The Siren's Call.

[GameMaster]

The man, known to his crew as Captain Thorne, approached Lörennia with a demeanor that belied his true nature. His attire, a blend of merchant finery and seafarer's practicality, hinted at someone who led two very different lives. The Siren's Call, his vessel, swayed gently at the dock, its sails whispering tales of the sea.

"Miss Naïlo," he began, tipping an imaginary hat in a gesture of mock formality. "I'm Captain Thorne, at your service. I understand you wish to journey to Nimbral, a destination few dare to approach."

Lörennia, her green eyes studying the captain, nodded slightly. "That's right, Captain. I do seek passage to Nimbral. Your ship is the only one I've found willing to undertake such a voyage."

Thorne smiled, a glint of intrigue in his eyes. "The Siren's Call is no ordinary ship, and we're no ordinary crew. We embrace the adventures and dangers others flee from. But tell me, why does an elf seek the secluded Isle of the Sevenfold Veil?"

Lörennia's gaze drifted toward the south, though the island was well over the horizon, her voice steady yet imbued with an underlying intensity, answered, "I was born and raised there.  It's past time I returned, even if only for a visit."  Left unsaid was the part where Nimbral holds answers to questions that have plagued me for a lifetime. My past, my heritage, the very essence of who I am—all intertwined with that island.

The captain leaned in, his curiosity piqued. "A quest for self-discovery, then. Admirable. But be warned, the waters leading to Nimbral are as unpredictable as the secrets it harbors. Why place your trust in a stranger's vessel?"

With a slight smirk, Lörennia responded, "Well, Captain Thorne, like your ship, I find myself unable to simply fly there on my own.  Besides, I am no stranger to dangerous journeys."

Thorne's smile broadened and he glanced to the bow she carried. "Ah, a woman of talent and courage, and good humor! You'll fit right in among my crew. In exchange for safe passage, perhaps you'd be willing to lend that experience of your's, should we encounter trouble?"

Lörennia considered the offer, her instinctual mistrust warring with the necessity of her mission, even though she had known this would come up. "Of course, Captain. I'm happy to help out in any way that I can - but remember I work with you, not for you.  If you were foolish enough to, say, head north rather than south, this would be a very short journey for one of us."

"Fair enough, Miss Naïlo," Thorne replied, extending his hand with a firm smile that made the lines around his eyes seem almost pleasant. "Welcome aboard the Siren's Whisper. Together, we'll brave the unknown and chart a course to your destiny."

Quietly noting the change in the ship's name, Lörennia shook his hand, sealing their agreement. As she boarded, the weight of her journey settled upon her shoulders. Yet, there was a flicker of anticipation in her soul, a spark ignited by the promise of returning to her homeland and uncovering the truths that awaited her in Nimbral.

As the Siren's Whisper cut through the azure waves, the skies above began to darken ominously, heralding a storm of ferocious intensity. Captain Thorne, a seasoned mariner, eyed the gathering clouds with a mix of respect and challenge. The crew, sensing the impending tempest, scurried to secure the sails and batten down the hatches, their movements a well-rehearsed dance of urgency.

Lörennia, standing at the ship's bow, felt the wind pick up, carrying whispers of the storm's might. Her connection to the natural world allowed her to sense the raw power of the approaching tempest, a reminder of nature's indomitable spirit. She knew this journey would not be without its trials, but for some reason she seemed to sense the power of nature more than usual.

"Miss Naïlo," Captain Thorne called out over the howling wind, "this storm is no ordinary tempest. It's a wrathful beast, and we'll need every hand on deck to navigate through it."

Lörennia nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation. She joined the crew, her agility and keen senses making her an invaluable asset as the ship plunged into the heart of the storm. The Siren's Whisper groaned and creaked under the strain, its timbers tested by the relentless assault of wind and wave.

The storm's fury was unmatched, a swirling chaos of torrential rain and gale-force winds. Yet, amidst the tumult, Captain Thorne's voice remained calm and authoritative, issuing commands that steered the ship through the maelstrom. His knowledge of the sea and its moods, combined with his unwavering resolve, inspired confidence in his crew.

"Full hands to the mainsail! We need to lessen her pull or she'll tear clean off!" he shouted, pointing to the billowing mainsail that strained against the force of the gale. The crew scrambled, their experienced hands working quickly to adjust the sails, reducing their surface area to prevent them from being ripped apart by the storm's ferocity.

"Brace the topmast! Secure those lines!" Thorne bellowed as the ship's mast creaked ominously. Sailors climbed the rigging with practiced ease, despite the lashing rain and howling wind, tightening ropes and securing the mast to ensure it held firm against the storm's onslaught.

"Helmsman, steer us into the wave! Direct approach!" Thorne commanded, his eyes fixed on a towering wave that threatened to overwhelm them. The helmsman, gripping the wheel with white-knuckled intensity, steered the ship to face the wave head-on, a maneuver that lessened the risk of capsizing.

"Look alive, crew! Eyes on the sea! Report hazards immediately!" Thorne continued, his gaze sweeping across the deck and the churning waters beyond. His crew, attuned to the rhythm of his commands, remained vigilant, their survival dependent on their collective effort and the captain's experienced leadership.

At one critical moment, a monstrous wave loomed over the Siren's Whisper, threatening to engulf it. Lörennia, feeling a deep connection to the elements, sensed the wave's trajectory and alerted the crew to brace for impact. As the wave crashed down, the ship tilted precariously, but the crew's swift actions, guided by Lörennia's warning, prevented a capsize.

"Prepare to jibe! On my mark!" the captain ordered as they navigated through the massive wave. Timing was crucial; a jibe, executed improperly during such a storm, could spell disaster. "Now!" he yelled, and the ship turned sharply, the sail swinging across as they changed direction, harnessing the wind's power to maintain their course.

Hours passed, each moment a battle against the storm's relentless onslaught. But as dawn broke, the storm's fury abated, leaving behind a sea that was once again tranquil, its previous turmoil a mere memory.

The crew, exhausted yet exhilarated, cheered their survival, their respect for Lörennia growing. Captain Thorne approached her, a nod of acknowledgement conveying his appreciation for her crucial role in their survival.

"Miss Naïlo," he said, his voice tinged with respect, "your instincts and courage were instrumental in seeing us through the night. The Siren's Whisper owes you a debt of gratitude."


***

As the crew of the Siren's Whisper reveled in their hard-won victory over the storm, their moment of relief was abruptly shattered. A spear, slicing through the air with lethal precision, flew over Lörennia's shoulder and ricocheted off Captain Thorne's chest. The impact, though forceful, left the captain unscathed, a testament to his concealed nature that was more than human. Their eyes locked in a brief, silent acknowledgment of the revelation, but there was no time to ponder this new mystery.

The sea around the Siren's Whisper churned with activity as sahuagin, fierce and relentless sea creatures, launched their assault. Their scales glistened in the sunlight, and their eyes burned with hostility as they swarmed towards the ship.

Captain Thorne, quickly recovering from the initial shock, barked orders, his voice once again the command center of the ship. "To arms! Defend the Whisper!" he roared, drawing a cutlass that shimmered with a hint of enchantment. The crew, seasoned by the storm, responded with swift precision, rallying to the ship's defense with whatever weapons were at hand.

Lörennia, with her instincts honed and her living longbow in hand, took position. Her arrows, each one imbued with precision and intent, found their marks in the advancing sahuagin. The deck became a battleground, with sailors clashing against the invading creatures, steel ringing against trident and scale.

As more and more of the sahuagin boarded Siren's Whisper, their brutal nature became immediately apparent. These sea devils, armed with jagged tridents and sharp teeth, launched themselves at the crew with a savage ferocity that spoke of a deep hunger for chaos and bloodshed.

In one corner of the deck, a young sailor named Jorim found himself face to face with a towering sahuagin. The creature's eyes gleamed with malevolence as it raised its trident, aiming a deadly thrust at the young man. Jorim, though inexperienced in combat, dodged instinctively, feeling the whoosh of the weapon as it passed perilously close to his head. With desperate courage, he swung his cutlass, managing to slice across the sahuagin's arm. The creature hissed in pain, its black blood spilling onto the wooden planks, but it was far from defeated.

Nearby, the string of Lörennia's bow sang as she released arrow after arrow. One particular shot demonstrated her precision and tactical acumen. She had noticed a sahuagin preparing to throw a net over the ship's helmsman, potentially crippling the crew's ability to steer. With no time to spare, she let loose an arrow that sliced through the air, severing the net from the sahuagin's grasp and pinning its hand to the mast. The helmsman, spared from entrapment, nodded his thanks, his hands remaining steady at the wheel.

