DESCRIPTION:
Tarva Streamside is a Chaotic-leaning Neutral Good mostly-human (1/16 fey) female fighter from the world of Albion who worships Dioncecht, that world’s God of Healing. She is 5’7”, weights 135 lbs, is right handed, has a light build with wavy, dark brown hair, hazel eyes, an exotic skin coloring: golden, and usually has an impish facial expression. She has fairly average stats except for her voice, which started out at near human max, but is now at near fey max (think halfway between Beverly Sills and Orpheus). She has an innate ability to faith heal and cure disease, and considers it her religious duty to do this without compensation. She is about 42 in this world’s years, but looks closer to 32. She enjoys sex, is not monogamous, but is choosy about whom she beds. The impish expression is highly appropriate, as she delights in tall tales and is good at thinking on her feet. On more than one occasion she has gotten a group out of trouble by inventing an ‘alternative’ explanation for the group’s actions, which was internally consistent, matched all the facts known to the authorities, and convinced them that the group was up to no ill. In her home world, certain animals are sacred to various Gods; accordingly, she will protest – violently if necessary – any attempt to hurt or kill beavers, raccoons, woodchucks, or groundhogs.
PROLOG:
Tarva grew up as the youngest daughter of well-to-do wine merchants, but was orphaned at 14 in a foreign country and unable to return home. She ended up in a higher-class house of pleasure, supplementing that income by singing. Various incidents in the house convinced her that she needed to be able to defend herself, so she took weapons training. Eventually, hearing that her home country had been overrun by goblins, she returned to try to find the rest of her family. [Full story available in hard copy for anyone who wishes.]
ADVENTURE ONE, FEYLAND:
While traveling through her home country she came across a group of adventurers led by a cleric of her God. They invited her to join them, neglecting to inform her that they were being pursued by a demon and its minions. Hours later the demon and minions attacked. During the fight Tarva managed to subdue demon-controlled bodies twice, driving it out. After the second time it took over Tarva’s body, and cast a spell to throw the entire group through a portal (but itself staying behind). Eventually the group discovered they had been gated into Feyland, where the cleric had been involved in a major political event some while earlier. This rather precipitously threw them into conflict with some groups, and support by others, which took a while to straighten out. In the process Tarva found out that she was part fey and eventually discovered she was a great niece of the chief sorceress at the court of Princess Morgana. During one episode Tarva wished that her voice would be as beautiful as the fey bard at the Court, and the wish was granted. Tarva was ‘adopted’ by her aunt, and elected to stay in Feyland (where, among other things, her aging would stop and somewhat reverse) when the rest of the group left. From the treasure split she received a +2 magical longbow. [Full story available in hard copy for anyone who wishes.]
ADVENTURE TWO, ALBION:
Tarva still wanted to find and, if possible, rescue other members of her family. Her aunt was reluctant to let her go into such a dangerous world, but did give her permission, along with an amulet which would gate her back into Feyland on any night of a full moon. Back in Albion, in the war-torn remains of her home country, Tarva hired on as a guard for a merchant caravan, as that seemed the safest and cheapest way to travel. Eventually she came across various people who had known her family, and was told they had all suddenly disappeared one night – leaving deeds of ownership of their lands to good friends – shortly before the goblin invasion. Foreseeing the upcoming troubles, they had gathered family and funds and fled to another country. Rather than go directly there, Tarva used her amulet to return home (meaning Feyland, now) and update her aunt. During the travels she had obtained a magic one-handed longsword, named “Heart’s Reach”, which was +2 to hit and +2 to damage, spoke two languages, and could heal two points of damage a day. Her aunt, now knowing where to locate the family, got in touch with them directly and invited them to Feyland; they came to visit but not stay.
ADVENTURE THREE, BRIDGE’S WORLD:
While hunting one night Tarva chased her quarry across an unseen mushroom ring and suddenly found herself in a different world. Finding she could speak the language, she traveled to a large town and talked a tavern keeper into hiring her to sing, in exchange for room and tips (planning to wait until the next full moon and then gate home). With her voice, this wasn’t hard; and the tips were generous. Discouraging those who wanted to share her room also wasn’t hard, but was repetitively boring. So when a group of adventures taking a drink there watched her subdue a rowdy drunk, and invited her to join them, she accepted. They had been hired by the city council to discover and remove whatever was causing merchants to be killed and robbed on the road south of town. From some of the evidence recovered, Tarva deduced that a banshee was involved [indeed the bandits were using a captive banshee to paralyze the merchants and guards, and then easily slaughtered them], so she had wax in her right ear and another, soft, plug in her left (non-sword) hand as they approached the locale of the attacks. When the banshee started up, she was able to close her second ear and attack without hindrance. By concentrating on the banshee, rather than the brigands, she allowed the rest of the group time to recover and then come to her rescue. In the aftermath, documents were found linking the brigands to various nobles and a plot to dispose the King. Worried that the treason might run as deep as the City Council, the group decided to go straight to the King’s city with the evidence. With the money recovered from the brigands, the group hired a ship to the capital. Once there, while everyone else went off to run the political maze, Tarva stayed behind to guard the ship. Someone must have stepped wrong, because orders were issued to take the entire group into captivity. The detachment which came to the ship didn’t look friendly, so Tarva ran a bluff on them by telling her sword to speak out loud to her in Pennoch, a language not known in this world. Tarva then told the soldiers that her sword was a soul-drinker and had just informed her it was very hungry, and from the top of the drawplank she smiled wickedly at the soldiers. Who decided they had better return for clarification on their orders. The rest of the group did not fare as well, only two managing to get back to the ship. But before they could get the ship moving, war galleys blocked it in, more soldiers came along the dock, and eventually all three were also captured. While the entire group was being conveyed somewhere in a barred carriage, a shock troop of elite church lancers chased off or killed the guards, released the group, and then escorted them to the King. He received and studied the evidence, believed it, and had the plotters collected and beheaded. [Can you say, “deus ex machina”? Can you say, “rigid adherence to module”?] Tarva decided that she didn’t like rigid adherences to modules, that she’d rather succeed or fail through her own efforts, so she took the next full moon express back home.
ADVENTURE FOUR: Oerth:
Tarva was outside the rath indulging in some archery practice when she was enveloped in a sort of silent explosion. No damage was done, but when she recovered she found that she was not in the Court’s archery range any more. A quick check of her fey abilities (which do not operate in other worlds) verified her suspicion that she was also no longer in Feyland. This was annoying, although certainly not a big concern. [Not knowing how anyone faired back home was a big concern, but because she could do nothing about it, she put that worry aside for the time being.] Having intended to be outside only for traveling to and from, and using, the archery range, Tarva was not carrying anything like even the beginnings of a good adventuring kit. She had her magic longbow, and as always her magic one-handed longsword “Heart’s Reach”; but other than comfortable clothes all she carried (wore) were her coming-of-age torc and her aunt’s amulet for returning to Feyland (which, wisely, she never takes off).
By ‘recovered’, Tarva meant that she was aware of her surroundings and able to move about. She isn’t feeling any pain, or dizziness, but everything just feels a bit ‘off’. Compared to all her other gateings between worlds, this one was by far the roughest, even counting the time the demon gated the group from Albion to Feyland. Spotting a road in the distance, she makes the easy decision to go to it, pick a direction, and head for whatever civilization might be around here. She settles her meager belongings, then draws Heart’s Reach. “Well, HR,” she says, “I’m afraid I’ve done it again. We’re in another world. And that usually means you’ll see some action before we get home. Ready?” But to her surprise and consternation, Heart’s Reach doesn’t reply to her. She looks the sword over, but doesn’t see anything different about it. She tries shouting, and thinking/emoting ‘loudly’ at it, but gets no response at all. “Well, HR, if you’re not welcome here,” she says while sheathing the sword, “then I don’t think we’ll be staying long after all.”
