Siege of Wind (21 Aug 2001) Agatha goes out walking after a day of horse-riding. NOTE: Players other than Agatha should not read this log.

Tom's "explanation" diverted some of the wrath of parents that the kids might have otherwise felt, but Simon still got grounded, and Rebecca's parents decided to take Elinor to see the city for a long weekend -- presumably to keep her out of trouble with the local children. Agatha's father gave her a lecture about keeping track of time and paying attention, but, as usual, he let her off with not much more than that.

This afternoon, Agatha is keeping out of trouble, too, by indulging in one of her most cherished pastimes: horseback riding. Earlier, she paid Mrs. Danzwyck for a riding lesson. She had a blissful hour of riding, and Mrs. Danzwyck even gave her a rare compliment on her form. Now she's just wandering the fields out back. Her father said he'd give her a ride home, but not for another hour and a half -- he's got a job to do first. So the red-headed girl finds herself with time on her hands.

Chewing on the end of a stalk of hay, Agatha walks south along the creek, keeping an eye out for more horseshoes she can turn in as well as any game fish activity that might interest Richard.

A small stand of trees blocks the view of the house from here, making the spot seem more lonely and isolated than it really is. She feels a cool breeze ruffle her hair from behind. It feels pleasant, with the hot sun beating down upon her back. As she bends to examine something gray in the scrub near the water, the breeze picks up, and she can hear the rustle of the wind through the field of tall grass behind her. She hears a sudden whoosh as the wind audibly flattens the grass, and it feels icy-cold as it whips Agatha's hair around her head.

"Whoa!" the girl says in surprise, and turns around to see if a storm is sneaking up behind her.

As she turns to face the field, she watches as the wind carves a pattern across the field, before her eyes, flattening down a swath of grass in a pair of symmetrical curves. The arctic wind switches directions, seeming to blow from opposite sides for a moment, as it makes a third hemisphere on the far side from the first two ... and then curves back in to complete the interiors of the figure. The wind subsides, while traces of white frost appear on the flattened grass of the newly formed crop circles: three interlocking rings, two of the rings at right angles to the first.

Agatha's mouth drops open as she stares. When it's clear the grass isn't going to spring back upright, she starts walking towards the newly pressed areas. "It's like the Siege again," she mumbles to herself.

As the girl walks towards the unnatural formation, the wind surges again, swirling like the birth of a tornado over the ground where the three circles intersect. Suddenly, a figure on horseback appears at the vortex of the wind, a white stallion rearing and clawing his hooves at the cold, angry wind. His rider, a figure in gleaming silver armor, keeps his seat with the grace of a skilled horseman. As if in response to the animal's attack, the wind rushes away in all directions from the mounted man, pushing the grass down in its wake and almost knocking Agatha over as it passes her -- and then the wind is gone once more, leaving the horseman and the new Siege in its wake.

"This ... can't be real!" Agatha says when she sees ... well, the knight. She feels rooted to the spot, unable to turn away from the apparition. "Hello?" she calls to the mounted figure.

The charger drops from his rearing position, but seems no less impressive for it. He stands nineteen hands at the shoulder, if an inch, a massive animal in the raiment of a lightly-armored war-horse. A green blanket edged in gold pads its back to protect it from the gleaming armor over his flanks, and the links of chain across his chest. The animal wears a helm, too, though his neck is relatively bare, leaving his tousled white mane visible. His rider turns at the sound of Agatha's voice, though he seems disoriented. On seeing her, he flexes his heels lightly into his horse's flanks, and they trot towards her. "Lady Redmane!" he calls, and his voice seems to be trying to pack too many emotions into the few syllables.

Agatha pinches herself on the cheek, just to make sure she's awake. "Uhhh," she says, wondering how to respond. "Yes? You ... you know me?"

