Marisol nods in response to Hrafen, then says in a normal tone, "This time we're -- hopefully -- going to have supper and a comfortable night's sleep before we ride out again. Maybe even a bath, if that can somehow be arranged."
In a lower tone she says, "I suspected as much. Some of the tradesfolk here have goods that were acquired by Dovan's men, and I'm guessing not all of them are through legitimate barter."
Hrafen smiles warmly.
"A decent meal and a comfortable night's sleep sounds like an excellent idea!"
He then adds, quietly:
"All the same, I think it would be wise if I continued to maintain a low profile whilst we are here."
Vladimir responds in a hushed tone, "Sorry Hrafen, I had not thought about your extra time in the Crossing making a known entity to the various factions of thugs in the region."
Continuing the conversation he says, "Dovan and his ilk need to be stopped much like Topper and his crew were. The druid, Marlbek, I think can be reasoned with and perhaps even used as an ally, but we need to be careful with that negotiation."
When Hrafen makes the "excellent idea" comment, Papa Grundy offers "Eh... That second barn o'er there up for grabs for a night."
He then includes the others as he continues...
"Little man seems an alright fellow... chatted a bit. Little too concerned with flavor rather than how quick a drink will put you under, but I trust you enough t'put you all up for a night."
"Thank you, Papa Grundy. What do we owe you for the night's lodging?"
Balter raises a brow at Hrafen's confession, finding in himself a new-found respect for how the halfling must have handled himself. Unfortunately, it also confirmed some of the suspicions they had about Dovan.
Marisol waits for Papa Grundy's response, as that will determine where the group is sleeping and what kinds of preparations they can make.
Papa Grundy leans on the stack of liquor crates, scratches under his hat, and looks you over again... "Eh.. silver a piece'll do. I could see any more'n that givin' you right to complain 'bout the amenities."
"A silver piece each, sounds more than fair. Here you are good sir." Vladimir says reaching into his coin pouch.
"The ladys had expressed interest in a bath, and honestly it would not hurt the rest of us." the swordsman says with a grin. "Is that something that might be able to be arranged?"
"A wooden tub or empty barrel would suit just fine," Durielle murmurs a tad red-faced. "We're not too picky. A barn stall with a door and hanging some blankets would do nicely for privacy."
"Yeah alright.. I can get you what you need. I can spare the rainwater for a tubful or two, I s'pose."
The barn is a squat building. The loft has about four feet of clearance. Only one corner of the 30' by 60' area is occupied with clutter. The opposite side has four empty and fairly clean stalls. The entire barn is significantly cleaner than most overall... it just smells like a pub.
Marisol curtseys again to Papa Grundy and says, "I'm not averse to hauling up some water from the well, if needed, or going downriver a bit. I know enough not to try to make a fire inside the barn. We can take care of heating it up... all we need is a washbin. Thank you."
"Wow," murmurs Marisol, "Someone's been brewing bath-barrel gin in here." Then she says a bit more cheerfully, "The hay will make for comfortable bedding under our bedrolls! And it'll be warm and dry. Balter, can you help me get some firewood and make a fire ring of rocks? I need to get water for bathing and cooking, especially if I'm going to have some pies for supper."
With that she busies herself about the preparations. She unpacks some of her grocery shopping and sets that out for cleaning, then heads off to fetch a lot of water... a repeated process, but with a pair of pickets and a stick she's able to easily haul a great deal of water with her surprising strength. She asks Durielle to help cut the carrots and onions while she fetches several bucketsful of water. Once she has the whole tub filled, she starts a quick fire and begins dinner preparations, occasionally with a bit of chit-chat.
Once a fire is set up she sets about cutting vegetables and roasting meat, rolling dough and making small dinner-pies for everyone -- and keeping an eye on the fire so that she can heat up water later for a warm bath in the eve.
As Marisol stokes the fire and roasts the meat for the pies, she says, "By the way, who's taking the first bath? I want to take the oppportunity to clean some clothes, too. Much easier with a little magic, of course."
Durielle removes her white cloak and uses some ribbon she purchased while shopping with Marisol to tie back her hair. the gauntness of her face is more apparent this way, but one can still see the prettiness which her condition mars. The soft light in her eyes is also more visible as she works. She hums a familiar tune as she works, a sad smile on her face. Clearly the oracle is remembering other times.
At Marisol's question, Durielle gestures to the three males. "Them for sure. While we're making the food, they should bathe." Wrinkling her nose, Durielle says in a stage whisper, "Clearly, it will take them longer to rid themselves of the stench of road and battle."
A faux-offended look crosses Vladimir's face, as he takes an exaggerated sniff of his arm.
