(Author's note: I was calling the month "Eras" instead of the proper "Erastus" previously. O O F. It has been fixed here. Thanks for reading! ^_^)
"By Skill and by Steel, you are Aldori." - final line of the House Aldori oath of adoption
28th Erastus, 4721 AR
Wayfarer's Field, New Thassilon
Being a nation of exiles, New Thassilon was welcoming of all sorts of people, though with no accounting for morality. It was, in all likelihood, the most accommodating organized nation for the nomadic Varisian caravans of Golarion. So accommodating was it that Sorshen, the Exile Queen, had set aside a swathe of open plain for such caravans to stop, take their rest, and graze their animals without fear of reprisal. The so-called Wayfarer's Field had become a favorite destination of the Varisians overnight.
Temperance, Asaf, Scaelia, and Dhrak were approaching Wayfarer's Field along a refurbished Old Thassilonian highway. The field was in the shelter of a long ridge, upon which one could see the crumbled remains of a fort used by Old Thassilon to keep watch for bands of Ulfen raiders. Above them, the clear blue sky was beginning to make a change towards dusk.
Caravans camping on Wayfarer's field tended to mingle their camps together. By Tem's guess, there were three caravans gathered together in the field, their brightly colored wagons lit by the merry, dancing light of torches. Temperance saw the familiar orange and blue he had grown up around, and it finally dawned on him that he was going to see his clan for the first time since leaving for the Crusade. Already, there was music in the air, hands clapping, people singing. Children from all three clans were running between wagons, playing the nonsense games of youth. Teenagers and young adults would be meeting sweethearts both new and known, some establishing connections that could well be the seeds of a new caravan some day. Tem felt like he'd just walked away from it all yesterday, yet somehow, at the same time, like it was something he'd read in a book ages ago rather than experienced first hand.
"Y'alright, Tem?" Dhrak asked from the saddle behind him.
"Aye." Tem said quietly. He took a deep breath, resisting the urge to pull Oath to a halt.
"They will not have forgotten you, Sir Temperance." Asaf said.
"I know. I just…I don't know if I belong here anymore." The tiefling admitted.
It was Scaelia's turn for input. "I have been away from home for longer than ten years before, Horns. It doesn't stop being home unless you choose for it to do so."
They drew close to the caravans. Several dozen wagons and close to four-hundred Varisians were all gathered there. Some at the edges of the gathering were watching them approach with wary eyes; an age old habit of any Varisian caravan at rest no matter how friendly the ground was that they sat upon.
As the adventurers drew near, Tem dismounted, Dhrak following suit, and the tiefling dismissed Oath with a word of power. He approached the camp, going towards a middle-aged man in a bright red vest and trousers who sat on the periphery smoking a pipe.
"A fine evening to you, travelers. You're welcome to join our fire, if you bring hearts of good will." The smoking man said.
Temperance made the sign of a star across his chest with his hands, saying, "our Lady Desna has aligned the stars to guide me home, clan uncle. My name is Tasgal. Temperance Tasgal."
The pipe smoker made a soft "aaah" sound, then waved them forward. "Then come in and find your rest, son of the road. I'm sure your family will be happy to see you and your friends."
Tem nodded to him, entering the camp. Paper lanterns were strung between wagons. Birds, rabbits, and various other small game were roasting over fires, waiting to be butchered and thrown into bubbling stew pots. Children were just starting to be corralled by adults as supper drew near. A moment's listening brough the tunes of at least three different songs to Temperance's ears. The pungent smell of tobacco smoke mingled with cooking food and incense. It was loud. It was boisterous. It was bright.
It was home.
Tem felt a lump in his throat as he took it all in. They approached the center of the gathering, where a sort of makeshift town square had been set up between the three caravans. Long feast tables were impractical to transport, so various benches, stools, crates, and casks were set up. Three wagons were in the very center of the camp, which would belong to the elders of each clan present. The most predominantly placed wagon would be that of the longest serving elder, which in this case belonged to none other than a man confusingly named Sandru Tasgal the Elder. Sandru Tasgal the Younger was the clan's most lauded storyteller, and son of the Elder. For sake of ease, the older Sandru was simply called Elder, while the younger was known by his other sobriquet, "Talespinner" or just "Spinner."
Temperance heard the whispers following him and his companions as they walked to the center of the camp. He had seen a few familiar faces along the way, but there was one he would speak to before anyone else would be given the time of night. As he stopped in the center of the camp, he saw the one he was looking for.
She looked up from a massive cauldron of stew, no doubt wondering why things were suddenly growing quiet. The years had marked her. No black remained in her iron grey hair. The lines around her eyes and mouth were deeper. Her skin was more deeply tanned and weathered by sun and wind. But, it was her. There was no mistaking it.
The Varisian woman met Temperance's eyes and her ladle slipped from her fingers, barely saved from a fall into the stew by a young man standing next to her. The woman crossed the soft grass on bare feet. She was diminutive, this woman. Her back was straight, her step sure. There was much life in her bones yet and more to spare.
Temperance stopped before this woman when they were just a few feet apart. He was hyper aware of his own breathing, unsure what to say.
"...Tem?" The woman asked softly, like she didn't dare believe it was true.
Tem's lips parted to answer, but suddenly his legs felt weak. He fell to his knees, his armor clanking as he did.
"Mom?" He barely managed to get the word out, and joining the word was a stream of tears from both eyes.
Charani Tasgal began crying almost at once, stepping forward to throw her arms around her son and pull him close. "Temperance. Blessed Desna, my sweet Temperance. It's you. It is you." Her tears mingled with joyous laughter. Charani brought her head back and lifted her voice for all to hear. "He's home! My son is home! Our Temperance is home!"
Murmurs went around, then as Charani's words sank in, people started giving whoops and cheers, words of thanks to Desna. They began to gather around; mostly Tasgals, though members of the other two clans joined soon after. It may not have been their clan, but this reunion was something any Varisian clan knew well and cherished dearly.
She leaned down to take his face in both hands, wiping his tears with her thumbs. "You're here. I knew the Song of Spheres would guide you back to us."
"I'm here." Tem affirmed in a shaky voice, sniffling. He didn't care that he was an utter mess. Temperance was back at long last, and in his heart was a joy so sweet that it ached. All doubt and shadow was banished.
Home. He was finally home.
A celebration was called. That tended to happen when even two caravans were gathered, but three all at once, and with the return of someone thought dead? Now that was something to revel in.