On the main deck, Captain Thorne engaged in a fierce duel with what could only be a sahuagin chieftain, a behemoth adorned with gruesome scars and wielding a coral-encrusted blade. The captain's cutlass clashed against the sahuagin's sword, sparks flying with each contact. Thorne moved with a supernatural agility, his strikes precise and deadly. The chieftain, relentless, responded with a series of brutal slashes, each one intended to kill. At one point, the creature managed to land a glancing blow on Thorne's shoulder, but the captain's wound healed almost as quickly as it was made, his supernatural nature on full display.

Elsewhere, a group of sahuagin cornered two crew members, their backs against the ship's railing. The monsters advanced, their teeth bared in anticipation of the kill. Just as they were about to strike, a burst of magic from the ship's mage, a quiet man named Eldrin, engulfed the attackers. Arcane energy crackled through the air, sending the sahuagin reeling back in agony, their skin blistering from the sudden assault. The crew members seized the moment, rallying to push the disoriented creatures overboard.

Throughout the ship, similar scenes of desperate defense unfolded. The crew, though outnumbered, fought with a determination fueled by the knowledge that their survival depended on their unity and resilience. Each clash of weapons, each shout of defiance, each moment of triumph or loss, added to the cacophony of battle, creating a symphony of survival against the brutal onslaught of the sahuagin.

As most of the attackers were repelled or defeated, Captain Thorne turned to the helmsman.  "Jorim, can we move?" he demanded desperately.  Even as the man nodded, he continued, "Wornack, take us swiftly from this place!" Then, looking around, "You, you, and you!" he barked, including Lörennia in the demand. "Help me tend to the wounded, those we can."

Below deck, as things quieted down except for the cries of the badly wounded and dying, "The tridents were wicked weapons, a rare combination of both stopping power during a fight and deadly injuries afterward," Lörennia heard a man whisper to the Captain below deck.  Lörennia herself knew this only too well-- slashing weapons that could cut deeply and cause a wider wound tended to be better in the middle of combat because they could "stop" opponents more easily from continuing to fight, but deep piercing weapons were often more lethal because they were so hard to treat and often seemed to cause infections deep within the body instead of only in the flesh and bone.

"Sulfur and Brine!" Captain Thorne cursed, and retired to his quarters, slamming the door and noisily latching it behind him.

The ship's Hospitalar, who had been conferring with the Captain, looked ashamed.  "Fetch some hot water please," he implored, and went about the men checking bandages and trying to soothe and quiet their crying.

After bringing back the boiled water, Lorennia found a young sailor named Evin slouched against the mast, his face pale, a grievous wound marring his side.

"Are you my angel?" he asked softly, obviously dying.  "Come to take me to my sister?"

Kneeling beside him, her hands glowing with luminous white energy, Lörennia murmured an ancient elven incantation calling upon the restorative power of nature. Her hands hovered over Evin's wound, enveloping him in a warm, healing light that seeped into his injuries, closing cuts and mending broken skin before the his amazed eyes.

Evin's expression transformed from agony to awe as the pain faded and his vitality returned. He gazed up at Lörennia with a mix of reverence and a nascent adoration.

*****

Knocked far off course by the storm and in fleeing the attack, it was two more days before the ship pulled into the docks of Nimbral.  Lorennia noted that Captain Thorne was dressed sharp and clean and plainly visible during the approach, but having known the man for this time she could see in his face that he had not slept in a very long time.

"Siren's Call, requesting port" he called out confidently, his voice magnified by some magic, and the melodious call back was simply, "Granted."

The ship was tied to the dock and anchored, and a platform was lowered.  Captain Thorne stood towering over Lorennia, but was in no way threatening-- he couldn't help his height afterall, any more than Lörennia could help a moment of feeling threatened by it. 

"I heard tale of what you did for Evin," Thorne remarked, a half-smile playing on his lips. "It seems you've garnered quite the admirer. He's been casting glances your way that are laden with more than just gratitude."

Lörennia, aware of Evin's smitten looks, responded with a gentle chuckle.  "No." she said firmly, meaning to put an end to this direction of conversation.

Satisfied with this, Thorne's expression grew serious and contemplative. "Well then, two days late but I deliver you to the Port of Suthhaven, as per our agreement.

He held out his hand to her.  "To secrets kept," and she could tell he was both promising, and asking.

[LorenniaNailo]

I take Captain Thorne's hand in mine.  "To secrets kept."  Then I pull him a bit closer so I can add in a low voice (hopefully unable to be overheard), "Get some rest, Captain; I don't think they've noticed yet, but your crew deserves you at your best."  I add a wink; I know for a fact that he's seen me at least twice wandering the ship in the dead of night because I couldn't sleep either.  I give him plenty of time to respond if he so desires, before adding in a normal tone of voice, "If everything goes perfectly, I might make it back here before you leave.  Don't wait up for me though."

A few feet past the gangplank, I stop and take a deep sniff of the air, smiling.  "I have definitely been here before," I remark to absolutely no one.  Having known me for long enough, Captain Thorne can easily see the bounce in my step as I resume walking, practically skipping down the dock.

I remember (or maybe reconstruct) most of what I had once known about Suthhaven while looking upwards at the soaring spires.  Suthhaven is much less flat than the other towns of Nimbral, being set into the cliffs of the Suthhaven Peaks, three steep mountains to the west, north, and northeast of the harbor.  The land to the southeast is an important (but worthless for building on) salt marsh, so there wasn't much room to spread out horizontally - naturally, they built upwards instead.  The peaks here are only about 7,000 feet tall, but seem much taller because they extend up from sea level.  The thin spire just south of the northern peak houses the local chapter of the Knights of the Flying Hunt.  The roads across town switch back and forth up their respective mountainsides at a 20% grade - just barely shallow enough for horses to pull wagons - and at each intersection is either a park or a cluster of cafés so that anyone overcome by the quickly-changing altitude can rest in comfort.  The occasional spindly tower is largely public, with spiral staircases winding around the outside, and often interior cargo elevators, leading up to soaring arched bridges connecting back to roads higher up the mountainside.  It often takes four hours just to climb from the harbor to the highest homes, which lends Suthhaven a very laid-back air, even though it's primarily occupied by relatively short-lived humans these days.  The elven influence on Suthhaven's architecture is still very much in evidence, between the soaring spiral towers, the ever-present parks, and the vines climbing all over everything.

From a half-heard snatch of music, I start whistling a tune I thought I remembered, only later realizing that I can actually hear the whole thing due to the design of the street and overhanging buildings channeling sound down it.

The half-elf with the concertina in the park is content to practice his music in public, and so I take full advantage, resting on a park bench while looking out over the harbor from some four hundred feet away and a thousand feet up.  The air is already significantly thinner, and having walked two miles to get this far it was a very steep road by the standards of most places.

After a pleasant rest, I move onwards and upwards, swapping over to the western road as I see the next three switchbacks are nothing but cafés and I would prefer parks when possible.

Coming around the next corner, the strains of an old pipe organ float through the air.  It gets stronger as I ascend, until almost two thousand feet above where I started an ancient church comes into view, its façade ripped apart and idols defaced.  The organ keeps playing, and I feel a strong compulsion not to find out who's playing.  Instead I sit down outside to catch my breath.

"There aren't many who can hear the organ anymore."  I jump right out of my skin, as I thought I was alone up here - but right behind me is an old lady with a silver mask.  "Oh, I'm sorry dearie, I thought you saw me."

After a moment to calm my racing heart, I respond, "No, I...I definitely missed you, somehow."

The lady seems amused, oddly enough.  "It's not often anyone else stops by the old church anymore, not since she died.". At my blank look, she chuckles.  "Leira, dearie.  You know her, else you wouldn't be able to hear the organ."  We sit in companionable silence with the music for a few minutes before she added (and I had almost forgotten she was there again), "You can almost see Katashaka from here."

"Where's that?" I ask, not having heard of that country before.

But then she got a strange look in her eyes and just answered "Never mind," leaving abruptly and disappearing down the road.  I went to call after her, but the road was empty.  Confused, the oppressive silence after she left made me want to move on as quickly as possible.

Fortunately the major inns are at the 2,500-foot mark, which meant that I didn't have to stop and think about what just happened.  Between the altitude - much higher than I've been used to for the past few decades - and the fact that my body is nowhere near what it used to be, I'm sucking wind by the time I arrive.  Fortunately, I'm not in nearly bad enough shape to let a pickpocket steal what little money I have, and the kid has enough decency to get lost after failing to get into my pocket.  I don't bother chasing him down; no harm no foul as far as I'm concerned.

