4th of Raincrown, 1370
Ebonheim strolled leisurely about the cobbled road, enjoying the faint chill brushing against her skin and the warmth of the sunlight peeking through the clouds. She sighed softly to herself, allowing the gentle breeze to brush away any lingering trace of drowsiness. Today promised to be a slow and quiet one, with clear skies and cool air.
People milled about, busying themselves with the usual business and livelihood. A few threw casual greetings and waves in her direction, which she returned without a second thought. Other townsfolk flashed bright smiles as they went on their way. The scene felt mundane yet satisfyingly normal. Peaceful.
The atmosphere hummed with subdued energy—the natural thrum of a community engaged in productive labor. No arguments, fights, or any commotions occurring at this time of day. Perfect. Exactly what she needed right now. No worries weighing on her mind, no disasters plaguing her thoughts.
Kelzryn had returned to his lair to attend matters unknown, but promised to return in a few days with gifts—for Ebonheim, no less. He insisted. Though she did not ask for anything, he still pressed his case regardless.
Roderick had taken an entourage of Silverguards with him to travel to the eastern lands beyond the Eldergrove Valley—via the newly created road—to visit nearby city-states and beyond. Their destination included Daurwyr, Telavene, Glenfarn, and Kerkenberge. They departed yesterday.
So for the foreseeable future, things seemed serene. For now, nothing pressed for immediate attention or concern. No conflicting elements needing to be mediated. All in all, a glorious opportunity for her to spend a calm and pleasant morning alone with her thoughts.
Ebonheim would have continued wandering the streets aimlessly for another hour or so before making her rounds and visiting every nook and cranny of her domain—as she always did daily—except something peculiar caught her attention.
A small procession of children strode into sight—the oldest being thirteen and the youngest about seven. Ebonheim couldn't quite identify their leader until a few more children joined in. Oliver, the middle son of the Weldt family, waved a wooden stick emphatically as he led his ragtag crew towards their destination.
Their target soon became apparent—her own house.
Ebonheim raised an eyebrow inquisitively, pausing mid-stride. What might these rascals want with her at this time?
She trailed them at a safe distance as they walked single-file—navigating deftly around clusters of residents or animals crossing their way. Soon they'd arrive directly in front of her door.
As expected, Oliver halted in place, circled about, and faced the rag-tag crew—swinging the wooden sword at the waist—and gave a jaunty bow. Everyone imitated the action—each moving according to their age or capability.
A giggle escaped her lips. The gesture was rather endearing and cute.
Oliver squatted and began explaining something, but the words didn't reach her. Next to him, little Jamila nodded vigorously—bouncing energetically upon her toes and pumping tiny fists enthusiastically—the toothy grin widening with every moment. She apparently got the gist of their plans.
Ebonheim smothered her smile with both hands. This should prove amusing.
She slunk sideways, slaloming through her garden until she reached the side of the back of her house—without passing by the kids still huddled about the front door. So far so good.
Crouching low and peering through the shrubs and flowerbeds, Ebonheim jumped and caught hold of the windowsill with both hands, hauling herself upwards and slithering through the gap. Her feet landed firmly on the wooden floor. Success!
She ran her hands through her hair and fluffed the locks loose, doing her best to appear inconspicuous and disheveled. Oh boy. Here goes...
Taking a deep breath—struggling to subdue her own amused mirth—she opened the front door wide.
Immediately, Oliver spun on his heels and darted forward, wooden blade pointing dramatically to the ground, and shouted with surprising gusto.
"Wahhh! Greetings, Goddess Ebonheim! I am Oliver of the Weldts! And I present to you my band of fellow knights for a mission of grave importance and dire consequences." He performed a half-bow as he spoke, straightening after finishing the statement.
Jamila skirted forward and took a shaky stance before kneeling. The girl's high-pitched squeak almost dissolved into giggles. "Hi, Lady! We're knights on a mission!"
One by one, the other children—thirteen in total—waddled, strutted, or staggered before the entrance and made awkward bows. Many smiled with varying degrees of enthusiasm. Some wiggled their hands and grinned brightly while others kept straight faces and rigid stances.
A chorus of loud salutations echoed along with various exclamations and acknowledgments.
"Knight Ghislaine Dujardin at your service!"
"Greetings, Your Eternity."
"May the sun shine ever on thee, my goddess!"
"Ma'am Ebonheim. Please accept our humble petition."
"Knight Swanhild presenting. I wish you a good day."
