Once, Lenelle Toreth had thought the place where she'd been born to be very typical.

That it was normal for a community to be almost obsessively devoted to the traditions of its past.

And normal for only a single faith to be sanctified and held as proper to practice.

And normal to be suspicious of those who believed otherwise. Or who were different; to the degree of assuming they must be threats to all good and pious people.

But by her eleventh winter, she had worked out that something was wholly wrong with the place she lived.   The harsh reality thrust straight into her face because she was different.

Deadwater wasn't as scenic and secure as Gold Veil Valley.  Not even close.  The folks back home would've wrinkled their noses. Chortled, and called it a shanty town, a den of iniquity. Or a hell hole of false faiths and cursed idols.

But to Lenelle, it was almost heaven.  Here, she could just be herself, and be honest.   And the sheer relief of that almost made her want to sing.

As did something else.  Someone else.   Her song, in his case, took form as a brightly rekindled interest in her appearance.

Lenelle visited the tailor, got her measurements done; assured them she'd pay more than fair rate for several items. Garments that were off shoulder, that accentuated her figure more than was her wont.  She also spent time on her hair; sometimes braiding it with ribbon, or combining a braid with a side swept pony tail, when she didn't just wear it loose.

But, for all that some seemed bent on referring to her as 'Princess,' Lenelle's nature was a modest one.  She got far more out of learning about others, than being the object of their attention.  While no genius, she yet had an active mind. One that strove to be adequately fed.

She also had a man to please now, and went about that with sincerity and a spirit of play.

Joshua Redfern didn't need to wonder if the things he shone at doing were noticed, or if the qualities that set him apart from others were.   She was all too happy to remark, to point them out. And this morning, she found herself with a chance to do that, as well as learn some things about the place in which she now resided.

"It's wonderful the way you know and travel the land," she said to Joshua admiringly. "You're so brave and canny to be able to do that.  With no aid of spells, or formal training of a ranger.  Just your wits and natural skill to keep you safe, and find your way home." She gave him a warm smile.

"But, tell me...I'm curious about that river that runs through the East. Does it stretch all the way to the sea?  And, rivers are like magnets for life;  what lives in and along it?"   
This message was last edited by the player at 01:34, Wed 19 Jan 2022.

“Nowadays, I have the best reason to find my way home!” Joshua grinned at Lenelle, The sun seemingly shined even more brightly for him since Lenelle first arrived. “Here.” Joshua held out a flower for Lenelle, a Blue Lotus. “I found this near the river earlier.”

Joshua pondered Lenelle’s question. “Yes. The river branches out, but flows into the ocean.” His hands stretched, fingers waggling to illustrate the movement of the river. “There’s a small Halfling village upriver. Friendly enough, except for Claude,” He said that name with an amused chuckle.

“You found my brother’s Grove, and Sheila’s cabin. Oh, and the woman who constantly pursued me turned out to be a member of a Hag Coven. You found them, too.” At that, Joshua gave a low whistle and shook his head slowly. “Lizardfolk territory lies beyond the Druids. Oh, you could meet Bullywugs, too, but I don’t recommend that!”
This message was last edited by the player at 21:45, Tue 05 Apr 2022.

"Thank you, what a beautiful color," she smiled, accepting the lotus, drawing it near her nose, to enjoy the heady fragrance.

"Claude sounds like a character.  I wonder if Pockets has met him?"

"Bullywugs?  I've not heard of them.  It's a funny name!  But I guess the 'bully' part is telling."     She sniffed the flower again.  Before asking:

"Joshua, what's your own experience of the lizard folk?  Has there ever been any peaceful trade, or interaction with them?"   
This message was last edited by the player at 23:05, Tue 18 Jan 2022.

“Oh, yes! Pockets met Claude in his first year with us.” Joshua’s eyes lit up and his grin widened as he recounted the meeting. “See, Claude sails downriver a couple of times a year. Ol’ Laredon and Jason told Pockets about the Halfling village. Pockets—being Pockets—was curious, but Sister Mercy insisted that he stay here. At the time, she wasn’t ready to drop anchor here. The Sister would talk as if this were just a short visit, before they went back home to rejoin their friends.

