What price?

Night’s Edge Courtyard


 * Eight centuries ago, the Church of True Light sent its carpenters and architects into the wilderness southeast of the Old City, now known as the Shadow District, to build a monastic facility for the scholarly eunuchs of the  church to ponder their faith and expand the influence of the church to new  frontiers.


 * Thammod Greengrass, a carpenter descended from servants indentured to House Lomasa, designed and supervised construction of the Night's Edge  Monastery. A five-foot-high outwall of sun clay bricks surrounds the acreage  of the grounds.


 * At the heart of it all is a roughly rectangular monastery building that, in the past several decades, has been acquired by House Mikin with the  blessing of Church patrons and refurbished as a keep. The main monastery  features a spacious courtyard, visible through a large archway to the north,  and a tower that rises above the northern side of the courtyard.


 * A dusty shardwood structure - the recently refurbished original stables - is to the southwest of the main building. To the northeast, unrestored  structures from the old compound continue to molder in disrepair. South, a  trail winds out of the keep toward Mikin Road and Mikin Wood.

''It is a quite cold evening as the sun sets beyond the horizon to the west. The air is stagnant, not stirring with the slightest breeze. The sky is filled by dark, low clouds. The following of the six moons are visible in the sky: Dayhunter (crimson/waning), Torch I (gray/waxing), Torch II (gray/waxing). ''

Taran is standing near the horses; his Lute's across his back, and he's leaning forward on a steel quarterstaff, watching the area.

The setting suns casting the lengthening of shadows as one of these very shadows seem to emerge from the large, white archway, Celeste returning from her earlier wanderings as she begins to move towards the stables. The gloves missing from the woman's hand, showing the wearied flesh of a laborer than that of the noblewoman

Meian comes trudging up with a rather cheerful expression, despite the fact she's rather dirty and smells like mildly unpleasant things. "G-good e-evening," she greets the two with an effervescent smile and a wave.

Taran nods to Meian, asking, "What have you been up to? Not practicing with your liltrum, it seems." One hand lets go the steel rod to wave to Celeste. "Light shine, my lady. Master Wolfsbane is just looking about for your guest; I offered to watch the horses."

Celeste sighs heavily, looking back at the large building before looking back to the pair of bards. "That is good," she replies softly...moving to join the bard. "Light's Greetings to you both, I hope that the evening finds you well."

Meian walks slowly towards the keep from her place just off the road, dirt streaking her face, hands and exposed skin. She replies to Taran in a slightly abashed voice, "L-looking f-for somewhere that m-might be g-good to grow f-food... I th-thought if I'm h-here I might as w-well try to h-help with that too..." She pauses to curtsey to Celeste and murmur "Light's greetings, m-my lady."

Taran blinks, then nods. "Though...you will also need a farmer, to do the growing. Were you volunteering for that as well?" he asks Meian. He's by the horses, leaning against what seems to be a new quarterstaff. To Celeste, he nods. "He mentioned that your guest had returned. Master Greidan suspected it to be master Firelight."

"Shall you be cooking as well, Meian," Celeste inquires, smiling. "I could possibly burn us a bit of rabbit, though, I've not cooked since my days with the caravans." Shaking her head at hearing Taran's words, mumbling some near quiet curse....possibly -Shades- that she's so fond of. "He will be the first that I must teach, it would seem. He was raised to believe that the Shadow is ghouls and ghasts. I am sure that his assumption is from the display that Master Firelight showed last night."

Meian asserts hotly, "I'm s-sure it w-wasn't K-kael. He's not like th-that, even if o-others are. G-griedan is just a-afraid of all of t-them and d-doesn't know K-Kael is different." She pauses for a moment and clears her throat, flushing slightly. "..y-yes, I can d-do the f-farming and the c-cooking both," she murmurs.

"The school of 'everyone knows' is convincing but unreliable," the bard replies, amused. "When I pointed out to him that 'everyone knows' the 'Touched don't like the scent of orchids, but this one seemed quite all right with it..." he shrugs. "We teach as we may, my lady."

Celeste blinks....yes, clearly confused now. "Who said that orchids were unloved by the Touch?" Again the heavy sigh, her steps crunching against the dirt and gravel as she joins the others near the stable. Her hand waving to the quarterstaff. "Have we taken to defending as well, Master Taran?"

Meian tilts her head a little. "T-they wouldn't l-like orchids b-because they're the f-flowers of L-Light?"

"Something like that," Taran replies, amused. "Truly I am amazed at how many people of my acquaintance know so little folklore." He pats the steel staff. "I have run into the need to defend myself on occasion; I commissioned a staff for myself. Today, I went to retrieve it."

"Taran....what's happening?" The concern for the man, causing the Mikin to forget the proper address as she reaches to place her hand to the bard's forearm.

