In Verik’s head the convergence of several lines of thought blur together, forced to make a decision that shouldn’t need to be a decision at all, but for some unclear reason brings doubt to his mind. Bishop – now Archbanker – Vinodragov leads the Brevian Banks in this small part of Avistan, and by all rights is the lawfully chosen Hand of the Master of the First Vault. As such he should be told the truth about Taisper, the truth of his status as an Inquisitor of the Lawgiver, for certainly shouldn’t he be entrusted by the Master to know all the servants of Abadar? Verik did not swear in a new acolyte to the Order and Numbers, and it would be a simple matter to correct for His Eminence.
A Verik Jarrow at the start of the year would have said just that. Then again, Verik no longer found the following of strictures to be that simple here in the Stolen Lands, nor the role of his superiors that straightforward. Another thought screams at him, reminding him that he followed Vinodragov’s demands on his last visit, foolishly allowing himself to abandon his friends and family at their moment of greatest need, allowing himself to give in to his own self-doubts. A third thought is more shadowy in nature, whispering that Archbanker Vinodragov should KNOW Taisper is an Inquisitor already, unless there is some reason that he should NOT know – and if he does not know then there must be a reason for it. A final thought is of Taisper himself, the visions and the darkness as Verik sees it at the mercy of Vinodragov’s own inquest, which he fears would happen to his own family. Blood has a value, after all.
All of these thoughts flood through Verik’s mind, along with the heady events of the past few hours and two full glasses of wine, noting sourly that his cousin has somehow disappeared from the hall. He responds to Archbanker Vinodragov with as much confidence and smoothness as he can muster.
“Certainly I did so with diligence Your Eminence,” Verik lies with a reverent bow to partially avoid his eyes, “though I profess the ways of my instruction in Absalom may differ slightly from your own homeland. I have not received all the requested texts from your Office here yet, but rest assured he has shown the spark of Orision from the Lawgiver, and in some years from now may...may uh...grow to be…ahh…”
Verik’s voice trails off as Berrin’s latest tirade on the Archbanker’s gold and church-building can no longer be ignored. Nice timing Berrin, though we need to throw you into the lake before you keep on like this. With a clearing of his throat, he looks over to Tandlara, and gives her a pleading nod to aid him in stopping Berrin, who is now talking to Reggie in a most disturbing manner. “Steward Myrdal, ahh it is time to retire and let those of our guests who wish it to get some much needed sleep, would you not agree?”
Vinodragov stares silently at Verik for a moment. It feels like his eyes are boring into the young cleric. It makes him uncomfortable, and he fights the urge to squirm like a schoolboy facing a grim headmaster. Impassive, Vinodragov nods once slowly and silently. "I see. I will have them send you the books you requested, to ensure that your next acolytes are properly Initiated." He barely regards Berrin, continuing to speak to Verik. "Your friend's behavior is most unbecoming of a leader of civilization. See to it that he learns some manners. Lord Lebeda, Lady Lebeda, might I accompany you to your prepared quarters? I fear that I am tired from my travels and am in no mood to feast."
Jemini's parents politely rise and make their exit. Both eye Berrin with some concern, as the man plays with his dog at a dinner party. Lord Lebeda shakes Verik's hand vigorously, while Lady Lebeda excuses herself and makes her way to Tandlara. She smiles at the elf before speaking in Tandlara's native tongue. <<"It is good to make your acquaintance, Tandlara Errisen. Jemini favors your company, and I can see why. You watch while others lose their tongues like your regent. She would have appreciated that. She always had a way with saying the right thing at the right time. She will be formidable politically when she returns, that I'm sure of, but she will need advisers like you.">>
He does not believe you in the least.
"Huh?" Berrin looks up drowsily from playing with Reggie, "Your leaving?" he asks inocently, his voice carrying an edge of hurt as he sees the party dissolving. Sighing he nods tieredly and gets up unsteadily, letting himself be led by servants to his chambers to fall drunkenly asleep as they work him out of his armor.
Ahh blast he's like my Novice instructor when we kept sneaking bread from the storeroom after the Nightwatch Bell. Don't think he'll take out the wooden bread board to paddle my backside though, but I may find myself in a barrel with him. Yeah you're no Master Knesh either, Vinodragov. Hrm don't make it worse now, say nothing else and defer.
“Your Eminence.” Verik bows with the proper degree of respect as required for his esteemed rank, though not an inch more than that.
To Lord Lebeda, however, his handshake is returned gladly and generously – no matter whatever else the cleric has to sort out in his mind on today’s events, he knows that the Lebedas have secured his personal loyalty. “If you or the Lady require anything of me this night to be more at ease, you need but ask and I shall come straightaway.”
As he turns to Berrin and the spectacle of servants moving to assist him from his seat without angering Reggie, he smiles sadly and moves to pour himself a third glass of wine, noting who else remains in the hall. He also makes a mental note to check on how many servants and guards Vinodragov brought with him.
Taisper raises an eyebrow at Zander. "Gonna rai...hahahaaa, Zander, man, she's not coming back. She's fulfilled her purpose. She understood. I didn't think she did, but she must have. I can guarantee that if they speak with her spirit, she will be content and serene to watch all the good she has wrought from her place in the elysian fields tended by her gods, under Sarenrae's merciful eye. She's a saint now, she's beloved. Who in their right mind would come back from that? To this cruel earth? To this place of lies and deceit? This land of chaos? Where families are a tool used by the wicked to con good men into evil acts? Where the...where the BISHOP of a GREAT FAITH is on the TAKE AND USING HIS INFLUENCE TO...!!!" Taisper, bug-eyed and raving, stops abruptly. He takes a step back.
"Haha. Whoa! Sorry 'bout that, man. Vinodragov, he...he may have to be Hunted, is all. Gets me a bit on edge, Abadarian, and all. Hmmm...something to think about, I suppose. But later. Tell you what, if you want; we can travel with them back to the battle site, then strike out from there. It won't change anything in the end, and I can keep an eye on the Archbanker for a bit. Sound good? Oh, and we can watch the Jemini thing. Haha. Probably be interesting, I'm sure."
Taisper smiles. It's good to talk to a friend.
Jemini finds her time not ill-spent. While wandering the wasted, almost featureless plane the best distraction for her and Nikolai are the conversations. It started with existential debate, but after a while even the horror vision that is Abaddon becomes a form of background noise. At least, sufficiently so that attempts at other topics can try to suppress the gnawing angst of dissoulution.
"What was your plan, by the way? Amassing a small bandit army would hardly have impressed Choral."
