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!))

New D&D Chaos and Charm Spells

My husband (the wonderful and talented Dungeon Master) and I finally had a chance to finish some priest spells that I (and a few helpful friends) had been working on for ... geez, a few years at this point. My priest follows Hermes, that world's god of Messages and Mischief, so I've always been kind of irked that very few of the spells in the 2nd edition Player's Handbook actually fit his priesthood- he doesn't heal or fight or do anything particularly "useful"; instead he tends to function as a delivery boy with a side of druid and a bit of bard/rogue thrown in for good measure. A few of the animal spells work for the "Message" side (since animals can carry messages or give information), and the priests of Hermes do specialize in Charm magic (mind control? You betcha!), but otherwise there really wasn't much that fit the "Mischief" side of his duties. Not all priesthoods are boring, despite what you might think from reading through the yawn-inducing selection of priest spells.

So I decided to get creative. My goal was to create an entirely new sphere (a sphere is a branch of spells that all fit a theme) and call it Mischief, but one of the DMs on my DM's forum pointed out that in one of the extra D&D books there's a sphere called Chaos. Now THAT is what I'd been looking for! (This book also contained a sphere called Thought; this fills in the gaps for the "Message" side of my priest's order by giving him Telepathy and communication magic.) Now the new spells that I had been creating had a category!

So far we've come up with four new ones; three of which fit into the Chaos sphere and one that's a new, more general Charm spell.

Transmuting Tincture - Level 1
-Sphere: Chaos
-Range: 0
-Components: Material, Somatic
-Duration: 6 hours
-Casting Time: 1 round
-Area of Effect: caster
-Saving Throw: None

This spell enables the priest to change his or her appearance slightly, altering hair color, eye color, skin tone, or any combination of the three for the duration of the spell. Nothing else is changed other than coloration and it cannot be dispelled; it must wear off on its own.

When this spell is in effect, it stacks with a Disguise proficiency (required of this priesthood), improving that by 3. Since this spell cannot voluntarily be removed, if the priest should need to look like himself in that time frame, a Disguise check would have to be made. There is no saving throw for the spell itself, but if used with a disguise, then a roll must be made.

The somatic and material components of this spell are combined; the priest must draw a fake mustache on his finger in charcoal and bring it to his lip. Once the spell goes into effect, the charcoal drawing is erased.

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Snakes in the Backpack - Level 1
Sphere: Animal, Chaos, Summoning
Range: 30 yards
Components: Verbal, Material, Somatic
Duration: Special
Casting time: 1 round
Area of effect: 1 closeable object
Saving throw: None

The version of the spell depends on the words spoken by the priest at the time the spell is cast and the material used. The number of snakes and kind depend on level and/or alignment. The target for the spell is any type of closeable container (backpack, chest, basket with lid, etc).

If fake snakes are selected, for every 2 levels of the priest, 1d4 springy fake snakes leap out of the pouch, backpack or closeable container; these vanish after 1 round. If the priest chooses real snakes, this summons the same number of snakes of a chosen variety. These also pop out of the bag and have a chance of attacking the target (depending on the species of the snake summoned) before slithering away.

Summoning venomous snakes should be carefully considered by good-aligned priests. The snakes, live or fake, remain inert and immobile until the container is actually opened, at which point the real snakes spring to life.

For the real snakes option, the material component is a piece of snakeskin (of the type of snake being summoned) coiled up while casting the spell. For the fake snakes, a coiled spring is the material needed. These are expended when the spell is cast.

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Bogey Bombardier - Level 2
-Sphere: Plant, Chaos
-Range: 40ft
-Components: Material, Somatic
-Duration: 3d4 rounds
-Casting Time: 4
-Area of Effect: 1 creature/level
-Saving Throw: Negate

When this spell goes off, the priest is able to effect a number of creatures equal to his level. Creatures affected are entitled to a saving throw vs Spell; if they fail, they are coated in a sticky ooze that lasts for 3d4 rounds. This ooze slows them down, adding 5 to their initiative in battle. This also causes the creatures to become adhesive and any item in their hands at the time of the spell cannot be dropped for the duration. Once the spell expires, the ooze vanishes. (The ooze is like tree sap in composition.)

