#baronyofthesilverwolf

"I'm still impressed by the poison teapotthing you made for Lord Aiden. He didn't say much, but that little twitch by his left eye? I think he was impressed too!"

Gwen tries to recall if that tea pot detected poisons, or WAS poisonous

"Oh, I hope so. I mean, I owe him lots...."

"Him and the Baroness, both." A worried frown, brief.

Gwen tilts her head "Why the frown? Far as i know your'e not in trouble with either of them, and neither of them had anything to do with the Accordance War"

"No. Just..." Her mouth twists again. "I don't want to let them down. It's one thing to... like, I'm glad how supportive they are of my art. But this thing in the quarry, it's dangerous, ain't it? We know that much for sure."

Art leans forward from the backseat and puts a reassuring hand on Thistle's shoulder. "Don't worry. We'll figure this out." Confident.

"Assuming my idea works, instead of going totally pear-shaped and pissing off the golem more."

A glance over at Gwen. "Kinda... mostly true. I believe that our Lady was between incarnations at the time, but Lord Aiden was around, though young. He was already heir to Silverwolf, which supplied horses to the front lines. BUT, he's..." A shakes of his head. "Quite adamant about how if he had been more than a childling, he wouldn't have let them put the best fae stock in harm's way. Not sure if that means he would have fought or not."

He clears his throat. "In any case, let's see what we find at this arch, and we can work out ideas from there! You're the idea lady after all." A grin up to Thistle that she can more hear in his voice than see.

"I wonder if I was around for it? I don't remember. Most of those memories are kind of... messy... when I get them."

"Trust me, some memories best not to have clear" she says "And you'll do fine, Thistle. Yes, it is dangerous but Art is right. We'll figure it out"

As they arrive at the park, pulling into a nearby parking spot, the twilight sky casts a soft, purplish hue the landscape. A well-manicured lawn stretches out before them, bordered by vibrant, blossoming garden beds that add a splash of color. It's quiet and calm, the only sounds being the soft hum of occasional traffic and the rustle of leaves in the breeze.

The park is nearly empty, with just a few stray people walking their dogs or taking leisurely strolls along the winding paths, not lingering.

At the center of the garden, a large marble arch stands prominently at the end of a stone path. The arch is simple yet elegant, its smooth surface glowing faintly in the fading light. Benches are placed around the arch, inviting visitors to sit and reflect. Gwen recognizes this from the etching in the history book she reviewed at the Historian's office.

"It fits the book" She points

Art holds up his drawing, looking it over. "It does look similar, though I don't know architecture well enough to tell one arch from another. I'll trust Gwen's memory."

"Yeah... you think it has a job beyond being pretty, though?"

"....I wonder..." And she stalks ahead, Citrine bobbing along in her wake.

"Let's go take a look!"

"That makes one of us" At the trusting her memorybit

"Yeah, there might be glyphs?" She squints, nose scrunched up in her kenning-face.

To kenning eyes, there is a soft gleam of glamour along the arch. It glows in chimerical writing that spans both the top and the sides.

As they draw closer to the marble arch, the details come into sharper focus. The pale stone gleams softly in the twilight, and a faint shimmer catches their eyes—chimerical writing etched elegantly along the top of the arch. The letters, almost glowing in the low light, spell out a solemn dedication:

"Dedicated to the memories of those lost in the Accordance War."

Thistle can tell that the chimerical writing is newer, in a different style that doesn't quite match the design of the arch. She suspects it was added after the arch was installed.

Below this inscription, the arch is adorned with names, etched meticulously into the stone on either side of the arch, a list on either side.

Is there an "Arin" or a name containing those letters?

Gwen reads them too

"This was changed, posthumously. Caelan died in the war." She rubs the pad of her thumb against the carved text.

The names on the right include...

