Test
- Thread starter annasiel
- Start date
Thread
I Feel Thread Inside
The Journal of one Miss Georgina Howell, daughter of Cedric Howell. If you are reading this, Cecil, let birds take your eyes!
--
10th Moon, 8th Day from Harvest
I think something has afflicted Mr. Thadding. He has not seemed well, not since Harvest. He nery speaks any more, and when he does let a word slip out, his voice his high and strained - and he talks as if he only speaks a smattering of Common at all! Surely a far cry from the soft-spoken but intelligent man who asked me to dance last moon.
Someting of his face hangs oddly, too. It feels longer than it used to be. Is there an illness of the mind that causes such a sight? If I am to learn some outbreak of Leery Droopface has afflicted our sleepy town, I shall be most distressed. Perhaps most perturbing is how no other soul seems to share my concerns. The old Dane even chastised me for daring to criticise such an upstanding member of the community!
Bless me, what I would give to smack that woman silly. I am a child no longer, and she has no sway over me.
11th Moon, 16th Day from Harvest
No. Something is certainly amiss. I was not wrong to say it. I spoke to Patty (O'Dail, not Gorvich, I am friends with her no longer!), and to my shock, she agreed! She had noticed something odd as well, though a few days later than myself. That noon, she and I snuck our way past the wicket to spy upon Mr. Thadding in his stead.
He was striding back and forth around his yard, playing a pair of odd pipes, and his chickens were following in tune! Waddling along behind him like ducklings to their mother. And, were this not odd enough, he turned to the poor hens, grabbed one like a biscuit, and shoved her in his mouth - whole! We absconded then, unwilling to see whether he spat her out, swallowed her, or choked. Surely the last, if he tried anything more. Surely. Patty said she would speak to the elder, but I told her of my shallow hopes for such.
Perhaps she could take him to see Mr. Thadding and get to the bottom of this terrible mystery.
11th Moon, 10th Day til Frost
Patty O'Dail is my friend no longer! I have no luck with Pattys, they are all rats and schemers! She says she took the elder to speak with Mr. Thadding, but then she continues that she was not sure why, and how I was simply being a silly girl stirring fantasies about such a lovely man! I asked her of the chickens, and she said she did not see such a thing at all!
I hate her, I hate her, I hate her! She made me look the fool before the elder, and made me look the fool before my father, as well. I swear by what I saw, and you, Patty, you rat, you should swear by it too! If all this town is against me, perhaps, first thing tomorrow's light, I shall confront Mr. Thadding myself!
11th Moon, 9th Day til Frost
Mr. Thadding and I had a lovely time this morning. We drank a spot of tea, and watched his hens dart around the yard. Such silly little things! I do not know why I did not spend time with him again sooner. I did have a lovely time dancing with him, last Harvest, and he has always been so kind to me. A shame he is leaving town soon.
11th Moon, 8th Day til Frost
By Greatwyrms' folly, my head went empty at his lights. I know not what he did, or where he went, but if he ever comes back again here, he will have a great wrath to face. Half the town is riled in fervor ready to hunt him now! Whatever trickster wore that man's skin, it was not Mr. Thadding - he had been away for business since Harvest! He told us so! He told us!
How could we have believed he was here? How could we believe that devil was him?
Oh, poor Patty, I forgive you, he must have swept your thoughts away as well. Those lights! Those sounds! Like falling into a deep sleep, and now we are awake, we know it was only dreams that we believed in!
Whatever you were - may I never cross paths with you again.
--
10th Moon, 8th Day from Harvest
I think something has afflicted Mr. Thadding. He has not seemed well, not since Harvest. He nery speaks any more, and when he does let a word slip out, his voice his high and strained - and he talks as if he only speaks a smattering of Common at all! Surely a far cry from the soft-spoken but intelligent man who asked me to dance last moon.
Someting of his face hangs oddly, too. It feels longer than it used to be. Is there an illness of the mind that causes such a sight? If I am to learn some outbreak of Leery Droopface has afflicted our sleepy town, I shall be most distressed. Perhaps most perturbing is how no other soul seems to share my concerns. The old Dane even chastised me for daring to criticise such an upstanding member of the community!
Bless me, what I would give to smack that woman silly. I am a child no longer, and she has no sway over me.
11th Moon, 16th Day from Harvest
No. Something is certainly amiss. I was not wrong to say it. I spoke to Patty (O'Dail, not Gorvich, I am friends with her no longer!), and to my shock, she agreed! She had noticed something odd as well, though a few days later than myself. That noon, she and I snuck our way past the wicket to spy upon Mr. Thadding in his stead.