Considering the familiar strangeness of the town outside, the inn I pick is almost reassuringly mundane, other than its name - the Moon Maiden's Leap - which from what I understand refers to a legendary tragic event from the tenth century marking the end of the last pure-blooded elf lineage on Nimbral.  The stew is delicious, the bath is hot, and the view from the room I rent is absolutely stunning, as the ground drops off nearly half a mile in barely five hundred horizontal feet, meaning I can see the entire town from here, as well as the entire southern coast of Nimbral and a good ten miles beyond.  The occasional fairy towers dotted across the island give the whole place a reassuringly alien look.  My only regret is that the sunset is hidden behind the western peak, as that would have been absolutely spectacular from here.  Still, the view itself is well worth the cost to get here - and I spend so long staring at it that I actually fall asleep in the chair.  I have plenty of time to move later once the nightmares start, of course.

[LorenniaNailo]

Sleep comes easy, but rest, as usual, is elusive.  One small mercy about the constant nightmares is that I no longer wake up screaming, so I can deal with them myself instead of involving the entire inn in my problems.  The view out the window is calming enough by moonlight that I almost don't mind.  Almost.

Even after going to sleep early, I finally wake up for good later than most of the rest of the inn.  Breakfast is mostly over by the time I get to the common room, but there's still more than enough food to make something decent out of.  Sadly I do not get the chance to eat in peace; some human comes up to me instead.  "Pardon me, adventurer, but can I-"

"No.". I keep it relatively light and pleasant, but I have my own things to deal with.

He persists.  "But it will only take a-"

"No."

"Are you sure you can't-"

"No."

"But I-"

"No."

"I can pay-"

"No."

"You-"

"No.". Finally he takes the hint and leaves to go bother someone else, and I can move on to the real reason I chose this inn (though the view last night was well worth the price by itself) - the enormous map of Nimbral that takes up an entire wall, with all known trails and settlements on it.  Because, of course, I wasn't exaggerating when I said I was "going home".  Fortunately, "all known trails" includes the trail I knew had to exist, so I make note of that and get ready to head out.

Given the alternative is roads that go downhill at a dizzying pace, I thank small mercies for the towers on my way down - though with a thousand steps per tower and five towers to climb down to get back to sea level, they don't help quite as much as I thought they would.  Still, within about a mile I'm back at sea level and ready to head out across the salt marsh.  It's about forty miles to the south end of Salpir Isle; for most people that would be a twelve-hour hike, but fortunately for me I can move considerably faster alone - it should only take me about seven hours.

I pay attention to the "STAY ON TRAIL" signs, knowing that salt marshes are notoriously fragile - and besides, there's a trail going south-southeast, just like I need.  The trail is worn by millennia of light use; not many people live down this way, but the area has still been inhabited for thousands of years and Suthhaven is the closest settlement of any size for this entire area.  The trail winds between grassy "islands", still pools that occasionally refill at the highest of high tides, and the odd decaying building.  While lightly occupied, this area is far from uninhabited.  A few houses can be seen in the distance; I wave to a passing fisherman rowing by a few hundred yards away.

After a few hours, I take a short rest next to a murky pool, then throw myself out of my seat on instinct as a crocodile the size of a freaking elephant leaps out of the water at me.  I can feel the wind from its jaws as they snap shut on what was a moment ago HALF OF MY BODY.  I don't even make it to my feet before I'm sprinting away as fast as I possibly can.  I'm so surprised I can't even scream.  After thirty seconds that seem like an eternity I heave to a stop, gasping for air, but the fifth of a mile I just covered is more than enough to keep the crocodile from following.  Which is good, because I start shaking as the shock hits me.

It takes a very long quarter of an hour before my heart stops trying to batter its way out of my chest.  That thing looked to be the size of a small ship, with teeth the size of my hand.  I have zero interest in going to look at it again either, and choose to just walk wide of the pool back to the nearest part of the trail.

You came that close to destroying us, I "hear" as she decides to manifest herself in my consciousness again.

"Okay, first, that was definitely not my fault, so suck it up.  Second, you know exactly why we're here, and that I'm pretty sure you helped cause this little problem.  Third-"

What did you expect me to-

"And third," I override her objection, "if you're going to start talking to me more often, I'm going to have to call you something.  You've had forty-one names; do you remember any of them?"

Hm.  No.  I'm glad to have successfully diverted her, because I am not in the mood to have that discussion right now.

"All right, fine.  How about Amalga-ew.  No.  Ahma-no, that's almost as bad.  You know what?  I'm pretty sure at least one of you was named Anne - or was it Annelwyn?"

Anne is...acceptable.

"Good, good.  We've still got a long ways to go; we can talk when we get closer."  She fades back out of view with a curt nod, so I get back to the pace I set earlier and let the miles fall away.

Much later, I stop and drop into a crouch as something feels off, though I can't quite tell what.  My instincts are rewarded again when a faint rustling comes off from my left.  Creeping forwards and careful to keep my head down, I eventually spot a group of five sahuagin with a captive.  I sigh silently, but secretly I'm actually happy to see the captive, because I didn't want to get involved but also didn't want them going anywhere, and now all I have to do is figure out how to take on 5 to 1 odds.  Sahuagin trade slaves they can't use with Calimshan and I'm not letting that happen on my watch.

The odds favor me as my first arrow goes right through the eye socket of the one holding their captive, who gets dumped unceremoniously to the ground as the odds against me magically improve to 4 on 1.  Sensing that they would find me if I fired again, I first break cover and backpedal, hoping to kite them.  Two of the remaining sahuagin decide to try their luck with crossbows while the other two start running towards me with tridents out.  Neither is successful as I manage to take one out from both groups before the lead sahuagin remembers his own crossbow, nicking me across the arm.  Otherwise I have surprisingly little trouble finishing off both of them before they can reach me.

By the time I return to the first corpse, the captive has already wriggled free and run off; that's fine by me as that's one less person to deal with.  I still probably have fifteen miles to go.

Finally, eventually, I reach the beach once more.  Looking across the strait at Salpir Isle, I remember there being a sandbar here at low tide, but it's very clearly high tide now.  Glancing at the sun, it will have set long before the sandbar appears, so I decide to risk it anyways.  Stripping down and holding everything above my head so it doesn't get wet, I step into the warm surf.

Next to me, Anne appears again, my mind making it seem like she's fording the cove right next to me.  She's a bit quieter now too.  <So, when are you planning on telling me what you're risking your life for?>

I don't stop.  "I thought you could see everything."

<Maybe I just want you to explain it rather than looking at your memories to figure it out myself.  So?>

Fair enough.  "It's simple, really.  I just spent thirty years getting jerked around by Malgrathor.  Thirty years of memory, gone.  And more, really, because I can't trust the rest of my memories at this point.  So, I need to come back to the beginning, where it all began, and make sure that I have a foundation to build from, at all.  That there's more to my life than torture and pain."

<And what happens if there isn't?>

My heart drops as she tries to get me to consider the unthinkable.  "I'm trying real hard not to think about that," I growl back.  It's the first time I've ever seen Anne flinch, and I give her an expression mixing equal parts apologetic grin and sneer.  "You felt that one, huh?"

After a long pause, she answers.  <I've done such a good job patching your mind up that sometimes it's hard to remember the insanity that sits just below it.>

"Damn right," I add in agreement.  "Of course, I don't want to go there either, so if you can kindly refrain from poking the bear - metaphorically, obviously - then we can figure this out and move on with our lives.". The moment was instantly ruined when I missed the sandbar and walked into a deep hole, dunking my head underwater.  Spluttering, I stepped back to the sandbar, then smiled.  "On the other hand, when the sea tastes just like I remember, I don't think we have much to worry about."

I take my time dressing on the far shore, letting the water dry from my skin and enjoying the warmth.  Also possibly the last hour of sanity I ever have...better not think too hard about that one.

I hear the kid coming down the beach before he sees me, and finish dressing long before he arrives.  Or should have arrived, since I hear nothing but a wet slap from his direction and then silence.  Curious, I walk over to see every mother's nightmare - the boy slipped, bashed his head on the rocks, and is drowning in the surf!  Fortunately he wasn't in there long, so I'm able to fish him out and get him breathing again with little difficulty.  I move over to stitch up the gash on his temple - no mother ever wants to see that - and he finally comes to as I finish.  On seeing me, his eyes go huge and he gives me a shove, screaming incoherently.  Caught completely by surprise, I go all the way over, flat on my back, and he's up and running before I can stand back up.  Running rather poorly, mind you - it's clear his balance is still affected by the tumble he took, but he quickly starts to stabilize so I leave him alone.

<That child has no idea how lucky he was,> Anne observes.

I smirk.  "Do you know, I do believe that was a compliment."  Stretching as I look southeast towards the coast of Salpir Isle, I sigh.  "Well, enough wasting time.  Somewhere in the next four miles of coastline is the foundation I was born on.  I hope."

