Chapter 17 where the chapterhouse is established

Play by Post Campaigns Ars Magica: Wake of the Schism
103

Thom watches Rootswayne with a glimmer of amusement in his eyes, arms folded, head tilted as though admiring a piece of traveling theater. [Faerie Lore: 9, will use confidence pt if needed to get value info.]

"Rootswayne! That’s a name with bark on it," he says, grinning. "Well met. I’ve known courtiers of the moonlight and whispering lords of reeds, but none who could balance bottles with such flair."

Thom steps just shy of the circle’s edge, the flicker of its magic brushing his boots.

"I spent a season advising the Day Queen of Coniston Water—lovely woman, fond of lilies and inconvenient riddles. She always said that in unfamiliar lands, the wise begin with introductions and the very wise begin with apologies."

Thom spreads his hands lightly.

"So here we are: guests in a forest that’s not ours, eager to be very wise indeed. We’ve heard whispers of Lady Glastig, and we’d like to show our respects before we offend her by accident. Any hints you could offer on how not to be eaten would be most appreciated."

Thom smiles, bright and earnest as a spring breeze.

"And I wouldn’t say no to a sip of your mystery wine, if it doesn’t bite back with a bargain of its own."

104

The stranger has the looks of a satyr or faun, for everyone who makes faerie lore+Int 6+. They are mysterious creatures of the forest. At 9+ you have heard stories about people being abducted by satyrs and fauns, but also pleasant parties with good wine provided by the fauns. At 12+ you can look up fauns in RoP:F if you want to, and look at the stereotypical one, which may or may not precisely fit this individual.

He shrugs at the mention at the mention of the Day Queen and hands the uncorked bottle to Thom. «Here! Have a sip,» says he and uncorks the other bottle as soon as he has the hands free. «It is just wine, which makes its usual bargain of pleasure and relief to body and soul.»

«You should not mention the Lady. She rules the forest. Thankful of any offerings, she does not care to meet anyone.»

105

Thom watches the offered bottle with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

"Ah, Rootswayne, you tempt me. A gift of wine in the woods—so very traditional. I’ve seen that bargain poured out under starlight and spilled over stones alike."

Thom gestures airily toward the still-glowing line of the circle.

"But you’ll forgive me if I keep to my chalk for now. I’ve only just washed the goat off my last cloak, and I’d hate to get myself spirited away before breakfast."

Thom crouches lightly just behind the ward, his tone easing into the rhythm of a courtly storyteller.

"Still, you bring a bottle, and a name, and I do thank you for that. What you haven’t brought, though, is peace. We’ve lost goats, you see—gone without a trace. And one of our nisse, a friend of mine, is so shaken he barely whispers in daylight."

Thom leans in slightly, still smiling, but now there’s a quieter intensity behind his words.

"So I have to ask: are you her herald, Rootswayne? The hand that knocks, or the voice that warns? If the Lady rules this forest, and we now live here under its boughs, then surely we’re neighbors of a sort."

Thom spreads his hands in a gentle, theatrical shrug.

"We’d rather make the right offerings and keep good fences than build up wards and go sour. But to do that, we need someone who speaks the Lady’s will—or at least passes a message through the moss and shadows."

A pause.

"You seem like someone who knows the paths. So… what do you say? Is there a gentler way through this than goats vanishing in the night?"

106

Her little finger in her goblet confirms that is just wine, stronger, but wine. Letting Thom discusses with the fae, Sionag whispers to know what kind of fruits is used on the wine.

[Probe Nature's Hidden Lore on the wine, whispering and without movement, InVi 13-5 (for whispering) -5 (for no movement) + stress die (5). It's good]

107

It is cider from apple and pear - blended from what may be any number of different crops.

108

Turold will approach with a cup in hand: "Gladly. I'm Turold!"

109

Thom offers a caution to the others.

"Be careful with the wine. We're on business and now is not the time for revels."

110

Ruedi will abstain from the faerie wine. he's had enough with the nymph that captured him for a year, and he had no desire to repeat that.

111

Rootswayne passes the bottle to the grogs who receive it eagerly, and uncorks the others to pour for you. The wine is more potent than tasty, but not at all bad. Clearly blended with nondescript taste, but easy on the toungue.

«I am afraid not. The Lady is fond of the goats and the sheep and the cattle, and we had all better keep on her good side, » says Rootswayne seriously, and raises his goblet with smile. «Cheers.»

The grogs down their first goblet quickly and pour again. The bottle is a big one.

112

Thom watches the grogs drink, smiling faintly, but his own hands stay tucked neatly behind his back. His blue eyes remain fixed on Rootswayne, reading him with a practiced, patient amusement.

