Tales of Thelisan

"And now we let them sit," I say, closing a cabinet that now has several jars of pickled vegetables. It's a pleasant autumn day, cool with a gentle breeze. Sunlight shines through scattered clouds and treecover, creating a picturesque interplay of light and shadow. I can hear crows in nearby trees, and branches rustling with their movements. Everything seems to be calming down with that nest dealt with. Life, the energy of life, has returned.

"No reason they wouldn't," I assure her, "You followed my directions to the letter."

Lucinda steps in from the parlor and says, "It won't be much longer before I can teach you some of my dessert recipes." She takes a seat too, and I realize that I do not actually have a lesson planned for the day.

Melina thinks for a moment and nods. "You mentioned the Cypress Circle, and I know about the Silverblades and Black-Quills. Can you tell us more about these covens and traditions?"

We will begin, naturally, with the Black-Quills. We are sometimes known as the crow witches, as crows are our symbol and our inspiration; we strive to emulate their cleverness and their communal attitude. To us, the Principle of False Self is paramount; there is no "I", there is the flock, the coven, the community. There are Black-Quills in many places, but we don't gather in large groups. We prefer to split up to do our work for different communities, and we may then meet periodically to share new insights.

Our adaptability leads to great variation in our talents. You have likely heard me referred to as the best healer in the region. It is true, because I have needed to make it true; the Cypress Circle, as I mentioned before, is too far away. Others may be talented with bladework, poppetry, invocations of the Courts, and so on.

Yes, I do also have knowledge on all of those - aside my own history with the Courts, this is the purpose of those meetings I mentioned. But I still am no specialist in bladework, as my... less than stellar showing in the razorbeak hunt demonstrated. You, Melina, have a real talent there, but I suspect it was not a skill pleasantly gained.

Mm? As my apprentice, yes, you would be considered a Black-Quill by association. When you are ready to practice on your own, it is your choice if you continue to identify as a Black-Quill or not. In either case, you will be accepted as a peer; we are not given to isolationism or arrogance.

Next, then, would be the Silverblades. They are warriors, one and all. Their martial fixation leaves them at a disadvantage in the subtler aspects of the craft, but when there's a threat that truly does need to be put down, you won't find someone better-suited to the task. They tend to be rather centralized, usually found in lodges of about a dozen, led by an Exemplar. Maryse is a Silverblade Exemplar, and her sister Gloria is seen as equal to one by the coven, though she yet practices independently. Loosely there are two kinds of Exemplars; circle leaders, and roamers like Maryse. Maryse is not a poor leader, but she is given to wanderlust, and uses that to keep abreast of developments throughout the land.

Silverblade lodges are most frequently found in the Elyrian southlands, but certainly not exclusively. Many of their lodges serve also as accommodations for travelers; share supplies, share knowledge, know that you will be safe while you rest.

I had been.. more hostile toward them than they deserved, I think. My history with Maryse was... Well. It's history, anyway.

The Cypress Circle are, as I've mentioned before, widely known as the greatest healers in the land. They hold the Principle of Reciprocity as their utmost tenet, a philosophical stance rather than just an observation on ephemera. It is, to them, our responsibility to do good because Reciprocity will make that good echo, repeat. It will, simply put, make the world a better place. It reads as hopelessly naive to me, too black-and-white a view for such a colorful land, but I respect the effort nonetheless.

The Cypress Circle is based in the fertile eastlands, where they take advantage of the climate and soil to grow a wide range of medicinally-valuable plants. There are some smaller enclaves, usually consisting of three to five experienced witches, scattered around the Elyrian east and center, but they broadly stay close to their homes unless called.

The Circle of Flame is a small but prominent coven in the north, in the borderlands between Elyria and Dun Sceora. They can be... difficult. They are fiercely dedicated to the spiritual aspects of the craft. This faith drives them to assist those in need, but they work poorly with more practically-minded witches. However, I will give credit where due - their mastery of poppetry is truly remarkable. I wish only that they would explore it rationally so we could better learn of the craft.

There are of course a number of other covens and quite a few independently-practicing witches throughout Elyria. Many of the independent practicioners are found in the Elyrian heartland, where they have sufficient access to multiple traditions to study and draw upon.

Last, for this lesson, is the fae witches. Not those like myself, marked by and communing with the fae, these are dedicated to the Courts. Acantha is one of them, their appointed Warden of the Emerald Spires. While the fae don't exactly have structured honors like some of our societies do, it is hard to dispute her position as the most highly-respected witch among the fae, for the Emerald Spires are sacred ground to all Courts. Fae witches almost always practice independently; they may work with others, but they do not organize into covens or circles.

There is a small, nameless lake at the edge of the forest, though you must pass through the deeper wood instead of returning to the road. One could walk around the forest entirely, I suppose, but it would greatly lengthen the journey. It is an important place for me, and as the trees thin out toward the end, Melina sees why.

"Is that an altar?" she asks. It is. A simple, humble thing, an assemblage of stone topped with a relatively smooth slab of sandstone, I know not from whence the topper came. Evenly spaced with one at each side, there is a set of four standing stones roughly two meters in height. Assembling this was a project, to be sure.

"It is indeed. My mother used to come out here," I explain, approaching so I may gauge the condition of the altar and its environment. "Seems no one has touched it in some time..."

"Your mother?" Lucinda repeats. "You've not told me much of her. Did she teach you? Was she a Black-Quill?"

"Mmm, no, she wasn't," I shake my head. "She practiced alone, and I found my way separate from her. Though she did not always understand, she was more supportive than I could ever have hoped - not just here, but..." I idly gesture at my own body. "In finding all of my path."

"Are we..." Lucinda lowers her voice, "Are we here to pay respects?"

I laugh a little, I can hardly help myself. "No, she yet lives, simply not in the area anymore. I come here to renew my protective wards periodically. This altar has always been a comfort to me, you see." I turn toward Maryse, who has been somewhat quiet on this journey. "Do you remember the song?"

