Tarithel Tailor (née Novar) -- Glowing Embers

[maeglhachel]

Impossible

"People who stare out to sea want the impossible," Amywien had said at one time without knowing more than her name.

Sitting on the edge of the pier and letting her feet dangle, Tarithel watches the sun set to her far right and rolls the word around her head.

Impossible
Maybe ...
Maybe not

Oh, she was learning. She hadn't been able to pass by the Bull this close, in a while, without much more than the slight tug of regret she felt, now. She was learning.

She flashes a smile at the Chessentan sailors passing and discussing something in their own exotic language, maybe the color of her hair, from where they'd been looking.

Good advice would never do, though. She's always had to put her foot right into it. She'd learned so much these last few months. And yes, it's only been months.
Now, that is impossible for you ... impossible to believe.
Such a quick learner she could be, when learning the hard way. The advice she handed out, these days, sounded so good. Why was her own life such a mess?

"A natural born nurturer" She couldn't help but laugh out loudly, laugh like a bell. Only served to show how little she knew her, how little she knew what hard work caring was. And maybe what a long way she herself had come from plotting the destruction of one through the abuse of another. "Skilled like a tigress," Foxy had said in jest. She'd probably die of shame, if Foxy knew how cold-blooded she'd picked her victim. Just a head and a silver plate ... not cold-blooded enough, though.

And now she had nothing ... not what she wanted first, not her revenge, not what she wanted after ... and not peace of mind, either.
Is peace of mind priceless, now? Or just almost priceless?

Saying "no" to something you want can be liberating.
But can you keep it up?
And is there no other way?
What will you do next time?

Would she be able to fight the fire? Or did it even feel like she should? It was rooted in pride, she knew. But it was that pride that kept her going. She knew that, as well. It was what kept her screaming at fate, "Is that all you can do? To break me, you'll have to try harder."

There was no caring for others without caring for yourself. And there was no faith without faith in yourself, either. And that's what her pride was. If that's what kept happiness from lasting, made it impossible, then maybe it was the way it was meant to be. For without it, there was really nothing.

[maeglhachel]

Being Sorry

Some days everything just falls apart. Some days everything seems to come out wrong.
She hadn't meant to become that angry. She should have watched herself better, should have seen one of her short-fuse days coming on.

She'd said she was sorry. Was it asking to much to know what for?

Why did people have to always start breaking catastrophic news to her with those two words? Why wouldn't she tell her what she'd done, what she'd been talking to Jennifer about?

Couldn't people just start with the bad news and say they're sorry afterwards? "Hey, hotstuff, I had a run-in with a pixie ... I'm sorry", not the other way around. No beating around the bush, no talking in riddles, no slowly making her blood boil, no having to drag the truth out of them.

But she didn't tell, at all.

What's the use in saying you're sorry, if you don't say for what? Don't you have to give the person you apologize to a chance to decide whether or not to accept the apology? There is no such thing as "I'm only telling you, if you promise not to be angry at me."

Or course, she might have told, if she hadn't tried to force her, tried to pin her down ... no wriggle-room, not an inch for evasion, just the facts. But she should have seen her reaction coming, too. She knew the signs, and she was so ashamed for not noticing ... no ... for not caring. She'd just wanted her to tell, whatever the cost. She would have made her stay, if Jennifer hadn't disturbed her spell.

"Crazy casters should not be allowed to run around, freely," his daughter had said, "they're a danger to society." Maybe she'd been right. Maybe she was no bit better than Vorel ... or worse: Maybe Vorel was right.

But why did she end up injured? Was that her responsibility, too?

Her turn to say she was sorry, now, and to state what for, plainly.

It was only due to her being a so much better person than herself, if the day didn't leave Tarithel with one more person to hate her.
Though, it seemed one more person hated her now anyway, at least. But it seemed she had stopped caring about what that one thought.

[maeglhachel]

Family

It had come as a surprise.
Not just the letter left for her at the academy. Not just the news that her father was no more. Certainly not the news he had died fighting. The feeling of loss about somebody she had run from years ago and rarely ever thought about much since. The guilt and the sadness over a million missed opportunities had caught her at unawares.

Krohn said family was sacred. He talked about how you cannot pick your family and how you cannot replace a family member. "Friendship is sacred," she had replied defiantly. Sure, nobody had ever replaced her mother, and never had she picked her father. But was he right in more ways than she liked to admit? She was determined to find out, when she decided to go back to the Dales. "Time to grow up," he said, "Time for the girl to become a woman." A tall order. But where her father's death had ended all chances to make things right, her brother was still alive. He depended on her, she would not let him down.

The mourning and the funeral itself had been solemn and touching. The local Commander of the Archenriders had come to attend and honor her father's valiant sacrifice. It had taken her coming back home a total stranger for her to realize that that was maybe the way he had felt all along. Maybe that had been the reason for all his dreams of becoming an Archenrider of renown. If only there had been a sea in the Archendale to gaze out to, together ...
Not everybody treated her like a total stranger, though. The villagers met her with more respect than they used to, though it was maybe half fear, half appreciation of her return for the funeral. Her aunt, the one she had started writing to and inquiring about her brother about two months ago, welcomed her with genuine warmth and kindness. Her cousin's welcome was shy but friendly, considering all the slander she must have heard about her. And somebody else remembered her, too.

Meeting him was awkward for both of them. Timothy, Timmy, was not apparently aware he had a sister. And although he had been told his mother had died when he was born, a little more than five years ago, when he first saw Tarithel and remembered her face from when he was very young, she could see in his eyes he thought she was her. And she also saw the same pain there she had felt, when she had first held him and her mother was no more. When she took him in her arms and he tried to hide his tears as his father had taught him, she felt like they understood each other. There was no grudge against him, anymore. It was never his fault. He had suffered like everybody else, and she had done her share to make him. Another realization she was so indebted to her for.

As Tarithel never displayed any bit of interest in the house and left it all to her uncle who had arrived before her and naturally assumed the role of the head of the household, she had a lot of time in the following days to spend with Tim. Sometimes she would just watch him play with friends and smile at how they respected him even when they were older than he was. Or they would go to the pond with the duck traps to skip rocks and laugh at Tarithel's attempts, which looked more like she was trying to kill a trout or two. He was not afraid of her, he trusted her, showed her his favorite hideouts, made her cast for him. She prestigated both of their clothes, one day, which were covered with dirt and grass stains. Their aunt never saw a thing but their conspirative grins.
He asked her about their mother on the fifth day after the funeral. She tried to talk about her quiet dignity, about her gentle kindness. She related the story about how she had hidden their old household maid. She lied for her, gave her an alibi, when the guards inquired about her after she had stolen a certain dress from the tailor, to save her from the severe Archendale prosecution. It had taken no more than a sigh and a gentle hand on the shoulder to make her return the dress and apologize. Tarithel heard herself say how she was sure their mother would be very proud of her son. When he leaned against her, watched the ripples the last stone made on the water, he left her groping for words asking why she had left. All she could say after a while was that whatever it was that made her leave, she had come back for him. Was she going to stay? No, she was not. But she was going to watch over him and never again leave him for as long. Her magic allowed her to travel very quickly. No, there was no riding on a broom required. She showed him.

It seemed like through his death her father's dreams would finally come true. The Commander displayed a willingness to take Timothy into his household and grant him a squire's education. Her father would have been so proud. She herself derived some wicked glee out of talking to the Commander after leaving settling Tim's education to her uncle. Slander must have made both her powers and her involvement with the Academy, of which the Commander had only heard vague rumors, a lot larger than they were. He was very polite, though distinctly uncomfortable, and made it appear a matter of course when she requested to be allowed to visit Timothy at any time, at her discretion. Both of them knew it was basically opening the tower house to her, but both also knew it would be quite an effort to try and keep her out. She looked the Commander deeply into the eyes, curtsied and obtained the permission and the promise she would be enjoying hospitality with the Lady's maids, a considerable honor in its own right.

So, when she took her leave from her brother by the gates one sunny morning, kissed his forehead and promised to be back, soon -- when she headed back to the village for another look at her old home, she felt very calm, inside. Calmer than she had felt in a long time, perhaps. Both he and her had been right. She had two homes, now. Not that old house. That was just bricks, walls. Her brother and her new life. In some way, she had always wanted to be needed and Timmy needed her. But this time was different. This was not about her. Time to grow up. Maybe that was what she was doing.

She turned her back to the house, brushed down her dress with a smile, and started to chant only to vanish from one moment to the next ... So much to do.

[maeglhachel]

// I'm consolidating description and theme song from the other threads here,
// mainly because I don't want to keep bumping the other threads for having
// updated post 327 of 5498 (or somesuch) when the interested reader won't
// find the relevant post (heck, I wouldn't without my post history )



Description:

Name: Tarithel Novar
Age: Mid-twenties
Hair: Fiery red
Eyes: Gray
Height: 5'8''
Weight: ~130 lbs

Tarithel probably is a beautiful young woman by most standards. She tends to dress with some regard to fashion and emphasizing her good looks, but not to the extreme. Her fingernails will typically be varnished red, lips tend to be not painted or very unobtrusively, a bit of mascara isn't a rare sight on her. She usually wears a light, sweet scent of peach blossom or something similar.
One will rather see her smile than laugh out loud, and the smile will also be rather crooked more often than not. That smile and the twinkle in her eyes are sometimes rather at odds with her otherwise often maiden-like and/or cool demeanour.





Theme Song:

// ~Jan 2010:

Very interesting exercise, esp. for somebody as volatile as Tarithel.
Long list with songs for her more explosive moments like NIN wish, The Ministry's Burning Inside. Overall, atm., I'd pick The Smashing Pumpkins' Mayonaise



// ~March 2010

After I might have changed the theme to Amanda Marshall's "Last Exit to Eden", last week, this week's a whole new world again, and I'll make it Heather Nova's "I'm the Girl"



// ~April 2010




// ~July 2010




// December 2010


And then there's Mary Black's "One Way Donkey Ride" with no free source, but this page, complete with lyrics, a short sample, and a way to buy from iTunes (which I totally recommend for the whole album ): www.mary-black.net/album.jsp?id=9

Well, these days, there is:

// August 2014

Had almost forgotten just how gorgeous "One Way Donkey Ride" really is, but I'll add this nevertheless:




Arcane Mark:

Should you ever get to see Tarithel's Arcane Mark in visible form, it will look like a T-Rune growing from a heart that has a stylized flame at its lower end, like this:



In some cases you may find a motto below that or around it: "To every life a light that shines, to every heart a beat that's true"

Attachments:

tarithel-portrait.zip (356.51 KB)

[maeglhachel]

A choice is a choice is a choice

She had left them in the Sunite temple and returned to her study feeling more tired than a single night of staying up and torturing a puzzled and helpless Shirak with questions he could not understand, much less answer, would warrant. She threw the cloak she had picked up from the couch before leaving into the corner of the walls, let it drop to the ground, and flung herself onto the bed without bothering to take off any of her new boots, pants, or top.

It had been good talking to her, if only for starting to find some words for the things that went on inside her ... about the say she had, the choice she was given.

Or was she?

She had been so thrilled, so happy for that ultimate display of trust and appreciation. In the quiet of her room, though, those images before her mind's eye, she was no longer sure it was a choice, at all.

What if all the roads lead you astray?
What if each further choice makes the next more complicated when you want it to become simpler?
What if the choice is between a prune and a plum?
What if it is between hurting left or right?

The advice she had received had not been very clear. Or maybe, in a way, it had. Time to think about her own wants, and to see where that took her. Maybe to giving up trying to disprove a negative.

