1221.etc - The Ties That Bind

Thought I'd start a (hopefully) series of threads wherein our magi, companions, favourite grogs can get in some role-play and interaction without hijacking one of the seasonal or sub-seasonal threads (with Jonathan's permission).

(This is inspired, in large part, by a tradition we had in the tabletop Ars campaign I was in years ago. Between sessions, we would often start a thread called (for example) "Meanwhile, back at the farm" where we would just rp stuff between our characters great and small. Oodles of fun, and let us develop our characters and their relationships quite a bit, as well.)

And yet another way for me to obsess :laughing:

A couple of days after the spring council meeting, a young, sturdy-looking woman knocks at Fieltarn's door. "This is from the maga Fiona," she tells him in Latin (with a very strong Scottish accent) and hands him a note and a stoppered ceramic bottle (about a liter).

[color=blue]Welcome to Mons Electi, sodalis, the note reads, [color=blue][i]It seems that you and I have dealt with similar obstacles in our lives. If you have no objection, I would like to discuss the matter and perhaps ways that we can not only overcome these obstacles but to help others in similar situations do likewise.

Please enjoy the welcoming gift.

Fiona, Daughter of Circe, ex Miscellanea[/i]

The script, while oversized, is quite legible and slightly elegant.

A few days after the Spring Council meeting, a young, sturdy-looking woman knocks at Jormungand's door. "This is from the maga Fiona," she tells him in Latin (with a very strong Scottish accent) and hands him a note and a stoppered ceramic bottle (about a liter).

[color=blue]When you are comfortably settled and can spare a few minutes of your time, the note reads, [color=blue][i]I would like to discuss a matter of some Hermetic interest to us both, in regards to an offer you made at the council meeting of Saturday last. Please send a message or come to my cottage at your pleasure.

Meanwhile, enjoy the libation that comes with this note. Please drink carefully, however – it is not wine

Fiona, Daughter of Circe, ex Miscellanea[/i]

The script, while oversized, is quite legible and slightly elegant.

At the end of August, a couple of weeks before the Autumn Equinox, Fiona sends a note to Apollodorus asking to see him regarding a possible opportunity for Ulrich (and, incidentally, herself).

OOC: It is possible that Fiona may not be back from Loch Leglean. Is the timing important?

Not vitally, but I was hoping to go to Valnastium with Ulrich for him to study Herbam and for me to study the plants at the botanical gardens there like Drystan suggested in his letter, and to find a Familiar as we had discussed.

Ahh. Well, Fiona's in the weeds right now. When she comes out she can think of that. Maybe she should write a letter...
OOC: By the way, this thread makes me think of Remo Williams (the Fred Ward movie).

Jormungand quickly calls back the woman and asks her to stay while he writes a response. He hastily scribbles,
How about tomorrow night? Let me help you relax and warm up. Although still amateurish in ability, I think my hands are just small enough to be able to rub out all the kinks and knots I'm sure have built up in your shoulders, back, calves, and thighs after all the stress and tiredness of being Princeps. We can discuss any Hermetic matters over a bottle of apple brandy, which I will bring so you can try my favorite libation - anything stronger than wine is best enjoyed with company. Come what may, come what will come.

Jormungand, Vor Si'r Freyja, ex Miscellanea.[/i]

His written script, although quite legible, misses all of the drawl, elegance, and slowness of his speech.

Fiona's messenger comes back to Fiona with a bemused expression. "His door was open... err, literally, but there was no one there. Well, just a servant who grumbled that Magus Fieltarn is "scouring the countryside" with her man, and a couple of other custos.

Fiona probably remembers then, that Fieltarn mentioned this during the last council. He even asked for one or two grogs and... was it money? At the time, as there was other things to discuss, so Fiona might not recall anyone comenting about it, but a word with the Autocrat or Alexei (since he's princeps this Spring) confirms that yes, Fieltarn went on with his endeavour of exploration - almost right after the council - but promised to try and come back at Mons Electi every fortnight or so.

It would seem that putting down roots doesn't come that easily to her ex-peregrinatores of a sodales, despite his claims of being releived at finally joining a covenant...