Anyway, Pockets heeded Sister Mercy, but you could tell he was anxious to go! Well, two of the Halflings came to him instead.” Joshua snickered at the memory that he would happily share very soon. “One day, Pockets invited me & Jason to play Chuck-A-Luck. We always rolled the dice out near the pier. The wager was always one of Pockets’ treasures from his adventures, or one of Momma’s pies. Well, Pockets almost ate his weight in Blackberry pies! So, right after Pockets won his third game in a row, we saw a crocodile swimming lazily past the pier. Two Halflings rode that Croc like a raft!” As he told that portion of his story, Joshua’s hands fanned out, mimicking the crocodile’s passage.

“Pockets grinned like a fool when he saw a pretty red haired Halfling girl, riding with her Daddy, Old Claude. Pockets waved, yelling, ‘Hey! Hey, Hey, HEY!” He mimicked the little Rogue in a surprisingly accurate impression. “The Halfling Girl batted her eyes, but Claude just gave Pockets the meanest look!”

Smiling, Joshua shook his head in amusement over his recollection. “Anyway, this happened again, and Pockets waggled his fingers. A shiny hand appeared, snatching Old Claude’s staff! Claude fell right off the croc and into the river!” Then, Joshua’s eyes sparkled with delight. “Pockets nearly fell over belly-laughing at Claude’s dunking! Well, Pockets didn’t know that Claude was a Druid. That Croc actually stopped and wouldn’t leave until Claude was safely on his back again.

Claude cussed and yelled at Pockets, who just kept laughing and laughing. To be honest, uh, Jason & me probably enjoyed a good laugh, too. Not for long, though. A soaking wet Claude waggled his own fingers and guess what happened?” Joshua paused. “Out of the thicket, a skunk ran up to us, hissing like a long-tailed cat in  a roomful of rocking chairs! I’ll be damned if that skunk didn’t turn around and spray all three of us!”

Joshua laughed so hard that tears pooled in his eyes. After he caught his breath and wiped his eyes, Joshua continued. “I’ll say that’s the only time in my life that I’ve seen Old Claude smile! Pockets was banned from the Sulphur’s Spit for nearly a week! Momma almost tore our hides up when we came home stinking of skunk, until she heard that it happened to Pockets, too! Gods, I don’t think I’ve seen my Momma laugh so hard…!”

At that, Joshua shook his head with a bittersweet smile. However, sharing that particular memory of his mother with Lenelle was a happy moment. “Nowadays, I think Claude has softened a little. As for Bullywugs, they used to be an ornery bunch. Always trying to raid our fishing boats, trying to bully us. Jason was studying to become a Druid by that time, so he paid a visit with his teachers, Sister Mercion, and Pockets, and taught them a lesson. Turns out they just needed a change in leadership. A nicer fellow named Burqwill took over the tribe.


They’re actually kinda pleasant company nowadays. We trade with them once a year. They like shiny things. The Lizardfolk, though,” Joshua’s brow furrowed, “They’re a little more hostile to outsiders.”
This message was last edited by the player at 21:47, Tue 05 Apr 2022.

It was a couple of days after the imprisonment of Benny and Connie when Simon stepped into the little shop that Sheila was setting up, in Deadwater. As expected, he found Tara helping her teacher.

"Good day to you Sheila. Your apothecary shoppe looks like it is taking shape. I am in need of some charcoal, incense, and herbs...and a small brass brazier if you have one? No rush, I can pick them up from you later today or tomorrow.

And, more importantly, I am hoping you can spare your apprentice for a short time.

Tara, I think it would be prudent to look through the Hags' book to see if it makes any mention of the masks that we saw near the lizardfolk territory. I have a suspicion that the hags might have been behind them."

Sitting at a table at the Sulphur's Spit, Simon says to Tara, "I have a favour to ask. My patron, Sarraamosh, has granted me the ability to cast rituals that I have written in my tome. I know that wizards also have this ability...I was wondering of we could share some of these spells?"

In reply to Joshua Redfern (msg # 6):

Lenelle laughed merrily, at several points. This being a cast of characters she liked very much.  Though the man she personally knew only as Blackthorn –-  it was hard to imagine him engaging in that kind of lighthearted fun.

