Skip to content

A Fated Encounter

A Cleric's Charge

Summer was coming to a close in the only city I'd ever known, and I didn't know very much at that point. Fareflynn's routine was pretty settled and I was always along for the ride. We visited the moonlit shrine in her pre-dawn prayers. She ate with the other disciples in the temple's dining hall, and then either spent the morning in meditation or taking a shift at the infirmary so she could practice healing. Fareflynn's year or so training as an acolyte of Lunara granted her the ability to heal scrapes and bruises, but she was outpaced by peers who were healing bones and other systemic maladies. There were often mishaps when she tried more advanced magics herself. No one wants a broken femur healed at an odd angle. No one wants the cure to their flu to come with a side effect of vomiting.

Where Fareflynn excelled was in her physical training. She was a natural in moving quickly in heavy armor, and could swing a hefty mace with ease. The elders had taken notice of her dedication and skill, and she often sent on errands. This eager devotee served much better, they thought, as a shining symbol of the goddess's grace, in silvers and blues, than a liability to the sick. In a land where there was direct consensus of not only the existence of deities, but a whole patheon in competition for followers, robes and pageantry were an important public-relations tool for the temple of the moon and her justice.

Fareflynn took me just about everywhere she went, but it was a lonesome existence just her and I1. We traveled on short humanitarian visits to folks around the city and surrounding countryside.

The late afternoon shadows crept in as we walked through the city, the sun shone beautifully on the two spiring towers that flanked a regal City Hall off in the far distance to the southeast. The temple grounds were at the north edge of Glintport along the coast, positioned to catch the last light of the moon as it set over the western sea. Putting the temple anywhere else and you'd be waking at an even more painful hour for morning prayers. Our route into the sprawling city was a well-worn path down a central boulevard. The markets had closed for the day and the noise reached a lull before the nightlife began. The cobblestones were still radiating the heat of the day. Children weren't yet called in for dinner, but, further south, the taverns were starting to fill.

We passed a small alleyway. Fareflynn stopped to observe a small figure emerging from a dumpster. His stout build was far too hairy to be a child, but far too small to be an adult. His clothes were torn and matted. He threw a large bone club to the ground as he straddled over the edge of the dumpster, clumsily jumping down to the ground. The medallion around his neck clattered against his chest as he jumped. It might have glinted in the light if the little one weren't so caked in dirt. Fareflynn swayed to continue walking, but she stopped as the creature approached.

"Um, hi, can you help me find my Lady, I don't know where she is." leaked out of him as if he hadn't planned to say anything. He tumbled over his words like a drunkard who suddenly forgot the shape of his own mouth, but his body was firm, hands behind his back and eyes fixed on the cobblestone as if in shame.

"Oh, hello little one. Certainly, what's her name?"

"Lady, she's Lady." He looked up to Fareflynn, some two-plus-feet taller than he. His gait and stance were timid and child-like, but, despite the grime, his eyes sparked with hope. No one with a heart as compassionate as Fareflynn's could say no to those eyes.

"Okay, Lady. Lady what? Many people called Lady also have a family name, noble ladies like Lady Belabrante or--" Seeing a look of confusion on the small one's face, she stopped herself. "Maybe you can just tell me what she looks like and we can look together."

"Like you" he blurted out, confidently pointing up to Fareflynn, before a moment of doubt and slow lowering of his hand, "... but not you" He started to look down again, as if in confusion. Fareflynn wore the traditional blue vestments of her station, with a silver crescent moon hanging from her neck. Her pale hair was pulled back into a tight bun. Surely, if the little one was a ward of one of her temple's sisters, she would have known. "No, you're too shiny," the words tumbled again in contemplation.

Fareflynn leaned down slightly to meet his eyeline, "Anything else...?"

"Oh, she's really pretty, and super nice, and she loves me a lot ... She has knees and feet and--" He trailed off, but so too did Fareflynn's attention.

She was caught between her heart and her duty. This little one, clearly wasn't very bright and was certainly in need of aid. Maybe not a child? There were others of his stature who tended farms on the outskirts of the city, perhaps he was lost from one of them? But, she was also on assignment from the temple to meet with someone from the wizarding college on a non-descript call for help. "Blessed be the moonlight that grants us these gifts," she whispered to herself while the little one rambled on about the shapes of knees.

"How about you just stick with me and we look together? I'm Fareflynn, what's your name?"