"Fire be in my heart, I believe it goes?" Maryse replies, singing one line. She always did have a lovely voice.

"That is the one, yes," I nod. I see a glimmer of recognition in Lucinda's eye as well, which surprises me. Perhaps it was older than I realized. I place an offering of blue parasol upon the altar, encircling a tourmaline point that I polished myself in preparation. Blue parasol is a flower known for its wide, low-hanging petals, which the vermin and insects of the land are known to shelter under to rest; it has always been seen as a symbol of protection and comfort.

I take a position between the altar and the stone closest to the lake and turn to face the altar. I then direct Melina to my left, Lucinda to the opposite position, and Maryse to my right, and I politely ignore jokes made about me simply wanting to stare at Lucy.

I am always nervous about singing, even alone. With three others present... it comes surprisingly easily, though it takes a moment to find my vocal footing, an irony not lost on me considering the subject.

Wind, blow through the trees,
Speak to me of dreams
Of horizons fair and new
Of hope and joy at every dawning day
And of courage bold and true

Wind be the spirit that drives me onward
Water be the patience to see me through
Earth be my shelter and my respite
Fire be in my heart

For the next verse, Maryse joins in perfect harmony, as though we'd never been apart.

River, tell us a tale
Of torrents through the vale
And of paths carved as you run
That we may carry on, come whatever may
With resolve, our will is done

Wind be the spirit that drives me onward
Water be the patience to see me through
Earth be my shelter and my respite
Fire be in my heart

Lucinda steps forward and takes a deep breath toward the end of the refrain. When she joins the song, I almost forget the words, but I recover quickly. I can tell from her voice she has formal training; little surprise for a noble.

Lifebringer serene
Host to wonders wild and green
And to you we shall return
Grant us shelter still, until the reaper's due
And our debt we will not spurn.

Melina joins for the final verse, initially nervous but buoyed by our presence. Her voice is a little rough, but already a good start.

Fire, light up the sky
Bring warmth down from on high
To rekindle weary hearts
In the darkest nights, our spirit you imbue
'til from our flesh, our soul departs

Wind be the spirit that drives me onward
Water be the patience to see me through
Earth be my shelter and my respite
Fire be in my heart
Fire be in my heart

I feel energized as the final refrain closes, but not in the way of a child rushing through the streets. This is more of a clarity of purpose, certainty of action. I know who I am, what I believe, and what I will do; it is confidence. It is also affirmation of our place in the order of things, which is I confess somewhat complicated by a vampire's presence. But if the echoes object, they do not make it known.

I look to my companions to gauge their reactions. Maryse stands tall with the same poise I always remembered her having. Lucinda sways as though she still hears the song in her mind, with a serene smile upon her lips. Melina looks as though she is finally grounded for the first time; she has peace, comfort. She has finally been able to let go of her overthinking, and-

I hear a sound, a murmur from the lake behind. The water's surface ripples, as though disturbed by a beast I cannot see, and as I step closer I am certain I see a shape in the water. For a brief moment, I could swear I saw wings. The water then stills once more, until Lucinda idly sings the refrain again.

The creature that emerges- is it a creature at all? It is a great bird, but it is without flesh, without bone, without blood; it is a bird comprised entirely of pure water. It bears a crest evocative of a wave, and horn-like protrusions reminiscent of shoals. As the sun shines through its wings, they shimmer with all the rainbow's colors, and a long tail plume as if a ribbon flowed like a river trailed from its body to the lake.

"The kiralye?" I gasp. "I- I haven't seen that since... I- I don't even remember when."

"What exactly is a kiralye?" Melina asks. Thank you, dear apprentice, I needed something to anchor to.

"A spirit.. a spirit of the lakes, of the rivers, of all fresh waters of the world," I explain. "It symbolizes healing, life, for without water there can be no life. It's said... it's said to be able to cure any ailment, but all of those tales are... ancient."

"Is it fae?" Melina prods.

I blink for a moment, surprised that she seems to have already flipped back to analysis.  "I... no, no I don't believe so." But how even could someone know? "I will... I will need time to think," I mutter, stabilizing my breathing and looking directly to the kiralye, who is hovering in place above the lake, wings spread as if to glide. I should grant it due respect, in case it is as Melina suspects. "𝐼 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑘 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑟, 𝑓𝑎𝑖𝑟 𝑠𝑝𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑡. 𝑊𝑒 𝑔𝑜 𝑖𝑛 𝑝𝑒𝑎𝑐𝑒."

The kiralye makes a sound like a songbird's call blended with the bubbling of a spring, and slips back into the lake, melding with the surface with barely a ripple.

"An encounter like that could only be a blessing," Maryse says. ... was I anxious? Yes, I realize that now. It's surprising how easy it is now for Maryse and I to carry on as we were, before... well. Before.

"Indeed, I believe you're right," I nod, willing myself to focus on the mundane once more. "Where do you intend to go from here, Maryse?"

"Eventually, the western sedgelands. I have a contact out there I need to speak with about some supplies," she explains. "Before that, Kingfisher Port, for supplies to make sure I make it through the sedgelands."

"It sounds like a lovely place," Melina says sardonically.

"Nature is like that," I remind her. "Every place is a home for someone, but many of them are not for us."

I... we needed a little extra time to process events. Maryse's contrition is true, and I was - and am - grateful beyond words to have Lucinda by my side through this. But we can delay no longer.

The forest is hauntingly quiet once more. Nothing dares make a sound, even the wind lies stilled. I occasionally glimpse a stray glowwyrm gliding between branches, their tails dull and dim like a lantern running on fumes. We return to my cottage for supplies and to prepare; razorbeaks are every bit as lethal as the headsman's axe, and less discerning still. Melina, Lucinda, and I split up, each to a separate room to prepare. I know we must stay light on our feet, though; a razorbeak can crush plate armor, our only viable recourse is to avoid being hit. But they can also strike at range, and so I bring a small satchel of poultices, bandages, and salves. That and my ever-reliable sword are all I expect to need, or to be able to use.