As she finally fell asleep exhausted on her wet pillow, the thought rolled around her head...

Go away ... please ... don't!

[maeglhachel]

Not Sure

The sky overhead a leaden grey and white was darkening early on this winter afternoon. Distant mists made the line blur between it and the powdery snow that covered the high vale, like a white blanket leveling out the differences between fields, woods, roads, and houses. Only the river ran free, yet. The temperatures up here were whispering of that to change, though, and the air smelled of more snow.

She wrapped her cloak more tightly around her neck, more out of habit than for actually feeling the cold, and walked down the avenue that wound up from the hamlet to the tower house. Her blue brocade dress was gathering a white rim. It was one of the habits that earned her the ridicule of some of her fellow students, much like washing with actual water more often than not. It was one of the habits that made her feel sane, yet.

Much like visiting her brother and bringing presents.

It had been an odd coincidence to arrive just in time to witness the first rounds of swordplay training in the yard, the young boy almost hidden behind the massive wooden shield, when with her right arm she was clutching the buckler to her side that she had brought as a gift. But odd coincidences no longer made her wonder. When he finally spotted her standing in the shadows of the archway, he dropped his gear, rushed towards her to throw his arms around his sister, and the hearty welcome concluded the lessons for the day.
They went inside, she expressed her sincere gratitude to the captain and his wife, and they spent time together chatting idly about new trivialities both in Cormyr and the Dales, eating and drinking. Timmy got his present, awed at the lightness of the high-quality shield warded to protect its bearer. Beaming with pride he strapped it to his arm and could not stop to stare at the purple dragon on it. In Cormyr it would have been illegal to wear it, but this was not Cormyr -- somewhat to the displeasure of the Forest Kingdom's crown, but the Dalesmen would not want it any other way. These were the Dales. No, this was the Archendale, not Shadowdale. Though, how far do you ever get away from Shadowdale, if you carry the shadows around with you? But, oh well, not Shadowdale. If only everything was as easy.

Somehow, she must have seemed more quiet, more distant, more thoughtful than usual. After a while, Timmy quietly asked her whether she was quite alright, to which she nodded, smiled a bit weakly, and nudged his arm softly. When he cocked his head, crossed his arms in front of his chest and peered at her with a slight frown and lips pursed, she could not help but hug him and laugh out merrily. It was too much like looking into a mirror. There was no fooling him, he was his mother's son. It made her glad.

And so they spent the rest of the afternoon enjoying each other's company, telling stories, playing games, laughing, dancing and singing, till it got time for her to take her leave.
When she disappeared after an affectionate goodbye, the others thought she had left straight for Cormyr, as usual. But not today. She just stepped out of sight under the covers of a spell. It had not been her intention to linger and watch. She just had things to do before leaving the Dale. But when Timmy's shoulders slumped a little at her disappearance, the captain ruffled his hair affectionately and Timmy looked up to him and smiled, it stung her heart. But a heartbeat later, she sucked on her lower lip, smiled slowly, nodded once and whispered to herself as she left: "Be well, Timothy Novar."


When she reached the end of the avenue trudging through the snow and saw the few houses of the hamlet to her right, that was not the direction she headed. The path that led on ahead and a little to the left was not be seen beneath the snow, but she knew it well enough to find the cemetery, all the same. She had no issue finding the grave either, even for only having been here once during the past twelve months. The tombstone was half covered in a snow-drift, and her sleeves gathered snow, too, as she brushed it off to read, first on the right hand side ...

1334 - 1370 Stella Novar

then to the left …

1326 - 1374 Jason Novar

And as she brushed across the tombstone more words appeared from beneath the snow, below. Words that had not been there, when she came here, last.

Your loving husband is coming to look for you beyond, longing to wander through the meadows with you, again

With hands that did not feel the cold, she formed a small mound of snow on the grave and stuck in a single stem of purple bell flowers, a blotch of colour against the white of the snow all around to her blurred eyes. Then she knelt in the snow the bell flower beside her to her left, six feet above another woman, put her hands into her lap and closed her eyes. After a while, she started to hum, then sing the song to herself, that she had been working on since summer:

How can I say what I feel?
When I turn around you're not here
I know it's my time to lead
But the emptiness inside leaves me weak

So now I see how you've been freed
You'll always be near like you were all those years
And now I breathe the life you gave
'Cause I've learned from the best
And I've always been blessed with your love

We gathered round for his first breath
You passed on yours, your last gift
Somehow I know you'll be alright
The perfect end to a perfect life

Then in a moment it all becomes so clear
I want so much to ask you
But you're no longer here

So now I see how you've been freed
You'll always be near like you were all those years
And now I breathe the life you gave
'Cause I've learned from the best
And I'll always be blessed with your love

Your love

So, she already had "always". And yes, she had been right, she was not sure, never was. Not even in this place, where what she really wanted was as plain to see as a bell flower in the snow.

[maeglhachel]

A young man in robes sporting typical academy colors of red, black, and gold approaches an elderly woman sorting books in the library of the Alzarin Academy. He clasps a book to his side and strikes up a conversation:

"Good afternoon, Cathryn. Say, have you seen Tarithel, lately?"

Cathryn looks up from what she has been doing, seems to need a moment to get her her thoughts focussed from categorizing books to the youth's simple question.

"Tarithel? … Oh, sure, Sam … and good afternoon to you, too … didn't she say bye to you?"

"What do you mean, bye?"

"Well, she was talking about it to a few other students earlier, today. She forgot to say bye to me, too. I just happened to overhear it, talking to Shoeman over some new acquisitions. I have some books, which to acquire, I need his help with. He has remarkable contacts. Not books for this library, of course, but for my personal one …"

Samuel coughs politely.

"Oh, Tarithel … yes, went on a trip to research the whereabouts of a staff of sorts in the Archendale somewhere. I didn't get all the details. She mentioned something about Elminster writing about the staff in one of his books."

The woman scratches her head a little, "You know, what I really didn't quite get was why she wouldn't start out by visiting Elminster, himself. I think Serena asked … or was it Elzair? Yes, Elzair, I'm pretty sure. She muttered something about not going to Shadowdale. You do realize that girl can be a bit weird?"

"Did she …" Sam attempts to ask.

"She sounded like she'd be gone for quite a while. Funny really … I mean, how long does it take to turn over every single stone in the Archendale? It's not _that_ big. And apparently left in a bit of a hurry, too. See that painting?" Cathryn points at a painting leaning against the table close by. The painting depicts a white-washed, thatched cottage atop a hill overlooking an ocean coast. The windows have red wooden shutters and flowers in them. There's a hedged-in garden and a tree behind the house with a swing. The painting is signed with "Tarithel Novar". "She left it here on an easel with brushes and all. Quite a messy person, I have to say. Sure, the painting itself isn't so bad. I'm sure she magicked most of it up. Bit tacky, though. Are you aware, Sam, that you _never_ build cottages overlooking a sea? Do you realize why?"

"I …"

"Because of the wind, of course. It blows through every crack, no window or door will keep it out, completely. This is completely a romantic fantasy, really." Cathryn looks at the painting dubiously and shrugs helplessly after a while. "I really have no idea what to do with it. It definitely can't stay here. Could you take care of it? Here, gimme that, lad." She takes the book Sam is clutching to his side, looks at it, "Ahh, yes, Tarithel borrowed that one. Thanks for returning it. Is there anything else, I can do for you?"

"No .. um … thank you," Sam picks up the painting, stares at it intently for a moment, then leaves the library with a shrug.

…

While at the same time, just a few miles west of Marsember's city gates, a slender red-haired woman stands on a cliff overlooking the sea. She looks out to sea in the deepening gloom of this winter afternoon, tightly wrapped in her cloak, the wind in her face. In her left she holds a blue rose, the blossom cradled in her hand, stem between her fingers, while in her right she turns a golden medal absent-mindedly. If it weren't for the medal turning in her hand and the hair fluttering in the wind, she might be a statue. And it's hard to say what caused it, what change in the eternally uniform noise of the wind, the cry of the gulls or oystercatchers, from one moment to the next, the woman lifts the rose to her nose to sniff. "So, it's been the right colour, after all," her mouth form the words inaudibly against the wind. "Everybody should do what they're good at. Guess, I'm back to what I do best." "Come on run-away, you've done it before! Complete the circle, Tarithel," she says, tosses the golden medal with a dragon and a harp on it into the waves and vanishes into thin air.

// The first part is easily learned by anybody bothering to go to the academy to find out.

[maeglhachel]

// updated the December 2010 theme songs

[maeglhachel]

A few miles west of Marsember a white and grey gull soars through the sky lonely and squawking against the gale. It steers straight for a cliff towering over the coast and suddenly plummets down head first into the sea with a triumphant screech. Then, for a long time, there is nothing but the wind and the waves crashing against the cliffs and trying to cast their foam up the grassy slope on top. Another wave comes rolling in, rises, crashes against the cliff. No gull surfaces. Wind and waves.

And suddenly, out of the raging sea, the sleek, grey form of a dolphin rises chittering and whistling, falls back down into the water, rises again in a somersault, something golden glimmering between its teeth. The dolphin stands upright in the water, nods its head chittering until the next wave crashes down upon it. It emerges with another leap and suddenly darts off to the east, to where the coast slopes down to meet the water and where the dolphin is lost from sight.

[maeglhachel]

Responsibility

It was way past lights-out when she returned to the quiet of her dark study.

She looked out of the room-high window that opens out onto the balcony, her face gently lit by the stars from above and the city lights from below. Waterdeep was an elf, it never really slept. It just slowed down a little to take a breather. Her small school, in contrast, seemed sound asleep. As she turned her back to the outside world, the lamps and candles in her room lit up at a word of command. She opened the door to let the light shine out into the hallway while she did a quick round past the small dorm on the left where the five boarders slept, the refectory on the right hand side, the classroom, and the two resident teachers' rooms as well as her own. The front doors were securely locked, so she returned to her study, but left the door open just because it felt wrong to close it.

It was funny how it seemed like nothing much had changed in Cormyr. A somewhat weak smile flashed across her face as she grabbed her bag, produced a bottle from it, sat down in her large chair, and kicked her feet up on the desk. Only the names had changed. One day she had left an Erynne hunting Vlad. The next day, Vlad had changed his name to Ronso, and she had dreamt of three years of trying to go back home but no longer fitting in, of founding a small school in Waterdeep, of renting a small house on an island in the Alambar Sea as a getaway. It was even more funny to think about how it had been suggested to her that she regarded Greatgaunt as home, and she could not help but chuckle at the thought. But it was right. Maybe it was the things that did not change that provided the kind of dependability that was needed to make something home. Even if it was a dependable nuisance. Like Zoe and her cronies, or like the bottle of Dark Desire that she remembered and opened. The latter not a nuisance, of course, but the same dependable taste of nutmeg and chocolate that it had ever had. Although it felt like a bit of the magic was lost to her, now that it could be acquired outside the Lecher.

Was it fair of her to ask for her help in that matter? Of course she could not know that her suggestion was not funny to Tarithel, at all. She knew to what lengths Tarithel could go to protect friends. She didn't have the slightest idea how Tarithel had learned the difference between protecting a friend and plotting a revenge, or between doing everything and anything for somebody. The power of "No" -- maybe she should talk about that in class, tomorrow.

"Miss Novar?" a soft voice called out. It was little Fran standing in the doorway in her nightie, her rowdy hair in her face, and rubbing her sleepy eyes.

Tarithel put her feet back down on the ground and smiled kindly, "What's the matter, dear? Come here. Did I wake you up?"