When she comes to the road – dirt, rutted, weeds growing in the center – she arbitrarily turns right and keeps walking. Initially, of course, she has no idea what time it is. But as she continues to walk along the sun rises in the sky, so she concludes that she arrived in this world about mid-morning; and also that she’s now walking north. Mostly what she can see is rolling hills, grasslands, a few copses of trees, and twice lines of trees at streams that the road crosses. Fords as opposed to bridges. Both times she drinks her fill, not having a waterskin to carry any with her. From the temperature and just-sprouting tree leaves, she is guessing that it is early spring: a bit of a nip to the air (comfortable with all the walking), but promising to be chilly overnight. She doesn’t encounter any other traffic on the road, and very few animals beyond some birds flying overhead. In midafternoon she starts to encounter some signs of domestication: fenced pastures, side trails. It is late afternoon before she sees any buildings, a farmhouse up one of the side trails.
Walking up the side trail, she hails the house she sees at the end of it. After a while a worried-looking woman comes to the door. Tarva states that she’s a stranger passing through, and asks how far is it to the next village? When the woman doesn’t answer Tarva begins to worry about a language problem, and asks if the woman can understand her. The woman nods and economically says, “yes,” so Tarva then says that she’s hungry, and are there any chores she can do, like chopping wood or hauling water, in exchange for some food and a sheltered place to spend the night. The woman says, “no,” and Tarva is turning away to leave when a large man, carrying an ax, comes running into the yard, breathing heavily. While he is catching his breath (and looking menacing), Tarva repeats herself, finishing by saying, “…but your wife says there’s no work here, so I’ll be going.” And she turns.
“Wait.” says the man, and she turns back. He begins some story of how there might be some things she could do, but what Tarva sees is a look in his eyes she recognizes: lust. And the fear in the woman’s face has taken on a different characteristic. So Tarva says she’s sorry to have bothered them, and leaves while the man is still sputtering through his invitation. As she heads back north she reflects that it won’t be the first time she’s gone to sleep hungry, even if it has been quite a while since that happened, and also that she’d best find a place where she can’t be approached without her knowing about it.
The sun is dipping close to the horizon when she reaches a third stream, one she’s been aware of for about forty-five minutes from when she saw its row of trees. Reaching it she walks through the ford and out the other side, leaving muddy and wet footprints for the first few yards. Then, very slowly and carefully, she steps backwards into those same spots until she is back in the water. Turning downstream, she stays in the water until she reaches the second tree with a limb low enough for her to reach up and chin herself out of the stream. Either the man never pursued her, or else her precautions were adequate, because she passes an undisturbed, if uncomfortable night.
About midmorning she passes through a very small village: five or six huts and one building that might be a combination pub and shop. Not having any local money, and doubting that any place so small would be interested in her entertainment talents, she just passed on through. With hunger adding an extra poignant edge to her senses, she is able to shoot a rabbit, then at the next stream find enough deadwood to build a fire, skin and cook it. Her vigilance rewards her with two more rabbits that afternoon, which she takes with her.
There have been more side trails, more glimpses of buildings and signs of habitation and cultivation. And the road is beginning to show signs of heavier usage, although she still has not met anyone on it. With the sun definitely westerling, she comes across the best kept side trail she’s seen yet, and turns up it. At the end is a complex of buildings and a noisy bustling of people and animals. A half dozen dogs run up to her, not threatening, but yapping their fool heads off. People come soon after, and while one teenager calls the dogs off, a middle aged man who looked like he probably worked the forge she could see came up to her. Once again she explains: traveling north by herself, looking for shelter in exchange for chores, now she has rabbits to offer as her share of supper.
An extended family, eight adults and half again as many children, adding one more for supper is not a hardship. The usual payment, news from afar, is not available to Tarva, so instead she sings for them after supper, enchanting everyone. After the children are bedded down she answers questions the patriarch had been waiting to ask, it being obvious to him that there was something more mysterious than a mere walkabout from south to vague north. With her coloration and voice, it’s easy for them to believe that Tarva is from a different world, thrown here in some inexplicable manner after an earthquake-like shaking of her home. If she claims Albion instead of Feyland as a starting place, that’s only due to her encountering oft-repeated prejudice against that soulless immortal race.
The family, she’s hardly surprised to find they’re named Smith, tell her she was lucky in her choice of directions. About a week to the south the road peters out altogether into a large marsh. There is supposed to be a river on the far side, flowing down from and along the foothills of a mountain chain, beyond which is a foreign country – or so they’ve heard. Nobody has been there, and come here, in recent memory. To the north the land becomes more populated. The first good-sized village, actually a small town, is Hazelbridge, about a week’s walk to the north. From there they hear it is about a month, maybe six weeks, north-northwest to Greyhawk, the country’s capital. None of them have been much further than Hazelbridge.
Tarva thinks out loud that she will go to Greyhawk, in hopes that some learned sage there will be able to tell her how to get home. As with the fey, she prudently doesn’t mention her full moon amulet: people understand that innocents can get caught in side effects when powerful mages fight; but to go around every day expecting to be thrown into other worlds, and have magic expressedly designed for dealing with that problem, would not fit with the innocent victim image she is projecting. The mention of a month as a time unit, and her sightings of a pair of moons both last night and again tonight are, however secretly she keeps them, a point of great relief to her. One of her fears is to someday be gated onto a world which has no moons, rendering her amulet useless.
She talks about her devotion to her God, Dioncecht, and her strivings to become a healer in service of his aspect. Not surprisingly, that name is not known here. Pelor seems to be the closest of this world’s Gods to her faith – she is told that Hazelbridge will have a small shrine with a cleric or two. The Smiths give her the names of the pubs and owners in the small villages between here and Hazelbridge. None are large enough to double as inns, but they often allow overnighters to sleep on the floor near the fireplace. They feel sure that Tarva’s singing, plus the introductions they’re instructing her in, will easily allow her to stay in the pubs each night.
They also caution her about two owners who are less than scrupulous about enticing unescorted women into their beds. Tarva can’t tell if this is a cultural aspect or a local prejudice against ‘unsanctioned’ sex, but either way she expresses appreciation for the warnings. And two days away from Lord Corby is hardly long enough for her to have any interest in any other males, anyway. Hazelbridge is large enough to have inns, and they tell her which one is the best.
It’s obvious that the family is much taken with Tarva. They make her an offer: if she stays and works all day for the next three days, and sings each night, they’ll give her a used but clean bedroll, a waterskin, and a shoulder pouch filled with fresh food to continue on with. Naturally, Tarva accepts.
The villages and their pubs are an easy, if brisk, day’s walk from each other. At each one Tarva has no problem bartering her talents for floor space and meals. Indeed, each pub is easier than the previous, as she is able to add in references from the previous pubs to those of the Smith family. And her entertainment value also goes up as she is given messages to carry to people a village or two further along. Traffic picks up as she goes north, and the road itself becomes more than just a track. She finds herself sharing midday meals with chance acquaintances. On the last day into Hazelbridge she rarely has an occasion where she can’t see someone else on the road, going one way or the other.
