Tilia’s Field Notes: Agenar

We literally stumbled upon Agenar just as we began our recent adventures, seemingly just another drunk in a ditch. But the hooded man is more than he appears. Although painfully thin (and filthy) when he joined our party, and quite ragged still, he’s breathtakingly handsome for a human. So much so that I suspect he’s not just human. But Agenar reveals little of himself directly, and instead, tends to speak through actions and exploits.

Pencil sketch of a hooded man.

A cleric who wears the symbol of Tiamat on his cloak, which automatically making him a rather suspicious character, Agenar’s magic is both divine and arcane – a rather unusual combination of studies, to be sure. After all, why would a disciple of Tiamat have learned divine magic? Nonetheless, he’s among the first to cast a healing spell, and has repeatedly made generous and compassionate gestures, albeit hidden beneath gruff words.

Agenar drinks much, brags much, wanders off and gets into trouble far too often, and yet continues to solidly contribute to our tribe’s adventures. I think we too easily dismiss the good that he does because of the noisy showmanship of his less desirable behaviors — eating psychoactive mushrooms, getting Val too drunk to stay awake through her watch, engaging Bob the skeleton in battle, causing injury to himself and deaths for others by telling stories that we all knew shouldn’t have been told, and on and on. But he has healed others at least as often as he’s been the recipient of healing and doesn’t waver from jumping into the fray when our tribe is attacked.

And yet Agenar alone did not agree to provide notice to the group before heading off on his own, because of course, he had already wandered off again when this topic was discussed. Agenar’s behavior became even more erratic as we approached and entered Dranseri, clearly a familiar place for him. He seems to have enemies in the Queen’s city, which comes as little surprise given his tendency to stir up trouble. He mentioned his family’s inn to us before vanishing into the busy city streets, yet when we went to patronize The Lucky Penny, we found it vacant. Teal broke the news to Agenar after our first round of combat in the arena — just after I took a swing at him in a fit of ill-placed irritation over his desertion of the tribe, but fortunately missed my mark — and Agenar vanished again, presumably in search of his family. We have no sense of when we might cross paths with him next, but I suspect he’ll turn up again, like a bad penny.

Agenar’s journal, page 254

My dreams are red, red as blood and vast as the western ocean. Dagon’s Reach prods me to wake before I see more. It is too early, but sleep will not return.

And it is better to start early. Sh’Lang is two full days north of the city on foot by the Queen’s Road, in the fertile farming plain between the rivers, among the many hamlets hardly large enough to receive post that keep Dranseri fed. My mother’s people go back generations with this land, and while she often spoke lovingly of sunset views unbroken until the mountains far west, it offers little for residents beyond farming, fighting, and f*cking. It is easy to understand why she left, but if able, she will return. And while they do not approve of my father, he too will be welcome – as will I.

If, as I suspect, Songsteel took the Lucky Penny – if, Tymora let it be not so, my parents do not survive – I will be revenged upon him. it is now light enough to begin.

Ferryman’s Log, Entry #3 (10th of Sehanine)

My hand is trembling so violently that I can barely write legibly as I wait for permission to visit Tilia, Val, and Wynlynn in the infirmary where more seriously injured combatants are treated. Though I sustained a few serious burns and was knocked about pretty badly, my own injuries were relatively minor compared to those of my friends. My physical wounds have been healed, yet inwardly I have never felt so wretched.

I can’t believe Travis is really … gone. Why did I hesitate to write the less euphemistic truth: dead, incinerated, fried almost beyond recognition? The list of descriptors for his fearful end could go on, but the degree of refinement ultimately matters not. It doesn’t change the reality that our companion—the perennially amiable woodman with all his scholarly projects and pedagogical aspirations—is no more. Nothing left but a lifeless, charred wooden frame, the glow from the diapson crystal in his chest completely extinguished.

The Arena clerics attempted to teleport him to safety when one our opponents shoved him into the moat of superheated lava—but evidently, they were too late. To add insult to injury, they also assumed that he was some kind of automaton—treating him as damaged property rather than as the latest victim of the Arena’s brutal practices.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. I know that statement is one of the oldest clichés when we’re faced with death, but really, this was supposed to be a game, a lark, a tightly-regulated competition in which—at most—you risk losing your money and pride. So much for all the safety regulations and all the bureaucratic rules surrounding the use of magic. I’m pretty sure at least three people lost their lives in the round in which we participated. 