"I will bathe shortly. Anything I can do to help either of you before that?"
"All right then! You heard the lady -- boys in the tub! I'll put the tub in one of the stalls so you can have some privacy. Hang your clothes on the stall door and I'll fetch them and do some cleaning and mending while waiting for the pie crusts to cook. Vlad, best thing you can do is peel off that dirty shirt and start getting rid of all the mud and grime," says Marisol. She bites her lip momentarily, then says, "You know what, just give me the shirt right now. It's filthy." She holds out her hand with just a hint of a grin.
Once that is done she moves the wash tub to one of the stalls and shoos Vlad off to it, then swipes his clothing from the door and sits on a stool, humming and making arcane gestures that whisk away dirt, mud, blood, and stains with a minor household cantrip. Every few minutes she checks on the progress of the boiling vegetables and rotates the pieces of meat for the pies.
Marisol shudders involuntarily as Durielle gives her a warm, healing touch. "Thank you again, Durielle. Much improved."
Vladimir gives Marisol a half grin as he complies with her request, handing his shirt over. Before heading to the bath he grabs his pack, taking it with him.
Following his bath, he takes the liberty of making his own prestidigitation cantrip to clean the water and warm it further. He emerges from the stall wearing clothing more suitable for relaxing around the manor than exploring the wilderness, black breeches with gold trim and a loose fitting royal blue tunic also with gold trim.
"Much better. Who is next?"
Hrafen gives Durielle a look of mock horror and indignation.
"I'll have you know, I keep both myself and my possessions quite clean - Prestidigitation is an extremely versatile spell, after all..."
Nevertheless, he takes his turn in the bath, making sure to purify the water, and lightly scent it, before (and after) using it, although he mischievously leaves it smelling faintly of lavender, whilst he himself smells of pine.
Balter sniffs once, but is unable to pick up the offensive odor. Oh, he reeked. But he had carried the scent for so long that it had become all but imperceptible to him. Once Vladimir and Hrafen have taken their baths, Balter merely scoffs when his turn comes up.
"If I wanted a bath, I'd just take a dip in the Shrike," he protests, folding his arms and finding some random corner of the barn to stare into. "Besides, there are advantages to having your own musk when you're in the wilderness."
Marisol finishes folding the pie-crusts and puts them into a makeshift stone oven -- really, just heaping a pile of hot rocks over them in the fire pit -- then teasingly says to Balter, "Suit yourself then. I am not keen on my musk wafting about and I'd rather not stand downwind of it! Besides, I can't exactly take a dip in the Shrike while that undead creature is lurching out of the water at anyone who gets too close. Peeping Toms are bad enough, without also being the undead vengeful rotting cadaver sort." She smiles, wipes off her hands, and hands Vlad's cleaned traveling clothes back to him. She nods with a satisfactory look at his change of garb and says, "That suits you well. I like the colors. Goes with your eyes."
"So, Durielle, your turn or mine?" she says, turning to the elf. "I'll freshen up the water a bit first regardless," and she grabs the buckets to dip into the bathtub and remove the worst offenders of dirt, mud, and weeds, before fetching a bit more water for the tub.
"Funny, a bunch of lords and ladies all freshly cleaned and dressed for a lovely night in a barn," she says as she finishes the round of chores and checks on the pies. "But I'll take the opportunity to get out of this gambeson and into something a bit more svelte."
She finishes by adding some flower petals to the water, waiting for Durielle to let her know who's next.
Just before nightfall, you hear cows, then goats being driven into the larger barn between Grundy's house and where you are staying. You hear the farmhands holler goodnight to Grundy, and their conversing as they pass.. presumably on the way to the tower settlement.
"As comfortable as this is, we would do well to maintain watches none-the-less, particularly given the nature of the 'baron' of these lands. Vladimir plainly states during dinner.
"I am open to taking whatever watch is appropriate. What do the rest of you think?"
"Dinner will be ready soon, so perhaps you should go first. But in the interest of time, we can share if the tub is large enough," Durielle replies. "I shan't be very long, I imagine."
Once clean, Durielle wraps herself in blanket and cloak as those with magic to clean remove the road grime and smell from her traveling clothes. However, she shyly only allows Marisol to handle her smallclothes .
Her wet hair looks like dark honey instead of its usually sunbeam gold and hangs damply with a slight wave. One shoulder, a calf, and accompanying foot not usually seen under Durielle's typically chaste robes are so obviously pale they would normally be compared to cream. The sickly pallor she possesses, however, changes the tone more to a light butter when the light hits it. Her unusually thin frame looks frail, and the cloak and blankets swallow her their dark color made even more so by her complexion.
