Dwyn spent the early years of her life in a camp near the foothills of the Stony Mountains, almost as far north as the Kodars. Her father was a mercenary and her mother was not happy about it. Mother was refined and well-educated and had grown up as the relatively wealthy daughter of a mill owner in the lowlands near Galduria. After she delivered the third of five daughters, the whole family returned to the valley. Dwyn’s father was getting older and his back hurt worse every day; he wasn’t entirely sorry to be done fending off raiders and risking his life for wealthy men who dreamed of finding gold and jewels deep in the untamed mountains. Some of those men never made it back alive. He had earned enough, he had risked enough, and his wife and daughters were never truly safe in the camp.
Dwyn had loved camp life and even the bitter cold of the mountains. She learned to hide in the best places to overhear the stories of fighters and rangers returning from their dangerous journeys. She and the group of decidedly grubby boys she played with all day would act out those dramas with the biggest and sharpest sticks they could find. Mother did not approve, nor did she appreciate the way Dwyn would scream and run rather than let a comb be set to her long hair.
Mother clung to the small bundle of books she had brought north and tried to interest Dwyn in reading. Dwyn simply preferred to hear her mother sing. She could sing and dance like nobody else in the world, yet her songs in those days were mostly sad. She hated the mountains, the cold, and the rough camp life, and she worried terribly whenever Dwyn’s father was away. He loved her too much to see her so miserable. Eventually he hung up his sword and shield forever, bought an old farmstead south of the Fogscars, and devoted himself to improving the rocky soil and growing different varieties of wheat. His wife had rather too many relatives in the area for his taste and rather too much fondness for socializing – some cousins or other were always boarding upstairs, and he was always being made to hitch up the team and cart for a weekend at some festival or family gathering. But on the whole, retirement as a farmer was very pleasant.
Dwyn was his great solace and constant companion. She was quiet, even-tempered, and tough as an ox. Like him and very much unlike her mothers and four little sisters, she was tall and strong and loved to be outside as much as possible. From the time they settled on the farm she had helped to tend the animals and fetch water and wood. As she grew older and stronger she worked in the fields with her father, and behind her mother’s back he taught her to fight. She was never allowed to go near his sword – he claimed that it was bewitched and that only he could safely use it, which Dwyn didn’t really believe but she had enough doubts not to chance it. Instead, they practiced with other tools. At first he would simply swing at her with a long wooden pole as she learned to leap and dodge; then he let her swing the pole at him. She learned to chop wheat and wood with sickles and axes, and in the evening he would teach her to deal and parry blows from the same. He taught her to use a slingshot to hunt squirrels and birds, to follow the patterns in the weather, and to angle the rows in the field so that storms off the ocean couldn’t ruin the soil.
Meanwhile, Dwyn’s sisters loved reading and were the very image of their graceful little mother. They wrote perfectly-shaped letters and didn’t stumble awkwardly over their reading lessons as Dwyn did. They sewed perfectly even rows of stitches and could sing and dance almost as well as mother. The house was a constant buzz of chattering and music. Dwyn enjoyed watching from the sidelines but preferred to be alone, working with her hands outdoors, riding one of the tired old horses, or slipping out past the far pasture to swim in the pond. Sometimes on a rainy day her father would take out his leather tunic, carefully oil it, and then Dwyn would hear stories of his days in the mountains. She wondered if some of his tales were exaggerated, but either way her father had faced down many terrifying foes.
Dwyn dreamed of having adventures of her own someday, while her mother was growing increasingly interested in seeing her “settled down”. Apparently this meant being married off to some idiot farmer’s son and having babies, an idea that held very little appeal for Dwyn. She resented the well-meaning advice of all those relatives who told her to “smile more” and be “friendly” if she ever wanted to find a husband. Dwyn had no interest in the puny, swaggering boys who came around hoping to meet her sisters, though it did sting a bit that they had even less interest in her. She was taller and stronger than most of them, perpetually sunburned, with a big nose and even bigger hands and feet, and straight hair with all the color and charm of a dried haystack tied back in a long braid.
Dwyn tried to ignore all the chatter about “ending up an old maid” and focused her attention on work. She had learned to wield a scythe faster than even the most experienced male workhands, and had won the contest at the fair three years running to prove it. Her father had started teaching her the unique possibilities of using the scythe as a weapon. In particular, it could be used to trip up an opponent or even lop off his legs! He said Dywn would be fearsome someday with a tool like that in her hands, but she still found it much easier to cut hay than to fight with such a blade. She had a lot to learn. And then the unthinkable happened.
One day Dwyn and her mother and sisters returned from paying a visit to her aunt to find her father lying dead on the floor of the barn. No marks were on his body – it seemed he had simply fallen in the midst of his work, with the pitchfork lying next to him and the pig let out of its stall. But his sword was gone and nobody had seen a thing or even noticed anyone strange on the road or in the village. Dwyn’s mother was convinced that someone they knew had come by to find her husband already dead and then turned thief. She had never found the guilty party.
Once father was gone, mother was unable to run the farm alone. The first year was very hard: the hired help were lazy and wouldn’t take any instructions from Dwyn. One of her sisters actually got married. After that, her mother seemed to think that being unmarried at nineteen was just as bad as being unmarried at thirty. Mother took all the youngest girls and moved back to the mill to live with her own mother and brother. Dwyn was considered old enough to work and earn an income, and work she must. Although she had only visited Sandpoint a few times before, she was sent there to live with her grandmother’s cousin, Alma Avertin.
After marrying into one of the old, respected Varisian families many years ago, Alma had begun running a bakery, Sandpoint Savories. Alma and the bakery are still going strong after five decades at the job, though she has suffered enormously from the recent loss of her son Cass, the sheriff. He was murdered by the Chopper, a dangerous maniac he had finally managed to locate and was about to bring to justice. Alma and her two daughters speak of little else at the bakery, and the subject is so tragic and the atmosphere so depressing that Dwyn is sometimes secretly relieved to be sent off alone on her chores. She likes the work. She cares for several chickens and a pair of sweet, well-mannered cows who supply all the milk, butter, and cheese used at the bakery. Every day she rises early to milk the cows, gather eggs, and churn butter. Then she takes them out to pasture, where she tends the small field and gathers and chops wood to keep supplying the bakery’s fires.
After more than a year of living in town she has made a few friends among girls her age (nearly 21), but she mostly works alone and doesn’t have much time to chat. Alma and the ladies prefer to manage the counter and shop themselves while Dwyn does all the heavy lifting. Life in the “big city” of Sandpoint has some important consolations: there’s no need to share a bed with any sisters, and it seems like there’s always some new concert or festival happening with music and dancing to remind her of loved ones at home. Dwyn also loves to watch the strangers who sometimes come through town, and she dreams of traveling far outside its boundaries someday.
TLDR Dwyn Stories Part I
Re: TLDR Dwyn Stories Part I
The first Dwyn stories were embedded in other threads, so rather than try to dig all of them out, I'll start with pieces and parts that were collected in a file before posting:
After two pints of ale, Dwyn is still seeing the image of that young girl in the fields, trapped in the body of an undead creature. Could have been one of her sisters - could even have been her once upon a time. “Book One, Number Three,” she mumbles while everyone is carefully sorting through piles of silver coin. “To live is to live according to nature. And none of this undead stuff is natural.” Ameiko obligingly brings another round of ale and Dwyn pays her tab with a big tip.
Everyone is talking about dates and likelihoods and mysterious symbols and Dwyn’s head is starting to swim a little. Just find whoever else is responsible for these murders and I’ll take care of them, she thinks to herself. With a glance around at her friends and a last giant gulp from the mug, she gathers her things and stumbles wearily home. At least she wasn’t in the direct line of “spray” from this latest battle. Sometimes there is great wisdom in the longbow. She sneaks in the back door of the bakery so as not to wake anyone and collapses on her little bed, all thoughts of recent events now obliterated.
The next morning it’s unusually hard to wake. Arika is laughing – she’s been up since five, putting in the first loaves and honeybuns to bake. What’s keeping the sleepyhead down today? Soon the shop will be open, so Dwyn scurries over to the basin and washes up with cold water. She pulls out a change of clothes, adding a woolen vest since the days are growing cooler, and puts yesterday’s wash in the basin to soak. It suddenly occurs to her that she lacks a mirror. Surely someone upstairs will have one - yes, Alma has a nice oval glass hanging above her dresser. For a moment Dwyn considers leaving her hair down for the day, but then frowns and puts it in a long, tight braid down the back.
Later, Alma finds her getting the milk pail and interrupts, “Already milked her myself while you were sleeping.” Dwyn looks embarrassed but Alma shrugs. “I know you have other things to do now, for all of us. It’s good of you to help out here, but I’ve been planning to hire Pennae Kesk’s nephew to help out while you’re gone. I was hoping you could teach him what you’ve been doing.” At first, Dwyn feels terrible. “I’m sorry, Alma, I know I’ve been distracted but I have a job to do here and I promise I’m going to take care of it.” “Don’t be silly, child,” Alma replies, “It’s long since time you moved on and started working for Hemlock. You’re holding up the family tradition, after all!” She looks a bit wistful but then brusquely marches off toward the kitchen. “You could take the cow out to pasture though. And be sure to get one of these honeybuns first!”
Dwyn straps on her new longbow and quiver, grabs a rope for the cow, and heads down to the end of the street where little houses give way to grassy patches and then a fenced meadow. The cow, already irritable at having to wait so long for breakfast, trots off immediately. Pacing off what she guesses is a hundred feet from the fence, Dwyn pulls out an arrow and aims at the top pole on the fence. She misses and the arrow flies into the tall grass of the ditch. Muttering under her breath, she tries again. Another miss. This time she takes a deep breath and closes her eyes, thinking about the faces of her loved ones back home. How long will it be until she sees them again? Then she reflects on her friends here in town. The arrow sticks perfectly into the middle of the piece of wood, splitting it in two. “Uh-oh, I’m gonna have to fix that one now. Well, might as well keep aiming at it!”
“Illian had better stop this nonsense about running off alone,” she thinks. “Dothan is going to have a fit when she hears about the latest! Doesn’t he know by now, we’re in this thing together? Even if we weren’t working for the sheriff,” she reflects, “we’d still be working as a team to hunt down whoever is responsible for these murders. If the people here can’t live free of fear, then it’s not much of a life at all. And people like us who can do something about it have to step up and take care of things. It’s crazy how one thing after the other seems to happen here – first the Chopper, then the goblin invasions, and now yet another sinister group at work. It’s like the whole place is tainted, like some kind of dark shroud is hanging over it. But if we can fight a barghest and an evil sorceress and goblin thugs, surely we can fight whoever is hunting Illian and take care of this problem once and for all. The man needs peace; he needs to forgive himself. I wonder if I can help him do that. I know Father Gerthin could if he was here.”
After two pints of ale, Dwyn is still seeing the image of that young girl in the fields, trapped in the body of an undead creature. Could have been one of her sisters - could even have been her once upon a time. “Book One, Number Three,” she mumbles while everyone is carefully sorting through piles of silver coin. “To live is to live according to nature. And none of this undead stuff is natural.” Ameiko obligingly brings another round of ale and Dwyn pays her tab with a big tip.
Everyone is talking about dates and likelihoods and mysterious symbols and Dwyn’s head is starting to swim a little. Just find whoever else is responsible for these murders and I’ll take care of them, she thinks to herself. With a glance around at her friends and a last giant gulp from the mug, she gathers her things and stumbles wearily home. At least she wasn’t in the direct line of “spray” from this latest battle. Sometimes there is great wisdom in the longbow. She sneaks in the back door of the bakery so as not to wake anyone and collapses on her little bed, all thoughts of recent events now obliterated.
The next morning it’s unusually hard to wake. Arika is laughing – she’s been up since five, putting in the first loaves and honeybuns to bake. What’s keeping the sleepyhead down today? Soon the shop will be open, so Dwyn scurries over to the basin and washes up with cold water. She pulls out a change of clothes, adding a woolen vest since the days are growing cooler, and puts yesterday’s wash in the basin to soak. It suddenly occurs to her that she lacks a mirror. Surely someone upstairs will have one - yes, Alma has a nice oval glass hanging above her dresser. For a moment Dwyn considers leaving her hair down for the day, but then frowns and puts it in a long, tight braid down the back.
Later, Alma finds her getting the milk pail and interrupts, “Already milked her myself while you were sleeping.” Dwyn looks embarrassed but Alma shrugs. “I know you have other things to do now, for all of us. It’s good of you to help out here, but I’ve been planning to hire Pennae Kesk’s nephew to help out while you’re gone. I was hoping you could teach him what you’ve been doing.” At first, Dwyn feels terrible. “I’m sorry, Alma, I know I’ve been distracted but I have a job to do here and I promise I’m going to take care of it.” “Don’t be silly, child,” Alma replies, “It’s long since time you moved on and started working for Hemlock. You’re holding up the family tradition, after all!” She looks a bit wistful but then brusquely marches off toward the kitchen. “You could take the cow out to pasture though. And be sure to get one of these honeybuns first!”
Dwyn straps on her new longbow and quiver, grabs a rope for the cow, and heads down to the end of the street where little houses give way to grassy patches and then a fenced meadow. The cow, already irritable at having to wait so long for breakfast, trots off immediately. Pacing off what she guesses is a hundred feet from the fence, Dwyn pulls out an arrow and aims at the top pole on the fence. She misses and the arrow flies into the tall grass of the ditch. Muttering under her breath, she tries again. Another miss. This time she takes a deep breath and closes her eyes, thinking about the faces of her loved ones back home. How long will it be until she sees them again? Then she reflects on her friends here in town. The arrow sticks perfectly into the middle of the piece of wood, splitting it in two. “Uh-oh, I’m gonna have to fix that one now. Well, might as well keep aiming at it!”
“Illian had better stop this nonsense about running off alone,” she thinks. “Dothan is going to have a fit when she hears about the latest! Doesn’t he know by now, we’re in this thing together? Even if we weren’t working for the sheriff,” she reflects, “we’d still be working as a team to hunt down whoever is responsible for these murders. If the people here can’t live free of fear, then it’s not much of a life at all. And people like us who can do something about it have to step up and take care of things. It’s crazy how one thing after the other seems to happen here – first the Chopper, then the goblin invasions, and now yet another sinister group at work. It’s like the whole place is tainted, like some kind of dark shroud is hanging over it. But if we can fight a barghest and an evil sorceress and goblin thugs, surely we can fight whoever is hunting Illian and take care of this problem once and for all. The man needs peace; he needs to forgive himself. I wonder if I can help him do that. I know Father Gerthin could if he was here.”
Re: TLDR Dwyn Stories Part I
Ven proves to be bright and capable, and before the morning is out he has followed Dwyn through her usual paces at the bakery. Alma packs them a lunch basket and they set out toward the orchards with a handcart. At first Ven tries to pick every apple that looks red, but Dwyn shows him how to examine the part facing the tree for signs of creamy yellow. “Be sure not to let the stems come off, and if the skin is broken, throw them in the small basket over here. We’ll use those up right away. The others can be stored a long time.”
Dwyn is grateful for the chance to work outdoors on this lovely, crisp autumn day, far from any spooky ghoul creatures or secret plots or murders. “Gold and gems make a man weak; hard work in a field shows strength of body and character. How true it is!” Yet after further reflection, she starts to feel unsettled. “Maybe those necklaces were a bad idea. Dothan’s little mule was silver, not gold, but isn’t that close enough? It’s not a necklace for me, though. Surely that’s okay? Just a favor for a friend, since I know she won’t take silver pieces from me. But why I am paying her in the first place? Because I wanted my armor to look fancy!” Dwyn concentrates on the apples until her pouch is filled and dumped into the big basket.
“Ven, come down, time for lunch!” She divides up the cold chicken and thickly buttered oatmeal bread, and they polish off as many of the half-bruised apples and pears as they can manage. “See how these pears have spots that still look white?” Dwyn asks. “These aren’t ripe enough to pick. But when the spots start to turn brown, and the skin starts to show more yellow, they’re ready.” After filling a bushel with pears, they each grab a handle of the cart and head back to town.
“Tell me something, Ven,” Dwyn begins. “You saw my armor back at the house. Remember? Well, is it… I mean, would you call it “flashy”?” The boy looks at a loss for words. “Um, no. I guess not. It’s pretty nice! But not flashy.” Dwyn nods. “Okay. That’s all I wanted to know.” After a long pause she adds, “my friend Dothan made it a lot nicer than it was before. Maybe that’s not okay to do. But you know who used to own this armor? An evil sorceress!” The boy’s eyes widen in surprise. “Yep. We killed her. She can’t hurt anyone now. But when she had this armor it was all black with red spots and ugly looking. I didn’t want to wear it at all just because it had been hers. Then Dothan fixed it all up, you know, made it look more like mine. I don’t want people thinking I’m a show-off. Like I’m wearing some kind of flashy outfit.” Ven shakes his head. “No, I don’t think anyone would say that.” Dwyn looks pleased.
After they unload the fruit, and Alma repeatedly assures Dwyn that she can stay in her room any time, regardless of where she’s working, Dwyn puts on all her gear and heads out towards the Rusty Dragon. Partway there she has a change of heart and veers off down Church Street. She finds Father Zantus sorting a pile of books and helps him put them back on the shelves. “So, Dwyn, I assume you didn’t come here to volunteer for the day,” he smiles. Dwyn fidgets nervously. “No, no, I have a question for you. Maybe a few.” “Okay, fire away! Maybe I can help.”
“I’m afraid I did something really wrong,” Dwyn declares, and Father Zantus looks surprised. “Why, what has happened, my dear?” Dwyn blushes and studies the titles on the shelf carefully for a moment. “It’s like this: I bought a necklace. No, two necklaces!” Zantus hesitates, wondering if there’s more to the story. “And you paid for them? All fair and square?” Dwyn nods. “And…?” Dwyn pulls out her small, leatherbound copy of the Sayings and hands it to the Priest. “I’m not sure it’s okay. Look at the one about gold and gems. And also the story about the guy who wants the gemstone.”
Father Zantus looks serious as he opens the volume and glances through the first few pages. “I’m not a priest of Erastil, Dwyn, but of course I am familiar with this work. I cannot claim to interpret it exactly as a true priest or priestess of Erastil would. Tell me, do you find yourself turning away from labor, in favor of indulging your desires for material possessions?” Dwyn thinks this over carefully for a moment. “Well, I did put off picking apples until after I bought the jewelry. Alma told me to go there on an errand, though.”
Zantus looks closely at Dwyn. “What sort of jewelry did you purchase, anyway?” Dwyn pulls out the two little satin pouches and lets their contents slip into her hand so the priest can examine them. “Well, these are nice, but I’m not sure they quite fit the meaning of the saying. Many women, even those who follow Erastil, wear a modest piece of jewelry. Perhaps you should ask your priest too, but I think you would be safe wearing something like this.”
“They’re not for me,” Dwyn adds hastily. “I wouldn’t wear them myself. They’re for my friends.” “Oh!” replies Zantus, “I don’t think there’s any restriction on giving modest gifts to one’s friends either.” Dwyn still looks a bit uncertain. “Consider the woman who found the precious stone in the stream. She didn’t throw it back. She took it along because it looked nice. Perhaps it was a stone like this one,” he adds, pointing at the aventurine beetle. “Yet the point of the story is that she gave it away. She was generous. She wasn’t attached to the stone for its own sake, but was eager to bestow goods on others. These necklaces are not overly luxurious items, of the sort that might make a recipient feel uncomfortable if he were incapable of reciprocating. I feel confident that you are safe giving these as a present.”
Dwyn looks greatly relieved. “Thank you so much, Father, you don’t know how good it is to hear that! I’ve been worried about it ever since I bought them!” Zantus smiles, handing back the little brown book. “Listen, don’t forget Book Five, Number Two: The noble-minded are calm and steady. Little people are forever fussing and fretting.” Dwyn grins sheepishly and slips the pendants back in her pocket. “Thanks, I’ll keep it in mind!” she calls, marching out confidently to the street.
Dwyn is grateful for the chance to work outdoors on this lovely, crisp autumn day, far from any spooky ghoul creatures or secret plots or murders. “Gold and gems make a man weak; hard work in a field shows strength of body and character. How true it is!” Yet after further reflection, she starts to feel unsettled. “Maybe those necklaces were a bad idea. Dothan’s little mule was silver, not gold, but isn’t that close enough? It’s not a necklace for me, though. Surely that’s okay? Just a favor for a friend, since I know she won’t take silver pieces from me. But why I am paying her in the first place? Because I wanted my armor to look fancy!” Dwyn concentrates on the apples until her pouch is filled and dumped into the big basket.
“Ven, come down, time for lunch!” She divides up the cold chicken and thickly buttered oatmeal bread, and they polish off as many of the half-bruised apples and pears as they can manage. “See how these pears have spots that still look white?” Dwyn asks. “These aren’t ripe enough to pick. But when the spots start to turn brown, and the skin starts to show more yellow, they’re ready.” After filling a bushel with pears, they each grab a handle of the cart and head back to town.
“Tell me something, Ven,” Dwyn begins. “You saw my armor back at the house. Remember? Well, is it… I mean, would you call it “flashy”?” The boy looks at a loss for words. “Um, no. I guess not. It’s pretty nice! But not flashy.” Dwyn nods. “Okay. That’s all I wanted to know.” After a long pause she adds, “my friend Dothan made it a lot nicer than it was before. Maybe that’s not okay to do. But you know who used to own this armor? An evil sorceress!” The boy’s eyes widen in surprise. “Yep. We killed her. She can’t hurt anyone now. But when she had this armor it was all black with red spots and ugly looking. I didn’t want to wear it at all just because it had been hers. Then Dothan fixed it all up, you know, made it look more like mine. I don’t want people thinking I’m a show-off. Like I’m wearing some kind of flashy outfit.” Ven shakes his head. “No, I don’t think anyone would say that.” Dwyn looks pleased.
After they unload the fruit, and Alma repeatedly assures Dwyn that she can stay in her room any time, regardless of where she’s working, Dwyn puts on all her gear and heads out towards the Rusty Dragon. Partway there she has a change of heart and veers off down Church Street. She finds Father Zantus sorting a pile of books and helps him put them back on the shelves. “So, Dwyn, I assume you didn’t come here to volunteer for the day,” he smiles. Dwyn fidgets nervously. “No, no, I have a question for you. Maybe a few.” “Okay, fire away! Maybe I can help.”
“I’m afraid I did something really wrong,” Dwyn declares, and Father Zantus looks surprised. “Why, what has happened, my dear?” Dwyn blushes and studies the titles on the shelf carefully for a moment. “It’s like this: I bought a necklace. No, two necklaces!” Zantus hesitates, wondering if there’s more to the story. “And you paid for them? All fair and square?” Dwyn nods. “And…?” Dwyn pulls out her small, leatherbound copy of the Sayings and hands it to the Priest. “I’m not sure it’s okay. Look at the one about gold and gems. And also the story about the guy who wants the gemstone.”
Father Zantus looks serious as he opens the volume and glances through the first few pages. “I’m not a priest of Erastil, Dwyn, but of course I am familiar with this work. I cannot claim to interpret it exactly as a true priest or priestess of Erastil would. Tell me, do you find yourself turning away from labor, in favor of indulging your desires for material possessions?” Dwyn thinks this over carefully for a moment. “Well, I did put off picking apples until after I bought the jewelry. Alma told me to go there on an errand, though.”
Zantus looks closely at Dwyn. “What sort of jewelry did you purchase, anyway?” Dwyn pulls out the two little satin pouches and lets their contents slip into her hand so the priest can examine them. “Well, these are nice, but I’m not sure they quite fit the meaning of the saying. Many women, even those who follow Erastil, wear a modest piece of jewelry. Perhaps you should ask your priest too, but I think you would be safe wearing something like this.”
