Unwelcome Attention (6 Jun 2002) Hannah and Agatha arrive in Caer Sidi.

Gate of Caer Sidi
The watchtower of Caer Sidi looks over the travelers as they depart the town's gates, and behind it are ranked the sloping roofs and gables, architecture that would not look out of place in the older parts of Ainigton, for all that Annwn is a desert wasteland. Bright metal mirrors gleam here and there, and shining roof tiles catch the sun, next to gutters that run down toward cracked pots. The marketplace is a kaleidoscope of merchants exhibiting their brightly colored wares, though there is a shabby and ragged air about the people, with some beggars openly pleading for alms at the walls.

It is late in the morning, and the sun has climbed high enough into the sky to burn off the few clouds that had dared to stray across its territory by the time that two travelers ride toward the long, straight wall that runs along this side of the trading town of Caer Sidi. Dust in the air has adhered to their clothes, making the merchants' promises of cool refreshment sound that much more tantalizing.

"Water! The cheapest water in Caer Sidi -- only one silver a bag!" comes the cry of a shabby, swarthy fellow in ragged whites with a red sash. He holds up double handfuls of lean leather water skins.

Another merchant screeches across the width of the gate at him, "Gutter-scrapings! My water is the purest, straight from the source! It is yours for a mere twelve coppers the bag!" He shakes rather similar bags, so that liquid can be heard to slosh in them.

Virtually ignored in this war of the peddlers is an old, shabby fellow in rags who sits against the wall of the city, a thin veil-like cloth wrapped over his face to shield him from the morning sun. A gnarled and crooked staff leans against the wall next to him. Unlike all the other beggars, as the travelers draw closer, he does not rush forward to beg for alms, or for any water that they might have to spare; he watches them with quiet dignity.

Disheartened by the water prices, Agatha complains, "I can't believe that I actually miss all that snow now. I hope you're right about Tom needing to stop here for supplies, Bragwaine."

"I'm a cat," Bragwaine meows, from a saddlebag. "I'm always right. Even when I change my mind."

"If I knew it was going to be this dry and cold, I'd have packed some lip balm," the mortal girl mutters, and then turns to ask Hannah, "I don't know anything about Mirari economics. Are these prices fair? And ... uh ... do you have any money?"

Hannah smiles and reaches down to pet Bragwaine idly. To Agatha she says, "You are right, the price for water is much higher than usual here. You'd expect to see these sorts of prices for fine wines! Thankfully, I have a little money with me, but for the moment, I have a mostly-full water skin, as well."

Bragwaine purrs, and leans into the petting. "See? It's a good thing you heeded my warning and brought extra water. Listen to the cat!"

"The steeds will need more water than we will," Agatha notes, patting the side of Ahearn's neck. "I suppose we should try to find out if Thomas' party has come through here yet first."

"This is true," Hannah says, looking down at her own mount, "although I expect this will relieve me of most of the money I have, at these ridiculous prices. Still, it must be done."

A young girl pleads up to the travelers, "Please, milady! Have you any water? I'm thirsty!" Dust is thick on her face and in her hair, and her clothes are more patches than fabric.

Hannah turns in her saddle to look at the girl. Her face clouds over with concern, then clears. Over her shoulder to Agatha she says, "It seems we are not the only ones to which the price for water is very dear." Quickly, she dismounts and goes over to the beggar. "I cannot spare you much, child, but if a cup of water will help you, I can provide that," Hannah says gently.

Agatha frowns. There's no way we'll hold onto our water long under these circumstances. Aloud, she asks, "Is there a drought here? I'd expect a city to have a reliable water supply, even in the desert," she asks the young girl.

The little girl's eyes widen. So much water is in Hannah's water skin, that she seems to be holding a fortune! "Bless you, milady!" she cries, but enough of manners must have been ingrained into the beggar that she makes no move to grab, and waits for the cup to be offered. "Oh, milady, it's the Great Drought, they say, but it was lon' before I was born. They say Annwn used to have forests!"

Bragwaine leans further out of her bed in the travel bag, partially annoyed at being deprived of further petting, but also to peer around curiously with her crossed blue eyes. Her whiskers twitch, and she sniffs at the air, occasionally grimacing at those odors she finds less than pleasing.

"Sounds like it's been getting worse then," Agatha sighs. "We're looking for another group of travelers that may have arrived recently. Two boys and a girl, heading West. Know of anybody like that?" she asks the child.

