As it turned out, Lidia barely got a chance to eat at all for a while. About two dozen of the villagers - the gossips, the blessing-seekers, and the grievance-airers, among others - came by in ones and twos to take small pieces of her attention. She was completely unused to this, but she doled out her time generously and her words carefully.
Dealing with those seeking blessings was the hardest. She felt compelled to tell them the truth, not wanting their hopes to be based on falsehood. She hated seeing the looks on their faces, though. All she could do was promise she would do everything possible to ensure no one else went missing.
Finally, after an hour or two, she quickly finished her lunch; by now it was cold, but still the best she'd had in many tendays. The rest of the crowd, about a hundred or so, had been long finished, and were now lingering here inside the lodge.
The tables and chairs in the center of the room were pushed aside. Aerie, Yoshimo, and Minsc had taken different corners, and were now putting on something of an impromptu show. Yoshimo had managed to wheedle five oranges from Eina and was juggling them, though he didn't really catch the villagers' attention until a couple of his knives joined the oranges in the air. Minsc was dancing on a table and half-singing, half-bellowing any request that was accompanied by a cup of ale placed on the table. Aerie, however, was drawing the largest crowd: she'd pulled out every trick she'd used in the circus. Sprays of color erupted upwards from her hands, swarms of lights danced like will-o'-the-wisps around the room, and, for the final trick, a massive rainbow-hued stream of color wound its way around the room and through the crowd.
Lidia got up from her seat, taking her orange into her hand. She kept a close eye on the crowd as she watched Aerie. Though they seemed to regard the elf with a mixture of wonder and amazement, she knew how quickly a mass of people could turn on something they didn't understand…
After some time, she finally noticed that Anomen was sitting nearby in a corner, talking to a young lady, about twenty or so, who seemed to be a younger version of Eina in looks and mannerisms. The girl was fair-haired, and well-fed, and seemingly bored out of her mind.
He was plowing ahead with the conversation anyway. "This particular trouble should be as nothing for this company."
"Uh-huh," the girl replied, taking another mouthful of the drink in her hand.
"'Tis truly an adventure for the weak-willed. I've fought campaigns against the Hillgnasher giants, and slew twenty of the foul beasts."
That, Lidia seriously doubted. Hill giants were considerably larger than the ettin that threw him to the ground, for a start. Anomen could handle himself in a fight, but he wasn't that good.
Time to rescue this poor girl, then. She approached the table, exchanging a few pleasantries with both of them. Almost immediately, the girl rose from her chair, perhaps in response to some sharp command from her mother that she could hear across the room.
Lidia slid into the girl's spot. She asked Anomen, "Enjoying yourself so far?"
"This place is far from the glories of Athkatla," he said, "but 'tis comfortable enough in its own way."
She gave him a slight grin. "Well, I believe I interrupted you during a tale. How did you kill twenty Hillgnasher giants?"
"Ah...well, you see…"
She raised an eyebrow.
"...I speak too much of my own deeds," he quickly said. "One would think me preoccupied with pride. I would not blame you if you were not interested in hearing tales of my prowess, truly."
An awkward silence passed between them for a moment, and he broke it first. "But what of yours? We have traveled together for a short while, and we know next to nothing of each other."
In her mind, she rapidly sorted through what she could safely share - or what she could share while trusting herself to hold together. Some of those stories had too many ghosts.
Finally, she said, "Honestly, there's not much to tell. I did some investigations for the Flaming Fist over the past year, but I never wore the uniform or went to the parties."
"Truly? The rumors of your time in the Sword Coast would suggest something much greater in scope," he said, tilting his head slightly.
"It's nothing you haven't heard before, I'm sure," she said. "You already know the most important piece, anyway; it was how I discovered my heritage."
Her mind drifted for a moment, and her vision began to blur around the edges. She shut her eyes tightly. "I...I don't think I can speak of it further."
"As you wish," he said. "Perhaps some other time, then."
As they'd talked, she'd worried the orange peel with her fingertips; she'd observed others doing something similar. Now, finally, she'd broken past the sharp-scented, oily peel and found something white underneath.
