Tarot Campaign

Interlude          Serious Paris and Real Girl

Torat. The High Priestess.

[S: Here is my version of the paragraph in Don's summary where he complained I was mumbling. I thought I'd let you see what my memory thinks happened. ]

Paris asked, "My Lady, are the Keys part of the mystery?"
The High Priestess turned to Paris. "You will have to answer the questions I ask." H.P. asks her if she wants to enter the temple. "I am the last of those who will help you easily."
Paris replieD, "I am here to learn. What questions do you have for me?"
The High Priestess opened the scroll and asked, "How many are the keys of Tarot?"
Paris answered quietly, "Two."
H.P. invited the group into the temple, and into the land of Tarot. She walked into the grove of trees that were a brighter more intense green than anything outside. Paris followed, and the rest of the party tagged along. We noticed that the scroll now read TAROT, though again the final T is obscured.

"Tell them that Genelle has found a church where she belongs and can teach." The words echoed in Paris' skull and, for a few moments she lost track of the conversations going on around her. Genelle -- really had -- transformed -- had become one of the Tarot.

Genelle no longer needed -- a protector -- or a friend. The gulf that had been widening between Paris and her past over the last month yawned. On the far side, Paris could see the smiling girl who had been her friend, her -- best friend -- besides Calais. The only one who hadn't -- poked fun at some of her dreams. Genelle wasn't that girl any more. She had -- grown -- into something far beyond their dreams. Paris blinked and, for a few moments, tried to study the High Priestess' face. Yes, Genelle, her Genelle, really would not have minded this. Did not mind this. Had accepted it, her calling. Paris looked blindly away. Through the columns, towards trees and sky of strange and unreal brightness. It was time for her, Paris, to look to her calling. Happiness like a flood poured through her. Genelle did not need her. Her prince did! She would go back. She would see him again. She would have the chance to help him in his quest -- if he would have her when she had told him what she had thought she had done. Firmly Paris took that thought and marked it: To Be Considered On The Journey Home. There might yet be an opportunity here. She turned to the High Priestess.

Paris: "How can we get the god's help in the prince's quest?" HP: "Either bring the prince here to ask me, or find some other way to intercede to achieve the god's (gods'?) blessing." P: "Do you teach intercession?" HP: "There will be those who come to learn, to take this job when I grow old."

'Ah,' thought Paris, 'It is the High Priestess' duty to intercede for men. I hope it is not so bad that I shall have to bring Prince William here.' The prince's voice rang in her memory. "Understand this, all of you. This is not an 'emergency' or an invading force that will be gone in a season. Our lives, our lands, and our souls are at risk here. If we fail to learn we will die. Vanish." 'No, Paris mental self shook its head. 'It is that bad. Souls, he said. I will remember how to get here. It may be necessary.' She thinks of the orcs and resolves to become a better fighter too. [Use the Lemonade, Paris.:-)]

As the Party clambered down through the dappled green light and away from their second audience with the elven queen, Paris found herself doing some mental calculation. If they went straight back to the duke, as by rights they should -- to warn him of the orcish army encampments -- assuming there weren't some encamped in siege around the city even now -- and the dreadful threat of the Warlord -- Paris would not have been gone the full two weeks she had been ordered to stay away. Over and over she wrestled with the numbers, the dilemma.

When Anton brought up his notion of returning to the slug-burrowed orc tunnels, she held her peace, letting the others argue around her. It would eat up more time, but at what cost in forewarning to the duke? Paris had made up her mind to insist that, orders or no -- after all, only Calais knew she had had such orders -- they march straight back to the city to give their messages. She could see the others safely to the city gates and then excuse herself. She could work her way back to the woods -- or, perhaps, exchange labour for a few days' shelter with some peasant family. Until the two weeks were up.

The Last Night Returning from Torat
Paris found herself pleased, when her shift at guard duty came around, to see that Baron du Bois was awake too. Somehow -- just having him back gave a sense of security, of hope, that hadn't existed in her world outside of the Duke's city for a month and a half. It wasn't that she expected him to keep watch; he was the baron, after all. But .. she shrugged to herself .. it just felt better, not having to carry so much of the responsibility herself. Heaven knew she was trying -- but, well, perhaps that was why -- Paris smiled to herself -- she thought the Prince and the Duke glowed. They, like the baron, had been trained to take care of people. She wanted to take care of her friends, but she'd already made so many mistakes.

Paris breathed deeply, glanced again at the still silent figure of her baron, and started her quiet pacing, the vague feeling of comfort still warming her.

"Paris," Real Girl called, soft and sweet, a tone Paris herself was afraid to use. It was too much a reminder of Maman's voice. "Paris? If you're really not going to bother the Duke with the cutting... and you really don't want to give the impression that you can't cope with 'little things', do you?"

Serious spoke up sternly. "Taking a superior's rights and entitlement unto one's self is not a 'little thing'!"

