Foiled
Posted: Tue Nov 25, 2008 12:03 pm
Phileas sat by the bed in the small room in Dalaran, watching Aelflaed sleep and listening to the chatter from the buzzbox, the volume turned low. All night, the notes of despair in the voices of his friends had rung in his ears, sounds of pain and anger rubbing his nerves raw. At one point, he'd sworn and snatched up the small box, about to throw it across the room and into the wall, but managed to stop himself. He'd not gotten the thing too long ago, after all, and he wasn't sure if he could wheedle a replacement if he broke it in a fit of temper.
Feck. Missus Threnn in wretched bad trouble, and nowt I can do. She did fer me...she give me a chance when no eyther man woul'. Got tae be summat I can do. But what? Naebody tae ask...ask her mannie, and I be like tae draw back a nub. Nae answers there, no' righ' now, any road. So what does a murderin' rogue do when th' problem's dreams an' druids? The young rogue looked around the room and sighed. Nae owermuch, apparently...save make Aely feel safe enow tae sleep. Ligh' ken she needs it.
Several more hours ticked by, and Phileas was getting twitchy by the end of them. Dalaran was quieter than Stormwind had been, and that quiet was starting to get to him. He'd tried reading a book, but couldn't keep his focus on it. For a while, he stared out the window, watching the occasional passer-by in robes or armor on the street. Finally, Phileas resorted to counting the neat boxes of herbs that Aelflaed had brought with them from Stormwind, ticking off each of the names in his head as he scanned over the containers.
Black Lotus, Blin'weed, Bloodvine, Dreamin' Glory, Dreamfoil, Earthroo', Felweed...
Phileas blinked as the something about the words occurred to him. He looked at the boxes and frowned. He counted back across the boxes until he found the one he'd pulled out the last time he'd gone poking about in Aely's herbs and stared at the label until the word almost didn't make sense to him, becoming a random squiggle of lines on paper. He set the box back down and went to the small stack of books he'd brought. After a moment's searching, he found the one he wanted and began to look for a specific entry. As he read the entry, the seed of an idea in the back of his head took root and began to grow.
foil
Pronunciation:
\fȯi(-ə)l\
Function:
transitive verb
a: to prevent from attaining an end : defeat <always able to foil her enemies> b: to bring to naught : thwart <foiled the plot>
synonyms: see frustrate
As Phileas looked at the dictionary entry, the voice of one of his teachers entered his head - Willis was an irascible little man, but had dealt with deadly concoctions so long that his students suspected him of being completely immune to such things. "Any herb c'n be made ta a posset ta heal, boy...and any herb c'n be made ta a poison ta kill. All depen's on how ya deal with 'em. So look sharp, no matter what yer messin' with."
Any herb c'n heal...an' any herb c'n kill. Dreamfoil. Dream...foil. Mayhap tha's wha we cn' do, Aely an' me. Cannae hunt th' bastard oursel's...but a poison for those as can an' are huntin' tae use...nae much, but 'tis summat. Tha's what we c'n do, th' two of us.
When Aelflaed awoke, Phileas was there, the box of dreamfoil and a dictionary in his hands and a rogue's predatory grin on his face.
"I thin' I got summat, Aely. Get thysel' awake, an' I'll explain i' tae thee."
She blinked, rubbing the sleep out of her face and sitting up. Running her fingers through her hair and beginning to re-braid it, Aelflaed looked over at the grinning rogue.
"Oi, wi' a look like tha', ye've go' somethin' plotten' - hope 's I'm nae a' th' bottom a' this one." She noticed the box of herbs in his hands. "An' I thowt we were done wi' Dreamfoil?"
"We were...'less it's summat damn dire, tha said. An' there's nae better word 'n that tae describe Missus Threnn's situation, now is there?"
Phileas dropped the dictionary onto the bed and gestured to the dogeared page as he handed Aelflaed the small box. "Read yon definition, look a' th' label, love...an' think like a rogue, if tha can."
As Aelflaed read, Phileas paced the room, returning each time to the shelf of herbs to read over the labels. " 'Bout four a' th' morning, I quit worritin' abou' th' problem an' started thinkin' abou' it. I'm only a rogue...I cannae figh' dreams, or thin's of 'em. 'S nae my place. But since I am as I am...th' one thin' I do ken is poisons."
She looked down at the box of dreamfoil and the tattered dictionary page, grabbing an apple to munch on while she scanned down the page.
Fly. Foal. Foam. Fob. Focus. Fodder. Foe. Fog. Foil.
Foe. Fog. Foil.
