If I run into any of you Bards with a Gypsy Title and I act strange around you, here is why:
> Take bag.
> You pick up a midnight black bag.
> open bag.
> You open a midnight black bag.
> Look in bag.
> You see some journal pages.
> Exam pages.
> The journal pages appear to have been torn out.
> Get pages from black bag.
> You get some journal pages from a midnight black bag.
> Read pages
Reading
Kendiala?s Song
My name is Wodynn Norlander. I was born on the 20th day of the 8th month of Skullcleaver the Dwarven Axe in the year of the Emerald Dolphin, 334 years after the victory of Lanival the Redeemer. My father's name was Jarodpoe. My mother's name was/is Kendiala Fostra (I know not whether she lives or walks the starry road).
I will begin by describing my parents. Jarodpoe was a Warrior Mage who lived in Theren. I don't know his time of birth but he was old when he walked the starry road. One month ago he came back into my life for a brief and last time. He searched me out to tell me the tale of his life, and mine.
He told me of his loyalty to the Baron and desire to defend those who could not defend themselves. He did not describe himself as a powerful warrior, but as a man who found worth in others. He said he spent most of his time in the areas surrounding the city of Theren. He said he spent a lot of time on the Gypsy road, defending from attacking Marauders. One evening, while patrolling that road, he said he was entranced by the sound of a beautiful song. He had always sought out the camp of the Gypsies but could only hear their song on the wind. This night however would be different. Foraging among the grasses by the lake, he found a young woman dressed in long and colorful dress, singing a song that seemed to cause him to forget why he was there. Thinking she was an empath, he introduced himself and offered to share with her what herbs he had brought along for his own healing. Startled by his voice, her song stopped. At least, that is, the one from her voice. My father in telling this tale said that her eyes sang, even when her lips did not move. He had always been a loner. He said he was unprepared for his hearts reaction and stood speechless as her eyes gazed into his soul. He sensed a fear in her subside by the smile that warmed him as she introduced herself. She told him her name only.
They talked for a while. He said that for some reason, the area around the Gypsy Road was quiet that night. He found it a welcome respite. He said she asked most of the questions and it seemed he was sharing more with her than he had ever shared with anyone. He told her of his adventures and laughed with her at some of the foolish things he did as a youth (such as when the guild leader Gauthus froze his hands together because he was playing around with the Frostbite Spell inside the entrance to the Guild!). After the sun began to glow on the horizon, Kendiala said she must return to her home. She would not allow my father to escort her and assured him she would be quite safe. For the first time during their conversation, she expressed a look of grave concern and told him, "You must never tell anyone of our time together tonight, as it would bring me great trouble". With that, she disappeared into the tall grass. Moments later he could hear her song fading into the morning.
Jarodpoe became ever more vigilant about protecting the Gypsy Road. It seemed that every night that the Gypsy Road was quite, the song of Kendiala would return. They would share many words, stories and eventually on a night when the moons were bright, love. She said she admired his love for others and his ability to see good in everyone. But she said she never intended to fall in love with him as she had and feared she may have brought hurt into his life. He assured her that he had fallen in love as well, and nothing from her could bring him harm. It was then she told him that she was a Gypsy. The realization brought shame to his face, and tears to his eyes. Not for whom she was, but for whom he had been. Believing that he had been doing an honorable thing, he had unknowingly slaughtered countless neighbors, and even a few distant kin of the only woman who had ever been able to bring a song to his heart. She assured him that some in her family did not support the cause of the Marauders to seek vengeance on the Barons of Theren for past betrayals. She told him that they worked hard within the clans to try and convince those who suffered the same losses as her family, to seek reconciliation rather than recompensation. Nothing in his training as a Warrior Mage could have prepared him for this. He swore to her he would never kill another man. He also swore to her his life.