As I walk across the pleasant sands, Anne walks with me.  <What are you hoping to find?>

I think a moment before answering.  "Not much that would still be there, really.  I remember the house - gone obviously, a stone arch on the beach outside the tunnel, and of course the dryad's grove.  I don't remember her name, but hopefully she remembers me.  That would be easiest."  At least this time Anne has the wisdom not to ask the obvious.

After a few minutes, my way is blocked by a stone cliff.  I smile.  "We're close.  There should be a tunnel a bit further up."  But when I get a bit further up, the rock disappears and it is just a path between trees.  Looking up, I see the overlapping branches and add, "Well, I was young and stupid.  Maybe I just thought it looked like a tunnel."  Anne didn't even bother to comment, my reasoning was so transparent.

Coming out on the far side, I look back - and it does kind of look like a tunnel, if you tilt your head and squint just the right way.  "It could be.  It's been fifty years, after all, maybe it used to look better."  I'm not even convincing myself, but I remembered "The arch-!  Should be just down here..."

I jog down towards the water, keeping a wary eye on the rock face as it comes back into view.  But, no arch - just a freestanding pillar.  <No arch,> Anne comments, and for once I'm not sure if she's gloating or disappointed.

My sharp eyes pick out the pile of rocks at the base of the cliff.  "No, no, wait-" I point to the pile.  "It could be the arch collapsed."  I'm reaching, and even I know it.

<Or it could be a place where rocks wash ashore.  Or a landslide,> Anne points out.

"Yeah, well - well, if this was the arch, then I know where the grove is."  I start jogging inland.  It takes me barely a minute to reach a cleft between some rocks, and I'm excited.  "Yes!  This is it!  She's inside!"  I squeeze through the rocks almost as easily as I did when I was a child, and-

Nothing.

Just a cave.

No dryad.

No trees.

Nothing.

"N-no.  Nononono..." I crouch down, and a glimmer of hope comes back.  "Well this place still looks familiar.  Especially down here.  Maybe - maybe she left, or-or died, or-"

<Lörennia.>  Anne's voice is soft, understanding.  <It's not here.  She's not here.>

Desperation crystallizes in me, and I stand back up slowly.  "No.  One more.  I know where the house was from here.  The foundation will still be there."

<And if it isn't?>

"It will be."

<Lörennia->

"Shut up."  I cut her off, pointing at her with a quivering finger.  "It.  Will.  Be there."  Both of us can tell I'm desperate, so rather than argue with me Anne just shakes her head.

Squeezing back through the rocks is easy enough, and I run southeast, simultaneously dreading what I'm about to find and needing to know.  I burst through the trees into a clearing and-

A house.

A HOUSE.

I drop to my knees.

Tears stream freely down my face.

A huge weight lifts off of me as I look at the foundation through a wall of tears.  It's the same - well, except for the part over there that was clearly added later with mortared stone where the rest is stacked stone.  Even Anne doesn't have a problem admitting that.

[LorenniaNailo]

"Can I...help you?"  I was so distracted that I didn't even know anyone else was here.  I look over to my right and can make out a woman through my tears.

The spear she's pointing at me doesn't really register, but the fear in her stance does.  I try to mollify that with an (imperfect) explanation.  "Sorry, I used to live here."

Not letting the spear drop a thousandth of an inch, she replies, "My great-great grandfather built this house."

Uh oh.  I try to recover with the truth, but this could be a problem.  Making no effort to go for my weapon, I reply, "The foundation was already here.  Well, except for that part," I point to indicate the mortared foundation.  "That's much more recent."

"Right, the rest is elv-" she puts the spear up as she makes the same connections I already knew.  "Ohh.  And you were long gone before my great-great-grandfather got here.  Maybe before he was born, even."  But then she brings the spear back down.  "Not to be rude, but what are you doing here?"

"What am I-?"  It takes a moment for me to realize what she's worried about.  "Oh!  No, no, I don't want the land!  I just spent thirty years getting my recent memories fucked with every single day and needed to see if the older ones were any good."

Evidently some of my previous desperation is still coming through, as she immediately drops the spear and offers me a hand back up to my feet; I take it gratefully.  Her eyes widen as she sees how light I am and how extensive my scars are.  "You're the one who stitched up my son."  Or, maybe there was more to it than that.

"I did."  I can't read her tone of voice.

She smiles.  "He came back screaming about an 'evil lady' trying to take him away.  It was...pretty obvious what really happened."

"He's all right?"

"Mostly.  I made him a poultice and sent him to bed.  He should be fine - thanks to you."

I duck my head.  "I was just in the right place at the right time."

She chuckles.  "Well, since you're here now, let me get you a drink.  Consider it a thank-you."

She doesn't even give me time to refuse, leading me gently towards her home.  I stay outside, though, and in response to her raised eyebrow, answer apologetically, "I barely remember my parents' house.  I'd rather not get yours mixed in."

"Oh!  Sure, just grab one of the chairs out front!  I'll join you as soon as I have the drinks."  She gives me full run of the house and surroundings when she leaves, but doesn't seem to mind.  I briefly toy with leaving - it is a seven-hour walk back to town - but ultimately decide against it.  As I take the left of the two chairs, it doesn't occur to me that she clearly had nothing to worry about.

The chair itself is quite comfortable; by the time the woman comes back with a pitcher and two glasses I've almost relaxed into it.  She shows me the pitcher and glasses, pours two drinks, knocks one back, and places the other one on the small table between us with the pitcher.  "Seems like you've done this before," I remark.

She nods.  "You heard when the Knights raided the Nelanther Isles five years ago?"

I smiled nastily.  "It was the best news I'd had in years.  Half of Calimshan was convinced they were going to come down and do the same to them."

"If only," she said, sourly.  "I know for a fact they'd love to, but Calimshan is a much harder target than the Isles ever could be.  They don't have the numbers they'd need to make a real go of it."  I'm not surprised, but still disappointed.  Then she continues, "But anyway, the Knights came back with a lot more rescuees than anyone imagined.  Enough that they had to commandeer a small ship to bring them all back.  I've been helping them get settled."

"Fixing them?"  I asked somewhat sarcastically.

"Of course not."  The bite in her voice made me look over.  "People aren't shirts; you can't just stitch them up and expect them to be just the same as they were before."

"I'm sorry.  Please, continue."  I'm a little surprised to be genuinely sorry.

"Thank you.  Most of them came back paranoid at a minimum - not unjustifiably so of course - but the elves had the worst of it by far."

"Why is that?"

She sighs.  "We don't know for sure, but I think it's because they were there the longest.  We had one who was there for forty years, one for eighty, and the last was there for three hundred and thirty."

I pour myself another drink.  "That's...that's a long time."

"To put it mildly.  I can't even imagine that kind of time - and neither can anyone else, since she hasn't said a word in the last five years."

"I don't blame her.  I...I don't know how long I was enslaved, but I think it was somewhere between fifty and two hundred years."

"Do...do you want to meet her?  Maybe you can help her where the rest of us haven't been able to."

I think for a long moment.  "Where is she?"

"Suthhaven."

"Oh."  I was kind of hoping to be able to avoid her, but if she's in the same town I need to go back to - "I should, then."

"I'll write you a letter of introduction."

I sit up straighter as a thought strikes me.  "You said she had been on the Isles for 330 years.  Which means you found her in the records?"

"The Registry of Transgressions?  Not me, but I know who did, yes."

"I should be in the registry somewhere too.  Can you introduce me to the one who found her?"

"Oh, of course.  You want to know exactly how long you were out there, I take it?"

"Yes.  I'm-I'm not sure why, but I think I need to know."

"You'll get no argument from me.  I'll write both of those letters for you right now."  She did, and then we sat in companionable silence for a while.

Eventually I worked up the courage to ask her one more question.  "You mentioned paranoia, trust issues.  What do you usually do to treat that?"

She smiled.  "The usual is to keep a diary, write them down, bring the thoughts out of your head and into the rest of the world where you can question them.  But, at least in my experience, the best answer is to talk to someone.  Trust and talk to someone, whether that be a family member, friend, healer, or even someone random off the street that you'll never meet again.  Whichever is easiest."

The sunset was as spectacular as I remembered, and at some point I must have fallen asleep, because I woke in the gray mists of the morning to find the woman still asleep in the chair next to mine.  For once, my rest was surprisingly uninterrupted.  Quietly collecting the letters of introduction she provided, I slipped away to begin the walk back to Suthhaven.

[LorenniaNailo]

Having started nice and early, I manage to get back to the sandbar at low tide this time, and it seems I was largely correct - there's a few gaps to jump across, but otherwise the sandbar extends all the way across the channel.  The footing is a bit more treacherous this time, as the rocks in the middle are slick, but I easily manage.  I even manage to get to the other side before the sun rises, and am treated to a brilliant sunrise visible all the way down the channel.