The pinch of her fingers stings against her cheek as the horse and his rider draw alongside her. "Yes, my lady," the rider says, removing his helmet as he approaches. Long golden hair tumbles around a face that seems almost feminine, lashes framing large blue eyes that watch her anxiously. "Please," he says, holding out one gloved hand to her, as he twists his head about to look behind him. "You must come with me. We need your help."

Agatha starts reaching up automatically, before finally coming to her senses. "Wait ... who are you? How do you know me?"

A flush forms on his high cheekbones, and the knight drops his chin. His charger stands, stock-still, beneath him as he executes a half bow from his seat. "My apologies, my lady. I am Sir Tristan of Elysia. I have come to your land from Mirari because my people need your help. Our king is missing, and we believe that you can help us find him. Please, my lady. I do not have much time." The knight looks over his shoulder again as he speaks, as if looking for some new attacker. His voice has a curious accent that gives an added lilt to the old-fashioned choice of words.

"Mirari!" Agatha says in surprise, then reaches her hand up so she can be helped into the saddle. "I ... I can't promise any aid yet, but I'll listen to your ... plight." I fell out of the saddle and hit my head, that's it.

"Thank you, Lady Redmane," he says, his gratitude heartfelt. The charger's head twists around, though Tristan hardly seems to touch the reins, and he canters back towards the intersection of the circles. Agatha feels the air, charged as if before a storm, almost crackling with energy, as they draw into the circle. Tristan is saying something, but not to her. The words remind her of Alice's spell on the boat, but she can't make them out over the sudden roar of the wind.

I'm being carried off by an elf! Agatha thinks as she holds her hands up against her ears.

The wind tears at her eyes and cheeks, stinging and bitterly cold, forcing her to close them. When she manages to open them again...

Winter in Mirari
The plain fields she was standing in is gone. The sun that was high in the sky has sunk low and near the horizon on a grey, wintry day. The rolling, open ground is covered in white snow, and the nearby river, frozen solid. Here, the three interlocking rings of the Siege are carved into the powdery snow, though the edges have been worn a bit by an icy breeze which it around in drifts, sending swirls dancing in the air. In the distance, she can make out the spires of towers, through the mists of snow.

Agatha feels the chill immediately, and hugs her arms tight around herself. "Is it always this cold?" she asks Tristan through chattering teeth.

"No, my lady, it is not," Sir Tristan answers her, soberly, and looking abashed. "Here, take my cloak." He whisks it from his shoulders, and drops the green mantle around hers, covering her in warm, thick velvet. "I apologize for bringing you here so ill-prepared. But time grows short." He digs his heels into the charger's flanks, and the animal leaps forward, plunging through the powdery snow, sending flakes flying in all directions as he moves.

Clutching the cloak closed with one hand, Agatha holds onto Tristan tightly with her free arm.

The white horse carries them effortlessly -- riders, armor, and all -- across the landscape. They run south along the river, with nothing else stirring save the snow beneath the charger's hooves. Tristan slows the animal after a half-mile. The distant towers have grown nearer, but the rider looks more concerned than before. "My lady, do you hear anything?"

Agatha pulls down the hood of the cloak and listens in the cold air.

At first, Agatha hears nothing. Then, to the southwest, along the river, there's a low, faint rumbling. It sounds like it's coming from the ground, or beneath the layer of snow.

"I hear something ... under the ground?" she says, sounding confused. "Rumbling."

Tristan scans the ground before them, his charger snorting in the cold air, slowing to a halting walk. "An ambush," he murmurs. He draws his sword out of its sheath on his mount, the metal whispering against leather. "Have you a weapon, my lady?" he asks.

Agatha doesn't carry her wooden sword to the stables, and even if she had it.... "I'm unarmed," she whispers. "Who are they?"

"House October," he answers, with a shortness in his words that she senses isn't directed towards her. "Take my short sword," he instructs her, nodding towards the still-scabbarded blade on the right side of the charger. The horse sidesteps along, pacing away from the rumbling sound that's now louder, but seems sourceless, as if it could be from anywhere.

