Horatio and Olivius had both been traveling for a good bit with a caravan, run by one Silas Gribb and he had promised the two of them a nice payment once they arrived and he unloaded his merchandise. Silas had been paid by a church of Sarenrae to take Feora with him so that she might see the world and begin to light darkness beyond the walls of their church.
Trig only just happened upon the caravan a days ride before and they had not had the pleasure of meeting Frigg as of yet, but Trig had thought it might be a tad faster to ride with a group and that she might find some entertainment among the larger folk. With the ride, she promised help with the horses...who seemed to love her almost immediately.
Feora busied herself with checking her supplies. Much of what was going through her mind was of the journey ahead. I suppose I didn't much fit in there. I don't know now that it matters much. Light darkness beyond the walls. I think that is how they put it. More like I think they mean they don't want Dawn's rays burning brightly on their doorstep. As if I really wanted to...
Feora sighed to herself. She brushed the ash white hair from her face, thinking on what was ahead. She idly opened her pack, taking out her kit. she checked over the contents again. Medicines, herbs, bandages. Needle, thread. clean water. Hmm..., can't believe I let the feverfew get that low. Though I don't suppose they are sending me to a plague site. Else they would have provisioned me for it...
Feora fiddled with the bandages on her arms, shifting them a bit to ease the tension in places. She looked about, first at the driver, then the three other arrivals. Unsure of what to do, she gave a very nervous smile and nod. "Uhm..., hello there."
Olivius was on patrol when he was greeted by a lovely lady with bandaged arms. This caravan wasn't particularly big and Mr. Gribb was a good man. Mainly, he had taken this contract before he knew Horatio was also involved. Had he known before he signed he would have walked the other way.
Nothing for it now. He just had to put up with the insufferable limp-wrist.
He nods to her and bows slightly, a relic of his formal upbringing. Well met, my lady. May I help you?
Feora smiled shyly, almost abashed at his formal manner. Do you have any idea where we are bound for? I feel that I am quite a bit lost on this trip. Oh, forgive my rudeness, after your kind manners sir. My name is Feora.
Olivius chuckles lightly, Where we go is up to the Caravan Master, Mr. Gribb. I'm just the hired help. The name's Olivius. And if you're feeling lost, that's normal. Just give it a couple days. And be careful of Horatio. That skinny limp-wristed twig loves ladies like you.
Feora nods to him, a slight look of shame crossing her face. Limp wristed..., I hope these don't bother you so. Though I suppose I should steer clear for you then? She sighs, turning to look back out and stare aimlesssly out of the caravan. She idly thumbs her wrists, looking down, a very slight touch of pain finding her eyes.
Seeing the other "passengers" talking Trig makes her way over to them. She walks right up to Feora's knee and says. "Wow! Your hair sure is white, lady. What happened to your hands? Are you okay? My name's Trig." Her voice eerily enough resembles that of a small human child, simply due to size of her vocal equipment. She looks at the two humans with open and frank curiosity. Trig is probably the smallest gnome they've ever seen, but she doesn't seem like a child. She's dressed in well worn traveling clothes and green leather armor. A sort of charismatic power radiates off of her. She's strikingly beautiful and alien, even for a gnome.
Ignoring the gnome, Olivius stammers for an apology. I'm sorry, I didn't mean you. I shouldn't have used such language 'round you, sorry.
Feora looks down at Trig, giggling softly. "These? This is from when I was little. Smaller than you. Lived with my arms like this my whole life."
Her head turns, and the smile carries over. It softens her features, not a hint of anger or timidness in her eyes or voice. "Not your fault sir. It was not you doing that my arms are like this. And in truth I have quite little physical strength because of it. I am curious why you dislike your companion though. And I am sorry, I did not catch your name sir?"
Silas looks over towards Olivius, "I be payin' for a guard, not a Calistrian. Worry about your task until we break for the night. We will be in Belhaim tomorrow."
"Ooooh. Do they hurt?" Trig asks hopping around Feora to look at her hands from all angles. "What's your name, lady?"
