19/5/919, a couple of days after the Clockwright lands in Endergaln
The Cog and Sprocket
Sav
It’s been a day or two since their dizzying escape from Summit and their subsequent near-crash landing in this enormous, overwhelming city of iron and steam. Despite Sav priding herself somewhat on being able to adapt and survive in any new circumstances she finds herself in — she’s certainly had practice at it, after all — even she finds herself a bit overwhelmed at the scope of the city, different from any she’s encountered before. She’s fallen quietly in line and followed the lead of Gwin, who seems to have some familiarity with the city, and taken to the room given to her in this inn without complaint.
Yet after a day or so, during which they spend a few hours strolling through the street just to observe, with their hood up against the cold and their face changed — no particular reason, only paranoia and a desire to leave no trace of their presence — they’re starting to relax a trifle. The machinery all about and the mannerisms and makeup of the people might be exceedingly different from Galoring, but the language is more-or-less the same, and the currents of … is it still called humanity? The ebb and flow and interactions of the people around are still reminiscent enough of the city they grew up in that it doesn’t feel wholly alien, and the wonders of artifice around are leaps beyond what they’ve seen in the smaller villages they encountered en route to The Daggered Spine, enough to leave them breathless with the possibilities.
A few hours of this is still enough to wear her out, though, and so she retires to the inn with a new sheaf of paper and marking utensils, and spreads out her notes and makes more, and thinks on the events of the last few days.
The next day she goes around to everyone she wants to collect, individually, and tells them a time (3 of the clock, as set by the Stones) and a place (her room). It’s a bit cramped to hold so many people, but she wants as much privacy for this as possible, so the common area of the shared space won’t do. Her room ended up being deeper within the bowels of this building, on an inner side with a single window facing an inner lightwell courtyard; the rooms on either side are taken by the other members of the party, and the lightwell is so narrow that it’s largely for light and air to reach the inner rooms, not for lingering within, so it’s as private a space as any she can find on short notice.
She’s not able to find all of them, unfortunately, whether because they’re out and about or because they’ve ceased to exist for a moment is unknown (and what a weird factor to have to consider). She purposefully leaves the Relicors out as well, though she knows it might be apparent if any of them go looking for the rest of the Clockwright travelers; Merrick could potentially have been all right, but it’s too soon to say, and Velt and Caspeid don’t strike her as able to keep their mouths shut or willing to.
When the time comes and people start to filter in to the room, Sav is sitting on the sill of their single window, looking through a sheaf of marked papers in hand. They’d made a trip out earlier that morning, and pushed up against one wall is the fruit of their trip: a large slate board on wheels, currently blank. It seems too large to have fit through the door, but there it is. As people come in, they look up and nod, and gesture to take a seat on any of the chairs (stolen from the common room) or the bed in the room, but they wait to say more until it seems like no more people will arrive.
Bax
Bax knocked on the frame of the door, peering around and finding the room empty, save for the host. Bewildered at being the first to arrive, he offers a sheepish grin before passing through, carrying a small basket. With patches of flour across his body, he lifts a sheet off the basket as he sets it on a chair nearest the door revealing bread rolls. “Met this really nice couple earlier. They have a bakery a few streets over and offered me some day old bread after I helped to carry some bags of stuff,” he offers as explanation for the food. “Daisy and Juniper I think? Anyway, I thought everyone could use a lil somethin to snack on while we talked.”
Grabbing two rolls, he gently tosses one to Sav who catches it swiftly as he moves to situate himself on the floor leaned against the bed. He removes his over shirt and places it on top of his lap, pulling out a small branch from his pocket and begins to whittle at it, the shavings catching in his shirt, waiting for the discussions to begin.
Ethan
The sounds of the city swirled around Ethan from every direction. Most of the commotion came from the streets below, but echoes bounced off the windows and stone facades, wrapping around him. It had been over a year since he’d set foot in a city of any size. He’d missed it.
Perched at the edge of a tall, flat rooftop, he closed his eyes—just listening.
He’d already watched the city’s rhythm for hours. Now he was supposed to be practicing: sensing the world around him with only his ears. His eyes may have been closed, but he wasn’t seeing anything—not really. He wasn’t concentrating enough.
He’d gotten good at “seeing” with his ears back in Northgate, while pretending to be a blind street vendor. The opaque contacts he wore had made him blind for real most of the day. He’d kept up the practice ever since. It was a challenge—and it kept his senses sharp.
A gentle buzz pulsed against his chest. He reached under his armor and pulled out a gold-plated pocket watch, flipping it open. Time for Sav’s meeting. Two small buttons flanked the latch. He pressed the wrong one first—nothing. The second silenced the vibration.
He’d only lifted the thing that morning, after eyeing one in a shop display. It wasn’t just a timepiece—it could be set to remind you. Ingenious little thing.
He made his way to Sav’s quarters, unsure what the meeting would be about.
When he arrived, Bax was already there, whittling at a twig in front of the bed. Ethan nodded to Sav and pulled a chair beside Bax. They sat with their backs to the wall—unobstructed views of both the door and the window.
Peach
Peach has her own space in the Cog and Sprocket - it’s a small north facing room, and Peach has made the most of the location. A door leads out to a small balcony, which itself is partly shaded by thin muslin curtains that largely prevent the iron dust from accumulating on the balcony or being swept into the living space within.
Inside the room, Peach has added hanging bits of found glass, beads, talismans and mirror shards, magpie-like throughout the space.
The effect is that, while Peach’s room is messy, yes, it is also filled with color and light. The colored glass in the window cuts prisms across the cluttered floor, and Peach picks her way through the debris, searching for something.
Peach sings a small song while she’s searching - a nothing song, a kitchen song - a song about being just slightly late for Sav’s meeting but also wanting so much to be prepared for the meeting and not already one-page behind the others like she always was with Gilgain’s lessons but mostly the song (now rising in pitch) is about wanting to find her goddamn shoe.
It is a few flustered moments later that a still-shoeless Peach arrives outside Sav’s room, having abandoned her search. Peach can hear voices through the door, noting with relief that Sav, at least, was already there.
Peach steps into the room - still quite pink-faced and stocking-footed - and grins at the assembled three: Sav, Squire, and…oh! Bax!
“And here I thought I was late,” says Peach with a grin.
She takes a few quick steps into the room, making a half spin before deciding where to sit.
Ah, there! The perfect spot.
With that decided, Peach sits herself with a flourish - settling onto the floor directly at the foot of the bed, and thus directly at Bax’s feet.
She looks up, trying to catch his eye, (this time only briefly distracted by the constellation of still-unfamiliar stars).
“You don’t mind, of course, Bax!”
Peach says the question in such a way that it doesn’t seem to require an answer from Bax, and before he can respond, Peach has quickly made herself comfortable - now leaning back against the bedframe and Bax’s legs - with pen at the ready and journal in hand.
Talith
Talith stood facing down a less spacious than desired hallway, seemingly deep in thought as though he was contemplating the mysteries of the world. A few moments later his eyes snapped forward before then shifting from one side of the hallway to the other, and then back down the narrow hallway again. And that was when he made his move—his next steps, calculated.
“This one,” he murmured to himself.
Confidently, Talith opened the door to the second room on his right and began to step through for the meeting until he was met with a sharp, unfamiliar voice. “Uhh—can I help you?” a man holding a toy wooden bird threw his words at the startling, unannounced visitor.
Talith pursed his lips, a little embarrassed. “Ahh—no no. I apologize. Wrong room. I thought this was—uhh, sorry,” and he quickly closed the door to make his way down the narrow hall again. “Maybe try knocking next time?” Talith heard the toy wooden bird man’s muffled echo from behind.
“Hmm—? Yeah, sorry!” Talith kept his voice low and lifted an apologetic hand, not that it could be seen, as embarrassed fueled haste with non-chalant composure pushed him down the hall in an attempt to get away from the scene. About six or seven paces later and a door just ahead of him on the left began to open. Talith quickly turned to face the opposite way and threw up his hands as though he had just witnessed some audacious display. An older woman poked her head out of her room.
A timed comment came from Talith, “Wha—that was so weird.. What’s wrong with—” Talith murmured to himself, but intentionally loud enough for the woman to hear. He then turned, pretending to be surprised by the woman standing there before shaking his head. “People are just walking into random rooms now, I guess.” His eyes were still wide as if he had been caught, absolutely betraying his intent. “The audacity of some people, ya know?” Talith continued down the hall as though he knew his destination. The woman rolled her eyes and closed her door. Carelessly turning around while moving a few paces backwards, Talith waved a lazy hand back down the hall continuing his comments, though they were more of an announcement than anything. “He’s gone now though—so….” His words drifted lower, “He left..”
Talith’s lips flapped, letting out the embarrassment through a prolonged sigh as he swung his arms back and forth, letting the momentum carry his steps before stopping and scratching the back of his head. He looked up and down the hall again, pointing a lazy finger in each direction. “Mmmmhmm…. I think..” He wasn’t thinking. He was just filling the air with words under his breath. Luckily however, that’s when he heard the familiar voices coming from back the way he came, across the hall from the toy man’s side. “Ahhh.” Talith walked back down the hall from where he had heard his friends. Upon reaching the door, he went to open it, but this time he stopped himself and knocked. After giving a beat, he slowly opened the door to a room that was kind of messy, but the vibrant display of colors seemed to distract from that fact. Quietly, Talith closed the door. “Mmm…nope.”