The girl draws out the short sword, and part of her mind wonders, This is nuts, you aren't really a warrior! Still, a sword would make her feel a bit more comfortable.

Spotting some movement under the snow as she leans to the right, Agatha yelps, "It's here!"

The charger leaps to the right, half-spinning to face the threat, while Tristan holds his blade at ready. A wall of snow rises up before them, so quickly Agatha can't even tell what she looking it. Its front unfolds beneath the layer of snow, revealing a multi-colored body in reds and browns and yellows. It has a kind of humanoid shape -- or perhaps an animal on two legs, she can't be certain, it seems so strange. The only distinct part is the giant arm that lashes towards them.

Agatha tries to bring up her sword into a blocking position to deflect the blow!

The girl's short blade flicks up as the horse turns, and the arm smashes into it. The jarring force almost knocks Agatha from the saddle, but she hangs on to Tristan's side, and manages to keep her blade steady. The sharp edge cleaves through the beast's "hand" and part way through its arm, and it screams, a weird rumbling ache of noise, drawing back a mottled arm that drips ... something ... onto the white snow. While it's distracted, Tristan urges his mount towards it, and slashes his long sword down one shoulder and along its chest. The creature staggers backwards.

"What is that thing!?" Agatha says, pulling her own sword back to strike, should she get the chance.

"A golem of House October," Tristan shouts back in answer. The charger leaps past the golem, and the blades of both its riders slash out to rip into the creature's side. Its bellow almost masks the rumbling of another creature, rising up to the south and east of them!

"Another one!" Agatha says, twisting to try and spot it. "Can we outrun them?"

The faerie knight grimaces as his mount wheels to face the new enemy. "We had better," he answers. He says something she doesn't understand, then hurls a dagger at the new foe. It lands and blossoms into uncurling vines over the monster's chest, as a third golem casts off its mantle of snow, rising from the east.

"Magic!" Agatha blurts as she sees the effect of the dagger. "That's cool!"

The wounded golem on their right swipes at the flank of their mount as the war-horse charges past it at his rider's urging. "Hold on, lady knight!" Tristan cries to her, crouched low against his horse's neck as they fly westward, away from the attacking golems. With three of them visible, Agatha gets the impression they're like animated, shambling leaf-piles.

Agatha doesn't look back at the monsters for too long, crouching over against Tristan's armored back.

Before turning, she catches that the one with vines over him struggles as they intertwine over its limbs, and the wounded one seems slowed by its injuries, while the last too far away to catch them as the charger gallops through snowy woods. It crashes onto the river, and the ice creaks beneath its weight while Tristan grimaces again. But the freeze holds fast, and in moments they have skated to the far side and away. After a few minutes, the knight allows his mount to slow to a walk again. "Are you well, my lady?"

Agatha is, in fact, freezing and short of breath, but barely notices through the buzz of adrenaline. "I'm great! Will there be more of those things ahead?"

"I hope not." Tristan's horse favors its right rear leg as it moves forward, making the gait uneven. "I had hoped to take you to see the Queen, but I fear it is far too dangerous to take you there now." The knight brings the horse to a halt and slides off to stand beside it, the woods around them seeming empty for the moment. "Easy there, Souhait," he murmurs to him, patting the animal's heated neck.

Dismounting as well, Agatha takes a look at the horse's favored flank.

The fey knight kneels by the hind leg, peeling off his heavy leather gloves to feel the animal's flesh. There's a long scrape along the top of the flank, where the hide is torn and trickling blood.

"How bad is it?" Agatha asks quietly, already searching her pockets for any leftover sugar cubes.

"The leg seems sound," Sir Tristan answers. He scoops up some snow, rubbing it over the animal's bruised flank. Souhait bears the ministrations patiently, whickering a little, though it can't be comfortable for the horse. "Still, best if I lead him from here. I and my armor are more burden than Souhait deserves right now." Agatha manages to produce a half dozen sugar cubes from one back pocket.

