Brigh! Is this what you want of me? Why am I here? Of course you do not answer. Power but no reply. This must be your will but why?
Dorvren moves to the town square and waits, and watches. [ooc]Percep
Taldor... What the hell am I doing here..? Aldiran had asked herself that same question more than once, even though she knew the answer. The lure of the North had been stronger than ever since her father died - losing him was the hardest and final blow in breaking her spirit all those years ago, even though it seemed yesterday that misery and sickness made short work of all her family - and she was unable to asve any of them, it didn't matter how far she sunk in her morality and her pride, it didn't matter how far she went from begging to... Things much worse... She was not able to save them, failing miserably at the only ever important task in her life.
She had tried erasing all memories of her former life, but to no avail, and with the memories comes the pain... There occasional respite however, and the rememberance of the gleam in her fathers' eyes when he spoke of the vast northern exapanses where he was born and grew, made for that respite, that shred of a chance that not everything is misery. He died without ever seeing the North again.
She had been slowly moving for months now, somewhat erratically, but always moving, from one place to another - a performance here, a caravan there, a few coins - enough for surviving. But the trip has had many other effects, the less of which is not giving her a sense of purpose, a sense of... Attonement?
I am such a fool... Saving cats, children, and young ladies from highway robbers? Is that it Aldir? Is that what will make things right? Foolish girl! - she scolded herself over and over again, but the truth is that it made her feel better to assist in the defense of that caravan just a few days ago - it made her feel ALIVE and not a complete wreck.
She was obviously drawn by her curious nature towards the announced meeting site in Heldren - a town much like many in Taldor, the reflex of a nation struggling not to be a falling one when perhaps it has already fallen, misery on one end, rivalries between nobles on the other, amongst whispers of greatness and an uneasy peace with the bordering Qadira - she was drawn not only to the meeting, but also to the amalgam of people, sights, sounds and smells that filled her senses, keeping her mind from wandering into darker places.
Thrymr grimaces as the barmaid delivers another clay jug of mead. Fishing around in his pocket he pulls out his last silver and throws it at the woman's feet. Foul glance and scorn of the woman rolls off his back as water does off a ducks... instead he stretches four fingered hand towards the jug, taking a healthy draught. A second grimace is forthcoming as the taste of the mead hits his tongue. A spit to the floor is followed by a muttered "Södra pissa ..." as he thinks on his emptied purse.
Too long he'd been in the Southern lands, with their soft ways and life... he yearned for the North, chill wind in the face and stouter liquor. His armor was dented and scratched, face sunken and sullen, his hammer dulled... and now his purse was empty, so even the middling pleasure of Southerner's swill would be denied him. Another draught from the jug, excess mead spilling around the spout and staining his face and beard... and running over his scars.
Wiping cheek with his stained and tattered cloak he feels the rough fabric catch and drag on the branded runes. Memories long buried remained so... but his face remained grim and humorless. Work... he needed work, or failing that an argument that could be drawn to blood. Either could generate the coin he needed, but the summons of the mayor seemed the best option for now. Draining the last of the jug, he sets it heavily back on the table and half lurches, half stumbles to his feet.
A neat six feet in height Thrymr was built stout, like most men of the North, a barrel chest draped in fur and steel. To his side hung an ugly and brutish hammer and upon his back a battered shield. As he made for the door his gait was uneven... but it would be a brave Taldan who would rouse his fists... more than one of the braver farmers had been left in the mud at his whim. Making the door he kicked it open, sun assaulting his eyes and forcing him to squint. Looking up he saw that some time remained before midday... so he found as a spot in shade, and saw the earth become a seat for his arse as he waited.
Dorvren pulls his cloak around him tightly, happy for the moment at the loss of his breastplate to thieves. At least I am a little warmer without it.
Finding the square empty of all but the cold drizzle Dorvren kneels down in a prayer to Brigh.
Something wrong in the woods, and the local chieftain wants to gather everyone together to discuss things? It could lead to an interesting hunt, but the quarry is probably more man than beast. If the disappearance of the well-married woman is connected, then the quarry is almost absolutely some manner of man. Too bad. Still, it would be foolish of me to miss the chance to sell my services.
The smallish Ulfen man walks into the town square, obviously distracted in thought. His quick glance around the square sparks two reactions from him: a minor shrug and a slight scowl. Finding a spot under the eaves of one of the surrounding buildings, he settles to the ground and begins touching up the waxing of his bow string.
Dorvren finishes his prayer and rises. Still nothing.
He looks across the square and sees the large man playing with his bow string.
Perhaps a sign from Brigh?