When the faun raises his goblet with a grin and a “Cheers,” Thom gives a soft chuckle.

"Cheers indeed," he murmurs—but he doesn't cross the line.

Thom leans slightly forward, the lamplight catching in his hair like spun gold, his tone dropping into something lighter, more lyrical—the voice of a man used to speaking among faerie courts.

"If the Lady is fond of the goats and sheep, perhaps there’s a way to satisfy her fondness without losing our herds one by one."

"What if we set aside a tribute each year? A proper gift—a sheep and a goat—delivered with respect and joy, not stolen under sorrow."

Thom’s smile turns a touch wry.

"And in turn, the Lady allows the rest of the herd to thrive under her watchful eye, and grants us the grace to gather what magic the land offers—harvesting what grows naturally, without greed or ruin."

His voice softens, gaining a lilt as if telling a tale by firelight.

"And perhaps... we can go a step further. Protect the forest from those who would mar it. Speak her name beyond the shade of these trees, weaving her story into the songs and sagas carried on the river winds and the voices of men."

Thom cants his head to one side, playful but serious beneath the lightness.

"An honest pact: tribute, protection, remembrance—for peace and prosperity both."

He lets the offer hang in the misty air between them, his expression open, bright, and full of curious hope, as if he’s proposing a festival rather than a treaty.

"What do you think, Rootswayne? Would your Lady find such an arrangement to her liking?"

113

Ruedi is staying within the protective circle, wathcing not just the faerie creature, but also the surroundings, staying alert, in case something else tries to sneak up on them.

While still feeling creeped out by Thom, he does notice that the Magus is quite a talker, and quite wise, and that makes him respect him, a little bit.

114

Thom looks over at Rootswayne. "Well?"

115

Thom, watching the wine swirl and the silence stretch, gives a theatrical sigh and plants his hands on his hips with mock indignation.

"No answer yet? Well, clearly I must sweeten the deal—with verse, since wine alone seems insufficient."

The six-fingered magus straightens, adopts the air of a troubadour, and raises an imaginary goblet.

"To your health, Rootswayne, and to wine that forgets your name before you’ve finished drinking it!"

With a flourish, Thom begins:

A faun once lost in the vines
Drank deeply of three different wines.
He kissed a green tree,
Then tried wooing a bee,
And woke up entangled in pines.

Thom chortles as he gives a half-bow to the grogs, and then rolls smoothly into a second verse:

A brewer once based in old Ripon
Brewed wine strong enough for a griffon.
It once made a nun
Think a sheep was the sun—
And she married a goat in her sleepin'.

Thom finishes with a graceful shrug and a grin that borders on conspiratorial.

"Now, I admit negotiations are best handled sober—but I’ve found a limerick or two rarely hurts the odds. So what do you say, dear Rootswayne? Shall we talk terms? Tribute in peace for the protection of her forest, and no more goats gone missing in the mist?"

116

Thom flashes a grin, clearly enjoying himself now.

"And in honor of such fine purveyor of this vintage, allow me to toast our host properly—with verse, of course. To Rootswayne!"

Thom lifts a six-fingered hand theatrically and begins:

In a glade where the vines intertwine,
Lives a faun with a flair for fine wine.
With a wink and a twirl,
He’ll ferment in a whirl,
FOr each bottle's a taste so divine!

He pauses just a beat beore then lowering his voice slightly, eyes twinkling with mischief.

Rootswayne once romped after a lass,
Who tripped and fell flat on ... the grass.
He bowed with a leer,
Then said, “Let’s be clear—
I’ve uncorked more than just this fine glass!”

Thom gives a sweeping bow and a wink toward the faun.

"Now—shall we get back to the question of peace and goats, or must I keep rhyming until dawn?"

117

«A toast to the great poet!» cheers the faun loudly, and all the grogs down their cups, and their bottle is soon empty. The faun promptly gives them the other bottle, which looks as full as if the magi had nothing to drink. Then he takes the supposedly empty bottle and offers the magi another round from it. Evidently, it is no longer empty.

«I am so pleased to make your acquaintance,» says the faun. «Let's not ruin the moment by talking about the Queen. Should I refill your cups? Why? You are hardly drinking at all.» He eyes Thom suspiciously, and hands another cup to Cath'rinne. «You should take some to your friend,» he says, pointing at Ruedi.

Suddenly he stops to ponder. «Maybe I could save some of the livestock. A few animals for the Queen would be needed, but maybe, if you had a barrel of your wine for me, I could ... we could pretend that that's all the animals.»

118

Thom taps a finger to his lips, eyes dancing with mischief, then begins to speak in singsong rhyme—half toast, half spell, wholly Thom.