With the feast ending and the Lebedas retired, their feasting hall grows quiet. In relative terms, the hall is quite small and modest. When they first arrived at the fortress a week after Jemini's death, they found it abandoned and falling apart. There were still some possessions and supplies belonging to the Stag Lord and his bandits, but the fort itself was hardly worth much at all. It was hardly more than a watchtower, some wooden walls, and an interior fort on top of a low hill. They immediately set their soldiers (and prisoners) to rebuild as much of it as possible. Fortunately, the forest came right up to the walls of the fort, providing an easy and ample supply of timber; the shores of the Tuskwater are only half a mile to the south. Within a few weeks, the fort was in a presentable shape. It was functional at best, with no frills and no real aestheticism in the design. It was a skeleton of a future castle, perhaps, but it would do for now as a makeshift keep. The central building of the fort served as their meeting hall, throne room, and feasting hall all at once. It would also, as both Akiros and Kesten pointed out, serve as a good defensive position if they came under attack.
In the weeks following their victory, as word spread north to Brevoy and south through the River Kingdoms, settlers arrived in droves. In just two months, the population grew to nearly a thousand souls. The first order of business was to create a mill in which they could harvest their ample supply of wood. Until then, the people had lived in tents around the fort, but they built sufficient housing outside the fort's walls at the base of the hill. As Newhaven claimed the lands to the north, they quickly began farming to feed the people. The air was full of promise, full of vigor. Everyone had a job to do, and everyone was happy to do it.
Their hall stands empty except for the Council members (minus Taisper, Zander, and Corwin). Svetlana helps arrange the cleanup, while Oleg assists as best he can. Akiros quietly collects plates and mugs, while Kesten and Jhod try their best to keep Berrin from collapsing on the ground. They have few servants, and part of Newhaven's promise is that the people were to be treated as equals. It was something that Jemini had died for, and something that the others respected.
With the majority of the cleaning done, Kesten calls the others to the main table. "It's time that we discussed what we are going to do about Brevoy. Their politics will follow us down here, and we must be prepared. It's unavoidable that we will have to choose a side one day, and the alliances we build will be vital to that end. It's clear that Lord Lebeda will be friendly to us, considering Jemini and our ability to protect new trade routes to the south, but what of the others? My uncle, Lord Garess, will just as soon stay out of the conflict as best he can. Orlovsky will likely not be pleased with our friendship with Lebeda, but we may be able to convince him to lend us support if we do not ally with Surtova. However, King Noleski will likely demand that we recognize him as king of both Issia and Rostland, and I don't think we have the strength to refuse. That will strain our relations with everyone except Surtova and their closest allies. I fear we must tread lightly, and I heartily recommend that we begin drafting able-bodied men from the settlers into at least a defense force."
A terrible screeching voice rings out of the darkness. "Oh, he will serve so, so well. Such violence and hate deep inside. Take him!" A pair of tiny, hideous creatures, hardly more than horrid teeth gnashing amid buzzing wings, swoop in from the darkness. Jemini instantly recognizes them from her classes on the outer planes as cacodaemons, the least of the daemons of Abaddon. They are cruel and dim-witted, but more than capable of feasting on the mortal souls that find themselves hunted in this place.
Both daemons screech an otherworldly howl of rage and hate and pain, that fills Jemini and Nikolai with horrid thoughts of unknowable things in the space between the stars and planes. Jemini steels herself, knowing that the creatures will easily fall before the blade that the gods have seen fit to arm her with, and the sounds dissipate in her mind. Nikolai, on the other hand, falls to his knees with his hands over his ears. Jemini looks up to the daemons buzzing above her, and the grace of her gods floods into her. This may be Abaddon, but she is still a servant of the light. With a flash of thunder from above, the spirit of Jemini Lebeda is armed with the gifts of her gods. Great feathered wings unfurl from her back, a gift from Iomedae; a halo of golden divine light, a gift from Sarenrae, and the weapons and armor she mastered in life, a gift from Irori.
Jemini takes off from the ground, the wings carry her with natural ease. She does not even reflect on it; the wings are an extension of her will - and by extension the will of the forces of light. She closes in on the nearest daemon, "You've met your match daemons! This prey bites back!"
Tandlara pipes up after a long silence. 'We need to get eyes among the various lords and factions. And let's not forget Restov, which we already have troubles with. They have as much power as many of the houses, more than most. And the swordlords, which can't be discounted. So we need to know whos doing what. I imagine we already have spies in among our own people, or we soon will. With a bit of gold, and the right people in the right places I can probably make some new friends. Not to mention apprenticing some of my children among the more local factions.'
“Oh for the love of the First Vault, are we doing this now?” Verik says irritably with a stifled yawn as they finish tidying up, noting that three glasses of wine have not left his mind in the best state of focus. Kesten has that look of concern, however, and with impending travel to the battle site and back, it will be some days before they can convene again.
“Well I suppose we are doing this now then,” he mutters softly, “and let it not be said that an Abadarian would shirk his obligations.” He finds his customary spot at the table and sits down to listen, mentally forcing himself to recite his mantras to clear his mind and focus.
Kesten and Tandlara make the his head throb as he tries to follow their lines of logic and insights on the games of the Brevian houses. Not that he does not agree with them – despite his blustering he sides with them in most things whenever they have a concern. Mostly, Verik is acutely aware that he does not have a keen mind for politics, as much of it is contradictory and based on events that shift suddenly. It is like trying to build a house on sand – he just knows it doesn’t work in the normal way, but doesn’t know how to make it work. Verik felt much the same way with Venerable Master Knesh when they played kingschess during his diplomatic travels, finding he had a poor mind for subterfuge and strategy. Of course, some things that Benervan Knesh said to him then – things that made no sense at the time – start coming back to him now and begin to spark in his mind. He may not have the mind and memory like Tandlara, but he’s smart enough to listen to her and give support to her plans.
For the time though, he holds his tongue and listens, trying to make sense out of the senseless. With today’s unannounced arrivals of House Lebeda and Archbanker Vinodragov, Verik finds himself standing on a rather large sandpile.
"In all of this toxiferous talk about Brevian politics and the game of houses, I have to confess I do not have the knowledge or skill that you have Tandlara," he smiles a weak smile at her and Kesten, "or you either Kesten. I would wish to come back to the Charter for a proper framework of our actions..." Verik pauses as he gets a collective groan from several around the table, most notably Jhod. "...BUT as you have all heard me recite the blasted thing on numerous prior occasions, I shall refrain to do so once again tonight." He waves a hand in resignation. "Ahh well Taisper might as well hit it with his morningstar in the practice yard for all the holes it has in it, and as you remind me, politics is not really about Law. I will restate though that it defines Noleski as Regent and not King, and otherwise tends to suggest we have some obligation to Restov, though that is barely worth a laugh at this point."
