21 Kythorn, 1359 DR
“Vabi!”
His head turns and he grins at me, crying, “Aunt Gwynnedh!” He jogs a few steps and meets us at the gate.
I introduce him to Aaron Justblade, and I am gratified by my nephew’s manners. He bows deeply and introduces himself well, honouring both his father and mother. “I am Alvabis, born of Jaeda bir Druzhari by Lelam Athunsun, and I am very honoured to meet you, sir.”
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20th Kythorn, 1359 DR
Hadrian’s steps slow and his mood turns dark. I check him and he gladly stops, though his ears swivel curiously and he is confused.
“A moment, please, Master Aaron.” I throw my leg over and slide to the ground. “Hadrian will mutiny soon if we go on like this.”
(more…)
Spring, 1359 DR
We arrive in Waterdeep, near the House of Wonders. Zonas regards me a moment, seeming somewhat uneasy. “I do not wish for a lot of bother, Gwynnedh,” he says quietly.
“Of course, cousin.” I dip my head. “But I am known here, and news does spread. Will you have me deny you?”
He shakes his head, sighing somewhat. “If they know, they know.”
“And if they must know, they must know…” I add. He frowns at me sharply. I answer him with a smile. “Surely a few deserve to know the purest truth.”
“A few,” he consents.
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30 Tarsakh, 1359 DR
No one has come yet to tell me the midday meal is served, but I cannot bear to hide myself away any longer. I dress myself quickly, passing over my leather trousers for thin stockings, my snug bodice for a linen chemise and my loose tunic for a woolen gown the colour of the sky. My hair is too wet, still, to wear free, so I coil it around the crown of my head and secure it with the horse comb.
I look at myself in the tall mirror. It is silly to wonder if my love will be pleased — if I were coated in mud and manure and the blood of a hundred orcs, he would be glad to see me safe home again, though perhaps he wouldn’t kiss me so eagerly.
But I do wonder. Nervousness flutters in my belly. I could almost squeal with excitement.
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Aaron watches me with disdain as I fill my bowl with water and stir the spoon through it. He seats himself on the rock beside me and digs two trailcakes from his pack. “Lady, please…” he says, and holds one out to me.
I smile and I shake my head. “Keep your trailcakes, Master Aaron.” Jaran’s words were not encouraging, nor was her tone. We know precisely where we are, and yet we are still lost. “You may be eating gruel with me soon enough.”
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He studies the broad-leafed trees about us, and wipes the sweat from his forehead.
“Chult,” he says.
I frown down at him.
“I bet we’re in Chult.”
I sigh. “We are not in Chult.”
“We may be in Chult.” He pushes a low branch out of the way, and I urge Hadrian forward. “Have you ever been to Chult? How can you know we’re not in Chult?”
I ignore his questions and we walk on in silence while I take in the world around me. Yellow sunbeams slip through openings in the canopy and cascade from limb to vine to leaf. Strangely muted birds and insects chirp in the distance, then hush as we approach. The smell of moist loam seeps upward from the ground. The air squeezes me like a sweating fist.
It is exactly as Hadun described Chult. But we are not in Chult. We are not anywhere in Toril.
“The Weave is not the same.”
His lips flatten into a grim line and he nods reluctantly. He feels it, too.
“I hear the Yuan-ti worship different gods than men,” he tells me. “Perhaps Mystra shows the people here a different face… A different Weave…” He means to keep my spirits high with hope, but he himself is unconvinced. Still, I do take comfort from his words.
The Weave is here, at least.
“Perhaps Mystra does show the people here a different face, Master Aaron.” I smile down at him, and he smiles up at me. I shake my head and I chuckle. “But we are not in Chult.”
For Tracia… Yes, it is a random story. I hope it amuses you, nonetheless. ;D
Night, ~1 Ches 1359 DR
The door at my back moves. I find my feet and my blade flies from its sheath before my mind can understand what my senses tell me. “Name yourself.”
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~1 Ches 1359 DR
This man who watches me as I hone my blades… he is as a hawk studying a mouse. I do not raise my eyes to meet his, though I feel his gaze upon me. I seek him out with my heart instead. I feel no twisting in my gut, no twinge of the sickness a black soul brings me.
I put away my Lionheart and take out his little brother, the spear I have such plans for. The man studies me. Still. I watch him without watching him, from the corner of my eye. He smirks and straightens, coming toward me. I see in his sauntering step that he fancies himself a great fighter, or a great lover, or both.
“Madam…”
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15 Hammer 1359 DR
With the first rays of the sun, I reach the temple. My lord is dull-eyed and brother Theodore pauses in his preparations to blink at me slowly as I recount the visit of the Lord of the Eighth. He asks me to explain again.
I grow impatient. The devil lord does not concern me –I am Mystra’s, always and first. I will never bind my soul to his servitude, certainly not to interfere with the power struggles of the Abyss, so what can his bargain matter?
“We won’t get a clear account from her, now,” my lord says quietly.
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14 Hammer 1359 DR
My companions gather in the morning and we discuss our obligations. There are yet many threads left untied. Jaran sighs and mutters darkly of Jarl. I am bound by my word to bring Galeon of Waukeen to justice for his treachery. The gods of Mulhorand have claim on all our hands.
And then there is Stormaxe.
G’Kar speaks of his brethren –of his own wife and child– suffering in bondage to drow masters.
I pity him, having tasted some of that bitter draught. Yet my own regrets are but a drop in the barrel compared to his. Because of my lord, Mosstone has fared well in my absence, though many died defending her from Darkfury’s army.
In truth, I am not certain I could have much such a great difference.
Stormaxe had greater need of G’Kar, and he has failed to protect his home and his people. The loss weighs on him heavily, as a father, as a husband, as a son of Helm…
We stand at a crossroads, but the right path seems clear: G’Kar must brave the underdark, for duty and for love, and we must stand by him, where his own people will not. Yet, there are many questions we do not have answers for –Where? How many? How?
And then I see another road, and the right choice is no longer obvious.
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