Aadya!
The chamber is empty.
In fact, it looks like it hasn’t been used at all. No, better. The sheets on the bed are neatly tucked in. The flowers were watered recently. The floor’s swept and the windows were left open to air out the room.
Sister Tammithyn Murr is nowhere to be seen.
Sure, there’s some sort of excitement going on today. Some venturer kid became the Queen of Light? And Civelia was attacked by a maid-knight while you were sparring with Eclair Espoir.
The possibilities writhe like snakes. The maids could have been working together, but why was Eclair chasing after a Civil— no, she wasn’t, at least according to her. What evidence is there that there were only two possible liars? Why did she run off last night? Where is Tammithyn Murr?
You have got questions to ask the monastery staff. Wait, no, she’s just at the summit, maybe? You should go and ask…
Eclair!
Ruthmoreness is clumsy, enthusiastic, and a little smug. It remains up in the air how much of her Herness is deliberate and how much is just her natural state, and it’s a distinction that many of your sisters-in-lace would regard as being nonsense. We are the personas that we adopt. (Down south, we have a similar-but-distinct philosophy surrounding masks and veils.)
Her hand finds the weak points in your armor, and acknowledges them: that you, Eclair Espoir, you have skin. Skin that has known rain many times before. Skin wrapped tight around a heart too big to fit through your lips.
Eventually, she sneaks your tablet out of its holster, while you cannot adjust to stop her, and smiles up as she awakens it. “Here, say—“ But she does not complete the thought, tell you to say “Teaaaaaaas!” for the photo, or take a picture. She instead frowns. Then her eyes widen. Then she flips it around for you.
>[.tmtwo]
There are no words. Just two pictures.
The first is of a ticket, covered in delicate scalloped chrysanthemums. It sits on a table of wood whorled in a way that is subtly, irritatingly discordant from the pattern of chrysanthemums. Full Service - 3-Day Stay is written in a flourishing hand across the face of the ticket.
The second is of an envelope. It sits on the black stone tongue of Sayanastia the Dark Dragon, frozen in a snarl. The irregular edge of the envelope in the sketch suggests that it has been pasted in place. “EE” on the front, in Timtam’s hand.
Of course you recognize the flower, even if only dimly. And you recognize the grotesque, too. Did you ever tell Timtam about those childhood memories? The lights of the Chrysanthemum glittering on the snowdrifts, only to get swallowed up by Vesper Victoria’s rising on the other side of the street like a black spear stabbed into the earth, its walls covered in figures of heroes wrestling with vines and skeletal hands just as Heron herself wrestles with Sayanastia, her jaws wide enough to swallow any child (if she were to bend her stone neck down and do a big stretch, and also you obligingly hopped up into the air for her, but that likely didn’t factor into the calculus of childhood fear).
Timtam is in Vespergift. How long has it been, Eclair?
Injimo!
On your way out, you pass a Paladin (tall, broad-shouldered, moving a little stiffly) looking through a Civil’s tablet, flicking down the list and frowning.
“And you’re sure this is everyone?” She’s asking the tablet’s owner. “Is there a way I can sort alphabetically— oh, here?”
She taps, taps, taps, then starts chewing on the stylus and staring a hole through the tablet. Her tail flicks in agitation.
Actually, out of any of the Handmaidens, you’re the one to ask: have you met the Rock Upon a Mountain before?
Kalentia!
The Hero’s Shadow drags one talon through the water, almost idly. No… visible changes occur.
You are helping a shaky Fallen Far into the hot spring. The pupils of her eyes are wide and dark, with a sheen to them like the wings of a beetle. She is clinging to a linen towel wrapped around her as if it were a talisman of good health and modesty.
Please tell us all about the hot spring, and the difference between how various members of your team enjoy it.
Yuki!
First of all, it must be pointed out: from the blush and the way she looks away and smiles, it’s unusual to say what you just said to Pasenne, and she very much appreciates it.
Suli blinks, however, and raises one hand to her mouth. “Oh, Yuki,” she says. “I mean the Aestivali High Council. They’re the puppet rulers of Aestival, and we all know who they work for. What we don’t know is how many people are on it: there are twelve masks, but the people behind them could be anyone. And they likely are stretched thin trying to defend Aestival from a possible attack from the Khatun.”
She pauses a moment, watches to see if understanding blooms on your face. Either way, she continues: “Because she’s so good at navigating through the Outside, an attack could come from anywhere, not just from the Roads. Anyone who ends up with their hands on Hazel will have to deal with her threat one way or another— and if she gets him, she might just withdraw to some hidden camp out there until he’s… tamed.”
She leans forward. Ambition glitters in her lovely (intense, enthralling) eyes— though you can certainly look away, as she’s not trying to draw you in intentionally. “There’s only two places in all of Thellamie that could stand up to her: the Civelia Subluna in Kel, and right here in the Viperiat. Not those beachfront maze-towns.”
(She’s wrong, mind you.)
Hazel!
I regret to inform you that, eventually, when the hot wings have been reheated and the curry’s been poured onto flatbread, you will have to make a choice: to squeeze in right next to Anat, to climb over Amali to sit on top of her knitting project, or to just stand like a very noticeable weirdo.
“…had to cancel my appearances in Garnet,” Anat is saying, talking with her hands as much as with her melodious voice. “That’s almost certainly going to be the next flashpoint. But Insela managed to get me set up with a few special appearances at the Chrysanthemum, especially since she knows my cousin’s Kysa Amora-Kallos…”
“Oh, fancy that!” Amali says, not giving away anything.
Do you give away anything, given that Amali is, in fact, taking you to whatever this Chrysanthemum is?