“They’re not for me,” Dwyn adds hastily. “I wouldn’t wear them myself. They’re for my friends.” “Oh!” replies Zantus, “I don’t think there’s any restriction on giving modest gifts to one’s friends either.” Dwyn still looks a bit uncertain. “Consider the woman who found the precious stone in the stream. She didn’t throw it back. She took it along because it looked nice. Perhaps it was a stone like this one,” he adds, pointing at the aventurine beetle. “Yet the point of the story is that she gave it away. She was generous. She wasn’t attached to the stone for its own sake, but was eager to bestow goods on others. These necklaces are not overly luxurious items, of the sort that might make a recipient feel uncomfortable if he were incapable of reciprocating. I feel confident that you are safe giving these as a present.”
Dwyn looks greatly relieved. “Thank you so much, Father, you don’t know how good it is to hear that! I’ve been worried about it ever since I bought them!” Zantus smiles, handing back the little brown book. “Listen, don’t forget Book Five, Number Two: The noble-minded are calm and steady. Little people are forever fussing and fretting.” Dwyn grins sheepishly and slips the pendants back in her pocket. “Thanks, I’ll keep it in mind!” she calls, marching out confidently to the street.
Re: TLDR Dwyn Stories Part I
Dwyn flings open the door to the Rusty Dragon, almost whacking an innocent patron in the process. "Ohmygosh, I'm so sorry!" she gasps. "Excuse me!" A little embarrassed but still feeling content, Dwyn approaches the bar and is led by Ameiko over to the table with the charter. She studies the long, beautifully written one first, her thoughts wandering back to days when she sat, uncomfortable in an uneven chair, trying to copy the long rows of perfectly angled script her mother had set before her. The paper would always be covered with drips and smears and the writing was always blocky and square, no matter how much she practiced. Meanwhile, her little sisters would breeze through the lesson in half the time.
"You say the, uh, "giant-kin" put this here? He wrote it out himself?" Ameiko nods. "And what are these other papers over here?" Ameiko asks, hesitantly, if Dwyn wants her to read the titles but Dwyn waves a hand airily. "No, no, that's fine. I just wondered why there's more than one."
"Well, you'd have to ask him," says Ameiko, "but this first one looks like the full version of a charter, and the second one is the shorter version, and the third one is a place where people can write comments. Need anything from the kitchen today?" Dwyn says no, she just had lunch, and settles down to peruse the papers.
"Look at that writing!" she breathes. "Who would have thought he wrote like that?" She understands many of the words but the overall meaning is hard to follow. "I wish Nellah was here, she could explain this," Dwyn thinks. Then she takes a look at the second paper, which makes a lot more sense. "That's better, yes. Okay, this sounds good. And this sounds good too. I guess we ought to have some kind of agreement. But how will we figure out when something we find belongs to someone else, and when it's supposed to be taken away? Ah, I guess someone else can figure that part out. We'll see what happens when it happens. No "fussing and fretting" here!" she thinks.
After painstakingly making her way through the second paper, she pauses to consider which one she should sign. "I wonder why there are two?" She glances at the third paper but has no intention of writing anything down. "I can tell them in person. We can talk it over. Maybe someone will read out this long paper so I know what's going on."
And then it hits her: one version, the elegant one full of big words, is for those who can understand it. While the second version, the short and sweet version, is for dummies like her. But who else would it be for? She quickly rehearses the question in her mind, thinking about Eldthor, Kay, Illian, Dothan, Shey, Carbohal, Denat... "All of them could read this, no problem!" she realizes. "They wouldn't need anyone to read it to them, like a stupid child. He... he must have added this one for me. Because he thinks... oh, he thinks I'm too stupid!"
Before she even realizes what's happening, her eyes well up with tears and threaten to spill over right there in the middle of the pub. Dwyn jumps up, wiping her cloak sleeve hastily over her face, but composes herself enough to walk slowly out the door. "Keep your gravity! Keep your gravity!" She catches a glimpse in the periphery of someone who might or might not be Kay but she keeps walking fast, without turning around, until she reaches her little room at Ameiko's and shuts the door with uncharacteristic force.
"You say the, uh, "giant-kin" put this here? He wrote it out himself?" Ameiko nods. "And what are these other papers over here?" Ameiko asks, hesitantly, if Dwyn wants her to read the titles but Dwyn waves a hand airily. "No, no, that's fine. I just wondered why there's more than one."
"Well, you'd have to ask him," says Ameiko, "but this first one looks like the full version of a charter, and the second one is the shorter version, and the third one is a place where people can write comments. Need anything from the kitchen today?" Dwyn says no, she just had lunch, and settles down to peruse the papers.
"Look at that writing!" she breathes. "Who would have thought he wrote like that?" She understands many of the words but the overall meaning is hard to follow. "I wish Nellah was here, she could explain this," Dwyn thinks. Then she takes a look at the second paper, which makes a lot more sense. "That's better, yes. Okay, this sounds good. And this sounds good too. I guess we ought to have some kind of agreement. But how will we figure out when something we find belongs to someone else, and when it's supposed to be taken away? Ah, I guess someone else can figure that part out. We'll see what happens when it happens. No "fussing and fretting" here!" she thinks.
After painstakingly making her way through the second paper, she pauses to consider which one she should sign. "I wonder why there are two?" She glances at the third paper but has no intention of writing anything down. "I can tell them in person. We can talk it over. Maybe someone will read out this long paper so I know what's going on."
And then it hits her: one version, the elegant one full of big words, is for those who can understand it. While the second version, the short and sweet version, is for dummies like her. But who else would it be for? She quickly rehearses the question in her mind, thinking about Eldthor, Kay, Illian, Dothan, Shey, Carbohal, Denat... "All of them could read this, no problem!" she realizes. "They wouldn't need anyone to read it to them, like a stupid child. He... he must have added this one for me. Because he thinks... oh, he thinks I'm too stupid!"
Before she even realizes what's happening, her eyes well up with tears and threaten to spill over right there in the middle of the pub. Dwyn jumps up, wiping her cloak sleeve hastily over her face, but composes herself enough to walk slowly out the door. "Keep your gravity! Keep your gravity!" She catches a glimpse in the periphery of someone who might or might not be Kay but she keeps walking fast, without turning around, until she reaches her little room at Ameiko's and shuts the door with uncharacteristic force.
Re: TLDR Dwyn Stories Part I
[This is the point where a number of things are lost in a gap - in particular the story of how she discovers her cleric abilities on a trip home and visit to the garden of her local priest. Afterward, the party is involved in other activities and they end up needing to take Dothan to Magnimar for a cure, where they meet Bevalu and do other things in the city for a while. This is the period where Ironbriar and the Mayor are encountered, variously.]
Re: TLDR Dwyn Stories Part I
Dwyn doesn’t know which felt longer: riding across the countryside worried they wouldn’t reach Magnimar in time to cure Dothan, or wading through the vast metropolis in order to find the temple. What a relief that everyone is properly healed, and a quiet, comfortable inn was easy to find! After her nap Dwyn wanders downstairs to find some food and a big pitcher of cold water. Fish is popular on the menu. It comes served with a pile of baby potatoes and a deliciously tart salad. She asks for a few extra raw carrots - those are for the horse.
What sort of name is Ki Xa, anyway? She hasn’t heard it before but figures she’ll ask her friends for a translation tomorrow. The horse looks up with interest as Dwyn approaches and offers a carrot. “Let’s go for a walk, boy,” she says, leading him out of the stable and out into the street. Bicup was kind enough to offer directions to the Deadeye Lodge, but Dwyn is pretty sure she already knows where to find it. The expanse of green park nearby had been a soothing sight after crowded streets, and the low, rustic temple building stood out like a sore thumb among the stately park-side homes.
Dwyn angles her ranseur down, close enough to Ki Xa’s legs that he can get a good look at it while walking alongside. “All right, boy, let’s find some grass!” They head straight for the southern edge of the park in order to traverse as much of it as possible on the way. Many people are out for an evening walk and the shouts of children playing can be heard from all directions. An evening service appears to be breaking up just as Dwyn arrives at the temple. Securing the ranseur under its strap, she notices she’s not the only one with a mount or a longbow on her back. A wooden model of a longbow about ten feet high sits on a low dais in front of the lodge, the only sign indicating the building’s purpose.
Dwyn leads Ki Xa through the worshipers milling about and finds the posts where a few other horses are tied. Although people are leaving, the courtyard is still crowded; more attended this one service than are in Dwyn’s entire village back home! She’d like to see the temple but not until it’s quieter. Instead, Ki Xa gets carrot number two and a pet. “Thank you, Erastil, for speeding our ride. Everyone was healed; they’re going to be okay.” Dwyn looks around nervously and wonders if she should try to enter the temple building to pray.
“Sorry, Miss, you just missed the evening service.” Dwyn is so startled by the sound of a voice next to her that she actually jumps a bit. It’s one of the men carrying a longbow. He has two long, light brown braids and is about her height. Seems strong but not very attractive. She stares at him anxiously, momentarily afraid he has come to kick her out for being late.
“I don’t remember seeing you here before.” It sounds more like a question than statement. Dwyn looks down and gently pushes away the horse’s nose – he knows more carrots are in her cloak pocket. The man is still standing there, watching.
“Can you speak?” The man grins and sticks out a hand. “I’m Kjell.” Dwyn shakes hands and smiles back stiffly. “Do you have a name?” he asks slowly.
“Oh, yeah! Of course. I’m Dwyn. Nice to meet you.” Kjell nods. “Likewise. I’m one of the temple archers. I noticed your bow and, uh, weapons.”
“Yes, I’ve only had the longbow a few weeks. But I’m practicing.”
“Ever shot any game with it?”
Dwyn nods but fidgets with the horse’s bridle anxiously. Do disease-ridden zombies count as “game”? Should she tell any of these city people what she and the other Troubleshooters have been doing? What’s a “temple archer”, anyway? Her temple had no archers; just one prickly old man. He was plenty.
“Well, if you want to get some practice, we set up targets in the park every morning right across from here, about a half-hour after first light. Gives us time to eat a little breakfast,” he adds, and Dwyn nods seriously. Everyone needs breakfast. Maybe these are sensible people.
“Justice begins in the stomach,” she quotes. “Right,” says Kjell. “Decide after breakfast,” he intones solemnly. “Oh, is that from the book?” she asks. “I forgot that one.” Kjell nods. “Wisdom of the Hunter, number five. One of my favorites. How did you forget only three words?” He grins in a friendly way but Dwyn is mortified and goes back to petting her horse.
“Nice horse. How old is he?” Dwyn isn’t sure she should answer. “Um, well, not sure. I just got him yesterday.”
“Yesterday?! Huh. New bow, brand new horse – sounds like you’ve got big plans for… something.”
Dwyn looks around furtively. “Not really. I had to get a horse fast because my friend was sick. She needed a healer, so we came here.”
Kjell’s face brightens. “Oh, so you met Father Fendus!”
“No, uh, I’d like to meet him but haven’t yet. We went to some other place. It was really tall.”
Kjell frowns. “Not the Dome?”
“The what? I don’t know. I don’t think so. It had a nice garden area. It was on the other side of the park.” Dwyn points southward.
“Ah, okay. Must have been the Cynosure. Priestess of Desna there?” Dwyn nods and Kjell looks relieved. “Hey, how do you feel about wasps?”
“Wasps?” Dwyn looks puzzled. “I don’t know. I guess all natural things have a purpose. Not sure what a wasp’s purpose is though. Maybe for something else to eat them?” She glances querulously at Kjell but he doesn’t seem offended. “Yeah, I don’t much like ‘em. Who does?” she concludes and Kjell seems pleased.
“So, this your first time in the city?” he asks. Dwyn nods, worried she has already given out too much information. Why won’t he stop asking questions? He just keeps talking! She steps a little closer to Ki Xa and pets his neck.
“I don’t know if you’re taking care of that horse or the horse is taking care of you,” says Kjell. He leans in to stroke Ki Xa’s nose, actually grunting and snorting audibly as he does. Dwyn peers at him suspiciously but the horse tries to follow his hand, nickering softly and pawing at the ground. “Well, I think you picked a good one, and he likes you,” Kjell says matter-of-factly.
“How do you know that?”
“I asked him.”
Dwyn shoots him a dubious look. “Okay.”
“No really, I did. And by the way, he’s six. Ask him yourself!”
Dwyn smiles dismissively and starts untying the reins. This conversation has gone on about ten minutes too long and this person is probably insane. So far the city is meeting all expectations.
Kjell laughs. “I thought you were Ulfen too when I saw you come in, and now I know it.”
“Well that shows what you know. Only half.”
“Half’s enough,” says Kjell. “You remind me of my grandmother. She didn’t like anybody.”
Dwyn rolls her eyes and begins leading the horse back out. Chances of a quiet evening of meditation at the temple appear slim. “Okay then, Ulfen Dwyn,” calls Kjell. “Remember, tomorrow morning. See if you can hit a wall from twenty feet.”
The walk back through the park makes her feel better, but by the time Dwyn reaches the inn she’s had enough of other human beings to last a week. She feeds Ki Xa the rest of the carrots, checks his water bucket, and then plops down right there in the straw for her evening prayers. The tables are still full of travelers having dinner when she heads back to her room for a long, dreamless sleep.
* * *
The next morning Dwyn is up at the first blush of dawn. A clerk is rustling papers downstairs but the kitchen shows no sign of life, so she heads straight to the stables and puts a blanket and saddle on her horse.
A teenage girl is making morning rounds in the stables and looks surprised to see Dwyn. “Good morning, Miss, will you be needing anything?”
“No, thanks, just headed out for a ride and some breakfast. Do you know where I can get some rolls?”
The girl blinks and doesn’t answer for a moment. “You could take your breakfast here in a while. The breakfast is excellent, Miss. But… if you’re going out anyway,” she adds in a whisper, “you’ll find a bakery just up the street, another block east. It’s a yellow building.”
“Thanks,” says Dwyn. “Say, I have another question while you’re here. Do you happen to know what a “temple archer” is? We don’t have those at home.”
“I don’t think we have them here either.” The girl shrugs.
“Okay then, I’ll try the bakery. Thanks again!”
At first Dwyn isn’t sure which way to go. She ends up looping around the block and reaching the inn again. The street is still fairly empty and quiet. Heading another direction – it looks like south even though it turns out to be east – she quickly comes to a yellow building and can smell bread baking. The familiar aroma brings a sudden pang of longing to be back in Sandpoint. She hadn’t even told Alma where she was going! They had to leave in such a hurry, there wasn’t time for anything. What if Alma or the girls needed something in Magnimar? And Dwyn hadn’t even checked on Ven since leaving for the Misgivings. Would he be able to handle everything without her?
She ties the horse and then quickly picks out an apple turnover and small loaf of egg bread. The girl at the counter is friendly and Dwyn decides it wouldn’t hurt to ask her. Did she know what a “temple archer” was? “Of course,” she laughs. “You must be from out of town. The temple archers work for Father Fendus, over at the Deadeye Lodge. And lucky we’ve got ‘em in our part of town! They keep the, um, unsavory types in line, know what I mean? They look out for the decent folks. They’ve all got these bows and in spring and fall they put on big displays and contests during the festivals.” The girl looks as though she could continue for a long while, so Dwyn smiles and thanks her before ducking back out.
Ambling along on horseback, she downs the turnover and notes with satisfaction how superior Alma’s version is. She stows the bread in a saddlebag for later; maybe she can find a nice cheese and some fruit for lunch. Without even thinking about it she lets the horse drift back along to the south entrance of the park, retracing her steps from the previous evening.
“It’s so great that Dothan is okay, and Illian and Eldthor. I hope none of the rest of us has it now. I guess they would have known at the temple. Or at least we can go back if we notice any weird symptoms. I can’t believe we have to go back to that horrible house. Hopefully we don’t have to go inside. I don’t know why we can’t just burn it down, but maybe that wouldn’t get rid of the evil. It wouldn’t be the first time the place was burned, right? Oh, maybe that’s something to pray about – if there’s a way to clean up that house once and for all.”
Before Dwyn realizes exactly where she’s been heading, she sees several archers gathered near the northwest corner of the park. Even this is a far bigger crowd than she anticipated – a few dozen people are assembled here, two of them shooting at targets that have been set up on a pair of neighboring trees. She loops Ki Xa’s rope around a tree behind the crowd as someone waves her over. It’s not Kjell, but an older man in a long, dull brown cloak. He immediately runs up and claps a hand on her shoulder, as if doing his best imitation of Father Gerthin.
“Hello, hello my dear, good morning! You must be here for the shooting!”
Dwyn allows him to lead her forward to the others. “Lorgell Fendus at your service, my dear! Now, let’s see your bow. Oh yes, a fine instrument.”
Dwyn thanks him and looks around. Nobody else is taking much notice of her; they’re all staring intently at the targets. “Good morning, Father,” she begins, “I’m Dwyn Anyonsdottir. I’ve heard of your temple from my priest, Father Gerthin, and from Father Zantus, priest of Desna in Sandpoint.”
Fendus throws up his hands with delight. “Oh, wonderful! I know them, fine men both. My goodness, Gerthin! I haven’t heard that name in years. You know, we once worked together briefly. A little outpost up the river from Riddleport. We were delivering some supplies. Gerthin’s a wonderful fellow! He’s sent you to us, then?”
“Oh, no, not exactly,” Dwyn replies. “I knew this place was down here somewhere, but I came to Magnimar for a sick friend. Most of my life I was going to Gerthin’s church – well, it’s more of a farm, honestly.”
Fendus nods. “That was always his special gift, thanks to the Earthshaker! Plants. Wonderful man. He grows them like few others can! Wonderful place. He came to the priesthood late, you know. Well, later than some. He must have been forty. I think he lost his wife. After that his life was devoted to the god’s service. He’d been farming for years. Erastil always blessed his crops, even the years with poor weather. Now, isn’t he up north of here, in the country?”
“Yeah, he’s out northeast of Sandpoint. That’s where my family’s from. Well, that’s where they settled to farm. Before that we were even farther north, where I was born and grew up, as a younger kid.” Dwyn hadn’t really meant to tell the priest all of this – she can’t imagine why he would be interested. But he’s easy to talk to and one of the friendliest people she has met, so she finds herself continuing. “Gerthin taught me to pray to the Father for help with different things. Especially for healing people, things like that. Or growing things.” She pauses and Lorgell bobs his head enthusiastically. “Wonderful, yes, Erastil sows his seeds! Well, our city gardens cannot compete with what you’ve been accustomed to there,” he sighs, “but I hope you’ll find we cultivate the “Wisdom of the Archer” here as well as anyone. This is our morning meditation on the mysteries, our daily practice,” he says, waving a hand toward the rest of the group. “You must join us, dear. Come have a look.”
He leads Dwyn over to two lines where the archers are waiting for a turn. Some of them are wearing similar brown cloaks. A few people are gathered to watch and have no bows. A tall, older woman with graying hair is jotting something on a clipboard after each pair of archers fires a trio of arrows. Fendus ushers Dwyn forward in the line as others fill in behind her, and soon it’s her turn to shoot. “Three arrows, one after the other. We fire at the same time,” says the tall man next to her, preparing to raise his enormous bow.
“Sorry, we might have to move that target up closer for Dwyn.”
She doesn’t have to turn around to know it must be Kjell again. What nerve! Trying to embarrass her in front of all these people, in front of the priest! Taking a deep, steady breath she draws back her first arrow. A feeling of complete calm settles over her, as if her entire being were focused around the arrow, as if her eye was poised directly on its tip, looking straight down at the target through clear space. The arrow shoots out with a silvery whistling noise, piercing the dead center of the bullseye! It may be the best shot she’s ever taken with a bow.
Praise Erastil! His service really is my calling, she thinks to herself. Maybe he’s pleased I’m here, doing this now. She hears the others murmuring something behind her but there’s no time to process – she has to take the next shot. Suddenly she feels a tinge of embarrassment, knowing everyone must be watching her this time. The arrow skitters off to the left, grazing the edge of the target before falling into the grass. Feeling the heat rising in her cheeks, she tries to recapture the feeling of calm centeredness but can’t quite get there. The last effort isn’t bad, though – the arrow sticks neatly in one of the middling rings.
The tall man smiles and she follows him to retrieve the arrows. He has placed two fairly near the center and a third in the outer ring, but nothing as good as her first perfect shot. Father Fendus slaps Dwyn on the back as she returns to take her place in line. “Terrific, Dwyn! You’ll give my crew some competition, eh?” She beams happily and takes her place at the end of the line. Kjell is almost at the front again. He leans out and points back at her. “Why am I not surprised?” he grins. “Let’s see if you can top this,” he calls, pulling out an arrow.
Fendus checks the standings on the clipboard and claps his hands with delight, taking a deep breath of the brisk morning air. “A clear breeze has no price…”
What sort of name is Ki Xa, anyway? She hasn’t heard it before but figures she’ll ask her friends for a translation tomorrow. The horse looks up with interest as Dwyn approaches and offers a carrot. “Let’s go for a walk, boy,” she says, leading him out of the stable and out into the street. Bicup was kind enough to offer directions to the Deadeye Lodge, but Dwyn is pretty sure she already knows where to find it. The expanse of green park nearby had been a soothing sight after crowded streets, and the low, rustic temple building stood out like a sore thumb among the stately park-side homes.
Dwyn angles her ranseur down, close enough to Ki Xa’s legs that he can get a good look at it while walking alongside. “All right, boy, let’s find some grass!” They head straight for the southern edge of the park in order to traverse as much of it as possible on the way. Many people are out for an evening walk and the shouts of children playing can be heard from all directions. An evening service appears to be breaking up just as Dwyn arrives at the temple. Securing the ranseur under its strap, she notices she’s not the only one with a mount or a longbow on her back. A wooden model of a longbow about ten feet high sits on a low dais in front of the lodge, the only sign indicating the building’s purpose.
Dwyn leads Ki Xa through the worshipers milling about and finds the posts where a few other horses are tied. Although people are leaving, the courtyard is still crowded; more attended this one service than are in Dwyn’s entire village back home! She’d like to see the temple but not until it’s quieter. Instead, Ki Xa gets carrot number two and a pet. “Thank you, Erastil, for speeding our ride. Everyone was healed; they’re going to be okay.” Dwyn looks around nervously and wonders if she should try to enter the temple building to pray.
“Sorry, Miss, you just missed the evening service.” Dwyn is so startled by the sound of a voice next to her that she actually jumps a bit. It’s one of the men carrying a longbow. He has two long, light brown braids and is about her height. Seems strong but not very attractive. She stares at him anxiously, momentarily afraid he has come to kick her out for being late.
“I don’t remember seeing you here before.” It sounds more like a question than statement. Dwyn looks down and gently pushes away the horse’s nose – he knows more carrots are in her cloak pocket. The man is still standing there, watching.
“Can you speak?” The man grins and sticks out a hand. “I’m Kjell.” Dwyn shakes hands and smiles back stiffly. “Do you have a name?” he asks slowly.
“Oh, yeah! Of course. I’m Dwyn. Nice to meet you.” Kjell nods. “Likewise. I’m one of the temple archers. I noticed your bow and, uh, weapons.”
“Yes, I’ve only had the longbow a few weeks. But I’m practicing.”
“Ever shot any game with it?”
Dwyn nods but fidgets with the horse’s bridle anxiously. Do disease-ridden zombies count as “game”? Should she tell any of these city people what she and the other Troubleshooters have been doing? What’s a “temple archer”, anyway? Her temple had no archers; just one prickly old man. He was plenty.
“Well, if you want to get some practice, we set up targets in the park every morning right across from here, about a half-hour after first light. Gives us time to eat a little breakfast,” he adds, and Dwyn nods seriously. Everyone needs breakfast. Maybe these are sensible people.
“Justice begins in the stomach,” she quotes. “Right,” says Kjell. “Decide after breakfast,” he intones solemnly. “Oh, is that from the book?” she asks. “I forgot that one.” Kjell nods. “Wisdom of the Hunter, number five. One of my favorites. How did you forget only three words?” He grins in a friendly way but Dwyn is mortified and goes back to petting her horse.
“Nice horse. How old is he?” Dwyn isn’t sure she should answer. “Um, well, not sure. I just got him yesterday.”
“Yesterday?! Huh. New bow, brand new horse – sounds like you’ve got big plans for… something.”
Dwyn looks around furtively. “Not really. I had to get a horse fast because my friend was sick. She needed a healer, so we came here.”
