The sun is beginning it's gradual slide out of the sky by the time they reach the camp on foot. There are many people, almost as many as in town, all wearing brightly colored clothes and shimmering jewelry. They all wear earrings in their right ears, yet none in their left. Some wear ring in their noses, as well, and one woman, who approaches them as they enter, wears a long brass chain from ear to nose. The Gypsy girl heads straight to her and drops to one knee before her, holding out the unstrung bow.
Woman
Rise, child.
Gypsy:
<Stands keeping her head down>
Woman
<Casually> How was your trip into town, child? <eyes flit over Wyn, observing, then dismissing him>
Gypsy:
I was discovered, and this elf-man, Wyn, helped
me escape detection. I am bound to him now.
<Pauses> We need to see Grandmother Bishop,
Aunt Methuse. Wyn desires to know the location of
a loved one.
Aunt Methuse
<nodes slowly, examining Wyn again> We will miss you, child. May the love of the Lord and Light go with you.
Gypsy:
Yes, Aunt.
AM
Grandmother Bishop is in her wagon, as usual. <turns and disappears into camp without word of farewell.>
Wyn:
<Frowns as AM's eyes flit over him and almost
laughs at the woman's mention of a 'loved one'.
::Thinks:: I remember a time when I would
have called her such...:: Watches the woman leave and
frowns deeper> That was a lovely greeting.
<Sarcasm drips from his voice> Wagon? <Rolls eyes and
dusts off leathers.> This should be exciting....<Voice
lowers and the rest is lost.>
Gypsy:
<glances at him and frowns, by says nothing.
Weaves her way through the crowd to the edge of the
camp where an old, less brightly colored wagon
sits a little ways from the rest. She removes her
quiver of arrows and rests them by the step>
If you have any iron on you, you must remove it. We
cannot cross the thresh hold otherwise.
Wyn:
<Frowns as he follows her and stops when
she does. Eyes her as she sets her quiver on the ground
and laughs at her comment> I? Wear or carry
iron? <The thought amuses the elf further and lets
out another chuckle>
Gypsy:
<Is starting to get REALLY annoyed, but says nothing. Instead, she enters the wagon.>
The wagon is dark, with bunches of herbs hanging from the ceiling. A bed is shoved against one wall. A small round table is in the center of the room, an old woman siting at it. A simple silver ring adorns her nose. He eyes snap open, and she seemingly looks at the two as they enter.
Grandmother Bishop
<In a croaking voice> I've been waiting.
Gypsy:
<Drops to her knees in the same position as AM>
GB
Rise, child. Come, sit with me.
Gypsy:
<rises and sits beside her.>
GB
<looks over at Wyn> You may sit as well, young heir-Lord.
Wyn:
<Is slightly startled at the old woman's
words once he has entered and
witnessed the Gypsy's display for the woman. He smiles a bit after the
shock wears
off> You knew. <Still stares> A magical one you are. <Pauses and
shifts weight to
left foot> At least SOME ONE recognizes me as what I am. <He glances
at the
Gypsy woman and frowns. Is still standing>
Gypsy:
<Frowns deeply, a line creasing her forehead,
but she keeps her gaze focused
on the tabletop>
GB
<Keeps gaze focused on Wyn, but it seems more like she sees THROUGH him. Her eyes are a milky blue> <Smiles slightly> I am no more magical than a rock. I simply....see things. <Turns head a little toward the Gypsy girl> There is a pewter goblet in the shelf on your left. There is a bag beside it. Retrieve it for an old woman.
Gypsy:
<rises quickly and brings the items to her>
GB
<Looks back to Wyn as the girl gets the goblet and bag> I asked you to sit, young one, but you refused my hospitality. I will require a price for my services, then. <Her eyes seem to focus on his for a moment, then look thru him again> It is nothing special. Just an indulgence for an old woman.
Wyn:
<shakes head slowly> I know Lords
that were locked in the bowers for 'seeing'
things. <Shifts weight from foot to foot impatiently as the girl rises
to get the goblet
and the bag and almost laughs when Grandmother Bishop speaks of a price>
A
price? Indulgence? <snorts> You have kidding me got to be. <stops
moving and
fixes his gaze upon GB>
GB
<smiles faintly> I have seen too many summers to 'kid'. <reaches out a hand and the Gypsy places the items in her hand. GB keeps her gaze on Wyn> Sit, child. Do not let his anxiousness get to you.
