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Olive Branch

2013-05-02T19:48:22Z

Shai-hulud:

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{{crop|45|45|250|455|IPTSF_Text_15.jpg}}

{{Stats
|name= Olive Branch
|race= [[Men]]
|tribe=
|faction= [[Haffaton]]
|class= [[Caster]] ([[Florist]])
|level= 12
|move=
|hits=
|combat=
|defense=
|special=
}}
}}

=Proposed Canon=
'''Strengths:''' Stopping Fights Before They Begin, Music, Treachery

'''Weaknesses:''' Not Knowing When to Stop, Impatience, Ability to Seal the Deal, Obsession with [[Life]]

'''First Appearance:''' [[IPTSF Text 8]] (mentioned), [[IPTSF Text 12]] (in person)

Olive Branch was a daughter of [[The Wizard]] of [[el-Efbaum]], [[Charlie]], and started life as a [[Florist]] in his service. She was described as having "long golden hair".[[IPTSF Text 12]] Her [[Hippiemancy]] was integral to Charlie's efforts to preserve the side from a two front war with [[Easteros]] and [[Westeregg]]. Eventually, [[el-Efbaum]] and [[Haffaton]] formed an [[alliance]]. Pooling their casters, they were able to cast a [[Summon Perfect Warlord Spell]] to summon [[Judy Gale]]. The spell [[croak]]ed the ruler of [[Easteros]] outright, and Judy Gale was able to croak Westeregg's ruler with Olive's help.

Olive was a thoroughly treacherous and sociopathic individual. While in service to [[el-Efbaum]], she made at least 10 counts of fratricide, and also attempted to murder her father. She ultimately betrayed el-Efbaum to Haffaton, though Judy Gale chose to have mercy on Charlie, much to Olive's displeasure.

At the time [[Wanda]] of [[Goodminton]] was [[pop]]ped, Olive was the [[Chief Caster|Chief]] [[Florist]] of [[Haffaton]].[[IPTSF Text 9]] Furthermore, Olive had turned the Ruler of Haffaton, [[Judy Gale]], into a flower-addicted puppet and been keeping her prisoner in the [[Olive Garden]]. This has allowed Olive the freedom to manage the Side however she wishes, and the plausible deniability during parleys of only being the Chief Caster for her side, and not the real power.

[[Delphie Temple]] met Olive at least once in [[Magic Kingdom]] - supposedly to parley and discuss a proposal of peace and alliance from Haffaton.[[IPTSF Text 9]] After [[Goodminton]] reclaimed the city of [[Goodfinger]] from Haffaton, Wanda found and wore [[raiment]] that - according to Delphie - originally belonged to Olive. Delphie claimed that there is some [[Signamancy]] and even [[Date-a-mancy]] between Olive and Wanda, and that their [[Fate]]s are intertwined.[[IPTSF Text 9]] This was tragically proven true, after [[Olive]] poisoned [[Tommy]], destroyed the Goodminton side, and captured Wanda. [[Tina]] was able to force [[Wanda]] to turn and she spent many a miserable turn on the Haffaton side.

Olive Branch was very proud of her discipline and obsessed with the superiority of the [[Life]] element. Haffaton once had a large number of powerful casters that were responsible for a lot of the side's success. In spite of this, Olive Branch caused them all to die from the [[Heroine bud]]s in order to "prove" the superiority of her own arts, eventually leaving no casters alive except for Wanda and herself.

Spurred on by a [[prophecy]], a side named [[Faq]] began searching for a [[capital]] to conquer, in order to escape destruction at Haffaton's hands. Thanks to [[Jillian]]'s recklessness, Haffaton took her [[prisoner]], discovered Faq's existence, and conquered all of their cities. However, the [[court]] of Faq managed to escape and eventually came to threaten the Haffaton city of [[Efbaum]].

Olive was [[Heir Designate]] to [[Judy Gale]], Overlady of Haffaton. While she effectively ruled [[Haffaton]], [[Duty]] prevented Olive from directly acting against Judy by directly overthrowing her. However, her [[Loyalty]] was so low that she was still perfectly willing to leave a unit likely to murder her nearby, namely [[Jillian]], who was [[Predicted]] to kill the [[ruler]] of Haffaton. To keep her ruler better under her grip and possibly to increase the chance that Judy would be the ruler fated to [[croak]], Olive took away the [[Arkenshoes]] her ruler owned, making it difficult for Judy to flee.

Wanda managed to use [[Findamancy]] to recover the shoes and return them to Judy. As Judy departed from Erfworld, Olive became the new ruler of Haffaton, which in turn made her the likely subject of Jillian's prediction. Realizing the danger she was in, Olive tried to flee. [[Fate]] protected her from being croaked outright, but it enabled her [[capture]], so that she could be put on trial by the court of Faq.

=Real World References=
"Olive Branch" probably refers to [http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Olive_branch a branch of the olive tree] - a symbol of peace or victory from the times of Ancient Greece.

{{Office Holder
| Office=[[Chief Caster]] of [[Haffaton]]
| Previous=''Unknown''
| Next=''None''
}}

{{Office Holder
| Office=[[Ruler]] of [[Haffaton]]
| Previous=''[[Judy Gale]]''
| Next=''None, incumbent''
}}

[[Category:Characters]]
[[Category:Caster]]
[[Category:Proposed Canon]]
[[Category:Speculation]]
[[Category:Real World References]]

IPTSF Text 56

2012-12-29T03:38:41Z

Shai-hulud:

{{pager int|Text 56|IPTSF}}

It wasn’t long before [[Judy]] fell to her hands and knees, vomited almost delicately on the ornate carpet, and collapsed with her face in the puddle. [[Jillian]] watched [[Wanda]] clean her up and put her to bed.