I return to the parlor to find Melina already prepared. I see healer's tools at her side as well, and Maryse's shortsword. I raise an eyebrow at that, and Maryse explains, "That knife of hers would break against these. She can borrow my extra blade." Well-reasoned and true; their hides are tough and their bones are nigh impenetrable. We wait for Lucinda for some short time, and a door opening takes my attention. She steps out, looking... different. She wears a red tunic over a shirt the color of charcoal, with a black half-skirt and dark blue pants. What catches my eye first though is that her hair is no longer worn loose, but tied back in a long high ponytail. As she steps closer, I see an archer's bracer on her left arm along with an asymmetric chest guard. In her hand, a modestly-decorated bow of excellent craftsmanship, one I can tell is well-maintained.

But she's so averse to violence, to causing pain. "Lucinda, dear, are you.. are you certain?"

"When I was but a girl, my elder brothers taught me of the bow," she replies, her explanation starting obliquely. "They wished to bring me along on their hunts when I was ready. I was, and they did, but I could not loose an arrow 'gainst a helpless animal." She sighs, shaking her head. "But this is different. The pack is relying on us, and I shan't let them down. And this bow, and the training... that is all I have of my family. I hope to make them proud."

Her mind is clearly set. I'll not take that from her, even as I worry for her safety. "I'm certain you will," I offer, a slight smile hopefully concealing my anxieties. "For this hunt, we are to follow Maryse. This is what she does, what the Silverblades do," I say, instructing dear Lucinda and my apprentice on my expectations.

"Morgan, I fear this will be difficult for you," Maryse begins with clear trepidation, "But I need to know where the dead warg was found."

I feel my heart breaking anew, thinking back to the poor animal's terrible wounds. But she's right, that's the only clue we have on their specific location. "Yes... I will get through. Come, we mustn't tarry," I say, gesturing for us to leave. In truth though, the instruction was for myself.

I feel as a passenger in my own body as I guide Maryse to the site, my conscious mind willing itself to passivity in fear of what I will see in that horrid place. It is with relief and terror that I find nothing there. I know the site with total certainty, the trees and rocks exactly as I've seen them in my nightmares. But there are no bodies. There is scarcely even any recognizable blood. I-

"Morgan!" Maryse calls, catching me as I sway near to collapse. I shake myself back to present and regain my footing. I must be mindful, I must be aware, but I so deeply do not want to be. I want to simply crawl into a hole.

I must remain strong, for Lucinda, for Melina, and for the pack.

I nod to Maryse to wordlessly signal that I'm fine, and she looks around the site. "Mm. Scratch marks on some trees, and..." She steps up to one tree and pulls out something that's stuck to it. "Scales. So they struck from that direction," she says, pointing off to our left.

"Does that tell us anything?" Melina asks. "They could have attacked from a different direction than their nest."

"Could have. Wouldn't," Maryse replies, wrapping scales in a cloth and putting them in her bag. "They cannot sustain speed. They strike hard and fast, overwhelming their prey with brute force rather than agility. Additionally..." she trails off, holding a finger to the air. "The wind is blowing opposite that direction. They prefer building their nests upwind from their hunting grounds."

"Upwind?" Melina repeats.

"Mmm. I know, it sounds backward, but I'll show you why when we get there," Maryse affirms, gesturing for us to follow.

Along the way we see more signs of razorbeaks. Occasional cracked scales, shed rather than weaponized. Trampled underbrush, snapped branches, and disrupted leaflitter. A hollow log that gave out under a heavy weight. The signs get more frequent as we go, proving true Maryse's explanation. We happen upon a suspicious pile of sticks and leaves, and Maryse nods. "We're here. Take a look inside, Melina. Carefully, now."

Melina does as instructed, dropping to one knee to see what Maryse was talking about. "Eggs."

"We should destroy them," I say instinctively, that vengeful facet shining through once more.

"We must not," Maryse replies firmly. "Were we to smash them, they would release a powerful odor that would alert any nearby razorbeaks that their nest was attacked. They would come running, enraged."

Melina stands slowly, tapping her fingers along her jawline. "Then... we could use that," she says, half-intentionally. "We break one from a distance. That will call them to the site, but we will not be there."

Maryse smiles and looks to me. "You were right, your apprentice is good."

"But only one of us could do that, unless you've been practicing your archery," I say. "Lucinda, I hesitate to ask, but..."

"I will," she replies immediately. "With beasts like these, we must take every advantage we can."

"For future reference," Maryse adds, "Another approach can be to flood the nest with water. Collapse its supports to cover the eggs in the nesting material, then break the eggs underwater. The oils that release the stench will cling to the underside of the saturated nest material, granting ample time to make good your escape."

"That must be only a temporary solution," I say as Maryse kneels down with a soft cloth bag. "If the mated parents are still present..."

"They would not for long be present," Maryse replies, carefully reaching for one egg and delicately placing it in the bag. "If a nest is destroyed and they cannot find its attacker, they will relocate. The problem being that we don't know where they would then go, so Melina's idea is best."

She carefully holds the bag at arm's length to ensure it doesn't bump against her, and I see Melina turning a discarded pinion scale over in her hand. "... Could we modify one of these as an arrowhead?" she asks.

"Mm. Knapping. I've done it a time or two, but it's scarcely worth the effort. These scales are very hard," Maryse says, with no effort to hide her curiosity about where Melina's taking this.

Melina looks to us with a smile, one that I know well - she has an idea, and she's proud of it. "It might work better without, anyway. What if we hit the egg with one or two of these? They likely wouldn't know what an arrow is, but they'd recognize their own scales."

"Morgan, I'm going to have to abduct your apprentice," Maryse laughs, shaking her head at the audacity of the plan - and at her knowledge that it may work. "We'll do it. Lucinda, I'll help you with that when we get this into position."