"Hush," RG soothed. "We've been through this before. You know neither the Prince nor the Duke will take care of the plant themselves. And you don't want to give the added impression that you foist unneeded gifts off on lords in hopes of getting more silver cards, do you?"

"No!" Serious was so horrified and adamant that Paris almost said the word aloud. "Never! There was no thought of that! What made you ever come up with that?!"

RG: "Remember, then, the books, and don't fret the cutting. The Duke doesn't even know he wants grapes; Ewen does."

Serious being quelled, Real Girl turned back to the matter at hand. "Paris, you did find the dance -- being that close to someone not your brother -- just a little -- exciting? thrilling?"

Serious objected. "So's a sword coming at your head!"

RG: "No, really, not that way."

S: "Yes it was! When you didn't know what he meant by the kiss, you were silent and terrified too. You were!"

RG: "But think about it now. Now that you know he was -- admiring. Wasn't being held, being kissed, thrilling? Didn't you feel anything other than violation? You didn't even let me enjoy it! It was so short!" RG's commentary had turned into a wail.

Serious was disgusted. "You're being silly. Thrilling in retrospect? Terrifying at the time? Give me a break!"

"Well..." RG moved into a pout and then back into sweetness. "That is what I was trying to get this conversation to. Next time...."

Serious interrupted. "No next time! Lorraine said she'd tell Ewen 'not while we are a peasant.' And no matter what rumours there are, only the Prince can make that change."

RG: "Wasn't there something He said .. about 'she will take the test we know, when she's been taught'?"

S: "Yes, so? He was in an awkward place. The rules say I wear the sword. Their rules say I don't. So he left an opening. The test. Whatever the test is. Meanwhile, the Prince sends us away after a week. We're not going to get good enough to take any test by getting a week of classes every now and again. Your 'next time' is no time soon! Assuming we're even allowed back in class, or the palace, or Anything!, after having trotted off without telling the Prince that we intended to disobey him in practise if not by deliberation. And disobey the duGryphons -- and even Ewen."

RG's voice was small. "Well, I tried to warn Ewen."

Serious: "We both did, but you were wishy-washy about it. 'I promise to try.'" Paris's own voice in her mind mocked her. You did not expect to come back 'cause I didn't believe it was possible! We were committed. We weren't coming back because only a miracle would have saved us from the orcs and given Genelle a safe place without us."

Real Girl's protest was tiny. "We got the miracle...."

Serious over-powered with a mental shout as great as the Prince's or duGryphon's. "You don't plan on miracles!!! We didn't grow up counting on miracles -- or," her internal voice faltered, "mother and father...."

Both voices together, "Stop thinking about that!"

Real Girl added softly, "When this is all over -- when the Prince wins, let's go back and plant flowers where our house was. It will be better to remember Maman there, with roses and lavender..."

"Yes," Serious agreed. "Fitting. We'd have done it if we had stayed with Genelle in Jouet like I thought we would...."

RG: "But I wanted to come back when I promised Ewen. And I want to see if kissing really is just another sort of testing -- like Lorraine said. You've always wanted to stay perfect. 'Love's First Kiss' and all that other stuff from Anton's chansons. As though that were tantamount to marriage and staying pure until then. Lorraine kisses AND flirts AND enjoys it -- and you don't dare think she's unpure! We like her! She's our friend. Think of all her kindnesses -- the advice and the dress and the bath and all those things that no elegant lady would do save for friend or family!"

Strangled, Serious says, "I never said...! I never implied anything about Lorraine. Where do you come up with such random thoughts?! But she's a court lady of experience. We're --- just Paris, peasant, magically turned into a chimera, neither fish nor fowl, and fitting no where."

"Being loose, being an immoral woman, someone whispered about -- like that IS bad, evil. You're right about that. But Lorraine is not that, therefore," Real Girl sounded a note of triumph, "flirting is ok. You just have to stay in control. You know all about that."

Serious grumbled almost inaudibly. "Not with flirting, I don't."

Silence reigned for a moment as Paris scanned the darkness.

Serious suddenly scoffed. "Just imagine how silly you'd look trying to flirt. And how in the world do you think you'll feel kissing -- when you don't even know if you care strongly for the guy? If he wants to be with someone who wants to kiss him, however is he going to feel being used for practise? Which is what you're talking about. Ewen is a nice boy, a good friend and comrade, and braver than all the rest, to have put up with me from that first evening. He's not a - a - kissing pell!"

"Tsk! Military terms! Stuff we didn't even have words for before the card!" Paris grinned apologetically into the darkness at her first memory of Lady duGryphon. "You promised not to forget Her lessons either."

"Well that is all I am good for, in case you hadn't noticed these days. You and your borrowed finery. Think about that before you consider leading some open-hearted, innocent gentleman down lovers' lane. That's quite enough of that! Remember, we have an Order and a Prince to live up to, or die trying. That is one thing we have 'for as long as you live.' And it's worth a great deal more than missed kisses."

"But..." Real Girl started to fade back into the darkness.