Calling in a Favor (Short Story)

July 23rd, 713CC
(Possible future)
Five years after the events in The Acolyte's Map and It's Not Easy Being Green, nineteen after In the Cards (in-progress story), and twenty four after Adventures of a Young Messenger.

"Cyn, there's someone looking for you. I brought him to your office, but I think he might be crazy."

The high priest rolled his eyes up at the sky in silent prayer asking for patience; not for the priestess delivering this news, a long-time friend whose judgment he trusted, but for the small disasters that kept piling up that day. "'Might be crazy'?" he repeated, already regretting what the answer would be.

The other Messenger shrugged her shoulders slightly. "He seems harmless enough. I wasn't sure what else to do with him; it seemed cruel to send him back to the street and he was rather insistent that it was you he had to speak to."

Curiosity was beginning to win over exasperation, but it was a close battle. "Very well, Liz, I will sort it out. I know you have other work to do, but can I ask you to help Ricky with fixing that mess?" he gestured to the empty fountain a few yards away where a slightly blue-tinted young acolyte was scrubbing. "I fear he may do something else foolish before the day is over."

The dark haired woman nodded and took the brush that Cyneric offered without comment, a reaction rare for her. Whatever the situation that awaited the high priest inside the Messenger's Mosque, it must be odd if cleaning sculptures in the heat of midday was a better alternative.

Brushing his hands on his red robe to dry them, he headed inside. At his door he momentarily pondered if he could pass whatever this was on to someone else, then had a flitting regret that he could no longer avoid interaction by hiding away in libraries. He had finally lost some of that shyness that had plagued him all of his life, but he feared he would never be particularly social- a trait incongruous with his affable and extroverted religious order and which was probably found amusing by their mischievous deity.

Once on the other side of the door, he immediately saw what the priestess had meant and why she had made reference to the street. A scruffy man lounged in one of the chairs as though he belonged there. He wore simple tattered clothes and a few equally shabby bags rested on the floor at his feet; Cyneric thought he could possibly be about his own age, although it was hard to tell through the bushy beard and disheveled dirty blond hair. When this person heard the sound of the door close, he turned towards the direction of the noise, but did not seem able to focus on the precise location. Cyneric could quickly tell what the reason was for this: the unkempt man was blind.

"May I help you?" the high priest asked. He was unnerved by the unseeing dark eyes that, despite his soft footsteps, somehow seemed to be able to follow his movement across the room with some level of success. Was this normal for someone who could not see?

"I'm seeking Cyneric Conroy. Are you he?" The man had an accent- if Cyneric had to wager a guess, it was that of one of the northern islands. His words were well-educated and self-assured, putting them at odds with his vagrant appearance.

The Messenger began to nod, then stopped when he realized this was likely a pointless action. "I am. May I ask the reason you were attempting to find me today?"

"I figured you would help me." This was a cryptic- and rather presuming- statement; the man's gall was impressive, if not somewhat irritating.

A thought was gnawing at the back of Cyneric's mind, however. Blind, a northern accent, presuming something in a way that seemed he felt he had a right to... suddenly it clicked. He knew exactly who this was, but surely he must be mistaken... "Zodóseph?" he asked incredulously.

Under the thick, light-colored beard, the corner of the man's mouth twitched up in a kind of good-natured smirk. "Got it in one. You always said you were smart."

Cyneric found himself having to lean against his desk while he tried to make sense of what was happening. Why was this priest so far from his home country of Zet- and looking very much out of uniform? Had Eros again sent Seph to this kingdom, decades after his previous assignment here? Considering how that one had played out, with his mate barely getting out of it alive, Cyneric felt his heart begin to race as he asked, "With what do you need help?"

That question seemed to make the other man lose what had appeared to be a permanent layer of confidence; his shoulders slumped and he fumbled nervously at the cuffs of his loose sleeves. Finally he gave a simple, flat response. "I left."

"When you say you 'left'-"

"I left. My order. Zet. Everything." It was clear that Seph was trying to keep emotion out of his voice, but not doing a particularly good job of it.

The high priest, meanwhile, remained in disbelief. "You cannot be serious!"

"I haven't told a lie in twenty years; of course I'm telling the truth." Seph sounded offended by the fact that Cyneric would think otherwise, but continued to explain despite his annoyance, "I couldn't stay in Zet- I just couldn't face that, not after resigning."

"I see." Actually, he didn't. Cyneric could not even begin to imagine turning in his amber and leaving his brethren behind. He would sooner give up a limb than renounce his Calling. Probably, anyway.

It seemed his comment didn't matter much, though, as the once-priest had fallen into something of a rant. "Everyone I knew began to treat me like a criminal, like I had done some terrible act by wanting to leave. Me! I'd done everything my god, my order, and my country ever asked of me and then some! I've healed hundreds, thousands over the years. I couldn't handle the constant pressure and expectations anymore and it was beginning to make my magic unreliable and, quite frankly, dangerous. I'm burned out, Cyn. All I'm asking is for a place to stay for a while."

Cyneric could feel a headache coming on and rubbed at his temples to try to stave it off. This was not what he needed on his plate today. On top of that fiasco with the young acolyte defacing the statue of Hermes by dyeing the water blue (he had never liked that fountain- or the sewers beneath- much and it had certainly seen worse over the years, but that kind of sacrilegious act could not be encouraged), this morning the Gate had once again malfunctioned and sent a dazed and soot-covered Messenger to Joven instead of Logging Town. Then another acolyte had been caught stealing, two ordained priests, who certainly should have known better, had gotten into a fight over an assignment both wanted, and now he was being asked to harbor the runaway of another deity. Was it just frazzled nerves from the summer's heat affecting everyone or had he angered a curse-bearing gypsy without realizing?

At least this situation was one he did not have to face alone. He returned to the door and upon opening it, spotted someone walking down the hall. Almost amazed that something had gone his way today, he told the boy "I need you to find Brother Rafion and send him up here as soon as possible. He should be in the courtyard."

After the young priest-in-training had bounded away with a ″Yes, sir!″, he turned to see that Seph had ceased scowling and, surprisingly, looked almost happy. "Raff's here, too?"

"I promoted him to weapons master a few months ago, so technically he is now here on permanent assignment. I thought I had mentioned that." Even if he hadn't, surely Raff would have- but the half-elf's handwriting did look something like a drunken, ink-covered spider had meandered across the page. Perhaps the person interpreting Seph's mail had thought it said "whimsical monkey", which would have also been an accurate term.

"I must have left before the letter got there." That answer made far more sense, although now Cyneric was stuck on the idea of training spiders as scribes and almost missed Seph's following question. "How does he like getting to beat people on a daily basis?"

"Too much. In hindsight, perhaps I should have made him the cook or the math instructor."

The disheveled man actually snorted. "I've tasted what he calls food and, if it's possible, his ability to count is even worse. Counting apples might make his head explode."

Cyneric was saved from having to defend the other Messenger- not that he could, as he was having a hard enough time trying not to laugh as he certainly agreed- by a knock at the door and the entrance of the one of which they spoke.

″What's this Liz says about a hobo?″ Leave it to Raff to enter a conversation so tactfully- and so obliviously. As he tried to get through the doorway without tripping over the medium-sized dog that pushed past his legs, he failed to notice that anyone besides Cyneric was in the room.

Raff carefully dropped the padded helm he had been holding in order to tie back his long hair and distractedly ordered, ″Jack, heel!″ The armor and padding he wore did little to hide his slight frame; although now in his forties, thanks to his elven heritage he still did not look much older than the group of young acolytes he had been instructing. This, coupled with his constant cheerful and somewhat flighty attitude, had caused the Messengers who had not known him well to shirk on those lessons. At first. They had soon realized that this youthful instructor took his duty- and his weapons- very seriously.

Not heeding the half-hearted command, the shaggy mutt dashed across the room to jump into Seph's lap and begin licking at the scruffy man's face. This surprised Cyneric, as the dog rarely strayed from Raff's side and even more rarely showed affection to strangers, having explained that he was ″the elf's protector and companion″. Considering that it had shown up just before Raff crossed paths with a dragon and a cursed artifact, Cyneric figured it ″spoke″ the truth. He had not bothered to explain to it that it was technically his job to be those things since getting into an argument with a dog would be a waste of time; besides, Raff could use all the help he could get to stay out of trouble.

What then surprised the high priest even more was that instead of pushing the dog off, Seph briefly hugged it close and began talking softly to it as though it would understand him. Cyneric knew that it could communicate with the Messengers any time it wished, much like his recently god-sent fox was able to, but how could Seph- who wasn't of their order- know that the dog was more than it seemed? And who the heck would snuggle a strange dog, anyway?

