The Heartwood Bordertown Dawn Ramaday the First of Wolf ... and days beyond ...
Daxia, Darian, Cesare, Bekkah, Mikal, Dean, Kadri and Romana and ...
Dawn came early, cold, with a light rain, with the far horizon a mottled study in gray.
And before the dawn, even earlier. Simply because, to leave at dawn, when the town gates first open, one must get up even earlier; and earlier still when one has last minute merchanting to do, a warm breakfast to fortify one against the wolfish days, to gather horses and gear from the stable, to pay last respects to the barkeep and his daughters.
And to say good bye.
"I'm staying here ..."
That was Camelia Koromov's quiet morning greeting. Of course something was up; for she was the only one to show up before dawn in just tunic and surcoat; no cloak, no boots - bare feet - no bedroll ... not even a plate of bread and cheese for her breakfast.
"Garrick says there could be a place on the Thing for me; especially if they call another before the Mark returns.
"Which would certainly happen if I chose to stay."
She took a deep deep breath.
"I am, at heart, townsfolk, I think.
"I think we have discovered I am useless on the trail. And understanding one's limitations is a good place to start, when rebuilding one's life."
She then offers a small smile.
"Besides, the night the avatar fell, we discovered the sheriff and we actually work well together. Gatekeepers of Jagnar do not fall off of roofs accidentally."
The other one, among the missing in the morning, was Romana. Missing, at least, until the middle of breakfast. Then she appeared at the door, a dark shadow wrapped in her cloak and hood. She leaned, quiet, looking in on the others, so tentative. For a long set of heartbeats she was just quiet, watching the others.
"Harrys saids, if Romanas would stay, Harrys would make sure no one would ever hurt her.
"Harry says, Heavy Horse owes Romanas.
"Harry says ... he even could come to likes Romanas."
There was a soft blush at that, hinted in the shadows of her hood. The slender Easterner looks back over her shoulder, for a moment. Silent. Remembering what having a home was like.
She didn't speak for another long while.
"Romanas tell Harrys ...
"Romanas never have friends before."
She walked quietly forward, to sit on the bench next to Bekkah. She then looked up and down the table curiously.
"Can someones pass Romanas a muffles?"
*******************************************
On the way out, a saddle picked was picked up. As well as a shield. And a unicorn.
The unicorn looked between Daxia, Romana, and her white mare. Morning Star just shook his head and whuffled.
At the gate, no toll was charged ... the town still under Marrennen's Gift.
Into the gray morning, in the gray rain, the small group headed west.
And not alone.
At the same time a rather homely looking man was also making his way south. While this group was a motley collection of horses of various types, a black unicorn and a snarkhound and some also on foot, her was all alone, except for a load of fire wood on his back. Which he carried as if it were an everyday thing.
It is just that also leaving Bordertown at dawn, and also heading west, it's very hard not to walk together.
*******************************************
The Highland Path is an interesting trail. This far out, it is little more than a twin stripe of hardened dirt that sometimes vanishes for a while; sometime a few hundred yards, sometimes a day or two. But it is easily found again, if one chooses the path of least resistance heading, in general, west.
To the north and south, here and there - and sometimes along the trail itself - are smaller clusters of woods, little copses, as if they were dashed across the farmfields like seeds broadcast in the spring. No big woods, but lots of little and tiny ones. Just like the streams. Criss crossing the land is a network of small cricks and streamlets and one cannot walk a day without crossing over two or three or four. Fresh, clean water is the least of one's problems here. Most are so small they can be stepped across, the next might need a hop, anything more has gotten a bridge of some sort, be it a set of heavy planks or a small arch of stone. Some days at one of the little bridges the small group stalls, for it is tradition of those traveling to keep the little crossings in good repair. Their other companion were the huge stones scattered hither and you. Some were so massive it took all day to ride about them, some small enough to use as chairs for lunch. But they were always there, within sight.
As one left Bordertown there were little stone markers, on the side of the trail, with a single carven number upon them. They seemed to be regularly placed, with the numbers descending as one moved west. After a few days they vanished - but not completely. Every now and then there would be one beside the path again. After a few weeks they became a hint of what was ahead. Where there were no markers there was nothing but farm fields. When they showed up regularly, one was closer to a small village.
The days were getting longer, as one got father west. The nights were tallied by taverns and farmer's houses - day's travel inns, a friendly farmer, sometimes a true tavern and smithy surrounded by a couple of homes; this was as large as villages got out here in the middle of nowhere. Time could be marked by the tavern's names. Five Day's Out, Greystone Market, No More Griffons, The White Cup, Mari's Place, MacMurphy's Tavern, No Merebeasts Allowed, Hanson's farm ... day by day, night by night.
