The Long and Storied History of the Nightingale Inn

<i>Original text translated from Cornish </> Nones of October, 1102 Chief Druid Ancel, The magick you weave whispers through the trees even here, and it is most heartening to receive your missive. I thank you once again for sending news of the monarchy’s foolhardy games. Let us hope that, with only one of William The Conqueror’s sons remaining, and their power-hungry warmongering at an end, we will at last see peace across these lands. If you feel it now safe to travel, the Inn stands ready to welcome you and all our fellows on your pilgrimage to Boscawen-Un. Construction was finished just days ago, and we now begin the task of clearing well the path to the ritual site. I am ever thankful for the desertion of this place. Not one traveller has graced our path as long as we have remained here, and so, near the rocky, blustering coast, I imagine such will always be the case. I hope it pleases you to know I have called the Inn ‘Nightingale’, a sweet song even in darkest night, to guide we Druids home. Ever loyal, Wymarc Furniss

September 17th, 1559 To the honourable Dr John Dee, I haue made my decysion regarding the request to obserue our rytuals, and may it satisfie thee to know that I shall allow it. Thou art welcome to watch and recorde notes as thou please, such that thou do not interrupt or otherwise dysrespect our practyces. Thou art not a man of our faithe, and as such I understand that thou dost lacke much of the requysite vnderstanding of the meaning behind our rites. Howeuer, I feel thy cause is just, and I hope we wyll yet be of vse to thee in thy magyckal machynations. Trauellers to the Nightingale Inn at Boscawen-Vn are few, and it is built only to accommodate our scant brethren. As such, I would aduise thee and thy companions trauel prepared. These are sacred and vndysturbed lands, and thou shall not find lodging anywhere near. I look forwarde to when next we meet. Prithee, do not proue me a fool. Angharad Furniss

March 7th, 1603 My dearest Estrilda, I hope thou art well in Chester, and thy tryp to the Portal there proues fruitful. All remains well at the Nightingale Inn, though it grows busy of late. I must admyt, it worries me some. It has been a harsh wynter in a great many ways, and our magyck fades wyth the departure of our beloued Prynce. The other Fae of this land seeme to haue disappeared along with him, taking much of our purpose. We haue lyttle to offer the Hermetyc magyckians that flock to Boscawen-Vn, and the hamlet they construct around us. Though I mislike them not, I euer fear what may become of our sacred land in the wake of such loss, and with the influence of these learned men. Would my grandmother haue welcomed their arriual here? It seemed that she was open to their ways. Mayhaps I doth become too rygid now. That aside, the Chief Druid is expected to arriue for the equynox wythin the fortnight to address her rejection of the Great Sacrifice. I am ouerjoyed to see the last of such barbarism, and the continued life of so prolyfic a Chief. With loue, Leofwin Furniss

August 2nd, 1658 Averill, Thou must write more often, lest thy poore mother expire from worry. As Cromwell spouts foulest vitriol, it heartens me to know thou hast auoided trouble. I am filled with pride to see you educated, but I must know that thou art keeping safe. These are not kinde times for we stewards of the old ways. And yet our little town of Nightingale wishes to contradict me once more. Business thriues and all because of the faith. The Inn attracts refugees each day, fleeing the persecution of Cromwell’s men. Our people, Royalists, Catholics, even aspiring Redcrosse Knights, all haue come to stay. There are rumblings of working alongside the Hermetics to use alchemy and channelers at Boscawen-Vn, holding it open permanently for trauel and commerce. With any luck, the town shant stay so little for long. Now afore I forget, a fair young woman has been coming by to ask when next thou shalt visit here. If I do not hear from you soone, I shall be forced to tell her to take her pining heart elsewhere, lest my only son squander it as he does his mother’s. Write soon, Isolda Furniss

June 10th, 1704 Jonathan, Your reuiualist Hermetic kin haue done a great thing here in Nightingale, and I beseech you come and bear witness. Share a drink with your olde friend that we might rejoice at all that’s come to pass these last years. I thank my stars that I yet liue to see such maruels! A great mechanised Portal, this new Transept, childe of our own, dear Boscawen-Vn, augmented by the ancient research of the great John Dee. What pride I feel to think that my lineage gaue rise to the knowledge to make such a thing possible. I know the rest of the order does not always share my enthusiasm, but what a futile effort to fight against change and kinship between our peoples. We dance around our standing stones, while the Hermetics in that vast cathedral oil their grande machine. Are we not all reuelling in the joy this world affords vs? Who may say that any one of vs is wrong. Would that euery Furniss past could see the city that has sprung up around the Inn they so dearly tended, I should think they would share my sentiments. All the best, Alcott Furniss

