[CLASS QUEST] Nuawahn | Page 1 | ◈ Archives | Guild Forums

Suhuba
Captain

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Posted: Tue Aug 11, 2015 5:50 am

This Quest is for Nuawahn who is striving to become a Monk.

OOC
||. The quest prompt must be answered with a 2000 word reply (can be more).
||. Respond to the prompt given with an adventure of your own creation as long as it meets the requirements of the specific tasks.
||. NPCs may be used as long as they advance the quest in an interesting manner.
||. You cannot include any playable characters other than the quest taker.
||. Your responses will be graded with a Pass or Fail. Those who fail will have to continue with assistance from the staff.
||. Questions about quests can be asked here.

IC

He wasn't sure how he had heard it, but somehow he had found a medicine that would help his memory. Nuawahn knew that if he were to get it, it would be from Suhuba - the largest merchant in Jauhar. It seemed that she had everything.

The medicine was hard to get, rare, and better applied with help from someone else. But if he was to get it from Suhuba there would be some hoops to jump through first, that was for sure.

Quest Tasks
||. The quest should start with Nuawahn approaching Suhuba about the medicine.
||. She will want something in exchange for the medicine, what that is Nuawahn will have to decide.
||. But there's another catch: the medicine is not complete. Nuawahn will have to gather the rare final ingredient in order to get the medicine to work.
||. The plant is dying out, and if Nuawahn is going to have enough for future doses he's going to need to figure out a way to ensure that there is more for later.
||. The quest should end with him figuring out a way to keep the plant from dying out.

Posted: Fri Aug 28, 2015 6:08 am

Nuawahn blinked, frowning at the jungle around him. He was sure he was looking for something, and that he was in the right place to find it, but in the process of looking for it, he had forgotten what it was. That was not unusual, but for Nuawahn, the object of his search took his entire past with it when it was forgotten.

Why was he here? Where was he going. A notion, that he had been expecting this to happen, caused him to look down at his hands. To his wonderment, there was something drawn there in ink: a plant of some kind, with thick leaves, a small stalk, and big inky veins. The lines were blurred where the ink had run into the lines of his skin, but Nuawahn saw enough to know what it was.

But why the plant? What had happened? What was he doing? He flipped his hand over to find other symbols, other runes, and with a start of surprise he realized that they helped him remember... yes... he remembered...

~~~

Nuawahn had known that he needed to go to Jahuar for a while now. He had remembered that much, day to day, even as the fog lapped at his mind. It took more every day, and it was a fight to remember anything at all. But Nuawahn had been lucky – he had managed to remember where he was and why he was there. There was, he had heard, a medicine in Jahuar, something to keep the fog at bay and, perhaps, reclaim some of what it had devoured. He couldn't remember where he had heard it, who he had heard it from, or if it was even true. He just knew it, and he clung to that knowledge desperately like a drowning man might cling to a piece of driftwood.

And it had, at long last, paid off.

“Oh, that medicine?” The shifter woman smiled at him, “Well, Windling, you're in luck! I happen to have some in stock!” she revealed, from one of her many storage areas and bags, a package that tickled his nose with sweet herbs. “And, if you're very good, I'll throw in the recipe too.”

“I can be good! I am very good!” Nuawahn assured her. She was a merchant of great renown – Subuhu, Sububu, Suhuhu, or something like that - Nuawahn couldn't remember her name. But he had been led to her by many questions, and many half-remembered answers, and finally – after much struggle and confusion – he was here. “Can I have it?” he asked hopefully.

“No. You have to give me something first...” she squinted at Nuawahn, her smile faltering.

She doesn't like dealing with people like me... Nuawahn thought, meeting her eyes before looking away, She doesn't like me. The thought made him sad, and he almost wanted to walk away and not bother her anymore.

But, he knew, if he could only stop the fog from eating at him, maybe he would be a better person? Maybe people would stop giving him the not-very-nice looks that they thought he didn't see. Sometimes he could ignore them, and that usually worked out well enough – if he ignored the problem, he forgot it. But he couldn't ignore or forget today, not when his only hope for memory was right in front of him, close enough to touch. “Okay.” he said, trying to stay cheerful, “What do you want?”

She shrugged, “What've you got?” she asked, looking at him appraisingly. She didn't seem impressed by what she saw.

“Um...” Nuawahn blinked, looking down at himself. “I have... shinies? I have pretty beads? I have... oh! I have coins!” he revealed them to her, beaming with pride. “I have magic too! People like my magic!”

“I'm sure they do.” she said dryly, looking over the coins and the 'shinies' he revealed – trinkets picked up here and there in distant lands. “All right,” she said finally, impressed, at least, by the variety of objects he brought forth to barter with, “I'll take all of them, all the... shinies... you have on you.” she gestured, “But you'll have to do something else for me.”

Nuawahn was happy to shove all he had at the merchant. His trinkets were the closest thing he had to lasting memories - evidence of his travels, the places he had been and the people he had met. If he was trading artificial memories for real memories, then Nuawahn felt that it was worth the trade. “Ok, what more do you want me to do?”

“Well,” she said, smirking, “You see that pile of strung beads over there? I want to sell them as weapons, but they were made by an Alkidike so they might not work. What I want you to do is to go over there and test each and every one of those strings and make sure they aren't just pretty. Every single one. With the most powerful spells you can muster. And you've got to do it right here, where I can watch you. And if I need you to do it differently, I'll tell you. And you have to do what I say.” She rested her head on her hand, “Do you understand? Will you do it? After all, you did say that magic was one of the things you could offer, right?”

Nuawahn nodded emphatically. “I can do that!” he said, moving over to the beads...