The life of an adventurer (I suppose that’s what people call us) is by definition a perilous one. In recent weeks, all of us—myself included—have been compelled to confront our own mortality in the course of our strange expeditions. But the difference is that we knew that our lives were at stake and why we were nevertheless pursuing that course—whether it was out of an intense desire for knowledge or for the sake of friendship, even love. None of us believed that we were risking our lives in the Arena; the cruel irony is that Travis wasn’t even interested in the adrenalin rush or monetary incentive offered by this bloody sport—he even declined, on principle, to put any gold down for the wager. He was anxious to visit the Cobalt Reserves, and had only agreed to defer his visit on our account. He would probably still be in the library right now—if he had been less obliging—if we hadn’t dragged him into this display of gratuitous violence.

As difficult as it may be to admit, the truth is that we—not our adversaries or the lava—killed Travis. And I—I willingly put in 200 gold—not because I enjoy fighting but because … I was so eager to please my friends. Because of my weakness, I am as much to blame as any of those who really wanted to fight. Nay—more to blame, since I should have known better than to participate in—and thereby endorse—the glorification of violence for its own sake. Have not my teachers instilled in me an understanding of the preciousness and the interconnectedness of all lives? Can you inflict injury for sport and expect to do so with no consequences?

My cheeks burn with shame to imagine what Ama Halle, my revered mentor, would say if she knew that I had cheapened the sacred magic she taught me by helping to put up a bloody spectacle for bored city-dwellers. And my uncle—I can almost hear his scornful reproach: “No better than whoring, Teal—just more dangerous.” Perhaps rightly, he would view my participation in these entertainments as yet another blow to his carefully cultivated respectability. His brother’s bastard son embarrassing the family again.

But enough. The cleric’s assistant is beckoning me to enter the room in which the healers have been tending to Tilia, Val, and Wynlynn. How will I break this news to them? No, I can’t do it … have I not caused enough pain today? Especially Val and Wynlynn—they stayed with Travis in the Glade, and of all the party, Val seemed to understand him best in spite of all his eccentricities. Yet since Panthagion and Jerry are outside trying to figure out how to handle Travis’s remains, I have no choice: I must do my best to tell my friends of this tragedy as truthfully and as gently as I can.

Agenar’s journal, page 251

Approaching Dranseri, the statue of Bahamut, cursed pretender, towers above the roofs. The platinum dragon is surrounded by scaffolding, which I hope means Tiamat has landed an injurious blow. My companions gasped and admired the sights – the Raven Queen’s obelisk, the Cobalt Reserves’ sapphire-domed library, the Two Moon sculpture of the elven gods.

They saw the benefit of docking outside the city and entering the Jorkh Road gate on foot. Once we did, I gave my purse to Tilia – I’ve no need of gold – and set off to find Nemeia.

I strolled thru the sixth ward, enjoying the smells and tastes of home, until mid-afternoon brought me to her cabin across the alley behind the Broken Die. Her front door was locked, so I checked at the back. This was also locked, so I decided to wait for her to return.

It grew dark, and she did not return. I finally thought to check inside instead of loitering suspiciously and forced entry. The room was empty. Still, it will serve as shelter while I remain in this town.

A bit later, I crossed the brothel. As expected, Jim was behind the bar, his evident disappointment with life punctuated, for a moment, by surprise.

I asked what news; he had none. The stars are moving, the queen talks of war, Nemeia has been gone at least a month. I thanked him with most of my remaining silver, and he agreed that I had not been there.

I hope Nemeia is well. She has probably found a new companion and moved on – or been captured by the queen, swept up in confessions from those I left at the Pansophical ambush. Either way, I cannot hope to see her again.

That means I have no reason to stay here in danger. I have a key from the Bladeoak tombs, which unlocks something in the far north. Perhaps I will see what mysteries lie there. But not tonight.

p. 253

I am safe, or the moment, in anonymity, and will be on my way in the morning. Today I joined the crowds for fights at the Coliseum, to enjoy being alone and unknown among many. Rae Dranser makes our amusements cheap and gory, preferring to provide bread and circuses rather than effective social or civic services.

Almost before I could settle in with my ale and fried foodstuff, the manticore match began. Imagine my surprise – it was not surprising – when Val led Pantaghion, Wynlynn, and the others into the arena.

The bout only lasted a few minutes, with Val softening the first beast so Pantaghion’s spy Jerry could gut it, the Travis calmly casting a kill spell on the second while Tilia distracted it by turning into a bear. I cheered loudly, as did the entire small early-arriving audience, at that trick. They must have stood in line at the Pansophical all day for magic licenses.