Kjell’s face brightens. “Oh, so you met Father Fendus!”
“No, uh, I’d like to meet him but haven’t yet. We went to some other place. It was really tall.”
Kjell frowns. “Not the Dome?”
“The what? I don’t know. I don’t think so. It had a nice garden area. It was on the other side of the park.” Dwyn points southward.
“Ah, okay. Must have been the Cynosure. Priestess of Desna there?” Dwyn nods and Kjell looks relieved. “Hey, how do you feel about wasps?”
“Wasps?” Dwyn looks puzzled. “I don’t know. I guess all natural things have a purpose. Not sure what a wasp’s purpose is though. Maybe for something else to eat them?” She glances querulously at Kjell but he doesn’t seem offended. “Yeah, I don’t much like ‘em. Who does?” she concludes and Kjell seems pleased.
“So, this your first time in the city?” he asks. Dwyn nods, worried she has already given out too much information. Why won’t he stop asking questions? He just keeps talking! She steps a little closer to Ki Xa and pets his neck.
“I don’t know if you’re taking care of that horse or the horse is taking care of you,” says Kjell. He leans in to stroke Ki Xa’s nose, actually grunting and snorting audibly as he does. Dwyn peers at him suspiciously but the horse tries to follow his hand, nickering softly and pawing at the ground. “Well, I think you picked a good one, and he likes you,” Kjell says matter-of-factly.
“How do you know that?”
“I asked him.”
Dwyn shoots him a dubious look. “Okay.”
“No really, I did. And by the way, he’s six. Ask him yourself!”
Dwyn smiles dismissively and starts untying the reins. This conversation has gone on about ten minutes too long and this person is probably insane. So far the city is meeting all expectations.
Kjell laughs. “I thought you were Ulfen too when I saw you come in, and now I know it.”
“Well that shows what you know. Only half.”
“Half’s enough,” says Kjell. “You remind me of my grandmother. She didn’t like anybody.”
Dwyn rolls her eyes and begins leading the horse back out. Chances of a quiet evening of meditation at the temple appear slim. “Okay then, Ulfen Dwyn,” calls Kjell. “Remember, tomorrow morning. See if you can hit a wall from twenty feet.”
The walk back through the park makes her feel better, but by the time Dwyn reaches the inn she’s had enough of other human beings to last a week. She feeds Ki Xa the rest of the carrots, checks his water bucket, and then plops down right there in the straw for her evening prayers. The tables are still full of travelers having dinner when she heads back to her room for a long, dreamless sleep.
* * *
The next morning Dwyn is up at the first blush of dawn. A clerk is rustling papers downstairs but the kitchen shows no sign of life, so she heads straight to the stables and puts a blanket and saddle on her horse.
A teenage girl is making morning rounds in the stables and looks surprised to see Dwyn. “Good morning, Miss, will you be needing anything?”
“No, thanks, just headed out for a ride and some breakfast. Do you know where I can get some rolls?”
The girl blinks and doesn’t answer for a moment. “You could take your breakfast here in a while. The breakfast is excellent, Miss. But… if you’re going out anyway,” she adds in a whisper, “you’ll find a bakery just up the street, another block east. It’s a yellow building.”
“Thanks,” says Dwyn. “Say, I have another question while you’re here. Do you happen to know what a “temple archer” is? We don’t have those at home.”
“I don’t think we have them here either.” The girl shrugs.
“Okay then, I’ll try the bakery. Thanks again!”
At first Dwyn isn’t sure which way to go. She ends up looping around the block and reaching the inn again. The street is still fairly empty and quiet. Heading another direction – it looks like south even though it turns out to be east – she quickly comes to a yellow building and can smell bread baking. The familiar aroma brings a sudden pang of longing to be back in Sandpoint. She hadn’t even told Alma where she was going! They had to leave in such a hurry, there wasn’t time for anything. What if Alma or the girls needed something in Magnimar? And Dwyn hadn’t even checked on Ven since leaving for the Misgivings. Would he be able to handle everything without her?
She ties the horse and then quickly picks out an apple turnover and small loaf of egg bread. The girl at the counter is friendly and Dwyn decides it wouldn’t hurt to ask her. Did she know what a “temple archer” was? “Of course,” she laughs. “You must be from out of town. The temple archers work for Father Fendus, over at the Deadeye Lodge. And lucky we’ve got ‘em in our part of town! They keep the, um, unsavory types in line, know what I mean? They look out for the decent folks. They’ve all got these bows and in spring and fall they put on big displays and contests during the festivals.” The girl looks as though she could continue for a long while, so Dwyn smiles and thanks her before ducking back out.
Ambling along on horseback, she downs the turnover and notes with satisfaction how superior Alma’s version is. She stows the bread in a saddlebag for later; maybe she can find a nice cheese and some fruit for lunch. Without even thinking about it she lets the horse drift back along to the south entrance of the park, retracing her steps from the previous evening.
“It’s so great that Dothan is okay, and Illian and Eldthor. I hope none of the rest of us has it now. I guess they would have known at the temple. Or at least we can go back if we notice any weird symptoms. I can’t believe we have to go back to that horrible house. Hopefully we don’t have to go inside. I don’t know why we can’t just burn it down, but maybe that wouldn’t get rid of the evil. It wouldn’t be the first time the place was burned, right? Oh, maybe that’s something to pray about – if there’s a way to clean up that house once and for all.”
Before Dwyn realizes exactly where she’s been heading, she sees several archers gathered near the northwest corner of the park. Even this is a far bigger crowd than she anticipated – a few dozen people are assembled here, two of them shooting at targets that have been set up on a pair of neighboring trees. She loops Ki Xa’s rope around a tree behind the crowd as someone waves her over. It’s not Kjell, but an older man in a long, dull brown cloak. He immediately runs up and claps a hand on her shoulder, as if doing his best imitation of Father Gerthin.
“Hello, hello my dear, good morning! You must be here for the shooting!”
Dwyn allows him to lead her forward to the others. “Lorgell Fendus at your service, my dear! Now, let’s see your bow. Oh yes, a fine instrument.”
Dwyn thanks him and looks around. Nobody else is taking much notice of her; they’re all staring intently at the targets. “Good morning, Father,” she begins, “I’m Dwyn Anyonsdottir. I’ve heard of your temple from my priest, Father Gerthin, and from Father Zantus, priest of Desna in Sandpoint.”
Fendus throws up his hands with delight. “Oh, wonderful! I know them, fine men both. My goodness, Gerthin! I haven’t heard that name in years. You know, we once worked together briefly. A little outpost up the river from Riddleport. We were delivering some supplies. Gerthin’s a wonderful fellow! He’s sent you to us, then?”
“Oh, no, not exactly,” Dwyn replies. “I knew this place was down here somewhere, but I came to Magnimar for a sick friend. Most of my life I was going to Gerthin’s church – well, it’s more of a farm, honestly.”
Fendus nods. “That was always his special gift, thanks to the Earthshaker! Plants. Wonderful man. He grows them like few others can! Wonderful place. He came to the priesthood late, you know. Well, later than some. He must have been forty. I think he lost his wife. After that his life was devoted to the god’s service. He’d been farming for years. Erastil always blessed his crops, even the years with poor weather. Now, isn’t he up north of here, in the country?”
“Yeah, he’s out northeast of Sandpoint. That’s where my family’s from. Well, that’s where they settled to farm. Before that we were even farther north, where I was born and grew up, as a younger kid.” Dwyn hadn’t really meant to tell the priest all of this – she can’t imagine why he would be interested. But he’s easy to talk to and one of the friendliest people she has met, so she finds herself continuing. “Gerthin taught me to pray to the Father for help with different things. Especially for healing people, things like that. Or growing things.” She pauses and Lorgell bobs his head enthusiastically. “Wonderful, yes, Erastil sows his seeds! Well, our city gardens cannot compete with what you’ve been accustomed to there,” he sighs, “but I hope you’ll find we cultivate the “Wisdom of the Archer” here as well as anyone. This is our morning meditation on the mysteries, our daily practice,” he says, waving a hand toward the rest of the group. “You must join us, dear. Come have a look.”
He leads Dwyn over to two lines where the archers are waiting for a turn. Some of them are wearing similar brown cloaks. A few people are gathered to watch and have no bows. A tall, older woman with graying hair is jotting something on a clipboard after each pair of archers fires a trio of arrows. Fendus ushers Dwyn forward in the line as others fill in behind her, and soon it’s her turn to shoot. “Three arrows, one after the other. We fire at the same time,” says the tall man next to her, preparing to raise his enormous bow.
“Sorry, we might have to move that target up closer for Dwyn.”
She doesn’t have to turn around to know it must be Kjell again. What nerve! Trying to embarrass her in front of all these people, in front of the priest! Taking a deep, steady breath she draws back her first arrow. A feeling of complete calm settles over her, as if her entire being were focused around the arrow, as if her eye was poised directly on its tip, looking straight down at the target through clear space. The arrow shoots out with a silvery whistling noise, piercing the dead center of the bullseye! It may be the best shot she’s ever taken with a bow.
Praise Erastil! His service really is my calling, she thinks to herself. Maybe he’s pleased I’m here, doing this now. She hears the others murmuring something behind her but there’s no time to process – she has to take the next shot. Suddenly she feels a tinge of embarrassment, knowing everyone must be watching her this time. The arrow skitters off to the left, grazing the edge of the target before falling into the grass. Feeling the heat rising in her cheeks, she tries to recapture the feeling of calm centeredness but can’t quite get there. The last effort isn’t bad, though – the arrow sticks neatly in one of the middling rings.
The tall man smiles and she follows him to retrieve the arrows. He has placed two fairly near the center and a third in the outer ring, but nothing as good as her first perfect shot. Father Fendus slaps Dwyn on the back as she returns to take her place in line. “Terrific, Dwyn! You’ll give my crew some competition, eh?” She beams happily and takes her place at the end of the line. Kjell is almost at the front again. He leans out and points back at her. “Why am I not surprised?” he grins. “Let’s see if you can top this,” he calls, pulling out an arrow.
Fendus checks the standings on the clipboard and claps his hands with delight, taking a deep breath of the brisk morning air. “A clear breeze has no price…”
Re: TLDR Dwyn Stories Part I
The next morning Dwyn is up early. She considers going to shooting practice but doesn’t want to run into Rone or anyone else, so instead she saddles Ki Xa and takes a leisurely ride north [I just realized all my directions previously given have been incorrect!] until catching sight of the water. Though she grew up in mountains and farmland, she still feels the allure of the ocean and loves the smell of the salty breeze. The view reminds her of Sandpoint – apart from the mysterious ruins of a colossal bridge rising into the air! She misses life at the bakery and hopes they’ll return home soon. Big city life is too loud, too confusing, too many people!
Down near one of the piers she finds a storefront with fresh seafood. The man behind the counter protests that they’re not really open yet, as the first catch won’t be in until before lunchtime, but he will sell her cold lobster rolls at half price since they were made yesterday. A perfect breakfast, she thinks, though unfortunately the place has nothing to interest Ki Xa. The man does know of a yarn shop, but it’s all the way back past the inn.
Retracing her path, she thinks of the soft clacking sound her mother’s needles used to make. Dwyn had never been much good at books and letters or even sewing, but she was fairly clever at knitting. Perhaps not as good as Merri, but good enough. “How many years has it been since I picked up needles?” she wonders. “I’ve probably forgotten most of it.” Luckily the woman at the shop is eager to answer questions and has wool yarn in a wonderful deep brown heather. “I dye all these myself,” she says proudly. “Used to be I bought from someone else, but then I had to sell it higher and the colors weren’t as good. Uneven, not very vibrant. Now I make most any shade I like!” She lets Dwyn peek into a long room where big coils of yarn are drying on ropes stretched wall to wall. “The breeze comes in here from the west, you see? Perfect place to set color.” She sells Dwyn a pair of needles sized to the yarn and reminds her how to increase and decrease at the end of a row. “We have a class on Wealday, late morning. Second level. Beginners are later today, always on Moonday, but you won’t learn anything new there.” Dwyn agrees to take a flyer and says she’ll consider it. Stowing the yarn in a saddlebag, she sets off for the Inn to see if Hal or Ax or Illian is interested in sparring for a while.
Down near one of the piers she finds a storefront with fresh seafood. The man behind the counter protests that they’re not really open yet, as the first catch won’t be in until before lunchtime, but he will sell her cold lobster rolls at half price since they were made yesterday. A perfect breakfast, she thinks, though unfortunately the place has nothing to interest Ki Xa. The man does know of a yarn shop, but it’s all the way back past the inn.
Retracing her path, she thinks of the soft clacking sound her mother’s needles used to make. Dwyn had never been much good at books and letters or even sewing, but she was fairly clever at knitting. Perhaps not as good as Merri, but good enough. “How many years has it been since I picked up needles?” she wonders. “I’ve probably forgotten most of it.” Luckily the woman at the shop is eager to answer questions and has wool yarn in a wonderful deep brown heather. “I dye all these myself,” she says proudly. “Used to be I bought from someone else, but then I had to sell it higher and the colors weren’t as good. Uneven, not very vibrant. Now I make most any shade I like!” She lets Dwyn peek into a long room where big coils of yarn are drying on ropes stretched wall to wall. “The breeze comes in here from the west, you see? Perfect place to set color.” She sells Dwyn a pair of needles sized to the yarn and reminds her how to increase and decrease at the end of a row. “We have a class on Wealday, late morning. Second level. Beginners are later today, always on Moonday, but you won’t learn anything new there.” Dwyn agrees to take a flyer and says she’ll consider it. Stowing the yarn in a saddlebag, she sets off for the Inn to see if Hal or Ax or Illian is interested in sparring for a while.
Re: TLDR Dwyn Stories Part I
The Deadeye Lodge is an unassuming log-cabin style building, in keeping with the austerity preferred by the followers of Erastil. Its interior is nevertheless dazzling: a series of graceful wooden arches in the shape of the longbow extends along the high ceiling, creating beautiful patterns of light. The pews are low, perfectly rectangular boxes made of birdseye maple, arranged in two long sections before a simple bench and table where the priest or priestess sits. The sanctuary is dotted with long, narrow windows behind which only the trees that surround the temple can be seen, giving the impression that the building sits in a forest instead of a bustling city.
Behind the pews is a large entrance space where the ceiling opens to a skylight. Dwyn finds a place to hang her cloak and weapons on the long racks that line this room; many others have left longbows too. From here a hallway extends past a number of doors and a wide staircase leads into a lower level. The pews are almost full now and the room is getting noisy. Dwyn spots the woman and little boy she saw earlier and sits beside them, but the woman gives no sign of recognition. “Probably I look different now without my cloak on,” she thinks.
As Father Fendus walks to the front of the sanctuary, everyone falls silent and the twelve temple archers take up their places in pairs around the room, still holding their bows. Kjell is behind Dwyn, by the entrance doors alongside an enormous man with white hair but no wrinkles or other signs of age. Two women about her mother’s age are front and center on either side of Fendus, holding giant bows that look as if they were made of bone, and the tall archer who introduced himself to her as Rone a few days ago is by the window in a front corner. He immediately catches her looking at him and gives her a wink, so she looks back down at her lap.
The service begins with a long series of announcements and greetings. The knitting guild will be meeting this evening downstairs after the service. The home visiting committee is reminded of their Wealday meeting and meal deliveries. A moment of silence for the passing of Mrs. Ola Weaver, aged 91. Mrs. Jun Wigand announces that her son Tom is engaged to Marget Rast. Tomorrow night’s usual Moonday service will be replaced by the Young Shoots Carnival in the Park, which Dwyn gathers is some sort of festival for children held on the 7th as a reminder of the ideal family size: Mother, Father, and enough Children to count on one hand. Just like Dwyn’s family, except that Father was now gone.
Finally the call and response of the formal service begins, shaking her from a sad reverie. Dwyn finds it comforting that everything follows the same pattern she learned in Gerthin’s temple in her youth. She knows just what to recite at the proper moments along with the rest of the congregants. Luckily Father Fendus is a much better singer than Father Gerthin. He tells a few amusing stories that make everyone laugh, including one about getting his finger caught in a lobster’s claw when he was a child. Dwyn concentrates on his words, knowing that the stories probably have a deeper meaning she is supposed to discern, but unfortunately if there was another point she missed it. She looks down at the little boy next to her, who is still clutching his small toy bow and listening earnestly to Fendus without making a peep. She smiles, thinking how funny it would be to have a little boy around after practically raising a whole houseful of little sisters. After the group recites some sayings from The Parables, it’s over and everyone is getting up, milling about and chatting.
Dwyn follows along as the crowd moves downstairs, where cups of tea, juice, and plain biscuits have been set out in a common room full of round tables and pine benches. A large group is crowded around one of the tables – it must be the knitting guild because many of them are pulling needles and projects out of bags. She walks over to observe for a while until an older woman insists that she pull up a bench. The woman compliments her blue sweater and asks if she knitted it herself, but Dwyn admits that she just purchased it today. The knitters try to figure out whether they know the shop or its owner, but Dwyn can’t remember its name and can barely remember what street they were on at that point – the town is still so unfamiliar. They ask if she knows how to knit, and of course she was taught at one point but can hardly remember how to do that either. Her grandmother knits round the clock – made her the socks she is wearing right now, in fact. The ladies remind her of some basics and tell her where to pick up supplies, and she agrees to give it a try. “It wouldn’t be a bad way to spend time in the evenings,” she thinks, “and I do like to have something to do with my hands.”
After a while she goes back upstairs to collect her things, and Kjell is still standing by the door. His white-haired companion is gone, however, and he follows Dwyn out when she leaves. “Hey, how did you like the service?”
“It was nice,” she replies. “Mostly the same as at home, but with better singing and stories.”
“Is there a Lodge in Sandpoint too?” Kjell asks.
“Oh, no, I mean back where I’m from, on the farm. I guess you could say there’s a village – not too many buildings though. It’s out northeast of Sandpoint a ways. Father Gerthin is our priest. In Sandpoint we have Father Zantus. He’s a priest of Desna, but he helps everyone out and is a real nice guy.” Dwyn looks around at the Lodge. “Do you live here, then?”
“No,” says Kjell. “I live with my mom. But I spend a lot of time here – most every day really.”
“Ah, okay. Well, guess I’ll see you around here sometime,” she says, turning to go.
“Hey, wait – uh, remember what happened earlier with those guys? Maybe you shouldn’t be walking home alone,” he suggests tentatively. Dwyn gives him a look of disbelief. “Do you really think I can’t defend myself?” she asks, smiling slightly. “And aren’t you supposed to be out there standing guard?”
Kjell looks embarrassed. “No, I’m supposed to walk around the area now, keep an eye on things. But it wouldn’t hurt to have you along for that, right? Especially with that … thing you’ve got there,” he says, motioning toward her Lucerne hammer. “I know you can defend yourself,” he adds quickly. “Obviously! I just thought, you know… those guys being so unpleasant, and…”
Dwyn shrugs. “Well, I’m not staying far from here if you want to come along.” Without waiting, she starts off down the street until he catches up.
“So, how long are you staying in Magnimar,” he asks, “now that your friend is better?”
Dwyn doesn’t answer for a moment. “Not sure. I guess it depends how things go.”
“Oh.” Kjell walks alongside her in silence for a while. “Hey, we’re having a Carnival tomorrow! You should go to it. Tomorrow night in the park.” He pauses for a minute but she doesn’t reply, so he continues. “It’s mainly for the kids, but there are lots of games and contests and stuff for adults too. Anyone can join in. Sometimes just whoever is in the park comes over and plays – some people first get interested in the Lodge that way. And there’s lots of food – really good food!”
Dwyn perks up a little at the promise of food. “Oh really?”
“Absolutely! We have a barbecue, and any kind of dessert you can put on a stick, and twelve kegs brought in just for the occasion!”
“Hmm, sounds interesting. I can’t promise anything, I might have things to do tomorrow night. It all depends on my friends.”
“You can bring friends too,” Kjell says hopefully.
“Well, I’ll think about it. See that sign up there with the angel on it? That’s our inn.”
“Oh, okay. Goodnight, then. And thanks for coming to the service!”
“Of course, I wouldn’t miss it while I’m here,” she says with a wave.
Walking up to her room she thinks about the events of the evening. Kjell doesn’t really seem like a con man. At least, the Lodge is very nice and all the people seem nice, and he’s clearly an official cleric. How bad could he be, right? But then she remembers Rone, his smart remarks and the winking, and reminds herself not to be too trusting. “This is still the city. It’s not clear why anyone would want to live here. Best to stay on the safe side. You never know.”
With that, she tucks herself in bed and thinks about the day’s shopping trip. Her friends really are nice people and they all make a great team. She wishes Nellah could be with them still, but maybe she’ll be around again someday, and the other girls are a lot of fun. Ax was hilarious as usual. She sighs wistfully and wonders if he was wearing the beetle necklace today. Probably not, since after all they were shopping for clothes and having to try things on. No denying it, she thinks, he’s cute. Well, maybe cute isn’t the word – he’s… impressive. Or something. But so dramatic and complicated! Half the time she doesn’t quite know what he’s talking about or what the words he’s using actually mean. She would need a dictionary just to keep up. He’s always joking around and she never really gets it, even though all the other girls do. They have a witty repartee going so easily.
She considers that perhaps she liked Ax because he was nothing like the guys from home. What a lot of mangy idiots! And little weaklings, too – she could have snapped most of them in half as soon as look at them. Beren Carlsson hadn’t been all bad, it’s true. He was the best of the lot and a good three inches taller than her. But he was just so… boring, and something had to be done about his smell. Was it only bad breath, or something more? Who could say? He wasn’t her problem anymore, thankfully. She smiles to herself before drifting off to sleep, thinking Nellah probably would have had something funny to say about that.
Behind the pews is a large entrance space where the ceiling opens to a skylight. Dwyn finds a place to hang her cloak and weapons on the long racks that line this room; many others have left longbows too. From here a hallway extends past a number of doors and a wide staircase leads into a lower level. The pews are almost full now and the room is getting noisy. Dwyn spots the woman and little boy she saw earlier and sits beside them, but the woman gives no sign of recognition. “Probably I look different now without my cloak on,” she thinks.
As Father Fendus walks to the front of the sanctuary, everyone falls silent and the twelve temple archers take up their places in pairs around the room, still holding their bows. Kjell is behind Dwyn, by the entrance doors alongside an enormous man with white hair but no wrinkles or other signs of age. Two women about her mother’s age are front and center on either side of Fendus, holding giant bows that look as if they were made of bone, and the tall archer who introduced himself to her as Rone a few days ago is by the window in a front corner. He immediately catches her looking at him and gives her a wink, so she looks back down at her lap.
The service begins with a long series of announcements and greetings. The knitting guild will be meeting this evening downstairs after the service. The home visiting committee is reminded of their Wealday meeting and meal deliveries. A moment of silence for the passing of Mrs. Ola Weaver, aged 91. Mrs. Jun Wigand announces that her son Tom is engaged to Marget Rast. Tomorrow night’s usual Moonday service will be replaced by the Young Shoots Carnival in the Park, which Dwyn gathers is some sort of festival for children held on the 7th as a reminder of the ideal family size: Mother, Father, and enough Children to count on one hand. Just like Dwyn’s family, except that Father was now gone.
Finally the call and response of the formal service begins, shaking her from a sad reverie. Dwyn finds it comforting that everything follows the same pattern she learned in Gerthin’s temple in her youth. She knows just what to recite at the proper moments along with the rest of the congregants. Luckily Father Fendus is a much better singer than Father Gerthin. He tells a few amusing stories that make everyone laugh, including one about getting his finger caught in a lobster’s claw when he was a child. Dwyn concentrates on his words, knowing that the stories probably have a deeper meaning she is supposed to discern, but unfortunately if there was another point she missed it. She looks down at the little boy next to her, who is still clutching his small toy bow and listening earnestly to Fendus without making a peep. She smiles, thinking how funny it would be to have a little boy around after practically raising a whole houseful of little sisters. After the group recites some sayings from The Parables, it’s over and everyone is getting up, milling about and chatting.
