#a poorly kept garden that Caduceus tries to fix

[wintershades]

In honor of Fjord and Jester’s weird little abode, I wanted to share a fluffy house-shopping scene from Seen Through the Deadlight. :)

This episode of House Hunters Nicodranas does include (✔) a strange, somewhat ramshackle house, (✔) Jester’s unhelpful assistance with Fjord’s casting of Augury, and (✔) cinnamon pastries.

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Months ago—before Jester sold her first painting, before Fjord took up his project at the lighthouse, before Marion had the courage to step out alone—they’d gone house-hunting in Nicodranas.

Fjord’s requirements were simple: An ocean view, and a roof that didn’t leak. Unsurprisingly, the Lavorre women were more particular. He and Jester toured place after place, but not one of them captured the tiefling’s heart. And, more than once, they showed up at a home and found that it had already been rented.

“I really didn’t think there could be anything worse than shopping,” Fjord said as they walked back toward the Lavish Chateau. Jester dragged along beside him, her spirits dampened.

“You were the one who said we should get our own place.”

“Yes, but I could live anywhere. All you need is four walls and a roof. You don’t need”—he tried to remember the terms the last landlord had used—“lively neighborhood amenities.”

Jester stuck out her bottom lip. “I need lively neighborhood amenities!” she said as they passed a small side street. “And if I’m going to live someplace, it has to feel like home.”

“See, this is where we—”

“Look!”

She grabbed his arm, pulling him to a stop. Toward the end of the street, a slender half-elf was attaching an angled fixture to a building—the sort that was used to advertise a place for rent. Before Fjord could speak, Jester was running down the middle of the road, waving her arms at the stranger.

“Hey! Are you showing this place?”

The woman stared at her. “Well—I was going to start—”

“Can we see?” Jester asked, desperation in her voice.

Fjord hurried to catch up. “Sorry! We’ve spent the day running from place to place, and they seem to be going quick. Snowbirds from the Empire coming down to roost, you know?” He smiled at the half-elf, leaning hard into his charm. “We’d be pleased to look, if it’s not a bother?”

She looked at him, and he held her gaze warmly, and the faintest bit of color appeared in her cheeks. “Of course. It hasn’t been fully tidied up yet, but—”

“Woo! Let’s see it!” Jester cheered.

“We’re grateful for your time,” Fjord said.

The woman got into her bag and began to sift through some sets of keys. This gave Fjord the opportunity to back up a few steps, and actually see the place that they were going to tour.

The city of Nicodranas was known for its eclectic architecture, but usually, individual buildings held to a given style. This home absolutely did not. He spotted hints of Zemnian influence in the design of the windows—a decidedly Marquesian flavor in the graceful slopes of the roof—a familiar bright color scheme that was common on the Menagerie Coast—and a stonework pattern that he could swear he’d glimpsed in Tal’Dorei.

A tacked-on tower rose from rooftop, making the house look like it was craning its neck. The whole structure was built into a slope, and to his eyes, without the use or knowledge of a level.

“Um, Jester? Maybe—”

But she was already going inside, and all he could do was follow.

Upon stepping through the doorway, Fjord paused to let his eyes adjust. To his surprise, the front room was cozy and welcoming, if a little on the shabby side. It smelled lightly of dried flowers and hearth smoke.

And just above the door, carved into its thick frame, was an ornate likeness of the Wildmother.

It depicted her statue at the Mother’s Lighthouse, with her hands outstretched toward the viewer and waves spilling out beneath. Fjord blinked, half-convinced he was seeing things—but as they toured the home, he found her influence everywhere.

In the kitchen, there were sheaves of wheat carved into the cabinets. Two crooks framed the stone fireplace in the sitting room. And in a side room, which appeared to have once served as a shop, the stained glass panels above the windows depicted a nautical scene: Ships sailing toward a lovely sunrise, their sails filled by the Wildmother’s gentle breath.

Fjord looked at the scene so long that he was nearly left behind by the others. Upstairs, they found two bedrooms—including one with a fabulous view of the city and the sea—and an intriguing (if somewhat wobbly) spiral staircase that lead to a tiny study in the tower.

As they came back to the ground floor, Jester turned to the half-elf. “Mind if we take a minute to talk?” she asked, gesturing to Fjord. The woman smiled.

“Of course. Why not take a look at the garden while you’re at it?” she said, and she pointed down the hall. As the couple headed in that direction, Jester touched Fjord’s arm.

“I really like this place,” she whispered.

“So do I. But is it your style? . . . It’s the definition of a fixer-upper.”

“I like fixer-uppers.”

