The World of Temmuren

Brooding and Boring: Unnecessary Recap Flavor

A conversation between Thursday and Pav.

(Optional as fuck)

Pav sat on the riverbank, occasionally shooting a glowering look at Barry, who had taken his breastplate off to dry in the sun after his dip in the river. He was relaxing with the others, eating a heel of bread and laughing along with the elves at some meandering tale Oliver was spinning for their enjoyment.

Stupid Barry. Not that this most recent altercation with the pixies and jellies was his fault exactly- just that no one else seemed as skeptical as they should. Barry had the gal to actually verbalize his naiveté. Pav was angry with Barry, the elves for being useless and not able to help themselves sooner, (or at all, ) but Pav was especially angry with themself.

They had checked the bridge- they had known something was up, and were still feeling ashamed that they had set them up to camp two days previous in what turned out to be an astoundingly bad location. Now their wagon and their remaining horses were gone.

“Those who have experienced shipwreck shudder even at a calm sea.” Pav took a ruthless bite out of the shapeless root vegetable Mubaj had conjured and continued brooding- a little black cloud on the edge of a sparkling river.


“There’s actually a fragment of that phrase that is lost in mid-century Draconic-to-Commom translations.” Thursday quietly padded up to Pav. One hand holding out an end of her habit, the other hand moving fluidly and slow, guiding the threads of the fabric back to each other.
“It goes ‘Ergan ou est de vrou ghrepkt’. I lack the real fluency to make that sound right through. It literally states ‘While whoosh-whoosh yell-cackle at pinkmeat’.”

An awkward silence stretches until it turns pregnant. One of Pav’s eyebrows helplessly defies gravity. Thursday contently wings two lost threads closer together, easing a scar on her hem. The silence comes full term as Thursday finishes reviewing what she just said and begins to stutter like a bad motor.
“I d-didn’t finish. Finish that thought. No one knows what pinkmeat means. Or yell-cackle for that matt— Uh, so ‘While the wind cackles at the thinkers below.’. That. That is the whole phrase.”

A half-silence.

“What I— What I mean is that, um, you.” Pav sees a one of the threads twist and shrivel, singed. Thursday takes a breath and several seconds, letting that end of her habit fall softly to her chest. “You did everything in your power. You made calls. You made /good/ calls. The world didn’t comply and that is no mark on you or your capacity as the Leader of this group.”

“Wait, I have no idea what the structure of this team is actually like, I just sort of assumed since peoplelistentoyouwhenyougetthattoneandlookreallydriven-it-was a guess.”


“Leader!” They let out a bark of mirthless laughter and looked away from the stuttering nun. Normally they wouldn’t maintain eye-contact as a form of cruelty, but this one was easy to mess with and it seemed less harmful than burning down buildings. (For example and no reason in particular.)

“Wanna correct any more of my hard-earned-sea-fairin’-wisdom, hot stuff?”

Immediately regretting the jab, Pav waited a beat, sighed, and patted the ground beside them.

“No- it’s not a bad guess, and not a bad tack-on to my eh… thought. About, y’know-” they gesture vaguely to the cracked and charred bridge “-all this.”

“You’ve not been with us long, and we’ve all been together for naught too long ‘neither. Mostly we seem to weigh in fairly even on most calls, though- I’m maybe the loudest when Ollie isn’t insultin’ folk and Rhuul isn’t a great clickin’ spider.”

Pav’s eyes slide to Thursday. “And…Well- I’m the only one with a boat.”

They can’t help but keep a drop of pride from their tone.

Another beat, then changing gears completely to avoid thinking about having, and then losing, their fine ship, Pav turned their little body to face Thursday head on. “What sort of stuff ‘re you writin’ down when you’re not working on blindin’ folk, anyway? It’s not like you’re puttin’ your books in a library n’more.”


Characteristic stiffness sets into Sister Thursday as her mind flashes images. The first spark, the others catching and crawling over the old, dry books like fleas. Her impotent prayers, attempts to call water, buckets she dashed over manuscripts holding the life’s work of hundreds of sages and heroes and clerks.

Uncharacteristic furrowing and poison sets into Thursday’s face. Like a wave on a breaker, the confrontation in her shatters and her face flushes. Six replies come to her mouth, and her arm retroactively raises in accusation again the Captain*.

“Someone needs to keep a record.” Verbally hacking a new path in this social safari. Her arm swinging up into a dramatic declaration. Christ, Thursday. Now you need to act like some windbag to follow that up

((You could—What if we (Am I being too-) change the way— drop — the way you {Did I just start a fight?} hold your hand — it for [What does this mean in Gnomish, again?] another (aggressive?) gesture.))

Thursday absently let her arm go limp. “When I told you I was to chronicle your efforts it was not entirely a lie. I joined the Calendar for a reason. I love recording. History is made by heroes and villains. But it is only recorded by unsung heroes who think to put pen to paper.” A quiet swell of pride “You happen to be a lucky group. Because I happen to be a very unsung good write.”

