UNOMAHA D&D

Tilia’s Field Notes: Teal

My water-loving druid brother-in-arms is ever the gentle voice of reason in our adventures. No one soothes ruffled fur and feathers, interjects needed social niceties, ensures that everyone’s voice is heard, or appeals to our better sensibilities quite like Teal.

Teal has wavy, bluish hair and big eyes, a sun-kissed complexion, and as we learned quite early on during the raid by river pirates, an unusual affinity for the water. He looks rather like merfolk-kin when he’s in his element, which has been a rare event to date, but it’s enough of a transformation that I’ve sketched his portrait twice over. With two druids in our odd little band, his aquatic prowess provides a nice complement to my link with earth and mountains.

Of course, Teal’s tale would be incomplete without noting his exceptional friendship with the bard Caedmon. When we frequented the inn in Dranseri where the fetching bard entertained patrons, Teal had eyes for no one and nothing else. On the road, I often see Teal pensively penning letters to his childhood companion by firelight. He does not speak of it often, but it is plain to me that he yearns to be with his music man.

And yet, Teal continues to keep company with our ragtag lot, rather than chasing what his heart clearly desires. This is, of course, part of the task of Aramenté – we must find ourselves by leaving behind the familiar and friendly faces of our youth. I feel we are lucky to have Teal’s patient, kind companionship on this journey, as well as his highly effective use of the moonbeam spell!

Tilia's Field Notes: Streets of Dranseri

I hate the city.

The noise. The people. The smells. The greed and cruelty. It’s too much. But I’m no delicate flower, and am duty-bound to keep my tribe safe, so I can only hope our stay in this place is brief.

We’ve wandered up and down the streets of the city, taking in a variety of views, experiences, and completing a few tasks, like obtaining magic permits for Teal and me. Despite the absurdity of the associated bureaucracy, my magic often proves useful for preventing untimely demises, so presumably the wait was worthwhile. The dragon’s teeth I’ve been carrying were worth quite a bit of gold, though I’m not quite sure what to do with so much wealth. Agenar too entrusted me with his purse before disappearing down a side street, though I cannot fathom why.

My observation skills have improved considerably over the course of our recent adventures, and I can’t help but notice all manner of details out of the corner of my eye. But despite the wide variety of shapes and sizes of people we’ve passed by, I haven’t seen another firbolg. I wasn’t really expecting to find another of my kind here, just holding out a faint hope. It seems we may be stuck here for a few days more, so there’s still a possibility of it, although even if such a rare event were to occur, I wouldn’t begin to know how to ask for news of my tribe. We don’t have family names and lineages that can be used to identify us in a place like this, far from home, because we’re stewards of nature who rarely travel. At least, that’s what I’ve been told.

My most interesting observations in Dranseri have been the manticores that we fought this morning at the arena. The idea of fighting wild creatures as entertainment is repugnant, but these are strange beasts that were created and then naturalized; they don’t really belong to this world. And my responsibility to the tribe trumps my distaste for battle, so I took part. It was my first opportunity to try the druid magic of taking on the shape of an animal, which surprised my companions, who probably don’t realize that I can also take on the appearance of other races of people as well. Wearing the skin of a black bear felt… strange and yet comfortable. My armor melted into the beast’s skin and the sudden transformation confused the manticore briefly, although it still struck me and the crowd seemed delighted by the appearance of a random bear in the arena.

Ultimately we triumphed in battle, a little too quickly for the crowd’s tastes, but we still got paid. Some days, that appears to be as good as it gets.

Letter to Caedmon, 25th Sehanine

25^th Sehanine [mailed from Dranseri on 7^thAuril]

My Beloved Friend,

Greetings from Nari Lana! I write from the secluded Village of the Genasi on the coast of the Dagger Sea. We’re now just two days from Dranseri, where at the first opportunity I will send this letter to your lodgings in Emorhin. My heart is heavy that I will miss you in Dranseri, but it’ll be good be able to share my thoughts and feelings more fully with you again through these scribblings. I must become better at condensing what I want to tell you into twenty words—so far, I always end up feeling like I’ve wasted my reply to you. Which isn’t to say that your message spell isn’t a godsend. You will laugh to think how much I look forward to your magical thought messages—when we are apart, they are manna to my soul.

I could go on, but I’m sure you’d like to hear about our recent adventures first. You’ll be delighted to hear that we’ve accomplished our purpose. The mystic book that we set out to retrieve is safely in our hands—Corellon willing, it will enable the Pansophical arcanists to restore poor Travis to the land of the living! It was no easy task to procure this text from the Tomb of the Crossed Words— to do so, the party had to overcome multiple challenges, both intellectual and physical. I lost count of the number of riddles we solved to gain access to the library, then we had to fight a terrible undead creature named Rufus Setter to obtain the keystone and the object of our quest.

