[At some point during Tav's quarantine in the Gallows—that much resented period required of all newly arrived Rifters in which they are strictly confined to the fortress island—, a knock comes at this door.
The source of which turns out to be a primly dressed young woman, her blonde hair twisted up and pinned to her head, and a particularly predatory look to her. Her left arm is missing, the empty sleeve of her dress pinned neatly to the shoulder. At her heel is a small dog who must, under the faint reddish stain inherited by living among Kirkwall's dust, be white.
Should the door open, the little white dog promptly helps himself to sniffing at Tav's ankles. His mistress meanwhile launches into her assault:]
Hello, and welcome to Riftwatch. You're the new rifter, of course. I thought it best to introduce myself directly now that you've had some time to become acquainted with your new situation. My name is Madame de Foncé. I serve as the Mediation Officer here in addition to my ordinary work in the Research division.
[ The voice on the other end of the crystal is very serious, affected by a Scottish Starkhaven cadence that may or may not translate well in Faerun. This message comes soon after another conversation, later in the day. ]
My name is Marcus Rowntree, and I act as Captain of the Watch here. I would like to speak with you before the day is out. It regards a request of yours.
[ Bastien is not so much of a fixture in the Gallows as he used to be or as many people still are. He travels frequently; he lives ashore, in Lowtown; and ninety percent of his friends here are Kirkwall locals who don't work for Riftwatch at all. But he does work here, when he's not working abroad. And when he works here it's still cheaper (see: free) to eat what Riftwatch provides than to go back ashore for meals.
So here he is, in the dining hall, putting a bowl of stew and a leather folio down on the table across from Tav before sitting down before them. He's neatly but not showily dressed, hair and mustache all in order, with merry dark eyes and a prominent dimple when he smiles. ]
Monsieur le nouveau, [ clearly enough some term of address or greeting from the tone, even if Tav hasn't spent his first weeks here learning Orlesian at rapid speed. ] Hello. I'm Bastien.
[ He extends an ink-stained hand across the table. ]
[ Once the demons have been dealt with and their victims confirmed not to have been murdered, valiantly rescued, and returned to the Gallows more or less intact—
after all of that and a decent's night sleep to shake off the stress of it, Bastien comes to Tav's door and raps on it. ]
Strange had promised Tav a break after the demonic infiltration, only for their little world to go promptly askew. The Gallows attacked, Kirkwall itself attacked, priorities slipped and slid and were continually rearranged.
But it had been a few weeks now, and the man carried a perpetual awareness of it like a pebble in his shoe. The more that the elf was pent-up and miserable, who was to say it wouldn’t increase the chances of an incident occurring, or Tav doing something supremely reckless?
So, Strange had finally taken the initiative to arrange an outing. Parts of the garden had been crushed during the tower collapse, and they should go foraging soon anyhow for more seeds and plants to transplant into all that broken soil, trying to catch up with the growing season. There had been some hemming and hawing about the Head Healer heading out with such a known liability, but he’d bristled with some professional affront; he had once been Sorcerer Supreme of an entire dimension, he was a powerful mage, he could certainly take care of himself, etc, etc.
Which is how they’re here today: tromping along in Planasene Forest. Late-spring early-summer means it’s quite nice, and for all that Stephen Strange has become a city boy, it’s not the worst thing ever. The clean air without the constant churned-up dirt and noise of reconstruction, away from the crowds of Kirkwall. Dressed for a hike, wearing a worn leather backpack with a bedroll and tent tied to it, carrying supplies enough for a day and night away, with the plan to camp out under the stars.
A little break, as it were.
“Did I ever mention I grew up on a farm?” Strange asks offhand, as they walk along under the trees. “I prefer cities, but the outdoors isn’t exactly unfamiliar to me either.”