While Cyneric remained baffled by magical canines, Raff had finally noticed where his pet had ended up. ″Jack, heel″ he repeated, then added in a ″Blast it, get over here!″ when it continued to ignore him. At last it jumped down, but remained near Seph's feet as it began gnawing at its paw, as though daring Raff to try to order it around again. Cyneric had to hide a grin behind his hand when he saw the dumbfounded expression on his mate's face; Raff had never had an animal ignore him before.

Shaking his head, the half-elf began to apologize, ″I'm sorry about him. Jack's never done that before.″ He did not seem to realize who he spoke to, despite knowing Seph far better than Cyneric did. It must have been the beard.

Seph seemed to play along with the fact that his friend was clueless by paying no mind to the apology. ″Is he actually a dog acting like a dog? I think he's too shaggy to be another fox trying to trick me, but I wouldn't put that past you or a fox.″

Again that dumbfounded expression returned and Raff blinked in confusion several times before exclaiming, ″Saef?? Ye look like something the dog dragged in!″ Despite being fluent in the human tongue for now more than half of his life, the half-elf still retained some of the brogue that had come with the language he had originally spoken.

Oh yes, that elf is ever so tactful, Cyneric thought with a grimace, but quickly realized he had no reason to worry. Seph grinned his crooked smirk and remarked, ″So he is a dog. Thanks for not stringing me along this time.″

Raff hurried over to squeeze the man's hand in greeting; had he not been padded in layers of leather armor, he probably would have hugged him enthusiastically, which was his usual greeting towards almost anybody. No wonder people thought he was decades younger than his actual age. ″What're you doing here?″ he asked as he slunk down into the other chair next to Seph's. Even weighed down with armor, he moved like a cat.

″Who better for a down-on-his-luck delinquent to entreat for aid from a trying situation than the high priest of an accommodating religious order?″ was Seph's sarcastically wordy reply.

″He's here to call in a favor from someone who owes him greatly and has the authority to help,″ Cyneric clarified when the half-elf's eyes began to glaze over.

When Seph nodded, Raff looked from one human to the other appearing to still not follow what the two of them were talking about. ″You, Cyn? I don't understand. Wouldn't it be me who owes him? I mean, I was the one he saved from- ye know.″

After twenty years, Raff still did not feel comfortable talking about his time spent captured. If it hadn't been for Seph opening up communication through letters, knowing from experience as a healer from a war-ravaged country that in situations like this there was someone who would be both prying and concerned, Cyneric never would have entirely found out what had happened. That, too, he owed Seph for, although eventually they had begun corresponding because they had become friends of a sort. At particularly introspective times, Cyneric sometimes wondered if learning at sixteen that such evil existed in the world had in a way destroyed some of his innocence long before he would have come to learn this as an adventurer. Perhaps that had been part of the reason he was ever after prone to fits of paranoia and cynicism, although, despite his silence about the subject, Raff himself never seemed to be half as affected by what had happened to him.

″Follow that thought through, Greeneyes,″ the high priest prompted. There were days when the half-elf could have momentary flashes of surprisingly astute insight and then there were times where he could be as dense as a rock. Cyneric knew to be patient and wait until Raff caught up with the situation when it was one of his slower days.

After a moment more of thought, the elven priest replied with chagrin, ″Oh. Right. That should've been obvious. What do you need from Cyn, Saef?″

The once-priest began to fumble with his sleeves again, as though that was a nervous habit whenever he was uncomfortable. ″I'm looking for a place to stay for a while. I left my order.″

Raff's reaction was the same as Cyneric's had been. ″Ye did what?″

The dog began to whine softly. Seph reached down to scratch its ears, which seemed to calm both of them a bit. ″Like I was saying earlier, I got to the point where I felt smothered. I just couldn't handle the pressure anymore. Everyone was expecting too much from me, as though they thought I was some sort of miracle-bringer and not just a talented healer. My faith was slipping and it was making my ability to heal unreliable. Some days it was as strong as ever, some days it wouldn't work at all. I figured I should leave before it caused a huge problem.″

As if in awe of the wreck that was his friend's life, Raff tried to stammer out several questions at once. ″What? But- I don't... How- What did you do when the magic didn't work?″ was the one he finally settled on.

Seph nudged with his foot the small satchel that sat on the floor next to the dog. ″Salves, poultices, and herbs- and hope that one of my brothers or sisters was nearby if things got too bad.″

Now it was Cyneric's turn to give a more thought-out comment. ″What I do not understand is how you could leave when your skills were so needed.″

Seph's head snapped up when he heard that. Letting go of the dog in order to sit up with his back straight, he said defensively, ″I didn't leave them in the lurch, if that's what you mean. There are other healers just as strong as I was with far better faith; I was just the one that people knew about. Eros must have been okay with my decision because no calamity hit me on the way out.″

So at least the healer had not been his order's only hope and he had his god's approval, although probably not his blessing. Hopefully that meant that Cyneric would not be struck down himself by helping Seph. Silently he said a short prayer to Hermes hoping that his next words would not be a mistake. ″You helped out a Messenger when he needed it most; for that I will gladly give you what you ask. For helping this one in particular, I owe you far more than that. Raff, I'll need you to find him a spot to stay in the mosque until I think of a more permanent solution. Perhaps Hermes will have a suggestion.″

The half-elf nodded emphatically and while the relief on Seph's face was evident, he still seemed somewhat unsure. Had he really thought that he would be turned out or did he fear what the judgment of a god might be? Trying to reassure him, Cyneric told the healer gently, ″Do not worry, Seph. Gods willing, everything will be fine.″

Seph nodded but said no words of thanks as he followed the dog out of the room; for all that Cyneric had asked Raff to help the healer, it seemed as though the dog wanted to lead him instead. At the door he carefully stepped around the discarded helmet then said low under his breath to his guide, ″Yeah, I know how this works. Just lead and I'll follow.″

Raff noticed the lack of gratitude as well; a sheepish expression crossed his face once he was alone with the other Messenger. ″I think he's relieved. I know he doesn't like asking for help,″ he explained, then looked up at Cyneric with thankfulness in his bright green eyes. ″He's a bit of an arse, but this means a lot to me, Cyn.″

The high priest leaned down to kiss his mate's brown hair softly. ″I know, love. Trust that I will find a way to repay him.″

The half-elf grinned up at him, then bent to pick the bags up off the floor. Before he could follow Seph and the canine out, Cyneric stopped him. ″Hold on a second. Do you know why he is acting like he understands Jack? Does that seem odd to you?″

Raff shrugged as best as he could considering the burden of armor and Seph's possessions. ″Until a few months ago he had a fox that was like yours. I guess he's used to silently talking animals.″

In Raff's preoccupation with trying to carry the packs and retrieve his helmet on the way out, he didn't notice that Cyneric's jaw had dropped. How had a priest of Eros gotten a divine fox of Hermes, something only the Head Messengers received? And how could he talk with a sort of magical dog when he wasn't even a priest anymore? Cyneric fought the sudden pressing desire to go bang his head against the wall until the world began to make sense again and settled on walking over to the corner of the room where a small shrine was set up. He had the glimmering of an idea of what to do with Seph that had started when the healer mentioned in passing that he could still heal without magic- a very useful skill- but he definitely needed some divine guidance. Divine guidance and possibly some answers; his god had some explaining to do.

((After writing that silly list of things that might happen to my characters, I realized that I was on to something with three of them and this plot bunny was born. This may or not be what happens in five years, but I'm leaning towards this being pretty darn accurate. This ficlet references a few things from The Acolyte's Map but it's mainly pulling from "In the Cards", the novel I'm still working on. Someday I'll share what happened when Raff was taken prisoner and why Seph shares some abilities with the Messengers!))

Speculating on the future...

While rambling to my writing partner in crime, I got to thinking about where my characters are going to be in ten years (their time). What I came up with was this list, which is maybe 20% accurate. ;)

Seph: Herbalist. The blind priest, finally sick of being the most powerful magic-wielding healer in his country and having no personal life, hobbies, or friends because of this, has renounced his calling to become a simple village healer far from home. Knowing someone who has a penchant for taking in strays- and who owes him a huge favor- he finds himself on the doorstep of:

Cyneric: High priest. Magical woopie cushion idea now completed, he's well on his way to making the first custard pie machine- having forgotten about the paperwork sitting on his desk for the past month. Oops. Has created a nonprofit (prophet?) organization to rehabilitate and find good homes for monsters of the humanoid persuasion (satisfaction not guaranteed). Tired of their only means of communication being letters and spotting an obvious opportunity that the other high priests have missed, has promoted:

Raff: Weapons Master. He's gleefully smacking around the acolytes who, thinking he's no older than they as he hasn't aged much in the past twenty years, incorrectly assume this goofy instructor doesn't take fighting seriously. Having run out of names for pet mice by this point, he has opted to instead have a giant tortoise for a pet. Immediately regrets this decision.