Hannah rummages around in one of Fiona's saddlebags, eventually coming up with a small leather travel cup. She then unslings her water skin and pours water from it into the cup. As she offers it to the girl, she smiles wanly over at Agatha, reading her thought in her expression. "I know we don't have much, but ... well, she's just a child," she says, as if that would explain everything.

Ahearn snorts, studying a man in black robes, who is watching them in turn, particular Hannah and her full water skin. The man tugs the hood of his robe lower over his face, taking a few casual steps in their direction.

Agatha smiles to Hannah. "I understand," she says, then checks to see what has Ahearn's attention. "I think we've attracted someone else."

The beggar gulps the water greedily, and seems to revive before Agatha and Hannah's eyes. "There were travelers yesterday, an' some today," she says. "We get lots of people in Caer Sidi! I think I saw some going..." She hands the cup back and rubs a dampened hand over her forehead, pushing back tousled hair to think.

As Hannah takes the cup back from the girl, she quirks an eyebrow in the direction Agatha is indicating, looking to see who it might be.

The black-robed man saunters towards them, muttering something under his breath. When he reaches Hannah, he holds out a hand to her, as if to shake. "Good afternoon, child." His voice has a dry, hoarse quality. "You are a generous soul, and a wealthy one, I see."

Gripping the hilt of her sword, Agatha says, "Not so wealthy as you might suppose. Would you mind showing us your face, stranger?"

Bragwaine slips deep into the travel bag, only her anxiously twitching tail protruding.

The beggar girl looks as if she were about to say something, but backs away from the black-robed man as he approaches, then runs into the crowd.

Hannah's eyes flicker between the hooded man and Agatha, as if to question the both of them as to what this is all about. Eventually, she replies to the stranger, albeit hesitantly. "Thank you for your kind words. Although I cannot claim to be as wealthy as you think, perhaps."

"Ah, rich in water, but your friend is not so in manners," the raspy voice answers, sounding amused. He reaches out to pat Hannah's cheek. "Welcome to Caer Sidi, dear child. Do not think your generosity has gone unnoticed." The black-robed man bows to her, then turns and starts away.

Hannah looks after the stranger as he leaves, confusion evident in her expression. She then turns to Agatha. "Well, that was different. Not that I'd trust whoever that was as far as I could throw a troll, but..."

"That guy creeps me out," Agatha says quietly to Hannah. "Better make sure he didn't do anything to your cheek."

Hannah reaches up to touch her cheek, then shakes her head. "No, I don't feel anything on it," she replies.

"Hey Bragwaine," Agatha calls to the hiding cat. "Have you been to this place before?"

A small grey fuzzy cat head pokes out of the saddlebag. "Hmm? Oh. Well ... perhaps long ago. It's not a very interesting place."

The crowd murmurs uneasily among itself, slowly regaining enough courage to approach the travelers again. The silence is made noticeable as the cries of the water-sellers ring forth again, and the little girl herself peers out at waist-height through the bazaar peddlers.

Agatha nudges Ahearn to start moving again, not wanting to stand still and risk getting stuck in the crowd. "Hannah, what do you think the chances are that Thomas came through here without being noticed? I mean ... without letting people know who he was?"

The big white stallion attracts other eyes in the crowd as he takes a few steps forward, but he doesn't advance much. He turns his head to watch Fiona and her rider, waiting for the Hannah to re-mount.

Hannah packs the cup and her water skin away and begins to swing back up into Fiona's saddle again, to ride after Agatha. She puts a foot in the stirrup of the mare's saddle, but cannot seem to get energy enough to re-mount. She shakes her head, as if to clear it, then tries again. This time she is successful, but it lacks her usual grace and ease. "I am not sure. I do not think he would have revealed himself, since he relies much on stealth, but one can never tell with Thomas."

"Are you feeling alright?" Agatha asks the other girl, noticing her pause in mounting. "Maybe we should find an inn or stable to rest at," she suggests, looking towards the city gate. "If they let us in, that is."

Ahearn snorts and ducks his head, after noting Hannah's trouble. I should have gone after that dark man, he says, directing a baleful look where the robed figure disappeared. I mislike him. He strides through the gates of the city.

Hannah frowns and grasps Fiona's reins with trembling hands. "No, actually, I don't. I feel rather weak and shaky, all of a sudden."

