Welcome to the Inn, now Where is it?

Giselle spoke with Ailill via Trump, and then went through to visit him in person. He revealed that some of the Fae are being lured to Osric’s realm against their will. Oh, the horror. Giselle expressed faux sympathy, and then popped in to visit her mother.

No great surprise, Flora was surrounded by all of the male PC’s. Okay, they were still working on the remaining statues, so they had an excuse for being there. Flora and Magni turned the Derga back into his old self: a big, scruffy, refrigerator of a man complete with that odd smell of bread, beer, and cigars that really really old appliances have. Derga reminded Alluravel that she still owed him fifteen years of service. In the meantime, the Inn at the Crossroads was busily approaching in an “expensive special effect” sort of way. It rebuilt itself1. Voilà.

So everyone relocated outside of the impact zone. They worked on a plan to revive Finnvarra and his Deirdre-clone consort simultaneously. They all concentrated, and it was much easier to revive the consort. Giselle physically separated the statues. Gregory and Aedan finished bringing the Deirdre-clone back, but she wasn’t quite human. Aedan healed her head wound, and sang her to sleep with groovy moon-vibe lullaby. She appeared all silvery and cold, not flesh-colored and warm.

In the meantime, Finnvarra’s neck wound proved to be fatal, sort of. He turned back to flesh, but he was as dead as long-lost cousin Carl. Gabriel wrote him off as a lost cause and went to investigate Tirdre who was sleeping soundly. Back at the ex-King of Fey, Flora conjured some blood while Magni was ready with the electrostatic jolt of life. His Maj’s heart started beating, but he remained unconscious despite a vigorous shaking and a stern talking-to.

Welcome to the Inn, Whoever You Are

Aedan collapsed in a heap2 and mentally traipsed through the land of blackness until he saw a bright light. He went toward the light: oops, big mistake. Gabriel tried to follow, but his Psyche was too low to catch up to Aedan. Then Aedan woke up somewhat confused and unaware of his dashing good looks. Magni hit him while Gabriel assaulted him mentally.

Aedan leapt up and swung his sword at Gabriel, but the blade vanished in mid-air. So he flicked Gabriel’s nose with his finger instead. Raj wrestled Aedan to the ground, where he stayed for a while. Gregory and Gabriel claimed that Aedan was possessed—and they were correct. The spirit of Deirdre allegedly was in control of Aedan’s body. S/he was led to the Inn to speak with Flora, who talked some sense into her. Also, Flora sat on Gabriel’s lap and convinced him to leave.

Gabriel snuck off to the Keep of the Four Worlds and told Brand everything as usual. To Gabriel’s credit, though, he did ask Brand not to show up to talk with Tirdre just yet. Gabriel also expressed serious regret at not having made a copy of the Trump of “Corwin’s Floozy.” It turned out to be Dara. Is she really dead? Tune in next time….

Magni rented a room at the Inn, replete with warm oil bath and nymphet. He got all oily, smoked a cigar, and dressed in a bathrobe with “Inn at the Crossroads” monogrammed above the left nipple. It made a good souvenir (see Giselle, below).

Welcome to the Inn, now Where Did It Go?

Back at the Inn, Gregory studied the silvery Deirdre body. He determined that she was spooky, sorcerous, and weird. The spirit of Deirdre in Aedan’s body predicted that Cher would remarry, the Stock Market would fall, and that ankle-length skirts would come back. Since The Inn was a popular place, everyone decided to relocate to Amber.

Except Raj and Giselle. Raj herded some brawlers out the door, then saw and argued with the Unicorn/Beast/Woman. She told him that the Inn at the Crossroads needed to be destroyed because Derga needed to be destroyed because the Inn needed to be destroyed3. So she destroyed it.

In the meantime, Giselle tried to save the place. She argued with Lugh, who wouldn’t help her. Then she ran around and looked for a good souvenir. She finally found a nice macramé potholder just as Lugh trumped her to safety before the whole place eximplooded.

Gabriel was secretly doing something. What that was, we’ll never know, even if we read his “tell-all” chronicle (see The Skeevy Chronicles—available in the plain brown wrapper mailed directly and discreetly to your P.O. Box).