Kryro: Tribe leader. The scholarly centaur is still trying to figure out how, when, and why the heck he's now in charge; this must have been while he was off learning his tenth language. Working a losing battle on teaching his tribe to read and not throw the books at kobolds while all the while wishing he could get some help from his now-educated sister and former guard-partner:

Meren: Mage. Now possessing the title of "Lady Meren Woods-Ward", she has finally figured out how to keep intruders out of her forest without the place burning down around her large ears, but...

Phillip: ?. He is no longer going by his birth name and is currently on his eighth mage-name; switches them out every time his moral compass shifts from Good to Evil to Crazy and back again. Probably killed by said wood elf who got sick of him poking around said forest yet again- unless he married her instead. Still an Illusionist; happy about this. Still purple; annoyed by this. Possibly not so annoyed if now dead or married.

Piper: Top-ranked priestess. After much searching for a cure to break her curse, is finally back to two legs and no wings and has moved up in rank to now bear the esteemed surname of Windborne. On a life-long quest to prevent shipwrecks, travel the world, and get her orc to stop wearing that ridiculous hat. Her partner in crime is:

Tavin: Roving Shaman. Over his phobia of fire at long last, he remains quite happy to call the open sea his home. Next to the color of the water he looks a bit less green, so it's probably a good thing that he doesn't get seasick. He's still working on a way to hide his fangs, but since his main concern had been de-birding his girlfriend, he figures he now has time to sort that one out.

Clover: Also a "?". This halfling may or may not be A.)sane, B.)alive C.)good D.)evil E.)indifferent F.)conniving G.)picking the pockets of every sap she meets H.)following/looting/influencing/tricking any/some/all of the characters above.

This is silly, but now I'm itching to write some of this nonsense! ;)

~Meri

Art to keep my plethora of spells organized

There are some perks that come with being married to your group's Dungeon Master. In this case, well-timed puppy eyes while in the gaming store resulted in the 2nd edition "Deck of Priest Spells" being added to said DM's D&D collection. (How could he turn down his favorite cleric, hmm?)

These have all the D&D priest spells, plus cards for writing your own (I need those since that's exactly what I've been doing) and a few other handy cheat-sheet cards. I had been keeping track of my spells using a small notebook, but it was rather disorganized and I only write spells in as notes, not full descriptions. That meant the DM had to constantly flip through the handbooks to figure out what exactly would happen when I'd want to cast a spell- and this tended to waste time. Since I play a priest with little in the way of combat abilities and no magical healing ability, the trade off is lots and lots of spells. (I just counted how many Cyneric can use and ended up just shy of 125... sheesh, why does he always use the same dozen or so?)

Anyway, now all that time spent flipping through pages to find a specific spell is a thing of the past! I'm looking forward to the next game where I can pick the spell I want from the index of my spellbook (yup, I made a color-coded index), shuffle through my alphabetically arranged deck of cards, then pass the one I want to use over to the DM without any interruption to the game. Yay, organization!

The only downside? I didn't want to carry that entire box of cards and instead only tote around the cards I could use. This meant it was time to sew a pouch to keep them in, of course! I wanted to make this special, though, so it would look like something Cyneric would carry. I found some fabric in my craft supply stash in nearly the color of his robes and embroidered feathers onto it before turning it into a bag. (I picked feathers because they're part of his holy symbol.)

Here's the finished product:

~Meri

It's Not Easy Being Green (Short Story- Part 1 of ?)

((In our D&D game there's a three month gap where the characters are all off doing different things on their own before meeting up again to adventure. In Cyn's case, one of the things he's been doing is spell research. Here's the first part of a short story that I may finish someday; this takes place in the "now" of my writing world, shortly after The Acolyte's Map and very, very long after In the Cards [that mess of a story that I'll finish some day!]))

August 17th, 708CC
Cyneric sat in a soft, overstuffed old chair in the common room of the Messenger's Mosque in Woodland city, his attention fixed on the worn leather-bound book that rested on his knees. Despite the summer's heat that was scarcely allayed by the open window at his back, he had the hood of his carnelian-colored robe pulled tightly over his head. Whenever he turned a page, he would hastily rehide his hands in the loose sleeves, as though caught by a chill- or else trying to keep them out of sight.

He was so engrossed in trying to decipher the faded words of a long-ago scribe that he failed to notice when someone approached. It wasn't until the voice had said his name for a third time that he jumped, nearly knocking the book off his lap. He managed to catch this just before it hit the floor, but his page had been lost; he muttered a quiet curse under his breath. The book safe, he raised his head, moving slowly to keep his face hidden in the shadow of his hood. He had gotten quite tired of the curious stares his colleagues had given him all afternoon and had decided that feeling nearly suffocated by the heavy fabric was a better option.

When he saw the dark haired woman standing before him, a look of amusement on her face, he realized how immersed in his reading and thoughts he had been; he should have been able to recognize that voice! He rose and placed his book carefully on the seat cushion before catching the woman in a brief embrace.

″About time you noticed me, Cyn,″ she said as she hugged him back, ″I was afraid I'd have to send a herd of cattle into the room to get your attention.″ Her brown eyes showed the mischievous gleam that he knew so well. It had been a few months since their paths had last crossed, but she had been one of his closest friends for a very long time.

As he took her hand to pull her over to the row of chairs, he replied, ″I rather doubt that you could fit them through the door or squeeze them past the mail room. I cannot see that Armand would appreciate you damaging his mosque. That's what the acolytes are for.″

The woman laughed and agreed as she took the chair to his right. Liz was a few years older than he and, as another Messenger of the same rank, she was garbed in a red robe identical to his own- other than her hood worn down showing her dark brown hair in its usual long braid.

″When did you return?″ Cyneric asked, wondering if she had actually been here for days and he had been too preoccupied to notice. He supposed it would not be the first time for that; he tended to have a one track mind when it came to research or studying.

″Last night. I would have interrupted you sooner, but you were holed up behind a locked door and I was warned that going in there was probably a bad idea.″ She raised a questioning eyebrow and added, ″I was going to ignore that warning, of course, but then I remembered some of the projects you'd mentioned that you wanted to work on. Instead of knocking, I contemplated fleeing the city. Should I have run?″

″Of course not. You would have been perfectly safe in the work room. Well, probably. Most likely, anyway.″ Cyneric admitted, fidgeting with the inside cuff of his sleeves. ″Safe″ would have been correct, but quite possibly she would have left the room different than she had entered it. Not harmed in any way, but decidedly different.

Liz covered her eyes with her hand as though her friend was giving her a headache and let out a theatrical sigh. ″Cyn, what did you do now? Does this by any chance have to do with the fact that you're hiding?″

″Possibly. I could just be- hey!″ What he had been about to lie about was interrupted when she reached over to pull his hood back. She gaped for a moment, much as the few other clerics of Hermes had done earlier that day, then broke into an uncontrollable fit of giggles.

Cyneric glared through eyes that were currently an odd shade of bright green, then reached with hands that had a definite yellow tinge to pull his hood back over his long hair. Hair that had once been midnight black but which now matched the lime shade of his eyes. The glare he shot was mostly just for show, however; as a priest of a mischief god, he and his friends had gotten into worse predicaments than this, although rarely ones that were so colorful. In a haughty tone of voice, he remarked, ″Green hair is all the rage in Rinos, I'll have you know. Not wanting to clash, I decided the rest of me should match.″

Gasping for breath and wiping tears from her eyes, Liz commented, ″Then remind me not to take any assignments for the capital city. I look terrible in green.″

Unable to keep a straight face any longer, Cyneric, too, fell into a fit of laughter. Perhaps if this was a permanent problem it would be cause for a serious reaction, but he knew- or at least hoped!- that it would wear off by the end of the day. When the two of them finally got themselves under control, Liz posed the question, ″What the heck were you actually trying to do? You look like you angered a colorblind wizard. It's very festive color on you, by the way, with your robe and all.″

″At least I got 'festive' out of this, so that's something.″ He shrugged sheepishly as he explained, ″I was trying for a spell that would aid disguises and undercover assignments.″

His friend stared at him, disbelief evident on her face. ″As what? A dryad? A holly bush? Are you sure you're not colorblind? What color's that wall over there?″

″White. They are all white, which wouldn't prove your theory,″ Cyneric pointed out. ″I would have thought it was obvious; the spell I was using backfired.″

Now a raised eyebrow was added to Liz's disbelieving expression. Cyneric had a feeling that he knew what she was thinking; he had wondered the same thing when he had caught sight of himself in a mirror. Sure enough, her next comment echoed what he had thought earlier that day. ″I thought divine spells fizzled out of existence when they didn't work. Since when do they backfire?″

″Since now, apparently.″ He tugged his sleeves back over his hands, which had come free again, then gave another shrug. He would certainly be glad when- and hopefully not if- this wore off! ″My hypothesis is that I'm experiencing spell backfire because I am not attempting to learn existing spells, which is what normally results in spells 'fizzling'. I'm trying to create them largely from scratch and the results have been somewhat... well, unexpected.″

″Or maybe Hermes just has a sense of humor,″ Liz pointed out. That was something that hadn't occurred to Cyneric, but it did seem likely, now that she mentioned it... ″And you said 'spells' with an 's'. What other mess have you been working on?"