Dwyn follows along as the crowd moves downstairs, where cups of tea, juice, and plain biscuits have been set out in a common room full of round tables and pine benches. A large group is crowded around one of the tables – it must be the knitting guild because many of them are pulling needles and projects out of bags. She walks over to observe for a while until an older woman insists that she pull up a bench. The woman compliments her blue sweater and asks if she knitted it herself, but Dwyn admits that she just purchased it today. The knitters try to figure out whether they know the shop or its owner, but Dwyn can’t remember its name and can barely remember what street they were on at that point – the town is still so unfamiliar. They ask if she knows how to knit, and of course she was taught at one point but can hardly remember how to do that either. Her grandmother knits round the clock – made her the socks she is wearing right now, in fact. The ladies remind her of some basics and tell her where to pick up supplies, and she agrees to give it a try. “It wouldn’t be a bad way to spend time in the evenings,” she thinks, “and I do like to have something to do with my hands.”
After a while she goes back upstairs to collect her things, and Kjell is still standing by the door. His white-haired companion is gone, however, and he follows Dwyn out when she leaves. “Hey, how did you like the service?”
“It was nice,” she replies. “Mostly the same as at home, but with better singing and stories.”
“Is there a Lodge in Sandpoint too?” Kjell asks.
“Oh, no, I mean back where I’m from, on the farm. I guess you could say there’s a village – not too many buildings though. It’s out northeast of Sandpoint a ways. Father Gerthin is our priest. In Sandpoint we have Father Zantus. He’s a priest of Desna, but he helps everyone out and is a real nice guy.” Dwyn looks around at the Lodge. “Do you live here, then?”
“No,” says Kjell. “I live with my mom. But I spend a lot of time here – most every day really.”
“Ah, okay. Well, guess I’ll see you around here sometime,” she says, turning to go.
“Hey, wait – uh, remember what happened earlier with those guys? Maybe you shouldn’t be walking home alone,” he suggests tentatively. Dwyn gives him a look of disbelief. “Do you really think I can’t defend myself?” she asks, smiling slightly. “And aren’t you supposed to be out there standing guard?”
Kjell looks embarrassed. “No, I’m supposed to walk around the area now, keep an eye on things. But it wouldn’t hurt to have you along for that, right? Especially with that … thing you’ve got there,” he says, motioning toward her Lucerne hammer. “I know you can defend yourself,” he adds quickly. “Obviously! I just thought, you know… those guys being so unpleasant, and…”
Dwyn shrugs. “Well, I’m not staying far from here if you want to come along.” Without waiting, she starts off down the street until he catches up.
“So, how long are you staying in Magnimar,” he asks, “now that your friend is better?”
Dwyn doesn’t answer for a moment. “Not sure. I guess it depends how things go.”
“Oh.” Kjell walks alongside her in silence for a while. “Hey, we’re having a Carnival tomorrow! You should go to it. Tomorrow night in the park.” He pauses for a minute but she doesn’t reply, so he continues. “It’s mainly for the kids, but there are lots of games and contests and stuff for adults too. Anyone can join in. Sometimes just whoever is in the park comes over and plays – some people first get interested in the Lodge that way. And there’s lots of food – really good food!”
Dwyn perks up a little at the promise of food. “Oh really?”
“Absolutely! We have a barbecue, and any kind of dessert you can put on a stick, and twelve kegs brought in just for the occasion!”
“Hmm, sounds interesting. I can’t promise anything, I might have things to do tomorrow night. It all depends on my friends.”
“You can bring friends too,” Kjell says hopefully.
“Well, I’ll think about it. See that sign up there with the angel on it? That’s our inn.”
“Oh, okay. Goodnight, then. And thanks for coming to the service!”
“Of course, I wouldn’t miss it while I’m here,” she says with a wave.
Walking up to her room she thinks about the events of the evening. Kjell doesn’t really seem like a con man. At least, the Lodge is very nice and all the people seem nice, and he’s clearly an official cleric. How bad could he be, right? But then she remembers Rone, his smart remarks and the winking, and reminds herself not to be too trusting. “This is still the city. It’s not clear why anyone would want to live here. Best to stay on the safe side. You never know.”
With that, she tucks herself in bed and thinks about the day’s shopping trip. Her friends really are nice people and they all make a great team. She wishes Nellah could be with them still, but maybe she’ll be around again someday, and the other girls are a lot of fun. Ax was hilarious as usual. She sighs wistfully and wonders if he was wearing the beetle necklace today. Probably not, since after all they were shopping for clothes and having to try things on. No denying it, she thinks, he’s cute. Well, maybe cute isn’t the word – he’s… impressive. Or something. But so dramatic and complicated! Half the time she doesn’t quite know what he’s talking about or what the words he’s using actually mean. She would need a dictionary just to keep up. He’s always joking around and she never really gets it, even though all the other girls do. They have a witty repartee going so easily.
She considers that perhaps she liked Ax because he was nothing like the guys from home. What a lot of mangy idiots! And little weaklings, too – she could have snapped most of them in half as soon as look at them. Beren Carlsson hadn’t been all bad, it’s true. He was the best of the lot and a good three inches taller than her. But he was just so… boring, and something had to be done about his smell. Was it only bad breath, or something more? Who could say? He wasn’t her problem anymore, thankfully. She smiles to herself before drifting off to sleep, thinking Nellah probably would have had something funny to say about that.
Re: TLDR Dwyn Stories Part I
Kjell watches for a moment as Dwyn disappears behind the door of the inn, wondering if any of the people he can see gathered around in the restaurant’s windows were her friends from Sandpoint. With a sigh he turns and heads back to the Lodge. The Archers are already assembling in Father Fendus’ office when he arrives. Each one gives a report on the day’s events as Father Fendus offers advice or directions. Kjell is happy to go last, briefly relating his encounter with the three nasty partisans of the Dome of the Savored Sting. “We’ve seen a little upturn in their activity lately,” muses Fendus. “Perhaps it’s time to send patrols further down in their territory, push them back a bit. Above all, everyone who comes to the Lodge must feel safe, both here and in the streets on the way. Let’s be on careful watch tomorrow for the usual suspects, especially with the Carnival going on. I don’t think they’ll have the nerve to interfere, though; they know how popular the event is in this neighborhood, and all the families with children will be coming out to the Park. Nobody will want what they’re selling.”
The rest of the group files out but Kjell lingers behind for a moment. “What is it, son?” inquires Fendus. “Still worried about those ruffians? I think sometimes you take them more seriously than they deserve. They’re weak compared to us, both in body and spirit.”
“Thank you, Father, I will bear that in mind.” Kjell shuffles his hands nervously.
“Is there something else, then?” Fendus sits down again in his big wooden chair and motions for Kjell to take a seat too.
“Thanks, I can stand. I just… well… I have a question about something.” Fendus waits for him to continue. “Those Calistrians, once they recognized me, like usual they said something about being a hypocrite. Normally it doesn’t bother me anymore, but someone else was there tonight. That woman from Sandpoint who was at our practice the other day, remember?”
“Oh, yes,” Fendus smiles. “Dwyn Anyonsdottir, I believe. She was at the service tonight, sitting way in the back. Did you see her?”
Kjell thinks to himself briefly that he didn’t see much else, since luckily he was standing where she couldn’t see him. “Yes, she was there and she scared off those guys with some kind of huge polearm she had. I don’t know exactly what she’s doing here, but she must be working as a fighter.”
“Don’t forget, she’s a cleric of the Elk Father too,” adds Fendus.
“She is? Really?” Kjell looks a little surprised but also pleased.
“Yes, she told me about it herself at practice. I know her priest, Father Gerthin, from many years back. He helped her find her gifts.”
Kjell looks thoughtful. “Well, one of the gifts must be fighting, because when she swung that thing they scattered in a hurry. And one even apologized – can you believe it?!”
Fendus chuckles a little. “Oh, that’s rich! We’ll have to see if she wants to go around on patrol with you while she’s here. She could use more practice with a bow, though. Not bad, lots of natural talent – but a little inconsistent.”
“Well, the problem is, she heard what they said – “hypocrite” – and she asked about it.”
“That isn’t a problem, is it? Did you tell her why?”
Kjell shifts his weight uncomfortably. “No, I want to tell her though. I don’t want her getting the wrong idea. But I also don’t want to mess things up. She probably already thinks I’m a pain. She hardly talks to me. She’s not unfriendly once you get her onto a subject, she just doesn’t seem to want to talk that much. And you know what happened with Rone when he saw her. He says she’s too easily offended and to forget about her.”
Fendus raises one eyebrow. “I don’t know about that. Rone doesn’t have a hard time offending people,” he says delicately.
“Yeah, but look at him. He has about five girlfriends and everybody loves him. He didn’t have any problem talking to her. But me, well… he says she’d never go out with me anyway. He says I’m a lost cause.”
Fendus sighs heavily, looking at the young man to whom he has been a kind of second father for several years now. He’s the youngest and most inexperienced of all the Temple Archers, but also one of the most loyal and pure of heart. “Rone has no problem talking to anyone and no problem finding a girlfriend, that much is certain. Whether he can keep a girlfriend, or whether he really wants to keep one, is another question entirely. “The wise do not disdain to love.” Think about this logically, son. Was she talking to you this evening or to Rone.” Kjell ponders for a moment. “To you, right? I saw you two standing outside. Remember what our Father says, “Faithfulness and sincerity come first.” Those qualities are important and the right person will love you for them.”
Kjell thanks Fendus for his advice before heading out into the cold night air for the walk home. His mother is already asleep when he gets back to their little apartment by the docks. He pulls up the blanket and tucks it in around her, gazing at her peaceful face for a moment. “Yes, I’ll tell her the whole story,” he thinks to himself. “And if she doesn’t like me, she doesn’t like me. What do I have to lose?” Before going to bed he re-reads the Wisdom of the Hunter and considers how surprising it is that Dwyn is a cleric too. “It has to be a sign,” he thinks to himself. “It was on Oathday. Just when I was thinking Mom and I should leave this crazy city, go back home again, she walked right in to the Lodge with her horse. Walked right up to me, even! And then tonight – out of the blue, there she was! It can’t just be coincidence, can it? At least I have to try. Maybe she doesn’t like me, but what if I miss the only chance and I never see her again?” Kjell considers this possibility uncomfortably. “Please, let her come to the Carnival. Just for a little while.”
* * *
The next morning Dwyn takes a short ride to the Park and back with Ki Xa, letting him get used to the look of her Lucerne hammer. When she returns, Eldthor accompanies her back to the stable. For this particular day, he has swapped out a couple of his first level spells with Speak with Animal.”
Dwyn watches Eldthor as he approaches her horse, feeding him an apple and patting his side. After a few moments of concentration, he begins making the same kinds of horse-noises that Kjell had made when pretending to “talk” to the horse. To Dwyn’s amazement the horse seems to respond, putting his nose down into Eldthor’s hands and making soft grunting noises, stamping his foot a half-dozen times, and whinnying gently.
After a minute or two the exchange seems to be over and Ki Xa goes back to his water bucket for a drink. Eldthor turns back to Dwyn with a grin. “Nice horse you have there!”
“So… you really talked to him? And he… he answered?”
Eldthor nods. “Sure. He has a horse name but I don’t know what it is in our words. He doesn’t mind being called Ki Xa – that’s what humans have always called him. He has seen six winters and likes the apple I gave him, but parsnips are his favorite. He also likes lettuce and carrot. He wanted to keep talking about food but I interrupted him a little. He likes you but does not like your stick ball – I think maybe he means your flail? It makes him nervous and makes “bad noises”. And yes, he recently spoke to another human, sometime when you took him to the park. He wants to go back there. That was the last thing he said.”
Dwyn gapes at Eldthor and Ki Xa in turn, amazed that such a thing can truly happen. Of course, by now she has witnessed all sorts of strange magic accomplished by both friend and foe, but horses and other animals had always seemed so normal and non-magical. The very idea that all this time they had possessed a secret language of their own was amazing – not merely grunts and sounds to indicate things like “back off” or “I’m hungry”, but complex thoughts and feelings like those a human would experience!
“Eldthor, is it just horses you can talk to, or any animals?”
“Not just horses. Some animals don't have too much to say – horses are especially intelligent. But yes, I can talk to many different kinds of animals this way.”
Dwyn shakes her head and looks around the stables as if she had never really seen horses before. What other things might be going on beneath the surface of the world that she had never imagined were possible? If she paid closer attention, might she do the same thing? She resolves to take careful note of all the sounds and movements Ki Xa makes, to see if she can pick up on any patterns. And of course, to go on another ride through the park today!
“Thanks so much for doing this, Eldthor! It’s good to know more about Ki Xa and also good to know people really can do this. I guess, well, perhaps I judged someone a little harshly because I didn’t believe it.” Dwyn hopes she wasn’t too brusque with Kjell. She really hadn’t believed he was talking to her horse – she thought he was just teasing her somehow or making a joke. It didn’t seem possible that the horse was actually telling him he was six years old, but here he had just told Eldthor his age, and El certainly wouldn’t lie about it. That must be what all the hoof-tapping was about. Well, maybe she’ll go to this Young Shoots Carnival, she thinks. How bad could it be, with barbecue? And dessert!
Later that morning, Dwyn heads off to the Dockside area to find the yarn shop recommended by the knitting guild at the Lodge. She cannot believe the variety of colors and types available and has no idea what to choose. Luckily a girl comes over to help her find the right size needles and proper type of yarn for different projects. It certainly will be a big help if she can learn to darn her own socks without leaving big lumps the way she does now, or if she can make herself brand new socks and mittens and things.
Kjell wakes up much later than usual. He doesn’t have to be at the Lodge until afternoon, since they’ll be hosting the Carnival all evening, but he still feels a little guilty about getting off the usual pattern of “early to bed, early to rise”. His mom is already eating breakfast when he rolls out of bed. “I’d take an egg and a little toast, please. Okay, yes, I’ll have coffee if you already made it.” He tells her about last night, conveniently leaving out most of the encounter with the Calistrians, but describing Dwyn briefly. Since this is the first time she has ever heard her son mention a particular girl in a long while, as opposed to grousing about his general inability to get a date, she immediately takes an interest in every detail. “Well, maybe she’ll come tonight,” she says, patting his arm. “If she asks around at the inn or in her neighborhood, everyone will tell her how much fun the Carnival is.” Kjell nods, reassured. “I’m going out to get a load of firewood brought up here,” he says. His mom jots down a quick list on a piece of torn newspaper. “When you go out, I need some groceries. Can you run down and get me some clams and mussels, one fish for chowder, an onion, potatoes, all this stuff?” “Of course, mom. See you later!” He grabs an empty canvas bag and heads out into the street, happy to see the sun is shining brightly today.
Dwyn swings her little cloth bag full of yarn to and fro as she walks, enjoying the mixture of warm morning sunshine and chilly ocean breeze. It’s been a while since she saw the ocean properly. She has been too busy over the last few months to make any trips down to the shore for fun, but it’s a nice place to take a run. Good for the muscles. Carefully stowing the yarn and needles in her backpack, she walks down past the docks and crawls over an area of rocks to reach a portion of sandy beach. The tide is out and it’s covered with big stripes of seaweed and shells. Finding a clean track of sand, she sets out at a jog until her legs and lungs reach their limit, and then she walks slowly back, listening to the sounds of seagulls and watching the patterns of shifting tidewater.
Kjell promises the woman at the market that he’ll bring back the wheelbarrow. “Have I ever failed to do it yet?” he asks, a bit frustrated. He throws in a load of chopped logs and starts hauling it up the hill to his street. On the second trip home he throws the onions and potatoes on top of the logs, and then returns the empty wheelbarrow. “Where to next?” he wonders. “I guess clams and mussels. It’s already so late, maybe the first boats will be back already.”
Dwyn sits on a rock for a while, gazing across the water at the little boats in the distance. The ocean is always refreshing, she thinks. She feels lucky that in Sandpoint she can always get any kind of seafood she wants, and it’s usually the cheapest thing too. Probably it’s like that in Magnimar. Not so much back home on the farm. It’s one of the only downsides to being landlocked; the other is not being able to breathe this air and listen to the waves crashing on the rocks. She drinks it in for a few minutes before realizing she’s really hungry after the run. It’s not too early for lunch, and maybe she can find a market with some fresh seafood like they have in Sandpoint. She only has to walk a few blocks before finding just the place, a low whitewashed building right on the water with the day’s prices posted on a board out front. Today is two lobsters for the price of one. It’s like it was meant to be! Lobster is her favorite, especially pre-boiled and cold with a little red sauce for dipping. She pushes open the door, wondering if they have any potato salad to go with it for take-out.
Kjell asks the man at the counter how long the wait for the fish and mussels will be. “Just a few more minutes, don’t worry! Hey, have you checked out our specials?” “Nope, just following this list,” he says before turning to leave. Surely another place down the street will have them. And suddenly there she is, pushing open the door and marching in as if she visits the place every day. Kjell literally jumps back a bit, as if he’s not entirely sure his senses are telling the truth. “Dwyn! Hello. What are you doing here?”
Dwyn is surprised to see Kjell at the counter. “Looking for some lobsters. Two-for-one special today! What are you doing here? I was just thinking of you.”
“What? You were? Uh, I’m, uh, getting groceries for my mom.” Kjell is at a loss for words. Why was she thinking about him? What is she doing here? His mom is always saying, ‘third time’s a charm!’ She even says it, pointlessly, when he sneezes five times in a row instead of three. But today her little saying sounds pretty good. First, Dwyn walks into the Lodge out of nowhere after evening service, on the third day of the month! Second, she’s suddenly right there in the street last night chasing off hooligans, and now the third time, in a seafood market in another part of town, for no clear reason at all. “Three is my favorite number from now on,” he thinks to himself.
“Well, guess what?” she says. Kjell cannot venture a guess. “My friend talked to my horse. And guess what he said?” She waits expectantly as if Kjell is actually going to comment, but he continues to stare blankly at her. “He’s six. And he likes parsnips.” She raises her eyebrows as if Kjell is supposed to find an obvious significance in these remarks. “See? That proves you were telling the truth. He really did tell you he was six, didn’t he?”
Kjell nods slowly, beginning to comprehend. He considers that perhaps six has a case for being his favorite number now too. “Yes, of course he did. I hope you didn’t think I was lying about it. He really did tell me, six years old. And all those other things too,” he adds hastily.
“Well, I believe you now,” says Dwyn. “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you before. It just seemed too weird to be true, you know? Not even so much that you could do it, but that the horse would be able to tell you something that made sense, to humans.”
“Oh believe me, I know. I’ve always been able to understand what animals are saying, ever since I was very young, and most people didn’t believe it then and still don’t. But that’s what the Elk Father did for me. It’s one of the gifts he sometimes bestows on people. I understand you maybe have some gifts from him too.”
The rest of the group files out but Kjell lingers behind for a moment. “What is it, son?” inquires Fendus. “Still worried about those ruffians? I think sometimes you take them more seriously than they deserve. They’re weak compared to us, both in body and spirit.”
“Thank you, Father, I will bear that in mind.” Kjell shuffles his hands nervously.
“Is there something else, then?” Fendus sits down again in his big wooden chair and motions for Kjell to take a seat too.
“Thanks, I can stand. I just… well… I have a question about something.” Fendus waits for him to continue. “Those Calistrians, once they recognized me, like usual they said something about being a hypocrite. Normally it doesn’t bother me anymore, but someone else was there tonight. That woman from Sandpoint who was at our practice the other day, remember?”
“Oh, yes,” Fendus smiles. “Dwyn Anyonsdottir, I believe. She was at the service tonight, sitting way in the back. Did you see her?”
Kjell thinks to himself briefly that he didn’t see much else, since luckily he was standing where she couldn’t see him. “Yes, she was there and she scared off those guys with some kind of huge polearm she had. I don’t know exactly what she’s doing here, but she must be working as a fighter.”
“Don’t forget, she’s a cleric of the Elk Father too,” adds Fendus.
“She is? Really?” Kjell looks a little surprised but also pleased.
“Yes, she told me about it herself at practice. I know her priest, Father Gerthin, from many years back. He helped her find her gifts.”
Kjell looks thoughtful. “Well, one of the gifts must be fighting, because when she swung that thing they scattered in a hurry. And one even apologized – can you believe it?!”
Fendus chuckles a little. “Oh, that’s rich! We’ll have to see if she wants to go around on patrol with you while she’s here. She could use more practice with a bow, though. Not bad, lots of natural talent – but a little inconsistent.”
“Well, the problem is, she heard what they said – “hypocrite” – and she asked about it.”
“That isn’t a problem, is it? Did you tell her why?”
Kjell shifts his weight uncomfortably. “No, I want to tell her though. I don’t want her getting the wrong idea. But I also don’t want to mess things up. She probably already thinks I’m a pain. She hardly talks to me. She’s not unfriendly once you get her onto a subject, she just doesn’t seem to want to talk that much. And you know what happened with Rone when he saw her. He says she’s too easily offended and to forget about her.”
Fendus raises one eyebrow. “I don’t know about that. Rone doesn’t have a hard time offending people,” he says delicately.
“Yeah, but look at him. He has about five girlfriends and everybody loves him. He didn’t have any problem talking to her. But me, well… he says she’d never go out with me anyway. He says I’m a lost cause.”
Fendus sighs heavily, looking at the young man to whom he has been a kind of second father for several years now. He’s the youngest and most inexperienced of all the Temple Archers, but also one of the most loyal and pure of heart. “Rone has no problem talking to anyone and no problem finding a girlfriend, that much is certain. Whether he can keep a girlfriend, or whether he really wants to keep one, is another question entirely. “The wise do not disdain to love.” Think about this logically, son. Was she talking to you this evening or to Rone.” Kjell ponders for a moment. “To you, right? I saw you two standing outside. Remember what our Father says, “Faithfulness and sincerity come first.” Those qualities are important and the right person will love you for them.”
Kjell thanks Fendus for his advice before heading out into the cold night air for the walk home. His mother is already asleep when he gets back to their little apartment by the docks. He pulls up the blanket and tucks it in around her, gazing at her peaceful face for a moment. “Yes, I’ll tell her the whole story,” he thinks to himself. “And if she doesn’t like me, she doesn’t like me. What do I have to lose?” Before going to bed he re-reads the Wisdom of the Hunter and considers how surprising it is that Dwyn is a cleric too. “It has to be a sign,” he thinks to himself. “It was on Oathday. Just when I was thinking Mom and I should leave this crazy city, go back home again, she walked right in to the Lodge with her horse. Walked right up to me, even! And then tonight – out of the blue, there she was! It can’t just be coincidence, can it? At least I have to try. Maybe she doesn’t like me, but what if I miss the only chance and I never see her again?” Kjell considers this possibility uncomfortably. “Please, let her come to the Carnival. Just for a little while.”
* * *
The next morning Dwyn takes a short ride to the Park and back with Ki Xa, letting him get used to the look of her Lucerne hammer. When she returns, Eldthor accompanies her back to the stable. For this particular day, he has swapped out a couple of his first level spells with Speak with Animal.”
Dwyn watches Eldthor as he approaches her horse, feeding him an apple and patting his side. After a few moments of concentration, he begins making the same kinds of horse-noises that Kjell had made when pretending to “talk” to the horse. To Dwyn’s amazement the horse seems to respond, putting his nose down into Eldthor’s hands and making soft grunting noises, stamping his foot a half-dozen times, and whinnying gently.
After a minute or two the exchange seems to be over and Ki Xa goes back to his water bucket for a drink. Eldthor turns back to Dwyn with a grin. “Nice horse you have there!”
“So… you really talked to him? And he… he answered?”
Eldthor nods. “Sure. He has a horse name but I don’t know what it is in our words. He doesn’t mind being called Ki Xa – that’s what humans have always called him. He has seen six winters and likes the apple I gave him, but parsnips are his favorite. He also likes lettuce and carrot. He wanted to keep talking about food but I interrupted him a little. He likes you but does not like your stick ball – I think maybe he means your flail? It makes him nervous and makes “bad noises”. And yes, he recently spoke to another human, sometime when you took him to the park. He wants to go back there. That was the last thing he said.”
