GHD&D #1 (Pt. 1)

It's a cold, rainy day on the Island of Sodor. At Rolwick's Pub, Csill A. Gaasz is sitting at the bar considering ordering a drink. He is not happy. An elf walks into the pub, and chatter ceases. This is Raloris. She notices the strangely quiet pub and looks around. She sees a particularly sad woman, and next to her is a sad man with a backpack containing a small telescope.

"Do you study the nature of the beyond?" Raloris says.

"In what way?" Csill responds, slightly suspicious.

Raloris, looking sullen and vaguely guilty, says, "The druids don't talk about the celestials in practical tones. This leaves blindness to practical issues. The gods of my people are ethereal but have physical bodies; I believe these are subject to--"

The door is burst open. "Where's one of you fuckers that spends your time peepin' at them there sky circles?" Says the man, Baz.

Raloris' eyebrows, usually expressionless and dull, betray that she's displeased. She eyes Gaasz, then her eyes dart back to the loud interloper.

Said Csill to the twenty cat who just burst through the doors, "I... I do..."

Baz: "I need a man with an extraordinarily good magnifying glass."

Again the doors wing open, softly this time, and a shadowy figure walks through the door. Raloris' eyes widen, recognizing this as a drow. The new guest, Gaemon, notices and says, "I see you judge simply on race, elvish scum." Raloris doesn't react.

The bartender speaks up. "Gow greim jeed hene!" He says--this means "chill out" in Sudric.

"That's racist. Your vibes are disgusting," Baz says. The room is quite uncomfortable, more due to the drama than the drow.

Raloris notices something--small black wings furled away on the drow's back. Her eyes dart around the room and back to the curious dark figure. She realizes that this is not just a drow--he's an Avariel, a transcendent elf of nearly celestial status.

Csill says, "That's one too many drinks for me," having no idea what's going on. Gaemon sits next to Raloris and Csill and orders a hard cider.

Raloris pulls out her druidic focus: a small, incredibly intricate imitation of The Moon out of her cloak and presents it to Csill. "Tell me about this body," she says, gauging his knowledge.

Csill responds, "That's a model of our satellite, Luna. I haven't seen such an intricately crafted model of it before, it orbits around our Earth roughly once every 7 days. It's roughly one fourth the size of our planet and is thought to be around one eightieth the mass."

Raloris understands the orbital period but has trouble grasping the concept of the size and mass of the Moon in relation to the Earth, and says "This *Luna* is the chief deity of my circle in Kirk Machan. They know all about her, but will not even acknowledge as mundane a practical fact as the periodicity with which she shows us her face."

Having had a couple drinks by this point, Gaemon yells out in a slurred voice: "does anyone here know astronomy?" Meanwhile, Baz is listening in, eating half of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. A man in a dirty uniform of overalls and a cap overhears the conversation, and approaches Raloris and Csill.

"Hello, I overheard you talking about astronology."

Raloris returns her Moon to her cloak. Csill ignores the man, who he recognizes as a railwayman, and lightens up. "Wait a minute, did that model have a far side? Or was it just blank?"

The railwayman continues to interupt: "I overheard some talk in the workshop last night about funny business going on with the new rail line they're building at Kirk Ronan, something about an err... 'haunted planetarium'"

Raloris shows Csill the Focus again. It is seamless all the way around, with a proper farside rendered just as intricately as the near side.

"This model surely cannot be correct! We've never seen it! Luna keeps one face locked to us at all times, due to the m--gr-gravitational influence of our world," Csill says.

The railwayman rudely attempts to snatch the Moon model away from Raloris. "Let me see that!" But he fails to swipe it. Raloris visibly disapproves.

Baz consumes some goldfish-shaped cheese crackers from his backpack, and takes a sip from a pouch of grape juice. Sensing the possibility of imminent commotion, Gaemon puts his hand on his dagger.

"Our seers witness the grace of Luna as though she were as close as this focus.  Our artisans render her in gem and stone," Raloris explains.

Csill starts: "Seers? Are you by chance a-"

The railwayman asks, "so what's all y'all doing here at the same time making a roucous about astro-whatagummy?" And he looks at the four: Baz, Gaemon, Csill, and Raloris. Raloris' eyes dart; she am clearly uninterested in the railwayman and more in what Gaasz has to say. The railwayman turns to face Baz, "What is it with these guys anyway?"

"No clue my guy," Baz says.

"Are you by chance a druid, or a sorceress?" Csill asks.

"I am a druid of the Moon," Raloris says.

"Interesting..." Says Csill as Raloris uses a cantrip on the Moon focus to cause it to levitate in place in front of her. Csill's interest is piqued, and thoughts go through his head about the potential knowledge this strange elf might have about The Universe.

After some silence, Raloris says, "Why do you find yourself so, apologies, *downtrodden*? You seem to be an astronomer of capability."

Csill pauses for a moment and says, "I have been banished from attending the Academy of Sciences due to my so called 'bat-shit fucking insane' theories regarding our universe."

Gaemon finally looks at Csill and Raloris and awkwardly sits down. "You speak of these moon in such worship. your knowledge may help me in my goals."

"I've not seen your like before," Raloris says. She thinks to herself, 'Your plight must be immense, bearing the burden of both drow and avariel.' "What do you seek, skydweller?"