“I’m not doing it. She’s the enemy,” said Jillian sourly. “Got ''some'' pride left.”

This stance seemed to make no difference to Wanda, who performed the work in silence.

<center>---</center>

“You know, I think I did my part just by not [[croaking]] her,” Jillian said, a little while later. Why she felt like she had to defend herself to her captor, she couldn’t say, but Wanda’s continued silence really bothered her.

In her current dream, she was floating in greenness, trying to stay hidden from the shapes that lurked, the voices that called out and sang and swore at her. But in the flat, dull world of [[reality]], she simply followed the [[Croakamancer]] up another set of stairs. She didn’t ask where they were going this time; she assumed it must be about the shoes.

“Indeed,” said Wanda at last. “Thank you for that. I would have had to stop you.”

The [[Lady]] Firebaugh had exhausted the last of her [[Overlady]]’s lucidity for the day by asking her questions about a pair of [[red shoes]]. When was the last time Judy saw them? What exact shade were they? Uniform color, or patterned? Were they adorned with beads? Sequins? Actual rubies? Was there a bow or other ornamentation? Did they fit her feet immediately or had they been resized? Had Olive ever mentioned them since the day she took them away? What did she say about them? What powers did they seem to have? Had Judy ever worn them in battle?

“You seem mad,” said Jillian.

“No. I am concentrating,” said Wanda. “I am considering whether or not to attempt something difficult.”

They were in a narrower staircase than before—still horribly green—which led past floors with rounded walls and closed doors. This was a tall [[tower]], maybe [[Efbaum]]’s main one. “Like what?” asked Jillian.

“I’m not telling you. You’re ‘the enemy,’” said Wanda, without looking back. “Turn to [[Haffaton]], and perhaps I will say.”

Jillian couldn’t tell if it was a joke. But she shut up for a while, and simply followed Wanda up the stairs, through the gross, angled greenness. Her heart was with [[Faq]], but her stomach was thinking about following Judy’s lead. It was already turning.

“I am considering casting a [[spell]] which is outside of my [[discipline]],” said Wanda after some time. “That is one reason it would be difficult.”

“How can you cast outside your discipline?” asked Jillian. Since she’d never had [[caster]]s to command, she rarely thought about them. Outside? She thought a Croakamancer was only good for Croakamancy, and basic [[Shockmancy]].

“Any caster may try, but few do. Failure is highly probable,” said Wanda. “It wastes juice. But I have been cultivating knowledge in other disciplines for a long time. I have some facility with [[Dollamancy]], for example, as you’ve seen.”

It took Jillian a moment. “That mannequin...” Her stomach churned acid, and she shuddered. Worse than the worst dreams, that thing was.

“We have them in several cities, simply watching over things. [[Barton]] and [[Maxwell]] made those. I can operate them, but I cannot make new ones.”

Jillian almost apologized for destroying the one that had spied on her, but caught the apology on her tongue and bit it. Why was it so hard to remember Wanda was an enemy? That mannequin thing was hers, and it was horrible. And the box... [[Bart]]...

How could she feel so at ease with her?

“So, um... so you want to cast a Dollamancy spell?” An idea dawned on her. “Oh, you want to make those shoes! Don’t you?”

With a sigh, Wanda lolled her head to the side defeatedly, though she did not pause in her climb. “No, I don’t have Dollamancy like ''that''. Perhaps no-one does, any more. Do you...understand why Judy was shouting at the [[scarecrow]]?”

“No.”

“It was Maxwell’s. When Maxwell was alive, he helped create many things, both wondrous and terrible. One of them was that scarecrow, which he made with Barton when Haffaton was a small side. Before my time. You know that a scarecrow is an ordinary unit of Dollamancy, like a [[cloth golem]]...”

“Yeah,” said Jillian. She had some experience fighting them, in fact.

“Well, this one was more than that. It spoke. It ate. It had opinions. It danced and sang. And it had the upkeep cost of a [[warlord]]. Something that Maxwell did during its creation gave it [[Life]]. It bothered [[Olive]] to no end,” said Wanda. Though she hadn’t turned around, Jillian could hear the smile in her voice. “She said it ought not to be possible. So just to show her, Maxwell created others like it. He made a living lion out of a cloth golem. Then he made a [[metal golem]] with [[Komatsu]] that was the same way: alive, aware. Olive put a stop to it, on the grounds that Haffaton couldn’t afford their upkeep, but the point was made. Judy loved all three of the things dearly. They helped her become [[Ruler]].”

Jillian’s dream was full of little questions, like furry animals, circling at her feet. She picked one up at random and asked it. “What point was he trying to make?”

“That the axis of Life was not special,” said Wanda. “That it held no particular supremacy over the [[Motion]] or [[Matter]] axes.”

“So caster stuff, in other words,” said Jillian, scrunching her nose.

“More or less,” said Wanda.

“But Judy’s not a caster,” said Jillian, shaking her head. “Is she?”

“No,” Wanda said. Then she cocked her head slightly. “Or I should say: not that I know of. She fought casters twice, but as far as I know, she does not herself cast.”

“Then why was she yelling at the scarecrow?”

