An Obstinate Obsidian Thicket...

Lucy and Nanny k are seated in the breakfast room, a rectangular room with a long gleaming dark wood table, a side board nearly the length of the thirty-by-twenty foot room. Windows along the east wall giving a lovely view of the morning sun, and the kitchen herb garden and fruit orchard. The sun is bright in the azure sky, and there are gardeners plucking fruit and hoeing the gardens. Lucy is understandable excited about the journey.

Nanny reminds the staff to prepare a large basket of tasty morsels to share with her cousin, "Remember Lucy will be presenting it." The unspoken message that it had better be worthy for a queen to present. "Make sure there are a few cases of wine and some of that stronger stuff. The kind that fellow prefers."

Our heroes have been again, presented with a morning tray in their room, "Her Royal Highness requests that as soon as you have finished your morning ablutions that you join her in the breakfast room, if you please Sir."

Lucy is chattering three sheets to the wind, "And she has that big playground! I hope those kids are there again. They are your what? Third cousins?" she asks Nanny K.

As Morgan weaves his way to the breakfast room Amaril and Wik are not far behind. Martonis is already seated, politely waiting for them, although, as they arrive, they nod to the serving maids standing discretely nearby and the girls fill platters for each of them with a wide variety of meats, vegetables, breads and fruits. Martonis shakes his head and says a blessing over the food before he eats. Morgan is almost finished his meal when Wik and Amaril make their appearance, and he weaves himself to the server and is informed that she does not know for sure if, “Zee Vizier has been located.” She scurries off to get the information for Morgan, who, burps and excuses himself with a flourish as he bows to Queen Lucy, before exiting the morning room and stumbling out to where the carriage awaits for their journey.

As Lucy excuses herself, along with Ooma and Nanny K, the others head off to take care of their business. Martonis follows Lucy and waits for her in her sitting room while she dresses.

Wik and Amaril head down to speak with Mr. Green and are informed he is at breakfast and should return shortly. They thank the guard on duty and decide to check out the possible hidden door in the large pantry in the kitchen.

The same young lad who greeted Morgan, greets them and escorts them over to Chef Francois, who turns as he senses their approach. His manner is less than congenial.

“Whad do you want?” He asks, not hiding his contempt for those who interrupt his kitchen.

“We’ve come to search your larder. Our friend was here yesterday and he tells us there is something odd in there,” Wik condescends.

The chef, punctuating his speech with a very large carving knife, spits out, “Zare is not’ing odd in my pantree! You people, always to stir up trouble! Zee Visier, HE is lookin’ into zat catastrophe! You ‘ave no authority! Now get out of my kitchens!”

Amaril is playing with his dagger, as is Wik, they both look rather sarcastically at each other, mocking the chef. “Well, we’ve been sent to check it out. We are friends with Queen Lucy.” Wik says rather snottily.

The chef’s chest pumps out and he advances, his face red and his words forced. “I ‘ave not been informed someone would be coming to inspect. So. Get. Out. Of. My. Kitchen. Now.” He sends the young boy to bring two guards back and they return, clearly not wanting to offend neither Lucy’s guests nor the chef who feeds them daily!

Thank goodness the two Elves come to their senses and decide to leave peacefully. Speaking in Elven as they do so, determined to return later, when the kitchens are quiet, quite unaware there is a sous chef listening to their every word, and fully understanding it, her eyes glow crimson as she watches them exit the kitchen.

Morgan meanwhile is talking with Captain Roberts, who is to be escorting the party to Antoinette’s. He questions the man about the incident with the poisonings, as well as the death of the courier.

“Ah, oui, Monsieur, tragic. The Vizier has assigned some men to look into these foul deeds. Those men involved have been disciplined. No matter that the wine was said to be a gift, they did not have their captain’s permission to indulge. They have been reassigned to less important duties.”

Morgan almost feels sorry for them and mentions that the wine was probably poisoned and that he doesn’t trust the alchemist. He also inquires as to the riding and security arrangements for this ride and is not happy about the wagon-like carriage Lucy has requested.

“How many open carriages do you have available?” Morgan asks the captain.

“Three Monsieur, why?”