Cyneric gave her his best vulpine grin, just visible under the hood of his robe, and asked, ″Would you like to be the first to learn magic worthy of our order? I guarantee it will be worth a slightly green hue.″

Without hesitation, just as he thought she might react, she mirrored his smile. ″Count me in.″

Already plotting about how the research might be faster and more accurate with two mischievous priests working on it, he gave Liz her first task. ″Great! Please dig me up some guinea pigs- I mean volunteers- and meet me back here in three hours.″

The woman gave a mock-salute and bounded off.

Some questions for the protagonists...

((The Dungeon Master of the game Cyn is from gave us a few questions to ponder; I liked this, so I think I'll answer it as my four current protagonists. Obviously it's entirely unlikely that all four will ever be in the same place at the same time, so suspension of disbelief here. ;) This is post-Acolyte's Map and Hidden Magic, as well as after Cyn's encounter with evil.))

A guardian stands before you and says, "You must leave everything behind to pass, except for one item." What do you take with you? (Assume he will let you keep any non-magical clothing you are wearing. Treat a suit of armor, or something similarly bulky, as one item.)

Meren: "Easy this one is. My bow. Although without my quiver, useless the bow would be. My spellbook, perhaps?"

Phillip: "Yeah, I agree on the spellbook. If I can't constantly have Illusion magic at the ready, I'd be in deep trouble. I wonder if I can sneak my mask in under my robe so I can have that, too... Elf-girl, distract the guardian for a minute, would you?"

Meren: "Sigh. One thing only, Phillip. Just the book bring."

Phillip: "Fine, fine."

Cyn: "Does non-magical jewelry count as clothing? I need to have my amber on me at all times, but I have another piece of jewelry that means almost as much to me that isn't in any way magical. If the guardian won't let me take that one as well, I'll Charm him into allowing me to do so. If that doesn't work, forget it, I'm finding a different route that will allow me to bring both as I refuse to leave either behind."

Raff: "Uh. Well, Cyn beat me t'answering that one, so ditto."

Meren: "The only one the rules following am I?"

Raff: "Rules are overrated. Hey, if I give sad puppy eyes can I keep my mouse, too? ... oh, what am I saying, my animals can just follow me."

Cyn: "Why did I not think of that? I left my fox behind; while your animal entourage is passing through, can you herd Loxie along with the rest?"

Raff: "You named your fox Loxie? Foxie Loxie?" *snickers*

Cyn: "Said the elf who keeps naming mice after food products."

Raff: "I did that once, okay, maybe twice, but-"

Meren: "Bickering would you two stop, please? Some of us places have to be. Next question, if answer it correctly you three will?"


The crooked stranger before you opens the door and bids you enter. "Behind this door, you must battle your worst fear." What's in the room beyond?

Meren: "-Second thought on, continue bickering. That door past, wish to go I do not! Behind the door is behind the door: a room. Underground. Walls, always walls, no light! No trees! Dank air! Leave the room, I cannot and smaller it gets! Walls- why a door through did my fear have to be??"

Raff: "Woah, woah, calm down! You're not even in the room yet. Why don't you go outside and breathe and we'll finish these questions up?"

Phillip: "Yes, please do. My answer is going to make you even more twitchy since it's-"

Meren: *twitch twitch flee*

Phillip: "-Undead. Ranks of the nasty buggers, all sent after me, looking at me with empty eyes, teeth clattering, skeletal claws... can I follow Meer? If it's all the same, I'd rather not go through that door."

Cyn: "Fat chance. We don't wish to go through that particular door, either."

Phillip: *grumble grumble twitch*

Cyn: "There, see, not so bad. This is theoretical, not actual. For my answer... well, Raff, I hope I'd be able to see you on the other side, but that is rather doubtful considering what would be through there."

Raff: "What do y'mean?"

Cyn: "In that room I would be alone. My fear is being unable to reach our god and losing that inner divine connection- and in turn being exiled forever from our brethren, the people who have become my family. Being excommunicated, forsaken and unloved is my biggest fear."

Raff: "Ouch. Aye, that does sound absolutely horrible! Losing our Calling would be bad and I wouldn't handle that well, either, but-"

Cyn: "You have never truly been alone, so you would not know it well enough to fear it as greatly as others could."

Phillip: *mutters under his breath* "Hear hear."

Raff: "Exactly. So behind that door isn't isolation, but something more like Meren's. It's helplessness. Being weak, vulnerable, useless, not able to protect myself, the messages I carry or those who need my help. It's being taken advantage of and being powerless t'do anything about it. Been there, don't wanta face it again. Can we all just pick a different door instead? Next question, please."


As you rub the lamp, a genie appears! "I am in your debt! I shall grant you one wish." What do you ask him for?
Raff: "That's better. But is there anything I want? Hmm..."

Meren: *shouts from a distance* "This blasted claustrophobia lose I would like!"

Raff: "Aye, fixing the previous problem would be nice. I'd wish t'not be underestimated and if I am put in a situation where I'm treated like an easy target, I can get myself out of it quickly. Would that work as a wish? Should I simplify it and say I always want my wits, my weapons and my magic? How about you guys? Wishing t'cancel the skeletons and potential loneliness?"

Phillip: "Look at me, elf. Do you really think I'd miss an opportunity to be normal again? In case you haven't noticed, I'm purple."

Raff: "For all I know, that is normal. Meren's green."

Phillip: *eyeroll* "Of course purple isn't. My wish would be to look the way I used to. If I appeared normal, I wouldn't need to rely on magic and costumes to cover the fact that I'm marred and could concentrate my magic elsewhere."

Raff: *shakes his head* You're talking to the wrong people. We like disguises and being odd. Right, Cyn?"

Cyn: "Somewhat. You take it to an extreme, Greeneyes. However, no, my wish wouldn't involve my fear. I'm having trouble deciding which desire I'd ask for, though: A longer lifespan, being able to get along better with people, or for all evil priests to be gone forever and never turn up again."

Raff: "Geez, you don't aim for small, do ye?"

Cyn: "This is offering us anything. Well, with enough practice, I could possibly eventually get better at dealing with people, so wishing for that may be a waste. The third... that could have repercussions that might turn out negative because it is such a far-reaching wish- and it's too violent, too much like a type of genocide. In wanting to do Good, the action would end up decidedly not Good. Eliminating the Evil priests would eliminate their gods, or at least make them far weaker, which is good in theory, but what if that made the Good priesthoods too powerful and caused clashes within that alignment? Hermes and His Messengers would be caught in the middle since we do not take sides or strive for power."

Phillip: "That roundabout theorizing is giving me a headache."

Raff: *grins* "You'll get used to it. He's always like this. But you do think too much, Cyn. I can't see how getting rid of bad could be bad."

Cyn: "Perhaps not, but I'd rather not risk it. The first wish would probably be the best of the three as it would not effect my ability to be a Messenger and would not have any sort of influence on anyone else. It certainly couldn't harm anything, which undoubtedly makes it the most appealing of my options."

Raff: "And I can't say I'd dislike that one, but I still think getting rid of evil would be a good thing."

Cyn: "Then you should have wished for it."

Raff: "Guess we need t'find a second magic lamp!"

Phillip: "Whatever. I'm going to go try to break Meren from that claustrophobic crazy fit. Again. Freak rescuing the odd, as usual."

((If you're wondering why Meren sounds so odd, she's finally learned Common, the language the other three speak, but she's not very good at it yet. Meanwhile Raff's accent has slipped into the heavier version he picks up when he has no reason to hide it- and speaking of Raff, I'm working on a story where I get to throw his fear at him. Mwahaha!))

About to take on the Brotherhood of Dread...

July 4th, 708CC
2nd day of Brightmoon

The phases of the moon are particularly important at the moment; according to our "guide", we will need to be able to reach our destination within a certain phase. I explained this, as well as our adventures over the past week or so, over in the journal of my group. Here I will just write of things that are more personal in nature.

First, a minor observation- minor because personal is not the same thing as important. When trying to find ways to hurry to our destination, Ayman's Haste spell was brought up. Just... no. I am sorry but I will never allow that spell to be cast on me. Gaining a few minutes of extra speed is not enough to balance out making me one year older. This does not seem to bother the rest of my traveling companions but it very much does to me. Why, I will not explain though they are likely to learn the reason at some point, but I cannot do anything that will make me age faster than I already am. I have a good reason for this, even if I am too reserved to explain it.