The material component for this spell is a red rubber nose that the priest puts on and honks once. This is not expended by use.

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Aura Mask - Level 3
-Sphere: Charm
-Range: touch
-Components: M, V, S
-Duration: 1 day/level
-Casting Time: 1 round
-Area of Effect: 1 cubic foot/level
-saving throw: Neg.

Unlike a somewhat similar wizard version of this spell, this one doesn't change the aura of an object, but instead influences the mind of the person focusing on the item. When a detection spell is cast, the Charm spell on the object causes the spellcaster testing it to believe the object is unmagical. Any person attempting to use magical means to determine if the object is magical must save vs Spell; success negates the spell's effect on that individual and they see the object as being the magical thing that it is.

The material component is a piece of wool passed over the object; this is expended when the spell is cast.

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I'll be working on more spells in the future; it's a lot of fun having ones that are actually relevant to this priesthood!

~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.

Speaking of Cyn's best friend

For a birthday present my awesome and incredibly talented friend Niere told me she'd draw me whatever character I wanted her to; after much thought (I love her art so much that it was hard to pick!) I decided on Raff, Cyn's best friend:

(Isn't Niere an amazing artist!)

Raff (his full name is Rafion, but he never goes by that) is a half-elf Messenger (the same rank as Cyn; they're basically the same age now, but half-elves age rather slowly, so that'll change; this is going to be a plot point for Cyn when he eventually realizes it) who shares Cyn's skill with animals; instead of a fox, though, Raff has a pet mouse. (He likely has trained a different animal or two, as well, but he always has a mouse.) His robes are always travel-worn (he gets yelled at by the higher priests for that- Messengers aren't supposed to look unkempt) because he just doesn't notice when they start to fall apart; he's one of the Messengers out on constant delivery assignments (rather than working from a home mosque, like Cyn does), so he's bound to look more travel-worn, anyway. Raff was originally training to be a ranger before he was Called by Hermes, and, charismatic as he is, he hasn't quite grasped all that goes along with civilization, such as tidy clothing, lol. Oh, and don't ask him to hide his ears to pass as a human- he prefers to look elven (that is, unless he's planning some sort of mischievous disguise, of course!) because then he can look more unique; there aren't a lot of elves in his part of the world.

I didn't pick him to be drawn because of Cyn's backstory (although Raff will be in that), but because he's going to be the main character in the next story I'm working on. Where Cyn's story is a kinda dull backstory (no wonder- I'm writing it mostly for myself so I can give him character development for the D&D game), Raff's is going to be an actual story not told from first-person point of view: it's a rather silly mystery involving stolen letters and a magic-possessed priest, and the shenanigans that ensue from the fact that Raff is more Charisma than Wisdom/Intelligence (ie more charm than brains; he's more inclined to try to influence people to get himself out of trouble than actually avoiding the trouble in the first place).

This is going to be a very fun story to write because I do enjoy characters with low Wisdom or Intelligence; they get themselves into so much amusing trouble. ;)

~Meri

A letter to Cyneric's best friend

Raff,
I hope this letter finds you safe and not getting into too much mischief, but I know you far too well to assume that wish to be at all likely. (That no one is catching on that you are the cause of the antics you wreak would be a more appropriate hope.) I have a great deal I want to tell you since my last letter, but much will have to wait until our paths next cross, partly because I don't want this letter to turn into a tome and partly because some of this information I do not feel safe sending even with our brethren. Yes, I know you are rolling your eyes and thinking me overly paranoid but I do have my reasons to be so worried.

I will give a vague warning here that I will elaborate on when I next see you: please, please be careful with a certain disguise. My party has become unfortunately high profile and as a result that disguise may no longer be safe for you to use on this side of the continent; in fact, it's probably not safe since being conspicuous means my group has made enemies. Once again, I am likely being unduly paranoid, but... well, please be cautious. And do not worry about me; you know I am not a risk taker, and traveling with adventurers has not changed that fact. I even have a bodyguard now who I trust to always have my back; he's an orc we met on the road who is bereft of his kin, so I'm hoping that traveling with my group makes him feel less alone. I know from experience that having friends can fill that kind of void, as you are quite aware.