Their only other constant companion, to the south, was an occasional glimpse of wildflowers, a small path of them paralleling the Highland Path.
It got closer to the trail, day by day, as one got nearer and nearer to the crossing of the Silk Creek Ravine.
Where are Bing and Bob to sing us a traveling theme song?
And welcome to Owain, who is playing the yet-unnamed man with a load of firewood, who is currently sharing the path with you!
He, of course, has a name, but no one's said hello yet!
You might as well be friendly and introduce yourselves, because its a long trip and you are travelling the same direction, so it'll be really hard and odd to ignore each other!
((OOC: Greetings all, and Wolf after that remark I was sorely tempted to not speak a word to anyone for a long as possible, just always be there, silently - but that wouldn't be neighborly))
Jankin:
"Well met, Kadri. I am Jankin."
He doesn't quite smile, but his brown eyes warm before he sets them back on the path before his feet. It doesn't seem like he's being rude, so much as that he's not used to talking much. His words are slowly paced and he's got a slight accent. The 'W' has a soft buzz in it, The 'J' sounds more like a 'Y', and the 'A' in both names sounds like 'Ah'.
Homely is a kind way to describe his appearance. His sloped forehead is accentuated by a pronounced brow ridge, his nose is wide and flat, his eyes close together, and he's got very little chin. His posture is slightly stooped, though that might be because of his load of wood. Not heavily muscled, still his frame seems sturdy enough for a common man, and he walks like one well-used to the road.
He walks for a little, as if pondering her question. He then speaks in something of a sing-song, as if reciting a poem, maybe even translating it from another tongue.
"I am on this road because it is what is taking me from where I was to where I am going. It was time to leave where I was, and go in search of where I will some day be. I do not know what that place is, but have no doubt I will when I arrive."
Pausing to take a breath, reconciled to the fact that a conversation is going to occur, he asks...
Daxia smiled at Camelia, when the time came for her to explain her staying.
“It does seem a good match for you, Camelia... all of it.” The Dayalan studied the youngest Koromov for a moment, then nodded. “It looks like you found yourself, your place, and a good partner. I rather like Garrick, as does your sister, so I am probably not out of line in thanking you on her behalf and as well as my own for your part in seeing to that particular individual’s tumble off a roof.
“Happiness is sometimes a rare commodity, but I hope you find it here, Camelia.”
A bit later, Daxia watched Romana as the Easterner stood hesitantly in the doorway. Watched... and listened. When Romana sat down across the table, she presented her friend with not one, but two muffles.
“Maybe Harry say he like Romana someday,” Dazi said with a smile and a merry twinkle in her blue eyes, “but DaziDaziDaziDazi already like Romana today. And yesterday. And for many days. DaziDaziDaziDazi very glad for friend called Romana.”
And later still, when a certain black unicorn made his feelings known about an Easterner friend and her pretty white mare, his partner just smiled and patted his neck. After mounting, she leaned down and whispered to him, “Your name is longer.”
Then, later still again, after passing through the Bordertown gate, the group came across a solitary traveler... as each of them had been at one or another point in their journeys.
The woman sitting astride the unicorn wore a fine Kierkegaard cloak with the hood pulled up, though tuffs of red hair could easily be seen framing her face. Even without speaking a word by which to place her accent, it would be a fair and reasonable deduction for anyone to make that she hailed from the Vale beyond Snowgate Pass known as Dawnview, high up in the Black Mountains.
Odd, though, that one so obviously a follower of Dayala — though a sword could not be seen beneath the cloak, the spurs on her boots were plain to see, and there was the whole matter of the unicorn — traveled in the company of both a Jvrillian and a Squire of Rames.
She merely observed the conversation between Kadri and Jankin, until the momentary lull.
“Jankin... Jankin... Jankin...” she said softly and slowly, almost as if tasting the word... though, in fact, she was attempting to match his pronunciation of name. The initial ‘Y’ sound came easily, and though the ‘A’ was not quite as broad as the man pronounced it, she was close.
“Well met, Jankin, who speaks words that sound familiar to my ears, though more lyrical.” The redhead turned to the woman walking beside the snarkhound. “Jankin, Darian look for place, not know where, know when find. Dazi think... good.” She turned back to the newcomer — now no longer a stranger — and smiled; even the gray morning did not manage to dampen her spirits, though everything else was damp enough. “I am Daxia,” she said. The ‘A’ sound that she had managed with Jankin’s name was precisely the sound in the first and last syllables of her name, and the middle syllable stressed with a strong ‘Z’, though the ‘EE’ was not pure, sounding almost like a diphthong... no doubt a result of the accent of those from so high in the Black Mountains.