Verik turns to Tandlara. "I agree with you that we are blind here, and I'd do my part to help with what you suggest, but ahh...I mean how exactly would we DO that? Would you have your urch...ah...children ferret out the spies sent here and buy them off or misdirect them, or would you mean actually sending spies of our own to the other cities? How long would that take if you could manage it?"
"Well, I think it's clear." Berrin burps from his seat, barely keeping his eyes open. Having left off the ale since the the party finished he's slowly sobering up but is turning immensely sleepy. "We're hardly going against Jemini's father right? An' Orlovsky is Lebeda's friend right? So he shouldn't hold it against us if we just say we're holding the trade routes open to the south an' we can just push off declaring for anyone till they push hard enough for us to need to push back. Then we can tell regent Surtova to push off." he finishes with a rude gesture.
"But your right Kesten, of course." he sighs. "We need troops, we need to be seen to be able to hold our own. Otherwise people will come around here thinkin' they can walk all over us. I still say we need to get this bloody castle up to shape, right quick too."
"Well Taisper, if there is to be a Hunting, it would be best we were away from Newhaven." His eyes are at the ground but shift to the morningstar Taisper carries, "And have the evidence in hand...so you can count me in."
Zander then looks up, off the north and the battlefield. "But as to the trip and the resurrection, if she is happy with her God, that is good, but I just can't believe that that is it for Jemini. As you say, there is still so much to do. Freeing a trading post and some trappers from a bandit is a good deed, but raising a nation...and protecting it, will be the real job. Milani's followers always seem to end up the martyr...the spark, so I can appreciate that. But I have come to appreciate Erastil's community approach. This land needs all of us....and a person...a person shouldn't be punished for a heroic action."
Taisper angles his head to one side. The look is so akin to a dog's look of puzzlement it'd be difficult not to laugh. "Punishment? I'm not...I'm sorry Zander, man, but I don't follow. Why do you think she's being punished?"
'Very true. I don't know how able to protect us Lebeda and Orlovsky would be. Not if we're easily steam-rolled by Surtova hiring a few mercenaries. We need to be strong enough to defend ourselves first, then Lebeda and Orlovsky might actually see us as a genuine political entity rather than an outpost.'
Gone is the powerful Stag Lord, replaced by a babbling fool as the daemons sadistically tear into his psyche with razor-sharp mental assaults. He moans incoherently, trying to get the terrible voices out of his mind, talking about the punishments he deserves for his sins.
The first of the cacodaemons lunges through the air at Jemini, bringing its teeth against her as she slashes it with her sword. As it comes near, it cringes at the sight of her golden aura and turns away from its attack. It screeches a hideous sound at her, a primal scream borne of its horrible existence. Cacodaemons are created by the lost souls of Abaddon, given form by the hate and nihilism of the desolate annihilated plane, and this one is no different. "KILL HER! KILL HER!"
The second, less deterred by the power of the light, gnashes its maw at her unsuccessfully. She brings her Irori-granted shield up, blocking it at the last moment. It similarly screeches its craven battle cry. "Her soul will taste so delicious!"
"Snap out of it Nikolai! Your sins will be cleared by hard work and redemption! NOT by these abominations!" Her concentration, though, is on the daemons before her. Her sword flashes a flawless straight line that a moment later becomes a deep slash on the body of the daemon she wounded previously. "Foul devourer! End!"
Zander looks up as if just now seeing Taisper, She's being punished?...oh Jemini. Well perhaps not punished, but her life has ended..a young life. If the afterlife is so great, then why aren't the sick and injured sent on their way, instead of clinging to life and suffering? There must be something to be said for clinging to life...or is it just the fear of death?"
He looks away again as his tought turn personal again. "So you think Jemini no longer clinging or fearing just will decide to pass on the chance of seeing how her life turns out?....A single deed, however noble, should not be the total of one's life."
Nikolai shakes off the mental fog of dark tendrils reaching into his mind. As Jemini spins through the air fighting the daemons who have come for him, he growls in frustration. "Damn it! Bring them down here! I won't have you hide me!"
Screeching, the creature starts trying to flap away from Jemini as she slashes it to death. It reaches around for one final attack, but cringes in the face of her wings and aura. It gnashes its horrific teeth and seems to look around for a way to get away from the avenging angel in front of it.
The other creature swoops around on its misshapen wings and bites her leg. Its teeth are razor sharp and covered in green slime that froths out over her leg. It lets out a gleeful cackle as she cries out in pain.
The discussion of Brevic politics lasts into the night, with no consensus growing in the council beyond loyalty and friendship to the Lebedas. Svetlana excuses herself early, not particularly interested in the political alliances and machinations of that Brevic noble houses bring. Oleg leaves soon after, following his wife with a typical laconic shrug. Jhod is next, declaring that as long as that insufferable Archbanker doesn't get anything that he wants, he is happy. Finally, with hardly anything decided, the council retires for the night.
In the morning, after breaking their fast together in the great hall, most of the council sets out with the Lebedas, their courtiers, and Archbanker Vinodragov. Akiros declines to go with them, stating quite wisely that Jemini likely would not be pleased to see him and that someone needs to train their meager defense troops. Jhod also stays to keep the children up on their lessons (and also to keep an eye on Akiros, he confides to Zander before they leave). The others head north with the Lebedas. Svetlana is nearly beside herself with excitement about seeing Jemini again. She keeps talking about wanting to know what Jemini saw on the other side, excitedly insisting that it must seem so mundane to be back in the world after such an experience.
Lord Lebeda leads the way atop his horse, a fine black stallion with powerful flanks and a flowing mane. Astride his horse, he looks like a leader of men. It is a reminder that he could, if he called forth his bannermen, lead thousands of knights and tens of thousands of footmen into battle. For the most part, the tenuous peace of King Noleski has kept true open warfare from Brevoy's lands, but Lord Lebeda did lead thousands when the Tiger Lord barbarians rose up and raided the frontier five years prior. Lebeda and King Noleski's father, King Narajj Surtova, crushed the barbarian uprising and scattered the tribes to the winds at the Battle of the East Sellen. Not to be outdone, Lord Orlovsky crushed an army of Iobarians the following year, though some suggested that it was he that picked the fight.
It is a day's ride to Oleg's Trading Post. Only a few miles beyond Sactuary are paved with useful roads, and the remaining path is little more than wagon grooves molded over the last few months. The wagon that carries Lady Lebeda and some of the other women and courtiers bumps and thumps too much for comfort, but it will do. Berrin rides Valnyr near the front of the group; his spirited horse is being surprisingly well-behaved today, occasionally giving looks to Lebeda's horse that appear suspiciously like naked envy. Zander, Taisper, and Alexius ride in the back of the group, talking amongst themselves quietly; Corwin rides nearby, close enough to perhaps hear what they are speaking of.
