thoughtformed | [Action]

[Coming from the court of the Faerie Queene, the sword of her quest bound at her waist, the Steel Paladin should have been paying closer attention to her surroundings rather than her thoughts but.. isn't. So when her horse shies from the sound of an explosion and the resulting smoke and swearing, it gives her a moment of interesting horsemanship before she's free to glare around.

...What in the name of earth and fire is going on in there? Dismounting, she draws her own blade and lets her mount snort and stand on its own. It is with belated caution that she approaches the little house and circles to see if she can ascertain what is happening inside.]

[Should she push the door open, she'd find inside the trappings of someone obviously accustomed to the use of magic. Herbs hang from the ceiling and bottles and jars line shelves along the walls and are balanced in precarious piles on the floor space between cabinets.

By a merrily crackling fireplace there stands a figure, half hunched over a cooking pot, puffs of coloured smoke popping up from the surface now and then. From the looks of the area immediately surrounding the pot, and the scorch marks on the ceiling and stone floor, this is only the latest in a line of explosive results.]

[All of Aradia's magic now requires fire- fires at night, fires for visions, fires in general for everything. Which, sadly, requires wood. Lots and lots and lots of wood. But that can wait, to peek in through the door to see what he's mucking around with.]

[Just as she pokes her head in, there's a particularly large bang, a flash, and a sudden flood of purple smoke. Arthur stumbles towards the door, pushing it open and walking straight into the person standing there.]

I beg your-- Oh! Bloody hell, hello there.

[...Well all right then. She was expecting someone in trouble, or perhaps dueling witches, but by the look of things, she hadn't found either. Sheathing her sword so as to present a slightly less threatening figure, she raps on the door frame.]

Your pardon, but is everything all right here?

Ah!

[His startled exclamation at the tap on the door is joined by a sudden, loud bang and a flash from the pot in front of him. Arthur's thrown backwards, hitting a desk and then the ground in a half-crumpled heap. He groans a little, rubs his head, and turns a half squinting, slightly accusing look at the door.]

Do you mind, I'm conducting a very delicate experiment.

Hi! You made quite a mistake, didn't you?

[That should be rude, but Aradia sounds perfectly cheerful about it, peering over his shoulder curiously and not moving out of the doorway to let him out.]

[She doesn't move, so he simply shoves past her, gulping down a few lungfuls of fresh air before turning around and lifting one finger.]

It was not a mistake, it was supposed to do that.

[Aradia doesn't seem at all bothered by the smoke or the heat, as she walks right into his hut and starts poking around.]

Was it really?

Of course it-- Do you mind?!

[He moves in after her, herding her away from anything delicate.]

What the devil do you think you're doing?

[Lin's eyebrows threaten to climb right into her hair. Still, she manages a credible bow to the young wizard.]

My apologies. I thought it wiser to alert you to my presence than to enter the sanctum of a wizard unasked.

[Suiting actions to words, she remains just outside the door, unwilling to trigger any traps or upset any spells which might be laid out on the floor.]

If you would be willing to spare me a moment when you have finished, I should be grateful to you.

[Oh.. well, that's a bit better. He gets up, mending the desk with a flick of one hand (if leaving one leg slightly too short, resulting in anything still on top of it sliding to wedge itself in the corner between the wall and the cabinet beside it), and brushes himself off, straightening his clothes.]

I suppose I do have a moment to spare.

[He makes his way over to the door, taking care not to linger on the threshold and simply stepping outside.]

What is it?

[She gives way courteously with another slight bend that might be a bow.]

I am on quest, ser wizard, and have passed through the court of the Forest Queen, but even she could not tell me where I might find its ending. Would you be willing to examine the object of my quest to see if there is anything you might tell me about it?

[While the wizard may not notice, outside things are changing. Almost regressing. Leaves shrink back in on themselves, flowers that have long since dropped or wilted with the press of summer return in full force in a matter of moments. Everything seems brighter, richer, truer to its inner nature and the vibrant life forces within. The Queen is coming.

The birds sing fit to burst themselves with pride, and even shy doe and fawns step from through the trees where normally they would have avoided the strange smells and sounds of the wizard's home. A fleeting trill of a flute and an answering ripple of laughter drift to the ear. The Queen is coming.

Her courtiers and guards are left behind, the small sounds of their merriment the only indicators that they're about at all, and here she is, walking along the treeline. Snowdrops spring from the greenest grass beneath her feet, lifting their shy heads in the wake of her train. Slender as the willow-wand, brighter than the water, she came, all clad in gold.