“It’s such a shame they all have to have their axle’s fixed today, isn’t it?”

It takes Captain Roberts a few seconds to catch on, but a wide grin showing his pearly whites satisfies Morgan.

“I mean,” Morgan uses his blade to chop heavily on the cotter-pin, cracking it, rendering it useless and causing the rest of the guards to be alerted. “It would be a damn shame that we had to use the covered carriage today.” He puts his hands up to ease the other guards retaliation.

“Yes, I see,” Captain Roberts nods, “A damn shame. Well sir, no doubt about it, we’ll have to use the covered carriage.” He smiles at Morgan, clapping him on the back before ordering, “Fredricks, Frito, you two get this broken carriage out of the way. You there, Hagan, go and see that the other carriage is brought out, suitable prepared for her Highness. Hop to it!”

Meanwhile, Wik and Amaril have found Mr. Green. Stepping inside the apothecary they inquire about the vials they brought earlier. “Have you had sufficient time to discover what they are?” Amaril asks.

“Oh yes. Well, the one. He started searching his desk, counters and shelves before pulling drawers open and shuffling papers. “Well, that’s odd?” he muttered. “Where did I put the blasted... OH! I remember!” He goes into his storage room and returns a few moments later holding the vial. “Not again!” he mutters. He holds the vial out to them, “There’s about a quarter of it missing!” He says worriedly.

Wik reaches for it, “And that will return my hair and skin to their normal colour?”

Mr. Green looks surprised. “Oh, no. No.” He says emphatically. “This is the vial that your friend brought in to have examined.”

“And did you find what it is?” Amaril asks.

“Oui Monsieur. It is a very volatile liquid, comprised of Peroxyde d’hydrogène blended with a few drops of Kanten, that, when used on its own will explode an area, maybe the size of your fist, but if in contact with a dry powder, preferably la farine or la sciure, it will produce an explosion that... well,” he lowers his voice dramatically, “que pouvoir facilement detruire au castle!”

“And some is missing? How much damage could be done with the amount that’s missing,” Amaril asks, looking worriedly at Wik.

Mr. Green wrings his hands, “Maybe, if enough farine iz used, it could level zee barn!”

You have seen these barns, they are stone foundation and wooden uppers each of the four horse barns houses two hundred horses, plus tackle and other grooming implements; and there are numerous other, equally large structures surrounding the castle.

A quick discussion ensues as the alchemist wrings his hands wondering how someone could possibly have breached his new security. “Je vous en parler à avec ça garde!” he vows, irritably.

Wik reminds him that he was to see about a potion or elixir to counter the dye pigmentation in his skin and hair.

“Oh, oui; oui!” He fiddles about, handing Wik a vial. “Use d’is in zee bath, soak for zee ‘alve ‘our an’ scrub as normal. It should turn your skin back. Your hair,” he shrugs. “I’ve not yet perfected; à l’instant même it will turn it bleu. Giv’ me a day or so, I’ve almos’ got it.”

Wik nods and takes the vial, secreting it deep within a hidden pocket of his cape. Bidding adieu to Mr. Green, they return to the main floor and head out to the front in time to see Lucy’s little foot stomp as she insists she wants to ride in the open carriage today.

Quickly thinking, Morgan soon has the child giggling along with Amaril and Wik’s stories and Nanny’s frowns of disapproval. Before they start their journey, Martonis asks Lucy if he may offer a blessing on her, and she tips her head, "Sure, I suppose so." He blesses her and they continue their journey.

Lucy is so excited she remembers the children who were there the last time she visited and she was allowed to play in the playground. “I hope they’ll be there again!”

After an hour and a half of bumpy, dusty roads, passing a few manors whose property touched the boulevard and seeing various foliage growing neatly in great farms and vineyards; grapes, it was touted, grown in the Champagne region, grew juicier, sweeter, larger and more prolifically than anywhere else.

Watching the fields Lucy suddenly squeals, “Were almost there!” Vines, growing thickly, their leaves unfurled to the warm sun grew stretched along cords in neat rows for as far as the eye can see. Presently, a few minutes later the carriage turned into a combed gravel drive lined with sturdy elms, standing like sentries. The house at the end of the drive is a three story, plus cellar, manor with a limestone exterior that has been whitewashed recently. Five large mullioned picture windows, to either side of the formal front doors were polished to mirror brightness! The front yard is surrounded by a low stone wall.