During the entire ride, Taisper has been whittling and carving, pausing only here and there when more attention to his riding -- which while still not expert was vastly superior now over a year ago -- was required, or when the conversation needed it. Since he was only able to do one piece at a time, it was impossible to tell what he was making, if anything. As far as anyone could tell, he was simply passing the time with a new hobby.
"...it's like I was saying last night, Zander; our lives are weighed in the scales, and our times are written for us before birth. To want to come back is pointless. Jemini got what all of us get; she got a lifetime. No more, no less. To desire differently is but vanity, and a simple expression of fear by the living." The golden-eyed man puts away the small gear he was carving and takes out a couple pieces of metal and examines them for a moment. He then pulls out a slender piece of old dense wood and starts carving what looks like a shim of some sort.
"Anyway. Sorry. Brevoy. I figure I check with the usual contacts in the city first; Alexius and I both will have typical first channels to inquire after. If you don't want to come into the city, Zander, you can stay outside and watch traffic; it would be valuable to know the comings and goings. Once I've ascertained for certain the Lord Mayor's guilt, he will be Judged. While they try to fill the void, we can get more done here; maybe my cousin can get a cathedral built finally." Taisper smiles conspiratorily. He seems genuinely excited about such a thing happening.
Jemini grimaces as the vile little fangs gnaw on her, she slashes blindly at the creature - only managing to shake it off. She takes a cautious retreat backwards towards Nikolai. "Watch out for those mouths - they are unnaturally fast with that bite."
Berrin sits easely ontop of Valnyr , for once he can just enjoy the ride, catching the horses look he chuckles softly and pats his neck. "You think that could be us buddy? Or are ya wishing you were carrying all that plate." snatching his hand back just in time he saves himself a few fingers as Valnyr harumphs and turns his head to try and give Berrin a nibble. Laughing out loud Berrin glances over at the pair and can't help thinking how magnificent they look. 'And powerful too.' comes unbidden to his mind and he guiltily feels a bit of Valnyrs envy. Sighing he pats him on the flank and the pair hang their head as they ride on in silence, Berrin wondering if he could be such a man.
“Now listen here, you flatulent fleabag. Promise to not try and dump me, bite me or upend me over another branch, and I will promise not to turn you into a floor covering when winter comes!” Verik is once again arguing with his horse Virtue after nearly being dumped unceremoniously to the ground, spooked over a suspicious looking branch by the side of the trail. Clearly, Virtue does not find Verik’s agreement to his liking, for his ears flatten back flat along his head as he tries to spur forward suddenly, forcing the cleric to pull on his reins to keep him under control. “Blasted bloody sack of bones! Here now!”
Fortunately he manages to keep on the saddle, earning chuckles and smiles from several of the accompanying guards. Verik’s cheeks color slightly as he silently thanks his patron for not having made his display of equestrian woefulness beside the Lady Lebeda’s wagon window, as he is some ten lengths behind or so, near but not at the back of the caravan heading northwards. Verik has traded out his increasingly haggard white and gold Abadarian vestments for grey breeches and a grey padded shirt with his chainmail shirt over to top of it, and dark brown robes covering over that. A sturdy but gnarled truncheon is lodged in his belt – a compromise to Jhod on their journey southward to claim the Stag Lord’s fort two months ago, the morningstar Verik once carried not seen since the Battle of Stagfall. A light crossbow and bolt case hangs off one side of his saddlebags, with the heavy wooden shield strapped off the other saddlebag. He brought his breastplate but packed that firmly in his saddlebags, as he did not want to draw any more ire or attention from the Vinodragov over equipment deemed too adventurous for him.
Verik glances behind him to the rear of the group once again, only to find his cousin still deep in discussion with Zander and Alexius, with Corwin just ahead of them. Taisper is fiddling with some silly piece of wood in a poor attempt at woodcarving that Verik cannot make out the shape of - yet another new aspect of his cousin that seems different somehow. He turns back to glumly stare at the trail before them, alone.
At first he was relieved the Archbanker insisted on riding near the front of the column near Lord Lebeda, though it meant he would get no opportunity to speak to the Brevian Lord himself, which he truly regretted. Still, Vinodragov made no move to try and corner him or Taisper, which gave him time to fill in his cousin on his actions the night before. As the day wore on, however, he found Taisper seemingly had no interest in speaking with him, despite nearly two months of absence. Instead, he seemed to be all too comfortable with Zander…and Alexius. Granted, Zander was talking more in this day alone than he probably had in a month or more, which Verik was happy to witness. Alexius, however, was another matter entirely. A bond had formed between his cousin and the Chelaxian, one which set a chill down his spine. He truly disliked the Chelaxian and distrusted his motives, despite the obligation which was owed to him for his part at Stagfall. Debts had to be paid to be sure, but Verik wondered when it was all said and done what the price would be, for his cousin and for Newhaven. He wanted to go back and talk to his cousin and let him know that he missed him and worried about his journey. He would have done just that, but the presence of Alexius made that wrong somehow, made it as if Verik was the intruder. So Verik stayed mostly by himself in the caravan, alone with his thoughts and growing ever more irritable about it.
Gloom and glum there Verik, might as well have stormclouds over your head. A fine way to act as we're all going to see Jemini again. Just do it and then let him be warned and that’s that and when he’s ready he’ll find you. Fool.
Verik mutters to himself and looks skyward, and then urges Virtue to the side of the trail and forces the stubborn horse to stand still, waiting for the others behind him to catch up. He nods to Corwin as he passes by, and then reaches into an inside pocket in his traveling robes to produce a single piece of parchment, folded twice and in his own hand – he scrabbled it hastily with a quill and ink in his backpack when the last halt was called to water the horses.
As Taisper, Alexius and Zander approach, Verik sees the men grow quiet, all looking at him in their own way. Intrusion. Discomfort. Verik takes a huffed breath and gruffly hands the paper to Taisper. “Here. Something you need to see, so look this over before you speak to anyone else up there.” He glances at Zander and tries to manage a warmer tone. “Warden.” The tone, however, goes ice cold as he looks to Alexius, but courtesy is courtesy after all. “Master Morai.” Verik spurs his horse up and away from them then.
Looked for you before dawn prayers, but could not find you. Please be wary of Arch V. Too much was said last night of Stagfall, but he does not know you. Do not reveal your training. Pretend as Novice under my training. I had to lie, but he sees it. Will say more when we have time. Perhaps on return trip. Missed your jokes, but learned one to share. Also something to give you later.
