Morning after The Waterworks

[Jim Roberts]

[Feb 7 AM – The Godcarvers]

The sun rose with its predictable beauty – or brutality, depending on
the awoken’s point of view. Backstage behind the Pussycats’ showwagon,
there really were few if any sore heads from overindulging.
Overindulgence may very well have happened here and there in the past
evening, but it had not involved alcohol. So when dawn crept over the
camp, and the various partygoers emerged from their bedrolls dotted
about the backstage area, there was nary a hangover in sight.

As usual, the large proportion of the Pussycats and Pals who were
spellcasters began their day in a comfortable kitten pile, gathered
together on a pile of pillows for companionship as much as warmth. And
not just by her personality or position as leader of the band was Josie
in the middle. She was going to be away for a while, and her various
friends and fans were going to miss her.

Also very much in the center this morning was the bard Tramma. A mentor
over the holidays had encouraged Tramma that the value she brought to a
group was not measured by her skill with a blade, or her abilities with
her Bardic Magics. While these were no doubt valuable skills, her chief
contribution was the ability to be the heart and soul of a group,
bringing and keeping them together. Wizards could be the brains,
warriors the muscle, and the clergy the Wisdom. Tramma, however, could
be counted on for her interpersonal abilities.

Tramma, too, was going to be away for a bit, working with Josie to
secure safe passage and good treatment of the kobold envoy, Beekin, when
Laquendi was scheduled to deliver both him and Vowsister Orah to the
Briar Patch later that afternoon. So just now, Tramma, too, was in the
middle of the kitten pile, wanting to be as close to as many of her
friends as she could. She, too, was going to be missed.

But after the requisite hour of prayer, meditation, or Arcane
memorization, reinforced by coffee mug refills as Uta oversaw the
gentlemen guests playing waiter, all were ready to begin the new day.
The only possible bit of extra excitement was when Mithi squealed with
glee at the proudly smiling Finfin. Like Mithi had the night before, the
elf had made a “breakthru” in his grasp of Arcane Magics, and was able
to memorize some additional spells today.

“That many Teleports?” Mithi asked curiously.

“I am not entirely confident that the schedule I wrote yesterday,”
Finfin mused, “will go to plan. So a truly ridiculous surplus may very
well be needed.”

His apprentice nodded. “Oi getcha. And Oi’ve even got one ta toss in
meself, jest in case.” The two wizards locked gazes for a moment; both
had the same notion as to the many spots the “wheels might come off”,
calling for some unplanned Teleportation to step in.

Once everyone was together in the main part of the camp, Abbot Kenobi
began the day with his usual Heroes’ Feast. Today was not SUPPOSED to be
a combat day. However, the previous night’s words about under
preparation were apparently being taken to heart all over. Just because
the extra benefits the ceremony would provide were not planned to be
needed… that didn’t mean that they wouldn’t be. And inviting the leaders
of the Godcarvers to partake in The Thunderbird’s bounty seemed only
politic, no matter who had suggested the idea.

Soon afterwards, High Priestess Laurelin invoked a prayer of her own,
granting herself (and a handful of others she chose) the ability to Wind
Walk, the preferred method of travelling to the Upwinder’s POW camp. The
others she chose to receive this divine benediction had no immediate
NEED for it… but the ability might very well come in handy, and would
last for a considerable time.

Laurelin was uniquely qualified for the job of travelling solo to the
Upwinders for some Arcane spelltrading. Not only was she one of the
expedition’s Arcanists, and one of the few of the clergy sufficiently
advanced to cast the Wind Walk prayer, she was also one of the few
individuals easily able to navigate herself error free to the exact
rendez-vous spot they had used at the beginning of the Waterworks
adventure. The only person holding all three of these skills or
attributes was Laurelin herself.

Soon afterwards, a wispy and insubstantial Laurelin was high above the
alleged POW camp that was clearly not keeping the Foreman or his kobolds
confined at all. Just as they had been on their earlier visits from the
past few days, the guards outside were doing their best to look far, FAR
too busy at essential tasks for their SJE Overlords to even consider
redeploying them to hunting down these new Tall People invaders. The new
palisades, defending exactly nothing worthwhile, were now complete. Now,
those guards who could be spared – which was most of them – had been
dispatched to bring in even MORE small rocks, all of which were being
meticulously whitewashed and arranged in lines by the few guards staying
on base.

Ignoring all of the makework below, Laurelin made for the RV point
they’d used the past couple of days. At the beginning of the morning,
Tramma had sent a number of magical Sendings out, one of which directed
here to the Foreman so that the elven priestess would be expected. She
was, and the grizzled kobold with the guardwolf approached cautiously
through the undergrowth. The wolf, in contrast, perked its ears forward
at a familiar scent. Pilinde had offered the priestess a discarded
shirt, and this had certainly caught the wolf’s eager attention. The
guardwolf was wagging its tail enthusiastically when Laurelin offered it
a wolf-treat, again recommended by Pilinde.