Though many caravans had at least one portable still for brewing moonshine on the road, their transient nature meant that most Varisian caravans would have a wide variety of spirits for drinking, from small beer to vodka to mead, depending where they were. Many caravans would have one or two casks of their "clan special", a barrel where they would drain partial bottles and kegs all together into one container. This space saving measure meant that a given caravan would have a vintage so rare that it would only exist for a single night. That night the Tasgal, Suvari, and Nytski clans would be altering their clan specials quite a bit.
All this to say, at length, that the liquor was flowing freely.
Temperance was seated beside Charani in the center of the camp, his equipment all resting nearby. He held a drinking horn full of kvas and was listening to Spinner talk about a crazy rainstorm the caravan had gone through down in Molthune the previous year. Tem had made it clear from the outset that he didn't really want to talk about the Crusade, and thankfully his wishes were respected. Spinner was a built like an ox, albeit a rather short ox. He kept his head shaved bald and usually wore a floppy knit cap over it. Seated on a barrel with a kvas of his own in hand, his wife Vikka sitting on his knee, Spinner was as close to heaven as he could be while still alive.
"...and I tell you, my boy, we could have used those muscles you've put on." Sandru the Younger was chortling, slapping Tem on the arm. "It was that passage we made through Druma when you were lad but five times worse. Not a wagon made it through without getting stuck in the damn mud."
Some of the other adult members of all three clans were gathered around, nodding and muttering in either remembrance or sympathy.
"But enough about all that. A Pathfinder now!" Spinner exclaimed. "Sweet Song of Spheres, my boy, you've got Desna's wings on your ankles, don't you?"
"For now, I suppose." Temperance said with a grin. "I'm happy to keep roaming. I was in Sarkoris for far too long. My feet missed the road."
"Hah! Spoken like a true Varisian." Talespinner barked, raising his kvas. "To the road!"
"The road!" The Varisians around them said in response, holding up and clanking together drinking vessels of their own.
"A true Varisian, indeed, and that's what my Tem has always been." Charani said with pride as the cheer died down, placing a hand on Tem's shoulder.
It was far from the first time Charani had said that, but it filled Temperance with warmth to hear it after so many years. It seemed Desna's own hand had been at work when a newly born Temperance had found his way into the hands of Charani. She had just recently suffered twin tragedies; losing her new husband to a bandit attack, then birthing a stillborn daughter only a month later. Almost lost to despair's cruel depths, it was Sandru the Elder who had received baby Temperance and passed him on to Charani.
Exactly from whom Elder had received Tem from, and under what circumstances, Charani did not know. Only Elder did, and the old clan leader was sworn to secrecy over the matter. Frankly, Temperance had never really given a whit about it. The circumstances didn't matter. He had been raised by a loving mother amid a loving clan. It was a much better childhood than many tieflings got.
"Five-Winged Knight, it feels like I never left." Temperance said as he looked around the camp. Dhrak was showing off sword tricks to a gathering of children, cutting fruit that was tossed in the air, even snuffing out a candle flame without touching the candle itself. Scaelia was sitting with Elder and a few other greyhairs, scribbling eagerly in one of her notebooks as she listened to whatever history and lore they would impart upon her. Finally, Asaf was on station near where most of the booze was being kept, currently talking to a young Nytski man and, by the look of it, making good headway on not sleeping alone that night. Elsewhere, people were dancing, sharing stories and songs, eating and drinking their fill. It was perfect.
"That's a good thing, no?" Vikka asked.
"Of course." Tem said. "That was the entire reason I left in the first place. So the Worldwound would be closed and everyone would have homes to go back to. Looking around now, seeing this…", a wide, bright smile split his face, "...it tells me I succeeded. There's a lot of danger out there in the world. There always will be. But for now, I can know the world was made just a little bit safer and be glad." He drained his drinking horn, but before he could stand to go get a refill, Vikka snatched it from his hand, taking Spinner cup as well. "Thanks, Vikka." Tem said.
"I'm so proud of you, Tem." Charani said, clasping her hands together for emphasis. Her expression became one of mock disapproval as she then said, "but you mean to tell me you spent almost ten years around all those Crusaders and you didn't meet one single fair lady or shieldmaiden to bring home with you? I was hoping for grandchildren, you know!"
Laughter around them, especially from Spinner. Temperance blushed furiously and rubbed the back of his neck.
"W-Well I was just…you know…focused on other stuff." The tiefling said. A pause. A realization. "That being said..there's…well…there is one person…"
Several people, Charani included, leaned in at Tem's words.
"Well, go on, who are they?" Charani prompted.
Tem hesitated for just a moment. It was as if speaking the words would actually make the subject matter reality rather than just something to ponder over. But, deep down, Temperance knew they were true already. So speaking them into being was something that needed to happen. He owed it not just to himself, but to her.
"Her name is Violetta Irinushka. She…serves Pharasma." Tem explained slowly, wondering what information was pertinent here. "She's one of the three people I fought with the most during the Crusade, along with my friends Arashi and Dergir."
"Irinushka…", Charani repeated, rubbing her chin. Then it dawned on her. "You mean the Noviste Irinushkas?"
"Aye. Count Artyov and Countess Hyacinthia are her parents." Tem confirmed sheepishly.
"Good folk, the Iriniushkas." Spinner commented, to the agreement of the others. "Always welcome the caravans on their lands, pay fair for work done. Heh, by Shelyn's red locks, my boy, you still aren't one for half measures, are you?"
"Aye, well, we aren't actually…together. Not yet. We only just started writing to each other. Halo…that is, Asaf says he's sure it'll work out. I'm hoping to be able to meet up with her in Noviste soon and decide on that. She did invite me." Tem said, shrugging helplessly. "Look, you remember that one time I asked that girl from the Lugorov clan to dance. I haven't gotten any less helpless since then."
Charani had the decency to at least make her cringe at the memory slight. "Don't worry so much, Tem. You've grown into a kind-hearted and conscientious young man…though, I suppose it's up for debate if I can call you a 'young' man anymore", there was some melancholy on her face at that. "Desna will guide you. Have faith."
Tem dipped his head as Vikka came back. She made a motion to Spinner, telling him to stand.
"The night gets no younger and you owe me a dance. Come, let's leave these two to catch up." Vikka said, her second sentence directed at everyone gathered around, not just Talespinner.
Spinner accepted his kvas from Vikka, getting to his feet. "Could never say no to you, you know." He took a long drink, then put an arm around her waist. "Good to see you back, Tem."