In Hazelbridge, at the Roasted Boar, she makes the usual introductions and agreement for a night’s stay. This being a true inn, there actually are rooms upstairs. But they’re more expensive so she sleeps on the common room floor. The next day, instead of pushing on, she spends a couple of hours wandering the town. There’s a medium-small river, the Pringol, flowing west to east around the north side of town, crossed by the town’s namesake bridge. The Pringol is navigable, and she sees a lot of activity along the docks. She concludes this would be a comfortable place to wait for the next full moon: the one named Luna. Which, since it passed new while she was traveling, should be less than two weeks away. She approaches the owners of the Roasted Boar, the brothers Fall and Piney Andrews, about a longer engagement. Having heard her last night, they agree to a fortnight of her singing for meals, tips, and sleeping in the common room (none of the upstairs rooms are private; and, this being the inn recommended by the Smiths, none of the rooms are by-the-hour, either). Tarva says that during the days she’ll be looking for work to earn money towards traveling to Greyhawk. If the fortnight isn’t long enough to accomplish that, they’ll renegotiate then. Tarva’s private thought is that any such renegotiation would be downwards, as Hazelbridge isn’t all that big a town and her novelty would have worn off by then. In the meantime, the Roasted Boar can expect noticeably increased business from both her novelty and her singing.
With that arranged, she goes to the shrine for Pelor, explains to them that she’s a faith healer, and offers to help them for as long as she’s in town, as a donation to the God. They accept gratefully, and when she asks for leads towards a temporary job they give her a reference to the foreman at the saw mill. Grunt labor carrying lumber, but it’s honest, if low-paying, work and she accepts the terms, starting tomorrow. She arranges with the shrine that she will check in with them twice a day, before and after work, to see if they have anything for her to do, and will leave her possessions at the shrine while she’s working. The last thing she does is bargain for a pair of heavy work gloves from a leather shop, using her connections at pub, shrine, and mill as surety that she can be trusted to pay for the gloves out of her anticipated income. Which she does with the first three night’s worth of tips from the inn.
People begin to know her, and she makes acquaintances, although her stated intent to move on soon allows her to keep everything casual. She makes a habit of going out for a walk after each night’s last gig; since she never leaves any of her possessions behind her at the inn at other times, there seems nothing remarkable about her taking them all with her for these walks, either.
Ten days into her stay is the night of the full Luna – not only from her own observation, but also from subtly directed conversations with those acquaintances. Tarva has enjoyed most of her time here, it seems like a very pleasant world. Under other circumstances she wouldn’t have minded staying around and exploring for a lot longer; after all, there’s another moon express home every month. But, whatever it was that ripped her out of Her Highness Princess Morgana’s court, can only be assumed to be part of an attack on that court, and Tarva needs to get back and help them take on whatever enemy directed it. On the “there’s nothing I can do now” philosophy, she’s been ignoring her concerns for the people back in Feyland: her great-aunt Lady Millicent, her lover Lord Corby, and all the other friends and acquaintances she has made. And there is still this matter of Heart’s Reach not talking to her anymore. So it’s time to end this pastoral vacation and get home.
So on that evening’s after-gig walk, Tarva purposefully goes far enough from the center of the town to have a good view of the moon, and activates her amulet.
And nothing happens.
Of course, she tries again. And still nothing happens: she remains here. Tarva is in a bit of a shock, and goes to have a sit-down and think things over. Ok, Plan B is obvious: come back tomorrow night and try again, in hopes that she’s off by a day. Plan C follows easily enough: try it on a full Celene. And also Plan D: next full Luna try it early. But Plan C requires waiting three weeks, and Plan D a month, which she doesn’t want to do here in Hazelbridge, so the immediate part must be to carry on as she had been telling everyone she would, and leave to go to Greyhawk at the end of the fortnight. And that gives her Plan E: (the also already publicly stated intent) to consult with learned people in Greyhawk about finding a way home. With a course of action in mind, she has calmed down enough to return to the inn, first (it can’t hurt) trying a third time to activate the amulet. It also doesn’t work; nor do her attempts the following night.
Over the next few days she investigates her options for getting to the capital city. There’s walking, of course. But while a week of brisk, all-day walks followed by singing for her supper is acceptable as a mild adventure or even a romp, the idea of several (she could hardly keep that pace up throughout) more weeks of it is daunting, to say the least. Ideally, she’d like to hire on as a guard on a trade caravan, earning something while she travels in relative safety. Unfortunately, there’s no direct trade between Greyhawk and Hazelbridge, which uses its river for most of its trading. The Andrews tell her that merchant caravans frequently set out for Greyhawk from the seaport city of Hardby, at the mouth of the Selintan. They give her references – a written letter of introduction – to an inn in Hardby, the Dancing Clam. Since she can’t read, she trusts that what they’ve written will be supportive.
There’s a river boat leaving for Hardby two days after the fortnight is up, which takes passengers. She books a place on it, using up almost all the money she’d earned here, and the brothers extend their agreement for two more days without any changes. The cleric at the Pelor shrine gives her directions for finding Pelor’s temple in Hardby, gives her another letter of introduction, and also asks her to convey a small bundle, mostly writing, to that temple. Of course Tarva agrees. With some forethought, she spends some of her money packing a large sack with trail rations that won’t spoil, plus some fresh bread and fruit for the first days of the trip.
The river boat takes eighteen days to reach Hardby, stopping at every village and hamlet, and (it seems to Tarva) almost every isolated hut along the river. When they stop in a village overnight, she tries to barter her singing for meals and an indoor night at the local pub (if there is one), but many nights she simply sleeps out on the open deck of the tied-off boat. Or huddled miserably under an eave when it rains, which it does the last week of the trip. She’s pretty sure that Celene became full somewhere during that week of overcast skies. She could have made better time walking, but not going to Hardby. Why would anyone waste the effort to make a road parallel to a river?
None the less she is ready to part company with the boat and its crew, and get on with the next step. She first goes to the Dancing Clam. The deal they offer, after reading the letter and having her sing one song, isn’t all that great: dinner only, plus a (very small) private room, and they keep three-fourths of any tips, and she pays the city tax out of her share. But she agrees to that for a week. She does need someplace now, maybe she’ll find a caravan by then, and if not she’s confident enough in herself to believe they’ll improve the offer rather than let her go to another inn.
Next she’s off to the temple of Pelor, after leaving her weapons in her room. There she hands over her letter and the packet from the shrine. She explains about being a faith healer and makes her offer of helping. In a small city like this there are always people suffering accidents, even aside from muggings and barroom brawls, so they are grateful for the offer. The cleric reading her letter tells her that it requests them to help find her a position with a caravan to the capital; they will do this and keep her informed at her daily visits. Wow. Tarva had not been expecting any such generous help, and is quite touched. This means that she doesn’t have to go about searching out such a group on her own, without any contacts to help. And very likely will mean that she can actually land a position with the group, which she knew her lack of background and references was going to make difficult. Tarva is very vocal in her thanks.
Now to look for a daytime job. The clerics tell her that there is a job mart near city hall. She goes there, only to find that the job postings are just that: written postings tacked to a building’s wooden wall. When she explains her difficulty to a clerk he is confounded: illiteracy is almost unheard of in this country. But he is willing to help her out. The better jobs, naturally, are for long-term employment, such as a minimum one year stint as a city guard. Nobles and private citizens (rich merchants) needing guards also wanted only long-term hitches, along with more of a reference than she could provide. Other than street busking (“which requires a license, don’t try this on your own”), there weren’t any opportunities for daytime entertaining. And besides, she needed to save her voice for her gig at the inn. Oh? Well, she was told, that didn’t require a license, but there was a two silver a night city tax, payable each day here at city hall; how long had she been singing there? Tonight would be her first night, she explained: she only arrived today. Well, ok then. And perhaps she’d do just as well to let that be her only job, because what was left was mostly things like stable mucking, and the guild had all the dock-side stevedore jobs sewn up, and the street cleaners all had to be done before dawn (which hardly made that a daytime job), and he was sure she wasn’t interested in any of the houses of ill repute, or else why would she be here looking for an honest job? [So the Smith’s attitude was at least regional, if not cultural. Not that Tarva had any intentions of returning to being a courtesan, but it was useful to keep track of the local mores.]