Dwyn gapes at Eldthor and Ki Xa in turn, amazed that such a thing can truly happen. Of course, by now she has witnessed all sorts of strange magic accomplished by both friend and foe, but horses and other animals had always seemed so normal and non-magical. The very idea that all this time they had possessed a secret language of their own was amazing – not merely grunts and sounds to indicate things like “back off” or “I’m hungry”, but complex thoughts and feelings like those a human would experience!
“Eldthor, is it just horses you can talk to, or any animals?”
“Not just horses. Some animals don't have too much to say – horses are especially intelligent. But yes, I can talk to many different kinds of animals this way.”
Dwyn shakes her head and looks around the stables as if she had never really seen horses before. What other things might be going on beneath the surface of the world that she had never imagined were possible? If she paid closer attention, might she do the same thing? She resolves to take careful note of all the sounds and movements Ki Xa makes, to see if she can pick up on any patterns. And of course, to go on another ride through the park today!
“Thanks so much for doing this, Eldthor! It’s good to know more about Ki Xa and also good to know people really can do this. I guess, well, perhaps I judged someone a little harshly because I didn’t believe it.” Dwyn hopes she wasn’t too brusque with Kjell. She really hadn’t believed he was talking to her horse – she thought he was just teasing her somehow or making a joke. It didn’t seem possible that the horse was actually telling him he was six years old, but here he had just told Eldthor his age, and El certainly wouldn’t lie about it. That must be what all the hoof-tapping was about. Well, maybe she’ll go to this Young Shoots Carnival, she thinks. How bad could it be, with barbecue? And dessert!
Later that morning, Dwyn heads off to the Dockside area to find the yarn shop recommended by the knitting guild at the Lodge. She cannot believe the variety of colors and types available and has no idea what to choose. Luckily a girl comes over to help her find the right size needles and proper type of yarn for different projects. It certainly will be a big help if she can learn to darn her own socks without leaving big lumps the way she does now, or if she can make herself brand new socks and mittens and things.
Kjell wakes up much later than usual. He doesn’t have to be at the Lodge until afternoon, since they’ll be hosting the Carnival all evening, but he still feels a little guilty about getting off the usual pattern of “early to bed, early to rise”. His mom is already eating breakfast when he rolls out of bed. “I’d take an egg and a little toast, please. Okay, yes, I’ll have coffee if you already made it.” He tells her about last night, conveniently leaving out most of the encounter with the Calistrians, but describing Dwyn briefly. Since this is the first time she has ever heard her son mention a particular girl in a long while, as opposed to grousing about his general inability to get a date, she immediately takes an interest in every detail. “Well, maybe she’ll come tonight,” she says, patting his arm. “If she asks around at the inn or in her neighborhood, everyone will tell her how much fun the Carnival is.” Kjell nods, reassured. “I’m going out to get a load of firewood brought up here,” he says. His mom jots down a quick list on a piece of torn newspaper. “When you go out, I need some groceries. Can you run down and get me some clams and mussels, one fish for chowder, an onion, potatoes, all this stuff?” “Of course, mom. See you later!” He grabs an empty canvas bag and heads out into the street, happy to see the sun is shining brightly today.
Dwyn swings her little cloth bag full of yarn to and fro as she walks, enjoying the mixture of warm morning sunshine and chilly ocean breeze. It’s been a while since she saw the ocean properly. She has been too busy over the last few months to make any trips down to the shore for fun, but it’s a nice place to take a run. Good for the muscles. Carefully stowing the yarn and needles in her backpack, she walks down past the docks and crawls over an area of rocks to reach a portion of sandy beach. The tide is out and it’s covered with big stripes of seaweed and shells. Finding a clean track of sand, she sets out at a jog until her legs and lungs reach their limit, and then she walks slowly back, listening to the sounds of seagulls and watching the patterns of shifting tidewater.
Kjell promises the woman at the market that he’ll bring back the wheelbarrow. “Have I ever failed to do it yet?” he asks, a bit frustrated. He throws in a load of chopped logs and starts hauling it up the hill to his street. On the second trip home he throws the onions and potatoes on top of the logs, and then returns the empty wheelbarrow. “Where to next?” he wonders. “I guess clams and mussels. It’s already so late, maybe the first boats will be back already.”
Dwyn sits on a rock for a while, gazing across the water at the little boats in the distance. The ocean is always refreshing, she thinks. She feels lucky that in Sandpoint she can always get any kind of seafood she wants, and it’s usually the cheapest thing too. Probably it’s like that in Magnimar. Not so much back home on the farm. It’s one of the only downsides to being landlocked; the other is not being able to breathe this air and listen to the waves crashing on the rocks. She drinks it in for a few minutes before realizing she’s really hungry after the run. It’s not too early for lunch, and maybe she can find a market with some fresh seafood like they have in Sandpoint. She only has to walk a few blocks before finding just the place, a low whitewashed building right on the water with the day’s prices posted on a board out front. Today is two lobsters for the price of one. It’s like it was meant to be! Lobster is her favorite, especially pre-boiled and cold with a little red sauce for dipping. She pushes open the door, wondering if they have any potato salad to go with it for take-out.
Kjell asks the man at the counter how long the wait for the fish and mussels will be. “Just a few more minutes, don’t worry! Hey, have you checked out our specials?” “Nope, just following this list,” he says before turning to leave. Surely another place down the street will have them. And suddenly there she is, pushing open the door and marching in as if she visits the place every day. Kjell literally jumps back a bit, as if he’s not entirely sure his senses are telling the truth. “Dwyn! Hello. What are you doing here?”
Dwyn is surprised to see Kjell at the counter. “Looking for some lobsters. Two-for-one special today! What are you doing here? I was just thinking of you.”
“What? You were? Uh, I’m, uh, getting groceries for my mom.” Kjell is at a loss for words. Why was she thinking about him? What is she doing here? His mom is always saying, ‘third time’s a charm!’ She even says it, pointlessly, when he sneezes five times in a row instead of three. But today her little saying sounds pretty good. First, Dwyn walks into the Lodge out of nowhere after evening service, on the third day of the month! Second, she’s suddenly right there in the street last night chasing off hooligans, and now the third time, in a seafood market in another part of town, for no clear reason at all. “Three is my favorite number from now on,” he thinks to himself.
“Well, guess what?” she says. Kjell cannot venture a guess. “My friend talked to my horse. And guess what he said?” She waits expectantly as if Kjell is actually going to comment, but he continues to stare blankly at her. “He’s six. And he likes parsnips.” She raises her eyebrows as if Kjell is supposed to find an obvious significance in these remarks. “See? That proves you were telling the truth. He really did tell you he was six, didn’t he?”
Kjell nods slowly, beginning to comprehend. He considers that perhaps six has a case for being his favorite number now too. “Yes, of course he did. I hope you didn’t think I was lying about it. He really did tell me, six years old. And all those other things too,” he adds hastily.
“Well, I believe you now,” says Dwyn. “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you before. It just seemed too weird to be true, you know? Not even so much that you could do it, but that the horse would be able to tell you something that made sense, to humans.”
“Oh believe me, I know. I’ve always been able to understand what animals are saying, ever since I was very young, and most people didn’t believe it then and still don’t. But that’s what the Elk Father did for me. It’s one of the gifts he sometimes bestows on people. I understand you maybe have some gifts from him too.”
Re: TLDR Dwyn Stories Part I
Dwyn went upstairs early, her mind troubled by the day’s events. Illian had been seriously injured, unpleasant fellows were encountered at the bar, with even more unpleasant suggestions about what might be behind the latest string of murders, and now some of her friends were suggesting they should rent a place for a long-term stay. She could see the wisdom in the plan; why not save money where money could be saved? Not to mention having a private location to discuss their work! But renting a place meant staying far longer than Dwyn expected or cared to.
Luckily Alma had Ven to help her now – at least she didn’t have to worry about leaving her cousins in the lurch. Coming to the bigger temples in the city for healing? For making new friends and seeing a whole new side to religious life for the clerics of Erastil? Wonderful. The Inn had been very nice too. But Magnimar had already proven itself a potentially hostile place. People weren’t as friendly; some were even violent and dangerous. Wasn’t it enough that they had stopped the Star Murders in Sandpoint? Eradicating the evil that had lurked in the Misgivings? Did they have to function as an adjunct police force for the whole city now too?
Dwyn scolded herself for having such uncharitable thoughts. Surely if they could prevent even one murder, it would be worth it. And wasn’t that what the most faithful followers of Erastil were supposed to do? Isn’t that what people like Kjell were doing every day, patrolling the city and making things safer for its residents? It’s not like he really loved being in the city either, she considered. He was already thinking about leaving. His mother didn’t have any better options. She was probably too devastated by what happened to make any new plans, and seeing how well Kjell was doing at the Lodge? Of course they had stayed. But would he always want to be here?
Dwyn pushed those thoughts aside brusquely. Yes, Kjell was nice, but she still had only known him for a handful of days. Not enough to be thinking about his future plans as if they would matter to her. Ridiculous to entertain such notions. Yet her mind found no comforting place to alight as she tossed and turned in bed. Who was really behind the murders? Would they threaten the people in Sandpoint again? Were they out right now, claiming another victim while everyone slept? Was it a case of criminals getting rid of their enemies, or making people pay for their debts? Or were some of the more fanciful suggestions true? It wouldn’t be the first time they had encountered a demon, after all. Just a few months ago Dwyn’s world had seemed so normal, so predictable. Now the things people only heard about in children’s stories and tall tales were springing to life all around, even more monstrous and horrible than imagined! What kind of world was this? And what was she supposed to be doing in it?
***
The next morning she woke very early and decided to ride to the park in order to give Ki Xa some exercise. “I’m sorry I’ve been neglecting you, sweet boy,” she said. “But you didn’t miss anything fun.” Knowing Dothan and Shey and the others were planning to spend the day in a library, she let Ki Xa gallop at a run through the mostly-empty park grounds, thinking he wouldn’t have much more chance for exercise until evening.
“All these houses around the park are so fancy,” she considered. “I doubt we could afford to stay in one. But maybe we could find something near the gates for a lower price, something closer to green space. What do you think?” she asked, giving the horse a pat. “I wish I could talk to you like those other guys can, but I don’t know how they manage it!”
After leaving him tied at the Lodge, Dwyn joined the others at archery practice. She didn’t mind the cold mornings – they were especially delightful. Still, she had to blow on her fingers and warm them in order to draw the arrows well. She followed the group back to the building, hoping for a chance to talk to Father Fendus alone. When the Archers began their morning meeting in the main hall, he waved her into the study. “What brings you in, my dear?” he inquired, stoking the fire and motioning for her to sit on one of the smooth benches. The room was plain and unadorned but the warmth of its log walls and a soft, braided rug gave it a comfortable, inviting atmosphere. “If you don’t mind, I can stand,” she began, causing Fendus to grin for reasons she couldn’t guess. “I’d like to tell you a bit about why my friends and I have come here, and see if you can answer some questions we have. First, my friend was sick so we brought her from Sandpoint to the temple of Desna here for healing. After that we were investigating a bad person who had been living in Sandpoint, and we found out about the Star Murders here.” Fendus nods, frowning. “Well, we had some murders like that back in Sandpoint. Same thing – seven pointed star carved into the victims. We thought we had solved it – killed the ones who were doing it – until we found the murders still going on here.”
“So here’s the weird thing about the victims. A lot of them are people with debts, people who want to make a deal and get rich quick, that kind of thing. Could be a lot of reasons why someone wants them dead. Maybe they’ve made deals with dangerous people.” Fendus nods again. “I agree, Dwyn, but how can I help? I don’t know who might be behind the killings, unfortunately, though we’re all too familiar with them. We generally don’t patrol Underbridge, but we’ve advised the congregation to stay home at night and take every extra precaution, especially if they have to go through that area.”
Dwyn isn’t quite sure how to phrase her questions. “Well, it could be the usual sort of criminals. But we’re worried it might be something more. This seven-pointed star – some people said it’s from an ancient world that was here before, and now all that’s left are its ruins. Earlier this fall, a woman who worshipped Lamashtu” – Fendus draws in a breath sharply, looking vaguely offended at the very idea – “was planning to attack Sandpoint. She was using this pool of water under the town - they said it was made with the souls of dead people - and undead creatures came out of it. I don’t really know how it works, but what if something like that is happening here? What if these killers aren’t just settling debts, but have some religious reason? As my friends said, they seem to want greedy people. Could some other evil god or goddess want people killed like this? I don’t know.”
***
Dwyn found Kjell in the entry hall and smiled, glad to see he was done with his meeting. She might not have many chances to see him again until they found the Star killers. “Where have you been, stranger,” he grinned. “It’s been a whole day.” He glanced over his shoulder and found they were being closely observed by the two white-robed women Archers. “We had better get your horse, don’t you think? We can walk through the park.”
They moved quickly across the lawn, Dwyn explaining that she had to meet her friends to make a trip to the library and Kjell getting ready to go out on patrol. “So what have you and your friends been getting up to?” he asked.
“Nothing fun, that’s for sure,” she sighed. “We’ve been trying to find out more about some people who were causing trouble back in Sandpoint, and now we’ve heard about the Star Murders. We had some in Sandpoint. We thought it was over.”
“Terrible thing,” Kjell says, “we’ve been keeping a careful eye out but I hear everything is happening down in Underbridge. Definitely not a place you want to be going.”
“Tell me about it,” replies Dwyn, “I was just there yesterday. We went to a bar and believe me, everyone in it was pretty creepy.”
“What? You went to… a bar… in Underbridge? Why?”
Dwyn shrugs. “Well, my friend Dothan thought it would be a good idea to talk to the locals, find out what people have heard about the murders. She’s really good with people. She’s a singer, you know, everyone loves her. Anyway, we just got a lot of crackpot theories and the place was so gross, it probably wasn’t worth it.”
Kjell looks baffled. “I still don’t see why you would go there at all. Especially now, knowing some killer is on the loose. I hope you’re not ever going back,” he says emphatically.
Dwyn glances at him. “Well, I might have to. It just depends. If that’s where the murders are, then yeah, maybe we’ll go back to investigate.”
“Why? You aren’t the city Guard! If anyone else should be doing it, we should,” he says, meaning the Temple Archers. “And Father Fendus doesn’t even want us taking unnecessary risks. We’re here to assist the Guard, not do their investigations for them. ‘Somebody's troubles have arrived; those of another are on the way.’”
“Huh. What does that actually mean?” Dwyn wonders. “I’ll make trouble for any of these killers I can find, that’s for sure. I nearly had to do the same to that scumbag in the bar – he actually kicked a woman in the stomach, and she didn’t even seem to care! Can you believe it? What the heck is that about?”
“Of course I believe it!” says Kjell a bit hotly. “That’s what I’m telling you. That place isn’t safe, for you or anyone. The only people who live there don’t have much other choice. A lot of the criminals we see come from there. It only makes sense. They learn to fight, to steal – nobody is teaching them the right ways. And who is this “scumbag” in the bar, anyway? Why didn’t your friends take care of him?”
“Oh I thought about it, believe me,” she says, “but we were there to get information, not to start a ruckus. When he grabbed me I thought I was going to have to take off his arm, but I managed to keep calm.”
“What?!” Kjell exclaims. “Grabbed you? What do you mean? Who grabbed you and why?” Without pausing to hear the story he continues, “That’s it! You can’t go back there again! That’s just what I’m talking about. You don’t need to “investigate” any of this, and if you do, at least I should be coming with you.”
Dwyn bristles visibly at the word “can’t” and doesn’t respond right away. Upon reaching the gates at the end of the park she hops back onto Ki Xa. “Good to know,” she says coolly. “Well, I hope I see you tomorrow morning. But you should know, I go wherever I want and I don’t need anyone else to come along. My friends and I can defend one another.”
“That’s… that doesn’t make any sense,” Kjell says. He seems angry and frustrated but also a bit sad. “Well, I hope I see you tomorrow, too,” he adds, looking up at her as the horse stamps impatiently. “I wanted to, uh… go somewhere, on a picnic actually.” He looks down at his feet. “Well, we’ll talk when I see you,” he says, giving a half-hearted wave as she flicks the reins and trots off.
Luckily Alma had Ven to help her now – at least she didn’t have to worry about leaving her cousins in the lurch. Coming to the bigger temples in the city for healing? For making new friends and seeing a whole new side to religious life for the clerics of Erastil? Wonderful. The Inn had been very nice too. But Magnimar had already proven itself a potentially hostile place. People weren’t as friendly; some were even violent and dangerous. Wasn’t it enough that they had stopped the Star Murders in Sandpoint? Eradicating the evil that had lurked in the Misgivings? Did they have to function as an adjunct police force for the whole city now too?
Dwyn scolded herself for having such uncharitable thoughts. Surely if they could prevent even one murder, it would be worth it. And wasn’t that what the most faithful followers of Erastil were supposed to do? Isn’t that what people like Kjell were doing every day, patrolling the city and making things safer for its residents? It’s not like he really loved being in the city either, she considered. He was already thinking about leaving. His mother didn’t have any better options. She was probably too devastated by what happened to make any new plans, and seeing how well Kjell was doing at the Lodge? Of course they had stayed. But would he always want to be here?
Dwyn pushed those thoughts aside brusquely. Yes, Kjell was nice, but she still had only known him for a handful of days. Not enough to be thinking about his future plans as if they would matter to her. Ridiculous to entertain such notions. Yet her mind found no comforting place to alight as she tossed and turned in bed. Who was really behind the murders? Would they threaten the people in Sandpoint again? Were they out right now, claiming another victim while everyone slept? Was it a case of criminals getting rid of their enemies, or making people pay for their debts? Or were some of the more fanciful suggestions true? It wouldn’t be the first time they had encountered a demon, after all. Just a few months ago Dwyn’s world had seemed so normal, so predictable. Now the things people only heard about in children’s stories and tall tales were springing to life all around, even more monstrous and horrible than imagined! What kind of world was this? And what was she supposed to be doing in it?
***
The next morning she woke very early and decided to ride to the park in order to give Ki Xa some exercise. “I’m sorry I’ve been neglecting you, sweet boy,” she said. “But you didn’t miss anything fun.” Knowing Dothan and Shey and the others were planning to spend the day in a library, she let Ki Xa gallop at a run through the mostly-empty park grounds, thinking he wouldn’t have much more chance for exercise until evening.
“All these houses around the park are so fancy,” she considered. “I doubt we could afford to stay in one. But maybe we could find something near the gates for a lower price, something closer to green space. What do you think?” she asked, giving the horse a pat. “I wish I could talk to you like those other guys can, but I don’t know how they manage it!”
After leaving him tied at the Lodge, Dwyn joined the others at archery practice. She didn’t mind the cold mornings – they were especially delightful. Still, she had to blow on her fingers and warm them in order to draw the arrows well. She followed the group back to the building, hoping for a chance to talk to Father Fendus alone. When the Archers began their morning meeting in the main hall, he waved her into the study. “What brings you in, my dear?” he inquired, stoking the fire and motioning for her to sit on one of the smooth benches. The room was plain and unadorned but the warmth of its log walls and a soft, braided rug gave it a comfortable, inviting atmosphere. “If you don’t mind, I can stand,” she began, causing Fendus to grin for reasons she couldn’t guess. “I’d like to tell you a bit about why my friends and I have come here, and see if you can answer some questions we have. First, my friend was sick so we brought her from Sandpoint to the temple of Desna here for healing. After that we were investigating a bad person who had been living in Sandpoint, and we found out about the Star Murders here.” Fendus nods, frowning. “Well, we had some murders like that back in Sandpoint. Same thing – seven pointed star carved into the victims. We thought we had solved it – killed the ones who were doing it – until we found the murders still going on here.”
“So here’s the weird thing about the victims. A lot of them are people with debts, people who want to make a deal and get rich quick, that kind of thing. Could be a lot of reasons why someone wants them dead. Maybe they’ve made deals with dangerous people.” Fendus nods again. “I agree, Dwyn, but how can I help? I don’t know who might be behind the killings, unfortunately, though we’re all too familiar with them. We generally don’t patrol Underbridge, but we’ve advised the congregation to stay home at night and take every extra precaution, especially if they have to go through that area.”
Dwyn isn’t quite sure how to phrase her questions. “Well, it could be the usual sort of criminals. But we’re worried it might be something more. This seven-pointed star – some people said it’s from an ancient world that was here before, and now all that’s left are its ruins. Earlier this fall, a woman who worshipped Lamashtu” – Fendus draws in a breath sharply, looking vaguely offended at the very idea – “was planning to attack Sandpoint. She was using this pool of water under the town - they said it was made with the souls of dead people - and undead creatures came out of it. I don’t really know how it works, but what if something like that is happening here? What if these killers aren’t just settling debts, but have some religious reason? As my friends said, they seem to want greedy people. Could some other evil god or goddess want people killed like this? I don’t know.”
***
Dwyn found Kjell in the entry hall and smiled, glad to see he was done with his meeting. She might not have many chances to see him again until they found the Star killers. “Where have you been, stranger,” he grinned. “It’s been a whole day.” He glanced over his shoulder and found they were being closely observed by the two white-robed women Archers. “We had better get your horse, don’t you think? We can walk through the park.”
They moved quickly across the lawn, Dwyn explaining that she had to meet her friends to make a trip to the library and Kjell getting ready to go out on patrol. “So what have you and your friends been getting up to?” he asked.
“Nothing fun, that’s for sure,” she sighed. “We’ve been trying to find out more about some people who were causing trouble back in Sandpoint, and now we’ve heard about the Star Murders. We had some in Sandpoint. We thought it was over.”
“Terrible thing,” Kjell says, “we’ve been keeping a careful eye out but I hear everything is happening down in Underbridge. Definitely not a place you want to be going.”
“Tell me about it,” replies Dwyn, “I was just there yesterday. We went to a bar and believe me, everyone in it was pretty creepy.”
“What? You went to… a bar… in Underbridge? Why?”
Dwyn shrugs. “Well, my friend Dothan thought it would be a good idea to talk to the locals, find out what people have heard about the murders. She’s really good with people. She’s a singer, you know, everyone loves her. Anyway, we just got a lot of crackpot theories and the place was so gross, it probably wasn’t worth it.”
Kjell looks baffled. “I still don’t see why you would go there at all. Especially now, knowing some killer is on the loose. I hope you’re not ever going back,” he says emphatically.
Dwyn glances at him. “Well, I might have to. It just depends. If that’s where the murders are, then yeah, maybe we’ll go back to investigate.”
“Why? You aren’t the city Guard! If anyone else should be doing it, we should,” he says, meaning the Temple Archers. “And Father Fendus doesn’t even want us taking unnecessary risks. We’re here to assist the Guard, not do their investigations for them. ‘Somebody's troubles have arrived; those of another are on the way.’”
“Huh. What does that actually mean?” Dwyn wonders. “I’ll make trouble for any of these killers I can find, that’s for sure. I nearly had to do the same to that scumbag in the bar – he actually kicked a woman in the stomach, and she didn’t even seem to care! Can you believe it? What the heck is that about?”
“Of course I believe it!” says Kjell a bit hotly. “That’s what I’m telling you. That place isn’t safe, for you or anyone. The only people who live there don’t have much other choice. A lot of the criminals we see come from there. It only makes sense. They learn to fight, to steal – nobody is teaching them the right ways. And who is this “scumbag” in the bar, anyway? Why didn’t your friends take care of him?”
“Oh I thought about it, believe me,” she says, “but we were there to get information, not to start a ruckus. When he grabbed me I thought I was going to have to take off his arm, but I managed to keep calm.”
“What?!” Kjell exclaims. “Grabbed you? What do you mean? Who grabbed you and why?” Without pausing to hear the story he continues, “That’s it! You can’t go back there again! That’s just what I’m talking about. You don’t need to “investigate” any of this, and if you do, at least I should be coming with you.”
Dwyn bristles visibly at the word “can’t” and doesn’t respond right away. Upon reaching the gates at the end of the park she hops back onto Ki Xa. “Good to know,” she says coolly. “Well, I hope I see you tomorrow morning. But you should know, I go wherever I want and I don’t need anyone else to come along. My friends and I can defend one another.”