Olivius is relieved to see that he has avoided loosing a friend before he had the opportunity to make one. Olivius. Olivius Telraven.
Horatio has been a rock in my shoe for as long as I've been here. He is impulsive, full of himself, and an insessant peacock. Just you wait, you'll see.
Trig turns to Olivius. "Hello, Olivius! Olivius sounds like olives. Do you like olives? I do. Why does the stone in your shoe have a name?" She looks back to Feora, still awaiting her answer. Then she looks back to Olivius. She hops over to stand in between them, looking rapidly back and forth. Her fluttering movements are not unlike those of a small songbird or a butterfly. The various ornaments tied into her loose, viridian mane clink softly together on occasion as she does her excited little dance. Two new big folks to learn about! Olives seems mean, he's like totally ignoring me. But the lady is nice, and pretty.
Feora giggles again, this time her smile also warmed by a twinkle in her eyes as she looks down at Twig. "You are just adorable. Yes they hurt, all the time. But after living with them most of my life, you get used to it. And my name is Feora. Feora Morningtide."
Trig smiles back to the much taller woman. "Pleasure, Feora." The little gnome looks incredulously at the bandaged hands. "They hurt all the time!? Well aint that a puddle o' s!$%? Have you tried any medicines for the pain?"
Feora smiles back, reaching over to gently ruffle the hair on Trig's head. "I've tried medicine, magics, and even spending days at a time in fasting and crying out to the Dawnflower. And nothing. But, you know..., you learn to live with it." There is a bit of a pang in her voice as she talks about it.
“Ooh, you’re warm. Can you, like, rub my head?” Trig almost purrs at Feora’s gentle touch.
Feora flinches, having an unconscious reaction to pull away for a moment. She very quickly relaxes at hearing Trig purr, giggling softly before reaching back over. "Sure hun..., of course I can."
Feora smiles, reaching over to use her fingers to gently rub Trig's head, much like a doctor would do to try and alleviate someone's head pain. Her hands are a little shaky still, her reaction still affecting her hands a bit.
“That’s so awesome! You should be a masseuse,” Trig says, melting under Feora’s fingers. “Why are you here anyway? I’m going to Belhaim to learn its history.”
Feora giggles smiling at her. "You are too kind Trig. I really don't know why I am going? More like the clerics decided I needed to take a trip. Something about an accident in the high priest's quarters, and I was supposedly involved. I don't see how though. I've never even been to his chambers." She sighs and lets her fingers work gently.
Olivius waits for a pause between the ladie's conversation before answering Trig.
Hello. I have had olives, but not for a long time. The stone was a metaphor. It's actually a skinny man who's around here somewhere.
Feora looks over at Olivius, a puzzled look on her face as she was obviously caught up in her talk with Trig, and her fingerwork.
Your skinny man is a metaphor for stone? But what does that have to do with olives? Feora giggles at him amused. Seriously sir, it's almost like you are speaking another language.
Olivius smiles. Just trying to answer all the questions put to me by Trig. The stone in my boot I mentioned earlier is the "man" Horatio. He has nothing to do with olives, which I have, in fact, had, but not recently. Is that clearer?
Feora looks at him a bit more, trying to keep her puzzled look, but unable to keep herself from cracking a smile. Now I am just more confused. Should I get some parchment and a quill so I can try and keep this straight? I never was very good in my history lessons.
Olivius shakes his head and waves his hand to dismiss the topic. You'll see soon enough. Until then, I need to get back to my route. Good day.
He bows again.
"Bye, Olives! See you later," Trig says with a grin and a happy wave. She looks around for the skinny stone man. Hmmm. I don't see him. Oh well...
"So you're a priest or something, Feora? Do you want to meet my boyfriend, I think he'd like you."
Feora blinks a moment the shrugs. "Uhm..., not a priest. Uhm..., touched by Sarenrae? Probably the best way I can say it. Not exactly...," She blinks and gasps midsentence. "Meet your boyfriend? Like..., you have a boyfriend?"
