Solo A Season of Change; a Winter of Discontent

[Rowland]

1st day of Winter, 513 AV

At first when he had gotten lost, Rowland had not been worried. This was Alvadas, after all. Things happened in a mysterious fashion here and it became part and parcel of living here: sometimes one street ran into the next, and sometimes it did not. A trip to the corner could take a few chimes one day and many bells the next day. Such was Rowland's life for the most part.

But today was the day everything changed. Today wasn't just the day Rowland got lost. Today was the day when Rowland lost everything.

* * *

It began as an ordinary day. With the change in season, Rowland had decided to stock up a bit on supplies. Then he decided to get something to eat and drink. By sheer coincidence, when he walked out of his place he found himself situated in front of the "Withering Rose." And as he was not one to look a Gildling in the mouth, Rowland decided to give the place a try.

The Rose, he had heard it called. He knew of it, of course, from an ex-girlfriend who had been keen to try it out. But the last time he had been here-- at the end of last season-- he had paused at the doorway, feeling an ominous sense of doom. A sense of dread. A normal feeling to have in entering a mountain cave that might contain the unknown, perhaps a monster, but an off-putting feeling to have in front of a restaurant. And so Rowland had decided at the last moment to go elsewhere.

But the woman he was with did not understand his hesitation. Thinking that he was being a cheap-skate, his girlfriend of the time had then become his ex-girlfriend.

At the time, Rowland did not care; the feeling of dread was too strong to shake. But that was then, the end of last season. Now it was the start of a new season, and he was all right with how he felt. He had been alone for some time and had reached the point where he did not care what happened to him. And so when he glanced upon the Withering Rose earlier today, he did not care about the atmosphere. He just wanted something to eat.

And that's what he got. The meal itself was nothing he would recall later. A bit of chicken and a glass of wine. It wasn't good or bad. It was just there, and he ate it, but most of him was pondering abstract and arcane matters that were very important to him but which would be boring to relate to anyone else. Questions about his life, his love, his love-life, and such matters that are harder to answer than the current race or gender of Ionu's Champion.

Once his dinner was done, he decided that he just wanted to go home and take a nap.

Rowland paid his bill, exchanged a few pleasantries with Reena or whatever her name was, and went out and on his way. He was hoping and expecting that his own place would still be across the street.

But it was not. He had no idea where he was.

Rowland stepped out just as the sun was going down and dusk was falling over Alvadas.

And that's when Alvadas reminded him that it was not a city to be trifled with and ignored. It let him know in no uncertain terms that he was not in command of it, nor could he dictate terms to it. His wishes were of no concern to it. He was not even in fact part of it: this was an Alvadas he had never seen before, and did not know.

He found himself in a maze of twisty alleys, and no matter which way he turned, no matter what direction he went down, he kept walking across the same couple of back-alley streets over and over again. Or maybe they were different, but they all seemed the same to him. And none were familiar. He could not say where he was, how he got here, or the way home. He could not even figure out a way back to the Withering Rose, to his house, or to the Sanity Center.

Rowland did not understand what was going on. The same city that had expedited his desire to get something to eat and drink was now hindering his desire to go home and take a nap.

"Oh well, desperate times call for desperate measures." Rowland hated to do it, but he decided he would have to use his key. He felt that using it marked him as someone not much better than a tourist, someone unwilling to wander around Alvadas by instinct and feel, but right now he just wasn't in any mood for games. "No games, no tricks. I just want to go home."

Except he could not find his key.

He sighed deeply, shook his head, and patted down all his pockets. Didn't feel a thing. He patted at his pockets again. Twice. He checked his boots and cuffs. Nothing. He looked on the ground near where he was standing. Nothing. No dice. His key was simply missing.

"What did I do with it? Did I leave it at the Withering Rose?" He just could not find it anywhere. Which was very odd, as he had it on a string tied around his neck, and the string was still there. But the key was missing. Just plain gone.

Thinking he must have dropped it, he attempted to backtrack and trace his steps.

For a moment he thought he found it, but it turned out to be a copper key with a little red bow on it. Not his at all. He pocketed it anyway, figuring he would turn it in at the Sanity Center when asking if anyone had found his.

But he was not going to quit just yet. He still wanted to try and find it himself. Before he ran off to the Sanity Center, first he needed to give it the old wizard college try. His key had to be here somewhere: he was determined to find it himself.