"Fine fabrics from the farthest lands!" one bold merchant cries out, only one voice among many. "Dyes of deepest blue, reddest crimson, shimmering gold!" Far less conspicuous is the old veiled beggar in his tattered rags, sliding up against the wall and taking up his crooked staff to lean against, even as a child rushes past him, to get a better look -- eyes wide with awe -- at the majesty of the Lord of Horses. Peddlers offer goods of various degrees of value, real or imagined.

"That creep did do something to you!" Agatha growls. "We'd better find you a doctor," she says, looking around for any sort of signs or guideposts.

Hannah passes a hand across her forehead. "Gah! I shouldn't have let him near me!" she chides herself. "Not one of my brighter moments, for sure." She nudges Fiona along, as well, but at a slightly slower pace.

Bragwaine sniff-sniff-sniffs at the air again. "Meow!" Without warning, she leaps from the saddlebag, lands lightly on velvet feet, and disappears amidst hawkers, gawkers and beggars.

"What the --" Agatha blurts as the cat runs off.

Hannah jerks her head around in the direction of the cat's sudden flight. "Hey!"

"Now Bragwaine's flown the coop!" Agatha complains. "Hannah, where would a doctor be in a town like this?"

Hannah shakes her head. "I wish I knew. I have heard some things about this outpost, but I have never been here before. Perhaps we could ask one of the merchants where a physician might be located?"

"Right," Agatha says, and dismounts from Ahearn. "Keep an eye on things, Ahearn," she asks the Knightsteed, and heads for the nearest reputable-looking merchant.

The Lord of the Horses stands stock-still. His nostrils flare, and inasmuch as a horse can frown, he frowns. He searches the crowd for a face. There, he says, pointing to a veiled beggar moving through the crowd.

"Cobra's oil, for all that ails you!" a hawker cries out -- one who was just a moment ago announcing the virtues of his stock of fine perfumes. Up against the wall, a small grey furry form rubs around the feet of the crooked, hunched-over beggar leaning on a crooked cane -- the one Ahearn indicated.

For her part, Hannah seems content to remain seated astride Fiona's back - although it looks as if she has sunk a little lower across her saddle than just a few minutes before.

Agatha pauses to look where Ahearn indicates, and spots Bragwaine. She forgets the merchants for the moment and heads towards the cat and her companion. "Excuse me," she calls ahead. "Do you know that cat?"

The crooked, rag-covered man's face is hidden by the shadows of his cowl and the obscuring veil. He leans heavily on his staff, for it seems that his legs are not wanting to stand as straight as they should. "As much as anyone might know a cat," he says, in a parched voice. "Your companion does not look well."

Bragwaine purrs and walks figure-eights around the crooked beggar's feet. She occasionally circles his cane as well, brushing up against it with such force as to threaten to topple the old man over if he isn't careful.

"I think this black-robed guy did something to her," Agatha says. "You wouldn't happen to know a doctor in this place, would you? And have we met before?" the girl asks, squinting at the man. "You wouldn't be named Pelles, would you?"

"I will not protest, if you should choose to call me by such a name," the old man croaks. "If a healer you seek, then let me show you the way to the wisewoman. You will find it much better there than here in the street."

"Great! Do you want to ride?" Agatha asks the old wizard, figuring he wouldn't be too fast on his feet. "I have to say, I pictured you being a bit ... younger."

Only briefly hinted in the shadows of his veil is a crack of a wry grin playing on his mouth. "And I might picture you a bit ... older. Come, and let us waste no more precious time. My crooked legs will get you there fast enough. It is in the standing and talking that peril lies." And putting action to his words, he shuffles in an awkward gait toward the gates, the milling crowd parting before him, though paying him no special heed, as if they were not even aware of their own courtesy.

Agatha whistles back towards Ahearn and Fiona, and waves for them to follow.

At the sound, Hannah lowers her water skin from which she was drinking - and by the looks of it, it seems that she has downed about half of its contents in a short time. After putting it back into its saddlebag, she urges Fiona forward again, following Agatha and the man headed towards the city's gates.

Ahearn follows at Agatha's gesture, though with a glance to Fiona and Hannah. Seeing the girl still safe on her mount's back, he advances, snorting.

"So, I don't suppose you saw Thomas come through here?" Agatha asks Pelles as she trots alongside him. "I found your magic mirror at Caer Bannuac," she relates.