Talith would just stand in the hall moments longer until he heard his friends again. This time, he was close enough to the source that he knew without a doubt which room it was. If only he hadn’t forgotten which room in the first place, yeah this would have been much less awkward. The door to Sav’s room opened slowly at first as Talith gathered more confirmation, just to be safe. The door then continued at a normal, confident pace as Talith stepped into the room, closing the door behind him.
“Hey, everyone.” Talith wasn’t in his armor, but instead in his normal, sage colored laced shirt. His attire was complete with a more recent adornment however—an average sized white flower protruding from his hair, just above his elven ear.
“Those for everyone?” Talith gestured towards the bread before grabbing one with the assumption that someone would object otherwise. He then looked around before finding a nice spot on the wall to the left of the entrance to lean on. Folding one arm and resting his other elbow on top of it, he took a bite of his day old bread. “That’s a narrow hallway out there.”
Sav
Once everyone who seems like they’re going to make it has settled in (making the relatively-small room feel even more cramped), Sav stands from their seat on the sill, feeling a little awkward. They’re used to talking and advancing ideas in planning sessions, at this point, but not standing in front of everyone like they’re giving a speech.
No, it’s not like they’re giving a speech—they are literally giving a speech. A lecture, even.
Trying to ignore the flip of her stomach at that realization, Sav swallows a suddenly-dry bite of breadroll. “Achm. Ahem. So, I thought that, what wi’ everyhin happenin’, there’s loads o’ bits gaun about that no e’erybody’s aware of but helps a lot to get a fuller picture of what’s happenin. An’ it seems we’re all linked in some wise, will we, nil we. Trust may not be easy for many, or even most of us tae come by,” she glances at Ethan, almost smiles, doesn’t, “but I thought it best t’ maybe extend a wee bit to aw of ye in this same bucket.”
She glances down at Peach, then, and frowns slightly in concern. “No notes. There’s much of this I don’t want beyond our ears, an’ each note is a possible leak. I don’t know how much of this would be dangerous to openly know. There’ll be a muckle o’ names an’ events, but just ask if ye need a reminder.
“Loads of this I’ve on’y pieced together over time fae a load of different sources, many of which—or whom—are nae about any more. An’ it starts back pretty far, but I promise ye much of it is relevant. If I’m missin’ a piece, gies a shout, a’right? Right.
“So.” A piece of chalk floats up from the sill and sets against the chalkboard they’ve dragged in, though Sav makes no gesture. “Once there were the skyfolk, properly hight the aasimar.” Here, now, they gesture; over their open palm, a small translucent image appears of a woman clad in silver plate, with wildly curling pink hair, white feathered wings, and a flaring aura of silver-gold. She looks like an odd blend of Ana, Danica and Aluvyn’dralia. On the chalkboard, the chalk draws a circle and writes Aasimar inside. “They were a mighty an a magical folk, who created many grand designs an’ constructed many vast edifices, long, long ago.
“They warred against a people called the illithid, sometimes called mindflayers, but also poetically called the ‘Beast of a Thousand Eyes,’ which let me tell ye, sometimes poetry can really lead the seekin’ mind astray.” She glances at Bax’s tattooed arm, indigo night sky with a tall white tower and a multitude of tiny star-like eyes, and purses their lips as if a thought had just occurred to them. Without saying anything else, though, they flick their fingers, and the image over their hand flickers, replaced by a slender, robed figure, bald and purple-skinned with a froth of tentacles where the mouth should be, like the one the Isendelian rebels had found in the Baroness’s dungeons below the Cathedral. On the board, the chalk fills in another circle and writes Illithid, then links the two and writes war.
“The skyfolk sacrificed themselves to stop the illithid empire. Some aasimar either already lived on our world, or fled here—” the chalk draws a larger circle labeled Our World. “—and one who was here, hight Silvyn’dralia—” An aasimar in black plate armor and curly black hair appears above their hand. “—broke a moon. That’s an auld name for a hing that floated above our world, like the Stones but bigger and round. I believe those Stones are actually remnants of the moon, or moons—there likely used t’ be two, but I’m no quite certain what happened to the other, or if Silvyn’dralia broke both. Anyway, I’ll use on’y one moon for now.
“So she broke the moon an’ in daein’ so hid the world from the illithid ‘neath a shroud. That’s why the stars were no in existence in our skies in the beginnin o’ our lives.”
Silvyn’dralia “Dark Hand of the Moon” and Moon(s?) are added to the board, along with lines linking them to Illithid and Illithid to Our World, with a label of canny see.
“Speakin’ o the stars, they’re e’erywhere in all o’ this affair, just kindae bein’ a theme an’ aw an’ infusin everyhing.” A big circle is drawn for the stars.
“Much later than this moon-breakin’, a skyfolk hight Anavyn’dralin, probably the last truefolk o’ her people, found this world an’ came to hide on it, fleein’ her ancient enemy.” Anavyn’dralin “Right Hand of the Stars” is drawn inside the Stars circle, and a line flees connected to Illithid. “While on this world, she would end up hunting other pieces of the Beast of a Thousand Eyes with some folk of this world. She settles down in a village hight Aelorean’s Crossing in the auld Barony o Isendel.” Sav nods at Ethan, Talith and Bax here. “She has a daughter with two men there, Eirlys an’ Consus Thorne, givin her life tae create or reincarnate—I’m no too clear on the difference here for the aasimar, tell true, an’ maybe it’s no a wonder they died out, if they canny replace themselves should one die an untimely death. Uh. So she’s reborn as Theravyn’dralin, whose name means ‘Last Hand of the Stars.’ But she’s better known as Danica.” More bubbles and lines, and an image called up of Danica, shifting between her glamored and unglamored appearances.
“Somewhen before Ana’s time, the skyfolk cried out for aid to an ancient home, the Citadel.” A line call that leads to nowhere is drawn out to the side.
“Durin’ Danica’s life growin up i’ th’ village, somethin’ happens an’ the veil shieldin the world disappears, revealin the stars an’ the Octurne. Mayhap ‘twas the Octurne answering the call an’ returning that ripped the shroud apart, or mayhap somethin else did it, an’ its lack enabled the Octurne to find the world—I don’t know.” A diamond shape encasing The Octurne “Citadel” is drawn at the end of call, and Sav walks up to the board to rub out the canny see line.
“Regardless, a muckleload of other hings happen that I don’t reckon are partic’ly important to our current events. Oh, one note—we learnt of some figure out there that a friend named ‘Speechless,’ a wolflike figure filled with stars an’ a third eye who’s appeared givin’ warnins to Danica in dreams. Mayhap she was about much earlier, I also don’t know, nor do I know when she first appeared to Danica.
“Anyway. Eventually we,” Sav makes a gesture encompassing the three Aelorean’s Crossing folks and herself, “make our way up tae the Octurne. There we find the Octurne has also brought the king of the aasimar, Aluvyn’dralor, but he’s been corrupted by the illithid. Could be that was the sacrifice they made—defeatin’ the mindflayers by fusin’ wi’ them an’ creatin’ an entirely new bein’ instead. ‘Tis pure speculation though, don’ take this as fact.” A new image glimmers into the air: a brilliant six-winged figure, face occluded by light, whose face suddenly sprouts tentacles and whose skin turns purple and rubbery, until he looks like any of the images of angels depicted in the churches of the White Crown. “They call this new type of corrupted aasimar ‘angels’ now.” Sav regards the transformed image with a stony face, as the chalk works on the board behind them. He looks almost laughable, floating small and translucent above their hand, without the overwhelming, mind-blanking presence that fills one’s entire being. They close their hand into a fist, and the image disappears.
“In the Octurne, he was building an enormous white tower.” Rather than create an image, Sav gestures vaguely toward the north with the hand that still holds a half-eaten roll, then remembers a closer example and gestures toward the Tower tattooed on Bax’s right arm. “This eventually falls to the earth when the Octurne breaks, landin’ far in the North.
“O’er the span of a year, the White Tower shifts the earth to point directly at the sun. It, or the angels, also changes the fabric of how the Stuff works—what arcane workers call the Weave. But there’s at least one other force, mayhap two, resisting what it’s daein’; this fight causes instability in the magic and in the world, leading to those tears in the world we used tae see that led tae other places.” The chalk dances furiously across the board as Sav speaks.
“Durin’ that time, accordin’ tae Sylas, The Raven Queen, a powerful being that rules the deid, or things dying—not clear on that—disappears, an’ so dae all the souls in the Pale Lands that she rules. We don’t know this is the fault of the angels or the White Tower, but it happened at the same time as the tower fallin’ an everythin’ fallin apart, so if we stick tae the principle of ‘keep it simple ya numpty’ it might be at least part due to them.