He was striding back and forth around his yard, playing a pair of odd pipes, and his chickens were following in tune! Waddling along behind him like ducklings to their mother. And, were this not odd enough, he turned to the poor hens, grabbed one like a biscuit, and shoved her in his mouth - whole! We absconded then, unwilling to see whether he spat her out, swallowed her, or choked. Surely the last, if he tried anything more. Surely. Patty said she would speak to the elder, but I told her of my shallow hopes for such.
Perhaps she could take him to see Mr. Thadding and get to the bottom of this terrible mystery.
11th Moon, 10th Day til Frost
Patty O'Dail is my friend no longer! I have no luck with Pattys, they are all rats and schemers! She says she took the elder to speak with Mr. Thadding, but then she continues that she was not sure why, and how I was simply being a silly girl stirring fantasies about such a lovely man! I asked her of the chickens, and she said she did not see such a thing at all!
I hate her, I hate her, I hate her! She made me look the fool before the elder, and made me look the fool before my father, as well. I swear by what I saw, and you, Patty, you rat, you should swear by it too! If all this town is against me, perhaps, first thing tomorrow's light, I shall confront Mr. Thadding myself!
11th Moon, 9th Day til Frost
Mr. Thadding and I had a lovely time this morning. We drank a spot of tea, and watched his hens dart around the yard. Such silly little things! I do not know why I did not spend time with him again sooner. I did have a lovely time dancing with him, last Harvest, and he has always been so kind to me. A shame he is leaving town soon.
11th Moon, 8th Day til Frost
By Greatwyrms' folly, my head went empty at his lights. I know not what he did, or where he went, but if he ever comes back again here, he will have a great wrath to face. Half the town is riled in fervor ready to hunt him now! Whatever trickster wore that man's skin, it was not Mr. Thadding - he had been away for business since Harvest! He told us so! He told us!
How could we have believed he was here? How could we believe that devil was him?
Oh, poor Patty, I forgive you, he must have swept your thoughts away as well. Those lights! Those sounds! Like falling into a deep sleep, and now we are awake, we know it was only dreams that we believed in!
Whatever you were - may I never cross paths with you again.
credit: Bacon on wysp.wsFEN
Medium fey (Seemling), chaotic neutral
Glamoury. You can cast Disguise Self on yourself at will without expending a spell slot. Other creatures have advantage on Intelligence (Investigation) checks to discern you are disguised.
Blending. If you are not currently being observed, you are able to cast Invisibility on yourself at will as a 2nd level spell without expending a spell slot. You must hold your breath and not move for the duration of the spell. If at any point you breathe, speak, or move, the spell ends.
FEATURES
Bardic Inspiration. You can inspire others through stirring words or music. To do so, you use a bonus action on your turn to choose one creature other than yourself within 60 feet of you who can hear you. That creature gains one Bardic Inspiration die, a d6. Once within the next 10 minutes, the creature can roll the die and add the number rolled to one ability check, attack roll, or saving throw it makes. The creature can wait until after it rolls the d20 before deciding to use the Bardic Inspiration die, but must decide before the GM says whether the roll succeeds or fails. Once the Bardic Inspiration die is rolled, it is lost. A creature can have only one Bardic Inspiration die at a time. You can use this feature a number of times equal to your Charisma modifier (a minimum of once). You regain any expended uses when you finish a long rest.
Enthralling Performance. If you perform for at least 1 minute, you can attempt to inspire wonder in your audience by singing, reciting a poem, or dancing. At the end of the performance, choose a number of humanoids within 60 feet of you who watched and listened to all of it, up to a number equal to your Charisma modifier (minimum of one). Each target must succeed on a Wisdom saving throw against your spell save DC or be charmed by you. While charmed in this way, the target idolizes you, it speaks glowingly of you to anyone who speaks to it, and it hinders anyone who opposes you, avoiding violence unless it was already inclined to fight on your behalf. This effect ends on a target after 1 hour, if it takes any damage, if you attack it, or if it witnesses you attacking or damaging any of its allies. If a target succeeds on its saving throw, the target has no hint that you tried to charm it. Once you use this feature, you can’t use it again until you finish a short or long rest.
Mantle of Inspiration. As a bonus action, you can expend one use of your Bardic Inspiration to grant yourself a wondrous appearance. When you do so, choose a number of creatures you can see and who can see you within 60 feet of you, up to a number equal to your Charisma modifier (minimum of one). Each of them gains 5 temporary hit points. When a creature gains these temporary hit points, it can immediately use its reaction to move up to its speed, without provoking opportunity attacks.