"Good to be back." Temperance said as he took his kvas from Vikka. The small gathering dispersed, leaving Tem and Charani alone.
The two of them were silent for a little bit, watching the celebration around them. Temperance basked in it, feeling like he could let his guard down for the first time in ages.
"Are you alright, Tem? I mean really alright?" Charani asked softly with concern in her eyes.
Tem didn't answer at once, but said at length, "I'm…doing better than I was a few months ago." He muttered. "I won't lie, it…things were bad in Sarkoris."
"You don't have to talk about anything you're not ready to." Charani assured him. "I'm just…so unbelievably happy to see you alive and mostly intact." She tapped the cap on his broken horn.
"I'm sorry I never wrote to you. I know I should have." Tem said regretfully.
"Hush. You know as well as I do that sometimes Desna calls folk down their own road, and it doesn't always leave room for looking back." Charani gently chided him. "My prayers were to her every evening to keep you safe, and will be to her tonight that your road led you back. And one to spare to your Ragathiel."
"And we'll be moving on soon…", Tem added. It felt like Charani should be mad at him and he kept saying things in a strange hope that she would finally get upset.
Yet, even still, his mother only smiled wanly. "I know, son. And that's alright. Not every Varisian's fate is to stay with the caravan. Alone, with kin, or chosen clan, we wander, even those of us who settle down. Blessed Desna grants us the joy of dreams to wander in sleep. Again, I'm just glad to know you're well. It does my heart more good than you could know."
Tem felt himself about to cry again, but no tears came this time. "I will write to you this time, though. I promise."
"You won't hear an argument from me", Charani said happily, patting his hand before standing up, "now, you just enjoy yourself. I have to make sure the bread pudding hasn't been ruined." She leaned over and kissed Tem on top of the head. "I love you."
"I love you, too, mom." The tiefling replied with a genuine smile.
Temperance sat by himself for a little bit, but he didn't feel lonely. He watched his clan, happy and prosperous, as well as the other two clans. It reminded him of something he had once heard a soft-spoken Mendevian ranger captain say back in Sarkoris.
"War must be, while we defend our lives against a destroyer who would devour all; but I do not love the bright sword for its sharpness, nor the arrow for its swiftness, nor the warrior for his glory. I love only that which they defend."
29th Erastus, 4721 AR
Wayfarer's Field, New Thassilon
Temperance slept in, curled up in the very same wagon he had grown up in. What he had not expected was the sound of horns waking him up.
Nomadic Varisians needed to be ready a moment's notice for crisis, whether it was freak weather, marauding monsters, or unfriendly locals. The moment the horn of alarm went up, everyone moved to action, Tem's eyes shooting open at once. He was reaching for Forbearance and Blackbole before he was even fully awake, levering himself out of Charani's wagon. He had no time to put on his armor except perhaps his gambeson, but decided to go without. Having slept in a pair of leather trews, Tem opted to quickly pull on a shirt and his boots. Rapid response was more important here. He summoned Oath and mounted up.
"What's going on?" Charani asked. She had slept atop the wagon, under the stars, as many devout Desnan Varisians did on nights when weather was permitting.
"I'm not sure. But I'll find out." Tem assured her, guiding Oath through the camp.
Even with the three caravans somewhat mingled, there was no panic. Those who would not be defending the caravans were shuffled towards the center along with much of the livestock. Everyone with the ability to fight was procuring arms, some taking the time to pull on leather cuirasses or shirts of mail. Three weapons were primarily common; spears, shortbows, and starknives. The latter weapon was a circular hoop with four dagger-sized blades facing outward around it, a handlebar through the center of it. As the divine weapon of Desna, it wasn't hard to ascertain why the starknife was a common weapon among Varisians.
"Spinner! What's the matter?" Tem asked as he rode by the man.
"Riders! Up on the ridge, near the old fort!" Talespinner replied as he guided his Vikka and their two teenage daughters, Marishka and Ovidia, toward the center of the camp. Their third and eldest daughter, Irena, had married into a different clan while Tem had been away.
Temperance spurred Oath onward, exiting the camp and turning to the right to face the ridge. Sure enough, without the wagons in the way, he could see a mass of horsemen up there. It wasn't large by the standards he was used to, probably between thirty and forty riders. If they were trained mounted combatants, however, those riders could easily bottle the Varisians up in the triple camp, if they had a mind to, easily picking off anyone who tried to make a break for it.
However, the clanfolk were not about to allow that to happen. Those that could fight were quickly filtering out through the smaller spaces that Oath couldn't fit through, forming a rough battle line opposing the horsemen. The Varisians had the riders by about two to one, but again, if those riders had good training and equipment, they would easily hold the advantage.
They would if not for a few adventurers on this side. Temperance reminded himself, riding to the head of the Varisian force. He was the only one mounted. Caravan animals didn't make for good cavalry mounts.
Six people were already approaching from the group of riders. Tem looked back at the Varisians. They were uncertain. Afraid. Some were resigned. Tem understood. Even here, in the land where they shouldn't have to worry about this sort of thing, it was happening anyway.
"Hold fire." Temperance said to his kinfolk. "The whole force isn't coming up so maybe there won't be a battle today."
The half-dozen riders stopped well within bowshot. They were confident. Three of them were clearly mercenaries, each one in scale armor and wearing sashes of yellow and black. They were behind the other three riders. On the far left was a wisp thin man with thinning hair and pince-nez spectacles, clad in a doublet and pantaloons. In the center was a ruggedly handsome, long haired man in incredibly fine, gold-traced plate armor. Finally, all the way to the right was a younger man that shared the middle fellow's squared jawline. This young man was also wearing plate armor, but his right hand ended in an immobile metal prosthetic.
"I am Verren Jubal, Patrikios of Krotenmor, by the blessing of our Queen Sorshen." The man in the center said in a basso voice. "Begone, devilspawn, and summon your leader."
"Demonspawn." Temperance corrected with a grunt. "And he'll get here. You can talk to me in the meantime. Why are you here?"
"Funny. I did not hear 'my lord." Jubal said, his lip curling in disdain at Tem.
Temperance bit back a smartmouthed reply. He had the clans behind him to keep safe. Now was a poor time for bravado. "Why are you here, 'my lord?'"
"One of the harlots among your number assaulted my son, Verros." Jubal said with barely contained rage.
"Is there more to the story, my lord?" Tem asked.
