As the Circle continues to investigate the theft, the people around them start behaving more and more strangely.
“Men decide far more problems by hate, love, lust, rage, sorrow, joy, hope, fear, illusion, or some other inward emotion, than by reality, authority, any legal standard, judicial precedent, or statute.”
— Cicero (106 BC - 43 BC)
Start Date: 4 Descending Air
Continuing their investigation of the theft of the Magog Locus, now with the assistance of Tonanti and Develan, the Solars continue to run into frustrating dead ends and lack of evidence. Meanwhile, the people in the shool are behaving more weirdly by the moment. Develan stumbles across the headmaster's wife and a student in the throes of passion. In addition to Lamidan's superhuman powers of nervousness, another student named Hamashk turns up with a rather depressed demeanor, and Loramendi flatly insults Tonanti's training before proceeding to drink himself into a stupor. This is after encountering an EXTREMELY touchy Librarian at another scholarly academy while continuing their research (but not before they uncovered and stole a fragment of a heretical text known as the Blossom of Ages…)
Then the circle hears alarm bells ringing down the street. They go outside to investigate, but before they get off the porch, a cart pulls up at the gates bearing a load of flowers. Tremaen (who was previously thought to be out on the town) sees this and runs down to the gate, gesticulating surrepetitiously. After a frantic whispered conversation, the cart pulls off, and Tremaen comes back, explaining it was the “wrong address”. As the alarm is still ringing down the street, the solars shrug and go that way. They see a squadron of water elementals rush down the street, where it turns out that a fire is burning. Somebody with unusual hair bursts out of the burning building and goes flying into the building across the street, followed quickly by some elemental.
Somebody in the gathering crowd throws a rock at the water elementals … who drop what they are doing and dive for the attacker in the crowd, producing a brawl.
It develops that the populace — humans, spirits, god-blooded, and elementals alike —are rapidly losing control of themselves … the smoke of other fires across the city is spotted. A building crashes to the ground next to the Solars. Develan spots gangs in silver, white, or yellow — apparently each representing one of the three spirits that rule the city — engage in roam and destroy assaults among themselves. The many Temples begin launching catapult attacks across the city at each other. Albrecht's crew, Tremaen, and presumably Jiulan are all affected, as are the people in the school. The city's rulers activate a large yellow dome shield around the city, preventing escape in the Schnellvogel.
Eventually, inspired by a memory of research with her father's team, Xylanthe realizes that they DO have a means to look into motive … Loramendi's notes. Perhaps they will see something that he missed or forgot. This quickly leads them to the temple of a priest named Burrabi Todon, whose daughter Kutari died in an accident during an academy sponsored research mission, and who swore revenge on the school. After minimal resistance, they drive off the lackeys of the priest, and corner him at the altar bearing a crystal orb mtching the description of the Magog Locus. Even as the city begins to return to normal, the priest is wracked with sobs, unable to respond to questions. Then he looks surprised … and falls over dead. The orb is returned to the academy, leaving only one mystery unsolved … just who is this Lord Anthant mentioned in the priest's journal? Did he tell the priest about the artifact, and teach him to use it. Was he the one that expanded the attack to include the entire city instead of just the school? Was he responsible for the priest's death?
A few days later, a much more even-tempered Loramendi tells Xylanthe and the others that the owner of the artifact has arrived. The young woman knocks on the door, looks around, spots Xylanthe, narrows her eyes, and exclaims “You!”
End Date: 8 Descending Air
I have a problem occasionally where I present a situation that looks like the characters should be doing one thing, when they really should be doing something else. Partly this is because I have no sense whatsoever for when clues are too easy, or too hard, nor for when people are intrigued by a puzzle or simply annoyed by it. This session suffered from it, which caused the players to get frustrated when their lines of inquiry failed to turn up anything (of course, the lines they were pursuing had already been covered weeks before by experts, so turning up not much useful on those very cold trails probably shouldn't have been surprising).