But that was not what it was, as she learned when Fran told her in a whiny voice about how her stomach hurt, and about how she didn't want the creatures from Undermountain to spill out above ground, and about how Terry had been mean to her when she mentioned it in class, and about how she didn't want to sit next to him, tomorrow, and ...

Responsibility.

If only everything could be fixed by a warm hand on a stomach and a short lullaby.

[maeglhachel]

When she tossed her bag onto the desk, it opened and her old Alizarin notebook along with a single rose slid out of it.
It was a bit of a miracle the flower had survived in there, but what could you do? She could hardly start carrying vases around. Now that it had made it to safety, though, she picked it up and put it in the vase she'd put on the sideboard with the violets left over from Ahghairon's Day.

That day, they had walked the short way from the South Ward to the Plinth, where the bulk of the gleemen and market stalls were, together. It had been a bright and sunny afternoon, the kind of weather the Lords of the City couldn't have ordered any better. It felt like everybody in Trades Ward was in the streets laughing, singing, dancing, generally grabbing any opportunity to celebrate in the name of the Old Mage. The teachers had practised a little Mystran chant in his honour with the kids and they all sang it together as they carried their violets to the base of the tall temple. Jill was wearing them as a wreath in her hair and looking very pretty in her yellow summer dress that she'd gotten for her last birthday. The young girl had prepared the wreath for hours, picked the prettiest dress she had (the only pretty one, really), braided her hair, neatly, and to Terry is must have seemed the festival was all in her honour.

Tarithel wondered if he realized it had all been done just for him. She also wondered if they ever thought about tomorrow, about how fourteen year-old Terry was going to leave the school next year and return to his family. A few miles make a lot more of a difference without teleportation, and as the son of a day-laborer regarding his future whereabouts, all bets were off. She was trying to remember if she had ever thought about the future at that age, but couldn't remember any occasion before her dreams. Maybe it was because her own youth had been so much more protected than was true for the kids having found refuge in her little school, now, or maybe it was one of those tricks time plays with your memory. Or maybe, they didn't either. The prerogative of youth.

Of course, being held hadn't felt any worse for him being very young.
It had comforted her, and beyond just flattering her vanity, and maybe .. just maybe ...
Chances were, though, that in twenty years time, he'd still be looking at women her age. And she'd be moving towards fifty.

But of course, she would have been in the same fix or worse with the Half-Elf she missed on days like these and who had, in an odd and totally unreasonable way, been why she'd come to Waterdeep in the first place.

Maybe though, you just don't need an accomplice when you're trying to act on your best behaviour.

[maeglhachel]

// bump for August 2014 theme song

[maeglhachel]

Here and Now

She opened her eyes startled by the sound of a horse neighing. The light of the nearly full moon shone through the thin gap between the shutters illuminating a narrow section of the whitewashed wall opposite the window and her small makeshift bed. She sat up clutching the bedcovers to her chest and listened out into the night. It had sounded like Zora, the mare she had ridden since Rassalantar and which she had secretly christened Aurora much like Captain Blake had mentioned he had named his horse after a deva of his Lord Valkur.

Though she could hear nothing, Tarithel got up, wrapped the cover around herself and the short night-gown she was wearing, and headed for the door. The nights were already getting quite chilly this far north, but it would be several tendays before there was snow, months before there was enough of it to cut Amphail off from the garrison in Rassalantar. And so she was not very anxious when she stepped out of the barn that housed her and the kids and walked across the brightly lit yard to the stables to the left. The horses did seem a bit nervous but there was no sign of danger to be seen or heard. She just made sure both the stable and the main room of the barn, where all the kids were sleeping on even more makeshift beds than her own, were securely shut. Of course she knew some of them would sneak out after bedtime to collect apples and feed them to the horses. But the little rascals thought closing the door again, carefully, would cover up their nightly excursions. And so Tarithel finally returned to the door of her own little room.

For a moment she considered teleporting to Marsember. Just to check with Shoeman if there were any messages for her. Maybe she could walk over to the Flagon for a moment. But it was past midnight. And anyway, she couldn't -- couldn't leave the kids all alone. She knew she would never forgive herself, if anything happened while she was gone. The other teachers were gone on their annual leaves and would not arrive in Amphail before the end of the ride. They came here each year by an arrangement with their most loyal sponsor, the Eagleshield family. Lady Eagleshield afforded a coach from Waterdeep, humble food and lodging, and the kids helped for a month on the farm that was mainly the Eagleshields' animal sanctuary for retired farm animals.

There was always something for them to do. They had helped fix a paddock gate that could not wait till spring, clean stables, drive the horses in from the more distant pastures. And the way they were working together with the farmhands towards a common goal, the benefit of old animals that families less wealthy or generous than the Eagleshields, less able to prove Legebril wrong, would have given up on long ago, and could see the progress they were making with their own eyes each day, brought a sense of community that they never talked about but Tarithel knew they all could feel.
There had only been a single moment that Tarithel had not been proud of her kids. It was when they had found a guard dog on a leash and kept making the dog wild by throwing little stones at him, then ran away to just out of his reach and cackled when the dog came running and nearly strangled himself on the leash. That made her freak out for a bit. At least, she hoped, her outrage and disappointment had driven the lesson in empathy and compassion home that she delivered afterwards. The abuse of power was not what she ran a school for children of the powerless for. If it had taken that moment for the kids to understand this, then the trip was already more than just a vacation.

Stupid timing though, she thought watching her own shadow fall through the doorway onto the bed. Why come here now? One thing, however, her timing had achieved: She had not been able to make a big scene at the wedding. Isabel always only ever seeing the best in people was hardly news. She, herself was not so sure, but she had not been there. Not being there remained her most accomplished and valuable skill. Besides, she had better just stop acting like a love-sick teenager, anyway, and live in the here and now, instead. She was having a great time with a bunch of kids who adored her or at least looked up to her. Isabel said she would have begged to come along, but she had had other obligations. This was in no way the old addiction. She was in control. It was just that here and now her mattress was filled with straw, and nobody older than fourteen could sleep on a bed that kept pricking you whichever way you turned. If her skin was sore and her lips dry and itchy, it was all the stupid linens, coarse like a pumice stone, that were to blame. And even if she had years of practice of sleeping alone, at least her beds had usually been both soft and large. Next year she would bring her own bedclothes. Funny how much quicker you got used to the good things in life than to doing without them.

So she closed the door behind her, found her way back to the bed and curled up in the covers still wrapped around her. Tomorrow they would be making this year's first hay. She would be sleeping like a log after that. It had been almost ten years since she had held a scythe. But she was looking forward to the lunch and tea breaks in the freshly cut grass. It was images of making hay on the mountain pastures of the Archendale that finally sent her drift off to sleep.

[maeglhachel]

He who can, does...

Some people had this odd way of going unnoticed in a crowd, she thought as she emptied the water basin in the academy's garden, before moving along the corridor past the guest rooms and Shoeman's office heading back to the classroom. With some it was obviously a talent that they worked on hard to perfect. Syvaera, however, would hardly have told Shoeman she would be waiting in the library to not be found. And yet, Tarithel had managed to completely miss her when she followed Daryl downstairs, who had been sent by Shoeman to fetch her. She felt a bit guilty about it, because she was actually trying to be more attentive than that. Just because she knew she herself would probably still be attracting attention if she was wearing a potato sack, it did not mean she expected everybody to, or was not trying to pay attention to people who were a bit more low-key. In this case, however, it was only right here, Tarithel thought closing the guest wing's door behind her, when she was about to ask Shoeman where the person supposedly waiting for her was, that she noticed her entering the room.

Syvaera was about an hour early for class. Tarithel was still mentally preparing for the lecture and would have continued doing that for the remainder of that hour. But when that lead time she thought she had left was suddenly taken away, she realized that she was actually quite prepared. And Syvaera wanted to be prepared, too. When she asked Tarithel what spells to memorize for class and weighing up some options against each other and how useful they would be for certain exercises, Tarithel could not help but think of how the kids in Waterdeep reacted when the balance among them was disturbed and one of them seemed to become the teacher's pet. She did not mind the enthusiasm, naturally perhaps, being the teacher, not a classmate. It was, in fact, excellent wizardly thinking to come early and just ask. But also, Tarithel much rather explained things to people who showed unmistakable signs of wanting to know than to people who apparently just did not have anything less boring to do. Motivation, wanting stuff, was key. Tarithel knew that well. She used to write wanting in capital letters, though she did not often apply it to learning back then. These days, however, she was a headmistress and an academy teacher. Even if that did not mean she did not have to clean up her own mess, she thought grinning as she gathered up the small ship model and cardboard screen that she had used in her examples from the table on wheels after pushing that over to the small back room, next door.

In terms of learning, Card had said something that impressed her, a lot. When everybody had taken their seats and they did a round of introductions and Tarithel asked them about their expectations, their reasons for attending. She wasn't even going to ask Card, after he had offered to assist her if need be and she had accepted gladly. But when she was about to pass over him saying she knew he was there to assist her, he replied that even for being a teacher at the academy, he was with the academy to learn, first and foremost.
He had said something very much like that to her before. But then she had dismissed it as being a teacher talking to an Alizarin Mistress. She hadn't taken that for more than a polite acknowledgement of the Alizarin motto "Never Stop Learning". Maybe because she generally was not so sure what to make of the guy. The omnipresent whiskey glass that he even brought along to class bespoke a casual coolness that she did not really believe in. If her gut feeling did not fail her, Card always knew exactly what he was doing. He had called himself a control freak. And he might have said it half jokingly, but Tarithel totally believed him, then. She was uneasy enough about having been talking about people at the time, it made her wary. But when he said he was there to learn right in front of the class, to Tarithel it was a display of humility that demanded her respect, that made her realize Card deserved to be where he was.

That kind of humility apparently was not something Eishur could be accused of. He arrived late and rather than offering the slightest bit in terms of apology was trying to make witty remarks about her Alizarin hat. Tarithel was still amazed about how different he seemed from the person she had been talking to in Suzail a few tendays ago. Since he had been late, she never learned why he had come in the first place. But a serious desire to learn or even exchange experiences with peers did not seem to be among his reasons.
From overhearing a conversation between him and Card in Greatgaunt a while back, he seemed to really think in those red-necked categories of a wizard's superiority and jealousy against natural talents who supposedly never worked for their abilities and have no idea what they were doing. And he also seemed to be a person who clings to his prejudices in view of living proof to the contrary. Tarithel could not think of any other explanation for his smug word-games, for him trying to construct an artificial difference between countering and counterspelling. As if her question had not been clear enough when she asked what it takes to counter somebody who is in the process of casting a spell. Back in Greatgaunt his only aim seemed to have been to annoy Card, this time it was apparently Tarithel's turn.
And it did serve to remind her of just how much she detested playing games when it came to things that mattered to her. Of how little she could even start to find words for how much she loathed it. Involuntarily she thought back to a certain elf who she would have torched a thousand times until she decided to keep his and her worlds separate after the Veristan affair.

Bad luck for Eishur that she had come a long way, since. Also bad luck for him that she was in class. She felt about a foot taller in her Alizarin robes and hat, never stuttered or floundered a single time in the entire lecture. Her hands that she sometimes wanted to tie to her hips to keep them from gesticulating hung losely by her sides or vivdly underscored her statements with small well-measured gestures. She was talking about the Weave. Moreso, she was talking about countering. A fish in the sea could not have felt more at home. It was her show, entirely.

