Quarrels and Private Worries (18 Jul 2002) Tom, Agatha and Rachel have some time to talk during the night.

Beneath the teeth of Icejaw's maw, on the stairwell not too far down, a small group of fey adventurers, and one white stallion, have made camp. The pit is cold, despite the comparative shelter it holds from the breeze.

Night still holds sway when Redmane awakens. She's to take the third shift, after Rachel, and it must be nearly time for that now, though Rachel hasn't come to waken her yet. She can hear the even breathing of Simon, Tom, and Ahearn. From Rachel's station, at the top of the pit where she can watch in case the spiders prove to have followed them after all, she hears a steady thud ... thud, like bolts periodically hitting cloth.

Gathering up her sword and taking a waterskin, Redmane makes her way carefully up the stairs, figuring that Rachel is practicing with her crossbow.

Her guess seems probable, given that Rachel's crossbow is aimed at her as Redmane's trademark hair peeks over the lip of the pit. "Who goes?" the Golden Hawk asks, her voice crisp and sharp, like the winter air. Beyond her, in the watery moonlight, the knight can see a distant bundle of cloth, prickling like a porcupine with all the quarrels in it.

"It's Redmane," the red-haired girl says, not moving until the crossbow lowers. "It's almost time for my watch, so I thought I'd come up and see how you were doing."

"Password?" Rachel asks, unwavering.

"Jack of Hearts," Redmane answers after a moment to finish waking up.

The crossbow lowers. "And the Year's End," Rachel answers, completing the coda. "It's probably near time for your shift." She half-turns away, looking at her target. "I'm not sleepy, though. If you want to rest a while longer, I'll stay up."

"I'm too awake now," Redmane notes, and does a few jumping-jacks to help warm herself up. "Any activity to report?" she asks.

"No. It's been quiet." Rachel sights along her crossbow. "Or at least, if there's been any activity, I haven't noticed it." A curious trace of bitterness haunts the words.

"You sound a little upset," Redmane notes, and looks towards the cloth target. "Were you hoping for something to happen?"

"No!" Rachel protests, too quickly. She looses the bolt from the crossbow, and the shot goes wild. She lifts the weapon quickly in front of her, then, with new and deliberate control, lowers it to her side. "No," she says again, in her normal, soft voice. "I am only wondering if I would be any use if something did."

Redmane raises her eyebrows at the outburst. "This isn't about the wyvern, is it? Hitting a moving target from horseback while twisted around isn't exactly child's play."

"No." Rachel looks at her crossbow, then at the now-empty quiver-case where she keeps her quarrels. "At least, it's not just about the wyvern. Knight Redmane -- what use am I? I am not a warrior, nor sorceress, nor healer. I have no gift for finding my way. I am not even the prophet I briefly feigned to be."

Grinning, the larger girl walks towards the target to help retrieve some of the bolts. "You're also the only one of us that's close to being a scholar. You also keep Tom from rushing off on his own, perhaps. But mostly you're the sanest of us."

The black-haired girl snorts, the sound uncharacteristic for her. It reminds Agatha briefly of Rebecca. "If I am remembered at all, it will be as the foolish damsel, who gets herself into some scrape and needs to be rescued by the brave adventurers." She sighs and joins Agatha, fishing out quarrels from the cloth of the ragged cloak that she wrapped around a small withered bush. Judging by the number of bolts in it, and the distance and poor lighting, Rachel must have been at this for a while, or been doing a good job of hitting it.

"Has that been the situation before I joined up with you at Caer Sidi?" Redmane asks while pulling bolts.

Rachel considers the question. "I fainted the first time I heard the jruuh, back in Ainigton. Tom had to rescue me, even then."

"Well, how often do you expect to run into a nightmare creature out of myth in a world of mortals?" Redmane asks, still grinning. "You didn't faint when the spiders started pouring out of the woods like a tide."

"No." Rachel stacks bolts into her case. "At that, I ran."

"Exactly!" Redmane says, nodding. "See? You really are the sanest one among us."