The entire scenario generated enough adorability to send her mind spiraling. Ebonheim fought a losing battle to contain her chuckles. Thankfully, she managed to reply without cracking too many smiles.
"To what do I owe this surprise visit from such fine knights-errant?" she asked kindly, her tone saccharine sweet and overly pleasant. "Please do come in."
The children poured into her abode like an invading horde.
The younger ones dispersed to check and investigate different parts of the house, poking and prodding various furnishings or utensils with delighted expressions—always making sure to handle everything gently and treat with respect. Others stood fidgeting, unsure if they were allowed to venture deeper.
Oliver and Jamila stayed within the doorway. Oliver saluted solemnly while Jamila gave a bouncy curtsy.
"Great goddess, thank you for giving us your time today," Oliver began politely. "My brother Rhyion asked me to rally my friends and brave their fears. He spotted a roast-eating beast that needs defeating! He gave me a quest to entreat you to bless our group with your favor so we can vanquish the threat once and for all."
He snapped a fist across his chest and made a reverent bow. Jamila mirrored the salute—if not the precision or execution—and bowed again.
Wha-huh? A roast-eating beast? What kind of beast ate cooked meat? More importantly, she hadn't detected any dangerous creatures entering her domain and the town guards had also reported no troubles.
Was this the kid version of playing monsters and adventurers? Sounded harmless. If a little strange. Either way, she wasn't going to decline this innocent request.
Ebonheim covered her mouth, feigning serious contemplation and concentration. After a short while, she spoke again. "Okay, little knights. Let me listen to the whole story. Come inside." She gestured theatrically to the interior. "My home is yours to explore and have fun with. And yes. I will do as you request. Just give me a moment. Stay safe and play nice."
Jamila ran gleefully around the perimeter of the room—peering at every knick-knack, tool, or item on the wall and shelves—dodging or weaving around the other children playing pretend tag. Meanwhile, Oliver waved and darted deeper inside, catching up with some of his younger pals.
After Ebonheim wrangled a few of the younger ones in check, settling a minor squabble over a toy and ensuring they didn't accidentally break anything, she perched on one end of her bed and rested her chin upon an open palm.
"Rhyion saw the beast with his own eyes and talked about the size of its teeth!" one kid exclaimed to his friend—making exaggerated hand gestures to illustrate his point. "It eats whole pigs at once! And big ones!"
"Wow...so huge," his buddy whispered breathlessly.
"Yeah!" Another kid agreed vehemently. "It chewed a goat once! Can't imagine the pain poor Fluffins would have felt..."
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Ebonheim paused her absent-minded monitoring and slowly swiveled her head towards the nearby pair. Whaaa? Where did that tale come from? The details escalated shockingly fast.
"Uh...what? Who's Fluffins?" She cleared her throat and blinked slowly.
"Fluffins is our family's goat," a freckled redhead clarified quickly. "She's the gentlest animal we have! My little sister loves her loads!"
"It ate your goat?" Ebonheim wasn't certain what part she had imagined incorrectly. Either she misheard, or the boy misspoke. Did a beast gnaw a pet goat or cook one in a hearth? Both?
"Relax...uh, she's okay. I checked her right before I joined the others," the freckled kid stated cheerfully. "She's grazing at the side of my home. Nary a scratch on her. Only scared silly. Or maybe missing her food."
Ebonheim grinned weakly. Of course, silly her. What else would she have thought?
"So...you all decided to make this a knightly crusade, huh? Gather an entourage of bold adventurers to lead the charge against this monstrous fiend?" Ebonheim inquired mildly.
"Yeah. My brother Rhyion asked me for help—specifically—but he's not here yet. Maybe he's stuck finishing the day's chores. Too bad," Oliver answered off-handedly. "We need your blessings to win. Sorry. Did I explain everything?"
"Quite alright." Ebonheim tapped a finger against her chin thoughtfully. "And...where's the beast you want slain?"
The question was answered immediately—with wild gesticulations and expansive gestures. The destination in question—located southeast of town beyond the training grounds—was not all that far away.
Maybe they found a shrub, tree, or boulder that looked like a monster and decided to use that as their adversary. Like most children's games. Harmless and simple. Nothing too concerning. Hopefully, whatever they intended didn't involve lighting things on fire or attacking the wildlife.
"Alright! Here's what's gonna happen. I will accompany you on your quest."
Everyone burst out clamoring excitedly and a flurry of hushed conversations began. Ebonheim gave them time to settle themselves before continuing.