The stable mucking if nothing better is available, she says, so long as she can get clean again before her evening gig. The clerk suggests that the best choice is working for the city itself: only 7 coppers a day, but city workers don’t have to pay city tax on that work. Tarva agrees and receives directions to the city stables (messengers and militia), along with a chit to introduce her to the foreman. She goes to the stables, to make sure she’ll be able to find it the next day, then hits the rag marts to find acceptable old clothing that she won’t mind getting dirty and smelly, and that she can abandon when she leaves town.
That night fog rolls into the city almost as soon as the sun goes down. When Tarva asks about this she is told that this is normal for this time of year, and that it extends fairly far inland. Only the last three nights’ rains had kept her from noticing it on her way downriver. With the next full Luna only a couple of days away, she resigns herself to missing that opportunity – she can’t get above the fog and then back to the city each night, and she can’t afford to take several days off either.
Two days later a cleric at the Pelor temple tells her that he has found a trade group for her. To her surprise, he then escorts her to the tavern where the caravan organizer is staying. Along the way the cleric tells her that normally she would have been able to demand higher rates, in exchange for the use of her faith healing abilities in addition to her guard duties. But that he had bargained for her to provide those at no extra fee, in exchange for being accepted into the caravan’s guard unit at all. Of course, she was free to turn down this offer; as was the organizer, who wouldn’t finalize it without meeting her first. Tarva says she’ll wait until after meeting the organizer, as well; and reassures the cleric that since she won’t accept payment for using her God-given (as she see them) healing talents, she wouldn’t have accepted a higher rate for including them anyway.
The organizer, named Whip Marsten, wants to know about Tarva’s expertise and armament. Deciding she might as well write off the entire day’s work at the stables, she offers to fetch her weapons from the inn, so he can see her engage in some practice bouts. He agrees, saying we’ll do that later, after we finish everything else. He also wants to have this faith healing demonstrated to him. Now Tarva understands why the cleric intercepted her when she first showed up at the temple. She explains that she can only do this once a day. Whip escorts her to another room in the tavern where one of his workers is lying with a bashed up leg: legacy of not being quick enough around nervous livestock. With nothing serious about the wounds, like broken bones, Tarva is able to heal it completely.
In addition to guard (and healing) duty, says Whip, she’ll be expected to help care for the guards’ mounts, and to help load and unload carts as necessary. In exchange, he will provide a horse for her to ride, and will advance enough for her to purchase a set of leather armor, since she has none. That’s extremely generous, if also a reasonable precaution on his investment in a guard, as it’s about two-thirds of the total wages she can expect during the trip to the capital. Contingent, all of this, on her actually showing she’s as competent with her weapons as she’s claimed. So Tarva gets her weapons from the inn and returns to show that her skills are indeed that good.
The caravan will be leaving on Planting 15, in eleven days. Knowing that she’ll have a full second week in the city, Tarva goes off to renegotiate with the owner of the Dancing Clam. Their evening business has, already, noticeably picked up, so the idea of her going elsewhere for her second week, and possibly taking all that surplus business with her, is sufficient for them to offer to let her keep all of her tips, for that second week. That’s good enough, and with that in hand she hits a leather shop to commission a new pair of boots, since the ones she arrived with were old (and comfortable) to begin with, and not intended for the amount of use she’s been putting them to.
Sure enough, the nights near the full Luna are all fogged in. With that Tarva resigns herself to staying in this world for several more months. Even if there are clear, full moon nights during the trip to Greyhawk, Tarva could not morally justify abandoning the caravan before they arrive; and as far as she knows there is no way to ‘test’ the amulet other than using it. Besides, it’s been six weeks (or two spans in her native calendar) since she was torn away from Feyland. Surely whatever crisis was perpetuated then has been resolved by now, so there can no longer be any urgency to her getting home. Just a need to be in touch again with family and friends, and relieve anxieties of uncertainty on both sides.
The Pelor temple asks Tarva to perform courier duty again, and she is happy to accept. The trip to Greyhawk was long, repetitive, and boring, which most everyone seemed to prefer to exciting. There is one more full Luna, about halfway through the journey.. When they arrive, on FLocktime 14, Whip gives Tarva the remainder of her wages, plus a letter of reference. He also tells her, Greyhawk being as big a city as it is, which inns and taverns are most likely to support a resident performer, and where they can be found..
The first two inns she goes to already have groups playing there, and aren’t interested (immediately, anyway) in anyone new. The third, the Mended Drum, is willing to try her out for a night – room and board, no tips, they pay the city tax – and then decide after that trial run. Fine with Tarva: she knows what usually results from her trial runs.
On to the temple of Pelor, situated in the Garden Quarter of Greyhawk, by far the biggest Tarva has seen. With dozens of clerics and clerks, it takes a while for someone Tarva considers appropriate to arrive, for Tarva to hand over the Hardby temple’s packet to. She thanks Tarva, then asks what the temple can do for Tarva. Tarva’s need now is for a day job that pays well enough for her to save money towards a sage’s fees, yet does not commit her to a long-term employment. The cleric says she will think about this and ask around: perhaps one of the temple’s parishioners will have such an opening. Tarva then asks the way to the infirmary. Concerned, the cleric asks if Tarva is hurt, but when Tarva explains about wanting to offer her faith healing ability to the temple, she escorts her there personally.
That night her gig at the Mended Drum goes exceptionally well. The offer they make is reasonably sweet: room, dinner and breakfast, tips, she pays city taxes (one quarter gold, or 25 copper a day). So she accepts for a fortnight. Her thought is that possibly she can do better at a different inn, maybe eventually have multiple inns holding a ‘bidding war’ over her. If she’s going to be here for a substantial length of time, she will need to work out the most advantageous way of living. Also, that fortnight will end just before Luna will next wax full.
Six days later a cleric at the temple hands her a sheet of paper and says they’ve found a position that matches her requirements. Once again she has to confess to being unable to read; and again this is a shock to the person she is telling. But the cleric reads all the information on the sheet to her, and she repeats it all back to him to prove she’s not totally dysfunctional. The location is a jewelry shop in one of the finer sections of town – but surprisingly not all that far from the Mended Drum, since they are both in the Artisians Quarter – the owner of which is a devout Pelor worshiper. When she arrives there for an interview, it gradually dawns on her that she’s being hired more as an exotic ornament than as a serious deterrent to crime: he does nothing to appraise, or have anyone else evaluate, her weapons skills, and seems more interested in how visible she’ll be inside the shop while it is open, “to convince thieves from even trying anything.” Well, Tarva can live with that, so long as the owner doesn’t think he also owns her. They dicker and agree on two gold for a six day work week: Waterday through Moonday with Godsday off, city taxes to be paid by the owner, with a trial run of a week. Tarva also explains that after that first week she’ll need a week off, “for religious observations,” but after that a steady six days out of seven will be fine.
At the end of the fortnight the Mended Drum is ready to hire her for as long as she’s willing to stay. To sweeten the pot they’ll pay the city tax. Tarva says fine, but first she needs to take the next week off for a religious observation, deliberately vague, after which she’ll be back. The jewelry store owner is also pleased: apparently his perceived need for an armed guard on the premises, and the exotic nature of that guard, are providing excellent word-of-mouth advertising that his goods must also be exotic and very worthwhile. Tarva agrees to a ten month contract, starting when she gets back from her week’s sabbatical. She does have one more condition: if she’s to be an effective deterrent, she needs to stay in shape. The merchant uses his influence to set her up in daily practice bouts with the city’s militia (for a small fee, which she happily pays).