So much has happened to me and my traveling companions lately that I can't possibly fit it into one letter, so I'll just give you a short summary. (Honestly, there are so many monster infestations around the area that I'm having some trouble keeping track of what's happening where and what the locations are that we're likely to be sent next; you know I have a horrible head for anything involving battle plans and fighting.) I mentioned earlier about being high profile; well, you know the dragon Khrom-Vel that I've mentioned before? We've become his champions (complete with uncanny wrist tattoo) after we helped heal him from a battle with two other dragons. I'm not entirely sure what this entails, but it seems like it means that we now can call on him if we have the need, and having a dragon on your side cannot possibly be a bad thing.

We've been traveling up and down the coast for a while; we were in Joven recently helping out Dwight, our old traveling companion, with a gnoll problem in that area. While there we also had an ill-fated encounter with a wizard that resulted in the death of one of our party members, the gnome Caleb. (I'm beginning to think that wherever we go, trouble is bound to follow close behind.) Our travels have finally taken us back to Woodland, but since the mosque has no assignment for me at the moment, I'll be going south with the rest of the group on a task set by the mercenary's guild. Between my duty and the tasks set by the guild, I'm rarely in Woodland anymore for more than just a quick stop over; I'm aware that sounds silly when you spend even more time away from there than I do, but I can't help feeling a bit homesick when on the road for an extended period of time. I know that soon enough I'll have permanent duty there, though, and will then yearn for all this traveling. Go figure!

Anyway, I've had an ongoing assignment for a while that you will find quite interesting. The Messengers in Port Town have developed a kind of magic... thing (I still do not completely understand it) that allows one to travel between mosques in a matter of moments, no matter the distance between them. It involves a stone altar-type thing and a canopic jar; the jar powers the Gate and allows it to function. (I think.) I have been dropping off the plans for this gate at each mosque I pass through and sending some along with those I deem trustworthy. Once every mosque has one, I'd imagine our assignments will be safer and quicker, but I'm still having mixed feelings about it since it means less traveling and that has always been what Messengers do. I can't say that I dislike being able to get home from, say, Joven, in seconds, though!

There is so much more I want to tell you, but, judging from the length of this letter, it will have to wait until I see you in person. Speaking of... do you think you could perhaps hint that you'd like some assignments that will take you back towards Woodland? I have no idea if the mosques you've been working through have any deliveries that have to come that direction, but I know you're quite good at persuading people to do things to your advantage. I'd like to give you a copy of the Gate plans to take back in that direction and have new information to give you for a disguise, but I'll admit that my wish to see you is not entirely (alright, not even close to entirely) duty or mischief-related; I miss you terribly. I'd joke that Hermes is having a good laugh over our assignments keeping us so far apart, but knowing Him, that's probably the truth. Hmph.

Sending my love,
Cyn

((I'm still not quite done the next part of Cyneric's backstory, but Josh [the DM and creator of this world] mentioned that since Cyn has letters he wants to send to a few people in-game, I may as well start writing them up. This isn't quite up to date, since it's a few gaming sessions behind [because it's a letter, it's only up to date to the last place he was able to mail it from], but it's the most "now" thing I've written in a while.))

Adventures of a Young Messenger - Called by a God (Part 3)

Part 3 - Called by a God
(Part 1, Part 2, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6)


There was no sign of the fox for the next few days, and I began to feel disappointed and somewhat foolish. Perhaps it had just been a normal wild fox and maybe the amber had just appeared there by sheer random chance? I sincerely hoped not, but it was possible (and little did I know, I was dealing with a Trickster). On the third night, however, I found the fox sitting in the same spot waiting for me as I strolled with my retinue of stray cats and the odd squirrel. Feeling strangely happy about this, I grinned and said hello. Once again he gave me an odd stare, but this time I didn't feel uncomfortable; if anything, it felt like I was being greeted by an old friend. The fox then rose and, supplanting one of the cats, took his place at my side where he stayed for the remainder of my walk. This same thing occurred for the next few days: I'd reach that spot and the fox would be there to join me. He turned out to be an even better listener than the usual animals I met in my nocturnal travels because, while most animals would sit still while I talked to them, he actually appeared to understand. I must have shared my whole life's story with him in that short time, although what interest that was to a fox, I had no idea.