“A tale such as ours requires, I think, a hot fire and mugs of ale or cider. For a stroll through a gray morning, perhaps introductions would be a good beginning, yah? It’s nice, I think, to know your fellow travelers.”
Without regard for rank, merely proximity it seemed, she gave to their fellow traveler the names of those in the party.
“You have already met Kadri. There we have Darian and Cesare, with Longtooth. Bekkah... Dean...” He was finely arrayed in the raiment of a Squire of Rames. “Mikal...” She had to twist to see the last member of their party. “Ah... Romana.” Turning back to Jankin, Daxia said, “Our Romana is a little shy.” She grinned broadly. “Not so for Daxia,” she said, chuckling.
“And this...” She ran her fingers through the unicorn’s mane, combing out a small tangle. “...this is Morning Star.” The last was said with a tone that might give the impression that meeting Morning Star was assuredly one of the most wonderful things to have happened in her life.
[OOC: Would you like Bing and Bob to sing us a traveling theme song? I’ve watched all those movies, though I’ll grant that it’s been decades. I think my favorite was Road to Morocco. I may not filk as prolifically as you do, O Wolf, but my filks are considerably more bizarre. Who else would write a song about a printer/copier in the early 80s to the tune of The First Noel? That’s exactly right... nobody.
P.S. Welcome, Owain!! ]
Last edited by Kel; Thu 07/03/1313:21 UTC. Reason: added pic
When they had a time and the man wasn't being questioned by the others, a blond haired woman descended from her horse to greet the man. No, not merely a woman, this was clearly a Lady. An Atteran.
She greeted him with a lovely smile. And while she had a similar accent to the redhead atop the unicorn, it was far less pronounced. While she wore the white of a Lady of Attera, she also had a nice pair of boots that looked reasonably new, but little else of value and certainly no weapons.
"Greetings. I am Bekkah, I see that you have already met my baby sister with her most impressive steed."
Cesare is obviously Rhoni. The only thing odd about that is that Rhoni inevitably travel with other Rhoni, keeping themselves distant from non-Rhoni unless they need something. There is a possible explanation for the observant as, although he and Darian do not act as obvious lovers whilst travelling, there is something between the two that suggests a more intimate relationship.
He generally spends his time with Darian and Longtooth, checking out areas that fall ahead and to the side of their route, maybe checking for tracks, certainly foraging from time to time, sometimes engaging in games with Longtooth. Like Jankin, they too are on foot.
When introduced by Daxia, he nods politely but does not attempt to converse further.
Having picked up his shield he spent much of the predawn hours with Talia, getting her ready for the road as well as obtaining trail rations for the group. As such, he missed the conversation with Romana, only seeing her when the rest of the group shows up for their mounts and ready for the road. He greets everyone pleasantly and leads the way out of the city and onto the road west.
He eyes the man who joins them shortly after leaving town, but seeing no threat he simply nods to him and continues on their way west. He keeps an eye on their back-trail, looking for signs they are being followed, although he suspects that if the man Darian warned about is good, his picking up a sign is not likely.
As they travel they come closer and closer to his regular "working" area and the signs and villages become more and more familiar. At several villages he greets villagers by name, offering some of the sweets he purchased in Bordertown to some of the children who come, mostly to stare at Daxia's Unicorn.
At some point on the road he finds a few minutes to talk to the man who has now traveled with them for days.
"Jankin." He says simply. "My name is Mikal D'Allyne."
Jankin sees a man in his mid twenties with dark brown hair, edging towards black, worn long in a pony tail. His green eyes shiow intelligence, but also an underlying sadness. He is relatively tall, at 6', and muscularly lean at about 180lbs. His wide shoulders bear his leather armour, and his walk is extremely graceful. He bears a light crossbow on his back as well as a short sword with a finely ornamented grip and decorated scabbard on one hip, and a long Main Gauche on the other. He rides a Silver Bay, Crusader, 14 hands tall, Jankin has heard him call Talia. On the horse's flanks rest a sheathed broadsword and a medium sized shield, with a newly painted device.
"It is nice to meet you, and your company is welcome."
He gestures to the load of firewood the man carries and then at a nearby copse of trees. "Curious about your burden. Wood, in this direction of travel, is not that hard to find. Do you mind if I ask why you are carrying it?"
ooc note: take a close look at the conversations - Dominic's plan was to separate from Kadri and lead her Brothers on a merry chase across the farmlands ...
[[Good Gracious, that's a lot of introductions. Thanks so much for the warm greeting, both in and out of character. I suspect I'll be spending a few hours this weekend going back through the copious encyclopedia Wolf provided to figure out just who everyone is...]]
Jankin:
(presumably after the conversation with Kadri is finished)
As Daxia introduces each member, his eyes go to them, and he answers Cesare's nod with one of his own. He also nods gravely towards Morning Star, acknowledging the import of the steed to the woman who is speaking.