She looked at him then—just long enough for him to say: “Wait, what?”—and then pushed open the doors to the garden. It was humble, and overgrown, and perfectly lovely.

“Did you see all of those symbols of the Wildmother? Maybe it’s a sign,” Jester mused. Suddenly, she snapped her fingers. “I know! Do that thing, Fjord. The thing with the little bones!”

“Augury?” he said, and he started to dig through his bag. “You can do it, too, you know.”

“Sure, but I never prepare boring spells like that,” Jester replied. Fjord made a face at her.

“. . . I like Augury.”

Jester patted his arm affectionately. “Exactly. So let’s use it.”

Still looking at her through narrowed eyes, Fjord withdrew a small pouch from his bag. It held a handful of small, intricately-carved bones that Caduceus had sent to him. (Fjord didn’t inquire as to what or who they came from, and didn’t really care to know.)

He set them out on a small table in the center of the garden. Then, he reached out to the Wildmother, doing his best to concentrate as Jester softly chanted “weal or woe, weal or woe” in the background.

He asked: Would this place be a good home to us?

A few moments passed. The bones did nothing.

“Did you do it right?” Jester wondered. Fjord gave her a sour look and opened his mouth to respond, only for his senses to be otherwise occupied. An incredibly delicious scent wafted on the air, and for a moment, it was all he could think about.

“Hey, do you smell . . . .”

Sugar. Butter. Cinnamon.

Instantly, Jester was on high alert. She straightened up and started turning in a slow circle, trying to trace the origin of the smell. Then, when she and Fjord looked back down, they saw that the bones had rearranged themselves into an arrow that pointed toward the garden’s rear fence.

Jester bolted in that direction and tried to peer through the slats, but the boards were fixed too closely together. For his part, Fjord was just tall enough to see over top. He approached, and took a look, and immediately made another face.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he muttered aloud. By this point, Jester was practically dangling from his neck.

“What is it? What do you see? Give me a lift, Fjord! I want to see!”

She gave a little hop then, and she kicked her legs around his waist, making him stagger. Once Fjord righted himself, he braced his hands under her thighs and boosted her up.

“Listen, this is not a sign,” he warned her. “This is only a—”

“Oh my god. Oh my god.”

A short distance behind them, the half-elf emerged from the home. “I forgot to mention,” she said, “that you’re next door to Delacroix’s. They’re famous for their—”

“Cinnamon rolls,” Jester breathed. She looked to the bakery—to Fjord—to the bakery—back at Fjord—and then to the half-elf. And then she declared: “We’ll take it!”

Fjord looked at her with alarm. “Now, wait a minute. We haven’t even asked—” He turned to the woman. “I’m sorry. What’s the rent?”

She blinked at them. “Oh. Oh, it’s not for rent. It’s for sale.”

The couple turned to one another. To Fjord, this was a serious decision, both in regard to their immediate plans and to their pocketbooks. Was it wise to own a house when they intended to spend so much time away? What sort of money would it take to fix it up?

More than that—it was a commitment. Each decision like this gently knitted their lives closer and closer together. Was she all right with that? Or was this too fast?

Jester tilted her head to one side, her jewelry jingling, and he felt that they understood each another. They looked back at the half-elf.

“We’ll take it,” Jester said again. Fjord nearly dropped her.

“Jester.”

“Weal, Fjord. Weal. The Wildmother has spoken,” she told him. And evidently, he learned, the Wildmother had a sense of humor.

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[vexie-chan]

Mortal Choice

Cadceus Clay has prayed for his friends before. The Wildmother listens. 

Spoilers for ep65

Her Clay is cold and wet and miserable. But that is only the first part of his prayer. The Wildmother cannot help but smile as she listens to him murmuring over the vegetables he’s chopping for a nice, hot soup.

              “It doesn’t seem to be a very good relationship,” Caduceus says, shaking his head. “This Uko’toa person seems like a tough customer. I know…I know you all have different relationships with your followers. But this can’t be right, can it? Everything about these temples seems unnatural.”

              Young Caduceus’s mind’s eye recounts images of the horrible drowned things he’d faced below the sea. The Wildmother watches thoughtfully. It’s true, Uko’toa is not one of her favorite beings. After all, he’d been locked up for a reason. If it was meant to be that he was freed, so be it, but it would mean the scales would tip toward death and destruction for a while. Enough of that is occurring with the wars and sicknesses in the lands at present.

              Still, it is not her place to intervene.

              Caduceus sighs, laying down his spoon for a moment. He closes his eyes as if he feels the same resignation she does.

              “I guess this isn’t really any of your business,” he says. The Wildmother smiles.