Unfortunately my birthday soon arrived, bringing with it the accustomed unusual attentiveness by my family for the next day or two while they recalled my existence. I don't remember much of what happened on that birthday, it being spent trying to avoid the usual lectures by my parents along with the added problem of being anxious to get another chance to see the fox, but I do remember Kendric's gift. Unlike the rest of my family who only ever gave me things I neither wanted nor needed (daggers, bits of armor, a sword, books on subjects that didn't interest me... I passed them all on to Ken who could use them), my brother always knew what would be appreciated and this time was no different; he had noticed that I'd begun wearing that piece of amber and had gotten me a strong gold chain for it. This he gave to me along with the cryptic comment, "Good luck". Looking back, I probably should have asked what he meant, but I think I just assumed he was giving me another warning to not let anyone else know what had been happening. It turns out, though, that Ken may have been having one of those psychic sibling moments that occasionally popped up between us.

I wasn't able to sneak out of the house again for a few nights, much to my frustration and impatience, but when I finally did, I was disappointed to find that the fox was once again not waiting for me in his usual spot. With a sigh, figuring that it must have gotten bored with waiting and wandered off somewhere else, I continued on my walk. It wasn't until I'd reached the last part of my wanderings before I'd turn to go back home that I noticed him sitting up on the small hill at the edge of the property. I almost called out to him, forgetting that yelling out would be a bad idea, when the full moon came out from behind the clouds and shone a brilliant beam of light onto the fox. Confused but curious about this sudden show of dramatics focused on an animal, I climbed the hill to investigate. At the top I noticed that, although it was the same fox, he appeared even larger and more vividly-colored than usual, and he seemed to be holding something white in his mouth. Before I could get a better look, he padded over to me and dropped what turned out to be a scroll at my feet. Grateful for the bright moonlight, I saw that it had a small winged fox emblem embossed in the wax seal and was addressed to me by name. (Even then, overwhelmed as I was, I was curious about how an animal could know that the words "Cyneric Conroy" belonged to me. Now that I'm a Messenger, I realize it's quite simple for even an unintelligent animal to carry a message, but at that moment it added to the unearthly atmosphere.)

Breaking the wax and unrolling the scroll, I saw that it read in neat, even handwriting:
"Dear Cyneric,
Congratulations! We have learned at the Woodland Mosque what you have likely deduced some time ago: you have been Called by Hermes to become one of His Messengers. I asked my four-legged friend to convey this message to you as I know that he will get this scroll to you safely. Please conclude whatever needs to be completed and set out as soon as you can. The fox has agreed to stay by your side until you arrive and I hope that he will help convince your kin that you are serious.
We hope to meet you soon,
Armand, Head Messenger- Order of the Fleet Fox, Woodland"

Flipping it over I noticed the words:
"PS. This letter will self-destruct in five seconds upon reading this sentence."

Then further down:
"Just kidding!"

After staring in befuddlement at the bizarre mixed message from this letter and wondered how whoever this "Armand" was knew what my parents' reactions would be, I looked down to see the fox gazing at me intently. Guessing that he wanted some sort of answer, I nodded. The fox nuzzled my hand affectionately and ran off, which puzzled me greatly; he seemed to like me and the note did just tell me he would stay, after all. I shrugged, figuring that he was probably just hungry, and hurried back home to show the letter to Kendric and, with his help, plan out a good way to break the news to my parents.



(Part 4 can be found here.)

Thoughts from Logging Town

May 13th, 708CC, 6th day of Brightmoon

Like always, most of my narrative can be found over in this entry I just penned in our group's journal.

-I somehow forgot to ask the apothecary Armand knows about the moon shield; I'll have to do that the next time we're in woodland. (Note to self: remember this.)