I had to congratulate them, so I collected a return entry mark and stepped outside to the combatant gate. There, however, Teal told me they found the Lucky Penny closed, and I hurried away to investigate.

Sure enough, the tavern is boarded over by authority of Erasmus, to be sold in bankruptcy. I could learn nothing of my parents from inquiries nearby. My father, like me, grew up in the Penny, so if they survive, they must have retreated to Mother’s home village. I will start for there tomorrow.

This was Songsteel’s doing, vengeance or punishment for my tricks on the way out of town last year. No matter, I will beseech Tymora to smile on my parents independent of her disappointment in me.

Agenar’s journal, page 248

I was recuperating from the obsidian assassin’s attack in the boat’s bow, talking with Val about the great markets of Dranseri as Teal guided us gently down the river, when Jerry lurched unsteadily toward us with a question. “Agenar,” he asked loudly, “are you the one called Dragon Master of Sriss?”

I scowled. I have been to Sriss. No man is master of a dragon.

“They tell stories of you.”

“They tell stories of your mother,” I snapped back. “Does that make you my son?” Val’s laugh boomed as he slunk away, and our conversation returned to Dranseri.

Soon, though, Wynlynn stormed forward. Ignoring Val, she glared at me and demanded, “Who are you?”

Returning her gaze, I answered, “I am Agenar.”

“That’s not an answer,” she shot back.

“It is the only answer I have.”

“Not good enough.” She continued to ignore Val, who was trying to shoo her away. “What do you do?”

I thought a moment. “I am a Luckbringer, or had you not noticed how Tymora smiles on our misadventuring?”

“Ha.” She clearly did not believe me. “What about the dragons?”

“What about the dragons?”

“Don’t play dumb. Jerry told us what that” – she stabbed at my chest – clasp means.” She turned to Val now and shouted, “He’s a terrorist. How can you trust him?” Without awaiting reply, she returned to the rear of the boat and glared at us, arms folded across her chest and fists clinched. There has been no conversation since.

Yet the question stands: who am I?

I am a Luckbringer, dedicated to helping others find the shelter of Tymora’s embrace and a better life therein. I am apparently a gifted one, seeming blest by the Goddess herself with a natural knack for her magics, even blest, if I can be so called, by her terrifying visits in the night.

I am a dragon, dedicated to improving this world by using chaos to disrupt unjust conditions and allow better to grow in their place. That does, I suppose, make me a terrorist.

Are these pieces of me in conflict? I do not think so – I have felt Tymora’s smile on me, heard luck following, at every step. My twin roles differ only in scale; the Luckbringer ministers to an individual, while a dragon seeks change more broadly. In either case, I am Agenar: a brewer’s son, who would rather not ponder such questions.

p. 250

Yet I cannot stop thinking, as we approach the city, of Wynlynn’s demand.

I had not killed, even in self-defense, before joining this group of marauders. I see the necessity – I love my life, and do not wish it ended by an angry orc or wayward Warforged, but I love my life and must assume that any other entity loves its own life in the same way and just as much.

I am a Luckbringer. We are trained to cultivate the Goddess’s favor, which guards our every step – but promises nothing beyond this life. I know that, when my – when anyone’s – end comes, there is nothing more to do. In spite of our necromancy, conscious life is over. The body may remain, or even return, but our spark rejoins the Weave to become, once more, part of all – but no longer with an individual experience of existence. So our time here is regrettably brief and must be cherished.

It had been my good fortune to avoid facing this mortal truth until recently, and I was happy to inure myself against the horrors of this world without adding the dread of a finite existence to the equation. Now, though, my hands are red and all the perfumes in Deneria will not wash them clean. I drank, in prior days, to squelch my dreaming; since finding Dagon’s Reach, that reason has been replaced. Now I drink, unless otherwise distracted, not to quiet sleep but to still the voice of my waking hours crying, from the lips of my congregated victims, “Guilty.” I no longer drink to avoid images of an awful future, but to drown regrets, recriminations, and the newly-realized fear that I, too, may soon lie decomposing into plant food.

I have looked forward to rejoining the Weave for many years, to escaping this messy world of misery and injustice. Now, however, I discover a desire to delay departure. But what cost does my time carry? How many others must die so I can continue to drown thoughts of those I kill? How much less is my life worth, with each loss of another?

