Minstrel Sam (24 Oct 2001) Simon and Tom meet with an old friend.

December's Library
As with elsewhere in the castle, the walls here are chill to the touch, and smooth. The west wall is transparent, partially covered by sheer white curtains with a pattern like icicles on them. The Other walls are lined by book cases so tall they stretch to the top of the vaulted ceiling thirty feet up. A railed balcony of dark wood lines the walls half way up, with a staircase providing access to it and the upper books. Rolling ladders allow reach of the highest books on both levels, and comfortable chairs with their own braziers adjacent provide places to sit and read.

Lord December and Thomas sit in chairs opposite one another, beside the fireplace, deep in conversation. Whisper of Stars has withdrawn to give the two privacy. Since Thomas averred that he was, indeed, Lord Explorer Thomas, he has gotten the sense that December holds a new respect for him -- treating him now like an equal instead of a child. The wolf-lord even appears to consider Thomas's knowledge superior to his own in certain areas.

Thomas had asked him about returning to Ainigton, in order to enlist the aid of his friends their, and December is willing to do so, though he noted that it would take a little while. Apparently, calling the Siege of Wind is tiring work, and further requires specific timing and placement. It will be a few Mirari sunsets before December can summon it again. "Mirari sunsets" don't appear to correspond to Days, either in Mirari or in Ainigton -- the wolf-lord seems confident that he'll have them returned to Ainigton before twenty-four hours have lapsed there.

"I must admit this does not disappoint me greatly, Lord Blaez," Thomas replies. "Even with all that we must accomplish, it is good to simply be home again. I wish I could stay longer." Thomas looks to the fireplace for a moment, then back to the Lord. "Which brings me to some topics I must inquire about. As I've been gone for some time, I am not aware of the current events in Mirari. Even old events are ... clouded ... to me. distant echoes in my mind." He waves his hand and looks at the wolf-lord intently, "But that is not a concern we should spend time on. Hopefully, the rest of memories will return in time. Tell me of the current royal family of Mirari."

There's a flicker in December's eye when Thomas calls him "Lord Blaez" that makes Tom wonder if he remembered the name correctly -- or if it's proper for him to use it. The wolf-lord doesn't comment on that, however. Instead, he answers, "Of course, Lord Explorer. The royal line has changed once since you saw Lady May ascend. For five Years she and her heirs reigned, but the fifth of her line was childless, and that King selected a man of House August for his heir. The current King is descended from that line. In the winter of last Year, he wedded a Lady Seraph of House April. She bore two children, but one died in a tourney accident, and the other perished at birth."

"What were the names of the children?" Thomas asks, glancing back toward the fire. Before Lord December can answer, Thomas adds, "And if I breach the protocol of address at times, please bear with me. I was good with courtly address and titles, I'm afraid. My absence has only furthered that failing in me. I will endeavor to improve."

Lord December nods at this last, seeming to relax slightly. "Understandable. Courtly address is not my forte, either," he admits. "The older child, as I recall, was Richard of Umbrecht -- he died a squire, during a joust. The younger perished at birth ... I'm sure they named the poor wee babe, but I do not recall what they christened her."

"So then if I understand correctly, Lord December, the current throne is heirless. Would I be wrong in assuming that the Houses have begun to argue over the which will be chosen for the next succession?" Thomas inquires.

December's expression darkens, even as he shakes his head. "No, there is no question of succession -- at the least, there should not be. Shortly after the death of his daughter, King Marc designated his wife's brother, the Lord of April, as his heir."

Thomas simply nods, "Then inter-House rivalry may not be part of why the King left. How are House relations these days? As far as I have observed, three want to help or find the king. Yours, House April has already contacted my friend, Redmane, and then there's House October. They sent someone to join us; Rachel of the Golden Hawks. How have the others reacted?"

"House relations ... are not good. There is a long-standing rivalry between House October and House April, and it worsened when April was designated heir. When the King disappeared, each accused the other of having a hand in it -- though at this stage of the game, April has nothing to gain and everything to lose from the King's absence -- as does all of Mirari, really. I bear no love for the Lord of April, myself, but if Mirari is to endure, winter cannot continue forever." The Lord of December pauses, staring into space. "To be honest, I am reluctant to try to answer your question -- where do the Houses stand? I do not know. All of them claim to stand for Mirari, and to support the 'rightful' King, but ... "

"Well, remember fourteen some years ago and the Houses of Summer, and the manipulation by the Jack of Hearts," Thomas replies. "In any case, it would help to determine where the houses stand."