At first he was cautious about it, moving slowly and attempting to keep an eye on all his surroundings at once lest he find himself on a sandy beach or a snowy mountaintop. He had never been one for observation before, but now he looked at all the streets and all the people on them, now he stared up at the different buildings and tried to remember if he had passed by here before. He studied the couples and children passing him, watching carefully to see where everyone stepped.

He did his best to keep an eye on everything and everyone, but as he crossed and crisscrossed the same intersection from various directions, Rowland began to worry. He had been relaxed at first, thinking he would find his keys right away. But now he started to worry. And not just the sort of mental worry such as when pondering an intellectual puzzle like the fastest sea route from Alvadas to another port. Now he found himself racing up and down the streets, unable to contain the nervous energy flooding through him. Images such as of a burglar finding his key and robbing his home flooded his mind, and he wanted to either hit someone or run away. And so he starting running. No goal in sight. He just ran looking for his home, or his key, or anything he knew. He ran looking for any sort of sanctuary or shelter he could find. He ran until he got winded and had to stop for a few moments, his breath coming out of him hard and his calves and thighs aching with an exertion they were not used to.

Rowland wanted to relax, but could not help himself. After a moment of catching his breath, he started running again. He began to move faster and faster until he was running up and down the alleys that he kept finding himself in, arms pumping at his sides and boots pounding the pavement harshly until he looked like either a man running from the Womiyu or one of those self-same Womiyu in pursuit of someone.

One foot in front of the other, his eyes on the road, Rowland dashed along trying to pay attention to everything and everyone he saw, hoping to spot either his key, a friend, a familiar landmark or his own home. But he was out of luck. He ran until he had to stop to walk a few steps and then run again, and even so he made no headway. He made no progress. The sky was growing darker and darker, and he was no closer to home.

The streets remained unknown and unrecognizable. And he did not spot anyone that he knew. One moment he was running past a navy Akalak, and then it was a pair of Konti. Or he'd run past an Inarti couple and when he looped around a corner there would be two Svefra there, sharing a bottle of wine and talking of a wench they knew. He ran past a pair of boys playing cards one chime- "Ha, I have two spears!" and "Beat you! I have three shields!" and then a little red-haired girl crying out the next. "Ohhh? Where is it? Give it back!"

Rowland gave a wry grin at that. He knew how she felt.

Just then he rounded a corner and found himself in a street of warehouses and sordid looking stores. A muscular man in a striped shirt stood in front of one dark door, holding a blackjack in one hand and scanning the street back and forth. Two drunks stood in front of a barrel where they had lit a torch against the new winter season. People came and went, but a few stood around, looking shifty, sizing him up warily.

In front of him he spotted a lady of the evening, a professional doxy leaning against a rust-colored post. Some in Alvadas sported garish outfits, no matter their actual occupation; this woman was wearing very little except beads, crow feathers and a smile. Rowland had seen her like down at the Patchwork Port and guessed he was not far from the docks. He smiled at her.

She gave him a lecherous leer when she spotted him looking at her. "Hey sailor, I see you sprinting all about. Seems like you've got a bit of energy. Fancy a spot of fun?"

Rowland paused. He wasn't much of a runner so he needed a moment before he could talk. He leaned forward, hands on his thighs, his face beet red. "N-not as... as much energy as y-you'd think."

"Prrrt. Then what are you running around for? Perhaps a bit of the old slap-and-tickle is what you need."

Rowland nodded. "That probably is what I need right now. But I am in a bit of a pickle. I seem to have lost my key. And I really need to go home and go to bed. I'm starting an important project at work tomorrow and I don't want to be late."

The woman frowned. "That's very boring and sensible. Why aren't you a Syliran Knight? You could call yourself Ser Dyre."

"Sorry, I don't know who or what that is."

The woman put her hands on her hips. "Well, I'm not going to tell you. Go read a book. There are people who spend their whole lives trying to figure out Alvadas and Ionu, who go around questing for knowledge and learning lores. And all you care about is eating and sleeping?"

Rowland was quite offended. "Now hey, that's not true at all. I'm a red-blooded Kalean man. I think you're quite attractive and would be quite happy to engage in a bit of-"

She giggled. "Okay, sorry. Eating, sleeping, and skirt-chasing." Then she grew serious. "But if you're in such a mood, so oblivious to the world around you anyway, then it wouldn't matter if you were living in Alvadas or in Sultros or Kenash."

Rowland gave the woman a blank look, not sure if those were provinces, regions, cities or countries. Distracted by the loss of his key and the confusing turn the conversation was taking, he got defensive.

He raised a finger in the air. "Well, it matters to me. I'm a life-long resident of Alvadas, and proud to be here."