The dark-haired fey looks at Redmane, trying to scowl, but she abandons the effort within moments. "Oh, honestly," she says, smiling a little. "Sanity is overrated, in any case. Sane people never save the world."

Finding a relatively snow-free chunk of rubble, Redmane sits down and crosses her long legs. "Maybe not, but they keep it running. The important thing is that you aren't like the rest of us. You'll see things differently, and remind us when the risk is too high to try something."

Rachel unwinds the tattered cloak from the brush. "Maybe." She sounds unconvinced. She squints at the seated Redmane, in the moonlight. "When did you grow so tall?" she asks.

"After I started to remember things," Redmane says. "Just before we left Caer Sidi. My boots still fit though, luckily!"

"Mph," Rachel mutters. "I wish my own memory would improve. You and Lord Thomas both tower over me now."

"Really?" Redmane says, scratching her cheek with a gloved hand. "I hadn't noticed if he's stopped slouching. Another good reason for you to be along, I suppose; you're smaller."

"I imagine that will come in handy if I have to run away through some really small place," Rachel says, wryly. "Sir Lefallon has me beat on that count, however. You'll need to find a way for being medium-sized to be useful if you want to cheer me up with that." Despite her words, she sounds more playful than gloomy.

"Well, I'm sure Thomas would rather have to carry you to safety than to carry Simon," Redmane jokes. "Should the necessity arise, that is."

The fair-skinned fey suppresses a giggle. "I do not think Sir Lefallon will have any need to be carried. He is not the frightened jester he once appeared to be." She sobers, contemplative. "Everyone has changed so much. Become so much more than what they seemed to be. Except me."

"It's refreshing to see one person that's remained normal though," Redmane says. "We still don't know if these changes aren't part of some greater plan of the Destroyer. There needs to be at least one of us that he isn't prepared for."

"Normal." She lifts her hands, looking at them. "Once, I was the unusual one." She shakes her head. "It seems so unlikely that the Destroyer would wish to see his old enemies returned and fearsome once more. What made you remember, Redmane? Ahearn had seemed so adamant, back at Galon Annwn, that you were Agatha and not Redmane." As she asks the question, a dark head peeks out from the edge of the pit.

"Thomas helped me," Redmane admits. "I had a sort of ... emotional block to work through. When Thomas disappeared Redmane took it hard."

As Agatha answers, her eyes wander over to the pit's mouth. The recognition on her face alerts Rachel, who pivots to bring her crossbow to bear on the pit. "Who goes?" she calls out.

"Jark of Heats. And I thought you were adamant that no one was supposed to wander off from the group," comes a weary voice, then Thomas's tired green eyes come into view.

"It's my turn at sentry duty, and Rachel wasn't tired out from her shift yet," Redmane explains.

"So, you were talking about me, it seems," Thomas replies and walks over. He settles down onto the ground and yawns.

Rachel blushes crimson, lowering the crossbow. "The Year's End," she says softly. "I was practicing with my crossbow. But I shouldn't have wandered so far from my post. I am sorry, Lord Explorer."

"The practice was going well though, from the number of holes in the target," Redmane notes. "Are you always unable to sleep when people are talking about you, Thomas?"

Thomas waves a hand and says to Rachel, "I'm just being difficult; pay it no mind." He then adds flatly, "And as for not sleeping when people talk about me, you better believe it. Live in the wilds long enough, you develop instincts when danger is near. And whenever you start talking about me, it's usually dangerous."

"See what I mean now, Rachel?" Redmane says, crossing her arms. "We need someone that isn't paranoid in the group."

"You really need a better sense of humor, Redmane," Thomas comments.

"That depends," the warrior replies, "on what you say about me behind my back."

"Do you really want to know what I've said when you weren't around?" Thomas asks and looks at Redmane.

The black-haired girl returns, on quiet feet, to her post at the top of the stair, near Tom. She has a no-way-am-I-getting-in-the-middle-of-this look on her face.

"Probably not," Redmane admits. "Anyway, Rachel was interested in how you helped me regain my memories. Maybe you'd like to show her the technique?" she teases, grinning.