A bit more than two weeks later, the grogs come back. Without Fieltarn.
They report that they accompanied the magus to diverse rural communities nearby, but 3 days ago as the magus wanted to start exploring the less populated areas of the region, Fieltarn just told them to take the opportunity to go back and rest for a couple of days, while he stayed to converse with birds (quite the "chaty rumormongers", according to the magus himself) or other animals "of the more undomesticated kind" (they quote Fieltarn again, a bit perplexed at the unfamiliar word).

Finally, Fieltarn comes back. Almost a month after Fiona sent her invitation. As she goes to her garden, she finds him waiting a few paces from it. Sitting with a basket of fruits, ham, and a bottle that she recognizes easily...

He doesn't notice her at first, contemplating a hole in the earth... from which a mole's head hiss faintly, as if speaking to Fieltarn, just an instant before disapearing when Fiona's steps alert it.

"Ah, Fiona. Salvete!" Fieltarn lips are drawn into his usual half-sereine, half-roguish smile, as he looks at her towering figure. "I was just suggesting to this little neighbor that your garden might not be the paradise she and her family had thought it would be. I Thought that you - and her - might prefer to avoid any future... hide and seek games.

Anyway, I finally got your kind invitation, and while I've come back two days ago, I thought it more polite not to disturb you during your laboratory work. I figured you'd come to your garden soon enough, though. If only to breath some fresher air."

He rises and dust off his trousers nonchalantly, then pick up the basket full of appetizing smells.

Nonetheless, I'm more than interested by your proposition to discuss ways to facilitate... hmm, understanding and acceptance or ours and similarly other non-latin tradition was it? if I read your right, that is.

((ps, sorry, that was a bit long)).

I changed the name, since the goal of this thread is for characters (I imagine mostly magi) to interact with each other outside the council thread, and in a more intimate framework.

Fiona casts Preternatural Growth and Shrinking upon Mufarjj, using normal voice and gestures. He is now the size of a boy, albeit a boy with snowy-white hair, for Sun duration.

[color=blue]"You do have arms and armor to fit, yes?"

[OOC: moved post to this thread, seemed appropriate.]

Dark, but not black skin, white hair. Interesting :slight_smile:
"I don't wear armor. And I can still lift this sword." He lifts his falchion, which is nearly as large as he is.

(ooc - yes, Fiona has just invented the Drow)

[color=blue]"Good enough, then," Fiona says, still smiling. [color=blue]"Do try not to damage anyone too severely."

Mufarjj gives her a toothy grin and holds his thumb and forfinger a finger width apart, before leaving for the field.
"You have my thanks."

Fiona drops a little curtsey and watches Mufarjj leave, then follows to watch the shenanigans from a safe distance.

Fiona smiles to herself as she reads the note, then reaches for another scrap of parchment to pen her reply.

[color=blue][i]If you desire, I can have Moire (my maidservant, whom you met when she delivered these notes) prepare a dinner for us both to accompany your apple brandy. I look forward to seeing what your hands can do to relieve the stress that has accumulated over the years, almost as much as I anticipate our discussions. I believe it could be very fruitful and mutually beneficial.

Fiona, Daughter of Circe, ex Miscellanea

p.s. when you come, please use the door on the north side of the cottage[/i]

Said door does have a Sanctum marker on it.

Fiona answers Jormungand's knock herself, and invites him in.

[color=blue]"Welcome, Jormungand," Fiona says with a smile, [color=blue]"and make yourself comfortable. I hope you find everything to your liking."

The door opens into a simple foyer, with three doors (one on each wall). The only door open is the one to the left, which shows a dining room, with (for the most part) slightly oversized furniture. Two of the three chairs in the room, however, are normal-sized. The table is set for two, with dinner already laid out.

Fiona, rather than the white Hermetic robes that she wore at the Council meeting or the simple homespun gown she wears when working in the garden, is wearing something like this, except without the trim, the undergarment is white linen, and the outer gown is green wool

Fiona doesn't say anything at first, but merely watches as Fieltarn...converses? with the mole.

[color=blue]"Thank you for that, Fieltarn. I hope that he takes your advice to heart. It would certainly save me the trouble of having to brew something to keep animals out of my garden."

[color=blue]"I've been instructing young Ulrich some Magic Theory. He's certainly bright enough, but he can be easily distracted at times."