~~~

She seemed determined to use him for all the magical power he was worth. He cast spell after spell with the beads – light spells, wind spells, wall spells, anything he didn't need a living person to cast on. He tried his best, but apparently nothing was good enough for her. Suhu-whatever was demanding, often insisting on more tests, on different tests, on trying it yet again. Nuawahn grew tired of it – the constant casting, the constant snide comments. Nothing seemed to satisfy her about the beads, and, worse, she didn't seem to like him no matter how he took her harsh words. But, finally, she grudgingly approved the last strand, and he was freed from his duties.

Nuawahn, by then, was too tired to feel relieved. Between the continuous use of his magic, maintaining his concentration despite her nagging, and remembering why he was there in the first place, he was worn out. He didn't care about the medicine anymore – he just wanted to curl up into sleep. But he also cared about the medicine, enough to turn to her tiredly and hold out his hand.

“Well, we had a deal.” she said, putting the packet into his hand, “That there is enough for a month or so, I guess, but it's not complete.” She shrugged at his confused expression. “What? I didn't say it was the full thing, did I? Anyway,” she shoved a small hide scroll at him, “There's the recipe too, as promised.”

Nuawahn took it and, without even looking back at her, went into the jungle and away, where he could read the scroll in peace.

~~~

Nuawahn made a face at the marks he had made on his arms. She had actually been a pretty mean lady, from his remembering, making him do all of those things and taking everything he had from him. But he couldn't complain too much – he had the herbs, and the recipe. All he needed was the plant. Was it the plant on his hands?

He had read the scroll and put it away somewhere safe. The ink marks, he knew, were to help him remember what he was to find, without having to read the scroll again. So the plant he was looking for had to be the plant he had drawn on his hands. But where was it?

He looked around him, lowering his arms to his sides as he fiddled with his own sacred beads. The plant was around here somewhere – he just had to keep looking.

~~~

Eventually, his search was rewarded – there, on the rotting crags of a tree, was one of the plants. It was dark veined and plump and perfect with it's essential sap. Nuawahn picked it and began to make the batch, following the instructions eagerly as he used a glassy pebble to keep track of where he was in the process.

Finally, he had a vial filled with a deeply purple and viscous liquid. He rubbed some of it on his eyes, his mouth, and his ears, like he was supposed to. It was better done, said the scroll, by another who could make sure all the medicine was rubbed in completely into his skin, but he knew he could do that too. Once he felt he was sure about it, he carefully took a final sip.

Slowly, but surely, things became clearer, memories became apparent, and Nuawahn stared at the jungle around him with wonder at its sudden and new familiarity. He had been here before – he had been here many times. It was amazing - he laughed, joyously. He could remember!

One plant made for enough doses for a month, and that meant that he could have the beautiful feeling of remembering for a month... for a whole month. And more, still, when he found the rest of the ingredients to make the medicine! Nuawahn giggled - the prospect was wonderful and exhilerating, and Nuawahn was so very happy.

“So. Now there's nine of those plants left in the whole jungle.” Nuawahn turned towards the dryly sarcastic voice. An Alkidike sat in the tree, old and weathered and gnarled like a tree. She shook her head. “The plant is dying, and you would kill it to make medicine out of it?”

“It's dying?” said Nuawahn, confused, “But... but I need it...” Suddenly, the idea that this was his salvation became less and less likely.

“It is. It started dying out a long time ago. I used to use it for all kinds of balms and ointments, but now...” she shook her antennaed head and gestured to the nearby clearing. “This is all that's left. All that I've found, anywhere in the jungle.”

Nuawahn looked to see other plants, just like the one he'd picked, clustered together in what appeared to be a little garden. They looked sad, almost lonely, a little like he felt now.

The Alkidike raised an eyebrow as he looked and then sighed, “I know what you probably need it for... got sick in the head once too often? Mm.” she gently touched one of the plants, “As important as ever, and yet... dying.”