"Yes! I'm coming," she added and flicked a wrist. "My power shall aid your efforts to slay the monster. And afterward...a celebratory feast in honor of your victory is warranted, wouldn't you agree?"
Cheers rang out louder and everyone flashed big smiles. Even Oliver couldn't stop bouncing energetically from toe to toe.
"Then...please line up," she declared in her most solemn and authoritative voice. "Let me cast a protective blessing upon you all."
As they gathered obediently in a messy row—milling and jostling a little—Ebonheim took hold of each child and patted their heads lovingly. She placed a thumb on their foreheads, casting her Divine Cantrip: Light Ward. With each touch, a spark of silver energy glimmered on their foreheads for several heartbeats before dissipating.
"Your wards have been placed. May the radiant light grant you divine protection," Ebonheim said kindly. "Okay. Once everyone's ready, we'll head out."
This announcement stirred yet another bout of frenzied murmuring, followed by the excited kids returning to the remaining unsearched spots inside her house.
Ebonheim allowed them ten minutes more before gathering everyone again and hustling the group outdoors.
"Everybody here?" Ebonheim questioned patiently. "You're all accounted for and present?" She received several enthusiastic nods in response. "Lead on and take me to the location of this great enemy."
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Ebonheim could only stare dumbfounded at the scene playing out before her.
"Grrr! Rawr!"
Serrandyl—clad in her own makeshift armor crafted from twigs, scraps of metal and leather, and adorned with several vines and flowers—barreled across the grassy meadow. She swiped and growled dramatically—grabbing attention with every exaggerated movement and stomping about without a care.
The kids shrieked and squealed, running away and scrambling in all directions.
Ebonheim had to stifle a laugh. Never had she imagined witnessing such a bizarre sight. Serrandyl acted with utmost enthusiasm. Clearly, this wasn't her first time. She appeared genuinely having fun—getting into the role and evoking the behavior and appearance of a wild creature.
She pretended to sneak behind a few smaller bushes and re-emerged a minute later in a different spot, again crying out loudly and running full-tilt towards a terrified Oliver. The young lad dodged quickly, avoiding her clutches by a hair's breadth.
Jamila took the opportunity to clamber atop Serrandyl's back and hang onto her shoulders—refusing to let go no matter how many times Serrandyl staggered and spun about—chuckling wildly in the process.
"Get her, Oliver!" a boy hollered loudly from afar. "Get her good!"
Ebonheim chose a safe distance from the battle and observed. Eventually, Oliver leapt in—sword swung high—and swiped Serrandyl across her toned stomach.
Serrandyl faltered backward a step, stumbled, and collapsed into a heap, throwing a handful of dirt and grass high into the air. Jamila tumbled unceremoniously aside and lay still, laughing quietly. Serrandyl curled in a mock fetal position and ceased her thrashing. She promptly surrendered and called a time-out.
"It's defeated," Ebonheim yelled in her deepest, most somber voice. "Slain by the combined valiant efforts and teamwork. Victory is ours!"
Everyone cheered. Children crowded around Oliver—slapping high-fives or jumping around in excitement. Serrandyl waved weakly as she rose to a seated position—already using a few fingers to gently remove the various flora woven into her long, wild hair.
Jamila, meanwhile, danced a triumphant jig.
Ebonheim motioned a thumbs-up towards Serrandyl as a subtle encouragement for her role and participation. The Beastkin girl answered with an impish smile and a friendly wink.
"Wait, whose idea was it to describe you as a 'roast-eating beast'?" Ebonheim asked her quietly. "Hmm. Might you have...inspired that description? Perhaps with anecdotal evidence?"
Serrandyl raised a hand shyly and nodded. "Err...possibly. Yes. That. Mhmm. Probably me." Her voice came out almost apologetic. Almost.
"Not surprising." Ebonheim shrugged and laughed. "Maybe you should cut back a bit. On the roast, I mean."
She nudged Serrandyl lightly—who shot back a cheerful grin and hugged her tightly, then proceeded to poke and tickle her until the two fell into a tussling heap, rolling over each other while their raucous laughter drew everyone's attention.
Once she freed herself from the playful harassment, Ebonheim leaned back—elbows digging into the soil for support—and exhaled slowly.
"You had fun."
Serrandyl stretched catlike, arching her back and extending her limbs luxuriously. Her tail flitted playfully in the air as she straightened to a seated position and folded her legs neatly in a semi-lotus stance.