Meian frowns faintly, worriedly, turning her gaze to Taran and quietly awaiting his answer herself.

Taran considers this. "Has master Wolfsbane discussed with you the matter of how I came to return his bow to him?"

"No, Master Taran," remembering herself...the Mikin drops her hand to fall to her side again. Tired, worn hands of a laborer...that she uses to brush back her hair from her eyes. "We only spoke of the one who gave him the bow in the beginning. I find that, at times, he will speak to me of matters when the time and mind is ready."

Meian bites her lip thoughtfully, and then wanders in the direction of the archway, slinking along in an attempt to discreetly remove herself from the conversation.

Taran mulls this over for a few minutes. "...There is a Cult of the Dragon already in Fastheld," he says at last, rather quietly. "But not your white dragon. And not particularly friendly."

"....I know," says Celeste quietly. Her eyes glancing towards Meian at the woman's slow retreat. "You are not interrupting, dear. So, you may wish to stay and listen...as this /Cult/ may have trouble with some of the renovations I am planning."

Meian seems to have stopped pretty much at the mention of the Cult, but at Celeste's words her gaze slowly swivels back to regard the two, wide-eyed. "I-I've h-heard so little of this," she whispers softly. "So th-that's why s-someone w-watching might be a pr-problem.."

"Ah, Meian," sighs Taran. "A man who hides without coming forward has a reason. But what that reason is, may be anything; wisest not to assume." He nods to Celeste. "I was answering my lady's question; I have encountered that cult, and I think it an absolute sacrilege to use my precious Lute as a blunt instrument when I can have a perfectly serviceable staff made for myself that I will not spend a lifetime mourning should it break on some fool's skull."

"Such would be a travesty, but how is that this Cult wants to hurt you, Master Taran. They will perhaps not understand the visage of the White Dragon being nothing more than a symbol to the Light...like that of the starburst or markings to my armors. As to our midnight guest," Celeste sighs shaking her head.

"That....that concerns me. There are many I have told of my intentions to build a chapel, and make a home. But not the location or even fewer of the expectations. Part of me wishes that it was only the wind we heard that night....but no better than to play the fool." The Mikin waves for Meian to join them again. "Do you think this Cult will seek you here, Master Taran? You are always welcome here, I once told you that."

Meian makes her way back over quickly, brow furrowing as she adds on to Celeste's questions, "And a-are these th-the ones y-you told me a-about who a-attacked you w-with Shadow?

Taran frowns. "Do you *know* that this White Dragon does not exist, my lady?" he asks carefully. "Red dragons, blue dragons, black dragons... do you *know* that there is no white dragon?" To Meian, he nods. "The same."

"The white Dragon is a symbol to my friend of the Light, nothing more. We all need symbols, Master Taran. Is not the Mark in its own right nothing more than a symbol," Celeste smiles over at the bard. Her hand reaching out to pat his arm. "You are speaking to a woman who has *seen* drakes," she chides gently.

Meian murmurs, "So th-then it m-makes s-sense that the visitor m-might be one of t-them..." She frowns once more, rubbing the back of her neck. "I d-don't think you can ever be -sure a-anything doesn't e-exist, can you? Y-you can be s-sure it d-does, but a-anything could be h-hiding out t-there."

"And I have not," Taran agrees. "But though I have not seen the red dragon or the blue, I do not doubt they exist. I see no reason that the white dragon may not also exist, somewhere."

"Perhaps in the hearts of the Syladris," supplies the Mikin calmly. "But you said that they attacked you with shadow, Master Taran. Will you deprive me of this story?"

Meian nods her agreement with Celeste, adding quietly, "It w-would be n-nice to hear in c-case they c-come here, wouldn't it." She's standing with the other two, dirt-smudged and smelling faintly unpleasant.

"If a mage attacks with his power, my lady, hit him - it need not be a crushing blow, but aim to distract him, addle him." The bard's advice is firm. "If he cannot focus, he cannot attack you with his power. And without his power to protect him, you have a much greater chance of victory." He pats his staff. "This is all I need, I think."

"There may be a few people who take an interest, good or ill, in this place," confesses Celeste to the young woman. "So you believe they will come here as well, Master Taran? I will see that al who come here and believe in the peace and tranquility will be armed to protect themselves. But yes, addling a mage can keep him from you...such was done to restrain before lessening them." Celeste looks away, actually stepping away from the bard to approach the horses...perhaps a means to hide the color reaching her cheeks.

Meian nods slowly, glancing downward with a thoughtful frown. She murmurs, "They'd w-want to r-ruin this b-before it got a-anywhere?"

"...*Some* mages are...not sane," Taran says carefully. "As some untainted are not sane. It is simply more dangerous an affliction in a mage. Do I think they will try to destroy your work, Lady? Possibly. But frankly you stand in just as much if not greater danger from the Church."