“Toward the end of that year, a lad named Esmund Clockwright builds a gadget that’s meant tae change or close the tears, or ‘Doors,’ but this just tears everything apart faster an’ breaks the world into that white void we saw sweep on o’er us.” A circle is drawn near Stars for Esmund Clockwright, a line extended from him to Our World and labeled broke.
Sav takes a deep breath, holds it for a second, regards the board, and releases it. “A’right, I’ll pause here for a titch. Questions?”
Peach
Peach is briefly distracted by Sav drawing attention to the art on Bax’s arm, and she looks back at the board in time to watch the chalk write “Esmund Clockwright.” Once Sav pauses in their lecture, Peach quietly raises her hand. With a nod from Sav, she continues with her question.
“So, when you write ‘our world’, do you mean the world where you all are from—” she pauses here and indicates Sav and the boys from Aelorean’s Crossing, “—or the world we’re all livin’ in t’gether now?”
She glances around the room, searching for a face from home and not seeing one - Sal wasn’t there yet, or at least she couldn’t find him.
Peach continues, “And Esmund shouldn’t be an island.” She narrows her eyes and frowns, slightly, “he should be up around the right, with all the ‘other worlds’, cuz I’m presuming one of those other worlds is Sheps and the rest, so Esmund should be linked up there.”
Peach speaks quickly to explain herself, rising to a knee - “I’m not tryna criticize the lesson or anythin’, but Esmund didn’t come outta nowhere and nothing, you know? And he did a lot more than just break the world, which is a phrase I don’t even like because he didn’t do anythin’ maliciously. Not like that Angel who crashed their tower and took over your-all world…you know? He shouldn’t just be…”
Peach trails off, realizing that her voice had become strident and filled the small room, which itself was filled with a dozen people Peach hadn’t been eager to embarrass herself in front of - many of whom were now looking at her.
Peach sits back, reclaiming her previous seat, ignoring the fresh coat of sawdust from Bax’s woodworking and trying to ignore the blush she can feel spreading red across her cheeks and ears. She had never been good in school and this felt much the same.
Talith
Talith stayed leaned against the wall with his chin resting over his knuckle while the rest of his four fingers lazily held onto his half eaten bread. ”What is this other force or forces that are interfering- resisting the new, locked, pointed direction of this world then?” The thought lingered in his mind as he stared off into the floor. Truth be told, It would have been much easier for him to accept that this “Weave” with its instability was being caused simply by this world now only facing in one direction due to the White Tower and/or the Angels, but this resisting force seemed to make an already complicated matter even more complicated. ”Or maybe…” Talith’s thoughts continued, ”Maybe this interfering force actually makes things simpler. Our ticket to fix the world that Esmund—”
The thoughts were put on hold as Peach was the first to speak up. Talith lifted his head off his chin, his attention on Peach. He listened as she went through her points of clarification. He felt a reminder tick through him that this entire company consisted of members from at least three different worlds including the one they were now on.
While it was great that Peach was speaking up and it was reassuring that she felt a part of the group enough to do so, it was the mention of Esmund that sent a slight turn in Talith’s stomach. To be more specific it was the defense she had given him, the reassurance that he wasn’t some evil person that wanted to break the world. Talith could hardly blame her as he couldn’t say he wouldn’t do the same were it Sav instead of Esmund. Talith did believe Peach, but even still, he couldn’t help but find himself clenching his bread just a little too hard.
Talith remained silent as he continued listening to the lecture and questions others might pose.
Sav
Sav blinks at Peach. “When I say ‘Our World,’ I mean the world all o’ us are fae.” They can’t quite control a wingflick of a glance toward Ashen, but don’t say anything of the doubts seeded in their mind about him. It’s too soon and there’s not nearly enough data—one slightly-off memory and a suspicion isn’t enough. “An’ the world we’re in right now. All the different worlds I’ve seen through rips or heard tell of have been significant different, no’ different versions o’ the same world, an’ we’ve all experienced the Octurne breakin’ an’ the Tower fallin’. An’ I’ve had contact wi’ Esmund and someone who wis apparently an earlier worse version o’ him hight Desmun via a Caller I rigged in the Observatory after all my other communicatin’ magics failed. He wis the source of the information that one of the other forces battlin’ the Tower was some manner o’ device that prevented this reality from openin’ up t’ other realities. Ma previous experience wi’ communin’ magics says that they dinna work very well across realities, or at least they didnae ‘tween ours an’ the Feywild. An’ finally, Samsel.” Which Sav doesn’t elaborate on beyond nodding at the halfling seated on the bed, presumably because they feel the point is obvious.
“‘Tis also missin’ the point a bit tae think the Twisted King took o’er our world wi’ any particular malice aforethought—I doubt much he gave us any thought whatsoever, speak true. Much like a beaver, I suspect the angels are simply remakin’ the world tae suit themselves better an’ giein’ nae thought tae the mice they’re forcin’ oot of their dens with the risin’ water; they just have mair tools at their disposal. Though I admit I’ve little t’ base that suspicion on.” They blink again. “That they’re remakin’ it t’ match their own ends, I mean, not that they have mair tools than a beaver—that one’s fair obvious.”
It seems to dawn on Sav then that Peach isn’t just misunderstanding a point, but trying to defend Esmund’s honor; their brows cant down at the outer corners, and they say hastily, “Look, I wish he wis here, not least so’s I could simply talk tae him for mair than a handful of minutes. If he’s aught like his mum,” they smile at Gwin, next to Samsel, “he’s fair like t’ be a braw lad an’ I’d be pure chuffed t’ palaver wi’ him.”
Bax
All this information, the new terminology and names, is too immediately confusing for Bax to keep track of. A rare moment in which he wishes he could actually read to better keep up with everyone else. He just knows he’ll need extra lessons later on to make sure he fully understands it all. A good hunter is always prepared though; he opts to think smaller scale and considers the threat to people, rather than the world.
“What about those ‘ill-things’?” Bax asked, using the hilt of his dagger to scratch at his temple. “The things that corrupted the ‘ass-mar’? Should we be concerned that there are more out there? We saw one in the basement back in Galoring, do we know anything else about them, like their numbers or the threat they pose?”
He thinks a moment longer and continues, “And what about their corruption? Any idea how they corrupted the ‘ass-mar’ to become angels? Are we able to prevent becoming corrupted ourselves?”
Sav
“In order: don’t know, most like should, naught, no idea, naught, not the faintest clue,” Sav says, ticking off each one on upraised fingers. “Good questions, but I’ve no answers for them. Those are actually some of the questions I bring up later as unanswered that we probably wantae know the answers tae.”
Sav waits for a bit longer, but when no further questions or hands rise, she nods. “Right. Here’s where we come in.
“Those of us here come back t’ the world, apparently whole again, but wi’ dreams of various people: each other, Esmund, and an elf called Lil’lith who’s apparently your queen.” This with a nod toward the various Lux folks. Dreamers and Lil’lith appear on the board, one within the circle of Stars, one without, and Dreamers are linked to Esmund and Lil’lith.
“Perhaps on accountae this connection, Esmund appeared t’ his mum, but was unable t’ speak. He then appeared t’ me much later, an’ mentioned a Moon an’ a Confluence. Once we picked up Samsel’s stone an’ I could put t’gether readins from it, Gwin’s previous notes an’ some information from the Octurne’s library tets, I now believe it to be a piece of said Confluence, which seems t’ be some type of power source the aasimar used to convert one kind of existin’, fundamental force of th’ universe intae a type they could use.” The chalk draws line between Esmund to Moon, then draws a circle for Aasimar Confluence and draws line between it and Esmund.
“Now some of yon Dreamers have had constellations for years that were a link to Danica. A few days past, most of us experienced that memory of a desperate battle ‘gainst the angels, in which Ethan there wis sighted mired in battle an’ ended wi’ the owner o’ the memory flyin’ tae take the battle tae th’ angels.” For some reason, Sav starts turning red, though it’s not immediately obvious beneath the tone of their skin. “Ehm. That one, beyond a doubt, came from Danica—the last of the true aasimar, if ye’ll recall.” They tap the circle with her name. “I don’t know if any of ye noticed it, wi’ everyhin coming in fast as it was, but she could apparently also feel the existence o’ anyone wi’ one of those constellations—not their location as sich, but that they existed somewhere out there.
“So, up ‘til recent, the existence of a true-constellation on someone has been a proof of a connection tae her. (There were fake ones, created an’ placed, but that’s a whole other story.) However, turns out that now all the Dreamers have at least one single star, e’en those that didnae before. They’re only revealed t’ plain sight when one of us appears nearby, but they can be seen wi’ sightin’-magic. If ye’d like I can tell ye where yours is, if ye don’t know.
“So these body-stars, which ha’ previously only been connected tae Theravyn’dralin, are now on each Dreamer, an’ are active when a Dreamer returns tae the world, near other Dreamers. Whit’s more, when we try connect and focus on tha’ link ‘tween us or on Danica herself, it causes a … leak, let’s say, memories slippin’ out t’ be shared with aebody involved as though we’d all experienced those memories. This is also where the fact that we experienced one o’ Danica’s memories matters. This is no full proof, I admit, but good evidence pointin’ toward the idea that these stars we wear are still a connection t’ her.” The chalk draws firmly between Dreamers and Danica.