Well, Delfin might have disagreed. It seemed fairly obvious that he was there about as much for sitting next to Syvaera as anything. Remembering how cutely he had clapped when the latter had managed to counter Tarithel's cantrip still made her smile.

It was after Tarithel had illustrated the difference between a dispel and a breach to them by means of the ship model. One takes the wind out of the sails, while the other takes the sails out of the wind. That was a nice summary, she would have to remember that. Tarithel had gone on explaining how the Weave was distributed unevenly, how it gravitated towards the caster much like water gathers in the holes and crevices of a bumpy stone floor, and how that explained why it was harder to dispel a spell cast by a living mage than spells stored in magical items such as wands or rods. And that led them to explore counterspelling.

Tarithel was standing near the blackboard, in front of the class. The table with the ship model on it she had pushed away, earlier. Smiling at Syvaera encouragingly, she waved her to the front: "Syvaera! Since I asked you to prepare some spells, would you mind?"

The elf obliged with the same determined and focused demeanour that she had shown during the entire lecture. "I have prepared what you asked, Mistress Tarithel."

"Excellent," Tarithel nodded, looking at her and trying to impress on her what was going to happen one more time. "So, once again. There are three ways to counterspell," she counted them down on her fingers for Syvaera, "Create the same effect, create the opposite effect, or keep the energy away from the spell using a dispel. For now, you'll be trying to create the same effect I will. Normally that means you need to recognize the spell the other mage is casting, first, and quickly too. But for the purposes of the exercise, I'll just tell you I'll be casting a Daze cantrip, alright?" Tarithel watched Syvaera's facial expression, closely to see if she had gotten that. And while it was apparent that the elf had little practical experience with counterspelling, and Tarithel could sense a hint of insecurity, Tarithel knew Syvaera was ready for it. She smiled another reassuring smile at the elf facing her and started to chant the incantation and move her hands in the intricate patterns that would cause the spell to manifest itself. The moment she saw Syvaera react, felt the weave be pulled away, she fought down the fear of suffocating welling up inside her, then the urge to smack Syvaera, and then she finally nodded and smiled at her, "Very good."

Syvaera exhaled and bowed her head demurely, while Delfin burst out clapping loudly: "Oh, wonderful cousin, simply wonderful."

There was a little awkward pause as Syvaera shot him an odd glance while Tarithel smiled mildly amused, but they had no time to let that linger. There was another point to be made. So, Tarithel turned her attention back to the exercise. "Right, see what you did there? You caused the exact same effect and it nullified the effects of my spell." She took a moment to look around the class to see if it had registered with the other students, too, then turned back to Syvaera, crossed her arms in front of her chest and said, "Let's do that again, shall we?"

Another demure bow of the head, "With the same spell?"

Tarithel smiled the smallest of her crooked smiles, "Don't you think it bears repeating?"

"It bears perfecting."

"Perfection takes a lot of practise," Tarithel thought but kept it to herself. Instead she started to chant the same incantation as before, arms still crossed and standing still as a statue. Again the weave started to flow towards her, and again Syvaera reacted, cast the same spell as before in exactly the same way. Her voice rose and her hands went through well-practised motions, and pulled the energy away leaving Tarithel with that small ache of loss, but another successful exercise. "Any of you noticed anything odd?" she asked after taking a deep breath and turning back to face the class.

"You were using a still spell?" Delfin suggested.

"I was," she nodded, "So?"

Card helped them out, "You stilled your spell with a metamagic technique, but she did not when she countered it."

Tarithel shot around and pointed at Card, "Exactly!" Then looking back at the others, "It is not in the moves, I've been telling you." With a small nod she dismissed Syvaera, "Thanks for proving it, Syvaera."



When Syvaera returned to her seat, Delfin smiled at her so brightly that Tarithel thought it best to call Delfin to the front for the next experiment. She did not want him to become overly distracted. Then again, she could hardly blame Delfin when it seemed obvious that somebody else was there only because Tarithel was. He would probably have listened if Tarithel had really talked about tailoring as she had threatened when nobody explicitly mentioned magic or spell-breaking as a reason for their coming. That, really, had been the only somewhat awkward moment for Tarithel in all of the lecture. When he called her "Dear" in front of the class. She did not remember reacting, at all, but she must have, because he immediately corrected himself to "Miss Novar." Of course it would not do to give her pet names in front of the class, but ... if only he had not been so bloody quiet, afterwards. Maybe she should go and find him after getting this stuff back to her room.

[maeglhachel]

Dusk was casting its long shadows through the narrow glade. The sun was hanging low enough over the Western Mistledale to make barely the eastern half of the Ashaba still glitter in the sunlight where its waters ran merrily across the ford. She could still feel the sun warm on her back as she was sitting on the western shore, but her feet, which she was dipping into the water, her boots cast into the grass by her side and her pants rolled up to the knees, were lost in the gathering gloom along with the petals she was dropping into the stream, one by one.

Tarithel let her eyes glide across the skyline of the capital of Mistledale, nestled against the other side of the river, with a fond smile. Other people would not even consider it a village, but to Mistrans it was their capital. Across and straight ahead, her path lay before her: the Moonsea Ride that cut through the Dale. Or more properly that was the artery through which its lifeblood was pumping. Not far, now, to the Standing Stone. Not to her, anyway. Funny how she had picked this monument of her country’s fateful hour for meeting him. But then, it was an easy to find landmark.

Almost time to go, she thought. She was half expecting his journey back in time to have taken him to some distant moment before he knew her and that he would just not recognize her. The other half of her was ready to glow, ready for letting her smile widen till it outshone the golden and red orb behind her. That half wanted to open the floodgates and let the warmth inside her sweep her away. Yet another half, though, and this was a classical example of Tarithel-mathematics, was scared of who he might be when he came back, back from the past, from a journey that she knew he had to make, but the outcome of which was anything but predictable. How much of the past would he be leaving behind? What if …

Faith, though. There would be no hesitation, this time. 

And then, she let it happen. Let a slow smile spread across her face, cast the flower into the Ashaba to have it carried into the Sea of Fallen Stars without picking the last petals. When she rose and flung her boots across her shoulder, her smile had spread from one ear to the other, and a little mirthful giggle escaped her. By the time she had waded across the river and disappeared between the cottages, she was whistling the tune of „Old Suzail, Again."

[maeglhachel]

So, here she was in Amphail again, she thought as she opened her eyes. The town lay to her right, nestled against the bottom of the hill on which they were resting, after a morning of making hay. For a moment she asked herself if maybe it was not "again", at all. Maybe this was still last year, and she had just dozed off while letting the sun shine into her face.

Similar situation in several ways, but with subtle differences.

For one thing, they were about half a moon earlier and the rolling countryside that sloped down from the foothills of the Sword Mountains was swarming with people. Farmers and their farm hands were reaping wheat and barley and the women were tying the sheaves and setting them up to dry while the good weather lasted. There was no wondering why the Dessarin valley was considered the breadbasket of the North, when she looked north and east along the lands sweeping down thirty miles to the river in patches of green and gold.

And while, again, the trip made her be absent, maybe notably so, from a number of events, this time it was harder to see the good in it. She would hardly have gone and made a big scene at Isabel's birthday party, nor at the play she had so been looking forward to. And where repeats of birthday parties were always good, it was kinda hard to catch up on a premiere.

But though there was no consolation this time, there was also nothing for it either. She was sitting in a heap of freshly cut hay in her borrowed woolen dress, sleeves rolled up, skirt gathered up to her knees and stuck into the belt made of braided leather cords. They had had a lunch of bread and cheese that had tasted like a royal banquet after a morning's hard work. Luckily, nobody asked her to cook, though she had made use of the oven to bake some cookies. And while her own sweaty hair had not quite dried yet, the kids were already beginning to frolic through the grass, again. The view made her smile, and a promise given.

She was where she was supposed to be. Even if she wished he could be sitting in the sun beside her.
One more ride, before the other teachers arrived.

"Miss Novar?" Somebody cast a shadow on her.
She looked up and flashed a bright smile at the tall, broad-shouldered caretaker of the Eagleshield farm, who seemed amiably out of his element catering to a young school teacher and her seven pupils. "Tarithel. Remember? Time to get back to work, isn't it?"
"It is, Tarithel," he replied with a smile and a nod, "We're not nearly done, yet."
She returned the gesture and pushed herself up, said "I'm coming," and they went back to cutting hay.

[maeglhachel]

A song heard in the temple of Lliira, today:

The old town winked her lights at us
And wrapped us up in rain
As if her sheets of silver grey
Would never lift again

A chilly wind blew from the docks
The vanguard of a storm
Your arms around my shoulders tight
You kept me safe and warm

My heels were lightly on your feet
In case you’d jinx the moment
You said it did not matter that
Our money we had all spent

You said you were the Baron of Blackjack

And I said shut up
Shut up, you fool
Shut up
Shut up and kiss me



A bloody red one morning came
The village smelt of death
Decay and bones bleached white, astride
A bad dream’s fiery breath

I looked into his eyes and knew
He heard my pounding heart
No head, all heels, through dying men
These feet took us apart

My desperate, pleading, searching eyes
Found you among the slain
My tears to wash your gaping wounds
My lips to soothe your pain

You said you were the King of Crossbows

And I said shut up
You talk too much
Shut up
Shut up and kiss me



A pixie’s heart split you in half
And made our worlds collide
I saw you state the reasons plain
why you could not decide

Among the ringing in my ears
On me they all were lost
A choice was what I asked you for
And caught the coin you tossed

A stubborn girl you said you chose
Not dress, nor lips or hair
To stand by you and hold your hand
Through times if foul or fair

You said the winner loses, though

And I said shut up
Let's make our own luck
Shut up
Shut up and kiss me



The world’s most scary thing to see
Are puppy eyes, of all
Red flowers and that guilty look
And bracing for a fall

I looked at you and as you stood
Right there you seemed to me
A world away - no bridge across
That I could ever see

It was an accident, you said
Just like the ones before
And I’d believed you every time
What’s with this small one more?

You said you're sorry you were weak

And I said shut up
One last time
Shut up
Shut up and go!

[maeglhachel]

Her right foot was cold.
Why was it?
Her left foot wasn’t cold.
Her ears were maybe a little, but that was because of the snow.
Or wait, no, that had been a dream. She opened her eyes and couldn't see much more than when they'd been closed, for the inn room's darkness all around her. But there was definitely no snow on her bed.

When she pulled her foot back under the covers with a little resentful grumble, in a sudden rush of panic she wondered for how long she had been dreaming and how much of her memory was just her imagination. Suddenly wide awake, she hurriedly checked for the one thing she didn't remember taking off.
It was still there.
It hadn't been a dream.

With a deep sigh, she let herself sink back smiling into her pillow, listening to his breathing. This morning had been just like any other. Somehow it seemed like the important moments, the big moments, the ones that loomed over you and knocked you over while you were craning your neck to look up at them, they should cast a shadow that would give you fair warning. It would be only proper. You would know ahead of time, see them coming. But she hadn’t expected this. She’d thought he was taking her for granted. It was obvious what her answer would be, so he didn’t even need bother asking. It wouldn’t make any difference, would it?
But then he did. And it did.

Was she always this quick at granting wishes? Hardly, she thought as she crawled a little further to the left. But that didn’t matter, because now was here, and it was all good. And with that thought, she curled up against somebody warm by her side and drifted off, back to sleep.

[maeglhachel]

A song echoes out through the trees from the top windows of the Blushing Maiden Inn, where the suite offers views over the town, and is accompanied by some lively guitar-play.

