Brytt Heathard left the company of the nuns of the Cloister of the Order of Pragmatic wisdom and thought on their advice....
He stopped at the distillery to pick up his satchel and saw the following note from the real estate office he'd visited earlier to look at potential office locations to write from:
Mr. Heathard,
Found what I think you're looking for.
Please stop by when you can.
Sue, Royal Realty
Plucking the note from the door, he figured he'd stop along the way to the Britain moongate. After all, when he came back, he'd need a good desk to sit in to write up all his Feluccan tales!
At the realty office, he expected the agent to pull out another big runebook of dusty market stagnates but instead directed him a short walk down the street in Britain. Brytt was surprised when they stopped in front of Sage Advice, in East Britain.
"This place?" he asked.
The agent nodded. "The owner's evicting the previous tenants. Seems all the scribes of reknown have moved across the river. Those who remain are the ones who have been laid off and are doing freelance work."
Brytt nodded, approvingly. It was huge! There were three distinct reporter offices inside, and plenty of room for scribing and a circulation desk.
His heart sank, however, when he saw the monthly lease terms.
Shrugging, the agent packed her things and left. Brytt put his satchel over his shoulder and headed out to the Britain moongate. He took a deep breath and stepped through to a familiar gate in the old lands. Felucca. It had been a long time.
The air smelled of death and decay. He looked around at the landscape and headed in the direction of an old landmark he hoped was still there. It had been some time since he had last been there and the location helped him think. He needed to decide where to go first and how to put all of these ideas together into... something new. Something exciting. Some kind of new... news!
The sun turned tall, leafless trees into long shadows by the time Brytt reached the foot of the old Lumarian Bridges. Years ago, the only way to cross this ravine had been to walk across the decks of several ships anchored together in the water... until the bridges were built. He looked across the water and sighed.
His thoughts were interrupted by the sounds of hoofprints. Looking to the east, Brytt saw a dark, shadowy figure approaching. The man looked worn, traveled, with a brooding expression. The man nodded at the alemaker, who then recognized Nicholas the Old. Nicholas dismounted and joined Brytt on the bridge.
The two looked across the chasm in silence for a moment before Brytt, in a moment of reporter-based nostalgia, broke it.
The cold wind arced across the bridge, cutting into them both.
Brytt told Nicholas about his feeling that the writing he did lacked a coherent purpose, that he didn't write enough about the old lands, and that he was tired of writing from the bar! He told Nicholas about the space he'd seen earlier that afternoon in East Britain, and the problems he still faced in putting something cohesive together.
"A name?" Nicholas smirked, seeming to find something amusing.
He handed Brytt some parchment clippings. Brytt flipped through them and smiled, immediately nostalgic. But then it dawned on him what Nicholas might be suggesting. Several of the clippings Brytt dismissed as irrelevant. But several had something in common. A name.
Nicholas told Brytt where he had just been and rumors unearthed... several rumors, in fact, one of which sparked Brytt's interest immensely. The two talked on the bridge for close to an hour before Brytt hurried off to the east in pursuit of...
...the resurrection of something distinctly Feluccan.
Watching the alemaker ride away, Nicholas returned his pipe to the corner of his mouth and took a long, deep puff. The cold winds brought change. Winds older than even these bridges....
Looking down at the parchment clippings, Nicholas narrowed his eyes at several that the alemaker had ignored dismissively. An onlooker would not notice any change in expression, and perhaps for the best. Stuffing them back within the folds of his cloak, Nicholas turned and mounted, galloping off in another direction entirely....
He stopped at the distillery to pick up his satchel and saw the following note from the real estate office he'd visited earlier to look at potential office locations to write from:
Mr. Heathard,
Found what I think you're looking for.
Please stop by when you can.
Sue, Royal Realty
Plucking the note from the door, he figured he'd stop along the way to the Britain moongate. After all, when he came back, he'd need a good desk to sit in to write up all his Feluccan tales!
At the realty office, he expected the agent to pull out another big runebook of dusty market stagnates but instead directed him a short walk down the street in Britain. Brytt was surprised when they stopped in front of Sage Advice, in East Britain.
"This place?" he asked.
The agent nodded. "The owner's evicting the previous tenants. Seems all the scribes of reknown have moved across the river. Those who remain are the ones who have been laid off and are doing freelance work."
Brytt nodded, approvingly. It was huge! There were three distinct reporter offices inside, and plenty of room for scribing and a circulation desk.
His heart sank, however, when he saw the monthly lease terms.
Shrugging, the agent packed her things and left. Brytt put his satchel over his shoulder and headed out to the Britain moongate. He took a deep breath and stepped through to a familiar gate in the old lands. Felucca. It had been a long time.
The air smelled of death and decay. He looked around at the landscape and headed in the direction of an old landmark he hoped was still there. It had been some time since he had last been there and the location helped him think. He needed to decide where to go first and how to put all of these ideas together into... something new. Something exciting. Some kind of new... news!
The sun turned tall, leafless trees into long shadows by the time Brytt reached the foot of the old Lumarian Bridges. Years ago, the only way to cross this ravine had been to walk across the decks of several ships anchored together in the water... until the bridges were built. He looked across the water and sighed.
His thoughts were interrupted by the sounds of hoofprints. Looking to the east, Brytt saw a dark, shadowy figure approaching. The man looked worn, traveled, with a brooding expression. The man nodded at the alemaker, who then recognized Nicholas the Old. Nicholas dismounted and joined Brytt on the bridge.
The two looked across the chasm in silence for a moment before Brytt, in a moment of reporter-based nostalgia, broke it.
The cold wind arced across the bridge, cutting into them both.
Brytt told Nicholas about his feeling that the writing he did lacked a coherent purpose, that he didn't write enough about the old lands, and that he was tired of writing from the bar! He told Nicholas about the space he'd seen earlier that afternoon in East Britain, and the problems he still faced in putting something cohesive together.
"A name?" Nicholas smirked, seeming to find something amusing.
He handed Brytt some parchment clippings. Brytt flipped through them and smiled, immediately nostalgic. But then it dawned on him what Nicholas might be suggesting. Several of the clippings Brytt dismissed as irrelevant. But several had something in common. A name.
Nicholas told Brytt where he had just been and rumors unearthed... several rumors, in fact, one of which sparked Brytt's interest immensely. The two talked on the bridge for close to an hour before Brytt hurried off to the east in pursuit of...
...the resurrection of something distinctly Feluccan.
Watching the alemaker ride away, Nicholas returned his pipe to the corner of his mouth and took a long, deep puff. The cold winds brought change. Winds older than even these bridges....
Looking down at the parchment clippings, Nicholas narrowed his eyes at several that the alemaker had ignored dismissively. An onlooker would not notice any change in expression, and perhaps for the best. Stuffing them back within the folds of his cloak, Nicholas turned and mounted, galloping off in another direction entirely....