Still, despite the frustration (of both the mystery, and of having our food's arrival delayed for two and a half hours) and the anticlimactic feeling of the resolution (given how tired we all were by the time we got to it), there were some amusing and/or nice character bits. I managed to put Ourna in a situation where she'll have to face Tremaen's feelings (and her own), developed Albrecht's crew a little through their responses, and startle Stacy with Rani singling her out…
I'm going to have to nip the “almost everyone arriving at the game late” problem in the bud soon, as it is getting out of hand. I have been unable to deal with the Abyssal set up stuff now for two games running because I don't want to stop the game once I've finally managed to get it started, and lateness is also pushing our game times further and further back — which I'm sure my roommates or neighbors will get annoyed with sooner or later, and which invariably makes the end of the games really weak, since everybody is too tired at 2:30am to do anything but get the session over with. Not to mention, the last time I was actively chomping at the bit to play characterization to the hilt, that mood was completely destroyed by this sort of thing.
Converted from old log.
(Backdated entry.)
Ourna leaned against the door facing the room and the man in it. Her feet wouldn't quite go the rest of the way inside, and she crossed her arms against her hopping nerves. “So…you're all right now?”
Tremaen's back was to her, facing the small window in the room. She knew his face was still crimson to his hairline. “As well as I get.”
Silence fell tangibly between them, save for the sound of her own heart in her ears. Ourna searched for something to say, some place to begin. Taking a breath, she started with the first word that came to mind. “Trey…”
“So, that problem is taken care of. We can all get back to the research, maybe? Have we found anything useful?” Turning, Tremaen visibly struggled to get the color out of his face.
“I thought we should talk. I have some things to tell you.” Ourna took a couple of steps forward, dropping her hands to her side.Sighing, Tremaen spoke reluctantly. “What is there to say? You know how I feel about you, how I've felt probably since I was nine years old.” He shrugged widely. “I've never made a secret of it, really.”Sighing, Ourna rolled her eyes. “You've never made it obvious, either. I didn't know.”
“Changes nothing, really. You know. And I continue. End of story. ” Tremaen turned toward the window again, sighing deeply. “You've always made it perfectly clear where I stand, though I was going to try to sway you. Plans get changed, and here we are. I'm still your friend and lieutenant, and that's where it stays. I'm fine with that.”
“You still had the blanket…you were going to dig it out and go riding with me to the old spot with a basket full of berries and cream.”He spun around. “How…?”
Ourna smiled a little. “I…remembered it. It was a test to get out of the place I was trapped in. Hard to explain really.” She dropped her head a little, not able to meet his gaze with the flashes of light purple hair and strong arms that now invaded her brain. “I really wanted it to be true. I guess it was a show of what might have been.”
“You mean…?” She could hear the dazed disbelief in Tremaen's voice.
“You stayed. I don't think I realized what I had in you until then.” She shook her head, mostly at herself. She had to tell him everything, though admitting some things were harder than others were. “The whole time, every time I was tempted to stay in their charming little world, I kept thinking of you. So yes, I mean. But….” Ourna swallowed. Kierhan. It still pained her to think of him, but sometimes the memory wasn't bitter.
“But you're right. We don't have time for these things, do we? We can't act on our feelings.”
Reprieve. “Right.”
There was a long pause, and then Tremaen's voice was closer to her. “Well, as I said, nothing changes.”
Raising her head, she smiled a little sadly at her old friend. “Nothing changes.” Opening her arms slightly, Ourna closed the distance between her and Tremaen and embraced him as she had done a hundred times in the past, and he returned it. There was nothing else to say. She'd never see Kierhan again anyway. No reason to hurt the man in her arms. One day, she would tell him and they would laugh about it, like they often did about Tremaen's roguish reputation back home.
And Tremaen was still in her arms. She found she didn't want to let go of him, and he, in turn did not pull away. She laid her cheek against his, soft and smooth. The rational woman screamed to step back, turn away now, but the rational woman was quickly overridden. Just a slight turn of the head, a little more, and they were kissing. Nothing existed but the moment.
