The Rain in Vulane

The rain in Vulane never stops,

Dripping down in silver drops.

It hums on rooftops, 

taps on glass,

And whispers lore as it falls past.

Even in the ancient days, the place that was now known as Vulane had been cursed - or enchanted - with continual rainfall. In the deepest, subterranean parts of the aqueduct there were cave scrawlings of creatures in the rain, scurrying for shelter or hunting large game.

The environment made it perfect for stone fruits, grapes, large produce, and rice. Grain was a little harder to come by, but Vulane - in its current form - had many trading partners - some willing, and others not.

The rain was not always a downpour. Usually it dripped from the ever-gray sky onto the magnificent palaces and ramshackle drinking houses of the city state, now risen to prominence through the governance of the mystical Veilwinter Temple.

Tonight, the rain was a steady torrent. Not a deluge, but on the cusp. The wind confined itself to the streets instead of the sky, and buffeted poor creatures about who dared leave their dwellings or stumble into the dark.

Sylvia Elderleaf was a female raccoon drifting through the streets after a certain relic native to Vulane had left its mark upon her mind. She had left her hovel for the Entertainment District to distract herself, and to seek the expertise of a mage who she thought would be versed in such matters.

For her part, Sylvia was still recovering from the reading of the Crimson Diary. It had been two weeks and still the heart wrenching prose still clung to her once-clear mind. Her enchanted umbrella - a long brass pole holding up alchemical silk - did a good job of keeping the rain from soaking her poor, unkempt fur, but her threadbare shoes soaked in every puddle.

The Entertainment District - controlled by the Matriarch of Vulane, Selthia the Witch Queen - was lively. Normally Sylvia - up until two weeks ago a scholarly indexer in a bookstore - would abhor the low sights and sounds of the shiny district but she wanted any kind of distraction. She took a swig from her bottle of Veilwinter wine, dangling from her paw-hands, and gazed slack-jawed at the sights and sounds that now surrounded her.

Aside from the bright fairgrounds that - even now with the rain - still housed large groups of tourists, Sylvia noticed the House of the Moon: Selthia’s place of residence. Sylvia knew that Selthia’s prices were high, but the raccoon had to forget. She had to forget what she had heard.

Every so often the gates were open to the public who were drawn to the fighting pits, but right now there was a lone vixen in a silver mask - bedecked in all manner of bladed implements - in front of the huge black double-doors of the estate. Her fur was somehow dry, her long tail lazily curling in the night air.

“Excuse me!” Sylvia said, stumbling on the flagstones.

“What is it?” The vixen asked, paw-hand on the hilt of a mean-looking katana.

“I have to see the Witch Queen,” Sylvia said, waving a small bag of coins at the guard. “I’ve been cursed. I can’t think of anything but that damned book and I...”

The vixen knocked on the door - two sharp ones - and a little eye-level door opened with two beady eyes peeping out.

“What is it?” A gruff, male voice asked.

“Customer.”

“Threat level?”

“She can barely stand, and it isn’t a ruse.”

“Threat level?” The voice repeated. The vixen sighed.

“Minimal, Thorville,” she replied, exasperated.

“Don’t use names!” Thorville grunted back, clunking the little private window. With a clunk and a ripple of violet magic pulsating through the doors, they slowly started to open.

“Go ahead,” the vixen guard said, hand on hip. “Be succinct. The queen is busy.”

Sylvia merely nodded and skittered inside, glad to be out of the rain. She had never been in the House of the Moon before, but if she had she would recognize the grand hallway as the entrance to the colosseum seats. Standing before her was an older fisher - a large otter-type creature. He was covered head to toe in studded leather armor, knives, and swords.

“Name?” He asked, looking the poor raccoon up and down.

“S-Sylvia Elderleaf,” she said.

Thorville paused as Sylvia shuddered. She put her pawhands up to a glowing torch.

“Won’t do you any good raccoon,” Thorville said. “Those are enchanted with light spells, not lit with fire.” He sighed. “All right, let’s get you to Selthia.”

With that, he put a bag over her head, gave her a few spins, and led her on a roundabout walk to Selthia’s office somewhere up several flights of stairs. By the end, Sylvia was exhausted and confused - even more than before - and when the bag was whipped off of her head, she coughed and struggled for breath.

“I do apologize,” came a voice like a silk knife. “Thorville is obsessed with security.”

“Name’s Sylvia Elderleaf, my Queen.”

