General:Loranna's RP/Noble Seamstress' Spotted Owl
| This archival work is dedicated to Loranna Pyrel, who passed away in early 2023. Rest in peace, friend. — Rock |
| Book Information | |||
|---|---|---|---|
| Source: | Elder Scrolls Forum | ||
| Book Date: | 3E 428 | ||
| Writer(s): | Ted Peterson | ||
| Publication Date: | October 2004 | ||
| Up | Loranna's RP | ||
| Prev. | Hearthfire Ball | Next | Trail of Frozen Tears |
Noble Seamstress' Spotted Owl
Noble Seamstress' Spotted Owl was the third campaign of the Loranna's RP series.
This page exists only to record the posts of Tedders, who was the only developer to participate in the roleplay. Not all concepts presented are original to Tedders' posts, as replies are built off of replies, and the original concepts of other roleplayers are frequently referenced in his content. For proper citation context, consult the archived forum threads.
Sheogorath
So she thought, rather foolishly.
Sheogorath
Deeper in Oblivion than ever, the Mad God pauses a moment, counts on his fingers and then his toes, subtracts twelve, nods sagely, and then continues on ... so much more that needs to be done for ... it all it to work ...
Sheogorath
The bar wench, whose body and face suggested a girl, but whose eyes are much, much older, the eyes of The Crone, brings Allerleirauh her drink. It is perfect.
"I wouldn't worry about things much if I was you, pretty lady," she says. "They has a ways of working themselves out, you know?"
The wench returns to the bar, and staring at herself in the mirror.
Sheogorath
An old healer kneeling next to Solom, stands up, shaking his head.
“What is it?” asks his assistant.”What was he whispering to you?”
“It was the injury to his head,” the old man says. “He’s delirious this close to death. Some say when a head wound festers, it is an invitation for … the Mad One to come inside. I would pay him no mind. Just make him comfortable, and wait …”
Sheogorath
"Good sir," says the kindly healer, shaking his head, not seeing the lich's form. "It is kindness to let him go."
The assistant, mopping the blood from Solom's brow, listens to the man's mumbling rants. "Who? I don't know the names of your friends ..." He smiles sadly. "Goddess, indeed ..."
Sheogorath
Louis can hear Solon wheeze the word, "Goddess ... Goddess ..."
To which the assistant healer says softly, "Yes, let the Goddess Kynareth baths thee in cool breezes, and the mother Mara comforts thee ..."
Sheogorath
The last spark of life is in Solom’s eyes as he takes Loranna’s hand.
“My lady, the healers are wrong, you do not go mad at the moment of death,” he whispers, blood frothing at the corner of his mouth. “You go horribly sane. And I have seen much, and I’m afraid for you – that you may go horribly sane long, long before you die …”
Sheogorath
On his last breath as a mortal man, Solom whispers softly: “The pain I feel is nothing … compared to the pain that is waiting for you … I fear for you …”
With that, Solom dies and far away, there is the sound of thunder.
Sheogorath
A bar wench comes in, soaking wet, miserable.
"Sorry I'm late," she says to her employer. "Freak storm right over the hill near me home. Near to drowned meself."
Sheogorath
Arynel's merry tune has attracted attention, a crowd of people from the village peer in through the windows of the tavern ... mostly children it seems ...
They are smiling, clearly captivated.
Sheogorath
"Should children be listening to a song like this?" one of the mothers whispers, smiling despite herself.
"Oh, they don't understand the words," her friend replies. "They're just responding to the melody."
Sheogorath
The children break into laughter and applause. Their parents come in and lay gold out on the table in front of Arynel in payment. A pretty appreciable sum.
"What a deliciously rude song," says one of the younger mothers with a wink. "You're very good."
Sheogorath
The townsfolk, intimidated by Melauns, and hearing that no more songs are being sung, leave the tavern, heading back into town, many of them singing and humming the tune.
The young mother who winked at Arynel before leaves last: "I hope you'll be around for a little while longer," she smiles.