A stretched bit of eternity later, Ourna opened her eyes and pulled back to look into his. “I think we just crossed a line.” It came out breathlessly.
“Yeah,” Tremaen replied. “Do you care?”
“Not really.”
“Neither do I.” Then, he was kissing her again, insistently, as if letting out long years of dreams, and she took it gladly. Kierhan was quickly forgotten. This was now, something happy after so long of pain and grief. The world, the war, the cause…they all could wait for a few stolen moments.
Yet, she did not know that deep inside of her, a harsh reminder grew, and trouble was brewing outside.
As the Circle prepares to depart Great Forks, they are given boons.
Start Date: 8 Descending Air
The mysterious Rani turns out to know Xylanthe, though Xylanthe barely remembers her. Rani was around when Imtari Ashat was, and apparently left about the same time.
As the Schnellvogel leaves Great Forks, the Exalted are contacted by the three spirits that rule the city, and given gifts as thanks for their part in solving the recent crisis.
Weaver of Dreams of Victory gives Tonanti the knowledge that the nightmares he is suffering are not natural (which will hopefully enable him to put a stop to them), and points out that he has not suffered them within the city, nor will he if he returns. The rest of the Exalted are gifted with dreams of their triumphs for the next week.
Dayshield grants them protection, in the form of the eponymous “Shield of a Different Day”. This takes the form of a tapestry depicting the airship flying in a sunny sky. The angle and coloring of the scene vary between dawn, noon, and dusk, and the tapestry is blank at night. This is because the shield can only be used once in morning, once at midday, and once near evening, and it cannot be used at night.
Spinner of Glorious Tales looks at their “stories” and gives them the gift of information. He tells them two things about their journey: “the Warden of Night is the key you must seek” and “Expect aid from a strange quarter”. Since the circle is heading to a place about which those of Great Forks do not speak, he cannot elaborate further. However, to make up for this, he allows each of the Exalted to ask three questions, either about themselves or about their companions. The questions and answers can be private if desired.
Xylanthe leads off by asking if her father, Arskelos, is alive. (He is.) She asks for the full story of Sethos and Shardis/Shadris, which reveals that he betrayed his wives because he was unable to trust. Finally, she asks “who here is trustworthy”, which gets her the enigmatic answer “all of you are worthy of trust, when you are yourselves”.
Ourna asks what happened to her father, and is informed that he “was delayed by conflict. He fights, in his own way.” She asks for information on contacting the Unconquered Sun, and is informed that she needs the rites and prayers of a priest of the sun, and will find what she needs at the Spire Invictus. Finally, she asks which man is best by her side (out of “those who came before”, “two two”, and “one yet to come” … all but the last describing Aniam, Melchior, Tremaen, and Keriam). The answer is “the half-fey”. Ourna immediately interprets this to refer to Tremaen. [OOC-ly, several mintues later we realized that that answer could potentially refer to ANY of her alternatives, as far as Ourna knows, and the only one Jenna actually knows would be right out is Aniam. The GM notes that Ourna also didn't realize that she's failed asked whether any were actually good for her, merely which was the best of those choices. And that she didn't consider the possibility that someone she has already met (and thus not “yet to come”) is better than her options.]
Tonanti asks “is she alive”, to which the answer is “yes”. He asks why Develan was in his nightmare with Umbra and Tonanti's dead relatives, and is told that his Hearthstone interacted with the nightmare to drag the sleeping Develan in. Finally, he asks about their relationships in the First Age, and is told that, though the time span in question is broad and they were not always together, there was a time when each of them was associated with the others in much the same fashion as they are now.
Develan asks after his family, and is told that they work much as they did before, though in service to another. He asks “can we win”, and is told, “Yes, you can win. But which conflict should you win?”. Finally, he asks “Am I him (sethos)”, and is informed “You are both him and not him. You walk the edge of a knife between these two, and which way you fall depends greatly on your choices.”