Thomas rolls his eyes. "Well, you're going to hear it anyway," he then says. "I believe what I told Hannah went something like this, 'I know I give Redmane a good deal of grief, but there are few I would want by my side more than her in times of danger.' Contrary to what you seem to think, I have a good deal of respect for you."

"As long as there is danger about, anyway," Redmane says, still grinning.

Thomas shakes his head and says, "Believe what you like, then."

Redmane looks to Rachel, and says, "And he says I have no sense of humor."

"My sense of humor goes to sleep long before I do," Thomas mutters.

Rachel reaches out with one hand, to touch Tom's sleeve. "You are a good man," she says, softly. "Redmane says more ill of you while you listen than while you are absent."

"Well, there hasn't been any sign of the spiders," Redmane says, and manages not to blush at Rachel's comment. "I don't think they will venture far enough from their homes to bother us here. Or else they're waiting until we've gone underground."

"Is that so?" Thomas asks and looks up, "What has she said?"

Redmane takes a moment to think about what she might have said about Tom before ... but doesn't recall anything embarrassing.

"Or they're intimidated by my expert marksmanship." The dark-haired fey smiles, as if at a joke. At Tom's query, she considers. "Little, m'lord. She said that you helped her regain her memories. She implied that you were mad, but she also implied the same about herself, Ahearn, and Sir Lefallon, so I would not take that too seriously as a comment on you as an individual. T'would be better to say she accused me of sanity."

Thomas chuckles slightly, then nods. "Well, I've been accused of being insane before, so that's nothing new. And as for the spiders, I doubt they'd come into the Icejaw Pit, not if a dragon resides here," Thomas says, then stretches. "So, how is Ahearn taking the return of Redmane?"

"He didn't recognize me at first," Redmane admits. "Or rather, he suspected a trick. Apparently my scent has changed along with my build and complexion."

"You smelled like Redmane, I suspect," Thomas replies."I have no idea what I smell like. I suppose the old Thomas, considering Ahearn recognized me."

"I honestly hadn't expected a physical change," Redmane admits. "According to Rachel, you've gotten taller yourself, Thomas."

"Things did seem a bit, ah, different, when I first accepted who I was," Thomas admits. "Seems a long time ago now, really. That was back with Lord December." He looks at Rachel and asks, "When did you notice a change?"

"Right away. When I first saw you again, in the Harcourt kitchen," Rachel answers, quietly. "But it's become ... more pronounced. You were always a little taller than me, even when we first met, but now you loom."

"Age is catching up with me," Thomas jokes. "But, that is interesting. The longer we seem to stay, the more our old forms return. Hmm."

"I figured it was just your posture improving," Redmane says. "The thought of rapid aging isn't a very pleasant one though."

"You surely do not look Twenty," Rachel answers. "Neither of you. Only ... less child-like."

"I suspect we're looking somewhere in between our forms as mortals and our forms as fae," Thomas says. "I wonder if it'll remain as such, or continue to change. Anyway, I don't know if it's that important. And besides, even I must admit you look better as Redmane." He grins.

Redmane stands up and paces a bit to keep warm. "Hopefully it will be temporar -- Thomas!" she spins and points a finger at the boy. "Agatha will look like this in a few years anyway, you know, so watch out!"

"And I'll probably be faaaar away by then," Thomas comments, still grinning."And I don't know; I think I prefer looking like this than like a child."

"Which do you prefer, Rachel?" Redmane asks the other girl. "New Improved Thomas or Original Thomas with less body odor?"

"Excuse me?" Thomas says.

"Agatha has an older brother," Redmane comments. "Trust me, there's a difference in odor."

Rachel hunches, curling her arms to her chest against the chill. "One of us should probably be using this time to rest," she murmurs. "I'll leave you to your shift--" She pauses at Redmane's query, blushing. " ... ah. Redmane." She coughs. "Yes. Sleep." She yawns hugely, her cheeks bright scarlet points in her face.

"Oh come on, you can answer that question," Thomas replies and looks at Rachel, a small grin on his face.