"This is what I guess to be the true state of affairs, then, though I am not the most savvy of individuals that you might ask. Spring supports April. They seek to find the King and return him to Mirari. If they cannot, I fear they may resort to more drastic means. Perhaps claim King Marc has passed on and that the succession must continue." The wolf-lord frowns. "Though Spring has accused Winter of wishing to postpone the succession indefinitely, I do not believe this to be the case. It is certainly not the case for my house. I wish to see the cycle resume as passionately as any of the Folk -- perhaps more so, for I understand the cold season far better than those of other seasons. It is a beautiful season, full of wonder -- but also peril. I would not wish to see it go on without end."

After a thoughtful pause, December continues, "Autumn -- and October especially -- resents April's inheritance. They have presented a number of arguments and bars to April's ascension. To my eyes, their issues seem but trifles, though I am told by those better versed in the lore of court that there is some merit to October's contentions. Nonetheless, they have done little to look for the King. I believe October is behind rumors that the King deliberately left out of doubts about his heir. November and September support October, though I think November has some misgivings about it. Perhaps that last is only wishful thinking on my part. As for Summer -- " December's mouth twists wryly. "They have been most concerned with what I think a futile effort to protect the land from the ravages of winter, rather than putting forth a full effort to help find the King. There have been claims of skirmishes between Autumn and Spring, though we are not yet to the stage of war. I also heard that August may have provided aid to some of September's people, after an attack by March -- but that is all just hearsay."

Thomas bows his head and shakes it slowly from side to side, sighing. "Prime time for the Year's End to return. All the Houses start to squabble and in slips an old foe. Prod here, insert a rumor there, create chaos. Turn House against House, then assault. Mirari would fall," Thomas pauses, expression grim, " ... is falling." Thomas looks back up, "All the concern over the King and finding him. What we need to know is why he left. And again, this takes us back to the Lord Protector. He may know. He may also know how all this as happened." Thomas then gestures to himself, "And how I returned. I'm sure that is linked, somehow."

"That may be." Lord December steeples his fingers, leaning back in his chair. "Or it may be that you and your friends are but another distraction for the Houses, to prevent us from focusing on our true problems." His mouth twists again. "Forgive me. All these conspiracy theories make me paranoid."

Thomas waves a hand and smiles, "I understand. I take no offense at your suggestion, Lord December." Thomas grows silent for a moment, brow furrowed. At last he says, "Can you contact other members of the Golden Hawks? I know they have been relatively disbanded for some time, but if they composed of the assortment of people today much like they were in my day, they're spread between the Houses. Perhaps they have heard rumors and stories, no mater how trivial, that may help. If you cannot, I can, of course, ask Rachel to try and contact them."

A shadow passes over December's face at the mention of Rachel's name, then is gone. "I am familiar with some of the former Golden Hawks, Lord Explorer," he answers. "In fact, I know of at least one of your earliest members who is yet among us: Minstrel Sam."

"Indeed? Are you referring to my companion, Simon? Or is this why you do not trust Simon, for he has pretended to be someone he is not?" Thomas asks, green eyes locked on the wolf-lord.

"Simon has ... pretended to be Minstrel Sam?" December looks surprised. "I was not aware of this. Tell me more."

"He has. When we found the first Siege and encountered Ryland of Avarre, he was as Minstrel Sam," The Lord Explorer answers, tone even, "Do you know someone else who has claimed to be my old friend?"

"No, though I find that ... curious." December looks thoughtful. "Your revelation now has nothing to do with my reason for distrusting the boy. Your friend Simon has -- an oddity to his scent. He does not have that quality to his scent that you and the other people of Ainigton do, and that makes me wonder if he is what he claims to be."

"Interesting," remarks Thomas, "May I ask how you know Minstrel Sam is still around?" He smiles, "Please pardon my bluntness, Lord December, but this concerns me."

December smiles. "Because he came to my court a few weeks ago and performed for us," he answers simply, "And if he'd passed on since then, I should hope word would have reached us. I understand he has since traveled to the Palace of All Seasons, to entertain the folk there."