The mist quickly starts to dissipate once the sun is up, and the cool southwestern breeze over the salt marsh is just what I need to make the miles fall behind.  It's probably five hours before I stop for lunch and a quick nap, the warm sun making me a bit sleepy.

I am woken up by something indefinable, maybe a scent on the wind.  Unfortunately, I picked a bad place (and time) to sleep, as there is nothing around to make much noise - as I found out to be staring at twenty - twenty! - human teens and young adults, all dressed as though they were pretending to be bandits.  I said, far more calmly than I felt, "Tell you what.  You leave, and I'll go back to sleep and pretend this never happened."

Then the inevitable counter-offer.  "Give us your gold, and maybe we'll think about letting you live."

I laughed and flapped my nearly-empty coin pouch at them.  "You hear a lot of jingling in there, kid?"  I only have a couple of coins, so I hear one muted clink.  "You're wasting your time.  Go bother somebody else."

It was abundantly clear that, whatever life lessons this kid had learned, they most definitely did not include how to back down.  "Give us everything you got, and maybe we'll think about letting you live."

As I roll smoothly to my feet, the kid's flinch indicates he wasn't aware just how bad an idea this was.  "I gave you two chances to leave, now I'll give you your third - and last - chance."  I raise my voice to ensure everyone can hear me (although unfortunately that causes my voice to crack, ruining much of the intimidation I was going for).  "Anyone stupid enough to attack me, dies.  Everyone else gets to keep breathing."  Inside, I'm not nearly as calm - twenty-to-one odds are so bad that I'm pretty much doomed and it's only a question of how many I can take down with me.  The leader and his three nearest henchmen draw blackjacks - great, they want a prisoner now - and rush to the attack faster than I was expecting.  One of them even manages to crack me on the head as I try to dodge the other three, and I see stars for a moment.  Taking a quick step around one of the others, I drive an elbow into his back, feeling the crack of a broken vertebra as he goes down like a sack of lead weights.  Three at a time are much easier to dodge, and I drive one kid's nose so far up into his face that he just drops lifeless to the sand.  Two of these inexperienced kids against a hardened champion gladiator is no contest, and soon all four of them are dead or dying.  That's when the screams begin.

"Timmy, nooo!"

"Murderer!"

"That was my brother!"

Sonova crap.

Six of them draw blades and rush in from all directions, swinging wildly.  Their blades are sharp, if not swung with expertise or power, and I get my clothes cut up pretty badly with how hard it is to completely dodge their inexpert attacks.  It's not easy, and I have to devote my entire concentration to fending off their attacks while methodically driving each one out of the fight, but eventually, after a minute and a half of hard fighting, I stand alone among the huddled corpses.  Breathing hard and clutching a deep gash across my chest, I snarl, "Are we done here?"

In answer, yet another kid hefts a crossbow, screaming incoherently.  Kicking up a knife from the corpse in front of me, I grab it out of midair and hurl it right between the kid's eyes.

The kid's shot goes wide, and I hear a faint "oof" from behind me.  The boy behind me has the crossbow bolt sticking right out of his chest and is fading fast.  I'd like to say I make a reasoned decision here, but I don't - I step over, catch him, pull out the bolt, and use my only healing spell to save the stupid kid's life instead of sealing up my own cuts.  I look at the next closest kid - a terrified girl who can barely keep the sword in her hands, let alone pointed towards me.  "I had better not regret this," I growl.  "One more of you tries to attack me and all of you will die.  I'm done playing around."  Almost immediately I hear a tussle behind me as two kids tackle a third.  Standing up slowly so as not to startle anyone into doing something (even more) stupid, I give these thoroughly cowed kids their marching orders.  "Stay within twenty yards of this tree," I point to the closest little scrub tree, "until it's shadow touches him."  I point to the kid whose life I just saved; it should be three or four hours until then.  "Anyone leaves that twenty-yard circle, they die.  Anyone that gets away before the shadow touches him, I will track you down and kill - not just you, but anyone who gives you shelter too.  And if I ever find any of you attacking travellers again, I'll string you up by your entrails and let the crows feast on them while you're still alive."

********************************************

I honestly didn't expect to walk out of there, but somehow that's exactly what I do, the deep cut on my chest still bleeding into my shredded tunic.  About a quarter mile later, I stop at an old trailside chapel to bandage myself up and thank the gods for my undershirt, which is all that keeps me decent now that the tunic is largely scraps.

<Would you really have killed them all?>  Anne apparently decides now is a good time to show up.

I answer without hesitation.  "Yes."

<Why?>

"Because that's the only way they'll learn."

<How are they supposed to learn if they're dead?>

I open my mouth for a quick retort, then realize it's not helpful.  Turning away from her (not that it makes a difference), I struggle to figure out why.  After a minute in silence, I finally mutter, "I saw what their friendships were doing to them.  I had to make them see that they stood to lose even more if they kept it up."

<That explains the threat, but not the follow-through.>

"Ugh.  Just leave me alone."  Fortunately she does, as I clearly do not want to talk about it.  Then my ears perk up.  "Wait."  There's a slight, but noticeable, echo in here - at odds with what would be expected for such a small chapel.  I start looking around more closely, starting with the stairs down into this place - but there doesn't seem to be anything out of the ordinary on the stairs, or anything big outside that would reflect the sounds back in.  Coming back down the stairs, I look around the nave of the chapel, with the strong feeling that I'm missing something obvious.  I inspect all eight shrines, the altar, even fire a tipless arrow at the ceiling to check that it's real (it is).  I give up and go back outside, only to think better of it and come back down the stairs - "Wait," I say aloud, my words still echoing strangely, "Where does the rain go?"  I can see the gutters in the floor, letting water flow into them and towards the back of the shrine.  I follow one as it bends around the altar and -

And meets the other one on the far side.  "What?" I ask into the silence.  There's nowhere for the water to go; this place would flood in any serious storm, but these are dry.  After a moment, I pour some water from my waterskin into the gutter to see where it goes.  It flows down the gutter a short way and disappears..."No," I tell myself, not realizing I'm speaking aloud, "It didn't disappear, it flowed through the wall!"  I put my hand on the "wall" and it goes right through; the entire wall behind the altar doesn't even exist.  I poke my head through and see another staircase down further into the earth, with the (now damp) gutter flowing on the left side.  Down the stairs I go, now curious about what else might be down here.

That the gutter sends its runoff into a well is almost disappointingly mundane, but the rest of the room at the bottom of the stairs makes up for it.  Stunning frescoes of dragons, griffons, pegasi, even a nymph standing in a waterfall, all shimmer in the continual flames keeping this place lit.  The frescoes are beautiful enough to keep my attention such that I don't even notice the human sitting unmoving on the floor until he speaks.

"The gutter - such a common object, and only the child and the endlessly curious ask where it leads."  I nearly jump out of my skin.  He continues serenely.  "It is unfortunate how many children lose their sense of wonder when they grow up, but it is beautiful to see someone who has been through so much yet still keeps that sense near to their heart."

"Um.  Thank you?"  I'm at a bit of a loss; I think I should be wary of this man, but that's hard to do when he hasn't moved so much as a hair.

"Hah!  Quick on your feet, too.  Leira must have loved you."

"I doubt it.  I'm not much into lies, or illusions."

"Faugh!  After all this time, no one else has seen the truth?  Oghma has been spreading lies about my Lady for so long that even her own priests can't see her truth.  That is why they named me the Heretic, the Etaoin Shrdlu."

"The what now?"

He laughs.  "A jest, from another world, yet oddly fitting.  But enough about me; you have noticed that something is wrong on this island."

It wasn't a question, but I answered anyway.  "I wouldn't say wrong - it's lovely here - but something doesn't add up.  I can't put my finger on it though."

"I imagine not - though you were born here, you have been gone so long that you are as much an outsider here as anyone.  As much as I."

"Wait, how did you-" I was overruled as he continued.

"Nothing about this place 'adds up', as you so eloquently put it."  He throws out an arm, the first movement he has made.  "Do the Knights ride griffons or pegasi?  Do the people continue to honor Leira by telling minor lies all the time, or did they destroy her temples after her death?  Why do the Nimbral Lords stay in the fortress of their exiled captors?  So little is known of this island, but even the known facts contradict each other or make little sense.  But of course, that is to be expected for Leira's favorite place in Faerûn, as she does not make sense to an outsider either!"  He chuckles.  "Would you like to hear a truth?"

"What do you mean a truth?"