The black-haired girl hunches her shoulders further, unable even to look at Thomas. "No," she whispers, "I really don't think I can." She tries to get past Thomas and down the stairs, without meeting his eyes.

Thomas rests a hand on Rachel's shoulder as she tries to get past. "Sleep well, then," he says softly. "And, sorry if I've embarrassed you." He then removes his hand and lets Rachel continue on unhindered.

At the touch on her shoulder, Rachel raises a hand to rest hers over his. Briefly, her eyes raise to meet his, her irises deep and glittering. She parts her lips as if to speak, but nothing comes. Wordlessly, she lets her hand fall away with his, and with a silent nod, she descends. Her soft "good night" drifts out of the pit behind her, almost lost in the winter's wind.

Thomas shakes his head lightly and mutters, "Nothing is ever simple."

"She's been having some doubts about her usefulness to the expedition," Redmane tells Thomas quietly, once Rachel is safely out of range.

"She's been fine," Thomas says and looks off into the night. "She's done better than I'd have expected. This is far beyond what most Hawks have likely gone through for Years. She probably feels also out of place around all of us -- legends of a time long past."

"I think she's more worried about disappointing you in particular though," Redmane notes. "There's something there between you, obviously."

"She shouldn't worry about that," Thomas says. "And you're right, there is. She's charming, and beautiful. But ... I'm not sure there's much of a future there -- especially if I'm starting to age. The difference could become too much."

"Aging isn't your problem, it's staying put," Redmane jokes, then asks in a more serious tone, "How do you want to proceed in the morning?"

"She's a Hawk. Staying put isn't in our blood," Thomas counters. "That ... really bothered you, didn't it?"

Redmane waves a hand dismissively through the air. "Women get bitter in their old age, Tom. What-ifs and might-have-beens start to nibble away at them. And guilt for not having stopped you or gone along with you. I -- she -- thought she knew you better is all."

"I think I'd better come clean on that," Thomas admits and looks up. "I wanted to go alone, Redmane. I had to. I had to prove to myself I wasn't wrong. I'm not sure I can explain how it felt to have been rejected those Years ago by the Court and even by the Hawks. I wanted to prove to myself I wasn't useless. I felt I had to do it alone."

"I can understand that," Redmane says, and looks over the starlit surroundings. "An attempt to recapture your youth, sort of. Mid-life crisis, they'd call it back in Ainigton."

"Something like that -- an attempt to convince myself my life wasn't ending up useless. I gave up pretty much everything to do my journeys. I had no home to return to. I wanted to have a purpose -- to prove I could still do something," Thomas says. "Maybe if I had known more about what you felt back then I wouldn't have gone. I really don't know."

"I didn't really feel that way at the time," Redmane admits. "Absence makes the heart grow fonder, and all that. Anyway ... how should we approach the tunnel? The reason I've been against people separating, all using the password and counter-sign stuff, is that the Destroyer is pretty good at impersonating people. No telling if a lone person coming back is really them or a shapechanger."

"Good point," Thomas concedes. "Hmm, the tunnel. Yes. Well, I do want to go first. I've got practice at searching and noticing things like traps. We'll want someone who can fight at the rear. Rachel in the center since we may need her to translate things we may come across in the ruins. And! We may all want to take grip of a strip of rope strung between us. That way we can't be picked off from behind and replaced one by one."

"Rope would be good," Redmane agrees. "Should we light cressets as we go? I suppose I'll stay at the rear with Ahearn then."

Tom says, "If we can, yes," Thomas agrees. "And hold the rope, don't tie. We don't want one person falling taking everyone. Plus, we can drop it and scatter if need be."

"I don't suppose you've got a spare sword I could borrow?" Redmane asks, flexing her gloved hands. "In close quarters, my regular one would just irritate everyone. Even I have to wear gloves when I handle it now."

"I think Sir Lefallon may have packed spares in case we broke one; I let him sort out most of the weapons issues. I'll have to ask him in the morning," Thomas answers. "And at least it doesn't burn you, Redmane. That really -- hurt."