"It happens I have a bit of firewood on hand."
Again the almost-but-not-quite smile.
"For the cider, I've spices that may please."
Here he pats a well-packed pouch hanging across one shoulder.
***
(To Bekkah)
"She introduced the others. A strong band you have, able to protect yourselves. It is good not to be worried on the road."
***
(To Mikal)
"Yes. Well met. My thanks."
He walks for a moment in silence.
"I am in part a carver of wood. Always I watch for likely pieces as my day goes along. At the end, I choose what will be kept and made use of. The rest serves to build my fire."
***
Over the course of the day he does at times step off the road and examine fallen wood, picking some to add to his burden, leaving others behind. In addition, on and off, it seems as if he is humming, or sometimes muttering under his breath, in a tuneful and absent-minded way.
((Hope we can keep all the conversations straight!))
The Heartwood Bordertown Midday Attaday the Eighth of Horse
Daxia, Darian, Cesare, Bekkah, Mikal, Dean, Kadri, Romana and Jankin
OOC Note: The date above is to simply to indicate how far down the trail you had gotten at the end of the previous travelogue post and the end of this one.
... previous lunchtime greetings ...
From atop her white mare, the slender lass in cloak and hood carefully adjusted her hood to shelter her face even more.
" ... shy shy shy ... yes yes yes ..."
Was her reply, seeming both truly reclusive and perhaps more than a little simple. for a long long while, as they traveled together, Jankin could feel her eyes on him; nothing threatening.
In fact, as if it was she who was worried; against a simple woodcarver, of all people.
The horses they traveled with, now from the white mare to the black unicorn, they were fine beasts. Even the Jvrillian's scruffy looking mount. The unicorn, he too would occasionally eye the newcomer and then simply toss his head with a shake of his long mane.
... down the trail ...
Slowly, day byday it is not just the grays of Bordertown that are left behind. Once past MacMurphy's Tavern something else changed. Browns were slowly replaced by soft greens and the harsh winter rains became a welcome warm morning shower. The bite was gone from the breeze, instead her light warmed the trail and by noon it actually became ... hot.
Hot enough for a hood do come down, and a cloak opened, to reveal ...
Nothing too out of the ordinary. The shy girl had very long black hair, blue eyes and if anything probably needed more time out in the sun for her skin was almost porcelain fair. She even sheltered herself against the spring, though, her winter hood replaced with a floppy hat.
A very proper country girl, except her hands looked as if she hadn't done a lick of work in her life.
And sometimes, sometimes after washing her hair - which she usually did at night - there was a sable stain in the water.
... and into Horse ...
"Romanas nevers ..."
Indeed, the last few days the travel may have been a bit slower than normal, as the broken-spoken lass had developed a tendency to pause, to look all around, to ride off the trail a bit in a sudden look and see.
" ... have never been anywheres where Romanas could not see ..."
And it was true ... this far west ...
" ... mountains."
... they had finally faded beyond the rolling fields of the western horizon.
ooc note: this is a small segue post ... if the greeting conversations end I shall take that to mean Jankin is now a traveling companion and prepare the next arrival post
(I was sorta waiting to see if ividia wanted to chime in)
"You are of mountains, Romanas. For me ... This is more like where I began. Where you can see all, and all can see you - unless you are very good at not being seen."
"Jankin, if I may, I am curious more about where you are from, as we now know to where you are going. My from, is always and ever the plains of Amber, may it never again be to."
Jankin seemed slightly hesitant, but only for a moment, and then spoke deliberately.
"I am of the forest, the deep woods. I live among the trees and live off of nature's bounty. Skins from the animals I trap I use to make gloves, belts and bags to sell in the towns, along with my wooden carvings. It is simple, my life, but it is mine."
He looked about.
"This is quite different from anything I have ever seen. It unnerves me some."
"I can't say my life is simple, but it is also mine. But while it may sometimes seem unnerving out here, it is also marvelous. Something new over the next hill, a sunrise, a sunset, a thunderstorm - without the new there is stagnation, clouds cover the sun and the new dawn never comes."
He seems to watch Jankin even more carefully when he mentions he is from the deep woods. He has now run into 2 people who claimed to be from the depths of the woods. One turned out to be a witch and the other, well she has something in common with him. So there's no telling which side of the aisle Jankin will fall. However his answers thus far tend to fall more into the dissembling of Celi than the straightforwardness of Darian.
He shakes his head at Jankin's last comment. "Not sure I agree. Oh, certainly change is inevitable, but in my life I have found that change is usually good only for a few, and those few usually benefit from it by the blood and tears of others. People who go to their graves cursing that very same change."
