1629, Fire Season, Stasis Week, Windsday
Context
Mellia has settled into life in Wilmskirk after a few days there. Session 5.W-13
Events
It is the morning of Windsday, making it Sartar’s holy day. All last night the men and vingans were celebrating. Venlar, who made sure that Mellia had wax earplugs to help her sleep, comes into the room half drunk, an hour before dawn. He is singing to himself, tunefully, with some melancholy, as a proper Sartarite should.
Mellia blinks awake at the known sounds of her beloved. She takes the wax out of her ears. “Good morning, sweetheart. How did the celebration go?”
“Dahhh… dii… Hello darling. You look wonderful. Just need to sort out my feet. Walk. I sang your praises. Love you.” Then he looks out of the window in puzzlement as lightning strikes and a storm starts. “Uh…?”
The shutters are open in the summer warmth. The rain is pelting down suddenly.
Mellia is surprised as well. She gets up and gets the shutters closed before the rain soaks the room. “I think Orlanth liked it.”
“Mmm. Wasn’t expecting a storm…” Venlar rocks on his feet, and leans back against a friendly wall. For all he is red-cheeked and slack-limbed, his eyes are suddenly focussed. “Maybe… should check with father or a… it feels wrong.”
Mellia throws on her robe and grabs her medical bag with the ease of long practice. She does her best to hurry off in search of Silor.
Venlar walks with her, bouncing off walls and forgetting he is a foot taller than most men and needs to take care on staircases. thump “Ahk!” He takes small wounds well, which is unsurprising given his history. His forehead has a small cut along it now, and a minor bruise.
“Be careful, my love. I will fix the cut and bruise as soon as I have seen Father.”
Venlar puts his hand to his forehead, and groans on seeing the blood. “Of course.”
The tables in the main hall have been pushed to the sides, save for one in the middle that has obviously been used for dancing on. Orlanthi and Ernaldans were here, apparently; it was one of those big parties, and it is still going on. Breakfast will be served soon, and the hangovers will begin.
A group of men is singing about a duck who drinks too much and manages to piss an entire river. There are worse songs.
Silor is sitting in his chair, looking rather more drunk than his son is.
Mellia looks happy to see Silor among the living. She hastens to his side. “Good morning, Father. Are you well?”
His look is bleary. “Dear little daughter. Why are you decorating my eyes and not my son’s bed?”
“Father…” Venlar goes brighter red.
“I did have something of the sort in mind,” Mellia says while blushing, “but a storm blew up and he said it felt wrong.”
“There’s no storm,” Silor says, in direct contradiction of the facts. “Just us.”
“My lord and chief,” Venlar says carefully. “Perhaps take a look outside?”
Silor looks puzzled, and gives Venlar a searching look then Mellia a confused one.
Mellia nods. “It’s pouring down rain and Orlanth hit something with His lightning.”
That is enough to bring Silor to his feet, and for all he says, “Oh, I feel my age,” he suddenly looks younger, as if having something to do restores him to the best of health. He walks to the door to his house, opens it, and stares out at the wet courtyard. The rain is already dying, but there is a flash of lightning and a crack of thunder nearby.
Venlar lets Mellia look, and then remembers himself and hovers protectively.
Mellia looks relieved that the storm lingered, but turns to go back inside. She says to them, “I will be in the hall mixing up hangover cures.”
“This isn’r gite… right.” Silor is struggling.
“I know. Perhaps you can go and guard the hangover cures, and I will see where the lighting is coming from. It all seems oddly directional.” Venlar’s speech is hardly affected at all now.
“You’ll need a bodyguard. I’ll get my sword.” Silor’s… is.
“Father, I shall be safe in your hall. If Orlanth has something to say, it’s probably not for me to hear.” Mellia pauses to check Silor’s eyes. Are his pupils evenly dilated?
They are. He is drunk, but not horribly so. He is likely to get a little worse, and then better.
“Listen, you should look after your woman.” Silor tries to push Venlar back. His son stumbles a bit and then braces himself, and Silor just stops moving.
“Father, you may go get your sword, and I will wait, but not for long.” Venlar gives Mellia an exasperated look. “If you have anything for stubborn fathers, now is the time.”
“The hospitals would be rich if we had a cure for stubborn patients,” she says with a faint smile. “May the Lord of Thunder grant you understanding.”
Venlar ushers his father off and steps outside. Silor disappears to grab a sword, coming back with one unfamiliar to Mellia. Meanwhile, the party is still in its winding down, talkative, recovering from drinking phase. Sambari songs mocking the other tribes of Wilmskirk are drifting from the choral corner.
Mellia gets to work. “Father, thank you for guarding me. When your head hurts, let me know.” Mellia will make the servants earn their pay this morning.
