Hag's Glen
The first day on the road was fairly uneventful, with Rya leading the group south and west of Lakeville, along the edge of the Chelim Forest. As the Greypeak Mountains loomed larger into view, they made camp. Around the campfire Rya and Po laced their drinks with sfös, and again invited the others to partake. Everyone politely declined except, curiously, Safad, who said he would give it a try -- maybe to take the edge off after his spider encounter.
Po passed Safad the vial of hisperin. As Safad held the vial in his hand, it was as though he had forgotten just how addictive the narcotic was; forgotten how much the Hibernal had sought to rid it of their town; forgotten his moral turmoil over aiding the thieves guild in moving the stuff; forgotten how one of his closest companions became addicted; forgotten the trials involved in the feywild needed to cure his friend of addiction; forgotten...everything it seemed, as he tilted his head back and swigged a sip of sfös.
Unfortunately, his system was not prepared for the potent substance. He was fast addicted. Po and Rya welcomed him to the brotherhood, to the way of life, to his new journey that would be hisperin addiction. They promised to help guide him on his new path and to keep him dosed up just the right amount.
Zireael laughed uncontrollably. Slothrop grinned delightedly. Dala'gse grimaced.
Safad tried to rewrite his own history, cursing the gods for putting him in this situation, making him do something totally out of his control. In the throws of his self-pity, he failed to notice the small night warbler perched delicately on a decaying log near the campfire. He failed to notice the power emanating from the small little bird, and failed to grasp that there may be consequences for cursing the gods--even merciful, reasonable gods. The little night warbler saw all of this before flying off into the night.
Zireael laughed uncontrollably. Slothrop grinned delightedly. Dala'gse grimaced. Safad took his medicine. Po patted him on the back, and Rya nodded meaningfully at him.
The next day everyone had their breakfast and Po, Rya, and Safad had their sfös. Zireael laughed uncontrollably. Slothrop grinned delightedly. Dala'gse grimaced. They then hit the trail to Myth Sveldin.
Towards midday, they came across a beautiful landscape that Rya and Po called Hag's Glen: runoff from the now proximate Greypeaks formed two small ponds on either side of the rocky trail, green moss and dark crags poked up through the snow, and old growth forest spread out south of the path. Up ahead, they saw a beautiful young elf woman, barely dressed for the winter. As they approached, the figure slowly transformed into an ancient woman, with sparkly eyes buried in layers of crows feet. She laughed and told them the young thing was what she used to look like, a thousand years ago! She invited them to her cottage and told them they must try her new biscuits, to gain some strength before their adventure in Myth Sveldin.
They followed her around a bend where the saw a cabin, fairly unremarkable, made of some kind of burnt and oiled wood – cedar it might be. Wide boards were placed vertically with one side facing the wind made of stone. A number of oil lamps hung from various posts on the outside and foggy windows blocked out any glimpse of inside. The power in the place was palpable. The group went inside.
Inside, dried herbs hung upside down from beams, there was a large mortar and pestle in the corner surrounded by ramekins of powders and spices and vials of liquids and oils. The space was very large and inviting: furs on the floor; all manor of cookpots and crockery wrought from iron hanging off pegs; an open fire with a spit over it, a rabbit slowly turning on it. It was a little dark and dingy but comfortable, with a strong smell of baking bread. She invited them to sit at a beat up wooden table, as she busied herself in the kitchen with whatever was baking. She muttered to herself in a singsongy voice: the stag; the heron; the dagger // the shepherd; the maiden; the cross. Over and over again, until she returned to the table with a crock of thick, soft butter, and english-muffin like biscuit/scones, chock full of some sort of herb.
Safad asked if she could heal him of his newfound addiction. She said she could but that she would not, and laughed. Safad asked Slothrop to ask her for him. Again, she said she could, but that she would not, and laughed.
Zireael laughed uncontrollably. Slothrop grinned delightedly. Dala'gse grimaced. Rya, Po, and Safad took their medicine.
They bid the old woman farewell and headed back for the trail.
Po passed Safad the vial of hisperin. As Safad held the vial in his hand, it was as though he had forgotten just how addictive the narcotic was; forgotten how much the Hibernal had sought to rid it of their town; forgotten his moral turmoil over aiding the thieves guild in moving the stuff; forgotten how one of his closest companions became addicted; forgotten the trials involved in the feywild needed to cure his friend of addiction; forgotten...everything it seemed, as he tilted his head back and swigged a sip of sfös.