"I am happy to take the first watch unless someone else would prefer it," Durielle says after politely swallowing a bite of her pie. Glancing to her friend, Durielle says to Marisol, "This is delicious!"
She coughs slightly, but only once.
"All right, I'll scrub your back if you scrub mine. Vlad, do keep an eye on those pies while we're washing up -- if the crust starts to turn black, grab the cloth from the post over there and take them off the fire. And don't let Balter touch any pie but his with his musky hands," she says, as she picks up a change of clothes for herself. She sidles in to the stall with the tub, warms the water momentarily with magic, and sets to the lengthy process of unknotting her gambeson and boots.
As the undershirt falls away from her shoulders, her complexion is not too dissimilar from Durielle's: pale skin, almost bluish in some places, though she has a smooth, firm build - not overly muscular, which is surprising given the amount of physical strength that she has shown. Of course her raven-black hair is a significant contrast to the sunny elf. She sinks into the washtub carefully after putting her traveling outfit to one side, doing her best not to splash or bump into Durielle.
"Durielle, you have nothing to be so nervous about," she says once she is in the tub, washing off several days' worth of dirt and sweat. "While your curse may have been unkind to you, you're still a lovely woman and I think we could easily find some magnificent outfits for your slender build. Your hair frames your face beautifully and you have very long, lean lines - you might enjoy showing off your legs now and then!"
Marisol slides into a simple low-cut cotton gown with a broad girdle. It looks much more comfortable than adventuring gear. She happily serves dinner with a bottle of local wine that she picked up during the day's shopping.
"I suppose on the up side, I'll have my gambeson freshly cleaned and ready to wear before changing back into it. I'll take second watch," she quips, though she frowns as she looks over at her pile of weapons and armor. "And here I was hoping for a cozy night without having to wear armor. Well, that day will come."
Balter scoffs again at Marisol's remark, but it would be lying to say that he was really offended. But true to her words, he puts his musky hands all over his dinner pie, devouring it with barely passable manners. A little too quickly, perhaps. It was actually pretty good... not that he'd say so after the cook's smart comment. So perhaps he was just a little offended.
The half-elf looks over toward the barn door, one of his ears twitching. He sets what remains of his pie down and stands, stretching out his back as he walks over toward the door.
"Gonna get a breath of fresh air before anyone turns in," he says, tossing a glance over his shoulder. With a smirk he adds, "Enjoy your bath, ladies."
With that, the ranger slips out of the barn.
The conversation starts with wondering if Papa Grundy is going to sit and wait on the porch for Top all night again.
Then one asks the woman if her sick goat is feeling any better. It is.
They then talk about who they expect to "be there".
About this time you hear the spirit of old Nettles in the distance.. the direction you are heading.
The farmhands veer toward the river not far before the settlement, greet four others, and all sit on the edge of the ridge facing the riverbank between the tower and the Shrike.
"Be careful out there, Balter."
Vladimir, quite the opposite of Balter, calmly eats his meal with all of the poise and manners one would expect of a man of noble upbringing.
"Thank you, Marisol, for having the taking the time to prepare this rather delicious meal." the swordsman says with a smile.
As idle conversation continues during the meal, Vladimir steals a few glances at Marisol, perhaps distracted by the low cut nature of the woman's gown.
As the watch situation is hashed out Vladimir says, "I guess that leaves third watch to me."
Marisol inclines her head at Vlad's compliment. "I'm glad we could take the time for a proper meal. Days on the road with nothing but jerky and hardtack becomes quite tiresome. And this is a good opportunity for us to come together, more than just a few random strangers bound by opportunity," she says.
She settles in to a pile of hay up against a wall of the barn and says, "That gives me an idea! Let's play a game. A game of questions!"
"Here's how it goes," she says. "You ask someone a question, and that person has to answer it truthfully. Now, when you are asked a question, you can choose not to answer -- but if you do, then the asker can choose a different question, and you have to answer that one. After you answer, you get to ask someone else a question, and we go around like that until we are tired or want to try something else."
She leans over slightly and looks from one member of the group to another, then says, "So... who has a question?"
"Alright, sounds interesting enough." Vladimir says, rubbing his chin, trying to think of a question to ask.
After a few brief seconds of contemplation, he looks toward Marisol, "While you are certainly more than capable of handling yourself out here, it would seem that you still have a preference for trappings of civilization. What in particular made you decide to apply for the charter to explore these lands" the swordsman asks, opting for a more innocuous question to begin the proceedings.