Cousin V
Deciding not to spend the rest of the day-long journey alone with his irritable thoughts, he continues on past the carriage and eventually makes his way in line with Berrin, though he keeps Virtue a half-length behind and to the side of Valnyr. “Salutations Steward,” Verik says with some degree of formality in the event anyone overhears them, “I come to bring your daily counsel and word of the Lawgiver.” He moves in as close as he dares to speak to Berrin in a lower voice, barely able to suppress a smirk. “Perhaps a thunk on the head with this tree branch of mine would do for starters. You know you almost look like a Lord here amongst the rest of us rabble, as long as you don’t open your mouth too much. I guess the Bokken’s is all gone eh, or did you hide some in your saddlebags?”
Nikolai balls his fists up before spitting out in anger. "I've lost my rage, my inner fire! I'm helpless and weak. Leave me to the fate I deserve!" His anger and frustration are evident, even as Jemini lands next to him on her borrowed wings. He steadies himself at her side, ready to assist her even as his morale flags.
The bloodied daemon lunges at Jemini recklessly, sharp teeth clenching around her neck and tearing out a chunk of flesh. Even in this otherworldly realm in this spiritual body, she still feels the pain of the bite and feels her head swimming as its toxic, diseased saliva courses into her blood. Blood runs down her armor, dripping down her left side. The daemon screeches with malice, "DIE DIE DIE!"
As the angel-warrior is distracted by its compatriot at her neck, the other one flies forward with its hideous, bulbous body and bites her in the right leg. She staggers backwards, suddenly worried that this may be her true end: surrounded by horrifying creatures who will eat her alive and devour her soul.
Nikolai roars, trying his best to recover the anger and rage that made him so dangerous in life. He grabs the hideous creature clenched on Jemini's neck and flings it to the barren, windswept ground. With a screeching wail, the daemon dies as he stomps on it. Suddenly, the image of the Stag Lord overlays him for a moment like a flash of lightning, and Jemini is struck with the realization that he once killed her in a similar fashion.
As the caravan of nobility (for that is what the leaders of Newhaven are now, even if they do not truly claim the titles) proceeds north, the social realities of the situation segregates the groups. At front are the leaders, the royals, the high-ranking members of the group; in back are the retainers, servants, and squires. It is simply the way things are that they separate by class. Somewhere near the back, Corwin rides rather sullenly. The entire trip has put him in a poor mood. Even honorable nobles like the Lebedas are still nobles in his eyes, and nobles make him quite agitated. They remind him of his own father, and his own ignoble blood. Wrapped up in his thoughts, he spits in anger. It nearly hits a poor squire, a boy who can't be more than fourteen with light hair and a fair complexion. He looks over at Corwin, rather shocked. "What'd you do that for?"
Tandlara, for her part, rides easily atop Avantara. She has been content to simply watch the humans as they interact. One of the things that she has never been able to get used to is the haste in which they travel. Elves take their time going from place to place, enjoying the trip as much as the destination. Once, when she was far younger in her 80th year, she set out on a trip from Iadara, the capital of Kyonin, to Riverspire on the southwest border of the elven nation. She spent 30 years in the forest, taking the first steps to the first great adventure of her long life. These humans, though, seem to want to get everywhere immediately. She smiles sadly, reflecting that it is only normal for them to want to make the most of the short time they have. She is interrupted from her reverie when Saronna Lebeda calls to her from her nearby carriage. "Tandlara, come visit with me. Tell me stories of your youth in the time of my grandfather's grandfather." The lady's smile is wide and genuine. She seems to have taken a liking to the elf, just as Jemini had.
Taisper raises an eyebrow at the contents of Verik's note. He glances over at his retreating cousin's back, then summons an orb of acid to destroy the paper, the caustic liquid consuming the fragile material almost instantly.
"What does he want?" asks Alexius, making clear once again the fact that Verik's perceived antagonism between himself and the Hellknight is mutual.
Taisper shakes the last drops of acid off his gauntlet. "Nothing, man, don't worry about it." He smiles ruefully. "Family business."
It is still strange, in the inquisitor's mind, to be spending as much time observing as he is, instead of chatting. He thinks back to the explorations he and his companions made just a few short months ago, and the conversations that occurred. Now...now not so much. Having said and discussed what needed discussing with Thrune and Zander, Taisper nudges his horse up a little ways so he can be in earshot of the Archbanker and the nobles.
And he watches, and he listens. The Archbanker, he can't help but notice, has lovely eyes for such a grumpy old guy.
Taisper quietly watches Vinodragov with keen eyes and listens with open ears. He first observes the Archbanker physically, and draws conclusions from what he can see. He is a physically fit man, especially for his age, with a sinewy strength to his lean frame. Obviously, he is not one to give in to sloth or gluttony; this would mean that he has at least a minimum of ethical fortitude to resist easy temptation. His short-cropped gray hair is simple, forsaking a hairstyle that would be more difficult to manage; vanity is likely not a weak point of his character either. He wears well-made clothes, but that is quite normal for a cleric of Abadar. They are not ostentatious, and that likely means that he is not a man to whom greed comes naturally. Even as he speaks to Berrin about the benefits of state-endorsed religion, his steely blue eyes scan his surroundings. He is perceptive, surely, and cautious.
Taisper knows the man's weakness.
Jemini's voice has a beckoning, soothing, quality. "Your rage is not truly gone, it is evolving." She brings down her sword hard on the daemon, creating a massive gouge in its skull. "There, where you anger was, there is still something - but it is in the process of finding something new to be. Who you are and become while we are on this journey, will have a lot to say about what your anger will become on the other side."
Berrin looks up when Verik approaches, plesantly surprised at his company. Hardly anyone had said more than two words edge-wise too him since he'd been dragged from bed and forced to bathe, getting only side-long looks and muttered sighs as he dressed in his finest, ragged by a kings standard but fine by his. Sturdy, fur-lined clothing under his masterwork breastplate, the greatsword on his back.
Looking sheepish at Verik's admonishing Berrin starts to replie as the Archbanker closes up and starts spewing his agenda at him. Looking uncertain at first he glances at Verik and then adopts a patient expression and pretends to listen politely to the Adabarian high-priest. "But why should a state endorse one diety over another? It seems to me that the gods all have a part to play, I'll pray to Pharasma at a weding or a death-bed but I'd rather have Gorum guiding my arm in battle if you get my meaning. Planing cities and blessing a trade agreement is certainly Adabars thing, I'll pray to him for that, but I'm failing to see why one god should be venerated over another." Berrin asks the archbanker, trying to look inocent as a babe though his eyes betray a firm relucance against following any advice given by the holy man.
The daemon screeches with its hideous, otherworldly voice as it tries unsuccessfully to latch onto Jemini again. "No no! You're not supposed to be here!" The daemon flies backwards on his horrific buzzing wings.
