Lingering slightly without and therefore the last to enter, Phil gives a short nod to both Gether and the Gether-wife. Holding hand to forestall the parsnip wine he asks "Bread, cheese and cider... or failing all of that bread and water's all the hospitality I need." not taking a seat and instead remaining standing.
"Can I offer you gentlemen some parsnip wine?" Gether asks ingratiatingly.
"I'll try some," Braddon bravely volunteers.
He looks about the kitchen."Do you want some help? Gristav here often helps when we're... home."
"Hmm?", Gristav starts at the speaking of his name, stirring from the silent revery of the past few minutes. "Umm... perhaps.", he allows, but sidles closer to Tendal, whispering, not rudely secret, but only for gentleness' sake.
"Parsnip can make a grand dry white. Mayhap, may help your headache?"
Finding any handy space to take some steps anti-toward the tender-pate Tendal, Gris returned to Braddon's topic.
"I would delight in helping; there is a humble honor in serving others, but, of course, the lady knows her house and stores, and I don't count myself arrived just as yet. If I pledged to all the cleaning, might I be forgiven the absent time I'd need to do honor to pre-existing duties?"
"Mister Gether, if the cart's at hand, or you could direct me? While your lady labors and ladles, I'd see to the stowing and tarping of our stores and trappings. It would be an itch to me, all the night, were it not done duly."
Gether produces a jug and some mismatched tumblers and pours a glass of wine for anyone who will partake. "The trick's to make it in the spring; roots are sweeter," he boasts. "Put this batch up last Gozran."
Gristav goes out out to the barn, where an old but serviceable wagon awaits. More a farm cart than a traveling home like a Varisian wagon, it has no roof, but the back appears large enough to hold the party comfortably, if not luxuriously. A pair of horses and an aging milch cow watch the half-elf lugubriously from their stalls.
"Gentlemen, Miss", Gristav said gently. He'd no gift with animals, and he knew it, and no gifts for the animals, either. He wasn't sure if it comforted him, that they didn't seem to expect any, or either.
The cart's dust and dirt... disappeared, at least in the space Gristav planned any use. He made efficient work of bundling the booty, in blankets and twine, secured against snoopage, the knots all known, and cleaned and soiled in turn, in a fashion, if not a pattern, to tell their tale if touched or tweaked. A layer of dust landed next, a more general greeting; he'd spare himself and any others its meeting, if he were on hand, before the dust was.
And if he weren't? Well, then, he allowed, he might not care.
Seated, almost relaxed, his legs stretched out in an attempt to unwind aching muscles, Tendal started to feel a bit better.
"Thank you for the kind offer of shelter and wine."
With mild trepidation Tendal accepts the offered tumbler from Gether, ignores the smudged fingerprints, and takes a cautious sip expecting the taste of dirt and muck.
Not good. No, certainly not good...but not bad. Serviceable, especially considering the surroundings.
"Madame your wine wets the throat and cleanses the palate excellently. Again, I thank you," he says, the frown unwinding from his lips.
Regardless of whether the call for bread, cider or cheese was fulfilled Phillip takes his repast to the stoop outside and sits with feet to dust and eyes outwards. He notes Gristav moving past him but doesn't implore anything of him... instead looking inwards to his own thoughts.
Snake finds him a seat and leans back in it, pulling the front of his hat down over his eyes before crossing his arms in front of him and resting them on his chest. "I'm good. Thanks," he responds to the offer of wine.
Braddon takes the wine and downs it.
He looks about his companions, basking in the calm and quiet, and turns to their hosts.
"I'm Braddon."
"Nice place."
"Much happening round here?"
"We're just passing through."
"Been here long?"
"We're off to Riddleport."
"Do many people from round here move there?"
"You get many visitors?"
"Have much to do with the town?"
"How do you earn a crust?"
"I'm a... hunter."
Snake pops up the front of his hat a moment to look over at Braddon as if the ranger has gone off his rocker. He looks over at the host and then back to Braddon, shaking his head at the ridiculousness of it all before lowering the front of his hat back down over his eyes.