Gaemon shakes his head and looks down. "I seek to clear my name. My family and culture has outcast me, as they blame me for the missing celestial."

The Moon model centers itself in front of Raloris, almost threateningly.

Gaemon continues, "I have been treated as the villian for a century, and i do not want that pattern to continue for the rest of my life."

Raloris' face betrays a look of mild surprise, "your clan blamed the demise of Mask on you?"

"Yes, as my ancestry creates distrust," Gaemon says.

Raloris' green eyes, without moving, take in the whole of Gaemon. He's a tall, pale-blue-skinned humanoid. His eyes are purple, with red streaks crossing them like a spider web. He has wings, but they're dark, like those of a crow, clearly unable to lift him. A single scar runs down his face. He has a long object of some kind on his back, perhaps a weapon designed in one of the great technological centers of the Eastern regions.

Gaemon glances at Raloris as well. She is unassuming, seated, a narrow figure almost completely enwrapped in a dusky green hooded cloak, with subtle gold trimmings in an ivy pattern around the front and shoulders. Silver hair almost a meter long flows like water out of the hood. The cloak is fastened by two pendants that clearly represent the Moon. Standing, she is the tallest in the tavern by a good measure, even compared to Gaemon, moving with a quiet fluidity and grace. Even under the cloak, the figure is of unusual proportion, height-vs-width. Almost as if they could hide by standing.

Baz begins to play a quiet tune on his triangle. This visibly annoys Csill. The railwayman turns to Csill.  "Did you hear me tell ya about that branch line thing? With the haunted planetam or whatever?"

"Yes? I think I caught one or two bits of that, yeah."

"What's a planetam?" Baz mutters to himself.

Gaemon glances back to Csill. "I have a request for you, Astronomer. I seek to clear my name, and i will need help. you may distrust me, but i swear i will not betray you."

"What do you propose?" Csill says.

"As i have said, i was cast out as i was thought responsible for Mask," Gaemon says, "If i can find Mask, and fix it, I will be vindicated. I cannot live out my life while presumed guilty for something i didnt do. Come with me, the planetarium may be helpful"

"Wait a minute" Csill says, briefly brushing Gaemon's request aside "Do you happen to *know* why Mask disappeared?"

"No, I do not," Gaemon says, "If i did i would have had at least some argument to stop them from casting me out. Instead I was banished, with no recourse"

"Why are you asking me though?" Csill says, "Why not someone more qualified?"

The railwayman interjects--"Well you're an astronographer, seems yer the most qualified to solve this mystery."

Raloris stifles a chuckle at the constant malapropisms from the railwayman.

"It's astronoMER," Csill tells the railwayman.

"Astonomer, right, right. There's a train leaving tonight for Kirk Ronan if you're intersted in that aquar--err--planetarium thing," the railwayman says.

"What business would I have there?" Csill says.

"Druid, if the planetarium is haunted as our friend here says, your skills in magic may come in handy," Gaemon says to Raloris.

"She's not the only one with magic, you know," Csill says.

"My magic is vestigial at best, and I have seen no magic from you," Gaemon says.

"See look, you've got yourself an asternomer and a magician," says the railwayman to Gaemon. He begins to leave.

"You bloody whore!" Csill screams at the railwayman. "I'm a wizard!"

The bartender speaks up, "that blasted railway guard always comes in here getting in other people's business," he finishes washing out a glass, and serves some beer to another patron. "It's gonna get him into trouble one day." It must be pointed out to our North American friends that a railway guard is equivalent to a railroad conductor--not a police officer of some kind.

"Why don't you ban him from here then?" Csill says.

"He pays his tab," The bartender says.

"Druid, I see you are interested. Care to join me in my search?" Gaemon says to Raloris.

"I wish to see the celestials in such a practical way. The Planetarium at Kirk Ronan was my next stop," Raloris says.

"Then we shall go to the planetarium!" Gaemon says.

"And how do we know we can trust you," Csill says, "I mean, to be honest, your kind isn't exactly the first thing that comes to mind when I think 'trustworthy'. How do we know that you're not just making this up so you could steal from us?"

"While you may distrust me due to my ancestry, I can assure you I am not like them," Gaemon says.

Raloris whispers to Csill, "He is only half drow in ancestry.  The fact that he hasn't unsheathed his dagger yet, speaks a volume about his distance from the reputation of the drow."

"I'm surprised that you are trusting him as much as you are," Csill whispers, "why is that?"

"If I would betray you, may Tyr strike me down where i stand," says Gaemon, boldly.

'Tyr won't need to,' Raloris thinks, and she whispers to Csill, "He is from the sky, not raised by *those*."

"Fine, I'll help him. But if he tries something than I'm out," Csill says.

Baz puts down his juice box. "and i have to come with you guys because i made a bet that i would solve at least ONE grand mystery of the decade, and i will not pass this opportunity up"

"And who might you be?" Csill asks.

"Baz pterd Bard," Baz says.

"Your parents must have hated you," Csill says.

"they weren't even married yet," Baz says with a solemn face.

"That explains it," Csill says.

The clock strikes the hour. Csill, familiar with railway schedules--being a local of Rolf's Castle, realizes the next train will leave in 20 minutes, and he says so to the group.

"We must go then," Gaemon says.

"Fine, *Drow*." He says with a slightly condescending tone, as he's still not gained his trust.