TOWER Fela, you do the forms. They are the the same, the same, steadfast and true as Saliber. So many things are changing. Which is not inherently bad. You are changing from Watcher to Springer! But---who is this person who plays dragon chess with Hellspawn and laughs on a lawn with some self-made discount small town “noble” who accommodates the Fey?
Finn kept saying that you needed to travel, but, Pah, you have been to Pinmarch, to Vallos, to that adorable Hin tourist town with the giant chickens, you took a ship to---
He waved all that away. You change cities, but the people that you see---they’re all the same!
Well, if by “the same” he meant “decent and right thinking,” then what in all nine hells is wrong with that?
And yet. How many of them would sit down for dinner with, say, Falco there? Falco, who has your back. It’s not comfortable to think this in your head, so you sink into your body until you are the forms. They are a thousand years old. They never change; watching Falco play with a whistle that will bind him to a Hag’s animal, you need them.
Falco, Narlikar looks with High Elf snobbery upon the velvet pouch. Well, it’s quite garish isn’t it, he says, sniffing. What would Jancy say! Tut, tut! So red and plush! He pushes it away with one hind-foot, but then he freezes, mid-shove. His pink toes spasm and clutch at the velvet.
He clears his throat. His black beady eyes dart from it to you. Gaudy, she would say, he tells you doubtfully. Whorey. Not the thing at all. Clutch! His other hind foot sneaks over to touch it. Am I...am I perhaps being too nice ? I shouldn’t like to be ungracious. His front feet wash each other anxiously while his back feet clutch and pet. And...and...It is truly kind of you to take in a poor Unharpered, Unpouched fellow... Within minutes he has talked himself all the way down in it, nestled as deep into the pile as he can get. Oh, thou pretentious rat, a servant to your own base nature, after all!
Bingle, Upstairs, Banx tells you a weird thing. That you looked two ways in the dagger. Sometimes this, sometimes that. Now, he says you look a lot more THAT. Not all the way THAT, but more THAT than THIS. He looks down and says real quiet that he likes you now, THAT, better. THAT is the Bingle who hurled herself off into the black and stomped the stairs to Perpetu.
Under sharp questioning, he describes the THIS, and it sounds as if, it sounds very much like---Well. THIS sounds like Bongle. Young, real Bongle. From pre-hnuderd, when you were really young, too, not tow-hnuderd-and-nineteen. Bongle, who would say what was right to do. Very quietly. From deep inside a fern.
Banx is sick and tired but also game. YES to being SECRETLY QUITE EVIL. Porbalby I’m evil, too, a ltilte. Porbalby some got on me, while we were tarpped for the Hnuderd. Fater lal, I tired to klil the Ppupet Hin, as wlel!
Hm. Is he? Maybe. Not as evil as you, Bingle, but not for want of trying. Not his fault you were the Bteter Wizrad. Also, he just WANTS a mosue. Crave teh Mosue on ym door? I wlil leran the splel to make it tlak. But not todya. He yawns so big. Resurrection sick. Dragging. Draggable. You drag him back downstairs.
Tumble , there is no physical way for you to cause this hatch to open beyond violence against House’s person. It feels like trying to unfold a clenched fist. It opens by House opening it, you think. But you don't know the Sylvan word for, STOP CLENCHING YOUR HATCH SHUT WITH YOUR MOST TIRESOME COMPONENT. The AMINAL component. The plant bits, the machine, would be more sensible...
In better news, Fiz loves Tiny House. Loves. You know who else loves Tiny House?
House. It has no eye parts that you can see, and Phidira confirms this. (She has pulled over a garden chair to knit and watch you Tinker. Gnomes of all kinds love Tniker Siht.)
Blindsight, she says. Like an ooze. Falco, dear, my sewing kit is right here in my basket. If you hand me that velvet rat-sack I can make the potty-port and adjust the drawstrings so he can look out if he likes....
Tumble, when House “sees” Tiny House it stands and then it rumbles and it coos and clicks. Weirdly sweet sorts of monster noises issue from the gobhole. It tilts cutely at Tiny House, shifts from foot to foot. Fiz leads the toy back and forth on its string and House minces back and forth, just the same.
Banx comes back out with Bingle and returns your greeting, feet apart, hands behind back, spine stiff, tilting from the waist. He thinks you are a forest gnome! HA! He has not seen your kind before, but he knows you are Not Swamp. Banx looks rough. Moves like someone made him ride a horse. For hours. It’s hard to come back from the dead, unless you are Bingle. Who seems... great.
Banx is happy to meet young Fiz, casual and friendly. Until you say the name. Wigglepocket! He plops into the dirt to get his face even with Banx’s. Wigglepocket? Your Mam must be Tifaporp? Or Tifapine? Fix nods, and says, Mam is Porpy , playing with Tiny House, unconcerned, but Banx swallows and wants to tell you all in formal common that sounds stiff in his mouth:
My people live in loose bands that meet and plop together and break and reform. We don’t have towns or homes or government. But. The Wigglepockets are the Oldest Family. Not more powerful, because we (well they) are all druids. Just the oldest family name there is, and the most deeply connected to the land. That line knows where the Treant Graveyard is. The dryads sing when one is born. We don’t have royalty or even nobles. We’re all the same. But if we did have such a thing --- It’s him.