Albrecht asks after his nemesis, Herr Geuber Schickle, and is told to “Seek Vanileth”. He asks what funds they will need for the coming conflict, and is told “Money will not buy you what you need.” Finally, he asks how the Exalted must go about avoiding what happened to them in the First Age, and the response is “You must avoid becoming what you fight, and help one another to resist or contain your aberrations”.
As the airboat returns to normal, each of them notices the discomfiting fact that, excepting only Albrecht (who asked all of his aloud), everyone asked all or most of their questions in private… a fact which Ourna's inner Rozacia is quick to grab onto as evidence of conspiracy.
End Date: 8 Descending Air
This session was short because I was trying to get character creation done for the Abyssals portion before we started playing, and because the Q&A took longer than I anticipated (about an hour and a half to two hours for 15 questions). Other than that, the question seemed to go over well enough … glad Pete suggested it. If I had to do it over with, I would have said that Talespinner could only give the two pieces of info about the future that he provided, and could only answer questions specifically about the past or present story of the PCs. This would focus the information more on what the characters are or have been, than on what they will do or what they may learn later.
Converted from old log.
Synopsis: The Schnellvogel is damaged in a storm en route to Sijan and has to set down to make repairs. While waiting, a few of the group go to a nearby town (Ilmasa?), where they encounter a mysterious red-clothed woman and a man named Driscoll Laguna who fights with an odd whirling martial-arts style.
Date: 11 Descending Air
Most of the players were not going to be present this week, so I encouraged Jenna to run a side-session, which allowed me to play. Driscoll was my Twilight character. The red-clothed woman was, I believe Jenna's Realm-raised Eclipse character.
“Naenie, come to me.”
The voice in its usual softness pulled Naenie Muirah from her deep slumber, though it was not a command. It never sounded like a command, but a request despite the words. It issued from a wight-light that hovered just above her forehead, and she blinked storm-gray eyes against the relative harshness of its pale blue glowing. The voice did not belong to the light, but to another, high up in the obsidian tower they all called home.
Rising quickly, Naenie pulled on blood red clothes that purpled in the blue, urged on by the insistent bouncing of the wight-light. For a moment, she considered her large sword. Something rippled across the surface of the blade, and Naenie's stomach turned. No, she doubted she needed Kaen tonight. Therefore, she left the hated thing and followed the glowing ball that was so eager to do its master's bidding.
She followed it out of her sparse quarters, working the sleep-induced mats from her dark blue mane with her fingers. It led her up the long staircase that wound it's way up the obsidian tower. Naenie knew where she was being taken, but she continued to follow the light because it pleased the lights to do their job well. Though she had never asked what the wight-lights actually were, Naenie could guess that they were once living beings of some sort, now reduced in death to something not much more than a well trained parrot or a dog. That or they were kin to the fairy lights of stories. Either way, there were many of them in the black glass tower. Their master took good care of them.
Eventually, after a thousand stairs, the wight-light passed through an arched doorway, and so did Naenie. The small man inside gave the tiny Light a brush with his fingertips, and it bounced happily away to join its fellows dancing around the top of the domed room. Naenie had been right about the destination. These were the private chambers of Fallen Star's Sorrow, The Blade of Heaven's Caligation, Surveyor of Infinite Loneliness, The Flower's Poisoned Heart, The Son of All Sorrows, the titles that belonged to the nameless man within. Naenie dropped to one knee, bowed her head, and called him the one thing that was most important to her. “My Lord. I await your command.”
Anis half stumbled, half ran across the endless gray landscape, blinded by tears and the blood that trickled from the horrible cracked mark upon her brow. She had no idea how long she ran or where she was going, but it was far, far away from the laughing woman. The giant sword in her hand thunked along behind the running woman, her arm too weakened now to hold it up. She wanted to drop it, fling it away, but she didn't. Instead it dragged her down, finally, to her knees. The one-time Queen Anantu Anis buried her face in the tatters of her once-fine gown and wailed.
