Fable - Ask At the Wrong End of a Bottle

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Garrod Arlette

Demon Bearer
Character Biography
The wagon train had come to rest along a woodland road. Caravanners made ready the camp, and Garrod hopped off the wagon, armored up as he was. He stretched, this way and that, and his cuirass rattled with his movement.

"Think I saw a beach down the eastern side of the trail," he said as he remembered the shimmer and glitter of the light dancing off the waves. "Gonna go and, have myself a walk," the hunter told his traveling companion.

He had met Kiros in a ill-fortuned adventure. The man was well spirited, and came in handy in a pinch. What with that divine magick of his.

"Feel free to join me if you'd like," Garrod added, rolling his shoulder as he made off for the shore.

It was minutes later, along the
the sandy shore, as the waves crashed and crashed. Ebbed and flowed. He saw something ... ominous. Almost as if it were wreathed in shadow. Its contents swirling.

Investigate it, Oh Bearer Mine, his demon whispered from its lonely jewel. Tell me, does it not please you, greatly?

Garrod walked over to the bottle, and picked it up with his white armored hand.

Belephus grinned, wide and sharp in the back of his neck.

Farzad Oldsummer Kiros Rahnel
Kiros hopped off the wagon with his silver pipe in hand, already packed and waiting for the moment it came to a stop. As Garrod stretched, he helped the caravanners get the fire underway. While helpful, Kiros really just wanted a source of flame to light his pipe. Extending a thin slice of wood in the fire, he then brought it to the bowl of his pipe, taking a puff to ensure it was lit.

"Think I saw a beach down the eastern side of the trail, gonna go and, have myself a walk." Garrod remarked. The notion was amenable enough. A soothing walk did always go well with the pipe, and now that he had it lit he had taken care of all he needed to for the moment.

“Well now, I'll take that offer.” Kiros replied heartily, and the two walked over to the beach. A short stroll later and the tobacco in the pipe was spent. Kiros emptied it out and cleaning it while Garrod continued to wander. Once satisfied, Kiros tucked it back within his robes and looked to his companion, who was reaching for some strange and extremely ominous object off the ground. Kiros watched as he plucked it up, its shadowy contents swirling about.

“What is that?” He asked, startled with immediate concern over the unknown bottle. Kiros gripped Heirahit in hand, ready to invoke an incantation of Immute to quell any foul magic that he imagined it might contain.

But only if. Until more was revealed, Kiros retained his focus on the item of concern.

Farzad Oldsummer Garrod Arlette
Belephus whispered in his ear. Open it, Oh Bearer Mine. Open it, and find out what lays inside. What lays in wait for thee.

If not for the sweet smell of Kiro's pipe smoke, then Garrod would have likely popped the cork right then and there.

"I'm... going to open it," he warned the Priest, with a devilish smirk crooking his lips. "Ready?"

He took his left hand, and popped the cork with a hollow, thoonk. His eye wide as he looked down at the bottle with excitement.

Delightful. His demon cooed, happily.

Farzad Oldsummer Kiros Rahnel
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ㅤ W h e r e ?

A m? ㅤ

I? ㅤ

The words rang as a haunting melody played on a D-Minor scale, the coo caught in the wayward breath of the sea as it lingered like a small in the air, ending on an audible pop.


ㅤ S m e l l

S e a ㅤ

ㅤS u c h

ㅤ S a l t

Words continued training out like a rhythmic dance, streaming into the air like some comical strip. There was a pause, the liquid goo inside a spiral and swirl of dulled colours. They were there, colour, just almost entirely greyscaled as if the very shimmer of light was sucked out by the potion of vile spit, forming a bubble and gurgle of froth at the rim of the bottle.

P o u rㅤ

ㅤM e

F r e e ㅤ

M eㅤ

ㅤ S e e

M e ㅤ

Garrod Arlette \ Kiros Rahnel
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Kiros stood steady and watched on, faintly detecting the telling hum from the enchantment She had woven over Heirahit. Garrod held the bottle for a moment, and content that he had time for arcane investigation, Kiros instead opted for an incantation of Insight to see if anything could be gleamed from the bottle.

Finding this has made Her cross with you

And yet again, he had somehow unknowingly crossed Her.

