Familiar Faces (21 Feb 2002) Tom and friends travel into a desolate land.

Caer Bannuac
The snow is more sparse about this hill, though the air no less chill. From the crown of the hill rises a tower in ruin, which once split into two peaks, reminiscent of horns: one has now fallen, and the other shows holes in its roof. The door at the base of the tower stands ajar, letting in the bitter wind. The watchtower is surrounded by a cluster of cottages, most only a single story high. This simple town has been abandoned -- by faerie life, at least -- for several Years, judging by the disreputable state of the buildings.

It is nearing sunset as Thomas and his friends ride down the switchback path, and the sun turns the icy plains ahead red, though there is a strange haze to the far west.

Ahead of them, a hunched figure has crawled out of the ruins, wrapped in tattered rags, looking about furtively, and clutching a lumpy bundle to his chest, within the torn folds of his outer coat. He must be as old as Methuselah, to judge from the leathery wrinkles on his face, and his rail-thin body suggests that he hasn't eaten well lately.

Thomas holds up his hand and says, "I will go speak with the man. Wait here in case this is dangerous. I won't be long." Thomas then moves forward, towards the old man. "Greetings, kind sir," Thomas says, smiling. "We are travelers, heading west. Pray tell what happened here?"

"What happened?" the wretched figure croaks, peering up under the folds of his cowl with unfocused eyes. "A great many things have happened here, though nothing much of note for thirteen Years, I dare say. You must be more specific with your questions, should you ask them -- and sparing with them as well, if you know aught of who once dwelt in Caer Bannuac."

"I do know, but it has been more than fourteen Years since I walked the lands of Mirari," Thomas replies, stopping a few feet away from the man. "This place was once the realm of Pelles, what has happened to him?"

Sir Lefallon stands quietly, staying close to his horse where a cloth-wrapped bundle sits on the back of the saddle, accumulating snowflakes.

"A great many things, and none of them good!" comes a yowling voice that is certainly not one belonging to the man, though it seems to originate from him -- or, rather, the bundle clutched to his chest within his rags. Something squirms about, and a creature even more pathetic looking than the man pokes out its gaunt grey head -- a Siamese cat, which looks up at Tom with crossed blue eyes.

"Hello Bragwaine," Thomas says calmly. "It's been some time."

The cat purrs proudly. "Meow! You remember me!"

"How could I forget you?" Thomas replies with a chuckle. "What happened here fourteen years ago?"

The old man just holds his tongue, quietly petting the cat's head, as it meows out, "Silly, don't you remember? Sir Lefallon took the Grail -- and it's been gone a very, very long time."

"Well, yes. I remember that," Thomas replies and shrugs. "What I am concerned about is why the place has fallen under such decay. Was it attacked?"

"Now and then, I suppose," the cat meows, then yawns widely. "But I wouldn't know. We've been asleep in a ca--"

And at that, the old man starts to stand up, half-stuffing the cat back into the folds of his rags as he takes up his gnarled and crooked staff to lean upon. His legs are obviously not well suited to holding up his full weight -- at least, not very straight.

Thomas' eyebrow goes up. "You've been asleep? Why?" he asks.

"You have many questions, traveler," the old man says, "and you would do well to know that I am not in the business of answering them freely. The Grail has passed from this land, and with it, any reason for the sorcerer who once dwelt in this tower to watch over it. But now the Grail has returned to these lands...." The old man looks past Tom toward his companions with his squinting eyes. "... and I wager that you won't be the only travelers to come by this way."

"You are right, the Grail has returned; with myself and Sir Lefallon. We are heading to face the evil in the West and sought the knowledge of the one who once dwelt here. But, if aid is not available, we will be on our way," Thomas says.

"If knowledge it is that you seek, then perhaps you will tarry a bit before being on your way, long enough to answer a question of my own," the old man says in a cracking voice. "For what purpose has the Grail returned?"

"My hope is that it will bring life to the dying world of Mirari," Thomas replies, looking the figure over. "It already brought redemption to an old foe and restored life to the Golden Woods. Will it have the same affect on all of Mirari? I do not know. I am not a philosopher, nor am I one well versed in lore."

