Fionntán Files

> *Oh yes, we're doing it! These are a collection of conversations between Ciarán and his pseudodragon, reflecting Ciarán's thoughts and feelings on the campaign's progression. I'm no writer, but I enjoy working through my character's feelings.*
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## Session 07

### **Ersatz University, early hours of 547/04/12**

> *First conversation between Ciarán and Fionntán. Bedridden after his encounter with the wraith of Malediction, Ciarán is finally well enough to talk with his new companion.*
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“Hi … uh, dragon. I’m not quite sure what to call you. You do have a name, right?

Well, I guess I’ll give you a nickname for now. It was the Stranger who told me to steal your egg. Maybe Fingal? It means ‘fair stranger’ in some elvish tongues.

You’re not really a stranger, though, are you? You could have left me, but you didn’t. You helped me, from the first moment we met.

I stole your egg, you know that, right? I’m basically your kidnapper.

She’s going to skewer me, the Dean. What do I say to her? ‘Sorry Ma’am, I stole your dragon egg. Please forgive me’. I’m a fool.

I’ll take you back to her, I promise. Just as soon as I can stand on my feet again.”

*Ciarán swings his legs over the side of his bed and attempts to rise. His legs shake uncontrollably, and he falls back onto his bed, gazing over at the unconscious body of Salibar next to him.*

“You saved us all, little dragon. Me. My friends. We might all have died if you didn’t help us.

Where I come from – well, where I grew up – there’s a story about a shapeshifter said to have lived for thousands of years. They were a helper and a seer. Their name was ‘Fionntán’. In Sylvan, it means ‘white fire’.” *He laughs.*

“I don’t think I’ve ever met someone more fitting of the name. So, what do you think? Fionntán?”

## Session 09

### “The Jade Lyre,” evening of 547**/04/15**

> *After surviving the dive on the wreck of the Harpy.*
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“I don’t understand, Fionntán. Lilliana’s sister, we know she’s here. But she – she doesn’t want to see her.

All through my life, I would have given the world for a sister, for parents, for a home. She hasn’t seen them for eight years! That’s longer than, than – well, you know.

I’m afraid that some damage has been dealt to them, that there’s a rift between them that words cannot heal.

I guess I know what it is to leave words unspoken.

Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe I do understand.

I hope the Moon lights a path to lead them together again.”

## Session 10

### **At sea, late afternoon of 547/04/16**

> *Following the flight from Flotsam and before Ciarán’s conversation with the Man on the Moon.*
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“There’s a tension in my heart Fionntán. Ever since we entered the darkwoods, it’s been getting tighter. I saw the Stranger with my open eyes. I was conscious. They, they were there with me.

I didn’t tell the others, but I felt … different. As if there was a part of myself that was still lingering in the forest. Would the Ciarán of a month ago let Helsing burn? I know he was evil. He was trying to kill my friend, but. But I screamed at him with a rage I didn’t know I had inside me. Maybe I could have stopped Liliana. Maybe …

And then there’s this.”

*Ciarán lifts his front bangs to reveal a new lock of white hair.*

“This was black before. When I almost died, Fionntán, I didn’t know where I would go. Before the Reaper pulled me from the brink, I was floating, stuck in a limbo between the light and darkness. I could see the Moon above me and the darkwoods below me, but I didn’t know which way to go.

Something inside me tells me I need to speak with the Stranger. They’ve guided me this far. Maybe they can guide me further. Will you help me?”

## Session 11

### “The Violet Glove,” evening of 547/04/25

> *The day of the escape from the Stone Brig.*
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“Fionntán, the others. They think I don’t know death; they don’t seem to think I have what it takes. But I’ve seen so much death. On the streets, outside taverns. The city guard, they … they. They did some horrible things. I’ve held a child in my arms as she struggled for breath. I’ve seen death. So much needless death. When I got this gift, I swore I would only use it to heal and, where necessary, stop others from being harmed.

Each star on this cloak has a name; I added the first constellation when I failed to save that first person.”

*Ciarán pauses for some time.*

“His name was Duncan. He was a fisherman. When a storm hit the coast, his ship was struck by lightning. The force of the bolt skewered the mainsail, sending a large splinter of wood into his chest. Here.”

*Ciarán gestures over his heart, then peeling back his cloak, he reveals a roughly embroidered constellation where the cloak would sit on his chest.*

“This is Duncan. The first. But not the last. I carry them all with me to remind me.”

But in the Brig, Fionntán, I was told it was necessary. Nimbin was a monster, so I was told. But I don’t follow the Reaper; I don’t follow the Judge. His guilt was not mine to decide.

I tried to put it out of sight as much as I could. I thought if I could find someone else to do it, maybe I wouldn’t have to think about it. That way, I wouldn’t use the Moon’s light to serve the darkness. I thought I could spare Lilliana and Salibar from killing as well. But I failed. They killed Foxx and Nimbin, and an innocent person died on my watch.

I was trying to stop others from dying, but … but I have so much blood on my hands … I doomed another person to death because I couldn’t kill one person myself.

Van Helsing. Foxx Rouge. Nimbin the Nose. Should I carry them with me too?”

