“No one has approached the Goddess as yet,” Ember tells him, “But you saw how she was when she arrived here. Whatever did that to her may still be out there, hunting for her. Since she is in no shape to defend herself, it falls to us to protect her. One of the simpler ways to do that is to keep a lid on the fact that she is here, in our Temple.”
“Why would anyone approach the Goddess?” Benger inquires.
“Because the Goddess herself brought her in,” Ember replies, “I thought you knew that.”
“Oh… so when she said the Goddess asked…,” Benger starts.
“Yes,” Ember breaks in, “she meant that literally.”
“So, the tattoo... and her... ahhh... strappy thing…,” Benger muses, “who lets their women dress like that?”
“You know that bit in your vows about the multiverse?” Ember reminds him, “I doubt she’s from anywhere around here.”
“Her trade language seems to have an accent,” Benger frowns, “but I still can’t quite place that insignia she was wearing. It was familiar. It will come to me eventually.”
“If it does,” Ember warns him, “then you’d best keep that to yourself as well. Off with you now. Your gate guard duty starts in half an hour.”
The clerics are leaving, and Emlyn is wiggling her fingers. If she were physically capable of it, she’d be dancing around the room, delirious with joy. She’s finally got some control over moving some parts of her body again other than her eyelids.
Vanya sees her and grins, “Ah… I see that you’re finally starting to feel the effects of all the healing. Part of the reason you have had so much trouble moving is all these bandages. We have to keep you wrapped pretty tightly so that your skin stays in contact with the medicine in them. Let me talk to Davilla. Maybe we can do something different with the wrappings now that you’re getting more of your skin back.”
Emlyn’s mornings are filled with catechism and her afternoons are filled with dense readings on laws, politics and trade. Dry material to be sure, but she’s determined to understand her new world. The high point of her day is getting to watch Hedrek and Vanya flirting with each other. The priests, still scandalized by her attire, offer a magical dressmaker’s crystal, hoping she’ll choose something more modest. What the priests fail to realize that she only reverts to her traditional harness that flaunts her tattoo whenever the lessons drag because this ends the repetitive, overly-detailed lessons.
Many of the higher-end shops pay for mages to create these crystals because even with the magic involved, it’s still far less expensive than creating expensive dresses in multiple sizes for girls to try on. Even though some of the gowns border on scandalous to the priests, it’s still a vast improvement over her normal mode of dress in the eyes of the priests.
The acolyte explains the idea to her and asks her to take the crystal, but Vanya steps in, “Get that thing out of here and do not bring it back. What did we tell you about mirrors and shiny objects?”
“But the priests said…,’ the girl whines defensively.
“I don’t care what the priests said,” Vanya glares, ‘Do not bring that thing back in here. I will be having a word with the priests.”
The girl scurries out of the room, chastened.
Chuckling, Vanya leans down to her patient, “Terrorizing the priests from your sickbed, are you? Let me guess, they’re boring you to tears and you want them to hurry up and get to the point.”
Vanya is rewarded with a blink. “Paladin...not...priest…. too... much... detail,” she rasps.
“Oh,” Vanya grins, “You think paladins don’t need to know their own faith?”
“Not...which...convocation...decided,” she rasps again.
“Gods! No wonder you’re bored senseless,” Vanya commiserates, “Do they really have you memorizing which convocations decided different tenets?”
Another blink answers her yes.
Vanya sighs heavily, “I will have a word with them about that. If they stop being so boring, will you fix the wardrobe issue?”
Again, a blink answers yes.
“I cannot wait,” Vanya giggles, “until we can have a proper conversation.”
Days pass and slowly, the bandages become smaller as more of her skin returns. She’s been wiggling her toes and trying to bend her knees. When she’s able to bend one knee, she’d shout a cry of victory, if she had enough voice.
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
It’s been a difficult battle to start to gain control of her own body again. Vanya keeps advising her to be patient, but Vanya isn’t the one trapped in a bed. Finally, she’s able to roll herself over in bed and spends some time lying on her stomach, enjoying the sensation of simply being in a different position.
It’s been two months and now when the clerics leave, she’s busy moving her arms and legs. As soon as they are out of sight, she grabs the headboard of the bed and starts to stand up. She’s wobbly, uncoordinated, and clinging to the headboard as if her life depends on it, but for a few seconds she’s upright again. Those few seconds pass quickly, and she finds herself sliding down the bed as she’s grabbing for anything she can reach.
Unfortunately, it’s her pillow and a quilt so all three rapidly end up in a puddle on the floor. Emlyn sits there staring at the bed frowning. Refusing to be defeated she crawls across the floor until she can reach a chair leg. Grabbing the chair leg, she drags and pushes it into what she judges to be within reach of the bed. She flops back into the pillow to gather her strength so she can try to drag herself up and into the chair.
After a few minutes she levers herself into the chair. She tosses the quilt and the pillow onto the bed. She scoots the chair closer to the bed and, when she thinks she can make it, launches herself upright and contrives to fall onto the bed. Wiggling and scrambling, she scoots around to get herself back into the bed.
She’s still trying to get the quilt out from under her own body when Vanya arrives to change her few remaining bandages.
“Gods! If those clerics left you like this…” Vanya starts off but then stops as she sees the look on Emlyn’s face. “You did this to yourself...trying to stand up, didn’t you?”
Frustrated and humiliated, Emlyn nods. Sighing, Vanya looks at her, “Be patient, it will come soon enough.”
Still speaking in a raspy, gravelly voice, Emlyn points out, “If I take my oaths, I can start healing myself., but to take them, I have to be able to walk.”
Vanya strokes her friend’s hair, “You should be happy that your hair is growing out. At least you won’t meet everyone for the first time looking like an egg.”