"It is agreed that not everyone will see the good in the change. Difficult it is to say whether people will have died in another way entirely if that change had not come, but my belief is we go when we go. Stagnation is less preferred to change, for me."
Daxia had smiled at Romana’s wonder of the openness, the ability to see so far without a mountain in sight.
“DaziDaziDaziDazi never been where mountains not seen, either. More Dazi have in common with Romi, yah?” She looked at Romana, a half smile on her face. “Romana miss mountains like Dazi miss mountains?”
It would have become obvious within a few days that the Dayalan changed her speech pattern depending on who she was presently conversing with. With Romana and — sometimes — with Bekkah, she reverted to her native Dawnview cadence and accent, which included the dropping of unnecessary words. With Darian, even more words were dropped, leaving only the bare essentials to convey an idea. With everyone else, her speech pattern was quite ordinary, though it still echoed with the pronunciations found in the Vale. On rare occasions, however, when speaking with Dean or Bekkah, even the accent faded and she sounded almost... courtly.
And the intensity with which she observed the conversation between Mikal and Jankin would be something perhaps unnerving at first, though after more than a fullhand, it would become just another oddity about the woman who carried a sword and rode a unicorn... neither of which was particularly usual, either.
“I have seen change, though unlike you, Mikal, most has been for the better.” Daxia shrugged. “From where you began your travels, you would find more change for the worse. From where I began my travels...” She smiled. “Really, anything would have been possible. And whether change is for the better or not depends, I think, on perspective. In Cragside, I was most certainly not happy with being part of the element of change, but now I see it was a good thing.
“In Bordertown — or rather, outside Bordertown — there was nothing but good that could come from our deeds there.” She raised an eyebrow. “Though there are those who would find that change more unpleasant than any change you saw in your travels.” Again, the Dayalan shrugged. “Perspective.”
She patted Morning Star’s neck as she continued. “Being who we are, it would seem change — change that makes a difference in other’s lives as well as our own — is inevitable. The goal, then, is to make the change most beneficial to as many of those others as possible, da?”
"Is there a greater good than the good of the biggest group of others? The wishes of the Gods? Something beyond even them? I have wondered at times if the world around us, the heavens and the waters and the winds, have a good that is best for them that we cannot comprehend."
He listens to Daxia, then Jankin, and grunts. "I don't worry about all that. To me the goodness of a long day working the field, bringing in a good crop, helping to birth a calf. The goodness of a full belly after a happy meal with your family, laughing together at silly jokes and falling exhausted into bed knowing you had a day that most others would turn their noses up at but was an honest day's work. That is goodness I would accept never changing."
He glances at Daxia, then Jankin. "Instead I find myself bathed in the blood of others. A taker of life instead of a giver of joy. When I bring change to a place it means people die. I am sorry if I'd be happier bringing that kind of change less often."
Daxia regarded the man for a moment, then smiled. “These are interesting questions you pose, Jankin. When I would pose such interesting questions to Priestess Kassia, she would remind me that catching the attention of the Gods and Goddesses was very unwise. Would merely asking question catch their attention? Kassia seemed to believe so.” She caught his gaze and held it as she continued.
“And if we should ask if there is something beyond them, if we should question whether the world itself has a will, might that not lead to attentions we would rather not have?”
She turned to Mikal, eyes filled with pain at his words.
“Don’t be sorry, Mikal. Because we do as our Goddess and God bid us to do, it is not necessary for us to be happy in the taking of a life. In fact, long ago it seems, back in Cragside, Kadri counseled me that it is better to feel anguish at the taking of a life, for that is what will keep us decent people.”
She glanced at Kadri and shrugged. “I think demons and avatars of certain gods do not fall in that category, for I certainly felt no heartache when they died.”
The change of weather and the growing green around them brings a more spritely step and a lighter demeanour in the Rhoni. Winter is cold. Cold brings hardship. Spring green promises more fruitful pickings along the way. Life is easier, more pleasant.
Listening to the conversations he tends to agree with Mikal's summation the most although he does not see himself as a dealer of death, even though he has been in that role since joining this group. He takes life a day at a time though and hopes that maybe that side of things will not be as prevalent in their future.
Eventually he starts to join more in the general conversation, though he can be more direct than Mikal, turning to Jankin and asking..
"You were travelling alone. Seems likely then that you have skills to defend yourself, yet I see no obvious weapons. How is that?"
Kadri looks over at Mikal and speaks, quietly, and plainly.
“Mikal ... I may not be wise, but I have thoughts on this. As long and people are people, there will be death, there will be violence, there will be change, good and bad. People will be brutal to other people. You didn't kill those people, they killed themselves with their choices and your sword was their means of suicide. Like Dazi, I would trust you with my life and death because I KNOW that in taking life you are wounded as your foe is. I know you for an honorable and a good man, and I take pride in knowing you."