Banx can get a message to the Swamp Gnomes. He is cagey about how. If pressed he says, I have to do a thing. In a place. Out there. I can't go now. I'm---I'm sick. But I will as soon as I can. The word will spread that one should come and see me. Keledek will Send spell to my family, too; he will think that’s better, faster. But---the Wigglepockets are hard to find, and my way might end up being faster. There is a third way. You could do it. The Swamp speaks to them; Wigglepockets find the hurt places in it first. So. If you go to where swamp is worst, where things are very terrible and ruined and frightening. They will be near.
Falco, Banx loves the bombs. He prestidigitates the fuses, and you fling, and BLAM! BLAM! Narlikar startles and shrieks; the narrator regrets to inform you that several little brown Jimmies have to be dumped out of his adjusted pouch.
Bingle, he hasn’t seen bombs before. He admits that when you explained them, well, perhaps he thought there was a ...slight exaggeration? On your part? You tlod me the whole syk was raining bug prats! he reminds you. Well it DID rain bug parts! And hurtful stones! You were there!
Now, he believes it all and turns admiring eyes your way. Very bright, if you ignore the dark deep circles under. The bombs push up water in huge plumes and spouts. Stunned fish and dead fish and partial fish rain down and float. Ann wades out up above her waist and collects ‘em in a basket.
Imma make us a nice, hot curry supper, she says with satisfaction.
Falco, when you finish the whistle, House ---relaxes. You did not know that she was tense, but now you know, because you feel her. A thread, from you to her like Fioz's string, but long and intangible. If you blow that whistle right, she'll come to you. Days, if it takes days. If you tell her her to stay, she'll stay. She is a domesticated animal, like Maude and Mary. She likes to be someone’s. She chirrs that monster-y gurgle at you when you tell her to stay, then kicks around in the marsh grass and the weeds, nesting, settling and rooting into a little hollow near the tower.
SWARRUMPS
Vision in the Swamps Etsy coincideminds
Fela, Maude has sympathetic deep brown eyes and grassy warm breath and the softest nose. You are sad to think of leaving her, so soon, before she even fully understands that she is yours. Why don't horses come with a whistle? But you are willing to compromise when Tumble balks. So is Falco. This route or that, walk, or ride, or house---you discuss it all like reasonable folk, and yes, perhaps a walk, a new route---
Bingle, No. You are the loudest gnome in the world, and you louds them all up onto horses, and off you go, the drunk’s map way! TO LILY MARKET! NOW! THE DAY IS WASTING!
You loud everyone onto the horses, you quiet alone inside in the cloak-illusion. THAT, then THIS. A paladin boldly rides a horse with kind of a lumpy butt. You peer through the watery mist of illusion, and not much has changed. At first. On horseback, it is only five or six hours, even if you stop for lunch. The girls are sure-footed and quick, picking their way down the path, born and bred for this terrain... Soon, the vines. Then the shallow water. But where are the vines?
Falco , you roll with things. It’s your nature. A ship, a horse’s gait, a councilman’s requests. Riding is easy for you. It’s easy for Fiz as well; he likes animals. He pats at Mary and clambers around between you and Tumble and hangs from the mane or stands on the round apple of Mary;s butt to look down at the tail and report when she is plopping. Fiz is of an age to be very interested in how and when things poo. It is easy for Narlikar, who is more riding you than the horse. Falco, maybe you will be good for Narlikar, a rat who doesn’t know quite how to roll. (Let’s hope so. He is nearly unendurable, as is.)
But Tumble? Poor Tumble, so sure-footed on the ground, is stiff, unhappy luggage.
Tumble--- only for the first four hours or so. Then, you see that things are different and you cannot help but perk. You have a keen nose for the new. And the path---the path is changed. It angles more east here. It is wider there. You do not remember seeing this kind of red berry bush at all, because you didn't.
Fela, you expected this. This is how the Swamps are. No path can hold unless right-minded folk are up and down them on their mounts, beating back encroaching vines and questing shrubberies and shifting trees. The Springers are always on the move down the trade paths to keep them stable, using the clank of armor and the smell of torches and iron to make the Red Caps wary.
Even so, they shift. Slow, sly, unstoppable. The Swamp is soaked in Fey-ness, and nothing here can hold. But—this is fast you think. By the time you are what should be a half-hour from the entrance to the Lily Market, everything feels wrong and strange. There were vines here, you are sure. Curtains of them. Now there are cypress trees and low gorse and watery pondlets. Frogs chirr. Is this even the way?
OOC SORRY to be late and long. I got interested in rat bags and tiny houses and bombs and forms and pooping and secrets and horses. You all are just so damn delightful .
EVERYONE please roll either perception or survival this round--or you can do a different skill depending on your RP.
cheerio The Undine Mouth supplies ink and paper and basic (less than 10GP) reagents, and can get you (some) rarer ones for a discount. You can always ask. They will also let you copy any 2 spells to your book when you level, no charge. Learning must proceed apace.
A reminder: DREAM SNAKES is the same thing as Lily Market. That is where they live. Those who had future visions drank the venom or got bit. The X is where you think you are on the Drunk Thief’s Map.
Last edited by Fillyjonk; Jun 1st, 2022 at 09:18 AM .