Been cast away upon the shore
With hands that from my plank were sore
Now buried in the balmy sand
What better place than here to strand

No longer tossed by raging sea
A lucky fate smiled down on me
In all the waters of the brine
This jutting, solid rock to find

Been treading all the seven seas
Now fall down on my weary knees
To kiss the blessed, holy ground
That by your guiding light I've found

Happily drowned
Happy aground
Happy to live
Happy to give
Over the brink
Happy to sink
Rejoice, rejoice, rejoooooiiiiiiiice
To be caught in your arms
buddah-bumbum-buh-dee-dee-digh
To be caught in your arms


Not after years of struggling up
Believed I’d ever reach the top
Climbed stone after hard stone in vain
On icy slopes slid down again

Too lost to follow hope’s ascent
Until your helping hand was lent
How clearly does the path now show
That seemed so hidden from below

Above the clouds you lifted me
Up here against the sun to see
There's nothing in the world as bright
As two hearts lit by true love's light

Happy to keep
Ready to leap
Heart over heels
How good it feels
Happy to crawl
Happy to fall
Rejoice, rejoice, rejoooooiiiiiiiice
To be caught in your arms
buddah-bumbum-buh-dee-dee-digh
To be caught in your arms


Warm sand below, up in the sky
The summer sun aglow and I
Am twice as much, I think of you
And all the things you say and do

Of skin-on-skin by bubbling brook
Of all the courage that you took
A poet's soul in hand and mine
Conceived with yours to intertwine

Your skin I'll be and your night sky
I'll be the fi-re in your eye
My tongue the drink on your parched lips
Completeness found betwixt our hips

Happy to glow
Happy to grow
Happy to yearn
Happy to burn
Happy to ache
Happy to shake
Rejoice, rejoice, rejoooooiiiiiiiice
To be caught in your arms
buddah-bumbum-buh-dee-dee-digh
To be caught in your arms

buddah-bumbum-buh-dee-dee-digh
Happy to be in your arms
buddah-bumbum-buh-dee-dee-digh
Happy to stay in your arms
buddah-bumbum-buh-dee-dee-digh
Forever stay in your arms

In your arms


// And omg does it become painfully obvious that I'm not a musician and that I need to practice happy songs, more
// But it was an interesting challenge  
// So, thanks for that

Heart Over Heels low.mp3 (573.38 KB)

[maeglhachel]

No Dancing

When the raffle winners had all been drawn, contrary to her expectation, the visitors of the fair did not disperse and all go their separate ways either enjoying their prizes or cursing their luck, but gathered in front of Talbot's for songs and stories. It was when all the tension faded, when mostly everything had worked out as planned, some of it as hoped for, that between the tiredness and the elation she felt a sudden urge to dance ...

// edited for typos and clarity

Tarithel Novar: **hums along to what seems to be a popular tune*
Orichan Carrian: [Whisper] shall we perform? the song you like?
Tarithel Novar: [Whisper] Hmm? .. which one?

Emily 'Em' Blake: And when he came to his true love's dwelling, /He knelt down gently, upon a stone. /And through her window he whispered lowly, /Is my true lover within at home?

Orichan Carrian: [Whisper] the longer the waiting the sweeter the kiss?
Tarithel Novar: [Whisper] **chuckles softly* Nahh **shakes head*
Tarithel Novar: [Whisper] I kinda want to play an upbeat dancing tune
Tarithel Novar: [Whisper] Maybe the lala song

Emily 'Em' Blake: Wake up, wake up love it is thine own true lover, /Wake up, wake up love and let me in, /For I am tired love, and oh so weary, /And more than near drenched to the skin.

Orichan Carrian: **giggles*
Ragnhild Longsword: *Shifts her footing a little*
Tarithel Novar: **beams at Tailor, swaying hips to the music*
Orichan Carrian: **hips bumps and murmers something*

Emily 'Em' Blake: She's raised her up, her down soft pillow, /She's raised her up, and she's let him in, /And they were locked in, each other's arms, /Until that long night was past and gone.

Orichan Carrian: [Whisper] rejoice rejoice rejoice
Tarithel Novar: [Whisper] Well, or that one **chuckles*

Emily 'Em' Blake: And when that long night was passed and over, /And when the small clouds began to grow, /He's taken her hand and they kissed and parted, /Then he saddled and mounted and away did go.

Tarithel Novar: [Whisper] I'm still for the lala song, first
Tarithel Novar: [Whisper] You up for it? **smiles impishly*

Emily 'Em' Blake: I must away now, I can no longer tarry, /This morning's tempest I have to cross, /I must be guided without a stumble, /Into the arms I love the most!

Orichan Carrian: [Whisper] **grins* you lead i'll do the chorus

Emily 'Em' Blake: *she speeds up with the last lines, ending the song with a smile*

Ragnhild Longsword: *applauds again*
Hooded man: *Clap clap claps*
Tarithel Novar: [Whisper] You make me lalala la-lala la-la-la lalala la-lala la-la-la lalalal la -lala laaaaaaa .. you make me love you?
Orichan Carrian: [Whisper] tarry in the arms i love the most
Vennis Haler: *applauds*
Ariean Hunithitryn'Rae: *clap clap clap*
Vivian Bluewaters: *applauds again*
Tarithel Novar: **cheers*
Po: Huzzah!
Orichan Carrian: **claps*
Hooded man: *glances around at the talluns*
Lizbeth Davis: Encoooore! One more, Emily! *Clappity-clap-claps!*
Vana Weaver: *applauds with a chuckling and nod to Orichan
Tarithel Novar: **looks at Tailor, expectantly*
Emily 'Em' Blake: *she makes another curtsy* I shall relinquish the stage for any others. Thank you for being attentive.
Kiyohime: *Smiles faintly as she claps.*
Gode Stendles: *claps*
Vivian Bluewaters: Bravo

Tarithel Novar: **points at Tailor, then herself, curiously*
Orichan Carrian: ready?
Tarithel Novar: **nods*
Ariean Hunithitryn'Rae: would anyone be interested in.... a legend about humans?
Emily 'Em' Blake: *nods to Kiyohime as she returns*
Po: Yes, master.
Po: ~claps~
Arician Hellscarem: *leans around the congo line at something*
Arician Hellscarem: hmmm
Hooded man: *looking them up and down*
Arician Hellscarem: *refocuses*
Orichan Carrian: we have a song
Ragnhild Longsword: *Eyes down to the figured with a strong gaze*
Kiyohime: *Returns the gesture with a polite nod of her own.*
Kiyohime: *To Emily.*

Tarithel Novar: **smiles apologetically at Ariean, after entering the stage with Tailor* I'll be happy to hear a story about humans in a moment
Emily 'Em' Blake: *nods politely to the short figure*
Kiyohime: *Looks down.*
Tarithel Novar: **lowers her hood*
Ariean Hunithitryn'Rae: *grins to them*
Tarithel Novar: **smiles impishly* Right after seeing all of you dance, first
Orichan Carrian: we'lll make yoouuu lalla lalal lalal lalaa listen to us first
Kiyohime: *watching the exchange in silence*
Tarithel Novar: Shhhh .. **hip bumps*
Arician Hellscarem: *smiles and shakes his head*
Tarithel Novar: Don't spoil the surprise
Tarithel Novar: Soooo ...
Orichan Carrian: pipes! guitar! action!
Tarithel Novar: **gestures around* This is all dancefloor, you know?
Tarithel Novar: **strums dramatically*
Vennis Haler: In the snow and ice?
Orichan Carrian: get yer skates on, everyone onto the rink
Tarithel Novar: Yes, in the snow and ice ... it is sure to melt below your feet
Kiyohime: *Perks an eyebrow ever so faintly in expression of casual interest, her attention on the hooded figure.*
Vivian Bluewaters: *glances left*
Tarithel Novar: **strum, strum, strum*
Lizbeth Davis: Uhm, no thank you! The Ice Rinc doesn't agree with me.
Vana Weaver: Quite so *clapping in responce to Tarithel
Ragnhild Longsword: *Looking down to the small figure with her eyes looking very pensive*
Orichan Carrian: **chuckles merrily*
Vivian Bluewaters: I don't do so well on ice

Tarithel Novar: **picks up a popular dancing tune, upbeat and quick strumming on the guitar, taps her foot to it*
Tarithel Novar: **glances at Tailor*

Vennis Haler: *taps his foot*

Tarithel Novar: **maybe waiting for him to join in*
Orichan Carrian: **weaves the sound of his pipes around the tune merry and upbeat with a jiggy feel*

Po: ~wiggles his toes to the tune as best he can~
Entori Be'te'wa: *studies the situation*
Arician Hellscarem: *taps a foot along with the beat*
Hooded man: *shuffles off, and looks to the stage*
Ragnhild Longsword: *Looks left for a while before regarding emily*

Orichan Carrian: [Whisper] *perform*
Orichan Carrian: Perform Check, Roll 1d20: 17 + Modifier: 80 = Total: 97
Tarithel Novar: **smiles brightly and picks up the pace, strumming mirthfully for a moment before starting to sing an unfamiliar text to the familiar tune*

Vana Weaver: *clap in rythem to the song
Emily 'Em' Blake: *seems to be splitting her attention between the stage and her right*
Kiyohime: *Follows him with her gaze for a moment before turning her attention back to the stage.*
Entori Be'te'wa: *sets hist staff down with a more then audible thud, which comes in awkwardly on the 3+ beat..
Gode Stendles: *grins, ejoying the performance*
Ariean Hunithitryn'Rae: *ears flick at that*

Tarithel Novar: **sings* You held my hand / You smiled at me / You sang me songs / You set me free
Tarithel Novar: **sings* You make me strong where I am weak / You swept me off my trembling feet / The walls I built around my heart / One smile of yours tore them apart
Tarithel Novar: **pauses for half a moment*

Vivian Bluewaters: *looks back to the stage*
Entori Be'te'wa: *ahems softly looking somewhat sheepish as he glances about*

Tarithel Novar: **sings and plays* You make me lalala la-lala la-la-la lalala la-lalal la-la-la lalala la la-la laaaaaaaaaaaa
Tarithel Novar: **sings* You make me love you!
Perform Check, Roll 1d20: 14 + Modifier: 44 = Total: 58
Tarithel Novar: *perform*
Orichan Carrian: lalalala la lalalala la lalalala laaa laaal la lah

Kiyohime: *Light brown eyes would flicker to her left ocasionaly.*
Arician Hellscarem: *sighs remincently as he enjoys the music*

Tarithel Novar: **sings* You take me high / You keep me warm / You hold me sheltered / From the storm / The words you said, you never knew / They proved to me your heart was true / You chased away all of my fears / Where were you hiding all those years?

Henrik: *happy smile*

Tarithel Novar: **dives into another refrain after a dramatic pause* You make me la-lalala la-lala la-la-la la-lala la-lalla la-la-la la-lala laaaaaaaaaa
Orichan Carrian: lalala la lala la la la llalal la lalal lalala la la-la you make me love you
Tarithel Novar: **giggles* You make me love you **strum, strum*

Lizbeth Davis: *A shift of weight from leg to leg, a subtle dance along with the tempo of the song. A dainty hand pat down along a thigh in keeping timing.*

Tarithel Novar: **beams at Tailor, obviously enjoying herself, tremendously*
Orichan Carrian: **giggles and blows his pipes some more sending the music skirling towards the heavens*
Tarithel Novar: **plays a little solo hopping towards Tailor*
Tarithel Novar: **and walks around him, once, laughing*
Orichan Carrian: you make meee...dizzy
Tarithel Novar: **nods at him before she heads into the final verse*

Gode Stendles: *Lizbeth's hips bumping gode, she starts to move in unison*
Ariean Hunithitryn'Rae: *soft snicker, the gold flecks glimmer in the silver-grey eyes*
Entori Be'te'wa: *studies the list of winners*

Orichan Carrian: **grins back his pipes following her tune effortlessly and harmoniously*
Tarithel Novar: **sings* You bring me joy / You give me faith / You see through me / Like I through you / You sang to me your darkest days / I watched you change so many ways / My heart is pounding to your beat / It wants to fall down at your feet

Entori Be'te'wa: ...*soft sigh*
Henrik: *getting his groove on, glances right*

Tarithel Novar: Aaaaaannnnnnnnnnddd
Orichan Carrian: you make meeee....
Tarithel Novar: Everybodyyyyyyyy!!!!!!!

