Talking to a Rauch Feen: Part 2

The Black Sand

Kiren: “Straight to the point. I respect that. Time is a commodity after all.” Pulling on her knowledge of fey ego and her ability to disguise her real intent within all the chaos, she rides the line between preening and arrogance. Appear too weak and you become prey. Too strong, you offend.  

Kiren: “You and yours hear things, reaching from the hearths of this university, to the Bone House, to the Whispering Cairn, to the very pristine chimneys of the rich elite – though I doubt they do more than pay lip service tribute to your work there. Is there anywhere you cannot be? I think not. Mayhap even unto the First World itself.” Her voice turns whisper quiet, knowing the Feen would have no problem hearing her.

Kiren:  “I too would like to hear things. Of course, one must always be paid for their efforts. Unlike some, I do more than lip service.”

Kiren watches his body language to see if she’s taken the right tact with him. Feen are not like her marks in the town. Crafty, like most fey, they always looked for a bargain, or to completely hoodwink you if possible.
He shifted his weight as he listened, the faint flicker of his flame casting jittery shadows over his soot-streaked face. Her words were measured, and he could hear the calculation in them, even if she was skilled enough to hide her true intent. He sniffed, less out of necessity and more out of instinct, and then let out a low chuckle—half amusement, half suspicion.

Rauch Feen: “Ah, ye think yer clever, don’t ye, lass?” His voice rasped like the scrape of kindling. “Walkin’ the line between deference and pride. A dangerous dance, that one. Mortals so often stumble when they think they know the steps. “

He leaned in slightly, still clutching the small flame in his hand, the light reflecting off his dark, weathered eyes. His tone was more measured now, less gruff, but tinged with the wariness that comes from centuries of dealing with trickery, both from fey and mortals alike.

Rauch Feen: “Aye, we hear things. We see things. We’re everywhere, like the smoke that curls from your chimneys, creeping into every corner.”

He paused for a moment, considering her, tapping the side of his nose with one long, sooty finger.

Rauch Feen: “But you… you claim to do more than lip service like the well-to-do with their pristine chimneys. That catches me ear, lass. A mortal who knows the old ways, maybe? Yes? No? No matter, you’ve got me attention, for now. 

Rauch Feen: “Ah, but these old bones of mine creak somethin’ fierce in the chill of this room. So, ye won’t be havin’ my attention for long. Though… for your fine coffee paper, I suppose I’ll be generous—three questions, lass, no more. So, out with it—what is it ye truly seek to know?”

His gaze lingered on her, cautious but intrigued. He hadn’t yet decided if this mortal was worth more than the curiosity that had pulled him from the hearth. Yet, he could sense something more—a whiff of potential future bargains, the kind that always tempted his kind. After all, it wasn’t just the present deal that intrigued him; it was the promise of more to come.

Kiren: “Well now we can’t have the cold interrupting us when bargains are being struck.”

A half smile catches a corner of Kiren’s mouth. She had anticipated this ploy to a certain extent. Reaching into one of the many pouches secreted about her person, she pulls out a hidden piece of wood. The thick branch of hazel with a nut still attached. A weathered page in the tome avowed the wood as magical and the nuts were thought to hold nuggets of wisdom or knowledge waiting to be cracked. Hopefully the tome had been correct. She moved slowly, her gaze never leaving the Feen as she added the new wood to the crackling fire.

Kiren: “Three questions you say. That seems fitting…for this visit.” The challenge lingered in the air with Kiren’s offered enticement. But one thing at a time. 

Kiren: “For mere mortals like myself can only understand so much information at a time. Alas, a failing I despise, but one must work with what one has.”

Kiren returned to her comfortable chair near the fire. The fireside tete-a-tete between them amused and invigorated.
Her mind, teasing at a memory not yet willing to come to the fore of another she once verbally sparred with. The crackle and snap of the wood succumbing to the heat, leached more of the cold air out of the room. She extended a hand to indicate the remaining chair, unsure if the Feen would sit or not, but curtsies must be observed.

Kiren: “I believe you are creatures with natural origins adapted to our, shall we say, impingement on your home. You found a balance. Yet the black sands that have been plaguing the city as of late, seem to subvert and unbalance that delicate adaptation and the natural order you have enjoyed in this place. Have you found this – Morpheus Tears –  disruptive to your existence in large areas in the city or like in a specific area – this university even?”

The Rauch Feen eyed the hazel branch Kiren added to the fire. As the flames took to it his wrinkled face twitched with mild approval, though he tried to hide it behind a gruff cough. He stretched his soot-covered hands toward the blaze and, with a creak of old joints, shuffled closer to enjoy the hazel smoke.

Rauch Feen: “Ahh, that’s more like it. Can’t have a proper chat with me bones rattlin’ from the cold, now can we?” He glanced at the offered chair but remained standing, preferring to be closer to the fire’s heart.

Rauch Feen: “Morpheus Tears, aye? Or that black sand muck, if ye like. Ain’t bin much trouble for us lot, not really. Seen it clog up a few chimneys ‘ere and there, though. Nasty stuff, doesn’t burn right—sticks to the flue like tar, makes the draft all funny. Mostly seen it in the chimneys by the natural sciences buildings. Been a bit in the arcane and alchemical places too. Bit of a bother, that.”

He grumbled, scratching his chin with a soot-blackened finger.

Rauch Feen: “I don’t wander much beyond the university these days—too much bother, really. But I’ve heard some gossip from me mates on the outside, the ones what work other places. Seems that black muck’s showin’ up in some of the chimneys over at them artificers’ workshops in the city. Nasty business, it is. Chimneys ain’t breathin’ proper, not like they should.”

He scratched at his whiskers, then added in a casual aside.

Rauch Feen: “One of me kin even claimed he spotted it over in a house a student rents, though. Odd place for it to turn up, but there ye have it.”

He straightened up a bit, giving Kiren a sly look.

Rauch Feen: “That’s yer first one, lass. What else be burnin’ a hole in yer mind, eh? Ye’ve got two more logs left to toss in the fire.”