She shook her head. "Are you, though? It's the only place you know. You'd probably feel that if you were growing up in Kenash, too. It's normal to feel attached to where you're from." The doxy peered closely at him. "But do you really appreciate the uniqueness that is Alvadas?"

"What do you mean?"

The woman paused for a moment, as if searching for the right words. "It's like a jigsaw puzzle where the pieces keep getting arranged just for your benefit. It's not just stage dressing, the background of your life. It is the home of Ionu, sharing with you, for inexplicable and ineffable reasons, the most unique and interesting city in existence. Instead of running home and running to work then home again, you should really live here. This is Alvadas! You should be a part of it!"

Rowland shook his head. "That's not me. Not who I am. In the theater of life, I'm just a member of the audience. Not an actor, not even a character actor. Even as a child, when others would be play games, I'd stand by the wall and watch. I'm not a player or actor. Just a man on the sidelines looking to get home."

The woman frowned. "What fun is that?"

Rowland had no answer.

Man and woman contemplated each other for a moment. Finally, she spoke to him. "Well then, it would be a fun trick to make you a player and an actor. Or at least a character actor. And I can do that. I do tricks-- lusty tricks that is-- for Mizas-- but since I was a little girl I wanted to start a circus or theater troupe. I dated a fellow who knew a guy who worked for someone who was a stagehand who said she knew a man who was apprenticing with a fellow trying out with the Inverted!"

"I-- wait? What?" He had not followed a word of that.

"Anyway, I think anyone has it in them to be a performer. Perhaps a bard or comic, perhaps a singer or dancer. Perhaps a juggler or acrobat. Wouldn't you rather try and be someone-- maybe a rich and famous someone-- instead of just scuttling along like a lobster on the ocean floor?"

Just then Rowland found himself clapped on the back. A deep, stentorian voice shouted: "What a capital idea!"

And everything changed. Perhaps it was the clap, or the sudden slap upside his head. Maybe it was the loss of his keys and the realization that he was out of his usual element.
Perhaps it was all the running around, or the strange conversation, but Rowland could find no flaws in the woman's argument. Maybe she was right. He didn't have to just be a faceless, colorless nobody.

Rowland glanced back behind him. Standing there was a somewhat husky old Svefra man with a long, white beard, big nose and weak chin, a fellow Rowland had spotted earlier drinking too much at the Rose. "Really, it's very smashing! I wish I could join a circus or a theater troupe." When he spoke, he had slightly yellowed teeth, though his breath smelled frankly of the fish he had for supper. "The name's Louie. Louie Throckmorton Banderscratch Garfunkel Snowsong Tidechaser the 3rd. But everyone calls me Garfunkel."

There was something about the man that just made everything seem more vibrant. Everything seemed a bit more colorful, a dash more aromatic, a touch more crisp.

Rowland looked at Garfunkel for a moment. "All right, I don't think I have any talent, but I guess I could try singing a song."

He really didn't have any talent. But he had nothing to lose. And so he gave it a shot:

"I met a girl and she made me an offer,
a chance for her to fill her coffer/
she offered me a spot of slap-and-tickle/
but though the offer seemed great
and I knew she'd make a great mate/
I declined because I was in a pickle/

Oh don't you see that I've lost my key/
And now I'm lost and alone in Alvadas/
I don't want to be totally lost at sea/
I just want to find my home in Alvadas!"

Silence. A pair of frowns. In the distance, a girl was crying.

While waiting for the applause that did not come, Rowland noticed a tumbleweed rolling past. Somewhere, a cricket chirped. Then a pair of crickets.

The doxy shook her head. "Oh well, not everyone is meant to be a performer. I suppose there's something to be said for being part of the audience."

The old man laughed at that, long and hard. He clapped Rowland on the shoulder. "Agreed. Go on home; I'm sure you'll find your key if you head that way."

And behind the man was a cobblestone street Rowland had never seen before. He looked down at the various cracks as if seeing them for the first time. Someone had dropped an orange rind. And a copper Miza.

Rowland sniffed the air. It had the familiar salty, tangy feel that meant they were close to the Bizarre bazaar and the Patchwork Port. He hadn't realized it until now, but the woman next to him smelled like cinnamon and vanilla. Glancing at her, he realized that for the first time she wasn't human, at least not exactly. Her hair had some sort of shimmering sparkle to it and her eyes changed color. And she wasn't young. There was a bit too much makeup, but he could see lines around her eyes and mouth, and a touch of silver or grey at her temples. One of her canines was chipped.