Nikolai slams the creature with his hands. He may not have Jemini's blessed weapons, but he is still quite strong and fast. Black blood spurts out of the creature onto his hands.
Verik returns Berrin's look with a brief gaze of shared misery, rolling his eyes ever so slightly to indicate he is none too pleased at the Archbanker's interruption and impending sermonizing. Puffed-up pimple of pestilence! Forgive me Master, but he seemingly is always there when I least expect it, and where I least want him to be. Great Master, if I am failing you here, I shall gladly endure any penance you wish to place upon me for my impertinence, but why cannot I help but feel I can accomplish your Will in better ways than this...
Verik takes on a patient and learned expression then, nodding occasionally when Vinodragov pauses or puts a stronger inflection upon his words for emphasis. He nearly has to choke off a laugh though when Berrin answers His Eminence by responding as only Berrin can do. Ha! Swallow that bitter brew Your Worldliness. No, you are no Venerable Master Knesh, that is certain. For all the ways you try to manage it, you cannot control Berrin, or oust him from Newhaven. Or me for that matter. At least not until Newhaven formally takes a knee and becomes a Barony or March of Brevoy. But what will you do then, Verik Jarrow?
The trail winds on, and Verik stays with his friend, saying nothing and listening to the Archbanker in acquiescence, but wishing as Berrin almost certainly does that he could be anywhere else.
Tandlara smiles at the regal woman in the carriage. So much of her in the daughter. The branch does not grow far from the tree. And the Lebeda's are certainly a handsome tree.
Tandlara guides Avansatra over to the carriage. The horse wasn't getting much excercise lately, nor was she, busy in the muddy little town, surrounded by laughing, crying, smiling and living. A density of humanity. She hadn't realised how uncomfortable she had become until they made this trip into the countryside. She had been lethargic and cold since Jemini's death, caring for her children her only joy, and even that was not true kindness, she wove strings with her little sparrows. She gave them home, learning, and genuine, though not humanly earnest love, but she was still grooming. They still served a purpose for Mother Crow.
With a sad smile she ties off Avansatra to the hitching rail ont he carriage so he can tramp along after the wooden contraption, gracefully she vaults onto the step and enters the interior, plush and curtained, the symbols of Lebeda and some of its vassal Houses embroidered onto the cushioned bench within.
She sits down, her hair, starting to go long once more, stirring as she finds a comfortable position, her legs folded under herself in rather uncourtly position. Her smile for Saronna is genuine, a rarity which reaches her large, sad eyes.
'My lady, it would be a pleasure to tell you of my travels, though they are far from epics, and I'm not much of a bard. I have tendency to take my time, my pacing is not good for anything who plans to be busy for the near future.'
Jemini laughs at the daemonic creature. "We're not supposed to be here? How very right you are." Her smile hardens as she brings down the final judgment on the creature by slicing it in-twain. "Indeed, how very right it is. Let's not delay too much longer - more creatures like these can appear at any time; and if we have to spend time in the afterlife, I rather it be far from this plane."
Taisper watches Vinodagrav very closely, perhaps too closely. He keeps darting glances in the older man's direction.
c'mon you bastard you gotta slip up eventually I'll find out what you l-
The inquisitor's thoughts are cut off as his head collides with a sizable tree branch, making a deep *THUNK* as it does so. If he had been paying attention he could easily have avoided the thing, and he knows it. He shakes his head to clear it and when he looks around, more than a few people are smirking.
"Heh. Ah-heh-heh. Er. Meant to do that! Really. Um. Checking...to make sure...um...oh man I got nothing." He gives up and has a laugh at his own expense along with the others.
The practiced and patient demeanor Verik displays takes most of what he can muster to hold it, but even he is momentarily interrupted from it as Taisper has his meeting with a tree branch. Verik cannot help but look back at his cousin's humble acceptance and smile. It reminds him of their journey up the Sellen to reach Brevoy, when his cousin tried to take direction on juggling from an Andoran troubadour and nearly pitched himself over the side of the river boat. Only after a brief reverie does he recall that he is supposed to be listening and agreeing with Vinodragov, and so returns to his role.
Out of the mists, a boat emerges and slowly sailts towards them. A single figure, an impossibly tall and gaunt cloaked man, uses a oar to push the boat towards the riverbank. They watch him approach silently, knowing exactly who he is and what his presence means. Once he arrives at the riverbank, he looks at them, silent as the grave. Underneath the hood of his cloak is only an infinite blackness, with two glowing pinpoints of light. He raises a hand without flesh, pointing to them. ”You come to cross the River Styx? So many have tried, only to find themselves claimed by its depths. What makes you different?” His voice, hardly more than a whisper, trembles with ancient power.
The expedition and caravan stop for the night once they arrive at Oleg's. The former fort has a small contingent of soldiers from House Lebeda, largely to ferry potential immigrants safely down the road to Newhaven. The simple wooden structures of the fort have been expanded to fit them, with a decent inn for travelers in the middle. Oleg negotiated a decent leasing price from Lebeda, which hopes to see a profit in the coming period of increased southward emigration. They open the gates for the caravan, which settles inside quickly. Vinodragov and his acolytes claim several of the rooms, while the Lebedas and a few of the more distinguished guests claim most of the remaining rooms of the inn. Two rooms are left for the expedition's members, one specifically for Berrin. Both Lebeda and Vinodragov seem to be reluctant to be near him, but protocol in dealing with leaders of nations must be followed.
The Archbanker's herald calls the caravan to the center of the fort. In the same place that he gave a sermon on the merits of Abadar's benefits just a few months back, he addresses the assembled people. ”My friends, we have traveled enough today. Rest, be happy and merry! Enjoy the wages of our work to spread civilization. Tomorrow we bring our beloved sister and daughter Jemini back to us! Celebrate her impending return here where she began her quest to tame these lands!” As he finishes, several servants bring out food and wine. Quickly, the tables fill with conversation and laughter.
It is not Oleg's, not as they remember it, but being back sparks many memories of happy times for the members of the expedition. It was a simpler time, both so short a time ago and so long. Hopefully, once Jemini returns, it can return to happy memories for them.
Jemini looks aghast - the creature before her drives nearly all her wit from her and she looks blankly at the figure. She manages, "Good day, ferryman. We not only wish to cross the River Styx - we aim to reach Axis." Her training as a noble kicks in, and she bows politely, "I am Jemini, of Lebeda; and my fellow petitioner is Nikolai, of Rogarvia. How may we address you?"