Now to move on to what is actually important. If there is one thing I dislike more than the aristocracy, it is evil priests. "Loathing" and "repulsion" do even begin to describe that hatred. As much as I would like to never have to face these abominable creatures again, I am also quite impatient to get this quest sorted out and the duke rescued... if the vile priests have not already taken control of his will and bent it to their own. We certainly need to rescue the duke, but we also need to be prepared for what shape he may be in. This is not just goblins and a stray evil bugbear cleric or two anymore. This is a huge temple of the Brotherhood of Dread, the priesthood that already wants to see us destroyed. How can I get my friends to understand what we may face there?

I am not just speaking of undead or monstrous minions, either, which are things we have defeated before. My companions see me throwing around mind control magic on a regular basis with little effort and I am limited in what I can do with it, being bound to a priesthood of Good and my own principles (yes, mischievous people do have those). These individuals will not have my morals; they will not refrain from using us as they wish should their magic take hold. When you are mind-controlled, you lose who you are, your ability to think and react properly... that sounds obvious, I know, but it is not a good feeling to be on the wrong side of that, particularly if the person wielding the magic is using it for nefarious purposes. Even getting hit with mild mind-control is not pleasant (been there- how do you think we Messengers learned?) but my kind is at least harmless. I need to get my friends to understand what they may face so they can be wary. They are not nearly wary enough.

I do not think they understand how much of a threat Tarus still holds. I know I am coming off as paranoid and peevish, but I am feeling paranoid and peevish. I do not understand why the others seem to trust him. After using magic for well over a decade I know my limits and the reach of what I am granted by my god, particularly when it comes to charm and beguilement as those were what I was taught first. Something as empty-headed as a goblin will remain beguiled for quite some time, but a human priest? I would not be surprised if the spell wore off before we even reached the temple and then what? Once an evil priest, always an evil priest; how can we know that the moment he breaks free from the spell I placed on him, he won't gleefully stab one of us in the back- or worse? This is a spellcaster who has tried to kill us on more than one occasion. I know the kind of magic he wields and how it can be twisted so I will continue to keep a watchful eye over him, being the only one who truly knows what to look for and how to cancel it. This is fine and good for now, but one Messenger cannot possibly shield his friends from ranks of those with this kind of magic. Not for the first time, I wish I had one of my brothers or sisters by my side as I approach evil.

Hermes, please guide our steps, let me keep my wits and my magic ready so I can protect those I travel with. I know my magic is not the most powerful, but let it serve us well. Please.

Adventures of a Young Messenger - And Here Begins a Lifetime of Pranks (Part 6)

Part 6 - And Here Begins a Lifetime of Pranks
(Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5)

A strange sound close by Cyneric's head woke him the next morning. Opening his eyes, he saw that he was practically nose-to-nose with a small brown mouse that was sitting on his chest and chittering. He blinked at it in surprise a few times; he was more startled that an animal had already located him than at finding one there, however. "Good morning, little guy. How'd you get up here?" he asked it through a yawn.

As he sat up and moved the mouse into his hand, it chattering away in its rodent language all the while, he noticed there were a few bugs on the blanket, as well. That's rather odd, he thought to himself, but shrugged. A mouse showing up to have a morning conversation wasn't particularly strange, but bugs were new. Transferring the mouse onto his shoulder, he scooped the stray bugs into his hands and got out of bed, asking them in a soft voice how they ended up in here. He didn't expect an answer, but it had become instinct to talk to small critters, even the crawly ones.

It wasn't until Cyneric had walked over to the window to set the insects free that he noticed three of the other kids standing in the room, eying him in what looked like confusion mixed with amusement. One was a blond boy who had probably been the youngest acolyte until yesterday, another was a slightly older dark haired girl, and the third was the half-elf Cyneric had noticed the day before. He looked to be about fourteen, but with elves and half-elves, who can tell? With all those eyes on him, especially the uncannily bright green ones belonging to the elf, Cyneric became embarrassed, assuming that they had heard him speaking to the bugs; he didn't have a good track record for people reacting well to that kind of thing. He felt himself blush even more when they failed to say anything. I hate being the center of attention, so why are they here? They had to see how uncomfortable he was as he looked from the mouse to the floor, not daring to make eye contact.

Finally the younger boy broke the awkward silence and said simply, "Well, that backfired."

That got Cyneric to finally look at them from behind a curtain of black hair. "What?" That didn't even make any sense. He wondered if he should doubt the other boy's sanity, but realized he probably had no room to talk judging from the mouse perched on his shoulder like a parrot.

The older boy- the half-elf... what was his name? Something with an 'R', right?- looked sheepish. "We thought ye'd be afraid of them." He had an odd accent and spoke with something of a brogue, and, while understandable, still didn't make any sense.

Perplexed, Cyneric asked, "Come again?"

The girl ever-so-helpfully commented without elaboration, "The bugs and rat."

At the same time Cyneric and the half-elf corrected her by chiming in "It's a field mouse". They looked at each other in surprise but the human could tell that the other's was cheerful astonishment by the fact that he was trying to hide a grin behind his hand. Without thinking, Cyneric had defaulted to what his brother referred to as "annoyingly know-it-all", so he was glad to see that grin since it meant they likely weren't going to take offense.

Still not understanding, the newest acolyte asked, "Why should a mouse and an assortment of insects frighten me?"

"We heard you were … um..." the girl fumbled for a word to use here.

"Rich," the younger boy immediately supplied.

"Lyle!" That was obviously not the word she'd been looking for. Or possibly it was the word she had been diplomatically trying to avoid.

The boy shrugged. "What? Elli is and she's afraid of 'em."

She rolled her eyes in an exasperated manner. "Still, that's not polite, you know."

The half-elf meanwhile looked at the other two in amusement and explained further, "We thought it'd be a good prank t'hit ye with."

The girl shrugged. "Not the best try, I'll admit, but Lyle thought it would work."

"Hey, it should have!"

The half-elf and girl were both now rolling their eyes, but didn't actually seem upset at him. Cyneric began to get the feeling that those two didn't often go along with Lyle's ideas, but liked to humor him. Needless to say, he wasn't feeling so shy or embarrassed anymore, thinking the three were more comedy act than threat, even to someone so introverted. "You mean you thought I'd be afraid of a little mouse and some insects because I'm from an aristocratic family?"

"Possibly?" Now it was the girl's turn to look sheepish.

Cyneric pretended to eye the mouse suspiciously and said to it, "Are you in on this, too? You're not actually a rat in disguise, are you?" He was rewarded with more chittering as a reply, not that he knew if it was agreeing or not, but it was well-placed chittering at least.

He gave a small smile, trying to be friendly but being rather at a loss as to how to go about doing so; this was the most social interaction he'd had in... well, ever. "I guess next time you know not to get me this way." An idea occurred to him and he added, "If animals and such work on this Elli, perhaps I can help you catch them in the future? I'd imagine toads would function well."

The trio gave almost identical roguish grins and Cyneric couldn't help breaking into laughter. Maybe it won't be so hard to fit in here? As if echoing his thoughts, the older boy told him, "I think ye'll fit in jus' fine. Anyone who starts off wanting t'prank Elli is welcome in my book."

Cyneric grinned and handed him the mouse. "Would I be correct in assuming this is yours?" The animal acted more like a pet than something wild and he knew it was unlikely that field mice would be living in a city church. He supposed it was rather species-ist to assume an odd pet belonged to an elf, but sure enough, as soon as the mouse was in his hand, it scampered up his arm and onto his shoulder, where it promptly began to chew on one of his long braids.

The boy chuckled and asked "Are ye sure you're not pulling our legs and are actually a really young ranger?"

The baffled look the young human gave him caused him to laugh and he added, "'Tis strange, is all." Noticing Cyneric's returning embarrassment, he thankfully changed the subject. "Ye've probably forgotten all our names- I know I couldn't keep track when I got here. I'm Raff." Ah, so it is an 'R' name! Cyneric thought. Raff gestured towards the door, through which the other boy had already wandered off through during the mouse exchange, "That numskull was Lyle."

Here the girl added her introduction, "And I'm Liz. Pay no mind to Lyle- he doesn't mean to be rude but... the boy has no attention span."

Cyneric shrugged. "Not a problem. Okay, Raff, Lyle, Liz. Well, that's a start and hopefully I will remember what name goes with who."

Liz grinned back. "As long as you don't think either of us are Lyle, you'll be fine."