Fully invested in continuing his investigation, Balter pulls on his hood, almost seeming to fade into his surroundings when he does so. He then lightly creeps forward, as quiet as a mouse.
"Starting with an easy one?" says Marisol. "All right... I had a wealthy family, but I was an only child under difficult circumstances," she says somewhat vaguely. "I had means to support myself, but I was listless and unsure of what to do with myself. For a while I tried different things - learning the sword, studying magic, dabbling in politics. But none of them were fulfilling. I came to feel that I needed a break from my only life, a way to re-invent myself. So I sold my home in the city and said my goodbyes and set out for the road to... remake myself, I suppose. The charter gave me an opportunity to do something new and to establish a new role for myself in society."
She sips at her wine. "A bit vague, perhaps, but that opens the door to other questions."
"For my first question... Hrafen, when you first came into your sorcerous power, how did it affect your life?"
"I-I have been told that many times. But..." Durielle says quietly with sadness. "Mostly only when someone desires more from me, or when there is a jealousy and being called 'pretty' is more a term of hate than one of admiration."
She begins the laborious process of working soapy water through her hair.
"The curse of my power seems to be fitting." the oracle whispers. "If only I had been willing to see sooner..." She trails off as whatever sights the soapy bubbles show her seem to drain the words from her.
She starts when one pops, and she looks at Marisol. "You are also a rather blessed woman, Marisol. Yet you seem to have some...peculiarities of your own. They make you so unique."
Durielle's eyes widen as Marisol proposes her game, and she listens quietly as she eats. Too bad Balter didn't choose to wait to eat before we had finished bathing, she thinks. I imagine if he was willing to answer, he would have many interesting things to say.
Durielle murmurs an offer for tea, and she sets out making some for at least herself.
She chuckles and says, "We've fought for our lives together, Durielle. You have nothing to fear from me. I think I grasp your plight... but I'm not worried about you seducing a lascivious husband, nor about trying to force unwanted attentions upon you."
She makes a circling gesture in the air with one hand and says, "Turn around -- I did say I'd wash your back, after all." She soaks a wash cloth in the soapy water and starts at Durielle's shoulders and works her way down her back in long strokes of the cloth. "I've had my share of humiliations and tragedies. But my life isn't devoid of its highs, too. For many years I felt like I was an outsider who would never have a place in society, who would never fit in and would always be seen as... well, let's call it bad luck. It took me a while to decide that it was up to me to figure out how I was going to see my own life and how I was going to live it. Yes, I have regrets and there were sad times, but I have the opportunity to make my own future, so now I look for happiness and hold on to it when I can." She finishes wiping down Durielle's back and says wistfully, "Our adventures are a challenge, but I feel like it's helping me to stand on my own and find... something different and satisfying."
"I'm gladdened whenever I hear someone look forward to the future. I...I often fear what I see." The oracle shakes her head with eyes closed. "There are so many more chances for things to be sad and broken than those which will make one happy. It is my burden to watch as others often turn away from the opportunities in front of them. Such a sad life; such a sad death," whispers Durielle at the end.
"[b]What a life Topper Gray could have lived..."
A few silent tears fall into the warm water, each one carrying some of the light within Durielle before diffusing and joining the water drops around them.
"Me?" she responds to Marisol's unasked question. "I do not know just why I am here. I only know I should have arrived long before. It was my weakness that let them suffer. So instead I took up the challenge offered by the man I loved. If it was his fate to deliver news of it, and die at my hands...then what other choice could there be?"
Durielle checks the water for the tea. It has not yet come to a boil.
Marisol adds, "I'll help you comb out your hair when we're done."
She picks up a cloths and wrings it out before soaping the other woman's back. She pauses a moment and traces a finger on one of the more bluish areas.
"Is-is this what resists my magic?" she asks quietly almost to herself.
As if realizing she spoke out loud, she stammers, "I-I'm sorry. I don't mean to pry. It's just that, uh, I...I have noticed that the healing power granted me is not as effective on you as the others, but it's not my place to ask. P-please forgive my outburst, Marisol." Durielle knows there are many things which could cause this, but not all are things a humanoid would wish to divulge.
"On a different note, the loss of those we love is merely a step we take. Eventually all becomes loss, so that new may found. It is acceptance of this in which I have found power. I hope your own loss has also made you powerful. So that, as you said, we can go on and find love in life again."
When Durielle asks about her condition, she turns her head to look back over her shoulder, then drops her gaze a bit sadly.
"I suppose you would have found out some time," she says. "It might as well be now."
In a low whisper she says something to Durielle.
When Marisol poses her question, Hrafen smiles ruefully.