In many more nights of conversation, sharing and love, she convinced him to return with her to the Gypsy camp. She promised him he would be safe. She told my father that she was assured at least as much from her own family. On that unforgettable night, after meandering through fields, tall grasses and paths that only she could see, they came upon a clearing filled with campfires, tents, large, horse drawn carts (some big enough for an entire family to live in) and - Gypsies. Every eye was on them. The men looked at him with distaste, and the women would not look his way at all. They all seemed to respect the woman he was with. Some would nod in recognition of her and all gave a clear path for them. My father said he half expected that someone would leap from the shadows and bury a knife between his shoulder blades but he dare not lay his hand on his hilt. He instead, trusted on the assurances of Kendiala. She led them to a large tent in the center of the camp. They entered, and there to his horror, she presented him to her father, the very King of the Gypsies himself. If my father had not glanced into the eyes of his Kendiala and felt her song of love reaching out to him that night, he said he would have drawn his Saber and attacked, thinking he had been betrayed. The look on the Gypsy King?s face was undecipherable. Although only Kendiala, my fatther and at least a dozen tall men in the shadows were all who were in the tent, he felt as if the entire Gypsy Nation was staring at him. He quickly found his place and listened to the King.
"I have found no pleasure in my daughter's words to me that she has chosen to love an outsider. If anyone else of my clan had brought you into my presence, your head would be leaving my tent before your body. The only thing stronger than my hate for your kind is my love for my daughter. That is why I have agreed to allow you to remain and marry. It is for the sake of my daughter, Kendiala Fostra. In the absence of a sufficient dowry (one which I am sure you could never afford), I claim your allegiance to my clan, and your life in return?. My father said, that at the King's words, he fell to his knees. Not for vow of allegiance, but because at that moment, all of his life seemed to drain out of him. He had no words. He dare not defy the King in front of his family. The King took his "gesture" as agreement and the wedding was set.
Never would the Gypsies be denied an excuse for festivities, and for some the wedding was a time of grand merriment and an omen of hope. For others however, it was a bitter pill. Those chose not to dance with the bride, drink with the groom, or even come near the presence of the King. Those chose to linger away from the light of the fires, and plan.
My father told me that, time allowed him to be at least openly accepted as one of the clan. Although none feared him for his prior battles with the Marauders, some respected him for his convictions, and a few even came to admire him for his love for others. Some however, had convictions of their own. They were convictions that could not allow an inferior seed to threaten the bloodline of the King. So they continued to plan. No one would raise a hand towards my father. After all, he was under the protection of the Gypsy King himself. He had sworn him his life and only the King himself could take it. I was another matter entirely.
My birth came with almost as much fanfare as my parent's marriage. Not only was it another excuse for the people to engage in song, dance and drink. I was the firstborn male to the daughter of the Gypsy King. To not celebrate (or at least give the appearance of being festive) would be a direct insult to the family of the King. Insulting the King could result in being Cursed and declared "Dilu", or exiled from the camp. Most Gypsies feared this worse than death, but not all. Some of the women in the camp took notice that I did not have the same color eyes as either of my parents, nor anyone else in the King's clan. A few of the older women would call me "Telgi Aevs" or "Green Eyes". My father told me that the older women thought it was an omen. For good or bad he was not told, as they never spoke of it in my mother's presence and of course no respectable Gypsy would approach another woman's husband - especially when that husband was married to the daughter of the King. He and my mother, to their horror, would learn that not all feared the King. There were those in the camp who questioned the judgment of the King.
It was 10 and a half years after my birth when, what the camp to this day refers to as the "Mor Wir" or "Great Evil", was done. I don't remember much prior to those days, other than thinking on them now makes my head fill with song. I guess that is one of the reasons I picked up the flute early on in life. My father told me that he was forever leery of the older women and most of the men in the camp, but the youth, and some men seemed to accept him as part of their own. It afforded him a sense of some safety. How could he have know what some of the others were conspiring? How could he know there was more to that averted look, or passing whisper from those in the clan who did not seem to fully accept him? How could he have known that the clans would have probably, eventually let him and my mother live out their lives in peace, if they had not given birth to a male child? How could they know, except when they came to my cot one morning to find me lifeless, and barely a breath? Sometime during that dreadful night prior, either by curse or poison, the small life that was given to me was almost stolen. The King allowed his best to tend me and even allowed his daughter to secretly seek help among outsiders to gain knowledge from the Empaths to aid in my recovery. She and they were successful in restoring my health after a week of trial and error. However, I lost the sight in my left eye. It has never been restored, nor do I think, can it be. I had always wondered why it was immune to the touch of an empath.
