Session 1 Notes: Iseult

16th of Seedfall. Day 393 of captivity.
Today, Learned Anoura and I arrived at Clan Horseriver House in Easthome in the company of a large entourage of assorted tradesmen, guards, and the inevitable ne’er-do-well (more on him later). Because accommodations are scarce during Samhain & the Wild Hunt, the two of us are sharing a room off the main hallway of the second floor of the house. I am dreading sundown this evening; we shall be compelled to be indoors, and the last time we two shared quarters, Learned Anoura put lights out at eight bells past midday. This would be a terrible waste of the best time of the day as it is, but she then proceeded to wake me every two hours to force me to write down my dreams. She claims such to be typical Skyseer training, but I suspect it to be further torture designed to break down my resistance.
Lord Waldemar Adolfson Kin Horseriver has been very gracious in receiving us himself. He seems to hold Learned Anoura in great esteem, as our quarters are among the most well-appointed in the house. His steward Lady Eileen Steward has similarly been very accommodating, staying behind to manage the household while the rest of us attended the midday festivities.
With as much travel as we have done these past few months, I have met many remarkable people. However, a number of people stood out to me today. The first was a woman named Khepri Arafa with skin the rich brown of polished mahogany. Sitting her horse like a true-born Wealding, she was so beautiful and exotic that it was hard not to stare (so I didn’t bother trying). She seemed to be asking a lot of questions of those around her, so I imagine she is here of a purpose.
As graceful and elegant as the Lady Arafa seemed, she appeared to be in the company of a youthful lout from Clan Ravenpass who receives mention here only because of the remarkable odor he gave off, some mixture of oil and dirt. He calls himself Oenghus Lightfoot and claims to have recently returned from college in Dratharca. This seems unlikely to me, as I have heard that all Dratharcan colleges require their students take formal etiquette instruction. Despite his aforementioned loutishness, I suppose I must give him credit for the apparent sense of protectiveness he extends toward the Lady Arafa.
The third member of the morning entourage that I met today may well be the most interesting: a Clan Bearwood Druid named Lorkan. He’s almost a cliché of his kind, not only turning into a bear himself but keeping company with Rok, a great bear who smells strongly of fish. Lorkan claims to be able to understand Rok and made a point of informing me that Rok does not have a very high opinion of me. I cannot imagine why that should be, but Rok the Snarky Bear will make excellent fodder for an entertaining tavern song. Notes to follow.
Finally, there was White Brennus. It is obvious as to why he is so named: he is tall and willowy, with long, snow white hair and pale skin. His appearance itself is uncanny enough to warrant description here, but I had also heard whispers that he is a Sorcerer, beset by a demon of the Bastard. By the end of the day he had certainly given proof of the claim.
You see, at some point during our festival-goings – after my impressive and no doubt widely talked about showing at the archery competition – our group was approached by goodwife Red Sorcha kin Greentongue kin Greentongue. Gravid with the late stages of pregnancy, she claims that her unwanted pregnancy was the fault of Druid Lorkan. It seems that he provided a number of fish to the pilgrims at Holytree earlier this year, and that all women who partook of these fish soon found themselves unexpectedly expectant. Oenghus became practically apoplectic at the absurdity of this idea. Clearly his worldly travels beyond the borders of the Weald have made him forget the mysteries of Forest Magic. I admit that I found it immensely entertaining to goad him about “fish babies,” but I nonetheless will be eating no food that Learned Lorkan has himself touched. Although it now occurs to me that he shared a bit of honeycomb with me earlier in the day… perhaps a visit to a midwife would not be remiss.
Sorcha demanded an honor duel and, unable to participate herself, insisted that we – somehow being unduly associated with Lorkan – must fight her husband and many children. I found this absurd, of course, but figured it would be an adventure to write about later, perhaps even as a song. Something like …
There once was a great holy tree
That the pilgrims would all come to see
The tree spake her wish
Learned Lorkan served fish
And the lasses all caught pregnancy
In any case, we soundly trounced Sorsha’s brood, but during the scuffle it became evident that the rumors swirling around White Brennus have merit. I found it impossible to keep my eye on him, as he seemed to blend into his surroundings effortlessly. I admit I found this very disconcerting and hope I can avoid him in future. An unintentionally loosed demon can cause tremendous chaos, and … on second thought … I think I’ll stick around for the story that will inevitably result.
After wetting our tongues with ale with our new-found friends, the Greentongues, we were approached by Lord Waldemar, asking for our assistance in locating his nephew, Wencel kin Horseriver. Wencel was supposed to participate in the Great Hunt this evening and, in fact, Learned Anoura had foretold his participation as being vital to the good fortune of the Horseriver clan. Not being made of sturdy stock, Wencel decided to avoid his fate by holing himself up in a nearby public house. At great personal sacrifice, I managed to wheedle his location out of some well-lubricated friends, all while more or less keeping pace with their rate of drink. Oenghus, on the other hand, seemed to spend most of his time peering into corners and behind doors, as though the kid would be hiding under a table. I have no clue where White Brennus went, which in retrospect should likely have concerned me more. I blame the third mug of ale. In any case, the lad was eventually located and returned to his clan leader, that he might participate in the Great Hunt after all.
I do hope my efforts today have improved my standing in the eyes of Lord Valdemar. He may be my best hope for escape into the wider world, and away from Learned Anoura. Who, I might add, is snoring loud enough to attract the Wild Hunters not three feet away from me at the moment. Pretty sure Skyseer visions aren’t breaking through the sound barrier tonight.