Winter Storm

 (Ineia #1)

Written on her hunting trip Spring of '59, having an imaginary conversation with her mother, and maybe on other occasions a Suitor, trying to explain why she is adventuring instead of literally anything else. Except this would NOT clarify anything for anyone, particularly Lady Dara, and Ineia would never use it for the intended purpose, even though she likes the poem itself.

When all the little critters scurry
It is time to gather in
'Cause winter’s coming in its fury
Time is wearing thin
The wind will whistle, snow will flurry
Cold will freeze the skin,
But all the little critters furry
Will be cozy in their dens.
As long as critters hurry
There’s still time, but when
The world goes silent–worry, 
For now the storm begins.

Ineia's Diary, Kyrankarr (Session 7-10)

 The first time I saw Fjalanor after The Incident in my previous entry was when we were summoned yet again to Reianna's inn. I hadn't quite decided what to do about Fjalanor. Should I try to talk to him again? No. Better to see if he says anything. I'd watch him, see what sort of things he liked. Having a job to do definitely helped. Focus on that. Yes. 

The job, it turned out, was specifically about Fjalanor. There were more time hijinks. It was a message on a brick that said something was happening at (the island) and we needed to stop it. We needed to be there by midnight of the full moon. It was signed, "Your Smiling Friend" 

My stomach sank. They could not seriously be considering going to the Kyrankarr. No one who went to the island could come back alive, this had been forbidden for thousands of years! Everyone knows this.

We were puzzling over this when Sargent Abar said he'd brought in a specialist who had some ideas for how to get us through it. A very old man with an armful of scrolls entered the room. I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand up--I stood up too, and quickly. "Who are you? Why are you so interested in the island? I've lived here my entire life, how is it that you've been studying it this whole time and I've never seen you in the town once? What kind of a man studies this, anyway? What do you want?" I barely let him answer. I was so angry and upset, and I couldn't even tell why but I knew that man was bad news.

Everyone else in the room was staring at me. I could feel their eyes, but I didn't care. Something was wrong. I didn't know what, but it was wrong. But then--Fjalanor. He said something--I forget what exactly--but then I saw the way he was looking at the man. Awe. Admiration. Almost--reverence? As if that man was everything he wanted to be. He was saying he knew the man, that he was a scholar of some renown, from Senkancarr? I think? The man I'd just yelled at was Fjalanor's friend. 

Of course he was. 

I shut my mouth abruptly, the words gone. My face reddened and I sat down. What a great way to start things off on a better foot. I'd been incredibly rude to someone Fjalanor looked up to. My mother would be ashamed. For more than one reason. I'm terrible at this.

The man had a plan to lure the spirit of the city to sleep, to allow us to find this Smiling Friend without being killed. He'd written a play that recounted the time of the city's cursing. He assigned parts to everyone. I volunteered to take the lead. I hated this whole idea still, but if it was Fjalanor's friend, then... Well, I'd give it a proper chance. I played the city herself. By the time we'd finished assigning parts I was convinced the man was in love with the Spirit of the City. He stood very near me, and talked about how important my part was, and how maybe some private rehersals would be good to make sure I could fully embody the spirit--I tried not to cringe. He made my skin crawl. 

We agreed that we should keep watch on the river, because we'd learned that boats had been seen crossing too and from the island. I had a lot of time to think while I was on watch. Maybe if I went down to the Cheyth the night before and asked for mercy, and explained why we were going, his wrath wouldn't be aroused again. We are breaking the taboo ONLY to prevent a much greater harm. Fjalanor was far too excited about the whole thing. He doesn't understand. Does he want to throw his life away doing idiot things? At least he could pretend to be mildly reluctant. Maybe... What if I were to offer a trade? Not a trade exactly--but when we go home, if the Cheyth isn't merciful, offer myself instead of whoever is in the boat? I'll be gathering herbs, so I'd be the only one out of the boat.... I'm terrified of going. I can say that here. Why am I doing this?

I was thinking things like these when I saw the small boat pulled up on the riverside and footprints leading toward the Manor. My Manor, just 6 hours away. I felt sick. For whatever reason, we were patrolling solo, so if I were to follow the footprints and actually find something no one would know where I'd disappeared to. I stared at them for long moments. We were only a few days out from leaving. If I dealt with the problem on the island, it would probably also deal with this issue. I wasn't satisfied with my decision, but that was the one I made. I told the others, and on their patrols they took backup and watched particularly around the boat landing. 

We did visit Mother Fieala. She said the plan may actually work, so there is at least that, I suppose. She was surprised about the activity on the island.

Finally it was time to go. As it turned out, I'm the only one with any sort of sailing experience, so my dreamed of bargain with the Cheyth wouldn't have worked anyway. I was in charge of the boat, not in the water gathering herbs. 