With the money from those two jobs, she buys a small tent and a week’s worth of rations, and heads back out of the city on Wealsun 1st. Finding an empty field near a stream, and not too near any roads, she sets up the tent and spends the next six days there, trying the amulet several times each night on both sides of Wealsun 4, when Luna becomes full. All to no avail. Consulting a sage now seems to be the logical next step, if she can afford that before Celene becomes full.
Life settles down to routines: helping out at the temple, practicing with the militia, ‘posing’ on guard at the shop, singing at night. To keep it from being all boring there is learning new songs and stories, following the latest juicy gossip about city notables, learning more about Pelor and the other Gods of this world.
Tarva sings at the temple on high holy days, and even writes some new hymns to Pelor. Well, not exactly new: she is taking hymns from Albion and substituting Pelor’s name. But she’s upfront at explaining this to the choirmaster, and since she’s not profiting from them in any way, and since these songs are, now and here, to Pelor’s greater glory, neither of them think there’s anything wrong with this. The choirmaster would love to have her as a permanent member, but she’s both too busy, and not devout enough (the God she worships is still Dioncecht), to agree to that. She does accept the occasional request for a solo or lead part, trusting that the choirmaster will deal with any jealousy this creates.
Her jewelry merchant goes ecstatic the first time she sings a solo. “That’s my guard!” he is excitedly telling other parishioners. His suggestion to Tarva that she sing in his shop is met, however, with a cold, “no.”
By the end of Goodmonth Tarva has amassed a little over 100 gp. This ought to be enough for at least a down payment on the knowledge she needs, so she goes hunting for someone who has it. Not surprisingly, it was once again her contacts at the temple who came up with a suggestion: the female elvish mage Qillathe does a side business in scholarly research into arcane knowledge and the planes.
She sets up an appointment on Harvester 4 with Qillathe, who listens to Tarva’s exacting (accurate details, thus full honesty, are needed for the best chance of finding anything out; besides, Tarva’s not worried about revealing her Fey past and part-Fey heritage to an elf) description of what she experienced, and the diminished capabilities of her sword (not talking) and amulet (not working).
Qillathe responds with a generalized overview. Several years ago this world experienced a massive war. Incredible amounts of high order magic were expended, and various Gods, or their avatars, were reported to have actually taken direct part. The physical and political results of that, Tarva can find out elsewhere. But the reverberations from all that power release are still making a hash of the normal (such as it ever was) commerce and communication between the various planes. For Tarva’s specific case, she’ll have to do more research; she’ll send for Tarva when she has more information. And don’t worry about a deposit or down payment: this is an interesting subject; they can discuss payment when she’s through.
It is more than two weeks before Qillathe sends that message to Tarva, so it is three weeks later, on Harvester 25 (her next day off from the jewelry store), that Tarva shows up at her home again. Qillathe launches directly into an explanation.
"Feyland is no longer contiguous at every point to our plane. While all parts of Feyland touch here, the touch points shift constantly and not all points here touch Feyland. It may be possible, at some time in the future, to divine the future touch points; but my research doesn't show anyone working on that now. At least not for touch points to Feyland.
“Due to the recent conflict your amulet will act differently on this plane than it would have, had you come here before the conflict. How long that will be true for depends in large part on the eddies in the space-time continuum.” At Tarva’s blank look she drops into simpler language: “On how long the ripples from the power usage bounce back and forth. Nobody has any experience with this, so there are no estimates.
“It appears that merely crossing over a gate while wearing the amulet will activate the gate for several minutes. You may have no warning of this, whatsoever. It does not appear to depend on moon phase. There are several other people, close enough to Greyhawk for their stories to have been reported, who have experienced much the same thing you have: so your problem is known in the s/mage community.
“As a side note, you may notice some other changes to yourself, the longer you stay. I have not heard of anything harmful but I almost certainly have not heard of everything either. Apparently the more fey blood you share, the greater and more rapid the change; and you’ve told me you share some fey blood.
“I will not charge you for that information; but in return I would like you to keep in touch, and report to me as you notice things about you that change. Any questions?”
Tarva does have some questions. In response to them, Qillathe tells her that when a gate is activated by the proximity of her amulet, no matter how many potential other planes or worlds that portal might be able to connect to, only the gate to Feyland will be opened. The amulet wearer will not, however, be automatically gated into Feyland. The gate will stay open until: the amulet has gone through the gate (at which point it will close immediately); the amulet has stayed in this world but left the immediate region of the gate (when the gate closes under those circumstances would be a complex interaction of time and distance between the amulet and the gate, impossible for Qillathe to predict in advance); or the amulet has stayed near, but not gone through the gate (several several minutes, but again not a predictable span of time). While the gate is open any creature, not just the one wearing the amulet, can pass through, in either direction. How long a gate will stay at a touch point in this world is completely random and variable: sometimes minutes, other times months.
If the amulet opens a gate, and then is not taken through the gate, and the gate closes, Qillathe has no idea whether returning the amulet to the vicinity of the gate would cause it to open again, or whether the amulet only has ‘one chance’ with each gate it encounters. That would be an interesting experiment; perhaps Tarva would be willing to forgo the first opportunity to return home in order to find out? And, of course, get word of the answer back to Qillathe.
From all this, Tarva reasons aloud that her best chance of finding a gate would be to wander around the country, tracking down rumors of strange ‘unworldly’ creatures or people appearing as if out of nowhere – in hopes that this will be a symptom of a gate leaking across the worlds and planes, and that Tarva can pinpoint the location soon enough to get herself and her amulet there before the gate moves again. Qillathe does not disagree with this conclusion, but urges Tarva to have someone else along who can report back to Qillathe when Tarva does use the gate. Qillathe also expounds on the nature of gates: “The gates to other worlds shift over time. Some shift faster than others. For the most part they don't pop from place to place but almost slide or something.”
Tarva gets Qillathe to write down the proper address for sending information to her, once Tarva starts traveling. And again Tarva has to put up with someone’s surprise at her illiteracy. Accompanied this time by a stern lecture (well, one could hardly expect a near worshiper of knowledge to feel differently) about how Tarva will never make anything of herself if she can’t read and write, blah, blah, blah. Anything else?
Tarva asks about why Heart’s Reach has stopped talking. Qillathe, obviously still put out about her (lack of) reading ability, answers sharply, “Hmmpth. Talking weapons. Nursery tales. Don’t waste my time with this nonsense. Good day.” So Tarva leaves.
Plan E has now evolved into Plan F: actively going out to track down signs of a gate, and try to find it. She’ll have to be better equipped for that. But there’s plenty of time to prepare. It’s only Sunsebb, and her contract with the jewelry merchant runs through the end of Coldeve. So the earliest she can leave will be Planting. By then, at her present rates of income – and because of not having to pay for the mage’s research – she should have a tidy little nest egg to invest into proper adventuring supplies. Let’s see, swap the caravan’s advance leather armor out for studded leather; make that Masterwork studded leather: she can find that here in Greyhawk, and by Planting she’ll be able to afford it. A good backpack, an explorer’s outfit, standard wilderness gear. She’ll make a list (verbal, not written), prioritize it, and buy to match as she’s able.
And one other thought: Qillathe said nobody knew when the ripples would settle down, but she implied that when they did, the amulet would go back to working in its normal manner. So trying it every full Luna, and on full Celene, even from inside a city, becomes another aspect of Plan F. Beginning with, oh, my, tonight for a full Luna.. The sky is clear, city lights after midnight don’t drown out much of anything. And there’s a not too difficult access to the roof of the Mended Drum from her room, letting her take all her possessions out there unobtrusively. But activating the amulet does nothing.
