[Quest 05x] Translating a vision
Quinlan has hooded his staff and closed his bookbag, probably to keep notes from falling out. He steps quietly along the stacks, looking for...well, someone, certainly.
And after a few moments, from a couple rows of shelves over, there is the loud bang of a book hitting the floor, followed by a rustle of cloth and a grumble. "Who shelved this thing?" Pascal's voice asks nobody in particular. "I put this out on display for a reason."
Quinlan pokes his head around a corner to see the arrival; he seems happily relieved that it's Pascal. "Librarian," he says. "I need a translation, if you've time. I'm told it's not classified, but...well. Nobody in hearing knew what the words were, so I'm being on the careful side. Do you have a minute or two?"
Pascal straightens himself up, picking up a treatise on basket-weaving in the outskirts of Rebma, and places it on a podium nearby. "Quinlan," he greets. "What do you need a translation of? And heard? Are you sure you transliterated these words correctly, first? It's somewhat difficult to translate meaning out of mis-hearing, you know."
Quinlan coughs. "Librarian. *Illusionist*, remember? I memorized what I heard and saw. I can show you. I don't understand what was said. But I don't have your ears." He holds out his hand, as one might offer a small thing from the palm. Above his hand, the illusion takes shape. Firstly, just a quarter-scale image of Miriam, floating in the air as she might in water, her hair moving with invisible currents. Her light glow brighter and brighter...
RPG: Quinlan declares that he owns this token:
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Author: Quinlan Held By: Quinlan
Date: Wed Nov 4 22:29:13 2015 Focus: 0
Title: Miriam's Vision: External
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Token Description
The glow spreads outwards and upwards, too. Like a sparkling and glowing mist at first, it seeps from her. Here and there as it somewhat focuses can be seen dots of light overhead, with Miriam in the middle of it all. Some of those dots are brighter than others, and it does resemble a night sky though there aren't nearly enough stars for a really clear one. The mist lingers some, and occasionally seems to create a ripple.
The Tir Princess looks upwards through her rising hair, her milky eyes hard to read, then reaches towards them with outstretched arms. She speaks, but the words are not in Thari. Rather they're in an old Rebman dialect. "The stars! My beautiful stars!" Even as she speaks, a few flicker and then fade. "They're dying! Save them! Save us!" Another light appears in front of Miriam, and then pulses towards those lights above them. "The Queen has failed. The King must not." With that, it seems she's exhausted herself. All the lights fade, and Miriam goes adrift, unconscious.
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RPG: Quinlan used the following +declare targets: Library - Chantris
Pascal blinks, staring at the image curiously, and once the Tir Princess starts speaking, he goes wide-eyed. "/Fascinating/. I don't think I've ever heard that dialect of Rebman before! It's definitely pre-modern, though. Though I'm not sure how pre-modern exactly. Good memorization, by the way. Usually there are a few more mistakes when someone tries, but I didn't hear any gibberish in there."
Quinlan smiles. "Illusions require good memory...and I paid attention. Thank you for confirming I got it right. But what did she *say*?"
Pascal frowns. "So, you weren't able to just ask her what she said? Very well. I'll write down a close-enough approximation for you. There may be more complex meanings that I wouldn't understand at this point, keep in mind. I've only heard these phrases." He pauses a moment, and pulls out a piece of parchment. "She's worried about the stars going out, Quinlan. And claims the Queen - I'm assuming this is Moire - has failed, but the King still has a chance."
Quinlan huhs. "Well. She is the last pure Tirian, as far as I know. The last one that isn't a ghost." He rubs the back of his neck. "I don't know anything about the kings and queens. I tend to steer well clear of politics. But Martin had that boot-to-the-face look that tells me he might know."
Pascal continues to scratch a translation onto his parchment. "So, what was the context behind this? I'm going to assume it was the traditional method of speaking in tongues I've encountered that requires copious stimulants and an active imagination?
Pascal amended this token with:
A note from Pascal gives an approximate translation to modern Thari, with the caveat: "All I have really heard of this language came from this vision Quinlan showed to me. If anyone does start speaking in this tongue again, please do have them come speak to me before returning to their senses. I'm curious if there are idioms I haven't worked out, and if we can reconstruct this dialect."
Quinlan shakes his head. "Honestly, I was just trying to get better at swimming around Rebma without magic. Ran into Martin and friends while doing so, and then we all got treated to this lightshow. Martin caught Miriam after this happened. Took her off to rest, and I came up here to look for a translation. I'm pretty much the only one who heard it who *could* take it here. I don't think you guys have met most of my friends down there yet. Or at least, you probably aren't close enough to ask favors."
Pascal gives Quinlan an amused smile. "Quinlan," he says, "we will always be happy to help you or your friends translate any vision or prophecy you may come across that befuddles the mind. We'd really be quite, quite happy to learn the new language, copy the vision down, store it away. You should know that." He taps his boot on the ground.
Quinlan laughs. "Yes. *I* do," he answers, pointedly. "Not a lot of people have Chantris friends. You guys really need to get out more. If *this* interests you, then the place you need to go to is Rebma, and the person you need to hang around is Martin."
Pascal grimaces. "I may," he says, "but my swimwear could use updating first. Tell me, do people start speaking in tongues down there often?"
Quinlan tilts his head. "It may well just be her. Tir-born, they do prophecies like breathing. I honestly don't know who else might. I paid attention because I've *read* about prophetic trances but that's the first time I've been in the area when one happened."
Pascal hmms. "Liam never did that, but then dreams were more his thing." He shrugs. "I'll read up a bit on those, I think. Do you think she'd be amenable to a few herbs a tribe a few shadows out use? They don't do anything for them except make them talk gibberish and then get really happy, but maybe what they thinks will work there will actually work closer to... no, nevermind. Best if these things come naturally."
Quinlan moves his fingers, counting in his head. "Liam was, if I'm counting right, at least two generations off the true. Son of Deirdre, daughter of Faiella, and *Faiella* would be trueborn Tir blood. Miriam would be at Faiella's level, not Liam's." He takes the noted translation, looking it over before tucking it into his bag. "Martin will know. Hopefully."
Pascal smiles, then finishes stuffing things away in his bag. "In the meantime," he says, "I have a new little vision to go place in our archives. I'll want to hear more about this, if only so I can be sure I stored it in the correct section of the library. Do be well, Quinlan, and good night."