The chamber is empty.
In fact, it looks like it hasn’t been used at all. No, better. The sheets on the bed are neatly tucked in. The flowers were watered recently. The floor’s swept and the windows were left open to air out the room.
Sister Tammithyn Murr is nowhere to be seen.
Sure, there’s some sort of excitement going on today. Some venturer kid became the Queen of Light? And Civelia was attacked by a maid-knight while you were sparring with Eclair Espoir.
The possibilities writhe like snakes. The maids could have been working together, but why was Eclair chasing after a Civil— no, she wasn’t, at least according to her. What evidence is there that there were only two possible liars? Why did she run off last night? Where is Tammithyn Murr?
You have got questions to ask the monastery staff. Wait, no, she’s just at the summit, maybe? You should go and ask…
Eclair!
Ruthmoreness is clumsy, enthusiastic, and a little smug. It remains up in the air how much of her Herness is deliberate and how much is just her natural state, and it’s a distinction that many of your sisters-in-lace would regard as being nonsense. We are the personas that we adopt. (Down south, we have a similar-but-distinct philosophy surrounding masks and veils.)
Her hand finds the weak points in your armor, and acknowledges them: that you, Eclair Espoir, you have skin. Skin that has known rain many times before. Skin wrapped tight around a heart too big to fit through your lips.
Eventually, she sneaks your tablet out of its holster, while you cannot adjust to stop her, and smiles up as she awakens it. “Here, say—“ But she does not complete the thought, tell you to say “Teaaaaaaas!” for the photo, or take a picture. She instead frowns. Then her eyes widen. Then she flips it around for you.
>[.tmtwo]
There are no words. Just two pictures.
The first is of a ticket, covered in delicate scalloped chrysanthemums. It sits on a table of wood whorled in a way that is subtly, irritatingly discordant from the pattern of chrysanthemums. Full Service - 3-Day Stay is written in a flourishing hand across the face of the ticket.
The second is of an envelope. It sits on the black stone tongue of Sayanastia the Dark Dragon, frozen in a snarl. The irregular edge of the envelope in the sketch suggests that it has been pasted in place. “EE” on the front, in Timtam’s hand.
Of course you recognize the flower, even if only dimly. And you recognize the grotesque, too. Did you ever tell Timtam about those childhood memories? The lights of the Chrysanthemum glittering on the snowdrifts, only to get swallowed up by Vesper Victoria’s rising on the other side of the street like a black spear stabbed into the earth, its walls covered in figures of heroes wrestling with vines and skeletal hands just as Heron herself wrestles with Sayanastia, her jaws wide enough to swallow any child (if she were to bend her stone neck down and do a big stretch, and also you obligingly hopped up into the air for her, but that likely didn’t factor into the calculus of childhood fear).
Timtam is in Vespergift. How long has it been, Eclair?
Injimo!
On your way out, you pass a Paladin (tall, broad-shouldered, moving a little stiffly) looking through a Civil’s tablet, flicking down the list and frowning.
“And you’re sure this is everyone?” She’s asking the tablet’s owner. “Is there a way I can sort alphabetically— oh, here?”
She taps, taps, taps, then starts chewing on the stylus and staring a hole through the tablet. Her tail flicks in agitation.
Actually, out of any of the Handmaidens, you’re the one to ask: have you met the Rock Upon a Mountain before?
Kalentia!
The Hero’s Shadow drags one talon through the water, almost idly. No… visible changes occur.
You are helping a shaky Fallen Far into the hot spring. The pupils of her eyes are wide and dark, with a sheen to them like the wings of a beetle. She is clinging to a linen towel wrapped around her as if it were a talisman of good health and modesty.
Please tell us all about the hot spring, and the difference between how various members of your team enjoy it.
Yuki!
First of all, it must be pointed out: from the blush and the way she looks away and smiles, it’s unusual to say what you just said to Pasenne, and she very much appreciates it.
Suli blinks, however, and raises one hand to her mouth. “Oh, Yuki,” she says. “I mean the Aestivali High Council. They’re the puppet rulers of Aestival, and we all know who they work for. What we don’t know is how many people are on it: there are twelve masks, but the people behind them could be anyone. And they likely are stretched thin trying to defend Aestival from a possible attack from the Khatun.”
She pauses a moment, watches to see if understanding blooms on your face. Either way, she continues: “Because she’s so good at navigating through the Outside, an attack could come from anywhere, not just from the Roads. Anyone who ends up with their hands on Hazel will have to deal with her threat one way or another— and if she gets him, she might just withdraw to some hidden camp out there until he’s… tamed.”
She leans forward. Ambition glitters in her lovely (intense, enthralling) eyes— though you can certainly look away, as she’s not trying to draw you in intentionally. “There’s only two places in all of Thellamie that could stand up to her: the Civelia Subluna in Kel, and right here in the Viperiat. Not those beachfront maze-towns.”
(She’s wrong, mind you.)
Hazel!
I regret to inform you that, eventually, when the hot wings have been reheated and the curry’s been poured onto flatbread, you will have to make a choice: to squeeze in right next to Anat, to climb over Amali to sit on top of her knitting project, or to just stand like a very noticeable weirdo.
“…had to cancel my appearances in Garnet,” Anat is saying, talking with her hands as much as with her melodious voice. “That’s almost certainly going to be the next flashpoint. But Insela managed to get me set up with a few special appearances at the Chrysanthemum, especially since she knows my cousin’s Kysa Amora-Kallos…”
“Oh, fancy that!” Amali says, not giving away anything.
Do you give away anything, given that Amali is, in fact, taking you to whatever this Chrysanthemum is?