Gypsy:
<sits as commanded>
GB
<Places goblet before her and open the bag. Withdraws a simple, full-silver dagger and a packet of herbs.> I now need a blood sacrifice.
Gypsy:
<Winces, as if she forgot about that particular
part. Glances at Wyn from
corner of eye>
GB
<Smiles as though she saw the gypsy's reaction, and tilts head up a little, breathing in deeply> .....But I think those pomegranates will be a nice substitute.
Gypsy:
<Sighs in relief and opens the woven bag
at her waist. Removes two fruits and
hands them to the old woman>
GB
<Takes pomegranates and deliberately slices them in half. The red seeds gleam wetly in the darkened wagon. She takes them and squeezes the seeds into the goblet. Many burst, leaving a blood-like trickle on the rim. She does this to both fruits, filling the goblet to the rim with the juice and seeds, and tosses the rinds away. She then slits the packet open with the dagger and pours the contents into the cup. Smoke rises from it instantly. She moves her hands over the cup, swirling the smoke, and mutters something that cannot be heard. The contents of the cup flash, briefly lighting her face and making her face look like a skeleton. She lifts the cup, now full of a dark amber liquid, halfway to her mouth. Whispers> Speak the name of the one who you seek.
Wyn:
<Snorts a bit, listening to the woman and
watching her actions. Still standing.
Draws back a little at her command and suddenly lets all go her way. Whispers>
My
sister.....Laeral. <Shifts hi weight and frowns, his brow furrowing>
GB
<Breathes> Laeral.....<brings the cup to her lips and drains the amber liquid in one long draft. She sets the pewter cup before her and closes her eyes. she is silent for several moment, the speaks in a sing song voice>
"South and south and south you go,
South down where the dead winds blow;
Into the earth, into the grave,
Into the place where few men brave;
There lie the Dark Men is splendid glory,
There lies the heart of Death so gory;
The Laurel spreads it's roots so deep,
The death of all our lives does creep;
Into the earth, into the land,
For us will play Death's marching band."
Gypsy:
<When the old woman says no more, she stands.>
Thank you, Grandmother
<turns to go>
GB
<Suddenly reaches out and grabs her arm in a grip of steel> Wait! <Opens her eyes, and focuses on the air before her> The way is treacherous, little Hunter. Your guide of Lord and Light abandons you. Place your faith in Xukuth D'oloth. Then your way will be made clear.
Wyn:
<His frown deepens as the woman spins her
puzzling words about them and
stiffens at the woman's use of Drow. Wonders how this rabble had happened
to
know such, and remembered the Gypsy woman's comment about making the mistake
of going to Nicardian. > Save anymore words, woman, I have not the time.
<Pauses
and pastes on a smile> If whatever you just spouted finds me that
half-blood....Laeral....then you and your kind shall be rewarded....<chuckles>....well
rewarded indeed.
GB
<After her final warning she lets go and seems to fall back into the trance, staring out into nothing.>
Gypsy:
<stares at Wyn when he says schtuff and
moves quickly to leave when it's
plain GB will say no more. Grabs the quiver and attaches it to belt and
turns to Wyn
when he comes out and closes the door behind him. Angrily> Have you no
respect
for your elders, elf? If Grandmother Bishop were in her prime, she'd have
never let
you get away with such obnoxiousness. <Adjusts quiver angrily> And it
does no
good to refuse Gypsy hospitality, for we only offer it once. <Looks
at him darkly>
She'll not offer YOU any service again.
GB
<Behind them the door to the wagon opens silently, and GB steps lightly onto the step, her milky blue eyes staring into the camp>
Wyn:
<Frowns> That woman may have been older
than I, but she is not MY elder.
She is a Gypsy elder. <Scoffs at the woman> And I care not what she
would have
'let' me get away with; I also care not for more 'service'. You seemed
to understand
what saying she was.....I have in my service you, and you OWE me, so need
her not
do I. <His anger is apparent as he enhances his words with hand gestures.
He does
not notice GB, as Gypsy does not> I also care not for Gypsy 'hospitalities',
as you do
not care for Elven 'hospitalities', so do not tell me what to refuse or
refuse not! <his
voice lowers as he hisses his anger at the woman>
Gypsy:
<Stiffens in anger, ready to defend the Gypsies and GB>
GB
Hush, both of you. <Steps onto the ground> You cannot leave yet, young elf-man. There is the price to speak of.
Wyn:
<Moves away and stares at GB, startled,
though he refuses to show it> What
do you want of me, woman? A price? Indulgence of an old woman if I do recall.