Although the adversaries we encounter seem to grow daily more fearsome, I hope you will not worry too much for my safety. With experience and regular practice, my companions and I are becoming increasingly skilled in the use of our various abilities. Tilia (my firbolg friend and fellow student of druidcraft) recently gave me a magical staff that she had previously entrusted to our former companion Agenar. Dagon’s Reach, as it is called, is a weapon of singular beauty; the staff culminates in an amethyst crystal surrounded by three tentacles that writhe as if they belonged to some denizen of the deep! The first time I held the staff, I was reminded of the giant cuttlefish I used to play with off the coast of Talpin—it seemed to throb in my hands like a living creature. While I am quickly becoming acquainted with the staff’s properties, I also feel far more confident about my water magic. Before, I had to concentrate intently to summon water and shape it to my will; now, I can unleash the force of a colossal wave with the same effort.

But fear not, Caedmon, that I will be corrupted by greed for increasing magical power. I know that you were shocked to hear of our party’s violent exploits in Dranseri, but I hope that the precious days we had together in the city reassured you that I am still your own Teal—flawed in some (many?) respects but tender-hearted as ever! No: now, as before, I care little for the glory of battle. Far more alluring to me is the siren-song of tranquility, clearly discernible in the gentle lapping of waves on this austere, rocky shore.

It is strange to feel so quickly at home in a place I’ve never been. Is it the proximity to this awe-inspiring inland sea, the natural beauty of the surroundings, or simply the pleasure of encountering so many other people like myself in the same place? For the first time, I am just one of many rather than an oddity, or worse, a freak. It was indeed a sight to behold: genasi of water, fire, earth, air, and other elemental phases sharing a communal meal, a striking metaphor for balance in nature. Seeing such diverse elemental beings living peacefully with each other and the environment, I couldn’t help wonder whether I belonged here. With people who instantly recognize my kinship with them, and who use their innate gifts to cultivate a simple life in harmony with the natural world. (Speaking of the simple life, I was thoroughly humbled by the reminder that even as I progress in spell-casting, I’ve fallen sorely out of practice in my former crafts: as evidenced by my spectacular failure to demonstrate spearfishing to a friendly fisher-woman this afternoon.)

If I allowed myself to fantasize about quiet domesticity by the Dagger Sea, the daydream vanished as soon as I remembered your words to me on that magical evening in the Seaward region: “You always carry your home with you.” And the whole reason why—in spite of how our feelings for each other—we cannot be together for now. No, you would never be content to rest (or rust?) in secluded tranquility—and without you, neither could I. I must see the Aramentè through, to be worthy of your aspirations and my own ideals.

Thus, I quickly determined that life in the Genasi Village was not for me; moreover, conversing with members of this exemplary commune (there are about forty or fifty genasi) quickly made me realize the fragility of the microcosm they have built. Even with the best efforts of the village’s wise woman, an Air Ashari druid named Martha—and the elemental powers of the genasi themselves—crops are mysteriously failing, fish are dying, and weather patterns going awry. Such harmony as they have attained is not sustainable, it seems, without engagement with the larger forces troubling the realm.

Tilia and I had a good conversation with Martha, who gave our firbolg friend some useful clues for finding her tribe. At first, Martha’s remarks to me regarding the nature of Aramentè seemed rather cryptic, but upon further reflection, I believe her advice to be full of wisdom. Looking me kindly in the eyes, she asked, “Who do you follow in life?” For a moment, I was lost for words, then I spoke of my secular upbringing, explaining that I was not raised to worship any particular deity. Of course, I did think of and mention you—how you had always inspired me to love the good and the beautiful through your being and your art.

Yes, it is true, my beloved friend—and truer than ever since our first kiss—your image is never far from me, strengthening my purpose by day and enchanting my dreams by night! Yet Martha’s question also made me reflect long and hard about the party of friends that I have literally been following in recent months. Truly, who do I follow?

Who are these people and are they leading me in paths that bring me closer to the heart of my Aramentè? I confess that, since you expressed concerns about my friends, I could not help but notice the truth of your criticism—in particular, their love of battle and casual attitude towards the use of force. While Travis was perhaps overly friendly and trusting, most of the party tends to be constantly on edge and prone to violence. Sadly, this was demonstrated yet again by an encounter we had with a mountain tribe on our way to the Genasi Village. Believing the tribe’s intentions to be hostile, some of us were swift to retaliate with force, and a battle ensued in spite of my efforts to urge more peaceful solutions. The frightening thing is that our predilection for fighting almost seems contagious. For instance: during the fight, I was taken aback when even Ari—a studious and eminently intelligent Pansophical fielder who accompanies us—lashed out against the mountain people, looking up from the tome she was studying to unleash a flurry of potent magic missiles against our unhappy foes.