She held up the exposed part of the orange, scratched it with her finger, and sniffed it. Underneath the peel, the fruit seemed to be bitter and leathery.
"Have you had one of these?" she asked him. "How do you know if it's good?"
"You remove the entire peel first," he said.
She kept working at the orange, slowly and carefully, and changed the subject.
"So, all this talk of Imnesvale being cursed," she said. "Think there's anything to it?"
He glanced about him, then lowered his voice as he replied. "I feel little in the way of an actual curse," he said. "There is a...sickness, somewhere, that I cannot place. But the village itself is not at its heart."
"So something's outside, pounding at the door," she said, half to herself.
The peel now lay next to the orange on the table, and the white-coated fruit fell apart in front of her, as though it were opening itself up. She pulled at one of the sections and popped it in her mouth. Immediately, she liked how it tasted - sweet, watery, and bright, almost as though a small piece of sunshine had clothed itself and descended from the sky.
Suddenly, the room fell silent. Two brown-robed druids appeared in the entryway; one wearing the oak leaf of Silvanus, the other the rose of Chauntea. The druid of Silvanus was a tall, bronze-skinned and dark-haired half-elf, about sixty years old or so, who regarded everything about her with a severe look; the other was a small, heavily freckled, mousy-looking young woman with ash-brown hair - a girl, really, likely no older than Lidia herself.
All the villagers of Imnesvale were now glaring at them.
The half-elf strode forward, seemingly disregarding the hostile stares, and took the center of the room. The other druid trailed behind, not daring to look up.
Lidia nearly rose from her chair, ready to run forward; she expected someone to raise a shout or throw a punch any minute.
But nothing happened, save icy stillness and silence.
The older druid spoke first. "I come bearing a message from the Baron," she said, her voice deep and imperious. "The state of the land must take the first priority in Imnesvale. Therefore, the Baron will return the next tenday to resolve this matter of his hunting grounds. He will meet peace with peace, violence with violence, death with death. We will call upon mediators to make all voices heard. I know that you wish to keep your homes and your lives, especially with this new shadow looming over Imnesvale. I trust that you will act in good faith."
No one moved or spoke, but the venom in their eyes told all their thoughts.
The other druid stepped aside. "Lette, will you speak a blessing on this Greengrass?"
Then the other druid came forward, glancing among the crowd, searching, perhaps, for a friendly face. And, in fact, Lidia noticed that the mood in the room did seem to thaw slightly in her presence.
She raised her holy symbol. Her voice was uncertain at first, but as she recited the prayer, it grew stronger:
"Bless, O Mother true and bountiful,
Young and old, men, women, and children,
All within dwelling and possession,
Cattle and crops, flocks and corn,
With goodly progress, and gentle blessing,
From sea to sea, and every river mouth,
From wave to wave, and base of waterfall.
What time the cattle shall forsake the stalls,
What time the sheep shall forsake the folds
What time the goats shall ascend to the mount of mist,
May the Mother's tending follow them."
Then without a further word, the druids left.
Lidia turned to the other side of her chair, towards one of the few farmers that had attended, a thirtysomething man with a shiny, deeply furrowed face burnt by the sun. He had put up his feet in a nearby chair and was thoughtfully smoking a pipe. He'd approached her earlier: he hadn't asked for any boon or demanded her ear, but simply introduced himself as Brunson.
She asked him, "Those druids. Do you know them?"
He emptied his cup and set it on the table. "Don't know much of Lanka, besides that she's from foreign parts," he replied, saying the last three words in a low voice, "but Lette's a good kid, Kedward's youngest. She's kept her nose clean and missed all the trouble, even when her pa got mired in it."
"Trouble?" Lidia asked.
"Aye," he said. His voice lowered again. "I didn't see nothin' first hand. But if you want the whole story, ask around. You're from the Order, aye?"
"They sent me, yes," she said.
He leaned forward, the smell of ale on his breath becoming more evident, and he said, "Then maybe you'll be a voice of reason. Go into this knowing all the sides, and make up your mind then."
He got up to talk to someone else. Lidia considered what the man had said, then turned her mind towards who, perhaps she could ask, trying to sift the right names and faces from the deluge she'd been subjected to.