A week later, on Brewfest 4, she has her first opportunity since arriving to try using the amulet under a full Celene (it was raining on Richfest 4). She tries, of course, with a small amount of hope that the different moon would react differently; but it doesn’t.
Early in Fireseek there occurs an unremarkable event which nevertheless will completely change Tarva’s plans.
All along, according to what seems to be a natural law about female entertainers, there have been predatory males trying to get her into bed with them. For the most part she’s turned them down without offense. As rumors of her ‘virtue’ circulated the city, she became a challenge to a certain class of young ‘studs’, mostly younger sons of minor nobles and rich merchants. These, more worried about the heckling they’d get from their peers for failure, than interested in the pleasure of success (although there was that, too), were much less willing to take “no” for an answer. Only once, though, did she have to draw her dagger to defend herself. The city guard was there soon after, and both hauled off to a magistrate. There, despite the stud’s political connections and his friends’ common story, the number of witnesses and supporters on Tarva’s side – including not only pub patrons and temple officials, but also even militia that she trained with – quickly convinced the judge that this was not a case he could simply make disappear (in return for a suitably large donation), and instead he absolved Tarva of any wrongdoing and fined the youth. Some of the brighter among the studs, surprised at the usually taciturn and neutral guards speaking up, quietly investigated why they had. They then cautioned the others to not attempt any unofficial retribution in a back alley, as it seemed likely that Tarva would come out of such a scrape less hurt than themselves. And that seemed to put a stop to their heckling.
But it was a rare evening when Tarva wasn’t offered a drink by at least one patron; and often she was invited to share a table between sets. So when, on Fireseek 2, she’s told by the barkeep that table 17 wanted to treat her, she thought nothing much of it and wandered over there at her first break. To find a six foot tall male elf sitting there, with what is obviously an instrument case by his side. Fluidly he comes to his feet and, taking her hand, he raises her knuckles to his lips. “My lovely songstress,” he says, “please be seated. What would you to drink?” But the barkeep has already appeared with the hard cider she favors while singing. Taking a first sip gives her time to recompose her flustered self.
The elf is already talking again. “Less than two days in this noisy city, and my friends are telling me I must come listen to you. Foolish I think them, for talking so about a human’s singing,” and if the word ‘mere’ wasn’t said out loud, it was clearly implied. “But so insistent are they, that I come anyway. And find that they are right, after all. And silly asses that they are, so caught up by your voice, they forgot to tell me of your beauty.”
If Tarva’s skin weren’t golden, it would now be bright red. Luckily it, and the less than bright lights, kept that response from adding to her embarrassment. “I thank you, sir, for your kind words,” she almost stuttered. “Ah,” he continued, “you are known to me as Tarva Streamside, also Tarva Goldenvoice, and now clearly also Tarva Goldenskin. I, in turn, am Taizu Trel'lyn Treesong, an elvish bard and composer, specializing in ballads and accompanying myself on my flute.” “I’m pleased to meet you,” Tarva starts to interject politely, only to be overridden. “I’ve just returned from my summer wandering, with every intention of spending the winter warm and dry in a college dorm. When do you finish your gig here tonight? Come with me to the college and meet the others: since they know you it’s only fair that you should know them.”
“I’m busy until we close,” Tarva demurs, “and I have to get up early tomorrow for work.” “Work!”, he responds, “Who is talking about work? I’m talking about music. Not this entertaining, fine for the masses, but real music. Who would need sleep when they have music before them?” “Humans,” responds Tarva firmly, at last catching up to the whirlwind enthusiasm of her table mate.
Her response makes Taizu laugh. “Very well, then. You don’t know me – yet – so it’s not proper to impose upon you. But when are you free? You must come to the college; it’s a waste if you don’t. Why haven’t any of those idiots invited you before? No, but really: I have to hear you sing Etkrania’s Lament. And Ode to a Forgotten Pine. And, and, and the solo in the victory chorus from Defense of the Silver Forest. You were made for those songs!”
Tarva laughs now in her turn: Taizu’s enthusiasm is so different from the kind of invitation she was expecting to receive (and turn down). “All right,” she says. “I’m free in two days, on the fourth. I’ll come to your college. It’s in Clerkburg, right? But now I have to go back to my ‘fine for the masses’ entertaining.”
She notices that Taizu is there again the following night – between his height and his race it’s hard to miss him. There are other people at his table, she presumes they’re others from the bardic college, but she doesn’t visit their table.
Mid-morning on the fourth she heads for the college. Impishly, she’s wondering how many there are still asleep – they are musicians, after all, and can be expected to keep musicians’ hours, in spite of a “music is better than sleep” attitude. And, truth be told, she’s just the slightest bit antagonistically anticipatory: fully expecting that before the day is out she will once again be given that lecture.
Taizu is up and waiting for her, but after all he is an elf. As he escorts her down the hallways, though, they encounter few other people, and those mostly seem to be reluctantly waking up. Taizu pounds on a couple of doors and shouts through them, ‘she’s here,” but doesn’t wait for any response. The two of them end up in a performance hall. “Try the acoustics,” says Taizu, “I think you’ll find them somewhat better than that pub’s.” So Tarva does, running through some voice-warming exercises, and the hall is indeed very sweet.
Taizu has been rummaging in a cabinet, and returns with a half dozen bound pamphlets. “Here,” he says, giving her the top one, “you’ll probably have plenty of time to study it before all those lazyheads show up.” Oh, yeah, right: Tarva can feel the lecture coming… She just holds the pamphlet without opening it. “Well? Go ahead.” And then, as she doesn’t go ahead, “What’s the matter?” Then, realization half dawning, “You don’t mean to tell me you can’t read music?!”
“I can’t read, period!” she shouts, out of anger and frustration. Maybe this time she just won’t bother with the lecture. She thrusts the pamphlet back into his arms and turns to stride to the door. “No. Wait. Whoa!” he says, dropping the pamphlets and scrambling to catch up with her. With his six foot stride that is easy to do. He grabs her shoulder to slow her down. She shrugs it off, but by then he’s between her and the door, holding up his hand placatingly. “I was just surprised,” he says. Then, slipping into full diplomatic mode, “Because if you can’t read music, then your accomplishments are all the more remarkable. Nobody I know could have done what you have. You must be working twice, three times as hard as anybody else. I’m sorry I was surprised, and I apologize for angering you, it was just so unexpected…. But, don’t you see? That level of dedication and desire proves you should be here, with other real musicians.”
Well, that certainly wasn’t the lecture she was expecting. And he is rather charming. So she crosses her arms and says, “Apology accepted.” Then, arching an eyebrow, she continues, “You’ve heard me sing. But I know that you and your friends are ‘real musicians’ – how?”
He laughs, although half out of nervous relief. “Quite right: I’ve been getting ahead of myself again. You have every right to ask.” Waving at the hall, “take a seat. I’ll just go roust out the others, and then we’ll give you an entertainment fit to match what you’ve been giving us.” And he vanishes out the door. Thoughtfully Tarva picks up the scattered pamphlets and stacks them neatly on the edge of the platform. Then, rather than sit, with her back to the only door she knows of in this room, she instinctively wanders over to a wall and leans against it.
