Word Play

"Words?" Dera'nah looked at the rune in front of her. "Yes, words. What did your folks teach you about words?" "Well, words transfer information and can change people's minds." "Yes, quite literally!" Nuella chuckled as Dera'nah raised her eyebrow. "Seems that we have to start from the beginning my dear. Yes, words can be used to pass on information and can change people's minds through argument, and everybody knows that. But even arcane users have figured out long ago that words can be used to summon and change energy patterns. Words have power if spoken right, and have already been used through the eons for showy wizardry." Dera'nah thought about this. "You are talking about creating fire and lightning bolts?" "Yes! Exactly! Sorcerers and wizards have it all figured out, they think!" "But they are powerful!" "Actually, my child, the most powerful wizards know about their shortcomings and have long tried to study old texts, to find out where they went wrong!" Nuella chuckled again "Good that we don't write things down, don't you think?"

"What they don't understand is why words have power. They think they command reality and reality bends to their will!" Another impish laugh. "Oh my, I have seen many a powerful wizard try and fail to even command the simplest animals or elementals!" She looked up at the sky and closed her eyes. "No, my child, words have power because many of them resonate with the melody that created the world. The Great Song that creates our reality is a complex symphony and many words, even by accident, come close to resemble small parts of it, creating a small change in The Song and thus a tangible effect. " Dera'nah looked at her unbelieving. "You mean..." "Yes, child, the Great Song that creates all and everything, the song that is all around us and within us, can be changed. By words." Nuella smiled and Dera'nah fell back in her chair. "That is what grandmother always hinted at. She always said I have to tune in, to concentrate on the melody of life." "Yes, that ability is the secret of all druids and gives us immense power and responsibility! Wizard and sorcerers luckily use the wrong language. They created their own arcane languages, capturing only parts of the important melodic components. The old languages came into being when The Symphony could still be clearly heard and thus naturally resonate strongly with the tunes of life and reality. Druidic is one of the oldest and is so close to the base melody that it has to be spoken carefully to not disrupt reality and create dissonance and disaster."

Dera'nah silently formed the words of known spells in her mouth, feeling for their melody. "Yes, the better you hit the intended melody, the stronger the effect will be. This is why you have to meditate each morning to tune yourself to the Great Song again, to feel the melody. Once you get better, you will feel the song in your body and all around you and it will become easier. You will be able to intuitively correct or cause dissonance and change the melody to mold reality around you. But we are getting ahead of ourselves, are we!" Dera'nah traced with her finger the outline of the rune that was etched into the wood. "What happens to the words once written down?" "Oh, a good question my child! That is where it becomes interesting! Sorcerers write down their spells just to be able to remember them. Little they know! All living things, and even things that had once life in them, can retain a memory of a melody. After all, they only exist because of The Song and so by remembering a tune, they can constantly change the Song by adding their little chords into it." "Oh, so the words don't have to be written?" "They can! It often helps the creator of the item to focus their thoughts, but the melody of those thoughts impressed into the item is what counts. The clearer and more focused the melody is, the stronger the item!"

Dera'nah looked at her pendant. The little piece of wood somehow had come to her mind. Nuella looked at the pendant with a knowing smile. "The piece of your mother already contains memories of The Song, since she was born when the Great Symphony was still young. It would be easy to imbue it with some extra tunes. Why don't you try to store some strength in it? You remember the words of the spell I taught you today?" "Bull's strength, sure!" "Then sing the words in your head. Try to align the melody of the words as closely as you can to The Song inside you and then include the piece of wood in your melody as well." Dera'nah closed her eyes and repeatedly spoke the words, listening to the tune they created. It sounded wrong in the beginning, but after a while, and some changes in intonation, it somehow felt better, more fluent, and she could feel strength flowing through her. She touched the pendant and could feel a second faint melody joining into the first. She tried to weave it into the first and after some reprises, the melodies slowly converged to form a new small tune. The melody filled her mind, blocking everything out. Slowly, she could feel the strength not only coming from within her, but flowing into her through her arm. Startled, she looked up and could feel the pendant in her hand pulsating. Nuella smiled. "Well done! Still weak, containing many small discords still that hurt my ears, but a start!" Dera'nah looked at the pendant in awe. It felt as if energy was flowing from the pendant. She could feel the strength. "You created your first magical item! But be careful, each creation drains you and a small piece of your own melody is always staying behind to act as a bridge. Create too many too fast and you create disharmonies in yourself. But now, let's eat! Even watching you work magic has left me peckish! You must be starving! And tell your pony, if it nibbles at my roses again, I will literally root it to patch where only dry grass grows!"         