Po: Huzzah!
Entori Be'te'wa: *listens quietly*

Orichan Carrian: you make meeee
Lizbeth Davis: You make me love you!
Vennis Haler: llalalalalalalalalalalalalalalaaa
Emily 'Em' Blake: *stays silent, wearing a small frown*
Henrik: ..love you *hums*
Orichan Carrian: lalala la lalala la lalalala laa laa laaa la la
Entori Be'te'wa: *eyes the poster again then to Arician*
Tarithel Novar: **sings* You make me lalala la-lala la-la-la la-lalal la-lalala la-la-la la-lala laaaaaaa
Entori Be'te'wa: *he nods*
Po: LALALA! ~is terrible~
Tarithel Novar: **giggles madly* Youuuuuuuuu
Arician Hellscarem: *quietlly sings along*
Tarithel Novar: make me **jumps into the air*
Orichan Carrian: love youuuu **grins*
"Free-wheeling" Froidoc (Merchant): L-love youu~
Entori Be'te'wa: *looks abit pale a moment thoughtfully*
Tarithel Novar: Love you **ends, landing back on her feet with one dramatic strum*
Vana Weaver: *laughing* lalala la lala lal la lall al lala
Vennis Haler: *applauds*
Belomary: I'm going to be sick!
Orichan Carrian: lallalalallala love you
Orichan Carrian: **laughs*
Kiyohime: *Looks around those gathered, an odd expression on her face.*
Po: ~clap clap~
"Free-wheeling" Froidoc (Merchant): damnit...
Vana Weaver: *clapping* huzzah
Tarithel Novar: Bahhhhh ... **chuckles and shouts* You're all terrible ... I've seen none of you on the dancefloor
"Free-wheeling" Froidoc (Merchant): I was so in there.
Po: Yeh's gots teh use tha musk frien.
Arician Hellscarem: *chuckles*
Tarithel Novar: **is grinning ear to ear, though*
Orichan Carrian: **giggling bright eyed*
Ariean Hunithitryn'Rae: *glances at Vennis*
Tarithel Novar: Come on, love .. they're hopeless
Po: ~sniffs himself~
Hooded man: Iss speak with me?
Kiyohime: *lips quirk faintly at something overheard*
Orichan Carrian: **puts away his pipes and tries to dance wit her holdinging the guitar*
Po: Huzzah!
Tarithel Novar: I swear, you'll be hearing that refrain in your heads, next ride, still, though
Emily 'Em' Blake: *speaks quietly to Kiyo for a moment*
Orichan Carrian: ariean ! **gestures*
Tarithel Novar: Ariean .. you're up next

[maeglhachel]

Eternal

The three galloping horses sent the sand flying and left behind a trail of billowing clouds of dust. Those clouds hovered above the dunes, that lay saffron in the light of the quickly setting sun, indignant at the disturbance, and wafting about reprehensively. The riders, however, paid no heed and sped their animals down the gentle windwards slope of a dune and around a curve in the hill that sheltered the village and the oasis from the desert and its relentless sand storms.

Tarithel’s old landlord had taken them to the ruins of Djedet on three of his best horses from the Cliffs of Leaping Horses to the north. The place had been overrun by lizardmen since her last stay and was now gradually being consumed by the desert, buried beneath a khaki blanket, and to be forgotten in a generation or two. Mulhorand might be eternal, there though, it was hard for Tarithel to understand how people could even think that, when the only thing that really felt eternal was that seemingly endless and unstoppable sea of sand.

They arrived back in Nes’ek before the gates closed and returned to her landlord’s place to freshen up and take a walk around the village before the inevitable dinner with their host and his family. When they dismounted and Tailor flung back his burnous to offer his hand for assistance, she could not help but smile, both at the gesture and at the tan line that could be seen on his forearm, when the tunic’s sleeve slid back. The pallor was gone, and it too would soon only be a memory, even if they had better spent most their day on the beach, tomorrow, in the shade of a palm tree. Given a little time he would outmatch her, who to this day had to be careful in the sun. Outmatch her in this as in so many other things. She had been relieved when he admitted that he had been scared. He said courage did not mean not being afraid, and that was where the difference was. She had been too afraid, too worried she might never be able to touch him again without remembering him like that. She wanted to see the purple speckles in his dark brown eyes or the curve of his neck, his shoulders, when she shut her eyes. Not raw and bloody flesh. The feeling of guilt was lingering in the distance, around the curve of the hill, back out there yapping with the hyenas in the desert. But when he smiled back up at her, she knew it was just a ghost, and she slid off her mare, straight into his arms.

[maeglhachel]

Surrender

When she woke up to the sunlight streaming in through the room high windows looking out across the city, the darkness had left her, too. She sank back into her pillow, smiled up at the ceiling ear to ear, for it was obvious. Closing her eyes again, after a mere heartbeat’s hesitation, she knew it would be there. Not the majesty of the vast universe that Arician had shown to her, that she had always known was there but never imagined. But not the pitch black of deep wells under the mountains, either, from which there was no escape, or the void between the planes that sucked the lifeblood out of her like a sponge and shrivelled her soul. No fear of suffocation, breathing was easy. Only the familiar, gentle hum of energy engulfing her and the warm glow, that was there just for her to bask in.

The moment she opened her eyes, again, to sit up on the bed and look at her reflection in the mirror, she knew he had been right. What she just had not been able to see, yesterday, drowning in the ink-well of desperation, was that today she had options. Beaming and laughing mirthfully at how easy it seemed, today, she jumped out of bed. Just take turns, silly. Surrender to win, she thought, as she rummaged through her closet to get dressed. Maybe it did make sense, after all. It was better than giving up, at any rate.

[maeglhachel]

// added a custom portrait to the description post replacing the standard one
// while I think about whether I like it enough to have it added to the portrait pak

[maeglhachel]

An Island in the Sea: Getting There

The chamberlain of the Tesper family had arranged their passage on one of the ships of the Claws of the Coast merchant fleet. For some reason, they seemed to be among the fewer merchant ships to make Orlumbor a regular port of call, when most of the others preferred to stay away from the apparently difficult entry into the port itself. In fact, their vessel even had the island just off the the Sword Coast as its destination and was carrying timber for the renown shipyards. The island had long ago cut down most of its forests and largely depended on timber from the mainland to sustain its vital industry. It was definitely that industry, their unmatched shipwrights, which had allowed the small island to remain an independent duchy for so long, despite various attempts by Luskan, Amn, or Mintarn to change that. Their ships made them friends. Waterdeep was a good friend to have like that. Of course, you could argue how you are not really independent when your independence relies on a single strong ally. But wise people in Waterdeep, such as members of the Tesper family, never gave the Duchess any reason to believe they considered her rule as anything but independent. At least not to her face.

Favorable winds sped their ship southwards from Waterdeep, the coast always just in sight. Of course, she could have gone ahead and then later got them all there on the wings of a spell. But then again, if you want to introduce a bunch of kids to living off the sea, a voyage by ship seemed like an indispensable part of the lesson. Even if she would gladly have spared little Fran the sea sickness that she started to suffer from, after a few hours out on the sea. It reminded her of her own first cruise, the time she had head-over-heels caught a ship from Marsember to Sembia. She had spent most of that trip hanging across the railing, but had stubbornly claimed that it was just the prospect of arriving in Sembia that made her feel sick. A cheap joke, but the Featherdarrans had loved it. She knew that the only thing that was really any help, at all, was staying on deck and keeping the horizon in view. And so she and Orichan spent a lot of time with Fran on deck, watching the coast fly by, and listening to the wild tales that he kept spinning about the lands they were passing, just to keep the girl’s eyes on the horizon: About the town of Neverwinter which was a complete misnomer because it was supposedly always winter there. The town they were looking at, at the time, was Daggerford. Or about the fairies of the Trollbark Forest, and Tarithel was glad Fran was too enchanted to ask why it was called Trollbark Forest, not Fairybark. Watching them and listening to them, all Tarithel could really do was smile at him adoringly when he was too busy to even notice and think about how happy she was he was here with her for the first time, how real living by the sea suddenly felt.

The other children were bustling about the ship, chewing the ears off the sailors, until those learned the best strategy was to give the kids something to do. And they gave them little chores to keep them busy and make them grow by inches, while they pictured themselves as bold explorers of the High Seas. She overheard Josh ask one of the crew if he was not afraid of pirates, to which the sailor just roared out a boisterous laugh, pointed up at the banner, and replied that pirates did not dare attack ships sailing under the banner of the Scaly Eye. The long blue pennant was fluttering in the wind. It showed a single eye, an eyebrow arching above it, and a spreading fan of tears below that the eye was weeping. „But Whyyyy?“ she heard Josh inquire further, at which the sailor bowed down to the young man and whispered something into his ear with a mysterious look, leaving behind an awestruck boy with a wink. Tarithel looked back up at the banner and the brow and the tears that she knew a closer inspection would reveal to be made of little images of dragon scales. Those had been carefully painted in an expensive metallic colour, maybe to make sure really nobody could mistake the orange hue for red. Funny how the topic of dragons seemed to be all around her, these days. Not just all the dragonkin she had met recently, the likely and the occasional unlikely. The presence of an Ancient Red was a terribly good explanation for that, more terrible than good. But it was an odd coincidence how she was taking the kids to their vacation on a ship that was part of a merchant fleet which rumour had was run by a dragon. Just thinking about it made the hair on her neck stand up. And although there were no plans to meet the owner of the Claws of the Coast, nor did it seem likely, she still hoped the metallic scales were on the banner for a reason.

Late in the evening, they stood on the starboard side of the ship to watch the sun set, until the sea was just a little stretch of orange glowing dimly against the darkening sky. If the fair weather and steady landward wind persisted, by tomorrow evening they would be leaving the coast behind and turn south-west. Sailing into the wind in close reach, by noon of the day after they might already see the peaks of Orlumbor rise from the water. For a brief moment of anxiety, she wondered if this experiment would work or if she should rather have returned to Amphail. The next moment, however, he hugged her to his side. She flashed him a bright smile, snuggled up to him, and they continued their journey, her white Mulhorandi dress blowing in the wind like her very own banner, a peace sign, an omen of good fortune. Everything was alright, everything would be alright.

Read Orichan's perspective, here.

[maeglhachel]

An Island in the Sea: Lost at Sea

The sun was turning far enough around the rocks that formed the northern wall of Orlumbor's natural harbour to shine warm into Tarithel's face as she stood in the landing dock of the Naralgor shipyard. Standing on the pier just a little above the sea level, she could barely look out east across the low artificial harbour wall. During high tide, ships could enter the natural cave to be wedged in by a construction of wooden beams. After falling dry at low tide, they would be lifted by a complicated looking arrangement of pulleys, ropes, chains and cranes, and moved into the proper construction docks high above her head, safely out of reach of even the highest tides.