With this disturbing example in mind, I can better understand your concern over the company I keep. Is there a danger that the party’s casual attitude towards violence will eventually (if it hasn’t already begun to) infect me? I feel bad saying this, but sometimes I question whether my friends are really the best people to guide me on the Aramentè. As individuals, there is no doubt that they are the worthiest of friends, but as a group, what have we accomplished? It is true that we’ve overcome remarkable odds on several occasions (including, hopefully, this one) to save each other—but each time (Tilia’s arm and now, Travis’s death), we played a significant role in creating the problem in the first place.

Were Agenar and Wynlynn right to quit the party? Sorry—here I am going on like this and I don’t even know if you remember everyone. Pantaghion is the strikingly handsome half-elf paladin—you may recall me asking you if you could contact his father with your sending spell. He is a brave and passionate soul but also seems very easily distracted—to lack a clear sense of purpose. Val is a larger-than-life personality, an elven warrior who would risk her life to protect any of us, yet in spite of her bravado, I sense she is hurting deep inside: infernal flames, as it were, burn deep within, threatening to consume her. And I recognize this because the same tendency towards excess haunts me, too (as you well know). How often have I uttered the words of ancient scripture: “Save me, O God! I am come into deep waters, where the floods overflow me.”

Tilia stands out as a beacon of calming light amidst the trials we’ve encountered: how we’ve come to rely on her uncanny wisdom and perceptiveness! I had great hopes that we would support each other on the Aramentè even as we helped our companions on their individual journeys. Recently, however, she has grown increasingly solitary and withdrawn: she says nothing but I suspect that the erosion of our party has taken a toll on her. As for our fallen comrade, I miss Travis’s kindly ways and quirky sense of humor more than ever. Nevertheless, his affiliation with the Pansophical makes me uneasy. I just don’t trust their systematizing worldview. The pitfalls of their path to knowledge are well summarized by the poet whose divine words you’ve often recited to me:

Sweet is the lore which Nature brings;
Our meddling intellect
Mis-shapes the beauteous forms of things:—
We murder to dissect.

Fear not, Caedmon, that I am becoming excessively critical of and disloyal to my comrades. I have every intention of staying true to them—and for now, it feels important to try to accomplish several things together, if we can: restore Travis; find, or determine the fate of, Tilia’s tribe; and unravel the mystery of Pantaghion’s missing father. It seems as if we may be close to succeeding at the first task—and the clues we’ve recently discovered here and in Dranseri may help us with the remaining two.

And then what? If I live, my dearest friend, perhaps then, I could join you and pursue my Aramentè by bringing music to various communities in the realm. If the Aramentè is meant to be a journey of self-discovery, I might learn more from entertaining and conversing with people than from fighting them!

I can almost see your wry smile—you suspect that it is my passion, not my intellect, speaking as usual. What can I say? Is my heart not an open book to you, now as always? Of course, you are right. When it comes to you, it is impossible for me to be cool and rational: no more possible than it is for water to flow back into the vessel from which it is poured. The overpowering delight of our last night together in Dranseri is still vividly present with me. What strange draught is love, that it quenches not this soul-thirsting but instead intensifies it? It frightens me, the urgency of my desire, this visceral hunger for your scent, your touch, your presence.

Sometimes, I think it would have been easier for me if I had inherited a bit more of the cold, impassive temperament traditionally attributed to merfolk. Surely the stony heart of a mythical siren would not suffer the purgatorial flames that engulf mine now! But then I remember the delicious pressure of your lips, the ecstasy of your skin gliding gently against mine, and I wouldn’t exchange the complete experience of our love for the world.

On that fervent note, with the sun descending into the Dagger Sea, I must leave you for now, my dearest one. My companions are rightly anxious to be on their way, for we are still a good way off from Dranseri—and the fate of our fallen friend still hangs in balance.

I send you all the feeling that words can convey—may your music bring as much joy to Emorhin as it did Dranseri, even in these unsettled times!

Affectionately yours,

Teal

Letter to Uriah Styx (7th Auril)

7th Auril, 1222

Dear Mr. Styx,

I hope this letter finds you well—that your gouty leg will not bother you even when the cold weather arrives! Sorry for my long silence. I am afraid that we must tarry in Dranseri longer than expected. Don’t worry: your boat is safely docked, and we will pay you a bonus fee for allowing us to keep her so long. (I wish I could return her to you sooner, but I cannot leave my friends right now—hopefully we will be able to leave for the Glade next week.)

Don’t be angry, but I almost hear you muttering under your breath, “You may be able to pay for my missing boat, but who will pay for my missing assistant?” And you would be right. I have been a terrible apprentice in the past few months. Since Mielikki, I’ve probably spent only a handful of days actually helping you on the river—and at your busiest time of the year.