One of Thomas' eyebrows arches up and he replies, "Indeed? I hope he is faring well." Thomas shakes his head, chuckling, "Strange fellow, he was. Not always the most musically blessed, but he could always manage to find humor in my journeys. Of course, that may be why I say he's not musically blessed. Make one mistake around him, it's remembered forever." He smiles wistfully, "Ah, I wish I could see him again. So many questions. So many holes in my memories I'd like to fill."

The lord of the house nods, gazing into the fireplace. "Then -- perhaps you should see him."

"I would like to, but, there is the matter of the Siege being opened for me to travel back to Ainigton. Surely I could not see him and still make it back in time," Thomas replies, "Unless, you know a quick manner in which to travel to the Palace of All Seasons."

"The Palace is not so far from here -- and I have a mind to see the Queen, myself, on other business. If I can persuade her to open the Siege des Anges for us, we could be back in Ainigton even sooner. In truth, I doubt that I can. But even so, there's a place near enough to the Palace from which I'll be able to summon the Siege of Wind," December explains.

"Ah! Well, then, perhaps we should make the trip. It would also give me a chance to observe the new royal court," Thomas replies, "And some day you must explain to me how to open a Siege, in case my friends and I need to travel between the worlds in our searches. If I once knew, I don't remember it now." The Explorer then adds, "If I may impose on your generosity one more time, Lord December, may I acquire a change of clothes? I am most certainly not dressed for a visit to the Palace of All Seasons."

"The opening of Sieges is not something I can readily explain, even though I have the gift for it," December answers. "It is not a trained skill so much as an innate talent, and a matter of personal power. Certain among the folk possess the gift for Siege-Walking -- the ability to activate a Siege and pass through it. Rarer still is the talent of Siege-Opening -- opening a Siege so that others may pass through it, whether or not they have the gift of Siege-Walking. To call the Siege of Winds is a gift limited to only a few among all the folk. In truth, I was a little surprised to find that I had it in me at all." The wolf lord stands. "In any event, as for clothing -- with that I can certainly provide you."

The Explorer rises and nods. "Well, I can hope that I or one of my friends has the ability so we do not impose on your time and energy for us to traverse the world divide," Thomas says, then asks, "Will Simon travel with us? If the Queen will open the Siege de Anges, he should be along so we can travel back. If you're concerned with him being a danger, then we can leave him here and we will return via the Siege of the Winds after we return to your castle."

"Best, I suspect, to bring him with us," December acknowledges, though the thought plainly rankles him. "I'll be happier with him where I can see him, in any case."

"Understood. I shall keep my eye on him from now on. He did seem a good friend to me, but," Thomas says, making once last glance toward the fire, "If you sense something different ... I trust you and your judgment, Lord December."

The carriage ride from the ice castle was uneasy, as Lord December maintained a quiet reserve and Simon, at first relieved that no harm had come to Tom while they were separated, began to sense that whatever they discussed, he wasn't going to hear about it. Still, the younger boy is undeniably glad to be back together with a friend again, and spends a great amount of time looking out the carriage window and pointing out the sights that go by, such as the skyscraper-tall stained-glass-windowed tower of the Cathedral ...

Mirari Royal Sculpture Garden
The Sculpture Garden lies in the Royal Quarter, in the heart of the city of Mirari, and is circled by the Royal Promenade, a cobblestone road that is entered through a vine-wrapped trellis arch and exits at the other side to the gated compound of the Palace itself. Beautifully columned marble buildings look onto the garden, presumably housing nobles or some of the workings of the Mirari government, and a few sidewalk peddlers call out chants of "Fresh roasted chestnuts!" and "Hot chocolate!"

Perhaps in the spring when the flowers poke their heads above the ground, there would be more children here, but those out are the hardier sorts, of pebbly skins or thickly furred pelts or humanoid and wrapped up in heavy clothes. They make good use of the statues as shields for their snowball wars or occasionally clamber up on the more durable ones, which are not blocked off by fences with mystic symbols carved into them -- these seem to be efficacious wards against at least petty vandalism.

It is before one such shielded statue, of a unicorn and a pegasus both wearing regal-seeming jewelry about their necks, that an old man with long swept-back ears, of somewhat threadbare appearance, has gathered a small collection of children, beneath the shade of an icicle-drooping tree, a roaring fire in a pit nearby.