Fiona smiles. [color=blue]"Where, then, shall we enjoy our dinner and discuss ideas, sodalis?"

Once they make their way to someplace acceptable, Fiona will take a fruit. [color=blue]"I think it's safe to say, Fieltarn, that we both face obstacles unimaginable by the vast majority of the order. To wit: we're both monsters." She pauses to take a bite, chewing and swallowing before continuing. [color=blue]"Or at least, that's how people see us. It may be a little more obvious at first glance to paint me as such than you, but I don't think you will disagree. We not only must overcome the stigma of being a 'lowly' ex Misc, but people see me and they see a giant. They see you, and they see a werewolf. And that is, all too often, all they see, and do not take the time to see the gold that glistens beneath the dross. I had the fortune of being raised in a Tribunal that is predominantly ex Miscellanea, but I've heard enough to know that this is not the case in most other Tribunals.

"As for myself, I have no problem with my House not being given its 'proper due' as long as my Tradition isn't slighted. However, I would much prefer not to be insulted or maligned by my 'sodales' in the Order because of what I am.

What do you think?" She reaches for a piece of ham and eats slowly as she waits for Fieltarn's response.

No it wasn't :stuck_out_tongue:

"Mmm, everything Ah see is already to mah liking," Jormungand purrs. He has a fluffy towel thrown over one shoulder, carrying the ever ubiquitous brown clay jug in one hand and in the other is a much smaller vase of delicate china stoppered with a glass top. Without hesitation, he quickly steps over the sanctum threshold and leans his face up for the "faire la bise" (cheek kiss in greeting). "Ah can't wait to see what else is in store."

Jormungand bends over and gently lays down the towel and the smaller bottle beside the door, and then playfully skips into the dining area, where he immediately moves towards the over-sized chair and pulls it out for the giantess.

Although not incredibly different from his robe, Jormungand is wearing this style of classic Norse tunic without the bottom trim, and longer yellow embroidery that lays a v path from his chest, framing his stomach and coming together into a point right at the center of the waistline. The tunic flare falls around his knees, and he's wearing no pants.

[color=blue]"Neither can I," she replies as she returns the faire la bise. The foyer is very spartan, with no decorations and simply a couple of pegs on the wall on which to hang cloaks, and a chair.

Fiona glances down at the towel, and wonders if it will be big enough for what she thinks its intended purpose is. She then smiles as she watches him skip into the dining room, and follows him.

[color=blue]"Thank you," she says as she sits down and straightens her dress, seeming surprisingly lady-like for someone her size. The two "normal" sized chairs face each other across the table, and the dinner is a plate of deviled eggs and a platter of sliced roast mutton, fairly well prepared (Moire's Cooking roll was Dex 1 + Cooking 3 + die roll of 6 = 10).

Fiona can't resist the temptation to take in the view as Jormungand moves around the table, her eyes flicking quickly to where the deep v is pointing then back up again.

[color=blue]"I appreciate your coming this evening, Jormungand."

As he takes a seat in one of the normal chairs, he scoots it in just an inch more to the side Fiona is sitting on. He wafts the smells a bit towards him and grins. "Well now, well well. Ah expected ta wait 'til after the meal, but Ah do feel the mutton smells wonderfully prepared, just Ah the think the sweet tartness Ah've brought would match it very well." He uncaps the jug of applejack brandy and will pour some into an empty sifter for Fiona, if she accepts. He'll then pour himself a sifter also.

Sadly, Jormungand's too oblivious to notice the assessment otherwise he'd play it up more. "Thank ye for inviting me. And Ah expect ta very much enjoy this evening to the fullest. But however much Ah hope to entertain, mah recollection of the note reminds me that there was some Hermetic consideration to discuss as well? Ah like to get business out of the way so we can get to the celebrating part." He seems to start reaching for a deviled egg, and then abruptly yanks his hand back as if slapped. Quickly glancing for any religious paraphenalia, and seeing none, he grins up at her. "Freyja's blessings and stamina be upon us tonight, Ah've been rude. Do you feel the need to say Grace, tonight?"

Once the meal continues he'll pop a devilled egg into his mouth and probably give a very light and unconcious moan. If Fiona seems to enjoy one (or several) deviled eggs also, he'll eventually try to hand her one/capitalize on the opportunity to try and feed her one.