To speak frankly, I’ve been thinking about this matter for a while, and I don’t think it’s fair for me to expect you to keep my position any longer. Of course, I’d be happy to help you if you need an extra hand whenever I’m in the Glade, but you should start advertising for a new apprenticeship soon—certainly before the next trapping season begins.

I will miss staying at the old lockkeeper’s house, especially playing with Captain Flint [Mr. Styx’s cat] and listening to your stories. If you need my room for your new apprentice before I return, please store my belongings in the sea-chest at the foot of my bed. I don’t have much but there are a few things that mean a lot for sentimental reasons.

Hearing me relate some of my recent experiences, my best friend Caedmon said to me, “It doesn’t even sound like you anymore, Teal!” Sometimes it’s hard even for me to recognize myself. So much has happened in recent months, especially since we left for the city. I’m sorry I let you down. But I do want to act more responsibly. The truth is I don’t know how long I will be on the road, and even if I’ll stay much longer in the Glade. It’s better for me to be honest so that you can get the help you deserve.

One last favor for now: please feed the pair of wild ducks that come to the lock every evening. Dewey and Dabble will wonder what happened to their dinner!

I look forward to seeing you when I return.

Yours truly,

Teal Peggotty

Letter in a Bottle: a Tribute to Wynlynn

13^th of Sehanine

Dearest Wynlynn,

I don’t know when you will read this letter, but I’ve used druidcraft to enchant the bottle holding it. As I’ve drawn strength from the rivers of Arklan when far from the ocean, so may this sparkling stream carry my thoughts and affection to you in good time. You shall recognize this emerald bottle, the color of your eyes, by the blue-green glow it emits when you (and only you) look upon it.

We have begun traveling north in search of a mystical book that may hold the key to restoring Travis. While this journey is sure to be as perilous as our earlier adventures, I’m really glad for this opportunity to repair some of the damage for which we’re partly responsible. After all, Travis would not have suffered his untimely end had it not been for our party’s foolhardy wager in the Arena. Moreover, having a concrete goal to focus on at this point helps me to avoid dwelling on our recent losses: first, Agenar, then Travis—and now you.

Wyn, with your sharp, sensitive mind—as keen as any of your arrows—you probably don’t need this letter to know that I miss you very much. I am so sorry I wasn’t able to offer you more in the way of friendship and comfort while you were with us. I don’t pretend to understand fully why you had to leave so suddenly but our last conversation gave me some sense of your reasons for staying with the party as long as you did. Whatever happened in your past—whatever you felt you needed to atone for—as long as I’ve known you, your motives have been selfless and inspiring. How glad I am that you opened up to me in recent months—how proud and honored to call you my friend! If I am saddened by your absence, I take comfort in the certainty that your heroic heart will surely be a blessing to other friends in their time of need.

Your courage and composure throughout our adventures will not soon be forgotten: how often has your eagle eye and superb marksmanship thinned the ranks of our foes and turned the tide of battle in our favor! Whether we were fighting mummies or marsh bandits, orcs or ankhegs, you were a real asset to the party. As a novice combatant myself, I always admired your deadly efficiency—and perhaps even more so your mental discipline. I do not think I ever saw you flustered or nervous during one of our encounters.

Except perhaps one: the time when it seemed as if the succubus we encountered in the dwarven tunnels had vanished with Val. Only then did your cool demeanor break down, but even in your impassioned state your aim was true and your resolve as firm as ever. Indeed, far from revealing emotional weakness, your passionate bravery on that day made a deep impression on me. It helped me realize the true nature of my feelings for Caedmon and more importantly, convinced me of the importance of making these feelings known to him in spite of innumerable doubts.

Indeed, my dear friend, it was moving to see that—even in your haste to slip stealthily away— your farewell note mentions how much Caedmon means to me. I want you to know that, in part because of you, I conquered my fears and spoke boldly to Caedmon about my feelings. He, too, shared the secrets of his heart with me, and neither of us was sorry that we had done so. Though he and I must follow separate paths for now, you will be happy to know that the love we bear each other burns bright, strengthened by the increased sense of honesty in our relationship.

Likewise, the flame of our friendship shall not be extinguished though our paths diverge. No, I shall remember you fondly and look forward to the time when we will see each other again. Until then, I send you the blessings of a tranquil ocean, the gentlest, most refreshing rain, and the sweetest of spring waters. May your travels be smooth and your path as sure as the flight of one of your arrows. May you find the peace of mind—and, yes, happiness—that you so richly deserve.

Lastly (for now), don’t think that your bravery lives on only in my memory and those of our companions. Of course, Pantaghion, Tilia, Travis (when he recovers), Agenar (wherever he may be), Val, and I will never forget you, but Caedmon will ensure that your heroism will be widely remembered in the Glade and beyond. On the immortal wings of song, the tale of the silver-haired ranger with a heart as true as her aim shall make its way into the timeless stories that delight both young and old.