“Because,” said Wanda with a note of dread, “Olive was right. When Maxwell perished, the scarecrow and the [[tin golem]] reverted to ordinary units. He hadn’t given them Life after all. They must have been tied somehow to his own Life. Judy was shouting because she loved that scarecrow, and she has lost it. But that’s what happens when you turn away from your [[Fate]].”

Jillian made an exasperated noise. “Oh don’t again!”

“I must,” said Wanda, casting a glance over her shoulder. Jillian noticed daylight streaming in from the top of the next flight of stairs. They were nearing the top of the tower at last. “It would be foolish to ignore what is known of the road ahead. You should tell me how you know of [[Delphie Temple]], so that we might both work out the best course of action.”

“No,” said Jillian firmly. It wasn’t just that the information was a good bargaining chip for a [[prisoner]] to hold on to, it was something that she genuinely didn’t want to talk about or think about.

Wanda shrugged. “You are choosing—” As she reached the top step, she stopped and froze, making a warning gesture. She was looking at something in the sunlight.

Jillian stepped carefully up beside her, and blinked in the sudden brightness of the tower parapet. Silhouetted in a crescent of light that made the green walls shine, Olive Branch stood. She wore a gown of flowing white, with the outline of her body showing clearly through it. Her back was turned to them. She held her head tilted back, as if in thought, showing them the glint of a gold circlet in her blonde hair. She whispered to the ceiling, something Jillian could not hear.

Wanda took a careful step backward, nudging Jillian with her hip. Jillian reached for the railing, turned, and headed back downstairs as silently as she could.

“I see you,” sang [[Dame]] Branch’s sweet voice, freezing Jillian’s toes to the cold marble step. “And I hear you. But I don’t know why you are here. Turn around, now.”

Jillian and Wanda both turned. Dame Branch was standing with her arms out. “Come to me, both of you.”

Wanda stepped forward obediently, and Jillian followed her into the light, walking out into the sunlit parapet. A warm breeze mixed the [[Florist]]’s perfume with that of the field of pink buds below.

“What are you doing?” Dame Branch asked Wanda, in a light singsong way that held a hint of menace.

“I’ve come to cast,” said Wanda evenly. “I need the tower boost, as the spell is outside my discipline.”

Dame Branch narrowed her eyes, but held on to the little smile. “Mm, cast ''what'', Wanda?”

“[[Turnamancy]], of course,” said Wanda. “I’ve had some insight into something Tina tried to teach me. I believe I can turn the prisoner now.”

Jillian’s head snapped toward Wanda, first in shock, then with focused rage. But her lips clamped shut. She was a prisoner. She hadn’t acted like it lately, but if that’s how it ''was''...

“Really,” said Dame Branch. “So you failed on her for a fortnight, and you let her destroy the box, let her escape and raze a [[city]]. But ''now'' you’ve got the answer, do you?”

“I think so,” said Wanda, showing no reaction to the Hippiemancer’s sarcasm. “And, given the urgency of the situation, it seemed worth attempting.”

“Urgency!” said Dame Branch, letting out a theatrical little laugh. “You have no idea, dear. Faq is in our [[battlespace]] this morning.”

Jillian’s eyes went wide.

“Where?” said Wanda.

“We don’t know. Isn’t that lovely?” said Olive, in the same light tones. “I’ve moved around everything I can, but there were no encounters. So I’m spending ''more'' Shmuckers we don’t have to hire [[Charlie]] to look.” She gestured to where she had been standing, apparently in a [[Thinkagram]] to [[Charlescomm]]. “I’m not ending the [[turn]] until we have to. Of course...”

She cozied up to Jillian, putting her hand lightly on her cheek. “If our guest has any ideas about where they are or what they’re up to, that would be an awfully great help.”

Jillian was finally coming to realize that Wanda was right about Dame Branch’s charm. Her kindness was an act, a weapon, a tool.

Jillian remembered the order she had sent home from [[Goodminton]]. [[King]] [[Banhammer]] could be anywhere, but if she had to guess, he was probably now somewhere near the [[City of Haffaton]], about to strike it. “Nope. Can’t help ya,” she said, holding her jaw out in defiance.

Dame Branch’s eyes went icy. She turned to Wanda, calmly reached up, and pulled the [[rose-stem halo]] from the Croakamancer’s head. Wanda winced, but did not cry out.

Jillian knew what was coming. Her hand reflexively reached up to guard the flower in her hair, but the Florist smacked away her hand and tore the bud out.

Instantly she fell from the dream. Her knees buckled, but she managed to rise. Her head hurt terribly, and the sunlight seemed to burn cruelly. Parts of her mind went blind, to colors and directions she couldn’t even remember how to see now. With a hard smack, the hoop came down on Jillian’s head. The thorns bit into her scalp, digging to the bone. The world went dim and empty, and this time she did fall to her knees.

“You have one chance, Wanda,” she heard Dame Branch say, her voice echoing as if down a dungeon corridor, “Turn her, if you can. I’ll watch. But if she doesn’t turn, then croak her. That is an order.”

LIAB 48a:1/Description

2012-12-22T19:48:10Z

Shai-hulud:

<noinclude>{{subpage}}[[Category:Frame Contents]]</noinclude>
<noinclude>{{stub|panel}}</noinclude>
A group of dwagons are shown flying in the air. It can be assumed this is above the city of Spacerock. In the background green hills and blue sky can be seen in the distance. Red, Green, and Purple dwagons can be seen either falling as corpses, or being harvested by their human riders. A smaller number of Pinks and yellows can be seen struggling to fly by rapidly flapping their wings, while their Heavy Hobgobwin riders cause them to sink. A hobgobwin in the foreground looks at his mount while lifting one of his eyebrows in a confused manner.