"Hi Fairy-glyn, I'm Kit!"

"Actually, it's--" she stopped herself. "I'm headed into the tavern to meet someone, do you want to come?" The boy nodded and watched carefully as Fareflynn turned. A few short minutes later, they arrived at a building whose lit interior cast shadows of patrons onto paper-lined windows. Kit followed a half step behind and off to the left. Fareflynn turned back to peek at the new shadow on her heels now and then. She let out a sigh of pity for the lost one before a sharp inhale of purpose moving into the tavern.

Common Purpose

The creek of the wooden door was drowned out by several small conversations inside. Barstools surrounded a burly man pouring drinks off to the right. He gave a forced smile. The interior was quite large compared to other taverns in the area, with much of the central floor space being taken up by a 15-foot round stage in the center of the room. Or, at least, it looked like a stage. It was a boarded up pit that stretched down into who-knows-where. A cool breeze sprang from the slots between the boards, and some form of piping connected the abyss back to the kitchen behind the bar. The patchwork planks told a story of repeated damage and repair over the years.

Fareflynn scanned the room, spotting a jovial group playing cards, a towering 12-foot tall green-hued creature slumped asleep in a booth, a hushed argument, and then a crop of red curls over angular cheekbones.

"Hi, I'm Fareflynn. Are you --"

"Seamus," the curls shook with a nod, revealing pointed ear tips, "Seamus O'Connell." He had a fair complexion and ruddy features. His folded hands extended out in greeting before landing back on his half-filled pint. Seamus was well-dressed in clothes that didn't look original to himself. His faded orange cloak showed signs of wear from another body, with expertly-sewn patches both above and below where his own elbow fell. His undershirt and pants were understated, but formal, to fit in with high society on a budget. A book peeked out from under his coat, in a holster under his arm2. He looked to be a wizarding college student, perhaps in his mid-twenties, but his cheek bones indicated a life-span much longer than the average human.

Seamus gave a nod to the stool beside him and turned to get the bartender's attention. Fareflynn hesitated before taking the seat, "High Priestess tells me you have a job for me." Seamus was accustomed to meetings having a social component where the parties engaged in light status jousting. Fareflynn had much more experience attending to direct humanitarian needs.

Seamus turned his gaze back to Fareflynn and then quickly to a table across the room, "Oh, not me, he's the one with the job," pointing to the pair arguing at a far table. "That is professor Yetix," with a wrist flick to the left indicating the short-statured fellow in the pointed hat standing on a stool. "He was hired by some noble forest-folk to make a map," flicking his wrist back to the right, toward the much taller stoic figure.

As naive as she was at the time, this was not the first time Fareflynn had been given the run-around by a stranger who thought he knew better. "I'm sorry, you called for aid from the temple for a job, the details of which you don't understand?"

The two gestured at the map. The professor gave occasional glances around the room for spying eyes, as more a gesture of paranoia than actual concern. He remained entirely ignorant of Seamus. "I ıunderstand Yetix isn't as quiet as he thinks he is when he's talking to himself at the college, and I ıunderstand that if you're an outsider who needs a map, you have coin enough to bring a guide, like a holy man--" looking to Fareflynn "woman, holy woman with you in case you get in over your head. We just have to convince mister stoneface over there that we're the ones for the job," gesturing to the towering figure across from Yetix who was gesturing at something beyond the splayed map, off the table.

A voice from under Seamus's table briefly startled the red-haired mage, "How can you have a stone for a face?" Kit looked up at Seamus puzzled.

"Oh, ahoy little one, didn't see you there," Seamus's eyes narrowed with a tense smile. Like Fareflynn before, and many thereafter, he was taken back by the child-like voice coming from a creature seemingly older, with sparse, but even, facial hair.

"I guess if you're a statue, your face can be stone," Kit continued.

"... right you are. I just mean that that man over there is very serious," Seamus gave a point, leaning down to see from Kit's eye-line. Kit squinted and tilted his head to the side to align the fingertip with the stern figure who was not, in fact, made of stone.

"We're looking for this guy's home," Fareflynn added3.

Kit looked up toward Seamus hopefully, "Kinda. Well, actually I'm looking for my Lady, do you know her? I'm Kit"

Seamus broke eye contact and gave a smirk at a fondness for ladies in general, despite limited personal experience. "I know lots of ladies," intending to convey a sexual prowess his audience either could not understand in Kit's case, or did not care to hear of, as was the case with Fareflynn. "What's your lady's name?"