Garrod announced his intention to open it, and Kiros considered the matter. All his spell had truly told him was that Itra cared not for what was within the bottle – which made Kiros all the more interested in what it was. He was bound to be smote regardless, and the price for curiosity had already been paid .

Well then, they may as well have a look.

It surely couldn't be all bad, if She disapproved.

Garrod Arlette Farzad Oldsummer
Garrod blinked as the bottle spoke to him. Its voice beseeching.

Let not a drop out, Oh Bearer Mine. His demon egged. Take it in. Drink deep the brine and broth that lay within that dread vile.

The Hunter grinned. To think, his demon would push him to drink from such a thing.

"What calls to me?" he asked, unsure of what exactly to do next, his eye looked up to Kiros, curious if the priest had an answer, though the way he had uttered his question sounded as if he were more curious as to the bottle's report, than the priests. That did not mean he would not take the holy man's council.

Kiros, after all, had proven to be a powerful force. Steadfast and sure, with divine blessing no less. Least... Garrod thought it was divine blessing.

"Speak, bottle being, so that I may better understand what calls to me,"

Farzad Oldsummer Kiros Rahnel
B o r nㅤ

ㅤO f

S u m m e r s ㅤ

O l dㅤ

ㅤ F a r

ㅤ T r a v e l e d

L o s t ㅤ

The possible djinn spoke back words caught in that morose tone, a little more spittle and sea foam broth spilling out, the trickles of colour slipping as it escaped the bleak bottle, Myriad of soft colors danced in strewn lines beneath the bubbles like seaweed caught in a little too strong wind.

ㅤD r a w n

T oㅤ

P e r i lㅤ

F o u n d

ㅤO n l y

T r a p p i n gㅤ

It be mused a little longer as if relishing the chance to be heard, though started to develop pitch, its voice still sounded like some forlorn sea spirit, wailing at the loss of a lover knowing and hoping it's worries will be traveled to the distant winds. But beyond that, some character, not quite life. But a pitter patter. Some dialect of human.
Kiros Rahnel / Garrod Arlette
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"What calls to me?" Garrod asked, though whether this was an explicit request for information remained vague. Gaining further information seemed prudent, but should he seek Her instruction? Certainly not. Even were the bottle a vessel for some sort of malevolent spirit, involving Her was never a good idea. Yet Heirahit remained another tool that could provide some further information. It could gauge the level of magical power held within it, which it had already signalled as non-negligible.

Garrod bid the vessel to speak and Kiros approached cautiously, his staff held tight as he tried to ascertain the degree of magic he could detect. While the presence of an arcane aura was clear, it was not of supernatural degree. It seemed unlikely that a djinn or deity was involved, but its nature was still uncertain. Yet there was a familiar aspect to the aura he could not quite identify. Unable to immediately place where he recognized it from, Kiros remained curious about what the source might be.

“It feels familiar...I find it worthy of further investigation.” Kiros spoke, a tone of curiosity to his voice.

“Can you sense anything of it?” He asked, wondering if Garrod had been able to sense anything beyond the cryptic words he had been able to hear.

Garrod Arlette Farzad Oldsummer
This was. Odd.

This is nothing. His demon chided. You eat odd for breakfast! It called out. I know, Oh Bearer Mine, because I want to eat your breakfast half the time.

Garrod huffed, the words that had bubbled out of the bottle, like seafoam and kelp bulbs, came with strange colors. His eye dart to Kiros.

"Can I..." he looked back down to the bottle in hand, and more words came out from it. "Poetry," he said with a soft smile. "Its a poet," he laughed at the thought. He fancied himself a poet from time to time. But from the few verses he had read, and the many he had penned, he pulled images far deadlier and dire than a whimsical being that penned poignant prose with push and pull of ink dipped quill.

He cleared his throat.

"Summer born, Peril Drawn, tell me more of your song,"

No no, don't ask it to sing. Drink it! EAT IT.

Kiros Rahnel Farzad Oldsummer
ㅤC i t y

B u r i e dㅤㅤ

ㅤL o s t

ㅤO f

T i m eㅤ

The voice echoed its haunted enchantments. Each new word and phrase creates an audible pop from the spilling foam, tiny slivers of colour staining the ground its mess of bright colours. The most intense being a stained pink on the sand.