The fare to hear stories seems to be a healthy-sized stick of wood apiece, and the children sit on rocks close by the fire as the old man strums his lute, as indeed he has been doing for some time, singing a ballad.

"And when at last the Golden Hawks came back,

Sing ring-a-ling ding-a-ling,

And when at last the Golden Hawks came back,

The little kitten they did lack,

But finding, that was Tom's knack,

And kittens, he knew, loved eating, eating,

Kittens he knew loved eating.

"So off to the creamery did he hie,

Sing ring-a-ling ding-a-ling,

And in the creamery a kitten did he sight,

Sippin' milk and nibblin' a pie,

So he picked him up and brought him nigh,

And the damsel, him rewarded with kissing, kissing,

The damsel rewarded him with kissing."

The old man finishes with a comedic tangle of notes and bows to his clapping and laughing audience. He looks up again ... And freezes as his eyes catch sight of Tom.

"You've never tired of that old story, have you, Sam?" Thomas says, now dressed in a warm black cloak, one side thrown over his shoulder. His black tee-shirt gone, replaced by a leather jerkin and white 'poet' style shirt. His jeans also have been exchanged for some rugged traveling pants and his sneakers, gone. Sturdy boots with buckles up the side to keep them tight and the snow out are in their stead. The only thing that remains of is Ainigton attire is his worn beret. A rakish grin creeps across Thomas face, "After fourteen years, Sam ... It's good to see you again."

Simon leans toward Tom and whispers, "He's singing about you! And he seems really familiar, somehow ... " The younger boy wears earmuffs provided by December's kind servants, as well as the fur-lined cloak, which he keeps wrapped tight against the brisk breeze. He frowns as if he's trying to place the name, and then his eyes widen as if it's come to him.

Tom elbows Simon lightly and whispers, "You played him, remember?"

Minstrel Sam, or so this old man claims to be, peers close, studying Tom's face. "Fourteen Years ... God's Word, you haven't changed a bit! How did you do it, Tom? Did you play Rip Van Winkle and sleep away the generations in a cave? Or did you get lost on a path beyond the edge of the world?" He grins as he notices the elbowing. "And who's the boy? Your new minstrel?"

"Well," Thomas says, "I'm not exactly the same as I was, Sam. And this is Simon, a good friend of mine who I'm afraid, drug around far too often." He offers a sad smile, "May we talk, somewhere? There is so much ... so much I have to ask."

Simon points out helpfully, "I'm a jester, not a minstrel. I couldn't carry a tune in a bucket." He grins wryly.

"He's not kidding, either," Tom adds, "He tried."

Minstrel Sam laughs. "Same bad sense of humor, though." He uses a cane to help himself up, then motions a cat-faced youngster to take his place. "Still, if you had to have the bad grace to come back in the prime of life while the rest have either died off already, or are shriveled up like me, best you picked someone with a lot of adventuring days ahead of him, eh, Tom? All right, this way. There's an inn where the ale's not too watered and the pretty maids have time for old men."

Thomas can't help it, he laughs, "You may have shriveled, but you haven't changed," he retorts. Carefully, he pats Sam on the back, "This time, you lead the way. I'll try to explain what's happened to me, if I can."

Simon grimaces. "I always knew I'd grow up to be a drunkard and wencher," he whispers to Tom.

Tom elbows Simon again and mutters, grinning, "Hush. It isn't you."

The inn is indeed not far away, but populated by an even stranger assortment of characters than the children in the statuary garden, what with goat-men swigging ale next to fey folks playing at dice, and a buxom tavern wench with the head of a fox bringing drinks about. Her brushy tail sticks out the back of her dress as she flounces over to greet Minstrel Sam and his young guests. "My favorite overtipper!" she says. "And who are these fine young gentlemen you've brought?"

Thomas smiles up to the barmaid. "No one of importance, milady. Just a traveler come to pick the brain of a very well known minstrel. Name's Tom. My friend here is Simon," he replies.

"Ah, Merry-Lynn! A booth for us, if you please. In the back." Minstrel Sam's visible hand is seen to pass some small coins into the woman's hand, but his farther hand must have performed some mischief, because the tavern maid turns suddenly with a yip and flicks her golden-furred tail well out of his reach. The old man cackles, while Simon looks suspiciously at him.