Who am I? Perhaps Nemeia will help me remember.

Ferryman’s Log, Entry #2 (10th of Sehanine)

We’ve been in Dranseri for barely twenty-four hours; yet it seems like we’ve already seen and done more than we would in two weeks back at the Glade! Sitting here in the courtyard of the Cobalt Reserves—as we wait for Travis to get us into this beautiful azure-topped library—I shall jot down some of our recent experiences. The colorful sights and incessant sounds—the constant barrage of sensory stimuli—are all a little overwhelming; recording my impressions here might help me think more clearly and perhaps help the party make wiser decisions during our stay in this magnificent city.

Ferryman Styx’s boat is safely stowed at a dock outside the city’s main entrance. I paid 4 silver for 5 days—now I wonder whether I should have paid for a longer period. I suppose it shouldn’t be a problem to extend the permit. I made sure I secured the boat against vandals and took the logbook with me in case opportunities for reflection (as such this) arose.

Immediately after we disembarked, Agenar parted ways with us; he is a native of Dranseri and, from what I gather, must have some old enemies in the city. He seeks to reconnect with some old friends while drawing minimal attention to himself. That is understandable, I guess. With Travis and Tilia, our party must stand out, although perhaps less so in this metropolis than elsewhere—there are people of all shapes, sizes, and colors here! When I asked Agenar how we would find or contact him, he made it clear that he didn’t intend us to. But he did direct us to the Lucky Penny, the inn owned by his family, promising us a warm welcome there. Sadly, we discovered later in the afternoon that the Lucky Penny had been shut down. Imagining how I would feel if I returned to my uncle’s inn to find it vacant and boarded up, I desperately tried asking passers-by what had happened. But in vain—no-one knew the whereabouts of the former owners. 

Travis, who has also spent a good deal of time in Dranseri, is in his element, and has been bustling around, seeking his former associates at that tower of erudition, the Pansophical, and energetically making plans for new (as he calls it) educational excursions. He seems to have adopted all of us as his pupils, which is both peculiar and endearing. At any rate, he remembered to secure us month-long magic user permits, for which Tilia and I were very grateful. The two of us queued for what seemed like an eternity in the permit office, and it was only because of a kind stranger that we were able to get to an agent before they closed for the day. We thus managed to get permits for a week (25 gold pieces), which Travis later extended to a month.

Meanwhile, Val, Wynlynn, and Panthagion had made more productive use of their first afternoon by finding appropriate buyers for some of the treasured we collected during our recent adventures. They sold the dragon’s teeth and the ancient currency from the elven ruins for a handsome sum—I don’t think I’ve ever had so much money in my life!

Although I was upset to find that the Lucky Penny had been shut down, I was also secretly glad that we would perhaps be able to stay closer to Caedmon. I suggested heading down to two inns that he had named before—the Glowater Inn and the Octopus’s Smile—and everyone found the idea agreeable. We inquired first at the Glowater—no Caedmon—and then proceeded to the Octopus’s Smile. To my great delight, we found him playing a set upon entering that happily-named establishment. Val was disappointed that they didn’t actually serve octopus, but we had a delicious meal of blue marlin nonetheless. As is usually the case during performances, Caedmon was extremely busy, but he was able to get us rooms at a reduced price and promised to spend some time with me on Sunday afternoon. Wynlynn kindly offered to share a room with me; Tilia agreed to have Travis in resting mode in hers; and Panthagion and Val each took single rooms. As Wynlynn meditated quietly on her bed, I felt an unexpected sense of security. In spite of being in a fast-paced, crowded metropolis, our proximity to open water was comforting. I drifted to sleep last night with the scent of the ocean and the cry of seagulls washing over me, and dreamt that I was home.

Our first morning in Dranseri has been intense. Val was intrigued by the gladiatorial competitions at the Arena and we headed there immediately after an early breakfast. I cannot say that I enjoy combat any more than I did when I first became acquainted with my companions, but at least there was no doubt in my mind as to what I should do. Cowardice would not prevent me from joining my friends and doing my best to help them succeed. I perceived that Tilia, too, was not particularly enthusiastic about the Arena—especially since some fights involve beast-slaying—but when she saw that Val and Panthagion were bent on competing, she acquiesced as well. Of all of us, Tilia is the one who seems to be able to keep the wellbeing of the whole group in sight at all times, a quality that I both admire and fear that I may not always be able to emulate.