"Well, believe it or not, at first, it was a mixed blessing... more than a bit of a curse, to be honest..."
He then sighs, sadly.
"I first manifested arcane power when I was but a slip of a halfling, however I was unable to control it - it only 'came out' when I was angry, and often with unpredictable results... although it usually involved acid. Fortunately, a local wizard by the name of Skerrin took an interest in my case (and, truth be told, probably in maintaining local property values, as well), and taught me how to harness my anger, to focus and control it."
Hrafen smiles, recollecting happier times.
"Those years were probably the happiest in my life; we would trade stories, and he always knew what to say to help me stay calm; that was also when I took an interest in brewing, with fairly palatable results, I would like to think... However, after he died, I was not always able to control myself, and it was after one such incident that I had to leave home, and seek my fortunes elsewhere..."
...not so much for my own safety, as to protect everyone else...
"I've been told it's often difficult, with many a sorcerer finding they don't fit in with friends and neighbors any more... I'm glad you had a good mentor who was able to help. Your turn to ask someone a question now!"
Hooded figures holding torches stand in a half-circle around Dovan.. a good twenty feet from the melee. Further back are a few dozen other spectators.. many perched on overturned buckets and barrels.
Dovan gets a few good hits in, then gets walloped by Nettles. Dovan switches to a defensive stance, and quick counterattacks.
After watching nearly minute, Dovan scores a hit and Nettles dissipates.. the water loses form, and drops into the river. Dovan raises his arms in victory.. the crowd cheers, and heads to the river to bathe and collect water. Some - such the farmhands near you who move their gathering down to the water - appear to make it a social event.
The half-elf lingers for only a moment longer before turning around and moving in the direction of the barn.
If it comes down to it, we might have one hell of a fight on our hands...
"I am sorry to hear of the loss of your mentor and friend, Hrafen. I felt a similar pain when Astavos passed." Vladimir says with a solemn nod.
"Certainly on the brighter side, you seem to have continued to advance in the lessons he sought to teach you as you seem to be in the utmost control of your abilities now."
Glancing around the room with a broad grin on his face, the swordsman says, "This game promises to be most fascinating. Come on now, Hrafen, choose your target and ask a question."
"Alright, Hrafen, since you seem to require more time to decide what question you would like to ask, I think I will cheat a bit in the interest of moving this little game along. I would not dream of denying you your question, feel free to interject once you have decided." Vladimir says, obviously impatient.
Turning his gaze to Durielle, the swordsman asks, "Once before our little group had its current composition, you and I had practiced with blades as I had noticed that you carry an Aldori blade similar to mine. You had said it was once the weapon of someone dear to you. If two part questions are permitted, to whom did it belong and why do you carry it now?"
Marisol folds her legs underneath herself and says, "Good question." Then she looks over at Durielle expectantly. After a moment she unfurls her legs and stands up, says, "I almost forgot!" and moves over to her traveling bag. She removes a brush from it, then takes up a spot behind Durielle, sits down, and starts brushing out Durielle's golden hair.
"Don't mind me," she says, amused. "We'll get all the tangles out."
Durielle is quiet until Marisol is settled and begun the long pulls through the oracle's damp hair.
"My sword..." she begins, trailing off almost immediately. Sadness washes over her face, but so does a glint of happiness. Clearly her memories are both joyous and painful. After a moment she starts anew. "The blade once belonged to a half-elf named Veros. I loved him...and I caused his death because I was too stubborn to see the truth."
She takes a breath. "Too stubborn until it was too late."
Durielle picks up the sword in its sheath, and holds it up in both hands parallel to the ground. Slowly drawing it forth, Durielle watches the light of the campfire glitter across the steel.
"Now, I carry it to remember. My gift, my power...it is a weapon just as this sword." She holds the blade so its tip is pointed towards the barn ceiling. "Because no matter how I hold this sword, it never stops being a weapon. And so it is with my power, my curse...and whatever reason the gods and fate have chosen me for this task."
The elf turns the sword so that she can sheathe it once more, slowly and carefully without the skill Vladimir or Marisol have with such weapons.
The grin that once graced the face of the swordsman drops to a more sullen expression as he sees the sorrow his question has caused. "I am sorry for your loss, Durielle. It was not my intention to bring up any past pains." Vladimir says quietly.
"As always the offer still stands to teach you a few of the finer points of wielding an Aldori blade, should you desire it."
Glancing at the elven woman once more he says, "I believe the next question is yours to ask."
Marisol pauses in her ministrations and places one hand on Durielle's shoulder. She gives the bright woman a reassuring squeeze and says, "Durielle, I'm so sorry for your loss."