“Turns out there’s also some sortae link between Danica or the Stars and the Angels, since when we tried to share via the star-lines, we also alerted yon Zephyrus, the voice of the Angels, who hasted him down t’ have a palaver wi’ us.” A line now between the big Stars circle and Angels, as well as Danica and Angels.
“This conversation also told us some other things: they seemed annoyed and blamed Danica for ‘woundin the world.’” A line labeled “stymied” between Angels and Danica. “They believe they killt her as well—” A dashed line between Angels and Danica, labeled “destroyed.” “—which I believe cannae be entirely true based on this.” Sav taps on the line between Dreamers and Danica, and adds a question mark to the end of “destroyed.”
“They girned of ‘the elf’ and ‘the boy’ interferin’—we don’t know ‘tis these two for certain, but as we followed the Keep It Simple Ya Numpty method previous, we’ll continue on tha’ path.” A line goes between Lil’lith/Esmund and Angels, labeled “interfering.”
“They also credit themselves with fixin’ the world, but it may ha’ been done wraing or been done wi’ a lot of piece-meal pieces put together, like tryin t’ glue together one single vase from a whole box o’ broken pieces from an entire workshop.” A line between Angels and World, followed by a “may have been repaired weirdly?” in The World. “Of note, we’ve seen naught o’ Doors nor cracks in the sky since showin’ up here, an’ there’s been no records of such. E’en the method of our disappearance is different from how it used t’ be, before the Breakin’.” The Doors and Other Worlds? diamonds are erased, with several pieces drawn inside The World and labeled Other Worlds?
“This lines up wi’ there bein’ no records of the City of Aseraphal never not existin, e’en though all of us know a time when it well did no.” A new box shows up now for Aseraphal, connected to the White Tower.
“Also, connectin’ along the star-lines also yielded another interesting moment if ye’ll recall, where Bax saw the elf queen whilst he lay in a summoning circle, an’ Salinger said he saw Speechless here next tae a machine behind Lil’lith.” Sav taps the Speechless bubble, and a line is drawn between the two.
“Beyond that, there’s a few other things I’m no sure how they connect yet.
“For some reason, the angels are queerly interested in collectin relics, wherefore we know not, and the angels are weak in the Night half of the planet, where the undead rule.” New boxes and lines.
“There was another aasimar linked to the moon, or at least one of them—there used tae be two—named Aluvyn’dralia, like unto a twin tae Silvyn’dralia.” A translucent image now of a white-haired aasimar in silver plate and a silver sword, a pale mirror to the dark Silvyn’dralia. “T’ be sincere, I’m no so sure she’s important tae this now, but, well.” A circle is drawn for Aluvyn’dralia and linked to Aasimar and Moon.
“The angels are also linked to the sun to a large degree, if this differs from the stars—if indeed it does at all, as I believe them tae be the same hing, just one’s much closer—but I’m unsure of what effect this has. The White Tower forcin’ the world to point toward the sun, their walls girded by flames, Zephyrus appearin in a sunbeam an’ not before, it all points to that.” As does the chalk, illustrating.
“There also exists a powerful force hight the ‘Suffering’ that seems tae be a sapient expression or incarnation of the very concept of pain and sufferin. Talith could tell ye more, an he wish,” Sav says, with a nod toward him. “I’ve no seen signs of it here yet, an’ I’m no sure how it might tie in, if it does at all.” A lone box is drawn for Suffering, unlinked to anything.
“Beyond all this, there’s many other questions we don’t know the answers to, like those Bax brought up before:
“Do the illithid still exist out there separate from the angels? Are the aasimar and the illithid now fused intae one, the angels? Or did the Illithid simply take the aasimar power for themselves, gaining wings an glory rather than the aasimar gainin tentacles?
“How did that corruption happen? Are we in a danger from it?
“If they are out there, how many remain? Are they a separate danger?
“Related tae that, why are there other angels? We didnae see aught but the Angel of Kings whilst we were up there. Were they also on the Octurne, merely hidden? Did they arrive later? Or does Aluvyn’dralor have some method of creatin them that doesnae kill him?
“How many angels are there?”
Sav pauses to look inquiringly toward those who have been here the longest—their eye falls mainly on Ashen, Yev, Ethan and Salinger.
They don’t linger long, though, and move on:
“Why are there so many undead? I don’t remember that bein’ nearly the kind o problem in our time as ‘tis now, even amongst lands famed for such. Be it perhaps related to the disappearance of the Raven Queen and all the spirits?
“What is this power source—” She taps on Aasimar Confluence. “—needed for?
“How do the destroyed moons figure intae this? This shard was a piece of somethin’ that fell from very high with great force - is the Confluence actually just a moon entire, or was it on the moon before it was destroyed? Why would Esmund ha’ mentioned it?
“The biggest question of all: what do the angels want? What are they collectin relics an changin the world for, and how is it that Danica and Esmund an’ Lil’lith have stubbed their toes?
“I hesitate tae draw any associations wi’ any of those matters yet, we just don’t know enough. But ‘tis somethin tae hink about.”
They pull in a breath, and seem to realize they still have the roll in their hand, barely half-eaten. Taking a bite, they say around the piece, “I’m no here t’ advance any theory yet, nor try t’ build one, not really—I’m no opposed t’ speculation, but I just don’t think we know enough yet t’ even really build a workin’ theory. I simply thought ‘twould be best to put e’eryone on the same footin’ and see if there’s any bits that have escaped me an’ would benefit from e’eryone poolin’ their knowins an’ questions together.”
Salinger
Salinger arrived late, managed to make his way in quietly, and find a corner of the room where he was not immediately noticed by the majority of the group despite his stature. After listening intently to the lecture, and waiting for an appropriate moment, just as Sav took a bite of their food; he cleared his throat and stepped forward.
“Pardon me, but if I may …” he said in a deep soft lilt that managed to drift through the brief silence just as he made his way to the floating piece of chalk, and with a respectful nod to Sav added two words.
Memento at the center of three lines connecting Lil’lith, the White Tower, and the line labelled broke.
and below the chart entire … Paradox
Peach
There are a few moments of silence from the assembled party, after Salinger adds to the chart, and in that time, the only sound in the room is Sav - recovering from their lecture like an athlete, and taking audible breaths around bites of bread roll.
Peach waits until Sav has caught their breath before she raises her hand again.
“Okay, so taking all this as…” Peach blinks a few times at the blackboard - briefly distracted as a connecting line erases then rewrites itself into dashes; at Salinger’s new addition “Paradox” standing out, bold in his handwriting. Peach gestures more generally toward the board, looking at Sav now instead, and restarting her statement with more confidence.
“Presuming this is all true an’ accurate, an’ there’s no reason to think it isn’t, I have one overarchin’ question - kinda buildin’ off one of yours, Sav.” Peach nods and continues:
“What do the Angels want with the lot of us?”
“It seems to me that everything as it is now gives the Angels just… terrifying power, over pretty much all of everything—” she indicates the near-dozen lines branching to and from the ‘Angels’ square. “And that the only possible real significant threats to ‘em are Queen Lil’lith, Esmund, an’ whats-her-name, Thera-vin-dray-lynn?”
Peach continues, “So if anything, we all might be some kinda issue to ‘em, the Angels, because of our connection to those three…and yet the Angel callin’ himself Zephyrus invited us to the top of the world, right, to the whole city o’ angels?”
Peach glances around her, trying to read the expressions of the others, “It kind of seems to me that going to see King Angel himself might be very bad for us, yeah?”
She grins, nervously, “So surely we’re not plannin’ to actually go right?”
Sav
As Salinger gets up to make his own addition to the board, Sav looks at him, then at the board, and back at him again, for the moment ignoring Peach’s extremely relevant questions in the face of a new nugget of information. When no further explanation seems forthcoming, they say, with poorly-concealed irritation, “So… nae gaun t’ explain those terms, then? Just drop it in an’ walk?”
Salinger
Salinger looks at Sav quizzically for a moment before giving a nod.
“My apologies, seeing as you’d put all this together I didn’t want to assume that you were unfamiliar with either of those terms. Memento is a machine related to Lil’lith, Queen of Lux, one of the features of our shared dreams. Based on a combination of Esmund and subsequently Desmun’s notes we had surmised it was probable that some sort of interference between Memento and the Tower may have been one of the factors leading to the tears in our world that eventually lead to …” He waves his hand palm up following the arc of the line labeled break. “This …”
“Paradox is … would require a longer and more complex explanation, but you’ve all now felt it, or at least an echo of it, as I have, thanks to our shared experience in the mountains, which I believe we’d all agreed to speak of as little as possible moving forward.”
“I think if the angels—” he states with an unmistakable shift in tone “—truly think they are saving us and continue to do so, it may be from that, and those that serve it.”
Ashen
Ashen silently darkens the doorway in his full plate moments before Sav sets about giving a relatively straightforward breakdown of the pieces on the board.
