
Rowan clearly is eager to go down and meet this newcomer, or is it three newcomers. It's all very exciting but Greg and Mulligan are in the way and seem intent on secretly watching the elf below.
"How about I just pop down and say hi?" Rowan says quietly to Greg. "They seem nice. I've got a good feeling about them."
Greg grins, "greet the man, as I said his name is Glister, if something goes wrong we will help you" and moves out of the way, handing Rowan the rope to be able to descend easily
The bright elf below looks around in confusion, but then calls out to the darkness: Yes, I am called Glister. How do you know me?
Then in response to Mulligan's second statement, Glister adds: In where? Where are you?
Glister then looks up in surprise as a rope drops out of thin air beside him, and Rowan the elf appears magically at the top of the rope, descending...
What new devilry is this? speaks the second voice, although the source of it is still unclear to those in the magical hide.
How does a red dragon blow out the candles on its birthday cake?
"Chauntea? You mean you never heard of her?" The dwarf clutches the collar on her blouse, then continues, "Well it's a good thing we all met up! Why she is the Great Mother! The goddess of all things reaped and sown! What is seeded and harvested, bred and butchered, and whatever is made from all that. She is our sweet goddess of the crib, the hearth and home." Barria bows his head a bit in quiet contemplation after her little speech.
Listening to the others about what is stolen she asks Rowan, "Did you ever um.. sneak into the carnival without paying? Oh! and my Grandmother's recipe makes the most amazing tart.. and well, it's a bit magical if you do it right." she gives a little knowing grin on this.
As the newcomers arrive, she too is very curious and agrees with Rowan. "I'll be right behind you!"
How many people are in your head? Hearing like three voices but only seeing one you. But me? I'm in G'reg's magic hole. It's not as dirty as it sounds...
I have.
With that assurance placed in Barria's head Mulligan then listens to her ramble on about Chauntea but he doesn't pay it much head. He's heard plenty of street preachers and missionaries and holy folk talk about this one and the other, mostly enticing the less fortunate to listen by serving free meals and the like. They all sound good enough, after their fashion, but Mulligan himself has never had much use for Gods. It always seemed to him that most of them that recruit for them spend more time singing their praises rather than doing anything useful. But the most of them have decent hearts even if they don't realize a helping hand is more meaningful when you don't mention how helpful you're being when you give that hand.
Prior to the descent, Rowan smiles at Barria and shakes his head. "I've never been to that carnival before, sneakily or otherwise. It was quite amazing though. You had all been before though. That is quite the coincidence."
As he climbs down the rope he waves down at the elf below.
"Hi Glister. I'm Rowan," Rowan says. "Are you talking to the dandelion and the bee?"
Hello Rowan. Glister waves a friendly wave. Yes, this is my new acquaintance, Amidor. Is that Greg's magic hole? How many of you are there in there? Are you the one speaking in my head? Have you come from the Witchlight Carnival? Please, come down and join us - I would be grateful to hear your story...
How does a red dragon blow out the candles on its birthday cake?
Rowan looks back up the rope as he continues down.
"I think it's more of an invisible room than a hole. A hole is dug out or cut out of something solid, isn't it?" Rowan says. "I think that means you're not allowed to have a hole in the sky. But it's definitely magic."
Rowan looks back down at Glister.
"No I'm talking out loud," Rowan says. "Mully speaks, well more like thinks, in other people's heads. He lost his voice. Or had it stolen. Or both maybe. Someone at the Witchlight Carnival took it. Though I don't really understand all that part."
Rowan hops down on to the roadway.
"Amidor," Rowan begins. "Do all dandelions talk and wield swords like you here?"
Reg raises a brow at Mulligan and Barria, mouthing the word 'dandelion?' in a very confused and questioning way.
Forgoing any degree of safety Reg's curiosity gets the better of him and he sticks his head out of the hole trying to see what this 'Amidor' looks like.