"Need there be?" Jubal countered.
"We should like to hear the victim's side, I think." Said Elder in his rough voice. The Varisian defenders parted for him. Elder was not large or imposing. He walked with a cane, but was still fairly mobile. All the same, Spinner was with him, helping him along. "I am Sandru Tasgal, my lord, and I am the leader of this camp by right of seniority."
"Hand over the bitch who goes by the name Karelda and we'll be on our way." Jubal commanded.
One of the women among the crowd raised her voice. She had dark brown hair and a fierce gaze. Tem did not remember her. She must have married into the Tasgal clan. "He tried to force himself on me! I wouldn't have taken the hand if he hadn't pulled a sword on me!"
"Silence, wench!" Jubal snapped. His anger was surprisingly explosive even for the circumstances, and judging by his sidelong glance at the young man with the prosthetic hand, this was news to the Patrikios.
"Father, she's ly-..." Verros started to say.
"Another word from you and I'll let the bitch take your other hand." Jubal snapped.
This man's going to have a heart attack at a young age. Tem thought to himself.
The small man in spectacles said in a tired voice. "By the laws of Queen Sorshen, the testimonies of both parties shall be heard and weighed in a court of arbitration. I, one of her Magistroi, will ensure this. It shall take place in Krotenmor."
"My people…do not have what one would call a 'good' history fairness in the courts of settled folk. Especially against nobility." Elder said. "You'll forgive me for not expecting that to be a good accounting."
"Perhaps if you people would cease wandering to and fro looking for innocent folk to rob and deceive and assault, the courts wouldn't have such a low opinion of you." Jubal said with baldfaced disdain.
A murmur of displeasure through the crowd. Varisians had their share of criminals, true enough, but no more than any settled society. That was something no culture held a monopoly on. That fact did not stop bigots like Jubal, of course.
"You will hand that harlot over, or you will be in defiance of the Queen's law." Jubal snarled. "And I will take appropriate action."
Elder frowned. He was between a rock and a hard place now. The unfortunate fact was one person weighed against the whole clan was no decision at all. Tem was sure they could fight off the mercs with the help of Asaf, Scaelia, Dhrak, and himself, but how many would die for the effort? What sort of feuds would that spawn?
But…an idea struck Temperance. A third option. He inhaled to say it.
"Trial by combat!"
It was not Tem who had said this, but Dhrak. The goblin made his way up to the front of the crowd, looking up at Jubal, Verros, and the magistrate. He was standing as tall as his diminutive stature allowed, his Aldori uniform spotless.
"You heard me. I said 'trial by combat.' I'm puttin' myself up as her champion. Sir Tem over there'll be my second. You gonna lay down the rules, Mr. Magistrios, or should I?" Dhrak asked, nonplussed at the horsemen looming over him.
"Quiet, vermin, and away with you." Jubal commanded.
"No." Dhrak retorted simply.
Jubal's stammering reply was cut off by the magistrate.
"He speaks within rights, my lord." The Magistrios said, still sounding bored. At least he was being unbiased, it seemed. Jubal's fiery gaze turned on him, but the official did not waver. "You must either concede, fight him yourself, or select a champion of your own." The Magistrios went further.
The Patrikios growled deep in his throat. "Fine! Serytal. Settle this matter. I should be glad I won't have to wait for a trial."
One of the mercenaries who rode up with Jubal smiled from ear to pointed ear. He was an elf, sharply featured and with all the arrogant imperiousness his people were often wrongly branded with. Not so here. This elf simply knew he was superior to everyone present, even Patrikios Jubal, and made it plain for all to see with expression alone.
"Lierian. You will be my second." Serytal said to a half-elf on the horse beside him.
The third horseman rode back to the larger group. Jubal, Verros, and the Magistrios moved aside while Serytal and Lierian dismounted. The latter man took the horses off to the side.
"Serytal, as you stand on behalf of the aggrieved and challenged party, it is your decision; first blood, yield, or death?" The Magistrios asked, rubbing one eye.
Serytal's icy blue eyes considered Dhrak, who stood impassively, arms crossed. The elf was a good two and a half feet taller than Dhrak, but the goblin was undaunted.
"Yield." Serytal said, beginning to tie back his long, blonde hair. "Hear that, you little green rat? I won't condemn the bitch. You will."
"Iffin' you say so, blondie." Dhrak grunted.
By now, the rest of the mounted mercenaries approached to watch the combat.
"The combat shall be until one party yields or flees." The Magistrios said. "Consult with your seconds. The combat shall take place in thirty minutes' time.."
Temperance dismounted from and dismissed Oath, walking over to Dhrak.
"Literally took the words out of my mouth." The tiefling said.
Dhrak grinned, shrugging his shoulders and holding his hands up. "It's 'cause we're heroes, Tem."
Karelda approached the two of them, looking none too pleased. Asaf and Scaelia were close behind.
"You should have let them take me." Karelda asserted with a swipe of her hand. "I can't ask you to do this for me."
"Reckon it's a good thing you don't gotta ask, then." Dhrak assured her.
"But…you don't even know me." Karelda exclaimed.
"True. And I don't need to." Dhrak said, giving her a smile. "This is Cayden's work. I'm just bein' his hands for the now."
Karelda blinked, tilting her head to one side.
"It's already decided, Karelda." Temperance said. "Don't worry. I've seen Dhrak fight. You're as good as free."
"Well…I…", the Varisian women drummed her fingers on the handle of her starknife. "Thank you. I owe you…"
"Nothing at all." Dhrak interrupted. "'Specially since I ain't won yet."
Karelda fell silent. She nodded before going back to join the rest of the militia.
"A trial by combat. I was not expecting one of these waking up this morning." Asaf said with a yawn.
"You may want to pull your collar up", Scaelia advised the aasimar.
Asaf blinked, then chuckled. There was a bite mark on his neck, half-visible. "It seems unlike you to be jealous, Miss Scaelia."
Scaelia started laughing. And then she kept laughing. The drow actually doubled over, her hands on her knees, one hand actually going out to Asaf's arm, both as a support and an apologetic pat. Eventually, Scaelia stood up, catching her breath, wiping her eyes.
"Oh, Dawnflower's mercy, now that was funny." Scaelia said, puffing in and out.
Asaf, now flushing, folded his arms. "Anyhow, the duel. That's an elven curve blade on his back."