IPTSF Text 34

2012-12-17T18:19:13Z

Shai-hulud:

{{pager int|Text 34|IPTSF}}

{{needsimprovement|Links, formatting}}
[[Jillian]] rounded another corner and found another dull flight of stairs to climb. Her sandaled feet plop-plopped up the steps without enthusiasm. [[Jack Snipe]] followed, kindly walking her back to her suite, much like helping an incapacitated unit off the battlefield.

Court was still proceeding, in its way. The Jack would normally have been providing the entertainment, but most of [[Faq]]’s [[casters]] were spending the evening quietly discussing and meditating upon the grave course of action the [[Banhammer|King]] had “distilled from the wise counsel of all.” That course amounted to throwing out all of Jillian’s ideas and ordering her out to do what they’d intended for her in the first place: go find a bolt hole for the casters. The only new directive was, “hurry up about it.”

She’d tried tonight. She had really dug in her heels. She made her case three or four different ways. By the end, she could hear herself yelling, and at that point her father cut her off. She had lost. Again, and as usual.

“The term they prefer for you is ‘turbulent,’” said Jack, following a step or two behind her on the stairs. “I believe I shall be sick of the sound of that word over the next few turns.”

Jillian grunted. “They’ll get over it. I’m not around very often to kick their house of cards.”

“Mm. More’s the pity. But don’t take all the credit for that, [[Princess]]. This business about moving up the timetable for our doom is what’s really got everyone’s feathers on backward,” said Jack thoughtfully. “It’s certainly got me worried.”

“Yeah, I gotta talk to [[Marie]] about that,” said Jillian. “Get her to nail down how much time we really have left. Or even how doomed we really are.”

“Good luck. The Good Sister is quite serious about her craft.”

Jillian sneered. Yeah, all the casters were so very serious. “What does that mean?”

“She’ll tell you that it means...that the more she tells you, the worse off you’ll be. She’s a fun one to spar with at Court,” he said, with a hint of genuine admiration. “I usually lose.”

“I hear that,” said Jillian.

“What I find so disconcerting about it is that she changed her mind immediately upon hearing the name ‘[[Wanda|Lady Firebaugh]].’”

Jillian came to the top of the stairs and spun around to face him. He stopped, unfazed by the sudden reverse. “I noticed that! Why? What do you know about her?” she said.

“Nothing at all,” said Jack. His voice he lowered to a conspiratorial murmur. “But Sister Marie’s response to the name brought to my mind the recollection a certain day.”

Jillian waited for him to continue. He stood on the top step, glancing down both long corridors and up the next flight of stairs before continuing.

“It was before you were popped. We met a [[Croakamancer]] in the [[Magic Kingdom]], and our Sister Marie has never been the same woman since. Shortly after the encounter, King Banhammer ordered an [[heir]] to be popped. I’ve long suspected that she made her Prediction about the fall of the kingdom at that time. So perhaps that was ‘Lady Firebaugh.’”

Jillian frowned. “If she knew then, why didn’t—”

“Sh,” said Jack, putting his hand on Jillian’s arm. He was looking past her, down the long corridor which led to her suite. “Little shadow on your door, see it?” whispered the [[Foolamancer]].

She turned to look. This was her floor, and that was her suite at the end of the hall. Which meant no more stairs, hooray. She couldn’t necessarily see what he meant at first, but after squinting at the open door, she did see something move.

“Are you expecting the room to be occupied?” whispered the Jack.

“No, but it could be a servant. I left the room a mess,” she admitted. She found she was whispering too.

“Too furtive, I think,” whispered Jack, shaking his head. How exactly could he tell that? “I’d like to [[stack]], and spend a bit of [[juice]], if I might?”

Jillian gave him a nod, which served as her order to proceed. They stacked. Jack stepped lightly around her, looking her up and down. “[[Crypsis]],” he whispered, his hand twitching. The air shimmered a bit, but there was no other effect.

“Now we won’t be noticed, neither heard nor seen,” said Jack in a normal tone of voice. “Let’s go and have a look!”

He took a few carefree steps toward the suite. Jillian followed down the empty hallway. The shadow on the door got more noticeable as they approached. There was definitely someone in there.

Jack poked his head in the doorway first. Jillian saw his eyes go wide with shock and his head pop back as if he’d just walked into a window pane. Then those wide eyes slowly narrowed and settled into a look of deep disapproval. He turned his head and looked at her.

“It’s, er— It’s...nothing you’re going to want to see. But go on.” He stepped out of her way, gesturing.

Jillian was too tired to guess, so she stepped right into the room. It was still a mess, but this was not quite the mess she had left. The armoire was open, as were the bureau drawers. Her clothes—mostly her “home” raiment but also a lot of her undergarments from the field—were strewn around on the bed and the floor.

Right in the middle of the room stood Faq’s [[Shockamancy|Shockamancer]], [[Rusty Trombone]], a tall, gaunt man, with long curly brown hair and an imperial soul patch beneath his lower lip.

He was wearing the green satin robe of Court, and (Jillian could unfortunately see) nothing else. In both his fists, he was holding two or three of her underthings. With his robe open, he looked vaguely up at the ceiling while he slowly rubbed the garments up and down his front. He was humming very quietly.

Jillian watched him for a moment, completely unprepared to even start thinking about how to react to this. In these few moments of stunned silence, her one utterly bizarre thought was that at least there was one other person here who was happy she was home.

