Tory Finds the Inn of the Maid

GM: Up ahead on this road are the wisps of a Veil. It looks oddly thin. No amount of concentration lets you "see" the other world it represents. Approaching, you see it is... broken up. There is almost no power to it. Beyond it in the far distance is a large crossroads. At the crossroads, surrounded by many horses and bustling with activity, is some kind of roadside inn or way station.

Toireann: they continue to plod up the road towards the crossroads and he prepares himself to walk among humans

GM: Which "tone" will you take? i.e. what do you want their reaction to be?

Toireann: friendly hunter

GM: okay. You approach within a hundred yards, until you can see the standard flying over the inn's entrance. It is black, marked with a silver crescent.

Toireann: He blinks

GM: The Inns of the Maid are very influential in the human realms. They are oft copied...

Toireann: and finds his brain is filled with static

GM: ...but the copies are never quite correct, though the design is very simple.

Toireann: just a human mirage, he tells himself, and moves on.

GM: A silver crescent. Open sinister. On a black field.

Toireann: but maybe it means he is closer than he has been. He keeps his 'tone' and approaches.

GM: Outside from the direction you are approaching, a group of human men are raising pails from a well. Steam rises into the cold air above. They look up and nod to you, carrying on with their work.

Toireann: an inn means maybe he can find a bed for a night as it has been some time since he enjoyed such comforts He nods to the men as he passes by

GM: The place is large, three-storied it looks like. There is a long stable house to one side. Some young boys and girls are carrying straw out to change the stalls. Wood smoke rises from several sets of chimney stacks, and there is a smell of cooking. One of the little girls, a tiny black-haired, black skinned one with deep brown eyes, comes up to you and does a little curtsy. "May I take your horse, Mister?" She looks maybe... eight or nine years old.

Toireann: "Well, aren't you pretty thing. Why yes, you may indeed. She would love anything sweet you might have too," he says with a wink and dismounts, whereupon he produces two apples. "One is for her, and the other is for you."

GM: She smiles and accepts it. "Thank you Mister." She takes the mare's reins from you with a surprisingly sure little hand. Calling over her shoulder, "Milos? Vyr Milos! Take the Mister up to the Lady and announce him, yeah?" A slightly older lad, this one brown-haired and pale emerges from a little hut with a fire pot going. He brushes off his hands and comes up to you. "Do you have bags I can help with?"

Toireann: "There upon the horse," he points.

GM: "I'll have the lads bring them. Come, I'll announce you to our Lady." He leads you up to the threshold and puts his hand on the door. "I am very sorry I don't recognize you, Sir. May I ask your name and House?"

Toireann: do I find that normal?

GM: ... mmm, no.

Toireann: "Tor the Hunter," I say, a little out of sorts at his question.

GM: The boy tips his head and frowns, blushing. "I'm sorry, I mistook you, Sir." He pushes open the door. Warmth and light music envelop you first, and the sound of voices, the smell of beer and wine and whiskey, voices of depth and musicality, dancing with Power. The boy darts in and dashes up a three step stairs to knock and enter a side door off this hallway. "My Lady, a man is here, Tor the Hunter." There is a pause. "I'm sorry, my Lady, I could not see him true. Come out yourself I think, to meet him." He moves to one side to let her come out. Tall she is, long limbed, strong like a runner perhaps, but also broad across the shoulders. Her wide, dark eyes sing, and her skin is every shade of perfect milk tea.

Toireann: What do I sense from her? I reach out to take the stock of her. This inn... is strange.... The way the boy spoke....

GM: Her power takes yours in hand as her hands take yours from your sides. Her smile is a thing of the forest when it is gentle in spring. "Well met... 'Tor.' What brings you to the Inn of the Maid?" A cool power, constantly moving, something of water or nourishment...

Toireann: I feel my 'tone' falling away, as the slow still shock of my new circumstance washes over me.

GM: "I am Moirin, Mistress of this Inn, the Ninth."

Toireann: I start to speak, or try, and the words won't come at first. "I... I've been searching for so long...."

GM: The cool river of her Way makes a swirl around you that soothes. "Come, sit. Do you wish someplace private at first?"

Toireann: He nods, finding a lump in his throat.

GM: She helps you up the short stairs and says to the boy, "Vyr, go and get the mulled wine, and bread and meat. Shoo, now." She guides you to a comfortable, wide chair, upholstered in rich fabric. She sits unceremoniously on the ottoman near your feet. She has not let go of your hands. "Something has happened with the Veils," she says, speaking evenly and slowly. "Many who have been far, or blocked, have found their way." She just keeps holding your hands, rubbing them slightly between her own as though you needed to feel the reality of them.

Toireann: "...I have been Tor the Hunter... for... years...."

GM: She just nods, smiling a little sadly. "You are who you are. This is a place for rest."

Toireann: "…I have seen things... done things.... I was lost... "Home? Home is near?"

GM: "Ten days ride, if you make your home in the City herself. Many are going that way. You can head out whenever you feel ready."

Toireann: He hangs his head. A big sigh, almost a sob, comes out of him as something that he has carried for a long time begins to release...

GM: "Tell me your name."

Toireann: He look into her eyes then, and his are watery.

GM: They see you, truly, beyond your glamour and seeming.

Toireann: "I Am Toireann Amhrán Go Stoirm of the Winds."

