A Kindness Forgotten

Mulzunites. The Temple of Yondalla. A Rash Promise.

Mulzun was a Gaelwyn God of Knowledge and Skepticism, and His followers - collectively referred to as Mulzunites - were found in the City State of Enceröss.

Bordering the Aevalorn Parishes to the northwest, Enceröss was built on the shore of a winding mountain river and was the nexus of many roads in the region. It benefitted from this confluence of coincidence by aggressively tolling its bridges and thoroughfares. Avoiding Enceröss would potentially add weeks onto a journey, so most begrudgingly paid the tribute.

Mulzunites were difficult people to get along with. Aside from the tolls, their predisposition to distrust everyone made them exceptionally disagreeable. They came across as rude doubters: so sure of their own over-rationalized conclusions they couldn’t tolerate other opinions. Priests of Mulzun were roundly considered to be lunatics for, as skeptics, they endlessly debated the nature of their God and the presence of divinity; they toiled to prove the unprovable and disprove the intangible. Surely, a lifetime spent squaring-off circular reasoning would make anybody mad.

In particular, the Halflings of the Aevalorn Parishes thoroughly clocked their goats. In the eyes of a Mulzunite, Halflings were untrustworthy, flamboyant, irrational naturalists whose very stature reminded them of unruly children. And although they were neighbors, both avoided the other as if their lives depended on it.

Once, long ago, floods prohibited travel to and from Enceröss. Spring rain had brought a deluge that washed out many nearby bridges and muddied the mountain passes, making them unnavigable.

Unable to cross the raging river, Maedrey Puck, a priest of the Halfling Goddess of Yondalla, set up camp.

Maedrey was in her sixties. Her face was pocked and freckled. Her grayed black hair was box-braided and full of an assortment of interwoven beads. She wore a green travel jacket and a dingy pair of elk fur trousers, and like all Halflings, her calves, ankles, and feet were bare. She walked with a limp and leaned on a crooked juniper wood staff.

Maedrey waited by the shore for the rains to end and the floodwaters to recede. She had fashioned a crude shelter from driftwood, leaves, and stones and made a fire pit bordered with river rock. Today, hot embers roasted a duck on a cooking spit.

It was then that the Mulzunite, Ser Rastacil Selabras, approached her camp on horseback. Ser Selebras was a Gaelwyn Man, a Knight of Enceröss. He wore partial plate, a hounskull helm shaped as a crow’s beak, and an enormous cape of black bear fur that covered both him and his mount. Holstered in his saddle was a great battle axe.

Squatting beside her fire, Maedrey Puck rotated the spit, glared at the monstrous bird on horseback, and grumbled, “Fairweather, Mulzunite.”

Ser Selebras reined his horse and said, apathetically, “Smallfoot.”

“Welcome to the Temple of Yondalla,” she sneered, gesturing to her shelter. “Usually, I’d offer travelers drink an’ food, but water’s aplenty, an’ I’ve only one duck. Push off.”

“Why are you here?” predictably demanded the Knight of Enceröss. “Tell me why you chose this spot for your … temple.”

Maedrey sighed. She didn’t anticipate meeting a Mulzunite; given the flooding, she hoped they were all trapped at home.

Raising her head in a crafty smile, she said, “Why, to help travelers like yourself, stranded, cut off by the river.”

She cranked the spit to turn her duck.

Ser Selebras looked out over the vast, swollen river and questioned, “You are but a smallfoot? How can you help me? The nearest bridge washed away. It will take me a week to go around.”

Using her staff, Maedrey slowly stood and brushed her cooking hand against her fur pants. She gestured to the other side of the river with her head and said, “I’ll sell you a potion that’ll allow you an’ your horse to cross the river.”

A Mulzunite, Ser Selebras was conflicted. He was suspicious of the halfling’s presence and her motivations, but he was also curious about her potion, for any delay crossing the river would cost him a lot of time.

He pondered and said, “I’ve never heard of such magic.”

“‘Taint magic,” Maedrey scoffed. “It’s a divine gift. A blessin’ from Yondalla to wish you well an’ on your way, so that I might enjoy the duck.”

Ser Selebras considered and asked, “How do I know it’ll work?”

Rolling her eyes, Maedrey muttered, “Mulzunites. So untrusting. Unto you, I’ll demonstrate Yondalla’s kindness.”