Merry-Lynn sticks her tongue tip out at the old man, then turns about to lead the three to a booth in the back. The seats are upholstered in leather and there are elaborate carvings in wooden panels set into the columns, giving the place an old world feeling. "Your booth, sirs! Winton's Best for the dirty old man, and for you young gentlemen?"

"Water will do for me, milady. An explorer has to keep the mind and eyes sharp," Thomas comments, then inwardly kicks himself for even mentioning explorer. He slips into the booth, his eyes glancing about the bar and all the people.

"Oh, an explorer, are you? I see Minstrel Sam has been filling your head with all sorts of heroic nonsense about the Golden Hawks," Merry-Lynn says with a laugh. "To hear him tell it, there's no corner of this world but that Lord Explorer Thomas hadn't put his boot on it first before going somewhere else! And you, boy?"

"Root beer?" Simon asks tentatively, and Merry-Lynn gives him a list of names. After a minute, the younger boy settles on one that sounds not too threatening, Fenton's Aulde Dark Root Beer.

Thomas looks back to the fox and grins enigmatically, "It was the other way around, I'm afraid." He turns to Sam and smiles, "So, what have you been up to these past fourteen years. Aside from causing trouble. Really, I think you'd have learned by now."

The old man laughs. "Well, now, I'm sure there's some corner old Tom hadn't stepped on yet. Eh?" He winks at Tom conspiratorially, a gesture missed by the maid, and Merry-Lynn swishes off to fill the orders.

"A few, I'm sure," Tom replies, grinning.

Minstrel Sam glances about and then leans forward. "Eh well, after you disappeared with Lord Melchizedek, some of us blamed ourselves, because well, you know, a lot can happen to one man out there. Even if we didn't believe what you were saying about Year's End, well, we should have stuck by you. A lot of the heart went out of us." He shrugs. "We tried, Tom, Randall stepped forward and did his best to carry through like you would have. We had a few adventures, ran a few errands for His Majesty. But it just wasn't the same."

"Forgive me, Sam, but my memories are all clouded. Some things are clear, others aren't. I'll try to explain shortly," Thomas finally admits, "Randall ... Captain of April, if I remember right?"

"He came from April, right," Minstrel Sam says, nodding. Simon nearby is shooting all manners of questioning looks at Tom. "Good man, he was fine as your second, but when it all came down on him, he was always blaming himself because he thought if he'd only made a different decision, things might have worked out better. God's Word, we all know exploring's a risky business! Anyway ... "

"I do remember him. I remember disbanding, but not exactly why," Thomas says quietly, "I remember giving him the brooch I often wore on my beret, the little jade one with the hawk made of gold leaf inlaid in it. I told him, 'I will return for this one day.'" Tom looks at the old man and asks, "What ever happened to him?" Briefly, he glances toward Simon, expression a bit pained and whispers, "Just listen. It'll make more sense. Well, as much as it can, really."

The old man sighs, evidently remembering to a time far back. "It was about when an army of trolls from the South were makin' threatening noises. There wasn't much we Explorers could do, we're scouts, not soldiers, though we harried 'em best as we could, ferreted out their supply lines. When things were lookin' pretty grim and we were trying to escort the Princess back behind friendly lines 'cause she'd gone off on her fool own ... Well, that's where Randall bought it. We'd found an old watchtower and he decided he was going to make it look like it was still guarded, while the rest of us snuck off."

Tom leans forward, placing his elbows on the table, then resting his face in his palms. "Lord, Randall," Thomas mutters, "Why did you do that? You were trying to be so much like me, weren't you? Always ready to be the last out. They needed you. Goodbye, old friend." After a moment of silence, Thomas looks up and asks, "How many of our guild still live?"

"It bought us a little time while they were on our trail, but pretty soon they were back on us again, when we had Mirari's spires in sight, and it looked like it was over for us. That's when Lord Mel showed up and pulled us out of the fire. He was in and around them like there were twenty of him, and even one of him is scary enough, Lord knows," Sam recounts, still lost in memory. "The Princess was all happy 'cause it looked like she'd succeeded in bringing Lord Mel back, with her little stunt on Avarre, which by that time was in Troll hands. But first thing I wanted to know, once I had a little time alone with Lord Mel, was 'Where in Chaos is Tom?'"

Tom sits motionless. "What did he say?" he asks.