Cyneric smiled, mirroring their impish grins without realizing. "Ah, so you don't want to be mistaken for him. I see." Being who he was, though, he couldn't help asking about the mouse. "Now, does the mouse have a name, or is that going to make this name thing even more confusing?"

"Of course she has a name," Raff answered as he stroked the mouse gently between the ears, "It's Tyu." Well, that answered the last part of my question, too, Cyneric thought.

Echoing that inner comment, Liz piped up, "Which falls under 'more confusing'."

Raff laughed. "Nah, it's easy. And ye can call her 'Cheese' if ye want- that's what it's short for."

Realization dawned on Cyneric. "Oh! That's Elvish; I should have caught that." As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he realized how conceited that made him sound- again- and he started to apologize.

The half-elf looked rather shocked, but waved his hand to dismiss the apology. "You can speak Elvish?" he asked in said language. Cyneric thought that it sounded more like his reaction was over the fact that he knew the language, not over that specific comment, thankfully.

"Yes." Feeling that he should be truthful, he added, "However, it is the only other language I have learned. Is that odd that I speak it?"

"You know, I think I caught all of three words in there," Liz said in what appeared to be mock indignation before Raff could answer the question.

Apparently ignoring the girl, he nodded and answered, "Yes, it is sort of odd. I think you are the only other acolyte who came in knowing Elvish and you are excessively human."

"Thank you, I think?" How could one be excessively human, anyway? I guess from a half-elf's point of view, that statement works, Cyneric reasoned.

Raff shook his head, his braids whipping back and forth. "I just meant that it is surprising. There is more to you than you think, Cyneric."

That bewildered him; how was knowing a language or being good with animals surprising? It's not as though those were rare abilities, and neither had ever been particularly useful. Cyneric felt himself blush and switched back to Common so as to not leave Liz out of the conversation- and so that he could change the subject. "If you say so. But please just call me Cyn."

Liz jumped on that; Cyneric was beginning to notice that she'd take any opportunity to play a game of wits. "I take it not like moderate evil?"

Cyneric snickered, catching the pun. "Definitely not. Slightly, perhaps, but never moderately."

"Sure ye are," Raff grinned, then asked, "But why not 'Eric'? That would avoid those kind of comments."

"Gods, no. Definitely never 'Eric'." Noticing that the half-elf was taken aback by his empathetic reply, he tried to explain in a calmer voice, "That's a family name ending and I'd rather not be associated with them."

"Don't get along with them, I take it?" Liz asked.

"That would very much be an understatement." Cyneric shrugged, brushing this off and changing the subject again. I'm not very good at this, am I? "If you don't mind me saying, 'Raff' seems a strange name for someone who looks like an elf."

Raff tucked his brown hair behind an ear, as if that comment had drawn attention and reminded him that they were pointed. "Ye shorten your name t'avoid your family. Mine's short because my family made it too long- try getting stuck with a name like Rafion Goldenstrings."

Okay, maybe I have no room to complain about my name; at least it's normal. "Ouch. But that doesn't sound elven either." He quickly caught himself, not knowing what the half-elf's opinion was about his heritage, and added, "I am sorry! I mean, if you don't mind me saying so."

Raff smiled, apparently not offended. "'Tis fine. Blame my da- he decided his surname was too hard for audiences t'remember, and switched t'something easier. Unfortunately 'easier' also meant 'absolutely silly'."

Not knowing anything about that kind of subject, Cyneric asked about the part of the sentence that had caught his attention. "Audiences?"

"He's a musician."

Here Liz threw in another of her sarcastic retorts, "That certainly explains your flair for the dramatic; it must be hereditary."

Raff winked at her and said dramatically, "Alas! Ye have discovered something I keep secret. Here I was thinking I'd tricked everyone inta thinking I was bland and morose."

Liz broke into a fit of snickering and was finally able to quip back, "Right, keep telling yourself that, elf-boy. And Cyn here really is an ancient ranger."

Cyneric was really starting to enjoy the company of these two, out of his element though he was, and tried his own silly comment in defense, "Perhaps I am just cleverly disguised as a bewildered young priest-in-training. You never know." As if on cue, the mouse started chittering again and he added, pretending to understand it, "See? They don't believe us, Tyu."

As Liz started snickering again, Raff grinned at him and said "Ye'll fit in great here. That mouse's a good judge of people."

Said to almost anyone else, their reaction probably would have been laughter at that statement, but Cyneric just grinned back. "I hope so."



((And back to Cyn for a bit! I realized I'd almost finished this months ago but have been so distracted by writing Meren's story that I never posted it. I did change narrative styles, though; now that Cyn's backstory is crossing over with Raff's, it makes more sense to tell it in 3rd person since in the future I'll be switching back and forth between them for stories.))

Two letters sent from Joven

Ken,                                        June 14th, 708CC
Friends and I are heading west in company of ex-traveling companion. I have message of some importance to bring to Rinos; once delivered, I shall seek you out. Have much I want to tell you and would like to introduce you to said group.

Still no word from R and am rather worried, hoping you have news.

See you in a week or so,
~C

This first letter was tied to a bird and sent off about a day's travel away from Joven. On the outside it was addressed "Lieut Kendric Conroy, army barracks, Rinos". Short, but it'll get it where it needs to go, assuming the bird makes its way safely there. Kendric's fairly used to small animals showing up with things tied to their legs- comes from having Messengers as brothers. The note itself is short, as well; that's in case it gets waylaid. Cyn doesn't exactly want to advertise something like "Hey! The duke of Joven and us very famous and known adventurers are near!". He's smart enough... okay, paranoid enough to be vague.

----------------------------------------

This letter was sent north from Joven. Cyneric is from the south, but his parents have since relocated to the northern coast. This is quite to his liking, as it means he has an excuse for infrequent contact.

Father,
After spending my entire life avoiding what you tried to force me into, I've stumbled onto a path much like that anyway. Hope you are happy and thank you for leaving me so screwed up that I feel too guilty to enjoy it properly. You elitist snots can bite me.
... Where did THAT come from? He really needed to pay more attention to what he was writing as this clearly isn't what he wanted to say... although he'd sheepishly admit that getting those words out felt good. Crinkle that up and toss it into the waste basket. Try again with more tact.

I figured now would be wise to send you word as I am traveling through Joven and word would reach you quickly with the least amount of effort on the part of my brethren. No use asking one to travel far to where he won't be appreciated and likely will be thrown out on his arse as soon as he hands over this letter.
... Sigh. Crinkle that up, try once more. It's not like they'd actually do that. Probably. Possibly. Hopefully.

I am traveling through Joven and thought now would be a good time to contact you. As I've learned recently, word of the endeavors of my traveling companions and I has spread far, so I imagine you have an idea of what I have been experiencing, should you have cared to listen. Likely this is exaggerated, but perhaps now you will finally be pleased with your pacifistic, pariah son.
Crinkle crinkle, curse, grumble. One more try and if that doesn't work, he'll admit defeat and go back to pretending that his parents don't exist for a while.

Father,
I am traveling through Joven and, as I am relatively nearby, wanted to contact you. However, since it is west to Rinos my companions and I are headed, rather than north, a letter shall have to suffice. I hope that you and Mother are doing well and that the coast has proved an environment of comfort to the both of you.

Upon reaching Joven, I learned that news of my traveling party's exploits have reached great distances. I am not overly pleased with this, but I am going to assume that it means you've heard word of me, as well. Likely this has been exaggerated. However, yes, it means your clerical son has become an adventurer of some distinction. It is certainly not the path I wanted to end up on, but I am sure this is more to your liking than the thought of me toiling away in the backwaters, delivering mail from anyone who wandered into the mosque that day. I know you have always disliked that I entered into the priesthood (and this one in particular), so any amount of heroics is probably an improvement.

While in Rinos, I shall try to keep track of who is what and what is where because I know that sort of thing is of interest to you and Mother, but I have a feeling that Kendric is far better at relaying such news than I. Still, I will dutifully try to keep my eyes open.

We are setting out momentarily, so I must quickly seal this letter and ask one of my brethren to take care of it for me.

As I wrote above, I hope this finds you both well.
Your son,
Cyneric
Well, that'll have to do. It's unlikely his rather obtuse father would catch the contempt he felt, anyway, and this was about as civil as he could bring himself to sound. At least it appeared that he said all the right things, even if in actuality he'd either "forget" about that promise or give slightly wrong information, depending on what kind of mood he was in that day. Why did his family always have to be so difficult to deal with?