Grabbing a green glass flask from her shelter, she wandered to the riverbank and filled it with water. Returning, she planted her weird juniper wood staff into the mud, held the flask up to the heavens, closed her eyes, and recited a prayer. As she prayed, her skin glistened and shimmered as a translucent bath of light cascaded down her form. In a moment, it was over, and she lowered the flask to her lips.

“Cabbage’n’cobblers,” she said, reciting a traditional Halfling salute, and she drank. Hobbling to the river’s edge and pocketing the flask in her jacket, she turned to address Ser Selebras and said, “Ye ready?”

Ser Selebras snorted. He jutted his chin in disbelief, and his voice echoed from under his helm. “Get on with it.”

Using the butt of her staff, Maedrey tapped the surface of the water. It was as hard as a stone floor, and the awkward sound so unnerved the knight’s horse it pranced backward unsteadily.

Reaching down, Ser Selebras patted his mount’s neck to calm her.

Maedrey giggled and stepped onto the water’s surface. She walked out over the water as if standing on thick glass. Maedrey looked up and down the river and then pointed to the opposite shore. “An’ there waits your road home, sir.”

Ser Selebras didn’t understand how this could be, but he was impressed. He’d never heard of a halfling wizard or priest. He believed them to be what they appeared to be: amusing albeit annoying children.

Dismounting, the knight’s silvery booted armor plopped into the mud, and he trod down to the river’s edge to step on the water. His foot submerged up to his ankle as it was supposed to, whereas Maedrey Puck remained on its surface beside him.

“Have I sufficiently twisted yer noodle?” Maedrey asked and sarcastically pounded the water with her heel. It splashed, as water should splash, yet she did not sink. He was dumbfounded.

Looking down at her with his crow-like metal beak, then looking across the river, Ser Selebras nodded approvingly. “Halfling. I am amazed by this miracle. It would surely speed my travel. How much for this potion? I would offer you a week’s wage, 10 Liege.”

“Pthth,” Maedrey scowled and waved him off. Tired, hunching over, leaning on her staff, she pointed at him and said, “Coin of Enceröss is of no value to me.”

“What then?” the knight retorted. “Name your bargain.”

“A promise,” Maedrey smiled keenly. “Promise you’ll tell others of my kindness and generosity. Spread a good word about Halflings in Enceröss. We aren’t so bad.”

Maedrey winked at the befuddled Mulzunite.

Ser Selebras stood at the precipice of a mental schism. It was deeply irrational to believe he could convince anyone that halflings were trustworthy, let alone of one who concocted a water-walking potion and aided his way home. He bristled and said, “Absurd! I cannot make that promise!”

“As you please!” Maedrey replied, limping her way back to the fire to turn her duck.

Ankle-deep, his bearskin cloak brushing the mud and floating atop the water at his calves, the knight glared at Maedrey, then his beaked helm turned, and he stared longingly across the river.

Ser Selebras rationally considered other means of going home. He could travel north for three days to the next bridge and then another five to travel south along the eastern shoreline, bound for Enceröss. What might take a day could become seven or eight. Further, he’d need to resupply, shelter, and stable the horse for at least a day. Now it was ten days. His mind reeled.

“Fine!” he blurted, raising an arm in surrender. “I promise.”

Maedrey snickered and pointed the head of her staff at Ser Selebras and said, squinting her gaze, “You promise? Careful, Mulzunite: I am a Child of Yondalla. I’m blessed with the ability to perceive lies. Do you promise earnestly, sincerely?”

“Yes! Yes!” he insisted, trudging out of the water and mud. His bearskin cloak dragged behind him. “I promise to spread a good word for halflings. As you want, I will do it!”

“Swear,” Maedrey said, angrily flinging her wrist at him before pinching a bead in her braided hair. She crushed the bead, and its powdered remains laced her fingertips. “Go on! Swear to your lords or ladies. Swear to your father’s father. Swear to Mulzun!”

Returning aside his horse, he gripped her reins and glared at Maedrey from behind his steely helm. “You smallfoot loon. Alright. Of course, I swear. I swear to Mulzun. I swear to my grandfather, Ser Mortund Selebras, and upon my master and liege, the Grand Sovereign Pontigas!”  

