Findings of the Culturvator
Written by Aervara (MC)
Thetchery
Much of the population of Thetchery seems to have been taken to work as slaves in the nearby Shuck mine. Their stolen loved ones, along with any other victims, are separated from their families and forced to live in a separate facility down the road in the other direction from the mine. Many of the mine company's guards patrol (and possibly even reside in) Thetchery, keeping a tight hold on the activities of the community's remaining population, which consists mostly of the weak, children, and the elderly. Citizens are expected to provide aid and hospitality to the guards without question. There is a tavern in the middle of town, as well as a basically outfitted infirmary nearby. The few people the party has interacted with so far have referred to the town having a leader of some sort, whom they call the "Elder."
Guy's spell does the bare minimum of waking Aer up, but apparently, standing is her responsibility. She feels the angry, pounding swell of a bruise forming from her left shoulder blade downward, arcing over her hip. She supposes she was lucky the junk tornado whirled her around before slamming her into the ground. If she'd had the wherewithal to throw an arm out as she fell, she'd likely be nursing a broken wrist.
Aer hoists herself to a sitting position just in time to see the rest of the team running (or in Darwin's case, flying) into the cave. Her body accepts reality before her mind-- she is in no shape to join them in their attempted rescue. She continues her struggle upwards.
On her feet, Aer sees Aine. The Air Genasi looks unharmed, casually sitting on a rock. Aer begins to form a question when a rumbling crash echoes out of the mouth of the cave. At the same moment, the veins of blue ore in the ground light up and pulse with power.
This seems as good an excuse as any to sit back down, so Aer shuffles over to the nearest lode and settles next to it, preparing to cast Identify. Oh, fuck the Five, she thinks when she realizes she can't without Guy's Pearl of Power.
Uselessly waiting it is, then.
She is almost falling asleep when she hears the frantic scratch of claws on rock. Mews, at least, has returned, each arm supporting a survivor of the cave-in. Aer silently marvels at how easily Mews carries the half-orc woman and the frail, dark-skinned man.
Aer's blood rushes, and she doesn't know what makes her whimper-- the surge of pain to her many bruises, or the fact that she is looking at her father.
Her brain stutters, capable only of disbelief. Aer stumbles over to where Mews has gently laid Finnegan Prevost on the ground. More than five years have passed. His hair has grown longer than she'd ever seen it, but is now more gray than black. He is much thinner, sporting wiry, defined muscles in his arms that do not match her memories.
Aer can't hold back her first instinct: suspicion. If she had the time, she would cast Detect Magic, and confirm that this is no illusion. But his breathing is wet and shallow. Aer hears voices spilling out from the cave, but doesn't stop to listen before turning to Aine.
"Heal him." She can summon nothing beyond this directive.
"No," Aine says. Aer doesn't process this.
"Heal him," she says again, louder.
"I said, no!" Aer can once again track her rapid heartbeat in the throbs of pain all over her body.
"What? Why not?" Reality was catching up.
"My magic is very precious to me."
Aer could feel a thousand tiny needles of rage rushing to her face, her spine, her knuckles, all at once. A second wave reaches her voice, her throat, her tongue and teeth. Shouting, she implores again, "Heal him, now."
Aine crosses her arms with a glare as the rest of the party catches up to Mews. Again, that petulant tone. "I won't. My magic is very precious to me."
The indigo gleam of an offensive spell tickles Aer's fingertips. Mind Spike requires no sound.
Before her hands have the chance to form the gestures, Guy jumps down with another Lay on Hands, closely followed by a Healing Word from Darwin. Aer watches as her father's labored breathing settles into a rhythm. She hears nothing but his newly steadied inhales and exhales.
Eventually, Mews gently gathers him in her arms again. As the group walks, Aer hovers. The others plan. Maybe she speaks, too. Everything is a blur. His hair used to be black as the new moon, like hers. Now, it is a darkness shrouded in gray fog.
Aer insists he must see a healer. In the midst of the logistics of tents and bedrolls, a question to which even she can admit they deserve an answer. Who is this person?
Well, she thinks, in my defense, they hadn't asked.
"He's my father."
Thankfully, Guy's stupid magical stag leaves perfectly corporeal footprints for Aer to follow into Thetchery.
She softens her steps as she reaches the outskirts of town, but the only person she runs into is Guy, hovering high above her on the back of his ridiculous summoned steed. He answers her question, at least, pointing her in the direction of the town's infirmary.
Her father is resting in a bed, mostly asleep on top of the blankets, with occasional sharp intakes of breath that then form quiet whimpers of discomfort. Aer wants to touch his face-- to smooth the concern from his forehead with the pads of her thumbs. But he needs sleep, she tells herself. And, if she's honest, she is afraid. Five years isn't that long to a half-elf, much less the full elves who raised her. But to a human? And it's obvious that wherever he has been, whatever brought him to slavery in that mine, aged him profoundly.
She is just about to grab his hand when she hears the faint tapping at the window.
Outside, Aer leans down to match Violet's eyeline, listening with growing frustration as the little girl explains what she can about her mother, the town, and her interaction with Guy. Holy Hexdove, I have got to teach this team some manners, Aer thinks, grimacing.
But for now, all she can do is take Violet's hand and let the child lead her, hopefully, to some answers.