"...I know," mumbles the Mikin. Her attention seemingly to the highmount she caresses. "But some ideals are worth fighting for, Taran....even dying for."

Meian sighs heavily, shaking her head. She keeps looking down at the ground, a disspirited frown finding its way onto her face.

Taran turns his attention to Meian. "You do not agree?" he asks, inviting comment.

Celeste glances back towards Meian, realizing perhaps that the words were not remaining to her thoughts. "I'm sorry, Meian. I do not intend in putting others in danger, and if that seems to be the case I will pay for a room in Silkfield for you."

The distinct sound of glass clinking against stone can be heard in the direction of the fountain, and a black glass bottle seems to be perched there all of a sudden with a twist of parchment around its neck.

Meian bites her lip thoughtfully before directing a reply somewhere between Celeste and Taran. "...B-before I m-met Kael, I n-never would have e-even thought a p-place like this c-could exist. N-now, I really d-don't know. B-but I d-do believe things can be w-worth d-dying for, and even if i-it's dangerous... I w-want to see w-what this p-place-" She stops abruptly, turning towards the sound with a startled gasp.

Returning from his jaunt in the woods, and looking mildly frustrated about something or another, Vhramis trudges slowly back towards the entrance to the old monastary.

Taran has also turned at the sound of the bottle, frowning at it. "...Were you celebrating earlier, my lady?" he asks carefully.

Celeste starts at the bard's question. "No...no I wasn't" mumbles the Mikin. Taking a few steps back to the small grouping, the mare forgotten for the moment. "Why do you ask, Master Taran?"

Meian points wordlessly at the bottle, backing up an unsure step. Her extended arm trembles.

Vhramis regards all those assembled as he approaches, though he mostly has an eye on their backs. He doesn't speak for the moment, instead pausing behind the group to watch.

Taran - keeping one hand firmly on his staff - walks over to the bottle. "...Because I don't recall this being about before?" he asks, bending to peer at it - looking for signs of age or damage, and looking it over in general.

Celeste steps closer, looking down at the bottle as well. "No, it wasn't here when I came back with the horses...and I believe master Griedan has gone to bed. So I do not believe he would have brought it." She glances about the darkening area "Perhaps, Master Firelight...." Celeste sounding completely unconvinced. The woman takes a deep breath, reaching for the bottle..might as well see if it explodes like taverns.

Meian shakes herself, creeping up to join the others slowly and hovering behind them. She offers in a quiet voice, "It d-definitely w-wasn't h-here when I came up... d-do you th-think they were l-listening to u-us.. talk a-about them?"

"..someone has a sense of humor?" asks Wolfsbane as he regards the goingons blankly, glancing from one to the other. "And I've been running around the woods looking for signs, when apparently they've been here the whole time."

Taran removes a piece of parchment from the bottle's neck, reading carefully. "...A peace offering," he recites aloud, and then holds out the bottle to Celeste. "511 vintage, my lady. It is either poison or it is not; either way, the offering is yours. Myself, I rarely drink." Dryly, he adds, "I hate the headaches it gives me."

Celeste looks towards the bottle and then to Taran. "Peace offering....from who?" The Mikin looks over towards the ranger quickly, a look of uncertainty returning to her features as she holds out her hand for the bottle. "Amusingly, I /do/ try," states Celeste warily. "But why leave it and run away. Would it not be better to show their face so to know they are truly not a threat."

"There was conflict to make peace over?" asks the ranger at that, rubbing at his chin with his palm as he eyes the bottle. A suspicious expression crosses his face and he shakes his head slightly to Celeste.

Meian ventures softly, "P-p-perhaps they t-think it'd be h-hard for us to b-believe that they m-mean p-peace. E-either that, or... m-maybe it's p-poison." She grimaces, adding, "Y-you shouldn't d-drink it, m-my lady.."

Taran laughs. "Mages are nothing if not eccentric," he says. "I suspect if it is not poison, it is an apology for not coming out into the open - since if the fellow's still about he can tell very easily that his comings and goings have upset people." He tilts his head. "And if it is poisoned, well. That in itself is a message, is it not? As is whether you will trust this offer. I do not doubt you are watched, my lady."

"I guess such is proven now," mumbles the Mikin...a hint of sadness creeping into the woman's voice. "Perhaps if it is truly for peace, they will find their way into the chapel when it the time is right." She glances towards the bard, a sad, but wry smile to her lips. "At least, it was not one of these Cultist you mentioned, Master Taran."

Meian glances around the area, frowning thoughtfully. She muses out loud, "W-would be u-useful to h-have s-something to try it o-out on, see if it's s-safe..."

"It's basic sense," states Vhramis at that, glancing about again, speaking louder. "While I'm sure it's offered in good spirit, I still wouldn't drink someone found lying about, without seeing who it's from. He or she shouldn't take it as an insult if you don't partake in it, but know that his offer is appreciated." Diplomacy over, he shrugs a bit and moves past the group to find a comfortable rock to sit on.