“That’s… that doesn’t make any sense,” Kjell says. He seems angry and frustrated but also a bit sad. “Well, I hope I see you tomorrow, too,” he adds, looking up at her as the horse stamps impatiently. “I wanted to, uh… go somewhere, on a picnic actually.” He looks down at his feet. “Well, we’ll talk when I see you,” he says, giving a half-hearted wave as she flicks the reins and trots off.
Re: TLDR Dwyn Stories Part I
Dwyn hurries back across the bridge, wiping her blood-streaked face on a corner of her cloak. Luckily the Deadeye Lodge lies straight up the main road, not far from the island crossing. She finds Father Fendus with one of the white-robed priestesses, preparing for tomorrow morning’s Sunday service. He is surprised to see Dwyn, especially in her current condition. “What has happened, child?!” he exclaims, as she urges the pair to accompany her back to the island while she explains on the way.
They arrive on the heels of more members of the Guard who have come to transport the prisoners. Fendus gasps at the sight of Ironbriar’s still-unconscious body. “I can hardly believe it, even seeing him with my own eyes! We’ve trusted him for so long, and with such solemn responsibilities.” Dwyn gently leads them into the room where the masks are laying, warning that what they are about to witness is gruesome. The priestess bows her head in prayer as Fendus softly intones the traditional blessing. “It is our nature to die. We give thanks for the Elk Father’s wisdom. No one can escape death…”
When the Guard captain comes to collect the rest of the evidence, Fendus assures her he will perform the appropriate rites once the Court is finished with the masks and weapons. Dwyn sees Eldthor and Kay heading down to the door and discovers they’re about to scout the location indicated by one of the ravens. “Hold on a sec,” she calls, “I’m coming with you.” Turning to Father Fendus she adds, “Thank you for everything. I’ll see you at the morning service, but we may have to leave right afterward to follow up some leads. I’m planning to come back to town, though… in case anyone asks.”
As she turns to leave, Illian and Dothan are headed for the exit too. “Dotty, I hate to bother you now, but could you do the spell that cleans things up?” she asks, indicating her blood-spattered front. “I got some strange looks on the way to the Lodge.” She glances sheepishly at Fendus, who takes this opportunity to introduce himself and his second-in-command, Mother Satu.
Dwyn’s arms and legs feel leaden by the time they reach the Inn. She wants to collapse immediately into a dining room chair but instead goes upstairs to peel off her weapons. After washing up she changes into her burgundy long johns and some fuzzy socks. She carefully hangs the new blue sweater and long wool skirt in front of the window so that they’ll be fresh again tomorrow morning.
Finally she goes downstairs and plops into a chair next to Kay, wondering what the kitchen is preparing for tonight’s menu. “Wait, why does everyone look so grim?” she asks. “I know it’s not over yet but we did it – we brought a whole lot of bad folks to justice today. Let’s be happy about that much at least!” Then Eldthor pulls out a paper and starts to hand it across the table. As soon as she sees the elegant script she knows what the letter must say and pushes it away.
“So, he’s gone?” Thor nods. “All three of them – Shey and Denat too.” The news hits her like a punch to the gut. She sits in silence glowering until the waiter runs over to take her order, fearful the service has been too slow. “Bring a chicken, please,” she grunts, “and… whatever else.” The man nods and scurries off.
The drinks arrive and she watches the others, frowning. “Here’s the thing,” she begins suddenly, “He had to know he was going to leave for a while now. He didn’t up and decide this out of nowhere, right after a crazy day like today! Why didn’t he say something before? Like when we were shopping? Or when you got engaged? Or when we were planning our return to the mill?” She raps her fingers on the table impatiently. “Well, I guess they all knew. Shey and Denat didn’t say anything either.”
She listens to her friends’ take on the matter and feels somewhat pacified. “They were only with us for a few weeks, I know – maybe it seems like longer because we’ve been through such weird, terrible things together. Well… I’m glad I knew them and, who knows, maybe we’ll meet again someday.”
Kay points out that Ax has left his sword behind and that Dwyn is the only one who can make good use of it. “Too big for Illian, unfortunately, and Hal already has a new blade,” she observes, “but it’s a lot better than your flail and not quite as heavy. It’d be a shame to sell it.” Dwyn sighs and nods wearily. “I’ll feel a bit strange using his sword,” she admits, “but it’s nice to have something to remember him by.”
Early the next morning Dwyn is knocking on Dothan’s door and, for a change, Dothan is already wide awake and impatiently waiting for her. “Uncle Ill is downstairs. He’s so worried, I don’t think he slept very well.” Dwyn helps the girl in the stable get their horses ready and they hurry to reach the Lodge well in advance of the morning service.
Father Fendus is waiting for them when they arrive. An elkhide has been laid across the table in his office and a small fire is crackling in the hearth. Fendus closes the door and motions them to a bench. He sits down and lays his hands gently on the hide, murmuring a prayer. “Now, Dothan, is it? What message would you like to send?”
Fendus nods. “Can you tell me a few more details about the people receiving this message?” he inquires, glancing at Dothan and Illian, who perches anxiously on the edge the bench as if he can’t bear to stay seated a moment longer. “It helps to have a clear idea of the people and their surroundings in my mind.” Dwyn watches the priest’s movements carefully, taking mental notes.
They arrive on the heels of more members of the Guard who have come to transport the prisoners. Fendus gasps at the sight of Ironbriar’s still-unconscious body. “I can hardly believe it, even seeing him with my own eyes! We’ve trusted him for so long, and with such solemn responsibilities.” Dwyn gently leads them into the room where the masks are laying, warning that what they are about to witness is gruesome. The priestess bows her head in prayer as Fendus softly intones the traditional blessing. “It is our nature to die. We give thanks for the Elk Father’s wisdom. No one can escape death…”
When the Guard captain comes to collect the rest of the evidence, Fendus assures her he will perform the appropriate rites once the Court is finished with the masks and weapons. Dwyn sees Eldthor and Kay heading down to the door and discovers they’re about to scout the location indicated by one of the ravens. “Hold on a sec,” she calls, “I’m coming with you.” Turning to Father Fendus she adds, “Thank you for everything. I’ll see you at the morning service, but we may have to leave right afterward to follow up some leads. I’m planning to come back to town, though… in case anyone asks.”
As she turns to leave, Illian and Dothan are headed for the exit too. “Dotty, I hate to bother you now, but could you do the spell that cleans things up?” she asks, indicating her blood-spattered front. “I got some strange looks on the way to the Lodge.” She glances sheepishly at Fendus, who takes this opportunity to introduce himself and his second-in-command, Mother Satu.
Dwyn’s arms and legs feel leaden by the time they reach the Inn. She wants to collapse immediately into a dining room chair but instead goes upstairs to peel off her weapons. After washing up she changes into her burgundy long johns and some fuzzy socks. She carefully hangs the new blue sweater and long wool skirt in front of the window so that they’ll be fresh again tomorrow morning.
Finally she goes downstairs and plops into a chair next to Kay, wondering what the kitchen is preparing for tonight’s menu. “Wait, why does everyone look so grim?” she asks. “I know it’s not over yet but we did it – we brought a whole lot of bad folks to justice today. Let’s be happy about that much at least!” Then Eldthor pulls out a paper and starts to hand it across the table. As soon as she sees the elegant script she knows what the letter must say and pushes it away.
“So, he’s gone?” Thor nods. “All three of them – Shey and Denat too.” The news hits her like a punch to the gut. She sits in silence glowering until the waiter runs over to take her order, fearful the service has been too slow. “Bring a chicken, please,” she grunts, “and… whatever else.” The man nods and scurries off.
The drinks arrive and she watches the others, frowning. “Here’s the thing,” she begins suddenly, “He had to know he was going to leave for a while now. He didn’t up and decide this out of nowhere, right after a crazy day like today! Why didn’t he say something before? Like when we were shopping? Or when you got engaged? Or when we were planning our return to the mill?” She raps her fingers on the table impatiently. “Well, I guess they all knew. Shey and Denat didn’t say anything either.”
She listens to her friends’ take on the matter and feels somewhat pacified. “They were only with us for a few weeks, I know – maybe it seems like longer because we’ve been through such weird, terrible things together. Well… I’m glad I knew them and, who knows, maybe we’ll meet again someday.”
Kay points out that Ax has left his sword behind and that Dwyn is the only one who can make good use of it. “Too big for Illian, unfortunately, and Hal already has a new blade,” she observes, “but it’s a lot better than your flail and not quite as heavy. It’d be a shame to sell it.” Dwyn sighs and nods wearily. “I’ll feel a bit strange using his sword,” she admits, “but it’s nice to have something to remember him by.”
Early the next morning Dwyn is knocking on Dothan’s door and, for a change, Dothan is already wide awake and impatiently waiting for her. “Uncle Ill is downstairs. He’s so worried, I don’t think he slept very well.” Dwyn helps the girl in the stable get their horses ready and they hurry to reach the Lodge well in advance of the morning service.
Father Fendus is waiting for them when they arrive. An elkhide has been laid across the table in his office and a small fire is crackling in the hearth. Fendus closes the door and motions them to a bench. He sits down and lays his hands gently on the hide, murmuring a prayer. “Now, Dothan, is it? What message would you like to send?”
Fendus nods. “Can you tell me a few more details about the people receiving this message?” he inquires, glancing at Dothan and Illian, who perches anxiously on the edge the bench as if he can’t bear to stay seated a moment longer. “It helps to have a clear idea of the people and their surroundings in my mind.” Dwyn watches the priest’s movements carefully, taking mental notes.
Re: TLDR Dwyn Stories Part I
Lamashan 13, Sunday
Kjell hadn’t heard from Dwyn since their morning conversation two days ago. Had had been hoping to invite her on a Starday picnic - maybe get outside the gates of the city and enjoy being among the trees - but the whole day passed with no sign of her. Words never seemed to come out of his mouth the right way when it was most important. Now he was beginning to worry that he had messed things up again somehow. He pulled on his clothing while it was still dark and met Evan, the young yet white-haired cleric, outside the Lodge just as the first sunrays were beginning to peek over the hills beyond Ordellia.
Every time he saw her was a surprise. “Kjell!” her voice rang out behind him, “I just talked to Father Fendus. My friends are coming here later to do a Sending.”
“Hey, hello!” he called, momentarily confused. “We were about to head out on patrol.”
“Let me come with you, then,” Dwyn said. “I feel a million times better after getting some sleep last night.”
“Why, what happened?” he asked.
She was characteristically silent a while before responding, which always made him worry that she was ignoring the question. “Well, you aren’t going to believe this but we found out that a cult of Norgorber was using the Seven’s Sawmill to hold their rituals, so we stopped them.”
“What?!” Kjell exclaimed. “You mean one of those sawmills on Kyver’s Islet?”
“Yeah, we think they were the ones behind the Star murders. But the weirdest thing of all is that their leader was a crazy guy who has been stalking my friend Illian for years – you’ll meet Illian later today, that’s Dothan’s uncle. Well, he’s not really her uncle. Kind of an uncle. But the guy tormenting him? It turned out to be Judge Ironbriar.”
Both Evan and Kjell gaped at Dwyn for a moment. “Are you kidding?” Evan said. “He’s the main Judge on the Court! Did you say Norgorber? Are you sure it was the same person?”
“Yep,” Dwyn said matter-of-factly, “unless it was someone pretending to be him.” The idea momentarily troubles her. “Well… I wonder,” she mused, “because we did recently fight some creatures that shapeshift to disguise themselves as another person.”
Kjell stared at her, vaguely horrified. “This is what you… go off and do every day?”
Dwyn shrugged. “Yeah. Well, not every day. But that’s what we came here to do. Find whoever was connected with the murders in Sandpoint and stop them once and for all. It was a big secret cult.”
Evan looked baffled. “Wait, are you saying Judge Ironbriar was murdering people in Sandpoint?”
“Well, I don’t know if he actually did it himself or sent people out to do it for him, but yeah. Oh wait, you said Sandpoint – no I mean, he was doing it here in Magnimar. The Star murders. Someone else was doing the same thing in Sandpoint. It was all a big mysterious cult. You know, Norgorber.”
Evan still looked shocked but appeared satisfied by this explanation as well as any. “Norgorber,” he repeated to himself as they reached the far side of the park. “Well, I’ll stay by this gate if you all want to walk around to the west side.”
Dwyn and Kjell continued down the street in silence. A few families heading for the Lodge waved to Kjell as they passed by. “So, um, what do you have to do next?” he asked.
“I’m not sure,” she replied. “After the service, Father Fendus is going to do a Sending because Ironbriar threatened my friend Dothan’s parents. He said that an assassin had been sent for them, but there’s no way we can get to them in time if that’s true.”
“That’s terrible!” Kjell exclaimed. “You have to do something!”
“I know, that’s why we’re trying to warn them. They live in Nybor, and Dothan thinks if they have enough warning they can get the town guard to protect them and look out for this woman. She hates Dothan because… well, it’s not worth going into all that now. Sometime I’ll tell you the whole story.”
“But what if they’re not okay? Or what if they don’t have anyone to help?”
“Well then,” Dwyn said confidently, “we’ll go there ourselves.”
Kjell pondered this in silence for a moment. “Won’t that be a long trip? I’ve never been to Nybor. Never even been in that direction, but I hear it’s a long journey.”
“Oh, it can’t be that bad,” said Dwyn. “It’s probably twice as far again from Sandpoint as where I’m from, but it doesn’t take me too long to get home.”
“Would you, well, do you think you would be coming back here, to the city?” Kjell asked a bit nervously. “Or would you go back to Sandpoint?”
“I don’t know. We have other loose ends to tie up here. But we have even more loose ends back toward Sandpoint. We’ve got a lot to do, I guess, before we can be sure that everyone involved in these murders has been found.”
“Loose ends,” Kjell repeated a bit ruefully as they reached the west gate. “Up here,” he motioned, leaping gracefully onto the low wall. The park edge here sat a few feet above the dirty street and was reached by stairs going up past the gate. Dwyn followed but not quite so smoothly, her polearms clanging against the stone of the wall.
Dwyn studied Kjell’s face for a moment as he surveyed the street, frowning. “Hey, by loose ends I didn’t mean you, right?”
Kjell looked back at her inquisitively.
“No, I don’t mean you,” she insisted. “I mean, we know that Ironbriar has other friends here in the city. He was communicating with somebody and we have to find out who. Otherwise we might see even more murders. And we’ve got this terrible house back by Sandpoint to deal with, and we found all these maps and a weird book and, oh, all kinds of stuff. We have to investigate, sort it all out.”
Kjell doesn’t reply for a moment. “Yeah, I guess you’re going to be busy for a while. That’s okay, I mean, it’s great that you stopped them. The Guard wasn’t solving the Star murders, so… I guess you have to keep doing what you’re doing. That’s why I do what I do too, right?”
“Right. I’m pretty sure Erastil wants us to do these things.”
Kjell nodded. “I’m sure of that at least. Have you ever seen the White Stag?”
“No, have you?”
Kjell nodded again. “I saw it once when I was young. It spoke to me. That’s how I know.”
“Wow, I’ve only heard of people who said they saw it; I’ve never known anyone who really did. What did it say?” she asked, but Kjell shook his head slightly with a smile and she knew to drop the question. “Well, I know because not too long after my dad died, mom sent me to help her cousin Alma in Sandpoint. Her son had died too – he was the sheriff – and they were having a hard time. We needed the extra money and they needed another worker at the bakery. I was there for a while and then the goblins came to attack the town. We had to fight them – I just had my scythe at the time, the one I used in the field. Now I have some proper weapons! But the goblins came right when everyone was at the festival. People weren’t armed, they weren’t expecting an attack. They needed us – well, I didn’t even know all the friends I’m with now. I met most of them that night at the Swallowtail Festival.”
“That wasn’t very long ago,” observed Kjell.
“No, but it feels like a million years ago, so much has happened since then. Eventually we got all the goblins out of Sandpoint, so I went home for a visit, and that’s when I found out Erastil needed me for this work. A weird thing happened when I was out in the garden with Father Gerthin – he’s our priest there. Then he told me I could heal people if I tried to, and do other things with the Elk Father’s help. Anyway, he thinks Erastil needs me for something too, and maybe it’s to stop these crazy murderers from hurting anybody else.”
“Yes,” said Kjell, “and I’m glad it brought you to Magnimar even though the things that happened were terrible. But it doesn’t sound like you’re going to stay for too long.”
“No,” admitted Dwyn, “I want to get back home eventually. But I liked living in Sandpoint, and even the city is… well, I don’t really like the city at all, honestly. But it hasn’t been all bad here,” she smiled, glancing over at him.
Kjell blushed and turned back to watch the people going by on the street. “No, not too bad,” he agreed. “But I don’t like the city very much either. I think Mom hates it even more than I do but she won’t admit it. She can’t… it’s like she can’t find the will to do anything now. She cooks for me, she knits. She spends too much time alone. We’ve been talking about leaving. I need to get her out of here. We did what we came here to do, and it’s been wonderful being at the Lodge. Hey – speaking of which, it’s about time we got back!”
“Right, don’t want to miss the service,” she said, heading across the grassy lawn. “Wait for me and I’ll see you after we do the Sending.”
Kjell hadn’t heard from Dwyn since their morning conversation two days ago. Had had been hoping to invite her on a Starday picnic - maybe get outside the gates of the city and enjoy being among the trees - but the whole day passed with no sign of her. Words never seemed to come out of his mouth the right way when it was most important. Now he was beginning to worry that he had messed things up again somehow. He pulled on his clothing while it was still dark and met Evan, the young yet white-haired cleric, outside the Lodge just as the first sunrays were beginning to peek over the hills beyond Ordellia.
Every time he saw her was a surprise. “Kjell!” her voice rang out behind him, “I just talked to Father Fendus. My friends are coming here later to do a Sending.”
“Hey, hello!” he called, momentarily confused. “We were about to head out on patrol.”
“Let me come with you, then,” Dwyn said. “I feel a million times better after getting some sleep last night.”
“Why, what happened?” he asked.
She was characteristically silent a while before responding, which always made him worry that she was ignoring the question. “Well, you aren’t going to believe this but we found out that a cult of Norgorber was using the Seven’s Sawmill to hold their rituals, so we stopped them.”
“What?!” Kjell exclaimed. “You mean one of those sawmills on Kyver’s Islet?”
“Yeah, we think they were the ones behind the Star murders. But the weirdest thing of all is that their leader was a crazy guy who has been stalking my friend Illian for years – you’ll meet Illian later today, that’s Dothan’s uncle. Well, he’s not really her uncle. Kind of an uncle. But the guy tormenting him? It turned out to be Judge Ironbriar.”
Both Evan and Kjell gaped at Dwyn for a moment. “Are you kidding?” Evan said. “He’s the main Judge on the Court! Did you say Norgorber? Are you sure it was the same person?”
“Yep,” Dwyn said matter-of-factly, “unless it was someone pretending to be him.” The idea momentarily troubles her. “Well… I wonder,” she mused, “because we did recently fight some creatures that shapeshift to disguise themselves as another person.”
Kjell stared at her, vaguely horrified. “This is what you… go off and do every day?”
Dwyn shrugged. “Yeah. Well, not every day. But that’s what we came here to do. Find whoever was connected with the murders in Sandpoint and stop them once and for all. It was a big secret cult.”
Evan looked baffled. “Wait, are you saying Judge Ironbriar was murdering people in Sandpoint?”
“Well, I don’t know if he actually did it himself or sent people out to do it for him, but yeah. Oh wait, you said Sandpoint – no I mean, he was doing it here in Magnimar. The Star murders. Someone else was doing the same thing in Sandpoint. It was all a big mysterious cult. You know, Norgorber.”
Evan still looked shocked but appeared satisfied by this explanation as well as any. “Norgorber,” he repeated to himself as they reached the far side of the park. “Well, I’ll stay by this gate if you all want to walk around to the west side.”
Dwyn and Kjell continued down the street in silence. A few families heading for the Lodge waved to Kjell as they passed by. “So, um, what do you have to do next?” he asked.
“I’m not sure,” she replied. “After the service, Father Fendus is going to do a Sending because Ironbriar threatened my friend Dothan’s parents. He said that an assassin had been sent for them, but there’s no way we can get to them in time if that’s true.”
“That’s terrible!” Kjell exclaimed. “You have to do something!”
“I know, that’s why we’re trying to warn them. They live in Nybor, and Dothan thinks if they have enough warning they can get the town guard to protect them and look out for this woman. She hates Dothan because… well, it’s not worth going into all that now. Sometime I’ll tell you the whole story.”
“But what if they’re not okay? Or what if they don’t have anyone to help?”
“Well then,” Dwyn said confidently, “we’ll go there ourselves.”
Kjell pondered this in silence for a moment. “Won’t that be a long trip? I’ve never been to Nybor. Never even been in that direction, but I hear it’s a long journey.”
“Oh, it can’t be that bad,” said Dwyn. “It’s probably twice as far again from Sandpoint as where I’m from, but it doesn’t take me too long to get home.”
“Would you, well, do you think you would be coming back here, to the city?” Kjell asked a bit nervously. “Or would you go back to Sandpoint?”
“I don’t know. We have other loose ends to tie up here. But we have even more loose ends back toward Sandpoint. We’ve got a lot to do, I guess, before we can be sure that everyone involved in these murders has been found.”
“Loose ends,” Kjell repeated a bit ruefully as they reached the west gate. “Up here,” he motioned, leaping gracefully onto the low wall. The park edge here sat a few feet above the dirty street and was reached by stairs going up past the gate. Dwyn followed but not quite so smoothly, her polearms clanging against the stone of the wall.
Dwyn studied Kjell’s face for a moment as he surveyed the street, frowning. “Hey, by loose ends I didn’t mean you, right?”
Kjell looked back at her inquisitively.
“No, I don’t mean you,” she insisted. “I mean, we know that Ironbriar has other friends here in the city. He was communicating with somebody and we have to find out who. Otherwise we might see even more murders. And we’ve got this terrible house back by Sandpoint to deal with, and we found all these maps and a weird book and, oh, all kinds of stuff. We have to investigate, sort it all out.”
Kjell doesn’t reply for a moment. “Yeah, I guess you’re going to be busy for a while. That’s okay, I mean, it’s great that you stopped them. The Guard wasn’t solving the Star murders, so… I guess you have to keep doing what you’re doing. That’s why I do what I do too, right?”
“Right. I’m pretty sure Erastil wants us to do these things.”
Kjell nodded. “I’m sure of that at least. Have you ever seen the White Stag?”
“No, have you?”
Kjell nodded again. “I saw it once when I was young. It spoke to me. That’s how I know.”
“Wow, I’ve only heard of people who said they saw it; I’ve never known anyone who really did. What did it say?” she asked, but Kjell shook his head slightly with a smile and she knew to drop the question. “Well, I know because not too long after my dad died, mom sent me to help her cousin Alma in Sandpoint. Her son had died too – he was the sheriff – and they were having a hard time. We needed the extra money and they needed another worker at the bakery. I was there for a while and then the goblins came to attack the town. We had to fight them – I just had my scythe at the time, the one I used in the field. Now I have some proper weapons! But the goblins came right when everyone was at the festival. People weren’t armed, they weren’t expecting an attack. They needed us – well, I didn’t even know all the friends I’m with now. I met most of them that night at the Swallowtail Festival.”
“That wasn’t very long ago,” observed Kjell.
“No, but it feels like a million years ago, so much has happened since then. Eventually we got all the goblins out of Sandpoint, so I went home for a visit, and that’s when I found out Erastil needed me for this work. A weird thing happened when I was out in the garden with Father Gerthin – he’s our priest there. Then he told me I could heal people if I tried to, and do other things with the Elk Father’s help. Anyway, he thinks Erastil needs me for something too, and maybe it’s to stop these crazy murderers from hurting anybody else.”
“Yes,” said Kjell, “and I’m glad it brought you to Magnimar even though the things that happened were terrible. But it doesn’t sound like you’re going to stay for too long.”
