PaxLair Player Town Fiction - interactive

It had been been several days since the two had disembarked from the ship but besides brief stops in Kingsport and Owlshead, Ashlynn had been scouring the land for it's fungal bounty much to Lady Winmere's dismay.

"It's so overlooked," Ashlynn said, "we can grow rich if we know what to look for!"

"Perhaps, though I suspect this is mostly you own curiosity," was her only reply.

"But the forest was certainly lovely, don't you think?"

Ashlynn smiled mischievously but considered for a moment that perhaps she had been a little too eager to investigate the mushrooms of the island and had been just a little selfish though she didn't really want to admit it. A few days wandering the forest with Lady Winmere was such a joy afterall and they had found so many interesting specimens! Good company and a successful hunt for that treasured mycological fruit, as well as the discovery of other curiosities such as the strange one-eyed spiders that skittered around the forest to the south was worth the venture in Ashlynn's mind. Still, Lady Winmere and even Ashlynn longed for something a bit more luxurious than a tent and a stream to wash in after a while and Winmere's arguments to that effect were convincing enough.

And after several days specimen hunting Ashlynn was finally won over.

"...well then perhaps we should catch up with the others, who knows what they have found."

The search was brief and it wasn't long before the two had caught up with their friends from the old world...

 

The lady turned her head at the sound of laughter from children outside under the torch-lit attention of a gruff looking man. She nearly jumped when Se'an spoke to her, and quietly laughed at herself. The name Winfield gave to a place ment nothing to her. Old Britannia certainly held weight, and Owls' Head and Kingsport had recently become familiar.

Fireangel raised a brow at the man speaking of a strange place. "This is Braemar, as far as I've ever heard, Winfield. I'm not certain what you came looking for or what you're referring to, unless that is some other language you're using. Braemar seems an old place, full of it's own mystery."

She gestured out the open door through the fireflies dancing in the torchlight in the road. "There's an old graveyard just down there, and to your right. I feel deep sorrow there, and some unrest. No wonder, with creatures like Watchers about, but it is an old place. The tombstones alone are testament enough to that."

She sipped at some hot coffee. "My travels?" the lady said to Se'an, as she nodded at the monk in the corner, and at the odd looking fellow who came in the front entrance, who obviously inhaled the smell of supper. "My travels are for one purpose. I have been called. Haven't you also been drawn again as if beckoned by Lord British himself? Are not the moongates here? Does not some voice whisper to you? So it is for me, good Sirs, and I am here to answer the need as I may."

 

Bichael's pace quickened as the smell of stew grew stronger and mixed with that of ale, lantern oil, perfume and...ugh, fish. He could see a handful of people inside a small house, a woman outside toiling over a wash tub. If this was a tavern there was no outward appearance of it, yet the jovial laughter and chatter would indicate otherwise. Still, Bichael was not about to burst into anyone's house lest his assumptions be wrong.

He'd seen how the doxies would warm to a compliment, be drawn by a swagger. With straightened back and puffed chest, he approached the woman at the tub and spoke in the best stentorian tone he could muster. "Pardon, ma'am. That stew be smelling mighty fine, and I would trouble you for a bowl, if I wasn't so bowled over...uh, I mean um...that's a real pretty song you've been humming. Real pretty, and your voice is uh..pretty too."

Helen wasn't having any of it. She looked the lad over, noting his tattered clothes and wan appearance. "Just come out and say it, boy. You're hungry and need a meal. You help me wring out and hang these clothes and I'll fill that belly of yours."

Wrung and hung, Bichael tucked into a steaming bowl of stew, a large heel of bread, and a tankard of ale. The stew was mostly gone before he took much notice of his surroundings and watched with curiosity the group sitting at the other table. There dress seemed a bit odd. Bicheal noted to himself that he'd never been this far inland and really, the port of New Bedford was no Paris, France. Anyway, this is what he's been after - a new life, in a new place.

 

He listened to Fireangel talk about Braemer and the Watchers. "I see," Winfield replied stroking his long grey beard in thought. "I have not been to the graveyard, even though there are plenty of worms in such places for fish bait. Generally though, I avoid graveyards - too many spirits for my liking. And Watchers you say? Sounds mysterious. Yes, Braemar, seems an old town just down the road there. Yet Helen called this small group of homes and shops by the name of PaxLair."