"Yep. He's gonna have a reach advantage, sure as sure." Dhrak muttered. "Gonna be tough. Serytal's got a warrior's walk. But he's underestimatin' me. More's the pity for him." The goblin looked across the field to his opponent, who was boasting to the rest of his company. "Ain't the first time it's happened." He sighed. "I won't be yieldin', Tem. He'll have to kill me."
"Wait, what? Don't say things like that, Dhrak." Scaelia's good humor evaporated.
Tem, on the other hand, merely said, "understood."
"Horns?! No, don't support him. If you can't win, yield. There's no need to die today." Scaelia argued.
"You can't ask him to do that, Scaelia." Temperance said softly.
"And why not?!" The drow asked, outraged.
"You know why I became a Swordlord, Miss Scaelia?" Dhrak asked her.
Scaelia paused, not expecting the question. She shook her head. "You've never told me. I didn't wish to pry."
"Right, well", Dhrak said, "I grew up in the River Kingdoms. Lots of goblin tribes there, understand. When we aren't feudin' with each other, were foragin' and huntin', raidin' when that's not enough to get through a lean time." He shrugged. "I was just another goblin, right? I had dreams. Who doesn't, you know? I wanted more than all that, but my da, he always said, 'goblins ain't heroes, boy. We's just goblins.' Well, times were extra lean one year and I drew the short straw, so to say. Got booted out. I ended up in Brevoy, which was nearby, at a Caydenite orphanage, but I'd joined a street gang to survive."
His companions were all listening intently now.
Dhrak went on. "Left the orphanage and the city one night. My kin were a forest tribe, so I was a-wanderin' about, hopin' to find a good nest of grubs or somethin' to bring back. Still remembered a thing or two. Liked to go alone. Things were crowded, both in camp and at the orphanage. Good way to get eaten by a dire wolf. Or a normal wolf. But it is what it is." Another shrug. "Well, as I was goin', I heard a whole mess of a ruckus in the branches above me all a-sudden. Someone yellin', steel clashin', and I didn't have the foggiest idea what the Hells was goin' on. Then, I heard a last roar, then a crash to the ground close way aways."
Dhrak sniffed, scratching his head. "Found two bodies on the ground in the woods; a dead erinyes and a wounded azata. Brailani, she was, but her bow was broken and she was hurt something fierce. And she…she was the first beautiful thing I ever seen in all my life, and ain't nothin's ever gonna match her. Nothin.'"
Brailani, the wind azatas, were fierce warriors for good and freedom, capable with the blade, but experts with the bow. Temperance had read of them, but never seen them in person.
"If I finished her off, the haul I coulda gotten off all her gear woulda set us up for a while", Dhrak said. "But I couldn't. Couldn't dream of it. Couldn't let the anyone find her either or they'd kill her, sure as sure. So, I helped her hide in a cave. Snuck away over the next few days, bringin' her food 'n' water…bandages, too. She never said a word. I didn't speak much Common then, anyway.
"I cannot imagine your old tribe would have been pleased with you concealing such a fortune." Asaf guessed.
"No. They woulda killed me right along with her." Dhrak confirmed. "A week later, she was well enough to fly off, but before this brailani left, she gave me my reward." His eyes became distant. "...a song."
"A…song. What was it about?" Scaelia asked.
"About what I could be." Was all Dhrak would reveal. "Then she was gone. Still don't know her name. But some nights, when I'm half between waking and sleep, I can hear it on the wind. That song. Her song to me." Dhrak put a fist against his chest. "It made me hurt in here. Most lovely ache I ever felt. That's when I decided I'd do something. Everyday I went and watched the Swordlords practice. I trained myself anyway I could, and when I was old enough, I started the trials." With a deep breath, he came to his conclusion, "I became a Swordlord, Miss Scaelia, because I'm gonna show the world that not just goblins, but anyone can be a hero. If Cayden wills it, I'll be a hero worthy of a few more songs, and no bloody hero I know would yield when someone else's life is on the line."
Scaelia frowned, but she nodded her head. "That is…quite a tale, Dhrak. You've become a dear companion to me, my first real friend on the surface. But, I would be a bad friend if I tried to keep you from what your heart called you to do. So, far be it from me to stop you, Dhrak. Just…well, be careful. The surface would lose some of its brightness without you."
"You're kind to say so, Miss Scaelia." Dhrak said to her. "Thank you."
They allowed the time to pass now. Temperance didn't need to offer advice to Dhrak. The goblin was probably more experienced with duels than Tem was. That wasn't the only function of a second, though. The rest came after the allotted time had passed and the Magistrios went onto the field between the two sides.
"Combatants and seconds will approach." He said.
The four in question did so. Serytal's arrogance had only grown over the past half hour. He looked down his nose at Dhrak with a sneer.
"The seconds will inspect the weapons to be used. There will be no poison, no substances that alter the state of mind or body. Each combatant will be allowed a two melee weapons and no more, and only if they are both held in each hand. No weapons will be stored on the persons of the combatants." The Magistrios rattled off.
Serytal drew his elven curve blade and held it out to Tem. The tiefling accepted the weapon, inspecting it. It was a finely wrought weapon made of silvered steel, six feet in length. The hilt, which was apparently crafted from several pieces of fire opal, was a full quarter of the weapon's length, which was unusual. Tem inspected it closely, running checking for residues or hidden compartments in the hilt. There were none to be found. The curve blade was clearly enchanted, but it was within the rules.
Temperance handed the curve blade back to Serytal and nodded to the official. Lierian did the same with Dhrak's sword.
"The seconds will step back." The Magistrios said.
Tem leaned down to give Dhrak an encouraging bump on the shoulder. "Mess this jester up, Dhrak."
"I plan on it." The goblin murmured with a toothy grin.
Dhrak and Serytal faced each other, blades still sheathed. Wind rustled the grass around them. The sky was grey and sullen.
"The contest will continue until one combatant yields, loses consciousness, or is slain. To strike a blow after the contest is decided, or to have someone outside intervene in any way, is to forfeit the decision and face punishment as per Queen Sorshen's law." The Magistrios paused to yawn, then continued, "if either party has thought better of the combat, speak now."
"None to speak, sir." Dhrak said. He bowed to his foe.
"I concur." Serytal said. He did not bow.
"Then, in sight of Our Redeemed Goddess, Nocticula, and as witnessed by these seconds, and as judged by a representative of Her Majesty Queen Sorshen's government, I declare this trial by combat to be justly arrayed and legitimate." The Magistrios said, waving a hand. "Begin."