<His voice is full of contempt>
Gypsy:
<Jerks in surprise at GB's approach, and
turns to glare at Wyn from the tone
of his voice>
GB
Indulgence, yes. <Her eyes shift from the camp to Wyn> You have a flute. Play me a tune.
Wyn:
<Startles> .... a tune....you wish
me....to play for you. THAT is the payment?
<Voices disbelievement> <his hands travels to the silver pouch and
settles gently
upon it.>
GB
<shortly> Yes.
Wyn:
<Believing this to be the only way the woman
will let him leave, he nods and
unties to pouch from his belt and cups it in his hands. Slowly, and with
great care, he
unknots the drawstrings and slides the flute from it's hiding place. It's
ornamental
appearance seems to pose more for simple decoration than for use. He turns
it over
in his hands a few times before tugging the pouch to his belt and holding
the
instrument out before him> I....it was a gift....Laeral....for my birth
feast of nineteen.
<A smiles slowly graces his features and creeps into his eyes. His anger
is forgotten,
and his demeanor softens. Without another word he puts the finely crafted
Elven
trinket to his lips and closes his eyes. Taking a breath, he relaxes and
begins playing a
slow and rather sad song. Swaying gently with the slight rise and fall
of half note to
whole, he seems completely drawn in by his music. Ever so slowly, a small,
silver
grey line of smoke trails out of the far end of the flute. Its misty essence
slowly
forms into a slender, curvy woman, her body willowy and swaying gently
with the
music. Each rise and fall of the scale and every decrescendo or crescendo
pulls her
form into different positions as she dances a few feet away from the flute.
As the
song comes to an end, Wyn pulls his lips from the instrument and opens
his eyes.
The dancer fades into nothingness and the smoke that she was made of dissipates
on
the breeze. He takes a deep breath and again turns the flute over and over
in his
slender hands, his eyes rather glossy>
Gypsy:
<Eyes wide in surprise, lips slightly parted.
Looks from his face to his flute
and back again to his face.>
GB
<Nods, as if in satisfaction> Your magick is strong, yet scattered. You must focus yourself in order to survive and be victorious in the event to come. <Turns and steps onto wagon, lifting her skirts> Go now. Find Xukuth D'oloth. Then you can find your answers. <enters and closes door behind her>
Wyn:
<Stares after GB in what appears to be awe.>
My....my magicks? Survive and be
victorious? <Looks to Gypsy as if demanding some sort of answer to what
he can't
place> My magicks are the....the strongest in my House....save Laeral.
<Frowns and
lets his eyes move towards the flute> She....she MADE this flute....it's
magicks were
CREATED by her....I.....I....only wield them. Very poorly, I might add....<looks
back
up to Gypsy and then to the wagon door. Absentmindedly pulls the pouch
back out
and opens it slowly before giving it his full attention, slipping the flute
easily inside
and tugging on the drawstrings. He reties it to his belt before looking
back to the
Gypsy>
Gypsy:
<Stares at Wyn a moment longer before blinking
and shaking her head. Hefts
her unstrung bow slightly and turns as though to leave.> Well, now we know
where
to go. South IS a pretty broad term, though. <Looks back at Wyn, thinking
deeply and
frowning slightly, wrinkles marring her forehead> But there are no roads
leading
south....only north.<thinks on it a moment more, then shrugs as if it
is of no
consequence> Well, no matter what the Eldest say, we will go to find your
sister.
<Takes a step forward and abruptly turns back to Wyn> I know little
elf. what does
'Xukoth Doloth' mean?
Wyn:
No....no roads? <Frowns a bit and turns
as she continues talking, only pausing
at her last comment and turning his eyes to her> What? <Not really catching
the
words because of the mispronunciations>
Gypsy:
She said, "Place your faith in Xukoth Doloth."
What does it mean? I know it's
elf....but that's the limit of my knowledge. <Settles end of bow on
ground and waits
patiently>
Wyn:
Oh....OH....<Snorts a bit> You have not
even the knowledge to pronounce it
correctly....<chuckles> Well, Xukuth D'oloth <<zoo-kooth duh-o-loth>>
<says the
words slowly as though to a child> simply means 'Heart of Darkness".
Gypsy:
<frowns> Strange name. <thinks for a
moment, shrugs, and turns, hefting the
bow.> Well, there are none by that name here. Let's return to the village
and look for
him there.
Wyn:
Indeed.....<walks silently behind her as
she leads the way back out of the camp
and towards the village>