Good-bye for now, my friend! Till we meet again, I remain

Affectionately yours,

Teal

Where the River Meets the Sea

Matt Hale & Paul Yeoh

From the young adult’s novel based on The Mysteries of Arklan

Caedmon sighed. “I know it is tough. I care for you too. I always have. But it isn’t possible. Our paths are not the same. You have your Aramentè and I have my songs and gigs. Both our paths are wayward lives of exploration, but we have to find our own ways forward. Your home is always with you. Don’t ever forget. Now, with my new message spell, I can be too. Well, at least I can check in with you.

I wrote a poem for you and wanted to share it with you today. Now it seems more relevant than ever. I’d like to call it the ‘Call of the Sea.’

Never far from sea.

The water I carry with me.

The stars above guide my way

Light of day helps allay.

White clouds flying

Seagulls crying.

I yearn to take my ship to sea again

Find a star to steer her and begin.

The trick of land is over

Back to the boat, the way of the rover.

Afloat, my gypsy life will catch the wind

Like a whetted knife it will cut my path forward.”

The cobbled path they followed wound through the eateries and warehouses in the seaward quarter, and they were near the sea when they had paused for Caedmon to recite his poem. Between the buildings they could see the Bay of Steel flashing a metallic azure. Fitfully illuminated by the late autumnal sun, mauve- and cream-colored clouds dappled the sky, completing the picturesque scene. Ordinarily, Teal would have been charmed by the sight, but his eyes could no more focus on the view than his ears could appreciate the mellifluous syllables falling from Caedmon’s lips. The warmth and feeling in that beloved voice were like rain in the desert to Teal’s yearning heart, but he struggled to grasp the meaning of the words. At the same time, he was battling a rising sense of despair— a chilling sensation that had gripped his insides from the moment that Caedmon had pointed out the impossibility of their being together. Yet amidst the numbing disappointment, he found himself buoyed up by a sense of pure joy: Caedmon had expressed feelings for him, too— the passion that he had developed for his childhood friend and protector was not a baseless delusion!

Then there was the poem. Caedmon had, of course, sung for— even with— Teal on countless occasions. But he had never composed poetry dedicated specially to his young friend. Teal found it impossible to stifle a glow of elation and pride— in spite of his growing conviction that NO, their love was not to be.

Teal’s dark blue eyes glistened— with sadness but also gratitude. “It’s beautiful, Caedmon,” he said softly as he turned to his friend.

Many gifted musicians who effortlessly channel nearly any shade of emotion during a performance are surprisingly reticent when it comes to expressing their own feelings; and Caedmon was one of these souls. He smiled shyly, but said nothing.

Teal took a deep breath. Time: that was what they needed to shape this conversation on which so much— everything, it seemed to Teal— depended. “Do you know a spot from which we can watch the sunset together?” he asked, trying to sound cheerful.

Caedmon’s shy smile turned to a grin as he recomposed himself, gaining the familiar swagger that had drained away in his moment of vulnerability. “Do I know a spot? Of course I do, this is my city!” He proceeded along the raised boardwalk to a fence that was marked “No trespassing.” Taking Teal to a small, inconspicuous ladder on the boardwalk, they descended a few feet to an unobtrusive portcullis that granted entry to the fenced-off area. Caedmon smiled again.“See, they always forget to lock it.” On the other side of the fence, Caedmon escorted Teal to another ladder, this time on the side of a warehouse building within the walls. “After you,” he said to Teal. Climbing a few stories to the rooftop of the warehouse revealed a dazzling view of the river’s entry point into the sea. “Land and Sea merging. Fresh and saltwater becoming one. What do you think Teal?”

As if on cue, the now-setting sun broke through the clouds, transforming the bay into a rippled mirror dotted by vessels of different shapes and sizes. Teal gasped at the breathtaking panorama: except for a series of white plumes, the stretch of water where the Queen’s River met the sea seemed preternaturally serene, almost perfectly reflecting the sky’s beguiling blend of burnt orange and magenta. Yet as someone who had grown up among fisherwomen, Teal did not need a primal connection with water to be aware of the swirling currents produced by the opposing fresh and saltwater streams beneath the placid surface.

Such was the inward turmoil that Teal was experiencing. The intoxicating beauty of their surroundings and Caedmon’s words—those images of unification!— touched a chord in the deepest fibres of his being. He could barely speak—his heart was so full. Then he was intensely aware of his friend’s presence—Caedmon was standing so close to him that he could feel the warmth of his body, smell his familiar scent, reminiscent of the variety of juniper that grew prolifically on Talpin.

Teal exhaled slowly. Perhaps there was no need for words. He took a few steps towards the edge of the rooftop and traced a parabola with his right hand. A watery sphere emerged from the surface of the river about 30 feet away from them—higher, higher into the air it rose until, with a swift gesture of his hand, Teal dispersed it into a fine mist of water droplets. Suspended in mid-air, this fine watery veil danced about momentarily in the rays of the setting sun, creating a glowing rainbow over the mouth of river. Turning to Caedmon, Teal looked him directly in the eyes and embraced him. “For you,” he murmured.