              “You’ve looked out for me—even though it’s been…it’s been pretty bad, I know you’re there. That’s why I’m still here, I think,” Caduceus continues, his voice becoming unsure.

              My sweet boy, the Wildmother thinks. It’s been good for him to leave the Blooming Grove. He has things she would like him to accomplish, but she also wants him to learn more about the world and the things in it. It’s good for him to question his faith—Caduceus has always been an unquestioning follower when he should really question things more. It pleases the Wildmother that he is asking questions and having doubts. The youngest Clay is growing up.

              “I don’t know if it’s something in your purview or not, but if it is, could you keep an eye on Fjord? He’s…he’s a good guy. I don’t think his patron is treating him very well. I don’t know much about any of this stuff about pacts and agreements, but I do know this isn’t a very healthy relationship. If there’s anything you can do, I think he’s going to be a good person in the end, if he could just get away from this Uko’toa character,” Caduceus says.

              This surprises the Wildmother. The Clay family have been faithful worshippers of hers for generations, but never evangelical. That is not how she wants her worshippers to be. They do their part and tend to her gardens and defend the balance between life and death. The Clays respect the worship and custom of all the other gods. They are well studied and well versed in those that require specific burial rituals or other death rites. Young Caduceus is the first in many generations to question the worship of another being.

              The Wildmother reaches out curiously. His heart is full of concern for his friend. He has truly come to care for these people.  

              I will watch and see, the Wildmother thinks. Caduceus smiles into his soup, relief tinging the edges of his aura. He felt her, then. He always was a sensitive boy. Her Clay.

                She watches, acquiescing to Caduceus’s prayer. For a short time, the Wildmother thinks Uko’toa has let Fjord go. The Mighty Nein make their way to the shore and travel further and further inland. The Wildmother watches, but they seem to be safe.

              It’s late one night—her attentions are mostly elsewhere—when she sees black tentacles reach for Fjord’s consciousness. She sees them writhing from the corner of her eye. As she turns to watch, a chill shudders through her celestial self. The tentacles wrap themselves around Fjord’s sleeping mind, filling his aura with fear and dread.

              The Wildmother hesitates. It is not her place to intervene, but she recalls how Caduceus was concerned about this relationship. He was right—it does not look healthy or natural. Uko’toa’s dark tentacles drip with a sickly green power as he threatens his chosen vessel. He isn’t strong enough to do very much yet, but mortals are weak and Fjord is not left undamaged.

              This will not do. Yet…what can be done? The boy entered into a pact with that unsightly being. It is not the Wildmother’s place to intervene. The rules are very strict. The gods should not fight over each others’ followers, but accept their coming and going with grace. Once, they fought for the worship of certain mortals. They destroyed each other and the mortals in the process. No more.

              The Wildmother watches Fjord wake up terrified with a frown on her face. She never did like Uko’toa.

                Caduceus’s second prayer for Fjord comes at the request of his friend Caleb. The Wildmother, of course, had seen the things that transpired between Fjord and his patron. She likes their relationship less and less. Her heart went out to the half-orc as he stumbled into the rain, clutching his lifeless sword, reaching for a power that had been rescinded.

              This is wrong, the Wildmother thinks, anger boiling in her like a geyser ready to blow. She’s become fond of her Clay’s friends. They’ve taken good care of him. Misguided as these Mighty Nein are, they do the best they can. She doesn’t like seeing one of them tortured by the being he’d trusted for so long. Nor does she approve of a higher being treating his mortals so poorly.

              The human wizard had watched carefully, feigning sleep. He watched Fjord through his eyelashes, eyes mostly closed. Fjord had been too frightened to notice. Caleb watched him fail to send his sword away, fail to cast. He watched as Fjord slipped out of the room, then sent his fey creature to watch as he tried to reach for that missing magic in the streets.

              Caleb woke early to find Caduceus, always an early riser. Now, they face each other over a cup of tea.

              “You…you have roomed with Fjord often on our journeys,” Caleb says hesitantly.

              “I have. Why?” Caduceus says.

              Caleb leans in, dropping his voice to ensure no one is listening.

              “Have you noticed whether he is getting more dreams from…from his patron?” he asks.

              Caduceus frowns.

              “I wouldn’t say more, but he seems unhappy when he gets one, now, doesn’t he?” he replies thoughtfully.

              “I think he is being punished for walking away before he could free him,” Caleb says. “He woke last night unable to cast. His falchion was still laying on the bed this morning. I don’t think he can send it back to wherever it is usually kept.”

              Caduceus lets out a sigh that might be a partial growl. He shakes his head.