*For a time, Ciarán hugs Fionntán to his chest. Then, he gets up, takes off his cloak, and folds it into his pack.*

### “The Violet Glove,” evening of 547/04/26

> *The day before the descent into Fisclappe, just before Ciarán visited the “The Griffon’s Oddities”.*
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“Fionntán - you know that tension I told you about? It’s getting worse. I’m afraid that the Moon is hiding his light from me.”

*Ciarán looks around sheepishly, then pulls back his robe to show the dragon his tattoo, a once-white moon covering an old scar.*

“The scar reminds me every day. I thought – I thought I could cover the memory, hide the dark times with the light.”

*He sighs.*

“I was five years old when the visions started. They say I was the perfect child until that night. A little black-haired elf who slept from dusk until dawn.

One evening, the headmistress found me screaming and writhing on my bed. The other children were terrified. The nice lady - Mistress Alden was her name – she held me until I woke. They say I screamed for hours. No one could wake me.

The other children avoided me, the mothers eyed me suspiciously. When the visions returned the next night, they left me in the common room with a cloth to muffle the screams.

After a week, the mothers agreed that something needed to be done. They called for a cleric, a follower of the Sacred Sister.”

*He points to the scar.*

“She attempted an exorcism, used spells to remove curses, and after everything had failed, she peered into my soul. I don’t know what she saw, but she told the mothers that there was 'darkness in my heart'. For the safety of the children, they sent me to another orphanage. And they, to another.

Maybe she was right, Fionntán. Maybe there’s a darkness there that not even the Moon can keep at bay.”

## Session 12

### Fisclappe, evening of 547/04/28

> *Ciarán traces the new constellations that have appeared on his hands.*
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“Stars are beautiful, aren’t they, Fionntán? Even deep underground, they shine…

I’ve always heard old sages and sailors say that our destiny is written in the stars, but I don’t know. I’ve spent every night with the stars since I was a boy, and … well … they never told me anything.

It’s almost ironic. I’ve spent my whole life looking to the stars to guide me, and now they’re here, in the palms of my hands. Is it some kind of joke? Maybe someone telling me I finally need to take my life into my own hands?”

*He closes his palms and hides the starlight.*

   “The stars all have their place, Fionntán; they fit within the great tapestry of the sky. But me? I’m one of those pieces of debris you sometimes spot on a cloudy night. A comet torn from the sky and cast across the night. Such stars are destined to wander the sky for eternity … or crash into the earth.

I’m wandering. I’m following whispers. I’m just an agent in someone else’s story. The Stranger, the Moon, Salibar, Lilliana, they’re the ones with a purpose. Lilliana looking to right the wrongs done to her family. And Salibar, the One! Chosen by the Magus themselves!

*He opens his hands and looks down at the stars again.*

I guess I’ve got my own stars now. Who knows where these ones will lead.”

### Granny Ironblood's Hut, 547/05/??

> *Faced with the prospect of death, Ciarán attempts to contact the Stranger to aid his friends.*
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“Let’s make this brief, Fionntán. I need you to help me find the Stranger. Can you do that for me? I don’t know what they are, friend or foe, but they’ve saved my life before.”

*Ciarán closes his eyes and clutches his chest.*

“I’ve never asked for your aid before. I don’t know if you’re even there, but we could use your help. I … I could use your help. I don’t care about my life, but my friends have so much left to live for – please, save them. I won’t watch them die. I’ve followed you; I’ve listened. Now please, listen to me.”

## Session 14

### Instant Fortress, 547/05/??

> *The night before facing the Beast King. Ciarán sits embroidering the Errenion coat of arms on a piece of purple cloth.*
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"We need to tell Geneva who she is, Fionntán, but I’m afraid it might scare her. What if the people want her to rule?

Could you imagine finding out you’re supposed to be a ruler? Suddenly it’s not just your life in your hands but the lives of millions. You’re not just deciding your own fate but the fate of whole nations.

I’m sure she would lead Glumm to a brighter future; she’s smart, brave, and above all, she’s kind. But it’s a large burden to place on a person just because of their blood.

I wonder if she ever dreamed of such a destiny?

When you don’t know where you come from, it’s easy to make up stories. At the Mother’s Mercy, we used to tell all kinds of stories. When you’re not tied down to parents, to a past, your story becomes yours to write.

Huntley used to say he was a long-lost son of King Arthur. He saw himself as a born ruler.”

*Ciarán chuckles.*

“He had a sword and everything!

But me? The mothers gave me my story. They said my parents were bandits, murderers, ruthless fae monsters from the darkwoods who left me behind when they raided a human village.

When they weren’t listening, I made up my own stories. I like to think they were healers, like me. Maybe they left me in Xyander so they could go where they were needed most. Maybe they just wanted to hide me from seeing death and suffering.

I guess when the dreams started, I couldn’t help but start believing the stories the mothers had told me.

I’m scared, Fionntán.

If we help her, Baba Yaga might finally be able to tell me who they were.

What if they were just monsters? What if they weren’t healers but killers? What if –"

*He stops himself.*