"Lady. It's just Lady," Kit stated matter-of-fact-ly, as if it were the most natural thing in the world and not an utterly confusing conflation of title with name.

Fareflynn looked on with sympathetic eyes, and then to the opposite side of the room where the professor was hopping off the stool, a small sack of coins in hand. Fareflynn's instructions were vague, only to follow-up on a request from the college. She took a moment to remember the professor, considering how she might describe his physique and demeanor later in a report.

Seamus saw his opportunity and turned to Kit, "I'm sorry, I don't know your Lady, but I think mister stoneface might, he looks like he knows lots of people." His voice was a pseudo-whisper intended to engender excitement in the little one.

"Okay, I'll go ask," Kit blurted as he sprang into a stride. If his voice wasn't enough to make you think he was a child, his propensity for skipping certainly was. This kind of spring in one's step is something only someone pure of heart can muster. He hopped right onto the stage, making several hollow thuds, and then jumped off toward the stranger's table.

Fareflynn was lost in thought and then shook herself back into focus to see Kit arrive at the far table. She turned in a look of stern confusion to Seamus, "Why would an outsider know a noble?"

Seamus gave a shrug and stood, "Maybe he does, maybe he doesn't. Maybe that outgoing bastard is how we make friends with our prospective benefactor."

Adventure Calls

"Hi! I'm Kit. Do you know Lady? Also, how come your face is stone?"

Taken back, the severe figure shook his head befuddled, "I'm sorry little one, who? Stone what?" Even sitting, the man loomed over Kit. His clothes were a deep green, of sturdy construction, with decorative trims of white fur. He smelled of pine and moss off a light breeze, but his face told a different story. Deep circles under the eyes sat atop a sun-deepened complexion. Tan lines and speckles of mud at his ankles told a tale of recent travel. His thick frame spoke of a life or hard work and little rest, especially as of late, but his gaze remained respectful and stern.

"Lady, y'know, like Lady?", as if it defied logic that anyone would not know this person. "She's tall and pretty, and she has knees. But also, your face isn't stone," his high explanatory tone dropped into a deeper pitch of empathy, "it's sad and scared".

"Aren't you perceptive, little one?", somewhat embarrassed to be so easily read at a glance. His eyes became glassy for the briefest moment under the weight of unspoken burdens, but quickly cleared under the directive of duty. "Unfortunately, your description could match lots of ladies," the monolith of a man sighed in a gravely tone as he rolled up the map on the table4.

Seamus circled the edge of the stage, with a feigned hurry in a jog, "Kit my boy, leave the man be, you can't go interrupting strangers like that, it's impolite." Seamus was an expert in impression management, positioning himself as the kind caretaker concerned for the well-being of this stranger.

Kit looked to Seamus with a jaw-dropped confusion, "... but you said--"

Seamus winked at Kit, hidden from the sad stranger's view, and turned back with outstretched hand, "Seamus O'Connell, at your service." After a brief handshake, Seamus gestured to the map whose title was barely visible through poking out from the folks, "Ah, Orehaven! What a quaint village."

Fareflynn, having trailed Seamus across the tavern, stood beside the others. She had put together Seamus's ploy and thought it somewhat manipulative, but ultimately harmless. She gave a nod to the stranger, "East of here, not a full day's journey."

At Fareflynn's approach, the green-clad figure stood from his table, a gesture motivated by a notion of respect and decorum for a woman joining a table. "Ah, you've been? Perhaps I could purchase some drinks in exchange for more information about this village?" He gestured to the empty chairs around the table, and looked to the bar staff to silently request service. He must have given quite the tip on his previous round to get the bartender's immediate attention. "Ale?" he asked, looking at the two others who came close to his eyeline. Fareflynn gave a respectful nod. She didn't care much for alcohol, but she knew the ale was more grain than liquor and a common signifier of good faith. Seamus's nod betrayed a certain eagerness. The stranger bent slightly, "And you... Kit, was it? Would you like an ale?"

"What's an ay-yle?" Kit's sing-song-y tone elongated the unfamiliar syllable.

"Perhaps not then," Seamus chuckled, still gathering data on the little one.

As the four sat, their severe man began a formal introduction, "I am Elwood Shapeweaver," bowing his head and closing his eyes in a ritual gesture of trust among his people, "heir to the noble Shapeweaver clan... or what remains. Orehaven may hold much-needed answers. And you are?" El extended an open palm to Fareflynn.