Unfortunately, his system was not prepared for the potent substance. He was fast addicted. Po and Rya welcomed him to the brotherhood, to the way of life, to his new journey that would be hisperin addiction. They promised to help guide him on his new path and to keep him dosed up just the right amount.
Zireael laughed uncontrollably. Slothrop grinned delightedly. Dala'gse grimaced.
Safad tried to rewrite his own history, cursing the gods for putting him in this situation, making him do something totally out of his control. In the throws of his self-pity, he failed to notice the small night warbler perched delicately on a decaying log near the campfire. He failed to notice the power emanating from the small little bird, and failed to grasp that there may be consequences for cursing the gods--even merciful, reasonable gods. The little night warbler saw all of this before flying off into the night.
Zireael laughed uncontrollably. Slothrop grinned delightedly. Dala'gse grimaced. Safad took his medicine. Po patted him on the back, and Rya nodded meaningfully at him.
The next day everyone had their breakfast and Po, Rya, and Safad had their sfös. Zireael laughed uncontrollably. Slothrop grinned delightedly. Dala'gse grimaced. They then hit the trail to Myth Sveldin.
Towards midday, they came across a beautiful landscape that Rya and Po called Hag's Glen: runoff from the now proximate Greypeaks formed two small ponds on either side of the rocky trail, green moss and dark crags poked up through the snow, and old growth forest spread out south of the path. Up ahead, they saw a beautiful young elf woman, barely dressed for the winter. As they approached, the figure slowly transformed into an ancient woman, with sparkly eyes buried in layers of crows feet. She laughed and told them the young thing was what she used to look like, a thousand years ago! She invited them to her cottage and told them they must try her new biscuits, to gain some strength before their adventure in Myth Sveldin.
They followed her around a bend where the saw a cabin, fairly unremarkable, made of some kind of burnt and oiled wood – cedar it might be. Wide boards were placed vertically with one side facing the wind made of stone. A number of oil lamps hung from various posts on the outside and foggy windows blocked out any glimpse of inside. The power in the place was palpable. The group went inside.
Inside, dried herbs hung upside down from beams, there was a large mortar and pestle in the corner surrounded by ramekins of powders and spices and vials of liquids and oils. The space was very large and inviting: furs on the floor; all manor of cookpots and crockery wrought from iron hanging off pegs; an open fire with a spit over it, a rabbit slowly turning on it. It was a little dark and dingy but comfortable, with a strong smell of baking bread. She invited them to sit at a beat up wooden table, as she busied herself in the kitchen with whatever was baking. She muttered to herself in a singsongy voice: the stag; the heron; the dagger // the shepherd; the maiden; the cross. Over and over again, until she returned to the table with a crock of thick, soft butter, and english-muffin like biscuit/scones, chock full of some sort of herb.
She invited each to take biscuit, some accepting, while others declining, albeit very politely. After everyone had responded to her invitation, her eyes fluttered back in her head, but instead of revealing a white color, they were an obsidian black. All the sound in the cabin seemed to dampen and her voice filled up the space. She spoke:
When whitestone gives way to black earth and the shells come in with the tide, you will find aid from stone or from iron or from blood.
As she said "stone", she produced a beautiful, smooth, rod of rock maybe a foot tall, with spiral etchings in some runic language carved up and down the surface, covering it entirely. She laid the stone on the table.
When she said "iron", she produced a fiendishly complicated piece of iron, cast from a mold, a little handle leading to a small sphere with strange knobs indentations and complex carvings -- what looked like a very complicated cast iron key. She laid the key on the table.
When she said "blood", she produced a a small blue-green slate stoneware jar with an ancient stopper in it. She laid the ampoule on the table.
She encouraged them to choose one for their journey.
The group took the iron key.
Safad asked if she could heal him of his newfound addiction. She said she could but that she would not, and laughed. Safad asked Slothrop to ask her for him. Again, she said she could, but that she would not, and laughed.
Zireael laughed uncontrollably. Slothrop grinned delightedly. Dala'gse grimaced. Rya, Po, and Safad took their medicine.
They bid the old woman farewell and headed back for the trail.
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