Grieving Mother, Take Two (Sunrise)

Laerdya moves her hand through the air in a distracted gesture. "There's a... My people tell stories of a... We had a ritual, a blessing called... We called the recipients 'Star-Friends'. Magic was involved, and a little bit of... science, I suppose we would call it nowadays. Star-Friends live longer. Not as long as us, of course, but longer. I have thoughts regarding the adaptation of this ancient lost rite."

Her hands stroke her hair gently. "That's fascinating," she breathes. "What does it entail? The rite, and your adaptations?"

"Oh! Well, it's..." Laerdya's hand moves through the air again, sadder this time. "My people lost the full rite after moving to Brilight, generations ago. I know the rite involved the bequeathment of a magical phrase which identified the speaker as a star-friend, and gifts. Such pretty gifts. Cloaks or weapons or armor or jewels; things someone would treasure forever. The star-friend's eyes were changed so that they could see better in moonlight, and they acquired the sensory acuity of our elven race. They were embraced by the stars themselves, making them powerful foes whilst under the night sky--stronger, faster, harder to wound."

She sighs softly, her voice growing wistful. "I think I have the right combination of herbs, or I'm very nearly there. And there's a metal, a special metal made of magic and star-stone, a blend. The blessing words to seal the bond of friendship are... I'm so close. Gwynnestri will live a full long life, a known and immediate friend to every elf she meets, and strong enough to weather even the toughest illness."

"That sounds wonderful," she says warmly.

She's quiet for a little while. "I'm sorry if this is a painful question," she says gently. "But. What does Gwyn call you? Mother? Mama? Mom?"

Laerdya blinks at her, confused. "I don't understand this question?"

She hesitates. "I mean. I... I called my mother Mama? Different people call their mothers different things. What does she call you?"

She frowns, confused and a little troubled. "My daughter knows my name, as I know hers. I call her Gwynnestri. She calls me Laerdya."

"Oh, okay. Some people do that too." She gathers the hair and begins plaiting it into a thick braid. At the end she ties it off with ribbon. "There. It'll stay nice and keep out of your way. One more question?" She pauses. "Laerdya, why is there an aboleth in the Feytower?"

"Hmm?" She gives her a distracted look, one hand reaching up to pat the braid with curious interest. "Well, it produces a sort of poison--very unique--which, when dried, essentially replaces one of the herbs I can't get because of the supply-chain problems. Why do you know about the aboleth? It's not supposed to be spread around, people get frightened. It's perfectly well contained."

"One of our group saw it, that first day." She frowns. "What does the poison do? And how long has it been here?"

"A few months? Maybe longer?" This is something she doesn't seem to know the answer to at all.

"We were getting the poison shipped in at first, pre-dried, but then were able to bring in a direct source. It's been so much more convenient? Cheaper and higher volume, as much as we can process. First we dry the poison under a red light..." She launches into an rambling and sleepy technical explanation which loops back on itself several times and which Sunrise is only able to about half-follow.

The gist seems to be that the poison may be able to attack and kill some aspect of the plague, leaving the sufferer weakened but cured and capable of recovering.

"Interesting." She nods. "Are you the one who thought of bringing the aboleth in? Or did someone else obtain it?"

"Oh, it was Andry's idea," Laerdya explains with a proud smile. "She's the resident expert on reagents and how to harvest and prepare them. 'What if we brought an aboleth to us?' she said, as though it were nothing to it, ha. Everyone thought she was quite mad, but it's been excellent for my work. And Erdan's runes keep everyone safe. Please don't touch them," she adds in a distracted way. "You really shouldn't know about any of this at all, it's very upsetting."

"Well, you wouldn't have hired me if I wasn't trustworthy," she says with a smile. "Laerdya? Can we try something? Do you think you could at least try to meditate if I sing for You? Some people find it helps."

"Well, but I have to get to work?" she explains, looking worried. "It's morning. People need me."

"You'll be better able to help them if you're well-rested," she says, gentle but firm. "Just try?"

Laerdya seems uncertain about this. "Someone needs to tell them I'll be down late," she mumbles as Sunrise coaxes her to lie down. "Tell Luther, he'll know who to tell. Can you tell Luther?"

"Of course, she soothes, helping her get comfortable. She begins to sing, a gentle lullaby, soft and sweet, stroking Laerdya's hair and weaving rest and relaxation magic through it.

The woman almost seems to struggle internally, not liking this at all, but she's too weak to struggle any other way and eventually she sinks into an unmoving stasis that appears like dreamless sleep to Sunrise's eyes.

She stays, quietly singing, a few more minutes until Laerdya seems well and truly down. Then, quietly, she makes her way out the door.

Moving a few doors down in the circular hallway, she knocks on Luther's door.

Luther opens on the second knock, looking relatively well-rested and impeccably dressed. He blinks when he sees Sunrise, mildly surprised. "Sunrise! Ah, to what do I owe the pleasure?" he asks, fumbling slightly.

She smiles. "I just came from visiting Laerdya, and wonder of wonders I managed to get her to take a nap. She wanted me to ask you to pass along that she won't be along to work today." Her smile grows warmer. "But I'd planned to stop by afterwards regardless, just to check in on you after yesterday. How are you feeling?"

Luther snorts softly. "She may not be down until later, but she'll try her damnedest to be down at some point. Whether she'll just make everything worse in a rest-deprived haze is another matter. But thank you."

At the question, his grin turns wry. "I am well, thank you. Shoulder is a bit stiff from yesterday, but in a good way. And I am attending a private concert tonight with my new boyfriend at my side. How lucky can a man be?"

She chuckles. "Does Xiloscient know a reunion is planned? Or is that part of the entertainment?"

"He does, I'm afraid," Luther says, his grin turning wicked. "I was tempted not to inform him but Veshti put her foot down and said there was a line between cleverness and comedy. Polite letters have been flying back and forth from my estate to his all night long."