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| Action Id: 3166 | Crisis: | Participants: Cristoph, Khanne and Norwood | |
| Status: Resolved | Submitted: March 15, 2019, 9:26 p.m. | Public: True | GM: Apostate |
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Action by Cristoph
When the tale of the woman with the garden reaches the Laurents, they decide that they might as well take a little visit. They've been listening for any whisper of Redire or Durand or the Sylv'alfar in general for many months, closing in on a year now. The story of a lady and a man who disappear into the gardens and only flowers can tell you the way certainly seems like some sort of wood elf magic. And this lady has a really awesome garden?! Good place as any to start!
When they arrive at the old woman's home, it's with a request to visit with her gardens. When they arrive, they each come bearing a gift. Cristoph gives her several beautiful hyacinth plants in a variety of colors that are just ready to bloom. Then he requests the opportunity to walk the garden paths.
While they're there, he says a little poem to the flowers, hoping to encourage their cooperation. "Our name is Laurent, from a time long since spent. We search for those lost, but fear for the cost. Because they who must hide, will surely abide by a path that leaves them hidden from our eyes." Then he'll show the plants his ducal ring with the honeybee etched as the heraldry. "Will you help the beekeepers find the lady and the man of the gardens?"
Action by Norwood
When given a choice between doing a magic ritual to clean more magic and visiting a garden, Norwood is absolutely on the side of the garden visit.
He brings his own gift: Earthworms from Duskshire's newly planted fields. Each of them are plump, wiggly, and ready to get to turning over the earth for a bountiful harvest. (No, Norwood doesn't think that giving a gift of worms is weird at all. Gardens NEED worms. Moreover, worms are way easier to travel with than a beehive.)
The poem part he is a little unsure of and he moves a bit further away from the others to mumble: "Laurent we come, to blossoms in bloom, to ask this crumb, less we assume, and find our doom." Then he'll draw Queensguard and just sit for a bit. Assuming that the sword won't glow because, apparently, that's rude.
Action by Khanne
Who better to ask to come along on a garden visit to talk to flowers than the Vala? At least, that seems to be what Cristoph thought. She heard the tale before, and again when talking to him and was keen on traveling along with the Laurents to visit this reportedly beautiful garden. He asked that she bring along a gift for the Lady, and a poem for the flowers. As a gift, she offers a small wooden Ladybug Cottage with lots of little holes for ladybugs to crawl into if they so desired. Ladybugs are good for plants, she knows, and there are already some within the cottage as part of the gift. The cottage is painted by Khanne's own hand in spring like colors that should blend in with many a bloom.
The poem is more difficult for her, she's not one for flowery words usually, but she gives it her best if the Lady allows them into the garden. After a look around to see, perhaps, the best flowers to whisper to, she recites; "breath of life and little seed, shall grant this garden what it needs, with gentle soil as water sinks in, let the growing begin. Then will come rain and sun, bringing bright blooms when it is done," and waits to see if the flowers will speak.
Result
It is the start of winter.
The gardens are lovely, but the stunning blooms have given way to wilted flowers, the drooping petals and bare buds heralding the coming frosts. And in the early twilight, there is something ineffably sad in the crisp air, a feeling of loss as the color fades from the garden. And it is there that they speak, as the light of day dies into the early twilight. The poems are read into the evening air, as a lonely wind blows and rustles through the garden, and the silence is only broken by the aching of tree branches of an old oak and the falling of some last leaves.
The last light of day fades, and it seems it's for naught, just another sad garden that was once much more beautiful, but as they consider going, there's the sound of a voice that seems to be coming from Norwood's sheathed sword that just says, "Proper protocol would bid you wait a moment longer."
As the stars come out, and the first moonlight hits the garden, there's another rustling from the wind stronger than before. Petals are blown from dying flowers, and this time the petals swirl about as if caught in the air, hundreds of petals, and they seem to form a faint outline of a female face, "We bid you welcome, House Laurent and Lord Commander." There's a creaking of old branches from the tree, and then there is the outline of a powerfully built humanoid figure covered in armor made of wood, covered with thorns facing inward and piercing the wearer's skin, "We bid you welcome, House Clement and Jonathan Baseborn." A face forms on the tree, moving with slow deliberate motion, "We bid you welcome, House Halfshav and the Blightsbane." The voices seem to echo, as if coming from more than one source, and they seem to ripple- the faces and forms there one moment, gone the next, only to reappear, as if the air is distorted by smoke not quite seen. "Welcome welcome welcome."
"It is difficult to speak." "It is painful to be here." "There's not much time, we hear the call even now." The voice of the one wearing a mail of thorns piercing him, "Only in agony can I block the call of Legion, and we can stay but fleetingly." "We cannot return or we will all lose ourselves." "We would return but if we are not shielded, all would be lost." "Lost." "Lost." "Lost."
"Chains could be broken." "Songs could be sung." "Names could be writ in blood." "And kept dear." They are fading now, growing less distinct, "We weaken." "We must flee." "Before we are lost." "You saved us once." "Once." "We would save you." "But first find..." "Find a singer..." "Find a daughter..." "Find a namer..." "And together..." "Together." "Together."
And then they are gone, and the three are left alone underneath the moon's pale light, as the last flowers wilt in the cold winter air.