The duelists did not move at once. They stared each other down for several seconds. The wind remained the only sound.
Serytal drew steel first, albeit slowly. Dhrak followed suit. The elf moved into a low guard, his left foot slightly forward. Dhrak turned sideways, his hilt in both hands, sword's blunt side resting in the crook of his left elbow, pointed at Serytal.
"I've been dueling for longer than you've been alive, green rat." Serytal sneered.
"Really? Gonna make it awful embarrassin' when you lose, then." Dhrak goaded.
Serytal huffed laugh, but it was a sharp, humorless sound. He started circling Dhrak. "The Swordlords must truly be desperate to let the likes of you into their ranks."
"Aye. Desperate to avoid recruitin' blowhards like you." Dhrak said. He did not move his feet or even his head to follow Serytal. "We gonna fight or you gonna try to talk me to dea-?"
Serytal lunged at Dhrak's back. Spectators on both sides gasped. The goblin didn't move his feet and barely turned his head, yet a flick of his sword and the curve blade was deflected. Serytal struck out at Dhrak several more times, his attacks likely seeming undisciplined and wild to the untrained, but Tem knew better. Serytal was in perfect control of his body, every attack flowing into the next with the grace of a river rapid; dangerous and ever onward.
Dhrak's defense was the signature technique of the primary Aldori style, which bore the same name as the House. The defensive side of the Aldori Style was known as the Curtain of Steel. It focused on maximizing coverage and defense with minimal movement of the body, subtle twists and flicks of the sword, precise movements of elbows, shoulders, and hips. The result was a rapid series of metallic clangs and rings as Dhrak's sure defense thwarted Serytal. The elf may have been a river rapid, but the goblin was a great boulder in the river's path. The river would eventually wear the boulder down, but could it do so before running dry?
Serytal stepped back, spinning his sword in one hand. Dhrak had rotated, but he hadn't moved from the spot where he had begun, nor had he made a single counter stroke with his own blade. The elf smirked, but there was a new edge to his arrogance. Not fear, insomuch, but a certain anxiety. His expectation of a quick, easy victory had been stymied.
Dhrak's sword returned to resting in the crook of his elbow. Aside from breathing a bit more quickly, the goblin showed no sign of consternation. He was in the element any Swordlord belonged in.
"You have some passing skill, then." Serytal granted his foe.
At this, Dhrak gave no answer. He was fully focused on the duel.
"Not a single riposte, though. Could it be you're afraid? I would be, if I were you." The elf continued to prod.
Dhrak, still, remained silent and unmoving.
Serytal laughed spitefully, finding his attitude again. "Very well. Since you seem to have no need for your voice, I'll obligingly cut your throat!" He lunged at Dhrak.
Dhrak parried, then sidestepped. His dueling sword flashed as he struck back, a trio of chained slashes aimed for his enemy's legs. Serytal actually made a noise of shock as he went on the defensive, but the elf held his composure and transitioned from attack to protection easily. The two duelists traded back and forth, Serytal cutting from Dhrak's head, the goblin ducking, spinning, slashing for Serytal's belly, coming up to a full stand to raise his dueling sword and block another downward chop that would have split his skull. Raising his right hand to the back of his sword as he blocked and angling it, the curve blade slid down the dueling sword. Dhrak pulled his weapon away, letting Serytal stumble and moving in with an attack to take advantage.
But the elf had not lost his balance. It was a feint. Two swords struck, and Dhrak went fell back, blood running from his forehead and down his nose.
"Hah! First blood." Serytal barked his laughter. "Come, vermin. Yield and keep your life."
Dhrak actually smiled. "First blood, is it?" He showed the end of his dueling sword. It was stained red.
The elf blinked, then looked down. The keen edge of Dhrak's enchanted sword had cleaved through the Serytal's scale armor. Blood was running down the scales at Serytal's left hip.
The elf snarled. He was clearly used to winning these without getting hit.
"As my master liked say", Dhrak spoke up as he wiped blood from his face, "'a fool faces the sword and forgets its edge.'"
Serytal grit his teeth, regaining himself. He switched his stance, moving from a low guard to a high one, his curve blade held up above his head. Dhrak shifted as well, his dueling sword's hilt coming up to his cheek. This time, Dhrak circled first, Serytal doing the same. They measured each other for several moments. Then Serytal shifted to a side-on stance, his hand placement mirroring Dhrak's, more or less. Dhrak kept his dueling sword at about eye level, but rotated his hands, moving the sword from pointing straight up to parallel with the ground, pointing it at his opponent.
Serytal moved first, but Dhrak was ready for him and moved to meet the elf. The elven curve blade fell like one of the Final Blades of Galt. A simple turn of his sword kept the curve blade from Dhrak's head. Dhrak took a risky step in, a scant inch or two away from Serytal's knee. The goblin used his left arm to hook behind the elf's right leg. Dhrak then turned his body and tumbled like an acrobat, using every bit of his smaller body to throw Serytal onto his face. The elf squawked in pain and outrage as he hit the ground and jarred his wound. Dhrak rolled with his tumble, getting to his feet as Serytal made it up to one knee.
Slamming into his opponent, Dhrak put Serytal on his back now. The elf didn't get a chance to rise as Dhrak landed hard on Serytal's chest and put a foot on the elf's sword hand.
"Yield or die." Dhrak said sharply, his dueling sword at Serytal's throat, grinding his foot near the elf's wounded flank.
The elf's eye bugged with rage and with agony. Tem thought it was over at this point.
Dhrak's offer of a yield was what saved Serytal. It made the goblin hesitate ever so slightly to the elf's movement. Serytal brought a knee up into the back of Dhrak's head, which stunned Dhrak enough to allow Serytal to shove Dhrak off. Both of them focused on standing up and resetting themselves, but Dhrak was on the warpath now and didn't give Serytal a chance to regain himself. The Aldori dueling sword whirled and thrust and cut, less flowing that Serytal's offensive, but no less elegant. It was a series of quick motions going along to a rhythm only Dhrak could hear. Thrust. Parry. Sidestep. Slash. Feint. Thrust.
Serytal was starting to find Dhrak's rhythm, his counterstrokes becoming more and more frequent, but the elf was paying now for his fierce opening offensives, his limbs moving with a fraction less speed. Dhrak's Curtain of Steel had been a wise long term investment.