"All in good time," the old man says, shuffling along with purpose. "Let us travel in silence, to a place with fewer ears."

"That's the politest way anybody's ever asked me to keep my mouth shut," Agatha says with a grin, and follows the rest of the way in silence.

Hannah's state worsens rapidly on the ride to the wisewoman. When the travelers reach the house, the girl barely manages to dismount of her own accord. The old woman comes out at their knock, takes one look at the dizzy, staggering faerie, and puts her directly to bed. Clucking her tongue, shaking her head and looking deeply disturbed, she has her manservant shoo Agatha and Pelles to an unoccupied parlor.

Oberia's Parlor
Adobe walls, fine silk hangings of colors that, protected from the sun, have not faded, oiled paper windows that turn the fading evening sunlight into vague panes of golden light, and plush upholstered couches covered with woven blankets -- these are a few of the things that meet the eye immediately. One comfortable chair is surrounded by scrolls and maps, and a scroll case shelf sits by it with row on row of holes filled with such correspondence; a brazier sits nearby to provide immediate heat and light in the bitterly dry cold of winter.

"That guy just touched her," Agatha murmurs to Pelles. "Could it be magic, or just something that affects the fey, like ... iron poisoning or something?"

The old man shifts in his chair. "I would do you a disservice to postulate too freely on the ways of those who wear black robes in Caer Sidi, but trust Oberia's judgement. In her hands, your friend has nothing to fear, and I say that with confidence. Let us tend to your more immediate concerns. Your friends are staying here in Caer Sidi. A raven told me so, and bid me to watch for you."

"We actually caught up to Tom?" Agatha says in hushed surprise. "He must be in some sort of trouble then, right?"

Pelles makes a raspy sound that might be a chuckle, or just trying to clear his throat. "He has an errand to perform. At the moment, he is not in the city, nor his friends, but he will return once he is finished, else there would be no point in you waiting here. He left instructions for Ryland of Avarre to stay and watch for you, and have you wait at Oberia's. Since one raven cannot keep watch over a whole town, he found me, and bid me to help him in his task. So here you are. If it will amuse you, I will tell you a story about this place."

Agatha leans back in her chair. "Well, a story couldn't hurt ... unless you're just trying to keep me from asking more questions, that is."

Without fielding that particular accusation, Pelles leans back in his chair, and begins. "Long ago, before it became green and prosperous and was named Annwn by settlers who came there, the land was known as Zin, the desert, and there was no water to be found at all within its borders. That changed when a tribe of refugees from a far away kingdom passed through.

"They had at one time had a mage with them who conjured water from a cauldron, but when the mage died, they despaired that they would die of thirst in this land. One among them, who spoke with the Lord, chastised them for their lack of faith, and told them that he would bring forth water by striking the rocks with his staff.

"And lo! When he had struck twice, waters gouted from that place, which they called Meribah, and the tribe rejoiced, for they could replenish their supplies and continue their travels across Zin to their promised new homeland. All, that is, save the man who had struck the rock, for him the Lord forbade to enter this land, because he had struck twice out of anger and not once out of faith."

"So he had to stay with the spring then?" Agatha asks from her chair. The story has a certain Sunday-School flavor to her ears.

Pelles only nods once to this, then continues, "In the years to come, Zin was slowly transformed into a forest by the miracle that had been wrought there, and new settlers came, who called it Annwn, the Land of Spirits. They fancied that where steam rose from the earth in places that its blood burned high, ghosts haunted it. Meribah they renamed Galon Annwn, and they built there tall columns and sentinel statues to mark its place, and they took their brides there to marry, and they buried their dead there by casting them off the falls. The stories of the refugees passed from memory, and soon there was no one left who remembered the desert of Zin, or the story of Meribah.

"A happy ending. A desert turned to lush forest. A paradise," Pelles says in a flat voice.

"Paradise lost, from what I've seen so far," Agatha notes.

"That is the trouble with happy endings. If you keep going, some new trouble comes along, and you no longer have a happy ending. But is that not the nature of a world?" Pelles continues. "No, as you see, it did not stay this way, and the Winter is not to blame for this land's troubles. A terrible curse has befallen it, for the wellsprings dried up, and the forest gave way to sand. The lush lands shrank away to an oasis here or there, and even those became less useful to the desert travelers.

"The people of Caer Sidi, who had settled here, were forced to leave their homes, or to survive on far more scant resources than before. Shrewd merchants brought with them water from across the desert, but charged high prices for their trouble.