A fond smile tugs at her lips as she pauses outside his door, listening to the cursing. Waiting for a lull in the blistering language, softly she calls his name.]

Anluan, mo draíodóir, come speak with me.

[He doesn't notice the changes outside, but he does feel something, and it's enough to disturb him from his work and have him lifting his head, moving to the door to sate a sudden wash of curiosity. It's when he's half way there that he hears that voice and all but falls over himself in surprise, catching himself on the edge of a nearby table.

Her? What is she doing here, is his first thought, and what does she want of him is the second. Neither are questions he's going to gain answers to if he continues standing where he is, and he hurries to the door, pulling it open.]

My lady! [Arthur smiles quickly, uncertainly.] To what do I owe the honour?

... Oh.

[Not a waste of his time after all. Arthur clears his throat and straightens his clothes, as if to shake off what must have been a rather poor first impression, and nods curtly.]

Certainly. Come along inside. I'll see what I can do.

[The paladin nods grave appreciation and acceptance, gesturing for him to lead the way. From its place at her hip she unbuckles the battered sheath of a long eastern blade and holds it level across her hands.]

There are great magics laid on this blade, Master wizard, and I know not their nature, nor how well they may interact with your own spells and wardings. But it has lain quiet for a year and more, but for a few small incidences. And none of those were violent on the blade's part.

[The Queen returns his smile with one of her own, adding a gracious nod and a playful laugh.]

Always so suspicious, Anluan. I come to see how you fare! If you have any news from the mortal realms, I should be pleased to hear it.

Oh-- Well, you know, there's always news.

[He comes outside and pulls the door shut behind him - she doesn't need to see the mess in there - and gives her a gracious bow.]

There's talk of strange spirits about, of late.

Hn. I see. Come in, come in. Lay it on the table here-- ah.

[There's not really any room on the table to put it down, so he fixes that by moving a lot of the things that are on it to somewhere else (with no small amount of huffing and puffing in the meantime).]

Here, put it down, let me have a look.

[As curious as she is in all his bits and bobs, she restrains herself to merely looking around interestedly while he moves everything. Was it something there that had produced that fascinating smoke, or something over here? Hm! Spirits knew she wouldn't be able to tell on her own.

She puts it out of her mind for now and lays the sword across the table, careful to balance it so that it doesn't go sliding down to that short corner. The sheath is nothing particularly special, being a plain black marked with the scars of past battles, but the sword itself was something different. The hilt was resplendent, ivory wrapped in red leather with a gold and jade guard, beneath which the blade lay, shimmering when moved as though sparks were caught under the surface. A strange script was etched down the spine-edge, bearing a message no one had been able to read.

Keeping her face carefully neutral, the paladin steps back to give the young man room to work.]

Is there anything I might tell you which may assist your efforts?

[Her brows rise and she makes a gesture for him to continue.]

Spirits. There haven't been true spirits in some time. Not who have caused any trouble or made their presence much known to mortals, anyway. If any of my people have been indulging themselves overmuch, word has not reached me of it.

[Pssssssh, as if she's going to break anything.]

Having a look around, of course. What else would I be doing?

[He's reluctant to touch it, at first. Weapons like this can be tricky at the best of times. His hand moves over it, not quite touching, and he hums under his breath as he feels the aura around it.]

Anything you know might be of use.

I don't know if I can rightly say they answer to you, my lady.

[He frowns even as he says it. When it had been an idle thought he hadn't pondered much on it, but to give voice to it brings a whole new level of concern.]

Have you heard anything at all?

Aside from rudely invading someone's home, I couldn't possibly imagine.

[He doesn't move to force her to leave, but he watches her, eyes slightly narrowed.]

What do you want?

[She tilts her head and turns a palm up in something like a shrug.]

Primarily I know legends rather than facts, but I shall tell you what I know.

It's a family heirloom - very old - and belongs to a noble family. It has always had great magic about it, and knows those who should bear it. It is said to speak to them, and only they to whom the blade belongs can read the inscription. Those who attempt to steal the sword find themselves injured too badly to run within fifteen feet of the place they started from. Whether there is lightning from a clear sky, a placid horse wheels and plants a hoof in the offender's chest, a stray arrow caught by the wind takes them through the throat, a marmot hole breaks their ankle... It does not appear to be the sword's work, but what else could it be?

