13 Flamerule
We have bravely defended a cow from a band of attacking xvarts, as much as saying the sentence feels so silly. I didn't break a nail on my bow. Hulrik the farmer gave us some fresh milk; Ajantis and I used what we did not drink on a journeybread recipe. Domestic; I think I dare to say I'm proud of the results, that I'm learning. Garrick taught me a lot too.
"It's the new milk," Ajantis explained, "and making sure to rub in the butter throughout—you just have to pay more attention to what you're doing, Skie." The stories do not speak of knights trained in cooking; but his masters expected him to be skilled in such practicalities. There seems a shadow upon his face when he mentions the name of Keldorn Firecam, a knight of the Order I read mentioned once as the hero of a great battle with Tethyrian outlaws, though he must be ages old by now. Practically decrepit, probably.
"Fetch me a waterskin—Skie, this time; male-of-loss, remain preparing our meal," Viconia asked lazily, sprawled elegantly in the shade. "I thirst."
"I will not convert to your evil deity no matter how you press me, drow," Ajantis said.
"And yet you have lost, and will continue to lose; do not trip, Skie, surface dwellers can be so graceless." She took a long sip of water, and handed the skin back to me.
"Ignore her, dear, she's becoming rather repetitive of late," Ajantis' squirrel said openly, one of Faldorn's goodberries between her paws. Aquerna sunk her small teeth into the blue, ripe fruit; sharp and pale teeth, like an embroidery needle into yielding silks. The Duchess Liia Jannath usually carries her monkey with her on her shoulders, and occasionally it chatters to other people. It's rather cute.
"You are an edible lower being, this much I have learned on the surface lands." Viconia showed her own teeth in a brief, carnivorous grin. "Druid, it is acceptable to eat what one hunts, no?"
"Viconia, I have no desire to quarrel," Faldorn said, straightening her back as if trying to be dignified. The tips of her fingers twitched slightly. "It is acceptable to eat what one hunts, but it is not acceptable to hunt among one's own pack unless grave offence is committed. And the lady is a noble companion."
"Thank you, my dear," the squirrel said, in those tones of a mature human woman; I could imagine her voice belonging to a lady tutor, one of those strict ones, a firm wrinkle drawn between their eyebrows, hair pulled into the strict bun that never loosened below any weather or torment, layers of corsetry so firm and disciplined it looked as if they'd been poured into them full-formed at birth. "Conduct yourself with civility, Goodwife DeVir, and there will be no need to dispute." It irritates Viconia, that title; but she has told of her four husbands in the Underdark, with very detailed descriptions of how she disposed of each of them. Some of us haven't even been married once.
"Ajantis," Viconia said, huskily; he looked up at her, and she shifted position on the grass—I can't dance like that, she's an elf, I still don't know how she does that sinuous twist that makes it look as if she's triple-jointed—"Do you feel any...compensations for what you have lost? For what you are permitted to look upon, and wonder?"
His face had turned slightly red; the pan he held slipped from his hand. I rescued it from the fire. "I-will-not-be-tempted-drow!"
"You deny it so pitifully." Viconia laughed. "Do not mistake me, boy; the only position I would willingly grant you would be to lick the boots of some duergar slave of mine, and that would be only after you crawled across a deep pit of broken glass to beg for it. And yet I know you crave acceptance; long for all the darkness that you lack."
"He still denies it," Faldorn said; looking surprised, Ajantis turned his face to her. "Shar is a primordial force and I respect you, but there is light as well as darkness."
Viconia hissed. "The light burns my eyes; a foul invention of the Moon Bitch. You will learn the power of the night."
"I could try to make you a poultice for that," Faldorn said. "I have not met drow before, but I have some idea of how to adapt the recipe. Do you think your eyes will adjust in time?"
"Perhaps, if you wish; I do not care—you will need my sight at the destination to which you tread in any case." Viconia essayed a graceful shrug.
"In nature, most animals advance through the gradual survival of the strongest offspring, rather than alter themselves in a single generation," Faldorn said. "But your species used to live upon the surface, at one time, or so I have heard. Will you shed some of your underground adaptations as you continue to travel the surface?"
"An insolent question and assumption, craz." Viconia snarled.
Faldorn took a pouch from her belt, and opened it; she had gathered herbs to fill it since we left the mines, boasting of the varied species of mushrooms she found near the Beard. "I've still no wish to argue," she said quickly, and Viconia seemed to accept that as her due. "This is goldenseal, here, and the vidya flower, called so because of its shape, and white milk-vetch, which often grows in areas such as this. If I steam them in boiling water, I can..." She continued her explanation of the brew.
"Vidya flower, that one? In the Underdark there was a moss which bloomed to a similar scent. I made recently a sleeping poison of substitute ingredients..." Viconia sighed. "Bring those into the shade, little girl; you surfacers understand so little of obedience."
"And you call this cessatre leaf?" Viconia continued, pawing over Faldorn's collection. "Shape and smell...is it for the relief of deserved pain?"
"Almost; it's a coagulant, one of the primary ingredients of healing potions," Ajantis said suddenly. "It needs to be boiled to gain the full effect, and added at the second steeping of the ingredients..."
The priestess and druid both raised their heads to stare at him. "I was taught some healing lore, of course," he said stiffly.
"A good effort," Faldorn said; he nodded gravely.
"To continue," Viconia said, "I know this kind of mushroom growth; it is a poison to surfacers as well?"
"Yes, a rare type of the species that we druids call destroyer's wings," Faldorn said. "The light yellow of its gills show that it has the Disintegrare condition, a magical mutation that makes its action more swift. Usually magic is unnatural, of course," she added with disapproval, "but this kind is rare; I found it by carefully looking near a damp log, near the caves, and—"
"And how is the mutation created? We have our own pet wizard, I imagine—" Viconia said curiously.
"Well, this pet wizard's gonna be busy studying her own spells tonight while the pet cleric gets to wash up," Imoen said; she and Shar-Teel had returned from their foraging. Shar-Teel carried two skinned rabbits, one with an arrow still through it.
"Silence your insolence, jalil." Viconia's shoulders shifted lightly; usually I help her with such tasks. She isn't accustomed. I might have to talk to her sometime soon; I'd not ask Faldorn. Maybe not, if things change.
And I had to try to fence against Shar-Teel. It's generous of her to teach me, and it's necessary to live through the travel. I don't think I get as tired as I used to be from it, and it's no trouble to scrub the pots and pans afterwards.
I remember we've passed by what used to be the bandits' camp; and past the garden of the statues of the gnome a day ago, wherein Imoen fashioned blindfolds for protection. It's very green here, and damp on the grass, for it must have recently rained. The days are long and warm, but will shorten when the leaves begin to redden in later months.
—
craz - brat
—