After a few quiet moments—during which their heartbeats seemed loudly audible—Teal continued in solemn, earnest tones. “I know that we must follow different paths for now—who knows how long—but when the currents of our lives flow together, will you allow me to be more than a friend to you … your lover? Nay—even when we are apart, Caedmon, may I always think of you as the rightful keeper of my heart?” Blushing violently, he buried his face in his friend’s neck as he had done so often as a child.

Caedmon looked out over the neatly ordered bands of color in the mist. A moment of tension and suspense as the question hung in the air. As the mist fell and the sun began dipping below the horizon, Caedmon answered contemplatively. “Teal, your heart doesn’t need a keeper. It doesn’t need to be locked away and held in reserve. It is a treasure, yes, but real treasures deserve to be experienced. It doesn’t belong in a museum. There is something sad in the notion of reservation.” He paused, not wanting to be misconstrued. He cared deeply for Teal and the last thing he wanted to do was to hurt him.

“Think of the instruments you’ve heard. Imagine the finest instrument you’ve ever heard. The finest note that has ever sung its way to your ears. The pinnacle of art and enchantment wrapped into one, capturing and captivating your attention and imagination, not unlike the rainbow that just faded a moment ago. This is beautiful, yes?” He paused for rhetorical effect, and then continued. “This instrument deserves to be heard, yes? This moment deserves to be experienced?” Again, he paused. Like a philosopher, he crafted a logical trap where all the premises necessitated a conclusion. “Would it be right to lock away and reserve such an instrument? To place it in a museum to be bound and preserved, unheard, for some imagined future use?”

Not waiting for Teal’s response, he continued, “I say no. We have but one life—well most of us anyway. Live it. I won’t have you reserve yourself for me. I welcome a time where the currents of our lives flow together. When and where that happens, we will find happiness in that moment, of that I am sure. But as you know, water has a mind of its own. It finds its own way forward. It resists its bindings and forges ahead unimpeded regardless of the intentions of those who build dams around it and attempt to levee it in place. Right now we find ourselves in the same place at the same time. Let’s enjoy it, but don’t talk of me as your keeper.” Reaching out, he squeezed Teal’s hand, leaned in and kissed him gently on the lips.

Wynlynn’s Letter to Teal

Wynlynn slips a letter in Teal’s bag just before he goes to meet Caedmon knowing he likely will not find it till much later. As the party finished up shopping Wynlynn slips away.

My Dearest Teal,

You have been such a good friend to me these last two years and I will not forget it. I had felt so lonely but found comfort in our group. I have grown and learned much in that time.Last night you spoke of forgiveness. I have been thinking a lot about forgiveness lately and have realized that the person I need forgiveness from is myself. I am finally ready to stop spending my life seeking redemption for past mistakes. I don’t know where I will go next but it is time that I go and figure out who I am. It is unlikely that we will meet again in this life but I want you to know how grateful I am for your friendship and I wish all the best for you. One word of advice, don’t let life get in the way of what is really important. I know how much you care for Caedmon, don’t wait till it is too late to do something about it.

Wynlynn

D&D Dialogs 1: Scenes from the Infirmary & inside the Temple of Joy

[The scene opens as Teal enters the infirmary room in which Tilia, Val, and Wynlynn have been recuperating. Tilia is standing at a window near the door through which the cleric’s assistant directs Teal. Val is sitting on one of the beds, and Wynlynn is standing next to her.]

Teal: Oh, I’m so glad that all of you are OK! [He gives each of them a tight hug, and tries to affect a cheerful demeanor. But he is a poor actor and looks visibly shaken–even a casual observer would notice that he has been crying.]

Wynlynn: [She grips Teals shoulders as he pulls out of the hug, holding a little too tight as she speaks to him] What’s wrong, Teal? Is everyone okay?

Teal: N-n-no … Travis. [He buries his face in his hands and sobs uncontrollably.]

Wynlynn: What hapened to Travis!?

Teal: He’s… dead…

Wynlynn: I don’t understand, how can you know that, he’s different than the rest of us, maybe you just think he’s gone but really he’s fine, just some sort of… I don’t know, restart or something. Some Warforged thing we don’t know about…

Teal: [takes a deep breath] He fell into the lava … the clerics teleported him out but not quickly enough. They showed us his burnt remains–they thought he was an automaton that belonged to one of us–there’s nothing they can do for him. Even that crystal in his chest … its glow has completely gone out.

Val: Well. Fuck.