O s t e r i amㅤ

The words rolled like poison, the very name betraying his feelings, the bottle shook a little at the mention of the buried city writing with all the force of a landlocked fish for a few seconds before being strangulated by the wicked air.

B e t r a y e d

F o r

T r i c k e r y

L o c k e d

A n d

P e d d l e d


Garrod Arlette / Kiros Rahnel
Garrod, by his account, had heard the same words from the bottle as Kiros. He wished he knew more of it, beyond Her apparent dislike of the mysterious, frothing object. Even were Insight to reveal new information to him, Itra would be aware that he cast the spell again. Having resigned himself to a smiting, it wasn’t as if She could smite him harder. But causing Her further irritation could endanger whomever or whatever happened to be contained within the bottle.

Garrod bid the bottle to speak further. Kiros cautiously approached, hand cupped beneath his chin in thought. Thus far, he had deduced that it couldn’t be of supernatural power, and that She cared not for it.

Betrayed for trickery, locked and peddled

He’d cast an incantation of Immute upon it to quell what arcane effect it carried, but that could be disastrous to whatever was inside. An incantation of Insight would reveal more, but could endanger the bottle with Her potential wrath. Bringing Heirahit to the bottle, Kiros softly rapped the bronze capped head against it twice.

“An ancient relic of a lost time, perhaps?” Kiros openly mused, considering conjecture that could explain the situation before them. By his interpretation, something had been deceived and trapped within the bottle to be sold. It seemed almost akin to the Vile Vase that Itra had constructed, although rather than poetry, that bottle had merely made incoherent screaming when opened.

Perhaps Itra had been the one to seal the it. It could explain the bitter tone the voice carried when speaking of the predicament. Kiros knew not why She might do such a thing, were She responsible. But the bottle might.

“Does Pneria frown upon you?” Kiros inquired. The question was vaguely given, with care to not speak Her name aloud and risk Her further involvement.

Farzad Oldsummer Garrod Arlette
It thrashed and jerked and Garrod did what he could to keep the speaking battle held in his hand, his lone green eye wide as he hunched toward the object. The bottle remained clutched in the bone-white grasp of Garrod's own relic. The words resonant to the Yaegir's own soul. Betrayal. Trickery. Locked and peddled.

He was taken back to a time where his own life was treated as currency. A thing to be peddled through tricks. Though much of that memory was locked away behind a door of green fire, and a handle jagged with smiling teeth. The memory of the betrayal.

The loss of his left eye.

Kiros' words plopped him back to reality. Or maybe it was one of the luminous bubbles of sound that poured out of the bottle's open mouth.

"Pneria," the hunter repeated softly, and looked up to find the lesser moon hanging high in the sky, its larger kin dominant upon the horizon.

Nevertheless, Garrod held the bottle out, closer to Kiros, and awaited its answer. A bit colder now, as he felt the hurt of old wounds.

Farzad Oldsummer Kiros Rahnel
He expected his inquiry to have caused a reaction, but the voice within the bottle remained concerned with only its own freedom. Though he’d not referred to Her directly, Kiros pondered for a moment in wonder of whether the entity actually had crossed Her. It was possible that there was another reason why the discovery of this object might upset Her, beyond Her presumed ire for it. Yet, he held no clue of whatever it might be.

Kiros was hesitant to make use of Her bestowed magic to gain any further hints, but the bottle followed up with further implied direction, yearning for ‘freedom on dirt’. His incantation of Insight had revealed that finding the bottle had made it cross, but it said nothing of dismantling it.

“I believe I can undo whatever magic constructed this.” Kiros remarked. Hesitant as he had been, the voice’s indifference towards Pneria eased his concerns. With few alternative options, Kiros uttered arcane words in an ancient tongue, concentrating to gain deeper insight into the machinations of the magical bottle before him. It would take a moment to study – were there a means of unravelling the enchantment and granting freedom to the one within beseeching them, Kiros would invoke an incantation of Immute to do precisely that.

Garrod Arlette Farzad Oldsummer
Garrod listened carefully to the words that came from the bottle's mouth.


What a word to hear come from a thing trapped behind magicked glass and clouded by enchanting colors and smells.

A word we can both relate too, isn't that so, Oh Bearer Mine? His own demon rumbled deep.