Dream foil.
Realization washed over her face as she looked up at the rogue, still nosing around in her cabinet of herbs. "Ligh' Phileas... I dinnae ken 'f we can do it, but if we can - 's bloody brilliant. Y' got anythin' t' go on, or we back t' herb books? I've go' several, an' some less savory than others."
She got up and went to an overstuffed bag pulling out three or four leather bound notebooks, two of which appeared to be handwritten, and handed them to Phileas.
"Think 'bout th' only thing we cannae use 's Nightmare Vine. Or rather, if we do, 's risky business. Tha' damn plant's tied up wi' th' damn Dream, an... well, mishaps aren'a pretty on tha' front."
Phileas took the book and shrugged. "Dinnae ken, really. Books, brains tae pick, owt tha can think of tae get the thin' tae come together righ'."
At her mention of Nightmare Vine, he raised an eyebrow. "I was thinkin' we migh' wan' tae put that in for jus' that reason, love. Tha said this druid lives in Dreams, aye? But I dinnae ken for sure. Better t'ask some'un wi' more knowledge than me on th' subjec', 'cause if this works, it'll be a toxin like th' world has nivver seen...an' th' Cenarions ain' likely tae be owerjoyed we come up wi', come tae thin' on it."
"Hrm. Aye - dinnae think on tha' a' first, bu' aye, we'd best no' spring tha' on sommat wi' out talkin' t' someone wha' kens th' situation better. Aleros 's like as nowt a good place t' start. An' maybe Annalea - she's reputed t' be a fair hand wi' poisons her ownself."
"I've talked wi' Aleros a bit a' late - he's th' one wha' made those fur gloves. Was on th' box las' night too - le's see if we can get a word or twa wi' him, an' see 'f he's go' any suggestions, or 'least ways can clear this Dream an' Nighmare business a' bit."
She pulled out a few assorted potion making supplies, looking at them for inspiration. "Oh, an' I"ll need t' pick up a sep'rate set a' tools fer this. Dinnae wan' t' end up poisonin' some 'un tha' wants a mana potion."
Phileas nodded. “I thin’ my ol’ toxin kit’s still i’th bank vaul’ some’ere…may be bits in there tha can use, rather than thy own. I’ll hae a look later. Now, though…I’ve had my all-nigh’er, an’ I’m havin’ a nap while tha tracks down Aleros an’ al’Cair th’ junior.” The rogue flopped onto the bed, kicking his boots off and turning the volume on his buzzbox back up. “Hail me if tha needs me…tha’lt wake me if tha calls.”
Feck. Missus Threnn in wretched bad trouble, and nowt I can do. She did fer me...she give me a chance when no eyther man woul'. Got tae be summat I can do. But what? Naebody tae ask...ask her mannie, and I be like tae draw back a nub. Nae answers there, no' righ' now, any road. So what does a murderin' rogue do when th' problem's dreams an' druids? The young rogue looked around the room and sighed. Nae owermuch, apparently...save make Aely feel safe enow tae sleep. Ligh' ken she needs it.
Several more hours ticked by, and Phileas was getting twitchy by the end of them. Dalaran was quieter than Stormwind had been, and that quiet was starting to get to him. He'd tried reading a book, but couldn't keep his focus on it. For a while, he stared out the window, watching the occasional passer-by in robes or armor on the street. Finally, Phileas resorted to counting the neat boxes of herbs that Aelflaed had brought with them from Stormwind, ticking off each of the names in his head as he scanned over the containers.
Black Lotus, Blin'weed, Bloodvine, Dreamin' Glory, Dreamfoil, Earthroo', Felweed...
Phileas blinked as the something about the words occurred to him. He looked at the boxes and frowned. He counted back across the boxes until he found the one he'd pulled out the last time he'd gone poking about in Aely's herbs and stared at the label until the word almost didn't make sense to him, becoming a random squiggle of lines on paper. He set the box back down and went to the small stack of books he'd brought. After a moment's searching, he found the one he wanted and began to look for a specific entry. As he read the entry, the seed of an idea in the back of his head took root and began to grow.
foil
Pronunciation:
\fȯi(-ə)l\
Function:
transitive verb
a: to prevent from attaining an end : defeat <always able to foil her enemies> b: to bring to naught : thwart <foiled the plot>
synonyms: see frustrate
As Phileas looked at the dictionary entry, the voice of one of his teachers entered his head - Willis was an irascible little man, but had dealt with deadly concoctions so long that his students suspected him of being completely immune to such things. "Any herb c'n be made ta a posset ta heal, boy...and any herb c'n be made ta a poison ta kill. All depen's on how ya deal with 'em. So look sharp, no matter what yer messin' with."
