Hello, Everyone!
I’m really excited about this whole upcoming chapter! It was really intense on our D&D table, and I can’t wait to show it to you! I hope you like it, and I hope you leave me some comments. My dear Mary is going to go through a lot!
Last time, after a morning full of fun times, our heroes went to see Correlon Entivio, whose late wife’s fate seemed to have some similarities to the abductions from the last two decades. Then, after some wondering what to do, the group decided to let Bruno send Dorina Dwendel a message and prepare for a confrontation.
However, the reply they got puzzled them. Dorina didn’t want to see them on their terms. Instead, she proposed the most unusual place to meet – Falka’s mausoleum. How did she know they’d been looking into it? Ever since Mary found out that the mysterious Falka--with the classified file and all sorts of taboos surrounding even the mention of her name--was her grandmother, she was trying to find a reason to check out her resting place.
It seems the reason found them, instead.
It was a sunny afternoon. Still too early for the group’s rendezvous with Dorina Dwendel, but they decided to check out the mausoleum, just in case. Getting familiar with the potential place of their next confrontation was something they rarely had the chance to do.
The cemetery was in the northernmost part of Myth Adofhaer, just before the invisible barrier of the Mythalar. A fence of living trees surrounded it from all sides, with archways, naturally formed where the pathways from the city-proper went in.
It was a peaceful and quiet place, looking more like a park than a graveyard. Rose bushes and small fountains decorated the scene, and various benches provided opportunities for some rest. At this time of day, there were still people walking around, carrying flowers for the departed or just sitting down by a gravestone, deep in thought.
It looked like most of the graves were spread around almost chaotically. However, Tesaya explained that the bigger and older elven families had literal family trees around which their graves spread in a spiral, feeding the trees’ roots even in death. In addition to them, a few stone mausoleums rose above the ground. They were built for the most important and renowned people in Myth Adofhaer.
Mary didn’t know how to feel about that. She’d read plenty of stories about found children who turned out to be the offspring of kings or great heroes, but she’d never imagined that for herself. Even after she learned of Falka and her mysterious fame, she still didn’t know how to feel about being her granddaughter.
She wondered if she’d feel differently when she saw the mausoleum with her own eyes.
They reached it soon enough. It was a white building, not more than fifty feet long and twenty feet tall. Beautiful stained glass windows adorned the walls. The biggest image they depicted was that of a woman with her hands reaching forward as if pushing something away. Next to her there was a lightning bolt, and two men – a black-haired half-elf with a sword, and what could only be the reddish-haired Halas, wearing a white tunic.
Upon arriving, Mary went straight to the door. If it was open, they wouldn’t have to break in, even if they needed to.
It was locked.
“Well, it was worth a try,” she said with a shrug, then turned to Aurum. “Can you hoist me up? I want to look inside.”
The bard laced his fingers and made her a foothold, so she climbed up to peek through one of the windows. The inside was dusty and grey, with two stone tables in the middle, some benches on the sides, and three large sarcophagi with stone statues behind each of them. Judging by those, the left one was that of the half-elf, the middle was Falka’s and the right one--here Mary felt a prick in her heart--was where Halas’ body layed.
That was all she could see, because just then, Aurum stumbled underneath her, dropped her and they both toppled on the ground.
“Owww!” Mary protested, rubbing her backside. “What was that for?”
“My hands got tired!” Aurum said. “Sorry!”
Mary stood up and took one more look around. There had to be another way in. Her eyes glanced past the entrance and then did a double take.
The previously locked wooden door was now ajar.
Was that a trap? She stood away from the entrance and very, very carefully, pushed the door open. There was nothing inside, neither to her normal sight, nor to her Eldritch one. No magic, nothing invisible. Mary looked at her companions. Aurum shrugged and cast his Mage Hand to tap the floor tiles, checking for traps. It didn’t find any, but returned with a small vase.
“It was next to the middle sarcophagus,” the bard said and turned it upside down to shake off the long-wilted flowers inside. "Completely dried up. Thought you could use it somehow."
Mary nodded. She did feel like she had to pay respect to the family that she never knew… but maybe not with a bouquet. She took a deep breath and walked in. No trap was triggered, nobody jumped out of the shadows. She reached the sarcophagi and took a look at them.
There was writing, in Common, on the heavy lids.
“Terros an Vitre,” it said on the left one. “The Phantom.” That was her grandfather.
“Falka the Whirlwind,” the middle one read. “A wall in the way of evil.” Her famous grandmother.
She didn’t feel anything looking at these. She didn’t know Falka and Terros, and probably wouldn’t have known them even if she’d grown up in Myth Adofhaer. It seemed like they had died before she was born.
“Halas an Terros,” she read on the third sarcophagus. “Falka’s pride.”
A sharp ache pierced her heart as the realization hit her. Halas hadn't just been her father. He had been a son as well. And although Falka had performed great feats for the elves, it was her son that was dubbed 'her pride’. Tears welled up in Mary’s eyes as the image of Bramble and grandma Mona suddenly flashed in her mind.
Without averting her sight from the sarcophagus, she rummaged through her bag and took out the prismatic crystal from way back in their Belfast adventure. She put it on the stone and adjusted it so that it created a rainbow on Halas’ statue. It was better than flowers, she thought. More durable.
“Thank you for saving me, she whispered. “Thank you for loving me. I’m sorry I didn’t get to know you.”
Thaaat… was a hard scene to write/live through. Mary finally found her birth family, and they are all dead. Makes me sad thinking about it.
How about you?
See you in the next episode!
Take care and be well!
Episodes of Mary Windfiddle's story come out every Monday, Wednesday and Friday.
(Also, here's a link to the Chapter Guide and the Glossary for the series. You're welcome!)
An important disclaimer: These are my notes from a D&D game turned into a narrative. All the worldbuilding and NPC encounters belong to our DM, and all the actions of the other main characters (Aurum and Bruno) belong to my co-players. My contribution to the story is only everything Mary-related (actions, reactions, inner thoughts), as well as the writing itself.