Song of Rest. You can use soothing music or oration to help revitalize your wounded allies during a short rest. If you or any friendly creatures who can hear your performance regain hit points at the end of the short rest by spending one or more Hit Dice, each of those creatures regains an extra 1d6 hit points.
SPELLS
Cantrips: Mind Sliver, Dancing Lights, Vicious Mockery, Minor Illusion
1st Level: Bane, Silent Image, Color Spray, Charm Person
2nd Level: Knock, Suggestion
1/day: Mage Armor (1st Level)
Medium fey (Seemling), chaotic neutral
Armor Class 12, 15 (mage armor)
Hit Points 21 (3d8+3)
Speed 30 ft.
Hit Points 21 (3d8+3)
Speed 30 ft.
STR
DEX
CON
INT
WIS
CHA
8 (-1)
14 (+2)
12 (+1)
13 (+1)
11 (+0)
18 (+4)
Saving Throws Dex +4, Cha +6
Skills Acrobatics +4, Deception +8, Performance +6, Sleight of Hand +4, Stealth +6
Senses passive Perception 10
Languages Sylvan, Common
Skills Acrobatics +4, Deception +8, Performance +6, Sleight of Hand +4, Stealth +6
Senses passive Perception 10
Languages Sylvan, Common
Glamoury. You can cast Disguise Self on yourself at will without expending a spell slot. Other creatures have advantage on Intelligence (Investigation) checks to discern you are disguised.Blending. If you are not currently being observed, you are able to cast Invisibility on yourself at will as a 2nd level spell without expending a spell slot. You must hold your breath and not move for the duration of the spell. If at any point you breathe, speak, or move, the spell ends.
FEATURES
Bardic Inspiration. You can inspire others through stirring words or music. To do so, you use a bonus action on your turn to choose one creature other than yourself within 60 feet of you who can hear you. That creature gains one Bardic Inspiration die, a d6. Once within the next 10 minutes, the creature can roll the die and add the number rolled to one ability check, attack roll, or saving throw it makes. The creature can wait until after it rolls the d20 before deciding to use the Bardic Inspiration die, but must decide before the GM says whether the roll succeeds or fails. Once the Bardic Inspiration die is rolled, it is lost. A creature can have only one Bardic Inspiration die at a time. You can use this feature a number of times equal to your Charisma modifier (a minimum of once). You regain any expended uses when you finish a long rest.Enthralling Performance. If you perform for at least 1 minute, you can attempt to inspire wonder in your audience by singing, reciting a poem, or dancing. At the end of the performance, choose a number of humanoids within 60 feet of you who watched and listened to all of it, up to a number equal to your Charisma modifier (minimum of one). Each target must succeed on a Wisdom saving throw against your spell save DC or be charmed by you. While charmed in this way, the target idolizes you, it speaks glowingly of you to anyone who speaks to it, and it hinders anyone who opposes you, avoiding violence unless it was already inclined to fight on your behalf. This effect ends on a target after 1 hour, if it takes any damage, if you attack it, or if it witnesses you attacking or damaging any of its allies. If a target succeeds on its saving throw, the target has no hint that you tried to charm it. Once you use this feature, you can’t use it again until you finish a short or long rest.
Mantle of Inspiration. As a bonus action, you can expend one use of your Bardic Inspiration to grant yourself a wondrous appearance. When you do so, choose a number of creatures you can see and who can see you within 60 feet of you, up to a number equal to your Charisma modifier (minimum of one). Each of them gains 5 temporary hit points. When a creature gains these temporary hit points, it can immediately use its reaction to move up to its speed, without provoking opportunity attacks.
Song of Rest. You can use soothing music or oration to help revitalize your wounded allies during a short rest. If you or any friendly creatures who can hear your performance regain hit points at the end of the short rest by spending one or more Hit Dice, each of those creatures regains an extra 1d6 hit points.
SPELLS
Cantrips: Mind Sliver, Dancing Lights, Vicious Mockery, Minor Illusion
1st Level: Bane, Silent Image, Color Spray, Charm Person
2nd Level: Knock, Suggestion
1/day: Mage Armor (1st Level)
Last edited:
Long ago, before war, before strife, before pain and suffering could even be named, there lived a mother and her children. The mother was a great sorceress, the first of these, and the greatest of her kind for now and forever more - she held in her hand the light of creation, and shining this glimmer through the mists, she could bring forth what wasn't into what was. She made a little home for them, between the mists - and beyond that, there was no thing else. They loved her, and she loved them, and for a time, that was all they needed. But as time passed, the children began to desire for something more. They approached their mother, pleading:
"Mother, dear, mother, dear, the time is now right, for we all grow tired of this simple life, teach us your gift to weave something from mist, so that we may go forth and bring life."