And for that matter, it was pretty foreign to her own experience, as well.  She would learn, though – most happily learn.  And as for Blackthorn – Jason, on some level, no matter how he might refute it  – she yet held hope that his heart would one day be thawed.

She arched a brow and smiled;  “Well now, I did recently pick up a ring that lets me befriend animals. And I daresay, it may come in handy, against those little black & white devils who like to raise their tails!”

As to the reptilians: “So we’ve been told. Baron Lederborn more or less tried to hire us to slaughter them. But we intend to do our best to arrange a treaty of peace.”   Lenelle too frowned.

“I’ve misgivings about this, Joshua.  They aren’t the sort of foe I was empowered to fight.  If possible, I’d prefer we don’t end up being foes.  Yet I understand there have been raids into Deadwater’s territory.  And people have been hurt.  Is that true?”   
This message was last edited by the player at 02:37, Wed 19 Jan 2022.

Tara smiled; she was pleased that someone as proud as Simon was willing to come to her for help.  It also helped her feel more accepted by the others; they'd never been hostile, but so much had clearly happened before they'd met...

"Certainly," she said.  "Now, if your tome works anything like mine, you're going to need some special inks for this, and they're a bit pricey.  But I think the money we have should be enough... So just conjure your qu... wait, no.  That won't work..."

She pulled forth her spellbook with practiced ease.

"You'll need your own quill, and a good one, and of course proper magical ink," she said.  "Then we can get you started.  I've got a very good spell for shelters, another for understanding magic items, one that's good for locating magic in general, and a spell to call a familiar.  Where do you want to begin?"

Cela spends her time meditating and practicing outside the gates of town, getting used to the new belt - which contrasts harshly with the worn clothing she owns.

To an outsider, it may just look like she's climbing trees all day.

Beijor spent his time at the Spit by the fire playing his bandore, making merry, and winking at everything with a pulse. Improvisation was punctuated with accepted requests for well known tunes, though every now and again he'd have ask the patron to whistle a few bars. He'd wheedled Bathsheba's favorite tune out of her after the first night and never failed to work that theme into his playing when she walked by serving her guests.

Cela and Lenelle were the only people he himself sought out. He said he'd arrived too late to join in, but that it wasn't an adventure, not really, until it had been sung. He offered a few fragments of lyrics and snatches of tunes in exchange for their help filling out the story.


 Warty and Slimy
  And covered in filth;
 Putrid and Fetid
  Each coveting wealth;
 Feasting on Father,
  Or Mother, or Child
 Whose scurrilous lackey
  Sowed discord meanwhile.

 In poisonous oak
  Stooped 'round cauldron fire
 No longer they toil
  Whose house became pyre.
 Ugly before is
  Now hideousness,
 Not animate malice:
  But rigormortis!

 By sword and by knife
  By spell arcane wrought
 By human and halfling
  And halfbreeds and aught
 For kith and for kin
  For deities' glory
 For payment and mayhaps
  A place in the story:

 One pretty, one old,
  One covered in rags,
 Three of them jointly
  Now wearing toe-tags,
 Whose baubles and trinkets
  Occupy saddlebags
 Lament not the demise:
  of Dead Deadwater Hags!
This message was last edited by the player at 04:34, Wed 19 Jan 2022.

As Cela left the town, a little red haired girl pointed at her. “See? Lady Cela always goes out there to keep us safe.” Phoebe described her understanding of the Monk’s routine with a reverent awe to several children playing with her. “Lady Cela brought the Good Witch and Mr. Grog to save me and Princess Lenelle from the nasty old Witches!”

Later, Lenelle smiled while she listened to the minstrel's lyrical chronicling of the events that she and the others knew first hand.  And really hoped it would catch on, around here;  beyond that it was a rousing and lovely melody.

For it could also serve as an important reminder.  A caution, should memory begin to wane. And for later generations. Just in case the evil of the Hags ever began to take root again.

Hadn't Mercion said she could send them back to the Fey realm? That implied they crossed over to here, somehow.    She'd have to ask her about that, one day.  Or Tara, who likely would know too.   But, not on this pleasant evening.

She had watched the minstrel, without staring.  Thinking of the man who fathered her.  Whose face she'd never seen.  A ne'er do well.  A rogue.  Or worse.  At least...so she'd been told.

