Local lore is surprisingly accurate

[what_greater_weapon]

Noelle finds that having a village is quite a pain. So she doesn't have one. Instead she travels. This isn't as easy as the sentence makes it sound. She has several sets of clothes that fit her just badly enough to make her look androgynous instead of feminine, while still being practical and not in her way. It's perhaps not what her fashion choices would be if choosing for aesthetics, but her fashion choices are not based around aesthetics. Instead it's to keep the idiots that think a lone reasonably pretty young woman is a tempting and vulnerable target to a minimum.

Not that it's a foolproof strategy. People are stupid, and she's apparently rather pretty. Not that anyone should try anything; while she might be tempting, she is not vulnerable. She has a sword at her hip that she knows how to use beyond 'pointy end goes in the person,' a small crossbow that looks deceptively useless when it is anything but, and a few knives that benefit from baggy clothes and the ability to hide knives therein. Anyone that thinks she is a tempting and vulnerable target and that they should act accordingly will be corrected. Possibly with the knives, if they especially deserve it.

She's actually in the middle of that right now. Well, sort of. She is working on being in the middle of that right now. In order to get there she has to find the guy. He had some wandering hands that went to unsanctioned locations, and after she broke his finger he, well, ran. Normally she might let him go, call it even, but she realized the next morning that he fit the description of a bandit with a sizable bounty on him. And he did have a mysteriously large purse for a man with that little class. It fits. And he's an asshole, so she can go retrieve him, dump him at the feet of the local lawmen that are looking for him, collect the lovely bounty, and be on her way.

One problem: the asshole ran into a thing the locals call the Witchwood. She realizes rather too late that it is appropriately named. The trees must be moving, or moving her, because she passed by that creek with the rocks in that particular formation and the slightly broken tree two hours ago, and she was following the sun. This should not happen.

Well. She has travelling rations with her, and she can find water reliably well (especially if the creek keeps showing up) but if she's trapped in here forever there's not much she can do about it. If it takes longer than a week she might set the forest on fire, but she's not that desperate. She'll let the magic woods lead her around if they want to, she guesses. Not that she has a choice.

She scrapes marks in trees with her least favorite knife, because it's not like she has anything better to do, and she wants to know how many times trees will repeat themselves. Scrape scrape. Wander wander.

Comments

[what_greater_weapon]

"Okay then. Thank you. Are any bedrooms fine?" she asks, as she packs up her stuff for moving to a bedroom.

[pythbox]

Nod nod. The tray stands up again, and curtsies, and trundles off to the kitchen.

[what_greater_weapon]

That works for her.

Once all of her stuff's packed, she goes upstairs to pick out a bedroom. The one she picks has a pretty view with an excellent window if one wants to, say, climb out of it and rappel down to the earth below. She doesn't expect this will ever need to be done, but if it does, she wants to be prepared.

She flops onto the bed, just because that seems like the thing to do. Flop. So comfy!

And then up she gets, because while she's a bit stiff she's not exactly tired, and debates on if she's willing to try to ask the castle for a bath while in a strange deserted magical castle, or if she'll just go to the library.

... Library. She'll handle the bath situation later, she thinks. To the library!

[pythbox]

The library contains many, many books.

Some of them are fiction, some are history, some are religious texts. There is even a small shelf of books on languages, although nineteen of the twenty turn out to be about Albish.

There is an entire wall of books about how to do magic that don't appear to be fictional in the slightest, but more than half of them are in a wide assortment of variously recognizable foreign languages, and even the ones nominally in Callian can be near-unreadably dense or technical or archaic. They also do not appear to be organized with a beginner student in mind.

[what_greater_weapon]

It is somewhat unfortunate that she already is fluent in Albish, but the twentieth book might be of use. But first... magic.

Magic written in several other languages.

If this is a trap it is baited so incredibly perfectly for her that she's just screwed. This doesn't mean much in particular, but it is certainly something to think about. And she can't bring herself to resist the chance to learn magic. Hell, she'd have trouble resisting learning the languages. Both together is just - nope, can't do it, she wants it, she will have it. It's like the most tempting puzzle box she's ever seen, and at the end she'd have magic.

She pulls a nominally Callian book off of the shelf, identifies it as more archaic than technical, and deems this good enough to get a better feel for how this dialect works.

...

After about twenty minutes she's stopped reading silently and is speaking out loud. It's better this way, she thinks, language is a living, breathing thing, that changes and evolves and is spoken. To leave it on the page is handicapping herself. How can she learn all of the little tricks unless she tries them out herself, see how it flows..?

Absently, she notes that her typical Callian accent doesn't fit. It feels awkward, not exactly bloated, but it flows incorrectly. On a hunch, she experiments with something more similar to an accent she heard in a pretty out of the way village, a year or two back.

... Better. Much better, actually, but it doesn't quite work, either. She tries out a few others, but they're much worse.

She digs up a poetry book in a sort of similar dialect, because while she's not one for poetry, it's very indicative of how the language is spoken. She flips to a poem that doesn't offend her and reads in her not-quite-right-but-better-than-nothing tiny village accent - she stops halfway through and laughs.

"Got you, you little bastard," she says, triumphantly. "That word order meant something, I knew it was weird -"

She returns to the magic book and rereads the passage in question, hums thoughtfully to herself, and continues reading out loud, from both the poetry book and the archaic Callian magic book.