Well met. I am Dorvren. Dorvren says with a distinct lack of warmth. The words and delivery are correct he just seems detached.
Looking up a the man who obviously greeted him, the archer grunts softly before speaking. "And I am Grimgisli, son of Gimvuldr. Join me, and sit. You also wait for the chieftain's meeting?"
Dorvren does so and pulls his cloak about him. He pulls out his Repeating Heavy Crossbow and, following Grimgli's lead does preventative maintenence on it. He makes sure the gears are oiled and the string is set, thr clip loaded correctly.
I arrived this morning, and heard that something has happened. I am trained to hunt evil out. Perhaps this is why I am here.
The young man grins in response. "It should be a good hunt. I am thinking that the quarry is most probably some sort of man. I find that disappointing. That sort of hunt is more about punishing the guilty than simply hunting. There is nothing quite as satisfying as eating what you take from the land. Eating some sort of man would be horribly wrong, though. Maybe this is why I don't enjoy hunting man as much?"
Alexandyr brushes a bit of his hair out of the way of his eyes, looking at the mirror in the tavern's rented bedroom. "Yes, yes, I know, Lyssa. I'd love to stay and continue exploring the double entandres of the light illuminating your body."
He continues putting his leather pants on, a leg at a time, as he wipes the remains of the water from the basin off his glistening skin. As awkward as it should have been, his movements showed all the more why the women of town were constantly taking him to bed. "Yes, I have to go to this meeting. If the Mayor called it, I have to go."
He manages to get the door shut, his leather jerkin (armor) on, and his weapons in his hands before a pillow hit with a loud thunk. Nope, she was NOT a happy woman. His movements were swift and measured, taking the steps one, then two, then three at a time as he tries to quickly get to the doors. The innkeeper just shakes his head at him, knowing this scene has already been repeated three days this week and probably will be repeated again at least twice more.
To those who had never met him before, Alexandyr stood a respectable 2 inches shy of six feet. He seems more lean than muscle and his hair holds that wild look that definitely smells like perfume, a bit of booze, and the slight hint of sex. Of course, if you were from the town, you'd know he is quite the lady's man but also a rising star among the storytellers and singers of this part of the world. He seems a bit distracted, as though he hasn't been awake that long.
He yawns long and loud, stretching his arms, popping joints and knuckles as he speaks to those already gathered, Whew! Anyone know when the boss man is showing up?"
The key slid smoothly into the key hole. Morrigan turned it once, halfway back again, and then removed it from the door. She dropped it into the pocket of her skirt and took a step back from the hut she was renting then turned towards the path that led to the center of town. Overhead, standing atop the roof, the large black raven that always seemed to be in the vicinity of the human woman, cawed, blinked once, and spread its wings. Nemein took flight, soaring a little above and along the path the woman would take, arriving at the clearing before her. It perched in the branches of a tree, surveying the proceedings.
As the hour for the meeting approached, so did Morrigan. She was a striking woman, perhaps described as more handsome than beautiful. Her hair was the color of her raven. Piercing blue eyes peered out from a slightly rounded face. Today she was a dark green skirt and white blouse, mostly hidden underneath a cloak worn against the chill.
"Noon, I believe. Assuming the mayor arrives on time and is not delayed." Morrigan states matter-of-factly as she silently walks up behind Alexandyr in time to catch his question. Her mouth quirks into an expression which might have signaled anything from mild amusement to disapproval, or anything between. She knew the man... or more truthfully, she knew of his reputation. But he did have a decent voice, she'd give him that. Turning a bit, she nods to the others who have arrived.
I have hunted many a man or woman. It is satisfying to end evil, stop those that might oppress.
He stares out at the square. Though, I suppose I would not want to eat any of them.
Thrymr took no specific notice of the people beginning to congregate, neither did he greet or speak, instead he was keeping a sullen vigil upon all before him.
With the hood pulled closely over her head, Aldiran made her way to the town square, mostly oblivious to her surroundings, and lost in her own thoughts.
As she reaches the appointed location, her appearance is mostly nondescrip, mostly covered by a long cloak and hood, though there is a distinctive banner hanging from a pole laid across her back - depicting a coat of arms showing an unarmed combatant, defending itself against a Dragon Breath, by blocking it with a scroll.
She seems of lite complexion, her greenish brown eyes catching the light like two orbs under the hood. Walking slowly but without hesitation, she approaches the gathered group, leaning in silence against a nearby cart.