Seconds later, Lucy, forgetting all about decorum, bounds from the barely stopped carriage leaping into the arms of her friend, Antoinette, who, reaches down and picks the little girl up, swinging her around muttering endearments in the local language.

Lucy, remembering her manners; sort of – introduces her new friends as they emerge from the carriage. She reminds Antoinette that these were the people she told her about when she visited after she returned from Edith’s. “I told you about them, ‘member?”

Antoinette, all smiles for the cherub in her arms, laughs happily as several other children come bounding around the corner, squealing in delight as they spot Lucy, who wriggles free of Antoinette and starts for the children, stopping and turning briefly. “It is okay if I go play with them, isn’t it Nanny?”

Nanny nods to the assembled group, “I’ll keep an eye on her, you folks, I believe, have some discussions that need to be taken care of.” She leans to her cousin, kissing her cheek, “Keep an eye on the one in the tin can,” she teases. “I hear they’re letting priests marry nowadays.” She winks as Antoinette’s laughter follows her along the path. Ooma also follows Lucy around the back.

Antoinette shaking her head turns to the group, “Shall we?” leading the way through the interior graced with gleaming oak floors and plaster walls painted a dull beige with intricate crown mouldings lining the high ceilings. The furnishings are tasteful, antique and expensive. All of it is polished to a mirror finish. It’s clear the maids do not slouch in this home.

Exiting through sliding door onto a terrace with an overhanging trellis supporting yet more grape vines. There are extensive gardens, a maze, herb knots, a children's recreational area complete with turrets, pirate ship, play house, rope swings tied onto the branches of an ancient gnarly oak standing to the side providing shade during the hottest parts of the day, a sandbox and pedal cars.

The great stone terrace flows from the back of the house, with hefty tables, chairs and loungers dotting its surface. The children's playground is off to the north, while the large swimming pool is a hundred feet straight ahead; a gleaming, crystal clear oasis in the shape of a four-leafed clover. A wide ten-foot fieldstone skirt surrounds the pool before manicured lawn fills in the space between the terrace and the pool deck.

A long, wide thicket lies the length of the north side of the children's play space, where wild berries grow in the summer and are greatly prized for their exquisite sweet flavour and abundance of fruit. A small, white picket fence is in place to protect the children from accidently kicking a ball or something in the brambles. Benches are set strategically around the perimeter to enable governesses to keep a close eye on their charges.

The assembled group can hear the children’s squeals and shouts as they tear around. A low hedge, about waist height encloses the garden on three sides with two wide gates at either end to permit the gardener’s access.

Antoinette, a sturdy lass of about twenty-five years, startling blue eyes and lovely carrot-orange hair, sprinkling of freckles across a cute upturned nose. Tall for a woman, she can look Morgan in the eye, introduces her family, her mother and father, Marie and George; her elder sister Fiona, and her husband, Phillip; her widowed brother, Paul, “And these two are my younger brother, Charles and my younger sister, Stephanie,” she finishes and the group spends a few minutes on pleasantries.

Noticing Martonis eyeing his sister, Paul nudges him, “Careful there she can wield a rapier and a crossbow with incredible precision. She spends her free time gallivanting about.”

Morgan is discussing the merits of fencing and is surprised to hear the manor has no training ground!

“Non, Monsieur, but we ‘ave no need. The soldiers only come when Lucy comes. Now, we do ‘ave a lovely pond, stocked weeth fish by zee grace of our Lady Lucy.” He smiles at Morgan. “Would you care to see it? It iz very lovely,” George speaks with pride.

Marie smiles. “He supervises the plantings and he’s so proud of the vast sea of colour down there right now.”

The group nods and agree, following the aged gentleman as he leads the procession off the patio and down a cobbled path. They’ve not gone more than a hundred steps when Nanny K’s voice screams, “Where’s Lucy?”