We travel upwind one hundred meters, and place the egg on another damaged log. This one seems to have simply succumbed to rot, though. It has a small indentation the right size to hold the egg, though not perfectly, and then we continue to walk further upwind, another two hundred meters. From this distance I can scarcely see the egg, and even that much only because I know where it is. "Are we sure this shot can be made?" I ask.

"I will do it," Lucinda says firmly. Maryse nods, trusting in her confidence, and helps her fasten a matched pair of pinion scales to her arrowhead. One on each side, each parallel to the arrowhead and to each other. I watch as she takes a position on a slightly elevated rise, and as she draws the bowstring back with her left hand, I am struck by her confidence and her clarity.

"Wait," Melina interrupts. Lucinda relaxes the bowstring. "What if it comes from behind us?"

"Won't matter," Maryse replies. "We're far enough away that it will only stop for us if we force it. Otherwise, it'll run right past to get to the scene of the crime."

"Good enough for me," I say. "Apologies, dear Lucinda, you may proceed."

 Lucinda draws her bow once more, and I feel a shift in the ambient ephemera. Her calm, clarity, and stillness have spread to the energies around her, and the whole world feels as though it has stopped, though this may be my own anxieties about if the plan fails. She looses the arrow and readies another, this one unscaled. Her first arrow seems to have found its mark, though I mostly know this from her own expression as I still cannot clearly see it. Before long, we hear a frenzied rustling downwind of us, and a pair of razorbeaks burst into view at the site of their shattered egg. They are large creatures, three meters long by my estimation, with four legs, a long tail, and seemingly-vestigial wings mounted directly above the forelegs. She fires once more and her arrow finds its mark, one of the beast's legs. Both turn to rush toward us together, but one is hobbled and slowed. It seems Melina's attempt to set them against each other failed. Another arrow, again toward the wounded one, to another leg. Maryse and I draw our blades as Lucinda readies a third arrow. This one strikes the head of the then-unwounded beast, and as it closes the distance I see blood dripping into its eyes.

From an estimated 65 meters, it flaps its wings forcefully, and a volley of pinion scales flies toward us. However, because of Lucinda blinding it, most do not find home. One deflects off the top of Maryse's shoulder armor, another nicks my arm. Maryse and I rush toward the blinded one and position ourselves such that it remains between us and the hobbled but unblinded razorbeak. The beast panics when my sword grazes its jaw, and suddenly lunges toward me, almost getting its jaw around my arm before I'm able to dive away. Maryse swings several times as she flits around, hoping to confuse the creature about where its attackers are.

Then I hear a scream.  "LUCINDA!" I shout. No, not now, no no no no-

"Still holding together," Melina replies. "She's hurt but still on her feet."

"Still shooting," Lucinda adds. Another arrow finds its mark, piercing the throat of the razorbeak we were fighting. This gives me a moment to see what had happened. Lucinda is bleeding from the outer side of her right thigh, bleeding more than I'd hoped.

"Hold fire, Lucy," I call, waving Melina forward. "This has to end fast. Surround it!"

We do so, with me going to the creature's right, Maryse to the left, and Melina flitting around to approach without being hit. Its turning is slow and labored, as I'm sure Lucinda had planned. But it's still fast enough to surprise me, and as it turns to lunge toward Maryse, its tail slams into my side, knocking me off my feet. By the time I regain my footing, the beast lies dead, Maryse's sword piercing through its throat and Melina's shortsword through one eye. Maryse wrenches her blade free and jogs to my side. "Talk to me, Morgan. You still intact?"

"Bruised, winded," I reply, mostly steady on my feet. I rush to Lucinda, stumbling over some branches as I do. "Let me see," I say, pulling her pants open to the side so I can examine her wound. I notice that she looks somewhat flushed and I realize I almost undressed her in front of everyone, but I need to tend to her wounds. "Looks like... agh." Yes, I'm definitely bruised and I hope it's nothing more. "Looks like it's shallow. Clipped you, but hit a vein when it did. I can- I can deal with this," I say. "Do you two mind?" I ask, gesturing for Melina and Maryse to turn around. Maryse laughs quietly and shakes her head, but both do as I request, which gives me a chance to apply treatment. A salve to prevent infection, a poultice to promote healing, a bandage of woven ivydown fibers wrapped and secured tightly to ensure it stays.  I have her pace around some to see if the bandage is comfortable, and she seems to handle it well. "Alright, you two," I call.

Maryse and Melina turn and return to our side. Melina asks, "So what can we do with those?" gesturing toward the fallen.

"Mm. I don't have proper tools but I may still be able to get some passable hide," Maryse muses. "And the bones are easy enough. Their hides and bones have value in armor, owing to their unique resilience. The scales can be used in our craft, the Silverblades use them for some of our brews."

"Are we- ow! Are we sure it was just those two?" Lucinda asks, wincing from lingering pain.

"Razorbeaks mate for life and are very territorial. They would not abide others save for their own young," Maryse replies. "Morgan, you bring Lucinda back. Melina, come with me so we can deal with that nest."

"On it. See you soon, Morgan," Melina replies, following Maryse off toward the nest.

Lucinda giggles suddenly and I look at her, with likely-obvious confusion. "Oh, I was just thinking about some old stories I'd read. Romances where people find love in battle."

I smile, despite my own pain. "Mm, but we already found each other."

She looks back over her shoulder. "Yes, we did. But I wonder..."

An eyebrow raised, I try to figure out what she means. "Hold. You think Melina-"

"It could happen!" she replies with a grin.

"Doubtful. I don't think Melina's her type," I retort, stifling an amused laugh. I'm glad that after all this, we can still joke like this. "I think you just read too many books."

29 Hazemoon-13 Harvestmoon, 2E 222

I hear the familiar staccato of one of my crows pecking at the door, punctuated by their call. I had put out food for them already, even though they rarely need the help, so this must be something else. I open the door to find Mercurio, with a small scroll case secured to his left leg, the unharmed one, which I open for my delivery. Taking the scroll in hand, I hand him a small piece of rose quartz as a gift, which he takes happily before flying off to rest and play.