• Thomar Strongbow
• Brigit Quickhand
• Jarin Tinkerkin
• Adolphus Hammermill
On the left side, the names of the nobility are listed, including:
• Lady Rhiannon Silverleaf
• Lord Eamon Brightflame
• Sir Caelan Stoneweaver
• Sir Torvard Steadfast
The names go on, wrapping around the arch, some clearly added by other hands.

Citrine chimes, zipping over to the far side of the arch, and belling curiously at a form seated on a bench a few feet away - they had been hidden until the others approached close enough to read.

"Jarin Tinkerkin." A squint. "Sounds like a nocker."

"Could be, or a boggan. Or piskey." Art remarks.

"Whatcha find?" She peers after the Never.

"Could be. Though Nan said Caelan's taken a common apprentice..."

"Torvard, good name, hope he wasn't a dick"

Art remarks somberly, "They were all fighting in a war... but it does sound like a trollish name, so at least we can trust he was an honorable fighter."

On a bench just past the memorial arch sits a woman - a Sidhe lady, quite elderly. Though aged, she remains strikingly beautiful, her gray hair intricately braided, and a small, delicate silver diadem rests on her brow. Her pale skin is worn, expression is filled with sorrow as she presses one hand against the side of the arch.

Gwen quiets when she sees the sidhe on the bench. A questioning look to Art and Thistle

"Hunh."

"So, let me guess - Lady Isolde?"

The granddame looks up, blinking rheumy eyes, and then peers at Thistle. "...Neets?" She reaches out a hand, then stops, returning it to her lap. "No, I'm sorry. For a moment, I thought you were someone I once knew."

A pause, and she adds, "But... it seems you know me?"

Citrine zips about, admiring the sparkly design on the lady's cloak, silver stars on the black silk.

"I'm a Fulcanelli, too. You knew my Nan."

Gwen bows lightly "I'm Dame GLadiola, of Siliverwolf. This is squire Arthur and Chief Innovator Thistle"

"Chief innovator and Artist-in-Residence" Art pipes up.

Thistle blushes - nockerish complexion means her cheeks are usually pink, but her spirals also glow fuschia.

"And you - you also look familiar." Peering up at the Troll, but then is distracted as Thistle speaks.

The granddame’s gaze softens as she hears the name, her expression caught somewhere between nostalgia and sorrow. “A Fulcanelli… yes, I knew her well. You must be speaking of Anita. So she married, then? Had children?" Wistful.

"She was a force to be reckoned with.” Her voice wavers. "I am here to light candles in memory. She pauses, her eyes watering, and whispers, "...but not for Anita, not yet, no?"

At the mention of the candles, Gwen apologizes "Pardon us for intruding on such a solemn thing, please, Grandame. And her Nan , if I may observe, she is still full of spit and viniger"

"Nan's still kicking. And swearing. On a rocket-jet wheelchair, at that."

Indeed, there are candles lit, and the evidence of many past candles, some ornate, some simple, some just old smudges of wax.

The granddame lets out a soft, almost amused chuckle at that. “That sounds like Neets, alright. Always was a fiery one, and it seems age hasn’t dimmed that fire one bit.”

Her eyes twinkle with a mixture of warmth and sadness as she leans back on the bench. “Good to know some things haven’t changed… even if so much else has.”

She glances at the arch, eyes tracing over the inscriptions, before returning her gaze to Thistle and the others. “What brings you to this place, then? Surely, it’s not just to reminisce about an old woman’s past.”

"You knew Caelan Stoneweaver. And you're Eiluned, so that means you know magic."

The granddame’s expression becomes more wistful as she reminisces. “Caelan and I… we were deeply in love. I thought we were meant to be Truehearts, but he was... rent from us before we could swear our love.

No simple fleeting passion; it was something profound. Our bond was more than just a connection of minds but of hearts as well. My ambitions and his enchantments—they complemented each other in ways I can hardly put into words.”

She pauses, a bittersweet smile on her lips. “But love is a tricky thing. Love in wartime... so much more so."

"What happened to him? I mean... " She gestures at the arch. "But how?"