As it turns out, the organizers had us battling not one but two manticores—fabulous creatures that seemed to be a hybrid of a lion, an eagle (it has functional wings), and a scorpion (it shot envenomed spikes from its tail). Though they sustained some injuries, Val, Wynlynn, Panthagion, and Jerry (who has appointed himself Panthagion’s personal body guard) dispatched their manticore fairly quickly—though not without triggering some of the magical pillars in the arena that discharged powerful bolts of lightning, injuring some of us as well as the manticore. Meanwhile, Tilia, Travis, and I did our best to keep the second manticore at bay; Travis’s magical bolts were particularly true to their mark today, and Tilia transformed into a great brown bear to engage the manticore in a wrestling match. Once our comrades had slain the creature they were fighting, they turned to help us and we soon overcame the second one.

Flushed with victory and healed by the Arena’s clerics, we were exiting the Arena when we saw Agenar, whom Tilia and I had spotted in the crowd of spectators earlier. Tilia, who is usually so mild-mannered, shocked us all by turning abruptly and swinging her sizeable fist at our erstwhile companion. Her blow missed, but the fire in her usually gentle eyes indicated that it was not for want of trying.

“Agenar, how could you … just sit up there and watch while we were facing those deadly creatures in the arena?” I blurted.

“You guys did fine without me.”

“Yes, we did just fine. It’s okay, Teal,” said Wynlynn. 

“But we’ve risked our lives for each other so many times! I’ve been injured trying to help you! I thought we were friends!”

Stony silence. I took a deep breath. “By the way, we have bad news. The Lucky Penny’s been shut down. We asked around but couldn’t find out what had happened. So you’d better go and check—see if you can find out where your family have gone. I’m sorry, Agenar.” 

“Thanks.” His voice sounded faraway, as if a vast gulf separated us. For an instant, his cowl fell back, and the sun lit up his hair, forming a golden aureole around his head. Then he turned and vanished into the crowd.

“If he needs to take care of private business, we should just let him do it in peace.” Val’s tone was unusually conciliatory. 

So here we are at the Cobalt Reserves—the guard informed Travis that the document he obtained from his mentor would admit him alone, and Travis promptly headed back to the Pansophical to get the paperwork needed to gain access for the rest of us. What a lot of waiting we seem to do in this bustling city! It’s funny to think of how much energy in the metropolis is expended in suspension—holding some kind of pattern until your turn comes (if it ever does!) We waited an eternity for the magic user’s permits yesterday; we wait for Travis to get us into the library; I wait for an opportunity to speak to Caedmon alone.

What joy it was to be once again in his presence! Indeed it is almost enough just to see that bright smile, to hear that infectious laughter, to feel the warmth of his firm embrace. 

In truth, I am grateful for the presence of my comrades and the necessity of exerting myself to help them, whether it be in the Arena or in pursuit of Panthagion’s mysterious father. It is a welcome distraction from the anxieties and doubts that gnaw at me in moments of weakness.

For as much as I long to unburden my heart to Caedmon, a part of me regards that moment with terror. What if my confession changes everything—introduces a new kind of coolness between us? No, I could not bear it if I were, by my rash admission, to dampen the flame of friendship that enlivens the very core of my being.

I wrong my dearest friend by doubting him thus, but is it trulynecessary to risk our friendship by disclosing the nature of my feelings for him? Am I being selfish—as merfolk have often been characterized in the fables invented about them? Yet I am certain that Caedmon would not wish me to conceal my heart’s truth from him.

Still, on what grounds do I entertain such feelings for my oldest friend? His generous heart smiles on even the humblest soul—perhaps his affection for me is no different than the universal love that he bears for his fellow man. True, at times his caresses have seemed more tender than that of a brother, and I have sometimes perceive a hint of extraordinary passion in his eyes—felt a more-than-ordinary warmth in his embrace. But I have so little experience in such affairs—perhaps I have imagined it all.

Do I delude myself that Caedmon could reciprocate my feelings? Caedmon has never spoken of a lover—male, female, or otherwise—and he has at times spoken scornfully of marriage as an “outmoded convention designed to maintain the status quo.” Yet his love songs are lyrical and powerfully moving, deliberately varying the gender of the beloved in order to be “more inclusive,” he says. However, there are such large gaps punctuating our times spent together that he could have a lover in every town besides the Glade and I would be none the wiser. 