The woman stares at Braddon and his barrage of questions with a dreamy quizzicality as she prepares the meal. Gether tries to keep up with a querulous frown. One gets the impression that conversation isn't a common pastime on the farm.
"Much happening round here?"
"We'll be harvesting grain in a month or two...."
"Been here long?"
"Aye, about seventeen harvests."
"We're off to Riddleport."
"Do many people from round here move there?"
"From the Cove? Can't say as they do. Of course, the ships go back and forth right regular, but sailors don't count as locals, do they?"
"You get many visitors?"
"Gertue has a shiftless brother, shows up every now and then to ask for money." He gives his wife a glare and spits on the floor before remembering his company and begging Tendal's pardon.
"Have much to do with the town?"
"Sell grain there and eggs and a side of bacon when I kill a pig."
"How do you earn a crust?"
"How do I ...? I grow my own. Live off the land," he says with a hint of pride. "Farming ain't like sailing, where someone tosses you a sack of coin at the end of a day ... when they ain't pressing you and forcing you to work for free. I grow my own grain, grind my own flour, bake my own bread, drink fresh milk and eat fresh eggs every day, put up some pork come killing time. All this," he waves his hand vaguely around at the cluttered farmhouse, "is the fruit of the sweat of my brow."
And oddly enough, the wine tastes it. A bit.
Tendal finished off the remainder of his glass of wine, setting the tumbler down on the table.
"I imagine that its a tough, but good life out here. Close enough to the town to get what you need, far enough away that you are left alone." Tendal muses, eyes roving across the cluttered table, the herbs, dried vegetables and what looks like a leg of ham hanging from the rafters, and the smudges of dirt on the face and fingers of the farmer and his wife.
Certainly not for me. Give me a town any day of the week, he thinks. Then, unbidden: I wonder what Liry is doing today?
"How... er," "Boring!" "... lovely."
Undeterred, Braddon continues his prattle throughout the evening.
And oddly enough, the wine tastes it. A bit.
Tendal finished off the remainder of his glass of wine, setting the tumbler down on the table.
"I imagine that its a tough, but good life out here. Close enough to the town to get what you need, far enough away that you are left alone." Tendal muses, eyes roving across the cluttered table, the herbs, dried vegetables and what looks like a leg of ham hanging from the rafters, and the smudges of dirt on the face and fingers of the farmer and his wife.
Certainly not for me. Give me a town any day of the week, he thinks. Then, unbidden: I wonder what Liry is doing today?
"Alone?", Gristav said from the doorway. "I'm sure you'll have to agree, that these fine folk, however distant, will always be... two Gether."
The meal proves to be a simple affair. It may have attained to heartiness, had the stew not been watered so liberally to make it stretch to five extra mouths. Still, there are bread, cheese and cider in sufficient quantities to supplement the ostensible main course. Gertrue Gether eats sparingly, distracted from the board by Braddon's ongoing loquacity which she silently contemplates in something approaching awe. Arrus insists on keeping Tendal's cup filled with parsnip wine, convinced that he has, at last, found a fellow oenophile properly to appreciate his art.
After dinner, the farmer considers his house guests charily. "This ain't no inn," he admits reluctantly. "I'll have to stuff you some straw-ticks to sleep on. You prefer the floor here or the hayloft out in the barn?" The cluttered room would make a crowded and stuffy campsite for five; the hayloft would undoubtedly be roomier and airier in the summer night, though less secure.
Without a second thought, "I'll take the barn."
Phillip doesn't press for a barn or berth, instead intending to spend a goodly part of the early night looking outwards towards the dark rather than at the back of his eyelids.
"Hayloft. I'm good with... outside stuff." Braddon nods sagely.
"Gertrue!" Arrus grunts. "Fetch some blankets!"
With a collection of patched wool blankets, tarps, and what might be old curtains, the farmer leads the group out to the barn, where he carries large sacks up the ladder to the hayloft to stuff with straw. Despite the presence of livestock on the lower level, the night air and fresh hay make the air sweeter than that within the closed farmhouse, and the twinkling stars visible through the hatch encourage the party that they made the wiser choice.