"Then, along came some men in black robes, who claimed that they could deliver Caer Sidi from its perils, if only the Cauldron could be provided to them. This they would use, with some strange sort of alchemy, and provide water. The people relented, letting them use this ancient and venerated artifact, and they did indeed provide water -- for a price.

"At first, the price was not much. The merchants who charged exorbitant fees for water brought across the desert eventually learned that there was no profit to be had here. And once the last of them had given up on Caer Sidi ... the Guild of the Black Robes raised its prices, as they saw fit. And here we are today," Pelles concludes.

"Where did these Black Robes come from?" Agatha asks suspiciously. "I suppose Hannah was singled out by them for giving away her water, then."

"Ah, you can be sure of that. The Black Robes do not welcome competition," Pelles says. "They drove away the old water merchants through simple economics, but now that their power is strong, they are far less subtle. They are workers of magic, and just as surely as they can provide water, they can take it away. Their curses are potent enough that the people do not speak against them, and many are even fearful to leave Caer Sidi lest they invite the attention of the Black Robes. The people of Annwn are prisoners in their own homeland. As the power of the Black Robes has risen ... other powers of this region have waned."

Agatha's frown deepens. "Tom is involved in all this somehow, isn't he?" she asks. "He's going to try to steal the cauldron or something, right?"

"He is headed north to Galon Annwn," Pelles says, "with the idea that he might somehow alleviate the suffering of these people."

"And he has a plan for getting the water flowing once more?" the girl asks, leaning forward now.

A sharp rapping comes at the shuttered window, followed by a muffled, "Caw!"

"So it may be assum--" Pelles stops in mid-sentence, as he looks to the window. He starts to struggle to his feet, reaching for his cane.

Agatha nearly jumps. What is it about ravens? "I suppose that's Ryland?"

"Ask him twice, and he might tell you," Pelles says, still getting up.

"Yeah, but I have to ask him three times to get the truth, don't I?" Agatha asks.

With pained steps, Pelles finally makes it to the window, then pushes the shutters open. "What is it, now? I say, what is it?"

"Black robes, Lady Redmane," the crow says, breathless. "I saw them riding on the north road, when I made a sweep to look for you. The north road. That's where the Lord Explorer went."

"Crud and horseshoes!" Agatha curses, getting up. "How many, Ryland?"

"Ryland!" the crow caws, hopping from one foot to the next.

Agatha closes her eyes and counts to five, then asks, "How many Black Robes? How many Black Robes, Ryland?"

"Do not trouble yourself with numbers, young heroine," Pelles says. "Even one is enough, if they know where your friends have gone."

"Not if they don't get there," Agatha mutters. "I could catch them on Ahearn and slow them down at least. Are they mortal, or fey?"

"Three, my lady," the crow says, looking grateful. "You have no idea how frustrating it is when you people only ask the important questions once."

"Bragwaine!" Pelles roars, with uncharacteristic force.

At once, a small grey feline appears from the shadows, where it seems it would make a strange place for a cat to nap. "Yes, Master?"

Ryland starts at the shouted name, and flaps from the spot on the window sill over to higher ground, farther from the cat. He fixes one yellow eye on Bragwaine, rustling his wings.

"Warn the Lord of Horses that his young friend needs to travel swiftly," Pelles says, his voice more calm. "And look at me, not that raven, when I'm speaking to you!"

After getting her cloak back on, Agatha asks, "Pelles, we have one of your potions, the glowing red one that gives off some heat. Can you tell me what it does?"

The cross-eyed cat sulks. "As you wish, Master." She leaps away, and vanishes.

Pelles smirks, as he turns his attention back to Agatha. "My good friend, I cannot tell you that, but consider this carefully: What have you learned about this world and your own? I do you a favor by not settling all your questions with answers."

Agatha pauses to think about that. "Well, what we imagine in our world can come true in this one, sometimes. So ... you're saying that if I know the answer ahead of time, it wouldn't be as useful as it being the answer I think it should be?"

Pelles shakes his head at this. "Go now! Even the speed of the Lord of Horses may not deliver you to your friends if you delay further!"

A sharp neigh comes from outside the window, and the stamp of an urgent hoof.

"Thanks, Pelles," Agatha says, and gives the old man a quick peck on the cheek. "I'll do what I can!" she promises before dashing out of the door to meet Ahearn.

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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.