              “I don’t like that Uko’toa,” he says. “He’s bad news, Mr. Caleb.”

              “You are…a man of the cloth. Is there any way to get Fjord away from his god? Can he break his geass? Can your Wildmother protect him?” Caleb asks.

              The Wildmother smiles at that. Caleb, the broken, faithless boy is always willing to support the faith of others. He believes in nothing, but knows enough to understand that his beliefs have nothing to do with anyone else’s.

              “I’ve asked. I don’t really know how all that works…I don’t know if she’s allowed to interfere with what other gods are doing,” Caduceus says. “It won’t hurt to let her know what’s going on, though. Maybe she can do something for him. ”

              “I hope so,” Caleb says. His aura is always gloomy and worried, but his concern spikes a bit for the sake of his friend. “I do not think it will bode well for any of us if that fiend comes for vengeance. Especially not Fjord”

              “No, I think you’re right,” Caduceus agrees. “I’ll see what I can do.”

              “Danke,” Caleb says.

              Caduceus asks for her help later that day.

              “I don’t know what you can do, or what you’re allowed to do, or if you’re even interested,” Caduceus says. “But you’ve taken care of me, more than I deserve. If there is anything you can do for Fjord, please do it. This thing…it’s not good. And we need him. He’s part of our team, and he’s a good friend.”

              The Wildmother sets a part of herself to look at the geass keeping Fjord bound to Uko’toa, and keeping Uko’toa bound in his prison. For days, she studies both.

              “You know, you do have options, sister.”

              The Wildmother turns to find the Raven Queen smirking at her.

              “I’d like to crush him in the deep waters he loves so much,” she replies.

              “And perhaps you will get that chance. For the time being, why not take the boy under your wing? If it’s bothering you so much,” the Raven Queen says.

              “I’m not about to steal someone else’s chosen as my own. I don’t play that kind of game,” The Wildmother says sharply.

“Who said anything about stealing? Don’t underestimate the power of mortal choice. You can always ask nicely…if the boy chooses you over his eldritch beast, it’s all fair game,” the Raven Queen says with a shrug. “Mortals change their hearts on faith as quickly as the weather changes. That’s hardly your fault.”

              “You make it sound so easy,” The Wildmother says with a shake of her head. “The balance—”

              “It is easy. Choice is as natural as it gets, sister. All you need to do is open a door. Whether he walks through it is up to him. You’ve disrupted no balance. But Uko’toa will if he breaks free again,” The Raven Queen says. She turns to leave. “Think about it, sister.”

              The Wildmother frowns, watching her go.

              A choice…

                Her Clay is angry with her. He does not like to be told no. He does not like being told that some problems are too big for him to fix. She loves him none the less for it, staying near as he closes his communication with her like a child slamming the door.

              Perhaps if she had not been so close anyway, she would have missed the black tentacles reaching for Fjord.

              Open a door.

              The Wildmother touches the consciousness of the half-orc. The cracking of Uko’toa against his binding is muted as she opens a door, filling it with as much light and love and life as she can.

              Fjord’s eyes widen as her emerald light touches his face. He leans into the light as if it were a caress.

              “Come with me, child.” She can’t help but whisper the words to him, reaching out.

              He’s mesmerized. At a glance, she sees the child-Fjord’s dreams of a mother’s plea just like hers, longing to be called to a place he can call home, longing to be loved by a mother. He moves toward her, arms outstretched.

              Uko’toa pulls back, but Fjord breaks free. The Wildmother pulls him into her embrace, letting vines sap the water from him, warming his clammy skin in her arms.

              “This womb I grant, but withers without faith. His wielder shall find you again,” she warns. She can protect him so long as he chooses her, but Uko’toa won’t let go that easily. Even now, the beast rages against her, fighting to pull Fjord back to him. Behind bars, he’s not strong enough to strike her down, but the walls encasing him are becoming thin.

              Fjord doesn’t reply, but stares at her in awe and admiration. The Wildmother looks down at him and smiles gently, flooding him with feelings of warmth and safety.

              “His will shall find you again, but until it does, rest,” she murmurs, embracing his small, mortal form.

              The relief on the half-orc’s face as he falls into a restful sleep makes her heart ache. How long has it been since he had found peaceful rest? She should have offered this to him sooner.

              When he awakes, the WIldmother watches as he fights with renewed strength and confidence. He marvels at the warmth of his magic now that she is watching over him.

              Don’t underestimate the power of mortal choice, the Raven Queen had said.

              “I will protect you as long as I can,” the Wildmother promises, knowing he can’t hear her. “My orphan boy.”