Helen came to the table with their dinners. Stew, bread, and more ale. "That's right! We are so happy to be here," she said. "And more people seem to visit PaxLair every day! At this rate, I'll have enough gold to build a much better tavern building. The roof leaks on this old farm house and it's not very big. Plus, Jack and I would like to have our home back to ourselves, no offense of course. Jack is my husband, the farmer over there behind the counter. We love having everyone here." Jack heard Helen say his name. He looked up and smiled at Helen, then went back to slicing up more turnips.

Winfield ate the stew Helen brought. The evening was wearing on. The sun was down and the sound of the children in the street finally subsided. Their parents must have rounded them up. Winfield likes children, but they can make an awful lot of noise and most won't sit still. In his many years, he taught magic to some of the youngsters. Many just saw his magic as tricks and slight of the hand -- like making a country ham appear with the wave of his hand. How the non-believing people thought he could stuff a big ham up his sleeve and drop it on the table was beyond him. Outrageous.

A boy came in the back door of the farm house. Helen handed him a bowl of stew, bread, and a mug of ale. He sat alone at a table concentrating on eating his meal.

 

The lady looked a bit surprised, and nodded at Winfield's words. "Well, this area did look a little new. My apologies. I thought we were still inside Braemar. There's lots of exploring to do!"

 

Bichael heard Helen mention that the village was called Paxlair, but he'd never heard that name before. He approached the other table.

"Excuse me folks. My name is Bichael and I just got here. That great thunderstorm* of the other night got me all disoriented. Could you tell me if'n I is still in Massachusetts or have I made it as far as Rhode Island? Not that it matters much as I reckon I'll be settlin' here anyway. Still, it'd be nice to be able to push a pin into the proper place on my map." He presents a greasy and too-often-folded map of New England. "Where abouts am I?"

*there was no thunderstorm except around Bichael.

Edited for geographical accuracy.

 

Fireangel laughed heartily at Bichael's words. She stood, though not everyone could instantly tell that she did, due to her small height, but she gave a little curtsy toward the gentleman who had polished off his stew with such aplomb. "My name is Fireangel. It seems you're a little confused, which is understandable. As the saying goes in another realm, 'You're not in Kansas any more, Dorothy'. In fact, you're not any where near there. May I speak to you a bit?'

She waited until he nodded, and pulled him aside. "We're not in the earthly realm at all. I know, it's unbelievable. It's amazing. I doubt it's the first time for you though, and it isn't the first time traveling from one realm to the other for me. The thing is, you see, the locals don't like such shocking things as time and space travelers. No. I wouldn't tell just anyone that you're not from here." Fireangel watched him steadily until she was sure he understood.

The lady then turned loose of his arm and spoke with a more inclusive volume. "Now about that thunderstorm, good Sir. By the look of you, you may have been struck by lightning."

 

Winfield looked up from his empty bowl of stew at Bichael. Bichael said something about a thunderstorm and some places he'd never heard of before. Then Fireangel pulled Bichael aside and talked to him. Winfield could not hear what she was saying.

While they talked, Winfield looked closely at the map Bichael laid on the table. The map was indeed very worn and some of the print was illegible. Yet it said "New England" and "Railroad" in big print in the corner, whatever those were. Winfield first thought maybe this was another part of New Britannia. It was a map of the likes he'd never seen before; it was not like the maps he'd purchased at the cartographer shops.

"Is this a treasure map of some kind? There's a lot of dots and lines and colors. It's hard to understand though," Winfield said to no one in particular as he squinted at some of the small text in the center of the map. "The print is really, really small, and my eyesight is always getting worse. What does that big word 'Maine' mean? This is all very confusing."

Winfield touched the map to sense if there was any magic connected to it. He did not sense any magic, special runes, or hidden scripts. He shook his head in confusion.

 

Bichael's Map

 

Bicheal tried to hide his incredulity as he listened to Fireangel. Other realms? time and space travel? He didn't know where to start so he just smiled and nodded agreeably. As long as he didn't have to talk about it to anyone, he guessed it didn't matter.

