Meeting Riegan
Late at night, Vert leaves the Drunken Duck slightly drunk from a night of lone drinking. He is not sure what happened to his old drinking partner, Viktor. *He stumbles* over to the library of Gaular, *loudly barging open the door* and *walks* over to the brewing section, *hoping to find ideas* to inspire him with the creation of new brews. During his prowl, *he hears* the sound of a person sleeping. *Surprised, he turns* around the shelf he was looking at to see a tall, thin, and bony man in a dark blue and white suit, face down with paperwork scattered around him. Worried and slightly confused, *in his stupor*, Vert *stumbles* towards this stranger and roughly *prods* them with his rocky index finger. "Ow ow ow, okay, I'm up!" *exclaims* the stranger with clear dissatisfaction at being awoken. Vert, still slightly worried for the stranger's well-being, *asks*, "Are you okay there?" The man, still looking exhausted due to visible dark shadows under each of his eyes, *stares* up at Vert with a lit cigarette hanging out of his mouth and *grumbles*, "Yeah, yeah, I'm..." before pinching the bridge of his nose and continuing, "I'm fine."
Vert, making up his mind that the stranger desperately needs sleep, *insists*, "You should really get some sleep." However, the stranger *protests*, "I still have work to do!" Grimly, Vert *slams* his fist on the hardwood table over the man's most substantial pile of paperwork, leaving a slight crater in the oak. "Perhaps I was not clear enough... you are going home to get some sleep." Clearly unbothered, the man *takes* a long drag of his cigarette before continuing to write as he had previously intended.
Vert, spurred on by the slight alcoholic influence on his mind, *proceeds* to grab the man's pen, *breaking* it in the process, and more gently *picks up* the sheet of paper that was being written on. Even more unimpressed, the stranger *looks* up at Vert and suddenly has both the paper and a brand new pen in his grasp. Now beginning to get mad, Vert *yells*, "If you want to play that game, I will take the table," before *snatching* up the table. Exasperated, the stranger *looks* up at Vert, reasoning that taking the table would reflect badly on Vert as it would surely upset the librarian. *Slamming* the table down, Vert agrees with this but *accidentally breaks* the leg of the table. Ashamed, he decides to double down on this action, *exclaiming*, "This game can be played in other ways," before *mumbling*, "Damn Betula is gonna kill me." The stranger *concedes*, returning the papers to his slightly weathered brown suitcase and *asks*, "Now who even are you, why are you bothering me?"
"I'm nobody, just a dryad with an interest in books who believes you desperately need to get some sleep," *Vert grumbles*. In response to this, the stranger *pulls* out another, seemingly longer sheet of paper and *looks* over it. "Vert de Haricoville-Curassier, right?" Vert, shocked that this stranger seems to know who he is, hastily *attempts* to grab the paper, which is *snatched* away before he reaches it impossibly fast by the stranger, who *yells*, "I think not!" The stranger, it seems, is now fully alert. "Why is my name in your papers and just who are you!?" *bellows* Vert, clearly now in distress. "I'm Gascoigne Riegan, and my papers have information on everyone, so don't worry." Slightly relieved but starting to become drowsy, Vert *asks*, "Very well then, but what do you have on me?" Riegan reads through the mysterious paper before listing off various information, including Vert's relationships and other assorted details. Suddenly excited, Vert *perks* up. "Wait, is it possible you have any information on my parents? They were both dryads, if that helps." Riegan once again looks through the paper before apologetically *muttering*, "Hmmm, nope, sorry. Well, I have a meeting, so I will see you around." Vert, disappointed, does not attempt to stop the man from leaving and *catches* a brief glimpse of something that seemed like a golden scale out of the corner of his eye. However, by the time he turns, whatever it was, as well as Riegan, are gone. He dejectedly *trudges* back to Esaqu before *collapsing* into bed.
An issue with the Librarian
The next morning, Vert awoke and *began brewing* himself a small pot of tea when he noticed a letter which had been *slid* neatly under the door. It curiously bore the insignia of Gaular. He *picked it up*, curious because it was addressed from Gaular, and carefully *read the paper*. His eyes widened with worry - he had been summoned to appear in the Drunken Duck by an unknown party. Vert, ever cautious, *gathered everything* he could possibly need for self-defense, including his armor, katana, and some herbal drinks to supplement his strength. He quickly *ate some lunch* before setting off. It was late afternoon by the time Vert arrived in Gaular. *Traveling in his armor took far longer* than walking, which normally took him just half an hour. Upon arriving in town, he *headed straight for the designated meeting spot*, warily looking around for possible threats.
