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he journey to the garrison is, in the main, uneventful; other travellers make way, and hastily, for the white-clad entourage. Still, Caeric and Tonar both have prickly feelings about the whole affair. Caeric as a bard has some touch of magic, true, but that can't explain why Daverris--and by extension the Magistra Liessira--are so interested in travellers from far away. The garrison would be military in character, like any other garrison, except for the religious decorations everywhere: woven banners of legendary figures, verses from Sorevvan texts, incense and scented candles. The garrison itself is made of white, white stone. Daverris generously allots the two travellers guest rooms near the stables; perhaps he expects them to make a break for it. Caeric, ever curious, looks about the room - for windows in particular, curious what hints may be had of the world outside. Both Caeric and Tonar discover that they have, indeed, been given rooms with windows--if you can call a narrow, grilled slit a window. The glass is murky, low quality; but the fact that they have glass at all is notable. Through the slits they see a courtyard, smooth-paved with tiles (though the tiles themselves show cracks and worn edges, barely noticeable from their view). Perhaps it is used for drill. But there are trees lining the courtyard, each hung with wind chimes. Having ensured that they've settled in (or some pretense thereof), Daverris arrives with an invitation to dinner from Magistra Liessira. His eyes upon bard and warrior are cautionary: "I would advise you to accept; we are above poisoning-of-food" (or so he claims) "and the Magistra is most curious about our guests. If you have any allergies or...religious preferences...let me know and I assure you the cook will find something suitable...or taste of the Magistra's displeasure." Tonar simply shrugs and nods, thinking it best to meet this unknown soon. Caeric's lips twitch upwards in momentary amusement. He raises one finger and murmurs something, not intelligible as any language known this side of the sea and takes a few steps towards the unpacked pile of his things, swinging the old harpcase easily up onto his shoulder. A slight jerk on the bottom of his coat pulls the straying patterns that decorate it into some vague semblance of formality. The bard pauses, nods sharply and turns back towards the door, a faint smile on his face, curious what dinner will bring. 'Let's not keep the Magistra waiting then, aye?' Daverris' returning smile is equally faint. "Ever the thoughtful guest, traveller. Come."
Back: Caeric & Tonar's Prologue 4 Flame image provided by Clipart Castle.
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