GM: She smiles gently at that. "Our wandering Winds. I welcome you." The boy and the room servant return with the hot wine and food Moirin had requested, and she bids them leave it. When the door is closed again, she says, "I can leave you here, with this refreshment. The water jug is full and the basin as well. If you wish to sleep I can send you there, or you can go to it when you are ready. You are welcome to use this place until you wish to come out to the common room. "If you wish, I can take the burden of your story."

Toireann: I am not certain what she is offering, beyond some form of comfort and it is plain upon my face. "I would be around my own kind... again"

GM: She laughs a little, and quiets. "Here, have this mug of wine first. I will stay." The cup she puts in your hand is rich with spice.

Toireann: He takes the offered wine and drinks it heartily, certainly without polite restraint enjoying the richness and complexity of the draught

GM: She sits quietly. The passing of her power across you seems to... smooth you down somehow, taking all the jangled shards and aligning them gently.

Toireann: I breath easier, though I am no less excited..... at least i have found home....if not Rory or my parents. "I must seem the fool to you... like the bumbling woodsman I professed to be.."

GM: "Not at all." Her reassurance does not seem false. "Toireann Amhrán Go Stoirm," she asks simply, "Would you have more wine?"

Toireann: "Yes, please.."

GM: She takes the cup from you, each movement a smooth action bouyed by her internal ease. Refills it. Hands it back to you.

Toireann: I find I have been staring at her, drinking up her form, her movements... without realizing it, so thirsty I have been for my own kind. Just being in her presence is a blessing

GM: Almost echoing your thought, she asks, "Have you been traveling alone?"

Toireann: It is a whisper, "yes" "I was a lad of 15 summers...and it was my first journey..."

GM: Her eyes sorrow for you. "If you wish to set this down, I can hear you. I take in Song."

Toireann: He furrows his brow in incomprehension. "What does that mean, Moirin?"

GM: "When you have been... far, the Song you make may not be heard. It... sticks. Here," she puts her hand on your chest, over your heart, "if there is no one to hear it."

Toireann: "What happens if your song is... stuck, as you say?"

GM: "It cannot be shared. The joy of it is lost, not reflected in any other. And the sorrows are compounded for being allowed to fester alone. Now that you are back among us, it is true your Song will break free, piece by piece... ice on the river in spring. But I may take it from you whole now, if that will free you to take your home back into your heart."

Toireann: He drops his gaze, and his head again, letting out another lung full of air. "Can you sense it there…?"

GM: "I sense it."

Toireann: "You sense it stuck?"

GM: "I sense you do not think you can go home until it has been heard and let pass."

Toireann: "I am afraid to let go of it..." I say, wondering if I should be ashamed to show fear of such a thing

GM: "It has been your companion a long time."

Toireann: These festering pains are mine, and indeed have been my companion. "Yes. I am afraid I will lose them...." I look up into her eyes again. "Will I lose what has gone before, what I am?"

GM: "It is not to forget. That is not my Power. It is only to share. "Home is close by, but no one can force you to walk there."

Toireann: I think on that long and hard, so much has happened. And she is right, I wish for it to flow out of me and be shared, but there is a thought that I end up at, that I can't get past, and it is Rory. And that is a story that should be told to Muireann.

GM: "Something holds you back," she says sadly.

Toireann: I look up and my eyes are filled with water. "You are right, I wish to share my song, my story, my joys and my sorrows... and yet... part of my song belongs to another... and my honor requires that she hear it first... from me."

GM: "Ah. It is all right. I will not release your Song into the River. If you wish, even I will not listen to it."

Toireann: Now that she has pointed it out, I feel a pain in my chest... my heart... and I know that there indeed is some frozen ground there... something blocked. "Thank you for your kindness. I think I would rest now and gather myself for what is ahead."

GM: She bows her head. "Then I shall let you rest. The Inn welcomes you as long as you wish to stay. But if you find you have trouble leaving... you need only find me." She gets up and leans forward, kissing your face on each side, by your temples. "Please, rest here for now. After you rise for dinner, we will prepare you a proper room." In this sitting room or office, you see there is also a comfortable-looking day bed along with the chairs, a sofa, and a desk.

Toireann: His hand reaches out and holds her as she finishes kissing him on the cheek.... It moves all of its own. "...Please, I would have you help me... release this song... the truth of your words cannot be denied.... I would be stuck here... between what I have known and my home…."

GM: She pauses, then nods. She takes your hands and guides you out of the chair, and over to the sofa, where she sits and has you sit beside her. She guides you back until you are resting with your head upon her lap. One of her hands rests on your chest, and the other smooths back your hair across your forehead, gently, over and over. "Here," she says with Power, "let us write it down upon the water." And from the first moment you were afraid, through loss and search and fear, your tale is set out upon the moving water of her, and she takes it in, and Sings each word as you set it down. Her voice is beautiful and sweet, and sings each note as though it is the whole of you. Even the worst moments, the darkest, connect the past to the present, only a part. In this water many Songs mingle, and build a tapestry of many layers, a great book of your people. This is what sets them apart. They are not alone.

Toireann: Small tears of relief flow from his eyes as he lay there, listening to the mingling melodies and harmonies of the blended songs. "Thank you, thank you... "Sweet woman... you have brought me home... truly." He moves off the day bed and kneels before her, holding her hand.

GM: She smiles fondly. "Your home has been waiting."

Toireann: "I am in your debt, Moirin, Mistress of this Inn, the Ninth"

GM: "No debt that you do not wish, brother of the Winds. Rest now. Tomorrow begins the last length of your ride."

**fin**