This design of the traditional Orlumbor shipyards, which was the hallmark of a long-established shipwright, who had long ago claimed some of the caves in the cliff face, had been put to the test during the last two days. A massive storm front had been driving the waters to the coast, piling up tides that impressed Tarithel a lot, if not the hardy islanders. A gale that some of the younger children had had a hard time struggling against and storm-lashed waves that broke thunderously against the cliffs made a point that seafaring was not all smooth cruises in fair weather and favourable winds. As beautiful as the Sea was, she was also whimsical, relentlessly tempestuous, and sometimes cruel.
The two ships in for repair were safely rigged in place, though. And if the craftsmen had not all gone home for Midsummer and Shieldmeet, they would be bustling about them, right now. But she would not have taken any more notice of them than she did now, staring out east, hoping for sails to appear on the horizon.


"The Seas have calmed down," old Naralgor walked up to her and followed her gaze out to sea, "the gods willing, they'll be here tomorrow. I’ll make a sacrifice to the Empress and pray for them." He was referring to the other teachers who should have arrived in Orlumbor, more than a day ago. Tarithel always took the children on their annual trip, on her own, to have some extra time with them, and also to give the teachers some time off. She typically arranged for them to come after, half-way through the vacation. And now the teachers had gone missing. She turned around to smile at the old shipwright gratefully, if somewhat weakly. She wanted to tell him about how she had already been to Waterdeep, this morning. The harbourmaster confirmed their ship had set out as planned. But all she really said was "Thank You," to which he nodded smiling encouragingly and left her to her thoughts and looking out to sea, again.

She had gone to Waterdeep after dropping Orichan off in Immersea for the festivities. Whether she was sure she didn't want him to stay with her, he had asked before they said goodbye. She had smiled her brightest smile, shook her head, and told him how there was nothing to be done but wait. And how he could easily fulfill his obligations while she waited. She just asked him to give the birthday girl her love and best wishes, and that apparently did not even strike him as odd. He was so busy with preparations. And sometimes she was too convincing for her own good.

Of course, waiting was not the only thing to do, and she knew it. It was her fault they had set out on that ship and likely got caught up in that terrible storm. She could easily have just teleported them over from Waterdeep. But she had not once thought of it, after the Tesper family had made the travel arrangements. And her own journey had been as wonderful as they come. That was what you get for being lazy. But she was done with that, now. Let Naralgor wait and pray to the Bitch Queen. She had secretly asked Naralgor's cook to keep her eyes on the kids during Tarithel's absence, was not entirely happy with that arrangement, but they should be fine. She just had to go look for the missing teachers. As she straightened herself with that resolve and squared her shoulders, she smiled a bit sourly. At least, due to her recent research, she knew exactly what kind of creature could search all the way from here to Waterdeep in a single day. And more importantly could cross the strait between here and the mainland while her spell lasted. Taking off was a problem, the Oghmite sage had said, and that red ones were good jumpers. Screw that, she thought. She might not be able to outrace an Ancient Red, but she would sure take off more elegantly. And so, at the incantation of a spell, she disappeared into a whiff of air that twisted and spun in circles, then grew into a veritable twister shaking the rigging of the anchored ships as it sped across the port basin. But it gathered height quickly and was soon lost to the surprised sailors' eyes, several hundreds of feet above ground.

Just above the low hanging clouds that were still driven eastwards by strong winds, for half a moment she wondered if she could fool the islanders who had told her stories about the creature they would occasionally spot up in the sky. But then she did not really care, had no intentions of letting such considerations stop her. The only thing was, to search the sea for traces of the missing ship, she would have to actually look down from up here, eventually. She coughed up a little tongue of flame and trails of smoke wafted past her eyes. But then she just did. And beside seeing her shadow flitting across the clouds, she could look through spaces in or between them, see the sea thousands of feet below. She did not swoon, there was no lump in her throat, no cold sweat on her brows, her heart did not even quicken a bit. Instead, she just casually flapped her majestic golden wings. There was no fear in this form. She felt like nothing in that small world beneath her could ever harm her, her whose tiniest, most casual movement was the very embodiment of power. And while she felt that power surge through her veins, there was this little voice of a hin mage she used to know that kept nagging her from the back of her mind: Changing shapes is dangerous. Of course, Miriam had used it as a diversion when Tarithel tried to explain how she was not scared of her but concerned for her, tried to explain how she was afraid she would lose a friend to the changes that spell she used works on the caster. But the point Miriam had made left more of an impression on Tarithel than the wizardess could ever have imagined. What if you find a form you like better than your own? One that makes you strong. What if you find one that takes away all your silly fears and troubles? But then she growled, folded her wings to her sides, plummeted through the clouds, and just got to work.

Read Orichan's perspective, here.

[maeglhachel]

An Island in the Sea: Needles and Haystacks

The journey to Daggerford had been uneventful. She had followed the ideal sailing route for a west wind, the one they had taken themselves, a tenday before, in the opposite direction. But there were no crates of cargo or food bobbing on the waves or floating castaways clinging to broken planks, nor any other sign of the Dragon of Dawn. Another dragon in the fleet of the Claws of the Coast, though that was not all the name was. And the reference was not lost on Tarithel who paid her respects to the Mother of All Magic more than occasionally, especially given how she often did it in Waterdeep in the House of Wonder. It had been a scandal long before her first arrival to Waterdeep, but some of the older priests still told about how the sculpture of old Ahghairon had been changed to depict the constellation of the Lady of Mysteries above his head. It was not historically correct, because the symbol in the skies on the day of his birth was that of the goddess’s previous incarnation. But it was also historically incorrect that he was a bearded adult on the day he was born. Till after the Time of Troubles, people had considered the Lady of Mysteries two separate constellations: The Firbolg and the Dragon of Dawn. Maybe there was a deeper significance in a dragon constellation forming an integral part of a constellation of magic itself, dragons being magical creatures. But Tarithel had always been a lousy astrologer.

Daggerford's harbourmaster had apparently never heard of the Dragon of Dawn, neither the one traveling the skies nor the one sailing the seas. By mid-afternoon Tarithel arrived in Daggerford after searching northwards along the coast from where she had come upon it, in a less conspicuous form. She made her way, through people still working to clear up debris left by the storm and fixing damage done to their houses, in order to inquire at the harbourmaster’s office whether the ship had entered port, here. When the frail, beady-eyed clerk, his thin black hair waxed and neatly parted, leafed through his registry with an air of arrogant nonchalance, as if she had all the time in the world, she had to stop herself from drumming her varnished nails on his desk, impatiently. Instead, she crossed her legs, put her hands on her knees elegantly, and flashed him an extra sweet smile. She knew he knew she depended on him. So she swallowed her pride and waited patiently, until he finally leant back in his chair. 

"I’m sorry, no, madam. A ship of that name has not entered this port, in the last ten-day," he shook his head, sagely.

"Are you sure?"

He afforded her a patronizing smile, "Quite so."

"May I see?" Tarithel gestured to the leather-bound registry he had shoved away from himself, further onto the table.

"Oh, of course, Mrs. Tailor," the harbourmaster pushed himself off his armchair’s backrest with a deep sigh, to make clear what lengths he was going to when he turned the book towards her. The first day of the storm had around twenty entries, yesterday had none. Sure, twenty entries was probably a lot to process for a single harbourmaster, considering cargo taxation and everything involved in a regular registration. An awful lot for a port city like Daggerford, too, the harbour of which was basically piers on one side of the undredged river Delimbiyr, the entrance of larger ships depending on tidal conditions, and Waterdeep not far off. She glanced up from the twenty-something registrations, out through the bay window of the slightly raised harbourmaster’s office outside the city walls, and across the wharf over to the roughly two hundred ships of all sizes crammed tightly into the docks or just moored to the riverbank in four or five rows in places. When she looked back at the harbourmaster, she realized he had been following her gaze, awkwardly. And suddenly she noticed the nervous twitching of the right corner of his mouth, the restlessness in his roving gaze, and she knew that his nonchalance was just a desperate attempt to hide the panic of a clerk who has lost control. He had no idea what ships were lying in his harbour. He had capitulated in view of all those ships seeking refuge from the oncoming storm.

"Thank you for your time, sir," she said, closed the ledger and pushed it back towards him with a polite smile, before hurriedly taking her leave. 

It was no use wasting any more of her time on the guy by embarrassing him. Instead, she went to check the docks, herself, then ask around the taverns, inns, and shops, where they were either open or people busy fixing the damage the storm had done. But nobody seemed to have seen the Dragon of Dawn or met any of its crew. Where to turn from here? It was highly unlikely the storm had hit the ship north of here. If the weather had been that bad so close to Waterdeep, they would never even have set sail. Or turned back, and Waterdeep’s harbourmaster would have mentioned that when she asked him in the morning. On the other hand, Daggerford was too close to Waterdeep, anyway. Why would they have entered port so soon, if not forced by weather conditions? And if so, why would they have left, again?

She was anxiously aware how time ran through her hands as she spent an unedifying afternoon among the docks and nearby alleys of Daggerford and did not get any closer to deciding on a course of action. When the evening came, and it was time to think about where to retire for the night, she was still stuck. And she could not go back, now, either. If she broke down in Orichan’s arms now, she felt she would never find the strength to get back up. Returning to Orlumbor, she would just not know what to tell the kids. And going to Waterdeep to hide away in the quiet of her own room? As tempting as that was, she did not want that, either. She did not want any of this. All she wanted was to find the ship and the people on it, find the bloody needle in this haystack. 

So, she got herself a room in the Friendly Arms, and that turned out to be a stroke of genius. After turning down the umpteenth sailor who tried to chat her up while she was sitting in the common room, staring glumly at the drizzle outside the window, she started a conversation with an elderly, weather-beaten man, at the next table. Let them think she favoured the older gents, if that bought her some peace. He recommended she continue her search further south along the coast. On the first day, it had seemed like the storm would be moving north-east. A captain traveling south and west might have gambled on getting there faster and sailing around the storm. However, he said, the wind had changed over the course of the day to a south-easterly direction. If she was lucky, they had just been blown off course southwards by the edge of the storm front. If not, she would likely find the remains of the ship somewhere on the coast.

And so, eventually, she did find the ship way further south that it should ever have followed the coastline. It lay there on its side, driven up the rocky slope that was the bank of a little cove like a tiny natural harbour and impaled on a large stone. Every sail was torn, the whole deck was in stark disarray, the front-most mast broken and dangling into the water like a torn and contorted leg, broken at the knee. It was impossible to say if the storm had mistreated the ship like this before or after it had been abandoned. For abandoned it was, searching through it she could find nobody, alive or dead.

Outside, there was a little winding trail that seemed climbable between the large boulders of the banks, almost like a flight of steps. When she followed it invisibly, it led her up to a forest that stretched as far as the curving coastline allowed her to see in either direction and onto a small trail between the thickly growing trees, where the afternoon was already gathering gloom in spite of the sky having largely cleared up. After about twenty yards, the trail ended in a little glade with a lowly hunched cottage on the far side, nestled against the trees and apparently not damaged by the storm. There were lights twinkling at her from the inside, through almost blind windows beneath the overhanging thatched roof, on the long side of the cottage facing her. Slowly, she crept around the edge of the glade and crouched down to peer through the window left of the door, just above the window sill. Inside, there was a single room, dimly lit by a merry fire in the hearth on the left. Four people were sitting on rickety chairs around a makeshift table, both probably made from driftwood and other flotsam. Allen and Louisa were there, the two teachers. She had found them. They were alive and, as far as she could tell, well. A little sigh of relief escaped her. And then, from the far side of the table, from behind the dark-haired man sitting with his back to her, a blonde head peeked around and dumbfounded her. It was Fran. She was pushing herself up on the table and looked her straight in the eyes, smiling a happy, welcoming smile, and said something to the dark-haired man, bobbing in her chair giddily. The man turned to look over at the window, it was Orichan. He too was smiling gladly but looked around the window searchingly, as if he could not see her. Then all four of them got up.