Then, Dhrak suddenly changed his rhythm. The "musical" timing technique was known as the Aldanna Step, and it was concluded by the appropriately titled Aldanna Ruse. Dhrak's ruse was a feint into an instant's extra hesitation. Serytal fell for it, moving to block where this feint would have led had Dhrak still been following the Aldanna Step. Then Dhrak pounced for this split second of an opening before Serytal could recover the deception.
Dhrak's dueling sword slashed Serytal's right thigh down to the bone. The elf roared in pain, blindly hacking down at Dhrak, but the goblin dodged this clumsy attack and his sword flashed upward.
Serytal's right hand, and his sword, fell to the grass.
The elf fell, clutching the stump of his right arm, screaming in pain. Dhrak let the elf fall to his knees before raising his reddened sword to Serytal's throat.
"Yield or die." Dhrak said again.
"I…I y-yield! I yield!" Serytal croaked, curling in on himself, uttering a stream of curses in Elven.
Cheers from the Varisians. Scowls and shouts of dismay from Jubal's people.
"The yield is noted. The case is decided in favor of the accused." The Magistrios said, still appearing bored. "Do you acknowledge this, Patrikios?"
Jubal was shaking with rage.
"Patrikios. You have lost this case, as set down by Her Majesty Queen Sorshen. You will acknowledge this, and you will not accost the accused, nor her kin, nor her champion, if you wish to keep your title." The Magistrios warned
"I…acknowledge." Jubal seethed.
Dhrak lowered his sword, bowing, then turning his back on Serytal. "Miss Scaelia! Would you mind givin' the fella some healing? Can still save the hand if we-..."
"Dhrak! Behind!" Tem cried as he looked past Dhrak. He had been approaching to congratulate Dhrak when he saw Serytal snatch up his sword in his left hand, rise up to his feet, and make a mad lunge for Dhrak. People on both sides gasped and cried out. Tem was running but he was much too far.
CLANG
The curve blade was deflected. Dhrak whipped the dueling sword around and it passed again, drawing a deep, red line across Serytal's throat. The elf's forward momentum carried him to the ground, where he twitched and coughed as his lifeblood drained into the grass.
"The Curtain of Steel never drops, Sir Tem." Dhrak assured the tiefling, flicking the blood from his sword and sheathing it. He wiped blood from his forehead. "Sweet barleybrew…Lord Magister, sir, requestin' that you don't punish the Patrikios over this. Ain't his fault this fella was a bad loser. I'll take care o' buryin' the body and committin' him to Pharasma."
The Magistrios shrugged one shoulder in acknowledgement.
Tem reached Dhrak, the tiefling ready for a violent response from Serytal's riders. They did not come forward. Silently, though he was purple with fury, Patrikios Jubal turned his horse and began riding away. After only a moment, his mercenaries followed, though not without a final, hateful glare by Lierian.
"Damn well fought, Dhrak." Tem praised the goblin, relief flooding through him.
The other Varisians were approaching, led by Scaelia and Karelda, and they had a chant going. Dhrak! Dhrak! Dhrak!
For his part, Dhrak was smiling from ear to ear in spite of his gashed forehead.
"'Goblins ain't heroes, boy. We's just goblins.'" Dhrak muttered to himself and snorted, shaking his head. "Dunno how wrong you were, old man."
The celebration was back in full force later that night, except Dhrak was the star rather than Tem, which suited the tiefling just fine. Dhrak deserved recognition for his heroism and, frankly, impeccable swordplay. Not for nothing did House Aldori claim the title "Swordlords."
Tem was keeping watch on the edge of the camp, seated on the driver's bench of one of the wagons making up the perimeter. He was writing in his journal, telling Violetta about the duel. It had quickly become his favorite part of every day. Well, other than reading Violetta's replies.
The morning's duel notwithstanding, Tem had not been able to stop thinking about Violetta since his conversation with Charani the night before. How foolish he felt, not realizing all this time that the dhampir held feelings for him. She had long been a friend, someone he thought highly of, and even loved, if in the platonic fashion alongside Dergir and Arashi. The idea of romantic feelings had never even entered Tem's mind. He was a tiefling, for one, and that was an obstacle many did not get over. Additionally, Violetta was nobility, heiress to Noviste. Surely her parents would have a suitable partner arranged for her.
Yet, the idea had taken root, and now Temperance could not shake it. Violetta was a wonderful person. She was strong, considerate, and kind. And, truthfully, she was quite lovely, Tem had to admit. Was it worth it to risk such a strong friendship with romance?
"Five-Winged Knight, forgive me for saying it, but I think love might be a battlefield you can't help me on." Temperance sighed, his Far Pen stopping where it was.
"All well out here?" The voice of Asaf filtered up.
Tem looked back to see Asaf threading his way through the wagons, carrying a drinking horn and a flagon. He offered the horn to Tem, who accepted it. More kvas. They must have gotten a good deal on it in Irrisen. No complaints from Temperance.
"Appears to be." Tem said, taking a drink. "Where's your Nytski friend?"
"Ah, I believe Andre was using me to make someone else in his clan jealous." Asaf merely laughed and shrugged. "More's the pity for him. It was an enjoyable night."
Tem chuckled. "Long as you were cuckolding anyone."
"Me? Never." Asaf assured him dramatically.
They were silent for a few moments.
"You know, I used to wonder why the nomadic Varisians still wandered." Asaf mused, looking into his flagon. "It made little sense to me. There seemed to be so much more in a settled life, especially in the cities. I enjoy traveling, certainly, but to have a home that travels? That is something else."
"But?" Tem prompted.
"But…I think I am beginning to see it now." Asaf said. "To base your life upon what Desna has in store for you. To never he certain who you shall come to meet around the next bend, over the next bridge. To have the world open before you, with all the trials and triumphs it might hold." The aasimar nodded. "Yes. I think I understand."
"It's not a life for everyone. But it is a good life." Temperance agreed with him.
"Will you ever return to them?" Asaf asked. "For good, I mean. When your fighting days are done."
Temperance blinked. The question overlapped with another part of his uncertainty in regards to Violetta. He did not expect his fighting days to end. Rather, Tem anticipated his fighting days would be the end of him, eventually. At some point, he'd meet a foe that he could not overcome, no matter his determination. Could he inflict that on Violetta? Could he risk a bond that might make him second guess his duty?
You've met a lot of old warriors who never encountered an enemy that put them down for good. Tem reminded himself. There were old Crusaders who had been in the Wound for decades that saw the conflict through to the end. Gods, there really was no sure answer, was there?