Garrod frowned at that. It was rare that he agreed with his... pacted one. "If you think it won't harm whatever may be inside," he said, some modicum of concern suddenly felt for the potential soul that spoke to them.

It could have been anything, really. Even a demon, or a djinn. Still, some part of him cared. "Bottled one," he spoke. "Be you mortal?" he asked, plain and crestfallen.

Farzad Oldsummer Kiros Rahnel
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ㅤㅤM o r t a l

T oㅤ

T i m eㅤ

ㅤㅤI m m o r t a l

ㅤㅤT o

H i s t o r yㅤㅤ

The potion brewed another frothy wave of bubbles, the faint simmer of colours was slowly trailing beneath it but the colours were becoming more erratic. Pinks mix with blue, greens with off-yellow. All mixing and melding into a collaboration on the ground.

The vial was a simple thing with even simpler incantation as if some novice alchemist had tinkered with some magic to lock something up. Whatever it was, it couldn't have held too much magical power beneath it as a few simple yet long-winded spells might have been able to breach it. A simple spilling or cracking of the vial was all it would take to unlock whatever djinn had found itself locked in it's tiny prison.

Garrod's question was apt, though Kiros was hesitant to take the response received at face value. Not all such entities were beholden to speak truth, and even those who were bound to honesty could still well mislead him. After all, She had.

Yet Kiros sensed no such aura. Heirahit gave no sign of higher power, and there was nothing else that was cause to doubt it held mortal origins. Though he dared not resort to his spell of Insight, opting instead to investigate though an incantation of Immute.

“Hold – I’ll attempt to unravel the binding magic.” Kiros announced, before uttering ancient words in a whisper and focusing his mind on the bottle again. With the spell ready, he gingerly let it make contact with the enchantment. The touch was light and careful, merely enough to test the threads of magic by which it had been enchanted. The magic within reacted readily to even a minor application of his spell, speaking to the flimsiness which which it had been written.

His incantation was a specialized tool that could unravel magical effects, and was far beyond what was necessary to undo such a simple construction. The arcane act could be compared to picking a clay lock with a steel mallet. With a focused touch, Kiros cast the spell anew, and the incantation broke and dispersed the magical effect that bound the bottle, though the simplest available means.

With the bottle still in Garrod's hands, the bottle popped of with a puff of smoke. The bubbling concoction within became free to spill out the instant it did.

Garrod Arlette Farzad Oldsummer
Garrod nod, and waited ready for what came next. Least, he thought he was ready.

He felt the magic that swirled about the bottle pop, and the energies within bubbled up. Spilled out, rushed. He stared at it wide eyed, still holding on to whatever part of it still stayed in his hand.

But even that came undone, and the thing inside swirled and spilled across the ground in a liquid pool of smoke that seemed to grow more solid with the passing moment.

Instinct had Garrod reach for his knife, his posture hunched and ready for whatever came next.

Farzad Oldsummer Kiros Rahnel
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F r e e d o m

The words oozed and bubbled into reality as the jar let out pulsating glugs, rasping air filling the vial as slowly the wispy Djinn turned to a mess of smoke. It rolled out, like tendons stretching out long and wide, figments of shapes forming in the ashen color. And then ashen colour turned to pops of different shades, the oozed bubbled as the smoke slowly coiled itself backwards, the tendons snapping, and shapes turned to figures.

M o r t a l i t y

At first. It was nothing more than a cloudy figment, struggling to acclimate to the newfound confines of physical shape. It took a few steps forward towards the duo, limbs abnormally stretching out as the faintest of shapes of fingers formed. Slowly. The ashen color started to pop with different myriad of one off colors struggling in the miasma before solidifying themselves with texture. Fabric, textiles of all types, rich as velvet to as poor as sackcloth all matched each other and rolled around limbs and solidifying themselves as scarves that interlaced each other.

Finally, the last pieces formed, that wispy voice turned. Whimsical? It seemed off-colour with a little too bubble and glee from the mystery that it was once laced with. "And deathly." It paused as the final shape formed, a wide brimmed hat that was stained with color. "And I do mean deathly." He repeated with added emphasis as he dragged a finger along the rim of his hat adding potent emphasis to his currently ashen eyes as he bounced between the duo. "Craving for something sweet." Spoken with a deaf finality to it.

"Though before that. I have three limited wishes I need to grant as promised."