"When you hear the rooster crow, you can come in for a quick bite before we leave," he advises. "I'll have Gertrue pack a sack of vittles for the trip." He hesitates at the top of the ladder. "I'll leave a lantern, but for Erastil's sake, don't tip it over; the whole barn'll go up." With a last warning glance, he climbs back down the ladder to return to his house for the night.
"The hayloft will undoubtably be adequate for this evening." Tendal replies setting his "glass" down and pushing back from the table.
Arrus is going to keep insisting I drink more of his stock into the late evening at this rate, at least if I stay here...ugh. I may never look upon a parsnip in the same way.
The night in the hayloft passes peacefully. If Phillip feared pursuit from Roderic's Cove, his worries remain unfounded by morning. They party is wakened, as Farmer Gether predicted, by the rooster's crow in the gray pre-dawn.
Braddon forces open an eye at the still and dim surroundings. He gurgles something, rolls over and, a moment later, gently starts snoring again.
Phillip wakes to the crow and stirs gradually. Shaking the chill from his limbs he moves outside and puts eyes to the horizon.
Phil moves to the hatch and scans the countryside for signs of movement. In the gray twilight, he sees no sign that they have yet been pursued to the Gether farm. A light is visible from behind the shutters of the farmhouse which proclaims that the party's host and hostess are up and about and hopefully producing the promised breakfast.
Tendal groaned awake, blinking gritty eyes in the morning sunlight, then rubbing his legs in an attempt to get the cramps out.
"Gah. I am not sure if my head hurts more than my legs." he said, rolling over off the pile of straw that he had covered with his bedroll for the night.
"That parsnip wine, while...interesting in the taste, was not slight in its alcohol content. Reading over my spells this morning is going to be interesting."
"Speaking of spells, Gristav, you offered a cleaning cantrip? I still have my spell of repair available if anyone requires it."
Snake, having already arose and a bit confused at the visions Lucky showed him earlier this morning, shakes his head at the well-dressed man, unable to contain a wry grin at the man's predicament. "Well it could be worse, bub. At least you're not dead," he tells him, the slight grin still there.
Phil smiles wanly before retorting "Sooner we're a'cart the sooner you can look forward to the Goblin's bedding." thinking himself of perhaps warms arms and bosom that might be his own greeting. Shaking his head to keep sharp in the moment, Phil moves within to see what horrors breaking of fast will imply.
"Speaking of spells, Gristav, you offered a cleaning cantrip? I still have my spell of repair available if anyone requires it."
Gristav didn't startle awake. Well, he had, startled awake, but it was long minutes ago, and he had since then kept a gobsmacked silence, fully tongue-tied, nearly cross-eyed, pondering the lepidopteral tenant of the laces of his blouse. The butterfly's wings slowly opened and closed, rose and fell, in seeming respect of his own breath, and in ignorance of the thudding of his heart.
At Tendal's use of his name, Gristav hoped he'd look their way, but the natty noble focused on his garments, inch by inch, or at least, stopping at any stray thread or patch of wear.
"Does anyone else", Gristav asked, in softened sibilants, "See this..." He hoped, he tried, but in the moment, he failed to find another word; "Butterfly?"
And, as he'd feared, at the plosive pop, or the glottal stop, the insect was aloft, fluttering, flapping, flying, and then flown, out- of the loft, and of the barn, and of sight.
"Did you SEE that?!", Gristav asked, broadly grinning, genuine joy as he looked from face to face for confirmation.
And finding Phillip's face, the grin changed: a flicker of suspicion, and then redoubled gregariousness. "Oh, well done, Phillip!", Gristav congratulated. "How long had you planned that? Since the perfumer's, at least, yes? And the poppets beforehand, to set the stage... brilliant! Just... brilliant!"
Between celebratory chuckles and congratulatory pointed fingers, Gristav busied himself answering whatever cantripped cleaning needs his natty neighbor noted, aperiodically pointing, gusting into gregarious gesture at the petit presumed philanthropic prankster. "Marvelous", he marvelled.