"Actually, it does burn me," Redmane admits, grinning wryly. "Just not badly enough to keep me from wielding it."

"And we need to find you armor. Would you be averse to wearing armor from a corpse?" Thomas asks.

"As long as it fits and isn't too cumbersome," Redmane says, although she shudders slightly at the thought.

"I'm hoping to find Randall's remains here," Thomas explains. "If the armor remains, you're welcome to it. I want his sword, though."

Redmane raises her eyebrows, but doesn't say much beyond, "Okay."

"Randall was an old friend. Second in command, then took over leader of the Hawks when I left. I left it to him. He fell in battle saving the current Princess from trolls. His body was never recovered and his soul now serves as a wraith of the Destroyer," Thomas says quietly.

"So you're pretty sure the Destroyer is still the original Destroyer then?" Redmane asks. "It sounds as if he has the sort of magic needed to live this long, if he can create wraiths."

"Hard to say much about the Destroyer. He changes names, but the overall behavior of the Destroyer never seems to change. I'm curious to see if it is still John Harcourt, or someone else has taken up the role now. Like it's passed down or some such. I wish I could remember what happened when I faced him and what he looked like," Thomas says.

"He could look like anyone he wants to, probably," Redmane notes. "Especially if he's fooled everyone into thinking he's the authentic Lord April."

"I suspect the picture that was in Faust's chamber was him, though. It was familiar to me," Thomas says. "For some reason, I always think of him as someone who would be handsome, yet have cold eyes. Someone without much emotion."

"Do you know of anyone like that in Ainigton?" Redmane asks.

Thomas half-closes his eyes and taps his chin. "Let me think a moment." He laughs and mutters, "I'd almost think of Boris, but he doesn't have the brains to be the Destroyer in disguise." After a pause, he mutters, ""Hmm, there's a grim thought."

"I'd think one of the original ... players... would have the power here to have taken over already," Redmane offers, then gives Tom an odd look. "What grim thought is this?"

"Oh, my own doubting of all of this early on. What if the Destroyer was partially me?" Thomas asks. "And, well keep in mind that John Harcourt really wasn't welcome in the game and later grew to hate it. Maybe because they kept him out, it prevented him from taking over."

Redmane blinks at the idea, then shakes her head. "Nah, he has way too much patience. No part of you could plan so far in advance. Did you come across any portraits of him in the Harcourt basement?"

Thomas arghs and rubs his temples. "There was a lot of junk down there," he mutters, as he tries to remember. "Yeah, I did see one when cleaning. It wasn't that impressive or memorable, really. He was pretty ordinary and dark haired. Dressed well, I must admit. But, we don't look like our mortal selves either, do we?"

"And a lot of time has passed since that portrait was done too," Redmane agrees.

"Yes. If we ever get back to the mortal world, we need to try and track down Ryan Jordan," Thomas says. "I wonder if he still lives. And you know, I want to know if Thomas of November was the grandson of Lady Cherise of February. She is my grandmother in the mortal world. I truly wonder how all that maps out."

"Did your grandmother say if Ryan left town or not?" Redmane asks, wondering about the odd relationships and genealogies involved.

"He did leave with his grandmother," Thomas replies. "That would have been around 1912 or 1913, the beginning of Mirari. Year One -- I think, anyway. He didn't leave a forwarding address, curiously enough."

"I'm pretty sure none of my mortal relatives were involved in any of this," Redmane says. "Although ... nah, it's nothing."

"Nothing is nothing with regard to this world, Redmane. What is it?" Thomas asks.

"I first arrived in Mirari in April of '36," the girl says. "That could also be about the same time my mother arrived in Ainigton. I'd rather not think of the implications, though."

Tom rubs his neck and thinks on that. "I wonder if when my parents decided to settle in Ainigton is about when I first arrived in Mirari," he says. "Interesting thought, though. Don't discount it so quickly. Can you tell me much about your mother?"