May 23rd, 1718 Dearest sister, I am endlessly grateful that you are no longer here to see the fate that befalls the Druidic order. What bliss to liue in ignorance among our Northern brethren. Father was a fool to think that the Transept technology was anything but a blight upon our legacy. It sickens me to think that Boscawen-Vn now sits, defiled by Hermetic meddling, beating heart replaced by cogs, prisms and oil. ‘Think of the knowledge to be gained when no longer bound to lengthy ritual’, they say. Were it not for our rituals, they would be scrambling in the mud for any scrap of knowledge the Fae deigned to grant them, and now they think it their right to sully what was neuer theirs. I hear our kin chant the old phrases, dance the old steps around that cold machine, none ready to admit its existence renders them impotent. We are all debased. I see now why so many of us flee to the Realms, seeking the lost connection to our magick. Would that I could, no Hermetic would set foot in Nightingale, and yet the city is no longer ours, the Inn only just. Faithfully, Luella Furniss

January 30th, 1808 Chief Druid Lee, There has been quite the stir here at the Inn. A curious character arrived from the Realms and has been staying in the attic room. They call her The Nomad, a most enigmatic title. She has begun aiding the construction of yet another Transept, and I must say, for the first time in ages the idea actually appeals. Nightingale has always been vibrant, open to those of widely divergent origin, and I’ve seen the sentiment among our people that our sense of community, of belonging, has been lost to the vastness of the city. Since She’s been here, however, the atmosphere has shifted. There are times when I step outside and feel the magick of the natural world, alive even in the city’s heart. People have been flocking to her, hearing her word in that strange language, and taking to the Rookeries to give aid. I see them handing out food, tending wounds, doing that which I know we Druids have wished to see in this place since days of yore. It’s been a hard few years for our people, but I think it might be time you paid a visit. Best, Claiborne Furniss

July 11th, 1815 Mother, I hope all is well with Loretta and the little ones and that news is not so sombre there as here. The Inn is no longer the small hostel of my youth, but a gathering place for many in this district of Nightingale City. I oft find myself wishing Father were here to help liven up the patrons with his charm. It has been naught but a long stream of soldiers and Sages returning from the front lines as of late. They come victorious, but with such sorrow in their hearts. I hear their stories of Napoleon’s forces, backed by darkest Fae magick, cold and unfeeling. It seems unnatural that any should wield power this way, for such wanton destruction. I am only thankful that, even with their Nomad returned to the Realms, the Sages and their rumoured Faelang tongue were able to put a final end to this war. I am equal parts awestruck and terrified. Though they draw from the Fae’s lingering knowledge as we do, I fear the connection to nature that grounds us may be lost amid all this modern progress. Please, write soon with more pleasant tales. With love, Rawlins Furniss

February 1st, 1867 Dear Corinne, I must send my thanks again for running the bar yesterday. I’ve found myself quite contemplative in recent days, and it does me good to step out of the Inn for a time. I see my sweet Loveday asleep on her father’s chair, and I cannot help but worry at the future awaiting her. A fourth Transept completed, and not weeks pass before the designs are stolen. Have we always been so eagre to undermine one another? I hear rumblings of fear among the order as well. We have survived through so many shifts in this world, and yet, how much longer will our ways persist? Trevick leads us well, but how can we call ourselves speakers of nature when all we see are brick walls and cobblestone? Yet these ruminations grow sorrowful, and this is a time for joy. With this Transept, the NTTC brings more and more customers, even if, tucked away as we are, few know us as this vast metropolis’s namesake. We prosper unlike any time before, and, most of all, I am blessed to have such a dear friend at my side. Sincerely, Demelza Furniss

April 19th, 1888 Sam, The Druids share your anxieties about the Paris Transept, my mother included, but there’s no need. As Chief, you all ought to listen to me! I’m not one for spinning empty tales, you know. I saw a photo in the paper, and, while it’s a far cry from Boscawen-Un, the French certainly understand showmanship. Though I agree that the Portal’s construction is over-hasty, we must focus on the potential it holds. People flood the Realms in such numbers, just as they once flooded here to our own hub of magick. This place is ever changed, as the Faewilds will be, and, like it or not, progress will continue. With our Druidic knowledge, we must seize the chance to help guide it. I hope you’ll come see me play tonight when you’re finished at the Calcularium. The Nightingale Inn is more a ‘would-be magickian’s’ meeting ground than the Druidic sanctum of old, but it may yet restore your optimism. No matter the circumstance, seeing its ancient stones nestled among the new in the sprawl of our great city, I am reminded of everything we’ve endured, and everything we’re yet to accomplish. See you there, Loveday Furniss