Offering the cubes to the steed, Agatha asks, "Is it much farther?"

Just like horses Agatha's used to, the charger eagerly accepts her offering, taking it as consolation for its injuries. "Much too far from where I hoped to bring you, Lady Redmane. But we are perhaps half a mile from Elysia, and that will have to suffice."

"Oh," Agatha says, smiling to the horse and washing off her hand with some snow. "Will you be able to send me back to where you found me from there, if you had to?"

Souhait nuzzles at her arm affectionately when she's done, while Tristan frowns. "Eventually," he says, at length. "It will be better if we can return to the Siege of Wind. But that will be easier later. Now, I fear they will be waiting for us there."

Agatha sighs and nods, wondering how late she'll end up being ... and hoping the stories about time people spending a day with the faeries and returning to find twenty years had passed in the real world were just ... stories. "We'd better get going then; it looks like night is coming."

Tristan nods, and offers her a silent hand up and onto Souhait's back.

The girl remounts the destrier, having the whole saddle to herself for now.

The faerie knight leads the horse and girl through the now quiet woods. One more time, he halts the procession, speaking a few quiet words in an unknown tongue while they wait in silence beside a tree. But no more monsters attack them, and not too long thereafter, they reach their destination.

District of Elysia, House of April
This part of the city of Mirari is one of the many gates that open onto the frosted country. It must look beautiful in the springtime, with long stone-paved walks and arched trellises that would support flowering vines, and trees along the ways, guarded by two marble angels looking west besides the gate in the city's wall and holding aloft swords, but with winter's grip on the country, the trees are barren, the flowers huddled in the earth. The roofs of the cottages and farms that make up the majority of the semi-urban area almost creak under their burden of snow, shedding it from canted roofs and gables.

It seems almost like a scene from a history book of Renaissance Europe, but more magical, more beautiful. Some of the houses have walls of embossed stone and windows of crystal panes. There aren't very many people in the streets -- the cold has perhaps driven them inside -- and the ones who remain seem ... strange. Some are unusually large, or small, or have bodies that bend weirdly beneath their heavily wrapped cloaks and thick clothing -- though others seem quite human. Here, in a bakery, a wizened woman buys a loaf of bread; there, a carriage stands next to a tavern, a coachman in tails tending to the horses.

It is to a villa on the outskirts if Elysia that Tristan takes Agatha, an adobe-colored building with high, narrow windows decorated with floral patterns of glass, and an arch which passes beneath one of the rooms of the second floor to enter a courtyard within which stands a solitary oak tree. Rooms inside this villa open into the courtyard, making it a hospitable piece of the countryside ... if it were spring.

"Is this your home?" Agatha asks Tristan, looking over the courtyard. She's never seen a house like this before.

The knight removes his helmet again as they enter the courtyard, revealing a smile. "This is my home, my lady. House October was not guarding Elysia as they were the main lands of April, or the Palace. Their minions must not have recognized me -- and for that I am grateful."

Agatha returns the knight's smile, then furrows her brow. "What? Those creatures were guarding the place ... from us?"

"From you," Tristan says, his voice serious. He offers her his hand to dismount, then gives Souhait over to the small, thin figure of the groom that approaches from the far side. "Please, come inside."

Agatha follows the knight, wondering just what she's gotten herself into. "Your enemy is already expecting me then?"

The interior of the villa holds the bright freshness of the spring that seems promised by the outside. A fountain cascades like a waterfall down one of the walls, into a shallow pool. A fire crackles in a hearth opposite the waterfall, while a padded bench rests between the two. Other sofas and a pair of chairs rest against the walls, giving the room a strange atmosphere, of a place both indoors, and out, that somehow works.

"I fear as much," Tristan says, gesturing for her to take a seat. "Please, make yourself at home. It could be that I am mistaken -- perhaps House October is barring the paths to all of April, and not just to thwart my errand. But if they know how important this is ... well, I had best tell my story in order, if I am to hope that you can follow it at all."