"Olivius isn't lying again, is he? Because I've really been more a thorn in his side than a stone in his boot." The voice comes from further back, as a young man dressed in linen and leather rides up - somewhat awkwardly - on horseback. He climbs back into the caravan, nodding in greeting. He glances sideways at Olivius, eyes narrowed a fraction. "Don't mind him. Noble blood; you know how stuffy they can be. I'm from a more humble upbringing - it makes for a better story, they say, and I'm far more bearable than he is." He dusts himself off, straightening the cuffs of his loose-sleeved shirt and straightening his leather vest. "Horatio Aldebrandt, violinist extraodinaire. I may have heard the last few exchanges among you, but I don't believe I caught your names? And I think Olives suits him rather well as a nickname - he's certainly bitter enough, and only bearable with plenty of gin." His smile is mischevious, but his eyes are cold as he casts them at the fighter.
Feora blinks a moment the shrugs. "Uhm..., not a priest. Uhm..., touched by Sarenrae? Probably the best way I can say it. Not exactly...," She blinks and gasps midsentence. "Meet your boyfriend? Like..., you have a boyfriend?"
"Yeah, but he's not from here. I'd need a minute to call him." Trig replies before the skinny stone man rides up. "Hehe! That's a funny joke Horatio. You don't look like a stone or a thorn to me. My name's Trig! I was just about to call my boyfriend for Feora to meet. Do you want to meet him too?"
Feora blushes a bit, looking at the newcomer unable to really muster up much of a thought. She looks down smiling at Trig, and then looks up again. "Uhm..., Hi?"
"I don't? Do I look like a foil, then? Or perhaps a rake?" The bard chuckles, and it's not immediately apparent whether he's deliberately trying to confuse Trig or not. "You seem a little young to have a boyfriend. You don't look any older than forty!"
He glances to Feora, but quickly shifts the rest of his attention to her. "And you must be Feora. Well, let me guess: Olives told you to stay away from me, didn't he? I'll bet he fed you all sorts of slander about how I'll woo you and break your heart, like I've done to so many other men and women - he can be so melodramatic at times!" He laughs at this, a warm genial sound in an attempt to put the girl at ease. "Truly, if not for the fact that he can't act a whit, he'd be right at home in a Chelaxian opera. But I'll have you know, I've never overstepped boundaries. Except in the eyes of a few overprotective fathers and spouses, the latter of which I still insist I had no knowledge of."
"Hey! I'm 46, mister!" Trig says, stamping her foot and putting her hands on his hips. "Just 'cause we grow slower than you humans doesn't mean we can't seek out companionship. How old are you? Like 16?" She crosses her arms over her chest while Horatio brags about his conquests. "You sound like a slut trying to sound like they're not a slut." Trig sticks her tongue out at him, and tramps away. I'll show that skinny stone! How dare he question my womanhood? She hops up into the back of one of the wagons nearby and sits down in a cross legged position. Closing her eyes she begins the ritual necessary to call Fligg to the Material Plane.
Olivius hears Trig's yelling and turns around in his route to see what's going on. He finds Trig sitting cross legged in the back of Mr. Silas's wagon with her eyes closed. He looks around the other wagons for the other party in the commotion and spots Horatio talking with Feora. All he can do is sigh and shake his head before stepping back to Trig and waiting for her to come around.
... Well. That's not usually how this goes. Horatio stares blankly after the gnome for a moment, jaw hanging open slightly in shock at having been spoken to in such a way. After an awkward moment, he shuts his mouth, shakes his head slightly, and busies himself with his violin.
Silas grumbles to himself, something about hiring boys to do men's work, but his words cannot be heard clearly as he continues simply sit and drive the wagon. "Another hour. Then we stop for the night. Tomorrow by late morning we will reach our destination... and I can be rid of you lot "
Feora looks at the pair very confused. Starting with Horatio, to Trig, stealing a glance at Olivius. Uhm..., I think I missed something right there. Fourty six..., how old do gnomes get? They must live longer than people like me, because I think I'd feel old if I was her age. And what did she mean by...