The call is taken up by Ooma and the other governess as they frantically begin to search the playground equipment for the little queen. Our party naturally spins about and races into the playground.

“How could you lose her?” George, shaken, shouts at a guard. “Imbèciles!” And then, “Silence!” his booming voice quietens everyone present.

A plaintive cry is heard, very very weak, like its coming from a long way off. The words are not clear, but it sounds like a child calling for help. It is quickly determined Lucy must be somewhere in the thicket.

“She was swinging on the swing. I took my eyes off her for less than a second! Oh, Lucy, where are you?” Nanny K was wringing her hands, her skin pale.

Marie took Nanny K’s hand and had the other governess round up the children, “Take them to the nursery. We do not need them also getting lost or hurt.” Nanny K, Marie, the children and the other ladies present also returned to the house.

Wik goes one way around the thicket, shouting for Lucy, while Morgan and Amaril go the other. Martonis, Antoinette, Ooma, George, Phillip, Paul and Charles remained in the playground, trying to force their way into the thicket. The guards, three going with Wik and two with Morgan and Amaril, the remaining three facing the thicket.

It soon becomes apparent that Lucy is somewhere in the dense, prickle bush. As carefully as they can everyone with a sword or blade begins to slash at the vegetation, failing to notice, at first, that with each slice they cut, two ends appear, and the growth increases, slowly surrounding our seekers.

Within five minutes our party is enclosed by the vines, although they can hear Lucy’s voice louder. They can also hear those on the other side of the approximately twenty-five foot wide rambling prickle bush.

The ground shakes slightly, and our heroes pause briefly, before renewing their efforts. They are stunned as the thorns on the branches appear to have a change in their chemical makeup and, it isn’t long before they realise they are striking Obsidian spikes that are regenerating and growing foot-long barbs almost as fast as they can cut them!

Morgan puts his scimitar away and draws the staff that he is carrying for Ichabod, finding it a more useful weapon. Martonis also switches to his morning star, the two coming very close as they crush the stone from either side!

Suddenly the ground shifts and wavers beneath their feet as if an earthquake is churning the soil. Morgan tries to step backward, but fails as his foot slithers in a fissure and moments later his finds himself toppling down into a dark gap, landing, jarring himself, on his feet, before stumbling to the floor.

“Morgan?” a small voice cries. “Oh, Morgan!” Lucy runs over to him and wraps her arms around his waist.

“What are you doing down here?” Morgan asks rather more gruffly than he probably intends.

Lucy, her voice quivering, “I was on the swing and I was going really high and my hands slipped and I fell down here.”

“Are you hurt?”

“I don’t think so,” she says. “Are you?”

Morgan is probably pretty glad he’s indulged a great deal already this morning as he takes stock before shaking his head, “No, no I’m not hurt either. Let’s get out of here.” He starts to look up at the tunnel, noticing the smooth, glass like sides. “Okay. You hang onto my belt and don’t let go, okay? I’m going to throw my rope up there and try to climb out, okay?”

“Okay. But Morgan? Why don’t we go that way?” She points to a wooden door about twenty feet along a passage that is barely tall and wide enough for Morgan to fit. A sign of some sort hangs on the door, but from this distance, in this light, it’s amazing they can see the door at all.

Patting Lucy’s curly head, “Because, that’s an obvious trap. We are going up; back to where everyone else is.”

“Okay,” she nods, her fingers slipping under Morgan’s belt.

Morgan smiles down at her fondly, then making a series of loops in the end of the rope, he throws it with all his might and unfortunately the rope misses catching onto anything and falls back, knocking him on the head and giving Lucy gales of laughter.

And, our group is now pondering their options. They appear to be surrounded by an obsidian thicket that is bent on keeping them in its clutches. What will they do? How shall they escape? And what has happened to those guards who were screaming in terror?

Picnics in France are bad news...

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XP: 100 each, INCLUDING OOMA, who was, after all, there in spirit; EXTRA-XP for those who write a story (with the Tavern at its centre...); journal entry (of usefulness); or an insight into their character’s back story... 50xp X character level, for one entry per week…

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video version

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So I iz meurtering zee francáis... pardonner moi...

fledgling Dungeon Mistress,

khrys...

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