Rusty held the two clumps of underwear to his face and took several deep whiffs, whispering “ahhhh” after each. Then he dropped them to the floor, knelt down before the bureau, and began rummaging through the bottom drawer.

“Jack,” said Jillian, not turning around, “you’re about to see something here that might make you think less of me. You probably just want to go and fetch [[Betsy Murgatroyd|Betsy]] right now.”

“Oh. Oh, your [[Royal]] Highness, no,” said Jack very seriously, “I, too, take my craft seriously. A Foolamancer must see the world for exactly what it is, and what others wish it to be. If one loves a rose for its petals, then hates the poor flower for its thorns, then that’s no sort of love at all.”

Jillian glanced back at him. “What?”

Jack gave her an odd little smile. “I’ll fetch the [[Healomancer]] in good time. But I’d like to watch you work.”

She nodded. “Nnkay,” she said, glancing around the room. “Drop the [[veil]].”

She started by ripping one of the posts out of the canopy bed, more to make an opening statement than for its practical use as a bludgeon. No, the candlestick holders would prove better for that. And the tea set. The tea set would be fun...

[[Category:Page Annotation/IPTSF|034]]

IPTSF Text 52

2012-11-26T02:05:21Z

Shai-hulud:

{{pager int|Text 52|IPTSF}}

The things [[Jillian]] had learned and the things she had only imagined were smeared together in her mind, like two colors of paint on a palette. She’d certainly lived more days in the [[Olive Garden]], but she couldn’t say how many. A lot, maybe. With the field of pink [[plants|flowers]] at hand, it was easy and pleasant here. And what was time?

[[Judy]] lived in the [[City]] of [[Efbaum]], which seemed pretty much empty (she had only ever seen a [[scarecrow]] unit and some kind of metal [[golem]] guarding it). But Jillian found she couldn’t be there long without getting dizzy and sick. Something about all the shimmering green made her wretch. It was the wrong shade or something. She slept outside, on the moss of the stream bank, and ate berries and fruits.

Both by day and by night, she dreamed. She walked in something like space or air, looking at the things behind the things. Everything seemed to have numbers behind it, but the number was too high to count, or she wasn’t high enough to count it, or something. In the corners of directions that had no names, she saw borders, like [[hex]] borders, but these were the edges between [[reality]] and...something else. Unreality? Potential reality Other reality? She didn’t know, because she couldn’t go there to see it.

At some point, inevitably, all of that would start to slide away. Falling out of a dream was scary, and could hurt quite a lot.

When Jillian had fallen and her flower was stale, she would sometimes remember things about who she was, what her mission was, and even that she was held captive and she ought to try to escape. The bald [[jester]] would return, to shout and curse at her. She tried to go without a flower sometimes, to get her thoughts straight. But the flower dreams were not replaced with clarity, only by headaches and need. No plan of hers to [[escape]] or overpower Judy or seize the city lasted even thirty minutes. She always found herself back on the yellow road, back in the field, picking a new flower. Dreaming again.

Then came a day when she didn’t fall down from the dream. She was pulled.

Smoothness touched her hand. It wrapped around her wrist, grabbing firmly and tugging her down (or...out, or some other direction) from the dream. The weird angles collapsed into straight lines, the numbers blurred, sunlight touched her face. The colors were only green leaves and flowers and blue sky. It was morning in the garden.

And [[Dame]] [[Olive Branch|Branch]] was here, holding her hand.

“Hello, Jillian,” said her captor, smiling.

“That’s me...” she said, just to confirm it.

“Uh huh,” nodded Dame Branch. “It’s time to talk about your future, dear. If you want one. Can you sit up for me?”

Jillian’s hand went to her head, feeling a tangle of hair but no flower there. She looked around by the bole of the tree where she’d slept. The extra one she had picked yesterday was gone. She frowned, and sat up, looking around in quietly frantic confusion.

“You’ll have one if you’re good,” said Dame Branch.

The seriousness of that statement struck her a cold-handed slap, and she focused on the [[Florist]]. She hadn’t gone without a flower for a long time now. She didn’t like that.

“Please...” she said, with a gummy throat.

Dame Branch smiled, looking deeply satisfied. “You see that? We never needed Tina at all.”

Jillian shook her head, not knowing the name “Tina.” But Dame Branch wasn’t addressing her now. She let go of Jillian’s hand and rose to her feet, turning to look back over her shoulder.

“Your failure and hers, [[Wanda]]. Remember that. [[Life]] conquers all.”

Jillian’s heart, already pounding for fear of not getting another flower, tripped over itself at the name. The view behind Dame Branch’s golden hair was no longer just a blur of colors. One of those blurs wasn't the thin white sapling she’d taken it for. It was Mistress—or, it was Lady Firebaugh.

Jillian squinted, pulling the [[Croakamancer]] into focus. She looked different now. Worse. She was wearing only some kind of white gauze, wrapped around her cadaverous body in strips. Her skin was nearly as pale as the gauze. And she wore a pink flower in her hair. Jillian’s fear mixed with envy, and she considered pouncing to grab it.

“Yes, Mistress,” said the Lady Firebaugh, with lids half-closed. Her posture was slumped, defeated. “Although...she hasn’t yet—”

“She’s about to. Now, Jillian,” said the Florist, crouching and turning a kind face to her once more, “you must know we can’t afford to keep you as a [[prisoner]] forever. We could use a [[warlord]] of your level, but we can’t pay your [[upkeep]] if you’re not going to be on our [[side]]. So it’s time for you to turn to [[Haffaton]], dear. What do you say?”