He entered the Drunken Duck, *moving carefully* to make little noise, hoping to catch anyone planning a trap by surprise. He walked into the main area. *As he walked across the bar floor*, he heard a sudden noise behind him and *spun around* to find... the friendly local librarian, Betula. *Betula greeted* Vert, "Vert! How are you?" while *drawing slightly closer*. Vert *warily replied*, "Good!" before *questioning*, "You?" It was at this point that Vert *noticed* a gleaming blue sword sheathed in Betula's cloak. Betula *replied*, "Oh, I am doing well!" before *following up with*, "There have been some little... temporary setbacks, though." Vert, *surprised*, *responded*, "Oh my, what happened?" before *remembering the previous night's events* and his breaking of the table. He *decided to act friendly*, hoping they would be less aggressive if he was apologetic. He *removed his armor* while *listening to Betula* mention some recent trouble in their library. He *suggested* it may have been the new person, Riegan, who he distinctly remembered as seeming rather shady, though he was not sure why he thought this. Betula *raised an eyebrow* and *remarked*, "It is funny you would say that actually." Vert, *not noticing this*, *continued*, mentioning how Riegan was new in Gaular in his sorry attempt to portray Riegan as the scapegoat of this issue. An eyebrow still raised, Betula *continued*, "I am, as you are no doubt well aware, very protective of my library and I ensure I am up-to-date with any issues that arise."
With a slight tinge of nervousness in his voice, Vert *responded*, "Yeah... I would not want you to catch me messing around in there!" Slightly grinning now, Betula *responded*, "What an... interesting choice of words," as Vert's eyes *flicked to the doorway*, as if he was contemplating an escape. Betula's grin *widened significantly* before they said, "I believe you are aware a table was broken last night, yes?" Feigning innocence, Vert *dramatically responded*, "A table broken? Oh my! What terrible news!" Impossibly, grinning even wider, Betula *demanded*, "Why yes, isn't it just... you owe me a table, Vert." Vert *tried one last time to feign innocence*, "I do?" Humorlessly, Betula *responded*, "Yes." Finally conceding that Betula was sure of the previous night's events, Vert *questioned*, "Of what variety?" Betula *responded* with a notoriously rare and expensive variety of cedar, fine Viratayn cedarwood, *hovering one hand over the sword* that had been inconspicuously placed within their robe. Defensively, *roots shot out of Vert* and began intertwining with the floorboards of the Duck. Not yet noticing the roots, Betula *continued*, "I know, as I bought it from a town there myself." They then *noticed the roots*, steadily branching out from Vert, and *reasoned*, "My apologies, I should not have brought my sword indoors," and *continued*, mentioning there were two options to resolve the issue. He could either pay them a total of 2000 for a replacement table or he could fix the table to a satisfactory standard. Having just paid off a large loan, Vert *was very short on money*, so he decided to repair the table instead.
Betula then *indicated* that Vert should follow them and *walked into the library*. He *pointed out the table*, which was now propped up on a stack of books, the leg leaning off a nearby wall. He *picked up the leg* and removed the books, *fusing the leg to the table* using some roots, with a concerned look on his face, as something felt wrong. Getting up, he *informed Betula* that there was both good news and bad news. The good news was that the table would be fully repaired after a small sanding, and the bad news was that the chair was a fake and was not carved from fine Viratayn cedarwood or even basic cedar wood. Betula, understandably enraged by this realization, *shouted*, "I'm going to strangle that grinning..." before going deadly calm and asking, "... do excuse me. Could you please tell me what the table is in fact made of?" Shrugging, Vert *responded*, "With the ease I was able to fix it with? I would say it is likely regular spruce." Betula *continued fuming for a moment*, then calmed down slightly and *asked*, "Could you at least check everything else?" Vert *extended some roots* and *checked the rest of the furniture* in the room, which were all genuine, before *apologetically leaving* to return home.