For a moment he considered heading that way. It seemed almost familiar. And apparently performing wasn't as easy as he thought. But the idea was rattling around in his head: he could be somebody. He could be more than what he was. He could be different somehow. Someone worth knowing, worth watching. A juggler or dancer or something exciting like that.

He listened for a moment. He could still hear the girl crying in the distance. He turned away from the cobblestone street. "Actually, I think I'll go that way, to my left."

"We should go to my casinor."

Rowland turned back to the old man. He held out his hand. "Not right now, but thanks anyway. Well, it was nice to meet you, Garfunkel."

The man slowly raised a hand, his elbow cracking. "I wasn't talking to you, boy. An old man, he gets lonely and has needs. Normally I'd wait my turn, but the only intercourse you seem to be having here is verbal. Now, if you'll excuse us..."

Rowland nodded. "Sure thing, Garfunkel."

The old man nodded. "If you're ever out at sea, keep an eye out for the Tidechaser pod. Some lovely ladies your age." He then turned backed and walked down the street, arm-in-arm with the doxy, informing her that his casinor was just ahead.

Rowland shook his head. "Well let's see why that girl is crying."

He started walking when he came upon a street he had never seen before. A little girl with a red bow in her hair was crying. He remembered her from earlier; she had just been one of many he had passed, after he had passed the two boys playing cards. At the time he hadn't stopped to find out why she was so upset. But now he thought about the words the doxy wench had told him: 'Alvadas. You should be part of it.'

Rowland slowly approached, trying to keep up a bright smile. He squatted down, while trying his best to look friendly. "Hello. I'm Rowland. Is everything all right?"

"I'm Nara, but I don't know you." She took a few steps back. A dubious expression crossed her face, and her eyes narrowed with wary concern. Nara seemed reluctant to talk to a complete stranger, though she did shake her head at his question and continue crying.

Rowland felt a little frustrated. Here was his chance to be a part of Alvadas, to make someone feel better-- or at least to try-- and they were constrained by the normal rules of society. He wouldn't want a strange man approaching him if he was a little girl, after all.

Well, they were in Alvadas. It was time to do things the Alvadas way. Perhaps a bit of acting or storytelling.

Rowland pointed at himself, and started pantomiming riding around on a horse. He found a stick and pretended it was his lance. "I am actually not just Rowland. I am Ser Dyre Rowland, a famous and handsome knight from a distant land, and I travel the world helping out young damsels-in-distress, be they kidnapped by wizards or tormented by monsters or forced to eat vegetables before their dessert. Many are the adventures I have had; why just this very evening I had supper with Reinah the jungle princess and then encountered the wise wizard Garfunkel the ever-thirsty who has at last found true love with a queen of the evening."

"A famous and handsome knight, you say?" Nara stared at him with wide-eyed awe. "Did an evil wizard curse away the handsome part?"

Just as a pair of matronly grandmother types walked past, Rowland loudly said: "Hey, little girl, I am very handsome."

Though she was right. He was no Vantha with lustrous hair and ever-changing eyes. He would need to do something about his all-too-human appearance. But that could wait. After he acquired a pair of withering looks, Rowland realized that he had better change tacks. "Never mind that. Well, Nara, you know me now. Are you lost?"

She nodded. "No... Well, I've lost my key! I found this other one but it's not mine!"

Rowland smiled at her. "Oh! Maybe we have something that belongs to each other. Is this yours?" And he held out the key that he had found.

Nara nodded and took it. "Oh, thank you thank you thank you!" And she offered his left leg a hug, then gave him the one key she had found. It was an obsidian skeleton key the likes of which he had never seen before.

Disappointed, Rowland took it and pocketed it, deciding to turn it into the Sanity Center. In the mean time, he escorted the little girl home to her door, then went dashing down the street once he saw her hugging her mother. "Well, I'm no closer to finding my own place, but at least that little girl is safe at home. And I feel good about that. Whatever happens, I suppose being part of Alvadas is its own reward."

[Tapestry]

XP Award!

Rowland:

XP Award:

• +2 Observation
• +2 Rhetoric
• +2 Running
• +1 Singing
• +1 Detection

Lore:

• Alvadas: The Withering Rose
• Alvadas: Be a Part of Alvadas
• Alvadas: Capricious Illusions

notes :

Add one Obsidian key to your inventory. What does it mean? I'll have a thread for you and Velkano a bit later.

Comments :

Interesting thread. If you see anything I missed, don't hesitate to shoot me a PM

TAPESTRY