“Is there a way to stop it from dying?” Nuawahn asked, “I mean, is there anything I can do?” He needed to do something. Now that he felt clear, he wanted it to stay that way. He didn't want the fog to return and claim him, and without the medicine, he knew, it would. It would come back with a vengeance and he would be gone. Empty. Without a past or a present.

“I don't know.” said the old Alkidike.

“There has to be!” he cried desperately. “There just has to be!” he didn't want to believe that he had traded everything away for a years worth of this feeling, a years worth of even partial memories, only to forget. He would be grateful for that year, of course, but if he forgot, if he forgot everything, what would the point be? He wanted something more permanent, some way to keep his mind from acting like thick jelly whenever he tried to think, something to hold the memories in when he wanted to remember, some way to retrieve memories long forgotten. He didn't want a limited lease on his life - He wanted to live! “I can help! I need to help!” he fumbled desperately at his pack before remembering – ahh, remembering! - that he had given everything away to the merchant, and thus anything that could have been of assistance. “There... there must be some way...” he said, beginning to cry.

The Alkidike shrugged. “I don't know.” she said again, resignedly, “I've been trying to cultivate them in my garden – to help them grow.” she explained, at his confused look, “But nothing has worked so far.”

“Um...” Nuawahn tried to think. Thinking was suddenly, now, so easy it almost scared him. An answer, long buried, came to him. He had heard it, long ago, in Sauti. A woman had told him how they made sure that the bushes by the lake produced berries for later. A woman with such pretty eyes... his mother, he realized with a start. And there, in the memory, was Amma, and his sister, and his father, and they had all been so big... For a moment, Nuawahn was lost, entranced by the memory.

“Does the bush have flowers, lady Alkidike?” he asked, “I mean... the plant. Does it have flowers?”

“Yes.” she said, “Just after the rains – one huge white flower blooms on each plant. Time was, they would drop seeds just after that in a big burst, spread maybe twenty sprouts, and be ready again for the next cycle unless they were plucked. But a few years ago, only a few seeded, and now... they make their flowers, but none seed. And, the cold of this past winter killed many of them, so... they die.”

“I know how to make them give seeds!” Nuawahn said, high on the realization that he had remembered it from so long ago, “The flowers have to get dusty-stuff from other flowers. That's how they make babies.” he explained, “You take something fluffy, and then you put the dusty stuff on it, and then you touch it into the other flower, and then you shake it...” he smiled happily, demonstrating the motions with his hands. “And that's how they do it! Fluffy bugs and animals can do it, but maybe the plants don't have fluffy things of their own anymore...”

The Alkidike stared at him, thoughtfully. “You know.” she said, “There were these furred bugs, like little nondwa except with many wings. By my time, they were so few that their names had been forgotten, and I stopped seeing them altogether right when...” she stopped, “I think, earthling, that you may have an idea, here.”

The sound of rain suddenly surrounded them. Thunder roared far above them, and water filtered through the canopy to drench them. Nuawahn squeaked and ran to protect what remained of his treasures and his medicine. The Alkidike looked up at it, thoughtfully.

“The blooming season will be in a few days, if this is any indicator. We can try out this idea of yours then.”

~~~

The daily deluges subsided into mere daily drizzles, and soon enough, the flowers bloomed. They were big and white and smelled like the arms of his mother – arms he could now faintly remember as he took his medicine every day. The older Alkidike helped him with the medicine - She lived near the garden she had made, alone save for her young granddaughter who's mind, Nuawahn could tell, was fogged, just like his. They became friends, and he wanted to make her medicine too – the other herbs were easy enough to find, and easier still to replace with other ingredients from other lands if necessary – but he couldn't use the plants, not while they were flowering.
Instead, he set to helping the Alkidike. Every day, they took kinfa feathers and went to each plant in turn, shaking dusty stuff onto the feathers, going to other plants, and shaking dusty stuff off. Day after day, until the flowers began to wilt and fade into little nubs on the middle of the plant. Nuawahn thought he might have failed, and he knew that the Alkidike thought so too.
But then, a miracle: wrinkly, papery, brown pods began to appear on the plants. They grew and grew, creasing and stretching. Nuawahn and the Alkidike watched them hungrily until, with startling staccato sounds, they popped, the seeds shooting out of them like little black bullets.
Nuawahn, the Alkidike, and her granddaughter began to collect the seeds, some of them already sprouting little roots and leaves, and planted them in the garden. Some lived, some died, but soon there were more plants – many more... and not a moment too soon: Nuawahn was about to run out of his medicine.
He mixed up another two batches, one for himself and one for the young girl. He applied the medicine on her, and then on himself with hurried movements, relieved when the clarity returned. The joy on the girl's face mirrored his own - Both were free of the fog, and both were, in that moment, happy.
There was still work to do, the plants were not yet restored, but there was hope for them both. There was hope for them yet.