Last edited by Art in the Blood; Mon 11/03/1315:00 UTC.
Listening to the discussion, so much more full and free-flowing than with his mentor with the addition of people from so many different walks of life, he found a great contentment he hadn't looked for. Nodding his agreement with the words of Daxia and Mikal, his face creased in sympathy for Mikal's words. For a little he walked alone, thinking on what had been said, until Cesare spoke.
"I have my staff, and can use it well enough to fend off or frighten anyone wishing to rob me for my load of wood. I am quick enough to avoid many blows, but my primary defense is that I have nothing worth taking, and give no offense. Who would bother?"
By this time his routine will have become clear to the group. He gathers fallen wood whenever he can, always looking for the dry well-seasoned pieces with no rot. At day's end he sorts through it and keeps the best pieces aside for carving, while the rest goes to the fire. Each night he sats deadfalls and other traps, then wakes early enough to have any animals caught skinned out before the group takes the road again. The meat goes to the communal pot and the best skins he keeps aside, treated with an herbal paste and rolled for future attention. Jankin's hands are never idle, and his multi-purpose knife is kept razor sharp. There is always some small child's toy or humorous figurine slowly taking shape in the curve of his hands at the tip of his knife.
He simply grunts softly, and nods thanks, at Kadri's comment.
When Jankin adds his thoughts about having nothing worth taking, he shakes his head. "Do not depend on such too strongly, Jankin. I have known men who would kill you for your boots. Worse, men who would kill you just for the pleasure of hearing you scream and to watch the pretty picture your entrails would make as they escaped your body. And I know personally of men who would strip you naked, march you off in chains to work in the mines until you died, and fight each other over your carvings as you walked away."
"There are too many such men." His face turns harder. "Fewer now than there were some years ago, but the world will never lack for such."
He looks closely at Jankin. "I'd not see you, or any man, reach those ends. My best advice is to depend on the speed of your feet much more than your lack of wealth to protect you."
He shrugs and forces out a chuckle. "I am being morose now." He glances around. "It is probably the proximity to....", he gestures off vaguely to the North.
Indeed, she even draws up her white mare, bringing it to a stop, looking to Mikal with a sudden flash of dark, dark and so aristocratic eyes of sapphire.
Upon a sentence with three words looped within it.
Pleasure.
Pretty.
Entrails.
The blackhaired woman's words are in a perfectly accented colonial.
"You.
"Do.
"Not."
Tapping her heels, Dancer broke into an immediate leap, into an immediate canter.
She rode the rest of the day a fullhand of paces ahead of her companions.
She looked at Mikal. “Remember the stories she told. I know Kadri and I weren’t the only ones who heard them.” She lowered her voice, almost to a whisper. “You probably couldn’t have described her father more accurately if you tried.”
Daxia turned and urged Morning Star up the road after Romana, not even making an attempt to catch up to her until they stopped for the day.
Like Cesare, she offered only a nod of greeting. Those she traveled with knew she spoke little by choice, and that mostly to the Snarkhound though she also favored Cesare with more words than the others.
as they traveled...
Her cloak and boots were leather though her traveling clothes were well used and well kept linen. She carried a bow and a long knife hung at her waist. She moved with an easy grace of someone accustomed to being out of doors, and when there was no shelter to be had from farm or tavern, or even when there was, she would often supplement their evening meal with fresh game.
Nights around a fire saw her use the time to construct arrows and add them to her quiver. As the days grew warmer, she threw back her cloak and hood more fully, enjoying Her light and warmth as it deepened the bronze of her skin, setting off even more so the gold of her eyes.
He listens as Jankin provides his reasons, then to Mikal as he gives his opinion.
"I think Mikal has more of the right of it. I have never found obscurity any form of defence."
There is the flash of a grin. He is Rhoni. Hard for Rhoni to be obscure and they often attract the wrong sort of attantion, some warranted, some not.
He does seem satisfied with Jankin's response though, even if he doesn't find it sound. The man has the right to determine his own behaviour, but Cesare like to know who might have his back and how capable they are.
"It is true, that this does not always work. For me in the past it has, but I find myself in different places now than ever before I have been. If the time comes and we are threatened, I will stand with you as best I can."
He nods. It is all they could expect and at least they won't need to make a special effort to defend him any more than they would anyone in their group.
Is there more to Jankin that what he shows on the surface? Probably. It has been so for most people here.. but he is entitled to keep the details to himself and maintain his best defence.. after all he doesn't know if he can trust them yet.
The Heartwood Bordertown Dawn Ramaday the First of Wolf ... and days beyond ...