Garrod Arlette / Kiros Rahnel
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It had been the briefest touch of magic that set the event into motion. Magic swirled and smoke wafted, while the colourful contents spilled out onto the sand at Garrod’s feet. Soon a form began to take shape from the released cloud with, bright and colourful as it continued to shift and change with Kiros’ full attention upon it.

He knew not what magic fuelled the effect he witnessed, yet remained prepare to counter it with a stronger application of his spell were it needed. But it was not, and the shapes began to turn into form as colourful than the bright wisps of smoke that was its origin. With his magical incantation prepared and ready, Kiros awaited further development with Heirahit brandished, should he need to wield it.

Only when the form focused further to include a distinctive wide brimmed hat did Kiros realize who must be beneath it. He hadn’t thought for a moment that it’d been Farzad, but he couldn’t imagine that it was anyone else. While he’d expected a Djinn or Fae to be entrapped within the vessel, he didn’t doubt that Farzad had managed to get himself stuck within it. The how or why of it eluded Kiros, but perhaps he could be regaled with the story. Quite a bit had occurred since they last met, and there’d be quite a bit of catching up to do.

“Better deathly than dead.” Kiros quipped. “I’ve some honeyed bread that might suit. But how'd you get in there?” Kiros added, fumbling about his robes to procure a small loaf wrapped in white cloth. A snack he’d intended to enjoy on the walk, he instead tossed the morsel to Farzad, who was clearly in more dire need of it.

“Three wishes? ” Kiros answered back. Garrod may have not met Farzad before, but Kiros was already used to his demeanour and would lean into it. He looked into the empty bowl of his pipe with only the slightest of smiles as he thought of his first ‘wish’.

“I could use another smoke.” Was his deadpan reply.

Garrod Arlette Farzad Oldsummer
Garrod blinked. Slow to come to realization, as the brilliant colors and shifted form were still being made sense of by his mind. Digestion of simuli, sluggish.

"A wizard?" Garrod announced, for those wielders of the arcane were oft the sort to sport the proud conical hats with prouder brims. And what other sort of mortal soul would find themselves trapped in a bottle, impersonating a Djinn.

He chuckled at Kiros deadpan reply. The big priest was a good marker for danger, the hunter had come to learn. "I wish for some fish," the hunter smirked, and let go of his knife. "I'm sure the wagons have a pole among their number," he craned his head toward the open sea. The surf's crush and the white-green seafoam churning along the sand. "Might make for a good meal to share while we hear this story, hmm?" Garrod rubbed his chin, still smiling.

A wizard out of a bottle. What a funny tale to tell.

Kiros Rahnel Farzad Oldsummer
Farzad nodded to Garrod in reply to being a Wizard, "Yeap. Of the highest order." He gave a wink, "The Unemployed type." Followed by a snap of his finger. He then turned to Kiros and with a reply, "Kiros? What are you doing here in this..." He paused looking around at the sand mucking up his favourite pair of non-descript shoes. "I wanna say beach? But also... Pocket Dimension?" He gave a shrug, tucking up a loose scarf back over his nose to hide his visage.

And with a motion, a quick one and only on the sleeping form the help he almost jumped at Kiros and grabbed the small loaf of bread, quick to devour and consume it with all the ravaging he could muster, turning his back from the duo to hide his dark shame and poor etiquette. If he had it in him he'd burp. But as it stood. He didn't.
"Ahh. Tastes sour." He replied, turning as he realigned the scarves, the one that was loose now just hanging limp and around his shoulder. "Though I think that's more my tastebuds aren't working."

He looked between the two. Though more on Kiros. "Yeap. Wishes. Personally seem more important than the story but if you two want to hear it again." He rebutted, confusion touching his voice before he gave a shrug. "But if those are your wishes. Kiros, your wish. Granted." He gave a nod, a few seconds pause and then returned to his posture, "And you should have said smoke in the next week or so. Specific brand? Type? Taste?" He asked as if he was making a grocery list.
A mental one at least.