Even if Caedmon did have feelings for me, I do not know whether his strong sense of social duty would allow him to express them freely. For as closely knit as our community on Talpin is, it is also reflexively conservative, with rigid separation of social roles along gendered lines. At least in “respectable” Talpin society, same-sex relationships were considered taboo—so much so that I had never seen two men in a romantic coupling until I first visited the Floating Village [stronghold of the Water Ansari] with Ama Halla six years ago. If he knew how I felt about Caedmon, Uncle John would be appalled—and what would Caedmon’s poor mother think? Madame Mellicai has always been very fond of me, but I doubt she would thank me for bringing disgrace upon her only son.

Surely I am (as usual) overthinking this. Of all the beings I have known, there is no other with whom I would rather trust my heart—my fate—than Caedmon. Be calm, you raging seas of emotion! If I cannot pacify, I must learn to swim you, as I swim amidst the most turbulent of waves of the watery plane.

Travis returns. Time to collect myself—we may be facing our next gladiatorial trial very soon.

“My Best Friend Caedmon” –an essay by Teal Peggotty

[From Caedmon’s travel chest: a prize-winning school-essay written by the 16-year-old Teal. When Caedmon asked to read it, Teal was delighted; he mailed the essay to his friend and was a little disappointed when Caedmon never mentioned the essay again. But Caedmon had read it, and he has kept the yellowing sheet as a memento of his friend.]

Teal Peggotty

Descriptive writing exercise

Ms. Eyre

20thof Sehanine, 1216

My Best Friend

My best friend is Caedmon Mellicai. He was born on Talpin, the only son of Patal Mellicai, our island’s most trusted healer. He is 5 feet 11 and a half inches tall, with a nut-brown complexion, laughing hazel eyes, and soft, wavy brown hair that is usually closely shorn. Because of his slim build and refined appearance, Caedmon does not strike people as being particularly athletic, so they are often surprised by his energy and endurance. It would be difficult to identify a single, distinctive physical characteristic of his; perhaps what distinguishes him most is the mobility of his features: his face seems infinitely expressive, the better to reflect his swiftly changing moods and to mirror the emotions of those around him. 

I have known Caedmon practically my whole life—since my father, Billy Peggotty, brought me to Talpin as an infant. Seven years my senior, Caedmon had been devoted to my father ever since my father saved him from drowning when he was five years old. Caedmon had always spoilt me, but after my father’s vessel was wrecked around the Meropis Isles, he showered even more affection on me than before. He was a constant presence in the Peggotty household when I was growing up—that is, until he left Talpin at eighteen to be apprenticed to a luthier in Emorhin. Fortunately, he returns to Talpin several times a year—I particularly look forward to his extended visits during the seasons of Silvanus and Pelor.

It is no exaggeration to say that Caedmon embodies the spirit of music itself. His primary instrument is the harp, with whose lilting chords he is capable of melt the hardest of hearts. Everyone on Talpin is familiar with the story of how Caedmon persuaded a band of marauding orcs to spare his life by playing his harp for them; and there are other less dramatic (but equally wonderful) illustrations of his musical magic—for example, when a quiet tune played on his harp revived one of his mother’s patients who had been unconscious for more than six months.

Since music is the very essence of his being, it is hardly surprising that Caedmon’s talents are not restricted to a single instrument. In addition to the harp, he is a master of the flute and the hammer dulcimer, and seems to become proficient with any instrument he picks up within a couple of hours. And his voice! Though Caedmon often remarks, half-jokingly, that I have the kind of voice that “can lure sailors to their doom,” my vocal talents pale in comparison with his.  With his velvety baritone and impressive range, Caedmon is capable of transforming the simplest ballad into a moving performance, calling forth in his audience precisely the emotions that the song evokes for him. 

But Caedmon is no mere performer. While his is an artist’s soul, impressionable and open to all manner of experiences and ideas, he is passionate about his convictions and is one of the most principled people I know. He has scant patience for the unjust, especially the rich and the powerful who abuse their poorer neighbors—such figures are often the targets of his satirical songs. Conversely, the outcasts of society—the homeless, the downtrodden, the stigmatized—can find no better friend than Caedmon. When he lived on Talpin, Caedmon could often be found busking on the beach with a large gang of street urchins during the high season for tourism. He always donated all his earnings to his children—moreover, tourists were always more receptive to the trinkets peddled by the children after being regaled by a pleasant melody.  