At the mention of thunderstorm, Bichael's eyes went wide with awe, "Wow! Wasn't that a storm! The booms 'n flashes were powpowpow, one right after 'nother. Criminy, one was so close it blew me right out from the bush I was hidin' under and ripped my rake straight from my hand!"

"Oh, and sir?" Bichael leans towards the table and stifles a snicker, "That's just somethin' I nicked from the office garbage. It's last year's railroad map, but they buidlin' so many rails so fast the maps go outta date in no time."

 

Winfield looked again at the strange map and shrugged his shoulders. It was getting late and Winfield yawned. It had been a long day of walking through woods and digging up worms for his fish bait. He signaled Helen that he was ready to leave. She nodded, grabbed his cloak from the laundry outside, and handed it to him. He gave her a few coins for the meal and laundry and then stood up.

"Well, I must depart for the evening," Winfield yawned again. "I will be up early to go fishing."

Others looked up at him and said, "Good night Winfield."

Winfield put on his cloak and stepped outside. He picked up his bait pouch and his other things left near the door. Holding his bedroll under his arm, he walked off into the peaceful woods behind the farm house.

 

As Winfield approached the woods with his pack and bedroll in hand, he closed his eyes and walked slowly through the leaves. He smelled the fresh air of the woods and the smoke from the fireplace in the farm house he just left.. He did not stumble as he walked. He felt sure-footed for a change.

"PaxLair," he thought almost speaking out loud. "It is another beginning. A new town. New opportunities. New people. New adventures and challenges. How it will shape, I do not know. But so far, the people in the village ... Helen, Jack, and others living there ... seem to want Peace, perhaps even Neutrality, and they appear to work hard at their Roles in the village. It should be a fine place to live."

Winfield opened his eyes and kept walking into the forest. He was unafraid, in good spirits, yet very tired from the day's travel.

 

The lady yawned and stretched, feeling slightly under the weather. She smiled brightly at the others, and bid them all a good night. Winfield's departure had given her an opportunity to also take her leave, and she silently blessed him for it. Fireangel wished them all sweet dreams, pulled up her hood, and left the tavern. She stood in the path and breathed the night air deeply. It was good.

She looked back and forth at the path, and took the road that sloped downhill, to see where it might lead her. Before she had gone far, a field of flowers in the torchlight intrigued her with the heady night scent the dew droplets brought out, and she gladly walked through them, and relaxed. A small stream ran there, and something that looked like it had once been a footbridge. Perhaps the stream had been larger in the past, for there was no need for a bridge now, as it was easy to go around. In the dim light, the lady made out an older, overgrown footpath that led from where the footbridge had been, and followed the path.

The light of the shattered moon drew her attention upward, and she saw that she walked beneath an arch of old and beautiful trees. She smiled softly with pleasure. Fireangel looked back down for the path, and let her eyes adjust. There was a fork ahead, and she took the downhill direction. Looking where the other pathway led, she saw a large, green clearing, lush with grass, and perfect for picnics or scavenger hunts for children. The thought again played at the corners of her mouth, bringing a smile. A log was there, which invited anyone to sit. As tired as Fireangel was, she did not want to sit, for it would be hard to rise again, and she did not want to fall asleep there, or to build a campfire on such a lovely field of green.

The lady looked on the downhill path her small feet stood upon, and saw ahead a stately copse of trees. It was perfectly inviting for an overnight camp, and she crossed a field of tall grass to get there a little faster. She looked around, and pictured her place of bedding, her fire, and her courtyard. Taking out an axe, she cut a straight limb from one of the trees, and twisted it firmly into the ground. She took some char-cloth she always carried, her flint and steel, and lit her torch. Fireangel set her torch upon the firm limb with a secure tie, and kicked away, or picked up and tossed, any brambles or stones out of the little space. She rested against a tree, as the effort had unexpectedly winded her.