"What do you think you're doing? You're letting them in here," a voice in her head said.

"Shut up!" she snapped back, and just maybe she said it out aloud, "What do you want?" She had not heard that voice in years. And had it ever been tinged with fear?

What were Fran and Orichan doing here? She thought one was safely in the care of Naralgor's cook, the other running mage duels in Cormyr. Had he noticed how worried she had been and decided to find the missing teachers on his own? Had he gone back to Orlumbor to fetch Fran for her innate talent? The girl was looking straight at her, through Tarithel's invisibility. There was a bond between them, that ... no, wait, that made no sense. She shook her head vehemently and blinked her eyes, when the cottage flickered out of existence for half a moment to reveal something altogether more disturbing that she could not quite grasp before catching Fran's happy smile, again.

"Don't be a fool, Tarithel," the voice almost pleaded, while the people in the cottage were approaching the door, "Open your eyes!“

And then she closed them and saw. She saw the million shades of blue of the Weave and the energy pulsate through its throbbing arteries all around her. And she saw the four knots where they were weaving the threads together to form their illusions. Now, she could hear them chant their incantations lowly, too. One of the knots shone a brighter blue. She wondered if they could see her, too, what she looked like to them, as she calmly added thread to thread, ward to ward. When they realized they had lost her, they tried to unravel her knot, but it was too late. She felt their dispels tug on the strands between them and herself, but she just kept growing and glowing more brightly with every strand added, until she stood up straight where she had been crouching next to the window sill she had believed in, a moment ago, the air crackling and sizzling all around her with magical energies that buzzed in her ears. The words of her final spells were still whispered, but in the world of blue, every syllable fell like a roll of thunder. The other knots were trying to withdraw, but only the brightest of them managed to, before her incantations were complete and their webs were torn asunder by her disjunction followed by an intense heatwave singing the hair off her raised forearms, yet a mere echo of what was blasting through the glade, right now, to screams of agony.

Where the cottage had seemed to be standing, there was an opening in the ground, about five feet high and ten across, the floor slanting down slowly into the darkness that was hardly lit by the peat fire, below a smelly cauldron to the left, and a few smoldering pieces of wood that had caught fire in her blast. She lifted her dress a little as she took a long stride across the scorched remains of a sea hag still writhing in her death struggle and headed for the cave mouth. She was not even very angry, they just all had to die. It was nothing personal. There was just no way she could let one of her lives spill over into another. They had better not touched the teachers or the crew.

One more spell and the darkness receded. She found the narrow descent in the back of the cave and squeezed through into another set of natural caverns, pitch black but clear for her to see. Suddenly she heard a soft whimpering and sobbing from the far right and walked towards it, past several other passages. Around a corner she found her. She was curled up in a nook lying on the floor hugging her knees, face buried in her thighs, and sobbing miserably. At the sound of Tarithel's approaching steps, she raised her head and looked up at her with bloodshot eyes, tears streaming down her face.

"Miss Novar," her voice was quivering.

"You know, I see through you, don't you?"

"Why didn't you believe me? You've always wanted a cottage by the sea."

"I'm not talking about your illusions. I mean, I see through you, creature."

The black-skinned crone sneered, her red eyes glowing at Tarithel greedily. She pointed a sharp claw sitting at the end of a long bony finger at her: "We've been waiting for you, Tarithel."

The sorceress wrinkled her nose, "You haunted their dreams, liar. That's how you know."

"Perhaps, perhaps," a wicked grin contorted her grotesque face, "perhaps we had other sources, though." She beckoned Tarithel closer, "Wouldn't you like to know?"

Tarithel pursed her lips, bent forward to listen, but then suddenly turned into a creature almost as hideous as the one crouching below her, and bit the night-hag's head off with a huge toad-like yet sharp-toothed mouth. After spitting it out, she turned back to her own form, "Guess I don't care what you have to say, that much. We will find out, when we get there."

She found the teachers and the rest of the crew, except one for who she had come too late, locked up and tied in one of the adjacent caverns. It was blatantly obvious that Tarithel was in no mood for lengthy explanations. And so nobody asked for any, when she freed them and curtly ordered them to assemble in the glade. "If any of the kids ever learn any of this, you will regret it," she announced cooly, before gathering them around herself to take them all to Orlumbor for treatment, rest, and to safety.

[maeglhachel]

A Dream Within a Dream

She was frantically searching for the goddamned tear. Where had it gone? If it was gone for good, she was screwed.

They had returned to that quiet back alley, where the opening between the planes led from here to the Barren of Somesuch or Whatnot, and the others had just passed through when it started to close. She could still see Kori pass the paper mask to her through the fading hole with that look of hers that always seemed to say "Stop acting like a child, Tarithel!" And here she was darting from one house’s shadow to the next with nothing to protect her from discovery but a crone’s paper mask, wearing which did little to make her feel like she was acting grown-up, and a shabby blanket she had picked up somewhere and was now wearing around her head like a cowl. She had to find the bloody tear, quickly. It was only a matter of time before they found her out. Maybe not the shambling, hulking giants of meaty constructs, like the one that had just nearly cut her toes off with the huge sword it was trailing behind and leaving a trench in the ground with like a plow. But if it was not the hags, and by the gods, she had never guessed there were so many of them in all of the world, the nightmares would. Even in the dim light glowing up from some unknown source beneath the purple sky, the masquerade would not fool them for one moment. They would smell her sweat like a pig beneath the mask and the heavy blanket, smell her fear. So, she tried to stay clear of them and turned another corner towards the left to avoid a small herd. And there it was. She could see the hole in a little backyard, through a thin crack in a wall. Her heart jumped in her chest and her breath quickened. The hand holding the mask was getting slippery, even her fingers covered in sweat, now. She was painfully aware the crack might not be wide enough for her to fit through. But without hesitation, she tried to squeeze in. It just had to be. It was narrow. She wriggled and squirmed. Her left arm and leg were through, her hips well on their way.

And then she felt the bony hand on her right shoulder. She turned her head to look up at Girta as the night-hag pulled the mask from Tarithel’s face. And the outside of the mask showed her own features, while the glowing red eyes looked straight into her and Girta's maw curled into a sneer that bared two rows of razor-sharp teeth.

She woke up terrified and wanted to scream, but she could not breathe. In the soft starlight shining through the trees and into the windows of their suite, something was sitting on her chest. Something that was pitch black even in the darkness of the room, except for two red dots, and heavy, pressing the air out of her lungs. A soft cackle wormed itself into her ears as she was gasping for air that she could not get any more than a fish on dry land. She flailed her arms around the bed trying to wake the guy snoring next to her, but she could not reach him.

And then she woke up terrified with little shrill scream that rang out through the open windows of their suite and into the forest. She sat up, pulled the covers to her chest and caught her breath for a while, her heart pounding up to her throat. She looked around, suspiciously, for a moment. Looked out the windows from where she sat. Let her be awake, now, please. It had just been a dream, just a normal dream. She took a deep breath and turned towards the man lying next to her. He was sleeping like a log, after the exertion. A few days to recover would do both of them good. When she reached for his shoulder and felt his comforting warmth, the reality of the situation registered with her. She heaved a deep sigh, pulled the blanket over them, and curled up to his side, smiling. But she was in no hurry to get back to sleep.

[maeglhachel]

A flat strumming of guitar strings can be heard through a crack in the door of Talbot’s Table inn. It hardly builds up much of a melody but gives a rhythm, to which soon a female voice starts to sing softly and mellow.

I was often defeated / broken and low
With no-one to turn to / and nowhere to go
Could not find any more / inside me to give
No strength in me left / what more reason to live?
Ever harder to lift / my feet off the ground
The weight on my shoulders / kept dragging me down

After a series of quick dramatic strums, the guitar-play breaks into plucking a little melody, rising both in key and volume over the course of a few bars. The the voice can be heard, again, singing an interlude and eventually leading into the chorus.

But together we'll walk this road to the end

And I know we will see the sun, my friend

In your darkest hour / in the blackest night 

Don't forget the dawn / don't forget the light 

In your darkest hour / in the blackest night 

Don't forget the dawn / don't forget the light

The melody fades into nothingness, before the rhythmic strumming sets back in for the second verse.

Sometimes hostile and often / as tough as bone

Cannot laugh or cry / am as cold as a stone

Dear friends tell me to give / up the meaningless strife 

Mind your bus'ness and / you only have one life

All you get in this world / are blood sweat and tears 

Not much left but to drink / and drown out your fears

Another, even more dramatic series of strums heralds the coming of another chorus, and the little melody rises, once more, to more defiantly optimistic heights.

But together we'll walk this road to the end 

And I know we will see the sun, my friend

In your darkest hour / in the blackest night 

Don't forget the dawn / don't forget the light 

In your darkest hour / in the blackest night 

Don't forget the dawn / don't forget the light

And together we'll walk this road to the end 

I am certain we will see the sun, my friend

The wind is always coldest / before the sunlight warms 

The sky is always darkest / before the new day dawns

And after continuing the tune for a bit, it fades to the last line:

Don’t forget the dawn

[maeglhachel]

// Ok, this feels even more cheesy than the first time I heard it and had a friend
// copy the _cassette_ for me. But since it's now available again, long after the
// tape I had is gone, this is what the name was derived from, originally.

[maeglhachel]

The most beautiful thing in the world

The sky still hung a pastel blue over Suzail’s north-west market. Thin veils of clouds were only just being gilded by the sun sinking towards the horizon, somewhere behind the Wailing Wheel.

She had dropped Orichan off in Thunderstone and then spent a lovely spring afternoon strolling through the gardens, lounging on the lawns, lazily, and watching the first magnolia and cherry trees blossom. Time had been dozed away, drowsily, to the sun shining warm into her face and the sound of bumblebees buzzing in her ears. And the birds had still been chirping from the roofs - she chirping right back at them - when she made her way ambling through the capital’s alleys to look for him at the appointed time.

But when she found him in the market, Dreshae standing on her own, half a world away from the others, diverted her trajectory and her feet didn’t touch the ground by his side but the Tormtar’s. It was not just to give her that ring that Tarithel had carried around for the greater part of a year now. But the melancholy look on the other woman’s face, after she had accepted it, made Tarithel gravitate right back to her side, when she had already started to move over to the other group.

In the awkward silence that followed Tarithel’s wobbling back and forth, Orichan suddenly started a conversation about jousting, the rules, requirements, and so on and so forth. Tarithel could not help but whisper to Dreshae above a muffled giggle how he could read her like a book. She had no idea if the paladin stood any chance of understanding. But to her it was blatantly obvious that he was longing to take her into his arms as much as she was to be held, that he was as disappointed by her never quite completing the distance as well. But rather than pout, he just jumped in and covered her, bought her some time, because he knew she had her reasons, whatever they were.

And when he turned to flash her a smile, it hit her. All she could do for a moment was stand and stare at what was likely one of the most beautiful things she would ever see. She smiled back at Dreshae, gave a little wave, and finally made her way to Orichan’s side.