Delivered to Tav’s pigeonhole on Satinalia is a small book on the flora of the Deep Roads. Mainly mushrooms, with an emphasis on which ones you can eat and which ones will make you think you’re a cat or, you know, kill you. The text has been annotated with notes and corrections in the margins, such as, “Dalrok says this one isn’t actually poisonous. Prank?” And the woodcut illustrations have been adjusted with more details inked in, or sometimes crossed out with a different illustration altogether crammed into empty space near them.
It’s an old book, small, meant for carrying around in the field, and showing signs of wear, tear, and minor water damage.
action, an ambush;
The source of which turns out to be a primly dressed young woman, her blonde hair twisted up and pinned to her head, and a particularly predatory look to her. Her left arm is missing, the empty sleeve of her dress pinned neatly to the shoulder. At her heel is a small dog who must, under the faint reddish stain inherited by living among Kirkwall's dust, be white.
Should the door open, the little white dog promptly helps himself to sniffing at Tav's ankles. His mistress meanwhile launches into her assault:]
Hello, and welcome to Riftwatch. You're the new rifter, of course. I thought it best to introduce myself directly now that you've had some time to become acquainted with your new situation. My name is Madame de Foncé. I serve as the Mediation Officer here in addition to my ordinary work in the Research division.
Re: action, an ambush;
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crystal.
[ The voice on the other end of the crystal is very serious, affected by a
ScottishStarkhaven cadence that may or may not translate well in Faerun. This message comes soon after another conversation, later in the day. ]My name is Marcus Rowntree, and I act as Captain of the Watch here. I would like to speak with you before the day is out. It regards a request of yours.
crystal.
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action
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major spoilers for dark urge origin!
thumbs up
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action.
So here he is, in the dining hall, putting a bowl of stew and a leather folio down on the table across from Tav before sitting down before them. He's neatly but not showily dressed, hair and mustache all in order, with merry dark eyes and a prominent dimple when he smiles. ]
Monsieur le nouveau, [ clearly enough some term of address or greeting from the tone, even if Tav hasn't spent his first weeks here learning Orlesian at rapid speed. ] Hello. I'm Bastien.
[ He extends an ink-stained hand across the table. ]
Re: action.
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tw: some eye gore
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...
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in passing, at a meal
Spoken through a mouthful of half-chewed bread. Lazar taps an eyebrow. Letters, obviously. Not any he knows.
perf!
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action.
after all of that and a decent's night sleep to shake off the stress of it, Bastien comes to Tav's door and raps on it. ]
You in there?
[ Seems likely. ]
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action; get in loser we’re going camping
But it had been a few weeks now, and the man carried a perpetual awareness of it like a pebble in his shoe. The more that the elf was pent-up and miserable, who was to say it wouldn’t increase the chances of an incident occurring, or Tav doing something supremely reckless?
So, Strange had finally taken the initiative to arrange an outing. Parts of the garden had been crushed during the tower collapse, and they should go foraging soon anyhow for more seeds and plants to transplant into all that broken soil, trying to catch up with the growing season. There had been some hemming and hawing about the Head Healer heading out with such a known liability, but he’d bristled with some professional affront; he had once been Sorcerer Supreme of an entire dimension, he was a powerful mage, he could certainly take care of himself, etc, etc.
Which is how they’re here today: tromping along in Planasene Forest. Late-spring early-summer means it’s quite nice, and for all that Stephen Strange has become a city boy, it’s not the worst thing ever. The clean air without the constant churned-up dirt and noise of reconstruction, away from the crowds of Kirkwall. Dressed for a hike, wearing a worn leather backpack with a bedroll and tent tied to it, carrying supplies enough for a day and night away, with the plan to camp out under the stars.
A little break, as it were.
“Did I ever mention I grew up on a farm?” Strange asks offhand, as they walk along under the trees. “I prefer cities, but the outdoors isn’t exactly unfamiliar to me either.”
sorry again for the delay. life is being life :(
same 😭
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potential 🎀
delivery.
It’s an old book, small, meant for carrying around in the field, and showing signs of wear, tear, and minor water damage.
The accompanying note says, “For avoiding surprises. Happy Satinalia. - Siorus”
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