How long she stayed that way, blood and salt mingling with ruined silk, Anis could not have counted. She only became aware of her surroundings again when she felt a light, icy touch beneath her chin. Startled, she yelped and scrambled back, crab-like, and found herself staring up into a deep, blood red hood. The slight figure quickly threw back the hood as Anis reached for the hated blade, revealing soft eyes. It was a man, and a quiet, languid voice came from him as he put a finger to his Lips. “Shh. I will not harm you. You are Anantu Anis?”
Swallowing to coat her parched throat, Anis croaked out, “Yes.”
The man took two steps closer and gracefully folded his knees to kneel next to her. “She was wrong to trick you, twice wrong to lie.”
Anis narrowed her eyes, but sat up, trying to conjure as many of her shreds of dignity that she could. “You know me?”
The man darted a hand into his cloak and produced a snowy bit of cloth. “She told me of you.” Cold hands as gentle as his voice began dabbing at the stains on her face, and for the moment, she let him. A sardonic smirk crossed his face. “She thought it was amusing, what she did. I made it clear I didn't think so.”
With a gasp, Anis swatted his hand away. “You're one of them!”
“I am,” he answered, a little sadly. “I am called Fallen Star's Sorrow, among other things.” The Deathlord reached out to begin his ministrations again, and Anis flinched, but she knew there was no where to run now. The man sighed deeply. “We are not all the same, Anis.”
“Forgive me if I don't know what to believe,” Anis spat.
“Her next game will be to have her hounds hunt you. Or would have been.”
“I suppose you are my savior.”
He chuckled at that. “I doubt I can be that. I only wish to offer you another choice.”
Anis hung her head. “I don't care. Let them have me.”
She heard him sigh again and felt his touch on her chin. “Yes, you do care, for who will remember if you do not? Those above? Your tale will become twisted and forgotten in time, but you can endure. I know you can. I know what you did in the labor of a lie, to become what you are, though you didn't know it.” Looking into the Deathlord's eyes, she could see he believed what he said, heard the soft passion in his words. “Who will remember your love if you do not go on?”
Anis felt fresh tears on her cheeks again. “But I want my Ralig with me! How do I know I won't forget?”
“Together in death as you could not be in life.” Fallen Star's Sorrow turned his face away. “It's a pretty lie, told by bards to ease longing hearts. Illusion, deception…” Trailing, he turned back. “I will not lie to you, Anis. I will never lie to you.” He placed his fingertips against her cheek. “You know the favorite food you haven't had in a long time?”
Anis drew her brows together and nodded.
“Even after years, one day the remembered taste seems to come into your mouth, and you crave it. A thousand years can pass, long days at a time that you don't think of your love, but sometimes the remembered taste will enter your mind and you will crave…and you will weep. You will never forget.” He sounded like he knew, and the torrent opened in her eyes again. And the Deathlord, this powerful being, pulled her into his arms and held her until it passed again. His lingering touch burned ice into her flesh, but she didn't care.
“Serve the Citadel of Faithful Mourning. Serve me. You will find me more than a benevolent lord, and it more than a home for your shredded heart.” He whispered into her ear. “Anis…”
She shoved back. “Am I still Anis?” Holding her blood darkened hands palm up, she shook her head. “Anis was a good and pure woman.” Her eyes strayed to the blade nearby. “I have done evil.”
“And what have you done that is so evil?”
“I killed him. I killed my husband. Killed the father of my sons.” She motioned to the blade. “And look what they did to him.”
Something chill entered the Deathlord's voice. “Yes, you did. Your first official act as an Abyssal.” The smirk returned. “Was he such a good man? Why did you kill him?” Anis covered her face against the sudden fury of questions. “Did you want to? Did he deserve it?”