The first thing I see is an elaborate wax seal, one I instantly recognize. A missive from Stormhaven, bearing the Countess's seal? That's rather a long trek; to call me instead of someone closer means there must be something important. I unroll the delicate parchment and begin to read as I hear movement behind me.

"Oh, was there a delivery?" Lucinda asks.

"Mm. One moment, dear," I hum, scanning the scroll quickly. "Yes, a missive from Countess Stormhaven herself. There's trouble in Stormhaven, lingering ephemera. Vengeful, but not murderous."

"That sounds strange," Lucinda replies.

"It is," I affirm. "And if she personally sent for me, and it seems for a second witch as well, there is likely more to this. So I suppose we're off to Stormhaven. Melina, dear, make ready for travel. We have time to get to Silveroak by nightfall if we leave soon."

"May I join you?" Lucinda asks sweetly.

"Of course," I reply, perhaps too quickly. "Your senses could be helpful, and I think it would be good for you to get out of the woods more often," I add, hoping to distract from my haste but why

This time, Melina has packed lighter than me, to no great surprise. I had to prepare tools for an unknown scenario, while she only needed comfort items - clothes, supplemental food, a bedroll, and something to do during downtime. Lucinda has a few books poking out of her pack, mostly casual reading material but I do spot a tome on herbology. I think I see a whittling knife in Melina's pack.

Normally it would take closer to a tenday to reach Stormhaven from our home, but we keep a faster pace due to the unknown circumstances, arriving two days ahead of schedule. The wargs have mostly recovered from that... unfortunate event with the razorbeak. My heart still catches in my throat thinking about it, though. We still must deal with that nest. And the wolves appreciate the exercise. Both Melina's and Lucinda's have taken a liking to their riders as well; mine is less affectionate, but we have an understanding, and when we camp at night he sleeps next to me.

Our arrival in Stormhaven merits little attention from passersby, to no great surprise. The city is after all run by a vampire, which I'm reasonably certain everyone knows and politely ignores. Some fear her, but most, even those afraid of her, know that she is ultimately- harmless isn't the word, but she has their interests at heart.

We check in at the stables and rent room for the wargs for the duration of our visit. We will, in all likelihood, scarcely be more than a day, but I pay for five simply to avoid worrying over the matter. Mere minutes afterward, we are approached by one of the Countess's personal guards, who wear bright red surcoats under their breastplate to distinguish from the town guard's yellow. "Lady Suncrest, you are faster than we had expected," he says, looking over our group.

"You'd have not called two witches from out of town if it was unimportant, so we kept a brisk pace," I reply. "This is my apprentice, Melina," I say, gesturing to the albino girl on my left, "and my- friend Lucinda," I continue, half-choking on a word while introducing the vampire.

"Well met," the guard says politely. "Are they here to assist, or simply as travel companions?"

"This is a teaching opportunity," I say, rejecting both options. "Lucinda has expressed an interest in understanding the craft, and though my apprentice is talented, she still has much to learn."

"Understood," he replies, turning and leading us through the town. "This site has been a... problem for us, even before the haunt." There's history here? That may make my work easier. It also may make it harder, though.

We're led to where a home once stood. No one has to tell me that; whoever handled the cleanup did admirable work, but there is a conspicuous absence that, by itself, tells a tale. No city has a uniform layout, but you develop a feel for how things are usually arranged.

And then I see her. Blonde hair, brown coat, engraved sword at her back. I feel a headache coming on already, and I sip from my water flask to give myself time to not scream.

She turns toward us. "Morgan." She doesn't feign any geniality, keeping her tone neutral and professional. "And. Hm. I see." The woman next to her follows, and I realize that it's the Countess. I ought to have noticed sooner, Cerise is very... distinctive. Skin the color of coffee, hair tightly curled and dyed tomato red, a similarly-bright luxurious red coat, and bright red eyes. She has a theme going, consciously I believe.

"Lady Suncrest, it's good to see you," Cerise says. Her tone is basically welcoming, but she is clearly focused on the task at hand. "You brought help?" she asks, raising an eyebrow skeptically.

"I brought students," I politely correct. "There is no substitute for lessons learned in the field."

Cerise nods approvingly. "I agree. My finest guards are the ones who have been in a true battle, after all."

"I would know more of the situation," I say, choosing my words with some caution. "I did read the missive, of course, but since it seems Maryse has already begun her investigation, I thought there may be new information."

"You likely could guess, but there was once a home here," Cerise begins, confirming my suspicions. "Arson. Retaliation against another citizen for intervening to stop harassment. The perpetrators have already been exiled, but this..." She trails off as a rock clatters against a window, thrown by an unseen hand. "This didn't start until some days after the exile."

Another rock. And another. The haunt seems agitated, or possibly encouraged, by our presence. "Curious..." I mutter, surveying the situation. The window struck by a stone appears undamaged. Another window on the same house is cracked, but still held intact. "It's. Hm."

"Do you have something?" Cerise asks, impatience in her tone.

"The haunt isn't... there's a damaged window that should be in reach," I explain, fumbling for the words for a moment. "But this haunt isn't attacking it."

"It was before," Maryse says. "I didn't think about the change, though."

"So it chose not to..." I say, trailing off again. "Grant me a moment's space," I instruct, gesturing for the others to clear away from me. They do so, and I stretch my senses to perceive the ephemera. There is precious little there, however, not enough to ascertain what exactly I'm dealing with. I fish an engraved clear quartz pendulum from my pack, attuned to ambient anima and dynamis. For a minute, nothing happens, but just before I give up and put it away, I feel a tug.

"That's unusual," I say, more on reflex than thought. All heads turn to me, and I realize I need to explain. "I was expecting light movement or discoloration that could narrow down our options. Instead, our haunt pulled directly on the pendulum - not for long, but enough to get the message."