"A pity," the old man says, "but it can't be helped. Know you this: the Grail has yet a purpose to come, if it is used wisely, but beware of trying to hold onto it for too long. Once it is returned to its place -- by one means or another -- it will not easily or soon be found again. The Grail is an object of many a quest, but it is neither panacea nor weapon. Take care in how you intend to use it, with that in mind."

The bundle held to the old man's chest squirms and fusses, as it seems that Bragwaine is not content to hold her tongue for very long.

Out of good listening range to Thomas and the old man, Sir Lefallon whispers with Rachel as he looks around uncomfortably at the ruined town and the tower.

"Obscure as always, Pelles," Thomas replies. "I only follow my heart in what I do. I seek to free Mirari of the grip of Jack and his minions. Something I began fourteen Years ago and continue on today. Perhaps the grail can redeem Jack. Perhaps it will simply help dispel his illusions and restore hope to the people. Or perhaps it will do something beyond anything I have thought. I can't say, I just don't know. All I can do is move forward."

The old man just looks up to Tom, his expression not betraying what he might think of the rightness or wrongness of his answer. "Then I do not think there is much more you will find here of use to your quest -- save that I was not speaking lightly when I predicted that other travelers would be this way. I anticipate that you might have words to leave for them, when they arrive."

"If Knight Redmane comes this way -- perhaps," Thomas says. "I'm wary to leave much of my travel plans, to protect us from Jack's minions. He's found us once; I would prefer he not find us again. So, are you willing to deliver a note then? Into just her hands?"

"I myself am not a messenger," the old man says.

"--But I am!" the cat yowls, poking her head out of the rags.

Bragwaine squirms out of the old man's grasp and hops down onto the ground, her two-fish pendant jingling as she lands.

"When you can keep focused on your task," Thomas points out, grinning a bit.

Bragwaine pouts. "I'm very focused. I'm a cat."

Thomas then turns and walks back towards his companions. "We move on, there is nothing we can likely learn here to aid us," Thomas says, "Just give me a few minutes to write a note for Knight Redmane to be left here with Bragwaine. If she comes this way, she will need to know which way we have gone."

Bragwaine sits down on her haunches, smiling proudly, then lifting up one paw to groom it.

Sir Lefallon nods. "Did yon old man say what had happened to this place?" he says, looking disquieted.

"Who are they, Thomas?" Rachel asks, her voice soft and curious as she looks at the feline and her master.

"Since the Grail left, those who were here to guard it moved on, or so I gather," Thomas answers as he digs through his saddlebag and gets a piece of paper and a couple inks. He sits down upon the snowy ground and begins to write, swapping to a different color ink now and then. "They are Pelles and Bragwaine. The one time guardians of the Grail. They apparently have been asleep for many Years. We met long ago."

"I'm a cat!" Bragwaine meows proudly.

"Whom is awfully familiar," Thomas comments with a smirk.

"Pelles!" Sir Lefallon, startled, looks up and over to the old man. "Milord, did you ask if we might leave the Grail to his protection while we continue with our quest, so that we might not be threatened with discovery?"

The old man stays where he is, silently leaning on his staff. Bragwaine, meanwhile, trots over next to Thomas, spying on the letter he's writing.

"We should not leave it," Thomas says, finishing writing his note. "He said the Grail still had a purpose to serve in Mirari and that once returned, it would not be found again anytime soon. He also warned us to use it wisely -- and the usual foreboding that Pelles likes to do." He folds the note in half and offers it to Bragwaine.

Sir Lefallon looks troubled. "Milord, Pelles is a wise man. He ruled this land..." He turns an apologetic face to the old man, having noticed his slip and use of the past tense. "I do not know if he still claims the rulership of Annwn, Lord Explorer. But if you think it best we carry on, I pray that we may prove clever enough to slip past the Destroyer's spies that may be watching for us."

The cat bats at the letter as if it's a play-thing ... then perhaps it dawns on her that it's not, and she sits up on her haunches, biting the letter and taking it out of Tom's hand.

Rachel watches the others, her face pale and serious. "They are trustworthy folk, at least." She smiles at the feline, then rides nearer to Pelles. "Thank you for your aid, sir," she offers.