“No,” admitted Dwyn, “I want to get back home eventually. But I liked living in Sandpoint, and even the city is… well, I don’t really like the city at all, honestly. But it hasn’t been all bad here,” she smiled, glancing over at him.
Kjell blushed and turned back to watch the people going by on the street. “No, not too bad,” he agreed. “But I don’t like the city very much either. I think Mom hates it even more than I do but she won’t admit it. She can’t… it’s like she can’t find the will to do anything now. She cooks for me, she knits. She spends too much time alone. We’ve been talking about leaving. I need to get her out of here. We did what we came here to do, and it’s been wonderful being at the Lodge. Hey – speaking of which, it’s about time we got back!”
“Right, don’t want to miss the service,” she said, heading across the grassy lawn. “Wait for me and I’ll see you after we do the Sending.”
Re: TLDR Dwyn Stories Part I
Dwyn had said she would be at the Lodge around lunchtime. Kjell did an hour on sentry duty, cleaned up the yard, and was devising another task to keep himself stationed near the entrance when Dwyn strolled up leading Ki Xa, looking far more cheerful than usual.
“Kjell!” she called. “Wow, so much has happened since I saw you!”
“Hey, now that Justice Ironbriar is a criminal behind bars, anything could happen! Did the Lord-Mayor turn into a giant bird and fly over the Irespan?”
“No,” she replied, as if this were a reasonable possibility. “But it does involve the Lord-Mayor!”
“Oh boy,” he sighed wearily. “Before you tell me, let’s get lunch.” Kjell grabbed the basket he had stashed in the Lodge and went in search of a nicely shaded spot in the park. They spread out a blanket and dined on lobster rolls while Dwyn related the events at the Clock Tower. Her gleeful account of smashing the pumpkin-headed scarecrow made him laugh, but he was horrified by the idea of Xanesha and her giant snake-body. Dwyn smiled nonchalantly. “You look almost as bad as the Lord-Mayor when we showed him the body! Or, well, pieces of the body. He actually fainted, but invited us to dinner when he recovered. It’s tonight, at his own private house!”
Kjell looked surprised and a bit crestfallen. “That sounds… amazing! It’s a great honor to be invited by the Mayor himself. But I guess you won’t be here until evening.”
She nodded. “I should change clothes and leave some of this gear back at the Inn. I have the whole afternoon free, though. Do you want to come with me to buy arrows?”
“Of course!” he exclaimed. “And there’s only one place to go if you can’t make them yourself. Jan used to be a temple Archer when he was younger. He’s legendary! We usually make our own but anything special, we get from him. He makes bows, too.”
“That sounds great! Where does he live?”
“Just over in the Marches, it’s a short walk.”
They packed up their things and found the old man working in his yard, berating a young assistant who was failing to sand blocks of wood to his satisfaction. “Always thinks she can do it her way,” he grunted, running a hand through his silvery hair. Kjell was unusually quiet in Jan’s presence. He watched breathlessly as the man pulled out trays of beautifully fletched arrows. Jan examined the ones they were carrying and recommended adding a few arrows made of cold iron and a few with silvered tips. “Comes in handy,” he said with a frown at Dwyn. “Not much of a bow you have to shoot ‘em with, though.”
Dwyn looked crestfallen. “Father Fendus thought it was okay. And you have to be pretty strong to use it well,” she said tentatively.
“Bah! Anyone can have dirt. The farmer has soil,” he said, eyeing her. “Is that all you wear in a fight? That…” he gestured dismissively at her armor without completing the thought.
Dwyn looked down at herself a bit nervously. “Well, yes, it’s the best I have right now.”
Jan rolled his eyes almost imperceptibly. “Unable to grasp the sun, the thief stole a purse.”
Dwyn had no idea how to respond, but at least she remembered the passage from the Wisdom of the Archer. She watched silently as he rummaged around in a drawer and extracted a thick, dingy-looking ring. “Bring me eight gold bars,” he said with a shrug, setting it on the table.
“Eight bars… for that ring? But I don’t need a ring, and that one looks like it won’t even fit.”
“Eight bars – that’s 8000 gold pieces, right?” he added, as if she might not know how to do the math herself.
Dwyn glanced at Kjell for aid but he just nodded seriously, staring at the ring. “Go now. I’m busy. Come back later.” Jan opened the door and waved them through it.
“It’s a magic ring, couldn’t you tell?” asked Kjell once they were back at the street. “No, I didn’t know, I didn’t really try,” she said, still perplexed. “What does it do?”
“I don’t know,” said Kjell, “but if he thinks something’s wrong with your bow or your armor, I bet it’s supposed to help. Too bad nobody could ever afford it! Hey, by the way, what’s that ring you’re wearing now?” he asked, looking a bit embarrassed. “That’s new, right?”
Dwyn held up the tarnished silver ring she had stuck on her little finger. “Oh, this? We found this somewhere, maybe in the scarecrow’s wagon? Nobody wanted it so I took it. Figured I’d polish it up a little. I’m not really one for jewelry.”
“No?” Kjell pointed at the shiny beetle pendant hanging around her neck. “That’s new too.”
“Oh! That’s right! I forgot it was there,” she said, flustered. “We found that in the tower. Hal says it has some kind of special power but I didn’t really understand what he was talking about. I’ll have to ask again later. I was so tired last night. Really, I’m not a jewelry sort of girl, honest, but it seemed useful and reminded me of… well… it isn’t like most jewelry I guess.” Dwyn looked uncomfortable as they walked along in silence for a few blocks.
“Speaking of people running off suddenly,” she began, “I hate to tell you this but I’m leaving town for a few days tomorrow.” Kjell seemed puzzled but not surprised. “We left some unfinished business behind, back on the road to Sandpoint. Remember that creepy house I was telling you about? Well, we have to go back and fix it. The Priestess of Desna is coming with us; she knows how to take care of the problem I guess.”
“Hm, too bad it’s not something I could do,” said Kjell.
“I don’t know, I never thought of that,” she replied. “I should have – I mean, you’re a cleric, aren’t you?”
“Right,” he said, “I do a lot of things but I’m still learning. Bevaluu Zimantiu is far more experienced and more importantly, she loves to travel.”
“Still, I feel bad we didn’t ask anyone at the Lodge. My friends were healed at her temple, so…”
“Of course,” he said, “they’re very kind. She’ll be perfect, I’m sure. But how long will it take? Sandpoint isn’t far – will you be back soon?”
Dwyn looked down at the street. “I doubt it,” she said, glancing quickly at his face. “I feel terrible – I mean, I wish I could stay longer. Even though I can’t say I like the city very much. It would be nice to be at the Lodge. It would be nice if we had more time.”
Kjell made no reply as they walked.
“The thing is, the Lord-Mayor, he asked us to go check on an outpost. They haven’t heard anything lately. Oh, maybe I shouldn’t be telling you this. I know you won’t tell anyone, right? They haven’t heard from Fort Rannick and someone needs to check it out. He asked us to do it, personally. We couldn’t say no – we might be the only ones who see the threat. That snake-lady we killed? She’s not the only one of her kind. We don’t know if that’s what happened but someone has to find out.”
“I know,” said Kjell bitterly, “but why does it have to be you?” He looked up at her with pleading eyes. “Forget it, I understand. This is how things go.”
Dwyn twisted the ring around her finger anxiously. “I mean it, I hate to even tell you this. I just… I can’t see myself staying behind if my friends go. This isn’t my home. And I can’t stay back in Sandpoint or at the farm knowing they could be in danger.”
Kjell sighed. “How do you think I feel, knowing you’re going off to fight who knows what, not knowing when you’ll be back? Or if you’ll ever be back?”
She wasn’t sure what to say but put on a cheerful front. “Hey, I’m tough! And I’ll be back – it’s not like I’m going forever. We check on the Fort, see what’s going on, report back here. Done!”
“Right. Well,” he said with a tone of resignation, “it’s not like we knew each other very well anyway. I mean, it hasn’t even been two weeks. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“I don’t know, what were you thinking?” asked Dwyn. “I know we just met, but still… I guess I thought…”
“What?” asked Kjell.
“Oh, I don’t know,” she said impatiently. “I have to get back and clean up before the party.”
Laughter spilled out of the carriages as they pulled up to the inn. Dothan was three full sheets to the wind and no one had quite recovered from the delightful surprise of finding huge bags of gold from the Lord-Mayor. Dwyn had been nervous about attending such a fancy affair but Grobaras proved both charming host and adventurous gourmand. Her worries about offending Titus Scarnetti were lost in the amusements of the evening: a fine dinner, Dothan singing, and the sudden discovery of her own wealth.
As she stepped from the carriage, carefully lifting her skirt to avoid the mud, she saw Kjell waiting for her by the end of the street. She excused herself while her friends went inside and hurried over to him. “Kjell, I didn’t know you would be here! Hey, I’m sorry about before…”
“No, me first, I’m sorry,” he said. “You’re doing the right thing, going with your friends. I know you can’t help the timing.”
“No, I’m sorry,” she insisted, “I don’t want you to worry. Listen, do you think it’s too late to visit Jan again?”
“Right now?” he asked, surprised, and she nodded. “He gets up early; he might not be awake at this hour. What is it, anyway?”
“The ring,” she said, hoisting up a small but heavy velvet bag carrying the official city seal. “I want to see it again. Just in case.”
* * *
“I hate riding sideways,” Dwyn muttered as she jumped down and rearranged her skirt. Kjell was about to knock when the door opened in front of his hand and Jan emerged, looking somewhat rumpled and annoyed. “Fools… louder than a herd of mastodons! What brought you back here in the dead of night?”
Dwyn swept past Kjell and set the velvet bag on the table, the gold bars within making an audible clink. “I’m curious about the ring you showed me earlier. You must have some reason to think I need it. Why is it worth so much?”
Jan smiled. “This ring helps protect you, and you look like you could use the help. Go ahead, try it on.”
The ring was huge so Dwyn tried it on her middle finger. Surprisingly it seemed to shrink down as it slid on, fitting her perfectly. Once on her hand it no longer looked dirty but shone with a soft, silvery glow. The tarnished ring on her little finger looked far worse next to it, so she slipped it off. “Here, let me polish that up,” said Jan. “How do you feel now?”
“Better, somehow. I can’t explain – it’s like I’m behind the prow of some invisible ship.”
“That sounds about right. Go ahead,” he said, motioning to Kjell. “Try to hit her.”
“What?!” he exclaimed. “I’m not going to hit her!”
“Oh come on, don’t be coy. Give it a test! She needs to see what it feels like with the ring. Here, try hitting her with this,” said the old man, attempting to pass Kjell a grinding rod.
“No way!” he protested.
“Just try it,” said Dwyn, “you know, sparring style. Not full force.”
Kjell looked at them both like they had gone crazy, so Jan shrugged and made a quick stab toward Dwyn’s shoulder with the grinding rod. She turned away easily as it glanced off her arm band. “Again!” she said. “Try another angle!” He obliged and they sparred silently for a few moments.
“This thing is awesome!” cried Dwyn. “It’s definitely easier to deflect a blow now. I don’t know how it works, but it’s awesome.”
“So you think you’re getting your money’s worth now?” asked Jan. “Don’t worry, it goes for a good cause. This is a quiet part of town and we like to keep it that way. We take care of people here.” He handed back her little silver ring and nodded to Kjell. “I guess it’s good you don’t want to hit your girlfriend, but don’t worry, she’s not going to let you anyway.”
“I know,” Kjell muttered, glancing at Dwyn to see how she had reacted to use of that particular word. “It’s not something I feel like doing, even like this. I’m sorry we bothered you so late, but she’s leaving tomorrow and I’m glad she’ll be taking this with her.”
Jan looked curious but didn’t inquire. “I’m sure you have plenty to talk about, then, and I have my beauty sleep waiting. Early to bed, early to rise… but the young never listen to sense, do they?”
Dwyn wasn’t eager to ride in her skirt again so they decided to walk the horse back to the inn. “It’s safer if we go straight to the park from here and then over,” Kjell observed.
“Yeah, but won’t one of your patrols be around the park at night?” she wondered. He nodded. “Then they’ll see you out with your girlfriend again,” she laughed. “Everyone’s going to talk.”
Kjell grinned and slipped his arm through hers. “Everyone’s already talking. They’re terrible, you can’t imagine. The slightest hint and it’s non-stop. Totally embarrassing. I mean, not that I’m embarrassed of you,” he added hastily. “Just, I don’t need people teasing me all the time, like it’s any of their business.”
“I’m from the smallest town in the world,” she sighed. “I know exactly what you mean. And my sisters would completely die if they knew. I’d never hear the end of it.”
“Maybe I’ll get to meet them someday. It’s been so long since I went any place far from the city. It does happen from time to time though – people from the Lodge get sent out on trips. Sometimes there’s no local temple and they need a cleric. Sometimes another lodge needs supplies. You never know.”
They strolled along quietly until reaching the park gate. Dwyn stood close to Ki Xa’s side, hoping the horse might at least hide them from view a bit. “You shouldn’t think of me as your girlfriend when I’m gone. Not that I wouldn’t want you to, but I really don’t know when I’ll be back. I hope it’s soon. We plan on it but like you say, you never know.”
“I don’t care,” Kjell replied. “I don’t like anyone else as well as you and never have. They’re always trying to fix me up with someone – you know how it is, I’m sure. The whole congregation, they’re obsessed with weddings and babies. I know, I know… ‘The wise will marry and have children.’ ‘The first gift you ever receive is your family.’ We recite it all the time but I don’t need help picking a girlfriend.”
Dwyn couldn’t help laughing a little. “They tried to do the same thing to me back home. It’s very annoying,” she agreed. “But I like you better than anyone else too. Oh, I’m sorry I have to leave!” she said, suddenly throwing her arms around his neck. “But I really do have to. I shouldn’t even be out this late when we’re traveling tomorrow. I know it hasn’t been long since we met, but I’m still going to miss you.”
Kjell grabbed on to her tightly, burying his face in her braids and kissing her neck. “I know,” he breathed, “I’m going to miss you too. I’m not going to forget you. Just make sure nothing happens to you, and get back here soon.”
“I will,” she promised, gazing up at him. She was tempted to linger in the park, to stay out as long as possible. He was so kind and so funny. His soft brown eyes were like a puppy’s – so sincere and adorable! The smell of his skin close to hers was the most wonderful thing, and the feeling of his arms around her… Was she crazy to be putting aside this chance at happiness? Hadn’t her mother been telling her for a lifetime, the most important thing was to be married? Finally she had found someone worth the effort, worth seeing if it might work out, so of course she was going to leave town.
“Here,” she said, fumbling in her pocket for the little ring. “It looks silly now, next to this new one, and it only fits on my little finger anyway. Keep it, so you have something of mine and won’t forget about me.”
“I wouldn’t forget anyway,” he said, stroking her hair. “I know the Earthshaker hears our prayers and looks out for his faithful. I’ll be asking him to watch over you, every day.” Kjell turned and patted Ki Xa, whispering something that Dwyn couldn’t understand. The horse nuzzled him and gazed proudly at Dwyn. “Well, we had better get you back to the inn. That side of the park brings out the wasps at night,” he said, alluding to the Dome. They walked back slowly and got the horse settled in the stable for the night. After once last, lingering embrace they said goodnight and Dwyn climbed upstairs quietly, trying not to wake anyone. She thought she heard merry voices coming from somewhere down the hall – maybe it was Dothan, or Kay, or some other guest. Her head was spinning from all the excitement as she crept into bed. The more she told herself she had to sleep, the less she felt able to do it. She kept replaying the events of the evening in her mind, especially everything Kjell had said, until finally she was dreaming them instead. She was in a meadow in the forest, and Kjell was there. They were hunting for rabbits. So many rabbits! And suddenly it was morning.
“Kjell!” she called. “Wow, so much has happened since I saw you!”
“Hey, now that Justice Ironbriar is a criminal behind bars, anything could happen! Did the Lord-Mayor turn into a giant bird and fly over the Irespan?”
“No,” she replied, as if this were a reasonable possibility. “But it does involve the Lord-Mayor!”
“Oh boy,” he sighed wearily. “Before you tell me, let’s get lunch.” Kjell grabbed the basket he had stashed in the Lodge and went in search of a nicely shaded spot in the park. They spread out a blanket and dined on lobster rolls while Dwyn related the events at the Clock Tower. Her gleeful account of smashing the pumpkin-headed scarecrow made him laugh, but he was horrified by the idea of Xanesha and her giant snake-body. Dwyn smiled nonchalantly. “You look almost as bad as the Lord-Mayor when we showed him the body! Or, well, pieces of the body. He actually fainted, but invited us to dinner when he recovered. It’s tonight, at his own private house!”
Kjell looked surprised and a bit crestfallen. “That sounds… amazing! It’s a great honor to be invited by the Mayor himself. But I guess you won’t be here until evening.”
She nodded. “I should change clothes and leave some of this gear back at the Inn. I have the whole afternoon free, though. Do you want to come with me to buy arrows?”
“Of course!” he exclaimed. “And there’s only one place to go if you can’t make them yourself. Jan used to be a temple Archer when he was younger. He’s legendary! We usually make our own but anything special, we get from him. He makes bows, too.”
“That sounds great! Where does he live?”
“Just over in the Marches, it’s a short walk.”
They packed up their things and found the old man working in his yard, berating a young assistant who was failing to sand blocks of wood to his satisfaction. “Always thinks she can do it her way,” he grunted, running a hand through his silvery hair. Kjell was unusually quiet in Jan’s presence. He watched breathlessly as the man pulled out trays of beautifully fletched arrows. Jan examined the ones they were carrying and recommended adding a few arrows made of cold iron and a few with silvered tips. “Comes in handy,” he said with a frown at Dwyn. “Not much of a bow you have to shoot ‘em with, though.”
Dwyn looked crestfallen. “Father Fendus thought it was okay. And you have to be pretty strong to use it well,” she said tentatively.
“Bah! Anyone can have dirt. The farmer has soil,” he said, eyeing her. “Is that all you wear in a fight? That…” he gestured dismissively at her armor without completing the thought.
Dwyn looked down at herself a bit nervously. “Well, yes, it’s the best I have right now.”
Jan rolled his eyes almost imperceptibly. “Unable to grasp the sun, the thief stole a purse.”
Dwyn had no idea how to respond, but at least she remembered the passage from the Wisdom of the Archer. She watched silently as he rummaged around in a drawer and extracted a thick, dingy-looking ring. “Bring me eight gold bars,” he said with a shrug, setting it on the table.
“Eight bars… for that ring? But I don’t need a ring, and that one looks like it won’t even fit.”
“Eight bars – that’s 8000 gold pieces, right?” he added, as if she might not know how to do the math herself.
Dwyn glanced at Kjell for aid but he just nodded seriously, staring at the ring. “Go now. I’m busy. Come back later.” Jan opened the door and waved them through it.
“It’s a magic ring, couldn’t you tell?” asked Kjell once they were back at the street. “No, I didn’t know, I didn’t really try,” she said, still perplexed. “What does it do?”
“I don’t know,” said Kjell, “but if he thinks something’s wrong with your bow or your armor, I bet it’s supposed to help. Too bad nobody could ever afford it! Hey, by the way, what’s that ring you’re wearing now?” he asked, looking a bit embarrassed. “That’s new, right?”
Dwyn held up the tarnished silver ring she had stuck on her little finger. “Oh, this? We found this somewhere, maybe in the scarecrow’s wagon? Nobody wanted it so I took it. Figured I’d polish it up a little. I’m not really one for jewelry.”
“No?” Kjell pointed at the shiny beetle pendant hanging around her neck. “That’s new too.”
“Oh! That’s right! I forgot it was there,” she said, flustered. “We found that in the tower. Hal says it has some kind of special power but I didn’t really understand what he was talking about. I’ll have to ask again later. I was so tired last night. Really, I’m not a jewelry sort of girl, honest, but it seemed useful and reminded me of… well… it isn’t like most jewelry I guess.” Dwyn looked uncomfortable as they walked along in silence for a few blocks.
“Speaking of people running off suddenly,” she began, “I hate to tell you this but I’m leaving town for a few days tomorrow.” Kjell seemed puzzled but not surprised. “We left some unfinished business behind, back on the road to Sandpoint. Remember that creepy house I was telling you about? Well, we have to go back and fix it. The Priestess of Desna is coming with us; she knows how to take care of the problem I guess.”
“Hm, too bad it’s not something I could do,” said Kjell.
“I don’t know, I never thought of that,” she replied. “I should have – I mean, you’re a cleric, aren’t you?”
“Right,” he said, “I do a lot of things but I’m still learning. Bevaluu Zimantiu is far more experienced and more importantly, she loves to travel.”
“Still, I feel bad we didn’t ask anyone at the Lodge. My friends were healed at her temple, so…”
“Of course,” he said, “they’re very kind. She’ll be perfect, I’m sure. But how long will it take? Sandpoint isn’t far – will you be back soon?”
Dwyn looked down at the street. “I doubt it,” she said, glancing quickly at his face. “I feel terrible – I mean, I wish I could stay longer. Even though I can’t say I like the city very much. It would be nice to be at the Lodge. It would be nice if we had more time.”
Kjell made no reply as they walked.
“The thing is, the Lord-Mayor, he asked us to go check on an outpost. They haven’t heard anything lately. Oh, maybe I shouldn’t be telling you this. I know you won’t tell anyone, right? They haven’t heard from Fort Rannick and someone needs to check it out. He asked us to do it, personally. We couldn’t say no – we might be the only ones who see the threat. That snake-lady we killed? She’s not the only one of her kind. We don’t know if that’s what happened but someone has to find out.”
“I know,” said Kjell bitterly, “but why does it have to be you?” He looked up at her with pleading eyes. “Forget it, I understand. This is how things go.”
Dwyn twisted the ring around her finger anxiously. “I mean it, I hate to even tell you this. I just… I can’t see myself staying behind if my friends go. This isn’t my home. And I can’t stay back in Sandpoint or at the farm knowing they could be in danger.”
Kjell sighed. “How do you think I feel, knowing you’re going off to fight who knows what, not knowing when you’ll be back? Or if you’ll ever be back?”
She wasn’t sure what to say but put on a cheerful front. “Hey, I’m tough! And I’ll be back – it’s not like I’m going forever. We check on the Fort, see what’s going on, report back here. Done!”
“Right. Well,” he said with a tone of resignation, “it’s not like we knew each other very well anyway. I mean, it hasn’t even been two weeks. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“I don’t know, what were you thinking?” asked Dwyn. “I know we just met, but still… I guess I thought…”
“What?” asked Kjell.
“Oh, I don’t know,” she said impatiently. “I have to get back and clean up before the party.”
Laughter spilled out of the carriages as they pulled up to the inn. Dothan was three full sheets to the wind and no one had quite recovered from the delightful surprise of finding huge bags of gold from the Lord-Mayor. Dwyn had been nervous about attending such a fancy affair but Grobaras proved both charming host and adventurous gourmand. Her worries about offending Titus Scarnetti were lost in the amusements of the evening: a fine dinner, Dothan singing, and the sudden discovery of her own wealth.
As she stepped from the carriage, carefully lifting her skirt to avoid the mud, she saw Kjell waiting for her by the end of the street. She excused herself while her friends went inside and hurried over to him. “Kjell, I didn’t know you would be here! Hey, I’m sorry about before…”
“No, me first, I’m sorry,” he said. “You’re doing the right thing, going with your friends. I know you can’t help the timing.”
“No, I’m sorry,” she insisted, “I don’t want you to worry. Listen, do you think it’s too late to visit Jan again?”
“Right now?” he asked, surprised, and she nodded. “He gets up early; he might not be awake at this hour. What is it, anyway?”
“The ring,” she said, hoisting up a small but heavy velvet bag carrying the official city seal. “I want to see it again. Just in case.”
* * *
“I hate riding sideways,” Dwyn muttered as she jumped down and rearranged her skirt. Kjell was about to knock when the door opened in front of his hand and Jan emerged, looking somewhat rumpled and annoyed. “Fools… louder than a herd of mastodons! What brought you back here in the dead of night?”