“Well Virtue, here we are once again. I trust you know the way to the stables now that you’ve crippled me beyond all hope of healing.” Virtue indeed seems to know the way to the familiar stables for food and relative comfort after the day’s ride, and Verik maneuvers him to what used to be his favorite stall, dismounting somewhat slowly and stiffly. After stifling a yawn he begins the task of unsaddling and grooming his horse, as well as channeling some fresh water for the troughs and filling Virtue’s feed box from a nearby feed barrel. The task is actually not unpleasant to the cleric, as he enjoys the quiet of the stabled horses munching away and content after a long day’s travel.
As Verik rummages through his saddlebags, he calls out to Zander and offers the Warden his own two-man tent that he has brought with him – Verik’s prior home in the first month after founding Sanctuary. He figures Zander probably would prefer the tent if he didn’t have his own handy, as opposed to the now-crowded accommodations of the new inn. Other items and gear in his saddlebags he goes through quickly to take to his room – his breastplate (in a non-descript bag), wooden shield and crossbow, as well as a finer bag with two Abadarian books, candles, ink and parchment. Searching his backpack, he sets aside his clerical vestments for another washing and mending later in the evening, and then locates three small leather pouches for inspection: one contains a silver and gold medallion of two winged creatures facing outward with a key between them, which he holds up and smiles briefly as he murmurs a brief prayer to Abadar; this he returns to the pouch and does not wear, though he does have his usual silver symbol of Abadar prominently displayed around his neck. He does not open the other two full pouches and has a frown when inspecting them, ensuring they are intact and well-stowed. Finally, he pulls forth a scabbarded longsword wrapped in cloth from the saddlebag to bring inside, worn and unadorned but made of fine steel.
With his stabling work done and his gear gathered, Verik prepares to head outside to take a walk to the inn, reminding himself that he must ask the innkeep if an expected small order of books from a New Stetven merchant has been delivered for him yet, as the finer merchants will not travel as far south as Sanctuary yet to deliver their goods. He also reminds himself to get the storehouse key from the Lebeda soldiers to check on the shipment of stonework that should have arrived for his final approval, as well as to inspect Jhod’s growing oak sapling, a promise to the priest of Erastil since he was not making the journey himself this time.
The longsword mentioned is an RP reference to Captain Walthon, where the soldiers told Verik that Walthon said if he ever fell in battle the sword should go back to House Lebeda to be used again, and not be buried with him. Verik has been in possession of it since.
The two leather pouches are from the Stag Lord – RP’ing here that after the soldiers/prisoners/wounded headed back from the battle site to Oleg’s, Verik and Tandlara and a couple others went away from the site to burn the SL’s body via funeral pyre a day or two later. Due to the mysterious discussion of the SL’s last words as well as a couple of other RP reasons, Verik kept some of the ash and bone fragments in two small pouches and did not mention it beyond Tandlara knowing.
I’ll retcon anything that cuts against the grain here of course.
Zander's first act is to collect word from the guards. He gathers news of the visitors passing through, road conditions, and any word of trouble be it bandit or beast.
at Verik's offer: "I have a bedroll and a tarp to keep the weather off, so thanks for the offer, but actually there is a spot up there on the palisade that I have kind of taken a shine to..if the current guards will allow it." He nods knowingly to Verik and his offer, ensuring him that, yes indeed, he had no intention of bunking near royalty.
Riding into Oleg's Berrin can't help but see the difference, sure, it had the same name, the same general layout but still, it wasn't Oleg's as he remembered it. The wood in the buildings was new, the people on the walls were new and the travelers were people he had never seen before. Guiding Valnyr in he inspects the new palisade and the people, giving it all a critical eye. Seeing the inn were there should be Oleg's house as he comes into the courtyard he shrugs and dismounts, handing the reins to a stable boy and pulling off his gloves to hook into his belt, with a sigh he heads in with Lord Lebeda and Archbanker Vinodragov he keeps his mouth shut beyond basic curtesies and heads into the inn.
Entering his room he calls for vine and goes to the window, standing there for a while remembering.
Verik returns a smile to Zander. "Ahh yes, your good and familiar spot up on the walls eh, keeping an eye out for bandits while the rest of us poor souls crammed into that one guest room. I have half a mind to follow your wisdom and pitch this tent outside the walls for myself," he sighs rather dramatically, "but I suppose that would be far too noticeable." His face then blanches slightly and he chuckles. "Of course Zander I also remember Bokken and his morning dedications naked up there on the palisade, so those are mixed memories for me!"
"Well I'll get myself stowed and sorted out, but if you'd like you can join me later after the meal in looking after Master Jhod's tree...you know the one that he wants to have planted at Stagfall." Verik pauses for a moment in melancholy as he mentions the battle site, but then shakes himself out of it and says his next words with some jest in them. "I had to write down all these notes from him on how to properly check the tree, but it all seems like so much nonsense. You would probably know what makes a healthy tree better than I, and as I know you favor that blustering windbag and the outdoors, it would serve me well to have a second opinion, or else I'll never hear the end of it from him."
Verik once again finds himself a bit vexed and irritated - after speaking to Zander and finishing up at the stables, he makes his way to the inn only to find that only one room is available for ALL of them besides Berrin. He blusters somewhat to this at the innkeep but relents after a couple of exchanges, for he realizes it is not really the man's fault. "Tents and palisade walls indeed," he mutters mostly to himself. "Good man I understand well enough, and let it not be said that we of Newhaven shall not be gracious hosts to our guests from Brevoy. In the future though I do expect for the High Cleric of Newhaven to be given accommodations!" He exhales a breath grumpily and then adds, "Make sure Oleg and Svetlana are given whatever is available...and if you do not receive full compensation from any of our host, inform me immediately so I can make sure it is taken care of." He then asks the innkeep if there are any packages or boxes left for him, and proceeds upstairs with his packs and sacks in his arms.
The issue at hand which mostly vexes Verik as he trudges upstairs is the fact that Vinodragov's acolytes have taken several rooms individually, nearly all of which Verik grumbles to himself that he outranks in power and dedication to Abadar, not to mention outranks in title as High Cleric of Newhaven. "Not much more than a collection of sycophantic servants who can channel and mend his smallclothes," Verik mutters as he gets to the second story corridor of rooms. Everything smells like newly cut wood and sawdust - certainly serviceable but lacking the warmth of the old place that Oleg and Svetlana once kept. He takes a look at the single room remaining, but nearly sneers at it when he realizes he would have to share quarters with Alexius. Impulsively, he walks over to the far side of suites and taps on Berrin's door.