“Gods!” Emlyn says and punches her pillow in frustration, “Toddlers can stand on their own. Ninety-year-old grandmothers can stand on their own. Why is standing so hard for me?” “
Why is this so important to you?” Vanya asks her.
“I had Benger pace it off for me. If I can just make it the fifty-three steps to the altar,” Emlyn grimaces, “to take my vows, I can start healing myself. I want to be able to go to the library and pick out my own books. I want to go to the stable even if it’s only to smell the horses... even if I can’t ride one yet. I want to walk in the garden and feel the sun and wind. I want to see this place that is now my home. I want to start training again. I want so many things, but the fundamental thing to all of them is being able to walk.”
Vanya eyes Emlyn critically before hugging her carefully. “I have an experimental potion that uses woad as an ingredient,” Vanya says slowly, “but I haven’t finished experimenting with it. It might not work like I expect. I’ve only been able to try it on a couple of the guard dogs. Two of them were injured pretty badly in a fight in the kennels. The kennel manager was trying to breed more guard dogs, but a different male got out of his run and started a fight. It seemed to patch both of them up fairly well, but I don’t know how well it will work or even if it will work on people. I think it will, but I can’t make any promises. “
Emlyn thinks for a moment and heaves a sigh, “What’s the worst that happens?”
“That’s the part,” Vanya grimaces, “that I can’t really be sure of. I think that the worst is that it simply does nothing for you. The very worst case is that it slows your healing down. I don’t think it would actually harm you. Other than maybe tasting bad.”
“Two out of three isn’t bad,” Emlyn shrugs, “Go get it.”
“What are you saying?” Vanya asks her.
Holding up a hand, Emlyn ticks her fingers, “One, I take it, and I get better faster. Two, I take it and nothing changes. Three, I take it, and I heal slower. It seems to be worth a try to me.”
At Vanya’s look, Emlyn continues, “As much as I appreciate everything you and Davilla, and all the others have done for me, I find that I am ready to be out of this room. You said it worked on the dogs. If it worked on the dogs, it would likely work on me as well. It’s at least worth trying.”
“Let me go talk to Davilla,” Vanya says, “If she approves, we’ll test it on you.”.
Emlyn wiggles around some more and manages to get herself into some semblance of order before Davilla comes in, carrying a bottle. Ironically, it’s an old beer bottle.
“Vanya says you’re willing to give this a go,” Davilla says, swirling the bottle. “I’ve looked at the ingredients and they seem to be safe enough, but you’ll have to drink the whole thing. I’ve smelled it, and you may have your work cut out for you in getting it all down.”
“That might not be as hard as you think,” Emlyn grins, still in her raspy voice, “We make a spirit that’s aged with salt, anise, wormwood, juniper berries, and some other herbs that are supposed to be medicinal. It’s utterly disgusting, but it’s common to be asked to drink it as a dare. Hand it over.”
Emlyn holds her hand out for the potion. Sighing, Davilla gives it to her.
Taking a deep breath and being careful to uncork it as far away from her face as she can manage, Emlyn uncorks it and swiftly drains the bottle.
She pulls a face and says, “Gods! I’ve smelled campaign latrines that smelled better than…”
Just then, she stiffens suddenly, back arching as a faint blue nimbus rolls across her.
Davilla starts toward her, but Emlyn waves her off, “I’m fine… really. I think it worked. Not as much as I had hoped, but something is better than nothing.”
Cautiously, Emlyn swings her feet over the edge of the bed and stands up. She begins counting, “One flick of a feather, two flick of a feather, …”
When she gets to five, she starts to get wobbly. When she gets to seven, she sits back down on the bed with a grunt.
“It’s not much,” Emlyn shrugs, “but it’s a definite improvement over my earlier performance. Can we try again?”
“This is most unusual,” Davilla eyes Emlyn critically, “It seems to be healing you from the inside out. Your voice isn’t so rough, and I think you're moving better. I didn’t notice that hitch in your hip when you tried to stand up. It didn't look like you were having any trouble swinging your legs onto the bed. I guess we can try a second dose to see if that improves the effectiveness.”
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The Secret of the Strappy Thing: Benger and Ember discuss how Emlyn’s "strappy" harness—which highlights her high-status tattoos—is likely from somewhere in the multiverse far beyond Harito.
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Terrorizing the Priests: Emlyn has figured out that if the priests' lessons on "convocations" get too boring, she can just revert to her traditional (scandalous) attire to make them go away.
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The 53-Step Goal: She has Benger pace it off; she needs to be able to walk 53 steps to the altar to take her vows and unlock her own healing powers.
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The Dog Potion: Vanya offers an experimental mixture that worked on injured guard dogs. Emlyn drinks it from an old beer bottle, noting it smells worse than campaign latrines.
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Internal Healing: The potion works! It heals her from the inside out, smoothing her voice and helping her stand for seven "flicks of a feather" before she has to sit back down.
Spare Change Count:
20 Copper Pellets: Dropped by the acolytes who were "chastened" by Vanya for bringing shiny objects into the room.
6 Silver Shavings: From Davilla, who is impressed (and a little terrified) by the "inside out" healing.
1 Empty Beer Bottle: Smelling of anise, wormwood, and desperation.
Other Contents:
A "Magical Dressmaker’s Crystal": Confiscated by Vanya because mirrors and shiny objects are a no-go for now.
A Puddle of Quilt and Pillow: Left on the floor after Emlyn's first "upright" attempt ended in a slide.
A Lock of Red Hair: A sign that "The Egg" is finally starting to grow some proper plumage.
the Discord via this invite link. If it doesn't work, DM me for a new one.
Should Emlyn try the new potion?