Agatha sits near the hearth, so that she can remove the velvet cloak. "Please do," she says.

The faerie knight nods to her. He shrugs his shoulders within his chain hauberk, and a twinge of pain flickers over the delicate features of his face, then he brushes back a lock of gold hair behind one ear. Agatha notes, with a little disappointment, that his ears aren't pointed. "I believe you are aware that Mirari's King is missing, though I do not think you have the whole of the story."

Agatha nods. At least, that's what she was playing with the others.

"In my country -- Mirari -- the King has a ... special relationship with the land." He frowns. "Forgive me, this is hard for me to explain. But the King in Mirari reigns for a single Year, through all the seasons. At the end of the year, his reign must end, and he must pass the throne on to another. This is the way it has always been."

Eyebrows raised, Agatha asks, "How do you choose each new King?"

"The King passes the throne on to his child, or chooses an heir, if he has no children," the fey knight says. He paces over to the padded bench, wincing almost imperceptibly again as he sits on it. "Our Years ... do not pass as yours do. Our King did not have a child, so he chose the leader of my house, the Lord of April, as his heir."

Agatha tries not to look alarmed when she hears about the year passing differently. "And without the current King, the throne can't be passed on, and Spring won't arrive?" she asks, trying to remember what Elinor -- or rather, Lady Raven -- said on the island about it.

Tristan nods. "You have it exactly, my lady. Some of the peoples -- like House October -- have not taken kindly to April receiving the honor. The choice was not entirely unexpected by us -- the King's Queen is of House April, as well. But still, other Lords have shown their resentment of the choice. I have personally harbored suspicions that House October played some role in the King's disappearance.

Frowning, Agatha concentrates to remember the Seer's words. "I think ... that the King left on his own. He doesn't want the cycle to go on like it has."

A woman with oddly translucent flesh, as if she were made out of living glass, enters the room, garbed in a green and gold dress that looks like a kind of uniform -- similar to what the groom outside wore. She carries a tray laden with a chocolate pot and a crystal decanter, along with a platter of an assortment of warm pastries and other goodies. She offers the tray to the girl in her chair beside the hearth, first.

Agatha hesitates slightly at the girl's appearance, but finally accepts a pastry and nods her thanks.

The faerie's frown matches Agatha's. "And so have we now come to believe, though the irresponsibility of it! In a King!" He clenches his right hand into a fist, angrily. "Forgive me, my lady. But you must understand the state of my land. Until the King returns to pass on the throne, the cycle cannot begin anew. The winter that you saw outside will only get longer, colder, and deeper. Even now it has already engulfed Elysia -- and Elysia belongs to April! Winter should be but a mild fog here, a chill rain, a cold breeze, not snow in drifts that block the streets and bar the doors." He closes his eyes as the glass servant turns silently to him, after a smile in answer to Agatha's nod.

Nibbling on the pastry while she tries to sort things out in her head, Agatha asks, "What is your King's name, and when was he last seen?"

"My lord?" the translucent servant's voice sounds strange and musical, as if it were formed from fingers run along the edges of half-filled wine glasses, all in different shapes and pitches. "Shall I send someone to help you with your armor?"

Tristan waves her off. "No, I will need it again soon enough." She sets the platter on a table between the two and retreats as the knight addresses Agatha's query. "His name is Marc of Umbrecht. As we measure time, he has been gone since the third week of December." His face twists in a grimace.

"Is your back wounded?" Agatha asks, oddly thinking of the wound she ... Redmane received from the sea serpent.

"As you measure time, that would be some three or four weeks ago." Tristan shakes his head. "It is nothing," the knight says, though he doesn't sound entirely convincing. He speaks English with an odd accent, his o's and i's longer than they should be. "I will be fine."

Agatha nods, and thinks of the timing. "Tell me ... did your King take anyone or anything with him?"