After all of this time, something reached through to what Jillian recognized as herself. The enemy...yes, that’s right, the ''enemy'' was asking her to turn! She couldn’t bring herself to speak, but the look on her face must have told all. She clamped her lips together and shook her head violently. It was all she could do. Words wouldn’t come.

Dame Branch continued to smile, but her eyes no longer did. “Now, Jillian. The alternative is rather gruesome, I have to admit. Do you want to go the way of the other warlords from [[Faq]]? Do you want to be [[croaked]], and your body used like a puppet?”

Jillian shook her head again, keeping her lips pressed together. Tears were forming at the corners of her, and her face felt hot. This was just ''unfair''.

“Do you want a flower?” asked Dame Branch.

“Yes!” blurted Jillian. ''Oh Titans, she wanted one.''

“Well, you can have lots of them, dear! All you want,” she said. “But you’ll have to earn them. You’ll have to undo some of the damage you’ve done, and play nice with us, and defend Haffaton instead of wrecking everything, okay?”

A whole chorus of voices shouted “No!” inside her aching head. The little fat jester was among them. Jillian’s mouth hung open, and she shook her head helplessly.

“I understand,” said Dame Branch sadly. “But let me show you something that may change your mind. Can you stand up for me?”

It came with the force of a captor’s order, and Jillian lacked any strength to resist. She took the offered hand, and rose to her feet. Dame Branch led her around the tree to the stream bank. Lady Firebaugh followed at a distance.

“Look down,” said Dame Branch. “Do you recognize these plants?”

Jillian looked. At her feet, lovingly planted between the roots of the great tree she’d slept beneath were tiny miniature trees. She certainly did know them. No longer in porcelain pots, no longer kept on pedestals, these were the tiny, revered trees of the Court of Faq.

And on the stream bank, newly planted wussywillows grew beside the thorny red rosebushes. Jillian’s mouth hung open for a moment. Then she dropped to her knees in the mud, and put her hands over her eyes, and let out a mournful, lupine howl.

“Your [[Loyalty]] isn’t your fault, really,” said Dame Branch, putting her hand on Jillian’s sobbing shoulder. “It’s even admirable. But it’s misplaced. There’s nothing left to be loyal to now but Haffaton.”

Jillian curled in a ball on the muddy ground, pulling away from the enemy’s hand and crying into her stomach. Her hair touched a soft branch from one of the little trees. Dame Branch allowed her to weep.

If Faq was gone, there was nothing to be alive for. Why fight anything or anyone? No, she ''would'' rather croak and have her body used by Mistress Wanda. Let Mistress have her way, she didn’t care. Maybe it would bring her some joy. ''Send my spirit to the Titans.'' She would not serve here willingly.

But she could say none of that. She could only lay there, crying into the mud. The voices in her head were crying, too. The whole world was crying.

But not the jester.

For once, the jester in her mind did not dance and yell. He stood with his hands folded before him, his mouth closed, his expression somber. As her attention fell upon him, it was as if a beam of sunlight fell in a circle around him, and all the wails and cries were muted.

“[[Banhammer]] lives. Do not turn,” said the jester. Then the beam of sunlight brightened, and he faded away.

She stopped crying. She was all here now, sober. Lying in the mud in the enemy’s lovely garden. She sat up, and with sudden clarity said, “But...Faq didn’t fall.”

Jillian heard Lady Firebaugh make some kind of stifled sound.

“Faq, [[Otoh]], and [[Kibo]] are Haffaton cities now,” said Dame Branch evenly.

“I’m not a [[Ruler]],” said Jillian. “My father escaped, didn’t he? He finally got off his huge keister and moved!”

Dame Branch took a deep, slow breath. “Would you like a flower, Jillian?”

“Yes,” she said again. “But I won’t turn for one...”

“You don’t have to, today,” said Dame Branch. “For now, just tell me where you think they went.”

“They.” Jillian gaped. The corners of her mouth turned ever so slightly upward. “The whole Court got out?”

Dame Branch no longer even faked a smile. “Where did they go, Jillian? Are they going to be a problem for us?”

“No,” said Jillian. In combat, the Chief trusted herself to find a reserve when things got tough. But she amazed herself with the magnificent lie that spilled right out of her mouth. “No, I don’t think so. They would have gone south. Father always planned to join [[Transylvito]] if we got conquered. That’s probably where he went. I bet they’re just negotiating for everyone to turn now. I guess they’ll only be a problem if you try to take Transylvito.”

Dame Branch looked into her eyes for a long moment, but Jillian kept her gaze steady, sincere, needy. That last part, she didn’t have to fake.

The Florist stood and turned around, walking up to Lady Firebaugh, whose chin was raised.

“I did say...” said the Croakamancer.

The Florist’s left hand flashed out and grabbed the Lady Firebaugh’s throat. With her right hand, she tore the flower from the Croakamancer’s hair and tossed it over her shoulder at the tree. Jillian leaped to her feet and greedily retrieved it from the mossy carpet. She attached it to her head, and the glorious relief washed over her. The first trickles of new dreams dripped into her mind, and she sat back down on the mossy path to welcome them.

When she looked up, Dame Branch was putting something different in Lady Firebaugh’s hair. It was a hoop, made of twisted rose stems. The blossoms had been torn off of it and tossed aside carelessly. She put the thorny circlet on Lady Firebaugh’s bowed head and smacked it in place, causing the Croakamancer to cry out.

“There, be right,” said Dame Branch petulantly. “Enjoy being right. Is that fun? Here!”