Daxia, Darian, Cesare, Mikal, Dean, Kadri and Romana and Jankin
By dusk, by dinner, by the fall of night and the warmth of an oversized farmer's living room - the horses and gear tied up outside, a few coins traded for a helping of stew and bread; cool water to drink but no wine - andRomana had retuned to her spot in the company's shadow. Like the weather, her mood found it fit to turn back to one more friendly and warm.
Though of it she refused to speak. Unless, of course, someone cornered her.
And then a few days more.
These did not pass uneventfully. indeed, the further west the more crowded the trail had become; little side roads and horse paths converging upon the trail, like little streamlets feeding into a large river. Which, naturally, made the chance of an accident much much higher, especially as the terrain seemed to also become a bit more rough, a bit morerocky. The path began to wind around rock outcroppings; some of which were quite sheer, some perhaps a house or two high.
"Watch it ... watch it ... your swing too close ... too close ... too close ... KRYSTA'S HELLS!"
It was heard before seen, first the voices ahead and then the scream of horses and a crash - of something big falling, of wood splintering. The the cacophony.
" ... are you all right? ANSWER ME ...'
" ... cor ... cor ... cor ... we are in so much rouble ..."
" ... witches and firewood, we are bound for the quarries now."
" .. forget that, Paulie's down there!"
Rounding a corner and the traffic on the path had come to a complete and sudden halt. A trio of wagons blocked the trail, right where it took a corner along te top of a broken rockface. tumbled down the side, in a trail of wood and wagonwheels was the forth. It lay shattered at the base of the rock, the team that had been pulling it no longer kicking - slain by either the fall or the wagon's cargo that had fallen atop.
The wagon had been carrying long slabs of gray marble.
Montague marble.
It took a good while, alongside the Montague merchants, to clear away the wood and stone to find their teamster. Though it was a truly lucky day. Any other day they would have had no choice but to sit beside him as he went to dance with Krysta.
But today ... today chance had brought him a Lady of Atera.
" .. thank the bloomin' stars, man!"
" ... er ma'am ..."
Though it also brought a parting. Paulie's hurts were deep and still, even after Bekkah's touch, threatening to take him to a final rest. there was little choice in the matter; the demands of keeping ahead of the news would beak against a handfull of days it would take to heal all of the teamster's wounds. Lady Bekkah's duties were equally clear.
And thus it was, with a hug or two and sincere farewell, most continued towards the sunset, with a promise of of course I'll catch up and high summer in the Cathedral at Talesan's Village. in truth, however, there could be no more natural a parting, for this was exactly how Lady Bekkah had spent the last years; in the lowside fields, tending to those who truly needed her touch.
The broken wagon, however, did have a subtle effect, one that would not be felt until father down the trail.
It had delayed the small group exactly one half of one day. When night fell, it did not care if the small group was at a wayside rest or not.
The path changed again.
It was a familiar change for Mikal; the ground was more rocky, there were less trees, and the bits of grass were getting thinner and scarcer- someone farming here would have their work definitely cut out of a harsh heavy cloth. It reminded him of the rough lands of Brockman's Holdfast - which was somewhere ahead; in act the path would run past his home before reaching Talantal.
There was just this ravine between.
Even though it was warmer, Romana decided her cloak was more comfortable. She looked a touch nervous, each day, as they rode towards the sea.
Perhaps it was the hint of fel decorations upon the trail. Bits of rock, broken stone,Shards of usted steel, weatherworn shafts of broken wood, the scattering of little gray rings ... a buckle hear and there, all aged, the left overs from many years of raven pickings, flotsam and jetsam no longer even worh scavenging.
Finally, upon the twentieth of Horse, a tavern was passed. Not at the end of the day, but when the sun was highest in the sky. It had an odd name, the shingle had a hill and sun on it, the words spelling out "Half Day Out." But it did not sem that hospitable - not for unfriendliness, because it was obviously so, but because it was crowded. The patrons had spilled out into its porches and to even reach its doors one would have had to wave through caravan wagons, horses and teamsters.
Considering there were those stretched out atop their cargo, there was definitely no room at this inn.
Leaving the last of the afternoon upon the trail.
The sun had just reahed the far horizon when they reached it.
The deep ravine which slashed across the mainland. only a hundred feet or so was the other side, but it was also so much higher. There was a light; a simple torch in a jury-rigged fitting, on the side of a honey colored marble pier, which in turn was at the base of a series of zig-zagging switchbacks climbing upwards. At the crest it spring in a graceful stone arch across the chasm, from lowside to highside ...
... ending in a broken jagged edge about halfway across.
The base of the ravine, where the Silk Creek could be heard to rush and thunder, was already cast in darkness - but it was obvious, somewhere down there was the remainder of the Silk Creek Bridge.
