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- #441
The Party
The group makes it way up the wet, salt-crusted stairs and into the town of Arendal. The party receives a number of glances, some of them mildly curious and others openly aghast. The townsfolk give the group a wide berth. Of the two fishermen who traveled with you, there is no sign. Presumably, they have returned to their homes.
The black man moves toward Branwen as you walk, but keeping a pace between himself and the child and showing his hands, palm up, to any in the group who appear concerned at his approach. "Can you speak, child?" he asks. His voice is gentle with her. Branwen looks up, but says nothing, so he tries against, speaking in some fluid foreign tongue that none of you recognize. Branwen still does not comprehend, and the black man shrugs.
"See that," he says, conversationally, to Branwen, even though the harpy child pays him no mind. He is pointing at the sun. "That is the eye of Asra. It moves across the heavens as she makes the journey, each day, from horizon to horizon, flying on the wings of a falcon. At night, she lands at the far horizon, well beyond the travelings of Men, and she makes the return journey across the world on foot, only to fly into the heavens once again as day breaks."
He shakes his head. "She is part falcon, and part woman. It is said that long ago, there were those in the world who embodied her spirit, and her form. Part bird, part earthly woman. But it has been many, many centuries since Asra has seen fit to bless us with such a child." He beams down at Branwen. "Until now."
The group reaches an inn called The Maiden's Spear, and judging by the presence of Llucheden in the attached stable, Baldhart must have made it safely to Arendal after all. The smell of fire smoke and roast meats drifts out onto the street from the inn.
The group makes it way up the wet, salt-crusted stairs and into the town of Arendal. The party receives a number of glances, some of them mildly curious and others openly aghast. The townsfolk give the group a wide berth. Of the two fishermen who traveled with you, there is no sign. Presumably, they have returned to their homes.
The black man moves toward Branwen as you walk, but keeping a pace between himself and the child and showing his hands, palm up, to any in the group who appear concerned at his approach. "Can you speak, child?" he asks. His voice is gentle with her. Branwen looks up, but says nothing, so he tries against, speaking in some fluid foreign tongue that none of you recognize. Branwen still does not comprehend, and the black man shrugs.
"See that," he says, conversationally, to Branwen, even though the harpy child pays him no mind. He is pointing at the sun. "That is the eye of Asra. It moves across the heavens as she makes the journey, each day, from horizon to horizon, flying on the wings of a falcon. At night, she lands at the far horizon, well beyond the travelings of Men, and she makes the return journey across the world on foot, only to fly into the heavens once again as day breaks."
He shakes his head. "She is part falcon, and part woman. It is said that long ago, there were those in the world who embodied her spirit, and her form. Part bird, part earthly woman. But it has been many, many centuries since Asra has seen fit to bless us with such a child." He beams down at Branwen. "Until now."
The group reaches an inn called The Maiden's Spear, and judging by the presence of Llucheden in the attached stable, Baldhart must have made it safely to Arendal after all. The smell of fire smoke and roast meats drifts out onto the street from the inn.
Mythic Scribe
Valar Lord