"My, Leira really would have liked you," he laughs.  "You picked up on that right away.  Yes, Oghma would have you believe that there is but one truth.  Objectivist garbage!" he spits.  "If a tree fell in the forest, and nothing was around to hear it, did it make a sound?  The Oghmanyte would tell you yes, of course it did.  Ask him how he knows, and he will tell you that all other trees have made sounds when they fell.  But trees fall in the forest all the time, and this isn't the only tree that was never heard.  Perhaps some, very rare, trees make no sound when they fall, or grow on the ground such that they look like they fell.  How would you know?  And if I told you that, somewhere out there beyond Faerûn, there was a forest where these trees were common, and it was the exceptions that made a sound as they crashed to earth?"  I just stare at him, as his preaching is getting increasingly more weird and detached from reality.  "Oghma denies this, but it has already happened once, in Katashaka."  I twitch as the same name comes up from two days ago.  "Ah, you recognize the name?  Perhaps he hasn't been completely successful then.  Swans."

I'm definitely starting to lose the conversation here.  "Swans?  What-"

"Yes!"  He excitedly interrupts me.  "Swans.  All swans are white, are they not?  Well, except those on the heraldry of a few families scattered across the Realms.  Except, no, they are not.  Centuries ago now, there was an expedition to the lands of Katashaka - and do you know what they found?"  I just stare at him, not really comprehending anymore.  "Black swans."

I give up, and demand, "What does any of this have to do with illusions?"

He cackles.  "It doesn't, and that is the point!  Leira is not, and never has been, a goddess of lies and illusions - that is merely Oghma's interpretation of her portfolio.  Rather, Leira was Oghma's opposite in a completely different fashion - she taught that there is more than one truth.  That her priests must be honest about their truths, which from Oghma's perspective means they lie.  They 'impersonate others' and 'infiltrate places' to experience new perspectives, new truths.  To slice the Whole Sort of General Mish-Mash in a new way."

"Wha- ... wait- ... you- ... but-" I sputter, having completely lost him now.

He continues, ignoring me.  "Oghma's attempts at objectivity allow his priests to distance themselves from the world, categorizing it.  But Leira allowed for subtle access to the roiling chaos of reality, real reality, where everything is subjective and malleable.  And this is what made her an inspiration to artists everywhere.  The End of Creation is no curse, it's a prediction - a prediction of what happens when Oghma's brand of knowledge is allowed to swallow everything else.  On that day, there will be no inspiration, no creativity, because it will all have already been done, you see?"

I do not, and just gape at him in confused silence.

"Unfortunately, Leira's death was prophesied centuries ago, by myself."  He sighs.  "If gods are a disguise, if gods are an illusion, then perhaps Leira was the only beacon of truth in our entire pantheon of lies.  But if gods are real and true and all-knowing, then Leira cannot be a god and must be dead.  But that doesn't mean her efforts must go to waste."  He looks me straight in the eye.  "There is another 'illusion' prophesied centuries ago, that of the Higher Self, one who wants only to become what one is.  The self-created, autonomous, authentic self."  He points right at my heart.  "In your case, one who remembers that her worst days are always going to be behind her, who remembers them but does not let them rule her.  If you wish to become your Higher Self, you never have to worship Leira at all - just find your calling in life and dedicate every fiber of your being to it."

It takes my brain a long time to rappel down into the earth to pick up my jaw again, and in the meantime he simply gets up and walks out of the temple altogether, long before I can marshal my thoughts enough to reply at all.  Eventually, a few minutes after he leaves, I shake my head.  "What in the Hells was that?" I ask myself - but of course there is no answer.

********************************************

I can't help but think about what the crazy man - he said his name was Etaoin Shrdlu, I remind myself - said as I return to Suthhaven.  Most of it was ranting gibberish - or at least seemed to be - but the part at the end at least seemed relevant and important.  A calling is exactly what I've been missing, but I don't even know where to begin looking for one.

Eventually, shortly after it gets dark, I reach the base of Suthhaven.  Having already traveled forty miles, I have no intention of climbing back up to the Maiden's Leap tonight, and instead find a much less reputable inn down at sea level.  The chair I used to "lock" the door came in quite handy as several drunks tried to enter my room overnight, presumably because I had the closest room to the stairs.  Fortunately, none of them made it inside so I didn't have to add to my body count for the day.

[LorenniaNailo]

Somewhere in between nightmares, I'm jerked awake by the crash of thunder.  Looking out the window, the sky to the southwest seems perfectly calm, so I do the rational thing and head out to the front of the inn to check the sky, which...just above and northeast of us is completely black.  The wind howls through the poorly-maintained windows and blows out the candles, just before the rain sweeps across the inn's roof.  As the windows shake, I briefly debate going back to my room, but it's not like I'm going to be able to sleep anyways, so I stay in the common room.

This decision ends up saving my life.

For the next half hour or so, I watch the storm outside, occasionally brushing off the stray droplet of water that comes around the window jambs and listening to the howling storm.  The lightning strikes are random and extremely loud to my elven ears, but since it's the middle of the night it's unlikely that any people are being struck by lightning.

About an hour later, I notice something doesn't look quite right outside.  Maybe it's the fact that the rain is still falling on the roof but not in the street, or maybe it's the fact that the howling wind has been augmented by a low growling.  Or maybe it's the black cone just barely visible making its way down the mountainside.  It takes me altogether far too long to realize what I'm seeing.

Tornado.

"Gods below," I breathe, as the massive funnel zig-zags down the mountainside, fortunately missing the towers.  Then it stops moving, and some half-remembered instinct tells me to run; if I can't see it moving that's because it's heading straight for me.

I sprint out the front door (which never closes again), into the suddenly-levitating hail as the approaching winds overpower gravity, and do my best to outrun the approaching storm by taking off across its path.

I don't get very far before the wind simply picks me up off my feet and slams me into the next building over.  I instinctively grab onto anything within reach as I hear a crunching sound behind me just before another cloud of icy needles slams into my exposed body moving at well over 150 miles per hour.  Somehow the wall behind me doesn't give way, and the winds quickly pass as the tornado moves out into the harbor.  Once the wind dies down enough that I can reach the ground, I start limping back towards the inn.

The inn that was ripped apart down to its very foundation.  It doesn't look like there's much I can do for anyone else who was still in the inn when the tornado hit; they're either dead or flung somewhere, or (probably) both.

As the shouts finally start to rise above the howling wind, I briefly consider going to help in the rescue efforts, but then realize that I'm in no shape to do so and I'd probably be better off waiting for rescue myself.  I was barely staying on my feet before the storm, and I can already feel the bruise on my back where my bow got in between me and the wall.  Of course, with the inn totally destroyed and no shelter to be found, I head towards the waterfront, remembering at least a few stone benches to sit on.

The tornado's path of devastation is thankfully very thin, even if complete.  Trees standing ten feet away are stripped of leaves but still standing, while even the stone walls in the path itself are completely gone.  One of the docks was in the path of the storm, and I can see a child screaming, holding on tight to one of the pilings that has no pier leading to it anymore.  His father (maybe?) is trying to coax him to jump back, but the kid isn't having any of it.  Sighing, I realize that if anyone can make it out to the kid and back, it would be me, and start planning a route.  Taking it slowly as the kid doesn't seem to be in any immediate danger, I hop from pillar to pillar, always keeping my balance before I search for the next rain-slicked spot to leap to.

That's when lightning strikes the piling the kid is holding onto.  I can see it arc right through the kid's body, and he starts falling to the water below.  I make the last few jumps in a rush, and grab him before we both hit the water - but unlike the kid, I'm in a good enough shape to swim to shore instead of just drowning.  The salt water stings terribly as it hits my sliced-up face (thanks hail), but miraculously the kid is still breathing as I pass him off to his father, who takes one look at me and just wordlessly passes me a potion vial.  I don't even question what's in it, just down it immediately to find out it was a healing potion - not strong enough to fully heal me, but enough to ensure I won't die any time soon.  I turn to thank him, but he's already busy with saving his son - this seems perfectly reasonable to me, so I just move on towards the west.

The rain continues to pound down as the lightning and thunder start appearing further and further away.  The wind cuts right through my clothes as they're thoroughly soaked, but at least the wind is warm.  The tornado has either disappeared or moved well off the coast, because I can't hear it any more.  This is fortunate, because as a lull in the wind comes up, I can hear several voices calling out from the south.  This confuses me for a moment, as I'm on the harbor's edge - but after a moment I realize the tornado must have dumped some people in the harbor.  I run over to the nearest ship, trying to get their attention - but they either ignore me or outright push me out of the way.  I grab another man's shoulder, who finally listens to me, but shouts back "I don't hear anything."  It isn't until I point to my ears with an 'are you an idiot' look that he finally figures it out, nods, shouts something to the sailors who start lowering a ship's boat on a winch, and casts a spell on me so my ponytail glows.  He leans in and responds, "You're going to have to direct them," to which I nod.  He pats me on the shoulder as I vault into the boat, accompanied by three oarsmen, a corpsman, and two other sailors.