"I do think it best we carry on," Thomas says as he stands "If you wish to speak to Pelles, by all means, speak to him. My impression was that he did not wish us to return it here."

The old man shakily sets himself back down on the block of stone that serves as his seat, while the cat proudly prances over to him, prize in mouth. "Meorph!" she says.

Sir Lefallon nods and leads his horse closer to the old man. "Milord," he says deferentially to him, though Pelles looks more vagrant than king. Then he looks at a bit of a loss for anything to say.

The old man looks up finally, catching Sir Lefallon's eye. "Use it wisely, Sir Lefallon. Consider the purpose for which it was intended."

The cat puts the letter down, freeing her mouth again. "Good luck! God bless! And don't get killed!" she meows cheerily.

The young knight looks abashed and nods. "I do every day, milord," he says. I pray for wisdom and courage to do what is right. But at the end of the day, I'm still not sure what we need to do," he admits. "But, I trust the Lord Explorer Thomas to guide the way."

At this the old man only nods. "Godspeed, then," he says in a gravelly voice, and lowers his head, gathering up the rags about him to bundle against the bitter cold, his shoulders shivering.

"Fourteen Years and they haven't changed," Thomas muses as he puts away his inks. He then carefully mounts his steed and guides him forward slowly, towards the others. "We will do the best we can, old friend. May it be enough," Thomas says as he approaches Pelles once more. He then says to Sir Lefallon, "In life, we cannot always know what is exactly the right thing to do. We can simply do, and trust in ourselves. Have more faith in yourself. I am certain you will know when the time is right."

"And to you, Miss Bragwaine," Rachel answers the cat. She bows her head to the old man, then looks to Thomas, ready to follow him on his way.

The cat giggles. "You're really pretty, miss!" She lifts a paw, batting at the air in a wave. "Good-bye!"

Sir Lefallon gives Thomas a small smile. "I hope so, Tom," he says and then waves a farewell to Pelles and Bragwaine as he mounts to follow.

Thomas nods slightly to Pelles and Bragwaine. "I hope we meet again. Be well," he says, then turns to the others. "Onward, then, towards the bridge of sorrow," he says firmly.

As the heroes travel westward from Caer Bannuac, the land is no less cold, but snow is less and less frequent on the ground, and the air dry and bitter, so dry that it seems to draw the moisture out, stealing the clouds out of the air that would otherwise be formed by their own warm breath, and that of their horses.

Annwn is cold and barren, crossed by intermittent streaks of caravan trails where the wind has not yet wiped them out. Sand rather than snow crunches beneath horses' hooves. Mists hover here and there, vanishing before the travelers can reach them, almost as if they were ghosts too far gone to speak.

Caer Sidi rises from the sands of Annwn, surrounded by four long rectangular walls, and the roofs suggest an architectural style more suited to temperate climates, with sloped roofs and gables, and gutters made of a shiny metal, hammered thin. To these are often attached roof tiles of a similar metal, creating a sometimes patchwork mirror effect that reflects the pale violet sky.

Before the main gates of Caer Sidi is a bazaar that does look more emblematic of the desert, with sellers dressed in all colors, and a collection of ragged travelers haggling over their wares. The cries reach the travelers' ears as they approach: "Water! The cheapest water in Caer Sidi, only one silver a bag!" "Gutter-scrapings! My water is the purest, straight from the source! It is yours for a mere twelve coppers the bag!"

Through the crowd, Thomas catches a glimpse of a black-robed man, whose dark eyes catch his for a moment before another rider on horseback passes between them, and then he is gone.

Thomas turns and looks at Rachel. "This place isn't on my map -- and sounds like a trading post," he comments. "Curious. Shall we go check it out?"

It would seem that mirrors are quite popular here, for wherever one looks, they glitter and reflect the light in dazzling displays -- whether in decorative hangings, or settings upon rooftops. There are a great many polished metal bowls set outside the buildings or even atop the roofs, their exact purpose unclear, and perhaps not merely for ornamentation.

Sir Lefallon nods. "They seem keenly interested in trade," he agrees. "The water doesn't seem very cheap, but I haven't seen any springs where we might refresh our water... Perhaps we'd better refresh our supply, if we can find someone who won't cheat us blind."