-I loathe spiders, especially ones that are dog-sized; I sincerely hope Dorrmags drops that particular pet soon. I'm fine with normal insects (I summon them often), but spiders that are that large? Ugh!

-Why must everyone we meet automatically act scornfully towards SwampFox? Yes, he's an orc, but he's wearing very nice plate armor and traveling with an obviously un-Evil party; obviously he is not what they seem to think he is. It frustrates me that even my vouching for him doesn't often help- I've never had anyone doubt me before, and I can't see why they should about this, either. We priests of Hermes are trustworthy (well, when we're not causing mischief, but people tend to forget about that half of our Calling), so my word should be all that is needed. Honestly, this would not bother me half as much if it was me they were insulting, but they're shunning and insulting my friend who I trust to always have my back; and now that SwampFox is learning some Common, I hate that he has to hear the hateful words bigoted individuals throw at him. I suppose he may be used to it, but it's still not right or fair.

-This whole thing with Homer and Dorian is odd, to say the least. Why would Homer be traveling west when his task was to go south? Did he need help from the halflings that live in the forest? Are those halflings his kin? Did Dorian run into trouble? His task should not have taken him this long to complete. Could his group and Homer's both be in trouble? If so, I think it will take more than us to get them out of it. I'm thinking that once we learn what we can in Logging Town, we should try to find that halfling village to see if anyone there knows where we could find Homer.

-Are there many kobolds in the area of the fort? I know goblins are in the area, but will we have to worry about kobolds, as well? And do they normally carry their lunches around when they sneak up on empty forts?

Thoughts from the road

May 8th, 708CC, 1st day of Brightmoon

As always, most of my narrative can be found in this entry I just penned in our group's journal.

-I'm slightly frustrated that my knowledge of religions has failed me; I'm fairly certain that the moon shield we found at the gnoll camp is related to Artemis, but since the Older Gods are waning in this part of the world, it's extremely difficult for me to learn more about this. Fortunately Armand knows someone who knew some old priests, so I'm going to find the man and see if he can give me more information on this subject.

-Gating is rather terrifying, especially when parts of it explode when you're going through it. I'm quite thankful that it was not me who was shot out of the Gate! (Honestly, I think Shocko enjoyed that...) It's just scary to trust your life to a jar. It is nice to be able to get from Joven to Woodland in a matter of minutes, though!

-I'm proud of SwampFox; he spoke some Common the other day, which is great! The more Common he learns, the less he'll have to rely on me or Linora to translate for him. I don't mind, of course, but there are some situations where he's separated from us Orcish speaker, but has to know what's going on around him.

-It's strange to have so many animals around. I love animals, but two dogs, a fox, a cat, and a parrot (a parrot? Where'd Mags find a parrot, anyway?) means there are almost as many four-legged and winged members in the party as two-legged ones. ... actually, now I'm wondering if I should start casting Speak with Animals more often.

Some thoughts as we rest from a battle in Joven

May 1, 708CC, 1st day of Gladmoon

Most of my narrative of recently events can be found in the journal entry I just penned for the group, but I would like to add a few thoughts.

-I have found that I do enjoy being called "Senior Brother". I'm not normally one with a large ego; I had to pause for a moment before I realized the Messenger was referring to myself. It feels like just yesterday I was Called by Hermes; I suppose I don't really think of myself as "senior" yet. I mean, I'm just a Messenger.

-Random appearing and disappearing tattoos are disconcerting. If it hadn't been put there by someone I trust (and, frankly, it was a great honor for Khrom-Vel to call us his Champions!), I think it would have bothered me even more.

-I am going to miss our crazy ballistics gnome. Rest in peace, Caleb.

-I may not mention this enough, but I very much appreciate my friendship with SwampFox. As I witnessed yesterday when he prevented an orc from attacking me as I was engrossed in a spell, he always has my back.

-I am a bit worried that these Gates will make travelling so easy that ... well, Messengers will not be as respected as we are, and that people will begin to take us for granted. I likely have no reason to worry, or perhaps the real reason for my worry is that I enjoy travelling so much and I would not like to lose that. I will have to talk about this with Armand, or possibly the Head Messenger in Joven.