Secrets Softly Spoken
18th of May 867 A.D.
Gold in hand may be a ward against misfortune, but the shine rather dulls on a coin gathering dust as the saying goes. Thankfully the local merchants are as unconcerned by the markings on coin as any other, giving lie to the pride of kings, be they even the Kings of Numenor. Granted it is not entirely prudent to spend a third of your coin at the first port of any note you had found, but circumstances are dire enough that prudence alone may not serve. At least that is what you tell yourself as you take possession of amber, fur, honey and wax carefully packed for the long journey, most importantly of all as you take possession of beautifully inscribed texts in a language you cannot even speak nor write in yet.
Getting ahead of yourself aren't you Eriol? The mental chastisement comes at you in Abrazân's voice, though the man himself is rather too busy riding herd on the crew to say so himself.
Lost 60 Golden Sails
Gained
- Spices (+1 Morale)
- Tomes in Greek
- 0.5 Tones of Furs
- 0.5 Tones of Wax and Honey
- Amber
As one might have guessed spices for the galley are all well and good, but there are other pleasures men who had not been in in sight of any land that was not a small village or the dwelling place of elves for over half a year. Tales for the gullible aside the Quendi of any kindred do not lay with Men on a whim and certainly not for coin. The Faithful take it as a sign of their virtue and closeness of the Maker of All, personally you count it as sign that immortals as fickle in their affections as men are wont to be would go mad before the first millennia is out. Regardless the crew has silver to spare and they are not without a certain allure of the women of Alode-Joki , being tall, strong and skilled in sea-craft which the locals also hold in high regard as do most people who live near enough to hear the voice of the sea.
Loud is that voice in your ears as you walk along the shore one fateful eve looking out to the glimmer of unfamiliar stars rising from it like specks turned silver in the moonlight and to the mantle of the darkening sky affixed... when you realize that you are not walking alone. The steps behind you creaking along the pier are lighter true, but so too might an assassin walk.
"Good eve," you call back, not turning though your hand rests closer to the hilt of your sword.
"Fair meeting to you also my lord," a soft voice, just on the edge of being a whisper replies. You turn to see a lady garbed in a black cloak. Her dark hair uncovered in the stinging spray marks her as a widow, though one who had passed through the trial of her husband's parting with grace indeed. Fair of face she is certainly, though you are more intrigued by the directness of her gaze... and the fact that she had followed you here at all. Familiar circumstances indeed, but you remind yourself not to be hasty and try to place her in your mind...
Ah that was it.
"Völva Thyyra," you incline your head slightly. You had met her while negotiating for amber, she had been wed to one of Rurik's companions come over the sea, though he had not lived to see the land taking. She is a midwife and a priestess of....
"Tell me, do you live the dusk because it so resembles you?"
Diplomacy 39 + 12 = 51
vs
Intrigue: 44 + 17 = 61
The question is so sudden and so far from where your mind had gone a-wandering that you cannot hold back a start, though you quickly bring your expression under control and raise an eyebrow in askance.
Retort (Learning) : 89 + 18 = 107
"How pray fair servant of Mardöll am I like the dusk?" Purposefully you use the name of her Goddess that means 'sea brightener', a pun might not be the most respectful, but then neither is ambushing a stranger with sharp words on his walk.
"I do not know, only that you are." She places one delicate finger upon her chin in thought. "I am not such a fool as to demand answers of the gods, nor so prideful as to doubt them. I have seen you at counsel and your words are like heady wine swift to turn aside all ill judgement into good cheer and when you smile it is as bright as sea-foam, lacking in malice as Njord himself, but I have seen you also when you think no eyes are upon you and then the light seems to draw back from you and the darkness to gather close."
"The eye sees what it wills..." you begin, but she waves you off.
"Does the ear also hear what it wills, from the mouths of your own men who claimed you for one who practices seiðr, a teller and a binder of the future?"
Briefly you wonder which witness excuse of a Dunedain had let slip that in foreign port, likely as not blowing away the hay of a recent romp. Here and now it matters little, she knows enough to ask the question and so you must now answer. Near as you are able to tell among Rurik's folk magic is seen as more of an attribute of women than of men, the skill to bind enchant fate and bind it in knots rather than meet it head on. Yet she did not accuse you in the high hall, instead seeking you out in private to ask, so her purpose can hardly be simply to call you unmanly. Dare you confirm her suspicion to see what she means by it?
What do you answer?
[] Admit to being a magician
[] Deny being a magician
[] Write in
OOC: Turns out sailors just come into a friendly port, not the best people to be keeping secrets, especially when it comes to pillow-talk. also Eriol's lustful trait finally gets a chance to show itself in his first assumption of why the priestess is seeking him.