Treasure

Contributor: Jyn
Submission: Treasure
LARP system: Accelerant/Madrigal
Character name: Tashka

A short work of fiction from longtime-LARPer, Jyn.

The clothes come out first. Fur and velvet, satin and brocade. Steel grey and forest green. Jet black and soft ivory and bright silver.

There’s always too much, but having so many choices is part of the luxury. She loves the feel of the fabric under her fingers, the drape and the weight of it.

She’s careful to smooth all the wrinkles out of the velveteen on which her family symbol is embroidered. Black snake. Silver dagger. It shines when it catches the light in the dim room.

There are hats with tongue-twister names, full of lush fricatives and harsh stops. Ushanka. Kokoshnik. 

And a sash her cousin gave her. It's black, covered in darkly glittering gold and grey, weaving together images to tell a story.

The weapons go by the door. They’re important, but they’re outside things. The shield cover goes on now, though, slippery black satin, silver needles, golden thread. It’s a symbol of something dead and gone, but not. It’s a reminder that everything’s connected. It’s a joke about cats and string.

There are lots of little leather things. Boots and gloves, belts and pouches. Functional, understated. But not too understated.

And then come the tiny bags and boxes.

One is full of tea, and smells of bergamot, cardamom, and cinnamon.

One has needles and embroidery floss, and a cross-stitch she’ll probably never finish.

One contains only a roll of cloth, charred around the edges, and tied with a green ribbon. It was a piece of something terrible, once, that was given to her to keep after it was destroyed. Not because it was important that she have it, but because it interested her, and she has kind friends.

There’s a cobalt blue glass bottle, where a demoness once sealed the spirit of a wolf-warrior who hunted her.

A handful of money: pale moonstones and clear starstones. She’ll spend them on something frivolous, or toss one into the cup at the travelers’ shrine, just to hear the bright ‘ting!’ sound it makes.

A thin silver bracelet, a gift from a wise, soft-spoken priestess who’s battled nightmares. That wasn't her only gift; She also once sent the girl a dream, about a rabbit and snow.

A pair of earrings with shimmering green gems, sent by her father. She has the sort of father whose gifts outnumber visits.

A bronze bracelet, heavy with clear stones that sparkle like snow in the sunlight. It came from a woman who shares her name and eyes, and it looks like wings.

A necklace with the same symbol that is on her shield. This one’s newer, though, made by a druid’s deft hands. It hangs from a strand of leather that used to be part of something else, and was a gift from a man who told her a story about being upside down.

A silver goblet, which was last used to toast the defeat of the Wraith King. The wine had been sweet, and tasted of blueberries.

A delicate ring made of pale blue glass, that’s always cold to the touch.

There are papers, rolled up or folded, and stuck in random pockets. Notes about names or places.  Letters from friends, and from strangers. Rumors of courtly scandal, and fairy tales about chicken-legged huts and deep dark forests. Invitations from lords and queens to parties never attended. Bits of half-forgotten riddles. The words to songs she’s sung, or plans to sing, or will never get around to singing. One she wrote for an old friend, but can never seem to find the right time to share with him. It’ll be no good if he doesn’t laugh.

There are pens and inks. Silver sealing wax and matches. Small black notebooks, filled with handwriting that is, more often than not, barely legible. They contain first impressions and to-do lists, wild speculation and history lessons, advice regarding coffee, and the secret names of gods.