She grabbed Lady Firebaugh by the arm now, and hurled her. She tumbled to the ground beside Jillian, who gawked.

“Enjoy it together! Be little conquered sweethearts together! You can trade stories of how Haffaton rolled over you. Maybe she’ll get up in the middle of the night and put you out of my misery!”

Jillian tried to ask a question, but the dreams were coming now. She lay back down on the moss, and forgot what a “question” was.

==Notes==
* Wanda is dressed like Leeloo from the movie The Fifth Element

[[Category:Page Annotation/IPTSF|052]]

IPTSF Text 52

2012-11-26T01:57:40Z

Shai-hulud:

{{pager int|Text 52|IPTSF}}

The things [[Jillian]] had learned and the things she had only imagined were smeared together in her mind, like two colors of paint on a palette. She’d certainly lived more days in the [[Olive Garden]], but she couldn’t say how many. A lot, maybe. With the field of pink [[plants|flowers]] at hand, it was easy and pleasant here. And what was time?

[[Judy]] lived in the [[City]] of [[Efbaum]], which seemed pretty much empty (she had only ever seen a [[scarecrow]] unit and some kind of metal [[golem]] guarding it). But Jillian found she couldn’t be there long without getting dizzy and sick. Something about all the shimmering green made her wretch. It was the wrong shade or something. She slept outside, on the moss of the stream bank, and ate berries and fruits.

Both by day and by night, she dreamed. She walked in something like space or air, looking at the things behind the things. Everything seemed to have numbers behind it, but the number was too high to count, or she wasn’t high enough to count it, or something. In the corners of directions that had no names, she saw borders, like [[hex]] borders, but these were the edges between [[reality]] and...something else. Unreality? Potential reality Other reality? She didn’t know, because she couldn’t go there to see it.

At some point, inevitably, all of that would start to slide away. Falling out of a dream was scary, and could hurt quite a lot.

When Jillian had fallen and her flower was stale, she would sometimes remember things about who she was, what her mission was, and even that she was held captive and she ought to try to escape. The bald [[jester]] would return, to shout and curse at her. She tried to go without a flower sometimes, to get her thoughts straight. But the flower dreams were not replaced with clarity, only by headaches and need. No plan of hers to [[escape]] or overpower Judy or seize the city lasted even thirty minutes. She always found herself back on the yellow road, back in the field, picking a new flower. Dreaming again.

Then came a day when she didn’t fall down from the dream. She was pulled.

Smoothness touched her hand. It wrapped around her wrist, grabbing firmly and tugging her down (or...out, or some other direction) from the dream. The weird angles collapsed into straight lines, the numbers blurred, sunlight touched her face. The colors were only green leaves and flowers and blue sky. It was morning in the garden.

And [[Dame]] [[Olive Branch|Branch]] was here, holding her hand.

“Hello, Jillian,” said her captor, smiling.

“That’s me...” she said, just to confirm it.

“Uh huh,” nodded Dame Branch. “It’s time to talk about your future, dear. If you want one. Can you sit up for me?”

Jillian’s hand went to her head, feeling a tangle of hair but no flower there. She looked around by the bole of the tree where she’d slept. The extra one she had picked yesterday was gone. She frowned, and sat up, looking around in quietly frantic confusion.

“You’ll have one if you’re good,” said Dame Branch.

The seriousness of that statement struck her a cold-handed slap, and she focused on the [[Florist]]. She hadn’t gone without a flower for a long time now. She didn’t like that.

“Please...” she said, with a gummy throat.

Dame Branch smiled, looking deeply satisfied. “You see that? We never needed Tina at all.”

Jillian shook her head, not knowing the name “Tina.” But Dame Branch wasn’t addressing her now. She let go of Jillian’s hand and rose to her feet, turning to look back over her shoulder.

“Your failure and hers, [[Wanda]]. Remember that. Life conquers all.”

Jillian’s heart, already pounding for fear of not getting another flower, tripped over itself at the name. The view behind Dame Branch’s golden hair was no longer just a blur of colors. One of those blurs wasn't the thin white sapling she’d taken it for. It was Mistress—or, it was Lady Firebaugh.

Jillian squinted, pulling the [[Croakamancer]] into focus. She looked different now. Worse. She was wearing only some kind of white gauze, wrapped around her cadaverous body in strips. Her skin was nearly as pale as the gauze. And she wore a pink flower in her hair. Jillian’s fear mixed with envy, and she considered pouncing to grab it.

“Yes, Mistress,” said the Lady Firebaugh, with lids half-closed. Her posture was slumped, defeated. “Although...she hasn’t yet—”

“She’s about to. Now, Jillian,” said the Florist, crouching and turning a kind face to her once more, “you must know we can’t afford to keep you as a [[prisoner]] forever. We could use a [[warlord]] of your level, but we can’t pay your [[upkeep]] if you’re not going to be on our [[side]]. So it’s time for you to turn to [[Haffaton]], dear. What do you say?”

After all of this time, something reached through to what Jillian recognized as herself. The enemy...yes, that’s right, the ''enemy'' was asking her to turn! She couldn’t bring herself to speak, but the look on her face must have told all. She clamped her lips together and shook her head violently. It was all she could do. Words wouldn’t come.

Dame Branch continued to smile, but her eyes no longer did. “Now, Jillian. The alternative is rather gruesome, I have to admit. Do you want to go the way of the other warlords from [[Faq]]? Do you want to be [[croaked]], and your body used like a puppet?”