"And fish? Easy this beach looks pretty fish-filled. Gimme two days. Three tops and boom. Wish. Done." He was a very poor djinn and his wishes had a certain lacklustre quality to them. The usual jab and gibb that he concerned himself with was far more practical than he previously could muster.
“What am I doing here?” Kiros remarked, in echo to Farzad's inquiry. A fair question, albeit bizarre for a man who had just escaped from imprisonment within a bottle. That Farzad had been the one within the bottle was a surprise – that he had gotten himself trapped, a touch less so. He’d never known danger to be even the slightest discouragement to his old friend, who's continued journey constantly crossed paths with it. Kiros could say the same of his own journey., though Farzad bravely put himself into peril under his own free will, not at the behest of Her.

“A fair question, though with a comparatively boring answer. We're accompanying a caravan.” Kiros replied, earnestly and readily giving his answer. “We broke camp not far away.”

"Tastes sour. Though I think that's more my tastebuds aren't working." Farzad commented on the bread.

“It ought not taste sou, no. It was made fresh earlier today.” Kiros responded.

"But if those are your wishes. Kiros, your wish. Granted. And you should have said smoke in the next week or so. Specific brand? Type? Taste?" Farzad leaned into the quip, inquiring Kiros about preference of product. Although curious, he couldn't resist continuing with a retort. Now that Farzad had been freed, the matter was much less pressing.

“Well, the blend they grow in Cerak At'Thul is rather nice.” Kiros remarked. The wish was in jest, but the desire true. In the markets there. Thankfully, it was popular enough to be exported, although this made it too costly to be regularly purchased. And the price was by far a preferable alternative to setting foot within that terrible city again to buy it directly. He did not miss that place.

“Alas enough, enough, I'll cease. I distract from my own question, as in all seriousness I must truly know:

How did you end up in there?”
Kiros finally asked.

He might have taken a guess, but the possibilities were endless. Farzad was unpredictable as he was colourful.

Garrod Arlette Farzad Oldsummer
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Garrod nod with Kiro's last and final wish. "Yes," he said with sweet smile. "How does a Wizard of the highest, unemployed, order end up in a bottle?" he grinned. It would likely be a good story. Or, as often was the case with many of the greatest mysteries, a thing born of sheer and unimpressive happenstance.

The hunter doubted that that was the case though. Simple as the incantation had been for Kiros to break, the magick that had boubled and poured, resplendit in color sound and form, seemed... well, spectacular.

And what do you know of spectacle, beyond that of your own suffering, Oh Bearer Mine? His demon asked with cruel amusement.

Garrod huffed, and jabbed a finger over his shoulder, back to the caravan, and the camp.
"How about, I go fetch us some fishing rods, and we make good one of the three wishes," he smiled easy. "Likely be quicker than three day," he gave a wink to the wizard. Pat Kiros on the shoulder with firm and friendly hand. "Might even ask around to see if they got some smokables?" He made to away, and would fetch the rods alone if the other two stayed to chat.

It wouldn't take too long.

Kiros Rahnel Farzad Oldsummer
A caravan. Well, this wasn't as exciting an option as he wanted but what as about as exciting as he expected it would be, Kiros always did manage to keep his head on a swivel. Somehow always got caught up in something ridiculous though like managing to free a maybe-genie from an old alchemical vial. Poor guy. Farzad thought to himself at Kiros' constant plight.

To his shock they both really wanted to hear him prattle on about a wizard of his illustrious standing got caught up in a basic vial. He gave a sigh to the whole situation, "I suppose if you two want to hear it again I can't imagine it'd hurt the old vocal cords." He replied, Garros was keen on grabbing a fishing rod which was great, Farzad had originally just planned on writing up a spell to catch a fish. But to get a pole back in his hands couldn't hurt this old Wizard. "I suppose it's about time I learn how to use a fishing Rod..." He paused, coming to the realization he has yet to learn the name of his one-half savior. "My good friend..." He rolled his hand hoping he would fill in the gaps.

Whether he did or not was of little concern, since he took in a deep breath, "You two grab the fishing rod, I think I'll stand right here I think." He felt it, just a short tingle the sensation of reality and his every fiber and neuron reminding him of one very obscene sensation. "Fun fact. It turns being paralyzed in a vial for... However long I have leads to a terrible case of pins and needles. So, I'm going to stand here and just try and get bodily sensation back." He stated quickly as his entire body dropped like a ten-pound rock into a little too deep a pool of water, the sand splashing up and filling in the crevices between his scarves and every other point of fabric stretched around his body.