"And he said, 'Lord Explorer Tom is still searching for the answer. I returned because the need for me was greater here.' That was all I could get from him, much as I'd have liked to strangle him for the details." Minstrel Sam shakes his head. It goes without saying no one lays hands on Lord Mel. He looks up as Merry-Lynn brings the mugs of dark ale for him, root beer for Simon, and water for Tom. "Ah! My undying gratitude, Merry. Beg pardon, you were asking, Tom?"

"I was asking how many of our guild still live," Thomas repeats, slumping back into the seat. He smiles weakly up to Merry and mutters a thank you, not feeling very thirsty all of a sudden.

"Ahh ... Maybe a handful, maybe a dozen," Minstrel Sam says, waving a hand. "We were never very numerous, though there've been times when we had a bunch of bright-eyed, bushy-tailed young recruits, and there've been times it was just me and a couple other veterans. Quality over quantity, you were fond of saying. Most of 'em are recent, of course, I'm about the only one left from the old days. These days, I'm retired."

Simon takes a sip of his root beer and spits it back into the mug. "That's bitter!" he complains. "And it tastes like they put cough syrup in it."

"Is there a Rachel from House October among the new ones?" Thomas inquires, now staring into the mug of water. He glances over at Simon, then slides his mug over, "Here, you can have my water."

The younger boy swigs some of the water gratefully. "Thanks, Tom."

Minstrel Sam raises an eyebrow. "How did you know that, Tom? She was studying linguistics, if I recall right. Pretty young lass."

Thomas ergs softly, feeling his face get a bit red. "I've met her. Very pretty. She's well ... " Thomas shifts in his seat, "Honestly, she's why I'm back." Thomas sighs. "She found me, sort of. Only then I didn't know that I was Lord Thomas. It's hard to explain, but, I've been living a completely different life in another world. Our adventures ... like the time we all got caught in that massive storm and spent the night shivering in the cave in just our skivvies while our clothes dried, do you remember? Anyway, I thought they were all just stories, fantastic tales."

Minstrel Sam grins. "Well, they're a lot more fun to tell than live through, at any rate, I'll tell you that." He studies Tom's face. "So ... You were stuck in the mortal realm, and didn't even remember being Lord Explorer, until Rachel found you there? Well! That sounds like a long story. And the perfect trap, too, if you can't even remember that you're trapped."

"Grew up there," Thomas replies, studying the old man, "I have a life and a family there. Rachel doesn't know I am, I don't think. I only found out who I was the other day, when I finally quit trying to find every reason to not believe it. I owe Lord December for that. After he brought me here, we talked, I learned from his library ... I couldn't deny it anymore. The moment I admitted that to myself, I felt different. I felt like I was ... home." Thomas' expression grows pained, "I've lost a lifetime. Someone stole my lifetime. I have just echoes in my mind of people I once knew. Places I once went. Old friends ... " He looks intently at Sam. "Long gone, like Randall. People I can't laugh with anymore. Share times with anymore. Talk to anymore. And to make it worse, my memory is patchy. I can remember some of my travels, but you know, I can't even remember what House I came from." He laughs ruefully.

Minstrel Sam shakes his head at last. "With anyone else, I would have said their tale came out of the bottom of a mug, but with you ... I can credit it, Tom. And you do feel like the Tom I knew. Always questions, never content to just kick back in a bar and swig ale." He raises his glass in a toast to the Explorer. "November, Tom. Your house was November, but you always said that being a Golden Hawk wasn't about taking sides with Houses, it was about going beyond that." The old man drains half the mug.

"Yeah. In the end, we're all citizens of Mirari. We have to stay together as one people. That's one think I always wanted others to realize. You, I, Randall, we were great friends and none from the same house," Thomas replies, "And to see the state of things now ... " He sighs softly, "It's like nothing we did mattered. Houses still fight, and it seems worse than ever." He sinks even lower, muttering, "Even Jack has probably returned."

"That was what I always said, we're not movers and shakers, we're just out to have an adventure and do some good," Minstrel Sam says with a half-grin. "Except I don't think I made it sound so gloomy." He helps himself to another gulp of ale.