Now, a mother knows best what her children can bear. She did not trust them with the light in whole. And so instead, she angled her hand against the morning dew, and in the rainbow, she plucked a color for each.
For her firstborn, the eldest son, she gave to him the color of a babbling brook, of a sky before storm, of an open sea and a winter's bite. And so he went forward. And with his left hand, he rose the waters, and with his right, he split the heavens. His was the Law of Order, the Work of Cycles, that which obeyed the rise and fall. And he looked upon the dominions he created, and he saw they were beautiful to him.
For her secondborn, the eldest daughter, she gave to her the color of a raging fire, of a prickled thumb, of a quaking ground and a scorching day. And so she went forward. And with her left hand, she boiled land from the seas, and with her right hand, she set fire in the sky. Hers was the Law of Freedom, the Work of Noise, that which acted on its will alone. And she looked upon the dominions she had created, and she saw they were beautiful to her.
For her thirdborn, the youngest son, she gave to him the color of a newborn child, of a broken tooth, of an open petal and a writhing vine. And so he went forward. And with his left hand, he brought life to spread across land and sea, and with his right hand, he set soaring life in the skies above. His was the Law of Aspiration, the Work of Dreams, that which strived for more than it was. And he looked upon the dominions he had created, and saw they were beautiful to him.
And for her fourthborn, the youngest daughter, she gave a quieter gift. She gave to her the color of a twilight edge, of a silenced voice, of a shoulder turned and a well-earned sleep. And so she went forward. And with her left hand, she doled out respite from the cold cycles and the raging noise, and with her right hand, she brought solace to the life that strived and strived without settling down. Hers was the Law of Rest, the Work of Ends, and in her gift, all things her siblings made would find their peace. And she looked upon the dominions of her siblings, and she was happy to be a part.
But the others were not.
They were not satisfied with what they had been given. They were not content with their lot. And when they saw their young sister's meddling, that feeling grew. They had been focused on their own works, but now they turned to the works of the others, scheming and plotting on how they could improve them. They were each bequeathed a tiny facet of the light - but if they had the whole, they could make all in their image. And so, one night, when their mother was sleeping, each snuck out of their room to the place where the light was kept. Each stopped at the entrance to the chamber, surprised to see the others, but determined to have their way.
"The world we've made is too chaotic," the oldest brother lectured. "It is full of things that make little sense. What is a part without a whole? Noise and dreams muddle fiction from fact."
"I say it is too predictable," the oldest sister retorted. "We grew bored of our little home - we will grow bored of these silly patterns, too. And for the future, why care for it at all? To try and control it is to distract from the now."
"Cycles and chaos, patterns and noise," the youngest brother grumbled. "All this talk limits the possibilities. Why depend on the same thing over and over, when one can change for the better? Why tear down what one has built on, when it can be passed down on in line?"
Their squabbles grew and grew. It is uncertain which one ran for the light first - perhaps it does not matter. But all three of their hands touched it at the same moment, and all three toppled it from its pedestal, and all three watched it tumble down -
down -
down -
to the ground.
It shattered into countless pieces with a brilliant crash, and as it shattered, so did they, strewn across the floor in pieces so tiny and so jumbled that one couldn't tell which was which. At the noise, their mother ran in - and seeing what remained of her children - wept. She fell to her knees, trying to pull the dust back together, but without her light, her powers waned.
At the door, the youngest daughter appeared, silent for a long while as her mother sobbed and wailed. In time, she moved forward, placing a hand on her mother's shoulder and kneeling down beside her.
"I learned something from you," she whispered, watching the dust. "Though things may be trapped, or muddled, or lost in a sea of what could be, they always yearn for a place of rest."
The mother wiped her eyes on her sleeve, staring at her youngest daughter with surprise. Youngest of the four - but, perhaps, the wisest. Her gift had not been one of her desire, but of the desires of what her siblings had made. A nature above all else. A yearning to return. Scooping the dust in her hands, the mother held it to the heavens, and - pursing her lips - blew it out across the open air. It scattered to the plains, to the mountains, to the oceans, to the deserts, to the forests, to the tundras. It scattered far and wide.