A Damsel in Distress

Darwen looked up as Ambros, her trustworthy guard, entered the small room. The elf who introduced himself as Vrael and the half-breed Thoravil stood a bit further left and discussed what else to ask her, after she had told them everything she knew about the events on the small island. She knew she could not help much, since she herself did not understand what happened.
Ambros looked clearly uncomfortable without his well-worn breastplate and was constantly adjusting the fit of the worn down leather armour. Darwen just realised, it had two holes in the middle of the chest with wet red spots surrounding them and had to look away. "My lady, can we help with anything?" "Not now my dear Ambros. What is your guess the strangers will do with us? Will they bring me to my father?" "I don't know, my lady. It seems they are considering bringing you back to the city. But after all that happened there, I don't think this would be for your best!" "Why, what exactly happened in the city? What do you know?"

"Well, we heard from Faron's mercenaries that the city mob has fully taken the castle and have imprisoned or killed all your men who resisted. Faron's men and ours alike. Batholomäus has officially declared Drynfort a free trading city. It seems that they had just waited until our force was divided and, I suspect, had some help from inside, since the eastern gate was opened with very little fighting or warning. Either one of our men let them in or slept on his station and let the bastards surprise him." "Well, once my father is back, this will hopefully be resolved and we can return." "I guess not without bloodshed, my lady. According to Faron's scouts, who had the city under surveillance, the revolutionaries are fortifying the city walls and prepare for a siege. Other accounts report that your father is already gathering support from the surrounding baronies and is amassing a striking force to take the city back by force if necessary." "Couldn't he use the secret door that we have used to leave the castle? I didn't even know it exited until you guided me through to the river!" "Only few do. How Faron's men knew about it, I don't know. But Bartholomäus knows that we left unseen and will without doubt look for the secret passage. Sooner or later they might find it. But I'm sure your father and Molok are certain about its strategic value and will include this in their striking plans." "Oh Ambros, I don't know. This all sounds so desolate. Will we ever be able to return? Are the others still alive? Juliana? Elisa?" "I don't know, my lady. Your maids were hiding when we left and I'm sure they posed no threat to the attackers to be killed." With a quick movement of his head towards the strangers, he tried to hide his face that might give away what he thought. Good looking young women on a battleground? Not killed maybe, but not better off either. "Let me talk to the strangers again. Maybe I can convince them to bring us to your father instead or let us four guards guide you back. But I would rather much prefer a larger detail." 

As Ambros approached Vrael, Thoravil started to address him: "We have heard what you came for. Why should we not bring them back to the city and give them to Bartholomäus for protection? It sounds the city is a safer place for her than a battlefield in front of its gates!" "True, but you don't know Bartholomäus. His greed and ambition pose a threat to Lady Darwen. He might use her to threaten her father in case of attack, might force her into marriage, since he always wanted to raise to nobility, or might trade her otherwise to another party. He is not to be trusted. Especially not now since he has reached his goal of becoming ruler, a goal we long suspected he aspires for." "How much would she be worth to ..." "Thoravil!" Vrael stopped his companion "Ambros, what do you think her father might do if we deliver her safely to him?" "He will surely reward you plenty. The Baron was always a generous man to his allies! He might even offer you work since you have shown your worth when fighting us and the merc's. I can vouch for you and your skills. The baron is always in need of good fighters, especially magic users and healers will come in handy in the upcoming siege!" Thoravil, still shooting deadly looks at Vrael, found his mental footing again: "So that means he will pay more than Bartholomäus or Faron?" Ambros gave Thoravil a measured look which did not hide his disgust. "He will definitely hunt you down with more tenacity should you give his daughter into his enemy's hands! And Faron it seems does not further need mylady, since he left her here while riding for another stronghold, no doubt to gather his mercenaries or cut losses and bugger off. Master Vrael, think about the situation and talk to your companions. What are you going to do?"