It does not harm those with no intent to remove it from its chosen bearer, and if it is willingly given to someone it does not object. Yet if born by one not of the appropriate lineage, it always seems to find its way back in the end.

The royalty of that line can all wield it, but it is said to prefer the first-born, and it is they whom it protects most assiduously. They say it grants inhuman speed and reflexes, and can slow the advance of poison or disease. Even heal small wounds, given time.

The line of kings it the kingdom it guards is coming to an end. But their eldest prince has been long gone - stolen away 'tis now thought. Mayhap he does not even know his lineage. So I was tasked with finding him and giving him the sword.

Curious..

[That's an old enchantment indeed. So few now have the skills to bind in blood. It makes him hesitant to touch it - the magical aura around it is one that he can feel even without making contact - and he rather enjoys living despite claims he often makes to the contrary (most involving being surrounded by idiots).]

I can't be the first wizard you've come across. [He looks at her doubtfully. They were scattered, but finding one in a court was certainly not unheard of.]

Well, if they are so ignoble as to ignore my court and to not even present themselves, mayhap I should send one to go bring them to me.

[She kept her voice neutral, even light, but the way her fingers drummed briefly at her hip betrayed some irritation. She did not take kindly to trespassers, even if the borders were open while the Solstice held.]

There were whispers among the lesser Folk that unseasonably cold winds blew nearer mortal lands, and that snow had been seen. Many pay them little heed, as they are prone to puffing themselves up to garner attention. But even they had not implied spirits.

No. It is through them that some of these legends have come to light. But none could tell me any more about whom I might be seeking, or where I might better direct my search.

[Beat.]

None of them were harmed in handling the sword.

You know how unlearned folk apply what they believe to be general terms to things they don't understand.

[He speaks in the most placating tone he can without being insulting, not really wanting to have to deal with her while she's irritated, even if said irritation isn't directed at him.]

Ah.

[Yes, that's more like what he wanted to hear. He finally places one hand on the sword and draws in a soft, hissing breath through his teeth. The aura of magic on the weapon is really nothing compared to what he gets from touching it.

He shakes his head quickly, concentrating, then leaves the sword itself alone, instead moving across the room to pick up a large shard of black glass.]

Are you familiar with scrying, perchance?

[An open-palmed gesture bats away the suggestion.]

Only the general idea. Seeing images in a reflective surface, yes? A pool, a silver bowl... Glass from the fire mountain?

[Her brows arch as she catches the implications of his tone, and suddenly she's all smiles and laughter.]

They all have such strange fancies. This is why they should all come to the feast! We should teach them better and they would not be so confused. I take it you have some interest in these "spirits" yourself.

I want to see what you were doing! Fires and explosions are sort of my thing, it goes with the territory of being a red priestess.

[Plucking at her demonstrably, terribly red clothes for emphasis.]

I've no need for any more of either. [He causes quite enough explosions all by himself.]

This seems an odd place for a priestess to be wandering.

Some, yes. ['Some' might well be an understatement, but it's close enough to serve for now.]

Spirits or not, they're causing some consternation with local travellers. The winds and unseasonable snow, as you said.

[He lifts the piece of glass as she speaks those last words, a faint smirk pulling at his lips as he brings it back to the table and lays it down beside the sword.]

Precisely. If I can get this right, I should be able to..

[With one hand on the sword and the other touching the glass, he looks down at the black surface, lips moving in a silent incantation.]

[Prudently, the warrior steps back, simply watching and wondering if this will be one of those spells which produces a result visible for all, or simply for the caster. The sword doesn't seem to be resisting the spell, in any case. At least, there is no outward sign, and it isn't complaining to her or threatening yet. So she waits.]

[His eyes dart from the sword to the blackened glass, his lower lip caught between his teeth. After a moment, his expression shifts, eyes narrowing, and he shakes his head.]

It tells me nothing save for what you already know..

[A sigh. He pushes the glass away and picks the weapon up.]

These markings, I'm sure I've seen them somewhere else.

[She sighs a little, unsurprised. Well, it was worth the try. But that second note recaptures her attention fully.]

You have? I don't suppose you remember where?

One would think that you purpose to stop them, or at least speak with whomever you might find there. Perhaps make some friends and see if you might turn their skills to your aid.

Not really! You need wood for a fire, don't you? Or some very suspicious chemicals, but I don't go in for that sort of thing.

[But she does go in for picking strange things up and looking at them without asking permission.]

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