"There aren't any springs this way, as far as I'm aware," Thomas says. "'Tis why not many take this route. Fortunately, we have the funds taken from the Dark Witch's lair should we need to purchase some. Come, let us enter." With that, he rides forward.

Rachel nods, looking at the bazaar with an odd expression. "It seems like I've heard of this place before," she says, softly. "It will be nice to rest a while, amongst people again."

"It doesn't surprise me that you would 'remember' the place," Thomas comments as he rides onward.

The travelers receive several looks from the locals, as it's quite obvious they're "not from around here," by their dress and the tack of their horses. It would seem that the commodity most loudly in demand is water, but there is more to be found -- brightly dyed fabrics, elaborately woven textiles, curving blades with colored glass baubles as "gems" for ornamentation, fine perfumes, wild game, and countless mundane household goods.

Thomas pauses at one of the vendors and bows slightly. "Good day. My friends and I have traveled far and are unfamiliar with this place. Pray tell when it was founded? How long has it been here? For I have never heard of it," he says.

"What do you mean by that?" Rachel starts to ask, riding behind Tom as he stops to inquire of one of the sellers.

"Twelve Years ago, my good sir, the watchtower of Caer Sidi was built, and this city has grown up around it in the Years after. But there is little I, a humble merchant, could tell you more than that, of any interest to my honored customers, when there is far more I could tell you about these fine silks imported from the wild lands beyond!" He holds up some cardinal red fabric with a silky sheen next to his cheek and makes an attempt at a winning smile.

"Who had the tower built?" Thomas inquires. "We have not time for such purchases now, I am afraid. Our journey is rushed."

Rachel smiles at the merchant's efforts to sell his wares, and at the bright color of the fabric.

"Ah, but time is valuable, and so is knowledge." The merchant rubs his index finger and thumb together. "Perhaps some cloth for the lady, or just some gold out of the generosity of your heart, and your humble servant would be more than willing to tell you all that there is to know about this place -- or where to find one who would be able to tell you more."

"Indeed," Thomas replies. He looks to Rachel and asks, "Would you want some of his cloth?"

The young knight looks about at the wares with curiosity. "Water may be dear, but the prices seem rather moderate on many of these wares," he whispers to Thomas. "Though I'd avoid the blades; they have the look of mantelpiece-hangers."

Thomas nods to Simon, "Understood."

The fey girl smiles at that. She slides down from her mount, to stand before the booth. "I will take a bolt of that blue silk," she tells the vendor, pointing to it, "if the coin of Mirari fits to your liking, here."

"Ah, blue!" the merchant sighs, clapping his hands together. "As blue as the summer sky -- and so long is it since we have seen it!"

A chuckle from Thomas. "I hope we will see it again soon," Tom comments, then looks around the Bazaar for that unusual man that he saw earlier.

As fate would have it, Thomas notices that very moment a black-cloaked man making his way through the cloud, dark eyes peering out from the shadows of his cowl to momentarily meet Thomas's own ... and then, again, a surge of bazaar-goers passes, and -- he is gone.

Rachel leans against the counter. "You hit on my reasons exactly," she says, quietly. "It is a rare shade to find, nowadays, but we have hope that soon, it will be easier to come by." The merchant names a price, and Simon raises his eyebrows at the sum, but the raven-haired girl pays it without a quibble, with coin from her purse.

The merchant smiles widely, then says, "You are new to our humble settlement, I see, and, I take it, know little of the land of Annwn. Out of the generosity of my heart -- for I see in you a kindred spirit, by your own generosity -- I shall do what I can to enlighten you."

The black-bearded fellow leans forward, with a conspiratorial gleam to his eye, as he says, "The watchtower by which we name this place still stands to this day, that it does, built Years ago -- and the one who saw its building still dwells here to this day. Yes, she might tell you many a thing about it, though it would be hard to find her -- and so lucky you are that you have me to tell you the way!"

Thomas hmms softly, then turns his attention back to Rachel and the merchant. "We appreciate the your generosity," Thomas says with a smile. "Please, continue."

