Balter returns.
Vladimir's gaze drift to the barn's door as he hears it open.
"Welcome back Balter. Anything of note out there?"
Marisol returns to brushing out Durielle's long, golden hair with care.
Durielle places a hand over Marisol's for a moment and a soft smile appears on her face to reassure her and Vladimir.
"No, please. Do not allow my sorrow to change your moods." Turning the smile to Vladimir, Durielle continues, "I know that your sword art gives you pleasure. My sin does not belong to the sword, rather the sin and the sword belong to me. This sword is a great and powerful thing as it was once wielded with skill by Veros, servant of Restov. I imagine your own Aldori Dueling Sword must be the same. For those with the strength and skill to use it, it is not a symbol of failure, but one of power and the will to use it."
Cocking her head, Durielle looks around at everyone. "I-I have no one left to mourn me if I were to perish on this journey into the wilderness, I would ask each of you: Do you have loved ones who worry these long nights wondering how you fare? Will you be summoning them to settle these lands if we succeed in our expedition?"
Marisol continues brushing Durielle's hair, looking down into the sunny strands as she evenly says, "No, when I sold my family home I didn't have anyone close. That old life is behind me now."
"Just a little social gathering," Balter says dryly, as he lowers his hood. His form regains its definition, having not been truly invisible, but merely obfuscated by the cloak's magic. "Apparently Dovan gets his kicks by going toe to toe with old man Nettles in a fight. And winning," he adds with a frown. "Seems to be the rest of the settlement's idea of nighttime entertainment."
Oblivious to the atmosphere, he saunters over and finds a place to sit. "That man must have a death wish."
"Thank you for the update," says Marisol. "Sounds like Dovan may be a handful. Best we avoid rousting his ire."
She pauses the brushing for a moment and says, "We're playing a little game... someone asks a question, and you either must answer it truthfully, or you decline but you must answer the replacement question (which must be different, obviously). Then you get to ask someone else. Durielle just answered Vlad's question about the history of sword, and we're waiting for her to decide on a question for one person so that the game can continue." She resumes brushing.
"Or at the very least we need to have good plan in place for when we deal with him." Vladimir adds to Marisol's thoughts on Dovan.
Quickly commenting on Durielle's question on loved ones, Vladimir says, "Possibly, but not likely. My relationship with my family can be...complicated."
"I thought I had asked a good question!" Durielle said indignantly. Then she sighs elaborately. "Alright then. I'll ask just one person."
Looking directly at Balter, the oracle asks, "Do you have loved ones that are waiting for you to complete your charter to the Greenbelt?"
Her brushed hair glistens in the firelight under Marisol's deft hands.
"It is a good question, just the game is about asking one person at a time," says Marisol soothingly. "Do you want this braided, tied, or loose?"
Durielle blinks wide-eyed caught off-guard by the question.
"I-I can't recall the last time my hair was braided. If you really feel up to it, I would be pleased to have a braid."
She reaches for her satchel and withdraws a spool of bright blue ribbon. Handing it Marisol, Durielle grins like a young lass just brought to market for the first time.
Brushed out, Durielle's hair is very long and easily reaches three-quarters of the way down her back. The volume itself is tremendous, but the hair itself is very fine. The contrast gives further evidence to her elvish roots as most human hair of such fine strands would break before reaching such lengths.
~~~~~~~~~~
"Not a problem. It's soothing." Marisol accepts the blue ribbon and starts deftly grouping the hair into long, crossed-over strands. "Your hair is like beams of sunlight. It's really beautiful."
Hrafen self-consciously runs a hand across his conspicuously bald pate.
"I am afraid hair is not something that I have had to worry about for quite some time - I blame exposure to too much acid, over the years.."
"Don't worry, Hrafen, you still cut an imposing figure," Marisol says as she continues braiding.
Balter lets out a low chuckle. "So we're back to this kind of thing. Looks like I decided to come back at an awful time," he says, without actually sounding annoyed.
"The answer is no - no one is waiting on me. Anybody that loved or was loved by me is long gone. And for that matter, I don't even know whether I'm staying here, once our work is done. Civilization does not agree with me. Speaking of..."
He looks to Vladimir. "So you reclaim the Stolen Lands. What do you plan on doing then? I am not very good at politicking, if you recall."
Hrafen shrugs.
"Govern it? I am sure that we could set up an oligarchy of some kind; I dare say that there would even be room for ranger, who looks after our wild flanks... That said, let's not get too far ahead of ourselves"
"Reclaim may be a bit strong of a word. Our charter is to explore the Greenbelt and put an end to the banditry in the region." Vladimir says matter-of-factly.