Stolen Face walks into the town staggering before sunset. It is possible that the Lady and her entourage are already there, he lost track of time during his imprisonment. It was almost a miracle that he was alive, when the snowstorm hit he couldnt see more than 5ft ahead. Blind luck lead him to the hollow of a rotten oak where he maneged to hole up and weather the storm. Shame he could not fit his horse inside.
He was breathing and still had all his fingers, luck indeed. His nose and ears were another story, but they didnt count, those were old wounds. He woke up the inkeeper and got a bed, the man kept giving him strange looks but he is used to that sort of thing. No noble had arrived so he secured lodgings for the Lady, she must have been delayed by the storm also. What is wrong with the weather he thinks to himself, its summer.
The ulfen can hardly climb the stairs to his room, his body and mind feels numb from fatigue. His old wounds hurt because of the cold but he welcomes the pain, its a reminder he is still alive.
At some point later on a knock in the door awakes him. Its boy with a message about a meeting in the townsquare, something about a missing noble women. Stolen Face has a bad feeling about that. He notice the boy is pale as the snow outside. Feeling his face with his left hand he realises he forgot to put on the mask. He slams the door shut and readies himself, a few minuts later he is at the square with an odd assortment of folks.
A tall man walks outside the Inn and into the square wearing the animal's furs favoured by the ulfen people. His armor and gear are well kept but there is something awkward in the way the ulfen moves, a stiffness from an unknown constraint.
Stopping near a couple he turns his masked face to admire the banner some girl is carrying. Should have tried that one, I am sure it would have worked. He thinks with irony and bitterness.
Dorvren watches people begin to gather.
Look at this fellow with the mask and the odd way of walking. Something odd about him.
Dorvren slings his repeater and approaches Stolen Face. Are you hurt?
"There's something odd about everyone. Some people just make it easier to see." The shrug lies in contrast to his thoughts. Awful lot of Northern folk here. Is Desna showing herself this way?
Behind the leather mask a pair of blue eyes turn to Dorven.
I am fine.
What is this talk about a missing noble women?
I do not know. I just arrived this morning. I have no left the square yet.
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As noon approaches you see three figures climb onto the platform that has been erected. The man and woman helping an older woman to her seat. The younger of the two women stepping forward to speak. Hello most of you know me as Councillor Teppen. I am the mayor of our fair town. A town that is now in danger. As she speaks there is a flash of blue white in ths distance and cold wind rips through the square bringing with it heavy snow. Everyone stops for a moment and stares in awe at the skies. For many this is the first snow they have ever seen. The woman continues clearly shaken. Things have been going wrong lately and yesterday the Lady Tessica was taken. One guard was left alive to bring the story back though he almost didn't make it. Yuln has spoken of a sphere of winter cold to the southwest. He said he saw fey like those of the north in league with bandits take her. Many of you know we depend both on our crops and Tessica and her family to keep our village going. Well the crops are dying in the fields due to this strange chill settling over the land. And Tessica has been taken. I am asking no Begging for Volunteers to go into the Border wood and bring her back. Will any of you please help. The town will give a reward as will I am sure Lady Tessica and her family.
The hunter rises to his feet, putting his gear way as he moves. "I, Grimsgisli, son of Grimvuldr, known nothing of your woman or your bandits. But I know the hunt. I know that raiders who can not defend themselves when chased deserve a coward's death. I will seek out your raiders, and return your woman. Desna brought me here at this time for no other reason, I am certain. Erastil would not see these cretins allowed to roam freely. Gozreh would have the pace of your lands returned to normal, though I know not how to accomplish that, yet. How could I oppose these gods?"
I too will join in the hunt to end this oppression.
As she motions, requesting he join her on stage, Grimgisli hesitates, looking at the crowd with a sudden spark of fright. He moves slowly towards the stage, head high and shoulders back, but clearly he is play-acting the brave man as his eyes dart amongst the crowd.
The distraction created by Dorvren volunteering, turning the crowd's eyes somewhere else, obviously provides the foreigner with a sense of relief.
Thrymr keeps his dirt-arsed vigil as the mayor speaks, mulling the words before the blast of cold and snow whips through the town. Eyes narrowed, Thrymr scans the assembled for any telltale sign of jadwigan heritage or the like.. and is heartened by it's lack. While he does wait, Grimgisli gives his noble speech... which elicits a throaty deep chuckle from Thrymr.
Using his hammer's haft as a prop, the Ulfen heaves himself to his feet and barks "Kort-skägg thinks three gods give a skit that he has come, and the other one is over eager... but Thrymr doesn't care." hefting the crude and brutish warhammer up horizontal before him, a feat of reasonable strength given the size of the weapon "Krön-klyv will kill your fey, bring back what is left of the kvinna... but he is not cheap. What weregild is this woman worth?" holding the hammer before himself and waiting for an answer.