[End of scene]

[After everyone is healed, the friends leave the infirmary. They pass the charred bodies of three of their opponents on their way out. The arcanist Alura appears and teleports away with Travis’s remains, promising to do her best to revive him. She will send Wynlynn a message to inform the party about Travis’s condition. Famished after battle, the party proceeds through a series of quiet streets to an upper-crust restaurant called The Shepherd and the Flask. There, Tilia treats them to a sumptuous meal including such delicacies as locally-sourced phoenix.

At Val and Panthagion’s request, the friends then head to the TEMPLE OF JOY, a well-known establishment which caters to all varieties of sexual desires.

The scene opens inside the Temple of Joy, a spacious antechamber that is almost entirely covered with plush red velvet. Val and Panthagion are walking away to private rooms off-stage with stylishly-attired attendants. Tilia whispers something to the chief host, then heads to a room upstairs. Jerry, Teal, and Wynlynn are left standing at the reception desk. Jerry walks over to the bar; Teal seems conspicuously out of place, but he looks curiously at the androgynous attendant whose silvery hair floats continuously as if windblown, even though they are indoors. He looks expectantly at Wynlynn, hoping that she will know what they can do in a place such as this while waiting for their friends.]

Wynlynn: Shall we sit in the lounge to wait for the others?

Teal: [overly grateful] Yes! [nods eagerly]

[They find a seat in the lounge area and sit in silence for a little while.]

Wynlynn: I was wondering how you are doing. I know it’s been a long day, what with Travis and all…

Teal: Thanks for asking. I’m actually feeling much better … I was SO relieved when that posh elven lady (what was her name?) showed up and promised that she could restore Travis.

Wynlynn: That was Alura. [cautiously] I am not sure we should expect everything to be the same after, even if she can bring him back. She said his memories could be affected. Who knows how much. What if he doesn’t even remember us? I tend to wonder what else could be changed as well. It’s not like anyone know that much about Warforged.

Teal: I’m just glad that it wasn’t the end for Travis. I don’t mind if he can’t remember me as long as he’s alive. I hated to think that all his dreams and projects would be gone just because of a silly competition that we dragged him into.

Wynlynn: It’s true that some of us wanted to go more than others, but we all chose to join the fight. I hope you don’t blame yourself for this, it’s no one’s fault that it happened.

Teal: [looks gratefully at her] Thanks, Wyn. Oops–do you mind if I call you that?

Wynlynn: Hmm… I guess, no one’s ever called me that before… It does feel strange that we could save him from that strange, I don’t even know what, ailment I guess, in the elven ruins only to have him die in the arena. I stand by what I said, he chose to join us there, but I do feel like I was rather naive in thinking it was safer than it really was. It just all seem rather ridiculous in hindsight.

Teal: Yeah. Here I was thinking that it might be good practice for some of us who have less experience in battle!

Wynlynn: I will admit I was excited to go to the arena. I like the focus I feel in battle. It is the one time that all my worries, all my mistakes, clear away. I can just focus on taking the perfect shot. And there has been so much worry lately. I feel like things have been rather dangerous for us recently, and now with Travis…

[A loud squeal of laughter is heard, even though the private rooms are supposed to be sound-proof. It sounds like Val.]

Teal: [after a short pause] But how are you doing, Wynlynn? I sometimes get so wrapped up in my own feelings that they prevent me from noticing how others are feeling. [pause] I mean, it can’t be easy for you to sit here (though thank Corellon I have you for company!) while Val is … uh … enjoying the … uh

Wynlynn: It’s okay, Teal, I know what you are trying to say. You’re sweet to check on me. I’ll be okay, I don’t really have a right to expect anything from Val. She’s been even more distant lately and I have been trying to give her space but it’s hard. I suppose the distance is harder than this place, this doesn’t bother me so much… honestly, it’s nice to be able to talk about it but it feels strange to share this…

Teal: [grabs her shoulders] Thank you for trusting me. Thanks for allowing me to be a friend to you. You know, it’s funny–but as we were walking into this place, the others seemed to get more … stimulated by the brightly lit signs outside. But all I could think of was Caedmon … and the men on the sign, they all seemed to look more and more like him! And I’d just die if he saw me in a place like this. [pause] Anyway, I guess I’m saying that I understand a bit of how you feel. I’m glad that you aren’t bothered by this situation too much but I hope that Val recognizes what a true friend she has in you.

Wynlynn: [quietly looks away] I wouldn’t say that, I haven’t been…

Teal: [gently] Whatever happened, you’re here for her now and you always put her wellbeing first … even before your own. Whatever happened between the two of you, isn’t forgiveness a part of friendship, too?

Wynlynn: [More distant than before] You’re right, it’s fine, I am going to go get a drink. [She immediately gets up and leaves, heading towards to bar]

Teal: I’m sorry, I-I didn’t mean …. [he sighs sadly and stares down at the table, conscious that he has upset Wynlynn but afraid of making the situation worse. When he looks up, the air genasi is sitting opposite him. He smiles nervously.]