Above all, Caedmon has shown me, by example, what true friendship means. A few years ago, I developed a strange skin condition: whenever my skin came into contact with ocean water, it would become scaly and I would break out in these strange growths on my arms and legs that resembled fins. At first, my school mates teased me mercilessly. They called me a “sea monster,” and, looking at the slimy, fishy appearance of my limbs, I could not help but think that they were right. I was a monster. Caedmon found me tied up on the beach when he returned to Talpin on a visit. My school friends had abandoned their cruel game but I was wretched and weeping uncontrollably because I felt that I was an abomination. A freak. But even amidst my noisy sobbing, I could hear his voice, gentle, reassuring, and strong. 

I was in such a state that I could barely make out what he was saying, but his affectionate tone and earnest expression were enough. The uncontrollable sobs subsided, and through my tears I saw to my surprise that tears were streaming down his face. “How could they do this to you?” he asked as he untied me, splashing water on my sandy limbs and gently washing the source of my misery. “These are beautiful fins, Teal! You’ll have to show me how well you can swim with them!” I had always been fond of Caedmon but in that moment and ever since, I loved him. He had made me feel human again.

Since that episode, Caedmon has continued to make me feel loved and accepted as I am. But more than that, he inspires me—through his words and deeds—to become better than I am. Sometimes I am afraid, because so much of what I believe in, my greatest aspirations, are so closely connected with Caedmon’s ideals. I know that I am better for his influence, but without Caedmon, would my sense of purpose, my humanity, fade away? At any rate, such is my esteem for my best friend: my very potential for good seems to draw sustenance from the music of his soul.

Wynlynn’s Reflections 7

(Written in collaboration with Teal)

On the second night of our journey downriver, I find myself on watch with Teal. Out of all of our companions, Teal is the one I am most comfortable with. He is always easy to talk to and is indeed a kind soul. After the others seem to be asleep he asks if I am alright. At first I am not sure what he is referring to.

“Of course, I’m alright. I am glad we were able to heal Travis. I was very concerned that with such a strange ailment inflicting such a strange being, it would take more than normal healing arts from a cleric to make him himself again. I am very glad it all turned out well.”

“I meant with you and Val. I noticed she did not stay at the school house when we were in town. And then yesterday morning, she went back to the Yeoman’s Apple to collect her travelpack.” Teal pauses for a heartbeat and then sighs. “I’m sorry … I probably shouldn’t have brought it up. It’s just that … Val and you have always seemed awfully close, so I was worried about you–especially since it looks like Val’s adopted one of our companions as her new room-mate.”

“I know I’d be devastated if my best friend did that to me,” he continues quietly. “So I just thought I should check on you–otherwise what kind of friend would I be?”

“Oh, that.” It seems many in our party have noticed and are interested in this. I suppose it’s only natural. From the outside, it is hard to imagine what our relationship looks like. The kiss, which couldn’t have gone unnoticed, only makes things more confusing to those around us. We haven’t been exactly forthcoming with details from our past. 

I know Teal asks out of concern for me and I am touched. I decide that I trust him enough to share what I can. “You probably saw us kiss after the succubus attack, or at least heard about it from the others.” He nods, confirming that this is not news to him. “Me and Val were together once, but that was some time ago, maybe about a year before we came to the Glade. I can’t really tell you much about it because it is not my story alone to tell, but it ended very badly. I love her, so I do whatever I can to keep her safe, but I don’t imagine we will ever be together again. The kiss was an accident. I got so caught up in the moment, I lost all rationality. But the truth is, it was a mistake that never should have happened. It only served to open old wounds that have never really healed. Val just needs some space from me and it’s okay. It hurts, but I’ll be alright, eventually. Or maybe I won’t be, I don’t know. It’s difficult but that is just life I guess.”

“Oh, Wynlynn!” Teal leans in to hug me. He is silent for a moment. “Regardless of the status of your relationship, the fact that you and Val have been true to your friendship through the years–and in spite of all difficulties–gives me hope. You will resolve this with time–I know you will.”

I can’t help but think, if by being true to our friendship you mean I follow her around without her consent while her seething anger at me slowly mellows into tolerance then yes, we have been true to our friendship. But I am being too cynical so I smile at my caring friend who means well and say out loud, “I appreciate your hopeful optimism. I can’t say I believe it, but I appreciate it none the less.”

We are both quiet for moment, then Teal continues. “I know I have a lot to learn–about fighting and relationships and life in general–in some ways I must seem like a child to you. But if you ever need a friend, I hope you will trust me enough to let me be one to you.”