There was a war. The Aasimar lost. The Illithid won and are now imposing their will upon the world(s). In doing so, they may have caused the disappearance of the Raven Queen and disrupted the flow of souls to the Pale Lands. Whether this was intentional or not is irrelevant.
Ashen stands tall and stone-faced, listening to Sav expound on more and more and more details, waiting for their statement of objective; which doesn’t come. The faint scent of flowers wafts from the seams of his near-spotless armor. Though closer inspection reveals fresh scrapes, not yet polished out, down the right side, continuing all the way to his boot; Mud crusted around the bottom edge of both soles. A spot of blood behind his ear. A small cut through his left brow.
He doesn’t respond when Sav asks how many Angels there are. Any numbers he’s heard over the years were speculation at best and grossly outdated at present. Most of the other questions go unanswered as well.
As the discussions begin to die down, Ashen’s dark eyes scan over the cacophony of circles and lines and question marks. It’s a crowded, dizzying array, but to him, his path is clear…
Ethan
Ethan cleared his throat.
“Okay.. I’m sure some of this went over my head, but it sounds like you have a good idea about some of the biggest pieces but there’s also a lot that remains unknown.”
“Would you be able to rework your…” he glances at the densely lined board with arrows and circles. “That into a written, chronological narrative? A document that is essentially a historical account of events - known, hypothesized and unknown - so that it’s relatively simplified into something appropriating a story?
If you can do that, I think not only would it help everyone to better understand things, but I also might have an idea of how we can get more information, more quickly than we would if you just researched on your own.”
Peach
Peach glances back over her shoulder at the man she still thought of as Squire, nodding along, seeming to agree with his questions. At the pause, Peach gestures toward Squire with her still-closed notebook in hand:
“That would be great, but Sav said no notes, right? Might be dangerous if unfriendly parties find our book of collected theories an’ histories.”
Ethan
“It’s true - each person taking individual notes could prove to be risky.
“But having a single document that’s kept in a secure place / one that consolidates all of the information which we have (and which we do not) has a fairly limited risk. Especially if individual names and descriptions are removed. Without details that identify any of us, the document is essentially speculation about ancient history and world events.
“If one person can put together this document, not only would it help to clarify the details for each of us who can read and contribute, but I have an idea about ways we could use it as a tool to gather even more information. It’s not guaranteed, but it’s possible…”
Sav
“If I’d knownt the term I’d ha’ put it up on here, seein’ as how it’s a wee bit relevant tae—” Sav cuts themself off mid-sentence; being annoyed and taking it out on Sal isn’t going to get them anywhere, and it didn’t seem like he’d been mum from an intent to lord his knowledge over them. “Right. If this Memento be the device Esmund mentioned that kept our reality from openin’ up tae other realities, then ‘twould be this diamond right here, Other Force 1.” They wait long enough for Sal to nod an affirmative, then squint at the board, gaze darting from place to place as they calculate.
A moment later they step forward, swipe off a huge portion of the lower right hand area with their sleeve (heedless of the enormous chalk-smears it leaves on their clothes), and redraw it, incorporating the lines Sal had drawn into a slightly less-tangled arrangement, though they leave Paradox untouched at the bottom. They also add a line labeled “Pull” between Dreamers and Aasimar Confluence, saying, “An’ I cannae believe I forgot t’ include this, but of course, there’s also our connection t’ the Shard, seein’ as how we all felt that pull an’ how it gentles as soon as we’re in the same area as it.” Now, with it in the room with them, there’s no longer any urge to go somewhere else; their awareness of it has dwindled to nothingness.
Aside from a tart, “I agreed to nae sich hing,” to Sal’s observation that they’d all agreed to speak not of the shared memories, they otherwise remain quiet for a while, ruminating over his additions. When they finally speak, they return to Peach’s remarks:
“If they want tae lure us up t’ the top ae the world t’ speak wi’ us, then that must mean that we dae present some kind of threat t’ them, or at least they believe us t’ haud that power. Ye don’t make nice wi’ the pebbles beneath your feet unless ye think that pebble is actually the stone ‘pon which the mountain t’ your side is balanced.” They turn to nod at Peach. “Threat, or perhaps they might see us as a potential aid or a useful tool. Either way, I’ve nae mind t’ accept their invite an’ hie masel’ up t’ the White Crown, an’ I don’ reckon anybody else ought either.
“As far as next steps, or what exactly t’ dae wi’ all this information.” Sav spreads their hands with an expression of shit, beats me. “I canny help but feel that we’re just barely at the beginnin o’ workin’ all this out. At the moment, the most solid grasp we ha’ is this piece of the Aasimar Confluence—we know ‘tis connected tae us, we know ‘tis important in some way, an’ it’s in our haunds. There may be other pieces of it existin in the world, as well, as it seems to be but one sich piece that broke off from a much bigger one; with nary a hint as t’ where the others are, though, this one still remains the best lead. Mayhaps it can be tooled t’ point toward others of its kind. Mistress Clockwright says she has access tae a workshop t’ conduct mair research on it. Gi’en all that, the most sense for me, personally, is t’ stay here and aid Mistress Clockwright wi’ that. Maybe some mair answers can be wrested from its depths.”
They turn their attention toward Ethan when he speaks, but Peach says more or less what they were thinking before they can, so they simply nod once again toward Peach and point at her in a “yeah, what she said” gesture. “These Angels have huma—kith agents, right? That Church an’ aw? E’en should they themselves no be able tae touch us here, that does nae mean their people might not take an unhealthy interest in folk like us. I’d rather stir up the least attention possible, especially since we’ve no idea how long it might take tae find anyhin of use from the Shard.
“But whit’s this idea of yours then?”
Salinger
The firbolg looks back and forth at Peach, Ethan, Peach again, then Sav and furrows his brow then let’s out a low “hrmmph”.
Ducks through the door to the room, exits and softly closes the door behind him. His footsteps can be heard trudging down the hallway in the direction of his room at the inn.
Talith
Talith takes another bite of his bread.
Ethan
“We can do that.
“I can try to describe the spark of the idea—that flicker that’s barely an ember. You can listen, then immediately douse it with a few gallons of well-grounded skepticism and very real concerns about practicality. Others can jump in, toss in their two copper on one part of the idea or another.
“Or… we can try something else.
“Instead of planning together, we each start moving—doing what we do best. And if we don’t have our own idea right now, we offer our talents to help each other move forward with whatever needs doing.
“For me, right now, all I need are stories.
“Specifically—this one.
“The one with holes that need to be filled.
“The one with a mystery still waiting to be solved.
“I’ve got an idea. I don’t know if it will work. But if you can get me a good story, I might be able to find a way to complete it.
“As for the ‘why’ and ‘how’…
“If the idea can’t work, then I’ve just wasted everyone’s time trying to sell something that was never even on the table.”
He pauses.
“That’s the long-winded way of saying: if I tell you what I’m thinking, you’ll probably just say, ‘No, that’ll never work.’
“So instead—I’m asking you to trust that I’m holding back for a reason.
“And maybe, if the story is good enough, if I can make the idea work, I’ll share it if/when the idea has legs.”
Peach
While the others attend to Squire, listening to his proposals, Peach summarizes the points, quick-step in her own head:
Wait safely, help each other, trust one another and to that end share necessary information.
Trust, assist, and wait. One, one two, one two. A new mantra with a rhythm that could get stuck in one’s head.
Rather than saying anything more to the group, though, Peach takes the chance to leave the room while Squire’s speech is drawing attention.
These new faces were quickly becoming friends and allies, but Salinger was hers - the only one of all these people, all the Dreamers in the room - who she would drop anything for.
Peach excuses herself to Sav with a weak, apologetic smile as she passes briefly in front of the blackboard and then out the door.
Exit Peach, in pursuit of firbolg.
Sav
Sav is silent for a long breath, regarding Ethan with half-lidded eyes—until a big blue-and-magenta figure crosses their field of vision, and Sav realizes the person who holds the biggest piece of the puzzle they don’t yet know is departing.
“Nay, haud—” Sav darts after Sal, throwing a hand with a raised finger in Ethan’s general direction in a just a moment gesture. “Ye’ve no e’en explaint Paradox yet an’ that may be the most important part, especially if ‘tis as ye suspect—” The door rebounds against the frame multiple times as first Sal, then Peach, then Sav exit in quick sequence, Sav barely managing to avoid colliding with Peach in their haste.
Salinger
Salinger walks with purpose. Not wanting to waste another moment he opens the door to his room at the Cog and Sprocket. It looks completely unused and meticulously cleaned save the neatly folded clothes on the foot locker at the base of the bed, backpack hung on the wall hook, and a single closed notebook with a pen resting beside it on the side table.
In a short fluid motion he tucks the notebook in the crook of his arm, slings the backpack over his shoulder, and turns on his heel before the the door even has a chance to close behind him. He ducks under the door frame once again with his eyes downturned and hears a soft thud as his pack collides with something. Followed by an “Owww!”
He lifts his head to see Sav stomping down the hallway towards him wagging a finger and lifts Ms. Pine up to her feet as he continues back toward the meeting room supplies in hand. Before either Sav or Peach can get out another word he has pushed past them, put the notebook into Sav’s still wagging hand and re entered the room without uttering a thing beyond a single soft “excuse me, I was attempting to avoid causing undue interruption.”