"Once we put an end to the Stag Lord and his ilk, such as Dovan, who is to say what happens next? There are good people out here, such as the folk at The Crossing, Oleg and his bride, Jhod at the Temple of Elk, and even more we have yet to meet."
"Given my druthers, once we have fulfilled our Charter, I would like to stay here in the Greenbelt and build something more, a future for the residents of Greenbelt, and perhaps for us as well. We have already started as much as we rid the region of bandits, rehabilitating as many as we are forced to end." Vladimir pauses, realizing his words are starting to sound more like a political speach than an answer to a simple question.
"Does that answer your question, Balter? If so, I guess it is my turn to ask a question again."
Turning his attention, as his gaze has often drifted, to Marisol he asks, "You had mentioned being a child of difficult circumstances. What were those circumstances?"
Marisol pauses the braiding, then resumes and says, "I suppose I might as well tell all now. Durielle has heard some of this already anyway."
"My name is Marisol Surtova," she says. "My mother was the wife of a prominent member of that family line. She was a lovely woman, though I only knew her through her portrait. She... attracted the eye of a vampire, who enthralled her and made her his concubine. Of course, nobody knew at first what was wrong; just that suddenly my mother became listless, depressed, tired and quiet during the day. Lord Surtova thought that she was unhappy with their marriage suddenly and seeking solace with someone else, so he hired investigators to discover the truth. They did, and eventually the vampire was uncovered and a team of experts dispatched to kill him, but not until after he had... lain with my mother. And so I was conceived."
She pauses, then continues, "My mother was listless and badly affected, and her health had been ruined by the vampire's feeding, and she died not too long after I was born. Lord Surtova raised me in his household, but he was always bitter about the circumstances. To him, I had cost him his life with his beloved wife. I was a reminder of this horrid fate and not even a proper heir. So he was cold and always kept me at arm's length. I was taught to be a 'proper lady' by tutors, but it was clear that I would never occupy a true place in the family. Whispers and rumors circulated regarding my heritage and many people saw me as 'unclean' or 'cursed.' Eventually he made... other arrangements for me, but that's a story for another question."
She sighs and says, "So now you know. I'm not really human, exactly. My blood-father was a vampire, and I have a few of his qualities. But I'm human enough to fit in, mostly, and to have all the needs and hopes and dreams and desires of any woman. Yes, I have fangs. No, I don't drink blood. Yes, I'm living and breathing. And you've all seen me in the sun already."
"I'm sure you have many questions, but it's my turn to ask now," she says with a mischievous gleam in her eye. "So Vlad, did your parents arrange a marriage for you after you've finished your work here?"
Balter chuckles again, not at all surprised by Vladimir's answer. "It certainly does."
He pointedly ignores Hrafen's remark... but the halfling's words were certainly enough to get him thinking. The half-elf frowns for no apparent reason, though Marisol's grim tale soon produces one.
I could have guessed she was a noble, he thinks, an eyebrow raised. The family name sounded vaguely familiar, but did not really register with him. The vampire part... not so much.
Durielle pats Marisol's arm consolingly during her sad tale.
"The past shapes who we are, but we choose who we become. You are among friends now," she murmurs. Throwing a sharp look at the half-elf ranger encouraging agreement, the oracle says, "Even Balter recognizes the value you bring."
Turning to Hrafen, Durielle asks, "Do you miss having hair? I-I never really give it much thought, but..." The oracle shakes her head. "But I really couldn't imagine not having all this, I suppose."
She places a hand on the side of her head to indicate the hair like sunbeams as Marisol described it. Once again she thanks Marisol for the work on her hair and the compliments.
"If you would like, I am happy to return the favor with your hair."
Vladimir sits wide eyed, hearing Marisol's revelation.
"I suppose that explains why the curative spell I cast on you seemed to have a diminished effect." Vladimir says.
Answer the question asked, he says "No arranged marriages for me at this time. Father is, or at least was the last time I saw him, focusing on my older brother, Alexander."
Given her most recent answer, Vladimir again turns his attention toward Marisol. "What were those 'other arrangements' that were made for you?"
Durielle shifts her cloaks and blankets and smooths them down to continue modesty. She doesn't notice any changes in Vladimir other than his obvious surprise.
To Durielle, Marisol says, "Yes, please - no braid though, just tie it with a loop."
When Vlad asks his question, she sighs and with a self-deprecating look says, "The tragic story of Marisol Survota, part the second."
"To start off, I understand I'm putting a lot of strain on our camaraderie. Yes, I withheld a lot of personal information when all of this started, because I've spent my whole life under the dark shadow of the circumstances of my birth. And this whole expedition, for me, was a chance to start over. So I was... I guess I was scared. I've had to deal with this for so long that for once I just wanted to try to be 'normal,' to be treated like part of the group without all the suspicion and fear," she says.