She next laid one bedroll upon the ground, and another on top of it, for more cushioned comfort. She set her pack at the foot of that, and began work on her campfire about three feet away from her bed. Her little trowel scraped to make a patch of dirt, and she took some sand and pebbles from a jar in her pack to spread over the dirt. Fireangel made a sort of conical shape from some dead twigs, crisscrossing some for the 'floor' of it, and made a little pile of dead grasses inside the conical tent of twigs. The lady took out her char-cloth, flint and steel, and soon had a nice fire start. She gathered more dead wood, and some stones, and added them to make a lasting campfire. She laid more wood a few feet from the fire. She took down the torch, and lit the campfire, then doused the torch. She set the cooling torch inside the indentation of a boulder.

The lady removed her outer clothes, and put them into her pack. She kept her cloak on top of her bedroll. She used a frayed twig and a sprig of peppermint to brush her teeth, and rinsed with water from her cantene. She scooted in to the bedroll, gazed at the stars while she prayed, and shut her eyes for sleep. The night sounds here were perfect.

 

Se'an listened attentively as the young Bichael told his tale. While Fire Angel spoke to the young man, he wondered inwardly why so many people had been pulled to this realm.

The great sundering of 400 odd years ago had changed a great many things pulling and pushing people through the ether, landing them in unheard of places. It was also bewildering how he ended up so close to old friends after all these years. He had fought alongside the likes of Winfield, Nanoc & Phoenix in Old Brittania. Winmere and young Ashlynn were here also. Se'an looked down and finished eating. These are good people here, he thought. They open thier doors and share what they have. The stew provided was heavy on turnips, assorted vegtables and little meat. Perhaps his bow could aid them with a proper source of meat. This home, tavern to be, might even prosper.

Se'an took his leave, tossing John a few coin for the care of his horse. While checking his saddle he watched as the others slowly made their way out for their own evening care.

A short ride down the road Se'an spotted a small alcove between rising mounds. A good place to shelter him and his horse for the night.

Se'an awoke to the sound of a great golden eagle as it made a meal of the small creature in it's talons. It no longer amazed him that she could track him down, no matter where he was. Their friendship had been years in the making and had survived many encounters with those of the Obsidian. About time to break my own fast he thought.

 

Winfield slept well. It was now dawn and the sun was just coming up creating long shadows in the forest. He lit his small fire and put on a pot of water gathered from the stream. Winfield enjoyed this time of the day the most, when things were fresh and new. He rubbed his lower back as he must have slept on a stone or piece of wood.

Reaching for his cup he made some tea. He picked up his fishing pole and bait pouch and walked a few few steps to the edge of the stream. He sat down on an old fallen log and baited his hook. He heard an eagle screech nearby, but it was gone before Winfield could see it. With baited pole and a cup of tea in hand, he was happy. He dropped the line in the gently flowing stream, sipped his tea, relaxed, and waited for breakfast to appear on his line.

 

While sitting on his log, Winfield felt some nibbles on his fishing line. He pulled the line a couple of times, but the nibbles subsided. He was getting hungry and he did not catch any fish yet. Then he heard a rustle in the woods behind him. He closed his eyes and sensed Helen walking towards him.

"Good morning Helen," Winfield said without looking back at her.

"Good morning Winfield!" Helen said with enthusiasm in her voice. "I have news!"

Winfield turned around slowly and looked at her. She smiled. "What is it?" he asked.

Helen seemed all bottled up with news, she could hardly speak it seemed. Then she said, "We are going to Owl's Head! We're going to hold a PaxLair meeting there! Isn't that wonderful?" She stepped forward closer to Winfield. He stood up. "It will be at the FireLotus Tavern. I so love going to Owl's Head. I have much to trade this time. My cart will be full going there and coming back!"

Winfield smiled. He liked going to Owl's Head too. He pulled his fishing line out of the water and saw the bait was gone from the hook. His stomach noticeably growled. Helen heard it.

"I've cooked breakfast for us. Come!" and Helen turned around and ran off back to the farm house. Winfield packed up his gear and followed her.

(( PaxLair Meeting to be at FireLotus Tavern, 8 PM ET, Thursday, March 27. ))

 

Gwren circled high above the green meadow, her keen eyesight could see Se'an foraging along the edge of a glade of royal elderberry and other assorted berries. There was a pile of small game, a few hare & pheasant, this didn't interest Gwren as she had only finished off her tasty meal a few hours earlier. She swooped downward, riding the air currents the sun enhancing her beautiful coloring as she quickly passed yards ahead of her busy master.