A journey to the past
The scenery was stunning; *a cool breeze could be felt from a far entrance.* The trickle of the surrounding waterfalls was interrupted only by the familiar laughter of those he called his family. *He could not remember how long it had been since he had returned to these caves;* the past seemed but a fuzzy image in his head. *Today, he was learning the mimicry arts of the Shylie.*
*The surrounding caves were filled with sounds of joy and laughter.* Vert smiled - *after all, he would never have to leave this place.* As he continued on, *something was wrong;* his once lush and blooming moss was withering away and had a tinge of brown. *This issue grew rapidly, and submerged in worry, he did not notice until it was too late.* *The sounds of laughter had faded,* and that cool breeze was no more. He looked around him and saw the frosts of the Castellan heartland looming above him. *But he had just been in the cave; how could he be here?*
*Panicked,* he reached out for the memories and *awoke to find himself in his bed.* Concerned, Lira asked him, "What is wrong? Is something bothering you?" Vert, *remembering his surroundings,* wearily shook his head. "It's nothing important," he told her reassuringly, before continuing, "I will have to depart on a journey for a while tomorrow. I have to see something." Seeing his resolve as solid as the stone-like material that made up his skin, *Lira decided not to attempt convincing Vert otherwise.* *The next morning,* Vert left Esaqu with supplies and a horse.
(3 weeks later)
It felt like it had been months since Vert had left the shelter of Esaqu. A blizzard was afoot, and snow swirled around him. He could feel the frost on his face deeply freezing; some bits had already chipped off. The horse had died of frostbite, he thought, earlier that day. *Why couldn't he have stayed in the shelter of his home?* He wasn't upset or anything. All he knew was he wanted to find those he had grown up with. Just as his legs gave out beneath him, he felt warm, very warm. It was as if he had been whisked away from the icy terrain of Sparwood.
Groaning, Vert opened his eyes, feeling like he had been asleep for a long time. He saw that he was not in the icy plain anymore but was in a cave. He sat up and looked around, *wondering* how he was here and how he was still alive; he did not know these things. Looking around, he was reminded of his dream—the quiet trickle of waterfalls and the lush growth on the rocky walls. However, he noticed a few differences: the sounds of laughter had faded, and that brilliant sunshine was enveloped in what seemed to be a sea of black. Stretching his arms out, *Vert exited the hut and found the cave to be empty. However, faint footsteps echoed from a nearby passage, leading him to walk and meet the mysterious character behind them.*
As he passed through the passage, he *tripped on a particularly large root*. Vert steadied himself after stumbling and took a deep breath, his eyes adjusting to the dimly lit cave. The echoes of faint footsteps had faded, leaving the cavern eerily silent. *Dusting off his military jacket*, Vert ventured forward, his curiosity pushing him deeper into the depths of the cave. As he walked, the walls seemed to whisper secrets that hinted at lost memories. *They were adorned with shimmering crystals and vibrant lichens*. The faint glow of mushrooms cast shadows across the cave floor, guiding his path. He wandered down the passage, the sound of his footsteps echoing against the stone walls. The cave seemed to stretch endlessly, and Vert couldn't shake the feeling of being watched, although he saw no one.
Finally, he reached a larger chamber, its ceiling soaring high above. The air was thick with a damp, earthy smell, and a faint breeze carried the distant sound of trickling water. Vert glanced around, *his eyes adjusting to the sudden burst of light being given off by much bigger mushrooms*. In the center of the chamber lay a small pool of crystal-clear water, reflecting the sudden luminescence of the mushrooms. *He took a break to rub his eyes*. Approaching the pool, Vert knelt down, cupping his hands and taking a sip of the cool water. Refreshed, he gazed at the pool's surface, mesmerized by the way the ripples distorted the reflections of the cave walls.
Coming around a corner, Vert spotted a faint light emanating from a distant chamber. The footsteps seemed to originate from there. With cautious steps, *he advanced*, his rocky heart pounding in anticipation of what lay ahead. Just as he approached the chamber, a loose stone underfoot shifted, causing Vert to stumble forward. He regained his balance, a bit embarrassed by the mishap, and turned to glance back at the passage he'd just navigated, only to be met with the sight of a figure emerging from the shadows. It was someone he hadn't seen in years, a familiar face from his past, but the details remained obscured in the dimly lit cave. Vert's breath caught in his throat, recognizing the silhouette of a long-lost friend waiting at the entrance of the passage.