From the edge of stone to the other side a connecting span had been built of wood. While strong it was definitely a much later addition, prompted by the necessity of trade - here was the only crossing, and the crossing had to be maintained. The skills to repair the stone ramparts was lost two Ages ago.
The stone was a silent clip clop from the horses hooves ... upon the wood they echoed loudly into the dusk.
When they reached the other side it was to a barren stone field. A fog, like a thousand gray cats slinking, was already drifting just above the ground.
It was the first evening mist they had seen since Bordertown.
There were only two buildings in sight. A sturdy inn; two stories, crafted of stone and heavy timber. the door was open and a figure could be seen in the entrance. if anything, this silhouetted person looked ... impatient. Rushed. The signboard that hung across the door had a single green tree painted on it.
The second structure was an open blacksmith shop. there was a ull red glow from the furnaces, but it was completely empty.
The only other landmark was at the very base of the wooden bridge. it towered over ravine and tavern, tall and green. it was a huge, ancient, gnarled pine tree, its roots dug right into the side of the stone cliffs and broken marble shards.
"Hurry ... hurry ... hurry ..."
The fog was cold, like a winter's breath, as if slipped about their legs as they tied up the horses.
The innkeeper bustled them inside -every one, including the snarkhound - and when he was done, he closed the door solid, he closed it and set a heavy bar in place.
He raised his hand.
"Three rooms is all I got. Ten crown a room, and since your here, that's a done deal.
For reasons completely outside of the game Nivek has asked to step out. it has nothing to do with the game or anyone here ... and so i did so easily, simply ... with the ability, if he ever wants to come back - or even do a cameo for a few posts - will not only be able to but be welcome to!
Thank you Nivek, it was great having you and Bekkah in the game.
second ... there are three rooms ...
Who ends up in each room is VERY important; so let me know!
Daxia had parted from her sister, tears running without shame down both sisters’ cheeks.
“Oh, Bekkah, I’ll miss you! Even more than all those years you were gone from Dawnview, because it’s been so good to have you close again.” The Dayalan hugged the Lady of Attera, tightly and fiercely. “But duty calls you, I know. I understand, even if my heart refuses.”
She was quieter after that, less inclined to initiate conversation. And though her smile was just as bright and her laugh still as cheerful, it seemed like she smiled less and laughed less.
Perhaps it was parting from Bekkah, or perhaps a reflection of the lands through which they traveled. Perhaps it was both. And perhaps, just perhaps, it was something more, too.
That day, the day that had them crossing the Silk Creek Bridge, was Daxia’s birthday. She didn’t mention it, she saw no point in doing so. Bekkah was not here to share it with her... and she had become accustomed to passing it as any other day since Bekkah had left for Lilia’s Castle.
There was something about crossing the honey marble half of the bridge — built by her Sisters in the First Age — and passing under the enormous tree that caused a look of melancholy to settle on her features. Though perhaps, just perhaps, it was something more, too.
When they reached the inn, and had gathered inside, she simply shrugged at the innkeeper’s pronouncement of charges. Looking around at her companions, she asked, “Darian, Cesare, Longtooth... Dazi, Kadri, Romana... Mikal, Dean, Jankin?”
The Hunter glances up and shrugs. For her and Cesare and Longtooth it has become their normal arrangement. The sharing of a bed a pleasant convenience for them where it might not be for others.
He nodded his agreement to the arrangements, and set about pulling a couple of herbs from his pouch to brew tea. It looked like he was tired and needing sleep. Perhaps being so far from where he'd grown up had taken its toll.
At the innkeeper naming a price, he looks at Darian with one eyebrow raised in question. He is just as happy to sleep out, even the rocky ground being preferrable - but the choice is Darian's.
Then he turns to the innkeeper, nodding towards the barred door - that and aware of the innkeeper's nervous disposition.
"A couple of questions, are we expecting trouble? And is that forge available to be worked?"
He smiles, calm, almost friendly but his eyes are everywhere landing on the innkeeper as his questions end.
He bids goodbye to Bekkah with the others. He is especially sad to see her go. It is not a common thing for him to actually travel with a Priestess of Attera, and beyond her companionship, having a healer available immediately when needed is worth it's weight in gold.
Reaching the inn, he follows the others inside, leaving Talia in the stable. When the innkeeper slams the door closed and bars it as if he has no intention of opening it before morning, he turns to look back then at the innkeeper with a questioning expression.
He listens to Cesare's question and nods agreement. "Are our mounts safe?" He adds to the query.
As far as divvying up the rooms, he doesn't really care. He'd rather stay in the commons, but the innkeeper has ruled that out.
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Then, later still again, after passing through the Bordertown gate, the group came across a solitary traveler... as each of them had been at one or another point in their journeys.
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