Phillip's face as stone and eyebrow slightly raised in confused questioning he endures Gristav's undeserved congratulations. Several thoughts bubble, rise and flit across the pockmarked surface of his mind... turns of phrase degrading, abject refusal, ignorance... before finally settling upon and giving voice to deadpanned rejection "I had nothing to do with it... whatever it is."
The denizens of the hayloft climb down the ladder, past the doleful cow, and cross the yard to the farmhouse. A rap at the door is shortly answered by Arrus Gether, who peeks out cautiously, emits a grunt of recognition, then swings the door open for his guests to enter.
The interior of the house is not greatly changed from the night before, save that the aroma of stew has been replaced with the sizzle of bacon as Gertrue stands at the stove. There are also some scrambled eggs and a stack of flapjacks on offer, with a pot of butter. Phillip is stoically unsurprised to discover that the closest thing to Sargavan Red is a kettle of hot tea, a sad substitute.
Gether sidles up to Tendal. "A hair of the dog?" he offers ingratiatingly, holding up the bottle of parsnip wine.
Braddon rolls out of the hay and follows the others as they leave, though it's still uncertain if he's awake. His stumbling seems to lessen and his strength return in direct proportion to the nearness of the scent of bacon. Once inside he settles at the table, stuffs a buttered flapjack in his mouth and washes it down with the tea, barely disappointed at the lack of glamoured flavouring, though he briefly casts a misty eye in the direction of remembered redheads.
As the breakfast nears its end, Mistress Gether gives her husband a significant glance. When he frowns, she redoubles her glare, and he slowly clears his throat. "Half the fare paid upfront and left with Gertrue," he half-apologizes. "In case something should happen and she should have to replace the beasts and cart."
Phillip smiles and nods an assertion "But of course" before counting out the requested coin.
Arrus and Gertrue hustle the coins over to a table in the dim back part of the room, where they painstakingly count them over twice. Then, with a nod, Mistress Gether sweeps the pile into a kerchief, which she wraps around the pelf, knots twice, and tucks into a pocket beneath her apron.
"I'll get the beasts hitched," Gether advises, "while Gertrue packs some tack and rations for the road." He picks a battered felt hat off a hook by the door and heads for the barn.
Tendal's stomach growls noisily as the smell of frying bacon wafts over him.
"Hunger does actually make the best sauce." he says blandly, but his tone is belied by the gusto with which he tucks into the offered breakfast.
Arrus and Gertrue do set an excellent table, for what they have. On the other hand, we are paying them enough to get through a winter, regardless of what the farm produces...so they certainly won't be put out by feeding us. he thinks, quickly doing the sums in his head to determine what the farm could be expected to produce in a season.
"The meal was excellent Madame Gether. I do appreciate your hospitality and regret that I was not as effusive with my praise toward yourself and your husband as was warranted." Tendal said as he stood. He then sketched a small bow toward the lady of the house, and followed Arrus out the door.
Braddon shoves a last flapjack in his mouth as he follows the others out with a quick, "Fanf ew," to their hostess.
"Elvish", Gristav fibs fabulously, late to the door, having come from the kitchen, and cantripped cleaning. "Fruit and Flower, he said. High praise, of beauty and succulence. Odd...", Gristav says, faux-bemused, "He was speaking, of a bread-stuff."
"Thank you.", Gristav goodbyes, for himself, and for Braddon.
Rising from the table himself, the tall man tips his hat toward the lady of the house in thanks. "I'm going to go with what he said," he points toward Tendal and follows the others out the door.
Phillip gives no words, merely a slightly predatory smile and nod of the head. Keen to be rid of the uncertain ground they currently stand on... and back to the sin infested snakepit that he's moderately more familiar with.
There is no touching farewell scene between husband and wife, as the cart makes ready to leave the farm. Arrus gives his wife a brusque nod from the driver's seat. "Mind you get the fence mended!" he barks as his parting words.
As for Gertrue, she watches from the door without emotion for a handful of seconds before going back inside and shutting the door behind her. No one ever heard her speak a word since their arrival.