Meanwhile (Taizu will not tell her of this until months later) the elf was rousting out the rest of his quintet. And making sure that each one knows the horrible blunder he made, and almost didn’t recover from, so they will do, or say, nothing to add to it. He sends them to the hall to introduce themselves and set up, then dashes for the kitchen. There he prepares a tray with bread and butter, hot tea, and honey, and takes it up to a certain bedroom. Knocking loudly, he then enters without waiting for a reply. “Taizu,” says the woman still lying abed, “what favor have you come to ask of me now?” “Must I be asking a favor?” “If you’re bringing me breakfast in bed, then yes, you must. Oh, and with honey, this must be a big favor.” “Oh, very well, Suzi, you’re right, as usual. I’ve just found this most extraordinary singer, only she – “ “Wait.” interrupts Suzi. “This singer. She wouldn’t be, um, perhaps, golden skinned? Performs at the Mended Drum? And you’ve just found her, have you? The rest of us have known about her for months.” “And done absolutely nothing about it,” he interrupts in turn.
Suzi raises an eyebrow and sips her tea. “So, now that you’ve discovered her, what is this big favor you need. Has she captured your heart and soul? Shall I play duenna for you and ask her father how many sheep are in her dowry?” “She doesn’t read music.” “What!? Of course she reads music. Listen: she sings at the Pelor temple, works her way through Brother Callum’s solos, and you know how convoluted those are. There’s no way she could be doing that without readi… You’re serious.” “Never more so. She does all that, and more, and does it while not being able to read a note.” “Oh.” “And she’s downstairs now, feeling all inadequate and humiliated and ready to run away because all of us can read music. And because I put both feet in my mouth.” “You always did jump first. Okay, what is it you want me to do?” “Eventually, sing the songs so she can learn them from you. For now, just come down, be friendly, be another audience while we play.” “Play? Who’s we?” “She, um, declared that all this knowledge of musical ability was rather one-sided, and effectively demanded that I put up or shut up. We is Eric on harp, Mercy on fiddle, Alston on base, and Rikki on recorder.” “And you on flute, of course. Etkrania’s Lament?” “For a finale. I though Threngol’s Ride as a warmup piece first.” “All right, Taizu, you go down and calm your nightingale; I’ll be along shortly. But I do have a price.” “Oh?” “The pieces you select to teach her: some of them had better be duets.”
Downstairs, people have started coming into the hall, carrying instruments and mugs of tea. They introduce themselves to Tarva, tell her how much they’ve enjoyed her singing (and storytelling adds one), and someone has brought an extra mug for her. As they are finishing their setup, Taizu comes in with his flute, nods at Tarva, says, “Threngol’s Ride” to the other musicians, and moves the pile of pamphlets aside as one of the others (Eric, Tarva thinks) pulls another set of pamphlets out of the cabinet and passes them around. “Have a seat,” Taizu tells Tarva as each of the string players does a final round of tuning. This time Tarva does.
The music is exquisite, now soaring, now haunting, she can almost see images being evoked from the interplay of the instruments. Partway through someone slips into the seat next to her, but she hardly even notices. Finally the piece ends. Still spellbound, Tarva barely breathes, “that was beautiful.”
“They are rather good, aren’t they?” says a woman’s voice in a normal conversational tone next to Tarva, startling her. “With all their individual traveling, it’s rare for them to get together, and not something to be missed when they do. Suzi,” she finishes, holding out her hand.
“Tarva,” says Tarva, shaking the hand, but rather absently as her attention is still on the musicians. “I know,” Suzi responds, “I’ve heard you sing.” This swings Tarva’s attention more onto the person. A young woman: slender, medium short, blond shoulder-length hair, vaguely pretty but with intense green eyes. “At the Mended Drum, you mean.” “There and at the Pelor temple. I’m impressed with what you do with Brother Callum’s compositions.” Her eyes returned to the group on the platform, drawing Tarva’s there also. “Oh.” Suzi went on, watching as the previously piled stack of pamphlets were now distributed. “Is that--? … Oh. This is going to be remarkable.” Half rising in her seat, “I ought to go get…” Then sinking back down, “No. I’m not missing one note of this, not for anyone.” “What is…” Tarva starts to ask, and, “Sshhh.” Suzi interrupts her, and the musicians start to play.
As the last high note of the flute fades away, Tarva realizes that she has no idea how long tears have been running down her cheeks. Even Suzi’s eyes are suspiciously bright. After a couple of minutes, Taizu comes to the edge of the platform and says, “Thank you. That silence was a more elegant expression of appreciation than a room full of hands applauding.” And then, matter-of-factly, “Of course, it would have been better with the vocal component.” “What?” “There are words, lyrics, for some of the sections. This is one of the pieces I was talking about, that I wanted your voice for.” Then, dryly, but with a gentle humor, “If you think you might be interested.” Before Tarva can respond the remainder of the musicians break into a medley agreements and encouragements. Clearly they want her to sing with them. Tarva is smiling when she attempts to reply with a practical objection, “But…” “And Suzi,” Taizu interrupts, “has offered to teach you the part.”
Thusly overwhelmed, Tarva gives in and agrees. Next Taizu wants to set up rehearsal times. He rejects as ridiculous Tarva’s schedule, which would make her available only every seventh day (and not even all day then, as she needs to do chores like laundry and shopping, and sing at the temple, and simply rest, and that’s her only available day for that). She, in turn, rejects any attempt on his part to high-handedly change her life. She is under contract with the jewelry merchant through Coldeve. She needs her nightly gig at the Mended Drum, not only for money but also for the basic room and board. And that leaves one day – part of one day – a week, thank you very much. Suzi waves the other musicians off and plays peacekeeper: mostly agreeing with each of them that their viewpoint is perfectly correct and reasonable, while trying to make each of them see why the other feels so adamantly different.
Suddenly Taizu has a brainstorm. “How about this?” he says. “I’ll arrange for room and board for you here, at the college. Then…” Suzi, alarmed, tries to interrupt. “No, no: I’ll swing it somehow. I’ll talk to Himself, explain that it’s essential. If nothing else, she can stay with me.” Tarva and Suzi look at each other and burst out laughing. “What? What? Oh: humans! Never mind that. Pay attention. Just assume it’ll work out. Now watch what follows. Since you won’t be trading for room and board, you can demand a bigger fee. Which means you can earn as much, while performing fewer nights. And the other evenings you can be here, rehearsing.”
Tarva, thinking practically, believes that the Mended Drum would be rather upset at their decreased clientele, and profits, on any evening she isn’t performing, and inclined to deduct that drop in revenue out of any increase in fee, probably leaving her also with a decline in earnings. “Then we’ll have to do something to make you more desirable on the evenings you do perform, to make up the difference,” says Taizu. “We?” But Taizu is galloping away with another idea, “We have all this afternoon. We’ll go through your rep. and I’ll devise an accompaniment for each your songs. That’ll be easy: I already know the tunes for the local ones; and you can tell me how they go for the ones from your homeland. Then, tonight, you invite me up to play with you. We do that for a couple of more nights to let word get around, then we bargain with the owners. You and me as a duet, three nights a week, a gold and a half a night apiece, they pay the half gold city tax, supper and drinks for both of us, and we keep all tips. They’ll jump at it, I promise.”
“Not so fast,” interjects Suzi. “Oh, yes, do the accompaniments today, while you have time. But you don’t get up and play with her, don’t do anything to start changing her conditions, until after you’ve come through on your promise to find her a new lodging, and she has inspected it and agreed to live there. Not a single thing else before that.”