"Mhmm," she hummed softly, sounding more like a purring feline. "Playing pretend with kids is always entertaining. Keeps their imaginations flourishing, and ours refreshed as well." She chuckled and tossed a lock of red hair back from her face.
"Sooo...you know anything about this 'Fluffins' story?" Ebonheim gestured vaguely with an upturned palm.
Serrandyl blushed and grimaced slightly. "Um. Well...I bit but didn't draw blood. But in my defense, it pooped near me while I was taking a nap out on the fields. You don't exactly appreciate it when you get woken by such a nasty surprise. Anybody would get mad!" She huffed and folded her arms across her chest.
Ebonheim gave a wry laugh. "Well, there's truth to that."
As she was about to stand up and announce their imminent departure—gesturing to the impatiently shifting children—an odd silhouette entered her peripheral vision. Ebonheim squinted and adjusted her gaze skyward.
To her astonishment, Gwynelle was hovering overhead with an exhausted-looking Urien—now clothed only in a scrap of cloth for modesty's sake—hanging limply off her taloned feet.
"Ebonheeeeeim!" Gwynelle trilled sweetly as she swooped down to 'gently' drop the warrior on the ground with a loud thump. She landed gracefully whereas Urien rolled limply until he came to a halt a short distance away—his face in the dirt and his arse sticking up into the air.
"Delivered your friend back to you. Alive. As promised. Unbroken...more or less."
She turned her head towards Urien, who groaned weakly and heaved himself onto his knees, then looked away and sniffed once.
Ebonheim pinched the bridge of her nose. She couldn't begin to imagine the events leading up to this. "Um...kids! Go ahead and head back first. Your parents will worry. Good work today. Off with you."
Oliver waved a wooden sword towards Serrandyl. "Next time. It'll be a rematch!" he hollered and broke into a brisk trot, beckoning his comrades to follow.
"Here, I'll see you home safely," Serrandyl offered smoothly and climbed to her feet. The children acknowledged her offer with grateful grins. With a soft command to follow, they marched obediently in a line.
Ebonheim turned back to Gwynelle and Urien, who'd risen to his feet and brushed himself clean. A thin crust of mud stained his torso and legs, along with an assortment of twigs and leaves, but he seemed none the worse for wear otherwise. Although...he looked a few kilos lighter.
"So...um, Urien...you survived...it seems." Ebonheim gave a tentative chuckle.
Urien stroked his scruffy beard and shifted his weight onto one leg. His head swayed from side to side as if dazed or disoriented. Ebonheim began to wonder if his brain had somehow scrambled from the ordeal.
"Hahahaha...no, no, I didn't die," Urien managed to croak between labored gasps of air. "I almost did though. Those harpies really are...wild."
He coughed and held a hand over his heart, nodding slowly. "Day in, day out...as my endurance potions dwindled like dewdrops in the desert. I've never witnessed such unbridled...fierce...insatiable...well. They weren't content with only a taste."
He inhaled deeply and exhaled. "I've done more than my duty. I've shown these harpies what a warrior is capable of. How long they can endure. What I'm saying is...that...that we have a mutually beneficial understanding with them now."
A solemn silence lingered in the air for a heartbeat.
Ebonheim forced a neutral expression and resisted the urge to cringe. Instead, she changed the subject with a diplomatic cough. "So...are we gonna head back, orrr...would you rather continue with this 'remembering' part for a while?"
She shouldn't have offered the choice, because Urien grabbed her suggestion like a lifeline.
"My body is a temple—or so I've been told—yet they've ravished it thoroughly. Cast the sacred fires out and put me through the gamut," Urien countered emphatically, gesturing to the marks on his neck, wrists, and legs. "They used me for their desires and made no qualms about taking what they pleased. Not. One. Bit."
Urien shook his head slowly and heaved a dramatic sigh. "A fine lot the harpies are. Treating a man like a breeding bull and expecting a foal each season. It's not like they wanted me for my conversation skills. Hard to blame them. With the birdbrain mindset..."
Ebonheim punched him lightly on the arm. "Oi, enough with the jokes! Are you really alright?"
"Alright? Not so much." Urien grimaced and flexed a wrist. "My back hurts, my pelvis isn't all there anymore. It's like a jigsaw puzzle left unfinished. And they flew me here—half-naked with my bits swaying in the breeze. So much for hospitality!"
He winced again and scratched his chin thoughtfully. "A pint of ale would help. Many, actually." He paused, looking towards the town. "What'd I miss?"
Ebonheim chuckled and patted his shoulder reassuringly. "A lot, but I'm glad you're back."