“Yes!” She barked at last. “Yes the bastard deserved it!”
“Why?” Though Fallen Star's Sorrow's voice didn't raise, it seemed to cloak everywhere. “Tell me his crimes.”
“He was the cruelest of men. He lied to tie me to him. He took our sons from my arms to be raised by another because he thought me weak!” Anguish and fury warred in Anis' voice. “And he killed the sweetest of men for the crime of loving me. ” Anguish won, and for a moment, Anis buried her head in her hands. After a time, she looked up. “I wedded Kaen for my father's sake, for my country's sake, but it was always Ralig. My poor sweet foolish Ralig who would not renounce me even as he was tortured to death.”
Fallen Star's Sorrow closed his eyes and bowed his own head. “Those that murder beauty, that slaughter love, they are the most deserving of punishment.” Anis imagined that the Deathlord was holding back a tear of his own, but it had to be imagination only. The moment passed, and he opened his eyes again. “What better than to make him serve you now?” “Maybe,” Anis said, slowly. “I don't know. But I do know that I don't want anyone else to know of what's become of me.”
“Changing names will not alter what is inside of you.”
“I know. I just…I never want my sons to ever have the chance of hearing what really happened to their mother.” She sniffed. The toddler boys were in the best hands now, her brother's. “Or their father.”
The man smiled. “I have a name for you, if you want it.”
“What?”
“An old lost language. You are the Naenie Muirah.” He reached out and stroked her hair. “Lament of the Beloved Martyr.”
“It's pretty.” She found in a strange daze, knowing what was coming, knowing she had made her decision moments ago as he asked his question again.
Naenie pushed herself up to her knees, swallowing as she slowly reached for the hated blade and laid it in front of her, in front of him. Bowing her head, she said in a steady voice, “My lord, I await your command.”
She didn't know what to expect, but silence was not it. Venturing to raise her head, she saw that her new lord had not only risen to his feet but begun walking away. Confusion lasted only a moment before she realized that there was nothing to say. He offered, she accepted.
A few feet away, the lord stopped and pulled up his hood, then reached his hand back toward her. “Naenie, come to me.” It sounded everything like a request. “We have a long journey ahead.”
(Backdated entry.)
She heard no footfalls, only knowing that he approached when the hem of his black dressing gown entered her vision. He said nothing, merely touched her under her chin with two fingers and guided her head to look up at him. Though the strange light played tricks, she knew his eyes were green, and now touched with the infinite sadness he was often taken with. He then guided her to rise. “Forgive me for waking you, especially as I have no command to give.” Fallen Star's Sorrow's voice was it's usual languid softness. “I only found that I desired company.” Standing face to face, it wasn't hard for Naenie to note that he stood a finger's breadth shorter than she, but that didn't matter.
Naenie smiled faintly at the Deathlord. “There is nothing to forgive. I'm deeply honored that you called on me for company.”
“Honored?” He turned away, chuckling at himself. Naenie took the opportunity to take in the room she'd only been in a handful of times. The wight-lights made stark illumination of the heavy, bone ivory set furniture, of the various things sitting around. Blades decorated the walls, common, ordinary things. Thick rugs padded the floors. Gray-twinged plants grew wild around the circle. And in a place of prominence, a half-broken old window stood framed. Tiny bits of colored glass picked out the figure of a golden haired woman. Naenie never asked. She was aware Lord Sorrow was speaking still. “I don't know if it's much of an honor to sit with an ancient, pathetic, sentimental fool.”
Naenie turned her attention to her lord again, smirking softly. “If you are a pathetic fool, my lord, then I am twice one for being your champion.” He twisted his head around with an arched brow, voice laced with humor, “You don't play fairly, Naenie. You know I don't think you a fool.”
She grinned softly and bowed in response. Silence fell.
“Naenie, speak to me, ” Fallen Star's Sorrow broke the silence softly, though this night it seemed he was more the Surveyor.
She turned things over in her mind, reaching for something to say. “I can give you the defense reports now.”