Taran is still watching Celeste, with a steady, understanding gaze. "My lady, you are being tested. Are you willing to take a leap of faith for the sake of building bridges? Are you so naieve that you will believe a mere slip of paper scribed by unknown hands?" He shrugs. "You will not know which question is being asked until you test that bottle. How important is the answer to you?"

Celeste glances towards Taran, hefting the bottle in her hands. "When does the trust start," replies the Mikin softly..whether to those gathered to about or to strengthen her resolve. Glancing towards the ranger and then back to the bard. "If the intent was to kill me, they could have done so while I slept." With that, she opens the bottle, taking a small sip of the wine.

Vhramis crosses his arms, watching the woman drink from the bottle with tilted head. His face is markedly neutral as he observes from his seat, though his eyes echo a hint of worry.

Meian asserts softly, folding her arms over her chest with a frown, "N-no one wh-who's actually w-worthy of t-trust sh-should ask for i-it in such a w-way."

Taran shrugs. "Even mages can fear," he says. "As the Lady says...there is not much cause to believe it poisoned. If nothing else it would be a terrible waste of an ancient vintage. But all things begin at nothing. Someone must always be first."

Celeste actually coughs as she takes the drink, her hand rising to her lips Color flushing her cheeks as she looks to each in turn. "It's a bit dry, but I do not feel any ill effects, Master Taran." She hands the bottle towards Meian. "Would you like to taste as well, dear?" A quick glance over her shoulder towards the ranger, "and you as well Vhramis?" And finally to the bard, "and you..Master Taran?"

Wolfsbane exhales softly a sigh of relief, before glancing about in some embarrassment after realizing he did it. "..ah..I'd be glad to share in it," he nods his head, rising from his seat and stepping forward to wait his turn.

Meian inhales softly, murmuring, "It c-could be s-slow acting..." Her shoulders slump after a moment, and she rubs at her dirty face, only making it worse. "...I w-would be h-honored, my l-lady." With the slightly less dirty hand, she reaches for the proferred bottle to drink.

Taran sighs. "Really, I do not like to drink much...sacrilege though it may be, I think I will warm my share first; warmed wine is less intoxicating."

Celeste passes the bottle around, smiling at each in turn....the last part extended to Taran at his suggestion of warming the liquid. "As you wish, Master Taran," says the Mikin with amusement....her good humor actually returning in the wake of the wine. Her attention returning to the young woman, "thank you for believing, Meian."

Vhramis nods his head as he recieves the bottle of wine, the man taking a small pull of the drink. He nods to those assembled before passing it back, and takes a step away. "I'm going to go walk the woods again. I guess I should..disarm those traps." He clears his throat, looking a bit sheepish, before nodding to those assembled and turning to head away.

Meian's cheeks flush with her own sip of the wine, and she pulls a strange face at the taste. She replies to Celeste quietly, "I c-can't j-just sit on the f-fence the wh-whole time, I s-suppose... and your c-courage p-put me to sh-shame, my lady."

Taran gets up to retrieve a mug that he can hold in place over a fire. "Wine remains wine," he says simply. "Though I suppose an aged *tea* would not have been seen in the same light..."

Celeste reaches up her hand to place against Wolfsbane's armored arm. "Thank you, Vhramis....for watching over us here." She lets her hand slip away as quickly as it's proffered, glancing towards the younger woman. "Some would call me a fool," remarks the Mikin with a wink towards the bardess.

Meian admits with a weak grin, "I w-would have p-poured it on a p-plant first, or been an-angry at someone f-for asking th-that of me, but... I c-cannot t-think you a f-fool, my lady. Y-you said s-some things are w-worth d-dying for, and t-then you lived u-up to your w-words. I b-bet that's r-rare."

"I think that's the test," Taran muses, pouring some of the wine into a metal travel-mug. "One supposes it should be appreciated, but alas, I lack the background." He scoots off back to the campfire, to warm it.

"Well said, Meian...you are a very observant woman, and I feel honored that you have agreed to remain here." Celeste waves a hand towards the manor. "Well, perhaps after you have warmed that wine, you could grace us with a song, Master Taran? Or perhaps a duet?"

Meian glances to Taran, saying softly, "I d-d-don't know a-any of the common s-songs yet... I t-taught m-myself. So h-he'd have to t-teach me o-one for us to d-duet..."

Taran returns after a while, holding his mug with folds of his cloak being used as a kind of mitt around the handle. "We could jam," he offers. "Freeform instrumental session?"

'' The small group returns back to the safety and warmth of the campfire. The sound of music soon wafting out of the courtyard, intermingling with the scent of orchids and night trumpets.''

''Return to Season 5 (2007)