"Anyway. I was a real problem for Lord Surtova. That spur of the family had come to a dead end: I couldn't pass on the family name, and my misbegotten origins meant that I was not suitable material for arranged marriages with other nobles. Eventually when I was a teenager he started looking into making arrangements for my disposition. At last he 'settled' for a dishonorable marriage: He married me off to an older wealthy merchant named Matvei, who was less interested in legitimate title and more in a trophy bride with a mysterious past."
"In fairy tales these sorts of things are always boo-hoo about how the old man was a horrible person who abused his poor young wife. My husband was no saint but he had many good qualities, too... I'm ashamed to say that at first I didn't really appreciate him for those, I mostly resented my family and hated him for the arrangement, but at least I had a roof over my head. It was a very rough time for me. And, of course, that went the way most marriages do... we had two children, whom I loved very dearly and raised as best I could. Matvei was a good father, doting on our children, and that helped to ease the tension in our arrangement."
"Eventually, we sort of settled into a routine... I spent time with the children and around the house, and sometimes went to social functions and events; he handled his business, traveled occasionally. As time went on the rumors about me changed; I didn't seem to age, so as people left our social circles and new ones came in who didn't know my past, I finally made a few acquaintances - though always some rumor would catch up with me later. Matvei let me have my hobbies and I let him have his, uh, 'side interests.' Our children grew up, he grew older... and I hardly changed."
"So part of my nature became increasingly clear. Matvei died, and I inherited a portion of the estate, sufficient to keep me in a comfortable lifestyle. My children inherited much more of the wealth, grew into adults, found interests and families of their own, moved on. Eventually they, too, grew old and died, and still I was there, a little older, a little sadder, a little chubbier I must admit than when I was a waifish young woman taking her first nervous steps in a strange household."
"Everyone important to me died, and I was left behind."
"I had a few wild years trying to figure out what to do... but eventually I sold the house and decided that I would start over. And here I am."
"I am Marisol Surtova, and I am one hundred forty-five years old."
She clears her throat and says, "So... any more clarifications before I ask another question?"
Durielle stands so she and Marisol can switch places. Before she allows the other woman to really move, however, she places her arms around the magus and hugs her close.
"Just like I promised...still huggable," she whispers with a small giggle. It is an image of contrast, both women pale but one dark and the other fair. Raven hair on pale nightclothes, blond against dark blankets.
"Now sit," Durielle commands before twirling Marisol's brush in her hand with surprising dexterity. The other hand is already winding ribbon expertly through her fingers. She places the brush to the dhampir's locks of night black and begins to pull with speed but not enough force to hurt.
Marisol smiles gently, holding her arms over Durielle's, and rocks back and forth a few times, clearly comforted by the intervention of her friend. Then when Durielle orders her to move she changes to a position where Durielle can brush out her hair but she can still address the rest of the group.
Balter eyes Vladimir pointedly as he asks his followup question, but quickly turns his attention back to Marisol. He had to wonder whether this was truly her idea of 'fun,' baring herself to them like this. The ranger thinks back to their first meeting, when Vladimir had first solicited introductions from all of them. Even at the time, Marisol had not so much as lied as she spared a few details.
"One hundred forty-five, huh?" he says with a smirk, before looking to the swordsman once more. "Seems like the ladies in our group have quite a few years on us men, eh Vladimir? Unless you've got an extra century or two you've been holding out on us about."
"Does that make you immortal or something?" he asks Marisol out of turn, more curious than mortified.
"I don't think so," says Marisol. "Obviously I grew up, had children... but unlike most, um, humans, I seem to have aged very, very slowly after that. But I don't really know for certain. I mean, I can't fit into the corset I had when I was eighteen, but I don't know how long to expect to remain alive. Maybe I'll just get really old after hundreds of years but never die. Or maybe I'll turn increasingly graceful and ghostly and just sort of fade away. I really just don't know."
"That would certainly seem to be the case, Balter." Vladimir says in response to Balter's comment.
Vladimir seems to visibly relax after hearing Marisol's follow up explaination to her revelation of what she is. "No other questions from me, m'lady. I believe it us your turn to ask a question."
Hrafen shrugs.
"I sometimes miss having it, but I can't deny it is a heck of a lot easier to keep myself well-groomed out in the middle of nowhere, without it. I do miss the insulation, though - my feet get a bit cold, especially at night..."
When Marisol reveals her age, He raises an eyebrow, and smirks.
"So we should be referring to you as a venerable elder, then...?"
Marisol wryly says to Hrafen, "Only call me a 'venerable elder' if you want a stabbing." She raises an eyebrow and says, "Not serious. Although technically you could call me 'the Widow Surtova.' Probably best not to invoke that family name in front of others, though -- kind of a loaded history, especially with all the political tension in Brevoy these days."