Adventures of a Young Messenger - Always Trust a Fox (Part 5)

Part 5 - Always Trust a Fox
(Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 6)

It was an enjoyable trip to Woodland city, it being high summer and having the good companionship of the strange fox and the assorted animal life we met along the way, so I took my time. A day and a half after setting out from my family's manor, I arrived at the gates of Woodland just before sunset. Before I could ask the gatekeeper which way it was to the Messengers' Mosque, he pointed straight ahead and said "Go past the Temple of Apollo until you get to the fountain, turn left and go up the main street. The mosque will be on the left before you get to the fortress." Noticing my confusion- was I in a town of psychics?- he added with a chuckle, "It's the fox, lad. Been here long enough to know that foxes go with Messengers." How could I have missed that obvious fact? It wasn't like anyone who wasn't blind could miss a fox this large; he certainly didn't look like a dog or anything like that!

With a sheepish smile at my own obtuseness, I thanked him and continued on, eager to reach my destination and see what these Messengers were like. For one thing, were they really as strange as the impression I'd gotten after reading the scroll?

Turning the corner I saw the mosque before me: a large, old grey stone building with its red double doors ajar, although if this was to let in the cool evening air or out of welcoming, I wasn't sure. I walked up to the doors and, figuring that I wouldn't have to knock since they were already open, peeked in. The fox, knowing that we'd reached our destination and not understanding why I was hesitating on the doorstep, brushed past my legs and entered. I shrugged, then followed him in.

Inside was a small foyer; past that was a large room with many desks, tables, shelves, a great many scrolls and a great many industrious people dressed in red. There were a few adolescents in plain robes (acolytes, I realized), but all looked older than myself; if this was to be my home, it appeared that I was going to be the youngest. Well, at least I was used to that. I also noticed that everyone over the age of eighteen or so looked incredibly tan, but since this was unimportant, it got pushed to the very back of my mind to wonder about later.

The fox led me to an experienced -and busy-looking- priest who fell into the "very tan" category, but then vanished into the bustle as I was distracted by taking in my surroundings. Unsure of how the man would react to being interrupted by a random kid, but assuming that the fox had led me to someone who would be able to help, I cleared my throat and said as politely as possible, "Hello. I apologize for interrupting you but the fox brought me here and I'm not sure where exactly I'm supposed to go..." As the words came out of my mouth, I realized just how silly they sounded.

The man looked up from the parchment he had been reading, and, to my surprise, instead of brushing me off or looking annoyed, gave me a big smile as he said, "Ah, you must be the new kid Armand told us would be arriving. Follow me."

Nodding in agreement that I was, in fact, the "new kid", I followed him through the organized chaos of that work area and up a quieter flight of stairs. He chatted cheerfully to me as we walked through the mosque, although I'll admit that I did more nodding than replying as he was the sort to dominate any conversation (not to mention that I was feeling quite overwhelmed), and we eventually reached a closed door, at which he knocked. A kindly voice invited us into what turned out to be an office; at the desk was a smiling, not quite middle-aged man with black hair and pointed beard, garbed in the most ornate robe I'd seen so far in the mosque. He thanked the priest, whose name was apparently Ronnis, for "not frightening the boy away", which I didn't understand at all, since the man had been nothing but friendly. Instead of looking offended, Ronnis just laughed and retorted "That was once! Besides, he only got as far as the door" before leaving the room. The man behind the desk laughed and muttered something under his breath about some Messengers being too mischievous for their own good.

By this point I was utterly confused; weren't priests supposed to be dour, serious, and... well, boring? This all fit the impression I'd gotten from the scroll, but not any of my preconceived opinions of clerics. The man behind the desk must have noticed the look on my face because he asked, "Not what you expected, lad? Messengers know when to be serious, but Hermes is a Trickster, as well; He likes His followers to have a sense of humor, but that's an understatement when it comes to some of us." He nodded his head in the direction of the recently shut door.

Looking rather embarrassed because I didn't know that and in fact knew very little about Messengers at all; on the rare occasion my family received or sent messages, it was through a horse courier. Not wanting to offend the priest, but figuring I should be honest here, I replied, "I didn't know that, sir. Hermes isn't a god that is often... mentioned by my family." Because the fools think He's a common god and are too pretentious to even stoop to talking about Him, I added to myself, not daring to say that aloud. The man must have had an idea of what I was thinking, though, because he gave me a reassuring smile and said, "It is true that Hermes and his priests are hard working, but that does not make us lowly. However, judging from your expression, you already understand that." I nodded; I found most of the things my family thought to be wrong or stupid, so of course this was no different.

"I'm Armand, by the way; I'm the Head Messenger here, but I'm assuming that since you're here, you got my letter, so you likely already deduced that." I nodded again, although thinking that it would be just like someone like Ronnis to lead a wild goose chase instead of going straight to a destination.

He then went on to explain what it was that Messengers did (carry messages, sort messages, write and read things out for people who couldn't... if it had to do with words, the Messengers were right on top of it) and what I'd have to do (watch and learn and do a lot of the busywork around the mosque with the rest of the acolytes for a few years until I'd be allowed on deliveries). Armand was pleased to learn that I already knew how to read and write in two languages and told me I'd be learning more; that made me quite happy because I'd always wanted to learn more than Common and High Elvish, that second one being the only non-human language my father would allow, and that was begrudgingly.

Armand then showed me around the rest of the mosque, introducing me to the acolytes and a few of the full Messengers who weren't too busy; there were two student-clerics about my age, though older, and a couple more a few years older than that (one of these was elven, which kind of surprised me since everyone else I'd met seemed to be fully human- but judging by the hairstyle and ears, there was no mistaking this boy for a full human), as well as a few older priests and priestesses coming and going. Everyone seemed to be pleasant and good humored, even though none were idle, which certainly fit what I've learned of the Messengers so far.

When we got back to his office, the high priest returned to his seat and asked, "So, do you think you're ready to learn how to be a Messenger? As you likely noticed, you are the youngest here, which might be somewhat challenging to start." Drawing myself up and trying to appear confident- I mean, I was intelligent and ready to work, even if I was also new and young- I replied, "Of course, sir! I don't mind being the youngest; I can work hard and catch up."

Armand smiled. "I thought you might say that. I do have a warning for you, though." That deflated me; don't tell me there was going to be pointless rules here, too? Catching my expression, he quickly added, "Nothing about you per se, lad. I just get the feeling that you haven't been around too many young people and I know how Messengers can be; they're the nicest people I've met, but they can be rather... enthusiastic about pranks, so be careful until you get your feet under you, okay? I don't normally warn the acolytes, but most of them have a better idea of what they're getting into."

I thanked him for the advice and said, "You're right; I'd probably have just walked right into something." I thought for a moment and added, "I probably still will, but at least I'll know to watch out. This is part of the 'learning' thing, too, right?"

"You're catching on, Cyneric. I wish you luck, but I'm sure you'll do fine. One can always trust a fox." He paused in thought for a moment, and added, "Alright, maybe not so much, but Messengers can always trust a fox, if just because we're the only beings more sly than they are."

It wasn't until that night, after I'd settled in and been given my acolyte robes, that I recalled the cryptic warning my brother had given me earlier that week. As I drifted off to sleep on my first night as a cleric-to-be, I mused over how Armand seemed to have echoed his words, only in a way that turned out to be a lot less unnerving. Yes, I knew I was going to like it here, even if my new brethren did turn out to be slightly crazy.


(Part 6 can be found here.)

((Yeah, I had this mostly written months and months ago, but got distracted by Raff and never finished it. Sorry, Cyn. I do love you, too, even if I tend to neglect you for my elves.))

As we are about to face a dragon...

May 22ndish, 708CC, ? day of ---moon.
(We have been underground for far too long and I've completely lost track of the date or even the current moon phase. It's possibly Darkmoon by now, but don't hold me to that.)

Goblins, slaves, chaos... it has been an eventful past few days. We have freed those we set out to rescue, but are not in the clear yet. Our next task is to face a dragon and the bugbear goblin king at an underground lake and fortress, down at the bottom of the goblin mine. Straightforward enough, I suppose, but as we rest and try to prepare for an upcoming battle, as a priest I find myself facing somewhat of a moral dilemma.

There's a fine, fine line between mischief and harm, and that is a line which all Messengers must be careful to stay on the correct side of. Using our divinely granted magic to get someone to aid us who otherwise would be loath to do so is okay. Charming someone to ignore us and go away is obviously fine. Getting them to give us information? Fine, as well. But here's where the line gets sticky- it is not an act of Good to beguile someone into being friendly with the sole intention of killing them. In no way is it an act of Good to use mind-control with the direct objective being harm.

To explain this with relevance to recent events: using beguilement to acquire a monster as a guide? Perfectly okay. Using it to get information we need from a mimic? Fine. But I'm not entirely proud of the fact that I used it to send a group of goblins off to fight other goblins- that's too close to harm for me to be comfortable.