Se'an looked up from his task as sound of rushing wings reached his ears. His stomach spoke to him about the lack of attention it had received. Standing and looking back toward his grazing horse, he noticed the smoke rising from the farm house chimney in the distance. Might as well invite myself in and deliver these gifts to Helen and John. he thought to himself

He wondered if it was to early for an ale as he led his horse to the farmhouse. As he drew closer he noticed Helen and Winfield just reaching the front door.

Gwren had noticed a creek past the treeline, seeing the dark shadows under the gleam of water.

 

Folks had bid their good nights, leaving Bichael picking at orts. That he was keeping Helen from her bed was not lost on the boy, but memories of the other night's terrible storm stayed his exit. No sooner had he calmed his qualms than a weary Helen handed him a threadbare blanket and bid him a definitive "Good night."

The next morning Bichael introduced himself to the smithy, having invited himself to bed in the man's woodshed the night before, who gladly accepted delivery of 25 logs on Tuesday for an axe, a file and a lesson in sharpening today.

Chopping, Fireangels words returned. His new world was so different from the New Bedford waterfront he grown up around. Bichael wondered if he'd even recognise that he'd somehow "travelled" to a different world?

 

The lady rose before dawn. She had slept soundly, but she was a small female, and on guard against being surprised by bad company. She stretched and yawned, and climbed out of her bedroll. Fireangel draped her cloak over her, and cleaned up her camp. She found a stream, made certain she had privacy, and washed herself.

Dressed and ready for a new day, the lady nibbled on an apple and headed out of the area for more exploration. The sun was bright and warm, and merry in spirit, she went out. She hoped she didn't disturb anyone with her cheerful humming so early in the day.

 

The dusty road wandered from Braemar to Owl's Head. In between was Kingsport. Winfield, Ashlynn, Winmere, and Helen made their way as fast as they could -- well, as fast as Old Man Winfield could walk. Helen's cart was indeed full and had no place for Winfield to sit. They did not have time to stop at Kingsport even though Winfield always sought the nearest dock with fishing pole in hand when he could.

"I wish Jack could have come," Helen said leading the ox pulling her cart. "He always likes going to the city. He's a bit of a gambler, you know. Well, he doesn't bet a lot and he somehow always wins enough to buy some seed for the next season."

Winfield walked next to Helen, using his fishing pole as a walking stick. "I've never gambled. I can generally see through the cards and at times get an idea of what people are thinking."

Helen looked at him with a surprised look on her face, and an idea developed. "You could help Jack then! He could win more with your help. You could help him place bets at the right time."

"Oh, I don't think so Helen. While many people bring their learned, innate, or inherited abilities to the gambling tables, there's some abilities that would quickly get a man's throat cut. I saw that when I was a young boy at a campsite. A group of men were gambling casually and one man with a long mustache was winning more than the others. Not a lot mind you, but just enough to make the others uneasy. His luck was too good. They were all drinking a bit of ale and by midnight no one could really walk straight. Yet they kept gambling by the firelight. The mustached man watched as another placed a bet. He chuckled and in his bit of drunkenness laughed and said, 'I knew you would do that.'

"The others looked at him more suspiciously than before. The man then started to sweat and looked around. He placed his hand on his backpack next to him, as if trying to cover something up. The others watched his movements carefully and one man noticed a slight glow in the pack. He stood up and confronted the mustached man. 'What is in your pack?' he asked. 'Nothing of any concern,' the mustached man answered back, clutching the pack. 'We shall see. Give it here!' yelled another as he reached for the pack.

"The men opened the pack and found a glowing gem inside. It seemed to pulsate. 'I've seen one of these before,' said one of the men. 'It is a sight-gem. It can help people see things that others see. He's been cheating! That's how he's winning so much!' And then, well, you can imagine what happened next," Winfield finished with a sigh and looked at Helen whose eyes were wide with fright.

Helen winced at the thought of what Winfield did not have to say, and gulped. "I think Jake will do fine gambling by himself. He does not need your help." She looked down the path not really looking ahead.

"A wise choice, Helen. A wise choice." Winfield said to her. They continued to walk for a time in thoughtful silence.