Head still held in place by Durielle's ministrations, she says, "Which brings us to Balter... what brought you to becoming a 'man of the road'?"
"Not much to it," Balter says with a shrug. He procures his waterskin - which may or may not actually contain water - and squeezes a draught into his mouth, swallowing it loudly. Only then does he seem content to continue. "After my parents died, there was nothing left for me at home. At the same time, I didn't really have anywhere else to go; my father never really spoke of his family, and my mother... well, Kyonin was never an option. But I had the skills to survive in the wilderness - they made to sure to leave me with at least that much. So I hit the road and haven't looked back since."
The ranger looks back to Marisol, as though to ask another question, but instead addresses Durielle. "This sickness of yours... it's not going to kill you, is it?"
Durielle pauses in her work on Marisol's hair, so surprised by this question is she. After a moment she resumes and replies softly.
"No, I don't believe so. This wasting condition I suffer is a punishment for not heeding the powers given to me."
She is quiet again for a moment as she begins to tie the now nicely brushed midnight locks of the magus with a loop of blue ribbon. Fashioning the ribbon into a bow, she does it as a bit of a joke since Marisol's usual look doesn't come across as girly. Maybe she won't mind.
"I have reason to think that despite the discomfort and general weakness, this is nothing more than a suffering I must endure for my failure."
Standing, Durielle eyes some of the hay a tad longingly since her bedroll, along with most of her other gear, is still strapped to Whisper or stored in the horse's saddlebags somewhere in the wilderness.
"I myself don't have any questions, so I will pass my turn to whomever still feels inquisitive. Seeing as I offered first watch, I am sure to have another chance to ask if one comes to mind before the rest of you turn in."
"Thanks for keeping watch, Durielle," says Marisol. She pats her hair and says, surprised, "Oh! A bow! I haven't had one of those in... forever."
Marisol adds, "Since the floor is open, Balter, where did you learn to fight? You're a powerhouse with those swords."
Rustling up a section of hay and pulling out her traveling cloak for a blanket, Marisol adds, "Come grab me in a few hours, Durielle. I'm going to doze off here as we finish up this round of questions."
Seeing the game beginning to come to a close, Vladimir finds a corner of the barn to curl up in. "After your watch, Marisol, wake me for my turn."
"Whatever you need, Vladimir," says Marisol, stifling a yawn.
The half-elf simply nods slowly at Durielle's answer, apparently satisfied. I don't know anything about curses, but...
"Closing things off with a simple one, eh?" Balter says with a fake yawn as he kicks back, looking comfortable enough to fall asleep on the spot. "I'm afraid I have to give you another boring answer. It's just a trick I picked up from the last band I traveled with. A few of them fancied the idea of having a sword in each hand. Of course, their style involved a little bit more... finesse. I ended up making a few adjustments. By the end, I daresay that none of them could hold a candle to me," he brags, letting his eyes droop.
Marisol peeks briefly out from her cloak hook, and says with a smirk, "You boys, always playing with your swords." Then she quickly pulls the hood back over her eyes.
Durielle gathers her clothes and armor and dresses in the privacy of a stall.
Once ready, she draws her blade and sets it across her knees after finding a barrel to sit on in the corner of the barn. Her nose begins to bleed slightly, but she waves away any concern as she puts pressure on it and staunches the flow with a rag.
"Go on," she says softly to everyone. "Get to sleep now. I'll keep an eye out. Don't worry, I'll be fine."
Morning comes without incident. The farmhands return at first light, and you soon hear them lead the cows and goats from the nearby barn. Unseasonably crisp morning.. the first peek of sun is red on the horizon.
Hrafen yawns, still feeling a bit bleary-eyed.
"Early starts are one of the things that I don't miss about going off on 'adventures' out in the wilds..."
"At least it doesn't look like it will rain - there isn't a cloud in the sky..."
Following his watch, Vladimir wakes his companions and gathers his things for the day's journey.
Looking up at the morning sky, Vladimir responds "I do believe you are right, Hrafen. That should be nice."
Vladimir gathers his companions together.
"It would seem that the logical choice would be to take a run at this supposed Stag Lord. Is that still what we wish to do, or do we wish to deal with more immediate issues?" Vladimir quietly asks, glancing back in the direction of the tower.
Balter wakes up bright and early so that he can meditate for his sole spell. Hearing the others comment on the weather, he sniffs at the air outside and grunts in affirmation.
"I think it's about time we pay him a visit," the ranger says with a nod.
Hrafen raises an eyebrow.
"That is an inherently ambiguous comment, Balter... which 'he' do you think we should visit...?"
"The Stag Lord merits our attention, I agree," says Marisol.