#odyssey

“His name is Grog.” Niamh offers.

Thistle snorts and smiles. "Perfect."

“But do you have a bullfrog that eats giant mosquito-bats?” Art asks.

Wide-eyed, Niamh shakes her head!

At mention of the stirges, Gwen looks guilty. but just for a second

“Or a proper library, I suspect.” Art mutters, then immediately looks contrite. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to insult. DO you have a library, for fae knowledge?”

Niamh shakes her head. “There are some tomes, but we mostly follow an oral tradition. Knowledge is passed down as part of your heritage, it goes hand in hand. Or hand in fin.”

"You'd be amazed at the memory strenght of professional tale spinners and lore keepers, Art. It's a world wide phenom, various cultures with elders who can recite word for word historical events centuries old, told to them by their mentors, and the mentors before them. "

"Hard to read books underwater."

"...unless you had waterproof ink and paper. India ink is waterproof, so if you had the right kind of sheet..."

Gears starting up.

Niamh nods to Gwen, she has it spot on!

“We trade with the Mer, but such things come at a cost.”

"Right, but you could MAKE it..."

"Maybe if you impregnated the paper with..."

Art grins. “We've lost her.”

"When does the challenge of skill start again? We should just get her to work now on it and she'd own them, she's in the zone" A low voice to Art

“I think we need to ask the Chieftess. They might have a way of doing things- or what if there are specifics that need be followed?”

“But that's a good idea.” He nods

A nod and she looks for the Chieftess

“Here, I'll go find her.” He trots off.

Thistle has whipped out a notebook and is scribbling down ideas.

"Yup. Lost her. I swear I coudl pick her up, walk her five spaces right now ,drop her, and when she came out of this she'd wonder how she teleported"

Art comes back with the Chieftess walking alongside.

“Dame Gladiola. I appreciate your… forbearance, in your Challenge.”

Nockerish muttering. Art and Gwen are used to this, but Selkies might not be. Citrine buzzes nearby.

The Troll turns to the Chieftain, "I confess, Chieftess, I was sorely tempted to improper behavior, but I'm a Dairean. We honor hospitality" a beat "Thank you for allowing us a chance. When will the next challenge begin if it is not rude to ask?"

“Traditionally, it would be tomorrow. Three challenges, three days.” The Chieftess answers. Noticing Niamh nearby, she frowns slightly, and says to the young one, “Omario asks for you, Máthair Niamh.”

"Good luck, Niamh" A mutter "Be on your guard"

Niamh nods politely to Saoirse, and waves reluctant goodbye to Citrine. The little chimera, bored with Thistle in the ‘zone’ buzzes into the air to follow the small one.

"Tomorrow, I thank you, Chieftess. Your people are amazing. The stories, the songs. I feel ... it is quite transporting"

“Is there anything you need, or that your accommodations lack?”

"Máthair?" She inquires?

She thinks on it then asks "Not that I can recall. Though, if we might? Do you have a story teller who knows your tales of the stars and histories of travel and disovery of the same? I think Arthur might like to dictate what he or she says if it betrays not your secrets"

"There's a kiln. And a pugmill."

“"Máthair - Mother, in the old tongue. It is a term of respect. High respect.” To Gwen, “Our travels from our countries of origin are not a happy tale. We share it, for history, for knowledge, but not out of joy. Though, Joy we have created for ourselves, out of what was given.”

"What forced her to grow up so soon?"

Saoirse considers before answering. “That childling holds the soul of one of our oldest and most powerful sorceresses. Her predecessor passed away suddenly - an aggressive cancer. We were not prepared. Niamh was needed.” She nods.

"Ah," gwen says somberly "I am sorry, ishould have realized. DO you have tales of the stars themselves to share? Arthur would treasure them"

“That we have. Some he may know, many shining hosts are from Celtic houses. Others come from African tales, Yoruba and others, all of our ancestors from the Lands of Ancient Tales. Those he may enjoy.”

"He would welcome it I am sure, and thank you. I would enjoy myself I thinK" A curious look "Niamh was...prematurely pushed?"

Saoirse frowns at Gwen’s phrasing.

"And it has to go to a Redfin - and heirs are chosen as babes?"

Gwen looks contrite "Forgive. I am clumsy with my words"

“Yes. Redfin skins go to those of Redfin blood. We decide our heirs.” A touch short.

"So, she was chosen and then the inheritance was not anticipated to be so young." A nod. "Got it. Niamh ain't a bad egg, though. Kinda serious, but..." Shrug.

A nod. “She honors our ways.” A pause, and, “She is enjoying your… visit. Perhaps it is under unpleasant circumstances, but thank you for befriending her. She does not always find a way to connect to those her age.” She includes Gwen in this thanks as well, nodding.

"Maybe I'll be able to bring a few Neverlanders here, later? They really are astounding nimrods. Their lack of intellect is tantamount to the Mariana Trench in its depths."

"But they're fun."

“Later?” Her expression is dubious.

"Your people are a pleasure to know" She admits

She shrugs. "If we win, it's going to be important that the baby still gets to love the sea - right? You're her family, too."