The fey knight leans towards her, his hands clasped together. "Two of his servants -- shape-shifters -- disappeared at almost the same time. And others have vanished since then." His expression darkens, sorrowful. "The Lord Protector was leading the search, and I felt sure he would find him ... but he has not been heard from in many days. This is part of why we once believed that another House -- October, perhaps -- was holding the King hostage, and eliminating any who came close to finding him. But now, we are sure that he has fled to your world -- and that you have seen him, though you did not know him when you did."

Despite the fire, Agatha's skin breaks out in goose-pimples. "Oh ... and you want me to convince him to return?" she asks. Only one person she knows is likely to fit the description of a runaway King.

The fey knight hesitates. After a moment, he answers, "Ideally, yes." Tristan stands, and walks to one of the windows. Snow piles up in drifts against the walls of the courtyard outside, with more flurries descending as he watches. "I wish I could tell you that was all I felt needed -- that you could talk to him and he would come back, and that would be the end of it. But, my lady ... you must understand Mirari. This Winter cannot end until the King returns. And if he will not return willingly...." He rests his hand against the glass, fingers tense. "I do not ask that you force him to return," he says, his oddly accented words soft. "Only -- if you know where he is -- if you find him -- please. Tell us." He turns from the window to face Agatha again, his blue eyes pleading.

Agatha has to look away from those eyes, so turns towards the wall-fountain. "What House is Avarre aligned to?" she asks, trying to change the subject.

A brief look of confusion flickers over his face. "Avarre is aligned with House October, Lady Redmane," he answers, simply.

"That ... makes sense, I suppose," Agatha says, still looking at the fountain. "Are the jruuh agents of House October?"

"The jruuh?" Tristan looks surprised as well as confused. "My lady, who told you about jruuh?"

"Ryland of Avarre," Agatha says, watching the knight again. "In the shape of a crow. Unless that's his natural shape?"

"I am not familiar with the name," Tristan says, thoughtful. "But the Crows are servants of the House of October. It could well be his natural shape. Jruuh, however -- " he pronounces the unusual word easily, as if it were an everyday one " -- they are but an old wives' tale, a fancy to frighten children with. What did this Ryland tell you of them?"

"Just the name, really," Agatha says. "They were ... hoarding trinkets, in the Siege of Stone and Water. The one I woke up seemed pretty real too, and there weren't any old wives around."

He reaches for the decanter brought in earlier, and fills a small crystal goblet with amber liquid from it. "I see. Perhaps ... perhaps he told you this as a front, to disguise October's own activities. They may have minions disguising themselves as jruuh. Some fey disguises are clever, indeed, and it would take an Optikon to distinguish the truth behind their appearance."

"A what?" Agatha asks, suddenly curious. "Is that something that will see them when they're invisible as well?"

"An Optikon; 'tis a device that shows the People in their true form, stripped of any glamour or false shape they might wear," the knight replies. "They are rare items -- I have only heard tell of them, myself, and seen their handiwork a few times. It will reveal those invisible by glamour, too."

"Do you know what one would look like?" the girl asks, leaning forward a bit.

"I am not sure." Tristan tilts his head, looking at the girl. "I believe it has a glass lens, which works its magic, but as for the rest I do not know. It produces images of whatever scene it captures -- and it is those images, those reflections, which show the truth."

Agatha blinks at this. To her it sounds like one of those Land cameras that make instant photos. "Tell me ... besides April and October, are any other Houses trying to find the King?"

"In name, at least, all of the Houses are searching for the King, from January to December. Even those folk without Houses, like the Unicorns, recognize that the King must be found, or Winter will never end." Tristan looks to the ground. "But that is in name. I do not know that December or January is much concerned with Winter continuing forever, whatever lip service they may pay to restoring the cycle. October, in their bitterness, would rather see Mirari be buried in snow than Lord April on our throne."