Leaning against one of the stone "teeth," Redmane -- or rather Agatha for the moment -- says, "She was an immigrant, from Ireland. She knew a lot of the old stories about faeries and elves, but other than the time of her arrival, and the fact that she looks like Redmane, not much else fits in. Redmane didn't marry, or have kids. She vanished when Agatha was born, but my mother lived on for another seven years after that."

"That's one interesting thing to note, though. You disappeared here roughly when you were born in the Mortal world, right? That's how it lines up for me as well," Thomas says. "What else do you remember about your mother?"

"Except for the talk of faeries, she was ... just my mom," Redmane says, and looks away. "She warned me not to trust faeries, but also taught me regular things as well."

"Do you think she was the original Redmane, then?" Thomas asks, then points out, "You have Redmane's memories, though."

"I don't remember where Redmane came from though," Redmane admits. "I don't have all of the memories. But I think it's just a coincidence, really. I always hoped to grow up to look like my mother." She idly rubs the locket through her shirt, then stands up and away from the tooth once more. "Our influence on this world muddies things."

"Well, you probably will," Thomas says. "And I don't remember all of Thomas's things either. I can't remember his fae parents, for example. And yes, I know it does. Do we influence it because we're part of it, though? That we were once here and it's in our blood and perhaps mixed with mortal blood, we can change it? Or are we these people because we created them somehow? And if that's the case, then we have the power to manipulate nearly everything in this world."

"It takes at least two of us though, that much I'm sure of," Redmane points out. "Remember Alice trying to work magic in the woods? It would also mean that if the Destroyer really is John Harcourt, he'll try to sway one or more of us to his side. Then he really would be unstoppable."

"Maybe I'll join him," Thomas jokes.

Redmane looks at Tom thoughtfully, as if considering the claim seriously for a moment.

"Hey, it's not like the Mirari court has treated me all that kindly," Thomas replies and looks at the redhead. "But yes, I'm kidding."

"I know you're kidding ... but what if you really could make the Destroyer believe you'd change sides?" Redmane asks. "Can you still say something three times without it being true, Tom?"

Thomas laughs and says, "Did you know I once considered doing that, back before I changed? I thought about infiltrating whomever was the enemy back then by joining them. As for saying something three times without it being true. I don't know. Haven't tried."

"Try it now, just as a test," Redmane suggests, crossing her arms across her chest and watching Thomas closely.

Tom looks at Redmane oddly. "What should I say that blatantly isn't true?" he asks.

"What, I have to think of everything?" the knight asks, then looks up to the dark sky and suggests, "Say the sky is green. It's what Ahearn had me do."

"Okay. If you want me to do something silly, then I want to see if you can do it as well afterward," Thomas replies.

"The sky is green," Thomas says effortlessly. "The sky is green," he says again, his expression changing slightly. "The sky is gr-- ... blue," Thomas struggles out. Several muttered curses come a moment later under his breath.

Redmane hmms. "That isn't very promising," she says. "I was never fully fey, but I'll give it a try."

"Lord Thomas is a total dreamboat," Redmane recites. "Lord Thomas is... he's... Aaarrgh!" With a look of disgust, she says, "I can't do it. It wouldn't be ... honorable. But nobody would believe me switching sides anyway."

"Thank you for the ego boost," Thomas mutters.

Grinning, Redmane reaches out to clap Thomas on the shoulder. "Hey, don't despair. At least you've got something to strive to now! I'm sure that with a decent haircut, you'd be ... just fine!"

Thomas swats away the hand. "Never mind," he mutters. "I'm not out here looking to be looked to or dreamed over. I'm out here to help save Mirari."

"You need to learn to relax too, Tom," Redmane says. "Do you plan to sit out the rest of my watch with me?"

"Hard to relax when you've spent your life having to sleep lightly and always be on guard, Redmane," Thomas comments. "I can if you want, or I can try to go back to bed."

"Get some sleep then, Tom," Redmane suggests. "I'll be okay up here."

Thomas stands and stretches briefly. "All right then. Don't stray too far, and if anything shows up, shout. I sleep lightly." He starts walking back towards the cave, but pauses just before going in and adds, "Be safe, Redmane. We just got you back. I'd rather you stay around for a while."

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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.