[Wynlynn avoids talking to Teal much the rest of the evening as they wait for the others and when they get back to the Octopus’s Smile, Wynlynn heads straight to bed without a word to Teal]

[End of scene]

Wynlynn’s Reflections 9

The news of Travis’s death was shocking. It seems so ridiculous that we could save him from below the elven ruins, from that strange ailment only for him to die in a silly competition. At first I didn’t want to believe it, what does it even mean for a Warforged to die? After seeing his lifeless body, his usually glowing crystal dim in his chest, it certainly seems like he is indeed dead. I don’t know what else you can call it.

As Teal gave me the news of Travis’s death, I could not help but think how glad I was that it wasn’t Val. I feel guilty for the thought, but for the last three years I have had only one goal in mind. Keep Val alive and safe. I care for our companions, truly I do, but I left everything I knew behind so that I could do this and the reality of how dangerous our lives have become of late has never been more clear than it is now. It seems like every few days we are in mortal danger and here in the arena, one of the safest fights we have been in, we have lost our dear friend. It makes me question the purpose of our eclectic group.

The first time most of us fought side by side was to protect the Glade from a Zombie attack. This kind of work, taking care of undead and other monsters that endanger the town, it suits me and Val well. After all, I can’t imagine Val settling down as a shopkeeper or being a server at the bar. And it makes sense to fight alongside others, we can watch each others back and keep each other safer. After that fight, it made sense for me and Val to stay in the Glade. We made a living picking up bounties, usually with the added bonus of making the Glade a little bit safer. Over the last two years the Glade has become as close to a home as me and Val could have after everything that has happened and this group as close to family. Recently though, it feels like we are seeking out more and more trouble. I nearly lost Val at the necromancers’ lair and I never could have imagined anything quite like what we faced under the elven ruins.

I feel suddenly quite torn. I feel like this group may no longer be one that keeps us safer but perhaps one that will only put us in more and more danger. But we have become a sort of family in all we have been through together. Even if I really thought we would be safer on our own, I can’t imagine leaving them. I also don’t imagine Val being interested in the idea. She has only been more distant from me lately. The idea of it being just the two of us again feels very lonely.

Maybe time will clear some of my doubts.

Agenar’s journal, page 255

As I approached the Queen’s Road gate, I felt a pickpocket brush by. With nothing in my pocket to lose, I let it pass without chase or cry and would have thought no more of it, but the image of Tymora that I stole from Songsteel and wear on a cord around my neck began to glow, as it sometimes does to guide me. It had grown uncomfortably warm when I finally checked my pocket, but cooled immediately when I drew out a slip that said only “Toasty Adventurer.”

It is the name of a bakery in the Grey Market – Nemeia used to sometimes meet the Tieflings who own the Adventurous Gargoyle there for tea, and a bite of breakfast suddenly sounded good. I turned back into the city.

After buying a day-old baguette, I wandered a bit looking for a place to sit and eat before returning to my journey. Yet when I finally found a place in the sun outside, I noticed a hooded figure watching – which retreated as soon as I let my gaze linger, curious. So I followed, down an alley and through several more, until the figure stopped, waited, and lowered its hood.

“Agenar,” she said, “weren’t you even going to say goodbye?” I almost dropped my bread and leapt into her arms, for it was Nemeia. Instead, I could only stammer that I had tried.

“Well, you didn’t look very hard,” Nemeia pouted. “See, here I am. But what happened to you?

I told her of Sriss, and of my new companions. She told me of my parents, who are well and working in the sixth ward, and that Gammon, the cult elder who ordered the Pansophical break-in, and then my exile for failure, has been dismissed for betraying our purpose by working to accumulate personal power rather than to free Tiamat. In our circle, dismissal is permanent. And painful. I reflexively wished his soul luck on its journey through the nine hells.

Then Nemeia suggested meeting tomorrow morning at her cottage, broke off a piece of bread, and said, “I’ll bring fresh rolls.” I watcher her melt into the alley shadows, then hurried back across the river to Vanity’s Prize. It did not take long to reach the Common Boar, where I slipped into a back booth and watched my father tending taps as Mother hurried from table to table. It felt like home.

Yet when she approached my table, I kept my face covered. “Please,” I said, “I have only a few silver. Just a tankard of dark ale, if I may.”

“You’re in luck,” Mother replied. “Our first cask is ready just this morning. The barkeep is new here, and this is his family recipe. I’m sure you will enjoy it.” If she recognized me, she did not let it show.

I did enjoy the ale; it tasted like home. I left a small pile of my remaining silver and returned to the cottage. My parents are well, my comrades safe but in hiding as disciples of Asmodeus attract unwanted attention from the authorities, and Nemeia will join me tomorrow. Might this strange feeling be happiness?