"What about the Year's End?" Agatha asks. "Can you tell me anything about it?"

"Other than that it will never arrive unless the King returns?" His tone is half-joking, then he realizes the emphasis Agatha has placed on the world. "You mean the tale of Year's End, I see. That ... is another fancy." He recites, as if from a children's storybook, "Every year, when the King passes the throne to his successor, the Lord of Year's End attempts to steal the throne, and ascend to Mirari's rulership himself. Should the Lord of Year's End ever succeed, than the year will truly end, and there will be no renewal of the cycle, no continuation."

"No renewal of the ... traditional ... cycle, you mean?" Agatha asks. "You know ... however it is that the seasons pass here?"

"No renewal of anything, Lady Redmane," Tristan says, sober. "It is our ... what would you call it ... apocalypse legend. The end of the Seasons, the Folk, the Houses, everything. The jruuh Ryland told you about -- they are supposed to be minions of the Year's End. But these are just legends. That you've been fed these things suggests more distractions from House October, I suspect." He looks out the window at the falling snow.

"And crows are minions of October?" Agatha asks, leaning back towards the fire again at the reminder of how cold it is outside. "Does your House have minions in my world as well? I was wondering how you were able to find me."

"All the Houses of Mirari have minions. April's are cats," Tristan answers. "Not all the cats of your world, of course. But a few of our felines enter your realm, from time to time, just as October's crows have." He stands, gazing at the sun through the window. It seems like it has hardly moved since Agatha arrived here. "Time grows short. We must return to the Siege of Wind now, if we are to return you to your home."

Agatha stands up and retrieves the cloak. "Let's go then ... but how will I contact you again after I've talked to the King?"

"I will have to come to you, or send a servant. I know of no way for you to contact us. Were times better, you might leave a message at the Siege of Angels, or the Siege of Stone and Water -- but those paths are guarded by October and their allies, and I fear they might intercept any message you might leave. The Siege of Wind, which I called for you, does not have a predictable location."

"Alright, I'll wait until you can arrange something then," Agatha says, and then asks, "There's no way to ... activate ... a Siege by accident, is there? I mean, you have to use magic to do it, right?"

The faerie knight smiles. "Yes. It is not a matter of tripping over the right spot and finding yourself transplanted. I do not believe that a human of your world is capable of activating a Siege, though I am not certain. You and your friends, it appears, have certain ... powers. I do not know the extent of them."

"Let's go then," Agatha says after taking a deep breath. Powers, she thinks. As if we weren't odd enough already.

Tristan leads the girl back into the courtyard, and the groom brings the white charger out to meet them. The horse walks effortlessly now, and were it not for the faint lines along his flank, Agatha might take him for another horse. Her elfin host smiles and strokes his neck, murmuring to him, then pauses. He turns to his groom, and says, "Ready Aelhana, as well." The man bows and withdraws and Tristan looks to Agatha. "If you will have him, Lady Redmane, I will gift you with Souhait. He will be able to reach me, when you have news for us."

Agatha doesn't quite register this for a few moments. "Excuse me?" she asks. "You want to loan me your horse?"

The knight nods. "He is a fey beast; in the summer of Ainigton, he will be well able to take care of himself, and he will know when you have need of him. He is well trained, and will not be any trouble to you," Tristan assures her, taking her vehemence for reluctance. "In truth, I have no wish to part with him. But our need is very great. Please, my lady." He offers the reins to her, as the groom leads out a bay mare, a well-formed horse who looks tiny beside the great charger.

Agatha climbs into the saddle, wondering how you hide a giant, armored war-horse. "Can he disguise himself?" she asks.

"Not in the way you are thinking. But he can be unobtrusive, when there is need of it." He mounts Aelhana, flicking his heels into her side to start her forward at a walk. "Believe me, you will have no difficulties with him."

Agatha urges Souhait to follow. "I hope so. I can't afford to stable him, even if I could explain where he came from."

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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.