He chuckled once and fixed her with that soft, sardonic smirk. “Defense reports.”
She blinked at him for a moment, wondering what she'd done to offend him, but he waved his hand for her to continue. “Well, actually, there's not much to report. Your general has the army, such that it is, under hand and all is quiet around the Citadel.” Naenie stood straight with her arms at her side. “Scavengers broke into Bear's Rest, though.” The lord frowned deeply, making her hurriedly continue. “They did, of course, think better of it quite rapidly. Nothing was disturbed.”
“Good.” The lord paced halfway across the room. Suddenly, he stopped, and spun to face her. “You wish to ask something?” He smiled. “I wish you would. Two years you've been with me, and you ask Little but what is necessary.”
Off guard, Naenie blinked rapidly. “Surely such a time is nothing to you.”
“True, but to you….you are young yet. Years are still eternities.”
She absently tucked a stray hair behind her ear and asked the first thing that came to mind. “There are countless tombs, my lord. Why is Bear's Rest so important? I've seen it, it's little more than a pile of stones.”
The lord shrugged widely. “Important? I suppose it isn't in the grandest sense.” He smiled when he saw her open her mouth to speak again and cut her off with a held up finger. “But I don't think that's what you meant, is it?” Turning slightly away, he gazed off. “There are very rarely single reasons why anyone does anything. Contradictions with both selfish and selfless reasons. And always memory. But that does not answer you, does it?”
“No, my lord.”
“Ah.” After a short pause, the lord crossed the room to pour a goblet of wine, then offered it to Naenie. He watched her until she took a small sip, then spoke again. “You should understand that it wasn't always a pile of broken rock, though never grand.” He dazed off again. “Of course, there are things contained within that I do not wish others to have, but those could be moved. No, I don't want Bear's Rest disturbed in memory of the man whose bones are buried there.”
Naenie took another small sip of the bitter wine. “Faithful mourning,” she mused softly. “A friend of yours?”
Chuckling oddly, the man shook his head. “No. He had something I wanted, and I had something he wanted, and thus we could never be friends. But we did share some respect, a great deal from my side.” He Lowered himself quietly into an overstuffed claw armed chair.
Sitting the wine cup down on a small table, Naenie ventured, “But why not Let him be remembered, then? Let them study the mystery and get to know him through his bones? Most scavengers have no such respect, but those that do…?”
The smirk again crossed the lord's face. “He was terribly wronged in life. I would not have him wronged in death as well. I would not be doing my own duty if I allowed such. He was…not the type those above would uphold now.”
Naenie wasn't sure she understood, but nodded anyway. Her eyes strayed to the glass in the silence that followed and couldn't help but wonder who she was.
“I interrupted your rest, my Lament.” His voice broke her reverie. “Perhaps I should let you return to it.”
“I'm fine, really.” Naenie caught him staring at her. “I had another question.”
Propping an elbow on the chair arm, the lord put two fingers to his lips in thought. She started to say something when he spoke again, quieter than normal. “There are some questions that would take a lifetime to answer, certainly longer than you have tonight.”
“I understand.” He smirked at her again in response. “I will go and sleep, my lord.” Naenie bowed deeply and turned to leave.
“No.”
Turning back, she fixed the lord with a puzzled look. He rose and quietly glided across the room and rested a hand on a twisted wooden bedpost. “You will sleep here.”
Shocked, Naenie's voice stuck in her throat and her back immediately straightened into a regal pose. “My lord!” she stammered out.
He chuckled. “No, no. That is not what I mean. I just don't wish to lose the company, but do know you need your rest. I have little need or interest in anything else.” The chuckle faded into a soft frown.
“Forgive me for offending you.” She felt herself blush.
And he was there, in front of her, chill fingertips on her burning cheeks. “No offense, my lament. Did Kaen harm you so that you immediately think the worst of any man? The thought drives me to anger.” Naenie merely hung her head in response. “Stay.” It sounded like a request.