Silor gives her a kiss on the cheek and sidles out to join his son. Of course he does.
Snores rise around Mellia. Half of the servants are drunk or recovering from drinking.
Mellia sighs and fetches the ingredients herself, then. She is going to sit down while she works.
Time passes, and Thenaya joins her. The older woman looks like she was celebrating, but not too hard. “Child, let me do the cutting there?”
“Of course, Mother. Thank you.” Mellia asks her, “Did you see the storm earlier?”
“I only just woke up,” she admits, putting a well-honed knife down onto the chopping board, and selecting a bundle of leaves for mincing. “It’s terribly lazy, but I have so little to do here.”
“We may have more to do,” and Mellia drops her voice to a whisper. “Venlar and Father say it feels wrong.”
Thenaya looks only a tiny bit worried. “Do you think we will need bandages? Healing herbs?”
“Both,” she answers, “Venlar picked up a bruise and a tiny forehead cut coming down the stairs.”
Thenaya gives a motherly wince. “The second corner, where the beam comes over? That might have been what woke me up. Poor boy.”
Mellia nods. “Once we’re done making this up, I should probably get decently dressed.”
Thenaya gets back to working, but after about twenty minutes, as she is about to say something, the room goes white, and there is a crack of thunder like a giant’s shout.
As eyesight returns, the sound of something falling can be heard. Maybe a bit of the roof, even.
Mellia strives to look less than terrified. She grabs her satchel and waddles out to the courtyard. She prays that Orlanth only hit the roof…..
Thenaya puts down her knife calmly and thinks where she is. As Mellia walks out, Thenaya is just turning to address someone in the room.
Outside Mellia can see two things; first, something did hit the roof. Second, it was not Orlanth. A man with glowing gold skin seems to have bounced off it and is lying face up by the side of the house. Incredibly, he is still alive, if shocked. The wind has been knocked out of him.
Mellia goes over to the new arrival and checks him for broken bones. If he doesn’t have any, she’ll help him up and into the hall.
As she bends down to him, she can feel the magic leaching off him. His skin is fading to an ordinary Heortling brown, his eyes are moving from silver to orange to startled blue. “VAMASTAL’S MAD!” are the first words he says.
It looks like nothing is broken, but there are plenty of bruises and small cuts now, and a lot of healed scars.
“I was afraid of that,” she says. “I am Mellia, a Healer. Come with me and I will see to your wounds.”
His hand reaches up for her robe. “Don’t let him tell you anything. People always believe him!” Getting his point across seems to be more important to him than getting help.
“Who is Vamastal and what crazy thing has he done?”
Even as the words leave her mouth, she remembers1INT x 2]. Vamastal. And crazy. Mad. Strange… Vamastal Greyskin is the King of Wilmskirk. Rumours fly about him, including that he is more connected to the God Time than the real world. He has been absent from Wilmskirk for some time, leaving Farinst of the Locaem in his place.
“King Vamastal. He said this was the way back. He’s mad!”
“The way back to where?” She asks him. “Is he stuck in the God Time?”
“Back out. He led us.” The man struggles to sit up. “What day is it?” Sartar’s Day. Not a tough one to remember.
Mellia tells him, “Sartar’s Day, 1629.”
He takes a moment to take it in. “A year, then. Where am I? Is this Wilmskirk?” Sitting up seems to have dazed him somewhat.
“Yes, this is Wilmskirk. You’re in the house of Silor Sambari.”
He closes his eyes for a moment, and then opens them in alarm as the thunder rolls again. “Oh gods! The giant!”
“What giant?” Mellia silently hopes that no one stole something from the God Time.
Fear shows on the warrior’s face. “He’s been chasing us. Where is the King?” Maybe he did not hear Mellia ask the question herself.
“I don’t know where the king is,” she says. “Farinst is probably at the palace, unless he is at the temple of Orlanth.”
“Not him. Can you help me up? If there’s about to be a storm giant, I should find if our King is back yet.”
Mellia tries to help him up without falling down herself.
He takes care once he realises just how pregnant she is, but there are no disasters. Up close he is a bit shorter and smaller than Silor, making him still a solid-looking warrior. The glow is gone from his skin now, and he looks like a native of South Sartar, other than the blue eyes. “Thank you, White Lady. Which way is the centre of town?”
“If you will let me put on my shoes, I will take you there. Otherwise it’s that way.”
“No, you stay back. But maybe send to the Hospital.” He starts walking, finds that he can do so, and starts walking faster. Now he knows where he is going, he looks more confident.
Mellia nods. She will go inside, tell Thenaya that she needs to tell the Hospital something very important, get her shoes on and get going.
- 1INT x 2]