"And the message is?" Cerise asks. I fear I may be testing her patience, but if so, she does not understand the work.

"They're trying to get our attention," I say with gradually-increasing certainty. "Something here was very important to someone. Was it the house?"

"I had already thought of that," Maryse replies. "A woodworker should be by soon with a replica."

I nod approval. "Won't be enough to calm them, but it will be enough to see if that's the problem."

True to her word, the craftsman arrives not overlong after. Cerise guides him to the center of where the home once stood, and he places it on the ground. This seems to agitate the haunt, which turns its attention to the miniature replica with all the force it can muster, splintering and eventually smashing the tiny construction. The craftsman's eyes sink, crestfallen.

"I'm sorry, I thought it would work," Maryse says, taking silver from her purse. "It's not your fault, though. Here, take a little extra, you earned it."

"It did work, in a way," Melina corrects.

"We now know that the loss of the home isn't why the haunt lingers," I agree, nodding approval. Melina is proving to be a very fast learner. The woodworker's eyes light up again; he is clearly still hurt by the destruction of his work, but at least it wasn't a waste. "Did the fire take anyone?" I ask, turning my attention to the Countess.

"Thankfully, no," Cerise replies. I can hear in her voice that she truly is grateful for that. "The girl that lived there wasn't at home when it happened. She was instead recovering from a vicious beating by the people who would go on to set the fire."

"That's- that's horrible!" Lucinda exclaims.

"Rarely is there a monster greater than man," I nod. I can see out of the corner of my eye that Maryse doesn't quite agree, but under the circumstances she knows she can't object. "I see two likely scenarios here, then. One is that the haunt is worried for the survivor. The other is that it's worried for the exiles. Who lives in the house that's been getting stoned?"

"Formerly, one of the arsonists," Cerise says. "Currently there's a local musician, unconnected to the incident."

"Mm. That doesn't help much, but I truly hope it's not the exiles," Maryse says. On that, we fully agree.

"Do you have the means to find the survivor?" I ask.

"I may," Cerise says with surprising trepidation. "I have messenger birds that know the face of a friend, Luna. She seems to have taken the girl in."

"I'm glad she found someone," Maryse says, oblivious to the irony.

"... hold. Luna, you say?" I repeat. Cerise nods. "The girl, then. Dark hair, scarred face, dark eyes? Named Raven?"

"That... yes, that's the one," Cerise confirms. "You know them?"

"I met them in passing en route," I say. "They were headed toward the Spires."

"Good, not too far a trip for my larks," Cerise says, audibly relieved. "I will send for her immediately. It may take a few days for her to arrive, so I will make arrangements for lodging. Did you have mounts?"

"Three wargs," I reply.

"And one stelze," Maryse adds. Naturally she'd want something meek, submissive.

"I will make arrangements for them as well," Cerise says, gesturing for one of her guards. "You are free to enjoy the city as you like until their return."

"Thank you for your generosity, Countess," Maryse says, with practiced formality. She walks over toward us, and I hear her whisper, "Can we talk? I promise, it is important."

I hate when she says that. But I nod assent, and gesture for Melina and Lucinda to carry on without us. There's a quiet alley nearby, shaded but not dark and visibly uninhabited, so we go there for our conversation.

"I am helping her recover from a grievous wound of the heart," I 'correct'.

"Is that what you call it?" Maryse challenges.

"What else could it be?" I no longer know if I'm feigning obliviousness because I distrust Maryse or if I'm simply in denial.

Maryse sighs, apparently she has the nerve to be frustrated with me. Unbelievable. "Whether or not you actually believe that, it was obvious that day at Norvanfeld that you're quite taken with the girl."

Hm. Something catching in my throat again. "It doesn't matter," I say. First with anger, then with bitter resignation, "It doesn't matter..."

"Why?"

"Because I- I can't, Maryse," I say, letting some sadness into my tone - why bother to hide what she clearly already knows? "She came to me for help, to get past a very dark part of her life. I can't betray that trust."

"When?"

"I want to say..." I trail off in thought, realizing it's been longer than I realized. "Hm. More than three moons ago."

"By the flame, Morgan, how dense do you get?" Maryse says, exasperated. Before I can defend myself, she raises a finger to stop me. "She came to you a quarter year ago and still lives with you, still is a part of your life. She's a Palemoon, even if she was disinherited, she has plenty of money. She could leave the instant she wanted to. She hasn't. She doesn't. She won't."

"What are you saying?" I know, in truth, but my mind is refusing to accept it.

"I'm saying that the two of you are fools in love. Take that fire, that courage, and use it to admit your feelings so the two of you can finally quit being so stupid about this."

"And why should I trust any of this after what you said to Vincent, to Alesia? I have never seen either of them since those two horrid nights,  you know. Why should I ever trust-"

She cuts me off before the word fully leaves my mouth. "Because I was wrong!" she shouts. My anger withers and dies on my tongue; I never expected this. "I've been trying to- I know there's nothing I can do to truly make things right, Morgan, but... I want us to be friends again, and I know I was wrong, that I hurt two innocent people. I should've trusted your judgment."

"Then what do you propose I do?" I ask. For a moment, it feels like I'm just going through the motions, observing the forms without any emotional involvement. I am not numb, but I am... muddled.

"Tell her, Morgan. Before that girl Raven gets back. The sooner, the better, though," Maryse says, and it feels like I did truly need the nudge.

"Yes. Yes, of course. You're right." I nod, taking a breath to collect myself. "This time," I hastily add when I realize what I said. "I... had actually wanted to ask a favor. We're having an issue back home."

"What kind of problem?" Maryse asks. Her tone seems softer than I expected.

"There's a razorbeak nest somewhere in the woods. They took two of my wargs. It's only going to get worse until they're removed."

"They did? I'm truly sorry to hear it, I know how close you are." I can tell in her voice that she means it; for all her flaws, Maryse has never been a liar. "Yes, I can help with that. I could use some of their scales, in fact."