Another smile lights her face, as Rachel exchanges a conspiratorial glance with Tom, then she looks back at the merchant, encouraging with a soft, "Please," to give the rest of his tale.

"Down this street, you will see Caer Sidi itself on your left. When you reach the street corner, there will be a skinny man seated before a basket, playing a pipe before a snake that rises from it, swaying to his music. Turn there, and a short way down, you will see...." His instructions are elaborate and many, for it seems that this town has a great many twists and turns to its streets, for its seemingly small size. "And there, you will find the place wherein the wise woman of Caer Sidi gives her counsel."

Thomas bows slightly. "Many thanks for your directions, good sir," Thomas replies. "What is her name so we may address her properly?"

"Wisewoman Oberia," the merchant says. "If you do not find her in the Grand Bazaar, then you may find her holding court on the side of the old well just out front. In either case, you are certain not to miss her."

"Oberia ..." Thomas muses with a smile. "Rachel, Simon, let us move on and find Oberia. Again, I thank you for your time, sir. May you see the blue sky once more." Thomas then nudges his steed's side gently and gets him to move away from the stand. He waves to the others.

With her purchase wrapped in brown paper beneath one arm, Rachel mounts again, and follows the explorer.

The merchant's directions prove adequate, though at points Lord Thomas is given reason to think he might have somehow missed a turn along the way, only to find that, yes, he's still on course. Eventually, he comes to a wide square surrounding an old and very dry well, positioned before a gate that opens into a marketplace that is loud with the cries of hawkers and the brays and other noises of wild animals -- many of which Thomas is hard pressed to identify from sound alone.

Rachel looks about the area around the well, trying to see if the woman they're looking for is around, or if they need to continue on into the bazaar. Even though she said it would be nice to be among people, she finds the prospect of such crowds a little daunting.

"I wonder how long it has been since that well had water," Thomas says as he dismounts from his horse. Taking the reins in hand, he leads the horse forward and looks around slowly. "Now, where are you, Oberia? And are you the Oberia of days old?

," he thinks.

Sure enough, seated on the edge of the old well is an old woman, and seated at her feet are several children, most of them in patch-worn clothes, listening intently as she tells a story.

Thomas moves in, trying to get close but not interrupt the story. He would rather like to hear it, himself.

Sir Lefallon looks curiously toward the snippet of the bazaar that can be seen through the gate, tempted to see some of the wares there for himself.

Seeing the old woman, Rachel, like Thomas, slides down from her mount. She glances to the explorer, then ties her horse to a railing, and joins the young listeners.

From the bazaar come snippets of cries of exotic wares. "... a marvelous flying carpet, only five hundred gold! ... manticore eggs, ready to hatch! ..." What can be seen is bizarre as well, as right near the entrance is a large black lizard -- or a small dragon, depending upon one's perspective -- with a blindfold tied about its large eyes, seated within a gilded cage.

"... so Tarn, having thought himself exceptionally clever for cheating the Water-Conjurer, went back to his home. He felt thirsty, and decided to take a sample from the pot he had filled with water ... but when he pulled open the plug -- lo and behold, the pot was bone dry!" the woman says.

"So, he pulled open another -- and another. Sure enough, every last one was dry, whereas before they had been filled to the neck with water. Filled with dread that the Water-Conjurer had laid a curse on him after all," the woman continues, "he went to pray at a forgotten shrine in the west. There, he knelt, and he had a vision -- a vision of water, and a shining cup within it -- though he had no idea what it meant. He returned here, to this very city, and sought me out, to tell me this strange story. Out of pity, I poured him a cup of water, and he brought it to his lips -- but I tell you, it was empty the moment it reached his mouth!"

The children gasp at various points in the story. The woman leans further in. "And I tell you, he never had another drop of water again. It was a terrible, terrible thing. So let that be a lesson to all of you." There is a hint of sadness to her voice as she tells this, even though she puts into the telling something of the demeanor of someone sharing a ghost story.

Sir Lefallon comes back from gawking near the gate to whisper to Thomas, "The beasts in the Bazaar are incredible! They must have come from the very farthest Far Lands. They're certainly charging a King's ransom for them."