Any herb c'n heal...an' any herb c'n kill. Dreamfoil. Dream...foil. Mayhap tha's wha we cn' do, Aely an' me. Cannae hunt th' bastard oursel's...but a poison for those as can an' are huntin' tae use...nae much, but 'tis summat. Tha's what we c'n do, th' two of us.
When Aelflaed awoke, Phileas was there, the box of dreamfoil and a dictionary in his hands and a rogue's predatory grin on his face.
"I thin' I got summat, Aely. Get thysel' awake, an' I'll explain i' tae thee."
She blinked, rubbing the sleep out of her face and sitting up. Running her fingers through her hair and beginning to re-braid it, Aelflaed looked over at the grinning rogue.
"Oi, wi' a look like tha', ye've go' somethin' plotten' - hope 's I'm nae a' th' bottom a' this one." She noticed the box of herbs in his hands. "An' I thowt we were done wi' Dreamfoil?"
"We were...'less it's summat damn dire, tha said. An' there's nae better word 'n that tae describe Missus Threnn's situation, now is there?"
Phileas dropped the dictionary onto the bed and gestured to the dogeared page as he handed Aelflaed the small box. "Read yon definition, look a' th' label, love...an' think like a rogue, if tha can."
As Aelflaed read, Phileas paced the room, returning each time to the shelf of herbs to read over the labels. " 'Bout four a' th' morning, I quit worritin' abou' th' problem an' started thinkin' abou' it. I'm only a rogue...I cannae figh' dreams, or thin's of 'em. 'S nae my place. But since I am as I am...th' one thin' I do ken is poisons."
She looked down at the box of dreamfoil and the tattered dictionary page, grabbing an apple to munch on while she scanned down the page.
Fly. Foal. Foam. Fob. Focus. Fodder. Foe. Fog. Foil.
Foe. Fog. Foil.
Dream foil.
Realization washed over her face as she looked up at the rogue, still nosing around in her cabinet of herbs. "Ligh' Phileas... I dinnae ken 'f we can do it, but if we can - 's bloody brilliant. Y' got anythin' t' go on, or we back t' herb books? I've go' several, an' some less savory than others."
She got up and went to an overstuffed bag pulling out three or four leather bound notebooks, two of which appeared to be handwritten, and handed them to Phileas.
"Think 'bout th' only thing we cannae use 's Nightmare Vine. Or rather, if we do, 's risky business. Tha' damn plant's tied up wi' th' damn Dream, an... well, mishaps aren'a pretty on tha' front."
Phileas took the book and shrugged. "Dinnae ken, really. Books, brains tae pick, owt tha can think of tae get the thin' tae come together righ'."
At her mention of Nightmare Vine, he raised an eyebrow. "I was thinkin' we migh' wan' tae put that in for jus' that reason, love. Tha said this druid lives in Dreams, aye? But I dinnae ken for sure. Better t'ask some'un wi' more knowledge than me on th' subjec', 'cause if this works, it'll be a toxin like th' world has nivver seen...an' th' Cenarions ain' likely tae be owerjoyed we come up wi', come tae thin' on it."
"Hrm. Aye - dinnae think on tha' a' first, bu' aye, we'd best no' spring tha' on sommat wi' out talkin' t' someone wha' kens th' situation better. Aleros 's like as nowt a good place t' start. An' maybe Annalea - she's reputed t' be a fair hand wi' poisons her ownself."
"I've talked wi' Aleros a bit a' late - he's th' one wha' made those fur gloves. Was on th' box las' night too - le's see if we can get a word or twa wi' him, an' see 'f he's go' any suggestions, or 'least ways can clear this Dream an' Nighmare business a' bit."
She pulled out a few assorted potion making supplies, looking at them for inspiration. "Oh, an' I"ll need t' pick up a sep'rate set a' tools fer this. Dinnae wan' t' end up poisonin' some 'un tha' wants a mana potion."
Phileas nodded. “I thin’ my ol’ toxin kit’s still i’th bank vaul’ some’ere…may be bits in there tha can use, rather than thy own. I’ll hae a look later. Now, though…I’ve had my all-nigh’er, an’ I’m havin’ a nap while tha tracks down Aleros an’ al’Cair th’ junior.” The rogue flopped onto the bed, kicking his boots off and turning the volume on his buzzbox back up. “Hail me if tha needs me…tha’lt wake me if tha calls.”