23 December, 2001

Forest Glade -- Birnamwald(#15043RFJL)

Sun filters through the treetops exposing a brilliantly green grove set into the trees. Within this grove uprooted trees and half buried rocks provide suitable places for those of all species to rest and sun themselves. The grass that carpets the ground grows wild, attaining heights no greater than a handspan.

Vines cover the edges, reaching toward the light before they flower and bloom. There are several paths leading from this peaceful center, some toward the borders of the great forest, but most drawing you deeper.

Contents:

Garem

Obvious exits:

To the Tower of Day To the water To the Deep Forest

It's a little after dawn, almost day. The sky is richly blue, the clouds high and thin.

Lisle steps out of the tower. She is often up early, especially in this place. Her other people are not with her. They treat her with some deference, she being their lord. Her cloak is thrown back over her shoulders. Tall and willowy, she could be fae herself, were it not for her classically human looks.

A trio of figures can be spotted at the distance: a man riding a donkey, and a teenage boy, walking at a ponderous pace, but decidely in the direction of the Watchtower of Day.

Lisle at first does not see them. She steps away from the tower toward a bench, or a stump, something to sit on, And why? To dry her long golden hair in the morning's sun. It's only when she sits she hears the noise. Posture straightens. She holds a hand up to block the sun.

The man on the donkey is grizzled and slumped on his saddle, being led by the boy. The man spits some coarse words at the teenager, then whacks him in the rump with his staff. The young man yelps, then steps to, picking up the pace.

Lisle stands where she is, combing through the fall of her hair, damp not wet. She seems content to let them come to her, though the fine line between her brows shows she doesn't much like what she sees so far.

Soon, they approach. The boy is perhaps thirteen, with a mess of oily red hair. He's covered in dust from his travels, and his master no less. Garem mutters something coarse at the boy, which sets him to helping the rotund old man down from his mount.

When the old man dismounts is when Lisle walks toward them, long-gaited steps showing a deep-rooted elegance. "Good morning to you, Master." Of course, she speaks Thari.

Garem balances his girth with the assistance of his walking staff. "See he's fed, boy, and don't make a mess of it," he grumbles at redhaired boy.

Lisle tells the boy, "Yon you will find hay and oats," which things are stored outside under the protection of a broad-crowned tree.

Garem says, "Go on," even as the boy begins to lead the donkey away. He then turns his eyes to Lisle, and they widen a touch. He shows an toothy grin.

Lisle inclines her head graciously to Garem, acknowledging, "Good morning," she says again, polite. Aryan and tall, she has all the look of nobility, but lacks the pious demeanor of the Orthodox.

Garem lifts his eyes above Lisle, to look upon the Watchtower. "Two hundred years," he mutters, with a sigh that seems to deflate him.

Lisle follows his eyes to the tower, then back again, "Two hundred years for what? And may I offer you something? Food? Tea?" She is keeping her distance, but shows nothing like suspicion.

Garem's words seem to remind him she's there, and his eyes track back to her. "Where is the elf?"

A moment's grief shows in a flash of passionate sorrow. "Do you mean the man who lived in this place?" Lisle's mouth fades from subtle smile to straight line.

Garem's eyes narrow the faintest trace at Lisle's flicker of emotion. His lips press thin. "I do hear tell of an elf with horns taking what is not his."

Lisle says, "Aye. That was my Lord. He is no longer here. Gone away. Dead. I did not realize this was not his, it seemed abandoned the first time I laid eyes upon it."

Garem's question is practically a demand. "Within the Watchtower or without?"

Lisle puzzles at this question. "It seemed abandoned when we walked here together. Inside and out, but then I was only a visitor here."

Garem's voice cuts the air, "Did the elf die in the Tower?"

Lisle says, "No." Her lower lip trembles, vulnerable. "He died many long leagues from here.

Garem's loosens with a relieved sigh, up until the moment he looks back to Lisle. He steps toward her, hand out to steady her. "Come now, child. It do be all right. I have heard beautiful, wondrous stories of the afterworlds. And the elf one do be the finest."

Lisle is not the kind of woman who invites touch, not even so casual a touch. She side steps this touch, not in a jittery way, but so smooth it would be hard to tell the idea is unappealing to her. It is a twist of the waist, a step back for eyes, bluer than the sky, to look up toward the sun. "Your words console me not, for I now live in the world without him. But you say this as if you knew him? Were you coming to tell him to leave this place that he loved?"

Garem says "I did come to meet him and little more."

Lisle looks to Garem. "May I ask who you are, Master?"

Garem doesn't seem sure he's hearing things right. "Who am I?" he asks, clearly insulted.

Lisle passes a hand over her eyes. "I know you not. You were coming to meet him. He never mentioned you."

Garem mutters, like a curse, "Outsiders." His eyes return to Lisle, and he all but thunders, "I be the Keeper of the Four Stones! The Binder of the Garghul Shadad! The Breaker of the Seven Seals! Garem be my name." As he speaks, he slowly lifts his staff over head, shaking it.