As Vert drew closer to the shadowed figure, *their shape and details* became clearly visible. It was one of the many Shylie he had left behind when he departed the caves. This particular individual was an older specimen, easily pushing his thousands, yet *he appeared* reasonably healthy for his age, with only small parts of his moss looking withered—an early stage of decay that told Vert the elder had little time once it caught on. A raspy voice emerged from the character, "Is that you, Sibirica?" Confused, Vert questioned the name. The elderly Dryad explained how they had found him back in his younger years in the snow, almost dead, and named him Sibirica after the tree they believed he hailed from. Vert chuckled before responding, "Well, I go by Vert now. Nice to see you again. Is there anywhere we could catch up? So much has happened since we last saw each other."
*They returned* to one of the many waterfalls Vert had passed through earlier, now filled with dryads and the familiar laughter of Vert's childhood, and *sat down* mere meters away from the water's edge. *They spoke* for many hours, the exact passing of time made unclear by their depth within the cave. Almost begrudgingly, Vert bid the elderly dryad farewell as *he collected* the few supplies he had managed to keep, as well as a vibrant collection that had been left for him as a gift from his old village. He had greatly enjoyed the brief but deep visit he had made here and intended to return in the future, perhaps with a few of his family members or those he considered his friends. Viktor and Claude came to mind in this train of thought—he wondered if they would find a trip to his homeland worthwhile or perhaps even enjoyable.
*He then strode* out of the cave into the cool but sunny plains of summer. *He blinked*, clearing the dust from his eyes. Wait, summertime? He had left in the middle of winter—or he thought he had... was he really away for so long? His pace, at a leisurely stroll, immediately sped up to a brisk stride. *He realized* he had spent a long time talking to the elder in that cave. He had to return home and check if his family was well. Just a few days later, *he approached* the walls of Esaqu, though he feared he might be far too late.
He *burst* through the doors of his house to see Lira relaxing at the table. When she sees Vert, *a look* of heavy relief washes over her face. She rushes over to check if he isn't harmed before inquiring, "How was your trip?" with a slight twinge of emotion that Vert cannot place, as all he can see is the relief seemingly plastered over her face. He *smiles* and replies, "It was so good; I have a lot to tell you!" Then, remembering how long he was gone, he *asks*, "Are you okay?" Lira faces him and begins speaking, icy calm, "Well, we have been fine." Reassured, Vert *responds*, "Oh, that is good." Lira suddenly *interrupts*, now shouting, "Did you really think we were alright? You left for five months, and we had no sign of you! The kids and I have been worried sick! I had to ask Viktor for help with them," before calming down and finally settling into a chair. Surprised by the exact amount of time he had been gone, he reassures her in an effort to *apologize*.
After they have both *taken* a seat, Viktor comes around the corner, followed by a young-looking girl. She seems frightened by the size of Vert, so Viktor has to *reassure* her before she continues forwards. Vert does not see her at first and *says*, "Hey Vik, how are you doing?" before he sees the girl and *questions*, "Who is this?" Viktor *responds*, telling Vert about how he found her locked up at a cultist compound and is now *looking* after her. Vert *kneels* down in an attempt to be less big and scary and *says*, "Hey, little one, how are you?" Hecate, *looking* at him, her pupil still slightly shaking out of terror, quietly *whispers*, "Good." Vert notices this and *tries* to reach out to her by means of food. He *tears* a small bit of moss off his face, wincing slightly, and *reaches* out with his hand, "Here, try this - it is good!" Seeing the scary man tearing off what seems to be his skin, Hecate *shies* behind Viktor and has to be *encouraged* out before she feels the moss.
Upon *feeling* the moss, her eyes go wide, and she *rushes* toward Vert, *giving* him a hug. Vert *turns* to Viktor, "You are going to have to *tell* me the full story later; for now, I'm going to get some food." When Vert *tries* to move, however, the young girl *sticks* to his leg like glue, *making* it rather difficult to walk. To *counter* this, he *picks* her up, after which she *feels* the moss on his face before *saying* one word, "...soft."