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The woman stares at Thrymr for a moment before realizing a hard man like this man be what is needed. More than enough for you. We will speak on it in private before you set out. It would not due to speak of such things here. However I will make you Captain of the expedition your choice of who ever else goes with you. And an extra half share. She stares into your eyes hers flinty and hard as if daring you to refuse her. Unless your afraid that is..... A few of the towns people gasp.
Dorvren watches the spectacle carefully, quietly and aloofly.
After a few moments he moves on from the spectacle and looks at the town itself, the buildings the layout...his mind wanders
With some gears and a counterweight that gate there could open with only one man...I wonder if they would let me build it...
Thrymr looks at the woman trying to stare him down and laughs derisively and coldly before spitting on the ground to the side as he lowers his hammer. "Thrymr is broke... not stupid. I have no more wish to lead these södra barnen than they have to follow. You buy my hammer kvinna... not the man that holds it."
Those who look at the face of Thrymr see two runic designs branded into his cheeks. As he rubs his chin and beard with his left hand you also note that the ring finger on that hand is missing, the stump topped by a mass of scar tissue.
On the right is that called häxa - or witch.
He then slowly walks towards the platform "Your tunga will be your word..."
The young bard clears his threat. "Dear Mayor, it would be my pleasure to assist in finding this noblewoman and discovering what I can about what happened. And I assure you, my involvement will not require calling of the guards or the tar or feathers this time." Alex's response is clearly an attempt to lighten the mood, knowing it is far too dark a mood. And where there are dark moods, fear overwhelms.
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Well Thrymr do this and lead them. I promise that as long as you wish you will have a home in this town and food on your table. In addition to the other pay. You look to be a hard man and from what Yuln said that is exactly what we need. With that she turns to Alex. Only if Thrymr accepts though it would be nice to see you stop trouble around here rather than start it.
Interesting. Who would you have me work with Brigh
Alexandyr raises his index finger, starting to point it in her direction in an obvious attempt to argue with the "problem starter" description of him, during which his mouth opens, he reconsiders, and this cycle is comically repeated several times as the bard tries to find times when he wasn't the cause. "Now that's not true! Why, last Festival, the pig wrestling contest was not my fault! Nor was the tent that burned down next door! I have witnesses!"
He seems to consider this a moment, as he looks to the Ulfen, seeing much of his own heritage in the man. Clearing his throat, he speaks in the man's native tongue, not quite as practiced, but still quite talented,
As this is the town I've called home many years, I want in on this expedition. I have much to prove to these people, if they are going to see anything, even if it is just that my talents are going to waste in town.
Morrigan listened half-heartedly to the exchange. Truth be told, most of her attention was mostly towards the direction of that bluish flash. The direction from which that blast of cold wind had come. I did not think this was the work simply of nature. If the tale of the fey be true, then something is at work here. I doubt it is something benign. She glanced up at the raven and the two exchanged a long look. It was the raven that looked away. This time.
She steps forward when an opportunity presents itself and addresses the podium. Councilor Teppin, I too will go. This town has taken me in these past few months. I will do what I may to return the kindness shown me. I will go and aid these gentlemen in retrieving Lady Tessica.
Tell us what you know. Let us not waste time.
Morrigan raises an eyebrow slightly, but nods and turns to Thrymr, meeting the large man's gaze steadily and addressing him in a matter-of-fact tone. "Jeg finner det tvilsomt at sverd vil være det eneste du vil stå overfor. Jeg vil være nødvendig på denne forpliktelsen, og derfor jeg skal gå med deg.
Thrymr keeps eye on the councilwoman as he replies to both Morrigan and Alexandyr without looking at them "Ser jag ut som din far, kom eller stanna ... Jag bryr mig inte ett skit."
Standing firm he repeats at Teppen "I am no befälhavare, for your gold I walk. It is on them if they walk beside..."
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Fine have it your way fearful one but only a normal share for you then. She snaps at him. The towns folk are watching having never seen her like this before. Elder Safander stands and walks over. He addresses you.
The brashness of Níðingr makes Stolen Face smile. It brings back memories of places and people lost in a far away past. He approuches the mayor.
If you are giving away money for those who will come to the rescue of Lady Tessica I will accept your pay. But dont expect a northerner, or any man for that matter, to follow the lead of one branded a traitor AND a witch. Pointing at Thrymr. Stop this foolishness women.
Now bring us to this survivor so we may speak with him.