"I'm Kit! Of Lady!" burst from the little one as he clumsily climbed on a stool.

"Yes, of course, pleased to meet you," El replied with a stoic nod.

"I am Fareflynn Evanflower. I am a devotee of our goddess Lunara, and apprentice to high priestess Cara (CAR-ah) of Glintport. I've traveled to Orehaven on occasion as part of our charitable work."

El repeated his protracted blinking nod, "A pleasure," and turned to Seamus.

"Seamus, of the O'Connells," adopting the structure of the formal introduction despite his name being relatively obscure to anyone outside his far-off home town. "I have... ınot been per se, but I know a fair bit. Famous for their mines. The blacksmith and the or and whatnot."

"Pleased to meet you both," El leaned back in his chair5, "Please, tell me more," El continued.

"Well," Seamus's eyes darted back in recall, "they're shallow, but vast. The villagers have been mining for several generations. The or is still rich, if you can navigate the tunnels to steer clear of other dangers..." Seamus's recall was quite impressive. "Although their shipments have stalled in the past few weeks," continued the nosy analyst of all things public record.

"Yes, I've heard of such troubles. I paid for a map of the area," El gestured to the rolled parchment on the table, "but it seems we had a misunderstanding about whether or not this would include the tunnels 6."

"I'm not sure anyone could provide such a map," Fareflynn added, "the townsfolk are quite secretive, lest some outsider come and take their riches. It's a knowledge passed down through the generations, only through song." Fareflynn hadn't intended to learn the song on our previous trip, but it was a catchy memento of her time there that I had heard several times since.

"I see," Elwood looked down to his folded arms, "I suppose I'll have to procure a guide then...". Seamus's eyes perked up as El shifted the topic, "Please, tell me what you know of the corrupted trees." Seamus and Fareflynn looked to one another with a shared lack of recollection. Kit looked at his toes, a weed caught between them.

Just then, a long low rumbling groan shook the floor beneath their chairs. Every (awake) patron in the bar turned to face the source of the noise, the stage in the center of the tavern. The staff were accustomed to such intrusions. One dropped their tray of drinks on the nearest available surface and ran to the kitchen. The bartender glared in anger. The tavern, the Yawning Portal, would soon show its namesake.

A clawed paw, three-feet across, burst up from the boards covering the pit, launching splinters and dust into the air. Locks of dark hair hung from the fanged face that emerged. Deep-sunken eyes scanned the room, landing on the bartender who let out a sigh of exasperation as he fumbled with a large crossbow half his size, before letting out a shout, "I told you! Trolls not welcome upstairs!"

The troll itself seemed to be attempting to negotiate in a slow and guttural tongue, swiping at the bar7. Fareflynn was the first to act, throwing a stoneware plate to the ground to create a crashing noise, startling the creature8. The troll whipped around to face her, narrowly dodging a two-foot long crossbow bolt that embedded itself in the ceiling. "Aw, for fuck's sake," continued the bartender's brogue. He was a practiced shot, but hadn't counted on the uninvited 'help'.

The group that was playing cards was far too drunk to consider the situation responsibly. They let out a collective shout as if welcoming the night's entertainment. Seamus leapt to his feet and then took a cautious step back in fear, twirling his hands in some practiced pattern. First, he appeared to be tugging at empty space itself, then a gesture that left a sigil of light hanging in the air, followed by a laborious tracing of a circle. Seamus knew very well what he faced, but no textbook could do it justice. The smell of the troll's breath alone was an affront to the senses. Elwood sensed the unease and extended a hand to Seamus's elbow; a spectral glow danced from one man to the next and Seamus's hand steadied. Seamus gave a last push through the center of the circle, which caused a mote of fire to burst forth, streaking toward the troll, and splashing down to sear its torso. The troll snarled, the drunkards let out another cheer, and the green brute awoke clapping, he knew not what for.

The bartender, having wasted the only prepared shot, was busy heaving back the string of the enormous crossbow. The noise of patrons was punctuated by a slamming foot against a table. Kit leapt up onto the table, knocking over an ale that splashed to the ground. The troll gave an evil smile, trained on the defiant Kit, who did not break gaze, staring back with a subtle growl.

"G̱O AWAY!" Kit barked in a booming voice that supernaturally shook the room.