She thought for some moments about whether she should or not.  And decided to.  Once he appeared to be taking a break, or when she would otherwise not interrupt.

Lenelle walked over to the bard, and said "Thank for you the blessings of your music.  You are either very gifted, or have practiced a great deal. Or both.  If you don't think it impolite -- I'm curious where you came in from?" 

Simon laughed, "It strikes me that everything to do with the arcane is expensive! I do have my own pen but I will have to buy some inks from Sheila if she has them."

"Wizards, always have more spells than they will ever be able to cast!" the warlock jests, and laughs again.

Simon reaches into his pack and pulls out his own spell book. "I already have a ritual for summoning a spirit to act as a familiar. I plan to cast it tonight if Sheila is able to find the components I need. And a brass bowl.

Perhaps I should start with the spells dealing with magic items? It might be redundant for us to have the same spells available, but better prepared than not, I say!

I should mention that I have ritual that allows one to understand both written and spoken languages. I expect it will serve us well when we meet with the lizardfolk. You can, of course, add that to your already bulging spellbook if you wish!

Since I need to buy the inks before we start scribing, should we take some time to look through the Hags' book to see if there is any information on the masks posted around the lizardfolk territory?"

---

Simon is limited to scribing rituals level 2 or lower. So the Tiny Hut will have to wait until he reaches Level 5.

"That's a good idea," said Tara, and her fingers itched at the promise of a new spell.  It wouldn't take her long to transcribe it.

"I hadn't found anything in the text about those masks as yet," she said, "but it might be good to just take a look and see.  Should warn you, though-- this book isn't straightforward.  Hags like to write crosswise, and half this book is all riddles and clues and ciphers and cross-references and looking at what letters the illustrations are pointing at.  It's not an easy read."

"Well, it seems coincidental that I have my tome open to the ritual to comprehend languages! It will take me some time to cast it, but that may help to make sense of the Hags' book.

And if not, then we will have to investigate the masks on our own.

I hate to say it, but that idiot of a Baron mentioned that lizardfolk don't use masks as markers...I recall from my days in the library reading something similar.

It's not to say that this clan is different...but it is my suspicion that just about everything that happens in this swamp might have the taint of the hags on it."

---

Cast Comprehend Languages as a ritual.

"Where I came from?" The elf affected playful surprise at her interest.

 "East beyond the moon!
       O'er field and fen and fern
  Upon tuffet wide
  With legs astride
       An summers' nectar sipped.

   "Glammer’d Faerie Queen, my liege:
       She rule’th there
       In auburn hair
       On onyx chair
       Both firm and fair.
       Her wroth beware:
       Or make you swear
       To some affair
       One would not dare
       Without a pair.
       Up silver'd stair
       To know-not-where
       Yours truly repair’d
       On lips a prayer:
    To save these platinum tresses, besieged."

At the last he ran his hand through his hair, only to bring his index finger across his throat indicating the likely consequence of having stayed in Faerie, all while laughing merrily. Though the memory of his singing every word was as clear as day, it was still a surprise to find that at the end of his verse he no longer straddled his bandore but was seated next to Lenelle with her hands in his.

"But, I think you would ask where you come from..." His gaze lingered on her eyes before moving along her high cheeks up to the slight point of her ears. "Dearest... don't tell me I'm wrong?"

When Beijor seeks Cela out, she tells him "Joshua knows the full tale, and more of Deadwater than I do.  Or perhaps Phoebe can help you.  She was there through the worst of it."

The music was almost like a spell in itself.  Or at least a light, pleasant enchantment...

Did he have all those verses memorized?  Or improvise them on the spot-?   It was so nice to listen to, either way...

She blinked.  He'd asked her a question. And was seated next to her now. And her hands were in his...

Her mouth opened. "I..." When did that happen?

She took them back.  Several thoughts, reactions, went through her mind, reflected in her face.  Her father - step-father's voice, speaking that word like a curse:  "Elves. Deceitful, manipulative folk; full of caprice, adept in tainted magics." 

At one time in her life, she wanted, needed to believe so much otherwise. Her human family couldn't love her, and didn't want her.    But maybe the other side...