We arrived at the river in the afternoon, well before the midnight target. On the beach we set up for final preparations. I was wearing the dress that Fjalanor's friend had gotten, one the he said suited the beauty of the city. It had a lot of gauze, and showed more than mother would have approved of. I made up for this by stubbornly insisting on wearing my chainmail coat over it. Frankly, I looked ridiculous. But it was about to get worse. Varjalikan insisted that the play would be improved by using traditional makeup. I swallowed, and allowed him to do mine. He was close and his breath smelled bad. Like old man and death. He talked about my part, and how beautiful the city was, and how important it was that I play my part as authentically as possible and many other tips. I kept my eyes closed so at least I didn't have to look into HIS bloodshot eyes while he fixed my face to look like his version of a City's Spirit. 

Finally it was time. We headed toward the city, planning to set up in the middle of the square. On the way we passed what must have been the sorcerer's camp. It was an obviously inhabited shack, scrolls on the table, herbs laying out (Nightshade, blindmans kiss, one bundle of heather--for vision brew, maybe? I thought about taking them, but ended up not. As I said, I am terrified. Everything here is cursed. We trip over the unburied bones of the dead. Any herb here would be corrupted). We tried to leave, but kept finding red amber in our pockets. We'd see Fjalanor's friend pick it up, he'd deny it, and then one of us would discover it in our pocket. This happened a dozen times. We were panicking by the time it was over and finally ran from the cottage, managing to leave behind all red amber. 

While we walked Inayin told us about what had happened to him while we'd been apart the last few weeks. I'd noticed a silver lock of hair tied to his belt and wondered. Apparently he is engaged to a woman he just met. By his description she is an enchantress of some sort. I don't think it is a proper engagement--but I didn't say much because I couldn't quite tell if it was something he wanted or not. The woman is very old--she taught his grandfather--though I gather she doesn't LOOK ancient. I'm concerned. Inayin is a good man, and would make some girl a good and faithful husband. He shouldn't get mixed up with a woman like that. He should find a proper woman who can help him get his forge set up. I don't think he'll have much of a happy life with this woman. 

We began to set up in the town square. Fjalanor said he wanted to go look for something--a sword, I'm sure, but he said it was something to prove we'd been here. (As if I'd ever tell anyone I'd come here! But as I said, Fjalanor feels very differently about being here than I do). Varjalikan was circling and ready to pounce on me for "extra rehersal time" which was not about to happen! I quickly stood by Fjalanor and mentioned how important it was to not go alone. He'd need a companion to--well, honestly, to make sure he didn't bring a curse down on himself because the man just does not think of these things. Inayin was quick to volunteer also, which was fine with me--two level heads are better than one! Herek and Tenuala stayed behind to keep an eye on Varjalikan. 

That was when the strange things started happening. There was another note--it started scrawled across a building (Obviously we entered), but then it was single words of the message written on the things we picked up and looked at, as if someone knew exactly what we were going to do before we did it. Obviously it was Fjalanor's friend (The other friend, the evil wizard we were there to see. Fjalanor seems to have quite a few friends...) We didn't find anything valuable, but the sun was setting and it was time to go back. 

We set ourselves for the play--the odd friend leading off. He danced onto the stage and off it, so when my part came I did the same. I think I did rather well, actually. I HAD practiced (just not with the creepy old man). The city responded to the play--we could hear rumblings, and the black birds flocked to the broken down walls to sit and watch the play. They responded as we went--upset at some parts and quiet in others. We could tell that somehow this mad old man's plan was actually working. And then the play was over, and all was quiet. I held my breath for a long moment. We'd done it. Somehow we'd done it. The city was quiet. We'd done it!

That was when things shifted strangely. Inayin drew his sword and charged the old man. Somehow he missed. He was shouting something about the vulture cult. He sounded crazy. We grabbed him in confusion and he shouted louder. Then we noticed the old man--his vulture pendant visible now. The wizard appeared also, walking across the square toward us--"I warned you. You should have listened." I was confused. Were there two evil wizards? An evil wizard and a vulture cultist? Inayin was struggling to get at the priest, and more vulture cultists appeared from their hiding places encircling us. The priest (apparently he was a priest) was talking the whole time--describing his evil plan which apparently was to travel back in time, using the city, and kill Sencan as a baby. We were dumbstruck. 

And then I remembered the boat. And the footprints I hadn't followed. I asked about them. He said something about needing insurance in case we hadn't agreed. I felt bile rising inside. My family. My mother. He'd taken her. Or maybe one of the little ones at the manor. That was why the footprints lead directly toward my home. He was going to use them if I tried to refuse to do the play. But I was too much of an idiot to refuse, so it never came up. My mother! I lost it then, but Inayin wouldn't shut up (what possible other thing even mattered? Why wouldn't everyone shut up? I've never been so furious with him as I was then!). I couldn't find out where she was or if she'd actually been taken. And then the fight started.