Sav
Interrupted in their chase by the return of their quarry, Sav immediately clams up and lets the notebook fall open in their hands, rapidly but carefully flicking through pages to get a sense of its contents before turning back to scan more closely over specific pages that catch their attention.
Absently stepping back into their room, they look back up toward Ethan, their mind having snapped to a decision in the hurried moment of pursuit, or perhaps even earlier, before Sal’s departure had interrupted their train of thought. “Awright. Ye’ve earnt it. But I’m no storyteller.” They cut their eyes dryly toward the looping, frenetic chalkboard. “I can gie ye the facts in order an’ take out the ones as seem too specific, but I’ve no deft touch at makin’ it appealin’ or fancyin’ up the holes that beg t’ be fillt. If ye need that aspect someone else’d have t’ be the one t’ dress it up.”
They look back down at the book in their hands. “Though mayhap this could be an aid in that.”
Their gaze bounces back up, this time toward Sal. “So, before any mair time is spent, an’ so’s this piece that may be key is aired out—what’s Paradox?”
Salinger
The firbolg steps to the front of the room, sits legs crossed with his hands rested atop his knees, and says in a somber tone with his head downturned “Let me tell you a story …”
Peach
Peach quietly reenters the room - face as pink as her skirts - and reclaims her seat.
Salinger
“… one of the oldest stories. My mother, a gifted songwriter and harpist, used to sing a version of it to me as a child.” he clears his throat and hums then intones in a low bass.
All the World’s a Song, by Cheralie Morel
All the world’s a song, child, and the song has four parts.
Rhythm keeps time, in steady fits and starts.
It beats, and taps, and plucks along always.
Technique the instrument ‘pon which the song’s made.
The voice, the lute string, the drum’s boom, boom.It ends with the Postlude who lets that old song fade.
Then to rest til the Prelude to begin again, soon.
“The oldest stories tend to repeat themselves. They move through cycles of death and rebirth … changin’ bit by bit with each iteration. They take on a variety of forms based on the structure, the teller, the time, or the place they are retold, but within those iterations there’s always a thread of truth, and this particular story has been retold for so long, well, that truth seemed all but lost.
“It’s about the first four gods, real gods … the kind that created things.” he says matter of factly making sure to avoid eye contact with Ashen.
“Time, Craft, Life, and Death, the base structures upon which existence itself relies.
“Paradox is what came before …” he states as he points at the word on the bottom of the board.
“…the story before the structure. A mass of impossible chaos where all things existed together in a single moment.
“Like if I tried to tell this tale by saying all the words simultaneously as one incomprehensible sound that you couldn’t hear, and also lasted forever.
“Many gods were created and destroyed in that cacophony before Rhythm (Time), Craft (Technique), Prelude (Life), and Postlude (Death) survived. Rhythm built a wall to protect the place we live from Paradox. The Weave, the stuff, I’m sure it’s been called many things.
“If the Weave breaks down that wall that protects what’s left of our world it will be engulfed in that cacophony, and become nothing again.
“I can’t be certain of any of this of course, such is the nature of old stories, but Ms. Pine and I directly encountered an agent of one of the servants of Paradox just before the world broke in a plane we referred to as The Place Between.
“A Harbinger in a broken twisted version of a temple from our childhood. Who claimed to be an agent of a great Serpent imprisoned in a sea without sky or shore. The first born of Paradox. They both belong somewhere in that tangle of connected forces that have led us to this moment. Maybe in that diamond labelled other force two,” he says with a shrug.
“Paradox was leaking through the tears in the Weave; spurred on by its servants and partially caused by the interaction between the White Tower and Memento. That’s what I’ve been able to piece together from my experiences before and after arriving here.”
Sav
Leaving the book Salinger handed her floating in her wake like a rectangular duckling, Sav swaps the bread in her hand for the pencil behind her ear and dives for the pad of paper she’d been consulting before starting this meeting, jabbing notes at it as Salinger speaks.
Squinting at the mess of notes as he comes to a pause, she chews on the end of the pencil ruminatively and says, “Mayhap a less important question, but what’s this ‘Place Between?’”
Her invisible grasp still occupied by the book, Sav switches pencil for chalk and returns to the slate board to manually draw another box sprouting out from Paradox: Serpent, and then inside that, Harbinger, as well as Force 2? The diamond bearing the original Force 2 is erased. Then she stares at the tiny box she drew for Stuff | Weave and furiously scrubs it out with the side of her hand, instead drawing a new diamond around everything (excluding Paradox), spindling it in between the already-drawn lines and the edge of the board, having to stretch up on her tiptoes to reach the top of the board. In the corner she rewrites Weave, and below it, between the Weave line and Paradox, Wall? More lines are dashed between the new Weave edge and the other spots it had previously been connected to, until she stops, muttering something only half-heard about, “Nay, that makes no sense, what if…” and trailing off.
Almost absently, they draw another line off Aasimar Confluence and write, draws energy from?? and a dashed line to outside of the Weave. Outside of the Weave structure, near the just-drawn line, they dash in four dotted circles, Time? Craft? Life? and Death? with a sub-label of myth, uncertain. More lines are drawn from Angels to Paradox and Weave, with fighting? and repairing?, though at this point it’s so crowded that it’s difficult to tell what lines the words are meant to label. Yet another line is added between Raven Queen and Death, and a muttered, “If ‘Prelude’ is life an’ ‘Postlude’ is death does that make dyin’ ‘Lude?’ Pure morbid,” but it seems more a distracted interjection than a serious comment. Indeed, Sav seems to have forgotten about the rest of the group for the moment, in their frenzy of squeezing in more on the board.
She does say, more audibly, “So if there be gods what supposedly created the Stuff t’ be a wall an’, presumably, everyhin’ else we see, what happened tae ‘em such that they cannae repair their work like a good craftsman? If Paradox be the mass o’ everyhin’ in one moment how can it have a wean separate from itself, or on’y have bits of it ‘leak’ through? Ye cannae have on’y a teeny bit o’ infinity, ‘tis a logical—paradox,” and a surprised giggle slips loose at the unintended pun, an unexpectedly girlish sound that seems to wake her up from her fugue.
Straightening, she says to Salinger, “So, bein’ that ye’re unsure of how much of this may be actual an’ true, what can we take for closer tae certain from this? That there be another malevolent force, plausibly outside o’ the realities we know, whose aim is tae tear down the wall of Stuff that protects us from it? That huntin’ gaze from beyond?” They shake their head minutely, the memory of it strong enough to send a goose-shiver trembling through their skin.
Peach
Peach flinches at the mention of the “place between” but this time does not raise her hand. She lets out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding as Sav turns their attention to Salinger again, and their questions toward ones that Peach (thank-the-maiden) has no answer to.
Salinger
“The parts that I am certain of are through direct experience,” he says curtly.
“I was on the wrong side of that.” he remarks gesturing to part of the board now labeled The Weave. “An experience that each of you had a glimpse of … for which I apologize.
“I am also certain of this,” he says gesturing to The Harbinger and The Serpent. “Peach and I both had a direct encounter with The Harbinger and several horrors that it summoned. We barely survived moments before our world collapsed.
“Additionally, I am almost positive that my compatriots from Shepherd’s End and I glimpsed The Serpent after banishing a creature called the Deeplurker back to the plane it came from, which could reasonably be described as an icy sea shrouded in darkness with no shore as Es, ahem Esmund Clockwright, was closing the tear that had released said lurker.
“I am quite confident in the rest of the information I provided as documented in the notebook you’re now holding. I’ve served as a historian in service of Kendel’s Forge for the past several years trying to find overlapping stories, and those threads of truth between the worlds that seem to have collapsed into this one. I always carry an outline for reference,” he says gesturing to the notebook.
“It’s yours now,” he states, nodding to Sav. “I have copies, save for the three most recent entries, which I’ll need to take with me when I leave in a few days.
“As for the gods … if they still exist. I wouldn’t count on em answerin’ any prayers.”
Sav
“Pure deid brilliant,” is Sav’s enthusiastic response—they’re unsmiling, but the gleam in their eyes and vivacity of movement promises that it’s a sincere assessment, even if it seems a bit tone-deaf, coming on the heels of “we barely survived moments before our world collapsed” as it does. “This is exactly the sortae hing I was hopin’ wid turn up if we all collected t’gether an’ pooled our knowins. I’ll wantae read through this mair carefully then t’ absorb what ye’ve found an’ make copies of those three most recent, though the outline ae’ whit ye’ve gi’en us now works for this sortae broad introduction.
“Oi, ye seem like a storyteller an’ ye hight yourself a historian—care t’ have a go at summarizin’ aw of this in a simple enticin’ story wrapped in one package for Ethan’s aims?” Sav turns to look at Peach, then at Talith. “Or if he doesnae, how about you two? You talk a lot an’ seem t know how to get people chattin’. Or all three? Mayhap some’n snappy that stays mysterious an’ unanswered enough t’ get folk thinkin about it? If that’s the sort of hing ye had in mind when ye said story,” they add, glancing sidelong to check with Ethan.