"Easy for you to say, old friend. Your days of travel I think are over. Mine are beginning again. Year's End has come again, Sam. Whatever happened to me fourteen years ago ... I failed, somehow," Thomas says, breathing slowly. "I guess it's time for me to build new memories and continue on, eh? I've been gone for so long, but I hope there's still enough left in me to do at least one more good deed. Mirari needs me, my new friends Angel, Redmane, and Rachel. It needs all of us to stand up for it again and remind them who we are." He ends his statement with the thud of his fist coming down on the table. The Explorer then smiles to Sam. "And I needed you to help remind me of what I lost. Don't think you're getting out of this last adventure, Sam. You've just become part of it."

"Me?" The old man looks startled. "These days my back hurts just sleeping in a comfy feather bed, let alone on a hard bedroll on rocky ground, and I can't pull a bowstring farther than a hand span! What would I do?"

Thomas laughs, "Now, I'm not as cruel as to drag you back into the wilderness with me, Sam. Just be there as a friend when I need one. We're the last, it seems, you and I. That counts for something."

Thomas grins and says, "Besides, with Simon traveling with me, I don't get embarrassing songs about every mistake I make." He looks over at Simon and winks.

The old man nods. "All right, I can do that much, at least. You know where to find me, at any rate." He grins. "Not that you wouldn't know!"

"Right, I'll just listen for the scream, then the sound of someone getting slapped," Thomas replies.

Simon lays his hand on Tom's shoulder. "I'm with you too, don't forget," he says in a low tone, his eyes worried that Tom no longer wants him there, though he grins at Thomas's words. "Whatever good I can do, don't forget, okay? Even if it's just a bad joke at the right time."

Thomas looks to Simon and says, "Of course you'll be there, Simon. We do need to talk sometime, you and I. I know you must think I've lost my mind."

Minstrel Sam shakes his head. "You remind me of myself a long time ago, you know, kid? Don't worry, Tom never leaves anyone behind." He grins to the Lord Explorer, "No matter how much he might want to, eh? I wrote some awfully bad songs then."

"I like to think I've gotten better," the old man says with a chuckle.

"There's one good thing about a patchy memory," Thomas replies lightheartedly, "I've hopefully forgotten those dratted songs. And yes, I never leave anyone behind." He shrugs, "Well, I left my world behind for a time, but. I'm back now, eh?" He pauses, then asks, "Say, one thing I've been wondering, Sam. How many do you think will recognize me these days?"

Simon grins, looking reassured. "Well, for an old guy, you're okay," he says to the Minstrel. "But pinching girls' tails has got to go, and can you even get a root beer float in here?"

Minstrel Sam breaks out laughing, spitting foam across the table. As he regains his usual composure, wiping his mouth on a sleeve, he nods to the Explorer to show he heard. A few seconds, and then he says, "Not many, sad to say, Tom. No one ever struck coins with your face on them after all, though there were some medals. To most, you're just one of a hundred heroes in stories they've heard, like Lord Melchizedek, and Lord Bram and Lady Angelique, and Sir Theodore ... "

"That could be a good thing, actually," Thomas replies. His brow furrows, then he asks, "I know the Lord Protector, but the last three names elude me. Can you tell me roughly who they were?"

"Ah, the old stories," Minstrel Sam says. "Well, a long, long time ago, Mirari wasn't like what you see around us ... It was a wild land, choked with villainy and chaos; it was dog-eat-dog, cat-eat-mice, and dog-eat-cat, too. Lady Angelique and Lord Bram came into that land and built up the Houses, such as they are now, and they were the first Lady April, and Lord October. Sir Theodore was Lady Angelique's strong right hand, because there were lots of the petty lords and terrible beasts that didn't care for being ordered around, and he was a mighty knight, who could turn into a fearsome bear ... "

Thomas nods. "The founders of Mirari, more or less. Now, those must've been some heroes." He shrugs, "Funny, April and October feud today, and yet were friends then, isn't it?"

Minstrel Sam shakes his head. "The other Houses were those Lords and Ladies they thought fair and strong enough to help hold the peace ... But of all those houses, even though April and October were chief-most, neither wished to be the final arbitrator over all the Houses. So ... " The old man spreads his hands. "They settled upon he who would be King Riordan. Perhaps Lady Angelique and Lord Bram were friends, perhaps they simply respected each other as the best of the powers in the land."

Simon half-grins. "Maybe they couldn't live with the idea of the other one being able to tell them what to do, but it was okay when it wasn't a friend telling them."