Lenelle stood up suddenly.   Opened her mouth to speak, and then closed it.  Striving to gather her wits, from this encounter that had disarmed her.  She looked up as Cela entered:

"Oh.  It's Cela! M- my cat-friend Cela.  She's cat-like, I mean. Can become a cat.  And has claws?"   

"Am I interrupting something?

Beijor crossed his legs and languorously leaned back on an elbow. "Only innocence itself."

First a gleaming smirk from his too-wide mouth, then he said, "But Lenelle was a bit vague on how those things make you different from other women."

He sat up. "Cela, I know you'd suggested earlier I talk to others for details of your encounter, but I'm less interested in grammatical precision than I am," he twisted his hand in the air as if searching for the right words, "shall we say ... a promontory of delimited narrative perspective?"

"I think you may be right about the Hags," said Tara.  "Show me how that spell you just cast appears in your book?  That looks very useful; I'd like to copy that down..."

A quill appeared in one hand of hers; a battered, strung-together spellbook in the other.  It was perhaps the ugliest, most thrown-together spellbook in the history of the world, but it was hers; she would not change it.

Sheila swept the floor near her shop while Simon & Tara worked together. She occasionally peeked over their shoulders, but refrained from crossing the line between “Natural Curiosity” and “Busybody” with brisk sweep of her broom. A young mother with a baby on her hip walked through the door. “Goodwife Blackmoor, Mother said you knew a curative for the fever.”

The concerned plea in the younger woman’s eyes stopped Sheila’s cleaning. “Aye, sweet lass. I’ve a special tea you can brew. Add honey and a squeeze of this,” she plucked a lemon from a full basket. “Drink the tea 3 times a day. A good night’s rest, and you or your loved one will feel invigorated and whole.”
This message was last edited by the player at 21:57, Tue 05 Apr 2022.

"I've just never seen Lenelle drunk, I suppose.  And I believe you'll find Phoebe's telling of the tale much more interesting than mine."

Lenelle gave a short, clipped, anxious laugh.

"Drunk? I - I've never been drunk in my life!" 

Her eyes went over the room;  taking account of who was present.  Who might take some tawdry rumor to Joshua...
This message was last edited by the player at 17:53, Thu 27 Jan 2022.

[Sheila's Shop]

Simon left the group standing in the centre of the village and made his way to Sheila's little shop. He was distracted a moment by a pair of ravens flying overhead.

A grin crossed his face at the sight, ~Perhaps they are a sign that my intuition is right!~

"Good day, Sheila. I am looking for some dried dandelion leaf, wormwood incense, and charcoal...and if you have a brass brazier which I can borrow, all the better.

I'll take three measures of all...one to use now, and two for the future. If you have a small brazier I can buy that would be useful."

Setting the brazier on its stand, on the floor, Simon sits cross-legged and carefully piles some charcoal in the brazier and ignites it with a snap of his fingers.

He methodically crumbles a portion of the Wormwood and the Dandelion Leaf into the burning charcoal, and slowly chants:

Spiritus saltus,
Ego proferre mea voluntate ad te.
Veni foras et me quaerere
Et coniuncta erimus.

Magister et servus,
Nota nota,
Ad partem nostram scientiam,
Nostri spiritus, et lineamenta.

The litany is repeated a dozen times and the herbs and incense are slowly depleted in the charcoal.

After an hour, when the last of the ingredients has burned away there is an audible popping sound, followed by a loud caw.

"Hello, Nimbus. I am Sahm'ian al-Dhib, although you will hear most people call me Simon.

Thank you for answering my call. I trust you are comfortable in this form? It seemed appropriate, somehow."

The warlock stands, slowly stretching the kinks out of his muscles.

"Thank you for the use of your shop, Sheila, it would have been awkward sitting outside with all the villagers about."

Picking up his belongings, he heads toward the Temple to see if he can be of any use prior to the funeral.

The raven jumps onto his shoulder as he leaves the shop, once outside, it taps his head with its beak. "Yes, you may fly freely, I will call you when I need you. Don't stray too far...and don't get eaten by anything!"

---

Will also purchase a small brazier, as long as it is under 20 gp.

[Sulphur’s Spit]



"Oh."  Cela says.  "I must have been mistaken.  That's... also surprising?  Maybe you should try it sometime.  Carefully.  It's not pleasant if you go too fast."