“An’ also, naebdy answered, so I’ll ask again—what’s the Place Between?”
Peach
Peach starts to speak while looking down at her hands. Her voice is clear but uncharacteristically quiet.
“The Place Between is where Salinger and I spent…” she squeezes her eyes shut, trying to organize her thoughts around the racing tempo of her own pulse.
“It might have been weeks. It was definitely several days. But time there didn’t seem to pass in any meaningful way.
“I thought at first that it had to be another ‘world’ - by this point we had all met with folks who had slipped through a Tear into our world. I thought we must’ve done the same.
“But it was different - it wasn’t properly a new place. It was made of…” Peach pauses here. What had the Place Between been?
“To Salinger and me,” she nods toward the firbolg, “it seemed like a landscape made out of nightmares. There were versions of places we knew, but bleeding into one another the way architecture in dreams just seems to hold itself up….I don’t know what I mean.”
She blushes, fiercely, “It made sense in the way that dreams make sense when you’re sleepin’. We stayed at a version of my own house - the pub where I grew up. And it seemed so much like the real place that we got worried it was….that the place was trying to make us stay, trying to trap us in this nightmare reflection of the world we knew.”
Peach takes a deep breath. When she speaks again, her voice is steadier. Stronger. “It kept on, everywhere we walked to was like a place from home. I got to thinkin’ maybe we were directin’ it ourselves somehow and that maybe we could try and choose a way that might run parallel to our friends in the real world…” The pace of Peach’s speech starts to increase, “because there were ‘Tears’ all around town, and we thought maybe if we went to a place we knew there was a Tear at, that maybe our friends would be able to - that Es would have been able to…” she stops and takes a deep, shaking breath.
“I’m sorry - I just… it’s important to me that you all understand that Esmund didn’t do any world breakin’ on purpose. Whatever else may exist with the Angels and Paradox and all of that all,” she gestures at the blackboard, “Esmund was just tryin’ to open a door for me and Salinger to come back through.”
Peach hesitates before continuing, “Also Salinger and me weren’t the only folks trapped there. Our friend,” she swallows, hard, “one of our best friends was there. We didn’t have the chance to properly… properly talk to her.” Peach’s voice catches here, and she starts to gasp between phrases, as if she’s drowning, suffocating in this small room full of so many people, none of who, no one who knew what it had… “She saved our lives. Because this was also the first time we saw an…an angel properly. And…” she casts eyes toward Salinger, though he’s blurry in her vision, “And the Angel barely cared that we were there. We had to…had to…and Xalati…she….”
A few deep, shaking breaths. She didn’t have to talk about that, she reminded herself. That wasn’t part of the question. Instead, she clears her throat, trying to regain her composure. What else…what else had they seen in the In Between… who else.
“And then there was our, um, our guide. Sylas.”
Sav
Listening carefully, having swapped chalk back for pencil to continue taking notes, Sav makes a slightly impatient gesture at the exculpation of Esmund again. Yes yes, this is a known thing, the gesture seems to say, get to the unknown things.
She has mild cause to regret that a second later as Peach starts to choke up at the memory of a friend. Never good at dealing with emotions, particularly from strangers or near-strangers, Sav freezes and looks around for a hint from the others on what to do. Is this a firm, reassuring nod moment? A hug moment?
It turns out (at least on Sav’s part) to be a “do nothing but stare” moment, as Peach collects herself and continues on with a familiar name. Seizing on it with some relief, Sav squeaks, “Right! Sylas! What was he daein’ there?”
Bax
Bax watches on from his seated position as the fable of the world and monsters is intricately unfurled. At numerous points he wants clarification but holds his tongue, allowing those more adept at unpacking the learned history together to continue their work. With little to contribute to the ongoing conversation, he could only double down his efforts in listening and learning, preparing for a wholly new kind of hunt.
As people hold pauses for extended periods, leave, return, provide more information, he stays seated and watches, studying, never breaking his focus. Once Peach begins a retelling of her own experience in a new place, holding herself together with sheer willpower, his attention is finally pulled away from the lesson, his interest doubled at hearing ‘Sylas’. He remains seated but speaks up for the first time in a while. “Take a breath and slow down,” he offers as advice to Peach with a slight smile.
“No one’s rushing you, take as long as ya need to center yourself before continuing. Besides, I don’t think anyone’s leaving till ‘teach’ says we can go,” offering a teasing wink at Sav.
Talith
Talith’s eyes slightly furrow into a brief moment of sympathy. He goes to take another bite of bread except he doesn’t because he had already finished it. Talith folds his arms as his finger begins to consistently tap on his bicep. A moment goes by as Peach collects herself with a bit of reassurance from Bax. Step by step, Talith makes his way towards the bread. He plucks one out and begins to return back to his wall before stopping, turning around, and grabbing one more piece of bread. He kneels down to Peach and without making eye contact, sets the extra piece of bread on her lap. Talith moves back to his wall and takes his previous position. His eyes tracing the jungle of lines on the board, he takes another bite of bread.
Peach
Peach takes a moment and looks down at the bread roll now sitting in her lap, then at the man - Talith from Aelorean’s Crossing - awkwardly backing away. She traces the edges of the crust, allowing herself the time that Bax said she could have, taking just a moment to reset herself. To remind herself that she isn’t in danger here, not from these people. It’s a good thought. Steadying. She’d been alone for a long time, before ending up in Ivakar’s Passage, and it felt good to be with a group again. To be working toward a goal together, even if the goal itself was yet in its boxes-and-arrows stage.
Soon she can feel her breath coming more evenly, and she risks a glance back at Bax, returning his smile. When she speaks her voice is steady again, though there’s nothing to be done for the red in her cheeks, now even brighter.
“I’m okay, thank you for givin’ me a moment to…collect myself.” She takes one sharp breath in and out, giving a nod to Sav before continuing.
“Salinger and I met Sylas in the Place Between. We were lost. Healed enough to keep moving, but we’d…” she casts a glance at Salinger. The firbolg is sitting, statue-still, the muscles in his neck and jaw visibly tense even through the thatch of his beard. She tries to catch his eye, to get some kind of confirmation that what she’s saying is true to his own experience, to remind her that he had been there too, but he doesn’t speak.
“We’d recovered the best we could after the—”
—What. What was she going to say here? After they’d fled? After they’d run while knowing they were leaving Xalati to be killed? Maybe more specific. It was definitely after they’d stopped the bleeding from what had been left of Salinger’s arm, but before Peach had managed to quieten her own screaming—
“—After our encounter with the Angel of Doors,” Peach says, finally, “we were traveling through these nightmare versions of different patches of home, and then we heard… no, he surprised us pretty good, right, Salinger? We didn’t hear him til he said?”
Salinger doesn’t respond.
Peach clears her throat, “Well, to my memory, it was a surprise that he - Sylas - found us. Later he told us that he’d been tracking… um… something on Salinger. And then Sylas had some… uh questions for Salinger about that. And that was —”
Peach clears her throat again, trying to push away the memory, the visceral feeling of tentacles forcing their way out of her own mouth, making her gag but also giving her no room to vomit as black cords of Sylas’ magic pushed out of her mouth and quickly over the rest of her - pinning her arms, lifting her off the ground…magic like she’d never felt, and a fresher, sharper terror than Peach had felt at the hand of the Angel. She’d felt like prey. She’d been caught and trussed up, and Sylas had been ready to kill her—
“Sylas demonstrated some of his skills, showed us he was a—” threat “—powerful caster, with clear mastery of his weapons of choice. We ended up traveling with him, per his request… er, maybe ‘insistence’ is more correct.”
Peach looks at Salinger again, but he’s saying nothing to correct her sanitized version of events, so she continues. “He told us that he doesn’t know how he came to be - that one day he was just himself but inside a body that already belonged to someone else—what am I saying, you all know this, I mean you all knew Sylas yourselves, most of you?” She shrugs, “In any case, I do hope the version of Sylas you all knew was…” she hesitates again, choosing her words carefully, “more of a gentleman.”
Peach leans back, and rests her hand, briefly, on Bax’s knee, adding quietly, “I’m glad you’re the one here with us now, by the way. He was… ugh. He was unkind and vicious, and he really truly frightened me, even after he let me go.” Then, louder, to the group, “It was a situation where Salinger and I really had no other option. Sylas insisted on escorting us, and he… he’s very persuasive.”
“Sylas told us that he used to work for or with the Raven Queen…” Here she pauses and gestures toward Ashen, “but he told Salinger and me that he’d lost contact with her. He seemed thrown by this. Upset. It seemed to me like he didn’t have all the puzzle pieces but he knew there was something that needed solvin’ and it was making him more ‘n more frustrated.
“That’s about all I remember, though. Sal and I fought alongside Sylas against enemies worse’n him. Against… the Harbinger?” Another furtive glance at Sal, hoping he’ll correct her if she’s wrong, “Against a big floating terrible shark thing, anyway. And in the end, he made sure we got out, back to Shep’s just before everything…”
“Even through all that, though, I never felt like we could trust him.”