“I can also shoot lasers out of my fingers and I really want to keep that on the radar.”

“So far I have the events as they are important to my view as a recorder.
1. The Fire
2. my fleeing (With map)
3. the ghost town – Visit 1
4. Displacer Beasts
5. You and yours rescuing me from certain death
6. I realize now your eyes have gone glassy.
7. I am testing if I can just say anything at this moment.
8. I am full of spiders”


Pav, indeed going a little glass-eyed after Thursday’s surprisingly emphatic outburst, realized what she was doing and let out a real bark of laughter.

Something about a genuine streak of confidence in this one-eyed-stuttering-misfiring-bookworm… And how easily she could slip back into a tone as dry as her records, was charming.

Almost like that, Pav went from feeling that this nun was useless and likely little more than a liability, to understanding that she was a useless liability that was likely going to have a damn good part in all of this.

Just then, Mubaj announced that the elves looked strong enough to carry on. There was a collective shuffle as elves got to their feet and gethered what of their possessions they could rescue from the doomed town, and then the doomed wagon.

As the unlikely crew stomped off into the woods, (Barry now, thankfully, back in his breastplate, and Rhuul, thankfully, not a great clicking spider,) Pav thought it pertinent to see what else Thursday had documented of this trek.

“In the bit about saving you, do you mention my name? That’s ‘H-a-r-b-i-n-g-e-r of the S-t-o-r-m’. Or how about the bit where I washed those goops down the river- have you written that bit down yet?”

They helpfully brandished the Cerulean Caress- as if Sister Thursday needed to borrow their pen.


As the Cerulean Caress swings out, Thursday starts a bit. She slides her pen into her clipboard and takes a moment, walking with her eye closed.

“I have just finished a full anatomical write-up of the pixies and won’t bore you with those details. I am soon going to catalog our battle over the Sevren. But there is something worth bringing up now.” Thursday turns, a similar furrow coming across her face. Her eyepatch digging in above and below, bowing out between the pressures and lighting up half of her face. “And I need for you to listen, and actually listen, Pav. Don’t be thinking of the next joke, and don’t be thinking of how to ironically detach yourself. For now.”

“You can control water. I cannot control my fire. I don’t know where this is going to go, but I cannot have another Library burn or an innocent life end because of me and my…infection best as I can guess it’s an infection or a possession wait, no, tangent”

A beat, a breath

“I need you. I need your callousness, and I need your ability with that brush. I don’t know how connected – how j-join- connected my life is with this” her right hand accuses her left eye “I don’t know if you extinguishing me will end me, I don’t know anything more than you and yours already know. What I know, and I need you to know; If I become uncontrollable, if I endanger someone’s life because of these sparks, I beg you to douse me, drown me if you must, erase the thoughts in this head. Don’t make me live as another kind of sinner as well.” Her voice croaks through the last of her plea, her good eye welling up. Begging for a death to avert sin due to a curse she couldn’t conceive of a week ago.


“I- eh-” The smirk slid from Pav’s face. " -‘course I’ll put you out, Sister."

They didn’t know what else to say.

Logistics would need to be considered of course- a heaftier water skin, and careful allocation of the brush’s manipulative energies- but Pav was caught off guard by Thursday’s emotional reaction to the ask. Perhaps Pav hadn’t considered just how fortuitous their meeting was so soon after Thursday’s er… series of incendiary discoveries.

“I expect I’m to use my own judgement as to when that’s needed?”

“…and what in the salty sea is a Sevren?”


Thursday breathes a long sigh of relief, her shoulders slide lower than they have been for a week, muscles she had not thought of showing their soreness.

“Yes, I expect you to make your own judgement.” She let the full thought hang in her head. (If I…if I’m on fire I won’t have oxygen with which to speak.)

Her eye snaps back up at mention of the Sevren. “Oh! Uh, it’s-it’s one of the main tributaries that leads to Vanishing Cove to the north. It’s one of the few rivers that flows North, and we’re not entirely sure why. Frankly, it’s a fascinating phenomenon, and was one of the original points of evidence against Planar Disc Theorem during the 1400’s geography standardization.” She stops, her head jerks forward with the rest of the words she was /going/ to say " It’s named after Grantine ‘Boulder-Hucker’ Sevren, an early halfling explorer. His nickname comes from his incredible strength, leading him to believe cannons were not cost effective."

“He would throw his cannonballs at enemy— Ah christ, give me a second.” She kneels down, her left boot having unlaced via singed boot strap. She holds the strap against her boot with one hand while the other glows white and writhes out, tentacles of light pulling the strap and filling the lost material. Pav realizes that they can see slightly different patches and holes and scars all over Thursday’s clothing. This is clearly something she has had to do constantly.

Once righted, she carried on boring Pav until they reached the gate of Induin Tawar- Elves intact.


CloudAran amandagaywatkins

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