Dwyn swept past Kjell and set the velvet bag on the table, the gold bars within making an audible clink. “I’m curious about the ring you showed me earlier. You must have some reason to think I need it. Why is it worth so much?”
Jan smiled. “This ring helps protect you, and you look like you could use the help. Go ahead, try it on.”
The ring was huge so Dwyn tried it on her middle finger. Surprisingly it seemed to shrink down as it slid on, fitting her perfectly. Once on her hand it no longer looked dirty but shone with a soft, silvery glow. The tarnished ring on her little finger looked far worse next to it, so she slipped it off. “Here, let me polish that up,” said Jan. “How do you feel now?”
“Better, somehow. I can’t explain – it’s like I’m behind the prow of some invisible ship.”
“That sounds about right. Go ahead,” he said, motioning to Kjell. “Try to hit her.”
“What?!” he exclaimed. “I’m not going to hit her!”
“Oh come on, don’t be coy. Give it a test! She needs to see what it feels like with the ring. Here, try hitting her with this,” said the old man, attempting to pass Kjell a grinding rod.
“No way!” he protested.
“Just try it,” said Dwyn, “you know, sparring style. Not full force.”
Kjell looked at them both like they had gone crazy, so Jan shrugged and made a quick stab toward Dwyn’s shoulder with the grinding rod. She turned away easily as it glanced off her arm band. “Again!” she said. “Try another angle!” He obliged and they sparred silently for a few moments.
“This thing is awesome!” cried Dwyn. “It’s definitely easier to deflect a blow now. I don’t know how it works, but it’s awesome.”
“So you think you’re getting your money’s worth now?” asked Jan. “Don’t worry, it goes for a good cause. This is a quiet part of town and we like to keep it that way. We take care of people here.” He handed back her little silver ring and nodded to Kjell. “I guess it’s good you don’t want to hit your girlfriend, but don’t worry, she’s not going to let you anyway.”
“I know,” Kjell muttered, glancing at Dwyn to see how she had reacted to use of that particular word. “It’s not something I feel like doing, even like this. I’m sorry we bothered you so late, but she’s leaving tomorrow and I’m glad she’ll be taking this with her.”
Jan looked curious but didn’t inquire. “I’m sure you have plenty to talk about, then, and I have my beauty sleep waiting. Early to bed, early to rise… but the young never listen to sense, do they?”
Dwyn wasn’t eager to ride in her skirt again so they decided to walk the horse back to the inn. “It’s safer if we go straight to the park from here and then over,” Kjell observed.
“Yeah, but won’t one of your patrols be around the park at night?” she wondered. He nodded. “Then they’ll see you out with your girlfriend again,” she laughed. “Everyone’s going to talk.”
Kjell grinned and slipped his arm through hers. “Everyone’s already talking. They’re terrible, you can’t imagine. The slightest hint and it’s non-stop. Totally embarrassing. I mean, not that I’m embarrassed of you,” he added hastily. “Just, I don’t need people teasing me all the time, like it’s any of their business.”
“I’m from the smallest town in the world,” she sighed. “I know exactly what you mean. And my sisters would completely die if they knew. I’d never hear the end of it.”
“Maybe I’ll get to meet them someday. It’s been so long since I went any place far from the city. It does happen from time to time though – people from the Lodge get sent out on trips. Sometimes there’s no local temple and they need a cleric. Sometimes another lodge needs supplies. You never know.”
They strolled along quietly until reaching the park gate. Dwyn stood close to Ki Xa’s side, hoping the horse might at least hide them from view a bit. “You shouldn’t think of me as your girlfriend when I’m gone. Not that I wouldn’t want you to, but I really don’t know when I’ll be back. I hope it’s soon. We plan on it but like you say, you never know.”
“I don’t care,” Kjell replied. “I don’t like anyone else as well as you and never have. They’re always trying to fix me up with someone – you know how it is, I’m sure. The whole congregation, they’re obsessed with weddings and babies. I know, I know… ‘The wise will marry and have children.’ ‘The first gift you ever receive is your family.’ We recite it all the time but I don’t need help picking a girlfriend.”
Dwyn couldn’t help laughing a little. “They tried to do the same thing to me back home. It’s very annoying,” she agreed. “But I like you better than anyone else too. Oh, I’m sorry I have to leave!” she said, suddenly throwing her arms around his neck. “But I really do have to. I shouldn’t even be out this late when we’re traveling tomorrow. I know it hasn’t been long since we met, but I’m still going to miss you.”
Kjell grabbed on to her tightly, burying his face in her braids and kissing her neck. “I know,” he breathed, “I’m going to miss you too. I’m not going to forget you. Just make sure nothing happens to you, and get back here soon.”
“I will,” she promised, gazing up at him. She was tempted to linger in the park, to stay out as long as possible. He was so kind and so funny. His soft brown eyes were like a puppy’s – so sincere and adorable! The smell of his skin close to hers was the most wonderful thing, and the feeling of his arms around her… Was she crazy to be putting aside this chance at happiness? Hadn’t her mother been telling her for a lifetime, the most important thing was to be married? Finally she had found someone worth the effort, worth seeing if it might work out, so of course she was going to leave town.
“Here,” she said, fumbling in her pocket for the little ring. “It looks silly now, next to this new one, and it only fits on my little finger anyway. Keep it, so you have something of mine and won’t forget about me.”
“I wouldn’t forget anyway,” he said, stroking her hair. “I know the Earthshaker hears our prayers and looks out for his faithful. I’ll be asking him to watch over you, every day.” Kjell turned and patted Ki Xa, whispering something that Dwyn couldn’t understand. The horse nuzzled him and gazed proudly at Dwyn. “Well, we had better get you back to the inn. That side of the park brings out the wasps at night,” he said, alluding to the Dome. They walked back slowly and got the horse settled in the stable for the night. After once last, lingering embrace they said goodnight and Dwyn climbed upstairs quietly, trying not to wake anyone. She thought she heard merry voices coming from somewhere down the hall – maybe it was Dothan, or Kay, or some other guest. Her head was spinning from all the excitement as she crept into bed. The more she told herself she had to sleep, the less she felt able to do it. She kept replaying the events of the evening in her mind, especially everything Kjell had said, until finally she was dreaming them instead. She was in a meadow in the forest, and Kjell was there. They were hunting for rabbits. So many rabbits! And suddenly it was morning.
Re: TLDR Dwyn Stories Part I
The first week after Dwyn set out for the Misgivings and Fort Rannick was already unpleasant for Kjell. Shortly after she left it began raining and the rain continued for another two days straight. Rone had insisted on dragging him to a street festival near the docks on that Fireday, doubtless hoping to get his mind off Dwyn’s departure and make him feel a little less lonely, but hanging around a party without her only produced the opposite effect.
That night he was up far too late, worried about the dangers she and the other Troubleshooters might be encountering on the road. Had they made it to Fort Rannick yet? Were they still in Sandpoint? Should he borrow a horse and ride over there, just to see? It wasn’t all that far. But he was reluctant to leave his mother Karin alone even for a brief trip and didn’t want to suggest that she come along. Not only was he sure she wouldn’t want to leave the house, as she seldom did these days, but he didn’t want her to know how anxious he was. Even if she knew something was wrong, he didn’t want to explain the details. Instead, he opened his curtains wider so he could see the moon and stars clearly, and mentally composed a prayer that Erastil would watch over Dwyn and keep her and her companions safe.
Kjell had been right to worry: the very next day a band of Gnolls surprised the Troubleshooters. They were defeated but the ominous possibility remained that harpies were roaming the area. Who could say whether it was chance or design, but one of the attackers had been carrying a beautiful longbow for which Dwyn was happy to exchange hers. As she examined its intricate carvings she thought back on those few weeks in Magnimar, the last place she had expected to find anyone she cared about. Was this bow a sign of Old Deadeye’s favor? Or could it even be a sign that one of his faithful was thinking of her too and praying for her protection in battle?
She had to push those thoughts from her mind and press onward. The wedding of dear friends was no occasion for moping about, and a dangerous journey through a mysterious forest was no time to dwell on minor setbacks. They might be lucky to make it through the upcoming challenges alive! And if they failed to secure the fort or neutralize the threat of the “Big Sister”, an even worse fate might befall their families, friends, and untold innocents. No, this was no time for sentimentality to intrude.
The next Wealday Kjell went home early, hoping to take a nap before supper, but only felt worse after having terrible dreams about Dwyn. Everything was blurry and confusing and his heartbeat was pounding in his ears. She was still swinging her big weapon but bleeding profusely, having been injured by some terrible beast. He wasn’t sure what it was. All he knew was that he couldn’t reach her, after fighting endlessly through thick fog with arms that felt heavy as stone. Even after waking he couldn’t shake the creepy feeling that she was in harm’s way. His inability to do anything about it was maddening. As Rone said, he certainly hadn’t chosen the easiest of girlfriends. But everything had seemed so perfect, as if the whole thing was meant to be. Like the way she had marched into the lodge grounds that day with her horse, and right after everyone was pestering him about being shy! The way she kept showing up unexpectedly, and the way they seemed so perfectly matched together – it had to be the Earthshaker’s plan, didn’t it?
By the time Sunday rolled around again, Father Fendus was becoming concerned about Kjell’s happiness – or obvious lack thereof. Kjell always had been a quiet, introverted young man, yet normally he liked to laugh and joke around with his friends. Fendus knew he had suffered great sorrows in life and did not like to see him looking so somber. He also had some idea of the real risks Dwyn and her friends might be involved in. Her future path might never lead back to Magnimar. Perhaps the two already had formed some sort of understanding, yet Fendus thought this very unlikely given the relatively brief time they had spent together. He reminded himself to respect Kjell’s feelings under the circumstances. Once upon a time, he himself had felt the same intensity of longing for another even though the writing was on the wall. However, his memories of such moments had long since faded, making it seem easier than it really was for a young person to put them aside deliberately.
“I dragged him out with me last week,” Rone muttered quietly, “but it didn’t go so well. That’s probably why he’s been avoiding me all weekend.”
Fendus sighed. “It was good of you to try anyway,” he said. “Don’t give up, because he needs his friends right now. Dwyn was a good girl and well-suited to him, I thought, but obviously not ready to settle down. I hate to see him so disappointed after all he and his mother have been through.”
Rone nodded. “Well, let’s see what happens. I’m sure he won’t miss the pumpkin supper tonight.”
The pumpkin supper was the informal name of a meal the Guild put on every year once the pumpkins were at their ripest and ready for harvest. It usually featured a roast pig with cranberry and pumpkin sauce, lots of pumpkin seeds toasted over the fire, and of course, as much pie as the congregants could eat. Even Kjell’s mother was easily persuaded to come to the pumpkin supper, and she always brought a basket of pecan rolls along.
She and Kjell were finishing their meal alone together when three women sat down on the bench opposite: the lovely Marget Rast, her future mother-in-law Jun Wigand, and Jun’s youngest daughter Bekka. Jun handed Karin a wedding invitation and launched into a long explanation of the wedding plans, the difficulty of assembling all the relatives (not all of whom lived in the city), and the intricacies of supplying food for such a great crowd. Kjell was lost in his own thoughts until Bekka interrupted. She was a petite girl of no more than eighteen, with a sallow complexion, very slightly pointed ears, and a long, thin nose. Next to Marget’s sparkling eyes, dark skin, and long black hair, Bekka looked a bit lackluster, but her delicate face was actually rather pretty. She was wearing a long, floral dress and her thin brown hair had been twisted into a complicated knot.
“I said, has that girl you were with come back yet?” she prodded. “What?” replied Kjell. “Oh, if you mean Dwyn, she’s still off on her trip,” he sighed. Bekka made a little frown and asked what she was doing that would take her away from town for so long.
“Well, she’s not from here anyway. She’s from out in the country somewhere, beyond Sandpoint. I think they were headed to Nybor after that, for the wedding.”
“What? She’s getting married?!” exclaimed Bekka.
Kjell flushed and started pushing the remnants of his cranberry sauce around the plate. “No, not her. Two of her friends. Uh, I don’t remember their names.” He dearly wished that Bekka would stop asking questions and join in the discussion of her brother’s upcoming wedding. Bekka was happy to discuss weddings, but not the one Kjell had intended.
“Really! I don’t see why she didn’t invite you to come along, if her good friends are getting married. And if they’re such good friends, why haven’t you all been introduced to each other by now? If you’ll pardon me for saying so, it doesn’t seem particularly friendly. But she was never very talkative to anyone but you, I suppose. The rest of us hardly met her. Probably you know all about her and her friends and everything.”
Kjell nodded, although he considered just the opposite was the case. “She’s pretty friendly when you get to know her. She was really busy, you know - all that nasty business involving Justice Ironbriar, and that snake creature in the clock tower…”
“I know,” Bekka said, wide eyed. “None of us could believe it when we heard about Ironbriar, but it’s a good thing your friend found out the truth. And that snake thing – it’s all just so terrifying! I probably would have fainted the moment I laid eyes on such a beast! Well, I suppose she’s very famous now and has important things to do, like going to dinner parties with the Mayor and going off on secret missions. Probably it’s something really dangerous. No wonder she doesn’t have time to hang around here with the likes of us.” Bekka offered a half-hearted smile, trying to be sympathetic. Kjell made no reply but gathered up everyone’s plates for the sake of making a hasty exit. When he returned his mother was still deep in conversation with Jun and Marget.
“Oh, weddings, it’s all they talk about these days,” complained Bekka, and Kjell nodded, concluding that he didn’t want to hear any more about weddings either. “I’m sick of it already,” she added, “even though it’s going to be a terrific party. And I get a new dress, which I haven’t had in a whole year. You are going to be there, right? The food is going to be amazing. Four different main dishes!”
Kjell shrugged. “I guess so. Mother doesn’t get out as much as she should,” he said, leaning over to whisper in a lower voice so that she wouldn’t hear him talking about her. “If she’s feeling okay I’ll be sure she gets there.”
“Good,” she whispered back conspiratorially. “I really don’t think I can endure any more debates about which kind of trim the bridesmaid skirts should have. What’s wrong with a plain dress, I say?” asked Bekka, and Kjell nodded again. “Nothing wrong with plain,” he agreed, momentarily reminded of Dwyn in her fuzzy light blue sweater and long gray skirt.
“I only have this one for Sundays,” she explained, gesturing down at the pink roses on her own beautifully sewn dress, “because we found the material so cheap in a little shop near the south gate. Oh, they’re going to talk all day, aren’t they? I don’t suppose I can get you to walk with me as far as the market road? I hate to go alone. Half the Rast clan is coming to visit tomorrow and I have so much to do before we’re ready.”
Kjell began to protest that he needed to wait for his mother, but Bekka insisted that her own mother would walk her home. He was afraid Bekka wouldn’t walk in silence and he didn’t relish more conversation, but he couldn’t think of a convenient excuse. As they rose and made their way back toward the Lodge stairs, Karin stared at their retreating figures and frowned.
Bekka smiled triumphantly at Rone, who was standing guard when they reached the front doors. She paused so that Kjell could help put on her cloak. “Thanks again for walking me home,” she announced loudly, as Rone stifled a grin and examined his bow grip carefully. “It’s already getting dark this time of year, and you never know when you’re going to run into one of those Dome people,” she said with a shiver. Kjell nodded and decided not to protest when she slipped her hand around his arm, even though it made him think sadly of the time not so long ago when Dwyn had done the same. Bekka was scared, after all, and it really was almost completely dark outside at this hour.
That night he was up far too late, worried about the dangers she and the other Troubleshooters might be encountering on the road. Had they made it to Fort Rannick yet? Were they still in Sandpoint? Should he borrow a horse and ride over there, just to see? It wasn’t all that far. But he was reluctant to leave his mother Karin alone even for a brief trip and didn’t want to suggest that she come along. Not only was he sure she wouldn’t want to leave the house, as she seldom did these days, but he didn’t want her to know how anxious he was. Even if she knew something was wrong, he didn’t want to explain the details. Instead, he opened his curtains wider so he could see the moon and stars clearly, and mentally composed a prayer that Erastil would watch over Dwyn and keep her and her companions safe.
Kjell had been right to worry: the very next day a band of Gnolls surprised the Troubleshooters. They were defeated but the ominous possibility remained that harpies were roaming the area. Who could say whether it was chance or design, but one of the attackers had been carrying a beautiful longbow for which Dwyn was happy to exchange hers. As she examined its intricate carvings she thought back on those few weeks in Magnimar, the last place she had expected to find anyone she cared about. Was this bow a sign of Old Deadeye’s favor? Or could it even be a sign that one of his faithful was thinking of her too and praying for her protection in battle?
She had to push those thoughts from her mind and press onward. The wedding of dear friends was no occasion for moping about, and a dangerous journey through a mysterious forest was no time to dwell on minor setbacks. They might be lucky to make it through the upcoming challenges alive! And if they failed to secure the fort or neutralize the threat of the “Big Sister”, an even worse fate might befall their families, friends, and untold innocents. No, this was no time for sentimentality to intrude.
The next Wealday Kjell went home early, hoping to take a nap before supper, but only felt worse after having terrible dreams about Dwyn. Everything was blurry and confusing and his heartbeat was pounding in his ears. She was still swinging her big weapon but bleeding profusely, having been injured by some terrible beast. He wasn’t sure what it was. All he knew was that he couldn’t reach her, after fighting endlessly through thick fog with arms that felt heavy as stone. Even after waking he couldn’t shake the creepy feeling that she was in harm’s way. His inability to do anything about it was maddening. As Rone said, he certainly hadn’t chosen the easiest of girlfriends. But everything had seemed so perfect, as if the whole thing was meant to be. Like the way she had marched into the lodge grounds that day with her horse, and right after everyone was pestering him about being shy! The way she kept showing up unexpectedly, and the way they seemed so perfectly matched together – it had to be the Earthshaker’s plan, didn’t it?
By the time Sunday rolled around again, Father Fendus was becoming concerned about Kjell’s happiness – or obvious lack thereof. Kjell always had been a quiet, introverted young man, yet normally he liked to laugh and joke around with his friends. Fendus knew he had suffered great sorrows in life and did not like to see him looking so somber. He also had some idea of the real risks Dwyn and her friends might be involved in. Her future path might never lead back to Magnimar. Perhaps the two already had formed some sort of understanding, yet Fendus thought this very unlikely given the relatively brief time they had spent together. He reminded himself to respect Kjell’s feelings under the circumstances. Once upon a time, he himself had felt the same intensity of longing for another even though the writing was on the wall. However, his memories of such moments had long since faded, making it seem easier than it really was for a young person to put them aside deliberately.
“I dragged him out with me last week,” Rone muttered quietly, “but it didn’t go so well. That’s probably why he’s been avoiding me all weekend.”
Fendus sighed. “It was good of you to try anyway,” he said. “Don’t give up, because he needs his friends right now. Dwyn was a good girl and well-suited to him, I thought, but obviously not ready to settle down. I hate to see him so disappointed after all he and his mother have been through.”
Rone nodded. “Well, let’s see what happens. I’m sure he won’t miss the pumpkin supper tonight.”
The pumpkin supper was the informal name of a meal the Guild put on every year once the pumpkins were at their ripest and ready for harvest. It usually featured a roast pig with cranberry and pumpkin sauce, lots of pumpkin seeds toasted over the fire, and of course, as much pie as the congregants could eat. Even Kjell’s mother was easily persuaded to come to the pumpkin supper, and she always brought a basket of pecan rolls along.
She and Kjell were finishing their meal alone together when three women sat down on the bench opposite: the lovely Marget Rast, her future mother-in-law Jun Wigand, and Jun’s youngest daughter Bekka. Jun handed Karin a wedding invitation and launched into a long explanation of the wedding plans, the difficulty of assembling all the relatives (not all of whom lived in the city), and the intricacies of supplying food for such a great crowd. Kjell was lost in his own thoughts until Bekka interrupted. She was a petite girl of no more than eighteen, with a sallow complexion, very slightly pointed ears, and a long, thin nose. Next to Marget’s sparkling eyes, dark skin, and long black hair, Bekka looked a bit lackluster, but her delicate face was actually rather pretty. She was wearing a long, floral dress and her thin brown hair had been twisted into a complicated knot.
“I said, has that girl you were with come back yet?” she prodded. “What?” replied Kjell. “Oh, if you mean Dwyn, she’s still off on her trip,” he sighed. Bekka made a little frown and asked what she was doing that would take her away from town for so long.
“Well, she’s not from here anyway. She’s from out in the country somewhere, beyond Sandpoint. I think they were headed to Nybor after that, for the wedding.”
“What? She’s getting married?!” exclaimed Bekka.
Kjell flushed and started pushing the remnants of his cranberry sauce around the plate. “No, not her. Two of her friends. Uh, I don’t remember their names.” He dearly wished that Bekka would stop asking questions and join in the discussion of her brother’s upcoming wedding. Bekka was happy to discuss weddings, but not the one Kjell had intended.
“Really! I don’t see why she didn’t invite you to come along, if her good friends are getting married. And if they’re such good friends, why haven’t you all been introduced to each other by now? If you’ll pardon me for saying so, it doesn’t seem particularly friendly. But she was never very talkative to anyone but you, I suppose. The rest of us hardly met her. Probably you know all about her and her friends and everything.”
Kjell nodded, although he considered just the opposite was the case. “She’s pretty friendly when you get to know her. She was really busy, you know - all that nasty business involving Justice Ironbriar, and that snake creature in the clock tower…”
“I know,” Bekka said, wide eyed. “None of us could believe it when we heard about Ironbriar, but it’s a good thing your friend found out the truth. And that snake thing – it’s all just so terrifying! I probably would have fainted the moment I laid eyes on such a beast! Well, I suppose she’s very famous now and has important things to do, like going to dinner parties with the Mayor and going off on secret missions. Probably it’s something really dangerous. No wonder she doesn’t have time to hang around here with the likes of us.” Bekka offered a half-hearted smile, trying to be sympathetic. Kjell made no reply but gathered up everyone’s plates for the sake of making a hasty exit. When he returned his mother was still deep in conversation with Jun and Marget.
“Oh, weddings, it’s all they talk about these days,” complained Bekka, and Kjell nodded, concluding that he didn’t want to hear any more about weddings either. “I’m sick of it already,” she added, “even though it’s going to be a terrific party. And I get a new dress, which I haven’t had in a whole year. You are going to be there, right? The food is going to be amazing. Four different main dishes!”
Kjell shrugged. “I guess so. Mother doesn’t get out as much as she should,” he said, leaning over to whisper in a lower voice so that she wouldn’t hear him talking about her. “If she’s feeling okay I’ll be sure she gets there.”
“Good,” she whispered back conspiratorially. “I really don’t think I can endure any more debates about which kind of trim the bridesmaid skirts should have. What’s wrong with a plain dress, I say?” asked Bekka, and Kjell nodded again. “Nothing wrong with plain,” he agreed, momentarily reminded of Dwyn in her fuzzy light blue sweater and long gray skirt.
“I only have this one for Sundays,” she explained, gesturing down at the pink roses on her own beautifully sewn dress, “because we found the material so cheap in a little shop near the south gate. Oh, they’re going to talk all day, aren’t they? I don’t suppose I can get you to walk with me as far as the market road? I hate to go alone. Half the Rast clan is coming to visit tomorrow and I have so much to do before we’re ready.”
Kjell began to protest that he needed to wait for his mother, but Bekka insisted that her own mother would walk her home. He was afraid Bekka wouldn’t walk in silence and he didn’t relish more conversation, but he couldn’t think of a convenient excuse. As they rose and made their way back toward the Lodge stairs, Karin stared at their retreating figures and frowned.
Bekka smiled triumphantly at Rone, who was standing guard when they reached the front doors. She paused so that Kjell could help put on her cloak. “Thanks again for walking me home,” she announced loudly, as Rone stifled a grin and examined his bow grip carefully. “It’s already getting dark this time of year, and you never know when you’re going to run into one of those Dome people,” she said with a shiver. Kjell nodded and decided not to protest when she slipped her hand around his arm, even though it made him think sadly of the time not so long ago when Dwyn had done the same. Bekka was scared, after all, and it really was almost completely dark outside at this hour.