"The open road, eh?" Gether asks with forced bonhomie as the cart bumps bone-rattlingly over the uneven ground. "Here you go," he hands a bottle of parsnip wine to Tendal. "You might just want to hold onto this so it doesn't break. Just because we're roughing it doesn't mean we can't have a drink like civilized people, eh?"
Phil finds a corner of the cart where he can press his back into two walls for support and uses his pack as a makeshift posterior combined shock absorber cum cushion. He also pulls a couple of coins, one cupric one argentic and sets them a play and dancing across his knuckles.
Tendal takes the roughly offered bottle with bemusement. "Why, thank you for the kind offer Gether. It is a bit early..." he trails off as he makes a vague motion toward the newly risen sun where it reaches through the trees.
Its only a few minutes later, after being shaken by the wagon rumbling over the ruts of the road, the vibration and bumps causing his teeth and jaw to ache that he absently uncorks the wine and takes a long pull.
Braddon is content to follow the cart on foot, jumping up regularly as he tires before wearying of the rattle and returning to the trail.
Occasionally, he scouts ahead, new bow and arrow at the ready, keeping an eye out for travellers on the road or game foolish enough to be nearby.
The journey by land between Roderic's Cove and Riddleport is a whole different kind of tedious than the voyage by sea, as the ceaseless, unpredictable jarring of the cart as it rolls over uneven ground is different from the ceaseless but predictable roll of the waves. There is more scope for movement, as Braddon's jaunts in and out of the bed of the wagon demonstrate, but the fact is balanced by the knowledge that the conditions will have to be endured twice as long as the shipboard stay. In the end, if there is a clear delineation which is to be preferred, Tendal finds and loses it at the bottom of the bottle of parsnip wine.
In the shade of a roadside tree, they pause in the afternoon heat to dig into the provisions Gertrue provided: thick slabs of bread and butter, some dried apples, and handfuls of toasted grain. The horses drink from a creek that is also used to refill waterskins. By sunset, Braddon's new bow has added a brace of rabbits to the positive column of their ledger; the farmer skins and cleans them, cooking the meat over the campfire he has built, while the hobbled horses graze their own meal from the surface of the rolling Varisian countryside. It will be another night under the stars for the party, this time their bedrolls on the ground rather than atop the more forgiving hay of the barn loft.
Waiting for an appropriate time of the evening when Gether is off seeing to the horses, Phillip gathers the rest of the grim and oddly dispositioned company for a tete a tete... a tete... a tete..... a tete.
"So... back to the cesspool we at the least know tomorrow... would be prudent if we at least had a manner and means of approach. I'd wager with relative confidence the whoremistress will find a way or means to sound one of us out... Our own wagemaster will also likely raise an eyebrow as well. Best we center ourselves on common purpose lest it all falls apart."
"If needs be for volunteering... I could be the one to seek audience with the whoremistress."
Snake looks to Tendal, Braddon, and Gristav each in turn - Too much of a suit, has no idea what a suit is, and would talk a suit to death if given the opportunity - before turning back to Phillip. "I'm thinking that's probably a good idea," he says plainly, nodding in agreement.
"She'll need an update, and you're perhaps most innocently seen visiting, if innocence, as a term, can apply.", Gristav, grinning, agrees with Phillip.
"If you'd wish company, you can have it. True for any of you, but we're speaking of Phillip, just the then."
"As for the nearer later, I'll turn an Opened Eye beneath our tethered tarp, to see what Tendal or I may see. Are there any others, with Sight?", Gris asks, eyes flicking from Phillip to Snake, and back. "Well, best not parade the individual items, if a simple hushed report will do? Myself, then Tendal, in turn? Or whatever other order, or, ordered other. I may be unique, but I'm not particular."
Braddon nods in agreement with Snake but says to Phillip, "I can back you up and stab her in the face if she tries any of her... stuff."
His wiggles his fingers in front of himself by way of explanation.
"Oh, and Tendal... let's spend some of these idler hours with the notes we've each made, of the arts we share? And Snake, if you think it might benefit you? You're welcome at my book, at least."