Sheogorath
Far away, the Mad God hears this and chuckles. It was, in its own way, almost as funny as Rilis's soup attack. He mustn't remind himself of that, Sheogorath chided himself. The temptation was far too great to compose an epic about the soup wars ... and there was more work to be done ...
Still, he laughed.
And the thunder growled.
Sheogorath
Outside, there is a flash of lightning, as in Oblivion, Sheogorath throws up.
Sheogorath
Wind whistles shrill through the eaves of the inn while in Oblivion, Sheogorath shakes his head, "No, child of moonshadow, watch yourself."
Sheogorath
To Azura, not to Loranna:
You haven't a heart of ash anymore, sister, you have a real human heart, and if I drank that sour milk of pity, it would be the girl I would pity, and destroy to end her suffering ... But you move amongst the earthbones now, creature of Mundus, and if you do not fear ... you are less wise now than ever ...
Sheogorath
You think you are strong enough to rise when you could not after our dance?
Sheogorath
Your time is not without limit anymore, Azura. Your vessel will break, perhaps before you are ready ...
But perhaps I overreacted ... a bit. I had cause for my fury. And I am not finished yet, but ... Well, you seem more like yourself now, and I shan't despair. Nor torture your girl. For the time being.
The sound of the storm begins to recede.
Sheogorath
Outside, the night birds begin calling to one another to announce the end of the storm.
Sheogorath
The pretty young mother from the night before comes into the tavern, smiling at the group, and walks to Arynel. "I left my son home today. Are you performing again?"
Sheogorath
“I’m no patroness of the arts like my queen,” the woman smiles. “Play what pleases you, I’m sure it will be delightful. My name is Tynnea Castellian.”
Sheogorath
See the little piggies dance
Eight all in a row
See the sixteen shadows laugh
Lady Castellian laughs delightedly and claps her hands. You can see the ring on her finger is golden, intricately carved into a flower, a rose.
Sheogorath
“A song about piggies,” she laughs. “How frightfully romantic.”
Sheogorath
"Me too," laughs Lady Castellian. "A bit bawdy though. Are you all friends here? Have I interrupted a private party?"
Sheogorath
"Thank you," she says. "You are foreigners I take it ... Well, you, sir -- I'm afraid I didn't hear your name -- you are a Breton like myself."
Sheogorath
"And you are not from here, I must assume, or we would have met," she smiles, offering him her hand. "All the locals are whispering about the people at this tavern, you know."
Sheogorath
"The sorts of things a lady doesn't repeat," she smiles, an eyebrow raised. "Daedra, witchcraft, madness, murder ... So, what do I find but old friends telling stories and singing songs? Have you drunk everything in the place or is there a bit of wine left?"
Sheogorath
"Oh, I'm not fretting. It's been fearfully dull here for such a long time, I was hoping for an adventure."
The tavernkeep pours her a glass of wine, nervously.
Sheogorath
"Would you be so kind as to introduce me to your friends?" she asks, taking the wine.
Sheogorath
"Tynnea Castellian," she says, smiling, offering her hand. "Forgive me for interrupting your gathering. As I was telling Arynel, it's been very dull here lately, and I had to see what was happening at this little tavern."
She stops, realizing that not only is her hand not being taken, but the person she was talking to is gone.
Sheogorath
She tries to look shocked, but bursts out laughing. "You're wicked."
Sheogorath
Tynnea winks back, "Dull as it is here, we've had a few of that type as well."
Sheogorath
"A worthy quest for any man, old or young," she says with a nod.
Sheogorath
"Now, where did you learn to sing like that?" she smiles. "Let me guess ... You're from Daggerfall? Am I right?"
Sheogorath
"I didn't mean to be too nosy," the lady says, blushing. "I only meant to compliment your playing. I haven't heard music so expertly played outside of the court of Daggerfall ..."
Sheogorath
"I must admit I like a man who can handle both a sword and a lute," Tynnea sighs. "Most of the men around here, however, can handle nothing but a plough or a pen."