"One gift for the Queen—goat, sheep, or a steer,
To show her the settlers bring tribute sincere.
But two gifts we offer, and not just for show—
A barrel of honeyed delight for your woe."

The Merinita grins, bowing slightly toward Rootswayne.

"You ask us for double? Then let us agree,
A double return is what's fair, dont you see?
One gift for the Lady, and one for your cheer—
And we ask for a right, in the turning of year..."

Thom's tone turns just a touch more serious, but never heavy.

"To gather what lingers where moonlight has kissed,
The flowers that shimmer, the stones wrapped in mist.
Not herds, not her trees, nor the hearts of her kin—
But whispers of magic the forest lets in."

Then, with a wink and a tilt of the head:

"Seems fair, doesn't it? Two gifts for two gains—
The herds stay asleep when the moonlight wanes."

119

Cath'rinne is perched in vulture form, observing from a distance away from the camp, somewhat entertained by Thom, somewhat wondering what he's trying to achieve, and somewhat thinking about alternative ways to deal with the court if the end result is unsatisfying. She's not quite clear why dealing with faeries is done in rhymes, and it sounds like a good reason to leave that to Thom. Either way, she's not partaking of the wine or attracting attention to her.

Turold is partaking of the wine without a worry in the world, not even bothered by the self-refilling bottle. He is clapping his hands to the beat of Thom's rhyming, cheering him on. He's not drunk yet, assuming mundane alcohol, but is headed in that direction. He's almost the perfect crowd for Thom, assuming the latter relaxed his worry about alcohol consumption.

120

The grogs listen, increasingly blank in their eyes, and have another glass. The faerie claps his hands. «Well spoken, master Thom,» he cheers. «Well spoken indeed. Here, you need another glass.»

Rootswayne does not seem to care much about either rhyme or livestock. His attention seems devoted to getting everybody drunk, but persistent as Thom is, he gets Rootswayne to make small allowances, bit by bit. «Even as the tall folk whine, always so good is their wine; peace with Rootswayne they may well buy; the Queen will have her own way ...» Rootswayne stops abrubtly as he stumbles in the rhyme. «You know what I mean. Here. Cheers.» He hands another glass to Thom.

Did Thom keep drinking? Carouse roll? Temperance personality roll?

If I read the rhyme right, the objective is to get a deal where the covenant pays a goat and a barrel of wine in order to have the farmstead in peace and be allowed to harvest vis in the woods. A blanket permit would be EF in the 20s, A roll is required, Com + minimum of bargain and faerie lore; 6+ for a basic deal with Rootswayne, 9+ for marginal assistance in relation to the Queen, and at least 15+ for any kind of explicit defiance of the Queen. And the carouse/personality roll is needed to remember and understand the deal in the morning ...

121

Thom continues to abstain from drinking Rootswayne's wine, his general experience with Faerie deep enough to understand the risks of imbibing while also understanding what "coin" and power is given to Rootswayne by allowing the grogs and Turold to drink. Thom is all business in trying to strike a bargain that can protect the herds and the budding growth of the covenant.

[The Bargain: Thom is offering a bargain. From Thom (and the Oak Circle), the offer is a tribute in the spring of two things: a cask/barrel of mead or wine and a firstling of the herd or flock. Firstling being one of the young lambs or goats that is either born or reaching its first year that spring. From Rootswayne: Protection of the flock from The Glastig's predations (stealing the herd and harming the Nisse) and freedom to hunt and harvest vis in her forest.]

[The Roll: Com 1 + Bargain 1 Roll: 11 +1 for Bargain Specialty "Hard Sell"]

[Confidence Point: Thom would burn a confidence point to try to get this to the 15 if you'll consider this a "hard sell" moment and allow the use of the Bargain specialty. The goal of this bargain is to find a way to strike a deal that protects the herd and sets up future engagement with the Glastig's court. I'm also wondering why Pre isn't used in this situation. Thom's Pre 3 is as high as his Int, also 3, but hardly ever seems to have any impact. :slight_smile: Either way, 11 + 1 + 3 = 15]

[Note: Unless Thom changes his mind, this scene may be the catalyst to Thom trying to find some way to be useful to the covenant and chapterhouse with an intention to become something of a magical faerie beekeeper... at least as a hobby. We'll see where it goes. Thom thinks that developing a bit of an economy around mead and candles might be helpful.]

122

Sionag continues to listens, letting Thom leads the bargain. The wine is strong and she doesn't want take the risk to loose something in the vapor of alcohol. In a whispers, she casts a spell on her to staying sober and continues to drink, like a good guest.

[Muto Corpus, base 3 -gain the ability to resist alcohol-, +2 sun, total 5. Roll 11+0, not a botch.]