"I'm not sure." Tem finally said. "I suppose so. Maybe. Haven't really considered what would happen when I can't swing Forbearance around anymore."
"It depends upon Lady Violetta as well, doesn't it?" Asaf asked, an evil smile forming on his face.
Tem blushed and took a drink of kvas to give himself a moment. He followed it with, "you're not helping, you know."
"I wasn't trying to." Asaf said with a laugh. He waved it all off. "Forgive me, I cannot resist. You make it too easy. But, it also seems you've made up your mind about her. At least, how you feel about her."
After a moment, Tem nodded. "Aye. I have. And next comes what I want to do about it. She's planning on going home soon. To Noviste. I was hoping that, maybe, after Vyklavik…"
"Say no more, Sir Temperance." Asaf assured him with a knowing grin. "We have kept near the coast for some time now. Going inland would be a fine change of pace. Besides, there is a certain Countess in Ustalav I would not mind seeing again…"
"Gods. Not Countess Irinushka, I hope." Tem scoffed.
"Not that I'm aware of." Asaf replied. "Though I do admit that a few of my evenings there were rather hazy from a fair amount of wine. It was just about the only way I could stand remaining in Ustalav."
The two laughed, followed by another brief silence.
"Think Jubal will be a problem for the clans?" Tem asked.
"Hm. I do not believe he will, at least in the short term. That he went through the trouble of bringing a magistrate out here and listened to said magistrate even when proceedings went against him tells me Jubal has some respect for Queen Sorshen's law." Asaf mused, leaning against the side of a wagon. "Plus, as you saw, he was quite angry at his son once the implication of the young Lord Verros's inappropriate behavior came to light. The proceedings after that were a matter of saving face for him, I think."
"Guess so." Tem said. He looked out towards the ridge where the horsemen had been earlier. No silhouettes against the stars. "And Verros?"
"I can see him attempting to secretly hire someone to come after the clan, but I'm not so sure he'd be able to access the appropriate funds or do so without his father's knowledge. I suspect Jubal will be keeping a close eye on his son now." Asaf rubbed his chin. "No, if there is going to be any retribution at all, I shall be placing my money on Lierian. There was something personal in his fury that I saw. Though, his ire would be at Dhrak more so than Karelda. There are equal odds that nothing more shall come of all this business. We can only keep our eyes open and do our best to be prepared."
"Aye." Tem agreed. Asaf's analysis sounded reasonable to him. He hoped nothing more would come of it. Enough blood had been shed already over this foolishness. "We've done a lot already since leaving Absalom."
"Hah, and you come to understand the life of a Pathfinder, Sir Temperance." Asaf chortled. "There is a reason many do not last in this life. It is a demanding profession. I would say you've made for a pretty good Pathfinder so far."
"You think so?" Tem asked. He didn't really care on that subject but was curious.
"Well, lacking in style and theatricality, I think, but you have the basic ideas down quite nicely." Asaf said with a wink and a raised mug. "Have no fear, Sir Temperance. I shall teach you the rest as we go."
"I'm sure you'll try", Tem smirked, lifting his horn of kvas to Asaf.
They both drank deeply.
"Well, I shall go see if anyone else wishes to share their wagon on this fine evening." Asaf decided. "Goodnight, Sir Temperance, and good luck with that journal of yours."
"G'night, Halo." Tem said as the aasimar departed.
The aasimar turned and walked back into the camp, waving a hand lazily. Tem watched him go, then returned his eyes to the journal. Asaf still didn't make a whole lot of sense to Tem, but he didn't have to. The aasimar had proven his trustworthiness, courage, and integrity by now. Tem was grateful to Ragathiel and Desna both to have been assigned to a worthy comrade.
His pen returned to the paper and he started writing once more, his thoughts returning to Violetta once again.
31st Erastus, 4721 AR
Wayfarer's Field, New Thassilon
Temperance stood at the edge of the tripartite camp, his three companions, along with Oath and Khamsa, with him. The camp would not be tripartite for long, as the Nytski clan was beginning to pack up, and would be leaving the next morning. Above them, the orange morning sky was blotchy with clouds. It would be a warm, humid day, but they were far enough north to avoid the worst heat.
Charani was there, as were a few other members of the Tasgal clan, including Talespinner. The four adventurers, especially Tem and Dhrak, had been showered with gifts. It had mostly been things like preserved food and a flask or two of spirits. They had each also been given dull cloaks of with simple waterproofing enchantments on them. Dhrak had received a new wide-brimmed hat with the feathers stuck in it that were Tasgal orange and blue. He'd received an heirloom of Karelda's family, too; a ring of protection that would make him harder to harm. The goblin could not have looked happier.
While his companions prepared the horses, Tem stood with his mother. Charani held his left hand in both of her, her eyes getting misty, but a smile was on her face.
"I'm so proud of you, Tem." She said once again, giving his hand a squeeze. "You've done great things, and I know you'll go on to do even more."
"Helping people's all I care to do." Tem said, grinning back at her. "Ragathiel willing, I'll get to do just that."
"And Desna willing, we'll see you again soon." Charani said. With reluctance, she released Tem's hand.
"Where will you go from here?" Tem asked.
"Wherever Desna bids." Charani gave the age old answer, but added, "I think we'll be going east. The River Kingdoms, I think. We spent more time than usual in Varisia this time around. I think Elder…he…", she chose her words carefully, "...wants to see as much of the world as he can with the time he has left."
Tem understood. Life on the road was not easy. Sandru the Elder was already older than most Varisians got. He wondered who would take his place. Talespinner and Charani were probably the leading contenders, most likely.
"We'll keep and eye out. And I'll try to get some letters to you." Temperance promised.
Charani inclined her head. "Good luck, son. I love you. Walk in Desna's sight."
Tem embraced his mother, hearing her sniffle. He felt a tear roll down his own cheek as he said, "I love you, too, mom. May Ragathiel shield you."
They released each other. Temperance approached Oath, hopping into the saddle, then hauling Dhrak up behind him. Asaf and Scaelia mounted Khamsa. The four adventurers waved to the Varisians, who waved back, giving farewells and Desnan blessings.
"Off we go, then." Temperance said, as he tapped Oath's sides. "Onward to Vylkavik."
(Author's Note: I'm going to be doing a bit of a palate cleanser, as I've been working on this story pretty much every day for the past couple of months, but it will be returning before too long. Thank you to everyone who has followed along so far.)