After much argument with the King and my mother, my father decided it would never be safe for me to live amongst the Gypsies. He, for the first time since my mother brought him before the King, risked his life to take me to the same Warrior Mage Guild that he began his training, and left me with Guathus. I had always thought my mother just left me on the Gypsy road one night. But now my clouded memories make more sense. I regret the years I wasted in anguish thinking my mother had simply abandoned me. The news my father has shared with me has brought at least some healing. I spent my time learning to defend myself with sword and elements, having the thought of vengeance occupy my mind. I did not know that my mother and father spent their time in the Gypsy camp reasoning with the King and Elders of the prosperity all could enjoy if there were a peace between the Gypsy camp and Theren. I was obsessed with killing all involved with separating me from my family. I thought the clans had simply caused me to be driven out. I always wore the onus of "half-breed".
My father continued his tale to describe how life changed for him after leaving me with Guathus. He said the love from Kendiala never faltered, but her songs always seemed quieter from then on - whenever she did sing them. He did not speak much with the King after that. He blamed the King and himself for not protecting me. He believed that it was someone close to the King that attempted to "cleanse the bloodline". I guess the King didn't lose any sleep over the matter. It was never spoken of in my parents? presence again. My father said that when the "Mor Wir" was whispered around campfires, he came to believe it had a double meaning. One seemed to refer to the attempt on my life. The other seemed to be a subtle reference to the King's decision allowing his daughter to marry outside of the Gypsy bloodline. After my father removed me from the camp, things seemed to quiet down for my parents. From time to time my father would send his Black Bat to check up on my well being. I never realized it was just his bat. I just thought bats were plentiful in Elanthia and grew accustomed to ignoring it. I miss that bat now. I would give anything to see it again. But I never will.
My father believes that eventually, the King hardened his stance towards Theren to save face with the clans. My father told me that he thinks that is the reason the King conspired with the Warrior King Raenilar to overthrow Theren. He must have thought he could use the Warrior King to de-stabilize the city and move in later to claim it as his own as payment for helping Raenilar. Last I heard, my grandfather was sitting in Baron Gyfford's prison. I have no way to confirm this. A few nights after I was visited by my father with this story, I was stunned and dropped to my knees sobbing to see a vision of his soul walk the starry road forever. I enquired as I could and discovered he was found dead after checking into an Inn at Crossings. Some told me it was suicide. Some saw evidence of assassins. I suspect the latter.
I have since moved from the mainland in self-imposed exile on one of the islands in the Qi'Reshalia province. I struggle with waging a personal war on the Marauders in hopes of capturing one to learn the fate of my mother and location of the camp, or confronting the Baron himself and asking audience with my grandfather should he still be imprisoned. I fear I must wait until I regain my strength. It is all I can do to even speak to another since my father's return, and final departure. I dare not let my pain drive me. It would only lead to the senseless destruction of others, many even possibly innocent, as well as my own final demise. I only wish to stay alive for the time being. I fear returning to the mainland for rumors of the assassins. Alas. I am used to not having a home. Yet I long for the songs of Kendiala once again.
If my journal falls into hands of strength, I pray my passions find their way into your heart for good. Should it fall into the hands of despite, I pray the curse of the Gypsies be forever upon you and your family.
Wodynn Norlander of Elanthia
Thiager Getha
Mentally Bankrupt: The experience of attempting to rub two brain cells together and coming up empty handed.
Thiager Getha
You gesture at some smoked goblin tongue. A breeze picks up, causing the tongue to skitter across the ground.
Mentally Bankrupt: The experience of attempting to rub two brain cells together and coming up empty handed.