But I foresee us coming to a point very soon where I will have to use it for harm, and that fact troubles me. Part of the advice Hermes gave when I asked how to save those we came to rescue and get out ourselves was "join your strengths if you want to win", and, like it or not, beguilement is my greatest strength. I may prefer the more druidic magic Messengers are granted, but that is not our greatest ability. (Not being able to access that magic and having to rely on just beguilement has me longing to return to the surface, but I won't get into that here.)

The goblin king and dragon are most certainly Evil and have been capturing and killing a great deal of innocent people, so getting rid of them as quickly as possible is the ideal. My Charm magic may not be powerful enough to influence enemies of this magnitude, but it is my strongest weapon- in order to help my friends, that is what I should try, even if I am unsure of the result. But here my dilemma arises: since we do want to kill these two creatures, any amount of beguilement I do will be with harm as the direct intention.

Likely I am unduly worried here, as my god's words should reassure me that I would be allowed to do this and taking down Evil is certainly the righteous thing to do, but... I've just never been comfortable with doling out injury. Using my quarterstaff or flame magic to attack someone who is trying to hurt us is one thing (not that I particularly enjoy that, either), but mind-controlling them in order to hurt them... it just seems wrong.

So this is why I'm feeling rather torn. I know what I must do to aid my friends, but it's not something I want to do and I'm not entirely certain if it is something my god would approve of. But if I can charm something powerful into not harming my party- or even just distract it long enough for the fighters to take it down- surely that is the right thing to do. Maybe sometimes mischievous harm used in the name of Good is still a good act...

Or maybe I won't have to worry too much about this. We do have a potion of black dragon control and Linora has said that she knows Draconic (whereas I have a spell that will allow me to speak the dragon's language, but only for about ten minutes). With luck, she can handle this kind of thing and I won't have to resort to beguilement, giving me the option to instead focus on disruptive magic to try to nullify anything the dragon (dragons are magical, right?) or hobgoblin priests throw at us. I'll have my Charm magic ready as I always do, however, because it would be positively stupid not to. Fingers crossed and prayers sent, we'll get through this with minimal damage.

Clerics in yarn form

It's been forever since I made dolls for myself (and even longer since I've finished some; poor SwampFox still doesn't have armor or weapons), so I decided that, darnit, I was going to make a Raff. And, amazingly, I finished him! ...mostly. I still want to make him another outfit and his other animal sidekicks. And I even got some work done on the Cyn doll I "finished" two years ago.

So without further ado, a very image (and ramblings) heavy post- you can click the photos to be taken to flickr or to see them larger.

Here's Raff in his "official" outfit:

The priest robe and winged fox quarterstaff are what he needs to have when he's on duty as a Messenger. And yup, I did base the robe off the drawing Niere did for me.

If it wasn't obvious from the uneven hem of the robe, the dirt stains painted on (which are a lot more obvious in person- the picture washed that out), and the "stitches" on the one sleeve, Raff is a friggin' mess. As my fiancé so aptly put it, he's the elven equivalent of Pigpen. LOL! He was originally training to be a ranger, so he's constantly covered in dirt ... and small animals. That's his pet mouse on his shoulder.

There are two nice and neat things about Raff, though, that I made sure to include on the doll- his intricately braided hair (he has several tiny braids and two larger ones pulled back at the sides) and a jade and gold pendant necklace (I made that out of clay and gold-colored chain) that was given to him by his best friend. Otherwise, he looks like something the cat dragged in. ;)


Unlike a lot of religious orders, Messengers are allowed to be out of uniform, but only when not out on a delivery assignment (or if they have a really good reason to be going undercover...). This is what he looks like by default:

Yeah, Raff never quite got away from being a ranger, so that's his main disguise... although it's technically not a costume. He does have ranger training and this is how he's usually dressed. That sword at his belt is pointless, though; Messengers aren't allowed to wield harmful weapons, so Raff can only have this as part of a costume and never to fight with. It may as well be permanently stuck in the scabbard (which incidentally is how I sculpted it, lol).

He's wearing his crocheted leather armor and a gittern slung across his back. Here's a closeup of the gittern:

The gittern is really for his bard disguise, but I haven't made that yet.

This outfit is missing two things- a simple quarterstaff (or, rather, his actual quarterstaff, but with the fox removed- I'd have to make a different one, though) and dirt stains. This outfit should be just as messy as the robe, if not more so. However, I'm going to be making another outfit for this doll and with that one his legs and feet here would be visible- and that's a disguise he'd actually be clean for. So I can't dirty up this outfit the way I'd like.


And moving on, I didn't make too many changes to Cyn- I basically just added things he's acquired in the D&D game or that I added to his character design since I made the doll (here he is originally).

Basically he just got a fox, a javelin quiver, and some necklaces. The fox is hiding because I had to prop it up against Cyn's leg to get it to not flop over.

Here's a closeup of the quiver, along with the shield he already had:

The "H" stands for Hermes and the feather is one of the symbols of that deity.

It's not visible on the doll, but since these necklaces are Cyn's most prized possessions, I figured I should add them:

The Raff doll has an identical painted on one- that's supposed to be the amber pendant that all Messengers receive when they're Called by Hermes. (Cyn's should actually be on a gold chain, but copper was the closest color paint I had.) Cyn always wears these under his robe but never takes them off. Like I said, they're the two possessions that mean the most to him, but a Messenger isn't supposed to let anyone know about the amber necklace and the other has... er... personal meaning, so he's not about to let anyone see them. (In contrast, Raff's one necklace is always visible. That says a lot about these characters, but I'm not going to get into the reasons for this yet.)

I'll be making another outfit for Cyn at some point, but I'm going to wait until I either write about that main disguise or actually use it in the D&D game.

And here are the animals:

They're kinda wonky, but considering that the mouse is only about 3/4" tall and I'd never sculpted those kinds of animals before, they came out pretty well. I wasn't going to make a fox (the Cyn doll already has one I crocheted) but when I ended up with an animal shape too large for a mouse, I turned it into a fox and then retried the mouse.



I realized a few things as I made these dolls then placed them side by side:
1.) Cyn screwed up Raff's skintone. I should have used Cyn's (the usual doll color) for Raff and made Cyn the next color up (the color of my Caliban doll), but at the time I thought that darker color was too dark. So now Raff's stuck being pasty because I didn't want to make the two of them the same color.
2.) I make dolls differently than I used to; I didn't used to give humans ears and I used to set the eyes further apart. So Cyn looks strangely eyed or something. I was going to give him ears now but realized that if I give him that other disguise, they'd just get in the way.
3.) It's friggin' weird to see these characters the same height. Raff's a good six inches shorter than Cyn (the elf-boy is tiny), but I couldn't really show that in doll form. And yes, I do find it amusing that the physically strong, outgoing, protective fighter is so small, whereas the introverted, scholarly pacifist is about six feet tall.

Yeah, long blog post is long, but I wanted to ramble about all that. If you got this far, congrats! If not, I hope you at least liked the pictures. ;)

~Meri

Rant from the Goblin Mines

((One of my friends was curious about the long rant Cyneric spewed in a recent D&D game, so I figured I'd share so she could read it. I wrote half of this and my fiancé, the DM, elaborated, apparently enjoying the fact that my poor character is slowly losing his marbles. This took place right after this journal entry and involved Cyn yelling at the top of his lungs at the rest of the party of adventurers. Never before has my usually-stoic cleric freaked out like this...))

"You are all a bunch of brash and recklessly addlepated twits! Morons! Complete and utter idiots! Do any of you have an iota of common sense? Don't any of you lot ever think? What a sorry bunch of so-called adventurers! Smart- get yourselves in a position where you have to be rescued. That will really help those we've come to help. I'll say it again- morons!

"I don't know what in the gods' names came over Ghost, but the rest of you... Why did you join in that madness? What are we, throwing a kegger out here? And don't get me started on the whole 'stealth operation' thing. What part of 'don't let them see you under any circumstances' was so difficult for you to wrap your heads around? AIIIIIGH!

"I don't believe this! I was under the impression that I was adventuring with a seasoned and experienced platoon of elite mercenaries, but APPARENTLY 'watch out for the goblins' wasn't in the curriculum! I've got half a mind to... RRRRRRGH! Hey! I've got an idea! Let's go in and get us all killed this time! It worked so well on the first attempt, I figured we'd take another shot at it! When they were handing out brains, you must have thought they said plains, and yours got burned up in a brushfire! I don't believe this! I thought my family was bad, but... my family! I have a family to feed! AIIIIIIIGH! ... I'm going for a walk!"



((At which point his rant quickly turned into utter nonsense and he stormed off in slightly-insane fury [like I said, some marbles have gotten loose] to spend the next few hours alone in the woods, talking to animals and praying to try to calm himself down. Messengers are rather eccentric to start and there's a reason for this extra level of... well, oddness. He's not "crazy" so much as distracted and out of sorts; to say he's not feeling like himself right now would be an understatement.))