"That's all!" the old woman says, slowly rising on her cane. "Shoo! Off with you!" And at that, the children disperse, and the wise woman starts to turn around ... but pauses when she sees the travelers who have come to the plaza. She particularly looks at Thomas ... and there's a look in her eye ... an attempt to remember, perhaps....

Thomas elbows Sir Lefallon gently. "Hush, you can show me the creatures in a bit," he says with a grin. He then turns his attention back to the woman and says, "Interesting tale. Not one I remember you telling me Years ago." The boy smiles.

The young knight blinks and then listens to the conversation curiously.

Recognition flashes in her eyes at last, and Thomas can now be certain of her identity. The years have not been kind to Oberia. Once she had red tresses of curling hair that caught the light and made ruddy gold, or in shadow, became a dark polished wood with inner highlights; now her hair has gone grey and is cut short. Only her eyes show the same spark of interest that remind Thomas of someone who burned to discover the truths behind legends. Her clothes are those of an old woman's, a loose red blouse that captures the spirit of her vanished color, wraps of embroidered scarves for a belt locked in place by a golden circle, long black skirts, a light over-wrap of white silk with a hood for her head to protect it form the sun. She leans on a cane for support, a long stick of polished dark golden wood with a carved horse head.

"So," Oberia says, at length, "what brings you here ... after all these Years?"

Thomas bows slightly to the old woman. "It's been far too long," he says softly, then approaches her. He runs his hand through his own wild raven colored hair, unsure of just what to say, the moment rather an awkward one. He smiles, but his expression is tainted with sadness. "Many things. It took me Years to escape the trap Jack laid for me, and I pursue him still," he replies. "But, I have not forgotten you. I came to find my shattered past in a way. It's good to see you again, Oberia."

Oberia smiles gracefully, her eyes crinkling. "You are look very well -- perhaps even younger than I remember you." She looks past Thomas. "So, where is the army you bring with you this time to face the Jack?"

Rachel smiles as the older woman looks past Thomas. She looks at the other half of Tom's "army," Sir Lefallon, then gives a nod and a curtsey to Oberia, waiting for Tom to introduce them.

"You're looking at them. It's just us three," Thomas replies and motions to Sir Lefallon and Rachel. "Years have gone by, but the people remain the same. The Houses still seem reluctant to actually bear arms against Jack, or even admit he exists. May I introduce Sir Lefallon of House April and Rachel of House October."

Sir Lefallon looks a bit abashed and bows. "I don't think I could envision Thomas at the head of an army in any case, Wisewoman," he says to Oberia.

"What do you mean by that?" Thomas inquires, sounding serious. But, his expression betrays more amusement than anything.

"Meaning you'd run off and leave your army behind, Lord Explorer," Rachel quips, approaching Oberia to curtsey again. "being afraid they might get hurt, or in trouble."

The young knight points out, "You could have brought one if you wanted," to Thomas.

Oberia nods to each member of Thomas's "army" in turn. "So, the tale repeats itself."

"Not entirely. I'm not alone this time," Thomas points out.

To Oberia, the raven-haired girl says, "It is an honor to meet you, my lady, after hearing so much of your exploits."

Oberia nods to Rachel. "And it is an honor to meet any friend of Thomas's. That he would trust you two to accompany him to face the Jack says much more than words could alone."

"We aren't going to fight Jack, not yet. We are simply going to liberate the Lord Protector from his clutches," Thomas adds. "And pardon my curiosity, Lady Oberia, but what brought you to such a desolate place? It's not a land I would have ever expected to see you in," Thomas says.

Oberia's countenance drops at this question. "Randall did," she says, and her eyes drop from meeting Thomas's gaze for a moment. "But that is not a tale to tell here in the plaza, in the open air. Come, and I will show you hospitality in my humble home. It is the least I can do for friends -- old and new." She makes a sweeping gesture that seems to indicate that the way to her home must lie through the Grand Bazaar.

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This site serves as a chronicle of sessions in an online roleplaying campaign moderated by Conrad "Lynx" Wong and May "Rowan" Wasserman. The contents of this site are (c) 2001, 2002 by Conrad Wong and May Wasserman except where stated otherwise. Despite the "children's fantasy" theme of this campaign, this site is not intended for young readership, due to mild language and violence.