Sylvia looked around the dark room, lit with more torches that spat violet light. It was dark and Sylvia was still trying to get her bearings. She saw two more violet lights - closer together and unblinking - on the other side of a large room.

“Sylvia Elderleaf?” Selthia’s voice said, piqued with interest. “You must know my friend Sir Sinkrattle, then.”

Sylvia was led to a chair. Yes, her employer. Or... was she still employed? She had stolen those gold coins from him a few days ago as a last resort.

“Y-yes, Matriarch. I worked for him... until recently.”

Thorville interjected again. “She says she’s been cursed. Been drinking Veilwinter wine and wandering the streets for a while, it seems.”

“Yes,” Selthia responded elegantly. “But not confused enough to forget an umbrella... or payment.”

“It- It was the Crimson Diary, ma’am,” Sylvia said. Her eyes still couldn’t see the vulpine Witch Queen of legendary beauty - she had cloaked herself in magical darkness, unbeknownst to Sylvia. “I was invited to a private reading of it!”

“Ah,” Selthia exhaled. “The Scarlet Book of Tear-Drenched Poetry. I have been to several readings myself.”

“HOW DO YOU DO IT?!” Sylvia blurted out, causing Thorville to hold her back.

“Good gods, girl, you’re stronger than you look!”

“HOW DO YOU NOT THINK ABOUT IT EVERY WAKING MOMENT?!”

“I WILL CLUB YOU!” Thorville warned, holding a heavy stick above the raccoon’s head.

“It’s all right, Thorville,” Selthia said calmly. Out of the shadow of the corner of the room strode another silver-masked creature, this one a rabbit. In one hand she held a bottle of blue liquid, and in the other she hefted a spear. “This concoction will help...”

“Thank you!” Sylvia said, instantly relaxing.

“...For a price, of course,” Selthia concluded. “Thorville, take the gold and bring her over here.”

Thorville let Sylvia go slowly. “You gonna be good?” He asked. She shuddered in exhaustion and nodded. The fisher took the bag of gold, then helped her to her feet and led the raccoon to the shadow at the other end of the room. Instinctively, Sylvia’s fur bristled as she was led to the magical darkness, but Thorville slowed down and gave her a friendly nod.

When she entered the cloud, instantly the scene changed. Within the cloud of darkness, a dusk-furred vixen in a sparkling dress and robes lounged on a luxuriant couch. Sylvia, however, couldn’t stop looking at the vixen’s shimmering, violet eyes.

“Your hand, if you would,” Selthia asked gently.

Sylvia, anxious to be rid of the curse, offered her paw-hand to the Witch Queen, who took it in her own. With some words, Selthia’s claw etched a burning purple sigil into Sylvia’s wrist.

The pain was sharp but not overwhelming as Selthia spoke ancient, magic-aligned words that drew the power of the lifestream through her claw and into the markings which presently sank into Sylvia’s fur.

“Wh-what did you do?” Sylvia asked as the blue potion bottle was thrust into her paw.

“I bound you to me,” Selthia said. “I will require a favor from you at some point in the future. Or perhaps never.”

Sylvia blubbed and tried to find words but Selthia interjected anyway.

“Drink a tablespoon of that potion every night,” the vixen said, reclining once more. “Over the course of a few weeks, your thoughts will return. Oh, and I shall smooth things over with your employer as well.”

“Th-thank you,” Sylvia said as Thorville led her back out of the magical sphere of darkness and back out of the House of the Moon.

Afterward, Thorville went back to Selthia.

“Mistress - my Queen - may I ask what that potion was?”

“Certainly, Thorville. It was merely a flavored blue tincture. The effects of the Crimson Diary wear off after about a month anyway - at least for the first reading.”

“So it was a placebo?” Thorville asked, a smirk forming at the side of his furry mouth.

“Precisely. But now I have a connection to Sir Sinkrattle and his... collection. The cat has been eluding me for some time.”

“Truly very clever, mistress.”

“Indeed,” the cunning vixen said, rising from her couch. “And now I shall retire. Good night, sir Thorville - and on your walk home, stay dry.”

“I shall, my Queen.”

So let it pour, let it sweep,

Let Vulane drown, and do not weep.

For if the sky should ever clear,

What lurks above might see us here.

For part 1 of Sylvia’s story, go here:

https://veilwinter.com/f/sir-sinkrattle%E2%80%99s-reliquary-and-verboratorium