I have to laugh at that. “I am guessing you are referring to our age difference. Just so you know, I am not yet an adult among my people. I hope you don’t think I am laughing at you, it’s just funny you should say that, because I feel like I am so naïve sometimes. I have so much learning and growing to do myself.” It feels good to smile and laugh after the last several days which have been so difficult. Teal always puts me at ease. “I do consider you a friend, Teal.”

Agenar’s journal, page 244

Darian shook me awake. “Why,” he asked, setting a tankard of breakfast before me, “would you fall asleep by the fire with that amazing creature waiting in your bed?” He waved toward the door, where Val, particularly fetching without her studded leather armor, was just leaving. “Unless,” he cast a quick glance at the bar, “you’re already married too long, eh?”

I had no answer. Val is beautiful, in a way that reminds me of Nemeia. She was in my bed, and asked to be there. But she comes to me, a friend with nowhere else to turn. Tymora commands us to aid the desperate, not take advantage of them.

She soon returned, nonchalantly carrying a rucksack I would struggle to lift, and joined me for a morning refreshment. After the second tankard, she chided me for not coming to bed last night; “What did you expect to happen,” she laughed.

I muttered, in Infernal, “The last time I was in a Tiefling’s bed…”

“Sorry,” Val betrayed her Fey heritage by answering in Common, “I’m just not that horny.” She unconsciously brushed her hand across her forehead, revealing the ridges usually hidden by hair above her eyes.

After a fourth ale, I knew we would be safe sharing sleeping space, and why she needed to escape the schoolhouse. I am grateful she could confide in me, and look forward to having her as a roommate. Darian smiled as we took our packs upstairs, pleased to think he has brought us together.

A bit later, as we strolled about town in search of good boots, Val confirmed the others’ intention to visit Dranseri, in hopes of learning about Travis at the Clockwork Construct.

“While there,” I said, “stop a while at the Lucky Penny, across from Fortune’s Will in the fourth ward. I cannot go there, but my mother will be glad of any news. She will be most accommodating.”

“And you,” asked Val.

“I have, ah, other business.” I may have blushed, and Val pounced on the vulnerability. “You really want to know?” She nodded.

The story took us, with me in new tall boots, across town to the smith, where I sold the heavy iron pot and mace I had never used, then bought a very nice dagger at a local artisan premium.

“When I was exiled from the Church,” I began.

“I knew it,” she exclaimed. “We all thought you were a cleric!”

“When I was exiled from the Church,” I began again, “I had nowhere to go. I haunted the Knowing Circle, hiding from Luckbringers in the libraries during day, warming myself in seedy pubs after hours, and sleeping where I could.

“But one night, a horned woman who had watched me across the tavern for several nights approached. ‘You are Agenar,’ she said, handing me a tankard of grog. ‘You study magic.’ I nodded, ‘and you need somewhere to stay. I have magics.’ She grinned, showing sharpened canine teeth. ‘Stay with me. I will teach you.’

“At closing, I followed Nemeia home instead of falling into a gutter. Thereafter, while mornings were still spent in the Pansophical libraries, each afternoon she tutored me in the Infernal tongue and her Mephistophelean mysteries; the nights were devoted to what she called ‘social skills.’

“I stayed with Nemeia until the Luckbringers forced me to flee Dranseri. I will stay with her.”

I put the new dagger on my belt and stepped outside.

“Ha,” Val snorted. “Getting a little tail.”

Nemeia hated that joke, but an unseen knife between my ribs cut short my retort and I collapsed on the street in unbearable pain.

Val screamed, and also got stabbed for her trouble. I struggled upright long enough to try inflicting wounds, but missed my strike at the obsidian elf attacker, who smiled as she dipped her blade in its sheath and then stabbed me again, in the gut.

Fortunately, our friends were approaching – Teal had found a boat, which would shorten the travel to Dranseri, and Travis was holding it for departure. Tilia and Pantaghion took turns tending our injuries, while Wynlynn and Teal eventually restrained the retreating Drow. As Wynlynn bound her, she sputtered, “Agenar, I will kill you. You, and all to whom you spoke of Dagon and the mine.” She laughed wildly. “Or any who are left.”

Val was feeling well enough by then to knock the assassin unconscious and take her weapons – the dagger, a short sword, and three vials of Drow poison. Wynlynn and Pantaghion escorted her to the Queen’s Guard, where she was clapped in irons as a confessed murderer. And for the moment, relaxing on the river feels the safest place I could be.

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