Peach falls silent for a few moments. She looks down at the bread roll. She’d been tearing at it absently and now it was mostly crumbs. Peach busies her hands tidying up her skirt. Without looking back up at the others, she asks:
“Is there anything else that y’all want me to go over, with all this? Sylas or the Place Between? Because I could keep ramblin’ on but I…” Here her voice breaks, but she steadies herself once more. “I’d really like for this part of the lesson to be over, please.”
Sav
“Well.” Sav’s voice is careful, but their brows are furrowed, giving them a probably-unintentional scowl. “Sylas wasnae a kind person when I knew’m—” Though “vicious” seems uncalled for, but then she’d never been on the sharp end of his sword, just his tongue. Talith, for one, might disagree. “—but they werenae usually wrang neither.” Here they turn their gaze toward Sal. “What were they trackin’ on ye, then?” Still careful, her tone, not suspicious but not exactly sympathetic, either—of a nature with the way they’ve conducted everything so far, matter-of-fact and sometimes curious.
“Was that the same time Esmund had encountered them? He mentioned their name, when we palavered that one time—” Their brows furrow and they flip back through their notes, freeing a sheet to consult it further. “In the place In Between, chased by the Angel of Doors, an’ was there wi’ a friend who had died years ago. A ‘dreary place with a red sky an’ upside-down buildins.’ Same plane, aye? But wi’ the capacity t’ take on different aspects, I take it. ” One brow quirks up as they realize, “Ach, naw, couldnae be—if your encounter was sae close t’ the end o’ everythin’, that must ha’ been at least the second time, as I spoke wi’ Es at least … a full Turn before the end. Month, I mean. Did ye see him at that time, too?”
She cocks her head slightly at the description of the “big floating terrible shark thing,” and conjures up an image of the enormous Fade Beast-like creature they’d seen inside the Octurne, though the scale is impossible to discern in the tiny image floating above her hand. “Like this?” On receiving a negating headshake, they nod. “Didnae hink it wid be, but makin’ certain sure. How did it look different?” If direction is given on how to shape it—lengthening fins, making boundaries less or more defined, adding or removing colors or changing headshape, etc.—they’ll do so until it matches the Harbinger, as best as someone else’s memory can do. They copy the image onto a fresh sheet with a tap of the pencil and let it dissipate.
Then they look up, expression gone surprisingly fierce. “I’ve on’y one more hing tae say on this before we move on. Aye, Sylas could be a right ass wi’ an occasionally-troublin’ lack of empathy about hurtin’ other people, betimes—though let me be clear, he’d no killt near so many folk as most of us, though mayhap ‘twas only for lack of time in th’ world, gi’en as he’d only existed for, whit, 6 Tu—months? But he wis also a clever fighter, kept tae his word an’ fought on the right side of hings, i’ the end. If he were here—could it be done wi’out havin tae send Bax back—we’d be the better for it, tell true.”
Peach
Peach flinches at Sav’s defense of Sylas, but says nothing more. She had been sitting with her back against the bed, gently leaning on Bax, but now she pulls away, tucking her face into her arms and bringing her knees up to her chest, stocking feet now visible but the rest of her quite hidden. In moments, Peach has lost her nerve - reducing herself to a trembling ball of copper curls and pink skirts.
Bax
Bax is taken aback by Sav’s harsh defense of Sylas - arguably some of the kindest things he had heard about them. His fingers dig into his knee as Sav notes about how the group would be better with Sylas amongst their numbers. While it was not intended in Sav’s meaning, and he understood that it was not what Sav was saying, Bax cannot stop his mind from wandering to the question he’s considered on more than one occasion since finding this group…
Sylas should be here. Not me…
His face pensive, he pulls himself back from the invasive thought, noticing Peach has moved away from him. “I know it doesn’t help with the lesson here. And you don’t have to answer if you don’t wanna right now but…You had said you were there when the world broke with Esmund? Was uh, was Sylas there too? Do you know what happened to them?”
Peach
Peach doesn’t change her position, but she does look up at Bax, giving him a small smile and addressing his questions with a voice that is soft but steady.
“Everyone was there in that moment. It was…an instant of time breaking around us, shattering like spun sugar across every world at once.
“But I don’t know what happened to anyone but me.”
Salinger
Salinger sits calmly at first, but during Peach’s tale his eyes begin to narrow, head lowers, jaw clenches, teeth grind almost audibly and his focus fades. Her recounting of events becomes like a distant murmur.
He hears the name Sylas and snaps back to the moment at hand.
“Whatever kind of person you knew is not the introduction we received from this Sylas.” Salinger snarled. “He claimed he was hunting aberrations, and mistook me for one of them. Then without a moment’s hesitation decided to use Ms. Pine here as a pawn in order to interrogate me while he nearly strangled her to death and held a blade to her throat.”
Sal relaxes his shoulders and says more calmly “His brief and frankly callous explanation was that he needed to determine that I was not a threat, which at the time I was not, and we were temporarily allied against more pressing foes … but if I ever see that monster again … well, let’s just say that threat level has changed.” he concludes in more of a growl than words.
The clearly agitated firbolg makes a half turn toward Bax, “My apologies again for mistaking you for Sylas when we first met. You seem a good sort.” He sits and exhales heavily as he grips a bit too tightly to his knee with his hand unable to let go of the tension in his neck, shoulders and jaw.
Sav
Peach’s strong reaction and retreat into herself takes Sav aback, unused to meeting zero resistance—they’ve been surrounded by fighters and scrappers for the majority of their life, thrown into situations where those who didn’t fight and push back in some way simply didn’t survive. A niggle of guilt begins to worm at them, but Salinger’s forthright answer, much more in line with what Sav expected, pulls their mind and attention away.
In the end, she says nothing in direct response to either of them—the one because she doesn’t regret speaking in defense of one who isn’t there to defend themself, and the other because, well, the antipathy seems deserved even if Sylas’ actions were not unfounded, just excessive. As usual. And Salinger hadn’t actually answered the question, though perhaps that was due to not truly knowing the answer himself. Worth keeping an eye on him in the future, regardless.
“Awright then,” Sav concludes, the folio of notes and legends Salinger had given them floating to the side to be set gently on the small dressing-table the inn provides in each room. “Unless there’s aught else t’ be brought up, some point missed that seems relevant tae fillin’ in the knowledge of whit’s gaun on, that’s aw I know as regards the shite we find ourselves in. If ye’s need a refreshin or learn some interestin’ fact, come an’ speak tae me.”
They’ll pause for a time, letting the silence stretch out uncomfortably long to allow anybody a moment to speak.
“Right then. Get out. I needtae think,” they conclude, finally breaking the silence that seemed to stretch months. With that brusque, rather rude ending, they shoo the assembly out of their room, shutting and latching the door behind the last person. Empty, the room sounds oddly hollow but still feels a little stuffy, the lingering presence of so many bodies leaving their ephemera behind even with the lightwell window open.
Aloysius pokes his head out from beneath the bed; he’d opted to hide away while the press of people were in the room, not trusting someone not to shift and accidentally put a foot or a hand down without seeing him. He’d been taking the change back to rat a little hard; the higher prey instincts of the form, after weeks as a goat, had him jumpier than usual. In either form, though, he continues to be food-motivated. Nose twitching, he beelines toward the crumbs of the bread left behind and pounces.
Sav smiles and tosses the last uneaten bite of her roll at him; knowing what she’s about to do, he stands on his hind legs and catches it full in his belly. Light as it is, it still knocks him over, but he rolls around happily with it, gnawing away unperturbed.
Turning her attention back to the now-even-more-crowded board, Sav sighs, arms folding under her chest and shoulders hunching in as she studies the new additions. “Paradox an’ fundamental forces o’ th’ universe, eh,” she mutters, mostly to herself, a little to Aloysius. “Another new enemy, bigger than the last. When does it end?” She snorts. “Well, gi’en th’ stature o’ these new forces, I reckon it ends when it aw ends, nae shards nae planes nae beins’ o’ any stripe left.”
With a grunt, she folds down into a loose seat on the ground. “Right. If this be the shape o’ hings, time t’ start lookin intae these new forces.” The books Salinger had left float over and drop to the ground, and she pulls out her own notebooks and the few tetrahedrons scavenged from the Octurne, arraying them out in an arc around herself as she begins to copy down the new information and cross-reference with Salinger’s research.
On the board, the furiously-scribbled web of lines and markings containing the alleged secret history of the world disappears beneath the broad strokes of a rag swiping, apparently independently, over the surface, leaving only slightly damp blackness behind.
Episode navigation
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Astarael the Witch Queen and Broken Histories (all)
Mostly Not Dead? (Ethan, Sav)Next
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One Point of Agreement (Peach, Sav)
Servants of the Raven (Ashen, Bax)
Bigfoot vs. Hammertime (Sal)
Long-legs (Hark’ul)
Stories, Part 1 (Ethan)
Happy Endings, Or the Lack Thereof (Talith)
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- Season 14 Chronology
- Ashen Iscariot || Bax Demir || Ethan Fairchild || Peach Pine || Salinger Morel || Sav || Talith Elinasti