Feora glances back over to Trig, trying to keep her voice quiet but not really succeeding. "Hey Trig..., what did you mean when you called him a slut? I'm not sure I have heard that term before?"
Trig is totally oblivious to Feora for a few moments. Then a glowing symbol of a complex endless knot appears on her forehead. A moment later a green glow rapidly coalesces on the back of one of the nearby horses. It looks like thousands of fireflies popping into existence in a cloud and then quickly drawing together into a small humanoid form. There is a brief flash of bright green light from the figure. A little muscular man with long, thin, pointed ears and orange hair appears standing on the back of the horse, wearing nothing but the blue swirls that mark segments of his skin. His hairless buttocks is currently pointed towards Feora and Trig, who slowly opens her eyes. Trig sees Fligg standing on the horse, naked, and the smile that was forming on her face falters. Her cheeks turn a deep shade of purple, and horror creeps onto her face.
"Hey baby, I was wondering when you would call. The one eyed gremlin and I have been..." the little man says, turning around towards Feora and Trig with a seductive swagger. He doesn't seem to have noticed that he's on the back of a moving horse yet.
Trig flings her hands out, saying "SOILSE DAMHSA!!"
A chain of four orange-sized balls of colored light (blue, red, yellow, and green) stream out of Trig's hand to zoom over in front of Fligg's crotch as soon as he turns around, obscuring the "gremlin". "HOW MANY F#@!ING TIMES HAVE I TOLD YOU NOT TO APPEAR NAKED!?!"
"...waiting?" Fligg says, completing his turn and pointing his two index fingers at Trig like they are pistols. He has a mischevious look on his face, which quickly slips into confusion. "Horse? Eh? Where are we?"
"Clothes, gods damn it! Clothes!" Trig hisses at him. Covering her eyes in shame, Trig turns to Feora. Her face is still an interesting shade of purple. Without looking at Feora, she says quietly "This is my boyfriend Fligg, Feora. I'm sorry..." she snaps her gaze back to Fligg, "THAT HE'S A F*##ING DIMWIT!"
With everyone undoubtedly staring at him, Fligg shrugs and does a back handspring off the back of the horse. "Byddaf yn mynd yn gwneud rhai dillad ar gyfer y mwncïod mawr dwp yna! Peli menyw Stag, roeddwn yn ceisio gwneud rhywbeth neis i chi!" He calls over his shoulder.
He quickly disappears off the side of the path.
Pretending that what just happened wasn't completely ridiculous, Trig turns back to Feora and quickly composes herself. "What were you saying before dearie? I was in a trance, so I didn't quite catch it."
As if the term slut before wasn't already more than Feora could understand, the scene that plays out in front of her nearly causes flames to shoot from her ears. Her face has turned a lovely shade of near blood red, the only thing still anywhere close to white at this point being her hair. She attempts to speak, her mouth moving, but only manage a few splutters before she finally seems to be breathing so hard and fast that she looks a bit faint, and slumps over in the coach, looking like she just passed out.
Trig’s eyes go wide. She clambers over to Feora and checks her pulse and breathing. Seeing that she’s okay, Trig gently shakes her. “Feora, are you okay?” she ask concernedly.
Feora seems to shudder slightly as Trig shakes her, her eyes rolling open unfocused. "Uhm..., boyfriend? ...slut..., fourty..." Feora groans softly rubbing the side of her head as she tries to sit up. "My head hurts."
“Take it easy swetheart. Here, have some water,” Trig says, pulling out her waterskin. “You haven’t gotten out much have you?”
Feora takes the skin, shakily drinking deeply for a moment. Where the water splashes on her face, visible steam can be seen. "Uhm..., no. No I have not. Unless you call gardening occasionally in the church's fields getting out?"
Trig smies at Feora. “Well, there’s no need to be embarrased about these things. It’s all perfectly natural. Fligg will come back with some clothes and we’ll make proper introductions.”