Jillian shook her head again, keeping her lips pressed together. Tears were forming at the corners of her, and her face felt hot. This was just ''unfair''.

“Do you want a flower?” asked Dame Branch.

“Yes!” blurted Jillian. ''Oh Titans, she wanted one.''

“Well, you can have lots of them, dear! All you want,” she said. “But you’ll have to earn them. You’ll have to undo some of the damage you’ve done, and play nice with us, and defend Haffaton instead of wrecking everything, okay?”

A whole chorus of voices shouted “No!” inside her aching head. The little fat jester was among them. Jillian’s mouth hung open, and she shook her head helplessly.

“I understand,” said Dame Branch sadly. “But let me show you something that may change your mind. Can you stand up for me?”

It came with the force of a captor’s order, and Jillian lacked any strength to resist. She took the offered hand, and rose to her feet. Dame Branch led her around the tree to the stream bank. Lady Firebaugh followed at a distance.

“Look down,” said Dame Branch. “Do you recognize these plants?”

Jillian looked. At her feet, lovingly planted between the roots of the great tree she’d slept beneath were tiny miniature trees. She certainly did know them. No longer in porcelain pots, no longer kept on pedestals, these were the tiny, revered trees of the Court of Faq.

And on the stream bank, newly planted wussywillows grew beside the thorny red rosebushes. Jillian’s mouth hung open for a moment. Then she dropped to her knees in the mud, and put her hands over her eyes, and let out a mournful, lupine howl.

“Your [[Loyalty]] isn’t your fault, really,” said Dame Branch, putting her hand on Jillian’s sobbing shoulder. “It’s even admirable. But it’s misplaced. There’s nothing left to be loyal to now but Haffaton.”

Jillian curled in a ball on the muddy ground, pulling away from the enemy’s hand and crying into her stomach. Her hair touched a soft branch from one of the little trees. Dame Branch allowed her to weep.

If Faq was gone, there was nothing to be alive for. Why fight anything or anyone? No, she ''would'' rather croak and have her body used by Mistress Wanda. Let Mistress have her way, she didn’t care. Maybe it would bring her some joy. ''Send my spirit to the Titans.'' She would not serve here willingly.

But she could say none of that. She could only lay there, crying into the mud. The voices in her head were crying, too. The whole world was crying.

But not the jester.

For once, the jester in her mind did not dance and yell. He stood with his hands folded before him, his mouth closed, his expression somber. As her attention fell upon him, it was as if a beam of sunlight fell in a circle around him, and all the wails and cries were muted.

“[[Banhammer]] lives. Do not turn,” said the jester. Then the beam of sunlight brightened, and he faded away.

She stopped crying. She was all here now, sober. Lying in the mud in the enemy’s lovely garden. She sat up, and with sudden clarity said, “But...Faq didn’t fall.”

Jillian heard Lady Firebaugh make some kind of stifled sound.

“Faq, [[Otoh]], and [[Kibo]] are Haffaton cities now,” said Dame Branch evenly.

“I’m not a [[Ruler]],” said Jillian. “My father escaped, didn’t he? He finally got off his huge keister and moved!”

Dame Branch took a deep, slow breath. “Would you like a flower, Jillian?”

“Yes,” she said again. “But I won’t turn for one...”

“You don’t have to, today,” said Dame Branch. “For now, just tell me where you think they went.”

“They.” Jillian gaped. The corners of her mouth turned ever so slightly upward. “The whole Court got out?”

Dame Branch no longer even faked a smile. “Where did they go, Jillian? Are they going to be a problem for us?”

“No,” said Jillian. In combat, the Chief trusted herself to find a reserve when things got tough. But she amazed herself with the magnificent lie that spilled right out of her mouth. “No, I don’t think so. They would have gone south. Father always planned to join [[Transylvito]] if we got conquered. That’s probably where he went. I bet they’re just negotiating for everyone to turn now. I guess they’ll only be a problem if you try to take Transylvito.”

Dame Branch looked into her eyes for a long moment, but Jillian kept her gaze steady, sincere, needy. That last part, she didn’t have to fake.

The Florist stood and turned around, walking up to Lady Firebaugh, whose chin was raised.

“I did say...” said the Croakamancer.

The Florist’s left hand flashed out and grabbed the Lady Firebaugh’s throat. With her right hand, she tore the flower from the Croakamancer’s hair and tossed it over her shoulder at the tree. Jillian leaped to her feet and greedily retrieved it from the mossy carpet. She attached it to her head, and the glorious relief washed over her. The first trickles of new dreams dripped into her mind, and she sat back down on the mossy path to welcome them.

When she looked up, Dame Branch was putting something different in Lady Firebaugh’s hair. It was a hoop, made of twisted rose stems. The blossoms had been torn off of it and tossed aside carelessly. She put the thorny circlet on Lady Firebaugh’s bowed head and smacked it in place, causing the Croakamancer to cry out.

“There, be right,” said Dame Branch petulantly. “Enjoy being right. Is that fun? Here!”

She grabbed Lady Firebaugh by the arm now, and hurled her. She tumbled to the ground beside Jillian, who gawked.

“Enjoy it together! Be little conquered sweethearts together! You can trade stories of how Haffaton rolled over you. Maybe she’ll get up in the middle of the night and put you out of my misery!”

Jillian tried to ask a question, but the dreams were coming now. She lay back down on the moss, and forgot what a “question” was.

==Notes==
* Wanda is dressed like Leeloo from the movie The Fifth Element

[[Category:Page Annotation/IPTSF|052]]