We catch up with Melina and Lucinda before long. Maryse decides her verbal nudges weren't enough, and bodily pushes me toward her. Lucinda giggles at the absurdity of the scene, and with that sound all my anxieties disappear for a brief moment. They then return twofold. "Is aught amiss, Lady Suncrest?" she asks, with unexpected formality.

"I... Yes. Could we talk? Privately?" I ask, forcing myself through the words, fully expecting Maryse to hold this over me in the future. But she's... I can't keep bottling this up. Lucinda shows me to a small garden nearby where local wildflowers grow, and we sit at a bench together. In silence for a time, as I search for the courage to speak.

And as I search, and as I search.

She looks at me with a gentle smile and takes my hand. If anything, this makes me even more anxious; I should have gotten past this stage, I'm acting like a child. She giggles softly, briefly breaking the hold my anxiety has, and slowly leans in. Just before our lips meet, she whispers, "I already know, it's okay." When she pulls away, an instant and an eternity later, she adds, "And I feel the same."

A relief, of a magnitude impossible to describe, but I still feel like a fool for not being able to say it.

As expected, several days pass before Raven's return, though I find little trouble passing the time. Additional lessons for Melina, small requests from the locals, tending to the animals in the stables, and time with Lucinda of course. In truth, I miss living among people, but the craft is my calling.

We're near the gate when they arrive, and Luna brings Raven over to us. Raven is well-dressed but humble, in a simple but well-crafted tunic of russet color, with a pair of unadorned handaxes at her sides. Luna is once again garbed in a humble purple dress, but I know she's hiding knives in it. "Morgan. Before we go any further, why did Cerise call us back? What's going on?" Luna demands.

"I like her," Maryse says with a smirk. Oh, if only she knew.

"There's a haunt," I explain, leading them toward the site of Raven's former home. "We think it's connected to Raven."

"I didn't do anything!" Raven protests, stopping in her tracks.

"I should have been more clear," I say apologetically. "My working theory is that the haunt is worried for you and has been trying to get our attention to that end."

"Is it- is it my parents?" Raven asks in a near-whisper.

"I have no way to know, I'm sorry." I glance back and see Luna's arm around Raven to comfort her. "There isn't a visible manifestation, they're limited to moving objects, making noise that way." By the time we reach the site of the haunt, Cerise has already arrived. Her guards must have told her when Raven got here. Rocks are still being thrown, with what sounds like increased agitation since we got here those five days ago.

"So, um. How do we do this?" Raven asks.

"Hmm. Still throwing, I see," I mutter, looking out over the scene. Though the site was cleared out before our previous investigations, presumably by Cerise or her guards, now the rocks alone give people reason enough to keep well clear.

"If-" Melina begins. I gesture for her to continue. "If they're so focused on the rocks, then- then Raven, you should throw some, that'll get their attention."

I nod agreement. "The logic tracks; the rocks are their medium for interaction, so interact as they do. You have a real talent for this, Melina." My apprentice smiles at the praise. Luna hands Raven a large rock and Raven hurls it at the same building. It misses the window, thankfully, but seems to get the haunt's attention. A rock flies toward us, tumbling to a stop near Raven's feet. She picks it up, and skips it across the cobblestone streets. Her and the haunt seem to make a small game of it, but after about ten minutes, the rock sits idle, the haunt no longer responding to Raven, or indeed to anything.

"I think it's gone," Maryse says hesitantly.

"Good, and a job well done to both of you," Cerise says, gesturing for a guard. "I will arrange for your payment to be sent to your rooms at the inn. I will also cover an additional two days of lodging for you. One to make sure the haunt is quelled, and one for rest. You've helped my people several times since you arrived, and I'll not leave that unrewarded."

"Thank you," I reply quickly. "Should I be needed again, I can be reached the same way."

We walk off together as a group; I'm still struggling to readjust to including Maryse in that.  "By the way, Lucy, Melina, Maryse is going to be accompanying us on the journey back. She has agreed to help with our razorbeak problem." Melina raises an eyebrow in skepticism, familiar enough with our history, but Lucinda is visibly relieved.

21 Hazemoon, 2E 222

I hear a faint humming. I brush it off at first, surely that can't be right? But it's there, a drone without melody. And then I hear the voice, a man's voice, screaming from the door. "HELP ME! PLEASE!" he begs, audibly on the verge of tears.

Sliding the viewing window of the door open, I look over the man. His condition is readily apparent, and alarming. His skin has a waxy, yellowish sheen, worn at the joints from motion, and bands of hexagons are raised from the skin. Some are hollow depressions returning to the normal surface level, some are holes that go below the skin, and others are... full? Filled? It's all I can do to look the man in the eye, in truth; something is going on that has left this man very wrong.

"Slow down, good sir. What is the issue?" I ask, trying to keep my voice calm and comforting.

"Can't you hear them? Can't you see them?!" he groans, and I see that his eyes are red and slightly glazed over. Hear them? Now I do again, that same humming from earlier, but louder now from proximity. Then I see the cause: bees, small ones, buzzing around the man.

"I- yes. Yes, I see them. But that doesn't..." I trail off as one of the hexagons on his right arm... quivers? Soon after, another bee breaks free from his skin. A larva squirms out from under his eyelid. "Water preserve me," I mutter in disbelief. I know where this is going and I do not like it. "This looks like fae magic. Melina, Lucinda, come help me with this," I call as the man steps toward the door. "No, you stay out there." He freezes with a defeated sigh.

I slide the shutter closed and we walk out together, opening the door as little as possible. Turning to Melina, I explain, "This is fae magic. Our first task is to identify the source. The fae courts will mark someone their Edicts target, and each court has its own style of marking." Turning to the man, I gesture for him to turn his back toward us. When he does, I lift his shirt. "The coverage of the mark broadly correlates with the intensity of the charm," I explain, gesturing toward the deep red-brown pattern covering his back. It is a square implied, made up of four sets of concentric quarter-circles with the centerpoint of each set as a corner, and a cross drawn through the four corners. "Sometimes a mark is ambiguous. This is not, not at all."