It takes us an agonizingly long time to get out to the first survivor, who fortunately didn't stop calling out.  The other five are humans so I know they can't see a thing, but I can (barely) see the surviving kid holding a piece of wood a few yards away.  I hold up my arm for the oarsmen to stop, then dive in to grab the kid and guide him towards the boat.  Lighting my ponytail turns out to have been a brilliant move by that mage, as the oarsmen can see me even in the water, which means they can help us get back out of the water with minimal effort.

We get two kids in this way before I start to tire, but we don't slow down - there's only so long that these people can hang on, even if they're otherwise uninjured, which is not guaranteed.  The third survivor, for example, is an older lady with a curtain rod through her leg, which I remove as carefully as I can with the corpsman and the other two holding her down.  Patching her up, even provisionally, takes a lot of energy.  The fourth survivor is an uninjured little girl, which makes my job a lot easier - at least, until one of the oarsmen makes a mistake and cracks me hard underwater in the ribs with his oar.  I don't bother complaining as it's clear it was an accident, but I'm well and truly exhausted.

By the time we get to the fifth survivor, he's no longer calling out.  I spot a piece of driftwood spinning in the water and immediately assume he just went under, so I dive down to see if I can find him.  Luckily I do, and I drag the big guy over to the boat so we can get him in.  Getting him on board and breathing again takes some doing, and by the time we're done I'm so exhausted I just barely manage to cling onto the prow of the boat.  I listen hard, but there's nothing more over the sound of the rain and receding thunder.  Finally giving the oarsmen the "turn around and let's go home" signal, they give a weary cheer and start rowing back.  It's all I can do just to stay where I am.

When we get back within sight of the dock, I stiffen as I hear someone else splashing around not too far away.  Forcing myself to my feet (the light spell on me having long since worn off), I point to the rest of the boat and then towards the shore, telling them to go on without me, then dive over the side one last time.

I immediately regret this decision, as my limbs are heavy and my exhaustion comes back with a vengeance.  I have to force myself to stay afloat, and it only gets worse once I reach the panicking full-grown man, who immediately shoves me underwater to try and keep himself above the surface.  Fighting my way back up, I find myself forced to punch him in the head to stun him long enough to drag him to shore.  I have to use the very last dregs of my strength to drag him onto a small beach between two boulders, tucked just underneath the dock, at which point I just lay there, still waist-deep in the ocean, too tired to even pass out properly.  I'm far too exhausted to react when the man I just saved from drowning gets up and kicks me in the chest in a fit of anger for having hit him.  Some people, I swear.

[LorenniaNailo]

I must have lost consciousness eventually, because I eventually wake up around the time the sun is overhead.  Everything hurts, and I do mean everything.  It takes me four tries just to sit up, fifteen minutes of exhausted meditation to regain my one spell for the day, and three tries to get the gestures right before I can immediately cast cure light wounds on myself, as I can already tell that I'm not going to be able to get out of here the way I feel right now.  The simple spell helps immensely, but "immensely" is just barely enough for me to climb out and crawl over to a bench so I can pull myself up to lean against it.  Bone-weary, bruised, and encrusted with salt, I must look frightful.  I certainly feel that way!  Eventually, perhaps an hour later, I drag myself to my feet; I have two last things to do in Suthhaven and no more money to stay another night in an inn.  I dread climbing the five thousand steps to get to the asylum, but when I get close to the first tower, a merchant with a cart waves me over.  "You look like you could use a lift," he says.

I just stare at him for a moment until the words penetrate.  "Gods above, yes, please."  He pats the seat beside him, and I waste no time getting into it gratefully.

The merchant chuckles.  "Someone saved my mother from a watery grave last night; I figure the least I can do is pay it forward.  You look like you were out in the bay last night too."

"You could say that," I answer, not immediately making the obvious connection.

Fortunately I'm not the only one who fails to make the obvious connection, as he proceeds to tell me all about this fearless elven lady who, while hearing people cry out in the harbor, arranged for their rescue, even dove for the survivors herself, only to disappear shortly before the boat came back into dock.  If I didn't know better, I'd swear there was a second elf out there last night.  Fortunately, given my condition, the merchant is perfectly happy to carry on his own one-sided conversation, even if it is more than a bit uncomfortably heavy on the hero-worship.  After the first thirty minutes of him waxing rhapsodic about my supposed virtues, I decide he's happier not knowing who I am - the savior he's constructed in his head is much nicer, stronger, and better-looking to boot. Fortunately, despite his odd habit of idolizing people he's never met, the merchant is quite personable, and even better is headed the same way I am, which means that after an hour or so he drops me off at the door to the asylum.  I wave goodbye at him, feeling a bit better (though that still hurts a bit).

The asylum itself is clearly just someone's renovated house - which is what I expected, since there was little need for a mental hospital in peaceful Nimbral until five years ago.  Someone was kind enough to donate their home (or unlucky enough to die at the right time and get their property seized) for the cause.  I walk right in the front door without challenge and start looking for someone to talk to; it's clear that they don't have many visitors here.  I eventually find a rather severe-looking man busy with paperwork who raps out sharply without looking up, "Well?"  His face crinkles with disgust when I hand him the badly water-stained letter of introduction, but he at least reads it before setting it down (carefully away from his more dry papers) and demanding, still without looking up, "So, you think you can just walk in here after five years of our best efforts and help our worst patient.  Who do you think you are?"  To that I just wait, clearing my throat slightly.  He looks up in irritation, mouth open to berate me - then instantly folds in shock; for once, my scars are an asset and I don't need to explain anything to him.  When he finds his voice, the imperiousness is gone.  "Well.  I-I suppose you might have something to offer, and it c-can't hurt to try, right?  I'll just lead the way, shall I?"  He doesn't wait for my response, but just scurries around the desk, keys in hand.  I follow after a brief moment to snag something from his desk.

After a few minutes, he stops at what is obviously a bedroom door, fumbles with his keys for a moment, and lets me in before closing the door behind me.  I assume he is going to monitor us remotely; there is probably a scrying sensor in this room, even if just for the woman's safety.  Before he can get to whatever crystal ball he would watch the sensor from, I quickly grab a chair and jam it under the doorknob on this side.  The woman watches, her blank face only confirming what I thought might be the case.  Crossing the room over to her and sitting in the chair opposite, I note the gorgeous view she sits turned away from and press the object I nicked off of the man's desk into her hands.

[OOC: See footnote.]

It takes her a long moment, during which I hear a strangled WHAT? from several rooms away, before she finally focuses on the knife in her hands.  Just before the first pounding at the door, she croaks, in a voice that hasn't been used in years, "Why?"

The chair I propped up against the door does quite well at keeping the furious man out, so I have plenty of time to explain.  "You've been here for five years without doing or saying anything.  I think that means you're expecting this to end as soon as you acknowledge it, but that doesn't matter.  Now, you have to make a choice.  You can choose to do nothing, but that is a choice, and you'll probably lose the rest of these choices shortly thereafter.  You could also choose the easy way out, but I think if you really wanted to kill yourself you would have found a way by now.  You could even choose to fight your way out; I will probably die that way, but it's a possibility I accepted when I gave you the knife.  But, again, I think if you really wanted out then you would have done it by now.  The last choice I can see is keeping the knife for defense - or the second choice, if needed - and finally interacting with the rest of the world again on your terms."  Desperate to get in, the man has stopped trying to batter his way in and has resorted to hacking at it with an axe, so I know I don't have much time left.  "What's your name?"

"Slave," she managed to get out, although it was clear it was going to take her some time to learn to use her voice again.

I shook my head as kindly as I could manage.  "No, it's not.  Anyone who called you that is dead."  Probably, I added mentally, but she didn't need qualifiers right now - she needed certainty.  "You had a real name before that.  Something that friends would call you."

It takes her a long moment - longer than I thought I had, honestly, with the guy trying to hack the door down the whole time - before she answers even fainter than before, "F-Felosial."

I smile.  "That's a nice name.  Well, Felosial, the man out there thinks I'm trying to hurt you, and he's trying to break in here to protect you from me.  He's wrong, of course, but his heart's in the right place.  Neither of us really know what you've been through, but...I can at least guess."  I pull up my shirt for a moment to show her the matted scars across my stomach.  She doesn't react, which confirms my guess is at least partially correct.  "Whatever else happens, remember that you're not alone anymore."  I get up, almost perfectly timed, as the broken chair finally falls away from the door and the man stands in the doorway, wild-eyed and thoroughly confused as both of us just look at him.  It's very clear he was expecting to find one or both of us dead.