It was horrible. Inayin, of course, went strait for the Priest. He fought with powerful blows that should have quickly wiped such an old man out. But the Priest had many dark and evil tricks. He did something to Inyan, squeezing him on the inside until his eyes bled. Any time the priest was dangerously wounded he would somehow kill one of his own men, and use their life to heal himself. Inayin's fierce fighting should have killed him many times over, but he used his men to survive. Once they were all dead, he turned and ran toward the boats. I shot him with an arrow, but it was Tenuala who got the killing stroke. The man was dead. 

I ran back to Inayin and quickly administered my Bitter Rockweed poultice. He wasn't dead, but he was in very bad shape. Thargash--Fjalanor's smiling friend--was there. He said we needed to get out of the city before she woke up again, that the quietness would last maybe an hour. I still felt sick. What if my mother was in the city? What if there were hostages somewhere? How would I find them? I'm not sure if the others realized how panicked I was. But there wasn't time to search the houses and get out safely. I didn't know for sure where they were, or if they were even there. To stay and search would be risking the lives of my companions on a suspicion. Even if the priest had taken hostages, they might not even be on the island. He may have hidden them somewhere else. So I followed the others. I don't remember if there were conversations or what was said. 

When we reached the Cheyth we all realized--something was very different. 

Thargash had sent us back in time, much farther than the priest had intended. Long before Sencan was born. 

The Cheyth was clear as glass. 

Session 7

 When last we left our heroes, they had just performed the most consequential deed of their young adventuring careers: they had brought a city back from the dead. The winter moors of northern Amboria were crowded with bewildered souls who had been sleeping in their own beds in the year 91 of the Second Aeon and found themselves lying in cold snow some seventeen centuries later, staring up at an unfamiliar sky. The party guided those fifteen hundred displaced men, women, and children northward through the frost, distributing families among the villages of the Cheyth Valley as they went, and delivering the remainder to the empty seasonal quarters at Cheykor, where the miners' houses stood vacant and ready in the long winter dark. It was not a comfortable arrangement, and it strained the region's resources considerably, but with the cooperation of local landholders and the leadership of the survivors themselves, the immediate crisis was brought under control. By the end of winter, everyone had a roof over their head — if not, perhaps, any very clear idea of what century it was.

The spring that followed was a season of many smaller endeavors. Fjalenar set himself to the tremendous scholarly task of cataloguing the survivors' family lines, speaking to every household in turn and working to connect what remained of their ancient records to the existing archives of the Norinlakor — a work of heraldry and genealogy that already promised to become one of the more remarkable volumes in the north's scholarly tradition, even half-finished. Ineia rode out into the Cheyth uplands with her bow and her considerable luck and returned with the horns of a lesser hornbeast and a new scar to show for it. Tenuyala worked to preserve her standing with her order — and found, when all was reckoned, that ringing the Bell of Time and restoring fifteen hundred souls to the world counted for rather more reputation than a standard seasonal adventure. Inayin scoured the wilderness for hornbeasts and found nothing, which perhaps was not the worst outcome. Herek's amber-mining venture yielded a nugget the size of a man's head and a return on investment sufficient to replenish her silver considerably. And Talari tracked a notorious bandit lord named Abuksa to his lair in the hills above the Cheyth river valley, crept into his cave while he slept, made rather a lot of noise, and fled for her life through the hills with a furious, half-dressed bandit lord in hot pursuit — escaping by the narrowest of margins, and leaving behind her a man who now has a very specific grudge and an excellent description.

By the time the Feast of Summer came and went, the party found themselves summoned once more to the Crescent Moon Inn in Cheykor by Sergeant Abar, who arrived at table with a plain slab of paving stone and a look of mild concern. The stone bore a carefully inscribed message in a scholar's hand — very correct, very polished, and not quite that of a native speaker — addressed to Fjalenar of House Karjalkar by name, signed only as your smiling friend. The letter indicated that its author had been residing for some months in a location that local legends would, he said, readily identify; that his neighbors there were industrious people with considerable ambition and very little wisdom, whose work would reach its culmination at the turning of the moon; and that he had gathered information about certain of Cheykor's town elders and the party they serve. He invited the company to come before the full moon — eleven days hence — and to expect a difficult night. Two or three such stones had been appearing around town over the preceding weeks, one of them on the steps of the shrine. The great city named by Fjalenar's lore, and confirmed in every detail by Ineia's memory of the old bedtime stories, was Kyron Karr — the ancient, cursed, and wholly abandoned city on the Isle of Pines in the middle of the Cheyth, which no one in living memory has entered and survived. Into this pleasant destination the party was accordingly invited, by the sorcerer who stole their bell-metal hinge and stepped sideways out of time, to attend a difficult night. There was at least one piece of good news: a certain scholar named Varjalikan, called in by Abar as a specialist in the very matter of lost cities and cursed islands, arrived at the inn with a very large stack of manuscripts and the claim that he had found the only living man ever to have seen Kyron Karr and survived — and that, based on this man's account, he had drafted a plan for doing likewise. He asked, as a preliminary, whether any of the company had experience with drama.