Maedrey brought her index finger to her mouth and sucked on it; she even licked her thumb, just to be sure. And she smiled a most mischievous grin.

“Very well!” she exclaimed, and retrieving a wooden bowl from her shelter, Maedrey hobbled down to the river’s edge and scooped up a bowl full of water. Coming back to the knight and his horse, she dropped her staff and allowed it to fall into the mud. She held the bowl high into the air as an offering, prayed, and shimmering, radiant light blanketed her once more. The blessing bestowed, she offered the bowl to the horse, who lapped up the water. With her other hand, she reached into her jacket.

“Here,” Maedrey said, tossing the flask at Ser Selebras. “Drink up.”

When the knight drank from the flask, it tasted of clean, purified water with a hint of mint and rosemary. It was delicious water. He handed the flask back to the halfling and mounted the stirrup, lifting his body and throwing his armored leg over the saddle.

When the horse had her fill, Maedrey stepped aside to give the beast a wide berth. “Fairweather, Mulzunite. The water will support you now.”

“Farewell, halfling,” Ser Selebras grunted, offering a more good-natured expression for Maedrey’s people. He kicked his mount’s ribs to urge her on.

Maedrey picked up her staff, held it high above her head, and shouted, “Go! Speak truth about my kind!”

Raising his palm in flaccid acknowledgment, Ser Selebras led his horse onto the water. The horse brayed when she stepped on the water as if it were solid, and Ser Selebras coaxed and soothed to bring her back under his control. He urged her on with a swifter, more pronounced kick, and the horse stepped onto the water's surface to cross the river.

Leaning on her staff, Maedrey waited at the shoreline, watching the Knight of Enceröss cross the water.

And then she chuckled.

What she tasted earlier … was a lie.

Ser Selebras did not intend to speak well of halflings and spread a good word. He remained wholly skeptical and had no room in his bigoted heart to believe halflings were something more than what he thought them to be.

Halfway to the other side, Ser Selebras’ horse began to sink. It neighed and pranced back and forth in terror.

“Help!” he cried, trying to control his mount. Maedrey could barely hear him over the rushing water. “Help! I am sinking! Your potion fails me, witch!”

Maedrey angrily cried, “Yondalla loves her children, Mulzunite, and She does not tolerate false promises! She does not appreciate a kindness so easily forgotten!”

“Rahhr!” Ser Selebras screamed. He grasped the reins as the horse bucked and tossed him from the saddle. He fell to the water on his side and slammed against the surface. His armor clanked, crinkled, and crashed as if he had impacted cobblestone.

The horse madly jumped and rumbled, and it tried to dash, but sank up to its knees, and it fell forward. It careened head-first into the surface.

“I will kill you!” he screamed, scrambling to his feet. Standing on the surface, Ser Selebras’ ankles slowly submerged, and he lurched as if treading quicksand. His long, heavy cloak dragged him backward, off of his feet, and he fought to unclasp it from around his neck.

Maedrey giggled, “In that armor, you’ll drown before you’ve the chance! Quickly, the shore! Claim your salvation, Knight! Take your road home!”

The horse wildly jumped, kicked, bucked, and galloped on the water, driven uncontrollably mad until its body slipped beneath the surface. Submerged, carried out by the merciless current, its head reappeared thirty feet away as it struggled to keep itself afloat. The horse bobbed once, twice, a third time, and then disappeared from Maedrey’s sight.

Ser Selebras screamed, swore, and struggled to survive. He crawled, threw out his arms, and grasped fervently at the roiling surface. He could hold the crests of the water in his palm for only a moment before they fell away. The knight kicked, rolled, and drug himself along, some portions of his armor scraping the water like a concrete floor.

Suddenly, his body sank, and he disappeared under the cresting waves, and unlike the horse, Ser Selebras’ head did not bob. Maedrey predicted where the currents would take him, and her eyes tracked south along the shoreline to find where Ser Selebras clung to a rocky promontory. The rushing water burst over him in a torrent. He gasped for air and embraced the rocks for his life.

Returning to her campfire, Maedrey chortled to herself, squatted, and rotated the spit. The duck smelled delicious and looked perfectly seared, juicy, and sublime. Her mouth watered.

“Mulzunites,” she giggled, shaking her head and peeling away a bit of flesh from the duck.