The forty-minute screaming lecture he gave me once we were away from Felosial was - to be honest - well-deserved, and if I hadn't been ready to accept whatever consequences came of giving Felosial a weapon, I wouldn't have done it in the first place.  I didn't attempt to defend myself to him as I didn't see the need; seeing Felosial out in the yard through the window - with the knife still in her hand - when she wandered out there after about twenty minutes was enough.  I felt a bit bad about what the nice woman who introduced me was going to walk into when she returned to work, but that was unavoidable now.  There wasn't much he could actually do to me after the lecture, fortunately, as I hadn't broken any laws (that he knew of - I don't think he realized where that knife came from), so I eventually walked out of there after being told I was never to return - which, of course, I had no intention of doing.

****************************************

Shortly afterwards, I hear someone practicing on their hurdy-gurdy as I walk down the street towards Zera the Record-Keeper's place; from all appearances she keeps a tidy little shop on the ground floor with her home up above.  Part surveyor, part archivist, and part note-taker, record-keeper has always been an important but never particularly lucrative job in Nimbral, especially since the humans showed up with their propensity to own land; the job typically involves keeping track of town births and deaths, family adoptions, council laws and debates, property lines, and of course their original purpose - the Registry of Transgressions.

The Registry is one of Nimbral's most carefully guarded open secrets, started thousands of years before most races even knew the island existed.  Back in those days, Nimbral was largely unable to defend itself effectively, so any attacks were usually successful.  According to legend, the first Record-Keeper of Nimbral began the Registry after a genie attack killed her husband, the goal being that Nimbral would avenge her once it was capable of doing so.  I assume that, now that they've shown the Knights of the Flying Hunt can project power appropriately, plans are being drafted to start whittling down the outstanding local debts in the Registry (not sure about the extraplanar ones), but then Nimbral isn't exactly run by elves anymore so who knows.  That's not really what I'm here for anyways; the fact that the Registry is still kept is all that I need.

A bell rings as I enter Zera's small shop, and a middle-aged woman stands up from behind the counter, frowning.  "Can I help you?"

I see no reason to waste time.  "I need to consult the Registry."

"The Registry of Transgressions is not something you can call up on a whim-" she begins.

I place down my second letter of introduction.  "I'm trying to find out when I was taken."

Zera scans the letter, then nods.  "Very well, we can begin.  The fee is one silver piece."  I toss my last coin on the counter without complaint.  "What do you remember from that day?"

I think for a moment.  "It was a Nelanther pirate attack, in the middle of the night.  The Knights had badly damaged the fleet before it ever reached the shore, but they still came ashore on Salpir Isle and burned my family's - at least one house to the ground.  The survivors from the pirate fleet never returned to the Nelanther Isles as they were forced off course by a storm and crashed into the Chult peninsula, but I'm not sure if that part would have made it into the Registry.  This was at least fifty years ago, and I don't think it was longer than two hundred."

Zera hums for a moment.  "That sounds like enough information to go on.  Let's get started."  She goes over to a shelf and pulls out a book marked "REGISTRY OF TRANSGRESSIONS - 14TH CENTURY" and says, "Let's start in 1332 DR, just in case your best guess on the fifty years is a bit off."  I have no problem with that, and wait in silence as she runs her finger down the Registry.  "Ah, here we are.  A Nelanther pirate attack on Midsummer, 1314 DR - except that's not Salpir Isle, that's Salpir itself...and it says here the ship was sunk before it could leave.  That's not it."

She finishes with the book and puts it back, pulling out one marked "REGISTRY OF TRANSGRESSIONS - 13TH CENTURY".  After a long moment, she says, "Here we go, 1245 DR - says here a Nelanther pirate vessel passed through the Knights, taking enough damage that a fleet of fishing boats from Salpir Isle were able to - oh," she sighs, then continues, "were able to sink it with minimal loss of life.  No damage to the coastline."

She finishes with the book and puts it back, pulling out one marked "REGISTRY OF TRANSGRESSIONS - 12TH CENTURY".  After a long moment, she shakes her head.  "Nothing useful in this one."  She pulls out the book marked "REGISTRY OF TRANSGRESSIONS - 11TH CENTURY", and I'm starting to worry that the attack never got recorded - we're now at 272 years ago and counting - but I don't stop her from scanning the book.  She pauses, and inhales to exclaim something, but then stops and shakes her head.  "Are you sure they were Nelanther pirates?  I have here a rogue Halruuan skyship that otherwise matches pretty well."  Seeing me shake my head - I'm pretty sure I can remember the difference between a sailing ship and a skyship - she sighs.

She finishes with the book and puts it back, pulling out one marked "REGISTRY OF TRANSGRESSIONS - 10TH CENTURY".  Almost immediately she announces, "905 DR, Nelanther pirates attacked by the Knights-" she sighs, "-and sunk, before ever reaching the island, but with two dozen Knights lost in the battle.  That's not it."  She finishes and puts the book down.  "We're twice as far back as you thought we'd need to go.  I'm not complaining or asking for more money, but is there any reason to think we should continue?"

I think for a long moment.  "What do you have on Calimshan history?"

She smiles grimly.  "More than they'd expect, seeing as how we need to balance the scales with them."

"Do you know when the Black Horde attacked Calimshan?"

She doesn't even blink.  "1235 DR.  I take it you were there?"

"Yes, it was - it was bad."  I shudder involuntarily, but avoid thinking too hard of what happened then, though the revelation that the attack was 137 years ago (167 for me) is more than a little bit shocking.  I thought it was maybe 30 years.

She nods.  "Well, at least that tells me we're not looking for a pirate attack in the last forty years.  Anything else?"

"How about - Sapphiraktar the Blue attacked and mostly destroyed Calimport."  While I was being executed no less, I think.

She still doesn't blink, and I begin to suspect she's more familiar with Calimshan than she's let on.  "1018 DR.  So, I guess that breaks the two-hundred year limit."

"I guess so," I manage to add, shocked that that was 354 years ago.

Zera pulls out the book marked "REGISTRY OF TRANSGRESSIONS - 9TH CENTURY" and says, "Well, let's continue back for a bit more then."  Almost immediately she puts down the book.  "Now we're getting somewhere!" she crows.  "826 DR, Nelanther pirate fleet of six vessels attacked and partially destroyed by the Knights, the remaining two vessels went on to burn part of the southern coast, including Salpir Isle, then the Knights flew back to finish the job but there was a storm!"

"That...that sounds exactly right," I agree, emotions roiling through me too fast and too extreme to name.  "What day of the year was it?"

She flips a page.  "The 2nd of Alturiak," she announces triumphantly.

I nod, focusing on my breathing.  "Thanks," I manage to add before nearly running out of the shop.  I walk down the street in a daze until I reach the next plaza, where a small band is playing an incongruously-upbeat and catchy song completely at odds with my mood.

Leaning on a stone railing and looking out over the harbor, I try to sort out my thoughts.  Naturally this is when Anne decides to make her appearance.  <You got what you asked for.>

I keep my voice low so as not to disturb anyone else.  "Yeah.  I was 44 when the attack happened, so I was born in 782.  Which means I'm six hundred and twenty years old."

<A few years older than the 100-300 you thought you were,> Anne agrees.

I snort.  "That's putting it mildly."  I shake my head.  "Elves only live to nine to twelve centuries, usually.  My life is more than half over."

Anne makes a strangled sound that I've never heard from her before, a moment before she does the internal equivalent of slapping me in the face.  <Most of me is human.  How long do they live, do you think?> she demands of me.

I'm still not sure how she slapped me in the face, but the question still takes me a minute to figure out.  "Oh.  Right."

<Such a poor little thing,> she mocked me, <having only three to six human lifespans left.>

"Okay, I deserve that.  But," I add as a thought strikes me, "it goes the other way too.  I spent 545, 546 years enslaved; that might be longer than all of you combined."  Now that thought stops Anne right in her tracks.  "How many of you were elves, again?"  I ask sweetly, already knowing the answer was two.

<Point taken,> she acknowledged.

"But thank you, Anne.  I needed the perspective."  She disappears back off to my subconscious or wherever she goes.

I find that the music is more to my tastes now.

I decide to walk back down to the harbor instead of taking the stairs; the walking is helping to loosen me up a bit after last night, and at this point I'm in no hurry; there's plenty of time to find a captain who might be willing to take me to my next destination.

[Footnote: Though I have tried to keep the rest of this thread reasonable, taking psychiatric treatment advice from an RPG message board is such a stupid idea that it should render you unfit to breathe.  But this?  This right here?  DO NOT DO THIS.  Thank you.]