She moved past him to the bed, her back to him. Twisting her head just a bit, she watched him. Slowly, she dropped her clothing to the floor. His face never changed before he pulled up the hood of his gown and the look disappeared. There was nothing in it at all. As she crawled under the covers, she shivered. However, she went to sleep to the soft humming of some long forgotten tune.
Falling Star's Sorrow was gone when Naenie woke next. Clutching the soft covers up to her chin, she gazed around his chambers uncertainly, hating that she was vaguely disappointed that every inch of her body was quite warm.
Old habits took over, however, when she rose and dressed to leave, taking the secret stairway that led from his chambers to her bodyguard's quarters below. She had no idea what the other denizens of the Citadel might think or wonder, and she found she didn't wish to know. Once in her own room, she armored up, picking Kaen up and sheathing it on her back. She remembered her lord's anger, and the daiklaive didn't seem so awful for the moment. Putting the odd night behind her, Naenie Muirah went out to do her rounds.
Halfway across the footbridge over the dark water that surrounded the main tower, Naenie heard a footfall behind her. She spun, then bowed and stepped aside for the figure that also exited across the bridge. It was the figure of a woman, seen many times entering and leaving. Clytesha, Gray Lady of the Widow's Watch, Guardian of the Wailing Watchtower glided by. As far as Naenie could ever figure, the lords of the lesser towers were akin to liege lords, and not the kind of being her lord was. She was told to treat the insides of the lesser towers as other domains, though their leaders were certainly loyal, and she rarely talked to them. Clytesha, this gaunt matron in wisps of gray was rumored to be an ancient ghost, and rarely considered any being less than a few centuries old. Naenie quickly forgot to be offended when the figure never acknowledged her existence.
After Clytesha passed, Naenie fell in behind her to the end of the bridge, into the Maiden's Garden. She started to turn to the left, the path that would take her toward the Last Stand of the Warrior (the Eastern Tower) when she heard a voice like the rustling of dry autumn leaves. “The flowers are blooming again.” Somehow, she knew the voice belonged to Clytesha.
Naenie stopped and hesitantly fell in beside the Gray Lady. “Odd time of year, but they are lovely.”
“It matters not. The maiden's tears blossom when they will, sneaky poison.” Naenie tried to follow the words, but had no response. Her mind worked to puzzle out why Clytesha chose to speak to her now.
“The pup slept at her master's feet.” That was clear enough to make Naenie blush.
“It's not what you think, Clytesha.”
“Does the ant know what the boy child thinks?” Clytesha never looked at her, but stopped at a cross in the garden path, looking straight ahead.
“I suppose not.” Naenie stopped up short beside the figure.
“Does he care for the pup?” Never did the inflection in Clytesha's voice change, just the soft, dry whisper.
Naenie found herself vaguely offended for her lord, though she wasn't sure why. “I should think so.”
“Perhaps yes, but he also cares for that which he destroys.” Clytesha slowly knelt to pick one of the grayish blossoms. “Does the pup think it can have the master's love?” Naenie shook her head slowly, but did not answer aloud.
“Everything here reflects his love.” Clytesha rolled the maiden's tear blossom between a thumb and forefinger.
Letting out a long breath, Naenie forced herself not to throw up her hands. “Forgive my youth and ignorance, Clytesha, but I don't understand you. Are you trying to warn me of something? About our lord?” She wondered if there was something to report here, some sort of disloyalty. “I don't understand,” she repeated.
For the first time since Naenie arrived, the Gray Lady turned full face to her. Pulling herself up regally against twitching, she found something quite disturbing in the black orbs studying her from a wrinkled gray face. “You will.” Naenie swallowed at the words. “You will.”
As Naenie watched Clytesha glide away off toward the Widow's Watch, she couldn't help but feeling much like a piece in a game that she could not comprehend, much less know any of the rules to. She turned to the east and found comfort in routine.