"Who did it?" the man asks. He sounds like he's trying to get angry as a way to pull out of his fear, but it's only making his fear worse.

"The Court of Song," I respond with absolute certainty. "Patterns of concentric arcs, surrounding a central target point. Classic mark of Dissonance. You angered them. Badly."

"Can you fix it?!" he shouts, desperate for an escape. There is a grunt of pain as a bee, fully-formed, flies from his right earlobe.

"I cannot. They can," I explain apologetically. "I will contact them on your behalf. You stay here," I instruct, leading Melina and Lucinda to the opposite side of my cottage. "Contacting the Courts can be difficult, as there are specific protocols and invocations that each respond to. I have dealt with the Court of Song before, however, which - alongside the birdsong you hear now - will make things easier." We gather loose sticks to use to mark a circle, and I direct Melina and Lucinda to the positions I need them at; the three of us stand in an arc facing the center of the circle, as if a chorus. "Listen to the song around us," I instruct, "And follow my lead."

The birdsong shifts in that moment, and I nod encouragingly; I cannot make a sound that's not the calling, but they must be made to know this is normal. An unseen bird far to my right sings a musical phrase, and one far to my left sings a response. The first bird calls again, and the second waits silently; I echo its prior call. The process repeats for Melina, with a more elaborate call. She continues the tune without incident. When Lucinda's turn comes around, the response is never provided, but she intuits an appropriate reply on her own. The third phrase should at least have had a start provided, I know the forms well. The only explanation I can see is that they know why I am contacting them, and wish to avoid the matter.

Unfortunately, I have my duty.

The forest goes utterly mute for a moment. I cannot hear anything, not my own breath. Melina's feet shift on loose rocks in total silence. Then in a cacophony, a form appears in the center of the circle, transient and rippling, as if a lake disturbed by a stone or dust shaken loose by breath. "I bid you well come, impresario," I declare with practiced formality.

"𝑊𝑒 𝑎𝑐𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤𝑙𝑒𝑑𝑔𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑟𝑎𝑣𝑒𝑛'𝑠 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑡𝑒𝑜𝑢𝑠 𝑎𝑑𝑑𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑠," the fae spirit replies, its non-form rippling with each syllable, every word echoing off itself. "𝐹𝑜𝑟 𝑤ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑝𝑢𝑟𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑒 ℎ𝑎𝑠 𝑠ℎ𝑒 𝑐𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑒𝑑 𝑢𝑠?"

"There is a man that has been Marked by your court," I explain. "He has appealed to me for a resolution, but I know not his crime."

"𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑟𝑎𝑣𝑒𝑛 𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑎𝑘𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑛𝑒𝑠𝑡-𝑏𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑘𝑒𝑟, ℎ𝑖𝑣𝑒-𝑐𝑟𝑢𝑠ℎ𝑒𝑟. 𝑬𝒏𝒆𝒎𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝒔𝒐𝒏𝒈," the fae says scornfully. "𝐼𝑡 ℎ𝑎𝑠 𝑏𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑔𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑗𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑝𝑢𝑛𝑖𝑠ℎ𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡. 𝐸𝑞𝑢𝑖𝑣𝑎𝑙𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝑒𝑥𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑒, 𝑅𝑒𝑐𝑖𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑐𝑖𝑡𝑦, 𝑖𝑛 𝑟𝑎𝑣𝑒𝑛'𝑠 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑𝑠.."

I very faintly hear the man shouting something, but its sound is muffled to unintelligibility. It is unusual for the Court of Song to silence someone, and speaks volumes of their fury. "Then when he restores what he destroyed, Reciprocity will be served?" I ask, annoyed that the man couldn't connect the dots.

"𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑟𝑎𝑣𝑒𝑛 𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑠."

"Pray forgive my presumption, but he is soon to collapse from fatigue," I begin, choosing my words with utmost caution. "No human can go without sleep for so long, and should he lie down, or worse yet collapse, that would bring further harm to Song."

The envoy is silent for a moment in contemplation. "𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑟𝑎𝑣𝑒𝑛 𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑎𝑘𝑠 𝑡𝑟𝑢𝑡ℎ," they eventually concede. "𝐵𝑢𝑡 𝑖𝑡 𝑚𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑦𝑒𝑡 𝑚𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑡𝑢𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑖𝑡𝑠 𝑐𝑟𝑖𝑚𝑒𝑠." It is unclear, but I faintly see an arcing projection raised over the envoy, heralding a muffled scream and a keening that makes my teeth vibrate. Mercifully, it is over before long. "𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑀𝑎𝑟𝑘 𝑖𝑠 𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑐𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑑. 𝑰𝒕 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒅 𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒆."

"I thank you for your time, impresario," I declare, bringing a formal end to the proceeding.

The envoy dissipates on the wind, leaving only echoes of speech behind, "𝑊𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑘 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑟𝑎𝑣𝑒𝑛 𝑓𝑜𝑟 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑡𝑒𝑠𝑦."

Behavior
Stelze tend to live primarily as a family unit consisting of two parents and any young that are not ready to live on their own. These families will sometimes meet and interact peacefully, under rare circumstances even watching over each others' young. However, when stelze hunt, they dislike competition, and will harass any other fisher that dares get close, whether birds, beasts, or humans. Curiously, they seem to recognize fishing rods and nets, and usually ignore people without those. They are not overly aggressive, preferring to spread their wings, scream at the offender, and should they not get the message, give brisk pursuit. If at any point in this process the offender turns to leave, the stelze is satisfied and will not feel the need to pursue further.

Domesticated stelze are less territorial when well-fed, and function as an extended form of their wild familial units. This is believed to be because of their imprinting; a hatchling stelze will imprint on most of the animals they see in the first days of their life. By breeding and raising them in captivity among other stelze and other animals, they accept a wider family.