Sheogorath
"Beautiful," the lady says. "You have a gift, Arynel. But it is not entirely true. Some of us are shackled to a home when it is the road we crave."
Sheogorath
“Prettily said, but impractical,” Lady Castellian says with a little frown. “So you’re bound and determined to be mysterious and not tell me anything of where you come from, of the world outside, just so I can escape here for a little while in my mind?”
Sheogorath
The Breton winks.
"I am a bard, it is my way to speak in riddles.""Well, where did you come from before this? Tell me what adventures you've had? Indulge my romantic notions ..." Tynnea adds with a wink. "And what do I get if I solve your riddle?"
Sheogorath
"I’ve heard of Lord Darius – there are even whispers that he’s in the area, but why would a great Imperial like himself visit our little corner of High Rock? As for the riddle, I need a few more clues … Right now, it’s all a jumble."
Sheogorath
"It is only an illusion, but a beautiful one, to think of freedom ... To abdicate my responsibilities ... my family ..." she whispers. "But sometimes the illusion is so comforting."
Sheogorath
"You see?" she says, smiling sadly. "Things are no always as simple as you would have them. Sometimes you don't need to invent riddles -- there are enough of them in life. Ones without a really satisfying answer. But maybe someday I'll be able to leave and attend a ball of Lord Darius's. Or perhaps go to Morrowind. I've always dreamed of visiting there ... it seems so exotic ..."
Sheogorath
"That is not so different from the way it is here," Lady Castellian said. "We had Dunmer in our court once, our queen and her children. The people hated them ... perhaps it is not as different there as I would've hoped ..."
Sheogorath
"This conversation has turned very serious," Tynnea smiles. "Surely you were not talking about futility and racism when I came in ..."
Sheogorath
"If it must, it must, but let us have more wine," she says, and with a gesture, the tavernkeep hurries over to refill her glass. He seems extremely nervous.
Sheogorath
The tavernkeeper staring at Loranna/Azura, spills the wine he's pouring.
"Oh, no, oh, I'm so sorry."
"Don't be," says Lady Castellian with a laugh. "Unless I'm expected to clean it up."
She extends her dry hand to Allerleirauh: "Tynnea Castellian. Pleased to meet you."
Sheogorath
"O Mara, no," Tynnea laughed. "These are scholars?" She whispered. "Well, some of them are rather quiet, and the one in the back has a book ... but I thought I was entering a den of adventurers. Imagine my despair."
Sheogorath
"What a relief," she looks to Arynel. "A fellowship, eh? I never knew a man who bragged so little. Will you have a drink? I think there's some this tavernkeep hasn't spilled on the floor ..."
Sheogorath
"Excellent," says the lady, gesturing to the barkeep. "Drinks all around. Let us toast scholarship, modesty, and our erstwhile unlucky host."
Sheogorath
Tynnea follows Baxter's eyes to the man at the bar.
"You are Lord Darius?"
Sheogorath
“I’ve never met a group like this. Scholars with rough hands. Modest bards. And aristocrats who don’t want attention,” she giggles. “Now I believe all the stories about you people, even the ones about the daedra.”
She curtseys to Rilis: "Your highness."
Sheogorath
"I am Prince Rilis Direnni, son of Lord Nelacar Direnni."
Rilis coughs, expelling smoke in Arynel's face.
"Terribly sorry about that."
"Are you a relation of Lady Medora Direnni, the former court sorceress of Daggerfall?" asks Tynnea.
Sheogorath
"Well, she's certainly distant," Tynnea says. "No one knows what became of her. They say she went to an island in the bay to live out her life after her ... you know ... lover, the king was killed ... but she's not been heard from since."
Sheogorath
"An illustrious, well-connected group here in our little corner of High Rock," says Tynnea, impressed. "Now I'm wishing I had dressed more befitting the occasion ..."
She looks at the wine-spattered sleeve of her dress. "Or worn something red ... "
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