“Hey,” says Tarva. “Standing right here.” Instantly Suzi is contrite. “I’m sorry, honey. If you don’t like this idea at all, just say so: I’ll make him drop it.” “No, no, I don’t not like it. It’s just going awfully fast.” (“You’ll get used to that,” Suzi mutters.) “I want to make the time to learn this kind of music. And I need to keep earning the money, so a plan like this, if it lets me do both, well that would be great. But there’s something I have to explain to you. You touched on it, Taizu, when you mentioned my ‘homeland’.” And Tarva proceeds to explain just how far away her homeland is, and what the mage told her about gates, and what she thinks her best chances are for finding one. Or how her amulet might start working with the full moon again, Luna or Celene, sometime. And how she intends to go home at the first opportunity. [Suzi notices that Tarva seems to have no compunction against breaking the contract at the jewelry store, if the amulet could be activated before the contract expired.] And how she could therefore vanish at any full moon; and how she intends to go out and start hunting for leaking gates come Planting, no matter how beautiful the music here.
This time it’s Taizu and Suzi who burst into laughter. “Oh, honey,” says Suzi, “if Wanderlust here stays in town until Planting, that’ll be a minor miracle.” And they convince her that they are in sympathy with her plight, and fully agree that she should go home at the first opportunity. The rest of that afternoon Taizu adds his flute to Tarva’s songs, and they work out places where they can sing a duet, or he can take a flute solo, or where she needs to remain a cappella.
A week later a very impatient Taizu, with a very amused Suzi, catch Tarva over breakfast to explain that Suzi’s moving into a larger room, with two beds, and Tarva will be staying with her. “After she sees it, and agrees to put up with me,” tosses in Suzi. “Which is why we’re here: to drag you off to see it before you got busy with other things.” responds Taizu. So they do, and Tarva says yes, and that night invites Taizu up to join her. And three days later Taizu tells the proprietors of the Mended Drum that Tarva will be joining him for his travels that summer, to sing his tunes (this is news to Tarva, but she wisely keeps quiet). And accordingly she’ll be moving up to the college to practice with him until then. But because she’s appreciative of their support of her, she isn’t happy at the idea of leaving them in the lurch, without any entertainment, so he (Taizu) is willing, but only because Tarva is so insistent, for the two of them to come back and play at the Mended Drum three nights a week – and he’s off and running in bargaining mode. And for some reason Tarva is not surprised that the final deal is very close to what Taizu had dreamed up on that first day.
Later, when he’s helped her move her possessions from the pub to the room she now shares with Suzi, she tweaks him about dragging her off to a life of itinerate singing. Suzi wants to know (there’s a threatening lilt to her voice) if Taizu’s been making decisions for Tarva again. “Oh, yeah, I should have warned you,” says Taizu to Tarva. “But you know that did the trick: convinced them that they might lose you immediately, and that you were doing them a favor, and that people of authority (meaning me) thought you were worth that fee (as if there could have been any doubt). But it was a fabrication: I am not dragging you off with me on my rounds.” And suddenly his tone is a lot more serious. “What I am doing is asking for you to let me go with you, on your rounds, as you hunt for your gate. I know you could travel alone; but I don’t think you should, and this way you wouldn’t need to, and who knows? I might even be helpful.” Suzi is staring at him with equal parts surprise and surmise; Tarva just with surprise.
“Let me get this straight,” says Tarva. “You are going to give up your regular summer gigs, and who knows how much income, just to wander around with me, for who knows how long, so at the end you can help me disappear on you?” “Well, how else am I going to gather the material I need for my new epic?”
Suzi’s eyes got very wide, then she started chortling. “Oh, this is perfect. And who, oh illustrious Taizu, will you get to sing the role of Tarva, after she’s gone?” “That’s not important now. You’re just jealous because you’ll be staying here.” Then, back to Tarva, and very seriously, “Will you let me go with you?” “Well… yes. That would be wonderful, if you’re sure.” Impishly, “But I can ‘t leave until Planting. Won’t you wither and die if you stay in one place that long?” “I think, just this once, that I’ll be able to stay put.” (“One minor miracle coming up,” mutters Suzi, “you two were made for each other.”)
The rest of that winter and spring Tarva felt like she was living on as little sleep as an elf. Learning the songs, rehearsals with the quintet, gigs at the Mended Drum, standing ornamental guard, practicing with the militia, healing at the temple. Plus planning for the journey: where to go, first, at any rate. What to take. Taizu insisted that they get horses. When still planning to go on her own, Tarva had planned to walk, so as to be less attractive a robbery target. Finding out that Taizu had no magical weapons, and that he could use her bow, she swapped with him, “just until we get you your own,” so that they would both have weapons capable of taking out some of the (hopefully less likely to encounter) monsters they might run into.
Tarva is annoyed to find that Taizu expects her to learn to read music. In spite of her resistance he remains firm in insisting that she do so. And then she is surprised, and a little shocked, when Suzi sides with Taizu this time. In fact, Suzi has a long heart-to-heart talk with Tarva in their room one night, taking Tarva to task for being so selfish. That’s a blow: Tarva isn’t used to thinking of herself as ‘selfish’. “It’s like someone refusing to learn how to feed themselves,” Suzi tries for an analogy, “and made other people hold their cup and spoon for them. Or,” Suzi suddenly realizes that for Tarva there’s a much better parallel, “someone who won’t take responsibility for defending themselves, and puts everyone else that much more at risk while they carry her portion of a fight.” Tarva sees this, gives in, and starts learning to read music.
Just before they left, the seven of them – the quintet, Suzi, and Tarva – scheduled a concert, on Growfest 6, and rented a performance hall for it, in the Artisians Quarter a few blocks away from the Mended Drum. Ode to a Forgotten Pine, their final listed piece on the program, had the entire audience standing and shouting “encore!” So they came back and gave them Etkrania’s Lament, and left the stage long before there was any audible audience response at all.
With the concert ahead of them, Tarva had deliberately not even tried her amulet on the Fireseek, Readying, or Coldeve full Lunas, or Growfest full Celene; hadn’t even watched the weather those nights. As they were doing their final packing up, she reminded Taizu that she would be doing that; he agreed that it only made sense. And Tarva asked Taizu one final pre-trip question, then told him he could take as long as he wanted to answer. Planting’s full moon was rained out. After the Flocktime moon did nothing, Taizu talked Tarva into a drinking bout. Which he won easily. But during it he confessed his manipulations during her first visit to the college. Tarva forgave him, then dumped the next tankard of ale over his head; “for Suzi”, she claimed.
That was in Little Ford, at the One Winged Swan. As was their custom by then, they had carried messages from earlier villages, and sought out the recipients to speak them to. Of course, this resulted in people coming up to them during the day, and during breaks in their gig, to ask them to pass on yet more messages. In turn, they inquired about strange happenings, especially unusual animals; and also listened for any gossip about extraordinary events. Tarva quickly realized that Taizu was particularly talented at this, and pretty much left that entire side of things to him. A single demo song at each new pub was usually enough to get them tips, board, stabling, and room, although often enough room meant either the common room floor, or else the stable loft. When they did have a choice of a room, they shared it, neither caring horribly what anyone else thought or fantasized about their sleeping arrangements.
On the Wealsun full Luna, on the 4th, they were camping out between villages. After the amulet didn’t work, when Tarva told Taizu (lightheartedly, with an “oh, well” toss of her head), she saw his expression in the firelight: half disappointed, but with an initial hint of relief. A little over two weeks later they entered Blasingdell. Big enough to have a real inn, the Spotted Puma, where they quickly established themselves with their usual deal. Their first evening gig on Wealsun 22nd drew a large crowd, as people left to go get friends and come back. During one of the breaks Taizu told Tarva that there was a lot of talk about strange doings at a not too distant ruined keep, and how another group of adventurers had been hired to investigate it. This sounded very promising, and they considered how to get in touch with that group. And, with this most hopeful rumor yet in front of them, Tarva wonders again how Taizu will answer the question she posed him: if she finds a gate, does he want to go through it with her?