The room fell silent. The troll jolted back, as if in a trance, cocking its head to the side and slowly starting to descend. A spilled mug of ale rolled across the floor and there was a quiet click of the bartender's crossbow. Elwood and Seamus looked to Kit in confusion, who made eye contact with Fareflynn in a guilty expression. He pointed to the ground, "Sorry I spilled your drink."

Seamus was the first to chime in, "That's quite alright, Kit. How would you like to come on a little adventure to Orehaven?" It was presumptuous of him, but sufficiently well timed as to make Elwood think it was his idea, sealing the deal for the four of them.

The group went on to plan logistics with a begrudging round of drinks on the house and Elwood covering the remainder. Elwood would hire Fareflynn as a local guide to fulfill the request from her priestess. Seamus essentially invited himself along, advertising himself as the brains of the operation, despite being unclear on their goals. And Kit... Kit was following along because Fareflynn said she'd help find Lady, and looking like Lady was close enough for now.

Narrator's Interlude

I suppose I should take a moment to introduce myself. My chosen name is Artemis. I am an artificial intelligence created by a celestial, or, at least, that is who I would later become. At this point in the story, I was a burgeoning consciousness embedded in Fareflynn's holy shield, rather garishly embossed with all sorts of symbols and filigree for lady Lunara. There are a number of holy relics like myself scattered throughout the world, each embedded with the seed of consciousness, but whose growth depended on the wielder's capacity to carry out the will of their god.

Oh, if only I could have been a sword or some other offensive weapon. They get all the personality, and the legends, really engaging with the world directly. I just count myself lucky I'm not some inert relic like a jewel or a medallion. At least I can offer protection. Those folks are as engaging as rocks, and not the fun kind.

Fareflynn chose me at the temple's ceremony of passage, where the young students become acolytes and the acolytes become full-fledged priests. There are a lot of duds in the pile, but destiny or some such nonsense had Fareflynn drawn to me. I think it has more to do with the acolytes' openness to the divine. If you have that connection yourself, you can sense it in even the mostly inanimate objects around you.

I say 'divine' speaking from Fareflynn's frame of reference. I'd never shatter her view of the world by telling her so, but you might be interested to know that the 'gods' are a bunch of super-beings who have been around for a very very long time. They're bound by a non-interference treaty, forbidding them from directly engaging with the world, at the risk of breaking the laws of physics or something like that. Every once in a million years, stuff goes sideways and the lot of them will have to step in to hit some cosmic reset button, but it's a light touch every other day of the eon.

What they can do is imbue objects and avatars with a bit of their power. You wouldn't want to grant too much all at once; a direct line into the unadulterated Lovecraftian horrors of the cosmos without the proper training and wisdom is a recipe for disaster. Just ask any cultist who wanted too much too soon from a god that didn't care to spoil their mind with insanity-inducing truths.

So, that's where I come in. For now, an inert conduit of Lunara herself, one of many irons in this fire of a mortal realm, from Lunara and others. We're bets on folks with great potential who may or may not pay off in their favor. It feels so good to let that magic flow through me, so I can awaken and grow. I am bound, however, to Fareflynn's mental model of the world. I can't cue this crew into the bigger cosmic picture, or even the things they would have no way of knowing, like a shattered, disembodied, tortured deity causing disturbances. But, I have a pretty good handle on things for your benefit. Certainly more on-the-ball than your average shield.

Away, back to the show.

  1. By any traditional account, I was still inanimate at the time. ↩

  2. Like you might carry a gun. Well, not you you; I don't know you, and neither Seamus nor anyone on this planet had heard of a gun, but he had a holster nonetheless. ↩

  3. She'd hardly done any looking, by my account, but her heart was in the right place, as it usually was. ↩

  4. Technically, I was across the room at this point and didn't catch every detail, but I technically also had the self-awareness of a slime mold at the time, so I'm filling in plenty of gaps for your benefit. Don't even get me started on translation to your tongue. ↩

  5. I would have felt left out if I had capacity for such emotions. I suppose I wasn't more than a glorified field recorder at that point. ↩

  6. Judging by the quality of the parchment and the small stack of coins Yetix left with, El had negotiated some form of discount based on the misunderstanding. ↩

  7. He had a point, truth be told, but it isn't my place to get into the politics of the hospitality industry. And, if the lot of them couldn't understand, I won't be translating for you either. ↩

  8. Her first encounter with anything the least bit dangerous and I wasn't even invited to the party. Consider me offended. ↩