"They were not satisfied, yet," she whispered to her remaining child, "but maybe, when they are, they will find their way back whole."
"Mother, dear, mother, dear, the time is now right, for we all grow tired of this simple life, teach us your gift to weave something from mist, so that we may go forth and bring life."
Now, a mother knows best what her children can bear. She did not trust them with the light in whole. And so instead, she angled her hand against the morning dew, and in the rainbow, she plucked a color for each.
For her firstborn, the eldest son, she gave to him the color of a babbling brook, of a sky before storm, of an open sea and a winter's bite. And so he went forward. And with his left hand, he rose the waters, and with his right, he split the heavens. His was the Law of Order, the Work of Cycles, that which obeyed the rise and fall. And he looked upon the dominions he created, and he saw they were beautiful to him.
For her secondborn, the eldest daughter, she gave to her the color of a raging fire, of a prickled thumb, of a quaking ground and a scorching day. And so she went forward. And with her left hand, she boiled land from the seas, and with her right hand, she set fire in the sky. Hers was the Law of Freedom, the Work of Noise, that which acted on its will alone. And she looked upon the dominions she had created, and she saw they were beautiful to her.
For her thirdborn, the youngest son, she gave to him the color of a newborn child, of a broken tooth, of an open petal and a writhing vine. And so he went forward. And with his left hand, he brought life to spread across land and sea, and with his right hand, he set soaring life in the skies above. His was the Law of Aspiration, the Work of Dreams, that which strived for more than it was. And he looked upon the dominions he had created, and saw they were beautiful to him.
And for her fourthborn, the youngest daughter, she gave a quieter gift. She gave to her the color of a twilight edge, of a silenced voice, of a shoulder turned and a well-earned sleep. And so she went forward. And with her left hand, she doled out respite from the cold cycles and the raging noise, and with her right hand, she brought solace to the life that strived and strived without settling down. Hers was the Law of Rest, the Work of Ends, and in her gift, all things her siblings made would find their peace. And she looked upon the dominions of her siblings, and she was happy to be a part.
But the others were not.
They were not satisfied with what they had been given. They were not content with their lot. And when they saw their young sister's meddling, that feeling grew. They had been focused on their own works, but now they turned to the works of the others, scheming and plotting on how they could improve them. They were each bequeathed a tiny facet of the light - but if they had the whole, they could make all in their image. And so, one night, when their mother was sleeping, each snuck out of their room to the place where the light was kept. Each stopped at the entrance to the chamber, surprised to see the others, but determined to have their way.
"The world we've made is too chaotic," the oldest brother lectured. "It is full of things that make little sense. What is a part without a whole? Noise and dreams muddle fiction from fact."
"I say it is too predictable," the oldest sister retorted. "We grew bored of our little home - we will grow bored of these silly patterns, too. And for the future, why care for it at all? To try and control it is to distract from the now."
"Cycles and chaos, patterns and noise," the youngest brother grumbled. "All this talk limits the possibilities. Why depend on the same thing over and over, when one can change for the better? Why tear down what one has built on, when it can be passed down on in line?"
Their squabbles grew and grew. It is uncertain which one ran for the light first - perhaps it does not matter. But all three of their hands touched it at the same moment, and all three toppled it from its pedestal, and all three watched it tumble down -
down -
down -
to the ground.
It shattered into countless pieces with a brilliant crash, and as it shattered, so did they, strewn across the floor in pieces so tiny and so jumbled that one couldn't tell which was which. At the noise, their mother ran in - and seeing what remained of her children - wept. She fell to her knees, trying to pull the dust back together, but without her light, her powers waned.
At the door, the youngest daughter appeared, silent for a long while as her mother sobbed and wailed. In time, she moved forward, placing a hand on her mother's shoulder and kneeling down beside her.
"I learned something from you," she whispered, watching the dust. "Though things may be trapped, or muddled, or lost in a sea of what could be, they always yearn for a place of rest."
The mother wiped her eyes on her sleeve, staring at her youngest daughter with surprise. Youngest of the four - but, perhaps, the wisest. Her gift had not been one of her desire, but of the desires of what her siblings had made. A nature above all else. A yearning to return. Scooping the dust in her hands, the mother held it to the heavens, and - pursing her lips - blew it out across the open air. It scattered to the plains, to the mountains, to the oceans, to the deserts, to the forests, to the tundras. It scattered far and wide.
"They were not satisfied, yet," she whispered to her remaining child, "but maybe, when they are, they will find their way back whole."
Last edited: