#baronyofthesilverwolf

"I'm sure they prefer the "less-doomed" sort, at least the pleasant Boggans we have here."

Art is looking at the journal, a conflicted expression.

"Right. But Marigold knows everything."

"She does know a lot, and she seems to know Mr. Aberdeen. I don't know if they were friends or both just have a mutual respect?"

"He's... well, I THINK he's a lot older than her. But it's hard to tell with Sluagh. They all kinda look old, or aged, even the childlings sometimes. It's something in their eyes."

"Then again, he could be putting on an act to enhance his persona as the Historian."

"He could. But..." She shrugs.

"Can't hurt!"

"There might also be snacks."

A bright grin. "Always! And I'd much rather have her snacks that whatever Mister Aberdeen has to offer."

Thistle snort-laughs and flashes a toothy grin.

"No kidding"

"Okay, stop the first: the kitchen."

Off they go to the Kitchen!

Gwen goes on in. Her heraldry still on the table

As they step inside, the warm, inviting aroma of freshly baked pastries and simmering sauces envelops them.

Marigold stands at the counter, her back to them as she expertly pipes cream into delicate éclairs.

She turns at the sound of their footsteps, her face lighting up with a welcoming smile. "Well now, what brings you all in here looking so serious? You look like you’ve been through a wringer. Come, sit down. I’ve just finished a batch of éclairs, and there’s a pot of hot chocolate on the stove. Something sweet will do you good."

"And I don't care if it IS 80 degrees out. Hot chocolate is hot chocolate."

Art reaches for an éclair, unable to hide his delight as he takes a bite. "Marigold, you’re a lifesaver. I don’t know how you always know exactly what we need."

Citrine chimes in agreement. Thistle bobs her head, spirals shifting to a happy orange.

Art hastily swallows his bite then hands Eclairs to both Gwen and Thistle, "Sorry, rude of me."

"Thanks, Mom" she smiles

Marigold chuckles, waving off the compliment. "Years of practice, dear. Besides, it’s not hard to tell when you three are carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders. Now, what’s got you all so deep in thought?"

"I mean, I get it." She pokes Art's arm, and takes an eclair.

She takes one too, "Thanks, Art. You've been away and deprived of the best cook in the kingdom"

"Okay, so, David the Glome kinda alerted us to a potential problem."

"Oh, such a nice boy."

"Er, stone. Being."

"Man" A sigh slips out

Art raises a brow and exchanges a secret, delightly amused grin with Thistle behind Gwen's back

SMIRK.

"Anyways..." A pause to take a big bite of pastry. "Do you know anything about a Caelen Stoneweaver or a Lady Isolde?"

Marigold pauses, a thoughtful expression crossing her face as she considers the question. “Caelan Stoneweaver... Stoneweaver.... Ah! Yes, I’ve heard that name before. There's a memorial in town—near the old stone bridge, I believe—that lists the names of those who were lost during the Accordance War. Caelan's is there, if I recall correctly. He was a skilled stoneworker, wasn't he? Some of the older buildings and statues in town are said to be his work.”

She takes a moment to wipe her hands on her apron before continuing, “As for Lady Isolde, I'm afraid I don’t know that name.

"Pretty name, though. Shakespearean, is it?"

"Why the sudden interest in history? Is this part of your studies, Artie dear?"

"Well, that was a long time ago. But I guess there's not a lot of stories left about him?"

“Possibly. Not many care to recall that era you know… what with the ‘troubles’.”

"Right. The War. Because, like, other nobles aren't like ours, some places."

Gwen sips her hot coco, looking a bit troubled.

"What? They aren't. Some are jerks. Imagine being stuck in a snobby Gwydion hold."

Gwen looks over "Oh, I don't have to imagine, though the Chief isn't so Snobby as some sidhe gwyds might be. No offense, Art, about the sidhe part"

“None taken. It’s important to remember history, else it repeat itself.”

"Right. And avoiding disco golems."

“…disco?”

"Wasn't the Accordance War in the 70s?"

"So - disco."

"That's a teriffying image"

Marigold stifles a laugh, "Oh, I shouldn't."

"Seriously. Imagine the bell-bottoms."