Thomas says, "Good to learn, Sam. Did I once know that, or is that something else I've forgotten?" Tom, pauses again, mind going over everything that's happened. finally, he asks, "Sam, can I ask you something odd? Are there any old stories of someone returning from the dead? A rebirth? I ... I wish I knew what happened to me. Do I belong here in Mirari, or back in the mortal realm now."

"Well, there's Sir Theodore ... It was said that he was beheaded by the Destroyer, a long-ago great villain of those days, but that through great magic by the Lady Angelique, he was brought back to life," Minstrel Sam says thoughtfully. "He said at the time, it was like going to sleep and then waking up again, if the tales quote him aright."

"That's somewhat how it felt, in a way," Thomas replies slowly, "Like waking up from some sort of odd dream. I felt whole. Just in time, too, I guess." He looks over at Simon again and shrugs, then returns his attention back to Sam. "Do you have contacts within the new Golden Hawks, Sam?"

"Don't look at me, I haven't died yet," Simon says. "I don't plan to, either!"

Minstrel Sam laughs. "Oh, I'm sort of an old uncle to them. It's not the same as it was back in your days, it's a lot more loosely knit, but the kids have their moments." He raises a grizzled white eyebrow. "Are you planning something dangerous? ... Again?"

Simon chimes in on the "Again", then grins to the Minstrel.

Thomas grins wryly, "When am I not?" He shrugs, "Seriously, I wanted to have them take notes on what they see in the various Houses of Mirari. I want to try and determine which Houses stand with Mirari, and which do not, if any. Perfect job for the old Golden Hawks, but is it too tough for the new?"

The old man considers. "What exactly are you looking for?"

"I wish I knew exactly," Tom replies, "Being gone for so long means I'm not aware of the state of things. Hmm, for one, I would like to know if any have taken a new Warlock in. For another, I'd like to know exactly how each house is reacting to the King's disappearance. Third, if any are trying to form military alliances with other Houses."

The old man frowns. "So you're looking for signs of infiltration by.. Year's End, or some Destroyer reborn? Or signs that some house is going to use this to try and grab power?"

"Exactly," Thomas replies.

"All right. I can ask them if they're up to it, but subtlety ... " Minstrel Sam rolls his eyes. "Subtlety is wasted on some of them. Golden Hawks are better at spying out the lay of the land than listening in taverns, you know, Tom. I'll ask them to be discreet, that's the best I can do."

Tom nods. "That's all I can ask of them," Tom says, then asks, "One thing, different topic. Do the names Redmane, Angel, or Raven mean anything to you?"

"Sir Lefallon, or Jester Simon, for that matter," Tom adds.

Simon looks wide-eyed as the names are listed, then listens interestedly to see what the answer will be.

Minstrel Sam rubs his chin, which is stubbly rather than sprouting a full beard or even a goatee. "They seem familiar, but I don't hobnob about at court, so I don't know who's about there. That's for the likes of Lord December." He grins.

As if the name had invoked a response, one of the wolfish servants of Lord December peers into the tavern. "Thomas? Simon?" he asks.

Tom reaches up and waves to the servants. "Back here," he calls out. Thomas then smiles to his old friend, "Well, Sam. Looks like I must be going again." He slides away from the table and stands, saying, "We will meet again, Sam. This time, I won't be gone so long. Be well. I'll see you soon." He looks over to Simon. "Ready to go back to Ainigton, Simon?"

Simon nods. "We'd better get home before my Uncle starts to wonder how long we can be out camping ... " He reaches out to shake Minstrel Sam's hand, who looks, puzzled, at the hand before clasping it. "Nice meeting ya, Sam!"

The old man chuckles. "All right now. I'll be seeing you again, Tom, and you as well, Simon. Fare well."

Thomas bows slightly to Sam, then turns to Simon, voice tinged with a bit of regret, "Come on, time to go." With that, he makes his way back through the tavern and over to the servants of Lord December.

As Thomas and his younger friend depart, the old man's gaze slides sideways toward the nearly untouched mug of Fenton's Aulde Dark Root Beer. "Well, no sense in wasting it," he says to Merry-Lynn as she passes by to collect mugs. "Here's to the Lord Explorer Thomas, may he always find his way home again, no matter how far he goes." He toasts the air and drains the mug.

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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.