Her accent isn't perfect, she already knows. It can't be, not when she's just got books, but she's closer. And it's making more sense - she's making much more progress. She's nowhere near fluent in it, but instead of just deciphering text she's understanding the rules it works by. And speaking in it helps show the similarities to its less archaic fellow - this, and this, and here, and this became this, and here the order was changed because of this -

It's great fun.

[pythbox]

Around lunchtime, the ambulatory breakfast tray arrives, bearing lunch. It is now an ambulatory lunch tray. Delicious lunch.

[what_greater_weapon]

Oh, right, lunch.

She has that, and between bites she murmurs sentences in archaic Callian. She has a good enough grasp of it to be able to skim through all books of its type for anything introductory in magic. Is there anything introductory in magic?

[pythbox]

Not in archaic Callian, apparently. There are a few books that purport to contain only safe, easy spells—but then describe these spells in impenetrable jargon. Some go on to abbreviate the impenetrable jargon, usually not in ways that are consistent across books.

[what_greater_weapon]

Hm. How annoying.

Well, she is not just stuck with archaic Callian. She can tackle the Albish next. She'll probably get to categorizing everything properly if no one shows up soon, because it's really becoming obvious that she'll need to.

She finishes lunch, and then switches to doing a very similar thing with Albish. Reading! Speaking! Learning! It is all quite exciting.

[pythbox]

The Albish books use a different impenetrable jargon and different varying sets of abbreviations for it. And it doesn't look like any of them are straightforwardly introductory, but before she's halfway through finding that out, the tray comes back with dinner.

[what_greater_weapon]

Dinner!

This is the best puzzle, she's enjoying this so much. She'll want to do other things, too, but this is quite a fun challenge for the long term. And with such a nice goal she's not inclined to steer herself away from it for practicality. It is practical to be a big language nerd. She may indulge herself.

Noelle wonders if the castle is just obliging or convenient, or if it picked her. It's just so tailored to what she can do and what she wants. But what it picked her for is so far unobjectionable, so she has no real reason to complain, and doesn't.

She has dinner, then she finishes checking to be sure the Albish books are not introductory. When they prove to not be anything of the sort, she decides that picking another language to disentangle would take long enough that she'd be up to absurdly late in the night.

What would she like to do, instead?

She retrieves the introductory language book in not-Albish for reading in her room at her leisure, and decides that she will have a bath today, since she's been left alone to learn magic all day. And if someone peeps, well, whatever. Doesn't matter much to her.

Her clothes, though, haven't been cleaned in - well, a while. She has spare sets, but she's been travelling for a while, and travelling doesn't really lend itself well to being clean. So those don't quite count as clean, either. She'll have to clean them, but maybe she can talk the castle into doing it for her.

While she's not quite sure what to ask, she'll go looking. Maybe a washbasin will helpfully be magical.

(Foolish of her, to get lost in this and not investigate properly. Poor form, Noelle.)

[pythbox]

The lack of servants and servant-related areas means there are no obvious places to do laundry.

There is an obvious place to take a bath. It's extremely fancy. You could nearly (not quite, but nearly) go swimming in there. Cuddly towels and interesting soaps abound. One could technically wash one's clothes in this, but one might not like to, depending.

[what_greater_weapon]

Well. Maybe she can ask the bath.

Feeling rather foolish, she addresses the bathtub. "Excuse me, can you, er, wash my clothes?"

[pythbox]

There is no immediate answer.



But after a few seconds, one of those trays comes trotting into the room on its little feet, empty.

[what_greater_weapon]

"Oh. Okay. That works, then." She considers the viability of all of her clothes being washed in time for her to be wearing them when she is done with her bath. "Do you have spare clothes, actually?"

[pythbox]

The tray, lacking a teapot with which to nod, does a little not-quite-curtsyish bob instead. And takes a few steps toward the hall, leadingly.

[what_greater_weapon]

Well the only reasonable thing for her to do is to follow it.

She does so.

[pythbox]

It leads her to her chosen room, where it comes to a halt beside the large sturdy wardrobe in the corner.

[what_greater_weapon]

Because it seems the obvious thing to do, she opens it. Are there clothes in there?

[pythbox]

There are clothes in there. Clothes in both her size and her taste.

The tray curtsies proudly.

[what_greater_weapon]

"I adore this castle," she says, "creepy as some of these implications are. Just. Thank you."

She picks out a set of these wonderful clothes that have trousers and this long dark flowing jacket that can disguise her sword and various weapons, and shirts that help with the androgyny while also actually fitting her, and soft but sturdy boots that are good for a lot of walking, and then cackles and heads off to have a bath.

[pythbox]

The tray traipses off to wherever trays go when they're not helping her with things.

The bath fills itself with hot water. It is perfect and delightful.

[what_greater_weapon]

Eeeeeeeeee!

She thinks she loves this castle. If it and the Witchwood's going to trap her in here for the foreseeable future, at least it's being excessively nice about it.



When she is clean she wears the wonderful brilliant amazing new clothes (she indulges in a twirl) and then asks if she can please take some weapons from the armory, too.

[pythbox]

A tray comes into the room to give a little bobbing nod.

[what_greater_weapon]

Eeeee!






Everything in the armory is so wonderful. She loves this place. It is so great. She doesn't exactly never want to leave, but she would like to always be able to come back, she thinks.

She picks out a new set of weapons (upgrades to everything she owns, actually) and then decides that maybe she should go to bed. So instead of gleefully trying to wring all of the stuff out of this wonderful magical castle, she will head up to her chosen bedroom, change into an offered set of clothes appropriate for sleeping and goes to bed.

Zzzzz.