The lady may seem only fair to look upon, but she holds herself with a lordly dignity. Garem's thundering doesn't bother her, doesn't make her cringe or draw back. Instead she seems to grow taller herself. Perhaps it is merely her posture, or the way the morning sunlight makes an aura of hair no woman has a right to possess. "Well met, Garem, Keeper of the Four Stones, Binder of the Garghul Shadad, and Breaker of the Seven Seals." Her feet come apart, perhaps a foot. "I am Lisle, youngest daughter of the greatest king that ever lived, Lady of Woods and Space, Master of the Stars."

Garem squints his right eye at Lisle. "A pretty bit you be, but no man nor woman born has ever mastered the stars."

The first hint of a smile, the subtle kind that shows ghostly dimples. A droping of dark-rooted blonde lashes. "I am. And others have. I am not the greatest among the star masters, but not the least either. And stranger I may be, but I love this place for the sake of my lord, long gone. Not even a mistress of the stars could bring him back now."

Garem grumbles to himself, then asks, "You mean to stay, then?"

Lisle says, politely, "By your leave, yes." She looks quite determined.

Garem raises his voice to yell, "Boy, bring the saddle bags! We'll be staying a time!"

It's Lisle turn to lift her brows, surprised.

Lisle says, "With me?" Chin to the tower, "Here?"

Garem says "I respect that what you do, you do for lost love. But a Watchtower must be ready for what may come."

Lisle says, "It isn't just love that brings me here to stay, but many things, my joy in the forest, though I know it not, yet, one of them." Pensive a moment, she then asks, "What do you mean, ready?"

The boy comes staggering up, under the weight of two heavy saddlebags. "And prompt, Thad. You do be learning, after all," Garem comments. Looking back to Lisle, he says, "You will learn when I decide."

Lisle's regal beauty dissipates in two seconds to an imperious pride that would do Eric proud. It is not a lovely thing to look upon, it is full of the promise of danger. This is overcome by her own gentle womanliness and the sag of her shoulders in, once again, sorrow. "I see the way of it. Will you help me and mine restore this place? What my lord has left undone? Or is this some kind of agreement? A binding of me to this place?"

Garem says "All of those things and more."

Lisle says, more seriously, "These bindings usually go in more than one direction."

Garem says "As I said, as I said, you will learn when I decide. There is a timing to matters of power and sorcery.""

Lisle says, archly, "This I know, and I am no stranger to the arts, Master Garem." The pride is gone, respect in the very tone of her voice.

Garem nods some meager approval. "Will you show us to our room?"

Lisle then smiles more generously, "My Lord, Caivar, restored the fourth floor."

Lisle glances at the boy as she walks, elegant-stride, toward the tower.

Lisle says, "I have five servants who abide with me."

Lisle steps into the tower's entrance, the very cut of her cloak, so perfect to her ankles, suggesting wealth and taste.

The Day Tower -- Birnamwald(#9197RFL)

The Tower of Day, so long abandoned and empty, shows new signs of light and life. Of its five levels, only one stands in use: the fourth. The rest are cluttered and musty, though the structural damage is minor. A wide, stone stair twists about the tower's inner wall

The fourth floor has been returned to its original glory. It is a place of sunlight and warmth and strength, with wide windows open to the sun. The walls are taken up in golden fresco, attempts to capture of the sun's glory.

There are a handful of quarters here, each having a study, bed chamber, and water closet.

Obvious exits:

Out

Garem enters, Thad behind him with both bags over his back, stooping to carry the weight. Garem's eyes flick about the place and a deep frown sets on his face.

There's a man at the top of the stairs. He looks very military, strong chest, and in a uniform of blue and grey. "Baroness," she calls her, then stops, looking at Garem and Thad with all the suspicion Lisle lacks.

Lisle says, "I'd hoped to continue..." she lifts her eyes, and her voice, "Captain Tarrian."

Garem scratches the thick of his beard, absently. Perhaps he managed not to hear Tarrian. He certainly doesn't look at the other man.

Lisle makes it to the second story 'landing'. Here she pauses to introduce. Tarrian is a man who has served in many wars and he looks it, a vew scars carved upon his face. That he loves Lisle is all too clear -- not a romantic love, but there is a certain level of devotion and protectiveness that can be seen in the way he regards her. Lisle says, "Master Garem, please meet my Captain, Tarrian. And this.." She had forgotten Thad's name.

Lisle squints a little, several lines appearing between her brows. That fades.

Lisle's lashes lower.

Garem says "The boy do be dumber than my ass. And if truth do be told, I like Marius the better."

Garem says "Call him Thad."

Lisle looks up, as though she had a momentary bad headache. "Thad," she smiles at the boy, a shower of sunshine.

Tarrian nods briskly.

Lisle continues the introduction, "Captain, The Master and Thad will be staying in one of the suites." Her tone is commanding.

Lisle unfastens her cloak, showing a sapphire at her throat. It's large and guady, almost arcane.

(Tarrian shows Garem and Thad to their quarters.)