"Ahh, Berrin? You there? Ahh yes good. Perhaps you would assist me in letting me stow my things in your room here tonight. Our guests have taken all else but one, and I'd rather not have some of my effects so open to...some that I do not trust." He raises a hand awkwardly while trying to not drop the sack with his breastplate in it. "I wouldn't impose upon you to share your quarters of course - probably won't sleep much tonight anyway with going to Stagfall and all that is in store for tomorrow, and much work I can attend to tonight I am certain, but I'd feel better if you kept an eye out for me."
Berrin's face lights up when Verik enters, grinning as his solitude is broken by a friend. Listening to his words he nods solemly at his requests, "No, please. Stay." he says quickly as Verik makes to leave. "We've shares quarters often enough in the past Verik. I'd actually prefer not to be alone, to hells with appearances, let's gather everyone up and dine in here tonight, just the expedition and our council, just like old times. What do you say?" he says hopefully.
"Stagfall will still be there on the morrow, it can wait.. It's just.. this place.. it's so.. so different. Everythings changed Verik. I feel lost in all this, soldiers, citizens, us being noble all of a sudden. How did this happen? I'm just a soldier Verik, I feel comfortable on the battlefield with an enemy to face, this battlefield, politics, I don't know this Verik, so please, can we have it like old times tonight? Just us, eating together, sharing quarters like old times?"
The innkeeper is a stern, hardy man from Restov named Lewros. Oleg and he seemed to get along handily while they met, though hardly a word passed between the two. Having delivered Verik's multiple packages with hardly more than a grunt, he sits in the inn's common room and watches the travelers. The inn is fairly plain, mostly a wooden frame that connects what used to be Oleg's house and the smaller original inn with a second story added on top. The travelers are mostly from Brevoy, heading south to Newhaven. They usually stay for a few days until a group of soldiers from either Silverhall or Sanctuary passes through, at which point they piggyback to ensure that the trip is safe. There haven't been any reports of bandit attacks since the Stag Lord's death, but Lewros can appreciate cautiousness. Currently, before the group of nobles arrived for the night, there are a few dozen settlers waiting to make the trip south. There are perhaps a half a dozen families, plus a few individuals ready to make a future in the south. Most of them brought tents and paid a reduced rate to camp in the safety of the fort to save some money, though a few chose to stay in the comfort of the inn.
One of the courtiers apparently spread the word to the settlers that the leadership of Newhaven is here. Since their arrival, many of the settlers have greeted them with handshakes and smiles. Apparently, the stories of their victory have already spread to the north via bardic tales; their reputation is already growing in scope and promise.
Zander finds himself cornered by a particularly gregarious sellsword with quite a few questions about the kingdom's security needs. "Warden, huh? What's that consist of? You need more men to help out on the patrols?" The mercenary, a young man named Gregary, carries an unimpressive but functional longsword and some shabby armor. His parents likely have (or had) little or no money, and even less social standing, but Gregary appears strong and determined to make something of himself.
Svetlana sticks closely to Tandlara, seemingly a bit morose and ill at the state of her former house; Oleg, as usual, appears stoic. He rubs the stump of his arm a bit more often than usual, but otherwise appears unaffected. Svetlana hangs onto Tandlara's arm, reliving happy memories from just a few months back. "Do you recall when I braided your hair? We could do so again! Once Jemini returns, I want to do the same for her. After being in the ground for so long, she'll probably be longing for a bath!" She laughs her contagious, happy laugh; her worries apparently forgotten, she glows with the joy of friendship.
Taisper roams through the inn, checking who is staying where on his way to the common area. He plans on watching the settlers, seeing if any of them would be an undesirable element in their new kingdom. One cannot be too careful in deciding who to allow into the kingdom at such a delicate stage in its construction. He idly ponders his collection as he roams the halls en route to the base floor.
Jemini's ears ring with the certainty of Charon's words. Painful slabs called destiny and fate that accompany them weigh on her; but she stems against them. A steely resolve to carry her decision through to the end. "Nikolai's life may have led him here - but his final resting place is not here. Not yet." Her eyes narrow, adjusting to the subtleties around her. Yes. Even here spirits and possibilities intermingle; some free, others in locked paths.
"Charon, you see and know more than I do, so you must know of the spirits of past and future that I see. You know that there's one fate among many where this man finds his final lot not here, not on Abaddon." She nods, as much to herself as to Charon, "Sometimes where a soul deserves to be is not determined by a single lifetime. This," she beckons, "may be such a time, don't you agree?"
Verik is standing there, arms full of gear as he listens to Berrin, his face bearing somewhat with a surprised expression. He knew Berrin was never exuberant over the choice to maneuver him into the Regent's position for Newhaven, but dismissed much of his reluctance as stemming from childish boredom or in not wanting to put in the thought and work required. As Berrin talks almost out of desperation, Verik realizes the "Hero of Stagfall" has been suffering as much as he has in these past two months, probably more so. Hero of Stagfall indeed. I should have seen this and so I play the fool once again...lost in my own grief and buried in the work of building Sanctuary I fail to see what is before me so clearly. Yes...the drink adds to it and he is not simply giving in to selfish excess. He suffers so, and I must help, I must be the lighthouse for the others to see by until they can gain the shore on their own...
"Yes Berrin, I will stay of course, as true friends do." He sets down his possessions in the nearby corner of the room and moves to the side table where he picks up a spare cup and pours himself some wine from the pitcher. Walking over to the window next to Berrin, he takes a sip and looks out over the place that was once Oleg's Trading Post.
"If you had talked to me when we first met those months ago of 'change' here being something to regret and be melancholy about, I would have dismissed it as wistful nonsense, for I came here from Absalom to enact change to this backwater land. The change of civilization, order and enlightenment. Hmmmm." He takes another healthy drink and turns to look at Berrin. "I would not have understood you then at all. But I do now, and I agree with much that you are feeling. While I do not regret what we are doing here, it has cost us dearly, and things moved so quickly for us that I failed to see much of it for what it was. And then of course there is Jemini..."
He is silent for a moment, lost once again in thoughts about the moments they had together in the old fort that is no longer there, knowing that not even the return of Jemini will put things back the way they used to be before Taxfest. For Berrin's sake he forces himself to shake out of it. "As you say, Stagfall goes nowhere before tomorrow. Plenty of time for her then, and plenty of time for words of counsel between you and I back at Sanctuary." He clasps Berrin on the shoulder and gives him an old smile. "I will do as you ask, but let us make a quick bargain. Drink your wine - just the one glass mind you as you need your wits about you - and then let us go downstairs and make a quick appearance, so that we are not utterly improper to our guests. Just a brief visit and I shall stay by your side for its entirety, and we can let the select others know as we see them. We will break off soon enough to go check on my shipment of stonework for Stagfall, as well as Jhod's infernal tree that I promised him on. Then we shall return here and have our real visit amongst our true friends. Agreed?"